"Mœris,
"Nephew and heir of Amense, Queen of Egypt."
When, my dear mother, I had finished reading this extraordinary letter, I held it unrolled in my hands for a few moments, stupefied, as it were, with amazement. My eyes sought the face of the queen. It was rigid as iron—white as alabaster; but her regards were riveted upon my countenance.
"Your majesty," I said, hardly knowing what to say, "what fable is this of the daring and impious Prince of Thebes—?"
She interrupted me with—
"What dost thou think, O Sesostris? If it be a fable, is it not, in such a man's hand, as dangerous as truth? Dare I let him circulate such a tale throughout Egypt? Can I let it reach the ears of Remeses?"
"Why not, O queen?" I asked. "If it is false, it can be shown to be so; and my friend Remeses is too great and wise to heed it. Is it by so improbable and artfully framed a story as this, you are made unhappy; and for this you resign your crown and hasten to secure Remeses in power?"
"Is it not enough?"
"No, O wise and virtuous lady!" I answered, with indignant feelings against Mœris, and sympathy for her womanly fears; "my advice to you is, to defy the malice and wickedness of the viceroy, inform Remeses of these letters—nay, let him read them—assemble your army, and meet him with open war. A row of galleys sunk across the Rile will stop his fleet; and if he land, your soldiers, with Remeses at their head, will drive him back to his city of a hundred gates, and—"
Again the queen interrupted me: