Chapter XXV
That same day, in Memphis, Dagon the Phœnician, the viceroy's worthy banker, lay on a couch under the veranda of his mansion. Around him were fragrant potted bushes with needle-like leaves. Two black slaves cooled the rich man with fans, and he, while playing with a young ape, was listening to accounts read by his scribe to him.
At that moment a slave with a sword, helmet, dart, and shield (the banker loved military dress), announced the worthy Rabsun, a Phœnician merchant then settled in Memphis.
The guest entered, bowed profoundly, and dropped his eyelids in such fashion that Dagon commanded the scribe and the slaves to withdraw from the veranda. Then, as a man of foresight, he surveyed every corner, and said to the visitor,--
"We may talk."
Rabsun began without prelude,--
"Dost thou know, worthiness, that Prince Hiram has come from Tyre?"
Dagon sprang up from the couch.
"May the leprosy seize him and his princeship!" shouted the banker.
"He has just reminded me," continued the guest, calmly, "that there is a misunderstanding between him and thee."
"What misunderstanding?" cried Dagon. "That thief has robbed, destroyed, ruined me. When I sent my ships after other Tyrian vessels to the west for silver, the helmsmen of that thief Hiram cast fire on them, tried to push them into a shallow. Well, my ships came back empty, burnt, and shattered. May the fire of heaven burn him!" concluded the raging banker.
"But if Hiram has for thee a profitable business?" inquired the guest, stolidly.
The storm raging in Dagon's breast ceased on a sudden.
"What business can he offer me?" asked the banker, with a voice now calmed completely.
"He will tell this himself, but first he must see thee."
"Well, let him come to me."
"He thinks that thou shouldst go to him. He, as is known to thee, is a member of the chief council of Tyre."
"He will perish before I go to him," cried the banker, enraged a second time.
The guest drew an armchair to the couch, and slapped Dagon's thigh.
"Dagon," said he, "have sense."
"Why have I not sense, and why dost thou, Rabsun, not say to me worthiness?"
"Dagon, be not foolish!" answered the guest. "If thou wilt not go to him and he will not come to thee, how will ye do business?"
"Thou art foolish, Rabsun!" burst out Dagon again. "Before I go to Hiram let my hand wither; with that politeness I should lose half the profit."
The guest thought awhile.
"Now thou hast uttered a wise word," said he; "so I will tell thee something. Come to me and Hiram will come also; ye can talk of that business in my house."
Dagon bent his head, and half closing his eyes, inquired roguishly,--
"Ei, Rabsun!--Tell, outright how much did he give thee?"
"For what?"
"For this, that I should come to thy house and transact business with him, the mangy scoundrel."
"This business interests all Phœnicia, so I need no profit on it," replied the indignant Rabsun.
"That is as true as that all thy debtors will pay thee."
"May they fail to pay me if I make anything in this! Only let not Phœnicia lose!" cried Rabsun, in anger.
They took farewell of each other.
Toward evening the worthy Dagon seated himself in a litter carried by six slaves. He was preceded by two outrunners with staffs, and two with torches; behind the litter went four men armed from head to foot. Not for security, but because for a certain time Dagon loved to surround himself with armed men, like a noble.
He came out of the litter with great importance, supported by two men; a third carried a parasol over him. He entered Rabsun's house.
"Where is that--Hiram?" inquired he, haughtily.
"He is not here."
"How is this? Must I wait for him, then?"
"He is not in this room, but he is in the third one talking with my wife," answered the host. "He is making a visit to my wife."
"I will not go there!" said the banker, sitting down on a couch.
"Thou wilt go to the next chamber, and he will enter it at the same time with thee."
After a short resistance Dagon yielded, and a moment later, at a sign from the master of the house, he entered the second chamber. At the same time from distant apartments appeared a man, not of tall stature, with gray beard, dressed in a gold-embroidered toga, and with a gold band on his head.
"This is," said the host, standing in the middle of the room, "his grace Prince Hiram, a member of the supreme council of Tyre.--This is the worthy Dagon, banker of the heir to the throne and viceroy of Lower Egypt."
The two dignitaries bowed, each with his hand on his breast, and both sat down on stools in the middle of the chamber. Hiram pushed aside his toga somewhat in order to show the great gold medal on his breast; in answer to this Dagon began to toy with a large gold chain which he had received from Prince Rameses.
"I, Hiram," said the old man, "congratulate thee, Lord Dagon. I wish thee much property, and success in thy business."
"I, Dagon, congratulate thee, Lord Hiram, and I wish thee the same as thou wishest me--"
"Dost thou desire to dispute?" interrupted Hiram, irritated.
"How dispute? Rabsun, say if I am disputing."
"Better talk of business, your worthinesses," replied the host.
After a moment of thought Hiram proceeded,--
"Thy friends in Tyre congratulate thee greatly through me."
"Is that all they have sent me?" asked Dagon, in reviling accents.
"What didst thou wish?" inquired Hiram, raising his voice.
"Quiet! Concord!" put in the host.
Hiram sighed a number of times deeply, and said,--
"It is true that we need concord. Evil times are approaching Phœnicia."
"Has the sea flooded Tyre and Sidon?" asked Dagon, smiling.
Hiram spat, and inquired,--
"Why art thou so ill-tempered to-day?"
"I am always ill-tempered when men do not call me worthiness."
"But why dost thou not say grace to me? I am a prince."
"Perhaps in Phœnicia. But in Assyria thou wouldst wait three days in the forecourt of any satrap for an audience, and when he deigned to receive thee thou wouldst be lying on thy belly, like any Phœnician merchant."
"But what couldst thou do in presence of a wild man who would perhaps impale thee on a stake?" inquired Hiram.
"What I would do, I know not. But in Egypt I sit on one sofa with the heir to the throne, who to-day is viceroy."
"Concord, worthiness! Concord, grace!" said the host.
"Concord!--concord, because this man is a common Phœnician merchant, and is unwilling to render me respect," cried out Dagon.
"I have a hundred ships!" shouted Hiram.
"And his holiness has twenty thousand cities, towns, and villages."
"Your worthinesses are destroying this business and all Phœnicia," said Rabsun, with a voice which was loud now.
Hiram balled his fists, but was silent.
"Thou must confess, worthiness," said he, after a while, "that of those twenty thousand towns his holiness owns few in reality."
"Thou wishest to say, grace," answered Dagon, "that seven thousand belong to the temples, and seven thousand to great lords. Still six thousand belong clearly to his holiness."
"Not altogether! For when thou takest, worthiness, about three thousand which are mortgaged to the priests, and two thousand which are rented to our Phœnicians--"
"Thou speakest the truth, grace," said Dagon. "But there remain always to his holiness about two thousand very rich cities."
"Has Typhon possessed thee?" roared Rabsun, in his turn. "Wilt thou go now to counting the cities of the pharaoh,--may he--"
"Pst!" whispered Dagon, springing up.
"When misfortune is hanging over Phœnicia--" finished Rabsun.
"Let me but know what the misfortune is," interrupted Dagon.
"Then let Hiram speak and thou wilt know."
"Let him speak."
"Dost thou know, worthiness, what happened in the inn 'Under the Ship' to our brother Asarhadon?" began Hiram.
"I have no brothers among innkeepers," interrupted Dagon, sneeringly.
"Be silent!" screamed Rabsun, in anger; and he grasped the hilt of his dagger. "Thou art as dull as a dog barking in sleep."
"Why is he angry, that--that dealer in bones?" inquired Dagon; and he readied for his knife also.
"Quiet! Concord!" said the gray-headed prince; and he dropped his lean hand to his girdle.
For a while the nostrils of all three men were quivering and their eyes flashing. At last Hiram, who calmed himself first, began again, as if nothing had happened.
"A couple of months ago, in Asarhadon's inn, lodged a certain Phut from the city of Harran----"
"He had to receive five talents from some priest," interrupted Dagon.
"What further?" asked Hiram.
"Nothing. He found favor with a certain priestess, and at her advice went to seek his debtor in Thebes."
"Thou hast the mind of a child and the talkativeness of a woman," said Hiram. "This Harran man is not from Harran at all. He is a Chaldean, and his name is not Phut, but Beroes--"
"Beroes?--Beroes?" repeated Dagon, trying to remember. "I have heard that name in some place."
"Thou hast heard it!" repeated Hiram, with contempt. "Beroes is the wisest priest in Babylon, the counsellor of Assyrian princes and of the king himself."
"Let him be counsellor; if he is not the pharaoh, what do I care?" said the banker.
Rabsun rose from his chair, and threatening Dagon with his fist under the nose, cried,--
"Thou wild boar, fatted on the pharaoh's swill, Phœnicia concerns thee as much as Egypt concerns me. Thou wouldst sell thy country for a drachma hadst thou the chance, leprous cur that thou art!"
Dagon grew pale and answered with a calm voice,--
"What is that huckster saying? In Tyre my sons are learning navigation; in Sidon lives my daughter with her husband. I have lent half my property to the supreme council, though I do not receive even ten per cent for it. And this huckster says that Phœnicia does not concern me!"
"Rabsun, listen to me," added he, after a while. "I wish thy wife and children and the shades of thy fathers to be as much thought of by thee as each Phœnician ship is by me, or each stone of Tyre and Sidon, or even of Zarpath and Achsibu."
"Dagon, tell truth," put in Hiram.
"I not care for Phœnicia!" continued the banker, growing excited. "How many Phœnicians have I brought here to make property, and what do I gain from having done so! I not care? Hiram ruined two ships of mine and deprived me of great profit; still, when Phœnicia is in question, I sit in one room with him."
"For thou didst think to talk with him of cheating some one," said Rabsun.
"As much as thou didst think of dying, fool!" retorted Dagon. "Am I a child? do I not understand that when Hiram comes to Memphis he need not come for traffic? O thou Rabsun! thou shouldst clean my stables a couple of years."
"Enough of this!" cried Hiram, striking the table with his fist.
"We never shall finish with this Chaldean priest," muttered Rabsun, with as much calmness as if he had not been insulted a moment before.
Hiram coughed, and said,--
"That man has a house and land really in Harran, and he is called Phut there. He got letters from Hittite merchants to merchants in Sidon, so our caravans took him for the journey. He speaks Phœnician well, he pays liberally. He made no demands in particular; so our people came to like him, even much.
"But," continued Hiram, stroking his beard, "when a lion covers himself with an ox skin, even a little of his tail will stick out. This Phut was wonderfully wise and self-confident; so the chief of the caravan examined his effects in secret, and found nothing save a medal of the goddess Astaroth. This medal pricked the heart of the leader of the caravan: 'How could a Hittite have a Phœnician medal?'
"So when they came to Sidon he reported straightway to the elders, and thenceforth our secret police kept this Phut in view.
"Meanwhile he is such a sage that when he had remained some days all came to like him. He prayed and offered sacrifices to the goddess Astaroth, paid in gold, borrowed no money, associated only with Phœnicians. And he so befogged all that watchfulness touching him was weakened, and he went in peace to Memphis.
"In this place again our elders began to watch him, but discovered nothing; they divined simply that he must be a great lord, not a simple man of Harran. But Asarhadon discovered by chance, and did not even discover, he only came on traces, that this pretended Phut passed a whole night in the ancient temple of Set, which here is greatly venerated."
"Only high priests enter it for important counsels," interrupted Dagon.
"And that alone would mean nothing," said Hiram. "But one of our merchants returned a month ago from Babylon, with wonderful tidings. In return for a great present a certain attendant of the Satrap of Babylon informed him that misfortune was threatening Phœnicia.
"'Assyria will take you,' said the attendant, 'and Egypt will take Israel. On that business the Chaldean high priest Beroes has gone to the priests of Thebes, and with them he will make a treaty.'
"Ye must know," continued Hiram, "that Chaldean priests consider the priests in Egypt as their brothers, and that Beroes enjoys great esteem in the Court of King Assar, so reports concerning that treaty may be very truthful."
"Why does Assyria want Phœnicia?" inquired Dagon, as he bit his finger-nails.
"Why does a thief want another man's granary?" replied Hiram.
"What good is a treaty made by Beroes with Egyptian priests?" put in Rabsun, thinking deeply.
"Thou art dull!" answered Dagon. "Pharaoh does nothing except what the priests ordain."
"There will be a treaty with the pharaoh, never fear!" interrupted Hiram. "We know to a certainty in Tyre that the Assyrian ambassador Sargon is coming to Egypt with gifts and with a great retinue. He pretends that it is to see Egypt and agree with ministers, not to inscribe in Egyptian acts that Assyria pays tribute to the pharaohs. But in fact he is coming to conclude a treaty about dividing the countries which lie between our sea and the Euphrates River."
"May the earth swallow them!" imprecated Rabsun.
"What dost thou think of this Dagon?" inquired Hiram.
"But what would ye do if Assar attacked you really?"
Hiram shook his head with anger.
"What? We should go on board of ships with our families and treasures and leave to those dogs the ruins of cities and the rotting corpses of slaves. Do we not know greater and more beautiful countries than Phœnicia, where we can begin a new and richer fatherland?"
"May the gods guard us from such a thing," said Dagon.
"This is just the question, to save the present Phœnicia from destruction," said Hiram. "And thou, Dagon, art able to do much in this matter."
"What can I do?"
"Thou mayst learn from the priests whether Beroes met them, and whether he and they made an agreement."
"A terribly difficult thing," whispered Dagon. "But I may find a priest who will tell me."
"Thou canst prevent at the court of the pharaoh a treaty with Sargon," continued Hiram.
"It is very difficult. I could not do that, unassisted."
"I will be with thee, and Phœnicia will find the gold. A tax is in course of collection at present."
"I have given two talents!" whispered Rabsun.
"I will give ten," added Dagon. "But what shall I get for my labor?"
"What? Well, ten ships," answered Hiram.
"And how much wilt thou gain?" inquired Dagon.
"Is ten not enough? Thou wilt get fifteen."
"I ask, what wilt thou get?" insisted Dagon.
"We will give--twenty ships. Does that suffice thee?"
"Let it be so. But will ye show my ships the road to the country of silver?"
"We will show it."
"And the place where ye get tin? Well--"
"And the place where amber is found?" continued Dagon.
"May thou perish at once!" answered the gracious Prince Hiram, extending his hand. "But thou wilt not keep up a malignant heart toward me because of those two little flat boats?"
Dagon sighed.
"I will work to forget. But--what a property I should have now if thou hadst not driven them off at that time!"
"Enough!" interrupted Rabsun; "talk of Phœnicia."
"Through whom wilt thou learn of Beroes and the treaty?" asked Hiram of Dagon.
"Let that drop. It is dangerous to speak of it, for priests will be involved in the matter."
"And through whom couldst thou ruin the treaty?"
"I think--I think that perhaps through the heir to the throne. I have many notes of his."
Hiram raised his hand, and replied,--
"The heir--very well, for he will be pharaoh, perhaps even soon--"
"Pst!" interrupted Dagon, striking the table with his fist. "May thou lose speech for such language!"
"Here is a wild boar for thee!" cried Rabsun, threatening the banker's nose.
"And thou art a dull huckster," answered Dagon, with a reviling laugh. "Thou, Rabsun, shouldst sell dried fish and water on the streets, but not mix up in questions between states. An ox hoof rubbed in Egyptian mud has more sense than thou, though thou art living five years in the capital of light! Oh that pigs might devour thee!"
"Quiet! quiet!" called Hiram. "Ye do not let me finish."
"Speak, for thou art wise and my heart understands thee," said Rabsun.
"If thou, Dagon, hast influence over the heir, that is well," continued Hiram. "For if the heir wishes to have a treaty with Assyria there will be a treaty, and besides one written with our blood on our own skins. But if the heir wishes war with Assyria, he will make war, though the priests were to summon all the gods against him."
"Pst!" interrupted Dagon. "If the priests wish greatly, there will be a treaty. But perhaps they will not wish."
"Therefore, Dagon, we must have all the military leaders with us," said Hiram.
"We can."
"And the nomarchs."
"We can have them too."
"And the heir," continued Hiram.
"But if thou alone urge him to war with Assyria, that is nothing. A man, like a harp, has many strings, and to play on them fingers are needed, while thou, Dagon, art only one finger."
"But I cannot tear myself into ten parts."
"Thou mayst be like one hand which has five fingers. Thou must so act that no one may suspect that thou art for war, but every cook in the heir's kitchen must want war, every barber of his must want war, all the bath men, and litter-bearers, scribes, officers, charioteers must want war with Assyria; the heir should hear war from morning till night, and even when he is sleeping."
"That will be done."
"But dost thou know his mistresses?" asked Hiram.
Dagon waved his hand.
"Stupid girls!" said he. "They think only about dressing, painting, and perfuming themselves; but whence these perfumes come, and who brings them to Egypt, they know not."
"We must give him a favorite who will know."
"Where shall we find her?" asked Dagon. "Ah, I have it!" cried he, stroking his forehead. "Dost thou know Kama, the priestess of Astaroth?"
"What?" interrupted Rabsun, astounded. "The priestess of the holy goddess Astaroth to be a favorite of an Egyptian?"
"Thou wouldst prefer that she were thine," sneered Dagon. "She can even cease to be high priestess when it is necessary to bring her near the court."
"Thou speakest truth," said Hiram.
"But that is sacrilege!" said Rabsun, indignantly.
"And the priestess who commits it is to die," said the gray-haired Hiram.
"If only that Jewess, Sarah, does not hinder," added Dagon, after a moment of silence. "She is waiting for a child to which the prince is attached already. If a son is born, all our plans may be thwarted."
"We shall have money for Sarah too," added Hiram.
"She will take nothing!" burst out Dagon. "That pitiful creature has refused gold and a precious goblet, which I carried to her."
"She did, for she thought that thou hadst the wish to deceive her," remarked Rabsun.
Hiram nodded.
"There is no cause for trouble," said he. "Where gold has not power, then the father, the mother, or the mistress may have it. And if the mistress is powerless, there is still--"
"The knife," hissed Rabsun.
"Poison," whispered Dagon.
"A knife is a very rude weapon," concluded Hiram.
He stroked his beard, thought awhile; at last he rose, took from his bosom a purple ribbon on which were fastened three golden amulets with a portrait of the goddess Astaroth. He drew from his girdle a knife, cut the ribbon into three parts, and gave two of these with the amulets to Dagon and Rabsun.
Then all three went to the middle of the room to the corner where stood a winged statue of the goddess; they put their hands on the statue, and Hiram repeated in a low voice, but clearly,--
"To thee, O Mother of Life, we swear faithfully to observe our agreements, and not to rest till the sacred places be secure from enemies,--may they be destroyed by hunger, fire, and pestilence.
"And should one of us fail in his obligations, or betray a secret, may all calamities and disgrace fall on him! May hunger twist his entrails, and sleep flee from his bloodshot eyes! May the hand of the man wither who hastens to him with rescue and pities him in his misery! May the bread on his table turn into rottenness, and the wine into stinking juice! May his children die out, and his house be filled with bastards who will spit on him and expel him! May he die groaning through many days in loneliness, and may neither earth nor water receive his vile carcass, may no fire burn it, no wild beasts devour it!"
"Thus let it be!"
After this terrible oath, which Hiram began, and the second half of which all shouted forth in voices trembling from rage, the three panting Phœnicians rested. After that Rabsun conducted them to a feast where with wine, music, and dancers they forgot for a time the work awaiting them.
Chapter XXVI
Not far from the city of Pi-Bast stood the temple of the goddess Hator.
In the month Paoni (March-April), on the day of the vernal equinox, about nine in the evening, when the star Sirius inclined toward its setting, two wayfaring priests and one penitent stopped in the gateway. The penitent, who was barefoot, had ashes on his head, and was covered with a coarse cloth which concealed his visage.
Though the air was clear, it was impossible to distinguish the faces of those wayfarers. They stood in the shadow of two immense statues of the cow-headed divinity which guarded the entrance to the temple and with kindly eyes protected the province of Habu from pestilence, southern winds, and bad overflows.
When he had rested somewhat, the penitent fell with his face to the earth and prayed long in that position. Then he rose, took a copper knocker, and struck a blow. A deep metallic sound went through all the courts, reverberated from the thick walls of the temple, and flew over the wheat-fields, above the mud cottages of earth-tillers, over the silvery waters of the Nile, where the faint cry of wakened birds answered it.
After a long time a murmur was heard inside, and the question,--
"Who rouses us?"
"Rameses, a slave of the divinity," said the penitent.
"For what hast thou come?"
"For the light of wisdom."
"What right hast them to ask for it?"
"I received the inferior consecration, and in great processions within the temple I carry a torch."
The gates opened widely. In the centre stood a priest in a white robe; he stretched forth his hand, and said slowly and distinctly,--
"Enter. When thou crossest this threshold, may divine peace dwell in thy soul, and may that be accomplished for which thou implorest humbly."
When the penitent had fallen at his feet, the priest, making some signs above his head, whispered,--
"In the name of Him who is, who has been, and who will be, who created everything, whose breath fills the visible and the invisible world, and who is life eternal."
When the gate had closed, the priest took Rameses by the hand, and in the gloom amid the immense columns of the forecourt he led him to the dwelling assigned to him. It was a small cell lighted by a lamp. On the stone pavement lay a bundle of dry grass; in a corner stood a pitcher of water, and near it was a barley cake.
"I see that here I shall have rest indeed after my occupations with the nomarchs," said Rameses, joyously.
"Think of eternity," replied the priest; and he withdrew.
This answer struck Rameses disagreeably. Though he was hungry, he did not wish to eat a cake or drink water. He sat on the grass, and looking at his feet wounded from the journey, asked himself why he had come, why he had put himself voluntarily out of his office.
Seeing the walls of the cell and its poverty, he recalled the years of his boyhood passed at a priests' school. How many blows of sticks he had received there, how many nights he had passed on a stone floor as punishment! Even then Rameses felt the hatred and fear which he had felt before toward that harsh priest who to all his prayers and questions answered only with, "Think of eternity."
After some months of uproar to drop into such silence, to exchange the court of a prince for obscurity and loneliness, and instead of feasts, women, and music, to feel around and above him the weight of walls! "I have gone mad! I have gone mad!" muttered Rameses.
There was a moment when he wished to leave the temple at once; but afterward he thought that they might not open the gate to him. The sight of his dirty legs, of the ashes falling out of his hair, the roughness of his penitential rags, all this disgusted him. If he had had his sword even! But would he, dressed as he was in that place, dare to use it?
He felt an overpowering dread, and that sobered him. He remembered that the gods in temples send down fear on men, and that this fear must be the beginning of wisdom.
"Moreover, I am the viceroy and the heir of the pharaoh," thought he; "who will harm me in this temple?"
He rose and went out of the cell. He found himself in a broad court surrounded by columns. The stars were shining brightly; hence he saw at one end of the court an immense pylon, at the other an open entrance to the temple.
He went thither. At the door there was gloom, and somewhere far off flamed a number of lamps, as if in the air and unsupported. Looking more attentively, he saw standing closely together between the entrance and the lamps a forest of columns, the tops of which were lost in darkness. At a distance, perhaps two hundred yards from him, he saw indistinctly the gigantic legs of a sitting goddess with her hands resting on her knees, from which the lamplight was reflected dimly.
All at once he heard a sound from afar. From a side passage a row of white figures pushed forth, moving in couples. This was a night procession of priests, who, singing in two choruses, gave homage to the statue of the goddess: Chorus I. "I am He who created heaven and earth and made all things contained in them." Chorus II. "I am He who created the waters and the great overflow, He who made for the bull his mother whose parent he himself is." Chorus I. "I am He who made heaven and the secrets of its horizon; as to the gods I it was who placed their souls in them." Chorus II. "I am He who when he opens his eyes there is light in the world and when he closes them darkness is present." Chorus I. "The waters of the Nile flow when he commands." Chorus II. "But the gods do not know what his name is."[9]
[9] Authentic.
The voices, indistinct at first, grew stronger, so that each word was audible, and when the procession disappeared the words scattered among the columns, growing ever fainter. At last every sound ceased.
"And still those people," thought Rameses, "not only eat, drink, and gather wealth--they really perform religious services even in the night-time; though, how is that to affect the statue?"
The prince had seen more than once the statues of boundary divinities bespattered with mud by the inhabitants of another province, or shot at from bows or slings by mercenary soldiers. "If gods are not offended by insult, they must also care little for prayers and processions. Besides, who has seen gods?" said the prince to himself.
The immensity of the temple, its countless columns, the lamps burning in front of the statue,--all this attracted Rameses. He wished to look around in that mysterious immensity, and he went forward. Then it seemed to him that some hand from behind touched his head tenderly. He looked around. No one was there; so he went farther.
This time the two hands of some person seized him by the head, and a third, a great hand, rested on his shoulder.
"Who is here?" cried the prince; and he rushed in among the columns. But he stumbled and almost fell: some one caught him by the feet. Again terror mastered Rameses more than in the cell. He fled distracted, knocking against columns which seemed to bar the way to him, and darkness closed around the man on all sides.
"Oh, save, holy goddess, save me!" whispered he.
At this moment he stopped: some yards in front of him was the great door of a temple through which the starry sky was visible. He turned his head. Amid the forest of gigantic columns lamps were burning, and the gleam of them was reflected faintly from the bronze knees of the holy Hator.
The prince returned to his cell, crushed and excited; his heart throbbed like that of a bird caught in a net. For the first time in many years he fell with his face to the earth and prayed ardently for favor and forgiveness.
"Thou wilt be heard," answered a sweet voice above him.
Rameses raised his head quickly, but there was no one in the cell: the door was closed, the walls were thick. He prayed on therefore more ardently, and fell asleep in that position, with his face on the stones and his arms extended.
When he woke next morning, he was another man: he had experienced the might of the gods, and favor had been promised.
From that time through a long series of days he gave himself to devotional exercises with faith and alacrity. In his cell he spent long hours over prayers, he had his head shaven, and put on priestly garments, and four times in twenty-four hours he took part in a chorus of the youngest priests.
His past life, taken up with amusements, roused in him aversion, and the disbelief which he had acquired amid foreigners and dissolute youth filled him with dread in that interval. And if that day the choice had been given him to take either the throne or the priestly office, he would have hesitated.
A certain day the great prophet of the temple summoned the prince, and reminded him that he had not entered for prayers exclusively, but to learn wisdom. The prophet praised his devotion, declared that he was purified then from worldly foulness, and commanded him to become acquainted with the schools connected with that temple.
Rather through obedience than curiosity, the prince went directly from him to the interior court, where the department of reading and writing was situated.
That was a great hall, lighted through an opening in the roof. On mats some tens of naked pupils were seated holding wax tablets in their hands. One wall was of smooth alabaster; before it stood a teacher who wrote characters with chalks of various colors.
When the prince entered, the pupils, almost all of the same age that he was, fell on their faces. The teacher bowed, and stopped his actual labor to explain to the youths the great meaning of knowledge.
"My beloved," said he, "a man who has no heart for wisdom must occupy himself with handwork and torment his eyesight. But he who understands the worth of knowledge and forms himself accordingly may gain all kinds of power and every court office. Remember this.[10]
[10] Authentic.
"Look at the wretched fate of men unacquainted with writing. A smith is black and grimy, his hands are full of lumps, and he toils night and day all his lifetime. The quarryman pulls his arms out to satisfy his stomach. The mason while forming a capital in lotus shape is hurled off by wind from the scaffold. A weaver has bent knees, a maker of weapons is ever travelling: barely does he come to his house in the evening when he must leave it. The fingers of a wall painter smell disagreeably, and his time passes in trimming up trifles. The courier when taking farewell of his family must leave a will, for he may have to meet wild beasts or Asiatics.
"I have shown you the lot of men of various labors, for I wish you to love writing, which is your mother, and now I will present to you its beauties. It is not an empty word on earth, it is the most important of all occupations. He who makes use of writing is respected from childhood; he accomplishes every great mission. But he who takes no part in it lives on in wretchedness. School sciences are as difficult as mountains, but one day of them lasts through eternity. So learn quickly and you will love them. The scribe has a princely position; his pen and his book win him wealth and acceptance."
After a sounding discourse on the dignity of knowledge, a discourse which Egyptian pupils had heard without change for three millenniums, the master took chalk and on the alabaster wall began to write the alphabet. Each letter was expressed through a number of hieroglyphs, or a number of demotic characters. The picture of an eye, a bird, or a panther signified A, a sheep or a pot B, a man standing or a boat K, a serpent R, a man sitting or a star S. The abundance of signs expressing each sound made the art of reading or writing extremely laborious.
Rameses was wearied by mere listening, during which the only relief was when the teacher commanded some pupil to draw, or to name some letter, and beat him with a cane when he failed in his effort.
Taking farewell of the teacher and the pupils, the prince from the school of scribes passed to the school of surveyors. There they taught youth to draw plans of fields which were for the most part rectangular, also to take the elevation of land by means of two laths and a square. In this department also they explained the art of writing numbers no less involved in hieroglyphic or demotic characters. But pure arithmetical problems formed a higher course, and were solved by means of bullets.
Rameses had enough of this, and only after some days would he visit the school of medicine.
This was also a hospital, or rather great garden containing a multitude of fragrant plants and trees. Patients passed whole days in the open air and in sunlight, on beds where strips of stretched canvas took the place of mattresses.
The greatest activity reigned when the prince entered. Some patients were bathing in a pond of running water; attendants were rubbing one man with fragrant ointments, and burning perfumes before another. There were some whom they had put to sleep by looking at them and by stretching out their bodies; one patient was groaning while they were setting his sprained ankle.
To a certain woman who was grievously sick the priest was giving some mixture from a goblet, while uttering an enchantment which had power in connection with this remedy,--
"Go, cure, go, drive that out of my heart, out of my members."[11]
[11] Authentic.
Then the prince in company with a great leech went to the pharmacy, where one of the priests was preparing cures from plants, honey, olive oil, from the skins of serpents and lizards, from the bones and fat of beasts. When Rameses questioned him, the man did not take his eyes from the work. He looked continually, and ground the materials, uttering a prayer as he did so,--
"Thou hast cured Isis, thou hast cured Isis, thou hast cured Horus--O Isis, great enchantress, make me well, free me from all evil, from harmful red things, from fever of the god, from fever of the goddess[12]--
[12] Authentic.
"O Shauagat, eenagate, synie! Erukate! Kauaruchagate! Paparauka paparaka paparura."
"What is he saying?" asked the prince.
"A secret," answered the leech, putting his finger on his lips.
When they came out to an empty court, Rameses said to the great leech,--
"Tell me, holy father, what is the art of curing, and what are its methods. For I have heard that sickness is an evil spirit which settles in a man and torments him, because it is hungry, until it receives the food that it wishes. And that one evil spirit or sickness feeds on honey, another on olive oil, and a third on the excreta of animals. A leech, therefore, should know first what spirit has settled in the sick man, and then what kind of nourishment is required by that spirit, so that it should not torture the patient."
The priest thought awhile and then answered,--
"What sickness is and in what way it falls on the human body, I cannot tell, O Rameses. But to thee I will explain, for thou hast been purified, how we govern ourselves in giving medicine.
"Suppose a given man to be sick in the liver. We priests know that the liver is under the star Peneter-Deva,[13] that the cure must depend on that star.
[13] Planet Venus.
"But here the sages are divided into two schools. Some assert that it is necessary to give the man who is sick in his liver things over which Peneter-Deva has influence, therefore copper, lapis lazuli, extract of flowers, above all verbena and valerian, finally, various parts of the body of the turtle-dove and the goat. Other leeches consider that when the liver is diseased it is necessary to cure it with just the opposite remedies, and the opponent of Peneter-Deva being Sebek,[14] to give quicksilver, emerald, and agate, hazel-wood and coltsfoot, also parts of the body of a toad and an owl rubbed into powder.
[14] Planet Mercury.
"But this is not all, for it is necessary to think of the day, the month, and the hour of the day, for each of these spaces of time are under the influence of a star which must support or weaken the action of the medicine. Besides, it is needful to remember what star and what sign of the Zodiac rules the sick person. Only when the leech considers all these can he prescribe an infallible remedy."
"And do ye help all sick people in the temple?"
The priest shook his head.
"No. The mind of man, which should take in all these details of which I have spoken, makes mistakes very easily. And what is worse, envious spirits, the geniuses of other temples, jealous of their fame, frequently hinder the leech and destroy the effect of his medicines. The result, therefore, may be that one patient will return to perfect health, another simply grows better, while a third remains without change, though there happen some who become still sicker, or even die-- This is as the gods will!"
The prince listened with attention, but confessed in soul that he did not understand greatly. All at once he recalled the object of his visit to the temple, and inquired of the great leech unexpectedly,--
"Ye were to show me, holy father, the secret of the treasure of the pharaoh. Was it those things which we have seen?"
"By no means. We know nothing of state affairs. But when the great seer comes, the holy priest Pentuer, he will remove from thy eyes the curtain."
Rameses took leave of the leech with increased curiosity as to what they were to show him.
Chapter XXVII
The temple received Pentuer with great honor, and the inferior priests went out half an hour's journey to greet him. From all the wonderful places of Lower Egypt many prophets had assembled with the intent to hear words of wisdom. A couple of days later came the high priest Mefres and the prophet Mentezufis. These two rendered honor to Pentuer, not only because he was a counsellor of Herhor and notwithstanding his youth a member of the supreme college, but because this priest enjoyed favor throughout Egypt. The gods had given him a memory which seemed more than human; they had given him eloquence, and above all a marvellous gift of clear vision. In every affair he saw points hidden from others, and was able to explain them in a way understood by all listeners.
More than one nomarch, or high official of the pharaoh, on learning that Pentuer was to celebrate a religious solemnity in the temple of Hator, envied the humblest priest, since he would hear a man inspired by divinities.
The priests who went forth to greet Pentuer felt sure that that dignitary would show himself in a court chariot, or in a litter borne by eight slaves. What was their amazement at beholding a lean ascetic, bareheaded, wearing a coarse garment, riding on a she ass, and unattended! He greeted them with great humility, and when they conducted him to the temple he made an offering to the divinity and went straightway to examine the place of the coming festival.
Thenceforth no one saw Pentuer, but in the temple and the adjoining courts there was an uncommon activity. Men brought costly furniture, grain, garments. A number of hundreds of pupils and workmen were freed from their employments; with these Pentuer shut himself up in the court and worked at preparations.
After eight days of hard labor he informed the high priest of Hator that all things were ready.
During this time Prince Rameses, who was hidden in his cell, gave himself up to prayer and fasting. At last on a certain date about three hours after midday a number of priests, arrayed in two ranks, came and invited him to the solemnity.
In the vestibule of the temple the high priest greeted the prince, and with him burned incense before the great statue of Hator. Then they turned to a low, narrow corridor, at the end of which a fire was burning. The air of the corridor was filled with the odor of pitch which was boiling in a kettle. Near the kettle, through an opening in the pavement, rose dreadful groans and curses.
"What does that mean?" inquired Rameses of a priest among those attending him.
The priest gave no answer; on the faces as far as could be seen emotion and terror were evident.
At this moment the high priest Mefres seized a great ladle, took boiling pitch from the kettle, and said in loud accents,--
"May all perish thus who divulge temple secrets!"
Next he poured pitch into the opening in the pavement, and from below came a roar,--
"Ye are killing me. Oh, if ye have in your hearts even a trace of compassion," groaned a voice.
"May the worms gnaw thy body," said Mentezufis, as he poured melted pitch into the opening.
"Dogs--jackals!" groaned the voice.
"May thy heart be consumed by fire and its ashes be hurled into the desert," said the next priest, repeating the ceremony.
"O gods! is it possible to suffer as I do?" was the answer from beneath the pavement.
"May thy soul, with the image of its shame and its crime, wander onward through places where live happy people," said a second priest; and he poured another ladle of burning pitch into the aperture.
"Oh, may the earth devour you!--mercy!--let me breathe!"
Before the turn came to Rameses the voice underground was silent.
"So do the gods punish traitors," said the high priest of the temple to the viceroy.
The prince halted, and fixed on him eyes full of anger. It seemed to Rameses that he would burst out with indignation, and leave that assembly of executioners; but he felt a fear of the gods and advanced behind others in silence.
The haughty heir understood now that there was a power before which the pharaohs incline. He was seized by despair almost; he wished to flee, to renounce the throne. Meanwhile he held silence and walked on, surrounded by priests chanting prayers.
"Now I know," thought he, "where people go who are unpleasant to the servants of divinity." But this thought did not decrease his horror.
Leaving the narrow corridor full of smoke, the procession found itself on an elevation beneath the open sky. Below was an immense court surrounded on three sides by low buildings instead of a wall. From the place where the priests halted was a kind of amphitheatre with five broad platforms by which it was possible to pass along the whole court or to descend to the bottom.
In the court no one was present, but certain people were looking out of buildings.
The high priest Mefres, as chief dignitary in the assembly, presented Pentuer to the viceroy. The mild face of the ascetic did not harmonize with the horrors which had taken place in the corridor; so the prince wondered. To say something, he said to Pentuer,--
"It seems to me that I have met thee somewhere, pious father?"
"The past year at the manœuvres near Pi-Bailos. I was there with his worthiness Herhor."
The resonant and calm voice of Pentuer arrested the prince. He had heard that voice on some uncommon occasion. But where and when had he heard it?
In every case the priest made an agreeable impression. If he could only forget the cries of that man whom they had covered with boiling pitch!
"We may begin," said Mefres.
Pentuer went to the middle of the amphitheatre and clapped his hands. From the low buildings a crowd of female dancers issued forth, and priests came out with music, also with a small statue of the goddess Hator. The musicians preceded, the dancers followed, performing a sacred dance; finally the statue moved on surrounded by the smoke of censers. In this way they went around the court and stopping after every few steps, implored the divinity for a blessing, and asked evil spirits to leave the enclosure, where there was to be a solemnity full of secrets.
When the procession had returned to the buildings, Pentuer stepped forward. Dignitaries present to the number of two or three hundred gathered round him.
"By the will of his holiness the pharaoh," began Pentuer, "and with consent of the supreme priestly power, we are to initiate the heir to the throne, Rameses, into some details of life in Egypt, details known only to the divinities who govern the country and the temples. I know, worthy fathers, that each of you would enlighten the young prince better in these things than I can; ye are full of wisdom, and the goddess Mut speaks through you. But since the duty has fallen on me, who in presence of you am but dust and a pupil, permit me to accomplish it under your worthy inspection and guidance."
A murmur of satisfaction was heard among the learned priests at this manner. Pentuer turned to the viceroy.
"For some months, O servant of the gods, Rameses, as a traveller lost in the desert seeks a road, so thou art seeking an answer to the question: Why has the income of the holy pharaoh diminished, and why is it decreasing? Thou hast asked the nomarchs, and though they explained according to their power, thou wert not satisfied, though the highest human wisdom belongs to those dignitaries. Thou didst turn to the chief scribes, but in spite of their efforts these men were like birds in a net, unable to free themselves without assistance, for the reason of man, though trained in the school of scribes, is not in a position to take in the immensity of these questions. At last, wearied by barren explanations, thou didst examine the lands of the provinces, their people, the works of their hands, but didst arrive at nothing. For there are things of which people are silent as stones, but concerning which even stones will give answer if light from the gods only falls on them.
"When in this manner all these earthly powers and wisdoms disappointed thee, thou didst turn to the gods. Barefoot, thy head sprinkled with ashes, thou didst come in the guise of a penitent to this great sanctuary, where by means of suffering and prayer thou hast purified thy body and strengthened thy spirit. The gods--but especially the mighty Hator--listened to thy prayers, and through my unworthy lips give an answer, and mayst thou write it down in thy heart profoundly."
"Whence does he know," thought the prince, meanwhile, "that I asked the scribes and nomarchs? Aha! Mefres and Mentezufis told him. For that matter, they know everything."
"Listen," continued Pentuer, "and I will discover to thee, with permission of these dignitaries, what Egypt was four hundred years ago in the reign of the most glorious and pious nineteenth Theban dynasty, and what it is at present.
"When the first pharaoh of that dynasty, Ramen-Pehuti-Ramessu, assumed power over the country, the income of the treasury in wheat, cattle, beer, skins, vessels, and various articles rose to a hundred and thirty thousand talents. If a people had existed who could exchange gold for all these goods, the pharaoh would have had yearly one hundred and thirty-three thousand minas of gold.[15] And since one warrior can carry on his shoulders the weight of twenty-six minas, about five thousand warriors would have been needed to carry that treasure."
[15] Mina = one and a half kilograms.
The priests whispered to one another without hiding their wonder. Even the prince forgot the man tortured to death beneath the pavement.
"To-day," said Pentuer, "the yearly income of his holiness for all products of his land is worth only ninety-eight thousand talents. For these it would be possible to obtain as much gold as four thousand warriors could carry."
"That the income of the state has decreased greatly, I know," said Rameses, "but what is the cause of this?"
"Be patient, O servant of the gods," replied Pentuer. "It is not the income of his holiness alone that is subject to decrease. During the nineteenth dynasty Egypt had under arms one hundred and eighty thousand warriors. If by the action of the gods every soldier of that time had been turned into a pebble the size of a grape--"
"That cannot be!" said Rameses.
"The gods can do anything," answered Mefres, the high priest, severely.
"But better," continued Pentuer, "if each soldier were to place on the ground one pebble, there would be one hundred and eighty thousand pebbles; and, look, worthy fathers, these pebbles would occupy so much space." He pointed to a quadrangle of reddish color in the court. "In this figure the pebbles deposited by warriors of the time of Rameses I. would find their places. This figure is nine yards long and about five wide. This figure is ruddy; it has the color of Egyptian bodies, for in those days all our warriors were Egyptian exclusively."
The priests began to whisper a second time. The prince frowned, for that seemed to him a reprimand, since he loved foreign soldiers.
"To-day," said Pentuer, "we assemble one hundred and twenty thousand warriors with great difficulty. If each one of those cast his pebble on the ground, they would form a figure of this sort. Look this way, worthiness." At the side of the first quadrangle lay a second of the same width, but considerably shorter; its color was not uniform either, but was composed of a number of colors. "This figure," said Pentuer, "is about five yards wide, but is only six yards in length. An immense number of men is now lacking,--our army has lost one-third of its warriors."
"Wisdom of men like thee, O prophet, will bring more good to the state than an army," interrupted the high priest.
Pentuer bent before him and continued,--
"In this new figure which represents the present army of the pharaoh ye see, worthy men, besides the ruddy color which designates Egyptians by blood, three other stripes,--black, white, and yellow. They represent mercenary divisions,--Ethiopians, Asiatics, Greeks, and Libyans. There are thirty thousand of them altogether, but they cost as much as fifty thousand Egyptians."
"We must do away with foreign regiments at the earliest," said Mefres. "They are costly, unsuitable, and teach our people infidelity and insolence. At present there are many Egyptians who do not fall on their faces before the priests; more, some of them have gone so far as to steal from graves and temples."
"Therefore away with the mercenaries!" said Mefres, passionately. "The country has received from them nothing save harm, and our neighbors suspect us of hostile ideas."
"Away with mercenaries! Dismiss these unruly infidels!" cried the priests.
"When in years to come, O Rameses, thou wilt ascend the throne," added Mefres, "thou wilt fulfil this sacred duty to the gods and to Egypt."
"Yes, fulfil it! free thy people from unbelievers!" cried the priests.
Rameses bent his head, and was silent. The blood flew to his heart. He felt that the ground was trembling under him.
He was to dismiss the best part of the army,--he, who would like to have twice as great an army and four times as many mercenary warriors.
"They are pitiless with me," thought Rameses.
"Speak on, O Pentuer, sent down from heaven to us," said Mefres.
"So then, holy men," continued Pentuer, "we have learned of two misfortunes,--the pharaoh's income has decreased, and his army is diminished."
"What need of an army?" grumbled the high priest, shaking his head contemptuously.
"And now, with the favor of the gods and your permission, I will explain why it has happened thus, why the treasury will decrease further, and troops be still fewer in the future."
The prince raised his head and looked at the speaker. He thought no longer now of the man put to death beneath the corridor.
Pentuer passed a number of steps along the amphitheatre, and after him the dignitaries.
"Do ye see at your feet that long, narrow strip of green with a broad triangular space at the end of it? On both sides of the strip lie limestone, granite, and, behind these, sandy places. In the middle of the green flows a stream, which in the triangular space is divided into a number of branches."
"That is the Nile! That is Egypt!" cried the priests.
"But look," interrupted Mefres, with emotion. "I will discover the river. Do ye see those two blue veins running from the elbow to the hand? Is not that the Nile and its canals, which begins opposite the Alabaster mountains and flows to Fayum? And look at the back of my hand: there are as many veins there as the sacred river has branches below Memphis. And do not my fingers remind you of the number of branches through which the Nile sends its waters to the sea?"
"A great truth!" exclaimed the priests, looking at their hands.
"Here, I tell you," continued the excited high priest, "that Egypt is the trace of the arm of Osiris. Here on this land the great god rested his arm: in Thebes lay his divine elbow, his fingers reached the sea, and the Nile is his veins. What wonder that we call this country blessed!"
"Evidently," said the priest, "Egypt is the express imprint of the arm of Osiris."
"Has Osiris seven fingers on his hand," interrupted the prince, "for the Nile has seven branches falling into the sea?"
Deep silence followed.
"Young man," retorted Mefres, with kindly irony, "dost suppose that Osiris could not have seven fingers if it pleased him?"
"Of course he could!" said the other priests.
"Speak on, renowned Pentuer," said Mentezufis.
"Ye are right, worthy fathers," began Pentuer: "this stream with its branches is a picture of the Nile; the narrow strip of green bounded by stones and sand is Upper Egypt, and that triangular space, cut with veins, is a picture of Lower Egypt, the most extensive and richest part of the country.
"Well, in the beginning of the nineteenth dynasty, all Egypt, from the cataract to the sea, included five hundred thousand measures of land. On every measure lived sixteen persons: men, women, and children. But during four hundred succeeding years almost with each generation a piece of fertile soil was lost to Egypt."
The speaker made a sign. A number of young priests ran out of the building and sprinkled sand on various parts of the green area.
"During each generation," continued the priest, "fertile land diminished, and the narrow strip of it became much narrower. At present our country instead of five hundred thousand measures has only four hundred thousand--or during two dynasties Egypt has lost land which supported two millions of people."
In the assembly again rose a murmur of horror.
"And dost thou know, O Rameses, servant of the gods, whither those spaces have vanished where on a time were fields of wheat and barley, or where flocks and herds pastured? Thou knowest that sands of the desert have covered them. But has any one told thee why this came to pass? It came to pass because there was a lack of men who with buckets and ploughs fight the desert from morning till evening. Finally, dost thou know why these toilers of the gods disappeared? Whither did they go? What swept them out of the country? Foreign wars did it. Our nobles conquered enemies, our pharaohs immortalized their worthy names as far away as the Euphrates River, but like beasts of burden our common men carried food for them, they carried water, they carried other weights, and died along the road by thousands.
"To avenge those bones scattered now throughout eastern deserts, the western sands have swallowed our fields, and it would require immense toil and many generations to win back that dark Egyptian earth from the sand grave which covers it."
"Listen! listen!" cried Mefres, "some god is speaking through the lips of Pentuer. It is true that our victorious wars are the grave of Egypt."
Rameses could not collect his thoughts. It seemed to him that mountains of sand were falling on his head at that moment.
"I have said," continued Pentuer, "that great labor would be needed to dig out Egypt and restore the old-time wealth devoured by warfare. But have we the power to carry out that project?"
Again he advanced some steps, and after him the excited listeners. Since Egypt became Egypt, no one had displayed so searchingly the disasters of the country, though all men knew that they had happened.
"During the nineteenth dynasty Egypt had eight millions of inhabitants. If every man, woman, old man, and child had put down in this place one bean, the grains would make a figure of this kind."
He indicated with his hand a court where one by the side of another lay eight great quadrangles covered with red beans.
"That figure is sixty yards long, thirty yards wide, and as ye see, pious fathers, the grains composing it are of the same kind, for the people of that time were from Egyptian grandfathers and great-grandfathers. But look now."
He went farther, and indicated another group of quadrangles of various colors.
"Ye see this figure which is thirty yards wide, but only forty-five yards in length. Why is this? Because there are in it only six quadrangles, for at present Egypt has not eight, but only six millions of inhabitants. Consider, besides, that as the former figure was composed exclusively of red Egyptian beans, in the present one are immense strips of black, yellow, and white beans. For in our army and among the people there are now very many foreigners: black Ethiopians, yellow Syrians and Phœnicians, white Greeks and Libyans."
They interrupted him. The priests who listened began to embrace him; Mefres was weeping.
"Never yet has there been such a prophet. One cannot imagine when he could make such calculations," said the best mathematician in the temple of Hator.
"Fathers," said Pentuer, "do not overestimate my services. Long years ago in our temples the condition of the state was represented in this manner. I have only disinterred that which later generations had in some degree forgotten."
"But the reckoning?" asked the mathematician.
"The reckonings are continued unbrokenly in all the provinces and temples," replied Pentuer. "The general amounts are found in the palace of his holiness."
"But the figures?" exclaimed the mathematician.
"Our fields are arranged in just such figures, and the geometers of the state study them at school."
"We know not what to admire most in this priest, his wisdom or his humility," said Mefres. "Since we have such a man, the gods have not forgotten us."
At that moment the guard watching on the pylons of the temple summoned those present to prayer.
"In the evening I will finish the explanations," said Pentuer; "now I will say a few words in addition.
"Ye inquire, worthy fathers, why I use beans for these pictures. I do so because a grain put in the ground brings a harvest to the husbandmen yearly; so a man brings tribute every year to the treasury.
"If in any province two million less beans are sown than in past years, the following harvest will be notably less, and the earth-tillers will have a poorer income. In the state also, when two millions of population are gone, the inflow of taxes must diminish."
Rameses listened with attention, and walked away in silence.
Chapter XXVIII
When the priests and the heir to the throne returned to the courtyard in the evening, several hundred torches were gleaming so brightly that it was as clear there as in the daytime.
At a sign from Mefres there came out again a procession of musicians, dancers, and minor priests carrying a statue of the cow-headed Hator; and when they had driven away evil spirits, Pentuer began to explain again.
"Ye see, worthy fathers," said he, "that since the time of the nineteenth dynasty a hundred thousand measures of land and two million people have vanished out of Egypt. This explains why the income of the state has decreased thirty-two thousand talents; that it has decreased is known to all of us.
"But this is only the beginning of misfortunes to the state and the treasury. Ninety-eight thousand talents of income apparently remain to his holiness. But do ye think that the pharaoh receives all this income?
"I will tell you what his worthiness Herhor discovered in the province of the Hare.
"During the nineteenth dynasty twenty thousand people dwelt in that province; they paid three hundred and fifty talents of yearly taxes. To-day there are hardly fifteen thousand, and these, of course, pay the treasury only two hundred and seventy talents. Meanwhile the pharaoh, instead of receiving two hundred and seventy talents, receives one hundred and seventy.
"'Why is that?' inquired Herhor; and this is what an investigation discovered: During the nineteenth dynasty there were in the district about one hundred officials, and these received each one thousand drachmas yearly salary. To-day in that same district, though the people have decreased, there are more than two hundred officials who receive two thousand five hundred drachmas yearly.
"It is unknown to his worthiness Herhor if this is the case in every district. But this much is certain, that the treasury of the pharaoh, instead of ninety-eight thousand talents annually, has only seventy-four thousand--"
"Say, worthy father, fifty thousand," interrupted Rameses.
"I will explain that too," replied Pentuer. "In every case remember, prince, that the pharaoh's treasury pays to-day twenty-four thousand talents to officials, while it gave only ten thousand during the nineteenth dynasty."
Deep silence reigned among the dignitaries, for more than one of them had a relative in office, well paid moreover. But Pentuer was unterrified.
"Now," continued he, "I will show thee, O heir, the manner of life among officials, and the lot of common people in those old times and in our day."
"Will it not take too much time? Besides, every man can see for himself," murmured the priests, very promptly.
"I wish to know this," said the prince, with decision.
The murmur ceased. Pentuer went down along the steps of the amphitheatre to the court, and after him went the prince, the high priests, Mefres and the others.
They halted before a long curtain of mats, forming as it were a palisade. At a sign from Pentuer some tens of minor priests hastened up with blazing torches. Another sign, and a portion of the curtain fell.
From the lips of those present came a shout of admiration. They had before them a brightly illuminated tableau in which about one hundred persons were the characters.
The tableau was divided into three stories; on the lower story stood earth tillers, on a higher were officials, and on the highest was the golden throne of the pharaoh resting on two lions whose heads were the arms of the throne.
"It was in this way," said Pentuer, "during the nineteenth dynasty. Look at the earth-tillers. At their ploughs ye see sometimes oxen, sometimes asses; their picks, spades, and shovels are bronze, and hence are lasting. See what stalwart men they are! To-day one could find such only in the guard of his holiness. Their hands and feet are strong, their breasts full, their faces smiling. All are bathed and anointed with olive oil. Their wives are occupied in preparing food and clothing or in washing house utensils; the children are at school or are playing.
"The laborer of that time, as ye see, ate wheaten bread, beans, flesh, fish, and fruit; he drank beer or wine, and see how beautiful were the plates and pitchers. Look at the caps, aprons, and capes of the men: all adorned with various-colored needlework. Still more beautifully embroidered were the skirts of women. And note how carefully they combed their hair, what brooches, earrings, and bracelets they had. Those ornaments were made of bronze and colored enamel; even gold was found among them, though only in the form of wire.
"Raise now your eyes to officials. They wore mantles, but every laborer wore just such a dress on holidays. They lived exactly as did laborers,--that is, in sufficiency, but modestly. Their furniture was ornamented somewhat more than that of laborers, and gold rings were found oftener in their caskets. They made journeys on asses, or in cars drawn by oxen."
Pentuer clapped his hands and on the stage there was movement. The laborers gave the officials baskets of grapes, bags of barley, peas and wheat, jugs of wine, beer, milk and honey, game and stuffs, many pieces white or colored. The officials took these products, kept a portion for themselves, but the choicest and most costly they put up higher, for the throne. The platform where stood the symbol of the pharaoh's power was covered with products which formed as it were a small mountain.
"Ye see, worthy men," said Pentuer, "that in those times, when earth-tillers were satisfied and wealthy, the treasury of his holiness could hardly find place for the gifts of his subjects. But see what is happening in our day."
At a new signal a second part of the curtain fell, and another tableau appeared, similar to the preceding in general outline.
"Here are our laborers of the present," said Pentuer, and in his voice indignation was evident. "Their bodies are skin and bones, they look like sick persons, they are filthy and have forgotten to anoint themselves with olive oil, but their backs are wounded from beating.
"Neither oxen nor asses are near them, for what need is there of those beasts if ploughs are drawn by women and children? Picks and shovels are wooden, they spoil easily and that increases men's labor. They have no clothes whatever; only women wear coarse shirts, and not even in a dream do they look at embroidery, though their grandfathers and grandmothers wore it.
"Look now at the food of the earth-tillers. At times barley and dried fish, lotus seed always, rarely a wheat cake, never flesh, beer, or wine.
"Ask them where their utensils and furniture are. They have none, unless a pitcher for water; nothing could find room in the dens which they inhabit.
"Pardon me now for that to which I turn your attention: Over there a number of children are lying on the ground; that means that they are dead. It is wonderful how many children of laborers die from toil and hunger. And those that die are the happiest, for they who survive go under the club of the overseer, or are sold to the Phœnician as lambs to the--"
Emotion stopped his voice; he rested awhile, and then continued amid the angry silence of the priesthood,--
"And now look at the officials,--how animated they are in rouge, how beautiful their clothes are! Their wives wear gold bracelets and earrings, and such fine garments that princes might envy them. Among laborers not an ox or an ass is now visible, but to make up officials journey on horseback or in litters. They drink only wine, and that of good quality."
He clapped his hands, and again there was movement. The laborers gave the officials bags of wheat, baskets of fruit, wine, game. These objects the officials as before placed near the throne, but in quantities considerably smaller. On the pharaoh's platform there was no longer a mountain of products, but the platform of the officials was covered.
"This is the Egypt of our day," continued Pentuer. "Laborers are in indigence, scribes are wealthy, the treasury is not so full as it once was. But now--"
He gave a sign, and a thing unexpected took place there before them.
Certain hands seized grain, fruit, stuffs from the platforms of the pharaoh and the officials; and when the amount of the goods had decreased greatly, those same hands began to seize and lead away laborers, their wives and children.
The spectators looked with amazement at the peculiar methods of those mysterious persons. Suddenly some one cried out,--
"Those are Phœnicians! They plunder us in that way."
"That is it, holy fathers," said Pentuer. "Those are the hands of Phœnicians concealed in the midst of us; they plunder the pharaoh and the scribes, and lead away laborers captive when there is nothing to drag from them."
"Yes! They are jackals! A curse on Phœnicians! Expel them, the wretches!" cried the priests. "It is they who inflict the greatest damage on Egypt."
Not all, however, shouted in that way.
When there was silence, Pentuer commanded to take the torches to the other side of the court, and thither he conducted his hearers. There were no tableaux there, but a kind of industrial exhibition.
"Be pleased to look," said he. "During the nineteenth dynasty foreigners sent us these things: we received perfumes from Punt; gold, iron weapons, and chariots of war came from Syria. That is all.
"But Egypt manufactured in those days. Look at these immense pitchers,--how many forms, and what a variety of colors.
"Or the furniture: that armchair was made of ten thousand pieces of gold, mother-of-pearl, and woods of various hues. Look at the robes of that period: what embroidery, what delicacy of material, how many colors! And the bronze swords, the brooches, bracelets, earrings and implements of tillage and crafts of various descriptions. All these were made in this country during the nineteenth dynasty."
He passed to the next group of objects.
"But to-day, look: the pitchers are small and almost without ornament, the furniture is simple, the stuffs coarse and devoid of variety. Not one thing made to-day can we compare as to shape, durability, or beauty with those of former ages. Why has this happened?"
He advanced a number of steps again, surrounded by torches.
"Here is a great number of things," said he, "which the Phœnicians bring us from various regions. Some tens of kinds of incense, colored glass, furniture, vessels, woven stuffs, chariots, ornaments,--all these come from Asia and are bought by us.
"Do ye understand now, worthy fathers, why the Phœnicians tear away grain, fruit, and cattle from the scribes and the pharaoh? In pay for those foreign goods which have destroyed our artisans as locusts destroy vegetation.
"Among things obtained through Phœnicians for his holiness, the nomarchs, and the scribes, gold has the first place.
"This kind of commerce is the most accurate picture of calamities inflicted on Egypt by Asia.
"When a man borrows gold to the amount of one talent, he is obliged in three years to return two talents. But most frequently the Phœnicians, under pretext of decreasing trouble for the debtor, assure payment in their own way: that is, debtors for each talent borrowed give them as tenants for three years two measures of land and thirty-two people.
"See there, worthy fathers," said he, pointing to a part of the court which was better lighted. "That square of land one hundred and ten yards in length and as wide signifies two measures; the men, women, and children of that crowd mean eight families. All that together: people and land pass for three years into dreadful captivity. During that time their owner, the pharaoh or a nomarch, has no profit at all from them; at the end of that term he receives the land back exhausted, and of the people, twenty in number at the very highest, the rest have died under torture!"
Those present shuddered with horror.
"I have said that the Phœnician takes two measures of land and thirty-two people for three years in exchange for one talent. See what a space of land and what a crowd of people; look now at my hand.
"This piece of gold which I grasp here, this lump, less than a hen's egg in size, is a talent.
"Can you estimate the complete insignificance of the Phœnicians in this commerce? This small lump of gold has no real value: it is yellow, it is heavy, a man cannot eat it,--and that is the end of the matter. A man does not clothe himself with gold and he cannot stop his hunger or thirst with it. If he had a lump of gold as big as the pyramid, he would be as poor at the foot of it as a Libyan wandering through the western desert where there is neither a date nor a drop of water.
"And see, for a piece of this barren metal a Phœnician takes a piece of land which suffices to feed and clothe thirty-two people, and besides that he takes the people. For three years he exercises power over beings who know how to cultivate land, gather in grain, make flour and beer, weave garments, build houses, and make furniture.
"At the same time the pharaoh or the nomarch is deprived for three years of the services of those people. They pay him no tribute, they carry no burdens for the army, but they toil to give income to the greedy Phœnician.
"Ye know, worthy fathers, that at present there is not a year during which in this or that province an insurrection does not break out among laborers exhausted by hunger, borne down by toil, or beaten with sticks. And some of those men perish, others are sent to the quarries, while the country is depopulated more and more for this reason only, that the Phœnician gave a lump of gold to some landowner! Is it possible to imagine greater misery? And is Egypt not to lose land and people yearly under such conditions? Victorious wars undermined Egypt, but Phœnician gold-dealers are finishing it."
On the faces of the priests satisfaction was depicted; they were more willing to hear of the guile of Phœnicians than the excesses of scribes throughout Egypt.
Pentuer rested awhile, then he turned to the viceroy.
"For some months," said he, "Rameses, O servant of the gods, thou hast been inquiring why the income of his holiness is diminished. The wisdom of the gods has shown thee that not only the treasure has decreased but also the army, and that both those sources of royal power will decrease still further. And the end will be utter ruin for this country, unless heaven sends down a ruler who will stop the inundation of misery which for some hundreds of years is overwhelming Egypt.
"The treasury of the pharaohs was full when we had more land and people. We must win back from the desert the fertile lands which it has swallowed, and remove from the people those burdens which weaken and kill them."
The priests were alarmed again, lest Pentuer might mention scribes for the second time.
"Thou hast seen, prince, with thy own eyes and before witnesses, that in the epoch when people were well nourished, stalwart, and satisfied, the treasury of the pharaoh was full. But when people began to look wretched, when they were forced to plough with their wives and children, when lotus seed took the place of wheat and flesh, the treasury grew needy. If thou wish therefore to bring the state to that power which it had before the wars of the nineteenth dynasty, if thou desire that the pharaoh, his scribes, and his army should live in plenty, assure long peace to the land and prosperity to the people. Let grown persons eat flesh again and dress in embroidered garments, and let children, instead of groaning and dying under blows, play, or go to school.
"Remember, finally, that Egypt bears within its bosom a deadly serpent."
Those present listened with fear and curiosity.
"That serpent which is sucking at the blood of the people, the property of the nomarchs, and the power of the pharaoh is the Phœnician!"
"Away with the Phœnicians!" cried the priests. "Blot out all debts to them. Admit not their ships and merchants."
Silence was enforced by the high priest Mefres, who with tears in his eyes turned to Pentuer.
"I doubt not," said he, "that the holy Hator is speaking through thy lips to us. Not only because no man could be so wise and all-knowing as thou art, but besides I have seen two flames, as horns, above thy forehead. I thank thee for the great words with which thou hast dispelled our ignorance. I bless thee, and I pray the gods when I am summoned before them to make thee my advocate."
An unbroken shout from the rest of the assembly supported the blessing of the highest dignitary. The priests were the better satisfied, since alarm had hung over them lest Pentuer might refer to the scribes a second time. But the sage knew how to restrain himself: he indicated the internal wound of the state, but he did not inflame it, and therefore his triumph was perfect.
Prince Rameses did not thank Pentuer, he only dropped his head to his own bosom. No one doubted, however, that the discourse of the prophet had shaken the soul of the heir, and that it was a seed from which prosperity and glory might spring up for Egypt.
Next morning Pentuer, without taking farewell of any, left the temple at sunrise and journeyed away in the direction of Memphis.
For a number of days Prince Rameses held converse with no man, he meditated; he sat in his cell, or walked up and down the shady corridors. Work in his soul was progressing.
In reality Pentuer had declared no new truth; all had been complaining of the decrease of land and people in Egypt, of the misery of workmen, the abuses of scribes, and the extortion of Phœnicians. But the discourse of the prophet had given them tangible forms, and illustrated facts very clearly.
The Phœnicians terrified the prince; he had not estimated till that time the enormity of the misfortunes brought on people of Egypt by those merchants. His horror was all the more vivid, since he had rented out his own subjects to Dagon, and was himself witness of the way in which the banker collected his dues from them.
But his entanglement in the business of Phœnicians produced strange results in Rameses. He did not wish to think of Phœnicians, and whenever anger flamed up in his mind against those strangers the feeling of shame was destroyed in him. He was in a certain sense their confederate. Meanwhile he understood perfectly how serious the decrease was in land and in people, and on this he placed the main emphasis in his lonely meditation.
"If we had," said he to himself, "those two millions of people lost by Egypt, we might through help from them win back those fertile lands from the desert, we might even extend those lands. And then in spite of Phœnicians our laborers would be in a better condition, and there would be also increase in the income of Egypt. But where can we find men?"
Chance gave the answer.
On a certain evening the prince, while walking through the gardens of the temple, met a crowd of captives whom Nitager had seized on the eastern boundary and sent to the goddess Hator. Those people were perfectly built, they did more work than Egyptians, and they did it because they were properly nourished, hence even satisfied with their position.
When he saw them, his mind was cleared as if by a lightning flash. He almost lost presence of mind from emotion. The country needs men, many men,--hundreds of thousands, even a million, two millions. And here are men! The only need was to turn to Asia, seize all whom they might meet on the road, and send them to Egypt. War must continue till so many were taken that every earth-tiller from the cataract to the sea might have his own bondman.
Thus rose a plan, colossal and simple, thanks to which Egypt would find population, the earth-tillers aid in their labor, and the treasury of the pharaoh an endless source of income.
The prince was enchanted, though next day a new doubt sprang up in him.
Pentuer had announced with great emphasis, while Herhor had asserted still earlier, that victorious wars were the source of misfortune for the country. From this it resulted that to raise Egypt by a new war was impossible.
"Pentuer is a great sage, and so is Herhor," thought Rameses. "If they consider war harmful, if the high priest Mefres and other priests judge in the same way, then perhaps war is in fact dangerous. It must be dangerous, if so many holy and wise men insist thus."
Rameses was deeply disappointed. He had thought out a simple method of elevating Egypt, but the priests maintained that that was the true way to ruin it. The priests are most holy, and they are wise men.
But something happened which cooled the faith of the prince somewhat in the truthful speech of the priests, or rather it roused his previous distrust of them.
Once he was going with a certain leech to the library. The way lay through a dark and narrow corridor from which the heir drew back with repulsion.
"I will not go by this way," said he.
"Why not?" inquired the leech, with astonishment.
"Dost thou not remember, holy father, that at the end of that corridor is an opening in which a certain traitor was tortured to death without pity."
"Aha!" answered the leech. "There is an opening there into which we poured boiling pitch at command of Pentuer."
"And ye killed a man--"
The leech smiled. He was a kindly, gladsome person. So, observing the indignation of the prince, he said after some meditation,--
"It is not permitted to betray temple secrets. Of course, before each of the greater solemnities, we bring this to the mind of younger candidates."
His tone was so peculiar that Rameses required explanation.
"I cannot betray secrets," replied the leech; "but promise, worthiness, to hide a story in thy breast, and I will tell thee one."
Rameses promised. The leech gave this narrative:--
"A certain Egyptian priest, while visiting temples in the unbelieving land of Aram, met at one of them a man who seemed to him in good flesh and satisfied, though he wore wretched garments. 'Explain to me,' said the priest to the gladsome poor man, 'how it is that, though thou art indigent, thy body looks as though thou wert chief of this temple.'
"That man looked around then to see if any one were listening, and answered,--
"'I am fat, because my voice is very woful; hence I am a martyr at this temple. When people come to service here, I crawl into an opening and groan with all the strength that is in my body; for this they give me food abundantly throughout the year, and a large jug of beer every day when I am tortured.'
"Thus do they manage in the unbelieving land of Aram," said the leech, as he raised a finger to his lips, and added, "Remember, prince, what thou hast promised, and of boiling pitch in this place think whatever suits thee."
This story roused the prince anew; he felt relief because a man had not been killed in the temple, but all his earlier distrust of priests sprang into life again.
That they deluded simple people, he knew. He remembered the priests' procession with the sacred bull Apis, while he was in their school. The people were convinced that Apis led the priests, while every student saw that the divine beast went in whatever direction priests drove him.
Who could tell, therefore, that Pentuer's discourse was not intended for him, as that procession of Apis for the people? For that matter, it was easy to put on the ground beans of red or other colors, and also it was not difficult to arrange tableaux. How much more splendid were those exhibitions which he had seen, even the struggles of Set with Osiris, in which a number of hundreds of persons assisted. But in that case, too, did not the priests deceive people? That was given as a battle of the gods; meanwhile it was carried on by men in disguise. In it Osiris perished, but the priest who represented Osiris came out as sound as a rhinoceros. What wonders did they not exhibit there! Water rose; there were peals of thunder; the earth trembled and vomited fire. And that was all deception. Why should the exhibition made by Pentuer be true? Besides, the prince had discovered strong indications that they wished to deceive him. The man groaning underground and covered, as it were, with boiling pitch by the priests was deception. But let that pass. The prince had convinced himself frequently that Herhor did not want war; Mefres also did not want it. Pentuer was the assistant of one of them, and the favorite of the other.
Such a struggle was taking place in the prince that it seemed to him at one time that he understood everything, at another that he was surrounded by darkness; now he was full of hope, and now he doubted everything. From hour to hour, from day to day, his soul rose and fell like the waters of the Nile in the course of its yearly changes.
Gradually, however, the prince recovered his balance, and when the time came to leave the temple, he had formulated certain views of the problem.
First of all, he understood clearly that Egypt needed more land and more people. Second, he believed that the simplest way to find men was a war with Asia. But Pentuer had proved to him that war could only heighten the disaster. A new question rose then,--did Pentuer speak the truth, or was he lying? If he spoke the truth, he plunged the prince in despair, for Rameses saw no means to raise the state except war. Unless war were made, Egypt would lose population yearly, and the treasury of the pharaoh would increase its debts till the whole process would end in some ghastly overthrow, perhaps even in the reign of the coming pharaoh.
"But if Pentuer lied? Why should he lie? Evidently because Herhor, Mefres, and the whole priestly corporation had persuaded him to act thus.
"But why did priests oppose war? What interests had they in opposing? Every war brought immense profit to them and the pharaoh.
"But would the priests deceive him in an affair so far reaching? It is true that they deceived very often, but in small matters, not when it was a question of the future and the existence of the state. It was not possible to assert that they deceived always. Besides, they were the servants of the gods, and the guardians of great secrets." Spirits resided in their temples; of this Rameses convinced himself on the first night after he had come to that temple of Hator.
"But if the gods did not permit the uninitiated to approach their altars, if they watched so carefully over temples, why did they not watch over Egypt, which is the greatest of all temples?"
When some days later Rameses, after a solemn religious service, left the temple of Hator amid the blessings of the priests, two questions were agitating him,--
Could war with Asia really harm Egypt? Could the priests in this question be deceiving him, the heir to the throne?
Chapter XXIX
The prince journeyed on horseback in company with a number of officers to Pi-Bast, the famous capital of the province of Habu.
The month Paoni had passed, Epiphi was beginning (April and May). The sun stood high, heralding the most violent season of heat for Egypt. A mighty wind from the desert had blown in repeatedly; men and beasts fell because of heat, and on fields and trees a gray dust had begun to settle under which vegetation was dying.
Roses had been harvested and turned into oil; wheat had been gathered as well as the second crop of clover. Well-sweeps and buckets moved with double energy, irrigating the earth with dirty water to fit it for new seed. Men had begun to gather grapes and figs. The Nile had fallen, water in canals was low and of evil odor. Above the whole country a fine dust was borne along in a deluge of burning sun-rays.
In spite of this Prince Rameses rode on and felt gladsome. The life of a penitent in the temple had grown irksome; he yearned for feasts, uproar, and women.
Meanwhile the country, intersected with a net of canals, though flat and monotonous, was pleasing. In the province of Habu lived people of another origin: not the old Egyptians, but descendants of the valiant Hyksos, who on a time had conquered Egypt and governed that land for a number of generations.
The old Egyptians despised this remnant of a conquering race expelled from power afterward, but Rameses looked on them with satisfaction. They were large and strong, their bearing was proud, and there was manly energy in their faces. They did not fall prostrate before the prince and his officers, like Egyptians, but looked at him without dislike, but also without timidity. Neither were their shoulders covered with scars from beating; the scribes respected them because they knew that if a Hyksos were beaten he would return the blows, and might kill the man who gave them. Moreover the Hyksos enjoyed the pharaoh's favor, for their people furnished the choicest warriors.
As the retinue of the heir approached Pi-Bast, whose temples and palaces were visible through the haze of dust, as through a veil of muslin, the neighborhood grew more active. Along the broad highway and the canals men were taking to market cattle, wheat, fruit, wine, flowers, bread, and a multitude of other articles of daily consumption. The torrent of people and goods moving toward the city was as noisy and dense as that outside Memphis in the holiday season. Around Pi-Bast reigned throughout the whole year the uproar of a market-day, which ceased only in the night time.
The cause of this was simple. In that city stood the renowned and ancient temple of Astarte. This temple was revered throughout Western Asia and attracted throngs of pilgrims. It could be said without exaggeration that outside Pi-Bast thirty thousand strangers camped daily,--Arabs, Phœnicians, Jews, Philistines, Hittites, Assyrians, and others. The Egyptian government bore itself kindly toward these pilgrims, who brought it a considerable income; the priests endured them, and the people of neighboring provinces carried on an active trade with them.
For the space of an hour's journey from Pi-Bast the mud huts and tents of strangers covered the open country. As one neared the city, those huts increased in number and transient inhabitants swarmed more and more densely around them. Some were preparing food under the open sky, others were purchasing provisions which came in continually, still others were going in procession to the temple. Here and there were large crowds before places of amusement, where beast-tamers, serpent-charmers, athletes, female dancers, and jugglers exhibited their adroitness.
Above all this multitude of people were heat and uproar.
Before the gate of the city Rameses was greeted by his court and by the nomarch of Habu surrounded by his officials. But the greeting, despite cordiality, was so cold that the astonished viceroy whispered to Tutmosis,--
"What does this mean, that he looks on me as if I had come to measure out punishment?"
"Because thou hast the face of a man who has been associating with divinity."
He spoke truth. Whether because of ascetic life, or the society of priests, or of long meditation, the prince had changed greatly. He had grown thin, his complexion had darkened, and in his face and bearing much dignity was evident. In the course of weeks he had grown some years older.
On one of the main streets of the city there was such a dense throng of people that the police had to open a way for the heir and his retinue. But these people did not greet the prince; they had merely gathered around a small palace as if waiting for some person.
"What is this?" asked Rameses of the nomarch, for this indifference of the throng touched the prince disagreeably.
"Here dwells Hiram," answered the nomarch, "a prince of Tyre, a man of great charity. Every day he distributes bountiful alms, therefore poor people rush to him."
Rameses turned on his horse, looked, and said,--
"I see there laborers of the pharaoh. So they too go for alms to the rich Phœnician?"
The nomarch was silent. Happily they approached the official palace, and the prince forgot Hiram.
Feasts in honor of the viceroy continued a number of days in succession, but they did not please him. Gladness was lacking and disagreeable incidents happened.
One day a favorite of the prince was dancing before him; she burst into tears. Rameses seized her in his arms, and asked what her trouble was.
At first she hesitated, but emboldened by the kindness of her lord, she answered, shedding tears in still greater abundance,--
"We are thy women, O ruler, we come from great families, and respect is due to us."
"Thou speakest truth," said Rameses.
"Meanwhile thy treasurer stints us in allowance, and would deprive us of serving-maids, without whom we cannot bathe or dress our hair."
Rameses summoned his treasurer, and commanded sternly that his women should have all that belonged to their birth and position. The treasurer fell on his face before the prince, and promised to carry out all commands of the women. A couple of days later, a rebellion broke out among the court slaves, who complained that their wine had been taken. The heir ordered to give them wine. But during a review two days later a deputation from the regiments came to the viceroy with a most humble complaint, that their rations of meat and bread were diminished. The prince commanded that those petitioners be satisfied.
Still, two days later a great uproar at the palace roused him in the morning. Rameses inquired what the cause was; the officer on duty explained that the pharaoh's laborers had assembled and asked for arrears due them.
They summoned the treasurer, whom the prince attacked in great anger.
"What is going on here?" cried he. "Since my return there is no day without complaints of injustice. If anything like this is repeated, I shall order an inquiry and put an end to thy management."
The trembling treasurer fell on his face again, and groaned,--
"Slay me, lord! But what am I to do when thy treasury, thy granaries, and thy storehouses are empty?"
In spite of his anger the prince thought that the treasurer might be innocent. He commanded him to withdraw, and then summoned Tutmosis.
"Listen to me," said Rameses to the favorite, "things are done here which I do not understand, and to which I am not accustomed. My women, the slaves, the army, the pharaoh's workmen do not receive what is due them, or their supplies are curtailed. When I asked the treasurer what this means, he answered that the treasury and the storehouses are empty."
"He told truth."
"How is that?" burst out the prince. "For my journey his holiness assigned two hundred talents in gold and goods. Can it be that all this is expended?"
"Yes," answered Tutmosis.
"How is that?" cried the viceroy. "Did not the nomarchs entertain us all the way?"
"Yes, but we paid them for doing so."
"Then they are rogues and robbers if they receive us as guests and then plunder us."
"Be not angry, and I will explain."
"Sit down."
Tutmosis took a seat.
"Dost thou know," asked he, "that for a month past I have eaten food from thy kitchen, drunk wine from thy pitchers, and dressed from thy wardrobe?"
"Thou hast a right to that privilege."
"But I have never acted thus hitherto. I have lived, dressed, and amused myself at my own expense, so as not to burden thy treasury. It is true that thou hast paid my debts more than once, but that was only a part of my outlay."
"Never mind the debts!"
"In a similar condition," continued Tutmosis, "are some tens of noble youths of thy court. They maintained themselves so as to uphold the splendor of the government; but now, like myself, they live at thy expense, for they have nothing to pay with."
"Some time I will reward them."
"Now," continued Tutmosis, "we take from thy treasury, for want is oppressing us; the nomarchs do the same. If they had means they would give feasts and receptions at their own cost; but as they have not the means they receive recompense. Wilt thou call them rogues now?"
"I condemned them too harshly. Anger, like smoke, covered my eyes," said Rameses. "I am ashamed of my words; none the less I wish that neither courtiers, soldiers, nor working men should suffer injustice. But since my means are exhausted it will be necessary to borrow. Would a hundred talents suffice? What thinkest thou?"
"I think that no one would lend us a hundred talents," whispered Tutmosis.
The viceroy looked at him haughtily.
"Is that a fit answer to the son of a pharaoh?" asked he.
"Dismiss me from thy presence," said Tutmosis, sadly, "but I have told the truth. At present no one will make us a loan, for there is no one to do so."
"What is Dagon for?" wondered the prince. "He is not near my court; is he dead?"
"Dagon is in Pi-Bast, but he spends whole days with other Phœnician merchants in the temple of Astarte in prayer and penance."
"Why such devotion? Is it because that I was in a temple that my banker thinks he too should take counsel of the gods?"
Tutmosis turned on the stool.
"The Phœnicians," said he, "are alarmed; they are even crushed by the news--"
"About what?"
"Some one has spread the report, worthiness, that when thou shalt mount the throne all Phœnicians will be expelled and their property confiscated."
"Well, they have time enough before that," laughed Rameses.
Tutmosis hesitated further. "They say," continued he, in a lowered voice, "that in recent days the health of his holiness--may he live through eternity!--has failed notably."
"That is untrue!" interrupted the prince, in alarm. "I should know of it."
"But the priests are performing religious services in secret for the return of health to the pharaoh. I know this to a certainty."
The prince was astonished.
"How! my father seriously ill, the priests are praying for him, but tell me nothing?"
"They say that the illness of his holiness may last a year."
"Oh, thou hearest fables and art disturbing me. Better tell me about the Phœnicians."
"I have heard," said Tutmosis, "only what every one has heard,--that while in the temple thou wert convinced of the harm done by Phœnicians, and didst bind thyself to expel them."
"In the temple?" repeated the heir. "But who knows what that is of which I convinced myself in the temple, and what I decided to do?"
Tutmosis shrugged his shoulders, and was silent.
"Was there treason, too, in the temple?" thought the prince. "Summon Dagon in every case," said he, aloud. "I must know the source of these lies, and by the gods, I will end them."
"Thou wilt do well, for all Egypt is frightened. Even to-day there is no one to lend money, and if those reports continue all commerce will cease. Our aristocracy have fallen into trouble from which none see the issue, and even thy court is in want. A month hence the same thing may happen in the palace of his holiness--"
"Silence!" interrupted the prince, "and call Dagon this moment."
Tutmosis ran out, but the banker appeared no earlier than evening. Around a white mantle he wore a black belt.
"Hast thou gone mad?" cried the heir, at sight of this. "I will drive off thy sadness immediately. I need a hundred talents at once. Go, and show thyself not till thou bring them."
The banker covered his face and wept.
"What does this mean?" asked the prince, quickly.
"Lord," exclaimed Dagon, as he fell on his knees, "seize all my property, sell me and my family. Take everything, even our lives--but a hundred talents--where could I find wealth like that? Neither in Egypt nor Phœnicia," continued he, sobbing.
"Set has seized thee, O Dagon," laughed the heir. "Couldst thou believe that I thought of expelling thy Phœnicians?"
The banker fell at the prince's feet a second time.
"I know nothing--I am a common merchant, and thy slave--as many days as there are between the new and the full moon would suffice to make dust of me and spittle of my property."
"But explain what this means," said the prince, again impatient.
"I cannot explain anything, and even were I able I have a great seal on my lips--I do nothing now but pray and lament."
"Do the Phœnicians pray also?" thought the prince.
"Unable to render any service," continued Dagon, "I will give good counsel at least. There is here in Pi-Bast a renowned Syrian, Prince Hiram, an old man, wise and tremendously wealthy. Summon him, Erpatr, ask of him a hundred talents; perhaps he will be able to gratify thee."
Since Rameses could get no explanations from the banker, he dismissed him, and promised to send an embassy to Hiram.
Chapter XXX
Next day Tutmosis, with a great suite of officers and attendants, paid a visit to the Phœnician prince, and invited him to the viceroy.
In the afternoon Hiram appeared before the palace in a simple litter borne by eight poor Egyptians to whom he gave alms. He was surrounded by the most notable Phœnician merchants, and that same throng of people who stood before his house daily.
Rameses greeted with a certain astonishment the old man out of whose eyes wisdom was gazing and in whose whole bearing there was dignity. He bowed gravely before the viceroy, and raising his hands above his head, pronounced a short blessing. Those present were deeply affected.
When the viceroy indicated an armchair and commanded his courtiers to withdraw, Hiram said,--
"Yesterday thy servant Dagon informed me that the prince needs a hundred talents. I sent out my couriers at once to Sabne-Chetam, Sethroe, Pi-Uto, and other cities where there are Phœnician ships, asking them to land all their goods. I think that in a day or two thou wilt receive this small sum--"
"Small!" interrupted Rameses, with a smile. "Thou art happy if thou call a hundred talents a small sum."
Hiram nodded.
"Thy grandfather, worthiness," said he, after a while, "the eternally living Rameses-sa-Ptah, honored me with his friendship; I know also his holiness, thy father--may he live through eternity!--and I will even try to lay before him my homage, if I be permitted."
"Whence could a doubt arise?" interrupted the prince.
"There are persons," replied the guest, "who admit some to the face of the pharaoh and refuse others--but never mind them. Thou art not to blame for this; hence I venture to lay before thee one question, as an old friend of thy father and his father."
"I am listening."
"What means it," asked Hiram, slowly, "that the heir to the throne and a viceroy must borrow a hundred talents when more than a hundred thousand are due Egypt?"
"Whence?" cried Rameses.
"From the tribute of Asiatic peoples. Phœnicia owes five thousand; well, Phœnicia will pay, I guarantee that, unless some events happen. But, besides, Israel owes three thousand, the Philistines and the Moabites each two thousand, the Hittites thirty thousand. Finally, I do not remember details, but I know that the total reaches a hundred and three or a hundred and five thousand talents."
Rameses gnawed his lips, but on his vivacious countenance helpless anger was evident. He dropped his eyes and was silent.
"It is true," said Hiram, on a sudden, and looking sharply at the viceroy. "Poor Phœnicia--but also Egypt."
"What dost thou say?" asked the prince, frowning. "I understand not thy questions."
"Prince, thou knowest what it is of which I speak, since thou dost not answer my question," replied Hiram; and he rose as if to withdraw. "Still, I withdraw not my promise. Thou wilt receive a hundred talents."
He made a low bow, but the viceroy forced him to sit down again.
"Thou art hiding something," said Rameses, in a voice in which offence was evident. "I would hear thee explain what danger threatens Egypt or Phœnicia."
"Hast thou not heard?" asked Hiram, with hesitation.
"I know nothing. I have passed more than a month in the temple."
"That is just the place in which to learn everything."
"Tell me, worthiness," said the viceroy, striking the table with his fist. "I am not pleased when men are amused at my expense."
"Give a great promise not to betray me to any one and I will tell, though I cannot believe that they have not informed the heir of this."
"Dost thou not trust me?" asked the astonished prince.
"In this affair I should require a promise from the pharaoh himself," answered Hiram, with decision.
"If I swear on my sword, and the standards of my troops, that I will tell no man--"
"Enough," said Hiram.
"I am listening."
"Does the prince know what is happening at this moment in Phœnicia?"
"I know nothing of that, even," interrupted the irritated viceroy.
"Our ships," whispered Hiram, "are coming home from all parts of the earth to convey at the first signal our people and treasures to some place--beyond the sea--to the west."
"Why?" asked the astounded viceroy.
"Because Assyria is to take us under her dominion."
"Thou hast gone mad, worthy man!" exclaimed Rameses. "Assyria to take Phœnicia! But we?--Egypt--what would we say to that?"
"Egypt has consented already."
Blood rushed to the prince's head.
"The heat has disturbed thy mind, aged man," said he, in a calm voice. "Thou hast forgotten, even, that such an affair could not take place without the pharaoh's permission and mine."
"That will follow. Meanwhile the priests have concluded a treaty."
"With whom? What priests?"
"With Beroes, the high priest of Chaldea, at commission of King Assar," said Hiram. "And who from your side? I will not state to a certainty. But it seems to me that his worthiness Herhor, his worthiness Mefres, and the holy prophet Pentuer."
The prince became pale.
"Consider, Phœnician," said he, "that thou art accusing of treason the highest dignitaries of Egypt."
"Thou art mistaken, prince, this is no treason: the high priest of Egypt and the minister of his holiness have the right to make treaties with neighboring states. Besides, how dost thou know, worthiness, that all this is not done with consent of the pharaoh?"
Rameses was obliged to confess in his soul that such a treaty would not be treason, but disregard toward him, the erpatr.
So then the priests treated him in this way,--him who might be the pharaoh a year hence? That is why Pentuer criticised war, and Mefres supported him.
"When could that have happened, and where?" asked the prince.
"Very likely they concluded the treaty at night in the temple of Set at Memphis," answered Hiram. "And when?--I know not exactly, but it seems to me that it took place when thou wert setting out from Memphis."
"The wretches!" thought the viceroy. "That is how they respect my position! Some kind god made me doubt in the temple of Hator."
After a time of internal conflict he added,--
"Impossible! I shall not believe till proof be given."
"Proof there will be," replied Hiram. "One of these days a great lord will come to Pi-Bast from Assyria, Sargon, the friend of King Assar. He will come under pretext of a pilgrimage to the temple of Astaroth, he will bring gifts to thee and to his holiness; then he will make a treaty. Ye will in fact put seals to that which the priests have determined to the ruin of Phœnicia, and perhaps to your own great misfortune."
"Never! What return could Assyria give Egypt?"
"That speech is worthy of a pharaoh. What return would Egypt get? Every treaty is good for a state if only something be gained through it. I am astonished specially by this," continued Hiram, "that Egypt should conclude a bad transaction: besides Phœnicia, Assyria will take almost all Asia, and to you will be left, in the form of a favor, the Israelites, the Philistines, and the peninsula of Sinai. In that case the tributes belonging to Egypt will be lost, and the pharaoh will never receive those hundred and five thousand talents."
The viceroy shook his head.
"Thou dost not know Egyptian priests," said he; "not one of them would accept such a treaty."
"Why not? The Phœnician proverb says: 'Better barley in the granary than gold in the desert.' Should Egypt feel very weak she might prefer Sinai and Palestine to a war with Assyria. But this is what sets me to thinking: Not Egypt, but Assyria, is easy to conquer. Assyria has a quarrel on the northwest; Assyria has few troops, and those of poor quality. Were Egypt to attack she would destroy Assyria, seize immense treasures in Babylon and Nineveh, and establish her authority in Asia at once and securely--"
"Such a treaty cannot exist, as thou seest," interrupted Rameses.
"In one case alone could I understand such a treaty," continued Hiram. "If 'tis the plan of the priests to set aside kingly power in Egypt; and toward this, O prince, they have been striving since the days of thy grandfather."
"Thou art speaking aside from the question," said Rameses, but he felt alarm in his heart.
"Perhaps I am mistaken," answered Hiram, looking into his eyes quickly. "But hear me out, worthiness."
He moved up his armchair to the prince, and said in a lowered voice,--
"If the pharaoh should make war on Assyria, he would have a great army attached to his person; a hundred thousand talents of tribute in arrears, about two hundred thousand talents from Nineveh and Babylon, finally about a hundred thousand talents yearly from conquered countries. Such immense wealth would enable him to redeem the property mortgaged to the priests, and put an end at once and forever to their meddling."
The prince's eyes glittered, and Hiram continued,--
"To-day the army depends on Herhor, and therefore on the priests; remove the foreign regiments, and the pharaoh, in case of war, could not depend on his warriors.
"Besides, the royal treasury is empty, and the greater part of the pharaoh's property belongs to the temples. He must contract new debts yearly even to maintain his household; and since there will be no Phœnicians among you, ye must borrow of the temples. In this way, when ten years have passed, his holiness--may he live through eternity!--will lose what is left of his property, and then what?"
On the forehead of Rameses perspiration came out in drops.
"Thou seest then, worthy lord," continued Hiram, "the priests might and even would be forced in one case to accept the most disgraceful treaty with Assyria: if they are working to lower and destroy the power of the pharaoh--well, there may be another case: if Egypt were so weak as to need peace at any price--"
The prince sprang up.
"Silence!" cried he. "I should prefer treason on the part of my most faithful servants, to such weakness in the country. Egypt yield to Assyria--why, a year later Egypt herself would fall under the yoke of Assyria, for by subscribing to such infamy she would confess her own helplessness."
He walked up and down the room, with indignation, while Hiram looked at him with compassion or with sympathy.
All at once Rameses halted before the Phœnician,--
"This is false! Some adroit villain has deceived thee, O Hiram, with the semblance of truth, and thou hast believed him. If such a treaty existed, they would have kept it in the closest secrecy. In the present case one of the four priests whom thou hast mentioned is a traitor, not only to his own sovereign, but to his co-conspirators--"
"There might have been some fifth man who overheard them," interrupted Hiram.
"And who sold the secret to thee?"
"It is a wonder to me," said Hiram, "that the prince has not discovered the power of gold."
"But stop, worthiness, our priests have more gold than thou, though thou art wealthy beyond the wealthy!"
"Still I am not angry when a drachma comes to me. Why should others refuse a talent?"
"They would because they are servants of the gods," said the prince, passionately; "they would fear divine punishment."
The Phœnician laughed.
"I have seen," said he, "many temples of various nations, and in those temples great and small statues, of wood, stone, and gold even. But gods I have never met."
"Blasphemer!" exclaimed Rameses. "I have seen a divinity, I have felt its hand on my person, I have heard its voice."
"In what place?"
"In the temple of Hator, in its hall of entrance, and in my cell."
"In the daytime?"
"In the night," replied the prince; and he stopped.
"At night the prince heard speeches of the gods, and felt their hands," replied the Phœnician, emphasizing word after word. "At night it is possible to see many things. What happened?"
"In the temple I was seized by the head, by the shoulders, by the legs; and I swear--"
"Phst!" interrupted Hiram, with a smile. "It is not proper to swear in vain."
He looked fixedly at Rameses with his quick and wise eyes, and seeing that doubt was rising in the young man, he continued,--
"I will tell thee something, lord. Thou art inexperienced, though surrounded by a net of intrigues, but I have been the friend of thy grandfather and thy father. Now I will render thee a service: Come in the night to the temple of Astaroth, but bind thyself to keep the secret. Come alone, and thou wilt be convinced as to who the gods are who speak in the temples and touch us."
"I will come," said Rameses, after some meditation.
"Forewarn me, prince, on the morning of the day, and I will give thee the evening password; thou wilt be admitted. Only betray neither me nor thyself," said the Phœnician, with a kindly smile. "Men never pardon betrayal of their secrets, though gods pardon sometimes." He bowed, raised his eyes and hands, while he whispered a blessing.
"Deceivers!" cried the prince. "Thou prayest to gods, and dost not believe in them."
Hiram finished the blessing, and said,--
"It is true that I have no belief in Egyptian or Assyrian, or even in Phœnician gods, but I believe in One who dwells not in temples and whose name is unknown to us."
"Our priests believe also in One," said Rameses.
"So do the Chaldeans, but they and your priests have conspired against us. There is no truth in this world, prince."
After Hiram's departure the heir shut himself up in the most remote chamber under pretext of reading sacred papyruses.
Almost in the twinkle of an eye the information received recently arranged itself in the fiery imagination of Rameses, and he formed a plan. First of all, he understood that a secret battle for life and death was raging between the priests and the Phœnicians. About what? Naturally about wealth and influence. Hiram said truly, that should the Phœnicians be expelled from Egypt, all the estates of the pharaoh, and even of the nomarchs and the entire aristocracy, would pass into possession of the temples.
Rameses had never liked the priests, and he had known and seen for a long time that the greater part of Egypt belonged to them, that their cities were the richest, their fields the best tilled, their people satisfied. He understood too that one-half the treasures which belonged to the temples would suffice to rescue the pharaoh from ceaseless troubles and give back power to him.
The prince knew this, and more than once he had said so with bitterness. But when through the influence of Herhor he became viceroy and received the corps in Memphis, he grew reconciled with the priests and stifled his previous dislike of them.
All that dislike had revived again.
Not only had the priests not told him of their negotiations with Assyria, they had not even forewarned him of the embassy of Sargon. This question might indeed be the great secret of the state and the temples. But why did they conceal the amount of tributes from various Asiatic nations, unpaid thus far? One hundred thousand talents--why, that was a sum which might restore immediately the financial status of the pharaoh! Why had they concealed from him that which even a prince of Tyre knew, a man who was of the council in that city?
What a shame for him, the heir to the throne, and the viceroy, that his eyes were first opened by foreigners! But there was something worse still: Pentuer and Mefres had proved to him in every way that Egypt must avoid war. In the temple of Hator that emphasis had seemed to him suspicious, since a war might obtain for the state thousands of legions of slaves, and raise the general prosperity of the country. To-day this seemed the more necessary since Egypt ought to receive unpaid sums and gain still more tribute.
The prince rested his arms on the table and calculated,--
"We," thought he, "should receive a hundred thousand talents. Hiram calculates that the plunder of Nineveh and Babylon would give about two hundred thousand; together, three hundred thousand. With such a sum we might cover the cost of the mightiest war, and there would remain besides several hundred thousand as profit, and captives and a hundred thousand yearly tribute from newly conquered regions. After that," concluded the prince, "we could reckon with the priesthood!"
Rameses was excited. Still reflection came to him,--
"But if Egypt was unable to wage a victorious war against Assyria?" His blood boiled at this question. "How Egypt? Why should Egypt not trample Assyria, when he appeared at the head of its armies, he a descendant of Rameses the Great, who had hurled himself single-handed on the Hittite war-chariots and scattered them."
The prince could understand everything save this, that man might conquer him and that he could not snatch victory from the greatest enemy. He felt in himself endless daring, and he would have been astounded if any enemy whatever had not fled at sight of his steeds in full onrush. Did not the gods themselves stand on the war-chariot of the pharaoh to defend his shield and smite with heavenly bolts his enemies?
"But what did this Hiram say to me about gods?" thought the prince. "And what will he show me in the temple of Astaroth? We shall see."
Chapter XXXI
The old man kept his promise. Every day to the prince's palace in Pi-Bast came crowds of slaves and long rows of asses bearing wheat, barley, dried meat, woven stuffs, and wine. Phœnician merchants brought gold and precious stones under inspection of Hiram's assistants.
In this manner the heir received in the course of five days the hundred talents promised. Hiram accounted a lower per cent to himself,--one talent for four, in a year. He asked no pledge, but was satisfied with the receipt of the prince, certified before a tribunal.
The needs of the court were satisfied bountifully. Three favorites of the viceroy received new robes, a number of special perfumes, and female slaves of various colors. The servants had abundance of food and wine, the pharaoh's laborers received arrears of pay, unusual rations were issued to the army.
The court was delighted, the more since Tutmosis and other noble youths, at the command of Hiram, received rather large loans, while the nomarch of Habu and his higher officials received costly presents.
So feast followed feast and amusement amusement, though the heat increased always. Seeing this general delight, the viceroy was satisfied. He was troubled, however, by the bearing of Mefres and other priests. Rameses thought that those dignitaries would reproach him for having become so indebted to Hiram in spite of those lessons which he had received in the temple. Meanwhile the holy fathers were silent and did not even show themselves.
"What does this mean?" asked the prince one day of Tutmosis; "the priests do not reproach us? We have never indulged in such excesses before. Music is sounding from morning till evening; we drink, beginning with sunrise, and we fall asleep with women in our arms or pitchers at our heads."
"Why should they reproach us?" answered the indignant Tutmosis. "Are we not sojourning in the city of Astarte,[16] for whom amusement is the most pleasing service, and love the most coveted sacrifice? Moreover the priests understand that after such privations and fasts rest is due thee."
[16] Astaroth.
"Have they said anything?" asked the prince, with disquiet.
"Yes, more than once. Only yesterday the holy Mefres smiled, and said that amusement attracted a young man like thee more than religion or the labor of ruling a state."
Rameses fell to thinking,--
"So the priests looked on him as a frivolous stripling, though he, thanks to Sarah, would become a father to-day or to-morrow. But they would have a surprise when he spoke to them in his own manner."
In truth the prince reproached himself somewhat. From the time that he left the temple of Hator he had not occupied himself one day with the affairs of Habu. The priests might suppose that he was either entirely satisfied with Pentuer's explanations, or that he was tired of interfering in government.
"So much the better!" whispered he. "So much the better!"
Under the influence of the endless intrigues of those around him, or suspicious of those intrigues, the instinct to deceive began in his young spirit to rouse itself. Rameses felt that the priests did not divine the subject of his conversation with Hiram, nor the plans which were forming in his head. It sufficed those blinded persons, that he was amusing himself; from this they inferred that the management of the state would remain in their hands forever.
"Have the gods so darkened their minds," thought Rameses, "that they do not even ask themselves why Hiram gave me a loan so considerable? And perhaps that crafty Tyrian has been able to lull their suspicious hearts? So much the better! So much the better!"
He had a marvellously agreeable feeling when he thought that the priests had blundered. He determined to keep them in that blunder for the future; hence he amused himself madly.
Indeed the priests were mistaken, both in Rameses and Hiram. The artful Tyrian gave himself out before them as very proud of his relations with Rameses, and the prince with no less success played the rôle of a riotous stripling.
Mefres was even convinced that the prince was thinking seriously of expelling the Phœnicians, that meanwhile he and his courtiers were contracting debts and would never pay them.
But the temple of Astaroth with its numerous courts and gardens was filled with devotees all the time. Every day, if not every hour, though the heat was excessive, some company of pilgrims to the great goddess arrived from the depth of Asia.
Those were strange pilgrims. Wearied, streaming with perspiration, covered with dust, they advanced with music, and dancing, and songs sometimes of a very lewd character. The day passed for them in unbridled license in honor of the goddess. It was possible not only to recognize every such company from afar, but to catch its odor, since those people always brought immense bouquets of fresh flowers in their hands, and in bundles all the male cats that had died in the course of the current year. The devotees gave these cats to dissectors in Pi-Bast to be stuffed or embalmed, and bore them home later on as valued relics.
On the first day of the month Mesori (May-June), Prince Hiram informed Rameses that he might appear at the temple of Astaroth that evening. When it had grown dark on the streets after sunset, the viceroy girded a short sword to his side, put on a mantle with a hood, and unobserved by any servant, slipped away to the house of Hiram.
The old magnate was waiting for the viceroy.
"Well," said he, with a smile, "art thou not afraid, prince, to enter a Phœnician temple where cruelty sits on the altar and perversity ministers?"
"Fear?" repeated Rameses, looking at him almost contemptuously. "Astaroth is not Baal, nor am I a child which they might throw into your god's red-hot belly."
"But does the prince believe this story?"
Rameses shrugged his shoulders.
"An eyewitness and a trustworthy person," answered he, "told me how ye sacrifice children. Once a storm wrecked a number of tens of your vessels. Immediately the Tyrian priests announced a religious ceremony at which throngs of people collected." The prince spoke with evident indignation. "Before the temple of Baal situated on a lofty place was an immense bronze statue with the head of a bull. Its belly was red hot. At command of your priests the foolish Phœnician mothers put their most beautiful children at the feet of this cruel divinity--"
"Only boys," interrupted Hiram.
"Only boys," continued Rameses. "The priests sprinkled each boy with perfumes, decked him with flowers, and then the statue seized him with bronze hands, opened its jaws, and devoured the child, whose screams meanwhile were heaven-piercing. Flames burst each time from the mouth of the deity."
Hiram laughed in silence.
"And dost thou believe this, worthiness?"
"I repeat what a man told me who has never lied."
"He told what he saw. But did it not surprise him that no mother whose children they burned was weeping?"
"He was astonished, indeed, at such indifference in women, since they are always ready to shed tears even over a dead hen. But it shows great cruelty in your people."
The old Phœnician nodded.
"Was that long ago?" asked he.
"A few years."
"Well," said Hiram, deliberately, "shouldst thou wish to visit Tyre some day, I shall have the honor to show thee a solemnity like that one."
"I have no wish to see it."
"After the ceremony we shall go to another court of the temple, where the prince will see a very fine school, and in it, healthy and gladsome, those very same boys who were burnt a few years ago."
"How is that?" exclaimed Rameses; "then did they not perish?"
"They are living, and growing up to be sturdy mariners. When thou shall be pharaoh,--mayst thou live through eternity!--perhaps more than one of them will be sailing thy ships."
"Then ye deceive your people?" laughed the prince.
"We deceive no one," answered the Tyrian, with dignity. "Each man deceives himself when he does not seek the explanation of a solemnity which he does not understand."
"I am curious," said Rameses.
"In fact," continued Hiram, "we have a custom that indigent mothers wishing to assure their sons a good career give them to the service of the state. In reality, those children are taken across the statue of Baal, in which there is a heated stove. This ceremony does not mean that the children are really burnt, but that they have been given to the temple, and so are as much lost to their mothers as if they had fallen into fire.
"In truth, however, they do not go to the stove, but to nurses and women who rear them for some years. When they have grown up sufficiently, the school of priests of Baal receives and educates them. The most competent become priests or officials; the less gifted go to the navy and obtain great wealth frequently. Now I think the prince will not wonder that Tyrian mothers do not mourn for their children. I will say more: thou wilt understand, lord, why there is no punishment for parents who kill their children, as there is in Egypt."
"Wretches are found in all lands," replied the prince.
"But there is no child murder in our country," continued Hiram, "for with us children, when their mothers are unable to support them, are taken to the temple by the state."
The prince fell to thinking; suddenly he embraced Hiram, and said with emotion,--
"Ye are much better than those who tell tales of you. I am greatly rejoiced at this."
"Among us, too, there is no little evil," answered Hiram; "but we are all ready to be thy faithful servants shouldst thou call us."
"Is this true?" asked the prince, looking him in the eyes.
The old man put his hand on his heart.
"I swear to thee, O heir to the throne of Egypt and future pharaoh, that if thou begin at any time a struggle with our common enemy, Phœnicia will hasten as one man to assist thee.--But receive this as a reminder of our conversation."
He drew from beneath his robe a gold medal covered with mysterious characters, and, muttering a prayer, hung it on the neck of Prince Rameses.
"With this amulet," continued Hiram, "thou mayst travel the whole world through, and if thou meet a Phœnician he will serve thee with advice, with gold, with his sword even. But now let us go."
Some hours had passed since sunset, but the night was clear, for the moon had risen. The terrible heat of the day had yielded to coolness. In the pure air was floating no longer that gray dust which bit the eyes and poisoned respiration. In the blue sky here and there twinkled stars which were lost in the deluge of moonbeams.
Movement had stopped on the streets, but the roofs of all the houses were filled with people occupied in amusement. Pi-Bast seemed from edge to edge to be one hall filled with music, singing, laughter, and the sound of goblets.
The prince and the Phœnician went speedily to the suburbs, choosing the less lighted sides of the streets. Still, people feasting on terraces saw them at intervals, and invited them up, or cast flowers down on their heads.
"Hei, ye strollers!" cried they, from the roofs. "If ye are not thieves called out by the night to snatch booty, come hither, come up to us. We have good wine and gladsome women."
The two wanderers made no answer to those hospitable invitations; they hurried on in their own way. At last they came to a quarter where the houses were fewer, the gardens more frequent, the trees, thanks to damp sea-breezes, more luxuriant and higher than in the southern provinces of Egypt.
"It is not far now," said Hiram.
The prince raised his eyes, and over the dense green of trees he saw a square tower of blue color; on it a more slender tower, which was white. This was the temple of Astaroth. Soon they entered the garden, whence they could take in at a glance the whole building.
It was composed of a number of stories. The top of the lowest was a square platform with sides four hundred yards long; its walls were a few metres high, and all of black color. At the eastern side was a projection to which came two wide stairways. Along the other three sides of this first story were small towers, ten on each side; between each pair of towers were five windows.
More or less in the centre of this lowest platform rose a quadrangular building with sides two hundred yards long. This had a single stairway, towers at the corners, and was purple. On the top of this building was another of golden color, and above it, one upon the other, two towers--one blue, the other white.
The whole building looked as if some power had placed on the earth one enormous black dice, on it a smaller one of purple, on that a golden one, on that a blue, and, highest of all, a silver dice. To each of these elevations stairs led, either double flights along the sides or single front stairs, always on the eastern walls.
At the sides of the stairs and doors stood, alternately, great Egyptian sphinxes, or winged Assyrian human-headed bulls.
The viceroy looked with delight at this edifice, which in the moonlight and against the background of rich vegetation had an aspect of marvellous beauty. It was built in Chaldean style, and differed essentially from the temples of Egypt, first, by the system of stories, second, by the perpendicular walls. Among the Egyptians every great building had sloping sides receding inward as they rose.
The garden was not empty. At various points small villas and houses were visible, lights were flashing, songs and music were heard. From time to time among trees appeared shadows of loving couples.
All at once an old priest approached them, exchanged a few words with Hiram, and said to the prince with a low obeisance,--
"Be pleased, lord, to come with me."
"And may the gods watch over thee, worthiness," added Hiram, as he left him.
Rameses followed the priest. Somewhat aside from the temple, in the thickest of the grove, was a stone bench, and perhaps a hundred rods from it a villa of no great size at which was heard singing.
"Are people praying there?" asked the prince.
"No," answered the priest, without concealing his dislike; "at that house assemble the worshippers of Kama, our priestess who guards the fire before the altar of Astaroth."
"Whom does she receive to-day?"
"No one at any time," answered the guide, offended. "Were the priestess of the fire not to observe her vow of chastity she would have to die."
"A cruel law," observed Rameses.
"Be pleased, lord, to wait at this bench," said the Phœnician priest, coldly; "but on hearing three blows against the bronze plate, go to the temple, ascend to the first platform, and thence to the purple story."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
The prince sat down on the bench, in the shadow of an olive-tree, and heard the laughter of women in the villa.
"Kama," thought he, "is a pretty name. She must be young, and perhaps beautiful, and those dull Phœnicians threaten her with death. Do they wish in this way to assure themselves even a few virgins in the whole country?"
He laughed, but was sad. It was uncertain why he pitied that unknown woman for whom love would be a passage to the grave.
"I can imagine to myself Tutmosis if he were appointed priestess of Astaroth," thought Rameses. "He would have to die, poor fellow, before he could light one lamp before the face of the goddess."
At that moment; a flute was heard in the villa, and some one played a plaintive air, which was accompanied by female singers, "Áha-ā! áha-ā!" as in the lullaby of infants.
The flute stopped, the women were silent, and a splendid male voice was heard, in the Greek language:--
"When thy robe gleams on the terrace, the stars pale and the nightingales cease to sing, but in my heart there is stillness like that which is on earth when the clear dawn salutes it--"
"Áha-ā! áha-ā!" continued the women. The flute played again.
"When thou goest to the temple, violets surround thee in a cloud of fragrance, butterflies circle near thy lips, palms bend their heads to thy beauty."
"Áha-ā! áha-ā!--"
"When thou art not before me, I look to the skies to recall the sweet calm of thy features. Vain labor! The heavens have no calm like thine, and their heat is cold when compared with the flame which is turning my heart into ashes."
"Áha-ā! áha-ā!--"
"One day I stood among roses, which the gleam of thy glances clothe in white, gold, and scarlet. Each leaf of them reminded me of one hour, each blossom of one month passed at thy feet. The drops of dew are my tears, which are drunk by the merciless wind of the desert.
"Give a sign; I will seize thee, I will bear thee away to my birthplace, beloved. The sea will divide us from pursuers, myrtle groves will conceal our fondling, and gods, more compassionate toward lovers, will watch over our happiness."
"Áha-ā! áha-ā!--"
The prince dropped his eyelids and imagined. Through his drooping lashes he could not see the garden, he saw only the flood of moonlight in which were mingled shadows and the song of the unknown man to the unknown woman. At instants that song seized him to such a degree, and forced itself into his spirit so deeply, that Rameses wished to ask: "Am I not the singer myself? nay, am I not that love song?"
At this moment his title, his power, the burdensome problems of state, all seemed to him mean, insignificant in comparison with that moonlight and those calls of a heart which is enamored. If the choice had been given him to take the whole power of the pharaoh, or that spiritual condition in which he then found himself, he would have preferred that dreaming, in which the whole world, he himself, even time, disappeared, leaving nothing behind but desire, which was now rushing forth to infinity borne on the wings of song and of music.
Meanwhile the prince recovered, the song had ended, the lights in the villa had vanished, the white walls, the dark vacant windows were sharply outlined. One might have thought that no person had ever been in that house there. The garden was deserted and silent, even the slight breath of air stirred the leaves no longer.
One! two! three!--From the temple were heard three mighty sounds from bronze.
"Ah! I must go," thought the prince, not knowing well whither he was to go or for what purpose.
He turned, however, in the direction of the temple, the silver tower of which rose above the trees as if summoning him.
He went as in a trance, filled with strange wishes. Among the trees it was narrow for him; he wished to ascend to the top of that tower, to draw breath, to take in with his glance some wider horizon. Again he remembered that it was the month Mesori, that a year had passed since the manœuvres; he felt a yearning for the desert. How gladly would he mount his light chariot drawn by two horses, and fly away to some place where it was not so stifling, and trees did not hide the horizon!
He was at the steps of the temple, so he mounted to the platform. It was quiet and empty there, as if all had died; but from afar the water of a fountain was murmuring. At the second stairway he threw aside his burnous and sword; once more he looked at the garden, as if he were sorry to leave the moonlight behind, and entered the temple. There were three stories above him.
The bronze doors were open; at both sides of the entrance stood winged figures of bulls with human heads; on the faces of these was dignified calmness.
"Those are kings of Assyria," thought the prince, looking at their beards plaited in tiny tresses.
The interior of the temple was as black as night when 'tis blackest. The darkness was intensified more by white streaks of moonlight falling in through narrow high windows.
In the depth of the temple two lamps were burning before the statue of Astaroth. Some strange illumination from above caused the statue to be perfectly visible. Rameses gazed at it. That was a gigantic woman with the wings of an ostrich. She wore a long robe in folds; on her head was a pointed cap, in her right hand she held a pair of doves. On her beautiful face and in her downcast eyes was an expression of such sweetness and innocence that astonishment seized the prince, for she was the patroness of revenge and of license the most unbridled.
"Phœnicia has shown me one more of her secrets. A strange people," thought Rameses. "Their man-eating gods do not eat, and their lewdness is guarded by virgin priestesses and by a goddess with an innocent face."
Thereupon he felt that something had slipped across his feet quickly, as it were a great serpent. Rameses drew back and stood in the streak of moonlight.
"A vision!" said he to himself.
Almost at that moment he heard a whisper,--
"Rameses! Rameses!"
It was impossible to discover whether that was a man's or a woman's voice, or whence it issued.
"Rameses! Rameses!" was heard a whisper, as if from the ceiling.
The prince went to an unilluminated place and, while looking, bent down.
All at once he felt two delicate hands on his head.
He sprang up to grasp them, but caught only air.
"Rameses!" was whispered from above.
He raised his head, and felt on his lips a lotus flower; and when he stretched his hands to it some one leaned on his arm lightly.
"Rameses!" called a voice from the altar.
The prince turned and was astounded. In the streak of light, a couple of steps distant, stood a most beautiful man, absolutely like the heir to the throne of Egypt. The same face, eyes, youthful stature, the same posture, movements, and dress.
The prince thought for a while that he was before some great mirror,--such a mirror as even the pharaoh could not have. But soon he convinced himself that his second was a living man, not a picture.
At that moment he felt a kiss on his neck. Again he turned, but there was no one; meanwhile his second self vanished.
"Who is here? I wish to know!" cried the angry prince.
"It is I--Kama," answered a sweet voice.
And in the strip of light appeared, a most beautiful woman, naked, with a golden girdle around her waist.
Rameses ran up and seized her by the hands. She did not flee.
"Art thou Kama?--No, thou art-- Yes, Dagon sent thee on a time, but then thou didst call thyself Fondling."
"But I am Fondling, too," replied she, naïvely.
"Is it thou who hast touched me with thy hands?"
"I."
"How?"
"Ao! in this way," answered she, throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him.
Rameses seized her in his arms, but she tore herself free with a force which no one could have suspected in such a slight figure.
"Art thou then the priestess Kama? Was it to thee that that Greek sang to-night?" asked the prince, pressing her hands passionately. "What sort of man is that singer?"
Kama shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.
"He is attached to our temple," was the answer.
Rameses' eyes flamed, his nostrils dilated, there was a roaring in his head. That same woman a few months before had made on him only a slight impression; but to-day he was ready to commit some mad deed because of her. He envied the Greek, and felt also indescribable sorrow at the thought that if she became his she must perish.
"How beautiful thou art," said he. "Where dost thou dwell? Ah, I know; in that villa. Is it possible to visit thee?--Of course it is. If thou receive singers, thou must receive me. Art thou really the priestess guarding the fire of this temple?"
"I am."
"And are the laws so severe that they do not permit thee to love? Ei, those are threats! For me thou wilt make exception."
"All Phœnicia would curse me; the gods would take vengeance," replied she, with a smile.
Rameses drew her again toward him; again she tore herself free.
"Have a care, prince," said she, with a challenging look. "Phœnicia is mighty, and her gods--"
"What care I for thy gods or Phœnicia? Were a hair to fall from thy head, I would trample Phœnicia as I might a foul reptile."
"Kama! Kama!" called a voice from the statue.
She was frightened.
"Thou seest they call me. They may have heard thy blaspheming."
"They may have heard my anger."
"The anger of the gods is more terrible."
She tore away and vanished in the darkness of the temple. Rameses rushed after her, but was pushed back on a sudden. The whole temple between him and the altar was filled with an immense bloody flame, in which monstrous figures appeared,--huge bats, reptiles with human heads, shades--
The flame advanced toward him directly across the whole width of the building; and, amazed by this sight, which was new to him, the prince retreated. All at once fresh air was around him. He turned his head--he was outside the temple, and that instant the bronze doors closed with a crash behind him.
He rubbed his eyes, he looked around. The moon from the highest point in the heavens had lowered toward the west. At the side of the column Rameses found his sword and burnous. He raised them, and moved down the steps like a drunken man.
When he returned to his palace at a late hour, Tutmosis, on seeing his pale face and troubled look, cried with alarm,--
"By the gods! where hast thou been, Erpatr? Thy whole court is alarmed and sleepless."
"I was looking at the city. The night is beautiful."
"Dost thou know," added Tutmosis, hurriedly, as if fearing that some one else might anticipate him, "that Sarah has given thee a son?"
"Indeed?--I wish no one in the retinue to be alarmed when I go out to walk."
"Alone?"
"If I could not go out alone when it pleases me, I should be the most wretched slave in Egypt," said Rameses, bitterly.
He gave his sword and burnous to Tutmosis, and went to his bedroom without calling any one. Yesterday the birth of a son would have filled him with gladness; but at that moment he received the news with indifference. His whole soul was occupied with the thought of that evening, the most wonderful in all his life experience. He still saw the light of the moon; in his ears the song of the Greek was still sounding. But that temple of Astaroth!
He could not sleep till morning.
Chapter XXXII
Next day the prince rose late, bathed himself and dressed, then summoned Tutmosis.
The exquisite appeared at once, dressed carefully and perfumed. He looked sharply at the prince to learn in what humor he was, and to fix his own features correspondingly. But on the face of Rameses was only weariness.
"Well," asked the prince, yawning, "art thou sure that a son is born to me?"
"I have that news from the holy Mefres."
"Oho! How long is it since the prophets are occupied with my household?"
"Since the time that thou hast shown them thy favor, worthiness."
"Is that true?" asked the prince, and he fell to thinking.
He recalled the scene of the previous night in the temple of Astaroth, and compared it with a similar spectacle in the temple of Hator.
"They called my name," said he to himself, "both here and there. But there my cell was very narrow, and the walls were thick; here the person calling, namely, Kama, could hide herself behind a column and whisper. But here it was terribly dark, while in my cell it was clear." At last he said to Tutmosis,--
"When did that happen?"
"When was thy worthy son born? About ten days ago. The mother and child are well; they seem perfectly healthy. At the birth were present Menes himself, thy worthy mother's physician, and his worthiness Herhor."
"Well--well," said the prince, and again he fell to thinking: "They touched me here and there, with a hand in both cases. Was there such a difference? It seems to me that there was, maybe for the reason that here I was, and there I was not, prepared to see a miracle. But here they showed me another myself, which they did not succeed in doing there. Very clever are the priests! I am curious to know who represented me so well,--a god or a man? Oh, the priests are very clever, and I do not know even whom to trust more,--our priests or the Phœnicians?
"Hear me, Tutmosis," said he, aloud. "They must come hither; I must see my son. At last no one will have the right to consider himself better than I."
"Is the worthy Sarah to come immediately with her son?"
"Let them come at the earliest, if their health permit. Within the palace bounds are many convenient buildings. It is necessary to choose a place among the trees, quiet, and, when the time of heat comes, cool. Let me, too, show the world my son."
Again he was thoughtful; this disquieted Tutmosis.
"Yes, they are clever!" thought Rameses. "That they deceive the common people, even by rude methods, I knew. Poor sacred Apis! how many prods he got during processions when people lay prostrate before him! But to deceive me, I should not have believed that,--voices of gods, invisible hands, a man covered with pitch; these were accessories! Then came Pentuer's song about the decrease of land and population, the officials, the Phœnicians, and all that to disgust me with war."
Tutmosis said suddenly,--
"I fall on my face before thee."
"I must bring hither, gradually, regiments from cities near the sea. I wish to have a review and reward them for loyalty."
"But we, the nobles, are we not loyal to thee?" inquired Tutmosis, confused.
"The nobles and the army are one."
"But the nomarchs and the officials?"
"Even the officials are loyal," answered the prince. "What do I say? The Phœnicians even are so, though in many other points they are deceivers."
"By the gods! speak in a lower voice," whispered Tutmosis; and he looked toward the other room timidly.
"Oho!" laughed the prince, "why this alarm? So for thee, too, it is no secret that we have traitors?"
"I know of whom thou art speaking, worthiness, for thou wert always prejudiced against--"
"Against whom?"
"Against whom--I divine. But I thought that after the agreement with Herhor, after a long stay in the temple--"
"What of the temple? In the temple, and in the whole country, for that matter, I have convinced myself of one thing, that the very best lands, the most active population, and immense wealth are not the property of the pharaoh."
"Quieter! quieter!" whispered Tutmosis.
"But I am quiet always; I have a calm face at all times, so let me speak even here; besides, I should have the right to say, even in the supreme council, that in this Egypt, which belongs entirely to my father, I, his heir and viceroy, had to borrow a hundred talents from a petty prince of Tyre. Is this not a shame?"
"But how did this come to thy mind to-day?" asked Tutmosis, wishing to put an end to the perilous conversation as quickly as possible.
"How?" answered the prince; and he grew silent, to sink again into meditation.
"It would not mean so much," thought he, "if they deceived me alone; I am only heir to the pharaoh, and not admitted to all secrets. But who will assure me that they have not acted in the same way with my worthy father? He has trusted them entirely during thirty and some years; he has bowed down before miracles, given abundant offerings to the gods, for this result,--that his property and power should pass into the hands of ambitious tricksters! And no one has opened his eyes. For the pharaoh cannot, like me, enter Phœnician temples at night, and absolutely no one has admission to his holiness.
"But who will assure me to-day that the priests are not striving to overthrow the throne, as Hiram said? Even my father informed me that the Phœnicians are most truthful wherever they have an interest to be so. Assuredly it is their interest not to be expelled from Egypt, and not to fall under the power of Assyria. The Assyrians are a herd of raging lions! Wherever they pass through a country nothing is left except ruins and dead bodies, as after a fire--"
All at once Rameses raised his head; from a distance came the sound of flutes and horns.
"What does this mean?" inquired he of Tutmosis.
"Great news!" replied the courtier, with a smile. "The Asiatics are welcoming a famous pilgrim from Babylon."
"From Babylon? Who is he?"
"His name is Sargon."
"Sargon?" repeated the prince. "Sargon? Ha! ha!" laughed the prince. "What is he?"
"He must be a great dignitary at the court of King Assar. He brings with him ten elephants, a herd of most beautiful steeds of the desert, crowds of slaves and servants."
"But why has he come?"
"To bow down before the wonderful goddess Astaroth, who is honored by all Asia," answered Tutmosis.
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the prince, recalling what Hiram had said of the coming of the Assyrian ambassador, Sargon. "Ha! ha! ha! Sargon, a relative of King Assar, has become all at once such a devotee that for whole months he goes on a difficult journey only to do honor in Pi-Bast to the goddess Astaroth. But in Nineveh he could have found greater gods and more learned priests. Ha! ha! ha!"
Tutmosis looked at the prince with astonishment.
"What has happened to thee, Erpatr?" asked he.
"Here is a miracle not described, I think, in the chronicles of any temple. But think, Tutmosis: When thou art most occupied with the problem of catching the thief who is always plundering thee, that same thief puts his hand again into thy casket before thy eyes, in presence of a thousand witnesses. Ha! ha! ha! Sargon, a pious pilgrim!"
"I understand nothing," whispered Tutmosis, in anxiety.
"And thou hast no need to understand," replied the viceroy. "Remember only that Sargon has come hither for devotional purposes."
"It seems to me that everything of which thou art speaking," said Tutmosis, lowering his voice, "is very dangerous."
"Then do not mention it to any one."
"I will not; but art thou sure that thou thyself, prince, wilt not betray the secret? Thou art as quick as lightning."
The prince placed his hand on the courtier's shoulder.
"Be at rest," said he, looking him in the eyes. "If ye will only be loyal to me, ye, the nobles, and the army, ye will see wonderful things, and, as regards you, evil times will be ended."
"Thou knowest that we are ready to die at thy command," said Tutmosis, placing his hand on his breast.
There was such uncommon seriousness on the adjutant's face that the prince understood, moreover not for the first time, that there was concealed in that riotous exquisite a valiant man, on whose sword and understanding he could put reliance.
From that time the prince had no more such strange conversations with Tutmosis. But that faithful friend and servant divined that connected with the arrival of Sargon were some great hidden interests of state which the priests alone had decided.
For a certain time all the Egyptian aristocracy, nomarchs, higher officials, and leaders had been whispering among themselves very quietly, yes, very quietly, that important events were approaching. For the Phœnicians under an oath to keep the secret had told them of certain treaties with Assyria, according to which Phœnicia would be lost, and Egypt be covered with disgrace and become even tributary.
Indignation among the aristocracy was immense, but no one betrayed himself; on the contrary, as well at the court of Rameses as at the courts of the nomarchs of Lower Egypt, people amused themselves perfectly. It might have been thought that with the weather had fallen on men a rage not only for amusements but for riot. There was no day without spectacles, feasts, and triumphal festivals; there was no night without illuminations and uproar. Not only in Pi-Bast but in every city it had become the fashion to run through the streets with torches, music, and, above all, with full pitchers. They broke into houses and dragged out sleeping dwellers to drinking-bouts; and since the Egyptians were inclined toward festivities every man living amused himself.
During Rameses' stay in the temple of Hator the Phœnicians, seized by a panic, passed their days in prayer and refused credit to every man. But after Hiram's interview with the viceroy caution deserted the Phœnicians, and they began to make loans to Egyptian lords more liberally than at any time earlier.
Such abundance of gold and goods as there was in Lower Egypt, and, above all, such small per cent the oldest men could not remember.
The severe and wise priests turned attention to the madness of the upper classes; but they were mistaken in estimating the cause of it, and the holy Mentezufis, who sent a report every few days to Herhor, stated that the heir, wearied by religious practices in the temple, was amusing himself to madness, and with him the entire aristocracy.
The worthy minister did not even answer these statements, which showed that he considered the rioting of the prince as quite natural and perhaps even useful.
With such mental conditions around him Rameses enjoyed much freedom. Almost every evening when his attendants had drunk too much wine and had begun to lose consciousness, the prince slipped out of the palace. Hidden by the dark burnous of an officer, he hurried through the empty streets and out beyond the city to the gardens of the temple of Astaroth. There he found the bench before that small villa, and, hidden among the trees, listened to the song of Kama's worshipper, and dreamed of the priestess.
The moon rose later and later, drawing near its renewal. The nights were dark, the effects of light were gone; but in spite of this Rameses continued to see that brightness of the first night, and he heard the passionate strophes of the Greek singer.
More than once he rose from his bench to go directly to Kama's dwelling, but shame seized him. He felt that it did not become the heir of Egypt to show himself in the house of a priestess who was visited by any pilgrim who gave a bountiful offering to the temple. What was more striking, he feared lest the sight of Kama surrounded by pitchers and unsuccessful admirers might extinguish the wonderful picture in the moonlight.
When Dagon had sent her to turn away the prince's wrath, Kama seemed attractive, but not a maiden for whom a man might lose his head straightway. But when he, a leader of armies and a viceroy, was forced for the first time in life to sit outside the house of a woman, when the night roused him to imaginings, and when he heard the adroit declarations of another, a strange feeling rose in him,--a mixture of sadness, desire, and jealousy.
If he could have had Kama at every call, she would have become repulsive quickly, and perhaps he would have fled from her. But Death, standing on the threshold of her bedchamber, an enamored singer, and, finally, that humiliating position of the highest dignitary before a priestess,--all this created a condition which for Rameses was unknown till that time, hence enticing.
And this was why he had appeared almost every evening of ten successive days in the gardens of the goddess Astaroth, shielding his face from all who passed him.
Once, when he had drunk much wine at a feast in his palace, Rameses slipped out with a settled purpose.
"To-night," said he to himself, "I will enter Kama's dwelling; as to her adorers--let them sing at her windows."
He passed through the city quickly; but in the gardens of the temple he lessened his steps, for again he was shamefaced.
"Has it ever been heard," thought he, "that the heir of a pharaoh ran after women like a poor scribe who cannot borrow ten drachmas anywhere? All women come to me, so should this one."
And he was ready then to turn back to his palace.
"But she cannot come," said he to himself, "for they would kill her."
He stopped and hesitated.
"Who would kill her,--Hiram, who believes in nothing, or Dagon, who knows not himself what he is? True, but there is a multitude of other Phœnicians in Egypt, and hundreds of thousands of wild and fanatical pilgrims are prowling around here. In the eyes of those idiots Kama would commit sacrilege were she to visit me."
So he went toward the villa. He did not even think that danger might threaten him there,--him, who without drawing his sword might by a mere look bring the whole world to his feet; he, Rameses, and danger!
When the prince came out from among trees, he saw that Kama's house was more brightly lighted and more noisy than usual. In fact, the terrace and the rooms were filled with guests, and around the villa were throngs of people.
"What band is this?" thought Rameses.
It was an uncommon assemblage. Not far from the house was an immense elephant, bearing on his back a gilded litter with purple curtains. At the side of the elephant, neighing and squealing, and, in general, acting impatiently, were horses with large necks and legs, with tails plaited, and with something on their heads like metal helmets.
Among these restless, almost wild animals, some tens of men were busied,--men such as Rameses had never seen elsewhere. They had shaggy hair, great beards, pointed caps with ear-laps; some wore long robes of coarse cloth reaching to their heels; others wore short coats and skirts, and some had boots on their feet. All carried swords, bows, and darts.
At sight of these foreigners, stalwart, awkward, laughing vulgarly, smelling of tallow, and speaking an unknown and harsh language, the prince was indignant. As a lion, though not hungry, prepares to spring when he sees a common animal, so Rameses, though they had offended him in no way, felt a terrible hatred toward those strangers. He was irritated by their language, their dress, the odor from their bodies, even their horses. The blood rushed to his head, and he reached for his sword to attack those men--slay them and their beasts also. But soon he recovered his senses.
"Set has cast a spell on me," thought Rameses.
At that moment a naked Egyptian, with a cap on his head and a girdle around his waist, passed along the path slowly. The prince felt that the man was near to him, even precious at that moment, for he was an Egyptian. He took from his purse a gold ring worth from ten to twenty drachmas, and gave it to the bondman.
"Listen," said he; "who are those people?"
"Assyrians," whispered the Egyptian; and hatred glittered in his eyes as he answered.
"Assyrians," repeated the prince. "Are those Assyrians, then? And what are they doing here?"
"Their lord, Sargon, is paying court to the priestess, the sacred Kama, and they are guarding him. May leprosy devour them, the wretches, the swine sons!"
"Thou mayst go."
The naked man made a low obeisance and ran, surely to some kitchen.
"Are those Assyrians?" thought the prince, as he looked at their strange figures and heard their hated, though un-understood language. "So already Assyrians are on the Nile, to become brothers to us, or to deceive us, and their dignitary, Sargon, is courting Kama?"
He returned home. His imaginings died before the light of a passion felt then for the first time. He, a man mild and noble, felt a deadly hatred toward the ancient enemies of Egypt, whom he had never met till that evening.
When leaving the temple of Hator, and after his interview with Hiram, he began to think of war with Asia; that was merely thinking that Egypt needed population, and the pharaoh needed treasure; and since war gave the easiest means to win them, and since, besides, it agreed with his need of glory, Rameses conceived the plan of warfare. But now he was concerned neither with slaves, nor treasures, nor glory, for in him was sounding at that moment a voice mightier than every other,--the voice of hatred. The pharaohs had struggled so long with the Assyrians, both sides had shed so much blood, the struggle had fixed its roots in their hearts so profoundly, that the prince grasped for his sword at the very sight of Assyrian warriors. It seemed that the spirits of all the slain Egyptians, their toils and sufferings, had risen in the soul of this descendant of pharaohs and cried for retribution.
When Rameses reached the palace, he summoned Tutmosis. One of them had drunk too much, the other was raging.
"Dost thou know what I have seen just now?" asked the prince of his favorite.
"One of the priests, perhaps."
"I have seen Assyrians. O ye gods! what I felt! What a low people! Their bodies from head to foot are covered with wool, as wild beasts are; the stench of old tallow comes from them; and what speech, what beard, what hair!"
The prince walked up and down the room quickly, panting, excited.
"I thought," said he, "that I despised the robberies of scribes, the deceit of nomarchs, that I hated the cunning and ambition of priests; I felt repulsion for Jews, and I feared the Phœnicians; but I convinced myself to-night that those were all amusements. I know now, for the first time, what hate is, after I have seen and heard Assyrians. I understand now why a dog tears the cat which has crossed his path."
"Thou art accustomed to Jews and Phœnicians, worthiness, thou hast met Assyrians now for the first time," put in Tutmosis.
"Stupidity! the Phœnicians!" continued the prince, as if to himself. "The Phœnicians, the Philistines, the Arabs, the Libyans, even the Ethiopians seem, as it were, members of our own family. When they fail to pay tribute, we are angry; when they pay, we forget our feeling.
"But the Assyrians are something strange, something inimical, so that--I shall not be happy till I can count one hundred thousand of their hands cut off by us."
Never had Tutmosis seen the prince in such a state of feeling.
Chapter XXXIII
A couple of days later Rameses sent his favorite with a summons to Kama. She appeared soon in a tightly closed litter.
Rameses received her in a separate chamber.
"I was," said he, "outside thy house one evening."
"Oh, Astaroth!" cried the priestess. "To what must I attribute this high favor? And what hindered thee, worthy lord, from deigning to summon thy slave?"
"Some beasts were there,--Assyrians, I suppose."
"Then thou didst take the trouble, worthiness, in the evening? Never could I have dared to suppose that our ruler was under the open sky, a few steps from me."
The prince blushed. How she would be astounded could she know that he had passed ten evenings near her windows!
But perhaps she knew it, judging by her half-smiling lips and her eyes cast down deceitfully.
"So, then, Kama," said the prince, "thou receivest Assyrians at thy villa?"
"That man is a great magnate,--Sargon,--a relative of King Assar," answered Kama; "he has brought five talents to our goddess."
"And thou wilt repay him, Kama?" jeered the heir. "And since he is such a bountiful magnate, the Phœnician gods will not send thee death in punishment."
"What dost thou say, lord?" exclaimed Kama, clasping her hands. "Dost thou not know that if an Asiatic found me in the desert he would not lay hands on me, even were I myself to yield to him? They fear the gods."
"Why, then, does he come to thee, this malodorous--no--this pious Asiatic?"
"Because he wants to persuade me to go to the temple of Astaroth in Babylon."
"And wilt thou go?"
"I will go if thou command me, lord," said Kama, concealing her face with her veil.
The prince took her hands in silence. His lips quivered.
"Do not touch me, lord," whispered she, with emotion. "Thou art my sovereign, my support, the support of all Phœnicians in this country--but have compassion."
The viceroy let her go, and walked up and down through the chamber.
"The day is hot, is it not?" asked he. "There are countries where in the month of Mechir white down falls from the sky, it is said; this down in the fire turns to water, and makes the air cold. Oh, Kama, beg thy gods to send me a little of that down,--though what do I say? If they should cover Egypt with it, all that down might be turned into water and not cool the heart in me."
"For thou art like the divine Amon; thou art the sun concealed in human form," replied Kama. "Darkness flees from that place whither thou turnest thy countenance, and under the gleam of thy glances flowers blossom."
The prince turned again to her.
"But be compassionate," whispered she. "Moreover, thou art a kind god, hence thou canst not be unjust to thy priestess."
The prince turned away again, and shook as if wishing to cast down a burden. Kama looked from beneath her drooping lids at him, and smiled slightly.
When silence had endured too long, she said,--
"Thou hast commanded to summon me, Sovereign. Here I am, to hear what thy will is."
"Aha!" said the prince, recovering. "But tell me, O, priestess, aha! who was that who resembled me so closely,--the man whom I saw that night in the temple?"
Kama placed a finger on her lips.
"A sacred mystery," whispered she.
"One thing is a mystery, another is not permitted," replied Rameses. "Let me know at least whether it was a man or a spirit?"
"A spirit."
"But still that spirit sang under thy window."
Kama laughed.
"I do not wish to violate the secrets of the temple."
"Thou hast promised that to Prince Hiram," put in the priestess.
"Well, well," interrupted the irritated viceroy; "for this cause I shall not speak with Hiram or any other man about this miracle, only with thee. Now, Kama, tell this spirit or man who is so like me to leave Egypt at the earliest, and not to show himself to any one. For, seest thou, in no state can there be two heirs to the throne."
All at once he tapped his forehead. Up to that instant he had spoken so as to trouble Kama, but now an idea altogether serious came to him.
"I am curious," said he, looking sharply at Kama, "to know why thy compatriots showed me my own living picture. Do they wish to forewarn me that they have a man to supplant me? Indeed, their act is astounding."
Kama fell at his feet.
"O lord!" whispered she, "thou who bearest on thy breast our highest talisman, canst thou suppose that the Phœnicians would do aught to injure thee? But only think--if danger threatened thee, or if thou hadst the wish to mystify enemies, would not such a man be of service? The Phœnician only wished to show thee this in the temple."
The prince meditated a moment, and shrugged his shoulders.
"So," thought he, "if I needed anyone's assistance! But do the Phœnicians think that I need assistance? If I do they have chosen a poor protector."
"Lord!" whispered Kama, "is it not known to thee that Rameses the Great had, in addition to his own person, two others to show enemies? Those two shadows of the pharaoh perished, but he survived."
"Well, enough of this," interrupted the prince. "But that the people of Asia may know that I am gracious, I designate Kama five talents for games, in honor of Astaroth, and a costly goblet for her temple. This gift will be received to-day by thee."
He dismissed the priestess with a motion of his head.
After her departure a new wave of thought mastered him.
"Indeed, the Phœnicians are clever. If this, my living picture, is a man, they can make of him a great present to me, and I shall perform at times miracles such, perhaps, as have never been heard of in Egypt. The pharaoh dwells in Memphis, and at the same time he shows himself in Thebes or in Tanis. The pharaoh is marching on Babylon with an army, the Assyrians assemble their main forces there, and simultaneously the pharaoh, with another army, captures Nineveh,--I judge that the Assyrians would be greatly astounded by an event of that sort."
And again deep hatred was roused in him against the strong Asiatics; again he saw his conquering chariot sweeping over a battlefield covered with Assyrian corpses, and whole baskets of severed hands stood before him.
For his soul war had become now as great a need as bread is for the body. For not only could he enrich Egypt by it, fill the treasury, and win glory to last through ages, but, besides, he might satisfy the instinct hitherto unknown, but roused mightily at that moment, to destroy Assyria.
Until he had seen those warriors with shaggy beards he had not thought of them. That day they had met him and made the world seem so small that one side must give way,--they or he.
What rôle had Hiram and Kama played in creating his present frame of mind? Of this he had made no estimate. He felt only that he must have war with Assyria, just as a bird of passage feels that in the month Pachons it must go northward.
A passion for war seized the prince quickly. He spoke less, laughed more rarely, sat in thoughtfulness at feasts, and also spent his time oftener and oftener with the army and the aristocracy. Seeing the favor which the heir showered on those who bore arms, the noble youth, and even older men, began to join regiments. This attracted the attention of the holy Mentezufis, who sent a letter to Herhor with the following contents:--
"From the time that the Assyrians have arrived at Pi-Bast the heir is feverish, and his court is inclined toward war very greatly. They drink and play dice as before; but all have thrown aside robes and wigs, and, disregarding the awful heat, go about in military caps and mantles.
"I fear lest this armed readiness may offend the worthy Sargon."
To this Herhor replied immediately,--
"It is no harm that our effeminate nobles have taken a love for military appearance during the visit of Sargon, for the Assyrians will have a better opinion touching Egypt. Our most worthy viceroy, enlightened by the gods, as is evident, has divined that just now it is necessary to rattle our swords when we have with us the ambassadors of such a military people. I am certain that this valiant bearing of our youth will give Sargon something to think of, and will make him more yielding in arguments."
For the first time since Egypt had become Egypt it happened that a youthful prince had deceived the watchful priesthood. It is true that the Phœnicians were behind him, and had stolen the secret of the treaty with Assyria; of this the priests had not even a suspicion.
In fact, the very best mask which the heir had against suspicion was his impetuosity of character. All remembered how easily in the past year he had rushed from manœuvres at Pi-Bailos to Sarah's quiet country villa, and how from feasts he had grown impassioned, recently, for administrative labor, and then devotion, to return to feasts afterward.
So no one believed, with the exception of Tutmosis, that that changeful youth had before him an object for which he would fight with invincible decision.
Even this time there was no need to wait long for new proofs of the prince's mobility of temper.
To Pi-Bast, in spite of the heat, came Sarah with all her court and her infant. She was somewhat thin, her child a trifle ill, or wearied, but both looked very charming.
The prince was enchanted. He assigned a house to Sarah in the choicest part of the palace garden, and sat whole days, almost, at his son's cradle.
Feasts, manœuvres, and gloomy meditations were forgotten; the lords of his suite had to drink and amuse themselves without him. Very soon they ungirded their swords and arrayed themselves in their most exquisite garments. The change was the more indispensable as Rameses brought some of them to Sarah's dwelling and showed his son to them.
"See, Tutmosis," said he once to his favorite, "what a pretty child: a real rose leaf! Well, and out of this little thing a man will grow gradually. And this rosy chick will walk about some day, talk, even learn wisdom in the schools of the priesthood."
"Look at his little hands, Tutmosis," said Rameses, delighted. "Remember these little hands, so as to tell of them some day when I give him a regiment, and command him to have my mace borne behind him. And this is my son, my own son."
It is not to be wondered at that when their lord spoke thus his attendants were sorry that they could not become dry or wet nurses to the child which, though it had no dynastic rights, was still the first son of the future pharaoh.
But this idyll ended very soon, since it did not harmonize with the interests of the Phœnicians.
A certain day the worthy Hiram arrived at the palace with a great suite of merchants, slaves, and also poor Egyptians to whom he gave alms, and when he stood before the heir, he said,--
"Our gracious lord! to prove that thy heart is full of kindness toward us Asiatics also, thou hast given five talents to arrange games in honor of the goddess Astaroth. Thy will is accomplished; we have arranged the games, now we have come to implore thee to deign to honor the games with thy presence."
While saying this, the gray-haired Tyrian prince knelt before Rameses and gave him a golden key to his box in the amphitheatre.
Rameses accepted the invitation willingly; the holy priests Mefres and Mentezufis had no objection to the presence of the prince in honoring the goddess Astaroth.
"First of all, Astaroth," said the worthy Mefres to Mentezufis, "is the same as our Isis and the Chaldean Istar; second, if we permit Asiatics to build temples in our land it is proper to be kindly to their gods at seasons."
"We are obliged even to show some politeness to Phœnicians after the conclusion of such a treaty with Assyria," put in the worthy Mentezufis, smiling.
The amphitheatre, to which the viceroy, the nomarch, and the foremost officers betook themselves about four in the afternoon was built in the garden of the temple. It was a circular space surrounded by a palisade twice the height of a man. Inside the palisade, and round about, was a multitude of boxes and seats rising one above the other. The structure had no roof, but above the boxes extended cloth of various colors, cut like wings of butterflies, which, sprinkled with fragrant water, were moved to cool the atmosphere.
When the viceroy appeared in his box, the Asiatics and Egyptians present in the amphitheatre gave forth a mighty shout. The spectacle began with a procession of singers, dancers, and musicians.
The prince looked around. At his right was the box of Hiram and the most noted of the Phœnicians; on his left the box of the Phœnician priests and priestesses. In this Kama occupied one among the first places, and attracted notice by her splendid dress and by her beauty. She wore a transparent robe adorned with embroidery of various colors, gold bracelets and anklets, and on her head a circlet with a lotus flower composed most skilfully of jewels.
Kama came with her colleagues, saluted the prince with low obeisances, and returned to the box on the left, where began an animated conversation with a foreigner whose hair was somewhat gray and whose presence was imposing. The hair and beard of this man and his companions were plaited into small braids.
The prince had come almost directly from the chamber of his son, and was gladsome. But he frowned when he saw the priestess speaking with a stranger.
"Dost thou not know, Tutmosis, who that big fellow is for whom the priestess is so charming?" asked he.
"He is that famous pilgrim who has come from Babylon,--the worthy Sargon."
"But he is an old grandfather!"
"His years are surely more than thine and mine together; but he is a stately person."
"Could such a barbarian be stately!" said the indignant viceroy. "I am certain that he bears about the smell of tallow."
Both were silent: the prince from anger, Tutmosis from fear because he had dared to praise a man whom Rameses hated.
Meanwhile spectacle followed spectacle on the arena. In turn appeared acrobats, serpent-charmers, dancers, buffoons, and jesters, who called forth shouts from the audience.
But Rameses was gloomy. In his soul sprang up, moment after moment, passions which had been dormant,--hatred for Assyrians and jealousy of Kama.
"How can that woman," thought he, "fondle up to an old man who has a complexion like tanned leather, wild black eyes, and the beard of a he-goat?"
But once the prince turned a more attentive look on the arena.
A number of naked Chaldeans entered. The oldest fixed in the earth three short spears, points upward; then, with motions of his hands, he put the youngest man to sleep. After that others took the sleeping man and placed him on the spears in such fashion that one of the spears supported his head, another his loins, and the third his feet.
The man was as stiff as wood. Then the old man made motions above him with his hands, and drew out the spear supporting his feet. After a while he removed the spear on which his loins were resting, and finally that on which his head was fixed.
This took place in the clear day, before some thousands of spectators. The sleeping Chaldean rested in the air horizontally, without support, a couple of ells above the earth. At last the old man pushed him down and roused him.
The audience was astounded; no one dared to applaud or to shout, but flowers were thrown from some boxes.
Rameses too was astonished. He bent towards Hiram's box, and asked the old prince in a low voice,--
"Could they perform that secret in the temple of Astaroth?"
"I am not conversant with all the secrets of our priests," answered Hiram, confused. "I know, though, that Chaldeans are very clever."
"But we all saw that that young man rested in the air."
"If they did not put a spell on us," said Hiram, reluctantly; and he grew serious.
After a short interval, during which servitors took to the boxes of dignitaries fresh flowers, cool wine and cakes, the most important part of the spectacle began,--the bull fight.
To the sound of trumpets, drums, and flutes they led a strong bull into the arena, with a cloth over his head so that he should not see. Then a number of naked men ran around with darts, and one with a short sword.
At a signal, given by the prince, the leaders ran away, and one of the armed men struck the cloth from the head of the bull. The beast stood some moments in a maze; then he chased after the dart men, who vexed him by pricking.
This barren struggle continued some tens of minutes. Men tormented the bull, and he, foaming, stained with blood, reared and chased over the whole arena after his enemies without reaching any.
At last he fell, amid the laughter of the spectators.
The wearied prince, instead of looking at the arena, looked at the box of the Phœnician priests. He saw that Kama had moved nearer to Sargon and was conversing vivaciously. The Assyrian devoured her with his glances; she smiled and blushed, whispered with him, sometimes bending so that her hair touched the locks of the barbarian; sometimes she turned from him and feigned anger.
Rameses felt pain in his heart. For the first time it had happened that a woman had preferred another man to him; besides, a man who was almost old, and, moreover, an Assyrian.
Meanwhile a murmur rose in the audience. On the arena a man armed with a sword gave command to tie his left hand to his breast; others looked at their darts--a second bull was let in. When an armed man tore the cloth from his eyes, the bull turned and looked around as if to count his opponents. But when they began to prick him, he withdrew to the paling to secure the rear; then he lowered his head and followed the movements of those attacking.
At first the armed men stole up guardedly from both sides to prick him. But when the beast remained motionless, they gained courage, and began to run across in front, nearer and nearer.
The bull inclined his head still more, but stood as if fixed to the earth. The audience laughed; but their joyousness was turned to a cry of fear suddenly. The bull chose the moment, rushed forward, struck some man who held a dart, and with one motion of his horns hurled him upward.
The man struck the earth with broken bones; the bull galloped to the other side of the arena and stood in a defensive position.
The men with darts surrounded the bull again, and began to irritate the animal; but now servants of the amphitheatre rushed to the arena to carry off the wounded man, who was groaning. The bull, in spite of the redoubled pricks of darts, stood motionless; but when three servants had taken the wounded man in their arms, he rushed at that group with the swiftness of a whirlwind, overturned it, and began to dig the ground with his forefeet tremendously.
There was confusion in the audience: women screamed, men imprecated, and hurled at the bull whatever each one found nearest. Sticks, knives, even bench tops fell on the arena. Then a man with a sword rushed at the raging bull. But the dart men lost their heads and left him unsupported; hence the bull tossed him and pursued the others. A thing unparalleled in amphitheatres took place then: five men were lying on the arena; others, defending themselves badly, were fleeing before the beast, while the audience was roaring from fear or from anger.
Next there was perfect silence; the spectators rose and bent forward out of their places, the terrified Hiram grew pale and crossed his hands. Down to the arena, from the boxes of dignitaries, sprang two men,--Prince Rameses, with a drawn sword, and Sargon, with a short-handled axe.
The bull, with head down and tail in the air, was racing around the arena, leaving clouds of dust behind him. The beast rushed straight toward the prince, but, as if repulsed by the majesty of the youth, avoided him, made directly at Sargon, and dropped to the earth. The Assyrian, adroit and immensely strong, stretched him with one blow of his axe, given between the eyes.
The audience howled with delight, and threw flowers at Sargon and his victim. Rameses stood still with drawn sword, astonished and angry, seeing how Kama snatched flowers from her neighbors and threw them to the Assyrian.
Sargon received expressions of public delight with indifference. He pushed the bull with his foot to be sure that the beast was lifeless; and then, going a couple of steps toward the prince, said something in his own speech, and bowed with the dignity of a magnate.
A bloody mist passed before the prince's eyes; he would have buried his sword in the victor's breast gladly. But he conquered himself, thought a moment, and taking a gold chain from his neck gave it to Sargon.
The Assyrian bowed again, kissed the chain, and put it around his neck. But the prince, with a bluish flush on his cheeks, returned to the door by which actors entered the arena, and amid plaudits of the audience left the amphitheatre with a feeling of deep humiliation.
Chapter XXXIV
It was the month Thoth. In the city of Pi-Bast and its environs the concourse of people had begun, because of heat, to diminish. But the court of Rameses amused itself always, and people talked of what had happened in the amphitheatre.
Courtiers praised the courage of the prince, maladroit men wondered at the strength of Sargon, the priests whispered with important mien that in every case the heir to the throne should not involve himself in bull-fights: for that there were men who were hired, or who, at least, did not possess public veneration.
Either Rameses did not hear these various opinions, or did not consider them. As to the spectacle, two episodes were fixed in his memory: victory over the bull had been snatched from him by the Assyrian, who had also paid court to Kama, and she had received his attentions most willingly.
Since he might not bring the Phœnician priestess to his palace, he sent one day a letter to her in which he declared that he wished to see her, and inquired when she would receive him. Through the same messenger Kama replied that she would wait for him that evening.
Barely had the stars shown themselves, when the prince (with the greatest secrecy, as he thought) slipped out of the palace, and went to the villa. The garden of the temple of Astaroth was almost empty, especially near the house of the priestess. The building was silent, and inside only two tapers were burning.
When the prince knocked timidly, the priestess herself drew the door open. In the dark antechamber she kissed his hand, whispering that she would have died had the raging bull injured him in the arena.
"But now thou must be at rest, since thy lover saved me," said the prince.
When they entered the lighted chamber, Rameses saw that Kama was weeping.
"What does this mean?" inquired he.
"The heart of my lord has turned from me," said she; "but perhaps justly."
The heir laughed bitterly in answer.
"Then, sacred virgin, thou art already his mistress, or about to be?"
"Mistress? Never! But I may become the wife of that dreadful Assyrian."
Rameses sprang from his seat.
"Am I dreaming," cried he, "or has Set cast his curse on me? Thou, a priestess, guarding the fire before the altar of Astaroth,--thou, who under the threat of death must be a virgin, art thou going to marry? In truth, Phœnician deceit is worse than people's account of it."
"Hear me, lord," said Kama, wiping her tears away, "and condemn if I deserve it. Sargon wishes to take me as his first wife. According to our laws a priestess may, in very exceptional cases, become a wife, but only if the man is of kingly origin. Sargon is a relative of King Assar."
"And wilt thou marry him?"
"If the supreme council of Tyrian priests command me, what can I do?" replied she, bursting into tears again.
"And what is Sargon to that council?" asked the prince.
"Very much, perhaps," said Kama, with a sigh. "The Assyrians will take Phœnicia in all likelihood, and Sargon will be its satrap."
"Art thou demented?" exclaimed the prince.
"I say what I know. In our temple we have begun prayers the second time to avert misfortune from Phœnicia. We had our first prayers before thou didst come to us."
"Why do ye pray now?"
"Because the Chaldean priest Istubar has just come to Egypt with letters, in which King Assar appoints Sargon his ambassador to conclude a treaty with you about the taking of Phœnicia--"
"But I--" interrupted the prince.
He wished to say, "know nothing," but he restrained himself, laughed, and answered,--
"Kama, I swear to thee, on the honor of my father, that while I live Assyria will not take Phœnicia. Is that enough?"
"Oh, lord, lord!" cried she, falling at his feet.
"Then thou wilt not become the wife of that rude fellow?"
"Oh," shuddered she, "canst thou ask such a question?"
"And thou wilt be mine," whispered the prince.
"Dost thou wish my death?" asked she, terrified. "Well, if thou wish it, I am ready."
"I wish thee to live," whispered he, impassioned,--"to live, belonging to me."
"That cannot be."
"But the supreme council of Tyrian priests?"
"They can permit nothing but marriage."
"But thou wilt enter my house."
"If I enter it not as thy wife, I shall die. But I am ready even not to see to-morrow's sun."
"Be at rest," replied the prince, seriously. "Whoso has my favor will not experience injustice."
Kama knelt before him a second time.
"How can that be?" asked she, clasping her hands.
Rameses was so roused that he had forgotten his position and his duties; he was ready to promise the priestess even marriage. He was restrained from that step, not by judgment, but by some dumb instinct.
"How can this be? How can this be?" whispered Kama, devouring him with her glances and kissing his feet.
The prince raised her, seated her at a distance from him, and said with a smile,--
"Thou askest how this can be--I will explain immediately. My last teacher, before I reached maturity, was a certain old priest, who knew a multitude of marvellous histories from the lives of gods, kings, priests, even lower officials and laborers.
"This old man, famed for devotion and miracles, did not like women, I know not why; he even dreaded them. Very frequently he described the perversity of women, and once, to show how great the power is which ye wield over men, he told me the following history:--
"A certain scribe, young and indigent, who had not an uten in his purse, who had nothing save a barley cake, travelled down from Thebes to Lower Egypt while seeking for employment. Men said that in the north dwelt the richest lords and merchants, and that in case of luck he would find a place in which he might acquire extensive property.
"He walked along the Nile, for he had no coin with which to hire a boat, and he pondered,--
"'How improvident are men inheriting a talent or two, or even ten talents! Instead of adding to their wealth by traffic, or by lending at high interest,' thought he, 'these men waste what they have, to no purpose. Had I a drachma,--well, one drachma is too little,--but had I one talent, or, better, a plot of land, I would increase it yearly, and toward the end of life I should be as wealthy as the wealthiest nomarch.
"'But how begin!' said he, sighing. 'Only fools are favored by the gods; and I am filled with wisdom from my wig to my two naked heels. If in my heart a grain of dulness lurks, it is perhaps my inability to squander, and I should not even know how to set about a work so godless in its object.'
"As the needy scribe was thus musing, he passed a mud hut at which sat some man, neither old nor young, with a very keen glance, which reached to the depth of whatever heart came before him. The scribe, as wise as a stork, thought at once that this must be some divinity; so he bowed down and said to him,--
"'I greet thee, worthy master of this splendid mansion. I grieve that I have neither meat nor wine, so as to divide them between us, in sign that I respect thee, and that whatever I own is thy property.'
"This kindness of the scribe was pleasing to Amon, for he it was, in human aspect. He looked at the scribe, and inquired of him,--
"'Of what wert thou thinking while passing along here? for I see wisdom on thy forehead, and I am of those who seize words of truth as partridges pick up wheat kernels.'
"The scribe sighed.
"'I was thinking,' said he, 'of my misery, and of those frivolous rich men who spend their wealth without knowing why or in what manner.'
"'And wouldst thou not waste wealth?' inquired the god, retaining human semblance.
"'Look at me, lord,' said the scribe. 'I have a tattered rag around my hips, and on the road I have lost my sandals; but my papyrus and reed I bear with me at all times, as I do the heart in my body. Both while rising in the morning and lying down at night, I repeat that wise poverty is far better than foolish riches. If I know how to express myself in two kinds of writing and to solve the most complicated problems, if I know all plants and every beast beneath the sky, thou mayst judge whether I, the master of such lore, am capable of wasting property.'
"The god pondered awhile, and continued,--
"'Thy speech flows as vigorously as the Nile at Memphis; but if thou art so wise, indeed, write for me the name of Amon in two manners.'
"The scribe took his reed and brush, and in no long time he wrote the name Amon in two manners on the door of the hut, and so clearly that even dumb creatures would have stopped to give Lord Amon homage.
"The god was satisfied, and answered,--
"'If thou art as skilled in reckoning as in writing, reckon for me the following problem: If they give me four hen eggs for one partridge, how many hen eggs should they give me for seven partridges?'
"The scribe gathered pebbles, placed them in various rows, and before the sun had set, he answered that they should give twenty-eight eggs for seven partridges.
"The almighty Amon smiled when he saw before him a sage of such uncommon proportions, and answered,--
"'I recognize that thou hast spoken truth concerning thy wisdom. If thou shalt appear equally enduring in virtue I will so arrange that thou shalt be happy to the end of life, and after death thy sons shall place thy shade in a beautiful tomb. But now tell me: what wealth dost thou wish,--wealth which thou wouldst not merely refrain from wasting, but wouldst increase?'
"The scribe fell to the feet of the generous deity, and answered,--
"'If I had even this hut and three measures of land, I should be wealthy.'
"'Well,' said the god, 'but first look around and see if it would suffice thee.'
"He led him into the hut, and said,--
"'Thou hast four caps and skirts, two mantles for bad weather, and two pairs of sandals. Here is a fire, here a bench on which thou mayst sleep, a mortar for crushing wheat, and a pan for dough.'
"'But what is this?' asked the scribe, pointing to a certain figure covered with linen.
"'That is one thing which thou must not touch; if thou do, thou wilt lose all thy property.'
"'Ai!' cried the scribe. 'That may remain a thousand years there; I will not trouble it. With permission of thy honor, what estate is that over there?' and he bent through the hut window.
"'Thou hast spoken wisely,' said Amon, 'for that is an estate, and even a fine one. It is composed of fifty measures of land. There is a spacious house on it, some tens of cattle, and ten slaves belong to the establishment. If thou prefer that estate--'
"The scribe fell at the feet of the deity.
"'Is there,' inquired he, 'a man under the sun who instead of a barley cake would not prefer a loaf of wheaten bread?'
"When he heard this, Amon repeated a formula, and that moment both were in the mansion.
"'Here thou hast,' said the god, 'a carved bed, five tables, and ten armchairs; thou hast embroidered clothing, thou hast pitchers, and glass bottles for wine, a lamp for olive oil, and a litter.'
"'And what is this?' asked the scribe, pointing to a figure robed in muslin and standing in a corner.
"'Thou must not touch that or thou wilt lose all thy property.'
"'Were I to live ten thousand years I would not touch it. For, after wisdom, I consider wealth the highest blessing.'
"'But what do I see?' inquired he after a while, pointing to an immense palace in a garden.
"'Over there is a princely estate,' replied the god. 'That is a palace, five hundred measures of land, one hundred slaves, and two hundred head of cattle. That is a grand property; but if thou think thy wisdom sufficient to manage it--'
"The scribe fell again at the feet of Amon, and covered himself with tears of delight.
"'O lord,' said he, 'is there on earth a mad man who instead of a goblet of beer would not take a cask of wine?'
"'Thy words are worthy of the sage who can make the most difficult reckonings,' said Amon.
"He pronounced the mighty words of the formula; the god and the scribe found themselves in the palace.
"'Here thou hast,' said the kind god, 'a dining-hall; in it gold and gilded curtains, and armchairs, also tables inlaid with woods of various colors. In the lower story is a kitchen for five cooks; a storehouse where thou wilt find all kinds of meat, fish, bread; finally, a cellar with perfect wines in it. Thou hast a bedchamber with a movable roof, with which thy slaves will cool thee while thou art sleeping. I turn attention to the bed, which is made of cedar wood, and rests on four lion legs cast from bronze skilfully. Thou hast a wardrobe filled with linen and woollen garments; in caskets thou wilt find rings, chains, and bracelets.'
"'But what is this?' asked the scribe, pointing to a figure covered with a veil embroidered in gold and purple.
"'Thou must guard thyself from this most carefully,' warned the god. 'If thou touch this, thy immense estate will vanish. And there are few such estates in Egypt, I assure thee. Moreover, I must say that in the treasury here there are ten talents in gold and precious stones in addition.'
"'My sovereign,' cried the scribe, 'permit that the first place in this palace be held by thy sacred statue, before which I will burn incense three times daily.'
"'But avoid that,' replied Amon, pointing to the veiled figure.
"'Should I lose my wisdom, and be worse than a wild boar, for which wine is no better than swill,' said the scribe; 'let that veiled figure do penance here for a hundred millenniums, I will not touch it.'
"'Remember that if thou do thou wilt lose all thou hast,' cried the god; and he vanished.
"The scribe, now made happy, walked up and down through his palace and looked out through the windows. He examined the treasury and tried the gold in his hands; it was heavy. He looked at the precious stones; they were genuine. He commanded to serve him with food; in rushed slaves immediately, bathed him, shaved him, arrayed him in fine garments. He ate and drank as he never had drunk and eaten; his hunger joined with the perfection of the food gave a marvellous taste to it. He burnt incense before the statue of Amon, and wreathed it with fresh flowers. Later he sat down at a window.
"In the courtyard a pair of horses were neighing; they were harnessed to a carved chariot. In another place a crowd of men with darts and nets were keeping down eager dogs which were tearing away to chase animals. Before a granary one scribe was receiving grain from earth-tillers; before the stable another scribe was receiving reckoning from the overseer of the shepherds.
"In the distance were visible an olive grove, high hills covered with grape-vines, wheat-fields, and on every field were date palms set out thickly.
"'In truth,' said he to himself, 'I am rich to-day, just as was proper; and I only wonder how I endured life so long in abasement and misery. I must confess, too, that I do not know whether I can increase this immense property, for I need no more now, and I shall not have time to run after investments.'
"But after a while it was tedious in the house for him; so he looked at the garden, went around the fields, talked with the servants, who fell on their faces in his presence, though they were dressed in such style that yesterday he would have thought it an honor to kiss the hands of any one of them; but he was bored in the field even, so he went back to the house, and examined the supplies in his storehouses and cellars, also the furniture in the chambers.
"'They are beautiful,' said he to himself; 'but it would be better if the furniture were made of gold, and the pitchers of jewels.'
"His eyes turned mechanically toward the corner where the figure was concealed under an embroidered veil--and it sighed.
"'Sigh!' said he, taking a censer to burn incense before the statue of Amon.
"'He is a kind god,' thought he, 'who values the qualities of sages, even when barefoot, and deals out to them justice. What a beautiful estate he has given me! It is true that I showed him honor by writing Amon on the door of that hut in two manners. And how beautifully I reckoned how many hen eggs he would get for seven partridges. My teachers were right when they said that wisdom opens the lips of gods even.'
"He turned again toward the corner. The veiled figure sighed again.
"'I am curious to know,' thought the scribe, 'why my friend Amon forbade me to touch that thing over there in the corner. Well, for such a property he had a right to impose conditions; though I should not have imposed them on him. For if all this palace is my property, if I may use all that is here, why should I not even touch this thing-- I may not touch it, but I may look at it.'
"He approached the figure, drew the veil aside carefully, looked; it was indeed beautiful. It resembled a boy, but was not a boy. It had hair reaching to its knees, delicate features, and a look full of sweetness.
"'Who art thou?' asked the scribe of the figure.
"'I am a woman,' answered the figure, with a voice that penetrated his heart like a Phœnician dagger.
"'Woman?' thought the scribe. 'They did not tell me about woman in the priests' school. Woman?' repeated he. 'But what hast thou here?'
"'Those are my eyes.'
"'Eyes? What canst thou see with eyes which would melt before any light?'
"'Those are not eyes made for me to look from, but thou must look into them.'
"'Wonderful eyes!' thought the scribe to himself; and he walked through the chamber.
"Again he stood before the figure, and asked,--
"'But what hast thou here?'
"'Those are my lips.'
"'By the gods, thou wilt die of hunger,' cried he, 'for with such little lips thou couldst take in no food whatever.'
"'They are not for eating,' answered the figure, 'but thou art to kiss them.'
"'To kiss,' repeated the scribe. 'They did not tell me in the priests' school of kissing. But these--what are they?'
"'Those are my hands.'
"'Hands? It is well that thou hast told me, for with those hands thou couldst not do anything; thou couldst not milk sheep even.'
"'My hands are not for work.'
"'But for what?' wondered the scribe, spreading apart her fingers (as I do thine, Kama," said the prince, fondling the small hands of the priestess). "'But what are those arms for?' inquired the scribe of the figure.
"'To put around thy neck.'
"'Thou wishest to say shoulder,' cried the frightened scribe, whom the priest always seized by the shoulder when he was to get stripes.
"'Not by the shoulder,' said the figure, 'but this way;' and she put her arms around his neck thus," said the prince (here he put his arms around the priestess), "and she nestled up to his breast thus" (here he nestled up to Kama).
"Lord, what art thou doing?" whispered Kama. "But this is my death."
"Have no fear," replied the prince; "I was only showing thee what the statue did to that scribe in his palace. The moment she embraced him the earth trembled, the palace disappeared, dogs, horses, slaves vanished. The hill covered with grape-vines turned into a cliff, the olive-trees into thorns, the wheat into sand. The scribe, when he recovered in the embrace of his love, understood that he was as poor as he had been on the highroad a day earlier. But he did not regret his wealth, since he had a woman who loved and who clung to him."
"So everything vanished but the woman!" exclaimed Kama, naïvely.
"The compassionate Amon left her to the scribe to console him," said the viceroy.
"Then Amon is compassionate only to scribes," answered Kama. "But what does that story signify?"
"Guess. But thou hast just heard what the poor scribe yielded up for the kiss of a woman--"
"But he would not yield up a throne," interrupted the priestess.
"Who knows? if he were implored greatly to do so," whispered Rameses, with passion.
"Oh, no!" cried Kama, tearing away from him; "let not the throne go so easily, for what would become then of thy promise to Phœnicia?"
They looked into each other's eyes for a long time. The prince felt a wound in his heart, and felt as if through that wound some feeling had gone from him. It was not passion, for passion remained; but it was esteem for Kama, and faith in her.
"Wonderful are these Phœnicians," thought the heir; "one may go wild for them, but 'tis not possible to trust them."
He felt wearied, and took farewell of the priestess. He looked around the chamber as though it were difficult to leave the place; and while going, he said to himself,--
"And still thou wilt be mine, and Phœnician gods will not kill thee, if they regard their own priests and temples."
Barely had Rameses left Kama's villa, when into the chamber of the priestess rushed a young Greek who was strikingly beautiful, and strikingly similar to Rameses. Rage was depicted on his face.
"Lykon!" cried the terrified Kama. "What art thou doing here?"
"Vile reptile!" replied the Greek, in his resonant voice. "A month has not passed since thy oath, declaring thy love, and that thou wouldst flee to Greece with me, and now thou art falling on the neck of another. Are the gods dead? Has justice deserted them?"
"Thou art mad with thy jealousy," interrupted the priestess; "thou wilt kill me."
"It is sure that I, and not thy stone goddess, will kill thee. With these two hands," cried he, stretching out his fingers, like talons, "I will choke thee if thou hast become the mistress--"
"Of whom?"
"Do I know? Of course, of both,--of that old Assyrian and this princeling, whose head I will split with a stone should he prowl about this place any longer. The prince! he has all the women of Egypt, and still he wants foreign priestesses. The priestesses are for priests, not for foreigners."
Kama recovered her coolness.
"But for us art thou not a foreigner?" asked she, haughtily.
"Reptile!" burst out the Greek, a second time. "I cannot be a foreigner for you Asiatics, since that gift of voice with which the gods have endowed me is turned to the use of your divinities. But how often, by means of my figure, have ye deceived dull Asiatics by telling them that the heir to the throne of Egypt belongs to your faith in secret?"
"Silence! silence!" hissed the priestess, closing his mouth with her hand.
There must have been something enchanting in her touch, for the Greek grew calm, and spoke lower.
"Hear me, Kama. Soon to the bay of Sebenico will come a Greek ship, commanded by my brother. Make the high priest send thee to Pi-Uto; we shall flee thence to northern Greece, to a place which has never yet seen a Phœnician--"
"It will see them if I hide there," interrupted the priestess.
"Should a hair fall from thy head," whispered the raging Greek, "I swear that Dagon, that all the Phœnicians here will lose their heads, or die in the stone quarries. They will learn what a Greek can do."
"But I say to thee," answered Kama, in the same tone, "that until I collect twenty talents I will not leave here. I have now only eight."
"Where wilt thou get the other twelve?"
"Sargon and the viceroy will give them."
"I will let Sargon give, but not the prince."
"Foolish Lykon, dost thou not know why that stripling pleases me a little? He reminds me of thee--"
The Greek was perfectly quieted.
"Well, well," muttered he, "I understand that when a woman has the choice between the heir to the throne and a man with my voice I have no need to tremble. But I am jealous and violent, so I beg thee to let him approach thee as little as possible."
He kissed her, slipped out of the villa, and vanished in the dark garden.
Kama stretched her clinched fist after him.
"Worthless buffoon!" whispered she; "thou who art hardly fit to be a singing slave in my mansion."