Damnatio memoriae is a modern Latin phrase meaning "condemnation of memory", indicating that a person is to be excluded from official accounts. Depending on the extent, it can be a case of historical negationism. There are and have been many routes to damnatio memoriae, including the destruction of depictions, the removal of names from inscriptions and documents, and even large-scale rewritings of history. [Wikipedia]
Lawrence of Arabia trailer
This week’s post is loosely based on an old Guardian article about a missing Caravaggio, in which it is alleged that a painting by the artist may have suffered condemnation of memory after he fled Rome to avoid the consequences of fighting an illegal duel and killing an unsavory character; the record isn’t clear whether the fight was a formal duel or a more rough-and-tumble street brawl.
There are various characters in the extended Mythos who probably suffered damnatio memoriae of one kind or another. Nephren-Ka, the Black Pharaoh, is one such, as is Queen Nitocris, who appears in the fiction and also in the RPG campaign Masks of Nyarlathotep.
Nitocris is loosely based on a historical figure who definitely suffered condemnation of memory - always assuming she existed at all. We know about her only because Herodotus recorded a small part of her biography in his own histories, but Herodotus is, at best, an unreliable source. Who knows what Nitocris actually got up to?
But if a memory is only partly expunged - if some small remnant remains to be discovered somewhere, in a forgotten corner of the world - then presumably someone who was condemned can be rediscovered. Potentially with catastrophic results, where the Mythos is concerned.
Let’s suppose that memory has memetic qualities. That by evoking a memory, long buried, you risk awakening something hideous. What might happen as a result?
The Job Lot
Your Hounds recently bought a number of minor items at auction in a job lot. A cheap acquisition, mostly for the binding or to cut up the illustrations from some of the books and sell them as framed prints. Among the items in the box is a small collection of rubbings that some unnamed and unknown person took while they were in Egypt. At least, they look convincing enough to be the real thing.
There’s no way of knowing where exactly the originals are; the rubbings have an Egyptian style about them, and there are some dates in pencil which suggest that whoever it may have been was in Egypt at the same time as T.E. Lawrence, ie. Lawrence of Arabia, which might inspire the shop forger to fake up a few letters of provenance. It has all the makings of a small windfall.
If nothing else, the rubbings look rather nice in a good frame, and lend an air of mystery and antiquity to the shop. All well and good,
If anyone bothers to find out what the hieroglyphs actually mean, they discover (1 point Archaeology or 2 points History/Occult) that they have to do with the mysterious Queen Nitocris. They are a part-description of an event that took place in her reign, something to do with a dinner party at which a tragedy occurred, but much of the narrative is missing. There is a reference to a mysterious deity whose ‘name is secret like his deeds’ (with thanks to Lord Dunsany's play on the subject for the wording) and who exacts some kind of terrible vengeance, but there’s not enough here to work out exactly what happened, or where.
Anyone who discovers that the rubbings refer to Nitocris also know, without needing a further spend, that she is someone who suffered condemnation of memory. All reference to her and her reign was removed from the official record. The only reference to her is from Herodotus, and that meandering Greek raconteur’s histories are, at best, unreliable. An actual, provable, Egyptian reference to her would be an amazing find if there was anything that could authenticate it.
The Awful Truth
The rubbings were taken by a German archaeologist at a dig site in Egypt. Archaeologist Leo Eichmann discovered a tomb there filled with grave goods but was unable to retrieve any of it, or even remember where it was, after suffering a crippling fever that left him a burnt-out shell of his former self. He sent the rubbings, his notes, and some other items back to Heidelberg, and after the Great War these items were stolen from the university’s collection. Nobody knows who stole them or what happened to them after that, and of the items sent to Heidelberg by the unfortunate Eichmann only the rubbings survive.
Lawrence did know who Eichmann was and has referred to him in some of his letters to (and still held by) the British Museum; for that matter at the time of the average Bookhounds game Lawrence is probably still alive and can be used as a resource. Given the nature of the average game, even if he's dead he can still be used as a resource ...
The rubbings have a peculiar property. They recreate themselves, over time.
At first, it’s like a shadow on your consciousness. The symbols float before your eyes. Then they physically recreate themselves on the walls, and as they do so the missing parts begin to be filled in. The hideous nature of Nitocris’ vengeance becomes plain, and the identity of that deity whose name is secret like his deeds becomes all too apparent: Nyarlathotep.
In fact, one or more people who study the hieroglyphs become obsessed by them. These might be shop employees or customers, or both. They want to recreate them again and again, adding to them, extending them. This manifests first as the aforementioned shadow, but over time they become obsessed with the idea of drawing more hieroglyphs, on the walls, bookshelves, anywhere they can.
This has two effects.
First, the psychic trauma attracts the attention of the Cult of the Black Pharaoh. Their obsession with that terrible monarch and the God he represents might benefit the shop, inasmuch as they’ll want to acquire the rubbings at any cost. No matter what exorbitant price the Hounds demand, they’ll pay it. This will take the rubbings out of the shop, which the Hounds may see as a good thing. Of course, they won’t know what the Cult will do with them …
Second, the Nile comes to London.
That was Nitocris’ murder scheme. She invited her enemies to a grand feast in a vast underground chamber. There, according to Herodotus, ‘Suddenly as they were feasting, she let the river in upon them by means of a large, secret duct …’ This drowned them all, and the Queen killed herself soon after.
In this instance the Nile is centered on the Bookshop. It seems a small thing, at first. A dampness. A puddle or two. If the Hounds ignore this, the problem gets worse until one day, when the Nile bursts its banks. If it gets that bad then the entire shop is flooded, drowning everyone inside and washing their bodies away, down the course of the river and gone, never to be seen again. All that’s left behind is a muddy ruin and a useless mass of soaked, destroyed books.
Not so much a Windfall as a catastrophic Reverse …
That’s it for this week. Enjoy!
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