“You know,” he concluded, “that we are not by ourselves this evening.  Wine has, before this, betrayed everything!  Remember this—­the mother of foresight looks backwards!”

Ani clapped his hand on the old man’s shoulder.  “There will be a space cleared to-night in your winelofts.  It is said of you that you cannot bear to see either a full glass or an empty one; to-night give your aversion to both free play.  And when you think it is the right moment, give a sign to my steward, who is sitting there in the corner.  He has a few jars of the best liquor from Byblos, that he brought over with him, and he will bring it to you.  I will come in again and bid you good-night.”  Ameni was accustomed to leave the hall at the beginning of the drinking.

When the door was closed behind him and his companion, when fresh rose-garlands had been brought for the necks of the company, when lotus blossoms decorated their heads, and the beakers were refilled, a choir of musicians came in, who played on harps, lutes, flutes, and small drums.  The conductor beat the time by clapping his hands, and when the music had raised the spirits of the drinkers, they seconded his efforts by rhythmical clippings.  The jolly old Gagabu kept up his character as a stout drinker, and leader of the feast.

The most priestly countenances soon beamed with cheerfulness, and the officers and courtiers outdid each other in audacious jokes.  Then the old man signed to a young temple-servant, who wore a costly wreath; he came forward with a small gilt image of a mummy, carried it round the circle and cried: 

“Look at this, be merry and drink so long as you are on earth, for soon you must be like this.”

[A custom mentioned by Herodotus.  Lucian saw such an image brought in at a feast.  The Greeks adopted the idea, but beautified it, using a winged Genius of death instead of a mummy.  The Romans also had their “larva.”]

Gagabu gave another signal, and the Regent’s steward brought in the wine from Byblos.  Ani was much lauded for the wonderful choiceness of the liquor.

“Such wine,” exclaimed the usually grave chief of the pastophori, “is like soap.”

[This comparison is genuinely Eastern.  Kisra called wine “the soap of sorrow.”  The Mohammedans, to whom wine is forbidden, have praised it like the guests of the House of Seti.  Thus Abdelmalik ibn Salih Haschimi says:  “The best thing the world enjoys is wine.”  Gahiz says:  “When wine enters thy bones and flows through thy limbs it bestows truth of feeling, and perfects the soul; it removes sorrow, elevates the mood, etc., etc.”  When Ibn ’Aischah was told that some one drank no wine, he said:  “He has thrice disowned the world.”  Ibn el Mu’tazz sang: 

“Heed not time, how it may linger, or how swiftly take its flight,
Wail thy sorrows only to the wine before thee gleaming bright.