But no, he declined that, too. He wished us only to remember him, he
insisted. He added:
"I have two scarabs at home; I should like to bring them to your hotel."
It was rather dazing. The seller of scarabs--genuine or imitation--will
not let a prospective purchaser get out of sight. I wondered why we
should be trusted in this unheard-of way; I also wondered what those two
scarabs were likely to be worth. Could he come to-night? I asked; we
should be sight-seeing to-morrow and leaving for Upper Egypt in the
afternoon.
But no, he would not be home in time. He would wait until we returned
from Upper Egypt.
So it was we had parted, and in the tumult of sight-seeing up the Nile I
had forgotten the matter altogether. Now, here he was. I counted up my
spare currency, and waited.
He had on his best smile as he entered, also a brand-new uniform, and he
certainly made a handsome figure. He inquired as to our sight-seeing up
the Nile, then rather timidly he produced two of those little Egyptian
gems--a scarab and an amulet, such as men and women of old Egypt wore,
and took with them to their tombs.
"I got them from a man who took them from a mummy. They are genuine. I
want to give them to you and the little lady," he said.
"But you must not _give_ them to us--they are too valuable," I began.
He flushed and straightened up a little.
"But that is why I wish you to have them."
* * * * *
Now, of course, no one who knows Cairo can ever believe that story. Yet
it all truly happened, precisely as I have set it down. He was just a
young Egyptian who had attended school in Alexandria, and he spoke and
wrote English, French, Italian, and the dialects of Arabic. The Egyptian
acquires the lore of languages naturally, it would seem, but that this
youth should acquire all those things, and such a standard of honor and
generosity, here in a land where baksheesh is the native god, did seem
amazing. When we left, he wrote down our address in the neatest possible
hand, requesting permission to send us something more.
NOTE.--As my reputation for truth is already gone I may as
well add, a year later, that he has since sent two
presents--some little funerary figures, and a beautiful
ivory-handled fly-whip.
XLIV
SAKKARA AND THE SACRED BULLS
One begins and finishes Egypt with Cairo. Starting with the Sphinx and
Pyramids of the Fourth Dynasty, you work down through the Theban periods
of the Upper Nile and then once more at Cairo, leap far back into the
First period in a trip to Memphis, the earliest capital of Egypt, the
beginning of all Egyptian things. After which, follows the Museum, for
only after visiting localities and landmarks can that great climax be
properly approached.
I think we were no longer very enthusiastic about ruins, but every one
said we must go to Sakkara. There was yet another very wonderful statue
of Rameses there, they said, also the oldest pyramids ever built, and
the Mausoleum of the Sacred Bulls. It would never do to miss them.
I am glad now that I did not miss them, but I remember the Memphis
donkeys with unkindness. The farther down the Nile the worse the
donkeys. We thought they had been bad at Abydos, but the Abydos donkeys
were without sin compared with those of Sakkara. Mine was named
"Sunrise," and I picked him for his beauty, always a dangerous asset. He
was thoroughly depraved and had a gait like a steam-drill. The boat
landed us at Bedrashen and I managed to survive as far as the colossal
statue of Rameses, a prostrate marvel, and the site of the ancient city
of Menes--capital of Egypt a good deal more than six thousand years
ago--that is, before the world began, by gospel calculation. I was
perfectly willing to stay there among the cooling palms and watch the
little children gather camel-dung and pat it into cakes to dry for fuel,
and I would have done it if I had known what was going to happen to me.
It is a weary way across the desert to the pyramids and the tombs of
those sacred bulls, but I was not informed of that. When I realized, it
was too late. The rest of the party were far ahead of me beyond some
hills, and I was alone in the desert with that long-eared disaster and a
donkey-boy who stopped to talk with the children, beset by a plague of
flies that would have brought Pharaoh to terms. It was useless to kick
and hammer that donkey or to denounce the donkey-boy. Sunrise had long
ago formulated his notions of speed, and the donkey-boy was simply a
criminal in disguise. When we passed a mud village, at last, and a new
brigade of flies joined those I had with me, I would have given any
reasonable sum to have been at Cairo with the Reprobates, in the cool
quiet of Shepheard's marble halls.
Beyond the village was just the sand waste, and not a soul of the party
in sight. I didn't have the courage to go back, and hardly the courage
to go on. I said I would lie down by the trail and die, and let them
find me there and be sorry they had forsaken me in that pitiless way.
Then for the sake of speed I got off and walked. It was heavy walking
through the loose sand, with the sun blazing down.
Presently I looked around for my escort. He was close at my heels--on
the donkey's back. I said the most crushing things I could think of and
displaced him. Then we settled down into the speed of a ram-headed
sphinx again. Everything seemed utterly hopeless. It was useless to
swear; I was too old to cry.
I don't know when we reached the first pyramid, but the party had been
there and gone. I did not care for it much. It might be the oldest
pyramid in the world, but it was rather a poor specimen, I thought, and
could not make me forget my sorrow. I went on, and after a weary time
came to the Tomb of Thi, who lived in the Fifth Dynasty and was in no
way related to Queen Thi of Tell al-Amarna, who came along some two
thousand years later. There was an Englishman and his guide there who
told me about it, and it was worth seeing, certainly, with its relief
frescoes over five thousand years old, though it is not such a tomb as
those of the Upper Nile.
I overtook the party at the Tomb of the Sacred Bulls. By that time I had
little enthusiasm for bulls; or for tombs, unless it was one I could use
for Sunrise. The party had done the bulls, but when I got hold of Gaddis
and laid my case before him, he said he would find me a new donkey and
that the others would wait while we inspected the bulls. So everything
was better then, and I was glad of the bulls, though I was still warm
and resentful at Sunrise and his keeper, and even at Gaddis, who was
innocent enough, Heaven knows.
In the tomb of the bulls everything unpleasant passed away. It was cool
and dark in there, and we carried lights and wandered along those vast
still corridors, which are simply astounding when one remembers their
purpose.
This Serapeum or Apis mausoleum is a vast succession of huge underground
vaults and elaborate granite sarcophagi, which once contained all the
Apis or Sacred Bulls of Memphis. The Apis was the product of an
immaculate conception. Lightning descended from heaven upon a cow--any
cow--and the Apis was the result. He was recognized by being black, with
a triangular spot of white on his forehead and a figure of an eagle on
his back. Furthermore, he had double hairs in his tail and a beetle on
his tongue. It was recognized that only lightning could produce a bull
like that, and no others were genuine, regardless of watchful
circumstance.
Apis was about the most sacred of the whole synod of Egyptian beasts.
Even the Hawk of Horus and the Jackal of Anubis had to retire to
obscurity when Apis came along, mumbling and pawing up the dust. When he
died there were very solemn ceremonies, and he was put into one of those
polished granite sarcophagi, with a tablet on the walls relating the
story of his life, and mentioning the King whose reign had been honored
by this bellowing bovine aristocrat. Also they set up a special chapel
over his tomb, and this series of chapels and tombs eventually
solidified into a great temple with pylons approached by an avenue of
sphinxes.
The Serapeum dates from about 1500 B.C. and continued in active use down
to the time of the Ptolomies. The Egyptian Pantheon was breaking up
then, and Apis was probably one of the first deities to go. A nation's
gods fall into disrepute when they can no longer bring victory to a
nation's arms, and a sacred bull who could not beat off Julius Caesar
would very likely be asked to resign.
There are sixty-four vaults in the part of the Serapeum we visited, and
twenty-four of them contain the granite sarcophagi. The sarcophagi are
about thirteen feet long by eleven feet wide, and eight high--that is to
say, the size of an ordinary bedroom--and in each of these, mummified
and in state, an Apis slept.
He is not there now. Only two of him were found when these galleries
were opened in modern times. But I have seen Apis, for one of him sleeps
now in a glass case in the Historical Library in New York City. I shall
visit him again on my return, and view him with deeper interest and more
respect since I have seen his tomb.
XLV
A VISIT WITH RAMESES II.
I have never quite known just how it was I happened to be overlooked and
deserted that next evening at the Museum. I remember walking miles
through its wonderful galleries; I recollect standing before the rare
group of Rameses and his queen--recently discovered and put in
place--the most beautiful sculpture in Egypt; I recall that we visited
the room of Mr. Theodore Davis and looked on all the curiously modern
chairs and couches and the perfectly preserved chariot taken from the
tombs opened in the Valley of the Kings; also the room where all the
royal jewels are kept, marvellous necklaces and amulets, and every
ornament that would delight a king or queen in any age; I have a
confused impression of hundreds of bronze and thousands of clay figures
taken from tombs; I know that, as a grand climax, we came at last to the
gem of the vast collection, the room where Seti I., Rameses the Great,
and the rest of the royal dead, found at Der al-Bahari, lie asleep. I
remember, too, that I was tired then, monumentally tired in the thought
that this was the last word in Egypt; that we were done; that there was
no need of keeping up and alive for further endeavor--that only before
us lay the sweet anticipation of rest.
The others were tired, too, but they wanted to buy some things in the
little salesroom down-stairs, and were going, presently. They would come
back and see the kings again, later. I said I would stay there and
commune a little alone with the great Seti, and his royal son, who, in
that dim long ago, had remembered himself so numerously along the Nile.
They meant to come back, no doubt, the party, I mean; they claim now
that the main museum was already closed when they had finished their
purchases, and they supposed I had gone. It does not matter, I have
forgiven them, whatever their sin.
It was pleasant and restful there, when they had left me. I dropped down
on a little seat against the wall and looked at those still figures,
father and son, kings, mighty warriors and temple-builders when the
glory of Egypt was at full flood.
It was an impressive thought that those stately temples up the Nile,
which men travel across the world to see, were built by these two; that
the statues are their statues; that the battles and sacrifices depicted
on a thousand walls were _their_ battles and _their_ sacrifices; that
they loved and fought and conquered, and set up monuments in those
far-off centuries when history was in its sunrise, yet lie here before
us in person to-day, frail drift on the long tide of years.
And it was a solemn thought that their life story is forever done--that
any life story can last but a little while. Tossed up out of the
unexplored, one's feet some day touch the earth--the ancient earth that
had been going on so long before we came. Then, for a few years, we
bustle importantly up and down--fight battles and build temples,
maybe--and all at once slip back into the uncharted waste, while the
world--the ancient world--fights new battles, builds new temples, sends
new ships across the sea, though we have part in it no more, no
more--forever, and forever.
Looking at those two, who in their brief sojourn had made and recorded
some of the most ancient history we know, I recalled portions of their
pictured story on the temple walls and tried to build a human semblance
of their daily lives. Of course they were never troubled with petty
things, I thought; economies, frivolities, small vanities, domestic
irritations--these were modern. _They_ had been as gods in the full
panoply of a race divinely new. They had been--
But it was too much of an effort. I was too worn. I could only look at
them, and envy the long nap they were having there under the glass in
that still, pleasant room.
I was a good deal surprised, then, when I fancied I saw Rameses stir and
appear a little restless in his sleep. It was even more interesting to
see him presently slide away the glass and sit up. I thought there must
be some mistake, and I was going to get an attendant, when he noticed me
and seemed to guess my thought.
"It's all right," he said, "you needn't call any one. The place closed
an hour ago and there is only a guard down-stairs, who is asleep by this
time. It happens to be my night to reincarnate and I am glad you are
here to keep me company. You can tell me a good deal, no doubt. These
people here don't know anything." He waved a hand to the sleepers about
him. "They are allowed only one night in a thousand years. The gods
allow me a night in every century. I was always a favorite of the gods.
It is fortunate you happened to stop with us to-night."
"It _is_ fortunate," I said. "I shall be envied by my race. I have just
been trying to imagine something of your life and period. That is far
more interesting than to-day. Tell me something about it."
Rameses rested comfortably on the side of his case.
"Oh, well," he said, reflectively, "of course mine was a great period--a
very great period. Egypt was never so great as it was under my rule. It
was my rule that made it great--my policy, of course, and my vigorous
action. I was always for progress and war. The histories you have of my
period are poor things. They never did me justice, but it was my own
fault, of course. I did not leave enough records of my work. I was
always a modest man--too modest for my own good, everybody said that.
"I was religious, too, and built temples wherever there was room. It is
said that I claimed temples that I did not build. Nonsense!--I built all
the temples. I built Karnak; I built Luxor; I built Abou-Simbel; I built
Abydos; I built the Pyramids; I built the Sphinx; I invented the sacred
bulls; I was all there was to religion, in Egypt. I was all there was to
_Egypt_. I was the whole thing. It is a pity I did not make a record of
these things somewhere."
"There _are_ a few statues of you," I suggested, "and inscriptions--they
seem to imply--"
"Ah yes," he said, "but not many. It was slow work carving those things.
I could have had many more, if the workmen had been more industrious.
But everything was slow, and very costly--very costly indeed--why, I
spent a fortune on that temple of Karnak alone. You saw what I did
there; those ram-headed sphinxes nearly bankrupted me. I had to cut down
household expenses to finish them.
"Yes, my wife objected a good deal-- I speak collectively, of course,
signifying my domestic companionship--there were fourteen of her.
[Illustration: GOT IT MADE CHEAP SOMEWHERE WITH HER PICTURE CARVED ON
THE FRONT OF IT]
"She wanted jewelry--collectively--individually, too, for that
matter--and it took such a lot to go around. You saw all those things in
the next room. They were for her; they were for that matrimonial
collection; I could never satisfy the female craving for such things.
Why, I bought one round of necklaces that cost as much as a ram-headed
sphinx. Still she was not satisfied. Then she was sorry
afterward--collectively--and bought me a sphinx as a present--got it
made cheap somewhere with her picture carved on the front of it. You may
have noticed it--third on the right as you come out. I used it--I had
to--but it was a joke. When wives buy things for their husbands it is
quite often so.
"Oh yes, I was a great king, of course, and the greatest warrior the
world has ever seen; but my path was not all roses. My wife--my
household collection--wanted their statues placed by the side of mine.
Individually! Think of what a figure I would have cut! It was a silly
notion. What had they done to deserve statues? I did it, though--that
is collectively--here and there. I embodied her in a single figure at my
knee, as became her position. But she wasn't satisfied--collectively and
individually she declared she amounted to as much as I did, and pointed
at our seventy-two sons.
"No, I was never understood by that lot. I was never a hero in my own
house. So I had to order another statue, putting her at my side. You saw
it down-stairs. It is very beautiful, of course, and is a good likeness
of her, collectively. She always made a good composite picture, but is
it fair to me? She was never regarded in that important way, except by
herself.
"Yes, it is very pleasant here--very indeed. The last time I was allowed
to reincarnate, I was still in the cave at Der al-Bahari, where they
stored us when Cambyses came along and raided Thebes. Cambyses burned a
number of my temples. It was too bad. The cave was a poor place, but
safe. My tomb was much pleasanter, though it was not as grand as I had
intended it to be. I meant to have the finest tomb in the valley, but my
contractor cheated me.
"The men who furnished the materials paid him large sums and gave me
very poor returns. His name was Baksheesh, which is how the word
originated, though it means several things now, I believe."
"How interesting!" I interrupted. "We would call that grafting in our
country."
"Very likely; I didn't find out that he was grafting, as you say, until
quite late, then I put him into a block of concrete and built him into a
temple. He made a very good block; he is there yet. After that there
was no trouble for a while."
"I saw something of the kind at Algiers--one Geronimo," I began--
"Later, three thousand years later. I originated the idea--it has been
often adopted since. Those people along the Coast adopted a good many of
my ideas, but they never get the value out of them. It put an end to
baksheesh--graft as you call it--in Thebes, and it would be valuable
to-day in Cairo, I should think. A wall around Cairo could be built in
that way--there is enough material."
The King rested a little on his other arm, then continued:
"Speaking of my tomb. I am glad I am not there. I attract much more
attention here than if I were on exhibition in that remote place.
There's Amenophis II. I understand that he's very proud of the fact that
he's the only king left in his tomb. I don't envy him at all. I have a
hundred visitors where he has one. They are passing by me here in a
string all day, and when they are your countrymen I can hear a good deal
even through the thick glass. I find it more interesting to stay here in
my case through the day, than to be stalking about the underworld,
attending sacrifices to Anubis and those other gods. I was always fond
of activity and progress."
"You keep up with your doings, then?"
"Well, not altogether. You see, I cannot go about in the upper world. I
catch only a word of things from the tourists. I hear they have a new
kind of boat on the Nile."
"Yes, indeed," I said. "A boat that is run by steam--a mixture of fire
and water--and is lit by electricity--a form of lightning."
I thought he would be excited over these things, and full of questions;
but he only reflected a little and asked,
"What is the name of that boat?"
"Oh, there are many of them. The one I came down on was called the
_Memnon_."
He sighed.
"There it is," he said, sadly. "I am discredited, you see. I suppose
they couldn't name it 'Rameses the Great.'"
"Ah, but there is one of that name, too."
He brightened a little, but grew sad again.
"Only one?" he said.
"Do you think there should be more of that name?" I asked.
He sat up quite straight.
"In my time they would all have borne that great name," he said.
"And--ah, wouldn't that be a bit confusing?"
"Not at all. I have set up as many as a hundred statues in one
temple--_all_ of Rameses the Great. They were not at all confusing. You
knew _all_ of them immediately."
"True enough; and now I think of it, perhaps you have not heard that
they have made your portrait as you lie here, and, by a magic process of
ours, have placed it on a sort of papyrus tablet--a postal card we call
it--and by another process have sent thousands of them over the world."
He looked at me with eyes that penetrated my conscience.
"Is that statement true?" he asked, tremulously.
"It is--every word. Your portrait is as familiar to the world to-day as
it was here in Egypt three thousand years ago."
The great peace that had rested on the king's face came back to it. The
piercing eyes closed restfully, and he slipped back on his pillow.
"Then, after all, I am vindicated," he murmured. "I have not lived and
died in vain."
A hand was resting on my shoulder. The sun was shining in, and a
threatening guard was standing over me.
It was nothing. Five francs allayed his indignation. Five francs is a
large baksheesh in Cairo, but I did not begrudge it, as matters stood.
XLVI
THE LONG WAY HOME
We bade good-bye to Egypt that morning, and to Gaddis--whose name and
memory will always mean Egypt to me--and were off for Alexandria, where
the ship was waiting. That long-ago dream of a visit to Damascus and
Jerusalem, and of a camp on the Nile had been realized. Now it was over.
We were ready to go home--at least some of us were. There would be a
stop at Naples, with Pompeii and Rome for those who cared for it, but
even these great places would be tame after Egypt. They must be
approached from another direction for that eager interest which properly
belongs to an expedition of this kind. A number of our ship-dwellers had
an eager interest--a large and growing interest--but it was for home, an
interest that was multiplied each day by the square of the distance
travelled.
[Illustration: SET OUT ON THE LONG, STEADY, ATLANTIC SWING]
Not many of us were left when we had made our last touch on the Riviera,
rounded the Rock, and set out on the long, steady, Atlantic swing. The
Reprobates had gone _via_ Monte Carlo to Paris. Others had drifted up
through Europe to sail from Cherbourg. The Diplomat was still with us;
also Fosdick of Ohio, and Laura, age fourteen, but only a score or two
of the original muster could gather at the long table in the dining-room
on the last night out of port, for a final look at one another, and to
exchange the greetings and god-speeds for which there would be little
time during the bustle of arrival. It was hardly an occasion; just a
pleasant little meeting that even with jollification was not without
sadness. One of the ship's poets offered some verses of good-bye, of
which I recall these lines:
"To-night, we are here who have stayed by the ship;
To-morrow, the harbor and anchor and slip--
The word of command for the gang-plank to fall--
The word that shall suddenly scatter us all--
Then all the King's horses and all the King's men
Could never collect us together again."
* * * * *
That was a good while ago, nearly a year now, and already it seems as
far back in the past as the days of Rameses; for, as I have said
somewhere before, we have but a meagre conception of time. Indeed, I
suspect there is no such thing as time. How can there be when one period
is as long as another compared with eternity?