Cleopatra
by H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATION
My dear Mother,
I have for a long while hoped to be allowed to dedicate some book
of mine to you, and now I bring you this work, because whatever
its shortcomings, and whatever judgment may be passed upon it by
yourself and others, it is yet the one I should wish you to
accept.
I trust that you will receive from my romance of "Cleopatra" some
such pleasure as lightened the labour of its building up; and that
it may convey to your mind a picture, however imperfect, of the
old and mysterious Egypt in whose lost glories you are so deeply
interested.
Your affectionate and dutiful Son,
H. Rider Haggard.
January 21, 1889.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
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 tibiæ--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.
