The Tale of the Doomed Prince

There once was a king to whom no son was born; and his heart was

grieved, and he prayed for himself unto the gods around him for a child.

They decreed that one should be born to him. And his wife, after her

time was fulfilled, brought forth a son. Then came the Hathors to decree

for him a destiny; they said, "His death is to be by the crocodile, or

by the serpent, or by the dog." Then the people who stood by heard this,

and they went to tell it to his majesty. Then his majesty's heart

sickened very greatly. And his majesty caused a house to be built upon

the desert; it was furnished with people and with all good things of the

royal house, that the child should not go abroad. And when the child was

grown, he went up upon the roof, and he saw a dog; it was following a

man who was walking on the road. He spoke to his page, who was with him,

"What is this that walks behind the man who is coming along the road?"

He answered him, "This is a dog." The child said to him, "Let there be

brought to me one like it." The page went to repeat it to his majesty.

And his majesty said, "Let there be brought to him a little pet dog,

lest his heart be sad." And behold they brought to him the dog.

Then when the days increased after this, and when the child became grown

in all his limbs, he sent a message to his father saying, "Come,

wherefore am I kept here? Inasmuch as I am fated to three evil fates,

let me follow my desire. Let God do what is in His heart." They agreed

to all he said, and gave him all sorts of arms, and also his dog to

follow him, and they took him to the east country, and said to him,

"Behold, go thou whither thou wilt." His dog was with him, and he went

northward, following his heart in the desert, while he lived on all the

best of the game of the desert. He went to the chief of Naha-raina.

And behold there had not been any born to the chief of Naharaina, except

one daughter. Behold, there had been built for her a house; its seventy

windows were seventy cubits from the ground. And the chief caused to be

brought all the sons of the chiefs of the land of Khalu, and said to

them, "He who reaches the window of my daughter, she shall be to him for

a wife."

And many days after these things, as they were in their daily task, the

youth rode by the place where they were. They took the youth to their

house, they bathed him, they gave provender to his horses, they brought

all kinds of things for the youth, they perfumed him, they anointed his

feet, they gave him portions of their own food; and they spake to him,

"Whence comest thou, goodly youth?" He said to them, "I am son of an

officer of the land of Egypt; my mother is dead, and my father has taken

another wife. And when she bore children, she grew to hate me, and I

have come as a fugitive from before her." And they embraced him, and

kissed him.

And after many days were passed, he said to the youths, "What is it that

ye do here?" And they said to him, "We spend our time in this: we climb

up, and he who shall reach the window of the daughter of the chief of

Naharaina, to him will he given her to wife." He said to them, "If it

please you, let me behold the matter, that I may come to climb with

you." They went to climb, as was their daily wont: and the youth stood

afar off to behold; and the face of the daughter of the chief of

Naharaina was turned to them. And another day the sons came to climb,

and the youth came to climb with the sons of the chiefs. He climbed, and

he reached the window of the daughter of the chief of Naharaina. She

kissed him, she embraced him in all his limbs.

And one went to rejoice the heart of her father, and said to him, "One

of the people has reached the window of thy daughter." And the prince

inquired of the messenger, saying, "The son of which of the princes is

it?" And he replied to him, "It is the son of an officer, who has come

as a fugitive from the land of Egypt, fleeing from before his stepmother

when she had children." Then the chief of Naharaina was exceeding angry;

and he said, "Shall I indeed give my daughter to the Egyptian fugitive?

Let him go back whence he came." And one came to tell the youth, "Go

back to the place thou earnest from." But the maiden seized his hand;

she swore an oath by God, saying, "By the being of Ra Harakhti, if one

takes him from me, I will not eat, I will not drink, I shall die in that

same hour." The messenger went to tell unto her father all that she

said. Then the prince sent men to slay the youth, while he was in his

house. But the maiden said, "By the being of Ra, if one slay him I shall

be dead ere the sun goeth down. I will not pass an hour of life if I am

parted from him." And one went to tell her father. Then the prince made

them bring the youth with the maiden. The youth was seized with fear

when he came before the prince. But he embraced him, he kissed him all

over, and said, "Oh! tell me who thou art; behold, thou art to me as a

son." He said to him, "I am a son of an officer of the land of Egypt; my

mother died, my father took to him a second wife; she came to hate me,

and I fled a fugitive from before her." He then gave to him his daughter

to wife; he gave also to him a house, and serfs, and fields, also cattle

and all manner of good things.

But after the days of these things were passed, the youth said to his

wife, "I am doomed to three fates--a crocodile, a serpent, and a dog."

She said to him, "Let one kill the dog which belongs to thee." He

replied to her, "I am not going to kill my dog, which I have brought up

from when it was small." And she feared greatly for her husband, and

would not let him go alone abroad.

And one went with the youth toward the land of Egypt, to travel in that

country. Behold the crocodile of the river, he came out by the town in

which the youth was. And in that town was a mighty man. And the mighty

man would not suffer the crocodile to escape. And when the crocodile was

bound, the mighty man went out and walked abroad. And when the sun rose

the mighty man went back to the house; and he did so every day, during

two months of days.

Now when the days passed after this, the youth sat making a good day in

his house.

And when the evening came he lay down on his bed, sleep seized upon his

limbs; and his wife filled a bowl of milk, and placed it by his side.

Then came out a serpent from his hole, to bite the youth; behold his wife

was sitting by him, she lay not down. Thereupon the servants gave milk

to the serpent, and he drank, and was drunk, and lay upside down. Then

his wife made it to perish with the blows of her dagger. And they woke

her husband, who was astonished; and she said unto him, "Behold thy God

has given one of thy dooms into thy hand; He will also give thee the

others." And he sacrificed to God, adoring Him, and praising His spirits

from day to day.

And when the days were passed after these things, the youth went to walk

in the fields of his domain. He went not alone, behold his dog was

following him. And his dog ran aside after the wild game, and he

followed the dog. He came to the river, and entered the river behind

his dog. Then came out the crocodile, and took him to the place where

the mighty man was. And the crocodile said to the youth, "I am thy doom,

following after thee. ..."

[Here the papyrus breaks off.]

REMARKS

This tale is preserved in one of the Harris papyri (No. 500) in the

British Museum. It has been translated by Goodwin, Chabas, Maspero, and

Ebers. The present version is adapted from that of Maspero, with

frequent reference by Mr. Griffith to the original.

The marvellous parentage of a fated or gifted hero is familiar in

Eastern tales, and he is often described as a divine reward to a

long-childless king. This element of fate or destiny is, however, not

seen before this age in Egyptian ideas; nor, indeed, would it seem at

all in place with the simple, easygoing, joyous life of the early days.

It belongs to an age when ideals possess the mind, when man struggles

against his circumstances, when he wills to be different from what he

is. Dedi or the shipwrecked sailor think nothing about fate, but live

day by day as life comes to them. There is here, then, a new element,

that of striving and of unrest, quite foreign to the old Egyptian mind.

The age of this tale is shown plainly in the incidents. The prince goes

to the chief of Naharaina, a land probably unknown to the Egyptians

until the Asiatic conquests of the XVIIIth Dynasty had led them to the

upper waters of the Euphrates. In earlier days Sanehat fled to the

frontier at the Wady Tumilat, and was quite lost to Egypt when he

settled in the south of Palestine. But when the Doomed Prince goes out

of Egypt he goes to the chief of Naharaina, as the frontier State. This

stamps the tale as subsequent to the wars of the Tahutimes family, and

reflects rather the peaceful intercourse of the great monarch Amenhotep

the Third. If it belonged to the Ramessides we should not hear of

Naharaina, which was quite lost to them, but rather of Dapur (Tabor) and

Kadesh, and of the Hittites as the familiar frontier power.

The Hathors here appear as the Fates, instead of the goddesses Isis,

Nebhat, Mes-khent, and Hakt, of the old tale in the IVth Dynasty (see

first series, p. 33); and we find in the next tale of Anpu and Bata, in

the XIXth Dynasty, that the seven Hathors decree the fate of the wife of

Bata. That Hathor should be a name given to seven deities is not strange

when we see that Hathor was a generic name for a goddess. There was the

Hathor of foreign lands, such as Punt or Sinai; there was the Hathor of

home towns, as Dendera or Atfih; and Hathor was as widely known, and yet

as local, as the Madonna. In short, to one of the races which composed

the Egyptian people Hathor was the term for any goddess, or for a

universal goddess to whom all others were assimilated. Why and how this

title "house of Horus" should be so general is not obvious.

The variety of fate here predicted is like the vagueness of the fate of

Bata's wife, by "a sharp death." It points to the Hathors predicting as

seers, rather than to their having the control of the future. It bears

the stamp of the oracle of Delphi, rather than that of a divine decree.

In this these goddesses differ greatly from the Parcae, whose ordinances

not even Zeus could withstand, as Lucian lets us know in one of the most

audacious and philosophical of the dialogues. The Hathors seem rather to

deal with what we should call luck than with fate: they see the nature

of the close of life from its beginning, without either knowing or

controlling its details.

In this tale we meet for the first time the idea of inaccessible and

mysterious buildings; and from the resort to this element or curiosity

in describing both the prince and the princess, it appears as if it were

then a new motive in story-telling, and had not lost its power. To

modern ears it is, of course, done to death since the "Castle of

Otranto"; though as a minor element it can still be gently used by the

poet and novelist in a moated grange, a house in a marsh or a maze.

Another point of wonder, so well known in later times, is the large and

mystic number of windows, like the 365 windows attributed to great

buildings of the present age. It would not be difficult from these

papyrus tales to start an historical dictionary of the elements of

fiction: a kind of analysis that should be the death of much of the

venerable stock-in-trade.

We see coming in here, more strongly than before, the use of emotions

and the force of character. The generous friendship of the sons of the

Syrian chiefs; then the burst of passionate love from the chiefs

daughter, which saves the prince's life twice over from her father, and

guards him afterwards from his fates; again, the devotion of the prince

to his favourite dog, in spite of all warnings--these show a reliance on

personal emotion and feeling in creating the interest of the tale, quite

different from the mere interest of incident which was employed earlier.

The reason which the prince alleges for his leaving Egypt is also a

touch of nature, the wish of a mother to oust her stepson in order to

make way for her own children, one of the deepest and most elemental

feelings of feminine nature.

The mighty man and the crocodile are difficult to understand, the more

so as the tale breaks off in the midst of that part. It appears also as

if there had been some inversion of the paragraphs; for, first, we read

that the wife would not let the prince go alone, and one goes with him

toward Egypt, and the crocodile of the Nile (apparently) is mentioned;

then he is said to be sitting in his house with his wife; then he goes

in the fields of his domain and meets the crocodile. It may be that a

passage has dropped out, describing his wife's accompanying him to

settle in Egypt. But the mighty man--that is another puzzle. He binds a

crocodile, and goes out while he is bound, but by night. The point of

this is not clear. It may have been, however, that the mighty man went

back to the house when the sun was high, that he might not lose his

shadow. In Arabia there was a belief that a hyena could deprive a man

of speech and motion by stepping on his shadow--analogous to the belief

in many other lands of the importance of preserving the shadow, and

avoiding the shadowless hour of high noon (Frazer, "Golden Bough," p.

143). Hence the strength of the mighty man, and his magic power over the

crocodile, would perhaps depend on his not allowing his shadow to

disappear. And though Egypt is not quite tropical, yet shadows do

practically vanish in the summer, the shadow of the thin branches of a

tall palm appearing to radiate round its root without the stem casting

any shade.

The use of milk to entice serpents is still well known in Egypt; and

when a serpent appeared in some of my excavations in a pit, the men

proposed to me to let down a saucer of milk to entice it out, that they

might kill it.

The close of the tale would have explained much that is now lost to us.

The crocodile boasts of being the fate of the prince; but his dog is

with him, and one can hardly doubt that the dog attacks the crocodile.

There is also the mighty man to come in and manage the crocodile. Then

the dog is left to bring about the catastrophe. Or does the faithful

wife rescue him from all the fates? Hardly so, as the prediction of the

Hathors comes strictly to pass in the tale of Anpu and Bata. Let us hope

that another copy may be found to give us the clue to the working of the

Egyptian mind in this situation.

XIXTH DYNASTY

ANPU AND BATA.

Once there were two brethren, of one mother and one father; Anpu was the

name of the elder, and Bata was the name of the younger. Now, as for

Anpu he had a house, and he had a wife. But his little brother was to

him as it were a son; he it was who made for him his clothes; he it was

who followed behind his oxen to the fields; he it was who did the

ploughing; he it was who harvested the corn; he it was who did for him

all the matters that were in the field. Behold, his younger brother grew

to be an excellent worker, there was not his equal in the whole land;

behold, the spirit of a god was in him.

Now after this the younger brother followed his oxen in his daily

manner; and every evening he turned again to the house, laden with all

the herbs of the field, with milk and with wood, and with all things of

the field. And he put them down before his elder brother, who was

sitting with his wife; and he drank and ate, and he lay down in his

stable with the cattle. And at the dawn of day he took bread which he

had baked, and laid it before his elder brother; and he took with him

his bread to the field, and he drave his cattle to pasture in the

fields. And as he walked behind his cattle, they said to him, "Good is

the herbage which is in that place;" and he listened to all that they

said, and he took them to the good place which they desired. And the

cattle which were before him became exceeding excellent, and they

multiplied greatly.

Now at the time of ploughing his elder brother said unto him, "Let us

make ready for ourselves a goodly yoke of oxen for ploughing, for the

land has come out from the water, it is fit for ploughing. Moreover, do

thou come to the field with corn, for we will begin the ploughing in the

morrow morning." Thus said he to him; and his younger brother did all

things as his elder brother had spoken unto him to do them.

And when the morn was come, they went to the fields with their things;

and their hearts were pleased exceedingly with their task in the

beginning of their work. And it came to pass after this that as they

were in the field they stopped for corn, and he sent his younger

brother, saying, "Haste thou, bring to us corn from the farm." And the

younger brother found the wife of his elder brother, as she was sitting

tiring her hair. He said to her, "Get up, and give to me corn, that I

may run to the field, for my elder brother hastened me; do not delay."

She said to him, "Go, open the bin, and thou shalt take to thyself

according to thy will, that I may not drop my locks of hair while I

dress them."

The youth went into the stable; he took a large measure, for he desired

to take much corn; he loaded it with wheat and barley; and he went out

carrying it. She said to him, "How much of the corn that is wanted, is

that which is on thy shoulder?" He said to her, "Three bushels of

barley, and two of wheat, in all five; these are what are upon my

shoulder:" thus said he to her. And she conversed with him, saying,

"There is great strength in thee, for I see thy might every day." And

her heart knew him with the knowledge of youth. And she arose and came

to him, and conversed with him, saying, "Come, stay with me, and it

shall be well for thee, and I will make for thee beautiful garments."

Then the youth became like a panther of the south with fury at the evil

speech which she had made to him; and she feared greatly. And he spake

unto her, saying, "Behold thou art to me as a mother, thy husband is to

me as a father, for he who is elder than I has brought me up. What is

this wickedness that thou hast said to me? Say it not to me again. For I

will not tell it to any man, for I will not let it be uttered by the

mouth of any man." He lifted up his burden, and he went to the field and

came to his elder brother; and they took up their work, to labour at

their task.

Now afterward, at eventime, his elder brother was returning to his

house; and the younger brother was following after his oxen, and he

loaded himself with all the things of the field; and he brought his oxen

before him, to make them lie down in their stable which was in the farm.

And behold the wife of the elder brother was afraid for the words which

she had said. She took a parcel of fat, she became like one who is

evilly beaten, desiring to say to her husband, "It is thy younger

brother who has done this wrong." Her husband returned in the even, as

was his wont of every day; he came unto his house; he found his wife ill

of violence; she did not give him water upon his hands as he used to

have, she did not make a light before him, his house was in darkness,

and she was lying very sick. Her husband said to her, "Who has spoken

with thee?"

Behold she said, "No one has spoken with me except thy younger brother.

When he came to take for thee corn he found me sitting alone; he said to

me, 'Come, let us stay together, tie up thy hair:' thus spake he to me.

I did not listen to him, but thus spake I to him: 'Behold, am I not thy

mother, is not thy elder brother to thee as a father?' And he feared,

and he beat me to stop me from making report to thee, and if thou

lettest him live I shall die. Now behold he is coming in the evening;

and I complain of these wicked words, for he would have done this even

in daylight."

And the elder brother became as a panther of the south; he sharpened his

knife; he took it in his hand; he stood behind the door of his stable to

slay his younger brother as he came in the evening to bring his cattle

into the stable.

Now the sun went down, and he loaded himself with herbs in his daily

manner. He came, and his foremost cow entered the stable, and she said

to her keeper, "Behold thou thy elder brother standing before thee with

his knife to slay thee; flee from before him." He heard what his first

cow had said; and the next entering, she also said likewise. He looked

beneath the door of the stable; he saw the feet of his elder brother; he

was standing behind the door, and his knife was in his hand. He cast

down his load to the ground, and betook himself to flee swiftly; and his

elder brother pursued after him with his knife. Then the younger brother

cried out unto Ra Harakhti, saying, "My good Lord! Thou art he who

divides the evil from the good." And Ra stood and heard all his cry; and

Ra made a wide water between him and his elder brother, and it was full

of crocodiles; and the one brother was on one bank, and the other on the

other bank; and the elder brother smote twice on his hands at not

slaying him. Thus did he. And the younger brother called to the elder on

the bank, saying, "Stand still until the dawn of day; and when Ra

ariseth, I shall judge with thee before Him, and He discerneth between

the good and the evil. For I shall not be with thee any more for ever; I

shall not be in the place in which thou art; I shall go to the valley of

the acacia."

Now when the land was lightened, and the next day appeared, Ra Harakhti

arose, and one looked unto the other. And the youth spake with his elder

brother, saying, "Wherefore earnest thou after me to slay me in

craftiness, when thou didst not hear the words of my mouth? For I am thy

brother in truth, and thou art to me as a father, and thy wife even as a

mother: is it not so? Verily, when I was sent to bring for us corn, thy

wife said to me, 'Come, stay with me;' for behold this has been turned

over unto thee into another wise." And he caused him to understand of

all that happened with him and his wife. And he swore an oath by Ra

Har-akhti, saying, "Thy coming to slay me by deceit with thy knife was

an abomination." Then the youth took a knife, and cut off of his flesh,

and cast it into the water, and the fish swallowed it. He failed; he

became faint; and his elder brother cursed his own heart greatly; he

stood weeping for him afar off; he knew not how to pass over to where

his younger brother was, because of the crocodiles. And the younger

brother called unto him, saying, "Whereas thou hast devised

an evil thing, wilt thou not also devise a good thing, even like that

which I would do unto thee? When thou goest to thy house thou must look

to thy cattle, for I shall not stay in the place where thou art; I am

going to the valley of the acacia. And now as to what thou shalt do for

me; it is even that thou shalt come to seek after me, if thou perceivest

a matter, namely, that there are things happening unto me. And this is

what shall come to pass, that I shall draw out my soul, and I shall put

it upon the top of the flowers of the acacia, and when the acacia is cut

down, and it falls to the ground, and thou comest to seek for it, if

thou searchest for it seven years do not let thy heart be wearied. For

thou wilt find it, and thou must put it in a cup of cold water, and

expect that I shall live again, that I may make answer to what has been

done wrong.. And thou shalt know of this, that is to say, that things

are happening to me, when one shall give to thee a cup of beer in thy hand,

and it shall be troubled; stay not then, for verily it shall come to

pass with thee."

And the youth went to the valley of the acacia; and his elder brother

went unto his house; his hand was laid on his head, and he cast dust on

his head; he came to his house, and he slew his wife, he cast her to the

dogs, and he sat in mourning for his younger brother.

Now many days after these things, the younger brother was in the valley

of the acacia; there was none with him; he spent his time in hunting the

beasts of the desert, and he came back in the even to lie down under the

acacia, which bore his soul upon the topmost flower. And after this he

built himself a tower with his own hands, in the valley of the acacia;

it was full of all good things, that he might provide for himself a home.

And he went out from his tower, and he met the Nine Gods, who were

walking forth to look upon the whole land. The Nine Gods talked one

with another, and they said unto him, "Ho! Bata, bull of the Nine Gods,

art thou remaining alone? Thou hast left thy village for the wife of

Anpu, thy elder brother. Behold his wife is slain. Thou hast given him

an answer to all that was transgressed against thee." And their hearts

were vexed for him exceedingly. And Ra Harakhti said to Khnumu, "Behold,

frame thou a woman for Bata, that he may not remain alive alone." And

Khnumu made for him a mate to dwell with him.

She was more beautiful in her limbs than any woman who is in the whole

land. The essence of every god was in her. The seven Hathors came to see

her: they said with one mouth, "She will die a sharp death."

And Bata loved her very exceedingly, and she dwelt in his house; he

passed his time in hunting the beasts of the desert, and brought and

laid them before her. He said, "Go not outside, lest the sea seize thee;

for I cannot rescue thee from it, for I am a woman like thee; my soul is

placed on the head of the flower of the acacia; and if another find it,

I must fight with him." And he opened unto her his heart in all its nature.

Now after these things Bata went to hunt in his daily manner. And the

young girl went to walk under the acacia which was by the side of her

house. Then the sea saw her, and cast its waves up after her. She betook

herself to flee from before it. She entered her house. And the sea

called unto the acacia, saying, "Oh, would that I could seize her!" And

the acacia brought a lock from her hair, and the sea carried it to

Egypt, and dropped it in the place of the fullers of Pharaoh's linen.

The smell of the lock of hair entered into the clothes of Pharaoh; and

they were wroth with the fullers of Pharaoh, saying, "The smell of

ointment is in the clothes of Pharaoh." And the people were rebuked

every day, they knew not what they should do. And the chief fuller of

Pharaoh walked by the bank, and his heart was very evil within him after

the daily quarrel with him. He stood still, he stood upon the sand

opposite to the lock of hair, which was in the water, and he made one

enter into the water and bring it to him; and there was found in it a

smell, exceeding sweet. He took it to Pharaoh; and they brought the

scribes and the wise men, and they said unto Pharaoh, "This lock of hair

belongs to a daughter of Ra Harakhti: the essence of every god is in

her, and it is a tribute to thee from another land. Let messengers go to

every strange land to seek her: and as for the messenger who shall go to

the valley of the acacia, let many men go with him to bring her." Then

said his majesty, "Excellent exceedingly is what has been said to us;"

and they sent them. And many days after these things the people who were

sent to strange lands came to give report unto the king: but there came

not those who went to the valley of the acacia, for Bata had slain them,

but let one of them return to give a report to the king. His majesty

sent many men and soldiers, as well as horsemen, to bring her back. And

there was a woman amongst them, and to her had been given in her hand

beautiful ornaments of a woman. And the girl came back with her, and

they rejoiced over her in the whole land.

And his majesty loved her exceedingly, and raised her to high estate;

and he spake unto her that she should tell him concerning her husband.

And she said, "Let the acacia be cut down, and let one chop it up." And

they sent men and soldiers with their weapons to cut down the acacia;

and they came to the acacia, and they cut the flower upon which was the

soul of Bata, and he fell dead suddenly.

And when the next day came, and the earth was lightened, the acacia was

cut down. And Anpu, the elder brother of Bata, entered his house, and

washed his hands; and one gave him a cup of beer, and it became

troubled; and one gave him another of wine, and the smell of it was

evil. Then he took his staff, and his sandals, and likewise his clothes,

with his weapons of war; and he betook himself forth to the valley of

the acacia. He entered the tower of his younger brother, and he found

him lying upon his mat; he was dead. And he wept when he saw his younger

brother verily lying dead. And he went out to seek the soul of his

younger brother under the acacia tree, under which his younger brother

lay in the evening.

He spent three years in seeking for it, but found it not. And when he

began the fourth year, he desired in his heart to return into Egypt; he

said "I will go to-morrow morn:" thus spake he in his heart.

Now when the land lightened, and the next day appeared, he was walking

under the acacia; he was spending his time in seeking it. And he

returned in the evening, and laboured at seeking it again. He found a

seed. He returned with it. Behold this was the soul of his younger

brother. He brought a cup of cold water, and he cast the seed into it:

and he sat down, as he was wont. Now when the night came his soul sucked

up the water; Bata shuddered in all his limbs, and he looked on his

elder brother; his soul was in the cup. Then Anpu took the cup of cold

water, in which the soul of his younger brother was; Bata drank it, his

soul stood again in its place, and he became as he had been. They

embraced each other, and they conversed together.

And Bata said to his elder brother, "Behold I am to become as a great

bull, which bears every good mark; no one knoweth its history, and thou

must sit upon my back. When the sun arises I shall be in the place where

my wife is, that I may return answer to her; and thou must take me to

the place where the king is. For all good things shall be done for thee;

for one shall lade thee with silver and gold, because thou bringest me

to Pharaoh, for I become a great marvel, and they shall rejoice for me

in all the land. And thou shalt go to thy village."

And when the land was lightened, and the next day appeared, Bata became

in the form which he had told to his elder brother. And Anpu sat upon

his back until the dawn. He came to the place where the king was, and

they made his majesty to know of him; he saw him, and he was exceeding

joyful with him. He made for him great offerings, saying,

"This is a great wonder which has come to pass." There were rejoicings

over him in the whole land. They presented unto him silver and gold for

his elder brother, who went and stayed in his village. They gave to the

bull many men and many things, and Pharaoh loved him exceedingly above

all that is in this land.

And after many days after these things, the bull entered the purified

place; he stood in the place where the princess was; he began to speak

with her, saying, "Behold, I am alive indeed." And she said to him,

"And, pray, who art thou?" He said to her, "I am Bata. I perceived when

thou causedst that they should destroy the acacia of Pharaoh, which was

my abode, that I might not be suffered to live. Behold, I am alive

indeed, I am as an ox." Then the princess feared exceedingly for the

words that her husband had spoken to her. And he went out from the

purified place.

And his majesty was sitting, making a good day with her: she was at the

table of his majesty, and the king was exceeding pleased with her. And

she said to his majesty, "Swear to me by God, saying, 'What thou shalt

say, I will obey it for thy sake.'" He hearkened unto all that she said,

even this. "Let me eat of the liver of the ox, because he is fit for

nought:" thus spake she to him. And the king was exceeding sad at her

words, the heart of Pharaoh grieved him greatly. And after the land was

lightened, and the next day appeared, they proclaimed a great feast with

offerings to the ox. And the king sent one of the chief butchers of his

majesty, to cause the ox to be sacrificed. And when he was sacrificed,

as he was upon the shoulders of the people, he shook his neck, and he

threw two drops of blood over against the two doors of his majesty. The

one fell upon the one side, on the great door of Pharaoh, and the other

upon the other door. They grew as two great Persea trees, and each of

them was excellent.

And one went to tell unto his majesty, "Two great Persea trees have

grown, as a great marvel of his majesty, in the night by the side of the

great gate of his majesty." And there was rejoicing for them in all the

land, and there were offerings made to them.

And when the days were multiplied after these things, his majesty was

adorned with the blue crown, with garlands of flowers on his neck, and

he was upon the chariot of pale gold, and he went out from the palace to

behold the Persea trees: the princess also was going out with horses

behind his majesty. And his majesty sat beneath one of the Persea trees,

and it spake thus with his wife: "Oh thou deceitful one, I am Bata, I am

alive, though I have been evilly entreated. I knew who caused the acacia

to be cut down by Pharaoh at my dwelling. I then became an ox, and thou

causedst that I should be killed."

And many days after these things the princess stood at the table of

Pharaoh, and the king was pleased with her. And she said to his majesty,

"Swear to me by God, saying, 'That which the princess shall say to me I

will obey it for her.'" And he hearkened unto all she said. And he

commanded, "Let these two Persea trees be cut down, and let them be made

into goodly planks." And he hearkened unto all she said. And after this

his majesty sent skilful craftsmen, and they cut down the Persea trees

of Pharaoh; and the princess, the royal wife, was standing looking on,

and they did all that was in her heart unto the trees. But a chip flew

up, and it entered into the mouth of the princess; she swallowed it, and

after many days she bore a son. And one went to tell his majesty, "There

is born to thee a son." And they brought him, and gave to him a nurse

and servants; and there were rejoicings in the whole land. And the king

sat making a merry day, as they were about the naming of him, and his

majesty loved him exceedingly at that moment, and the king raised him to

be the royal son of Kush.

Now after the days had multiplied after these things, his majesty made

him heir of all the land. And many days after that, when he had

fulfilled many years as heir, his majesty flew up to heaven. And the

heir said, "Let my great nobles of his majesty be brought before me,

that I may make them to know all that has happened to me." And they

brought also before him his wife, and he judged with her before him, and

they agreed with him. They brought to him his elder brother; he made him

hereditary prince in all his land. He was thirty years king of Egypt,

and he died, and his elder brother stood in his place on the day of

burial.

_Excellently finished in peace, for the_ ka _of the scribe of the

treasury Kagabu, of the treasury of Pharaoh, and for the scribe Hora,

and the scribe Meremapt. Written by the scribe Anena, the owner of this

roll. He who speaks against this roll, may Tahuti smite him._

REMARKS

This tale, which is perhaps, of all this series, the best known in

modern times, has often been published. It exists only in one papyrus,

that of Madame d'Orbiney, purchased by the British Museum in 1857. The

papyrus had belonged to Sety II. when crown prince, and hence is of the

XIXth Dynasty. Most of the great scholars of this age have worked at it:

__De Rouge, Goodwin, Renouf, Chabas, Brugsch, Ebers, Maspero, and Groff

have all made original studies on it. The present translation is,

however, a fresh one made by Mr. Griffith word for word, and shaped as

little as possible by myself in editing it. The copy followed is the

publication by Birch in "Select Papyri," part ii. pls. ix. to xix.

Before considering the details of the story, we should notice an

important question about its age and composition. That it is as old as

the XIXth Dynasty in its present form is certain from the papyrus; but

probably parts of it are older. The idyllic beauty of the opening of it,

with the simplicity and directness of the ideas, and the absence of any

impossible or marvellous feature, is in the strongest opposition to the

latter part, where marvel is piled on marvel in pointless profusion. In

the first few pages there is not a word superfluous or an idea out of

place in drawing the picture. That we have to do with an older story

lengthened out by some inartistic compiler, seems only too probable. And

this is borne out by the colophon. In the tales of the Shipwrecked

Sailor, and of Sanehat, the colophon runs--"This is finished from

beginning to end, even as it was found in the writing," and the earlier

of these two tales follows this with a blessing on the transcriber. But,

apparently conscious of his meddling, the author of Anpu and Bata ends

with a curse: "Written by the scribe Anena, the owner of this roll. He

who speaks against this roll, may Tahuti smite him." This points to a

part of it at least being newly composed in Ramesside times; while the

delicate beauty of the opening is not only far better than the latter

part, but is out of harmony with the forced and artificial taste of the

XIXth Dynasty. At the same time, the careful drawing of character is

hardly akin to the simple, matter-of-fact style of Sanehat, and seems

more in keeping with the emotional style of the Doomed Prince. If we

attribute the earlier part to the opening of the XVIIIth Dynasty--the

age of the pastoral scenes of the tombs of El Kab, which are the latest

instances of such sculptures in Egypt--we shall probably be nearest to

the truth.

The description of Bata is one of the most beautiful character-drawings

in the past. The self-denial and sweet innocence of the lad, his

sympathy with his cattle, "listening to all that they said," and

allowing them their natural wishes and ways, is touchingly expressed.

And those who know Egypt will know that Bata still lives there--several

Batas I have known myself. His sweetness of manner, his devotion, his

untiringly earnest work, his modesty, his quietness, makes Bata to be

one of the most charming friends. Bata I have met in many places, Bata I

have loved as one of the flowers of human nature, and Bata I hope often

to meet again in divers forms and varied incarnations among the _fellah_

lads of Egypt.

The touches of description of Bata are slight, and yet so pointed. His

growing to be an excellent worker; his return at evening laden with all

the produce, just as may be seen now any evening as the lads come in

bearing on their backs large bundles of vegetables for the house, and of

fodder for the home-driven cattle; his sleeping with his cattle in the

stable; his zeal in rising before dawn to make the daily bread for his

brother, ready to give him when he arose; and then his driving out the

cattle to pasture--all contrasts with his elder brother's life of ease.

The making of the bread was rightly the duty of Anpu's wife; she ought

to have risen to grind the corn long before dawn, as the millstones may

now be heard grinding in the dark, morning by morning; she ought to have

baked the bread ready for the toiler who spent his whole day in the

field. But it was the ever-willing Bata who did the work of the house as

well as the work of the farm. "Behold the spirit of a god was in him."

The driving in of the cattle at night is still a particular feature of

Egyptian life. About an hour before sunset the tether ropes are drawn in

the fields, and the cattle file off, with a little child for a

leader--if any; the master gathers up the produce that is required, some

buffalo is laden with a heap of clover, or a lad carries it on his back,

for the evening feed of the cattle, and all troop along the path through

the fields and by the canal. For two or three miles the road becomes

more and more crowded with the flocks driven into it from every field, a

long haze of dust lies glowing in the crimson glory of sunset over the

stream of cows and buffaloes, sheep and goats, that pour into the

village. Each beast well knows his master and his crib, and turns in at

the familiar gate to the stable under the house, or by the side of the

hut; and there all spend the night. Not a hoof is left out in the field;

the last belated stragglers come in while the gleam of amber still edges

the night-blue sky behind the black horizon. Then the silent fields lie

under the brightening moon, glittering with dew, untrodden and deserted.

It is not cold or climate that leads men to this custom, but the

unsafety of a country bordered by unseen deserts, whence untold men may

suddenly appear and ravage all the plain.

The ploughing scene next follows, on "the land coming out from the

water"; as the inundation goes down the well-known banks and ridges

appear, "the back-bones of the land," as they were so naturally called;

and when the surface is firm enough to walk on--with many a pool and

ditch still full--the ploughing begins on the soft dark clay.

The catastrophe of the story--the black gulf of deceit that suddenly

opens under Bata's feet--has always been seen to be strikingly like the

story of Joseph. And--as we have noticed--there is good reason for the

early part of this tale belonging to about the beginning of the XVIIIth

Dynasty, so it is very closely allied in time as well as character to

the account of Joseph. In this part again is one of those pointed

touches, which show the power of the poet--for a poem in prose this

is--"her heart knew him with the knowledge of youth."

On reaching the mistaken revenge of Anpu, we see the sympathy of Bata

with his cattle, and his way of reading their feelings, returned to him

most fittingly by the cows perceiving the presence of the treachery. "He

heard what his first cow had said; and the next entering she also said

likewise."

After this we find a change; instead of the simple and natural

narrative, full of human feeling, and without a touch of impossibility,

every subsequent episode involves the supernatural; Ra creating a wide

water, the extraction of the soul of Bata, his miraculous wife, and all

the transformations--these have nothing in common with the style or

ideas of the earlier tale.

Whence this later tangle came, and how much of it is drawn from other

sources, we can hardly hope to explain from the fragments of literature

that we have. But strangely there is a parallel which is close enough to

suggest that the patchwork is due to popular mythology. In the myths of

Phrygia we meet with Atys or Attis, of whom varying legends are told.

Among these we glean that he was a shepherd, beautiful and chaste; that

he fled from corruption; that he mutilated himself; lastly he died under

a tree, and afterwards was revived. All this is a duplicate of the story

of Bata. And looking further, we see parallels to the three subsequent

transformations. Drops of blood were shed from the Atys-priest; and

Bata, in his first transformation as a bull, sprinkles two drops of

blood by the doors of the palace. Again, Atys is identified with a tree,

which was cut down and taken into a sanctuary; and Bata in his second

transformation is a Persea tree which is cut down and used in building.

Lastly, the mother of Atys is said to have been a virgin, who bore him

from placing in her bosom a ripe almond or pomegranate; and in his third

transformation Bata is born from a chip of a tree being swallowed by the

princess. These resemblances in nearly all the main points are too close

and continuous to be a mere chance, especially as such incidents are not

found in any other Egyptian tale, nor in few--if any--other classical

myths. It is not impossible that the names even may have been the same;

for Bata, as we write it, was pronounced Vata (or Vatiu or Vitiou, as

others would vocalise it), and the digamma would disappear in the later

Greek form in which we have Atys.

The most likely course seems to have been that, starting with a simple

Egyptian tale, the resemblance to the shepherd of the Asiatic myth, led

to a Ramesside author improving the story by tacking on the branches of

the myth one after another, and borrowing the name. If this be granted,

we have here in Bata the earliest indications of the elements of the

Atys mysteries, a thousand years before the Greek versions.

Returning now from the general structure to the separate incidents, we

note the expression of annoyance where the elder brother "smote twice on

his hands." This gesture is very common in Egypt now, the two hands

being rapidly slid one past the other, palm to palm, vertically, grating

the fingers of one hand over the other; the right hand moving downwards,

and the left a little up. This implies that there is nothing, that a

thing is worthless, that a desired result has not been attained, or

annoyance at want of success; but the latter meanings are now rare, and

more latent than otherwise, and this tale points to the gesture being

originally one of positive anger, though it has been transferred

gradually to express mere negative results.

The valley of the acacia would appear from the indications to have been

by the sea, and probably in Syria; perhaps one of the half-desert wadis

toward Gaza was in the writer's mind. The idea of Bata taking out his

heart, and placing it on the flower of a tree, has seemed hopelessly

unintelligible. But it depends on what we are to understand by the heart

in Egyptian. Two words are well known for it, _hati_ and _ah;_ and as it

is unlikely that these should be mere synonyms, we have a presumption

that one of them does not mean the physical heart, but rather the mental

heart. We are accustomed to the same mixture of thought; and far the

more common usage in English is not to employ the name to express the

physical heart, but for the will, as when we say "good-hearted";--for

the spring of action, "broken-hearted ";--for the feelings,

"hard-hearted";--for the passions, "an affair of the heart";--or for the

vigour, as when a man in nature or in act is "hearty" The Egyptian, with

his metaphysical mind, took two different words where we only use one;

and when we read of placing the heart _(hati)_ out of a man, we are led

at once by the analogy of beliefs in other races to understand this as

the vitality or soul. In the "Golden Bough" Mr. Frazer has explained

this part of natural metaphysics; and in this, and the following points,

I freely quote from that work as a convenient text-book. The soul or

vitality of a man is thought of as separable from the body at will, and

therefore communicable to other objects or positions. In those positions

it cannot be harmed by what happens to the body, which is therefore

deathless for the time. But if the external seat of the soul be attacked

or destroyed, the man immediately dies. This is illustrated from the

Norse, Saxons, Celts, Italians, Greeks, Kabyles, Arabs, Hindus, Malays,

Mongolians, Tartars, Magyars, and Slavonians. It may well, then, be

considered as a piece of inherent psychology: and following this

interpretation, I have rendered "heart" in this sense "soul" in the

translation.

The Nine Gods who meet Bata are one of the great cycles of divinities,

which were differently reckoned in various places. Khnumu is always the

formative god, who makes man upon the potter's wheel, as in the scene in

the temple of Luqsor. And even in natural birth it was Khnumu who "gave

strength to the limbs," as in the earlier "Tales of the Magicians." The

character of the wife of Bata is a very curious study. The total absence

of the affections in her was probably designed as in accord with her

non-natural formation, as she could not inherit aught from human

parents. Ambition appears as the only emotion of this being; her attacks

on the transformations of Bata are not due to dislike, but only to fear

that he should claim her removal from her high station; she "feared

exceedingly for the words that her husband had spoken to her." Her

Lilith nature is incapable of any craving but that for power.

The action here of the seven Hathors we have noticed in the remarks on

the previous tale of the Doomed Prince. The episode of the sea is very

strange; and if we need find some rationalising account of it, we might

suppose it to be a mythical form of a raid of pirates, who, not catching

the woman, carried off something of hers, which proved an object of

contention in Egypt. But such renderings are unlikely, and we may the

rather expect to find some explanation in a mythological parallel.

The carrying of the lock of hair to Pharaoh, and his proclaiming a

search for the owner, is plainly an early form of the story of the

little slipper, whose owner is sought by the king. The point that she

could not be caught except by setting another woman to tempt her with

ornaments, anticipates the modern novelist's saying, "Set a woman to

catch a woman."

The sudden death of Bata, so soon as the depository of his soul was

destroyed, is a usual feature in such tales about souls. But it is only

in the Indian forms quoted by Mr. Frazer that there is any revival of

the dead; and in no case is there any transformation like that of Bata.

Perhaps none but an Egyptian or a Chinese would have credited Anpu with

wandering up and down for four years seeking the lost soul. But the idea

of returning the soul in water to the man is found as a magic process in

North America ("Golden Bough," i. 141).

The first transformation of Bata, into a bull, is clearly drawn from the

Apis bull of Memphis. The rejoicings at discovering a real successor of

Apis are here, the rejoicings over Bata, who is the Apis bull,

distinguished as he says by "bearing every good mark." These marks on

the back and other parts were the tokens of the true Apis, who was

sought for anxiously through the country on the death of the sacred

animal who had lived in the sanctuary. The man who, like Anpu, brought

up a true Apis to the temple would receive great rewards and honours.

The scene where the princess demands the grant of a favour is repeated

over again by Esther at her banquet, and by the daughter of Herodias. It

is the Oriental way of doing business. But the curious incongruity of

making a great feast with offerings to the ox before sacrificing it,

appears inexplicable until we note the habits of other peoples in

slaying their sacred animals at certain intervals. This tale shows us

what is stated by Greek authors, that the Egyptians slew the sacred Apis

at stated times, or when a new one was discovered with the right marks.

The annual sacrifice of a sacred ram at Thebes shows that the Egyptians

were familiar with such an idea. And though it was considered by the

writer of this tale as a monstrous act, yet the offerings and festivity

which accompanied it are in accordance with the strange fact found by

Mariette, that in the three undisturbed Apis burials which he discovered

there were only fragments of bone, and in one case a head, carefully

embalmed with bitumen and magnificent offerings of jewellery. The divine

Apis was eaten as a sacred feast.

The reason that the princess desires the liver is strangely explained by

a present belief on the Upper Nile. The Darfuris think that the liver is

the seat of the soul ("Golden Bough," ii. 88); and hence if she ate the

liver she would destroy the soul of Bata, or prevent it entering any

other incarnation.

The next detail is also curiously significant. If a bull was being

sacrificed we should naturally suppose the blood would flow, and that a

few drops would not be noticed. Here, however, two drops are said to

fall, and this was when the bull "was upon the shoulders of the people."

Now it is a very general idea that blood must not be allowed to fall

upon the ground; the eastern and southern Africans will not shed the

blood of cattle ("Golden Bough," i. 182); and strangely the Australians

avoid the falling of blood to the ground by placing the bleeding persons

upon the shoulders of other men. This parallel is so close to the

Egyptian tale that it seems as if the bull was borne "on the shoulders

of the people," that his blood should not fall to the ground; yet in

spite of this precaution "he shook his neck, and he threw two drops of

blood over against the doors of his majesty." In these drops of blood

was the soul of Bata, in spite of the princess having eaten his liver;

and we know how among Jews, Arabs, and other peoples, the blood is

regarded as the vehicle of the soul or life.

The evidence of tree worship is plainer here than perhaps in any other

passage of Egyptian literature. The people rejoice for the two Persea

trees, "and there were offerings made to them."

The blue crown worn by the king was the war cap of leather covered with

scales of copper: it is often found made in dark blue glaze for

statuettes, and it seems probable that the copper was superficially

sulphurised to tint it. Such head-dress was usually worn by kings when

riding in their chariots. The pale gold or electrum here mentioned was

the general material for decorating the royal chariot.

The miraculous birth of Bata in his third transformation is, as we have

noticed, closely paralleled by the birth of Atys from the almond. The

idea at the root of this is that of self-creation or self-existence, as

in the usual Egyptian phrase, "bull of his mother."

The king flying up to heaven is a regular expression for his death: "the

hawk has soared," "the follower of the god has met his maker," so

Sanehat describes it (see ist series, pp. 97, 98).

This hawk-form of the king may be connected with the hawk bearing the

double crown which is perched on the top of the _ka_ name of each king.

That hawk is not Horus, nor even the king deified as Horus, because the

emblem of life is given to it by other gods (as by Set on a lintel of

XVIIIth Dynasty from Nubt), and therefore the hawk is the human king who

could perish, and not an immortal divinity. Further, this hawk-king is

always perched on the top of the drawing of the doorway to the sepulchre

which bears the _ka_ name of the king; and when we see the drawings of

the _ba_ bird or soul flying down the well to the sepulchre, it appears

as if the hawk were the royal _ba_ bird (ordinary men having a _ba_ bird

with a human head); and that the well-known first title of each king

represents the royal soul or _ba_ bird perched on the door of the

sepulchre, resting on his way to and from the visit to the corpse below.

The soul or _ba_ of the king at his death thus flew away as a hawk to

meet the sun.

The veil drawn over the fate of the inhuman princess is well conceived.

That she should die a sharp death has been foretold; but how Bata should

slay the divine creation--his wife--his mother--is a matter that the

scribe reserves in silence; we only read that "he judged with her before

him, and the great nobles agreed with him." That judgment is best left

among the things unwritten.

The strange manner in which we can see incident after incident in the

latter part of the tale, each to refer to some ceremony or belief, even

imperfect as our knowledge of such must be, and the evidence that the

whole being of Bata is a transference of the myth of Atys, must lead us

to look on this, the marvellous portion, as woven out of a group of

myths, ceremonies, and beliefs which were joined and explained by the

formation of such a tale. How far it is due to purely Egyptian ideas,

indicated by the Apis bull and the analogies in present African beliefs,

and how far it is Asiatic and belonging to Atys, it would be premature

to decide. But from the weird confusion and mystery of these

transformations, we turn back with renewed pleasure to the simple and

sweet picture of peasant life, and the beauty of Bata, and we see how

true a poet the Egyptian was in feeling and in expression.

XIXth DYNASTY, PTOLEMAIC WRITING