The Tales of Ancient Egypt (10 Historical Novels). Georg Ebers

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СКАЧАТЬ two men, reclining on low cushions. They were evidently not Egyptians; their Greek descent could be perceived even by the moonlight. The elder was an unusually tall and powerful man of more than sixty; thick grey curls, showing very little attempt at arrangement, hung down over his short, firm throat; he wore a simple, homely cloak, and kept his eyes gloomily fixed on the water. His companion, on the contrary, a man perhaps twenty years younger, of a slender and delicate build, was seldom still. Sometimes he gazed into the heavens, sometimes made a remark to the steersman, disposed his beautiful purple chlanis in fresh folds, or busied himself in the arrangement of his scented brown curls, or his carefully curled beard.

      [The chlanis was a light summer-mantle, worn especially by the more

       elegant Athenians, and generally made of expensive materials. The

       simpler cloak, the himation, was worn by the Doric Greeks, and

       principally by the Spartans.]

      The boat had left Naukratis, at that time the only Hellenic port in Egypt, about half an hour before.

      [This town, which will form the scene of a part of our tale, lies in

       the northwest of the Nile Delta, in the Saitic Nomos or district, on

       the left bank of the Canopic mouth of the river. According to

       Strabo and Eusebius it was founded by Milesians, and Bunsen reckons

       749 B. C. It seems that in the earliest times Greek ships were only

       allowed to enter this mouth of the Nile in case of necessity. The

       entire intercourse of the Egyptians with the hated strangers was, at

       that time, restricted to the little island of Pharos lying opposite

       to the town of Thonis.]

      During their journey, the grey-haired, moody man had not spoken one word, and the other had left him to his meditations. But now, as the boat neared the shore, the restless traveller, rising from his couch, called to his companion: “We are just at our destination, Aristomachus! That pleasant house to the left yonder, in the garden of palms which you can see rising above the waters, is the dwelling of my friend Rhodopis. It was built by her husband Charaxus, and all her friends, not excepting the king himself, vie with one another in adding new beauties to it year by year. A useless effort! Let them adorn that house with all the treasures in the world, the woman who lives within will still remain its best ornament!”

      [We are writing of the month of October, when the Nile begins to

       sink. The inundations can now be accurately accounted for,

       especially since the important and laborious synoptical work of H.

       Barth and S. Baker. They are occasioned by the tropical rains, and

       the melting of the snows on the high mountain-ranges at the Equator.

       In the beginning of June a gradual rising of the Nile waters can be

       perceived; between the 15th and 20th June, this changes to a rapid

       increase; in the beginning of October the waters reach their highest

       elevation, a point, which, even after having begun their retreat,

       they once more attempt to attain; then, at first gradually, and

       afterwards with ever increasing rapidity, they continue to sink. In

       January, February and March, the Nile is still drying up; and in May

       is at its lowest point, when the volume of its waters is only one-

       twentieth of that in October.]

      The old man sat up, threw a passing glance at the building, smoothed the thick grey beard which clothed his cheeks and chin, but left the lips free,—[The Spartans were not in the habit of wearing a beard on the upper lip.]—and asked abruptly: “Why so much enthusiasm, Phanes, for this Rhodopis? How long have the Athenians been wont to extol old women?” At this remark the other smiled, and answered in a self-satisfied tone, “My knowledge of the world, and particularly of women, is, I flatter myself, an extended one, and yet I repeat, that in all Egypt I know of no nobler creature than this grey-haired woman. When you have seen her and her lovely grandchild, and heard your favorite melodies sung by her well-practised choir of slave-girls, I think you will thank me for having brought you hither.”—“Yet,” answered the Spartan gravely, “I should not have accompanied you, if I had not hoped to meet Phryxus, the Delphian, here.”

      “You will find him here; and besides, I cannot but hope that the songs will cheer you, and dispel your gloomy thoughts.” Aristomachus shook his head in denial, and answered: “To you, sanguine Athenians, the melodies of your country may be cheering: but not so to me; as in many a sleepless night of dreams, my longings will be doubled, not stilled by the songs of Alkman.”

      [Alkman (Attic, Alkmaeon) flourished in Sparta about 650 B. C. His

       mother was a Lydian slave in Sardes, and he came into the possession

       of Agesides, who gave him his freedom. His beautiful songs soon

       procured him the rights of a Lacedaemonian citizen. He was

       appointed to the head-directorship in the entire department of music

       in Lacedaemon and succeeded in naturalizing the soft Lydian music.

       His language was the Doric-Laconian. After a life devoted to song,

       the pleasures of the table and of love, he is said to have died of

       a fearful disease. From the frequent choruses of virgins

       (Parthenien) said to have been originally introduced by him, his

       frequent songs in praise of women, and the friendly relations in

       which he stood to the Spartan women (more especially to the fair

       Megalostrata), he gained the name of the woman’s poet.]

      “Do you think then,” replied Phanes, “that I have no longing for my beloved Athens, for the scenes of our youthful games, for the busy life of the market? Truly, the bread of exile is not less distasteful to my palate than to yours, but, in the society afforded by this house, it loses some of its bitterness, and when the dear melodies of Hellas, so perfectly sung, fall on my ear, my native land rises before me as in a vision, I see its pine and olive groves, its cold, emerald green rivers, its blue sea, the shimmer of its towns, its snowy mountain-tops and marble temples, and a half-sweet, half-bitter tear steals down my cheek as the music ceases, and I awake to remember that I am in Egypt, in this monotonous, hot, eccentric country, which, the gods be praised, I am soon about to quit. But, Aristomachus, would you then avoid the few Oases in the desert, because you must afterwards return to its sands and drought? Would you fly from one happy hour, because days of sadness await you later? But stop, here we are! Show a cheerful countenance, my friend, for it becomes us not to enter the temple of the Charites with sad hearts.”—[The goddesses of grace and beauty, better known by their Roman name of “Graces.”]

      As Phanes uttered these words, they landed at the garden wall, washed by the Nile. The Athenian bounded lightly from the boat, the Spartan following with a heavier, СКАЧАТЬ