intention. Jest is necessary, but we should bear in mind that it is jest.”
“Is inspired creativity jest?” challenged Henfer.
“You call it inspiration and creativity,” said the philosopher dismissively. “I know it is the play of fantasy.”
Rhadopis looked at Heni, the architect, urging him to join in the fray, endeavoring to bring him out of his usual silence, but the man did not succumb to her temptation, not because he held that matter in question to be of little value, but because he believed, rightly or wrongly, that Hof did not mean what he was saying, and was teasing Henfer, and Ramon Hotep in particular, in his cruel manner. The poet, on the other hand, was greatly angered, and forgetting for a moment that he was in the palace of Biga, he addressed the philosopher in a spiteful tone: “If art is the play of fantasy then why are artists commissioned to do things they have not the capacity to achieve?”
“Because it demands of them to put aside the thought and logic they are used to and to seek refuge in a world of childhood and fantasy.”
The poet shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “Your words do not deserve a response,” he said.
“Amen,” said Henfer, and Heni smiled in agreement, but Ramon Hotep had grown impatient and his anger would not allow him to be silent. He glared at the mocking faces, and said vehemently, “Does not art create pleasure and beauty for you?”
“How trivial that is,” said Anin, who hardly knew what he was saying for the wine had fuddled his mind.
The poet was furious. He let the lotus flower fall from his hand. “What is wrong with these people?” he blurted out. “They do not understand the meaning of what they are saying. Is it possible that I can mention pleasure and beauty and be told that they are trivial things? Is there then no purpose in the world to pleasure and beauty?”
Henfer was pleased with his companion's words and a flush of excitement came over him. He leaned over to Rhadopis's ear. “Your beauty is true, Rhadopis,” he said. “Life passes like a swiftly unfolding dream. I remember, for example, how sad I was at my father's death, and how bitterly I wept. But now whenever his memory comes to me I ask myself, ‘Did this person really live upon the earth or was he just an illusion appearing to me in the twilight?’ That is life. What benefit accrues to the mighty and powerful from their achievements, what gains to those who produce wealth and riches? What have rulers acquired from their ruling and leading? Are not their achievements like dust scattered in the wind? Power could be folly, wisdom error, and wealth vanity. As for pleasure, it is pleasure, it can be nothing else. Everything that is not beauty is worthless.”
A grave look appeared on Rhadopis's enchanting face, and dreams glimmered in her eyes as she said, “Who knows, Henfer, perhaps pleasure and beauty are trivialities too. Do you not see how I live my life in gentle comfort, courting pleasure, enjoying goodness and beauty? And yet despite all that, how often I am dogged by boredom and dejection.”
Rhadopis could see that Ramon Hotep was in a bad mood, and as she considered Henfer's displeasure and Heni's silence, she was touched by their hurt, and feeling responsible, she decided it was time to change the subject. “Gentlemen, enough! Whatever you have said, you shall never cease to search out art and seek the company of artists. You love them, though you relish in attacking them. You would make happiness itself a subject of debate and controversy.”
Governor Ani had grown weary of the discussion. “Dispel the dissenters with one of your happy songs,” he suggested.
Everyone longed to listen and enjoy, and they were united in their vociferous support of the governor's request. Rhadopis agreed. She had had enough of conversation and she felt once again the strange apprehension that had come over her several times that day. She thought that a song or a dance would drive it away, and, stepping over to her throne, she summoned her songstresses, who came with drums, lyres, flutes, and a wang and pipes, and lined up behind her.
Rhadopis gave a signal with her ivory hand and all began to play a beautiful rhythm and a graceful beat, providing a gorgeous musical accompaniment to her melodious voice. The musicians softened the sounds of their instruments and they became like the whispers of starry-eyed lovers, as Rhadopis began to sing the ode of Ramon Hotep:
O
The courtesan sang the words with a serene and tender voice, liberating the listeners’ souls from the shackles of the body to float in the welkin of beauty and joy, mindless of worldly troubles and the cares of this life, partaking of the most sublime mystery. And when she stopped, the guests remained enraptured, sighing sighs of joy and sadness, pleasure and pain.
Love drove all other emotions from their breasts and they vied in drinking, their eyes transfixed on the gorgeous woman who tripped lightly through their midst, flirting with them, teasing them, supping with them. And when she came to Ani, he whispered in her ear, “May the gods bring you happiness, Rhadopis. I came to you a shadow of myself, weighed down with woes, and now I feel like a bird soaring in the sky.”
She smiled at him and then moved over to Ramon Hotep and offered him a lotus flower to replace the one he had lost. “This old man says that art is jest and fantasy,” he said to her. “I say, to hell with his opinion. Art is that divine spark of light that flashes in your eyes, and, resounding in harmony with the throbbing of my heart, works miracles.”
Rhadopis laughed. “What do I do that causes miracles to happen? I am more powerless than a suckling child.”
Then she hurried over to where Hof was sitting and sat down next to him. He had not tasted the wine and as she looked at him seductively, he laughed and said sarcastically, “What a poor choice of one to sit with.”
“Do you not love me like the rest of them do?”
“If only I could. But I find in you that which a cold man finds in a burning stove.”
“Then advise me what I should do with my life, for today I am sorely troubled.”
“Are you really troubled? With all this luxury and wealth you complain?”
“How could it have escaped you, O Wise One?”
“Everyone complains, Rhadopis. How often I have heard the bitter grumbling of the poor and the wretched who yearn for a crust of bread. How often I have listened to the bellyaching of rulers — who groan under the — weight of enormous responsibilities. How many times I have listened to the whining of the rich and reckless who have tired of wealth and luxury. Everyone complains, so what is the use of hoping for change? Be content with your lot.”
“Do people complain in the realm of Osiris?”
The old man smiled. “Aah. Your friend Ramon Hotep scoffs at that exalted world while the scholar priests tell us it is the eternal abode. Be patient, beautiful woman, for you are still little experienced.”
The wave of dalliance and sarcasm came over her again, and she thought to tease the philosopher. “Do you really think I have little experience?” she said, feigning a serious tone. “You have seen nothing of the things I have seen.”
“And what have you seen that I have not?”
She pointed to the drunken throng and laughed. “I have seen these outstanding men, the cream of Egypt, mistress of the world, prostrating themselves at my feet. They have reverted to a state of barbarism, and forgotten their wisdom and dignity, they are like dogs or monkeys.”
She laughed delicately, and with the agility of a gazelle she stepped into the center of the hall. She signaled to her musicians and their fingers plucked the strings, as the courtesan danced one of her select dances at which her lithe and lissome body excelled, working miracles of nimbleness and flexibility. The guests were absorbed in the entertainment, and clapped their hands in time to the drums, a subtle fire smoldering in their eyes, and when she ended her dance, she flew like a dove back to her throne, whereupon she cast her eyes round their greedy faces. The sight made her roar with laughter: “It is as if I am among wolves.”
Anin, in his drunken state, relished the comparison, and he wished he were a wolf so that he might pounce
