The Land of Enchantment/Harry and Herodotus
OOR Harry was disappointed of a trip to Greece, owing to illness in his family, and whilst he was moping during his parents’ absence, Herodotus came upon him one day in the garden, and spent several days with him recounting tales of ancient Greece and Persia. Harry was much grieved
when his entertaining friend left him, but Herodotus promised to return the next year and tell him more strange tales. It was Midsummer again, and Harry had returned from the long-deferred trip to Greece full of excitement and wonder at all he had seen. He wandered down to his favourite spot by the river side. There he sat dreaming over all he had seen, when a shadow suddenly fell across the grass. Harry looked up sharply. It was Herodotus, his old friend, in his flowing white garments, gazing down at him with his clear eyes.
Harry sprang to his feet.
“Oh, sir! Oh, Herodotus! How glad I am to see you again.”
The Greek smiled.
“And I am much rejoiced to see thee.”
“Didst thou visit my native country? Thou hast seen the City of the Violet Crown,[2] and many other spots famed in history and in song? Thou hast trod ground which the heroes trod—thou hast gazed on the mountains which witnessed their wondrous deeds, on the sea which bore them away on strange journeys?”
“Yes,” answered Harry, his eyes sparkling, “and it was all far, far finer than I thought it would be. Besides, everything you had told me made it so much more interesting. In fact, I owe you no end, for Father was so pleased that I knew so much about all the old chaps you told me about that he promised me—what do you think?”
“I am no Delphic Oracle!” replied Herodotus, smiling.
“Well, he said he would take me to Egypt next year. Isn’t that ripping?”
“I am glad for thee,” said Herodotus, “and strange ’tis that I was about to tell thee of ancient Egypt. Even as I came towards thee I had this in my mind.”
“Right away!” cried Harry. “I’m so glad you're starting.”
“Well, thou knowest that the Egyptian race is one of the oldest in the world; that the record of their kings, or ‘dynasties’ as they are called, goeth back to three thousand years and more before the birth of Christ. In ancient Egypt the people boasted that they were the oldest race of all, but their king Psammetichus, who died in 611 B.C., was the first to undeceive them. And he did it in this wise. He took two infants and gave them to his shepherds, with strict commands to bring them up in a cottage apart from all other dwellings on the hills. None was to speak to them—only were they to have their fill of goats’ milk each day. Psammetichus’ commands were faithfully obeyed; and one day, two years after, when the herdsman entered the hut, the children ran towards him with outstretched hands, crying ‘Becos.’ At first the man took no heed of this; but after a while he told the king, who summoned the children to his presence. ‘Becos’ they cried again, and Psammetichus set to work at once to find what people used that word. He discovered it to be Phrygian for ‘ bread.’ The Phrygians dwelt in Asia Minor, thou knowest. Thereupon Psammetichus declared that although the Egyptians exceeded most nations in antiquity, yet the Phrygians exceeded them.”
“Those old johnnies had some first-rate ideas,” said Harry approvingly, as he chewed a piece of grass and lay on his back amongst the buttercups.
“Methinks, though,” said Herodotus musingly, “that the word the children spoke was sooner the cry of the goats than a Phrygian word.”
“I never thought of that,” said Harry. “Of course, ‘becos’ does sound like bleating. It’s a good story, anyway.”
“Thou wilt marvel,“ continued Herodotus, “to hear of things which existed in ancient Egypt—of inventions, of games, of customs— 
“All through Egypt every man burns a lamp” (p. 42).
“Tell me about them,” said Harry.
“It is difficult to know where to commence, for there is so much to tell. Thou knowest the two chief gods of the Egyptians?”
“No,”’ answered Harry.
“Thou hast not heard of Isis, the goddess with horns of a cow, wife of Osiris, who shared with Ra, the sun-god, chief place among the gods of Egypt; nor of Seth, with whom Osiris perpetually strives? Osiris thou mayest consider the good, Seth the evil in the world. Nor of Horus, son of Osiris and Isis, also a sun-god? Nor of Apis, the sacred bull, the emblem of Osiris? Nor of Serapis, the dead bull? Thou wilt hear and see much of them when thou visitest the country. The Egyptians paid much heed to the ceremonies of religion, and sacrificed to their gods—animal and vegetable sacrifices—and they burned much incense. I cannot tell thee of all their festivals and customs, but of some I will speak. One did I witness which pleased me much—the Feast of Lamps, in honour of Isis. There is one night when all the dwellers in Sdro burn lights around their houses—floating wicks in saucers of salt and oil—while all through Egypt every man burns a lamp.”
“How pretty it must have looked,” said Harry. “Something like the Earl’s Court Exhibition at night.”
Herodotus looked slightly puzzled, but went on—
“But other festivals were less pleasant. In one priests and worshippers engaged in combat with wooden clubs, and oftentimes grievous hurt was caused, though I was assured that none was killed.”
“What on earth did they do that for?”’ asked Harry, sitting up excitedly at the mention of a fight.
“It was a custom to oppose the entrance of the image of the god into the temple at the close of the day. It was also a custom at festivals of Osiris for men and women to beat themselves and even cut their faces with knives.”
“How very unpleasant!” said Harry.
“The explanation of the fight,” said Herodotus, “is said to be that the god Mars, who had been brought up in the temple, wanted to visit his mother, but her attendants, never having seen him, refused him admission. Whereupon the warlike god went to a neighbouring city and rallied round him a body of men, who forced an entrance for him, and treated the attendants none too gently. Therefore a fight with clubs is appointed for this festival.”
“Were the Egyptian gods at all like the Greek?” asked Harry.
“Oh, yes!” replied Herodotus, “for it is my belief that the Greek gods came, with but few exceptions, from Egypt—but this is a subject too long and too deep to speak of now. When thou readest my writings thou wilt learn much about this very question.”
“I wish I could read them already,” said Harry. ”I believe there was some man—a poet, I think—who said he awoke one morning and found himself famous. Now, I′d far sooner wake one morning and find I knew Greek.”
“Ah!” replied Herodotus smiling, “naught of value is gained save by labour. The poet had laboured, thou mayest be sure—possibly with tears and hunger—ere he attained that fame.”
“I suppose so,” said Harry sighing. “Please tell me some more now, Herodotus. What were the priests like?”
“They wore linen garments, and shoes of the papyrus plant, which thou knowest was a reed, and from which so many things were made by the Egyptians. And they might only eat of certain things—fish and beans they might not touch. Moreover, they bathed twice each day and twice each night, and all things for their sustenance were provided for them. They had thousands of different ceremonies, but in different parts of Egypt different customs prevailed. For instance, the Thebans would not sacrifice goats or rams, and held them sacred, while some of the Egyptians sacrificed goats in preference to sheep, and hold the cow, the emblem of Isis, entirely sacred, and so forth.”
“What happened when a cow died?” asked Harry.
“The carcase was cast into the river; but when an ox died it was buried in the suburbs of the town, with one horn, or both, appearing above the ground. Then, when the body was decayed a boat came from the island of Prosopitis and collected the bones from the different cities.”
“Queer notions,” mused Harry.
“Animals played a great part in the life of Egypt,” said Herodotus, “and when next I visit thee I will tell thee more concerning them and other strange things, ere we come to the history of the people and their kings.”
“Must you go already?” said Harry, his face falling.
“Yes,” replied the Greek, gathering his robes around him; “but ere I go, I pray thee remember that I tell thee many wondrous things I heard from others, but thou must not think I believe all to be true. When thou art older, thou canst search and think them out for thyself. Farewell.”
And Harry stood alone among the buttercups.
Harry had just come back from his afternoon’s work with Mr. Grey, the clergyman, with whom he was studying that summer, for he was not strong enough to go to school. He dismounted hurriedly—Harry was lucky enough to possess a pony—and ran down to the stream. He had a presentiment that Herodotus would be there. It was several days since the Greek had told him of the wonders of Egypt, and Harry was beginning to long for his friend. For once, a presentiment came true. There by the water’s edge sat the Greek, wrapped in thought, and gazing at the yellow waterlilies with unseeing eyes. Harry was almost afraid to disturb him, but at the sound of a breaking twig Herodotus looked up and smiled.
“I am glad thou art here. I wondered if thou wouldst come.”
“Well, I had a sort of a kind of feeling you would come,” said Harry, “and so I rushed down here. I′m awfully glad to see you again, Herodotus. You see, Mother and Father are away such a lot, and I’ve no one to speak to except old Nurse, and I′m a bit lonely now and again.”
“Yes, I can understand that thou art solitary, for thou hast neither brother nor sister, but then thou hast much to make life pleasant.’
“Oh, yes,” said Harry, flicking his boot with his riding whip. “Of course I have; lots of chaps would envy me, I′m sure, but I wish I had a brother.”
Herodotus looked with admiring eyes at the little boy with his curly hair and dark eyes, and his upright figure, which riding clothes set off so well.
“Now forget thy sorrows,” he said banteringly, “and listen to more of my traveller′s tales.”
Harry sat down on the grass, clasped his arms round his knees— a favourite position of his—and fixed his eyes on Herodotus’ face.
“Special food was prepared for him” (p. 47).
“I’m longing to hear more about those old Egyptian fellows,” he said.
“Well, one peculiarity which will interest thee since thou comest from thy studies is the writing of the Egyptians. They had two kinds—one sacred and one common—the one used by the priests being called hieratic; the one used by anyone who could write being demotic. More- over, they wrote from right to left, and not from left to right, as thou and I do now, though of old we also wrote from right to left. Thou hast no doubt seen some of the Egyptian writing, which thou wouldst call hieroglyphics, and in which the letters and words are chiefly represented by pictures.”
“I suppose I could see it on Cleopatra’s Needle?” said Harry. “It stands down by the river in London, you know. Mother told me it came from Egypt. It must have wanted a jolly big ship to bring it over.”
“I have seen it,” said Herodotus; “with the sphinxes guarding it on either side. Now, lest I weary thee, I will tell thee of the animals of Egypt, for, like all boys of thy race, I have no doubt thou lovest all animals.”
“Ra—ther!” said Harry; “you should see my guinea No, I won’t interrupt, for I want to hear you speak. Were they kind to animals in Egypt? Some people are brutes, so Father says, and treat animals shamefully.”
“The Egyptians held most animals sacred,” said Herodotus, smiling at Harry’s outburst, “and each animal had special persons to watch over it—both men and women—what thou mightst call ‘animal priests.’ Thus, when a man had made a vow to a god he shaved his son’s head, weighed the hair against a sum of silver, and devoted the money to purchasing food for the animal sacred to the god. Moreover, if a man killed a sacred animal intentionally, he suffered death; if unintentionally, he paid a fine. But there was no punishment save death for the killing of an ibis or a hawk.”
“What awful rot!” said Harry. “As if a man‘s life was worth less than an animal’s. I love all animals, but I can’t see that.”
“Nay,” replied Herodotus, “I cannot see the justice, but remember that men’s ideas could not be the same many thousands of years ago.”
“Weren‘t cats very sacred in Egypt?” said Harry. “I thought I heard that they turned cats into mummies, just like people.”
“Yes, thou hast heard aright. I can tell thee a strange tale of the cats of Egypt. When a fire occurred, the people allowed it to rage itself out, while they stood round and tried to prevent the cats from being burnt. But the animals slipped past them into the flames and invariably perished. Whereupon the whole household went into mourning, and shaved their eyebrows.”
“Well, I never!” said Harry, in great astonishment.
“They were buried at Bubastis—embalmed as thou sayest.”
“Father knows a man who has some cat mummies, I believe,” said Harry. “I must get him to show them to me. They must be funny things to have about the house. Please tell me some more animal yarns, Herodotus.”
“Dogs, hawks, and shrew-mice, and, of course, ibises, were buried in sacred spots; but wolves and bears, of which there were but few, were buried where they were found.”
“And the crocodiles: what happened to them ?”
“Ah! there was a difference in their case. Some Egyptians con- sidered them sacred, others as a foe. Some of them—those who dwelt near Lake Mœris—tamed one special crocodile, and put rings of gold in his ears, and bracelets on his forefeet. Special food was prepared for him, and when he died there was great ceremony. The people of Elephantine, however, did not hold them sacred, but ate them.”
“It must be pretty difficult to catch a crocodile,” reflected Harry.
“I will tell thee one mode of capture. A piece of pork was placed upon a hook and flung into the centre of the stream, while a man upon the bank beat a pig. The cries of the pig attracted the crocodile, who swam towards the shore, came upon the pork, swallowed it, and was then dragged to land and killed.”
“Rather a good idea,” said Harry. “Ugh! they do look such brutes. I’ve seen them at the Zoo.”
“They are indeed terrible. Only one creature fears them not— that is the bird called the trochilus. It happens that the crocodile, owing to its living in the water, has his mouth infested with leeches. When he comes out of the water and lies upon the land he opens his jaws and lies with them thus, facing the west. Then the trochilus flies into the crocodile′s mouth and devours the leeches, greatly to the relief of the animal, who does not harm the bird.”
“That is most interesting,” said Harry. “Not very pleasant, though, for the tro—troch—what d′you call him ?—trochilus, if the crocodile shut his mouth by mistake.”
“I do not think that occurred often,” replied Herodotus smiling. “I did not see it, that I can tell thee.”
“And what next, Herodotus?” urged Harry. “I love these animal stories.”
“Hast thou heard of the phœnix?”
“No,” said Harry, “I can’t say I have. Was it animal, vegetable, or mineral?”
“It was a bird,” replied the Greek; “a sacred bird, which I have never seen save on pictures. That is not surprising, for the Egyptians say it comes but once in five hundred years, when the old phœnix dies. Its feathers are partly red and partly golden, and it resembles an eagle.”
“Five hundred years,” mused Harry. “That’s a good innings.”
“I have heard a strange story of the phœnix, which I fear me is not true. I was told that it journeys from Arabia with the body of its parent, which it places in the Temple of the Sun. And the manner of bringing it is this. It makes a large ball of myrrh (which is a spice thou knowest), as heavy as it can carry. Then it hollows it out, places the parent’s body inside, plasters the hole up, and bears the ball along to Egypt.”
“It does sound rather like a fairy tale,” said Harry. “Now I come to think of it, I do believe I’ve heard of the phœnix. I think Father once told me about a red and gold bird that made its own funeral pile—I think he called it—and then set fire to it, and was burnt up, singing all the time, and then came to life again out of the ashes. Can I be dreaming?”
“Nay,” replied Herodotus, “I, too, have heard that story.”
“And I’ve seen a picture of some Fire Insurance thing with a phœnix on it, I believe. Can you just draw me a picture of it?”
Herodotus took out his waxen tablets and stilus, and drew a rough sketch.
“Yes, that’s it,” cried Harry. “You know a fire insurance is a place where you pay some money every year, and if your house is burnt down they pay you, so it’s a jolly good trade mark to have a phœnix.”
“Yes,” replied Herodotus, who seemed rather mystified at Harry’s strange description!
“Any more animals?” asked Harry.
“Winged serpents, I was told, had lived in Egypt, and I myself journeyed to Buto to see if this were true. There I was shown ribs and back-bones without number at the entrance to a narrow pass in the mountains, which leads to Arabia. I was told that in the springtime the winged serpents come flying from Arabia to Egypt, but are met by the ibises, who destroy them all. Therefore I saw none living.”
“Well, there are flying-fish,” said Harry, “so why shouldn’t there be flying snakes? I shouldn’t like to meet one. A crawling snake must be bad enough—just fancy what a flying snake must be, especially if it’s poisonous.”
“And now I have no more to tell thee of animals, but will speak to thee of the customs of the Egyptians and other things. What thinkest thou of their custom at banquets? When the feast was ended in the house of a rich man, a servant went round to each guest with a coffin containing the wooden image of a corpse, carved and painted to represent nature as far as possible. To each in turn he showed the image and said: “Gaze here, and drink and be merry, for when you die such will you be.”
“What a very strange idea,” said Harry, and he was quite thoughtful for a moment or two.
“To me it was a beautiful idea,” said the Greek. ‘Men think too little of the flying hours, and act as if they were to live for ever. It is well to be reminded of what is the fate of all, lest we linger too long at the banquet. But thou needst not brood over such things now. When thou art older thou wilt have time for such thoughts. Meanwhile, enjoy the sunshine and the green leaves, and be happy—that is thy task.”
There was a silence for a few minutes.
“I am thinking of what will interest thee most from out the many stories I can tell thee. Thou shouldst know that in one custom the Egyptians resembled a Greek people—the Lacedæmonians—they who dwelt in Sparta. They had great respect for age, and when a young man met an old man in the street he stept aside to let him pass, or if an old man came in when a young man was present the latter rose from his seat.”
“We’re taught to do that, too,” said Harry.
“The Lacedæmonians alone of all the Greeks practised this—a custom of much value,” said Herodotus. “But in one custom they differed from us all. On meeting in the street they did not greet each other by word of mouth, but bowed, sinking the hand to the knee.”
“And what did they wear?” asked Harry. “Chiefly linen garments—a tunic fringed about the legs, and sometimes a white woollen garment over this. But they did not like woollen garments, and never wore them in the temples or were buried in them.”
“It does seem so strange to think of wool and linen and ah 1 the things we use now being just as common in those days,” said Harry. “And I saw in a book, yesterday, pictures of some Egyptians weaving and cooking, and doing things very much as we do now. Oh, bother the gnats! How they do sting!”
And Harry made a frantic grasp at the air.
Herodotus smiled.
“Thy friends the Egyptians had devised a plan to defeat the attacks of the gnats. In certain parts of Egypt they slept in high towers out of the reach of these pests, but in other parts they spread the nets with which they fished by day over their beds at night, and crept beneath them and slept secure from the insects.”
“Why, that′s like the mosquito nets they have nowadays,” said Harry in surprise. "It seems to me they had everything we have."
“Many things not all things,” said Herodotus, as the sound of a motor-car, panting up the drive, reached their ears. “They had not such strange engines in my day. Doubtless friends of thine await thee. Farewell.”
And he was gone.
“Bother!” cried Harry. “I wonder when he′ll come again.”
The motor-car which cut short Herodotus′ last visit was one belonging to Harry′s Uncle Peter, and Uncle Peter himself was inside it, as well as his son Harry′s cousin Dick. Uncle Peter had come to carry Harry off for a Saturday to Monday motor tour, and, sorry though he was to miss Herodotus, the thought of such a novel experience was a very pleasant one, and Harry was in a wild state of excitement when they set off. His old nurse had hurriedly packed up a few things and stood on the doorstep side by side with the butler and the footman, her eyes turned up to heaven and her hands uplifted, as the motor whisked out of sight at a rate of twenty miles an hour.
“I trust I may see my precious lamb again,” she said, as she turned indoors; “but I have my fears.”
So had the butler, but he did not like to say so, for fear of being thought old-fashioned.
But the footman laughed.
And lo and behold! back came Harry on Monday morning, bubbling over with excitement at their various adventures, and not at all the worse for them. Mr. Grey had a very restless pupil that morning, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the pony carrying Master Harry away.
Harry rushed down to the stream as soon as he had finished his lunch, and was much disappointed not to see Herodotus. He threw himself down on the grass, and tried to “possess his soul in patience.” But the minutes seemed to crawl by, and at last he sprang up, saying:
“He’s not coming; what a beastly bother!” when he suddenly saw Herodotus at his side. His frown cleared, and he smiled up at the Greek.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” he said.
“In good truth thou didst appear sad,” replied Herodotus. “It pleases me that thou dost so greatly enjoy our discourses. And what hast thou done and seen since last we met?”
Whereupon Harry plunged into an account of the motor trip, to which Herodotus listened with much interest.
“I have seen these strange machines,” he said, “and have little admiration for them. A chariot pleaseth me more. And now let us to our morning’s discourse.”
“What are we going to talk about?” asked Harry.
“We had completed the strange animals of Egypt, methinks,” replied the Greek. “Now will we turn to other strange matters. Me- thinks I have not touched on the custom of embalming.”
“No,” said Harry; “I don’t think you have. That’s got to do with mummies, hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” replied Herodotus; “thou knowest, perchance, that the Egyptians preserved the bodies of their dead—from the highest to the lowest in the land.”
“Oh, yes,” said Harry. “I’ve seen the mummies in the British Museum, and jolly interesting they are, too.”
“Then will I not speak more of this custom, for I have much more to tell thee. Hast thou heard of the lotus flower?”
“No,” said Harry.
“Thou must remember that. It is a water lily which grows in Egypt after the Nile floods, and the ancient Egyptians gathered the blossoms, dried them in the sun, and crushed the centre of each flower into a flour, of which they made bread. This was for economy’s sake. The root, too, of the lotus they did eat—it had a very agreeable taste. Why laughest thou?”
“You made such a beastly bad pun,” said Harry. “Didn’t you notice?. You said they crush the centre of each flower into a flour. Please excuse me; perhaps you didn’t have puns in Greek.”
It was Herodotus’ turn to smile now.
“No puns! Ah, my boy, wait till thou readest our plays.”
“I’m longing to,” said Harry, “especially if they're funny. But I’m sorry I interrupted you, Herodotus. Please go on.”
“I have not told thee much of the Nile. Thou knowest that every year it overflowed. ’Twas a strange sight. Nowadays thou hast heard that men have set dams which prevent it; but of old the whole country was under water, and the cities appeared like islands floating in it. In those days thou couldst sail from the sea-coast town of Candbus across the plain to Naucratis, past the cities of Anthylla and Archandropolis. It will amuse thee to hear that the city of Anthylla was given to the wife of the ruler of Egypt to keep her in shoes. This custom exists from the days of the Persian conquest.”
“Why, that’s something like what Father once told me. Let me think; what was it? Oh, I know. It was about ‘pin money.’ In olden times, I believe, pins were so dear that people used to give their wives money for them—a sort of allowance, I think, they call it; and that’s how people come to speak of ‘pin money’ nowadays.”
Herodotus did not seem to understand much of this discourse, but he smiled blandly, and went on:
“Now will I begin to tell thee something of the history of Egypt. Till now I have told thee of things I have myself seen or discovered by enquiry. But what follows was told me by the Egyptians.
“The first king of Egypt, I was told, was called Mĕn, but the date of his reign is lost in the mist of ages. It was he who built a dyke to protect Memphis from the Nile floods, so thou seest, as one said of old, ‘There is no new thing under the sun.’
“After Mĕn there followed three hundred and thirty kings and one queen, who was called Nitocris.’
“Oh, wasn’t there a queen of Babylon called Nitocris?” cried Harry.
“Yes,” replied the Greek, and he seemed pleased. “Strange to say, Nitocris of the Egyptians was also famed for her dealings with a river, 
“Then was the thief’s opportunity” (p. 55)-
“Yes, I remember,” said Harry; “and then she was buried over a gateway, with the inscription and all that fuss.”
“Thou hast remembered more than I had thought. Well, this Nitocris of Egypt was set on the throne in room of her brother, who was murdered by the people. Nitocris planned revenge. She built a great underground chamber, and, on pretence of inviting the Egyptians (whom she knew had played the chief part in her brother’s death) to celebrate the opening of it, she let in the river upon them while they were feasting, and drowned them all. Then she killed herself to avoid punishment.
“The next monarch of whom I will tell thee was Rhampsinitus— before him was one great conqueror and explorer-king, Sesostris, but I have not much of interest to tell thee concerning him. Rhampsinitus had great wealth, especially of silver, and in order to keep it in safety he had a great stone chamber built on to his palace. The builder, how- ever, devised one stone which he could remove, and thus obtain entrance to the treasure-house under cover of night. When he was dying he revealed the secret to his sons, and they continued to plunder the king’s treasure. Rhampsinitus at length noticed his decreasing wealth, and could not imagine how the thief obtained entrance, for the chamber seemed intact. So he set a trap near one of the jars which held his treasure, and behold! when next the thief and his brother entered the treasure-chamber one of them was fast caught in the trap. Whereupon he cried:
“Cut off my head, oh brother, that none may know who I am when I am found, and thus, thou mayest escape.”
“Rather decent of him,” observed Harry.
“The brother did as he was bid, and escaped by means of the stone, bearing the head with him. When day broke the king came into the room and found the headless body of the thief. Greatly puzzled was the king, both as to how the thief had effected entrance, and what had become of his head. So he commanded that the body should be hung up outside the palace wall, in order that any person who might appear to be grief-stricken at sight of it should be brought before him. When the mother of the thief heard of the way in which her son’s body was treated, she was most unhappy, and begged her other son to find a way to rescue it.
“Otherwise,” said she, “will I go to the king myself and tell him all.
“She gave him no peace till at last he devised a plan. He filled some skins with wine, placed them on donkeys, and made his way to the place where the guards were watching his brother’s body. Arrived there, he opened one or two of the skins, so that the wine began to pour out. He appeared distracted at the supposed accident, so the guards rushed to help him, each bringing some vessel in which to catch the wine. The thief pretended to be very angry at their interference, but at last allowed himself to be pacified to such an extent that he presented them with some of the wine. They drank far too much of it, and soon fell fast asleep. Then was the thief′s opportunity. He cut down his brother’s body, shaved off the right side of each soldier’s beard, and left them to awake to their folly!”
“What a smart chap,” said Harry, admiringly. “He’d have made a splendid Sherlock Holmes. What happened to him?”
“Well, the king was so struck with his cleverness—for he had other adventures—that he offered him a free pardon and his daughter for his wife; so he did not do so badly after all.
“There is a strange tale told of Rhampsinitus, too, that he went down to the region which we call Hades—where those who are dead go, thou knowest—and there he played at dice with the goddess Ceres, who gave him a golden napkin when he returned to the light of day.”
“That sounds a bit of a tale, doesn’t it?” said Harry, with a knowing air.
“I cannot tell whether these things be true or not—I can but vouch for those things mine eyes have seen. It doth not follow that a man believes all tales he tells you. For instance, I will tell thee a strange belief of the Egyptians, but thou needest not think it is mine. They believed that when a man dies, his spirit enters into the form of an animal, and thus onwards through the ages from one to another, till it has passed through all creatures of earth, air, and water, when it at length enters into human form again. They said, moreover, that all these changes took three thousand years to achieve.”
“What a strange notion,” said Harry. “I shouldn’t much like to become an animal, except, perhaps, a horse, or a dog—but fancy being a frog or a mouse. Ugh!”
“Well, we must part for to-day,” said the Greek, wrapping his “chiton” round him. “On the morrow I will tell thee of other strange things.”
“Oh, Herodotus, I shan’t be here to-morrow. I am to go over and spend the day with my granny. I’m very fond of her, and I haven't seen her for a long time; but oh! I am sorry to miss you. You'll come the day after, won’t you?”
“If the sun be shining.”
And Harry was once more alone by the river’s brink.
Harry happened to oversleep himself after his visit to his grandmother, so Herodotus was waiting for him. Harry was profuse in apologies.
“It matters not,” said the Greek. “Tell me, didst thou have much pleasure yesterday?”
“Rather,” said Harry. “I always enjoy myself at Granny’s. But I had a near squeak of not coming back. She wanted me to come and stay with her, but I said I couldn’t, because Mr. Grey will be back tomorrow, and Father always says I do nothing and forget all I know when I’m at Granny’s. So I’m going to her for Christmas, and that’ll be lovely. She gave me a pound, too, and I’m going to get a book all about Egypt. Not bad, was it?”
“Nay, thou art indeed favoured by fortune,” replied Herodotus.
“But I’m very lonely sometimes,” said Harry, wistfully. “You see, Father, and Mother are away so often, and this is a large house for only nurse and me.”
“That is true,” said Herodotus; “but since nothing is perfect, thou must needs take some evil with so much good.”
“I s’pose so,” Harry replied doubtfully. “What are you going to tell me this morning, Herodotus?”
“I will tell thee something of the Pyramids. Thou knowest it has puzzled men through the ages how such gigantic works were achieved. Cheops, the king who succeeded Rhampsinitus, was twenty years in building his pyramid. From his reign begins the misgovernment of Egypt, and the crushing down of the poor. The temples were closed, and men were set to work on hewing and dragging stones for the great buildings. A hundred thousand men were set working, and every three months a hundred thousand more took their places.”
“Gracious!” cried Harry. “And how high is it?”
“Thou wouldst say 460 feet and a few inches; but in my day the outer casing was not torn away, and thus it was still larger.”
“What a pity!’ said Harry.
“Yes, for on it was inscribed the quantity of radishes, onions, and garlic consumed by the men who raised it.”
“What awful food!” said Harry.
“Yes, to thine ears it is not pleasant, but doubtless they found it not so ill to their lips, though, ’tis true, the people were grievously un- happy.”
“And who came after Cheops?”
“Chephren, his brother; but his pyramid is not so fine as Cheops’. He was hated as much as Cheops; indeed, so bitter was the memory of these two kings to the people that they would not call the pyramids by their names.”
“And what happened next?”
“Mycerinus, son of Cheops, came to the throne, and speedily re-opened the temples and released the people from oppression. He was said to be one of the wisest of kings, and was much beloved. But a heavy affliction fell upon him. His only child—a young daughter—died, and the king was heart-broken. In his grief he determined to raise a strange tomb to her. He had a cow made of wood, hollowed out, and covered with gold outside. Inside the cow he placed the body of his daughter.”
“Poor little girl,” said Harry.
“This strange tomb was kept at Saïs, in the palace, and spices were burned before it every day, while a lamp burned in the chamber all night. And once a year it was brought into the light of day; for they say that the daughter of Mycerinus, when dying, begged her father to let her once a year see the sunlight.”
“Poor little girl,” said Harry.
“Yet another calamity threatened Mycerinus. An oracle came to him which foretold that he would only live six years, and in the seventh year he should die. Mycerinus was very unhappy and indignant.
“‘Why should this befall me?’ he cried, ‘who have ruled wisely and justly, while my father and uncle oppressed the people?’
“But the oracle replied:
“‘Therein lies thy fault, for it was destined that Egypt should be oppressed for a hundred and fifty years. Thy father and uncle saw this, but thou wast blind.’
“Upon this Mycerinus saw his doom was sealed, so he determined to make the most of his six years. Thus he enjoyed himself with feasting and gaiety both day and night, and travelled here, there, and every- where in search of pleasure. He hoped in this way to cheat the oracle by turning night into day, and thus live twelve years instead of six.”
“I think it was rather rough on Mycerinus,” said Harry. “Don’t you? Poor chap! He did his best, and all he got was bothers.”
“The ways of the gods are not the ways of men,” said Herodotus.
“Who was the next king?” asked Harry.
“The next one of interest was Sethên, but before he came to the throne the Ethiopians had held the land for many years, and had driven out a blind king named Anysis; but of this I will not tell thee more. Sethên was a priest, and he neglected and offended the army, so that when Sennacherib, King of Assyria, came down on his land the warriors would not fight for Sethên. Then was the king in great distress, and he prayed fervently to the gods to help him. And he did not pray in vain, for an answer came in a dream, wherein he saw the god at his side, and heard him say, ‘Go forth without fear.’
“So Sethên gathered working people around him, and set out to meet the Assyrians. The two armies pitched their camp opposite each other, and waited for the morning to do battle. In the night a swarm of field mice gnawed the quivers and bow-strings of the Assyrians, and also the thongs of their shields, so that they had no weapons, and were put to flight with great slaughter.”
“What a bit of luck for Sethên,”’ remarked Harry.
“Thou canst imagine he was grateful; a stone statue was set up in the Temple of Vulcan—Sethên with a mouse in his hand, and the inscription ran: ‘Look on me, and learn to reverence the gods.’
“After Sethên, twelve kings ruled over Egypt, and all went well and peacefully till a certain day, when the twelve had met together to worship in the temple of Vulcan. It happened that the high priest brought by mistake eleven golden goblets instead of twelve, and Psammetichus, the king who stood last, was left without one. So he took his bronze helmet, and held it out instead. The kings were startled and enraged, for they remembered a prophecy which ran that he who should pour forth a libation from a cup of bronze in the temple of Vulcan should become king of all Egypt. The kings thought Psammetichus had done this on purpose, which was untrue. At first they wished to put him to death; but, finding he had really acted thoughtlessly, they contented themselves with banishing him.”
“Poor chap!” said Harry. “But I daresay the oracle turned out all right in the end—it generally did.”
“Yes,” replied Herodotus, “for Psammetichus, anxious to revenge himself, consulted the oracle of Buto, and was told that ‘vengeance would come from the sea, when brazen men should appear.’ This did not seem very probable, and Psammetichus was much disappointed. But soon afterwards some Carians and Ionians were driven on the Egyptian coast by foul weather, and, behold! they were attired in brazen armour. Word was brought to Psammetichus, and with their help and that of other Egyptians, he advanced against his brother-kings and defeated them.”
“Good business!” said Harry. “And what then?”
“I have little or nothing more to tell thee of Psammetichus. After him followed his son Necho, who is said to have been the first to construct the canal to the Red Sea, which in these days is called the Suez Canal. Thou hast heard of it?”
“Yes, rather,” said Harry. “I never knew, though, that the old Egyptians had one.”
“Indeed, many say that it existed in Sesostris’ days, or even before. I do but tell what I was told. It is said, though, that a hundred and twenty thousand Egyptians perished in the making of it in Necho’s reign.
“After Necho died, his son Psammis reigned, and I will tell thee of a strange but wise judgment, which will please thee, since it speaks of games, and I know thou art as eager for them as were ever the boys of my youth.”
“Yes, the Greeks were Art at games, weren't they? I’ve often heard my father speak about them, and he said that a Greek would sooner have the crown of wild olive—that was what the best man got, wasn’t it?—than anything else in the world.”
“It is true,” replied the Greek, his eyes lighting up at the remembrance of those great days—of the purple hills, and the golden sunlight, and the vast concourse of people, and the pick of Grecian manhood striving for the olive crown.
“Well,” he continued, “ambassadors came to Psammis from Elis, to obtain from the Egyptians—whose wisdom was world-famous—the assurance that the rules and arrangements of the Olympic games were perfect. The king assembled his wise men around him, and asked the boastful Eleans every detail concerning the games. At last he asked whether the citizens of Elis were allowed to compete. The Eleans answered promptly that the lists were open to any and every Greek. Then the king said:
“It is not well, for it is impossible that you should favour one of your own citizens. Therefore, if you wish to make your games perfect, no Elean must take part in them.”
“Which took them down a peg or two, I suppose?” said Harry.
“I have no more to tell thee of Psammis; and after him came Apries, who was dispossessed of his throne by Amasis, one of his subjects, of whom I can tell thee a story. This Amasis was at first looked down upon by his people, because he was not of royal blood. So Amasis did a clever thing. He took a golden foot-bath, in which he and his guests used to wash their feet. Then he broke it up, melted it down, and made of it an image of one of the gods. Then he placed it in the centre of the city, and all the people bowed down to it. Amasis smiled, and called all the people together.
“‘This image,’ he said, ‘was made of a foot-bath, which you accounted of little value, but which now you bow down to. Likewise, I was but a private person, but now I am a king, and it is meet that you should do me honour.’
“The people were so pleased at this that they at once went over to his side.”
“Was he a good king?” asked Harry.
“Yes,” said Herodotus, “but men found fault with him because, when his duties of State were finished, he was wont to jest and drink and feast with his friends. Indeed, some said to him that it was scarce kingly, whereupon Amasis replied:
“‘The archers do not keep their bows ever tightly strung; they slacken them when their work is finished. Likewise a king cannot for ever devote himself to heavy work, or he would lose his spirit. Thus do I divide my time between business and pleasure.’
“But, though this was well enough, it is said that before Amasis was king it was his chief delight to drink and feast, and, indeed, to such an extent that when his purse failed, he used to rob people. If he were caught and he denied having stolen, his accusers used to drag him before the oracle, which would sometimes say ‘Guilty,’ at other times ‘Not guilty.’ When he came to the throne he gave high power to those oracles which had convicted him when guilty, but he would have nothing to do with those which had proved incorrect.”
“A swarm of field-mice gnawed the quivers and bow-strings” (p. 58)
“He seems to have been awfully clever,’ said Harry admiringly.
“Yes,” said Herodotus, “and he built great buildings, of which I admire most a chamber built of a single stone, which came from Elephantine. This block was so huge that it took three years to convey it to Sais, and two thousand people were employed in the journey. It stood in a strange position—just in front of the Temple of Minerva, and men give two reasons for this. One is that when it reached that spot the architect, thinking of the weary toil the stone had cost, heaved a deep sigh. Amasis chanced to hear it, and, regarding it as an omen, would not allow the stone to go further. Others say that one of the workmen happened to be crushed when the stone reached that spot, and therefore Amasis would not have it moved.”
“Oh, you aren’t going, are you?” cried Harry with unconcealed disappointment, as Herodotus rose.
“I cannot stay,” replied the Greek; “I have given thee longer than is right to-day; but I will come again on the morrow.”
Herodotus stood looking for a moment at his young friend. Then Harry said:
“Oh, but Mr, Grey will be home, and I shall not have a morning till Saturday.”
“’Tis not so long,” replied Herodotus, smiling at Harry’s downcast face. “Thou wilt enjoy it all the more when it does come.”
He laid his hand kindly for a moment on Harry’s head, and then vanished.
Harry stood disconsolate for a moment. Then he suddenly remembered that there was chocolate pudding for lunch, and that it was a splendid day for a ride. So he raced up to the house and enjoyed the rest of the day. Herodotus had told him plenty over which he could think.
At last, Saturday morning came to the impatient Harry, and he was down by the river’s brink before the dew was off the grass. Consequently he had some little while to wait for Herodotus, but he was not bored. Harry was a regular country boy, and the sights and sounds which are lost on the “town mouse” had an ever-fresh interest for him. The splash which marked a water-rat—the slowly widening circle which spoke of trout—the green or blue gleam of a dragon-fly—the “susurrus ” (as the Romans called it) of the wind in the trees and the reeds—these and a thousand other beautiful trifles kept Harry’s eyes and ears employed. He was intently gazing at a splendid water-beetle when he became aware of Herodotus’ presence, and sprang to his feet.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I am so glad to see you again, Herodotus.”
“Thou hast ever a warm greeting,” replied the Greek, smiling. “But methinks thou shouldst not sit on the damp grass. For myself, I fear it greatly, for I am no longer young, and the ills of old age may soon come upon me.”
“Hm,” replied Harry. “You’re right. Old Nurse would be in a fit if she knew. Shall we sit on that log—I believe it’s quite dry?”
Herodotus approved the idea, and Harry was soon astride of the log, gazing anxiously into Herodotus’ face.
“I believe you're leaving soon,” he burst out.
“Thou hast guessed rightly,” replied Herodotus. “I can, indeed, give thee but one day more.”
“Oh, what rot!” cried Harry, and his face fell.
“I am as grieved as thou art; but as I have often told thee, it is foolish to repine at the inevitable, and I may return again some day. Moreover, let us not waste time now, for I have much to tell thee today.”
Harry tried to look cheerful, and prepared to listen.
“I have yet more to tell thee-of Amasis, the last king of Egypt of whom I spoke. It was in his reign that it came into the mind of Cambyses, the Persian, to invade Egypt. They give various reasons for the invasion, Some say that Cyrus, Cambyses’ father——”
“Oh, yes, I remember Cyrus. He conquered Babylon, and was killed in that battle against some queen or other, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Tomyris, Queen of the Massagetans. I am glad thou hast not forgotten Cyrus. Well, Cyrus sent to ask Amasis for his most skilful eye-doctor, and the man whom Amasis selected was exceedingly wroth at having to leave his wife and children. So in revenge he advised Cambyses to ask Amasis for his daughter in marriage. Amasis did not wish to send her, and consequently he played a trick on Cambyses. He loaded the daughter of the late king, Apries—her name was Nitētis, and she was very beautiful—with jewels and fine robes, and sent her to Cambyses. For some time Nitētis did not betray Amasis, but one day she told the Persian king the truth, and Cambyses was so enraged that he determined to invade Egypt.”
“I should think he did lose his hair,” put in Harry. “I think it was a mean trick to play. Some of those chaps were cads.”
“Others give a different story. They say that one day a Persian lady came to see Cassandanē, Cyrus’ queen. She noticed how handsome her children were, and could not cease from admiring them.”
“‘Alas!’ said poor Cassandanē. ‘I would that Cyrus thought like you, for he neglects me for Nitétis of Egypt.’
“Cambyses, her eldest son, heard these words, and clenching his fists, cried in a rage, ‘Mother, when I am a man I will turn Egypt upside down for you.’ He was only ten years old at the time, but he kept his word.”
“Well done, Cambyses!” observed Harry.
“There was another incident which assisted Cambyses. Phanes, an Egyptian, and a valiant warrior, fell foul of Amasis, and determined to desert him for Cambyses. Amasis pursued him, but he evaded the messenger by making him drunk, and eventually arrived in Persia. He gave Cambyses much useful information, and, above all, advised him to make an ally of the king of the Arabs, in order that he might traverse the desert safely. For thou must remember that in one portion of the desert which had to be crossed no water can be obtained for three days.”
“Gracious!” said Harry. “Oh! I’m just longing to see the desert. But, do you know, Herodotus, I always thought it was as flat as a pancake; and now Mr. Grey, who has been there, says it is quite hilly and rocky. It rather upset my idea of it; but, anyhow, I shall soon see for myself, I hope. Please forgive me for interrupting.”
“It matters not,” said Herodotus, “save that I have lost the thread of my discourse. However, I will tell thee of a curious thing which occurs to me. It had often appeared strange to me that, in spite of wine being brought in earthen jars twice a year into Egypt, there was never a jar to be seen. What thinkest thou had become of them?”
“I give it up,” said Harry. ‘It sounds to me like a riddle, and I’m no good at them.”
“’Tis very simple,” replied the Greek. “When the jars are empty the ‘demarch,’ or what thou wouldst call mayor, of the town collects all of them and sends them to Memphis. Then they are filled with water, taken into the desert, and stored there.”
“Cambyses and the Arabian king pledged faith with each other” (p. 66).
“What a neat idea,” said Harry.
“Yes, necessity maketh man ingenious. Well, Cambyses and the Arabian king pledged faith with each other; and an Arab, whatever be his faults, never breaks faith. When two men swear to be friends, they go through a ceremony which would astonish you, who speak of friendship so lightly.”
“Yes, Father always says we talk of friends by the dozen here—one ought to say acquaintances.”
“Thy father is right. Well, when Arabs swear friendship they stand one on each side of a third man, who with a stone makes a cut near the middle finger of the hand of the other two. Then he dips a piece of their dress in the blood and moistens seven stones with it, at the same time uttering a prayer. Then the man who pledges his friendship commends the other to all his friends, and they are bound to see the promise carried out.”
“What a fuss,” said Harry; “but I daresay it was a very good thing. Well, did the Arab king help Cambyses?”
“Yes; he loaded camels with skins of water, and drove them into the desert to await the coming of the army. Thus Cambyses crossed the desert in comfort, and pitched his camp near that of the Egyptians.”
“Oh, Amasis had come out to meet him, then?”’
“Nay, not Amasis, for he had meanwhile died, after a long and prosperous reign. His son Psammenitus ruled instead. Now Psammenitus did a cruel thing. Phanes, the runaway Egyptian, had left several sons behind him. The king had them brought out and slain before their father’s eyes, in the space between the camps.”
“There weve some brutes about in those days,” said Harry fiercely.
“Well, it profited them little,’ said Herodotus, “for the Egyptians were defeated grievously.”
“I can’t help feeling glad,” said Harry.
“I must tell thee of a curious thing I noticed when I visited the battlefield. I saw the bones of those who fell still lying on the field, and the skulls of the Persians were so weak that if you struck them even with a pebble you could break a hole in them, while those of the Egyptians were so strong that you might strike with all your force and scarce break them.”
“How strange,” cried Harry. “How does that happen?”
“The natives told me, and it seems probable enough, that the Egyptians, when quite young, have their heads shaved and exposed to the sun and air, which harden them; while the Persians wear a turban from their youth, and thus the skull remains weak. Certain it is, too, that you see fewer bald men in Egypt than elsewhere.”
“I must have a look when I go there,” said Harry. “I'd better make some notes, Herodotus, or I’ll never remember everything. Please go on now.”
“After the battle the Egyptians fled to Memphis; but they were soon compelled to surrender, and Psammenitus was taken. Soon after Cambyses determined to test the fallen king’s spirit, so he first commanded his daughter to be clothed like a slave and to be sent, together with other high-born Egyptian maidens, to draw water. When they passed where Psammenitus and their fathers were seated, the poor girls wept bitterly. So did all the fathers, save Psammenitus, who, having gazed once, fixed his eyes on the ground.
“Next passed by Psammenitus′ son and 2,000 Egyptians of the same age, with halters round their necks and bridles in their mouths. The unhappy fathers knew they were bound to suffer death, and they wept very bitterly, all save the king, who sat motionless as before.
“Then there chanced to pass by a friend of Psammenitus′ youth—a dear friend who had been stripped of all he possessed, and now came begging from the soldiers. At this the fallen king burst into a passion of tears, and cried aloud to his friend in an agony of grief. Upon this, the messengers who had been told off to watch him hurried to Cambyses with news of this strange behaviour.”
“Poor Psammenitus, I′m even sorry for him. He had his good side, it seems.”
“Listen further,” said Herodotus. “Cambyses sent a messenger to Psammenitus to ask him why, when his daughter and his son went by he did not weep, but when his friend went by he was overcome with sorrow.
“Psammenitus replied: ‘O King, mine own griefs were too deep for tears, but the sorrows of my friend deserved them. When a man falls from position and wealth into beggary in his old age, tears are most meet.’
“Cambyses was much struck with this message, and Crœsus”
“Our old friend?” cried Harry.
“The same—he had come with Cambyses. Yes, Crœsus and the others standing round wept.”
“Fancy Crœsus being there. I’d almost forgotten him. Poor chap; I daresay he thought of himself when he heard Psammenitus’ answer.”
“It was a case much like his. Thou rememberest Cyrus spared his life at the last moment, when the funeral pyre was lighted? Well, Cambyses was so touched at Psammenitus’ words that he declared his son should not die. The messengers were too late, however. The youth had already been killed.”
“What hard luck!” cried Harry sorrowfully.
“Yes, in truth,” replied Herodotus. “But, at any rate, Psammenitus himself was brought to the Court, and could have enjoyed a happier life than he expected, only he fell to plotting against Cambyses, and was accordingly put to death.”
“That was stupid of him,” observed Harry. “If I had been he I should have made the best of a bad job. Well, and what happened next, Herodotus?”
“After his conquest of Egypt, Cambyses turned his attention to the Ethiopians, who lived far south, and were noted for their wonderful strength and height and beauty. But Cambyses was wily. He did not wage open war, but sent spies to find out the strength and ways of the Ethiopians.”
“What an old fox,’ said Harry. ‘And what happened?”
“Well, he sent these spies, who were taken from the Ichthyophagi, or fish eaters (a people who dwelt on what thou callest the Arabian Gulf). These Ichthyophagi knew the Ethiopian tongue, so they brought rich presents to the king—a purple robe, a gold chain for the neck, armlets, an alabaster box of myrrh, and a cask of palm wine—and declared that Cambyses wished to be their ally and friend.
“But the Ethiopian king knew better, and he said: ‘It is not true. Ye are sent as a spy by your king, who is an unjust king, for he made war on a land which was not his, and on a people which had never harmed him.’”
“He seems to have been a decent sort,” remarked Harry, who always had to put in his word.
“Then the king continued: ‘Tell your master, when he can bend the bow which I shall send him, then let him make war on the long- lived Ethiops. Until then let him thank the gods that it is not in the minds of the Ethiopians to desire lands which are not theirs.’
“Then he unstrung the bow and handed it to the messengers.”
“He was a splendid chap,” said Harry. “Please tell some more about him.”
“After these words the messenger displayed the gifts of Cambyses. The king wondered how the robe became purple, and when the mes- sengers explained the dyer’s art he said, ‘Truly the men are deceitful, and so are their garments.’”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Harry. “That was good. I wonder what he’d say now to all the imitation things!”
“Next,” went on Herodotus, “the messengers showed the necklace and armlets, and explained their use.
“‘We have fetters, too,’ said the king, ‘only ours are stronger.’
“Then they showed him the myrrh, and how it was used to anoint the limbs, and he repeated what he said of the robe. Lastly, he tasted the wine, and that of all the gifts he praised. ‘What do the Persians eat?’ he asked, ‘and how long do they live?’
“The messengers answered that the king ate bread, and described it. They said, moreover, that eighty years was the highest age.
“‘Then am I not astonished,’ said the king, ‘that ye die so soon, since ye eat dirt. I am sure ye would not live so long were it not for this same drink which ye have brought me.’
“But in this he was wrong, for drinking was a great vice of the Persians, and brought them much trouble.
“Then he told the Ichthyophagi that he and his people lived mostly to be a hundred and twenty years old—some even older. They ate boiled meat, and drank milk. And he showed them a fountain in which they bathed, and——
“But it grows late,” broke off Herodotus suddenly. “I had not noticed how the time fled. I must not linger here another moment. When shall I meet thee for the last time?”
“I can’t get off till next Saturday,” said Harry, dolefully, “for I’ve extra work, but I'll be longing to see——”
He looked round.
Herodotus had vanished.
Contrary to Herodotus’ expectations, Harry did not meet him with a face as long as a fiddle on the Saturday morning which was to end their meetings for a time at least. No, Harry came running through the grass, brandishing a letter in his hand, and so out of breath that it seemed highly probable he had run all the way from the house. He tried to speak, but all he could say was:
“Ooph—ooph—ooph—I say—ooph—oh! dear——”; till at last he gave it up and sat down for a few minutes. Herodotus looked on smiling.
At last Harry looked up and said:
“I’m better now. I did sprint, and no mistake. Would you like to listen to this, Herodotus?”
“Yes, truly, for it must be of a joyful nature to excite thee thus.”
“It’s from my pater,” said Harry, “and he writes:——”
“‘I have now decided to leave for Egypt at the end of October, and you, your mother, and I will remain there till the end of April. I have secured a dahabiyeh’ (“goodness knows what that is,” said Harry), ‘and I hope we shall have a delightful time.’
“Great Scott! I should think we would. Isn’t it too ripping, Herodotus?. And do you know what a daha—thingummyjig is?”
“A dahabiyeh is a boat to take thee up the Nile,” replied the Greek.
“How scrummy,” cried Harry, whose language grew more slangy in moments of excitement. “I say, Father is a brick, isn’t he?”
“I suppose that is a term of affection?” said Herodotus.
“Yes,” answered Harry. ‘“It means a jolly good sort. Oh, Herodotus! I am so glad.”
“Thou seest I was right when I said it is wrong to grieve over what cannot be helped. Thou wast so sad at my departure——”
“Oh! and don’t think I’m not sorry now, Herodotus, please; only, of course, this has driven it out of my head. It’s a long while till November, and I shall miss you very much.”
“I believe thee, my boy. We are indeed good friends. Maybe next summer I shall come to thee again and hear thy stories of Egypt. Now we must cease our gossip if thou wouldst hear the end of Cambyses.”
“Yes, please go on,” said Harry, stuffing the letter into his pocket and settling himself in the grass. “You broke off in the middle of a sentence last week. Don’t you remember? You were telling about the Ethiopians.”
“I am glad thou rememberest so well.”
“Well, wasn’t it strange? On Sunday at church the text was, “Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?’ I nearly shouted when I heard it.”
“That would not have been seemly in the holy building,” said Herodotus. “Well, I will tell thee more of these same Ethiops. I left thee as I was telling of the fountain which they showed the Ichthyophagi—the messengers of Cambyses. This fountain had a scent like violets. When they bathed in it their skin became glossy, as if they had bathed in oil, and they ascribed their long life in part to this.”
“It sounds delicious,” said Harry. “And what then?”
“Then the king showed them a prison in which all the prisoners were loaded with golden chains. For copper—not gold—was the most precious metal among the Ethiops.”
“How funny. Fancy if a penny were worth more than a pound!”
“Next the messengers were shown the Table of the Sun—of all strange things in Ethiopia surely the strangest. The Table of the Sun was a meadow outside the city, which was filled with the boiled flesh of various animals. The magistrates of the city are said to provide the meat during the night, and anyone may eat of it during the day. The meat, is, however, supposed by the people to appear miraculously out of the ground.”
“I have never heard anything stranger,” said Harry. “Please tell me some more.”
“Last of all, the Ethiopians showed the messengers their manner of burial. They embalm the bodies something in the manner of the Egyptians; then they cover them with plaster, and paint this to resemble the living man. The body is then encased in a crystal pillar and preserved, first for a year at home, then outside the town.”
“That’s queer, too,” said Harry. “I wish I had seen all those sights.”
“When the messengers had seen everything they returned to Cambyses, who flew into a violent rage at the message. He was already half mad at the time, for he set off for Ethiopia without any preparation or food. Naturally, he had not proceeded far before the little food they had failed, and the men had to eat the beasts of burden.”
“How horrible!”
“Yes, but worse followed. At length they had to eat grass and herbs, but when these failed, and they came to the far-reaching desert, starvation stared them in the face, and their sufferings were so ter- tible that Cambyses was forced to return. Numbers of his men died, and thus ended his expedition against the Ethiops.”
He made a nice mess of it.”
“Yes, but that was not all. He had sent part of his army against the Ammonians, and this never returned. It was believed they were lost in the sand.”
“Cambyses’ luck seemed to be turning,” said Harry.
“Yes,” replied Herodotus; “now hear what followed. It chanced that, just about the time Cambyses returned from his expedition with the remnant of his army, the sacred bull Apis appeared in Egypt. This was the signal for great rejoicing and feasting, and Cambyses, down- cast and angry, immediately imagined that the people were rejoicing at his misfortunes. He asked them the cause of their joy, and they replied:
‘One of our gods, who only once in many years appears to us, hath come amongst us again, and ’tis our custom thus to do him honour.’
“Cambyses replied: ‘Ye lie, and ye shall all suffer death.’
“When the punishment had been carried out, Cambyses called the priests and asked them to explain the feasting and rejoicing. They gave the same answer, whereupon Cambyses cried:—
“‘Ye lie too. Soon will I discover whether a tame god has come to Egypt or no.’ So he commanded Apis to be brought before him. The sacred bull was always black with a square spot of white upon his forehead, and on his back the figure of an eagle; the hairs in his tail were double, and he had a beetle on his tongue.
“When Apis was led into Cambyses’ presence, the king drew his dagger and wounded the animal in the thigh. Apis fell to the ground, and Cambyses burst into mocking laughter.
“‘A fine god, forsooth,’ he cried, ‘and fit for you, you wooden-heads! But you shall pay dearly for having thus made a fool of me.’
“Then he had the priests scourged, and forbade any more feasting on pain of death.”
“Cambyses was greatly delighted at this, but his sister burst into tears” (p. 74).
“What a wretch he was!” said Harry. “And what happened to the poor bull?”
“He died from the wound, and was buried secretly by the priests. We must not, however, judge Cambyses as we would other men, for there is little doubt he was mad. Soon after he slew Apis he had his brother Smerdis put to death because he had a vision in which Smerdis sat on the royal throne, with his head touching the heavens. This dreadful act he followed up by slaying his sister.”
“What an awful brute!”
“It is said that her death was caused by the following incident. Cambyses had set a lion cub to fight a young dog. The dog was getting the worst of it when a brother pup came to his aid, and between the two they vanquished the cub. Cambyses was greatly delighted at this, but his sister burst into tears.
“‘Why dost thou weep?’ asked the king roughly.
“‘Alas! when I saw the young dog come to his brother’s help I thought of Smerdis, whom there was none to aid.’
“This angered Cambyses so much, say the Greeks, that he put her to death.
“On the other hand, the Egyptians say that she offended Cambyses by taking a lettuce one day at table and stripping off the leaves.
“‘My lord,’ she said, ‘when, thinkest thou, was the lettuce prettier—with its leaves, or as it is now?’
“Cambyses answered: ‘With its leaves.’
“‘Alas!’ she said, ‘thou hast done to the house of Cyrus evén as I have done to the lettuce.’
“But it was not only his own family that he treated thus. One day he summoned his most trusty messenger, Prexaspes, and said:
“‘What manner of man do the Persians think me, Prexaspes?’”
“Jolly awkward for Prexaspes,” put in Harry. “What did he say?”
“Prexaspes answered, ‘O King, they praise thee in all things but one. They say thou art too fond of wine.’
“This angered Cambyses, and he cried, ‘Ah! they say I drink too much, and am mad; I swear it is not true, and I will prove it to you, Prexaspes. There stands thy son, my cup-bearer, in the vestibule. Behold, if I shoot and hit him in the heart, the Persians will see that I am not mad, for no madman could take so sure an aim. If I miss him, then I grant them they are right.’
“Thus speaking, he snatched up his bow and shot the boy dead—straight through the heart.
“Whereupon the king turned with a laugh to Prexaspes, who was paralysed at this fearful deed, and cried:—
“Now, Prexaspes, am I mad? or are the Persians? Could any mortal shoot straighter?”
“And Prexaspes dared not protest, for he saw the king was mad.”
“How awful! how fearful!” said Harry, his eyes wide with horror.
“Indeed, it was a fearful time. At length Crœsus ventured to remonstrate with the king, saying that Cyrus had himself charged him to give advice at need, and that if Cambyses continued to put innocent men—even children—to death, his people would rise against him.
“But Cambyses turned on him and said he would have none of his advice, and after all he had not been so successful himself as a king, nor in his counsel to Cyrus, that he could presume to take Cambyses to task. ‘Now will I punish thee as I have long intended,’ he concluded; and, picking up his bow, he aimed at Crœsus. Crœsus fled, and Cambyses ordered his servants to pursue and kill him. The servants, however, thought it best to spare Crœsus, and pretend to Cambyses that he was killed, for if Cambyses felt sorry afterwards, they would doubtless receive a reward for saving Crœsus; and if Cambyses did not relent, they could easily kill him later.”
“Rather ’cute, that idea,” said Harry.
“As it happened, Cambyses did repent Crœsus’ supposed death, whereupon his servants told him he was still alive.
“‘I am glad,’ said Cambyses, ‘that he lives, but you, who disobeyed my orders, shall die.’”
“Well, I never!” cried Harry. “What a monster!”
“Yes, but his time was at hand. Two brothers, Persians, whom Cambyses had left behind in Persia, revolted against him. Patizeithes, the one brother, laid the plot, which was a daring one. The other brother was called Smerdis, and resembled the dead brother of the king. So Patizeithes persuaded him to pose as the dead Smerdis, and set him on the Persian throne. He then sent heralds far and wide to proclaim the news that Smerdis, son of Cyrus, and not Cambyses, was now king.”
“That was a bold bit of business,” said Harry.
“Yes,” said Herodotus, “for the herald came to Agbatana, where Cambyses and his army lay, and he went straight through the host and proclaimed his message.
“Cambyses immediately imagined that Prexaspes, whom he had charged to kill Smerdis, had dealt falsely. So he turned upon him and taxed him with treachery.
“‘O, my king,’ replied Prexaspes, ‘unless the dead can come to life, thou hast no need to fear Smerdis thy brother. Question, I pray thee, this herald, and see if this be not some trick.’
“Cambyses approved of this, and the herald confessed that he had not seen Smerdis—the king’s brother—since the day Cambyses left for Egypt. It was Patizeithes who had given him the message, purporting to come from Smerdis.
“Then Prexaspes cried:—
“‘I see it all now, O king. Patizeithes hath a brother named Smerdis. It is a trick—a plot.’
“Then Cambyses also saw the truth, and bitterly he grieved that he had slain his brother needlessly, for the Smerdis of his dream was doubtless the brother of Patizeithes. Wild with anger at his ill-luck, he sprang to his horse, meaning to be revenged on his enemies, but as he leapt to the saddle the button of his scabbard fell off, wounding him in the thigh, in exactly the same spot where he had wounded Apis.
“‘Alas!’ cried Cambyses, who felt the wound was mortal, ‘what do they call this city?’
“The people replied, ‘Agbatana,’ and Cambyses remembered that it had been prophesied he should die at a place of that name. The shock brought back his senses, and he said:—
“‘Here, then, Cambyses, son of Cyrus, is doomed to die.’
“When he felt his end approaching, he summoned the Persians around him, and gave them many instructions as to regaining the kingdom, which they carefully omitted to carry out after his death.
“Bitterly did Cambyses lament his misfortunes before he died, but since they were of his own making, one can waste little pity on him.”
“And what happened to the mock Smerdis?”” asked Harry.
“The people believed he was the real one after all, and as Prexaspes turned round and vowed he had not slain him he reigned in peace for eight months. Cyrus, thou wilt remember, was a great and mighty king. It is told of him that when he was beginning to be successful, certain Greeks—the Ionians and Aolians—sent to beg for his protection, whereas they had ignored him when he asked them to revolt against Croesus. But Cyrus sent back a message in the form of a story. ‘There was once a piper,’ said he, ‘who piped by the sea- shore, thinking the fish would leap out of the water on to the land. But the fish remained unmoved. Then the man fetched a net and dragged a quantity of them ashore, whereupon they all began to leap and dance. ‘Do not trouble yourselves,’ said the piper. ‘I want none of your leaping and dancing now.’”
“I see,” said Harry, thoughtfully. “Rather neat, that.”
“But of what happened then,” said Herodotus, “and of many other things I cannot tell thee, for it waxes late.”
“Must you go now?” said Harry sorrowfully.
“In truth, yes. But, mayhap, we shall yet meet again, and I will then tell thee of Darius and other mighty men—of strange peoples and strange sights—for I have not yet told thee half that I have seen and heard.”
“Yes, do come back,” said Harry. “I can’t tell you how I enjoy your talks, Herodotus. I wish we learned all history like that.”
“Farewell, now, my boy. Thou hast a place in my affections, and I am loth to leave thee. May thy journey to Egypt be all thou hopest, and good fortune attend thee at all times.”
“Thank you, Herodotus; and, please—’ (Harry coloured up), “please, I’ve something for you. I thought p’raps you'd look at it sometimes and remember me.”
And Harry tugged out of his pocket a small silver frame containing his likeness.
The Greek took it and gazed on it.
“I thank thee, my little friend. Nought could please me more. Truly, ’tis a wonderful age, this age of thine.”
He rested his hand affectionately on Harry’s head for a moment—then he was gone.
Once more Harry stood alone in the long grass by the river.
B. Sidney Woolf.
- ↑ I have to acknowledge the valuable assistance which I have derived from the notes and translation of Herodotus by the Rev. Canon George Rawlinson.
- ↑ Athens was so called.