The Pillar of Fire; or, Israel in Bondage

by J. H. Ingraham

LETTER XIII.

The City of Apis.

My dear Mother:

I thank you for your long and very welcome letter, written from your palace, at Sidon, whither you went to celebrate the rites of Adonis. It assures me of your continued health, which may the gods guard with jealous care, for not only the stability of your kingdom, but my whole happiness depends on your life, beloved mother and queen. You also allude to your visits to the temples of Astarte and of Tammuz, on Lebanon. What a noble worship was that of our fathers, who, amid its gigantic cedars, old as the earth itself, there first worshipped the gods! How majestic must have appeared their simple rites, with no altar but the mountain rock, no columns but the vast trunks of mighty trees, no roof but the blue heavens by day, and the starry dome by night; while at morning and evening went up the smoke of the sacrifice of bullocks to the gods. These were the first temples of men, not builded by art, but made by the gods themselves as meet places for their own worship. I question, dear mother, if the subsequent descent of religion from its solemn shrines, in the dark forests of Libanus, into the valleys and cities, to be enshrined in temples of marble, however beautiful, has elevated it. Though the Phœnicians built the first temples on the peninsula of Tyre, before any others existed, save in groves; yet in Egypt (which claims also this honor), the "houses of the gods," in their vast and pyramidal aspects, their pillars like palm-trees, their columns like cedars, approach more nearly to the dignity, sublimity, and majesty of the primeval forests and eternal mountains where religion first offered prayer to heaven.

Your visit to the temple of Tammuz, at Sareptha, recalls a legend which, singularly enough, I first heard in Egypt, of the origin of the rites to that deity.

The books of the priests here, relating to Phœnician, Sabæan, Persian, and Chaldean ceremonies (for the learning of the Egyptians seems to embrace a knowledge of books of all countries), relate that Tammuz was a "certain idolatrous prophet of the Sabæan Fire-worshippers, who called upon King Ossynœces, our remote ancestor, and commanded him to worship the Seven Planets and the Twelve Signs of the constellations. The king, in reply, ordered him to be put to death. On the same night on which he was slain," continues the book from which I write, "a great gathering of all the images of the gods of the whole earth was held at the palace, where the huge golden image of the sun was suspended; whereupon this image of the sun related what had happened to his prophet, weeping and mourning as he spoke to them. Then all the lesser gods present likewise commenced weeping and mourning, which they continued until daylight, when they all departed through the air, returning to their respective temples in the most distant regions of the earth." Such, dear mother, is the tradition here of the origin of the weeping for Tammuz, the observance of which now forms so important a feature in our Phœnician worship, although introduced, as it was, from the Sabæans themselves.

But the more I have conversed with the wise and virtuous Prince Remeses, the more I feel the gross nature of our mythology, O mother, and that images and myths, such as form the ground and expression of our national worship, and that rest wholly in the material figure itself, are unworthy the reverence of an intelligent mind. It is true, we can look at them, and honor that which they represent,—as I daily look at your picture, which I wear over my heart, and kissing it from love for thee, do not worship and adore the ivory, and the colors that mark upon its surface a sweet reflection of your beloved and beautiful countenance. Oh, no! It is you far away I think of, kiss, love, and in a manner adore. Yet an Egyptian of the lowest order, seeing me almost worshipping your picture, would believe I was adoring an effigy of my tutelar goddess. And he would be right, so far as my heart and thought, and you are concerned, my mother. In this representative way, I am now sure that Remeses regards all images, looking through and beyond them up to the Supreme Infinite. I also have imbibed his lofty spirit of worship, and have come to adore the statues as I worship your picture. But where, O mother, is the Infinite? When I think of you, I can send my soul towards you, on wings that bear me to your feet, either in your private chamber at needle-work, or with your royal scribe as you are dictating laws for the realm, or upon your throne giving judgment. In memory and imagination, I can instantly send my thoughts out to you, and behold you as you are. But the Infinite, whom Remeses calls GOD, in contradistinction to lesser gods, where does He hide Himself? Why, if He is, does He not reveal Himself? Why does He suffer us to grope after Him, and not find Him? If He be good, and loving, and gracious in His nature, He will desire to make known to His creatures these attributes. But how silent—how impenetrable the mystery that environs Him in the habitation of His throne! Will He forever remain wrapped up in the dark clouds of space? Will He never reveal Himself in His moral nature to man? Will He never of Himself proclaim to the creation His unity—that there is no God but One, and besides Him there is none else? How can He demand obedience and virtue of men when they know not His laws? Yet, consciousness within, visible nature, reason, all demonstrate that there is but one Supreme God, a single First Cause, how numerous soever the inferior deities He may have created to aid in the government of His vast universe; and that to Him an intellectual and spiritual worship should be paid. This is the theory of Remeses, who seems to be infinitely above his people and country in piety and wisdom. Sometimes I fancy that he draws inspiration from this Infinite God whom he worships in his heart, and recognizes through his intellect; for his utterances on these themes are often like the words of a god, so wonderful are the mysteries treated of by him, so elevating to the heart and mind.

But I will repeat part of a conversation we had together, after he had offered in the temple of Apis his sacrifice for the restoration of the queen's health. He said, as we walked away together, along a beautiful and sacred avenue of acacia and delicate, fringe-like ittel or tamarisk trees, alternating with the pomegranate and mimosa:

"Sesostris, doubtless, after all my conversations with you, I seemed an idolater to-day, quite as material and gross, in the offerings and prayers I made, as the galley-rower we saw offering a coarse garland of papyrus-leaves and poppies to the god."

"No, my noble prince," I answered; "I saw in you an intellectual sacrificer, whose bodily eyes indeed beheld the sacred bull, but whose spirit saw the Great Osiris, who once dwelt in the bull when on earth. You honored the house where anciently a god abode."

"No, Sesostris, the bull is nothing to me in any sense, but as the prince of a realm whose laws ordain the worship of Apis in Memphis, of the ram-headed Ammon at Thebes, or the sacred ox at On, I outwardly conform to customs which I dare not and cannot change. Or if I would, what shall I give the people if I take away their gods? My own religion is spiritual, as I believe yours is becoming; but how shall I present a spiritual faith to the Egyptians? In what form—what visible shape, can I offer it to them? for the priests will demand a visible religion—one tangible and material. The people cannot worship an intellectual abstraction, as we can, Sesostris, and as the more intelligent priests pretend they do and can. Yet if, when I come to the throne, by an imperial edict I remodel the theology of the priesthood and the worship of the people—remove the golden sun from the temple in On, slay the sacred bull Apis, and banish the idols from all the thousand temples of the two Egypts, with what shall I replace the religion I depose?"

"With an intellectual and spiritual worship of the Supreme Infinite," I answered.

"But who will enlighten my own ignorance of Him, Sesostris?" he inquired sadly. "What do I know of Him save from an awakened consciousness within my bosom? How can I make others possess that consciousness which is only intuitive, and so incommunicable? I must first know where God is, before I can direct the people whither to look for Him when they pray. I must first cultivate their minds and imaginations, in order to enable them to embrace a purely mental religion, and to worship the Infinite independently of figures, images, and visible mementos or symbols; for, so long as they have these at all, they will rest their faith in them, and will look upon them as their gods. But what do I know of the God I would reveal to them? Absolutely nothing! That there can be but one Supreme God, reason demonstrates; for if there were two equal gods, they would have equal power, equal agency in the creation and upholding of all things, in the government of the world, and in the worship of men! Two equal gods, who in no case differ one from the other, but are in all things one and the same, are virtually but one God. Therefore, as neither two, nor any number of equal gods, can exist without acting as a unit (for otherwise they cannot act), there can be only one God!"

I at once assented to the conclusiveness of the prince's reasoning.

"God, then, existing as One, all beings in his universe are below Him, even His creatures the 'gods,' if there be such made by Him. It becomes, therefore, all men to worship, not these gods, but the God of gods. That he should be worshipped spiritually is evident, for he must be a spiritual essence; and as we are certainly composed of spirits and material bodies, and as our spirits are no less certainly our superior part, so He who made the spirit of man must be superior to all bodies or forms of matter; that is, he must be that by reason of which he is superior, namely, a SPIRIT."

I then said to this learned and great prince, "Thinkest thou, Remeses, that this Infinite God, whom we believe exists, will ever make a revelation of Himself, so that He may be worshipped as becomes His perfections? Do you think the veil of ignorance which hangs between Him and us will ever be lifted?"

"Without question, my Sesostris," he answered, with animation, the light of hope kindling in his noble eyes, "the Creator of this world must be a benevolent, good, and wise Being."

"Of that there can be no doubt," was my reply.

"Benevolence, goodness, and wisdom, then, will seek the happiness and elevation of man. A knowledge of the true God, whom we are now feeling and groping after in darkness, with only the faint light of our reason to illumine its mysterious gloom,—this knowledge would elevate and render happy the race of men. It would dissipate ignorance, overthrow idolatry, place man near God, and, consequently, lift him higher in the scale of the universe. A God of wisdom, benevolence, and justice, will seek to produce this result. The world, therefore, will have a revelation from Him, in the fulness of time,—when men are ready to receive it. It may not be while I live, Sesostris, but the time will come when the knowledge of the Infinite God will be revealed by Himself to man, who will then worship Him, and Him alone, with the pure worship due to His majesty, glory, and dominion."

As Remeses concluded, his face seemed to shine with a supernatural inspiration, as if he had talked with the Infinite and Spiritual God of whom he spoke, and had learned from Him the mighty mysteries of His being. Then there passed a shadow over his face, and he said, sorrowfully—

"How can I lead the people of Egypt to the true God, when He hath not taught me any thing of Himself? No, no, Sesostris, Egypt must wait, I must wait, the world must wait the day of revelation. And that day will come, or there is no God! For an ever-silent God—a God who forever hideth Himself from His creatures—is as if there were no God! But that there is a God the heavens declare in their glory, the ocean hoarsely murmurs His name, the thunders proclaim His power, the lilies of the field speak of His goodness, and we ourselves are living manifestations of His benevolence and love. Let us, therefore, amid all the splendor of the idolatry which fills the earth, lift up our hearts, O Sesostris, to the One God! and in secret worship Him, wheresoever our souls can find Him, until He reveals Himself openly to the inhabitants of the earth."

In relating this conversation, my dear mother, I not only am preparing you to see my views of our mythology materially changed, but I unfold to you more of the sublime character of Remeses, and give you some insight into his deep philosophy and wonderful wisdom.

I will, in connection with this subject, describe to you a religious scene I witnessed in the Temple of Apis on the occasion of an excursion made by me in company with Remeses, from the Island of Rhoda.

I have already spoken of his courtesy in offering to accompany me to Memphis, at which city he left me, immediately after his oblation and thanksgiving, and proceeded to attend to some urgent affairs connected with the proposed movement of the army; with which, since then, he has taken his departure.

The barge in which I left the palace at Rhoda, was rowed by forty-four men, swarthy and muscular to a noticeable degree, who belong to a maritime people, once possessing the Pelusian Delta, but who are now reduced to a servitude to the crown. They have a sort of chief, called Fellac, whom they regard partly as a priest, partly as a patriarch. Under him, by permission of the crown, they are held in discipline. They have a mysterious worship of their own, and are reputed to deal in magic, and to sacrifice to Typhon, the principle of evil.

They were attired in scarlet sashes, bound about the waist, and holding together loose white linen drawers, which terminated at the knee in a fringe. Their shoulders were naked, but upon their heads each wore a sort of turban of green cloth, having one end falling over the ear, and terminating in a silver knob. These were the favorite body-guard rowers of the prince. Their captain was a young man, with glittering teeth, and large oval black eyes. He was mild and serene of aspect, richly attired in a vesture of silver tissue, and had his black hair perfumed with jasmine oil. His baton of office was a long stick—not the long, slender, acacia cane which all Egyptian gentlemen carry, but a staff short and heavy, ornamented with an alligator's head, which, with that of the pelican, seem to be favorite decorations of this singular people.

As we were on the water, moving swiftly towards the quay of the city, amid countless vessels of all nations, a slave-barge passed down from Upper Egypt, laden with Nubian boys and girls, destined to be sold as slaves in the market. Borne with velocity along, we soon landed at the grand terrace-steps of the quay. They were thronged with pilots, shipmen, those who hold the helm and the oar, mariners, and stranger-merchants innumerable. A majestic gateway, at the top of the flight of porphyry stairs, led to an avenue of palm-trees, on each side of which was a vast open colonnade covered with a wide awning, and filled with merchants, buyers, captains, and officers of the customs, dispersed amid bales of goods from all lands of the earth. I lingered here, for a short time, gazing upon these representatives of the wealth and commerce of the world. This is the great landing-mart of Memphis, for the products of the other lands; while Jizeh, lower down, is the point from whence all that goes out of the country is shipped. The strange cry of the foreign seamen, as they hoisted heavy bales, and the wild song of the Egyptian laborers, as they bore away the goods, the confused voices of the owners of the merchandise, the variety and strange fashion of their costumes, the numerous languages which fell upon my ear, produced an effect as novel as it was interesting.

The riches and beauty of what I saw surprised me, familiar as I am with the commerce of Tyre. There were merchants from Sheba, bearded and long-robed men, with gold-dust, spices of all kinds, and precious stones of price; and others from the markets of Javan, with cassia, iron, and calamus; there were wines from the vine-country of Helbona, and honey, oil, and balm from Philistia; merchants of Dedan, with embroidered linings and rich cloths for chariots, and costly housings for horses, of lynx and leopard-skins; tall, grave-looking merchants from our own Damascus, with elegant wares, cutlery, and damascened sword-blades of wonderful beauty, and which bring great price here; shrewd-visaged merchants of Tyre, with purple and broidered work and fine linen; and merchants of Sidon, with emeralds, coral, and agate, and the valuable calmine-stone out of which, in combination with copper, brass is molten by the Egyptians.

There were also merchants, in an attire rich and picturesque, from many isles of the sea, with vessels of bronze, vases, and other exquisitely painted wares, and boxes inlaid with ivory, jewels, and ebony. I saw the dark, handsome men of Tarshish and far Gades, with all kinds of riches of silver, iron, tin, lead, and scales of gold. Shields from Arvad, beautifully embossed and inlaid; helmets and shawls from Persia; ivory from Ind, and boxes of precious stones—the jasper, the sapphire, the sardiüs, the onyx, the beryl, the topaz, the carbuncle, and the diamond—from the south seas, and those lands under the sun, where he casts no shadow. There were, also, wild-looking merchant horsemen from Arabia, with horses and mules to be traded for the fine linen, and gilt wares, and dyes of Egypt; and proud-looking shepherd chiefs of Kedar, with flocks of lambs, rams, and goats; while beyond these, some merchants of Saïs, men of stern aspects, bad bands of slaves, whose shining black skins and glittering teeth showed them to be Nubians from Farther Africa, who had been brought from the Upper Nile to be sold in the mart.

Thus does all the earth lay its riches at the feet of Egypt, even as she pours them into the lap of Tyre. Meet it is that two nations, so equal in commerce, should be allied in friendship. May this friendly alliance, more closely cemented by my visit to this court, never be broken! I am willing to surrender to Egypt the title, "Mistress of the World," which I have seen inscribed on the obelisk that Amense is now erecting, so long as she makes no attempt upon our cherished freedom, nor asks of us other tribute to her greatness than the jewelled necklace it was my pleasure to present to her queen, from your hand.

Having crossed this wonderful mart of the world, we issued upon a broad street, which diverging to the right led towards Jizeh, not far distant, and to the left towards Memphis, the noble pylon of which was in full sight. The street was lined with small temples, six on each side, dedicated to the twelve gods of the months, statues of each of whom stood upon pedestals before its gateway.

This avenue, which was but a succession of columns and statues, and in which we met several pleasure-chariots, terminated at an obelisk one hundred feet in height—a majestic and richly elaborated monument, erected by Amunophis I., whose name it bears upon a cartouch, to the honor of his Syrian queen, Ephtha. Upon its surface is recounted, in exquisitely colored intaglio hieroglyphs, her virtues and the deeds of his own reign. At each of its four corners crouches a sphinx, with a dog's head, symbolic of ceaseless vigilance. A noble square surrounds the obelisk, and on its west side is the propylon of Memphis. The great wings that inclose the pylon are ninety feet in height, and are resplendent with colored pictorial designs, done in the most brilliant style of Egyptian art.

Here we found a guard of soldiers, whose captain received the prince with marks of the profoundest military respect. We passed in, through ranks of soldiers, who bent one knee to the ground, and entered the chief street of Memphis—the second city in Egypt in architectural magnificence, and the first in religious importance, as the city of the sacred bull Apis.

A description of this city would be almost a repetition of that of On, slightly varying the avenues, squares, and forms of temples. You have, therefore, to imagine, or rather recall, the splendor of the "City of the Lord of the Sun" (for this is its true Egyptian designation), and apply to Memphis the picture hitherto given of that gorgeous metropolis of Osiris.

After we had passed a few squares through the thronged and handsome street, which was exclusively filled with beautiful and tasteful abodes of priests, adorned with gardens and corridors, we came to a large open space in the city, where was a great fountain, surrounded by lions sculptured in gray porphyry stone. On one side of this square was a lake, bordered with trees; on another, a grove sacred to certain mysteries; on a third, a temple dedicated to all the sacred animals of Egypt,—images of which surrounded a vast portico in front. An enumeration of them will exhibit to you, how the first departure, in ancient days, from the worship of the One Deity, by personating His attributes in animal forms, has converted religion into a gross and sensual superstition. It is not enough that they have fanciful emblems in all their temples, and on all their sculptured monuments, of Life, Goodness, Power, Purity, Majesty, and Dominion (as in the crook and flail of Osiris), of Authority, of Royalty, of Stability; but they elevate into representatives of the gods, the ape, sacred to Thoth; the monkey; the fox, dog, wolf, and jackal, all four sacred to Anubis; the ichneumon and cat, which last is superstitiously reverenced, and when dead embalmed with divine rites. The ibex, which I once believed to be sacred, is regarded only as an emblem; and so with the horse, ass, panther, and leopard, which are not sacred, but merely used in sculptures as emblems. The hippopotamus is sacred, and also an emblem of Typhon, dedicated to the god of war. The cow is held eminently sacred by the Egyptians, and is dedicated to the deity Athor.

There are four sacred bulls in Egypt,—not only sacred, but deified. In Middle Egypt, Onuphis and Basis are worshipped in superb temples; and at On, Mnevis, sacred to the Sun. Here in Memphis is Apis, not only sacred but a god, and type of Osiris, who, in his turn, is the type of the Sun, which is the type of the Infinite Invisible; at least this is the formula, so far as I have learned its mysteries. How much purer the religion, dear mother, which, passing by or overleaping all these intermediate types and incarnations, prostrates the soul before the footstool of the Lord of the Sun Himself, the One Spiritual God of gods!

Of all the sacred animals above named, I beheld images in stone upon the dromos which bordered the portico. There were also figures of the sacred birds,—as the ibis, sacred to the god Thoth; the vulture, the falcon-hawk, sacred to Re, and honored in the city of On, and the egret, sacred to Osiris. Besides these sacred figures which decorated this pantheonic portico, at each of the four gates was one of the four deified bulls in stone, larger than life-size. There are also to be found, all over Egypt, sculptured sphinxes,—a sort of fabulous monster, represented either with the head of a man, a hawk, or a ram; to these may be added a vulture with a serpent's head, and a tortoise-headed god.

The phœnix, sacred to Osiris, I shall by and by speak of, and the white and saffron-colored cock, sacred to, and sacrificed in, the Temple of Anubis. Certain fishes are also held sacred by this extraordinary people, who convert every thing into gods. The oxyrhincus, the eel, the lepidotus, and others are sacred, and at Thebes are embalmed by the priests. The scorpion is an emblem of the goddess Selk, the frog of Pthah, and the unwieldy crocodile sacred to the god Savak—a barbarous deity. Serpents having human heads, and also hawk's and lion's heads, were sculptured along the frieze of this pantheon, intermingled with figures of nearly all the above sacred animals. On the abacus of each column was sculptured the scarabæus—the sacred beetle—consecrated to Pthah, and adopted as an emblem of the world; also the type of the god Hor-hat, the Good Genius of Egypt, whose emblem is a sun supported by two winged asps encircling it. Flies, ichneumons, and bees, with many other insects and animals, are represented in the sculptures, but are not sacred.

Even vegetables do not escape the service of their religion. The persea is sacred to Athor; the ivy to Osiris, and much made use of at his festivals; the feathery tamarisk is also sacred to this deity; and the peach and papyrus are supposed to be sacred, or at least used, for religious purposes. Contrary to the opinion I formed when I first came into Egypt, the onion, leek, and garlic are not sacred. The pomegranate, vine, and acanthus are used for sacred rites, and the sycamore-fig is sacred to Netpe. The lotus, the favorite object of imitation in all temple-sculpture, is sacred to, and the emblem of, the most ancient god of Egypt, whom the priests call Nofiratmoosis—a name wholly new to me among the deities;—but it is also clearly a favorite emblem of Osiris, being found profusely sculptured on all his temples. Lastly, the palm-branch is a symbol of astrology and type of the year, and conspicuous among the offerings made to the gods.

Now, my dear mother, can you wonder at Prince Remeses—that a man of his learning, intellect, sensibility, and sound judgment, should turn away from these thousand contemptible gods of Egypt, to seek a purer faith and worship, and that he should wish to give his people a more elevating and spiritual religion? Divisions and subdivisions have here reached their climax, and the Egyptians who worship God in every thing may be said to have ceased to worship him at all!

What was on the fourth side of the great square, of which the lake, the grove, and the pantheon composed three, was the central and great Temple of Apis in Lower Egypt. In my next letter I will describe my visit to it. I am at present a guest of the high-priest of the temple, and hence the date of my letter at Memphis.

Your affectionate son,

Sesostris