mfort to her, for
instead of encouraging her kindly, he endeavors to convince her that she
too deserves punishment from the gods. He spends all his remarkable
eloquence in trying to persuade her, that she must forget this world
entirely and only try to gain the favor of Osiris and the judges of the
nether world by ceaseless prayers and sacrifices. In this manner he only
tortures our poor sick child, for she has not lost her love of life.
Perhaps I have still too much of the Greek left in me for a queen of
Egypt; but really, death is so long and life so short, that I cannot help
calling even wise men foolish, when they devote the half of even this
short term to a perpetual meditation on the gloomy Hades.

"I have just been interrupted again. Our great physician, Thutmes, came
to enquire after his patient. He gives very little hope, and seems
surprised that her delicate frame has been able to resist death so long.
He said yesterday: 'She would have sunk long ago if not kept up by her
determined will, and a longing which gives her no rest. If she ceased to
care for life, she could allow death to take her, just as we dream
ourselves asleep. If, on the other hand, her wish could be gratified, she
might, (though this is hardly probable) live some years yet, but if it
remain but a short time longer unfulfilled, it will certainly wear her to
death.

"Have you any idea for whom she longs so eagerly? Our Tachot has allowed
herself to be fascinated by the beautiful Bartja, the brother of your
future husband. I do not mean to say by this that he has employed magic,
as the priest Ameneman believes, to gain her love; for a youth might be
far less handsome and agreeable than Bartja, and yet take the heart of an
innocent girl, still half a child. But her passionate feeling is so
strong, and the change in her whole being so great, that sometimes I too
am tempted to believe in the use of supernatural influence. A short time
before you left I noticed that Tachot was fond of Bartja. Her distress at
first we thought could only be for you, but when she sank into that
dreamy state, Ibykus, who was still at our court, said she must have been
seized by some strong passion.

"Once when she was sitting dreaming at her wheel, I heard him singing
softly Sappho's little love-song to her:

"I cannot, my sweet mother,
Throw shuttle any more;
My heart is full of longing,
My spirit troubled sore,
A