LITMIR.BIZ

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Neith, called in Egyptian “the lamp-burning,” was celebrated by a universal illumination, which began at the rising of the moon. The shores of the Nile looked like two long lines of fire. Every temple, house and but was ornamented with lamps according to the means of its possessors. The porches of the country-houses and the little towers on the larger buildings were all lighted up by brilliant flames, burning in pans of pitch and sending up clouds of smoke, in which the flags and pennons waved gently backwards and forwards. The palm-trees and sycamores were silvered by the moonlight and threw strange fantastic reflections on the red waters of the Nile-red from the fiery glow of the houses on their shores. But strong and glowing as was the light of the illumination, its rays had not power to reach the middle of the giant river, where the boat was making its course, and the pleasure-party felt as if they were sailing in dark night between two brilliant days. Now and then a brightly-lighted boat would come swiftly across the river and seem, as it neared the shore, to be cutting its way through a glowing stream of molten iron.

      Lotus-blossoms, white as snow, lay on the surface of the river, rising and falling with the waves, and looking like eyes in the water. Not a sound could be heard from either shore. The echoes were carried away by the north-wind, and the measured stroke of the oars and monotonous song of the rowers were the only sounds that broke the stillness of this strange night—a night robbed of its darkness.

      For a long time the friends gazed without speaking at the wonderful sight, which seemed to glide past them. Zopyrus was the first to break the silence by saying, as he drew a long breath: “I really envy you, Bartja. If things were as they should be, every one of us would have his dearest wife at his side on such a night as this.”

      “And who forbade you to bring one of your wives?” answered the happy husband.

      “The other five,” said the youth with a sigh. “If I had allowed Oroetes’ little daughter Parysatis, my youngest favorite, to come out alone with me to-night, this wonderful sight would have been my last; tomorrow there would have been one pair of eyes less in the world.”

      Bartja took Sappho’s hand and held it fast, saying, “I fancy one wife will content me as long as I live.” The young mother pressed his hand warmly again, and said, turning to Zopyrus: “I don’t quite trust you, my friend. It seems to me that it is not the anger of your wives you fear, so much as the commission of an offence against the customs of your country. I have been told that my poor Bartja gets terribly scolded in the women’s apartments for not setting eunuchs to watch over me, and for letting me share his pleasures.”

      “He does spoil you terribly,” answered Zopyrus, “and our wives are beginning to quote him as an example of kindness and indulgence, whenever we try to hold the reins a little tight. Indeed there will soon be a regular women’s mutiny at the king’s gate, and the Achaemenidae who escaped the swords and arrows of the Egyptians, will fall victims to sharp tongues and floods of salt tears.”

      “Oh! you most impolite Persian!” said Syloson laughing. “We must make you more respectful to these images of Aphrodite.”

      “You Greeks! that’s a good idea,” answered the youth. “By Mithras, our wives are quite as well off as yours. It’s only the Egyptian women, that are so wonderfully free.”

      “Yes, you are quite right,” said Rhodopis. “The inhabitants of this strange land have for thousands of years granted our weaker sex the same rights, that they demand for themselves. Indeed, in many respects, they have given us the preference. For instance, by the Egyptian law it is the daughters, not the sons, who are commanded to foster and provide for their aged parents, showing how well the fathers of this now humbled people understood women’s nature, and how rightly they acknowledged that she far surpasses man in thoughtful solicitude and self-forgetful love. Do not laugh at these worshippers of animals. I confess that I cannot understand them, but I feel true admiration for a people in the teaching of whose priests, even Pythagoras, that great master in the art of knowledge, assured me lies a wisdom as mighty as the Pyramids.”

      “And your great master was right,” exclaimed Darius. “You know that I obtained Neithotep’s freedom, and, for some weeks past, have seen him and Onuphis very constantly, indeed they have been teaching me. And oh, how much I have learnt already from those two old men, of which I had no idea before! How much that is sad I can forget, when I am listening to them! They are acquainted with the entire history of the heavens and the earth. They know the name of every king, and the circumstances of every important event that has occurred during the last four thousand years, the courses of the stars, the works of their own artists and sayings of their sages, during the same immense period of time. All this knowledge is recorded in huge books, which have been preserved in a palace at Thebes, called the ‘place of healing for the soul.’ Their laws are a fountain of pure wisdom, and a comprehensive intellect has been shown in the adaptation of all their state institutions to the needs of the country. I wish we could boast of the same regularity and order at home. The idea that lies at the root of all their knowledge is the use of numbers, the only means by which it is possible to calculate the course of the stars, to ascertain and determine the limits of all that exists, and, by the application of which in the shortening and lengthening of the strings of musical instruments, tones can be regulated.

      [We agree with Iamblichus in supposing, that these Pythagorean views

       were derived from the Egyptian mysteries.]

      “Numbers are the only certain things; they can neither be controlled nor perverted. Every nation has its own ideas of right and wrong; every law can be rendered invalid by circumstances; but the results obtained from numbers can never be overthrown. Who can dispute, for instance, that twice two make four? Numbers determine the contents of every existing thing; whatever is, is equal to its contents, numbers therefore are the true being, the essence of all that is.”

      “In the name of Mithras, Darius, do leave off talking in that style, unless you want to turn my brain,” interrupted Zopyrus. “Why, to hear you, one would fancy you’d been spending your life among these old Egyptian speculators and had never had a sword in your hand. What on earth have we to do with numbers?”

      “More than you fancy,” answered Rhodopis. “This theory of numbers belongs to the mysteries of the Egyptian priests, and Pythagoras learnt it from the very Onuphis who is now teaching you, Darius. If you will come to see me soon, I will show you how wonderfully that great Samian brought the laws of numbers and of the harmonies into agreement. But look, there are the Pyramids!”

      The whole party rose at these words, and stood speechless, gazing at the grand sight which opened before them.

      The Pyramids lay on the left bank of the Nile, in the silver moonshine, massive and awful, as if bruising the earth beneath them with their weight; the giant graves of mighty rulers. They seemed examples of man’s creative power, and at the same time warnings of the vanity and mutability of earthly greatness. For where was Chufu now,—the king who had cemented that mountain of stone with the sweat of his subjects? Where was the long-lived Chafra who had despised the gods, and, defiant in the consciousness of his own strength, was said to have closed the gates of the temples in order to make himself and his name immortal by building a tomb of superhuman dimensions?

      [Herodotus repeats, in good faith, that the builders of the great

       Pyramids were despisers of the gods. The tombs of their faithful

       subjects at the foot of these huge structures prove, however, that

       they owe their bad repute to the hatred of the people, who could not

       forget the era of their hardest bondage, and branded the memories of

       their oppressors wherever an opportunity could be found. We might

       use the word “tradition” instead of “the people,” for this it is

       which puts the feeling and tone of mind of the multitude into the

       form of history.]

      Their empty sarcophagi are perhaps tokens, that the judges of the dead found them unworthy of rest in the grave, unworthy of the resurrection, whereas the builder of the third and most beautiful pyramid, Menkera, who contented himself

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