Cleopatra's Needle

My wife and I recently had lunch at the Petrie Court in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We were fortunate enough to get a window table. The restaurant's floor to ceiling windows offer a charming view of Central Park, including an unobstructed sight line to Cleopatra's Needle.

Why is Cleo's Needle there? If there were ever a citation for "miscast monument" in New York, the Egyptian obelisk would seemingly qualify. The red granite object appears as if it fell from the sky and landed in its upright, vertical position without any human intercession. Its hieroglyphics defy any organic connection to New York's past or present. It's true the monument was a gift from Egypt to the United States in the 19th Century, and one could argue this symbol of Egyptian gratitude to America has some connection to local history. However, one feels a far greater kinship to the Statue of Liberty, the French gift given during the same century as Cleopatra's Needle.

Yet, while we sat over lunch at the Petrie Court, I was fascinated by the obelisk. I wondered what the glyphs meant. I considered its lineage, which predates Cleopatra's reign by approximately a millenium. I thought about its twin, presented to the British and now in London. A third sibling, though not a twin, resides in the middle of Paris' Place de la Concorde.

I also recalled my first encounter with Cleo, during a St. Patrick's Day parade. I attended a parochial high school, which meant St. Patrick's Day was a day off. Many of us went to the parade, drank a bit, and used the 224 ton obelisk as a rendez-vous point. That was the extent of my curiosity for Cleo at that time. Over the years, I would walk past it, and the sight of the obelisk would reignite some wonder about it. Later, when I lived in Rome, obelisks were a natural part of the cityscape. Most of them were imported, just as New York's needle was. Pharaonic Egypt intrigued the ancient Romans, and the fascination with obelisks recurred over the centuries in the Eternal City, notably with Bernini. Seeing them on a daily basis helped me appreciate their elegant beauty and elusive history.

Cleopatra's Needle in New York now strikes me as a graceful monument whose simple geometry suggests a more profound message. The marvelously carved hieroglyphs tells a story I can not understand, but enjoy contemplating. However, even if I had a translation, the ideas communicated would remain enigmatic. How can I grasp the mathematics, astronomy, and religion Cleopatra's Needle suggests? All I know is that I respect the monument's austere beauty, and that its shape coincidentally resembles that of the Empire State Building.

Perhaps Cleopatra's Needle isn't so miscast, after all.