A DAY IN THEBES--_Continued_
Having seen the settlement of the masons' strike, we wander up into the
heart of the town. The streets are generally narrow and winding, and
here and there the houses actually meet overhead, so that we pass out of
the blinding sunlight into a sort of dark tunnel. Some of the houses
are large and high; but even the largest make no display towards the
street. They will be fine enough inside, with bright courts surrounded
with trees, in the midst of which lies a cool pond of water, and with
fine rooms decorated with gay hangings; but their outer walls are almost
absolutely blank, with nothing but a heavy door breaking the dead line.
We pass by some quarters where there is nothing but a crowd of mud huts,
packed so closely together that there is only room for a single
foot-passenger to thread his way through the narrow alleys between them.
These are the workmen's quarters, and the heat and smell in them are so
overpowering that one wonders how people can live in such places.
By-and-by we come out into a more open space--one of the bazaars of the
city--where business is in full swing. The shops are little shallow
booths quite open to the front; and all the goods are spread out round
the shopkeeper, who squats cross-legged in the middle of his property,
ready to serve his customers, and invites the attention of the
passers-by by loud explanations of the goodness and cheapness of his
wares. All sorts of people are coming and going, for a Theban crowd
holds representatives of nearly every nation known. Here are the
townsfolk, men and women, out to buy supplies for their houses, or to
exchange the news of the day; peasants from the villages round about,
bringing in vegetables and cattle to barter for the goods which can only
be got in the town; fine ladies and gentlemen, dressed elaborately in
the latest Court fashion, with carefully curled wigs, long pleated robes
of fine transparent linen, and dainty, brightly-coloured sandals turned
up at the toes. At one moment you rub shoulders with a Hittite from
Kadesh, a conspicuous figure, with his high-peaked cap, pale complexion,
and heavy, pointed boots. He looks round him curiously, as if thinking
that Thebes would be a splendid town to plunder. Then a priest of high
rank goes by, with shaven head, a panther skin slung across his shoulder
over his white robe, and a roll of papyrus in his hand. A Sardinian of
the bodyguard swaggers along behind him, the ball and horns on his
helmet flashing in the sunlight, his big sword swinging in its sheath as
he walks; and a Libyan bowman, with two bright feathers in his leather
skull-cap, looks disdainfully at him as he shoulders his way through the
crowd.
All around us people are buying and selling. Money, as we know it, has
not yet been invented, and nearly all the trade is done by means of
exchange. When it comes to be a question of how many fish have to be
given for a bed, or whether a load of onions is good value for a chair,
you can imagine that there has to be a good deal of argument. Besides,
the Egyptian dearly loves bargaining for the mere excitement of the
thing, and so the clatter of tongues is deafening. Here and there one or
two traders have advanced a little beyond the old-fashioned way of
barter, and offer, instead of goods, so many rings of copper, silver, or
gold wire. A peasant who has brought in a bullock to sell is offered 90
copper "uten" (as the rings are called) for it; but he loudly protests
that this is robbery, and after a long argument he screws the merchant
up to 111 "uten," with 8 more as a luck-penny, and the bargain is
clinched. Even then the rings have still to be weighed that he may be
sure he is not being cheated. So a big pair of balances is brought out;
the "uten" are heaped into one scale, and in the other are piled weights
in the shape of bulls' heads. Finally, he is satisfied, and picks up his
bag of rings; but the wily merchant is not done with him yet. He spreads
out various tempting bargains before the eyes of the countryman, and,
before the latter leaves the shop, most of the copper rings have found
their way back again to the merchant's sack.
A little farther on, the Tyrian traders, to whom the cargo of our galley
is consigned, have their shop. Screens, made of woven grass, shelter it
from the sun, and under their shade all sorts of gorgeous stuffs are
displayed, glowing with the deep rich colours, of which the Tyrians
alone have the secret since the sack of Knossos destroyed the trade of
Crete. Beyond the Tyrian booth, a goldsmith is busily employed in his
shop. Necklets and bracelets of gold and silver, beautifully inlaid with
all kinds of rich colours, hang round him; and he is hard at work, with
his little furnace and blowpipe, putting the last touches to the welding
of a bracelet, for which a lady is patiently waiting.
In one corner of the bazaar stands a house which makes no display of
wares, but, nevertheless, seems to secure a constant stream of
customers. Workmen slink in at the door, as though half ashamed of
themselves, and reappear, after a little, wiping their mouths, and not
quite steady in their gait. A young man, with pale and haggard face,
swaggers past and goes in, and, as he enters the door, one bystander
nudges another and remarks: "Pentuere is going to have a good day again;
he will come to a bad end, that young man."
By-and-by the door opens again, and Pentuere comes out staggering. He
looks vacantly round, and tries to walk away; but his legs refuse to
carry him, and, after a stumble or two, he falls in a heap and lies in
the road, a pitiful sight. The passers-by jeer and laugh at him as he
lies helpless; but one decent-looking man points him out to his young
son, and says: "See this fellow, my son, and learn not to drink beer to
excess. Thou dost fall and break thy limbs, and bespatter thyself with
mud, like a crocodile, and no one reaches out a hand to thee. Thy
comrades go on drinking, and say, 'Away with this fellow, who is drunk.'
If anyone should seek thee on business, thou art found lying in the dust
like a little child."
But in spite of much wise advice, the Egyptian, though generally
temperate, is only too fond of making "a good day," as he calls it, at
the beerhouse. Even fine ladies sometimes drink too much at their great
parties, and have to be carried away very sick and miserable. Worst of
all, the very judges of the High Court have been known to take a day off
during the hearing of a long case, in order to have a revel with the
criminals whom they were trying; and it is not so long since two of them
had their noses cut off, as a warning to the rest against such shameful
conduct.
Sauntering onwards, we gradually get near to the sacred quarter of the
town, and can see the towering gateways and obelisks of the great
temples over the roofs of the houses. Soon a great crowd comes towards
us, and the sounds of trumpets and flutes are heard coming from the
midst of it. Inquiring what is the meaning of the bustle, we are told
that one of the images of Amen, the great god of Thebes, is being
carried in procession as a preliminary to an important service which is
to take place in the afternoon, and at which the King is going to
preside. Stepping back under the doorway of a house, we watch the
procession go past. After a group of musicians and singers, and a number
of women who are dancing as they go, and shaking curious metal rattles,
there comes a group of six men, who form the centre of the whole crowd,
and on whom the eyes of all are fixed.
They are tall, spare, keen-looking men, their heads clean shaven, their
bodies wrapped in pure white robes of the beautiful Egyptian linen. On
their shoulders they carry, by means of two long poles, a model of a
Nile boat, in the midst of which rises a little shrine. The shrine is
carefully draped round with a veil, so as to hide the god from curious
eyes. But just in front of the doorway where we are standing a small
stone pillar rises from the roadway, and when the bearers come to this
point, the bark of the god is rested on the top of the pillar. Two
censer-bearers come forward, and swing their censers, wafting clouds of
incense round the shrine; a priest lifts up his voice, loudly intoning a
hymn of praise to the great god who creates and sustains all things; and
a few of the by-standers lay before the bark offerings of flowers,
fruit, and eatables of various kinds. Then comes the solemn moment. Amid
breathless silence, the veil of the shrine is slowly drawn aside, and
the faithful can see a little wooden image, about 18 inches high,
adorned with tall plumes, carefully dressed, and painted with green and
black. The revelation of this little doll, to a Theban crowd the most
sacred object in all the world, is hailed with shouts of wonder and
reverence. Then the veil is drawn again, the procession passes on,
and the streets are left quiet for awhile.
[Illustration: Plate 3
THE GREAT GATE OF THE TEMPLE OF LUXOR, WITH OBELISK. _Pages 74, 75_]
We are reminded that, if we wish to get a meal before starting out to
see Pharaoh passing in procession to the temple, we had better lose no
time, and so we turn our faces riverwards again, and wander down through
the endless maze of streets to where our galley is moored at the quay.