THE FIRST-BORN
At the door of her apartments Masanath was met by the faithful Nari,
who drew her within and showed her triumphantly that the usurping
ladies-in-waiting had departed. The unhappy girl was grateful for the
change. The relief for her sorrow was its expression, and she dreaded
the restraint put upon her by the presence of discerning and unfamiliar
eyes.
All desire for sleep had left her. Nari, weary and heavy-headed,
begged her to retire, but she would not. So at last the waiting woman,
at her mistress' command, lay down and slept.
The apartment consisted of two chambers running the width of the
palace. The outer chamber had a window opening on the streets of
Tanis, the inner looked into the palace courtyard.
Masanath wrapped a woolen mantle about her and sat at the window
overlooking the park.
Without was the wide hollow, walled by the many-galleried stories of
the king's house. Below a fountain of running water, issuing from an
ibis-bill of bronze, and falling into a pool, purled and splashed and
talked on and on to itself.
Above, the mighty constellations were dropping slowly down the west.
The wild north wind from the sea strove against her cheek. The gods
were too absorbed in great things, the shifting of the heavens, the
flight of the wind and the rocking of the waters, to care for her great
burden of trouble. Or, indeed, were they not prejudiced against her as
all the world was? They had heard every prayer but hers. They had
harkened to Rameses when he asked for her at their hands; they had
harkened to her father and yielded him power at her sacrifice; they had
even pitied Rachel; they had returned her love from Amenti, and yet had
not Rachel reviled them? Nay, there was conspiracy laid against her by
the Pantheon, and what had she done to deserve it?
In some one of the many windows that looked into the court another
dragged at his chestnut locks and execrated gods and men because of
their hardness of heart.
So the night wore on to its noon.
Masanath was becoming drowsy in spite of her determination to keep a
sleepless vigil until dawn, when she was aroused by a commotion in the
vicinity of the palace. There were indoor cries and shouts for help.
"A brawl," she thought. But the noise seemed to emerge into the
street, and there came the sound of flying footsteps and frantic knocks
upon doors without. The sound seemed to swell and spread abroad,
widening and heightening. Wild shrieks and husky broken shouts swept
up from all quarters of the town, and the whole air was full of a vast
murmur of many voices, calling and wailing, excited, tremulous and full
of fear.
Masanath passed into the outer room to the window that looked upon the
city.
Every house had a light, which flickered and appeared at this window
and that, and the streets were full of flying messengers, who cried out
as they ran. Now and then a chariot, drawn at full speed, dashed past,
and by the fluttering robes of the occupants Masanath guessed them to
be physicians. All Tanis was in uproar, and its alarm possessed her at
once.
She turned to awaken Nari, when she heard inside the palace excited
words and hurrying feet. Some one ran, barefoot, past her door,
calling under his breath upon the gods. At that moment an incisive
shriek cut the increasing murmur in the palace and died away in a long
shuddering wail of grief.
"Awake, awake, Nari!" Masanath cried, shaking the sleeping woman.
"Something has befallen the city. It is in the palace and everywhere."
Meanwhile a chorus of screams smote upon her ears and the wild outcries
of men filled the great palace with terrifying clamor.
Masanath, shaking with dread, wrung her hands and wept. Nari, stupid
with fear, sat up and listened.
Presently some one came running and beat, with frenzied hands, upon the
door.
"Open! Open! In the name of Osiris!" cried a voice which, though it
quaked with consternation, Masanath recognized as her father's.
She flew to the door and wrenched it open. Har-hat, half-dressed,
stood before it.
"Father, what manner of sending is this?" she cried.
"Death!" he panted. "Come with me!" He caught her arm and ran,
dragging her after him down the corridor, half-lighted, but murmurous
with sound.
"What is it, father?" she begged as he hurried her on.
"The gods only know. Rameses hath been smitten and is dying, or even
now is dead!"
"Rameses!" she breathed in a terrified whisper. "Rameses! And an hour
ago I talked with him--so strong, so resolute, so full of life--O Holy
Isis!"
"It is a pestilence sent by Mesu. The whole city is afflicted. Ptah
shield us!"
The hangings that covered the entrance to each suite of chambers had
been thrown aside and the interiors were vacant. But the farther end
of the hall was filled with terrified courtiers in all attitudes and
degrees of extravagant demonstration of grief. Men and women were
fallen here and there on the pavement or supporting themselves by
pillar and wall, wailing, tearing their hair, wounding their faces,
rending their garments.
All the dwellers of the palace were flocked about the apartments of
Rameses. From the entrance into these chambers issued sounds of the
wildest nature. Masanath heard and attempted to draw away from the
fan-bearer.
"Take me not into that awful place!" she pleaded. "How canst thou
force me, my father!"
But Har-hat did not seem to hear and pushed his way, still dragging her
through the crush of shaking attendants that crowded into the outer
chambers.
The sleeping-room of the heir was the focal spot of violent sorrow.
The royal pair, the king's ministers, the immediate companions of
Rameses, the high priest from the Rameside temple to Set at Tanis and a
corps of leeches were present. The couch was surrounded.
Seti was not present, for only in the last moment had some one realized
that the young prince should be brought. Hotep had gone to conduct him
to the chamber.
The queen, inert and lifeless, lay on the floor at the foot of the
prince's bed. Most of the physicians bent over her. Her women,
chiefly the wives of the ministers, were hysterical and helpless.
But it was Meneptah who froze the hearts of his courtiers with horror.
Because of his obstinacy Egypt had gone down into famine, pestilence
and destruction. Without more than ordinary concern he had watched the
hand of the scourge pursue it into ruin till what time he should
relent, and he had not relented.
But now that dread Hand had entered within the boundaries of his loves
and had smitten Rameses, his heir, his idol!
The effect upon him was terrible. The death chamber rang like a
torture dungeon. Nechutes and Menes, by united efforts, barely
prevented him from doing self-murder. The earnest attempts of the
priest to quiet him were totally useless. Nothing could have been more
shocking.
The violent scene wrought Masanath's already over-strained nerves to
the highest pitch of distress. The blood congealed in her veins and
her steps lagged, but Har-hat, for some purpose not apparent to any who
looked upon his daughter's anguish, drew her to the very side of the
couch. The leeches, who had been vainly seeking for some flicker of
life, stepped aside and the eyes of the cowering girl fell on the
prince.
Rameses had seen the Hand that smote him.
The look on the frozen features completed the undoing of Masanath's
self-control and she collapsed beside the bed, utterly prostrated.
Hotep entered with Seti. The boy prince's face was inflamed with much
weeping, and he flung himself upon the cold clay of Rameses, forgetting
wholly that the older brother had urged the passage of a harsh sentence
upon his young head.
The courtiers, who had stoically witnessed Meneptah's frantic grief,
turned now and hid their blinded eyes. Hotep went to the Pharaoh and
laid his hand on the monarch's shoulder. The action commanded.
Exhausted by his frenzy, Meneptah leaned against his scribe. The
cup-bearer and the captain released him and Hotep spoke quietly.
"Seest thou, O my King, the sorrow of thy people? Behold thy young son
and pity him. Look upon thy queen and comfort her. If thou, their
staff, art broken, who shall bear them up in their sorrow? Break not.
Be thou as the strong father of thy great son, so that from the bosom
of Osiris he may look upon Egypt and sleep well, seeing that in his
loss his kingdom lost not her prop and stay, her king, also."
The scanty manhood of the monarch, thus ably invoked, responded
somewhat. He raised himself and permitted Hotep to conduct him to the
side of the boy prince. Seti fell down at his father's feet, and Hotep
took Meneptah's hand and laid it on the bowed head.
"Thou dost pardon him, O Son of Ptah," the scribe said in the same
quiet voice. The king nodded weakly and wept afresh. After the prince
had clasped his father's knees and covered the hand with kisses, he
obeyed the scribe's sign and went away to his mother's side. Again
Hotep, compelling by his low voice, spoke to the king and the assembly
listened.
"The gods have not limited the darts of affliction to thee, O Son of
Ptah. Rameses journeyed not alone into Amenti. He took a kingdom with
him. Behold, the Hebrew hath loosed his direst plague upon Egypt, and
by the lips of an Israelite, in the streets, every first-born in thy
realm perished in the home of his father this night!"
The entire assembly cried out, and most of them ran sobbing and praying
from the chamber. Instantly the outcry and clamor in the palace broke
forth again, for the inhabitants knew that the blow which had smitten
Rameses had fallen on one of their own.
Meneptah staggered away from Hotep, his frenzy upon him again.
"Send them hither," he cried hoarsely, waving his arms toward a
white-faced courtier that had stood his ground. "Send them hither--the
Hebrews, Mesu and Aaron! Israel shall depart, before they make me sink
the world! For they have sent madness upon me! I condemned my gentle
son, I punished those who gave me wise counsel, I have ruined Egypt, I
have slain mine heir, and now the blood of the first-born of all my
kingdom is upon my head!" His voice rose to a shriek, and Hotep,
putting an arm about him, hushed him with gentle authority and signed
the courtier to obey.
The physicians lifted the queen and bore her away. Seti stopped at
Masanath's side and looked at her with compassion in his eyes. Har-hat
came to him.
"Seeing that thou hast won the pardon of thy father, am I not also
included in the restoration of good feeling? Have I won thine enmity,
my Prince?"
"I hold naught against thee, O Har-hat, but thou hast not been a
profitable counselor to my father in these days of his great need."
The young prince spoke frankly and returned the comprehending gaze of
the fan-bearer. Har-hat's eyes fell on his daughter, and again on the
prince. Slow discomfiture overspread his features. Rameses was dead
and with him died the fan-bearer's hold upon his position. Seti was
arisen in the heir's place, with all the heir's enmity to him. But
from Seti he could not purchase security with Masanath.
Hotep supported Meneptah out of the death chamber, for the court
paraschites were already hiding in the shadows of the great halls
without. The bed-chamber slowly emptied. Har-hat lifted Masanath and
followed the last out-going courtier.
Another tumult had arisen in the great corridor, an uproar of another
nature that advanced from the entrance hall of the palace. There were
cries of supplication, persuasion, urging, that were frantic in their
earnestness. The whole palace seemed to be on its knees.
Hotep, with the king, had paused, and several courtiers went before him
and looked down the cross corridor. Instantly they fell on their
knees, crying out:
"Ye have the leave of the powers of Egypt! Go! Make haste! Take your
flocks, all that is yours! Aye, strip us even, if ye will! But let
not the sun rise upon you in Egypt! For we be all dead men!"
A murmur ran through the ministers. "The Hebrews!"
They came slowly, side by side, the two brothers. Egyptians in all
attitudes of entreaty cumbered their path--Egyptians, born to the
purple, rich, proud, powerful, on their faces to enslaved Israel!
Meneptah wrenched himself from Hotep's sustaining arms and, staggering
forward, all but on his knees, met them.
"Rise up and get you forth from among my people," he besought them,
"both ye and the children of Israel, and go and serve the Lord as ye
have said. Also take your flocks and your herds as ye have said, and
be gone; and bless me also!"
Great was the fall for a Pharaoh to pray a blessing from the hands of a
slave; great was his humility to kneel to them. But there was no
triumph, no exultation on the faces of the Hebrews. Aaron, with his
bearded chin on his breast, looked down on the head of the shuddering,
pleading monarch; but Moses, after sad contemplation of the humbled
king, raised his splendid head and gazed with kindling eyes at Har-hat.
Then with the words, "It is well," spoken without animation, he turned
and, with his brother, disappeared into the dusk of the long corridor.
The expression, the act, the mode of departure seemed to indicate that
the Israelites doubted the stability of the king's intent. In a
moment, therefore, the courtiers were pursuing the departing brothers,
urging and praying with all their former wild insistence.
Har-hat put Masanath on her feet and started to leave her, but she
flung her arms about his neck.
"Forgive me, my father," she sobbed. "For my rebellion the gods may
absolve me, but I have been unfilial and for that there is no
justification. If aught should befall thee in these awful days, how I
should reproach myself! Sawest thou not the Hebrew's gaze upon thee?
Say thou dost forgive me!"
"Nay, nay," he said hastily; "thou hast not done me to death by thine
undutifulness. And the Hebrew fears me. Get back to thy chamber and
rest." He kissed her and undid her clinging arms. Going to the king,
he put aside Hotep, who was striving to raise the monarch, and lifted
Meneptah in his arms.
"Masanath is better now, good Hotep, and I would take my place beside
my king."
Without summoning further aid, he half carried the limp monarch up the
hall and into the royal bed-chamber.
Weak, shaking, sated with horror and numb with fear, Masanath attempted
to return to her apartments, but at the second step she reeled. Hotep
saw her. The fan-bearer was not in sight. In an instant the scribe
was beside the fainting girl, supporting her, nor did he release her
until she was safe in the ministering arms of Nari.
As he was leaving her he commended her most solemnly to the gods.
"Death hath wrenched a scepter from the gods and ruled the world this
night," he said. "We may not delude ourselves that we have escaped, my
Lady. As sure as there is a first-born in thy father's house and in
mine, that one is dead. And think of those others whom we love, the
eldest born of other houses! Do thou pray for us, thou perfect spirit.
I can not, for there is little reverence for my gods in me this night."
He turned away and disappeared down the corridor.
Within her chamber Masanath knelt and dutifully strove to pray, but her
petition resolved itself into a repeated cry for help. In that hour
she did not think of the relief to her and to many that the death of
Rameses had brought about, for in her heart she counted it sin to be
glad of benefit wrought by the death of any man.
Through the fingers across her face she knew that dawn was breaking,
but quiet had not settled on the city. Surging murmurs of unanimous
sorrow rose and fell as if blown by the chill wind to and fro over
Egypt. The nation crouched with her face in the dust. There was no
perfunctory sorrow in her abasement. She was bowed down with her own
woe, not Meneptah's. Never before had a prince's going-out been
attended by such wild grief. There was no comfort in Egypt, and the
air was tremulous with mourning from the first cataract to the sea.