THE PROCESSION OF AMEN
Thebes Diospolis, the hundred-gated, was in holiday attire. The great
suburb to the west of the Nile had emptied her multitudes into the
solemn community of the gods. Besides her own inhabitants there were
thousands from the entire extent of the Thebaid and visitors even from
far-away Syene and Philae. It was an occasion for more than ordinary
pomp. The great god Amen was to be taken for an outing in his ark.
Every possible manifestation of festivity had been sought after and
displayed. The air was a-flutter with party-colored streamers.
Garlands rioted over colossus, peristyle, obelisk and sphinx without
conserving pattern or moderation. The dromos, or avenue of sphinxes,
was carpeted with palm and nelumbo leaves, and copper censers as large
as caldrons had been set at equidistance from one another, and an
unceasing reek of aromatics drifted up from them throughout the day.
For once the magnificence of the wondrous city of the gods was set down
from its usual preeminence in the eyes of the wondering spectator, and
the vastness of the multitude usurped its place. The bari of Kenkenes
seeking to round the island of sand lying near the eastern shore
opposite the village of Karnak, met a solid pack of boats. The young
sculptor took in the situation at once, and, putting about, found a
landing farther to the north. There he made a portage across the flat
bar of sand to the arm of quiet water that separated the island from
the eastern shore. Crossing, he dismissed his eager and excited
boatmen and struck across the noon-heated valley toward the temple.
The route of the pageant could be seen from afar, cleanly outlined by
humanity. It extended from Karnak to Luxor and, turning in a vast loop
at the Nile front, countermarched over the dromos and ended at the
tremendous white-walled temple of Amen. Between the double ranks of
sightseers there was but chariot room. The side Kenkenes approached
sloped sharply from the dromos toward the river, and the rearmost
spectators had small opportunity to behold the pageant. The multitude
here was less densely packed. Kenkenes joined the crowd at this point.
Here was the canaille of Thebes.
They wore nothing but a kilt of cotton--or as often, only a cincture
about the loins, and their lean bodies were blackened by the terrible
sun of the desert. They were the apprentices of paraschites,[1]
brewers, professional thieves, slaves and traffickers in the unclean
necessities of a great city, and only their occasional riots, or such
events as this, brought them into general view of the upper classes.
They had nothing in common with the gentry, whom they were willing to
recognize as creatures of a superior mold. Among themselves there were
established castes, and members of each despised the lower and hated
the upper. Kenkenes slackened his pace when he recognized the
character of these spectators, and after hesitating a moment, he hung
the flat wallet containing the message around his neck inside his kamis
and pushed on. Every foot of progress he essayed was snarlingly
disputed until the rank of the aggressive stranger was guessed by his
superior dress, when he was given a moody and ungracious path. But he
finally met an immovable obstacle in the shape of a quarrel.
The stage of hostilities was sufficiently advanced to be menacing, and
the young sculptor hesitated to ponder on the advisability of pressing
on. While he waited, several deputies of the constabulary,
methodically silencing the crowd, came upon these belligerents in turn
and belabored the foremost into silence. The act decided the young
man. The feelings of the rabble were now in a state sufficiently
warlike to make them forget their ancient respect for class and turn
savagely upon him, should he show any desire to force his way through
their lines. Therefore he gave up his attempt to reach the temple and
made up his mind to remain where he was. At that moment, several
gorgeous litters of the belated wealthy rammed a path to the very front
and were set down before the rabble. Kenkenes seized upon their
advance to proceed also, and, dropping between the first and second
litter, made his way with little difficulty to the front. With the
complacency of a man that has rank and authority on his side he turned
up the roadway and continued toward the temple. He was halted before
he had proceeded ten steps. A litter richly gilded and borne by four
men, came pushing through the crowd and was deposited directly in his
path.
But for the unusual appearance of the bearers, Kenkenes might have
passed around the conveyance and continued. Instead, he caught the
contagious curiosity of the crowd and stood to marvel. The men were
stalwart, black-bearded and strong of feature, and robed in no Egyptian
garb. They were draped voluminously in long habits of brown linen,
fringed at the hem, belted by a yellow cord with tasseled ends. The
sleeves were wide and showed the wristbands of a white under-garment.
The head-dress was a brown kerchief bound about the brow with a cord,
also yellow.
While Kenkenes examined them in detail, a long, in-drawn breath of
wonder from the circle of spectators caused him to look at the
alighting owner of the litter.
He took a backward step and halted, amazed.
Before him was a woman of heroic proportions, taller, with the
exception of himself, than any man in the crowd. Upon her, at first
glance, was to be discerned the stamp of great age, yet she was as
straight as a column and her hair was heavy and midnight-black. Hers
was the Semitic cast of countenance, the features sharply chiseled, but
without that aggressiveness that emphasizes the outline of a withered
face. Every passing year had left its mark on her, but she had grown
old not as others do. Here was flesh compromising with age--accepting
its majesty, defying its decay--a sublunar assumption of immortality.
There was no longer any suggestion of femininity; the idea was dread
power and unearthly grace. Of such nature might the sexless archangels
partake.
"Holy Amen!" one of the awed bystanders exclaimed in a whisper to his
neighbor. "Who is this?"
"A princess from Punt," [2] the neighbor surmised.
"A priestess from Babylon," another hazarded.
"Nay, ye are all wrong," quavered an old man who had been looking at
the new-comers under the elbows of the crowd. "She is an Israelite."
"Thou hast a cataract, old man," was the scornful reply from some one
near by. "She is no slave."
"Aye," went on the unsteady voice, "I know her. She was the favorite
woman of Queen Neferari Thermuthis. She has not been out of the Delta
where her people live since the good queen died forty years ago. She
must be well-nigh a hundred years old. Aye, I should know her by her
stature. It is of a truth the Lady Miriam."
At the sound of his mistress' name one of the bearers turned and shot a
sharp glance at the speaker. Instantly the old man fell back, saying,
as a sneer of contempt ran through the rabble at the intelligence his
words conveyed: "Anger them not. They have the evil eye."
Kenkenes had guessed the nationality of the strangers immediately, but
had doubted the correctness of his surmise, because of their noble
mien. If he suffered any disappointment in hearing proof of their
identity, it was immediately nullified by the joy his artist-soul took
in the stately Hebrew woman. He forgot the mission that urged him to
the temple and, permitting the shifting, restless crowd to surround
him, he lingered, thinking. This proud disdain must mark his goddess
of stone in the Arabian hills, this majesty and power; but there must
be youth and fire in the place of this ancient calm.
A porter that stood beside him, emboldened by barley beer and the
growing disapproval among the on-lookers, cried:
"Ha! by the rags of my fathers, she outshines her masters, the
brickmaking hag!"
Kenkenes, who towered over the ruffian, became possessed of a sudden
and uncontrollable indignation. He pecked the man on the head with the
knuckle of his forefinger, saying in colloquial Egyptian:
"Hold thy tongue, brawler, nor presume to flout thy betters!"
The stately Israelite, who had taken no notice of any word against her,
now turned her head toward Kenkenes and slowly inspected him. He had
no opportunity to guess whether her gaze was approving, for the crowd
about him, grown weary of waiting, had become quarrelsome and was
loudly resenting his defense of the Hebrews. The porter, supported by
several of his brethren, was already menacing the young sculptor when
some one shouted that the procession was in sight.
From his position Kenkenes commanded a long view of the street that
declined sharply toward the river. As yet there was nothing to be seen
of the pageant, but the dense crowds far down the highway swayed
backward from the narrow path between them. Presently, scantily-clad
runners were distinguished coming in a slow trot between the
multitudes. The lane widened before the swing of their maces and there
were cries of alarm as the spectators in the middle were pressed
between the retreating forward ranks and the immovable rear. Running
water-bearers pursued the couriers with gurglets, sprinkling the way.
Directly after these, slim bare-limbed youths came in a rapid pace
strewing the path with flowers and palm-leaves. By this time the
intermittent sound of music had grown insistent and continuous. Solemn
bodies of priests approached, series after series of the shaven,
white-robed ministers of Amen. The murmur had grown to an uproar. The
wild clamor of trumpet, pipe, cymbal and sistrum, with the long drone
of the arghool as undertone, drifted by. The upper orders of priests
followed in the vibrating wake of the musicians. Then came Loi,
high-priest to the patron god of Thebes, walking alone, his ancient
figure most pitifully mocked by the richness of his priestly robes.
After him the great god, Amen, in his ark.
The air was rent with acclaim. The crowd was too dense for any one to
prostrate himself, but every Egyptian, potentate or slave, assumed as
nearly as possible the posture of humility. Kenkenes bent reverently,
but he lifted his eyes and looked long at the passing ark. Six priests
bore it upon their shoulders. It was a small boat, elaborately carved,
and the cabin in the center--the retreat of the deity--was picketed
with a cordon of sacred images. The entire feretory was overlaid with
gold and crusted with gems.
Mentu, his father, had planned one for Ptah, and a noble work it
was,--quite equal to this, Kenkenes thought.
His artistic deliberations were interrupted by an angry tone in the
clamor about him. The Israelites had called out a demonstration of
contempt before, and he guessed at once that they had further
displeased the rabble. It was even as he had thought. The four
bearers with folded arms contemplated the threatening crowd with a
sidelong gaze of contempt. The stately Israelite stood in a dream, her
brilliant eyes fixed in profound preoccupation on the distance.
Kenkenes knew by the present attitude of the group that they had made
no obeisance to Amen. Hence the mutterings among the faithful. Few
had seen the offense at first, but the demonstration spread
nevertheless, and assumed ominous proportions.
"Nay, now," Kenkenes thought impatiently, "such impiety is foolhardy."
But he drifted into the group of Hebrews and stood between the woman of
Israel and her insulters. The bearers glanced at him, at one another,
and closed up beside him, but he had eyes only for the majestic
Israelite. Not till he saw her bend with singular grace did he look
again on the pageant, interested to know what had won her homage.
She had done obeisance before the crown prince of Egypt. He stood in a
sumptuous chariot drawn by white horses and driven by a handsome
charioteer. The princely person was barely visible for the pair of
feather fans borne by attendants that walked beside him. Through
continuous cheering he passed on. Seti, the younger, followed, driving
alone. His eyes wandered in pleased wonder over the multitude which
howled itself hoarse for him.
Close behind him was a chariot of ebony drawn by two plunging,
coal-black horses. A robust Egyptian, who shifted from one foot to the
other and talked to his horses continually, drove therein alone. As he
approached, the Hebrew woman raised herself so suddenly that one of the
nervous animals side-stepped affrighted. The swaggering Egyptian, with
a muttered curse, struck at her with his whip. The four bearers sprang
forward, but she quieted them with a few words in Hebrew. Reentering
her litter she was borne away, while the Thebans were still lost in the
delights of the procession.
In the few strange words of the woman of Israel, Kenkenes had caught
the name of Har-hat. This then was the bearer of the king's fan--this
insulter of age and womanhood. And the words of Mentu seemed very
fitting,--"I like him not."
The Thebans were in raptures. The splendors of the pageant had far
surpassed their expectations. Priests, soldiers and officials came in
companies, rank upon rank, of exalted and ornate dignity. Chariots and
horses shone with gilding, polished metal and gay housings, while the
marching legions clanked with pike and blade and shield. Now that the
chief luminaries of the procession had passed, the rich and lofty
departed with a great show of indifference to the rest of the parade.
But the humbler folk, all unlearned in the art of assumption, had not
reached that nice point of culture, and lingered to see the last
foot-soldier pass.
Kenkenes, urged by his mission, was departing with the rich and lofty,
when his attention was attracted by the chief leading the section of
royal scribes now passing. His was a compact, plump figure, amply
robed in sheeny linen, and he balanced himself skilfully in his light
shell of a chariot, which bumped over the uneven pavement. He was not
a brilliant mark in the long parade, but something other than his mere
appearance made him conspicuous. Behind him, walking at a respectful
distance, was his corps of subordinates--all mature, many of them aged,
but the years of their chief were fewer than those of the youngest
among them. From the center of the crowd his face appeared boyish, and
the multitude hailed him with delight. But the crown prince himself
was not more unmoved by their acclaim. His silent dignity,
misunderstood, brought forth howls of genuine pleasure, and groups of
young noblemen, out of the great college of Seti I, saluted him by
name, adding thereto exalted titles in good-natured derision.
"Hotep!" ejaculated Kenkenes aloud, catching the name from the lips of
the students. "By Apis, he is the royal scribe!"
Not until then had he realized the extent of his friend's exaltation.
He turned again toward the temple, walking between the crowds and the
marching soldiers, indifferent to the shouts of the spectators--lost in
contemplation. But the procession moved more swiftly than he and the
last rank passed him with half his journey yet to complete. Instantly
the vast throng poured out into the way behind the rearmost soldier and
swallowed up the sculptor in a shifting multitude. For an hour he was
hurried and halted and pushed, progressing little and moving much.
Before he could extricate himself, the runners preceding the pageant
returning the great god to his shrine, beat the multitude back from the
dromos and once again Kenkenes was imprisoned by the hosts. And once
again after the procession had passed, he did fruitless battle with a
tossing human sea. But when the street had become freer, he stood
before the closed portal of the great temple. The solemn porter
scrutinized the young sculptor sharply, but the display of the
linen-wrapped roll was an efficient passport. In a little space he was
conducted across the ringing pavements, under the vaulted shadows, into
the presence of Loi, high priest to Amen.
The ancient prelate had just returned from installing the god in his
shrine and was yet invested in his sacerdotal robes. At one time this
splendid raiment had swathed an imposing figure, but now the frame was
bowed, its whilom comfortable padding fallen away, its parchment-like
skin folded and wrinkled and brown. He was trembling with the long
fatigue of the spectacle.
He spelled the hieratic writings upon the outer covering of the roll
which the young man presented to him, and asked with some eagerness in
his voice:
"Hast thou traveled with all speed?"
"Scarce eight days have I been on the way. Only have I been delayed a
few hours by the crowds of the festival."
"It is well," replied the pontiff. "Wait here while I see what says my
brother at On."
He motioned Kenkenes to a seat of inlaid ebony and retired into a
curtained recess.
The apartment into which Kenkenes had been conducted was small. It was
evidently the study of Loi, for there was a small library of papyri in
cases against the wall; a deep fauteuil was before a heavy table
covered with loosely rolled writings. The light from a high slit under
the architrave sifted down on the floor strewn with carpets of
Damascene weave. Two great pillars, closely set, supported the
ceiling. They were of red and black granite, and each was surmounted
by a foliated encarpus of white marble. The ceiling was a marvelous
marquetry of many and wondrously harmonious colors.
In one wall was the entrance leading to another chamber. It was
screened by a slowly swaying curtain of broidered linen, which was tied
at its upper corners to brass rings sunk in the stone frame of the
door. This frame attracted the attention of the young sculptor. It
consisted of two caryatides standing out from the square shaft from
which they were carved, their erect heads barely touching the ceiling.
The figures were of heroic size and wore the repose and dignity of
countenance characteristic of Egyptian statues. The sculptor had been
so successful in bringing out this expression that Kenkenes stood
before them and groaned because he had not followed nature to the
exquisite achievement he might have attained.
He was deeply interested in his critical examination of the figures
when the old priest darted into the apartment, his withered face
working with excitement.
"Go! Go!" he cried. "Eat and prepare to return to Memphis with all
speed. Thine answer will await thee here to-night at the end of the
first watch,--and Set be upon thee if thou delayest!"
Kenkenes, startled out of speech, did obeisance and hastened from the
temple.
The outside air was thick with dust and intensely hot under the
reddening glare of the sun. It was late afternoon. The city was still
crowded, the river front lined with a dense jam of people awaiting
transportation to the opposite shore. Kenkenes knew that many would
still be there on the morrow, since the number of boats was inadequate
to carry the multitude of passengers.
He began to think with concern upon the security of his own bari, left
in the marsh-growth by the Nile side, north of Karnak. He left the
shifting crowd behind and struck across the sandy flat toward the arm
of quiet water. Straggling groups preceded and followed him and at the
Nile-side he came upon a number contending for the possession of his
boat. They were image-makers and curriers, equally matched against one
another, and a Nubian servitor in a striped tunic, who remained neutral
that he might with safety join the winning party. The appearance of
the nobleman checked hostilities and the contestants, recognizing the
paternalism of rank after the manner of the lowly, called upon him to
arbitrate.
"The boat is mine, children," [3] was his quiet answer. He pushed it
off, stepped into it, and turned it broadside to them.
"See here, the scarab of Ptah," he said, tapping the bow with a paddle,
"and the name of Memphis?" With that he drew away to the sandbar
before the astonished men had realized the turn of events. Then they
looked at one another in silence or muttered their disgust; but the
Nubian went into transports of rage, making such violent demonstrations
that the image-makers and curriers turned on him and bade him cease.
At the Libyan shore Kenkenes gave his bari into the hands of a
river-man and by a liberal fee purchased its security from
confiscation. Then he turned his face toward the center of the western
suburb of Thebes Diospolis. He had the larger palace of Rameses II in
view and he walked briskly, as one who goes forward to meet pleasure.
Only once, when he passed the palace and temple of the Incomparable
Pharaoh, which stood at the mouth of the Valley of the Kings, he
frowned in discontent. Far up the tortuous windings of this gorge was
the tomb of the great Rameses and there had the precious signet been
lost. As he looked at the high red ridge through which this crevice
led, he remembered his father's emphatic prohibition and bit his lip.
Thereafter, throughout a great part of his walk, he railed mentally
against the useless loss of a most propitious opportunity.
To the first resplendent member of the retinue at Meneptah's palace,
who cast one glance at the fillet the sculptor wore, and bent suavely
before him, Kenkenes stated his mission. The retainer bowed again and
called a rosy page hiding in the dusk of the corridor.
"Go thou to the apartments of my Lord Hotep and tell him a visitor
awaits him in his chamber of guests."
The lad slipped away and the retainer led Kenkenes into a long chamber
near the end of the corridor. The hall had been darkened to keep out
the glare of the day, air being admitted only through a slatted blind
against which a shrub in the court outside beat its waxen leaves.
Before his eyes had become accustomed to the dusk Kenkenes heard
footsteps coming down the outer passage, with now and then the light
and brisk scrape of the sandal toe on the polished floor. The young
sculptor smiled at the excited throb of his heart. The new-comer
entered the hall and drew up the shutter. The brilliant flood of light
revealed to him the tall figure of the sculptor rising from his
chair--to the sculptor the trim presence of the royal scribe.
The friends had not met in six years.
For a space long enough for recognition to dawn upon the scribe, he
stood motionless and then with an exclamation of extravagant delight he
seized his friend and embraced him with woman-like emotion.
[1] Undertakers--embalmers, an unclean class.
[2] Punt--Arabia.
[3] The oriental master calls his servants "children."