The Emperor — Complete. Georg Ebers

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      Her vain attempts to rouse the sleeper, though somewhat pathetic, had in them at the same time something irresistibly ludicrous, and Pollux felt sorely tempted to laugh. But as soon as Selene began to weep so bitterly he hastily pushed apart two of the laths of the screen, went up and called her name, at first softly not to frighten her, and then more loudly. When she turned her head he begged her warmly not to be alarmed far he was no ghost, only a very humble and ordinary mortal, in fact-as she might see—nothing more, alas! than the son of Euphorian, the gate-keeper, good for nothing as yet, but treading the path to something better.

      “You, Pollux?” asked the girl with surprise.

      “The very man. But you—can I help you?”

      “My poor father,” sobbed Selene. “He does not stir, he is immovable—and his face—oh! merciful gods.”

      “A man who snores is not dead,” said the sculptor. “But the doctor told him—”

      “He is not even ill! Pontius only gave him stronger wine to drink than he is used to. Let him be; he is sleeping with the pillow under his neck, as comfortably as a child. When he began just now to trumpet a little too loud I whistled as loud as a plover, for that often silences a snorer; but I could more easily have made those stone Muses dance than have roused him.”

      “If only we could get him to bed.”

      “Well, if you have four horses at hand.”

      “You are as bad as you ever were!”

      “A little less so, Selene, only you must become accustomed again to my way of speaking. This time I only mean that we two together are not strong enough to carry him away.”

      “But what can I do, then? The doctor said—”

      “Never mind the doctor. The complaint your father is suffering from is one I know well. It will be gone to-morrow, perhaps by sundown, and the only pain it will leave behind, he will feel under his wig. Only leave him to sleep.”

      “But it is so cold here.”

      “Take my cloak and cover him with that.”

      “Then you will be frozen.”

      “I am used to it. How long has Keraunus had dealings with the doctor?”

      Selene related the accident that had befallen her father and how justified were her fears. The sculptor listened to her in silence and then said in a quite altered tone:

      “I am truly sorry to hear it. Let us put some cold water on his forehead, and until the slaves come back again I will change the wet cloth every quarter of an hour. Here is a jar and a handkerchief—good, they might have been left on purpose. Perhaps, too, it will wake him, and if not the people shall carry him to his own rooms.”

      “Disgraceful, disgraceful!” sighed the girl.

      “Not at all; the high-priest of Serapis even is sometimes unwell. Only let me see to it.”

      “It will excite him afresh if he sees you. He is so angry with you—so very angry.”

      “Omnipotent Zeus, what harm have I done you, fat father! The gods forgive the sins of the wise, and a man will not forgive the fault committed by a stupid lad in a moment of imprudence.”

      “You mocked at him.”

      “I set a clay head that was like him on the shoulders of the fat Silenus near the gate, that had lost its own head. It was my first piece of independent work.”

      “But you did it to vex my father.”

      “Certainly not, Selene; I was delighted with the joke and nothing more.”

      “But you knew how touchy he is.”

      “And does a wild boy of fifteen ever reflect on the consequences of his audacity? If he had but given me a thrashing his annoyance would have discharged itself like thunder and lightning, and the air would have been clear again. But, as it was, he cut the face off the work with a knife, and deliberately trod the pieces under foot as they lay on the ground. He gave me one single blow—with his thumb—which I still feel, it is true, and then he treated me and my parents with such scorn, so coldly and hardly, with such bitter contempt—”

      “He never is really violent, but wrath seems to eat him inwardly, and I have rarely seen him so angry as he was that time.”

      “But if he had only settled the account with me on the spot! but my father was by, and hot words fell like rain, and my mother added her share, and from that time there has been utter hostility between our little house and you up here. What hurt me most was that you and your sister were forbidden to come to see us and to play with me.”

      “That has spoilt many pleasant hours for me, too.”

      “It was nice when we used to dress up in my father’s theatrical finery and cloaks.”

      “And when you made us dolls out of clay.”.

      “Or when we performed the Olympian games.”

      “I was always the teacher when we played at school with our little brothers and sisters.”

      “Arsinoe gave you most trouble.”

      “Oh! and what fun when we went fishing!”

      “And when we brought home the fishes and mother gave us meal and raisins to cook them.”

      “Do you remember the festival of Adonis, and how I stopped the runaway horse of that Numidian officer?”

      “The horse had knocked over Arsinoe, and when we got home mother gave you an almond-cake.”

      “And your ungrateful sister bit a great piece out of it and left me only a tiny morsel. Is Arsinoe as pretty as she promised to become? It is two years since I last saw her; at our place we never have time to leave work till it is dark. For eight months I had to work for the master at Ptolemais, and often saw the old folks but once in the month.”

      “We go out very little, too, and we are not allowed to go into your parents’ house. My sister—”

      “Is she pretty?”

      “Yes, I think she is. Whenever she can get hold of a piece of ribbon she plaits it in her hair, and the men in the street turn round to look at her. She is sixteen now.”

      “Sixteen! What, little Arsinoe! Why, how long then is it since your mother died?”

      “Four years and eight months.”

      “You remember the date very exactly; such a mother is not easily forgotten, indeed. She was a good woman and a kinder I never met. I know, too, that she tried to mollify your father’s feeling, but she could not succeed, and then she need must die!”

      “Yes,” said Selene gloomily. “How could the gods decree it! They are often more cruel than the hardest hearted man.”

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