Chapter IX

Chapter IXIn the strange bright summer night of light, lit by the sheen of the stars and the glow of the lamps, Canopus rose amid its slender obelisks and its spreading palm-trees. The barges lay moored to the long quay, one beside the other. One solemn train of pilgrims after another flowed down the street to the temple of Serapis. The town was alive with the whisper of music and aglow with illumination.It was mid-night. From the temple of Serapis heavy gong-strokes sounded, like a divine, golden thunder rolling at regular intervals under the stars. The singing processions, bathed in torchlight, streamed towards the temple.There was a wide avenue paved with large, square stones. This avenue, or dromos, led to the sanctuary, the temenos, along a double row of immense basalt sphinxes, half woman, half lioness; half man, half bull. They were drawn up like superhuman sentinels that had turned to stone; and theirgreat human faces stared raptly into the night. In between the sphinxes, the coloured lamps and lanterns blossomed like lotus-flowers, glowing blue, red and yellow.The processions streamed into the dromos at pilgrims’ pace. Through the dromos they reached the first propylæum, then the second, the third, the fourth. These consisted of a gigantic series of heavy pylons, painted with hieroglyphics: a veritable forest of pylon-trunks rising in serried ranks of frowning columns and crowned with heavy architraves which seemed to support the starry realm of the summer night itself. Through these endless rows of pillars the dense multitude of pilgrims in search of their dreams marched to the music of hymns. It marched with its steady, slow, regular, religious tread. And monotonous as the rhythm of its march was the melody of its hymn, borne upon ever the same harp-chords.Lucius’ procession marched with the others. He walked gravely, with Catullus by his side; Thrasyllus followed; the slaves, male and female, followed. In front of him strode his musicians, singers and dancers. And Cora’s voice rose only a little higher in the ever-repeated hymn to the god Serapis.The temple itself produced a sense of infinity. An immense fore-court, or pronaos, soared on high with its pillars, a forest of pylons crowned by the roof, with its painted hieroglyphics. The pronaos gave admittance to the sanctuary, the holy of holies, an immeasurable empty space, without image, without altar, without anything. Nevertheless as it were a mysterious sanctity descended here, because of the height, the impressive, colossal dimensions. The “wings,” or pteres, the two side-walls, sculptured with symbolic bas-reliefs, painted gold, azure and scarlet, approached each other with slanting lines in a mystic perspective, where a cloud of fragrance hovered like a conflagration. Behind this the holy of holies lost itself, the abode of the god, of Serapis; invisible the statue. A swarm of acolytes, zacori and neocori, were officiating on ascending stairs, in worship before close-drawn hyacinth curtains.The processions divided themselves along the wings, the side-walls, as directed by the temple-keepers’ wands. It was as though a broad stream were dividing into two rivers. At the end of the wings, behind the holy of holies, flights of stairs widened in the open night, leading to terraces, the one ever higherthan the other, so that they could not be overlooked. The golden gong-strokes solemnly rolled and thundered, echoing heavily and loudly.Over the terraces, in a constant round, up and down, marched the chief priests, the hieropsalts, the hieroscopes, the hierogrammats, the pastophors, the sphagists and the stolists. The hieropsalts sang the hymns to the sacred harps; the hieroscopes prophesied from the entrails of victims; the hierogrammats guarded the secrets of the Hermetic wisdom; the pastophors carried the images of Anubis, with the dog’s head, in silver boats; the sphagists were the sacrificial priests; the stolists served the sacred images, adorned them, tended them with ever clean and perfumed hands. But among the hierogrammats strode the prophets. They had beheld the godhead face to face; they knew the past and the future, they knew the meaning of the sacred dreams. They were very holy; and the oldest of them were most holy. Whenever they approached, the people sank to the ground and kissed the pavement, with hands uplifted.The sacred hour approached, the hour when Serapis would send the sacred dreamsfrom heaven, out of the sun itself, when all the procession would have streamed in, when the gates of the dromos would have slammed with their ponderous monolithic doors, when the last gong-stroke would clatter away in the sacred night.From the terraces the town, the canal, and the lake lay visible as in one golden shimmer of lights. But on the terraces themselves suddenly an incredible stillness reigned. Not a voice, not a rustle sounded from out of that multitude of thousands. And on the granite pavement the pilgrims were stretched one beside the other.In between the rows the temple-keepers moved, the neocori. And they bent incessantly over the pilgrims and covered them with the dreaming-nets and -veils, while zacori slung the censers. A heavy, intoxicating perfume of almost stifling aromatic vapour was wafted through the air.Suddenly, through the silence, the harps of the hieropsalts struck the sacred chord.There was a short hymn, one single phrase, which melted away.On the vast terraces the multitude of the thousands of pilgrims lay motionless under nets and veils, their eyes closed. Not asound came from the illuminated city. The sacred silence reigned wide and mystic, fraught with terror, over the sea, along the starry sky, over the city and the temple. For Serapis, invisible, was rising from the underworld, to bring the dreams.He rose in a cloud of dreams, out of the sacred, subterranean Hell, where he reigns even as Osiris reigns in high Heaven. He is Osiris himself; between him and Osiris there is no difference. He is two. While Osiris is the benevolent Almighty above, he is the benevolent Almighty below. He opposes Typhon, even as Osiris combated Typhon. Victory falls to him in the end, even as it did to Osiris.Now he rises, in the cloud of dreams. For it is his feast, the feast of his kindly waters, which he pours in summer rains from the sacred vessels wherewith the dog’s-head of Anubis, his watchman, servant and comrade, is crowned, the waters which he pours into the sacred stream, so that it may flood sacred Egypt. Now he rises in the cloud of dreams.The earth splits and Serapis rises from the subterranean Hell. He is everything, even as Osiris is. He is feminine, Neith, the beginning, and masculine, Ammon, eternity.He is what the last will be. And he cannot be other than the benefactor. He makes the dreams hover like butterflies around the foreheads of those who believe in him. His healing power makes whole the sick. He pours the secret of that healing into the minds of the servants of sufferers who shall dream in their masters’ stead. His dreams advise what must be done or left undone to achieve prosperity, fortune, consideration, happiness and love.And he will make Lusius dream where to find a beloved woman who has disappeared....In the silence the young Roman lies, covered with a gold network, like a precious mummy, straight out, his arms beside his body, his eyes shut. Near him lie all his followers.The cloud of the perfumes is wafted over their eyes reverently closed under the veils.The sacred silence continues, hour after hour, unbroken....Chapter XHad Lucius slept? Had he dreamed? Had the fragrant cloud drugged his senses? Had a strange mystic power spread over him? Had Serapis descended upon him? Had the dreams surrounded him?It seemed to him that a golden thunder roused him from his heavy, motionless lethargy. The gong-strokes rolled through the temple and far away into the starry night. Harp-chords sounded, a hymn was intoned. He felt his veil wet with thick-rising dew....Round and round the terraces, singing, moved the long procession of the priests. It was still night. Everywhere around Lucius the dreamers arose, drunk with sleep and dreaming. In the reflections of the lamps and torches their faces were ghostly, spiritualized as after a long prayer, after protracted adoration and ecstasy, wherein their thoughts, desires and souls had been refined.On the topmost terrace, round which the whole city shimmered visibly with light—on the one side the nocturnal blue of the sea, on the other the silvery forking of the Nile’s mouths through the Delta—the learned hierogrammats, the keepers of the sacred writings, sat each on his throne. In their hands they held unrolled the sacred scrolls, whose hieroglyphics gave answer to all things. Temple-slaves behind them lifted high the coloured lanterns. In front of them the multitudinous dreamers thronged.Great was the thronging. The dreamers wanted to know the interpretation of their dreams. But those who had dreamed were so many that the priests did not answer save with a few words full of dark meaning.Many, disappointed, went down the terraces. Orgy awaited them in the taverns and brothels along the canal....Lucius had risen, in the midst of all his followers. He stood stiff, motionless, veiled in the gold net, like a god entranced.“Lucius,” Thrasyllus asked, “my dear child and master, tell me: have you dreamed?”“Yes,” replied Lucius, in a trance.“I too,” said Uncle Catullus. “It was a nightmare,mostunpleasant! I had dined too heavily. My stomach was overloaded.And I am now shivering with this chilly dew. Egypt ismostinteresting, but Egypt will positively be the death of me!”Caleb had approached:“My gracious lord,” said Caleb, “your Sabæan amulets have no doubt inspired you with a favourable dream. You must have your dream expounded. But not by the hierogrammats.... Look, the dreamers are crowding in front of them. There is no reaching them. You must have your dream expounded by a most holy prophet, by Amphris, the centenarian.... Come with me, let me lead you to him....” He took Lucius by the hand. “It costs half a talent, no less,” said Caleb. “Thirty minæ, my lord. But then Amphris will expound your dreams for you, Amphris, the holy Amphris. The hierogrammats charge ten or twenty drachmæ. But they can never tell it as the holy Amphris, the prophet does. This is where he sits enthroned, my lord.”They were standing in front of a small pyramid, on one of the upper terraces. Two sphinxes beside the narrow door lay like mysterious stone sentinels. Temple-keepers guarded the gate.“The most holy Amphris?” Caleb asked.“Forty minæ,” said one of the priests.“Why not a talent right away?” grumbled Caleb.“Forty minæ,” repeated the priest.Caleb took the gold coins from the long purse at his girdle and slipped them into the priest’s hand:“Enter, my lord,” he said, pointing to the open door.Lucius entered. Seated on a throne was an old man who looked like a god of age and wisdom. Lucius himself was as beautiful as a young god. A strange light, as of soft moons, shone from blue globes. Lucius bowed to the ground, fell upon his knees and kissed the floor. He remained in this position.“Did Serapis pass over you, my son?”“Yes, holy father.”“What did he make you see, in your dreams?”“The woman whom I love....”The prophet had laid his long, thin, transparent hand on the dreamer’s head:“But who did not love you,” he said, gently and quietly.“How do you know, holy father?... I saw the pirates who kidnapped her....”“But by whom she was not kidnapped....”“How do you know, holy father?”“And by whom she was not sold as a slave.”“Where is she then, O father?”“What did Serapis make you see in the dream?”Lucius sobbed:“I do not know, father.... I saw her and ... those who kidnapped her.”“How many were they?”“Many.”“Old and young?”“No, they resembled one another like brothers, like doubles.”“Because they were not many.”“Not many?”“No.”“How many were they, father?”“They were ...one.”“Not more?”“They wereone,” repeated the prophet. “My son, your soul is sick. It is sick with sorrow and love. Love is strong, but wisdom is stronger. Gather wisdom, my son. My child, I can see into your soul. I see it lying tortured and trembling.”“There is no comfort if I do not find her!”“There is comfort. Isis seeking for Osirisrecovered all the pieces of his body except that piece which fructified her. And yet she found comfort, in the end.”“Give me comfort, holy father.”“I am wisdom, child, and you are young. Serve wisdom, but honour love.”“Father, why did the pirates resemble one another?”“Because they were one.”“One pirate?”“One pirate.”“Where is Ilia, father?”“My son, even my wisdom does not tell me that whereof you have not dreamed. You dreamed of many pirates, who resembled one another like doubles. There was one pirate, my child.”“Who was he?”“Did Serapis conjure up his image before you?”“I no longer see it.”“Then go in peace. And let love and wisdom comfort you.”Lucius went. On the threshold of the pyramid he met an hetaira. She glittered like an idol in her ceremonial garb, sewn with jewels, and looked at him with painted eyes.“It’s Tamyris, my lord,” said Caleb. “She is going to consult Amphris. She has paid a talent! Has Amphris interpreted your dream? The door-keeper, who also is wise, has interpreted mine for me! And for only five drachmæ.”“One pirate! One pirate!” murmured Lucius.And he clenched his fists, impotently....The multitude streamed away along the terraces. The barges glided back on the canal, in the night.And constantly, near the pleasure-houses and taverns, the vessels stopped and the dreamers alighted.Here mead flowed and foaming golden beer and heavy Mareotis wines and the intoxicating liqueurs of Napata. Here the naked women, who beckoned with lotus-stalks, twisted in the dance.“Back!” cried Lucius. “Back to Alexandria!”The barge stopped at no pleasure-houses, at no taverns. The master sobbed, his head wrapped in his golden dreaming-veil. There was no music. Only the plaintive song of the rowers made itself heard from below.Behind, in the east, the dawn paled in one long, rosy line, above the sea ... while the festal lamps flickered out and died....Chapter XISerapis had opened the floodgates of the sky.The first spring rains had already descended in heavy torrents; the water-gods had already poured the kindly streams from their urns into the swelling Nile; the river-surveyors, who had consulted the Nilometers1at every place, declared that the sacred stream was steadily rising and that the maximum gauge would be reached that summer.The rains clattered down in white curtains of pouring waters.The palm-garden of the diversorium was inundated. Master Ghizla made his slaves dig little canals to carry the water to cisterns.There was much joy and gladness at all this water. The air was fresh; though mid-summer was approaching, an equable coolnesstempered the atmosphere around Alexandria; no river-mist spread seeds of disease; and the great dampness brought relief even to this ground, which had dried up during the winter, and to the parched air.The travellers remained indoors. After the night of dreams at Canopus, Lucius had come home in one of his impotent fits of fury, locking himself in his room in despair and refusing to see anybody whatever.Uncle Catullus abandoned himself to long siestas; Thrasyllus studied books, maps and globes.In the porch of the slaves’ quarters sat Cora. As she was forbidden to sing or play, she sat crouched with her arms around her knees, gazing mournfully at the rains. Their lord’s sickness spread melancholy among all his household.Caleb squatted beside Cora. Like her he sat with his arms around his knees and he smiled with his flashing eyes and teeth and said:“Cora, I love you very much.”Cora did not move; she merely answered, very gently:“I am not free; I belong to the master.”“I should like to buy you, Cora; and then you would be free.”Cora did not answer; the rain poured down in an endless grey sheet; and in the palm-garden, under an umbrella, Master Ghizla drilled his dripping slaves.“You would be free,” Caleb repeated. “You would not be my slave, but my wife. I am rich: we are rich, Ghizla and I. We do a very good business. Our diversorium is the finest in Alexandria. We make a great deal of money, because all princely nobles alight at our establishment. Cora, you would be its mistress. You would have slaves, male and female. I would pay your master whatever he asked; it would be deducted from his bill. For business is business, you know. But I could pay for you, if necessary, in ready money. And then, Cora, when we have grown very rich ... then we would go back to Saba, to my native land. It is the sweetest and most beautiful country in the world ... to live in, you know. But there’s no business to be done there. You have to be rich there; then it’s delightful. When we are rich, we will go back there. Cora, shall I tell you about Saba, about my country, even if it were only, Cora, to divertyou, now that it’s raining and you mustn’t sing?”“I am listening, Caleb.”“Saba, dear Cora, is the mightiest kingdom of Arabia; Saba is Arabia Felix, Cora. Saba is the sweet land where the balsam-trees grow and the precious spices are gathered: myrrh and frankincense and cinnamon. All the herbs and flowers, Cora, are scented in Saba; there is no herb and no flower that is not scented. Under the sky, which is transparent as empty blue space, the clouds of perfume waft up and rise to the feet of the gods, who always glance down smilingly upon my country, upon my happy country. The palm-tree is scented there and the calamus-reed is scented there; the scented papyrus blossoms there. Nowhere are the flowers so big and of so many kinds, or the trees so densely-leaved or so green. Nowhere are the nights so mild and the days so blissful. The nights are for feasting and the days for resting. We climb up long ladders into the tall trees and sleep in leafy nests, like birds. Mariaba is my town, the golden capital of my sweet land. Have you ever seen a fairy-city in your dreams, Cora? That is Mariaba. There are templesof chrysolite with domes of blue crystal, which imitate the firmament. The streets are strewn with golden sand. Mariaba is situated on a hill, like the palace of a god. The king, Cora, is a descendant of Balkis, our great queen, who brought Solomon the treasures of Ophir; the king lives at Mariaba in a palace walled with gold. The walls of his apartments are like blue mirrors and he treads on carpets that are woven of flowers and hourly renewed. He does not eat, but lives on perfumes. He is sacred, but he may not leave his palace; for an oracle has commanded his people to stone him the moment that he comes out. Everything in his palace and in the town is luxury and delight. There is no commerce, there is no business. The Sabæans surrender the trade in the precious products of their country to the men of Syria and Mesopotamia. They themselves, Cora, are rich and as gods.... When we are rich and you are my wife ... we shall be as gods in Mariaba and you shall see the king, behind a transparent hanging of gold glass, while he feeds on those perfumes. We shall live in a house of alabaster, which is transparent, but only to those inside. We shall have a barge of blue leather with red-silk tassels and littlegolden, tinkling bells.... When the evening wind is fresh, we shall warm our hands at glowing cinnamon. I shall anoint your body with fluid larimnum, which is the most costly of aromatics and is not exported, not even to Cæsar. We shall have no plate except of gold and an ivory couch inlaid with jasper, or perhaps with sard. And you will go about on an elephant with silvered hoofs, many gold bands round his trunk and, at night, two little lanterns on his tusks, Cora. And we shall be happier than you can imagine or than I can tell.”2“What you are describing, Caleb, is indeed like fairyland. But I have heard say that, because of all that fragrance in their country, the Sabæans one and all suffer from headache.”“When we suffer from headache, Cora, we burn asphalt and the hairs of a goat’s beard. There is no remedy to compare with that for headache. Or else we wear the sacred amulets. Wear one, Cora: wear this amulet, which I have always worn.”“No, Caleb.”“Are you afraid that I shall bewitch you?”“Yes. I fear the Sabæan amulets. It is perhaps because of one of them that the master dreamed the bad dream which has made him ill and sad.”“Cora, I love you so much.... Will you permit me to buy you from your master?”“If you bought me, O Caleb, I should be a faithful slave and sing and play the harp to you. But I should be unhappy, even if I were your wife and free ... because I should be so far from my master....”“Whom you love.”Cora hesitated. Then she said:“Whom I love, Caleb ... but as the flower loves the sun, as the moth loves the star ... from afar and from the depths ... without hope.”The rain poured down in an endless grey sheet. In the garden, Master Ghizla was swearing at the slaves and wading, with tucked-up tunic and lean, hairy legs, through the puddles.Caleb rose. He said nothing and went away, his head sunk in melancholy. Then he came back and resumed:“You would go hunting with me, Cora,and you would sit in front of me on a Sabæan stallion, which would be swift as the wind, and we should catch lion-whelps in nets and tame them with palm-wine and they would follow you about like big cats.”Cora only smiled and said nothing.“Iknow, Cora, why you will not be my wife. It isnotbecause you love your master. For, even if your master loved you, you would be a slave.Mywife would be a free woman and reign as queen in my house. But you will not be my wife because perhaps you know the Sabæan law which prescribes that a married woman is also the wife of all her husband’s brothers. But Ghizla, dear Cora, would not dare to touch even the hem of your garment.”“I did not know that law,” said Cora.“There was a king’s daughter in our country, Cora. She was dazzlingly beautiful and was the wife of fifteen brothers, who were princes. All the fifteen of them glowed with love for her. When one of the brothers wished to tarry in her chamber, he set his stick outside the door, as a sign. Then the others passed their way.... When she wearied of their eagerness to love her, she devised a stratagem. She had sticks madefor her, like the brothers’. When one of the princes left her, she placed one of these sticks outside her door. In this way she enjoyed peace.... But one day all the brothers happened to be in the square of the town at the same time. One of them went to visit her ... and found outside the door the stick of a brother ... whom he had just left in the town-square! Then he thought that his wife, the wife of the fifteen brothers, was unfaithful to them ... with a sixteenth, a stranger. And he sought his father and told him of his suspicions. But it appeared that the wife was innocent. And not only the father but the fifteen brothers and their spouse laughed at the stratagem and were happy.... But you, Cora, would never need to put a stick like mine outside your door. For I have only one brother, Ghizla, and he would not dare to touch so much as the hem of your garment.”Cora laughed and Caleb laughed and his eyes and teeth flashed and glittered.“In that case, I’ll think it over, Caleb!” laughed Cora. “In that case, I’ll think it over!”“Do think it over, Cora,” laughed Caleb. “If you are willing, I’ll buy you from yourmaster. And we shall have a pleasure-boat of cedar-wood, but with sails like a bird’s wings, so that we can either sail about on the sea or soar high into the clouds. And then on some nights we could visit the moon, where all the people are transparent, like shades.... This is not a fairy-tale, Cora; it’s as I tell you. Wehavethose magic ships in our seas, in our skies.... Think it over, Cora! Do think it over!”And, while Cora was still laughing incredulously, Caleb girdled his tunic high and waded barefoot through the puddles of the palm-garden, looking round and laughing as he went. For Ghizla had called to him to see the canals which the slaves were digging to carry off the rain-water to the cisterns.1Stone wells on the banks of the Nile, in which the water rose and fell as in the river itself; marked columns indicated the maximum, minimum and middle gauge. Inspectors informed the people beforehand how high the Nile would rise and when the stream would be likely to overflow its banks.2Caleb’s description of Saba owes very little to theauthor’sinvention. Nearly all these details upon Arabia Felix will be found set forth in Strabo’s Geography.Chapter XIIBut Libyan bearers carried a litter into the garden.The litter was close-curtained with blue canvas, against the rain.And a veiled woman peeped through a slit in the curtains and beckoned to Caleb:“Is he at home?” she asked.Caleb recognized her, but he answered with an air of innocence and asked:“Who, gracious lady?”“He,” repeated the woman. “The young Roman, Publius Lucius Sabinus.”“He is at home, gracious lady,” said Caleb. “But he is unwell. He will not see any one.”“If he is at home, I want to see him,” said the woman.And she alighted on the stone steps of the portico. She was closely wrapped in her veils, but Caleb had recognized her. And she offered Caleb a gold coin, which Caleb did not refuse, because business was business and a well-invested stater brought him stilla little nearer to his native land, for which he was longing.“I do not know whether I can let you in,” said Caleb, hesitatingly.The woman produced a second piece of gold. It disappeared in Caleb’s girdle as though by witchcraft.“Where is he staying?” she asked.“In the princes’ building, of course,” said Caleb, proudly. “Where his little black slave is squatting.”The veiled woman went up to Tarrar, squatting on a mat outside a door:“I want to see him,” said the woman. “I want to speak to him. Take me to him.”“The master is asleep,” said Tarrar.“Wake him.”“The master is sick,” said Tarrar.“Tell him that I can cure him.”“I dare not,” said Tarrar. “He would be angry. It would be against his orders. He is accustomed to have us obey him.”“Announce me.”“No,” said Tarrar.“You’re a little monkey,” said the woman.And she opened the door and lifted a curtain.Tarrar and Caleb, dismayed, tried to stop her:“She’s inside!” said Caleb.“The master will beat me!” said Tarrar, shivering. “That impudent wench!”But Caleb, with his finger to his mouth, told him to be silent ... and listened at the door.The veiled woman stood in Lucius’ room. Lucius lay on a couch in mournful meditation. He opened his eyes wide with amazement.“I am Tamyris,” said the woman. “Lucius, I am Tamyris. I am famed for my beauty; and I have kept kings waiting on the threshold of my villa on Lake Mareotis merely out of caprice. I once kissed a negro slave while the King of Pontus was waiting; and, when my black lover held me in his arms, I called the king in ... and then showed him the door and drove him away.”“That’s not true,” said Lucius.Tamyris opened her veils and laughed:“No, it’s not true,” she said. “But whatistrue is this, that I have been burning with love for you since the day when I saw you, beautiful as a god, on the threshold of Amphris’ pyramid. Lucius, I want to be your slave. I want to serve and love you. I willcure you and make you laugh. I shall make you forget all your sorrow. Lucius, I have served the sacred goddess Aphrodite since I was a child of six. She has taught me, through oracles and dreams, the utter secret of her science, the secret of her highest voluptuousness, which she herself did not know until she loved Adonis. Lucius, if you will love me, I shall be your slave and reveal the secret of Adonis to you.”“Go away,” said Lucius.“Lucius,” said Tamyris, “I have never asked a man to love me. But my days, since I looked into the mournful depths of your eyes, have been like withered gardens and my nights like scorched sands. I suffer and I am ill. I have an everlasting thirst here, in my throat, despite draughts cooled with snow and fruit steeped in silphium. See, my hands shake as though I were in a fever. See, Lucius, how my hands shake. They want to fondle you, to fondle your limbs and....”“Go away,” said Lucius.“Lucius, I long to be your slave. I, Tamyris, the famous hetaira, who possess treasures, as you do, and the largest beryl discovered in Ethiopia, I long to be your slave and I long to shake your pillows highand soft and to lave your feet in nard and to dry them with my kisses, kiss after kiss until they are dry.”Lucius struck a hard blow on the gong. Caleb and Tarrar appeared.“Call the guards,” Lucius commanded. “And drag this woman away if she does not go.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, when I am dead, O Lucius, burnt out with love, I shall haunt you and my ghost will twine around you, without your being able to prevent it, and I shall suck your soul from your lips ... until I have you inside me ... inside me.”“Gracious lady,” said Caleb, obsequiously, “the rain has ceased and your litter waits.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “The Prince of Numidia expects me. He has come with twenty swimming elephants, over the sea and straight across the lake, to love me. I am giving an orgy to-night, just to amuse him. Lucius, if you call on me to-night, we will tie up the Prince of Numidia and tickle the soles of his feet till he dies of laughing. Will you come?”“You lie,” said Lucius. “There is no prince come to see you and there are noswimming elephants. You weary me. Go away, or I shall have you scourged from my presence with long whips.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, at a moment when you are not thinking of it, I shall bewitch you. Then you, without knowing it, will drink a philtre which I have prepared for you; and you will come to me and I shall embrace you. And in my embraceyou shall know what otherwise would have always remained a secret to you. I am going.”That night Lucius went to Tamyris.But he returned, the next morning, disillusionized and disappointed.Chapter XIII“My son,” said old Thrasyllus, sitting beside his couch, “do you intend always to cherish your illness and longing, like a serpent that devours you, bone and flesh? The sibyl of Rhacotis merely guessed your own thoughts. The holy Amphris could explain nothing more than that many, who resemble one another, mean only one in the dream. After that, what could your credulity imagine that a crafty hetaira would make you guess in her embrace? The name of that one man? The name of the pirate? The place where he is hiding Ilia?... One pirate?... Who could have stolen her?”“I don’t know,” said Lucius, wearily.“My poor, sick boy,” said the tutor, “no one knows and no one will ever know. She has disappeared. If she has not been kidnapped by pirates, she is drowned. Did you not visit the slave-markets in Rome on purpose to find her? Have you not done the same thing here, in Alexandria? She is not to be found. Forget her, my son. Try toget better. If no other woman can cure you, let some other power than love cure you. Amphris mentioned wisdom. There is wisdom. Seek it here, in the land of wisdom. This city, my son, is a sinful city, though it is fair to look upon. This city is as Tamyris herself: it is a wanton among cities. There is no more wisdom in this city, notwithstanding the Museum, notwithstanding the Serapeum, notwithstanding the dreams of Canopus, which die away in orgies. In this city I have met none save merchants, usurers and venal women. This magnificent city is a venal city. Even the philosophers here are avaricious and venal. Even the prophets demand a talent for their divinations. The power of money holds sway here and no longer wisdom. Let us go farther. There is wisdom left in Egypt. And in the wisdom which we shall find you will be cured. Listen, my son: there is the sacred word of the Kabbala, which Moses himself received from the godhead on Mount Sinai. That word has never been graven on tables of stone, but Moses whispered it to his sons and those sons to theirs. It is the key to happiness. He who utters it has the power to avoid suffering and to know all that can be known on earth. I have soughtfor it, in the Museum, in the Serapeum, here and at Canopus. While you lay sorrowing on your couch, my son, I have held converse with priests and with philosophers, with prophets. I am persuaded that I shall not find the word in Alexandria.”“But where will you find it, Thrasyllus?”The tutor stared before him:“Perhaps farther on,” he said. “Perhaps at Memphis. Let us go to Memphis. If I do not find the word at Memphis, I shall look for it farther still. Let us sail up the Nile, to Thebes, to Ethiopia. Let us go to the pillars of Sesostris. Something tells me that we shall find it ... and that you will be cured, my son. But let us go.”Lucius approved and the departure was decided. Thereupon Master Ghizla and Caleb had a long talk on “business,” after which Caleb asked for an interview with Lucius, which was granted and at which Uncle Catullus and Thrasyllus were present.“Noble lords,” Caleb began, “I should like to speak to you in your own interest. The question, noble lords, is this: I understand from the most learned Master Thrasyllus that there is a plan on foot to leave Alexandria and to travel over Memphis toEthiopia, as far as the pillars of Sesostris. That will certainly be a fine journey; and all great lords take that road. But permit me, your servant, to give you a piece of advice, in your own interest, noble lords, in your own interest. My advice is this: hire from me and my brother Ghizla a comfortable and spacious Nile barge, a thalamegus, not only to ascend the Nile in, but also to live in, so far as possible, because—spoken without slander, noble lords, spoken without slander!—the diversoria which you will find at Hermopolis, at Leontopolis, ay, even at Memphis and Thebes are ...bad, are allbad, not to be compared with our far-famed Hermes House, O my honoured benefactors! No, they are unclean hovels, standing on the edges of marshes, without any modern conveniences; and, though you have your own cook, you would not even find any unpolluted wells there, not to speak of wine, and would never have a good meal again, O my Lord Catullus! Therefore, O my patrons, hire our Nile thalamegus, in which you can live with a small following, with a few slaves; leave the other slaves here, with the greater part of your splendid equipment; and allow me—if you have been satisfied, O my Lord Lucius,with my conduct at Alexandria and Canopus—to be your guide, at the head of your own escort, and to remove all difficulties from your path. I know the whole of Egypt! I have already conducted numbers of noble lords, ay, to the sources of the Nile, to those most mysterious sources! We will take tents with us and hire camels, when necessary, but take my advice ... and never alight at any other Egyptian diversoria, except our Hermes House, for they are allbad, bad, bad... indescribably bad, O my noble lords!”“Caleb,” said Lucius, “I was just about to propose to you what you are proposing to me, that you should be our guide to the pillars of Sesostris and hire me a barge to sail up the Nile.”“O my lords!” cried Caleb, overjoyed and obviously relieved. “How glad I am of that! For now I am convinced that you will be comfortable and travel pleasantly and that you, O my Lord Catullus, will dine as you have been wont to do here ... especially as we shall not forget to take our own wines on board, the purple Mareotis wine, thick as ink, and the topaz-yellow liqueur of Napata.”“But is the last really necessary, Caleb?”asked Uncle Catullus, mischievously. “After all, we are going to Ethiopia!”“And on the way, my lord? Before we reach Ethiopia? And above all let me also explain that the Ethiopian liqueurs ... must first descend the Nile, to acquire the perfume and the rich flavour which they donotpossess in Ethiopia itself.”“If only they don’t lose that perfume, Caleb, when they ascend the Nile again!” said Uncle Catullus, jestingly.“I shall see tothat, my lord,” said Caleb, who saw through Uncle Catullus quite as plainly as Uncle Catullus saw through Caleb. “I’ll see tothat. You just leave it tome.”“We are leaving everything to you, Caleb. Get the barge ready for to-morrow,” said Lucius.“Then we shall go up the Nile next day, my lord,” said Caleb, happy and delighted.And he retired with salaam upon salaam.And Master Ghizla, in the palm-garden, pretending to be busy with the little canal, but in reality full of eagerness to know the result of Caleb’s advice, whispered:“I say!... Brother!...”“Yes?”“Well, Caleb, well?” asked Ghizla, anxiously and looking a little pale.“They’re hiring the thalamegus ... they’re alighting at no other diversorium ... they’re sleeping inourtents, they’ll travel withourcamels and....”“Well, Caleb, and what else?” asked Ghizla, rubbing his hands.“They’re drinkingourwines ... all the way to Napata!”“Whereyou’llpretend to lay in a fresh stock of liqueurs?”“You leave that to me, Brother Ghizla, you just leave it to me!”“May the gods bless you, Brother Caleb; may Thoth, Hermes and Serapis bless you! Quick, let us look in the cellars if we have enough in store!”There came a sudden shower, as though poured from an urn in the sky by an invisible water-god; and the two brothers, with their garments girdled up, rushed bare-legged through the puddles of their palm-garden to their wine-cellars, which lay warm as stone cupolas in the sun, or else were kept cool with double walls filled with snow.Chapter XIVIn the still and silent night, the Delta lay flooded by the kindly waters of the sacred river. From the Canopic to the Sebennytic mouth, from the Phatmetic along the Mendesian to the Pelusiac mouth, the Delta lay flooded: one still and silent sea in the night, a wide, silver sheet of water without a ripple, stretching farther than the eye could reach in the soft-falling sheen of the full moon. Between the river-mouths the canals lay in streaks of silver light, full of water to their edges. Past the blossoming reeds, past the blossoming lotuses and water-lilies, the great barge glided up the stream as in a vision.There was not a sound amid the silence but the dripping from the oars.The night was muffled, wide and immense. It was as though the moon, up above, had inundated the sky, even as the flood the sacred land below. It was as though the flood of moonshine were drenching the sacred sky also with a calm, unrippled sea, but a sea of light. The night was like a noiseless,silvery day; the night was like a shadow of the day. In that inundation of the light of heaven the stars paled, innumerous, like a silvery powder sprinkled by the moonshine. There lay the lake of Butos, wide and mystic and gleaming. Island emerged after island. Palms stood in clusters, stately, motionless and delicate. A shrine appeared and vanished as the dream-barge glided down a bend of the canal. Country-mansions stood peacefully linked together. There were taller dykes and patches of golden, shadowy wheat. Sheaves of corn looked like the images of gods, reverence-compelling, ranged in order beside one another, against the wall of a barn. A peculiar scent was wafted by, a fresh aroma as of always moist flowers.The outline of a village came into view. And hamlet joined itself to hamlet, with shrines and mansions in between. Suddenly, farther up, in the sea of glory, in the sea of light, huge needles rose on high from the ground, with quivering lines, and became lost in the midst of light.Thrasyllus standing by Cora on the fore-castle pointed:“The obelisks of Sais.”She turned, with a start, and was silent.The barge that afternoon had left Naucratis along the canals which seam the Saitic nome, or province. They were now nearing the capital, Sais, the capital of all Lower Egypt. They already saw the Anubis Avenue. And suddenly, at a bend, between very tall reeds blossoming with tassels and bowing before the barge, Thrasyllus pointed:“The temple of Isis-Neith.”There were sphinxes: they seemed to lift their basalt heads in prayer to the moon and the sky. Lamps and lights twinkled like stars. The thalamegus hove to; orders rang out; the sailors moored the vessel.“The temple of Isis-Neith,”Thrasyllusrepeated to Lucius, who approached with Catullus and Caleb.They were all arrayed in long, white-linen robes. Cora also was similarly clad, in a long, white, close fitting linen robe. She wore a wreath of wheat-ears and lotus-flowers at her temples. For it was the Night of the Glowing Lights, the Feast of the Burning Lamps.“Nemu-Pha is waiting for me in the temple,” said Thrasyllus. “I wrote to him and he has consented to receive me. He is the high-priest of Isis; and to-night hereceives those who come to consult him. I thought, Lucius, of going alone. Nemu-Pha is one of the holiest prophets in Egypt. One word from him can perhaps enable me to guess much. But, if you accompany me, with only a single thought in your sick brain, you would break the mystic thread which might be woven between the high-priest’s spirit and mine. Let me go alone. I have no other care than your happiness ... even though we are not agreed on the form which it should take.“Go, Thrasyllus,” said Lucius.“I don’t think that I shall go on shore,” said Uncle Catullus. “The Night of the Glowing Lights and the Feast of the Burning Lamps leave me cold. It is colourless and cheerless; it will be a spectral orgy. I am too old and fat, Lucius, for spectral orgies. Go on shore alone and amuse yourself as you may.”Lucius assembled his slaves, male and female. They were all in long, white robes, the women wreathed with ears of wheat and lotus-flowers.“You are all free to-night,” said Lucius. “You have a night of liberty. Until sunriseyou belong to yourselves. Go your ways and do whatever you please.”Rufus handed each a small sum of money. The slaves bowed low and disappeared, between the palms, in the direction of the moonlit, twinkling city.Only a guard of sailors kept watch on the barge. Uncle Catullus retired to his cabin. Tarrar also did not wish to go on shore and remained to sleep at his master’s threshold. The Feast of Isis made many shudder who were not accustomed from their youth to its shivery mysticism.Thrasyllus had gone. Lucius also went on shore. He saw Cora hesitating under the palm-trees while the other women slaves had already gone gaily to enjoy their night of liberty:“Why don’t you join your companions, Cora?” asked Lucius.“My lord,” Cora replied, “if you permit me, I would rather stay here.”“You are free to-night.”“What should I do with liberty, my lord?”“You can do what you please, go to the temple and see the veiled Isis ... and enjoyyourself as and with whom you choose.”She cast down her eyes and blushed.“There is a general holiday to-night,” continued Lucius, “for slaves male and female.”She folded her hands as though in prayer:“My lord,” she begged, “suffer me to remain here, near the barge. I am afraid of liberty and of the big city.”“Do as you please,” said Lucius.He went on alone. Loneliness sent a shiver through him because of this strange night which was like day. A white melancholy emanated from his soul. He felt aimless. He would have preferred to accompany Thrasyllus. He would not have minded going to bed. He had almost invited Cora to accompany him to Sais, but did not think it suited to his dignity.He went alone, in his white raiment, in the bountiful moonlight. How strange the night was, all white and trembling. He approached the town. There was nothing but the monotonous rattling of the sistra carried by the long-robed pilgrims who walked in procession to the temple. All the houses along the road were lit with the lamps burning at the doors and windows, vessels full of oil withburning wicks. It was a strange pale-yellow twinkling in the moonshine. It was like a funeral ceremony. For it commemorated the night on which Isis had collected the scattered limbs of her brother and husband Osiris, murdered and quartered by Typhon and scattered all over Egypt.The procession streamed to the temple. Along the road, the hierodules, the priestesses, danced to a monotonous chant, hand in hand, in a long row. They threw a laugh to the numberless strangers who had come to Sais, for that night. The strangers laughed back and picked out the priestesses; and they withdrew together, first to the temple, then farther away.Three hierodules laughed to Lucius. They danced round him. He did not wish to seem uncivil; also he felt very forlorn. He just laughed back, wearily and kindly.“Shall we come with you?” asked one of the hierodules.“As you please,” said Lucius. “Are you going to the temple?”“If you wish.”They walked in front of him and beside him. They wore white, close-fitting robes, with lotus-flowers and ears of wheat in theirhair. They were gentle and civil and obliging and young, like three young children.The white multitude streamed along the streets. The obelisks of the dromos came into view. The temple rose gigantic and mysterious, with numbers of square buildings and terraces stacked one above the other. There were rows of gigantic pylons, which lost themselves in the moonlit night. The monotonous melody of the sistra rattled on every side; on every side the lamps twinkled. Lucius felt within him an immeasurable melancholy, because of life and because of death, because of people and because of himself.The hierodules led the way. They were kind and courteous, glad at meeting this amiable stranger, to whom they would be obliging, as their duty prescribed that night.They entered the pronaos and secos. In the immensity of the pillared spaces the countless sistra rattled eerily, producing a vibration which was no longer music: it was as though the pylons and pillars themselves were rattling, as though the very earth were rattling.Suddenly Lucius felt a cold shiver pass through him. In the holy of holies rose theveiled Isis. It was an immense statue, five fathoms high and surrounded entirely with a silvery film, seamed with hieroglyphics. Above the image, on the architrave, was written:I AM WHO HAVE BEEN,WHO AMAND WHO SHALL BE;AND NO ONE HAS LIFTED MY VEIL.Around the image shone thousands of burning vessels, of glowing lamps. There was a mist of light and a smoke of incense. And round about the image there was the incessant dance of the hierodules and the worship of the sacrificing priests, all the night through. And ever, like an obsession, there was the rattle of the sistra, as though the whole immense temple were rattling.Lucius, led by the three women, offered his sacrifice at one of the numberless altars. The priest pronounced the sacred words and Lucius poured forth the libation and paid his gold coin.He felt desperately unhappy.“Sir,” asked one of the women, “do you wish us all three to accompany you to oneof the temple-chambers? Or would you have two of us go away?”He laughed softly at their polite manners, like those of young and well-brought-up children. He gave a melancholy glance:“I am unwell, I am very unwell,” he said. “I think I will go home alone.”“Your eyes are full of pain, sir,” said one of the hierodules.And one of the others said:“Cannot we comfort you and cure you?”Lucius shook his head.“Then let us lead you home,” said the third.They left the temple.“I live on the river,” said Lucius. “I came in a thalamegus.”They walked beside him, like shades. When they reached the barge, Lucius said:“I am at home here. Let me thank you and pay you. May holy Isis protect you!”“May holy Isis cure you, sir!” said the hierodules.He gave them a gold coin apiece. They disappeared in the night, like shades. But under the palm-trees was another shade. It was Cora.“I am not well,” said Lucius. “I came back.”“Do you wish to go to bed, my lord?” asked Cora.“No, I should not be able to sleep,” replied Lucius. “This night is strange and unreal. I will lie here under the trees.”“I will leave you, my lord.”“No, stay,” he said. “I am ill and I feel lonely. Stay.”“Suffer me to fetch you a cloak and a pillow, my lord.”“I thank you.”She disappeared into the barge and returned with the pillow and cloak. She covered him up and pushed the pillow under his head.“The night is strange,” he repeated, “and unreal. It is like a white day. There is no dew falling. I shall remain here till Thrasyllus comes. But do you stay. I feel ill and lonely.”“What can I do, my lord? I may not sing: only the sistrum may sound to-night.”“Dance to me; move in the moonlight. Can you dance without accompaniment?”“Yes, my lord,” said Cora.He lay under the palms. Cora danced in the open moonlight, near the tall river-reeds. She twisted and turned like a white water-nymphthat had risen from the stream. She stood still, in attitudes of rapture. She adored Isis, her hands uplifted to the moon. She was very lithe and slender, very white, with white flowers and ears of wheat around her temples.He lay without moving, watching her. And he thought his only thought: where could Ilia be? For there had not been more than one pirate....When, late in the night, Thrasyllus returned, he found Lucius asleep under the palms with Cora keeping vigil beside him.“My lord is asleep,” said Cora. And she asked, “Tell me, Thrasyllus: what did Nemu-Pha say?”The old tutor looked gloomy. And he said:“The wise ages have been drowned in the night of time. Egypt is Egypt no longer. Sais is Sais no longer. If wisdom still tarries here and is still to be found, I shall find it not by the sea, not in the Delta. This is the granary and the emporium of the world ... but nothing more. Great Isis hides behind her veil the worthlessness and venality of her priests, whose last remaining pride is to sell in great secrecy the word, ‘Be a god untoyourself.’... That word does not satisfy me. But there is Memphis, there is Thebes. I still have hope, Cora ... that I shall find the divine word which will cure him.”The old man stepped on board the barge. The night waned; yonder, in Sais, the twinkling of the Burning Lamps died away.In the east, the light broke through, as through a bursting sluice. Long, rosy islands seemed to drift in an ocean of molten gold. A long flight of cranes, black against the golden sky, swept down to meet the dawn.Cocks crowed; and on the waters of Lake Butos the first lotus-blooms opened their white chalices. As it were crimson flowed and lay, here and there, over the silent, silver streaks of the canals, in pools of purple red.

Chapter IXIn the strange bright summer night of light, lit by the sheen of the stars and the glow of the lamps, Canopus rose amid its slender obelisks and its spreading palm-trees. The barges lay moored to the long quay, one beside the other. One solemn train of pilgrims after another flowed down the street to the temple of Serapis. The town was alive with the whisper of music and aglow with illumination.It was mid-night. From the temple of Serapis heavy gong-strokes sounded, like a divine, golden thunder rolling at regular intervals under the stars. The singing processions, bathed in torchlight, streamed towards the temple.There was a wide avenue paved with large, square stones. This avenue, or dromos, led to the sanctuary, the temenos, along a double row of immense basalt sphinxes, half woman, half lioness; half man, half bull. They were drawn up like superhuman sentinels that had turned to stone; and theirgreat human faces stared raptly into the night. In between the sphinxes, the coloured lamps and lanterns blossomed like lotus-flowers, glowing blue, red and yellow.The processions streamed into the dromos at pilgrims’ pace. Through the dromos they reached the first propylæum, then the second, the third, the fourth. These consisted of a gigantic series of heavy pylons, painted with hieroglyphics: a veritable forest of pylon-trunks rising in serried ranks of frowning columns and crowned with heavy architraves which seemed to support the starry realm of the summer night itself. Through these endless rows of pillars the dense multitude of pilgrims in search of their dreams marched to the music of hymns. It marched with its steady, slow, regular, religious tread. And monotonous as the rhythm of its march was the melody of its hymn, borne upon ever the same harp-chords.Lucius’ procession marched with the others. He walked gravely, with Catullus by his side; Thrasyllus followed; the slaves, male and female, followed. In front of him strode his musicians, singers and dancers. And Cora’s voice rose only a little higher in the ever-repeated hymn to the god Serapis.The temple itself produced a sense of infinity. An immense fore-court, or pronaos, soared on high with its pillars, a forest of pylons crowned by the roof, with its painted hieroglyphics. The pronaos gave admittance to the sanctuary, the holy of holies, an immeasurable empty space, without image, without altar, without anything. Nevertheless as it were a mysterious sanctity descended here, because of the height, the impressive, colossal dimensions. The “wings,” or pteres, the two side-walls, sculptured with symbolic bas-reliefs, painted gold, azure and scarlet, approached each other with slanting lines in a mystic perspective, where a cloud of fragrance hovered like a conflagration. Behind this the holy of holies lost itself, the abode of the god, of Serapis; invisible the statue. A swarm of acolytes, zacori and neocori, were officiating on ascending stairs, in worship before close-drawn hyacinth curtains.The processions divided themselves along the wings, the side-walls, as directed by the temple-keepers’ wands. It was as though a broad stream were dividing into two rivers. At the end of the wings, behind the holy of holies, flights of stairs widened in the open night, leading to terraces, the one ever higherthan the other, so that they could not be overlooked. The golden gong-strokes solemnly rolled and thundered, echoing heavily and loudly.Over the terraces, in a constant round, up and down, marched the chief priests, the hieropsalts, the hieroscopes, the hierogrammats, the pastophors, the sphagists and the stolists. The hieropsalts sang the hymns to the sacred harps; the hieroscopes prophesied from the entrails of victims; the hierogrammats guarded the secrets of the Hermetic wisdom; the pastophors carried the images of Anubis, with the dog’s head, in silver boats; the sphagists were the sacrificial priests; the stolists served the sacred images, adorned them, tended them with ever clean and perfumed hands. But among the hierogrammats strode the prophets. They had beheld the godhead face to face; they knew the past and the future, they knew the meaning of the sacred dreams. They were very holy; and the oldest of them were most holy. Whenever they approached, the people sank to the ground and kissed the pavement, with hands uplifted.The sacred hour approached, the hour when Serapis would send the sacred dreamsfrom heaven, out of the sun itself, when all the procession would have streamed in, when the gates of the dromos would have slammed with their ponderous monolithic doors, when the last gong-stroke would clatter away in the sacred night.From the terraces the town, the canal, and the lake lay visible as in one golden shimmer of lights. But on the terraces themselves suddenly an incredible stillness reigned. Not a voice, not a rustle sounded from out of that multitude of thousands. And on the granite pavement the pilgrims were stretched one beside the other.In between the rows the temple-keepers moved, the neocori. And they bent incessantly over the pilgrims and covered them with the dreaming-nets and -veils, while zacori slung the censers. A heavy, intoxicating perfume of almost stifling aromatic vapour was wafted through the air.Suddenly, through the silence, the harps of the hieropsalts struck the sacred chord.There was a short hymn, one single phrase, which melted away.On the vast terraces the multitude of the thousands of pilgrims lay motionless under nets and veils, their eyes closed. Not asound came from the illuminated city. The sacred silence reigned wide and mystic, fraught with terror, over the sea, along the starry sky, over the city and the temple. For Serapis, invisible, was rising from the underworld, to bring the dreams.He rose in a cloud of dreams, out of the sacred, subterranean Hell, where he reigns even as Osiris reigns in high Heaven. He is Osiris himself; between him and Osiris there is no difference. He is two. While Osiris is the benevolent Almighty above, he is the benevolent Almighty below. He opposes Typhon, even as Osiris combated Typhon. Victory falls to him in the end, even as it did to Osiris.Now he rises, in the cloud of dreams. For it is his feast, the feast of his kindly waters, which he pours in summer rains from the sacred vessels wherewith the dog’s-head of Anubis, his watchman, servant and comrade, is crowned, the waters which he pours into the sacred stream, so that it may flood sacred Egypt. Now he rises in the cloud of dreams.The earth splits and Serapis rises from the subterranean Hell. He is everything, even as Osiris is. He is feminine, Neith, the beginning, and masculine, Ammon, eternity.He is what the last will be. And he cannot be other than the benefactor. He makes the dreams hover like butterflies around the foreheads of those who believe in him. His healing power makes whole the sick. He pours the secret of that healing into the minds of the servants of sufferers who shall dream in their masters’ stead. His dreams advise what must be done or left undone to achieve prosperity, fortune, consideration, happiness and love.And he will make Lusius dream where to find a beloved woman who has disappeared....In the silence the young Roman lies, covered with a gold network, like a precious mummy, straight out, his arms beside his body, his eyes shut. Near him lie all his followers.The cloud of the perfumes is wafted over their eyes reverently closed under the veils.The sacred silence continues, hour after hour, unbroken....

Chapter IX

In the strange bright summer night of light, lit by the sheen of the stars and the glow of the lamps, Canopus rose amid its slender obelisks and its spreading palm-trees. The barges lay moored to the long quay, one beside the other. One solemn train of pilgrims after another flowed down the street to the temple of Serapis. The town was alive with the whisper of music and aglow with illumination.It was mid-night. From the temple of Serapis heavy gong-strokes sounded, like a divine, golden thunder rolling at regular intervals under the stars. The singing processions, bathed in torchlight, streamed towards the temple.There was a wide avenue paved with large, square stones. This avenue, or dromos, led to the sanctuary, the temenos, along a double row of immense basalt sphinxes, half woman, half lioness; half man, half bull. They were drawn up like superhuman sentinels that had turned to stone; and theirgreat human faces stared raptly into the night. In between the sphinxes, the coloured lamps and lanterns blossomed like lotus-flowers, glowing blue, red and yellow.The processions streamed into the dromos at pilgrims’ pace. Through the dromos they reached the first propylæum, then the second, the third, the fourth. These consisted of a gigantic series of heavy pylons, painted with hieroglyphics: a veritable forest of pylon-trunks rising in serried ranks of frowning columns and crowned with heavy architraves which seemed to support the starry realm of the summer night itself. Through these endless rows of pillars the dense multitude of pilgrims in search of their dreams marched to the music of hymns. It marched with its steady, slow, regular, religious tread. And monotonous as the rhythm of its march was the melody of its hymn, borne upon ever the same harp-chords.Lucius’ procession marched with the others. He walked gravely, with Catullus by his side; Thrasyllus followed; the slaves, male and female, followed. In front of him strode his musicians, singers and dancers. And Cora’s voice rose only a little higher in the ever-repeated hymn to the god Serapis.The temple itself produced a sense of infinity. An immense fore-court, or pronaos, soared on high with its pillars, a forest of pylons crowned by the roof, with its painted hieroglyphics. The pronaos gave admittance to the sanctuary, the holy of holies, an immeasurable empty space, without image, without altar, without anything. Nevertheless as it were a mysterious sanctity descended here, because of the height, the impressive, colossal dimensions. The “wings,” or pteres, the two side-walls, sculptured with symbolic bas-reliefs, painted gold, azure and scarlet, approached each other with slanting lines in a mystic perspective, where a cloud of fragrance hovered like a conflagration. Behind this the holy of holies lost itself, the abode of the god, of Serapis; invisible the statue. A swarm of acolytes, zacori and neocori, were officiating on ascending stairs, in worship before close-drawn hyacinth curtains.The processions divided themselves along the wings, the side-walls, as directed by the temple-keepers’ wands. It was as though a broad stream were dividing into two rivers. At the end of the wings, behind the holy of holies, flights of stairs widened in the open night, leading to terraces, the one ever higherthan the other, so that they could not be overlooked. The golden gong-strokes solemnly rolled and thundered, echoing heavily and loudly.Over the terraces, in a constant round, up and down, marched the chief priests, the hieropsalts, the hieroscopes, the hierogrammats, the pastophors, the sphagists and the stolists. The hieropsalts sang the hymns to the sacred harps; the hieroscopes prophesied from the entrails of victims; the hierogrammats guarded the secrets of the Hermetic wisdom; the pastophors carried the images of Anubis, with the dog’s head, in silver boats; the sphagists were the sacrificial priests; the stolists served the sacred images, adorned them, tended them with ever clean and perfumed hands. But among the hierogrammats strode the prophets. They had beheld the godhead face to face; they knew the past and the future, they knew the meaning of the sacred dreams. They were very holy; and the oldest of them were most holy. Whenever they approached, the people sank to the ground and kissed the pavement, with hands uplifted.The sacred hour approached, the hour when Serapis would send the sacred dreamsfrom heaven, out of the sun itself, when all the procession would have streamed in, when the gates of the dromos would have slammed with their ponderous monolithic doors, when the last gong-stroke would clatter away in the sacred night.From the terraces the town, the canal, and the lake lay visible as in one golden shimmer of lights. But on the terraces themselves suddenly an incredible stillness reigned. Not a voice, not a rustle sounded from out of that multitude of thousands. And on the granite pavement the pilgrims were stretched one beside the other.In between the rows the temple-keepers moved, the neocori. And they bent incessantly over the pilgrims and covered them with the dreaming-nets and -veils, while zacori slung the censers. A heavy, intoxicating perfume of almost stifling aromatic vapour was wafted through the air.Suddenly, through the silence, the harps of the hieropsalts struck the sacred chord.There was a short hymn, one single phrase, which melted away.On the vast terraces the multitude of the thousands of pilgrims lay motionless under nets and veils, their eyes closed. Not asound came from the illuminated city. The sacred silence reigned wide and mystic, fraught with terror, over the sea, along the starry sky, over the city and the temple. For Serapis, invisible, was rising from the underworld, to bring the dreams.He rose in a cloud of dreams, out of the sacred, subterranean Hell, where he reigns even as Osiris reigns in high Heaven. He is Osiris himself; between him and Osiris there is no difference. He is two. While Osiris is the benevolent Almighty above, he is the benevolent Almighty below. He opposes Typhon, even as Osiris combated Typhon. Victory falls to him in the end, even as it did to Osiris.Now he rises, in the cloud of dreams. For it is his feast, the feast of his kindly waters, which he pours in summer rains from the sacred vessels wherewith the dog’s-head of Anubis, his watchman, servant and comrade, is crowned, the waters which he pours into the sacred stream, so that it may flood sacred Egypt. Now he rises in the cloud of dreams.The earth splits and Serapis rises from the subterranean Hell. He is everything, even as Osiris is. He is feminine, Neith, the beginning, and masculine, Ammon, eternity.He is what the last will be. And he cannot be other than the benefactor. He makes the dreams hover like butterflies around the foreheads of those who believe in him. His healing power makes whole the sick. He pours the secret of that healing into the minds of the servants of sufferers who shall dream in their masters’ stead. His dreams advise what must be done or left undone to achieve prosperity, fortune, consideration, happiness and love.And he will make Lusius dream where to find a beloved woman who has disappeared....In the silence the young Roman lies, covered with a gold network, like a precious mummy, straight out, his arms beside his body, his eyes shut. Near him lie all his followers.The cloud of the perfumes is wafted over their eyes reverently closed under the veils.The sacred silence continues, hour after hour, unbroken....

In the strange bright summer night of light, lit by the sheen of the stars and the glow of the lamps, Canopus rose amid its slender obelisks and its spreading palm-trees. The barges lay moored to the long quay, one beside the other. One solemn train of pilgrims after another flowed down the street to the temple of Serapis. The town was alive with the whisper of music and aglow with illumination.

It was mid-night. From the temple of Serapis heavy gong-strokes sounded, like a divine, golden thunder rolling at regular intervals under the stars. The singing processions, bathed in torchlight, streamed towards the temple.

There was a wide avenue paved with large, square stones. This avenue, or dromos, led to the sanctuary, the temenos, along a double row of immense basalt sphinxes, half woman, half lioness; half man, half bull. They were drawn up like superhuman sentinels that had turned to stone; and theirgreat human faces stared raptly into the night. In between the sphinxes, the coloured lamps and lanterns blossomed like lotus-flowers, glowing blue, red and yellow.

The processions streamed into the dromos at pilgrims’ pace. Through the dromos they reached the first propylæum, then the second, the third, the fourth. These consisted of a gigantic series of heavy pylons, painted with hieroglyphics: a veritable forest of pylon-trunks rising in serried ranks of frowning columns and crowned with heavy architraves which seemed to support the starry realm of the summer night itself. Through these endless rows of pillars the dense multitude of pilgrims in search of their dreams marched to the music of hymns. It marched with its steady, slow, regular, religious tread. And monotonous as the rhythm of its march was the melody of its hymn, borne upon ever the same harp-chords.

Lucius’ procession marched with the others. He walked gravely, with Catullus by his side; Thrasyllus followed; the slaves, male and female, followed. In front of him strode his musicians, singers and dancers. And Cora’s voice rose only a little higher in the ever-repeated hymn to the god Serapis.

The temple itself produced a sense of infinity. An immense fore-court, or pronaos, soared on high with its pillars, a forest of pylons crowned by the roof, with its painted hieroglyphics. The pronaos gave admittance to the sanctuary, the holy of holies, an immeasurable empty space, without image, without altar, without anything. Nevertheless as it were a mysterious sanctity descended here, because of the height, the impressive, colossal dimensions. The “wings,” or pteres, the two side-walls, sculptured with symbolic bas-reliefs, painted gold, azure and scarlet, approached each other with slanting lines in a mystic perspective, where a cloud of fragrance hovered like a conflagration. Behind this the holy of holies lost itself, the abode of the god, of Serapis; invisible the statue. A swarm of acolytes, zacori and neocori, were officiating on ascending stairs, in worship before close-drawn hyacinth curtains.

The processions divided themselves along the wings, the side-walls, as directed by the temple-keepers’ wands. It was as though a broad stream were dividing into two rivers. At the end of the wings, behind the holy of holies, flights of stairs widened in the open night, leading to terraces, the one ever higherthan the other, so that they could not be overlooked. The golden gong-strokes solemnly rolled and thundered, echoing heavily and loudly.

Over the terraces, in a constant round, up and down, marched the chief priests, the hieropsalts, the hieroscopes, the hierogrammats, the pastophors, the sphagists and the stolists. The hieropsalts sang the hymns to the sacred harps; the hieroscopes prophesied from the entrails of victims; the hierogrammats guarded the secrets of the Hermetic wisdom; the pastophors carried the images of Anubis, with the dog’s head, in silver boats; the sphagists were the sacrificial priests; the stolists served the sacred images, adorned them, tended them with ever clean and perfumed hands. But among the hierogrammats strode the prophets. They had beheld the godhead face to face; they knew the past and the future, they knew the meaning of the sacred dreams. They were very holy; and the oldest of them were most holy. Whenever they approached, the people sank to the ground and kissed the pavement, with hands uplifted.

The sacred hour approached, the hour when Serapis would send the sacred dreamsfrom heaven, out of the sun itself, when all the procession would have streamed in, when the gates of the dromos would have slammed with their ponderous monolithic doors, when the last gong-stroke would clatter away in the sacred night.

From the terraces the town, the canal, and the lake lay visible as in one golden shimmer of lights. But on the terraces themselves suddenly an incredible stillness reigned. Not a voice, not a rustle sounded from out of that multitude of thousands. And on the granite pavement the pilgrims were stretched one beside the other.

In between the rows the temple-keepers moved, the neocori. And they bent incessantly over the pilgrims and covered them with the dreaming-nets and -veils, while zacori slung the censers. A heavy, intoxicating perfume of almost stifling aromatic vapour was wafted through the air.

Suddenly, through the silence, the harps of the hieropsalts struck the sacred chord.

There was a short hymn, one single phrase, which melted away.

On the vast terraces the multitude of the thousands of pilgrims lay motionless under nets and veils, their eyes closed. Not asound came from the illuminated city. The sacred silence reigned wide and mystic, fraught with terror, over the sea, along the starry sky, over the city and the temple. For Serapis, invisible, was rising from the underworld, to bring the dreams.

He rose in a cloud of dreams, out of the sacred, subterranean Hell, where he reigns even as Osiris reigns in high Heaven. He is Osiris himself; between him and Osiris there is no difference. He is two. While Osiris is the benevolent Almighty above, he is the benevolent Almighty below. He opposes Typhon, even as Osiris combated Typhon. Victory falls to him in the end, even as it did to Osiris.

Now he rises, in the cloud of dreams. For it is his feast, the feast of his kindly waters, which he pours in summer rains from the sacred vessels wherewith the dog’s-head of Anubis, his watchman, servant and comrade, is crowned, the waters which he pours into the sacred stream, so that it may flood sacred Egypt. Now he rises in the cloud of dreams.

The earth splits and Serapis rises from the subterranean Hell. He is everything, even as Osiris is. He is feminine, Neith, the beginning, and masculine, Ammon, eternity.He is what the last will be. And he cannot be other than the benefactor. He makes the dreams hover like butterflies around the foreheads of those who believe in him. His healing power makes whole the sick. He pours the secret of that healing into the minds of the servants of sufferers who shall dream in their masters’ stead. His dreams advise what must be done or left undone to achieve prosperity, fortune, consideration, happiness and love.

And he will make Lusius dream where to find a beloved woman who has disappeared....

In the silence the young Roman lies, covered with a gold network, like a precious mummy, straight out, his arms beside his body, his eyes shut. Near him lie all his followers.

The cloud of the perfumes is wafted over their eyes reverently closed under the veils.

The sacred silence continues, hour after hour, unbroken....

Chapter XHad Lucius slept? Had he dreamed? Had the fragrant cloud drugged his senses? Had a strange mystic power spread over him? Had Serapis descended upon him? Had the dreams surrounded him?It seemed to him that a golden thunder roused him from his heavy, motionless lethargy. The gong-strokes rolled through the temple and far away into the starry night. Harp-chords sounded, a hymn was intoned. He felt his veil wet with thick-rising dew....Round and round the terraces, singing, moved the long procession of the priests. It was still night. Everywhere around Lucius the dreamers arose, drunk with sleep and dreaming. In the reflections of the lamps and torches their faces were ghostly, spiritualized as after a long prayer, after protracted adoration and ecstasy, wherein their thoughts, desires and souls had been refined.On the topmost terrace, round which the whole city shimmered visibly with light—on the one side the nocturnal blue of the sea, on the other the silvery forking of the Nile’s mouths through the Delta—the learned hierogrammats, the keepers of the sacred writings, sat each on his throne. In their hands they held unrolled the sacred scrolls, whose hieroglyphics gave answer to all things. Temple-slaves behind them lifted high the coloured lanterns. In front of them the multitudinous dreamers thronged.Great was the thronging. The dreamers wanted to know the interpretation of their dreams. But those who had dreamed were so many that the priests did not answer save with a few words full of dark meaning.Many, disappointed, went down the terraces. Orgy awaited them in the taverns and brothels along the canal....Lucius had risen, in the midst of all his followers. He stood stiff, motionless, veiled in the gold net, like a god entranced.“Lucius,” Thrasyllus asked, “my dear child and master, tell me: have you dreamed?”“Yes,” replied Lucius, in a trance.“I too,” said Uncle Catullus. “It was a nightmare,mostunpleasant! I had dined too heavily. My stomach was overloaded.And I am now shivering with this chilly dew. Egypt ismostinteresting, but Egypt will positively be the death of me!”Caleb had approached:“My gracious lord,” said Caleb, “your Sabæan amulets have no doubt inspired you with a favourable dream. You must have your dream expounded. But not by the hierogrammats.... Look, the dreamers are crowding in front of them. There is no reaching them. You must have your dream expounded by a most holy prophet, by Amphris, the centenarian.... Come with me, let me lead you to him....” He took Lucius by the hand. “It costs half a talent, no less,” said Caleb. “Thirty minæ, my lord. But then Amphris will expound your dreams for you, Amphris, the holy Amphris. The hierogrammats charge ten or twenty drachmæ. But they can never tell it as the holy Amphris, the prophet does. This is where he sits enthroned, my lord.”They were standing in front of a small pyramid, on one of the upper terraces. Two sphinxes beside the narrow door lay like mysterious stone sentinels. Temple-keepers guarded the gate.“The most holy Amphris?” Caleb asked.“Forty minæ,” said one of the priests.“Why not a talent right away?” grumbled Caleb.“Forty minæ,” repeated the priest.Caleb took the gold coins from the long purse at his girdle and slipped them into the priest’s hand:“Enter, my lord,” he said, pointing to the open door.Lucius entered. Seated on a throne was an old man who looked like a god of age and wisdom. Lucius himself was as beautiful as a young god. A strange light, as of soft moons, shone from blue globes. Lucius bowed to the ground, fell upon his knees and kissed the floor. He remained in this position.“Did Serapis pass over you, my son?”“Yes, holy father.”“What did he make you see, in your dreams?”“The woman whom I love....”The prophet had laid his long, thin, transparent hand on the dreamer’s head:“But who did not love you,” he said, gently and quietly.“How do you know, holy father?... I saw the pirates who kidnapped her....”“But by whom she was not kidnapped....”“How do you know, holy father?”“And by whom she was not sold as a slave.”“Where is she then, O father?”“What did Serapis make you see in the dream?”Lucius sobbed:“I do not know, father.... I saw her and ... those who kidnapped her.”“How many were they?”“Many.”“Old and young?”“No, they resembled one another like brothers, like doubles.”“Because they were not many.”“Not many?”“No.”“How many were they, father?”“They were ...one.”“Not more?”“They wereone,” repeated the prophet. “My son, your soul is sick. It is sick with sorrow and love. Love is strong, but wisdom is stronger. Gather wisdom, my son. My child, I can see into your soul. I see it lying tortured and trembling.”“There is no comfort if I do not find her!”“There is comfort. Isis seeking for Osirisrecovered all the pieces of his body except that piece which fructified her. And yet she found comfort, in the end.”“Give me comfort, holy father.”“I am wisdom, child, and you are young. Serve wisdom, but honour love.”“Father, why did the pirates resemble one another?”“Because they were one.”“One pirate?”“One pirate.”“Where is Ilia, father?”“My son, even my wisdom does not tell me that whereof you have not dreamed. You dreamed of many pirates, who resembled one another like doubles. There was one pirate, my child.”“Who was he?”“Did Serapis conjure up his image before you?”“I no longer see it.”“Then go in peace. And let love and wisdom comfort you.”Lucius went. On the threshold of the pyramid he met an hetaira. She glittered like an idol in her ceremonial garb, sewn with jewels, and looked at him with painted eyes.“It’s Tamyris, my lord,” said Caleb. “She is going to consult Amphris. She has paid a talent! Has Amphris interpreted your dream? The door-keeper, who also is wise, has interpreted mine for me! And for only five drachmæ.”“One pirate! One pirate!” murmured Lucius.And he clenched his fists, impotently....The multitude streamed away along the terraces. The barges glided back on the canal, in the night.And constantly, near the pleasure-houses and taverns, the vessels stopped and the dreamers alighted.Here mead flowed and foaming golden beer and heavy Mareotis wines and the intoxicating liqueurs of Napata. Here the naked women, who beckoned with lotus-stalks, twisted in the dance.“Back!” cried Lucius. “Back to Alexandria!”The barge stopped at no pleasure-houses, at no taverns. The master sobbed, his head wrapped in his golden dreaming-veil. There was no music. Only the plaintive song of the rowers made itself heard from below.Behind, in the east, the dawn paled in one long, rosy line, above the sea ... while the festal lamps flickered out and died....

Chapter X

Had Lucius slept? Had he dreamed? Had the fragrant cloud drugged his senses? Had a strange mystic power spread over him? Had Serapis descended upon him? Had the dreams surrounded him?It seemed to him that a golden thunder roused him from his heavy, motionless lethargy. The gong-strokes rolled through the temple and far away into the starry night. Harp-chords sounded, a hymn was intoned. He felt his veil wet with thick-rising dew....Round and round the terraces, singing, moved the long procession of the priests. It was still night. Everywhere around Lucius the dreamers arose, drunk with sleep and dreaming. In the reflections of the lamps and torches their faces were ghostly, spiritualized as after a long prayer, after protracted adoration and ecstasy, wherein their thoughts, desires and souls had been refined.On the topmost terrace, round which the whole city shimmered visibly with light—on the one side the nocturnal blue of the sea, on the other the silvery forking of the Nile’s mouths through the Delta—the learned hierogrammats, the keepers of the sacred writings, sat each on his throne. In their hands they held unrolled the sacred scrolls, whose hieroglyphics gave answer to all things. Temple-slaves behind them lifted high the coloured lanterns. In front of them the multitudinous dreamers thronged.Great was the thronging. The dreamers wanted to know the interpretation of their dreams. But those who had dreamed were so many that the priests did not answer save with a few words full of dark meaning.Many, disappointed, went down the terraces. Orgy awaited them in the taverns and brothels along the canal....Lucius had risen, in the midst of all his followers. He stood stiff, motionless, veiled in the gold net, like a god entranced.“Lucius,” Thrasyllus asked, “my dear child and master, tell me: have you dreamed?”“Yes,” replied Lucius, in a trance.“I too,” said Uncle Catullus. “It was a nightmare,mostunpleasant! I had dined too heavily. My stomach was overloaded.And I am now shivering with this chilly dew. Egypt ismostinteresting, but Egypt will positively be the death of me!”Caleb had approached:“My gracious lord,” said Caleb, “your Sabæan amulets have no doubt inspired you with a favourable dream. You must have your dream expounded. But not by the hierogrammats.... Look, the dreamers are crowding in front of them. There is no reaching them. You must have your dream expounded by a most holy prophet, by Amphris, the centenarian.... Come with me, let me lead you to him....” He took Lucius by the hand. “It costs half a talent, no less,” said Caleb. “Thirty minæ, my lord. But then Amphris will expound your dreams for you, Amphris, the holy Amphris. The hierogrammats charge ten or twenty drachmæ. But they can never tell it as the holy Amphris, the prophet does. This is where he sits enthroned, my lord.”They were standing in front of a small pyramid, on one of the upper terraces. Two sphinxes beside the narrow door lay like mysterious stone sentinels. Temple-keepers guarded the gate.“The most holy Amphris?” Caleb asked.“Forty minæ,” said one of the priests.“Why not a talent right away?” grumbled Caleb.“Forty minæ,” repeated the priest.Caleb took the gold coins from the long purse at his girdle and slipped them into the priest’s hand:“Enter, my lord,” he said, pointing to the open door.Lucius entered. Seated on a throne was an old man who looked like a god of age and wisdom. Lucius himself was as beautiful as a young god. A strange light, as of soft moons, shone from blue globes. Lucius bowed to the ground, fell upon his knees and kissed the floor. He remained in this position.“Did Serapis pass over you, my son?”“Yes, holy father.”“What did he make you see, in your dreams?”“The woman whom I love....”The prophet had laid his long, thin, transparent hand on the dreamer’s head:“But who did not love you,” he said, gently and quietly.“How do you know, holy father?... I saw the pirates who kidnapped her....”“But by whom she was not kidnapped....”“How do you know, holy father?”“And by whom she was not sold as a slave.”“Where is she then, O father?”“What did Serapis make you see in the dream?”Lucius sobbed:“I do not know, father.... I saw her and ... those who kidnapped her.”“How many were they?”“Many.”“Old and young?”“No, they resembled one another like brothers, like doubles.”“Because they were not many.”“Not many?”“No.”“How many were they, father?”“They were ...one.”“Not more?”“They wereone,” repeated the prophet. “My son, your soul is sick. It is sick with sorrow and love. Love is strong, but wisdom is stronger. Gather wisdom, my son. My child, I can see into your soul. I see it lying tortured and trembling.”“There is no comfort if I do not find her!”“There is comfort. Isis seeking for Osirisrecovered all the pieces of his body except that piece which fructified her. And yet she found comfort, in the end.”“Give me comfort, holy father.”“I am wisdom, child, and you are young. Serve wisdom, but honour love.”“Father, why did the pirates resemble one another?”“Because they were one.”“One pirate?”“One pirate.”“Where is Ilia, father?”“My son, even my wisdom does not tell me that whereof you have not dreamed. You dreamed of many pirates, who resembled one another like doubles. There was one pirate, my child.”“Who was he?”“Did Serapis conjure up his image before you?”“I no longer see it.”“Then go in peace. And let love and wisdom comfort you.”Lucius went. On the threshold of the pyramid he met an hetaira. She glittered like an idol in her ceremonial garb, sewn with jewels, and looked at him with painted eyes.“It’s Tamyris, my lord,” said Caleb. “She is going to consult Amphris. She has paid a talent! Has Amphris interpreted your dream? The door-keeper, who also is wise, has interpreted mine for me! And for only five drachmæ.”“One pirate! One pirate!” murmured Lucius.And he clenched his fists, impotently....The multitude streamed away along the terraces. The barges glided back on the canal, in the night.And constantly, near the pleasure-houses and taverns, the vessels stopped and the dreamers alighted.Here mead flowed and foaming golden beer and heavy Mareotis wines and the intoxicating liqueurs of Napata. Here the naked women, who beckoned with lotus-stalks, twisted in the dance.“Back!” cried Lucius. “Back to Alexandria!”The barge stopped at no pleasure-houses, at no taverns. The master sobbed, his head wrapped in his golden dreaming-veil. There was no music. Only the plaintive song of the rowers made itself heard from below.Behind, in the east, the dawn paled in one long, rosy line, above the sea ... while the festal lamps flickered out and died....

Had Lucius slept? Had he dreamed? Had the fragrant cloud drugged his senses? Had a strange mystic power spread over him? Had Serapis descended upon him? Had the dreams surrounded him?

It seemed to him that a golden thunder roused him from his heavy, motionless lethargy. The gong-strokes rolled through the temple and far away into the starry night. Harp-chords sounded, a hymn was intoned. He felt his veil wet with thick-rising dew....

Round and round the terraces, singing, moved the long procession of the priests. It was still night. Everywhere around Lucius the dreamers arose, drunk with sleep and dreaming. In the reflections of the lamps and torches their faces were ghostly, spiritualized as after a long prayer, after protracted adoration and ecstasy, wherein their thoughts, desires and souls had been refined.

On the topmost terrace, round which the whole city shimmered visibly with light—on the one side the nocturnal blue of the sea, on the other the silvery forking of the Nile’s mouths through the Delta—the learned hierogrammats, the keepers of the sacred writings, sat each on his throne. In their hands they held unrolled the sacred scrolls, whose hieroglyphics gave answer to all things. Temple-slaves behind them lifted high the coloured lanterns. In front of them the multitudinous dreamers thronged.

Great was the thronging. The dreamers wanted to know the interpretation of their dreams. But those who had dreamed were so many that the priests did not answer save with a few words full of dark meaning.

Many, disappointed, went down the terraces. Orgy awaited them in the taverns and brothels along the canal....

Lucius had risen, in the midst of all his followers. He stood stiff, motionless, veiled in the gold net, like a god entranced.

“Lucius,” Thrasyllus asked, “my dear child and master, tell me: have you dreamed?”

“Yes,” replied Lucius, in a trance.

“I too,” said Uncle Catullus. “It was a nightmare,mostunpleasant! I had dined too heavily. My stomach was overloaded.And I am now shivering with this chilly dew. Egypt ismostinteresting, but Egypt will positively be the death of me!”

Caleb had approached:

“My gracious lord,” said Caleb, “your Sabæan amulets have no doubt inspired you with a favourable dream. You must have your dream expounded. But not by the hierogrammats.... Look, the dreamers are crowding in front of them. There is no reaching them. You must have your dream expounded by a most holy prophet, by Amphris, the centenarian.... Come with me, let me lead you to him....” He took Lucius by the hand. “It costs half a talent, no less,” said Caleb. “Thirty minæ, my lord. But then Amphris will expound your dreams for you, Amphris, the holy Amphris. The hierogrammats charge ten or twenty drachmæ. But they can never tell it as the holy Amphris, the prophet does. This is where he sits enthroned, my lord.”

They were standing in front of a small pyramid, on one of the upper terraces. Two sphinxes beside the narrow door lay like mysterious stone sentinels. Temple-keepers guarded the gate.

“The most holy Amphris?” Caleb asked.

“Forty minæ,” said one of the priests.

“Why not a talent right away?” grumbled Caleb.

“Forty minæ,” repeated the priest.

Caleb took the gold coins from the long purse at his girdle and slipped them into the priest’s hand:

“Enter, my lord,” he said, pointing to the open door.

Lucius entered. Seated on a throne was an old man who looked like a god of age and wisdom. Lucius himself was as beautiful as a young god. A strange light, as of soft moons, shone from blue globes. Lucius bowed to the ground, fell upon his knees and kissed the floor. He remained in this position.

“Did Serapis pass over you, my son?”

“Yes, holy father.”

“What did he make you see, in your dreams?”

“The woman whom I love....”

The prophet had laid his long, thin, transparent hand on the dreamer’s head:

“But who did not love you,” he said, gently and quietly.

“How do you know, holy father?... I saw the pirates who kidnapped her....”

“But by whom she was not kidnapped....”

“How do you know, holy father?”

“And by whom she was not sold as a slave.”

“Where is she then, O father?”

“What did Serapis make you see in the dream?”

Lucius sobbed:

“I do not know, father.... I saw her and ... those who kidnapped her.”

“How many were they?”

“Many.”

“Old and young?”

“No, they resembled one another like brothers, like doubles.”

“Because they were not many.”

“Not many?”

“No.”

“How many were they, father?”

“They were ...one.”

“Not more?”

“They wereone,” repeated the prophet. “My son, your soul is sick. It is sick with sorrow and love. Love is strong, but wisdom is stronger. Gather wisdom, my son. My child, I can see into your soul. I see it lying tortured and trembling.”

“There is no comfort if I do not find her!”

“There is comfort. Isis seeking for Osirisrecovered all the pieces of his body except that piece which fructified her. And yet she found comfort, in the end.”

“Give me comfort, holy father.”

“I am wisdom, child, and you are young. Serve wisdom, but honour love.”

“Father, why did the pirates resemble one another?”

“Because they were one.”

“One pirate?”

“One pirate.”

“Where is Ilia, father?”

“My son, even my wisdom does not tell me that whereof you have not dreamed. You dreamed of many pirates, who resembled one another like doubles. There was one pirate, my child.”

“Who was he?”

“Did Serapis conjure up his image before you?”

“I no longer see it.”

“Then go in peace. And let love and wisdom comfort you.”

Lucius went. On the threshold of the pyramid he met an hetaira. She glittered like an idol in her ceremonial garb, sewn with jewels, and looked at him with painted eyes.

“It’s Tamyris, my lord,” said Caleb. “She is going to consult Amphris. She has paid a talent! Has Amphris interpreted your dream? The door-keeper, who also is wise, has interpreted mine for me! And for only five drachmæ.”

“One pirate! One pirate!” murmured Lucius.

And he clenched his fists, impotently....

The multitude streamed away along the terraces. The barges glided back on the canal, in the night.

And constantly, near the pleasure-houses and taverns, the vessels stopped and the dreamers alighted.

Here mead flowed and foaming golden beer and heavy Mareotis wines and the intoxicating liqueurs of Napata. Here the naked women, who beckoned with lotus-stalks, twisted in the dance.

“Back!” cried Lucius. “Back to Alexandria!”

The barge stopped at no pleasure-houses, at no taverns. The master sobbed, his head wrapped in his golden dreaming-veil. There was no music. Only the plaintive song of the rowers made itself heard from below.

Behind, in the east, the dawn paled in one long, rosy line, above the sea ... while the festal lamps flickered out and died....

Chapter XISerapis had opened the floodgates of the sky.The first spring rains had already descended in heavy torrents; the water-gods had already poured the kindly streams from their urns into the swelling Nile; the river-surveyors, who had consulted the Nilometers1at every place, declared that the sacred stream was steadily rising and that the maximum gauge would be reached that summer.The rains clattered down in white curtains of pouring waters.The palm-garden of the diversorium was inundated. Master Ghizla made his slaves dig little canals to carry the water to cisterns.There was much joy and gladness at all this water. The air was fresh; though mid-summer was approaching, an equable coolnesstempered the atmosphere around Alexandria; no river-mist spread seeds of disease; and the great dampness brought relief even to this ground, which had dried up during the winter, and to the parched air.The travellers remained indoors. After the night of dreams at Canopus, Lucius had come home in one of his impotent fits of fury, locking himself in his room in despair and refusing to see anybody whatever.Uncle Catullus abandoned himself to long siestas; Thrasyllus studied books, maps and globes.In the porch of the slaves’ quarters sat Cora. As she was forbidden to sing or play, she sat crouched with her arms around her knees, gazing mournfully at the rains. Their lord’s sickness spread melancholy among all his household.Caleb squatted beside Cora. Like her he sat with his arms around his knees and he smiled with his flashing eyes and teeth and said:“Cora, I love you very much.”Cora did not move; she merely answered, very gently:“I am not free; I belong to the master.”“I should like to buy you, Cora; and then you would be free.”Cora did not answer; the rain poured down in an endless grey sheet; and in the palm-garden, under an umbrella, Master Ghizla drilled his dripping slaves.“You would be free,” Caleb repeated. “You would not be my slave, but my wife. I am rich: we are rich, Ghizla and I. We do a very good business. Our diversorium is the finest in Alexandria. We make a great deal of money, because all princely nobles alight at our establishment. Cora, you would be its mistress. You would have slaves, male and female. I would pay your master whatever he asked; it would be deducted from his bill. For business is business, you know. But I could pay for you, if necessary, in ready money. And then, Cora, when we have grown very rich ... then we would go back to Saba, to my native land. It is the sweetest and most beautiful country in the world ... to live in, you know. But there’s no business to be done there. You have to be rich there; then it’s delightful. When we are rich, we will go back there. Cora, shall I tell you about Saba, about my country, even if it were only, Cora, to divertyou, now that it’s raining and you mustn’t sing?”“I am listening, Caleb.”“Saba, dear Cora, is the mightiest kingdom of Arabia; Saba is Arabia Felix, Cora. Saba is the sweet land where the balsam-trees grow and the precious spices are gathered: myrrh and frankincense and cinnamon. All the herbs and flowers, Cora, are scented in Saba; there is no herb and no flower that is not scented. Under the sky, which is transparent as empty blue space, the clouds of perfume waft up and rise to the feet of the gods, who always glance down smilingly upon my country, upon my happy country. The palm-tree is scented there and the calamus-reed is scented there; the scented papyrus blossoms there. Nowhere are the flowers so big and of so many kinds, or the trees so densely-leaved or so green. Nowhere are the nights so mild and the days so blissful. The nights are for feasting and the days for resting. We climb up long ladders into the tall trees and sleep in leafy nests, like birds. Mariaba is my town, the golden capital of my sweet land. Have you ever seen a fairy-city in your dreams, Cora? That is Mariaba. There are templesof chrysolite with domes of blue crystal, which imitate the firmament. The streets are strewn with golden sand. Mariaba is situated on a hill, like the palace of a god. The king, Cora, is a descendant of Balkis, our great queen, who brought Solomon the treasures of Ophir; the king lives at Mariaba in a palace walled with gold. The walls of his apartments are like blue mirrors and he treads on carpets that are woven of flowers and hourly renewed. He does not eat, but lives on perfumes. He is sacred, but he may not leave his palace; for an oracle has commanded his people to stone him the moment that he comes out. Everything in his palace and in the town is luxury and delight. There is no commerce, there is no business. The Sabæans surrender the trade in the precious products of their country to the men of Syria and Mesopotamia. They themselves, Cora, are rich and as gods.... When we are rich and you are my wife ... we shall be as gods in Mariaba and you shall see the king, behind a transparent hanging of gold glass, while he feeds on those perfumes. We shall live in a house of alabaster, which is transparent, but only to those inside. We shall have a barge of blue leather with red-silk tassels and littlegolden, tinkling bells.... When the evening wind is fresh, we shall warm our hands at glowing cinnamon. I shall anoint your body with fluid larimnum, which is the most costly of aromatics and is not exported, not even to Cæsar. We shall have no plate except of gold and an ivory couch inlaid with jasper, or perhaps with sard. And you will go about on an elephant with silvered hoofs, many gold bands round his trunk and, at night, two little lanterns on his tusks, Cora. And we shall be happier than you can imagine or than I can tell.”2“What you are describing, Caleb, is indeed like fairyland. But I have heard say that, because of all that fragrance in their country, the Sabæans one and all suffer from headache.”“When we suffer from headache, Cora, we burn asphalt and the hairs of a goat’s beard. There is no remedy to compare with that for headache. Or else we wear the sacred amulets. Wear one, Cora: wear this amulet, which I have always worn.”“No, Caleb.”“Are you afraid that I shall bewitch you?”“Yes. I fear the Sabæan amulets. It is perhaps because of one of them that the master dreamed the bad dream which has made him ill and sad.”“Cora, I love you so much.... Will you permit me to buy you from your master?”“If you bought me, O Caleb, I should be a faithful slave and sing and play the harp to you. But I should be unhappy, even if I were your wife and free ... because I should be so far from my master....”“Whom you love.”Cora hesitated. Then she said:“Whom I love, Caleb ... but as the flower loves the sun, as the moth loves the star ... from afar and from the depths ... without hope.”The rain poured down in an endless grey sheet. In the garden, Master Ghizla was swearing at the slaves and wading, with tucked-up tunic and lean, hairy legs, through the puddles.Caleb rose. He said nothing and went away, his head sunk in melancholy. Then he came back and resumed:“You would go hunting with me, Cora,and you would sit in front of me on a Sabæan stallion, which would be swift as the wind, and we should catch lion-whelps in nets and tame them with palm-wine and they would follow you about like big cats.”Cora only smiled and said nothing.“Iknow, Cora, why you will not be my wife. It isnotbecause you love your master. For, even if your master loved you, you would be a slave.Mywife would be a free woman and reign as queen in my house. But you will not be my wife because perhaps you know the Sabæan law which prescribes that a married woman is also the wife of all her husband’s brothers. But Ghizla, dear Cora, would not dare to touch even the hem of your garment.”“I did not know that law,” said Cora.“There was a king’s daughter in our country, Cora. She was dazzlingly beautiful and was the wife of fifteen brothers, who were princes. All the fifteen of them glowed with love for her. When one of the brothers wished to tarry in her chamber, he set his stick outside the door, as a sign. Then the others passed their way.... When she wearied of their eagerness to love her, she devised a stratagem. She had sticks madefor her, like the brothers’. When one of the princes left her, she placed one of these sticks outside her door. In this way she enjoyed peace.... But one day all the brothers happened to be in the square of the town at the same time. One of them went to visit her ... and found outside the door the stick of a brother ... whom he had just left in the town-square! Then he thought that his wife, the wife of the fifteen brothers, was unfaithful to them ... with a sixteenth, a stranger. And he sought his father and told him of his suspicions. But it appeared that the wife was innocent. And not only the father but the fifteen brothers and their spouse laughed at the stratagem and were happy.... But you, Cora, would never need to put a stick like mine outside your door. For I have only one brother, Ghizla, and he would not dare to touch so much as the hem of your garment.”Cora laughed and Caleb laughed and his eyes and teeth flashed and glittered.“In that case, I’ll think it over, Caleb!” laughed Cora. “In that case, I’ll think it over!”“Do think it over, Cora,” laughed Caleb. “If you are willing, I’ll buy you from yourmaster. And we shall have a pleasure-boat of cedar-wood, but with sails like a bird’s wings, so that we can either sail about on the sea or soar high into the clouds. And then on some nights we could visit the moon, where all the people are transparent, like shades.... This is not a fairy-tale, Cora; it’s as I tell you. Wehavethose magic ships in our seas, in our skies.... Think it over, Cora! Do think it over!”And, while Cora was still laughing incredulously, Caleb girdled his tunic high and waded barefoot through the puddles of the palm-garden, looking round and laughing as he went. For Ghizla had called to him to see the canals which the slaves were digging to carry off the rain-water to the cisterns.1Stone wells on the banks of the Nile, in which the water rose and fell as in the river itself; marked columns indicated the maximum, minimum and middle gauge. Inspectors informed the people beforehand how high the Nile would rise and when the stream would be likely to overflow its banks.2Caleb’s description of Saba owes very little to theauthor’sinvention. Nearly all these details upon Arabia Felix will be found set forth in Strabo’s Geography.

Chapter XI

Serapis had opened the floodgates of the sky.The first spring rains had already descended in heavy torrents; the water-gods had already poured the kindly streams from their urns into the swelling Nile; the river-surveyors, who had consulted the Nilometers1at every place, declared that the sacred stream was steadily rising and that the maximum gauge would be reached that summer.The rains clattered down in white curtains of pouring waters.The palm-garden of the diversorium was inundated. Master Ghizla made his slaves dig little canals to carry the water to cisterns.There was much joy and gladness at all this water. The air was fresh; though mid-summer was approaching, an equable coolnesstempered the atmosphere around Alexandria; no river-mist spread seeds of disease; and the great dampness brought relief even to this ground, which had dried up during the winter, and to the parched air.The travellers remained indoors. After the night of dreams at Canopus, Lucius had come home in one of his impotent fits of fury, locking himself in his room in despair and refusing to see anybody whatever.Uncle Catullus abandoned himself to long siestas; Thrasyllus studied books, maps and globes.In the porch of the slaves’ quarters sat Cora. As she was forbidden to sing or play, she sat crouched with her arms around her knees, gazing mournfully at the rains. Their lord’s sickness spread melancholy among all his household.Caleb squatted beside Cora. Like her he sat with his arms around his knees and he smiled with his flashing eyes and teeth and said:“Cora, I love you very much.”Cora did not move; she merely answered, very gently:“I am not free; I belong to the master.”“I should like to buy you, Cora; and then you would be free.”Cora did not answer; the rain poured down in an endless grey sheet; and in the palm-garden, under an umbrella, Master Ghizla drilled his dripping slaves.“You would be free,” Caleb repeated. “You would not be my slave, but my wife. I am rich: we are rich, Ghizla and I. We do a very good business. Our diversorium is the finest in Alexandria. We make a great deal of money, because all princely nobles alight at our establishment. Cora, you would be its mistress. You would have slaves, male and female. I would pay your master whatever he asked; it would be deducted from his bill. For business is business, you know. But I could pay for you, if necessary, in ready money. And then, Cora, when we have grown very rich ... then we would go back to Saba, to my native land. It is the sweetest and most beautiful country in the world ... to live in, you know. But there’s no business to be done there. You have to be rich there; then it’s delightful. When we are rich, we will go back there. Cora, shall I tell you about Saba, about my country, even if it were only, Cora, to divertyou, now that it’s raining and you mustn’t sing?”“I am listening, Caleb.”“Saba, dear Cora, is the mightiest kingdom of Arabia; Saba is Arabia Felix, Cora. Saba is the sweet land where the balsam-trees grow and the precious spices are gathered: myrrh and frankincense and cinnamon. All the herbs and flowers, Cora, are scented in Saba; there is no herb and no flower that is not scented. Under the sky, which is transparent as empty blue space, the clouds of perfume waft up and rise to the feet of the gods, who always glance down smilingly upon my country, upon my happy country. The palm-tree is scented there and the calamus-reed is scented there; the scented papyrus blossoms there. Nowhere are the flowers so big and of so many kinds, or the trees so densely-leaved or so green. Nowhere are the nights so mild and the days so blissful. The nights are for feasting and the days for resting. We climb up long ladders into the tall trees and sleep in leafy nests, like birds. Mariaba is my town, the golden capital of my sweet land. Have you ever seen a fairy-city in your dreams, Cora? That is Mariaba. There are templesof chrysolite with domes of blue crystal, which imitate the firmament. The streets are strewn with golden sand. Mariaba is situated on a hill, like the palace of a god. The king, Cora, is a descendant of Balkis, our great queen, who brought Solomon the treasures of Ophir; the king lives at Mariaba in a palace walled with gold. The walls of his apartments are like blue mirrors and he treads on carpets that are woven of flowers and hourly renewed. He does not eat, but lives on perfumes. He is sacred, but he may not leave his palace; for an oracle has commanded his people to stone him the moment that he comes out. Everything in his palace and in the town is luxury and delight. There is no commerce, there is no business. The Sabæans surrender the trade in the precious products of their country to the men of Syria and Mesopotamia. They themselves, Cora, are rich and as gods.... When we are rich and you are my wife ... we shall be as gods in Mariaba and you shall see the king, behind a transparent hanging of gold glass, while he feeds on those perfumes. We shall live in a house of alabaster, which is transparent, but only to those inside. We shall have a barge of blue leather with red-silk tassels and littlegolden, tinkling bells.... When the evening wind is fresh, we shall warm our hands at glowing cinnamon. I shall anoint your body with fluid larimnum, which is the most costly of aromatics and is not exported, not even to Cæsar. We shall have no plate except of gold and an ivory couch inlaid with jasper, or perhaps with sard. And you will go about on an elephant with silvered hoofs, many gold bands round his trunk and, at night, two little lanterns on his tusks, Cora. And we shall be happier than you can imagine or than I can tell.”2“What you are describing, Caleb, is indeed like fairyland. But I have heard say that, because of all that fragrance in their country, the Sabæans one and all suffer from headache.”“When we suffer from headache, Cora, we burn asphalt and the hairs of a goat’s beard. There is no remedy to compare with that for headache. Or else we wear the sacred amulets. Wear one, Cora: wear this amulet, which I have always worn.”“No, Caleb.”“Are you afraid that I shall bewitch you?”“Yes. I fear the Sabæan amulets. It is perhaps because of one of them that the master dreamed the bad dream which has made him ill and sad.”“Cora, I love you so much.... Will you permit me to buy you from your master?”“If you bought me, O Caleb, I should be a faithful slave and sing and play the harp to you. But I should be unhappy, even if I were your wife and free ... because I should be so far from my master....”“Whom you love.”Cora hesitated. Then she said:“Whom I love, Caleb ... but as the flower loves the sun, as the moth loves the star ... from afar and from the depths ... without hope.”The rain poured down in an endless grey sheet. In the garden, Master Ghizla was swearing at the slaves and wading, with tucked-up tunic and lean, hairy legs, through the puddles.Caleb rose. He said nothing and went away, his head sunk in melancholy. Then he came back and resumed:“You would go hunting with me, Cora,and you would sit in front of me on a Sabæan stallion, which would be swift as the wind, and we should catch lion-whelps in nets and tame them with palm-wine and they would follow you about like big cats.”Cora only smiled and said nothing.“Iknow, Cora, why you will not be my wife. It isnotbecause you love your master. For, even if your master loved you, you would be a slave.Mywife would be a free woman and reign as queen in my house. But you will not be my wife because perhaps you know the Sabæan law which prescribes that a married woman is also the wife of all her husband’s brothers. But Ghizla, dear Cora, would not dare to touch even the hem of your garment.”“I did not know that law,” said Cora.“There was a king’s daughter in our country, Cora. She was dazzlingly beautiful and was the wife of fifteen brothers, who were princes. All the fifteen of them glowed with love for her. When one of the brothers wished to tarry in her chamber, he set his stick outside the door, as a sign. Then the others passed their way.... When she wearied of their eagerness to love her, she devised a stratagem. She had sticks madefor her, like the brothers’. When one of the princes left her, she placed one of these sticks outside her door. In this way she enjoyed peace.... But one day all the brothers happened to be in the square of the town at the same time. One of them went to visit her ... and found outside the door the stick of a brother ... whom he had just left in the town-square! Then he thought that his wife, the wife of the fifteen brothers, was unfaithful to them ... with a sixteenth, a stranger. And he sought his father and told him of his suspicions. But it appeared that the wife was innocent. And not only the father but the fifteen brothers and their spouse laughed at the stratagem and were happy.... But you, Cora, would never need to put a stick like mine outside your door. For I have only one brother, Ghizla, and he would not dare to touch so much as the hem of your garment.”Cora laughed and Caleb laughed and his eyes and teeth flashed and glittered.“In that case, I’ll think it over, Caleb!” laughed Cora. “In that case, I’ll think it over!”“Do think it over, Cora,” laughed Caleb. “If you are willing, I’ll buy you from yourmaster. And we shall have a pleasure-boat of cedar-wood, but with sails like a bird’s wings, so that we can either sail about on the sea or soar high into the clouds. And then on some nights we could visit the moon, where all the people are transparent, like shades.... This is not a fairy-tale, Cora; it’s as I tell you. Wehavethose magic ships in our seas, in our skies.... Think it over, Cora! Do think it over!”And, while Cora was still laughing incredulously, Caleb girdled his tunic high and waded barefoot through the puddles of the palm-garden, looking round and laughing as he went. For Ghizla had called to him to see the canals which the slaves were digging to carry off the rain-water to the cisterns.

Serapis had opened the floodgates of the sky.

The first spring rains had already descended in heavy torrents; the water-gods had already poured the kindly streams from their urns into the swelling Nile; the river-surveyors, who had consulted the Nilometers1at every place, declared that the sacred stream was steadily rising and that the maximum gauge would be reached that summer.

The rains clattered down in white curtains of pouring waters.

The palm-garden of the diversorium was inundated. Master Ghizla made his slaves dig little canals to carry the water to cisterns.

There was much joy and gladness at all this water. The air was fresh; though mid-summer was approaching, an equable coolnesstempered the atmosphere around Alexandria; no river-mist spread seeds of disease; and the great dampness brought relief even to this ground, which had dried up during the winter, and to the parched air.

The travellers remained indoors. After the night of dreams at Canopus, Lucius had come home in one of his impotent fits of fury, locking himself in his room in despair and refusing to see anybody whatever.

Uncle Catullus abandoned himself to long siestas; Thrasyllus studied books, maps and globes.

In the porch of the slaves’ quarters sat Cora. As she was forbidden to sing or play, she sat crouched with her arms around her knees, gazing mournfully at the rains. Their lord’s sickness spread melancholy among all his household.

Caleb squatted beside Cora. Like her he sat with his arms around his knees and he smiled with his flashing eyes and teeth and said:

“Cora, I love you very much.”

Cora did not move; she merely answered, very gently:

“I am not free; I belong to the master.”

“I should like to buy you, Cora; and then you would be free.”

Cora did not answer; the rain poured down in an endless grey sheet; and in the palm-garden, under an umbrella, Master Ghizla drilled his dripping slaves.

“You would be free,” Caleb repeated. “You would not be my slave, but my wife. I am rich: we are rich, Ghizla and I. We do a very good business. Our diversorium is the finest in Alexandria. We make a great deal of money, because all princely nobles alight at our establishment. Cora, you would be its mistress. You would have slaves, male and female. I would pay your master whatever he asked; it would be deducted from his bill. For business is business, you know. But I could pay for you, if necessary, in ready money. And then, Cora, when we have grown very rich ... then we would go back to Saba, to my native land. It is the sweetest and most beautiful country in the world ... to live in, you know. But there’s no business to be done there. You have to be rich there; then it’s delightful. When we are rich, we will go back there. Cora, shall I tell you about Saba, about my country, even if it were only, Cora, to divertyou, now that it’s raining and you mustn’t sing?”

“I am listening, Caleb.”

“Saba, dear Cora, is the mightiest kingdom of Arabia; Saba is Arabia Felix, Cora. Saba is the sweet land where the balsam-trees grow and the precious spices are gathered: myrrh and frankincense and cinnamon. All the herbs and flowers, Cora, are scented in Saba; there is no herb and no flower that is not scented. Under the sky, which is transparent as empty blue space, the clouds of perfume waft up and rise to the feet of the gods, who always glance down smilingly upon my country, upon my happy country. The palm-tree is scented there and the calamus-reed is scented there; the scented papyrus blossoms there. Nowhere are the flowers so big and of so many kinds, or the trees so densely-leaved or so green. Nowhere are the nights so mild and the days so blissful. The nights are for feasting and the days for resting. We climb up long ladders into the tall trees and sleep in leafy nests, like birds. Mariaba is my town, the golden capital of my sweet land. Have you ever seen a fairy-city in your dreams, Cora? That is Mariaba. There are templesof chrysolite with domes of blue crystal, which imitate the firmament. The streets are strewn with golden sand. Mariaba is situated on a hill, like the palace of a god. The king, Cora, is a descendant of Balkis, our great queen, who brought Solomon the treasures of Ophir; the king lives at Mariaba in a palace walled with gold. The walls of his apartments are like blue mirrors and he treads on carpets that are woven of flowers and hourly renewed. He does not eat, but lives on perfumes. He is sacred, but he may not leave his palace; for an oracle has commanded his people to stone him the moment that he comes out. Everything in his palace and in the town is luxury and delight. There is no commerce, there is no business. The Sabæans surrender the trade in the precious products of their country to the men of Syria and Mesopotamia. They themselves, Cora, are rich and as gods.... When we are rich and you are my wife ... we shall be as gods in Mariaba and you shall see the king, behind a transparent hanging of gold glass, while he feeds on those perfumes. We shall live in a house of alabaster, which is transparent, but only to those inside. We shall have a barge of blue leather with red-silk tassels and littlegolden, tinkling bells.... When the evening wind is fresh, we shall warm our hands at glowing cinnamon. I shall anoint your body with fluid larimnum, which is the most costly of aromatics and is not exported, not even to Cæsar. We shall have no plate except of gold and an ivory couch inlaid with jasper, or perhaps with sard. And you will go about on an elephant with silvered hoofs, many gold bands round his trunk and, at night, two little lanterns on his tusks, Cora. And we shall be happier than you can imagine or than I can tell.”2

“What you are describing, Caleb, is indeed like fairyland. But I have heard say that, because of all that fragrance in their country, the Sabæans one and all suffer from headache.”

“When we suffer from headache, Cora, we burn asphalt and the hairs of a goat’s beard. There is no remedy to compare with that for headache. Or else we wear the sacred amulets. Wear one, Cora: wear this amulet, which I have always worn.”

“No, Caleb.”

“Are you afraid that I shall bewitch you?”

“Yes. I fear the Sabæan amulets. It is perhaps because of one of them that the master dreamed the bad dream which has made him ill and sad.”

“Cora, I love you so much.... Will you permit me to buy you from your master?”

“If you bought me, O Caleb, I should be a faithful slave and sing and play the harp to you. But I should be unhappy, even if I were your wife and free ... because I should be so far from my master....”

“Whom you love.”

Cora hesitated. Then she said:

“Whom I love, Caleb ... but as the flower loves the sun, as the moth loves the star ... from afar and from the depths ... without hope.”

The rain poured down in an endless grey sheet. In the garden, Master Ghizla was swearing at the slaves and wading, with tucked-up tunic and lean, hairy legs, through the puddles.

Caleb rose. He said nothing and went away, his head sunk in melancholy. Then he came back and resumed:

“You would go hunting with me, Cora,and you would sit in front of me on a Sabæan stallion, which would be swift as the wind, and we should catch lion-whelps in nets and tame them with palm-wine and they would follow you about like big cats.”

Cora only smiled and said nothing.

“Iknow, Cora, why you will not be my wife. It isnotbecause you love your master. For, even if your master loved you, you would be a slave.Mywife would be a free woman and reign as queen in my house. But you will not be my wife because perhaps you know the Sabæan law which prescribes that a married woman is also the wife of all her husband’s brothers. But Ghizla, dear Cora, would not dare to touch even the hem of your garment.”

“I did not know that law,” said Cora.

“There was a king’s daughter in our country, Cora. She was dazzlingly beautiful and was the wife of fifteen brothers, who were princes. All the fifteen of them glowed with love for her. When one of the brothers wished to tarry in her chamber, he set his stick outside the door, as a sign. Then the others passed their way.... When she wearied of their eagerness to love her, she devised a stratagem. She had sticks madefor her, like the brothers’. When one of the princes left her, she placed one of these sticks outside her door. In this way she enjoyed peace.... But one day all the brothers happened to be in the square of the town at the same time. One of them went to visit her ... and found outside the door the stick of a brother ... whom he had just left in the town-square! Then he thought that his wife, the wife of the fifteen brothers, was unfaithful to them ... with a sixteenth, a stranger. And he sought his father and told him of his suspicions. But it appeared that the wife was innocent. And not only the father but the fifteen brothers and their spouse laughed at the stratagem and were happy.... But you, Cora, would never need to put a stick like mine outside your door. For I have only one brother, Ghizla, and he would not dare to touch so much as the hem of your garment.”

Cora laughed and Caleb laughed and his eyes and teeth flashed and glittered.

“In that case, I’ll think it over, Caleb!” laughed Cora. “In that case, I’ll think it over!”

“Do think it over, Cora,” laughed Caleb. “If you are willing, I’ll buy you from yourmaster. And we shall have a pleasure-boat of cedar-wood, but with sails like a bird’s wings, so that we can either sail about on the sea or soar high into the clouds. And then on some nights we could visit the moon, where all the people are transparent, like shades.... This is not a fairy-tale, Cora; it’s as I tell you. Wehavethose magic ships in our seas, in our skies.... Think it over, Cora! Do think it over!”

And, while Cora was still laughing incredulously, Caleb girdled his tunic high and waded barefoot through the puddles of the palm-garden, looking round and laughing as he went. For Ghizla had called to him to see the canals which the slaves were digging to carry off the rain-water to the cisterns.

1Stone wells on the banks of the Nile, in which the water rose and fell as in the river itself; marked columns indicated the maximum, minimum and middle gauge. Inspectors informed the people beforehand how high the Nile would rise and when the stream would be likely to overflow its banks.2Caleb’s description of Saba owes very little to theauthor’sinvention. Nearly all these details upon Arabia Felix will be found set forth in Strabo’s Geography.

1Stone wells on the banks of the Nile, in which the water rose and fell as in the river itself; marked columns indicated the maximum, minimum and middle gauge. Inspectors informed the people beforehand how high the Nile would rise and when the stream would be likely to overflow its banks.

2Caleb’s description of Saba owes very little to theauthor’sinvention. Nearly all these details upon Arabia Felix will be found set forth in Strabo’s Geography.

Chapter XIIBut Libyan bearers carried a litter into the garden.The litter was close-curtained with blue canvas, against the rain.And a veiled woman peeped through a slit in the curtains and beckoned to Caleb:“Is he at home?” she asked.Caleb recognized her, but he answered with an air of innocence and asked:“Who, gracious lady?”“He,” repeated the woman. “The young Roman, Publius Lucius Sabinus.”“He is at home, gracious lady,” said Caleb. “But he is unwell. He will not see any one.”“If he is at home, I want to see him,” said the woman.And she alighted on the stone steps of the portico. She was closely wrapped in her veils, but Caleb had recognized her. And she offered Caleb a gold coin, which Caleb did not refuse, because business was business and a well-invested stater brought him stilla little nearer to his native land, for which he was longing.“I do not know whether I can let you in,” said Caleb, hesitatingly.The woman produced a second piece of gold. It disappeared in Caleb’s girdle as though by witchcraft.“Where is he staying?” she asked.“In the princes’ building, of course,” said Caleb, proudly. “Where his little black slave is squatting.”The veiled woman went up to Tarrar, squatting on a mat outside a door:“I want to see him,” said the woman. “I want to speak to him. Take me to him.”“The master is asleep,” said Tarrar.“Wake him.”“The master is sick,” said Tarrar.“Tell him that I can cure him.”“I dare not,” said Tarrar. “He would be angry. It would be against his orders. He is accustomed to have us obey him.”“Announce me.”“No,” said Tarrar.“You’re a little monkey,” said the woman.And she opened the door and lifted a curtain.Tarrar and Caleb, dismayed, tried to stop her:“She’s inside!” said Caleb.“The master will beat me!” said Tarrar, shivering. “That impudent wench!”But Caleb, with his finger to his mouth, told him to be silent ... and listened at the door.The veiled woman stood in Lucius’ room. Lucius lay on a couch in mournful meditation. He opened his eyes wide with amazement.“I am Tamyris,” said the woman. “Lucius, I am Tamyris. I am famed for my beauty; and I have kept kings waiting on the threshold of my villa on Lake Mareotis merely out of caprice. I once kissed a negro slave while the King of Pontus was waiting; and, when my black lover held me in his arms, I called the king in ... and then showed him the door and drove him away.”“That’s not true,” said Lucius.Tamyris opened her veils and laughed:“No, it’s not true,” she said. “But whatistrue is this, that I have been burning with love for you since the day when I saw you, beautiful as a god, on the threshold of Amphris’ pyramid. Lucius, I want to be your slave. I want to serve and love you. I willcure you and make you laugh. I shall make you forget all your sorrow. Lucius, I have served the sacred goddess Aphrodite since I was a child of six. She has taught me, through oracles and dreams, the utter secret of her science, the secret of her highest voluptuousness, which she herself did not know until she loved Adonis. Lucius, if you will love me, I shall be your slave and reveal the secret of Adonis to you.”“Go away,” said Lucius.“Lucius,” said Tamyris, “I have never asked a man to love me. But my days, since I looked into the mournful depths of your eyes, have been like withered gardens and my nights like scorched sands. I suffer and I am ill. I have an everlasting thirst here, in my throat, despite draughts cooled with snow and fruit steeped in silphium. See, my hands shake as though I were in a fever. See, Lucius, how my hands shake. They want to fondle you, to fondle your limbs and....”“Go away,” said Lucius.“Lucius, I long to be your slave. I, Tamyris, the famous hetaira, who possess treasures, as you do, and the largest beryl discovered in Ethiopia, I long to be your slave and I long to shake your pillows highand soft and to lave your feet in nard and to dry them with my kisses, kiss after kiss until they are dry.”Lucius struck a hard blow on the gong. Caleb and Tarrar appeared.“Call the guards,” Lucius commanded. “And drag this woman away if she does not go.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, when I am dead, O Lucius, burnt out with love, I shall haunt you and my ghost will twine around you, without your being able to prevent it, and I shall suck your soul from your lips ... until I have you inside me ... inside me.”“Gracious lady,” said Caleb, obsequiously, “the rain has ceased and your litter waits.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “The Prince of Numidia expects me. He has come with twenty swimming elephants, over the sea and straight across the lake, to love me. I am giving an orgy to-night, just to amuse him. Lucius, if you call on me to-night, we will tie up the Prince of Numidia and tickle the soles of his feet till he dies of laughing. Will you come?”“You lie,” said Lucius. “There is no prince come to see you and there are noswimming elephants. You weary me. Go away, or I shall have you scourged from my presence with long whips.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, at a moment when you are not thinking of it, I shall bewitch you. Then you, without knowing it, will drink a philtre which I have prepared for you; and you will come to me and I shall embrace you. And in my embraceyou shall know what otherwise would have always remained a secret to you. I am going.”That night Lucius went to Tamyris.But he returned, the next morning, disillusionized and disappointed.

Chapter XII

But Libyan bearers carried a litter into the garden.The litter was close-curtained with blue canvas, against the rain.And a veiled woman peeped through a slit in the curtains and beckoned to Caleb:“Is he at home?” she asked.Caleb recognized her, but he answered with an air of innocence and asked:“Who, gracious lady?”“He,” repeated the woman. “The young Roman, Publius Lucius Sabinus.”“He is at home, gracious lady,” said Caleb. “But he is unwell. He will not see any one.”“If he is at home, I want to see him,” said the woman.And she alighted on the stone steps of the portico. She was closely wrapped in her veils, but Caleb had recognized her. And she offered Caleb a gold coin, which Caleb did not refuse, because business was business and a well-invested stater brought him stilla little nearer to his native land, for which he was longing.“I do not know whether I can let you in,” said Caleb, hesitatingly.The woman produced a second piece of gold. It disappeared in Caleb’s girdle as though by witchcraft.“Where is he staying?” she asked.“In the princes’ building, of course,” said Caleb, proudly. “Where his little black slave is squatting.”The veiled woman went up to Tarrar, squatting on a mat outside a door:“I want to see him,” said the woman. “I want to speak to him. Take me to him.”“The master is asleep,” said Tarrar.“Wake him.”“The master is sick,” said Tarrar.“Tell him that I can cure him.”“I dare not,” said Tarrar. “He would be angry. It would be against his orders. He is accustomed to have us obey him.”“Announce me.”“No,” said Tarrar.“You’re a little monkey,” said the woman.And she opened the door and lifted a curtain.Tarrar and Caleb, dismayed, tried to stop her:“She’s inside!” said Caleb.“The master will beat me!” said Tarrar, shivering. “That impudent wench!”But Caleb, with his finger to his mouth, told him to be silent ... and listened at the door.The veiled woman stood in Lucius’ room. Lucius lay on a couch in mournful meditation. He opened his eyes wide with amazement.“I am Tamyris,” said the woman. “Lucius, I am Tamyris. I am famed for my beauty; and I have kept kings waiting on the threshold of my villa on Lake Mareotis merely out of caprice. I once kissed a negro slave while the King of Pontus was waiting; and, when my black lover held me in his arms, I called the king in ... and then showed him the door and drove him away.”“That’s not true,” said Lucius.Tamyris opened her veils and laughed:“No, it’s not true,” she said. “But whatistrue is this, that I have been burning with love for you since the day when I saw you, beautiful as a god, on the threshold of Amphris’ pyramid. Lucius, I want to be your slave. I want to serve and love you. I willcure you and make you laugh. I shall make you forget all your sorrow. Lucius, I have served the sacred goddess Aphrodite since I was a child of six. She has taught me, through oracles and dreams, the utter secret of her science, the secret of her highest voluptuousness, which she herself did not know until she loved Adonis. Lucius, if you will love me, I shall be your slave and reveal the secret of Adonis to you.”“Go away,” said Lucius.“Lucius,” said Tamyris, “I have never asked a man to love me. But my days, since I looked into the mournful depths of your eyes, have been like withered gardens and my nights like scorched sands. I suffer and I am ill. I have an everlasting thirst here, in my throat, despite draughts cooled with snow and fruit steeped in silphium. See, my hands shake as though I were in a fever. See, Lucius, how my hands shake. They want to fondle you, to fondle your limbs and....”“Go away,” said Lucius.“Lucius, I long to be your slave. I, Tamyris, the famous hetaira, who possess treasures, as you do, and the largest beryl discovered in Ethiopia, I long to be your slave and I long to shake your pillows highand soft and to lave your feet in nard and to dry them with my kisses, kiss after kiss until they are dry.”Lucius struck a hard blow on the gong. Caleb and Tarrar appeared.“Call the guards,” Lucius commanded. “And drag this woman away if she does not go.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, when I am dead, O Lucius, burnt out with love, I shall haunt you and my ghost will twine around you, without your being able to prevent it, and I shall suck your soul from your lips ... until I have you inside me ... inside me.”“Gracious lady,” said Caleb, obsequiously, “the rain has ceased and your litter waits.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “The Prince of Numidia expects me. He has come with twenty swimming elephants, over the sea and straight across the lake, to love me. I am giving an orgy to-night, just to amuse him. Lucius, if you call on me to-night, we will tie up the Prince of Numidia and tickle the soles of his feet till he dies of laughing. Will you come?”“You lie,” said Lucius. “There is no prince come to see you and there are noswimming elephants. You weary me. Go away, or I shall have you scourged from my presence with long whips.”“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, at a moment when you are not thinking of it, I shall bewitch you. Then you, without knowing it, will drink a philtre which I have prepared for you; and you will come to me and I shall embrace you. And in my embraceyou shall know what otherwise would have always remained a secret to you. I am going.”That night Lucius went to Tamyris.But he returned, the next morning, disillusionized and disappointed.

But Libyan bearers carried a litter into the garden.

The litter was close-curtained with blue canvas, against the rain.

And a veiled woman peeped through a slit in the curtains and beckoned to Caleb:

“Is he at home?” she asked.

Caleb recognized her, but he answered with an air of innocence and asked:

“Who, gracious lady?”

“He,” repeated the woman. “The young Roman, Publius Lucius Sabinus.”

“He is at home, gracious lady,” said Caleb. “But he is unwell. He will not see any one.”

“If he is at home, I want to see him,” said the woman.

And she alighted on the stone steps of the portico. She was closely wrapped in her veils, but Caleb had recognized her. And she offered Caleb a gold coin, which Caleb did not refuse, because business was business and a well-invested stater brought him stilla little nearer to his native land, for which he was longing.

“I do not know whether I can let you in,” said Caleb, hesitatingly.

The woman produced a second piece of gold. It disappeared in Caleb’s girdle as though by witchcraft.

“Where is he staying?” she asked.

“In the princes’ building, of course,” said Caleb, proudly. “Where his little black slave is squatting.”

The veiled woman went up to Tarrar, squatting on a mat outside a door:

“I want to see him,” said the woman. “I want to speak to him. Take me to him.”

“The master is asleep,” said Tarrar.

“Wake him.”

“The master is sick,” said Tarrar.

“Tell him that I can cure him.”

“I dare not,” said Tarrar. “He would be angry. It would be against his orders. He is accustomed to have us obey him.”

“Announce me.”

“No,” said Tarrar.

“You’re a little monkey,” said the woman.

And she opened the door and lifted a curtain.

Tarrar and Caleb, dismayed, tried to stop her:

“She’s inside!” said Caleb.

“The master will beat me!” said Tarrar, shivering. “That impudent wench!”

But Caleb, with his finger to his mouth, told him to be silent ... and listened at the door.

The veiled woman stood in Lucius’ room. Lucius lay on a couch in mournful meditation. He opened his eyes wide with amazement.

“I am Tamyris,” said the woman. “Lucius, I am Tamyris. I am famed for my beauty; and I have kept kings waiting on the threshold of my villa on Lake Mareotis merely out of caprice. I once kissed a negro slave while the King of Pontus was waiting; and, when my black lover held me in his arms, I called the king in ... and then showed him the door and drove him away.”

“That’s not true,” said Lucius.

Tamyris opened her veils and laughed:

“No, it’s not true,” she said. “But whatistrue is this, that I have been burning with love for you since the day when I saw you, beautiful as a god, on the threshold of Amphris’ pyramid. Lucius, I want to be your slave. I want to serve and love you. I willcure you and make you laugh. I shall make you forget all your sorrow. Lucius, I have served the sacred goddess Aphrodite since I was a child of six. She has taught me, through oracles and dreams, the utter secret of her science, the secret of her highest voluptuousness, which she herself did not know until she loved Adonis. Lucius, if you will love me, I shall be your slave and reveal the secret of Adonis to you.”

“Go away,” said Lucius.

“Lucius,” said Tamyris, “I have never asked a man to love me. But my days, since I looked into the mournful depths of your eyes, have been like withered gardens and my nights like scorched sands. I suffer and I am ill. I have an everlasting thirst here, in my throat, despite draughts cooled with snow and fruit steeped in silphium. See, my hands shake as though I were in a fever. See, Lucius, how my hands shake. They want to fondle you, to fondle your limbs and....”

“Go away,” said Lucius.

“Lucius, I long to be your slave. I, Tamyris, the famous hetaira, who possess treasures, as you do, and the largest beryl discovered in Ethiopia, I long to be your slave and I long to shake your pillows highand soft and to lave your feet in nard and to dry them with my kisses, kiss after kiss until they are dry.”

Lucius struck a hard blow on the gong. Caleb and Tarrar appeared.

“Call the guards,” Lucius commanded. “And drag this woman away if she does not go.”

“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, when I am dead, O Lucius, burnt out with love, I shall haunt you and my ghost will twine around you, without your being able to prevent it, and I shall suck your soul from your lips ... until I have you inside me ... inside me.”

“Gracious lady,” said Caleb, obsequiously, “the rain has ceased and your litter waits.”

“I am going,” said Tamyris. “The Prince of Numidia expects me. He has come with twenty swimming elephants, over the sea and straight across the lake, to love me. I am giving an orgy to-night, just to amuse him. Lucius, if you call on me to-night, we will tie up the Prince of Numidia and tickle the soles of his feet till he dies of laughing. Will you come?”

“You lie,” said Lucius. “There is no prince come to see you and there are noswimming elephants. You weary me. Go away, or I shall have you scourged from my presence with long whips.”

“I am going,” said Tamyris. “But, at a moment when you are not thinking of it, I shall bewitch you. Then you, without knowing it, will drink a philtre which I have prepared for you; and you will come to me and I shall embrace you. And in my embraceyou shall know what otherwise would have always remained a secret to you. I am going.”

That night Lucius went to Tamyris.

But he returned, the next morning, disillusionized and disappointed.

Chapter XIII“My son,” said old Thrasyllus, sitting beside his couch, “do you intend always to cherish your illness and longing, like a serpent that devours you, bone and flesh? The sibyl of Rhacotis merely guessed your own thoughts. The holy Amphris could explain nothing more than that many, who resemble one another, mean only one in the dream. After that, what could your credulity imagine that a crafty hetaira would make you guess in her embrace? The name of that one man? The name of the pirate? The place where he is hiding Ilia?... One pirate?... Who could have stolen her?”“I don’t know,” said Lucius, wearily.“My poor, sick boy,” said the tutor, “no one knows and no one will ever know. She has disappeared. If she has not been kidnapped by pirates, she is drowned. Did you not visit the slave-markets in Rome on purpose to find her? Have you not done the same thing here, in Alexandria? She is not to be found. Forget her, my son. Try toget better. If no other woman can cure you, let some other power than love cure you. Amphris mentioned wisdom. There is wisdom. Seek it here, in the land of wisdom. This city, my son, is a sinful city, though it is fair to look upon. This city is as Tamyris herself: it is a wanton among cities. There is no more wisdom in this city, notwithstanding the Museum, notwithstanding the Serapeum, notwithstanding the dreams of Canopus, which die away in orgies. In this city I have met none save merchants, usurers and venal women. This magnificent city is a venal city. Even the philosophers here are avaricious and venal. Even the prophets demand a talent for their divinations. The power of money holds sway here and no longer wisdom. Let us go farther. There is wisdom left in Egypt. And in the wisdom which we shall find you will be cured. Listen, my son: there is the sacred word of the Kabbala, which Moses himself received from the godhead on Mount Sinai. That word has never been graven on tables of stone, but Moses whispered it to his sons and those sons to theirs. It is the key to happiness. He who utters it has the power to avoid suffering and to know all that can be known on earth. I have soughtfor it, in the Museum, in the Serapeum, here and at Canopus. While you lay sorrowing on your couch, my son, I have held converse with priests and with philosophers, with prophets. I am persuaded that I shall not find the word in Alexandria.”“But where will you find it, Thrasyllus?”The tutor stared before him:“Perhaps farther on,” he said. “Perhaps at Memphis. Let us go to Memphis. If I do not find the word at Memphis, I shall look for it farther still. Let us sail up the Nile, to Thebes, to Ethiopia. Let us go to the pillars of Sesostris. Something tells me that we shall find it ... and that you will be cured, my son. But let us go.”Lucius approved and the departure was decided. Thereupon Master Ghizla and Caleb had a long talk on “business,” after which Caleb asked for an interview with Lucius, which was granted and at which Uncle Catullus and Thrasyllus were present.“Noble lords,” Caleb began, “I should like to speak to you in your own interest. The question, noble lords, is this: I understand from the most learned Master Thrasyllus that there is a plan on foot to leave Alexandria and to travel over Memphis toEthiopia, as far as the pillars of Sesostris. That will certainly be a fine journey; and all great lords take that road. But permit me, your servant, to give you a piece of advice, in your own interest, noble lords, in your own interest. My advice is this: hire from me and my brother Ghizla a comfortable and spacious Nile barge, a thalamegus, not only to ascend the Nile in, but also to live in, so far as possible, because—spoken without slander, noble lords, spoken without slander!—the diversoria which you will find at Hermopolis, at Leontopolis, ay, even at Memphis and Thebes are ...bad, are allbad, not to be compared with our far-famed Hermes House, O my honoured benefactors! No, they are unclean hovels, standing on the edges of marshes, without any modern conveniences; and, though you have your own cook, you would not even find any unpolluted wells there, not to speak of wine, and would never have a good meal again, O my Lord Catullus! Therefore, O my patrons, hire our Nile thalamegus, in which you can live with a small following, with a few slaves; leave the other slaves here, with the greater part of your splendid equipment; and allow me—if you have been satisfied, O my Lord Lucius,with my conduct at Alexandria and Canopus—to be your guide, at the head of your own escort, and to remove all difficulties from your path. I know the whole of Egypt! I have already conducted numbers of noble lords, ay, to the sources of the Nile, to those most mysterious sources! We will take tents with us and hire camels, when necessary, but take my advice ... and never alight at any other Egyptian diversoria, except our Hermes House, for they are allbad, bad, bad... indescribably bad, O my noble lords!”“Caleb,” said Lucius, “I was just about to propose to you what you are proposing to me, that you should be our guide to the pillars of Sesostris and hire me a barge to sail up the Nile.”“O my lords!” cried Caleb, overjoyed and obviously relieved. “How glad I am of that! For now I am convinced that you will be comfortable and travel pleasantly and that you, O my Lord Catullus, will dine as you have been wont to do here ... especially as we shall not forget to take our own wines on board, the purple Mareotis wine, thick as ink, and the topaz-yellow liqueur of Napata.”“But is the last really necessary, Caleb?”asked Uncle Catullus, mischievously. “After all, we are going to Ethiopia!”“And on the way, my lord? Before we reach Ethiopia? And above all let me also explain that the Ethiopian liqueurs ... must first descend the Nile, to acquire the perfume and the rich flavour which they donotpossess in Ethiopia itself.”“If only they don’t lose that perfume, Caleb, when they ascend the Nile again!” said Uncle Catullus, jestingly.“I shall see tothat, my lord,” said Caleb, who saw through Uncle Catullus quite as plainly as Uncle Catullus saw through Caleb. “I’ll see tothat. You just leave it tome.”“We are leaving everything to you, Caleb. Get the barge ready for to-morrow,” said Lucius.“Then we shall go up the Nile next day, my lord,” said Caleb, happy and delighted.And he retired with salaam upon salaam.And Master Ghizla, in the palm-garden, pretending to be busy with the little canal, but in reality full of eagerness to know the result of Caleb’s advice, whispered:“I say!... Brother!...”“Yes?”“Well, Caleb, well?” asked Ghizla, anxiously and looking a little pale.“They’re hiring the thalamegus ... they’re alighting at no other diversorium ... they’re sleeping inourtents, they’ll travel withourcamels and....”“Well, Caleb, and what else?” asked Ghizla, rubbing his hands.“They’re drinkingourwines ... all the way to Napata!”“Whereyou’llpretend to lay in a fresh stock of liqueurs?”“You leave that to me, Brother Ghizla, you just leave it to me!”“May the gods bless you, Brother Caleb; may Thoth, Hermes and Serapis bless you! Quick, let us look in the cellars if we have enough in store!”There came a sudden shower, as though poured from an urn in the sky by an invisible water-god; and the two brothers, with their garments girdled up, rushed bare-legged through the puddles of their palm-garden to their wine-cellars, which lay warm as stone cupolas in the sun, or else were kept cool with double walls filled with snow.

Chapter XIII

“My son,” said old Thrasyllus, sitting beside his couch, “do you intend always to cherish your illness and longing, like a serpent that devours you, bone and flesh? The sibyl of Rhacotis merely guessed your own thoughts. The holy Amphris could explain nothing more than that many, who resemble one another, mean only one in the dream. After that, what could your credulity imagine that a crafty hetaira would make you guess in her embrace? The name of that one man? The name of the pirate? The place where he is hiding Ilia?... One pirate?... Who could have stolen her?”“I don’t know,” said Lucius, wearily.“My poor, sick boy,” said the tutor, “no one knows and no one will ever know. She has disappeared. If she has not been kidnapped by pirates, she is drowned. Did you not visit the slave-markets in Rome on purpose to find her? Have you not done the same thing here, in Alexandria? She is not to be found. Forget her, my son. Try toget better. If no other woman can cure you, let some other power than love cure you. Amphris mentioned wisdom. There is wisdom. Seek it here, in the land of wisdom. This city, my son, is a sinful city, though it is fair to look upon. This city is as Tamyris herself: it is a wanton among cities. There is no more wisdom in this city, notwithstanding the Museum, notwithstanding the Serapeum, notwithstanding the dreams of Canopus, which die away in orgies. In this city I have met none save merchants, usurers and venal women. This magnificent city is a venal city. Even the philosophers here are avaricious and venal. Even the prophets demand a talent for their divinations. The power of money holds sway here and no longer wisdom. Let us go farther. There is wisdom left in Egypt. And in the wisdom which we shall find you will be cured. Listen, my son: there is the sacred word of the Kabbala, which Moses himself received from the godhead on Mount Sinai. That word has never been graven on tables of stone, but Moses whispered it to his sons and those sons to theirs. It is the key to happiness. He who utters it has the power to avoid suffering and to know all that can be known on earth. I have soughtfor it, in the Museum, in the Serapeum, here and at Canopus. While you lay sorrowing on your couch, my son, I have held converse with priests and with philosophers, with prophets. I am persuaded that I shall not find the word in Alexandria.”“But where will you find it, Thrasyllus?”The tutor stared before him:“Perhaps farther on,” he said. “Perhaps at Memphis. Let us go to Memphis. If I do not find the word at Memphis, I shall look for it farther still. Let us sail up the Nile, to Thebes, to Ethiopia. Let us go to the pillars of Sesostris. Something tells me that we shall find it ... and that you will be cured, my son. But let us go.”Lucius approved and the departure was decided. Thereupon Master Ghizla and Caleb had a long talk on “business,” after which Caleb asked for an interview with Lucius, which was granted and at which Uncle Catullus and Thrasyllus were present.“Noble lords,” Caleb began, “I should like to speak to you in your own interest. The question, noble lords, is this: I understand from the most learned Master Thrasyllus that there is a plan on foot to leave Alexandria and to travel over Memphis toEthiopia, as far as the pillars of Sesostris. That will certainly be a fine journey; and all great lords take that road. But permit me, your servant, to give you a piece of advice, in your own interest, noble lords, in your own interest. My advice is this: hire from me and my brother Ghizla a comfortable and spacious Nile barge, a thalamegus, not only to ascend the Nile in, but also to live in, so far as possible, because—spoken without slander, noble lords, spoken without slander!—the diversoria which you will find at Hermopolis, at Leontopolis, ay, even at Memphis and Thebes are ...bad, are allbad, not to be compared with our far-famed Hermes House, O my honoured benefactors! No, they are unclean hovels, standing on the edges of marshes, without any modern conveniences; and, though you have your own cook, you would not even find any unpolluted wells there, not to speak of wine, and would never have a good meal again, O my Lord Catullus! Therefore, O my patrons, hire our Nile thalamegus, in which you can live with a small following, with a few slaves; leave the other slaves here, with the greater part of your splendid equipment; and allow me—if you have been satisfied, O my Lord Lucius,with my conduct at Alexandria and Canopus—to be your guide, at the head of your own escort, and to remove all difficulties from your path. I know the whole of Egypt! I have already conducted numbers of noble lords, ay, to the sources of the Nile, to those most mysterious sources! We will take tents with us and hire camels, when necessary, but take my advice ... and never alight at any other Egyptian diversoria, except our Hermes House, for they are allbad, bad, bad... indescribably bad, O my noble lords!”“Caleb,” said Lucius, “I was just about to propose to you what you are proposing to me, that you should be our guide to the pillars of Sesostris and hire me a barge to sail up the Nile.”“O my lords!” cried Caleb, overjoyed and obviously relieved. “How glad I am of that! For now I am convinced that you will be comfortable and travel pleasantly and that you, O my Lord Catullus, will dine as you have been wont to do here ... especially as we shall not forget to take our own wines on board, the purple Mareotis wine, thick as ink, and the topaz-yellow liqueur of Napata.”“But is the last really necessary, Caleb?”asked Uncle Catullus, mischievously. “After all, we are going to Ethiopia!”“And on the way, my lord? Before we reach Ethiopia? And above all let me also explain that the Ethiopian liqueurs ... must first descend the Nile, to acquire the perfume and the rich flavour which they donotpossess in Ethiopia itself.”“If only they don’t lose that perfume, Caleb, when they ascend the Nile again!” said Uncle Catullus, jestingly.“I shall see tothat, my lord,” said Caleb, who saw through Uncle Catullus quite as plainly as Uncle Catullus saw through Caleb. “I’ll see tothat. You just leave it tome.”“We are leaving everything to you, Caleb. Get the barge ready for to-morrow,” said Lucius.“Then we shall go up the Nile next day, my lord,” said Caleb, happy and delighted.And he retired with salaam upon salaam.And Master Ghizla, in the palm-garden, pretending to be busy with the little canal, but in reality full of eagerness to know the result of Caleb’s advice, whispered:“I say!... Brother!...”“Yes?”“Well, Caleb, well?” asked Ghizla, anxiously and looking a little pale.“They’re hiring the thalamegus ... they’re alighting at no other diversorium ... they’re sleeping inourtents, they’ll travel withourcamels and....”“Well, Caleb, and what else?” asked Ghizla, rubbing his hands.“They’re drinkingourwines ... all the way to Napata!”“Whereyou’llpretend to lay in a fresh stock of liqueurs?”“You leave that to me, Brother Ghizla, you just leave it to me!”“May the gods bless you, Brother Caleb; may Thoth, Hermes and Serapis bless you! Quick, let us look in the cellars if we have enough in store!”There came a sudden shower, as though poured from an urn in the sky by an invisible water-god; and the two brothers, with their garments girdled up, rushed bare-legged through the puddles of their palm-garden to their wine-cellars, which lay warm as stone cupolas in the sun, or else were kept cool with double walls filled with snow.

“My son,” said old Thrasyllus, sitting beside his couch, “do you intend always to cherish your illness and longing, like a serpent that devours you, bone and flesh? The sibyl of Rhacotis merely guessed your own thoughts. The holy Amphris could explain nothing more than that many, who resemble one another, mean only one in the dream. After that, what could your credulity imagine that a crafty hetaira would make you guess in her embrace? The name of that one man? The name of the pirate? The place where he is hiding Ilia?... One pirate?... Who could have stolen her?”

“I don’t know,” said Lucius, wearily.

“My poor, sick boy,” said the tutor, “no one knows and no one will ever know. She has disappeared. If she has not been kidnapped by pirates, she is drowned. Did you not visit the slave-markets in Rome on purpose to find her? Have you not done the same thing here, in Alexandria? She is not to be found. Forget her, my son. Try toget better. If no other woman can cure you, let some other power than love cure you. Amphris mentioned wisdom. There is wisdom. Seek it here, in the land of wisdom. This city, my son, is a sinful city, though it is fair to look upon. This city is as Tamyris herself: it is a wanton among cities. There is no more wisdom in this city, notwithstanding the Museum, notwithstanding the Serapeum, notwithstanding the dreams of Canopus, which die away in orgies. In this city I have met none save merchants, usurers and venal women. This magnificent city is a venal city. Even the philosophers here are avaricious and venal. Even the prophets demand a talent for their divinations. The power of money holds sway here and no longer wisdom. Let us go farther. There is wisdom left in Egypt. And in the wisdom which we shall find you will be cured. Listen, my son: there is the sacred word of the Kabbala, which Moses himself received from the godhead on Mount Sinai. That word has never been graven on tables of stone, but Moses whispered it to his sons and those sons to theirs. It is the key to happiness. He who utters it has the power to avoid suffering and to know all that can be known on earth. I have soughtfor it, in the Museum, in the Serapeum, here and at Canopus. While you lay sorrowing on your couch, my son, I have held converse with priests and with philosophers, with prophets. I am persuaded that I shall not find the word in Alexandria.”

“But where will you find it, Thrasyllus?”

The tutor stared before him:

“Perhaps farther on,” he said. “Perhaps at Memphis. Let us go to Memphis. If I do not find the word at Memphis, I shall look for it farther still. Let us sail up the Nile, to Thebes, to Ethiopia. Let us go to the pillars of Sesostris. Something tells me that we shall find it ... and that you will be cured, my son. But let us go.”

Lucius approved and the departure was decided. Thereupon Master Ghizla and Caleb had a long talk on “business,” after which Caleb asked for an interview with Lucius, which was granted and at which Uncle Catullus and Thrasyllus were present.

“Noble lords,” Caleb began, “I should like to speak to you in your own interest. The question, noble lords, is this: I understand from the most learned Master Thrasyllus that there is a plan on foot to leave Alexandria and to travel over Memphis toEthiopia, as far as the pillars of Sesostris. That will certainly be a fine journey; and all great lords take that road. But permit me, your servant, to give you a piece of advice, in your own interest, noble lords, in your own interest. My advice is this: hire from me and my brother Ghizla a comfortable and spacious Nile barge, a thalamegus, not only to ascend the Nile in, but also to live in, so far as possible, because—spoken without slander, noble lords, spoken without slander!—the diversoria which you will find at Hermopolis, at Leontopolis, ay, even at Memphis and Thebes are ...bad, are allbad, not to be compared with our far-famed Hermes House, O my honoured benefactors! No, they are unclean hovels, standing on the edges of marshes, without any modern conveniences; and, though you have your own cook, you would not even find any unpolluted wells there, not to speak of wine, and would never have a good meal again, O my Lord Catullus! Therefore, O my patrons, hire our Nile thalamegus, in which you can live with a small following, with a few slaves; leave the other slaves here, with the greater part of your splendid equipment; and allow me—if you have been satisfied, O my Lord Lucius,with my conduct at Alexandria and Canopus—to be your guide, at the head of your own escort, and to remove all difficulties from your path. I know the whole of Egypt! I have already conducted numbers of noble lords, ay, to the sources of the Nile, to those most mysterious sources! We will take tents with us and hire camels, when necessary, but take my advice ... and never alight at any other Egyptian diversoria, except our Hermes House, for they are allbad, bad, bad... indescribably bad, O my noble lords!”

“Caleb,” said Lucius, “I was just about to propose to you what you are proposing to me, that you should be our guide to the pillars of Sesostris and hire me a barge to sail up the Nile.”

“O my lords!” cried Caleb, overjoyed and obviously relieved. “How glad I am of that! For now I am convinced that you will be comfortable and travel pleasantly and that you, O my Lord Catullus, will dine as you have been wont to do here ... especially as we shall not forget to take our own wines on board, the purple Mareotis wine, thick as ink, and the topaz-yellow liqueur of Napata.”

“But is the last really necessary, Caleb?”asked Uncle Catullus, mischievously. “After all, we are going to Ethiopia!”

“And on the way, my lord? Before we reach Ethiopia? And above all let me also explain that the Ethiopian liqueurs ... must first descend the Nile, to acquire the perfume and the rich flavour which they donotpossess in Ethiopia itself.”

“If only they don’t lose that perfume, Caleb, when they ascend the Nile again!” said Uncle Catullus, jestingly.

“I shall see tothat, my lord,” said Caleb, who saw through Uncle Catullus quite as plainly as Uncle Catullus saw through Caleb. “I’ll see tothat. You just leave it tome.”

“We are leaving everything to you, Caleb. Get the barge ready for to-morrow,” said Lucius.

“Then we shall go up the Nile next day, my lord,” said Caleb, happy and delighted.

And he retired with salaam upon salaam.

And Master Ghizla, in the palm-garden, pretending to be busy with the little canal, but in reality full of eagerness to know the result of Caleb’s advice, whispered:

“I say!... Brother!...”

“Yes?”

“Well, Caleb, well?” asked Ghizla, anxiously and looking a little pale.

“They’re hiring the thalamegus ... they’re alighting at no other diversorium ... they’re sleeping inourtents, they’ll travel withourcamels and....”

“Well, Caleb, and what else?” asked Ghizla, rubbing his hands.

“They’re drinkingourwines ... all the way to Napata!”

“Whereyou’llpretend to lay in a fresh stock of liqueurs?”

“You leave that to me, Brother Ghizla, you just leave it to me!”

“May the gods bless you, Brother Caleb; may Thoth, Hermes and Serapis bless you! Quick, let us look in the cellars if we have enough in store!”

There came a sudden shower, as though poured from an urn in the sky by an invisible water-god; and the two brothers, with their garments girdled up, rushed bare-legged through the puddles of their palm-garden to their wine-cellars, which lay warm as stone cupolas in the sun, or else were kept cool with double walls filled with snow.

Chapter XIVIn the still and silent night, the Delta lay flooded by the kindly waters of the sacred river. From the Canopic to the Sebennytic mouth, from the Phatmetic along the Mendesian to the Pelusiac mouth, the Delta lay flooded: one still and silent sea in the night, a wide, silver sheet of water without a ripple, stretching farther than the eye could reach in the soft-falling sheen of the full moon. Between the river-mouths the canals lay in streaks of silver light, full of water to their edges. Past the blossoming reeds, past the blossoming lotuses and water-lilies, the great barge glided up the stream as in a vision.There was not a sound amid the silence but the dripping from the oars.The night was muffled, wide and immense. It was as though the moon, up above, had inundated the sky, even as the flood the sacred land below. It was as though the flood of moonshine were drenching the sacred sky also with a calm, unrippled sea, but a sea of light. The night was like a noiseless,silvery day; the night was like a shadow of the day. In that inundation of the light of heaven the stars paled, innumerous, like a silvery powder sprinkled by the moonshine. There lay the lake of Butos, wide and mystic and gleaming. Island emerged after island. Palms stood in clusters, stately, motionless and delicate. A shrine appeared and vanished as the dream-barge glided down a bend of the canal. Country-mansions stood peacefully linked together. There were taller dykes and patches of golden, shadowy wheat. Sheaves of corn looked like the images of gods, reverence-compelling, ranged in order beside one another, against the wall of a barn. A peculiar scent was wafted by, a fresh aroma as of always moist flowers.The outline of a village came into view. And hamlet joined itself to hamlet, with shrines and mansions in between. Suddenly, farther up, in the sea of glory, in the sea of light, huge needles rose on high from the ground, with quivering lines, and became lost in the midst of light.Thrasyllus standing by Cora on the fore-castle pointed:“The obelisks of Sais.”She turned, with a start, and was silent.The barge that afternoon had left Naucratis along the canals which seam the Saitic nome, or province. They were now nearing the capital, Sais, the capital of all Lower Egypt. They already saw the Anubis Avenue. And suddenly, at a bend, between very tall reeds blossoming with tassels and bowing before the barge, Thrasyllus pointed:“The temple of Isis-Neith.”There were sphinxes: they seemed to lift their basalt heads in prayer to the moon and the sky. Lamps and lights twinkled like stars. The thalamegus hove to; orders rang out; the sailors moored the vessel.“The temple of Isis-Neith,”Thrasyllusrepeated to Lucius, who approached with Catullus and Caleb.They were all arrayed in long, white-linen robes. Cora also was similarly clad, in a long, white, close fitting linen robe. She wore a wreath of wheat-ears and lotus-flowers at her temples. For it was the Night of the Glowing Lights, the Feast of the Burning Lamps.“Nemu-Pha is waiting for me in the temple,” said Thrasyllus. “I wrote to him and he has consented to receive me. He is the high-priest of Isis; and to-night hereceives those who come to consult him. I thought, Lucius, of going alone. Nemu-Pha is one of the holiest prophets in Egypt. One word from him can perhaps enable me to guess much. But, if you accompany me, with only a single thought in your sick brain, you would break the mystic thread which might be woven between the high-priest’s spirit and mine. Let me go alone. I have no other care than your happiness ... even though we are not agreed on the form which it should take.“Go, Thrasyllus,” said Lucius.“I don’t think that I shall go on shore,” said Uncle Catullus. “The Night of the Glowing Lights and the Feast of the Burning Lamps leave me cold. It is colourless and cheerless; it will be a spectral orgy. I am too old and fat, Lucius, for spectral orgies. Go on shore alone and amuse yourself as you may.”Lucius assembled his slaves, male and female. They were all in long, white robes, the women wreathed with ears of wheat and lotus-flowers.“You are all free to-night,” said Lucius. “You have a night of liberty. Until sunriseyou belong to yourselves. Go your ways and do whatever you please.”Rufus handed each a small sum of money. The slaves bowed low and disappeared, between the palms, in the direction of the moonlit, twinkling city.Only a guard of sailors kept watch on the barge. Uncle Catullus retired to his cabin. Tarrar also did not wish to go on shore and remained to sleep at his master’s threshold. The Feast of Isis made many shudder who were not accustomed from their youth to its shivery mysticism.Thrasyllus had gone. Lucius also went on shore. He saw Cora hesitating under the palm-trees while the other women slaves had already gone gaily to enjoy their night of liberty:“Why don’t you join your companions, Cora?” asked Lucius.“My lord,” Cora replied, “if you permit me, I would rather stay here.”“You are free to-night.”“What should I do with liberty, my lord?”“You can do what you please, go to the temple and see the veiled Isis ... and enjoyyourself as and with whom you choose.”She cast down her eyes and blushed.“There is a general holiday to-night,” continued Lucius, “for slaves male and female.”She folded her hands as though in prayer:“My lord,” she begged, “suffer me to remain here, near the barge. I am afraid of liberty and of the big city.”“Do as you please,” said Lucius.He went on alone. Loneliness sent a shiver through him because of this strange night which was like day. A white melancholy emanated from his soul. He felt aimless. He would have preferred to accompany Thrasyllus. He would not have minded going to bed. He had almost invited Cora to accompany him to Sais, but did not think it suited to his dignity.He went alone, in his white raiment, in the bountiful moonlight. How strange the night was, all white and trembling. He approached the town. There was nothing but the monotonous rattling of the sistra carried by the long-robed pilgrims who walked in procession to the temple. All the houses along the road were lit with the lamps burning at the doors and windows, vessels full of oil withburning wicks. It was a strange pale-yellow twinkling in the moonshine. It was like a funeral ceremony. For it commemorated the night on which Isis had collected the scattered limbs of her brother and husband Osiris, murdered and quartered by Typhon and scattered all over Egypt.The procession streamed to the temple. Along the road, the hierodules, the priestesses, danced to a monotonous chant, hand in hand, in a long row. They threw a laugh to the numberless strangers who had come to Sais, for that night. The strangers laughed back and picked out the priestesses; and they withdrew together, first to the temple, then farther away.Three hierodules laughed to Lucius. They danced round him. He did not wish to seem uncivil; also he felt very forlorn. He just laughed back, wearily and kindly.“Shall we come with you?” asked one of the hierodules.“As you please,” said Lucius. “Are you going to the temple?”“If you wish.”They walked in front of him and beside him. They wore white, close-fitting robes, with lotus-flowers and ears of wheat in theirhair. They were gentle and civil and obliging and young, like three young children.The white multitude streamed along the streets. The obelisks of the dromos came into view. The temple rose gigantic and mysterious, with numbers of square buildings and terraces stacked one above the other. There were rows of gigantic pylons, which lost themselves in the moonlit night. The monotonous melody of the sistra rattled on every side; on every side the lamps twinkled. Lucius felt within him an immeasurable melancholy, because of life and because of death, because of people and because of himself.The hierodules led the way. They were kind and courteous, glad at meeting this amiable stranger, to whom they would be obliging, as their duty prescribed that night.They entered the pronaos and secos. In the immensity of the pillared spaces the countless sistra rattled eerily, producing a vibration which was no longer music: it was as though the pylons and pillars themselves were rattling, as though the very earth were rattling.Suddenly Lucius felt a cold shiver pass through him. In the holy of holies rose theveiled Isis. It was an immense statue, five fathoms high and surrounded entirely with a silvery film, seamed with hieroglyphics. Above the image, on the architrave, was written:I AM WHO HAVE BEEN,WHO AMAND WHO SHALL BE;AND NO ONE HAS LIFTED MY VEIL.Around the image shone thousands of burning vessels, of glowing lamps. There was a mist of light and a smoke of incense. And round about the image there was the incessant dance of the hierodules and the worship of the sacrificing priests, all the night through. And ever, like an obsession, there was the rattle of the sistra, as though the whole immense temple were rattling.Lucius, led by the three women, offered his sacrifice at one of the numberless altars. The priest pronounced the sacred words and Lucius poured forth the libation and paid his gold coin.He felt desperately unhappy.“Sir,” asked one of the women, “do you wish us all three to accompany you to oneof the temple-chambers? Or would you have two of us go away?”He laughed softly at their polite manners, like those of young and well-brought-up children. He gave a melancholy glance:“I am unwell, I am very unwell,” he said. “I think I will go home alone.”“Your eyes are full of pain, sir,” said one of the hierodules.And one of the others said:“Cannot we comfort you and cure you?”Lucius shook his head.“Then let us lead you home,” said the third.They left the temple.“I live on the river,” said Lucius. “I came in a thalamegus.”They walked beside him, like shades. When they reached the barge, Lucius said:“I am at home here. Let me thank you and pay you. May holy Isis protect you!”“May holy Isis cure you, sir!” said the hierodules.He gave them a gold coin apiece. They disappeared in the night, like shades. But under the palm-trees was another shade. It was Cora.“I am not well,” said Lucius. “I came back.”“Do you wish to go to bed, my lord?” asked Cora.“No, I should not be able to sleep,” replied Lucius. “This night is strange and unreal. I will lie here under the trees.”“I will leave you, my lord.”“No, stay,” he said. “I am ill and I feel lonely. Stay.”“Suffer me to fetch you a cloak and a pillow, my lord.”“I thank you.”She disappeared into the barge and returned with the pillow and cloak. She covered him up and pushed the pillow under his head.“The night is strange,” he repeated, “and unreal. It is like a white day. There is no dew falling. I shall remain here till Thrasyllus comes. But do you stay. I feel ill and lonely.”“What can I do, my lord? I may not sing: only the sistrum may sound to-night.”“Dance to me; move in the moonlight. Can you dance without accompaniment?”“Yes, my lord,” said Cora.He lay under the palms. Cora danced in the open moonlight, near the tall river-reeds. She twisted and turned like a white water-nymphthat had risen from the stream. She stood still, in attitudes of rapture. She adored Isis, her hands uplifted to the moon. She was very lithe and slender, very white, with white flowers and ears of wheat around her temples.He lay without moving, watching her. And he thought his only thought: where could Ilia be? For there had not been more than one pirate....When, late in the night, Thrasyllus returned, he found Lucius asleep under the palms with Cora keeping vigil beside him.“My lord is asleep,” said Cora. And she asked, “Tell me, Thrasyllus: what did Nemu-Pha say?”The old tutor looked gloomy. And he said:“The wise ages have been drowned in the night of time. Egypt is Egypt no longer. Sais is Sais no longer. If wisdom still tarries here and is still to be found, I shall find it not by the sea, not in the Delta. This is the granary and the emporium of the world ... but nothing more. Great Isis hides behind her veil the worthlessness and venality of her priests, whose last remaining pride is to sell in great secrecy the word, ‘Be a god untoyourself.’... That word does not satisfy me. But there is Memphis, there is Thebes. I still have hope, Cora ... that I shall find the divine word which will cure him.”The old man stepped on board the barge. The night waned; yonder, in Sais, the twinkling of the Burning Lamps died away.In the east, the light broke through, as through a bursting sluice. Long, rosy islands seemed to drift in an ocean of molten gold. A long flight of cranes, black against the golden sky, swept down to meet the dawn.Cocks crowed; and on the waters of Lake Butos the first lotus-blooms opened their white chalices. As it were crimson flowed and lay, here and there, over the silent, silver streaks of the canals, in pools of purple red.

Chapter XIV

In the still and silent night, the Delta lay flooded by the kindly waters of the sacred river. From the Canopic to the Sebennytic mouth, from the Phatmetic along the Mendesian to the Pelusiac mouth, the Delta lay flooded: one still and silent sea in the night, a wide, silver sheet of water without a ripple, stretching farther than the eye could reach in the soft-falling sheen of the full moon. Between the river-mouths the canals lay in streaks of silver light, full of water to their edges. Past the blossoming reeds, past the blossoming lotuses and water-lilies, the great barge glided up the stream as in a vision.There was not a sound amid the silence but the dripping from the oars.The night was muffled, wide and immense. It was as though the moon, up above, had inundated the sky, even as the flood the sacred land below. It was as though the flood of moonshine were drenching the sacred sky also with a calm, unrippled sea, but a sea of light. The night was like a noiseless,silvery day; the night was like a shadow of the day. In that inundation of the light of heaven the stars paled, innumerous, like a silvery powder sprinkled by the moonshine. There lay the lake of Butos, wide and mystic and gleaming. Island emerged after island. Palms stood in clusters, stately, motionless and delicate. A shrine appeared and vanished as the dream-barge glided down a bend of the canal. Country-mansions stood peacefully linked together. There were taller dykes and patches of golden, shadowy wheat. Sheaves of corn looked like the images of gods, reverence-compelling, ranged in order beside one another, against the wall of a barn. A peculiar scent was wafted by, a fresh aroma as of always moist flowers.The outline of a village came into view. And hamlet joined itself to hamlet, with shrines and mansions in between. Suddenly, farther up, in the sea of glory, in the sea of light, huge needles rose on high from the ground, with quivering lines, and became lost in the midst of light.Thrasyllus standing by Cora on the fore-castle pointed:“The obelisks of Sais.”She turned, with a start, and was silent.The barge that afternoon had left Naucratis along the canals which seam the Saitic nome, or province. They were now nearing the capital, Sais, the capital of all Lower Egypt. They already saw the Anubis Avenue. And suddenly, at a bend, between very tall reeds blossoming with tassels and bowing before the barge, Thrasyllus pointed:“The temple of Isis-Neith.”There were sphinxes: they seemed to lift their basalt heads in prayer to the moon and the sky. Lamps and lights twinkled like stars. The thalamegus hove to; orders rang out; the sailors moored the vessel.“The temple of Isis-Neith,”Thrasyllusrepeated to Lucius, who approached with Catullus and Caleb.They were all arrayed in long, white-linen robes. Cora also was similarly clad, in a long, white, close fitting linen robe. She wore a wreath of wheat-ears and lotus-flowers at her temples. For it was the Night of the Glowing Lights, the Feast of the Burning Lamps.“Nemu-Pha is waiting for me in the temple,” said Thrasyllus. “I wrote to him and he has consented to receive me. He is the high-priest of Isis; and to-night hereceives those who come to consult him. I thought, Lucius, of going alone. Nemu-Pha is one of the holiest prophets in Egypt. One word from him can perhaps enable me to guess much. But, if you accompany me, with only a single thought in your sick brain, you would break the mystic thread which might be woven between the high-priest’s spirit and mine. Let me go alone. I have no other care than your happiness ... even though we are not agreed on the form which it should take.“Go, Thrasyllus,” said Lucius.“I don’t think that I shall go on shore,” said Uncle Catullus. “The Night of the Glowing Lights and the Feast of the Burning Lamps leave me cold. It is colourless and cheerless; it will be a spectral orgy. I am too old and fat, Lucius, for spectral orgies. Go on shore alone and amuse yourself as you may.”Lucius assembled his slaves, male and female. They were all in long, white robes, the women wreathed with ears of wheat and lotus-flowers.“You are all free to-night,” said Lucius. “You have a night of liberty. Until sunriseyou belong to yourselves. Go your ways and do whatever you please.”Rufus handed each a small sum of money. The slaves bowed low and disappeared, between the palms, in the direction of the moonlit, twinkling city.Only a guard of sailors kept watch on the barge. Uncle Catullus retired to his cabin. Tarrar also did not wish to go on shore and remained to sleep at his master’s threshold. The Feast of Isis made many shudder who were not accustomed from their youth to its shivery mysticism.Thrasyllus had gone. Lucius also went on shore. He saw Cora hesitating under the palm-trees while the other women slaves had already gone gaily to enjoy their night of liberty:“Why don’t you join your companions, Cora?” asked Lucius.“My lord,” Cora replied, “if you permit me, I would rather stay here.”“You are free to-night.”“What should I do with liberty, my lord?”“You can do what you please, go to the temple and see the veiled Isis ... and enjoyyourself as and with whom you choose.”She cast down her eyes and blushed.“There is a general holiday to-night,” continued Lucius, “for slaves male and female.”She folded her hands as though in prayer:“My lord,” she begged, “suffer me to remain here, near the barge. I am afraid of liberty and of the big city.”“Do as you please,” said Lucius.He went on alone. Loneliness sent a shiver through him because of this strange night which was like day. A white melancholy emanated from his soul. He felt aimless. He would have preferred to accompany Thrasyllus. He would not have minded going to bed. He had almost invited Cora to accompany him to Sais, but did not think it suited to his dignity.He went alone, in his white raiment, in the bountiful moonlight. How strange the night was, all white and trembling. He approached the town. There was nothing but the monotonous rattling of the sistra carried by the long-robed pilgrims who walked in procession to the temple. All the houses along the road were lit with the lamps burning at the doors and windows, vessels full of oil withburning wicks. It was a strange pale-yellow twinkling in the moonshine. It was like a funeral ceremony. For it commemorated the night on which Isis had collected the scattered limbs of her brother and husband Osiris, murdered and quartered by Typhon and scattered all over Egypt.The procession streamed to the temple. Along the road, the hierodules, the priestesses, danced to a monotonous chant, hand in hand, in a long row. They threw a laugh to the numberless strangers who had come to Sais, for that night. The strangers laughed back and picked out the priestesses; and they withdrew together, first to the temple, then farther away.Three hierodules laughed to Lucius. They danced round him. He did not wish to seem uncivil; also he felt very forlorn. He just laughed back, wearily and kindly.“Shall we come with you?” asked one of the hierodules.“As you please,” said Lucius. “Are you going to the temple?”“If you wish.”They walked in front of him and beside him. They wore white, close-fitting robes, with lotus-flowers and ears of wheat in theirhair. They were gentle and civil and obliging and young, like three young children.The white multitude streamed along the streets. The obelisks of the dromos came into view. The temple rose gigantic and mysterious, with numbers of square buildings and terraces stacked one above the other. There were rows of gigantic pylons, which lost themselves in the moonlit night. The monotonous melody of the sistra rattled on every side; on every side the lamps twinkled. Lucius felt within him an immeasurable melancholy, because of life and because of death, because of people and because of himself.The hierodules led the way. They were kind and courteous, glad at meeting this amiable stranger, to whom they would be obliging, as their duty prescribed that night.They entered the pronaos and secos. In the immensity of the pillared spaces the countless sistra rattled eerily, producing a vibration which was no longer music: it was as though the pylons and pillars themselves were rattling, as though the very earth were rattling.Suddenly Lucius felt a cold shiver pass through him. In the holy of holies rose theveiled Isis. It was an immense statue, five fathoms high and surrounded entirely with a silvery film, seamed with hieroglyphics. Above the image, on the architrave, was written:I AM WHO HAVE BEEN,WHO AMAND WHO SHALL BE;AND NO ONE HAS LIFTED MY VEIL.Around the image shone thousands of burning vessels, of glowing lamps. There was a mist of light and a smoke of incense. And round about the image there was the incessant dance of the hierodules and the worship of the sacrificing priests, all the night through. And ever, like an obsession, there was the rattle of the sistra, as though the whole immense temple were rattling.Lucius, led by the three women, offered his sacrifice at one of the numberless altars. The priest pronounced the sacred words and Lucius poured forth the libation and paid his gold coin.He felt desperately unhappy.“Sir,” asked one of the women, “do you wish us all three to accompany you to oneof the temple-chambers? Or would you have two of us go away?”He laughed softly at their polite manners, like those of young and well-brought-up children. He gave a melancholy glance:“I am unwell, I am very unwell,” he said. “I think I will go home alone.”“Your eyes are full of pain, sir,” said one of the hierodules.And one of the others said:“Cannot we comfort you and cure you?”Lucius shook his head.“Then let us lead you home,” said the third.They left the temple.“I live on the river,” said Lucius. “I came in a thalamegus.”They walked beside him, like shades. When they reached the barge, Lucius said:“I am at home here. Let me thank you and pay you. May holy Isis protect you!”“May holy Isis cure you, sir!” said the hierodules.He gave them a gold coin apiece. They disappeared in the night, like shades. But under the palm-trees was another shade. It was Cora.“I am not well,” said Lucius. “I came back.”“Do you wish to go to bed, my lord?” asked Cora.“No, I should not be able to sleep,” replied Lucius. “This night is strange and unreal. I will lie here under the trees.”“I will leave you, my lord.”“No, stay,” he said. “I am ill and I feel lonely. Stay.”“Suffer me to fetch you a cloak and a pillow, my lord.”“I thank you.”She disappeared into the barge and returned with the pillow and cloak. She covered him up and pushed the pillow under his head.“The night is strange,” he repeated, “and unreal. It is like a white day. There is no dew falling. I shall remain here till Thrasyllus comes. But do you stay. I feel ill and lonely.”“What can I do, my lord? I may not sing: only the sistrum may sound to-night.”“Dance to me; move in the moonlight. Can you dance without accompaniment?”“Yes, my lord,” said Cora.He lay under the palms. Cora danced in the open moonlight, near the tall river-reeds. She twisted and turned like a white water-nymphthat had risen from the stream. She stood still, in attitudes of rapture. She adored Isis, her hands uplifted to the moon. She was very lithe and slender, very white, with white flowers and ears of wheat around her temples.He lay without moving, watching her. And he thought his only thought: where could Ilia be? For there had not been more than one pirate....When, late in the night, Thrasyllus returned, he found Lucius asleep under the palms with Cora keeping vigil beside him.“My lord is asleep,” said Cora. And she asked, “Tell me, Thrasyllus: what did Nemu-Pha say?”The old tutor looked gloomy. And he said:“The wise ages have been drowned in the night of time. Egypt is Egypt no longer. Sais is Sais no longer. If wisdom still tarries here and is still to be found, I shall find it not by the sea, not in the Delta. This is the granary and the emporium of the world ... but nothing more. Great Isis hides behind her veil the worthlessness and venality of her priests, whose last remaining pride is to sell in great secrecy the word, ‘Be a god untoyourself.’... That word does not satisfy me. But there is Memphis, there is Thebes. I still have hope, Cora ... that I shall find the divine word which will cure him.”The old man stepped on board the barge. The night waned; yonder, in Sais, the twinkling of the Burning Lamps died away.In the east, the light broke through, as through a bursting sluice. Long, rosy islands seemed to drift in an ocean of molten gold. A long flight of cranes, black against the golden sky, swept down to meet the dawn.Cocks crowed; and on the waters of Lake Butos the first lotus-blooms opened their white chalices. As it were crimson flowed and lay, here and there, over the silent, silver streaks of the canals, in pools of purple red.

In the still and silent night, the Delta lay flooded by the kindly waters of the sacred river. From the Canopic to the Sebennytic mouth, from the Phatmetic along the Mendesian to the Pelusiac mouth, the Delta lay flooded: one still and silent sea in the night, a wide, silver sheet of water without a ripple, stretching farther than the eye could reach in the soft-falling sheen of the full moon. Between the river-mouths the canals lay in streaks of silver light, full of water to their edges. Past the blossoming reeds, past the blossoming lotuses and water-lilies, the great barge glided up the stream as in a vision.

There was not a sound amid the silence but the dripping from the oars.

The night was muffled, wide and immense. It was as though the moon, up above, had inundated the sky, even as the flood the sacred land below. It was as though the flood of moonshine were drenching the sacred sky also with a calm, unrippled sea, but a sea of light. The night was like a noiseless,silvery day; the night was like a shadow of the day. In that inundation of the light of heaven the stars paled, innumerous, like a silvery powder sprinkled by the moonshine. There lay the lake of Butos, wide and mystic and gleaming. Island emerged after island. Palms stood in clusters, stately, motionless and delicate. A shrine appeared and vanished as the dream-barge glided down a bend of the canal. Country-mansions stood peacefully linked together. There were taller dykes and patches of golden, shadowy wheat. Sheaves of corn looked like the images of gods, reverence-compelling, ranged in order beside one another, against the wall of a barn. A peculiar scent was wafted by, a fresh aroma as of always moist flowers.

The outline of a village came into view. And hamlet joined itself to hamlet, with shrines and mansions in between. Suddenly, farther up, in the sea of glory, in the sea of light, huge needles rose on high from the ground, with quivering lines, and became lost in the midst of light.

Thrasyllus standing by Cora on the fore-castle pointed:

“The obelisks of Sais.”

She turned, with a start, and was silent.The barge that afternoon had left Naucratis along the canals which seam the Saitic nome, or province. They were now nearing the capital, Sais, the capital of all Lower Egypt. They already saw the Anubis Avenue. And suddenly, at a bend, between very tall reeds blossoming with tassels and bowing before the barge, Thrasyllus pointed:

“The temple of Isis-Neith.”

There were sphinxes: they seemed to lift their basalt heads in prayer to the moon and the sky. Lamps and lights twinkled like stars. The thalamegus hove to; orders rang out; the sailors moored the vessel.

“The temple of Isis-Neith,”Thrasyllusrepeated to Lucius, who approached with Catullus and Caleb.

They were all arrayed in long, white-linen robes. Cora also was similarly clad, in a long, white, close fitting linen robe. She wore a wreath of wheat-ears and lotus-flowers at her temples. For it was the Night of the Glowing Lights, the Feast of the Burning Lamps.

“Nemu-Pha is waiting for me in the temple,” said Thrasyllus. “I wrote to him and he has consented to receive me. He is the high-priest of Isis; and to-night hereceives those who come to consult him. I thought, Lucius, of going alone. Nemu-Pha is one of the holiest prophets in Egypt. One word from him can perhaps enable me to guess much. But, if you accompany me, with only a single thought in your sick brain, you would break the mystic thread which might be woven between the high-priest’s spirit and mine. Let me go alone. I have no other care than your happiness ... even though we are not agreed on the form which it should take.

“Go, Thrasyllus,” said Lucius.

“I don’t think that I shall go on shore,” said Uncle Catullus. “The Night of the Glowing Lights and the Feast of the Burning Lamps leave me cold. It is colourless and cheerless; it will be a spectral orgy. I am too old and fat, Lucius, for spectral orgies. Go on shore alone and amuse yourself as you may.”

Lucius assembled his slaves, male and female. They were all in long, white robes, the women wreathed with ears of wheat and lotus-flowers.

“You are all free to-night,” said Lucius. “You have a night of liberty. Until sunriseyou belong to yourselves. Go your ways and do whatever you please.”

Rufus handed each a small sum of money. The slaves bowed low and disappeared, between the palms, in the direction of the moonlit, twinkling city.

Only a guard of sailors kept watch on the barge. Uncle Catullus retired to his cabin. Tarrar also did not wish to go on shore and remained to sleep at his master’s threshold. The Feast of Isis made many shudder who were not accustomed from their youth to its shivery mysticism.

Thrasyllus had gone. Lucius also went on shore. He saw Cora hesitating under the palm-trees while the other women slaves had already gone gaily to enjoy their night of liberty:

“Why don’t you join your companions, Cora?” asked Lucius.

“My lord,” Cora replied, “if you permit me, I would rather stay here.”

“You are free to-night.”

“What should I do with liberty, my lord?”

“You can do what you please, go to the temple and see the veiled Isis ... and enjoyyourself as and with whom you choose.”

She cast down her eyes and blushed.

“There is a general holiday to-night,” continued Lucius, “for slaves male and female.”

She folded her hands as though in prayer:

“My lord,” she begged, “suffer me to remain here, near the barge. I am afraid of liberty and of the big city.”

“Do as you please,” said Lucius.

He went on alone. Loneliness sent a shiver through him because of this strange night which was like day. A white melancholy emanated from his soul. He felt aimless. He would have preferred to accompany Thrasyllus. He would not have minded going to bed. He had almost invited Cora to accompany him to Sais, but did not think it suited to his dignity.

He went alone, in his white raiment, in the bountiful moonlight. How strange the night was, all white and trembling. He approached the town. There was nothing but the monotonous rattling of the sistra carried by the long-robed pilgrims who walked in procession to the temple. All the houses along the road were lit with the lamps burning at the doors and windows, vessels full of oil withburning wicks. It was a strange pale-yellow twinkling in the moonshine. It was like a funeral ceremony. For it commemorated the night on which Isis had collected the scattered limbs of her brother and husband Osiris, murdered and quartered by Typhon and scattered all over Egypt.

The procession streamed to the temple. Along the road, the hierodules, the priestesses, danced to a monotonous chant, hand in hand, in a long row. They threw a laugh to the numberless strangers who had come to Sais, for that night. The strangers laughed back and picked out the priestesses; and they withdrew together, first to the temple, then farther away.

Three hierodules laughed to Lucius. They danced round him. He did not wish to seem uncivil; also he felt very forlorn. He just laughed back, wearily and kindly.

“Shall we come with you?” asked one of the hierodules.

“As you please,” said Lucius. “Are you going to the temple?”

“If you wish.”

They walked in front of him and beside him. They wore white, close-fitting robes, with lotus-flowers and ears of wheat in theirhair. They were gentle and civil and obliging and young, like three young children.

The white multitude streamed along the streets. The obelisks of the dromos came into view. The temple rose gigantic and mysterious, with numbers of square buildings and terraces stacked one above the other. There were rows of gigantic pylons, which lost themselves in the moonlit night. The monotonous melody of the sistra rattled on every side; on every side the lamps twinkled. Lucius felt within him an immeasurable melancholy, because of life and because of death, because of people and because of himself.

The hierodules led the way. They were kind and courteous, glad at meeting this amiable stranger, to whom they would be obliging, as their duty prescribed that night.

They entered the pronaos and secos. In the immensity of the pillared spaces the countless sistra rattled eerily, producing a vibration which was no longer music: it was as though the pylons and pillars themselves were rattling, as though the very earth were rattling.

Suddenly Lucius felt a cold shiver pass through him. In the holy of holies rose theveiled Isis. It was an immense statue, five fathoms high and surrounded entirely with a silvery film, seamed with hieroglyphics. Above the image, on the architrave, was written:

I AM WHO HAVE BEEN,WHO AMAND WHO SHALL BE;AND NO ONE HAS LIFTED MY VEIL.

I AM WHO HAVE BEEN,WHO AMAND WHO SHALL BE;AND NO ONE HAS LIFTED MY VEIL.

Around the image shone thousands of burning vessels, of glowing lamps. There was a mist of light and a smoke of incense. And round about the image there was the incessant dance of the hierodules and the worship of the sacrificing priests, all the night through. And ever, like an obsession, there was the rattle of the sistra, as though the whole immense temple were rattling.

Lucius, led by the three women, offered his sacrifice at one of the numberless altars. The priest pronounced the sacred words and Lucius poured forth the libation and paid his gold coin.

He felt desperately unhappy.

“Sir,” asked one of the women, “do you wish us all three to accompany you to oneof the temple-chambers? Or would you have two of us go away?”

He laughed softly at their polite manners, like those of young and well-brought-up children. He gave a melancholy glance:

“I am unwell, I am very unwell,” he said. “I think I will go home alone.”

“Your eyes are full of pain, sir,” said one of the hierodules.

And one of the others said:

“Cannot we comfort you and cure you?”

Lucius shook his head.

“Then let us lead you home,” said the third.

They left the temple.

“I live on the river,” said Lucius. “I came in a thalamegus.”

They walked beside him, like shades. When they reached the barge, Lucius said:

“I am at home here. Let me thank you and pay you. May holy Isis protect you!”

“May holy Isis cure you, sir!” said the hierodules.

He gave them a gold coin apiece. They disappeared in the night, like shades. But under the palm-trees was another shade. It was Cora.

“I am not well,” said Lucius. “I came back.”

“Do you wish to go to bed, my lord?” asked Cora.

“No, I should not be able to sleep,” replied Lucius. “This night is strange and unreal. I will lie here under the trees.”

“I will leave you, my lord.”

“No, stay,” he said. “I am ill and I feel lonely. Stay.”

“Suffer me to fetch you a cloak and a pillow, my lord.”

“I thank you.”

She disappeared into the barge and returned with the pillow and cloak. She covered him up and pushed the pillow under his head.

“The night is strange,” he repeated, “and unreal. It is like a white day. There is no dew falling. I shall remain here till Thrasyllus comes. But do you stay. I feel ill and lonely.”

“What can I do, my lord? I may not sing: only the sistrum may sound to-night.”

“Dance to me; move in the moonlight. Can you dance without accompaniment?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Cora.

He lay under the palms. Cora danced in the open moonlight, near the tall river-reeds. She twisted and turned like a white water-nymphthat had risen from the stream. She stood still, in attitudes of rapture. She adored Isis, her hands uplifted to the moon. She was very lithe and slender, very white, with white flowers and ears of wheat around her temples.

He lay without moving, watching her. And he thought his only thought: where could Ilia be? For there had not been more than one pirate....

When, late in the night, Thrasyllus returned, he found Lucius asleep under the palms with Cora keeping vigil beside him.

“My lord is asleep,” said Cora. And she asked, “Tell me, Thrasyllus: what did Nemu-Pha say?”

The old tutor looked gloomy. And he said:

“The wise ages have been drowned in the night of time. Egypt is Egypt no longer. Sais is Sais no longer. If wisdom still tarries here and is still to be found, I shall find it not by the sea, not in the Delta. This is the granary and the emporium of the world ... but nothing more. Great Isis hides behind her veil the worthlessness and venality of her priests, whose last remaining pride is to sell in great secrecy the word, ‘Be a god untoyourself.’... That word does not satisfy me. But there is Memphis, there is Thebes. I still have hope, Cora ... that I shall find the divine word which will cure him.”

The old man stepped on board the barge. The night waned; yonder, in Sais, the twinkling of the Burning Lamps died away.

In the east, the light broke through, as through a bursting sluice. Long, rosy islands seemed to drift in an ocean of molten gold. A long flight of cranes, black against the golden sky, swept down to meet the dawn.Cocks crowed; and on the waters of Lake Butos the first lotus-blooms opened their white chalices. As it were crimson flowed and lay, here and there, over the silent, silver streaks of the canals, in pools of purple red.

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