THE PROPHECY
Whether or no the Prince Seti saw Userti again before the hour of his
marriage with her I cannot say, because he never told me. Indeed I was
not present at the marriage, for the reason that I had been granted
leave to return to Memphis, there to settle my affairs and sell my
house on entering upon my appointment as private scribe to his
Highness. Thus it came about that fourteen full days went by from that
of the holding of the Court of Betrothal before I found myself standing
once more at the gate of the Prince’s palace, attended by a servant
who led an ass on which were laden all my manuscripts and certain
possessions that had descended to me from my ancestors with the
title-deeds of their tombs. Different indeed was my reception on this my
second coming. Even as I reached the steps the old chamberlain Pambasa
appeared, running down them so fast that his white robes and beard
streamed upon the air.
“Greeting, most learned scribe, most honourable Ana,” he panted.
“Glad indeed am I to see you, since every hour his Highness asks if
you have returned, and blames me because you have not come. Verily I
believe that if you had stayed upon the road another day I should have
been sent to look for you, who have had sharp words said to me because
I did not arrange that you should be accompanied by a guard, as though
the Vizier Nehesi would have paid the costs of a guard without the
direct order of Pharaoh. O most excellent Ana, give me of the charm
which you have doubtless used to win the love of our royal master, and
I will pay you well for it who find it easier to earn his wrath.”
“I will, Pambasa. Here it is—write better stories than I do instead
of telling them, and he will love you more than he does me. But
say—how went the marriage? I have heard upon the way that it was very
splendid.”
“Splendid! Oh! it was ten times more than splendid. It was as though
the god Osiris were once more wed to the goddess Isis in the very halls
of heaven. Indeed his Highness, the bridegroom, was dressed as a god,
yes, he wore the robes and the holy ornaments of Amon. And the
procession! And the feast that Pharaoh gave! I tell you that the Prince
was so overcome with joy and all this weight of glory that, before it
was over, looking at him I saw that his eyes were closed, being dazzled
by the gleam of gold and jewels and the loveliness of his royal bride.
He told me that it was so himself, fearing perhaps lest I should have
thought that he was asleep. Then there were the presents, something to
everyone of us according to his degree. I got—well it matters not.
And, learned Ana, I did not forget you. Knowing well that everything
would be gone before you returned I spoke your name in the ear of his
Highness, offering to keep your gift.”
“Indeed, Pambasa, and what did he say?”
“He said that he was keeping it himself. When I stared wondering what
it might be, for I saw nothing on him, he added, ‘It is here,’ and
touched the private signet guard that he has always worn, an ancient
ring of gold, but of no great value I should say, with ‘Beloved of
Thoth and of the King’ cut upon it. It seems that he must take it off
to make room for another and much finer ring which her Highness has
given him.”
Now, by this time, the ass having been unloaded by the slaves and led
away, we had passed through the hall where many were idling as ever,
and were come to the private apartments of the palace.
“This way,” said Pambasa. “The orders are that I am to take
you to the Prince wherever he may be, and just now he is seated in the
great apartment with her Highness, where they have been receiving
homage and deputations from distant cities. The last left about half an
hour ago.”
“First I will prepare myself, worthy Pambasa,” I began.
“No, no, the orders are instant, I dare not disobey them. Enter,”
and with a courtly flourish he drew a rich curtain.
“By Amon,” exclaimed a weary voice which I knew as that of the
Prince, “here come more councillors or priests. Prepare, my sister,
prepare!”
“I pray you, Seti,” answered another voice, that of Userti,
“to learn to call me by my right name, which is no longer sister. Nor,
indeed, am I your full sister.”
“I crave your pardon,” said Seti. “Prepare, Royal Wife,
prepare!”
By now the curtain was fully drawn and I stood, travel-stained, forlorn
and, to tell the truth, trembling a little, for I feared her Highness,
in the doorway, hesitating to pass the threshold. Beyond was a splendid
chamber full of light, in the centre of which upon a carven and golden
chair, one of two that were set there, sat her Highness magnificently
apparelled, faultlessly beautiful and calm. She was engaged in studying
a painted roll, left no doubt by the last deputation, for others
similar to it were laid neatly side by side upon a table.
The second chair was empty, for the Prince was walking restlessly up and
down the chamber, his ceremonial robe somewhat disarrayed and the
uræus circlet of gold which he wore, tilted back upon his head,
because of his habit of running his fingers through his brown hair. As
I still stood in the dark shadow, for Pambasa had left me, and thus
remained unseen, the talk went on.
“I am prepared, Husband. Pardon me, it is you who look otherwise. Why
would you dismiss the scribes and the household before the ceremony was
ended?”
“Because they wearied me,” said Seti, “with their continual
bowing and praising and formalities.”
“In which I saw nothing unusual. Now they must be recalled.”
“Let whoever it is enter,” he exclaimed.
Then I stepped forward into the light, prostrating myself.
“Why,” he cried, “it is Ana returned from Memphis! Draw near,
Ana, and a thousand welcomes to you. Do you know I thought that you were
another high-priest, or governor of some Nome of which I had never
heard.”
“Ana! Who is Ana?” asked the Princess. “Oh! I remember that
scribe——. Well, it is plain that he has returned from
Memphis,” and she eyed my dusty robe.
“Royal One,” I murmured abashed, “do not blame me that I
enter your presence thus. Pambasa led me here against my will by the
direct order of the Prince.”
“Is it so? Say, Seti, does this man bring tidings of import from
Memphis that you needed his presence in such haste?”
“Yes, Userti, at least I think so. You have the writings safe, have
you not, Ana?”
“Quite safe, your Highness,” I answered, though I knew not of what
writings he spoke, unless they were the manuscripts of my stories.
“Then, my Lord, I will leave you to talk of the tidings from Memphis
and these writings,” said the Princess.
“Yes, yes. We must talk of them, Userti. Also of the journey to the
land of Goshen on which Ana starts with me to-morrow.”
“To-morrow! Why this morning you told me it was fixed for three days
hence.”
“Did I, Sister—I mean Wife? If so, it was because I was not sure
whether Ana, who is to be my chariot companion, would be back.”
“A scribe your chariot companion! Surely it would be more fitting that
your cousin Amenmeses——”
“To Set with Amenmeses!” he exclaimed. “You know well,
Userti, that the man is hateful to me with his cunning yet empty
talk.”
“Indeed! I grieve to hear it, for when you hate you show it, and
Amenmeses may be a bad enemy. Then if not our cousin Amenmeses who is
not hateful to me, there is Saptah.”
“I thank you; I will not travel in a cage with a jackal.”
“Jackal! I do not love Saptah, but one of the royal blood of Egypt a
jackal! Then there is Nehesi the Vizier, or the General of the escort
whose name I forget.”
“Do you think, Userti, that I wish to talk about state economies with
that old money-sack, or to listen to boastings of deeds he never did in
war from a half-bred Nubian butcher?”
“I do not know, Husband. Yet of what will you talk with this Ana? Of
poems, I suppose, and silliness. Or will it be perchance of Merapi, Moon
of Israel, whom I gather both of you think so beautiful. Well, have
your way. You tell me that I am not to accompany you upon this journey,
I your new-made wife, and now I find that it is because you wish my
place to be filled by a writer of tales whom you picked up the other
day—your ‘twin in Ra’ forsooth! Fare you well, my Lord,” and
she rose from her seat, gathering up her robes with both hands.
Then Seti grew angry.
“Userti,” he said, stamping upon the floor, “you should not
use such words. You know well that I do not take you with me because
there may be danger yonder among the Hebrews. Moreover, it is not
Pharaoh’s wish.”
She turned and answered with cold courtesy:
“Then I crave your pardon and thank you for your kind thought for the
safety of my person. I knew not this mission was so dangerous. Be
careful, Seti, that the scribe Ana comes to no harm.”
So saying she bowed and vanished through the curtains.
“Ana,” said Seti, “tell me, for I never was quick at figures,
how many minutes is it from now till the fourth hour to-morrow morning
when I shall order my chariot to be ready? Also, do you know whether it
is possible to travel from Goshen across the marshes and to return by
Syria? Or, failing that, to travel across the desert to Thebes and sail
down the Nile in the spring?”
“Oh! my Prince, my Prince,” I said, “I pray you to dismiss
me. Let me go anywhere out of the reach of her Highness’s tongue.”
“It is strange how alike we think upon every matter, Ana, even of
Merapi and the tongues of royal ladies. Hearken to my command. You are
not to go. If it is a question of going, there are others who will go
first. Moreover, you cannot go, but must stay and bear your burdens as
I bear mine. Remember the broken cup, Ana.”
“I remember, my Prince, but sooner would I be scourged with rods than
by such words as those to which I must listen.”
Yet that very night, when I had left the Prince, I was destined to hear
more pleasant words from this same changeful, or perchance politic,
royal lady. She sent for me and I went, much afraid. I found her in a
small chamber alone, save for one old lady of honour who sat at the end
of the room and appeared to be deaf, which perhaps was why she was
chosen. Userti bade me be seated before her very courteously, and spoke
to me thus, whether because of some talk she had held with the Prince
or not, I do not know.
“Scribe Ana, I ask your pardon if, being vexed and wearied, I said to
you and of you to-day what I now wish I had left unsaid. I know well
that you, being of the gentle blood of Egypt, will make no report of
what you heard outside these walls.”
“May my tongue be cut out first,” I answered.
“It seems, Scribe Ana, that my lord the Prince has taken a great love
of you. How or why this came about so suddenly, you being a man, I do
not understand, but I am sure that as it is so, it must be because
there is much in you to love, since never did I know the Prince to show
deep regard for one who was not most honourable and worthy. Now things
being so, it is plain that you will become the favourite of his
Highness, a man who does not change his mind in such matters, and that
he will tell you all his secret thoughts, perhaps some that he hides
from the Councillors of State, or even from me. In short you will grow
into a power in the land and perhaps one day be the greatest in
it—after Pharaoh—although you may still seem to be but a private
scribe.
“I do not pretend to you that I should have wished this to be so, who
would rather that my husband had but one real councillor—myself. Yet
seeing that it is so, I bow my head, hoping that it may be decreed for
the best. If ever any jealousy should overcome me in this matter and I
should speak sharply to you, as I did to-day, I ask your pardon in
advance for that which has not happened, as I have asked it for that
which has happened. I pray of you, Scribe Ana, that you will do your
best to influence the mind of the Prince for good, since he is easily
led by any whom he loves. I pray you also being quick and thoughtful,
as I see you are, that you will make a study of statecraft, and of the
policies of our royal House, coming to me, if it be needful, for
instruction therein, so that you may be able to guide the feet of the
Prince aright, should he turn to you for counsel.”
“All of this I will do, your Highness, if by any chance it lies in my
power, though who am I that I should hope to make a path for the feet of
kings? Moreover, I would add this, although he is so gentle-natured, I
think that in the end the Prince is one who will always choose his own
path.”
“It may be so Ana. At the least I thank you. I pray you to be sure
also that in me you will always have a friend and not an enemy,
although at times the quickness of my nature, which has never been
controlled, may lead you to think otherwise. Now I will say one more
thing that shall be secret between us. I know that the Prince loves me
as a friend and relative rather than as a wife, and that he would not
have sought this marriage of himself, as is perhaps natural. I know,
too, that other women will come into his life, though these may be
fewer than in the case of most kings, because he is more hard to please.
Of such I cannot complain, as this is according to the customs of our
country. I fear only one thing—namely that some woman, ceasing to be
his toy, may take Seti’s heart and make him altogether hers. In this
matter, Scribe Ana, as in others I ask your help, since I would be
queen of Egypt in all ways, not in name only.”
“Your Highness, how can I say to the Prince—‘So much shall
you love this or that woman and no more?’ Moreover, why do you fear
that which has not and may never come about?”
“I do not know how you can say such a thing, Scribe, still I ask you
to say it if you can. As to why I fear, it is because I seem to feel
the near shadow of some woman lying cold upon me and building a wall of
blackness between his Highness and myself.”
“It is but a dream, Princess.”
“Mayhap. I hope so. Yet I think otherwise. Oh! Ana, cannot you, who
study the hearts of men and women, understand my case? I have married
where I can never hope to be loved as other women are, I who am a wife,
yet not a wife. I read your thought; it is—why then did you marry?
Since I have told you so much I will tell you that also. First, it is
because the Prince is different to other men and in his own fashion
above them, yes, far above any with whom I could have wed as royal
heiress of Egypt. Secondly, because being cut off from love, what
remains to me but ambition? At least I would be a great queen, as was
Hatshepu in her day, and lift my country out of the many troubles in
which it is sunk and write my name large upon the books of history,
which I could only do by taking Pharaoh’s heir to husband, as is my
duty.”
She brooded a while, then added, “Now I have shown you all my thought.
Whether I have been wise to do so the gods know alone and time will tell
me.”
“Princess,” I said, “I thank you for trusting me and I will
help you if I may. Yet I am troubled. I, a humble man if of good blood,
who a little while ago was but a scribe and a student, a dreamer who
had known trouble also, have suddenly by chance, or some divine decree,
been lifted high in the favour of the heir of Egypt, and it would seem
have even won your trust. Now I wonder how I shall bear myself in this
new place which in truth I never sought.”
“I do not know, who find the present and its troubles enough to carry.
But, doubtless, the decree of which you speak that set you there has
also written down what will be the end of all. Meanwhile, I have a gift
for you. Say, Scribe, have you ever handled any weapon besides a
pen?”
“Yes, your Highness, as a lad I was skilled in sword play. Moreover,
though I do not love war and bloodshed, some years ago I fought in the
great battle between the Ninebow Barbarians, when Pharaoh called upon
the young men of Memphis to do their part. With my own hands I slew two
in fair fight, though one nearly brought me to my end,” and I pointed
to a scar which showed red through my grey hair where a spear had
bitten deep.
“It is well, or so I think, who love soldiers better than stainers of
papyrus pith.”
Then, going to a painted chest of reeds, she took from it a wonderful
shirt of mail fashioned of bronze rings, and a short sword also of
bronze, having a golden hilt of which the end was shaped to the
likeness of the head of a lion, and with her own hands gave them to me,
saying:
“These are spoils that my grandsire, the great Rameses, took in his
youth from a prince of the Khitah, whom he smote with his own hands in
Syria in that battle whereof your grandfather made the poem. Wear the
shirt, which no spear will pierce, beneath your robe and gird the sword
about you when you go down yonder among the Israelites, whom I do not
trust. I have given a like coat to the Prince. Let it be your duty to
see that it is upon his sacred person day and night. Let it be your
duty also, if need arises, with this sword to defend him to the death.
Farewell.”
“May all the gods reject me from the Fields of the Blessed if I fail
in this trust,” I answered, and departed wondering, to seek sleep
which, as it chanced, I was not to find for a while.
For as I went down the corridor, led by one of the ladies of the
household, whom should I find waiting at the end of it but old Pambasa
to inform me with many bows that the Prince needed my presence. I asked
how that could be seeing he had dismissed me for the night. He replied
that he did not know, but he was commanded to conduct me to the private
chamber, the same room in which I had first seen his Highness. Thither
I went and found him warming himself at the fire, for the night was
cold. Looking up he bade Pambasa admit those who were waiting, then
noting the shirt of mail and the sword I carried in my hand, said:
“You have been with the Princess, have you not, and she must have had
much to say to you for your talk was long? Well, I think I can guess its
purport who from a child have known her mind. She told you to watch me
well, body and heart and all that comes from the heart—oh! and much
else. Also she gave you that Syrian gear to wear among the Hebrews as
she has given the like to me, being of a careful mind which foresees
everything. Now, hearken, Ana; I grieve to keep you from your rest, who
must be weary both with talk and travel. But old Bakenkhonsu, whom you
know, waits without, and with him Ki the great magician, whom I think
you have not seen. He is a man of wonderful lore and in some ways not
altogether human. At least he does strange feats of magic, and at times
both the past and the future seem to be open to his sight, though as we
know neither the one nor the other, who can tell whether he reads them
truly. Doubtless he has, or thinks he has, some message to me from the
heavens, which I thought you might wish to hear.”
“I wish it much, Prince, if I am worthy, and you will protect me from
the anger of this magician whom I fear.”
“Anger sometimes turns to trust, Ana. Did you not find it so just now
in the case of her Highness, as I told you might very well happen?
Hush! They come. Be seated and prepare your tablets to make record of
what they say.”
The curtains were drawn and through them came the aged Bakenkhonsu
leaning upon his staff, and with him another man, Ki himself, clad in a
white robe and having his head shaven, for he was an hereditary priest
of Amon of Thebes and an initiate of Isis, Mother of Mysteries. Also
his office was that of Kherheb, or chief magician of Egypt. At first
sight there was nothing strange about this man. Indeed, he might well
have been a middle-aged merchant by his looks; in body he was short and
stout; in face fat and smiling. But in this jovial countenance were set
two very strange eyes, grey-hued rather than black. While the rest of
the face seemed to smile these eyes looked straight into nothingness as
do those of a statue. Indeed they were like to the eyes or rather the
eye-places of a stone statue, so deeply were they set into the head.
For my part I can only say I thought them awful, and by their look
judged that whatever Ki might be he was no cheat.
This strange pair bowed to the Prince and seated themselves at a sign
from him, Bakenkhonsu upon a stool because he found it difficult to
rise, and Ki, who was younger, scribe fashion on the ground.
“What did I tell you, Bakenkhonsu?” said Ki in a full, rich voice,
ending the words with a curious chuckle.
“You told me, Magician, that we should find the Prince in this chamber
of which you described every detail to me as I see it now, although
neither of us have entered it before. You said also that seated therein
on the ground would be the scribe Ana, whom I know but you do not,
having in his hands waxen tablets and a stylus and by him a coat of
curious mail and a lion-hilted sword.”
“That is strange,” interrupted the Prince, “but forgive me,
Bakenkhonsu sees these things. If you, O Ki, would tell us what is
written upon Ana’s tablets which neither of you can see, it would be
stranger still, that is if anything is written.”
Ki smiled and stared upwards at the ceiling. Presently he said:
“The scribe Ana uses a shorthand of his own that is not easy to
decipher. Yet I see written on the tablets the price he obtained for
some house in a city that is not named—it is so much. Also I see the
sums he disbursed for himself, a servant, and the food of an ass at two
inns where he stopped upon a journey. They are so much and so much.
Also there is a list of papyrus rolls and the words, ‘blue cloak,’
and then an erasure.”
“Is that right, Ana?” asked the Prince.
“Quite right,” I answered with awe, “only the words
‘blue cloak,’ which it is true I wrote upon the tablet, have also
been erased.”
Ki chuckled and turned his eyes from the ceiling to my face.
“Would your Highness wish me to tell you anything of what is written
upon the tablets of this scribe’s memory as well as upon those of wax
which he holds in his hand? They are easier to decipher than the others
and I see on them many things of interest. For instance, secret words
that seem to have been said to him by some Great One within an hour,
matters of high policy, I think. For instance, a certain saying, I
think of your Highness’s, as to shivering upon the edge of water on a
cold day, which when entered produced heat, and the answer thereto. For
instance, words that were spoken in this palace when an alabaster cup
was broke. By the way, Scribe, that was a very good place you chose in
which to hide one half of the cup in the false bottom of a chest in
your chamber, a chest that is fastened with a cord and sealed with a
scarab of the time of the second Rameses. I think that the other half of
the cup is somewhat nearer at hand,” and turning, he stared at the
wall where I could see nothing save slabs of alabaster.
Now I sat open-mouthed, for how could this man know these things, and
the Prince laughed outright, saying:
“Ana, I begin to think you keep your counsel ill. At least I should
think so, were it not that you have had no time to tell what the
Princess yonder may have said to you, and can scarcely know the trick
of the sliding panel in that wall which I have never shown to you.”
Ki chuckled again and a smile grew on old Bakenkhonsu’s broad and
wrinkled face.
“O Prince,” I began, “I swear to you that never has one word
passed my lips of aught——”
“I know it, friend,” broke in the Prince, “but it seems there
are some who do not wait for words but can read the Book of Thought.
Therefore it is not well to meet them too often, since all have
thoughts that should be known only to them and God. Magician, what is
your business with me? Speak on as though we were alone.”
“This, Prince. You go upon a journey among the Hebrews, as all have
heard. Now, Bakenkhonsu and I, also two seers of my College, seeing that
we all love you and that your welfare is much to Egypt, have separately
sought out the future as regards the issue of this journey. Although
what we have learned differs in some matters, on others it is the same.
Therefore we thought it our duty to tell you what we have learned.”
“Say on, Kherheb.”
“First, then, that your Highness’s life will be in danger.”
“Life is always in danger, Ki. Shall I lose it? If so, do not fear to
tell me.”
“We do not know, but we think not, because of the rest that is
revealed to us. We learn that it is not your body only that will be in
danger. Upon this journey you will see a woman whom you will come to
love. This woman will, we think, bring you much sorrow and also much
joy.”
“Then perhaps the journey is worth making, Ki, since many travel far
before they find aught they can love. Tell me, have I met this woman?”
“There we are troubled, Prince, for it would seem—unless we are
deceived—that you have met her often and often; that you have known
her for thousands of years, as you have known that man at your side for
thousands of years.”
Seti’s face grew very interested.
“What do you mean, Magician?” he asked, eyeing him keenly.
“How can I who am still young have known a woman and a man for
thousands of years?”
Ki considered him with his strange eyes, and answered:
“You have many titles, Prince. Is not one of them ‘Lord of
Rebirths,’ and if so, how did you get it and what does it mean?”
“It is. What it means I do not know, but it was given to me because of
some dream that my mother had the night before I was born. Do _you_ tell
_me_ what it means, since you seem to know so much.”
“I cannot, Prince. The secret is not one that has been shown to me.
Yet there was an aged man, a magician like myself from whom I learned
much in my youth—Bakenkhonsu knew him well—who made a study of this
matter. He told me he was sure, because it had been revealed to him,
that men do not live once only and then depart hence for ever. He said
that they live many times and in many shapes, though not always on this
world, and that between each life there is a wall of darkness.”
“If so, of what use are lives which we do not remember after death has
shut the door of each of them?”
“The doors may open again at last, Prince, and show us all the
chambers through which our feet have wandered from the beginning.”
“Our religion teaches us, Ki, that after death we live eternally
elsewhere in our own bodies, which we find again on the day of
resurrection. Now eternity, having no end, can have no beginning; it is
a circle. Therefore if the one be true, namely that we live on, it
would seem that the other must be true, namely that we have always
lived.”
“That is well reasoned, Prince. In the early days, before the priests
froze the thought of man into blocks of stone and built of them shrines
to a thousand gods, many held that this reasoning was true, as then
they held that there was but one god.”
“As do these Israelites whom I go to visit. What say you of their god,
Ki?”
“That _he_ is the same as our gods, Prince. To men’s eyes God
has many faces, and each swears that the one he sees is the only true
god. Yet they are wrong, for all are true.”
“Or perchance false, Ki, unless even falsehood is a part of truth.
Well, you have told me of two dangers, one to my body and one to my
heart. Has any other been revealed to your wisdom?”
“Yes, Prince. The third is that this journey may in the end cost you
your throne.”
“If I die certainly it will cost me my throne.”
“No, Prince, if you live.”
“Even so, Ki, I think that I could endure life seated more humbly than
on a throne, though whether her Highness could endure it is another
matter. Then you say that if I go upon this journey another will be
Pharaoh in my place.”
“We do not say that, Prince. It is true that our arts have shown us
another filling your place in a time of wizardry and wonders and of the
death of thousands. Yet when we look again we see not that other but
you once more filling your own place.”
Here I, Ana, bethought me of my vision in Pharaoh’s hall.
“The matter is even worse than I thought, Ki, since having once left
the crown behind me, I think that I should have no wish to wear it any
more,” said Seti. “Who shows you all these things, and how?”
“Our _Kas_, which are our secret selves, show them to us, Prince,
and in many ways. Sometimes it is by dreams or visions, sometimes by
pictures on water, sometimes by writings in the desert sand. In all
these fashions, and by others, our _Kas_, drawing from the infinite
well of wisdom that is hidden in the being of every man, give us
glimpses of the truth, as they give us who are instructed power to work
marvels.”
“Of the truth. Then these things you tell me are true?”
“We believe so, Prince.”
“Then being true must happen. So what is the use of your warning me
against what must happen? There cannot be two truths. What would you
have me do? Not go upon this journey? Why have you told me that I must
not go, since if I did not go the truth would become a lie, which it
cannot? You say it is fated that I should go and because I go such and
such things will come about. And yet you tell me not to go, for that is
what you mean. Oh! Kherheb Ki and Bakenkhonsu, doubtless you are great
magicians and strong in wisdom, but there are greater than you who rule
the world, and there is a wisdom to which yours is but as a drop of
water to the Nile. I thank you for your warnings, but to-morrow I go
down to the land of Goshen to fulfil the commands of Pharaoh. If I come
back again we will talk more of these matters here upon the earth. If I
do not come back, perchance we will talk of them elsewhere. Farewell.”