"Of course--no doubt," said the baker, "good-bye, there go my cases!"
CHAPTER XXVI.
Notwithstanding the advanced hour, hundreds of people were crossing over
to the Necropolis at the same time as the baker. They were permitted
to linger late on into the evening, under the inspection of the watch,
because it was the eve of the great feast, and they had to set out their
counters and awnings, to pitch their tents, and to spread out their
wares; for as soon as the sun rose next day all business traffic would
be stopped, none but festal barges might cross from Thebes, or such
boats as ferried over pilgrims--men, women, and children whether natives
or foreigners, who were to take part in the great procession.
In the halls and work-rooms of the House of Seti there was unusual stir.
The great miracle of the wonderful heart had left but a short time for
the preparations for the festival. Here a chorus was being practised,
there on the sacred lake a scenic representation was being rehearsed;
here the statues of the Gods were being cleaned and dressed,
[The dressing and undressing of the holy images was conducted in
strict accordance with a prescribed ritual. The inscriptions in the
seven sanctuaries of Abydos, published by Alariette, are full of
instruction as to these ordinances, which were significant in every
detail.]
and the colors of the sacred emblems were being revived, there the
panther-skins and other parts of the ceremonial vestments of the
priests were being aired and set out; here sceptres, censers and other
metal-vessels were being cleaned, and there the sacred bark which was to
be carried in the procession was being decorated. In the sacred groves
of the temple the school-boys, under the direction of the gardeners,
wove garlands and wreaths to decorate the landing-places, the sphinxes,
the temple, and the statues of the Gods. Flags were hoisted on the
brass-tipped masts in front of the pylon, and purple sails were spread
to give shadow to the court.
The inspector of sacrifices was already receiving at a side-door the
cattle, corn and fruit, offerings which were brought as tribute to
the House of Seti, by citizens from all parts of the country, on the
occasion of the festival of the Valley, and he was assisted by scribes,
who kept an account of all that was brought in by the able-bodied
temple-servants and laboring serfs.
Ameni was everywhere: now with the singers, now with the magicians,
who were to effect wonderful transformations before the astonished
multitude; now with the workmen, who were erecting thrones for the
Regent, the emissaries from other collegiate foundations--even from so
far as the Delta--and the prophets from Thebes; now with the priests,
who were preparing the incense, now with the servants, who were trimming
the thousand lamps for the illumination at night--in short everywhere;
here inciting, there praising. When he had convinced himself that all
was going on well he desired one of the priests to call Pentaur.
After the departure of the exiled prince Rameri, the young priest had
gone to the work-room of his friend Nebsecht.
The leech went uneasily from his phials to his cages, and from his cages
back to his flasks. While he told Pentaur of the state he had found his
room in on his return home, he wandered about in feverish excitement,
unable to keep still, now kicking over a bundle of plants, now thumping
down his fist on the table; his favorite birds were starved to death,
his snakes had escaped, and his ape had followed their example,
apparently in his fear of them.
"The brute, the monster!" cried Nebsecht in a rage. "He has thrown over
the jars with the beetles in them, opened the chest of meal that I feed
the birds and insects upon, and rolled about in it; he has thrown my
knives, prickers, and forceps, my pins, compasses, and reed pens all out
of window; and when I came in he was sitting on the cupboard up there,
looking just like a black slave that works night and day in a corn-mill;
he had got hold of the roll which contained all my observations on the
structure of animals--the result of years of study-and was looking at it
gravely with his head on one side. I wanted to take the book from him,
but he fled with the roll, sprang out of window, let himself down to
the edge of the well, and tore and rubbed the manuscript to pieces in a
rage. I leaped out after him, but he jumped into the bucket, took hold
of the chain, and let himself down, grinning at me in mockery, and when
I drew him up again he jumped into the water with the remains of the
book."
"And the poor wretch is drowned?" asked Pentaur.
"I fished him up with the bucket, and laid him to dry in the sun; but
he had been tasting all sorts of medicines, and he died at noon. My
observations are gone! Some of them certainly are still left; however,
I must begin again at the beginning. You see apes object as much to my
labors as sages; there lies the beast on the shelf."
Pentaur had laughed at his friend's story, and then lamented his loss;
but now he said anxiously:
"He is lying there on the shelf? But you forget that he ought to have
been kept in the little oratory of Toth near the library. He belongs to
the sacred dogfaced apes,
[The dog faced baboon, Kynokephalos, was sacred to Toth as the
Moongod. Mummies of these apes have been found at Thebes and
Hermopolis, and they are often represented as reading with much
gravity. Statues of them have been found to great quantities, and
there is a particularly life-like picture of a Kynokephalos in
relief on the left wall of the library of the temple of Isis at
Philoe.]
and all the sacred marks were found upon him. The librarian gave him
into your charge to have his bad eye cured."
"That was quite well," answered Nebsecht carelessly.
"But they will require the uninjured corpse of you, to embalm it," said
Pentaur.
"Will they?" muttered Nebsecht; and he looked at his friend like a boy
who is asked for an apple that has long been eaten.
"And you have already been doing something with it," said Pentaur, in a
tone of friendly vexation.
The leech nodded. "I have opened him, and examined his heart.'
"You are as much set on hearts as a coquette!" said Pentaur. "What is
become of the human heart that the old paraschites was to get for you?"
Nebsecht related without reserve what the old man had done for him, and
said that he had investigated the human heart, and had found nothing in
it different from what he had discovered in the heart of beasts.
"But I must see it in connection with the other organs of the human
body," cried he; "and my decision is made. I shall leave the House
of Seti, and ask the kolchytes to take me into their guild. If it is
necessary I will first perform the duties of the lowest paraschites."
Pentaur pointed out to the leech what a bad exchange he would be making,
and at last exclaimed, when Nebsecht eagerly contradicted him, "This
dissecting of the heart does not please me. You say yourself that you
learned nothing by it. Do you still think it a right thing, a fine
thing--or even useful?"
"I do not trouble myself about it," replied Nebsecht. "Whether my
observations seem good or evil, right or heinous, useful or useless, I
want to know how things are, nothing more."
"And so for mere curiosity," cried Pentaur, "you would endanger the
blissful future of thousands of your fellow-men, take upon yourself the
most abject duties, and leave this noble scene of your labors, where we
all strive for enlightenment, for inward knowledge and truth."
The naturalist laughed scornfully; the veins swelled angrily in
Pentaur's forehead, and his voice took a threatening tone as he asked:
"And do you believe that your finger and your eyes have lighted on the
truth, when the noblest souls have striven in vain for thousands
of years to find it out? You descend beneath the level of human
understanding by madly wallowing in the mire; and the more clearly you
are convinced that you have seized the truth, the more utterly you are
involved in the toils of a miserable delusion."
"If I believed I knew the truth should I so eagerly seek it?" asked
Nebsecht. "The more I observe and learn, the more deeply I feel my want
of knowledge and power."
"That sounds modest enough," said the poet, "but I know the arrogance to
which your labors are leading you. Everything that you see with your own
eyes and touch with your own hand, you think infallible, and everything
that escapes your observation you secretly regard as untrue, and pass
by with a smile of superiority. But you cannot carry your experiments
beyond the external world, and you forget that there are things which
lie in a different realm."
"I know nothing of those things," answered Nebsecht quietly.
"But we--the Initiated," cried Pentaur, "turn our attention to them
also. Thoughts--traditions--as to their conditions and agency have
existed among us for a thousand years; hundreds of generations of men
have examined these traditions, have approved them, and have handed
them down to us. All our knowledge, it is true, is defective, and yet
prophets have been favored with the gift of looking into the future,
magic powers have been vouchsafed to mortals. All this is contrary to
the laws of the external world, which are all that you recognize, and
yet it can easily be explained if we accept the idea of a higher order
of things. The spirit of the Divinity dwells in each of us, as in
nature. The natural man can only attain to such knowledge as is common
to all; but it is the divine capacity for serene discernment--which
is omniscience--that works in the seer; it is the divine and unlimited
power--which is omnipotence--that from time to time enables the magician
to produce supernatural effects!"
"Away with prophets and marvels!" cried Nebsecht.
"I should have thought," said Pentaur, "that even the laws of nature
which you recognize presented the greatest marvels daily to your eyes;
nay the Supreme One does not disdain sometimes to break through the
common order of things, in order to reveal to that portion of
Himself which we call our soul, the sublime Whole of which we form
part--Himself. Only today you have seen how the heart of the sacred
ram--"
"Man, man!" Nebsecht interrupted, "the sacred heart is the heart of a
hapless sheep that a sot of a soldier sold for a trifle to a haggling
grazier, and that was slaughtered in a common herd. A proscribed
paraschites put it into the body of Rui, and--and--" he opened the
cupboard, threw the carcase of the ape and some clothes on to the floor,
and took out an alabaster bowl which he held before the poet--"the
muscles you see here in brine, this machine, once beat in the breast
of the prophet Rui. My sheep's heart wilt be carried to-morrow in the
procession! I would have told you all about it if I had not promised the
old man to hold my tongue, and then--But what ails you, man?" Pentaur
had turned away from his friend, and covered his face with his hands,
and he groaned as if he were suffering some frightful physical pain.
Nebsecht divined what was passing in the mind of his friend. Like a
child that has to ask forgiveness of its mother for some misdeed, he
went close up to Pentaur, but stood trembling behind him not daring to
speak to him.
Several minutes passed. Suddenly Pentaur raised his head, lifted his
hands to heaven, and cried:
"O Thou! the One!--though stars may fall from the heavens in summer
nights, still Thy eternal and immutable laws guide the never-resting
planets in their paths. Thou pure and all-prevading Spirit, that
dwellest in me, as I know by my horror of a lie, manifest Thyself in
me--as light when I think, as mercy when I act, and when I speak, as
truth--always as truth!"
The poet spoke these words with absorbed fervor, and Nebsecht heard them
as if they were speech from some distant and beautiful world. He went
affectionately up to his friend, and eagerly held out his hand. Pentaur
grasped it, pressed it warmly, and said:
"That was a fearful moment! You do not know what Ameni has been to me,
and now, now!"
He hardly had ceased speaking when steps were heard approaching the
physician's room, and a young priest requested the friends to appear at
once in the meeting-room of the Initiated. In a few moments they both
entered the great hall, which was brilliantly lighted.
Not one of the chiefs of the House of Seti was absent.
Ameni sat on a raised seat at a long table; on his right hand was old
Gagabu, on his left the third Prophet of the temple. The principals of
the different orders of priests had also found places at the table, and
among them the chief of the haruspices, while the rest of the priests,
all in snow-white linen robes, sat, with much dignity, in a large
semicircle, two rows deep. In the midst stood a statue of the Goddess of
truth and justice.
Behind Ameni's throne was the many-colored image of the ibis-headed
Toth, who presided over the measure and method of things, who counselled
the Gods as well as men, and presided over learning and the arts. In a
niche at the farther end of the hall were painted the divine Triad
of Thebes, with Rameses I. and his son Seti, who approached them with
offerings. The priests were placed with strict regard to their rank, and
the order of initiation. Pentaur's was the lowest place of all.
No discussion of any importance had as yet taken place, for Ameni
was making enquiries, receiving information, and giving orders with
reference to the next day's festival. All seemed to be well arranged,
and promised a magnificent solemnity; although the scribes complained of
the scarce influx of beasts from the peasants, who were so heavily
taxed for the war, and although that feature would be wanting in the
procession which was wont to give it the greatest splendor--the presence
of the king and the royal family.
This circumstance aroused the disapprobation of some of the priests, who
were of opinion that it would be hazardous to exclude the two children
of Rameses, who remained in Thebes, from any share in the solemnities of
the feast.
Ameni then rose.
"We have sent the boy Rameri," he said, "away from this house. Bent-Anat
must be purged of her uncleanness, and if the weak superior of the
temple of Anion absolves her, she may pass for purified over there,
where they live for this world only, but not here, where it is our duty
to prepare the soul for death. The Regent, a descendant of the great
deposed race of kings, will appear in the procession with all the
splendor of his rank. I see you are surprised, my friends. Only he! Aye!
Great things are stirring, and it may happen that soon the mild sun of
peace may rise upon our war-ridden people."
"Miracles are happening," he continued, "and in a dream I saw a gentle
and pious man on the throne of the earthly vicar of Ra. He listened to
our counsel, he gave us our due, and led back to our fields our serfs
that had been sent to the war; he overthrew the altars of the strange
gods, and drove the unclean stranger out from this holy land."
"The Regent Ani!" exclaimed Septah.
An eager movement stirred the assembly, but Ameni went on:
"Perhaps it was not unlike him, but he certainly was the One; he had the
features of the true and legitimate descendants of Ra, to whom Rui was
faithful, in whose breast the heart of the sacred ram found a refuge.
To-morrow this pledge of the divine grace shall be shown to the people,
and another mercy will also be announced to them. Hear and praise the
dispensations of the Most High! An hour ago I received the news that
a new Apis, with all the sacred marks upon him, has been found in the
herds of Ani at Hermonthis."
Fresh excitement was shown by the listening conclave. Ameni let their
astonishment express itself freely, but at last he exclaimed:
"And now to settle the last question. The priest Pentaur, who is now
present, has been appointed speaker at the festival to-morrow. He has
erred greatly, yet I think we need not judge him till after the holy
day, and, in consideration of his former innocence, need not deprive him
of the honorable office. Do you share my wishes? Is there no dissentient
voice? Then come forward, you, the youngest of us all, who are so highly
trusted by this holy assembly."
Pentaur rose and placed himself opposite to Ameni, in order to give,
as he was required to do, a broad outline of the speech he proposed to
deliver next day to the nobles and the people.
The whole assembly, even his opponents, listened to him with
approbation. Ameni, too, praised him, but added:
"I miss only one thing on which you must dwell at greater length, and
treat with warmer feeling--I mean the miracle which has stirred our
souls to-day. We must show that the Gods brought the sacred heart--"
"Allow me," said Pentaur, interrupting the high-priest, and looking
earnestly into those eyes which long since he had sung of--"Allow me to
entreat you not to select me to declare this new marvel to the people."
Astonishment was stamped on the face of every member of the assembly.
Each looked at his neighbor, then at Pentaur, and at last enquiringly at
Ameni. The superior knew Pentaur, and saw that no mere whimsical fancy,
but some serious motive had given rise to this refusal. Horror, almost
aversion, had rung in his tone as he said the words 'new marvel.' He
doubted the genuineness of this divine manifestation!
Ameni gazed long and enquiringly into Pentaur's eyes, and then said:
"You are right, my friend. Before judgment has been passed on you,
before you are reinstated in your old position, your lips are not worthy
to announce this divine wonder to the multitude. Look into your own
soul, and teach the devout a horror of sin, and show them the way, which
you must now tread, of purification of the heart. I myself will announce
the miracle."
The white-robed audience hailed this decision of their master with
satisfaction. Ameni enjoined this thing on one, on another, that; and on
all, perfect silence as to the dream which he had related to them, and
then he dissolved the meeting. He begged only Gagabu and Pentaur to
remain.
As soon as they were alone Ameni asked the poet "Why did you refuse to
announce to the people the miracle, which has filled all the priests of
the Necropolis with joy?"
"Because thou hast taught me," replied Pentaur, "that truth is the
highest aim we can have, and that there is nothing higher."
"I tell you so again now," said Ameni. "And as you recognize this
doctrine, I ask you, in the name of the fair daughter of Ra. Do you
doubt the genuineness of the miracle that took place under our very
eyes?"
"I doubt it," replied Pentaur.
"Remain on the high stand-point of veracity," continued Ameni, "and
tell us further, that we may learn, what are the scruples that shake thy
faith?"
"I know," replied the poet with a dark expression, "that the heart which
the crowd will approach and bow to, before which even the Initiated
prostrate themselves as if it had been the incarnation of Ra, was torn
from the bleeding carcass of a common sheep, and smuggled into the
kanopus which contained the entrails of Rui."
Ameni drew back a step, and Gagabu cried out "Who says so? Who can prove
it? As I grow older I hear more and more frightful things!"
"I know it," said Pentaur decidedly. "But I can, not reveal the name of
him from whom I learned it."
"Then we may believe that you are mistaken, and that some impostor is
fooling you. We will enquire who has devised such a trick, and he shall
be punished! To scorn the voice of the Divinity is a sin, and he who
lends his ear to a lie is far from the truth. Sacred and thrice sacred
is the heart, blind fool, that I purpose to-morrow to show to the
people, and before which you yourself--if not with good will, then by
compulsion--shall fall, prostrate in the dust.
"Go now, and reflect on the words with which you will stir the souls of
the people to-morrow morning; but know one thing--Truth has many forms,
and her aspects are as manifold as those of the Godhead. As the sun does
not travel over a level plain or by a straight path--as the stars follow
a circuitous course, which we compare with the windings of the snake
Mehen,--so the elect, who look out over time and space, and on whom the
conduct of human life devolves, are not only permitted, but commanded,
to follow indirect ways in order to reach the highest aims, ways that
you do not understand, and which you may fancy deviate widely from the
path of truth. You look only at to-day, we look forward to the morrow,
and what we announce as truth you must needs believe. And mark my words:
A lie stains the soul, but doubt eats into it."
Ameni had spoken with strong excitement; when Pentaur had left the room,
and he was alone with Gagabu, he exclaimed:
"What things are these? Who is ruining the innocent child-like spirit of
this highly favored youth?"
"He is ruining it himself," replied Gagabu. "He is putting aside the old
law, for he feels a new one growing up in his own breast."
"But the laws," exclaimed Ameni, "grow and spread like shadowy woods;
they are made by no one. I loved the poet, yet I must restrain him, else
he will break down all barriers, like the Nile when it swells too high.
And what he says of the miracle--"
"Did you devise it?"
"By the Holy One--no!" cried Ameni.
"And yet Pentaur is sincere, and inclined to faith," said the old man
doubtfully.
"I know it," returned Ameni. "It happened as he said. But who did it,
and who told him of the shameful deed?"
Both the priests stood thoughtfully gazing at the floor.
Ameni first broke the silence.
"Pentaur came in with Nebsecht," he exclaimed, "and they are intimate
friends. Where was the leech while I was staying in Thebes?"
"He was taking care of the child hurt by Bent-Anat--the child of the
paraschites Pinem, and he stayed there three days," replied Gagabu.
"And it was Pinem," said Ameni, "that opened the body of Rui! Now I know
who has dimmed Pentaur's faith. It was that inquisitive stutterer,
and he shall be made to repent of it. For the present let us think of
to-morrow's feast, but the day after I will examine that nice couple,
and will act with iron severity."
"First let us examine the naturalist in private," said Gagabu. "He is
an ornament to the temple, for he has investigated many matters, and his
dexterity is wonderful."
"All that may be considered Ameni said, interrupting the old enough to
think of at present."
"And even more to consider later," retorted Gagabu. "We have entered on
a dangerous path. You know very well I am still hot-headed, though I am
old in years, and alas! timidity was never my weakness; but Rameses is a
powerful man, and duty compels me to ask you: Is it mere hatred for the
king that has led you to take these hasty and imprudent steps?"
"I have no hatred for Rameses," answered Ameni gravely. "If he did not
wear the crown I could love him; I know him too, as well as if I were
his brother, and value all that is great in him; nay I will admit that
he is disfigured by no littleness. If I did not know how strong the
enemy is, we might try to overthrow him with smaller means. You know as
well as I do that he is our enemy. Not yours, nor mine, nor the enemy of
the Gods; but the enemy of the old and reverend ordinances by which this
people and this country must be governed, and above all of those who
are required to protect the wisdom of the fathers, and to point out the
right way to the sovereign--I mean the priesthood, whom it is my duty to
lead, and for whose rights I will fight with every weapon of the spirit.
In this contest, as you know, all that otherwise would be falsehood,
treachery, and cunning, puts on the bright aspect of light and truth.
As the physician needs the knife and fire to heal the sick, we must do
fearful things to save the community when it is in danger. Now you will
see me fight with every weapon, for if we remain idle, we shall soon
cease to be the leaders of the state, and become the slaves of the
king."
Gagabu nodded assent, but Ameni went on with increasing warmth, and in
that rhythmical accent in which, when he came out of the holy of holies,
he was accustomed to declare the will of the Divinity, "You were my
teacher, and I value you, and so you now shall be told everything that
stirred my soul, and made me first resolve upon this fearful struggle.
I was, as you know, brought up in this temple with Rameses--and it was
very wise of Seti to let his son grow up here with other boys. At work
and at play the heir to the throne and I won every prize. He was quite
my superior in swift apprehension--in keen perception--but I had greater
caution, and deeper purpose. Often he laughed at my laborious efforts,
but his brilliant powers appeared to me a vain delusion. I became one of
the initiated, he ruled the state in partnership with his father, and,
when Seti died, by himself. We both grew older, but the foundation
of our characters remained the same. He rushed to splendid victories,
overthrew nations, and raised the glory of the Egyptian name to a giddy
height, though stained with the blood of his people; I passed my life
in industry and labor, in teaching the young, and in guarding the
laws which regulate the intercourse of men and bind the people to the
Divinity. I compared the present with the past: What were the priests?
How had they come to be what they are? What would Egypt be without them?
There is not an art, not a science, not a faculty that is not thought
out, constructed, and practised by us. We crown the kings, we named the
Gods, and taught the people to honor them as divine--for the crowd needs
a hand to lead it, and under which it shall tremble as under the mighty
hand of Fate. We are the willing ministers of the divine representative
of Ra on the throne, so long as he rules in accordance with our
institutions--as the One God reigns, subject to eternal laws. He used to
choose his counsellors from among us; we told him what would benefit the
country, he heard us willingly, and executed our plans. The old kings
were the hands, but we, the priests, were the head. And now, my father,
what has become of us? We are made use of to keep the people in the
faith, for if they cease to honor the Gods how will they submit to
kings? Seti ventured much, his son risks still more, and therefore
both have required much succor from the Immortals. Rameses is pious,
he sacrifices frequently, and loves prayer: we are necessary to him, to
waft incense, to slaughter hecatombs, to offer prayers, and to interpret
dreams--but we are no longer his advisers. My father, now in Osiris, a
worthier high-priest than I, was charged by the Prophets to entreat his
father to give up the guilty project of connecting the north sea by a
navigable channel with the unclean waters of the Red Sea.
[The harbors of the Red Sea were in the hands of the Phoenicians,
who sailed from thence southwards to enrich themselves with the
produce of Arabia and Ophir. Pharaoh Necho also projected a Suez
canal, but does not appear to have carried it out, as the oracle
declared that the utility of the undertaking would be greatest to
foreigners.]
"Such things can only benefit the Asiatics. But Seti would not listen
to our counsel. We desired to preserve the old division of the land, but
Rameses introduced the new to the disadvantage of the priests; we warned
him against fresh wars, and the king again and again has taken the
field; we had the ancient sacred documents which exempted our peasantry
from military service, and, as you know, he outrageously defies them.
From the most ancient times no one has been permitted to raise temples
in this land to strange Gods, and Rameses favors the son of the
stranger, and, not only in the north country, but in the reverend city
of Memphis and here in Thebes, he has raised altars and magnificent
sanctuaries, in the strangers' quarter, to the sanguinary false Gods of
the East."
[Human sacrifices, which had been introduced into Egypt by the
Phoenicians, were very early abolished.]
"You speak like a Seer," cried old Gagabu, "and what you say is
perfectly true. We are still called priests, but alas! our counsel is
little asked. 'You have to prepare men for a happy lot in the other
world,' Rameses once said; 'I alone can guide their destinies in this.'"
"He did say so," answered Ameni, "and if he had said no more than that
he would have been doomed. He and his house are the enemies of our
rights and of our noble country. Need I tell you from whom the race of
the Pharaoh is descended? Formerly the hosts who came from the east, and
fell on our land like swarms of locusts, robbing and destroying it, were
spoken of as 'a curse' and a 'pest.' Rameses' father was of that race.
When Ani's ancestors expelled the Hyksos, the bold chief, whose children
now govern Egypt, obtained the favor of being allowed to remain on
the banks of the Nile; they served in the armies, they distinguished
themselves, and, at last, the first Rameses succeeded in gaining the
troops over to himself, and in pushing the old race of the legitimate
sons of Ra, weakened as they were by heresy, from the throne. I must
confess, however unwillingly, that some priests of the true faith--among
them your grandfather, and mine--supported the daring usurper who clung
faithfully to the old traditions. Not less than a hundred generations
of my ancestors, and of yours, and of many other priestly families, have
lived and died here by the banks of the Nile--of Rameses race we have
seen ten, and only know of them that they descend from strangers, from
the caste of Amu! He is like all the Semitic race; they love to
wander, they call us ploughmen,--[The word Fellah (pl. Fellahin) means
ploughman]--and laugh to scorn the sober regularity with which we,
tilling the dark soil, live through our lives to a tardy death, in
honest labor both of mind and body. They sweep round on foraying
excursions, ride the salt waves in ships, and know no loved and fixed
home; they settle down wherever they are tempted by rapine, and when
there is nothing more to be got they build a house in another spot. Such
was Seti, such is Rameses! For a year he will stop in Thebes, then he
must set out for wars in strange lands. He does not know how to yield
piously, or to take advice of wise counsellors, and he will not learn.
And such as the father is, so are the children! Think of the criminal
behavior of Bent-Anat!"
"I said the kings liked foreigners. Have you duly considered the
importance of that to us? We strive for high and noble aims, and have
wrenched off the shackles of the flesh in order to guard our souls. The
poorest man lives secure under the shelter of the law, and through us
participates in the gifts of the spirit; to the rich are offered the
priceless treasures of art and learning. Now look abroad: east and west
wandering tribes roam over the desert with wretched tents; in the south
a debased populace prays to feathers, and to abject idols, who are
beaten if the worshipper is not satisfied. In the north certainly there
are well regulated states, but the best part of the arts and sciences
which they possess they owe to us, and their altars still reek with the
loathsome sacrifice of human blood. Only backsliding from the right is
possible under the stranger, and therefore it is prudent to withdraw
from him; therefore he is hateful to our Gods. And Rameses, the king,
is a stranger, by blood and by nature, in his affections, and in his
appearance; his thoughts are always abroad--this country is too small
for him--and he will never perceive what is really best for him, clear
as his intellect is. He will listen to no guidance, he does mischief to
Egypt, and therefore I say: Down with him from the throne!"
"Down with him!"--Gagabu eagerly echoed the words. Ameni gave the old
man his hand, which trembled with excitement, and went on more calmly.
"The Regent Ani is a legitimate child of the soil, by his father and
mother both. I know him well, and I am sure that though he is cunning
indeed, he is full of true veneration, and will righteously establish
us in the rights which we have inherited. The choice is easy: I have
chosen, and I always carry through what I have once begun! Now you know
all, and you will second me."
"With body and soul!" cried Gagabu.
"Strengthen the hearts of the brethren," said Ameni, preparing to go.
"The initiated may all guess what is going on, but it must never be
spoken of."
CHAPTER XXVII.
The sun was up on the twenty-ninth morning of the second month of the
over-flow of the Nile,
[The 29th Phaophi. The Egyptians divided the year into three
seasons of four months each. Flood-time, seed-time and Harvest.
(Scha, per and schemu.) The 29th Phaophi corresponds to the 8th
November.]
and citizens and their wives, old men and children, freemen and slaves,
led by priests, did homage to the rising day-star before the door of the
temple to which the quarter of the town belonged where each one dwelt.
The Thebans stood together like Huge families before the pylons, waiting
for the processions of priests, which they intended to join in order to
march in their train round the great temple of the city, and thence to
cross with the festal barks to the Necropolis.
To-day was the Feast of the Valley, and Anion, the great God of Thebes,
was carried over in solemn pomp to the City of the Dead, in order that
he--as the priests said--might sacrifice to his fathers in the other
world. The train marched westward; for there, where the earthly remains
of man also found rest, the millions of suns had disappeared, each of
which was succeeded daily by a new one, born of the night. The
young luminary, the priests said, did not forget those that had been
extinguished, and from whom he was descended; and Anion paid them this
mark of respect to warn the devout not to forget those who were passed
away, and to whom they owed their existence.
"Bring offerings," says a pious text, "to thy father and thy mother
who rest in the valley of the tombs; for such gifts are pleasing to the
Gods, who will receive them as if brought to themselves. Often visit thy
dead, so that what thou dost for them, thy son may do for thee."
The Feast of the Valley was a feast of the dead; but it was not a
melancholy solemnity, observed with lamentation and wailing; on the
contrary, it was a cheerful festival, devoted to pious and sentimental
memories of those whom we cease not to love after death, whom we esteem
happy and blest, and of whom we think with affection; to whom too the
throng from Thebes brought offerings, forming groups in the chapel-like
tombs, or in front of the graves, to eat and drink.
Father, mother and children clung together; the house-slaves followed
with provisions, and with torches, which would light up the darkness of
the tomb and show the way home at night.
Even the poorest had taken care to secure beforehand a place in one of
the large boats which conveyed the people across the stream; the barges
of the rich, dressed in the gayest colors, awaited their owners with
their households, and the children had dreamed all night of the sacred
bark of Anion, whose splendor, as their mothers told them, was
hardly less than that of the golden boat in which the Sun-God and his
companions make their daily voyage across the ocean of heaven. The broad
landing place of the temple of Anion was already crowded with priests,
the shore with citizens, and the river with boats; already loud music
drowned the din of the crowds, who thronged and pushed, enveloped in
clouds of dust, to reach the boats; the houses and hovels of Thebes
were all empty, and the advent of the God through the temple-gates was
eagerly expected; but still the members of the royal family had not
appeared, who were wont on this solemn day to go on foot to the great
temple of Anion; and, in the crowd, many a one asked his neighbor why
Bent-Anat, the fair daughter of Rameses, lingered so long, and delayed
the starting of the procession.
The priests had begun their chant within the walls, which debarred the
outer world from any glimpse into the bright precincts of the temple;
the Regent with his brilliant train had entered the sanctuary; the gates
were thrown open; the youths in their short-aprons, who threw flowers
in the path of the God, had come out; clouds of incense announced the
approach of Anion--and still the daughter of Rameses appeared not.
Many rumors were afloat, most of them contradictory; but one was
accurate, and confirmed by the temple servants, to the great regret of
the crowd--Bent-Anat was excluded from the Feast of the Valley.
She stood on her balcony with her brother Rameri and her friend Nefert,
and looked down on the river, and on the approaching God.
Early in the previous morning Bek-en-Chunsu, the old high-priest of the
temple of Anion had pronounced her clean, but in the evening he had
come to communicate to her the intelligence that Ameni prohibited her
entering the Necropolis before she had obtained the forgiveness of the
Gods of the West for her offence.
While still under the ban of uncleanness she had visited the temple of
Hathor, and had defiled it by her presence; and the stern Superior
of the City of the Dead was in the right--that Bek-en-Chunsu himself
admitted--in closing the western shore against her. Bent-Anat then had
recourse to Ani; but, though he promised to mediate for her, he came
late in the evening to tell her that Ameni was inexorable. The Regent at
the same time, with every appearance of regret, advised her to avoid
an open quarrel, and not to defy Ameni's lofty severity, but to remain
absent from the festival.
Katuti at the same time sent the dwarf to Nefert, to desire her to join
her mother, in taking part in the procession, and in sacrificing in her
father's tomb; but Nefert replied that she neither could nor would leave
her royal friend and mistress.
Bent-Anat had given leave of absence to the highest members of
her household, and had prayed them to think of her at the splendid
solemnity.
When, from her balcony, she saw the mob of people and the crowd of
boats, she went back into her room, called Rameri, who was angrily
declaiming at what he called Ameni's insolence, took his hands in hers,
and said:
"We have both done wrong, brother; let us patiently submit to the
consequences of our faults, and conduct ourselves as if our father were
with us."
"He would tear the panther-skin from the haughty priest's shoulders,"
cried Rameri, "if he dared to humiliate you so in his presence;" and
tears of rage ran down his smooth cheeks as he spoke.
"Put anger aside," said Bent-Anat. "You were still quite little the last
time my father took part in this festival."
"Oh! I remember that morning well," exclaimed Rameri, "and shall never
forget it."
"So I should think," said the princess. "Do not leave us, Nefert--you
are now my sister. It was a glorious morning; we children were collected
in the great hall of the King, all in festival dresses; he had us called
into this room, which had been inhabited by my mother, who then had
been dead only a few months. He took each of us by the hand, and said he
forgave us everything we might have done wrong if only we were sincerely
penitent, and gave us each a kiss on our forehead. Then he beckoned us
all to him, and said, as humbly as if he were one of us instead of the
great king, 'Perhaps I may have done one of you some injustice, or have
kept you out of some right; I am not conscious of such a thing, but if
it has occurred I am very sorry'--we all rushed upon him, and wanted
to kiss him, but he put us aside smiling, and said, 'Each of you has
enjoyed an equal share of one thing, that you may be sure--I mean your
father's love; and I see now that you return what I have given you.'
Then he spoke of our mother, and said that even the tenderest father
could not fill the place of a mother. He drew a lovely picture of the
unselfish devotion of the dead mother, and desired us to pray and to
sacrifice with him at her resting-place, and to resolve to be worthy of
her; not only in great things but in trifles too, for they make up
the sum of life, as hours make the days, and the years. We elder ones
clasped each other's hands, and I never felt happier than in that
moment, and afterwards by my mother's grave." Nefert raised her eyes
that were wet with tears.
"With such a father it must be easy to be good," she said.
"Did your mother never speak good words that went to your heart on the
morning of this festival?" asked Bent-Anat.
Nefert colored, and answered: "We were always late in dressing, and then
had to hurry to be at the temple in time."
"Then let me be your mother to-day," cried the princess, "and yours too,
Rameri. Do you not remember how my father offered forgiveness to the
officers of the court, and to all the servants, and how he enjoined us
to root out every grudge from our hearts on this day? 'Only stainless
garments,' he said, 'befit this feast; only hearts without spot.' So,
brother, I will not hear an evil word about Ameni, who is most likely
forced to be severe by the law; my father will enquire into it all and
decide. My heart is so full, it must overflow. Come, Nefert, give me a
kiss, and you too, Rameri. Now I will go into my little temple, in
which the images of our ancestors stand, and think of my mother and the
blessed spirits of those loved ones to whom I may not sacrifice to-day."
"I will go with you," said Rameri.
"You, Nefert--stay here," said Bent-Anat, "and cut as many flowers as
you like; take the best and finest, and make a wreath, and when it is
ready we will send a messenger across to lay it, with other gifts, on
the grave of your Mena's mother."
When, half-an-hour later, the brother and sister returned to the young
wife, two graceful garlands hung in Nefert's bands, one for the grave of
the dead queen, and one for Mena's mother.
"I will carry over the wreaths, and lay them in the tombs," cried the
prince.
"Ani thought it would be better that we should not show ourselves to the
people," said his sister. "They will scarcely notice that you are not
among the school-boys, but--"
"But I will not go over as the king's son, but as a gardener's boy--"
interrupted the prince. "Listen to the flourish of trumpets! the God has
now passed through the gates."
Rameri stepped out into the balcony, and the two women followed him, and looked down on the scene of the embarkation which they could easily see with their sharp young eyes. |
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