The Mummy and Miss Nitocris: A Phantasy of the Fourth Dimension

  THE MUMMY AND MISS NITOCRIS

  CHAPTER I

  INTRODUCES THE MUMMY

  "Oh, what a perfectly lovely mummy! Just fancy!--the poor thing--deadhow many years? Something like five thousand, isn't it? And doesn't shelook just like me! I mean, wouldn't she, if we had both been dead aslong?"

  As she said this, Miss Nitocris Marmion, the golden-haired, black-eyeddaughter of one of the most celebrated mathematicians and physicists inEurope, stood herself up beside the mummy-case which her father hadreceived that morning from Memphis.

  "Look!" she continued. "I am almost the same height. Just a littletaller, perhaps, but you see her hair is nearly as fair as mine. Ofcourse, you don't know what colour her eyes are--just fancy, Dad! theyhave been shut for nearly five thousand years, perhaps a littlemore--because I think they counted by dynasties then--and yet look atthe features! Just imagine me dead!"

  "Just imagine yourself shutting the door on the other side, my dearNiti," said the Professor, who had risen from the chair, and was facinghis daughter and the Mummy. "I don't want to banish you toounceremoniously, but I really have a lot of work to do to-night, and, asyou might know, Bachelor of Science of London as you are, I have got toworry out as best I can, if I can do it at all, this problem thatHartley sent me about the Forty-seventh Proposition of the first book ofEuclid."

  "Oh yes," she said, going to his side and putting her hand on to hisshoulder as he stood facing the Mummy; "I have reason enough to rememberthat. And what does Professor Hartley say about it?"

  "He says, my dear Niti," said the Professor, in a voice which hadsomething like a note of awe in it, "that when Pythagoras thought outthat problem--which, of course, is not Euclid's at all--he almost sawacross the horizon of the world that we live in."

  "But that," she interrupted, "would be something like looking across theedge of time into eternity, and that--well, of course, that is quiteimpossible, even to you, Dad, or Mr Hartley. What does he mean?"

  "He doesn't quite mean that, dear," replied the Professor, still staringstraight at the motionless Mummy as though he half expected the lipswhich had not spoken for fifty centuries to answer the question that wasshaping itself in his mind. "What Hartley means, dear, is this--thatwhen Pythagoras thought out that proposition he had almost reached theborder which divides the world of three dimensions from the world offour."

  "Which, as our dear old friend Euclid would say, is impossible; becauseyou know, Dad, if that were possible, everything else would be. Come,now, Annie is bringing up your whisky and soda. Put away your problemsand take your night-cap, and do get to bed in something like respectabletime. Don't worry your dear old head about forty-seventh propositionsand fourth dimensions and mummies and that sort of thing, even if thisMummy does happen to look a bit like me. Now, good night, and rememberthat the night-cap _is_ to be a night-cap, and when you've put it on youreally must go to bed. You've been thinking a great deal too much thisweek. Good-night, Dad."

  "Good-night, Niti, dear. Don't trouble your head about my thinking.Sufficient unto the brain are the thoughts thereof. Sometimes they aremore than sufficient. Good-night. Sleep well and don't dream, if you canhelp it."

  "And don't _you_ dream, Dad, especially about that wretched proposition.Just have another pipe, and drink your whisky and go to bed. There'ssomething in your eyes that says you want a long night's rest.Good-night now, and sleep well."

  She pulled his head down and kissed him twice on his grey, thin cheek,and then, with a wave of her hand and a laughing nod towards the Mummy,vanished through the closing study door to go and dream her dreams,which were not very likely to be of mummies and fourth dimensionalproblems, and left her father to dream his.

  Then a couple of lines from one of "B.V.'s" poems, which had beenrunning in his head all the evening, came back to him, and he murmuredhalf-unconsciously:

  "'Was it hundreds of years ago, my love, Was it thousands of miles away...?'"

  "And why should it not be? Why should you, who were once Ma-Rim[=o]n,priest of Amen-Ra, in the City of Memphis--you who almost stood upon thethreshold of the Inmost Sanctuary of Knowledge: you who, if yourfootsteps had not turned aside into the way of temptation and troddenthe black path of Sin, might even now be dwelling on the Shores ofEverlasting Peace in the Land of Amenti--dost _thou_ dare to ask such aquestion?"

  The sudden change of the pronoun seemed to him to put the Clock of Timeback indefinitely.

  He was standing by his desk still facing the Mummy just as his daughterhad left him after saying "good-night." He was not a man to be easilyastonished. Not only was he one of the best-read amateur Egyptologistsin Europe, but he was also an ex-President of the Royal Society, aMember of the Psychical Research Society, and, moreover, Chairman of arecently appointed Commission on Comparative Insanity, the object ofwhose labours was to determine, if possible, what proportion of peopleoutside asylums were mad or sane according to a standard which, somehow,no one had thought of inventing before--the standard of common-sense.

  The voice, strangely like his daughter's and his dead wife's also,appeared to come from nowhere and yet from everywhere, and it had afaint and far-away echo in it which harmonised most marvellously withother echoes which seemed to come up out of the depths of his own soul.

  Where had he heard it before? Somewhere, certainly. There was nopossibility of mistaking tones which were so irresistibly familiar, and,moreover, why did they bring back to him such distinct memories oftragedies long forgotten, even by him? Why did they instantly drawbefore the windows of his soul a long panorama of vast cities, splendidpalaces, sombre temples, and towering tombs, in which he saw all theseand more with an infinitely greater vividness of form and light andcolour than he had ever been able to do in his most inspired hours ofdream or study?

  Had the voice really come from those long-silenced lips of the Mummy ofNitocris, that daughter of the Pharaohs who had so terribly avenged heroutraged love, and after whom he had named the only child of hismarriage?

  "It is certainly very strange," he said, going to his writing-table andtaking up his pipe. "I know that voice, or at least I seem to know it,and it is very like Niti's and her mother's; but where can it have comefrom? Hardly from your lips, my long-dead Royal Egypt," he went on,going up to the mummy-case and peering through his spectacles into therigid features. He put up his hand and tapped the tightly-drawn lipsvery gently, then turned away with a smile, saying aloud to himself:"No, no, I must have been allowing what they call my scientificimagination to play tricks with me. Perhaps I have been worrying alittle too much about this confounded fourth dimension problem,--and yetthe thing is exceedingly fascinating. If the hand of Science could onlyreach across the frontier line! If we could only see out of the world oflength and breadth and thickness into that other world of these andsomething else, how many puzzles would be solved, how manyimpossibilities would become possible, and how many of the miracleswhich those old Egyptian adepts so seriously claimed to work would looklike the merest commonplaces! Ah well, now for the realities. I supposethat's Annie with the whisky."

  As he turned round the door opened, and he beheld a very strange sight,one which, to a man who had had a less stern mental training than he hadhad, would have been nothing less than terrifying. His daughter came inwith a little silver tray on which there was a small decanter of whisky,a glass, and a syphon of soda-water.

  "Annie has gone to the post, and I thought I might as well bring thismyself," said Miss Nitocris, walking to the table and putting the traydown on the corner of it.

  Beside her stood another figure as familiar now to his eyes as her'swas, dressed and tired and jewelled in a fashion equally familiar. Savefor the difference in dress, Nitocris, the daughter of Rameses, was theexact counterpart in feature, stature, and colouring of Nitocris, thedaughter of Professor Marmion. In her hands she carried a slender,long-necked jar of brilliantly enamelled earthenware and a golden flagonrichly chased, and glittering with jewels, and these she put down on thetable in
exactly the same place as the other Nitocris had put her trayon, and as she did so he heard the voice again, saying:

  "Time was, is now, and ever shall be to those for whom Time has ceasedto be--which is a riddle that Ma-Rim[=o]n may even now learn, since hissoul has been purified and his spirit strengthened by earnest devotionthrough many lives to the search for the True Knowledge."

  Both voices had spoken together, the one in English and the other in theancient tongue of Khem, yet he had heard each syllable separately andcomprehended both utterances perfectly. He felt a cold grip of fear athis heart as he looked towards the mummy-case, and, as his fear hadwarned him, it was empty. Then he looked at his daughter, and as theireyes met, she said in the most commonplace tones:

  "My dear Dad, what _is_ the matter with you? If advanced people likeourselves believed in any such nonsense, I should be inclined to saythat you had seen a ghost; but I suppose it's only that silly fourthdimension puzzle that's worrying you. Now, look here, you must reallytake your whisky and go to bed. If you go on bothering any longer about'N to the fourth,' you will have one of your bad headaches to-morrow andwon't be able to finish your address for the Institute."

  She put her hand out and took up the decanter. It passed without anyapparent resistance through the jar. She lifted it from the same place,and poured out the usual modicum of whisky into the glass, which wasstanding just where the flagon was. Then she pressed the trigger of thesyphon, and the familiar hiss of the soda-water brought the Professor,as he thought, back to his senses.

  But no! There could be no doubt about it. There in material form on thecorner of his table was a point-blank, tangible contradiction of theuniversally accepted axiom that two bodies cannot occupy the same space,and that, come from somewhere or nowhere, there were two plainlymaterial objects through which his daughter's hand, without her evenknowing it, had passed as easily as it would have done through a littlecloud of steam. Happily she had no idea of what he had seen and heard,and so for her sake he made a strong effort to control himself, and saidas steadily as he could:

  "Thank you, Niti, it is very good of you. Yes, I think I am a littletired to-night. Good-night now, and I promise you that I will be offvery soon; I will just have one more pipe, and drink my whisky, and thenI really will go. Good-night, little woman. We'll have a talk about theMummy in the morning."

  As soon as his daughter had closed the door, Professor Marmion returnedto his writing-table. The decanter of whisky, the tumbler, and thesyphon of soda-water were still standing on the corner of the table,occupying the same space as the enamelled flagon of wine and thedrinking goblet which the long-dead other-self of Miss Nitocris hadplaced on the little silver salver.

  He looked about the room anxiously, with a feeling nearer akin tophysical dread than he had ever experienced before; but his worst fearswere not fulfilled. Nitocris the Queen had vanished and the Mummy wasback in its case, blind, rigid, and silent, as it had been for fiftycenturies.

  For several moments he looked at the hard, grey, fixed features of thewoman who had once been Nitocris, Queen of Middle Egypt, half expecting,after what he had seen, or thought he had seen, that the soul wouldreturn, that the long-closed eyes would open again, and that thelong-silent lips would speak to him. But no! For all the answer that hegot he might as well have been looking upon the granite features of theSphinx itself. He turned away again towards the table, and murmured:

  "Ah well! I suppose it was only an hallucination, after all. One ofthese strange pranks that the over-strained intellect sometimes playswith us. Perhaps I have been thinking too much lately. And now I reallythink I had better follow Niti's advice, and take my night-cap and go tobed."

  But as he put out his hand to take the whisky decanter he stopped andpulled it back.

  "What on earth is the matter with me?" he said, putting his hand to hishead. "That decanter is mine--it is the same, and yet it is standing injust the same place as that other thing--and I remember that, too. Lookhere, Franklin Marmion, my friend, if you were not a rather over-workedman I should think you had had a good deal too much to drink. Two bodies_cannot_ occupy the same space. It is ridiculous, impossible!"

  As he said the last word, his voice rose a little, and, as it seemed, anecho came back from one of the corners of the room:

  "Impossible, impossible?"

  There seemed to be a sarcastic note of interrogation after the lastword.

  "Eh? What was that?" and he looked round at the mummy-case. Herlong-dead Majesty was still reclining in it, silent and impassive.

  "Oh, this won't do at all! Hartley and the fourth dimension be hanged!It strikes me that this way madness lies if you only go far enough. I'llhave that night-cap at once and go to bed."

  He put out his hand, took hold of the whisky decanter, and as he drewback his arm he saw that instead he held the enamelled flagon in hisgrasp.

  "Well, well," he said, looking at it half-angrily, "if it is to be, itmust be."

  He put out his left hand and took hold of the goblet, tilted the flagon,and out of the curved lip there fell a thin stream of wine, whichglittered with a pale ruby radiance in the light of the electric clusterthat hung above his writing-desk. He set the flagon down, and as heraised the goblet to his lips, he heard his own voice saying in theancient language of Khem:

  "As was, and is, and ever shall be; ever, yet never--never, yet ever.Nitocris the Queen, in the name of Nebzec I greet thee! From thy hands Itake the gift of the Perfect Knowledge!"

  As he drained the goblet he turned towards the mummy-case. It might havebeen fancy, it might have been the effect of that miraculous old wine ofCos which, if he had really drunk it, must now be more than thirtycenturies old: it might have been the result of the hard thinking thathe had been doing now for several days and half-nights; but he certainlythought that the Queen's head suddenly became endowed with life, thatthe eyes opened, and the grey of the parchment skin softened into adelicate olive tinge with a faint rosy blush showing through it. Thebrown, shrivelled lips seemed to fill out, grow red, and smile. Theeyelids lifted, and the eyes of the Nitocris of old looked down on himfor a moment. He shook his head and looked, and there was the Mummy justas it had been when he opened the case.

  "Really, this is strange, almost to the point of bewilderment," he wenton. "I wonder if there is any more of that wine left?"

  He took up the flagon and poured out another goblet, filled and drankit.

  "Yes," he continued, speaking as though under some strange exultation ofthe mind rather than of the senses, "yes, that is the wine of Cos. Idrank it. I, Ma-Rim[=o]n, the priest-student of the Higher Mysteries; I,whose feet faltered on the threshold of the Place of the Elect, andwhose heart failed him at the portal of the Sanctuary, even thoughAmen-Ra was beckoning me to cross it."

  "Good heavens, what nonsense I am talking! Whatever there was in thatwine or wherever it came from, I think it is quite time I was off, notto old Egypt, but the Land of Nod. It seems to--no, it has not got intomy head; in fact I am beginning to see that, after all, Hartley mightvery possibly be right about that forty-seventh proposition. Well, Iwill do as the Russians say, take my thoughts to bed with me, since themorning is wiser than the evening. It is all very mysterious. Icertainly hope that Annie won't find these things here in the morningwhen she comes to clear up. I wonder what the Museum would give me forthem if they were not, as I think they are, the unsubstantial fabric ofa vision?"

  When he got into his room and turned the electric light on, he stoodunder the cluster and held up his closed hand so that the light fellupon a curiously engraved scarab set in a heavy gold ring which had beengiven to him on his last birthday by Lord Lester Leighton, a wealthy andaccomplished young nobleman who had devoted his learned leisure toEgyptian exploration and research. It was he who had sent the Mummy ofQueen Nitocris to the house on Wimbledon Common instead of adding it tohis own collection--not altogether unselfishly, it must be confessed,for he was very much in love with the other Nitocris who was still inthe fl
esh.

  "Now," he said, fingering the scarab, "if I was not dreaming, and if bysome mysterious means Her Highness's promise is to be actuallyfulfilled, I ought to be able to take this ring off without opening myhand. Certainly, any fourth dimensional being could do it."

  As he spoke he pulled at the setting of the scarab--and, to hisamazement, the ring came off whole. There was no scar on his finger--nobreak in the ring.

  "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, staring with something like fear in hiseyes, first at his hand, and then at the ring. "Then it _is_ true!" Hewas silent for a full minute; then he put the ring down on thedressing-table and whispered: "What a terrible power--and what an awfulresponsibility! Well, thank God, I am a fairly honest man!"

  As he undressed he was conscious of a curious sense of reminiscencewhich he had never experienced before. His brain was not only perfectlyclear, but almost abnormally active, and yet the current of his thoughtsappeared to be turned backward instead of forward. The things of his ownlife, the life that he was then living, seemed to drift behind him. Thefacts which he had learned in his long and minute study of Egyptianhistory came up in his mind, no longer as facts learned from books andmonuments, wall-paintings, and hieroglyphics, but as living entities. Heseemed to know, not by memory, but of immediate knowledge. It was thedifference between the reading of the story, say, of a battle, andactually taking part in it. He got into bed, and turned over on hisright side, saying:

  "Well, this is all very extraordinary. I wonder what it all means? Thankgoodness, I am sleepy enough, and sleep is the best of all medicines. Ishould not wonder if I were to dream of Memphis again to-night. Awonderfully beautiful mummy that, quite unique--and Nitocris, too.Good-night, Nitocris, my royal mistress that might have been!Good-night!"