According to the law of Egypt, Zopyrus had deserved death.
As soon as his friends heard this, they resolved to go to Sais and try to
rescue him by stratagem. Syloson, who had friends there and could speak
the Egyptian language well, offered to help them.
Bartja and Darius disguised themselves so completely by dyeing their hair
and eyebrows and wearing broad-brimmed felt-hats,--that they could
scarcely recognize each other. Theopompus provided them with ordinary
Greek dresses, and, an hour after Zopyrus' arrest, they met the
splendidly-got-up Syloson on the shore of the Nile, entered a boat
belonging to him and manned by his slaves, and, after a short sail,
favored by the wind, reached Sais,--which lay above the waters of the
inundation like an island,--before the burning midsummer sun had reached
its noonday height.
They disembarked at a remote part of the town and walked across the
quarter appropriated to the artisans. The workmen were busy at their
calling, notwithstanding the intense noonday heat. The baker's men were
at work in the open court of the bakehouse, kneading bread--the coarser
kind of dough with the feet, the finer with the hands. Loaves of various
shapes were being drawn out of the ovens-round and oval cakes, and rolls
in the form of sheep, snails and hearts. These were laid in baskets, and
the nimble baker's boys would put three, four, or even five such baskets
on their heads at once, and carry them off quickly and safely to the
customers living in other quarters of the city. A butcher was
slaughtering an ox before his house, the creature's legs having been
pinioned; and his men were busy sharpening their knives to cut up a wild
goat. Merry cobblers were calling out to the passers-by from their
stalls; carpenters, tailors, joiners and weavers--were all there, busy at
their various callings. The wives of the work-people were going out
marketing, leading their naked children by the hand, and some soldiers
were loitering near a man who was offering beer and wine for sale.
But our friends took very little notice of what was going on in the
streets through which they passed; they followed Syloson in silence.
At the Greek guard-house he asked them to wait for him. Syloson,
happening to know the Taxiarch who was on duty that day, went in and
asked him if he had heard anything of a man accused of murder having been
brought from Naukratis to Sais that morning.
"Of course," said the Greek. "It's not more than half an hour since he
arrived. As they found a purse full of money in his girdle, they think
he must be a Persian spy. I suppose you know that Cambyses is preparing
for war with Egypt."
"Impossible!"
"No, no, it's a fact. The prince-regent has already received
information. A caravan of Arabian merchants arrived yesterday at
Pelusium, and brought the news."
"It will prove as false as their suspicions about this poor young Lydian.
I know him well, and am very sorry for the poor fellow. He belongs to
one of the richest families in Sardis, and only ran away for fear of the
powerful satrap Oroetes, with whom he had had a quarrel. I'll tell you
the particulars when you come to see me next in Naukratis. Of course
you'll stay a few days and bring some friends. My brother has sent me
some wine which beats everything I ever tasted. It's perfect nectar, and
I confess I grudge offering it to any one who's not, like you, a perfect
judge in such matters." The Taxiarch's face brightened up at these
words, and grasping Syloson's hand, he exclaimed. "By the dog, my
friend, we shall not wait to be asked twice; we'll come soon enough and
take a good pull at your wine-skins. How would it be if you were to ask
Archidice, the three flower-sisters, and a few flute-playing-girls to
supper?"
[Archidice--A celebrated Hetaira of Naukratis mentioned by Herod.
II. 135. Flute-playing girls were seldom missing at the young
Greeks' drinking-parties]
"They shall all be there. By the bye, that reminds me that the flower-
girls were the cause of that poor young Lydian's imprisonment. Some
jealous idiot attacked him before their house with a number of comrades.
The hot-brained young fellow defended himself . . . ."
"And knocked the other down?"
"Yes; and so that he'll never get up again."
"The boy must be a good boxer."
"He had a sword."
"So much the better for him."
"No, so much the worse; for his victim was an Egyptian."
"That's a bad job. I fear it can only have an unfortunate end. A
foreigner, who kills an Egyptian, is as sure of death as if he had the
rope already round his neck. However, just now he'll get a few days'
grace; the priests are all so busy praying for the dying king that they
have no time to try criminals."
"I'd give a great deal to be able to save that poor fellow. I know his
father."
"Yes, and then after all he only did his duty. A man must defend
himself."
"Do you happen to know where he is imprisoned?"
"Of course I do. The great prison is under repair, and so he has been
put for the present in the storehouse between the principal guard-house
of the Egyptian body-guard and the sacred grove of the temple of Neith.
I have only just come home from seeing them take him there."
"He is strong and has plenty of courage; do you think he could get away,
if we helped him?"
"No, it would be quite impossible; he's in a room two stories high; the
only window looks into the sacred grove, and that, you know, is
surrounded by a ten-foot wall, and guarded like the treasury. There are
double sentries at every gate. There's only one place where it is left
unguarded during the inundation season, because, just here, the water
washes the walls. These worshippers of animals are as cautious as water-
wagtails."
"Well, it's a great pity, but I suppose we must leave the poor fellow
to his fate. Good-bye, Doemones; don't forget my invitation."
The Samian left the guard-room and went back directly to the two friends,
who were waiting impatiently for him.
They listened eagerly to his tidings, and when he had finished his
description of the prison, Darius exclaimed: "I believe a little courage
will save him. He's as nimble as a cat, and as strong as a bear. I have
thought of a plan."
"Let us hear it," said Syloson, "and let me give an opinion as to its
practicability."
"We will buy some rope-ladders, some cord, and a good bow, put all these
into our boat, and row to the unguarded part of the temple-wall at dusk.
You must then help me to clamber over it. I shall take the things over
with me and give the eagle's cry. Zopyras will know at once, because,
since we were children, we have been accustomed to use it when we were
riding or hunting together. Then I shall shoot an arrow, with the cord
fastened to it, up into his window, (I never miss), tell him to fasten a
weight to it and let it down again to me. I shall then secure the rope-
ladder to the cord, Zopyrus will draw the whole affair up again, and hang
it on an iron nail,--which, by the bye, I must not forget to send up with
the ladder, for who knows whether he may have such a thing in his cell.
He will then come down on it, go quickly with me to the part of the wall
where you will be waiting with the boat, and where there must be another
rope-ladder, spring into the boat, and there he is-safe!"
"First-rate, first-rate!" cried Bartja.
"But very dangerous," added Syloson. "If we are caught in the sacred
grove, we are certain to be severely punished. The priests hold strange
nightly festivals there, at which every one but the initiated is strictly
forbidden to appear. I believe, however, that these take place on the
lake, and that is at some distance from Zopyrus' prison."
"So much the better," cried Darius; "but now to the main point. We must
send at once, and ask Theopompus to hire a fast trireme for us, and have
it put in sailing order at once. The news of Cambyses' preparations have
already reached Egypt; they take us for spies, and will be sure not to
let either Zopyrus or his deliverers escape, if they can help it. It
would be a criminal rashness to expose ourselves uselessly to danger.
Bartja, you must take this message yourself, and must marry Sappho this
very day, for, come what may, we must leave Naukratis to-morrow. Don't
contradict me, my friend, my brother! You know our plan, and you must
see that as only one can act in it, your part would be that of a mere
looker-on. As it was my own idea I am determined to carry it out myself.
We shall meet again to-morrow, for Auramazda protects the friendship of
the pure."
It was a long time before they could persuade Bartja to leave his friends
in the lurch, but their entreaties and representations at last took
effect, and he went down towards the river to take a boat for Naukratis,
Darius and Syloson going at the same time to buy the necessary implements
for their plan.
In order to reach the place where boats were to be hired, Bartja had to
pass by the temple of Neith. This was not easy, as an immense crowd was
assembled at the entrance-gates. He pushed his way as far as the
obelisks near the great gate of the temple with its winged sun-disc and
fluttering pennons, but there the temple-servants prevented him from
going farther; they were keeping the avenue of sphinxes clear for a
procession. The gigantic doors of the Pylon opened, and Bartja, who, in
spite of himself, had been pushed into the front row, saw a brilliant
procession come out of the temple. The unexpected sight of many faces he
had formerly known occupied his attention so much, that he scarcely
noticed the loss of his broad-brimmed hat, which had been knocked off in
the crowd. From the conversation of two Ionian mercenaries behind him he
learnt that the family of Amasis had been to the temple to pray for the
dying king.
The procession was headed by richly-decorated priests, either wearing
long white robes or pantherskins. They were followed by men holding
office at the court, and carrying golden staves, on the ends of which
peacocks' feathers and silver lotus-flowers were fastened, and these by
Pastophori, carrying on their shoulders a golden cow, the animal sacred
to Isis. When the crowd had bowed down before this sacred symbol, the
queen appeared. She was dressed in priestly robes and wore a costly
head-dress with the winged disc and the Uraeus. In her left hand she
held a sacred golden sistrum, the tones of which were to scare away
Typhon, and in her right some lotus-flowers. The wife, daughter and
sister of the high-priest followed her, in similar but less splendid
ornaments. Then came the heir to the throne, in rich robes of state, as
priest and prince; and behind him four young priests in white carrying
Tachot, (the daughter of Amasis and Ladice and the pretended sister of
Nitetis,) in an open litter. The heat of the day, and the earnestness of
her prayers, had given the sick girl a slight color. Her blue eyes,
filled with tears, were fixed on the sistrum which her weak, emaciated
hands had hardly strength to hold.
A murmur of compassion ran through the crowd; for they loved their dying
king, and manifested openly and gladly the sympathy so usually felt for
young lives from whom a brilliant future has been snatched by disease.
Such was Amasis' young, fading daughter, who was now being carried past
them, and many an eye grew dim as the beautiful invalid came in sight.
Tachot seemed to notice this, for she raised her eyes from the sistrum
and looked kindly and gratefully at the crowd. Suddenly the color left
her face, she turned deadly pale, and the golden sistrum fell on to the
stone pavement with a clang, close to Bartja's feet. He felt that he had
been recognized and for one moment thought of hiding himself in the
crowd; but only for one moment--his chivalrous feeling gained the day, he
darted forward, picked up the sistrum, and forgetting the danger in which
he was placing himself, held it out to the princess.
Tachot looked at him earnestly before taking the golden sistrum from his
hands, and then said, in a low voice, which only he could understand:
"Are you Bartja? Tell me, in your mother's name--are you Bartja?"
"Yes, I am," was his answer, in a voice as low as her own, "your friend,
Bartja."
He could not say more, for the priests pushed him back among the crowd.
When he was in his old place, he noticed that Tachot, whose bearers had
begun to move on again, was looking round at him. The color had come
back into her cheeks, and her bright eyes were trying to meet his. He
did not avoid them; she threw him a lotus-bud-he stooped to pick it up,
and then broke his way through the crowd, for this hasty act had roused
their attention.
A quarter of an hour later, he was seated in the boat which was to take
him to Sappho and to his wedding. He was quite at ease now about
Zopyrus. In Bartja's eyes his friend was already as good as saved, and
in spite of the dangers which threatened himself, he felt strangely calm
and happy, he could hardly say why.
Meanwhile the sick princess had been carried home, had had her oppressive
ornaments taken off, and her couch carried on to one of the palace-
balconies where she liked best to pass the hot summer days, sheltered by
broad-leaved plants, and a kind of awning.
From this veranda, she could look down into the great fore-court of the
palace, which was planted with trees. To-day it was full of priests,
courtiers, generals and governors of provinces. Anxiety and suspense
were expressed in every face: Amasis' last hour was drawing very near.
Tachot could not be seen from below; but listening with feverish
eagerness, she could hear much that was said. Now that they had to dread
the loss of their king, every one, even the priests, were full of his
praises. The wisdom and circumspection of his plans and modes of
government, his unwearied industry, the moderation he had always shown,
the keenness of his wit, were, each and all, subjects of admiration.
"How Egypt has prospered under Amasis' government!" said a Nomarch.
"And what glory he gained for our arms, by the conquest of Cyprus and the
war with the Libyans!" cried one of the generals. "How magnificently he
embellished our temples, and what great honors he paid to the goddess of
Sais!" exclaimed one of the singers of Neith. "And then how gracious
and condescending he was!" murmured a courtier. "How cleverly he
managed to keep peace with the great powers!" said the secretary of
state, and the treasurer, wiping away a tear, cried: "How thoroughly he
understood the management of the revenue! Since the reign of Rameses
III. the treasury has not been so well filled as now." "Psamtik comes
into a fine inheritance," lisped the courtier, and the soldier exclaimed,
"Yes, but it's to be feared that he'll not spend it in a glorious war;
he's too much under the influence of the priests." "No, you are wrong
there," answered the temple-singer. "For some time past, our lord and
master has seemed to disdain the advice of his most faithful servants."
"The successor of such a father will find it difficult to secure
universal approbation," said the Nomarch. "It is not every one who has
the intellect, the good fortune and the wisdom of Amasis." "The gods
know that!" murmured the warrior with a sigh.
Tachot's tears flowed fast. These words were a confirmation of what they
had been trying to hide from her: she was to lose her dear father soon.
After she had made this dreadful certainty clear to her own mind, and
discovered that it was in vain to beg her attendants to carry her to her
dying father, she left off listening to the courtiers below, and began
looking at the sistrum which Bartja himself had put into her hand, and
which she had brought on to the balcony with her, as if seeking comfort
there. And she found what she sought; for it seemed to her as if the
sound of its sacred rings bore her away into a smiling, sunny landscape.
That faintness which so often comes over people in decline, had seized
her and was sweetening her last hours with pleasant dreams.
The female slaves, who stood round to fan away the flies, said afterwards
that Tachot had never looked so lovely.
She had lain about an hour in this state, when her breathing became more
difficult, a slight cough made her breast heave, and the bright red blood
trickled down from her lips on to her white robe. She awoke, and looked
surprised and disappointed on seeing the faces round her. The sight of
her mother, however, who came on to the veranda at that moment, brought a
smile to her face, and she said, "O mother, I have had such a beautiful
dream."
"Then our visit to the temple has done my dear child good?" asked the
queen, trembling at the sight of the blood on the sick girl's lips.
"Oh, yes, mother, so much! for I saw him again." Ladice's glance at the
attendants seemed to ask "Has your poor mistress lost her senses?"
Tachot understood the look and said, evidently speaking with great
difficulty: "You think I am wandering, mother. No, indeed, I really saw
and spoke to him. He gave me my sistrum again, and said he was my
friend, and then he took my lotus-bud and vanished. Don't look so
distressed and surprised, mother. What I say is really true; it is no
dream.--There, you hear, Tentrut saw him too. He must have come to Sais
for my sake, and so the child-oracle in the temple-court did not deceive
me, after all. And now I don't feel anything more of my illness; I
dreamt I was lying in a field of blooming poppies, as red as the blood of
the young lambs that are offered in sacrifice; Bartja was sitting by my
side, and Nitetis was kneeling close to us and playing wonderful songs on
a Nabla made of ivory. And there was such a lovely sound in the air
that I felt as if Horus, the beautiful god of morning, spring, and the
resurrection, was kissing me. Yes, mother, I tell you he is coming soon,
and when I am well, then--then--ah, mother what is this? . . . I am
dying!"
Ladice knelt down by her child's bed and pressed her lips in burning
kisses on the girl's eyes as they grew dim in death.
An hour later she was standing by another bedside--her dying husband's.
Severe suffering had disfigured the king's features, the cold
perspiration was standing on his forehead, and his hands grasped the
golden lions on the arms of the deep-seated invalid chair in which he was
resting, almost convulsively.
When Ladice came in he opened his eyes; they were as keen and intelligent
as if he had never lost his sight.
"Why do not you bring Tachot to me?" he asked in a dry voice.
"She is too ill, and suffers so much, that . . ."
"She is dead! Then it is well with her, for death is not punishment; it
is the end and aim of life,--the only end that we can attain without
effort, but through sufferings!--the gods alone know how great. Osiris
has taken her to himself, for she was innocent. And Nitetis is dead too.
Where is Nebenchari's letter?"
"Here is the place: 'She took her own life, and died calling down a heavy
curse on thee and thine. The poor, exiled, scorned and plundered oculist
Nebenchari in Babylon sends thee this intelligence to Egypt. It is as
true as his own hatred of thee.' Listen to these words, Psamtik, and
remember how on his dying bed thy father told thee that, for every drachm
of pleasure purchased on earth by wrong-doing, the dying bed will be
burdened by a talent's weight of remorse. Fearful misery is coming on
Egypt for Nitetis' sake. Cambyses is preparing to make war on us. He
will sweep down on Egypt like a scorching wind from the desert. Much,
which I have staked my nightly sleep and the very marrow of my existence
to bring into existence, will be annihilated. Still I have not lived in
vain. For forty years I have been the careful father and benefactor of a
great nation. Children and children's children will speak of Amasis as a
great, wise and humane king; they will read my name on the great works
which I have built in Sais and Thebes, and will praise the greatness of
my power. Neither shall I be condemned by Osiris and the forty-two
judges of the nether world; the goddess of truth, who holds the balances,
will find that my good deeds outweigh my bad."--Here the king sighed
deeply and remained silent for some time. Then, looking tenderly at his
wife, he said: "Ladice, thou hast been a faithful, virtuous wife to me.
For this I thank thee, and ask thy forgiveness for much. We have often
misunderstood one another. Indeed it was easier for me to accustom
myself to the Greek modes of thought, than for a Greek to understand our
Egyptian ideas. Thou know'st my love of Greek art,--thou know'st how I
enjoyed the society of thy friend Pythagoras, who was thoroughly
initiated in all that we believe and know, and adopted much from us. He
comprehended the deep wisdom which lies in the doctrines that I reverence
most, and he took care not to speak lightly of truths which our priests
are perhaps too careful to hide from the people; for though the many bow
down before that which they cannot understand, they would be raised and
upheld by those very truths, if explained to them. To a Greek mind our
worship of animals presents the greatest difficulty, but to my own the
worship of the Creator in his creatures seems more just and more worthy
of a human being, than the worship of his likeness in stone. The Greek
deities are moreover subject to every human infirmity; indeed I should
have made my queen very unhappy by living in the same manner as her great
god Zeus."
At these words the king smiled, and then went on: "And what has given
rise to this? The Hellenic love of beauty in form, which, in the eye of
a Greek, is superior to every thing else. He cannot separate the body
from the soul, because he holds it to be the most glorious of formed
things, and indeed, believes that a beautiful spirit must necessarily
inhabit a beautiful body. Their gods, therefore, are only elevated human
beings, but we adore an unseen power working in nature and in ourselves.
The animal takes its place between ourselves and nature; its actions are
guided, not, like our own, by the letter, but by the eternal laws of
nature, which owe their origin to the Deity, while the letter is a
device of man's own mind. And then, too, where amongst ourselves do we
find so earnest a longing and endeavor to gain freedom, the highest good,
as among the animals? Where such a regular and well-balanced life from
generation to generation, without instruction or precept?"
Here the king's voice failed. He was obliged to pause for a few moments,
and then continued: "I know that my end is near; therefore enough of
these matters. My son and successor, hear my last wishes and act upon
them; they are the result of experience. But alas! how often have I
seen, that rules of life given by one man to another are useless. Every
man must earn his own experience. His own losses make him prudent, his
own learning wise. Thou, my son, art coming to the throne at a mature
age; thou hast had time and opportunity to judge between right and wrong,
to note what is beneficial and what hurtful, to see and compare many
things. I give thee, therefore, only a few wholesome counsels, and only
fear that though I offer them with my right hand, thou wilt accept them
with the left.
"First, however, I must say that, notwithstanding my blindness, my
indifference to what has been going on during the past months has been
only apparent. I left you to your own devices with a good intention.
Rhodopis told me once one of her teacher AEsop's fables: 'A traveller,
meeting a man on his road, asked him how long it would be before he
reached the nearest town.' 'Go on, go on,' cried the other. 'But I want
to know first when I shall get to the town.' 'Go on, only go on,' was
the answer. The traveller left him with angry words and abuse; but he
had not gone many steps when the man called after him: 'You will be there
in an hour. I could not answer your question until I had seen your
pace.'
"I bore this fable in my mind for my son's sake, and watched in silence
at what pace he was ruling his people. Now I have discovered what I wish
to know, and this is my advice: Examine into everything your self. It is
the duty of every man, but especially of a king, to acquaint himself
intimately with all that concerns the weal or woe of his people. You, my
son, are in the habit of using the eyes and ears of other men instead of
going to the fountain-head yourself. I am sure that your advisers, the
priests, only desire what is good; but . . . Neithotep, I must beg you
to leave us alone for a few moments."
When the priest was gone the king exclaimed "They wish for what is good,
but good only for themselves. But we are not kings of priests and
aristocrats only, we are kings of a nation! Do not listen to the advice
of this proud caste alone, but read every petition yourself, and, by
appointing Nomarchs devoted to the king and beloved by the people, make
yourself acquainted with the needs and wishes of the Egyptian nation. It
is not difficult to govern well, if you are aware of the state of feeling
in your land. Choose fit men to fill the offices of state. I have taken
care that the kingdom shall be properly divided. The laws are good, and
have proved themselves so; hold fast by these laws, and trust no one who
sets himself above them; for law is invariably wiser than the individual
man, and its transgressor deserves his punishment. The people understand
this well, and are ready to sacrifice themselves for us, when they see
that we are ready to give up our own will to the law. You do not care
for the people. I know their voice is often rude and rough, but it
utters wholesome truths, and no one needs to hear truth more than a king.
The Pharaoh who chooses priests and courtiers for his advisers, will hear
plenty of flattering words, while he who tries to fulfil the wishes of
the nation will have much to suffer from those around him; but the latter
will feel peace in his own heart, and be praised in the ages to come. I
have often erred, yet the Egyptians will weep for me, as one who knew
their needs and considered their welfare like a father. A king who
really knows his duties, finds it an easy and beautiful task to win the
love of the people--an unthankful one to gain the applause of the great--
almost an impossibility to content both.
"Do not forget,--I say it again,--that kings and priests exist for the
people, and not the people for their kings and priests. Honor religion
for its own sake and as the most important means of securing the
obedience of the governed to their governors; but at the same time show
its promulgators that you look on them, not as receptacles, but as
servants, of the Deity. Hold fast, as the law commands, by what is old;
but never shut the gates of your kingdom against what is new, if better.
Bad men break at once with the old traditions; fools only care for what
is new and fresh; the narrowminded and the selfish privileged class cling
indiscriminately to all that is old, and pronounce progress to be a sin;
but the wise endeavor to retain all that has approved itself in the past,
to remove all that has become defective, and to adopt whatever is good,
from whatever source it may have sprung. Act thus, my son. The priests
will try to keep you back--the Greeks to urge you forward. Choose one
party or the other, but beware of indecision--of yielding to the one
to-day, to the other to-morrow. Between two stools a man falls to the
ground. Let the one party be your friends, the other your enemies; by
trying to please both, you will have both opposed to you. Human beings
hate the man who shows kindness to their enemies. In the last few
months, during which you have ruled independently, both parties have been
offended by your miserable indecision. The man who runs backwards and
forwards like a child, makes no progress, and is soon weary. I have till
now--till I felt that death was near--always encouraged the Greeks and
opposed the priests. In the active business of life, the clever, brave
Greeks seemed to me especially serviceable; at death, I want men who can
make me out a pass into the nether regions. The gods forgive me for not
being able to resist words that sound so like a joke, even in my last
hour! They created me and must take me as I am. I rubbed my hands for
joy when I became king; with thee, my son, coming to the throne is a
graver matter.--Now call Neithotep back; I have still something to say to
you both."
The king gave his hand to the high-priest as he entered, saving: "I leave
you, Neithotep, without ill-will, though my opinion that you have been a
better priest than a servant to your king, remains unaltered. Psamtik
will probably prove a more obedient follower than I have been, but one
thing I wish to impress earnestly on you both: Do not dismiss the Greek
mercenaries until the war with the Persians is over, and has ended
we will hope--in victory for Egypt. My former predictions are not worth
anything now; when death draws near, we get depressed, and things begin
to look a little black. Without the auxiliary troops we shall be
hopelessly lost, but with them victory is not impossible. Be clever;
show the Ionians that they are fighting on the Nile for the freedom of
their own country--that Cambyses, if victorious, will not be contented
with Egypt alone, while his defeat may bring freedom to their own
enslaved countrymen in Ionia. I know you agree with me, Neithotep, for
in your heart you mean well to Egypt.--Now read me the prayers. I feel
exhausted; my end must be very near. If I could only forget that poor
Nitetis! had she the right to curse us? May the judges of the dead-may
Osiris--have mercy on our souls! Sit down by me, Ladice; lay thy hand on
my burning forehead. And Psamtik, in presence of these witnesses, swear
to honor and respect thy step-mother, as if thou wert her own child. My
poor wife! Come and seek me soon before the throne of Osiris. A widow
and childless, what hast thou to do with this world? We brought up
Nitetis as our own daughter, and yet we are so heavily punished for her
sake. But her curse rests on us--and only on us;--not on thee, Psamtik,
nor on thy children. Bring my grandson. Was that a tear? Perhaps;
well, the little things to which one has accustomed one's self are
generally the hardest to give up."
......................
Rhodopis entertained a fresh guest that evening; Kallias, the son of
Phoenippus, the same who first appeared in our tale as the bearer of news
from the Olympic games.
The lively, cheerful Athenian had just come back from his native country,
and, as an old and tried friend, was not only received by Rhodopis, but
made acquainted with the secret of Sappho's marriage.
Knakias, her old slave, had, it is true, taken in the flag which was the
sign of reception, two days ago; but he knew that Kallias was always
welcome to his mistress, and therefore admitted him just as readily as he
refused every one else.
The Athenian had plenty to tell, and when Rhodopis was called away on
business, he took his favorite Sappho into the garden, joking and teasing
her gaily as they looked out for her lover's coming. But Bartja did not
come, and Sappho began to be so anxious that Kallias called old Melitta,
whose longing looks in the direction of Naukratis were, if possible, more
anxious even than those of her mistress, and told her to fetch a musical
instrument which he had brought with him.
It was a rather large lute, made of gold and ivory, and as he handed it
to Sappho, he said, with a smile: "The inventor of this glorious
instrument, the divine Anakreon, had it made expressly for me, at my own
wish. He calls it a Barbiton, and brings wonderful tones from its
chords--tones that must echo on even into the land of shadows. I have
told this poet, who offers his life as one great sacrifice to the Muses,
Eros and Dionysus, a great deal about you, and he made me promise to
bring you this song, which he wrote on purpose for you, as a gift from
himself.
"Now, what do you say to this song? But by Hercules, child, how pale you
are! Have the verses affected you so much, or are you frightened at this
likeness of your own longing heart? Calm yourself, girl. Who knows what
may have happened to your lover?"
"Nothing has happened,--nothing," cried a gay, manly voice, and in a few
seconds Sappho was in the arms of him she loved.
Kallias looked on quietly, smiling at the wonderful beauty of these two
young lovers.
"But now," said the prince, after Sappho had made him acquainted with
Kallias, "I must go at once to your grandmother. We dare not wait four
days for our wedding. It must be to-day! There is danger in every hour
of delay. Is Theopompus here?"
"I think he must be," said Sappho. "I know of nothing else, that could
keep my grandmother so long in the house. But tell me, what is this
about our marriage? It seems to me . . ."
"Let us go in first, love. I fancy a thunder-storm must be coming on.
The sky is so dark, and it's so intolerably sultry."
"As you like, only make haste, unless you mean me to die of impatience.
There is not the slightest reason to be afraid of a storm. Since I was a
child there has not been either lightning or thunder in Egypt at this
time of year."
"Then you will see something new to-day," said Kallias, laughing; for a
large drop of rain has just fallen on my bald head, "the Nile-swallows
were flying close to the water as I came here, and you see there is a
cloud coming over the moon already. Come in quickly, or you will get
wet. Ho, slave, see that a black lamb is offered to the gods of the
lower world."
They found Theopompus sitting in Rhodopis' own apartment, as Sappho had
supposed. He had finished telling her the story of Zopyrus' arrest, and
of the journey which Bartja and his friends had taken on his behalf.
Their anxiety on the matter was beginning to be so serious, that Bartja's
unexpected appearance was a great relief. His words flew as he repeated
the events of the last few hours, and begged Theopompus to look out at
once for a ship in sailing order, to convey himself and his friends from
Egypt.
"That suits famously," exclaimed Kallias. "My own trireme brought me
from Naukratis to-day; it is lying now, fully equipped for sea, in the
port, and is quite at your service. I have only to send orders to the
steersman to keep the crew together and everything in sailing order.--You
are under no obligations to me; on the contrary it is I who have to thank
you for the honor you will confer on me. Ho, Knakias!--tell my slave
Philomelus, he's waiting in the hall,--to take a boat to the port, and
order my steersman Nausarchus to keep the ship in readiness for starting.
Give him this seal; it empowers him to do all that is necessary."
"And my slaves?" said Bartja.
"Knakias can tell my old steward to take them to Kallias' ship," answered
Theopompus.
"And when they see this," said Bartja, giving the old servant his ring,
"they will obey without a question."
Knakias went away with many a deep obeisance, and the prince went on:
"Now, my mother, I have a great petition to ask of you."
"I guess what it is," said Rhodopis, with a smile. "You wish your
marriage to be hastened, and I see that I dare not oppose your wish."
"If I'm not mistaken," said Kallias, "we have a remarkable case here.
Two people are in great peril, and find that very peril a matter of
rejoicing."
"Perhaps you are right there," said Bartja, pressing Sappho's hand
unperceived. And then, turning to Rhodopis again, he begged her to delay
no longer in trusting her dearest treasure to his care,--a treasure whose
worth he knew so well.
Rhodopis rose, she laid her right hand on Sappho's head and her left on
Bartja's, and said: "There is a myth which tells of a blue lake in the
land of roses; its waves are sometimes calm and gentle, but at others
they rise into a stormy flood; the taste of its waters is partly sweet as
honey, partly bitter as gall. Ye will learn the meaning of this legend
in the marriage-land of roses. Ye will pass calm and stormy-sweet and
bitter hours there. So long as thou wert a child, Sappho, thy life
passed on like a cloudless spring morning, but when thou becam'st a
maiden, and hadst learnt to love, thine heart was opened to admit pain;
and during the long months of separation pain was a frequent guest there.
This guest will seek admission as long as life lasts. Bartja, it will be
your duty to keep this intruder away from Sappho, as far as it lies in
your power. I know the world. I could perceive,--even before Croesus
told me of your generous nature,--that you were worthy of my Sappho.
This justified me in allowing you to eat the quince with her; this
induces me now to entrust to you, without fear, what I have always looked
upon as a sacred pledge committed to my keeping. Look upon her too only
as a loan. Nothing is more dangerous to love, than a comfortable
assurance of exclusive possession--I have been blamed for allowing such
an inexperienced child to go forth into your distant country, where
custom is so unfavorable to women; but I know what love is;--I know that
a girl who loves, knows no home but the heart of her husband;--the woman
whose heart has been touched by Eros no misfortune but that of separation
from him whom she has chosen. And besides, I would ask you, Kallias and
Theopompus, is the position of your own wives so superior to that of the
Persian women? Are not the women of Ionia and Attica forced to pass
their lives in their own apartments, thankful if they are allowed to
cross the street accompanied by suspicious and distrustful slaves? As to
the custom which prevails in Persia of taking many wives, I have no fear
either for Bartja or Sappho. He will be more faithful to his wife than
are many Greeks, for he will find in her what you are obliged to seek, on
the one hand in marriage, on the other in the houses of the cultivated
Hetaere:--in the former, housewives and mothers, in the latter, animated
and enlivening intellectual society. Take her, my son. I give her to
you as an old warrior gives his sword, his best possession, to his
stalwart son:--he gives it gladly and with confidence. Whithersoever she
may go she will always remain a Greek, and it comforts me to think that
in her new home she will bring honor to the Greek name and friends to our
nation, Child, I thank thee for those tears. I can command my own, but
fate has made me pay an immeasurable price for the power of doing so.
The gods have heard your oath, my noble Bartja. Never forget it, but
take her as your own, your friend, your wife. Take her away as soon as
your friends return; it is not the will of the gods that the Hymenaeus
should be sung at Sappho's nuptial rites."
As she said these words she laid Sappho's hand in Bartja's, embraced her
with passionate tenderness, and breathed a light kiss on the forehead of
the young Persian. Then turning to her Greek friends, who stood by, much
affected:
"That was a quiet nuptial ceremony," she said; "no songs, no torch-light!
May their union be so much the happier. Melitta, bring the bride's
marriage-ornaments, the bracelets and necklaces which lie in the bronze
casket on my dressing-table, that our darling may give her hand to her
lord attired as beseems a future princess."
"Yes, and do not linger on the way," cried Kallias, whose old
cheerfulness had now returned. "Neither can we allow the niece of the
greatest of Hymen's poets to be married without the sound of song and
music. The young husband's house is, to be sure, too far off for our
purpose, so we will suppose that the andronitis is his dwelling.
[The Hymenaeus was the wedding-song, so called because of its
refrain "Hymen O! Hymenae' O!" The god of marriage, Hymen, took
his origin and name from the hymn, was afterwards decked out richly
with myths, and finally, according to Catullus, received a seat on
Mount Helikon with the Muses.]
[A Greek bride was beautifully adorned for her marriage, and her
bridesmaids received holiday garments. Homer, Odyss. VI. 27.
Besides which, after the bath, which both bride and bridegroom were
obliged to take, she was anointed with sweet-smelling essences.
Thucyd. II. 15. Xenoph. Symp. II. 3.]
"We will conduct the maiden thither by the centre door, and there we will
enjoy a merry wedding-feast by the family hearth. Here, slavegirls, come
and form yourselves into two choruses. Half of your number take the part
of the youths; the other half that of the maidens, and sing us Sappho's
Hymenaeus. I will be the torch-bearer; that dignity is mine by right.
You must know, Bartja, that my family has an hereditary right to carry
the torches at the Eleusinian mysteries and we are therefore called
Daduchi or torch-bearers. Ho, slave! see that the door of the
andronitis is hung with flowers, and tell your comrades to meet us with a
shower of sweetmeats as we enter. That's right, Melitta; why, how did
you manage to get those lovely violet and myrtle marriage-crowns made so
quickly? The rain is streaming through the opening above. You see,
Hymen has persuaded Zeus to help him; so that not a single marriage-rite
shall be omitted. You could not take the bath, which ancient custom
prescribes for the bride and bridegroom on the morning of their wedding-
day, so you have only to stand here a moment and take the rain of Zeus as
an equivalent for the waters of the sacred spring. Now, girls, begin
your song. Let the maidens bewail the rosy days of childhood, and the
youths praise the lot of those who marry young."
Five well-practised treble voices now began to sing the chorus of virgins
in a sad and plaintive tone.
Suddenly the song was hushed, for a flash of lightning had shone down
through the aperture beneath which Kallias had stationed the bride and
bridegroom, followed by a loud peal of thunder. "See!" cried the
Daduchus, raising his hand to heaven, "Zeus himself has taken the
nuptial-torch, and sings the Hymenaeus for his favorites."
At dawn the next morning, Sappho and Bartja left the house and went into
the garden. After the violent storm which had raged all night, the
garden was looking as fresh and cheerful in the morning light as the
faces of the newly-married pair.
Bartja's anxiety for his friends, whom he had almost forgotten in the
excitement of his marriage, had roused them so early.
The garden had been laid out on an artificial hill, which overlooked the
inundated plain. Blue and white lotus-blossoms floated on the smooth
surface of the water, and vast numbers of water-birds hovered along the
shores or over the flood. Flocks of white, herons appeared on the banks,
their plumage gleaming like glaciers on distant mountain peaks; a
solitary eagle circled upward on its broad pinions through the pure
morning air, turtle-doves nestled in the tops of the palm-trees; pelicans
and ducks fluttered screaming away, whenever a gay sail appeared. The
air had been cooled by the storm, a fresh north-wind was blowing, and,
notwithstanding the early hour, there were a number of boats sailing over
the deluged fields before the breeze. The songs of the rowers, the
plashing strokes of their oars and the cries of the birds, all
contributed to enliven the watery landscape of the Nile valley, which,
though varied in color, was somewhat monotonous.
Bartja and Sappho stood leaning on each other by the low wall which ran
round Rhodopis' garden, exchanging tender words and watching the scene
below, till at last Bartja's quick eye caught sight of a boat making
straight for the house and coming on fast by the help of the breeze and
powerful rowers.
A few minutes later the boat put in to shore and Zopyrus with his
deliverers stood before them.
Darius's plan had succeeded perfectly, thanks to the storm, which, by its
violence and the unusual time of its appearance, had scared the
Egyptians; but still there was no time to be lost, as it might reasonably
be supposed that the men of Sais would pursue their fugitive with all the
means at their command.
Sappho, therefore, had to take a short farewell of her grandmother, all
the more tender, however, for its shortness,--and then, led by Rartja and
followed by old Melitta, who was to accompany her to Persia, she went on
board Syloson's boat. After an hour's sail they reached a beautifully-
built and fast-sailing vessel, the Hygieia, which belonged to Kallias.
He was waiting for them on board his trireme. The leave-taking between
himself and his young friends was especially affectionate. Bartja hung a
heavy and costly gold chain round the neck of the old man in token of his
gratitude, while Syloson, in remembrance of the dangers they had shared
together, threw his purple cloak over Darius' shoulders. It was a
master-specimen of Tynan dye, and had taken the latter's fancy. Darius
accepted the gift with pleasure, and said, as he took leave: "You must
never forget that I am indebted to you, my Greek friend, and as soon as
possible give me an opportunity of doing you service in return."
"You ought to come to me first, though," exclaimed Zopyrus, embracing his
deliverer. "I am perfectly ready to share my last gold piece with you;
or what is more, if it would do you a service, to sit a whole week in
that infernal hole from which you saved me. Ah! they're weighing anchor.
Farewell, you brave Greek. Remember me to the flower-sisters, especially
to the pretty, little Stephanion, and tell her her long-legged lover
won't be able to plague her again for some time to come at least. And
then, one more thing; take this purse of gold for the wife and children
of that impertinent fellow, whom I struck too hard in the heat of the
fray."
The anchors fell rattling on to the deck, the wind filled the sails, the
Trieraules--[Flute-player to a trireme]--took his flute and set the
measure of the monotonous Keleusma or rowing-song, which echoed again
from the hold of the vessel. The beak of the ship bearing the statue of
Hygieia, carved in wood, began to move. Bartja and Sappho stood at the
helm and gazed towards Naukratis, until the shores of the Nile vanished
and the green waves of the Hellenic sea splashed their foam over the deck
of the trireme.