Cleopatra: Author's Note and Introduction
Author's Note and Introduction
The history of the ruin of Antony and Cleopatra must have struck many
students of the records of their age as one of the most inexplicable
of tragic tales. What malign influence and secret hates were at work,
continually sapping their prosperity and blinding their judgment? Why
did Cleopatra fly at Actium, and why did Antony follow her, leaving his
fleet and army to destruction? An attempt is made in this romance to
suggest a possible answer to these and some other questions.
The reader is asked to bear in mind, however, that the story is told,
not from the modern point of view, but as from the broken heart and
with the lips of an Egyptian patriot of royal blood; no mere
beast-worshipper, but a priest instructed in the inmost mysteries, who
believed firmly in the personal existence of the gods of Khem, in the
possibility of communion with them, and in the certainty of immortal
life with its rewards and punishments; to whom also the bewildering and
often gross symbolism of the Osirian Faith was nothing but a veil woven
to obscure secrets of the Sanctuary. Whatever proportion of truth there
may have been in their spiritual claims and imaginings, if indeed there
was any, such men as the Prince Harmachis have been told of in the
annals of every great religion, and, as is shown by the testimony of
monumental and sacred inscriptions, they were not unknown among the
worshippers of the Egyptian Gods, and more especially of Isis.
Unfortunately it is scarcely possible to write a book of this nature and
period without introducing a certain amount of illustrative matter, for
by no other means can the long dead past be made to live again before
the reader's eyes with all its accessories of faded pomp and forgotten
mystery. To such students as seek a story only, and are not interested
in the faith, ceremonies, or customs of the Mother of Religion and
Civilisation, ancient Egypt, it is, however, respectfully suggested
that they should exercise the art of skipping, and open this tale at its
Second Book.
That version of the death of Cleopatra has been preferred which
attributes her end to poison. According to Plutarch its actual manner is
very uncertain, though popular rumour ascribed it to the bite of an asp.
She seems, however, to have carried out her design under the advice
of that shadowy personage, her physician, Olympus, and it is more than
doubtful if he would have resorted to such a fantastic and uncertain
method of destroying life.
It may be mentioned that so late as the reign of Ptolemy Epiphanes,
pretenders of native blood, one of whom was named Harmachis, are known
to have advanced their claims to the throne of Egypt. Moreover, there
was a book of prophecy current among the priesthood which declared that
after the nations of the Greeks the God Harsefi would create the "chief
who is to come." It will therefore be seen that, although it lacks
historical confirmation, the story of the great plot formed to stamp out
the dynasty of the Macedonian Lagidae and place Harmachis on the throne
is not in itself improbable. Indeed, it is possible that many such plots
were entered into by Egyptian patriots during the long ages of their
country's bondage. But ancient history tells us little of the abortive
struggles of a fallen race.
The Chant of Isis and the Song of Cleopatra, which appear in these
pages, are done into verse from the writer's prose by Mr. Andrew Lang,
and the dirge sung by Charmion is translated by the same hand from the
Greek of the Syrian Meleager.
CLEOPATRA
INTRODUCTION
In the recesses of the desolate Libyan mountains that lie behind the
temple and city of Abydus, the supposed burying place of the holy
Osiris, a tomb was recently discovered, among the contents of which were
the papyrus rolls whereupon this history is written. The tomb itself is
spacious, but otherwise remarkable only for the depth of the shaft which
descends vertically from the rock-hewn cave, that once served as the
mortuary chapel for the friends and relatives of the departed, to the
coffin-chamber beneath. This shaft is no less than eighty-nine feet in
depth. The chamber at its foot was found to contain three coffins only,
though it is large enough for many more. Two of these, which in all
probability inclosed the bodies of the High Priest, Amenemhat, and of
his wife, father and mother of Harmachis, the hero of this history, the
shameless Arabs who discovered them there and then broke up.
The Arabs broke the bodies up. With unhallowed hands they tore the holy
Amenemhat and the frame of her who had, as it is written, been filled
with the spirit of the Hathors--tore them limb from limb, searching for
treasure amidst their bones--perhaps, as is their custom, selling the
very bones for a few piastres to the last ignorant tourist who came
their way, seeking what he might destroy. For in Egypt the unhappy, the
living find their bread in the tombs of the great men who were before
them.
But as it chanced, some little while afterwards, one who is known to
this writer, and a doctor by profession, passed up the Nile to Abydus,
and became acquainted with the men who had done this thing. They
revealed to him the secret of the place, telling him that one coffin
yet remained entombed. It seemed to be the coffin of a poor person,
they said, and therefore, being pressed for time, they had left it
unviolated. Moved by curiosity to explore the recesses of a tomb as yet
unprofaned by tourists, my friend bribed the Arabs to show it to him.
What ensued I will give in his own words, exactly as he wrote it to me:
"I slept that night near the Temple of Seti, and started before daybreak
on the following morning. With me were a cross-eyed rascal named
Ali--Ali Baba I named him--the man from whom I got the ring which I am
sending you, and a small but choice assortment of his fellow thieves.
Within an hour after sunrise we reached the valley where the tomb is. It
is a desolate place, into which the sun pours his scorching heat all
the long day through, till the huge brown rocks which are strewn about
become so hot that one can scarcely bear to touch them, and the sand
scorches the feet. It was already too hot to walk, so we rode on
donkeys, some way up the valley--where a vulture floating far in the
blue overhead was the only other visitor--till we came to an enormous
boulder polished by centuries of action of sun and sand. Here Ali
halted, saying that the tomb was under the stone. Accordingly, we
dismounted, and, leaving the donkeys in charge of a fellah boy, went up
to the rock. Beneath it was a small hole, barely large enough for a man
to creep through. Indeed it had been dug by jackals, for the doorway and
some part of the cave were entirely silted up, and it was by means of
this jackal hole that the tomb had been discovered. Ali crept in on his
hands and knees, and I followed, to find myself in a place cold after
the hot outside air, and, in contrast with the light, filled with a
dazzling darkness. We lit our candles, and, the select body of thieves
having arrived, I made an examination. We were in a cave the size of
a large room, and hollowed by hand, the further part of the cave being
almost free from drift-dust. On the walls are religious paintings of the
usual Ptolemaic character, and among them one of a majestic old man with
a long white beard, who is seated in a carved chair holding a wand in
his hand.[*] Before him passes a procession of priests bearing sacred
images. In the right hand corner of the tomb is the shaft of the
mummy-pit, a square-mouthed well cut in the black rock. We had brought a
beam of thorn-wood, and this was now laid across the pit and a rope
made fast to it. Then Ali--who, to do him justice, is a courageous
thief--took hold of the rope, and, putting some candles into the breast
of his robe, placed his bare feet against the smooth sides of the well
and began to descent with great rapidity. Very soon he had vanished into
blackness, and the agitation of the cord alone told us that anything was
going on below. At last the rope ceased shaking and a faint shout came
rumbling up the well, announcing Ali's safe arrival. Then, far below, a
tiny star of light appeared. He had lit the candle, thereby disturbing
hundreds of bats that flitted up in an endless stream and as silently as
spirits. The rope was hauled up again, and now it was my turn; but, as
I declined to trust my neck to the hand-over-hand method of descent, the
end of the cord was made fast round my middle and I was lowered bodily
into those sacred depths. Nor was it a pleasant journey, for, if the
masters of the situation above had made any mistake, I should have been
dashed to pieces. Also, the bats continually flew into my face and clung
to my hair, and I have a great dislike of bats. At last, after some
minutes of jerking and dangling, I found myself standing in a
narrow passage by the side of the worthy Ali, covered with bats and
perspiration, and with the skin rubbed off my knees and knuckles. Then
another man came down, hand over hand like a sailor, and as the rest
were told to stop above we were ready to go on. Ali went first with
his candle--of course we each had a candle--leading the way down a long
passage about five feet high. At length the passage widened out, and we
were in the tomb-chamber: I think the hottest and most silent place that
I ever entered. It was simply stifling. This chamber is a square room
cut in the rock and totally devoid of paintings or sculpture. I held
up the candles and looked round. About the place were strewn the coffin
lids and the mummied remains of the two bodies that the Arabs had
previously violated. The paintings on the former were, I noticed, of
great beauty, though, having no knowledge of hieroglyphics, I could not
decipher them. Beads and spicy wrappings lay around the remains, which,
I saw, were those of a man and a woman.[+] The head had been broken off
the body of the man. I took it up and looked at it. It had been closely
shaved--after death, I should say, from the general indications--and the
features were disfigured with gold leaf. But notwithstanding this,
and the shrinkage of the flesh, I think the face was one of the most
imposing and beautiful that I ever saw. It was that of a very old man,
and his dead countenance still wore so calm and solemn, indeed, so awful
a look, that I grew quite superstitious (though as you know, I am pretty
well accustomed to dead people), and put the head down in a hurry. There
were still some wrappings left upon the face of the second body, and I
did not remove them; but she must have been a fine large woman in her
day.
[*] This, I take it, is a portrait of Amenemhat himself.--
Editor.
[+] Doubtless Amenemhat and his wife.--Editor.
"'There the other mummy,' said Ali, pointing to a large and solid case
that seemed to have been carelessly thrown down in a corner, for it was
lying on its side.
"I went up to it and carefully examined it. It was well made, but of
perfectly plain cedar-wood--not an inscription, not a solitary God on
it.
"'Never see one like him before,' said Ali. 'Bury great hurry, he no
"mafish," no "fineesh." Throw him down here on side.'
"I looked at the plain case till at last my interest was thoroughly
aroused. I was so shocked by the sight of the scattered dust of
the departed that I had made up my mind not to touch the remaining
coffin--but now my curiosity overcame me, and we set to work.
"Ali had brought a mallet and a cold chisel with him, and, having
set the coffin straight, he began upon it with all the zeal of an
experienced tomb-breaker. And then he pointed out another thing. Most
mummy-cases are fastened by four little tongues of wood, two on either
side, which are fixed in the upper half, and, passing into mortices cut
to receive them in the thickness of the lower half, are there held
fast by pegs of hard wood. But this mummy case had eight such tongues.
Evidently it had been thought well to secure it firmly. At last, with
great difficulty, we raised the massive lid, which was nearly three
inches thick, and there, covered over with a deep layer of loose spices
(a very unusual thing), was the body.
"Ali looked at it with open eyes--and no wonder. For this mummy was not
as other mummies are. Mummies in general lie upon their backs, as stiff
and calm as though they were cut from wood; but this mummy lay upon its
side, and, the wrappings notwithstanding, its knees were slightly bent.
More than that, indeed, the gold mask, which, after the fashion of the
Ptolemaic period, had been set upon the face, had worked down, and was
literally pounded up beneath the hooded head.
"It was impossible, seeing these things, to avoid the conclusion that
the mummy before us had moved with violence _since it was put in the
coffin_.
"'Him very funny mummy. Him not "mafish" when him go in there,' said
Ali.
"'Nonsense!' I said. 'Who ever heard of a live mummy?'
"We lifted the body out of the coffin, nearly choking ourselves with
mummy dust in the process, and there beneath it half hidden among the
spices, we made our first find. It was a roll of papyrus, carelessly
fastened and wrapped in a piece of mummy cloth, having to all appearance
been thrown into the coffin at the moment of closing.[*]
[*] This roll contained the third unfinished book of the
history. The other two rolls were neatly fastened in the
usual fashion. All three are written by one hand in the
Demotic character.--Editor.
"Ali eyed the papyrus greedily, but I seized it and put it in my pocket,
for it was agreed that I was to have all that might be discovered.
Then we began to unwrap the body. It was covered with very broad strong
bandages, thickly wound and roughly tied, sometimes by means of simple
knots, the whole working the appearance of having been executed in
great haste and with difficulty. Just over the head was a large lump.
Presently, the bandages covering it were off, and there, on the face,
lay a second roll of papyrus. I put down my hand to lift it, but it
would not come away. It appeared to be fixed to the stout seamless
shroud which was drawn over the whole body, and tied beneath the
feet--as a farmer ties sacks. This shroud, which was also thickly waxed,
was in one piece, being made to fit the form like a garment. I took a
candle and examined the roll and then I saw why it was fast. The spices
had congealed and glued it to the sack-like shroud. It was impossible to
get it away without tearing the outer sheets of papyrus.[*]
[*] This accounts for the gaps in the last sheets of the
second roll. --Editor.
"At last, however, I wrenched it loose and put it with the other in my
pocket.
"Then we went on with our dreadful task in silence. With much care we
ripped loose the sack-like garment, and at last the body of a man lay
before us. Between his knees was a third roll of papyrus. I secured it,
then held down the light and looked at him. One glance at his face was
enough to tell a doctor how he had died.
"This body was not much dried up. Evidently it had not passed the
allotted seventy days in natron, and therefore the expression and
likeness were better preserved than is usual. Without entering into
particulars, I will only say that I hope I shall never see such another
look as that which was frozen on this dead man's face. Even the Arabs
recoiled from it in horror and began to mutter prayers.
"For the rest, the usual opening on the left side through which the
embalmers did their work was absent; the finely-cut features were those
of a person of middle age, although the hair was already grey, and
the frame was that of a very powerful man, the shoulders being of an
extraordinary width. I had not time to examine very closely, however,
for within a few seconds from its uncovering, the unembalmed body began
to crumble now that it was exposed to the action of the air. In five or
six minutes there was literally nothing left of it but a wisp of hair,
the skull, and a few of the larger bones. I noticed that one of the
tibi�--I forget if it was the right or the left--had been fractured and
very badly set. It must have been quite an inch shorter than the other.
"Well, there was nothing more to find, and now that the excitement was
over, what between the heat, the exertion, and the smell of mummy dust
and spices, I felt more dead than alive.
"I am tired of writing, and this ship rolls. This letter, of course,
goes overland, and I am coming by 'long sea,' but I hope to be in London
within ten days after you get it. Then I will tell you of my pleasing
experiences in the course of the ascent from the tomb-chamber, and of
how that prince of rascals, Ali Baba, and his thieves tried to frighten
me into handing over the papyri, and how I worsted them. Then, too, we
will get the rolls deciphered. I expect that they only contain the usual
thing, copies of the 'Book of the Dead,' but there _may_ be something
else in them. Needless to say, I did not narrate this little adventure
in Egypt, or I should have had the Boulac Museum people on my track.
Good-bye, 'Mafish Fineesh,' as Ali Baba always said."
In due course, my friend, the writer of the letter from which I have
quoted, arrived in London, and on the very next day we paid a visit to
a learned acquaintance well versed in Hieroglyphics and Demotic writing.
The anxiety with which we watched him skilfully damping and unfolding
one of the rolls and peering through his gold-rimmed glasses at the
mysterious characters may well be imagined.
"Hum," he said, "whatever it is, this is _not_ a copy of the 'Book of
the Dead.' By George, what's this? Cle--Cleo--Cleopatra----Why, my dear
Sirs, as I am a living man, this is the history of somebody who lived
in the days of Cleopatra, _the_ Cleopatra, for here's Antony's name with
hers! Well, there's six months' work before me here--six months, at
the very least!" And in that joyful prospect he fairly lost control of
himself, and skipped about the room, shaking hands with us at intervals,
and saying "I'll translate--I'll translate it if it kills me, and
we will publish it; and, by the living Osiris, it shall drive every
Egyptologist in Europe mad with envy! Oh, what a find! what a most
glorious find!"
And O you whose eyes fall upon these pages, see, they have been
translated, and they have been printed, and here they lie before you--an
undiscovered land wherein you are free to travel!
Harmachis speaks to you from his forgotten tomb. The walls of Time fall
down, and, as at the lightning's leap, a picture from the past starts
upon your view, framed in the darkness of the ages.
He shows you those two Egypts which the silent pyramids looked down upon
long centuries ago--the Egypt of the Greek, the Roman, and the Ptolemy,
and that other outworn Egypt of the Hierophant, hoary with years, heavy
with the legends of antiquity and the memory of long-lost honours.
He tells you how the smouldering loyalty of the land of Khem blazed
up before it died, and how fiercely the old Time-consecrated Faith
struggled against the conquering tide of Change that rose, like Nile at
flood, and drowned the ancient Gods of Egypt.
Here, in his pages, you shall learn the glory of Isis the Many-shaped,
the Executrix of Decrees. Here you shall make acquaintance with the
shade of Cleopatra, that "Thing of Flame," whose passion-breathing
beauty shaped the destiny of Empires. Here you shall read how the soul
of Charmion was slain of the sword her vengeance smithied.
Here Harmachis, the doomed Egyptian, being about to die, salutes you who
follow on the path he trod. In the story of his broken years he shows to
you what may in its degree be the story of your own. Crying aloud from
that dim Amenti[*] where to-day he wears out his long atoning time, he
tells, in the history of his fall, the fate of him who, however sorely
tried, forgets his God, his Honour, and his Country.
[*] The Egyptian Hades or Purgatory.--Editor.
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