Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Marc
D’Hooghe, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
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HISTORICAL MINIATURES
By August Strindberg
Translated by Claud Field, M.A.
PREFACE
Maximilian Harden, the well-known critic, writes in the _Zukunft_ (7th
September 1907) of the _Historical Miniatures_:
“A very interesting book, as might be expected, for it is Strindberg’s.
And I am bold enough to say a book which should and must be successful
with the public. The writer is not here concerned with Sweden, nor with
Natural History. A philosopher and poet here describes the visions which
a study of the history of mankind has called up before his inner eye.
Julian the Apostate and Peter the Hermit appear on the stage, together
with Attila and Luther, Alcibiades and Eginhard. We see the empires
of the Pharaohs and the Czars, the Athens of Socrates and the ‘Merry
England’ of Henry VIII. There are twenty brief episodes, and each of
them is alive. So powerful is the writer’s faculty of vision, that it
compels belief in his descriptions of countries and men.”
“The question whether these cultured circles really were as described,
hardly occurs to us. Never has the remarkable writer shown a more
comprehensive grasp. Since the days of the _Confession of a Fool_,
Strindberg has become a writer of world-wide significance.”
[Footnote: one collection of Maximilian Harden’s essays is published by
Messrs. Blackwood, and another by Mr. Eveleigh Nash.]
CONTENTS
PREFACE
THE EGYPTIAN BONDAGE
THE HEMICYCLE OF ATHENS
ALCIBIADES
SOCRATES
FLACCUS AND MARO
LEONTOPOLIS
THE LAMB
THE WILD BEAST
THE APOSTATE
ATTILA
THE SERVANT OF SERVANTS
ISHMAEL
EGINHARD TO EMMA
THE CLOSE OF THE FIRST MILLENNIUM
PETER THE HERMIT
LAOCOON
THE INSTRUMENT
OLD MERRY ENGLAND
THE WHITE MOUNTAIN
THE GREAT CZAR
THE SEVEN GOOD YEARS
DAYS OF JUDGMENT
STRINDBERG’S DEATH-BED
THE EGYPTIAN BONDAGE
The old worker in ebony and cabinet-maker, Amram, dwelt by the
river-side in a clay-hut which was covered with palm-leaves. There he
lived with his wife and three children. He was yellow in complexion and
wore a long beard. Skilled in his trade of carving ebony and hard wood,
he attended at Pharaoh’s court, and accordingly also worked in the
temples. One morning in midsummer, just before sunrise, he got out of
bed, placed his implements in a bag, and stepped out of his hut. He
remained standing on the threshold for a moment, and, turning to the
east, uttered a low prayer. Then he began to walk between fishermen’s
huts, following the black broken bank of the river, where herons and
doves were resting after their morning meal.
His neighbour, the fisherman, Nepht, was overhauling his nets, and
placing carp, grayling, and sheat-fish in the different partitions of
his boat.
Amram greeted him, and wished to say some words in token of
friendliness.
“Has the Nile ceased to rise?” he asked.
“It remains standing at ten yards’ height. That means starvation!”
“Do you know why it cannot rise higher than fifteen yards, Nepht?”
“Because otherwise we should drown,” answered the fisherman simply.
“Yes, certainly, and that we cannot. The Nile, then, has a Lord who
controls the water-level; and He who has measured out the starry vault,
and laid the foundations of the earth, has set up a wall for the waters,
and this wall, which we cannot see, is fifteen yards high. For during
the great flood in the land of our fathers, Ur of the Chaldees, the
water rose fifteen yards--no more, no less. Yes, Nepht, I say ‘we,’
for you are of our people, though you speak another tongue, and honour
strange gods. I wish you a good morning, Nepht, a very good morning.”
He left the abashed fisherman, went on, and entered the outskirts of the
city, where began the rows of citizens’ houses built of Nile-bricks
and wood. He saw the merchant and money-changer Eleazar taking down his
window-shutters while his assistant sprinkled water on the ground before
the shop. Amram greeted him, “A fine morning, cousin Eleazar.”
“I cannot say,” answered the tradesman sulkily. “The Nile has remained
stationary, and begins to sink. The times are bad.”
“Bad times are followed by good times, as our father Abraham knew; and
when Joseph, Jacob’s son, foresaw the seven lean years he counselled
Pharaoh to store up corn in the granaries....”
“May be, but that is a forgotten tale now.”
“Yes, and have you also forgotten the promise which the Lord gave to his
friend Abraham?”
“That about the land of Canaan? We have waited four hundred years for
its fulfilment, and now, instead of receiving it, Abraham’s children
have become bond-servants.”
“Abraham believed through good and through evil days, through joy and
through sorrow, and that was counted to him for righteousness.”
“I don’t believe at all,” Eleazar broke in, “or rather, I believe that
things go backwards, and that I will have to put up my shutters, if
there is a failure in the crops.”
Amram went on with a sad face, and came to the market, where he bought a
millet loaf, a piece of an eel, and some onions.
When the market-woman took the piece of money, she spat on it, and when
Amram received his change, he did the same.
“Do you spit on the money, Hebrew?” she hissed.
“One adopts the customs of the country,” answered Amram.
“Do you answer, unclean dog?”
“I answer speech, but not abuse.”
The Hebrew went on, for a crowd began to gather. He met the barber,
Enoch, and they greeted each other with a sign which the Hebrews had
devised, and which signified, “We believe in the promise to Abraham, and
wait, patient in hope.”
Amram reached at last the temple square, passed through the avenue of
Sphinxes, and stood before a little door in the left pylon. He knocked
seven times with his hand; a servant appeared, took Amram by the arm
and led him in. A young priest tied a bandage round his eyes, and, after
they had searched his bag, they took the cabinet-maker by the hand, and
led him into the temple. Sometimes they went up steps, sometimes down
them, sometimes straight-forward. Now and then they avoided pillars,
and the murmur of water was heard; at one time there was a smell of
dampness, at another of incense.
At last they halted, and the bandage was taken off Amram’s eyes. He
found himself in a small room with painted walls, some seats, and a
cupboard. A richly-carved ebony door divided this room from a larger
one which on one side opened on to a broad staircase leading down to a
terrace facing eastward.
The priest left Amram alone after he had shown him that the door
required repair, and had, with an unmistakable gesture, enjoined on him
silence and secrecy.
When Amram was left alone, and found himself for the first time within
the sacred walls which could not overawe a Hebrew’s mind, he yet felt a
certain alarm at all the mysteriousness, of which he had heard since
his youth. In order to shake off his fear of the unknown, he resolved to
satisfy his curiosity, though at the risk of being turned out, if he met
anyone. As a pretext he took a fine plane in his hand, and entered the
great hall.
It was very spacious. In the midst was a fountain of red granite, with
an obelisk set upright in the basin. The walls were adorned with figures
painted in simple colours, most of them in red ochre, but also in yellow
and black. He drew off his sandals, and went on into a gallery where
stood mummy-coffins leaning against the wall.
Then he entered a domed room, on the vault of which were painted the
great constellations of the northern hemisphere. In the middle of the
room stood a table, on which lay a half-globe covered with designs
resembling the outlines of a map. By the window stood another table,
with a model of the largest pyramid set upon a land-surveyor’s board,
with a scale of measurements. Close by stood an alidade, an instrument
for measuring angles.
There was no visible outlet to this room, but after some search the
uninitiated Hebrew found some stairs of acacia-wood leading up through
a wooden tower. He climbed and climbed, but when he looked through the
loopholes, he found himself always on a level with the roof of the
domed room. But he continued to ascend, and after he had again counted
a hundred steps and, looked through a loop hole, he found himself on a
level with the floor of the domed room. Then a wooden door opened, and
an elderly man in half-priestly garb received him with a greeting as
though he were a well-known and expected superior. But when he saw a
stranger, he started, and the two men gazed at each other long, before
they could speak. Amram, who felt unpleasantly surprised, began the
verbal encounter: “Reuben? Don’t you know me, the friend of your youth,
and your kinsman in the Promise?”
“Amram, the husband of Jochebed, the son of Kohath! Yes, I know you!”
“And you here! After you have vanished from my sight for thirty years!”
“And you?”
“I was sent for to repair a door; that is all; and when I was left
alone, I wanted to look round.
“I am a scribe in the chief school....”
“And sacrificest to strange gods....”
“No, I do not sacrifice, and I have kept my faith in the promise, Amram.
I have entered this temple in order to learn the secrets of the wise,
and to open from within the fortress which holds Israel captive.”
“Secrets? Why should the Highest be secret?”
“Because the common people only understand what is low.”
“You do not yourself believe in these animals which you call sacred?”
“No, they are only symbols--visible signs to body forth the invisible.
We priests and scribes revere the Only One, the Hidden, under His
visible shape, the Sun, giver and sustainer of life. You remember, when
we were young, how Pharaoh Amenophis the Fourth forcibly did away with
the ancient gods and the worship of the sacred animals. He passed down
the river from Thebes proclaiming the doctrine of the Unity of God.
Do you know whence he derived that doctrine? From the Israelites, who,
after Joseph’s marriage to Asenath, daughter of the High Priest of
On, increased in numbers, and even married daughters of the house of
Pharaoh. But after the death of Amenophis the old order was restored,
the King again resided at Thebes, and the ancient gods were brought out
again, all to please the people.”
“And you continue to honour the Only One, the Hidden, the Eternal.
“Yes, we do.”
“Is, then, your God not the same as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and
Jacob?”
“Probably, since there is only One.”
“It is strange. Why, then, do you persecute the Hebrews?”
“Foreigners are not generally loved. You know that our Pharaoh has
lately conquered the Syrian race of Hittites.”
“In the land of Canaan and the region round about, in the land of our
fathers, and of the promise. Do you see, the Lord of Zebaoth, our God,
sends him to prepare the way for our people?”
“Do you still believe in the promise?”
“As surely as the Lord liveth! And I am told that the time will be soon
fulfilled when we shall leave our bondage, and go to the promised land.”
The scribe did not answer, but his face expressed simultaneously doubt
in Amram’s declaration, and the certainty of something quite different
which would soon happen. Amram, who did not wish to have his faith
shaken by any kind of explanations, let the subject drop, and spoke of
something indifferent.
“That is a strange staircase.”
“It is an elevator, and not a staircase.”
Amram glanced up at the domed roof, and found a new pretext for
continuing the conversation, which he did not wish to drop.
“Does that represent the sky?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And its secrets?”
“Ah, the secrets? They are accessible to all who can understand them.”
“Tell them in a few words.”
“Astronomy is not my province, and I know little of it, but still I
will tell you in a few words. The vault up there represents the sky,
the board lying on the table, the earth. Now the wise speak thus: In the
beginning Earth (Sibu) and Heaven (Nuit) lay near each other. But the
god of air and of sunlight (Shu) raised the sky, and set it as a vault
over the earth. The fixed constellations which we know form as it were
an impression, like that of a seal on wax, of the earth, and when the
learned study the stars, they can find out the unknown parts of our
earth. Look at the constellations which you know. In the north the Great
Bear; in the south, at a certain season of the year, the Hunter (Orion),
with four stars at the corners and three stars in the middle. These
three we Hebrews call Jacob’s Staff, and through the uppermost of them
passes the sky-gauge or equator, which corresponds to the earth-gauge
where the sources of our Nile are said to be.
“You know also the constellation which we specially love--the River
(Nile). Look, how it flees from the Hunter (Orion), and makes as many
windings as the Nile here on earth. Therefore he who wishes to learn the
hidden secrets of earth must learn them from the sky. Our wise men know
only the lands which lie towards the east; but those which lie in the
north under the Great Bear are unknown to us, as also are the lands
towards the west. But it looks as though the lands of the Bear had great
destinies assigned to them. Their numbers are four and three, like those
of the Hunter. Three represents the Divine with its attributes, four
denotes the most perfect possible: three and four together form the
mysterious number seven. To gods sacrifices are offered with the unequal
number, three; to men, with the equal number four.
“This is about all that I have cursorily understood of the secrets of
the sky. If you now wish to understand some of the secrets of the earth,
let us consider the tombs of the Pharaohs. These, apart from their
ostensible purposes of being tombs, have also a hidden one--_i.e._ to
conceal in their numbers and proportions the discoveries of the learned
regarding the mutual relations of Sibus and Nuits. In the first place,
the sepulchre of the Pharaohs, or the Pyramid, operates with the numbers
four and three; the base with four, the sides with three. That was
indeed one of the secrets of the sky. But the base of the Great Pyramid
is 365 ells broad. There you have the 365 days of the year. Now the
triple side of the Pyramid is 186 great ells, or a stadium long. There
you see where our road-measures come from.
“If you multiply the breadth of the base with the number 500, which is
about double the breadth measured in great ells, you obtain a length
which is equivalent to 1/360 of the whole orbital path of the sun in
a year, since the number of days in a lunar year is 360. This length
represents four minutes, and those who live a degree west of us see the
sun rise four minutes later than we do.
“This is all I remember about numbers and proportions. If you wish to
learn more--for example, why the sides of the pyramid are inclined at
an angle of 5l°--you must ask the astronomers. The steps to the funereal
chamber, on the other hand, are inclined at an angle of 27°. This
corresponds to the difference between the axis of the universe and the
axis of the earth.”
Amram had listened with special attention to the learned scribe’s
explanation of the tombs of the Pharaohs, and when Reuben mentioned
numbers he concentrated his attention still more, as though he wished
to fix something in his mind. Finally he interrupted him, and began to
speak: “You just now mentioned 27°. Good! That is not the inclination
of the axis of the universe, but of the Milky Way, which probably is
the real axis and lies 27° north of the heavenly equator, while the
inclination of the earth’s axis to the orbit of the sun is 23°. But you
have forgotten the third Pyramid, that of Menkheres, the base of which
is 107 great ells broad. This number 107 we find again three or five
times in the universe; there are 107 smaller suns between the earth and
the sun; 107 is the distance of the planet Venus, and also of Jupiter
from the sun.”
Reuben started. “What? Where did you get all that? Here you let me
stand, and make a fool of me! Where have you learnt that?”
“From our oldest and wisest, who have preserved the memories of their
home at Ur in Chaldaea. You despise Assur, you men of Egypt, for you
believe the Nile is the centre of the earth. But there are many centres
in the infinite. Behind Assur, on the Tigris and Euphrates, there lies
another land with another river. It is called the Land of the Seven
Rivers, because its river debouches into seven mouths as the Nile does.”
“The Nile has seven arms, as you say, like the seven-branched
candlestick!
“That betokens the Light of the world, which shall shine from every land
where a river divides itself in order to flow into the sea. The rivers,
you see, are the blood-vessels of the earth, and as these carry blue and
red blood alternately, so our land has its Blue Nile and its Red Nile.
The Blue Nile is poisonous like dark blood, and the Red is fertilising,
life-giving, like red blood. So everything created has its counterpart
above in heaven and below on earth, for all is one, and the Lord of all
is One--One and the Same.”
Reuben kept silence and listened. “Speak on!” he said at last.
Amram therefore continued: “The tombs of the Pharaohs have also grown
out of the earth on which they rest. The first or Great Pyramid is built
after the pattern of sea-salt when it crystallises in the warmth of the
sun. If you could look through a dewdrop into a salt-crystal, you would
find it built up of an infinite number of squares just like the Great
Pyramid. But if you let alum crystallise, you will see a whole field of
pyramids. Alum is the salt deposited in clay. There you have the salt of
the earth and of the sea.
“But there is another kind of pyramid with blunted corners. That is the
original form of sulphur when found in chalk. Now we have water, earth,
and chalk with its fire-stone. There is still a third kind of pyramid
with blunted edges; these resemble crystallised flint or rock crystal.
There you have the foundation of the mountains. A closer examination of
the Nile-mud will discover all these primary forms and substances--clay,
salt, sulphur, and flint. Therefore the Nile is the blood of the earth.
And the mountains are the flesh, not the bones.”
Reuben, whose Egyptian name was Phater, had regarded Amram while he
spoke with alarm and amazement. When the latter had ceased to speak, he
began, “You are not Amram the worker in ebony and cabinet-maker.”
“I am certainly a worker in ebony and cabinetmaker, but I am also of
Israel’s priestly line. I am the son of Kohath, the son of Levi, the son
of Jacob, the son of Isaac, the son of Abraham. I am a Levite and the
husband of Jochebed. Miriam, and Aaron are the children hitherto born
to me; one unborn I still await. Now I go back to my work; show me the
way!”
Phater went in front, but led Amram by another way than that by which
he had come. As they passed by an open door, which led into a large hall
lined with bookcases, Amram stopped, full of curiosity, and wished to
enter, in order to look at the numerous books. But Phater held him back
by his garment, “Don’t go in,” he said; “the place is full of traps and
snares. The guardian of the library sits concealed in the middle of the
hall, and guards his treasures jealously. He has had the floor made of
dried willow-withes, which creak when they are trodden upon. He hears
anyone stealing in, and he hears if a scribe touches the forbidden
books. He has heard us, and he is feeling after us! Don’t you feel as
if cold snake-tongues were touching your cheeks, your forehead, your
eyelids?”
“Yes, I do.”
“It is he, stretching out the fingers of his soul, as we stretch out an
arm. But now I cut off the feeler which wants to examine us.”
He took out a knife, and made a cut through the air in front of them.
Amram felt a sudden glow, and at the same moment saw a great adder
writhing on the ground in its death-struggle.
“You practise magic arts here?” he said.
“Did you not know that?”
“I did not expect it.”
At the same instant the wall seemed to open, and they saw a mass of
Nile mud in which crocodiles and snakes twined round each other, while a
hippopotamus trampled threateningly with its forefeet.
Amram was alarmed, but Phater took out an amulet in the shape of a
scarabaeus, and, holding it as a shield in front of him, he passed
through the terrible shapes, which dissolved like smoke, while Amram
followed him.
“The magician only cheats our eyes,” said Phater, and as he waved his
hand the whole appearance vanished.
Now they stood again in the first hall, and, pointing to the Nilometer,
Amram said, “Famine!”
“There is no doubt of that. Therefore all superfluous mouths should be
stopped.”
“What!”
Phater saw that he had made a slip of the tongue.
“I mean,” he said, “Pharaoh must consider how to get corn.”
“He would find a Joseph useful just now.”
“Why?” broke in Phater more vehemently than he intended. “Don’t you
know that Joseph the son of Jacob brought the Egyptians to be Pharaoh’s
bond-slaves. Your chronicles and ours relate that he made the peasants
mortgage their land in return for help during the seven lean years, and
that, by his doing so, Pharaoh became sole possessor of all the land of
Egypt.”
“You are not Reuben; you are Phater the Egyptian, for if you were an
Israelite, you would not have spoken thus. Our ways part. I go to my
work.”
Amram laid his hand on the door, and Phater glided into the shadow of
the columns and vanished. But Amram saw by his bent back that he had
evil designs.
* * * * *
When Amram came home in the evening, he found that his wife had borne a
son. He was like other healthy children, but did not cry; after the bath
he was wrapped in linen and laid in the darkest corner of the cottage.
The next day before sunrise Amram went again to his work in the Temple
of the Sun, and was again led into the chamber with his eyes bandaged.
There he was left alone without receiving any counsel or advice
regarding what he was to do. This carelessness seemed to him like
indifference, and indicated a general laxness in the temple servants.
Therefore he again entered the columned hall. He looked uneasily at the
Nilometer, in which the water had sunk. There was no hope of the fifteen
ells of water which the earth needed for the harvest of the year.
He stepped out on the terrace, which looked towards the east, and
entered an open colonnade. But before he went farther, he took the
precaution of dropping small pieces of papyrus to show him the way back.
He went through narrow courtyards, but took care not to climb steps; his
experience of yesterday had warned him. At last he found himself in a
forest of pillars whose tops were crowned with lotus-buds, and, as he
listened, he heard what seemed a faint song of children’s voices from
the roof. He laid his ear to a pillar, and heard it more clearly, like
the ringing music of zither and harp. He knew that this was caused by
the sun, which had already warmed the stones of the roof, and was about
to ascend the sky.
He went forward, and suddenly saw a terrace upon which stood a
sacrificial altar. From the terrace, a flight of stairs flanked with
sphinxes descended to the river. Thence there sloped a valley, bounded
on the east by the mountains of the Red Sea. At the altar there stood
a priest in a white linen robe with a purple border. He had raised his
arms towards heaven, and stood motionless. His hands were quite white,
since the blood had sunk into his arms, and the face of the old man
seemed astrain with the strength he had invoked from above. Sometimes
his body shuddered as though streams of fire ran through it. He was
silent, and gazed towards the East. Then the shining edge of the sun’s
disk rose above the mountain-ridge, and the white hands of the priest
became transparently crimson like his face. And he opened his mouth and
said: “Sun-god: Lord of the splendour of rays, be Thou extolled in the
morning when Thou risest, and in the evening when Thou descendest. I cry
to Thee, Lord of Eternity, Thou Sun of both horizons, Thou Creator who
hast created Thyself. All the gods shout aloud when they behold Thee, O
King of heaven; my youth is renewed when I see thy beauty. Hail to Thee,
as Thou passest from land to land, Thou Father of the gods!”
He stopped speaking and remained standing, his arms outstretched towards
the sun, as though he absorbed warmth from it.
Then in the forest of pillars a rattle of arms was heard, which ceased
immediately, and forthwith a stately beardless man appeared, clothed in
purple and gold. His walk was as noiseless as that of a panther’s, and
he seemed to glide over the floor which reflected his image, a bright
shadow which followed him as he went. When he came out on the terrace
the sun cast behind him a gigantic dark shadow which lay there like a
carpet.
“Already at prayer, thou wisest of the wise!” was Pharaoh’s greeting to
the Chief Priest.
“My lord has called me, thy servant has obeyed. My lord has returned
to his land after long and victorious campaigns in far and foreign
countries. Thy servant greets Pharaoh to his face.”
Pharaoh sat down on a chair of state, his face turned towards the rising
sun, and began to speak like one who wishes to set his thoughts in
order. “My chariots have rolled over the red soil of Syria, my horses
have trampled the highways of Babylon and Nineveh; I have crossed the
Euphrates and Tigris, and marched through the region between the two
rivers; I have come to the land of the Five Rivers, and seen the Seven
in the distance, where the Land of Silk begins, that stretches towards
the sunrise. I have returned on my traces and gone northward towards
Scythia and Colchis. Wherever I went I heard murmurs and saw movements.
The people have awaked; in the temples they prophesied the return of the
gods; for men had been left alone to manage their affairs and to guide
their destinies, but had done both badly. Justice had become injustice,
and truth, falsehood; the whole earth groaned for deliverance. At last
their prayers reached the throne of the All-merciful. And now the wise,
the gentle, the saintly proclaim in all tongues the joyful message, ‘The
gods return again. They return in order to put right what the children
of men have thrown in confusion, to give laws and to protect justice.’
This message I bring home as a spoil of victory, and thou, wisest of the
wise, shalt receive it first from thy lord.”
“Thou hearest, my Lord Pharaoh, what is spoken over the whole circle of
the earth; thine eyes see farther than the stars of heaven and the eye
of the sun!”
“And yet only my ear has heard, but my intelligence has not grasped what
the gods have revealed to me in a dream. Interpret it for me.”
“Tell it, my lord.”
“I saw nothing, but I heard a voice, when sleep had quenched the light
of my eyes. The voice spoke in the darkness, and said, ‘The red earth
will spread over all lands, but the black shall be dispersed like the
sand.’”
“The dream, my lord is not hard to interpret, but it forebodes nothing
good.”
“Interpret it.”
“Very well; the red earth is Syria, as thou knowest, my lord, where
live the wretched Hittites, that is the hereditary land of the Hebrew,
Canaan. The black earth is that of the Nile, thy land, my lord.”
“Again the Hebrews, always the Hebrews! Centuries have passed since this
people wandered into our land. They have increased without disturbing
us. I neither love nor hate them; but now I fear them. They have had to
toil, of late more severely than ever, but they do not murmur; they are
patient as though they expected something to happen.”
“Let them go, my lord.”
“No! for then they will go, and found a new kingdom.”
“Let them go.”
“No, I will destroy them.”
“Let them go.”
“Certainly I will destroy them.”
“But thy dream, my lord.”
“I interpret that as a warning and exhortation.”
“Touch not that people, my lord, for their God is stronger than ours.”
“Their God is that of the Chaldaeans. Let our gods fight. I have spoken;
thou hast heard; I add nothing and retract nothing.”
“My Lord, thou seest one sun in the sky, and believest that it shines
over all nations: do you not believe that there is one Lord of the
heaven who rules the destinies of all nations?”
“It should be so, but the Lord of heaven has made me ruler over this
land, and now I rule it.”
“Thou rulest it, my lord, but thou rulest not wind and weather; thou
canst not raise the water of the Nile by one inch, and thou canst not
prevent the crops failing again this year.”
“Failing? What does the Nilometer say?”
“My lord, the sun has entered the sign of the Balance, and the water is
sinking already. It means famine.”
“Then I will destroy all superfluous and strange mouths which take the
bread from the children of the country. I will annihilate the Hebrews.”
“Let them go free, my lord.”
“I will summon the midwives, and have every boy that is born of a Hebrew
woman destroyed. I have spoken; now I act.” Pharaoh rose from his chair,
and departed more quickly than he had come. Amram sought to find his
way back, but could only discover one piece of papyrus. Then he remained
standing and feared much, for he could not find his way.
The sun had risen, and there was no more music in the forest of
pillars, but silence. But as Amram listened he began to be aware of that
compressed stillness which emanates from a listener, or from children
who do something forbidden and do not wish to be discovered. He felt
that someone was near who wished to be concealed, but who still kept his
thoughts directed towards him. In order to satisfy himself Amram went in
the direction where the silence seemed to be densest. And lo! behind a
pillar stood Phater. He did not show a sign of embarrassment, but only
held out his open hand, in which lay all the pieces of papyrus, which
Amram had strewed as he went.
“You must not strew pieces of papyrus on the ground,” said Phater with
an inscrutable smile. “Yes--I am not angry, I only wish you well. For
now you will follow me, and not return to your work, which was only a
trap set for your life. You must return to your house, and take care
that your new-born child is not killed. You see that Reuben-Phater is a
true Israelite, although you would not believe him.”
Amram followed him out of the temple, and went home.
* * * * *
Jochebed went about in Pharaoh’s garden watering cucumbers; she went to
and fro with her watering pot between the Watergate that opened on the
river and the cucumber-bed. But sometimes she went through the gate and
remained for a while outside.
Miriam, her daughter, pruned the vines which grew against the
garden-wall, but seemed to direct her attention more towards the broad
walk which led up to the summer palace of the princesses. Her head moved
like the leaf of the palm-tree when the wind blows through it, looking
sometimes towards the Watergate, sometimes towards the great walk, while
her hands carried on her work. As her mother delayed her return, she
went from the wall down to the gate, and out to the low river shore
where the bulrushes swayed in the gentle south wind. A stonechat of
the desert sat on a rock by the river, wagged its tail, and flapped its
wings, as though it wished to show something which it saw; and chattered
at the sight of something strange among the bulrushes. High up in the
air a hawk hovered in spiral circles, eyeing the ground below. Miriam
broke off some lotus-buds and threw them at the stonechat, which flew
away, but kept its beak still pointing towards the rushes. The girl girt
up her dress, waded into the water, and now saw her mother standing,
hidden up to her waist in a forest of papyrus-reeds, bending over a
reed-basket with a baby at her breast.
“Mother,” whispered Miriam, “Pharaoh’s daughter is approaching; she
comes to bathe in the river.”
“Lord God of Israel, have mercy on my child!”
“If you have given the child enough to drink, hasten and come.”
The mother bowed herself like an arch over the child; her hair hung down
like an insect-net, and two tears fell from her eyes on the little one’s
outstretched hands. Then she rose, placed a sweet date in its mouth,
softly closed the cover, murmured a blessing, and came out of the water.
A gentle breeze from the land swayed the rushes and crisped the surface
of the river.
“The basket swims,” she said, “but the river flows on; it is red with
blood and thick as cream. Lord God of Israel, have mercy!”
“Yes, He will,” answered Miriam, “as He had mercy on our father Abraham,
who obtained the promise, because he obeyed and believed, ‘Through thy
seed shall all the families on the earth be blessed.’”
“And now Pharaoh slays all the first-born.”
“But not thy son.”
“Not yet.”
“Pray and hope.”
“What? That the monsters of the river do not swallow him, that the waves
of the river do not drown him, that Pharaoh’s executioners do not kill
him! Is that the hope?”
“The promise is greater, and it lives: ‘Thy seed shall possess the gate
of his enemies.’”
“And then Amram thy father has fled.”
“To Raamses and Pithom, where our people toil in the buildings; he has
gone there to warn and advise them. He has done well. Hush! Pharaoh’s
daughter comes.”
“But she cannot bathe in the blood of our child.”
“She comes, however. But she is the friend of the poor Hebrews; fear
not.”
“She is her father’s daughter.”
“The Egyptians are our cousins; they are Ham’s descendants, and we are
Shem’s. Shem and Ham were brothers.”
“But Ham was cursed by his father Noah, and Kanaan was Ham’s son.”
“But Noah said, ‘Blessed be the Lord God of Shem, and let Kanaan be his
servant.’ Have you heard? Shem received the promise, and we belong to
him.”
“Lord of Hosts, help us; the basket drifts with the wind! It drifts
towards the bathing-house,--and the vulture up there in the air.”
“That is a hawk, mother!” Jochebed ran up and down the bank, like a dog
whom its master has deserted; she beat her breast, and wept great tears.
Steps and voices were audible. “Here is Pharaoh’s daughter!”
“But the Lord God of Israel is watching over us.”
The two women hid themselves in the reeds, and Pharaoh’s daughter
appeared with her attendants at the watergate. She stepped on the bridge
leading to the bath-house, which was a hut of coloured camel’s skin,
supported by pillars which stood in the bed of the river. But the basket
drifted against the bridge and excited the curiosity of the princess.
She remained standing and waited. Jochebed and Miriam could not hear
what she said on account of the wind, but by her quiet movements they
saw that she expected some amusement from the strange gift brought by
the river. Now she sent a slave to the bank. The latter ran and broke
off a long reed, which she handed to her mistress, who fished for the
basket and brought it within reach. Then she knelt down and opened it.
Jochebed saw two little arms outstretched. The princess laughed aloud,
and turned to the women. She uttered an expression of joy, and then
lifted the infant, which nestled in her maiden bosom and felt about in
her white robe. Then the princess kissed it, pressed it to her breast,
and turned back to the shore.
Miriam, who had now lost all fear, stepped forward and fell on her face.
“See, Miriam,” said the princess, whose name was Temma, “I have found a
baby. I have received it from the Nile, and therefore it is a child of
the gods. But now you must find a nurse for it.”
“Where shall I find one, noble princess?”
“Search! But you must find one before evening. Do not forget, however,
that it is my child, since I drew it out of the water. I have given him
his name, and he shall be called Moses. And I will have him educated so
that he becomes a man after our mind. Go in peace, and find me a nurse!”
Pharaoh’s daughter went with her child up to the palace, and Miriam
looked for her mother among the reeds, where she had waited and heard
what Pharaoh’s daughter had said and resolved.
“Mother, Pharaoh’s daughter will bring up Amram and Jochebed’s son.
Ham’s children will serve Shem’s. Praised be the Lord, the God of Shem!
Now you believe in the promise, mother!”
“Now I believe, and God be praised for His great mercy!”
THE HEMICYCLE OF ATHENS
After a hot day the sun began to sink, and the market-place lay already
in shadow. The shadow rose and climbed up the Acropolis, on which the
shield of Pallas still gleamed as the aegis of the city.
Before the vari-coloured colonnade stood a group of men who had
assembled before the semi-circular marble seat called the Hemicyklion;
they appeared to be awaiting someone’s arrival before they sat down.
Among them were stately and handsome men, but there was also an
extraordinarily ugly one, round whom, however, the others seemed to
press. His face resembled that of a slave or satyr, and there were
Athenians who thought they could trace in it the marks of all kinds of
wickedness and crime. On hearing of such suspicions, Socrates is said
to have remarked, “Think how much Socrates must have had to contend
against, for he is neither wicked nor a criminal!”
This was the man known to the whole population of Athens as an eccentric
character who carried on philosophical discussions in streets and
market-places, in drinking-houses and brothels. He shunned no society,
and was on equally intimate terms with Pericles, the head of the state,
and with the licentious Alcibiades. He sat down to table with tradesmen
and artisans, drank with sailors in the Piraeus, and lived himself with
his family in the suburb Ceramicus. When it was asked why Socrates
was always out of doors, his friends answered, “because he was not
comfortable at home.” And when his more intimate friends asked how
he could be on intimate terms with seamen and tax-gatherers, Socrates
himself answered, “They are also men!”
At the philosopher’s side, and when he sat, standing behind him, was
always to be seen a youth, whose broad brow attracted attention. This
was his best disciple, whose real name was Aristokles, but who, on
account of his forehead, had the nickname Plato.
Vying with him in an almost jealous rivalry to appear by the Master’s
side, stood the beautiful Alcibiades.
The third after them was the stately austere Euripides, the tragic
dramatist. Turning his back to the company, absorbed in thought and
tracing designs on the ground, as though he were always at work, stood
Phidias, the man “who made gods for Athens.” On the edge of the fountain
sat a man with his legs dangling and his mouth perpetually moving, as
though he were sharpening his tongue for thrust and counter-thrust; his
brow was furrowed and worn as though with fruitless thought, his eyes
glowered like those of a serpent watching for its prey. That was the
Sophist, Protagoras, the reasoner for hire, who for a few figs or a
pair of obols, could make black seem white, but was tolerated in this
brilliant society, because he could carry on a dialogue. They used him
to enliven their meetings, and pitted him in argument against Socrates,
who, however, always entangled him in the meshes of his dialectic. At
last came the one they expected. It was the head of the State, who would
have been king had not the kingship been abolished. His appearance
was majestic, but his entrance without a body-guard was like that of
a simple citizen. He ruled also only by force of his personal
qualities--wisdom, strength of will, moderation, forethought.
After exchanging greetings which showed that they had already met that
day, for they had been celebrating the deliverance from Persia at the
Salamis festival, the company sat down on the long semicircular marble
seat, called the Hemicyklion. When all had taken their seats, which were
reserved for each according to prescription, a silence followed which
was unusual in this circle, for they were accustomed to assemble as if
for an intellectual feast at every sunset. It was a symposium of minds,
at which the excesses, according to Alcibiades, were only spiritual.
Alcibiades, the second youngest, but spoilt and aggressive, was the
first to break the silence. “We have been celebrating the battle of
Salamis, the day of our deliverance from the barbarians and the King of
Persia, and I see we are tired.”
“Not too tired,” answered Pericles, “to forget the birthday of our
friend Euripides, for, as we all know, he first saw the daylight when
the sun shone on the battle of Salamis.”
“He shall have a libation,” answered Alcibiades, “when we sit at table
with our cups in front of us.”
The Sophist, sitting by the fountain, had now collected enough yarn to
commence spinning with.
“How do you know,” he began, “that our deliverance from the King of
Persia was really a piece of good fortune? How do you know that Salamis
was a happy day for Hellas? Has not our great Aeschylus lamented and
sympathetically described the defeat of the Persians?
“‘Hateful to me is thy name, Salamis,
And with a sigh I think of thee, Athens!’”
“For shame, Sophist!” Alcibiades broke in.
But Protagoras whetted his beak and continued, “It is not I who say that
the name of Salamis is hateful, but Aeschylus, and I, as everyone knows,
am not Aeschylus. Neither have I maintained that it was a good thing to
serve the Persian King. I have only questioned, and a questioner asserts
nothing. Is it not so, Socrates?”
The master drew his fingers through his long beard, and answered.
“There are direct and indirect assertions; a question can be an indirect
and mischievous assertion. Protagoras has made such a one by his
question.”
“Good! Socrates!” exclaimed Alcibiades, who wished to kindle a flame.
Pericles spoke: “Protagoras, then, has asserted that you would be
happier under the Persian King. What should be done with such a man?”
“Throw him backwards in the fountain,” cried Alcibiades.
“I appeal!” protested the Sophist.
“To the mob! They will always justify you,” Alcibiades interrupted.
“One does not say ‘mob’ if one is a democrat, Alcibiades. And one does
not quote Aeschylus when Euripides is present. When Phidias sits here
one would rather speak of his Parthenon and his Athene, whose robe even
now glitters in the sinking sun. Courtesy is the salt of social life.”
Thus Pericles sought to direct the conversation into a new channel, but
the Sophist thwarted him.
“If Phidias’ statue of Athene must borrow its gold from the sun, that
may prove that the gold granted by the State did not suffice, and that
therefore there is a deficiency. Is it not so, Socrates?”
The master silenced with his outstretched hand the murmur of disapproval
which arose, and said:
“It must first be proved that Phidias’ statue must borrow gold from
the sun, but since that is unproved, it is absurd to talk of a
deficit. Moreover, gold cannot be borrowed from the sun. Therefore what
Protagoras says is mere babble, and deserves no answer. On the other
hand, will Phidias answer this question? ‘When you have made Athene up
there on the Parthenon, have you made Athene?’”
“I have made her image,” answered Phidias.
“Right! You have made her image. But after what pattern?”
“After the pattern in my mind.”
“Not after an external one, then? Have you seen the goddess with your
eyes?”
“Not with my outward eyes.”
“Does she then exist outside you, or inside you?”
“If no one were listening to us, I would answer ‘She is not outside of
me, therefore she is not anywhere at all.’”
Pericles interrupted him: “You are talking of the gods of the State:
friends, take care!”
“Help, Protagoras! Socrates is throttling me!” cried Phidias.
“In my opinion it is not Zeus but Prometheus who has created men,”
answered the Sophist. “But Zeus gave unfinished man two imperishable
gifts--the sense of shame and conscience.”
“Then Protagoras was not made by Zeus, for he lacks both.” This thrust
came from Alcibiades. But now the taciturn tragedian Euripides began to
speak: “Allow me to say something both about Zeus and about Prometheus;
and don’t think me discourteous if I cite my great teacher Aeschylus
when I speak about the gods.”
But Pericles broke in: “Unless my eyes deceive me, I saw just now a pair
of ears projecting from behind the pillar of Hermes, and these ass’s
ears can only belong to the notorious tanner.”
“Cleon!” exclaimed Alcibiades.
But Euripides continued: “What do I care about the tanner, since I do
not fear the gods of the State? These gods, whose decline Aeschylus
foretold long ago! Does not his _Prometheus_ say that the Olympian Zeus
will be overthrown by his own descendant--the son that will be born of a
virgin? Is it not so, Socrates?”
“Certainly: ‘she will bear a son who is stronger than his father.’ But
who it will be, and when he will be born, he does not say. Now I believe
that Zeus already lies _in extremis_.”
Again the warning voice of Pericles was heard. “The gods of the State!
Hush, friends! Cleon is listening!”
“I, on the other hand,” broke in Alcibiades, “believe that Athens is
near her end. While we have been celebrating the victory of Salamis, the
Spartans have risen and devastated the north. Megaris, Locris, Boeotia,
and Phocis are already on her side.”
“What you say is well known,” answered Pericles deprecatingly, “but at
present there is a truce, and we have three hundred ships at sea. Do you
think, Socrates, that there is danger?”
“I cannot mix in the affairs of State; but if Athens is in danger, I
will take up shield and lance as before.”
“When you saved my life at Potidaea,” added Alcibiades.
“No, the danger is not there,” interrupted Euripides--“not in Sparta,
but here at home. The demagogues have stirred up the marsh, and
therefore we have the pestilence in the Agora, and the pestilence in the
Piraeus.”
“That in Piraeus is the worse of the two,” said Protagoras; “don’t you
think so, Alcibiades?”
“Yes, for there are my best girls. My flute-players, who are to perform
at supper this evening, live by the harbour. But, by Hercules, no one
here fears death, I suppose?”
“No one fears, and no one wishes it,” answered Socrates; “but if you
have other girls, that would increase our pleasure.”
“Euripides does not like girls,” interrupted Protagoras.
“That is not true,” answered Euripides; “I like girls, but not women.”
Pericles rose: “Let us go to supper, and have walls round our
conversation--walls without ears! Support me, Phidias, I am tired.”
Plato approached Socrates: “Master, let me carry your mantle?” he asked.
“That is my function, boy,” said Alcibiades, intercepting him.
“It was once,” objected Socrates; “now it belongs to Plato of the broad
head. Notice his name! He descends from Codrus, the last king, who gave
his life to save his people. Plato is of royal birth.”
“And Alcibiades is of the race of heroes, the Alcmaeonidae, like his
uncle Pericles; a noble company.”
“But Phidias is of the race of the gods; that is more.”
“I am probably descended from the Titans,” broke in Protagoras. “I say
‘probably,’ for one knows nothing at all, and hardly that. Don’t you
think so, Socrates?”
“_You_ know nothing at all, and least of all what you talk about.”
The company passed through the Sacred Street, and went together to the
theatre of Dionysus, near which Alcibiades lived.
* * * * *
The demagogue Cleon had really been lurking out of sight, and listening
to the conversation. And so had another man with a yellow complexion and
a full black beard, who seemed to belong to the artisan class. When the
brilliant company had departed, Cleon stepped forward, laid his hand on
the stranger’s shoulder, and said:
“You have heard their conversation?”
“Certainly I have,” he answered.
“Then you can give evidence.”
“I cannot give evidence, because I am a foreigner.”
“Still you have heard how they spoke against the gods of the State.”
“I am a Syrian, and only know one true God. Your gods are not mine.”
“You are a Hebrew, then! What is your name?”
“I am an Israelite, of the family of Levi, and call myself now
Cartophilus.”
“A Phoenician, then?”
“No, a Hebrew. My forefathers came out of Ur of the Chaldees, then fell
into bondage in Egypt, but were brought by Moses and Joshua to the
land of Canaan, where we became powerful under our own kings, David and
Solomon.”
“I don’t know them.”
“Two hundred years ago our city Jerusalem was destroyed by
Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, and our people were carried captive to
Babylon. But when Babylon was overthrown by the King of Persia, we fell
under the power of the Persians, and have groaned under the successors
of your Xerxes of Salamis, whom we called Ahasuerus.”
“Your enemies, our enemies! Very well, friend; how did you come here.”
“When the Assyrian was about to carry us for the first time into
captivity, those who could flee, fled to Rhodes, Crete, and the islands
of Greece. But of those who were carried away some were sent northwards
to Media. My ancestors came hither from Media, and I am a new-comer.”