The Sisters | Page 3

as soon as his brother's
death left him sole ruler over Egypt. His hand fell heavily even on the
members of the Great Academy--the Museum, as it was called-- of
Alexandria, though he himself had been devoted to the grave labors of
science, and he compelled them to seek a new home. The exiled sons of
learning settled in various cities on the shores of the Mediterranean,
and thus contributed not a little to the diffusion of the intellectual
results of the labors in the Museum.
Aristarchus, the greatest of Philometor's learned contemporaries, has
reported for us a conversation in the king's palace at Memphis. The
verses about "the puny child of man," recited by Cleopatra in chapter

X., are not genuinely antique; but Friedrich Ritschl--the Aristarchus of
our own days, now dead--thought very highly of them and gave them to
me, some years ago, with several variations which had been added by
an anonymous hand, then still in the land of the living. I have added to
the first verse two of these, which, as I learned at the eleventh hour,
were composed by Herr H. L. von Held, who is now dead, and of
whom further particulars may be learned from Varnhagen's
'Biographisclaen Denkmalen'. Vol. VII. I think the reader will thank me
for directing his attention to these charming lines and to the genius
displayed in the moral application of the main idea. Verses such as
these might very well have been written by Callimachus or some other
poet of the circle of the early members of the Museum of Alexandria.
I was also obliged in this narrative to concentrate, in one limited canvas
as it were, all the features which were at once the conditions and the
characteristics of a great epoch of civilization, and to give them form
and movement by setting the history of some of the men then living
before the reader, with its complications and its denouement. All the
personages of my story grew up in my imagination from a study of the
times in which they lived, but when once I saw them clearly in outline
they soon stood before my mind in a more distinct form, like people in
a dream; I felt the poet's pleasure in creation, and as I painted them
their blood grew warm, their pulses began to beat and their spirit to
take wings and stir, each in its appropriate nature. I gave history her
due, but the historic figures retired into the background beside the
human beings as such; the representatives of an epoch became vehicles
for a Human Ideal, holding good for all time; and thus it is that I
venture to offer this transcript of a period as really a dramatic romance.
Leipzig November 13, 1879.
GEORG EBERS.

THE SISTERS.

CHAPTER I.
On the wide, desert plain of the Necropolis of Memphis stands the
extensive and stately pile of masonry which constitutes the Greek
temple of Serapis; by its side are the smaller sanctuaries of Asclepios,

of Anubis and of Astarte, and a row of long, low houses, built of
unburnt bricks, stretches away behind them as a troop of beggar
children might follow in the train of some splendidly attired king.
The more dazzlingly brilliant the smooth, yellow sandstone walls of the
temple appear in the light of the morning sun, the more squalid and
mean do the dingy houses look as they crouch in the outskirts. When
the winds blow round them and the hot sunbeams fall upon them, the
dust rises from them in clouds as from a dry path swept by the gale.
Even the rooms inside are never plastered, and as the bricks are of dried
Nile-mud mixed with chopped straw, of which the sharp little ends
stick out from the wall in every direction, the surface is as disagreeable
to touch as it is unpleasing to look at. When they were first built on the
ground between the temple itself and the wall which encloses the
precincts, and which, on the eastern side, divides the acacia-grove of
Serapis in half, they were concealed from the votaries visiting the
temple by the back wall of a colonnade on the eastern side of the great
forecourt; but a portion of this colonnade has now fallen down, and
through the breach, part of these modest structures are plainly visible
with their doors and windows opening towards the sanctuary--or, to
speak more accurately, certain rudely constructed openings for looking
out of or for entering by. Where there is a door there is no window, and
where a gap in the wall serves for a window, a door is dispensed with;
none of the chambers, however, of this long row of low one-storied
buildings communicate with each other.
A narrow and well-trodden