Georg Ebers - Premium Collection: Historical Novels, Stories & Autobiography. Georg Ebers

Georg Ebers - Premium Collection: Historical Novels, Stories & Autobiography - Georg Ebers


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identity of the morning and

       evening star. Lepsius, Chronologie p. 94.]

      “Tachot kissed the child and gave her her own costly fan. When we were at home again she smiled archly at me and said: ‘You know, mother dear, that the words children say in the temple-courts are believed to be oracles.’ So, if the little one spoke the truth, he must come; and did not you hear that he is to bring the bridal-wreath? O mother, I am sure, quite sure, that I shall see him again.’

      “I asked her yesterday if she had any message for you, and she begged me to say that she sent you thousands of kisses, and messages of love, and that when she was stronger she meant to write, as she had a great deal to tell you. She has just brought me the little note which I enclose; it is for you alone, and has cost her much fatigue to write.

      “But now I must finish my letter, as the messenger has been waiting for it some time.

      “I wish I could give you some joyful news, but sadness and sorrow meet me whichever way I turn. Your brother yields more and more to the priests’ tyranny, and manages the affairs of state for your poor blind father under Neithotep’s guidance.

      “Amasis does not interfere, and says it matters little whether his place be filled a few days sooner or later by his successor.

      “He did not attempt to prevent Psamtik from seizing the children of Phanes in Rhodopis’ house, and actually allowed his son to enter into a negotiation with the descendants of those two hundred thousand soldiers, who emigrated to Ethiopia in the reign of Psamtik I. on account of the preference shown to the Greek mercenaries. In case they declared themselves willing to return to their native land, the Greek mercenaries were to have been dismissed. The negotiation failed entirely, but Psamtik’s treatment of the children of Phanes has given bitter offence to the Greeks. Aristomachus threatened to leave Egypt, taking with him ten thousand of his best troops, and on hearing that Phanes’ son had been murdered at Psamtik’s command applied for his discharge. From that time the Spartan disappeared, no one knows whither; but the Greek troops allowed themselves to be bribed by immense sums and are still in Egypt.

      “Amasis said nothing to all this, and looked on silently from the midst of his prayers and sacrifices, while your brother was either offending every class of his subjects or attempting to pacify them by means beneath the dignity of a ruler. The commanders of the Egyptian and Greek troops, and the governors of different provinces have all alike assured me that the present state of things is intolerable. No one knows what to expect from this new ruler; he commands today the very thing, which he angrily forbade the day before. Such a government must soon snap the beautiful bond, which has hitherto united the Egyptian people to their king.

      “Farewell, my child, think of your poor friend, your mother; and forgive your parents when you hear what they have so long kept secret from you. Pray for Tachot, and remember us to Croesus and the young Persians whom we know. Give a special message too from Tachot to Bartja; I beg him to think of it as the last legacy of one very near death. If you could only send her some proof, that he has not forgotten her! Farewell, once more farewell and be happy in your new and blooming home.”

      CHAPTER XVI.

       Table of Contents

      Sad realities follow bright anticipations nearly as surely as a rainy day succeeds a golden sunrise. Nitetis had been so happy in the thought of reading the very letter, which poured such bitter drops of wormwood into her cup of happiness.

      One beautiful element in her life, the remembrance of her dear home and the companions of her happy childhood, had been destroyed in one moment, as if by the touch of a magician’s wand.

      She sat there in her royal purple, weeping, forgetful of everything but her mother’s grief, her father’s misfortunes and her sister’s illness. The joyful future, full of love, joy, and happiness, which had been beckoning her forward only a few minutes before, had vanished. Cambyses’ chosen bride forgot her waiting, longing lover, and the future queen of Persia could think of nothing but the sorrows of Egypt’s royal house.

      It was long past mid-day, when the attendant Mandane came to put a last touch to Nitetis’ dress and ornaments.

      “She is asleep,” thought the girl. “I can let her rest another quarter of an hour; the sacrifice this morning has tired her, and we must have her fresh and beautiful for the evening banquet; then she will outshine the others as the moon does the stars.”

      Unnoticed by her mistress she slipped out of the room, the windows of which commanded a splendid view over the hanging-gardens, the immense city beneath, the river, and the rich and fruitful Babylonian plain, and went into the garden.

      Without looking round she ran to a flower-bed, to pluck some roses. Her eyes were fixed on her new bracelet, the stones of which sparkled in the sun, and she did not notice a richly-dressed man peering in at one of the windows of the room where Nitetis lay weeping. On being disturbed in his watching and listening, he turned at once to the girl and greeted her in a high treble voice.

      She started, and on recognizing the eunuch Boges, answered: “It is not polite, sir, to frighten a poor girl in this way. By Mithras, if I had seen you before I heard you, I think I should have fainted. A woman’s voice does not take me by surprise, but to see a man here is as rare as to find a swan in the desert.”

      Boges laughed good-humoredly, though he well understood her saucy allusion to his high voice, and answered, rubbing his fat hands: “Yes, it is very hard for a young and pretty bird like you, to have to live in such a lonely corner, but be patient, sweetheart. Your mistress will soon be queen, and then she will look out a handsome young husband for you. Ah, ha! you will find it pleasanter to live here alone with him, than with your beautiful Egyptian.”

      “My mistress is too beautiful for some people’s fancy, and I have never asked any one to look out a husband for me,” she answered pertly. “I can find one without your help either.”

      “Who could doubt it? Such a pretty face is as good a bait for a man, as a worm for a fish.”

      “But I am not trying to catch a husband, and least of all one like you.”

      “That I can easily believe,” he answered laughing. “But tell me, my treasure, why are you so hard on me? Have I done anything to vex you? Wasn’t it through me, that you obtained this good appointment, and are not we both Medes?”

      “You might just as well say that we are both human beings, and have five fingers on each hand and a nose in the middle of our faces. Half the people here are Medes, and if I had as many friends as I have countrymen, I might be queen to-morrow. And as to my situation here, it was not you, but the high-priest Oropastes who recommended me to the great queen Kassandane. Your will is not law here.”

      “What are you talking about, my sweet one? don’t you know, that not a single waiting-woman can be engaged without my consent?”

      “Oh, yes, I know that as well as you do, but...”

      “But you women are an unthankful race, and don’t deserve our kindness.”

      “Please not to forget, that you are speaking to a girl of good family.”

      “I know that very well, my little one. I know that your father was a Magian and your mother a Magian’s daughter; that they both died early and you were placed under the care of the Destur Ixabates, the father of Oropastes, and grew up with his children. I know too that when you had received the ear-rings, Oropastes’ brother Gaumata, (you need not blush, Gaumata is a pretty name) fell in love with your rosy face, and wanted to marry you, though he was only nineteen. Gaumata and Mandane, how well the two names sound together! Mandane and Gaumata! If I were a poet I should call my hero Gaumata and his lady-love Mandane.”

      “I insist on your ceasing to jest in this way,” cried Mandane, blushing deeply and stamping her foot.

      “What, are you angry because I say the names sound well


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