By the Same Author
A Report on the Antiquities of Lower Nubia
A Catalogue of the Weights and Balances in the Cairo Museum
A Guide to the Antiquities of Upper Egypt
Travels in the Upper Egyptian Deserts
The Life and Times of Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt
A History of Egypt from 1798 to 1914
Madeline of the Desert
The Dweller in the Desert
Bedouin Love
The Life and Times of Akhnaton, Pharaoh of Egypt
THE GLORY OF THE PHARAOHS
[Illustration: Arthur Weigall]
THE GLORY
OF THE
PHARAOHS
BY
ARTHUR WEIGALL
Late Inspector General of Antiquities, Egyptian Government, and
Member of the Catalogue Staff of the Cairo Museum;
Officer of the Order of the Medjidieh.
AUTHOR OF “THE LIFE AND TIMES OF AKHNATON,” ETC.
_With 17 Illustrations_
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1923
Copyright, 1923
by
Arthur Weigall
Made in the United States of America
PUBLISHER’S FOREWORD
In view of the fact that Mr. Arthur Weigall, while inclined to obscure
himself owing to a distaste for public life, is widely known in several
fields of activity, the Publisher has felt that a short foreword to this
volume will be of interest to those who have wondered as to the author’s
identity.
The writer of these entertaining and scholarly essays was born in 1880,
being the son of the late Major Arthur Weigall and grandson of the Rev.
Edward Weigall, M.A., Vicar of Buxton, Derbyshire: a descendant of an
officer of that name who came to England as Equerry to William of Orange
in 1698.
Various members of the family of Weigall have attained distinction in
England as scholars, painters, sculptors, authors, and diplomats; but
the writer of these essays was originally destined for the Army, and for
that reason was educated at Wellington College. Later, however, he
matriculated for New College, Oxford, causing some flutter in that
academic circle by offering Egyptian hieroglyphic texts as his special
subject for the examination; but he abandoned his ‘Varsity career in
1900 in order to go out to Egypt as assistant excavator to Professor
Flinders Petrie.
At the early age of twenty-four, he was appointed by his friend, Lord
Cromer, Inspector General of Antiquities for Upper Egypt, a post for
which his scholarship, his administrative ability, and his great energy
eminently fitted him. This arduous position he held until 1914; and
during his tenure of office he carried out the most important reforms
with a view to the preservation and safeguarding of antiquities, the
suppression of lawless excavation, and the advancement of the science of
Egyptology. He was present at most of the great discoveries made during
those years, and in particular he supervised the excavations in the
Valley of the Tombs of the Kings at Thebes, in which some of the famous
royal sepulchres were discovered.
Besides his administrative and archæological work he found time to make
several daring expeditions into the unexplored regions of the Eastern
Desert; and in these years he also wrote a number of Egyptological
books, including _A Guide to the Antiquities of Upper Egypt and Lower
Nubia_: _Travels in the Upper Egyptian Deserts_: _The Life and Times of
Akhnaton, Pharaoh of Egypt_: _The Life and Times of Cleopatra_: etc. He
also made a considerable study of the political situation in the Near
East; and his book _A History of Events in Egypt from 1798 to 1914_, and
various papers in the _Fortnightly Review_, had considerable influence
on British policy. For some time, too, Mr. Weigall was a member of the
Catalogue Staff of the Cairo Museum, and in that connection wrote an
important work of a mathematical character on ancient Weights and
Balances.
These books, and his many papers in the _Nineteenth Century_,
_Fortnightly Review_, _Blackwood’s Magazine_, etc., were received with a
chorus of praise; and he was soon recognised as the foremost writer
upon Egyptology, and a master of felicitous expression and description.
His friend the late President Roosevelt, writing in the _Outlook_, spoke
of him as having “that supreme quality of seeing the living body through
the dry bones and then making others see it also,” and as being “not
merely accurate, but truthful with the truth that comes only from
insight and broadminded grasp of essential facts, added to exhaustive
study and wide learning.”
“Mr. Weigall is one of the best living authorities on Upper Egypt,” said
the _Athenæum_, “and his delightful books are justly admired.” “He is a
scholar,” said the _Times_, “deeply versed in Egyptian archæology and
history and himself a partner in many discoveries.... He is an idealist
gifted with insight and sympathy.” The _Observer_ described him as “a
scholar who has let learning quicken and not dull his wits”; and the
_Pall Mall Gazette_ spoke of him as “the key to one of the richest
storehouses the world contains.” “He makes the sights, the sounds, the
very air of the Egyptian deserts visit the senses of his readers with a
keenness that is almost painful,” wrote the _Westminster Gazette_. “He
is the scholar-sportsman,” said the _Times_ again, “gifted with a fine
sensitiveness to the mystery and romance of ancient things.”
In 1914, after receiving high honours from various governments, and when
his administrative work and his writings had brought him to a position
of eminence, he suffered a breakdown in health, due to his exertions in
Egypt; and he was obliged to resign and to return to England. Here,
during his convalescence, he occupied his spare time by painting designs
for stage scenery; and from 1915 to 1918 many of the leading
spectacular productions at the chief London theatres owed their success
to his art.
As in the case of his historical writings, so in that of this hobby, his
work was received with unanimous praise. We read of a ballet of his at
the Alhambra as being “one of the most beautiful stage pictures ever
seen”; of a scene at the Palace Theatre “so exquisite as to make a
success of the production without anything else” (_Tatler_); of another
scene for which “there is no measure of praise too high” (_Sunday
Times_); and so on throughout the entire Press.
Mr. Weigall, however, having deeply influenced the whole art of stage
decoration in this country by introducing bold simplicity of design and
pure colour and light effects, did not long continue to spend his time
in this manner; and with the return of health he resumed his
archæological work and set himself to the long task of preparing
material for works on Egyptian art and history, and on comparative
ethics, which are not yet completed. Meanwhile, and perhaps to some
extent as a means of livelihood, he wrote three novels: _Madeline of the
Desert_ (1920), _The Dweller in the Desert_ (1921), entitled _Burning
Sands_ in the United States, and _Bedouin Love_ (1922). These books,
again hailed with high tributes from the Press, have attained great
popularity and have passed through many editions. From time to time he
also wrote the lyrics for songs which have obtained wide appreciation,
and he was the author of various little sketches, both dramatic and
comic, which have been seen upon the London stage.
For some months in 1921 he came before the public in another guise. An
article of his in the _Nineteenth Century_, in which he pointed out the
influence being exercised by the Kinematograph on our national life,
attracted the attention of the late Lord Northcliffe, who invited Mr.
Weigall to write a long series of articles in the _Daily Mail_ on the
subject. This led to an intensive study of the whole subject of “films,”
and the articles, of a fervently patriotic character, had the effect of
removing some unpleasant features from the motion-picture theatres,
while the general improvement in the tone of this form of entertainment
is largely due to his influence.
At the time of writing (January, 1923) Mr. Weigall is once more in
Egypt, and further archæological works from his pen may be expected. In
November, 1922, the present Publisher re-issued, and within a few weeks
sold out, a revised (fourth) edition of _The Life and Times of
Akhnaton_, perhaps the author’s most popular historical work; and it is
hoped that this new volume will be found to be of equal interest and
entertainment. The essays published herein were written between 1907 and
the present year. Some of them appeared as part of a book many years
ago; others were printed in various leading journals; and yet others
have been specially written for this volume. In this regard the
Publisher’s thanks are due to the editors of the _Nineteenth Century_,
the _Fortnightly Review_, the _Cornhill Magazine_, _Blackwood’s
Magazine_, the _New Statesman_, the _Century Magazine_, _Putnam’s
Magazine_, and the _Quarterly Review_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--EGYPTOLOGY IN THE OPEN 3
II.--THE NECESSITY OF ARCHÆOLOGY TO THE GAIETY
OF THE WORLD 26
III.--THE MISFORTUNES OF WENAMON 46
IV.--THE PRESERVATION OF ANTIQUITIES 69
V.--THE MORALITY OF EXCAVATION 84
VI.--THE TEMPERAMENT OF THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS 109
VII.--EXCAVATIONS IN EGYPT 136
VIII.--THE TOMB OF TIY AND AKHNATON 153
IX.--THE TOMB OF HOREMHEB 174
X.--LOWER NUBIA AND THE GREAT RESERVOIR 198
XI.--A NUBIAN HIGHWAY 216
XII.--THE ALABASTER QUARRIES IN THE WADY ASSIOUT 235
XIII.--A RIDE TO WADY SALAMÛNI 245
XIV.--THE CHILDREN OF EGYPT 262
XV.--AN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN POEM 277
XVI.--THE STORY OF THE SHIPWRECKED SAILOR 283
XVII.--THEBAN THIEVES 304
XVIII.--THE ERROR OF POMPOUS HISTORY 328
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
ARTHUR WEIGALL, 1922 _Frontispiece_
THE AUTHOR STANDING UPON THE CLIFFS BETWEEN THE
TEMPLE OF DER EL BAHRI AND THE VALLEY OF THE
TOMBS OF THE KINGS 16
AN EGYPTIAN PRIEST OR RELIGIOUS OFFICIAL 54
(From a wooden statuette of about B.C. 1800: now in Cairo)
A HUMAN-FACED LION, PROBABLY DATING FROM THE
REIGN OF PHARAOH AMENEMES III., B.C. 1825 74
Now in Cairo.
THE MUMMY OF PRINCE YUAA 94
(The photograph was taken by the Author on the day of
its discovery. The mummy is now in the Cairo Museum)
EXCAVATING THE OSIREION AT ABYDOS. A CHAIN OF BOYS
HANDING UP BASKETS OF SAND TO THE SURFACE 144
(Photograph by the Author)
THE ENTRANCE OF THE TOMB OF QUEEN TIY, WITH A
NATIVE POLICEMAN GUARDING IT. THE LARGE TOMB OF
RAMESES X. IS TO THE LEFT 154
BUST OF AKHNATON FOUND AT TELL EL AMARNA, AND NOW
IN BERLIN 164
A STATUE OF TUTANKHAMON, THE PHARAOH WHOSE TOMB
WAS DISCOVERED BY LORD CARNARVON IN 1922 184
Now in Cairo.
THE ENTRANCE OF THE TOMB OF HOREMHEB IN THE
VALLEY OF THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS 192
THE NILE AT PHILÆ, LOOKING NORTH 212
THE NILE AT ASWAN. ON THE HILLS TO THE LEFT IS THE
HIGHROAD TO NUBIA 222
TWO VIEWS IN THE WADY SALAMÛNI, EARLY MORNING 252
MODERN EGYPTIAN PEASANTS BESIDE A WATER-WHEEL 262
THE PHARAOH RAMESES II., B.C. 1292-1225 292
(From his statue now at Turin)
GOLD CUPS AND ARMLET OF ABOUT B.C. 1000, FOUND
ACCIDENTALLY BY A NATIVE IN A MOUND BY A ROADSIDE
IN LOWER EGYPT 320
Now in Cairo Museum.
The Glory of the Pharaohs
CHAPTER I
EGYPTOLOGY IN THE OPEN
In this first chapter I propose to extol the Egyptologist who works
abroad in the field, in contrast to him who studies at home in the
museum; for, in reading over the papers collected into this volume, I
see that there is a sort of _motif_ which runs through them all, linking
them together, namely that the archæology of Egypt, to be properly
appreciated, must be studied, so to speak, at the lips of the Sphinx
itself.
It is an unfortunate fact that the archæologist is generally considered
to be a kind of rag-and-bone man; one who, sitting all his life in a
dusty room, shuns the touch of the wind and takes no pleasure in the
vanities under the sun. Actually, this is not so very often a true
description of him. The ease with which long journeys are now
undertaken, the immunity from insult or peril which the traveller
usually enjoys, have made it possible for the archæologist to seek his
information at its source in almost all the countries of the world; and
he is not obliged, as was his grandfather, to take it at second-hand
from the volumes of mediæval scholars. Moreover, the necessary
collections of books of reference are now to be found in very diverse
places; and thus it comes about that there are plenty of archæologists
who are able to leave their own museums and studies for limited periods.
And as regards his supposed untidy habits, the phase of cleanliness
which, like a purifying wind, descended suddenly upon the world in the
second half of the nineteenth century, has penetrated even to libraries
and museums, removing every speck of dust therefrom. The archæologist,
when engaged in the sedentary side of his profession, lives nowadays in
an atmosphere charged with the odours of furniture-polish and
monkey-brand. A place less dusty than the Victoria and Albert Museum in
London, or than the Metropolitan Museum in New York, could not easily be
imagined. The disgusting antiquarian of a past generation, with his
matted locks and stained clothing, could but be ill at ease in such
surroundings, and could claim no brotherhood with the majority of the
present-day archæologists. Cobwebs are now taboo; and the misguided old
man who dwelt amongst them is seldom to be found outside of caricature,
save in the more remote corners of the earth.
The archæologist in these days, then, is not often confined permanently
to his museum, though in many cases he remains there as much as
possible; and still less often is he a person of objectionable
appearance. The science is generally represented by two classes of
scholar; the man who sits in the museum or library for the greater part
of his life, and lives as though he would be worthy of the furniture
polish, and the man who works in the field for a part of the year and
there lives as though he regarded the clean airs of heaven in even
higher estimation. Thus, in arguing the case for the field-worker, as I
propose here to do, there is no longer the easy target of the dusty
antiquarian at which to hurl the javelin. One cannot merely urge a musty
individual to come out into the open air. That would make an easy
argument. One has to take aim at the less vulnerable person of the
scholar who chooses to spend the greater part of his time in a smart
gallery of exhibits or in a well-ordered and spotless library, and whose
only fault is that he is too fond of those places. One may no longer
tease him about his dusty surroundings; but I think it is possible to
accuse him of setting a very bad example by his affection for home
comforts, and of causing indirectly no end of mischief. It is a fact
that there are many Greek scholars who are so accustomed to read their
texts in printed books that they could not make head nor tail of an
original document written in a cursive Greek hand; and there are not a
few students of Egyptian archæology who do not know the conditions and
phenomena of the country sufficiently to prevent the occurrence of
occasional glaring errors in the exposition of their theories.
There are three main arguments which may be set forward to induce
Egyptologists to go as often as possible to Egypt, and to urge their
students to do so, instead of educating the mind to the habit of working
at home.
Firstly, the study of archæology in the open helps to train up young men
in the path of health in which they should go. Work in the Egyptian
desert, for example, is one of the most healthy and inspiring pursuits
that could be imagined; and study in the shrines overlooking the Nile,
where, as at Gebel Silsileh, one has to dive into the cool river and
swim to the sun-scorched scene of one’s work, is surely more
invigorating than study in the atmosphere of the local museum. A gallop
up to the Tombs of the Kings puts a man in a readier mood for a
morning’s work than does a ride in a street-car or an omnibus through
crowded thoroughfares; and he will feel a keenness as he pulls out his
notebook that he can never have experienced in his western city. There
is, moreover, a certain amount of what is called “roughing it” to be
enjoyed by the archæologist in Egypt; and thus the body becomes
toughened and prepared for any necessary spurt of work. To rough it in
the open is the best medicine for tired heads, as it is the finest tonic
for brains in a normal condition.
In parenthesis an explanation must be given of what is meant here by
that much misunderstood condition of life which is generally known as
“roughing it.” A man who is accustomed to the services of two valets
will believe that he is roughing it when he is left to put the diamond
studs in his evening shirts with his own fingers; and a man who has
tramped the roads all his life will hardly consider that he is roughing
it when he is outlawed upon the unsheltered moors in late autumn. The
degree of hardship to which I refer lies between these two extremes. The
science of Egyptology does not demand from its devotees a performance of
many extreme acts of discomfort; but, during the progress of active
work, it does not afford many opportunities for luxurious
self-indulgence, or for any slackness in the taking of exercise.
As a protest against the dilettante antiquarian (who is often as
objectionable a character as the unwashed scholar) there are certain
archæologists who wear the modern equivalent of a hair shirt, who walk
abroad with pebbles in their shoes, and who speak of sitting upon an
easy-chair as a moral set-back. The strained and posed life which such
_savants_ lead is not to be regarded as a rough one; for there is
constant luxury in the thought of their own toughness, and infinite
comfort in the sense of superiority which they permit themselves to
feel. It is not roughing it to feed from a packing-case when a table
adds insignificantly to the impedimenta of the camp; it is pretending to
rough it. It is not roughing it to eat canned food out of the can when a
plate might be used: it is either hypocrisy or slovenliness.
To rough it is to lead an exposed life under conditions precluding the
possibility of indulging in certain comforts which, in their place and
at the right time, are enjoyed and appreciated. A man may well be said
to rough it when he camps in the open, and dispenses with the luxuries
of civilisation; when he pours a jug of water over himself instead of
lying in ecstasy in an enamelled bath; eats a meal of two undefined
courses instead of one of five or six; twangs a banjo to the moon
instead of ravishing his ear with a sonata upon the grand piano; rolls
himself in a blanket instead of sitting over the library fire; turns in
at nine p.m. and rises ere the sun has topped the hills instead of
keeping late hours and lying abed; sleeps on the ground or upon a narrow
camp-bed (which occasionally collapses) instead of sprawling at his ease
in a four-poster.
A life of this kind cannot fail to be of benefit to the health; and,
after all, the work of a healthy man is likely to be of greater value
than that of one who is anæmic or out of condition. It is the first duty
of a scholar to give attention to his muscles, for he, more than other
men, has the opportunity to become enfeebled by indoor work. Few
students can give sufficient time to physical exercise; but in Egypt the
exercise is taken during the course of the work, and not an hour is
wasted. The muscles harden and the health is ensured without the
expending of a moment’s thought upon the subject.
Archæology is too often considered to be the pursuit of weak-chested
youths and eccentric old men; it is seldom regarded as a possible
vocation for normal persons of sound health and balanced mind. An
athletic and robust young man, clothed in the ordinary costume of a
gentleman, will tell a new acquaintance that he is an Egyptologist,
whereupon the latter will exclaim in surprise: “Not really?--you don’t
look like one.” A kind of mystery surrounds the science. The layman
supposes the antiquarian to be a very profound and erudite person, who
has pored over his books since a baby, and has shunned those games and
sports which generally make for a healthy constitution. The study of
Egyptology is thought to require a depth of knowledge that places its
students outside the limits of normal learning, and presupposes in them
an unhealthy amount of schooling. This, of course, is absurd.
Nobody would expect an engineer who built bridges and dams, or a great
military commander, to be a seedy individual with longish hair, pale
face, and weak eye-sight; and yet probably he has twice the brain
capacity of the average archæologist. It is because the life of the
antiquarian is, or is generally thought to be, unhealthy and sluggish
that he is so often regarded as a worm.
Some attempt should be made to rid the science of this forbidding
aspect; and for this end students ought to do their best to make it
possible for them to be regarded as ordinary, normal, healthy men. Let
them discourage the popular belief that they are prodigies, freaks of
mental expansion. Let them shun pedantry and the affectations of the
dons’ common-room as they would the plague. Let their first desire be to
show themselves good, useful, hardy, serviceable citizens, and they will
do much to remove the stigma from their profession. Let them be
acquainted with the feeling of a bat or racket in the hands, or a saddle
between the knees; let them know the rough path over the mountains, or
the diving-pool amongst the rocks, and their mentality will not be found
to suffer. A winter’s “roughing it” in the Theban necropolis or
elsewhere would do much to banish the desire for perpetual residence at
home in the west; and a season in Egypt would alter the point of view of
the student more considerably than he could imagine. Moreover, the
appearance of the scholar prancing about on his fiery steed (even though
it be but an Egyptian donkey) will help to dispel the current belief
that he is incapable of physical exertion; and his reddened face rising,
like the morning sun, above the rocks on some steep pathway over the
Theban hills will give the passer-by cause to alter his opinion of the
students of antiquity.
As a second argument a subject must be introduced which will be
distasteful to a large number of archæologists. I refer to the
narrow-minded policy of certain European and American museums, whose
desire it is at all costs to place Egyptian and other eastern
antiquities actually before the eyes of western students, in order that
they may have the comfort and entertainment of examining at home the
wonders of lands which they make no effort to visit. I have no
hesitation in saying that the craze for recklessly dragging away unique
monuments from Egypt to be exhibited in western museums for the
satisfaction of the untravelled man, is the most pernicious bit of folly
to be found in the whole broad realm of Egyptological misbehaviour.
A museum has three main justifications for its existence. In the first
place, like a home for lost dogs, it is a repository for stray objects.
No curator should endeavour to procure for his museum any antiquity
which could be safely exhibited on its original site and in its original
position. He should receive chiefly those stray objects which otherwise
would be lost to sight, or those which would be in danger of
destruction. He should make it his first endeavour not so much to obtain
objects direct from Egypt as to gather in those antiquities which are in
the possession of dealers or private persons who cannot be expected to
look after them with due care, or make them accessible to students.
In the second place, a museum is a storehouse for historical documents
such as papyri and ostraca, and in this respect it is simply to be
regarded as a kind of public library, capable of unlimited and perfectly
legitimate expansion. Such objects are not often found by robbers in the
tombs which they have violated, nor are they snatched from temples to
which they belong. They are usually discovered accidentally, and in a
manner which precludes any possibility of their actual position having
much significance. The immediate purchase, for example, by museum
agents of the Tell el Amarna tablets--the correspondence of a great
Pharaoh--which had been discovered by accident, and would perhaps have
been destroyed, was most wise.
In the third place, a museum is a permanent exhibition for the
instruction of the public, and for the enlightenment of students
desirous of obtaining comparative knowledge in any one branch of their
work, and for this purpose it should be well supplied not so much with
original antiquities as with casts, facsimiles, models, and
reproductions of all sorts.
To be a serviceable exhibition both for the student and the public a
museum does not need to possess only original antiquities. On the
contrary, as a repository for stray objects, a museum is not to be
expected to have a complete series of original antiquities in any class,
nor is it the business of the curator to attempt to fill up the gaps
without thought of the consequences. To do so is to encourage the
straying of other objects. The curator so often labours under the
delusion that it is his first business to collect together by fair means
or foul as large a number as possible of valuable masterpieces. In
reality that is a very secondary matter. His first business, if he be an
Egyptologist, is to see that Egyptian masterpieces remain _in situ_ so
far as is practicable; and his next is to save what has irrevocably
strayed from straying further. If the result of this policy be a poor
collection, then he must devote so much the more time and money to
obtaining facsimiles and reproductions.
But the curator generally has the insatiable appetite of the collector.
The authorities of one museum bid vigorously against those of another at
the auction which constantly goes on in the shops of the dealers in
antiquities. They pay huge prices for original statues, reliefs, or
sarcophagi; prices which would procure for them the finest series of
casts or facsimiles or would give them valuable additions to their
legitimate collection of papyri. And what is it all for? It is certainly
not for the benefit of the general public. It is almost solely for the
benefit of the student and scholar who cannot, or will not, go to Egypt.
Soon it comes to be the curator’s pride to observe that _savants_ are
hastening to his museum to make their studies. His civic conceit is
tickled by the spectacle of Egyptologists travelling long distances to
take notes in his metropolitan museum.
All this is as wrong-headed as it can be. While he is filling his museum
he does not seem to understand that he is denuding every necropolis in
Egypt. I will give one or two instances of the destruction wrought by
western museums. I take them at random from my memory.
In the year 1900 the then Inspector-General of Antiquities in Upper
Egypt discovered a tomb at Thebes in which there was a beautiful relief
sculptured on one of the walls, representing Queen Tiy. This he
photographed, and the tomb was once more buried. In 1908 I chanced upon
this monument, and proposed to open it up as a show place for visitors;
but alas!--the relief of the queen had disappeared, and only a gaping
hole in the wall remained. It appears that robbers had entered the tomb
at about the time of the change of inspectors; and, realising that this
relief would make a valuable exhibit for some western museum, they had
cut out of the wall as much as they could conveniently carry
away--namely, the head and upper part of the figure of Tiy. The
hieroglyphic inscription which was sculptured near the head was
carefully erased, in case it should contain some reference to the name
of the tomb from which they were taking the fragment; and over the face
some false inscriptions were scribbled in Greek characters, so as to
give the stone an unrecognisable appearance. In this condition it was
conveyed to a dealer’s shop, and it now forms one of the exhibits in the
Royal Museum at Brussels.
In the same museum, and in others also, there are fragments of beautiful
sculpture hacked out of the walls of the famous tomb of Khaemhet at
Thebes. In the British Museum there are large pieces of wall-paintings
broken out of Theban tombs. The famous inscription in the tomb of Anena
at Thebes, which was one of the most important texts of the early
Eighteenth Dynasty, was smashed to pieces several years ago to be sold
in small sections to museums; and a certain scholar was instrumental in
purchasing back for us eleven of the fragments, which have now been
replaced in the tomb, and with certain fragments in Europe, form the
sole remnant of the once imposing stela.
One of the most important scenes out of the famous reliefs of the
Expedition to Pount, at Dêr el Bahri, found its way into the hands of
the dealers, and was ultimately purchased by the museum in Cairo. The
beautiful and important reliefs which decorated the tomb of Horemheb at
Sakkâra, hacked out of the walls by robbers, are now exhibited in six
different museums; London, Leyden, Vienna, Bologna, Alexandria, and
Cairo. Of the two hundred tombs of the nobles now to be seen at Thebes,
I cannot, at the moment, recall a single one which had not suffered in
this manner at some time previous to the organisation of the present
strict supervision which was instituted by Mr. Carter and myself.
The curators of western museums will argue that had they not purchased
these fragments they would have fallen into the hands of less desirable
owners. This is quite true, and, indeed, it forms the nearest approach
to justification that can be discovered. Nevertheless, it has to be
remembered that this purchasing of antiquities is the best stimulus to
the robber, who is well aware that a market is always to be found for
his stolen goods. It may seem difficult to censure the purchaser, for
certainly the fragments were “stray” when the bargain was struck, and it
is the business of the curator to collect stray antiquities. But why
were they stray? Why were they ever cut from the walls of the Egyptian
monuments? Assuredly because the robbers knew that museums would
purchase them. If there had been no demand there would have been no
supply.
To ask the curators to change their policy, and to purchase only those
objects which are legitimately on sale, would, of course, be as futile
as to ask the nations to disarm. The rivalry between museum and museum
would alone prevent a cessation of this indiscriminate traffic. I can
see only one way in which a more sane and moral attitude can be
introduced, and that is by the development of the habit of visiting
Egypt and of working upon archæological subjects in the shadow of the
actual monuments. Only the person who is familiar with Egypt can know
the cost of supplying the stay-at-home scholar with exhibits for his
museums. Only one who has resided in Egypt can understand the fact that
Egypt itself is the real place for Egyptian monuments. He alone can
appreciate the work of the Egyptian Government in preserving the remains
of ancient days.
The resident in Egypt, interested in archæology, comes to look with a
kind of horror upon museums, and to feel extraordinary hostility to what
may be called the museum spirit. He sees with his own eyes the
half-destroyed tombs, which to the museum curator are things far off and
not visualised. While the curator is blandly saying to his visitor:
“See, I will now show you a beautiful fragment of sculpture from a
distant and little-known Theban tomb,” the white resident in Egypt, with
black murder in his heart, is saying: “See, I will show you a beautiful
tomb of which the best part of one wall is utterly destroyed that a
fragment might be hacked out for a distant and little-known European or
American museum.”
To a resident in Europe, Egypt seems to be a strange and barbaric land,
far, far away beyond the hills and seas; and her monuments are thought
to be at the mercy of wild Bedouin Arabs. In the less recent travel
books there is not a published drawing of a temple in the Nile Valley
but has its complement of Arab figures grouped in picturesque attitudes.
Here a fire is being lit at the base of a column, and the black smoke
curls upwards to destroy the paintings thereon; here a group of children
sport upon the lap of a colossal statue; and here an Arab tethers his
camel at the steps of the high altar. It is felt, thus, that the objects
exhibited in European museums have been _rescued_ from Egypt and
recovered from a distant land. This is not so. They have been snatched
from Egypt and lost to the country of their origin.
He who is well acquainted with Egypt knows that hundreds of watchmen,
and a small army of inspectors, engineers, draughtsmen, surveyors, and
other officials now guard these monuments, that strong iron gates bar
the doorways against unauthorised visitors, that hourly patrols pass
from monument to monument, and that any damage done is punished by long
terms of imprisonment; he knows that the Egyptian Government spends
hundreds of thousands of pounds upon safeguarding the ancient remains;
he is aware that the organisation of the Department of Antiquities is an
extremely important branch of the Ministry of Public Works. He has seen
the temples swept and garnished, the tombs lit by electric light and the
sanctuaries carefully rebuilt. He has spun out to the Pyramids in the
electric tramcar or in a taxi-cab; has strolled in evening dress through
the halls of Karnak, after dinner at the hotel; and has rung up the
Theban Necropolis on the telephone.
A few seasons’ residence in Egypt shifts the point of view in a
startling manner. No longer is the country either distant or insecure;
and, realising this, the student becomes more balanced, and he sees both
sides of the question with equal clearness. The archæologist may
complain that it is too expensive a matter to travel to Egypt. But why,
then, are not the expenses of such a journey met by the various museums?
Quite a small sum will pay for a student’s winter in Egypt and his
journey to and from that country. Such a sum is given readily enough for
the purchase of an antiquity; but surely right-minded students are a
better investment than wrongly-acquired antiquities.
It must be now pointed out, as a third argument,
[Illustration: The author standing upon the cliffs between the Temple of
Dêr el Bahri and the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings]
that an Egyptologist cannot study his subject properly unless he be
thoroughly familiar with Egypt and modern Egyptians.
A student who is accustomed to sit at home, working in his library or
museum, and who has never resided in Egypt, or has but travelled for a
short time in that country, may do extremely useful work in one way or
another, but that work will not be faultless. It will be, as it were,
lop-sided; it will be coloured with hues of the west, unknown to the
land of the Pharaohs and antithetical thereto. A London architect may
design an apparently charming villa for a client in Jerusalem, but
unless he know by actual and prolonged experience the exigencies of the
climate of Palestine, he will be liable to make a sad mess of his job.
By bitter experience the military commanders learnt in the late war that
a plan of campaign prepared at home was of little use to them. The
cricketer may play a very good game upon the home ground, but upon a
foreign pitch the first straight ball will send his bails flying into
the clear blue sky.
An archæologist who attempts to record the material relating to the
manners and customs of the ancient Egyptians cannot complete his task,
or even assure himself of the accuracy of his statements, unless he has
studied the modern customs and made himself acquainted with the
permanent conditions of the country. The modern Egyptians are the same
people as those who bowed the knee to Pharaoh, and many of their customs
still survive. A student can no more hope to understand the story of
Pharaonic times without an acquaintance with Egypt as she now is than a
modern statesman can hope to understand his own times solely from a
study of the past.
Nothing is more paralysing to a student of archæology than continuous
book-work. A collection of hard facts is an extremely beneficial mental
exercise, but the deductions drawn from such a collection should be
regarded as an integral part of the work. The road-maker must also walk
upon his road to the land whither it leads him; the ship-builder must
ride the seas in his vessel, though they be uncharted and unfathomed.
Too often the professor will set his students to a compilation which
leads them no farther than the final fair copy. They will be asked to
make for him, with infinite labour, a list of the High Priests of Amon;
but unless he has encouraged them to put such life into those figures
that each one shall seem to step from the page to confront his recorder,
unless the name of each shall call to mind the very scenes amidst which
he worshipped, then is the work uninspired and deadening to the student.
A catalogue of ancient scarabs is required, let us suppose, and the
students are set to work upon it. They examine hundreds of specimens,
they record the variations in design, they note the differences in the
glaze or material. But can they picture the man who wore the
scarab?--can they reconstruct in their minds the scene in the workshop
wherein the scarab was made?--can they hear the song of the workmen or
their laughter when the overseer was not nigh? In a word, does the
scarab mean history to them, the history of a period, of a dynasty, of a
craft? Assuredly not, unless the students know Egypt and the Egyptians,
have heard their songs and their laughter, have watched their modern
arts and crafts. Only then are they in a position to reconstruct the
picture.
The late Theodore Roosevelt, in his Romanes lecture at Oxford, gave it
as his opinion that the industrious collector of facts occupied an
honourable but not an exalted position; and he added that the merely
scientific historian must rest content with the honour, substantial, but
not of the highest type, that belongs to him who gathers material which
some time some master shall arise to use. Now every student should aim
to be a master, to _use_ the material which he has so laboriously
collected; and though at the beginning of his career, and indeed
throughout his life, the gathering of material is a most important part
of his work, he should never compile solely for the sake of compilation,
unless he be content to serve simply as a clerk of archæology.
An archæologist must be a historian. He must conjure up the past; he
must play the Witch of Endor. His lists and indices, his catalogues and
note-books, must be but the spells which he uses to invoke the dead. The
spells have no potency until they are pronounced: the lists of Kings of
Egypt have no more than an accidental value until they call before the
curtain of the mind those monarchs themselves. It is the business of the
archæologist to wake the dreaming dead: not to send the living to sleep.
It is his business to make the stones tell their tale: not to petrify
the listener. It is his business to put motion and commotion into the
past that the present may see and hear: not to pin it down,
spatchcocked, like a dead thing. In a word, the archæologist must be in
command of that faculty which is known as the historic imagination,
without which Dean Stanley was of opinion that the story of the past
could not be told. “Trust Nature,” said Dryden. “Do not labour to be
dull!”
But how can that imagination be at once exerted and controlled as it
needs must be, unless the archæologist be so well acquainted with the
conditions of the country about which he writes that his pictures of it
can be said to be accurate? The student must allow himself to be
saturated by the very waters of the Nile before he can permit himself to
write of Egypt. He must know the modern Egyptians before he can
construct his model of Pharaoh and his court.
When the mummy of Akhnaton was discovered and was proved to be that of a
man of only thirty years of age, many persons doubted the identification
on the grounds that the king was known to have been married at the time
when he came to the throne, seventeen years before his death, and it was
freely stated that a marriage at the age of eleven or twelve was
impossible and out of the question. Thus it actually remained for the
present writer to point out that the fact of the king’s death occurring
seventeen years after his marriage practically fixed his age at his
decease at not much above twenty-nine years, so unlikely was it that his
marriage would have been delayed beyond his twelfth year. Those who
doubted the identification on such grounds were showing all too clearly
that the manners and customs of the Egyptians of the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries, so many of which have come down intact from olden
times, were unknown to them.
Here we come to the root of the trouble. The Egyptologist who has not
resided for some time in Egypt, is inclined to allow his ideas regarding
the ancient customs of the land to be influenced by his
unconsciously-acquired knowledge of the habits of the west. But is he
blind that he sees not the great gulf fixed between the ways of the
east and those of his accustomed west? It is of no value to science to
record the life of Thutmosis III with Napoleon as our model for it, nor
to describe the daily life of the Pharaoh with the person of an English
king before our mind’s eye. Our western experience will not give us
material for the imagination to work upon in dealing with Egypt. The
setting for our Pharaonic pictures must be derived from Egypt alone; and
no Egyptologist’s work that is more than a simple compilation is of
value unless the sunlight and the sandy glare of Egypt have burnt into
his eyes, and have been reflected on to the pages under his pen.
The archæologist must possess the historic imagination, but it must be
confined to its proper channels. It is impossible to exert this
imagination without, as a consequence, a figure rising up before the
mind partially furnished with the details of a personality and fully
endowed with the broad character of an individual. The first lesson,
thus, which we must learn is that of allowing no incongruity to appear
in our figures. In ancient history there can seldom be sufficient data
at the Egyptologist’s disposal with which to build up a complete figure;
and his puppets must come upon the stage sadly deficient, as it were, in
arms, legs, and apparel suitable to them, unless he know from an
experience of modern Egyptians how to restore them and to clothe them in
good taste. The substance upon which the imagination works must be no
less than a collective knowledge of the people of the nation in
question. Rameses must be constructed from an acquaintance with many a
Pasha of modern Egypt, and his Chief Butler must reflect the known
characteristics of a hundred Beys and Effendis. Without such “padding”
the figures will remain but names, and with names Egyptology is already
over-stocked.
It is remarkable to notice how little is known regarding the great
personalities in history. Taking three characters at random: we know
extremely little that is authentic regarding King Arthur; our knowledge
of the actual history of Boadicea is extremely meagre; and the precise
historian would have to dismiss Pontius Pilate in a few paragraphs. But
let the archæologist know so well the manners and customs of the period
with which he is dealing that he will not, like the author of the
stories of the Holy Grail, dress Arthur in the armour of the thirteenth
century, nor fill the mind of Pilate with the thoughts of a modern
Colonial Governor; let him be so well trained in scientific cautiousness
that he will not give unquestioned credence to the legends of the past;
let him have sufficient knowledge of the nation to which his hero or
heroine belonged to be able to fill up the lacunæ with a kind
of collective appreciation and estimate of the national
characteristics--and I do not doubt that his interpretations will hold
good till the end of all history.
The Egyptologist to whom Egypt is not a living reality is handicapped in
his labours more unfairly than is realised by him. Avoid Egypt, and
though your brains be of vast capacity, though your eyes be never raised
from your books, you will yet remain in many ways an ignoramus, liable
to be corrected by the merest tourist in the Nile valley. But come with
me to a Theban garden that I know, where, on some still evening, the
dark palms are reflected in the placid Nile, and the acacias are
mellowed by the last light of the sunset; where, in leafy bowers, the
grapes cluster overhead, and the fig-tree is burdened with fruit. Beyond
the broad sheet of the river rise those unchanging hills which encompass
the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings; and at their foot, dimly seen in
the evening haze, sit the twin colossi, as they have sat since the days
of Amenophis the Magnificent. The stars begin to be seen through the
leaves now that the daylight dies, and presently the Milky Way becomes
apparent, stretching across the vault of the night, as when it was
believed to be the Nile of the Heavens.
The owls hoot to one another through the garden; and at the edge of the
alabaster tank wherein the dusk is mirrored, a frog croaks unseen amidst
the lilies. Even so croaked he on this very ground in those days when,
typifying eternity, he seemed to utter the endless refrain, “I am the
resurrection, I am the resurrection,” into the ears of men and maidens
beneath these self-same stars.
And now a boat floats past, on its way to Karnak, silhouetted against
the last-left light of the sky. There is music and song on board. The
sound of the pipes is carried over the water and pulses to the ears,
inflaming the imagination with the sorcery of its cadences and stirring
the blood by its bold rhythm. The gentle breeze brings the scent of many
flowers to the nostrils, and with these come drifting thoughts and
undefined fancies, so that presently the busy considerations of the day
are lulled and forgotten. The twilight seems to cloak the extent of the
years, and in the gathering darkness the procession of the centuries is
hidden. Yesterday and to-day are mingled together, and there is nothing
to distinguish to the eye the one age from the other. An immortal,
brought suddenly to the garden at this hour, could not say from direct
observation whether he had descended from the clouds into the twentieth
century before or the twentieth century after Christ; and the sound of
the festal pipes in the passing boat would but serve to confuse him the
more.
In such a garden as this the student will learn more Egyptology than he
could assimilate in many an hour’s study at home; for here his five
senses play the student and Egypt herself is his teacher. While he may
read in his books how this Pharaoh or that feasted o’ nights in his
palace beside the river, here, not in fallible imagination but in actual
fact, he may see Nilus and the Lybian desert to which the royal eyes
were turned, may smell the very perfume of the palace garden, and may
hearken to the self-same sounds that lulled a king to sleep in
Hundred-gated Thebes.
Not in the west, but only by the waters of the Nile will he learn how
best to be an historian of ancient Egypt, and in what manner to make his
studies of interest, as well as of technical value, to his readers, for
he will here discover the great secret of his profession. Suddenly the
veil will be lifted from his understanding, and he will become aware
that Past and Present are so indissoluble as to be incapable of separate
interpretation or single study. He will learn that there is no such
thing as a distinct Past or a defined Present. “Yesterday this day’s
madness did prepare,” and the affairs of bygone times must be
interpreted in the light of recent events. The Past is alive to-day and
all the deeds of man in all the ages are living at this hour in
offspring. There is no real death. The earthly grave will not hide, nor
the mountain tomb imprison, the actions of the men of old Egypt, so
consequent and fruitful are all human affairs. This is the knowledge
which will make the Egyptologist’s work of lasting value; and nowhere
else save in Egypt can he acquire it. This, indeed, for him is the
secret of the Sphinx; and only at the lips of the Sphinx itself can he
learn it.