Читать книгу The Pharaoh and the Priest - Bolesław Prus - Страница 27

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THE foreign quarter in Memphis lay on the northeastern extremity of the city near the river. There were several hundred houses in that place and many thousand people,—Assyrians, Greeks, Jews, most of all, Phœnicians.

That was a wealthy quarter. A street thirty paces in width formed its leading artery. This street was rather straight, and paved with flat stones. On both sides were houses of sandstone, brick, or limestone, varying in height from three to five stories. In the cellars were stores of raw materials; on the ground floors were arched rooms; on the first stories dwellings of wealthy people; higher were the workshops of weavers, tailors, jewellers; highest of all, the crowded dwellings of laborers.

The buildings of this quarter, like those in the whole city, were mainly white; but one might see stone houses as green as a meadow, as yellow as a wheat-field, as blue as the sky, or as red as blood.

The front walls of many houses were ornamented with pictures representing the occupations of people who dwelt in them. On the house of a jeweller long rows of pictures announced that its owner sold to foreign kings chains and bracelets of his own making which roused their amazement. The immense palace of a merchant was covered with pictures representing the labors and perils of a trafficker: on the sea dreadful monsters with fish tails were seizing the man; in the desert winged dragons breathing fire were grasping after him, and on distant islands he was tormented by a giant whose sandals were larger than any ship of the Phœnicians.

A physician on the wall of his office represented persons who, thanks to his aid, had recovered lost hands and feet, even teeth and youthfulness. On a building occupied by a government administrator of the quarter were to be seen a keg into which people were throwing gold rings; a scribe into whose ears some one was whispering; an offender, stretched on the ground, whom two other men were beating.

The street was full. Along the walls stood litter-bearers, men with fans, messengers and laborers, ready to offer their services. In the middle of the street moved an unbroken line of merchants’ wares carried by men, asses, or oxen attached to vehicles. On the sidewalks pushed forward noisy sellers of fresh water, grapes, dates, dried fish, and among them hucksters, flower-girls, musicians, and tricksters of various descriptions.

In this torrent of people which flowed forward and separated, in which men bought and sold, crying out in various tones, policemen were prominent. Each had a brownish tunic reaching to his knees, bare legs, an apron with blue and red stripes, a short sword at his side, and a strong stick in his hand. This official walked along on the sidewalk; sometimes he conversed with a colleague; most frequently, however, he stood on a stone at the edge of the street, so as to take in more accurately the crowd which flowed past in front of him.

In view of such watchfulness street thieves had to do their work cleverly. Usually two began to fight, and when a crowd had gathered around them and the police clubbed both spectators and quarrellers, other confederates in the art did the stealing.

About half-way between the two ends of the street stood the inn of Asarhadon, a Phœnician from Tyre. In this inn, for easier control, all were forced to dwell who came from beyond the boundaries of Egypt. It was a large quadrangular building which on each side had a number of tens of windows, and was not connected with other houses; hence men could go around the place and watch it from all points. Over the principal gate hung the model of a ship; on the front wall were pictures representing his holiness Rameses XII. placing offerings before the gods, or extending his protection to foreigners, among whom the Phœnicians were distinguished by a sturdy stature and very ruddy faces.

The windows were narrow, always open, and only in case of need shaded by curtains of linen or by colored slats. The chambers of the innkeeper and of travellers occupied three stories; the ground floor was devoted to a wineshop and an eating-place. Sailors, carriers, handicraftsmen, and in general the poorer class of travellers ate and drank in a courtyard which had a mosaic pavement and a linen roof resting on columns, so that all guests might be under inspection. The wealthier and better born ate in a gallery which surrounded the courtyard. In the courtyard the men sat on the pavement near stones which were used instead of tables; in the galleries, which were cooler, there were tables, stools, and armchairs, even low couches, with cushions, on which guests might slumber.

In each gallery there was a great table on which were bread, meat, fish, and fruits, also jugs holding several quarts of beer, wine, and water. Negroes, men and women, bore around food to the guests, removed empty vessels, and brought from the cellars full pitchers, while scribes watching scrupulously over the tables noted down carefully each piece of bread, bulb of garlic, and flagon of water. In the courtyard two inspectors stood on an elevation with sticks in their grasp; these men kept their eyes on the servants and the scribes on the one hand, and on the other by the aid of the sticks they settled quarrels between the poorer guests of various nations. Thanks to this arrangement thefts and battles happened rarely; they were more frequent in the galleries than the courtyard.

The Phœnician innkeeper himself, the noted Asarhadon, a man beyond fifty, dressed in a long tunic and a muslin cape, walked among the guests to see if each received what he had ordered.

“Eat and drink, my sons!” said he to the Greek sailors, “for such pork and beer there is not in all the world as I have. I hear that a storm struck your ship about Rafia? Ye should give a bounteous offering to the gods for preserving you. In Memphis a man might not see a storm all his life, but at sea it is easier to meet lightning than a copper uten. I have mead, flour, incense for holy sacrifices, and here, in the corner, stand the gods of all nations. In my inn a man may still his hunger and be pious for very slight charges.”

He turned and went to the gallery among the merchants. “Eat and drink, worthy lords,” incited he, making obeisance. “The times are good. The most worthy heir—may he live for ever!—is going to Pi-Bast with an enormous retinue, but from the upper kingdom a transport of gold has come, of which more than one of you will win a good portion. I have partridges, young goslings, fish direct from the river, perfect roast venison. And what wine they have sent me from Cyprus! May I be turned into a Jew if a goblet of that luxury is not worth two drachmas, but to you, my benefactors and fathers, I will give it to-day for one drachma,—only to-day, to make a beginning.”

“Give it for half a drachma a goblet, and we will taste it,” said one of the merchants.

“Half a drachma!” repeated the host. “Sooner will the Nile flow upward toward Thebes than I give such sweetness for half a drachma, unless I do it for thee, Lord Belezis, who art the pearl of Sidon. Hei, slaves! bring to our benefactors the largest pitcher of wine from Cyprus.”

When the innkeeper had walked on, the merchant named Belezis said to his companions,—

“May my hand wither if that wine is worth half a drachma! But never mind! We shall have less trouble with the police hereafter.”

Conversation with guests of all nations and conditions did not prevent the host from looking at the scribes who noted down food and drink, at the watchman who stared at the scribes and the servants, and above all at a traveller who had seated himself on cushions in the front gallery, with his feet under him, and who was dozing over a handful of dates and a goblet of pure water. That traveller was about forty years old, he had abundant hair and beard of raven color, thoughtful eyes, and wonderfully noble features which seemed never to have been wrinkled by anger or distorted by fear.

“That is a dangerous rat!” thought the innkeeper, frowning. “He has the look of a priest, but he wears a dark coat. He has left gold and jewels with me to the value of a talent, and he neither eats meat nor drinks wine. He must be a great prophet or a very great criminal.”

Two naked serpent-tamers came into the courtyard bearing a basket full of poisonous reptiles, and began their exhibition. The younger one played on a flute, while the elder wound around his body snakes big and little, any one of which would have sufficed to drive away guests from the inn “Under the Ship.”

The flute-player gave out shriller and shriller notes; the serpent-tamer squirmed, foamed at the mouth, quivered convulsively, and irritated the reptiles till one of them bit him on the hand, another on the face, while he swallowed alive a third one, the smallest.

The guests and the servants looked at the exhibition of the serpent-tamer with alarm. They trembled when he irritated the reptiles, they closed their eyes when they bit him; but when the performer swallowed one of the snakes, they howled with delight and wonder.

The traveller in the front gallery, however, did not leave his cushions, he did not deign even to look at the exhibition. But when the tamer approached for pay, he threw to the pavement two copper utens, giving a sign with his hand not to come nearer.

The exhibition lasted half an hour perhaps. When the performers left the courtyard, a negro attending to the chambers of the inn rushed up to the host and whispered something anxiously. After that, it was unknown whence, a decurion of the police appeared, and when he had conducted Asarhadon to a remote window, he conversed long with him. The worthy owner of the inn beat his breast, clasped his hands, or seized his head. At last he kicked the black man in the belly, and commanded him to give the police official a roast goose and a pitcher of Cyprus wine; then he approached the guest in the front gallery, who seemed to doze there unbrokenly, though his eyes were open.

“I have evil news for thee, worthy lord,” said the host, sitting at the side of the traveller.

“The gods send rain and sadness on people whenever it pleases them,” replied the guest, with indifference.

“While we were looking at the snake-tamers,” continued the host, pulling at his parti-colored beard, “thieves reached the second story and stole thy effects,—three bags and a casket, of course very precious.”

“Thou must inform the court of my loss.”

“Wherefore the court?” whispered the host. “With us thieves have a guild of their own. We will send for their elder, and value the effects; thou wilt pay him twenty per cent of the value and all will be found again. I can assist thee.”

“In my country,” replied the guest, “no man compounds with thieves, and I will not. I lodge with thee, I trusted thee with my property, and thou wilt answer.”

The worthy Asarhadon began to scratch his shoulder-blades.

“Man of a distant region,” continued he, in a lower voice, “ye Hittites and we Phœnicians are brothers, hence I advise thee sincerely not to turn to an Egyptian court, for it has only one door,—that by which a man enters, but none by which he goes out.”

“The gods can conduct an innocent man through a wall,” said the Hittite.

“Innocent! Who of us in the land of bondage is innocent?” whispered the host. “Look in that direction; over there that commander of ten policemen is finishing a goose, an excellent young goose, which I myself would have eaten gladly. But dost thou know why, taking it from my own mouth, I gave that goose to him?”

“It was because the man came to inquire about thee.”

When he said this, the Phœnician looked askance at the traveller, who did not lose calmness for an instant.

“He asked me,” continued the host, “that master of ten policemen asked, ‘What sort of man is that black one who sits two hours over a handful of dates?’ I replied: ‘A very honorable man, the lord Phut.’ ‘Whence comes he?’ ‘From the country of the Hittites, from the city of Harran; he has a good house there of three stories, and much land.’ ‘Why has he come hither?’ ‘He has come,’ I replied, ‘to receive five talents from a certain priest, talents lent by his father.’

“And dost thou know, worthy lord,” continued the innkeeper, “what that decurion answered? ‘Asarhadon,’ said he, ‘I know that thou art a faithful servant of his holiness, thou hast good food and pure wines; for this reason I warn thee, look to thyself. Have a care of foreigners who make no acquaintances, who avoid wine and every amusement, and are silent. That Phut of Harran may be an Assyrian spy.’ The heart died in me when I heard this. But these words do not affect thee,” said he, indignantly, when he saw that the terrible suspicion of espionage did not disturb the calm face of the Hittite.

“Asarhadon,” said the guest, after a while, “I confided to thee myself and my property. See to it, therefore, that my bags and my casket are returned to me, for in the opposite case I shall complain of thee to that same chief of ten who is eating the goose which was intended for thee.”

“Well, but permit me to pay the thieves only fifteen per cent of the value of the things,” cried the host.

“Thou hast no right to pay.”

“Give them even thirty drachmas.”

“Not an uten.”

“Give the poor fellows even ten drachmas.”

“Go in peace, Asarhadon, and beg the gods to return thee thy reason,” answered the traveller, with the same unchanging calmness.

The host sprang up, panting from anger.

“The reptile!” thought he. “He has not come for a debt simply. He is doing some business here. My heart tells me that he is a rich merchant, or maybe an innkeeper who, in company with priests and judges, will open another inn somewhere near this one. May the first fire of heaven burn thee! May the leprosy devour thee! Miser, deceiver, criminal from whom an honest man can make nothing.”

The worthy Asarhadon had not succeeded yet in calming himself when the sounds of a flute and a drum were heard on the street, and after a while four dancers, almost naked, rushed into the courtyard. The carriers and sailors greeted them with shouts of delight, and even important merchants in the galleries looked at them with curiosity and made remarks on their beauty. The dancers with motions of the hands and with smiles greeted all the company. One began to play on a double flute, another accompanied with a drum, and the two others danced around the court in such fashion that there was hardly a guest whom their muslin shawls did not strike as they whirled.

Those who were drinking began to sing, shout, and call to the dancers, while among the common herd a quarrel sprang up which the inspectors settled with canes. A certain Libyan, angered at sight of the canes, drew a knife, but two black men seized his arms, took from him some bronze rings as pay for food, and hurled him out to the street. Meanwhile one of the dancers remained with the sailors, two went among the merchants who offered them wine and cakes, and the oldest passed among the tables to make a collection.

“By the sanctuary of the divine Isis!” cried she, “pious strangers, give offerings to the goddess who guards all creation. The more you give the more happiness and blessing will come to you. For the sanctuary of Mother Isis!”

They threw onto her drum coils of copper wire, sometimes a grain of gold. One merchant asked if it were permitted to visit her, to which she nodded with a smile.

When she entered the front gallery, Phut of Harran reached for his leather bag and took out a gold ring, saying,—

“Istar is a great and good goddess; take this for her sanctuary.”

The priestess looked quickly at him and whispered,—

“Anael, Sachiel—”

“Amabiel, Abalidot,” answered the traveller, in the same low tone.

“I see that thou lovest Mother Isis,” said the priestess, aloud. “Thou must be wealthy and art bountiful, so it is worth while to soothsay for thee.”

She sat down near him, ate a couple of dates, and looking at his hand began,—

“Thou art from a distant region, from Bretor and Hagit.[6] Thou hast had a pleasant journey. For some days the Phœnicians are watching thee,” added she, in a lower voice.