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Updated: May 22, 2025
The wise Homer, admiring the sponger's life as the only blissful enviable one, has this: I say no fairer end may be attained Than when the people is attuned to mirth, . . . . . and groans the festal board With meat and bread, and the cup-bearer's ladle From flowing bowl to cup the sweet wine dips.
It was the sculptor's turn to be amazed. But with one of the instant realizations that acute memory effects, he recalled that he had disappeared immediately after Nechutes had been accepted by the Lady Ta-meri. And now, by the word of the apologetic cup-bearer, was it made apparent to Kenkenes that a tragic fancy concerning the cause of his disappearance had taken root in the cup-bearer's mind.
It was a position of great trust and power; great trust, because the king's life rested in the cup-bearer's keeping; great power, because whilst the Persian monarchs, believing that familiarity breeds contempt, kept themselves secluded from the public gaze, and admitted very few to their august presence, the cup-bearer had access at all times to the king, and had the opportunity of speaking to him which was denied to others.
"Where hast thou been?" he finally asked. "In the profoundest depths of trouble, Nechutes, nor have I come out therefrom." The cup-bearer's face showed compassion even in the dusk. "Nay, now; thine was but the fortune a multitude of lovers have suffered before thee," he said, with a contrite note in his deep voice. "It was even odds between us and I won. Hold it not against me, Kenkenes."
Besides, when Astyages was engaged, it was the cup-bearer's duty to guard him from interruption, and at such times he often had occasion to restrain the young prince from the liberty of entering his grandfather's apartments as often as he pleased.
"Nay!" was the cup-bearer's blunt reply. Har-hat shrugged his shoulders and lapsed into silence. Rameses leaned toward Masanath again. The expression on his face during the talk and the tone he chose now showed that he had not heard, nor was even conscious of the silence that had fallen. His words were low-spoken, but each of his companions heard.
"I believe I do not err in assuming my cup-bearer's name to be Varden, although he himself, in his simple Americo-Africanism, is pleased to pluralize it. Do I fret you, host?" "Not in the least," said Richard, dropping upon a rustic bench, and beginning to fan himself with his straw hat. "What's the use of fretting about a boy who hasn't sense enough to fret about himself?" "`Boy?" Mr.
Wait till daybreak as my guest." "Where is Har-hat?" "In his tent, yonder," pointing to a party-colored pavilion. "Dost thou keep an unsleeping eye on the Pharaoh?" "By night, aye." Kenkenes had a thought to accept the cup-bearer's hospitality. He knew that the expected climax would follow immediately upon the king's perusal of the message, and that the nature of that climax depended upon himself.
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