NŌFERT-ĀRI DANCES BEFORE PHARAOH
In chariots or carrying-chairs members of the Court were hurrying to the
Palace, to assist at the feast planned to honor, at one and the same
time, Belur, the newly arrived Hittite Ambassador, and the victorious
Egyptian general, Ramses, but now returned from Nubia.
According to precedent Ramses would present himself before Pharaoh and
the Court in order to receive the customary favors bestowed upon a
victorious Egyptian leader, those “favors which the King bestows” and
“the gold order of valor.”
Throughout the long day the excitable Theban populace had yelled itself
hoarse, as one after another the war-barges swung around the great bend
of the river, south of Thebes.
Each boat was marked by its standard-of-cognizance, and no sooner was its
mooring-stake driven into the bank than a yelling, gesticulating and
joyfully-weeping hoard of relatives and friends of the crew burst upon
its decks.
From that moment, all signs of discipline utterly vanished. Men, women
and children entered upon one of those inevitable carouses which, in
Egypt, ever followed such a home-coming.
Everyone was coming up to Thebes in order to witness the great
celebration in honor of victory. It being festival time even the indigent
passengers at the western bank were to-day allowed to work their way
across the river by bailing the leaky ferryboats.
Thi, the Queen-Mother, in company with the weak but pretty young queen,
left the Women’s Apartments early, on her way to the Banquet-hall. As she
passed the various courts and columned porticos the watchful eunuchs,
guards and servants, hurled themselves prostrate at sight of her. On
knees and elbows they groveled, prayers for “health” and “long life” upon
their trembling lips.
To the dreaded Thi, as to Pharaoh himself, honors were rendered as to the
gods.
And she whom Egypt feared, and Enana the Magician dared; she who had
been called by her friends Thi the Beautiful, by her enemies Thi the
Foreigner, Thi the Commoner, how shall we best describe her?
The Queen-Mother’s head was small, her low forehead slightly retreated.
Her nose was of the delicate Syrian type, the tip somewhat rounded, the
nostrils well opened. From beneath artificially prolonged eyebrows,
eyebrows shaved close and lightly penciled with black antimony paste,
glowed two large and lustrous eyes. Thi’s lips were full, but well-cut.
Cruelty showed in the drooping corners.
At this moment Thi was clad in one of the richest costumes of the
extravagant New Empire, a pale-green robe minutely plaited and studded
at intervals with lotus-flowers in beaten gold. Gold plumes, which rose
above a gem-encrusted headdress of vulture form, seemed to give height
and dignity to one who was in reality a short and slender woman.
About the great Queen’s throat, wrist and ankles were broad bands of
alternate gold bars and minute cylinders of beryl and amethyst. The names
of Aton, the Syrian sun-god, stamped in rich blue fayence, hung from a
long chain well down upon her high bosom.
Though now no longer in the dazzling beauty of her youth, Thi still
possessed many a charm of face and form. Yet, had she been devoid of
such, her voice had served to win for her the great and powerful empire
that was hers. At the sound of it, one knew at once why in Akhmin, where
first her parents had settled, men had called her Nightingale; why, at
a later date, poets and singers of the Theban court had vied with one
another to do her honor.
No mere doll-faced beauty had caused the former monarch to set aside
Queen Hanit, an exalted lady of the line of Egypt’s royal house and a
lineal descendant of Ra the sun-god, yes, and to cause the death of the
unhappy Prince Wazmes whom she had borne him.
Thi’s face and form had been enough to set kings and princes warring.
Yet, to those prized gifts of Hathor, Beauty’s Goddess, had Ptah of
Memphis added the voice of a ten-stringed lute, and Khnum, Fashioner of
Mankind, an intellect that had quickly won to her by far the greater
number of the nobles of the court.
Thus had Thi, a foreigner, a woman sprung, by descent at least, from
common Syrian stock, usurped the rightful place of the great Queen Hanit,
descendant of kings and a king’s wife.
At the foot of a short flight of steps leading to the festival hall, Thi
and Menna met. They exchanged the customary string of effusive greetings
and honorifics.
As the Queen-Mother swept on she found her way blocked by the crooked
form of Enana. The wizened old Magician stood leaning upon his
jackal-headed staff immediately in the center of the narrow passage.
Enana’s sole garment consisted of a long kilt or tunic fastened at the
waist by a jeweled belt, and faced in front with squares of fine gold.
This was an affectation of a fashion long since forgotten.
At Thi’s cold greeting the puckered and heavily-lined face of this
animated mummy trembled with what might equally well have answered for
a smile or a grimace. Yet, beneath his shaven eyebrows, his half-veiled
eyes glittered ominously, as they lifted for a second to those of the
frowning queen. Enana ignored her greeting.
Involuntarily Thi shuddered, yet inwardly cursed herself for a fool. It
was only Enana, a fellow who lived, nay, had lived for centuries, ’twas
said, upon the credulity and superstition of the Thebans!
Thi swept past him and out upon the balcony overlooking the long hall.
There she found Noferith, her son’s wife, the Princess Sesen, and others
of the maids of honor, awaiting her.
As Thi seated herself, Menna passed below her balcony. He bowed to the
two queens, yet his eyes sought those of the Princess Sesen.
Menna, the King’s Overseer, had again yielded himself to the spell of a
pair of lustrous eyes and dimpled cheeks. He loved the little Princess,
as he had never loved before.
For the past few weeks, Menna had wooed the Princess assiduously. Thi,
the Queen-Mother, for reasons of her own, had sought to aid him in his
suit.
All in vain.
The little Princess would have none of him. Thi knew well, as in fact
did Menna, that Sesen’s heart was filled with thoughts of Ramses, with
hopes of his speedy return. Menna’s servant, Bar, called by many “Menna’s
shadow,” as lean and hungry looking as a neglected _ka_, sought to
convince his master that her indifference was due to a present lover,
some favorite among the courtiers. Menna knew better, yet affected
to believe him. Meanwhile, unused to failure in such enterprises, he
continued to besiege the Princess with well-turned couplets, rich and
ever-varied presents, and courtly flatteries.
At this moment, his restless black eyes sought to attract those of the
all-unconscious object of his affections. His glance dwelt with delight
upon her spotless white gala robes. He noted the graceful wig confined by
a rose-colored fillet from which drooped fragrant white lotus-flowers;
the huge circular gold earrings, and the flashing pectoral ornament—a
glitter of jeweled inlays—which rose and fell at every breath.
Sesen’s cheeks and lips were artificially reddened, her eyebrows shaved
and lightly penciled with kohl, like those of the Queen and Queen-Mother.
Yet, unlike them, her tongue was silent, her smiles had vanished. Sesen’s
somber eyes evinced little interest in the bustle and joyful preparations
about her. Twice did Noferith the Queen touch her with the dainty little
scent-tube she carried, in an effort to recall her to her laughter-loving
self.
Finally, after the sweet-scented lotus which each lady carried had been
changed but once, the Princess Sesen rose, pleading faintness. The
sympathetic Queen whom she served, allowed her to retire without exacting
the formal prostration.
At her withdrawal Menna’s disappointment was intense. He sank back deep
into his painted cedar chair. For Menna the feast was at an end.
But not for the noisy revelers about him. Even the haughty members of the
Hittite ambassador’s suite forgot for a moment their lofty attitude of
detachment.
For the corpulent Mentu, son of the Vizier Kena, had whetted the
appetites of these Asiatics. Through the somewhat hesitating medium of a
sibilant Canaanitic dialect, the garrulous Mentu had somehow managed to
make them understand that the entire kitchen forces of the governor of
Thinis and of Hotepra, Prince of On, had been brought upstream to assist
the royal cooks.
“Indeed,” said Mentu, “though whirling sandstorms bury us; though drought
and pestilence stalk the blistered banks of Hapi, yet shall we enjoy the
choicest viands, the rarest wines,” he clicked his purple tongue; “wines
whose seals have stood intact since good King Ahmes’ time! But, wait
until thou seest Nōfert-āri! Breath of Ra! Then shalt thou say, ‘Baal
forgive me! Our country is afar off! Between us lies the raging sea!
Egypt is a land of pleasure and delight! Here let us tarry!’”
And so it proved. For marvel followed marvel with almost bewildering
rapidity.
A dish that won the plaudits of all was an enormous platter of Syrian
craftsmanship. Upon this gold dish, in the midst of gold reeds and
papyrus, swam ducks, plover, and other aquatic birds. In a miniature
skiff, a diminutive Egyptian boatman propelled his silver craft over
perfumed water. An Egyptian noble, standing upright in the bow, aimed a
jeweled throw-stick at a flock of egrets which, with wings outspread,
quivered upon gold wires high above a thicket of feathery papyrus.
The realistic little figures were of pastry, the birds cooked with all
their feathers on!
Dishes of this sort were countless in number, the design of the last more
astonishing than that of the first, since each jealous cook had sought
to outshine his rival, both in originality of design and richness of
material.
But now, at a signal from Pennūt the Usher, Pharaoh rose from the throne
and advanced to the edge of the dais. To his feet the Usher led the
youthful Ramses.
And there, to the accompaniment of a deepening roar of applause from
the onlookers, Pharaoh slipped about his victorious general’s neck that
coveted distinction of the Egyptian military, the necklace of gold lions
and flies.
In a brief lull the words of Pharaoh echoed through the resplendent hall:
“Welcome, thrice welcome, Ramses! Let the praises of thy lord expand
thy heart! Mei has recounted the story of thy skill and energy in the
conducting of this most bitterly fought campaign. Where now are the
chieftains of Nubia? They have been ground down as the seed of the date
beneath the crusher, as eye-paint upon the palette. Yea, they have become
as grain which the mill has crushed! Now are the chieftains of Wawat
forced to sulk in the caves of the hyena. As a fly hast thou worried
them, as a lion hast thou destroyed them! We place these precious
orders about thy throat. From this day thy renown is fragrant as the
perfume of the Incense Country. Arise! Take thy place beside us as
‘Fan-bearer-on-the-right-of-Pharaoh, thy Lord!’”
At his elevation to this coveted position, renewed applause seemed to
shake the painted roof.
Friends pressed forward to kiss the jeweled chains and ornaments that had
but now left the hand of the god-king. Some hurled themselves prostrate
before these rewards which only Pharaohs might bestow.
The King shot a covert glance in the direction of the Balcony reserved
for the royal harem. The Queen-Mother shook her jeweled _menat_ in
company with the other ladies. Yet, in Thi’s case, the action represented
far more than mere applause or acclamation.
The tactful Belur, Prince of the Hittites, in turn, rose and added a
few well chosen words of praise for a difficult task so promptly and
bloodlessly accomplished.
Pharaoh, watching him from beneath his richly painted canopy, doubted
the sincerity of the smile that played about the handsome lips of
the Hittite. Again he resolved in his mind the probable cause of the
Hittite’s inopportune visit.
A space was cleared in the center of the hall. The tables, still groaning
under the burden of their barely glanced at dainties, disappeared as
if by magic. The well-woven mats and glossy panther-skins were lifted
from the stucco floor, and out upon the space so made sprang a troupe of
lotus-wreathed girls, naked save for the beaded cincture of maidenhood
which encircled their slender hips.
Scattering Syrian crocuses and the pure white petals of the lotus, these
coffee-colored little maids, the very embodiment of childish grace,
pelted one another with the perfumed shower until their little ankles
were well-nigh hidden.
As if this had been a signal, the bright blue warbonnet of Pharaoh was
lifted from his head; an Asiatic slave-boy bathed the royal fingers
and Pharaoh, with a nervous twitch to his long, thin features, leaned
back wearily against the embroidered cushions placed at his back by the
attentive Dedu.
The last scene of what had proved a veritable feast of marvels was about
to commence.
The sudden entrance of the merry little children had been the prelude to
“the King’s dance.”
This dance was a far different performance from that series of posturing
and tumbling commonly provided by the acrobats of old.
And it was thought that “the King’s dance” could only be performed by
Nōfert-āri, claimed as daughter by the blind Tutīya, though known to the
irreverent youth of Thebes as the child of Hathor, of the Goddess of
Beauty, sprung from the head of Ra.
At one end of the flowery carpet left by the little children knelt three
heavily-cloaked women. Behind them squatted eight shaven-headed harpers,
clutching to their naked breasts the gilded frames of their ten-stringed
instruments. Back of these again were flute-players, players on the
hand drum, players on the ivory castanets, and a group of men and women
whose duty it was to mark the syncopated time by clapping their hands,
agitating _menats_ of jeweled beads, or shaking sistra of silver or gold.
Suddenly, like the blood-curdling cry of a savage desert-dweller, the
high-pitched call of Tutīya thrilled the heated frames of the expectant
onlookers.
Instantly the harpers, in a soft and minor key, commenced an air at once
slow in measure, plaintive and sad, an air that sounded distant amid
the confused murmur of a thousand voices, the clatter of dishes and the
distant tap-tap of the butlers’ hurrying sandals.
The shrill cry of Tutīya had brought two of the three women to their
feet. Dropping the cloaks that had enveloped them, they took their places
at some distance in front of the third figure.
Turning toward the royal dais the two dancers sank down in a slowly
executed courtesy, until the nodding lotus-flowers that wreathed their
curling wigs swept the flower-strewn floor below him.
Then, in answer to Pharaoh’s scarcely perceptible acknowledgment, slowly
they rose upon their slender feet and, with a “life and health, lords”
placed themselves once more beside the still motionless central figure.
All eyes were centered upon this well-cloaked figure. It, too, now rose.
Was it motionless? It called to mind the birth of some glorious
butterfly or moth. The undulating movement that one sees in the soon to
be discarded shell best described the bursting of Nōfert-āri upon the
delighted vision of her audience as, shivering with the peculiar motion
seen but in those creatures of a day, she suddenly dropped the dull-brown
cloak that enveloped her, and appeared fresh and smiling to their view.
In the dancer Nōfert-āri we see a slim, though willowy form, a form and
countenance that represented the very arch-type of all that an Egyptian
held beautiful in women. A pair of sparkling eyes, elongated, obliquely
set, gleamed in frames of blue-black antimony, which served to accentuate
the striking whiteness in which swam their fathomless pupils.
On Nōfert-āri’s head was set a dark brown wig which, covered thickly as
it was with a myriad little knots and curls, dropped in well-regulated
layers until it grazed the tips of her thin and high-set shoulders. This
dainty perruque, fringing with its line of dancing curls a forehead
that rivaled polished jasper, and touching as it did at every move and
gesture the outer pencilings of her shaven and thickly kohl-stained
eyebrows, seemed to soften the rather prominent cheekbones and perhaps
too pointed chin. The quiver of her wide though delicate nostrils,
bespoke a passionate nature, which the faintest of dimples and the ivory
flash of small though regular teeth, did their best to contradict. The
dancer’s full round throat, her arms, wrists, and well-formed bust, were
ablaze with jewels, amid which pale green beryl, dew-like crystal, rose
carnelian, gold, electrum and silver, gleamed in opulent splendor, as her
bosom rose and fell.
As she stood, a pale blue lotus drooping above each hidden ear, a jeweled
_menat_ in one hand, her coffee-colored and well oiled skin agleam with
the reflected light of innumerable prismatic colors, she seemed less an
animated human form than a figure carved, by Ptah the god of sculptors
himself, from a block of glowing opal.
With her first perceptible motions the music rose to the major key. The
time-beaters accentuated the broken rhythm more and more, while Tutīya,
her heavy though sightless eyes glowing in their painted depths—she too
had once been hailed a Theban favorite—burst ever and anon into the
“Nubian cry,” that blood-stirring cry which acted as an incentive to her
now posturing daughter.
In the center of the flowery carpet stood Nōfert-āri, languidly shaking
her jeweled _menat_. Slowly she turned upon herself, the muscles of her
lithe little body seeming to quiver in measure with the vibrant thrumming
of the many stringed harps.
When again she faced the Egyptian monarch’s dais, unlike the impassive
gaze of Pharaoh, her features seemed to have become transformed. The
“King’s dance,” into which she now threw all her fascination, all her
mesmeric charm and unrivaled ability, portrayed by movement of the body
and gesture alone the meeting and stolen tryst of a pair of lovers.
At first she affected the love-smitten beauty, a coy beauty, mindful of
her many charms.
Suddenly with a start, a pigeon-like coo of delight, she appeared to
throw herself into her lover’s arms.
Again, with all the abandon of an artless coquetry, she stretched out her
long arms and supple fingered hands as if to push him from her.
Finally, with one or two graceful little steps, accompanied by an arch
glance over her shoulder, Nōfert-āri advanced to the very edge of the
royal dais and commenced that portion of the dance for which she was so
famed.
Into this every muscle of her supple body was forced to move in unison or
singly as she willed. Her lustrous eyes gleamed beneath their darkened
eyebrows, her expanded nostrils quivered, her full vermilioned lips were
parted, the very veins in her forehead throbbed in measure with the
refrain. As her supple arms, wrists, and hands played about her body
with a wavelike—an indescribable motion—her jeweled bust and firm, yet
flexible hips, swayed to the spasmodic movements natural to the dance.
The music ever increased in volume and, as if to add contrast to the
grace and beauty of the peerless dancer, a hideous naked pigmy, beating
a tiny onoga-skin drum, leaped out upon the floor beside her, and
grotesquely imitated her every move and gesture.
Thus, to a chorus of wild staccato yells from Tutīya and the excited
time-beaters, Nōfert-āri, her form seeming to undulate in fierce
spasmodic waves from breast to hip, with arms thrown high above her
head, fingers clenched and eyes fast closed, sank slowly to the stucco
floor.
Presently, as she rose, still trembling, and while the echoes of that
clamorous applause still reverberated amid the flaring lotus-capitals, a
royal usher hurried to her side, and in the name of Pharaoh, presented
her with a blue fayence goblet of lotiform design. Inlaid in green, white
and red about the foot was an inscription revealing her euphonious and
happily—chosen name, Nōfert-āri, “She who is made of beauty.”
Following the dance, Pharaoh had retired within himself. He had assumed
an air of studied abstraction and aloofness.
Yet, Dedu remarked signs of nervousness in the twitching of the jaw. Dedu
had been born in the palace, in the self-same year as his exalted master.
Dedu might well have been called, as indeed at times he was, his master’s
“double,” his other self.
In Pharaoh’s slightly twitching hands and in the covert glances which
from time to time he directed toward the haughty leader of the Hittites,
Dedu spelled expectancy and, withal, a nameless fear.
Then it was the Hittite, not Enana the Magician, his royal master feared!
Dedu knew there had been much speculation as to the true meaning of
Belur’s sudden and quite unexpected visit to the Egyptian capital.
So far, oriental courtesy—coupled with the Egyptian’s inherent regard
for the rights of hospitality—had forbidden any outward evidences of
impatience on the part of Pharaoh or his august Mother.
And Pharaoh did well to distrust the wily Hittite. With the pause that
had followed the withdrawal of Nōfert-āri and her assistants, the Asiatic
prince rose to his feet, slowly lifting his jeweled hand to command
attention. His keen glance swept the heads of the swaying crowd which
craned its neck the better to see him and to hear his words.
The Prince of Charchemish bowed to Pharaoh. Slowly he arranged the
sash which served to hold in place his fringed robes and the little
ivory-handled dagger which rested in its folds.
Silence fell upon the noisy revelers, an ominous silence. It seemed as if
Pharaoh’s nervousness had somehow mysteriously communicated itself to the
various groups of Egyptian nobles gathered about him.
Belur the Hittite began to speak. He dwelt at length upon the many
occasions during which Egyptian ships had brought grain and other food
to famine-stricken Asia. He thanked Great Pharaoh for his present
hospitality and the courteous consideration which had been shown him
since first he landed upon the fertile soil of Egypt. He dwelt upon the
power for good exerted by Egypt, not only in Asia, but among the savage
tribes of Nubia, as witness the victorious campaign just brought to a
close, and which they were at that moment celebrating.
Knowing the might of Pharaoh, lord of Egypt, Rimur, King of Charchemish,
his brother, had sent him down into Egypt, that he might effect an
alliance with the throne of Egypt, an alliance which he was sure would
eventually prove of mutual benefit to Thebes and Charchemish alike.
In token of his fraternal esteem Rimur had sent to Egypt a full shipload
of the treasure of his country and of the countries adjacent thereto.
Its hold was filled with the gold and silver vessels of Zahi, with
swords and daggers cunningly damascened with gold, the work of Megiddan
craftsmen. Inlaid corselets were there, jeweled quivers, gauntlets
worked with gold and silver threads, and shawls for the ladies of the
courts, so finely woven that they might be passed with ease through
Pharaoh’s golden signet-ring. To the Queen, the Hittite King had sent a
covered carrying-chair, of stamped leather richly gilded; to the august
Queen-Mother, a golden goblet from the hands of Ilg of Kadesh; and
lastly, to Pharaoh, his kingly brother, three fully equipped chariots,
together with nine Syrian horses, swifter than the north-wind, to draw
them! In the name of King Rimur, his brother, he asked for the hand of
the eldest daughter of Pharaoh his brother, the Princess Aten-merit, in
marriage!
During this speech Pharaoh’s nervous fears had gradually given place to
astonishment and finally to anger. This new-found arrogance and assurance
among the “little people” was an entirely new departure.
As he rose to his feet to reply there was a look upon his face which
neither Belur nor his own courtiers had expected to see. Before that look
even Belur’s assumed effrontery slowly dissolved.
“Son of Rabatta, it is now less than a year since a Hittite embassy
stood within this very hall! Like thee, it came freighted With the
rarest and richest products of the Asiatics! If we remember rightly its
offerings included one hundred logs of Lebanus cedar, five hundred pounds
of Cilician silver, three hundred pounds of the true lapis-lazuli of
Babylon, two hundred gold and electrum goblets, with choice silver vases
of the workmanship of Zahi! In comparison with this, thy meager offerings
seem to prove that Charchemish hath lost its hold upon the Lebanus, upon
the Cilician mines, upon the princes of Zahi, of Kadesh and Megiddo? Or
perhaps thy brother hath forgotten the circumstances which prompted his
father’s princely gift! Not with gifts for favors to be received came
Rabatta thy father! Nay, with _tribute_, with the tribute of a _vassal_
did he come! With tribute exacted through fear of Egypt’s might.
“Take back this message to Rimur thy brother! Thus saith Pharaoh of
Egypt: ‘’Tis but a breath of time since Rabatta knelt at Pharaoh’s knee,
swearing fealty! Wherefore hath Rimur, his son, failed to do the like?’
“As to thy insolent proposal, when hath a Daughter of the Sun left the
land of Egypt at the beck and call of rebel princelings? ’Tis in our mind
to hold thee hostage for thy brother’s quick return to reason. Yet, go!
And with thee take thy gifts, fit only to dazzle some savage Amu!”
At Pharaoh’s words Belur the Hittite took a step nearer to the royal
dais. A covert sneer played about his well-cut lips, though his eyes were
hard, his cheek pale. Raising his hand with a gesture almost threatening
once again he addressed the trembling monarch:
“Hear me, Pharaoh! One other word my august brother sends to Pharaoh,
king of Egypt. The Hittite army is to-day one hundred thousand strong.
The princes of Zahi and Naharin, the kings of Kadesh, Gezer and Megiddo,
have joined their forces unto his! Of thy Syrian vassals half have left
thee! The Khabiri are up! Ribaddi alone stands true to thee and, even he
by now doubtless has fed a vulture’s maw.
“Hearken to the words of Rimur, my brother! Thy present state is well
known to us! Thy plague-stricken land stands on the brink of a great
religious war! In Nubia to the south, as in thy Asiatic possessions to
the north, thy vassal-states have risen in revolt against thee! Nay,
Pharaoh, heed the words of Rimur my brother, or thy Asiatic possessions
are lost to thee! Great Kheta, the combined armies of all the Asiatic
principalities, stand at thy very gates ready to devour thee! Thus saith
Rimur, Lord of lords, King of kings, Lion that Devoureth Lions!”
Pharaoh’s face was terrible to see. His jaws worked, the veins upon his
forehead stood out like knotted ropes, his large eyes flashed with fires
of wrath. He quickly raised his golden scepter as if he would have felled
the audacious Hittite at his feet. The wand of sard and gold snapped
between his clenched fingers.
Controlling himself by a mighty effort Pharaoh pointed to the door and
somehow managed to articulate the one word: “Begone!”