Cleopatra. Генри Райдер Хаггард

a few added wrinkles that Time had cut upon her forehead, was just as she had been when she threw the sandal after me five long years before.

      “La! la! la!” she cried; “and there thou art, my bonny lad; more bonny even than thou wert! La! what a man! what shoulders! and what a face and form! Ah, it does an old woman credit to have dandled thee! But thou art over-pale; those priests down there at Annu have starved thee, surely? Starve not thyself: the Gods love not a skeleton. ‘Empty stomach makes empty head’ as they say at Alexandria. But this is a glad hour; ay, a joyous hour. Come in—come in!” and as I lighted down she embraced me.

      But I thrust her aside. “My father! where is my father?” I cried; “I see him not!”

      “Nay, nay, have no fear,” she answered; “his Holiness is well; he waits thee in his chamber. There, pass on. O happy day! O happy Abouthis!”

      So I went, or rather ran, and reached the chamber of which I have written, and there at the table sat my father, Amenemhat, the same as he had been, but very old. I came to him and, kneeling before him, kissed his hand, and he blessed me.

      “Look up, my son,” he said, “let my old eyes gaze upon thy face, that I may read thy heart.”

      So I lifted up my head, and he looked upon me long and earnestly.

      “I read thee,” he said at length; “thou art pure and strong in wisdom; I have not been deceived in thee. Oh, the years have been lonely; but I did well to send thee hence. Now, tell me of thy life; for thy letters have told me little, and thou canst not know, my son, how hungry is a father’s heart.”

      And so I told him; we sat far into the night and talked together. And in the end he bade me know that I must now prepare to be initiated into those last mysteries that are learned of the chosen of the Gods.

      And so it came about that for a space of three months I prepared myself according to the holy customs. I ate no meat. I was constant in the sanctuaries, in the study of the secrets of the Great Sacrifice and of the woe of the Holy Mother. I watched and prayed before the altars. I lifted up my soul to God; ay, in dreams I communed with the Invisible, till at length earth and earth’s desires seemed to pass from me. I longed no more for the glory of this world, my heart hung above it as an eagle on his outstretched wings, and the voice of the world’s blame could not stir it, and the vision of its beauty brought no delight. For above me was the vast vault of heaven, where in unalterable procession the stars pass on, drawing after them the destinies of men; where the Holy Ones sit upon their burning thrones, and watch the chariot-wheels of Fate as they roll from sphere to sphere. O hours of holy contemplation! who, having once tasted of your joy could wish again to grovel on the earth? O vile flesh to drag us down! I would that thou hadst then altogether fallen from me, and left my spirit free to seek Osiris!

      The months of probation passed but too swiftly, and now the holy day drew near when I was in truth to be united to the universal Mother. Never hath Night so longed for the promise of the Dawn; never hath the heart of a lover so passionately desired the sweet coming of his bride, as I longed to see Thy glorious face, O Isis! Even now that I have been faithless to Thee, and Thou art far from me, O Divine! my soul goes out to Thee, and once more I know——But as it is bidden that I should draw the veil, and speak of things which have not been told since the beginning of this world, let me pass on and reverently set down the history of that holy morn.

      For seven days the great festival had been celebrated, the suffering of the Lord Osiris had been commemorated, the grief of the Mother Isis had been sung and glory had been done to the memory of the coming of the Divine Child Horus, the Son, the Avenger, the God-begot. All these things had been carried out according to the ancient rites. The boats had floated on the sacred lake, the priests had scourged themselves before the sanctuaries, and the images had been borne through the streets at night.

      And now, as the sun sank on the seventh day, once more the great procession gathered to chant the woes of Isis and tell how the evil was avenged. We went in silence from the temple, and passed through the city ways. First came those who clear the path, then my father Amenemhat in all his priestly robes, and the wand of cedar in his hand. Then, clad in pure linen, I, the neophyte, followed alone; and after me the white-robed priests, holding aloft banners and emblems of the Gods. Next came those who bear the sacred boat, and after them the singers and the mourners; while, stretching as far as the eye could reach, all the people marched, clad in melancholy black because Osiris was no more. We went in silence through the city streets till at length we came to the wall of the temple and passed in. And as my father, the High Priest, entered beneath the gateway of the outer pylon, a sweet-voiced woman singer began to sing the Holy Chant, and thus she sang:

      “Sing we Osiris dead,

       Lament the fallen head:

       The light has left the world, the world is grey.

       Athwart the starry skies

       The web of Darkness flies,

       And Isis weeps Osiris passed away.

       Your tears, ye stars, ye fires, ye rivers, shed,

       Weep, children of the Nile, weep for your Lord is dead!”

      She paused in her most sweet song, and the whole multitude took up the melancholy dirge:

      “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling

       Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;

       Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling:

       ‘Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold!

       Return to them that worship thee of old!’ ”

      The chorus ceased, and once again she sang:

      “Within the court divine

       The Sevenfold sacred shrine

       We pass, while echoes of the Temple walls

       Repeat the long lament

       The sound of sorrow sent

       Far up within the imperishable halls,

       Where, each in the other’s arms, the Sisters weep,

       Isis and Nephthys, o’er His unawaking sleep.”

      And then again rolled forth the solemn chorus of a thousand voices:

      “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling

       Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;

       Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling:

       ‘Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold!

       Return to them that worship thee of old!’ ”

       It ceased, and sweetly she took up the song:

       “O dweller in the West,

       Lover and Lordliest,

       Thy love, thy Sister Isis, calls thee home!

       Come from thy chamber dun

       Thou Master of the Sun,

       Thy shadowy chamber far below the foam!

       With weary wings and spent

       Through all the firmament,

       Through all the horror-haunted ways of Hell,

       I seek thee near and far,

       From star to wandering star,

       Free with the dead that in Amenti dwell.

       I search the height, the deep, the lands, the skies,

       Rise from the dead and live, our Lord Osiris, rise!”

       “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling

       Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;

       Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling:

       ‘Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold!

       Return to them that worship thee of old!’ ”

      Now