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The sun was already trying to break a path for his rays through the thick curtains, that closed the window of the sick-room, but Nebenchari had not moved from the Egyptian girl’s bedside. Sometimes he felt her pulse, or spread sweet-scented ointments on her forehead or chest, and then he would sit gazing dreamily into vacancy. Nitetis seemed to have sunk into a deep sleep after an attack of convulsions. At the foot of her bed stood six Persian doctors, murmuring incantations under the orders of Nebenchari, whose superior science they acknowledged, and who was seated at the bed’s head.

Every time he felt the sick girl’s pulse he shrugged his shoulders, and the gesture was immediately imitated by his Persian colleagues. From time to time the curtain was lifted and a lovely head appeared, whose questioning blue eyes fixed at once on the physician, but were always dismissed with the same melancholy shrug. It was Atossa. Twice she had ventured into the room, stepping so lightly as hardly to touch the thick carpet of Milesian wool, had stolen to her friend’s bedside and lightly kissed her forehead, on which the pearly dew of death was standing, but each time a severe and reproving glance from Nebenchari had sent her back again into the next room, where her mother Kassandane was lying, awaiting the end.

Cambyses had left the sick-room at sunrise, on seeing that Nitetis had fallen asleep; he flung himself on to his horse, and accompanied by Phanes, Prexaspes, Otanes, Darius, and a number of courtiers, only just aroused from their sleep, took a wild ride through the game-park. He knew by experience, that he could best overcome or forget any violent mental emotion when mounted on an unmanageable horse.

Nebenchari started on hearing the sound of horses’ hoofs in the distance. In a waking dream he had seen Cambyses enter his native land at the head of immense hosts; he had seen its cities and temples on fire, and its gigantic pyramids crumbling to pieces under the powerful blows of his mighty hand. Women and children lay in the smouldering ruins, and plaintive cries arose from the tombs in which the very mummies moved like living beings; and all these-priests, warriors, women, and children—the living and the dead—all had uttered his,—Nebenchari’s,—name, and had cursed him as a traitor to his country. A cold shiver struck to his heart; it beat more convulsively than the blood in the veins of the dying girl at his side. Again the curtain was raised; Atossa stole in once more and laid her hand on his shoulder. He started and awoke. Nebenchari had been sitting three days and nights with scarcely any intermission by this sick-bed, and such dreams were the natural consequence.

Atossa slipped back to her mother. Not a sound broke the sultry air of the sick-room, and Nebenchiari’s thoughts reverted to his dream. He told himself that he was on the point of becoming a traitor and a criminal, the visions he had just beheld passed before him again, but this time it was another, and a different one which gained the foremost place. The forms of Amasis, who had laughed at and exiled him,—of Psamtik and the priests,—who had burnt his works,—stood near him; they were heavily fettered and besought mercy at his hands. His lips moved, but this was not the place in which to utter the cruel words which rose to them. And then the stern man wiped away a tear as he remembered the long nights, in which he had sat with the reed in his hand, by the dull light of the lamp, carefully painting every sign of the fine hieratic character in which he committed his ideas and experience to writing. He had discovered remedies for many diseases of the eye, spoken of in the sacred books of Thoth and the writings of a famous old physician of Byblos as incurable, but, knowing that he should be accused of sacrilege by his colleagues, if he ventured on a correction or improvement of the sacred writings, he had entitled his work, “Additional writings on the treatment of diseases of the eye, by the great god Thoth, newly discovered by the oculist Nebenchari.”

He had resolved on bequeathing his works to the library at Thebes, that his experience might be useful to his successors and bring forth fruit for the whole body of sufferers. This was to be his reward for the long nights which he had sacrificed to science—recognition after death, and fame for the caste to which he belonged. And there stood his old rival Petammon, by the side of the crown-prince in the grove of Neith, and stirred the consuming fire, after having stolen his discovery of the operation of couching. Their malicious faces were tinged by the red glow of the flames, which rose with their spiteful laughter towards heaven, as if demanding vengeance. A little further off he saw in his dream Amasis receiving his father’s letters from the hands of the high-priest. Scornful and mocking words were being uttered by the king; Neithotep looked exultant.—In these visions Nebenchari was so lost, that one of the Persian doctors was obliged to point out to him that his patient was awake. He nodded in reply, pointing to his own weary eyes with a smile, felt the sick girl’s pulse, and asked her in Egyptian how she had slept.

“I do not know,” she answered, in a voice that was hardly audible. “It seemed to me that I was asleep, and yet I saw and heard everything that had happened in the room. I felt so weak that I hardly knew whether I was awake or asleep. Has not Atossa been here several times?”

“Yes.”

“And Cambyses stayed with Kassandane until sunrise; then he went out, mounted his horse Reksch, and rode into the game-park.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw it.”

Nebenchari looked anxiously into the girl’s shining eyes. She went on: “A great many dogs have been brought into the court behind this house.”

“Probably the king has ordered a hunt, in order to deaden the pain which he feels at seeing you suffer.”

“Oh, no. I know better what it means. Oropastes taught me, that whenever a Persian dies dogs’ are brought in, that the Divs may enter into them.”

“But you are living, my mistress, and...”

“Oh, I know very well that I shall die. I knew that I had not many hours more to live, even if I had not seen how you and the other physicians shrugged your shoulders whenever you looked at me. That poison is deadly.”

“You are speaking too much, my mistress, it will hurt you.”

“Oh let me speak, Nebenchari! I must ask you to do something for me before I die.”

“I am your servant.”

“No, Nebenchari, you must be my friend and priest. You are not angry with me for having prayed to the Persian gods? Our own Hathor was always my best friend still. Yes, I see by your face that you forgiven me. Then you must promise not to allow my corpse to be torn in pieces by dogs and vultures. The thought is so very dreadful. You will promise to embalm my body and ornament it with amulets?”

“If the king allows.”

“Of course he will. How could Cambyses possibly refuse my last request?”

“Then my skill is at your service.”

“Thank you; but I have still something else to ask.”

“You must be brief. My Persian colleagues are already making signs to me, to enjoin silence on you.”

“Can’t you send them away for a moment?”

“I will try to do so.”

Nebenchari then went up and spoke to the Magi for a few minutes, and they left the room. An important incantation, at which no one but the two concerned might be present, and the application of a new and secret antidotal poison were the pretexts which he had used in order to get rid of them.

When they were alone, Nitetis drew a breath of relief and said: “Give me your priestly blessing on my long journey into the nether world, and prepare me for my pilgrimage to Osiris.”

Nebenchari knelt down by her bed and in a low voice repeated hymns, Nitetis making devotional responses.

The physician represented Osiris, the lord of the nether world—Nitetis the soul, justifying itself before him.

When these ceremonies were ended the sick girl breathed more freely. Nebenchari could not but feel moved in looking at this young suicide. He felt confident that he had saved a soul for the gods of his native land, had cheered the last sad and painful hours of one of God’s good creatures. During these last moments, compassion and benevolence had excluded every bitter feeling; but when he remembered that this lovely creature owed all her misery to Amasis too, the old black cloud of thought darkened his mind again.—Nitetis, after lying silent for some time, turned to her new friend with a pleasant smile, and said: “I shall find mercy with the judges of the dead now, shall not I?”

“I hope and believe so.”

“Perhaps I may find Tachot before the throne of Osiris, and my father....”

“Your father and mother are waiting for you there. Now in your last hour bless those who begot you, and curse those who have robbed you of your parents, your crown and your life.”

“I do not understand you.”

“Curse those who robbed you of your parents, crown and life, girl!” cried the physician again, rising to his full height, breathing hard as he said the words, and gazing down on the dying girl. “Curse those wretches, girl! that curse will do more in gaining mercy from the judges of the dead, than thousands of good works!” And as he said this he seized her hand and pressed it violently.

Nitetis looked up uneasily into his indignant face, and stammered in blind obedience, “I curse those who robbed my parents of their throne and lives!”

“Those who robbed my parents of their throne and their lives,” she repeated after him, and then crying, “Oh, my heart!” sank back exhausted on the bed.

Nebenchari bent down, and before the royal physicians could return, kissed her forehead gently, murmuring: “She dies my confederate. The gods hearken to the prayers of those who die innocent. By carrying the sword into Egypt, I shall avenge king Hophra’s wrongs as well as my own.”

When Nitetis opened her eyes once more, a few hours later, Kassandane was holding her right hand, Atossa kneeling at her feet, and Croesus standing at the head of her bed, trying, with the failing strength of old age, to support the gigantic frame of the king, who was so completely overpowered by his grief, that he staggered like a drunken man. The dying girl’s eyes lighted up as she looked round on this circle. She was wonderfully beautiful. Cambyses came closer and kissed her lips; they were growing cold in death. It was the first kiss he had ever given her, and the last. Two large tears sprang to her eyes; their light was fast growing dim; she murmured Cambyses’ name softly, fell back in Atossa’s arms, and died.

We shall not give a detailed account of the next few hours: it would be an unpleasant task to describe how, at a signal from the principal Persian doctor, every one, except Nebenchari and Croesus, hastily left the room; how dogs were brought in and their sagacious heads turned towards the corpse in order to scare the demon of death;—how, directly after Nitetis’ death, Kassandane, Atossa and their entire retinue moved into another house in order to avoid defilement;—how fire was extinguished throughout the dwelling, that the pure element might be removed from the polluting spirits of death;—how spells and exorcisms were muttered, and how every person and thing, which had approached or been brought into contact with the dead body, was subjected to numerous purifications with water and pungent fluids.

The same evening Cambyses was seized by one of his old epileptic attacks. Two days later he gave Nebenchari permission to embalm Nitetis’ body in the Egyptian manner, according to her last wish. The king gave way to the most immoderate grief; he tore the flesh of his arms, rent his clothes and strewed ashes on his head, and on his couch. All the magnates of his court were obliged to follow his example. The troops mounted guard with rent banners and muffled drums. The cymbals and kettle-drums of the “Immortals” were bound round with crape. The horses which Nitetis had used, as well as all which were then in use by the court, were colored blue and deprived of their tails; the entire court appeared in mourning robes of dark brown, rent to the girdle, and the Magi were compelled to pray three days and nights unceasingly for the soul of the dead, which was supposed to be awaiting its sentence for eternity at the bridge Chinvat on the third night.

Neither the king, Kassandane, nor Atossa shrank from submitting to the necessary purifications; they repeated, as if for one of their nearest relations, thirty prayers for the dead, while, in a house outside the city gates Nebenchari began to embalm her body in the most costly manner, and according to the strictest rules of his art.

[Embalming was practised in three different ways. The first cost a

talent of silver (L225.); the second 20 Minae (L60.) and the third

was very inexpensive. Herod. II. 86-88. Diod. I. 9. The brain

was first drawn out through the nose and the skull filled with

spices. The intestines were then taken out, and the body filled in

like manner with aromatic spices. When all was finished, the corpse

was left 70 days in a solution of soda, and then wrapped in bandages

of byssus spread over with gum. The microscopical examinations of

mummy-bandages made by Dr. Ure and Prof. Czermak have proved that

byssus is linen, not cotton. The manner of embalming just described

is the most expensive, and the latest chemical researches prove that

the description given of it by the Greeks was tolerably correct. L.

Penicher maintains that the bodies were first somewhat dried in

ovens, and that then resin of the cedar-tree, or asphalte, was

poured into every opening. According to Herodotus, female corpses

were embalmed by women. Herod. II. 89. The subject is treated in

great detail by Pettigrew, History of Egyptian Mummies. London.

1834. Czermak’s microscopical examinations of Egyptian mummies show

how marvellously the smallest portions of the bodies were preserved,

and confirm the statements of Herodotus on many points. The

monuments also contain much information in regard to embalming, and

we now know the purpose of nearly all the amulets placed with the

dead.]

For nine days Cambyses remained in a condition, which seemed little short of insanity. At times furious, at others dull and stupefied, he did not even allow his relations or the high-priest to approach him. On the morning of the tenth day he sent for the chief of the seven judges and commanded, that as lenient a sentence as possible should be pronounced on Gaumata. Nitetis, on her dying-bed, had begged him to spare the life of this unhappy youth.

One hour later the sentence was submitted to the king for ratification. It ran thus: “Victory to the king! Inasmuch as Cambyses, the eye of the world and the sun of righteousness, hath, in his great mercy, which is as broad as the heavens and as inexhaustible as the great deep, commanded us to punish the crime of the son of the Magi, Gaumata, with the indulgence of a mother instead of with the severity of a judge, we, the seven judges of the realm, have determined to grant his forfeited life. Inasmuch, however, as by the folly of this youth the lives of the noblest and best in this realm have been imperilled, and it may reasonably be apprehended that he may again abuse the marvellous likeness to Bartja, the noble son of Cyrus, in which the gods have been pleased in their mercy to fashion his form and face, and thereby bring prejudice upon the pure and righteous, we have determined to disfigure him in such wise, that in the time to come it will be a light matter to discern between this, the most worthless subject of the realm, and him who is most worthy. We therefore, by the royal Will and command, pronounce sentence, that both the ears of Gaumata be cut off, for the honor of the righteous and shame of the impure.”

Cambyses confirmed this sentence at once, and it was executed the same day.

[With reference to Gaumata’s punishment, the same which Herodotus

says was inflicted on the pretended Smerdis, we would observe that

even Persians of high rank were sometimes deprived of their ears.

In the Behistan inscription (Spiegel p. 15 and 21.) the ears, tongue

and nose of the man highest in rank among the rebels, were cut off.

Similar punishments are quoted by Brisson.]

Oropastes did not dare to intercede for his brother, though this ignominious punishment mortified his ambitious mind more than even a sentence of death could have done. As he was afraid that his own influence and consideration might suffer through this mutilated brother, he ordered him to leave Babylon at once for a country-house of his own on Mount Arakadris.

During the few days which had just passed, a shabbily-dressed and closely-veiled woman had watched day and night at the great gate of the palace; neither the threats of the sentries nor the coarse jests of the palace-servants could drive her from her post. She never allowed one of the less important officials to pass without eagerly questioning him, first as to the state of the Egyptian Princess, and then what had become of Gaumata. When his sentence was told her as a good joke by a chattering lamp-lighter, she went off into the strangest excitement, and astonished the poor man so much by kissing his robe, that he thought she must be crazed, and gave her an alms. She refused the money, but remained at her post, subsisting on the bread which was given her by the compassionate distributors of food. Three days later Gaumata himself, with his head bound up, was driven out in a closed harmamaxa. She rushed to the carriage and ran screaming by the side of it, until the driver stopped his mules and asked what she wanted. She threw back her veil and showed the poor, suffering youth her pretty face covered with deep blushes. Gaumata uttered a low cry as he recognized her, collected himself, however, in a moment, and said: “What do you want with me, Mandane?”

The wretched girl raised her hands beseechingly to him, crying: “Oh, do not leave me, Gaumata! Take me with you! I forgive you all the misery you have brought on me and my poor mistress. I love you so much, I will take care of you and nurse you as if I were the lowest servant-girl.”

A short struggle passed in Gaumata’s mind. He was just going to open the carriage-door and clasp Mandane-his earliest love-in his arms, when the sound of horses’ hoofs coming nearer struck on his ear, and looking round he saw, a carriage full of Magi, among whom were several who had been his companions at the school for priests. He felt ashamed and afraid of being seen by the very youths, whom he had often treated proudly and haughtily because he was the brother of the high-priest, threw Mandane a purse of gold, which his brother had given him at parting, and ordered the driver to go on as fast as possible. The mules galloped off. Mandane kicked the purse away, rushed after the carriage and clung to it firmly. One of the wheels caught her dress and dragged her down. With the strength of despair she sprang up, ran after the mules, overtook them on a slight ascent which had lessened their speed, and seized the reins. The driver used his three-lashed whip, or scourge, the creatures reared, pulled the girl down and rushed on. Her last cry of agony pierced the wounds of the mutilated man like a sharp lance-thrust.

.....................

On the twelfth day after Nitetis’ death Cambyses went out hunting, in the hope that the danger and excitement of the sport might divert his mind. The magnates and men of high rank at his court received him with thunders of applause, for which he returned cordial thanks. These few days of grief had worked a great change in a man so unaccustomed to suffering as Cambyses. His face was pale, his raven-black hair and beard had grown grey, and the consciousness of victory which usually shone in his eyes was dimmed. Had he not, only too painfully, experienced that there was a stronger will than his own, and that, easily as he could destroy, it did not be in his power to preserve the life of the meanest creature? Before starting, Cambyses mustered his troop of sportsmen, and calling Gobryas, asked why Phanes was not there.

“My King did not order...”

“He is my guest and companion, once for all; call him and follow us.”

Gobryas bowed, dashed back to the palace, and in half an hour reappeared among the royal retinue with Phanes.

The Athenian was warmly welcomed by many of the group, a fact which seems strange when we remember that courtiers are of all men the most prone to envy, and a royal favorite always the most likely object to excite their ill will. But Phanes seemed a rare exception to this rule. He had met the Achaemenidae in so frank and winning a manner, had excited so many hopes by the hints he had thrown out of an expected and important war, and had aroused so much merriment by well-told jests, such as the Persians had never heard before, that there were very few who did not welcome his appearance gladly, and when—in company with the king—he separated from the rest in chase of a wild ass, they openly confessed to one another, that they had never before seen so perfect a man. The clever way in which he had brought the innocence of the accused to light, the finesse which he had shown in securing the king’s favor, and the ease with which he had learnt the Persian language in so short a time, were all subjects of admiration. Neither was there one even of the Achaemenidae themselves, who exceeded him in beauty of face or symmetry of figure. In the chase he proved himself a perfect horseman, and in a conflict with a bear an exceptionally courageous and skilful sportsman. On the way home, as the courtiers were extolling all the wonderful qualities possessed by the king’s favorite, old Araspes exclaimed, “I quite agree with you that this Greek, who by the way has proved himself a better soldier than anything else, is no common man, but I am sure you would not praise him half as much, if he were not a foreigner and a novelty.”

Phanes happened to be only separated from the speaker by some thick bushes, and heard these words. When the other had finished, he went up and said, smiling: “I understood what you said and feel obliged to you for your kind opinion. The last sentence, however, gave me even more pleasure than the first, because it confirmed my own idea that the Persians are the most generous people in the world—they praise the virtues of other nations as much, or even more, than their own.”

His hearers smiled, well pleased at this flattering remark, and Phanes went on: “How different the Jews are now, for instance! They fancy themselves the exclusive favorites of the gods, and by so doing incur the contempt of all wise men, and the hatred of the whole world. And then the Egyptians! You have no idea of the perversity of that people. Why, if the priests could have their way entirely, (and they have a great deal of power in their hands) not a foreigner would be left alive in Egypt, nor a single stranger allowed to enter the country. A true Egyptian would rather starve, than eat out of the same dish with one of us. There are more strange, astonishing and wonderful things to be seen in that country than anywhere else in the world. And yet, to do it justice, I must say that Egypt has been well spoken of as the richest and most highly cultivated land under the sun. The man who possesses that kingdom need not envy the very gods themselves. It would be mere child’s play to conquer that beautiful country. Ten years there gave me a perfect insight into the condition of things, and I know that their entire military caste would not be sufficient to resist one such troop as your Immortals. Well, who knows what the future may bring! Perhaps we may all make a little trip together to the Nile some day. In my opinion, your good swords have been rather long idle.” These well-calculated words were received with such shouts of applause, that the king turned his horse to enquire the cause. Phanes answered quickly that the Achaemenidae were rejoicing in the thought that a war might possibly be near at hand.

“What war?” asked the king, with the first smile that had been seen on his face for many days.

“We were only speaking in general of the possibility of such a thing,” answered Phanes carelessly; then, riding up to the king’s side, his voice took an impressive tone full of feeling, and looking earnestly into his face, he began: “It is true, my Sovereign, that I was not born in this beautiful country as one of your subjects, nor can I boast of a long acquaintance with the most powerful of monarchs, but yet I cannot resist the presumptuous, perhaps criminal thought, that the gods at my birth appointed me to be your real friend. It is not your rich gifts that have drawn me to you. I did not need them, for I belong to the wealthier class of my countrymen, and I have no son,—no heir,—to whom I can bequeath my treasures. Once I had a boy—a beautiful, gentle child;—but I was not going to speak of that,—I... Are you offended at my freedom of speech, my Sovereign?”

“What is there to offend me?” answered the king, who had never been spoken to in this manner before, and felt strongly attracted to the original foreigner.

“Till to-day I felt that your grief was too sacred to be disturbed, but now the time has come to rouse you from it and to make your heart glow once more. You will have to hear what must be very painful to you.”

“There is nothing more now, that can grieve me.”

“What I am going to tell you will not give you pain; on the contrary, it will rouse your anger.”

“You make me curious.”

“You have been shamefully deceived; you and that lovely creature, who died such an early death a few days ago.”

Cambyses’ eyes flashed a demand for further information.

“Amasis, the King of Egypt, has dared to make sport of you, the lord of the world. That gentle girl was not his daughter, though she herself believed that she was; she...”

“Impossible!”

“It would seem so, and yet I am speaking the simple truth. Amasis spun a web of lies, in which he managed to entrap, not only the whole world, but you too, my Sovereign. Nitetis, the most lovely creature ever born of woman, was the daughter of a king, but not of the usurper Amasis. Hophra, the rightful king of Egypt, was the father of this pearl among women. You may well frown, my Sovereign. It is a cruel thing to be betrayed by one’s friends and allies.”

Cambyses spurred his horse, and after a silence of some moments, kept by Phanes purposely, that his words might make a deeper impression, cried, “Tell me more! I wish to know everything.”

“Hophra had been living twenty years in easy captivity in Sais after his dethronement, when his wife, who had borne him three children and buried them all, felt that she was about to give birth to a fourth. Hophra, in his joy, determined to offer a sacrifice of thanksgiving in the temple of Pacht, the Egyptian goddess supposed to confer the blessing of children, when, on his way thither, a former magnate of his court, named Patarbemis, whom, in a fit of unjust anger, he had ignominiously mutilated, fell upon him with a troop of slaves and massacred him. Amasis had the unhappy widow brought to his palace at once, and assigned her an apartment next to the one occupied by his own queen Ladice, who was also expecting soon to give birth to a child. A girl was born to Hophra’s widow, but the mother died in the same hour, and two days later Ladice bore a child also.—But I see we are in the court of the palace. If you allow, I will have the report of the physician, by whom this imposture was effected, read before you. Several of his notes have, by a remarkable conjuncture of circumstances, which I will explain to you later, fallen into my hands. A former high-priest of Heliopolis, Onuphis, is now living in Babylon, and understands all the different styles of writing in use among his countrymen. Nebenchari will, of course, refuse to help in disclosing an imposture, which must inevitably lead to the ruin of his country.”

“In an hour I expect to see you here with the man you have just spoken of. Croesus, Nebenchari, and all the Achaemenidae who were in Egypt, will have to appear also. I must have certainty before I can act, and your testimony alone is not sufficient, because I know from Amasis, that you have cause to feel a grudge against his house.”

At the time appointed all were assembled before the king in obedience to his command.

Onuphis, the former high-priest, was an old man of eighty. A pair of large, clear, intelligent, grey eyes looked out of a head so worn and wasted, as to be more like a mere skull than the head of a living man. He held a large papyrus-roll in his gaunt hand, and was seated in an easy chair, as his paralyzed limbs did not allow of his standing, even in the king’s presence. His dress was snow-white, as beseemed a priest, but there were patches and rents to be seen here and there. His figure might perhaps once have been tall and slender, but it was now so bent and shrunk by age, privation and suffering, as to look unnatural and dwarfish, in comparison with the size of his head.

Nebenchari, who revered Onuphis, not only as a high-priest deeply initiated in the most solemn mysteries, but also on account of his great age, stood by his side and arranged his cushions. At his left stood Phanes, and then Croesus, Darius and Prexaspes.

The king sat upon his throne. His face was dark and stern as he broke the silence with the following words:—“This noble Greek, who, I am inclined to believe, is my friend, has brought me strange tidings. He says that I have been basely deceived by Amasis, that my deceased wife was not his, but his predecessor’s daughter.”

A murmur of astonishment ran through the assembly. “This old man is here to prove the imposture.” Onuphis gave a sign of assent.

“Prexaspes, my first question is to you. When Nitetis was entrusted to your care, was it expressly said that she was the daughter of Amasis?”

“Expressly. Nebenchari had, it is true, praised Tachot to the noble Kassandane as the most beautiful of the twin sisters; but Amasis insisted on sending Nitetis to Persia. I imagined that, by confiding his most precious jewel to your care, he meant to put you under a special obligation; and as it seemed to me that Nitetis surpassed her sister, not only in beauty but in dignity of character, I ceased to sue for the hand of Tachot. In his letter to you too, as you will remember, he spoke of confiding to you his most beautiful, his dearest child.”

“Those were his words.”

“And Nitetis was, without question, the more beautiful and the nobler of the two sisters,” said Croesus in confirmation of the envoy’s remark. “But it certainly did strike me that Tachot was her royal parents’ favorite.”

“Yes,” said Darius, “without doubt. Once, at a revel, Amasis joked Bartja in these words: ‘Don’t look too deep into Tachot’s eyes, for if you were a god, I could not allow you to take her to Persia!’ Psamtik was evidently annoyed at this remark and said to the king, ‘Father, remember Phanes.’”

“Phanes!”

“Yes, my Sovereign,” answered the Athenian. “Once, when he was intoxicated, Amasis let out his secret to me, and Psamtik was warning him not to forget himself a second time.”

“Tell the story as it occurred.”

“On my return from Cyprus to Sais as a conqueror, a great entertainment was given at court. Amasis distinguished me in every way, as having won a rich province for him, and even, to the dismay of his own countrymen, embraced me. His affection increased with his intoxication, and at last, as Psamtik and I were leading him to his private apartments, he stopped at the door of his daughter’s room, and said: ‘The girls sleep there. If you will put away your own wife, Athenian, I will give you Nitetis. I should like to have you for a son-in-law. There’s a secret about that girl, Phanes; she’s not my own child.’ Before his drunken father could say more, Psamtik laid his hand before his mouth, and sent me roughly away to my lodging, where I thought the matter over and conjectured what I now, from reliable sources, know to be the truth. I entreat you, command this old man to translate those parts of the physician Sonnophre’s journal, which allude to this story.”

Cambyses nodded his consent, and the old man began to read in a voice far louder than any one could have supposed possible from his infirm appearance “On the fifth day of the month Thoth, I was sent for by the king. I had expected this, as the queen was near her confinement. With my assistance she was easily and safely delivered of a child—a weakly girl. As soon as the nurse had taken charge of this child, Amasis led me behind a curtain which ran across his wife’s sleeping-apartment. There lay another infant, which I recognized as the child of Hophra’s widow, who herself had died under my hands on the third day of the same month. The king then said, pointing to this strong child, ‘This little creature has no parents, but, as it is written in the law that we are to show mercy to the desolate orphans, Ladice and I have determined to bring her up as our own daughter. We do not, however, wish that this deed should be made known, either to the world or to the child herself, and I ask you to keep the secret and spread a report that Ladice has given birth to twins. If you accomplish this according to our wish, you shall receive to-day five thousand rings of gold, and the fifth part of this sum yearly, during your life. I made my obeisance in silence, ordered every one to leave the sick room, and, when I again called them in, announced that Ladice had given birth to a second girl. Amasis’ real child received the name of Tachot, the spurious one was called Nitetis.”

At these words Cambyses rose from his seat, and strode through the hall; but Onuphis continued, without allowing himself to be disturbed: “Sixth day of the month Thoth. This morning I had just lain down to rest after the fatigues of the night, when a servant appeared with the promised gold and a letter from the king, asking me to procure a dead child, to be buried with great ceremony as the deceased daughter of King Hophra. After a great deal of trouble I succeeded, an hour ago, in obtaining one from a poor girl who had given birth to a child secretly in the house of the old woman, who lives at the entrance to the City of the Dead. The little one had caused her shame and sorrow enough, but she would not be persuaded to give up the body of her darling, until I promised that it should be embalmed and buried in the most splendid manner. We put the little corpse into my large medicine-chest, my son Nebenchari carried it this time instead of my servant Hib, and so it was introduced into the room where Hophra’s widow had died. The poor girl’s baby will receive a magnificent funeral. I wish I might venture to tell her, what a glorious lot awaits her darling after death. Nebenchari has just been sent for by the king.”

At the second mention of this name, Cambyses stopped in his walk, and said: “Is our oculist Nebenchari the man whose name is mentioned in this manuscript?”

“Nebenchari,” returned Phanes, “is the son of this very Sonnophre who changed the children.”

The physician did not raise his eyes; his face was gloomy and sullen.

Cambyses took the roll of papyrus out of Onuphis’ band, looked at the characters with which it was covered, shook his head, went up to Nebenchari and said:

“Look at these characters and tell me if it is your father’s writing.”

Nebenchari fell on his knees and raised his hands.

“I ask, did your father paint these signs?”

“I do not know-whether... Indeed...”

“I will know the truth. Yes or no?”

“Yes, my King; but...”

“Rise, and be assured of my favor. Faithfulness to his ruler is the ornament of a subject; but do not forget that I am your king now. Kassandane tells me, that you are going to undertake a delicate operation to-morrow in order to restore her sight. Are you not venturing too much?”

“I can depend on my own skill, my Sovereign.”

“One more question. Did you know of this fraud?”

“Yes.”

“And you allowed me to remain in error?”

“I had been compelled to swear secrecy and an oath...”

“An oath is sacred. Gobryas, see that both these Egyptians receive a portion from my table. Old man, you seem to require better food.”

“I need nothing beyond air to breathe, a morsel of bread and a draught of water to preserve me from dying of hunger and thirst, a clean robe, that I may be pleasing in the eyes of the gods and in my own, and a small chamber for myself, that I may be a hindrance to no man. I have never been richer than to-day.”

“How so?”

“I am about to give away a kingdom.”

“You speak in enigmas.”

“By my translation of to-day I have proved, that your deceased consort was the child of Hophra. Now, our law allows the daughter of a king to succeed to the throne, when there is neither son nor brother living; if she should die childless, her husband becomes her legitimate successor. Amasis is a usurper, but the throne of Egypt is the lawful birthright of Hophra and his descendants. Psamtik forfeits every right to the crown the moment that a brother, son, daughter or son-in-law of Hophra appears. I can, therefore, salute my present sovereign as the future monarch of my own beautiful native land.”

Cambyses smiled self-complacently, and Onuphis went on: “I have read in the stars too, that Psamtik’s ruin and your own accession to the throne of Egypt have been fore-ordained.”

“We’ll show that the stars were right,” cried the king, “and as for you, you liberal old fellow, I command you to ask me any wish you like.”

“Give me a conveyance, and let me follow your army to Egypt. I long to close my eyes on the Nile.”

“Your wish is granted. Now, my friends, leave me, and see that all those who usually eat at my table are present at this evening’s revel. We will hold a council of war over the luscious wine. Methinks a campaign in Egypt will pay better than a contest with the Massagetae.”

He was answered by a joyful shout of “Victory to the king!” They all then left the hall, and Cambyses, summoning his dressers, proceeded for the first time to exchange his mourning garments for the splendid royal robes.

Croesus and Phanes went into the green and pleasant garden lying on the eastern side of the royal palace, which abounded in groves of trees, shrubberies, fountains and flower-beds. Phanes was radiant with delight; Croesus full of care and thought.

“Have you duly reflected,” said the latter, “on the burning brand that you have just flung out into the world?”

“It is only children and fools that act without reflection,” was the answer.

“You forget those who are deluded by passion.”

“I do not belong to that number.”

“And yet revenge is the most fearful of all the passions.”

“Only when it is practised in the heat of feeling. My revenge is as cool as this piece of iron; but I know my duty.”

“The highest duty of a good man, is to subordinate his own welfare to that of his country.”

“That I know.”

“You seem to forget, however, that with Egypt you are delivering your own country over to the Persians.”

“I do not agree with you there.”

“Do you believe, that when all the rest of the Mediterranean coasts belong to Persia, she will leave your beautiful Greece untouched?”

“Certainly not, but I know my own countrymen; I believe them fully capable of a victorious resistance to the hosts of the barbarians, and am confident that their courage and greatness will rise with the nearness of the danger. It will unite our divided tribes into one great nation, and be the ruin of the tyrants.”

“I cannot argue with you, for I am no longer acquainted with the state of things in your native country, and besides, I believe you to be a wise man—not one who would plunge a nation into ruin merely for the gratification of his own ambition. It is a fearful thing that entire nations should have to suffer for the guilt of one man, if that man be one who wears a crown. And now, if my opinion is of any importance to you, tell me what the deed was which has roused your desire of vengeance.”

“Listen then, and never try again to turn me from my purpose. You know the heir to the Egyptian throne, and you know Rhodopis too. The former was, for many reasons, my mortal enemy, the latter the friend of every Greek, but mine especially. When I was obliged to leave Egypt, Psamtik threatened me with his vengeance; your son Gyges saved my life. A few weeks later my two children came to Naukratis, in order to follow me out to Sigeum. Rhodopis took them kindly under her protection, but some wretch had discovered the secret and betrayed it to the prince. The very next night her house was surrounded and searched,—my children found and taken captive. Amasis had meanwhile become blind, and allowed his miserable son to do what he liked; the wretch dared to...”

“Kill your only son?”

“You have said it.”

“And your other child?”

“The girl is still in their hands.”

“They will do her an injury when they hear...”

“Let her die. Better go to one’s grave childless, than unrevenged.”

“I understand. I cannot blame you any longer. The boy’s blood must be revenged.”

And so saying, the old man pressed the Athenian’s right hand. The latter dried his tears, mastered his emotion, and cried: “Let us go to the council of war now. No one can be so thankful for Psamtik’s infamous deeds as Cambyses. That man with his hasty passions was never made to be a prince of peace.”

“And yet it seems to me the highest duty of a king is to work for the inner welfare of his kingdom. But human beings are strange creatures; they praise their butchers more than their benefactors. How many poems have been written on Achilles! but did any one ever dream of writing songs on the wise government of Pittakus?”

“More courage is required to shed blood, than to plant trees.”

“But much more kindness and wisdom to heal wounds, than to make them.—I have still one question which I should very much like to ask you, before we go into the hall. Will Bartja be able to stay at Naukratis when Amasis is aware of the king’s intentions?”

“Certainly not. I have prepared him for this, and advised his assuming a disguise and a false name.”

“Did he agree?”

“He seemed willing to follow my advice.”

“But at all events it would be well to send a messenger to put him on his guard.”

“We will ask the king’s permission.”

“Now we must go. I see the wagons containing the viands of the royal household just driving away from the kitchen.”

“How many people are maintained from the king’s table daily?”

“About fifteen thousand.”

“Then the Persians may thank the gods, that their king only takes one meal a day.”

[This immense royal household is said to have cost 400 talents, that

is (L90,000.) daily. Athenaus, Deipn. p. 607.]