Reviewing H. Rider Haggard’s "Cleopatra"

Don’t let the title of the book—and, consequently, this blog post—fool you. As its subtitle (Being an Account of the Fall and Vengeance of Harmachis) suggests, this is the story of Harmachis, priest of Isis and last heir of the ancient royal line of Egypt, and how he betrayed the hopes of his family, his country, and himself when he found his fate intertwined with that famous Ptolemaic queen.

 His narrative is written in the first-person perspective, nested within a story of British archaeologists finding his remains and the scrolls he had written. Before the reader can say "Imhotep" this nesting story has introduced all the promising components for a thrilling tale of pseudo-Egyptian history.*

“…this mummy was not as other mummies are. Mummies in general lie upon their backs, as stiff and calm as though they were cut from wood; but this mummy lay upon its side, and, the wrappings notwithstanding, its knees were slightly bent. More than that,  indeed, the gold mask, which, after the fashion of the Ptolemaic period, had been set upon the face, had worked down, and was literally pounded up beneath the hooded head.

            It was impossible, seeing these things, to avoid the conclusion that the mummy before us had moved with violence since it was put in the coffin.”

Unfortunately, I must now report that this is pretty much the best part of the book. From there, once we get into reading the autobiographical “scrolls” of the poor mummy, Harmachis, the plot dwindles to atmospheric mumbo-jumbo that would only be thrilling to someone who doesn’t have any prior experience with Haggard’s writing, and who doesn’t know he could have done much better. That, and he really overdoes it on the "archaic dialect" nonsense with all the "thou art cursed!" type of stuff. 

Since the scrolls are, essentially, a flashback, enjoying even the "triumphant" parts of Harmachis' life is overshadowed by the knowledge that he does not live happily ever after. He begins by recounting his childhood, which has a suspiciously  Biblical feel to it (with the current ruler of Egypt trying to kill him as an infant). As a youth, he proves that he is the prototypical Edwardian Literary Hero who is fearless and unbeatable in battle when he slays a lion. Once this has proved he is an action hero, Harmachis is cloistered away as he’s trained to be a priest of Isis…and odd choice of training since he’s supposed to simultaneously be preparing for leading a rebellion against the current regime of Macedonian occupiers.

As it happens, his priestly training—particularly for Isis, which has him take a vow of celibacy—is a bad, bad idea, because it leaves him completely emotionally naïve, particularly in the matters of women. Particularly dangerous, as his opponent is the powerful and seductive Queen Cleopatra.

Predictably, as soon as Harmachis graduates priest school and embarks on his undercover mission to get close to the Queen and assassinate her, he finds himself ensnared by her beauty and charisma, instead. He allows himself to fall in love with her, to be manipulated by her, and ultimately finds himself betrayed by her as the plot follows the historical research materials available to Haggard (and the reader).

Because he’s following a historical record, Haggard’s ability to infuse adventure and drama into the plot is sadly confined. As I said, the best part of the story is the “frame story” of the contemporary (19th century) archaeologists. That—and the obligatory grave-robbing of the Great Pyramids—is about the most adventure this tale contains.

Aside from the relative tameness of the plot, another failing of Cleopatra is its misogyny. Haggard’s works tend to equate powerful women with danger, often to the point of villainy. She is a prime example of this unfortunate habit. In Cleopatra, Harmachis is continually warned against “Woman the Destroyer” (again, this makes little sense, since had his bid for pharaoh succeeded he would likely have been expected to have multiple wives!), and his love for Cleopatra is presented as little more than an enchantment (almost, at times, like Stockholm Syndrome) rather than a true affection, respect, or emotional attachment.

I suppose the only excuse I can give Haggard for this poor characterization of the famous queen is that he is only one in a long line of libelers. In fact, the very biased Roman historical accounts were likely the ones that Haggard relied upon as sources for this book. History is written by the victors, and it would not have benefited historians under Roman patronage to speak well of an independent, ambitious woman, particularly one who struggled against Roman authority, and—ultimately—against the tide of history.

   

*I say “pseudo-“ not only because it makes me sound smart, but it covers the possibility that I am wrong in giving any credit to H. Rider Haggard’s historical accuracy. I know he’s not to be completely trusted, in any case, since by page 3 he’s already talking about the high quality of this mummy from the Ptolemy dynasty…by which time, as I recall, the preservative techniques of embalmers had become sadly slipshod.