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 Socio-onomastics

The pragmatics of names

Terhi Ainiala
University of Helsinki

Jan-Ola Östman
University of Helsinki

doi: 10.1075/pbns.275
ISBN: 978 90 272 6569 2 (ebook)
Cataloging-in-Publication Data available from Library of
Congress:
LCCN 2017004875
© 2017 – John Benjamins B.V.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print,
photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission
from the publisher.
John Benjamins Publishing Company · https://benjamins.com

John Benjamins Publishing Company

Amsterdam/Philadelphia
 Table of contents

Chapter 1. Introduction: Socio-onomastics and pragmatics 1

Terhi Ainiala and Jan-Ola Östman
Part I. Tradition, identity and transmission
Chapter 2. The transmission of toponyms in language shift societies
21
Aud-Kirsti Pedersen
Chapter 3. Creating identities through the choice of first names
45
Emilia Aldrin
Chapter 4. Naming of children in Finnish and Finnish-Norwegian
families in Norway 69
Gulbrand Alhaug and Minna Saarelma
Chapter 5. Names in contact: Linguistic and social factors affecting
exonyms and translated names 93
Jarno Raukko
Part II. The variability of names
Chapter 6. Orienting to norms: Variability in the use of names for
Helsinki 129
Terhi Ainiala and Hanna Lappalainen
Chapter 7. Place names in contact. The use of Finnish place names
in Swedish contexts in Helsinki 155
Maria Vidberg
Chapter 8. Attitudes towards globalized company names 165
Leila Mattfolk
Chapter 9. Naming businesses – in the context of bilingual Finnish
cityscapes 183
Väinö Syrjälä
Chapter 10. The perception of Somali place names among
immigrant Somali youth in Helsinki 203
Terhi Ainiala and Mia Halonen
Subject index 227
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction
Socio-onomastics and pragmatics
Terhi Ainiala & Jan-Ola Östman
University of Helsinki

1. Setting the scene

The present volume is an attempt to bring together research findings
and researchers from pragmatics and socio-onomastics, and in so
doing present a number of studies that focus on names in their
cultural, social, interactive, and cognitive context. The point of
departure is to study names as elements in language that are not only
employed as identificatory or reference devices but as elements that
are also used to accomplish a variety of culturally, socially and
interactionally relevant tasks. 1
There is a host of approaches within pragmatics that have by
tradition directly or indirectly dealt with names and naming. In more
philosophical approaches, names have been linked to definite
descriptions and to deixis. In research on cross-cultural pragmatics,
names have been investigated in contact situations, and the whole
field of research on exonyms touches of necessity on cross-cultural
pragmatic issues. Within more cognitively attuned pragmatics research,
issues of categorization in terms of naming are an obvious case in
point where onomastics and pragmatics meet. Within socio-pragmatics
and politeness, names are a sine qua non in discussions of terms of
address, and in interactional approaches to pragmatics, the very use of
names in on-line interaction, and people’s opinions and attitudes
toward names are central. In linguistic landscape studies, as well as in
perceptual and folk linguistics and in studies on sociolinguistic styling,
names are a central ingredient, and the whole field of language and
ideology touches on names in discussions about identity, ethics,
appropriation and responsibility. The recent heightened interest in
place and space and their relation to language also directly connects
up with the use of names in relation to how we categorize places
cognitively, interactionally and virtually. 2
Socio-onomastics as a field of research started out as a sub-
discipline within onomastics, the study of names. Socio-onomastics has
been developed as a systematic perspective on the dynamic analysis of
names and naming. Whereas onomastics traditionally has largely
focused on the etymology and typology of names, socio-onomastics
looks at how names are used. Although socio-onomastics
acknowledges the historical dimension of names and naming, the role
of names in the construction of (social) identities is in focus in recent
developments in the field. Socio-onomastics stresses the importance of
looking at the use of names in every-day interaction: variation in name
usage, why some names are avoided, why some names are coupled
with particular pejorative attitudes, and how name users themselves
perceive the very names they use. Socio-onomastics takes into account
the social, cultural, and situational domains in which names are used,
and this applies to all kinds of names, place names, personal names,
commercial names, names of ships, pet names, etc. Notably, social
variation and situational variation are studied, and the reasons why
people know certain names (but not others) are examined. The study
of attitudes and stance towards names and name usage are also part
of socio-onomastic research. (See further, Section 4 below.)
The scholars that contribute to this volume have a socio-
onomastic approach in common, but in other respects they come from
different theoretical perspectives.
Since it may not be obvious to scholars in pragmatics what the
field of onomastics entails, and since the chapters in this volume off
and on take for granted that the reader is well versed in the field, we
will start by introducing a few central concepts within onomastics.

2. Onomastics generally – the basics

Let us start with the general question of how names have of tradition
been categorized: the name categories that are studied in onomastics.
This aspect is important because names vary both in their linguistic
structure and in their sociocultural function. It is essential in
onomastics that a scholar keeps track of the whole field of
nomenclature in relation to his or her own topic of research, and
understands what it has in common with other branches of
onomastics, and how it differs from these sub-branches.
Traditionally, research in onomastics has focused on the
investigation of place names or toponyms and personal names or
anthroponyms; we thus talk about toponomastics and
anthroponomastics, respectively. The term toponymy is then used for
place name nomenclature and anthroponymy for personal name
nomenclature. Place names are normally divided into two groups:
nature names and cultural names. Nature names are names whose
referent is a natural place (e.g., a sea, a mountain, or a forest) and
cultural names are names whose referent is a place built or formed by
humans (e.g., a field, a road, or a house). Nature names are further
typically divided into two groups – those on land and those related to
waters: topographic names (e.g., the name of a marsh or of a rock)
and hydronyms (e.g., the name of a lake or of a ditch). Cultural names
are usually divided into settlement names (such as homestead or
village names), cultivation names (e.g., names of fields and meadows)
and artefact names. The last category includes names of roads,
bridges, dams and other structures. Personal names of the modern
Western naming system are typically divided into three groups: first
names and surnames in the official naming system as well as unofficial
bynames. Unofficial names generally are typically also found in
toponymy. Any official place name, personal name, commercial name
etc. may have an unofficial, parallel name in use. For example,
Finland’s capital Helsinki is unofficially known as Hesa or Stadi (see
Ainiala & Lappalainen in this volume) and a typical Finnish first name
like Matti has the common unofficial counterpart Masa (For details, see
Ainiala, Saarelma and Sjöblom 2012).
Toward the end of the 19th century, onomastics flourished as part
of the national romanticism movement – in the same manner as the
study of dialects flourished. Scholars were in search of their ancestors,
their history, and looking at elements in language was seen as one too
by which one could get closer to one’s past. Dialects were seen as
older forms of language; thus, studies of dialects should reveal
important aspects about our past. Especially place names but also
personal names were similarly seen as forming a direct link to our past
The name of a place does not automatically change if new settlers
come to that place. Additionally, names can help in studying the tracks
of old settlement routes: those who colonized new hunting grounds
and dwelling areas gave names to places they experienced as
important. By examining the lexicon included in place names and the
circulation of name types, it is possible to conclude what regions those
who migrated to an area came from.
Names have, in addition to their practical function, an extremely
strong sociocultural function. With the help of personal names, it is
easy to talk about different individuals. However, names function not
only as tools for identification but also as tools for the social
classification of an individual. A personal name therefore tells a
community who the individual is and, secondly, lets the individual know
what his or her place in the community is. Through a patronym (e.g.
Michelson), paternity is recognized (cf. -son): the surname tells us to
which family the name bearer belongs. A surname can sometimes even
reveal something about the individual’s social position: language users
may, on the basis of their experience, recognize and differentiate
nobility names, names of learned people and peasant names from
each other. Social values also have great importance in the selection of
a first name: national background, mother tongue, religious
convictions, and even social status of the name giver affect name
giving.
Names are important in regard to the operation of society and the
form and use of a name can furthermore be more or less jointly
controlled with the help of laws and decrees. There can be many kinds
of socio-political problems associated with names: the public approval
of and attention to ethnic and linguistic minorities’ as well as
indigenous peoples’ own names in their own languages go hand in
hand with democracy and equal rights. Similarly, the issue of the right
to a name is inevitably connected to women’s emancipation: who or
what defines what surname a woman gets to use or ends up using?
Strong international relations, global politics and trade have been
challenging and have brought about issues pertaining to names of
different languages. On an international level, through the United
Nations in practice, 3 experts on onomastic issues can negotiate how
to standardize the use of names in an international context and how in
these situations we can, among other things, take the different writing
systems of languages into consideration. In the standardization of
place names, the principle is to make an effort to use a specific area’s
population’s mother-tongue names or endonyms (Wien, Göteborg,
Nihon, Bharat) instead of using foreign name equivalents or exonyms
(Vienna, Gothenburg, Japan, India).
To conclude this introductory overview of onomastics, we will
bring up the very concept of meaning in relation to names. What is the
meaning of a name? To start with, a name has an identifying function
regardless of whether we recognize the elements included in the name
or not. When we think of the identifying function of a name, it is
irrelevant whether or not the name is transparent or opaque. Because
of this, certain onomasticians have emphasized that names lack
meaning. According to this extreme viewpoint, a name has no meaning
at all (cf. Mill 1906) and names do not belong to linguistic classes (in
particular, they are not nouns) – albeit that they are indeed needed in
communication (Nicolaisen 1997).
In the opinions of other scholars, however, proper nouns are
considered to be genuine words of a language. And words of a
language always, in one way or another, have significance. According
to the classical definition, a linguistic sign is a unit which
simultaneously includes an expression made up of form (sound,
writing, gestured sign), some cognitive content or meaning, as well as
an extralinguistic counterpart, that is, a referent or an application. On
the basis of this definition, a proper name must have some kind of
meaning for its users, although this meaning cannot be described in
the same way as, for example the appellative, i.e. the common noun,
cat can be described in a dictionary. But looked at from a pragmatic
perspective, the very use of a name gives it (part of its) meaning.
When we talk about the meaning of a name, we often think about
the lexical meaning of the morphs or words that seem to be included
in it, in other words, the dictionary meaning of (parts of) appellatives
used in name formation. Most names at the time of name giving are in
this manner motivated expressions that are descriptive of their
referents. For this original, semantic content of a name, that is, what
an expression understood as a name meant at the time of name
giving, we can use the term etymological meaning, or sometimes also
identifying meaning. Etymological meaning is interesting when names
are interpreted from the name bearer’s point of view, whereas when
we think of the context of usage of a name, etymological meaning is
largely irrelevant.
 We will now move on to discuss the pragmatic perspective in
onomastics.

3. The pragmatic perspective

In traditional onomastics, proper names are most often analyzed either
from a diachronic perspective, allowing precise description of their
original motivations and their various linguistic developments; or from
a typological perspective, approaching names as linguistic structures in
order to find out how names work similarly to, and in what respects
differently from, other parts of the grammar of a language. The
historical and structural approaches have thus stimulated our
understanding of the way proper names were used in the societies in
which they were created, and how they work as part of human
language. However, the field of onomastics has often been accused of
lacking in innovation: according to Levinson (2003: 69) “the study of
place-names or onomastics is one of the older branches of linguistic
enquiry […]. But despite the long tradition of study, little of theoretical
interest has emerged”. The truthfulness of his quotation is surely
debatable, and rests on how a particular scholar defines “theoretical
interest”. But it is true that the study of the everyday use of names has
not traditionally interested all onomasticians. With this volume we also
hope to show the “theoretical interest” that onomastics can offer,
especially now when it is re-establishing itself in relation to general
linguistic research.
The pragmatic functions of proper names have mainly been
discussed by scholars working within the philosophy of language
tradition (cf. Searle 1969; Kripke 1972; Van Langendonck 2007).
However, their discussions are typically based on introspective
reflections, albeit on sound argumentation. But even in studies by
ordinary language philosophers, the way speakers actually use proper
names in their daily activities is seldom systematically accounted for. In
this light, taking a socio-onomastic approach implies a shift of
perspective encompassing far-reaching theoretical and methodological
consequences.
Some of the central issues for socio-onomastic research can in
light of the background sketched out above be phrased as follows.
We need to revisit the usually strictly upheld distinction between
proper nouns and common nouns, since proper names clearly also do
other things than select or point out a specific referent or individual. By
itself, the very fact that the same space or the same person (or pet, or
commercial establishment) can be referred to with a variety of different
labels indicates that the names used are not stable, and do not come
with built-in limited applicability. Names do not only have reference (or
what Lyons 1977 called “application”) relations, but also sense-
relations to other linguistic units, and to other names. Minimally, a
name needs to receive a context-sensitive description. The use of a
proper name rather than of a deictic element can clearly achieve
communicative tasks, e.g. express one participant’s negative (or
positive) stance toward another.
It is also important to find out in what manner proper names
establish reference differently from how pronouns, full noun phrases,
circumlocutions, and definite descriptions establish reference. On a
social and sociolinguistic dimension, issues of participants’ implicit and
explicit social and cultural identities are also negotiated in and with
names. And, most generally, proper names are not to be seen as
independent of other elements in language. One pronounced aim of
usage-based and pragmatic approaches to names is precisely to
integrate the analysis of proper names with analyses of language use
in general.

4. Socio-onomastics
Put simply and briefly, socio-onomastics can be defined as the
sociolinguistic study of names. Above all, it explores the use and
variation of names. The socio-onomastic research method takes into
account the social, cultural, and situational field in which names are
used. (Cf. Debus 1995; Naumann 1989 [1984]: 395; Nicolaisen 1985:
122; Walther & Schultheis 1989 [1978]: 358.)
This section starts with an overview of the epistemological
background to socio-onomastics, and gives a brief state of the art. In
Section 4.2 the methodology of socio-onomastics is presented in some
detail.

4.1 Origins
From the late 20th century onwards, onomastics has strongly aimed to
construct a typological overview of nomenclature. The structure of
names and name systems has been investigated, and name-giving
grounds have been classified according to semantic criteria. Research
has in this manner developed from an analysis of individual names to
an investigation of larger entities.
 In one sense, socio-onomastic research is a natural continuation o
typological research into names. In constructing a structural and
semantic picture of nomenclature, questions about name use and
variation almost inevitably had to be asked. This was especially the
case in countries like Finland where onomastic research has been
based on traditional collections of place names covering the whole
country, which had been written down on the basis of field interviews
with people in the local communities.
The term socio-onomastics (or rather Sozioonomastik in German)
was first used by Hans Walther in 1971 in Namenforschung heute. He
defined the two main missions of socio-onomastics to be the following:
(a) the study of the social origin and use of different variants of proper
names within various situations and contexts, (b) taking into account
the name-giver, name-bearer and name-user (Walther 1971: 45).
The socio-onomastic research by Hans Walther and other Eastern
German scholars was carried out within a framework of Marxist
linguistics. From the beginning it was meant to be modeled on a
structuralist (presumably Labovian) sociolinguistics, and it was in
particular the interaction between names and the society at large that
were under discussion. Names were seen to undergo different kinds of
formal alterations and to vary in many ways. In German, besides
‘Sozioonomastik’, the term ‘Namensoziologie’ was also used (see e.g.
Naumann 1989 [1984]: 394–395; Seibicke 1982: 11; Witkowski 1975:
60). Usually, no substantial difference is to be found between these
two approaches; the two terms – socio-onomastics and the sociology
of names – were used interchangeably.
 From the beginning, anthroponymic and toponymic variables were
at the heart of all socio-onomastic endeavors, but with a focus on the
issue of variation and variability (e.g. Nicolaisen 1985: 123). In
addition, it was acknowledged that onomastic variables were to be
sought in different societal and cultural registers (Nicolaisen 1985:
123). In other words, socio-onomastics is comparable to
sociolinguistics, and name variation is not regarded as random but as
orderly.

4.2 Methodology
Name variation and name variability are core issues in socio-
onomastics. Research has mostly focused on synchronic variation, even
though diachronic variation is also studied (cf. historical
sociolinguistics; for some details, see 4.3).
In the following we will give an overview of research on the
synchronic and especially the social variation in relation to names. In
addition to social (‘sociolect’) variation, also situational and style
variation has been examined in relation to names.
The social variation in place names is a main topic in the study of
toponymic competence (i.e. the knowledge of certain names). When
we study people’s toponymic competence, we try to find out how many
and what types of place names people of different ages, professions,
and genders know in their home districts (see e.g. Pitkänen 1998,
2010). Or we may examine which names or name variants people of
different (place-)origin (i.e. natives and non-natives) use for specific
places (see e.g. Pablé 2009). Moreover, we are interested in studying
why people’s toponymic competences differ from each other, i.e., why
they use different place names.
The variables used in studies of toponymic competence are those
used in sociolinguistic research: age, gender, ethnicity, socio-economic
class, life style, nativeness etc. So far, studies have mostly focused on
rural villages rather than on towns or cities (see, however, Pablé 2009)
In socio-onomastic studies on place names, data have usually
been collected through interviews. Since not every member of a
community can be interviewed nor her/his onomasticon inventoried,
informants have been selected according to the sociolinguistic variables
relevant for the study in question. In many cases, individual interviews
have been carried out, but to some extent (focus-)group interviews
have also been used. In some studies, questionnaires have been used.
In questionnaires, informants have been asked to list the names they
know for the objects (places, spaces, buildings) to be investigated, and
to specify how they would use these names (see e.g. Vidberg 2016).
Occasionally, questionnaires have served as a basis for interviews (e.g.
Pablé 2009: 161).
Socio-onomastic research into personal names also comprises the
study of variation in the popularity of names. Especially the distribution
of first name innovations (in other words, the particular name fashion)
has been studied (e.g. Kiviniemi 2006; Virkkula 2014). In addition,
name-giving grounds are also regarded as falling within the sphere of
socio-onomastic study. Statistical data are of major relevance for
studies on the popularity of names. In contrast, questionnaires and
even interviews have been used in studying name-giving grounds.
 Situational variation is also prominent in the field of personal
names: various names and name variants are used in different
situations. This is particularly true as regards unofficial bynames
(nicknames, pet names etc.) (e.g. McClure 1981; Van Langendonck
2007). For example, Van Langendonck (2007: 317–320) studied the
characteristics of juvenile byname-giving in contrast to adult name-
giving.

4.3 Major advancements

Socio-onomastic research has introduced the multifaceted issue of
variety into onomastics. Names or name systems are not to be
understood as static, constant or non-variable but as variable and
changing. In studies on toponymic competence it has been shown –
among many other things – that some names are known to all
speakers of a community, while other names are in use only among
specific groups of speakers.
The roles of different variables are under constant discussion. For
example, in an early study by Slotte, Zilliacus and Harling (1973),
covering three Swedish-language municipalities in Finland, it was
claimed that gender affects toponymic competence more than age.
Adult males, in fact, knew around twenty-five percent more names
than women of the same age. But it is not clear that there really are
significant gender-specific differences in people’s knowledge of names.
It is true, however, that in traditional rural cultures, men moved about
in wider areas than women, e.g., in connection with cultivation,
hunting, and fishing. So, the difference in toponymic competence
cannot simply be explained as being gender-specific, but most likely
rather as being related to profession and to one’s extent of moving
about.
Recent studies in toponymic competence have taken a more
versatile approach to this question. For example, a study by Ainiala,
Komppa, Mallat and Pitkänen (2000) established that the names used
by young people and women in rural villages focus on cultural names
and especially on settlement names. Settlement names do, in fact,
belong to the central nomenclature of villages, and often nearly all
people in a village know the names of the most prominent estates and
houses. Men know more names for natural features because they have
of tradition moved about in the terrain more than women. In all,
occupation and hobbies seemed to affect the toponymic competence
more than did age and gender.
The extent to which one knows and uses place names is also
related to changes in the names: names that are no longer needed
disappear. But the very number of names in use does not necessarily
decrease from the oldest generation to the youngest one. Young
people give names to new places and invent new names for places
that the older generations call by older names. Still, in studies of
diachronic variation in place names it has been noticed that as many as
half of the place names in rural villages in Finland may have
disappeared in a relatively short time (i.e. during three decades, from
the 1960s to the 1990s), due to changes in the countryside itself
(Ainiala 2010).
Socio-onomastic research on place names acknowledges that
individual differences always exist. It is thus never predictable which
names a speaker knows and uses, since no two individuals have been
confronted with the same linguistic realities. Referencing by name is
highly context-sensitive, and not simply a matter of name competence.
In recent socio-onomastic studies (see e.g. Pablé 2009, and Ainiala &
Lappalainen in this volume), interactional aspects have become central
to the field. It has been pointed out, for example, that there seem to
exist differences between the spontaneous and the metalinguistic use
of names. Thus, the data-gathering method, in particular the way
interviews are conducted, has been given special attention (see e.g.
Ainiala & Halonen, and Vidberg in this volume).
On a par with socio-onomastics, which is more sociolinguistically
attuned, a complementary field of “interactional onomastics” is being
developed within interactional linguistics and conversation analysis. For
instance, Enfield and Stivers (2007) apply mainly conversation analysis
in studying person reference in interaction. They show that there are
multiple ways of referring to individuals in interaction – with proper
names, kin terms, and with descriptions. As for place reference,
Schegloff (1972: 81) showed that the choice of a specific place term
depends on the interactants’ location, the identities displayed and
treated as relevant in the course of an interaction, and the topic or the
activity in which the participants are engaged. For instance, if someone
asks you the way to a specific place, you may use different spatial
descriptions, relying on your categorization of your interlocutor as “a
local”, “a tourist”, “a compatriot”, “a foreigner” etc. This shows that
place names do much more than establish reference. In order to
understand what place names “do” (for instance as opposed to other
place descriptions, such as deictic units) a contextualized, sequential
analysis of the data is often needed (see also Mondada 2000; Myers
2006).
Situational variation in socio-onomastics refers to the variation we
find in the use of names according to situation and context. Different
names and name variants can even be used to refer to the very same
places. Names fulfill different functions in different situations. For
example, instead of the official Finnish city name Helsinki, unofficial
slang names like Hesa and Stadi may be used to construct different
social identities. (See Ainiala & Lappalainen in this volume.)
Many names strengthen the identities of their user community.
Group identity is reinforced by using the group’s own names as part of
the group’s own language. In addition, the use of certain name forms
may have practical reasons. People may use shorter and easier forms
instead of longer forms (e.g., Aleksi in Helsinki for Aleksanterinkatu
‘Alexander’s Street’, Kudamm in Berlin for Kurfürstendamm).
In socio-onomastic research into personal names, many intriguing
results have been gained. In studying first name fashion and name-
giving grounds, it has been noticed that although parents usually try to
find names that are special or rare for their children, their choices
often turn out to follow some fashionable trend typical of the period.
The choice of a first name is based on community values: the name
givers’ nationality, their mother tongue, religious convictions, and even
their social status influence name giving (cf. Virkkula 2014; Aldrin in
this volume). For example, in many European countries, highly
educated people favor traditional names, whereas people with lower
education prefer names that are popular and trendy (Gerhards 2003;
Vandebosch 1998).
 Investigations into people’s attitudes and stances towards names
and name use require sociolinguistic and in particular folk linguistic
research of the names, i.e. folk onomastics. Folk onomastics is also
regarded as part of the socio-onomastic research paradigm. For
example, the use of unofficial urban place names typically reflects their
users’ different attitudes. Some of the names may expose ideas
associated with the places and their users (Fi. Peräjunttila ‘Hick Land’,
Porvarikoulu ‘Bourgeois School’), and some slang names may be so
strongly associated with particular user groups that many people do
not want to use them (see e.g. Ainiala & Lappalainen in this volume).
An especially interesting theme in folk onomastics is the explicit
opinions and implicit attitudes that are linked to planned nomenclature
This covers analyses of how residents feel about the names planned
for their region, what names they regard as good and suitable, and
what names they regard as bad, and why. Many such studies (e.g.,
Aalto 2002; Ainiala 2004, 2016; Johansson 2007) have shown that the
descriptiveness of the names is considered to be an important feature
by name users.
In folk onomastic studies of company names and other
commercial names, attention has been paid to attitudes toward
company names and whether people prefer more transparent and
descriptive, or more arbitrary names (e.g. Bergien 2007) and whether
a commercial name works better if it is a global, foreign name than if it
is a locally based name (usually in the local language).
In studies of name variation, names in different languages often
play a crucial role. This is especially apparent in language-contact
areas, and thus in today’s globalized world, in every urban
environment. In studies of namescapes like these, a contact-onomastic
viewpoint needs to be taken (see the studies by Mattfolk, Syrjälä,
Vidberg, Pedersen, Raukko, Ainiala & Halonen and Alhaug & Saarelma
in this volume).
Socio-onomastic research has been carried out for over 40 years
now. In spite of the multifaceted research thus far, many areas have
still hardly been touched upon. In the socio-onomastic study of place
names, rural names have already been in focus for decades, but urban
names still lack comprehensive research: in what ways are place
names – both official and unofficial – used in multi-layered and often
multilingual urban environments? The same question applies to the
study of personal names: how are they used in multilingual contexts?
Research into commercial names is still rather scarce due to the young
age of the field, and socio-onomastic studies in this field are few. One
of the most interesting questions is the study of the attitudes and
stances people have toward commercial names and how people talk
about commercial products and businesses in actual language use.

5. The present volume

The contributions in this volume address important questions in
relation to the points discussed above. In particular, the contributors
ask what social and interactional activities are accomplished through
the use of proper names; what is the role of personal names, place
names and commercial names in the construction of identities; how
can discussions of identity and categorization in general be grounded
in the empirical documentation of the use of proper names; and how
are proper names linked to the contextual and interactional
contingencies of an ongoing social encounter? Another set of issues
relates to the impact that work on socio-onomastics can have on the
conceptualization and categorization of proper names. In particular, to
what extent is it still feasible to maintain a clear-cut distinction
between common nouns and proper names; are traditional onomastic
categorizations – e.g. the idea to distinguish clearly place names from
personal names – helpful for the description of social realities; what do
we do with ambiguous and ambivalent cases; can socio-onomastic
research shed new light on the issue of whether proper names have
semantic content; and how do names really work with respect to
reference? One central question here is this: Do proper names have a
special status a priori, or are they construed through discursive
practices, as Hopper (1990) suggests?
More generally, the contributors to this volume reflect on how
traditional notions such as “proper name”, “reference”, “identity”, and
“category” can be defined, operationalized, and described
systematically from a perspective that sees them as inextricably linked
to social and cultural practices.
The chapters have been organized into two parts. The first part is
called Tradition, identity and transmission, and contains four
chapters. Each of these chapters approaches names and socio-
onomastic thinking from a somewhat traditional perspective, but in so
doing builds bridges to the kinds of research that is becoming more
and more popular within present-day onomastics.
If a society undergoes language shift, the change of language
affects also the proper names of the surviving language. In her
contribution, Aud-Kirsti Pedersen examines the transmission of
toponyms in three societies that have undergone language shift. These
societies are former multilingual areas in Northern Norway, where
Norwegian has replaced the Sámi and Kven languages, areas in West
Mainland, Orkney, where Norn was replaced by Scottish English, and
the area Beaumont-Hague, Normandy, where Scandinavian was used
long ago. The linguistic analyses of the data show a significant
difference in the means used for transmitting toponyms from minority
to majority languages. Both internal and external factors of language
have influenced the outcome of language contact connected to
language shift in these toponymic data.
Emilia Aldrin discusses the complex process of deciding on
names for one’s children. Parents take many aspects into consideration
while choosing a name for their child and (more or less consciously)
view them in the light of their own emotional, aesthetic, ideological
and social stances, as well as personal experiences and hopes for the
child. Aldrin regards the act of naming a child as an act of identity.
Parents, through the choice of first name for a child, engage in a social
act which is very much about expressing their own identity – who they
are or who they want to be – and constructing a hoped-for identity for
their child. The chapter is based on analyses of empirical examples of
parents’ name motivations.
The challenge of finding a name for one’s children is also
discussed in Gulbrand Alhaug’s and Minna Saarelma’s chapter on
names and identity in Finnish-Norwegian families. Here, the focus is on
language contact, thus bringing the field of historical contact
onomastics (as exemplified in Pedersen’s chapter) into research on
personal names. The chapter focuses on the encounter between the
Finnish and Norwegian personal naming systems. The chapter is based
both on statistical analyses and on interviews with name-givers. The
names investigated are classified into three main categories: Finnish
names, Scandinavian names, and “other names”. The majority of the
names were found to belong to the category “other names”, which
typically function as compromise names in bilingual families.
Furthermore, the role of the mother is shown to be stronger than that
of the father in the naming of the children.
Cultural and onomastic contacts are also in focus in the chapter on
exonyms by Jarno Raukko. Briefly, the French name form Londres as
well as some other translated forms such as the Finnish Lontoo and
the Polish Londyn are exonyms for the locally official name London. In
addition to giving a thorough linguistic overview of the field and of
exonyms as such, Raukko also examines other translated and variable
names and concentrates on their social and pragmatic profiles.
Overviews are given of the linguistic challenges that need to be
addressed with respect to transcription, and for a proper
understanding of exographs, exophones, phonological translation,
semantic translation, independent pairs, grammatical necessity, and
transmitting languages. Both place names and personal names are
studied. Raukko shows that parallel names in bilingual areas most
often display phonological adaptation just like modified names of
distant places. Generally, exonyms are more common for culturally
important places. A study with an informant population showed that
sociopragmatically, attitudes related to familiarity and exoticism affect
the choice of language for a name. The study also showed that
informants preferred existing exonyms while resisting new ones, and
politically sensitive cases caused confusion.
The second part of the present volume is called The variability
of names and contains five chapters. Issues of attitudes and identities
were particularly prominent in the chapters in the first part; in the
chapters in this second part, attitudes and identities are also central,
but variability in particular, and how variability is realized and managed
in and through the use of names, comes to the fore.
In their chapter on Orienting to norms, Terhi Ainiala and Hanna
Lappalainen discuss the uses of three names for the capital of
Finland: Helsinki (the official and standard variant), Hesa and Stadi
(the unofficial, non-standard and vernacular variants). A three-fold
approach to analyzing the name data is used. First, the investigation
studies which name variants Helsinkians report that they use when
they refer to their home city. Secondly, the question of how Helsinkians
justify and explain the use or non-use of a name, in other words,
informants’ attitudes towards name variants, is studied. The informants
use these justifications and various ways of describing their use of
toponyms in order to position themselves as particular kinds of Helsink
inhabitants. Finally, the informants’ self-reports on their actual
spontaneous name use is analyzed.
Place names in Helsinki are also examined in Maria Vidberg’s
chapter, where Finnish elements in the usage of Swedish place names
are in focus. The central focus in this chapter are the resources that
Swedish-language Helsinkian name users utilize when they only know
a Finnish name but need to refer to a place in question in a Swedish
context. Or, why they decide to use a Finnish name even though they
also do know the corresponding Swedish name. Vidberg shows (a) that
there are both pragmatic/instrumental, and aesthetic reasons for
using – or not using – a Finnish place name; and (b) that there are
three types of resources that Swedish-language name users have
access to in contact situations when they do not know the Swedish-
language street name: they can use a Finnish name only, they can use
a hybrid name (constructing parts of a name on-line by e.g.
translating), and they can use a Finnish and a Swedish name in
parallel, one after the other. The research material consists of
interviews with Swedish speakers in the bilingual city of Helsinki.
Leila Mattfolk studies company names and attitudes towards
them in her chapter. She focuses in particular on English elements in
company names on the countryside of Swedish-language Finland. The
three-way distinction between explicit opinions, implicit (i.e.,
subconscious) attitudes and socioconscious attitudes that have been
found important in explicating speakers’ views on globalized elements
in the local language generally, is found not to be of equal importance
in discussions of attitudes towards globalized names. This tallies with
the general view that names and appellatives are interactively viewed
as, processed as, and culturally seen as different kinds of elements.
The study furthermore shows that foreign elements are more readily
accepted in company names than in the language generally.
Company names are also studied by Väinö Syrjälä. His chapter
deals with business names as part of the linguistic landscape. Through
a discussion of the commercial names that can be seen in the streets
of bilingual Finnish towns, the study sheds light on how the
bilingualism of the community is reflected in the naming of companies.
While all official signs and names use Finnish and Swedish in parallel,
the commercial language use is more diverse. The names of
businesses can be part of one or both (or neither) of the national
languages. The analysis shows that in a town with Finnish majority,
Finnish names dominate the scene, whereas Swedish majority is
needed for both languages to be visible in the commercial sphere.
English or universal names are popular, irrespective of the linguistic
situation. Thus, commercial names have a role in the construction of
the linguistic place, but that place is not necessarily a bilingual Finland.
In their chapter on the construction of social identities among
Somali adolescents, Terhi Ainiala and Mia Halonen study immigrant
Somali youth living in Helsinki. They examine what kind of Somali
place names Somali teenagers use in their home surroundings and
what kinds of perceptions and beliefs they have about these names
and their use. In addition, observations about Finnish people’s
perceptions towards these Somali names are made. Methodologically
the study belongs to the field of folk onomastics, which studies
people’s beliefs and perceptions about names and name usage. The
chapter shows how toponyms like Mogadishu Avenue in Helsinki,
originally created by Finnish inhabitants, have become part of the
toponymy of Somali people. In addition, Somali people have created
and taken into use new Somali names, like Beerta raaxaha.

6. Concluding remarks
Socio-onomastics represents a new perspective on a field where
scholars have been active for well over a century. It has taken a
remarkably long time in onomastics to put more emphasis on name
usage and other societal insights into names in addition to focusing on
etymology and the typology of names. Fortunately enough, much has
happened during the 21st century and is happening right now. In
2016, two edited volumes on names and onomastics (Hough 2016;
Puzey & Kostanski 2016) were issued, and there is a multitude of
articles dealing with name usage in these volumes.
But even though it may seem as if onomastic research has finally
aligned with what is happening in the rest of linguistics, it is important
to note (a) that onomastics is not only linguistics: names are central
ingredients in geography, in urban planning (names need to be
understandable so that e.g. an ambulance easily can find its way to an
address), in history, in anthropology, psychology, etc.; and (b) that
socio-onomastics is really a different perspective on communication, a
perspective that is solidly grounded in traditional onomastic research
with its particular way of tackling issues related to names. It would be
a mistake to attempt to merely redefine earlier findings within
onomastics in linguistic terms; it is rather general linguistics that needs
to pay attention to a field that it has neglected for so long. We believe
that the best way to accomplish this coherence is through pragmatics.

Notes
1. We are grateful to Elwys De Stefani for input to, and comments on, a very early version of
this text, and to the two anonymous referees who commented extensively on all the chapters
in this volume.

2. A simple search on the International Pragmatics Association’s Handbook of Pragmatics

Online (https://www.benjamins.com/online/hop/) gives references to over 200 articles dealing
with names and naming from different perspectives.
3. There is, e.g., a special “United Nations Group of Experts on Geographical Names”
(UNGEGN) within the UN; cf. http://unstats.un.org/unsd/geoinfo/UNGEGN/

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PA RT I

Tradition, identity and

transmission
 CHAPTER 2

The transmission of
toponyms in language shift
societies
Aud-Kirsti Pedersen 1 ,2
1
UiT The Arctic University of Norway | 2 Norwegian
Mapping Authority

Abstract

If a society undergoes language shift, the change of language affects the

linguistic system, including the toponomy, of the surviving language. This
historical socio-onomastic study examines the transmission of toponyms in
some societies that have undergone language shift. These societies are
former multilingual areas in Northern Norway, where Norwegian has
replaced the Sami and Kven languages, areas of West Mainland, Orkney,
where Norn was replaced by Scots, and the area Beaumont-Hague,
Normandy, where Scandinavian was used long ago. The linguistic analyses
of the data show a significant difference in the means used for transmitting
toponyms from minority to majority languages. Both internal and external
factors of language shed light on the outcome of language contact
connected to language shift in these toponymic data.

Keywords

language shift; language contact; names in contact;

transmission of names
1. Introduction
In this study the onomastic outcome of language shift in some
formerly multilingual societies will be presented and discussed. These
are three parishes of Northern Norway, three parishes in West
Mainland, Orkney, and the northern part of Normandy in France.
Toponymic data from various communities that have undergone
language shift show a significant difference in the means used for
transmitting place names from minority to majority languages, and the
numbers of transmitted names varies. In parts of the data the extinct
language has left distinct traces in the toponymy of the surviving
language, whereas in other parts of the data hardly any trace of the
former languages used in the area can be found. The linguistic
implications of language shift and the role of the socio-cultural setting
on language have been described by Weinreich (1953) and many other
scholars after him. These descriptions are not, however, especially
concerned with the linguistic outcome of language contact in
toponymic systems. Therefore I will first discuss some of the effects
that can be found in the toponomy of communities that have
undergone the process of language shift. The findings in the different
societies will be compared with each other and with the outcome of
language contact in general.

2. Linguistic outcomes of language shift

Language shift is according to Winford (2003: 15) “the partial or total
abandonment of a group’s native language in favor of another”. It is
well documented that language contact in language shift situations
leads to various types of linguistic changes in the target language
system. These kinds of changes are referred to as interference, or,
more accurately, as substratum/superstratum/adstratum interference,
among language contact scholars (cf. Weinreich 1953, Thomason &
Kaufman 1988, Thomason 2001), but also with the term transfer,
originating from the research tradition of second language acquisition
(Winford 2003: 16). Substratum interference is explained by Thomason
(2001: 74–75) as features from the first language of a minority, the
native language, that have been carried over to a target language as a
result of imperfect learning, 1 and variations in the social settings
connected to the situation of language contact could influence the
linguistic outcome. The degree of influence from the native language
on the target language will vary from no influence at all to considerable
influence, according to different external factors. Language shift could
also be introduced by invaders or colonizers and their language might
replace or be used in addition to an indigenous language (Winford
2003: 15). But if the language of invaders undergoes language shift,
the possible influence of this language on the surviving language is
referred to as superstratum interference. Winford (2003: 23–24)
recognises three types of shift situations: (1) rapid and complete shifts
found in minority groups resulting in little or no substratum
interference in the target language, (2) rapid shift by a larger or more
prestigious minority leading to slight to moderate substratum
interference in the target language, and (3) shift by an indigenous
community to an imported language with moderate to heavy
substratum interference. These types of shift situations will be related
to the shift situations discussed in this study. The transmission of
toponyms can thus be analysed as onomastic interference from a
source language into a target language.

3. Types of communities in this study

The three Norwegian communities Kaldfjorden, Skibotn and
Kvenangsbotn, 2 can be classified as indigenous communities where
the minority languages Sami and Kven have been replaced by the
majority language Norwegian.
The Sami language 3 in the small community Kaldfjorden (Tromsø
municipality, Troms County) was replaced by Norwegian during the
19th and the beginning of the 20th century (Kven has not been used in
Kaldfjorden). The last bilingual speakers in Kaldfjorden were born
around 1870–1880. Very little is known of the linguistic situation of the
community in the past, but most probably the population of
Kaldfjorden was bilingual in Sami and Norwegian long before the
language shift took place.
The communities Skibotn (Storfjord municipality) and
Kvenangsbotn (Kvænangen municipality) are situated in the region
Nord-Troms of Troms County. Both communities were for the most part
monolingual Sami communities until the Kven migration started in the
16th century. The Kvens are descendants of Finnish immigrants from
Northern Sweden and Finland, and the population is known as Kven
(from Norwegian kven), and the language is today known as the Kven
language. 4 The Kvens and the Kven language expanded and to a
great extent displaced the Sami language during the 19th century.
Sami-Kven bilingualism then became common. The majority language
Norwegian came into common use in the second half of the 19th
century when the Norwegian state implemented a hard assimilation
policy towards the minorities, known as the process of
Norwegianisation (Bull 2005). Since the end of World War II
Norwegian has rapidly displaced the minority languages. The Sami
language in Skibotn and Kvenangsbotn is extinct among the villagers
and is only used among a few reindeer herder families. The Kven
language is still understood by a handful of older men, esp. in the
border community Skibotn.
The Orkney community could also be classified as an indigenous
community where a language from outside, Scots (i.e. informal
varieties of spoken English in Scotland), gradually replaced the
indigenous language, Norn, a dialect based on Old Norse (Sandnes
2010: 10), after a process of language contact that lasted for about
400 years. The language known as Norn was a North Germanic
language brought to Orkney, Hebrides, Shetland and the north coast of
Scotland by Norse settlers mostly from the west coast of Norway
during the 9th century and later (Oftedal 1980). The present local
Scots language and onomastic material is characterised by a Norse
substratum (Sandnes 2010: 32).
The language shift in Normandy is a shift caused by a prestigious
minority, the Normans, 5 who conquered the land. The North-
Germanic, Scandinavian language, was here used only a short period
from ca. 911 to 1060 (cf. Stoltenberg 1994: 44; Hansen 1998: 12 f.).
The bilingual period, with language contact between Scandinavians
and speakers of Norman French (and perhaps also speakers of Old-
English and Franconian), lasted perhaps only for two to three
generations (Hansen 1998: 12–15; Hansen 2001: 89). Even so, a
considerable amount of toponyms and lexical elements of Scandinavian
origin has been transferred into Norman French (op.cit.); see also Hall
(2013).

4. Onomastic outcome of language shift

Weinreich (1963 [1953]: 52–53) comments briefly on the impact of
language contact on proper names, and claims that what has been
said about lexical interference in common words, applies to proper
names as well. The process is, however, more complicated than
Weinreich’s assumption, because proper names refer to objects outside
the linguistic system and not to concepts of a language. Another
property of names, unlike the property of common words, is that
names are able to function in a language without being semantically
transparent (Nicolaisen 1996: 549), and therefore place names can be
more easily transferred between languages in situations of language
shift. According to Nicolaisen (ibid.) some place names in Scotland
have been transferred through three or four language shifts.
Studies of toponymic data from various societies that have
undergone language shift show a significant difference in the means
used for transmitting names from minority to majority languages, and
the numbers of names transmitted varies from one set of data to
another. In some materials the extinct language has left distinct traces
in the toponymy of the surviving language, whereas other materials
hardly show any traces of the former language used in the area.
Therefore one needs to ask what effects can be found in the
toponymic system of a community that has undergone a process of
language shift. Toponyms are socially anchored linguistic signs, and
ultimately, their usage in a socio-onomastic perspective must be seen
in the light of how individuals interpret and act within the social norms
and power structures in the society, and one should expect that
varying socio-cultural and political conditions will be important for
understanding the onomastic pattern after a language shift.

5. Terminology of transmitted place names

Among some onomastic researchers (e.g. Kranzmayer 1934, Pellijeff
1966, Walther 1980, Pitkänen 1985, Pedersen 1988, Naert 1995,
Wiesinger 1996) the term borrowing (cf. Scandinavian: lån, German:
Entlehnung, Lehngut, Finnish: laina) is commonly used to refer to
names incorporated into one language from another. The concept of
borrowing, however, is inappropriate to characterise the process of
establishing a new toponymic system in a language shift situation. 6
The term borrowing of place names is more appropriately used in
situations when two (or more) groups of different languages adopt
place names from each other, or perhaps only one part does so. If a
community goes through a process of language shift and the already
existing place names of the community are passed on into the new
language, transfer of names is a more appropriate term for addressing
this phenomenon. A common term covering both borrowing and
transfer could be transmission of names, even if the linguistic result is
the same when talking about a single name, and in this study both
transfer and transmission are used in the sense ‘to pass a place name
into a new language’. In a set of onomastic material as a whole, the
outcome of borrowing and transfer might give different proportions of
the various categories of the transmitted place names. This is clearly a
topic that needs further elaboration and discussion. For an extensive
discussion of terminology within the field of onomastic language
contact I refer to Petrulevich (2012, 2014, 2016).

6. Categories of transmitted place names

According to Weinreich (1963 [1953]: 50) the transmission of
compounded words is of three types of interference: “All the elements
may be transferred, in analyzed form; all elements may be reproduced
by semantic extension; or some elements may be transferred, while
others are reproduced”. This is in fact the basic pattern for transmitting
compounded place names as well. In my classification, transmitted
names are of three kinds: (i) transmission of the phonological
structure; (ii) semantic transmission; and a combination of
phonological and semantic transmission in one and the same name, in
other words, (iii) a composite transmission. On the basis of data from
bilingual Gaelic-English communities in Scotland, Nicolaisen (1996: 550
f.) has described the same interference categories, named by him as
phonological adaptations, translations and part-translations,
respectively, and in addition to this basic pattern he adds subcategories
and further clarifications. For the present study, however, I have not
found it appropriate to make a more detailed classification than the
three basic categories.

7. The pattern of transmitted place names in

four sets of data

7.1Skibotn and Kvenangsbotn – The Nord-Troms

material
The onomastic material used in Norwegian-speaking contexts in the
communities Skibotn and Kvenangsbotn was documented by myself in
1984–1985 (Pedersen 1988). Forty informants, monolinguals as well as
bi- and multilinguals born in the period 1894–1947, supplied me with
information through interviews. 7 The data from both places are here
merged into one. Out of 1,535 Norwegian place names, 830 (ca. 54%)
were transmitted into Norwegian from the Sami and/or Kven
languages. The three basic strategies of transmitted names were
represented by approximately one third of each category, but the
number of semantic transmissions was slightly higher than that of the
other two categories:

phonological transmissions: 260 / 31,3%

semantic transmissions: 303 / 36,5%
composite transmissions: 267 / 32,1% 8

What reasons could there be for preferring phonologic, semantic or

composite transmissions, respectively? There are several factors – both
linguistic and extra-linguistic 9 – that have influenced the
communities’ preference for phonological, semantic or composite
transmission. I will discuss these later on.

7.2 The Kaldfjorden material

The Kaldfjorden community (at least part of the population) was
bilingual in Sami and Norwegian some 100 years before I did my
fieldwork there in 1989–1990. Based on information from 15
informants, I was able to document more than 800 local place names
(Pedersen 1996). Out of these, very few names, approximately 20,
seemed to be of Sami origin, which is only ca. 2.5% of the material as
a whole. Thanks to Qvigstad’s work (Qvigstad 1925, 1935), where he
investigated the local Sami dialect and documented many local place
names in 1886–1887, I was able to carry out name-pair analyses of
100 name correspondences (Pedersen 1996).
What I found were seven name pairs, 11.4% 10 of the name
pairs with phonological correspondences between Norwegian and
Sami, and only two of these names were probably transferred into
Norwegian from Sami.
There were 14 phonological-semantic name correspondences,
23.7%, but only two names were most probably of Sami origin, one
was probably of Norwegian origin, and the linguistic origin of the other
names in this category was difficult to determine since they contained
personal names that occur in both Norwegian and Sami.
38 name pairs, 64.4%, could be classified as semantic
correspondences. It was not possible to determine the linguistic origin
of these names. 11
 Examples from the Kaldfjorden:
Phonological Sami Siŋkar 12 (obsolete) > Norw. Sinkaren
transmission: (Norw. Sinkar- unclear meaning, -en ‘definite

article, masculine, singular’)

Semantic Sami Goas’kem-njar’ga - Norw. Ørnneset (Sami

correspondence: goaskin 13 ‘eagle’, njárga ‘promontory,
headland’; Norw. ørn f. ‘eagle’, nes ‘promontory,
headland’)

Composite Sami Siei’de-gæđ’ge > Norw. Seisteinen (Sami

transmission: sieidi ‘rock or stone which has been an object of
worship’, -gæđ’ge Sami geađgi ‘stone’, The
Norw. phonologically adapted specific Sei-

coincides with the Norw. noun sei m. ‘pollock’,

Norw. stein m. ‘stone’.)

7.3 The Orkney material

In Orkney the Norn language became extinct in the 16th century, but
the language had then been used there for about 1000 years. Sandnes
(2003: 228) analysed 693 names of three parishes found in both
written (e.g. rentals) and oral sources. 37.5% of these names had
Norn origin, 48.3% had Scots origin, 12.9 uncertain linguistic
background and 0.9% might originate from places outside Orkney. The
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have not come all this way in order to become a priest-ridden tool for
the furtherance of pagan superstitions, and of course he is not
altogether pleased.”
“You certainly have the people at your command, old man, but the
priests, I should imagine, are treacherous.”
“And that arch-humbug, Ur-tasen, the most treacherous of the lot,”
replied Hugh, with a laugh. “Of course he hates me now, and having
found out that I simply will not dance to his piping, he will, no doubt,
take the first possible opportunity of effectively getting rid of me.”
“He dare not do that just at present.”
“Of course not. But these picturesque and excitable people are
only human after all. This enthusiasm is bound to cool down after a
bit, and then ’ware of traps and plots.”
“I cannot help thinking, Girlie,” I added, “that Princess Neit-akrit will
prove a source of great danger.”
“To what, old croaker?—to our heads or to our hearts?” he said,
with a laugh.
“I am inclined to think to both,” I replied earnestly. “Do you feel at
all impressionable just now?”
“I? Not the least bit in the world. Has not the dear little swimmer’s
talisman rendered me invulnerable? Besides, this land, fair as it is, is
neither my home nor my country. At present it is a great and
gorgeous prison, and I should not be such a fool as to court sorrow
and misery within it.”
“Do you know, old man, that if those are your sentiments your
attitude towards your future wife is doubtful in its morality?”
“You don’t understand what I mean, Mark. Marriage is a sacred tie,
whether contracted in Christian or in pagan land. My word is pledged
to Queen Maat-kha, and I will keep my word to her as much as I
should if I were pledged to a woman English-born like myself. And if
ever I return to dusty old London, even if she did not choose to
accompany me, I should still consider the tie which binds me to her
indissoluble, so long as she chooses to hold me to it. But, believe
me, she has no love for me; to her I merely represent the stranger—
human or semi-divine—who has helped to keep the crown upon her
head and prevented it from falling upon that of Neit-akrit, whom she
hates. The Pharaoh is doomed, and by the curious constitution of
this land a woman can only sit upon the throne of Kamt if a husband
or a son share that throne with her. That arbitrary old Ur-tasen would
not allow her to wed one of her own subjects; he was surprised into
accepting me. As soon as a son is born to her, she will release me
from my word and see me depart without a pang.”
“In the meanwhile, how are you going to induce the Pharaoh to
accept me as his medical adviser?”
“I don’t think it will be difficult, for I expect to-day he will be too ill to
have much will of his own. Do you know that somehow I have had
the feeling all along that neither Queen Maat-kha nor Ur-tasen want
the unfortunate man to get well. He is no friend of mine, but I hope to
goodness you can cure him, if only to annoy my arch-enemy, the
high priest.”
The difficult problem was unexpectedly and suddenly solved
when, just as the sun was setting, our usual gorgeous retinue came
to fetch us in order to escort us to the boats which were ready for the
journey. Gay-coloured sails, wrought in scarlet and blue designs,
were attached to the crafts, which were manned by sixteen boatmen
in scarlet leather skull-caps, collars and belts, their naked bodies
shining with some perfumed ointment with which they were smeared.
In the centre of each boat a pavilion was erected, with turquoise
blue and green awnings, the gigantic double crown of Kamt glittering
aloft at prow and poop. Queen Maat-kha, swathed in the clinging
folds of her black kalasiris, wore the royal uræus round her dark hair,
which was thickly plaited with strings of emeralds and half hidden
beneath a veil of dull blue and purple stripes. She looked very
beautiful, though strangely excited and pale. As soon as she saw us
she whispered for a while eagerly to Hugh, then she came up to me
and said:
“Will my lord’s counsellor deign to step into the mighty Pharaoh’s
boat? He himself will be here anon.”
“Is the Pharaoh well enough to travel?” I asked, astonished.
“He has expressed the wish to see his royal kinswoman; and, as
my lord desired, I have ordered that thou, oh, wise counsellor,
shouldst be beside the mighty Pharaoh, to be a help to him in his
sickness.”
 Hugh had triumphed; evidently the Queen, like Ur-tasen, had
thought it best to obey the beloved of the gods, who had the whole of
the population of Kamt grovelling at his feet. The Pharaoh himself, I
think, felt too ill to care whether my insignificant self or his shaven,
yellow-robed attendants sat opposite to him under the awning. He
looked more cadaverous than ever amidst his rose silk cushions as
he was brought in his litter to the water’s edge and lifted into the
boat. He gave me an astonished look as I arranged his pillows more
comfortably for him, and without a word took the heavy diadem from
off his aching forehead and placed it by his side. He seemed like an
automaton this morning and took no notice of anybody or anything
round him. Complete apathy and drowsiness had succeeded his
outburst of fury of the night before; even when he saw Hugh coming
down the steps, looking positively regal in his mantle of shimmering
green and gold, he turned his eyes listlessly away. On the alabaster
steps the tiny musicians were playing upon harps and drums, while
on the opposite shore the people had assembled in dense masses to
watch the departure. Young athletes, among whom were many of the
fair sex, had dived into the water, and were swimming about round
the royal boats, peeping with bright, inquisitive eyes beneath the
canopy, to catch sight of the beloved of the gods. I remembered our
pretty visitor of last night and wondered what Hugh had done with
the iridescent beetle which was supposed to keep him from harm.
Then, as the sun disappeared behind the hills in the west, slowly at
first the boatmen dipped their scarlet oars into the water to the
accompaniment of a low, monotonous barcarolle, and gracefully the
crescent-shaped boats glided down the stream, while a prolonged
cry of farewell came from thousands of enthusiastic throats. Soon
the wind swelled the sails, the boatmen plied their oars more
vigorously, and the city of Men-ne-fer, with its rose-tinted palaces
catching the last lingering rays of the setting sun, passed away
before our eyes like a gigantic and gorgeous panorama.
It was long before the sound of sistrum and harp died away in the
distance, long before the shouts of farewell ceased to echo from
afar. One by one the sturdy swimmers dropped behind and returned
to the city. I had given the Pharaoh a soothing draught, which, to my
astonishment, he had taken obediently, and he was lying back
against the pillows, with the gentle breeze fanning the matted hair on
his forehead.
The city was soon far behind us; great fields stretched out on
either side of the canal, covered with waving crops of barley and
wheat, with groves of palms and fruit trees, and bowers of lilies,
fuchsias and clematis. From time to time in the distance I caught
sight of teams of white oxen walking leisurely homewards after the
day’s work was done; beside them the brown chest and back of a
sturdy labourer of Kamt seemed to glisten in the evening light. Then
at times, half-hidden among groves of palms and giant aloes, there
peeped out the white or rose-tinted walls of some country mansion,
or towering above the water there would rise, majestic and
gorgeous, a temple dedicated to some protecting deity. As the royal
procession sailed along the stream, from between the pillars would
emerge a band of priests in flowing robes of white or yellow, and
behind them a group of priestesses would intone a hymn as we
passed.
I felt strangely anxious and excited, my mind dwelling persistently
on the mysterious and poetic personality of the young princess, who
seemed to create such unreasoning love in all male hearts of Kamt,
and who had chosen this hour of night—mystic, poetic as she was
herself—in which to receive him for the first time—him whose advent
had deprived her of her throne.
The canal had considerably widened, and presently we drifted into
a large inland lake. Night had entirely closed in, and I could not see
the shore on either side, only the lights high aloft on the prow of the
boats threw fantastic glints in the water. All was peaceful and silent,
save for the rhythmic clap of the oars as they rose and fell in the
water and the flapping of the sails in the breeze. Then gradually from
the horizon in the west a blue radiance illumined the sky, and slow
and majestic the silver moon rose above the fairy-like landscape;
and as she rose the boatmen began to intone the hymn of greeting
to rising Isis. Softly at first, and hardly discernible above the sighing
of the reeds and papyrus grass in the wind, the chant rose louder
and louder, as the silver disc appeared above the line of hills.
The Pharaoh had roused himself from his sleep, and impatiently
he pushed aside the curtain which hid the distance from his view. I,
too, looked out towards the west and saw that we were rapidly
nearing an island, which rose like a veritable bower of flowers and
palms from the middle of the lake, and the outline of which gradually
detached itself from out the gloom. Then suddenly, in response to
the chant of the boatmen, there came faintly echoing from that fairy
island a flourish of silver trumpets.
The Pharaoh’s face looked terribly set and hard; his dark eyes,
framed by purple rings, appeared literally to glow as they gazed
incessantly afar.
“It is there!” he whispered.
Before us, above a gigantic flight of marble steps rising straight
from out the water, there towered a massive building, its heavy
pillars, covered in delicate sculpture, supporting the ponderous flat
roof, which seemed to my strangely excited fancy to be made of
massive gold. At the foot of the steps two mammoth sphinxes of
white granite, mysterious and immense, frowned majestically across
the lake.
As we approached, once again the silver trumpets sent a flourish
through the evening air, and then I saw that the terraces high above
us, the palm groves, and even the massive roof, were densely
covered with people, while the whole gigantic flight of steps was
lined with rows of slaves, dark and immovable as statues.
The Pharaoh’s boat had scraped its side against the marble; his
attendants had jumped out ready to help him to alight. But he
pushed them almost brutally aside and stepped on shore, leaning
heavily on my shoulder. He was trembling from head to foot, and I
could see great beads of perspiration glistening on his forehead. I
could not help feeling vaguely nervous too. This arrival by moonlight,
the poetic fairy palace, the trembling man by my side, all helped to
make my nerves tingle with the presentiment of something strange to
come.
A song of welcome had greeted the arrival of the Pharaoh, and
from above a shower of lilies and iris fell like a sweet-scented carpet
at his feet. He looked round to where Queen Maat-kha had just
alighted, closely followed by Hugh; then I saw his trembling hand
wander to the short metal dagger at his side and clutch it with a
nervous grip, while a hissing sound escaped his throat. But the next
moment he had looked upwards, and quietly he began to mount the
marble steps.
At sight of the beloved of the gods a terrific shout of welcome had
rent the air, and, as I looked behind me for a moment, I could see
that the whole length of the marble steps was—according to the
strange custom of this land—literally carpeted with the bodies of
young girls, eager that his foot should tread upon them. They
crowded round him, kissing the tips of his sandals or the corner of
his mantle, the more venturesome ones touching his foot or hand as
he walked with Queen Maat-kha by his side.
Then suddenly from above a strong and flickering light, from a
hundred torches borne high aloft, changed the night into day. There
was a moment of silence and expectancy, and then she came.
It would be an impossible task for me to attempt to put into words
my first impression of Princess Neit-akrit, as she stood there on the
edge of the marble terrace with a background of shadows behind
her, the flickering light of the torches and the blue rays of the moon
alternately playing upon the vivid gold of her hair.
Very tall and slender, almost a child, she embodied in her graceful
person the highest conceived ideal of a queen.
She wore the quaint and picturesque garb of the country with
unequalled grace. The great and heavy plaits of her hair hung on
each side of her face down to her knees. The clinging folds of her
straight and transparent kalasiris moulded every line of her figure; it
was pure white and was held up over the shoulders by two silvery
bands. It seemed to cling closely round her ankles and to slightly
impede her movements, for she walked slowly and with halting
steps. On her tiny feet she wore a pair of pointed sandals. In
absolute contrast to Queen Maat-kha she had not a single jewel. Her
arms, neck and bust were bare; on her head there was no diadem
save that of her ardent hair, and in her hand she held the fitting
sceptre to her kingdom of youth and beauty—a tall snow-white lily.
Beside her there walked proudly a beautiful white panther, who
fawned round her tiny hand and playfully rubbed himself against her
knees.
She came close up to the Pharaoh, who seemed hardly able to
stand, and held up her young face to his for the customary cousinly
kiss. It was then that I saw how intensely blue were her eyes, and
how deep the gold of her hair.
The next moment her voice, sweet and low, murmured, as Hugh
reached the top of the steps:
“Welcome, oh, son of Ra! the beloved of Osiris, to the humble
abode of thy kinswoman.”
And she, too, like her slaves, knelt down to kiss the hem of Hugh
Tankerville’s garment.
“Then wilt thou not greet me as thy kinsman, princess?” he said as
he raised her to her feet and waited for the cousinly kiss.
She stood before him and looked at him for fully ten seconds,
while I could see that he was watching her with undisguised
astonishment and admiration: then, resting her little hand very firmly
on the head of her white panther, she said:
“If it is thy wish, oh, messenger of Ra.”
Fortunately I had a very tight hold of the mighty Pharaoh at that
moment, for I doubt not that but for this and his own physical
weakness, he would have made Hugh atone then and there for that
cousinly kiss. His hand had once again clutched the dagger at his
belt, and with a hoarse cry, like some wounded beast at bay, had
tried to jump forward, but fell back panting in my arms.
Princess Neit-akrit had turned quietly to him.
“My kinsman is very sick. The journey must have been too
fatiguing. Art thou his physician, oh, stranger?” she asked of me.
“I am deputed to alleviate the mighty Pharaoh’s sufferings,” I
replied.
“Dost think thou wilt succeed?” she asked, looking at me with
great wondering blue eyes.
“I can cure, I hope, the ailments of his body,” I replied with a smile.
“Then I will kiss thee, too,” she said, with a merry girlish laugh, “for
if thou restore my kinsman to health, thou wilt become very dear to
me.”
And I was given the top of a beautiful, smooth, young forehead to
kiss—and I, prosy old Mark Emmett, was satisfied.
 CHAPTER XVI.
DIVINELY FAIR

I had failed to notice, in my anxiety for the Pharaoh, how the two
royal ladies had greeted one another; but now, at the gorgeous
banquet with which our young hostess made us welcome in her
palace, I saw that the Princess sat beside the Queen, and that she
had commanded her torch-bearers to stand close behind her, so as
to throw a flood of light upon herself and her royal guest. The two
women were a strange contrast—both beautiful beyond the average:
one in all the pomp and magnificence of her regal attire, and the
voluptuous charm of her mature beauty; the other in something white
and clinging, with no crown save that of her ardent hair, no ornament
save that of her own youth.
On luxurious couches, covered with white and silver hangings, we
all reclined round the table, on which were spread the most
wonderful and aromatic delicacies this lavish land could produce:
peacocks’ tongues and eggs of rare birds, petals of roses and lilies
cooked in honey, and great crystal goblets filled with the rich wine of
the soil—both red and white. All the while sweet little musicians
crouched in various corners beside their tall crescent-shaped harps
and sang us sweet songs while we supped, and pretty waitresses
tempted us with dainty morsels.
The beautiful white panther lay at the feet of Neit-akrit, and she fed
him with dates and figs, which she held for him between her teeth.
The powerful creature would take the fruit from her lips as gently as
a bird. Hugh and I sat opposite to her. It was impossible not to
admire the beautiful girl before us, the most exquisite product of this
lovely, exotic land. There was a magnetic charm about every one of
her movements which recalled those of the panther beside her. After
the first five minutes she had wrought hideous havoc in my dull old
heart, and I was suddenly assailed with the wild temptation to make
an egregious ass of myself. I was quite annoyed with Hugh that he
did not seem very enthusiastic about her: he was surveying her as
critically as he would have viewed a newly-unearthed mummy.
“Isn’t she lovely, Girlie?” I contrived to whisper once during the
banquet.
He did not reply, but with an inward smile, which made his eyes
twinkle with merriment, he quietly slipped his hand beneath his cloak
and drew out a tiny box which he handed over to me. It contained
the iridescent scarabæus, of which the little midnight swimmer had
said that it would prove a subtle charm against Neit-akrit’s beauty.
“Don’t you want it?” I whispered again, astonished.
He shook his head, still smiling, and at that moment I looked up
and saw Neit-akrit’s eyes, more blue and iridescent than the beetle’s
wings, gazing across at Hugh with a strange, inquiring expression.
“What a beautiful jewel!” she said. Then, with the gesture of a
spoilt child, “Wilt thou let me look at it?”
“Nay, Princess, it is no jewel,” said Hugh, hiding the box again
under his mantle, “and thou must forgive if I cannot allow even thy
dainty fingers to touch it. It is a charm and its subtle virtue might
vanish.”
“A charm? Against what?”
“Against many serious evils and many grievous sins.”
“I do not understand.”
“I brought it with me from the foot of the throne of Ra, where a
poor wandering soul, who had sinned deeply and suffered much,
gave it to me when he knew that I was about to dwell among the
fairest of the daughters of Kamt, so that it might preserve me from
the same sin and the same suffering.”
“But wilt thou not tell me what those sins and those sufferings
are?”
“Nay! thou art too young to understand, but I will tell thee the name
of the wandering soul who gave me the blue charm. He was a
sculptor, far famed in ancient Kamt, and his name was Amen-het.”
I gave Hugh a violent nudge, for I felt very much annoyed with
him. To put it mildly, it was a singular want of good manners to rake
up the terribly sad story of Amen-het, the sculptor, while partaking of
the Princess’s lavish hospitality. Amen-het had undoubtedly been a
fool, and was punished for his folly according to the barbarous law of
this beautiful country; but since time immemorial men have
committed follies of the worst kind for women far less attractive and
fascinating than was the Princess Neit-akrit.
To begin with, she was very young; she may, in a moment of
thoughtlessness, have expressed a vague wish to possess some
lamps similar in design to those which burned in the sanctuary of Ra.
The sculptor, like a fool, took her at her word and went there, where
all the people of Kamt are strictly forbidden to go, within the inner
sanctuary of the temple. Surely she could not be blamed for his folly,
and no doubt she had suffered horribly when…
But at this point my brief reflections were interrupted by Princess
Neit-akrit’s voice, truly the most melodious sound I had ever heard.
“How strange,” she was saying, while her blue eyes gazed as
innocently as before, as unconcernedly across at Hugh. “I knew a
sculptor once whose name was Amen-het, but he offended the gods
by his presumption, and I know not what punishment they meted out
to him. Perhaps it was his soul which thou didst meet before the
judgment-seat of Osiris, oh, thou who sittest at the foot of His
throne!”
“Perhaps it was. In that case the blue charm will save me from
Amen-het’s presumption, and from the punishment meted out to him
by the gods—for that was terrible!”
“Poor Amen-het,” she said sweetly, “I spoke to him once or twice.
He was a clever sculptor.”
“But was too presumptuous, as thou sayest,” said Hugh, who
seemed suddenly to have grown irritable. “I saw him before he was
quite ready to stand before Osiris. His flesh had withered on his
bones, his voice was choked within his throat, burning hunger and
thirst had made a beast of him, and the carrion had begun to gnaw
his living flesh.”
“Poor Amen-het,” she repeated, and she selected a large juicy
date from the dish, and, holding it between her tiny sharp teeth, she
called to her white panther, and the graceful, feline creature, as quiet
as a kitten, took the ripe fruit from between her dainty lips.
I could see that Hugh was strangely irritated. He remained silent
during the rest of the feast, in spite of the fact that the Queen made
every effort to rouse him from his silence. As usual, the Pharaoh
reclined, surly and silent, on his couch, which had been covered with
a cloth of gold; obedient to my suggestion, he was taking only milk
and left all the delicious fruit untasted. He avoided looking at the
Princess or at Hugh; only when the story of Amen-het had been
recounted, he laughed satirically to himself.
Long after every one had retired and the fairy palace was wrapped
in sleep, Hugh and I wandered beneath the gigantic overhanging
fuchsia trees. It was a beautiful night and we were both singularly
wakeful. The lake lay peaceful in the moonlight and, descending the
great steps to the foot of the sphinxes, we found a small boat
moored close to our hand. Though the crescent-shaped little crafts
are very difficult to manage at first, we enjoyed a row all round the
beautiful island, which seemed like the enchanted domain of a fairy
princess. Beneath the trees large white peacocks slept, their tails
shimmering like streams of diamonds, while in the branches myriads
of birds had built their nests. We disturbed a troop of white gazelles
from their sleep in the tall grass and a family of marmosets in the
branches of the doum; golden tench and carp swam all round our
boat, not the least frightened at the clap of the oars, and opening
their mouths for a crumb.
We did not speak much, and then only about the beautiful dumb
objects round us. I must confess that a strange love for this
picturesque land was beginning to entwine itself round my heart, and
as our boat glided so peacefully between the large clumps of lotus
and water-lilies, I liked to feel that all this beauty, this peace, this
poetry was truly my own. Busy Europe, with its politics, its
squabbles, its socialism, its trades-unions and workingmen’s clubs,
seemed altogether another world now, different and unreal; even the
old Chestnuts was becoming a dream, beside the glorious visions of
marble terraces and alabaster halls which had become so real.
For once in my life I was not in complete harmony with Hugh. I
wanted to talk of our journey, our poetic arrival, of our fair young
hostess, with her large innocent eyes and her pet white panther; but
he seemed moody, and I felt that my enthusiasm for beautiful Neit-
akrit would not find an echo in his heart.
The first streak of dawn was visible in the east when we reached
the palace steps again, tired yet refreshed with the midnight trip on
the lake.
Our sandals made no noise on the white marble steps, and we
kept in the shadow of the parapet, for we had no wish to be mistaken
for midnight prowlers and rouse the slaves who guarded the palace.
All the lights had been put out, only the gilt roof glittered beneath
the sinking rays of the moon. We skirted the palace, for the rooms
which had been assigned to us opened out on to the broad terrace
overlooking a garden of white roses. We were about to cross the
garden, when suddenly Hugh put a hand on my arm and pointed to
the terrace. Between the pillars which formed the entrance to our
bedroom a figure stood holding back the heavy curtain. We could
only see the graceful outline, clear and sharp against the bright light
which burned within.
“Who is it?” I whispered.
“The Princess,” replied Hugh, as the figure detached itself from the
gateway and glided slowly and cautiously across the terrace in the
ghostlike, roseate light of dawn.
It was indeed the Princess Neit-akrit, alone and unattended; she
had wrapped a veil close round her figure, but her head was bare,
and the colour of her hair was unmistakable.
She came straight towards us and presently caught sight of us
both. She stopped, looking round her as if she wished to flee, then
she put a finger to her mouth and came up quite close to Hugh.
“Hush!” she whispered. “Dost wonder, I know, to see me here
alone at this hour, without even Sen-tur by my side. And yet I came
because I wished to speak to thee alone.”
“Thou dost indeed honour me,” said Hugh, quietly, while I made a
discreet movement to retire.
“Tell thy counsellor he need not go,” she said. “I know that thou
and he are one, and I am not ashamed of that which I would say.”
“Wilt go within then, Princess? The morning is cold.”
“Nay! what I would say will not take long; yet I could not sleep till I
had told it thee. The night seemed oppressive. I wandered into the
garden, and Isis led my steps to thy church. I thought thou wast
asleep, and that I would sit beside thee, not waking thee, yet telling
thee of this thing which lies so heavy on my heart. I thought to
whisper it gently lest thou wake, to murmur it so that thou, half
dreaming, shouldst hear my voice, and hearing it, dream on.”
She certainly had that indefinable charm—an exquisite voice—and
both Hugh and I listened to her strange words, charmed by its sweet-
sounding melody.
“Nay, Princess,” said Hugh, as she had paused; “sweet as the
dream would have been then, I much prefer the reality, and as long
as thou wilt speak I will listen.”
“I came to tell thee… that…”
There was a little catch in her throat, but she tried to conquer her
emotion and put out both her hands in a pretty, almost childlike
appeal.
“Ah, I know! some one has told thee evil of me, and I longed to
speak to thee… about… about Amen-het.… They told thee that I am
vain and cruel… but… but… wilt believe me if I say… that I am beset
with calumnies… and…”
Hugh came a little closer and took one of her tiny, trembling hands
in his, and there was no doubt that in his voice, too, there was a
slight catch.
“Sweet Princess,” he said gently, “believe me when I say that I
have heard no calumny about thee which thy presence hath not by
now dispelled.”
She turned her face fully up to his and asked:
“Dost truly mean what thou sayest?”
“I swear it,” he said earnestly.
“Nay! I will believe thee, for thou art great and good. I will believe
thee if thou wilt look straight into mine eyes and if thou wilt kiss me
between the brows, in token that thou art my friend.”
She raised herself on tiptoe, for Hugh Tankerville is very tall, and
British, and stiff-backed. There was a curious, half-dazed look in his
eyes as he looked down at the sweet face turned up to his. The veil
had slipped down from her shoulders. The quaint Egyptian kalasiris,
half transparent and clinging, gave her young figure the appearance
of one of those precious idols which are preserved in European
museums. A perfume of lotus blossom seemed to emanate from her,
and about her whole being there was an exquisite savour of poetry
and mysticism, mingled with truly human, charming womanhood.
 For that brief moment I felt wildly, madly, stupidly jealous, and at
the same time enraged with Hugh, who seemed to me so cold and
impassive, when I would have given… well!… a great deal to stand
in his place. At last he bent his tall six feet two inches and gave the
kiss as she had begged.
The next instant she was gone and I had dragged Hugh away into
our own room. A penetrating scent of lotus blossoms seemed
entirely to fill it, and as we raised a lamp over our heads we saw that
Hugh’s couch was one vast bower of the sweet blooms, covering
pillow and coverlet; but from the table where he had put it before we
strolled out earlier in the evening, the iridescent scarabæus, which
was to guard him against the magic of Neit-akrit’s beauty, had
disappeared.
 CHAPTER XVII.
DANGER

All through my stay in the beautiful land of Kamt I never found that
its balmy, fragrant air acted as a soporific, and it became really
wonderful with how little sleep we both contrived to keep up our
health. That night, or rather morning, after our quaint little adventure,
I hardly managed to close an eye, and I am sure that Hugh, who had
as usual a room opening out of mine, was as restless as myself. I
found the scent of the lotus oppressive and penetrating, and the
memories it brought back to me very disturbing and harassing.
The sun was high in the heavens when I at last contrived to snatch
a brief hour’s sleep, and when I woke it was to find that Hugh had
stolen a march on me, and had already gone out. The morning
looked perfect, and after my delicious bath I felt thoroughly rested
and at peace with this picturesque world and its fascinating women.
It was one of those mornings when a book and a cigar on a
verandah facing the sea would have been perfect bliss in the dear
old country. But on this beautiful morning in Kamt, the scent of
flowers, the songs of birds, the exotic beauty of the land gave mind
and body so much to enjoy that not even the cigar and the book
were much missed.
I tried to pick my way through the labyrinth of alleys and walks to
the terrace that faced the lake, and just as I stepped on to it I saw
Hugh and Princess Neit-akrit there together.
She looked more lovely, I thought, by day than even she had been
by moonlight. She was lying under a canopy of turquoise blue silk
which vied in colour and brilliancy with the sky above it. Beneath it
her hair looked like living copper, and her skin white and polished
like the alabaster. Her beautiful panther lay at her feet, and Hugh
stood on the steps which led up to the throne-like couch on which
she reclined. Neither of them saw me, and I stood for a while looking
at the dainty picture.
 “I have oft wondered,” she was saying, “what lies beyond those
hills. Ur-tasen says that there is naught but the valley of death,
where foot of man ne’er treads, but where carrion beasts prowl at
night, and vultures fly screeching overhead. When he talks like that
my flesh creeps with horror, and for days I cannot bear to look upon
those hills; then, a lovely morning comes like to-day, Osiris emerges
in his golden barge more radiant than ever from out that valley of
death, and then all day I long to follow him in his course and
disappear with him behind the hills in Ma-nu, so that I might see the
glories that lie beyond.”
I was debating with myself whether I should discreetly retire or
interrupt this tête-à-tête, which my reason suggested was dangerous
somehow to my friend.
“Thou who comest from the foot of the throne of Osiris,” she
resumed, turning eagerly towards Hugh, “thou must know whither he
wanders every night, whilst Isis his bride reigneth in the heavens.
Wilt tell me what lies beyond the hills of Kamt?”
“Ur-tasen has told thee: the valley of death; the desert wilderness,
where no man can live, no bird sing, nor flower blossom.”
“Ay! But beyond that?”
“Beyond it?”
“Yes! after death surely must come life again; after the darkness,
light; after desolation, joy unspeakable. Oh! thou canst not know,”
she added, stretching out her arms longingly towards the distant
horizon, “how I long to break the hideous fetters that bind me, and
when Osiris shines so brightly, the flowers smell so sweet, and the
birds’ chorus of harmony fills the air, how I hate then the splendours
of my palace, the marble halls and temples of Kamt, the very sight of
the people almost worshipping at my feet, and long to run up those
inaccessible hills and see what lies far away beyond this land,
beyond the valley of death, beyond the pillars that support the vault
of heaven. Wilt thou not tell me,” she pleaded, “or, better still, wilt
take me there one night when Kamt is wrapped in sleep?”
Hugh looked almost wildly down at her, and then round him with
that curious dazed expression which had puzzled me already last
night. Then he caught sight of me and seemed relieved, for he said
very quietly:
 “Nay, Princess, it is not for me to teach thee the secrets of this
earth. But here comes my counsellor; he is wise, and if thou wilt he
will tell thee all about Osiris and the vault of heaven, and even of the
land which lies beyond the gates of Kamt.”
She turned to me with a sweet smile, but I thought that there was
a shade of disappointment in her eyes.
“It is always a joy to speak to the learned counsellor,” she said
evasively, “and soon, when he has leisure, when the holy Pharaoh is
cured of his ailments, he will no doubt teach me much which I do not
know; and in the meanwhile I will go roaming with Sen-tur, and
perhaps if I sit on his back he will carry me there, where foot of man
doth not tread.”
She began playing with the panther, who seemed much disinclined
for a game, and made sundry attempts at keeping his comfortable
lazy position at her feet. But his mistress suddenly seemed in a
teasing mood, for she tore a branch of roses from a great bush
which stood in a vase close beside her and began to playfully prick
with it the kingly Sen-tur on the nose.
Soon his majesty’s temper was up, and lazily at first, then more
and more viciously, he made great dabs at the branch and then at
Neit-akrit’s hand with his ponderous paw.
“A dangerous game surely, Princess,” said Hugh, after a while.
“Sen-tur might lose control over his temper and might do thee an
injury.”
“An injury? Sen-tur?” she said, with a laugh. “Thou speakest in
jest, or thou dost not know Sen-tur. At a word from me he becomes
as furious as the maddest bull in Kamt, and his roar is like the
thunder, and at a whisper from me he will again be as quiet as a
lamb. But never would Sen-tur’s wrath turn against his mistress.”
“Thou holdest him in bondage,” I said, with a somewhat clumsy
attempt at gallantry, “as thou dost all men, high and low. Sen-tur is
favoured indeed.”
“Sen-tur loves me, and I love Sen-tur,” she said drily; “he is the
most precious treasure I possess, for he is wholly mine, and he has
no cares, no affections, no thought save for me. He is dearer to me
than the kingdom of Kamt.”
 “It is a merciful decree of Ra, then,” said Hugh, with a smile, “that
he sent me to take the kingdom of Kamt from thee and not Sen-tur.”
“Believe me,” she rejoined, looking steadfastly at him, “that all-
powerful Ra showed his love for Neit-akrit the day that he decreed
that the double crown of Kamt should never sit upon her brow.”
Somehow, in spite of this earnest assurance, I did not think that
she was sincere, and I did not altogether understand the look which
she gave to Hugh as she spoke. She certainly began to tease Sen-
tur more viciously than ever, till the great creature fairly roared and
foamed at the mouth.
Suddenly we heard the sound of trumpets and of drums, and from
beneath the terrace we heard the usual cry which always preceded
the arrival of an important messenger.
“Make way for the messenger of the city of Net-amen, and of
Hesh-ka, its governor!”
“What does he want?” asked the Princess, with a frown, as half a
dozen slaves and a group of attendants began to emerge from
everywhere, and stood waiting to receive the emissary of the great
city, with the full complement of honours prescribed by the
complicated ceremonial of this country.
A young Egyptian, dark and good-looking, had come forward, and
after kissing the ground before Princess Neit-akrit, had turned
straightway to Hugh.
“To the beloved of the gods, to the son of Ra, do I bring greeting
from the city of Net-amen.”
There was absolutely no doubt in my mind at this moment that the
fair Neit-akrit frowned very darkly: the red of her lips almost
disappeared, so tightly were they set, and poor Sen-tur received an
ugly blow with the prickly branch right upon his nose.
“Greeting, oh, well-beloved,” resumed the messenger. “The
council of the city of Net-amen, and Hesh-ka, our noble governor,
desire to lay their homage at thy feet. To-morrow, if thou wilt deign to
set thy foot within its gates, one hundred thousand inhabitants will
line its streets to bid thee welcome. The maids of Net-amen will draw
thy barge along the canal; the youths and athletes will fight as to who
shall be the first to kiss the sole of thy sandals, and the city awaits
thee with gifts of incense, gold and lapis-lazuli, for they will greet in
thee the coming ruler of Kamt, the well-beloved whose presence has
blessed the land.”
He began a long account of wonderful festivals and sacrifices
which the important city was organising for the entertainment of the
proposed guest. Hugh was barely listening to the messenger’s
words; he, as well as I, was watching, fascinated, yet horrified,
Princess Neit-akrit’s more and more dangerous game with her
panther. She seemed to take a cruel delight now in pricking the
beast with the thorn, for great drops of blood appeared on the snowy
whiteness of his fur; and yet Sen-tur, apparently beside himself with
rage, made no attempt to retaliate. I felt terribly helpless in case she
did pursue her dangerous game too far, for I had no weapon about
me, but looking up at Hugh I saw that underneath his cloak he was
clutching his knife, ready to use it if emergency required.
The emissary had evidently finished his message, for now he knelt
down with his head on the ground and said:
“Wilt deign to allow thy slave, oh, beloved of the gods, to touch
with his lips the sole of thy foot?”
At this moment I heard a short, sharp cry from Princess Neit-akrit,
and a roar more ominous than before: the next there was a bound
and an agonised shriek which froze the blood in my veins. Sen-tur,
goaded to madness at last by the merciless teasing, had turned and
sprung upon the unfortunate messenger who was nearest to him,
and before I or anyone else present had realised the full horror of the
situation, the powerful beast was rolling the wretched man
underneath him on the floor. I thought he was doomed, although
after the first second of surprise Hugh and I had sprung to his
rescue. But before we could reach the group where the powerful
beast was, with mighty jaws, tearing bits of flesh from the shoulders
and thighs of his victim, Neit-akrit was already by Sen-tur’s side.
With utmost calm she placed her tiny hand upon his collar, and
said, in a quiet, gentle voice:
“Sen-tur! Sen-tur! come!”
And, unresisting, suddenly as gentle as a kitten, with great jaws
still covered in blood which he was licking with a smothered growl,
the powerful creature allowed her to lead him away; and when she
once more took her seat beneath the turquoise blue canopy, he lay
down with a final snarl at her feet.
I was hastily examining the arms, shoulders and thighs of the
injured man. They were terribly lacerated by the monstrous teeth of
the brute, and I whispered to Hugh that I thought in one instance
amputation would be necessary.
I had never seen so dark a scowl on Hugh Tankerville’s face as I
did then; he looked positively evil, and I was quite sorry for the poor
little girl who, to my mind, was after all only guilty of thoughtlessness.
Two shorn, yellow-robed medicoes had sprung up from somewhere:
I directed them how to bandage the wounds, and ordered my patient
to be removed to an airy room, where I could presently attend to him.
General gloom seemed to have settled on all those present; Neit-
akrit was stroking Sen-tur’s head with a defiant look at Hugh.
“Wilt allow me to speak to thee alone?” he said abruptly.
To my astonishment she immediately ordered her slaves and
attendants away, and when they had gone she said quite humbly:
“I know what thou wouldst say. Do not chide me; I could not bear
it. I… I…” and great tears gathered in her eyes.
Then with sudden impulse, from out the folds of her dress she
drew a short dagger and held it towards Hugh.
“Do thou do it,” she said, while great sobs choked her throat. “I
know that that is what thou wouldst say. Sen-tur has sinned. Sen-tur
must die! for perhaps now he might sin again. But I could not kill
Sen-tur, for he trusts me, and he would not expect a blow from me.”
She was holding the dagger out towards Hugh, while he looked at
her, astonished, as I was, by the quick and varying moods of this
strange and fascinating girl.
“Do it quickly,” she said, “lest I repent; for, believe me, it is not of
my own free will that I have asked thee to kill Sen-tur. I would sooner
see him kill every one of my slaves,” she added naïvely, “than that
harm should come to him.”
Then, as Hugh would not take the dagger from her, she placed it
quietly at his feet, then threw her arms passionately round the
panther’s neck, while great tears fell from her eyes onto his fur.
“Farewell, Sen-tur, my beauty, my loved one,” she whispered. “I
know that thou art not afraid to die, for thou, like Neit-akrit, dost long