The sun was up on the twenty-ninth morning of the second month of the
over-flow of the Nile,
[The 29th Phaophi. The Egyptians divided the year into three
seasons of four months each. Flood-time, seed-time and Harvest.
(Scha, per and schemu.) The 29th Phaophi corresponds to the 8th
November.]
and citizens and their wives, old men and children, freemen and slaves,
led by priests, did homage to the rising day-star before the door of the
temple to which the quarter of the town belonged where each one dwelt.
The Thebans stood together like Huge families before the pylons, waiting
for the processions of priests, which they intended to join in order to
march in their train round the great temple of the city, and thence to
cross with the festal barks to the Necropolis.
To-day was the Feast of the Valley, and Anion, the great God of Thebes,
was carried over in solemn pomp to the City of the Dead, in order that
he--as the priests said--might sacrifice to his fathers in the other
world. The train marched westward; for there, where the earthly remains
of man also found rest, the millions of suns had disappeared, each of
which was succeeded daily by a new one, born of the night. The young
luminary, the priests said, did not forget those that had been
extinguished, and from whom he was descended; and Anion paid them this
mark of respect to warn the devout not to forget those who were passed
away, and to whom they owed their existence.
"Bring offerings," says a pious text, "to thy father and thy mother who
rest in the valley of the tombs; for such gifts are pleasing to the Gods,
who will receive them as if brought to themselves. Often visit thy dead,
so that what thou dost for them, thy son may do for thee."
The Feast of the Valley was a feast of the dead; but it was not a
melancholy solemnity, observed with lamentation and wailing; on the
contrary, it was a cheerful festival, devoted to pious and sentimental
memories of those whom we cease not to love after death, whom we esteem
happy and blest, and of whom we think with affection; to whom too the
throng from Thebes brought offerings, forming groups in the chapel-like
tombs, or in front of the graves, to eat and drink.
Father, mother and children clung together; the house-slaves followed
with provisions, and with torches, which would light up the darkness of
the tomb and show the way home at night.
Even the poorest had taken care to secure beforehand a place in one of
the large boats which conveyed the people across the stream; the barges
of the rich, dressed in the gayest colors, awaited their owners with
their households, and the children had dreamed all night of the sacred
bark of Anion, whose splendor, as their mothers told them, was hardly
less than that of the golden boat in which the Sun-God and his companions
make their daily voyage across the ocean of heaven. The broad landing
place of the temple of Anion was already crowded with priests, the shore
with citizens, and the river with boats; already loud music drowned the
din of the crowds, who thronged and pushed, enveloped in clouds of dust,
to reach the boats; the houses and hovels of Thebes were all empty, and
the advent of the God through the temple-gates was eagerly expected; but
still the members of the royal family had not appeared, who were wont on
this solemn day to go on foot to the great temple of Anion; and, in the
crowd, many a one asked his neighbor why Bent-Anat, the fair daughter of
Rameses, lingered so long, and delayed the starting of the procession.
The priests had begun their chant within the walls, which debarred the
outer world from any glimpse into the bright precincts of the temple; the
Regent with his brilliant train had entered the sanctuary; the gates were
thrown open; the youths in their short-aprons, who threw flowers in the
path of the God, had come out; clouds of incense announced the approach
of Anion--and still the daughter of Rameses appeared not.
Many rumors were afloat, most of them contradictory; but one was
accurate, and confirmed by the temple servants, to the great regret of
the crowd--Bent-Anat was excluded from the Feast of the Valley.
She stood on her balcony with her brother Rameri and her friend Nefert,
and looked down on the river, and on the approaching God.
Early in the previous morning Bek-en-Chunsu, the old high-priest of the
temple of Anion had pronounced her clean, but in the evening he had come
to communicate to her the intelligence that Ameni prohibited her entering
the Necropolis before she had obtained the forgiveness of the Gods of the
West for her offence.
While still under the ban of uncleanness she had visited the temple of
Hathor, and had defiled it by her presence; and the stern Superior of the
City of the Dead was in the right--that Bek-en-Chunsu himself admitted--
in closing the western shore against her. Bent-Anat then had recourse to
Ani; but, though he promised to mediate for her, he came late in the
evening to tell her that Ameni was inexorable. The Regent at the same
time, with every appearance of regret, advised her to avoid an open
quarrel, and not to defy Ameni's lofty severity, but to remain absent
from the festival.
Katuti at the same time sent the dwarf to Nefert, to desire her to join
her mother, in taking part in the procession, and in sacrificing in her
father's tomb; but Nefert replied that she neither could nor would leave
her royal friend and mistress.
Bent-Anat had given leave of absence to the highest members of her
household, and had prayed them to think of her at the splendid solemnity.
When, from her balcony, she saw the mob of people and the crowd of boats,
she went back into her room, called Rameri, who was angrily declaiming at
what he called Ameni's insolence, took his hands in hers, and said:
"We have both done wrong, brother; let us patiently submit to the
consequences of our faults, and conduct ourselves as if our father were
with us."
"He would tear the panther-skin from the haughty priest's shoulders,"
cried Rameri, "if he dared to humiliate you so in his presence;" and
tears of rage ran down his smooth cheeks as he spoke.
"Put anger aside," said Bent-Anat. "You were still quite little the last
time my father took part in this festival."
"Oh! I remember that morning well," exclaimed Rameri, "and shall never
forget it."
"So I should think," said the princess. "Do not leave us, Nefert--you
are now my sister. It was a glorious morning; we children were collected
in the great hall of the King, all in festival dresses; he had us called
into this room, which had been inhabited by my mother, who then had been
dead only a few months. He took each of us by the hand, and said he
forgave us everything we might have done wrong if only we were sincerely
penitent, and gave us each a kiss on our forehead. Then he beckoned us
all to him, and said, as humbly as if he were one of us instead of the
great king, 'Perhaps I may have done one of you some injustice, or have
kept you out of some right; I am not conscious of such a thing, but if it
has occurred I am very sorry'--we all rushed upon him, and wanted to kiss
him, but he put us aside smiling, and said, 'Each of you has enjoyed an
equal share of one thing, that you may be sure--I mean your father's
love; and I see now that you return what I have given you.' Then he
spoke of our mother, and said that even the tenderest father could not
fill the place of a mother. He drew a lovely picture of the unselfish
devotion of the dead mother, and desired us to pray and to sacrifice with
him at her resting-place, and to resolve to be worthy of her; not only in
great things but in trifles too, for they make up the sum of life, as
hours make the days, and the years. We elder ones clasped each other's
hands, and I never felt happier than in that moment, and afterwards by my
mother's grave." Nefert raised her eyes that were wet with tears.
"With such a father it must be easy to be good," she said.
"Did your mother never speak good words that went to your heart on the
morning of this festival?" asked Bent-Anat.
Nefert colored, and answered: "We were always late in dressing, and then
had to hurry to be at the temple in time."
"Then let me be your mother to-day," cried the princess, "and yours too,
Rameri. Do you not remember how my father offered forgiveness to the
officers of the court, and to all the servants, and how he enjoined us to
root out every grudge from our hearts on this day? 'Only stainless
garments,' he said, 'befit this feast; only hearts without spot.' So,
brother, I will not hear an evil word about Ameni, who is most likely
forced to be severe by the law; my father will enquire into it all and
decide. My heart is so full, it must overflow. Come, Nefert, give me a
kiss, and you too, Rameri. Now I will go into my little temple, in which
the images of our ancestors stand, and think of my mother and the blessed
spirits of those loved ones to whom I may not sacrifice to-day."
"I will go with you," said Rameri.
"You, Nefert--stay here," said Bent-Anat, "and cut as many flowers as you
like; take the best and finest, and make a wreath, and when it is ready
we will send a messenger across to lay it, with other gifts, on the grave
of your Mena's mother."
When, half-an-hour later, the brother and sister returned to the young
wife, two graceful garlands hung in Nefert's bands, one for the grave of
the dead queen, and one for Mena's mother.
"I will carry over the wreaths, and lay them in the tombs," cried the
prince.
"Ani thought it would be better that we should not show ourselves to the
people," said his sister. "They will scarcely notice that you are not
among the school-boys, but--"
"But I will not go over as the king's son, but as a gardener's boy--"
interrupted the prince. "Listen to the flourish of trumpets! the God
has now passed through the gates."
Rameri stepped out into the balcony, and the two women followed him, and
looked down on the scene of the embarkation which they could easily see
with their sharp young eyes.
"It will be a thinner and poorer procession without either my father or
us, that is one comfort," said Rameri. "The chorus is magnificent; here
come the plume-bearers and singers; there is the chief prophet at the
great temple, old Bek-en-Chunsu. How dignified he looks, but he will not
like going. Now the God is coming, for I, smell the incense."
With these words the prince fell on his knees, and the women followed his
example--when they saw first a noble bull in whose shining skin the sun
was reflected, and who bore between his horns a golden disk, above which
stood white ostrich-feathers; and then, divided from the bull only by a
few fan-bearers, the God himself, sometimes visible, but more often
hidden from sight by great semi-circular screens of black and white
ostrich-feathers, which were fixed on long poles, and with which the
priests shaded the God.
His mode of progress was as mysterious as his name, for he seemed to
float slowly on his gorgeous throne from the temple-gates towards the
stream. His seat was placed on a platform, magnificently decorated with
bunches and garlands of flowers, and covered with hangings of purple and
gold brocade, which concealed the priests who bore it along with a slow
and even pace.
As soon as the God had been placed on board his barge, Bent-Anat and her
companions rose from their knees.
Then came some priests, who carried a box with the sacred evergreen tree
of Amon; and when a fresh outburst of music fell on her ear, and a cloud
of incense was wafted up to her, Bent-Anat said: "Now my father should be
coming."
"And you," cried Rameri, "and close behind, Nefert's husband, Mena, with
the guards. Uncle Ani comes on foot. How strangely he has dressed
himself like a sphinx hind-part before!"
"How so?" asked Nefert.
"A sphinx," said Rameri laughing, it has the body of a lion, and the head
of a man,
[There were no female sphinxes in Egypt. The sphinx was called Neb,
i. e., the lord. The lion-couchant had either a man's or a rams
head.]
and my uncle has a peaceful priest's robe, and on his head the helmet of
a warrior."
"If the king were here, the distributor of life," said Nefert, "you would
not be missing from among his supporters."
"No indeed!" replied the prince, "and the whole thing is altogether
different when my father is here. His heroic form is splendid on his
golden throne; the statues of Truth and justice spread their wings behind
him as if to protect him; his mighty representative in fight, the lion,
lies peacefully before him, and over him spreads the canopy with the
Urmus snake at the top. There is hardly any end to the haruspices, the
pastophori with the standards, the images of the Gods, and the flocks and
herds for sacrifice. Only think, even the North has sent representatives
to the feast, as if my father were here. I know all the different signs
on the standards. Do you recognize the images of the king's ancestors,
Nefert? No? no more do I; but it seemed to me that Ahmes I., who
expelled the Hyksos--from whom our grandmother was descended--headed the
procession, and not my grandfather Seti, as he should have done. Here
come the soldiers; they are the legions which Ani equipped, and who
returned victorious from Ethiopia only last night. How the people cheer
them! and indeed they have behaved valiantly. Only think, Bent-Anat and
Nefert, what it will be when my father comes home, with a hundred captive
princes, who will humbly follow his chariot, which your Mena will drive,
with our brothers and all the nobles of the land, and the guards in their
splendid chariots."
"They do not think of returning yet!" sighed Nefert. While more and
more troops of the Regent's soldiers, more companies of musicians, and
rare animals, followed in procession, the festal bark of Amon started
from the shore.
It was a large and gorgeous barge of wood, polished all over and overlaid
with gold, and its edge was decorated with glittering glass-beads, which
imitated rubies and emeralds; the masts and yards were gilt, and purple
sails floated from them. The seats for the priests were of ivory, and
garlands of lilies and roses hung round the vessel, from its masts and
ropes.
The Regent's Nile-boat was not less splendid; the wood-work shone with
gilding, the cabin was furnished with gay Babylonian carpets; a lion's-
head formed the prow, as formerly in Hatasu's sea-going vessels, and two
large rubies shone in it, for eyes. After the priests had embarked, and
the sacred barge had reached the opposite shore, the people pressed into
the boats, which, filled almost to sinking, soon so covered the whole
breadth of the river that there was hardly a spot where the sun was
mirrored in the yellow waters.
"Now I will put on the dress of a gardener," cried Rameri, "and cross
over with the wreaths."
"You will leave us alone?" asked Bent-Anat.
"Do not make me anxious," said Rameri.
"Go then," said the princess. "If my father were here how willingly I
would go too."
"Come with me," cried the boy. "We can easily find a disguise for you
too."
"Folly!" said Bent-Anat; but she looked enquiringly at Nefert, who
shrugged her shoulders, as much as to say: "Your will is my law."
Rameri was too sharp for the glances of the friends to have escaped him,
and he exclaimed eagerly:
"You will come with me, I see you will! Every beggar to-day flings his
flower into the common grave, which contains the black mummy of his
father--and shall the daughter of Rameses, and the wife of the chief
charioteer, be excluded from bringing garlands to their dead?"
"I shall defile the tomb by my presence," said Bent-Anat coloring.
"You--you!" exclaimed Rameri, throwing his arms round his sister's neck,
and kissing her. "You, a noble generous creature, who live only to ease
sorrow and to wipe away tears; you, the very image of my father--unclean!
sooner would I believe that the swans down there are as black as crows,
and the rose-wreaths on the balcony rank hemlock branches. Bek-en-Chunsu
pronounced you clean, and if Ameni--"
"Ameni only exercises his rights," said Bent-Anat gently, "and you know
what we have resolved. I will not hear one hard word about him to-day."
"Very well! he has graciously and mercifully kept us from the feast,"
said Rameri ironically, and he bowed low in the direction of the
Necropolis, "and you are unclean. Do not enter the tombs and the temples
on my account; let us stay outside among the people. The roads over
there are not so very sensitive; paraschites and other unclean folks pass
over them every day. Be sensible, Bent-Anat, and come. We will disguise
ourselves; I will conduct you; I will lay the garlands in the tombs, we
will pray together outside, we will see the sacred procession and the
feats of the magicians, and hear the festive discourse. Only think!
Pentaur, in spite of all they have said against him, is to deliver it.
The temple of Seti wants to do its best to-day, and Ameni knows very well
that Pentaur, when he opens his mouth, stirs the hearts of the people
more than all the sages together if they were to sing in chorus! Come
with me, sister."
"So be it then," said Bent-Anat with sudden decision.
Rameri was surprised at this quick resolve, at which however he was
delighted; but Nefert looked anxiously at her friend. In a moment her
eyes fell; she knew now who it was that her friend loved, and the fearful
thought--"How will it end?" flashed through her mind.