ROYAL TOMBS AND OTHER PLACES OF AMUSEMENT
One morning we rode across the Nile from Luxor in a broad and buxom
sailboat, climbed on our donkeys, and rode to the west. We followed
the narrow road through the fresh fields of wheat and alfalfa until we
struck the desert, and then we took to a dusty trail which leads to a
winding valley, where the kings of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and
twentieth dynasties are being dug up.
This narrow valley, with the steep hills rising on either side, is the
sure-enough utterness of desolation; not a tree, not a shrub, not a
blade of grass, not even a stingy little cactus. No wonder the old
kings picked out this valley for a cemetery. Life has no charm in this
dreary region. Eternal sleep would seem to offer peculiar advantages.
After winding through the sun-baked gravel for about a mile we came to
a settlement of houses and a high fence thrown across the roadway.
Also there was an electric light plant buzzing away merrily. The tombs
of the kings are now strung with incandescent lights. Can you beat
that for sacrilegious enterprise?
There are forty-one of these royal tombs that have been discovered and
opened to date. The less important are not lighted, and are mere
tunnels leading back to one or two bare chambers. Those really worth
visiting are dug far back into the hills. The halls are spacious and
brilliantly decorated, and before you get through exploring one of them
you think that you are pretty well down toward the centre of the earth.
Mr. Peasley had read up on the Tomb of Amenhotep Third and when we
entered it he pushed the regular guide out of the way and gave us one
of his own vivid lectures. The native guide lacks imagination. His
idea of showing the traveller a frolicksome time is to point out a lot
of paintings in which the deceased is seen travelling across the Nile
in a funeral barge. Mr. Peasley, on the other hand, gave us an insight
into the character of the wily Amenhotep.
"Now, look at the entrance to this tomb," he said, as we started down
the new wooden steps. "It looks as if someone had been blasting for
limestone. The walls are rough and unfinished. Old Amenhotep figured
that if anyone ever came across the opening to the tomb he would size
up this ordinary hole in the ground and conclude that it was either a
cave used as a storehouse or the last resting place of some cheap
two-dollar official."
[Illustration: _"Now look at the entrance to this tomb," he said_]
After descending some twenty feet we came to a small chamber which was
rudely frescoed about half of the way around.
"Do you know why he left this job unfinished?" asked Mr. Peasley. "He
knew that some day or other an inquisitive foreigner would be prowling
around here trying to uncover ancient treasures, and he put this measly
little antechamber here to throw Mr. Archaeologist off the scent. He
wanted it to appear that the man who was buried here had been so poor
that he couldn't complete the decorations. And now I'll show you
something more foxy still. Come with me down this long flight of steps
to the second chamber."
He led us down another flight to a tall chamber about the size of a
freight car stood on end.
"When the French explorers opened this place in 1898 the chamber which
you are now inspecting seemed to be the end of the tunnel," continued
Mr. Peasley. "The four side walls were perfectly smooth and unbroken,
but down at the bottom they found a pit which had been filled with
heavy stones. They supposed, of course, that this was the mummy pit,
and that if they removed the stones they would find some royal remains
at the other end of the hole. So they worked day after day, lifting
out the boulders, and finally they came to the end of the pit and found
that they had drawn a blank. Naturally they were stumped. They
thought they had been exploring a tomb, but it was only an April fool
joke. One of the professors was not satisfied. He felt sure that
there must be a royal mummy tucked in somewhere about the premises, so
he took a ladder and climbed around and began tapping all over the
walls of this second chamber. What do you think? He discovered that
the wall had a hollow sound just opposite the tunnel at which they had
entered. So he used a battering ram and broke through into the real
tomb. Yes, sir; these two outer chambers, with their cheap stencil
frescoes and fake mummy pit, had been a blind."
We passed over a narrow wooden bridge and entered the tunnel beyond the
second chamber. The whole place was brightly illuminated and one could
readily believe that he was in a modern hallway decorated in the most
gorgeous Egyptian style. The bordering frescoes and the historical
paintings were as fresh in tone as if they had been put on only
yesterday. One of the larger chambers looked exactly like the gaudy
"Oriental apartment" of a Paris or New York hotel, and we shouldn't
have been surprised or displeased to see a waiter come in with a tray
full of cool drinks.
At last we came to the tomb chamber, and there in a deep hollow, with a
modern wooden railing around it, reclined the great King Amenhotep,
with the incandescent lamps dangling above him and flooding him in a
radiant light. The original granite cover of the outer case has been
removed and plate glass substituted. We leaned on the rail and gazed
down at the serene countenance of the once mighty monarch who had been
lying there for 3300 years. The funeral garlands which had been laid
on his breast were still undisturbed, and the shrunken face was
illumined by that calm smile of triumph which Amenhotep wore when he
passed away confident in the belief that the Nile tourist would never
discover his hiding place.
We visited the tomb in company with a bustling swarm of American
excursionists of the happy, irreverent kind. The fact that they were
strolling about in a private and highly aristocratic sarcophagus did
not seem to repress their natural gush of spirits or induce any solemn
reflections. They were all steaming hot, but very happy and having a
lot of fun with the King. One enterprising Yankee, who carried his
coat and vest on his arm, started to climb over the wooden railing in
order to make a close inspection of the mortuary remains, but was
restrained by the guards.
After leaving the valley of tombs we made a short cut over a very hot
and a very high hill to the "rest house" which has been erected far out
on the desert by one of the tourist agencies. We collapsed on the
shady side of the building, dusty and short of breath, and immediately
we were attacked by a most vociferous horde of native peddlers. And
what do you suppose they were selling? We landed there on Friday, and
the remnant sale of mummies was in full blast. Here are some of the
cut prices:--
_Head of adult .................... 4 shillings._
_Foot of adult .................... 1 shilling._
_Hand of adult .................... 1 shilling._
_Two feet and two hands (warranted_
_mates) ........................ 3 shillings._
_Arm and head ..................... 6 shillings._
_Special reduction for juvenile sizes._
Can you imagine anything more disquieting to the nerves, when you are
resting and getting ready for luncheon, than to have a villainous child
of the desert rush up and lay a petrified human head in your lap and
beg you to make an offer? Within two minutes after we arrived we had
fragments of former humanity stacked all around us. And they were
unmistakably genuine. The native swindlers can make imitation scarabs
and potteries, or else import them by the gross from Germany and
Connecticut, but the mummy heads which they offer for sale are horribly
bona fide. It would not pay to manufacture an imitation article,
inasmuch as the whole desert region to the west of ancient Thebes is a
vast cemetery. If the merchant's stock runs low he can go out with a
spade and dig up a new supply, just as a farmer would go after
artichokes.
Our guide co-operated with the ghouls. He rushed about hunting up
strange and grisly specimens and brought them to us and begged us to
examine them and then pick out a few for the loved ones at home. I
regret to say that we did purchase a few of these preserved
extremities. The guide said we could use them as paper weights.
[Illustration: _For the loved ones at home_]
This same dragoman, or guide, or highbinder, or whatever you may choose
to call him--and Mr. Peasley called him nearly everything--gave us a
lot of cheerful entertainment during our four days in Luxor. Mr.
Peasley was in hot pursuit of guaranteed antiquities. He said he had
an old bookcase at home which he was going to convert into a curio
cabinet. There is one dealer in Luxor who is said to be absolutely
trustworthy. He supplies museums and private collections throughout
the world, and if you buy a scarab or a carved image from him you know
that you have something genuine and worth keeping. Mr. Peasley in a
thoughtless moment requested the dragoman to conduct us to this shop.
We went in and burrowed through the heaps of tempting rubbish and began
to dicker for a job lot of little images, tear jars, amulets, etc.,
that are found in the mummy cases. That dragoman saw the covetous
gleam in the Peasley eye and he knew that the man from Iowa intended
loading up with antiques, and he also knew that Mr. Peasley wished to
do this purchasing single-handed and without the assistance of a
dragoman, who would come in for a ten per cent. commission. We told
the dealer we would drop around later. So we went to the hotel and
dismissed the dragoman--told him to go home and get a good night's rest
and be on hand at nine o'clock the next morning.
After we were safely in the hotel Mr. Peasley confided his plans to us.
"I don't want to buy the stuff while that infernal Mahmoud is along,"
he said. "Why should he get a rake-off? We didn't go to the shop on
his recommendation. Now, I'll go over there by myself, pick out what I
want, and strike a bargain."
We offered to go along and assist, so we started up a side street, and
after we had gone a block Mahmoud stepped out from a doorway and said,
"Come, I will show you the way." We told him we had just sauntered out
for a breath of air, so we walked aimlessly around a block and were
escorted back to the hotel.
"I'll go over the first thing in the morning," said Mr. Peasley. "I'll
be there at eight o'clock, because he isn't due here until nine."
When he arrived at the shop early next morning Mahmoud was standing in
the doorway wearing a grin of devilish triumph. Mr. Peasley kept on
walking and pretending not to see him, but he came back to the hotel
mad all the way through.
[Illustration: _Mahmoud--wearing a grin of devilish triumph_]
"We're up against an Oriental mind-reader, but I'll fool him yet," he
declared. "When we come back to the hotel for luncheon and he is
waiting for us with the donkey boys on the east side of the hotel we
will go out the west door to the river bank and cut south around the
Presbyterian Mission and come back to the shop."
Mr. Peasley did not know that Mahmoud had organised all the hotel
servants into a private detective agency. He must have known of our
escape on the river side before we had gone a hundred feet from the
hotel, for when, after executing our brilliant flank movement, we
arrived at the shop of the antiquarian, Mahmoud and the proprietor were
sitting in the front room drinking Turkish coffee and waiting for the
prey to wander into the trap. Mahmoud did not seem surprised to see
us. He bade us welcome and said that his friend the dealer was an
Egyptologist whose guarantee was accepted by every museum in the world,
and if we were in the market for antiques he would earnestly advise us
to seek no further. After this evidence of a close and friendly
understanding between the dragoman and the dealer we had a feeling that
Mahmoud would get his ten per cent, even if we succeeded in eluding him
and buying on our own hook.
But we hated to acknowledge ourselves beaten. At dusk that evening we
started toward the shop, in a half-hearted and experimental spirit, and
presently we observed Mahmoud following along fifty feet behind us. We
went to the garden of a neighbouring hotel and sat there until eleven
o'clock. When we came out Mahmoud was at the gateway. He said it was
not always safe for travellers to be about the streets at night, so he
would protect us and show us the way back to our hotel.
We found it impossible to get away from him. No Siberian bloodhound
ever followed a convict's trail more closely. If we ventured forth,
early or late, we found ourselves shadowed by that smiling reprobate.
When it came to the last day in Luxor Mr. Peasley did the bold thing.
He permitted Mahmoud to escort him to the shop, and then he said to the
dealer:--"This man is our guide, but he is not entitled to any
commission because he did not bring us to your shop. If he had
recommended your shop in the first place we would not have come here at
all. He is a bluff. He is trying to ring in. I want to buy a few
things here, with the understanding that he doesn't get anything out of
it. We have already paid him two salaries for guiding us and he isn't
a guide at all--he's a night watchman."
The dealer vowed and protested that he never paid commissions to
anyone. Mahmoud, not at all ruffled by the attack on his character,
said that his only ambition in life was to serve the noble gentleman
from the famous country known as Iowa. So Mr. Peasley bought his
assortment of antiques, and Mahmoud looked on and then carried the
parcel back to the hotel, walking respectfully behind the "noble
gentleman."
"Well, I blew myself," reported Mr. Peasley. "And I'll bet a thousand
dollars that Mahmoud gets his ten per cent."
Whereupon Mahmoud smiled--the pensive, patronising smile of a
civilisation five thousand years old looking down on the aboriginal
product of the Western prairies.
On the morning of our departure from Luxor Mahmoud came around for his
letter of recommendation. I had worked for an hour to write something
evasive which would satisfy him and not perjure me too deeply. When he
came to the hotel I gave him the following:--
To Whom It May Concern:--The bearer, Mahmoud, has been our dragoman for
four days and has attended us faithfully at all hours; also, he has
shown us as many temples as we wished to see.
He looked at the paper blankly and said, "I do not read English." At
that Mr. Peasley brightened up. He read the testimonial aloud to
Mahmoud and declared that it was incomplete and unworthy of the subject
matter. In ten minutes he completed the following and the dragoman
took it away with him, highly pleased:--
To Whom It May Concern--Greeting:--The bearer, Mahmoud, is a dragoman
of monumental mendacity and commercial Machiavellism. His simulated
efforts to faithfully serve us and protect our interests have had an
altogether negative effect. Anyone employing him will find him
possessed of moral turpitude and a superlative consciousness of his own
worth. His knowledge of Egyptian history is enormously
inconsequential, while his English vocabulary is amazing in its variety
of verbal catastrophes. We commend him to travellers desirous of
studying the native characteristics of the most geological stratum of
society.
"He has made a lot of trouble for us, and now we've got even by ruining
him," said Mr. Peasley.
It seemed a joke at the time, but later on, when we thought it over, we
felt sorry for Mahmoud and wished we had not taken such a mean
advantage of him. After all is said and done, a man must make a living.
On our way back to Cairo from Assouan we stopped over at Luxor.
Mahmoud, by intuition or through telepathy, knew that we were coming
and met us at the station. He was overjoyed to see us again.
"I showed your letter to a gentleman from the Kingdom of Ohio," said
he, "and it procured for me one of the best jobs I ever had."
IN CAIRO