The output of the great Egyptian masters of the graphic arts has
virtually no counterpart, and, bold as this statement may appear at
first sight, it will be found to withstand tolerably close scrutiny.
Looking at some of the incomparable embroideries of bygone Persia,
studying the divine porcelain of mediæval China, or turning over
woodcuts by the great Japanese artists of the Ukiyoé school--men like
Hokusai and Utamaro, Hiroshige, Yeizan and Toyokuni--we no doubt feel
ourselves in touch with something different from European art, yet
only partly different. Strange as these Eastern objects are, we find
in them a certain familiarity, we find them expressive of emotions and
sentiments not altogether unknown to us; and herein Egyptian things are
different, for these seem to us entirely novel, they suggest some weird,
enchanted world untrodden by the foot of man, perhaps a supernatural
world. Nor is their strangeness, their almost sinister unfamiliarity so
very hard to explain, it being due not only to the curious conventions
which the Egyptian masters obeyed so implicitly century after century,
but to the fact that the arts were indigenous to ancient Egypt. Japan
derived her painting from China about the fourteenth century A.D.;
Chinese work, in turn, frequently discloses affinities with that of
ancient Greece; and the great Italian masters of the Renaissance
owed much to the Græco-Roman school; while the old Spanish artists,
again, were under obligations to the Moors and Arabs, and in England
and in Scotland, in Germany and in France, painting did not grow up
like a flower, but was rather an exotic imported chiefly from the Low
Countries. In short, throughout bygone times, no less essentially than
in modern periods, the arts in nearly every country owed something to
those of other countries, a great interchange going forward perpetually;
but the mighty works of Egypt were mostly wrought long before the advent
of this interchange, and painting and sculpture, architecture and other
domestic arts, would seem to have arisen of their own accord in the land
of Isis, there to thrive and develop throughout æons of years a pure
African product, uninfluenced in any way by the handiwork of other races.
It is always difficult to speak of the origin of anything, for even
the oldest thing has its ancestry. And while it is possible to treat
with some definiteness of the first great period of Egyptian art, the
Thinite, which commenced about 5000 B.C., we have to remember that the
output of this period was no exception to the rule aforesaid, but had
its ancestry, this consisting in the work of the shadowy pre-dynastic
time. Even at that far-off era crude images of living animals were
made in Egypt, mud, of course, being the material commonly used; while
a great deal of pottery, some of it incised with quaint patterns, was
also produced; and if many of these vases and the like are no better
than those of most primitive artists, others, again, manifest a distinct
feeling for shapeliness and proportion. Nor did the Egyptians of this
period eschew that immemorial practice, the decoration of themselves;
for among the oldest relics of the country's art are numerous personal
ornaments, some made of bone or of shell, some of stone or ivory, and
some even of precious metals. Moreover, rude forms of architecture were
early essayed, this in its turn begetting pristine efforts at mural
embellishment.
In pre-dynastic Egypt the dead were usually interred in shallow graves
with no embellishment, only one painted tomb of that early period
being known. When, however, we pass to the study of the period which
succeeded, it is the art of sepulchral decoration which first claims
attention. Not even in Roman Catholic countries, not even in China, has
the welfare of the dead ever been thought of so lovingly, so constantly
and zealously, as in ancient Egypt. A very solid affair was the Egyptian
tomb of this era, built commonly of limestone or sandstone, but
occasionally of granite, or of breccia from the Arabian mountains; and
in the case of a notable person the sides of his tomb were duly carved
with pictures of his deeds while on earth, and more especially with
pictures illustrating his prospective passage through the underworld.
Generally, too, a statue glorified the outside of his tomb, this statue
being wrought of alabaster, schist or serpentine, diorite or limestone,
granite or sandstone; and the sculptor, be it noted, never aimed
primarily at decoration, but invariably at a portrait of the defunct.
Moreover, he would seem to have pondered very deeply on the question
of durability, attaching his work firmly to its _repoussoir_, or, more
often, making it a very part thereof; and to illustrate the Egyptian's
predilection in this respect we may mention two works, both in the
Cairo Museum, the one showing the Pharaoh Mycerinus seated, the other
depicting a group of three people, likewise seated. In both cases the
statuary have been hewn out of the great pieces of rock supporting them,
and could not possibly be removed therefrom save by elaborate cutting
with mallet and chisel.
A wealth of other statues belonging to the early dynastic era are
still extant, many of them possessing rare artistic value. And if
the same can hardly be said with reference to existing specimens of
the relief-cutting of this period, when turning from these to early
domestic art we are struck repeatedly by its infinite loveliness.
Prominent among such things as merit this praise are numerous bracelets,
while the Cairo Museum contains two fine carved ivory feet of a stool
which express great vigour of artistic conception, and the same
collection includes sundry tiny figures of monkeys, lions, and dogs, all
of them manifestly the work of a master who had a keen sense for the
curious beauty which lurks in the grotesque.
To an early period also, that of the Pyramid Kings, should be assigned
those amazing monuments of the industry and ingenuity of bygone Egypt,
the Pyramids and the Sphinx--works which have evoked nearly as much
eloquence, alike in prose and verse, as the _Monna Lisa_ of Leonardo
da Vinci and the Elgin Marbles of Phidias. Usually supposed to have
been wrought early in the era in question, their inception is, however,
wrapped in mystery; but whatever the true solution of that enigma,
this Memphite period was certainly one which witnessed considerable
developments in Egyptian art. True, there is little opportunity of
studying the architecture of the time, such relics as exist consisting
in little more than heaps of stone or masses of sun-dried brick; yet
in the field of sculpture, on the contrary, we are enabled to note and
scrutinize progress. Heretofore sepulchral statues had been virtually
a preserve of the rich and great, but now all sorts and conditions of
tombs--or, at least, the tombs of many comparatively poor people--were
garnished in this way; and as the defunct was often portrayed in
an attitude indicating his career on earth, this statuary offers a
valuable sidelight on Memphite Egyptian life. Thus we find, here a
man engaged in brewing, there another seated at secretarial work, his
posture practically that of the modern tailor; while we observe
also that care for the welfare of a deceased magnate of any kind was
being manifested on a more intricate scale than hitherto. That is to
say, suppose his friends and relations should be anxious that he should
be well fed in the hereafter, they would embellish his resting-place
with statuary delineating a kitchen in being; while sometimes, with an
analogous end in view, they would represent in the tomb-chapel a group
of musicians, each depicted with his instrument in his hands.[1] And
in all these works, as also in divers others of a different nature, we
notice a more fluent handling than that characterizing the generality of
those of pre-dynastic days, as witness what is possibly the very crown
of the Pyramid age (Fourth Dynasty) sculpture, the full-length at Cairo
of the 'Sheikh-el-Beled' (whose real name was Ka-aper), a figure wrought
in a fashion vigorous and confident as anything from the hand of Rodin
or Mestrovic. Furthermore, we mark again and again that artists were
now beginning to express their respective individualities, they were
showing themselves less prone to conform slavishly to a given _régime_;
and it is significant that one of the Pyramid age sculptors, Ptah-Ankh,
far from hiding his identity like all his predecessors, saw fit on one
occasion to model a stone relief in which he himself figured as sitting
in a boat.
The Materials of Painting
It should be noted at this juncture that these Egyptian bas-reliefs
were not usually left in a monochromatic state as is customary in
modern Europe; for the painter, on the contrary, was generally called
to the sculptor's aid, while even portrait statues were frequently
coloured also. And apart from work of this order, the craft of painting
on sun-dried clay was carried to no mean height of excellence during
Pyramid days, as also was that of painting on papyrus, while mummy
cases were often decked with multitudinous hues. The colours in many
of these old Egyptian works still possess great depth and brilliance,
while, indeed, some of them have lasted far better than those in divers
Italian frescoes of the Renaissance, and infinitely better than those
in numerous pictures by Reynolds and Turner; and thus we naturally
pause to ask the questions: What manner of pigments were commonly used
in Egypt? and what, exactly, was the _modus operandi_ of the country's
painters? Well, an Egyptian artist usually kept his paints in the
condition of powder, and on starting work he liquefied them with a
mixture of water and gum tragacanth; while he next proceeded to apply
this solution with a reed pen, or with brushes made of soft hair, few
men being in the habit of using more than two brushes, a thick one and
a thin. Then as to the colours themselves, the gold we sometimes see
is, of course, easily accounted for; while black, it would seem, was
obtained by burning the bones of animals, and white was made of gypsum
mixed with honey or albumen. Red and yellow, again, were procured by
more familiar processes, the former being derived from sulphuret of
mercury, the latter simply from clay; while blue, a comparatively rare
shade in natural objects other than the sea and sky, and therefore hard
to obtain, was evolved from lapis-lazuli. The picture duly finished,
some painters would cover it with a coat of transparent varnish, made
from the gum of the acacia; but the men who did this were really few in
number, and the colours in their works have not lasted well--not nearly
so well as those in paintings by masters who left varnish severely alone.
Leaving these technical details and returning to the actual history
of the arts in Egypt, we must speak now of the Middle Kingdom, which
commenced with the Ninth Dynasty (_c._ 2445) and lasted to the
Seventeenth Dynasty. During this time the craft of building developed
apace, among the results being the obelisk of Heliopolis. And if these
are works reflecting thaumaturgic mechanical ingenuity rather than
great artistic taste, the latter is certainly manifest in two other
vast structures of early Theban days, the temple of Kom-es-Sagha and
the portico of Sa Renput I. Much fine domestic art was also made at
this time, as witness the diadem and crown of Khnemit, both of which
are now at Cairo. A more natural style became discernible, both as
regards bas-reliefs and paintings. Indeed, many sketches and paintings
of this period, especially those which delineate scenes of sport, war,
and athletics, possess a spirit and dash which show that the race of
Egyptian artists was becoming more skilled in the free use of the brush.
One of the most remarkable paintings of this period is a picture at Beni
Hassan, the subject of which is a series of wrestling bouts.
New Empire Art
In the period of the New Empire (Eighteenth to Thirty-first Dynasties)
the student of Egyptian art is confronted with a veritable embarrassment
of riches, chiefly architectural. It was this period which witnessed the
completion of such imposing structures as the hypostyle hall at Karnak,
the temple of Rameses III at Medinet-habû, and the great assemblage of
ecclesiastical edifices at Dêr-el-Bahari. The finest and most imposing
buildings at Luxor likewise belong to this era, as do the rock-cut
temples at Bêt-el-Wálî and Abu-Simbel. The sculptors of the period
also achieved lasting triumphs, especially in the two colossal figures
of Memnon at Thebes, and the famous Avenue of Sphinxes at Karnak. The
statue of Thothmes III, Amenophis, the son of Hapu, and Queen Tyi are
also of great æsthetic interest. Turning to bas-relief, the likenesses
of Seti I (Abydos), Septah Meneptah, and Queen Aahmes (a plaster cast in
the temple at Dêr-el-Bahari) claim our attention, the last-named being
among the loveliest of all Egyptian works of the kind. The delicacy and
refinement of this masterpiece surpasses almost any relief executed in
Egypt before it. In fact, a greater refinement begins to be apparent in
the Egyptian art work of this period, even the domestic arts showing
greater attention to delicacy. Lines of great subtlety appear chased on
table utensils, while equal skill is apparent in numerous amulets and
much of the jewellery of the period. Little boxes, handles of mirrors
and spoons designed to hold cosmetics are in many cases the result
of craftsmanship of a very high order. One of the spoons depicts a
woman swimming behind a swan, and inevitably recalls the myth of Leda.
Finally, much beautiful furniture was made during this period, perhaps
the best existing specimen being a chair in the Cairo Museum, its arms
adroitly carved in the form of stealthy-looking panthers.
During this period the use of wood as a medium for artistic
representation seems to have been on the increase. Contemporaneously the
craft of casting in metal was improved and then virtually perfected,
a consummation which had an important influence upon sculpture. This,
too, was the epoch at which the Egyptian artists in colour revolted
against the conventionality which had in ancient times beset their
craft. Until this time they had not attempted to colour realistically.
Certain objects were tinted according to tradition as taught in their
schools. Thus the flesh of a man was painted a reddish brown, that of a
woman yellow, that of a priest blue, and so forth. And it was not until
the period of the New Empire that artists began to revolt seriously
against this system. One unknown master went so far as to indulge in
rosy flesh-tints, and it is natural to inquire whether it was foreign
influence which aroused this iconoclastic act. Be that as it may, there
can be no doubt that Egyptian artists began to learn from those of other
lands--the Assyrians, for instance--and this circumstance renders the
study of Egyptian art during this period somewhat difficult and complex.
The last period of Egyptian art, the Saïte, commenced about 721 B.C.
During this epoch the incursions of the Persians, Greeks, and finally
of the Romans are seen acting materially on the country's productions,
often to their detriment, for instead of working naturally, instead of
employing their own national style, the Egyptian artists of the Saïte
period were prone to imitate, uttering themselves haltingly in fashions
borrowed from other races.
But it is a mistake to maintain, as is occasionally done, that this
waning of lofty traditions began with the very advent of the Saïte
age. It is a mistake to contend that no vital art was executed by the
Egyptians thenceforward. Not till the eve of the advent of Christ did
Egyptian jewellery and craftsmanship in general begin to decline; while
as to architecture, Herodotus speaks in the most eulogistic terms of the
great buildings at Saïs. Unfortunately most of these are demolished,
and we have no chance of studying them at first hand. The Pharaohs of
the Saïtic period lost the vast command of labour of their Theban and
Memphite predecessors; nevertheless the dawn of the last period in
Egyptian art saw the completion of many noble edifices. The pronaos of
Komombos, the temple of Isis at Philæ, and the kiosk of Nectanebu at
the same place, deserve citation, as also do the Mammisi and temple of
Horus at Edfû. Yet everywhere are to be seen structures of this period
influenced by Greek or Roman ideas, and others which are clearly the
work of Egyptian masons acting under the instructions of alien masters.
The painting of this period embraces numerous works equal to any
product of earlier times--for example, the vignette of the Judgment
before Osiris contained in the papyrus of Queen Mat-ka-ré. But we also
observe Egyptian artists forsaking their time-honoured colour-schemes
and using such tints as green and mauve, probably copied from Hellenic
decorations. In the bas-reliefs of the time, moreover, we find much
which is sadly mechanical--so mechanical that we are persuaded that
it was done to order from drawing supplied by foreigners. Nor is
the history of Saïte statuary greatly different from that of those
arts mentioned above, for while at first a wealth of splendid things
were achieved--notably a study of Osiris recumbent and a portrait
of Petubastis--the mechanical element crept into this domain as it
had done into the others. Sculptors became mere artisans, slaving at
the reproduction of prescribed patterns. Some actually kept in stock
ready-made statues of the human body, the heads to be added as clients
presented themselves.
Egyptian Art Influences
Still, the expression of a nation's soul does not entirely vanish,
and if Egyptian artists were ultimately influenced by the conquering
Romans, the Italian craftsmen came no less surely under the sway
of the great Egyptian schools, and, as noted at the outset of this
chapter, the Romans inspired much of the work of the Italian masters
of the Renaissance, whose output was long regarded as the flower of
European art. We find Egyptian influences strong in Spain, for the art
of the Nile had cast its potent spell over the Arabs, who at a later
date became almost the fathers of the domestic arts in the Iberian
peninsula; and so it is with no surprise that, when looking at old
Spanish ornaments, we frequently find them bearing a close resemblance
to analogous articles made for the belles of Memphis and of Thebes.
Nor was France without some more direct Egyptian influence than that
which reached her indirectly through Italy. The characteristic art of
the French Empire was directly descended from Egyptian art. Under Louis
XIV French painting and craftsmanship were ornate and pompous in the
extreme, but in the following reign luxury in all departments of life
was at a discount. A new simplicity was demanded, and while craftsmen
were casting about for patterns suited to this taste, the Comte de
Caylus published his monumental work on the antiquities of Greece,
Rome, and Egypt, its pages embellished throughout with illustrations
from the author's own hand.[2] It speedily kindled inspiration in the
minds of numerous artists, and we may place to its credit some of the
most tasteful and beautiful furniture ever designed. The Egyptian
expedition of Napoleon, too, led to the importation of Egyptian
articles, and thenceforth until the eve of Waterloo scarcely a table,
chair, or mirror of French manufacture with any claims to artistry but
disclosed the influence of the Egyptian schools. Not only were actual
shapes borrowed, but it was quite common to decorate furniture with
pseudo-Egyptian statuettes and reliefs, or with brass plaques chased in
imitation of parts of Egyptian pictures.
The pseudo-Egyptian craftsmanship of the Empire--so apt an expression
of the temper of French thought at that time--may be studied well at
Fontainebleau or at Marlborough House in London, while of course it is
in evidence in the backgrounds of many Empire pictures, in particular
those of Louis David. Indeed, that master himself, the most influential
French painter of his day, owed something to the Egyptian school, while
a similar debt is suggested by sundry works of the sculptors Chinard
and Houdon; and a study of Empire buildings reveals that the architects
of the period, mainly devoted though they were to ancient Greece and
Rome, were not uninfluenced by the art of the land of the Pharaohs. Nor
was this true only of the French architects, for that great Scottish
artist in stone, Robert Adam, who died the year the French Republic
was established, would seem to have shared the attraction. He often
introduced Egyptian objects into his decorative schemes, while the
large, imposing simplicity he frequently attained is rich in suggestion
of notable Egyptian edifices. The same massive 'Egyptian' simplicity is
to be seen in the statuary of the mighty Serb, Ivan Mestrovic, as also
in that of the Swede, David Edström. Indeed, it would be wearisome to
enumerate all the artists of different nationalities who have clearly
been indebted to the genius of Egypt, but we must not conclude without
some reference to the influence of the school on the Post-Impressionist
painters.
The Post-Impressionists were not, as is commonly said, direct
descendants of the Impressionist group, but rather seceders therefrom.
Their watchword was simplicity, and in pursuance of this ideal they
turned lovingly to study primitive art, especially that of the
Egyptians, finding therein that simple element which they desired.
Artistic Remains
Returning to our main subject, we may ask, What is the actual æsthetic
value of Egyptian art to our own generation?
Imagine a museum, some thousands of years hence, ostensibly representing
the art of France from the beginning of the fifteenth century to the
end of the nineteenth; and suppose this crammed with the off-scourings
of the Salon school and the autotypes and _bric-à-brac_ of the Rue de
Rivoli, with only here and there a Clouet, a Boucher, or a Lancret, only
here and there a Clodion, a Dalou, or a Rodin. Would not visitors to
such a collection be certain to conclude that the French were anything
but artistic? Conditions such as those indicated above obtain in nearly
every Egyptian collection of the present day. The point of view of those
in charge of museums and exhibits seems to be that anything of Egyptian
origin should be treasured, however lacking it may be in artistic merit,
and small wonder if the average visitor of taste has not the patience
to search through such heterogeneous collections in which the few vital
articles are buried. The great mass of Egyptian remains are far inferior
to those of Greek origin, wrought in the time of Phidias and Apelles;
the master works of Egypt, on the other hand, are equal to the artistic
products of any age, and it is with these master works, and only with
these, that we must concern ourselves here.
Egyptian Colour-harmonies
The Egyptian painter seldom or never sought to blend his different
shades into each other, he seldom or never dealt in gradations;
instead he painted in large patches, each patch clearly demarked from
its neighbour. But with this system he achieved some of the grandest
colour-harmonies, as witness the papyrus of Ani,[3] wherein the
prominent notes are brown and yellow, green, white and black. Even more
beautiful is the papyrus of Queen Mat-ka-ré, slightly higher in pitch
than the last-named, and dominated by an exquisite reddish yellow;
while, turning to polychromatic sculpture, surely there was never a
lovelier piece of colouring than the statue of Princess Neferet, with
its rich greens and reds, its browns and whites. Scarcely inferior to
this is the coffin of Khnumu-Hotep, painted with gold, black, and brown,
and with stripes of peacock-blue decorated with patterns in gold.
If the Egyptian was a divine colourist, he was still more surely a
master of composition. The artist striving after harmony in design may
arrange a host of figures upon a canvas, or he may take for his purpose
only a very few objects. The former, the usual practice of the European
school, is infinitely the easier of the two; but the Egyptian commonly
chose the latter, and on his piece of papyrus or on his plaque of stone
he placed his few objects so happily and in such perfect æsthetic
relationship to each other that the whole space used appears to be
decorated. His draughtsmanship, besides, is usually of high excellence;
here, too, he faces a difficulty, giving a bold impression rather than
a detailed drawing, yet so expressive are his lines that the work
possesses abundantly the illusion of life.
The Great Simplicity of Egyptian Art
We have spoken of sundry Egyptian works as subtle, delicate, and
refined; but these are not characteristic examples, they are not those
which chiefly command homage. Subtlety, an exquisite quality, one of the
ultimate qualities, is nevertheless closely allied to weakness, and the
sustained effort to express it is apt to prove injurious to the artist.
Whistler, for one, striving after the delicate, the refined and subtle,
too often approximated effeminacy; and some of the greater Japanese
painters, preoccupied with dreamy half-tints and febrile lines, came
dangerously near producing the merely pretty. In the characteristic work
of the Egyptians, however, we never detect a hint of this failing; for
theirs is before all else a powerful, bold, simple art, often reflecting
a grand, ruthless brutality like that in the great English dramatists.
We have seen that it was their simplicity which engaged the Frenchmen
of the Empire, eager to make something of a strenuous temper; we have
seen that it was this element, too, which commanded homage from the
Post-Impressionists, so intensely serious and aspirational a group. And
may we not add that this simplicity is the loftiest factor discernible
in Egyptian art? May we not add that the Egyptians achieved this merit
with a triumph almost unrivalled by other races? And may we not say,
finally, that simplicity is the noblest of all artistic qualities? The
great poems, those which live from generation unto generation, are
most assuredly those in which the subject is expressed with divine
simplicity, the poet attaining the maximum of expression with the
minimum of means, which is exactly what the great painters and sculptors
of Egypt compassed.
But simplicity, like subtlety, has its concomitant danger, for what is
very simple is apt to be deficient in mystery, so essential an item in
a vital work of art. Yet here, again, we find the Egyptian victorious;
he has adroitly evaded the peril of baldness. The Egyptian sculptor,
producing a portrait, always adumbrates the character of his sitter,
itself a mysterious quality, and there is in a host of Egyptian works of
art a curious sense of infinity, a suggestion of the eternal riddle of
the universe. They are the most mysterious works ever wrought by man,
some seeming verily eloquent of silence; we feel in their presence a
strange mood of awe, a feeling which has been thus happily expressed:
Tread lightly, O my dancing feet,
Lest your untimely murmurs stir
Dust of forgotten men who find death sweet,
At rest within their sepulchre.
These lines, written by Lady Margaret Sackville while tarrying at
Assouan, crystallize the reverential mood which often possesses us in
the presence of Egyptian art; and yet, are these entombed men of whom
the writer sings really forgotten?
Past ruined Ilion Helen lives,
eternal life vouchsafed to her by the song of Homer; surely bygone
Egyptians have, in like fashion, won immortality through the genius of
their mighty artists.
[1] Single statues in the Old Kingdom, figures in groups in Middle
Kingdom.
[2] _Recueil d'antiquités égyptiennes, étrusques, grecques, romaines et
gauloises_. Six vols. Paris, 1752-1755.
[3] See Frontispiece and illustration facing p. 120 [reproduced in black
and white in the present edition].
GLOSSARY AND INDEX
THE PRONUNCIATION OF EGYPTIAN
The correct pronunciation of Old, Middle, and Late Egyptian can only be
gleaned by analogy from that of Coptic, which represents the popular
language of Egypt from the third to the ninth century A.D. But this
tongue was strongly reinforced by Greek loan-words, and as it was
rendered in writing by the Greek alphabet it is difficult to say how
much of the native linguistic element it really represents. But its
orthography gives a clear idea of its pronunciation, and it is the
mainstay of Egyptian philologists in restoring the word-forms of the
ancient language, or at least Late Egyptian, between which and the
Middle and Old dialects there is a wide linguistic gap. Indeed, the
pronunciation of these archaic forms is probably for ever lost to modern
scholarship. Speaking generally, Egyptian words and names are usually
pronounced by scholars as they are spelt.
(Index not retained in text-version.)
End of Project Gutenberg's Myths and Legends of Ancient Egypt, by Lewis Spence