Pharaoh Mernephtah

By John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester and Vera Kryzhanovskaia

In the Bible, the story of Moses begins to be told in chapter 2 of the book of Exodus. He was born when the Hebrews were enslaved in Egypt. Placed in a basket to escape the death promised by Pharaoh to all the male children of the Hebrew people, he was welcomed by the latter's daughter and given the name "Moses" because he had been saved from the waters.

However, according to Rochester, the story is (quite) different.

• Language: English
• Publisher: World Spiritist Institute
• Release date: Mar 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215003589

Book preview

John Wilmot

Earl of Rochester

Pharaoh Mernephtah

VERA KRYZHANOVSKAIA

English Translation

Leticia Sánchez Velarde, Perú

Beatriz Rueda Stella, Brazil

October, 2022

Translated from the Portuguese Edition.

© VERA KRYZHANOVSKAIA

World Spiritist Institute

Houston, Texas, USA      

E–mail: [e-mail]

About the Medium

Vera Ivanovna Kryzhanovskaia, (Warsaw, July 14, 1861 - Tallinn, December 29, 1924), was a Russian psychographer medium. Between 1885 and 1917 she psychographed a hundred novels and short stories signed by the spirit of Rochester, believed by some to be John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester. Among the best known are The Pharaoh Mernephtah and The Iron Chancellor.

In addition to historical novels, in parallel the medium psychographed works with occult-cosmological themes. E. V. Kharitonov, in his research essay, considered her the first woman representative of science fiction literature. During the fashion for occultism and esotericism, with the recent scientific discoveries and psychic experiences of European spiritualist circles, she attracted readers from the Russian Silver Age high society and the middle class in newspapers and press. Although he began along spiritualist lines, organizing séances in St. Petersburg, he later gravitated toward theosophical doctrines.

Her father died when Vera was just ten years old, which left the family in a difficult situation. In 1872 Vera was taken in by an educational charity for noble girls in St. Petersburg as a scholar, St. Catherine's School. However, the young girl's frail health and financial difficulties prevented her from completing the course. In 1877 she was discharged and completed her education at home.

During this period, the spirit of the English poet JW Rochester (1647-1680), taking advantage of the young woman's mediumistic gifts, materialized, and proposed that she dedicate herself body and soul to the service of the Good and write under his direction. After this contact with the person who became her spiritual guide, Vera was cured of chronic tuberculosis, a serious illness at the time, without medical interference.

At the age of 18, he began to work in psychography. In 1880, on a trip to France, he successfully participated in a mediumistic séance. At that time, his contemporaries were surprised by his productivity, despite his poor health. His séances were attended at that time by famous European mediums, as well as by Prince Nicholas, the future Tsar Nicholas II of Russia.

In 1886, in Paris, her first work was made public, the historical novel Episode of the life of Tiberius, published in French, (as well as her first works), in which the tendency for mystical themes was already noticeable. It is believed that the medium was influenced by the Spiritist Doctrine of Allan Kardec, the Theosophy of Helena Blavatsky, and the Occultism of Papus.

During this period of temporary residence in Paris, Vera psychographed a series of historical novels, such as The Pharaoh Mernephtah, The Abbey of the Benedictines, The Romance of a Queen, The Iron Chancellor of Ancient Egypt, Herculaneum, The Sign of Victory, The Night of Saint Bartholomew, among others, which attracted public attention not only for the captivating themes, but also for the exciting plots. For the novel The Iron Chancellor of Ancient Egypt, the French Academy of Sciences awarded him the title of Officer of the French Academy, and in 1907, the Russian Academy of Sciences awarded him the Honorable Mention for the novel Czech Luminaries.

About the Spiritual Author

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester was born on April 1 or 10, 1647 (there is no record of the exact date). The son of Henry Wilmot and Anne (widow of Sir. Francis Henry Lee), Rochester resembled his father in physique and temperament, domineering and proud. Henry Wilmot had received the title of Earl because of his efforts to raise money in Germany to help King Charles I regain the throne after he was forced to leave England.

When his father died, Rochester was 11 years old and inherited the title of Earl, little inheritance, and honors.

Young J.W. Rochester grew up in Ditchley among drunkenness, theatrical intrigues, artificial friendships with professional poets, lust, brothels in Whetstone Park and the friendship of the king, whom he despised.

He had a vast culture, for the time: he mastered Latin and Greek, knew the classics, French and Italian, was the author of satirical poetry, highly appreciated in his time.

In 1661, at the age of 14, he left Wadham College, Oxford, with the degree of Master of Arts. He then left for the continent (France and Italy) and became an interesting figure: tall, slim, attractive, intelligent, charming, brilliant, subtle, educated, and modest, ideal characteristics to conquer the frivolous society of his time.

When he was not yet 20 years old, in January 1667, he married Elizabeth Mallet. Ten months later, drinking began to affect his character. He had four sons with Elizabeth and a daughter, in 1677, with the actress Elizabeth Barry.

Living the most different experiences, from fighting the Dutch navy on the high seas to being involved in crimes of death, Rochester's life followed paths of madness, sexual abuse, alcoholics, and charlatanism, in a period in which he acted as a physician.

When Rochester was 30 years old, he writes to a former fellow adventurer that he was nearly blind, lame, and with little chance of ever seeing London again.

Quickly recovering, Rochester returns to London. Shortly thereafter, in agony, he set out on his last adventure: he called the curate Gilbert Burnet and dictated his recollections to him. In his last reflections, Rochester acknowledged having lived a wicked life, the end of which came slowly and painfully to him because of the venereal diseases that dominated him.

Earl of Rochester died on July 26, 1680. In the state of spirit, Rochester received the mission to work for the propagation of Spiritualism. After 200 years, through the medium Vera Kryzhanovskaia, the automatism that characterized her made her hand trace words with dizzying speed and total unconsciousness of ideas. The narratives that were dictated to her denote a wide knowledge of ancestral life and customs and provide in their details such a local stamp and historical truth that the reader finds it hard not to recognize their authenticity. Rochester proves to dictate his historical-literary production, testifying that life unfolds to infinity in his indelible marks of spiritual memory, towards the light and the way of God. It seems impossible for a historian, however erudite, to study, simultaneously and in depth, times and environments as different as the Assyrian, Egyptian, Greek and Roman civilizations; as well as customs as dissimilar as those of the France of Louis XI to those of the Renaissance.

The subject matter of Rochester's work begins in Pharaonic Egypt, passes through Greco-Roman antiquity and the Middle Ages, and continues into the 19th century. In his novels, reality navigates in a fantastic current, in which the imaginary surpasses the limits of verisimilitude, making natural phenomena that oral tradition has taken care to perpetuate as supernatural.

Rochester's referential is full of content about customs, laws, ancestral mysteries and unfathomable facts of History, under a novelistic layer, where social and psychological aspects pass through the sensitive filter of his great imagination. Rochester's genre classification is hampered by his expansion into several categories: gothic horror with romance, family sagas, adventure and forays into the fantastic.

The number of editions of Rochester's works, spread over countless countries, is so large that it is not possible to have an idea of their magnitude, especially considering that, according to researchers, many of these works are unknown to the general public.

Several lovers of Rochester's novels carried out (and perhaps do carry out) searches in libraries in various countries, especially in Russia, to locate still unknown works. This can be seen in the prefaces transcribed in several works. Many of these works are finally available in Spanish thanks to the World Spiritist Institute.

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE OF THE AUTHOR'S SPIRIT

THERMUTIS SPIRIT NARRATIVE

NARRATIVE OF THE SPIRIT OF PINEHAS

NARRATIVE OF THE  SPIRIT OF NECHO

NOTE FROM THE  SPIRITUAL AUTHOR

PROLOGUE OF THE SPIRITUAL AUTHOR

I earnestly desire to obtain a full account from the spirit of Thermutis, the Pharaoh’s daughter so closely connected with the fate of the great Hebrew lawgiver, and whom legend calls his foster-mother. But the evocation is painful to her spirit, and many facts seem too sacred to her to be divulged, and perhaps even unbelieved: finally, everything concerning the personality of Moses is very dear to her, and Mernephtah's idea of him - who cannot keep a good memory of Israel deliverer - saddens her greatly, although this judgment is impartial.

Spiritists know that the individuality, freed from the material body, retains its inclinations, opinions, principles, and above all, its will; and so, you will understand that I must therefore submit myself to the restrictions desired by Thermutis, who, only in consideration of my request and that of my guides, and in order not to prejudice the work I have undertaken, has consented to dictate to me some episodes of his life, referring mainly to the man who cost Egypt so much – episodes that will help clarify his distant past shrouded in the impenetrable veil of the centuries that have passed.

ROCHESTER

Volume I

THERMUTIS SPIRIT NARRATIVE

Under painful impression, I accede to the desire of Rochester and his Guides to narrate some episodes of that distant earthly existence, in order to prove, once more, that the human heart does not change and that a high social position never preserves you from moral sufferings common to mankind.

Evoking pains and weaknesses that make one forget the woman of caste and real prejudices, I confess that my repugnance comes, in part, from the fear of that prejudice, sovereign lord of society, of which we make ourselves slaves. So, I must remind the spiritualists that there are neither Egyptians nor Hebrews among the spirits, and that only virtues or vices make the elect or the reprobate.

At the time when this narrative begins, and when the episode that decided my future unfolded, the Egyptian Court had its headquarters in Tanis, which was particularly appreciated by my brother, Pharaoh Ramses II.

I was then young and beautiful, happy, carefree, indulgent, but of weak character. Loved and flattered, accustomed to seeing my entourage submissive to my every whim, I lived happily, proud of my beauty and royal status, persuaded that a rosy future awaited me. I kept my heart free, for I did not like any of those men who courted me with their tributes. Among those who stubbornly admired me was a young Egyptian from an illustrious family named Chenephres. He was a handsome young man between twenty-six and twenty-seven years old, possessed of immense wealth and sympathetic to Ramses, with whom he held a high office; however, I don't know why, he inspired an unpleasant impression on me.

Once, at a party, I felt tired and, wishing to be alone, I retired to the garden, accompanied from afar only by one of my ladies. As I approached, I noticed, to my astonishment Chenephres lying on a stone bench, looking deeply sad. Seeing me, he jumped to his feet and wanted to run away. His desolate expression, however, touched me, and, dominating the intimate aversion I felt, I asked him the cause of his sadness and if I could help him discover the worm that seemed to be gnawing at his heart.

Disturbed, he threw himself at my feet, kissed the hem of my dress and confessed his love, begging me to tell him if he could trust me to perform our espousals.

I have already said that I was far from loving him; his words, though very humble, displeased me, and, firming myself in my royal pride, I declared that he had never inspired any feelings in me other than those that a daughter of Pharaoh might experience for a faithful official and subject.

He stood up and, crossing his arms, bowed respectfully, begging me to forgive his daring folly. Turning around, however, I could see that his dark eyes showed implacable hatred. Ah! this enmity, which I then despised, was to play a considerable part in my life.

I mention this scene, for the sake of understanding of the events that followed.

During my stay in Tanis, I observed that my best friend and playmate, Asnath, was sad and thoughtful. One afternoon, surprising her tearfully, I took her to the terrace, made her sit beside me and, taking her hands in mine, I said:

- Dear, I have noticed your sadness for a long time, and it troubles me; tell me the cause and maybe I can help you.

Without answering, she threw herself at my feet and with her head on my knees, she burst into tears.

- Come on, hide nothing from me, — I said, stroking her hair, — it's impossible that we can't think of a remedy for your sorrows.

She kissed my hands and replied quietly:

- To you alone, Thermutis, my friend is sovereign, I can confess: I love and am loved, but it is a nefarious love, which the gods will not bless; you know my father and you know how proud he is, harsh, and severe... He will never give me to my chosen one.

- Who do you love, then? - I asked in astonishment. - Someone of impure caste, some wretched amu? But how could such a man have pleased you, you who can choose from among the most distinguished at Court?

- No, no! - exclaimed Asnath, I love an Egyptian, a great, good and beautiful artist, the sculptor Apopi. Some time ago he worked in Thebas, in his uncle's house, who does important works for my father for the family tomb, and in our palace; it was there that I met and loved him. Now he resides here in his own studio; I have met him two or three times, but it is impossible for me to speak to him, or even to see him close up. I cannot invent pretexts, for fear of arousing the suspicions of my father, who would be able to eliminate him without compassion.

- Wipe away those tears, — she said cheerfully, tomorrow you will see your beloved; I myself will go to the sculptor's house to place some orders. For a long time, I have wanted a statue of Hator, sculpted in green mafkat stone: Apopi will be the author, as well as the bust of our dear companion Senimuthís who, only a few weeks ago, Osiris called to himself. See to it that tomorrow, before the great heat, the litter and those who are to accompany me are ready.

The next day, I took the litter and, settling the trembling Asnath by my side, I had her driven to the house of the sculptor Apopi.

The morning was bright, and the long walk delighted me, for we drove outside the city to a suburb where the drivers stopped in front of a modest-looking house surrounded by a copious garden.

No doubt warned by my scouts, the young artist, flushed with emotion, stood at the threshold of the entrance. As I approached, he knelt down, beseeching the gods in a loud voice to bless his house with the arrival of his sovereign's sister. I went downstairs and said to Asnath, all confused:

- Take care, it is very handsome your favorite.

Then I expressed a desire to visit the sculptor's studio, in order to judge his technique, for I wanted to entrust him with some commissions.

Apopi, preceding me respectfully, led me to an immense porch, open at both ends, where there were heaps of stone blocks of different sizes as well as several statues in the process of being made; in the center, next to a large statue of Osiris, there was a man standing at a wooden easel, busy polishing the stone. On his back, entirely absorbed in his work, he seemed to see and hear nothing.

- Ithamar! - exclaimed Apopi, scolding him - have the gods gone mad with you? Pharaoh's daughter honors our humble tent with her presence, and you stand there perched with your back to her?

The man thus apostrophized turned around quickly and jumped to the ground.

After prostrating himself, he remained standing, arms folded, motionless like the statue of Osiris himself.

I stared at him for a moment, completely fascinated; I had never seen such a beautiful creature! Tall, slender, of ideal plasticity, Ithamar embodied the Semitic type; his black, curly hair framed his pale face, with regular features; the most admirable, however, were his black, clear eyes, revealing a kindness and charms that in an instant made me forget everything.

Pulling myself out of this contemplation, I made everything be shown to me.

Apopi, assisted by Ithamar, had opened up the studio to me and I ended up ordering, among other works I had told Asnath about, my own and my friend's bust, making it clear that the plaster models had to be made in the palace.

As I left, I looked with my eyes for the Semite: he was standing a few steps away and, in an instant, his burning, strange gaze dipped into mine, making my heart beat violently; as if in a dream, I left and resumed the litter. Asnath, radiant, murmured thanks, which I hardly noticed.

The next day Apopi came, followed by Ithamar, and they began to model the commissioned busts. Often, on this occasion, Asnath exchanged glances and expressions of love with Apopi. The presence of the young Hebrew caused me oppression; I was short of breath, and his gaze burned me like fire.

One day Apopi came alone, and I would have liked to inquire about the whereabouts of the helper, but pride and the shame of an unconfessed interest made me keep silent. The next day the sculptor still came alone, and I was so restless that I did not know how to behave. It was then that Asnath, guessing my thoughts, asked about Ithamar.

- He is sick, — replied Apopi.

- Does he have family or someone to take care of him? - I asked, relieved.

- He lives with his brother-in-law Amram and is cared for by his sister Jocabed; they are poor but good and esteem him.

- How did you bond so closely attached with a friend? -I asked.

- There are so many of them in Tanis that we cannot be unaware of them; for the rest, Ithamar and I have known each other for a long time; his great vocation for sculpture and his excellent character have cemented our friendship.

- Asnath, — I said, —see to it that Apopi is sent a basket of fruit and a jar of the best wine for the convalescence of his sick friend.

Since that day I had no more peace, experiencing a kind of inner vacuum. I was missing Ithamar, the veiled and melodious timbre of his voice resounded in my ears; in my dreams, his beautiful face and fascinating eyes pursued me; it was in vain that I said to myself: he is a miserable worker, the son of a despised people. But since my very faithful imagination presented me with his profile and seductive smile, I forgot his origin and vile condition and all prejudice dissipated, replaced by the irrepressible desire to see him again at any price.

Finally, I could no longer deceive myself about my condition: I was foolishly in love with a reprobate, an impure man, separated from me by an abyss; anger and shame devoured me; I was afraid and horrified of myself: had an evil spirit taken possession of me? I became coarse and suspicious to those around me, because I feared they could read the terrible secret on my face. In vain, to escape this torture, I sought distractions, visited temples to make offerings and sacrifices, spent hours on end immersed in fervent prayers, begging the invisible ones to free me from the obsession, sweeping away the image of the Semite.

Many times, I surprised Asnath's gaze angrily locked on me, not daring to speak to me.

One afternoon when we were alone in the garden, on a small terrace facing the Nile, leaning my elbows on the balustrade, I gazed at the river absorbed in somber thoughts; the sun was disappearing over the horizon, gilding with its reddish rays the foliage and the shimmering surface of the waters. I turned to say something to Asnath, when once again I noticed a strange restlessness in her eyes.

- What habit have you gotten of staring at me as if you wanted to analyze me? - I said to her annoyed. As her only answer, she took my hands and covered them with kisses and tears:

- Thermutis, it can't go on like this. Something terrible is going on inside you; you pale and wither away, sleep abandons you, your face scalds, your hands are always cold... I am unworthy of your trust, I know, but I love you so much! At the cost of my own life, I would like to prove my gratitude to you; I know much more than you think, and it was not without reason that I drove your servants away, watching over your sleep alone. When you sleep, your lips betray the torture of your heart, for you have often uttered the name of Ithamar. Oh! Thermutis, accept my aid and my esteem, that thou mightest be stronger, and thus conceal this name in the innermost recesses of thy being, lest it become shame to thee, and death to the wretch.

I was annihilated, succumbed; everything was spinning before my darkened eyes! In a dream I had revealed his name! Had any other than Asnath realized? Oh! death, at that moment, would have been a benefit.

With my arms I girded my childhood friend's neck, leaning my face against hers; my burning tears flooded her cheeks. I was suffering hellish torments, and no one could console me, because the origin of the man I loved was hateful and despicable for eternity. I should therefore forget him, banish his image, or despise myself. After the first emotion, we talked. Asnath swore me to absolute secrecy, and, no matter what, I felt supported, I had a confidant with whom I could unburden my entire soul.

Several days of relative calm passed; I looked for every opportunity to be alone with Asnath. So as soon as I went to bed, I dismissed the maids and we talked for hours on end.

One night, we sat by the open window, inhaling the scent of the garden. Everyone in the palace was asleep, and only the roar of the sentries interrupted the deep silence of the night, when suddenly, a faint whisper came from a grove of rose bushes below the window. A pebble tied to a piece of parchment fell to the knees of Asnath, who held it eagerly and tried to read it in the moonlight. A message from Apopi," he said, blushing. Ithamar, now recovered, was the bearer and will await the answer, which is urgent. I will use your tablets, if you permit.

I answered with a nod of my head; my heart seemed to burst from beating so hard, for there, a few steps away, was Ithamar! I wanted to talk to him, to get details about his state of health; such an innocent thing could not compromise me.

When Asnath returned with the tablets, I expressed this wish to her and she did not object, but evidently fearing the presence of a man near my chambers, she bent down and told Ithamar to slide down to a bower, which she indicated; then, offering me her arm, she helped me down from the terrace. My legs were trembling, although I had no fear of being discovered, for even if a sentry saw me strolling along with my maid, he would not be surprised, because we often enjoyed the coolness of the night in this way, reserving the hot daytime hours for rest.

We were already approaching the bed of acacias when Asnath remembered that she had forgotten an object on the table that she wanted to send to Apopi, and apologizing, she hurried on her way to the palace. For the first time, I found myself alone next to Ithamar, who, bathed in moonlight, stood a few steps away, leaning on the stone bench. He had lost weight and his beautiful face showed sadness and suffering.

I felt a burning desire to console him, and, moved by this idea, I took a few steps towards the bench:

Ithamar, what are you missing? Are you well now? You look sad and suffering; can I help you? Hearing me, he shuddered, stared at me in perplexed, and knelt down at my feet.

The sun shines too high for its rays to reach and dissipate the mists that obscure the soul of a miserable and impure Semite! Illustrious daughter of Pharaoh may the gods bless and protect you! May they shower happiness upon your head, for the words of tender compassion which, from the highest throne, you address to a man lower than the dust on your sandals.

He came closer and, taking the edge of my dress, kissed it, greedily.

Condemn me now, oh queen, for my audacity. I will gladly sacrifice my life for the crime of having touched your dress.

It is impossible to describe my emotion. He is deeply mistaken who supposes that in ancient times love, as you understand it, did not exist; humanity was the same, and all the feelings that make your hearts beat also stirred those of that time.

I repeat: I can hardly describe what I felt; that whispering voice, full of recalcitrant passion, intoxicated me; the eyes, glowing with awe and excitement, fascinated me. Involuntarily, I put my hand on his head, and my fingers disappeared into his thick, silky, curly hair. I shuddered at this contact, and, forgetting prudence and prejudice, forgetting that I had before me an impure being, I said with a voice streaked with tears:

You are not the only one to suffer. May it be a balm to you! I'm sorry that your origin digs a chasm between you and Pharaoh Mernephtah's daughter. Why should you be born a Semite?

Hearing this, Ithamar jumped to his feet, his eyes shining, took my hands in his and, bending down, eagerly read in my eyes what I had been unable to conceal. Stunned, I rested my head on his shoulder. He drew me in, clasped me in his arms, and pressed his hot lips to mine, murmuring:

- Thermutis!When I returned to my quarters an hour later, I felt dazed: Asnath, pale and trembling, helped me to settle down, but I could not close my eyes that memorable night. I felt drunk with joy and yet oppressed and unhappy. What would Rameses and the priests say if they discovered the truth? I tried to push the idea far away. Why not succeed by hiding everything?

A few weeks passed. Protected by the faithful Asnath, more than one night I met Ithamar and trembled at the mere thought of not being able to see him again. Meanwhile, the inevitable separation was approaching, as the court was preparing to return to Thebas.

Driven by blind passion, I imagined employing Ithamar among my servants to take him with me. On the night when I intended to agree with him, definitely, the details of this project with him, he did not show up, Apopi coming in his place.

- I know everything, princess, — he said, —and I have come to beg you, on my knees, to cut off any and all relations with the Semite, because we are playing with our heads, and I believe we are already spied on.

He formally opposed the idea of taking Ithamar, saying that he himself had enough reasons to resign. I had to agree, but on the condition that I would see him once again in farewell.

After my harsh refusal, Chenephres always kept a respectful distance. One day, however, at a party, I surprised him staring at me with an expression that chilled the blood in my veins: hatred, anger, irony was mixed in that look, and the respect of old had disappeared. Where and how could I have known? Impossible! My criminal conscience made me see black ghosts everywhere.

On the eve of my departure, I had one last interview with Ithamar. Feeling death in my soul, I detached myself from his arms at the first light of day clearing the horizon. Once again, he kissed my hand and disappeared.

Sad, shaken, I returned to Thebas, but in order to remove any suspicion, I was forced to resume the course of my usual life. On this occasion, I made a discovery that almost drove me mad. This time, however, I dared not even confide in the faithful confidant. An icy sweat covered my body, wondering what awaited me. Only a vague instinct supported me to gain time; I dissimulated, appearing cheerful, with superhuman effort, without neglecting the paint on my discolored cheeks.

One afternoon, saying goodbye to those around me and being alone with Asnath, always willing to distract me with her chatter, she told me out of the blue:

- You know? My brother has just told me that today, during the meal, Rameses spoke about you. He thinks you are the victim of an evil eye, which is affecting your health, and that's why he has ordered the high priest of the Temple of Ammon to send a doctor tomorrow to examine you; no doubt the doctor will bring amulets. To tell you the truth, your appearance is unhealthy; I know that your love for the Hebrew torments you, but you also know that you have to forget about him.

I answered nothing. I was short of breath, and I supposed that my oppressed heart would burst.

The next day the priest and physician, sent by Pharaoh, would come; the whole truth would be revealed, the incredible mystery that was taking away my peace! No doubt my face changed, because Asnath screamed as she stared at me:

- Thermutis? Do you feel sick ?

As my only answer I drew her to me; my heart overflowed, I brought my mouth close to her ear and revealed everything.

Pale as a corpse, she covered her face with her hands:

- We are lost! - she murmured. What have you done, Thermutis? And Ithamar, the infamous, how dare he?

- Leave him alone, it's only my fault, I replied, covering her mouth with my hand.

We spent a horrible night, and it was only at dawn, exhausted, that I managed to get a few hours of heavy sleep. Awake, I got ready and went to a small covered terrace adorned with flowers. The air was fresh and pleasant, but fear gave me the sensation of a devouring fire. I sent out all the people around me, except for a few maids to shake me, and kept my eyes fixed on the door through which the expected priest was supposed to enter.. Asnath, sitting beside me, was manipulating some work, but fear equally sealed her lips and made her hands tremble.

The squire's entrance announcing that Suanro, the physician of the temple of Ammon, wished to speak to me, interrupted my thoughts and a cloud clouded my vision as he approached and sat down beside me. I had seen him more than once before, without paying him any attention, but now, in that stressed moment, his profile engraved itself in my mind in a startling way.

Still young, with a beautiful and calm physiognomy, he showed great kindness; his eyes, however, deep and severe, seemed to read in the human heart as in an open book.

Without averting his gaze, he questioned me, then placed his hand on my chest; I don't know what I answered, seeing only the wise man's brow crease little by little... Asnath seemed transformed into a statue.

Finally, he stood up, and crossing his arms, said with authority:

- Everybody out, I will pronounce an exorcism against the evil spirits that harm the princess's health!

I felt relieved, and yet never had one of these men in long white robes seemed so fearsome to me.

When we were alone, he turned around and his deep, shrewd look revealed, better than words, that he had discovered everything.

- Wretched daughter of a king, confess the whole truth to the physician and the priest, in whom you must place all your trust, as an intermediary between you and the gods.

That voice kept hammering my ears, like judges of the Avern. Involuntarily, I prostrated myself with