Three Novels of Ancient Egypt

The sculptor Henfer grew restless and called out, “Slave girls! Fill the cups. And Rhadopis, enchantress, let us hear a moving melody, or delight our eyes with a graceful dance. For our souls are merry with the wine of Maryut and the festival has put us in the mood for pleasure and joy. We are longing for rapturous entertainment and saucy indulgence.”

Rhadopis paid him no heed. She wanted to continue the conversation but when she noticed Anin the merchant seemingly asleep on his own, away from the clusters of revelers, she realized she had tarried too long with Ani's group, and she stood up and walked over to the merchant.

“Wake up,” she shouted in his face. The man jolted to attention, but his face soon lit up when he saw her. She sat down next to him and asked, “Were you asleep?”

“Indeed I was, and dreaming too.”

“Ah. What about?”

“About the happy nights of Biga. And in my confusion I was wondering if I would ever win one of those immortal unforgettable nights. If only I could obtain a promise from you now.”

She shook her head. He was taken aback, and cautiously, nervously, he asked her, “Why not?”

“My heart may desire you, or it may desire someone else. I do not bind it with false promises.”

She left him and moved over to another group. They were deep in conversation and drink. They welcomed her loudly and gathered round her from every side.

“Would you join in our conversation?” asked one of them, whose name was Shama.

“What are you talking about?”

“Some of us — were — wondering — whether artists deserve the recognition and honor that the pharaohs and ministers bestow upon them.”

“And have you reached any agreement?”

“Yes, my lady, that they do not deserve anything.”

Shama was speaking in a loud voice, unconcerned who could hear. Rhadopis looked over to where the artists were sitting: Ramon Hotep, Henfer, and Heni, and she laughed mischievously, a sweet enchanting laugh, and in a voice loud enough for the artists to hear, she said, “This conversation should be open to everyone. Do you not hear, gentlemen, what is being said about you? They are saying here that art is a trivial pursuit and that artists are not worthy of the honor and recognition they receive. What do you have to say?”

A sly smile appeared on the old philosopher's lips, while the artists looked haughtily across at the group that had so contemptuously disdained their calling. Henfer smiled arrogantly, while Ramon Hotep's face went yellow with anger, for he was easily provoked. Shama was happy to repeat what he had been saying to his friends in a louder voice for all to hear.

“I am a man of action and resolve. I strike the earth with a hand of iron, and it is humbled, and gives freely to me of its bounty and abundant blessings, and I benefit and thousands of other needy people benefit with me. All this happens without any need for measured words or brilliant colors.”

Each man spoke his mind, either to let out some ill will he had long harbored in his mind, or simply to chatter and give voice to his thoughts. One of the more important guests, whose name was Ram, said, “Who is it that rules and guides the people? Who conquers new lands and storms fortresses? Who is it that brings in wealth and profit? It is certainly not the artists.”

“Men are passionately in love with women,” announced Anin, who was quick to fill his glass at every opportunity, “and they rave about them inanely. Poets, however, couch this ranting in well-balanced words. No reasonable person would hold them to account for that, except perhaps that they should waste their time in something so futile and ephemeral. The ridiculous thing is that they should demand some fame or glory in exchange for their ranting.”

Shama spoke again, “Others tell long prosodic lies or wander in raptures through distant valleys seeking inspiration from phantoms and vain imaginings, claiming they are messengers with revelation. Children tell lies too, and many of the common folk, but they do not claim anything in return.”

Rhadopis laughed a long and hearty laugh, and moved over to where Henfer was sitting. “Shame on you artists,” she mocked. “Why then do you walk proud and conceited, as if you have grown as tall as the mountains?”

The sculptor smiled condescendingly but remained silent like his two companions, deeming himself above a response to those who attack without knowledge, while Ramon Hotep and Heni both contained their rising anger. Unwilling to see the battle end at this point, Rhadopis turned to Hof, the philosopher. “What do you think, philosopher, of art and artists?” she asked him.

“Art is entertainment andjest, and artists are skillful jesters.”

The artists were unable to conceal their anger, and Governor Ani could not contain his laughter. A roar of delight went up from the guests.

“My dear philosopher, do you want life to be simple drudgery and nothing else?” cried Ramon Hotep angrily.