the farm-servants, almost bent double, leans his whole weight
on the handles to force the ploughshare deep into the soil, his comrade
drives the oxen and encourages them by his songs: these are only two
or three short sentences, set to an unvarying chant, and with the time
beaten on the back of the nearest animal. Now and again he turns round
towards his comrade and encourages him: "Lean hard!"--"Hold fast!"

[Illustration: 142a.jpg TWO FELLAHIN WORK THE SHADOUF IN A GARDEN]

Drawn by Faucher-Gudin, from a photograph.

The sower follows behind and throws handfuls of grain into the furrow: a
flock of sheep or goats brings up the rear, and as they walk, they tread
the seed into the ground. The herdsmen crack their whips and sing some
country song at the top of their voices,--based on the complaint of some
fellah seized by the corvee to clean out a canal. "The digger is in the
water with the fish,--he talks to the silurus, and exchanges greetings
with the oxyrrhynchus:--West! your digger is a digger from the West!"*

* The silurus is the electrical fish of the Nile. The text
ironically hints that the digger, up to his waist in water,
engaged in dredging the dykes or repairing a bank swept away
by an inundation, is liable at any moment to salute, i.e. to
meet with a silurus or an oxyrrhynchus ready to attack him;
he is doomed to death, and this fact the couplet expresses
by the words, "West! your digger is a digger from the West."
The West was the region of the tombs; and the digger, owing
to the dangers of his calling, was on his way thither.

[Illustration: 142b.jpg CUTTING AND CARRYING THE HARVEST]

All this takes place under the vigilant eye of the master: as soon as
his attention is relaxed, the work slackens, quarrels arise, and
the spirit of idleness and theft gains the ascendency. Two men have
unharnessed their team. One of them quickly milks one of the cows, the
other holds the animal and impatiently awaits his turn: "Be quick, while
the farmer is not there." They run the risk of a beating for a potful
of milk. The weeks pass, the corn has ripened, the harvest begins. The
fellahin, armed with a short sickle, cut or rather saw the stalks, a
handful at a time. As they advance in line, a flute-player plays them
captivating tunes, a man joins in with his voice marking the rhythm by
clapping his hands, the foreman throwing in now and then a few words of
exhortation