The Complete Novels of Georg Ebers. Georg Ebers
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Gygaea. Hamilton (Asia Minor, I. p. i) counted
some sixty of them, and could not ride round the hill of Alayattes
in less than ten minutes. Prokesch saw 100 such tumuli. The
largest, tomb of Alyattes, still measures 3400 feet in
circumference, and the length of its slope is 650 feet. According
to Prokesch, gigantic Phallus columns lie on some of these graves.]
“What can those strange-looking earth-heaps mean?” said Darius, the leader of the troop, to Prexaspes, Cambyses’ envoy, who rode at his side.
“They are the graves of former Lydian kings,” was the answer. “The middle one is in memory of the princely pair Panthea and Abradatas, and the largest, that one to the left, was erected to the father of Croesus, Alyattes. It was raised by the tradesmen, mechanics, and girls, to their late king, and on the five columns, which stand on its summit, you can read how much each of these classes contributed to the work. The girls were the most industrious. Gyges’ grandfather is said to have been their especial friend.”
“Then the grandson must have degenerated very much from the old stock.”
“Yes, and that seems the more remarkable, because Croesus himself in his youth was by no means averse to women, and the Lydians generally are devoted to such pleasures. You see the white walls of that temple yonder in the midst of its sacred grove. That is the temple of the goddess of Sardis, Cybele or Ma, as they call her. In that grove there is many a sheltered spot where the young people of Sardis meet, as they say, in honor of their goddess.”
“Just as in Babylon, at the festival of Mylitta.”
“There is the same custom too on the coast of Cyprus. When I landed there on the way back from Egypt, I was met by a troop of lovely girls, who, with songs, dances, and the clang of cymbals, conducted me to the sacred grove of their goddess.”
“Well, Zopyrus will not grumble at Bartja’s illness.”
“He will spend more of his time in the grove of Cybele, than at his patient’s bedside. How glad I shall be to see that jolly fellow again!”
“Yes, he’ll keep you from falling into those melancholy fits that you have been so subject to lately.” “You are quite right to blame me for those fits, and I must not yield to them, but they are not without ground. Croesus says we only get low-spirited, when we are either too lazy or too weak to struggle against annoyances, and I believe he is right. But no one shall dare to accuse Darius of weakness or idleness. If I can’t rule the world, at least I will be my own master.” And as he said these words, the handsome youth drew himself up, and sat erect in his saddle. His companion gazed in wonder at him.
“Really, you son of Hystaspes,” he said, “I believe you must be meant for something great. It was not by chance that, when you were still a mere child, the gods sent their favorite Cyrus that dream which induced him to order you into safe keeping.”
“And yet my wings have never appeared.”
“No bodily ones, certainly; but mental ones, likely enough. Young man, young man, you’re on a dangerous road.”
“Have winged creatures any need to be afraid of precipices?”
“Certainly; when their strength fails them.”
“But I am strong.”
“Stronger creatures than you will try to break your pinions.”
“Let them. I want nothing but what is right, and shall trust to my star.”
“Do you know its name?”
“It ruled in the hour of my birth, and its name is Anahita.”
“I think I know better. A burning ambition is the sun, whose rays guide all your actions. Take care; I tried that way myself once; it leads to fame or to disgrace, but very seldom to happiness. Fame to the ambitious is like salt water to the thirsty; the more he gets, the more he wants. I was once only a poor soldier, and am now Cambyses’ ambassador. But you, what can you have to strive for? There is no man in the kingdom greater than yourself, after the sons of Cyrus... Do my eyes deceive me? Surely those two men riding to meet us with a troop of horsemen must be Gyges and Zopyrus. The Angare, who left the inn before us, must have told them of our coming.”
“To be sure. Look at that fellow Zopyrus, how he’s waving and beckoning with that palm-leaf.”
“Here, you fellows, cut us a few twigs from those bushes-quick. We’ll answer his green palm-leaf with a purple pomegranate-branch.”
In a few minutes the friends had embraced one another, and the two bands were riding together into the populous town, through the gardens surrounding the lake Gygaeus, the Sardians’ place of recreation. It was now near sunset, a cooler breeze was beginning to blow, and the citizens were pouring through the gates to enjoy themselves in the open air. Lydian and Persian warriors, the former wearing richly-ornamented helmets, the latter tiaras in the form of a cylinder, were following girls who were painted and wreathed. Children were being led to the lake by their nurses, to see the swans fed. An old blind man was seated under a plane-tree, singing sad ditties to a listening crowd and accompanying them on the Magadis, the twenty-stringed Lydian lute. Youths were enjoying themselves at games of ball, ninepins, and dice, and half-grown girls screaming with fright, when the ball hit one of their group or nearly fell into the water.
The travellers scarcely noticed this gay scene, though at another time it would have delighted them. They were too much interested in enquiring particulars of Bartja’s illness and recovery.
At the brazen gates of the palace which had formerly belonged to Croesus, they were met by Oroetes, the satrap of Sardis, in a magnificent court-dress overloaded with ornaments. He was a stately man, whose small penetrating black eyes looked sharply out from beneath a bushy mass of eyebrow. His satrapy was one of the most important and profitable in the entire kingdom, and his household could bear a comparison with that of Cambyses in richness and splendor. Though he possessed fewer wives and attendants than the king, it was no inconsiderable troop of guards, slaves, eunuchs and gorgeously-dressed officials, which appeared at the palace-gates to receive the travellers.
The vice-regal palace, which was still kept up with great magnificence, had been, in the days when Croesus occupied it, the most splendid of royal residences; after the taking of Sardis, however, the greater part of the dethroned king’s treasures and works of art had been sent to Cyrus’s treasure-house in Pasargadae. When that time of terror had passed, the Lydians brought many a hidden treasure into the light of day once more, and, by their industry and skill in art during the peaceful years which they enjoyed under Cyrus and Cambyses, recovered their old position so far, that Sardis was again looked upon as one of the wealthiest cities of Asia Minor, and therefore, of the world.
Accustomed as Darius and Prexaspes were to royal splendor, they were still astonished at the beauty and brilliancy of the satrap’s palace. The marble work, especially, made a great impression on them, as nothing of the kind was to be found in Babylon, Susa or Ecbatana, where burnt brick and cedar-wood supply the place of the polished marble.
[The palace of Persepolis did not exist at the date of our story.
It was built partly of black stone from Mount Rachmed, and partly of
white marble; it was probably begun by Darius. The palace of Susa
was built of brick, (Strabo p. 728) that of Ecbatana of wood
overlaid with plates of gold of immense value, and roofed with tiles
made of the precious metals.]
They found Bartja lying on a couch in the great hall; he looked very pale, and stretched out his arms towards them.
The friends supped together at the satrap’s table and then retired to Bartja’s private room, in order to enjoy an undisturbed conversation.
“Well, Bartja, how did you come by this dangerous illness?” was Darius’ first question after