CHAPTER II
OF THE LAST MISERY OF HARMACHIS; OF THE CALLING DOWN OF THE
HOLY ISIS BY THE WORD OF FEAR; OF THE PROMISE OF ISIS; OF THE
COMING OF ATOUA, AND OF THE WORDS OF ATOUA
I crouched upon the floor gazing at the dead body of my father, who
had lived to curse me, the utterly accursed, while the darkness crept
and gathered round us, till at length the dead and I were alone in the
black silence. Oh, how tell the misery of that hour! Imagination
cannot dream it, nor words paint it forth. Once more in my
wretchedness I bethought me of death. A knife was at my girdle, with
which I might cut the thread of sorrow and set my spirit free. Free?
ay, free to fly and face the last vengeance of the Holy Gods! Alas!
and alas! I did not dare to die. Better the earth with all its woes
than the quick approach of those unimagined terrors that, hovering in
dim Amenti, wait the advent of the fallen.
I grovelled on the ground and wept tears of agony for the lost
unchanging past--wept till I could weep no more; but no answer came
from the silence--no answer but the echoes of my grief. Not a ray of
hope! My soul wandered in a darkness more utter than that which was
about me--I was forsaken of the Gods and cast out of men. Terror took
hold upon me crouching in that lonely place hard by the majesty of the
awful Dead. I rose to fly. How could I fly in this gloom?--And where
should I fly who had no place of refuge? Once more I crouched down,
and the great fear grew on me till the cold sweat ran from my brow and
my soul was faint within me. Then, in my last despair, I prayed aloud
to Isis, to whom I had not dared to pray for many days.
"O Isis! Holy Mother!" I cried; "put away Thy wrath, and of Thine
infinite pity, O Thou all-pitiful, hearken to the voice of the anguish
of him who was Thy son and servant, but who by sin hath fallen from
the vision of Thy love. O throned Glory, who, being in all things,
hast of all things understanding and of all griefs knowledge, cast the
weight of Thy mercy against the scale of my evil-doing, and make the
balance equal. Look down upon my woe, and measure it; count up the sum
of my repentance and take Thou note of the flood of sorrow that sweeps
my soul away. O Thou Holy, whom it was given to me to look upon face
to face, by that dread hour of commune I summon Thee; I summon Thee by
the mystic word. Come, then, in mercy, to save me; or, in anger, to
make an end of that which can no more be borne."
And, rising from my knees, I stretched out my arms and dared to cry
aloud the Word of Fear, to use which unworthily is death.
Swiftly the answer came. For in the silence I heard the sound of the
shaken sistra heralding the coming of the Glory. Then, at the far end
of the chamber, grew the semblance of the horned moon, gleaming
faintly in the darkness, and betwixt the golden horns rested a small
dark cloud, in and out of which the fiery serpent climbed.
My knees waxed loose in the presence of the Glory, and I sank down
before it.
Then spake the small, sweet Voice within the cloud:
"Harmachis, who wast my servant and my son, I have heard thy prayer,
and the summons that thou hast dared to utter, which on the lips of
one with whom I have communed, hath power to draw Me from the
Uttermost. No more, Harmachis, may we be one in the bond of Love
Divine, for thou hast put Me away of thine own act. Therefore, after
this long silence I come, Harmachis, clothed in terrors, and,
perchance, ready for vengeance, for not lightly can Isis be drawn from
the halls of Her Divinity."
"Smite, Goddess!" I answered. "Smite, and give me over to those who
wreak Thy vengeance; for I can no longer bear the burden of my woe!"
"And if thou canst not bear thy burden here, upon this upper earth,"
came the soft reply, "how then shalt thou bear the greater burden that
shall be laid upon thee there, coming defiled and yet unpurified into
my dim realm of Death, that is Life and Change unending? Nay,
Harmachis, I smite thee not, for not all am I wroth that thou hast
dared to utter the awful Word which calls Me down to thee. Hearken,
Harmachis; I praise not, and I reproach not, for I am the Minister of
Reward and Punishment and the Executrix of Decrees; and if I give, I
give in silence; and if I smite, in silence do I smite. Therefore, I
will add naught to thy burden by the weight of heavy words, though
through thee it has come to pass that soon shall Isis, the Mother-
Mystery, be but a memory in Egypt. Thou hast sinned, and heavy shall
be thy punishment, as I did warn thee, both in the flesh and in my
kingdom of Amenti. But I told thee that there is a road of repentance,
and surely thy feet are set thereon, and therein must thou walk with a
humble heart, eating of the bread of bitterness, till such time as thy
doom be measured."
"Have I, then, no hope, O holy?"
"That which is done, Harmachis, is done, nor can its issues be
altered. Khem shall no more be free till all its temples are as the
desert dust; strange Peoples shall, from age to age, hold her hostage
and in bonds; new Religions shall arise and wither within the shadow
of her pyramids, for to every World, Race, and Age the countenances of
the Gods are changed. This is the tree that shall spring from thy seed
of sin, Harmachis, and from the sin of those who tempted thee!"
"Alas! I am undone!" I cried.
"Yea, thou art undone; and yet shall this be given to thee: thy
Destroyer thou shalt destroy--for so, in the purpose of my justice, it
is ordained. When the sign comes to thee, arise, go to Cleopatra, and
in such manner as I shall put into thy heart do Heaven's vengeance
upon her! And now for thyself one word, for thou hast put Me from
thee, Harmachis, and no more shall I come face to face with thee till,
cycles hence, the last fruit of thy sin hath ceased to be upon this
earth! Yet, through the vastness of the unnumbered years, remember
thou this: the Love Divine is Love Eternal, which cannot be
extinguished, though it be everlastingly estranged. Repent, my son;
repent and do well while there is yet time, that at the dim end of
ages thou mayest once more be gathered unto Me. Still, Harmachis,
though thou seest Me not; still, when the very name by which thou
knowest Me has become a meaningless mystery to those who shall be
after thee; still I, whose hours are eternal--I, who have watched
Universes wither, wane, and, beneath the breath of Time, melt into
nothingness; again to gather, and, re-born, thread the maze of space--
still, I say, I shall companion thee. Wherever thou goest, in whatever
form of life thou livest, there I shall be! Art thou wafted to the
farthest star, art thou buried in Amenti's lowest deep--in lives, in
deaths, in sleeps, in wakings, in remembrances, in oblivions, in all
the fevers of the outer Life, in all the changes of the Spirit--still,
if thou wilt but atone and forget Me no more, I shall be with thee,
waiting thine hour of redemption. For this is the nature of Love
Divine, wherewith it loves that which partakes of its divinity and by
the holy tie hath once been bound to it. Judge then, Harmachis: was it
well to put this from thee to win the dust of earthly woman? And, now,
dare not again to utter the Word of Power till these things are done!
Harmachis, for this season, fare thee well!"
As the last note of the sweet Voice died away, the fiery snake climbed
into the heart of the cloud. Now the cloud rolled from the horns of
light, and was gathered into the blackness. The vision of the crescent
moon grew dim and vanished. Then, as the Goddess passed, once more
came the faint and dreadful music of the shaken sistra, and all was
still.
I hid my face in my robe, and even then, though my outstretched hand
could touch the chill corpse of that father who had died cursing me, I
felt hope come back into my heart, knowing that I was not altogether
lost nor utterly rejected of Her whom I had forsaken, but whom I yet
loved. And then weariness overpowered me, and I slept.
I woke, the faint lights of dawn were creeping from the opening in the
roof. Ghastly they lay upon the shadowy sculptured walls and ghastly
upon the dead face and white beard of my father, the gathered to
Osiris. I started up, remembering all things, and wondering in my
heart what I should do, and as I rose I heard a faint footfall
creeping down the passage of the names of the Pharaohs.
"/La! La! La!/" mumbled a voice that I knew for the voice of the old
wife, Atoua. "Why, 'tis dark as the House of the Dead! The Holy Ones
who built this Temple loved not the blessed sun, however much they
worshipped him. Now, where's the curtain?"
Presently it was drawn, and Atoua entered, a stick in one hand and a
basket in the other. Her face was somewhat more wrinkled, and her
scanty locks were somewhat whiter than aforetime, but for the rest she
was as she had ever been. She stood and peered around with her sharp
black eyes, for as yet she could see nothing because of the shadows.
"Now where is he?" she muttered. "Osiris--glory to His name--send that
he has not wandered in the night, and he blind! Alack! that I could
not return before the dark. Alack! and alack! what times have we
fallen on, when the Holy High Priest and the Governor, by descent, of
Abouthis, is left with one aged crone to minister to his infirmity! O
Harmachis, my poor boy, thou hast laid trouble at our doors! Why,
what's this? Surely he sleeps not, there upon the ground?--'twill be
his death! Prince! Holy Father! Amenemhat! awake, arise!" and she
hobbled towards the corpse. "Why, how is it! By Him who sleeps, he's
dead! untended and alone--/dead! dead!/" and she sent her long wail of
grief ringing up the sculptured walls.
"Hush! woman, be still!" I said, gliding from the shadows.
"Oh, what art thou?" she cried, casting down her basket. "Wicked man,
hast thou murdered this Holy One, the only Holy One in Egypt? Surely
the curse will fall on thee, for though the Gods do seem to have
forsaken us now in our hour of trial, yet is their arm long, and
certainly they will be avenged on him who hath slain their anointed!"
"Look on me, Atoua," I cried.
"Look! ay, I look--thou wicked wanderer who hast dared this cruel
deed! Harmachis is a traitor and lost far away, and Amenemhat his holy
father is murdered, and now I'm all alone without kith or kin. I gave
them for him. I gave them for Harmachis, the traitor! Come, slay me
also, thou wicked one!"
I took a step toward her, and she, thinking that I was about to smite
her, cried out in fear:
"Nay, good Sir, spare me! Eighty and six, by the Holy Ones, eighty and
six, come next flood of Nile, and yet I would not die, though Osiris
is merciful to the old who served him! Come no nearer--help! help!"
"Thou fool, be silent," I said; "knowest thou me not?"
"Know thee? Can I know every wandering boatman to whom Sebek grants to
earn a livelihood till Typhon claims his own? And yet--why, 'tis
strange--that changed countenance!--that scar!--that stumbling gait!
It is thou, Harmachis!--'tis thou, O my boy! Art come back to glad
mine old eyes? I hoped thee dead! Let me kiss thee?--nay, I forget.
Harmachis is a traitor, ay, and a murderer! Here lies the holy
Amenemhat, murdered by the traitor, Harmachis! Get thee gone! I'll
have none of traitors and of parricides! Get thee to thy wanton!--it
is not thou whom I did nurse."
"Peace! woman; peace! I slew not my father--he died, alas!--he died
even in my arms."
"Ay, surely, and cursing thee, Harmachis! Thou hast given death to him
who gave thee life! /La! la!/ I am old, and I've seen many a trouble;
but this is the heaviest of them all! I never liked the looks of
mummies; but I would I were one this hour! Get thee gone, I pray
thee!"
"Old nurse, reproach me not! Have I not enough to bear?"
"Ah! yes, yes!--I did forget! Well; and what is thy sin? A woman was
thy bane, as women have been to those before thee, and shall be to
those after thee. And what a woman! /La! la!/ I saw her, a beauty such
as never was--an arrow pointed by the evil Gods for destruction! And
thou, a young man bred as a priest--an ill training--a very ill
training! 'Twas no fair match. Who can wonder that she mastered thee?
Come, Harmachis; let me kiss thee! It is not for a woman to be hard on
a man because he loved our sex too much. Why, that is but nature; and
Nature knows her business, else she had made us otherwise. But here is
an evil case. Knowest thou that this Macedonian Queen of thine hath
seized the temple lands and revenues, and driven away the priests--
all, save the holy Amenemhat, who lies here, and whom she left, I know
not why; ay, and caused the worship of the Gods to cease within these
walls. Well, he's gone!--he's gone! and indeed he is better with
Osiris, for his life was a sore burden to him. And hark thou,
Harmachis: he hath not left thee empty-handed; for, so soon as the
plot failed, he gathered all his wealth, and it is large, and hid it--
where, I can show thee--and it is thine by right of descent."
"Talk not to me of wealth, Atoua. Where shall I go and how shall I
hide my shame?"
"Ah! true, true; here mayst thou not abide, for if they found thee,
surely they would put thee to the dreadful death--ay, to the death by
the waxen cloth. Nay, I will hide thee, and, when the funeral rites of
the holy Amenemhat have been performed, we will fly hence, and cover
us from the eyes of men till these sorrows are forgotten. /La! la!/ it
is a sad world, and full of trouble as the Nile mud is full of
beetles. Come, Harmachis, come."
