pillars, brilliantly painted domes.  The sun came through the windows in every colour there is, and was reflected red, blue, green, and gold by the shining walls.  But more fairy-like were the nights, when thousands of lamps burned in the halls, a forest of candelabra shone like a conflagration kept within bounds; when the courtiers seemed to sink into the carpets and divans and silken and down coverlets; when the sweet-smelling incense rose from the golden censers and intoxicated the brain; when a hundred servants made ready the banquet of indescribable luxury, and carried it in silver dishes, alabaster bowls, and crystal goblets; when youths and maidens, with arms entwined, crowned each other with wreaths of roses; when the fanfares sounded, and the cymbals clashed, and song gushed from maidens’ throats; and when at length Pharaoh entered in flowing purple robes adorned with a thousand sparkling diamond stars—­on his head an indented coronet, shining like carbuncle—­the god! the sun-god!  On all this our boy from the Nile hut looked as at something wonderful that had nothing to do with him.  A fan of shimmering peacocks’ feathers was put into his hand.  Other boys had similar fans, and with half-bared limbs stood close to the guests and fanned them into coolness.  Young Jesus was to do that for Pharaoh, but he did not do it, and sat on the floor and never grew weary of looking at Pharaoh’s pale face.  The king answered his gaze kindly:  “I think that is the proud youth from the Nile, who does not desire to sit at the feet of Pharaoh.”

“He shall sit at the right hand of God,” sang the choir.  Slowly, with the air of an irritated lion, the king turned his head in order to see what stupid choirmaster mingled Hebrew verses with the hymn of Osiris.  Then ensued noise and confusion.  The windows, behind which was the darkness, shone with a red light.  The people had assembled before the palace with torches in order to do homage to Pharaoh, the son of Light.  The king looked annoyed.  Such homage was repeated every new moon—­he desired it, and yet it bored him.  He beckoned to the cup-bearers, he wanted a goblet of wine.  That brought the blood to his cheeks, and the light to his eyes.  He joined in the hymn of praise to Osiris, and his whole form glowed with strength and gladness.

When the quiet night succeeded the luxurious day, so still was it that the lapping of the waves of the Nile might be heard.  Jesus lay on a curtained couch of down, and could not sleep.  How well he had slept in the hut by the Nile!  He was hot and rose and looked out of the window.  The stars sparkled like tiny suns.  He lay down again, prayed to his Father, and fell asleep.  The next day, when the feast was over, he would find the rooms in which the old writings were kept, and the teachers who would instruct him.  But it was not like the feast that comes to an end; it was repeated every day at the king’s court.

It happened one night that the slaves stole around and woke each other.  Jesus became aware of the subdued noise and asked the cause.  One approached him and whispered, “Pharaoh weeps!” Like a mysterious breath of wind it went through the palace, “Pharaoh weeps!” Then all was still again, and the dreaming night lay over everything.