our work so easy? King Euergetes and your friend Eulaeus send you their
greetings. You owe it to them that I leave you even your ready money; I
wish I could only carry away that dead lump there!"

During this rough speech Serapion was lying on the ground in great agony;
he could only clench his fists, and groan out heavy curses with his lips
which were now getting parched. His sight was as yet undimmed, and he
could distinctly see by the light of the moon, which now shone forth from
a broad cloudless opening in the sky, that the murderer attempted to
carry away his fallen comrade, and then, after raising his head to listen
for a moment sprang off with flying steps away into the desert. But the
recluse now lost consciousness, and when some minutes later he once more
opened his eyes his head was resting softly in the lap of a young girl,
and it was the voice of his beloved Klea that asked him tenderly.

"You poor dear father! How came you here in the desert, and into the
hands of these murderers? Do you know me--your Klea? And he who is
looking for your wounds--which are not visible at all--he is the Roman
Publius Scipio. Now first tell us where the dagger hit you that I may
bind it up quickly--I am half a physician, and understand these things as
you know."

The recluse tried to turn his head towards Klea's, but the effort was in
vain, and he said in a low voice: "Prop me up against the slanting wall
of the tomb shrine yonder; and you, child, sit down opposite to me, for I
would fain look at you while I die. Gently, gently, my friend Publius,
for I feel as if all my limbs were made of Phoenician glass, and might
break at the least touch. Thank you, my young friend--you have strong
arms, and you may lift me a little higher yet. So--now I can bear it;
nay, I am well content, I am to be envied--for the moon shows me your
dear face, my child, and I see tears on your cheeks, tears for me, a
surly old man. Aye, it is good, it is very good to die thus."

"Oh, father, father!" cried Klea. "You must not speak so. You must live,
you must not die; for see, Publius here asks me to be his wife, and the
Immortals only can know how glad I am to go with him, and Irene is to
stay with us, and be my sister and his. That must make you happy,
father.--But tell us, pray tell us where the wound hurts that the
murderer gave you?"

"Children, children," murmured the anchorite, and a happy smile parted
his lips. "The gracious gods are merciful in permitting me to see
that--aye, merciful to me, and to effect that end I would have died
twenty deaths."

Klea pressed his now cold hand to her lips as he spoke and again asked,
though hardly able to control her voice for tears:

"But the wound, father--where is the wound?" "Let be, let be," replied
Serapion. "It is acrid poison, not a dagger or dart that has undone my
strength. And I can depart in peace, for I am no longer needed for
anything. You, Publius, must now take my place with this child, and will
do it better than I. Klea, the wife of Publius Scipio! I indeed have
dreamt that such a thing might come to pass, and I always knew, and have
said to myself a thousand times that I now say to you my son: This girl
here, this Klea is of a good sort, and worthy only of the noblest. I give
her to you, my son Publius, and now join your hands before me here--for I
have always been like a father to her."

"That you have indeed," sobbed Klea. "And it was no doubt for my sake, and
to protect me, that you quitted your retreat, and have met your death."

"It was fate, it was fate," stammered the old man.

"The assassins were in ambush for me," cried Publius, seizing Serapion's
hand, "the murderers who fell on you instead of me. Once more, where is
your wound?"

"My destiny fulfils itself," replied the recluse. "No locked-up cell, no
physician, no healing herb can avail against the degrees of Fate. I am
dying of a serpent's sting as it was foretold at my birth; and if I had
not gone out to seek Klea a serpent would have slipped into my cage, and
have ended my life there. Give me your hands, my children, for a deadly
chill is creeping over me, and its cold hand already touches my heart."

For a few minutes his voice failed him, and then he said softly:

"One thing I would fain ask of you. My little possessions, which were
intended for you and Irene, you will now use to bury me. I do not wish to
be burnt, as they did with my father--no, I should wish to be finely
embalmed, and my mummy to be placed with my mother's. If indeed we may
meet again after death--and I believe we shall--I would rather see her
once more than any one, for she loved me so much--and I feel now as if I
were a child again, and could throw my arms round her neck. In another
life, perhaps, I may not be the child of misfortune that I have been in
this--in another life--now it grips my heart--in another----Children
whatever joys have smiled on me in this, children, it was to you I have
owed it--Klea, to you--and there is my little Irene too----"

These were the last words of Serapion the recluse; he fell back with a
deep sigh and was dead. Klea and Publius tenderly closed his faithful
eyes.




CHAPTER XXIII.

The unwonted tumult that had broken the stillness of the night had not
been unobserved in the Greek Serapeum any more than in the Egyptian
temple adjoining the Apis-tombs; but perfect silence once more reigned in
the Necropolis, when at last the great gate of the sanctuary of
Osiris-Apis was thrown open, and a little troop of priests arranged in a
procession came out from it with a vanguard of temple servants, who had
been armed with sacrificial knives and axes.

Publius and Klea, who were keeping faithful watch by the body of their
dead friend, saw them approaching, and the Roman said:

"It would have been even less right in such a night as this to let you
proceed to one of the temples with out my escort than to have let our
poor friend remain unwatched."

"Once more I assure you," said Klea eagerly "that we should have thrown
away every chance of fulfilling Serapion's last wish as he intended, if
during our absence a jackal or a hyena had mutilated his body, and I am
happy to be able at least to prove to my friend, now he is dead, how
grateful I am for all the kindness he showed us while he lived. We ought
to be grateful even to the departed, for how still and blissful has this
hour been while guarding his body. Storm and strife brought us
together--"

"And here," interrupted Publius, "we have concluded a happy and permanent
treaty of peace for the rest of our lives."

"I accept it willingly," replied Klea, looking down, "for I am the
vanquished party."

"But you have already confessed," said Publius, "that you were never so
unhappy as when you thought you had asserted your strength against mine,
and I can tell you that you never seemed to me so great and yet so
lovable as when in the midst of your triumph, you gave up the battle for
lost. Such an hour as that, a man experiences but once in his lifetime. I
have a good memory, but if ever I should forget it, and be angry and
passionate--as is sometimes my way--remind me of this spot, or of this
our dead friend, and my hard mood will melt, and I shall remember that
you once were ready to give your life for mine. I will make it easy for
you, for in honor of this man, who sacrificed his life for yours and who
was actually murdered in my stead, I promise to add his name of Serapion
to my own, and I will confirm this vow in Rome. He has behaved to us as a
father, and it behoves me to reverence his memory as though I had been
his son. An obligation was always unendurable to me, and how I shall ever
make full restitution to you for what you have done for me this night I
do not yet know--and yet I should be ready and willing every day and
every hour to accept from you some new gift of love. 'A debtor,' says the
proverb, 'is half a prisoner,' and so I must entreat you to deal
mercifully with your conquerer."

He took her hand, stroked back the hair from her forehead, and touched it
lightly with his lips. Then he went on:

"Come with me now that we may commit the dead into the hands of these
priests."

Klea once more bent over the remains of the anchorite, she hung the
amulet he had given her for her journey round his neck, and then silently
obeyed her lover. When they came up with the little procession Publius
informed the chief priest how he had found Serapion, and requested him to
fetch away the corpse, and to cause it to be prepared for interment in
the costliest manner in the embalming house attached to their temple.
Some of the temple-servants took their places to keep watch over the
body, and after many questions addressed to Publius, and after examining
too the body of the assassin who had been slain, the priests returned to
the temple.

As soon as the two lovers were left alone again Klea seized the Roman's
hand, and said passionately: "You have spoken many tender words to me,
and I thank you for them; but I am wont always to be honest, and less
than any one could I deceive you. Whatever your love bestows upon me will
always be a free gift, since you owe me nothing at all and I owe you
infinitely much; for I know now that you have snatched my sister from the
clutches of the mightiest in the land while I, when I heard that Irene
had gone away with you, and that murder threatened your life, believed
implicitly that on the contrary you had lured the child away to become
your sweetheart, and then--then I hated you, and then--I must confess
it\--in my horrible distraction I wished you dead!"

"And you think that wish can offend me or hurt me?" said Publius. "No, my
child; it only proves to me that you love me as I could wish to be loved.
Such rage under such circumstances is but the dark shadow cast by love,
and is as inseparable from love as from any tangible body. Where it is
absent there is no such thing as real love present--only an airy vision,
a phantom, a mockery. Such an one as Klea does not love nor hate by
halves; but there are mysterious workings in your soul as in that of
every other woman. How did the wish that you could see me dead turn into
the fearful resolve to let yourself be killed in my stead?"

"I saw the murderers," answered Klea, "and I was overwhelmed with horror
of them and of their schemes, and of all that had to do with them; I
would not destroy Irene's happiness, and I loved you even more deeply
than I hated you; and then--but let us not speak of it."

"Nay-tell me all."

"Then there was a moment--"

"Well, Klea?"

"Then--in these last hours, while we have been sitting hand in hand by
the body of poor Serapion, and hardly speaking, I have felt it all over
again--then the midnight hymn of the priests fell upon my heart, and as I
lifted up my soul in prayer at their pious chant I felt as if all my
inmost heart had been frozen and hardened, and was reviving again to new
life and tenderness and warmth. I could not help thinking of all that is
good and right, and I made up my mind to sacrifice myself for you and for
Irene's happiness far more quickly and easily than I could give it up
afterwards. My father was one of the followers of Zeno--"

"And you," interrupted Publius, "thought you were acting in accordance
with the doctrine of the Stoa. I also am familiar with it, but I do not
know the man who is so virtuous and wise that he can live and act, as
that teaching prescribes, in the heat of the struggle of life, or who is
the living representative in flesh and blood of the whole code of ethics,
not sinning against one of its laws and embodying it in himself. Did you
ever hear of the peace of mind, the lofty indifference and equanimity of
the Stoic sages? You look as if the question offended you, but you did
not by any means know how to attain that magnanimity, for I have seen you
fail in it; indeed it is contrary to the very nature of woman, and--the
gods be thanked--you are not a Stoic in woman's dress, but a woman--a
true woman, as you should be. You have learned nothing from Zeno and
Chrysippus but what any peasant girl might learn from an honest father,
to be true I mean and to love virtue. Be content with that; I am more
than satisfied."

"Oh, Publius," exclaimed the girl, grasping her friend's hand. "I
understand you, and I know that you are right. A woman must be miserable
so long as she fancies herself strong, and imagines and feels that she
needs no other support than her own firm will and determination, no other
counsel than some wise doctrines which she accepts and adheres to. Before
I could call you mine, and went on my own way, proud of my own virtue, I
was--I cannot bear to think of it--but half a soul, and took it for a
whole; but now--if now fate were to snatch you from me, I should still
know where to seek the support on which I might lean in need and despair.
Not in the Stoa, not in herself can a woman find such a stay, but in
pious dependence on the help of the gods."

"I am a man," interrupted Publius, "and yet I sacrifice to them and yield
ready obedience to their decrees."

"But," cried Klea, "I saw yesterday in the temple of Serapis the meanest
things done by his ministers, and it pained me and disgusted me, and I
lost my hold on the divinity; but the extremest anguish and deepest love
have led me to find it again. I can no longer conceive of the power that
upholds the universe as without love nor of the love that makes men happy
as other than divine. Any one who has once prayed for a being they love
as I prayed for you in the desert can never again forget how to pray.
Such prayers indeed are not in vain. Even if no god can hear them there
is a strengthening virtue in such prayer itself.

"Now I will go contentedly back to our temple till you fetch me, for I
know that the discreetest, wisest, and kindest Beings will watch over our
love."

"You will not accompany me to Apollodorus and Irene?" asked Publius in
surprise.

"No," answered Klea firmly. "Rather take me back to the Serapeum. I have
not yet been released from the duties I undertook there, and it will be
more worthy of us both that Asclepiodorus should give you the daughter of
Philotas as your wife than that you should be married to a runaway
serving-maid of Serapis."

Publius considered for a moment, and then he said eagerly:

"Still I would rather you should come with me. You must be dreadfully
tired, but I could take you on my mule to Apollodorus. I care little for
what men say of me when I am sure I am doing right, and I shall know how
to protect you against Euergetes whether you wish to be readmitted to the
temple or accompany me to the sculptor. But do come--it will be hard on
me to part from you again. The victor does not lay aside the crown when
he has just won it in hard fight."

"Still I entreat you to take me back to the Serapeum," said Klea, laying
her hand in that of Publius.

"Is the way to Memphis too long, are you utterly tired out?"

"I am much wearied by agitation and terror, by anxiety and happiness,
still I could very well bear the ride; but I beg of you to take me back
to the temple."

"What--although you feel strong enough to remain with me, and in spite of
my desire to conduct you at once to Apollodorus and Irene?" asked Publius
astonished, and he withdrew his hand. "The mule is waiting out there.
Lean on my arm. Come and do as I request you."

"No, Publius, no. You are my lord and master, and I will always obey you
unresistingly. In one thing only let me have my own way, now and in the
future. As to what becomes a woman I know better than you, it is a thing
that none but a woman can decide."

Publius made no reply to these words, but he kissed her, and threw his
arm round her; and so, clasped in each other's embrace, they reached the
gate of the Serapeum, there to part for a few hours.

Klea was let into the temple, and as soon as she had learned that little
Philo was much better, she threw herself on her humble bed.

How lonely her room seemed, how intolerably empty without Irene. In
obedience to a hasty impulse she quitted her own bed, lay herself down on
her sister's, as if that brought her nearer to the absent girl, and
closed her eyes; but she was too much excited and too much exhausted to
sleep soundly. Swiftly-changing visions broke in again and again on her
sincerely devotional thoughts and her restless half-sleep, painting to
her fancy now wondrously bright images, and now most horrible ones--now
pictures of exquisite happiness, and again others of dismal melancholy.
And all the time she imagined she heard distant music and was being
rocked up and down by unseen hands.

Still the image of the Roman overpowered all the rest.

At last a refreshing sleep sealed her eyes more closely, and in her dream
she saw her lover's house in Rolne, his stately father, his noble
mother--who seemed to her to bear a likeness to her own mother--and the
figures of a number of tall and dignified senators. She felt herself much
embarrassed among all these strangers, who looked enquiringly at her, and
then kindly held out their hands to her. Even the dignified matron came
to meet her with effusion, and clasped her to her breast; but just as
Publius had opened his to her and she flew to his heart, and she fancied
she could feel his lips pressed to hers, the woman, who called her every
morning, knocked at her door and awoke her.

This time she had been happy in her dream and would willingly have slept
again; but she forced herself to rise from her bed, and before the sun
was quite risen she was standing by the Well of the Sun and, not to
neglect her duty, she filled both the jars for the altar of the god.

Tired and half-overcome by sleep, she set the golden vessels in their
place, and sat down to rest at the foot of a pillar, while a priest
poured out the water she had brought, as a drink-offering on the ground.

It was now broad daylight as she looked out into the forecourt through
the many-pillared hall of the temple; the early sunlight played round the
columns, and its slanting rays, at this hour, fell through the tall
doorway far into the great hall which usually lay in twilight gloom.

The sacred spot looked very solemn in her eyes, sublime, and as it were
reconsecrated, and obeying an irresistible impulse she leaned against a
column, and lifting up her arms, and raising her eyes, she uttered her
thankfulness to the god for his loving kindness, and found but one thing
to pray for, namely that he would preserve Publius and Irene, and all
mankind, from sorrow and anxiety and deception.

She felt as if her heart had till now been benighted and dark, and had
just disclosed some latent light--as if it had been withered and dry, and
was now blossoming in fresh verdure and brightly-colored flowers.

To act virtuously is granted even to those who, relying on themselves.
earnestly strive to lead moral, just and honest lives; but the happy
union of virtue and pure inner happiness is solemnized only in the heart
which is able to seek and find a God--be it Serapis or Jehovah.

At the door of the forecourt Klea was met by Asclepiodorus, who desired
her to follow him. The high-priest had learned that she had secretly
quitted the temple: when she was alone with him in a quiet room he asked
her gravely and severely, why she had broken the laws and left the
sanctuary without his permission. Klea told him, that terror for her
sister had driven her to Memphis, and that she there had heard that
Publics Cornelius Scipio, the Roman who had taken up her father's cause,
had saved Irene from king Euergetes, and placed her in safety, and that
then she had set out on her way home in the middle of the night.

The high-priest seemed pleased at her news, and when she proceeded to
inform him that Serapion had forsaken his cell out of anxiety for her,
and had met his death in the desert, he said:

"I knew all that, my child. May the gods forgive the recluse, and may
Serapis show him mercy in the other world in spite of his broken oath!
His destiny had to be fulfilled. You, child, were born under happier
stars than he, and it is within my power to let you go unpunished. This I
do willingly; and Klea, if my daughter Andromeda grows up, I can only
wish that she may resemble you; this is the highest praise that a father
can bestow on another man's daughter. As head of this temple I command
you to fill your jars to-day, as usual, till one who is worthy of you
comes to me, and asks you for his wife. I suspect he will not be long to
wait for."

"How do you know, father,--" asked Klea, coloring.

"I can read it in your eyes," said Asclepiodorus, and he gazed kindly
after her as, at a sign from him, she quitted the room.

As soon as he was alone he sent for his secretary and said:

"King Philometor has commanded that his brother Euergetes' birthday shall
be kept to-day in Memphis. Let all the standards be hoisted, and the
garlands of flowers which will presently arrive from Arsinoe be fastened
up on the pylons; have the animals brought in for sacrifice, and arrange
a procession for the afternoon. All the dwellers in the temple must be
carefully attired. But there is another thing; Komanus has been here, and
has promised us great things in Euergetes' name, and declares that he
intends to punish his brother Philometor for having abducted a
girl--Irene--attached to our temple. At the same time he requests me to
send Klea the water-bearer, the sister of the girl who was carried off,
to Memphis to be examined--but this may be deferred. For to-day we will
close the temple gates, solemnize the festival among ourselves, and allow
no one to enter our precincts for sacrifice and prayer till the fate of
the sisters is made certain. If the kings themselves make their
appearance, and want to bring their troops in, we will receive them
respectfully as becomes us, but we will not give up Klea, but consign her
to the holy of holies, which even Euergetes dare not enter without me;
for in giving up the girl we sacrifice our dignity, and with that
ourselves."

The secretary bowed, and then announced that two of the prophets of
Osiris-Apis desired to speak with Asclepiodorus.

Klea had met these men in the antechamber as she quitted the high-priest,
and had seen in the hand of one of them the key with which she had opened
the door of the rock-tomb. She had started, and her conscience urged her
to go at once to the priest-smith, and tell him how ill she had fulfilled
her errand.

When she entered his room Krates was sitting at his work with his feet
wrapped up, and he was rejoiced to see her, for his anxiety for her and
for Irene had disturbed his night's rest, and towards morning his alarm
had been much increased by a frightful dream.

Klea, encouraged by the friendly welcome of the old man, who was usually
so surly, confessed that she had neglected to deliver the key to the
smith in the city, that she had used it to open the Apis-tombs, and had
then forgotten to take it out of the new lock. At this confession the old
man broke out violently, he flung his file, and the iron bolt at which he
was working, on to his work-table, exclaiming:

"And this is the way you executed your commission. It is the first time I
ever trusted a woman, and this is my reward! All this will bring evil on
you and on me, and when it is found out that the sanctuary of Apis has
been desecrated through my fault and yours, they will inflict all sorts
of penance on me, and with very good reason--as for you, they will punish
you with imprisonment and starvation."

"And yet, father," Klea calmly replied, "I feel perfectly guiltless, and
perhaps in the same fearful situation you might not have acted
differently."

"You think so--you dare to believe such a thing?" stormed the old man.
"And if the key and perhaps even the lock have been stolen, and if I have
done all that beautiful and elaborate work in vain?"

"What thief would venture into the sacred tombs?" asked Klea doubtfully.

"What! are they so unapproachable?" interrupted Krates. "Why, a miserable
creature like you even dared to open them. But only wait--only wait; if
only my feet were not so painful--"

"Listen to me," said the girl, going closer up to the indignant smith.
"You are discreet, as you proved to me only yesterday; and if I were to
tell you all I went through and endured last night you would certainly
forgive me, that I know."

"If you are not altogether mistaken!" shouted the smith. "Those must be
strange things indeed which could induce me to let such neglect of duty
and such a misdemeanor pass unpunished."

And strange things they were indeed which the old man now had to hear,
for when Klea had ended her narrative of all that had occurred during the
past night, not her eyes only but those of the old smith too were wet
with tears.

"These accursed legs!" he muttered, as his eyes met the enquiring glance
of the young girl, and he wiped the salt dew from his cheeks with the
sleeve of his coat. "Aye-a swelled foot like mine is painful, child, and
a cripple such as I am is not always strong-minded. Old women grow like
men, and old men grow like women. Ah! old age--it is bad to have such
feet as mine, but what is worse is that memory fades as years advance. I
believe now that I left the key myself in the door of the Apis-tombs last
evening, and I will send at once to Asclepiodorus, so that he may beg the
Egyptians up there to forgive me--they are indebted to me for many small
jobs."




CHAPTER XXIV.

All the black masses of clouds which during the night had darkened the
blue sky and hidden the light of the moon had now completely disappeared.
The north-east wind which rose towards morning had floated them away, and
Zeus, devourer of the clouds, had swallowed them up to the very last. It
was a glorious morning, and as the sun rose in the heavens, and pierced
and burnt up with augmenting haste the pale mist that hovered over the
Nile, and the vapor that hung--a delicate transparent veil of bluish-grey
bombyx-gauze--over the eastern slopes, the cool shades of night vanished
too from the dusky nooks of the narrow town which lay, mile-wide, along
the western bank of the river. And the intensely brilliant sunlight which
now bathed the streets and houses, the palaces and temples, the gardens
and avenues, and the innumerable vessels in the harbor of Memphis, was
associated with a glow of warmth which was welcome even there in the
early morning of a winter's day.

Boats' captains and sailors--were hurrying down to the shore of the Nile
to avail themselves of the northeast breeze to travel southwards against
the current, and sails were being hoisted and anchors heaved, to an
accompaniment of loud singing. The quay was so crowded with ships that it
was difficult to understand how those that were ready could ever
disentangle themselves, and find their way through those remaining
behind; but each somehow found an outlet by which to reach the navigable
stream, and ere long the river was swarming with boats, all sailing
southwards, and giving it the appearance of an endless perspective of
camp tents set afloat.

Long strings of camels with high packs, of more lightly laden asses, and
of dark-colored slaves, were passing down the road to the harbor; these
last were singing, as yet unhurt by the burden of the day, and the
overseers' whips were still in their girdles.

Ox-carts were being laden or coming down to the landing-place with goods,
and the ship's captains were already beginning to collect round the
different great merchants--of whom the greater number were Greeks, and
only a few dressed in Egyptian costume--in order to offer their freight
for sale, or to hire out their vessels for some new expedition.

The greatest bustle and noise were at a part of the quay where, under
large tents, the custom-house officials were busily engaged, for most
vessels first cast anchor at Memphis to pay duty or Nile-toll on the
"king's table." The market close to the harbor also was a gay scene;
there dates and grain, the skins of beasts, and dried fish were piled in
great heaps, and bleating and bellowing herds of cattle were driven
together to be sold to the highest bidder.

Soldiers on foot and horseback in gaudy dresses and shining armor,
mingled with the busy crowd, like peacocks and gaudy cocks among the
fussy swarm of hens in a farm yard; lordly courtiers, in holiday dresses
of showy red, blue and yellow stuffs, were borne by slaves in litters or
standing on handsome gilt chariots; garlanded priests walked about in
long white robes, and smartly dressed girls were hurrying down to the
taverns near the harbor to play the flute or to dance.

The children that were playing about among this busy mob looked
covetously at the baskets piled high with cakes, which the bakers' boys
were carrying so cleverly on their heads. The dogs innumerable, put up
their noses as the dealers in such dainties passed near them, and many of
them set up longing howls when a citizen's wife came by with her slaves,
carrying in their baskets freshly killed fowls, and juicy meats to roast
for the festival, among heaps of vegetables and fruits.

Gardeners' boys and young girls were bearing garlands of flowers,
festoons and fragrant nosegays, some piled on large trays which they
carried two and two, some on smaller boards or hung on cross poles for
one to carry; at that part of the quay where the king's barge lay at
anchor numbers of workmen were busily employed in twining festoons of
greenery and flowers round the flag-staffs, and in hanging them with
lanterns.

Long files of the ministers of the god-representing the five phyla or
orders of the priesthood of the whole country--were marching, in holiday
attire, along the harbor-road in the direction of the palace, and the
jostling crowd respectfully made way for them to pass. The gleams of
festal splendor seemed interwoven with the laborious bustle on the quay
like scraps of gold thread in a dull work-a-day garment.

Euergetes, brother of the king, was keeping his birthday in Memphis
to-day, and all the city was to take part in the festivities.

At the first hour after sunrise victims had been sacrificed in the temple
of Ptah, the most ancient, and most vast of the sanctuaries of the
venerable capital of the Pharaohs; the sacred Apis-bull, but recently
introduced into the temple, was hung all over with golden ornaments;
early in the morning Euergetes had paid his devotions to the sacred
beast--which had eaten out of his hand, a favorable augury of success for
his plans; and the building in which the Apis lived, as well as the
stalls of his mother and of the cows kept for him, had been splendidly
decked with flowers.

The citizens of Memphis were not permitted to pursue their avocations or
ply their trades beyond the hour of noon; then the markets, the booths,
the workshops and schools were to be closed, and on the great square in
front of the temple of Ptah, where the annual fair was held, dramas both
sacred and profane, and shows of all sorts were to be seen, heard and
admired by men, women and children--provided at the expense of the two
kings.

Two men of Alexandria, one an AEolian of Lesbos, and the other a Hebrew
belonging to the Jewish community, but who was not distinguishable by
dress or accent from his Greek fellow-citizens, greeted each other on the
quay opposite the landing-place for the king's vessels, some of which
were putting out into the stream, spreading their purple sails and
dipping their prows inlaid with ivory and heavily gilt.

"In a couple of hours," said the Jew, "I shall be travelling homewards.
May I offer you a place in my boat, or do you propose remaining here to
assist at the festival and not starting till to-morrow morning? There are
all kinds of spectacles to be seen, and when it is dark a grand
illumination is to take place."

"What do I care for their barbarian rubbish?" answered the Lesbian. "Why,
the Egyptian music alone drives me to distraction. My business is
concluded. I had inspected the goods brought from Arabia and India by way
of Berenice and Coptos, and had selected those I needed before the vessel
that brought them had moored in the Mariotic harbor, and other goods will
have reached Alexandria before me. I will not stay an hour longer than is
necessary in this horrible place, which is as dismal as it is huge.
Yesterday I visited the gymnasium and the better class of
baths--wretched, I call them! It is an insult to the fish-market and the
horse-ponds of Alexandria to compare them with them."

"And the theatre!" exclaimed the Jew. "The exterior one can bear to look
at--but the acting! Yesterday they gave the 'Thals' of Menander, and I
assure you that in Alexandria the woman who dared to impersonate the
bewitching and cold-hearted Hetaira would have been driven off the
stage--they would have pelted her with rotten apples. Close by me there
sat a sturdy, brown Egyptian, a sugar-baker or something of the kind, who
held his sides with laughing, and yet, I dare swear, did not understand a
word of the comedy. But in Memphis it is the fashion to know Greek, even
among the artisans. May I hope to have you as my guest?"

"With pleasure, with pleasure!" replied the Lesbian. "I was about to look
out for a boat. Have you done your business to your satisfaction?"

"Tolerably!" answered the Jew. "I have purchased some corn from Upper
Egypt, and stored it in the granaries here. The whole of that row yonder
were to let for a mere song, and so we get off cheaply when we let the
wheat lie here instead of at Alexandria where granaries are no longer to
be had for money."

"That is very clever!" replied the Greek. "There is bustle enough here in
the harbor, but the many empty warehouses and the low rents prove how
Memphis is going down. Formerly this city was the emporium for all
vessels, but now for the most part they only run in to pay the toll and
to take in supplies for their crews. This populous place has a big
stomach, and many trades drive a considerable business here, but most of
those that fail here are still carried on in Alexandria."

"It is the sea that is lacking," interrupted the Jew; "Memphis trades
only with Egypt, and we with the whole world. The merchant who sends his
goods here only load camels, and wretched asses, and flat-bottomed
Nile-boats, while we in our harbors freight fine seagoing vessels. When
the winter-storms are past our house alone sends twenty triremes with
Egyptian wheat to Ostia and to Pontus; and your Indian and Arabian goods,
your imports from the newly opened Ethiopian provinces, take up less
room, but I should like to know how many talents your trade amounted to
in the course of the past year. Well then, farewell till we meet again on
my boat; it is called the Euphrosyne, and lies out there, exactly
opposite the two statues of the old king--who can remember these stiff
barbarian names? In three hours we start. I have a good cook on board,
who is not too particular as to the regulations regarding food by which
my countrymen in Palestine live, and you will find a few new books and
some capital wine from Byblos."

"Then we need not dread a head-wind," laughed the Lesbian. "We meet again
in three hours."

The Israelite waved his hand to his travelling companion, and proceeded
at first along the shore under the shade of an alley of sycamores with
their broad unsymmetrical heads of foliage, but presently he turned aside
into a narrow street which led from the quay to the city. He stood still
for a moment opposite the entrance of the corner house, one side of which
lay parallel to the stream while the other--exhibiting the front door,
and a small oil-shop--faced the street; his attention had been attracted
to it by a strange scene; but he had still much to attend to before
starting on his journey, and he soon hurried on again without noticing a
tall man who came towards him, wearing a travelling-hat and a cloak such
as was usually adapted only for making journeys.

The house at which the Jew had gazed so fixedly was that of Apollodorus,
the sculptor, and the man who was so strangely dressed for a walk through
the city at this hour of the day was the Roman, Publius Scipio. He seemed
to be still more attracted by what was going on in the little stall by
the sculptor's front door, than even the Israelite had been; he leaned
against the fence of the garden opposite the shop, and stood for some
time gazing and shaking his head at the strange things that were to be
seen within.

A wooden counter supported by the wall of the house-which was used by
customers to lay their money on and which generally held a few
oil-jars-projected a little way into the street like a window-board, and
on this singular couch sat a distinguished looking youth in a light blue,
sleeveless chiton, turning his back on the stall itself, which was not
much bigger than a good sized travelling-chariot. By his side lay a
"Himation"--[A long square cloak, and an indispensable part of the dress
of the Greeks.]--of fine white woolen stuff with a blue border. His legs
hung out into the street, and his brilliant color stood out in wonderful
contrast to the dark skin of a naked Egyptian boy, who crouched at his
feet with a cage full of doves.

The young Greek sitting on the window-counter had a golden fillet on his
oiled and perfumed curls, sandals of the finest leather on his feet, and
even in these humble surroundings looked elegant--but even more merry
than elegant--for the whole of his handsome face was radiant with smiles
while he tied two small rosy-grey turtle doves with ribands of
rose-colored bombyx-silk to the graceful basket in which they were
sitting, and then slipped a costly gold bracelet over the heads of the
frightened birds, and attached it to their wings with a white silk tie.

When he had finished this work he held the basket up, looked at it with a
smile of satisfaction, and he was in the very act of handing it to the
black boy when he caught sight of Publius, who went up to him from the
garden-fence.