THE TEMPERAMENT OF THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS
A certain school geography book, now out of date, condenses its remarks
upon the character of our Gallic cousins into the following pregnant
sentence: “The French are a gay and frivolous nation, fond of dancing
and red wine.” The description would so nearly apply to the ancient
inhabitants of Egypt, that its adoption here as a text to this chapter
cannot be said to be extravagant. The unbiased enquirer into the affairs
of ancient Egypt must discover ultimately, and perhaps to his regret
that the dwellers on the Nile were a “gay and frivolous people,”
festive, light-hearted, and mirthful, “fond of dancing and red wine,”
and pledged to all that is brilliant in life. There are very many
people, naturally, who hold to those views which their forefathers held
before them, and picture the Egyptians as a sombre, gloomy people;
replete with thoughts of Death and of the more melancholy aspect of
religion; burdened with the menacing presence of a multitude of horrible
gods and demons, whose priests demanded the erection of vast temples for
their appeasement; having little joy of this life, and much uneasy
conjecture about the next; making entertainment in solemn gatherings and
ponderous feasts; and holding merriment in holy contempt. Of the five
startling classes into which the dictionary divides the human
temperament, namely, the bilious or choleric, the phlegmatic, the
sanguine, the melancholic, and the nervous, it is probable that the
first, second, and the fourth would be those assigned to the Ancient
Egyptians by these people. This view is so entirely false that one will
be forgiven if, in the attempt to dissolve it, the gaiety of the race is
thrust before the reader with too little qualification. The sanguine,
and perhaps the nervous, are the classes of temperament under which the
Egyptians must be docketed. It cannot be denied that they were an
industrious and even a strenuous people, that they indulged in the most
serious thoughts, and attempted to study the most complex problems of
life, and that the ceremonial side of their religion occupied a large
part of their time. But there is abundant evidence to show that, like
their descendants of the present day, they were one of the least gloomy
peoples of the world, and that they took their duties in the most
buoyant manner, allowing as much sunshine to radiate through their minds
as shone from the cloudless Egyptian skies upon their dazzling country.
It is curiously interesting to note how general is the present belief in
the solemnity of this ancient race’s attitude towards existence, and how
little their real character is appreciated. Already the reader will be
protesting, perhaps, that the application of the geographer’s summary of
French characteristics to the ancient Egyptians lessens in no wise its
ridiculousness, but rather increases it. Let the protest, however, be
held back for a while. Even if the Egyptians were not always frivolous,
they were always uncommonly gay, and any slight exaggeration will be
pardoned in view of the fact that old prejudices have to be violently
overturned, and the stigma of melancholy and ponderous sobriety torn
from the national name. It would be a matter of little surprise to some
good persons if the products of excavations in the Nile Valley consisted
largely of antique black gloves.
Like many other nations the ancient Egyptians rendered mortuary service
to their ancestors, and solid tomb-chapels had to be constructed in
honour of the more important dead. Both for the purpose of preserving
the mummy intact, and also in order to keep the ceremonies going for as
long a period of time as possible, these chapels were constructed in a
most substantial manner, and many of them have withstood successfully
the siege of the years. The dwelling-houses, on the other hand, were
seldom delivered from father to son; but, as in modern Egypt, each
grandee built a palace for himself, designed to last for a lifetime
only, and hardly one of these mansions still exists even as a ruin.
Moreover the tombs were constructed in the dry desert or in the solid
hillside, whereas the dwelling-houses were situated on the damp earth,
where they had little chance of remaining undemolished. And so it is
that the main part of our knowledge of the Egyptians is derived from a
study of their tombs and mortuary temples. How false would be our
estimate of the character of a modern nation were we to glean our
information solely from its church-yard inscriptions! We should know
absolutely nothing of the frivolous side of the life of those whose bare
bones lie beneath the gloomy declaration of their Christian virtues. It
will be realised how sincere was the light-heartedness of the Egyptians
when it is remembered that almost everything in the following record of
their gaieties is derived from a study of the tombs, and of objects
found therein.
Light-heartedness is the key-note of the ancient philosophy of the
country, and in this assertion the reader will, in most cases, find
cause for surprise. The Greek travellers in Egypt, who returned to their
native land impressed with the wonderful mysticism of the Egyptians,
committed their amazement to paper, and so led off that feeling of awed
reverence which is felt for the philosophy of Pharaoh’s subjects. But in
their case there was the presence of the priests and wise men eloquently
to baffle them into a state of respect, and there were a thousand
unwritten arguments, comments, articles of faith, and controverted
points of doctrine heard from the mouths of the believers in them, to
surprise them into a reverential attitude. But we of the present day
have left to us only the more outward and visible remains of the
Egyptians. There are only the fundamental doctrines to work on, the more
penetrating notes of the harmony to listen to. Thus the outline of the
philosophy is able to be studied without any complication, and we have
no whirligig of priestly talk to confuse it. Examined in this way,
working only from the cold stones and dry papyri, we are confronted with
the old “Eat, drink, and be merry,” which is at once the happiest and
most dangerous philosophy conceived by man. It is to be noticed that
this way of looking at life is to be found in Egypt from the earliest
times down to the period of the Greek occupation of the country, and, in
fact, until the present day. That is to say, it was a philosophy inborn
in the Egyptian--a part of his nature.
Imhotep, the famous philosopher of Dynasty III., about B.C.3000, said to
his disciples: “Behold the dwellings of the dead. Their walls fall down,
their place is no more; they are as they had never existed”; and he drew
from this the lesson that man is soon done with and forgotten, and that
therefore his life should be as happy as possible. To Imhotep must be
attributed the earliest known exhortation to man to resign himself to
his candle-end of a life, and to the inevitable snuffing-out to come,
and to be merry while yet he may. There is a poem dating from about
B.C.2000, from which the following is taken:--
“Walk after thy heart’s desire so long as thou livest. Put myrrh on
thy head, clothe thyself in fine linen, anoint thyself with the
true marvels of god.... Let not thy heart concern itself, until
there cometh to thee that great day of lamentation. Yet he who is
at rest can hear not thy complaint, and he who lies in the tomb can
understand not thy weeping. Therefore, with smiling face, let thy
days be happy, and rest not therein. For no man carrieth his goods
away with him; O, no man returneth again who is gone thither.”
Again we have the same sentiments expressed in a tomb of about B.C.1350,
belonging to a certain Neferhotep, a priest of Amon. It is quoted
elsewhere in these pages, and here we need only note the ending:
“Come, songs and music are before thee. Set behind thee all cares;
think only upon gladness, until that day cometh wherein thou shalt
go down to the land which loveth silence.”
A Ptolemaic description quoted more fully towards the end of this
chapter reads: “Follow thy desire by night and by day. Put not care
within thy heart.”
The ancient Egyptian peasants, like their modern descendants, were
fatalists, and a happy carelessness seems to have softened the
strenuousness of their daily tasks. The peasants of the present day in
Egypt so lack the initiative to develop the scope of their industries
that their life cannot be said to be strenuous. In whatever work they
undertake, however, they show a wonderful degree of cheerfulness, and a
fine disregard for misfortune. Their forefathers, similarly, went
through their labours with a song upon their lips. In the tombs at
Sakkâra, dating from the Old Empire, there are scenes representing
flocks of goats treading in the seed on the newly-sown ground, and the
inscriptions give the song which the goat-herds sing:--
“The goat-herd is in the water with the fishes,--
He speaks with the _nar_-fish, he talks with the pike;
From the west is your goat-herd; your goat-herd is from the west.”
The meaning of the words is not known, of course, but the song seems to
have been a popular one. A more comprehensible ditty is that sung to the
oxen by their driver, which dates from the New Empire:--
“Thresh out for yourselves, ye oxen, thresh out for yourselves,
Thresh out the straw for your food, and the grain for your masters.
Do not rest yourselves, for it is cool to-day.”
Some of the love-songs have been preserved from destruction, and these
throw much light upon the subject of the Egyptian temperament. A number
of songs, supposed to have been sung by a girl to her lover, form
themselves into a collection entitled “The beautiful and gladsome songs
of thy sister, whom thy heart loves, as she walks in the fields.” The
girl is supposed to belong to the peasant class, and most of the verses
are sung while she is at her daily occupation of snaring wild duck in
the marshes. One must imagine the songs warbled without any particular
refrain, just as in the case of the modern Egyptians, who pour out their
ancient tales of love and adventure in a series of bird-like cadences,
full-throated, and often wonderfully melodious. A peculiar sweetness and
tenderness will be noted in the following examples, and, though they
suffer in translation, their airy lightness and refinement is to be
distinguished. One characteristic song, addressed by the girl to her
lover, runs:--
“Caught by the worm, the wild-duck cries,
But in the love-light of thine eyes
I, trembling, loose the trap. So flies
The bird into the air.
What will my angry mother say?
With basket full I come each day,
But now thy love hath led me stray,
And I have set no snare.”
Again, in a somewhat similar strain, she sings:--
“The wild duck scatter far, and now
Again they light upon the bough
And cry unto their kind;
Anon they gather on the mere--
But yet unharmed I leave them there,
For love hath filled my mind.”
Another song must be given here in prose form. The girl who sings it is
supposed to be making a wreath of flowers, and as she works she
cries:--
“I am thy first sister, and to me thou art as a garden which I have
planted with flowers and all sweet-smelling herbs. And I have
directed a canal into it, that thou mightest dip thy hand into it
when the north wind blows cool. The place is beautiful where we
walk, because we walk together, thy hand resting in mine, our mind
thoughtful and our heart joyful. It is intoxicating to me to hear
thy voice, yet my life depends upon hearing it. Whenever I see thee
it is better for me than food and drink.”
One more song must be quoted, for it is so artless and so full of human
tenderness that I may risk the accusation of straying from the main
argument in repeating it. It runs:--
“The breath of thy nostrils alone
Is that which maketh my heart to live:
I found thee:
God grant thee to me
For ever and ever.”
It is really painful to think of these words as having fallen from the
lips of what is now a resin-smelling lump of bones and hardened flesh,
perhaps still unearthed, perhaps lying in some museum show-case, or
perhaps kicked about in fragments over the hot sand of some
tourist-crowded necropolis. Mummies are the most lifeless objects one
could well imagine. It is impossible even for those whose imaginations
are the most powerful to infuse life into a thing so utterly dead as an
embalmed body; and this fact is partly responsible for that atmosphere
of stark melancholy sobriety and aloofness which surrounds the affairs
of ancient Egypt. In reading these verses, it is imperative for their
right understanding that the mummies and their resting places should be
banished from the thoughts. It is not always a simple matter for the
student to rid himself of the atmosphere of the museum, where the beads
which should be jangling on a brown neck are lying numbered and labelled
on red velvet; where the bird trap, once the centre of such feathered
commotion, is propped up in a glass case as “D, 18, 432”; and where even
the document in which the verses are written is the lawful booty of the
grammarian and philologist in the library. But it is the first duty of
an archæologist to do away with that atmosphere.
Let those who are untrammelled, then, pass out into the sunshine of the
Egyptian fields and marshes, where the wild duck cry to each other as
they scuttle through the tall reeds. Here in the early morning comes our
songstress, and one may see her as clearly as one can that Shulamite of
King Solomon’s day, who has had the good fortune to belong to a land
where stones and bones, being few in number, do not endanger the
atmosphere of the literature. One may see her, her hair moving in the
breeze “as a flock of goats that appear from Mount Gilead”; her teeth
white “as a shorn sheep which came up from the washing”; and her lips
“like a thread of scarlet.” Through such imaginings alone can one
appreciate the songs, or realise the lightness of the manner in which
they were sung.
With such a happy view of life among the upper classes as is indicated
by their philosophy, and with that merry disposition amongst the
peasants which shows itself in their love of song, it is not surprising
to find that asceticism is practically unknown in ancient Egypt before
the time of Christ. At first sight, in reflecting on the mysteries and
religious ceremonies of the nation, we are apt to endow the priests and
other participators with a degree of austerity wholly unjustified by
the facts. We picture the priest chanting his formulæ in the dim light
of the temple, the atmosphere about him heavy with incense; and we
imagine him as an anchorite who has put away the things of this world.
But in reality there seems to have been not even such a thing as a
celibate amongst the priests. Each man had his wife and his family, his
house, and his comforts of food and fine linen. He indulged in the usual
pastimes and was present at the merriest of feasts. The famous wise men
and magicians, such as Uba-ana of the Westcar Papyrus, had their wives,
their parks, their pleasure-pavilions, and their hosts of servants.
Great dignitaries of the Amon Church, such as Amenhotepsase, the Second
Prophet of Amon in the time of Thutmosis IV., are represented as
feasting with their friends, or driving through Thebes in
richly-decorated chariots drawn by prancing horses, and attended by an
array of servants. A monastic life, or the life of an anchorite, was
held by the Egyptians in scorn; and indeed the state of mind which
produces the monk and the hermit was almost entirely unknown to the
nation in dynastic times. It was only in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods
that asceticism came to be practised; and some have thought that its
introduction into Egypt is to be attributed to the preachings of the
Hindoo missionaries sent from India to the court of the Ptolemies. It is
not really an Egyptian characteristic; and its practice did not last for
more than a few centuries.
The religious teachings of the Egyptians before the Ptolemaic era do not
suggest that the mortification of the flesh was a possible means of
purifying the spirit. An appeal to the senses and to the emotions,
however, was considered as a legitimate method of reaching the soul. The
Egyptians were passionately fond of ceremonial display. Their huge
temples, painted as they were with the most brilliant colours, formed
the setting of processions and ceremonies in which music, rhythmic
motion, and colour were brought to a point of excellence. In honour of
some of the gods dances were conducted; while celebrations, such as the
fantastic Feast of Lamps, were held on the anniversaries of religious
events. In these gorgeously spectacular ceremonies there was no place
for anything sombre or austere, nor could they have been conceived by
any but the most life-loving temperaments.
As in his religious functions, so in his home, the Egyptian regarded
brilliancy and festivity as an edification. When in trouble or distress,
he was wont to relieve his mind as readily by an appeal to the vanities
of this world as by an invocation of the powers of Heaven. Thus, when
King Sneferu, of Dynasty IV., was oppressed with the cares of state, his
councillor Zazamankh constructed for him a pleasure boat which was rowed
around a lake by the most beautiful damsels obtainable. And again, when
Wenamon, the envoy of Herhor of Dynasty XXI., had fallen into trouble
with the pirates of the Mediterranean, his depression was banished by
the gift of a dancing-girl, two vessels of wine, a young goat of tender
flesh, and a message which read--“Eat and drink, and let not thy heart
feel apprehension.”
An intense craving for brightness and cheerfulness is to be observed on
all sides, and the attempt to cover every action of life with a kind of
lustre is perhaps the most apparent characteristic of the race. At all
times the Egyptians decked themselves with flowers, and rich and poor
alike breathed what they called “the sweet north wind” through a screen
of blossoms. At their feasts and festivals each guest was presented with
necklaces and crowns of lotus-flowers, and a specially selected bouquet
was carried in the hands. Constantly, as the hours passed, fresh flowers
were brought in to them, and the guests are shown in the tomb paintings
in the act of burying their noses in the delicate petals with an air of
luxury which even the conventionalities of the draughtsman cannot hide.
In the woman’s hair a flower was pinned which hung down before the
forehead; and a cake of ointment, concocted of some sweet-smelling
unguent, was so arranged upon the head that, as it slowly melted, it
re-perfumed the flower. Complete wreaths of flowers were sometimes worn,
and this was the custom as much in the dress of the home as in that of
the feast. The common people also arrayed themselves with wreaths of
lotuses at all galas and carnivals. The room in which a feast was held
was decorated lavishly with flowers. Blossoms crept up the delicate
pillars to the roof; garlands twined themselves around the tables and
about the jars of wine; and single buds lay in every dish of food. Even
the dead were decked in the tombs with a mass of flowers, as though the
mourners would hide with the living delights of the earth the misery of
the grave.
The Egyptian loved his garden, and filled it with all manner of
beautiful flowers. Great parks were laid out by the Pharaohs, and it is
recorded of Thutmosis III., that he brought back from his Asiatic
campaigns vast quantities of rare plants with which to beautify Thebes.
Festivals were held at the season when the flowers were in full bloom,
and the light-hearted Egyptian did not fail to make the flowers talk to
him, in the imagination, of the delights of life. In one case a fig-tree
is made to call to a passing maiden to come into its shade.
“Come,” it says, “and spend this festal day, and to-morrow, and the
day after to-morrow, sitting in my shadow. Let thy lover sit at thy
side, and let him drink.... Thy servants will come with the dinner
things--they will bring drink of every kind, with all manner of
cakes, flowers of yesterday and of to-day, and all kinds of
refreshing fruit.”
Than this one could hardly find a more convincing indication of the
gaiety of the Egyptian temperament. In the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries A.D., the people were so oppressed that any display of luxury
was discouraged, and a happy smile brought the tax-collector to the door
to ascertain whether it was due to financial prosperity. But the
carrying of flowers, and other indications of a kind of unworried
contentment, are now again becoming apparent on all sides.
The affection displayed by the Egyptians for bright colours would alone
indicate that their temperament was not melancholic. The houses of the
rich were painted with colours which would be regarded as crude had they
appeared in the Occident, but which are admissible in Egypt, where the
natural brilliancy of the sunshine and the scenery demands a more
extreme colour-scheme in decoration. The pavilions in which the nobles
“made a happy day,” as they phrased it, were painted with the most
brilliant wall-decorations, and the delicately shaped lotus columns
supporting the roof were striped with half a dozen colours, and were
hung with streamers of linen. The ceilings and pavements seem to have
afforded the artists a happy field for a display of their originality
and skill, and it is on these stretches of smooth-plastered surface that
gems of Egyptian art are often found. A pavement from the palace of
Akhnaton at Tell el Amârna shows a scene in which a cow is depicted
frisking through the reeds, and birds are represented flying over the
marshes. In the palace of Amenophis III. at Gurneh there was a ceiling
decoration representing a flight of doves, which, in its delicacy of
execution and colouring, is not to be classed with the crude forms of
Egyptian decoration, but indicates an equally light-hearted temperament
in its creator. It is not probable that either bright colours or
daintiness of design would emanate from the brains of a sombre-minded
people.
Some of the feminine garments worn in ancient Egypt were exceedingly
gaudy, and they made up in colour all that they lacked in variety of
design. In the Middle and New Empires the robes of the men were as
many-hued as their wall decorations, and as rich in composition. One may
take as a typical example the costume of a certain priest who lived at
the end of Dynasty XVIII. An elaborate wig covers his head; a richly
ornamented necklace surrounds his neck; the upper part of his body is
clothed in a tunic of gauze-like linen; as a skirt there is swathed
around him the most delicately coloured fine linen, one end of which is
brought up and thrown gracefully over his arm; decorated sandals cover
his feet and curl up over his toes; and in his hand he carries a
jewelled wand surmounted by feathers. It would be an absurdity to state
that these folds of fine linen hid a heart set on things higher than
this world and its vanities. Nor do the objects of daily use found in
the tombs suggest any austerity in the Egyptian character. There is no
reflection of the underworld to be looked for in the ornamental bronze
mirrors, nor smell of death in the frail perfume pots. Religious
abstraction is not to be sought in lotus-formed drinking-cups, and
mortification of the body is certainly not practised on golden chairs
and soft cushions. These were the objects buried in the tombs of the
priests and religious teachers.
The puritanical tendency of a race can generally be discovered by a
study of the personal names of the people. The names by which the
Egyptians called their children are as gay as they are pretty, and lack
entirely the Puritan character. “Eyes-of-love,” “My-lady-is-as-gold,”
“Cool-breeze,” “Gold-and-lapis-lazuli,” “Beautiful-morning,”
are Egyptian names very far removed from
“Through-trials-and-tribulations-we-enter-into-the-Kingdom-of-Heaven-Jones,”
which is the actual name of a modern scion of a Puritan family. And the
well-known “Praise-God Barebones” has little to do with the Egyptian
“Beautiful-Kitten,” “Little-Wild-Lion,” “I-have-wanted-you,”
“Sweetheart,” and so on.
The nature of the folk-tales is equally indicative of the temperament of
a nation. The stories which have come down to us from ancient Egypt are
often as frivolous as they are quaint. Nothing delighted the Egyptians
more than listening to a tale told by an expert story-teller; and it is
to be supposed that such persons were in as much demand in the old days
as they are now. One may still read of the adventures of the Prince who
was fated to die by a dog, a snake, or a crocodile; of the magician who
made the waters of the lake heap themselves up that he might descend to
the bottom dry-shod to recover a lady’s jewel; of the fat old wizard who
would cut a man’s head off and join it again to his body; of the fairy
godmothers who made presents to a new-born babe; of the shipwrecked
sailor who was thrown up on an island inhabited by a serpent with a
human nature; of the princess in the tower whose lovers spent their days
in attempting to climb to her window--and so on. The stories have no
moral, they are not pompous: they are purely amusing, interesting and
romantic. As an example one may quote the story which is told of Prince
Setna, the son of Rameses II. This Prince was one day sitting in the
court of the temple of Ptah, when he saw a woman pass, “beautiful
exceedingly, there being no woman of her beauty.” There were wonderful
golden ornaments upon her, and she was attended by fifty-two persons,
themselves of some rank and much beauty. “The hour that Setna saw her,
he knew not the place on earth where he was”; and he called to his
servants and told them to “go quickly to the place where she is, and
learn what comes under her command.” The beautiful lady proved finally
to be named Tabubna, the daughter of a priest of Bast, the Cat. Setna’s
acquaintance with her was later of a most disgraceful character; and,
from motives which are not clear, she made him murder his own children
to please her. At the critical moment, however, when the climax is
reached, the old, old joke is played upon the listener, who is told that
Setna then woke up, and discovered that the whole affair had been an
afternoon dream in the shade of the temple court.
The Egyptians often amused themselves by drawing comic pictures and
caricatures, and there is an interesting series still preserved in which
animals take the place of human beings, and are shown performing all
manner of antics. One sees a cat walking on its hind legs driving a
flock of geese, while a wolf carrying a staff and knapsack leads a herd
of goats. There is a battle of the mice and cats, and the king of the
mice in his chariot drawn by two dogs, is seen attacking the fortress of
the cats. A picture which is worthy of Edward Lear shows a ridiculous
hippopotamus seated amidst the foliage of a tree, eating from a table,
whilst a crow mounts a ladder to wait upon him. There are caricatures
showing women of fashion rouging their faces, unshaven and really
amusing old tramps, and so forth. Even upon the walls of the tombs there
are often comic pictures, in which one may see little girls fighting and
tearing each other’s hair, men tumbling one over another as they play,
and the like; and one must suppose that these were the scenes which the
owner of the tomb wished to perpetuate throughout the eternity of Death.
The Egyptians took keen delight in music. In the sound of the trumpet
and on the well-tuned cymbals they praised God in Egypt as merrily as
the Psalmist could wish. The strings and the pipe, the lute and the
harp, made music at every festival--religious, national, or private.
Plato tells us that “nothing but beautiful forms and fine music was
permitted to enter into the assemblies of young people” in Egypt; and he
states that music was considered as being of the greatest consequence
for its beneficial effects upon youthful minds. Strabo records the fact
that music was largely taught in Egypt, and the numbers of musical
instruments buried in the tombs or represented in the decorations
confirm his statement. The music was scientifically taught and a
knowledge of harmony is apparent in the complicated forms of the
instruments. The harps sometimes had as many as twenty-two strings; the
long-handled guitars, fitted with three strings, were capable of wide
gradations; and the flutes were sufficiently complicated to be described
by early writers as “many-toned.” The Egyptian did not merely bang a
drum with his fist because it made a noise, nor blow blasts upon a
trumpet as a means of expressing the inexpressible. He was an educated
musician, and he employed the medium of music to encourage his lightness
of heart and to render his gaiety more gay.
One sees representations of the women in a rich man’s harîm amusing
themselves by dancing and singing. In the tomb of Ay there is a scene
showing the interior of the women’s quarters, and here the ladies are
shown dancing, playing guitars, feasting or adorning themselves with
their jewellery; while the store-rooms are seen to be filled with all
manner of musical instruments, as well as mirrors, boxes of clothes, and
articles of feminine use. At feasts and banquets a string band played
during the meal, and songs were sung to the accompaniment of the harp.
At religious festivals choruses of male and female voices were
introduced. Soldiers marched through the streets to the sound of
trumpets and drums, and marriage processions and the like were led by a
band. At the feasts it was customary for all the dancing girls, who were
employed for the amusement of the guests, to perform their dances and
to play a guitar or a flute at the same time. One sees representations
of girls, their heads thrown back and their long hair flying, merrily
twanging a guitar as they skip round the room. In the civil and
religious processions many of the participators danced along as though
from sheer lightness of heart; and on some occasions even the band
footed it down the high-road, circling, jumping, and skipping as they
played.
The words for “rejoice” and “dance” were synonymous in the literature of
the Egyptians. In early days dancing naturally implied rejoicing, and
rejoicing was most easily expressed by dancing. But the Egyptians of the
refined periods more often danced to amuse themselves, regarding it,
just as we do at the present day, as an exhilaration. Persons of the
upper classes, however, did not indulge very freely in it, but preferred
to watch the performances of professional dancers. At all banquets
dancing was as indispensable as wine, women and song, and it rather
depended on the nature of the wine and women as to whether the guests
joined personally in the sport or sat still while the dancers swayed
around the room. The professionals were generally women, but sometimes
men were employed, and one sees representations of a man performing some
difficult solo while a chorus of women sings and marks time by clapping
the hands. Men and women danced together on occasions, but as a general
rule the Egyptian preferred to watch the movements of the more graceful
sex by themselves. The women sometimes danced naked, to show off the
grace of their poses and the suppleness of their muscles; sometimes they
were decked with ribbons only; and sometimes they wore transparent
dresses made of linen of the finest texture. It was not unusual for them
to carry tambourines and castanets with which to beat time to their
dances. On the other hand, there were delicate and sober performances,
unaccompanied by music. The paintings show some of the poses to have
been exceedingly graceful, and there were character dances enacted in
which the figures must have been highly dramatic and artistic. For
example, the tableau which occurs in one dance, and is called “The
Wind,” shows two of the dancing-girls bent back like reeds when the wind
blows upon them, while a third figure stands over them in protection, as
though symbolising the immovable rocks.
But more usually the merry mood of the Egyptian asserted itself, as it
so often does at the present day, in a demand for something approaching
nearer to buffoonery. The dancers whirled one another about in the
wildest manner, often tumbling head over heels on the floor. A trick,
attended apparently with success, consisted in the attempt by the
dancers to balance the body upon the head without the support of the
arms. This buffoonery was highly appreciated by the audience which
witnessed it; and the banqueting-room must have been full of the noise
of riotous mirth. One cannot, indeed, regard a feast as pompous or
solemn at which the banging of the tambourines and the click of
castanets vied with the clatter of the dishes and the laughter of the
guests in creating a general hullabaloo. Let those state who will that
the Egyptian was a gloomy individual, but first let them not fail to
observe that same Egyptian trying to stand upon his head amidst the
roars of laughter of his friends.
Dancing as a religious ceremony is to be found in many primitive
countries, and in Egypt it exists at the present day in more than one
form. In the days of the Pharaohs it was customary to institute dances
in honour of some of the gods, more especially those deities whose
concerns were earthly--that is to say, those connected with love, joy,
birth, death, fertility, reproduction, and so on. It will be remembered
how David danced before the ark of the Lord, and how his ancestors
danced in honour of the golden calf. In Egypt the king was wont to dance
before the great god Min of the crops, and at harvest-time the peasants
performed their thanksgiving before the figures of Min in this manner.
Hathor and Bast, the two great goddesses of pleasure, were worshipped in
the dance. Hathor was mistress of sports and dancing, and patron of
amusements and mirth, joy, and pleasure, beauty and love; and in regard
to the happy temperament of the Egyptians, it is significant that this
goddess was held in the highest esteem throughout the history of the
nation.
Bast was honoured by a festival which for merriment and frivolity could
not well be equalled. The festival took place at Bubastis, and is
described by Herodotus in the following words:--
“This is the nature of the ceremony on the way to Bubastis. They go
by water, and numerous boats are crowded with persons of both
sexes. During the voyage several women strike the cymbals, some men
play the flute, the rest singing and clapping their hands. As they
pass near a town they bring the boat close to the bank. Some of the
women continue to sing and play the cymbals; others cry out as long
as they can, and utter mocking jests against the people of the
town, who begin to dance, while the former pull up their clothes
before them in a scoffing manner. The same is repeated at every
town they pass on the river. Arrived at Bubastis, they celebrate
the festival of Bast, sacrificing a great number of victims, and on
that occasion a greater consumption of wine takes place than during
the whole of the year.”
At this festival of Bast half the persons taking part in the
celebrations must have become intoxicated. The Egyptians were always
given to wine-drinking, and Athenæus goes so far as to say that they
were a nation addicted to systematic intemperance. The same writer on
the authority of Hellanicus, states that the vine was cultivated in the
Nile Valley at a date earlier than that at which it was first grown by
any other people; and it is to this circumstance that Dion attributes
the Egyptian’s love of wine. Strabo and other writers speak of the wines
of Egypt as being particularly good, and various kinds emanating from
different localities are mentioned. The wines made from grapes were of
the red and white varieties; but there were also fruit wines, made from
pomegranates and other fruits. In the list of offerings inscribed on the
walls of temples and tombs one sees a large number of varieties
recorded--wines from the North, wines from the South, wines provincial,
and wines foreign. Beer, made of barley, was also drunk very largely,
and this beverage is heartily commended by the early writers. Indeed,
the wine and beer-bibber was so common an offender against the dignity
of the nation, that every moralist who arose had a word to say against
him. Thus, for example, in the maxims of Ani one finds the moralist
writing:--
“Do not put thyself in a beer-house. An evil thing are words
reported as coming from thy mouth when thou dost not know that they
have been said by thee. When thou fallest thy limbs are broken,
and nobody givest thee a hand. Thy comrades in drink stand up,
saying ‘Away with this drunken man.’”
The less thoughtful members of society, however, considered drunkenness
as a very good joke, and even went so far as to portray it in their tomb
decorations. One sees men carried home from the feast across the
shoulders of three of their companions, or ignominiously hauled out of
the house by their ankles and the scruff of their neck. In the tomb of
Paheri at El Kab women are represented at a feast, and scraps of their
conversation are recorded, such, for instance, as “Give me eighteen cups
of wine, for I should love to drink to drunkenness: my inside is as dry
as straw.” There are actually representations of women overcome with
nausea through immoderate drinking, and being attended by servants who
have hastened with basins to their assistance. In another tomb-painting,
a drunken man is seen to have fallen against one of the delicate pillars
of the pavilion with such force that it has toppled over, to the dismay
of the guests around.
In the light of such scenes as these one may picture the life of an
Egyptian in the elder days as being not a little depraved. One sees the
men in their gaudy raiment, and the women luxuriously clothed, staining
their garments with the wine spilt from the drinking bowls as their
hands shake with their drunken laughter; and the vision of Egyptian
solemnity is still further banished at the sight. It is only too obvious
that a land of laughter and jest, feasting and carouse, must be situated
too near a Pompeian volcano to be capable of endurance and the
inhabitants too purposeless in their movements to avoid at some time or
other running into the paths of burning lava. The people of Egypt went
merrily through the radiant valley in which they lived, employing all
that the gods had given them--not only the green palms, the thousand
birds, the blue sky, the hearty wind, the river and its reflections, but
also the luxuries of their civilisation--to make for themselves a frail
feast of happiness. And when the last flowers, the latest empty
drinking-cup, fell to the ground, nothing remained to them but that
sodden, drunken night of disgrace which so shocks one at the end of
dynastic history, and which inevitably led to the fall of the nation.
Christian asceticism came as the natural reaction and Mohammedan
strictness followed in due course; and it required the force of both
these movements to put strength and health into the people once more.
One need not dwell, however, on this aspect of the Egyptian temperament.
It is more pleasing, and as pertinent to the argument, to follow the old
lords of the Nile into the sunshine once more, and to glance for a
moment at their sports. Hunting was a pleasure to them, in which they
indulged at every opportunity. One sees representations of this with
great frequency upon the walls of the tombs. A man will be shown
standing in a reed boat which has been pushed in amongst the waving
papyrus. A boomerang is in his hand, and his wife by his side helps him
to locate the wild duck, so that he may penetrate within
throwing-distance of the birds before they rise. Presently up they go
with a whir, and the boomerang claims its victims; while all manner of
smaller birds dart amidst the reeds, and gaudy butterflies pass startled
overhead. Again one sees the hunter galloping in his chariot over the
hard sand of the desert, shooting his arrows at the gazelle as he goes.
Or yet again with his dogs he is shown in pursuit of the long-eared
Egyptian hare, or of some other creature of the desert. When not thus
engaged he may be seen excitedly watching a bull-fight, or eagerly
judging the merits of rival wrestlers, boxers, and fencers. One may
follow him later into the seclusion of his garden, where, surrounded by
a wealth of trees and flowers, he plays draughts with his friends, romps
with his children, or fishes in his artificial pond.
There is much evidence of this nature to show that the Egyptian was as
much given to these healthy amusements as he was to the mirth of the
feast. Josephus states that the Egyptians were a people addicted to
pleasure, and the evidence brought together in the foregoing pages shows
that his statement is to be confirmed. In sincere joy of living they
surpassed any other nation of the ancient world. Life was a thing of
such delight to the Egyptian, that he shrank equally from losing it
himself and from taking it from another. His prayer was that he might
live to be a centenarian. In spite of the many wars of the Egyptians,
there was less unnecessary bloodshed in the Nile Valley than in any
other country which called itself civilised. Death was as terrible to
them as it was inevitable, and the constant advice of the thinker was
that the living should make the most of their life. When a king died, it
was said that “he went forth to heaven having spent life in happiness,”
or that “he rested after life, having completed his years in happiness.”
It is true that the Egyptians wished to picture the after-life as one of
continuous joy. One sees representations of a man’s soul seated in the
shade of the fruit-trees of the Underworld, while birds sing in the
branches above him, and a lake of cool water lies before him; but they
seemed to know that this was too pleasant a picture to be a real one. A
woman, the wife of the high priest, left upon her tombstone the
following inscription, addressed to her husband:
“O, brother, husband, friend,” she says, “thy desire to drink and
to eat has not ceased. Therefore be drunken, enjoy the love of
women--make holiday. Follow thy desire by night and by day. Put not
care within thy heart. Lo! are not these the years of thy life upon
earth? For as for the Underworld, it is a land of slumber and heavy
darkness, a resting-place for those who have passed within. Each
sleepeth there in his own form, they never awake to see their
fellows, they behold not their fathers nor their mothers, their
heart is careless of their wives and children.”
She knows that she will be too deeply steeped in the stupor of the
Underworld to remember her husband, and unselfishly she urges him to
continue to be happy after the manner of his nation. Then, in a passage
which rings down the years in its terrible beauty, she tells of her
utter despair, lying in the gloomy Underworld, suffocated with the mummy
bandages, and craving for the light, the laughter, and the coolness of
the day.
“The water of life,” she cries, “with which every mouth is
moistened, is corruption to me, the water that is by me corrupteth
me. I know not what to do since I came into this valley. Give me
running water; say to me, ‘Water shall not cease to be brought to
thee.’ Turn my face to the north wind upon the edge of the water.
Verily thus shall my heart be cooled and refreshed from its pain.”
It is, however, the glory of life, rather than the horror of death which
is the dominant note in the inscriptions and reliefs. The scenes in the
tomb decorations seem to cry out for very joy. The artist has imprisoned
in his representations as much sheer happiness as was ever infused into
cold stone. One sees there the gazelle leaping over the hills as the sun
rises, the birds flapping their wings and singing, the wild duck rising
from the marshes, and the butterflies flashing overhead. The fundamental
joy of living--the gaiety of life which the human being may feel in
common with the animals--is shown in these scenes as clearly as is the
merriment in the representations of feasts and dancing. In these
paintings and reliefs one finds an exact illustration to the joyful
exhortation of the Psalmist as he cries, “Let the heavens rejoice, and
let the earth be glad; ... let the fields be joyful, and all that is
therein.” In a land where, to quote one of their own poems, “the tanks
are full of water and the earth overflows with love,” where “the cool
north wind” blows merrily over the fields, and the sun never ceases to
shine, it would be a remarkable phenomenon if the ancient Egyptians had
not developed the sanguine temperament. The foregoing pages have shown
them at their feasts, in their daily occupations, and in their sports,
and the reader will find that it is not difficult to describe them, in
the borrowed words of the old geographer, as a people always gay and
never-ceasingly “fond of dancing and red wine.”