Uarda : a Romance of Ancient Egypt — Complete

by Georg Ebers

  CHAPTER XIV.

  Pentauer also soon quitted the but of the paraschites.

  Lost in meditation, he went along the hill-path which led to the templewhich Ameni had put under his direction.

  [This temple is well proportioned, and remains in good preservation. Copies of the interesting pictures discovered in it are to be found in the "Fleet of an Egyptian queen" by Dutnichen. Other details may be found in Lepsius' Monuments of Egypt, and a plan of the place has recently been published by Mariette.]

  He foresaw many disturbed and anxious hours in the immediate future.

  The sanctuary of which he was the superior, had been dedicated to herown memory, and to the goddess Hathor, by Hatasu,

  [The daughter of Thotmes I., wife of her brother Thotmes II., and predecessor of her second brother Thotmes III. An energetic woman who executed great works, and caused herself to be represented with the helmet and beard-case of a man.]

  a great queen of the dethroned dynasty.

  The priests who served it were endowed with peculiar charteredprivileges, which hitherto had been strictly respected. Their dignitywas hereditary, going down from father to son, and they had the right ofchoosing their director from among themselves.

  Now their chief priest Rui was ill and dying, and Ameni, under whosejurisdiction they came, had, without consulting them, sent the youngpoet Pentaur to fill his place.

  They had received the intruder most unwillingly, and combined stronglyagainst him when it became evident that he was disposed to establisha severe rule and to abolish many abuses which had become establishedcustoms.

  They had devolved the greeting of the rising sun on the temple-servants;Pentaur required that the younger ones at least should take partin chanting the morning hymn, and himself led the choir. They hadtrafficked with the offerings laid on the altar of the Goddess; the newmaster repressed this abuse, as well as the extortions of which theywere guilty towards women in sorrow, who visited the temple of Hathor ingreater number than any other sanctuary.

  The poet-brought up in the temple of Seti to self-control, order,exactitude, and decent customs, deeply penetrated with a sense of thedignity of his position, and accustomed to struggle with special zealagainst indolence of body and spirit--was disgusted with the slothfullife and fraudulent dealings of his subordinates; and the deeper insightwhich yesterday's experience had given him into the poverty and sorrowof human existence, made him resolve with increased warmth that he wouldawake them to a new life.

  The conviction that the lazy herd whom he commanded was called upon topour consolation into a thousand sorrowing hearts, to dry innumerabletears, and to clothe the dry sticks of despair with the fresh verdure ofhope, urged him to strong measures.

  Yesterday he had seen how, with calm indifference, they had listened tothe deserted wife, the betrayed maiden, to the woman, who imploredthe withheld blessing of children, to the anxious mother, the forlornwidow,--and sought only to take advantage of sorrow, to extort gifts forthe Goddess, or better still for their own pockets or belly.

  Now he was nearing the scene of his new labors.

  There stood the reverend building, rising stately from the valley onfour terraces handsomely and singularly divided, and resting on thewestern side against the high amphitheatre of yellow cliffs.

  On the closely-joined foundation stones gigantic hawks were carved inrelief, each with the emblem of life, and symbolized Horus, the son ofthe Goddess, who brings all that fades to fresh bloom, and all that diesto resurrection.

  On each terrace stood a hall open to the east, and supported on two andtwenty archaic pillars.

  [Polygonal pillars, which were used first in tomb-building under the 12th dynasty, and after the expulsion of the Hyksos under the kings of the 17th and 18th, in public buildings; but under the subsequent races of kings they ceased to be employed.]

  On their inner walls elegant pictures and inscriptions in the finestsculptured work recorded, for the benefit of posterity, the great thingsthat Hatasu had done with the help of the Gods of Thebes.

  There were the ships which she had to send to Punt

  [Arabia; apparently also the coast of east Africa south of Egypt as far as Somali. The latest of the lists published by Mariette, of the southern nations conquered by Thotmes III., mentions it. This list was found on the pylon of the temple of Karnak.]

  to enrich Egypt with the treasures of the east; there the wondersbrought to Thebes from Arabia might be seen; there were delineatedthe houses of the inhabitants of the land of frankincense, and all thefishes of the Red Sea, in distinct and characteristic outline.

  On the third and fourth terraces were the small adjoining rooms ofHatasu and her brothers Thotmes II. and III., which were built againstthe rock, and entered by granite doorways. In them purificationswere accomplished, the images of the Goddess worshipped, and the moredistinguished worshippers admitted to confess. The sacred cows of theGoddess were kept in a side-building.

  As Pentaur approached the great gate of the terrace-temple, he becamethe witness of a scene which filled him with resentment.

  A woman implored to be admitted into the forecourt, to pray at thealtar of the Goddess for her husband, who was very ill, but the sleekgate-keeper drove her back with rough words.

  "It is written up," said he, pointing to the inscription over the gate,"only the purified may set their foot across this threshold, and youcannot be purified but by the smoke of incense."

  "Then swing the censer for me," said the woman, and take this silverring--it is all I have."

  "A silver ring!" cried the porter, indignantly. "Shall the goddess beimpoverished for your sake! The grains of Anta, that would be used inpurifying you, would cost ten times as much."

  "But I have no more," replied the woman, "my husband, for whom I come topray, is ill; he cannot work, and my children--"

  "You fatten them up and deprive the goddess of her due," cried thegate-keeper. "Three rings down, or I shut the gate."

  "Be merciful," said the woman, weeping. "What will become of us ifHathor does not help my husband?"

  "Will our goddess fetch the doctor?" asked the porter. "She hassomething to do besides curing sick starvelings. Besides, that is nother office. Go to Imhotep or to Chunsu the counsellor, or to the greatTechuti herself, who helps the sick. There is no quack medicine to begot here."

  "I only want comfort in my trouble," said the woman.

  "Comfort!" laughed the gate-keeper, measuring the comely young womanwith his eye. "That you may have cheaper."

  The woman turned pale, and drew back from the hand the man stretched outtowards her.

  At this moment Pentaur, full of wrath, stepped between them.

  He raised his hand in blessing over the woman, who bent low before him,and said, "Whoever calls fervently on the Divinity is near to him. Youare pure. Enter."

  As soon as she had disappeared within the temple, the priest turned tothe gate-keeper and exclaimed: "Is this how you serve the goddess, isthis how you take advantage of a heart-wrung woman? Give me the keys ofthis gate. Your office is taken from you, and early to-morrow you go outin the fields, and keep the geese of Hathor."

  The porter threw himself on his knees with loud outcries; but Pentaurturned his back upon him, entered the sanctuary, and mounted the stepswhich led to his dwelling on the third terrace.

  A few priests whom he passed turned their backs upon him, others lookeddown at their dinners, eating noisily, and making as if they did notsee him. They had combined strongly, and were determined to expel theinconvenient intruder at any price.

  Having reached his room, which had been splendidly decorated for hispredecessor, Pentaur laid aside his new insignia, comparing sorrowfullythe past and the present.

  To what an exchange Ameni had condemned him! Here, wherever he looked,he met with sulkiness and aversion; while, when he walked through thecourts of the House of Seti, a hundred boys would hurry towards him, andcling affectionately to his
robe. Honored there by great and small, hisevery word had had its value; and when each day he gave utterance to histhoughts, what he bestowed came back to him refined by earnest discoursewith his associates and superiors, and he gained new treasures for hisinner life.

  "What is rare," thought he, "is full of charm; and yet how hard it isto do without what is habitual!" The occurrences of the last few dayspassed before his mental sight. Bent-Anat's image appeared before him,and took a more and more distinct and captivating form. His heart beganto beat wildly, the blood rushed faster through his veins; he hid hisface in his hands, and recalled every glance, every word from her lips.

  "I follow thee willingly," she had said to him before the hut of theparaschites. Now he asked himself whether he were worthy of such afollower.

  He had indeed broken through the old bonds, but not to disgrace thehouse that was dear to him, only to let new light into its dim chambers.

  "To do what we have earnestly felt to be right," said he to himself,"may seem worthy of punishment to men, but cannot before God."

  He sighed and walked out into the terrace in a mood of lofty excitement,and fully resolved to do here nothing but what was right, to lay thefoundation of all that was good.

  "We men," thought he, "prepare sorrow when we come into the world, andlamentation when we leave it; and so it is our duty in the intermediatetime to fight with suffering, and to sow the seeds of joy. There aremany tears here to be wiped away. To work then!" The poet found none ofhis subordinates on the upper terrace. They had all met in the forecourtof the temple, and were listening to the gate-keeper's tale, and seemedto sympathize with his angry complaint--against whom Pentaur well knew.

  With a firm step he went towards them and said:

  "I have expelled this man from among us, for he is a disgrace to us.To-morrow he quits the temple."

  "I will go at once," replied the gate-keeper defiantly, "and in behalfof the holy fathers (here he cast a significant glance at the priests),ask the high-priest Ameni if the unclean are henceforth to be permittedto enter this sanctuary."

  He was already approaching the gate, but Pentaur stepped before him,saying resolutely:

  "You will remain here and keep the geese to-morrow, day after to-morrow,and until I choose to pardon you." The gate-keeper looked enquiringly atthe priests. Not one moved.

  "Go back into your house," said Pentaur, going closer to him.

  The porter obeyed.

  Pentaur locked the door of the little room, gave the key to one of thetemple-servants, and said: "Perform his duty, watch the man, and if heescapes you will go after the geese to-morrow too. See, my friends,how many worshippers kneel there before our altars--go and fulfil youroffice. I will wait in the confessional to receive complaints, and toadminister comfort."

  The priests separated and went to the votaries. Pentaur once moremounted the steps, and sat down in the narrow confessional which wasclosed by a curtain; on its wall the picture of Hatasu was to be seen,drawing the milk of eternal life from the udders of the cow Hathor.

  He had hardly taken his place when a temple-servant announced thearrival of a veiled lady. The bearers of her litter were thickly veiled,and she had requested to be conducted to the confession chamber. Theservant handed Pentaur a token by which the high-priest of the greattemple of Anion, on the other bank of the Nile, granted her theprivilege of entering the inner rooms of the temple with the Rechiu, andto communicate with all priests, even with the highest of the initiated.

  The poet withdrew behind a curtain, and awaited the stranger with adisquiet that seemed to him all the more singular that he had frequentlyfound himself in a similar position. Even the noblest dignitaries hadoften been transferred to him by Ameni when they had come to the templeto have their visions interpreted.

  A tall female figure entered the still, sultry stone room, sank onher knees, and put up a long and absorbed prayer before the figure ofHathor. Pentaur also, seen by no one, lifted his hands, and ferventlyaddressed himself to the omnipresent spirit with a prayer for strengthand purity.

  Just as his arms fell the lady raised her head. It was as though theprayers of the two souls had united to mount upwards together.

  The veiled lady rose and dropped her veil.

  It was Bent-Anat.

  In the agitation of her soul she had sought the goddess Hathor, whoguides the beating heart of woman and spins the threads which bind manand wife.

  "High mistress of heaven! many-named and beautiful!" she began to prayaloud, "golden Hathor! who knowest grief and ecstasy--the present andthe future--draw near to thy child, and guide the spirit of thy servant,that he may advise me well. I am the daughter of a father who is greatand noble and truthful as one of the Gods. He advises me--he will nevercompel me--to yield to a man whom I can never love. Nay, another has metme, humble in birth but noble in spirit and in gifts--"

  Thus far, Pentaur, incapable of speech, had overheard the princess.

  Ought he to remain concealed and hear all her secret, or should he stepforth and show himself to her? His pride called loudly to him: "Nowshe will speak your name; you are the chosen one of the fairest andnoblest." But another voice to which he had accustomed himself to listenin severe self-discipline made itself heard, and said--"Let her saynothing in ignorance, that she need be ashamed of if she knew."

  He blushed for her;--he opened the curtain and went forward into thepresence of Bent-Anat.

  The Princess drew back startled.

  "Art thou Pentaur," she asked, "or one of the Immortals?"

  "I am Pentaur," he answered firmly, "a man with all the weakness of hisrace, but with a desire for what is good. Linger here and pour out thysoul to our Goddess; my whole life shall be a prayer for thee."

  The poet looked full at her; then he turned quickly, as if to avoid adanger, towards the door of the confessional.

  Bent-Anat called his name, and he stayed his steps:

  "The daughter of Rameses," she said, "need offer no justification ofher appearance here, but the maiden Bent-Anat," and she colored as shespoke, "expected to find, not thee, but the old priest Rui, and shedesired his advice. Now leave me to pray."

  Bent-Anat sank on her knees, and Pentaur went out into the open air.

  When the princess too had left the confessional, loud voices were heardon the south side of the terrace on which they stood.

  She hastened towards the parapet.

  "Hail to Pentaur!" was shouted up from below. The poet rushed forward,and placed himself near the princess. Both looked down into the valley,and could be seen by all.

  "Hail, hail! Pentaur," was called doubly loud, "Hail to our teacher!come back to the House of Seti. Down with the persecutors ofPentaur--down with our oppressors!"

  At the head of the youths, who, so soon as they had found out whitherthe poet had been exiled, had escaped to tell him that they werefaithful to him, stood the prince Rameri, who nodded triumphantly tohis sister, and Anana stepped forward to inform the honored teacher in asolemn and well-studied speech, that, in the event of Ameni refusing torecall him, they had decided requesting their fathers to place them atanother school.

  The young sage spoke well, and Bent-Anat followed his words, not withoutapprobation; but Pentaur's face grew darker, and before his favoritedisciple had ended his speech he interrupted him sternly.

  His voice was at first reproachful, and then complaining, and loud as hespoke, only sorrow rang in his tones, and not anger.

  "In truth," he concluded, "every word that I have spoken to you I couldbut find it in me to regret, if it has contributed to encourage you tothis mad act. You were born in palaces; learn to obey, that later youmay know how to command. Back to your school! You hesitate? Then I willcome out against you with the watchman, and drive you back, for you dome and yourselves small honor by such a proof of affection. Go back tothe school you belong to."

  The school-boys dared make no answer, but surprised and disenchantedturned to go home.

  Bent-Anat cast down he
r eyes as she met those of her brother,who shrugged his shoulders, and then she looked half shyly, halfrespectfully, at the poet; but soon again her eyes turned to the plainbelow, for thick dust-clouds whirled across it, the sound of hoofs andthe rattle of wheels became audible, and at the same moment the chariotof Septah, the chief haruspex, and a vehicle with the heavily-armedguard of the House of Seti, stopped near the terrace.

  The angry old man sprang quickly to the ground, called the host ofescaped pupils to him in a stern voice, ordered the guard to drive themback to the school, and hurried up to the temple gates like a vigorousyouth. The priests received him with the deepest reverence, and at oncelaid their complaints before him.

  He heard them willingly, but did not let them discuss the matter; then,though with some difficulty, he quickly mounted the steps, down whichBent-Anat came towards him.

  The princess felt that she would divert all the blame andmisunderstanding to herself, if Septah recognized her; her handinvoluntarily reached for her veil, but she drew it back quickly, lookedwith quiet dignity into the old man's eyes, which flashed with anger,and proudly passed by him. The haruspex bowed, but without giving herhis blessing, and when he met Pentaur on the second terrace, orderedthat the temple should be cleared of worshippers.

  This was done in a few minutes, and the priests were witnesses ofthe most painful, scene which had occurred for years in their quietsanctuary.

  The head of the haruspices of the House of Seti was the most determinedadversary of the poet who had so early been initiated into themysteries, and whose keen intellect often shook those very rampartswhich the zealous old man had, from conviction, labored to strengthenfrom his youth up. The vexatious occurrences, of which he had been awitness at the House of Seti, and here also but a few minutes since, heregarded as the consequence of the unbridled license of an ill-regulatedimagination, and in stern language he called Pentaur to account for the"revolt" of the school-boys.

  "And besides our boys," he exclaimed, "you have led the daughter ofRameses astray. She was not yet purged of her uncleanness, and yet youtempt her to an assignation, not even in the stranger's quarters--but inthe holy house of this pure Divinity." Undeserved praise is dangerousto the weak; unjust blame may turn even the strong from the right way.Pentaur indignantly repelled the accusations of the old man, called themunworthy of his age, his position, and his name, and for fear thathis anger might carry him too far, turned his back upon him; but theharuspex ordered him to remain, and in his presence questioned thepriests, who unanimously accused the poet of having admitted to thetemple another unpurified woman besides Bent-Anat, and of havingexpelled the gate-keeper and thrown him into prison for opposing thecrime.

  The haruspex ordered that the "ill-used man" should be set at liberty.

  Pentaur resisted this command, asserted his right to govern in thistemple, and with a trembling voice requested Septah to quit the place.

  The haruspex showed him Ameni's ring, by which, during his residencein Thebes, he made him his plenipotentiary, degraded Pentaur from hisdignity, but ordered him not to quit the sanctuary till further notice,and then finally departed from the temple of Hatasu.

  Pentaur had yielded in silence to the signet of his chief, and returnedto the confessional in which he had met Bent-Anat. He felt his soulshaken to its very foundations, his thoughts were confused, his feelingsstruggling with each other; he shivered, and when he heard the laughterof the priests and the gatekeeper, who were triumphing in their easyvictory, he started and shuddered like a man who in passing a mirrorshould see a brand of disgrace on his brow.

  But by degrees he recovered himself, his spirit grew clearer, and whenhe left the little room to look towards the east--where, on the farthershore, rose the palace where Bent-Anat must be--a deep contempt for hisenemies filled his soul, and a proud feeling of renewed manly energy.He did not conceal from himself that he had enemies; that a time ofstruggle was beginning for him; but he looked forward to it like a younghero to the morning of his first battle.