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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.
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
I N T R O D U C T IO N
PA RT 1 . H I S T O RY A N D T H E O RY
PA RT 2 . S C I E N C E A N D T E C H N O L O G Y
PA RT 3 . Q UA N T I Z I N G I R
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
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
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
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://nationalinterest.org/article/hubs-spokes-and-public-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/content/be19ce7e-bb88-4127-9496-6c9e492d52aa.
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.insidep
hilanthropy.com/home/2018/6/12/you-never-give-me-your-money-big-funders-
neglect-peace-and-security-in-a-dangerous-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.chronicle.com/
article/colleges-must-reconstruct-the-unity-of-knowledge/. A former career dip-
lomat, Stephen Del Rosso directs the International Peace and Security program at the
Carnegie Corporation of New York.
Discovering Diverse Content Through
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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
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eBook.
Language: English
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
PART III
THE PALACE OF NEIT-AKRIT
PART IV
TANIS
CHAPTER I.
TANKERVILLE’S HOBBY
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:—
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
“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.
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