that I love him more than the gods, the world, yes, more than my own
young life. Kassandane and Atossa must think of me kindly. They will see
from my mother's letter that I am innocent, and that it was only for my
poor sister's sake that I asked to see Bartja. Boges has told me that my
death has been resolved upon. When the executioner approaches, I shall
kill myself. I commit this crime against myself, Cambyses, to save you
from doing a disgraceful deed."

This note and her mother's she gave to the weeping Mandane, and begged
her to give both to Cambyses when she was gone. She then fell on her
knees and prayed to the gods of her fathers to forgive her for her
apostasy from them.

Mandane begged her to remember her weakness and take some rest, but she
answered: "I do not need any sleep, because, you know, I have such little
waking-time still left me."

As she went on praying and singing her old Egyptian hymns, her heart
returned more and more to the gods of her fathers, whom she had denied
after such a short struggle. In almost all the prayers with which she was
acquainted, there was a reference to the life after death. In the nether
world, the kingdom of Osiris, where the forty-two judges of the dead
pronounce sentence on the worth of the soul after it has been weighed by
the goddess of truth and Thoth, who holds the office of writer in heaven,
she could hope to meet her dear ones again, but only in case her
unjustified soul were not obliged to enter on the career of
transmigration through the bodies of different animals, and her body, to
whom the soul had been entrusted, remained in a state of preservation.
This, "if" filled her with a feverish restlessness. The doctrine that the
well-being of the soul depended on the preservation of the earthly part
of every human being left behind at death, had been impressed on her from
childhood. She believed in this error, which had built pyramids and
excavated rocks, and trembled at the thought that, according to the
Persian custom, her body would be thrown to the dogs and birds of prey,
and so given up to the powers of destruction, that her soul must be
deprived of every hope of eternal life. Then the thought came to her,
should she prove unfaithful to the gods of her fathers again, and once
more fall down before these new spirits of light, who gave the dead body
over to the elements and only judged the soul? And so she raised her
hands to the great and glorious sun, who with his golden sword-like rays
was just dispersing the mists that hung over the Euphrates, and opened
her lips to sing her newly-learnt hymns in praise of Mithras; but her
voice failed her, instead of Mithras she could only see her own great Ra,
the god she had so often worshipped in Egypt, and instead of a Magian
hymn could only sing the one with which the Egyptian priests are
accustomed to greet the rising sun.

This hymn brought comfort with it, and as she gazed on the young light,
the rays of which were not yet strong enough to dazzle her, she thought
of her childhood, and the tears gathered in her eyes. Then she looked
down over the broad plain. There was the Euphrates with his yellow waves
looking so like the Nile; the many villages, just as in her own home,
peeping out from among luxuriant cornfields and plantations of fig-trees.
To the west lay the royal hunting-park; she could see its tall cypresses
and nut-trees miles away in the distance. The dew was glistening on every
little leaf and blade of grass, and the birds sang deliciously in the
shrubberies round her dwelling. Now and then a gentle breath of wind
arose, carrying the sweet scent of the roses across to her, and playing
in the tops of the slender, graceful palms which grew in numbers on the
banks of the river and in the fields around.

She had so often admired these beautiful trees, and compared them to
dancing-girls, as she watched the wind seizing their heavy tops and
swaying the slender stems backwards and forwards. And she had often said
to herself that here must be the home of the Phoenix, that wonderful bird
from the land of palms, who, the priests said, came once in every five
hundred years to the temple of Ra in Heliopolis and burnt himself in the
sacred incense-flames, only to rise again from his own ashes more
beautiful than before, and, after three days, to fly back again to his
home in the East. While she was thinking of this bird, and wishing that
she too might rise again from the ashes of her unhappiness to a new and
still more glorious joy, a large bird with brilliant plumage rose out of
the dark cypresses, which concealed the palace of the man she loved and
who had made her so miserable, and flew towards her. It rose higher and
higher, and at last settled on a palmtree close to her window. She had
never seen such a bird before, and thought it could not possibly be a
usual one, for a little gold chain was fastened to its foot, and its tail
seemed made of sunbeams instead of feathers. It must be Benno, the bird
of Ra! She fell on her knees again and sang with deep reverence the
ancient hymn to the Phoenix, never once turning her eyes from the
brilliant bird.

The bird listened to her singing, bending his little head with its waving
plumes, wisely and inquisitively from side to side, and flew away
directly she ceased. Nitetis looked after him with a smile. It was really
only a bird of paradise that had broken the chain by which he had been
fastened to a tree in the park, but to her he was the Phoenix. A strange
certainty of deliverance filled her heart; she thought the god Ra had
sent the bird to her, and that as a happy spirit she should take that
form. So long as we are able to hope and wish, we can bear a great deal
of sorrow; if the wished-for happiness does not come, anticipation is at
least prolonged and has its own peculiar sweetness. This feeling is of
itself enough, and contains a kind of enjoyment which can take the place
of reality. Though she was so weary, yet she lay down on her couch with
fresh hopes, and fell into a dreamless sleep almost against her will,
without having touched the poison.

The rising sun generally gives comfort to sad hearts who have passed the
night in weeping, but to a guilty conscience, which longs for darkness,
his pure light is an unwelcome guest. While Nitetis slept, Mandane lay
awake, tormented by fearful remorse. How gladly she would have held back
the sun which was bringing on the day of death to this kindest of
mistresses, and have spent the rest of her own life in perpetual night,
if only her yesterday's deed could but have been undone!

The good-natured, thoughtless girl called herself a wretched murderess
unceasingly, resolved again and again to confess the whole truth and so
to save Nitetis; but love of life and fear of death gained the victory
over her weak heart every time. To confess was certain death, and she
felt as if she had been made for life; she had so many hopes for the
future, and the grave seemed so dreadful. She thought she could perhaps
have confessed the whole truth, if perpetual imprisonment had been all
she had to fear; but death! no, she could not resolve on that. And
besides, would her confession really save the already condemned Nitetis?

Had she not sent a message to Bartja herself by that unfortunate
gardener's boy? This secret correspondence had been discovered, and that
was enough of itself to ruin Nitetis, even if she, Mandane, had done
nothing in the matter. We are never so clever as when we have to find
excuses for our own sins.

At sunrise, Mandane was kneeling by her mistress's couch, weeping
bitterly and wondering that Nitetis could sleep so calmly.

Boges, the eunuch, had passed a sleepless night too, but a very happy
one. His hated colleague, Kandaules, whom he had used as a substitute for
himself, had been already executed, by the king's command, for
negligence, and on the supposition that he had accepted a bribe; Nitetis
was not only ruined, but certain to die a shameful death. The influence
of the king's mother had suffered a severe shock; and lastly, he had the
pleasure of knowing, not only that he had outwitted every one and
succeeded in all his plans, but that through his favorite Phaedime he
might hope once more to become the all-powerful favorite of former days.
That sentence of death had been pronounced on Croesus and the young
heroes, was by no means an unwelcome thought either, as they might have
been instrumental in bringing his intrigues to light.

In the grey of the morning he left the king's apartment and went to
Phaedime. The proud Persian had taken no rest. She was waiting for him
with feverish anxiety, as a rumor of all that had happened had already
reached the harem and penetrated to her apartments. She was lying on a
purple couch in her dressing-room; a thin silken chemise and yellow
slippers thickly sown with turquoises and pearls composed her entire
dress. Twenty attendants were standing round her, but the moment she
heard Boges she sent her slaves away, sprang up to meet him, and
overwhelmed him with a stream of incoherent questions, all referring to
her enemy Nitetis.

"Gently, gently, my little bird," said Boges, laying his hand on her
shoulder. "If you can't make up your mind to be as quiet as a little
mouse while I tell my story, and not to ask one question, you won't hear
a syllable of it to-day. Yes, indeed, my golden queen, I've so much to
tell that I shall not have finished till to-morrow, if you are to
interrupt me as often as you like. Ah, my little lamb, and I've still so
much to do to-day. First I must be present at an Egyptian donkey-ride;
secondly, I must witness an Egyptian execution . . . but I see I am
anticipating my story; I must begin at the beginning. I'll allow you to
cry, laugh and scream for joy as much as you will, but you're forbidden
to ask a single question until I have finished. I think really I have
deserved these caresses. There, now I am quite at my ease, and can begin.
Once upon a time there was a great king in Persia, who had many wives,
but he loved Phaedime better than the rest, and set her above all the
others. One day the thought struck him that he would ask for the hand of
the King of Egypt's daughter in marriage, and he sent a great embassy to
Sais, with his own brother to do the wooing for him--"

"What nonsense!" cried Phaedime impatiently; "I want to know what has
happened now."

"Patience, patience, my impetuous March wind. If you interrupt me again,
I shall go away and tell my story to the trees. You really need not
grudge me the pleasure of living my successes over again. While I tell
this story, I feel as happy as a sculptor when he puts down his hammer
and gazes at his finished work."

"No, no!" said Phaedime, interrupting him again. "I cannot listen now to
what I know quite well already. I am dying of impatience, and every fresh
report that the eunuchs and slave-girls bring makes it worse. I am in a
perfect fever--I cannot wait. Ask whatever else you like, only deliver me
from this awful suspense. Afterwards I will listen to you for days, if
you wish."

Boges' smile at these words was one of great satisfaction; he rubbed his
hands and answered: "When I was a child I had no greater pleasure than to
watch a fish writhing on the hook; now I have got you, my splendid golden
carp, at the end of my line, and I can't let you go until I have sated
myself on your impatience."

Phaedime sprang up from the couch which she had shared with Boges,
stamping her foot and behaving like a naughty child. This seemed to amuse
the eunuch immensely; he rubbed his hands again and again, laughed till
the tears ran down over his fat cheeks, emptied many a goblet of wine to
the health of the tortured beauty, and then went on with his tale: "It
had not escaped me that Cambyses sent his brother (who had brought
Nitetis from Egypt), out to the war with the Tapuri purely from jealousy.
That proud woman, who was to take no orders from me, seemed to care as
little for the handsome, fair-haired boy as a Jew for pork, or an
Egyptian for white beans. But still I resolved to nourish the king's
jealousy, and use it as a means of rendering this impudent creature
harmless, as she seemed likely to succeed in supplanting us both in his
favor. It was long, however, before I could hit on a feasible plan.

"At last the new-year's festival arrived and all the priests in the
kingdom assembled at Babylon. For eight days the city was full of
rejoicing, feasting and merry-making. At court it was just the same, and
so I had very little time to think of my plans. But just then, when I had
hardly any hope of succeeding, the gracious Amescha cpenta sent a youth
across my path, who seemed created by Angramainjus himself to suit my
plan. Gaumata, the brother of Oropastes, came to Babylon to be present at
the great new-year's sacrifice. I saw him first in his brother's house,
whither I had been sent on a message from the king, and his likeness to
Bartja was so wonderful, that I almost fancied I was looking at an
apparition. When I had finished my business with Oropastes the youth
accompanied me to my carriage. I showed no signs of astonishment at this
remarkable likeness, treated him however, with immense civility, and
begged him to pay me a visit. He came the very same evening. I sent for
my best wine, pressed him to drink, and experienced, not for the first
time, that the juice of the vine has one quality which outweighs all the
rest: it can turn even a silent man into a chatter-box. The youth
confessed that the great attraction which had brought him to Babylon was,
not the sacrifice, but a girl who held the office of upper attendant to
the Egyptian Princess. He said he had loved her since he was a child; but
his ambitious brother had higher views for him, and in order to get the
lovely Mandane out of his way, had procured her this situation. At last
he begged me to arrange an interview with her. I listened good-naturedly,
made a few difficulties, and at last asked him to come the next day and
see how matters were going on. He came, and I told him that it might be
possible to manage it, but only if he would promise to do what I told him
without a question. He agreed to everything, returned to Rhagae at my
wish, and did not come to Babylon again until yesterday, when he arrived
secretly at my house, where I concealed him. Meanwhile Bartja had
returned from the war. The great point now was to excite the king's
jealousy again, and ruin the Egyptian at one blow. I roused the
indignation of your relations through your public humiliation, and so
prepared the way for my plan. Events were wonderfully in my favor. You
know how Nitetis behaved at the birthday banquet, but you do not know
that that very evening she sent a gardener's boy to the palace with a
note for Bartja. The silly fellow managed to get caught and was executed
that very night, by command of the king, who was almost mad with rage;
and I took care that Nitetis should be as entirely cut off from all
communication with her friends, as if she lived in the nest of the
Simurg. You know the rest."

"But how did Gaumata escape?"

"Through a trap-door, of which nobody knows but myself, and which stood
wide open waiting for him. Everything turned out marvellously; I even
succeeded in getting hold of a dagger which Bartja had lost while
hunting, and in laying it under Nitetis' window. In order to get rid of
the prince during these occurrences, and prevent him from meeting the
king or any one else who might be important as a witness, I asked the
Greek merchant Kolxus, who was then at Babylon with a cargo of Milesian
cloth, and who is always willing to do me a favor, because I buy all the
woollen stuffs required for the harem of him, to write a Greek letter,
begging Bartja, in the name of her he loved best, to come alone to the
first station outside the Euphrates gate at the rising of the
Tistar-star. But I had a misfortune with this letter, for the messenger
managed the matter clumsily. He declares that he delivered the letter to
Bartja; but there can be no doubt that he gave it to some one else,
probably to Gaumata, and I was not a little dismayed to hear that Bartja
was sitting over the wine with his friends on that very evening. Still
what had been done could not be undone, and I knew that the witness of
men like your father, Hystaslies, Croesus and Intaphernes, would far
outweigh anything that Darius, Gyges and Araspes could say. The former
would testify against their friend, the latter for him. And so at last
everything went as I would have had it. The young gentlemen are sentenced
to death and Croesus, who as usual, presumed to speak impertinently to
the king, will have lived his last hour by this time. As to the Egyptian
Princess, the secretary in chief has just been commanded to draw up the
following order. Now listen and rejoice, my little dove! "'Nitetis, the
adulterous daughter of the King of Egypt, shall be punished for her
hideous crimes according to the extreme rigor of the law, thus: She shall
be set astride upon an ass and led through the streets of Babylon; and
all men shall see that Cambyses knows how to punish a king's daughter, as
severely as his magistrates would punish the meanest beggar.

--To Boges, chief of the eunuchs, is entrusted the execution of this
order.

By command of King Cambyses. Ariabignes, chief of the Secretaries'

"I had scarcely placed these lines in the sleeve of my robe, when the
king's mother, with her garments rent, and led by Atossa, pressed hastily
into the hall. Weeping and lamentation followed; cries, reproaches,
curses, entreaties and prayers; but the king remained firm, and I verily
believe Kassandane and Atossa would have been sent after Croesus and
Bartja into the other world, if fear of Cyrus's spirit had not prevented
the son, even in this furious rage, from laying hands on his father's
widow. Kassandane, however, did not say one word for Nitetis. She seems
as fully convinced of her guilt as you and I can be. Neither have we
anything to fear from the enamored Gaumata. I have hired three men to
give him a cool bath in the Euphrates, before he gets back to Rhagae. Ah,
ha! the fishes and worms will have a jolly time!"

Phaedime joined in Boges' laughter, bestowed on him all the flattering
names which she had caught from his own smooth tongue, and in token of
her gratitude, hung a heavy chain studded with jewels round his neck with
her own beautiful arms.



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Call everything that is beyond your comprehension a miracle
Never so clever as when we have to find excuses for our own sins
So long as we are able to hope and wish




AN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS.

By Georg Ebers

Volume 7.




CHAPTER V.

Before the sun had reached his mid-day height, the news of what had
happened and of what was still to happen had filled all Babylon. The
streets swarmed with people, waiting impatiently to see the strange
spectacle which the punishment of one of the king's wives, who had proved
false and faithless, promised to afford. The whip-bearers were forced to
use all their authority to keep this gaping crowd in order. Later on in
the day the news that Bartja and his friends were soon to be executed
arrived among the crowd; they were under the influence of the palm-wine,
which was liberally distributed on the king's birthday and the following
days, and could not control their excited feelings; but these now took
quite another form.

Bands of drunken men paraded the streets, crying: "Bartja, the good son
of Cyrus, is to be executed!" The women heard these words in their quiet
apartments, eluded their keepers, forgot their veils, and rushing forth
into the streets, followed the excited and indignant men with cries and
yells. Their pleasure in the thought of seeing a more fortunate sister
humbled, vanished at the painful news that their beloved prince was
condemned to death. Men, women and children raged, stormed and cursed,
exciting one another to louder and louder bursts of indignation. The
workshops were emptied, the merchants closed their warehouses, and the
school-boys and servants, who had a week's holiday on occasion of the
king's birthday, used their freedom to scream louder than any one else,
and often to groan and yell without in the least knowing why.

At last the tumult was so great that the whip-bearers were insufficient
to cope with it, and a detachment of the body-guard was sent to patrol
the streets. At the sight of their shining armor and long lances, the
crowd retired into the side streets, only, however, to reassemble in
fresh numbers when the troops were out of sight.

At the gate, called the Bel gate, which led to the great western
high-road, the throng was thicker than at any other point, for it was
said that through this gate, the one by which she had entered Babylon,
the Egyptian Princess was to be led out of the city in shame and
disgrace. For this reason a larger number of whipbearers were stationed
here, in order to make way for travellers entering the city. Very few
people indeed left the city at all on this day, for curiosity was
stronger than either business or pleasure; those, on the other hand, who
arrived from the country, took up their stations near the gate on hearing
what had drawn the crowd thither.

It was nearly mid-day, and only wanted a few hours to the time fixed for
Nitetis' disgrace, when a caravan approached the gate with great speed.
The first carriage was a so-called harmamaxa, drawn by four horses decked
out with bells and tassels; a two-wheeled cart followed, and last in the
train was a baggage-wagon drawn by mules. A fine, handsome man of about
fifty, dressed as a Persian courtier, and another, much older, in long
white robes, occupied the first carriage. The cart was filled by a number
of slaves in simple blouses, and broad-brimmed felt hats, wearing the
hair cut close to the head. An old man, dressed as a Persian servant,
rode by the side of the cart. The driver of the first carriage had great
difficulty in making way for his gaily-ornamented horses through the
crowd; he was obliged to come to a halt before the gate and call some
whip-bearers to his assistance. "Make way for us!" he cried to the
captain of the police who came up with some of his men; "the royal post
has no time to lose, and I am driving some one, who will make you repent
every minute's delay."

"Softly, my son," answered the official. "Don't you see that it's easier
to-day to get out of Babylon, than to come in? Whom are you driving?"

"A nobleman, with a passport from the king. Come, be quick and make way
for us."

"I don't know about that; your caravan does not look much like royalty."

"What have you to do with that? The pass. . . . "

"I must see it, before I let you into the city." These words were half
meant for the traveller, whom he was scrutinizing very suspiciously.

While the man in the Persian dress was feeling in his sleeve for the
passport, the whip-bearer turned to some comrades who had just come up,
and pointed out the scanty retinue of the travellers, saying: "Did you
ever see such a queer cavalcade? There's something odd about these
strangers, as sure as my name's Giv. Why, the lowest of the king's
carpet-bearers travels with four times as many people, and yet this man
has a royal pass and is dressed like one of those who sit at the royal
table."

At this moment the suspected traveller handed him a little silken roll
scented with musk, sealed with the royal seal, and containing the king's
own handwriting.

The whip-bearer took it and examined the seal. "It is all in order," he
murmured, and then began to study the characters. But no sooner had he
deciphered the first letters than he looked even more sharply than before
at the traveller, and seized the horses' bridles, crying out: "Here, men,
form a guard round the carriage! this is an impostor."

When he had convinced himself that escape was impossible, he went up to
the stranger again and said: "You are using a pass which does not belong
to you. Gyges, the son of Croesus, the man you give yourself out for, is
in prison and is to be executed to-day. You are not in the least like
him, and you will have reason to repent leaving tried to pass for him.
Get out of your carriage and follow me."

The traveller, however, instead of obeying, began to speak in broken
Persian, and begged the officer rather to take a seat by him in the
carriage, for that he had very important news to communicate. The man
hesitated a moment; but on seeing a fresh band of whip-bearers come up,
he nodded to them to stand before the impatient, chafing horses, and got
into the carriage.

The stranger looked at him with a smile and said: "Now, do I look like an
impostor?"

"No; your language proves that you are not a Persian, but yet you look
like a nobleman."

"I am a Greek, and have come hither to render Cambyses an important
service. Gyges is my friend, and lent me his passport when he was in
Egypt, in case I should ever come to Persia. I am prepared to vindicate
my conduct before the king, and have no reason for fear. On the contrary,
the news I bring gives me reason to expect much from his favor. Let me be
taken to Croesus, if this is your duty; he will be surety for me, and
will send back your men, of whom you seem to stand in great need to-day.
Distribute these gold pieces among them, and tell me without further
delay what my poor friend Gyges has done to deserve death, and what is
the reason of all this crowd and confusion."

The stranger said this in bad Persian, but there lay so much dignity and
confidence in his tone, and his gifts were on such a large scale, that
the cringing and creeping servant of despotism felt sure he must be
sitting opposite to a prince, crossed his arms reverentially, and,
excusing himself from his many pressing affairs, began to relate rapidly.
He had been on duty in the great hall during the examination of the
prisoners the night before, and could therefore tell all that had
happened with tolerable accuracy. The Greek followed his tale eagerly,
with many an incredulous shake of his handsome head, however, when the
daughter of Amasis and the son of Cyrus were spoken of as having been
disloyal and false, that sentence of death had been pronounced,
especially on Croesus, distressed him visibly, but the sadness soon
vanished from his quickly-changing features, and gave place to thought;
this in its turn was quickly followed by a joyful look, which could only
betoken that the thinker had arrived at a satisfactory result. His
dignified gravity vanished in a moment; he laughed aloud, struck his
forehead merrily, seized the hand of the astonished captain, and said:

"Should you be glad, if Bartja could be saved?"

"More than I can say."

"Very well, then I will vouch for it, that you shall receive at least two
talents, if you can procure me an interview with the king before the
first execution has taken place."

"How can you ask such a thing of me, a poor captain? . . ."

"Yes, you must, you must!"

"I cannot."

"I know well that it is very difficult, almost impossible, for a stranger
to obtain an audience of your king; but my errand brooks no delay, for I
can prove that Bartja and his friends are not guilty. Do you hear? I can
prove it. Do you think now, you can procure me admittance?"

"How is it possible?"

"Don't ask, but act. Didn't you say Darius was one of the condemned?"

"Yes."

"I have heard, that his father is a man of very high rank."

"He is the first in the kingdom, after the sons of Cyrus."

"Then take me to him at once. He will welcome me when he hears I am able
to save his son."

"Stranger, you are a wonderful being. You speak with so much confidence
that . . ."

"That you feel you may believe me. Make haste then, and call some of your
men to make way for us, and escort us to the palace."

There is nothing, except a doubt, which runs more quickly from mind to
mind, than a hope that some cherished wish may be fulfilled, especially
when this hope has been suggested to us by some one we can trust.

The officer believed this strange traveller, jumped out of the carriage,
flourishing his scourge and calling to his men: "This nobleman has come
on purpose to prove Bartja's innocence, and must be taken to the king at
once. Follow me, my friends, and make way for him!"

Just at that moment a troop of the guards appeared in sight. The captain
of the whip-bearers went up to their commander, and, seconded by the
shouts of the crowd, begged him to escort the stranger to the palace.

During this colloquy the traveller had mounted his servant's horse, and
now followed in the wake of the Persians.

The good news flew like wind through the huge city. As the riders
proceeded, the crowd fell back more willingly, and loader and fuller grew
the shouts of joy until at last their march was like a triumphal
procession.

In a few minutes they drew up before the palace; but before the brazen
gates had opened to admit them, another train came slowly into sight. At
the head rode a grey-headed old man; his robes were brown, and rent, in
token of mourning, the mane and tail of his horse had been shorn off and
the creature colored blue.--It was Hystaspes, coming to entreat mercy for
his son.

The whip-bearer, delighted at this sight, threw himself down before the
old man with a cry of joy, and with crossed arms told him what confidence
the traveller had inspired him with.

Hystaspes beckoned to the stranger; he rode up, bowed gracefully and
courteously to the old man, without dismounting, and confirmed the words
of the whip bearer. Hystaspes seemed to feel fresh confidence too after
hearing the stranger, for he begged him to follow him into the palace and
to wait outside the door of the royal apartment, while he himself,
conducted by the head chamberlain, went in to the king.

When his old kinsman entered, Cambyses was lying on his purple couch,
pale as death. A cup-bearer was kneeling on the ground at his feet,
trying to collect the broken fragments of a costly Egyptian drinking-cup
which the king had thrown down impatiently because its contents had not
pleased his taste. At some distance stood a circle of court-officials, in
whose faces it was easy to read that they were afraid of their ruler's
wrath, and preferred keeping as far from him as possible. The dazzling
light and oppressive heat of a Babylonian May day came in through the
open windows, and not a sound was to be heard in the great room, except
the whining of a large dog of the Epirote breed, which had just received
a tremendous kick from Cambyses for venturing to fawn on his master, and
was the only being that ventured to disturb the solemn stillness. Just
before Hystaspes was led in by the chamberlain, Cambyses had sprung up
from his couch. This idle repose had become unendurable, he felt
suffocated with pain and anger. The dog's howl suggested a new idea to
his poor tortured brain, thirsting for forgetfulness.

"We will go out hunting!" he shouted to the poor startled courtiers. The
master of the hounds, the equerries, and huntsmen hastened to obey his
orders. He called after them, "I shall ride the unbroken horse Reksch;
get the falcons ready, let all the dogs out and order every one to come,
who can throw a spear. We'll clear the preserves!"

He then threw himself down on his divan again, as if these words had
quite exhausted his powerful frame, and did not see that Hystaspes had
entered, for his sullen gaze was fixed on the motes playing in the
sunbeams that glanced through the window.

Hystaspes did not dare to address him; but he stationed himself in the
window so as to break the stream of motes and thus draw attention to
himself.

At first Cambyses looked angrily at him and his rent garments, and then
asked with a bitter smile; "What do you want?"

"Victory to the king! Your poor servant and uncle has come to entreat his
ruler's mercy."

"Then rise and go! You know that I have no mercy for perjurers and false
swearers. 'Tis better to have a dead son than a dishonorable one."

"But if Bartja should not be guilty, and Darius . . ."

"You dare to question the justice of my sentence?"

"That be far from me. Whatever the king does is good, and cannot be
gainsaid; but still . . ."

"Be silent! I will not hear the subject mentioned again. You are to be
pitied as a father; but have these last few hours brought me any joy? Old
man, I grieve for you, but I have as little power to rescind his
punishment as you to recall his crime."

"But if Bartja really should not be guilty--if the gods . . ."

"Do you think the gods will come to the help of perjurers and deceivers?"

"No, my King; but a fresh witness has appeared."

"A fresh witness? Verily, I would gladly give half my kingdom, to be
convinced of the innocence of men so nearly related to me."

"Victory to my lord, the eye of the realm! A Greek is waiting outside,
who seems, to judge by his figure and bearing, one of the noblest of his
race."

The king laughed bitterly: "A Greek! Ah, ha! perhaps some relation to
Bartja's faithful fair one! What can this stranger know of my family
affairs? I know these beggarly Ionians well. They are impudent enough to
meddle in everything, and think they can cheat us with their sly tricks.
How much have you had to pay for this new witness, uncle? A Greek is as
ready with a lie as a Magian with his spells, and I know they'll do
anything for gold. I'm really curious to see your witness. Call him in.
But if he wants to deceive me, he had better remember that where the head
of a son of Cyrus is about to fall, a Greek head has but very little
chance." And the king's eyes flashed with anger as he said these words.
Hystaspes, however, sent for the Greek.

Before he entered, the chamberlains fastened the usual cloth before his
mouth, and commanded him to cast himself on the ground before the king.
The Greek's bearing, as he approached, under the king's penetrating
glance, was calm and noble; he fell on his face, and, according to the
Persian custom, kissed the ground.

His agreeable and handsome appearance, and the calm and modest manner in
which he bore the king's gaze, seemed to make a favorable impression on
the latter; he did not allow him to remain long on the earth, and asked
him in a by no means unfriendly tone: "Who are you?"

"I am a Greek nobleman. My name is Phanes, and Athens is my home. I have
served ten years as commander of the Greek mercenaries in Egypt, and not
ingloriously."

"Are you the man, to whose clever generalship the Egyptians were indebted
for their victories in Cyprus?"

"I am."

"What has brought you to Persia?"

"The glory of your name, Cambyses, and the wish to devote my arms and
experience to your service."

"Nothing else? Be sincere, and remember that one single lie may cost your
life. We Persians have different ideas of truth from the Greeks."

"Lying is hateful to me too, if only, because, as a distortion and
corruption of what is noblest, it seems unsightly in my eyes."

"Then speak."

"There was certainly a third reason for my coming hither, which I should
like to tell you later. It has reference to matters of the greatest
importance, which it will require a longer time to discuss; but to-day--"

"Just to-day I should like to hear something new. Accompany me to the
chase. You come exactly at the right time, for I never had more need of
diversion than now."

"I will accompany you with pleasure, if. . ."

"No conditions to the king! Have you had much practice in hunting?"

"In the Libyan desert I have killed many a lion."

"Then come, follow me."

In the thought of the chase the king seemed to have thrown off all his
weakness and roused himself to action; he was just leaving the hall, when
Hystaspes once more threw himself at his feet, crying with up-raised
hands: "Is my son--is your brother, to die innocent? By the soul of your
father, who used to call me his truest friend, I conjure you to listen to
this noble stranger."

Cambyses stood still. The frown gathered on his brow again, his voice
sounded like a menace and his eyes flashed as he raised his hand and said
to the Greek: "Tell me what you know; but remember that in every untrue
word, you utter your own sentence of death."

Phanes heard this threat with the greatest calmness, and answered, bowing
gracefully as he spoke: "From the sun and from my lord the king, nothing
can be hid. What power has a poor mortal to conceal the truth from one so
mighty? The noble Hystaspes has said, that I am able to prove your
brother innocent. I will only say, that I wish and hope I may succeed in
accomplishing anything so great and beautiful. The gods have at least