And now follows the strange sequel of this story of Smith and the queenMa-Mee.
II
Smith was seated in the sanctum of the distinguished Director-Generalof Antiquities at the new Cairo Museum. It was a very interesting room.Books piled upon the floor; objects from tombs awaiting examination,lying here and there; a hoard of Ptolemaic silver coins, just dug up atAlexandria, standing on a table in the pot that had hidden them for twothousand years; in the corner the mummy of a royal child, aged six orseven, not long ago discovered, with some inscription scrawled uponthe wrappings (brought here to be deciphered by the Master), and thewithered lotus-bloom, love's last offering, thrust beneath one of thepink retaining bands.
"A touching object," thought Smith to himself. "Really, they might haveleft the dear little girl in peace."
Smith had a tender heart, but even as he reflected he became awarethat some of the jewellery hidden in an inner pocket of his waistcoat(designed for bank-notes) was fretting his skin. He had a tenderconscience also.
Just then the Director, a French savant, bustled in, alert, vigorous,full of interest.
"Ah, my dear Mr. Smith!" he said, in his excellent English. "I am indeedglad to see you back again, especially as I understand that you are comerejoicing and bringing your sheaves with you. They tell me you have beenextraordinarily successful. What do you say is the name of this queenwhose tomb you have found--Ma-Mee? A very unusual name. How do youget the extra vowel? Is it for euphony, eh? Did I not know how good ascholar you are, I should be tempted to believe that you had misreadit. Me-Mee, Ma-Mee! That would be pretty in French, would it not? _Mamie_--my darling! Well, I dare say she was somebody's _mie_ in her time.But tell me the story."
Smith told him shortly and clearly; also he produced his photographs andcopies of inscriptions.
"This is interesting--interesting truly," said the Director, when he hadglanced through them. "You must leave them with me to study. Also youwill publish them, is it not so? Perhaps one of the Societies wouldhelp you with the cost, for it should be done in facsimile. Look at thisvignette! Most unusual. Oh, what a pity that scoundrelly priest got offwith the jewellery and burnt her Majesty's body!"
"He didn't get off with all of it."
"What, Mr. Smith? Our inspector reported to me that you found nothing."
"I dare say, sir; but your inspector did not know what I found."
"Ah, you are a discreet man! Well, let us see."
Slowly Smith unbuttoned his waistcoat. From its inner pocket andelsewhere about his person he extracted the jewels wrapped inmummy-cloth as he had found them. First he produced a sceptre-head ofgold, in the shape of a pomegranate fruit and engraved with the thronename and titles of Ma-Mee.
"What a beautiful object!" said the Director. "Look! the handle was ofivory, and that _sacre_ thief of a priest smashed it out at the socket.It was fresh ivory then; the robbery must have taken place not longafter the burial. See, this magnifying-glass shows it. Is that all?"
Smith handed him the surviving half of the marvellous necklace that hadbeen torn in two.
"I have re-threaded it," he muttered, "but every bead is in its place."
"Oh, heavens! How lovely! Note the cutting of those cornelian heads ofHathor and the gold lotus-blooms between--yes, and the enamelled fliesbeneath. We have nothing like it in the Museum."
So it went on.
"Is that all?" gasped the Director at last, when every object from thebasket glittered before them on the table.
"Yes," said Smith. "That is--no. I found a broken statuette hidden inthe sand outside the tomb. It is of the queen, but I thought perhaps youwould allow me to keep this."
"But certainly, Mr. Smith; it is yours indeed. We are not niggards here.Still, if I might see it----"
From yet another pocket Smith produced the head. The Director gazed atit, then he spoke with feeling.
"I said just now that you were discreet, Mr. Smith, and I have beenreflecting that you are honest. But now I must add that you are veryclever. If you had not made me promise that this bronze should be yoursbefore you showed it me--well, it would never have gone into thatpocket again. And, in the public interest, won't you release me from thepromise?"
"_No_," said Smith.
"You are perhaps not aware," went on the Director, with a groan, "thatthis is a portrait of Mariette's unknown queen whom we are thus able toidentify. It seems a pity that the two should be separated; a replica wecould let you have."
"I am quite aware," said Smith, "and I will be sure to send _you_ areplica, with photographs. Also I promise to leave the original to somemuseum by will."
The Director clasped the image tenderly, and, holding it to the light,read the broken cartouche beneath the breasts.
"'Ma-Me, Great Royal Lady. Beloved of ----' Beloved of whom? Well, ofSmith, for one. Take it, monsieur, and hide it away at once, lest soonthere should be another mummy in this collection, a modern mummy calledSmith; and, in the name of Justice, let the museum which inherits it benot the British, but that of Cairo, for this queen belongs to Egypt.By the way, I have been told that you are delicate in the lungs. How isyour health now? Our cold winds are very trying. Quite good? Ah, thatis excellent! I suppose that you have no more articles that you can showme?"
"I have nothing more except a mummied hand, which I found in the basketwith the jewels. The two rings off it lie there. Doubtless it wasremoved to get at that bracelet. I suppose you will not mind my keepingthe hand----"
"Of the beloved of Smith," interrupted the Director drolly. "No, Isuppose not, though for my part I should prefer one that was not quiteso old. Still, perhaps _you_ will not mind my seeing it. That pocket ofyours still looks a little bulky; I thought that it contained books!"
Smith produced a cigar-box; in it was the hand wrapped in cotton wool.
"Ah," said the Director, "a pretty, well-bred hand. No doubt thisMa-Mee was the real heiress to the throne, as she describes herself.The Pharaoh was somebody of inferior birth, half-brother--she is called'Royal Sister,' you remember--son of one of the Pharaoh's slave-women,perhaps. Odd that she never mentioned him in the tomb. It looks asthough they didn't get on in life, and that she was determined to havedone with him in death. Those were the rings upon that hand, were theynot?"
He replaced them on the fingers, then took off one, a royal signet in acartouche, and read the inscription on the other: "'Bes Ank, Ank Bes.''Bes the Living, the Living Bes.'
"Your Ma-Mee had some human vanity about her," he added. "Bes, amongother things, as you know, was the god of beauty and of the adornmentsof women. She wore that ring that she might remain beautiful, and thather dresses might always fit, and her rouge never cake when she wasdancing before the gods. Also it fixes her period pretty closely, butthen so do other things. It seems a pity to rob Ma-Mee of her pet ring,does it not? The royal signet will be enough for us."
With a little bow he gave the hand back to Smith, leaving the Bes ringon the finger that had worn it for more than three thousand years. Atleast, Smith was so sure it was the Bes ring that at the time he did notlook at it again.
Then they parted, Smith promising to return upon the morrow, which,owing to events to be described, he did not do.
"Ah!" said the Master to himself, as the door closed behind his visitor."He's in a hurry to be gone. He has fear lest I should change my mindabout that ring. Also there is the bronze. Monsieur Smith was _ruse_there. It is worth a thousand pounds, that bronze. Yet I do not believehe was thinking of the money. I believe he is in love with that Ma-Meeand wants to keep her picture. _Mon Dieu!_ A well-established affection.At least he is what the English call an odd fish, one whom I could nevermake out, and of whom no one seems to know anything. Still, honest, Iam sure--quite honest. Why, he might have kept every one of those jewelsand no one have been the wiser. And what things! What a find! _Ciel!_what a find! There has been nothing like it for years. Benedictions onthe head of Odd-fish Smith!"
Then he collected the precious object
s, thrust them into an innercompartment of his safe, which he locked and double-locked, and, asit was nearly five o'clock, departed from the Museum to his privateresidence in the grounds, there to study Smith's copies and photographs,and to tell some friends of the great things that had happened.
When Smith found himself outside the sacred door, and had presented itsvenerable guardian with a baksheesh of five piastres, he walked a fewpaces to the right and paused a while to watch some native labourerswho were dragging a huge sarcophagus upon an improvised tramway. As theydragged they sang an echoing rhythmic song, whereof each line ended withan invocation to Allah.
Just so, reflected Smith, had their forefathers sung when, millenniumsago, they dragged that very sarcophagus from the quarries to the Nile,and from the Nile to the tomb whence it reappeared to-day, or when theyslid the casing blocks of the pyramids up the great causeway and smoothslope of sand, and laid them in their dizzy resting-places. Only theneach line of the immemorial chant of toil ended with an invocation toAmen, now transformed to Allah. The East may change its masters andits gods, but its customs never change, and if to-day Allah wore thefeathers of Amen one wonders whether the worshippers would find thedifference so very great.
Thus thought Smith as he hurried away from the sarcophagus and thoseblue-robed, dark-skinned fellaheen, down the long gallery that is filledwith a thousand sculptures. For a moment he paused before the wonderfulwhite statue of Queen Amenartas, then, remembering that his time wasshort, hastened on to a certain room, one of those which opened out ofthe gallery.
In a corner of this room, upon the wall, amongst many other beautifulobjects, stood that head which Mariette had found, whereof in past yearsthe cast had fascinated him in London. Now he knew whose head it was;to him it had been given to find the tomb of her who had sat for thatstatue. Her very hand was in his pocket--yes, the hand that had touchedyonder marble, pointing out its defects to the sculptor, or perhapsswearing that he flattered her. Smith wondered who that sculptor was;surely he must have been a happy man. Also he wondered whether thestatuette was also this master's work. He thought so, but he wished tomake sure.
Near to the end of the room he stopped and looked about him like athief. He was alone in the place; not a single student or tourist couldbe seen, and its guardian was somewhere else. He drew out the boxthat contained the hand. From the hand he slipped the ring which theDirector-General had left there as a gift to himself. He would much havepreferred the other with the signet, but how could he say so, especiallyafter the episode of the statuette?
Replacing the hand in his pocket without looking at the ring--for hiseyes were watching to see whether he was observed--he set it upon hislittle finger, which it exactly fitted. (Ma-Mee had worn both of themupon the third finger of her left hand, the Bes ring as a guard to thesignet.) He had the fancy to approach the effigy of Ma-Mee wearing aring which she had worn and that came straight from her finger to hisown.
Smith found the head in its accustomed place. Weeks had gone by since helooked upon it, and now, to his eyes, it had grown more beautifulthan ever, and its smile was more mystical and living. He drew out thestatuette and began to compare them point by point. Oh, no doubt waspossible! Both were likenesses of the same woman, though the statuettemight have been executed two or three years later than the statue. Tohim the face of it looked a little older and more spiritual. Perhapsillness, or some premonition of her end had then thrown its shadow onthe queen. He compared and compared. He made some rough measurementsand sketches in his pocket-book, and set himself to work out a canon ofproportions.
So hard and earnestly did he work, so lost was his mind that he neverheard the accustomed warning sound which announces that the Museumis about to close. Hidden behind an altar as he was, in his distant,shadowed corner, the guardian of the room never saw him as he casta last perfunctory glance about the place before departing till theSaturday morning; for the morrow was Friday, the Mohammedan Sabbath,on which the Museum remains shut, and he would not be called upon toattend. So he went. Everybody went. The great doors clanged, were lockedand bolted, and, save for a watchman outside, no one was left in allthat vast place except Smith in his corner, engaged in sketching and inmeasurements.
The difficulty of seeing, owing to the increase of shadow, first calledhis attention to the fact that time was slipping away. He glanced at hiswatch and saw that it was ten minutes to the hour.
"Soon be time to go," he thought to himself, and resumed his work.
How strangely silent the place seemed! Not a footstep to be heard or thesound of a human voice. He looked at his watch again, and saw thatit was six o'clock, not five, or so the thing said. But that wasimpossible, for the Museum shut at five; evidently the desert sand hadgot into the works. The room in which he stood was that known as RoomI, and he had noticed that its Arab custodian often frequented Room K orthe gallery outside. He would find him and ask what was the real time.
Passing round the effigy of the wonderful Hathor cow, perhaps the finestexample of an ancient sculpture of a beast in the whole world, Smithcame to the doorway and looked up and down the gallery. Not a soul tobe seen. He ran to Room K, to Room H, and others. Still not a soul to beseen. Then he made his way as fast as he could go to the great entrance.The doors were locked and bolted.
"Watch must be right after all. I'm shut in," he said to himself."However, there's sure to be someone about somewhere. Probably the_salle des ventes_ is still open. Shops don't shut till they areobliged."
Thither he went, to find its door as firmly closed as a door can be. Heknocked on it, but a sepulchral echo was the only answer.
"I know," he reflected. "The Director must still be in his room. It willtake him a long while to examine all that jewellery and put it away."
So for the room he headed, and, after losing his path twice, found itby help of the sarcophagus that the Arabs had been dragging, which nowstood as deserted as it had done in the tomb, a lonesome and impressiveobject in the gathering shadows. The Director's door was shut, and againhis knockings produced nothing but an echo. He started on a tour roundthe Museum, and, having searched the ground floors, ascended to theupper galleries by the great stairway.
Presently he found himself in that devoted to the royal mummies, and,being tired, rested there a while. Opposite to him, in a glass case inthe middle of the gallery, reposed Rameses II. Near to, on shelves ina side case, were Rameses' son, Meneptah, and above, his son, SetiII, while in other cases were the mortal remains of many more of theroyalties of Egypt. He looked at the proud face of Rameses and at thelittle fringe of white locks turned yellow by the embalmer's spices,also at the raised left arm. He remembered how the Director had toldhim that when they were unrolling this mighty monarch they went awayto lunch, and that presently the man who had been left in charge of thebody rushed into the room with his hair on end, and said that the deadking had lifted his arm and pointed at him.
Back they went, and there, true enough, was the arm lifted; nor werethey ever able to get it quite into its place again. The explanationgiven was that the warmth of the sun had contracted the witheredmuscles, a very natural and correct explanation.
Still, Smith wished that he had not recollected the story just at thismoment, especially as the arm seemed to move while he contemplated it--a very little, but still to move.
He turned round and gazed at Meneptah, whose hollow eyes stared at himfrom between the wrappings carelessly thrown across the parchment-likeand ashen face. There, probably, lay the countenance that had frownedon Moses. There was the heart which God had hardened. Well, it washard enough now, for the doctors said he died of ossification of thearteries, and that the vessels of the heart were full of lime!
Smith stood upon a chair and peeped at Seti II. above. His weakercountenance was very peaceful, but it seemed to wear an air of reproach.In getting down Smith managed to upset the heavy chair. The noise itmade was terrific. He would not have thought it possible that the fallof such an article could produce so much sou
nd. Satisfied with hisinspection of these particular kings, who somehow looked quite differentnow from what they had ever done before--more real and imminent, so tospeak--he renewed his search for a living man.
On he went, mummies to his right, mummies to his left, of every styleand period, till he began to feel as though he never wished to seeanother dried remnant of mortality. He peeped into the room where laythe relics of Iouiya and Touiyou, the father and mother of the greatQueen Taia. Cloths had been drawn over these, and really they lookedworse and more suggestive thus draped than in their frigid and unadornedblackness. He came to the coffins of the priest-kings of the twentiethdynasty, formidable painted coffins with human faces. There seemed to bea vast number of these priest-kings, but perhaps they were betterthan the gold masks of the great Ptolemaic ladies which glinted at himthrough the gathering gloom.
Really, he had seen enough of the upper floors. The statues downstairswere better than all these dead, although it was true that, according tothe Egyptian faith, every one of those statues was haunted eternally bythe _Ka_, or Double, of the person whom it represented. He descendedthe great stairway. Was it fancy, or did something run across the bottomstep in front of him--an animal of some kind, followed by a swift-movingand indefinite shadow? If so, it must have been the Museum cat huntinga Museum mouse. Only then what on earth was that very peculiar andunpleasant shadow?