Uarda : a Romance of Ancient Egypt — Complete by Georg Ebers (find a book to read txt) 📕

Old Hekt sat apart from the girls on a painted trunk, and she was saying, as she took a parcel from her wallet:

“Here, take this incense, and burn six seeds of it, and the vermin will all disappear—” she pointed to the flies that swarmed round the platter in her hand. “If you like I will drive away the mice too and draw the snakes out of their holes better than the priests.”

[Recipes for exterminating noxious creatures are found in the papyrus in my possession.]

“Keep your magic to yourself,” said a girl in a husky voice. “Since you muttered your words over me, and gave me that drink to make me grow slight and lissom again, I have been shaken to pieces with a cough at night, and turn faint when I am dancing.”

“But look how slender you have grown,” answered Hekt, “and your cough will soon be well.”

“When I am dead,” whispered the girl to the old woman. “I know that most of us end so.”

The witch shrugged her shoulders, and perceiving the dwarf she rose from her seat.

The girls too noticed the little man, and set up the indescribable cry, something like the cackle of hens, which is peculiar to Eastern women when something tickles their fancy. Nemu was well known to them, for his mother always stayed in their tent whenever she came to Thebes, and the gayest of them cried out:

“You are grown, little man, since the last time you were here.”

“So are you,” said the dwarf sharply; “but only as far as big words are concerned.”

“And you are as wicked as you are small,” retorted the girl.

“Then my wickedness is small too,” said the dwarf laughing, “for I am little enough! Good morning, girls—may Besa help your beauty. Good day, mother—you sent for me?”

The old woman nodded; the dwarf perched himself on the chest beside her, and they began to whisper together.

“How dusty and tired you are,” said Hekt. I do believe you have come on foot in the burning sun.”

“My ass is dead,” replied Nemu, “and I have no money to hire a steed.”

“A foretaste of future splendor,” said the old woman with a sneer. “What have you succeeded in doing?”

“Paaker has saved us,” replied Nemu, “and I have just come from a long interview with the Regent.”

“Well?”

“He will renew your letter of freedom, if you will put Paaker into his power.”

“Good-good. I wish he would make up his mind to come and seek me—in disguise, of course—I would—”

“He is very timid, and it would not suggest to him anything so unpracticable.”

“Hm—” said Hekt, “perhaps you are right, for when we have to demand a good deal it is best only to ask for what is feasible. One rash request often altogether spoils the patron’s inclination for granting favors.”

“What else has occurred?”

“The Regent’s army has conquered the Ethiopians, and is coming home with rich spoils.”

“People may be bought with treasure,” muttered the old woman, “I good—good!”

“Paaker’s sword is sharpened; I would give no more for my master’s life, than I have in my pocket—and you know why I came on foot through the dust.”

“Well, you can ride home again,” replied his mother, giving the little man a small silver ring. “Has the pioneer seen Nefert again?”

“Strange things have happened,” said the dwarf, and he told his mother what had taken place between Katuti and Nefert. Nemu was a good listener, and had not forgotten a word of what he had heard.

The old woman listened to his story with the most eager attention.

“Well, well,” she muttered, “here is another extraordinary thing. What is common to all men is generally disgustingly similar in the palace and in the hovel. Mothers are everywhere she-apes, who with pleasure let themselves be tormented to death by their children, who repay them badly enough, and the wives generally open their ears wide if any one can tell them of some misbehavior of their husbands! But that is not the way with your mistress.”

The old woman looked thoughtful, and then she continued:

“In point of fact this can be easily explained, and is not at all more extraordinary than it is that those tired girls should sit yawning. You told me once that it was a pretty sight to see the mother and daughter side by side in their chariot when they go to a festival or the Panegyrai; Katuti, you said, took care that the colors of their dresses and the flowers in their hair should harmonize. For which of them is the dress first chosen on such occasions?”

“Always for the lady Katuti, who never wears any but certain colors,” replied Nemu quickly.

“You see,” said the witch laughing, “Indeed it must be so. That mother always thinks of herself first, and of the objects she wishes to gain; but they hang high, and she treads down everything that is in her way—even her own child—to reach them. She will contrive that Paaker shall be the ruin of Mena, as sure as I have ears to hear with, for that woman is capable of playing any tricks with her daughter, and would marry her to that lame dog yonder if it would advance her ambitious schemes.”

“But Nefert!” said Nemu. “You should have seen her. The dove became a lioness.”

“Because she loves Mena as much as her mother loves herself,” answered Hekt. “As the poets say, ‘she is full of him.’ It is really true of her, there is no room for any thing else. She cares for one only, and woe to those who come between him and her!”

“I have seen other women in love,” said Nemu, “but—”

“But,” exclaimed the old witch with such a sharp laugh that the girls all looked up, “they behaved differently to Nefert—I believe you, for there is not one in a thousand that loves as she does. It is a sickness that gives raging pain—like a poisoned arrow in an open wound, and devours all that is near it like a fire-brand, and is harder to cure than the disease which is killing that coughing wench. To be possessed by that demon of anguish is to suffer the torture of the damned—or else,” and her voice sank to softness, “to be more blest than the Gods, happy as they are. I know—I know it all; for I was once one of the possessed, one of a thousand, and even now—”

“Well?” asked the dwarf.

“Folly!” muttered the witch, stretching herself as if awaking from sleep. “Madness! He—is long since dead, and if he were not it would be all the same to me. All men are alike, and