CHAPTER XI. THOTH FORSWEARS HIS OATH.

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“Before, however, we conquer the earth,” continued Thoth, in the same unimpassioned yet dignified manner, “it is necessary to establish the new order which I have set forth in our own city. It is needless to say that this will be a matter of some difficulty. Thou hast seen for thyself how repugnant are women to our ruling class, and that it is their nature now to treat them with cruelty and contempt. Still, with us the task is not hopeless, and, indeed, is quite possible. For, in the first place, obedience to the vice-regent is by far the most powerful motive of conduct, and also, in every respect our higher ranks are slaves, not of any passion, but of pure reason. Therefore I could say to my fellows of royal blood—such and such are the reasons, and such is my will; and the obedience must follow as surely as day follows the rising sun.”

As he spoke thus, a will of adamant shone through his eyes; but a moment afterwards the troubled look of one who thinks he discovers an error in his proof appeared in his face, and he paused for some time in deep thought.

“But,” he continued, “it is no light matter to upset altogether the growth of many hundred years, and to depart from the will of my great ancestor, who in all else showed the perfection of wisdom. The ways of error are as many as the paths of the sea, and I must take heed lest I go astray. Therefore I have determined on two things as preliminary. The first is no concern of thine, and I need waste but few words upon it. Suffice it to say that I will take steps to see that this change is approved by the first Thoth and all the vice-regents, as well as by the present race.”

Daphne looked at him with horror and amazement.

“Surely,” she said, “thou canst not go down to the grave and consult with the dead?”

“That,” he replied, “is, as I said, no concern of thine. But nothing must be done to shake the bonds of obedience, and nothing left undone to avoid the possibility of error. The fortune of the whole world and of the future generations of men depends upon this act.”

Daphne looked at him steadfastly, half suspecting madness, but his dark eyes gleamed with intelligence and firmness of purpose.

“Therefore,” he said, as if speaking to himself, “I will be advised by the first king and all the vice-regents. In this manner obedience and the rule of reason will even be strengthened. This is the first precaution.

“The second safeguard,” he said, looking on Daphne as an archer looks at an arrow intended for a fateful purpose, “is of more interest to thee.

“At first I had intended at the same time to compel all the men of the royal race to take for themselves honoured consorts of pure Grecian blood, but chance or nature willed otherwise, and thy companions have all perished—chance or nature,” he repeated, “not treachery—not disobedience,”—and again for a moment he seemed to doubt.

“Thy companions have perished, and perchance it is better so for my purpose. For, after much consideration, I have decided that the best plan is to make at first a single experiment. Accordingly I will explain to our chiefs my reasons and intentions, and will offer them an example in my own person.

“I will show them that it is possible to honour women without the madness of love, and that the children born of equals are superior. Everything shall be done with full deliberation, and an imposing ceremony shall be invented to show that I am not driven by the passion which our great ancestor dreaded.”

He spoke rapidly, and Daphne listened to him without grasping his meaning at the moment. His words had entered her ears, but had not penetrated her heart.

But in an instant every word became a flaming dart and pierced her to the quick, when he said—

“Therefore, in two months from this day, with all imaginable pomp, I will make thee my queen.”


Daphne sprang up in the greatest excitement, and quivering with rage and indignation.

“Thou stony image,” she cried, “know that I have not yet learned—no, nor ever will learn—to obey thee, unnatural one, inhuman! I would rather wed the lowest slave in Athens than thee. Has thy hideous descent left in thee no trace of manly feeling, and no knowledge of the heart of a woman? I would rather see the whole world desolate than mingle my blood with thine!”

Thoth listened to her with undisguised astonishment, and replied to her quite calmly—

“But what more couldst thou desire? Thou shalt be treated by every one, from myself downwards, with the most obsequious honour. Thou shalt be queen of the world, and the founder of the greatest race the earth has ever borne. Surely thou hast misunderstood my meaning. Say in what I have failed.”

Daphne was somewhat soothed by the calmness of the reply, but her pride was still wounded. She resented the coldness of Thoth’s reasoning, and she replied with passion—

“What more would I have? I would have one thing only, the first and the last—love—human love.”

“And what,” said Thoth, with an appearance of intellectual interest, “is love? What more than I have promised?”

The innocence of the answer of this wisest of men disarmed Daphne.

“Thy honour and respect could no more kindle a spark of love than all the power of the ocean could kindle a little fire. Read again, if thou hast the record, the story of thy ancestor, and know that I must be loved as blindly as he loved the woman who, thou sayest, afterwards betrayed him.”

She glided up to Thoth and took his hand. It was cool and steady. She looked up in his face, but his features were unmoved and his eyes passionless.

“Shall I tell thee,” she whispered, “how thou canst tell if thou really lovest with all thy heart? I have never loved, and yet I know.”

By the strange contrariety of her nature, she suddenly longed to make this man, whom she had just addressed with scorn, her ardent lover. For the moment she forgot herself and her situation. Pride and dignity left her, and she only desired, with all her force, to subdue this man. She spoke to him as if she loved him, fearless of reproach, unmindful of opinion.

“Love me,” she said, “and one look shall make me tremble—one caress stop my pulses. My heart shall be lost in thine, like a drop of water in a burning desert. Nothing but death shall separate us. Wilt thou not leave the weary pursuit of knowledge, to read without effort the open book of my soul? Look through mine eyes—is not the prize worth grasping? Am I not beautiful, and throbbing with the fulness of youthful life? See, my hand trembles in thine, and for one look of love I would kiss thy lips.”

She spoke as if in a dream; but suddenly the hardness of Thoth, like the blow of cold steel, dispelled the fascination. She shrank back, her cheeks burned with shame, and she hid her face with her hands.

Then Thoth spoke to her words which tore her heart in pieces, and made her helpless with dismay.

“I regret,” he said, “that thou hast utterly failed to grasp my purpose and to understand my position. Dost thou think that I will surrender my soul to the madness of love? Shall I keep at my side a passionate creature who will seek to betray and thwart me, and destroy by her animal nature the toil of generations? It is easy for me to imitate my father, and to bring a child from Greece to train according to my will.

“Surely I will do this; and as for thee, thou shalt find a chamber in our women’s palace, and thou and thy children shall be the slaves of my will. Henceforth my oath is no more binding than if I had sworn it to a dog or a slave.”

With these words he departed.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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