Cleopatra. Генри Райдер Хаггард

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СКАЧАТЬ of things which have not been told since the beginning of this world, let me pass on and reverently set down the history of that holy morn.

      For seven days the great festival had been celebrated, the suffering of the Lord Osiris had been commemorated, the grief of the Mother Isis had been sung and glory had been done to the memory of the coming of the Divine Child Horus, the Son, the Avenger, the God-begot. All these things had been carried out according to the ancient rites. The boats had floated on the sacred lake, the priests had scourged themselves before the sanctuaries, and the images had been borne through the streets at night.

      And now, as the sun sank on the seventh day, once more the great procession gathered to chant the woes of Isis and tell how the evil was avenged. We went in silence from the temple, and passed through the city ways. First came those who clear the path, then my father Amenemhat in all his priestly robes, and the wand of cedar in his hand. Then, clad in pure linen, I, the neophyte, followed alone; and after me the white-robed priests, holding aloft banners and emblems of the Gods. Next came those who bear the sacred boat, and after them the singers and the mourners; while, stretching as far as the eye could reach, all the people marched, clad in melancholy black because Osiris was no more. We went in silence through the city streets till at length we came to the wall of the temple and passed in. And as my father, the High Priest, entered beneath the gateway of the outer pylon, a sweet-voiced woman singer began to sing the Holy Chant, and thus she sang:

      “Sing we Osiris dead,

       Lament the fallen head:

       The light has left the world, the world is grey.

       Athwart the starry skies

       The web of Darkness flies,

       And Isis weeps Osiris passed away.

       Your tears, ye stars, ye fires, ye rivers, shed,

       Weep, children of the Nile, weep for your Lord is dead!”

      She paused in her most sweet song, and the whole multitude took up the melancholy dirge:

      “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling

       Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;

       Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling:

       ‘Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold!

       Return to them that worship thee of old!’ ”

      The chorus ceased, and once again she sang:

      “Within the court divine

       The Sevenfold sacred shrine

       We pass, while echoes of the Temple walls

       Repeat the long lament

       The sound of sorrow sent

       Far up within the imperishable halls,

       Where, each in the other’s arms, the Sisters weep,

       Isis and Nephthys, o’er His unawaking sleep.”

      And then again rolled forth the solemn chorus of a thousand voices:

      “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling

       Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;

       Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling:

       ‘Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold!

       Return to them that worship thee of old!’ ”

       It ceased, and sweetly she took up the song:

       “O dweller in the West,

       Lover and Lordliest,

       Thy love, thy Sister Isis, calls thee home!

       Come from thy chamber dun

       Thou Master of the Sun,

       Thy shadowy chamber far below the foam!

       With weary wings and spent

       Through all the firmament,

       Through all the horror-haunted ways of Hell,

       I seek thee near and far,

       From star to wandering star,

       Free with the dead that in Amenti dwell.

       I search the height, the deep, the lands, the skies,

       Rise from the dead and live, our Lord Osiris, rise!”

       “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling

       Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;

       Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling:

       ‘Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold!

       Return to them that worship thee of old!’ ”

      Now in a strain more high and glad the singer sang:

      “He wakes—from forth the prison

       We sing Osiris risen,

       We sing the child that Nout conceived and bare.

       Thine own love, Isis, waits

       The Warden of the Gates,

       She breathes the breath of Life on breast and hair,

       And in her breast and breath

       Behold! he waketh,

       Behold! at length he riseth out of rest;

       Touched with her holy hands,

       The Lord of all the Lands,

       He stirs, he rises from her breath, her breast!

       But thou, fell Typhon, fly,

       The judgment day drawn nigh,

       Fleet on thy track as flame speeds Horus from the sky.”

       “Softly we tread, our measured footsteps falling

       Within the Sanctuary Sevenfold;

       Soft on the Dead that liveth are we calling:

       ‘Return, Osiris, from thy Kingdom cold!

       Return to them that worship thee of old!’ ”

      Once more, as we bowed before the Holy, she sang, and sent the full breath of her glad music ringing up the everlasting walls till the silence quivered with her round notes of melody, and the hearts of those who hearkened stirred strangely in the breast. And thus, as we walked, she sang the song of Osiris risen, the song of Hope, the song of Victory:

      “Sing we the Trinity,

       Sing СКАЧАТЬ