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Full Quantum International Relations: A Human Science For World Politics James Der Derian Ebook All Chapters

Politics

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Quantum International Relations
Quantum International
Relations
A Human Science for World Politics
Edited by

JA M E S D E R D E R IA N A N D A L E X A N D E R W E N D T

1
3
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press


198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.

© Oxford University Press 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in


a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction
rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form


and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021925622


ISBN 978–​0–​19–​756821–​7 (pbk.)
ISBN 978–​0–​19–​756820–​0 (hbk.)

DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197568200.001.0001

1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Paperback printed by LSC Communications, United States of America
Hardback printed by Bridgeport National Bindery, Inc., United States of America
Contents

Foreword: Setting the Stage  vii


Stephen J. Del Rosso
List of Contributors  xv

I N T R O D U C T IO N

1. Quantum International Relations: The Case for a


New Human Science of World Politics  3
James Der Derian and Alexander Wendt

PA RT 1 . H I S T O RY A N D T H E O RY

2. Quantum Mechanics and the Human Sciences: First Encounters  27


Nicholas T. Harrington
3. Mind, Matter, and Motion: A Genealogy of Quantum
Entanglement and Estrangement  49
Jayson C. Waters
4. A Quantum Temperament for Life: A Dialogue between
Philosophy and Physics  70
Jairus Victor Grove
5. A Conceptual Introduction to Quantum Theory  89
Michael Schnabel

PA RT 2 . S C I E N C E A N D T E C H N O L O G Y

6. The Quantum Moonshot  117


Shohini Ghose
7. Climate Politics and Social Change: What Can Cognitive and
Quantum Approaches Offer?  127
Karen O’Brien and Manjana Milkoreit
8. These Are Not the Droids You’re Looking For: Offense, Defense,
and the Social Context of Quantum Cryptology  153
Jon R. Lindsay
vi Contents

9. Quantum Technology Hype and National Security  172


Frank L. Smith III

PA RT 3 . Q UA N T I Z I N G I R

10. Quantum Pedagogy: Teaching Copenhagen and Discovering


Affinities with Dialectical Thinking in International Relations  197
Thomas Biersteker
11. The Problématique of Quantization in Social Theory:
A Category-​Theoretic Way Forward  215
Badredine Arfi
12. On Quantum Social Theory and Critical International Relations  244
Michael P. A. Murphy
13. Quantum Sovereignty +​Entanglement  262
Mark B. Salter
14. Quantum and Systems Theory in World Society: Not Brothers
and Sisters but Relatives Still?  280
Mathias Albert and Felix M. Bathon
15. The Value of Value: A Quantum Approach to Economics,
Security, and International Relations  301
David Orrell

PA RT 4 . B R I N G I N G T H E H UM A N
BAC K I N T O S C I E N C E
16. Introspection Redux: Incorporating Consciousness into
Social Research  323
Leonardo Orlando
17. To “See” Is to Break an Entanglement: Quantum Measurement,
Trauma, and Security  342
K. M. Fierke and Nicola Mackay
18. The Moral Failure of the Quest for Certainty  361
Laura Zanotti

Index  381
Foreword: Setting the Stage
Stephen J. Del Rosso

When asked in the early post–​Cold War years what to make of the continued tur-
bulence that had dashed the promise of a new era of peace and stability in world
affairs, the astute diplomat, political scientist, and social philosopher Harland
Cleveland told this author that “everything is related to everything else, only
more so now than ever.”1 The first half of this seemingly unremarkable but decep-
tively insightful statement had become increasingly apparent in the international
relations (IR) field, where the acceleration of interactions across time and space
was attributed to the inexorable forces of globalization. It also held true within
certain branches of physics, but for different reasons. In quantum physics, the
microscopic world under examination was inextricably interconnected in ways
that conformed to an elegant and unerring mathematical logic that lent solidity
and structure, however “weird,” to an otherwise inscrutable level of analysis.
It is the second half of Cleveland’s sentence where basic understandings of IR
and quantum physics diverge and where perceptions of reality come further into
play. While the IR specialist of that era could point to phenomena in the macro-
scopic world—​ethnic conflict, “failed states,” resource scarcity, and new forms of
nuclear danger—​that appeared to overlap and connect with increased frequency,
these did not represent a step change in world affairs. Rather, the end of the bi-
polar Cold War standoff that had attracted most of the attention within the field
had made more visible developments that had long been unfolding. Similarly,
in commenting on 9/​11 two decades later, German publisher and editor Josef
Joffe noted, “Cataclysmic as it was, that event was more like a bolt of lightning
that illuminated the essential contours of the international landscape than like
an earthquake that reconfigured it.”2 Observed perturbations in the world were
becoming more noticeable, even if empirically no more numerous.
For the quantum physicist, there was no disjuncture between perception and
reality within the well-​ordered contours of the quantum world. Everything that
had related to everything else remained so, with no apparent intensification
or upturn in interactions. While the many interpretations of quantum physics
spurred debate and disagreement within the field, these internecine wrangles did
not detract from the true step change that occurred over the preceding century
that had upended classical, Newtonian notions of the inner workings of the uni-
verse. Instead of a rational, mechanical system governed by natural laws of cause
and effect, quantum posited a far more complicated and less intuitive notion of
viii Foreword

reality. In a quantum system, the visible world reveals only a sliver of what is
going on beyond our gaze: there is no certainty; all is potentiality. Reality is not
independent of the observer; both are intertwined and constitutive of each other,
and subjectivity is a feature, not a bug of the system.
It is not surprising, then, that quantum mechanical terminology and concepts,
however rudimentarily understood, if at all, would become analogized to de-
scribe the seeming new world disorder that no longer conformed to Newtonian
conceptions of separable, billiard ball states and rational actors bumping up
against one another in ways that “classical” IR theory presumed to explain and
sometimes predict. Key quantum concepts—​however abstruse in their scientific
meaning—​such as “entanglement,” “superposition,” and, perhaps above all, “the
uncertainty principle” appeared to offer an apt vocabulary for trying to make
sense of a world that increasingly defied ready explanation. On an even more su-
perficial level, references to quantum that had spiked in popular culture during
the first quantum revolution of the early twentieth century made a comeback in
the later decades of the century and the beginning of the next as Madison Avenue
affixed the term to all manner of products, from dishwasher detergent to motor-
cycle parts, for connoting something exceptional and powerful.
Long mired in the paradigm wars that rehashed stale debates between
contending theories, dominated by the twin poles of neorealism and liberal
internationalism, and sporadically challenged by upstart critical theorists and
other thinkers who rejected both their ontology and epistemology, the IR field
was ripe for change. So too was the world of foreign policy practice. Echoing
the late US secretary of state George Shultz’s earlier invocation of “quantum di-
plomacy” to describe an international system in which “true reality is hard to
record,”3 Armenian president (and theoretical physicist) Armen Sarkissian more
recently called for “a reassessment of modern politics guided by the principles
of quantum physics [to] make sense out of trends that baffle and undermine the
establishment.”4
Paralleling the ideational ferment in diplomacy and a major branch of the so-
cial sciences, and building on the cumulative insights of earlier eras, quantum
advances in the natural sciences presented tantalizing possibilities for ushering
in a new revolution in the practical application of theory to practice. While
the cognoscenti within the physics field had long understood that quantum
theory provided the insights leading to the development of a host of technolo-
gies, including transistors, lasers, LEDs, GPS, mobile phones, and, more conse-
quentially, predating these innovations, the atomic bomb, for most, quantum’s
connection to everyday life remained largely unknown or too distant and ab-
stract to matter. But beginning in the second decade of the twenty-​first century,
popularized by a receptive media, corporate marketing, and growing national
security concerns that America was losing a quantum race to a newly formidable
Foreword ix

China, quantum re-​emerged as a matter of serious inquiry among experts and


the attentive public.
Much of this renewed interest was focused on the eye-​popping potential of
quantum computing, which, if realized, could perform calculations in minutes
that would take classical computers hundreds of years to complete. As breath-
lessly reported, this revolutionary advance could lead to “unhackable” commu-
nications systems and military sensors that could render stealth technologies
obsolete. Beyond the hard security realm, quantum advances were touted as
processing “big data” in mindboggling ways that could mimic huge chemical
reactions, for example, to create new medicines and materials. And, among other
innovations, they could be used to address world hunger by increasing the pro-
duction of fertilizers, tackle climate change by boosting the extraction of carbon
dioxide from the air, and vastly accelerate improvements in the resilience and
efficiency of power grids.
Separating the hype from reality whenever quantum is invoked remains an
ongoing challenge. Critiques of inflated and false quantum claims have been par-
ticularly pointed among certain voices within physics itself. A profane and biting
Twitter account5 created by an anonymous group of contrarian physicists punc-
tured reports of purported breakthroughs in quantum computing touted in aca-
demic publications and more popular media. Even more dispassionate and civil
adherents in the field cautioned against eruptions of irrational exuberance over
the near-​term applicability of quantum developments that are still in their early
stages.
And yet, from outside the world of physics, the hype over quantum served a
larger purpose. The fact that corporate behemoths such as Google, Microsoft,
and IBM, as well as the US government, had decided to cumulatively invest
billions in the promise of quantum (paralleled by even greater investments in
China, and lesser but still considerable ones from Canada, Australia, France,
Japan, India, Russia, Singapore, and India, among others), helped validate the ex-
uberance—​irrational or otherwise—​of the nonscientific layperson. Such sparks
of interest, or less charitably, flights of fancy, helped loosen the intellectual bolts
on rusty doctrines and worldviews in need of repair or replacement.
As suggested previously, beyond the technological potential of quantum
developments, perhaps the most intriguing bolts to be loosened lie in the so-
cial sciences, where quantum theory is already making inroads, for example, in
studies of cognition and decision theory. It also offers promising alternatives to
concepts borrowed from Newtonian physics, like market equilibrium in eco-
nomics. The “quantizing” of IR that is reflected in this volume and pioneered
by renowned political scientist Alexander Wendt and the forward-​thinking, IR
theorist and filmmaker James Der Derian, along with a new breed of expansive
thinkers, is perhaps its most bold extrapolation. Wendt’s Quantum Mind and
x Foreword

Social Science,6 which followed by a decade and a half his award-​winning book
pioneering the constructivist school in political science,7 challenged the basic
ontological, epistemological, and normative tenets undergirding traditional IR
theory.
Whether grounded in analytical hubris, reflexive defensiveness, or lack of
understanding or creativity, Wendt’s apostacy predictably provoked objections
within the cloistered guild of the field from left, right, and center. His audacious
but methodically reasoned supposition that human consciousness—​a phenom-
enon whose explanation remains a lacuna in classical social science—​is itself
a quantum process, entangling all beings and the universe across distance and
time, smacked for some of intellectual overreach. By speculating that human
beings are “walking wave functions,” Wendt created a ready foil for the naysayers
zealously guarding IR’s dominant disciplinary parapets. Perhaps still chafing
from the missteps of the science envy that animated the behavioral turn that
first riled political science in the 1950s and 1960s and still reverberates today,
the sentinels of the status quo can be forgiven (somewhat) for casting a skeptical
eye toward this new paradigm-​shifting aspirant and refusing to take the leap,
quantum or otherwise, that it entails. While even quantum technologists may be
dismissive of the notion of quantum minds, and quantum social scientists may,
in turn, reject the more fanciful claims of the technologists, their two literatures
are currently so distinct and lacking in references to each other that the potential
benefits of a united front against the doubters in each camp remain an alluring
but distant goal.
For IR, the difficulty in introducing quantum concepts into the established
canon relates to a puzzle inherent in the nature of the subject matter. Although
quantum theory has been applied to solve problems for about a century, be-
yond the logic of mathematical formalism, even quantum physicists do not
know how it works. Unlike classical physics, for those who reject Wendt’s con-
jecture about quantum human beings, there is nothing in the observable world
that appears to duplicate quantum behavior. This presents a daunting com-
munication challenge when making the case for greater adoption of quantum
perspectives within IR and, indeed, throughout social science. IR theorists can
readily visualize how opposing armies can fight each other, and, irrespective
of any deep knowledge of nuclear fission, the catastrophic consequences of a
breakdown in nuclear deterrence as vividly captured in the iconic image of the
mushroom cloud. Even more esoteric threats to international peace and secu-
rity from emergent technologies such as artificial intelligence and cyber—​which
are increasingly linked to, even reliant upon, quantum developments—​can at
least be imagined in the form of thinking robots or villainous computer hackers.
Quantum’s potential disruptive impact is much harder to envision; it lacks a
mushroom cloud equivalent.
Foreword xi

How might philanthropy help overcome this conceptual hurdle? Grantmakers


are by and large unburdened by the press of current events that limit policymakers’
ability to think strategically and add to their store of intellectual capital amassed
outside of government, and the disciplinary strictures that often stymie intel-
lectual pathbreakers in the academy. In principle, foundations can look beyond
the horizon to invest philanthropic venture capital in ideas that challenge hoary
shibboleths and may someday prove consequential. Well-​established foundations,
especially in the expansive field of international peace and security, are continu-
ally searching for ways to become more relevant and cutting edge, while the so-​
called New Philanthropists, with their funding largely derived from profitmaking
in the information technology sector, seem to be on a constant quest for the next
shiny new thing. Quantum would appear to fit the bill for both.
Chastened by two attempts in the pages of the Chronicle of Philanthropy8
to exhort peers at other foundations to join with the Carnegie Corporation of
New York in its initial exploratory efforts to better understand the potentially
profound and far-​ranging implications of the emergent quantum revolution,
I empathize with the reluctance of other philanthropies to follow our lead. There
is a dizzying array of more urgent threats on the broad international peace and se-
curity agenda to command their attention and dollars, and even this agenda has
received less foundation consideration and funding in recent years.9 Since the
corporation’s own investment in quantum is modest compared with its funding
of work in more traditional areas of international peace and security, such as nu-
clear nonproliferation, great power competition and cooperation, peacebuilding
in Africa, and regional conflicts, among others, I had no reason to expect that
my quantum evangelism would result in a windfall of grantmaking support. But,
despite the crowding out by so many competing concerns, I harbored some hope
that there might be other intrepid believers who would join in my conversion to
the cause. So how did I come to enlist in the quantum crusade?
This deliberate resort to religious terminology reflects the epiphany I had on
my own road to Damascus, or, more precisely, on a twenty three-​hour plane
ride to Australia to—​attend my first Project Q symposium in 2016, organized
by the aforementioned James Der Derian, the director of the University of
Sydney’s Centre for International Security Studies. The event, which deepened
my newfound faith in quantum, brought together an eclectic mix of scientists,
philosophers, diplomats, soldiers, scholars, writers, artists, and futurists to tease
out some of quantum theory’s most important implications for both good and
ill. The underlying premise of this avowedly interdisciplinary gathering—​an-
other feature that foundations purport to encourage but too rarely succeed in
advancing—​was to get ahead of quantum’s technological curve to anticipate and
help steer its eventual social effects. As one informed observer of this endeavor
explained to me, “Most social scientists spend their time trying to explain past
xii Foreword

events, in the hopes that this will shed light on future ones. That might make
sense in a deterministic and linear world, but the kinds of social effects that
quantum is likely to have will be hard, if not impossible, to understand in this
way. Thus, in this case, it is absolutely essential for social scientists [and others]
to get out of their usual reactive mode into a pro-​active one, even if that entails a
good deal of speculation.”10
At this event and subsequent Q project symposia supported by the Carnegie
Corporation, Der Derian and his diverse invitees explored some of the most
probing speculative questions posed by the latest quantum revolution, how-
ever protracted and tentative may be its unfolding: What inspiration, ideas,
and concepts can we draw from quantum physics? How can we prepare for the
emergent quantum revolution when its trajectory and implications are not yet
known? How might quantum advances interact with other technologies? Will
quantum developments ultimately lead to sentient computer programs and feral
algorithms? To what extent will quantum applications be weaponized? Are so-
cial media and data mining already producing quantum effects in world politics?
What new kinds of scientific inquiries will make it possible? And what are the
philosophical and ethical implications?
The chapters that follow in this volume are a fitting coda to these expansive and
thought-​provoking discussions and a tangible deliverable in philanthropic terms.
The authors delve into some of the most penetrating and beguiling aspects of what
might be described as an incipient but promising quantum turn in social science,
especially within IR. With contributions that examine the comparisons between
quantum and systems theorizing, the philosophical roots of quantum thinking,
the contextualization of the hype surrounding quantum, the potential of quantum
pedagogy, and a quantum ontology for validating ethical choices, among others,
the authors collectively stake their claim for breaking new intellectual ground
and paving the way for further analysis and discourse. The cumulative insights
reflected in these chapters represent just the kind of forward-​looking, exploratory
thinking that, as noted, foundations are ideally positioned to support.
But however well intended and diligently pursued, the broader and lasting
effects of a grant-​funded project such as this cannot be conclusively determined
or predicted. Philanthropic efforts to promote positive social change are inher-
ently complicated given the multifaceted causal chains involved, the difficulty
in discerning macro developments from micro interventions, and the often-​ex-
tended time required before any shoots appear from seeds once planted. Despite
the many thoughtful attempts to overcome these challenges, evaluative metrics in
the field remain a work in progress. As even the bumptious New Philanthropists
have discovered, measuring grantmaking impact is not as clear-​cut as calcu-
lating price-​earnings ratios. The great industrialist and philanthropist Andrew
Carnegie had earlier come to the same realization. He established his namesake
Foreword xiii

grantmaking foundation in 1911 with an abiding belief in the power of ideas to


change the world for the better. His most ambitious idea was the abolition of
war. While he and this philanthropic progeny may have fallen short in reaching
this lofty goal, the Carnegie Corporation’s many investments to both limit war’s
effects and curb its frequency continue apace, notwithstanding the difficulty in-
volved in proving a negative.
Although the ability of even the most generously endowed and capable
foundations to move the needle on the most pressing problems of our age is
necessarily limited and imperfectly measured, this should not prevent efforts to
get ahead of the curve on developments with potentially profound, if distant,
effects—​or, as Albert Einstein famously implored at the dawn of the atomic age,
“to change our modes of thinking.”11 Among the abiding challenges of contem-
porary life is what Carlos Fuentes once identified as the need to “transform infor-
mation into knowledge.”12 This challenge has increased exponentially in an age
of information overload marked by a pronounced noise-​to-​signal ratio between
what is accessible and what is useful. As knowledge becomes more specialized
and fragmented, its transformation into practical application, to say nothing of
wisdom, becomes more elusive.
It is perhaps predictable that quantum ideas—​as specialized and fragmented as
any in the natural sciences—​would provoke pushback from those social scientists
who fail to appreciate or perceive the embedded wisdom contained in these
ideas and their applicability well beyond the metaphorical. Classical, Newtonian
conceptions of the world, however refuted and transcended by quantum physics,
provide a simple and comforting, if also inadequate, refuge from the messiness
and indeterminacy of contemporary affairs. If, in an age marked by a global pan-
demic, endless (and ignominiously ended) wars, and the increasingly harmful
effects of climate change, the magnitude of the relational dynamic that Harland
Cleveland cited decades ago seems truly “more so now than ever,” philanthropy
has an obligation to advance new thinking that might offer novel insights for
addressing old and new threats and evolving notions of security. What is a grant
proposal, after all, if not, in quantum terms, a potentiality that is unknown until
observed and measured? The foundation grant that funded the proposal on which
this volume is based represents a potentiality whose merit and promise now await
the observation and measurement of its readers.

Notes

1. Harland Cleveland, quoted in Stephen Del Rosso, “The Insecure State: Reflections on
‘the State’ and ‘Security’ in a Changing World,” Daedalus, What Future for the State,
Spring 1995, p. 175.
xiv Foreword

2. Josef Joffe, “Of Hubs, Spokes, and Public Goods,” National Interest, October 30, 2002,
https://​natio​nali​nter​est.org/​arti​cle/​hubs-​spo​kes-​and-​pub​lic-​goods-​2159.
3. George Shultz, quoting Sydney Drell, “Diplomacy, Wired,” Hoover Digest, January
30, 1998.
4. Armen Sarkissian, “We Need an Era of Quantum Politics,” Financial Times, August
28, 2020, https://​www.ft.com/​cont​ent/​be19c​e7e-​bb88-​4127-​9496-​6c9e4​92d5​2aa.
5. https://​twitter.com/​BullshitQuantum
6. Alexander Wendt, Quantum Mind and Social Science, Cambridge University
Press, 2015.
7. Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics, Cambridge University
Press, 1999.
8. Stephen Del Rosso, “The Quantum Age Beckons: Philanthropy Should Help Us
Understand It,” Chronicle of Philanthropy, February 7, 2017; and Stephen Del Rosso,
“The Quantum Revolution Rolls On and Philanthropy Is Falling Behind,” Chronicle
of Philanthropy, October 2, 2018.
9. David Callahan, “You Never Give Me Your Money: Big Funders Neglect Peace and
Security in a Dangerous Era,” Inside Philanthropy, June 12, 2018, https://​www.ins​idep​
hila​nthr​opy.com/​home/​2018/​6/​12/​you-​never-​give-​me-​your-​money-​big-​fund​ers-​
negl​ect-​peace-​and-​secur​ity-​in-​a-​danger​ous-​era.
10. Stephen Del Rosso, Carnegie Corporation of New York, private e-​ mail with
anonymized reviewer, November 10, 2014.
11. Albert Einstein, quoted in “Atomic Education Urged by Einstein,” New York Times,
May 25, 1946, p. 13.
12. Carlos Fuentes, quoted in Vartan Gregorian, “Colleges Must Reconstruct the Unity
of Knowledge,” Chronicle of Philanthropy, June 4, 2004, https://​www.chroni​cle.com/​
arti​cle/​colle​ges-​must-​reco​nstr​uct-​the-​unity-​of-​knowle​dge/​. A former career dip-
lomat, Stephen Del Rosso directs the International Peace and Security program at the
Carnegie Corporation of New York.
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of By the gods
beloved
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
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laws of the country where you are located before using this
eBook.

Title: By the gods beloved

Author: Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

Illustrator: Margaret West Kinney


Troy Kinney

Release date: February 8, 2024 [eBook #72901]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1921

Credits: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY THE GODS


BELOVED ***
By the Gods Beloved
By
Baroness Orczy
Author of
“The Scarlet Pimpernel,”
“The Emperor’s Candlesticks,”
etc., etc.

Illustrated By
The Kinneys

New York
Dodd, Mead & Company
1921
“Wilt tell me what lies beyond the Hills of Kamt?”
[COPYRIGHT]
Copyright, 1905, by
The Knickerbocker Press

Copyright, 1907, by
Dodd, Mead & Company
as “The Gates of Kamt”
[DEDICATION]
TO
ELIZABETH, AMY and FLORA BARSTOW
of Garrow Hill, York,
whose friendship has helped to render the land
of my adoption doubly dear to me,
this book is inscribed
in token of lasting affection
CONTENTS
PART I
THE GATES OF KAMT

I. Tankerville’s Hobby
II. The Shade of Neit-akrit
III. The Tomb of the Greek Priest
IV. The Rock of Anubis
V. The Gates of Kamt
VI. The Temple of Ra
VII. The Temple of Ra

PART II
MEN-NE-FER

VIII. The Idol of the People


IX. The Messenger of Princess Neit-akrit
X. The Judgment-Hall of Men-ne-fer
XI. The Trial of Kesh-ta, the Slave
XII. The Crown of Kamt
XIII. The Iridescent Scarabæus
XIV. The making of an Enemy

PART III
THE PALACE OF NEIT-AKRIT

XV. Neit-akrit, Princess of Kamt


XVI. Divinely Fair
XVII. Danger
XVIII. Love or Hate?
XIX. A Kiss
XX. A Letter from Hugh
XXI. A Debt of Honour

PART IV
TANIS

XXII. The Bridal City


XXIII. The Crime
XXIV. The Alternative
XXV. Helpless
XXVI. The Marriage
XXVII. White Rosemary
XXVIII. The Threat
XXIX. The Departure from Tanis
XXX. Rosemary for Remembrance
XXXI. The End
ILLUSTRATIONS
“Wilt tell me what lies beyond the hills of Kamt?”
“Remember that this broken wand might prove the future emblem
of… thy power.”
He had fallen, half-fainting, upon the marble floor, and clung,…
around her knees.
“I will cause all my wealth,… to be left to thee,… if thou wilt part
my lover and Neit-akrit forever.”
PART I.
THE GATES OF KAMT

CHAPTER I.
TANKERVILLE’S HOBBY

It is a curious fact that, although Hugh Tankerville was destined to


play such an all-absorbing part in the strange and mystic drama
which filled both our lives, I have no distinct recollection of my first
meeting with him.
We were at St. Paul’s School together, and I, a boisterous
schoolboy of the usual pattern, have but a vague memory of the
silent, dark-eyed lad, who hated football, and was generally voted to
be a “bookworm,” called “Sawnie Girlie,” and was, without exception,
the most unpopular boy in the school.
The masters must have thought a great deal of him, for, in
recreation time, we often saw him go to one of their rooms and
emerge thence, when the bell rang, in close conversation with old
Foster, or Crabtree, the Greek or history master. This, together with
the fact that he carried off every prize and scholarship with utmost
ease, did not tend to make him more popular. I, for one, who was
captain of our football team and the champion boxer of the school,
held the taciturn bookworm in withering contempt, until one day—
and this is my first distinct recollection of him—he and I had… well!
a few words;—I forget what about. I think that I wanted him to join
in a tug-of-war and he wouldn’t; anyway, I indulged in the words—
grand, sound, British schoolboy vocabulary it was, too—and he
indulged in contemptuous silence for fully five minutes, while the
floods of my eloquence were poured over his dark, unresisting head.
Yes, contemptuous, if you please, towards me! the captain of the
football team, the champion boxer of the school. I could hear that
ass, Snipey, and Bathroom Slippers sniggering behind me like a pair
of apes; and contempt in the front, derision in the rear, soon became
more than schoolboy nature could bear.
Well, I don’t know exactly how it happened. Did my language wax
more forcibly eloquent still, or did my champion fist actually come in
aid to my words? I cannot say; certain it is that there was a shout, a
draught that sent my cap flying to the other end of the schoolroom,
a whirlwind which caught both sides of my head at once, and
Sawnie Girlie was all over me in a minute. Where I was during that
minute I would not venture to state definitely. I was vaguely
conscious of a pair of dark eyes blazing down at me like the hall gas,
and of a husky voice hissing at intervals, “How dare you? how dare
you?” whilst I, blinded, breathless, bruised and sore, contrived to
wonder how, indeed, I had dared.
When the whirlwind had at last subsided, I found myself in an
unaccustomed position on the floor, underneath one of the forms;
those blithering cowards, Snipey and Bathroom Slippers, were
disappearing through the door, and Sawnie Girlie was quietly
knocking the dust off his nether garments.
Well! after that interesting downfall of the champion boxer of St.
Paul’s, nobody who knows anything of schoolboy nature will wonder
that Sawnie Girlie and I became the closest of chums, and that, with
that well-deserved licking, Hugh Tankerville laid the foundations of
that friendship and admiration which has lasted throughout my life.
Silent and taciturn he remained towards the others, but from the
moment that I—having struggled to my feet, after my ignominious
downfall—went up to him and offered him my hand, in token of my
admiration for his prowess, he and I were practically inseparable.
Gradually the strange influence, which savoured of the mystical,
and which he seemed to exercise over all those with whom he came
in contact, asserted itself over me, and I began to find pleasure in
other things besides football and boxing. It was he who kindled in
me a spark of that enthusiasm for the great past which was so
overwhelming in him, and after a few months of our friendship I had
one or two fairly stiff tussles with him for a top place in Classics or
History. I will do myself the justice to say that never once did I
succeed in getting that top place, but it certainly was not for want of
trying.
Never shall I forget the memorable day when Sawnie Girlie—for so
I still continued to call him—asked me to go home with him to
afternoon tea one Saturday.
He lived in Hammersmith, he told me, and I, whose parents lived
in Kensington, vaguely wondered what sort of mud-hut or hovel
could be situated in such an out-of-the-way suburb as
Hammersmith. I had never been down King Street, and as we two
boys picked our way through the barrows on the edge of the kerb,
and among the dense, not altogether sober crowd, I marvelled more
and more how any civilised being could live in this extraordinary
neighbourhood, when suddenly, having left King Street behind us,
Sawnie Girlie stopped before a large, old-fashioned iron gate, behind
which tall chestnuts and oak trees threw a delightfully mysterious
shadow on the ground.
“Here we are!” he said, as he pushed open the gate, and I
followed, astonished at this quaint bit of old-world garden in the
midst of the turmoil and tawdriness of suburban London. Beyond
those gates everything seemed cool, peaceful, silent; only a few
birds twittered in the great trees. The ground was covered with the
first fallen leaves of autumn, and they made a curious, sweet-
sounding “Hush-sh-sh” as we walked. Obviously the place had been,
from a strictly landscape-gardening point of view, sadly neglected,
but I did not notice this. I only saw the great, tall trees, smelt the
delicious aroma of the damp, fallen leaves, and stopped a moment,
anxious and awed, expecting to see down the cool alley some
cavalier with plume and sword walking arm-in-arm with his lady, in
great hooped skirt and farthingale.
Hugh Tankerville had taken no notice of me. He walked on ahead
towards the house, which must have lain far back from the road, for
it was not discernible from the gates. The scene was, of course,
familiar to him, and he knew that no plumes or farthingales were left
anywhere about, but from the moment that he had pushed those
great gates open his whole being seemed to have changed. He
walked more erect, he threw back his head, opened wide his nostrils
and seemed, as it were, to breathe freedom in at every pore.
I was but a mere raw school lad at the time, and no doubt my
impression of the old-fashioned house and garden was exaggerated
in my mind, through its very unexpectedness after the picture of
sordid Saturday afternoon Hammersmith. The house itself was as
picturesque as the garden, with a quaint terrace and stone stairs
leading up to a glass door. Sawnie Girlie led me through this and
across a hall, and presently I found myself in the most wonderful
spot which up to that moment it had been my happy lot to see.
The room into which I followed Hugh Tankerville was low and
square, with a great bow window that looked out onto another bit of
tangled, old-fashioned garden; but to my delighted fancy it was
crammed with everything that could fill a boy’s soul with delight.
There were great cases filled with all sorts of strange arms and
shields, spears with flint heads, axes and quivers of arrows; there
were great slabs of stone, covered with curious writing and adorned
with weird and wonderful images; there were strange little figures of
men and women in funny garbs, some with heads of beasts on their
shoulders, others with human heads on fantastic bodies; but what
seemed to me more strange than all, and made me stop awestruck
at the door, was that the whole length of two walls there stood a
row of mummies, such as I had once seen in the British Museum,
some in their coffins, but others showing their human shape
distinctly through the linen bandages—dark and discoloured with age
—that covered them.
Hugh’s voice roused me from my stupor. “Father, this is Mark,” he
said, and at the further end of the room, from behind a huge desk,
littered with ponderous books and pyramids of papers, there
emerged a head which I, in my excited imagination, fancied to be
one of those mummies come temporarily to life. It was yellow and
wrinkled all over, and a reading lamp which, in spite of the daylight,
stood burning on the table, threw a weird blue light on the thin,
sharp features. The eyes, however, bright and small, looked across
very kindly at us both and a voice said:
“Well! you two boys had better go and get your tea, and after that
you may come up and Mark shall see the museum.”
I was delighted; I had no idea that this was the treat my newly-
found friend had prepared for me. Even with me he had been
strangely reserved about his home and about his father. I knew
nothing of either.
We had a delicious tea, and were waited on by a dear old thing,
who evidently was more a friend than a servant, for she hugged and
kissed Hugh as if he were her greatest treasure; and though she did
not kiss me, she shook hands and said how anxious she had been to
see me, having heard so much about me from “the young master.” I
blushed and wondered if Sawnie Girlie had also told of that
memorable whirlwind episode, and did not enjoy my first slice of
sally-lunn in consequence.
But it was a glorious tea, and I, no doubt, in true schoolboy
fashion, would have contrived to stow most of the delicious cakes
and muffins away had I had time to do so; but I remembered that
after tea we were to go up and see the museum, so after my third
cup and seventh slice of cake I stopped.
Oh, the delights of that museum! A real museum all to yourself,
where there is no horrid attendant behind you to tell you not to
touch, but where every piece is actually put into your hands and you
are allowed to turn it over, and look at every one of its sides, just as
you please. I shall never forget the feeling of delicious horror that
crept over me when first I absolutely touched one of the mummies
with my hand. Mr. Tankerville was more than kind. He answered
every one of my schoolboy questions with cheerful patience,
explained everything, showed everything. It was—I think I may
safely say—the happiest day of my life.
From that eventful afternoon I became—for as long as we were
schoolfellows together—a constant visitor at The Chestnuts. Mr.
Tankerville, who was one of the greatest archæologists and
Egyptologists of his generation, took a keen delight in initiating us
boys into the half-veiled mysteries of ancient Egyptian history. We
were never tired of hearing about Ra and Horus, about the building
of the great Pyramids, about the tombs and the wonders of Thebes
and Memphis. But above all did he delight our ears with tales of that
mysterious period which immediately followed the death of Queen
Neit-akrit and the close of the Sixth Dynasty. This, so far as the
scientific world is concerned, also marks the close of the old Empire.
Strangers appear to have overrun the country, and for over 400
years the history of ancient Egypt is a blank; neither tombs nor
temples mark the changes and vicissitudes which befel that
wonderful nation, only a few royal names appear on scarabs, or
tablets, but of the great people themselves, and of their ancient
civilisation, the people who built the great Pyramids and carved the
immortal Sphinx, of them there is not a trace.
When once more the veil is lifted from Egyptian history the whole
aspect of the land is changed; we see a new Empire, and it is a new
people that dwells along the banks of the sacred Nile.
What had happened to the old? This blank page in Egyptian
history Mr. Tankerville had reconstructed on a theory all his own, and
his fancy had filled it with warriors and conquests, with downfalls
and regeneration. Open-eyed, open-mouthed, we listened to him for
hours, while, sitting round the huge, old-fashioned grate, with the
light of the great log fire illumining his shrivelled features, he told us
of Neit-akrit and of the strangers who overran the land, and of the
great Egyptian people, the old, original builders of the most ancient
monuments, they who disappeared, no one knew whither, to make
way for the new Empire, with its new art, its new architecture, its
new religion.
This point in history was his hobby, and I learned long afterwards
with what derision the scientific world looked upon it; but we boys
listened to these tales as if to the words of a prophet preaching the
Gospel. Hugh’s eyes would then begin to glow, his hands would be
tightly clenched, he would hang on every word his father uttered;
and I too listened, awed and amazed, while before my eyes Cheops
and Khefren and the mysterious Neit-akrit wandered in gorgeous
and ghost-like procession.
Then, as we both grew older, gradually Mr. Tankerville extended
our knowledge of that most ancient of all histories. His erudition was
perfectly amazing, but his hobby—at least I looked upon it as a
hobby then—was the language of ancient Kamt. Upon Dr. Young’s
and Champollion’s methods he had constructed a complete, though
somewhat complicated, grammar, and this, with marvellous
patience, he began slowly and thoroughly to teach to us, together
with the hieroglyphic and cuneiform writings practised by the ancient
Egyptians.
In the literal sense of the word, he put new life into the dead
language; no word in it, no construction of sentence was a mystery
to him. He read it all as easily as he did his Latin and Greek. Hugh,
naturally, was a most apt pupil. He worshipped his father, and was
passionately enthusiastic about the mystic science. I tried to follow
Hugh in his ardour and aptitude, and I don’t think that I was often
left far behind.
I remember that my uncle, who had charge of my education since
I had lost both my parents, shrugged his shoulders very
contemptuously when I spoke to him of Mr. Tankerville. “That old
fool,” was my Aunt Charlotte’s more forcible comment; “I hope to
goodness you are not wasting your time cramming his nonsense into
your head.” After that I never mentioned my friend’s name to either
of them, but spent more and more time at The Chestnuts, imbibing
that fascinating and semi-mystic lore of the great people of the past.
Such as Mr. Tankerville had reconstructed it, ancient Egyptian was
not a difficult language, not nearly so difficult as Greek, for instance,
and, certainly to me, in no sense as complicated as German. By the
time that we were lads of about sixteen we could read almost any
inscription on steles or potteries of old Egypt, more readily than we
could have read a French poem, and Hugh was not quite seventeen
when he translated parts of the Gospel of St. John into ancient
Egyptian.
No wonder then that after some five years of that happy time my
heart well-nigh broke when the exigencies of my future demanded
that I should go to college. I was destined for the medical profession
and was to spend three years at Oxford, while Hugh meant to
remain as an active help to his father in his scientific researches.
With many protestations of eternal friendship I bade good-bye to the
museum, the mummies and the phantom of Queen Neit-akrit.
When at the first vacation my eager thought was to go and see
my kind friends at once, I learned with much sorrow that Mr.
Tankerville was seriously ill. Hugh came to the door to speak to me
for a moment. He looked pale and worn from long-continued night
watches.
During the weary period of his father’s terrible illness, through
which he nursed him with heroic patience and devotion, I saw
practically nothing of Hugh. While I was at college I frequently wrote
him long letters, to which he barely sent a short reply. Then I read
of Mr. Tankerville’s death, and to my horror and amazement read
also in various papers satirical and seldom kind comments on the
scientific visionary who had just passed away. It seemed to me as if
profane hands had dared to touch at my most cherished illusions. I
had imagined that the whole of the scientific world would go into
mourning for the illustrious antiquarian gone to where all nations,
young and old, mingle in the vast mansions; and lo and behold! a
shrug of the shoulders was the only tribute paid to his memory. I
sincerely hoped that Hugh would be too busy to read the obituary
notices about his father. I longed for the vacation so that I might go
and see him. I knew he would preserve intact the old chestnut trees,
the old-world garden, the museum and the mummies, and I looked
forward to once more watching in imagination by the fitful light of
the great log fire the shade of Queen Neit-akrit wandering before my
enraptured gaze.
CHAPTER II.
THE SHADE OF NEIT-AKRIT

My uncle died soon after my return from college. After that I was
supposed to be busy laying the foundations of a good consulting
practice in Harley Street, but in reality was enjoying life and the
newly-acquired delights of a substantial fortune left to me by a
distant relative.
My Aunt Charlotte kept house for me and tyrannised over me to
her heart’s content. To her I had not yet begun to grow up; I was
still the raw schoolboy, prone to mischief and to catching cold, who
was in need of sound advice since he no longer had the inestimable
boon of the birch-rod vigorously applied by loving hands.
Dear Aunt Charlotte!—she really was a very worthy soul, but she
held most uncomfortable views on the subject of duty, which,
according to her code, chiefly consisted in making oneself
disagreeable to other people “for their own good.” She had those
twin characteristics peculiar to Englishwomen of a certain stamp and
an uncertain age—self-righteousness and a narrow mind.
She ruled my servants, my household, my one or two patients and
me with a rod of iron, and it never seriously entered my head to
dispute her rule. I was born with a temperament which always
preferred to follow rather than to lead. Had I ever married I should
have been hopelessly henpecked; as it was, my Aunt Charlotte
decided how many servants I should keep, and what entertainments
I should give. She said the final word on the subject of my
suggested holidays and on the price of my new pyjamas.
Still, with all her faults, she was a good sort, and as she took all
household cares from off my shoulders, I was duly grateful to her for
that.
I saw less and less of Hugh Tankerville during all this time. At first,
whenever I could, I found my way to the silent and cool Chestnuts,
but as often as not Hugh seemed absorbed in thoughts or in work;
his mind, evidently, while I chatted and we smoked, seemed so far
removed from his surroundings that by-and-by I began to wonder
whether my visits were as welcome as they used to be, and I took to
spacing them out at longer intervals. Once—I remember I had not
been to see him for over two months—I was bidding him good-bye
after a very short and silent visit; he placed his hand on my
shoulder, and said, with some of his old wonted cordiality:
“I am not as inhospitable as I seem, old chap, and soon, very
soon now, you will see me quite myself again. It is always delightful
to see you, but the work I am doing now is so great, so absorbing,
that I must appear hideously unresponsive to your kindness to me.”
“I guessed, old Girlie,” I said, with a laugh, “that you must be busy
over something terribly scientific. But,” I added, noting suddenly how
hot his hand felt, and how feverishly his eyes seemed to glow, “it
strikes me that you are overworking yourself, and that as a fully
qualified medical man I have the right to advise you…”
“Advise nothing just now, old chap,” he said, very seriously, “I
should not follow it. Give me two years more, and my work will be
done. Then…”
“Two years, at this sort of work? Girlie, you’ll be a dead man
before then at this rate.”
He shook his head.
“Ah! but it’s no use shaking your head, old man! The dinners you
do not eat, the bed you don’t sleep in, the fresh air you do not
breathe, all will have their revenge upon you for your studied
neglect. Look here! you say you want to do another two years’ work;
I say your health will not stand the strain if you do. Will you pander
to our old friendship to the extent of listening to me for once, and
coming away with me for one month to the sea—preferably Margate
—and after that I promise you I shall not say a word about your
health for the next half-year at least.”
Again he shook his head.
“I could not live if you parted me from my work now.”
And he looked so determined, his eyes glowed with such a strange
inward fire, while there was such indomitable will expressed in his
whole being, that I was not fool enough to pursue my point.
“Look here, Hugh,” I said, “I don’t want, of course, to interfere in
your secrets. You have never thought fit to tell me what this all-
absorbing work is that you pursue at risk of physical damage to
yourself. But I want you to remember, Girlie, that I have
independent means, that my time is my own, and that your father
often used to tell me, when I was a great many years younger, of
some of his labours, and of his work; once I helped him—do you
remember?—over some…”
“My father was too fond of talking about his work,” he interrupted.
“I don’t mean to offend you by saying this, old chap, but you must
remember the purport of most of the obituary notices written about
one of the most scientific men that ever lived. He toiled all his life,
contracted the illness of which he died, wore himself out, body and
soul, in pursuit of one great object: when he died, with that great
object unattained, the world shrugged its shoulders and called him a
fool for his pains. But I am here now. I am still young. What he
could not complete I have already almost accomplished. Give me
two years, old chap, and the world will stand gaping round in
speechless amazement at the tearing asunder of its own veil of
ignorance, torn by me from before its eyes, by me, and by my
father: ‘mad Tankerville’ they called him! Then it will bow and fawn
at my feet, place laurel wreaths on my father’s tomb, and confer all
the honours it can upon his memory; and I…”
“You will be sadly in need of laurel wreaths too, Girlie, by then,” I
said half crossly, half in grudging admiration at his enthusiasm, “for
you will have worked yourself into your grave long before that
halcyon time.”
He pulled himself together as if he were half-ashamed of his
outburst, and said, with a mirthless laugh:
“You are talking just like your Aunt Charlotte, old Mark.”
I suppose my flippancy had jarred on him in his present highly
nervous state. Before I finally went, I said to him:
“Promise me one thing, Girlie.”
“What is it?”
“How cautious you are! Will you promise? It is for your good and
for mine.”
“In that case I will promise.”
“Promise me that, if you want any kind of help in your work, you
will send for me.”
“I promise.”
I did not see him for the whole of those two years. I wrote: he did
not reply. I called: he would not leave his study to see me. It was
useless being offended with him. I waited.
Then one day I had a telegram:—

“Come at once if you can.”

I jumped into a hansom, and half an hour later was seated in the
dear old museum once more, beside the great log fire, which burned
cheerfully in the grate. I had said nothing when first I saw Hugh. I
was too much shocked at his altered, emaciated appearance: he
looked like his own ghost, wandering about among the mummies. I
could see that he was terribly excited: he was pacing about the
room, muttering strange and incoherent words. For a moment I had
feared that his reason had begun to give way under the terrible
strain of absorbing brain work.
“It was good of you to come, Mark.”
“I was only too happy that you sent for me, old Girlie,” I said
sadly.
“I have done the work.”
“Thank God for that!”
“And now I must have your help.”
“Thank God again, Girlie! What is it?”
Silently he took my hand and led me across the room, behind the
ponderous desk which I remembered so well in his father’s lifetime.
“Here is the work, it took forty years—my father’s whole life and
my own youth—to complete.”
He pointed to a large flat case, placed slanting on the desk, so as
to receive the full light from the window. The top of the case was a
sheet of clear plate-glass, beneath which I saw, what I at first took
to be a piece of brown rag, frayed and irregular at the edges and full
of holes. Again the terrible thought flashed across my mind that
Hugh Tankerville had suffered from nerve tension and that his
reason had given way under the strain.
“You don’t see what this is?” he asked in reproachful amazement.
I looked again while he turned the strong light of the reading-
lamp on the case, and then I realised that I had before me a piece
of parchment rendered brown with age, made up of an infinity of
fragments, some too minute even to see with the naked eye, and
covered with those strange Egyptian hieroglyphics with which dear
old Mr. Tankerville had originally rendered me familiar. Inquiringly I
looked up at Hugh.
“When my father first found this parchment,” he said, while strong
excitement seemed to choke the words as they rose in his throat, “it
was little else than a handful of dust, with a few larger pieces among
it, interesting enough to encourage his desire to know its contents
and to whet his enthusiasm. At first, for he was then but a young
man, though already considered a distinguished Egyptologist, he
amused himself by placing the larger fragments together, just as a
child would be amused by piecing a Chinese puzzle; but gradually
the secrets that these fragments revealed were so wonderful, and
yet so incomplete, that restlessly, by day and by night, with the help
of the strongest magnifying glasses money could procure, he
continued the task of evolving from that handful of dust a page of
history which for thousands of years has remained an impenetrable
mystery.”
He paused a moment as his hand, which was trembling with
inward fever, wandered lovingly over the glass that covered the
precious parchment.
“Illness and death overtook him in the midst of a task but half
accomplished, but before he died he initiated me into the secrets of
his work; it was not necessary that he should request me to
continue it. One glance at the parchment, then still in a very
fragmentary condition, was sufficient to kindle in me the same mad
enthusiasm for the secrets it revealed which had animated, then
exhausted, him. I was young, my sight was at its prime, my patience
unbounded. He had all his life helped me to a knowledge of
hieroglyphics as great as his own. The sneer of the scientific Press at
what it called ‘mad Tankerville’s hobby,’ his visions, acted but as a
spur to my enthusiasm. It is six years since my father died, and to-
day I fitted the last fragment of the parchment into its proper place.”
Amazed, I listened to this wonderful tale of toil and patience,
extending over the greater part of half a century, and amazed, I
looked down at the result of this labour of Sisyphus, the fragments
of brown dust—they could have been little else—which now, after
thousands of years, had revealed secrets which Hugh said would set
the world gaping. My knowledge of Egyptology and hieroglyphics
had become somewhat rusty since the happy days when, sitting in
the room in the fitful light of the fire, I used to hear from the dear
old man’s lips the wonders of Khefren and the mysteries of Queen
Neit-akrit; but, as I looked, suddenly the old familiar cartouche, the
name of the Queen, caught my eye. There it was

Neit-akrit, Child of the Sun, my queen as I called her then; and as


Hugh was silent and the shades of evening began to draw in, I
thought I saw, as I did in my schoolboy days, the glorious
procession of Pharaohs, priests and gods pass before my eyes again.
Then Hugh began to tell me of the contents of the parchment. His
voice sounded distant and muffled, as if the very shades that
peopled this dear old museum were themselves telling me their
history. It was the same old theme, so familiar and yet so mysterious
still, with which Mr. Tankerville used to rejoice our schoolboy hearts;
the blank page in Egyptian history when, after the reign of Queen
Neit-akrit and the close of the Sixth Dynasty, the grand old people,
who built the great Pyramid and carved the mystic Sphinx,
disappeared from the scene, gone—no one knows whither—to make
way some hundreds of years later for a new people with new ideas,
new kings, new art, new gods.
To me it seemed, as Hugh was speaking, that it was the shade of
Neit-akrit herself who was telling me in that soft, sing-song Egyptian
tongue how her Empire had been run over by the stranger. How she
was weak, being a woman, and how she allowed herself to be
dominated by him, for he was handsome, brave and masterful. Then
I seemed to hear the voice of the high priest of Ra, bewailing the
influence of the stranger and his hordes over the great people of
Egypt, whose origin was lost in the rolling billows of primæval chaos:
and I saw the uprising of the multitude, the bloody battles, I saw the
ultimate triumph of the stranger, as he spread his conquest from
Net-amen to Men-ne-fer, from Tanis to Assuan; and at last I saw the
people, the owners of that land which had once been so great,
which they had covered with monuments that stood towering
skywards, defying the rolling ages, that same people I saw, as Hugh
still spoke, wandering off in one dense horde, driven onwards by the
remorseless hand of the usurping stranger,—homeless, on, ever on,
across the vast wilderness, to be heard of no more.
“No more until this day,” now sounded Hugh’s voice, clear and
distinct in my ears, “until I, and my father before me, have lifted the
veil which hid this strange and mysterious past, and are prepared to
show the world once more this great people, whose work, whose
art, whose science has set it agape since hundreds of years.”
He seemed like a prophet inspired, whilst I, having forcibly
aroused myself from my stupor and my visions, was gradually
returning to the prosy realities of life. It seemed suddenly absurd
that two sane Englishmen—at least I could vouch for the sanity of
one of them—should get into a state of excitement over the fact as
to whether a certain people five thousand years ago had had a war,
been licked and had wandered across the desert or not.
I even caught myself wondering in what light Aunt Charlotte—as
being a good typical example of the narrow and sane-minded,
unimaginative Englishwoman—in what light she would regard the
disappearance of the most ancient, civilised people of this world, and
what importance she would attach to their problematical wanderings
across the desert.
Personally, though the subject had had a weird and unaccountable
fascination for me, I soon felt that I did not care much whether Mr.
Tankerville or other historians were correct about the Seventh,
Eighth or Tenth Dynasty or not, and I asked, with a last semblance
of interest:
“Then this parchment sets forth all these historical facts, no
doubt; they are invaluable to the scientific world, but personally I, as
one of the vulgar, do not consider that they were worth either your
father or you wearing yourselves into your coffins about them.”
He looked at me in complete amazement, and passed his hand
across his forehead once or twice, as if to collect his thoughts.
“Ah, yes! I see, of course, you do not understand. How could you?
You have not spent years in this work, till it has become a part and
parcel of your very life.”
“Well, I certainly do not understand, old man, why you should
work yourself into a brain fever for the sake of a people, however
interesting, who have disappeared from this world for the last five
thousand years.”
“Disappeared?” he almost shrieked. “I see now why you did not
understand. But come, old chap, sit here by the fire. Have a pipe, I’ll
have one too.… I’ll tell you all about it, quite calmly. Of course, you
thought me mad—a maniac… Matches? Here you are. Shall we have
the lamps?”
He rang the bell. Old Janet, more wrinkled and pleasant than ever,
brought in the lamp. She threw a log on the fire and left a delicious
atmosphere of prosy cheerfulness behind her as she left. We were
now both comfortably installed by the fire, smoking. Hugh seemed
quite calm, only his eyes stared, large and glowing, into the fire.
CHAPTER III.
THE TOMB OF THE GREEK PRIEST

“I don’t wonder that you think me mad, Mark, old chap,” began Hugh
very calmly after a little while; “the work has been so close, that no
doubt it did get on to my nerves a bit. When I actually put the
finishing touches on it to-day, my only other thought, besides that of
exultant triumph, was that of sharing my delights with you. Then
you came, so ready to help me since I had called to you, and I, like
a foolish enthusiast, never reflected on the all-important necessity of
putting the facts clearly and coherently before you.”
He pointed to one of the mummies that stood upright in a glass
case at the further end of the museum. The human outline was clear
and distinct under the few linen wrappings, painted all over with
designs and devices and the portrait of the deceased, after the
fashion introduced into Egypt by the Greeks.
“When you and I were schoolboys together all those mummies
were our friends, and our imaginations ran riot when my father, in
his picturesque way, explained to us the meaning of the various
inscriptions which recorded their lives. We knew in those days that
this particular mummy had once been a Greek priest and scribe of
Assuan, who had expressed a desire to be buried in a peculiarly
lonely spot in the desert land, opposite what is now Wady-Halfa. A
pious friend or relative had evidently carried out this wish, for it was
in that desolate spot that my father found this mummy in its solitary
tomb. I remember how, for my part, I loved to think of that pious
friend sailing down the silent Nile, with the body of the dead scribe
lying at rest in the prow of his dahabijeh, while the great goddess
Isis smiled down approvingly at the reverent deed, and the sacred
crocodiles watched curiously the silent craft, flitting ghost-like amidst
the lotus leaves. More than two thousand years later my father
visited this lonely desert tomb. It was before the days that a strict
surveillance was kept over tourists and amateur explorers, and he
was alone, save for an old and faithful fellah—dead now—who was
his constant attendant in his scientific researches. Beside the
mummy of the dead scribe stood the four canopic jars, dedicated to
the children of Horus and containing the heart and other entrails of
the deceased; my father, with less reverence than scientific
enthusiasm, had with his penknife loosened the top of one of the
jars, when, to his astonishment, he saw that it contained in addition
to the embalmed heart a papyrus closely written in Greek.”
“In Greek? Not this one, then?”
“No, another, equally priceless, equally valuable, but only as a
solution, a complement of the first.”
He went up to the desk, and from one of the drawers took out a
papyrus, faded and yellow with age, and placed it before me.
“I have made a translation of it, old fellow,” he said with a smile,
seeing my look of perplexity; “you were a pretty good classic scholar,
though, at one time, and you will be able to verify that mine is a
correct rendering of the original.”
He took a paper out of his pocket-book and began to read, whilst
I listened more and more amazed and bewildered, still wondering
why Hugh Tankerville had worked himself to such a pitch of
excitement for the sake of a dead and vanished past.

“I pray to Osiris and to Isis that I may be buried on the


spot where my footsteps led me that day, when I was still
young. Oh, mother Isis! what was thy sacred wish when thou
didst guide mine eyes to read the mysteries of thy people? I
pray to be buried within that same tomb where I found the
papyrus, that guided my way to the land of wheat and barley
of ancient Kamt, that lies beyond the wilderness of the sand
from the east to the west. I stood upon the spot and I, too,
shot my arrow into the heart of Osiris as he disappears
behind Manou, into the valley of perpetual night, on the first
day that Hapi gives forth goodness to the land. I, too, crossed
the sands from the east to the west, and I, too, rejoiced when
I saw the Rock of Anubis, and found the way no longer barred
to me, to that land of plenty, wherein dwell the chosen people
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