THE CROWNING OF AMENMESES
Now, notwithstanding all the woes that fell on Egypt and a certain
secret sorrow of my own, began the happiest of the days which the gods
have given me. We went to Mennefer or Memphis, the white-walled city
where I was born, the city that I loved. Now no longer did I dwell in a
little house near to the enclosure of the temple of Ptah, which is
vaster and more splendid than all those of Thebes or Tanis. My home was
in the beautiful palace of Seti, which he had inherited from his
mother, the Great Royal Wife. It stood, and indeed still stands, on a
piled-up mound without the walls near to the temple of the goddess
Neit, who always has her habitation to the north of the wall, why I do
not know, because even her priests cannot tell me. In front of this
palace, facing to the north, is a great portico, whereof the roof is
borne upon palm-headed, painted columns whence may be seen the most
lovely prospect in Egypt. First the gardens, then the palm-groves, then
the cultivated land, then the broad and gentle Nile and, far away, the
desert.
Here, then, we dwelt, keeping small state and almost unguarded, but in
wealth and comfort, spending our time in the library of the palace, or
in those of the temples, and when we wearied of work, in the lovely
gardens or, perchance, sailing upon the bosom of the Nile. The lady
Merapi dwelt there also, but in a separate wing of the palace, with
certain slaves and servants whom Seti had given to her. Sometimes we
met her in the gardens, where it pleased her to walk at the same hours
that we did, namely before the sun grew hot, or in the cool of the
evening, and now and again when the moon shone at night. Then the three
of us would talk together, for Seti never sought her company alone or
within walls.
Those talks were very pleasant. Moreover they grew more frequent as time
went on, since Merapi had a thirst for learning, and the Prince would
bring her rolls to read in a little summer-house there was. Here we
would sit, or if the heat was great, outside beneath the shadow of two
spreading trees that stretched above the roof of the little
pleasure-house, while Seti discoursed of the contents of the rolls and
instructed her in the secrets of our writing. Sometimes, too, I read
them stories of my making, to which it pleased them both to listen, or
so they said, and I, in my vanity, believed. Also we would talk of the
mystery and the wonder of the world and of the Hebrews and their fate,
or of what passed in Egypt and the neighbouring lands.
Nor was Merapi altogether lonesome, seeing that there dwelt in Memphis
certain ladies who had Hebrew blood in their veins, or were born of the
Israelites and had married Egyptians against their law. Among these she
made friends, and together they worshipped in their own fashion with
none to say them nay, since here no priests were allowed to trouble
them.
For our part we held intercourse with as many as we pleased, since few
forgot that Seti was by blood the Prince of Egypt, that is, a man
almost half divine, and all were eager to visit him. Also he was much
beloved for his own sake and more particularly by the poor, whose wants
it was his delight to relieve to the full limit of his wealth. Thus it
came about that whenever he went abroad, although against his will, he
was received with honours and homage that were almost royal, for though
Pharaoh could rob him of the Crown he could not empty his veins of the
blood of kings.
It was on this account that I feared for his safety, since I was sure
that through his spies Amenmeses knew all and would grow jealous of a
dethroned prince who was still so much adored by those over whom of
right he should have ruled. I told Seti of my doubts and that when he
travelled the streets he should be guarded by armed men. But he only
laughed and answered that, as the Hebrews had failed to kill him, he
did not think that any others would succeed. Moreover he believed there
were no Egyptians in the land who would lift a sword against him, or
put poison in his drink, whoever bade them. Also he added these words:
“The best way to escape death is to have no fear of death, for then
Osiris shuns us.”
Now I must tell of the happenings at Tanis. Pharaoh Meneptah lingered
but a few hours and never found his mind again before his spirit flew
to Heaven. Then there was great mourning in the land, for, if he was
not loved, Meneptah was honoured and feared. Only among the Israelites
there was open rejoicing, because he had been their enemy and their
prophets had foretold that death was near to him. They gave it out that
he had been smitten of their God, which caused the Egyptians to hate
them more than ever. There was doubt, too, and bewilderment in Egypt,
for though his proclamation disinheriting the Prince Seti had been
published abroad, the people, and especially those who dwelt in the
south, could not understand why this should have been done over a matter
of the shepherd slaves who dwelt in Goshen. Indeed, had the Prince but
held up his hand, tens of thousands would have rallied to his standard.
Yet this he refused to do, which astonished all the world, who thought
it marvellous that any man should refuse a throne which would have
lifted him almost to the level of the gods. Indeed, to avoid their
importunities he had set out at once for Memphis, and there remained
hidden away during the period of mourning for his father. So it came
about that Amenmeses succeeded with none to say him nay, since without
her husband Userti could not or would not act.
After the days of embalmment were accomplished the body of Pharaoh
Meneptah was carried up the Nile to be laid in his eternal house, the
splendid tomb that he had made ready for himself in the Valley of Dead
Kings at Thebes. To this great ceremony the Prince Seti was not bidden,
lest, as Bakenkhonsu told me afterwards, his presence should cause some
rising in his favour, with or without his will. For this reason also
the dead god, as he was named, was not suffered to rest at Memphis on
his last journey up the Nile. Disguised as a man of the people the
Prince watched his father’s body pass in the funeral barge guarded by
shaven, white-robed priests, the centre of a splendid procession. In
front went other barges filled with soldiers and officers of state,
behind came the new Pharaoh and all the great ones of Egypt, while the
sounds of lamentation floated far over the face of the waters. They
appeared, they passed, they disappeared, and when they had vanished
Seti wept a little, for in his own fashion he loved his father.
“Of what use is it to be a king and named half-divine, Ana,” he
said to me, “seeing that the end of such gods as these is the same as
that of the beggar at the gate?”
“This, Prince,” I answered, “that a king can do more good
than a beggar while the breath is in his nostrils, and leave behind him
a great example to others.”
“Or more harm, Ana. Also the beggar can leave a great example, that of
patience in affliction. Still, if I were sure that I should do nothing
but good, then perhaps I would be a king. But I have noted that those
who desire to do the most good often work the greatest harm.”
“Which, if followed out, would be an argument for wishing to do evil,
Prince.”
“Not so,” he answered, “because good triumphs at the last.
For good is truth and truth rules earth and heaven.”
“Then it is clear, Prince, that you should seek to be a king.”
“I will remember the argument, Ana, if ever time brings me an
opportunity unstained by blood,” he answered.
When the obsequies of Pharaoh were finished, Amenmeses returned to
Tanis, and there was crowned as Pharaoh. I attended this great
ceremony, bearing coronation gifts of certain royal ornaments which the
Prince sent to Pharaoh, saying it was not fit that he, as a private
person, should wear them any longer. These I presented to Pharaoh, who
took them doubtfully, declaring that he did not understand the Prince
Seti’s mind and actions.
“They hide no snare, O Pharaoh,” I said. “As you rejoice in
the glory that the gods have sent you, so the Prince my master rejoices
in the rest and peace which the gods have given him, asking no more.”
“It may be so, Scribe, but I find this so strange a thing, that
sometimes I fear lest the rich flowers of this glory of mine should
hide some deadly snake, whereof the Prince knows, if he did not set it
there.”
“I cannot say, O Pharaoh, but without doubt, although he could work no
guile, the Prince is not as are other men. His mind is both wide and
deep.”
“Too deep for me,” muttered Amenmeses. “Nevertheless, say to
my royal cousin that I thank him for his gifts, especially as some of
them were worn, when he was heir to Egypt, by my father Khaemuas, who I
would had left me his wisdom as well as his blood. Say to him also that
while he refrains from working me harm upon the throne, as I know he
has done up to the present, he may be sure that I will work him none in
the station which he has chosen.”
Also I saw the Princess Userti who questioned me closely concerning her
lord. I told her everything, keeping naught back. She listened and
asked:
“What of that Hebrew woman, Moon of Israel? Without doubt she fills my
place.”
“Not so, Princess,” I answered. “The Prince lives alone.
Neither she nor any other woman fills your place. She is a friend to
him, no more.”
“A friend! Well, at least we know the end of such friendships. Oh!
surely the Prince must be stricken with madness from the gods!”
“It may be so, your Highness, but I think that if the gods smote more
men with such madness, the world would be better than it is.”
“The world is the world, and the business of those who are born to
greatness is to rule it as it is, not to hide away amongst books and
flowers, and to talk folly with a beautiful outland woman, and a scribe
however learned,” she answered bitterly, adding, “Oh! if the Prince
is not mad, certainly he drives others to madness, and me, his spouse,
among them. That throne is his, his; yet he suffers a cross-grained
dolt to take his place, and sends him gifts and blessings.”
“I think your Highness should wait till the end of the story before
you judge of it.”
She looked at me sharply, and asked:
“Why do you say that? Is the Prince no fool after all? Do he and you,
who both seem to be so simple, perchance play a great and hidden game,
as I have known men feign folly in order to do with safety? Or has that
witch of an Israelite some secret knowledge in which she instructs you,
such as a woman who can shatter the statue of Amon to fine dust might
well possess? You make believe not to know, which means that you will
not answer. Oh! Scribe Ana, if only it were safe, I think I could find
a way to wring the truth out of you, although you do pretend to be but
a babe for innocence.”
“It pleases your Highness to threaten and without cause.”
“No,” she answered, changing her voice and manner, “I do not
threaten; it is only the madness that I have caught from Seti. Would you
not be mad if you knew that another woman was to be crowned to-morrow
in your place, because—because——” and she began to weep, which
frightened me more than all her rough words.
Presently she dried her tears, and said:
“Say to my lord that I rejoice to hear that he is well and send him
greetings, but that never of my own wish will I look upon his living
face again unless indeed he takes another counsel, and sets himself to
win that which is his own. Say to him that though he has so little care
for me, and pays no heed to my desires, still I watch over his welfare
and his safety, as best I may.”
“His safety, Princess! Pharaoh assured me not an hour ago that he had
naught to fear, as indeed he fears naught.”
“Oh! which of you is the more foolish,” she exclaimed stamping her
foot, “the man or his master? You believe that the Prince has naught
to fear because that usurper tells you so, and he believes it—well,
because he fears naught. For a little while he may sleep in peace. But
let him wait until troubles of this sort or of that arise in Egypt and,
understanding that the gods send them on account of the great
wickedness that my father wrought when death had him by the throat and
his mind was clouded, the people begin to turn their eyes towards their
lawful king. Then the usurper will grow jealous, and if he has his way,
the Prince will sleep in peace—for ever. If his throat remains uncut,
it will be for one reason only, that I hold back the murderer’s hand.
Farewell, I can talk no more, for I say to you that my brain is
afire—and to-morrow he should have been crowned, and I with him,”
and she swept away, royal as ever, leaving me wondering what she meant
when she spoke of troubles arising in Egypt, or if the words were but
uttered at hazard.
Afterwards Bakenkhonsu and I supped together at the college of the
temple of Ptah, of which because of his age he was called the father,
when I heard more of this matter.
“Ana,” he said, “I tell you that such gloom hangs over Egypt
as I have never known even when it was thought that the Ninebow
Barbarians would conquer and enslave the land. Amenmeses will be the
fifth Pharaoh whom I have seen crowned, the first of them when I was
but a little child hanging to my mother’s robe, and not once have I
known such joylessness.”
“That may be because the crown passes to one who should not wear it,
Bakenkhonsu.”
He shook his head. “Not altogether. I think this darkness comes from
the heavens as light does. Men are afraid they know not of what.”
“The Israelites,” I suggested.
“Now you are near to it, Ana, for doubtless they have much to do with
the matter. Had it not been for them Seti and not Amenmeses would be
crowned to-morrow. Also the tale of the marvel which the beautiful
Hebrew woman wrought in the temple yonder has got abroad and is taken
as an omen. Did I tell you that six days gone a fine new statue of the
god was consecrated there and on the following morning was found lying
on its side, or rather with its head resting on the breast of Mut?”
“If so, Merapi is blameless, because she has gone away from this
city.”
“Of course she has gone away, for has not Seti gone also? But I think
she left something behind her. However that may be, even our new divine
lord is afraid. He dreams ill, Ana,” he added, dropping his voice,
“so ill that he has called in Ki, the Kherheb,[1]
to interpret his visions.”
[1]“Kherheb” was the title of the chief official magician in ancient
Egypt.
“And what said Ki?”
“Ki could say nothing or, rather, that the only answer vouchsafed to
him and his company, when they made inquiry of their Kas, was that this
god’s reign would be very short and that it and his life would end
together.”
“Which perhaps did not please the god Amenmeses, Bakenkhonsu?”
“Which did not please the god at all. He threatened Ki. It is a
foolish thing to threaten a great magician, Ana, as the Kherheb Ki,
himself indeed told him, looking him in the eyes. Then he prayed his
pardon and asked who would succeed him on the throne, but Ki said he
did not know, as a Kherheb who had been threatened could never remember
anything, which indeed he never can—except to pay back the
threatener.”
“And did he know, Bakenkhonsu?”
By way of answer the old Councillor crumbled some bread fine upon the
table, then with his finger traced among the crumbs the rough likeness
of a jackal-headed god and of two feathers, after which with a swift
movement he swept the crumbs onto the floor.
“Seti!” I whispered, reading the hieroglyphs of the Prince’s
name, and he nodded and laughed in his great fashion.
“Men come to their own sometimes, Ana, especially if they do not seek
their own,” he said. “But if so, much must happen first that is
terrible. The new Pharaoh is not the only man who dreams, Ana. Of late
years my sleep has been light and sometimes I dream, though I have no
magic like to that of Ki.”
“What did you dream?”
“I dreamed of a great multitude marching like locusts over Egypt.
Before them went a column of fire in which were two hands. One of these
held Amon by the throat and one held the new Pharaoh by the throat.
After them came a column of cloud, and in it a shape like to that of an
unwrapped mummy, a shape of death standing upon water that was full of
countless dead.”
Now I bethought me of the picture that the Prince and I had seen in the
skies yonder in the land of Goshen, but of it I said nothing. Yet I
think that Bakenkhonsu saw into my mind, for he asked:
“Do _you_ never dream, Friend? You see visions that come
true—Amenmeses on the throne, for instance. Do you not also dream at
times? No? Well, then, the Prince? You look like men who might, and the
time is ripe and pregnant. Oh! I remember. You are both of you
dreaming, not of the pictures that pass across the terrible eyes of Ki,
but of those that the moon reflects upon the waters of Memphis, the
Moon of Israel. Ana, be advised by me, put away the flesh and increase
the spirit, for in it alone is happiness, whereof woman and all our
joys are but earthly symbols, shadows thrown by that mortal cloud which
lies between us and the Light Above. I see that you understand, because
some of that light has struggled to your heart. Do you remember that
you saw it shining in the hour when your little daughter died? Ah! I
thought so. It was the gift she left you, a gift that will grow and grow
in such a breast as yours, if only you will put away the flesh and make
room for it, Ana. Man, do not weep—laugh as I do, Oho-ho! Give me my
staff, and good-night. Forget not that we sit together at the crowning
to-morrow, for you are a King’s Companion and that rank once
conferred is one which no new Pharaoh can take away. It is like the
gift of the spirit, Ana, which is hard to win, but once won more
eternal than the stars. Oh! why do I live so long who would bathe in
it, as when a child I used to bathe in Nile?”
On the following day at the appointed hour I went to the great hall of
the palace, that in which I had first seen Meneptah, and took my stand
in the place allotted to me. It was somewhat far back, perhaps because
it was not wished that I, who was known to be the private scribe of
Seti, should remind Egypt of him by appearing where all could see me.
Great as was the hall the crowd filled it to its furthest corners.
Moreover no common man was present there, but rather every noble and
head-priest in Egypt, and with them their wives and daughters, so that
all the dim courts shone with gold and precious gems set upon festal
garments. While I was waiting old Bakenkhonsu hobbled towards me, the
crowd making way for him, and I could see that there was laughter in
his sunken eyes.
“We are ill-placed, Ana,” he said. “Still if any of the many
gods there are in Egypt should chance to rain fires on Pharaoh, we shall
be the safer. Talking of gods,” he went on in a whisper, “have you
heard what happened an hour ago in the temple of Ptah of Tanis whence I
have just come? Pharaoh and all the Blood-royal—save one—walked
according to custom before the statue of the god which, as you know,
should bow its head to show that he chooses and accepts the king. In
front of Amenmeses went the Princess Userti, and as she passed the head
of the god bowed, for I saw it, though all pretended that they did not
see. Then came Pharaoh and stood waiting, but it would not bow, though
the priests called in the old formula, ‘The god greets the king.’
“At length he went on, looking as black as night, and others of the
blood of Rameses followed in their order. Last of all limped Saptah
and, behold! the god bowed again.”
“How and why does it do these things?” I asked, “and at the
wrong time?”
“Ask the priests, Ana, or Userti, or Saptah. Perhaps the divine neck
has not been oiled of late, or too much oiled, or too little oiled, or
prayers—or strings—may have gone wrong. Or Pharaoh may have been
niggard in his gifts to that college of the great god of his House. Who
am I that I should know the ways of gods? That in the temple where I
served at Thebes fifty years ago did not pretend to bow or to trouble
himself as to which of the royal race sat upon the throne. Hush! Here
comes Pharaoh.”
Then in a splendid procession, surrounded by princes, councillors,
ladies, priests, and guards, Amenmeses and the Royal Wife, Urnure, a
large woman who walked awkwardly, entered the hall, a glittering band.
The high-priest, Roi, and the chancellor, Nehesi, received Pharaoh and
led him to his throne. The multitude prostrated itself, trumpets blew
and thrice the old salute of “Life! Blood! Strength! Pharaoh!
Pharaoh! Pharaoh!” was cried aloud.
Amenmeses rose and bowed, and I saw that his heavy face was troubled and
looked older. Then he swore some oath to gods and men which Roi
dictated to him, and before all the company put on the double crown and
the other emblems, and took in his hands the scourge and golden sickle.
Next homage was paid. The Princess Userti came first and kissed
Pharaoh’s hand, but bent no knee. Indeed first she spoke with him a
while. We could not hear what was said, but afterwards learned that she
demanded that he should publicly repeat all the promises which her
father Meneptah had made to her before him, confirming her in her place
and rights. This in the end he did, though it seemed to me unwillingly
enough.
So with many forms and ancient celebrations the ceremony went on, till
all grew weary waiting for that time when Pharaoh should make his
speech to the people. That speech, however, was never made, for
presently, thrusting past us, I saw those two prophets of the
Israelites who had visited Meneptah in this same hall. Men shrank from
them, so that they walked straight up to the throne, nor did even the
guards strive to bar their way. What they said there I could not hear,
but I believe that they demanded that their people should be allowed to
go to worship their god in their own fashion, and that Amenmeses refused
as Meneptah had done.
Then one of them cast down a rod and it turned to a snake which hissed
at Pharaoh, whereon the Kherheb Ki and his company also cast down rods
that turned to snakes, though I could only hear the hissing. After this
a great gloom fell upon the hall, so that men could not see each
other’s faces and everyone began to call aloud till the company broke
up in confusion. Bakenkhonsu and I were borne together to the doorway
by the pressure of the people, whence we were glad enough to see the
sky again.
Thus ended the crowning of Amenmeses.