DER EL-BAHRI--(_continued_)
From the middle of January till the beginning of March not a day went
by but some parties of visitors passed through Der el-Bahri to see
Hatshepsu’s temple. They usually went to the Valley of the Tombs of
the Kings first, and then crossing over the mountain which separated
us from that valley, we would see them defiling down the steep incline
which leads to Cook’s rest-house. After lunch the guide would rush them
through Hatshepsu’s shrine, and then start them off to see the tombs
of Sheykh Abd-el-Gurna; the Ramesseum would then be visited, and with
hardly a pause for breath every one would remount their donkeys or get
into their litters to be rushed off to Medinet Habu. The Valley of the
Tombs of the Queens might then be visited, and a long ride, with a
short halt at the Colossi of Memnon, would take them to the Nile, to be
crossed after sunset, before the Luxor hotels could be reached.
I have no doubt that most of these good people were thankful when so
fatiguing a day was well over, and vowed that no power on earth would
ever induce them to go through it again. A week would barely suffice
to get more than a cursory glance of all the sights which are crowded
into this one long day. The following day is usually devoted to ‘doing’
the Luxor temple, and being rushed through the ruins of Karnak. These
people who do their sights at such a giddy speed usually take part
in a tour up the Nile organised by some travelling agency. A few
well-advised ones remain at Luxor till the steam _dahabieh_, which has
taken them so far, picks them up on its return trip from Assuan. This
gives them time to see at their ease that which the ill-advised ones
had merely been rushed through.
It was amusing, after some months of solitude, to see my
fellow-creatures again, but before the tourist season was over I
longed to get back to the usual quietude of our valley. The trippers
would arrive in batches of from one to two hundred, and add to this
an equal number of donkeys and their drivers--Der el-Bahri on those
occasions became a veritable pandemonium. Fortunately they generally
swept down on us at about the same hour of the day--in time to lunch
at the rest-house opposite my hut; by three o’clock they were driven
off, by the guide in charge of the party, to see the Ramesseum. I had
to rearrange my day and feed when they fed, and take a ‘siesta’ until
the temple was empty once more. Until the tripper season we were almost
flyless, being sufficiently far in the desert to be away from that
pest. The donkeys and the débris of the picnickers brought the usual
swarms of flies with them, and work in any of the temples was as bad in
that respect as in the bazaars at Cairo.
The smaller parties who dropped on us unawares were most to be feared.
I might be making some studies in one of the tombs, which are airless
enough at the best of times, and be suddenly aware that a party was
approaching by hearing, ‘Dis way, ladies and shentlemens, to de Tomb
of Rekmaré.’ There would be no help for it but to pack up my traps and
be off. If I returned after the crowd had been rushed off somewhere
else, the air would be unbreathable, both from the numbers who had been
there, and from the extinguished tapers or magnesium wire.
By the end of March I, and possibly some artist friend, would again
reign supreme at Der el-Bahri. It is a hot valley, for it is shut off
from the northerly breezes, and the cliffs throw back the rays of the
sun. By rearranging our days we managed to avoid the worst of the heat.
We breakfasted at daybreak, and we took our midday meal about eleven,
and from twelve till four we would sleep in some recess where the sun’s
rays had never penetrated. After that, and a cold bath and some tea,
we could get to work till sundown. The hut became unbearable in April,
for it had no double roof. The coolest spot I could find for the midday
rest was in the Ptolemaic sanctuary in Hatshepsu’s temple. This is cut
deep into the overhanging cliffs, and in the hot season would be some
twenty degrees cooler than my hut. I put an Arab bed in here, and by
lying with my head to the entrance, there was just light enough to be
able to read myself to sleep.
There was no fear of trippers now, and the few visitors who remained
on in Luxor would only arrive before or after the heat of the day. On
first entering my temporary boudoir nothing would be visible on the
dark walls; but on getting accustomed to the dim light, rows of gods
and goddesses would appear. The hawk-headed Homs, jackal-laced Anubis,
and the unspeakable Min of Koptos were all here; also the rounded forms
of Euergetes’s Queen, and Maat, the goddess of truth. The tiger-headed
Sekhmet, Bellona’s prototype, and Sobk with his crocodile snout made a
foil to the rounded features of Hathor and Isis.
A squeaky sound somewhere above would make me aware that I was not the
only living tenant of this sanctuary. Bats have long since discovered
that it is fairly cool here in summer, and not too cold in winter. A
noise like gentle taps from a hammer would draw my eyes to a wide crack
in the wall, and around two shiny little beads I would make out the
form of a large lizard. The little beads would stare at me for some
time, and if I just moved my head they would disappear into the depths
of the wall. The bats like myself only used this place as a shelter
from the heat, and would venture out towards night to find a living;
but what could this lizard (a gecko, I believe, it is called) find here
to subsist on? Flies kept away from this dark sanctuary, and except the
water I had in my water-bottle no moisture finds its way here.
The guards occasionally shot a snake, but all I have seen in this
temple appeared to be harmless ones; anyhow, none ever shared my
resting-place with me. It was different in the enclosure of the
Ramesseum, which is nearer the moisture of the cultivated land. I
was returning from my work there one evening, and passed close to a
large cobra. It was curled round a stone which was partly hid in the
scrub growing near the pylon. I had no stick with me, or I might have
been able to kill it. It was the first I had ever seen, except in
captivity, and I was very interested in comparing it with its numerous
presentments in every temple in Egypt. To kill it, with as little risk
as possible of its killing me, became my chief wish when I had watched
it for some time, and reflected what a danger this beautiful creature
was to the numbers of people who roam about the temple. When I picked
up a good-sized stone, it shifted its place and disappeared in the
scrub.
I came to the spot on the following evening with Mr. Howard Carter and
a shot-gun; we also brought some milk in a pan, and placed it near
where I had seen the cobra. We waited till dark in the hopes of our
bait attracting it, but I am sorry to say we saw it no more.
Professor Flinders Petrie told me that he had killed several with his
walking-stick. They are easily destroyed; but if one merely wounds
the creature with a blow, it may strike its fangs into one before a
second blow can be dealt. We told the guardians of the temple, and
they promised to try to shoot it. I never heard of their having done
so, and I have a suspicion that the prospect of a gratuity from a
snake-charmer may have prevented them. Whether this cobra has since
hearkened to the voice of the charmers, charming never so wisely, and
is now occasionally pulled out of a sack to perform on the pavement in
front of Shepheard’s hotel, I cannot say. I have never seen as large a
specimen in Cairo, and I expect they are taken when they are young.
As this is an art practised now as in pharaonic times, it may be of
interest to hear what Canon Tristram says about it in _The Natural
History of the Bible_: ‘The art of serpent charming, referred to in Ps.
lviii. 4 and Jas. iii. 7, is of immense antiquity, and is practised not
only in Africa but in India. In the latter country it is exercised on
another species of cobra (_naja tripudians_) very like the _haje_. The
resources of the charmers appear to be very simple--the shrill notes of
a flute, which are the only kind of tones which the serpent, with its
very imperfect sense of sound, is capable of distinctly following: and,
above all, coolness and courage, combined with gentleness in handling
the animal, so as not to irritate it. The charmers are not impostors;
for though they may sometimes remove the fangs, it is a well-attested
fact that they generally allow them to remain, and they will operate
on the animals when just caught as willingly as on individuals which
have long been in their possession; but they are very reluctant to make
experiments on any other species than the cobra. When a cobra has been
discovered in a hole, the charmer plays at the mouth until the serpent,
attracted by the sound, comes out, when it is suddenly seized by the
tail, and held at arm’s length. Thus suspended, it is unable to turn
itself so as to bite, and, when it has become exhausted by its own
efforts, it is put into a basket, the lid of which is raised while the
music is playing, but, at each attempt of the serpent to dart out, the
lid is shut down upon it, until it learns to stand quietly on its tail,
swaying to and fro to the music, and ceases to attempt to escape. If
it shows more restlessness than ordinary, the fangs are extracted as a
precaution. Instances are not uncommon in which, with all their care,
the jugglers’ lives are sacrificed in the exhibition.’
We were surprised one evening by a much more alarming creature than
a cobra, and that was a raving madman. My friend Erskine Nicol was
staying with me, and we had asked Howard Carter to dine with us. When
the latter arrived within sight of our hut, he was accompanied by a
native who farmed a large part of the land between the fringe of the
desert and the Nile. The man appeared very excited about something,
and Carter was doing his best to pacify him. As they got nearer, we
heard him accusing some one who had cut down a tree belonging to him,
and he kept pointing to our hut, and saying that the culprit lived
there. Nicol then approached the man, and asked what the excitement was
about, and after some conversation he called out to me not to let the
man in as he was out of his mind. It was dusk at the time, and my cook
had lighted the lamp and set the table; we had a lot of inflammable
material about, as I and my assistant were packing a large number of
casts to send off to America. A madman amongst our casts was about the
last thing we wanted, besides the danger of his upsetting the petroleum
lamp.
The man of a sudden dodged away from my two friends and made a dash for
the hut. I was just in time to close the door, and my assistant and I
had to lean against it to prevent the madman from bursting it in. It
was a frail double door and could not long resist the onslaughts of
our unwelcome visitor. I managed to reach a crowbar, and, by sticking
one end in the floor and jamming the other under one of the transoms,
it made a powerful buttress. Finding that that half of the door
resisted his efforts too stubbornly, the man threw himself on his back
and kicked his foot through a panel and forced his leg well inside.
‘Hold on a bit longer,’ called out my friends outside, ‘we have sent
for the temple guards and some rope.’ I had to dislodge that leg or we
should have had the whole man in through the broken panel. A severe
bastinado on the sole of the foot finally made the man withdraw it. He
then butted the door with his head and, making several rushes, threw
the weight of his body against it. Another panel had just given in when
the guards arrived.
My two friends then closed with the man and called on us to come out,
and we also threw ourselves on to the poor fellow. The guards handed us
a bit of rope, but would not touch the man, not through physical fear
so much as apprehension of making an enemy of one who from his wealth
was a power in the village. With his turban we pinioned his arms, and
we tied his ankles together with the rope, and then sat on his body
till his relations had been sent for. We did our best not to hurt the
unfortunate man; but as he was powerfully built, it was all we could do
to master him.
When his relations arrived he was sufficiently exhausted to allow of
his being lifted on to a donkey and taken away into the darkness.
That same evening we had several of his relatives round, as well as
the _Omdeh_ of the village, and they all implored us not to let the
authorities in Luxor know about it. They would keep him locked up till
he was safe to be at large; whereas, if he were taken to the _Mamúr_,
he would be sent to the madhouse at Keneh, and there, according to
these villagers, he would be treated with the utmost cruelty. Now
the right person to report him was the Omdeh of the village, and we
reminded him of this, and told him that if any one was harmed by this
madman we should report the Omdeh for having neglected his duty. The
latter promised to take all responsibility, and said that we could rest
assured that the man would never come near my hut again.
For a couple of days we had peace, for the poor madman had probably
not recovered from his exhaustion. After that time we saw him rushing
about the neighbourhood with half the village-folk after him. We called
on the Omdeh to tell him that he must inform the authorities at Luxor,
or we should do it ourselves, and he promised that he would send a
messenger that very day. I did not expect him to keep his promise, and
decided to write to the Mamúr the next day to report on the madman
as well as on the Omdeh for neglect of duty. This time, however, the
latter did not lie, and we heard that some mounted police and a litter
had arrived and had taken the man off.
An important official and his secretary rode over to my hut on the
following day and gave us a good example of Egyptian red-tapism: age,
place of birth, nationality, profession, etc., of all the witnesses had
to be taken down by the secretary; each one in turn down to the cook
and our messenger had to give their testimony. ‘Did the man call you
names, and if so how many?’ was one of the questions put to me; as if
it mattered what a madman said, for the poor man had been pronounced
insane by the doctor that very morning. It is also difficult to see how
our ages and places of birth bore on the subject, unless one had the
mind of an Egyptian and that of an official as well.
We heard that the patient had gone out of his mind once before some
years previously, and that he had now been sent to the lunatic
asylum at Keneh. Madness must either be quickly cured there or else
the rumours--that _baksheesh_ (if in sufficient quantity) can get a
patient out--must be true, for in less than three weeks the man was
in our neighbourhood again. He was, however, carefully watched by his
relatives, and we had no further visits from him.
To give some idea of the dread the fellaheen have of hospitals (unless
they go as out-patients), as well as of lunatic asylums, I will repeat
what one of these peasants maintained takes place in the latter. He
declared that those of unsound mind were hung by their heels from the
ceiling, over a charcoal brazier, and then holes were bored in their
heads to let out a valuable juice for which the doctors got a large
price. ‘A piastre a drop,’ said one; ‘No, three piastres a drop,’
declared another. It would be curious to trace the origin of such an
absurd statement. In some of the out-of-the-way places, I am, however,
sorry to hear that some native doctors are not above extracting
_baksheesh_ from their patients.
I heard this from an Englishman and his wife, whose words I cannot
doubt. A man whom they employed as gardener in Upper Egypt, where they
were living, had to go to a hospital owing to some accident to his
leg. The doctor who attended him said he could cure the leg, but might
possibly have to amputate it. He then asked the patient what he earned
and what his relatives were worth, and on being told, suggested that a
certain sum would be necessary to save the leg. The poor gardener could
not pay this, and, after the usual bargaining, the sum agreed on was
obtained from the patient’s people, and the man soon left the hospital
with both his legs. Of course, had the doctor’s villainous behaviour
been reported to high quarters he would have been summarily dealt with.
Let us hope that he has been found out since.
Any one seeing the poor hovels many of the fellaheen dwell in would
be surprised at the attachment they have for their homes. During my
second winter at Thebes we had a poor Nile, and a large portion of the
land near us had not had its usual share of inundation; besides this,
the Egyptian Exploration Fund having started their work elsewhere, the
three hundred men and boys it had been employing for some years past
had not this work to do. It was therefore a singularly bad year for
the people of Gurna. Work at the Assuan dam was being paid at three
times the rate these men got while the excavations were on, and now a
great many were stranded with no means of a livelihood. It was useless
to try and persuade any to apply at Assuan for work, the idea of going
more than a hundred miles to better their circumstances was abhorrent
to them. It was pitiable to see the number of men who applied for the
little work I could give them in connection with the reproduction of
the bas-reliefs.
Towards the end of the season the view of the Ramesseum was being
spoilt by a great bank of earth that was being raised round it as an
encircling wall. I was sorry to see this, as it ruined the effect of
the temple from a distance; but I had some consolation in the fact that
it gave employment to a number of the villagers. Let us hope that a
similar amount of work in pulling it down again may be reserved for the
next bad Nile.