The Pharaoh and the Priest. Bolesław Prus

at three well-sweeps. One poured water from the river into the lowest well; another drew from the lowest and raised water two yards higher to a middle place; the third raised water from the middle to the highest place. There some people, also naked, drew water in buckets, and irrigated beds of vegetables, or watered trees from sprinkling-pots.

      The movement of the sweeps going down and rising, the turn of the buckets, the gushing of the pots was so rhythmic that the men who caused it might be thought automatons. No one of them spoke to his neighbor, no man changed place or looked about him; he merely bent and rose in one single method from daylight until evening, from one month to another, and doubtless he had worked thus from childhood and would so work till death took him.

      "And creatures such as these," thought the prince, as he looked at their toil, "desire me to realize their imaginings. What change in the state can they wish? Is it that he who draws from the lowest well should go to the highest, or instead of pouring from a bucket should sprinkle trees with a watering pot?"

      Anger rose to his head, and humiliation crushed him because he, the heir to the throne, thanks to the fables of creatures like those who nodded all their lives over wells of dirty water, was not now the vice- pharaoh.

      At that moment he heard a low rustle among the trees, and delicate hands rested on his shoulder.

      "Well, Sarah?" asked the prince, without turning his head.

      "Thou art sad, my lord. Moses was not so delighted at sight of the promised land as I was at those words of thine:

      "I am coming to live with thee. But Thou art a day and a night here, and I have not seen thy smile yet. Thou dost not even speak to me, but goest about in gloom, and at night Thou dost not fondle me, but only sighest."

      "I have trouble."

      "Tell me what it is. Grief is like a treasure given to be guarded. As long as we guard it ourselves even sleep flees away, and we find relief only when we put some one else to watch for us."

      Ramses embraced Sarah, and seated her on the bench at his side.

      "When an earth-tiller," said he, smiling, "is unable to bring in all his crops from the field before the overflow, his wife helps him. She helps him to milk cows too, she takes out food to the field for him, she washes the man on his return from labor. Hence the belief has come that woman can lighten man's troubles."

      "Dost Thou not believe this, lord?"

      "The cares of a prince," answered Ramses, "cannot be lightened by a woman, even by one as wise and powerful as my mother."

      "In God's name, what are thy troubles? Tell me," insisted Sarah, drawing up to the shoulder of Prince Ramses. "According to our traditions, Adam left Paradise for Eve; and he was surely the greatest king in the most beautiful kingdom."

      The prince became thoughtful.

      "Our sages also teach," said he, "that man has often abandoned dignities for woman, but it has not been heard that any man ever achieved something great through a woman; unless he was a leader to whom a pharaoh gave his daughter, with a great dowry and high office. But a woman cannot help a man to reach a higher place or even help him out of troubles."

      "This may be because she does not love as I do," whispered Sarah.

      "Thy love for me is wonderful, I know that. Never hast Thou asked for gifts, or favored those who do not hesitate to seek success even under the beds of princes' favorites. Thou art milder than a lamb, and as calm as a night on the Nile. Thy kisses are like perfume from the land of Punt, and thy embrace as sweet as the sleep of a wearied laborer. I have no measure for thy beauty, or words for thy attractions. Thou art a marvel among women; women's lips are rich in trouble and their love is very costly. But with all thy perfection how canst Thou ease my troubles? Canst Thou cause his holiness to order a great expedition to the East and name me to command it? Canst Thou give me the army corps in Memphis, for which I asked, or wilt thou, in the pharaoh's name, make me governor of Lower Egypt? Or canst Thou bring all subjects of his holiness to think and feel as I, his most devoted subject?" Sarah dropped her hands on her knees, and whispered sadly, "True, I cannot do those things I can do nothing."

      "Thou canst do much. Thou canst cheer me," replied Ramses, smiling. "I know that Thou hast learned to dance and sing. Take off those long robes, therefore, which become priestesses guarding fire, and array thyself in transparent muslin, as Phoenician dancers do. And so dance and fondle me as they."

      Sarah seized his hands and cried with flaming eyes,

      "Hast Thou to do with outcasts such as these? Tell me let me know my wretchedness; send me then to my father, send me to our valley in the desert. Oh, that I had never seen thee in it!"

      "Well, well, calm thyself," said the prince, toying with her hair. "I must of course see dancers, if not at feasts, at royal festivals, or during services in temples. But all of them together do not concern me as much as Thou alone; moreover, who among them could equal thee? Thy body is like a statue of Isis, cut out of ivory, and each of those dancers has some defect. Some are too thick; others have thin legs or ugly hands; still others have false hair. Who of them is like thee? If Thou wert an Egyptian, all our temples would strive to possess thee as the leader of their chorus. What do I say? Wert Thou to appear now in Memphis in transparent robes, the priests would be glad if Thou wouldst take part in processions."

      "It is not permitted us daughters of Judah to wear immodest garments."

      "Nor to dance or sing? Why didst Thou learn, then?"

      "Our women dance, and our virgins sing by themselves for the glory of the Lord, but not for the purpose of sowing fiery seeds of desire in men's hearts. But we sing. Wait, my lord, I will sing to thee."

      She rose from the bench and went toward the house. Soon she returned followed by a young girl with black, frightened eyes, who was bearing a harp.

      "Who is this maiden?" asked the prince. "But wait I have seen that look somewhere. Ah! when I was here the last time a frightened girl looked from the bushes at me.'"

      "This is Esther, my relative and servant," answered Sarah. "She has lived with me a mouth now, but she fears thee, lord, so she runs away always. Perhaps she looked at thee sometime from out the bushes."

      "Thou mayst go, my child," said the prince to the maiden, who seemed petrified, and when she had hidden behind the bushes, he asked,

      "Is she a Jewess too? And this guard of thy house, who looks at me as a sheep at a crocodile?"

      "That is Samuel the son of Esdras; he also is a relative. I took him in place of the black man to whom Thou hast given freedom. But hast Thou not permitted me to choose my servants?"

      "That is true. And so also the overseer of the workmen is a Jew, for he has a yellow complexion and looks with a lowliness which no Egyptian could imitate."

      "That," answered Sarah, "is Ezechiel, the son of Reuben, a relative of my father. Does he not please thee, my lord? These are all thy very faithful servants."

      "Does he please me," said the prince, dissatisfied, drumming with his fingers on the bench. "He is not here to please me, but to guard thy property. For that matter, these people do not concern me. Sing, Sarah."

      Sarah knelt on the grass at the prince's feet, and playing a few notes as accompaniment, began,

      "Where is he who has no care? Who is he who in lying down to slumber has the right to say: This is a day that I have spent without sorrow? Where is the man who lying down for the grave, can say: My life has passed without pain, without fear, like a calm evening on the Jordan.

      "But how many are there who moisten their bread with tears daily, and whose houses are filled with sighing.

      "A wail is man's earliest speech on this earth, and a groan his farewell to it. Full of suffering does he come into life, full of sorrow does he go to his resting-place, and no one asks him where he would like to be.

      "Where is that offspring of man who has not tasted the bitterness of being? Is it the