The innocent originator of all this complicated misery had passed many
a wretched hour since the birthday banquet. Since those harsh words with
which Cambyses had sent her from the hall, not the smallest fragment of
news had reached her concerning either her angry lover, or his mother
and sister. Not a day had passed since her arrival in Babylon, that had
not been spent with Kassandane and Atossa; but now, on her desiring to
be carried to them, that she might explain her strange conduct, her
new guard, Kandaules, forbade her abruptly to leave the house. She had
thought that a free and full account of the contents of her letter from
home, would clear up all these misunderstandings. She fancied she saw
Cambyses holding out his hand as if to ask forgiveness for his hastiness
and foolish jealousy. And then a joyful feeling stole into her mind
as she remembered a sentence she had once heard Ibykus say: "As fever
attacks a strong man more violently than one of weaker constitution; so
a heart that loves strongly and deeply can be far more awfully tormented
by jealousy, than one which has been only superficially seized by
passion."
If this great connoisseur in love were right, Cambyses must love her
passionately, or his jealousy could not have caught fire so quickly and
fearfully. Sad thoughts about her home, however, and dark forebodings
of the future would mix with this confidence in Cambyses' love, and she
could not shut them out. Mid-day came, the sun stood high and burning in
the sky, but no news came from those she loved so well; and a feverish
restlessness seized her which increased as night came on. In the
twilight Boges came to her, and told her, with bitter scorn, that her
letter to Bartja had come into the king's hands, and that the gardener's
boy who brought it had been executed. The tortured nerves of the
princess could not resist this fresh blow, and before Boges left, he
carried the poor girl senseless into her sleeping-room, the door of
which he barred carefully.
A few minutes later, two men, one old, the other young, came up through
the trap-door which Boges had examined so carefully two days before. The
old man remained outside, crouching against the palace, wall; a hand
was seen to beckon from the window: the youth obeyed the signal, swung
himself over the ledge and into the room at a bound. Then words of love
were exchanged, the names Gaumata and Mandane whispered softly, kisses
and vows given and received. At last the old man clapped his hands.
The youth obeyed, kissed and embraced Nitetis' waiting-maid once more,
jumped out of the window into the garden, hurried past the admirers of
the blue lily who were just coming up, slipped with his companion
into the trap-door which had been kept open, closed it carefully, and
vanished.
Mandane hurried to the room in which her mistress generally spent the
evening. She was well acquainted with her habits and knew that every
evening, when the stars had risen, Nitetis was accustomed to go to the
window looking towards the Euphrates, and spend hours gazing into the
river and over the plain; and that at that time she never needed her
attendance. So she felt quite safe from fear of discovery in this
quarter, and knowing she was under the protection of the chief of the
eunuchs himself, could wait for her lover calmly.
But scarcely had she discovered that her mistress had fainted, when
she heard the garden filling with people, a confused sound of men's
and eunuchs' voices, and the notes of the trumpet used to summon the
sentries. At first she was frightened and fancied her lover had been
discovered, but Boges appearing and whispering: "He has escaped safely,"
she at once ordered the other attendants, whom she had banished to the
women's apartments during her rendezvous, and who now came flocking
back, to carry their mistress into her sleeping-room, and then began
using all the remedies she knew of, to restore her to consciousness.
Nitetis had scarcely opened her eyes when Boges came in, followed by two
eunuchs, whom he ordered to load her delicate arms with fetters.
Nitetis submitted; she could not utter one word, not even when Boges
called out as he was leaving the room: "Make yourself happy in your
cage, my little imprisoned bird. They've just been telling your lord
that a royal marten has been making merry in your dove-cote. Farewell,
and think of the poor tormented Boges in this tremendous heat, when you
feel the cool damp earth. Yes, my little bird, death teaches us to know
our real friends, and so I won't have you buried in a coarse linen sack,
but in a soft silk shawl. Farewell, my darling!"
The poor, heavily-afflicted girl trembled at these words, and when the
eunuch was gone, begged Mandane to tell her what it all meant. The
girl, instructed by Boges, said that Bartja had stolen secretly into the
hanging-gardens, and had been seen by several of the Achaemenidae as he
was on the point of getting in at one of the windows. The king had been
told of his brother's treachery, and people were afraid his jealousy
might have fearful consequences. The frivolous girl shed abundant tears
of penitence while she was telling the story, and Nitetis, fancying this
a proof of sincere love and sympathy, felt cheered.
When it was over, however, she looked down at her fetters in despair,
and it was long before she could think of her dreadful position quietly.
Then she read her letter from home again, wrote the words, "I am
innocent," and told the sobbing girl to give the little note containing
them to the king's mother after her own death, together with her letter
from home. After doing this she passed a wakeful night which seemed as
if it would never end. She remembered that in her box of ointments there
was a specific for improving the complexion, which, if swallowed in
a sufficiently large quantity, would cause death. She had this poison
brought to her, and resolved calmly and deliberately, to take her own
life directly the executioner should draw near. From that moment she
took pleasure in thinking of her last hour, and said to herself: "It is
true he causes my death; but he does it out of love." Then she thought
she would write to him, and confess all her love. He should not receive
the letter until she was dead, that he might not think she had written
it to save her life. The hope that this strong, inflexible man might
perhaps shed tears over her last words of love filled her with intense
pleasure.
In spite of her heavy fetters, she managed to write the following words:
"Cambyses will not receive this letter until I am dead. It is to tell
him that I love him more than the gods, the world, yes, more than my own
young life. Kassandane and Atossa must think of me kindly. They will see
from my mother's letter that I am innocent, and that it was only for my
poor sister's sake that I asked to see Bartja. Boges has told me that my
death has been resolved upon. When the executioner approaches, I shall
kill myself. I commit this crime against myself, Cambyses, to save you
from doing a disgraceful deed."
This note and her mother's she gave to the weeping Mandane, and begged
her to give both to Cambyses when she was gone. She then fell on her
knees and prayed to the gods of her fathers to forgive her for her
apostasy from them.
Mandane begged her to remember her weakness and take some rest, but
she answered: "I do not need any sleep, because, you know, I have such
little waking-time still left me."
As she went on praying and singing her old Egyptian hymns, her heart
returned more and more to the gods of her fathers, whom she had denied
after such a short struggle. In almost all the prayers with which she
was acquainted, there was a reference to the life after death. In the
nether world, the kingdom of Osiris, where the forty-two judges of
the dead pronounce sentence on the worth of the soul after it has been
weighed by the goddess of truth and Thoth, who holds the office of
writer in heaven, she could hope to meet her dear ones again, but only
in case her unjustified soul were not obliged to enter on the career of
transmigration through the bodies of different animals, and her body, to
whom the soul had been entrusted, remained in a state of preservation.
This, "if" filled her with a feverish restlessness. The doctrine that
the well-being of the soul depended on the preservation of the earthly
part of every human being left behind at death, had been impressed on
her from childhood. She believed in this error, which had built pyramids
and excavated rocks, and trembled at the thought that, according to the
Persian custom, her body would be thrown to the dogs and birds of prey,
and so given up to the powers of destruction, that her soul must be
deprived of every hope of eternal life. Then the thought came to her,
should she prove unfaithful to the gods of her fathers again, and once
more fall down before these new spirits of light, who gave the dead body
over to the elements and only judged the soul? And so she raised her
hands to the great and glorious sun, who with his golden sword-like rays
was just dispersing the mists that hung over the Euphrates, and opened
her lips to sing her newly-learnt hymns in praise of Mithras; but her
voice failed her, instead of Mithras she could only see her own great
Ra, the god she had so often worshipped in Egypt, and instead of a
Magian hymn could only sing the one with which the Egyptian priests are
accustomed to greet the rising sun.
This hymn brought comfort with it, and as she gazed on the young light,
the rays of which were not yet strong enough to dazzle her, she thought
of her childhood, and the tears gathered in her eyes. Then she looked
down over the broad plain. There was the Euphrates with his yellow waves
looking so like the Nile; the many villages, just as in her own
home, peeping out from among luxuriant cornfields and plantations of
fig-trees. To the west lay the royal hunting-park; she could see its
tall cypresses and nut-trees miles away in the distance. The dew was
glistening on every little leaf and blade of grass, and the birds sang
deliciously in the shrubberies round her dwelling. Now and then a gentle
breath of wind arose, carrying the sweet scent of the roses across to
her, and playing in the tops of the slender, graceful palms which grew
in numbers on the banks of the river and in the fields around.
She had so often admired these beautiful trees, and compared them to
dancing-girls, as she watched the wind seizing their heavy tops and
swaying the slender stems backwards and forwards. And she had often said
to herself that here must be the home of the Phoenix, that wonderful
bird from the land of palms, who, the priests said, came once in every
five hundred years to the temple of Ra in Heliopolis and burnt himself
in the sacred incense-flames, only to rise again from his own ashes more
beautiful than before, and, after three days, to fly back again to his
home in the East. While she was thinking of this bird, and wishing that
she too might rise again from the ashes of her unhappiness to a new and
still more glorious joy, a large bird with brilliant plumage rose out of
the dark cypresses, which concealed the palace of the man she loved and
who had made her so miserable, and flew towards her. It rose higher and
higher, and at last settled on a palmtree close to her window. She had
never seen such a bird before, and thought it could not possibly be a
usual one, for a little gold chain was fastened to its foot, and its
tail seemed made of sunbeams instead of feathers. It must be Benno, the
bird of Ra! She fell on her knees again and sang with deep reverence
the ancient hymn to the Phoenix, never once turning her eyes from the
brilliant bird.
The bird listened to her singing, bending his little head with its
waving plumes, wisely and inquisitively from side to side, and flew
away directly she ceased. Nitetis looked after him with a smile. It was
really only a bird of paradise that had broken the chain by which he had
been fastened to a tree in the park, but to her he was the Phoenix. A
strange certainty of deliverance filled her heart; she thought the god
Ra had sent the bird to her, and that as a happy spirit she should take
that form. So long as we are able to hope and wish, we can bear a great
deal of sorrow; if the wished-for happiness does not come, anticipation
is at least prolonged and has its own peculiar sweetness. This feeling
is of itself enough, and contains a kind of enjoyment which can take the
place of reality. Though she was so weary, yet she lay down on her couch
with fresh hopes, and fell into a dreamless sleep almost against her
will, without having touched the poison.
The rising sun generally gives comfort to sad hearts who have passed the
night in weeping, but to a guilty conscience, which longs for darkness,
his pure light is an unwelcome guest. While Nitetis slept, Mandane lay
awake, tormented by fearful remorse. How gladly she would have held
back the sun which was bringing on the day of death to this kindest of
mistresses, and have spent the rest of her own life in perpetual night,
if only her yesterday's deed could but have been undone!
The good-natured, thoughtless girl called herself a wretched murderess
unceasingly, resolved again and again to confess the whole truth and so
to save Nitetis; but love of life and fear of death gained the victory
over her weak heart every time. To confess was certain death, and she
felt as if she had been made for life; she had so many hopes for the
future, and the grave seemed so dreadful. She thought she could perhaps
have confessed the whole truth, if perpetual imprisonment had been
all she had to fear; but death! no, she could not resolve on that. And
besides, would her confession really save the already condemned Nitetis?
Had she not sent a message to Bartja herself by that unfortunate
gardener's boy? This secret correspondence had been discovered, and that
was enough of itself to ruin Nitetis, even if she, Mandane, had done
nothing in the matter. We are never so clever as when we have to find
excuses for our own sins.
At sunrise, Mandane was kneeling by her mistress's couch, weeping
bitterly and wondering that Nitetis could sleep so calmly.
Boges, the eunuch, had passed a sleepless night too, but a very happy
one. His hated colleague, Kandaules, whom he had used as a substitute
for himself, had been already executed, by the king's command, for
negligence, and on the supposition that he had accepted a bribe; Nitetis
was not only ruined, but certain to die a shameful death. The influence
of the king's mother had suffered a severe shock; and lastly, he had
the pleasure of knowing, not only that he had outwitted every one and
succeeded in all his plans, but that through his favorite Phaedime he
might hope once more to become the all-powerful favorite of former days.
That sentence of death had been pronounced on Croesus and the young
heroes, was by no means an unwelcome thought either, as they might have
been instrumental in bringing his intrigues to light.
In the grey of the morning he left the king's apartment and went to
Phaedime. The proud Persian had taken no rest. She was waiting for him
with feverish anxiety, as a rumor of all that had happened had already
reached the harem and penetrated to her apartments. She was lying on
a purple couch in her dressing-room; a thin silken chemise and yellow
slippers thickly sown with turquoises and pearls composed her entire
dress. Twenty attendants were standing round her, but the moment
she heard Boges she sent her slaves away, sprang up to meet him, and
overwhelmed him with a stream of incoherent questions, all referring to
her enemy Nitetis.
"Gently, gently, my little bird," said Boges, laying his hand on her
shoulder. "If you can't make up your mind to be as quiet as a little
mouse while I tell my story, and not to ask one question, you won't hear
a syllable of it to-day. Yes, indeed, my golden queen, I've so much
to tell that I shall not have finished till to-morrow, if you are to
interrupt me as often as you like. Ah, my little lamb, and I've still so
much to do to-day. First I must be present at an Egyptian donkey-ride;
secondly, I must witness an Egyptian execution... but I see I am
anticipating my story; I must begin at the beginning. I'll allow you to
cry, laugh and scream for joy as much as you will, but you're forbidden
to ask a single question until I have finished. I think really I have
deserved these caresses. There, now I am quite at my ease, and can
begin. Once upon a time there was a great king in Persia, who had many
wives, but he loved Phaedime better than the rest, and set her above
all the others. One day the thought struck him that he would ask for the
hand of the King of Egypt's daughter in marriage, and he sent a great
embassy to Sais, with his own brother to do the wooing for him--"
"What nonsense!" cried Phaedime impatiently; "I want to know what has
happened now."
"Patience, patience, my impetuous March wind. If you interrupt me again,
I shall go away and tell my story to the trees. You really need not
grudge me the pleasure of living my successes over again. While I tell
this story, I feel as happy as a sculptor when he puts down his hammer
and gazes at his finished work."
"No, no!" said Phaedime, interrupting him again. "I cannot listen now
to what I know quite well already. I am dying of impatience, and every
fresh report that the eunuchs and slave-girls bring makes it worse. I
am in a perfect fever--I cannot wait. Ask whatever else you like, only
deliver me from this awful suspense. Afterwards I will listen to you for
days, if you wish."
Boges' smile at these words was one of great satisfaction; he rubbed his
hands and answered: "When I was a child I had no greater pleasure than
to watch a fish writhing on the hook; now I have got you, my splendid
golden carp, at the end of my line, and I can't let you go until I have
sated myself on your impatience."
Phaedime sprang up from the couch which she had shared with Boges,
stamping her foot and behaving like a naughty child. This seemed to
amuse the eunuch immensely; he rubbed his hands again and again, laughed
till the tears ran down over his fat cheeks, emptied many a goblet of
wine to the health of the tortured beauty, and then went on with his
tale: "It had not escaped me that Cambyses sent his brother (who had
brought Nitetis from Egypt), out to the war with the Tapuri purely from
jealousy. That proud woman, who was to take no orders from me, seemed to
care as little for the handsome, fair-haired boy as a Jew for pork, or
an Egyptian for white beans. But still I resolved to nourish the king's
jealousy, and use it as a means of rendering this impudent creature
harmless, as she seemed likely to succeed in supplanting us both in his
favor. It was long, however, before I could hit on a feasible plan.
"At last the new-year's festival arrived and all the priests in the
kingdom assembled at Babylon. For eight days the city was full of
rejoicing, feasting and merry-making. At court it was just the same, and
so I had very little time to think of my plans. But just then, when I
had hardly any hope of succeeding, the gracious Amescha cpenta sent a
youth across my path, who seemed created by Angramainjus himself to
suit my plan. Gaumata, the brother of Oropastes, came to Babylon to
be present at the great new-year's sacrifice. I saw him first in his
brother's house, whither I had been sent on a message from the king,
and his likeness to Bartja was so wonderful, that I almost fancied I was
looking at an apparition. When I had finished my business with
Oropastes the youth accompanied me to my carriage. I showed no signs
of astonishment at this remarkable likeness, treated him however, with
immense civility, and begged him to pay me a visit. He came the very
same evening. I sent for my best wine, pressed him to drink, and
experienced, not for the first time, that the juice of the vine has one
quality which outweighs all the rest: it can turn even a silent man into
a chatter-box. The youth confessed that the great attraction which had
brought him to Babylon was, not the sacrifice, but a girl who held the
office of upper attendant to the Egyptian Princess. He said he had loved
her since he was a child; but his ambitious brother had higher views for
him, and in order to get the lovely Mandane out of his way, had procured
her this situation. At last he begged me to arrange an interview with
her. I listened good-naturedly, made a few difficulties, and at last
asked him to come the next day and see how matters were going on. He
came, and I told him that it might be possible to manage it, but only if
he would promise to do what I told him without a question. He agreed to
everything, returned to Rhagae at my wish, and did not come to Babylon
again until yesterday, when he arrived secretly at my house, where I
concealed him. Meanwhile Bartja had returned from the war. The great
point now was to excite the king's jealousy again, and ruin the Egyptian
at one blow. I roused the indignation of your relations through your
public humiliation, and so prepared the way for my plan. Events were
wonderfully in my favor. You know how Nitetis behaved at the birthday
banquet, but you do not know that that very evening she sent a
gardener's boy to the palace with a note for Bartja. The silly fellow
managed to get caught and was executed that very night, by command of
the king, who was almost mad with rage; and I took care that Nitetis
should be as entirely cut off from all communication with her friends,
as if she lived in the nest of the Simurg. You know the rest."
"But how did Gaumata escape?"
"Through a trap-door, of which nobody knows but myself, and which stood
wide open waiting for him. Everything turned out marvellously; I even
succeeded in getting hold of a dagger which Bartja had lost while
hunting, and in laying it under Nitetis' window. In order to get rid of
the prince during these occurrences, and prevent him from meeting the
king or any one else who might be important as a witness, I asked the
Greek merchant Kolxus, who was then at Babylon with a cargo of Milesian
cloth, and who is always willing to do me a favor, because I buy all the
woollen stuffs required for the harem of him, to write a Greek letter,
begging Bartja, in the name of her he loved best, to come alone to
the first station outside the Euphrates gate at the rising of the
Tistar-star. But I had a misfortune with this letter, for the messenger
managed the matter clumsily. He declares that he delivered the letter
to Bartja; but there can be no doubt that he gave it to some one else,
probably to Gaumata, and I was not a little dismayed to hear that Bartja
was sitting over the wine with his friends on that very evening. Still
what had been done could not be undone, and I knew that the witness of
men like your father, Hystaslies, Croesus and Intaphernes, would far
outweigh anything that Darius, Gyges and Araspes could say. The former
would testify against their friend, the latter for him. And so at
last everything went as I would have had it. The young gentlemen
are sentenced to death and Croesus, who as usual, presumed to speak
impertinently to the king, will have lived his last hour by this time.
As to the Egyptian Princess, the secretary in chief has just been
commanded to draw up the following order. Now listen and rejoice, my
little dove! "'Nitetis, the adulterous daughter of the King of Egypt,
shall be punished for her hideous crimes according to the extreme rigor
of the law, thus: She shall be set astride upon an ass and led through
the streets of Babylon; and all men shall see that Cambyses knows how
to punish a king's daughter, as severely as his magistrates would punish
the meanest beggar. --To Boges, chief of the eunuchs, is entrusted the
execution of this order.
By command of King Cambyses. Ariabignes, chief of the Secretaries'
"I had scarcely placed these lines in the sleeve of my robe, when
the king's mother, with her garments rent, and led by Atossa, pressed
hastily into the hall. Weeping and lamentation followed; cries,
reproaches, curses, entreaties and prayers; but the king remained firm,
and I verily believe Kassandane and Atossa would have been sent after
Croesus and Bartja into the other world, if fear of Cyrus's spirit had
not prevented the son, even in this furious rage, from laying hands
on his father's widow. Kassandane, however, did not say one word for
Nitetis. She seems as fully convinced of her guilt as you and I can be.
Neither have we anything to fear from the enamored Gaumata. I have hired
three men to give him a cool bath in the Euphrates, before he gets back
to Rhagae. Ah, ha! the fishes and worms will have a jolly time!"
Phaedime joined in Boges' laughter, bestowed on him all the flattering
names which she had caught from his own smooth tongue, and in token of
her gratitude, hung a heavy chain studded with jewels round his neck
with her own beautiful arms.