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Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The glory of the
Pharaohs
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
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eBook.

Title: The glory of the Pharaohs

Author: Arthur E. P. Brome Weigall

Release date: February 3, 2024 [eBook #72865]

Language: English

Original publication: NYC: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1923

Credits: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading

Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced
from images generously made available by The Internet
Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GLORY OF

THE PHARAOHS ***
 CONTENTS
ILLUSTRATIONS
INDEX

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

Arthur Weigall
 T H E G L O RY
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
Egyptology in the Open The Necessity of Archæology
—
I. 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,
The author standing upon the cliffs between the Temple of Dêr el Bahri and the Valley of the Tombs of
the KingsThe 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.
 CHAPTER II

THE NECESSITY OF ARCHÆOLOGY TO THE GAIETY OF THE WORLD

When a great man puts a period to his existence upon earth by dying, he is
carefully buried in a tomb and a monument is set up to his glory in the
neighbouring church. He may then be said to begin his second life, his life in
the memory of the chronicler and historian. After the lapse of an æon or two
the works of the historian, and perhaps the tomb itself, are rediscovered; and
the great man begins his third life, now as a subject of discussion and
controversy amongst archæologists in the pages of a scientific journal. It
may be supposed that the spirit of the great man, not a little pleased with his
second life, has an extreme distaste for his third. There is a dead atmosphere
about it which sets him yawning as only his grave yawned before. The
charm has been taken from his deeds; there is no longer any spring in them.
He must feel towards the archæologist much as a young man feels towards
his cold-blooded parent by whom his love affair has just been found out. The
public, too, if by chance it comes upon this archæological journal, finds the
discussion nothing more than a mental gymnastic, which, as the reader drops
off to sleep, gives him the impression that the writer is a man of profound
brain capacity, but, like the remains of the great man of olden times, as dry
as dust.
There is one thing, however, which has been overlooked. This scientific
journal does not contain the ultimate results of the archæologist’s researches.
It contains the researches themselves. The public, so to speak, has been
listening to the pianist playing his morning scales, has been watching the
artist mixing his colours, has been examining the unshaped block of marble
and the chisels in the sculptor’s studio. It must be confessed, of course, that
the archæologist has so enjoyed his researches that often the ultimate result
has been overlooked by him. In the case of Egyptian archæology, for
example, there are only two or three Egyptologists who have ever set
themselves to write a readable history, whereas the number of books which
record the facts of the science is legion.
The archæologist not infrequently lives, for a large part of his time, in a
museum. However clean it may be, he is surrounded by rotting tapestries,
decaying bones, crumbling stones, and rusted or corroded metal objects. His