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The Collected Works of Georg Ebers. Georg Ebers
Читать онлайн.Название The Collected Works of Georg Ebers
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isbn 4064066392413
Автор произведения Georg Ebers
Жанр Языкознание
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Cambyses, Bartja and their friends already known to us, were still standing in the gaily-carpeted court of the palace, surrounded by at least a hundred splendid dignitaries in magnificent dresses, when suddenly a sound of loud female voices was heard, and a lovely Persian girl richly dressed, her thick fair hair profusely wreathed with pearls, rushed into the court, pursued by several women older than herself. She ran up to the group of men; Cambyses with a smile placed himself in her path, but the impetuous girl slipped adroitly past him, and in another moment was hanging on Bartja’s neck, crying and laughing by turns.
The attendants in pursuit prostrated themselves at a respectful distance, but Cambyses, on seeing the caresses lavished by the young girl on her newly-returned brother, cried: “For shame, Atossa! remember that since you began to wear ear-rings you have ceased to be a child!
[Ear-rings were given to the Persian girls in their fifteenth year,
the marriageable age. Vendid. Farlard XIV. 66. At this age too
boys as well as girls were obliged to wear the sacred cord, Kuctl or
Kosti as a girdle; and were only allowed to unloose it in the night.
The making of this cord is attended with many ceremonies, even among
the Persians of our own day. Seventy-two threads must be employed,
but black wool is prohibited.]
It is right that you should rejoice to see your brother again, but a king’s daughter must never forget what is due to her rank, even in her greatest joy. Go back to your mother directly. I see your attendants waiting yonder. Go and tell them, that as this is a day of rejoicing I will allow your heedless conduct to pass unpunished, but the next time you appear unbidden in these apartments, which none may enter without permission, I shall tell Boges to keep you twelve days in confinement. Remember this, thoughtless child, and tell our mother, Bartja and I are coming to visit her. Now give me a kiss. You will not? We shall see, capricious little one!” And so saying the king sprang towards his refractory little sister, and seizing both her hands in one of his own, bent back her charming head with the other and kissed her in spite of her resistance. She screamed from the violence of his grasp, and ran away crying to her attendants, who took her back to her apartments.
When Atossa had disappeared, Bartja said; “You were too rough with the little one, Cambyses. She screamed with pain!”
Once more the king’s face clouded, but suppressing the harsh words which trembled on his lips, he only answered, turning towards the house: “Let us come to our mother now; she begged me to bring you as soon as you arrived. The women, as usual, are all impatience. Nitetis told me your rosy cheeks and fair curls had bewitched the Egyptian women too. I would advise you to pray betimes to Mithras for eternal youth, and for his protection against the wrinkles of age!”
“Do you mean to imply by these words that I have no virtues which could make an old age beautiful?” asked Bartja.
“I explain my words to no one. Come.”
“But I ask for an opportunity of proving, that I am inferior to none of my nation in manly qualities.”
“For that matter, the shouts of the Babylonians today will have been proof enough, that deeds are not wanted from you, in order to win their admiration.”
“Cambyses!”
“Now come! We are just on the eve of a war with the Massagetae; there you will have a good opportunity of proving what you are worth.”
A few minutes later, and Bartja was in the arms of his blind mother. She had been waiting for her darling’s arrival with a beating heart, and in the joy of hearing his voice once more, and of being able to lay her hands again on that beloved head, she forgot everything else—even her first-born son who stood by smiling bitterly, as he watched the rich and boundless stream of a mother’s love flowing out to his younger brother.
Cambyses had been spoiled from his earliest infancy. Every wish had been fulfilled, every look regarded as a command; and thus he grew up totally unable to brook contradiction, giving way to the most violent anger if any of his subjects (and he knew no human beings who were not his subjects) dared to oppose him.
His father Cyrus, conqueror of half the world—the man whose genius had raised Persia from a small nation to the summit of earthly greatness—who had secured for himself the reverence and admiration of countless subjugated tribes—this great king was incapable of carrying out in his own small family-circle the system of education he had so successfully adopted towards entire countries. He could see nought else in Cambyses but the future king of Persia, and commanded his subjects to pay him an unquestioning obedience, entirely forgetful of the fact that he who is to govern well must begin by learning to obey.
Cambyses had been the first-born son of Kassandane, the wife whom Cyrus had loved and married young; three daughters followed, and at last, fifteen years later, Bartja had come into the world. Their eldest son had already outgrown his parents’ caresses, when this little child appeared to engross all their care and love. His gentle, affectionate and clinging nature made him the darling of both father and mother: Cambyses was treated with consideration by his parents, but their love was for Bartja. Cambyses was brave; he distinguished himself often in the field, but his disposition was haughty and imperious; men served him with fear and trembling, while Bartja, ever sociable and sympathizing, converted all his companions into loving friends. As to the mass of the people, they feared the king, and trembled when he drew near, notwithstanding the lavish manner in which he showered rich gifts around him; but they loved Bartja, and believed they saw in him the image of the great Cyrus the “Father of his people.”
Cambyses knew well that all this love, so freely given to Bartja, was not to be bought. He did not hate his younger brother, but he felt annoyed that a youth who had as yet done nothing to distinguish himself, should be honored and revered as if he were already a hero and public benefactor. Whatever annoyed or displeased him he considered must be wrong; where he disapproved he did not spare his censures, and from his very childhood, Cambyses’ reproofs had been dreaded even by the mighty.
The enthusiastic shouts of the populace, the overflowing love of his mother and sister, and above all, the warm encomiums expressed by Nitetis, had excited a jealousy which his pride had never allowed hitherto. Nitetis had taken his fancy in a remarkable degree. This daughter of a powerful monarch, like himself disdaining everything mean and inferior, had yet acknowledged him to be her superior, and to win his favor had not shrunk from the laborious task of mastering his native language. These qualities, added to her peculiar style of beauty, which excited his admiration from its rare novelty, half Egyptian half Greek, (her mother having been a Greek), had not failed to make a deep impression on him. But she had been liberal in her praise of Bartja; that was enough to disturb Cambyses’ mind and prepare the way for jealousy.
As he and his brother were leaving the women’s apartments, Cambyses adopted a hasty resolution and exclaimed: “You asked me just now for an opportunity of proving your courage. I will not refuse. The Tapuri have risen; I have sent troops to the frontier. Go to Rhagae, take the command and show what you are worth.”
“Thanks, brother,” cried Bartja. “May I take my friends, Darius, Gyges and Zopyrus with me?”
“That favor shall be granted too. I hope you will all do your duty bravely and promptly, that you may be back in three months to join the main army in the expedition of revenge on the Massagetae. It will take place in spring.”
“I will start to-morrow.”
“Then farewell.”
“If Auramazda should spare my life and I should return victorious, will you promise to grant me one favor?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Now, then, I feel confident of victory, even if I should have to stand with a thousand men against ten thousand of the enemy.” Bartja’s eyes sparkled, he was thinking of Sappho.