Addressing Diversity: Inclusive Histories of Egyptology 3963271442, 9783963271441

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Addressing Diversity Inclusive Histories of Egyptology

Edited by Hana Navratilova, Thomas L. Gertzen, Marleen De Meyer, Aidan Dodson and Andrew Bednarski

Investigatio Orientis Beiträge zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Orientalistik

Band 9

Herausgegeben von Thomas L. Gertzen, Peter Heine, Ludger Hiepel und Hans Neumann

Addressing Diversity Inclusive Histories of Egyptology

Edited by Hana Navratilova, Thomas L. Gertzen, Marleen De Meyer, Aidan Dodson and Andrew Bednarski

Zaphon Münster 2023

Cover illustrations: top left: Hildegard von Deines in 1959 (cf. contribution Dils, Fig. 7; Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-67639-0002 / Christa Hochneder); top right: Ahmed Fakhry (right) and Luis Walter Alvarez (left) (cf. contribution Tolba, Fig. 2; Photo: Marilee B. Bailey © The Regents of the University of California, Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory); bottom left: The team of Quftis employed by Jean Capart during the third Elkab campaign (cf. contribution De Meyer et al., Fig. 3; © RMAH Inv. EGI.12234, photograph by Jean Capart, 1945–1946); bottom right: Ludwig Keimer and an unknown person in a sycamore tree in Old Cairo, 1929 (cf. contribution Lehnert, Fig. 1; © DAIK. DAIK-KEI-094-001-046).

Addressing Diversity: Inclusive Histories of Egyptology Edited by Hana Navratilova, Thomas L. Gertzen, Marleen De Meyer, Aidan Dodson and Andrew Bednarski Investigatio Orientis 9

© 2023 Zaphon, Enkingweg 36, Münster (www.zaphon.de) All rights reserved. Printed in Germany. Printed on acid-free paper. ISBN 978-3-96327-144-1 (book) ISBN 978-3-96327-145-8 (e-book) ISSN 2698-1904

Jaromir Malek © Griffith Institute, University of Oxford

The volume is dedicated to the memory of Jaromir Malek (1943–2023). Among his many achievements, Jaromir trailblazed an extensive use of Egyptological archives to explain the intricate histories of our discipline. He never avoided complexity, and both supported and challenged his colleagues in equal measure to make us do our best.

Table of Contents From ‘Giants’ to Addressing Diversity Editors’ Foreword ........................................................................................... 9 Pioneers & Polymaths Valdemar Schmidt and the Foundation of Egyptology in Denmark Andreas Alm .................................................................................................. 31 Wien – Prag – Wien – Philadelphia: Nathaniel Julius Reich (1876–1943), der rastlose Wanderer Wolf B. Oerter ............................................................................................... 55 An Independent Scholar and Collector: Ludwig Keimer in Egypt: On the Occasion of the 130th Birthday of this Tireless Scientist Isolde Lehnert ................................................................................................ 75 Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956): A Proactive Pioneer in the Study of Ancient Egyptian Medicine Vincent Oeters ............................................................................................. 111 ‘Not the button on Fortuna’s cap’: The Egyptologist and Celtologist Ludwig Julius Christian Stern (1846–1911) Thomas L. Gertzen ...................................................................................... 141 The Female Perspective Hermine Hartleben: Une vie et une œuvre au service de l’égyptologie allemande et française Hélène Virenque .......................................................................................... 167 Braving the Odds: Egyptologist Herta Mohr during the Second World War Nicky van de Beek........................................................................................ 181 Dr. Hildegard von Deines (1902–1978): Ägyptologin im zweiten Leben Peter Dils..................................................................................................... 205 The Egyptian Perspective A Nazir and an Effendi: Glimpses from the Abydos Paper Archive Nora Shalaby, Ayman Damarany and Jessica Kaiser ................................. 251

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Table of Contents

On the Trail of Ahmed Fakhry: The Legacy of an Egyptian Archaeologist Mostafa I. Tolba .......................................................................................... 277 Sixty Years of the el-Kereti Family at Abusir Ladislav Bareš ............................................................................................. 309 Les ouvriers de Médamoud: Le fonctionnement d’un chantier français en Égypte au début du 20e siècle Felix Relats Montserrat ............................................................................... 323 Working with Capart: Quftis and Local Workmen during the Elkab Excavation Seasons, 1937–1946 Marleen De Meyer, Wouter Claes, Noha Mostafa Mahran, Athena Van der Perre and Aude Gräzer Ohara .......................................... 343 Individuals and Encounters Anthropometry beyond UCL: Measuring the Egyptian Fellahin, c. 1900 Rosalind Janssen ......................................................................................... 367 The ‘little Brugsch’: The Life and Adventures of Emil(e) Brugsch Heike C. Schmidt ......................................................................................... 419 Fritz Krebs (1867–1900): Forgotten école de Berlin Egyptologist and Pioneer Papyrologist Bart R. Hellinckx ......................................................................................... 449 Xia Nai’s Egypt in the Archaeology of China: Field Workers and Field Methods in Xia Nai’s Diary at Armant, Egypt, 1938 Wendy Doyon .............................................................................................. 509 Ancient Egypt in Africa: Why it matters to Brazilian Egyptology Thais Rocha da Silva ................................................................................... 535 From Class Foes to the Upper Class: Diverse Paths to Fame and Fortune in Soviet Egyptology Alexandre Loktionov.................................................................................... 565 Illustration Credits ......................................................................................... 581 Index................................................................................................................. 591

From ‘Giants’ to Addressing Diversity Editors’ Foreword

Addressing Diversity: Inclusive Histories of Egyptology continues and expands the work done in a previous volume of Investigatio Orientis, Towards a History of Egyptology, inasmuch as it strives to offer a platform for a broader history of the discipline, rather than subscribing to a set agenda of research. It does, however, aim to promote paradigms in disciplinary history and broader history of the discipline by providing a forum for wide-ranging, standalone investigations. By that we mean standards and responsibility entailed in historical scholarship. As articulated by Ludmilla Jordanova: ‘We are not free to say whatever we like about the past, because historical claims have entailments for which their makers must be held responsible. […] Diversity of opinion among historians is inevitable. What they share is a commitment to the critical evaluation of evidence, to meticulous reasoning and to disclosing their sources’.1 In 2018, an Egyptology panel was kindly included in the biennial conference of the European Society for the History of Science held in London, which led to the publication of its proceedings within Towards a History of Egyptology. In 2020, during the Covid pandemic, the 26th International Congress of History of Science and Technology (ICHST) was planned at the Academy of Sciences Prague, which finally took place virtually in 2021. The organisers were equally interested in including an Egyptology panel. However, given the cyberspace format of the conference, it proved very difficult for participants to secure funding to cover the conference fees and so the result was that the panel could not take place in its original format. However, the theme of the 2021 ICHST, ‘Giants and Dwarfs in Science, Technology and Medicine’, proved inspiring, and its role in the genesis of the present volume is gratefully recognized and acknowledged. Although ‘diverse’ people certainly make contributions to knowledge making, teasing-out ‘dwarfs’ and ‘giants’ is sometimes a less straightforward process than we would imagine. A giant in one discipline may be considered rather a minor or downright obscure character in another, and vice versa. Also, within a discipline, much depends on the perspective of the person making the judgement: some ‘philological’ Egyptologists may find it difficult to acknowledge the standing of an archaeological fieldworker, while a representative of the latter may struggle to see the global importance of a ‘deep’ language scholar, who may never have even visited Egypt. Yet such hierarchies are often, and sometimes inadvertently, used in historical narratives, even though the full story is usually and inevitably more colourful, more diverse, and 1

Jordanova 2019: 7.

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more intricate than the ‘received wisdom’ might suggest. We are also reminded of the actors in the process, including those who are not even remembered as ‘minor’ – those who are now all-but-unknown even to historians of Egyptology. In the broader world, while many people have heard of Jean-François Champollion and Howard Carter, few will know the names of even Richard Lepsius or Flinders Petrie. Even where names are known, it is rare for anyone to know anything about them as people, rather than as simply symbols of a discovery made by them. Considering such complexities of disciplinary history and its day-to-day existence, the contributors and organisers of the planned ICHST panel remained in touch and decided to put forward a volume that, despite the conference panel not taking place, would secure a continuation of the discussions on history of Egyptology. Zaphon Verlag kindly agreed to take on the publication project, and include it in the series Investigatio Orientis, alongside the earlier volume publishing papers from the London conference. Meanwhile, the virtual symposium ‘Researching the History of Egyptology: Current Practices and Futures of Transmission’ took place in June 2021, organised from Cairo by Fatma Keshk and her initiative ‘The Place and the People’, in conjunction with the Egypt Exploration Society and the Netherlands-Flemish Institute in Cairo. Given the significant overlaps between this and the abortive ICHST symposium, it was decided to try to merge the two in the proposed publication, with Zaphon Verlag gracefully accepting the enlarged bulk of the volume. Its fundamental objective, however, remains the same: to explore who and what constitutes a history of Egyptology. In doing so, it asks the question of what are our sources, what is their accessibility and how have they been/can they be transmitted? In crafting narratives, one also finds certain kinds of contribution, or contributor, privileged over others. Those holding formal academic positions tend to have a firmer place in the pantheon than those who did not. Both men and women and people of all backgrounds can be affected by limited access to an academic career. To start with a somewhat unexpected example, of a well-situated white male in Victorian Britain: Gardner Wilkinson – notoriously was granted his knighthood for not having received any state funding for his work – and he is rarely mentioned in the same breath as his state-funded chair-holder contemporaries Champollion and Rosellini. Decades later, Hedwig Fechheimer had to begin her Egyptological vocation as a ‘guest-student’, an irregular status for female students in Germany. Despite her productive career as an art historian, and even a member of one of the Berlin Museums’ committees, her contribution was all but forgotten. A Jewish woman without a stable academic job was not acknowledged in disciplinary history despite the clear success of her books on Egyptian art, books that were republished in short intervals and translated.2 2

Cf. Peuckert 2014.

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Wilkinson and Fechheimer were of course but one of many ‘self-funded’ (to use a modern term) scholars who have contributed to Egyptology over the decades, and through the lack of institutional affiliation have come to be forgotten by disciplinary histories. This is also in part due to a major change in the world of knowledge-making, its professionalization in the 19th century, itself a part of changes inherent to modernity. Individuals may be branded as ‘amateurs’ and ‘dilettantes’, or overlooked (on purpose or otherwise) on the basis of sex, sexual orientation, class, race or religion. On occasion, the impact was direct (women barred from study or achieving paid positions in the academe, and also the situation of Egyptians, on which see further). Some impact might have been indirect, as sexual orientation might have been more or less successfully hidden, masked, or not, judged or tolerated by colleagues and so on. Living in the closet came with its own baggage.3 Most strikingly, contributions of Egyptians to the discipline are too often marginalised. While this tends to be explained as a result of colonial and racist mindsets, this is certainly too simplistic an approach, and is also likely to be tied up in the way, hinted at above, that Egyptological history tends to favour the tenured, university philologist, with regular publications in academic journals, over other kinds of contributors – e.g. the journeyman field archaeologist, among whom one finds many Egyptian colleagues; we must also consider a different cultural background, different scholarly traditions and educational systems, religious bias and so on. All this contributes to the fundamental question of who is accepted in the epistemic community of Egyptology – and who defines and polices that community? Much nuance and work are needed to establish where injustice lies and how to overcome it. This goal goes well beyond any research targets, and into education strategies, intercultural competence, and social work: ‘there are clearly advantages in refusing to say that injustice is either exclusively a matter of natural ill-fortune, or exclusively a matter of socially constituted disadvantage. For why should there not be both types of cases, requiring different types of remedy?’4 As yet we cannot even properly scratch the surface of this fascinating and essential theme. In addition, whilst historians may be reasonably held responsible for explaining the complexity of the past, we should not be held responsible for ‘setting things right’ and threatened with disciplinary obliteration unless we do so. Summative disciplinary history (large volumes on national histories, dictionaries and encyclopaedic works) also tends to be heavily influenced by the availability of data. Writers have almost by definition limited time, and may easily repeat the ‘received wisdom’ of their predecessors (with the occasional foray into ‘revisionist history’ or ‘paradigm shift’, often based on the same easily-available data), rather than wade though archives to actually test whether that ‘received 3 4

A recent contribution covering the topic is Cortjaens and Loeben 2022. Wolff 2005: 456.

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wisdom’ is truly built on a sound basis, or merely the prejudice of its originating time, place or individual. Although a lot has been achieved in this regard during the last two decades of research, there is more to be done. Besides, the results of these endeavours not only require further dissemination; some time is needed for Egyptologists to take in the newly provided perspectives and to adjust their practices accordingly. Research infrastructures specialised in the history of knowledge and covering Egyptology and its related disciplines with full data access are still under development.5 It is easy to cast a jaundiced eye over missing data or missing individuals in Who Was Who in Egyptology, but the only way to remedy this would be to create a properly funded long-term project, with enough resources to proactively hunt-down ‘missing’ data and individuals, and a formal policy for so-doing. Without this, it will remain dependent on what data may be submitted by researchers on an ad hoc basis. When new data sources do open up and get mined by researchers, this can lead to fundamental rewritings and re-evaluations of existing narratives. As an example, the case of the Belgian project ‘Pyramids and Progress: Belgian Expansionism and the Making of Egyptology, 1830–1952’ can be given, a consortium uniting historians and Egyptologists at universities and museums in order to study the development of Egyptology in the specific Belgian national context. Until recently, Belgium never played any substantial role in histories of Egyptology, likely due to a combination of the limited availability of publications on its disciplinary history, and the country being a small state and a minor player on the world stage. However, the international correspondence of the Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth in Brussels that is being mined by the consortium now forms the core of several contributions in this volume (Lehnert, van de Beek, De Meyer et al., and Oeters). Merely turning the spotlight on new archival data leads to shifts in perspective. Connecting data from the history of humanities and sciences to data from the history of Egyptology is also in its infancy, although there is a functional model for early modern cultures of knowledge,6 that could be taken as an inspiration. As a result, interdisciplinary scholars and polymaths may be easily forgotten in the ongoing specialisation – or fragmentation – of scholarship. Lest we forget, there are numerous scholars who tried but failed in their endeavours to have a lasting impact on the development of the discipline, because they had what, in hindsight, proved to be the ‘wrong’ ideas. – In this regard Maximilian Adolph Uhlemann 5

There is, fortunately, ongoing work on such infrastructures: for example: the Giza Archives project (http://giza fas harvard.edu/), The Griffith Institute Archive, https://archive. griffith.ox.ac.uk/, the repertoire of Egyptological archives at the IFAO, website https:// www.ifao.egnet.net/bases/archeg/ and the DAI Arachne project https://arachne.dainst. org/ (all accessed August 3, 2022). 6 https://www.culturesofknowledge.org/ (accessed August 3, 2022).

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might be cited as an extreme example, carrying the torch of his teacher Gustav Seyffarth well into the second half of the 19th century. Where should one put them in the broader scheme of things? A fuzzy and complex narrative may work very well in a research paper, but anyone who has ever tried to submit a successful grant application with a complex (let alone interdisciplinary) topic will know that receiving such awards is an epic challenge in a world of risk-averse funders. Whether we like it or not, funding is also fragmented along national lines, which also seem more manageable (perhaps one reason why it is easier to write national histories of Egyptology than a truly transnational one). This objective and associated questions rapidly spawn sub-objectives and subquestions when one considers an important point: what defines or at least characterises the discipline of Egyptology?7 Does it have firm borders, or are they fuzzy? In this volume we argue, implicitly, for fuzzy borders. In its practical, day-to-day operations, Egyptology has always been inclusive of different specialists and in contact with other disciplines. Even in the early days of the large-scale, removal of monuments, legal at the time, rather than of their meticulous study in situ, engineering knowledge and on-site practical knowledge of moving large volumes was required. On an epistemic level, classical and oriental studies not only lived side by side well into the 19th century, but regularly cross-fertilised and overlapped.8 With the development of philology and archaeology, the scope and need for cooperation widened, leading to early twentieth-century examples such as the clearance of the tomb of Tutankhamun,9 where conservation, palaeobotany and physical anthropology were involved alongside the ‘traditional’ Egyptological staple of philology. The twenty-first century continues and expands the trend. It has been argued that ‘drawing on history, philology, archaeology, anthropology, and zoology among other disciplines, Egyptology spans the conventional sciences/humanities divide’.10 We would agree that Egyptology, although it has had to build a disciplinary claim and a distinct status (because that is how academic disciplines have been, and to some extent still are, funded), is a complex knowledge making effort, and an area study (as argued by John Baines11). As expressed by David Wengrow, In reality there is no strictly Egyptological way of researching or explaining anything, and in that sense the desire for a general methodological rapprochement between Egyptology and, for instance, anthropology is misguided. The relationship may be most mutually beneficial when it is 7

Cf. Bednarski 2020. Some examples eloquently summed up by Marchand 2009: 54–55. 9 The tomb opening is celebrating a centenary in November 2022 – the accompanying volume is Parkinson 2022. 10 Reid 2022: 246. 11 https://www.thebritishacademy.ac.uk/blog/what-is-egyptology/ (accessed August 1, 2022). 8

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least systematic; that is, when it is tailored to particular issues. If, as Bruce Trigger has suggested, ‘knowledge about ancient Egypt is viewed as the ultimate goal of Egyptology’, then most of its best practitioners must be said to transcend the aims of their chosen field.12 If we follow this principle, the pool of individuals who should be regarded as parts of the history of Egyptology widens and deepens significantly. There is also the question of the social construction of knowledge: knowledge doesn’t just happen to be discovered. We build our knowledge in the context of previous knowledge, social structures, economic conditions and so on. This does not mean that our raw data (artefacts, texts, landscapes …), or the past existence of other people and cultures, are not ‘real’, but the way we look at them is linked to the time and place of that observation (in addition to our own ‘baggage’). Once knowledge is situated socially, the scope for disciplinary history grows, as has been much debated and affirmed within the history of science.13 Sponsors, workers, servants, suppliers, distant colleagues, and families make the stage much livelier. We hope this has already been shown in existing work on the history of Egyptology: Egyptian workmen, the ‘hidden hands’ (as coined by Stephen Quirke), appeared, as did women running excavations and being involved in practical tasks, beginning with a high-profile case like Hilda Petrie. Yet there is much more. Egyptian workers of all ages, both male and female, local communities living next to, and in the context of, the excavations; different female participants and visitors at excavations, women involved in research networking internationally. How does one ‘excavate’ to uncover their voices, viewpoints, participation, or lack thereof? In many ways, there is nothing particularly ‘new’ about a history that aims to be comprehensive. As Ludmilla Jordanova noted about, for example, women’s history, ‘the topics in question are actually not new at all’.14 What was new about women’s history was its linking with feminism and political arguments. This, in turn, fed into the making of more women’s history. What should be new about comprehensive histories of Egyptology is their explicit quest for epistemic community explanations, and for an epistemic justice. As reading Petrie, or De Morgan will confirm, for example, there is in fact quite a lot about Egyptian workmen in their books. On occasion, recognition is articulated; De Morgan protected his workmen from excessive workload in the heat and mentions them by name.15 What we do not seem to see, however, is these workmen having a clearly articulated agency in the excavation process, and we do not know if they expected or wished to have it. As several papers in this volume show, local and imported social hierarchies as well as some ‘orientalist’ thinking blended to create a complex 12

Wengrow 2020: 51. Varied contributions in Lightman 2016, see particularly the section ‘Roles’. 14 Jordanova 2019: 23. 15 E.g. de Morgan 1894–1895: I, 53. 13

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situation. It is the search for the voices, agency and complexity that may be new or perhaps just articulated with a new emphasis. * * * At present, histories of Egyptology grow and develop: over the past seven years, three major projects (Reid 2015, Thompson 2015–2018, Bednarski et al. 2021), three large conference proceedings (Bickel et al. 2013, Carruthers 2015, Langer 2017), and one methodological introduction (Gertzen 2017) have been dedicated to the history of Egyptology, alongside many other papers and conference panels. Indeed, The Online Egyptological Bibliography gives 160 hits for the ‘history of Egyptology’ search term, the first one appearing in 1922;16 earlier examples can easily be found, not using such terminology, but de facto operating in the disciplinary historiography. Some chose national histories as practical narratives units, others preferred the modern history of Egypt as a leading framework, still others took biographical elements to the forefront, or tackled a history of a specific research topic or site. All try to build a disciplinary history seen from diverse angles. The history of Egyptology has almost the same problem as the history of ancient Egypt:17 it is awash with sources it has to identify and process. Any historical study has, by necessity, to select the sources it uses, but by maximising the quantity we open up the possibility of a genuinely holistic study, of a synthesis. Much time is spent collecting and cataloguing, and as a consequence Egyptology may look as though it often keeps within disciplinary borders that are self-imposed. Yet, the concentrated study of the language, art, archaeology and history of Egypt must remain the foundation of the discipline; the issue is to ensure that this does not lead to the exclusion of material outside those borders that are of fundamental importance in the credible processing of these ‘core’ data – and from the point of view of disciplinary history, the protagonists in the study and reception of that material. In the present volume, an international team contributes to addressing diverse challenges in the writing of history (or histories) of Egyptology. Each contribution has a subtext of methodological questions and paradigms. Often, unexpected connections and complexities appear, confounding any attempt at one guiding narrative. We look into archives, oral history and career trajectories, especially of Egyptian scholars, excavation specialists and also other stakeholders. Rosalind Janssen looks into the possibility of rescuing snippets of personalities and encounters even from a material that by itself has every potential for depersonalization: anthropometric research conducted by Western specialists in Egypt, almost as a by-product of excavations. Egyptian workmen at Abydos are seen in a broken discourse with researchers who did not have the language training or the 16 17

Hall 1922. See Wengrow 2020: 53–56.

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paradigmatic apparatus to enter into a full dialogue. The Abydos adventures in anthropometrics can be read as a catalogue of missed opportunities for such a dialogue. Even just listening (in) to the workmen (this was an age that did not engage consistently with the element of consent of research subjects) and recording their views on colour, and vision, and their environment, would have provided a unique insight and enriched the perspectives we have on the archaeological work and its patterns (further investigated in contributions by Doyon, De Meyer et al., and Relats Montserrat). A different perspective on workmen, this time in Medamud, is opened by Felix Relats Montserrat, yet some salient points reappear, such as the lack of knowledge of Arabic shown by some members of the IFAO team at the site. The hierarchies inside the workmen’s teams alert to social structuring that was developed locally but in the culturally hybrid context of the excavation – in Bhabha’s ‘Third space’, the traces of which Janssen investigates for Abydos and De Meyer et al. for Elkab. Relats Montserrat draws interesting comparisons about children at work, a subject of critical discourse in France since the 1840s, but an accepted reality of excavations in the late 19th and early 20th century. Yet, we are left wondering about the local perspective and the social impact on the local villagers. Again, there is much silence in the sources. That silence is reasonably attributed to limited interest, but we are left wondering about the levels of silence on both sides, the Egyptian and the French. Another element was the relative importance of material towards which specific workmen (including children) were deployed. The names of individual local team members are more likely to appear when connectible with a specific task seen as high-profile, such as helping with epigraphy, not when carrying mud and sand. However necessary the latter is, history of knowledge-making sometimes omits essential toil. This aspect has to be extracted with some effort. At Elkab, the Belgian mission directed by Jean Capart registered its workmen quite meticulously. Marleen De Meyer et al. provide new insights into the Qufti workforce at Elkab during three seasons in 1937–1946. The reis came recommended by American colleagues and had much previous experience at sites like Giza and Medinet Habu, and he in turn recruited his team of workers at Quft. The Qufti workmen constituted specialist and mobile personnel employed at different sites, entering into a hierarchical structure with any locally hired (additional) workforce. The history of and the mechanics underlying this system have recently been elucidated by Wendy Doyon (Doyon 2021). In the case of Elkab, the local workmen from the nearby villages of al-Mahamid, Hilal and al-Nesrab were hired to carry baskets and transport dirt, with their status in the hierarchy being reflected in a much lower pay grade than the Qufti experts. The Qufti family roots linked the reis families and teams across Egypt. The el-Kereti family, commemorated by Bareš, was originally also from Quft.

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Mostafa Tolba addresses the life story of Egyptian Egyptologist Ahmed Fakhry. An insight into Fakhry’s career shows an indefatigable person who had strong views on the care for ancient monuments, yet did not omit to see and study local Egyptian culture and communities living on and next to heritage sites. A community or collaborative archaeological view may suggest some of his views were technocratic,18 but his wide-ranging interest in the local communities and the ancient sites retains its validity and appeal. Fakhry was in a better position to enter a local dialogue than some of his Western colleagues, but he too was overwhelmed by the need he saw as most pressing: site recording and heritage protection. Nora Shalaby, Ayman Damarany and Jessica Kaiser provide an insight into the complexity of an administration of a heritage site, and also lay bare other broken lines of communication between the Egyptian and foreign practitioners. While we may discuss and challenge the apportionment of blame for such miscommunications, the fault lines clearly existed. However, the paper also spotlights another fault line, that of the lack of easy access to the wealth of Egyptian archive materials. It is an unfortunate result of this lack of access that the role of Egyptian excavation personnel and inspectors is made all-but-invisible in many narratives. The work of Shalaby, Damarany, Kaiser and their team in Abydos is fundamental in that the Egyptian inspectors are seen not as bureaucratic cyphers, but in very much the same light as other participants of the excavation process: specialists in their job trying to fulfil the (sometimes conflicting) expectations by different stakeholders. Another element that would support access to the Egyptian perspective is oral history. It is snippets of oral history that allow Ladislav Bareš to present an insight into one of the longest-term collaborations of an Egyptian specialist family team and an international team: the el-Kereti family in Abusir. The emphasis is given to remembering the el-Keretis’ input in the excavations, but social history aspects and change in the format of professional credentials over the generations appear as well: from a Qufti reis to a PhD-level educated Egyptologist, their practical site knowledge might have been similarly detailed, but its epistemological and social frames differ. Socially and culturally circumscribed roles provide both challenges and opportunities: this is often very visible in the area of women’s professional lives. Hermine Hartleben (presented in the contribution by Hélène Virenque) beat the odds. She had support from French Egyptology, however patchy it proved to be at times, and contributed to a major project in the history of Egyptology: a publication of letters by J.-F. Champollion. Given the lack of access to vast reams of Egyptological correspondences and consequent gaps in our understanding of the

18

Cf. Tully and Hanna 2013, Wendrich 2018.

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development of Egyptological ‘cultures of knowledge’19 it was a pioneering effort. But so was the entire approach of Hartleben: ‘Self-taught on the edge of the academic world, a woman scholar in a world of men, a German woman conducting research in a France still marked by the war against Prussia, her career is interesting in several ways’ (Virenque). Hartleben’s remarkable networking led her to pursue attempts at establishing research institutions, and even though she did not succeed in her idea of a German equivalent of the EEF, the conception and proposed social setting are remarkable. It included links to French scholars such as Maspero and to the court of Empress Victoria, widow of Friedrich III, mother of Wilhelm II and daughter of Queen Victoria. Her efforts brought her in contact with the foremost Egyptologists of France and Germany, in an atmosphere where research links worked both for and against nationalist narratives. In the history of life-writing in Egyptology, it is significant that the epitaph on Hartleben’s headstone names her as a ‘Biografin’. Herta Mohr had a more dangerous enemy than societal expectations and stereotypes, or even geopolitical moods: a totalitarian, racist regime. Nicky van de Beek charts a narrative that begins in the academic, genteel context of her studies, showing Mohr’s enthusiasm and willingness to adapt to many circumstances in order to pursue her study as ‘one of the earliest female students of Egyptology in both Austria and the Netherlands’. It is one of the most personal close-up views of an Egyptologist’s life in this volume, but much needed, because it takes a route symbolic of the 20th century from libraries to the mud and barbed wire of an internment camp, to the humiliating ride in cattle trucks to the death factory of Auschwitz. We are constantly forced to ask: what did people like Hermann Junker, Hildegard von Deines (see contribution by Peter Dils) and Wilhelm Czermak know or glean about the inhumanity of the Nazi world which they didn’t openly oppose, or only did so timidly (given Czermak’s controversial case)? It should not be forgotten that these body and soul-destroying regimes claimed not only the lives of some Egyptologists, but also the souls of others. Survival was often bought at a high price, as the insight into Soviet Egyptology by Alex Loktionov shows. However, the implications of Loktionov’s paper are wider: we are all entangled in our own societies while trying to navigate narratives and social structures. Strategising in knowledge-making is not limited to the regimes of horror, yet it is displayed in them in sharper contours. For people like Korostovtsev and Struve, whilst no doubt interested in promoting their own careers, and position and strategising accordingly (as was Xia Nai in Maoist China: see contribution by Doyon), it was paramount to establish the subject and make sure the discipline lived on. Yet, in knowledge making they were walking a tightrope: ancient Egypt’s history was put to service as an ideological argumentation of Communism. This was arguably even more pernicious and dangerous than it was in 19

Explored for the earlier parts of mainly West European networks of scholars by the Early Modern Letters project: http://emlo-portal.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/collections/?page _id=907.

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the case of Nazism, because the results of that manipulation have lasted longer and become more embedded. This situation was no different from many uses and abuses of history before and after, but the stakes were significantly higher as the penalties for contradicting established dogma were potentially much more final. As to the question of charting a way to study history in general, and ancient Egypt in particular, Andreas Alm presents the case study of the founder of the discipline in Denmark, Valdemar Schmidt. In many ways, Schmidt’s journey, which began in theology, may appear to show a typical entry point for Egyptology in the developing network of humanities in the nineteenth century. Yet, his situation was more complex: while proving or refuting Biblical narratives might have attracted attention and some funders, Denmark, home to C.J. Thomsen, was also an interesting node in the developing network of prehistoric archaeology. In the 1850s, Danish archaeologists were already promoting the idea that ‘every source, no matter how small or trivial it may seem to be on its own, could contain potential knowledge when it was systematically put together with other sources for comparison’ (Alm). This approach was only applied systematically in Egyptian archaeology some three decades later. Schmidt’s concerns also extended to the accessibility of sources, either artefacts or their publication. Given that Schmidt played such a fundamental role in establishing Danish Egyptology, it may be surprising that his name is not a more common currency in the history of Egyptology, especially given his interdisciplinary approaches. Even within a traditional view of the historiography of powerful stakeholders and academic hierarchies, Schmidt’s lack of recognition is not typical. Yet, his polymath character and his involvement in promoting the subject and not himself may, perhaps paradoxically, answer for that. Significant contributions followed by invisibility are often the fate of people who were not strategizing for power, or not allowed to enter academic hierarchies: that was already the case of Mohr and Hartleben. A dislike for academic politics seems to characterise the case of Ludwig Stern in the contribution by Thomas Gertzen. Stern’s professional trajectory highlights a certain, very human, but not very gracious side of Egyptology. For such a high-profile, but also highly competitive field, a lack of opportunities and material pressures have often created a toxic cocktail of likes and dislikes, sadly forming the less agreeable, but not less influential, aspects of the discipline’s character. Diversity of the field has often been stifled by the need to conform to a certain image, a certain training, a certain career trajectory. This is by no means unique to any one discipline, but it always makes for a sad reading in the history of scholarship. Just accepting the concept that different minds work differently would often have gone a long way to maintaining collegial relations. As Stern was close to Ebers, he became a competitor to Erman, who relied on Ebers’ support and promptly branded Stern ‘difficult’. This label should be challenged more often: reading about Stern’s quietness and focus on his work, and some noted limits to his social graces, one is forcefully

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reminded that in the 21st century, he might well be termed a ‘highflyer’ or even ‘nerd’. On that account, views on Howard Carter, another focused and ‘difficult’ man, may well be re-examined one day in that context, even though any retrospective diagnoses must be acknowledged to be fundamentally very fragile. Entering the field late or leaving it early also contributes to elusiveness of some of the scholars. Fritz Krebs presented by Bart Hellinckx died young, like J.P. Kahle, P.C. Smither, W. Federn and others during the twentieth century. Krebs had training, ability and dedication on his side, all undone by ill health. ‘Despite the brevity of his active years and the difficult situation in which he must have worked because of his illness, one can only be struck by the diversity, the size, the quality, the lasting importance and even the “modernity” of his contributions’ (Hellinckx). His position as a young but capable scholar who was accepted within the context of the fast-developing école de Berlin, and given opportunities early in his career, contrasts with the more slow-burning careers of polymaths like Schmidt, or the limited professional opportunities available to women scholars and specialists in Egypt for many years. Yet, because his career did not take a typical long-term trajectory, even groundbreaking moments which were welcomed in their time can easily get lost in disciplinary memory. In a very different scenario, Hildegard von Deines (presented by Peter Dils) entered the field late. Her link to Hermann Grapow was initially more social and personal than professional. It would appear that serendipitous meetings played a significant role in her interest in Egyptology and particularly in the history of ancient Egyptian medicine. Yet, her personality and research capacity also had a distinct role. Initially a researcher in her own right – a specialist in chemistry – she had to rebuild her personal and professional standing in the context of the aftermath of the Second World War, but also within new social expectations and political challenges. Her second husband was a NSDAP member, and after the war she happened to be in East Berlin, so under influence of another difficult regime. In her early life, she was among the groundbreakers for women at universities, as was Herta Mohr or Hedwig Fechheimer before them, and indeed other women of their respective generations. Later, she worked for the Wörterbuch and later with Wolfhart Westendorf on a major work, Grundriß der Medizin. She lived through the same regimes as Mohr and the Soviet Egyptologists, but with a tacit acceptance of the regimes that murdered Mohr or imprisoned Korostovtsev: like Grapow, with whom she cohabited. Yet, she also proved a generous teacher and helper to other scholars, and her contribution to Egyptology is both direct and indirect. Not only did she build for herself a career in a new subject as a mature student, but also supported Grapow. Like so many partners who were not standing in the limelight, she was easily forgotten, despite her interdisciplinary ability and interests. Inter- and transdisciplinary interests are valuable – but often only in retrospect. This is also the case for Frans Jonckheere (in a contribution by Vincent Oeters).

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Jonckheere took up a perspective of palaeopathology, in itself not new, but with a very different emphasis: ‘Jonckheere’s entry into Egyptology marks a turning point from curiosity and occasional investigations of ancient Egyptian remains to systematic scientific researches into ancient Egyptian medicine. His approach also marks a shift from multidisciplinary research to interdisciplinary research’ (Oeters). His use of radiography was pioneering, as was his cross-cultural interest in the history of medicine. He communicated with Egyptologists extensively and on an international scale, as a survey of Egyptological correspondence will tell if it can develop beyond a collection of personal notes and Excel spreadsheets of individual researchers (Capart, but also Jaroslav Černý, were among his correspondents). To compound his disadvantage as an outsider in getting established in the disciplinary memory, Frans Jonckheere also died prematurely. The transnational aspects of Egyptology are shown across many contributions in this volume, but are highlighted especially by two figures: Ludwig (Louis) Keimer, and Nathaniel Reich, presented by Isolde Lehnert and Wolf B. Oerter. Keimer had an interesting portfolio career that showed the interconnection of Egyptology and the procurement of antiquities – the same difficult combination experienced by so many Egyptologists and illustrated by the career of Emil Brugsch (in a contribution by Heike Schmidt). This blend should be seen in its own historical context, and not from the perspective of heritage studies that gained traction after the Second World War. The latter are interesting and important in their own right, but it is worth noting that the antiquities market also had a legally recognised, official, side, which is sometimes difficult to reconcile in the present day, where the term is regarded by some as equivalent to criminality. Keimer’s remarkably transnational career ran into complications with the outset of the Second World War, while the totalitarian leanings of Czechoslovakia after the war brought further complications. Interned as a German (which he was technically not), then deprived of his Czechoslovak citizenship (he had no sympathy for the Communist regime in Prague that was ascendant after 1946), he applied for and assumed Egyptian nationality in the early 1950s, just before the social and political character of Egypt itself changed substantially. His portfolio career and varied interests made sure that he was not seen as a typical representative of any Egyptological school, yet he remained an important node in the Egyptological network of interwar and post-war Cairo. The case of Nathaniel Reich shows a motivation connected to Jewish religious and cultural history, which may seem to be a parallel to Biblical studies as an Egyptological starting point for other scholars. Reich used this starting point to delve into a less well-known area, Demotic studies. His early years were still linked to the multicultural world of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy, and for different reasons, and over a decade before Keimer, he taught in Prague. Prague was not then a major centre of Oriental studies, the local academe being caught up in a national struggle that led to the university being split along language lines in

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1882. Yet, Orientalists tried to survive and promote their subjects, often whilst suggesting the disciplinary applicability for Biblical studies (to some extent, the specialist in Arab history, geography and ethnography, Alois Musil, did the same). Reich’s Talmudic interests were quite justifiable in that context. Yet his take on Egyptology, whilst he was teaching in Prague, was very comprehensive, and certainly not limited by any agenda: multilingual inscriptions, the development of writing systems, and the history of science in Egypt have a very current feel. The unconventional Demotist and Egyptologist Reich appeared as a man with some well-rounded historical views, precisely views that would have also set him apart from being clearly defined as either a ‘philologist’ or an ‘archaeologist’. Nevertheless, his knowledge of Demotic – and of papyrology – helped him to build a new professional standing in the USA, despite reservations about his ‘German’ as well as his Jewish origin (by none other than J.H. Breasted). His academic mobility was remarkable, but not driven by a single reason. Oerter observes clearly the need to distinguish the complexities of academic mobilities throughout the twentieth century: from academic interest, to political restrictions, to political and social pressures. The cases of Reich and Keimer remind us of the realities of political change in a different perspective, without the immediate brutality of the racist murder of Herta Mohr, but with repeated moves and changes of allegiances that scholars were subjected to, or subjected themselves to, in order to avoid difficulties and/or persecution. Difficult narratives are not only those that pertain to difficult times. Intricate and perhaps controversial figures in any area of human activity are equally complex to portray. Heike Schmidt does not avoid such aspects in the life of Emil Brugsch. The younger brother of Heinrich Brugsch presented himself as an adventurer: indeed, he might have thought of himself as a ‘man for all seasons’. Yet the contours of international competition in Egyptology were sharpening during his life. Mariette thought of the Brugsch family as a category of their own, not as ‘German’, and so did not dispense with their services in the 1870s, in the shadow of the Franco-Prussian conflict. Not so Maspero. Yet, Emil continued in the employ of the Service des Antiquités. His name was joined with that of Ahmad Kamal in the praise Maspero gave them for the clearance of the Royal Cache at Deir elBahri. The controversial side of the younger Brugsch came to the fore with his dealing in antiquities, which might have overstepped the legal framework for the sale of duplicate antiquities, an important part in the Egyptian museum’s funding during that period. This chapter explores the context of the younger Brugsch’s growing unpopularity among excavators due to his difficult official role in the Antiquities Service. These were the same excavators who were often themselves involved in selling antiquities in different scenarios, but with the same ultimate outcome: a dispersal of Egyptian antiquities across diverse collections. It was after all the basis of the subscription model used by Amelia Edwards for the EEF, by Flinders Petrie and John Garstang. The personal and professional complexity of

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Egyptology formed an explosive cocktail for Emil Brugsch, and the reality of his life and work is consequently difficult to reconstitute without the historic prism through which he is viewed as a problematic figure. Whether he was, in fact, any more controversial than many of his contemporaries, must stay a moot point, alerting us to the layers of bias in our sources. An impressive attempt in synthetic methodology is undertaken by Wendy Doyon. Her paper moves seamlessly from a biographical perspective on and by an early twentieth-century Chinese archaeologist in Egypt, to the structural observation of the organisation of labour on Egyptian excavations, against a backdrop of the geopolitics of modern Egypt and its search for identity, to the development of archaeology in post-WW II Maoist China. Both Doyon and Loktionov also explore the uneasy, conflicted alliances of internationally trained (or at least aware of international research) specialists in the framework of totalitarian Marxist regimes. They highlight an important aspect of knowledge making: ‘knowledge converges through socio-economic networks within whatever intellectual framework it is being made’ (Doyon): this aspect guarantees resilience of knowledge, but also its deployment in different intellectual frameworks, including problematic or unsavoury ones. Socio-economic networks are used by knowledge making and in turn use knowledge making, as does identity politics. A topical need to understand the different narratives of research and of identity politics, and to institute dialogue rather than name-calling between them, is outlined by Thais Rocha da Silva. The role of Egypt in cultures around the world cannot be homogeneous, even if the appeal of ancient Egypt is widespread: the communities that study and appropriate Egyptian history are diverse. Yet objective historical study has clear benefits. It is not simply an imperialist export: ‘It is not easy to find evidence that colonialism suppressed the knowledge of indigenous peoples about their own civilization. The academic revival of Indian traditions was in principle a joint European-Indian project, and it continued without interruption after independence came in 1947. In noncolonial countries such as Japan, China, and Turkey – to take the example of historiography – the encounter with Rankean critical methods led to a pluralist approach to the past and a more discriminating attitude toward the cultural heritage. In the nineteenth century, therefore, Western academic study of other cultures, in spite of all the annoying arrogance that came within it, was not just a destructive intrusion into vibrant non-European cultures of scholarship but also a founding impetus for the globalized human sciences of the contemporary world’.20 Rocha da Silva, however, points out that the process is not finished: the human sciences are still becoming globalized, not yet definitely and productively global. Most of the patterns shown in the histories of Egyptology have parallels in histories of science: the cultivation of national assets and international networks, 20

Osterhammel 2015: 820.

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so characteristic for the early 20th century,21 is amply illustrated in Egyptology, as is the role of Egyptology in the ‘impetus for the globalized human sciences’. Persecution and impact of conflicts have not spared Egyptology, neither did the discipline avoid some fashionable or/and reprehensible research paradigms. Far from being some isolated relic, Egyptology is a witness and flag-bearer for challenges that most human sciences encounter and, it is to be hoped, may contribute to solve. The example of Afrocentrist views on Egypt and Egyptology, investigated by Rocha da Silva, is a case in point: the appropriating narratives may be just as problematic whether they are Western or Afrocentrist, but their very existence confirms that the ancient cultures have not stopped being relevant. This volume continues to make a point that ‘the history of the humanities and social sciences is collective, made up of groups, movements, alliances and styles. This is not to say that individuals are meaningless and can be considered negligible, but that it is in cooperation, antagonism, imitation and seeking new challenges that knowledge which is thoroughly social is created’.22 The papers showcase the scope for approaches to the history of Egyptology, that is very much a history of a specific portion of not only historiography, but of humanities and sciences. They confirm that Egyptology functions as an area study and, as such, it straddles disciplinary boundaries. It fits in the history of humanities and social sciences, but it also finds in itself reflections of the history of ‘hard’ sciences. They all share certain patterns. An analytical view of one’s history need not be a ‘navel-gazing’ (which is not helpful as noted by Bloxam and Shaw23), but involves recognising what develops and what hampers the discipline and its integration in the human sciences. We look for networks and meshworks (Janssen, Doyon, Virenque), as well as individual experiences and trajectories (Alm, Dils, Gertzen, Lehnert, Oerter, van de Beek, Hellinckx, Schmidt, Oeters); we want to explore Egyptology grounded in its Egyptian context (Shalaby/Damarany/Kaiser, De Meyer et al., Relats Montserrat, Tolba, Bareš); we need to explore the complex use of Egypt in narratives of identity inside and outside Egypt (Rocha da Silva); and realise that different uses of scholarship and therefore also its existential strategies are in operation (Loktionov). The latter should be particularly borne in mind when cooperating across political and ideological divides. In the context of a new cold war, this is a pertinent concern. In his call for an integration of Egyptology and Global History, Moreno Garcia (2021) suggested ‘to rethink and renew a discipline whose main topics and perspectives of historical research are still rooted in debates and conceptual frameworks dating back to the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries’. Whilst this is not entirely accurate, as Egyptology, like any area of human activity, develops, 21

Fox 2016. Feuerhahn and Orain 2019: 14. 23 Bloxam and Shaw 2020. 22

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and being ‘rooted’ does not mean being immutable and restricted, it points out the potential for Egyptology and indeed the history of Egyptology. Paradoxically, if Moreno Garcia points out the need for Egyptology to ‘address crucial questions about our own societies, about the expressions that culture, research, and education will take in our changing societies,’24 he also points out what Egyptology was already doing in the nineteenth century, and nowadays we may not like the answers that some Egyptologists were providing. As history (also) developed in a context of the making of nation states,25 so Egyptology developed in a context of a changing world of expansion, communication, and precipitously assembled coexistence and control, and a relentless search for identities.26 The emphasis on history in the age of inventing tradition27, and of the promotion of the nation state, is no coincidence. A sarcastic comment on the nineteenth and early twentieth century could say that given the level of use of history in invented traditions, it is a testimony to human curiosity and ingenuity that social practices of research and cultures of knowledge developed at all! Nation builders would have had a far easier job just listing national traditions of their own making and with their own emphasis. The apparatus of academic institutions and prestige, however, managed to build its own perspectives, not least on itself. Lest the stone is thrown at us in order to remind of the Western origin of the modern academe, some rather obvious things still need to be considered: 1. ‘Western’ scholarship is rooted in a confluence of intellectual traditions that come from and reach outside the West, and it grows in contact with other intellectual traditions and vice versa.28 2. Those systematically blaming ‘Western’ humanities for any number of shortcomings should pay close attention to cui bono – who benefits from this apparent undermining of the research values that gave an important impetus to global human sciences? The critics may find themselves in unexpected company, with ‘the wrong sort of allies’, as noted by Bruno Latour in 2004.29 3. Modern scholarship, although it has behaved with some arrogance, has undeniably been productive. In recognising the complexity and diversity of knowledge-making processes, we may remedy that arrogance, but without losing the productivity. It is within the purview of the history of Egyptology to explain also the discipline’s diversity: the narratives seen in the 19th and 20th century were divergent; although dominant paradigms could and did gain traction or control in knowledge 24

Moreno Garcia 2021: 10. Curthoys and Lake 2005: 5. 26 Osterhammel 2015. 27 Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983. 28 See Goody 2006. 29 Latour 2004: 231. 25

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making, diverse and dissenting voices were heard then, and it is high time we heard them again. What we also hear is that some concerns and indeed some research paradigms are not new. Their validity is, however, reconfirmed in changing contexts: source accessibility, cooperative research, ability of transnational outreach, addressing contemporary concerns with a perspective on the past, but also looking beyond this immediate addressing of perceived ‘needs’ of the contemporary society, and asking questions about the human condition that are neither conventional, nor conformable, and often the opposite of comforting. In terms of the immediate applicability of any disciplinary historiography, Egyptology included: we may study, reflect, and understand the presence, and clashes, of different practices as well as diverse paradigms in the formation and history of Egyptology, explaining, and eventually attenuating, disciplinary conflicts. Equally, we may continue to understand better the highly contextual character of knowledge making, and the application, modification, and even manipulation, of historical knowledge outside academic debates.30 Such understanding may well be conducive to a defusing of cultural wars that are so often led in the name of diversity but achieve the opposite. Hana Navratilova, Thomas L. Gertzen, Marleen De Meyer, Aidan Dodson, Andrew Bednarski 2022 Bibliography Bednarski, A. 2020. ‘The Nature and History of Egyptology’. In I. Shaw and E. Bloxam (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Egyptology. Oxford: University Press, 32–47. Bednarski, A., A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), 2021. A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: University Press. Bickel, S. et al. (eds), 2013. Ägyptologen und Ägyptologien zwischen Kaiserreich und der Gründung der beiden deutschen Staaten. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Beihefte 1. Berlin: De Gruyter. Bloxam, E. and I. Shaw. 2020. ‘Introduction: Egyptology in the Twenty-First Century: An Historical Curiosity or Setting New Agendas in Multidisciplinary Research?’. In I. Shaw and E. Bloxam (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Egyptology. Oxford: University Press, 1–30. Carruthers, W. (ed.), 2015. Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. Routledge Studies in Egyptology 2. London: Routledge. Cortjaens, W. and C. Loeben. 2022. Queer Archaeology. Winckelmann and his Passionate Followers. / Queer Archaeology, Egyptology and the History of Arts since 1750. Rahden: Verlag Marie Leidorf. 30

See Wengrow 2020: 54: ‘What was, and still is, needed is a middle-ground where creative synthesis takes place, and where the cultural transformations implicit in modern acts of copying and translation are acknowledged and debated’.

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Curthoys, A. and M. Lake (eds), 2005. Connected Worlds: History in Transnational Perspective. Canberra: ANU E Press. Doyon, W. 2021. Empire of Dust: Egyptian Archaeology and Archaeological Labor in Nineteenth-Century Egypt. PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. Fox, R. 2016. Science without Frontiers: Cosmopolitanism and National Interests in the World of Learning, 1870/1940. OSU Press Horning Visiting Scholars Publication Series. Corvallis: Oregon State University Press. Fricker, M. 2007. Epistemic Injustice: Power and the Ethics of Knowing. Oxford: University Press. Fricker, M, P.J. Graham, D. Henderson, and N.J.L.L. Pedersen (eds), 2019. The Routledge Handbook of Social Epistemology. New York: Routledge. Gertzen, T.L. 2017. Einführung in die Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Ägyptologie. Berlin: LIT. Goody, J. 2006. The Theft of History. Cambridge: University Press. Hall, H.R. 1922. ‘The Peoples of the Sea: A Chapter of the History of Egyptology’. In Recueil d’études Égyptologiques: Dédiées à La Mémoire de JeanFrançois Champollion à l’occasion Du Centenaire de La Lettre à M. Dacier Relative à l’alphabet Des Hiéroglyphes Phonétiques, Lue à l’Académie Des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres Le 27 Septembre 1822. Paris: Édouard Champion, 297–329. Hobsbawm, E.J. and T.O. Ranger. 1983. The Invention of Tradition. Past and Present Publications. Cambridge: University Press. Jordanova, L.J. 2019. History in Practice, 3rd ed. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Langer, C. 2017. Global Egyptology: Negotiations in the Production of Knowledges on Ancient Egypt in Global Contexts. GHP Egyptology 26. London: Golden House Publications. Latour, B. 2004. ‘Why Has Critique Run out of Steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern’. Critical Inquiry 30: 225–248. Lightman, B.V. (ed.), 2016. A Companion to the History of Science. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley Blackwell. Marchand, S.L., 2009. German Orientalism in the Age of Empire: Religion, Race, and Scholarship. Washington, D.C., New York: German Historical Institute; Cambridge University Press. Moreno García, J.C. 2021. ‘Egyptology and Global History: An Introduction’. Journal of Egyptian History 13: 5–10. Navratilova, H., T.L. Gertzen, A. Dodson and A. Bednarski (eds), 2019. Towards a History of Egyptology: Proceedings of the Egyptological Section of the 8th ESHS Conference in London, 2018. Investigatio Orientis 4. Münster: Zaphon. Orain, O. and W. Feuerhahn 2019. ‘For an Inclusive History of the Humanities and Social Sciences’. Revue d’histoire des Sciences Humaines, Chemins de traverse 34: 11–14.

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Osterhammel, J. 2015. The Transformation of the World: A Global History of the Nineteenth Century. America in the World. Princeton: University Press. Parkinson, R.B. 2022. Tutankhamun: excavating the archive. Oxford: Bodleian Libraries. Peuckert, S. 2014. Hedwig Fechheimer und die ägyptische Kunst. Leben und Werk einer jüdischen Kunstwissenschaftlerin in Deutschland. Berlin: De Gruyter. Reid, D.M. 2002. Whose Pharaohs? Archeology, Museums, and Egyptian National Identity from Napoleon to World War I. Berkeley CA: University of California Press. — 2015. Contesting Antiquity in Egypt: Archaeologies, Museums & the Struggle for Identities from World War I to Nasser. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. — 2022. Review of Navratilova et al. 2019. Journal of the American Oriental Society 142: 246–248. Thompson, J. 2015–2018. Wonderful Things: A History of Egyptology, 3 vols. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. — 2021. Review of Navratilova et al. 2019. Orientalistische Literaturzeitung 116: 93–100. Tully, G. and M. Hanna. 2013. ‘One Landscape, Many Tenants: Uncovering Multiple Claims, Visions and Meanings on the Theban Necropolis’. Archaeologies 9: 362–397. Wendrich, W. 2018. ‘Mutuality in Exploring the Past: Ethno-Experimental and Community Archaeology’. Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 17: 188–201. Wengrow, D. 2020. ‘Egyptology and Cognate Disciplines’. In I. Shaw and E. Bloxam (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Egyptology. Oxford: University Press, 48–64. Wolff, J. 2005. ‘Economic Justice’. In H. LaFollette (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Practical Ethics. Oxford: University Press, 433–458.

Pioneers & Polymaths

Valdemar Schmidt and the Foundation of Egyptology in Denmark Andreas Alm

The Danish Egyptologist Valdemar Schmidt (1836–1925) was no stranger to his contemporaries within the field, and some of them were likely to run into him occasionally, either during his many visits to Egypt or at one of the various international congresses. Or perhaps they would bump into him in one of the numerous museums with Egyptian collections where he always enjoyed spending his days. Nevertheless, today his name remains unknown to most, and those who might be familiar with him most likely associate him with Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, where he is acknowledged for having laid the foundations of the Egyptian collection in 1892. However, his contribution to Danish Egyptology reaches far beyond the Glyptotek. As one of his students and the first female Egyptologist in Denmark, Maria Mogensen (1882–1932), put it in 1925: Professor Schmidt has brought Egyptology to Denmark. He is thus – let me call it – a pioneer, who was privileged to lay the foundation stone to the study of a new subject, in which he for many years stood as the first and only representative at home.1 Not only was he a pioneer in Egyptology, but he also laid the foundation stone of the study of Assyriology in Denmark. In 1874, he started to teach these two subjects as a privatdocent (non-salaried lecturer) at the University of Copenhagen. In 1883 he was appointed the temporary position of external lecturer in eastern philology, a position he would keep until he was tenured in 1916, at the age of 80. He retired in 1922 and passed away three years later.2 In this paper, I will examine Schmidt’s career and what it meant to ‘bring Egyptology to Denmark’, a small country in the northern outskirts of Europe, and what conditions, concerns and challenges he faced in order to place the cornerstone of what was a new discipline for the country. Becoming the first Egyptologist in Denmark Johan Henrik Gamst Valdemar Schmidt was born in the small Jutish town of Hammel in Denmark on 7 January 1836. His father, Jens Christian Schmidt, had started out as a Latin teacher in the city of Horsens but eventually accepted an offer to become the parish priest in Hammel, Voldby and Søby in 1832 – a most suitable position considering he descended from a long line of parish priests.

1 2

Maria Mogensen’s epilogue in Schmidt 1925: 121. Bagh 2021: 191.

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Eventually he became the priest of Tyrsted, just outside Horsens, where he would remain for the rest of his life. Young Valdemar spent much of his youth in Horsens where he attended school 1846–1854 and, according to himself, he was constantly top of his class.3 It was most likely expected of him to walk the same path in life as his father, and there was no one at the time who could have imagined he would end up having the career he eventually did. At the time of his birth, Egyptology was still in its infancy and only fourteen years had passed since hieroglyphs had received their initial decipherment by Champollion, opening an entirely new world for scholars, and diminished the earlier dependency on the classical writers in accessing the secrets of pharaonic Egypt. Whatever the expectations were, the 18-year-old Valdemar moved to Copenhagen in 1854 to commence theological studies at the university, something he remembered taking very seriously. However, in his spare time, he was constantly on the watch for alternative disciplines that could be of interest to him, and he attended the lectures of both archaeologist Jens Jacob Asmussen Worsaae (1821–1885) and art historian Niels Laurits Høyen (1798– 1870).4 After graduating in theology in 1859, his mind was already set on something different from the priesthood, an objective he was aware would not be possible to achieve in Denmark. He therefore planned a study trip to Greece, Egypt and Palestine together with his friend Henrik Scharling, who also had graduated in theology, and as he was waiting for a reply regarding an application for a grant, he utilised the time to study Arabic, Turkish, French and Italian.5 He was awarded a small sum of money and, with some financial support from his father, he left a rainy Danish summer in late August of 1860, to meet up with Scharling in Trieste, and together they spent the autumn traveling through Greece. In December, they boarded the steamship that would take them down to Egypt and, after celebrating Christmas in the middle of the Mediterranean, the ship finally reached Alexandria. In the early morning hours of 26 December 1860, the 24-year-old Valdemar Schmidt walked his first steps in the country that would become one of his main concerns for the next sixty-five years. He would return another thirty-three times during his lifetime.6 Recognizing their unique opportunity, the pair made the most of their time to truly experience Egypt and all it had to offer. They visited several of the ancient cities and temples and, after having climbed to the top of the Great Pyramid, Schmidt concluded that the Giza plateau, without competition, was the most interesting place on Earth.7 During his stay in Cairo, he also endeavoured to visit 3

Schmidt 1925: 41. Schmidt 1925: 44. 5 Schmidt 1925: 45. 6 According to the editor of his autobiography, Carl Dumreicher, in Schmidt 1925: 118. 7 Schmidt 1863: 196. 4

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Auguste Mariette’s new museum in Bulaq as often as he could.8 As travelogues from Egypt were becoming popular at the time9, he decided to publish his account of the trip, titled Reise I Graekenland, Aegypten Og Det Hellige Land (Travel in Greece, Egypt and the Holy Land), in 1863, making it his first publication. This book, together with the architect H.C. Stilling’s 1869 book Reise i Aegypten (Travel in Egypt) was for many Danes the first detailed introduction to Egypt.10 A visit to Egypt may have been a good start, but it did not make him an Egyptologist, and the possibility of becoming one in Denmark did not exist in the 1860s. Schmidt knew he would have to study somewhere else in Europe, either in Germany or France, but a lack of money was an obstacle that needed to be overcome. A solution presented itself on his way home from the trip when he stopped in Dresden to meet up with his parents, and received the news that a relative had recently died, leaving his father with a considerable sum of money as an inheritance. His father was a simple and ascetic man who always put the needs of his family first, and he promised to use the inherited capital to support his son’s Egyptological studies. It is with a grateful tone Schmidt remembers his father in his autobiography, and there is no doubt that without the father’s support, the life and career of the son would have turned out differently. With his father’s backing, Schmidt began to study Egyptology with Heinrich Brugsch (1827–1894) in Berlin. He recalled how he met up with Brugsch a few days a week, and together they studied copies of papyri that Brugsch had obtained from London and which he was always kind enough to lend to his grateful student.11 Brugsch seems to have been a good teacher and whenever they both were alone together, Schmidt felt he could always ask any question that was on his mind, and together they would eventually get it all sorted out. While staying in Berlin, he also took the opportunity to study Greek art with Professor Karl Friederichs, hinting it would be of good use for the study of Egypt’s Hellenistic period.12 His time in Berlin ended in 1862, and Schmidt, according to his autobiography written sixty-seven years later, now considered himself an Egyptologist. As such he commenced a study tour through Europe, visiting the Egyptian collections in various museums in southern Germany, Switzerland, Italy and France. He spent three weeks at the Louvre, where he met Emmanuel de Rougé (1811–1872) for the first time, and whose lectures in Coptic he would later attend. After the trip, he settled in Paris, where he would live during the 1864 war between Denmark and Prussia, and he put his French-language skills to use by translating Danish

8

Schmidt 1863: 188. Thompson 2015: 261. 10 Holm-Rasmussen 2005: 26. 11 Schmidt 1925: 47. 12 Schmidt 1925: 47. 9

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newspapers into French to counter what the Danish community in Paris considered to be Prussian disinformation regarding the war. After the war, he took off to Great Britain, Leiden, and then back to Britain again where he made the acquaintance of several scholars.13 In 1866, he had prepared what was supposed to be his first scholarly publication about ancient Egypt and revised the manuscript together with his friend Ernest Grégoire in Paris. To print hieroglyphs was, however, an expensive enterprise and the economic factors hindered him in getting it published, a situation that would reoccur on many occasions throughout his life.14

Fig. 1: A young Valdemar Schmidt.

13 14

Schmidt 1925: 53–55. Schmidt 1925: 56–58.

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In the second half of the 1860s, Schmidt had become an experienced traveller and had already lived several years abroad. Thanks to the financial support from his father, he had been able visit Egypt, study the Egyptian (and Assyrian) languages and writing systems in Germany and France, visit several of the European museum collections and made numerous international friends and acquaintances. But could his newly acquired skills provide a future for him in Denmark? He himself had started to have doubts and realised he might have to keep the doors open to other alternatives. Prehistoric archaeology, geography and the Old Testament During the first half of the nineteenth century, the scarcity of written sources in Denmark imposed a limitation on the possibilities to study the country’s preChristian history. A solution to the problem had been proposed by the antiquarian Christian Jürgensen Thomsen in Copenhagen who created a system by dividing prehistory into three different periods – the Stone, Bronze and Iron Ages – and organizing the artefacts in his museum according to these principles, thus creating a relative chronology through comparative study.15 Thomsen came to be regarded as the father of prehistoric archaeology, something that became both popular and necessary in Denmark, as it provided the key to study the earliest history of the country. Thomsen’s student, Jens Jacob Asmussen Worsaae, expanded on the methodology and, as previously mentioned, his lectures were attended by the young Valdemar Schmidt. Schmidt was inspired and developed his own interest for the field, and in his 1863 travelogue, he could not help but compare the collections in the European museums with the ones in Denmark, and conclude that the Danish museums surpassed them all regarding the placement of material in a systematic and scientific order.16 To be a pioneer of something often implied being surrounded by people who were not familiar with the subject matter or to what it could contribute, and in 1867 Schmidt had started having doubts whether the Danish state would ever support his Egyptological undertakings.17 His interest in prehistoric archaeology, his language skills and international experience were more in demand, and an invitation from the chamberlain Frederik Wolfhagen gave him the task of arranging the archaeological artefacts from Denmark at the world exhibition in Paris. He saw this as a great opportunity and instead of pulling back once he had completed his assignment, he decided to stay, take part in the exhibition and help until the event was over.18 It became a personal success for him and, after many years abroad, he noticed how easy it was for him to communicate with the visitors, often in their

15

Risbjerg Eskildsen 2012: 25. Schmidt 1863: 2. 17 Schmidt 1925: 60. 18 Schmidt 1925: 60. 16

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native languages – a social skill that would serve him well for the rest of his career.19 He also took it upon himself to write the official account of the Danish exhibition, working on it in the evenings, and published it in 1868 under the title Le Danemark à l’exposition universelle de 1867: étudié principalement au point de vue de l’archéologie.20 His contribution was noticed in Copenhagen, and he was awarded a knighthood of Dannebrogordenen.21 As he still deemed a career within Egyptology improbable, he decided to play it safe and keep focusing on prehistoric archaeology, at least for the time being. The friendship with Worsaae, who he had worked together with in Paris, grew stronger the following years and together they would visit several of the archaeological congresses in Europe. At the 1868 Congress of Prehistoric Archaeology in Norwich, Schmidt proposed that the next congress should be held in Copenhagen, which was unanimously agreed upon, and he and Worsaae worked hard that year to plan for the upcoming event.22 Worsaae served as president and Schmidt as General Secretary at the 1869 Congress of Anthropology and Archaeology in Copenhagen. It was another personal success for him and this time he was awarded a Professor’s title for his service.23 Once again he took it upon himself to write and publish the official account of the 1869 congress, but the publication was delayed until 1875, six years after the congress took place, which became an embarrassment for Denmark and something for which he took a lot of heat for in the press.24 The main reason for the delay was that he had been working on his dissertation as well as another book that would be published in two volumes (1872 and 1877), and which remains the main work of his career. Despite doubts, the doctoral dissertation was finished in 1872 and titled Indledning til Syriens historie i oldtiden efter ikke-bibelske kilder (Introduction to the history of Syria in antiquity according to non-biblical sources). The following year he successfully defended it at the Philosophical Faculty, earning him his doctor’s degree. If prehistoric archaeology had secured an alternative career path as well as allowing him to establish connections and friendships with scholars such as Worsaae, the title of his dissertation hints another of his main interests – the lands and people of the Old Testament. He had decided to make use of new original sources that the excavations from Egypt and other locations had provided, to shed new light on ancient Syria, on matters that the Bible and the Greco-Roman authors had remained silent. For 19

Schmidt 1925: 62. Schmidt 1868. 21 Bornholms Tidende, 20 February 1873. 22 Schmidt 1925: 64–65. 23 Fædrelandet, 6 October 1869. 24 Dagbladet (København), 3 January 1874. One of the members of the congress publicly criticised him in the newspapers. 20

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some Egyptologists in the nineteenth century, Bible-related questions were not uncommon, as ancient Egypt was one of the biblical lands and many hoped that new discoveries in Egypt could be used to gain fresh knowledge about the Bible.25 Schmidt, who had grown up as the son of a priest and earned himself a degree in theology, always kept an interest in the Old Testament and considered it one of the primary springboards for his scholarly inquiry. As he himself explained, ‘[i]t is through the study of the books from the Old Testament, which the author has been occupied with for many years, that has led him into the historical-geographical studies’.26 And to the Danish audience his dissertation demonstrated one potential use for Egyptology, as was pointed out in a newspaper article reporting on it: Hopefully he [Schmidt] will one day be employed by the university, as his discipline wins more and more ground every day, and studies of it become very important in many ways; for example in regards of explaining many things in Holy Scripture.27 The same year as he completed the dissertation, he also published the first volume of what would become the main work of his career Assyriens og Aegyptens gamle historie eller Historisk-Geographiske undersøgelser om det Gamle Testamentes lande og folk (The ancient history of Assyria and Egypt or Historical-Geographical studies of the lands and people of the Old Testament). Here too the biblical relevance of these countries was underlined. In 1914 he revisited the topic and published a book about the neighbours of Israel and their relationship to one another.28 He also completed manuscripts on the topic that, due to a lack of financial support, were unfortunately never published. In an application to the Church and Education Ministry in 1877 he applied for funds to publish a book on the Old Testament prophets based on new sources, which does not seem to have been granted.29 In 1896, his knowledge of Latin came to good use when he translated a manuscript of Egeria’s pilgrimage, discovered in a monastery in Arezzo in 1884, into Danish. The manuscript provided a fourth century description of biblical lands.30 Apart from prehistoric archaeology and studies of the Old Testament, there was yet one other discipline that early had caught his attention and would have a significant influence on his scholarship – geography. He had been part of the 25

Gange 2006: 1084, Gange 2013, Marchand 2009: xxiv. Schmidt, 1877a: iii. 27 Bornholms Tidende, 20 February 1873. 28 Schmidt 1914. 29 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to Det Kongelige Ministerium for Kirke- og Undervisningsvæsendet, 31 March 1877. Danish National Archives. 30 Schmidt 1896. 26

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Danish commission to the International Geographical Congress in Paris in 1875, and the following year he was one of the founding members of the Royal Danish Geographical Society. This society had an important part to play throughout his career, and he remained a lifelong board member and served as vice president during 1916–1922.31 The society hosted on a regular basis events where he would lecture on a variety of topics, often connecting his various interests in the most creative ways. In December 1887, for example, he lectured about the annunciation to the shepherds and its significance for geographical history.32 In March 1889, the topic concerned what recent geographic research had to say about the early stages of Jewish history, focusing on the Mesopotamian city of Ur, whence the patriarch Abraham is said to come.33 In 1881 he lectured on the geographical knowledge of the Egyptians, Assyrians and Phoenicians and their conceptions of the world.34 And, of course, he frequently reported on the latest discoveries that were being made in Egypt.35 Schmidt also contributed to the journal published by the society. In the first issue he wrote an article on the possibility that the Phoenicians had arrived in the Americas, a popular subject in the 1870s that had turned up at the first Americanist congress in Nancy 1875, which Schmidt attended (he would attend several more Americanist congresses during his career). In the article, he expressed hopes for the future, urging all countries of the world to properly record and sort their relics and antiquities and then many of the disputed questions in the ‘history of geography’, as well as other fields, could finally be solved.36 His work attracted some attention in Denmark and in 1874 he started teaching Egyptology and Assyriology as a privatdocent at the University of Copenhagen and in 1879 he was awarded annual financial support from the state for his services.37 Egyptology had uncertain beginnings in Denmark but through Schmidt’s diligent work and demonstration of its potential applications in several areas, it was finally getting some recognition. International cooperation and access to sources All scholarship requires access to sources, Egyptology and Assyriology being no exceptions. In 1877, Schmidt remarked on the pace at which new potential sources were being excavated in Egypt and elsewhere, many of which had been hitherto unexamined, and he wrote that never before had it been so easy to say or write

31

Christiansen 2005: 10, 180. Dagblad (København), 11 December 1887. 33 Skive Folkeblad, 3 March 1889. 34 Fædrelandet, 6 April 1881. 35 Nationaltidende, 1 February 1887. 36 Schmidt 1877b: 155. 37 Svendborgs Avis. Sydfyns Tidende, 29 December 1879. 32

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something that no one else had previously said or written.38 The potential was great – but only for those privileged enough to be able to get hold of the sources, which became a major concern for the Danish Egyptologist. Something he had learned already while attending Worsaae’s archaeological lectures in the 1850s was that every source, no matter how small or trivial it might seem to be on its own, could contain potential knowledge when it was put together systematically with other sources.39 These principles of prehistoric archaeology are generally not considered to have been applied to Egyptology until Flinders Petrie’s excavations in the 1880s.40 Yet, even if Schmidt’s practice of Egyptology obviously differed immensely from that of Flinders Petrie, these principles always remained the basis of his own scholarship and he made the following remarks concerning the use of sources in his dissertation: At first sight would really most of these appear insignificant or without great yield or content for history, but through closer examination one will find, that almost all of them contain small contributions that – no matter how vanishingly small they are on their own – when they are combined, they will cast a clear light on many conditions and many periods of time in which the real historical documents leave us in uncertainty.41 He underlined the necessity of making sources accessible to everyone, everywhere. Few had the financial means to travel to Egypt, or any of the European museums to see the monuments and artefacts on their own, and the solution, as Schmidt saw it, was to make everything available through publication and circulation of transcriptions and facsimiles: The ancient monuments with inscriptions that have been discovered in the Orient are scattered over almost the entire world; but since it cannot be expected from everyone to be able to travel around and transcribe the inscriptions that he would have use for in his studies, all enthusiasts of these studies agreed long ago that nothing would serve scholarship more than reliable publications of all the oriental inscriptions that are scattered around in public and private collections.42 The idea that something essential and ground-breaking would surface out of the Egyptian soil, after having been buried for thousands of years, only to be reburied in someone’s private collection without even being properly documented, was a matter for worry. The circulation of publications would also help break-down any geographic restrictions and limitations for scholars, adjust inequalities within 38

Schmidt 1877a: II. Worsaae, 1849: 156. 40 Colla, 2007: 8, Reid, 2002: 177, Stevenson, 2019: 113–14, Dodson, 2021: 112. 41 Schmidt, 1872a: 14. 42 Schmidt, 1879: 1. 39

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Egyptology, and minimise the advantage some countries had over others. If all the European governments took their responsibility, which they admittedly had done to a certain extent, and funded the publication of the inscriptions, more scholars would be able to access the sources: [I]t becomes more and more possible – thanks to the many faithful transcriptions of inscriptions, that are being published by the governments of Europe’s cultural countries – to study the ancient oriental records in other places than in London and Paris, than in Cairo and the rest of Egypt, than in Leiden, Turin and Berlin.43 Schmidt decided this was a joint enterprise that he and Denmark should be part of, and he applied for funding from the government and the Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters to publish the inscriptions from the Royal Antiquity collection. Comparatively few individuals in each country had the knowledge to accomplish these objectives and it was important that they all were willing to do their part for scholarship.44 He received the funding and published transcriptions of the Royal collection in 1879, both in French and in Danish.45 Over the years, he would also publish material from several other Danish collections. However, even if it would be more convenient to have all source material accessible in the form of a book, this was by no means the prevailing reality. In order to keep up with the progress of Egyptology, Schmidt had to leave Denmark on an almost yearly basis to visit museums and international congresses, something he did most willingly. These perpetual travels and museum visits became another essential part of his Egyptological activities, and something he became well known for. Both his time and money were limited, and after his promotion in 1883, time became even more constrained.46 But since he wanted to see as much as possible, he was always able to make the most of the resources at hand, owing much to the ascetic nature inherited from his father. He travelled mostly by night which meant he could save money from not having to pay for accommodation, and he saved time to spend at the museums during the opening hours.47 As he wrote to his student Henry Madsen (1881–1921) when he was about to start his travels in 1903: ‘[t]ravelling by night, visiting museums by day […] A few times I might get to a 43

Schmidt, 1877a: II. Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to Det Kongelige Ministerium for Kirke- og Undervisningsvæsendet, 31 March. 1877. Danish National Archives. 45 Schmidt 1879. 46 In several letters he complains about how much time the University takes up and that he cannot wait to visit Egypt, the Glyptotek etc. 47 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to Henry Madsen, 5 August 1903; 24 August 1903; 30 April 1908. Royal library in Copenhagen. 44

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bed but I do not know where’.48 These simple ways he kept even as he aged and, according to an interview he gave in 1910, at the age of 74, he still preferred to travel third class and usually never ate anything more than some bread he had brought with him from home. Additionally, he also emphasised that he never ate anything during a museum’s opening hours.49 When he arrived at museums, he always wanted to go through them completely, from end to end, preferably not on Sundays, as there were then more visitors in the museums, making it harder to keep focus.50 Even at times when the working environment was less pleasant, for example when the museum in Leiden was being renovated and there was no heat (the stone floors certainly did not make the situation any better), he still did what he had come for.51 After Flinders Petrie began his excavations for the EEF, the pace of Egyptology turned up a notch. The annual finds were usually exhibited in London before they were shipped off to subscribing institutions, and Schmidt tried to visit these exhibitions if he had opportunity to do so. This became especially urgent after the Americans became more interested in Egyptian collections and objects crossed the Atlantic Ocean, something Schmidt himself never did. In 1909, he wrote to a friend that he was on his way to see Petrie’s exhibition before the objects were divided between the subscribers and remarked ’most of them are in America as usual’.52 At this time he was also looking to purchase Egyptian objects for Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, which put him in competition with the Americans.53 The constant travelling and Spartan lifestyle turned him into something of a caricature of a savant, and sensational anecdotes started to form around his persona. Most of them were of course too astonishing to be true, but his colleagues and students enjoyed telling them. One story claimed that he had forgotten to cancel his daily bread delivery at the baker before he took off to Egypt, resulting in a mountain of bread rolls covering his door when he came home. Once he had met a colleague in Paris and told him he was on his way to Budapest but decided to go home to Copenhagen to check his mail first. He could sometimes arrive late for his university lectures and apologise by saying he had just arrived from Egypt.54 There was even a song about him, written by a colleague and sung for his seventieth birthday, about how he travelled back and forth between various 48

Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to Henry Madsen, 5 August 1903. Royal library in Copenhagen. 49 Svendborg avis. Sydfyns Tidende, 7 April 1910. 50 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to Henry Madsen, 22 July 1900. Royal library in Copenhagen. 51 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to Henry Madsen, 2 February 1907. Royal library in Copenhagen. 52 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to Jens Lorenzen, 29 June 1909. Royal library in Copenhagen. 53 Stevenson 2019: 114. 54 Nationaltidende, 6 January 1916.

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places, from Moscow to Rome, Berlin, Algiers, Cairo, London, Jerusalem and so on.55

Fig. 2: Valdemar Schmidt, Maria Mogensen and Mathilius Schack Elo at Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen.

Valdemar Schmidt and Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek A well-maintained museum collection consisting of original objects and artefacts was essential in the study of ancient Egypt and to train the next generation of Egyptologists. Schmidt recalled in his autobiography how he, at the time of his first visit to Egypt, had contacted Christian Jürgensen Thomsen and asked if he would be interested in acquiring some Egyptian artefacts for his National Museum, but Thomsen was at the time in no position to spend that kind of money.56 Schmidt was still able to make his first deal and he bought two bricks with the Ramses II’s stamp, but they were lost on his way home as the ship stranded on the Netherlandish coast.57 Three decades later the situation had changed, and a new opportunity had presented itself. In July 1892, Danish newspapers reported that 47 crates of Egyptian 55

Nationaltidende, 6 January 1916. Schmidt 1925: 88. 57 Schmidt 1925: 87–88. 56

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artefacts had arrived at the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen, bought by Valdemar Schmidt on behalf of the brewer, art collector and founder of the Glyptotek, Carl Jacobsen.58 Jacobsen had put a significant sum of money at Schmidt’s disposal, intended for the purchase of artefacts from Egypt, and over the course of fifty days he had managed to buy around five hundred pieces of artworks, making sure there was a great variety covering most materials and historical periods.59 Jacobsen had started collecting Egyptian artefacts in 1882, when he bought a mummy and coffin from the Bulaq museum, and the collection grew modestly over the next decade. He donated his collection to the Danish state in 1888 on the condition they provided a fitting building to house it.60 Schmidt and Jacobsen had met for the first time as young men in Paris in 1866, when Schmidt had guided Jacobsen through the Egyptian collection at the Louvre.61 Over the next decades they met several times and in 1887 Jacobsen arranged an expedition to Greece together with several Danish archaeologists and art historians, Schmidt being one of them.62 The trip turned into a starting point for collaboration between the two men and the following year Schmidt contributed to a guidebook for the Glyptotek with a chapter about eastern sculptures.63 The Egyptian collection at the Glyptotek was not the first one in Denmark. There had been a few before, consisting of the Royal collection, Thorvaldsen’s Museum and Museum Münterianum. The Royal collection went back to King Frederik III (r. 1648–1670) who initiated it in 1653 and included an Egyptian coffin. The collection grew and moved several times until it became a part of the National Museum in 1892.64 Thorvalden’s museum consisted of the collection made by the Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen, who had lived several decades of his life in Rome. When he decided to return to Copenhagen in 1838, he brought with him his art collection that contained around 400 smaller Egyptian artefacts he had bought in Italy. After his death a museum building was completed to house the collection.65 Museum Münterianum consisted of antiquities that Bishop Friederich Münter (1761–1830) had acquired in his lifetime, including a collection from Egypt in 1829.66 Schmidt published a catalogue of this collection in 1910.67

58

Bornholms Tidende, 9 July 1892. Jørgensen 2015: 44. 60 Bagh 2021: 194. 61 Glamann 1995: 111. 62 Jørgensen 2008: 167. 63 Schmidt 1888: 182–191. 64 Bagh, 2021: 193. 65 Bagh 2021: 193. 66 Schmidt 1925: 56. 67 Schmidt 1910. 59

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Up until Jacobsen’s death in early 1914, and the outbreak of World War I later that year, Schmidt would travel to Egypt on several occasions to buy artefacts for the Glyptotek and Jacobsen would brag about how his collection, compared to others, only contained the best artefacts, owing a lot to the fact that he had the best scholars to aid him, Schmidt being among them.68 Academic Egyptologists and archaeologists played leading roles in the antiquities trade in the nineteenth century, often lending their expertise to the purchase of objects for museums and private collections.69 However, Schmidt did not have an entirely free hand, as he had to fulfil the wishes of his client to the best of his abilities. Jacobsen had a special interest in large objects and wanted either several large ones or one gigantic – a so called ‘grand monument’ as Schmidt described it to his student H.O. Lange (1863–1943) – that he could place in the main hall just as had been done in the British Museum or the Louvre.70 Schmidt would eventually acquire such a grand monument for Jacobsen. In 1910, he accompanied the archaeologist James Quibell to Saqqara, riding on a donkey at the age of 74, to have a look at some mastabas that had just been cleared of sand. He chose some reliefs that were cut out for him and brought to the Museum in Cairo for sale. The museum chose to keep some of them, and the rest was sent to Copenhagen,71 so the result was something of a disappointment, as most of the best reliefs were retained in Cairo.72 Schmidt also kept an eye out for smaller pieces and with the help of his friend Alexander Dingli he was able to obtain some terracotta figurines in 1894. Jacobsen had initially not been too impressed, but when an expert in Hellenistic art, Professor Theodor Schreiber from Leipzig, visited several years later, Schmidt seized the opportunity and showed him the figurines. He was astonished and explained their significance to Jacobsen who immediately found a better place for them in the museum.73 Buying Egyptian artefacts was anything but cheap and the scarcity of money was a reoccurring subject in the letter correspondence regarding the trade, and Schmidt noticed how Jacobsen frequently complained about it.74 Especially when both the Glyptotek and the brewery were expanding at the turn of the century, it became more difficult to spare the money.75 68

Dannebrog (København), 20 January 1899. Hagen and Ryholt 2016: 42. 70 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to H.O. Lange, 8 March 1900. Royal library in Copenhagen; He also pointed it out in letters to his other student Henry Madsen. For example, he wrote that Jacobsen really liked Grand monuments and was willing to make sacrifices to get them in 28 May 1907. Royal library in Copenhagen. 71 Hagen and Ryholt 2016: 50. 72 Jørgensen 2015: 94. 73 Schmidt 1925: 96–97. 74 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to H.O. Lange, 24 January 1900. Royal library in Copenhagen. 75 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to H.O. Lange, 21 June 1900. Royal library in Copenhagen. 69

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Fig. 3: Valdemar Schmidt at Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen. The antiquities trade was yet another area where he was assisted by his linguistic skills, and it helped him create a network in Cairo where he got to know several of the dealers personally. He also taught his student H.O. Lange how to buy Egyptian antiquities and introduced him to all the merchants.76 The museum catalogue was an important tool with which to navigate the museums, so important that Schmidt even took the time in his autobiography to point

76

Hagen and Ryholt 2016: 52.

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out which museums he remembered had good catalogues.77 He took it upon himself to work out the catalogue for the Glyptotek and even paid for some of the illustrations when money was scarce.78 Since the catalogue was a tool for others to use, he did not mind taking criticism from the public. When he noticed how people often came up to him and asked about information from the catalogue, they always pointed out it was not supposed to be a book read from cover to cover and that important information should be repeated several times if necessary. He decided to listen to his critics and rewrite portions of the catalogue.79 The Glyptotek also became an important venue for his lectures and was a crucial asset in training the next generation of Egyptologists. In conformity with what he had written in the 1870s about the necessity of access to sources, but the financial barriers to travel, he made the following comment in 1919 on the value of a diverse Egyptian collection in every country: The science of Egyptology must have able colleagues in all countries, but if their diligence and work is going to bring plenty of fruit, they need a constant and easy access to study ancient Egyptian original works of different types. These objects cannot be too far away. In other words, if a country’s scholars are to take an active part in the work to continuously spread more light on every aspect of ancient Egypt, there needs to be a good collection of ancient Egyptian art and utensils present in the country. There are now excellent renditions of multiple artefacts, not least of objects from Egypt; but this is not enough; there needs to be originals. To travel to Egypt and study ancient remains cannot be expected from everyone.80 Year after year he could be observed walking around in the halls of the Glyptotek, followed by a small group of students, discussing and interpreting the artefacts and monuments.81 One newspaper wrote that he could often be found in the museum, always ready to help everyone who asked him something, no matter if it was ‘a famous foreign scholar or a couple of Danish schoolchildren eager to learn’.82 He helped everyone with great pleasure. Towards the end of his life, he donated his Egyptological and Assyriological book collection to the Glyptotek, hoping that as soon as the library was rebuilt, they would find a place there.83 However, his books would end up at the Egyptological and Assyriological laboratory at the University founded in the year of his 77

Schmidt 1925: 55, 91. Letter to Madsen, 25 November 1906. Royal library. 79 Letter from Valdemar Schmidt to Henry Madsen, 12 November 1906. Royal library in Copenhagen. 80 Schmidt, 1919a: ii. 81 Berlingske Politiske og Advertissementstidende, Aften, 6 January 1916. 82 Randers Dagblad og Folktidende, 8 January 1916. 83 According to a testament signed 29 June 1923. Royal library. H.O. Lange was trusted 78

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death.84 The Glyptotek meant a great deal to him on a personal and professional level. He was proud of having been a part of it and it served him well in his effort to produce a general interest for the ancient world as well as establishing conditions to study Egyptology in Denmark. Mummies, sarcophagi and World War I Valdemar Schmidt was without a doubt a polymath who wrote and lectured on a variety of topics. That being said, there was still one thing within Egyptology that received some extra attention from him and something he spent decades researching, namely ancient Egyptian burial rites – or to be more precise – mummies and sarcophagi. This topic too, seems to have derived from his interest in prehistoric archaeology as he on several occasions in the 1870s lectured on burial rites in prehistoric Europe. For instance, his address to the 1876 International Congress of Anthropology and Prehistoric Archaeology in Budapest tackled the problem of the origin of cremation in Europe.85 His interest in mummies was well known and resulted in a variety of different outlets, for example the unwrapping of one in front of an audience. In a collision between entertainment and scientific education, in the nineteenth century large crowds gathered to get charmed by charismatic performers unwrapping and dissecting mummies.86 In 1895, The Royal Danish Geographical Society hosted one of these events where Schmidt lectured in a crowded hall and unrolled a mummy that he had bought himself near Cairo. The mummy lay stiff on a table in the middle of the room as he started with a lecture on geography. He informed the audience that no living creature had affected the crust of the earth more than humans and for that reason it was important to get to know all the different people of the world, the ancient Egyptians in this case. He continued by explaining the different periods of Egyptian history with focus on mummies and sarcophagi, teaching the audience how it was possible to decide the date of the mummy and so on. After the show was over the audience swarmed around him, hoping to get a souvenir of the mummy to take home, which seems to have been a common rite at these kinds of events.87 He would continue to unroll mummified birds and cats in front of an audience over the following years.88 His expertise was not only used for the purpose of entertainment or education, but also in more serious matters. In early 1912, the bailiff of Copenhagen confiscated two mummies they had discovered in an engineer’s basement. As the engineer owed 700 kroner to the state, the authorities estimated that the two mummies would be enough to cover the debt, with finding a home for his library. 84 Bagh 2021: 198. 85 Hampel 1877: 625. 86 Moshenska 2014; Sheppard 2012. 87 Moshenska 2014: 473, Nationaltidende, November 6, 1895. 88 Korsør avis, 4 December 1901, Ringsted Folketidende, 25 September 1899.

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which resulted in protests from the engineer. He explained he had previously sold another mummy to none other than Carl Jacobsen for the price of 2,000 kroner. In order to establish the value of the mummies, there was only one person in Denmark to turn to, as the newspapers reported – Valdemar Schmidt.89 This expertise in mummies was intended to become his main contribution and legacy to Egyptology. He had worked several decades on a grand book on the topic – his magnum opus – an atlas with photos, drawings and text covering all the mummies and sarcophagi he had stumbled upon and studied on his many travels to the museums of Egypt, Europe and Asia. It was even intended to be published in one of the world languages, French, to make it accessible to as many as possible. There are several reasons why the work took so long to complete. First, the pace at which new discoveries were being made, starting with the discovery of royal mummies at Deir el-Bahari in 1881, forced him to continuously add material and rewrite the manuscript.90 Second, the mummies were spread all over the world and he had to travel to all collections within a reasonable distance, which obviously took some time. Third, and that which according to himself was the main reason it had taken so long – there was the eternal lack of money.91 He had put much of his own inherited capital into obtaining images for the book, although he had some help from his niece who often travelled with him and could make drawings of the objects he pointed out.92 In early 1914 the manuscript was finally finished and sent off to Brussels where the printing would start in August the same year. Unfortunately, as the set date arrived, Europe and the rest of the world had slightly different concerns than mummies on their mind – The First World War had broken out, Belgium was occupied by German troops, and every attempt made by Schmidt to contact his printing house from then on was blocked. He waited patiently for the war to be over and visited only Scandinavian collections during these years. In early 1918, however, he made the decision to prepare the material that was available to him in Denmark and publish a reduced version in Danish, intended for a lay audience with no previous knowledge. He realised the waste of time the war had caused, and that the material could be used in the meantime to educate the Danish audience. Ironically, when the book was published in 1919, the war was already over.93 This reduced Danish version still contained more than 1,500 illustrations of sarcophagi, mummies and grave goods, together with a short description to every illustration.

89

Næstved Tidende. Sydsjællands Folkeblad, 23 February 1912; Lolland-Falsters Folketidende, 23 February 1912. 90 Schmidt 1919a: iii. 91 Schmidt 1919a: iv. 92 Schmidt 1925: 118; Schmidt 1919a: iv. 93 Schmidt 1919a: iv.

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As a neutral nation, Denmark did not suffer the same consequences as the belligerent nations, but the cost for scholars like Schmidt, who depended on being able to cross borders and getting access to foreign museums and libraries, was still substantial. It was not only the primary sources in the museums that were being cut off from him, but also ’a few hundred’ books he had used for his work over the years and which were still not available to him in Denmark.94 He never gave up the plans to publish the full work in French, and after the long-awaited peace finally arrived, he did what he had done throughout his entire career. At the age of 83, he once again boarded a train and travelled to the European libraries and museums with the intent to revise and update the material for his book. However, even though the war was over it had left a bitter aftertaste and the situation was still complicated. He travelled through Germany, England, Netherlands, France and Belgium immediately after the armistice and had to spend long periods waiting in police stations, passport controls and consulates, making it impossible to get as much work done, as he had been able to do before the war when he could spend entire days in the libraries and museums. The British Museum had been turned into an office complex during the war, covering up the museum objects, and when he arrived there was still no access.95 In addition, as if things were not difficult enough, when he arrived to Warnemünde on his way home, all his notes from this trip, mostly written in French and Italian, were confiscated and he never saw them again.96 Throughout his entire career, Schmidt had emphasised the international character of Egyptology, the necessity of cooperation and the joint effort to break the geographical barriers and make it possible for scholars to carry out their studies everywhere. In light of this, it is nothing but a tragic irony that it in the end was the breakdown of international relations and war that hindered the publication of his magnum opus. Bringing Egyptology to Denmark – The legacy of Valdemar Schmidt In international terms, Valdemar Schmidt belongs among the minor characters in the history of Egyptology and his wider contributions could be regarded as modest at best. In Denmark, on the other hand, he made a significant contribution and is rightly credited for bringing Egyptology to the country.97 He worked tirelessly for decades to create and cultivate an interest for the discipline and demonstrated its potential applications through his many lectures, popular books and articles. He also established the conditions requisite for the preparation of the next generation of Egyptologists through his assistance in building up and maintaining the Egyptian museum collections in the country, preparing and publishing catalogues over 94

Schmidt 1919a: iv. Schmidt 1919a: ii. 96 Schmidt 1925: 112. 97 Iversen 1992: 625. 95

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their content, and acquiring the books needed for further studies, often at his own expense. Even though he never published a major scholarly work in an international language, the establishment of the study of Egyptology in Denmark must be considered an international process in itself. He had to leave Denmark to become an Egyptologist and already from these early days he realised that it truly was, and always needed to be, an international discipline, underlining the importance of cooperation instead of competition between scholars from all countries. As a true polymath, he possessed a considerable range of interests, starting from his early attention to the Bible and his later introduction to prehistoric archaeology and geography. In combination with this, he had great linguistic talents, which made it possible for him to learn several ancient languages and writing systems, as well as numerous modern ones, which provided several opportunities at an early stage of his career, when Egyptology still was an uncertain road to take. During his entire career at the university in Copenhagen, he was also responsible for teaching both Egyptology and Assyriology, performing tasks that at the time were divided between at least two persons at most other universities.98 It was not until after his retirement that the disciplines separated and became fully recognised university subjects, with H.O. Lange in Egyptology 1924 and Otto Emil Ravn in Assyriology 1926.99 Nevertheless, being a polymath also came with a price and as scholarship became more specialised at the end of the century it became harder to assert oneself in an academic context. His student and successor Lange, who was more philologically inclined than Schmidt ever was, thought of him as someone with enormous knowledge in multiple areas but lacking purpose and method in his scholarship, something Lange instead claimed to have learned from Adolf Erman in Berlin.100 However, Lange’s student, Egyptologist Erik Iversen (1909–2001), later asserted that Lange always tended to underestimate the influence Schmidt had on his education, and, according to Iversen, if it had not been for Valdemar Schmidt and his lectures, Lange would not have had the success with Erman as he eventually did.101

98

Schmidt 1919a: iii. Flygare 2006: 30. 100 Iversen 1992: 628; Schreiber Pedersen 2016: 383. 101 Iversen 1992: 628. 99

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Bibliography Bagh, T. 2021. ‘The Nordic Countries’. In A. Bednarski, A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 108–209. Christiansen, S. 2005. De første 125 år – Et rids af Det Kongelige Danske Geografiske Selskabs historie 1876–2001. Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Danske Geografiske Selskab. Colla, E. 2007. Conflicted Antiquities. Egyptology, Egyptomania, Egyptian Modernity. Durham NC: Duke University Press. Dodson, A. 2021. ‘The British Isles’. In A. Bednarski, A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 91–135. Gange, D. 2006. ‘Religion and Science in late nineteenth-century British Egyptology’. The Historical Journal 49: 1083–1103. — 2013. Dialogues with the Dead: Egyptology in British culture and religion, 1822–1922. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Glamann, K. 1995. Øl og Marmor, Carl Jacobsen på Ny Carlsberg. Copenhagen: Gyldendal. Flygare, J. 2006. ‘Assyriologiens historie i Danmark’. Papyrus 2006: 1. Hagen, F. and K. Ryholt 2016. The Antiquities Trade in Egypt 1880–1930. The H.O. Lange Papers. Scientia Danica. Series H, Humanistica, 4, vol 8. Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes Selskab. Hampel, J. and F. Rómer. 1877. Congrès international d’anthropologie et d’archéologie préhistoriques. Compte-rendu de la huitième session à Budapest 1876. Budapest: Imprimerie Franklin-társulat. Holm-Rasmussen, T. 2005. ‘Valdemar Schmidt. Danmarks første ægyptolog’. Papyrus 05/1: 26–33. Iversen, E. ‘Odagelsen af Ægypten, Dechifrering’. In P.J. Jensen and L. Grane (eds), Københavns Universitet 1479–1979, VIII: Det filosofiske Fakultet. Copenhagen: Københavns Universitet, 605–633. Jørgensen, M. 2008. ‘Valdemar Schmidt og Carl Jacobsen – Videnskabsmanden og mæcenen. Et kapitel i dansk ægyptologis historie’. In T. Morgen (ed.), På sporet af kulturens kilder i det gamle Mellemøsten. Festskrift til ære for orientalisten Valdemar Schmidt, grundlæggeren af de mellemøstlige oldtidsstudier ved Københavns Universitet, skaberen af den ægyptiske samling i Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek. Copenhagen: Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek. — 2015. How it all began: The story of Carl Jacobsen’s Egyptian collection 1884–1925. Copenhagen: Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek. Marchand, S.L. 2009. German Orientalism in the Age of Empire: Religion, Race and Scholarship. New York: Cambridge University Press. Moshenska, G. 2014. ‘Unrolling Egyptian mummies in nineteenth-century Britain’. British Journal for the History of Science 47: 451–477.

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Reid, D.M. 2002. Whose Pharaohs? Archaeology, Museums, and Egyptian National Identity from Napoleon to World War I. Berkeley: University of California Press. Risbjerg Eskildsen, K. 2012. ‘The Language of Objects. Christian Jürgensen Thomsen’s Science of the Past’. Isis 103: 24–53. Schmidt, V. 1863. Reise I Grækenland, Ægypten Og Det Hellige Land. Copenhagen: F.R. Wøldikes Forlag. — 1868. Le Danemark à l’exposition universelle de 1867: étudié principalement au point de vue de l’archéologie. Paris. — 1872a. Indledning til Syriens Historie i Oldtiden efter Ikke-Bibelske Kilder. Copenhagen: F.R. Wøldikes Forlag. — 1872b. Assyriens og Ægyptens Gamle Historie Efter den Nyere Tids Forskninger. Copenhagen: F.R. Wøldikes Vorlag. — 1877a. Assyriens og Ægyptens Gamle Historie eller Historisk-Geographiske Undersøgelser om det Gamle Testamentes Lande og Folk. Copenhagen: F.R. Wøldikes Vorlag. — 1877b. ‘Førcolumbiske Opdagelser af Amerika’. Geografisk Tidskrift 1: 153– 157. — 1879. Østerlandske Indskrifter fra Den Kongelige Antiksamling Samlede og Oversatte af Valdemar Schmidt. Copenhagen: Hoffensberg & Traps Etabl. — 1888. ‘Nogle Bemærkninger om den gamle østerlandske Sculptur’. In Glyptotheket paa Ny Carlsberg. Copenhagen: Veiledning for de besøgende ved Carl Jacobsen, 182–191. — 1896. Silvias Pilegrimsfærd til det hellige Land, Ægypten og Mesopotamien i Slutningen af det 4. Aarhundrede efter Kristus. Copenhagen: Karl Schønbergs Forlag. — 1910. Museum Münterianum collection de stèles égyptiennes léguées à l’évêché de Copenhague par feu Frédéric Münter, évêque de Sélande, et actuellement conservées à la Glyptothèque Ny Carlsberg, à Copenhague. Brussels: Vromant. — 1914. Kort udsigt over Israels nabolandes oldtids historie: Ägypten, Assyrien, Babylonien, Syrien og Lilleasien: med sär̆ ligt hensyn til landenes forhold til det gamle Israel. Copenhagen: Kirkelig forening for den indre mission i Danmark. — 1919a. Levende og Døde i det Gamle Ægypten. Album til Ordning af Sarkofager, Mumiekister, Mumiehylstre o. lign. Første halvbind. Copenhagen: J. Frimodts Forlag. — 1919b. Levende og Døde i det Gamle Ægypten. Album til Ordning af Sarkofager, Mumiekister, Mumiehylstre o. lign. Andet halvbind. Copenhagen: J. Frimodts Forlag. — 1925. Af et langt Livs Historie. Copenhagen: J. Frimodts Forlag.

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Schreiber Pedersen, L. 2016. ‘“Ægyptologins Fremtid i vort Land”. H.O. Langes videnskablige testamente’. Fund og forskning 55: 379–393. Sheppard, K.L. 2012. ‘Between Spectacle and Science: Margaret Murray and the Tomb of the Two Brothers’. Science in Context 25: 525–549. Stevenson, A. 2019. Scattered Finds. Archaeology, Egyptology, and Museums. London: UCL Press. Thompson, J. 2015. Wonderful Things. A history of Egyptology, 1: From antiquity to 1881. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Worsaae, J.J.A. 1849. The Primeval antiquities of Denmark. Oxford: I. Shrimpton.

Wien – Prag – Wien – Philadelphia Nathaniel Julius Reich (1876–1943), der rastlose Wanderer Wolf B. Oerter

Die peregrinatio academica zwischen den Universitäten Wien und Prag war – zumindest in den Humanwissenschaften – eine durchaus übliche Erscheinung. Diese ‚Wanderung‘ verlief nicht nur in einer Richtung, sondern konnte nach Jahren auch als ‚Rückkehr‘ an den Ausgangsort erfolgen, nur selten hingegen, wie im Falle von Nathaniel Reich, zielte sie weiter nach Übersee. Welche Gründe – private, berufliche, politische – ihn zu seinen Wanderungen bewogen haben mögen, soll in diesem Beitrag näher beleuchtet werden. Von den akademischen Wanderungen des Nathaniel Julius Reich war vor Jahren und andernorts schon die Rede.1 Zu Nathaniel Julius Reich, dem Sprössling einer traditionsreichen Rabbinerfamilie und äußerst umtriebigen Editor altägyptischer Schriftdenkmäler, gibt es in der Reihe Jüdische Miniaturen, die vom Verlag Hentrich und Hentrich herausgegeben wird, ein kleines und aufschlussreiches Büchlein2, so dass wir uns eine ausführliche Darstellung seines Curriculum vitae hier ersparen können. Nichtsdestoweniger seien der Orientierung halber ein paar Eckdaten mitgeteilt: Geboren 1876 im ungarischen Teil der Habsburgermonarchie, in dem Städtchen Sárvár, als erstes von acht Kindern. Kindheit und Schulzeit in Baden bei Wien. 1897 Abitur am dortigen Landesreal- und Obergymnasium. Von 1897 bis 1904 Studium orientalischer Sprachen und Ägyptologie an der philosophischen Fakultät der Universität Wien. 1904 Promotion zum doctor philosophiae. Von 1913 bis 1918 Privatdozent für Ägyptologie an der k.k. deutschen Karl-Ferdinands-Universität Prag. 1920 Venia legendi für demotisches Ägyptisch an der Universität Wien. 1921/22 Übersiedlung in die USA. 1925 Associate Professor am Dropsie College for Hebrew and Cognate Learning in Philadelphia, 1926 Lecturer for Egyptology and Historical Law an der Johns Hopkins University. Am 5. Oktober 1943 stirbt Nathaniel Reich in Philadelphia. Nathaniel Reich hatte, was seine zukünftige berufliche Tätigkeit anbelangte, ganz klare Vorstellungen. Sein Lebenswerk sah er in der Abfassung einer umfassenden Geschichte der Juden im Alten Orient, Nordafrika, Griechenland und Rom, einer Art lebendigen Kommentars zu Bibel und Talmud, wie er rückblickend selbst bekannte:

1 2

Oerter 2006: 13–22; Oerter 2010b. Gertzen und Oerter 2017.

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Abb. 1–2: Das ungarische Städtchen Sárvár um die Jahrhundertwende und Baden bei Wien.

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I had resolved to make my life work a collection of data wherever found in Oriental records (manuscripts, potsherds, inscriptions, etc. etc.) concerning the Jews, for the purpose to write a complete history of the Jews in the Ancient Orient, North Africa, Greece and Rome. The work when completed should form a ‘living commentary’ on the Bible and Talmud.3 Diesem Ziel dienten ihm seine Demotischstudien. Der aus dem Griechischen stammende Begriff „demotisch“ bezeichnet „etymologisch gesehen die ‚volkstümliche‘ Schrift […] sowie die in dieser Schrift niedergelegte Sprachstufe des Ägyptischen.“4 Die Wichtigkeit des demotischen Materials erblickte Nathaniel Reich darin, dass es aus einer Zeit stamme, als die Juden die größte politische Macht innehatten, deshalb, so schreibt er, habe er sich dem Studium des Demotischen gewidmet: I believe in particular that the Demotic material is very important for this subject because it is of the period when the Jews had the greatest political power and developed the Jewish Alexandrian culture. For this reason I made special study of Demotic.5 Mit der wissenschaftlichen Erschließung ägyptischer Schriftdenkmäler verband er zudem die Hoffnung, die nötigen Voraussetzungen zu erbringen, um sich für eine Laufbahn als Hochschullehrer qualifizieren zu können. Die angestrebte Laufbahn würde ihn außerdem von finanziellen Alltagssorgen befreien und dadurch die materielle Unabhängigkeit von seinem Vater garantieren. Denn die Sorge, der Vater könnte die finanzielle Unterstützung einstellen, war stets gegenwärtig und sollte zeitweilig auch bedrückende Wirklichkeit werden.6 Und so ist von dem Wunsch, sich zu habilitieren, schon relativ bald die Rede: „Ich strebe die Privatdocentur an der K.K. Universität in Wien an“, lesen wir in seinem Curriculum vitae vom Februar 1907, das seiner Bewerbung um eine ausgeschriebene wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterstelle („Amanuensis-Stelle“) an der k.k. Universitätsbibliothek in Wien beigefügt ist.7 Der erste Schritt auf dem Weg zur Habilitation erfolgte im Juni 1910. Damals ersuchte Nathaniel Reich an der philosophischen Fakultät der k.k. Universität Wien um „Erlangung der venia legendi für Aegyptologie (mit bes. Berücksichtigung des Demotischen)“.8 Trotz Befürwortung der einberufenen Habilkommission, Nathaniel Reich für die weiteren Stadien des Habilitationsverfahrens zuzulassen, wird die Empfehlung im Professorenkollegium mit Stimmenmehrheit abgelehnt. Reichs Versuch, an der Universität Fuß zu

3

Katz Center Box 7, FF 26: undatiert. Quack 2005: 1. 5 Katz Center Box 7, FF 26: undatiert. 6 Dazu: Gertzen und Oerter 2017: 24–25. 7 Katz Center Box 7, FF 4: CV und Begleitbrief vom 19. Februar 1907. 8 Personalakt Reich, Dek. Z. 1659 ex 1910, fol. 1–8. Siehe Oerter 2010b: 108. 4

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fassen, scheitert.9 Die nächsten zwei Jahre bringt Reich dann damit zu, Stipendien zu beantragen sowie sich um diverse Forschungsaufträge zu bemühen. Ausbildungsstipendien ermöglichen ihm Studienaufenthalte in Straßburg bei Wilhelm Spiegelberg (1907), einem der führenden Demotisten und Koptologen seiner Zeit, in München bei dem Ägyptologen Friedrich W. von Bissing (1908) und im selben Jahr noch in Oxford bei dem ausgewiesenen Demotisten Francis Ll. Griffith. Daneben gelingt es ihm, verschiedene Editionsaufträge zu bekommen. So wird er unter anderem mit der Bearbeitung demotischer Papyri des British Museum in London, des Innsbrucker Landesmuseums oder der Staatsbibliothek München betraut.10 An seinem Wunsch, die Universitätslaufbahn einzuschlagen, hält er freilich nach wie vor fest. 1912 unternimmt er einen erneuten Versuch in dieser Richtung. Diesmal fällt seine Wahl auf die k.k. deutsche Karl-Ferdinands-Universität in Prag.11 Dass er sich gerade für diese Universität und diesen Standort entschied, dürfte mehrere Gründe gehabt haben. Zum einen genoss die Karl-FerdinandsUniversität in der Habsburgermonarchie einen guten Ruf und verfügte über einen nicht unbeträchtlichen Bekanntheitsgrad, was unter anderem der rege Hochschullehrerwechsel zwischen den Universitäten Wien und Prag hinreichend beweist.12 Zum andern bot Prag, das ja seit 1882 über zwei Universitäten verfügte, mit seiner deutschen Universität eben eine Hochschuleinrichtung, in der Deutsch als Unterrichtssprache galt.13 Eine nicht unerhebliche Rolle dürfte bei Reichs Entscheidung auch die geographische Nähe Prags zu Wien gespielt haben. Im Unterschied zu Prag nämlich, an dessen Universität das Fach Ägyptologie damals noch nicht etabliert war und man demzufolge mit einem Mangel an Fachliteratur rechnen musste, gab es in Wien mit der bereits etablierten Ägyptologie und der Universitäts- und Hofbibliothek jene Einrichtungen, die über die erforderliche ägyptologische Literatur verfügten. Den Mangel an Fachliteratur in Prag beklagt Reich dann später vor Ort auch in einem Brief an seine Tante: es sei „der Büchermangel hier, (der Mangel) an Photographien etc. etc.“, der es ihm unmöglich mache, seine „drei großen wissenschaftlichen Werke, die (er) im rohen Zustande fertig habe, druckfertig machen zu können“.14 Dieser Mangel nötigte Reich, sich zu Literaturrecherchen regelmäßig nach Wien aufzumachen: Die hiesige Bibliothek hat gar keine Aegyptologica, da vor mir das niemand gelehrt hat. Ich muss also alles von Wien oder anderswo ausleihen. […] Viele Bücher kann man aber weder von Wien noch anderswoher

9

Sitzungsprotokolle fol. 1–543: Protokoll vom 29. Oktober 1910. Vgl. hierzu das Biogramm in Gertzen und Oerter 2017: 71. 11 Zum Folgenden Gertzen und Oerter 2017: 28–30. 12 Urbanitsch 2005: 297–314. 13 Mouralová 2010. 14 Katz Center Box 1, FF 11: Brief vom 3. März 1914. 10

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entlehnen, weil sie die Bibliotheken nicht herleihen, z. B. Lexika, Nachschlagewerke, besonders teure Werke etc. etc. Für diese Zwecke ist notwendig, dass ich einmal im Monat für 2–4 Tage nach Wien fahren kann, um in der Universitäts- und Hofbibliothek arbeiten zu können. So machen es auch die meisten hier, die in ähnlicher Lage wie ich sind.15 Auf die unbefriedigende Lage ägyptologischer Fachliteratur an der (deutschen) Universität Prag hatte bereits der klassische Philologe Theodor Hopfner in einem Brief an Nathaniel Reich vom September 1913 aufmerksam gemacht und geklagt: Ein großer Nachteil wird allen Ihren Schülern an unserer Universität aus dem fast völligen Mangel an Studienbehelfen erwachsen; so ist z.B. von der so wichtigen ÄZ [gemeint ist die Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, mit dem heutigen Kürzel ZÄS] nur der 1. Band vorhanden, von Denkmälerpublikationen nur LD [= Lepsius, Denkmäler16] und der Cat. gén. von Kairo! [= Catalogue genéral des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire] Glücklicherweise ist wenigstens das Rec. de trav. [= Recueil des Travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l‘archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes] vollständig da, von den Proc. [= Proceedings of the Society of Biblical Archaeology] aber nur 1 oder 2 Bände, wie ich glaube.17 Und ein letzter, nicht minder wichtiger Grund für die Wahl des Studienortes Prag dürfte wohl der Umstand gewesen sein, dass Prag über eine starke jüdische Gemeinde verfügte. Zudem ist nicht auszuschließen, dass es zwischen Reichs Vater, dem Oberrabiner zu Baden bei Wien, und der jüdischen Gemeinde Prag wenn nicht direkte, so doch indirekte Verbindungen gegeben hat. So kann wohl eine Stelle in einem Brief Nathaniel Reichs gedeutet werden, den er am 3. März 1913 an seine Tante schrieb: „Mit Letzterem [d. h. Dr. Gustav Khon, Mitglied der jüdischen Gemeinde Prag] hat es sich damals um eine Privathauslehrerstelle gehandelt […], die er selber meinem Vater angetragen hatte.“18 Ermutigt durch F. W. von Bissing,19 reicht Nathaniel Reich am 28. Juni 1912 also an der philosophischen Fakultät der k.k. deutschen Karl-Ferdinands-Universität zu Prag seinen Habilitationsantrag ein. Nach Absolvierung des Habilitationskolloquiums hält er Ende Februar 1913 seinen Probevortrag. Als Thema des Probevortrags wurde entgegen seinen früheren Vorschlägen – er hatte Themen aus

15

Katz Center Box 1, FF 11: Brief vom 3. März 1914. Lepsius 1849–1856. 17 Katz Center Box 1, FF 10: Brief Th. Hopfners an N. Reich vom 27. September 1913. 18 Katz Center Box 1 FF 11. 19 „Fachlich würde ich Ihnen mehr zur Habilitation in Prag oder Graz raten als in Wien, wie die Dinge nun einmal liegen […]“: Katz Center Box 7, FF 21: Brief W. Bissings an N. Reich, undatiert. 16

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den Bereichen Literatur, Sprachgeschichte und Ehe vorgeschlagen20 – „Die Bedeutung der Demotistik in der Ägyptologie“ gewählt. Damit wurde Reichs Spezialisierung innerhalb der Ägyptologie sowie seinen Arbeiten auf diesem Gebiet Rechnung getragen.21 Trotz seiner Spezialisierung auf das Demotische wurde die Venia legendi für Reich nicht wie seinerzeit in Wien nur auf das Demotische beschränkt beantragt, sondern für das Gesamtgebiet der Ägyptologie. In der Begründung für diese Entscheidung fiel vor allem ins Gewicht, dass: diese Richtung der wissenschaftlichen Arbeiten Reich’s angesichts des Mangels an Kennern des Demotischen eher ein Vorzug zu nennen ist und daß andererseits demotische Studien die Bekanntschaft mit Geschichte, Texten und Kulturgeschichte des Alten Reiches ohnehin voraussetzen.22 Die ministerielle Bestätigung seiner Ernennung zum Privatdozenten erreichte ihn dann im Mai 1913. Zuvor jedoch waren höheren Ortes Stimmen laut geworden, die Bedenken anmeldeten: In einem Schreiben des Kultusministers vom April 1913 an Leo Reinisch, Reichs Hochschullehrer, lesen wir: Indem ich Eurer Hochwohlgeboren in der Anlage die vorgelegten Publikationen des Gesuchstellers übermittle, ersuche ich Eure Hochwohlgeboren sich unter Kommunikationsrückschluß vertraulich über die wissenschaftlichen Qualitäten Reich’s sowie auch darüber zu äußern, ob mit Rücksicht auf die bisherige Arbeitsrichtung des Genannten gegen die Bestätigung des erwähnten Beschlusses des Professorenkollegiums (:venia legendi für Aegyptologie:) ein Bedenken obwaltet.23 20 Die Themenvorschläge im einzelnen: 1. „Der sogenannte Sethon-Roman, vom aesthetischen Standpunkte beleuchtet, und sein Bau“ oder „Die aegyptische Novelle“; 2. „Die sprachliche Stellung der demotischen Texte im aegyptisch-koptischen Rahmen“ oder „Prolegomena zu einer historischen Grammatik des Aegyptischen“; 3. „Geschichte der Familie der Frau Senhor, Tochter des Zeho und der Enneuthetes“ oder „Die Eheschließung in Aegypten“: Katz Center Box 1, FF 9: Brief N. Reichs vom 1. Oktober 1912 an den Dekan der philosophischen Fakultät der deutschen Universität Prag. 21 Die Etappen des Habilitationsverfahrens im einzelnen: 11. 7. 1912 Wahl der Habilkommission (bestehend aus den Professoren Rzach [klass. Philologie], Grünert [Semitistik] und Swoboda [Epigraphik und klass. Altertumskunde]), 5. 12. 1912 Zulassung Reichs zu den weiteren Stadien der Habilitation, 23. 1. 1913 Habilitationskolloquium und Zulassung des Habilitanden zur Probevorlesung, 27. 2. 1913 Probevortrag und Beschluss des Professorenkollegiums der philosophischen Fakultät, dem Habilitanden die Venia docendi zuzuerkennen, 5. 3. 1913 Antrag des Dekans der philosophischen Fakultät (F. Wähner) beim Ministerium für Kultus und Unterricht auf Zulassung Reichs als Privatdozent, s. Oerter 2010a: 109, Anm. 15. 22 Mappe Reich: zitiert aus einem Schreiben des Ministeriums für Kultus und Unterricht vom 19.04.1913 an Prof. L. Reinisch. 23 Mappe Reich: Schreiben des Ministeriums für Kultus und Unterricht vom 19.04.1913 an Prof. L. Reinisch.

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Die Bedenken kann Leo Reinisch jedoch ausräumen,24 so dass der Weg frei war zur Ernennung zum Privatdozenten.

Abb. 3: Nathaniel Julius Reich um 1910. Dass Reich nun Privatdozent für Ägyptologie war und die Venia legendi für das Gesamgebiet des Faches besaß, spiegelte sich auch in dem mannigfaltigen Themenangebot seiner Lehrveranstaltungen wider. Auswahlweise genannt seien hiervon „Grammatik der Hieroglyphen- und hieratischen Texte. 1stündig“, „Geschichte Aegyptens I. 1stündig“ (beides für das Wintersemester 1913 angekündigt), „Ausgewählte Kapitel aus der aegyptischen und koptischen Kunst, 1stündig“ sowie „Grammatik und Lektüre von demotischen Texten. (Mit besonderer Berücksichtigung auf klassische Philologen und Juristen.) 3stündig“ (jeweils Sommersemester 1914), „Die historische Entwicklung der aegyptischen (hieroglyphischen, hieratischen, demotischen und koptischen) Schrift von den ältesten Zeiten bis zu ihrem Aussterben (mit Übungen in der Bestimmung der Abfassungszeit von Papyri). 1stündig“ und „Lektüre und Interpretation der hieroglyphischdemotisch-griechischen Inschriften des Steines von Rosette und Kanopus und 24

Mappe Reich: Brief vom 27. April 1913.

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verwandter historischer Urkunden. 3stündig“ (jeweils Wintersemester 1914/ 1915), „Erklärung ausgewählter ägyptischer Texte. (Auch für Anfänger.) 3stündig“ (Sommersemester 1915), „Einführung in die Aegyptologie und Papyruskunde. 2stündig“ (Wintersemester 1915/1916), „Ausgewählte Fragen der ägyptischen Kultur- und Zivilisations-Geschichte. 2stündig“ (Sommersemester 1916), „Geschichte der Zeit der Ramessiden und Thutmosiden. 2stündig“ (Wintersemester 1916/17), im Sommersemester 1917 dann „Die wissenschaftlichen Kenntnisse der alten Aegypter. I. Die Kenntnisse auf dem Gebiete der Naturwissenschaften und der Mathematik. 2stündig“, eine Vorlesungsreihe, die im Wintersemester 1917/18 mit „Die Kenntnisse der alten Aegypter auf dem Gebiete der Medizin, Mathematik, der Naturwissenschaften, der Geographie, Geschichte, Philologie und Rechtswissenschaft. (Auch für Anfänger). 2stündig“ fortgesetzt werden sollte.25 Und für das nicht mehr realisierte Sommersemester 1919 hatte er mit seiner Ankündigung „Der Einfluß des alten Ägypten auf die Kultur der Gegenwart. (Auch für Anfänger.) 2stündig“ sogar das Thema Ägyptenrezeption behandeln wollen.26 Inwieweit seine Lehrveranstaltungen dann auch die entsprechende Resonanz unter den Studierenden gefunden hatten, steht freilich auf einem anderen Blatt. Beruflich gesehen dürfte sich jedenfalls Reichs sehnlichster Wunsch erst einmal erfüllt haben. Unerfüllt hingegen blieb freilich seine Vorstellung, mit dem Aufstieg zum Privatdozenten auch der finanziellen Sorgen enthoben zu sein. In Briefen an seine Tante klagt er über seine finanzielle Lage, die ihn nicht nur zu einer asketischen Lebensweise nötige, sondern ihm auch wissenschaftliches Arbeiten erschwere, wenn nicht zeitweise sogar unmöglich mache.27 Dass Reich trotz seiner materiellen Sorgen in Prag die Universitätslaufbahn nicht aufgibt, dürfte nicht zuletzt auch damit zusammenhängen, dass er sich an die Hoffnung auf eine Professur wie an einen Strohhalm klammert. So lesen wir in einem Brief an seine Tante vom 3. März 1914: „[…] trotzdem auf der anderen Seite die Äpfel der Hesperiden einer Professur mir lächelnd entgegenwinken“, und er begründet dies damit, dass man gewillt sei, ihn „zum Professor der Ägyptologie vorzuschlagen“, sobald er „die gewöhnliche Zeit (1–2 Jahre, selten mehr) als Dozent abgedient habe“, denn, so heißt es weiter, er sei „hier unter den Professoren beliebt […]“, und die Professoren wünschen „das neue Fach an der Universität […], weil es die Universität im Ansehen hebt“. Reich ist sich also sicher, dass ihn die Regierung ernennen werde, sobald er vorgeschlagen sei, und zwar, so seine Worte, „1.) weil es eben ein neues Fach ist“ und „2.) weil ich in 25

Siehe die einschlägigen Vorlesungsverzeichnisse: Ordnung der Vorlesungen an der k. k. deutschen Karl Ferdinands-Universität zu Prag im Wintersemester 1913/14 etc. bis Ordnung der Vorlesungen an der k. k. deutschen Karl-Ferdinands-Universität zu Prag im Wintersemester 1918/19. 26 Ordnung der Vorlesungen an der Deutschen Karl-Ferdinands-Universität zu Prag im Sommersemester 1919, S. 34, 41, 68. 27 Katz Center Box 1, FF 11: Briefe vom 3., 6. und 20. März 1914.

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Wien die nötige Protektion habe, das durchzusetzen beim Ministerium, sobald die Sache spruchreif ist.“ Doch nicht nur in Prag, wie es gegen Ende des Briefes heißt, sondern auch andernorts habe er „für die nächsten 2 Jahre in fast sicherer Aussicht […] 2 Berufungen an auswärtige angesehene Universitäten“, wenn er nur „die Möglichkeit würdiger Existenz und wissenschaftlicher Arbeit bis dahin hätte.“28 Und auch später noch weist er darauf hin, dass ihn die Deutsche Universität in Prag nach Ende des I. Weltkriegs „zum Extraordinarius in Aussicht genommen hatte“.29 Doch die Zeitgeschichte nahm einen anderen Verlauf. Mit dem Zusammenbruch der Habsburgermonarchie und der Gründung der Tschecho-Slowakischen Republik im Herbst 1918 ist Nathaniel Reich plötzlich „Ausländer“ und darf so ohne weiteres nicht mehr an der Universität Prag dozieren. Deshalb kehrt Reich nach Wien zurück, wo er sich mit verschiedenen Jobs über Wasser hält – „überall nur als Aushilfe und provisorisch, daher nichts Sicheres“, wie er schrieb30 –, ehe er schließlich am deutsch-österreichischen Heeresmuseum eine Anstellung als Kustos für die Münzsammlung fand.31 Da er „das wissenschaftliche Bedürfnis hat, in seinem Fache Ägyptologie auch in Wien tätig sein zu können“, stellt er alsbald den Antrag, seine Prager Venia legendi für Ägyptologie nach Wien auf die philosophische Fakultät der dortigen Universität zu übertragen.32 Hatte Reich nun gehofft, damit lediglich einen rein formalen Akt in Gang zu bringen, so dass er, ausgestattet mit der neuen Venia legendi, bereits im Sommersemester an der Wiener Universität Lehrveranstaltungen im Fach Ägyptologie halten könnte, musste er sich alsbald eines Besseren belehren lassen.33 Zunächst wurde sein Antrag zurückgestellt, um einem anderen Habilitanden den Vorrang zu geben.34 Doch auch dann kam es zu etlichen Verzögerungen bei der Verhandlung seines Gesuchs, ehe das Professorenkollegium der Wiener philosophischen Fakultät den Beschluss fasste, keine formale Übertragung der Prager Venia legendi nach Wien zuzulassen. Stattdessen sollte sich Nathaniel Reich neu habilitieren lassen, lediglich der Probevortrag wurde ihm erlassen.

28

Katz Center Box 1, FF 11: Brief N. Reichs vom 3. März 1914 an seine Tante. Katz Center Box 1, FF 16: Brief N. Reichs vom 20. April 1919 an Nationalrat J. Smitka in Wien. 30 Katz Center Box 7, FF 13: Curriculum vitae N. Reichs vom 5. September 1921. 31 Darauf dürften sich die Worte v. Bissings auf einer Postkarte an Reich vom 30. März 1919 beziehen: „Dass Sie eine Anstellung in Wien gefunden haben, freut mich ganz besonders. Möchte sich alles Weitere einiger Maassen fügen […]“, Katz Center Box 1, FF 16. 32 Personalakt Reich, fol. 009: Schreiben N. Reichs vom 12. März 1919 an das Professorenkollegium der philosophischen Fakultät der Universität Wien. 33 Zum Folgenden s. schon Oerter 2007: 183–190 (= Oerter 2010a: 139–151). 34 Vgl. Reichs Schilderung des Bearbeitungshergangs seines Habilitationsantrags: Katz Center Box 1, FF 16: Briefentwurf N. Reichs vom 19. Juni 1919 an unbekannt. 29

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Abb. 4: Die Frontseite des Heeresgeschichtlichen Museums in Wien auf einer alten Postkarte. Es würde hier zu weit führen, die einzelnen Etappen des erneuten Habilitationsvorganges nachzuzeichnen, ich habe dies detailliert schon an anderer Stelle getan.35 Stattdessen begnügen wir uns mit seinem Ausgang, wie er am 15. Mai 1920 offiziell bestätigt wurde. In einem Schreiben an das Dekanat der philosophischen Fakultät erteilte der Unterstaatssekretär des österreichischen Staatsamts für Inneres und Unterricht „dem Beschluss des Professorenkollegiums der philosophischen Fakultät der Universität in Wien auf Zulassung des Dr. phil Nathaniel Reich als Privatdozent für demotisches Ägyptisch an der genannten Fakultät die Bestätigung.“36

35 36

Siehe Anm. 33. Personalakt Reich, fol. 035.

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Nun hatte Reich zwar seine angestrebte Venia legendi an der Wiener Universität endlich in Händen, doch nicht, wie ursprünglich gehofft, für das Gesamtgebiet der Ägyptologie, sondern auf das Demotische beschränkt. Dies entsprach zwar dem Schwerpunkt seiner Forschung, engte ihn aber in der ägyptologischen Lehre, die er doch in vollem Umfange in Prag hatte anbieten können, stark ein. Ein vergleichender Blick in die Vorlesungsverzeichnisse der Prager und der Wiener Fakultät zeigt dies sehr deutlich. Hatte er in Prag Lehrveranstaltungen beispielsweise zur Grammatik der Hieroglyphen- und hieratischen Texte (Wintersemester 1913/14), zur ägyptischen und koptischen Kunst (Sommersemester 1914) oder zur altägyptischen Medizin (Wintersemester 1917/18) anbieten können, drehten sich seine Wiener Lehrveranstaltungen ausnahmslos um das Demotische, sei es als Quellengrundlage für eine Darstellung sozialer Probleme im alten Ägypten („Soziale Probleme im alten Ägypten, auf Grund der demotischen ägyptischen Überlieferung, 2stündig“, Wintersemester 1920/2137), sei es als sprachliches und schriftliches Medium der Nilbewohner im ersten vorchristlichen Jahrtausend („Wie die alten Nilbewohner im ersten vorchristlichen Jahrtausend sprachen und schrieben“, Sommersemester 192138). Dass er sich konsequent an die Vorgabe der Venia legendi halten musste, seine Kollegen Hermann Junker und Wilhelm Czermak aber das gesamte Fach Ägyptologie vertreten durften und sogar Demotisch lasen, dürfte für Reich auf die Dauer zu Missmut und chronischer Unzufriedenheit geführt haben.39 Hinzu kamen die bedrückende wirtschaftliche Lage und existenzielle Sorgen. Deshalb entschloss er sich, dem Wiener Lehrbetrieb den Rücken zuzukehren und es noch einmal anderswo zu versuchen. Offenbar schon früh hatte er sich daher mit dem Gedanken getragen, in den USA nach Möglichkeiten wissenschaftlichen Arbeitens auf gesicherter existenzieller Grundlage zu suchen, und hatte diesbezüglich bei F.Ll. Griffith, mit dem er seit seinem Studienaufenthalt in Oxford im Jahre 1908 in kollegialer brieflicher Verbindung stand, vorgefühlt und um Vermittlung gebeten. Schon im März 1921 sondiert Griffith in Sachen Reich bei J. H. Breasted, Direktor des neugegründeten Oriental Institute der University of Chicago. Dieser macht ihm allerdings zunächst keine großen Hoffnungen, denn mit deutschstämmigen Orientalisten, die in Amerika eine neue Wirkungsstätte suchten, habe er bislang nicht sehr gute Erfahrungen gemacht: It is unfortunate that nearly all the German orientalists who have come to us in America have left so much to be desired in the way of personality […] and these unfortunate experiences, most of them in Philadelphia, have

37

Öffentliche Vorlesungen an der Juristischen und Philosophischen Fakultät der Universität zu Wien im Winter-Semester 1920/21, S. 29. 38 Öffentliche Vorlesungen an der Juristischen und Philosophischen Fakultät der Universität zu Wien im Sommer-Semester 1921, S. 28. 39 Zu Reichs Wiener Vorlesungen s. Oerter 2007: 189–190 (= Oerter 2010a: 150–151).

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made it very difficult even to propose an orientalist of German birth for a post anywhere in America, especially since the War.40 Und auch gegen bestimmte Juden hegte Breasted Vorbehalte.41 Dies hinderte ihn freilich nicht daran, sich für eine Anstellung Reichs in Amerika umzutun, wie Griffith in einem Brief an Reich vom 20. Oktober 1921 freudig verkünden kann: „It is very good now that Professor Breasted is exerting himself to get you a post in America and it will be a great pleasure to me if he is successfull.“ Da es aber in Sachen Anstellung noch keine greifbaren Fortschritte gibt, warnt Griffith Reich zugleich vor unüberlegten Schritten einer Einwanderung ohne die feste Zusicherung einer Anstellung in Amerika: It is evident that the matter will be one of no small difficulty in the present circumstance, and it would be most unwise to attempt to go to America until a post is paid for you. America now is very jealous of “aliens” and will not allow more than a certain number to enter each year. So that you would have to be quite certain before starting that you will not be turned back at the landing-stage!42 Allen Warnungen zum Trotz betritt Nathaniel Reich vermutlich noch im Dezember desselben Jahres amerikanischen Boden, ohne freilich eine feste Anstellung in der Tasche zu haben, wie man einem Brief Breasteds an Reich zum Jahresbeginn 1922 entnehmen kann: I now have your two letters of November 8 and December 15 and I am glad to hear that you have been able to extricate yourself from the troublous conditions in Vienna and have been able to reach America. […] Unhappily the efforts of my colleagues and myself have not thus far met with success, although I have pushed your case very energetically in a number of quarters. Be assured that if anything should develop which I can turn to your benefit, I will certainly do so. I understand that I can always reach you through the adress of your cousin, Dr. C. Wolf, in whose care I am sending this letter, and should I learn of any opportunity for you I will certainly let you know.43 Seinen Weggang in die USA begründet Reich in seinem nachträglich aus den USA eingesandten Urlaubsgesuch damit, „wissenschaftliche Forschungen in den Museen Nordamerikas“ betreiben zu wollen. Zudem sei er „hier von mehreren

40

University of Chicago, Oriental Institute Archives, Director’s Office Correspondence, 1921: Brief J. H. Breasteds an F.Ll. Griffith vom 19. März 1921 – zitiert nach Gertzen und Oerter 2017: 68 Anm. 56. 41 Siehe dazu Gertzen und Oerter 2017: 41–46. 42 Katz Center Box 2, FF 2: Brief von F.Ll. Griffith an N. Reich vom 20. Oktober 1921. 43 Katz Center Box 2, FF 3: Brief J. H. Breasteds an Reich vom 3. Januar 1922.

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Museen der U.S.A. mit der Bearbeitung ihrer Papyri betraut worden“.44 Doch nicht allein sein brennender Wunsch, wissenschaftlich tätig sein zu können, haben ihn zu seinem Aufbruch nach Amerika bewogen. Es seien die „hoffnungslosen Bedingungen in Wien, die es ihm absolut unmöglich machten, seiner wissenschaftlichen Arbeit nachzugehen, so dass er nach Amerika gekommen sei, um hier zu versuchen, Halt zu finden“, berichtet der deutsch-amerikanische Anthropologe Franz Boas an J.H. Breasted nach einer persönlichen Begegnung, die er mit Nathaniel Reich Mitte Januar 1922 in New York hatte.45 Dass diese Einschätzung der Lebensumstände in Wien offenbar erst die Spitze eines Eisberges war, mögen folgende Sätze aus einem Brief vom 27. Juni 1922 aus Wien an N. Reich illustrieren: Ich freue mich, daß es Ihnen anscheinend doch, wenn auch ohne Berufung auf eine Lehrkanzel, drüben gut geht. Jedenfalls können Sie froh sein, den Wiener Verhältnissen entronnen zu sein, die sich immer unleidlicher gestalten und die ich Ihnen vielleicht am einfachsten durch die Feststellung charakterisiere, daß ein Dollar rund 20.000,– Kronen wert ist.46 Was Reichs wissenschaftliche Betätigung und akademische Laufbahn in den USA angeht, so erhielt er spätestens im Herbst 1922 zunächst eine Anstellung als Kustos der ägyptischen Abteilung des Universitätsmuseums („Assistent Curator of the Egyptian Department of the University Museum“) in Philadelphia. Außerdem wurde er noch im selben Jahr mit Wirkung vom 1. Januar 1923 von der New York Historical Society mit der Bearbeitung demotischer Texte betraut.47 44 Aus New York schreibt Nathaniel Reich am 15. Oktober 1922: „Der Gefertigte erfährt soeben zu seinem Bedauern, dass anfangs dieses Jahres von New York an die Fakultät gesandte Urlaubsgesuch auf der Post verloren gegangen sein muss, in welchem ich um einen zweijährigen Urlaub für wissenschaftliche Forschungen in den Museen Nordamerikas ersuchte und zugleich bat, meinen Hörern die zweite Testur zu geben oder ihnen das Geld zurückzuerstatten. Da ich krank war und meine Schiffskarte schon hatte, so musste ich – kaum gesundet – sofort abreisen, wodurch ich nicht die Möglichkeit (hatte), das Gesuch noch in Wien einzureichen; es wäre sonst meine Karte verfallen. Ich bin hier von mehreren Museen der U.S.A. mit der Bearbeitung ihrer Papyri betraut worden und ich bitte um einen Urlaub in der Dauer von zwei Jahren zu obigem Zwecke. Es ist mir auch mehrfach gelungen, Personen für unsere Universität zu interessieren.“ Personalakt Reich, Dek. Z. 276 ex 1922, fol. 037. 45 Katz Center Box 2, FF 3: Brief von F. Boas an J.H. Breasted vom 16. Januar 1922: „Today Dr. Nathaniel Reich of the University of Vienna called on me. It appears that with the present desperate conditions in Vienna, he is utterly unable to pursue his scientific work and he has come here in order to try to get a footing here. He told me that you are aware of his plans. Unfortunately I do not see any way in which I can be of help to him.“ 46 Katz Center Box 2, FF 3: H. Breitner, Stadtrat in Wien, brieflich an N. Reich, 27. Juni 1922. 47 Katz Center Box 2, FF 3: Schreiben der New York Historical Society an N. Reich vom 20. Dezember 1922.

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Abb. 5 a–c: Reichs US-amerikanischer Pass, ausgestellt am 3. Juli 1929. Im Jahre 1925 wird für ihn am neu gegründeten Dropsie College for Hebrew and Cognate Learning in Philadelphia, an dem er bis zu seinem Tod wirken sollte, eine Dozentenstelle für Ägyptologie, Papyrologie und Altorientalistik geschaffen („Associate Professor of Egyptology, Papyrology, and Ancient Oriental Studies“). Zwischenzeitlich lehrte er auch an anderen amerikanischen Einrichtungen, beispielsweise 1926 als Gastdozent für Ägyptologie und Semitistik („Visiting Lecturer on Egyptology and Semitics“) an der Johns Hopkins University.48 Wenn man einmal von seiner Publikationstätigkeit, seinen allgemeinverständlichen Vorträgen im Bereich der Wissenschaftspopularisierung, seinen zahlreichen Rezensionen und der Herausgebertätigkeit der Zeitschrift Mizraim49 absieht, so verdienen zwei seiner Vorhaben besondere Erwähnung. Da ist zum einen sein 48

Zu Reichs Anstellungen in den USA und seinen Mitgliedschaften in US-amerikanischen Gelehrtengesellschaften s. den biographischen Abriss zu Reich, Nathaniel Julius: Katz Center Box 7, FF 26: 1 S. Maschinenschrift, undatiert; s. auch Gertzen und Oerter 2017: 46–49. 49 Ihr vollständiger Titel lautete: Mizraim. Journal of Papyrology, Egyptology, History of Ancient Laws and their Relations to the Civilisations of Bible Lands, Erscheinungszeitraum 1933–1938.

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Entwurf eines demotischen Wörterbuches, zu dem er umfangreiche Zettelsammlungen angelegt hat.50 Sie enthalten neben dem Eintrag demotischer Textstellen inklusive ihrer Schreibvarianten auch die ägyptischen Etymologien sowie die koptischen Entsprechungen unter Einschluss der koptischen Dialekte.

Abb. 6: Deckblatt des von Nathaniel Reich kompilierten Demotischen Wörterbuches.

Abb. 7: Zeitungsausschnitt aus Collier’s The National Weekly vom 25. Juli 1925.

50

Katz Center, ARC MS 20, Nathaniel Julius Reich Collection, Box 11, FF 1 – 3; s. außerdem den kurzen Hinweis in Gertzen und Oerter 2017: 55–57.

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Das andere erwähnenswerte Vorhaben ist sein Projekt eines demotischen Thesaurus. 1935 hatte er, ausgehend von Erfahrungen, die er zusammen mit T.C. Skeat (1907–2003), Bibliothekar am British Museum und Kurator seiner Handschriftenabteilung, bei Arbeiten zu den demotischen und griechischen strategoi gesammelt hatte, dieses Projekt beantragt. Es sollte eine Laufzeit von etwa drei Jahren haben und eine Art Referenzpublikation werden, die in einer chronologischen Übersicht sämtliche Daten zu bis dahin veröffentlichten und, sofern zugänglich, auch unveröffentlichten demotischen Texten böte. Dies schloss sämtliche in den Texten erwähnten Angaben ein.51 Damit war Reich seiner Zeit voraus, gab es doch für demotische Texte bis dahin nichts Vergleichbares.52 Leider lassen uns die nachgelassenen Quellen zu Nathaniel Reich im Stich über das weitere Schicksal seines Projektantrags, der allem Anschein nach aber keiner Förderung für wert befunden wurde. Als Antwort auf die eingangs gestellte Frage nach den Beweggründen, die Nathaniel Reich von Wien nach Prag, von Prag retour nach Wien und von dort über den großen Teich in die USA geführt haben, ergibt sich für uns folgendes Bild: Sein Weg von Wien nach Prag war zweifelsohne von dem beruflichen Wunsch nach Habilitation diktiert, gepaart mit der Aussicht auf eine spätere Professur und damit künftig besoldeter Anstellung. Seine Rückkehr nach Wien war die Folge der politischen Entwicklung nach Ende des I. Weltkriegs. Sein Weggang von der Universität Wien in die Vereinigten Staaten dürfte seiner Unzufriedenheit mit der ihm auferlegten Enge in der Lehre, den fehlenden Möglichkeiten für Editionsvorhaben ägyptischer Schriftdenkmäler sowie der allgemeinen sozialen und wirtschaftlichen Nachkriegslage in Österreich geschuldet sein. Damit ergibt sich ein differenzierteres Bild seiner Wanderungen als jenes, das uns die peregrinationes academicae aus der Zeit der Habsburgermonarchie bieten, denen zumeist Berufungen akademisch bereits arrivierter Gelehrter zugrunde lagen.53 Archivalische Quellen Katz Center: Library of the Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies. ARC MS 20. Nathaniel Julius Reich Collection. Mappe Reich: Národní archiv, fond [Bestand]: MKV/R, Sign.: 5 Philos. Prof., Mappe Reich. Personalakt Reich: Archiv der Universität Wien. Philosophische Fakultät. Personalakt Reich, Nathaniel, Schachtel 199, Sign. PH PA 2987. Sitzungsprotokolle: Archiv der Universität Wien. Philosophische Fakultät. Sitzungsprotokolle des Professorenkollegiums der Philosophischen Fakultät der Universität Wien, Prof. Coll. Phil. Prot. 1908/09–1912/13, Ph 31.11. 51

Katz Center Box 10, FF 38: Vorschlag eines demotischen Thesaurus. Siehe die Übersicht bei Depauw 1997: Kap. 3: Scientific Tools, 53–68. 53 Dazu im Einzelnen: Urbanitsch 2005: 297–314. 52

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Bibliographie Depauw, M. 1997. A Companion to Demotic Studies. Papyrologica Bruxellensia 28. Brüssel: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Elisabeth. Gertzen, T.L. und W.B. Oerter. 2017. Nathaniel Julius Reich: Arbeit im Turm zu Babel. Jüdische Miniaturen 197. Berlin: Hentrich & Hentrich. Lepsius, C.R. 1849–1856. Denkmäler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien. Berlin: Nicolaische Buchhandlung. Mouralová, B. (Hg.) 2010. Die Prager Universität Karls IV. Von der europäischen Gründung zur nationalen Spaltung. Potsdam: Deutsches Kulturforum Östliches Europa. Oerter, W.B. 2006. „Nathaniel Reich – ein akademischer Wanderer“. In J. Holaubek, H. Navratilova und W.B. Oerter (Hgg). Egypt and Austria II. Proceedings of the Prague Symposium October 5th to 7th, 2005. Prag: Set Out, 13–22 (= Oerter 2010a: 96–104). — 2007. „Neuer Habilitationsakt statt einfacher Übertragung: das Tauziehen um die Venia legendi Nathaniel Reichs an der Wiener Universität (1919–1920)“. In J. Holaubek, H. Navratilova und W.B. Oerter (Hgg). Egypt and Austria. The Danube Monarchy and the Orient. Proceedings of the Prague Symposium September 11th to 14th, 2006 / Ägypten und Österreich III. Akten zum Prager Symposion 11–14 September 2006. Prag: Set Out, 183–190 (= Oerter 2010a: 139– 151). — 2010a. Die Ägyptologie an den Prager Universitäten 1882–1945. Prag: Karlsuniversität. — 2010b. „Peregrinatio academica: Nathaniel Reich“. In Oerter 2010a: 105–111. Quack, F. 2005. Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte III. Münster: LIT. Urbanitsch, P. 2005. „Zur ‚Peregrinatio academica‘ von Wiener und Prager Professoren in der 2. Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts“. In M. Svatoš, L. Velek und A. Velková (Hgg). Magister noster. Sborník statí věnovaných in memoriam prof. PhDr. Janu Havránkovi, CSc. Prag: Karolinum, 297–314.

An Independent Scholar and Collector: Ludwig Keimer in Egypt On the Occasion of the 130th Birthday of this Tireless Scientist Isolde Lehnert

The decision of the German scholar Ludwig Keimer (1892–1957) to come to Egypt was on the advice of his late mentor Georg Schweinfurth (1836–1925), the famous botanist and Africa explorer, who introduced him to natural history. He recommended Egypt as a land of infinite possibilities for a man willing to explore the world with open eyes. When Keimer finally arrived at the shores of the Nile in 1927/28 he was in his mid-thirties and had already earned three doctorates and published his monograph Die Gartenpflanzen im Alten Ägypten. Before his death, Schweinfurth had arranged a research stay in Lyon for Keimer with his friend Victor Loret (1849–1946), a well-known Egyptologist and naturalist with a focus on botany and zoology. From December 1926 on, Keimer spent half a year with Loret, working with him on a daily basis in addition to visiting several Egyptian collections in museums in France, the Netherlands, and in Belgium. One of Keimer’s most important contacts during this period became Jean Capart (1877–1947), director of the Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth (FÉRÉ) and curator of the Egyptian collections at the Royal Museums of Art and History (RMAH) in Brussels.1 Keimer first sent a letter to him as early as September 1926, from his home town of Haselünne. It was the beginning of a long scholarly German-French correspondence that lasted until Capart’s death and even beyond, as Keimer remained in contact with the FÉRÉ until he died in 1957. The two scholars exchanged over a hundred letters, although the ratio is now unbalanced, as only 18 of Capart’s letters in French are preserved, compared to 90 of Keimer in German and, from 1936 on, in French. These letters reveal many details of Keimer’s early years in Egypt, which remained largely unknown until recently and, at the same time, shed some light on Capart and his Fondation.2 La Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth The Fondation (later renamed ‘Association Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth’, AÉRÉ) was founded by Jean Capart in memory of Queen Élisabeth’s visit to the tomb of Tutankhamun, on 18 February 1923.3 Since 1925 it published the journal 1

For an overview of Capart’s life and career, see Bruffaerts 2022, with further references. The correspondence is kept in the archive of the FÉRÉ at the Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussels, Folder BE/380469/2/470: Keimer, Ludwig Joseph Gustav. I would like to thank Luc Limme for the permission to use this material and Marleen De Meyer for bringing this file to my attention. 3 De Meyer et al. 2023. 2

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Chronique d’Égypte, to which Keimer subscribed from the very first issue. At the beginning of their correspondence Keimer introduced himself very respectfully to Capart and emphasized that it would be his pleasure if he could be of use to the Fondation. As a first sign of his support he offered to donate duplicates of Schweinfurth’s articles on ancient Egypt that were in his possession, as well as his own book Gartenpflanzen. Additionnally, if the Fondation did not happen to have a copy of Abulfedae Descriptio Aegypti, published in 1776, he could make his duplicate available free of charge. Furthermore, he was more than willing to write reviews and articles for the Chronique, for which he had enough material.4 Capart seemed interested, because Keimer soon talked about several projects, for example a book on the sycamore and the fig tree, and already asked if and when he could submit the manuscript to the Fondation for printing.5 Of particular interest is Keimer’s last letter from the year 1927, as it provides a piece of the puzzle on the question of when exactly Keimer first set foot on Egyptian soil. Keimer himself mentions 1927 as well as 1928 in several of his publications, letters and even in official documents such as his curriculum vitae. In this particular letter of 9 December 1927 he asked Capart if 2,500 marks (= 15,000 French francs) would be sufficient to go to Egypt for two months, as his father had given him this sum at his free disposal. Keimer wanted to travel around the middle of January 1928, but needed to know beforehand whether one could manage with this rather small amount, even if one had only modest demands.6 Unfortunately, there is no reply preserved by Capart or any other correspondence from the year 1928, so this question remains unanswered for now. But the two men had not lost contact. The next letter, dated to the end of April 1929, shows how far the collaboration between Keimer and Capart had progressed in the meantime. Keimer had settled in Cairo and they probably had met in person during Capart’s stay in Egypt from January to March 1929.7 Keimer confirmed in April that he had already received 10 Egyptian Pounds from Henri Naus Bey (1875–1938), the Fondation’s president and a successful Belgian businessman, who played a prominent role in the Egyptian sugar industry.8 The money was for Keimer’s research on the three Egyptian species of lotus (Nymphaea lotus, Nymphaea caerulea and Nelumbium speciosum), and he spent it on a study trip to Damietta. This was only one of four topics for projected monographs which Keimer explained at length in this long letter. He stressed that he could write them immediately if he had the necessary funds, i.e. about 200–300

4

Archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/504, Letters Keimer to Capart, 1927’s. 5 Letter Keimer to Capart, 19.9.1927 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 6 Letter Keimer to Capart, 9.12.1927 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 7 I thank Marleen De Meyer for this information about Capart. 8 Kupferschmidt 1999: 11–12.

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Egyptian Pounds. His father’s financial allowance covered his daily living expenses, but he would need monetary support for the drawings, photographs and purchases of antiquities as well as for the translation of the texts into French. If Capart was able to help, Keimer was willing to hand over his entire collection to the RMAH, which consisted of about 1,000 pieces of representations of Egyptian plants and other motifs made of faience and terracotta.9 Capart’s answer was positive. He agreed to put a request to the Fondation’s committee to assist Keimer in his work, but he would not be able to do anything before the next board meeting in October. In the meantime, he promised to send Keimer a first sum of 25 Egyptian Pounds and probably a second of the same amount within a few months. However, it was under two conditions, which Capart made more in Keimer’s interest than in his own. First, Keimer had to give Capart a short report for Henri Naus on his lotus examining excursion to the Delta, which eventually would be published in the Chronique. Secondly, Keimer should continue to work on his manuscript on the sycamore and the fig tree, now the property of the Fondation which also would take care of the French translation.10 Keimer accepted under one condition. He found it embarrassing to read in every issue of the Chronique, that the Fondation supported him with this or that amount of money, and that he was working on this or that topic, etc. He would prefer that such a note be dropped in the future. Additionally, with regard to the promised manuscript – it would leave nothing to be desired concerning method or completeness. ‘I want this work to cause a stir!’, Keimer noted excitedly and added: ‘Never in my life have I worked so much as in the one and a half years I have spent in Egypt. And with God’s help, I have achieved results that I could never have dreamed of’. The long letter ends with a list of four articles currently in print and two others on which Keimer was still working.11 – Capart, it should be noted, had only asked for a short “okay”. At the beginning of June, Capart had to remind Keimer of the required report on the excursion, which would be important to the success of their joint support plan.12 Keimer, however, was busy writing his manuscript until the end of July and most probably did not deliver the report.13

9

Letter Keimer to Capart, 20.4.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Letter Capart to Keimer, 20.5.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 11 Letter Keimer to Capart, 30.5.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. The original quote is in German. 12 Letter Capart to Keimer, 5.6.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 13 Letter Keimer to Capart, 7.7.1929 and 26.7.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉEGKE. 10

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Fig. 1: Keimer and an unknown person on the old sycamore tree in Old Cairo during an excursion on 7 June 1929. © DAIK. In August 1929, Keimer had another large collection on offer, which he had put together during the previous winter. It contained about sixty pieces of GrecoEgyptian terracotta and bronzes, depicting the ‘lotus’ (Nelumbium) that was popular during the Greco-Alexandrian period; each piece was of a different form. The collection was photographed and Keimer planned to publish it later with Octave Guéraud (1901–1987), a colleague from the French Institute in Cairo. Keimer wanted to part with the collection for reasons of space; his room in the Hotel New York, where he lived during these early years, was filled with books and antiquities. He supposed that Capart had little or no interest in these Greco-Egyptian

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artefacts; in any case, photographs would be at his disposal.14 Keimer assumed that objects concerning the history of the natural sciences of ancient Egypt would be of greater value for Brussels. He hoped to put together a representative collection in the course of time.15 In the weeks to follow Keimer sent several letters to Capart waiting for money that would enable him to travel to Luxor to work on the Theban material for his book on the sycamore. It was only in December, though, that Capart informed Keimer that the Fondation’s Board had in October willingly ratified Capart’s commitment to send Keimer grants for preparing his book on the sycamore, which would be published by the Fondation. Of the 100 Egyptian Pounds made available for this purpose, Capart had already sent 75 Egyptian Pounds to Keimer, the remaining 25 Egyptian Pounds were still to come, as the transfer had been delayed by the bank. There was only one topic – the problem of photographs – Capart wanted to settle personally with Keimer, after his expected arrival in Cairo around 15 January 1930.16 In the same letter, Capart congratulated Keimer on his new two-year position as Professeur à l’École Archéologique des Guides et Dragomans d’Égypte in Cairo.17 In fact, it had been Capart’s vision to create an École des drogmans in Egypt, to raise awareness among Egyptian youth of their rich heritage and to train future tour guides. But the reality of the school did not at all correspond to Capart’s own vision, so he had distanced himself from it and did not want to be officially associated with it.18 Nevertheless, he seemed to be pleased that Keimer had been assigned as a lecturer.19 On 4 March 1930, Keimer and Capart signed a contract valid until 31 December 1932. The Fondation would place a maximum annual sum of 100 Egyptian Pounds at Keimer’s disposal, to cover the costs of producing the photographic plates necessary for his studies. The negatives would remain the property of the Fondation and would be labelled as ‘Clichés Keimer’ in the Fondation’s archives. Keimer would receive prints of the negatives and would provide all the necessary data for their scientific classification to the Fondation. Furthermore, the Fondation would not distribute prints of the photographs, to which Keimer reserved scientific ownership, to third parties without his written authorisation.20 At the end of the month, Keimer approached Capart about his large opus on the sycamore, which he anticipated might comprise three volumes. If it were too expensive for the Fondation to print, he suggested printing it elsewhere, as he had 14

Letter Keimer to Capart, 2.8.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Letter Keimer to Capart, 24.9.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 16 Letter Capart to Keimer, 12.12.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 17 Keimer 1940: VIII. 18 Bruffaerts 2013: 226–227. 19 Letter Capart to Keimer, 12.12.1929 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 20 Letter Keimer to Capart, 4.3.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 15

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just received a very flattering offer. In that case, he proposed to write a popular and shorter edition for the Fondation afterwards.21 Whether and how Capart replied to this, is not known. In the summer of 1930, Keimer planned to personally deliver his collection of objects depicting flowers and animals made of faience and other materials to Brussels. The agreed price of 250 Egyptian Pounds was not to be altered, even though Keimer had acquired a few more reference books for the collection.22 Without any problems Keimer got the export licence for all the objects from the Antiquities Service. Reginald Engelbach (1888–1946), who was responsible for this duty at the time, waved everything through. His ‘flora and fauna’ collection would continue to grow, as stated by a notice in the Chronique d’Égypte.23 After a short stay in Switzerland, Keimer arrived in Brussels on 21 July 1930.24 Four weeks later he gave a lecture about ‘L’Égyptologie et les sciences naturelles’ at the ‘Semaine égyptologique’.25 After his return to Cairo, Keimer busily compiled an accurate inventory of the collection sold to Brussels. It included a description with a sketch to which one or two photographs could be added later, so that within five or six years the whole collection could be published. In response to Keimer’s request as to how much he was allowed to spend on enlarging the collection from then until his trip to Europe in the summer of 1931, Capart noted on the margin of Keimer’s letter the maximum sum of 100 Egyptian Pounds. At the end of the same letter, Keimer, who had not said much about the Dragoman School so far, expressed his dissatisfaction and criticised the fact that he did not have a fixed contract. He noted, moreover, that any other school teacher was treated and paid better than him.26 From October onwards Keimer recorded his purchases for Capart on 13 pages of a small booklet, entitled ‘Achats en 1930/31’. Listed are 33 objects, some with small sketches, indicating origin, date and price. The amount spent for the period from 4 October to 10 May 1931 was almost 120 Egyptian Pounds, thus exceeding the budget.27 Keimer mentioned some of his acquisitions to Capart, such as the fragment of a small stele of the New Kingdom from Tuna el-Gebel (Hermopolis Magna), which, with a depiction of eight ibises, he considered unique. In Keimer’s booklet it is listed as number 15.28 21

Letter Keimer to Capart, 23.3.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Letter Keimer to Capart, 8.5.1930 and 22.5.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉEGKE. 23 Letter Keimer to Capart, 14.7.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. The collection’s mention in Chronique d’Égypte, 6.1931: 35. 24 Letter Keimer to Capart, 17.7.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 25 The 19 September lecture is published in Chronique d’Égypte 6: 305–311. 26 Letter Keimer to Capart, 8.10.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 27 The notebook is in DAIK-Keimer-Suppl-Diverses (Capart). 28 Letter Keimer to Capart, 17.12.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 22

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Fig. 2: The first page of Keimer’s booklet, with his purchases for Capart’s Fondation 1930/31. © DAIK. At the end of October, Keimer and Capart discussed possible books to be purchased for the Dragoman School. It seems that Capart wanted to write a small, reasonably priced book about Memphis that would be ideal for tour guides. It would be comparable to his album Thebes which, in only 25 pages, presents a good overview of sites with little text and actual photographs.29 Keimer immediately had the idea of offering this publication to the Catholic schools in Egypt, i.e. the Jesuits, as well as the Greek Patriarchate and other congregations. Thanks to 29

‘Memphis’ seems not to be published. Thèbes, la gloire d’un grand passé expliquée aux enfants came out in 1925, followed a year later by an English edition Thebes, the glory of a great past, a little book for everybody.

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his excellent contacts at various institutions, he believed that he could complete this project, even though he might not stay at the Dragoman School much longer.30 In mid-November, Keimer complained that he had been teaching at the school for seven weeks without receiving a single piaster, and thus he was not able to travel to Upper Egypt until after Christmas, when all the tourists would be there.31 A week later, Keimer and his Egyptian colleagues Selim Hassan (1886–1961), Sami Gabra (1892–1979) and Mahmud Ali Hamza (1890–1976) were summoned to the ministry to talk with the director general Achmaoui Bey about the school and its appropriateness.32 Selim Hassan, who was in hospital at that time, could not attend. At the end of the meeting, they were told that a new programme would be designed for the Dragoman School. Keimer had the impression that Achmaoui Bey would like to close the school, especially since a certain Mr. Hautecoeur, who was also present, called the school nonsense.33 Under these circumstances, it was not thought appropriate for Achmaoui Bey to buy 300–400 copies of Capart’s Thebes for the school, as Keimer had suggested. So there was no money for the financially strapped Fondation, as Keimer’s efforts with the Catholic schools had also not shown any success so far.34 From January 1931 on, Keimer bought three newspapers daily (La Bourse Égyptienne, Le Journal du Caire, Le Réveil), read them carefully and sent his selection of news on Egyptological matters, such as discoveries and excavations, weekly to Capart. However, he quickly fell behind in this task, as he was working on twelve articles at the same time and was often interrupted by requests of all kinds.35 Keimer suffered from being overworked and struggled once again with money problems. His pay at the Dragoman School was by the hour and he earned nothing when he was absent due to illness, which was the case in February 1931. Keimer still felt weak in March because he had not been able to eat for twelve days, as he wrote to Capart. As he noted, the only good thing from this ordeal was that he had become significantly leaner, and at least his father sent him some money to make ends meet.36 In the course of just a few years in Cairo, Keimer had become the point of contact for several museums and private collectors, for example Achille Groppi (1890–1949), the owner of the famous Café Groppi in downtown Cairo. Keimer 30

Letter Keimer to Capart, 24.10.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Letter Keimer to Capart, 14.11.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 32 Keimer’s spelling of the name Achmaoui Bey is likely to correspond to the English Ashmawi or Ashmawy. The author could not find any further details about the person. 33 Monsieur Hautecoeur was apparently a European official, but no further details are given. 34 Letter Keimer to Capart, 27.11.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 35 Letter Keimer to Capart, 11.2.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 36 Letter Keimer to Capart, 24.2.1931 and 6.3.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉEGKE. 31

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advised him not only on his purchases of antiquities, and accompanied him on trips through Egypt, but was also on friendly terms with him.37 Not all of his contacts, however, were fruitful to his efforts. In early 1931, he received a request from Dr Willem Dirk van Wijngaarden (1893–1980), whom he had known since the end of the First World War, when they were both the only students of Egyptology in Berlin.38 Van Wijngaarden, keeper of antiquities at the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden in Leiden, wanted to purchase some antiquities, including painted ostraca. Keimer submitted several proposals, reserved a few selected objects with the antique dealers, and even put 40–50 Egyptian Pounds forward, but the deal did not materialise, as van Wijngaarden stopped replying.39 Yet something else happened that year. On 6 March 1931, Keimer wrote to Capart that he had just received a letter from the German University in Prague, in reply to his application for habilitation for the entire field of Egyptology, which he had submitted to the Faculty of Philosophy six months earlier on 20 September 1930.40 Keimer was notified that the Ministry would probably accept his habilitation and that he should be present for the necessary procedure at the university in the first days of June 1931. Therefore, Keimer had to leave Cairo at the end of May, first to Prague, then continue to Germany, and further on to Brussels to deliver his harvest of antiquities, and back to Cairo. But how to finance the trip? As he had already spent the amount of 120 Egyptian Pounds sent by Capart in November of the previous year, Keimer cautiously inquired whether he could get 50 Egyptian Pounds, half of his annual subsidy now, before Caparts’s departure for America at the end of April.41 But since Capart did not respond, Keimer had to find another solution. Meanwhile, a second letter from the university, dated 6 May 1931, informed Keimer about the final dates. The colloquium for habilitation was set to take place on 11 June, followed by the trial lecture on 18 June. Keimer was there on time and everything went well. The dean of the university wrote to Keimer on 8 July that the faculty was to grant him the venia legendi for the entire field of Egyptology, but only after approval by the Ministry of Education and Popular Culture. No one could have imagined that this procedure was to take an incredible seven years. An enquiry by the dean at the ministry in September 1934 as to the reason for the delay in confirmation revealed that the acquisition of Czechoslovak citizenship was mandatory by now.42 At the same time Keimer confided in a letter to Capart that the German University in Prague no longer wanted 37

Loeben and Wiese 2008: 50. In DAIK-Keimer-Konv 115, which deals with ancient Egyptian glass, there is correspondence between Groppi and Keimer from 1937 and 1946. 38 Keimer 1955b: 43. 39 Letter Keimer to Capart, 19.3.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 40 Letter Keimer to Capart, 6.3.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Oerter 2010a: 52, with the date of application. 41 Letter Keimer to Capart, 6.3.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 42 Oerter 2010b: 77.

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to tolerate Reichsdeutsche professors after the latest events in Germany, without giving any further details.43 The Czechoslovak Minister in Cairo had therefore advised him to acquire Czech citizenship and Keimer would certainly follow this advice.44 In April 1936, Keimer submitted his application for naturalisation and could already count on an acceptance. Then finally, on 27 January 1938 the ministry approved Keimer’s venia legendi.45 Keimer spent August and September 1931 at his parents’ house in Haselünne. He used the time to send Capart a short report and the long-requested exposé for his monograph on the sycamore tree, which he had been working on for 13 years. The enormously extensive material also contained studies by Schweinfurth, some of which dated back to 1863. Wilhelm Spiegelberg (1870–1930) had examined the philological, archaeological and religious-historical material around 1929 and negotiated with Pierre Jouguet (1869–1949), then director of the Institut français d’archéologie orientale in Cairo, about a publication.46 That was probably the ‘flattering offer’ Keimer had mentioned to Capart one year before, in March 1930.47 Jouguet was not averse to the idea, but had to withdraw his commitment to print it, as the entire work would comprise two volumes of text and two volumes of plates. Now Keimer decided to make his great opus ready for publishing within a year and offer it to the Fondation, which already had subsidised the project with a grant of 100 Egyptian Pounds in 1930. Overly optimistic, Keimer wrote at the end of the half-page exposé that the Fondation could already consider the whole material as its own property.48 Some time later, Keimer travelled to Prague again. On Saturday, 19 September 1931, he wrote a letter to Capart, using the stationery of the luxurious Hotel Imperial, situated in the middle of Prague’s Old Town, to announce his departure to Egypt the very next day via Budapest, Belgrade, Niš, Thessaloniki, and Athens.49 That same day, Capart was typing a two-page letter to inform Keimer of serious changes at the Fondation that would affect their contract. Capart explained that the Belgian government’s budget was in a very difficult situation due to the socalled Hoover moratorium: the declaration by US President Herbert C. Hoover on 20 June 1931 that suspended intergovernmental payment obligations for one year because of the Great Depression. As a result of the negotiations which had taken 43

Keimer generally alludes to the drastic political changes in Nazi Germany after the seizure of power in 1933, which increasingly affected all areas of life, including the universities. 44 Letter Keimer to Capart, 20.9.1934 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 45 For the whole story see Oerter 2010a: 47–74 (here 52–58) and Oerter 2010b: 75–88, with all documents of Keimer’s personal file in the archive of the university in Prague. 46 Letter Keimer to Capart, 6.9.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 47 See letter Keimer to Capart, 23.3.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 48 Letter Keimer to Capart, 6.9.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 49 Letter Keimer to Capart, 19.9.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE.

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place on those days at the Belgian Ministry of Science and Arts, the scientific institutions’ funding would be sharply reduced. The situation would also have serious repercussions on the budget of the Fondation. At the end of his detailed explanations, Capart proposed to suspend Keimer’s contract for one year, to help the Fondation navigate the crisis. He added that the sale of publications which the Fondation still had in stock, especially the small album Thebes would be helpful.50 In his reply after his arrival in Cairo, Keimer agreed without any ifs, ands, or buts to the one-year suspension and promised to do his best in order to interest schools and other institutions in the album. The financial crisis, however, was also clearly felt in Egypt, where the Egyptian Pound had fallen in value by a quarter to a fifth of its value. This had consequences for Keimer too, who had considered leaving the Dragoman School, because, in his opinion it had no future. He changed his mind when it was converted into a regular government school, which had a very positive financial impact that he desperately needed under the given circumstances.51 Capart appreciated Keimer’s understanding of the situation.52 Although the contract with the Fondation was on hold during 1932, Keimer continued to buy antiquities, which he offered to Capart without any obligations. As he remarked to Capart, he would always buy small Egyptian antiquities, especially of animals and plants.53 In fact, there has been a collection of objects, referred to by Keimer himself as the Collection Keimer, as evidenced by photographs and drawings in various boxes; the so-called ‘Konvolute’ of the Keimer Archive in the German Archaeological Institute in Cairo. Three boxes from this archive, on the Egyptian lotus, contain small dossiers with illustrations of the objects, giving measurements and describing comparative pieces. Some of these objects Keimer bought from dealers, others from collections such as that of the Swiss merchant André Bircher (1839–1926) in Cairo. Occasionally, Keimer acted only as a middleman and noted the name of the new owner.54 This also explains Keimer’s request to Capart in a letter, asking for the promised photographs of the objects he had brought to Brussels in July 1930 and August 1931. Collective photographs would suffice so that he would not lose track of them.55

50

Letter Capart to Keimer, 19.9.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Letter Keimer to Capart, 3.10.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 52 Letter Capart to Keimer, 18.12.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 53 Letter Keimer to Capart, 8.1.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 54 Examples are in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 89 to 91. 55 Letter Keimer to Capart, 8.1.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 51

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Fig. 3: A piece from the Collection Keimer: Harpocrates, sitting on a lotus flower or fruit capsule. © DAIK. In mid-January, Keimer complained again about the Dragoman School, however, it was for the last time, as his job was terminated at the end of 1931, though his salary was still outstanding for four months of lectures. While his colleagues there got their money on time, he, as a foreigner, had to wait until the Minister of Finance had approved it – and that could take months. Fortunately, on 1 February, he received part of his salary for the work on the Catalogue Général of the Antiquities Service – another of his side jobs. As Capart was about to leave for America, Keimer repeated a request he had already submitted three times, as he pointed out: perhaps Capart might find a way for him to spend three to four months at the Metropolitan Museum, examining all objects of interest for natural history. At the end of the letter, he offered Capart his collection of insect-shaped amulets, on which he had spent 25 Egyptian Pounds the previous year, and which had grown to 60 pieces in the meantime.

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Payment could be postponed until summer 1933.56 Apparently Capart responded positively at the end of February 1932, as Keimer’s next letter of early May 1932 demonstrates. Keimer confirmed to Capart that he would reserve the collection, which already comprised more than 100 pieces. He estimated that it would take about two years to publish the material. In the meantime, he would send Capart 50 plates of the many photographs he had taken of the objects.57 Two weeks later, Keimer replied to Capart’s inquiry about when he would come to Europe in the summer: ‘To be honest, I prefer to stay in Egypt! The conditions in Europe, especially in Germany, are such that you don’t feel like going there’. But that was only one reason. The other was a new job at the Musée Agricole, which demanded, from the end of 1931, Keimer’s time and work. This made it impossible for him to travel to Europe before autumn.58 In early July, Capart expressed his delight at Keimer’s progress at the Musée Agricole, but was deeply disappointed on Keimer’s photographic plates, which had arrived in the meantime. The pictures were, in general, of very poor quality, not having had the necessary exposure time, and required manipulation and considerable retouching. Some plates reproduced pieces that had since entered the Fondation’s collections and could easily have been photographed in their own workshop at no cost. Others were devoted to classical archaeological monuments that were of no interest to the Foundation’s archives. Worse still, some of them also reproduced illustrations from works of the Fondation itself. Capart was extremely annoyed by this, because he did not see how to convince the Fondation’s Committee that the photographs were worth a grant of 100 Egyptian Pounds. He hoped that this shipment, which barely justified the shipping costs from Cairo to Brussels, was only a small part of the photographic material Keimer had intended for the Fondation, and that Keimer would soon send plates whose acquisition would correspond to the efforts the Fondation had made for him.59 Two weeks later, Keimer reacted to this disaster by announcing that he had delivered the day before 60 very interesting photographic plates to Lehnert and Landrock for dispatch. They show depictions of the goddess in the sycamore on the previously unpublished coffins of the Amun priests; each time in a varied representation. He had studied all those coffins on the third floor of the Egyptian Museum, one day a week for seven months, to compile a catalogue of the scenes that interested him. The heavy coffins made of sycamore wood had to be placed in such a way that they could be photographed and finally, with the help of electric 56

Letter Keimer to Capart, 17.1.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Letter Keimer to Capart, 7.5.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE, with Keimer’s thanks for Capart’s letter of 20 February 1932, which has not been preserved in FERE. 58 Letter Keimer to Capart, 19.5.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. The original quote is in German. 59 Letter Capart to Keimer, 7.7.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 57

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light, the photographer took pictures of the relevant scenes of 60 coffins. It had cost – not only – Keimer a lot of sweat and hard work.60 While on holiday in Germany, Keimer asked Capart at the end of September whether the photo plates had arrived and, above all, whether they were satisfactory. If so, more would be sent at the end of the year.61 There was, however, no reply from Capart. Instead, a month later, Keimer received a report from the Fondation’s secretary Marcelle Werbrouck (1889–1959), who listed the payments of the Fondation with Keimer’s services in detail in a sort of cost-benefit calculation. The first point dealt with the photographic plates, for which Keimer was to be subsidised annually with a maximum of 100 Egyptian Pounds according to the 1930 contract. Accordingly, Keimer had received this sum in 1930, 60 Egyptian Pounds the following year and only 40 Egyptian Pounds in 1932, which was credited to the previous year as the contract was suspended due to the financial crisis. To justify these grants Keimer had submitted 125 plates in 1930, devoted for the most part to sycamore, lotus, mounted bouquets and nothing in 1931. In 1932 Keimer had sent 90 plates, divided in 51 pictures of the details of the sycamore scene on the coffins of the priests of Amun, 63 pictures of other subjects, of which 24 were returned to Keimer because they were of no interest to the Egyptological section of the Fondation. Werbrouck then concluded that there was no need to renew Keimer’s contract. The next point concerned the manuscript on the sycamore tree which, according to the agreement, was to be the property of the Fondation. Keimer was given 25 Egyptian Pounds twice, to facilitate the excursions necessary for the preparation of this work. He had written a short note on the sycamore for the Chronique but since that date, there had been no further mention of the manuscript in his correspondence. Therefore, it would be preferable for the Fondation to relinquish its rights to the manuscript. The third point referred to Keimer’s ‘flora and fauna’ collection, which was accepted by the Fondation. A first batch of 81 pieces cost 700 francs, the second series of 48 pieces cost 445 francs. Noting that the collection did not constitute a whole, as it was compiled at random, it would be appropriate to stop the purchase of pieces provided by Keimer.62 This scathing verdict on his work was followed less than two weeks later by a letter from Capart. He argued that due to a tight budget, the Fondation would have to cut back and cancel all expenditure aimed at enriching the photo archive. As a result, it was decided to let the three-year contract with Keimer expire on 31 December 1932. Capart regretted having to inform Keimer of this decision, but on the other hand, Keimer’s situation in Egypt had also changed, as he had been of-

60

Letter Keimer to Capart, 26.7.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Letter Keimer to Capart, 20.9.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 62 Letter Werbrouck to Keimer, 25.10.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 61

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fered new opportunities that were not available during the time the Fondation supported him. Furthermore, Capart declared on behalf of the Fondation to renounce all rights to the manuscript of Keimer’s book on the sycamore, despite the financial contributions made by the Fondation.63

Fig. 4: The spine of the first of Keimer’s three oversize volumes about the sycamore tree. © DAIK. This proved to be the deathblow for Keimer’s sycamore book. His great opus was never printed. It was not until December 1956 that he was able to publish at least a short article in the Egypt Travel Magazine.64 His entire corpus of notes, photographs, drawings, newspaper clippings and herbarium specimens fill three oversized volumes which he had bound together using the registration forms of the Olympia & New York Hotel.65 63

Letter Capart to Keimer, 4.11.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Keimer 1956. From March 1955 until February 1957, Keimer published more than a dozen articles in the French, English and Arabic editions of the magazine. 65 These are the DAIK-Keimer-Konv 93 GF to 95 GF. 64

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After Keimer had received both letters he replied to Capart expressing his full understanding that the Fondation was not able to renew the contract in these difficult times. He thanked him from his heart for his great support, adding that indeed, Capart was right to do so. He also informed him that he now had a position at the Musée Agricole, though poorly paid. Even worse for Keimer, the Egyptian Pound had lost almost one third of its value, meaning there was little material benefit from his position. Also the Museum was making very little progress. ‘What a pity you can’t organise it!’, Keimer closed in his letter to Capart.66 Le Musée Agricole Fouad Ier Around 1930, King Fuad (1868–1936) had the idea of establishing an agricultural museum in Cairo as one of the first of its kind, second only to the Royal Agricultural Museum in Budapest. The palace of Princess Fatima (1853–1920), daughter of Khedive Ismail, in Doqqi was chosen to house the museum, and preparations started in November of the same year.67 In March 1930, Capart accompanied King Albert I (1875–1934) and Queen Élisabeth (1876–1965) of Belgium on their trip to Egypt.68 The official programme offered many opportunities to talk to King Fuad, to discuss existing scientific institutions as well as new projects, such as the Agricultural Museum, which should demonstrate the development of Egypt’s agriculture in all its aspects from the pharaonic era to the present day. In this context Capart recommended Keimer in a letter to the king as an Egyptologist specialised in this field.69 Shortly afterwards, on Tuesday, 6 May, Keimer was invited to his first audience at the royal court, introduced by the German envoy Eberhard von Stohrer (1883–1953). From the very first moment Keimer was impressed by the king’s interest and his profound knowledge and vision of the project. His Majesty was also pleased with the scholar, who seemed to have the necessary passion for the project, and commissioned him accordingly.70 Two days later Keimer wrote a letter of gratitude to Capart, who had smoothed his path, and reiterated the King’s words to him at the end of the audience: ‘Keep working! Have le feu sacré!’.71 A lot of patience was also necessary, one might add. Keimer was nervous, especially when he heard in October that the new Director of the Museum had

66

Letter Keimer to Capart, 21.11.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. The original quote is in German. 67 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agricultural_Museum,_Egypt (last access 15.1.2022). 68 Bruffaerts 2006. 69 Letter Keimer to Capart, 8.4.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 70 Keimer 1936: 600 in his obituary of King Fuad, in DAIK-Keimer-Kei 68. 71 Letter Keimer to Capart, 8.5.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE, which also gives the date of the audience. The original quote is in German: ʻArbeiten Sie weiter! Haben Sie le feu sacré!ʼ

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already arrived, and asked influential people for advice on what he should do.72 Finally, on 1 December, Keimer had another audience at the royal court and presented King Fuad his latest publications. His Majesty repeated his promise to take care of him and arranged for Keimer’s biographical data to be written down. However, Keimer still believed that nothing would be done for him, and noted: ‘I am not made for such things!’.73 Time proved him wrong. One year later, in December 1931, Keimer was mentioned in the Journal du Caire as visiting the Museum and supervising the ongoing work, while his official nomination by the Minister of Agriculture was recorded in several Egyptian newspapers only in mid-July 1932. He was employed as an expert to organise the Historical Section of the Agricultural Museum where the related pharaonic antiquities would be housed.74 Keimer used a small notebook as diary and documented his work daily, from 16 March until 2 September 1932. Everything is written in French, except for one sentence in German on 30 July: ‘Habe heute meinen Vertrag unterzeichnet’ (Signed my contract today).75 The short entries prove that he was also simultaneously employed at the Egyptian Museum to examine plant materials from tombs and excavations, and to edit their entries in the Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire. In this capacity, he was employed for three months, from January or February 1932 onward.76 In both jobs Keimer was supported by Pierre Lacau (1873–1963), director of the Antiquities Service, with whom he got on well. Lacau also decided which objects from the Egyptian Museum could be given to the Agricultural Museum; furthermore, he checked Keimer’s purchases for authenticity, condition, value and price – and only rarely objected. Keimer threw himself into the work with great zeal and followed a strict schedule assigning three days per week to each museum.77 Particularly in the Agricultural Museum, Keimer faced a variety of tasks related to the documentation of different subjects, such as agriculture, animal husbandry, plant cultivation, hunting, fishing, beekeeping (apiary), etc., which were to be presented as comprehensively and completely as possible. For purchases, he used his reliable contacts with Cairo’s antiquities dealers, such as the Khawam Brothers, Phocion Jean Tano, Elie Albert Abemayor, Gré-

72

Letter Keimer to Capart, 8.10.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Letter Keimer to Capart, 17.12.1930 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. The original quote is in German. 74 Two newspaper cuttings, 14.12.1931 and 15.7.1932 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 9,1. Keimer 1940: VIII, stating ‘nommé, en 1931’. 75 The diary, with 25 leaves, is kept in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 2,1. 76 Letter Keimer to Capart, 3.10.1931 and 17.1.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉEGKE. But Keimer 1940: VIII, stating ‘1931–1932’. 77 Letter Keimer to Capart, 21.11.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 73

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goire Loukianoff, Ismail Abdallah el-Shaer, Maurice Nahman and Ralph Huntington Blanchard. During his frequent sojourns in Luxor, he dealt with Sayed Molattam, Mohareb Todros and others, and he visited ongoing excavations.78 He also travelled to Alexandria either to study reference pieces in the Graeco-Roman Museum, or to acquire objects, which he described, classified and had photographed. He designed a concept for the installation of the objects in the Museum, ordered showcases and drew up a list of necessary reference books for its library, and, last but not least, published some articles. In 1932 Keimer was assigned almost all the large rooms in the centre of the first floor of the main palace for the Historical Section. His overall plan was approved by the first Director of the Museum, the Hungarian Alois de Paikert (1866–1948) who was hired in January 1931.79 Keimer heard from his friend Max Meyerhof (1874–1945), however, that the Director was not satisfied with the overall situation. During a visit, he had confided to Meyerhof that he still knew very little about the bureaucratic procedures of work and management in Egyptian institutions, and that the ministry refused to provide him with a European assistant.80 This was a bad omen. Very quickly, problems arose. In May 1932 Keimer complained to Capart that he had not yet received a piaster’s pay and that neither the Hungarian Director nor the Egyptian Assistant Director lived up to their jobs, so that even the King was worried.81 Behind the scenes, the Egyptian government began looking for another Hungarian director in the summer of that same year.82 Until November there was hardly any progress in the Museum. Keimer’s section was still devoid of furniture and showcases to store or present acquired objects, and there was no approved budget for further purchases or commissions for drawings or travel expenses. Furthermore, Keimer’s one-year contract was scheduled to end on 15 March 1933. If it was not extended, all his work would have been in vain.83 Again, Keimer’s worries proved to be unfounded, but his hopes that things would change for the better quickly evaporated into thin air when the new Hungarian Director arrived in February 1933. Dr Ivan Nagy (1877–1947) who, like his predecessor had previously headed the Royal Agricultural Museum in Budapest, told Keimer immediately that he had little interest in the Historical Section, as he was in charge of creating an agricultural museum which should be very similar to the one in Budapest. Consequently, Nagy took all of the rooms which had been assigned to Keimer and obliged him to move the objects into a small 78

According to invoices in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folders 5–7. For detailed information about the antiquity dealers in Egypt see Hagen and Ryholt 2016: passim. 79 Report Keimer to Zoulficar, 9.7.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 8,1. 80 Letter Keimer to Capart, 4.2.1931 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 81 Letter Keimer to Capart, 19.5.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 82 Report Keimer to Zoulficar, 9.7.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 8,1. 83 Letter Keimer to Capart, 21.11.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE.

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depot room and Keimer’s office. Both rooms were soon completely crammed full. After a complaint by Keimer, the Minister of Agriculture decided in May 1934 to move the depot temporarily to a new location, which was arranged accordingly in June and July. His Excellency further promised to have a special pavilion built for the Historical Section.84 Good news came in August 1934, when Keimer – to his own surprise – was able to sell his large collection on insects to the museum for 400 Egyptian Pounds.85 He was quite astonished that the Egyptian government agreed to the acquisition, given their tight budget. The collection comprised about 500 amulets and other objects in the shape of insects, made of faience, stone and metal. Two years earlier, Keimer had made an offer to Capart, who, after seeing the collection with his own eyes, recommended in November 1932 that it be offered first to the Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussels.86 A bit later, Keimer advised Capart not to buy the collection, as he worried that he might find the price to be too steep, although justified in Keimer’s opinion from the sums he had paid for it, starting in 1929.87 Nevertheless, he kept Capart up to date and sent offprints of his published articles about the objects.88 This particular collection was very close to Keimer’s heart, as can be seen by the fact that some years later he even published a special monograph of his series of articles about insects, which had been printed between 1931 and 1937 in the Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte. He devoted the monograph Insectes de l’Égypte ancienne, published in 1938, to King Fuad, who in his opinion had contributed magnificently to the discovery of ancient Egypt and to the glory of modern Egypt. Only 67 copies were printed, of which 13 were sent to the Fondation according to Keimer’s shipping list. In the preface, he thanked Capart and several other colleagues and friends for their support.89 In January 1939, Capart praised Keimer’s opus as an exceptionally valuable contribution to the natural history of pharaonic Egypt and added that the Fondation was pleased to have been able to make a small contribution to Keimer’s research.90 In September 1934, Keimer wrote enthusiastically to Capart that he was certain that the collection he had put together for the Historical Section would become the richest and most beautiful in the world. There was also hope that he 84

Report Keimer to Zoulficar, 9.7.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 8,1. The price is given in a newspaper clip, dated 28.8.1934, in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 9,1. 86 Letter Capart to Keimer, 4.11.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 87 Letter Keimer to Capart, 21.11.1932 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. 88 Letter Keimer to Capart, 25.7.1933 and 14.9.1933 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉEGKE. 89 Keimer 1938: V–VIII, who kept two copies for himself, number 49 (DAIK-Keimer-Kei 64) and number 44 (in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 58, Folder 6) with the attached shipping list. 90 Short note in Chronique d’Égypte 14 (1939): 116. 85

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would get about 20 to 25 rooms for the exhibition of his collections.91 When the Minister of Agriculture, Kamel Bey Ibrahim, visited the Historical Section in December, he was quite irritated to find the objects stacked on top of each other and assured Keimer that a special pavilion would be built close to the main building for the Historical Section only. Things, however, turned out differently. One year later, in December 1935, Keimer learned purely by chance that the project was cancelled due to the resistance of the Minister of Finance.92 In the meantime, the inauguration of the museum had been set for February 1936, still under Director Nagy, whose contract would expire at the end of the same month. His Order No. 46 of 5 January 1936 concerned the relocation of Keimer’s complete collection to the building of the ‘Industry Agricole’ section, i.e. to one of the two new buildings erected between 1934 and 1935.93 Keimer, however, was unable to implement this order due to a lack of suitable showcases. When the Under Secretary of State inspected the premises the very next day, he told Keimer that it would suffice if he could temporarily bring some of the Section’s objects to the main palace where three rooms on the second floor had been chosen for the purpose.94 Keimer followed the order, as the official catalogue of the Musée Agricole from 1936 attests. The main palace contained the agricultural plants, the items related to the irrigation and the Historical Section. Three rooms, numbered 28 to 30, presented a collection of objects showing agricultural, hunting, fishing and gardening implements, etc., from different periods of antiquity. In addition, there were collections of flowers, seeds, household utensils, skeletons of domestic animals, animal mummies, petrified objects, paintings, etc.95 Already in March 1936 the next relocation of the Section took place under the new Director Mohammed Bey Zoulficar, formerly Directeur des parcs et jardins à l’administration du Tanzim.96 He decided to move the Historical Section to another new building, the so-called ‘Cinema Palace’ where the available rooms again were not at all adequate. This prompted Keimer to comment that the Section will never have suitable premises, as his proposals were ignored.97

91

Letter Keimer to Capart, 20.9.1934 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. Report Keimer to Zoulficar, 9.7.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 8,1. 93 According to the (very rare) official catalogue of the museum, Ministère 1936: 1. 94 Report Keimer to Zoulficar, 9.7.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 8,1. 95 Ministère 1936: 1; 12–13. 96 Article in Journal d’Égypte, 11.3.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164, Folder 9,1. 97 Report Keimer to Zoulficar, 9.7.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164, Folder 8,1. 92

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Fig. 5: An exhibition room, Section des fruits, in the catalogue of the Agricultural Museum 1936. © DAIK. Shortly after the new Director took office, Keimer informed him about his activities to date and provided accountability reports explaining his work comprehensively, including how the collection should be documented and indexed. This had been a matter of dispute between Keimer and the former Director Nagy, who had rejected a scientifically kept journal d’entrée as well as a systematic card catalogue. Only Lacau’s intervention with the Ministry of Agriculture, who threatened that the Egyptian Museum would no longer provide any objects, succeeded in remedying the situation. As a result, from 17 May 1935 on, Keimer was able to proceed with his inventorying, which was based more or less on the system of the Egyptian Museum. The entry journal contained the number of each object in the section as well as the number from the Egyptian Museum when the objects were transferred from it. Furthermore, the provenance was given as well as dimensions; a short description was added, and at least one photograph was taken. The objects were listed according to their entry in the Historical Section. The flash cards for the card catalogue contained the same remarks as the entry journal, but were classified according to 31 different categories. In this work Keimer was assisted by Albert Cassis Effendi and later on by Abdel Raouf Mohamed Tantawy Effendi who also labelled the objects. In July 1936 Keimer reported the current figures to the new Director as follows: due to several moves of the Section only 163 objects were listed in the entry

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journal and classified. A large number of photographs were taken, of which 1,800 photographs were already pasted onto the cards, 260 contained all necessary information.98 In November 1,000 objects were registered in the inventory book and the card catalogue contained about 2,100 cards. Keimer estimated that the inventory and classification of all objects in the Historical Section – counting at that time between 5,000 and 6,000 pieces – could be completed within two and a half years if someone devoted every work day to this task.99 1936 proved to be the year in which the Ministry of Finance extended Keimer’s contract for the last time, by another year, until 15 March 1937. A newspaper article addressing Keimer as a technical expert even stated his monthly salary of 58 Egyptian Pounds, on which Keimer commented indignantly, since this information was repeated in all Arabic-language newspapers.100 At the beginning of the year, Keimer submitted a paper of four pages to the Director and the Ministry, with demands for the Historical Section and his own post. Firstly, he underlined the importance of the Section, which should continue to be under the supervision of the Antiquities Service. He pleaded for an independent budget, as more modern sections had previously been favoured in that way, and again for the construction of a separate building. Sufficient staff would be essential, especially a European preparator who at the moment was missing after more than a year. In addition to repairs and restorations, this person should also be able to label the objects in Arabic, French and English. With regard to himself, Keimer requested a monthly sum to cover daily transportation. At that point in time, he had spent almost every day, or at least three times per week, 20 to 25 piasters to go by taxi from the Agricultural Museum to the Egyptian Museum and back. He believed it crucial to study the collection, consult the experts and to use the Egyptian Museum’s library. Furthermore, he asked for authorisation to travel for two weeks to the Natural History Museum of Lyon, which possessed a unique collection of objects related to agriculture, hunting and the natural history of ancient Egypt. There he wanted to refine his ideas on how to preserve, repair, arrange and exhibit such antiquities. Although Keimer had proposed to take charge of this mission during his annual leave to Europe, which would significantly reduce expenses, the ministry rejected his request without further explanation. Last, but not least, he wanted to have a three-year contract equivalent to the one granted to European scholars working as assistant curators at the Egyptian Museum, or a similar position in the Antiquities Service, with a minimum salary of 75 Egyptian Pounds per month. However, all of these requests were in vain, and Keimer summarized his experiences as follows: among the six Directors and Assistant Directors he got to 98

Report Keimer to Zoulficar, 9.7.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164, Folder 8,1. Letter Keimer to Zoulficar, 22.11.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164, Folder 8,1. 100 Two articles in La Patrie, dated 22. and 24.1.1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164, Folder 9,1. 99

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know at the Museum, there was not a single one who took care, if only superficially, of the Historical Section; the two Hungarian Directors, in fact, worked to impede him. Three ministers (Hafez Hassan Pacha, Mohamed Allam Pacha and Aly Bey Menzalawi) promised on several occasions to improve his situation by placing him on the same footing as his colleagues at the Egyptian Museum. As for the Historical Section itself, with its more than 5,000 objects the largest one in the museum, it remained crammed into a few rooms which could barely suffice as store rooms.101 Over several years Keimer had done everything in his power for the maintenance and improvement of the Historical Section. Now he resigned from his post in a letter dated 14 February 1937, which was confirmed a month later by the Under Secretary of State Ibrahim Fahmy.102

Fig. 6: A portrait of Keimer on the front page of the newspaper Journal d’Égypte of 18 January 1938 on occasion of his interview about the Musée Agricole. © DAIK. One year later, when the Museum was officially inaugurated on 16 January 1938 by King Faruk (1920–1965), Keimer was invited to guide the king through the Historical Section. According to the Egyptian press His Majesty spent quite some time in it, following Keimer’s explanations with interest. Keimer, however,

101 102

Keimer to Director, January 1936 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 8,2. Both letters in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 8,2.

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knew better, as his comment in one of the newspaper articles shows. The sovereign Faruk had not honoured him with an award, as a loyal and faithful servant of the great King Fuad, as he had done so for the other French and Egyptians working there. For Keimer this was a clear sign that he no longer had any support in the royal palace.103 There was, however, more to come. Wartime The years during World War II were hard times for Keimer. While the majority of German residents in Egypt supported the German National Socialist Party, Keimer was known for his strong anti-Nazi sentiments. He had given up his German nationality and become a Czechoslovak citizen due to his Chair at the German University in Prague. After Hitler’s occupation of the Czech part of what was then Czechoslovakia, Keimer was detained by the British military. His first internment lasted only some hours thanks to the intervention of Jan Masaryk (1886– 1948), Foreign Minister of the Czechoslovak government in exile.104 Unfortunately, he was not able to assist when Keimer was interned for the second time on 12 January 1940. This time his internment would last two and a half years. For Keimer it was a horrible situation, as Nazis and anti-Nazis were kept together in the same camp, in the German school in Cairo’s Bulaq district. Mistreatment, menace and even death threats were recorded, in particular against Keimer who continually protested against his detention, claiming his Czechoslovak nationality. Even a year later, after Keimer had been sent into another facility nearby, the terror and hatred did not stop, as Professor Christo Avierino attested in his official report as president of the Commission Médicale Mixte du Caire, installed according to the international convention of the Red Cross in Geneva.105 However, it was not until 1 May 1942 that the efforts of his influential friends bore fruit and Keimer was finally released.106 Not all his supporters are known by name, but one was the Egyptologist Walter Bryan Emery (1903–1971), who was with British Intelligence in Egypt, another one was Sir Walter Smart (1883–1962), then Oriental counsellor at the British embassy in Cairo.107

103

Several newspaper clips from 17./18.1.1938 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 164 GF, Folder 3. For an overview of the changes in the museum in recent years, see Moore 2018. 104 Letter Drioton to Capart, 18.1.1940 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE (Folder Drioton). Drioton acted as intermediary with the Czechoslovak Legation according to his letter 22.11.1945 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 157, Folder 3,1. 105 Letter Avierino to the Czechoslovak Legation in Cairo, 25.3.1946 in DAIK-KeimerKonv 157, Folder 3,1. 106 Keimer notes both internment dates in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 62, Folder 3,1 about the rhino: before his internment there were three black rhinos in the Zoological Garden at Giza, after his internment only one was left, which also died at the end of 1942. 107 Bothmer 2003: 4 (Emery); Cooper 1989: 208 (Smart).

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Although a free man, Keimer felt utterly depressed and frightened because he continued to receive hate mail, one threatening that he would be hanged.108 To his great relief, the apartment on 17, Sharia el-Hawayati, Bab el-Luq, containing his library and collections had not been touched during his internment, and he was able to continue with his studies. In April 1943, he spent some time in Luxor according to a note in a book, and there are vague hints that he tried in 1944 to find a job in America, but to no avail.109 Life after the war remained difficult for Keimer. Towards the end of 1945, Keimer had to prove that he was not a Nazi and had been unjustly interned, as evidenced by correspondence from his friends Étienne Drioton (1889–1961), Adolph Schwarzenberg (1890–1950) and Georg Steindorff (1861–1951) to the Czechoslovak Minister in Cairo.110 One letter of recommendation from Capart clearly indicates that Keimer’s Czechoslovak citizenship was at stake. Capart insisted that he knew this esteemed and erudite scholar for twenty years and that he was happy to have brought Keimer to the kind attention of King Fuad in 1930. Furthermore, he explained that the death of the sovereign had unfortunately deprived Keimer of this powerful support and thus exposed him to serious trouble during the war. Capart also pointed out that he had been aware for quite some time that Keimer had no chances of a career in Egyptology in Germany. He claimed this because, firstly Keimer was a Catholic, which would have made him unpopular among the Egyptologists of the Berlin School. Secondly, he would have been overlooked because of his anti-Prussian, and later anti-Nazi sentiments, that he displayed on all occasions. Capart underlined that Keimer had lost his parents as well as all property in Germany and finally asked: ‘And now you want to withdraw his Czech nationality, which he had chosen and received before the war, for the scientific benefit of your country?’111 Capart could not believe it and yet it was to happen. Keimer lost his Czech nationality and became in 1951 a naturalized Egyptian citizen. On Christmas Eve 1945 Keimer was in a sentimental mood. In a letter to Capart he discussed a controversial reading of a hieroglyph, but then he confessed that he had no more ideas. Instead he was dominated by fear (which he wrote in capital letters): ‘Fear of those viper-men who write nasty anonymous letters all 108

Letter Avierino to the Czechoslovak Legation in Cairo, 25.3.1946 in DAIK-KeimerKonv 157, Folder 3,1. 109 The note with Keimer’s signature, date (8.4.1943) and place of purchase is in a book of H. Newland, West Africa, London 1922, in the DAIK-Library (signature Afr Newl). 110 The letters of recommendation for Keimer from Drioton (22.11.1945), Schwarzenberg (25.11.1945), Steindorff (2.12.1945) are in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 157, Folder 3,1 but only as copies. The originals are lost. 111 Letter Capart to the Czechoslovak Minister in Cairo, 2.11.1945 in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 157, Folder 3,1. A draft of this letter with the same date is in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. The original quote is in French.

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the time, who phone me to threaten me. We know the names well of these sad individuals – but what can we do?’ He ended with the words: ‘Noël – Et in terra Pax hominibus! Unfortunately, there are individuals with whom peace is impossible, as it is impossible to tame a crocodile, a viper, to live in peace with the Nazis, etc.’112 As far as Keimer’s collecting activity was concerned, it looked meagre in those years, for there is little evidence of it. In May 1946, Keimer sold a collection to the Coptic Museum in Cairo, which consisted of more than 150 fragments of wooden panels. The remarkable ensemble had been unearthed in a necropolis in Middle Egypt and dated to the 6th and 7th centuries.113 During this period, Keimer at least published some articles, including one on early travelogues in his library, which was a huge collection that was subsequently discussed in the Egyptian press.114 The Desert Institute and the Bisharin Around 1948/49 Keimer expanded his activities into the field of ethnography. Apparently, this was an unfinished task of Schweinfurth that Keimer felt obliged to fulfil.115 He began his research on the Bedja tribes who dwelled in Upper Egypt and the Sudan in the area between the Nile and the Red Sea. The two northern tribes of the Bedja, namely the Ababde and Bisharin, were probably the only ones which had long and sometimes close contact with the ancient Egyptian culture. Keimer also included the Nubians in his studies, but focused mainly on the Bisharin tribe, who lived near Aswan. In 1952/53, he undertook a trip to Sudan. His main supporters in Aswan were two experienced men, Ali Karar Ahmed, Sheikh of the Bisharin and Ababde tribes since 1934 and his older cousin, Karar Khairallah. Both became Keimer’s business partners in the trading of ethnographic objects, which provided the basis for several collections in Egypt and abroad. In 1952, Rolf Herzog (1919–2006), a German ethnologist and economic anthropologist with a research focus on nomads in North Africa, accompanied Keimer for a day to the Bisharin camp in Aswan. Built around 1870 or 1875 on the outskirts of the city, it consisted of tents and simple houses. Herzog witnessed how familiar Keimer was with both his interviewees and how skilfully he conducted his interviews. He presented them with a drawing or a photograph of some utilitarian object and awaited their explanation. Many of the drawings came from the English draughtsman, Egyptologist and museum curator Joseph Bonomi

112

Letter Keimer to Capart, 24.12.1945 in the archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE. The original quote is in French. 113 Published by Auber de Lapierre and Jeudy 2018: 9, 80–113. 114 Keimer 1949 and Lehnert 2013. Press articles in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 157, Folder 5–6. 115 Herzog 1985: 166.

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(1796–1878), whose granddaughter had left them to Keimer’s disposal.116 Then other tribal members were consulted and Keimer noted down all given information, including expressions written down in Arabic or in Bedawi, the language of the Bisharin. He also documented everyday activities with photographs, such as the preparation of coffee or the care of the Bisharin’s elaborate hairstyles. Keimer behaved much more considerately than other visitors to the camp, who saw the visit as just another sight to see, or even worse as a kind of human zoo. As a consequence of the latter, the Egyptian government banned foreigners from entering the camp in 1955, also at the request of many Bisharin who felt harassed by the tourists.117 From March 1950 on, Keimer gave a series of lectures about his studies at the renowned Institut d’Égypte where he had become a full member in February 1937. From 7 April 1951, he was member of the Presidium as Assistant Secretary General and, in 1954, was elected one of its Vice-Presidents.118 The lectures were published in various issues of the Institute’s bulletin, from volume 32 to 35, which in 1954 were bound together as a monograph entitled Notes prises chez les Bišarīn et les Nubiens d’Assouan: parties I à VI, containing 18 independent studies. Only 50 or 57 copies of the book were printed.119 However, the studies were never presented in a completed form, as neither the announced bibliography, including Schweinfurth’s field studies on the Bisharin and Ababde, appeared, nor the results of Keimer’s Sudan trip. He only gave a lecture at the Institut d’Égypte on 8 February 1954, postponing the publication until later, and prepared a resume for an article in the Egyptian magazine Images.120 Keimer’s Bisharin Notes covers a wide variety of topics, and presents a focus on the life of the tribes’ people. He wrote about the doum palm, vegetable staples, food, cosmetics, shields and swords, superstitions and, last but not least, an essay on Fakiyya, an emancipated Bisharin woman. This was not a typical subject for Keimer, as sociological questions remained largely alien to him. He was not an ethnologist and would never have described himself as such. He always searched for similarities or differences between the Bisharin and the ancient Egyptians. In

116

The photographs, kept in five oversize volumes, are in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 160 GF to 163a. 117 Herzog 1985: 165–168, who was in 1958–1964 employed at the German Archaeological Institute Cairo. 118 Herzog 1985: 166; Keimer 1940: VIII, with a note concerning the dates in his own hand copy in DAIK-Keimer-Kei 160. 119 Keimer 1954. He notes on the title page of his hand copy (in DAIK-Keimer-Kei 172), 57 copies, an attached advertisement by the publisher notes 50 copies. Keimer’s extensive and partly unpublished material on the Bisharin is in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 168 GF to 174. 120 Keimer 1954: 57 (concerning the bibliography and Schweinfurth’s material). Herzog 1985: 166 (concerning the Sudan trip). The article by Boctor 1954 is in DAIK-KeimerKei 130, including Keimer’s manuscript.

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the tradition of the older generation of ethnologists, Keimer traced material culture, i.e. objects that show a clear relationship between ancient Egypt and the living tribes, ignoring evidence for cultural change in a broader context, as pointed out by Herzog.121 One of Keimer’s first collections, including objects from the Bisharin, went to the Institut Fouad Ier du Désert in Heliopolis which was officially opened on 30 December 1950.122 Keimer became a member in May of the same year123 and corresponded with the Institute’s Director, Dr Mohamed Metwalli, Professor of Geography at Fouad I University, who had completed his doctorate on the Egyptian oases.124 He offered Keimer a part-time job in the Institute’s fifth section, dedicated to ethnography, and charged him with organising a collection of various objects used by the desert dwellers, especially the Bisharin in Upper Egypt and Nubia.125 The pieces for the opening exhibition were chosen by Keimer who was also responsible for the exhibition’s descriptive labels. Temporary exhibitions were to follow.

Fig. 7: Keimer’s medal of merit from the Desert Institute, given to him in April 1951. © DAIK. In April 1951, Keimer was honoured for his efforts with the Institute’s medal of merit.126 One side of it shows the late King Fuad I, who, by 1927, had already considered establishing an institute focused on the desert and its inhabitants from

121

Herzog 1985: 165–167. In 1952 The Fouad I Desert Institute was renamed Desert Research Institute, in 1990 Desert Research Center, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desert_Research_Center_(Egypt) (accessed January 2, 2022). 123 Keimer 1940: VIII, with a note in his own hand copy in DAIK-Keimer-Kei 160. 124 Article in La Bourse Égyptienne, 10.3.1951: 5 (transcription of his name Mitwally). 125 The correspondence is in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 146, Folder 3. 126 The medal as well as the letter dating 12.4.1951 are in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 146, Folder 4. 122

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different perspectives. The preparations began in 1932, but the task was only completed in 1950 by his son King Faruk, whose portrait is also reproduced on the medal. The reverse depicts the magnificent, newly erected building in Sharia Sultan Hussein. Later on, the Institute moved to another building, a former palace in Sharia Mathaf el-Matariya which, however, seemed to have been rather unsuitable for the presentation of ethnographic objects. Around 1951/52 Keimer compiled another, smaller collection, chiefly of Bisharin objects acquired in Upper Egypt. It was bought by the Geographical Institute of Cairo University in Giza (Midan el-Ramah) for a permanent exhibition. The Institut d’Égypte also received a similar collection.127 Collections in Rotterdam and Basel In 1950, Christiaan Nooteboom (1906–1967), director of the Museum voor Landen Volkenkunde in Rotterdam, today the Wereldmuseum, contacted Keimer. He expressed his interest in a collection of Bisharin and Ababde objects, as this region was hardly represented in his museum.128 Keimer agreed and a year later shipped a collection to Rotterdam; a total of 245 items of material culture from different areas of daily life.129 Together with the first shipment, Keimer also sent him the offprints of the first part of his Notes. Parts two and three followed after their publication in March 1952, and he also announced that he would duly deliver parts five and six.130 A catalogue of the ethnographic collection was compiled by Madame Van der Sleesen-Dolk. Keimer reviewed the text in June 1955, as he had promised her.131 The catalogue of 44 pages was published in 1957, and included 83 black and white illustrations. They displayed various items, such as wooden needles, wooden combs, as well as various kinds of jewellery, such as finger rings and necklaces with strings, in addition to household objects, such as calabashes, baskets in different designs, headrests, pipes, and a selection of weapons, including daggers, swords and spears.132 It seems that the museum in Rotterdam was planning a special exhibition of the collection, for which they borrowed another 10 objects together with a series of photographs from the Museum of Ethnology in Basel.133 The Museum für Völkerkunde, today the Museum der Kulturen in Basel also 127

Herzog 1961: 255; Herzog 1985: 166. Sleesen-Dolk 1957: 3–5. 129 The inventory numbers are WM-32224 to 32490. I would like to thank Dr. Sarah Johnson, Curator for the Middle East and North Africa collections at the Wereldmuseum, for this information (email July 21, 2021). 130 Letter Keimer to museum, 18.3.1952 in the archive of the Wereldmuseum, which received only five offprints according to Dr. Johnson. 131 Letter Keimer to Bühler, 9.6.1955 and 17.6.1955 in MKB, collection records III_0701. 132 Sleesen-Dolk 1957: passim. 133 Letter Keimer to Bühler, 9.6.1955 and 17.6.1955, letter Bühler to Keimer, 11.6.1955 and 23.6.1955 in MKB, collection records III_0701. 128

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possessed a collection from Keimer. The so-called ‘Bega collection’ comprises 1,258 objects which were received between 1954 and 1956 as a donation from the C.L. Burckhardt-Reinhart Foundation. The accompanying records contain a catalogue of the Keimer Collection (811 objects), with notes, a photo album, a notebook as well as considerable correspondence.134 Keimer provided the necessary description and context of the acquired objects for the museum’s guidebook, which was edited by Alfred Bühler (1900–1981), Professor of Ethnology and Director of the museum since 1950.135 The photographs had been taken by a Greek photographer on site. This was not an easy task and would not have been possible without Keimer’s close relationship with the sheikhs, as most Bisharin considered it to be devil’s work, because they thought that photography took away their souls.136 The correspondence between Keimer and Bühler covers the period from March 1954 until January 1957. Over the course of time, the two became friends and visited each other. They discussed ethnological questions of the objects and their backgrounds, as well as private matters. Their letters also mention delivery difficulties and delayed payments on the part of the foundation, which was financed from the profits of the Burckhardt-Reinhart family business in Alexandria, which was active in the cotton trade. However, after the Egyptian revolution in July 1952, foreign companies were increasingly restricted in the cotton trade and were later nationalised by the Egyptian state. At least matters concerning the collection, in the end, went well. On 12 April 1957 the special exhibition ‘Beduinen aus Nordostafrika – Burckhardt-Sammlung, zur Erinnerung an Scheich Ibrahim’, was opened to the public for half a year. The title was suggested by Keimer, in commemoration of the famous Swiss traveller Johann Ludwig Burckhardt (1784–1817), as a kinsman of the founder’s family had generously paid for the collection. Keimer would have liked to attend the opening in person, as is evident from his last letter to his friend Alfred Bühler, but his failing health obviously would not permit travel.137 He had, however, visited both the Basel and Rotterdam collections two years earlier, in April and May 1955.138

134

Inventory parts 1954 III_0701, 1955 III_0717, 1956 III_0739 with an addendum 1961 III_0807 (a leather box from Ludwig Keimer). I would like to thank Ursula Regehr, Curator at the Museum der Kulturen Basel, Abteilung Afrika, for her great support (email July 7, 2021). 135 Bühler 1957. 136 Letter Keimer to Bühler, 19.7.1954 and 17.10.1954 in MKB, collection records III_0701. 137 Letter Keimer to Bühler, 18.1.1957 in MKB, collection records III_0701. 138 Keimer 1955b: 44–45.

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A library and a medal Over three decades Keimer had built up an extensive library, which in the 1950s was one of the largest private collections on ancient and contemporary Egypt worldwide. It was the work of a bibliophile scholar par excellence, who procured books through every conceivable channel. In 1955 the library was featured in the magazine Images.139 The author spoke of 18,000 volumes, which probably included duplicates used in exchanges with colleagues and academic institutions. Keimer’s entire flat was filled with books, even the bedroom. The collection was divided into six subject areas, indexed by a catalogue and supplemented by 200 boxes containing 100,000 notes. It had cost Keimer around 30,000 Egyptian Pounds, which he had paid to publishers, booksellers, antiquarian bookshops and other suppliers. The library was an inexhaustible source of research and study for himself and numerous visitors. It also became his retirement fund, as he had never held a stable academic position. When Keimer developed health problems in the mid-1950s that increasingly kept him from his work, it was time to act. Apparently, Keimer maintained very good relations with Dutch Egyptologists, since, as early as April 1953, he had expressed his intention to bequest his library to The Netherlands, which can be seen in files held by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in The Hague’s National Archives.140 This offer was very timely, as there had been discussions about setting up a Dutch institute for Egyptological and Arabic studies in Cairo for some time. One of the biggest obstacles to doing so was the question of financing such an institute. The acquisition of a library would be a more than fitting start and could become the focal point for a Dutch-Egyptian cultural centre in Cairo. On 6 July 1954, the Dutch State Department proposed to nominate Keimer for a medal.141 A photograph of the award ceremony is reproduced in an article by Keimer on ‘Animals of Egypt’, with the caption: ‘H.E. the Dutch Minister handing to Professor Louis Keimer the badge of Officer of the Order of Orange Nassau conferred on him by H.M. the Queen of Holland for services rendered to Egyptology’.142

139

Anonymous [J.M.] 1955, in DAIK-Keimer-Konv 157, Folder 5,1. Letter Cnoop Koopmans to the Dutch Minister of Foreign Affairs, 9.6.1954 in NL_HaNa_2.05.118_12153_0019. I would like to thank the Nationaal Archief in Den Haag for permission to use this material. 141 Mentioned in a letter by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Ministry of Education, 6.7.1954 in NL_HaNa_2.05.118_12153_0018. 142 Keimer 1955a: 8. 140

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Fig. 8: In 1954 Keimer was awarded the badge of Officer of the Order of Orange Nassau for services rendered to Egyptology. © DAIK. Sometime later, on 19 September 1954, Keimer wrote his will (in French), a copy of which was kept in the safe of the Dutch Embassy in Cairo. In it, he bequeathed the entire contents of his flat to the Royal Legation of the Netherlands in Cairo, namely his huge library, including his scientific notes and those of Schweinfurth, his photographs and objects of ethnographic and artistic value, as well as everything that would be in the flat at the moment of his death.143 Three months later, in December 1954, Keimer was willing to hand over the library immediately in exchange for a monthly annuity of 120 Egyptian Pounds, under the condition that he would still have free access to it. As his health continued to deteriorate, Keimer urged for the library to be purchased in this way, as it was his only asset.144 To push the matter, the Dutch Ambassador in Cairo, W. Cnoop Koopmans, sought opinions from several Egyptologists. Van Wijngaarden, then Director of the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, for example, supported the cause and stressed that Keimer wished to see his library in the hands

143

Typescript (with the wrong year of birth, 1893 instead of 1892) in NL_HaNa _2.05.118_13153_0014. 144 Letter Cnoop Koopmans to the Dutch Minister of Foreign Affairs, 8.12.1954 in NL_HaNa_2.05.118_13153_0011–0013.

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of the Netherlands, as he had emphasised several times in letters and conversations, including during his latest trip to Europe in the spring of 1955.145 However, the matter did not move forward in 1956 either, although the authorities involved discussed the possibility of a purchase in extenso. The financial question was not the only thing that slowed down the process. The plan to set up a Dutch institute in Cairo, in which the library would be housed, had also made no progress. Without the Institute, the library would have to be transported to the Netherlands, and it was feared that the Egyptian government would not grant permission for its export. As Keimer was an Egyptian citizen and had no descendants, there was also the risk that the library could be confiscated by the Egyptian State after his death.146 Unfortunately, Keimer ran out of time. He was seriously ill and had to be treated in a hospital for a while. Besides the Netherlands there were also other parties interested in this unique library, such as the American University in Cairo, the Oriental Department of the (French) University in Beirut, the Vatican, as well as a Swiss and an American group. But Keimer obviously found it difficult to part with his books. After long negotiations, he unexpectedly sold the library on 29 May 1957 to the German Archaeological Institute in Cairo, which had just been re-founded after World War II.147 It seems that the Institute, represented by its Director Hanns Stock (1908– 1966), was the only one to react quickly enough and respond to Keimer’s everchanging demands. He received a one-time payment of 6,000 Egyptian Pounds (equivalent to 72,000 DM at the time) as well as a monthly annuity of 200 Egyptian Pounds and, outside of the contract, the promise of a maximum of 20,000 DM in case Keimer needed medical treatment or a stay at a health resort in Germany or elsewhere in Europe.148 Unfortunately, Louis Joseph Gustave Keimer, Dr. phil., Dr. iuris utriusque, Dr. rerum politicarum, was no longer able to attend the official reopening of the Institute on 16 November, where most of his library had already been set up. He passed away three months earlier, on 16 August 1957.

145

Letter Wijngaarden to Cnoop Koopmans, 15.12.1955 in NL_HaNa_2.05.118_13153 _0008. 146 Letter Cnoop Koopmans to the Minister of the Foreign Office, 4.6.1957 in NL_HaNa _2.05.118_13153_0002. A summary of the events in the memorandum, 17.1.1958 in NL_HaNa_2.05.118_13153_0001. 147 Letter Stock to Zentraldirektion des DAI Berlin, 4.6.1957 in D-DAI-KAI-1-II-101. 148 Letter Stock to Keimer, 29.5.1957 in D-DAI-KAI-1-II-101.

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Archival sources DAIK (Deutsches Archäologisches Institut Kairo), Nachlass Keimer: Keimer-Kei 64, 68, 130, 138, 160, 172. Keimer-Konv 58, 62, 89 to 91, 93 GF to 95 GF, 115, 146, 157, 160 GF to 163a, 164 GF, 168 GF to 174. Keimer-Suppl-Diverses (Capart). Institutsaktenarchiv: DAIK_II_101. Archives of the RMAH, AÉRÉ-EGKE (Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, Brussels), Folder BE/380469/2/504: Ludwig Keimer; Folder BE/ 380469/2/277: Étienne Drioton (1 letter). MKB (Museum der Kulturen in Basel), Collection records III_0701. NL (Nationaal Archief Den Haag), Ministerie van Buitenlandse Zaken, 1955– 1964, inv 13153: NL_HaNa_2.05.118_13153, [1-19]. WM (Wereldmuseum Rotterdam), Collection records (WM-32224 to 32490) and a letter. Bibliography Anonymous [J.M.] 1955. ‘Ce savant possède la plus riche bibliothèque privée sur l’Égypte’. Images 1370 (10.12.1955): 2 leaves without pagination. Auber de Lapierre, J. and A. Jeudy. 2018. Catalogue général du Musée Copte du Caire. Objets en bois, I. Bibliothèque d’études coptes 26. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Boctor, G. 1954. ‘Le paradis perdu des bêtes sauvages’. Images 1272 (23.1.1954): 14. Bothmer, B. von 2003. Egypt 1950 – my first visit, edited by E.S. Hall. Oxford: Oxbow. Bruffaerts, J.-M. 2006. ‘Les coulisses d’un voyage royal. Le roi Albert et la reine Elisabeth en Égypte avec Jean Capart (1930)’. Museum Dynasticum 18: 28– 49. — 2013. ‘Bruxelles, capitale de l’égyptologie – le rêve de Jean Capart (1877– 1947)’. In S. Bickel et al. (eds), Ägyptologen und Ägyptologien zwischen Kaiserreich und Gründung der beiden deutschen Staaten. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Beihefte 1. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 193– 241. — 2022. Jean Capart, Le Chroniqueur de l’Égypte. Brussels: Racine. Bühler, A. (ed.), 1957. Beduinen aus Nordostafrika. Burckhardt-Sammlung zur Erinnerung an Scheich Ibrahim. Führer durch das Museum für Völkerkunde und Schweizerisches Museum für Volkskunde Basel. Sonderausstellung 12. April bis 30. September 1957. Basel: Krebs. Cooper, A. 1989. Cairo in the War, 1939–1945. London: Hamish Hamilton. De Meyer, M., J.-M. Bruffaerts and J. Vandersmissen. 2023. ‘The Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth in Belgium and the creation of national and transnational Egyptological research infrastructures in the 1920–1940s.’ In O. Matthes and T.L. Gertzen (eds), Oriental Societies & Societal Self-Assertion:

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Associations, Funds and Societies for the Archaeological Exploration of the ‘Ancient Near East’. Investigatio Orientis. Beiträge zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Orientalistik. Münster: Zaphon. Hagen, F. and K. Ryholt. 2016. The antiquities trade in Egypt 1880–1930. The H.O. Lange papers. Scientia Danica. Series H, Humanistica, 4, vol. 8. Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes Selskab. Herzog, R. 1961. ‘Ethnographische Sammlungen, Lehr- und Forschungsstätten in Kairo’. In D. Drost (ed.), Beiträge zur Völkerforschung. Hans Damm zum 65. Geburtstag I. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 254–258. — 1985. ‘Kulturelle Kontinuität der Bedja vom Altertum bis zur Gegenwart’. In Ägypten – Dauer und Wandel. Symposium anlässlich des 75jährigen Bestehens des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo. Sonderschrift / Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo 18. Mainz am Rhein: von Zabern, 161–172. Keimer, L. 1936. ‘König Fuad von Ägypten, ein Nachruf’. In Koralle N.F. 4, H. 19 (10.5.1936): 600. — 1938. Insectes de l’Égypte ancienne. Études égyptologiques publiées de 1931 à 1937 dans les Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte. Cairo: [Institut français d’archéologie orientale]. — 1940. ‘Bibliographie de L. Keimer (1924–1940)’. In L. Keimer, Études d’égyptologie I. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale: X, 1–20. — 1949. ‘Quelques détails oubliés ou inconnus sur la vie et les publications de certains voyageurs européens venus en Égypte pendant les derniers siècles’. Bulletin de l’Institut d’Égypte 39: 121–175. — 1954. Notes prises chez les Bišarīn et les Nubiens d’Assouan, Parties I à VI. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. — 1955a. ‘Animals of Egypt’. Egypt Travel Magazine 8: 8–13. — 1955b. ‘Voyage d’études aux Pays-Bas, en Suisse et en Autriche’. Revue du Caire 18/182: 42–53. — 1956. ‘Le sycomore, arbre d’Égypte’. Egypt Travel Magazine 29: 21–28. Kupferschmidt, U.M. 1999. Henri Naus Bey: retrieving the biography of a Belgian industrialist in Egypt. Mémoires de la Classe des Sciences Morales et Politiques, (N.S.), Académie Royale des Sciences d’Outre-Mer 52,2. Brussels: Académie Royale des Sciences d’Outre-Mer . Lehnert, I. 2013. ‘A Thousand and One Books: The early travel literature of Ludwig Keimer’. In D. Fortenberry (ed.), Souvenirs and new ideas. Travel and Collecting in Egypt and the Near East. Oxford: ASTENE and Oxbow Books, 80–97. Loeben, C.E. and A.B. Wiese 2008. Köstlichkeiten aus Kairo! Die ägyptische Sammlung des Konditorei- und Kaffeehaus-Besitzers Achille Groppi (1890– 1949). Basel: Antikenmuseum Basel und Sammlung Ludwig und Museum August Kestner.

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Ministère de l’Agriculture, Égypte 1936. Catalogue du Musée Agricole Fouad I. Cairo: Imprimerie Boulac. Moore, T. 2018. ‘The Cairo Agricultural Museum and Library’, 29.11.2018, https://hazine.info/cairoagriculturalmuseum/ (last access 15.1.2022). Oerter, W.B. 2010a. ‘Ludwig Keimers langer Marsch zur Prager Venia legendi (1930–1938)’. In W. Oerter, Die Ägyptologie an den Prager Universitäten 1882–1945. Gesammelte Aufsätze und Vorträge. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, 47–63. — 2010b. ‘Materialien aus dem Archiv der Karlsuniversität zum Habilitationsverfahren des Ägyptologen Ludwig Keimer an der Deutschen Universität Prag’. In W. Oerter, Die Ägyptologie an den Prager Universitäten 1882–1945. Gesammelte Aufsätze und Vorträge. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, 75–88. Sleesen-Dolk, H.J. van der 1957. Une collection ethnographique des Ababdes et des Bicharins dans le Museum voor Land- en Volkenkunde. Publicaties van het Museum voor Land- en Volkenkunde en het Maritiem Museum Prins Hendrik 4. Rotterdam: Museum voor Land- en Volkenkunde.

Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956) A Proactive Pioneer in the Study of Ancient Egyptian Medicine Vincent Oeters1

In 1942, the Belgian surgeon Frans Jonckheere published an account of his pioneering autopsy on the alleged mummy of Butehamun. This work was the beginning of a productive Egyptological career that ended with his untimely death in 1956. In total, Jonckheere wrote thirty-six works on pharaonic medicine, in addition to twenty-seven works on the history of medicine outside Egypt. Contemporary scholars in both Egyptology and medicine recognised his contribution to the study of ancient Egyptian medicine. Today, however, Jonckheere seems to be a somewhat forgotten scientist, especially in Egyptology. This contribution aims to bring Jonckheere out of the shadows and place him in the disciplinary history of Belgian Egyptology. A brief overview of Frans Jonckheere’s medical career is given. For the first time, Jonckheere’s heroic deeds during the Second World War and his marriage are discussed. Contrary to what was suggested in earlier literature, I argue that Jonckheere’s study of ancient Egyptian medicine and his efforts to systematically study and publish on this subject were undertaken on his own initiative. Furthermore, the role of Éléonore Bille-de Mot in raising Jonckheere’s interest in Egyptology is discussed, as well as the interest in ancient Egypt of his father, Tobie Jonckheere, and the latter’s contributions to the history of science and Egyptology. Introduction After the Belgian doctor Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956) visited Egypt in 1939 and came to know a number of Egyptologists, he decided to study Egyptology himself (Fig. 1). His surgical expertise and passionate interest in ancient Egypt soon led 1 The work presented is part of my joint-PhD research on the position of Belgian Egyptology in Western intellectual history from 1900–1950 at KU Leuven (KUL) and Ghent University (UGent) under the supervision of Harco Willems (KUL, Egyptologist), Christophe Verbruggen (UGent, modern historian) and Jan Vandersmissen (UGent, modern historian), see Oeters forthcoming. My research is a component of the project ‘Pyramids and Progress. Belgian Expansionism and the Making of Egyptology, 1830– 1952’, which is funded by the Excellence of Science program (30885993) of F.R.S.-FNRS and FWO. The project brings together contemporary historians and Egyptologists from KUL (PI), UGent, Université libre de Bruxelles (ULB), RMAH and the Musée royal de Mariemont, see De Meyer et al. 2019. I am grateful to Jan Vandersmissen for directing me to Jonckheere and for providing all the material he had collected on him. I thank Joffrey Liénart and Mathieu Geeraerts for their help in digitising the archives and publications and Marleen De Meyer for her invitation to contribute to this volume and her feedback.

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him to be invited by Jean Capart (1877–1947), then Chief Curator of the Royal Museums of Art and History (RMAH) in Brussels, to conduct a thorough examination of what he believed to be the mummy of Butehamun (Fig. 2). Philips, the famous Dutch electronics company, provided equipment for Jonckheere to take X-rays of the mummy. Radiographic examination of mummified remains was certainly not new in Egyptology, nor in Belgium, but this work was innovative because it was extensive and systematic, it accompanied a complete autopsy by Jonckheere and, unlike his predecessors, he tried to put his research into an historical perspective. Despite being regrettably destructive and irreversible, Jonckheere’s work was done with good intentions and his interdisciplinary approach might strike us today as surprisingly modern. After publishing the results shortly after his pioneering examination in 1942, Jonckheere continued to study and publish on a variety of subjects relating to ancient Egyptian medicine and medical science until his untimely death in 1956.

Fig. 1: Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956). While there had been sporadic interest in ancient Egyptian medicine among medical practitioners in Belgium in the second half of the 19th century, and experiments with radiology on mummified remains were performed at a very early stage, Jonckheere’s entry into Egyptology marks the turning point from curiosity and occasional investigations of ancient Egyptian remains to systematic scientific

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research into ancient Egyptian medicine.2 His approach also marks a shift from multidisciplinary research to interdisciplinary research.3 Jonckheere can thus be considered the founding father of the study of ancient Egyptian medicine in Belgium. Although Jonckheere received recognition from contemporary scholars for his contributions to the study of ancient Egyptian medicine, he seems to be a somewhat forgotten scientist today, especially within Egyptology. For example, Jonckheere’s contribution to the use of radiography in Egyptology, in spite of its innovative approach, is sometimes omitted in historical overviews contained in recent literature.4 In a recent outline of the history of Belgian Egyptology, the name Jonckheere is not even mentioned, although the mummy he examined is.5 While he is best known for his pioneering autopsy, Jonckheere contributed much more to the study of ancient Egyptian medicine.6 In total, he wrote thirty-six works on pharaonic medicine, in addition to twenty-seven works on the history of medicine outside Egypt (see the respective bibliographies added at the end of this article). One of the reasons for this neglect may be that, while at least seven obituaries of him have been published in academic journals, only one was in an Egyptological periodical.7 This obituary, along with one other, was written by his 2

In October 1896, Henri Ferdinand Van Heurck (1838–1909) from Antwerp produced a radiograph of an ibis mummy, probably making him the first person in Belgium to have used X-rays on Egyptian mummified remains, see Van Heurck 1897, pl. 4. Van Heurck’s early experiment and the Belgian doctors who took an interest in ancient Egyptian medicine and began to investigate it to a greater or lesser extent before Jonckheere will be discussed in a future publication. 3 ‘Multidisciplinary’ is understood here as people from different disciplines working together, each drawing on their own disciplinary knowledge, while ‘interdisciplinary’ stands for the integration of knowledge and methods from different disciplines, using a true synthesis of approaches, as put forward by Choi and Pak 2006. 4 E.g. in Chhem and Brothwell 2008, a monograph on paleoradiology (i.e. the study of archaeological remains through the use of radiographic techniques, such as X-rays). 5 See Bruffaerts 2021. 6 In one curious case, Jonckheere is even mentioned as proof that possible poison in Tutankhamun’s tomb would probably not have been put in the mummy since the Belgian doctor ‘did not suffer the fate of Lord Carnarvon’, see Guitard 1957a. The possibility of poison in the tomb of Tutankhamun is discussed in a preceding article by the same author, see Guitard 1957b. It seems that Guitard was under the impression that it was Jonckheere who ‘meticulously performed the ‘autopsy’ of the famous mummy’. However, the mummy of Tutankhamun was unwrapped and examined by its discoverer Howard Carter, together with Douglas E. Derry and Saley Bey Hamdi in the outer corridor of the tomb of Seti II (KV15), three years after its discovery, between 11 and 19 November 1925, see Rühli and Ikram 2014: 2. The author was clearly confused here as to exactly which, supposedly famous, mummy Jonckheere had examined. 7 Steuer 1959; Vande Vyvere 1957; Diepgen 1956; Elaut 1956; van de Walle 1956a; van de Walle 1956b; Wickersheimer 1956. The only obituary of Jonckheere published in an

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Egyptological mentor, Baudouin van de Walle (1901–1988). The other five obituaries were written by medical practitioners and historians of medicine and published in journals of their respective disciplines. In addition, these obituaries were mainly published in French and Dutch: only the one by Robert Otto Steuer (1881–1977) is in English.8 Furthermore, these obituaries mainly concentrate Jonckheere’s pioneering role in the radiographic study of Egyptian mummies. This was indeed his first, but in fact only one of several (planned) ventures into the systematic study of ancient Egyptian medicine. Finally, in some of these obituaries, the impression is given that Capart not only encouraged but even suggested to Jonckheere that he study the medicine and science of ancient Egypt, implying that it was not Jonckheere’s own initiative but that of Capart.9 However, correspondence of Jonckheere preserved in the archives of the RMAH sheds a different light on the matter. This contribution aims to bring Jonckheere out of the shadows and place him in the disciplinary history of Belgian Egyptology. Since a full discussion of Jonckheere’s work lies beyond the scope of the study presented here, it attempts rather to achieve this goal by addressing the following issues. First, a brief overview of Frans Jonckheere’s medical career is given. New data about his persona retrieved from newspapers and the archives of the RMAH is added to the existing literature. This includes a subject that has not been discussed before, namely Jonckheere’s heroic deeds during the Second World War. Next, I demonstrate that Jonckheere’s study of ancient Egyptian medicine and his efforts to systematically study and publish on this topic were undertaken on his own initiative: instead of being directed by others, Jonckheere was a proactive pioneer and the captain of his own career. Greater recognition will also be given to the Egyptologist Éléonore Billede Mot (1903–1987), who sparked Jonckheere’s passion and who made important, but hitherto undervalued, contributions to Belgian Egyptology. Finally, the interest of his father, Tobie Jonckheere (1878–1958; Fig. 4), in ancient Egypt is addressed, followed by the important contributions he made to Egyptology and to the history of science in terms of the dissemination and funding of research. Like his son, this pedagogue became interested in how his profession was practised in ancient Egypt and he contacted Capart for advice. Jonckheere senior, who outlived his only child by two years, undertook various endeavours to disseminate Egyptological journal is van de Walle 1956a. 8 Steuer 1959. Like Jonckheere, Robert Otto Steuer was a doctor who published several works on ancient Egyptian medicine, but about whom little has been written. The work on this subject for which he is arguably best known is ‘Ancient Egyptian & Cnidian medicine: the relationship of their aetiological concepts of disease’ which he wrote with John Bertrand de Cusance Morant Saunders (1903–1991); Steuer and Saunders 1959. Jonckheere reviewed his work ‘(wxdw): aetiological principle of pyaemia in ancient Egyptian medicine’, in Chronique d’Égypte; F. Jonckheere 1949. 9 See e.g. van de Walle 1956b: 73; Vande Vyvere 1957: 29; Wickersheimer 1956: 176.

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worldwide his son’s last work, published posthumously, and to preserve his memory, both in Egyptology and in the history of medicine. Because of this, Tobie Jonckheere could and should also be recognized as a supporting character in the history of (Belgian) Egyptology.

Fig. 2: The alleged mummy of Butehamun before Jonckheere’s autopsy.

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The medical career of Frans Jonckheere Frans Jonckheere was born in Brussels on 30 June 1903. His mother, Marie Reine Vander Elst (b. 1877), was a teacher of whom we know little.10 His father was Tobie Félix Jonckheere, a teacher and a professor at the Université Libre de Bruxelles (ULB) (Fig. 4).11 His work was of great importance in the field of education in Belgium.12 After his secondary studies at the Athénée Royal in Brussels, Frans Jonckheere studied medicine at the ULB, the same university where his father worked. The young man turned out to be a good student and in 1927 he won the university competition in anatomical-physiological sciences.13 One year later, Jonckheere qualified as a doctor. At that time, he had already been invited by Les Naturalistes Belges, a natural science association, to give a lecture titled ‘The curiosities of cell division’ and another one on nervous system manifestations observed in plants.14 A travel grant won in 1929 enabled him to go to Paris, where he worked for fifteen months as an assistant at the Vaugirard Hospital, specialising in surgery.15 Following his return, from 1931 to 1942, he worked in various hospitals in Brussels as surgeon and gynaecologist.16 Jonckheere also got involved in medical education, for in 1937 he became an assistant at the Faculty of Medicine of

10 To date, I have not been able to find any sources concerning Jonckheere’s mother other than a marriage certificate which states that she was born in Brussels on 7 March 1877, married Tobie Félix Jonckheere in 1899, and was a teacher, see the State Archives in Belgium, Civil Status Flemish Brabant and Brussels-Capital region, certificate no. 527. In the death notices of her son, she is referred to as Mrs. Tobie Jonckheere, see e.g. Le Soir 1956a in which her family is mentioned. An exception is an almost identical death notice to the latter that was published one day later in the same newspaper, in which Jonckheere’s parents are referred to as ‘Mister and Madam Tobie Jonckheere-Vander Elst’, see Le Soir 1956b. 11 De Coster 2002; Verstraete 2000; Evrard 1999; D’Espallier 1952. 12 In 1919, Tobie Jonckheere founded, together with Jean Demoor (1867–1941), the ‘École de Pédagogie’ at the ULB, the first university institute for pedagogy in Belgium. Their example would be followed by the other universities in the country, see De Coster 2002: col. 495. 13 L’Indépendance Belge 1928. The same newspaper article mentions that Léon Jozef Stephaan Elaut (1897–1978), who later wrote an obituary for Jonckheere (Elaut 1956), had won the university competition in pathological sciences. See also van de Walle 1956a; van de Walle 1956b. 14 The first lecture was scheduled on Saturday 14 January 1928 at 8 p m., as a meeting of the microscopy section of the association at 29, Place Rouppe in Brussels, see Le Soir 1928. The second lecture was held after a General Assembly of the association that Les Naturalistes Belges held on Saturday 14 February at 8 p m., in the conference room of the École normale Charles Buls in Brussels, see La Dernière Heure 1928. 15 Wickersheimer 1956: 176; L’Indépendance Belge 1930; Le Soir 1929. 16 De Broe 2016: 824–825; Wickersheimer 1956: 176.

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the ULB.17 A few years later, in 1945, he became a teacher of anatomy at the Academy of Fine Arts in his hometown.18 After having worked as surgeon and gynaecologist in various hospitals, Jonckheere set up practice in his parental home at 58 Boulevard Léopold II in Brussels, where he devoted himself exclusively to private clients from 1943 until the last operation he conducted on 1 February 1956.19 That was the day before the surgeon himself was admitted to a clinic because of subacute bacterial endocarditis (Endocarditis lenta), the illness to which he would succumb five weeks later.20 As regards his personal life, it can be deduced from a death notice and a subsequent message of thanks in two newspapers that Jonckheere was married to a certain Aline Debergh, who was also a medical doctor.21 In the Moniteur belge (the official journal of the Kingdom of Belgium) of 1922, both Debergh and Jonckheere are listed as candidates for the first examination for the grade de candidat en sciences naturelles préparatoire à la médecine at the ULB. This information suggests that the couple may have met during their medical studies.22 Debergh’s death announcement was written on 30 April 1934 and published on 3 May of that year. It mentions that her funeral took place and that no letters of mourning were sent. Her birth and death dates are not mentioned, but it may be assumed that the couple had been married for a few years at the most when she passed away. Jonckheere was then thirty years old and had his medical degree for six years. After the loss of his wife, the Belgian doctor would not marry again. At present, no further information has been found about his wife. Jonckheere’s heroic deeds during the Second World War Two documents found during the research for this study show that Jonckheere used his medical expertise in the army as a reservist, a fact which is not mentioned in any of his obituaries. According to a newspaper article, Jonckheere was promoted to the rank of non-commissioned officer in the medical service of the reserve, effective 26 March 1932.23 An undated document kept in the archives of the RMAH titled ‘Notes de Civisme’ (Notes of good citizenship) lists the acts of Jonckheere during the Second World War.24 It states that when Germany invaded Belgium on 10 May 1940, Jonckheere was mobilised as an army ambulance surgeon. While most doctors of his surgical formation went home and resumed 17

La Dernière Heure 1937; Le Peuple 1937. Diepgen 1956: 3. 19 Wickersheimer 1956: 176. 20 Wickersheimer 1956: 176. 21 For the death notice, see La Dernière Heure 1934a; Le Soir 1934a. For the subsequent messages of thanks, see La Dernière Heure 1934b; Le Soir 1934b. 22 Le Moniteur Belge 24 June 1922: 4565. I owe this information to Marleen De Meyer. 23 Le Soir 1932. 24 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, ‘Docteur Frans Jonckheere – Notes de Civisme’, n.d. 18

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their civilian activities after the surrender of the Belgian Army on 28 May 1940, Jonckheere continued to serve and was only demobilised two months later, on 1 August. After his return to Brussels he continued to care for wounded soldiers. Jonckheere’s deeds described in the document further vary from setting up military hospitals and operating on the wounded in the Institut médico-chirurgical du Cinquantenaire (today Europe Hospitals, Site St-Michel) during bombardments to providing various services to the resistance and the Jews. For instance, the document claims that Jonckheere ‘provided various assistance to Jews: either by issuing them false certificates; or by hospitalising them at the Clinique du Cinquantenaire; or by providing them with a livelihood which they had lost elsewhere (e.g.: Introduced a Jewish woman, expelled from the Brussels Hospitals by the occupying authority, to the Military Hospital No. 10 as an operating room nurse)’. Earlier in the document, it is stated that Jonckheere was ordered to re-establish this military hospital in the Rue de la Poste in Brussels and that for this purpose he brought back a column of trucks transporting surgical, hospital and medical material from Bruges, despite the opposition of the Germans, who had decreed that it was all spoils of war. The list of deeds ends by stating that Jonckheere had obtained a certificate of good citizenship which, after investigation, was issued by the police station. While an in-depth discussion of this remarkable list of achievements lies outside the scope of this study, it is striking to note that these heroic services of Jonckheere as a medical surgeon in the army during the Second World War have not been mentioned anywhere thus far. Frans Jonckheere: A surgeon who became an Egyptologist A year before the start of the Second World War, during Easter in 1939, Jonckheere made a visit to Egypt, one of his surgical teachers having told him so much about the greatness and splendour of its ancient civilisation.25 The trip was organised by the Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth (FÉRÉ), one of the most active Egyptological associations during the interwar period.26 On board ship, Éléonore Bille-de Mot gave lectures to the travellers to prepare them for an informative and enjoyable visit to the country.27 This inspiring trip was a turning point in Jonckheere’s life: ancient Egypt became a passion for the rest of his life, and from that moment on the surgeon would devote part of his career to Egyptology.28 Jonckheere would return twice to Egypt, in 1952 and 1955.29 25

Diepgen 1956: 2–3; van de Walle 1956b: 73. Vande Vyvere 1957: 29 incorrectly states 1934. Unfortunately, I have not been able to retrieve the identity of this teacher yet. 26 De Meyer et al. 2019: 184; Bruffaerts 2013: 213–215. 27 Van de Walle 1956b: 73. See also the section ‘Credit where credit is due’ in this contribution, 124–126. 28 Jonckheere acknowledged Bille-de Mot’s role in finding his passion by dedicating his first Egyptological work to her, see F. Jonckheere 1942a: 3. 29 Wickersheimer 1956: 176. To my knowledge, no details of these two other trips to Egypt

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Back in Brussels from his first visit, Jonckheere was introduced by Bille-de Mot to Jean Capart, the founder and director of the FÉRÉ. During this first encounter, the Belgian surgeon told Capart of his intention to study how his profession was practised in ancient Egypt. As he would later write to him: ‘More than a year ago, during an encounter that Madame Bille had kindly arranged for me with you, I expressed my intention to take an interest in Surgery in ancient Egypt’.30 Jonckheere decided to study the Egyptian language and culture at the Institut des Hautes Études de Belgique in Brussels, alongside his medical profession.31 At the institute, Baudouin van de Walle, Capart’s successor since 1929, taught him how to read hieroglyphs and from then onwards would help him review his translations of ancient Egyptian hieratic medical papyri (Fig. 3).32 Jonckheere’s aim of learning to read hieroglyphs was clear from the start, for in the words of Capart ‘he made the effort to acquire a good knowledge of the language and writing of hieroglyphs, with the intention of using them for the study of the medicine of the ancients.’33 Furthermore, Jonckheere attended public lectures given by Capart at by Jonckheere are known at present, except that, according to his father Tobie, during his last trip in 1955, Jonckheere ‘expressed a few wishes which were the equivalent of a testamentary will, in case he should suffer an accident’ (Avant son troisième et dernier voyage en Égypte, au printemps 1955, il avait fait part de quelques desiderata qui étaient l’équivalent de volontés testamentaires, au cas où il serait victime d’un accident), see T. Jonckheere 1958a: 153. No such such accident took place, but after Jonckheere’s death these wishes would result in a bequest to, among others, the FÉRÉ, arranged by his father, see T. Jonckheere 1958a: 153 and the last section of this contribution. 30 ‘Il y a plus d’un an, au course d’une entrevue que Madame Bille avait bien voulu me ménager auprès de vous, je vous avais exprimé mon intention de m’intéresser à la Chirurgie dans l’Egypte ancienne.’ AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 25 November 1940. 31 Steuer 1959: 515; Vande Vyvere 1957: 29; Diepgen 1956: 3; van de Walle 1956a: 303; van de Walle 1956b: 73. In one obituary it is mistakenly suggested that Jonckheere was, besides a reader of ancient papyri, ‘a decipherer of texts in cuneiform and pictorial writing from the pyramids’, see Elaut 1956: 206. 32 Jonckheere dedicated his third monograph to van de Walle, as a token of his gratitude for introducing him to hieroglyphs and for the philological help he had always given him in reading Egyptian medical texts, see F. Jonckheere 1947: 5. In the same publication, van de Walle is also thanked for reviewing his translation, see F. Jonckheere 1947: 15, n. 1. In a copy of his first monograph Autour de l’autopsie d’une momie, Jonckheere wrote the following dedication to van de Walle (see Fig. 3): ‘A Monsieur B. van de Walle. Hommage respectueux. En remerciement pour votre collaboration – savante et agréable – à la traduction d’une littérature médicale qui l’est beaucoup moins. Janvier 1943. Frans Jonckheere’ (To Monsieur B. van de Walle. Respectful tribute. In gratitude for your collaboration – scholarly and pleasant – in the translation of medical literature, which is much less so. January 1943. Frans Jonckheere). 33 ‘[…] il a fait l’effort d’acquérir une bonne connaissance de la langue et de l’écriture des hiéroglyphes, avec l’intention de s’en servir pour l’étude de la médecine des anciens.’

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the RMAH and he regularly visited the library of the FÉRÉ to study specialized literature on surgery in ancient Egypt.34

Fig. 3: Dedication by Jonckheere to his teacher Baudouin van de Walle (private collection of the author). One year after the initial meeting with Capart, and after conducting a series of bibliographical surveys on surgery in ancient Egypt, Jonckheere concluded in a letter to Capart, dated 25 November 1940, that ‘the subject was too thin to make an interesting work’.35 The doctor confessed: ‘Returning from Egypt full of enthusiasm and also of plans I was, I readily admit, both deceived and disappointed’.36 The letter shows that Jonckheere was not merely interested in ancient Egypt as a hobby but that he clearly intended to publish his Egyptological research. Disappointed by the result of his bibliographical surveys, he wrote that he had taken up his old notes again, and, this time considering a less narrow subject, (Capart 1944a, 6). 34 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Tobie Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 16 December 1939; Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 25 November 1940. 35 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 25 November 1940. Jonckheere wrote in the letter that the series of bibliographical surveys concerned about thirty references: ‘Je suis venu à la Fondation faire une série de sondages bibliographiques – une trentaine de références – qui m’avaient montré que le sujet ainsi compris était trop mince et n’aurait jamais pu faire l’objet d’un travail intéressant’. 36 ‘Rentré d’Egypte plein d’enthousiasme et aussi de projets je fus, je le reconnais volontiers, à la fois déçu et désappointé.’ AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 25 November 1940.

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had drafted a work plan he wanted to discuss with Capart.37 Unfortunately, the letter does not disclose exactly what Jonckheere’s new plans were, but a letter sent half a year later to Marcelle Werbrouck (1889–1959), who was the Secretary of the FÉRÉ at the time, reveals that he ‘continued working on the bibliography and collecting documents’ for a work he wanted to write on ‘medical thought in ancient Egypt’.38 By then, it appears that he had already done a lot of work. ‘To date,’ Jonckheere wrote to Werbrouck, ‘I have summarised more than 80 works, the materials of which I am trying to arrange’.39 Jonckheere then indicated that he first wanted to discuss his subject with Werbrouck before presenting it again to Capart, to whom he wanted to show a global plan. The letter further makes clear that within the six months between the two letters the examination of the alleged mummy of Butehamun had taken place.40 This work led the following year to Jonckheere’s first two Egyptological publications, a short article and a monograph, both concerning the radiology and autopsy of the mummy.41 Upon hearing the news that the publisher Vromant in Brussels would publish his monograph, Jonckheere asked Capart the following: On this occasion, I would like to ask you to do me the pleasure of writing a preface to the little volume. I would consider it both a token of sympathy to which I would be particularly sensitive, and a guarantee of success for the work to which I have devoted myself with enthusiasm.42

37 ‘J’ai repris ces jours derniers mes anciennes notes, et, envisageant cette fois une matière moins étriquée, j’ai rédigé un plan de travail que je voudrais vous soumettre.’ AÉRÉEGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 25 November 1940. 38 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Werbrouck, letter dated 27 May 1941. On Marcelle Werbrouck, see Bruffaerts 2018. 39 ‘J’ai résumé à ce jour, au courant de la plume, plus de 80 travaux dont je cherche à ordonner les matériaux.’ AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Werbrouck, letter dated 27 May 1941. 40 Despite the fact that John R. Harris already in 1960 convincingly argued that the mummy in question is not that of Butehamun (Harris 1960), this claim on faulty reasoning and wishful thinking by Capart continues to resonate in the literature, see e.g. Bierbrier 2019: 240. This issue will be addressed in a forthcoming paper of mine. 41 F. Jonckheere 1942a; F. Jonckheere 1942b. 42 ‘A cette occasion, je voudrais vous demander de me faire le plaisir d’écrire une préface au petit volume. J’y verrais à la fois un témoignage de sympathie auquel je serais particulièrement sensible, et un gage de succès pour le travail auquel je me suis consacré avec enthousiasme.’ AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 7 April 1942.

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For his second monograph, Une maladie égyptienne: L’Hématurie parasitaire, Jonckheere once again put Capart’s pen to the test and asked him for another preface that would put the work in context.43 Capart agreed and wrote prefaces to all but the last of Jonckheere’s monographs (F. Jonckheere 1958b), as both men had passed away at the time of publication.44 By studying the ancient Egyptian language and culture as well as frequently visiting the FÉRÉ and publishing these first works, Jonckheere became part of the Egyptological community and soon the surgeon became known as a specialist of ancient Egyptian medicine in Belgium and abroad.45 In the year his first Egyptological publications appeared, Jonckheere stopped working in hospitals and from then on until his death practised his medical profession only in private practice, as discussed above.46 This change may have been related to his ongoing Egyptological research. In addition to publishing his work, he also began to give lectures on Egyptological topics related to medicine and medical science, both in Belgium and abroad.47 Again, these were on Jonckheere’s own initiative, as the following quote from a letter to Capart suggests: I do not know whether the Association of Friends of the Educational Service still organises a series of lectures in May. If this is the case, do you think the public would be interested in a talk in which I reiterate the essence 43 ‘Je viens enfin mettre une nouvelle fois à l’épreuve votre plume et solliciter de vous préface qui situerait le travail. Je serais particulièrement heureux de cet honneur et vous en remercie d’avance.’ AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469. Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 29 August 1944. 44 Capart 1942; Capart 1944a and Capart 1947. 45 A newspaper article on the death of Jonckheere stated for instance that he was the only specialist of ancient Egyptian medicine in Belgium: ‘Dr Jonckheere was a valuable surgeon whose competence and skill were appreciated by his colleagues. He was also a learned medical historian, the only Belgian specialist in Pharaonic medicine.’ Le Soir 1956c. Elsewhere, he is referred to as ‘the best specialist of ancient Egyptian medicine’, see Vande Vyvere 1957: 29. 46 Wickersheimer 1956: 176. 47 In Belgium Jonckheere i.a. gave a lecture on ‘L’art des embaumeurs égyptiens’ (The Art of the Egyptian Embalmers) for the Touring Club de Belgique on 20–10–1950, see La Lanterne 1950b; Le Soir 1950. At the Institut des Hautes Etudes de Belqique, the institute where Jonckheere had studied Egyptian with van de Walle, he gave a lecture with projections titled ‘Le Nil, onzième plaie de l’ancienne Égypte’ (The Nile, the eleventh plague of ancient Egypt) on 16–02–1950, see La Lanterne 1950a. Jonckheere seems to have had plans to publish this lecture in Cahiers de la Biloque, but due to his early death this never happened, see Wickersheimer 1956: 179; van de Walle 1956a: 308; van de Walle 1956b: 8. In 1949, Jonckheere gave a lecture for the Société française d’Histoire de la Médecine in Paris on the medicine of the ancient Egyptians, see Le Soir 1949. The Joachim Jungïus Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften in Hamburg invited Jonckheere to give a lecture on the medicine of the ancient Egyptians on 2 June 1954, see Le Soir 1954.

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of my work and present it – stripped of its scientific language – under the title of ‘The Art of the Egyptian Embalmers’ for example?48 Furthermore, as teacher of anatomy at the Academy of Fine Arts, Jonckheere dedicated no fewer than six lectures in his course to ‘Anatomical criticism of some forms, attitudes and movements of Egyptian art’, a fact he was keen to share with Capart.49 After the launch of Jonckheere’s first book, Capart noted that it sold well, and that all costs had been covered by sales.50 His subsequent books were published by the FÉRÉ in a new series of monographs, La médecine égyptienne. The idea for this series, in which systematic translations of medical papyri would be published, came from Jonckheere himself, as he proposed it to Capart at the beginning of a letter dated 10 September 1944: Dear M. Capart, At the risk of appearing to you to be incurably afflicted with ‘acute publicity’, I have come to propose to you to begin the edition, in French, of the various medical papyri. Thanks to the resigned dedication of Mr. van de Walle who has taken on these thankless texts every Thursday, we have completed the editing of three papyri (Ebers, Berlin and Hearst). What do you think of the publication of these translations – and others – in a ‘Medical Section’ of the General Collection where my little work on parasitic haematuria will appear? Each papyrus would be the subject of a separate booklet, more or less important according to the length of the Egyptian document. By way of introduction, I would first put a short note on medical papyri in general. This note, which would be common to the different booklets, would be followed by a text of its own, in which the history of the document, its age, the nature of its contents, etc. would be reported.51 48 ‘Je ne sais si l’Association des Amis du Service educatif organise encore en mai une série de conférences. S’il en était ainsi, croyez-vous que le public pourrait s’intéresser à une causerie dans laquelle je reprendrais l’essentiel de mon travail en le présentant – dépouillé de son langage scientifique – sous le titre de « l’Art des Embaumeurs Egyptiens » par exemple ?’, AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 13 April 1942. 49 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 18 December 1945. 50 Capart 1944b: 13. 51 ‘Cher Monsieur CAPART, Au risque d’apparaître à vos yeux comme incurablement atteint de ‘publicite [sic] aigue’, je viens vous proposer de commencer l’édition, en français, des divers papyrus médicaux. Grâce au dévouement résigné de Mr. van de Walle qui s’est astreint chaque jeudi à se pencher sur ces textes ingrats, nous avons terminé la mise au point de trois papyrus (Ebers, Berlin et Hearst).

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Further on in this letter, Jonckheere suggests starting the French translations of medical papyri with Papyrus Hearst, should Capart agree. A handwritten note on the letter by Capart makes clear that he agreed with the idea of a series and that he came up with the title ‘La médecine égyptienne’. For unknown reasons, Jonckheere changed his mind and, in a letter sent 9 November 1944, suggested to Capart to start with the publication of Papyrus Chester Beatty VI (British Museum EA10686), rather than Papyrus Hearst.52 However, the first volume that was published in the series is Une maladie égyptienne: l’hématurie parasitaire (1944), a treatise on the ancient Egyptian word aAa.53 This term is mentioned no fewer than fifty times in medical papyri. Jonckheere first translated and commented upon all these passages after which he discussed the identification of the term as ‘haematuria’, i.e. ‘bloody urine’. He was not the first to propose this, as Jonckheere acknowledged, for Bendix Ebbell (1865–1941) had already done so in 1927.54 Jonckheere elaborated on the interpretation and drew parallels between modern clinical data and ancient descriptions of the symptoms. Lastly, Jonckheere discussed the treatment of the condition proposed by the ancient documents. The second volume published in the series is Le papyrus médical Chester Beatty (1947).55 Jonckheere was the first to provide a translation with commentary of Papyrus Chester Beatty VI which deals with remedies for anorectal diseases, based on the hieroglyphic transcription published by Alan H. Gardiner in 1935.56 Jonckheere further presented a study of the diseases of the anus and their treatment in this and other papyri. The third volume, titled Les médecins de l’Égypte pharaonique: essai de prosopographie, is a prosopography of ancient Egyptian physicians.57 For this work, Jonckheere tried to list all known individuals from the pharaonic period that bore the title snw ‘physician’, either in isolation or in combination with other titles. It was posthumously published in 1958 and Que pensez-vous de la publication de ces traductions – et des autres – dans un ‘Section médicale’ de la collection générale où paraîtra mon petit travail sur l’Hématurie parasitaire? Chaque papyrus y ferait l’objet d’une brochure séparée, plus ou moins importante suivant la longueur du document égyptien. En guise d’introduction, j’y mettrais d’abord une courte note sur les papyrus médicaux en général. Cette note qui serait commune aux différentes plaquettes serait suivie d’un texte propre où serait rapportée l’histoire du document, son ancienneté, la nature de son contenu etc.’ AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 10 September 1944. 52 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Frans Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 9 November 1944. 53 F. Jonckheere 1944. 54 Ebbell 1927: 16; F. Jonckheere 1944: 36. 55 F. Jonckheere 1947. 56 Papyrus no. VI in Gardiner 1935: 53–54 and plates 30–32a. 57 F. Jonckheere 1958.

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turned out to be the last volume of the series. With the death of Jonckheere, the series came to an end. In total, Jonckheere wrote thirty-six works related to pharaonic medicine besides twenty-seven works on the history of medicine.58 His scientific work was truly interdisciplinary as it was a mixture of practical medical knowledge, Egyptology and history of science and medicine. Besides several articles in Chronique d’Égypte, the journal of the FÉRÉ of which he became a collaborator, Jonckheere contributed articles to journals in other disciplines, such as the Archives internationales d’Histoire des Sciences, La Vie médicale, and Histoire de la Médecine.59 Jonckheere’s efforts in combining his interdisciplinary expertise made the Belgian medical practitioner a respected expert in the field of Egyptian medicine. As a result, he would become a member of various scientific societies of the different disciplines to which his work was related. In 1941, Jonckheere became a membre protecteur of the FÉRÉ.60 A decade later, he was elected member of the Comité Belge d’Histoire des Sciences.61 Within the various societies he took an active role. For example, he helped to launch the annual Benelux congresses for the history of science and medicine, the inaugural meeting of which took place in 1954 in Leiden and Haarlem in the Netherlands.62 In the afternoon of the last day of this congress, Jonckheere himself presented a paper titled ‘Le personnage égyptien du castrat’63 in which he attempted to demonstrate, using projected images, that castrated individuals were known in ancient Egypt and that they could be

58 A bibliography of Frans Jonckheere, compiled by his father Tobie Jonckheere, is added at the end of this contribution. Wickersheimer 1956: 179; van de Walle 1956a, 308 and van de Walle 1956b: 8. list a forthcoming posthumous publication in the Cahiers de la Biloque titled ‘Le Nil, onzième plaie de l’ancienne Égypte’ which was never published, see also n. 39. 59 Van de Walle 1956b: 74. 60 ‘Front Matter’ 1941: 161. 61 Wickersheimer 1956: 177. 62 Eerste Benelux Congres voor de Geschiedenis der Wetenschappen, organised by Het Genootschap voor Geschiedenis, Wiskunde en Natuurwetenschappen (the Society for History, Mathematics and Natural Sciences), together with De Kring voor de Geschiedenis van de Pharmacie in Benelux (The Circle for the History of Pharmacy in Benelux), in coordination with the Comité Belge d’Histoire des Sciences, and the Groupe Luxembourgeois d’Historiens des Sciences. The congress started in Leiden on 23 April with a visit to the Rijksmuseum voor de Geschiedenis der Natuurwetenschappen (the Dutch National Museum for the History of the Natural Sciences, now Rijksmuseum Boerhaave), a museum of the history of science and medicine, and the Hortus Botanicus (the oldest botanical garden in the Netherlands). After seeing the oldest parts of Leiden and the blooming flower bulb region, the participants went to Haarlem where the programme continued on 24 and 25 April at various locations, see Hilfman 1954a and Brans 1954. 63 Hilfman 1954b.

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distinguished by a special physique and strong growth in height.64 In January 1956, he became a board member of the Comité. In addition to the societies in his homeland, Jonckheere also played an active role in foreign scientific societies. He was a member of the Société française d’histoire de la médecine, the Académie Internationale d’Histoire des Sciences, the Cercle Benelux d’histoire de la Pharmacie and in 1955 he was elected honorary member of the Deutsche Vereinigung für Geschichte der Medizin, Naturwissenschaft und Technik.65 From the moment his passion for Egyptology began until his death, Jonckheere was a very active and productive scholar. He published four to five papers per year and gave lectures in Belgium and abroad. The letters discussed above show that he had many more plans for publications, but unfortunately, at the age of 52, Jonckheere’s productive work came to an abrupt end, when he died on 10 March 1956 due to subacute bacterial endocarditis (Endocarditis lenta), after being hospitalised for five weeks.66 Credit where credit is due In several obituaries of Jonckheere, the impression is given that Capart not only encouraged but even suggested to Jonckheere that he study medicine and science in ancient Egypt, which would imply that it was Capart’s initiative.67 In a similar manner, van de Walle wrote in Jonckheere’s obituary published in the Chronique d’Égypte: Conquered by the prestigious Pharaonic civilisation, M. Jonckheere wanted to enter into contact with M. Capart who knew so well how to direct the research of non-egyptologists towards the sector of Egyptology corresponding to their speciality. Encouraged and advised by this master, M. Jonckheere resolutely began to study hieroglyphs and Egyptian grammar, so as to be able to fully tackle the analysis of medical texts.68 64 Brans 1954. The same year, Jonckheere published the related article ‘L’Eunuque dans l’Égypte pharaonique’, a paper he presented at the VIIe Congrès international d’Histoire des Sciences in Jerusalem, August 1953, F. Jonckheere 1954. 65 Diepgen 1956: 2. From 1957, the society is called the Deutsche Gesellschaft für die Geschichte der Medizin, Naturwissenschaft und Technik e.V. (DGGMNT). Between 1949 and 1959, nearly all appointed honorary members were from Germany or the United States. Ernest Wickersheimer from France and Jonckheere joined six Americans (the Belgian-born George Sarton, Richard Shryock, Henry E. Sigerist, George Urdang, Owsei Temkin and Marshall Clagett), see Bruns 2014: 111, n. 127. 66 Diepgen 1956: 2; Wickersheimer 1956: 176. 67 E.g. van de Walle 1956b: 73; Vande Vyvere 1957: 29; Wickersheimer 1956: 176. 68 ‘Conquis par la prestigieuse civilisation pharaonique, M. Jonckheere voulut entrer en rapports avec M. Capart qui savait si bien diriger les recherches des savants nonégyptologues vers le secteur de l’égyptologie correspondant à leur spécialité. Encouragé et conseillé par ce maître, M. Jonckheere se mit résolument à l’étude des hiéroglyphes et

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The letters discussed in this contribution suggest, however, that it was rather Jonckheere’s own initiative and idea to direct his specialisation towards Egyptology. Jonckheere contacted Capart to express his intention to study ancient Egyptian medicine and even to set up work plans for a publication which he proposed to discuss with him. Moreover, before meeting Capart again to present a global plan, Jonckheere wanted to discuss it with Werbrouck. Given Jonckheere’s interests in the history of science and having returned from Egypt ‘full of enthusiasm and also of plans’ as he put it himself, one may assume that the surgeon needed little encouragement from Capart. Nevertheless, in all previous publications on Jonckheere, Capart is credited with his initiation into Egyptology and the impression is given that it is thanks to him that Jonckheere started to study the ancient Egyptian medicine. If anyone other than Jonckheere himself should be credited for his interest in ancient Egyptian medicine, would it not be more logical to give credit to Éléonore Bille-de Mot? After all, she was the person who brought Jonckheere into contact with the FÉRÉ and its founder. She guided him on his first trip to Egypt, which aroused his passion in the first place. Bille-de Mot is in fact a good example of a female Egyptologist whose role in the disciplinary history has been neglected or marginalized.69 She published several works on ancient Egypt, was a team member of the Belgian mission to Elkab in 1937, and played an important role for the FÉRÉ. In his annual report to the Foundation’s General Assembly in 1940, Jean Capart mentioned the fact that Bille-de Mot managed to recruit new amateurs for the FÉRÉ during Jonckheere’s first journey to Egypt: Our assistant Mme Bille-de Mot was invited to lead an Easter cruise on the banks of the Nile, which she did with as much distinction as competence. She did not fail, by her enthusiasm, the opportunity to bring to Egyptology many listeners, thus gathering new friends around the Fondation.70

de la grammaire égyptienne, de manière à pouvoir aborder de plain pied l’analyse des textes médicaux.’ Van de Walle 1956a: 303. 69 E.g. Bille-de Mot is omitted in Bierbrier 2019. Although she is mentioned several times in a recent overview of the disciplinary history of Belgian Egyptology, little is said about her contribution to the field except that she was responsible for enriching the photographic documentation of the FÉRÉ on Egypt, see Bruffaerts 2021: 168. The collection grew from 500 photographs in 1901, to 22.000 by the 1940s, see Mekhitarian 1943: 20. 70 ‘Notre assistante Mme Bille-de Mot a été invitée à conduire une croisière de Pâques sur les bords du Nil, ce qu’elle a fait avec autant de distinction que de compétence. Elle n’a pas manqué, par son enthousiasme, d’amener à l’égyptologie maints auditeurs, groupant ainsi de nouveaux amis autour de la Fondation.’ Capart 1940a: 14.

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Despite her contribution, only one obituary for Jonckheere mentions the fact that she led the FÉRÉ trip that was so important to his entry into Egyptology.71 Jonckheere himself did acknowledge Bille-de Mot by dedicating his first Egyptological monograph to her.72 His second work is not dedicated to anyone, although his third is dedicated to Baudouin van de Walle. The latter taught Jonckheere how to read hieroglyphs and together they worked on the editing of medical papyri. Van de Walle also completed Jonckheere’s prosopography of ancient Egyptian physicians.73 Although this fourth monograph is dedicated to Capart, this posthumous publication was in fact dedicated to the founding father of Belgian Egyptology on the request of Jonckheere’s father. He expressed the wish that the work should be dedicated ‘to the memory of M. Capart for the extreme benevolence of which he has given so much proof to my son, since the day he had welcomed him to the Fondation Égyptologique.’74 In addition, the influence of Jonckheere’s father should certainly not be underestimated. Tobie Jonckheere was a very active and productive scholar in his field and when Jonckheere decided to pursue a scientific career alongside his medical career, his father was undoubtedly an important role model (Fig. 4).75 Furthermore, as will be discussed below, Tobie Jonckheere’s efforts after the death of his son have left a mark on the history of science in Belgium. As for ancient Egypt, Frans Jonckheere in turn seems to have inspired his father. Like father, like son After Jonckheere returned delighted from a lecture by Capart at the museum about upbringing and education in ancient Egypt, his father Tobie, as an educationalist, decided to look into the matter, as is evident from a 1939 letter the elder Jonckheere sent to Capart.76 He informed the museum curator that he planned to write a work on that particular subject under his pseudonym Ariam in Le Soir. Since Tobie found little to no references to ancient Egypt in the educational literature he had consulted, he asked Capart if he could enlighten him about the issue.77 The 71

Van de Walle 1956b: 73. F. Jonckheere 1942a: 3. 73 F. Jonckheere 1958b. 74 ‘[…] je veux rendre hommage à la mémoire de Monsieur Capart pour l’extrême bienveillance dont il a donné tant de preuves à mon fils, depuis le jour où il avait accueilli celui-ci à la Fondation Egyptologique.’ AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Tobie Jonckheere to Werbrouck, letter dated 10 October 1956. 75 For a bibliography of Tobie Jonckheere compiled by A. Van Waeyenberghe, see Lurquin et al. 1948. 76 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Tobie Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 16 December 1939. 77 Tobie Jonckheere lists to Capart that in the histories of pedagogy about ancient Egypt: nothing is discussed in Collard 1920, ten lines are dedicated in Compayré 1884 and Guex 1906, two and a half page in Paroz 1867 and Maspero wrote an article of one column in 72

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educationalist proposed that he visit the curator at the museum, and from a handwritten note by Capart on the letter we know that the two men indeed met on 21 December 1939.78 Capart also noted that he would suggest Die Ägyptischen Schülerhandschriften by Adolf Erman, his former teacher in Berlin.79 A subsequent letter reveals that Capart showed Tobie some works in the library, which the latter then wanted to consult on 1 January 1940. Apparently, Capart did not inform Tobie about a talk titled ‘Les petits Égyptiens apprennent à lire’ he was to deliver at the Institut National de Radiodiffusion on 26 December. Tobie wrote to Capart that he became aware of it too late and asked the curator if he could see his text of the presentation. Capart agreed, and wrote on the note that the text should be shared with Tobie when he visited the library. Soon after, the text of this talk was published by Capart, together with five other of his radio talks, in 1940.80

Fig. 4: Tobie Félix Jonckheere (1878–1958).

the Dictionnaire de Pédagogie of Buisson; Maspero 1882. 78 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Tobie Jonckheere to Capart, letter dated 27 December 1939. 79 Erman 1925. 80 Capart 1940b.

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Since 1900, Tobie Jonckheere had published articles in Le Soir, a French-language Belgian daily newspaper based in Brussels, under the pseudonym Ariam on questions of education and instruction. From 1905 onwards, he wrote an article each month.81 As he had informed Capart, Tobie indeed published a work on instruction in ancient Egypt which appeared on the frontpage of Le Soir on 18 March 1940, titled ‘L’instruction dans l’Egypte ancienne’.82 It was reprinted in a collection of Tobie Jonckheere’s newspaper articles in 1958.83 Since it concerns a newspaper article, there are no footnotes. As a result, it remains unclear which works he had ultimately consulted. Remarkably, no reference is made to Capart and the contact the author had with the Egyptologist. Tobie does not appear to have published any other works related to ancient Egypt. Tobie Jonckheere’s contributions to the history of science and Egyptology After Frans Jonckheere’s death, his parents arranged three donations in memory of their only son. The first donation was given in 1956 to the Académie Royale de Médecine de Belgique, the society of which Jonckheere himself had been a member. This made it possible to establish the ‘Dr. Frans Jonckheere Prize for the History of Science’. Originally triennial, the € 5.000 prize is currently awarded every four years to a work in French, Dutch or English, contributing to the advancement of the history of medicine.84 The second donation, of 100.000 Belgian francs to Ghent University, was offered in 1957 for a ‘Dr. Frans Jonckheere Chair for the History of Medicine’. The person holding the chair would organise an annual ‘free course’ on the history of medicine.The Ghent physician Léon Elaut, a friend of Jonckheere and the author of one of his obituaries, held the chair from 1961 to 1966. The chair was transformed into a cycle of three to four lectures per academic year from 1981 onwards. These so-called ‘Jonckheere lectures’ are now held every year in autumn at the Faculty of Medicine and Health Sciences of Ghent university.85 Thanks to a third donation, also of 100.000 Belgian francs to the FÉRÉ, Jonckheere’s last unfinished monograph could be completed and printed. This was his prosopography of ancient Egyptian physicians. Exactly one year after the donation, the work was completed by his teacher Baudouin van de Walle and ready for publication as the third and final volume in the series La médecine égyptienne, much to Tobie’s satisfaction.86 A total of 615 copies were printed of

81

Lurquin et al. 1948: 20. Ariam 1940. 83 T. Jonckheere 1958b: 9–12. 84 ‘Prix du Docteur Frans Jonckheere sur l’Histoire de la Médecine’ n.d. 85 See De Broe 2016. 86 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, Tobie Jonckheere to Werbrouck, letter dated December 11, 1957. 82

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the book.87 Copies were donated by the FÉRÉ to all the leading research institutes, museums and libraries specializing in the study of ancient Egypt in the world as well as to the FÉRÉ’s collaborators, and to Jonckheere’s friends at the Comité Belge d’Histoire des Sciences.88 It seems that Jonckheere had discussed possible posthumous donations with his father while he was still alive. Under his pseudonym Ariam, Tobie published an article in Le Soir in which he announced the creation of a ‘Triennial Prize for Educational Sciences’.89 He wrote that the prize was a ‘beautiful gesture’ from the doctor Frans Jonckheere ‘for which educators owe him sincere gratitude’. About Frans and the creation of the prize, Tobie wrote the following: Before his third and last trip to Egypt, in the spring of 1955, he had expressed a few wishes which were the equivalent of a testamentary will, in case he should suffer an accident. Nothing disturbing happened, but a year later, for a reason unrelated to his study trip to the Nile Valley, fate put an end to his fruitful activity. Among the provisions he had thought of, there was one which was to favour pedagogy, in this case by a gift of one hundred thousand francs to the Académie royale des sciences, des lettres et des beaux-arts, frequently called the Académie thérésienne. A word of clarification is necessary to understand the origin of this decision, which at first sight is rather surprising. Dr. Frans Jonckheere, in order to pay tribute to scientific pedagogy, of which his father is currently the dean in Belgium, had the delicate idea of creating a ‘Triennial Prize for Educational Sciences’.90

87 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, bill Vromant, 31 December 1957; according to the calculation of FÉRÉ treasurer M. Paul in the document entitled ‘Situation du fonds publication posthume Dr Jonckheere’ the donation had been used in full for covering the cost of publication. The total cost was 100.783 francs. 88 AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/469, Jonckheere file, documents about the expedition of the copies. 89 Ariam 1957. The article was reprinted in a collection of Tobie Jonckheere’s newspaper articles, T. Jonckheere 1958a: 152–154. 90 ‘Avant son troisième et dernier voyage en Égypte, au printemps 1955, il avait fait part de quelques desiderata qui étaient l’équivalent de volontés testamentaires, au cas où il serait victime d’un accident. Rien de troublant ne s’est produit, mais un an plus tard, pour une cause qui n’a aucun rapport avec son voyage d’études dans la vallée du Nil, le destin mit fin à sa féconde activité. Parmi les dispositions auxquelles il avait songé, il en est une qui devait favoriser la pédagogie, en l’occurrence par un don de cent mille francs à l’Académie royale des sciences, des lettres et des beaux-arts, appelée fréquemment Académie thérésienne. Un mot d’éclaircissement est nécessaire pour comprendre l’origine de cette décision, assez surprenante à première vue. Le docteur Frans Jonckheere, dans le dessein de rendre hommage à la pédagogie scientifique, dont son père est actuellement le doyen en Belgique, a eu la délicate pensée de créer un « Prix triennal des sciences de

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The prize, created in 1957, became known as the ‘Tobie Jonckheere Award’.91 Nine years before, regulations were published for a prize offered by the Cercle de Pédagogie of the ULB with an identical name, intended to encourage scientific research in pedagogy and education as well.92 According to the regulations, this prize was to be awarded every four years, the first time in 1950. It represented the interest of a reserved capital, called the ‘T. Jonckheere Fund’, of a total amount of 20.000 Belgian francs, invested in shares of the Communauté Française de Belgique 1946 loan at 4%, and amounted, at the time of the foundation, to 3.000 Belgian francs. Whether the prize was indeed awarded in 1950 and after is not entirely clear, but it seems that it could only be awarded after the death of Frans Jonckheere and more funds became available. The current ‘Tobie Jonckheere Award’ is intended to reward every five years a work devoted to the pedagogical and educational sciences with € 2000, including psychological sciences related to children.93 Concluding comments In the disciplinary history of Belgian Egyptology, the role of minor characters is often overshadowed by the exploits of Jean Capart. However, other actors have also played important roles and deserve to be researched in more detail. This article demonstrates the role of a proactive and hard-working surgeon who initiated the study of ancient Egyptian medicine in Belgium, and in the process also that of the female Egyptologist who instilled his passion and the father who disseminated his son’s work and who himself left a mark on the history of science in Belgium. More research is needed to better understand their roles in, and their contributions to, Egyptology but also to other disciplines, such as the history of science and the history of medicine. The roles in the disciplinary history of Belgian Egyptology of Frans and Tobie Jonckheere as well as of Éléonore Bille-de Mot will be addressed further in my forthcoming dissertation.

l’éducation ».’ Ariam 1957: 1; T. Jonckheere 1958a: 153. 91 ‘Prix Tobie Jonckheere’ n.d. 92 Lurquin et al. 1948: 14–15. 93 By this is meant one of the following disciplinary fields: child and adolescent psychology, experimental pedagogy, experimental didactics, statistical methods in pedagogy, school counselling, study of high potential children, study of children with disabilities, child mental health, history of pedagogical doctrines, history of school institutions, sociology of education, philosophy of education, see ‘Prix Tobie Jonckheere’ n.d.

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Bibliography Anon. 1941.‘Front Matter’. Chronique d’Égypte 16 (32): 161–164. Ariam [T. Jonckheere]. 1940. ‘L’instruction dans l’Égypte ancienne’. Le Soir, 18 March 1940: 1–2. — 1957. ‘Le mécénat et la pédagogie’. Le Soir, 3 September 1957, section ‘Faits et opinions’: 1–2. Bierbrier, M.L. (ed.), 2019. Who Was Who in Egyptology, 5th edition. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Brans, P.H. 1954. ‘Het eerste Benelux Congres voor de Geschiedenis der Wetenschappen’. Nederlands Tijdschrift voor Geneeskunde 98 (III. 36): 2525–2526. Bruffaerts, J.-M. 2013. ‘Bruxelles, capitale de l’égyptologie. Le rêve de Jean Capart (1877–1947)’. In S. Bickel, H.-W. Fischer-Elfert, A. Loprieno, and S. Richter (eds), Agyptologen und Agyptologien zwischen Kaiserreich und Gründung der beiden Deutschen Staaten: Reflexionen zur Geschichte und Episteme eines altertumswissenschaftlichen Fachs im 150. Jahr der Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde – Beihefte 1. Berlin: De Gruyter, 193–241. — 2018. ‘Marcelle Werbrouck ou l’égyptologie belge au féminin’. In F. Doyen, R. Preys and A. Quertinmont (eds), Sur le chemin du Mouseion d’Alexandrie. Études offertes à Marie-Cécile Bruwier, Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry Montpellier 3, 43–71. — 2021. ‘Belgium’. In A. Bednarski, A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 153–187. Bruns, F. 2014. ‘Zwischen Verflechtung und Abgrenzung: Das Fach Medizingeschichte im geteilten Deutschland (1945–1959) / Between Interdependence and Separation: The History of Medicine as an Academic Discipline in Divided Germany (1945–1959)’. Medizinhistorisches Journal 49: 77–117. Capart, J. 1940a. ‘Front Matter’. Chronique d’Égypte 15 (29): 1–19. — 1940b. Visions de l’Égypte ancienne : Six causeries radiophoniques. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. — 1942. ‘Préface’. In F. Jonckheere, Autour de l’autopsie d’une momie: le scribe royal Boutehamon. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 5–6. — 1944a. ‘Préface’. In F. Jonckheere, Une maladie égyptienne: l’hématurie parasitaire. La médecine égyptienne 1. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 5–7. — 1944b. ‘Assemblée générale (20 Octobre 1943), rapport du Directeur’. Chronique d’Égypte 19 (37): 13–28. — 1947. ‘Préface’. In F. Jonckheere, Le papyrus médical Chester Beatty. La médecine égyptienne 2. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 9– 10. Chhem, R. and D.R. Brothwell. 2008. Paleoradiology: Imaging Mummies and Fossils. Berlin / New York: Springer.

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Choi, B.C.K. and A.W.P. Pak. 2006. ‘Multidisciplinarity, Interdisciplinarity and Transdisciplinarity in Health Research, Services, Education and Policy: 1. Definitions, Objectives, and Evidence of Effectiveness’. Clinical and Investigative Medicine. Medecine Clinique et Experimentale 29 (6): 351–364. Collard, F. 1920. Histoire de la pédagogie. Brussels: De Boeck. Compayré, G. 1884. Histoire de la pédagogie. Paris: Delaplane. De Broe, L. 2016. ‘Frans Jonckheere en de Jonckheere Lezingen Universiteit Gent’. Tijdschrift voor Geneeskunde 72 (13): 824–827. De Coster, W. 2002. ‘Jonckheere, Tobie, 1878–1958’. In Nationaal Biografisch Woordenboek, 16. Brussels: Paleis der Academiën, 495–496. De Meyer, M., J. Vandersmissen, C. Verbruggen, W. Claes, L. Delvaux, M.-C. Bruwier, A. Quertinmont, E. Warmenbol, L. Bavay and H. Willems. 2019. ‘Pyramids and Progress: Belgian Expansionism and the Making of Egyptology, 1830–1952’. In H. Navratilova, T.L. Gertzen, A. Dodson and A. Bednarski (eds), Towards a History of Egyptology: Proceedings of the Egyptological Section of the 8th ESHS Conference in London, 2018. Münster: Zaphon, 173– 193. D’Espallier, V.J. 1952. ‘Jonckheere, Tobie’. In V.J. D’Espallier (ed.), Katholieke encyclopaedie voor opvoeding en onderwijs 2. Antwerp: ’t Groeit, 430–431. Diepgen, P. 1956. ‘Frans Jonckheere † Zum Gedächtnis’. Nachrichtenblatt Der Deutschen Gesellschaft Für Geschichte Der Medizin, Naturwissenschaft Und Technik 7: 2–9. Ebbell, B. 1927. ‘Die ägyptischen Krankheitsnamen’. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 62: 13–20. Elaut, L. 1956. ‘Franz Jonckheere (Brussel 1903 – ibid. 1956)’. Wetenschappelijke Tijdingen 16 (5): 206–207. Erman, A. 1925. Die Ägyptischen Schülerhandschriften. Abhandlungen Der Preußischen Akademie Der Wissenschaften Zu Berlin. Berlin: Verlag der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Kommission bei W. de Gruyter u. Co. Evrard, A.-K. 1999. ‘De Gentse vrije cursus Geschiedenis der Geneeskunde. Een beknopt overzicht’. Ghendtsche Tydinghen 28 (2): 93–95. Gardiner, A.H. (ed.), 1935. Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum, Third Series: Chester Beatty Gift. 2 vols. London: British Museum. Guex, F. 1906. Histoire de l’instruction et de l’éducation. Lausanne: Payot. Guitard, E.-H. 1957a. ‘La Gazette – Franz Jonckheere, George Sarton, Sigerist and Charles Beaulieux’. Revue d’Histoire de la Pharmacie 45 (154): 120–121. — 1957b. ‘La Gazette – La vengeance de Toutankamon’. Revue d’Histoire de la Pharmacie 45 (154): 119–120. Harris, J.R. 1960. ‘À propos de la prétendue momie du scribe royal Boutehamon’. Chronique d’Égypte 35 (69–70): 89–91. Hilfman, M.M. 1954a. ‘Vergaderingen’. Nederlands Tijdschrift voor Geneeskunde 98 (I. 8): 519.

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— 1954b. ‘Vergaderingen’. Nederlands Tijdschrift voor Geneeskunde 98 (II. 14): 970–971. Jonckheere, F. 1942a. Autour de l’autopsie d’une momie: Le scribe royal Boutehamon. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. — 1942b. ‘Radiographie d’une Momie’. Bulletin des Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 14 (6): 126–129. — 1947. Le papyrus médical Chester Beatty. La médecine égyptienne 2. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. — 1949. ‘Review of: Steuer, R.O. 1948. (Wxdw): Aetiological Principle of Pyaemia in Ancient Egyptian Medicine. Supplements to the Bulletin of the History of Medicine 10. Baltimore: The John Hopkins Press’. Chronique d’Égypte 24 (48): 267–270. — 1954. ‘L’Eunuque dans l’Égypte pharaonique’. Revue d’Histoire des Sciences 7 (2): 139–155. — 1958. Les médecins de l’Égypte pharaonique: Essai de prosopographie. La médecine égyptienne 3. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Jonckheere, T. 1958a. Défense des sciences pédagogiques. Brussels: Office de publicité. — 1958b. Fragments d’une histoire de l’éducation: quelques noms et quelques faits. Brussels: De Boeck. La Dernière Heure. 1928. ‘Chez les Naturalistes belges’, 20 February 1928, section Nos échos: 2. — 1934a. ‘Nécrologie – Madame Frans Jonckheere’, 5 March 1934, section Nécrologie: 5. — 1934b. ‘Le Docteur Frans Jonckheere; Les Familles Jonckheere et Debergh remercient’, 14 June 1934, section Nécrologie: 5. — 1937. ‘Faculté de médecine’, 18 June 1937, section A l’Université Libre de Bruxelles: 6. La Lanterne. 1950a. ‘Institut des Hautes Etudes de Belgique’, 15 February 1950, section Conférences: 6. — 1950b. ‘Au Touring Club de Belgique’, 25 September 1950: 7. Le Moniteur belge. 1922. ‘Université Libre de Bruxelles. Session de juillet 1922. Liste des récipiendaires inscrits’, 24 June 1922: 4565. Le Peuple. 1937. ‘Faculté de médecine’, 18 June 1937, section A l’Université Libre de Bruxelles: 4. Le Soir. 1928. ‘Les Naturalistes Belges’, 13 January 1928, section Conférences: 5. — 1929. ‘Nos médecins à l’étranger’, 11 June 1929, section Petite gazette: 1. — 1932. ‘Dans l’armée. Nominations dans la réserve – Dans le service de santé’, 25 March 1932: 8. — 1934a. ‘Madame Frans Jonckheere’, 5 March 1934, section Nécrologie: 8.

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— 1934b. ‘Le Docteur Frans Jonckheere; Les Familles Jonckheere et Debergh remercient’, 14 June 1934, section Nécrologie: 8. — 1949. ‘Médecine pharaonique’, 12 August 1949, section Petite gazette: 1. — 1950. ‘Touring-Club de Belgique’, 19 October 1950, section Conférences: 7. — 1954. ‘Histoire de la médecine’, 6 February 1954, section Informations diverses: 2. — 1956a. ‘Docteur Frans Jonckheere’, 13 March 1956, section Nécrologie: 6. — 1956b. ‘Docteur Frans Jonckheere’, 14 March 1956, section Nécrologie: 6. — 1956c. ‘Mort du Dr Jonckheere’, 14 March 1956, section Petite gazette: 1. L’Indépendance Belge. 1928. ‘Les concours universitaires’, 29 January 1928, section Notes: 2. — 1930. ‘Les bourses de voyage’, 2 September 1930, section La vie universitaire: 5. Lurquin, C., G. Maquet, J. Baugniet, and T. Jonckheere. 1948. ‘Hommage au Professeur Tobie Jonckheere: Séance Académique du 25 mai 1948’. Revue des Sciences Pédagogiques 10 (published between nos. 42–43). Maspero, G. 1882. ‘Égypte ancienne’. In F. Buisson (ed.), Dictionnaire de pédagogie et d’instruction primaire 1 (1). Paris: Hachette et Cie, 811–812. Mekhitarian, A. 1943. Le vingtième anniversaire de la Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth 1923–1943. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Oeters, V. forthcoming. ‘The Sharing of Ideas: The Position of Belgian Egyptology in Western Intellectual History 1900–1950’. In Proceedings ICE XII. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Paroz, J. 1867. Histoire universelle de la pédagogie, renfermant les systèmes d’éducation et les méthodes d’enseignement des temps anciens et modernes, les biographies de tous les pédagogues célèbres, le développement progressif de l’école depuis le moyen âge jusqu’à nos jours, la comparaison et la caractéristique des pédagogies anglaise, allemande et française, etc., etc. Paris: Delagrave. ‘Prix du Docteur Frans Jonckheere sur l’Histoire de la Médecine’. n.d. https:// www.armb.be/prixarmb/prix-du-dr-frans-jonckheere-sur-lhistoire-de-la-med ecine/. Accessed 22 March 2023. ‘Prix Tobie Jonckheere’. n.d. https://www.academieroyale.be/fr/chaires-concou rs-prix-subventions-subventions-toutes-classes-detail/objets-de-candidature/ prix-tobie-jonckheere-2021/. Accessed 22 March 2023. Rühli, F.J. and S. Ikram. 2014. ‘Purported Medical Diagnoses of Pharaoh Tutankhamun, c. 1325 BC’. Homo – Journal of Comparative Human Biology 65 (1): 51–63. Steuer, R.O. 1959. ‘Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956)’. Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 14 (4): 515–518. Steuer, R.O. and J.B. de C.M. Saunders. 1959. Ancient Egyptian & Cnidian Medicine: The Relationship of Their Aetiological Concepts of Disease. Berkeley;

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Los Angeles: University of California Press. Van Heurck, H.-F. 1897. La technique et les applications diverses des rayons X: Guide pratique du radiographe. Antwerp: Folkerts. Vande Vyvere, P. 1957. ‘In Memoriam Dr. Frans Jonckheere † (1903–1956)’. Cercle Benelux d’histoire de la Pharmacie / Kring voor de Geschiedenis van de Pharmacie in Benelux 15: 28–32. Verstraete, H. 2000. ‘Bekende Lakense inwoners: Tobie Jonckheere’. Laca Tijdingen: Driemaandelijks tijdschrift van LACA, Geschied- en Heemkundige Kring van Laken 11 (4): 22–28. van de Walle, B. 1956a. ‘Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956)’. Chronique d’Égypte 31 (62): 303–308. — 1956b. ‘Le docteur Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956)’. Histoire de la Médecine 7: 73–79. Wickersheimer, E. 1956. ‘Notice Nécrologique, Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956)’. Archives Internationales d’Histoire des Sciences 35: 176–179. Bibliography of Frans Jonckheere (Egyptology) Jonckheere, F. 1942a. Autour de l’autopsie d’une momie: Le scribe royal Boutehamon. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. — 1942b. ‘Radiographie d’une momie’. Bulletin des Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 14 (6): 126–129. — 1944. Une maladie égyptienne : L’Hématurie parasitaire. La médecine égyptienne 1. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. — 1945. ‘Coup d’œil sur la médecine égyptienne: L’intérêt des documents nonmédicaux’. Chronique d’Égypte 20 (39–40): 24–32. — 1947. Le papyrus médical Chester Beatty. La médecine égyptienne 2. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. — 1948. ‘Le Bossu des Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire de Bruxelles, avec une note de Pierre Gilbert, la date de la figurine de bossu’. Chronique d’Égypte 23 (45–46): 24–35. — 1950a. ‘La circoncision des anciens Égyptiens’. In Actes du IIIe congrès national d’histoire des sciences. Brussels, 136–137. — 1950b. ‘Le monde des malades dans les textes non médicaux’. Chronique d’Égypte 25 (50): 213–232. — 1950c. ‘Médecins et malades dans l’ancienne Égypte’. Archives Internationales d’Histoire des Sciences 3 (11): 320–341. — 1951a. ‘À la recherche du chirurgien égyptien’. Chronique d’Égypte 26 (51): 28–45. — 1951b. ‘Défense de la médecine pharaonique’. Les cahiers de la Biloque 1: 3– 23. — 1951c. ‘La circoncision des anciens Égyptiens’. Centaurus 1 (3): 212–234.

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— 1951d. ‘La place du prêtre de Sekhmet dans le corps médical de l’ancienne Égypte’. In Actes du VIe congrès international d’histoire des sciences, Amsterdam (14–21 Août 1950). Paris: Hermann, 324–333. — 1951e. ‘Le cadre professionnel et administratif des médecins égyptiens’. Chronique d’Égypte 26 (52): 237–268. — 1951f. ‘Le cautère est une invention pharaonique’. la vie médicale 7 (1): 3–5. — 1951g. ‘Subincision et excision? Mutilations sexuelles pharaoniques?’ Histoire de la Médecine 10: 3–7. — 1952a. ‘La ‘Mesdemet’: Cosmétique et médicament égyptiens’. Histoire de la Médecine 7: 1–12. — 1952b. ‘L’examen du malade dans la pratique médicale pharaonique’. Les Cahiers de la Biloque 3: 129–143. — 1952c. ‘Médecins de cour et médecine palatine sous les pharaons’. Chronique d’Égypte 27 (53): 51–87. — 1952d. ‘Pathologie pharaonique et diagnostic ‘Ex Arte’’. Histoire de la Médecine 11: 3–7. — 1952e. ‘Le cadre sanitaire de l’Égypte pharaonique’. La vie médicale internationale, June. — 1953a. ‘Considérations sur l’auxiliaire médical pharaonique’. Chronique d’Égypte 28 (55): 60–76. — 1953b. ‘Dans l’arsenal thérapeutique des anciens Egyptiens’. Histoire de la Médecine 3 (2): 9–24. — 1953c. ‘L’Auxiliaire médical pharaonique’. Le Scalpel 106 (9): 238–240. — 1953d. ‘L’Ostracon médical du Louvre’. Sudhoffs Archiv 37 (3–4): 278–282. — 1953e. ‘Quelques données paléoégyptiennes sur la castration’. In Actes du VIIe congrès international d’histoire des sciences (Jérusalem, 4–12 Août 1953), Paris: Académie internationale d’histoire des sciences, 377–383. — 1954a. ‘Documents égyptiens sur la durée de la gestation’. In Actes du XIVe congrès international d’histoire de la médecine, Rome-Salerne, Septembre 1954. Vol. 2, 846. — 1954b. ‘Les expéditions pharaoniques et leur apport botanique’. Les cahiers de la biloque 4 (4): 155–173. — 1954c. ‘L’eunuque dans l’Égypte pharaonique’. Revue d’histoire des sciences 7 (2): 139–155. — 1954d. Préoccupations médico-sociales sous les pharaons. Les conférences du Palais de la Découverte, Série D: Histoire des Sciences 28. Paris: Palais de la Découverte. — 1954e. ‘Prescriptions médicales sur ostraca hiératiques’. Chronique d’Égypte 29 (57): 46–61. — 1955a. ‘La durée de gestation d’après les textes égyptiens’. Chronique d’Égypte 30 (59): 19–45.

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— 1955b. ‘Le ‘préparateur de remèdes’ dans l’organisation de la pharmacie égyptienne’. In Firchow, O. (ed.), Ägyptologische Studien Hermann Grapow zum 70. Geburtstag gewidmet. Berlin: Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin – Institut für Orientforschung, 149–161. — 1955c. ‘Un chapitre de pédiatrie égyptienne: l’allaitement’. Aesculape 36: 203–223. — 1958a. ‘La conception égyptienne du squelette’. Centaurus 5 (3–4): 323–338. — 1958b. Les médecins de l’Égypte pharaonique: Essai de prosopographie. La médecine égyptienne 3. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Bibliography of Frans Jonckheere (History of Medicine) Jonckheere, F. 1952a. ‘L’histoire de la médecine’. La vie médicale internationale, May 1952. — 1952b. ‘Les Assyro-Babyloniens’. La vie médicale internationale, September 1952. — 1952c. ‘La médecine Indoue’. La vie médicale internationale, October 1952. — 1952d. ‘J.B. Lalangue’. La vie médicale internationale, November 1952. — 1952e. ‘L’ère des pré-Hippocratiques’. La vie médicale internationale, November 1952. — 1952f. ‘Le troisième centenaire de la première académie des sciences’. La vie médicale internationale, December 1952. — 1953a. ‘Léonard de Vinci et l’anatomie’. Les Cahiers de La Biloque, 161–178. — 1953b. ‘Hyppocrate et le corpus hippocratique’. La vie médicale internationale, January 1953. — 1953c. ‘Periodica medica’. La vie médicale internationale, January 1953. — 1953d. ‘Les Alexandrins’. La vie médicale internationale, February 1953. — 1953e. ‘Une trépanation pratiquée au XVIe siècle’. Le Soir Illustré, 25 February 1953. — 1953f. ‘Les médecins grecs de Rome’. La vie médicale internationale, March 1953. — 1953g. ‘Aulus Cornelius Celsus: Encyclopédiste médical latin’. La vie médicale internationale, April 1953. — 1953h. ‘Grands médecins romains d’Asie Mineure’. La vie médicale internationale, May 1953. — 1953i. ‘La chirurgie dans le corpus Hippocraticum’. La vie médicale internationale, June 1953. — 1953j. ‘La chirurgie dans Celse’. La vie médicale internationale, July 1953. — 1953k. ‘Le chirurgien Antyllos’. La vie médicale internationale, September 1953. — 1953l. ‘Galien de Pergame: L’homme’. La vie médicale internationale, November 1953.

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— 1953m. ‘Le nommé Paracelse’. La vie médicale internationale, December 1953. — 1954a. ‘L’œuvre de Galien’. La vie médicale internationale, January 1954. — 1954b. ‘Les Byzantins’. La vie médicale internationale, June 1954. — 1954c. ‘Le transfert de la médecine antique aux arabes’. La vie médicale internationale, August 1954. — 1954d. ‘Enquête sur le guérisseur indigène au Congo et dans le territoire sous tutelle du Ruanda-Urundi’. La vie médicale internationale, September 1954. — 1954e. ‘La médecine arabe sous Rhazès et Avicenne’. La vie médicale internationale, December 1954. — 1955a. ‘Les Arabes d’Espagne’. La vie médicale internationale, March 1955. — 1955b. ‘Décadence de la médecine arabe : La petite circulation’. La vie médicale internationale, August 1955.

‘Not the button on Fortuna’s cap’ The Egyptologist and Celtologist Ludwig Julius Christian Stern (1846–1911) Thomas L. Gertzen

Ludwig Stern’s seemingly extraordinary academic career earns him the label of a typical 19th century polyglot. Studying at Göttingen University with Heinrich Brugsch, Stern won an academic prize in 1866 and continued his studies in Berlin with Richard Lepsius. He soon exhausted his funds and was forced to take up a career as a high school teacher. Appalled by what he considered insufficient support from his university teachers, he devised an encoded script to record his disappointment while praising the Egyptologist Georg Ebers for his support. In 1872 Brugsch hinted at a possible job-opportunity in Cairo, but Stern realized upon his arrival in Egypt that it was not to be. Only with Ebers’s help was Stern able to secure an appointment as librarian for the Egyptian Viceroy. A few years later he resigned to take up the position of directorial assistant at the Egyptian Department of the Royal Museums in Berlin. After the promotion of Adolf Erman to the directorship, Stern, who was passed over despite being eight years Erman’s senior, left the museum to take up a position in the department for oriental manuscripts at the Berlin Royal Library in 1885. At the end of the 1880s, after an unsuccessful attempt to ‘takeover’ Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Stern finally admitted to himself that he had no future in Egyptology and so he turned to the field of Celtic studies. A gift for languages, studies in Göttingen Ludwig Julius Christian Stern, born 12 August 1846 in Hildesheim (then in the kingdom of Hanover), was the seventh of ten children of the police official (Polizeisekretär) Christian Ferdinand and his wife Johanne Sophie (née Bartels). From 1854 to 1864 he attended the Adreaneum Gymnasium in Hildesheim,1 where he showed a great aptitude for languages, learning French, English, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and – self-taught – Italian, Spanish, Russian, and Arabic.2 In 1865 he began to study Romance Philology at Göttingen University, later specializing

1

Feder 2013; Bierbrier 2019: 444. Jacobs 1912: 27: ‘eine fast einzige Sprachkenntnis war Ludwig Stern eigen. Von den orientalischen Sprachen wußte er mit Ausnahme der ostasiatischen, so gut wie alle, wenn nicht zu verstehen, so doch zu lesen. Von den occidentalischen waren ihm die wichtigeren vertraut, er sprach und schrieb Englisch und Französisch und – er konnte wirklich Griechisch’; cf. Magen 2013: 156, citing his Gymnasium diploma.

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in Oriental Studies with Heinrich Ewald and Heinrich Brugsch.3 Early on, in 1866, he won an academic award with a treatise on plural formation in Arabic and Ethiopian.4

Fig. 1: Ludwig Julius Christian Stern.

Fig. 2: The Adreaneum Gymnasium in Hildesheim, 1896. 3

For Ewald and the assessment of Stern’s scholarship cf. Mangold 2004: 95–100. Universität Bonn, Abteilung für Keltologie. Internet resource; also see Magen 2013: 156, n. 10.

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When Brugsch took two-years’ leave in 1869, establishing the École d’Égyptologie (‫ﻣﺪﺭﺳﺔ ﺍﻟﻠﺴﺎﻥ ﺍﻟﻘﺪﻳﻢ‬, literally: School of the Ancient Tongue) in Cairo,5 Stern continued his studies in Egyptology and Coptology with Richard Lepsius at Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität, Berlin. But lack of funds forced him to abandon his studies and to work as a high school teacher at Freienwalde, in Pomerania.6 His disappointment on the one hand, but on the other, his concurrent determination to overcome the odds is reflected in an encoded note he wrote at the time (discussed in more detail below). Luckily, at this crucial juncture, Georg Ebers invited Stern to accompany him on a journey through Egypt (during which the famous pEbers was acquired7). The experience was life-changing for Stern, possibly even marking the high point of his life down to that moment. Later he recalled ‘those enjoyable days and evenings […], when in the church at naqqâdah and the dusty tomb of Tep-meri, we got to know from Copic lips the sounds of this, the world’s oldest language’.8 Returning from Egypt, he could finally earn his PhD, with Ebers as his advisor (Doktorvater), in Leipzig (1881). His was the first Promotion in Coptology at the university and Stern’s Coptic Grammar, which had been published in 1880, subsequently became a standard reference work. As a second part of his Dissertation, he submitted his Glossar for pEbers (published earlier, in 1875) which provided the foundation for the Woerterbuch der Aegyptischen Sprache.9 The doctorate procedure was swift, due to an extremely positive assessment by his professors Georg Ebers and Heinrich Ewald.10 Two obstacles, however, had to be overcome: Stern was examined ‘in absentia’11 and his Coptic Grammar customarily had to have been published more than one year before the Promotion.12 Ebers managed to resolve the impediments for which Stern was extremely grateful (and which goes a long way to explain his devotion to his teacher, as is reflected in a Coptic Christmas Card sent to Ebers – see further, infra). The primary reason for the relative haste with the Promotion, ‘pushed’ by Ebers, was not only because Stern at 35 was older than the norm for the doctorate in those times, but also to foster his career at the Egyptian Department of the Berlin Museum, where he had obtained a position as directorial assistant.

5

Schmidt 2019: 21; for the school, Reid 2002: 116–118. Cf. Magen 2013: 156, n. 11. 7 Voss 2009. 8 After Blumenthal 1990: 99. English translation by the author. 9 Cf. Erman 1929: 257; 288. 10 UAL, Phil. Fak. Prom. 1290. 11 Ebers, for medical reasons, had done the same. However, this procedure was considered dubious by some German academics, who tended to look down on those ‘doctores’; cf. Gertzen 2013a: 68. 12 Cf. Blumenthal 1990: 100. 6

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Fig. 3: The Egyptologist Georg Ebers (1837–1898). Deciphering a career Obviously, Stern’s career did not advance as smoothly as his outstanding linguistic abilities seemed to predict. He employed just these talents to express his feelings – of gratitude to Ebers – and his criticism of his professors, Heinrich Brugsch and Richard Lepsius. Stern was not the only Egyptologist to do so. The biography of Italian Simeon Levi, yet another ‘lesser known’ scholar in the history of the discipline, shows some striking similarities. Born in the provincial town of Carmagnola near Turin, Levi also contributed to Egyptological lexicography with his publication Vocabolario Geroglifico Copto-Hebraico in 1887. He, too, expressed his exasperation, in a code of his own making, in particular to berate the professional conduct of Ernesto Schiaparelli.13 Levi, like Stern, also switched disciplines – from mathematics to Egyptology.14 Karl-Theodor Zauzich posed the question of whether Stern might also have been Jewish, like Levi,15 although he could find 13

Viterbo 1998; another example would be James H. Breasted, writing during World War I to Erman in German but using Egyptian hieroglyphs to avoid censorship; cf. Gertzen 2010/11: 138; pl. 6. 14 Gertzen 2021. 15 Zauzich 2006: 107; Erman, however, even accused Stern of being an anti-Semite, though probably with the ulterior motive to estrange him from his supporter Ebers; cf. Gertzen

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nothing to substantiate the idea. (Jewish descent did not hinder the career of quite a number of German Egyptologists such as Ebers, as well as Adolf Erman and Wilhelm Spiegelberg, – even if all of them, except Ebers, fell victim to Nazi persecution later on, like Georg Steindorff and, in particular, Walther Wreszinski16). Jewish or not, Stern’s comparatively early death would have spared him such a fate. In the autobiography of Adolf Erman,17 Stern was termed a ‘difficult’ person.18 – Note that Elke Blumenthal has characterized the text as not simply ‘amusing’ but also ‘malicious’. An anecdote in his account concerned the answer Stern customarily gave to inquiries about his wellbeing: ‘Well, my dear, like someone who is not the button on Fortuna’s cap’ (followed habitually by complaints about the baseness of Brugsch and Lepsius). It seems that Erman did not recognize that Stern was quoting from Shakespeare’s Hamlet 2,2, where Guildenstern (!) says: ‘Happy, in that we are not overhappy. On Fortune’s cap we are not the very button’. After Erman had become director of the Egyptian Department (which made him Stern’s superior, although 8 years younger), he quoted a remark to his colleague’s detriment which Stern had made in an earlier quarterly report: ‘The curators occupied themselves with the study of inscriptions’ and would have had denied access to papyri, because publication would ‘devalue’ the objects.19 A more authentic document reflecting Stern’s attitude towards his teachers and colleagues was written in his code in the volume of Heinrich Brugsch’s ‘Uebereinstimmung einer hieroglyphischen Inschrift von Philae’ (1849), in the library of the Egyptian Department. (K.-Th. Zauzich must be credited with deciphering the relatively simple code Stern devised employing letters of the Latin alphabet and occasionally using inversion.) What had this Dr Brugsch achieved when he was as old as I am now? His accomplishments then drew the attention of the learned world – while I am only despised, because of my ignorance. Of course, until now I have had no one who supported me in my efforts, who provided me with the means for pursuing my studies. But I want to achieve what he did – and I shall achieve even more! God bless me!20

2013a: 291, citing SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Erman, Adolf, 21.07.1884. 16 For a general assessment, see Gertzen 2017. 17 Cf. Erman 1929: 167–168; 191. Contrary to what Erman claimed in his autobiography, he intended to take over the directorship of the Egyptian Department and did not yield to Ebers’s suggestion to ‘share’ Lepisus’s legacy amongst them; cf. Gertzen 2013a: 286–296. 18 Blumenthal 1990: 101. 19 Erman 1929: 168. 20 English translation by the author of Zauzich’s German rendering, 2006.

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Fig. 4: Encoded Script, devised by Stern to articulate his desperation and lack of support from his teachers and superiors. Although these words might be interpreted as expressing self-pity and possibly envy of Brugsch as well, they nonetheless are also indicative of a strong will to prevail against all odds. The letter is dated 12 August 1872, Stern’s 26th birthday, at the time when he was about to travel to Egypt where he would join Ebers (see supra). His deep-felt gratitude to the man who later became his Doktorvater is expressed in another encoded text, using the letters of the Coptic alphabet to write in German. Apart from some humble phrases – resulting partly from the use of

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Coptic formulae and partly from the dictates of decorum common to contemporaneous German Gelehrtenkorrespondenz – this letter reveals Stern to be witty, grateful, and considerate towards his teacher. The conclusion is optimistic without a hint of any friction – admittedly, highly unlikely for a Christmas card and – linguistic talent or not – probably not being discussed in Coptic.

Fig. 5: Coptic Letter by ⳨ ⲗⲟⲩⲇⲟⲟⲩⲓⲕⲟⲥ ⲥⲧⲉⲣⲛ to Georg Ebers. Ludwig Stern, the Hildesheimer, this humble servant, now living in Berlin, sends greetings to his beloved friend, Georg Ebers, the great and wise Leipziger: Be well in the Lord! May He be praised on this aforementioned day which was chosen and is very honoured throughout the entire year, the birthday of our Savior, for He brings me hours of pleasure when my eyes glimpse the box which you sent me. My heart was filled with joy and my mouth with rejoicing when I opened it and saw the three jugs filled with pure wine which is a delight – and I praise your kindness which always remembers me in such a goodly manner. I thank you, my beloved master, many times over, for what you have done for me, since you have truly been my consolation and supporter more than any other on earth. May God reward you in equal measure for your love of humankind. But I was saddened and distressed when I read that you have been unwell, and I ask God every day to take pity on you and show you mercy with a rapid recovery. And may your patience never cease – rejoice, rather, in hope! The Lord, however, will not put us to shame in that which we expect of

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Him and He will give us help. Be healthy and think of me! I have written on day 29 of the month of December in the year 1878.21 Cairo: a twist of fate, librarian for the Khedive The alienation between Ludwig Stern and his professor Heinrich Brugsch, was not merely due to the latter’s sudden departure for Egypt in 1869, seemingly abandoning his student in Göttingen, but rather to his ill-fated attempt to make amends. After settling into his new position in Cairo, Brugsch mentioned there might be a job opportunity in Cairo and he hinted that he would support Stern’s appointment. That, however, did not happen, although Stern had already arrived in Egypt and was now stranded there.22 In this dire predicament, Ebers suggested that Stern accompany him on his planned journey through Egypt; at its conclusion, Ebers secured for Stern the position of director of the newly founded Khedivial Library in Cairo.23

Fig. 6: The Khedivial Library in Cairo. Stern’s term of office, however, was for one year only which he spent creating, in the main, a ‘Descriptive Catalogue of Manuscripts’ and compiling an inventory of French and English publications. He also catalogued the Egyptological hold-

21

Magen’s German translation (2013: 166–168) rendered into English by the author. Erman 1929: 167–168. 23 Mangold 2007: 54–56. 22

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ings of the Societas aegyptiaca library which had been incorporated into the Khedivial Library, along with many other private collections and libraries.24 He then published his findings and informed his German and international colleagues about his work.25 As often happens, conflicts arose between the librarian’s prioritization of cataloguing and systemizing the holdings on the one hand, and the demand of the readers on the other for accessibility and assistance with research. The Austrian Arabist and Islamic scholar Ignác Goldziher was not impressed by Stern’s conduct, remembering: ‘The librarian was then the Egyptologist Stern, a student of Brugsch and a protégé of Ebers, a mediocre Arabist, in ‘Mohammedenic’ things as un-knowledgeable as he was unfriendly and unhelpful’.26 – Indeed, Stern’s qualifications as an Arabist as well as a librarian could be questioned; he had not studied (modern) Oriental languages nor had he any experiences in managing a library. What is more, his ‘difficult character’ (see supra), may well have shown through in his dealings with visiting scholars. But it is also conceivable that Goldziher had simply preferred that the post of chief-librarian in Cairo should have gone to an Arabist, or perhaps he was simply envious, as both personal and disciplinary rivalry was commonplace amongst German Orientalists.27 Whatever the circumstances, when Stern was offered a position in the Egyptian Department of the Royal Museums in Berlin, which far better suited his qualifications and interests, he left Cairo and returned to Germany; there he also concentrated on philological research, the study of inscriptions and papyrus manuscripts.28 Berlin: A stranded career and librarian again Thanks to Georg Ebers’s continuing support, Stern obtained the position of a directorial assistant in the Egyptian Department of the Royal Museums where he made the acquaintance of the young scholar Adolf Erman who was employed in the numismatic collection cataloging ‘Oriental’ coins. In the beginning, the two

24

Abdul-Reheim 1989: 125. Cf. Mangold 2007: 57, n. 46. 26 After Mangold 2007: 58; translated into English by the author. 27 In this context, the question whether Stern was of Jewish descent becomes even more important. Erman had accused Stern of being anti-Semitic (see supra n. 15), which paradoxically could also impact dealings between Jews and people of Jewish descent; perhaps Stern wanted to distance himself from Jews? It is also possible however, that Goldziher felt resentment towards ‘apostates’. 28 To the best of my knowledge, Stern’s bibliography has never been published; however, the index of Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde lists 28 items for Stern, dealing with philological, particularly Coptic themes, between 1855 and 1882; cf. Lobies 1975: 116–118. 25

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got along very well. Erman admired his older colleague,29 and both had in common the experience of working in a professional field for which their university training had not prepared them. Erman who felt just as inept to deal with Arab, Turkish, and Persian inscriptions on coins as Stern must have felt when curating the vast collection of Qur’ans in Cairo. In those days, Erman, even seems to have been the more ‘difficult’ character, involved as he was in disputes with the director of the coin collection.30 But Erman nevertheless purposefully pursued a career in Egyptology – contrary to what he later claimed, aiming to succeed Richard Lepsius and to become the most influential figure in the history of Egyptology in Germany, if not internationally. Like Stern, Erman had studied with Lepsius, but initiated his Egyptological career under Ebers. The Leipzig professor – in contrast to Lepsius – went to great lengths to further the careers of all his students, trying to negotiate some balance of interests between them.31 As long as Lepsius lived, no serious conflicts arose.

Fig. 7: Adolf Erman in 1881. Meanwhile, Stern enjoyed his newly achieved station, travelling to the United Kingdom in 1874 and, in the company of the young Russian Egyptologist Vladimir Golénischeff, to Trieste, Bologna, Florence, Rome, Naples, and Turin in 1876. Three years later, he married 22-year-old Meta Bergmann.32 Obviously he could be more sociable than others may have thought. However, he obviously lacked the ambition (and the skills?) to foster his advancement within the museums. Neither the interests of a wider audience nor publicizing his Egyptological

29

Erman 1929: 114; 168. Gertzen 2013a: 104–106. 31 Cf. Fischer 1994: 147–169. 32 Magen 2013: 157. 30

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research seems to have concerned Stern; moreover, he neglected seeking the essential connections to Berlin’s high society and did not cultivate the relationship with his superiors. In sharp contrast, Erman had not only obtained a Privatdozentur (i.e. the formal qualification necessary for appointment as a professor), but apparently also to have devised a very clear career agenda. Even before Lepsius’s death, Ebers had deliberated the proposal in a letter to Erman that he should get the professorship and Stern become the director of the Egyptian Department in the Royal Museums.33 Eleven days after Lepsius died on 10 July 1884, Erman confirmed his willingness to accept the proposed ‘hereditary division’ in a letter to Ebers, but added a lengthy assessment of Stern’s shortcomings, both as a museum administrator and in his dealings with colleagues and superiors, while simultaneously asserting that he would not be scheming against Stern.34 In October 1884, he had to advise Ebers that the Prussian Ministry of Culture would ‘demand’ that he take on both the professorship and the post as director in the Egyptian Department.35 Erman continued to attribute the blame for the disregard of Stern’s ambitions to others, culminating in the hypocrite assertion that he had to accept the post as director ‘à contre cœur’ at the end of 1884. Stern was offered an Extraordinariat (an ‘extraordinary’ professorship at the university), the (meaningless) title of Direktor, a raise, and the supervision of a specific part of the Egyptian Collection – but that was simply not enough for Stern.36 To avoid further friction, the Ministry gave him a position in the Department of Oriental Manuscripts at the Royal Library in Berlin, eventually with the promotion to director in 1905.37 According to the classical scholar and librarian Emil Jacobs, Stern and his new colleagues did not warm up to each other: Few knew him personally; at the Royal Library, only the older colleagues were acquainted with him – and even amongst them, just in his role, but not personally. There were no bonds of anything like friendship. Outside the circle of his professional contacts – especially during his last decades – very few were close to him, but he also had no enemies, neither at the library nor elsewhere. A quiet man, sufficient unto himself.38 33

Even offering Erman his Leipzig chair, if the former would be considered too young at the time of Lepsius’s demise; cf. Gertzen 2013a: 289–290, citing: BStuUB, Nl. Erman: Ebers, Georg, 10.01.1884. 34 Gertzen 2013a: 290–291, citing: SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Erman, Adolf, 21.07.1884: ‘Ich brauche wohl kaum zu versichern, dass ich nicht gegen Stern intrigire [sic]’. 35 Gertzen 2013a: 291, citing: SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Erman, Adolf, 31.10.1884. 36 Gertzen 2013a: 292–293, citing: SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Erman, Adolf, 31.12.1884; Stern expressed his views in a lengthy letter to Ebers: SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers, Stern, Ludwig, 08.01.1885, cited by Magen 2013: 163–164. 37 Magen 2013: 158. 38 Jacobs 1912: 26–27.

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Fig. 8: Reading Hall within the Berlin Royal Library. During his years in the Egyptian Department, Stern worked at cataloguing Coptic manuscripts for his Grammar. One of his main duties now in the Royal Library became the management of bequests and autograph collections, which today include the correspondence of his teacher Ebers and various other Egyptologists, as well as those letters of his own which are preserved. One of his better-known achievements is the inventory of the Varnhagen von Ensesche Collection.39 He seems to have been rather enthusiastic about the task, writing to Ebers at the time: At the Library I am currently working on the catalogue for the Varnhagen Collection, which is so rich that I actually live through the first half of this [19th] century. Were you still acquainted with Varnhagen von Ense, Ludmilla Assing, Count Pückler?40 I associate with them every day.41 Perhaps Stern really led a self-contained and contented life, enjoying his research, and not concerned with ‘networking’ and the advancement of his career. Due to his broad spectrum of interests and competences (in linguistics) he had also prepared, unwittingly perhaps, for a second career in an entirely different discipline.

39

Rahel Antonie Friederike Varnhagen was a German author who hosted one of the most prominent salons in Berlin of the 18th and 19th centuries; cf. Hertz 1988; for Stern’s compilation, cf. Varnhagen Gesellschaft. Internet resource. 40 German nobleman, landscape gardener, and author of a number of travel-books also dealing with Egypt and the Sudan under Muhammad ‘Alī. 41 SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Stern, Ludwig, 23.02.1892; cited by Varnhagen Gesellschaft. Internet resource.

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However, he did not leave the museum nor Egyptology without a battle, allying himself with the most improbable of confederates against Erman. An attempted coup Amongst the various spoils to be taken up by Lepsius’s successors after his death in 1884, was the editorship of the Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde. Founded by Heinrich Brugsch in 1863, this was the first, and for some time the only journal specializing in Egyptology. Soon after the first volumes were published, Brugsch left for Egypt and transferred the editorship to his arch-enemy Richard Lepsius.42 The latter, being preoccupied with his various other obligations as university professor, member of the Prussian Academy, museum director, German Archaeological Institute official and, finally, also director of the Royal Library – a concentration of power, which certainly inspired his successor – Lepsius relegated the duties of editor to his youngest student, Erman. Since the editorship was not remunerated, Erman must have presumed that no one would try to snatch it from him. – But he was wrong. It is not entirely clear whether either or both Brugsch and Stern had speculated on an appointment to one of the posts formerly held by Lepsius, and so considered the editorship as some sort of complementary means to strengthen his position. Or, alternatively, thought it might be wielded as a sword against an all-powerful professor cum director. Neither eventuality proved to be correct. Erman reported the ‘Staatsstreich’ (= coup) in a letter to the ancient historian Eduard Meyer, one of his closest friends.43 Although it might seem justified for the founder of the Zeitschrift to re-claim the editorship when he returned from Egypt, Brugsch did not inform Erman, who was simply told by the publisher to hand over the manuscripts and editorial corrections.44 Indicative of his ‘guilty conscience’ and with remarkable dissimulation, given his personal relationship with the deceased, Brugsch published an apologia in the next issue of ZÄS and also an obituary of Lepsius, stating:

42

Obviously, he had no other choice; Lepsius had tried to crush Brugsch’s career, even when the latter was still a schoolboy (!); later he denied him access to his lectures at the university in Berlin – something so outrageous that the episode was incorporated into the official history of the university. Although the two scholars agreed on a cease-fire, mediated by Alexander von Humboldt, there was certainly ‘no love lost between them’. Cf. Gertzen 2013b: 71–74. 43 BBAW, Nl. Meyer: Sig. 575, Erman, Adolf, 22.07.1884. 44 Cf. Gertzen 2013b: 68–69, citing: SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Erman, Adolf, 21.07.1884, once again calling it a ‘Staatsstreich’.

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Fig. 9a Fig. 9a–b: Title pages of the Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde in 1884 and 1889. May we, the disciples and masters of our subject, always bear in mind that the spirit of the departed was conciliatory, gladly devoted to the highest goals of scholarship, truly and clearly unmarred by the feeling of personal jealously, comprehending fully its great purposes.45

45

Brugsch 1884a: 46, English translation by the author.

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Fig. 9b

And to the readers of the Zeitschrift: The conviction that commemorating the contribution of Richard Lepsius, the blessed departed doyen of Egyptology, to the Zeitschrift, might be best served in the interest of its continued existence and thriving as during his twenty-year efforts [as its editor] (cut short only by his death), not wanting to jeopardize its future but rather persevering in the spirit of the deceased, as strength might allow and without hesitancy, gave the undersigned

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founder [of the journal], following the death of that great scholar, the courage to comply with the request of the publishing house J. C. Hinrichs to again assume the editorship, and to do so with alacrity.46 Georg Ebers, who could not muster much enthusiasm for Brugsch, paid tribute to Lepsius’s work for ZÄS in the biography of his teacher and also mentioned Erman’s work as deputy editor.47 The title-page of the 1884 issue (fig. 9a), however, provided detailed information: ‘Founded, 1863 by H. Brugsch; published and continued by K. R. Lepsius, 1864–1884; continued by H. Brugsch with the assistance of L. Stern.’ Erman is conspicuous by his absence. He had written in protest to the publisher, withdrew his name from the Zeitschrift, and no longer contributed articles. But Brugsch’s triumph was not long-lasting. The prestigious and highly influential editorship of ZÄS would have constituted a powerful instrument in the hands of a tenured professor, less so for an aging scholar in a precarious professional position. Only four years later, Erman could announce to Ebers a ‘peace treaty’, not failing to mention that Brugsch had ‘surrendered’ and that he had ‘built bridges of gold’ for the defeated.48 This settlement seems to have been detrimental for Ludwig Stern, whose name no longer appeared on the title page of the journal (fig. 9b). Given Stern’s unwillingness to work under Erman in the Royal Museums, it may also be that he did not wish to do so in the context of the Zeitschrift. Even in alliance with Brugsch, Stern now had finally failed in securing for himself a share in the Egyptological legacy of Lepsius. A second career in Celtology Barbara Magen has pointed out that Stern had confided to Ebers as early as 1877 that he had lost some of his original enthusiasm for Egyptology. The continuing, ground-breaking research into ancient Egyptian grammar and texts seems not to have satisfied Stern’s literary interests, and he desired to contribute to a broader discussion of intellectual history.49 At the Royal Library, Stern had initially devoted some efforts to the study of Celtic, or rather Gaelic and Irish texts. His decision to turn his back on Egyptology after leaving the museum was final. He did not attempt to fill the vacant professorships, formerly held by Brugsch in Göttingen or by Ebers in Leipzig – in contrast to another ‘lesser known’ Egyptologist Richard Pietschmann, who probably would have willingly embraced the Göttingen professorship, but had to settle for a job at the University Library, becoming 46

Brugsch 1884b, English translation by the author. – the original is a prime example of the German tendency for long sentences and ‘disregard’ for the verb (which is relegated to the conclusion of the sentence); the style is certainly representative of scholars of Brugsch’s generation. 47 Ebers 1885: 243. 48 Cf. Gertzen 2013b, citing: SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Erman, Adolf, 27.11.1888. 49 Magen 2013: 162, n. 37, citing SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Stern, Ludwig, 07.02.1877.

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its director in 1904.50 Stern actually seems to have preferred working in a library, without any teaching obligations, but rather with an abundance of manuscripts and specialized literature, as was at his disposal in the Royal Library.51

Fig. 10a: Title page of the Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Vol. 1, 1897.

50

For Pietschmann: Gertzen 2019. Cf. Magen 2013: 164, citing letters of Georg Ebers to Eduard Meyer and Stern to the former: BBAW, Nl. Meyer: Sig. 557, Ebers, Georg, 16.07.1889; SBB-PK, Nl. Ebers: Stern, Ludwig, 28.02.1885. 51

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Fig. 10b: Celtologist Kuno Meyer, brother of the famous historian Eduard. In 1896 Stern decided to establish jointly with Kuno Meyer a periodical entitled Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie.52 Although Stern was not aiming at a professional career in that field, his works were appreciated by his new colleagues: From the literary side, too, came Stern, librarian in Berlin, once he had given up the study of Egyptology. The Irish saga of Finn, known otherwise as the Ossianic Cycle, found in him a skilful investigator. His studies extended also to other branches of Irish and Welsh poetry. It may well be asked why librarians […] rather than representatives of other professions, came to take an affectionate interest in Celtic studies. The library is not, I think, the cause, […]. Perhaps it is because they can make free use of their leisure hours, unlike professors, who are usually obsessed by thoughts of the morrow’s lectures.53 Stern apparently decided before his death in Berlin, at the age of 66, on 9 October 1911 that all his personal papers and correspondence in his possession should be destroyed. Regrettably, his wife carried out his wishes:54

52

Who also later wrote an obituary for him: Meyer 1912. Ní Úrdail 2013: 21, citing Celtologist Rudolf Thurneysen. 54 Which also answers the question posed by Zauzich in 2006: 107, n. 4 concerning the whereabouts of Stern’s Nachlass. 53

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Like all other scholars he had made no arrangements about his books and manuscripts, and yet that had been uppermost in his mind during his last minutes. He kept on saying in an almost inaudible voice ‘alles verbrennen’, meaning no doubt his letters, sketches of work, etc. His widow had only too faithfully carried out his instruction and burnt all his correspondence with Lepsius, Brugsch, Ebers, etc., as well as all his other papers.55 In lieu of a professional assessment of his achievements in the field of Celtic Studies (which is beyond the ken of the author), a lengthy quotation from Meidhbhín Ní Úrdail may be cited here:56 Celtic scholarship is much the poorer by the death of Ludwig Christopher [sic] Stern […] Unlike most of the other Celtic scholars of the Continent, his interest in Irish lay more in the modern language than in Old and Middle Irish, though he was also familiar with these branches of the subject and made use of his knowledge of the older forms of the language in the explanation of modern Irish texts which he edited. His most important work for modern Irish was his edition of Merriman’s famous poem, ‘The Midnight Court,’ the first critical edition of this work ever published. This work filled from pages 193 to 415 of the ‘Zeitschrift fuer Celtische Philologie,’ the philological journal founded by himself and Professor Kuno Meyer and edited jointly by them. He gave the Irish text, a German translation in the same metre, and most copious notes and vocabulary. The vocabulary shows what a thoroughgoing and methodical worker he was. Not only does it give the Middle Irish form of the word in every case, but various modern Irish authorities are quoted, including the ‘Gaelic Journal,’ which shows that the editor must have studied every word that appeared in Irish works, including an Irish Life of St. Margaret, and last year he discovered and brought out a new find in Old Irish glosses which is now in the Royal Library, Berlin. He was also an authority on Scottish Gaelic and Manx and was a fine Welsh scholar.57 Assessing Ludwig Stern’s scholarly achievements Although Ludwig Stern belonged to the earliest generation of German Egyptologists, his name, nowadays, is almost forgotten among his successors. Of course, that provides an insufficient basis for determining his importance within the history of the discipline, for it is a fate shared with many others. The focus of his 55

Cited from a letter by Kuno Meyer to Richard Irvine Best, 15.11.1911, in: Ní Úrdail 2013: 11. 56 It can be added, however, that he was elected honorary member of the Royal Irish Academy in Dublin; cf. Magen 2013: 158. 57 Ní Úrdail 2013: 41.

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research first on Coptology and then later on Celtology, may furnish extenuating circumstances, while his failure to attain a professorship, against the backdrop of an ever-increasing professionalization within German academia, meant his professional standing was downgraded in the long run. But there is more to consider than just the setting of research priorities and yet even more than the many instances of personal rivalry and intrigues experienced by Stern during his lifetime – and for which he seemed ill-prepared, thanks to his reserve (and shyness as well?). Stern epitomized the ‘Old School’ Egyptologist.58 Like his teachers Lepsius and Ebers, he wanted to integrate Egyptian and Coptic texts into a wider canon of World Literature and History. Erman’s noteworthy comment that Stern would have been a typical representative of the ‘Göttingen School’ of Heinrich Ewald,59 points in an important direction. Ewald’s ‘school’, aiming to combine Oriental Studies with comparative linguistics, did not prevail in German academia but was strongly and successfully opposed by other Orientalists, culminating in the remarks of Heinrich L. Fleischer who called Ewald’s approach a ‘synthetic-speculative method’ while Georg W. Freytag warned his tudents against the ‘poison of Ewald’, labelling Ewald himself an ‘Arch-ignorant’.60 Stern did not have a stomach for academic intrigues or open conflicts; rather, he preferred working in his quiet ‘cabinet’, surrounded by multitudes of books and manuscripts, the epitome of a typical German Stubengelehrter or gentlemanscholar. His younger competitor Erman, however, had realized that the future lay with large-scale projects like the Berlin Woerterbuch, state-funded and supported by the attention of a broad public, inspired by spectacular discoveries, and serving national prestige and Weltgeltung – and furthermore, with a penchant for strategic career-planning. Switching to Celtology for Stern offered the opportunity to evade academic bickering and to pursue his literary interests, dealing with a wider range of languages and – amongst an even smaller group of highly-specialized scholars as well as interested dilettantes – to avoid the demanding tasks of a university professor in the evolving ‘Großbetrieb der Wissenschaften’ (~ big science), as Adolf Harnack termed it.61 Considering his contributions to the foundation of Coptic Grammar and ancient Egyptian lexicography, his diligent work as a librarian both in Cairo and Berlin, along with his engagement in Celtic Studies, establishing a specialized journal and publishing important text-editions, earn Stern the appropriate label of polymath, or rather polyglot, fully justifying his characterization as a ‘Giant’.

58

For that cf. Gertzen 2013a: 123–146; Gertzen 2013b: 78–81. Cf. Erman 1929: 167, n. 7. 60 Cf. Mangold 2004: 96, n. 454 and 457. 61 Harnack 1905; for the situation in German Egyptology cf. Gertzen 2013a: 194–202. 59

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On the other hand, this – as so often – is a matter of context and scale. The dimensions and the institutional frame of scholarship altered significantly during Stern’s lifetime. The individual scholar, mastering various fields of research, secluded from the world around him in a quiet cabinet, was replaced by large-scale research enterprises, organized within the framework of state-funded universities and academies of science and humanities, ‘dwarfing’ the individual scholar to a greater extent. Stern made his way nonetheless and deserves recognition in retrospect as an important figure in the history of both his disciplines, but also as a case study for their changing structures. Archival Sources Berlin Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften [= BBAW]: Nachlass Eduard Meyer. Bremer Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek [= BStUB]. Handschriftenlesesaal: Nachlass Adolf Erman. Staatsbibliothek Berlin. Preußischer Kulturbesitz [= SBB-PK]: Nachlass Georg Ebers. Universitätsarchiv Leipzig [= UAL]: Promotionsakte Ludwig Stern, UAL, Phil. Fak. Prom. 1290. Bibliography Abdul-Reheim, O. 1989. ‘Egypt, the National Library of’. In A. Kent (ed.), Encyclopedia of Library and Information Science, 45. New York: Marcel Dekker, 125–127. Anonymous. 1911. ‘Another scholar dead’. An Claidheamh Solais, October, 28. Bierbrier, M.L. 2019. Who Was Who in Egyptology, 5th ed. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Blumenthal, E. 1990. ‘Koptische Studien in Leipzig im Laufe des 19. Jahrhunderts’. In P. Nagel (ed.), Carl-Schmidt-Kolloquium an der Martin-Luther-Universität 1988. Halle a.d.S.: Martin-Luther Univ., 95–104. Brugsch, H. 1884a. ‘Nachruf. Karl Richard Lepsius’. Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 22: 45–46. — 1884b. ‘An die Leser der Zeitschrift’. Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 22: 49. Ebers, G. 1885. Richard Lepsius. Ein Lebensbild. Leipzig: Wilhelm Engelmann. Erman, A. 1929. Mein Werden und mein Wirken. Erinnerungen eines alten Berliner Gelehrten. Leipzig: Quelle & Meyer. Feder, F. 2013. ‘Stern, Ludwig’. Neue Deutsche Biographie 25: 278–279 [OnlineVersion]; URL: https://www.deutsche-biographie.de/pnd11727643X.html# ndbcontent (25.04.2021).

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Fischer, H. 1994. Der Ägyptologe Georg Ebers. Eine Fallstudie zum Problem Wissenschaft und Öffentlichkeit im 19. Jahrhundert. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Gertzen, T.L. 2010/11. ‘The Anglo-Saxon-Branch of Berlin School. The war-correspondence (1914–1916) of J. H. Breasted (1865–1935) and J. P. A. Erman (1854–1937)’. Egyptian & Egyptological Documents, Archives & Libraries 2: 145–168, pl. 5–6. — 2012. ‘Ludovicus noster – Ludwig Christian Stern (1846–1911)’. Kemet. Die Zeitschrift für Ägyptenfreunde 2012/1: 63. — 2013a. École de Berlin und Goldenes Zeitalter der Ägyptologie als Wissenschaft. Das Lehrer-Schüler-Verhältnis von Ebers, Erman und Sethe. Berlin: De Gruyter. — 2013b. ‘Brennpunkt ZÄS. Die redaktionelle Korrespondenz ihres Gründers H. Brugsch und die Bedeutung von Fachzeitschriften für die Genese der Ägyptologie Deutschlands’. In S. Bickel et al. (eds), Ägyptologen und Ägyptologien zwischen Kaiserreich und Gründung der beiden deutschen Staaten. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Beihefte 1. Berlin: De Gruyter, 63–112. — 2017. Judentum und Konfession in der Geschichte der deutschsprachigen Ägyptologie. Berlin: De Gruyter. — 2019. ‘Bewahrer hermetischer Schriften: Richard Pietschmann (1851–1923)’. In J. Arp-Neumann and T.L. Gertzen (eds), „Steininschrift und Bibelwort“. Ägyptologen und Koptologen Niedersachsens. Rahden/Westf.: Marie Leidorf, 25–30. — 2021. ‘Der Mathematiker und Ägyptologe Simeon Levi: Aus dem Ghetto in die Wissenschaft. Eine Fallstudie zur Emanzipation der Juden in Italien’. Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte 73: 90–103. Grapow, H. 1935. ‘Adolf Erman. Bibliographie’. Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 71: 1–14. Harnack, A. 1905. ‘Vom Großbetrieb der Wissenschaft’. Preußische Jahrbücher 119: 193–201. Hertz, D. 1988. Jewish High Society in Old Regime Berlin. New Haven: Yale University Press. Jacobs, E. 1912. ‘Ludwig Stern’. Zentralblatt für Bibliothekswesen 29: 26–31. Lobies, J.-P. (ed.), 1975. Index Multiplex ad Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 1863–1943. Osnabrück: Biblio. Magen, B. 2013. ‘Ein Ägyptologe zwischen Keltologie und Bibliothek’. In S. Bickel et al. (eds), Ägyptologen und Ägyptologien zwischen Kaiserreich und Gründung der beiden deutschen Staaten. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Beihefte 1. Berlin: De Gruyter, 155–169. Mangold, S. 2004. Eine „weltbürgerliche Wisschenschaft“ – Die deutsche Orientalistik im 19. Jahrhundert. Stuttgart: Steiner.

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— 2007. ‘Die Khedivial-Bibliothek zu Kairo und ihre deutschen Bibliothekare (1871–1914)’. Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 157: 49–76. Meyer, K. 1912. ‘Ludwig Christian Stern’. Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie 8: 583–587. Ní Úrdail, M. 2013. ‘Ludwig Christian Stern, ollamh is seanchaidhe’. Léachtaí Cholm Cille 43: 21–57. Reid, D.M. 2002. Whose Pharaohs? Archaeology, Museums, and Egyptian National Identity from Napoleon to World War I. Berkeley: University of California Press. Schmidt, H. 2019. ‘Ein Preuße in Göttingen. Heinrich Brugsch (1827–1894)’. In J. Arp-Neumann and T.L. Gertzen (eds), „Steininschrift und Bibelwort“. Ägyptologen und Koptologen Niedersachsens. Rahden/Westf.: Marie Leidorf, 19–24. Universität Bonn. Abteilung für Keltologie: Ludwig Christian Stern. https:// www.keltologie.uni-bonn.de/forschung/publikationen/zcp/herausgeber/ludw ig-christian-stern (14.02.2023). Varnhagen Gesellschaft: Der Katalog von Ludwig Stern. http://www.varnhagen. info/stern.html (14.02.2023). Viterbo, E. 1998. ‘The Ciphered Autobiography of a 19th Century Egyptologist’. Cryptologia 22: 231–243. Voss, S. 2009. ‘Ludwig Borchardts Recherche zur Herkunft des pEbers’. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 65: 373– 376. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2006. ‘Ein wissenschaftsgeschichtliches Curiosum’. Göttinger Miszellen 210: 106–107.

The Female Perspective

Hermine Hartleben Une vie et une œuvre au service de l’égyptologie allemande et française Hélène Virenque

Égyptologue ? Historiographe ? Biographe ? Quel titre peut-on associer à Hermine Hartleben (1846–1919), connue principalement pour sa biographie de JeanFrançois Champollion publiée en 1906. Autodidacte en lisière du monde académique, femme savante dans un monde d’hommes, Allemande menant des recherches dans une France encore marquée par la guerre contre la Prusse, son parcours est intéressant à plusieurs titres. Personnalité évoluant hors du milieu universitaire, elle reflète néanmoins les enjeux scientifiques et diplomatiques de la recherche égyptologique au tournant du XXe siècle. Les lettres échangées avec les grandes figures de l’égyptologie française et allemande de son temps dessinent un portrait original de cette passionnée d’Égypte ancienne.1 Née le 2 juin 1846, Hermine Hartleben grandit dans une famille protestante près du village d’Altenau, au cœur du massif montagneux du Harz, à une centaine de kilomètres au sud-est de Hanovre, où son père travaille comme ingénieur forestier. Bien qu’il ne semble pas qu’elle ait suivi des cours d’égyptologie, elle s’intéresse à l’Égypte ancienne grâce à ses lectures de la Bible durant sa jeunesse. À Hanovre, elle passe l’examen pour devenir enseignante de français et d’anglais, puis, peut-être parce qu’à cette époque, ni le royaume de Hanovre, ni la Prusse n’autorisaient les femmes à poursuivre des études supérieures et aussi sans doute pour perfectionner son français, elle s’installe à Paris, entre 1870 environ et 1879. Elle y travaille probablement comme enseignante et suit en parallèle, pendant deux ans, comme auditrice, les cours de Georges Perrot qui occupe la chaire

1

Sa vie peut être retracée grâce à sa correspondance conservée en France, en Allemagne et en Suisse. À Paris, la bibliothèque de l’Institut de France (ci-après écrit IdF) conserve 89 lettres adressées, en allemand ou en français à Gaston Maspero entre 1889 et 1913 (correspondance et papiers de Gaston Maspero, Ms 4022, f. 114–301). À Brême se trouvent 9 lettres envoyées à Adolf Erman (SuUB, Nachlass Adolf Erman, 1889–1891) et à Genève 2 reçues par Édouard Naville (Bibliothèque de Genève, Ms fr. 2522, f. 151–152, 1889 et 1905). Enfin, Martin Hartleben, son arrière-petit-neveu m’a très aimablement transmis des copies de documents et de lettres en sa possession. Hermine Hartleben a fait l’objet de plusieurs articles : Lang 1989, Wellner 2006 – une référence en raison du travail détaillé mené dans les archives allemandes – Virenque 2013 et 2015. Voir également Bierbrier 2019 : 208 où il faut corriger la date de décès en 1919. Les extraits cités dans cet article sont retranscrits dans la langue d’origine. Je remercie Thomas Gertzen pour son aide lors de l’identification des archives conservées en Allemagne.

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d’archéologie grecque à la Sorbonne entre 1876 et 1883.2 En septembre 1879, elle quitte Paris : elle est recrutée par une école grecque de jeunes filles, Zappeion, créée récemment à Istanbul, pour enseigner le français, l’allemand et la musique. Elle y reste entre six mois et un an sans que nous ne possédions plus de précisions sur son séjour.

Fig. 1 : Hermine Hartleben. Ensuite, peut-être vers 1883, elle rejoint l’Égypte, où elle s’établit pendant six ans.3 Une unique lettre, non datée, adressée à sa famille nous donne des détails

2

« Je vous ai adressé dernièrement une de mes anciennes auditrices de la Sorbonne, Mlle Hartleben, qui est une personne intelligente et curieuse » (IdF, Ms 4024, f. 387, lettre de Georges Perrot à Gaston Maspero, 19 novembre 1884) ; « Permettez-moi de recommander à toute votre amicale bienveillance Mlle H. Hartleben, qui a suivi pendant deux ans mon cours d’archéologie à la Sorbonne et qui a la passion de l’Égypte » (IdF, Ms 4024, f. 389, lettre de G. Perrot à G. Maspero, 7 décembre 1884). 3 « Meine grosse Vorliebe für die gesamte altägyptische Kultur, die durch einen fast sechs-

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sur ses activités : elle enseigne le français aux jeunes enfants d’un haut dignitaire, « Son excellence Khaïri Pacha », qui l’héberge dans son palais peuplé d’esclaves circassiennes et d’eunuques situé près de la place Tahrir. Il s’agit probablement d’un ministre du khédive Tawfik Pacha qui règne entre 1879 et 1892. En parallèle de ses leçons, elle profite de son séjour pour découvrir l’Égypte ancienne, comme en témoigne le passage d’une lettre adressée par Georges Perrot à Gaston Maspero en 1884 : Elle y [en Égypte] vit déjà depuis bien des mois ; mais cet hiver sera le premier pendant lequel elle pourra étudier à loisir votre beau musée, qu’elle n’a fait qu’entrevoir pendant un séjour au Caire qui lui a paru bien court et qui lui a laissé de chers souvenirs […] Je vous serai très reconnaissant de tout ce que vous pourrez faire pour lui faciliter soit l’étude du Musée de Boulaq et des nécropoles voisines du Caire, soit la promenade qu’elle voudrait entreprendre jusqu’à Louqsor. Depuis 1881, Gaston Maspero est le directeur du Service des antiquités et du musée de Boulaq ; peut-être l’a-t-il croisée ou lui a-t-il écrit suite à ce courrier ? Durant son séjour, elle se rend dans le Delta ainsi qu’en Haute-Égypte et visite des chantiers de fouilles français et anglais. Après son retour en Prusse, Hartleben s’investit dans un projet ambitieux à partir de début 1889 ; il lui permet de se faire connaître dans les milieux égyptologiques et académiques européens, en grande partie grâce au soutien de Gaston Maspero, auprès de qui Perrot la recommande : elle souhaite que la Prusse s’engage sur le terrain archéologique en Égypte, comme le font les Français et les Anglais. En 1881 déjà, l’égyptologue August Eisenlohr avait proposé à l’empereur Guillaume Ier de créer un institut allemand au Caire. Néanmoins, le projet est définitivement abandonné en novembre 1889 pour des raisons aussi bien académiques que politiques.4 Hartleben n’est mentionnée nulle part dans cette initiative5 et elle-même n’y fait étrangement pas référence dans sa correspondance. Elle évoque son idée pour la première fois auprès de Maspero dans une lettre de janvier 1889 : Ne trouvez-vous pas, Monsieur, que l’Allemagne (gouvernement comme société) devrait faire – pour la première fois d’abord – quelque effort efficace pour encourager l’égyptologie en lui ouvrant de nouvelles ressources ? La France, toujours généreuse, a donné bon exemple, qu’on le suive enfin, au bénéfice de l’humanité […] qui ne risque rien, n’aura rien. jährigen Aufenthalt in Ägypten noch verstärkt wurde […] » précise-t-elle dans l’introduction de sa biographie de Champollion (Hartleben 1906: XVII). 4 Thissen 2006: 194–195. En 1886, Eisenlohr avait même soumis l’idée à Maspero de créer un institut international au Caire (David 1999: 145–146). 5 Son nom n’apparaît pas non plus dans l’étude de l’histoire du DAI menée par Siegfried Wöllfling (Wöllfling 1960) ni dans la publication de Susanne Voss (Voss 2013).

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J’ai parlé aujourd’hui à Brugsch, Erman, Stern. Ils ne rient point ni de l’idée, ni de la manière de sa réalisation finale. […]. Et vous, Monsieur, si loyalement dévoué à des explorations archéologiques, vous seriez le premier de vous réjouir d’un résultat réel de mes aspirations, n’est-ce pas ? Mais je ne suis qu’une faible femme, il ne me faut pas oublier qu’une voix comme la mienne expirerait sans éveiller un écho puissant dans l’opinion publique ! J’y ai pensé et j’agirai conformément. Ce sont vos collègues d’Allemagne et d’Autriche (j’aimerais bien la Suisse aussi6) qui doivent m’aider un peu, et d’après ce que je vois, ils le feront probablement.7 Dans d’autres missives adressées à l’égyptologue français, elle s’enquiert des sites susceptibles d’être fouillés, du budget à prévoir, du nombre d’ouvriers à recruter, etc. Si elle cite des égyptologues en poste dans différentes institutions allemandes, elle choisit surtout d’évoquer le modèle de l’Egypt Exploration Fund « welcher über bedeutende Mittel verfügt und schon seit einer Reihe von Jahren dieselben mit bestem Erfolg auf ägyptischen Boden verwertet, ist aus privaten Mitteln gegründet worden ; sollte es da nicht Deutschland ebenso gut möglich machen können, in ähnlicher Weise ein gleiches Unternehmen in’s Werk zu setzen ? »8 Le financement privé semble privilégié par rapport au modèle français de fonds publics, incarné par la Mission française permanente au Caire créé en 1880 par Maspero. La référence au Fund, fondé en 1882, s’explique en outre parce qu’il est principalement l’œuvre de Amelia B. Edwards, une passionnée d’Égypte antique sans formation académique, à laquelle Hartleben s’identifie facilement,9 et aussi une femme, un statut auquel elle fait allusion dans un texte imprimé en mai 1889 : Diejenigen, die Anstoss daran nehmen, dass eine Frau ein solches Unternehmen ins Leben rufen will, seien in aller Bescheidenheit daran erinnert, dass der grossartig gestaltete „Egypt exploration fund“ auf Anregung von Miss Edwards entstanden ist.10 Hartleben cherche à convaincre en parallèle le ministre des cultes Gustav von Goßler, notamment grâce à une lettre du 29 avril 1889 (Annexe 1) où elle évoque des mécènes intéressés par le projet, dont Götz Graf von Seckendorff, un haut dignitaire de la maison de l’impératrice Victoria, veuve de Frédéric III et souligne le soutien amical de Maspero. Elle y mentionne aussi une épreuve, probablement 6

Elle sollicite l’avis d’Édouard Naville sur d’éventuelles fouilles à Héliopolis dans une lettre du 8 janvier 1889. Elle s’y décrit comme une « Laie », c’est-à-dire une « profane » ou une « amateur » (BGE, Ms fr. 2522, f. 151). 7 IdF, Ms 4022, f. 122–124, lettre en français du 19 janvier 1889. 8 Hartleben 1889. 9 Edwards avait aussi pu compter sur le soutien et les conseils de Maspero en amont de la création de l’EEF en 1882, voir Moon 2006: 165–171 ; David 1999: 113–119. 10 Feuillet imprimé de 2 pages, daté de mai 1889, archives de Martin Hartleben.

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celle d’un prospectus imprimé le mois suivant : simple feuillet de deux pages ayant pour titre « Ausgrabungen in Aegypten betreffend »11, il est signé Hermine Hartleben et contre-signé par Johannes Dümichen, Georg Ebers, Adolf Erman, Ludwig Stern et Rudolf Virchow. Elle nomme plusieurs sites dignes d’être fouillés et ajoute : es handelt sich um die auf privatem Wege zu erreichende Beschaffung der nötigen Mittel, um eine aus deutschen Gelehrten bestehende Gesellschaft behufs Ausgrabungen in grösserem Maasstabe auf ägyptischem Boden auszurüsten. Le projet de Hartleben trouve un écho en France, probablement grâce à l’entregent de Maspero. Un article, anonyme, du Journal des débats du 6 avril 1890, intitulé « La mission du Caire jugée par les étrangers » rend compte d’un article publié par Georg Ebers dans l’Allgemeine Zeitung, probablement en 1887. L’égyptologue allemand souhaite, comme la France, que son pays fonde « un institut archéologique » sur le modèle de la Mission permanente au Caire (actuel Ifao) créé en 1880. La fin de l’article français précise : M. Ebers termine son article par un appel pressant aux autorités allemandes et aux simples particuliers : il les conjure de soutenir de leur argent la tentative que fait Mlle Hermine Hartleben d’établir en Allemagne une société d’exploration qui entreprendrait des fouilles par toute l’Égypte. Une société de ce genre existe en Angleterre depuis 1882 et a déjà obtenu de très heureux résultats. Jusqu’à la fin de l’année 1891, les lettres de Hartleben à Maspero reflètent les hauts et les bas de cette initiative, entre soutiens reçus et entretiens plus ou moins fructueux avec les ministres des cultes successifs en Prusse. Parmi ses appuis, Hartleben peut compter sur le jeune égyptologue Wilhelm Spiegelberg, alors âgé d’une vingtaine d’années, qu’elle évoque ainsi en novembre 1891 dans une lettre à Maspero : « Il va sans dire, que l’entreprise portera un jour, le nom de Mr. Spiegelberg […] et non le mien ».12

11

Hartleben 1889 (Bibliothèque nationale de France, 4-O3A-1755). Une annotation manuscrite sur une feuille à part indique qu’il s’agirait d’un « extrait des comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions de Berlin » mais cette provenance semble erronée car aucune publication ne correspond à ce titre. En outre, on ne trouve pas de trace d’un article de Hartleben dans les publications académiques de cette époque relatives à son projet. Le document pourrait correspondre davantage à une épreuve, non publiée, qu’elle aurait annotée, comme le prouve un paragraphe manuscrit en allemand ajouté à côté du texte. La mention « vertraulich » (« confidentiel ») imprimée sur la première page vient confirmer la faible diffusion de ce texte. 12 IdF, Ms 4022, f. 134, lettre du 16 novembre 1891. Le frère de Hartleben vivait à Dorlisheim entre 1888 et 1890 et elle lui a souvent rendu visite ; il se pourrait donc que son

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Il est difficile de déterminer quel a été l’écho de cette initiative, sans doute diffusée auprès d’un petit nombre de savants. En effet, les égyptologues impliqués étaient en majorité des philologues, avec Erman à leur tête, et non des archéologues. En outre, d’une part, contrairement à la Grande-Bretagne, les entreprises allemandes de ce type étaient financées par des fonds publics et d’autre part, la Prusse ne considérait sans doute pas comme une priorité de s’investir en Égypte où elle allait se heurter sur le terrain aux puissances françaises et anglaises.13 Fin 1891, c’est à un tout autre projet qu’elle s’attelle, dont le point de départ est une lettre de Spiegelberg. De passage à Paris, il a découvert le portrait de JeanFrançois Champollion au Louvre et conclut : « Wir verehren unseren Meister in ihm, vom Menschen wissen wir leider nichts ».14 Le centième anniversaire de la naissance du savant ayant eu également peu d’écho, elle publie dans les semaines qui suivent un premier article dans le Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, intitulé « Champollion » rédigé sous le pseudonyme de « Theodor Harten ». Les descendants de Jacques-Joseph Champollion-Figeac (1778–1867), le frère aîné et mentor du déchiffreur, ont vent de la publication et prennent contact avec elle. Un second article paraît en 1893, avec pour titre « Die beiden Champollion » dans le Münchener Allgemeine Zeitung. Son intérêt pour l’égyptologue va croissant et les premiers contacts positifs avec la famille du savant l’incitent à poursuivre ses recherches à Paris, à l’Institut de France et à la Bibliothèque nationale, où sont conservés les « Papiers Champollion » depuis 183315 dans le but de rédiger une biographie. Sa méthode consiste à recueillir le plus de documents liés à Champollion conservés chez les descendants du savant ainsi que dans les musées, bibliothèques et lieux d’archives. Elle voyage ainsi entre l’Allemagne, la France, l’Italie et la Suisse en quête de documents.16

entente avec Spiegelberg ait débuté à ce moment-là, lorsque le jeune homme, né à Hanovre, est venu étudier à Strasbourg. 13 « En général, tous ces messieurs [les égyptologues allemands] ont peu d’espoir parce qu’ils savent très bien que le gouvernement qu’ils ont souvent abordé, obstinément refuse de faire (ou de soutenir, du moins) des fouilles en Égypte, « pour ménager la France » me disaient également le ministre von Gossler et Herbert von Bismarck [secrétaire d’État aux affaires étrangères] » (IdF, Ms 4022, f. 118–121 (lettre de H. Hartleben à G. Maspero, 20 juillet 1889). 14 Hartleben 1906, I: XVII. 15 Hartleben 1906, II: 602–603 ; Dewachter 1990. Desclaux 2022. 16 Pour plus de détails, voir son introduction dans Hartleben 1906. Elle publie également quelques articles en allemand sur l’Égypte (Hartleben 1894 ; 1896) et participe à une édition des cours d’histoire de Champollion à Grenoble (Hartleben et de Crozals 1897).

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Fig. 2 : Lettre envoyée à Hermine Hartleben, « homme de lettres », 31 mars 1898. Reprenant le réseau des contacts noués lors de son projet antérieur, elle écrit notamment à Édouard Naville à Genève pour s’enquérir de la présence du catalogue de la collection que Champollion avait rédigé lors de son passage dans la cité calviniste en 1826.17 Ses pas l’amènent régulièrement à Grenoble et surtout à Vif, où réside la petite-fille de Jacques-Joseph Champollion, Alice-Louise de la Brière. Son plus grand soutien demeure sans aucun doute Gaston Maspero, comme l’atteste la dizaine de lettres échangées jusqu’à sa mort en 1914. Les missives qu’elle lui adresse depuis Hanovre, Berlin, Vif ou Grenoble témoignent des encouragements qu’il lui prodigue dans les périodes de doute ou lorsqu’elle doit faire face à la défiance de certains descendants Champollion, comme c’est le cas au début de ses recherches. Il faut souligner le statut un peu à part de Hartleben lorsqu’elle entame ses travaux : si sa maîtrise du français, comme le montre sa correspondance, était excellente, elle reste une « Teutonne » aux yeux de certains Français qu’elle rencontre au cours de son enquête. Ainsi, en mai 1896 à Grenoble, alors qu’elle rédige un chapitre tard dans la nuit : Quelqu’un, Dieu sait qui, se trouvait fort inquiété pour la sécurité de Grenoble en particulier, et pour celle de la France en général en apprenant que moi, étrangère allemande même !! – je me livrais à des allures aussi suspectes. Je fus donc surveillée par la police secrète et un commissaire habillé 17

Le manuscrit n’a été retrouvé qu’en 1941, voir Wild 1972.

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en bourgeois vint parler de ma « conduite suspecte », « correspondance énorme », « masse de papiers » etc. etc. à la vieille dame chez laquelle je suis logée.18 Les critiques ne viennent toutefois pas uniquement de France, mais aussi de son pays natal, à l’instar de Brugsch, probablement Heinrich, lui conseillant, à ses débuts, d’écrire plutôt un livre de cuisine.19 Outre la recherche des manuscrits, elle s’intéresse à l’iconographie du savant, pistant ses portraits et autres monuments édifiés en son honneur après sa mort.20 Lors d’une de ses haltes en Isère, elle fait transporter le célèbre tableau du savant peint par Victorine Genève-Rumilly, alors conservé dans la maison familiale de Vif, à Grenoble, où Edmond Maignien, le conservateur de la bibliothèque de la ville l’aide à le faire photographier. La reproduction du tableau est placée au début de sa biographie.

Fig. 3 : Frontispice de H. Hartleben, Champollion. Sein Leben und sein Werk, 1906. Reproduction du tableau de Victorine Genève-Rumilly conservé au Musée Champollion de Vif, après 1822. 18

IdF, Ms 4022, f. 151–155, lettre du 26 mai 1896. Sur une de ses cartes de visite qui date probablement de cette période, elle ajoute avec ironie sous son nom : « espionne en retraite » en français. 19 « Als ich das Werk anfing, äusserte sich Brugsch dahin, dass ich lieber ein Kochbuch schreiben sollte » (IdF, Ms 4022, f. 192, lettre à G. Maspero, 16 juin 1904). 20 Hartleben 1906: 604–612.

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Après environ quinze années de recherches, la biographie paraît, en allemand et à Berlin, en 1906 : elle consiste en une somme de 1200 pages réparties en 2 volumes.21 Elle évoque dès 1904 son souhait de faire imprimer une version en français mais le projet n’aboutira pas, sans doute pour des raisons financières.22 Les comptes-rendus, souvent l’œuvre d’égyptologues avec qui elle est déjà en lien, sont élogieux,23 évoquant sa position d’« étrangère » qui lui permet d’être impartiale dans son jugement sur un savant en partie auréolé de légende. Ce point est à relativiser car, si le travail de recherches dans les archives familiales et institutionnelles ainsi que la quête de témoignages de proches ayant connu Champollion de son vivant est effectivement à mettre à son crédit, il reste que son approche du personnage est parfois celui d’une passionnée peu objective, fascinée par le « génie » de Champollion et cherchant à tout prix à entretenir la flamme de sa reconnaissance. Le parallèle entre sa propre carrière, entravée parce qu’elle est en grande partie autodidacte et issue d’un milieu modeste, trouve une résonance avec celle du savant qui n’eut pas de diplôme et courait souvent après l’argent : elle le considère comme un « martyr » faisant face à ses ennemis.24 Célibataire, cherchant elle-même des subsides pour vivre et poursuivre ses projets, elle enseigne de temps à autre en Allemagne et change régulièrement de domicile, logeant souvent chez des proches. Maspero l’encourage à publier rapidement les lettres de Champollion écrites depuis l’Italie et l’Égypte. Nul doute que c’est lui qui conseille de se tourner cette fois vers la collection de la Bibliothèque égyptologique qu’il a créée en 1893. Elle passe des mois à surveiller la sortie des épreuves à Chalon-sur-Saône, à « l’imprimerie française et orientale », logeant alors dans la « maison Chabas »25 et échangeant de nombreux courriers avec Maspero pour apporter des corrections au cours du travail d’impression. Les deux volumes édités par Hartleben paraissent en 190926 et elle y rétablit l’intégralité des lettres du savant, qui avaient été coupées à certains endroits dans l’édition de 1833 publiée par Champollion-Figeac27 et y joint les journaux, qui étaient pour la plupart inédits. Toujours noyée dans ses difficultés financières, elle est à nouveau aidée en 1910 par Perrot, devenu secrétaire de l’Académie des Inscriptions et belles-lettres et par Maspero, qui lui obtiennent le Prix Bordin d’un montant de 1000 francs pour cette publication. Cette reconnaissance de ses travaux est essentielle et pallie 21

Hartleben 1906. Une traduction française abrégée et sans les annexes paraît en 1983 (Hartleben 1983). 22 IdF, Ms 4022, f. 190–191, lettre à G. Maspero, 2 janvier 1904. 23 Maspero 1906. 24 IdF, Ms 4022, f. 210–213, lettre à G. Maspero, 28 janvier 1906. 25 Probablement l’ancienne maison de l’égyptologue François Chabas (1817–1882), qui vécut une grande partie de sa vie dans cette ville. 26 Hartleben 1909. 27 Champollion 1833†.

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l’absence de celle d’outre-Rhin dont elle se plaint amèrement dans sa correspondance. En 1907, une écrivaine tente d’intervenir en sa faveur pour lui procurer en vain une pension annuelle28 et à la fin de sa vie, Spiegelberg, toujours attentif, semble y être parvenu.29 Mais jusqu’à son décès en 1919 à Templin, au nord de Berlin, Hartleben est assaillie par des soucis de santé et par les incertitudes professionnelles, sans doute renforcées par le décès soudain de Maspero en 1916. L’attachement viscéral à son sujet d’étude apparaît nettement dans un texte inédit intitulé Stimmen der Vorzeit, Legende für weise Thoren,30 dans lequel une sibylle est témoin d’une épiphanie visant à faire sortir un héros de l’oubli, métaphore transparente de la mission qu’elle s’est attribuée vis-à-vis de Jean-François Champollion. Ce lien la suivra jusqu’après sa mort puisque sur sa pierre tombale est gravé « Hermine Hartleben, Biografin des Egyptologen Champollion ». Gageons que le bicentenaire du déchiffrement des hiéroglyphes en 2022 soit l’occasion de remettre en avant cette figure de l’égyptologie française, dont d’autres archives sont à explorer31 et de lui redonner désormais aussi sa juste place dans l’histoire de l’égyptologie allemande de la fin du XIXe siècle. Annexe 1 Lettre de Hermine Hartleben à Gustav von Goßler, Preußisches Ministerium der geistlichen, Unterrichts- und Medizinalangelegenheiten (Preußischer Kulturbesitz, Geheimes Staatsarchiv, I. HA, Rep 76 Kultusministerium, Ve, Sekt. 15, Abt. IX, Nr. 2, Bd. 5). Sachgebietender Herr Minister, Eure Exzellenz entließen mich am Schluss der letzten mir bewilligten Audienz mit den Worten: ‚Sollte also wirklich eine große Summe aus freiwilligen Beiträgen zusammen kommen, so würde mich das ungemein erfreuen und Sie könnten dann – wie ich schon sagte – auf meine private Förderung des Unternehmens rechnen! Nun aber bringen Sie erst einen lebenden Menschen in die Sache, einen tüchtigen Finanzmann, der für Sie eintritt, und wenn alles einigermaßen in Ordnung ist, können Sie sich mal wieder melden.‘ In dem festen Vertrauen darauf, dass jedes dieser (damals sorgsam gemerkten) Worte noch heute vollgültig ist und dass demnach Eur. Exz. 28

Wellner 2006: 212–213. Lang 1989. 30 Wellner 2006: 214–215. 31 D’après Lang 1989, une caisse d’archives (notes, papiers et correspondances) a été donnée en 1926 à Günther Roeder, alors directeur du Roemer-Pelizaeus-Museum de Hildesheim. Christian Loeben, que je remercie, m’a indiqué qu’elles y étaient toujours conservées (communication orale, juillet 2022). 29

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günstige Stimmung für das angeregte Unternehmen unverändert dieselbe bleibt, erlaube ich mir jetzt, den Probe-Bogen zur Begutachtung vorzulegen und Eur. Exz. zugleich mitzuteilen, dass mir der [illisible] Consul und Rittergutbesitzer Herr Otto Boas, der soeben aus Ägypten heimgereist – der übernommenen Sache das lebhafteste Interesse entgegenbringt, von maßgebender Seite angelegentlichst empfohlen worden ist. Dass ich statt meines Namens ein (literarisches) Pseudonym setze, ist aus Gründen geschehen, die zu sehr auf der Hand liegen, um einer Erklärung zu bedürfen, die daher auch von dem unterzeichneten Fachgelehrten durchaus gebilligt werden. Ich erlaube mir noch zu erwähnen, dass mir ziemlich viele Gönner, darunter auch Graf Seckendorff, gewonnen sind und der Zusendung beifolgender Drucksachen entgegen sehen. Durch den indirekten Einfluss Ihr. Maj. der Kaiserin Friedrich und durch den direkt ausgeübten des ungemein freundlich sich zu der Sache stellenden Herrn Maspero wird seiner Zeit sich manches besser gestalten, als es der wirklich erschreckende Pessimismus eines unserer Ägyptologen zugeben will. Übrigens beruhigen mich direkt aus Ägypten erhaltene Nachrichten vollständig über diesen Punkt, sodass ich mich vertrauensvoll den Ansichten der unterzeichneten vier Herren anschließen darf. Eur. Exzellenz Ganz gehorsamst ergeben, Hermine Hartleben Kochstrasse 52 I den 29. April 1889 Bibliographie Bierbrier, M.L. 2019. Who Was Who in Egyptology. 5e éd. Londres : Egypt Exploration Society. Champollion, 1833†. J.-Fr. Lettres écrites d’Égypte et de Nubie, en 1828 et 1829. Paris : Firmin Didot frères. David, E. 1999. Gaston Maspero (1846–1916) : Le gentleman égyptologue. Paris : Pygmalion. Desclaux, V. 2022. « Les frères Champollion à la Bibliothèque ». Dans V. Desclaux, H. Virenque et G. Andreu-Lanoë (éd.), L’aventure Champollion. Dans le secret des hiéroglyphes. Paris : Bibliothèque nationale de France, 161–171. Dewachter, M. 1990. « Importance et histoire du fonds Champollion de la Bibliothèque nationale ». Revue de la Bibliothèque nationale 37 : 3–18. Hartleben, H. 1889. « Ausgrabungen in Aegypten betreffend », [s.n.]. — 1891. « Champollion ». Norddeutsche Allgemeine Zeitung, 22–23 Dezember 1891 : 599–600 (sous le pseudonyme de Theodor Harten).

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— 1893. « Die beiden Champollion ». Beilage zur Allgemeinen Zeitung in München 75, 30 März 1893 (sous le pseudonyme de Theodor Harten). — 1894. « Die Stadt Girgeh und ihr Schutzpatron St. Georg ». Westermanns Illustrierte Deutsche Monatshefte 38, Februar 1894 (sous le pseudonyme de Theodor Harten). — 1896. « Eines Pharao Klageschrift ». Frankfurter Zeitung, 6. Januar 1896 : 1– 2. — 1897. « Napoleon und Champollion ». Vossische Zeitung, Sonntags-Beilage, N° 37, suppl. 3, N° 39, suppl. 4, N° 51, suppl. 5, N° 63, suppl. 6. — de Crozals J. (éd.). 1897. « Champollion le Jeune, Deux leçons d’histoire professées à la Faculté des Lettres de Grenoble, en 1810 ». Annales de l’Université de Grenoble 9 : 521–556. — 1906. Champollion, Sein Leben und sein Werk, 2 vol. Berlin : Weidmannsche Buchhandlung. — (éd.). 1909. Lettres de Champollion le Jeune (t. 1) et Lettres et journaux de Champollion (t. 2), Bibliothèque égyptologique 30–31, 2 vol. Paris : E. Leroux. — 1983. Champollion, sa vie et son œuvre, 1790–1832. Paris : Pygmalion (traduction française). — (éd.). 1986. J.-F. Champollion, Lettres et journaux écrits pendant le voyage en Égypte. Paris : Christian Bourgois éditeur. Lang, M. 1989. « Hartleben Hermine ». Dans Nouveau dictionnaire de biographie alsacienne 15. Strasbourg, 1418. Maspero, G. 1906. « H. Hartleben, Champollion, sein Leben und sein Werk, 1906 ». Revue critique d’histoire et de littérature 48 : 421–423. — [s.n.], 1922. « Notes and news ». Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 8 : 285– 286. Moon, B. 2006. More usefully employed : Amelia B. Edwards, writer, traveller and campaigner for ancient Egypt. London : Egypt Exploration Society. Thissen, H.J. 2006. « Adolf Erman und die Gründung des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts in Kairo ». Dans B.U. Schipper (éd.), Ägyptologie als Wissenschaft, Adolf Erman (1854–1937) in seiner Zeit. Berlin : De Gruyter, 193–201. Virenque, H. 2013. « L’Allemande et l’Égyptien. Hermine Hartleben sur les traces de Jean-François Champollion ». Égypte, Afrique et Orient 69 : 19–26. — 2015. « Hermine Hartleben, biographe de Jean-François Champollion ». Senouy (Association Dauphinoise d’égyptologie) 14 : 37–42. Voss, S. 2013. Die Geschichte der Abteilung Kairo des DAI im Spannungsfeld deutscher politischer Interessen. Band 1, 1881–1929. Menschen – Kulturen – Traditionen. Studien aus den Forschungsclustern des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts 8/1. Rahden-Westf. : Marie Leidorf. Wellner, A. 2006. « Eine bemerkenswerte Erzieherin und Biografin aus Altenau : Hermine Hartleben 1846–1919 ». Unser Harz 11 : 203–216.

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Wild, H. 1972. « Champollion à Genève ». Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 72 : 1–46. Wöllfling, S. 1960. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts in Kairo, Diss. Halle-Wittenberg.

Braving the Odds Egyptologist Herta Mohr during the Second World War* Nicky van de Beek

An invocation offering on the day of the rising of Sothis, the Thoth-feast, the New Year’s feast, the Wag-feast, the Sokar-feast, the Great Feast, the feast of burning, the procession of Min … Offering formula on the façade of the tomb chapel of Hetepherakhty Sometimes in practicing Egyptology you stumble upon a story that suddenly strikes you as close and poignant. A mummified child, wrapped in colourful linen and carefully laid to rest on the ruined wall of a New Kingdom tomb;1 the papyrus testament of a lady who lived over 3000 years ago, disinheriting some of her ungrateful children in true Jane Austen fashion;2 or the life of a young Egyptologist, who continued to follow her academic passion while the world around her was crumbling. Herta Theresa Mohr (1914–1945) was born in Vienna on 24 April 1914,3 several months before the outbreak of the First World War. Her father was Adolf Israel Mohr (1872–1944), a physician who had practiced medicine since 1902 and was awarded for his service during the War.4 Her mother was Gabriele Sara Kaufmann (1886–1944).5 The family lived at Winckelmannstraße 2, a stately home near Schönbrunn Palace in Vienna. Initially, Herta wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a physician. After completing the Realgymnasium, she enrolled in the study of medicine at Vienna University in 1932.6 However, after three years her interests changed to Oriental Studies.

* My special thanks go to Sebastiaan Berntsen and Carolien van Zoest (NINO Leiden), Ilse La Brijn (Leiden University Library), Marleen De Meyer (KU Leuven & NVIC), Maud Slingenberg (formerly Augustinus), René van Walsem (Leiden University) and Regina Grüter (formerly NIOD). 1 As excavated by the author as a student in the New Kingdom necropolis at Saqqara in 2010 (Raven et al. 2011). 2 The Will of Naunakhte, a documentary papyrus from Deir el-Medina dating to the reign of Ramesses V (Donker van Heel 2016). 3 https://www.joodsmonument nl/en/page/138409/herta-theresa-mohr (accessed August 1, 2022). 4 https://www.joodsmonument nl/en/page/217142/adolf-mohr (accessed August 1, 2022). 5 https://www.joodsmonument nl/en/page/217143/gabriele-mohr-kaufmann (accessed August 1, 2022). 6 Arnolds 1947: 91.

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From her enrolment in the summer semester of 1937, we know she followed courses in Egyptology by Wilhelm Czermak and Heinrich Balcz (Einführung in die altägyptische Sprache; Lektüre des Papyrus ‘Vom beredten Bauern’: Staat und Gesellschaft zur Zeit der Pyramidenbauer), but also African languages (notably Fula and Somali). In the winter semester of 1937/1938 this was supplemented with Shilha-Berber as well as more Egyptian reading (Lektüre klassischägyptischer Texte), art (Das Relief in der ägyptischen Kunst) and poetry (Proben altägyptischer Poesie), while also taking a course in philosophy (Die großen Systemen nach Kant).7

Fig. 1: Herta Mohr’s photo from her enrolment at Leiden University, 1937/1938. A piece of Egypt in Vienna What sparked Herta Mohr’s interest in Egyptology? After the initial excitement of the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb in 1922 and the following Egyptomania craze, Egypt had somewhat gone out of fashion. The economic depression of the early 1930s did not help in this regard. Although Vienna had come through the First World War relatively unscathed, shortages had occasionally led to malnutrition, disease and death. The wave of incoming refugees furthermore elicited hostility towards foreigners, especially against Jewish refugees. An acquaintance of Herta Mohr was Vienna-born Walter Federn (1910–1967). He came from a Jewish family of doctors: his father Paul was a psychiatrist, his grandfather Salomon a physician.8 Like Mohr, he studied Egyptology at Vienna University, obtaining his PhD in 1934. He was apparently able to read and translate over twelve languages. Immanuel Velikovsky, with whom he regularly corresponded, described him as such: ‘Walter wore his hair long, had very bushy eyebrows, and looked almost like a medium’.9 After the Anschluss in 1938, 7

https://gedenkbuch.univie.ac.at/person/herta-mohr (accessed August 1, 2022). Bierbrier 2019: 160. 9 https://www.velikovsky.info/walter-federn/ (accessed August 1, 2022). 8

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Federn emigrated with his parents to Sweden and later to the USA. There, he initially worked on his Egyptological research at the Brooklyn Museum and in the New York Public Library, but later turned his interest to the history of medicine. He reviewed Mohr’s first and only book,10 and she thanked him in the preface for his friendliness and ‘many encouraging hints’.11 Another factor that may have influenced Mohr’s interest in Egyptology and Egyptian art history was to be found at the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna. Since 1912, Hermann Junker had excavated at Giza, the necropolis of the ancient Egyptian capital city of Memphis.12 On 10 January 1913, he discovered there the mastaba of a Fourth or early Fifth Dynasty state official named Kaninisut (G2155 in the Western Cemetery; fig. 2). In the early twentieth century, it was almost de rigueur for museums to acquire a decorated offering chapel from one of these mastabas as an example of Old Kingdom tomb architecture. In Junker’s words: ‘The entire chamber is in every respect so beautiful and instructive that I consider it pre-eminently suitable to be transferred to Vienna’.13

Fig. 2: Dismantling the mastaba chapel of Kaninisut at Giza in 1914.

10

Federn 1946. Mohr 1943: xi. 12 Jánosi 1997: 31 ff. 13 Hölzl 2005: 13. 11

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The cult chamber of Kaninisut was thus purchased by the Viennese industrialist Rudolf Maass, who covered the 30,000-Kronen cost of acquisition and transportation. Over the course of a month, the limestone blocks of the chapel were dismantled and transported to Vienna in 32 crates, weighing 65 tons in total, to arrive at the museum in July 1914. Due to the First World War and the subsequent poor economy, it was only made accessible to the public from 17 June 1925.14 Herta Mohr must have seen it at the museum, perhaps on a visit with the Realgymnasium or during her later Egyptological studies. It might explain her later interest in the ‘Leiden mastaba’ of Hetepherakhty at the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden (fig. 3). While these tombs tell part of the history of Egyptology in Austria and the Netherlands, they also formed the backdrop to Herta Mohr’s more personal story. Controversial Egyptologists The Egyptology courses that Mohr followed at Vienna University were taught by Wilhelm Czermak and Heinrich Balcz. In 1923, the Institut für Ägyptologie und Afrikanistik had been founded with Junker at its head.15 His close assistant was Czermak, who was both an Egyptologist and African scholar, and who taught while Junker spent the winter months excavating in Egypt. When Junker became head of the Deutsches Archäeologisches Institut in Cairo in 1929, and subsequently left Vienna University in 1931, Czermak became his successor as Professor of Egyptology. Heinrich Balcz studied Egyptology under Junker, obtaining his PhD in 1925. He worked as a librarian for the Institute and started teaching there in 1928. He also took part in the Austrian excavations at Giza, Merimde Beni Salame, Hermopolis and on the Theban west bank.16 The difficulty with these scholars, while passionate about ancient Egyptian and African culture, is that they held problematic political views. Czermak was a member of the antisemitic networks Bärenhöhle at the Philosophical Faculty and the Deutsche Gemeinschaft, actively preventing Jewish or left-wing scholars from getting appointed at the university during the interwar period.17 Balcz became a member of the NSDAP in 1940.18

14

Hölzl 2005: 37. Czerny and Navratilova 2021: 268. 16 Bierbrier 2019: 31, 118. 17 The founder of Bärenhöhle, paleontologist Othenio Abel, wrote in 1923: ‘I really take the credit for binding our anti-Semitic group together so closely that we form a strong phalanx. And while I have lost and still lose much time and energy, I hold on to the knowledge that this work is perhaps as important as making books’. https://geschichte. univie.ac.at/en/articles/baerenhoehle-secret-anti-semitic-group-professors-inter-war-peri od (accessed August 3, 2022). 18 Voss 2014: 53. 15

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When Egyptologist Georg Steindorff was asked to name Nazi Egyptologists after the Second World War (the so-called ‘Steindorff-Liste’), he described Czermak as a ‘Nazi of the first order’.19 Czermak nevertheless became dean of the Philosophical Faculty and was thus a member of the Denazification Commission at Vienna University.20 His successor Gertrud Thausing recounts how he had actually once agreed to let a Jewish woman hide at the Institute.21 Heinrich Balcz was called for military service in 1942 and did not return from the front. Based on his membership of the NSDAP he was removed as a lecturer in Egyptian language and archaeology in 1945, without knowledge that he had been killed already in 1944.22 Egyptology in Leiden Growing antisemitism in their home country must have been the reason why the Mohr family relocated to the Netherlands. For the academic year of 1937/1938, the Leiden University Library documents the registration of Herta Mohr,23 now living at Hogewoerd 113, and enrolled in the faculty of Literature and Philosophy. Instead of Jewish, as stated in the Austrian registration book (see n. 7), her religion is now stated as Roman Catholic. A small enclosed photo shows her smiling face and 1930’s wavy hairstyle (fig. 1). She was now 23 years old and living on her own as a student in the centre of Leiden, while her parents resided a ten-minute bicycle ride away at Fagelstraat 17. During this period, Mohr also became a member of the Catholic student association, Augustinus. The following years would prove to be the most fruitful of Herta’s life. She was free to pursue her academic interests, publish articles, correspond with professors and meet with her study friends and peers. The study of Egyptology had been officially introduced in Leiden when Pieter Boeser was appointed there as lector in 1910. However, the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden already boasted a collection of Egyptian antiquities and during the nineteenth century, its directors were the only professional Egyptologists in the Netherlands.24 Boeser, who had studied in Berlin and Leipzig, had been a curator at the museum and the first to systematically catalogue the Egyptian collection.25 From then on, the museum and courses of study at Leiden University went hand in hand. Adriaan de Buck, succeeding Boeser at the university in 1928, became the first Dutch full Professor of Egyptology in 1939.26 Also working at Leiden 19

Schneider and Raulwing 2013: 179. Czerny and Navratilova 2021: 270. 21 Thausing 1989: 54–55. 22 Schneider and Raulwing 2013: 214. 23 Registered on 30 November 1937 as number 1857. 24 Schneider 2014. 25 Boeser 1905. 26 Raven 2021. 20

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University at the time were Henri Peter Blok, one of Boeser’s students, who went on to become a professor in Utrecht. Adriaan de Buck was working on a large project editing Coffin Texts, while Henri Frankfort excavated in Egypt and the Middle East.27 At the museum, Jan Hendrik Holwerda was succeeded in 1939 by Willem van Wijngaarden, who had previously been a curator. Other important initiatives were the founding of Ex Oriente Lux in 193328 and the Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten (NINO) in 1939, both still existing today.29 We know that Mohr studied under several of these scholars,30 because she thanks them in the preface to her later book.31 Excursus to Brussels In September 1938, the 20th International Congress of Orientalists took place in Brussels, chaired by Belgian Egyptologist Jean Capart. The event brought together 550 scholars from various countries in the halls of the Musée du Cinquantenaire.32 One of these was the 24-year-old Herta Mohr, who on the penultimate day of the conference presented on ‘Einige Bemerkungen zur Leidener Mastaba (avec projections lumineuses)’. In the presentation, she discussed three motifs that can be found in the mastaba of Hetepherakhty: the tomb owner’s ‘portrait’ on the false door at the back of the offering chapel, the tomb owner spearfishing on a papyrus boat, and an atypical scene of two fighting boys on the north wall of the tomb.33 During the conference, participants had the opportunity to view an exhibition about the recent excavations at Elkab. In Belgium, Jean Capart had almost singlehandedly established the field of Egyptology by his tireless efforts to augment and study the Egyptian collection at the Musée du Cinquantenaire.34 He campaigned for the setting up of Egyptology courses at Belgian universities, undertook fieldwork in Egypt and successfully marketed the field of Egyptology to Queen Élisabeth, in whose name the Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth (FÉRÉ) was established in 1923. Capart mentored budding students, as he himself had been mentored during an early scholarship abroad, and Herta Mohr thanked him in her presentation.

27

Kaper 2014. Kampman 1947. 29 Van Zoest and Berntsen 2014. 30 De Buck, Blok and Frankfort. 31 Mohr 1943: xi. 32 Bruffaerts 2021: 171. 33 Anonymous 1940: 95–97. 34 Bruffaerts 2013; 2021. 28

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Fig. 3: The mastaba of Hetepherakhty in Leiden. Like the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, the Musée du Cinquantenaire possessed a mastaba chapel, this one belonging to the Fifth Dynasty official Neferirtenef, buried at Saqqara. It had been purchased in 1905 by the Belgian businessman Édouard Empain (builder of Cairo’s Heliopolis district) and transported to the Cinquantenaire in spring 1906, where it became a major attraction.35 Unfortunately, the funerary chapel was not on display at the time of Mohr’s visit to Brussels due to a reorganisation of the galleries.36 In the preface to her later book, Mohr mentioned the ‘kind friendliness of Professor J. Capart, who allowed me to work a considerable time in the library of the Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, where also Miss. M. Werbrouck and Mme É. Bille-de Mot did everything to facilitate my work’.37 Marcelle Werbrouck was effectively the first female Belgian Egyptologist,38 and Éléonore Bille-de Mot had studied in Paris. Both had joined the first season of fieldwork

35

Van de Walle 1930; Bruffaerts 2005. Bruffaerts 2005: 25–26. 37 Mohr 1943: xi. 38 Bruffaerts 2018. 36

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at Elkab in 1937.39 After her visit to Brussels, Mohr continued to correspond with the FÉRÉ. Work on the mastaba In 1938, Mohr’s most important work came into focus. In a steel drawer in the archives of the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, a typescript can be found titled ‘Studien zur Mastaba im Leidener Museum (Mariette D60)’, signed by “H.Th. Mohr, Leiden 1938”. It is a German manuscript of 42 pages and two pages of plans, with sketches, corrections and hieroglyphs in pencil. It contains a systematic description of the scenes and texts in the tomb chapel of Hetepherakhty (fig. 3), with discussions on the figure of the tomb owner and the relationship between image and text. The folder also contains a number of black and white photos of details of the decoration (fig. 4).

Fig. 4: Detail of the decoration of the mastaba of Hetepherakhty. Photo from the folder 14.03/01 that contains Mohr’s manuscript. Like the mastaba chapels of Neferirtenef and Kaninisut, the tomb chapel of Hetepherakhty had been removed from its original location at Saqqara and brought to Leiden in the early twentieth century. The reason for this ‘mastaba sale’ is described in the 1902–1903 annual report of the Egypt Exploration Fund: ‘A scheme has been approved for the sale of entire mastabas from Sakkareh to the museums of Europe and America. It is hoped that when such can be obtained at a moderate figure the directors of museums will be less eager to buy odd blocks and fragments broken out by robbers, and that so the robbers will give up their

39

Bruffaerts 2021: 165, 171.

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detestable trade’.40 The tomb chapel of Hetepherakhty had originally been excavated in the 1860’s by Auguste Mariette,41 quite near to Mariette’s house at Saqqara. His successor as head of the Service des Antiquités, Gaston Maspero, dismantled the chapel in June 1902 and had it shipped to Cairo.42 Dutch contractor Adriaan Goekoop paid for the sale and transport to Leiden. The travel firm of Thomas Cook took care of the transport by ship and train to a warehouse at the Nonnensteeg where it arrived in a number of lots in October/November 1902. Apparently, one of the 70 crates (total contents valued at 3360 Dutch guilders) fell off the train due to a rope breaking, but its contents were unharmed. The Leidsch Jaarboekje43 mentions the opening to the public of ‘three newly decorated Egyptian halls’, including the mastaba chapel, in June 1904. In 1905, curator Pieter Boeser published a photographic record of the mastaba in his Beschrijving of the Egyptian collection.44 This was the only publication of the mastaba chapel until Herta Mohr began her work. War on the doorstep On 13 July 1939 Mohr was baptized as a Catholic.45 A good reason for this would be the increasing persecution of Jewish people, but she also had Catholic friends, and became a member of Catholic student association Augustinus. One of these friends was Jozef Marie Antoon Janssen. Ordained as a Catholic priest in 1932, he gained permission from his bishop to pursue his passion for Egyptology. Studying at Leiden University he specialised in Egyptian philology under Prof. Adriaan de Buck, and later received his doctorate with a dissertation about ancient Egyptian autobiographies.46 He initiated the Annual Egyptological Bibliography, a complete index of relevant Egyptological literature, now surviving in digital form as the Online Egyptological Bibliography. After the Second World War, Janssen joined expeditions to Elkab, Thebes and Soleb, and eventually became professor of Egyptology at Amsterdam University.47 Mohr mentions him as one of her ‘Dutch friends’.48 The opening of NINO was delayed as history caught up with our story: on 10 May 1940, Germany invaded the Netherlands. The dark cloud of war had been

40

Griffith 1903: 12. Mariette 1889: 340–348; mastaba D60. 42 Van de Beek 2015. 43 Anonymous 1905. 44 Boeser 1905: 11–18, pl. V–XXI. 45 Arnolds 1947: 91. 46 Janssen 1946. 47 Bierbrier 2019: 237; Raven 2021: 146. 48 Mohr 1943: xi. 41

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looming over Europe and repressive politics would inevitably reach Mohr’s corner of the world. We know that she benefited from the new research institute, but only for a short while. A library slip signed by Herta dated to 17 April 1940 notes her permission to borrow for two days from the NINO library The affinities of the mural painting of El-Amarneh by Henri Frankfort. Here, Mohr’s Leiden adventure ends. The memorial book of the Catholic Academic Society states: ‘It is hard to say what moved her not to use the permit she had for the US in 1939. But an attempt to find a place on a boat to America after the German invasion failed. In September 1940 she had to leave the coast and after some wanderings ended up in Eindhoven, where she tried for better or worse to continue her academic work’.49 Academia in diaspora And continue her research she did, as is evident from the appearance of an article in the Jaarbericht of Ex Oriente Lux (JEOL) about one of the scenes she had discussed at the Brussels Orientalist conference.50 She meant to include this discussion in her upcoming monograph, but since Prof. Günther Roeder from Hildesheim had published on the topic,51 she replied in a separate communication. The article deals with the depiction of two fighting boys next to a milking scene in the tomb chapel of Hetepherakhty. Mohr suggests that certain motifs were inspired by the nearby mastaba of Ti, which was slightly older, and in turn contained parallels in the tomb of Ptahhotep, which was slightly younger in age. The ancient Egyptian artist, drawing both from memory and artistic examples in 2- and 3dimensions, constructed an image of one of the figures based on two separate poses, causing an odd sort of hunchback. Small clues in this article point to the fact that it was probably transcribed and translated from German into Dutch by the editors of JEOL. The daily ordeal of being far away from her object of study is poignantly brought forth in a letter dated to 12 November 1940, addressed to Marcelle Werbrouck of the FÉRÉ in Brussels (fig. 5). It consists of two typed pages in French, composed at Parklaan 35 in Bilthoven:52

49

Arnolds 1947: 91. Mohr 1940. 51 Roeder 1939. 52 A collection of 25 letters between Mohr and various members of the FÉRÉ is kept in the archives of the Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussels, spanning the years between 1938 and 1941 (AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/585, folder Mohr, Herta Theresa). I thank my late mother A.J. van Straaten for helping transcribe these letters that were written mostly in French, some in English, and a single letter in German. I thank Luc Limme for granting permission to use these letters in this article, and Marleen De Meyer for alerting me to their existence. 50

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On September 5 they wrote to me that I must leave Leiden immediately; I am not allowed to travel to a large part of the country, for example, The Hague, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, etc., and also Leiden. This means that I had to leave my house, my books, everything, and look for a domicile elsewhere. I went to Bilthoven, which is near Utrecht, as it is not too far from Leiden and especially since there is the university, where Mr. Blok, my dear master, is a professor of oriental art – he succeeded Bissing. My parents are in ’s Hertogenbosch. Since the end of September I have made efforts to be allowed to return. The last moment that I was in Leiden, De Buck had promised me to do everything he could to help me return, but, you know, they are quite slow there: it took until yesterday, when he went to the police with a number of papers etc. and now we have to wait for the result. God knows, how many more weeks this will take! The papers must go through the military authorities and German police. It is because of these various difficulties that I have not yet responded to your kind card, and I beg you to excuse me – and also to excuse my French, as I do not have a dictionary with me. There are four students living in my house – out of necessity – and my books are with the editor of our Jaarbericht, which will be published shortly, in a few days, I suppose. I was ill for a while and hardly worked on my mastaba book for two months, but I hope I can work now. […] Life is quite interesting at the moment – I do not regret not having left Holland before. It is a charming country! If I can return home, I think I will be fine. Should that be impossible I plan to leave Bilthoven and go to Eindhoven, as there is work there, like translations, and we have to think of the pennies. […] Here is a funny little story: I asked van Wijngaarden to send me a paper with a few words: that it was his opinion as director of the museum that it was necessary for me to remain in Leiden, as I work in the museum preparing a book on the mastaba. This paper will accompany the others, written by Professors Blok, Böhl and de Buck. Here is what he replied to me: he could not write that, as it made no sense for me to be in Leiden, because the object of my studies, the mastaba, was still hidden in the cellar. – It seems that the use of books and journals alongside the object is not yet known in this museum. […] This is an unscientific letter. So let us hope that the next one will be full of hieroglyphs again! But there is nothing at Bilthoven, no papyri, no stones, no bronzes. Do you still have the proofs of the new Chronique? If you still have them and if you could send them to me, I will be very, very, very happy and I will not feel so lost in this world anymore. […]

Fig. 5: Letter from Herta Mohr to Marcelle Werbrouck, 12 November 1940.

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It is hard to miss the undertone of desperation in this letter. Seemingly light in tone, Mohr openly describes her exile from Leiden, the various scholars who did or did not help her, the bureaucracy involved, the pressing need for study material and her determination to continue her research on the tomb chapel, which is now ‘hidden in the cellar’ of the museum. Museum director van Wijngaarden certainly failed her in this regard. In light of what happens next, it is painful to read that she does not regret having stayed in the ‘charming country’ of the Netherlands. From study to book On 14 December 1940, Mohr writes another letter to ‘Chère Mademoiselle’ (Werbrouck), this time from Rodenbachlaan 7 in Eindhoven, updating her on the progress of her book for which van Wijngaarden had already given his permission to publish it. She writes: ‘The style of the study is a very simple and extremely concise English […] The tracings of the scenes are better than those in my Jaarbericht 1940 article (most of those had to be reduced more or less! But the circumstances, the circumstances …)’. She goes on to write: ‘The University of Leiden is closed’. In January 1941, an advance notice of her mastaba book was published in the Chronique d’Égypte: ‘Significant work continued at the Antiquities Museum in these last four years. Miss Herta Mohr was in charge of the complete study (texts and representations) of the funerary chapel of Akhethetepher, transported from Saqqara to the museum around 1850’. It mentions her presentation at the Congress of Orientalists and her JEOL article. Continuing: ‘The management of the museum has decided to publish the entire mastaba and the work, delayed by many circumstances, will nevertheless appear, shortly, in Jaarbericht format. Written in English, it includes a preface, an introduction to drawings and reliefs from this period, a bibliography on the subject, reflections on the architectural layout of the whole and, above all, the description of the scenes, the transcription and the translation of texts’.53 On 3 July 1941, Mohr writes to ‘monsieur le professeur’ Capart: ‘With the greatest pleasure I received the Chronique no. 31 [in which the notice appeared]. What a beautiful volume! And what a source of optimism that we so need! Please accept, Professor, the expression of my greatest thanks’. And later that month, on 21 July: ‘The vagabond has found an address: Prins Hendrikstraat 35, Eindhoven. I hope to be able to stay there, until my return to Leiden’. She is impatient to receive her books, many of which are still at the institute in Leiden. The NINO library archive contains a lengthy list of books (undated) that she has requested. The titles range from Egyptian dictionaries and grammars to tomes in Junker’s Giza series, Mogensen’s Le mastaba égyptien (about yet another ‘museum mastaba’, this one in Copenhagen) and Schäfer’s Von Ägyptischer Kunst. She requests the FÉRÉ to send her van de Walle’s Le Mastaba de Neferirtenef and asks how she can transfer the 20 francs required (letter dated to 19 August 1941). 53

Capart 1941: 98.

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In the year that follows she must have worked hard to finish the final manuscript of her book. In the preface, written in Eindhoven during the summer of 1942, she writes: This book is the result of studies made in Leiden in the years 1937–1940. It is meant to be as complete a study as circumstances allow of one of the finest monuments of the Old Egyptian civilization’. It is as if she refuses to mention the war: ‘The photographs we had planned to give here could not be taken because of the special circumstances of these times. […] I was forced to make the drawings of the scenes mostly by means of the old printed photographs of the Beschrijving. They were all corrected by means of the photographs I took in the year 1939 and my drawings and notes made in the Tomb Chapel in the years 1937–1939. During the last period of my work, from September 1939 onwards, the Chapel was inaccessible. She thanks the many people who helped her realise her work, including the director of the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, Willem van Wijngaarden, and the staff of the Leiden University Library and the Allard Pierson Stichting in Amsterdam. She acknowledges Adriaan de Buck, Henri Blok, Henri Frankfort and Walter Federn for their help and encouragement. Three members of the FÉRÉ are thanked by name as well – Capart, Werbrouck, and Bille-de Mot – for allowing her to work in the library in Brussels and facilitating her work in general. And finally she mentions her ‘Dutch friends’, the late W.A. van Leer and his wife B. van Leer-de Jongh, Jozef Janssen, and the editor B.A. van Proosdij: ‘Without their various encouragement, as well as the help of others not mentioned here, it would have been impossible to get the necessary preparatory work done under difficult circumstances’. The reason for this becomes clear. As the Gedenkboek recounts: ‘On 1 August 1942 she received the reassuring message that everything was ready for her to go into hiding. It was unfortunately too late, as the following morning on 2 August 1942 at 6.30 am she was taken from her bed and sent to Camp Westerbork together with other Catholic Jews. It was a reprisal for the letter of 20 June 1942, in which the Catholic church protested against the persecution of Jews’.54 While she was at Westerbork, and probably without her ever seeing it, the book finally appeared as volume 5 of the Mededeelingen en Verhandelingen van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch genootschap ‘Ex Oriente Lux’: ‘The Mastaba of Hetep-Her-Akhti, study on an Egyptian tomb chapel in the Museum of Antiquities Leiden’.55

54 55

Arnolds 1947: 91–92. Mohr 1943; fig. 6.

Herta Mohr

Fig. 6: Cover of Mohr’s publication of the mastaba of Hetepherakhty.

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Mud and barbed wire On 4 August 1942, Herta Mohr was placed in barrack 48 of Lager Westerbork, a German transit camp on the Dutch heath in the province of Drenthe: 500 × 500 meters of barbed-wire fence, watch towers and a growing number of wooden barracks. Every Tuesday, like clockwork, a train with freight cars would leave for Eastern Europe, packed with over a thousand lives. Between July 1942 and September 1944, this train left 93 times, sealing the life of the inmates. The camp had a dining barrack and delousing barrack, an orphanage, a synagogue, a morgue and a ‘theatre’. And mud everywhere, turning to a desert of sandstorms in the summer. ‘Between it all, the uninterrupted crackling of typewriters: the machine-gun fire of bureaucracy’.56 Barrack 48 was one of the so-called ‘family barracks’. It consisted of tiny houses with 2–3 small rooms, central heating, and a kitchen with tap and toilet. These were the ‘royally housed’. The others had to make do with dormitories housing hundreds of men and women.57 The family barracks were meant for people with jobs and/or with a provisional exemption from transport (Sperre). Mohr obtained this Sperre because she was working as a translator (Übersetzerin).58 Her talent for learning languages, all that was left of her former academic life, was what kept her going. She also had a friend in the camp: Clara Meijers, daughter of Eduard Meijers, the Leiden professor who was fired by the Nazis.59 In a last postcard to the FÉRÉ in Brussels, undated but perhaps from 1943, and seemingly sent from Westerbork, Mohr writes (fig. 7): Monsieur le Professeur et toute la Fondation, As an exception, it is possible for me to tell you that I am here, that I exist, and that everything goes well until now. At the moment I have a very interesting job; and my little book is being printed (according to friends). I hope to at least be able to stay where I am as I have no desire to travel. We must hope for the best and above all: au revoir bientôt.

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Etty Hillesum (1914–1943), of Herta’s age, wrote diaries and letters from the camp. In a letter from December 1942, she writes about the ‘remarkable day when Jewish Catholics or Catholic Jews came on a transport, the nuns and priests with the yellow star on their monastic dress’ (Hillesum 1994: 20–21). 57 In Hillesum’s words: ‘colossal, hastily built barracks, crowded human sheds of drafty trellis, drying laundry, and iron cots three storeys high’ (Hillesum 1994: 26). 58 Information kindly provided by Raymund Schütz of the Netherlands Red Cross. 59 In his famous speech of 26 November 1940, professor Rudolph Cleveringa protested against the dismissal of his tutor Eduard Meijers and other Jewish colleagues. In response to this, Leiden University was forced to close. https://www.universiteitleiden nl/binaries/ content/assets/algemeen/oraties/cleveringa-oratie/teksten/protest-speech-rudolph-cleveri nga.pdf.

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Fig. 7: The final postcard Mohr sent to the FÉRÉ, perhaps from Westerbork (1943?). There were attempts to get Herta out of Westerbork. Henri van der Putt, the ‘war mayor’ of Geldrop, facilitated many Jews to go into hiding, and was posthumously honoured by the World Holocaust Remembrance Center Yad Vashem. On 25 March 1943 he wrote a letter on her behalf to Friedrich Bühner of the Reichskommissariat in The Hague, asking for her to be sent to ‘Doetinchem’.60 He called her an ‘excellent person’, mentioned her Egyptology studies and presentation at the Brussels conference as a single student of Leiden University. Her father had volunteered during the war and been awarded a medal. If Herr Bühner could please look into the case?61 Gabriel Italie, a Classical languages teacher and orthodox Jew from The Hague, kept a diary during his stay at several camps. In November 1943, one of his entries reads: ‘At the “silver paper” I met Miss Mohr, an Austrian Egyptologist, who worked for my former classmate Blok’.62 In the summer of 1943, the management had decided to turn Westerbork into a labour camp, designating several barracks as factories for the sorting of tinfoil (silver paper) and taking apart of batteries for reuse. Anne Frank also worked there.63 60

‘Doetinchem’ housed the so-called Villa Bouchina, a place where privileged Jews would be sent in order to avoid transport. 61 Regionaal Historisch Centrum Eindhoven, collection 10030, inv. 530. 62 De Lang 2009: 424. 63 https://kampwesterbork nl/de-stichting/nieuws/item/column-barak-65 (accessed 3 August 2022).

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The next trace we have of Herta Mohr is through the controversial figure of Friedrich Weinreb, a Jewish economist and esoteric from Vienna, and lead character in the so-called ‘Weinreb affair’. From the disentangling of this case, we learn that Mohr’s parents were also in Westerbork. Despite the Zivilverdienste of her father, they were both put on transport to Theresienstadt on 18 January 1944, and from there to Auschwitz at the end of October, where they were killed on arrival. It also becomes clear that Herta had received a letter mentioning corruption in the camp management, and was deported as a consequence.64 On 25 January 1944, a few days after saying goodbye to her parents, Herta found herself on the train with destination Auschwitz. Gabriel Italie describes the occasion: ‘It was miserable again: a thousand people were loaded into 27 cattle wagons, including many sick and children. Hertha Mohr was among them’.65 There, the trace becomes thin. We know that a year later, in January 1945, Auschwitz was evacuated because of the approaching Russian troops. Some of the inmates were sent westward via Gross-Rosen. According to survivor Beate Mohr (no relation), Herta was seen at the infirmary of Gross-Rosen: ‘Herta Mohr, ca. 32 Jahre alt, lag zu meiner Zeit in Gross-Rosen im Krankenhaus. Über ihr weiteres Schicksal ist mir nichts bekannt’.66 From there, inmates were transported in cattle wagons to Bergen-Belsen. The records of the Netherlands Red Cross show that research has been done trying to learn the exact date and place of her death, but ultimately these could not be established. The official records mention 15 April 1945 in Bergen-Belsen as date and place of death, but this was possibly established by the court.67 Aftermath After the war, Leiden counted its losses. In a letter dated to 20 July 1945 from NINO director Arie Kampman to Henri Frankfort in England, he recounts the flower bulbs they ate, ground using a coffee mill and baked as little pancakes. He also mentions the publication of the Leiden mastaba by Herta Mohr, ‘who is probably killed in Germany’.68 In a second letter dated to 10 August, he is more frank: the institute has been ‘bared and looted by the ruthless moffen’,69 who twice raided the place. Assyriology assistant Madelon Verstijnen was held in Buchenwald, but she escaped from a death march. Lucie van den Bergh and Herta Mohr ‘presumably died in Auschwitz’. Willem Alexander van Leer (whom Herta names as one of her ‘Dutch friends’ in the preface of her book) died of a stroke, his wife and 64

Giltay Veth and van der Leeuw 1976: 1314. De Lang 2009: 442. 66 Information kindly provided by Raymund Schütz of the Netherlands Red Cross. 67 Personal correspondence with the Netherlands Red Cross. 68 These letters can be found in the NINO archives, foreign correspondence 1945 sorted by date. Access kindly provided by Sebastiaan Berntsen. 69 Dutch slang word for Nazis. 65

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three daughters were transported to Poland. Also several ‘traitors’ do not go unmentioned. In the Chronique d’Égypte a short notice of her death appeared that Prof. David Cohen from Amsterdam (a papyrologist and chair of the Jewish Council) had sent to the FÉRÉ: Miss Herta Mohr was transported in 1943 to the internment camp of Westerbork (Province of Drente, Netherlands) where the Germans gathered the Jews from Holland before taking them to Central Europe and Poland. Herta Mohr’s father was a former German officer; we could hope therefore that he would be sent to Theresienstadt (a fortress in Czechoslovakia where the privileged Jews were gathered) and that his wife and his daughter would accompany him. But, during her stay in Westerbork, Herta Mohr received a letter from another Jew accusing certain ‘Dienstleiter’ of the camp. This letter was opened by the censor and delivered to the Westerbork authorities, who imprisoned Miss Mohr. She was liberated, shortly afterwards, by the German commandant of Westerbork who condemned her to be transferred to Auschwitz. The Jewish offices tried everything to obtain, but without any success, that Miss Mohr be directed to Theresienstadt. Herta Mohr, after being able to hide once, was sent to Auschwitz in February 1944. There has been no news of her since: it is in Auschwitz that she must have died.70 When Walter Federn reviewed Mohr’s book from New York in 1946, he praises her ‘extraordinary clarity and conciseness and felicitous formulations’.71 He calls the book ‘a document both of human persistence and of scholarly solidarity. For it was prepared under trying circumstances, and not yet quite finished when the author, already a refugee from Vienna, where she had begun her studies, was seized by the invaders and finally deported to certain death. In fulfilment of her last wish it was carefully worked over by Prof. De Buck and Mr. Janssen, before being edited by Mw. Van Proosdij’. He concludes: ‘There is a touching symbolism in the photograph under the dedication: ‘A man bears a large vessel of blood of the slaughtered cattle towards the offering places’’. It is a pity to end Herta’s story here on such a sad note. Perhaps it is better to ask what legacy she left behind. For a while, she all but disappeared from history, but for a slim brown book on the shelves of the NINO library, containing the buds of an Egyptological career and a manuscript written against the greatest of odds. One started to ask questions: why is this book so slim, why are these drawings to scribbly, what are the ‘circumstances’ of which the author speaks? One starts digging, the beginning and end become clear, but not yet the life in between. Then a photo comes to light, a scrap of information, a letter. One calls in the help of 70 71

Capart 1946. Federn 1946.

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archivists and librarians and suddenly, after much puzzling, a clearer picture appears. Herta Mohr’s story deserves to be told. Perhaps unremarkable in the grand scheme of things, she was one of the earliest female students of Egyptology in both Austria and the Netherlands. She was a Jew and a Roman Catholic, knew a variety of languages, made friends in her adopted home town of Leiden, published and presented her research internationally, and continued studying and researching during a World War. All this before the age of 30.

Fig. 8: Stolpersteine for Herta Mohr and her parents outside their last voluntary address, Fagelstraat 17 in Leiden. In 2017 I already published an article touching on Herta Mohr and her work on the mastaba.72 Thanks to a NINO initiative, she now has a Wikipedia page.73 She and her parents possess stones at the Holocaust Names Memorial in Amsterdam, while a plaque mentioning her name hangs in the garden room of Augustinus 72 73

Van de Beek 2017. https://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herta_Mohr (accessed August 3, 2022).

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in Leiden. Thanks to Maarten Raven, she now finally has an entry in the latest edition of the Who Was Who in Egyptology.74 Most recently, in 2022, commemorative Stolpersteine have been laid for the parents of Herta Mohr at their last place of residency in Den Bosch, and for Herta and her parents in the Fagelstraat in Leiden.75 And a new and updated study of the tomb chapel is in preparation by René van Walsem and myself, which will be dedicated to her memory. For whose name is mentioned lives on, as the ancient Egyptians understood more than anything. Bibliography Anonymous. 1905. Leidsch Jaarboekje 1905. Leiden: A.W. Sijthoff. Anonymous. 1940. Actes du XXe Congrès International des Orientalistes: Bruxelles, 5–10 Septembre 1938. Louvain: Bureaux du Muséon. Arnolds, A.L.M. (ed.), 1947. Gedenkboek 1940–1945 van de Katholieke Academische Gemeenschap. Leiden: Unie van katholieke Studenten-vereenigingen in Nederland. Bierbrier, M.L. 2019. Who Was Who in Egyptology, 5th ed. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Bihl, W. 2009. Orientalistik an der Universität Wien. Forschungen zwischen Maghreb und Ost- und Südasien: Die Professoren und Dozenten. Vienna: Böhlau. Bruffaerts, J.-M. 2005. ‘Un mastaba égyptien pour Bruxelles’. Bulletin des Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 78: 5–36. — 2013. ‘Bruxelles, capitale de l’égyptologie. Le rêve de Jean Capart (1877– 1947)’. In S. Bickel et al. (eds), Ägyptologen und Ägyptologien zwischen Kaiserreich und Gründung der beiden deutschen Staaten. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Beihefte 1. Berlin: de Gruyter, 193–241. — 2018. ‘Marcelle Werbrouck ou l’égyptologie belge au féminin’. In F. Doyen, R. Preys and A. Quertinmont (eds), Sur le chemin du Mouseion d’Alexandrie. Études offertes à Marie-Cécile Bruwier. Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry Montpellier 3, 43–71. — 2021. ‘Belgium’. In A. Bednarski, A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 153–187. Brunner-Traut, E. 1938. Der Tanz im alten Ägypten nach bildlichen und inschriftlichen Zeugnissen. Ägyptologische Forschungen 6. Glückstadt: J. J. Augustin. Capart, J. 1941. ‘Nouvelles (Égypte Pharaonique)’. Chronique d’Égypte 16/31: 98–99. Capart, J. 1946. ‘Nécrologie’. Chronique d’Égypte 21/42: 210.

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Bierbrier 2019: 320–321. With thanks to Jo Kutchinsky of the Struikelstenen Stichting Den Bosch and Arnold Schalks of the Struikelstenen Stichting Leiden. 75

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Czerny, E. and H. Navratilova. 2021. ‘The Empire of Austria-Hungary and the Republic of Austria’. In A. Bednarski, A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 259–286. De Lang, W.M. 2009. Het oorlogsdagboek van Dr. G. Italie. Amsterdam: Uitgeverij Contact. Donker van Heel, K. 2016. Mrs. Naunakhte & family: The women of Ramesside Deir el-Medina. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Federn, W. 1946. Review Mohr 1943. Bibliotheca Orientalis 3: 57–59. Giltay Veth, D. and A.J. van der Leeuw. 1976. Rapport door het Rijksinstituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie uitgebracht aan de minister van Justitie inzake de activiteiten van drs. F. Weinreb gedurende de jaren 1940–1945, in het licht van nadere gegevens bezien. The Hague: Staatsuitgeverij. Griffith, F.Ll. 1903. Archaeological Report 1902–1903. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Hillesum, E. 1994. Brieven uit Westerbork. Amsterdam: Bulkboek. Hölzl, R. 2005. Die Kultkammer des Ka-ni-nisut im Kunsthistorischen Museum Wien. Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum. Jánosi, P. 1997. Österreich vor der Pyramiden. Die Grabungen Hermann Junkers im Auftrag der Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften in Wien bei der Grossen Pyramide in Giza. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Janssen, J. 1946. De traditioneele egyptische autobiographie voor het Nieuwe Rijk, 2 vols. Leiden: Brill. Kampman, A.A. 1947. ‘Tien jaren Ex Oriente Lux, 1933–22 mei–1943’. In Kernmomenten der antieke beschaving en haar moderne beleving, Mededelingen en verhandelingen van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch genootschap “Ex Oriente Lux” 7. Leiden: Brill, 269–275. Kaper, O.E. 2014. ‘De geschiedenis van de egyptologie aan Nederlandse universiteiten’. In O.E. Kaper and J.G. Dercksen (eds), Waar de geschiedenis begon: Nederlandse onderzoekers in de ban van spijkerschrift, hiërogliefen en aardewerk. Uitgave naar aanleiding van het 75-jarig bestaan van het Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1939–2014. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 39–61. Mariette, A. 1889. Les mastabas de l’ancien empire. Paris: F. Vieweg. Mohr, H.T. 1939. Review of Brunner-Traut 1938. Chronique d’Égypte 14/27: 95– 138. — 1940. ‘Een vechtpartij te Leiden: Vorm en inhoud van een reliëf in de mastaba van Htp-Hr-Axtj’. Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap Ex Oriente Lux 7: 535–541. — 1943. The Mastaba of Hetep-her-akhti. Study on an Egyptian Tomb Chapel in the Museum of Antiquities Leiden. Leiden: Brill.

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Raven, M. 2021. ‘The Netherlands’. In A. Bednarski, A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 136–152. Raven, M.J., H.M. Hays, B.G. Aston, R. Cappers, B. Deslandes, and L. Horáčková. 2011. ‘Preliminary report on the Leiden excavations at Saqqara, season 2010: An anonymous tomb’. Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap Ex Oriente Lux 43: 3–18. Roeder, G. 1939. ‘Spielende Jungen in der Mastaba des Achet-hetep-her’. Oudheidkundige Mededelingen uit het Rijksmuseum van Oudheden te Leiden 20: 18–20. Schneider, H.D. 2014. ‘Egyptische oudheden in Nederlandse musea’. In O.E. Kaper and J.G. Dercksen (eds), Waar de geschiedenis begon: Nederlandse onderzoekers in de ban van spijkerschrift, hiërogliefen en aardewerk. Uitgave naar aanleiding van het 75-jarig bestaan van het Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1939–2014. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 89–102. Schneider, T. and P. Raulwing. 2013. Egyptology from the First World War to the Third Reich: Ideology, Scholarship, and Individual Biographies. Leiden: Brill. Thausing, G. 1989. Tarudet: Ein Leben für die Ägyptologie. Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt. Van de Beek, N. 2015. ‘Grafkapel te koop: De mastaba van Hetepherachet herontdekt’, Ta-Mery 2015/2016 (2015): 70–87. — 2017. ‘Herta Mohr and the mastaba of Hetepherakhty’. In V. Verschoor, A.J. Stuart and C. Demarée (eds), Imaging and Imagining the Memphite Necropolis. Liber Amicorum René van Walsem. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 233–238. Voss, S. 2014. ‘Die Abteilung Kairo des DAI während der ausgehenden Weimarer Republik und im ‚Dritten Reich’’. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologen-Verbandes 45: 42–59. Van de Walle, B. 1930. Le mastaba de Neferirtenef aux Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire à Bruxelles. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Van Zoest, C. and S. Berntsen. 2014. ‘75 jaar NINO: Geschiedenis van het Instituut in hoofdlijnen’. In O.E. Kaper and J.G. Dercksen (eds), Waar de geschiedenis begon: Nederlandse onderzoekers in de ban van spijkerschrift, hiërogliefen en aardewerk. Uitgave naar aanleiding van het 75-jarig bestaan van het Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 1939–2014. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 3–29.

Dr. Hildegard von Deines (1902–1978) Ägyptologin im zweiten Leben Peter Dils

Übersicht 1. Hildegard von Gündell, Kindheit und Jugend 2. Hildegard von Deines, die promovierte Chemikerin 3. Hilde Erdmann, der Zweite Weltkrieg und Hermann Grapow 4. Hilde(gard) von Deines, die Ägyptologin 4.1. 1946–1952: Die ägyptologische Ausbildung und die Wörterbucharbeit 4.2. 1952–1953: Zwischen zwei Großprojekten 4.3. 1953–1959: Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter 4.4. 1960–1976: Späte Arbeiten 4.5. Sonstige ägyptologische Tätigkeiten 5. Die Ägyptologin Dr. Hildegard von Deines: Puzzleteile einer Würdigung Hildegard von Deines ist der Ägyptologie als Mitautorin des Standardwerks „Grundriss der Medizin der Alten Ägypter“ bekannt. Im Jahr 1959 erhielt sie für diese Arbeit gemeinsam mit ihren Co-Autoren Hermann Grapow und Wolfhart Westendorf den Nationalpreis der DDR II. Klasse für Wissenschaft und Technik. Aber wer war diese Frau, der kein publizierter Nachruf zuteil wurde und die nicht im neuesten Who was Who in Egyptology gelistet ist? 1. Hildegard von Gündell, Kindheit und Jugend Hildegard von Deines wurde als Hildegard von Gündell am 10. November 1902 in Königsberg in Preußen geboren. Sie war das jüngste Kind von Theodor Wilhelm Gustav Erich von Gündell, genannt Erich (* Goslar 13.04.1854 – † Göttingen 21.12.1924), und seiner Frau Auguste Dora Frieda Marie, genannt Uga1, eine Geborene von Jacobi (* Hannover 14.02.1867 – † Bremen 01.02.1958).2 Hildegard hatte vier ältere Brüder (Erich *1890, Helmuth *1893, Günther *1894, * Mein besonderer Dank gilt in alphabetischer Reihenfolge † Elke Blumenthal, Angela Böhme, Adelheid Burkhardt, Constantin von Deines, Moritz Heintze, Renate Heintze, Christa Müller, Ruth Priese, Wolfgang Schenkel, † Irene Shirun-Grumach, † Steffen Wenig, † Wolfhart Westendorf und † Karl-Theodor Zauzich, die mir mit Erinnerungen, Hinweisen und privaten Archivstücken geholfen haben, diese biographische Skizze zu erstellen. 1 Uga ist eine Koseform von Auguste. 2 Familienstammbaum in: Gothaisches Genealogisches Taschenbuch 1907: 243–244, s.v. Gündell; ohne Stammbaum ebenfalls in: Gothaisches Genealogisches Taschenbuch 1908: 399–400, s.v. Gündell. Informationen jüngeren Datums in: Gothaisches Genealogisches

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Werner *1896) und eine ältere Schwester (Aeone, genannt Oeni *1901). Die Familie war evangelisch. Sowohl ihr Vater als auch ihre Mutter stammten aus dem preußischen Militäradel.3 Zur Zeit ihrer Geburt war ihr Vater Oberst und Chef des Generalstabs des I. Armeekorps in Königsberg. Ein Jahr zuvor war er in den Adelsstand erhoben worden,4 nachdem er als Oberstleutnant und Chef des Generalstabs des Ostasiatischen Expeditionskorps (1900–1901) vom sog. Boxeraufstand aus China zurückgekehrt war. Die weiteren Schritte auf der Karriereleiter von Erich von Gündell führten die Familie nach Halberstadt (1904–1906), Berlin (1906–1910), Hannover (1910– 1913) und erneut Berlin (1913). Im Herbst 1913 bat von Gündell, mittlerweile Direktor der Preußischen Kriegsakademie in Berlin und mit dem „Charakter“ (d.h. unbesoldetem Ehrentitel) eines Generals der Infanterie bekleidet, um seine Entlassung in den Ruhestand. Die Familie siedelte nach Göttingen über (1913– 1914), wo sich Hildegards Vater als Student der Philosophie an der Göttinger Universität einschrieb. Aber ein Jahr später brach der Erste Weltkrieg aus und Erich von Gündell wurde wieder in den aktiven Dienst versetzt. Er beendete seine Karriere als Oberbefehlshaber der Armeeabteilung B im Elsaß und als Vorsitzender der Waffenstillstandskommission der Obersten Heeresleitung in Spa. Über die Kindheit von Hildegard von Deines ist nicht viel überliefert. Wegen der vielen Umzüge musste sie oft die Schule wechseln (Schulzeit: 1908–1918). Nach der Grundschule in Berlin und Hannover, die sie „ohne viel Interesse, aber ganz brav“ absolvierte,5 war sie 1913 für einige Monate in der Höheren Mädchen/Töchterschule von Fräulein Marie Boretius in Berlin-Charlottenburg, kam dann in die Kluksche Privatschule nach Göttingen (1913–1914), in die Höhere Mädchenschule von Hannover (1914–1917) und schließlich in die Höhere Mädchenschule von Göttingen (ab 1917).6 Dort, in dem heutigen Hainberg-Gymnasium,7 Taschenbuch 1931: 244–245, s.v. Gündell. 3 Ihr Großvater väterlicherseits war Oberstleutnant Adolf Friedrich Gündell (1820–1898). Dessen Bruder, Generalmajor William Hounsell Gündell, war 1871 in den Adelsstand erhoben worden. Ihre Mutter Dora von Jacobi war die Enkelin von Carl von Jacobi (1790– 1875), General der Infanterie der Hannoverschen Armee und Kriegsminister, und die Tochter von Bernhard von Jacobi (1823–1881), Generalstabsoffizier in der Hannoverschen Armee und später preußischer Oberstleutnant. Siehe Gothaisches genealogisches Taschenbuch 1908: 519–519. 4 Die Aufnahme in den Adelsstand wird ohne weitere Begründung mitgeteilt in: MilitärWochenblatt, 86. Jahrgang, Nr. 108 vom 11. Dezember 1901: Spalte 2849–2850: „Verleihung von Adelsprädikaten. / Preußen. / Seine Majestät der König haben Allergnädigst geruht: den Oberstlt. Erich Gustav Wilhelm Theodor Gündell, Chef des Generalstabes I. Armeekorps […] – in den Adelstand zu erheben.“ 5 Uga von Gündell, Lebenserinnerungen, 30. Januar 1911. 6 Nach den „Lebenserinnerungen“ von Uga von Gündell und dem Lebenslauf von Hildegard von Deines (in: von Deines 1927). 7 Hildegard von Gündell ist aufgelistet in der Liste der Abiturientinnen der Studienanstalt:

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machte sie 1918 den Abschluss. In Göttingen wurde sie 1917 auch konfirmiert. Alle vier Brüder von Hildegard schlugen militärische Laufbahnen ein oder mussten im Rahmen der allgemeinen Wehrpflicht in den Krieg ziehen.8 Kurz nacheinander verlor die damals Zwölfjährige zwei von ihnen: ihren ältesten Bruder Erich (16.07.1890–16.06.1915) als Leutnant zur See auf der SMS Derfflinger beim Absturz seines Flugzeugs in der Nähe von Wilhelmshafen und ihren jüngsten Bruder Werner (20.08.1896–06.10.1915) als Leutnant im Feldartillerie-Regiment Nr. 10 in Sommepy-Tahure östlich von Reims in Frankreich.9 Während der Novemberrevolution von 1918 und trotz des drohenden Anmarsches von Spartakisten blieb Hildegard gefasst, auch bei nächtlichen Schießereien Ende November im Zusammenhang mit einer Gefängnisrevolte in Göttingen.10 Der Vater konnte erst Mitte Dezember 1918 zu seiner Familie zurückkehren. Die Familie wohnte seit Oktober 1913 in Göttingen zur Miete in der Merkelstraße 3 in der Beletage einer heute noch existierenden Prachtvilla aus dem Jahre 1907.11 Im Hause von Gündell dürfte ein Geist höherer Bildung geherrscht haben. Der Vater hatte eine humanistische Ausbildung an der Landesschule Pforta (altsprachliches Gymnasium) genossen12 und sprach fließend Französisch. Nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg widmete er sich wieder seinen philosophischen Studien und wurde im Jahr 1922 an der Philosophischen Fakultät der Universität Göttingen mit einer Arbeit über „Neuzeitliche Klassifikationen der philosophischen Systeme“ zum Doctor philosophiae promoviert.13 Als er sich für sein Rigorosum im zweiten Fach Russisch prüfen lassen wollte und die Universität keinen geeigneten

http://www hainberg-gymnasium.de/fileadmin/inhalt/hg_allgemein/schulgeschichte/ schulgeschichte_pdf/HG2%20pdf-Dateien/6_ABITURIENTINNEN_DER_STUDIEN ANSTALT_1914_1924.pdf (zuletzt geprüft am 31.10.2018; aktuell nicht mehr online verfügbar). 8 Walter von Gündell (05.03.1892–10.1973), der Generalleutnant im Zweiten Weltkrieg wurde, war kein Bruder von Hildegard (contra https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erich_von_ Gündell (zuletzt geprüft 01.05.2022), sondern ein Cousin 2. Grades (ihre beiden Großväter Gündell waren die Brüder William Hounsell [1813–1883] und Adolf Friedrich [1820– 1898]). Siehe Gothaisches genealogisches Taschenbuch 1907: 243–244. 9 Angaben zu den beiden Brüdern in: Gothaisches Genealogisches Taschenbuch 1931: 245; Obkircher 1939: 172–185. Von Gündell scheint bei Kriegsbeginn zu seiner Frau gesagt zu haben: „mit 50 v. H. Verlust der Söhne müsse gerechnet werden.“ (Obkircher 1939: 333). 10 Uga von Gündell, Lebenserinnerungen; erwähnt in: Obkircher 1939: 324 für den 29. oder 30. November. 11 https://www.goettinger-tageblatt.de/lokales/goettingen-lk/goettingen/die-hahns-produzenten-der-schuhmarke-gallus-CZGLXSTGX5X7F5YQLQYI2K4UZQ html (zuletzt geprüft am 01.05.2022). 12 Erwähnt in: Obkircher 1939: 348 und 349. 13 Jahrbuch der ersten Philosophischen Fakultät in Göttingen. Auszüge aus den Dissertationen, 1922, Nr. 10, S. 44 ff. (non vidi).

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Prüfer vorweisen konnte, wechselte er kurzfristig zum Fach Alte Geschichte.14 Hildegards zweiter Bruder Helmuth (13.03.1893–07.06.1989), Hauptmann a. D. und Dr. med., machte nach dem Krieg den Facharzt für innere Krankheiten15 und ließ sich in Bremen nieder. Der dritte Bruder Günther (29.05.1894–15.06.1961), Oberleutnant a. D., studierte Jura und wurde Kaufmann in Kassel-Wilhelmshöhe.16 Schwester Oeni zeigte schon früh eine musikalische Begabung, studierte Musik und wurde Klavierlehrerin. Von dieser Familienkultur profitierte auch Hildegard. Als sie im Alter von 16 Jahren die Höhere Mädchenschule abschloss, gab es damals in Deutschland noch kaum Mädchengymnasien, die bis zum Abitur ausbildeten. Sie wollte und durfte weiter zur Schule gehen und sich in einer sog. privaten Studienanstalt in Göttingen auf das Abitur vorbereiten (1919–1920).17 Ihr Vater übernahm außerdem den Unterricht in mehreren Fächern.18 Sie bestand am 23. Februar 1921 die Reifeprüfung an der Kaiser Wilhelm II. Oberrealschule in Göttingen,19 einem Jungengymnasium, und qualifizierte sich so für ein Studium an der Universität. Bevor sie damit anfing, arbeitete sie einige Monate als „Haustochter“ in Gremsmühlen (zwischen Kiel und Lübeck), um als Quasi-Mitglied der Familie die Haushaltsführung zu erlernen. Während der Abiturjahre scheint Hildegard sich zu einer sportlichen, lebenslustigen und debattierfreudigen jungen Frau entwickelt zu haben. Für den Winter 1919/1920 schreibt Mutter Uga in ihren Lebenserinnerungen: „Hilde fährt oft nach Andreasberg zum Skilaufen und die Jugend trifft sich oft bei uns, es wurde Trio gespielt und politisch beraten.“20 Allerdings wird sie nicht immer einfach im Umgang gewesen sein, denn für den Sommer 1922 findet sich in den Lebenserinnerungen: „Unsere Hilde geht als Haustochter zu Johannes Müller nach Elmau, was ihr sehr gut tut. Sie ist sehr eigenartig und es ist nicht immer leicht, aber der Kern ist gut. Sie ist Wandervogel geworden, 14

Erwähnt in: Obkircher 1939: 335. Erwähnt in: Obkircher 1939: 319. 16 Angaben zu den beiden Brüdern in: Gothaisches Genealogisches Taschenbuch 1931: 245. 17 Göttingen hatte zu dieser Zeit noch kein Gymnasium/Oberlyceum, an dem Mädchen sich für das Abitur vorbereiten konnten. Sie mussten zu einer sog. privaten Studienanstalt gehen. Die Studienanstalt war im selben Gebäudekomplex wie die Höhere Mädchenschule, dem heutigen Hainberg-Gymnasium. 18 Uga von Gündell, Lebenserinnerungen. 19 Zeugnis der Prüfungskommission für die Hochschulreife, ausgestellt am 23. Februar 1921 (im Besitz der Familie). Der Begriff „Oberrealschule“ stammt aus dem Lebenslauf von Hildegard von Deines in ihrer Dissertation. Im Personal-Fragebogen steht „Realgymnasiale Studienanstalt“ (Archiv BBAW). Im Lebenslauf in der Dissertation wird „Ostern 1921“ als Datum der bestandenen Reifeprüfung angegeben. 20 Uga von Gündell, Lebenserinnerungen. Hildegard von Deines scheint sich nur wenig für Musik interessiert zu haben, und ihre Tochter Liselotte bedauerte, kein Instrument spielen gelernt zu haben. 15

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Sport- und Theaterspiel bleiben als weitere Puzzleteilchen ihrer Persönlichkeit zu nennen: Skilaufen als Wintersport von Hildegard taucht öfter in den mütterlichen Lebenserinnerungen der 20er und 30er Jahren auf. Anlässlich eines Festes für den Rektor der Göttinger Universität (Februar 1924) schreibt Mutter Uga: „Hildegard spielt in einem Stück Komödie den Pedell wie der beste Komiker.“ Auch am Tanzen findet sie Geschmack (Frühjahr 1924). Ihr Leben lang wird sie intensiv Zigaretten rauchen, aber immer mit Spitze (Zigarettenhalter), wie sie es in ihrer Jugend kennenlernte. Ob Hildegard von Gündell eine typische Vertreterin ihrer gesellschaftlichen Klasse der damaligen Zeit war, oder ob sie sich zu einer etwas unkonventionellen, emanzipierten und für sich selbst denkenden jungen Frau entwickelte, sei dahingestellt. 2. Hildegard von Deines, die promovierte Chemikerin Hildegard nahm im Herbst 1921 an der Universität zu Göttingen ein Studium der Chemie (Prof. Walther Borsche, Prof. Adolf Windaus), der Physikalischen Chemie (Prof. Alfred Coehn, Prof. Gustav Tammann), der Physik (Prof. Robert Wichard Pohl, Prof. James Franck) und der Philosophie (Prof. Herman Nohl) auf 23 und schloss mit den beiden Verbandsexamen in Chemie ab.24 Ihre Prüfer waren der spätere Nobelpreisträger für Chemie Adolf Windaus sowie Gustav Tammann. Der zweite Teil des Verbandszeugnisses ist am 31. Oktober 1924 ausgestellt worden.25 Woher das Interesse für Chemie stammte, ist nicht bekannt. Im Wintersemester 1924/1925 zog sie, noch nicht ganz 22-jährig, nach Berlin und fing dort ihre Doktorarbeit im Physikalisch-Chemischen Institut der Berliner Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität an. Als ihr Vater wenige Monate später an den Folgen eines Unfalls26 starb, bedeutete das nicht das Ende ihres Studiums. Ihr Projektleiter Ernst Hermann Riesenfeld legte als Zwischenergebnis ihrer Arbeiten am 15. November 1925 das Manuskript eines gemeinsamen Artikels „Über die Bildung von Ozon und Wasserstoffsuperoxyd in der Knallgasflamme“ vor.27 Etwas mehr als ein Jahr später reichte sie ihre Dissertation mit fast demselben Titel ein. Sie hörte Vorlesungen bei den Professoren Max Bodenstein, Walther Nernst, Max Planck, Ernst Hermann Riesenfeld und Max Wertheimer.28 Zu dieser Zeit 23

Nach den im Lebenslauf (von Deines 1927) aufgelisteten Fächern und Professoren. Die beiden Verbandsexamen waren eine praktische und eine mündliche Prüfung vom „Verband der Laboratoriums-Vorstände an deutschen Hochschulen“, weil es (noch) kein allgemein gültiges Staatsexamen in Chemie gab. 25 Verbandszeugnis im Archiv der Familie. Am 11. Februar 1924 wurde „Fräulein“ Hildegard von Gündell als außerordentliches Mitglied in die Deutsche Chemische Gesellschaft aufgenommen (Archiv der Familie). 26 Obkircher 1939: 335 und 349. 27 Riesenfeld und von Gündell 1926. 28 Nach den im Lebenslauf (von Deines 1927) aufgelisteten Professoren. 24

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gehörte das Physikalisch-Chemische Institut noch zur Philosophischen Fakultät – erst am 1. April 1936 wurden an der Berliner Universität die Naturwissenschaften aus der Philosophischen Fakultät ausgegliedert29 – und so wurde sie am 29. Juli 1927 zum Dr. phil. promoviert mit einer Arbeit „Über die Bildung von Wasserstoffsuperoxyd und Ozon in der Knallgasflamme“.30 In ihrem Lebenslauf dankt sie insbesondere den Professoren Ernst Hermann Riesenfeld (ihrem Mentor) und Max Bodenstein (dem Mentor ihres Mannes). In der Zwischenzeit, am 31. März 1926, hatte Hildegard von Gündell den 13 Jahre älteren Chemiker Dr. Ortwin von Deines (* Charlottenburg 24.06.1889 – † Berlin 14.03.1935) geheiratet, mit dem sie sich im Sommer 1925 verlobt hatte.31 Dieser stammte väterlicherseits ebenfalls aus einer preußischen Militärfamilie, mütterlicherseits aus der sächsischen Handelsfamilie Poppe.32 Ortwin von Deines hatte nach Absolvieren des humanistischen Gymnasiums in Schwedt an der Oder zuerst eine militärische Laufbahn bei der Kavallerie verfolgt, angefangen im Dragoner-Regiment „Freiherr von Manteuffel“ (Rheinisches) Nr. 5. Er beendete im Jahr 1920 seine militärische Karriere als Rittmeister33 und fing als 31-Jähriger das Studium der Chemie in Berlin an. Vielleicht war die Studienwahl motiviert durch seinen Onkel mütterlicherseits, Emil Oskar Poppe (* Leipzig 1866 – † Berlin 1918), der Chemie und Physik studiert und als Generaldirektor die Deutsche Linoleum- und Wachstuch-Compagnie AG, später die Deutsche Linoleum-Werke Rixdorf AG in Berlin geleitet hatte. Ortwin von Deines wurde im Jahr 1924 mit einer bei Prof. Arthur Binz an der Landwirtschaftlichen Hochschule ausgeführten Arbeit „Ueber Derivate des Oxymethylenmerkaptans. Zur Kenntnis der Diformaldehydsulfoxylsäure“ an der Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität promoviert.34 An-

29

Grüttner 2012: 435–436 und 468. Das Datum 29. Juli ist im Dissertationsexemplar der UB Leipzig händisch über das gedruckte Datum 17. Februar geschrieben. Die Doktorurkunde im Besitz der Familie datiert vom 29. Juli 1927. 31 von Hueck 1972: 110–112, s.v. Deines. 32 Sein Vater war Gustav Adolf von Deines (* Hanau 1852 – † Berlin-Halensee 1914), preußischer General der Artillerie. Johan Georg Adolf von Deines (* Hanau 1845 – † Frankurt a. Main 1911), preußischer General der Kavalerie, war ein Onkel 3. Grades. Seine Mutter war Ida Poppe (* Leipzig 1862 – † Berlin 1939), Tochter des Kaufmannes, Textilfabrikanten und Geheimen Kommerzienrats Hermann Oskar Poppe, Mitbegründer der Firma Poppe & Wirth. 33 Äquivalenz eines Hauptmanns bei der Infanterie. 34 Ortwin von Deines, Ueber Derivate des Oxymethylenmerkaptans. Zur Kenntnis der Diformaldehydsulfoxylsäure. In: Jahrbuch der Dissertationen der Philosophischen Fakultät der Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität zu Berlin. Dekanatsjahre 1923–24. Berlin: Emil Ebering Verlagsbuchhandlung und Buchdruckerei, 1925, S. 330–333. Tag der Promotion: 7.8.1924. Referenten: Prof. Dr. Schlenk, Prof. Dr. Pompeckj [= Wilhelm Schlenk, Chemiker; Josef Felix Pompeckj, Paläontologe und Geologe, Dekan 1923/24]. 30

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schließend wurde er Assistent am Physikalisch-Chemischen Institut der Universität, wo er unterrichtete und wissenschaftliche Arbeiten im Bereich der Chemie des Schwefels durchführte. Hildegard von Gündell und Ortwin von Deines haben sich vermutlich im Physikalisch-Chemischen Institut kennengelernt, wobei der ähnliche Familienhintergrund förderlich gewirkt haben dürfte. Mutter Uga von Gündell erinnerte sich an General Adolf von Deines (†1914), den Vater von Ortwin, aber die beiden Familien hatten sonst keinen Kontakt. Interessant ist, dass weder der Tod ihres Vaters (Dezember 1924), noch die Eheschließung (März 1926) das Ende ihrer wissenschaftlichen Ausbildung bedeutete. Man könnte – vielleicht ein wenig klischeehaft – mutmaßen, dass sie eine der selbstbewussten jungen Frauen der Goldenen Zwanziger war. Sie trug die Haare relativ kurz, wie es damals Mode war, und ihre Mutter Uga erfuhr erst nachträglich von der Verlobung. Zudem machte sie irgendwann den Führerschein, was damals für Frauen noch unüblich war, der Zustimmung des Vaters oder des Ehemanns bedurfte und ohnehin nur in privilegierten Kreisen möglich war. Die Familie erinnert sich, dass sie Autos nach Berlin überführte und einmal (am 30.11.1932) mit einem Hanomag „Kommissbrot“ einen schweren Verkehrsunfall hatte. Die Heilung war langwierig und ihr Bruder Helmuth, der Arzt, musste sie anschließend von einer Morphiumabhängigkeit kurieren. Das Ehepaar von Deines bekam zwei Kinder, einen Sohn Peter (* Göttingen 18.03.1928 – † Berlin 01(?).05.1945) und eine Tochter Liselotte (* Berlin 21.10. 1929 – † Heidelberg 29.08.2013). Sie zogen aus unbekannten Gründen mehrfach um. In den Jahren 1929–1932 wohnten sie in der Fredericiastraße 5 in BerlinCharlottenburg,35 einem Jugendstilhaus von 1908, das heute noch existiert. Von 1932 bis 1934 sind sie in der Schönemannstraße 33 in Werder/Havel wohnhaft.36 In den Jahren 1934–1935 lautet die Adresse Philippistraße 10 in Berlin-Charlottenburg.37 Letzte Adresse war laut Uga von Gündell „eine bequeme Etage“ in der Nähe der Wohnung von Hildegards Schwester Oeni von Gündell,38 die die Familie wahrscheinlich bezog, nachdem Ortwin eine gute Anstellung gefunden hatte.

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Gothaisches Genealogisches Taschenbuch 1931: 245. Adresse ebenfalls in: Berliner Adreßbuch 1929: 544; 1930: 507; 1931: 522. Kein Eintrag im Berliner Adreßbuch von 1927 und 1928. 36 Brief der Chemischen Fabrik Tempelhof vom 27. Nov. 1933 an Frau Dr. von Deines, wohnend in der H.Ö. Schönemanstraße 33 (Archiv der Familie). Laut Personalfragebogen (BBAW Archiv) hat sie in der Schönemannstraße 5 gewohnt. 37 Berliner Adreßbuch 1935: 399. Laut Personalfragebogen (BBAW Archiv) hat sie in der Philippistraße 9 gewohnt. 38 Berliner Adreßbuch 1935: 815: Knobelsdorfstraße 112 in Charlottenburg; ebenso Berliner Adreßbuch 1936: 838.

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Abb. 3: Hildegard von Deines mit den Kindern Peter und Liselotte, ca. 1935. Was für die Familie wichtig war, welche Themen Tischgespräch waren, ist alles nicht bekannt. Hildegard von Deines gibt in ihrem Personalfragebogen von 1946 an, weder vor noch nach 1933 politisch oder gewerkschaftlich organisiert oder aktiv gewesen zu sein.39 Hineingeboren in eine evangelische Familie, gab sie in ihren Personalunterlagen Evangelisch als Religionszugehörigkeit an, aber wie wichtig Religion für sie persönlich war, ist nicht dokumentiert. Ihren Sohn Peter von Deines hat sie am 7. März 1943 in Berlin-Zehlendorf konfirmieren lassen,40 Tochter Liselotte bekam in Demmin Konfirmandenunterricht. Zusätzlich zu seiner Lehrtätigkeit an der Universität arbeitete Ortwin von Deines an seiner Habilitation, die er nicht vollendete oder nicht mehr vollenden konnte. Unklar ist, ob er nach 1932 als Universitätsassistent aufhören musste und warum die Familie nach Werder/Havel gezogen ist. Jedenfalls übernahm Hildegard von Deines am 27. November 1933 für drei Monate eine Beratertätigkeit bei der Chemischen Fabrik Tempelhof „zwecks Ausarbeitung einer Anzahl Vorschriften zur Herstellung von Seifen, Crèmes und eventuellen sonstigen kosmetischen Artikeln“.41 Bemerkenswerterweise wurde Ortwin von Deines Ende 1934 39

Personal-Fragebogen Hildegard von Deines von 15.9.46 (Archiv BBAW). Konfirmationsschein im Familienbesitz. 41 Brief der Chemischen Fabrik Tempelhof vom 27. Nov. 1933 an Frau Dr. von Deines, wohnend in der H.Ö. Schönemanstraße 33: „Sehr geehrte Frau Doktor, Wir bestätigen hiermit folgendes Abkommen getroffen zu haben. Sie beraten uns theoretisch, wissenschaftlich und praktisch zwecks Ausarbeitung einer Anzahl Vorschriften zur Herstellung von Seifen, Crèmes und eventuellen sonstigen kosmetischen Artikeln. Zur Durchführung experimenteller und praktischer Arbeiten stellen wir Ihnen einen Arbeitsplatz in unserem Laboratorium zur Verfügung, ebenso stellen wir Ihnen die benötigten Arbeitsmaterialien für die Dauer Ihrer oben genannten Tätigkeit bis zum 28. Februar 1934 festgesetzt.“ (Archiv der Familie). 40

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der Leiter des wissenschaftlichen Laboratoriums derselben Chemischen Fabrik Tempelhof, womit laut Nachruf das Einkommen der Familie endlich gesichert war. Der Direktor des Physikalisch-Chemischen Instituts, Prof. Max Bodenstein, Ortwins (ehemaliger?) Vorgesetzter, beschreibt ihn als „einen offenen und treuen Charakter“ und „gedankenreichen Fachgenossen“.42 Während Hildegard mit den Kindern auf Skiurlaub in Hindelang war, verstarb Ortwin von Deines am 14. März 1935 plötzlich an einem Herzschlag auf dem Heimweg von der Arbeit.43 Ortwin von Deines wurde als ehemaliger Offizier auf dem Garnisonsfriedhof am Columbiadamm beerdigt, wo auch sein Vater, General Gustav Adolf von Deines, ruhte.44 Hildegard von Deines (33 Jahre alt) blieb mit zwei kleinen Kindern (7 und 1 5 /2 Jahre alt) zurück. Ihre Familie ermöglichte ihr den Kauf des Hauses im Deisterpfad 24 in einer Neubausiedlung45 von Berlin-Zehlendorf, in dem sie fast ihr ganzes weiteres Leben wohnen würde.46 Die Gegend kannte sie schon von ihrer Schwester Aeone, die zuvor in Zehlendorf gewohnt hatte.47 Gleich nach dem Tod ihres Mannes fing Hildegard wieder an, als Chemikerin zu arbeiten, zuerst vom 8. April bis zum 31. Mai 1935 in der Chemischen Fabrik Tempelhof AG, wo sie und ihr Mann auch schon zuvor gearbeitet hatten.48 In einem Begleitschreiben zu einem Arbeitsvertrag der Günther Wagner Pelikan

42

Bodenstein 1935. Ibid. Der Ort Potsdamer Bahnhof wird in den Lebenserinnerungen von Uga von Gündell genannt. 44 Foto des Grabsteins in: https://ar.billiongraves.com/grave/Ortwin-von-Deines/21075 000 (zuletzt geprüft 01.05.2022), mit der falschen Information, dass sich das Grab auf dem Friedrichswerderschen Friedhof oder Friedhof Dreifaltigkeit II befinde. Das Grab befindet sich nach Auskunft der Familie auf dem Garnisonsfriedhof Columbiadamm 122, 10965 Berlin: 52,48091°N; 13,40783°O. 45 Die Straße liegt in der Siedlung der damaligen Gemeinnützigen AG für AngestelltenHeimstätten im sogenannten Berglandviertel, sie wurde 1933/34 von den Eigentümern und der Zehlendorf-Grunewald AG angelegt (https://berlin kauperts.de/Strassen/Deisterpfad14163-Berlin, zuletzt geprüft 01.05.2022). 46 Berliner Adreßbuch 1936: 412; ebenso 1938: 424; 1939: 441. Ab dem Jahr 1940 ist sie als Hilde Erdmann, Eigentümerin, gelistet (Berliner Adreßbuch 1940: 600). 47 Aeone wohnte im Jahr 1931 in der Winfriedstraße 12. Sie hatte 1923 den Juristen Edward Hay geheiratet, war aber 1928 wieder von ihm geschieden worden (Angaben teilweise in: Gothaisches Genealogisches Taschenbuch 1931: 245). Die Scheidung wird hier auch erwähnt, das Datum der Scheidung ist leer geblieben. Es werden keine Kinder erwähnt, aber das ist auch bei Hildegard nicht der Fall, obwohl sie 1931 schon zwei Kinder hatte. Laut einer Information der Familie wurde Aeone im Jahr 1928 von Edward Hay geschieden, mit dem sie einen Sohn hatte. In einem Stammbaum der Familie Gündell von 1957 ist Aeone als „Aeone Busch, geborene von Gündell, und Peter Busch, Amtmann in Stuttgart“ aufgeführt, d h. sie hat ein zweites Mal geheiratet. 48 Archiv der Familie (2 Schreiben). 43

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Werke Hannover erklärt sich die Firma bereit, sie ab dem 1. Juli 1935 einzustellen.49 Ob sie die Stelle angetreten hat, geht nicht aus den Unterlagen hervor. Die Familie erinnert sich, dass Hildegard von Deines irgendwann bei der Bundesanstalt für Materialforschung und -prüfung (BAM) gearbeitet und dass sie „Muster von Perserteppichen“ untersucht hat. Diese Bundesanstalt gab es zwar erst nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg, aber es ist durchaus möglich, dass Hildegard von Deines bei einem der beiden Vorläufer, entweder dem Staatlichen Materialprüfungsamt (MPA) oder der Chemisch-Technischen Reichsanstalt (CTR), angestellt gewesen ist, und zeitlich passt diese Information hier am besten in ihren Lebenslauf. Mutter Uga vermerkt für den Sommer von 1936, dass Hildegard gut verdiente und gut zurechtkam. Ein finanzielles Extra lieferte vielleicht ein Deutsches Reichspatent zur „Herstellung von Polythionaten,“ das auf ihren Namen und denen der beiden Kinder im Jahr 1934 beantragt worden war und 1940 auslief.50 Ob die Familie ihres verstorbenen Mannes sie unterstützte, ist unbekannt. Erst nach dem Tod der Schwiegermutter im Jahr 1939 kam das Erbteil ihres Mannes Ortwin an die gemeinsamen Kinder Peter und Liselotte und wurde gemäß Gesetz „mündelsicher“ in Reichsanleihen angelegt, die nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg allerdings wertlos waren.51 Zu einer Stütze für die Familie wurde zu dieser Zeit der Maler Fritz Wildhagen (1878–1956), ein später deutscher Impressionist, den Hildegard von Deines während einer Zugfahrt kennengelernt hat. Sie und ihre Tochter Liselotte waren öfter bei Wildhagen im Atelier und besaßen mehrere Bilder von ihm.52 3. Hilde Erdmann, der Zweite Weltkrieg und Hermann Grapow Die Aufgabe der Auswertung von Perserteppichmustern könnte in mehrfacher Hinsicht für Hildegard von Deines’ weiteren Lebensweg bedeutsam gewesen sein. Erstens haben wir hier möglicherweise einen ersten Hinweis auf ein schon vorhandenes Interesse für den Alten Orient. In ihrem Lebenslauf von 1946 schreibt sie, dass es die Zusammenarbeit mit ihrem Ehemann Kurt Erdmann war, die ihr Interesse für die Erforschung des Alten Orients „gesteigert“ habe. Zweitens ist es wahrscheinlich, dass Hildegard von Deines in diesem Zusammenhang ihren zweiten Ehemann, den Kunsthistoriker Dr. Kurt Erdmann (* Altona-Hamburg 09.09.1901 – † Berlin 30.09.1964), kennengelernt hat. Dieser hatte sich auf sassanidische und islamische Kunst, darunter Teppichkunst, spezialisiert und arbei-

49

Archiv der Familie. D. R. P. 688 906 Kl. 12i vom 19/9. 1934, in: Chemisches Zentralblatt, 1940, I. Halbjahr, Nr. 20, 15. Mai, Seite 3157. 51 Notiz von Liselotte Heintze in einer Broschüre „100 Jahre Poppe & Wirth, 1868–1968“ (Archiv der Familie). 52 Mündliche Information der Familie. Wildhagen siedelte später von Berlin nach Danzig über und floh 1944 von dort vor den Russen nach Westfalen. 50

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tete von 1933 bis 1944 am Museum für Islamische Kunst in Berlin (Pergamonmuseum). Seit dem Jahr 1941 hatte er einen Lehrauftrag an der Berliner Universität, an der er 1944 Honorarprofessor wurde.53 Ihre Mutter zählte im Jahr 1928 den vorderasiatischen Archäologen und Kustos der Vorderasiatischen Abteilung der Berliner Museen Prof. Walter Andrae (1875–1956) zu ihren guten Freunden, aber es gibt keinen Hinweis, dass die Freundschaft auch Hildegard mit einbezog. Ob es einen Zusammenhang zwischen der Arbeit beim BAM-Vorläufer und dem Handel mit Teppichen seitens der Firma Poppe & Wirth, zu deren Eigentümern die Schwiegermutter gehörte, gibt, ist unbekannt. Hildegard von Deines heiratete Kurt Erdmann am 3. Juni 1939 und nannte sich anschließend Hilde Erdmann.54 Mutter Uga hatte zunächst einen guten Eindruck von der Beziehung. Ob aus eigenem Wunsch oder wegen der NS-Bestimmungen, Hilde Erdmann widmete sich nach der Eheschließung dem Haushalt und war vielleicht nur noch in Heimarbeit tätig. Zusätzlich half sie ihrem Mann bei dessen Arbeiten. Möglicherweise hat sie dabei das Pergamonmuseum gut kennengelernt: Ihre Tochter Liselotte erzählte ihren Kindern, dass die Mutter sich in der Museumsruine gut auskannte, als sie dort nach Kriegsende das Silberbesteck der Familie suchte, das sie dort im Mai 1945 zwischenzeitlich hinter dem Pergamon-Altar versteckt hatte, nachdem sie die Tresore aufgebrochen vorgefunden hatte. Unter dem Namen Hilde Erdmann hat sie für den Springer-Verlag (Wien) das „Gesamtsachverzeichnis“ des Buchs „Chemisch-technische Untersuchungsmethoden“ in der 8. vollständig umgearbeiteten Auflage von 1940 erstellt.55 Vom 1. Mai 1942 datiert ein Schreiben, laut dem sich Frau Dr. Erdmann in Verhandlungen mit dem Springer-Verlag für die Herstellung des Sachverzeichnisses zu Band 7 des Handbuchs der Katalyse befände, aber sie hat die Arbeit vermutlich nicht angenommen.56

53

Informationen aus dem Nachruf: Ettinghausen 1965: 253. Hildegard verkürzte ihren Vornamen teilweise zu Hilde, nicht nur im privaten, sondern auch im Berufsleben. Ihre Mutter nennt sie in ihren Lebenserinnerungen anfänglich mal Hildegard, mal Hilde, nach dem Umzug nach Berlin nur noch Hilde. Während ihrer zweiten Ehe unterzeichnet sie systematisch mit „Hilde Erdmann“. In den Jahrbüchern 1950– 1953 der Akademie, im Vorwort zum Deutsch-Ägyptischen Wörterverzeichnis (1950) und zum Belegstellenband III (1951) sowie in ihren Artikeln von 1953–1956 heißt sie „Hilde von Deines“. Ab dem Jahrbuch 1954 und in den wissenschaftlichen Publikationen ab 1957 erscheint sie wieder ausschließlich als „Hildegard von Deines“. 55 Sarkowski 1992: 431 und 515. Hilde Erdmann wird ausschließlich in Zusammenhang mit Publikation Nr. 7511 genannt, d h. Chemisch-Technische Untersuchungsmethoden. 56 Archiv der Familie. Bezüglich der Publikation G.-M. Schwab und R. Criegee (Hgg.). Handbuch der Katalyse. Band 7: Katalyse in der organischen Chemie, Springer: Wien 1943: Im Vorwort werden vier Mitarbeiter für die Erstellung des Sachverzeichnisses genannt; Hilde Erdmann wird nicht erwähnt. 54

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Abb. 4: Hilde Erdmann, ca. 1944 oder 1945. Die Ehe von Hilde und Kurt Erdmann verschlechterte sich, war jedenfalls in der Erinnerung der Familie nicht glücklich.57 Ohne Vater aufzuwachsen bzw. mit einem ungeliebten Stiefvater auskommen zu müssen, dürfte für die Kinder nicht einfach gewesen sein. Wolfhart Westendorf (18.09.1924–23.02.2018), der als 14jähriger Jungenschaftsführer des Deutschen Jungvolkes – eine Jugendorganisation der Hitler-Jugend, deren Mitgliedschaft verpflichtend war – geworden war, beschreibt seine erste Begegnung mit der Familie, wahrscheinlich im Jahr 1939,58 wie folgt: „Ich wurde also als 14-Jähriger der sogenannte ‚Jungenschaftsführer‘ für 10–15 ‚Pimpfe‘ im ersten Jahr ihres Dienstes in der Hitlerjugend. In dieser Eigenschaft musste ich die Eltern meiner Pimpfe besuchen und die künftigen Pflichten ihres Sprösslings besprechen. Dabei lernte ich die Eltern meines Pimpfen Peter von Deines kennen, die mich aufklärten, dass Peter Geld im Internat entwendet habe, und mich baten, auf ihn besonders aufzupassen. Das tat ich, indem ich ihn zum Kassenwart unserer Beitragskasse machte, und er die 20 Pfennig Monatsbeitrag gewissenhaft einsammelte und verwaltete.“ Diese erzieherische Maßnahme hat also gefruchtet und „die Eltern von Peter mir noch lange

57

Nach Auskunft der Enkelkinder habe die Tochter Liselotte ziemlich über Kurt Erdmann geschimpft. Es soll auch Alkohol im Spiel gewesen sein. Die Familie hat keine Unterlagen mehr die zweite Ehe betreffend. Sie wurden sicherlich später von der Tochter vernichtet. 58 Wenn W. Westendorf davon spricht, dass er die Eltern kennengelernt hat, muss Hildegard von Deines also schon mit Kurt Erdmann verheiratet gewesen sein (im Jahr 1939).

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freundschaftlich verbunden und sehr dankbar, dass ich ihrem Sohn so viel Vertrauen entgegen gebracht hatte.“59 Die Kriegsjahre waren für niemanden in Berlin einfach, auch nicht für die Familie Erdmann. Mutter Uga zieht im April 1943 für drei Monate bei ihrer Tochter ein. Sie schreibt: „Ich hatte große Freude an den lieben Deines-Enkeln, Peter nun 15 und Lieselotte 13 Jahre, die durch die schwere Zeit so verständig geworden waren und ihrer Mutti rührend halfen.“ Über Hildegard berichtet sie: „Hilde, der ja die Wissenschaft sehr viel mehr liegt als der Haushalt, muss sich diesem jetzt ganz widmen und arbeitete ohne jede Hilfe weit über ihre Kraft. Dabei hilft sie immer ihrem Mann noch bei seinen Arbeiten. Ich bin oft zu den Mahlzeiten dort, vielmehr als meine Absicht war, aber die Ernährungsfrage ist immer noch schwerer geworden.“ Es wurde noch schlimmer. Das Haus am Deisterpfad wurde von einer Stabbrandbombe getroffen, die durchs Dach bis in den Keller einschlug, aber glücklicherweise gelöscht werden konnte.60 Der Sohn Peter wurde als Angehöriger des Jahrgangs 1928 zum Einsatz als Luftwaffenhelfer nach Berlin beordert.61 Tochter Liselotte wurde wegen der Bombenangriffe im Frühjahr 1944 im Rahmen der „Kinderlandverschickung“ zu Excellenz von der Schulenburg nach Demmin geschickt, war aber zur Zeit des russischen Einmarsches wieder in Berlin.62 Ehemann Kurt wurde im Herbst 1944 zur Wehrmacht eingezogen und am Ende des Krieges Gefangener der US-amerikanischen Streitkräfte. Diese ließen ihn frei unter der Bedingung, dass er in Hamburg residierte und nicht nach Berlin zurückkehrte. In Hamburg lehrte er seit 1945 an der Universität, die ihn 1948 zum Honorarprofessor ernannte.63 Die Ehe wurde im Jahr 1949 geschieden. Sohn Peter wurde in den allerletzten Tagen des Zweiten Weltkrieges bei der Verteidigung einer Brücke in Spandau oder am Kaiserdamm vermisst. Vierzehn Tage lang haben Mutter und Tochter ihn unter den Gefallenen gesucht. Aber auch im Herbst 59 Aus einer unpublizierten Rede von W. Westendorf auf der Feier zu seinem 90. Geburtstag am Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie in Göttingen (2014). 60 Laut Information der Familie gab es noch in den 60er oder 70er Jahren im Wohnzimmer einen alten Teppich, der Brandspuren von der Brandbombe aufwies. Im Keller lag Sand bereit, um die Bombe zu löschen, aber Liselotte von Deines hat irrtümlicherweise den Zucker gegriffen und darüber ausgeschüttet. 61 Die Familie besitzt einen Feldpostbrief vom 14.03.1944. 62 Die Hansestadt Demmin ist als Ort eines Massenselbstmordes der Bevölkerung beim Einmarsch der russischen Armee bekannt geworden. Ist mit „Excellenz von der Schulenburg“ der Widerstandskämpfer Friedrich-Werner Graf von der Schulenburg oder der Widerstandskämpfer Fritz-Dietlof Graf von der Schulenburg gemeint, die beide nach dem Hitlerattentat im November bzw. August 1944 hingerichtet wurden? Ein Besitz der Familie von der Schulenburg bei Demmin konnte noch nicht identifiziert worden (nicht gelistet in: http://gutsanlagen.blogspot.com/2017/03/gutsbesitz-in-mecklenburg-vorpommern_7 6.html, geprüft 29.04.2022). 63 Informationen aus dem Nachruf: Ettinghausen 1965: 253.

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1946 hatte die Mutter noch immer keine Nachricht von oder über ihn.64 Der Leichnam wurde nie gefunden bzw. nicht identifiziert. Auf dem Grabstein ist der Todestag von Peter von Deines als „gef(allen) im Mai 1945“ angegeben. Von der erweiterten Familie war der eine Bruder Günther in englischer Kriegsgefangenschaft und der andere Bruder Helmuth noch viele Jahre in russischer Kriegsgefangenschaft.65 Die Versorgung am Ende des Zweiten Weltkriegs oder während der unmittelbaren Nachkriegszeit war schlecht und so ist Hilde Erdmann einmal nach einer „Hamsterfahrt“, einer Lebensmittelsuche auf dem Land, an der Ruhr erkrankt. In der Erinnerung der Familie schien ihr Mieter Hermann Grapow (siehe weiter unten) über die Amerikaner leichter an bessere Lebensmittel zu gelangen. In den Jahren 1946 und 1947 wurde die Familie aus dem Haus im Deisterpfad ausquartiert und verlor dabei ihren Hausrat. Sie fand eine neue Bleibe in der Riemeisterstraße 144 in Zehlendorf, bis sie zurückkehren konnte.66 Grapow blieb bei der Familie und half, nachts Sachen durch die Hintergärten zu retten. Vermutlich war das Haus von der amerikanischen Besatzungsmacht requiriert worden. Während der Blockade West-Berlins (24.06.1948–12.05.1949) wurde die Tochter Liselotte von Deines mit einem sog. Rosinenbomber aus Berlin ausgeflogen, um in Westdeutschland Chemie an der Universität Göttingen zu studieren.67 Es ist anzunehmen, dass Hilde Erdmann durch ihren zweiten Ehemann die Bekanntschaft mit Hermann Grapow gemacht hat. Grapow arbeitete im Neuen Museum am Altägyptischen Wörterbuch, als Kurt Erdmann nebenan im Pergamonmuseum tätig war, und er amtierte als Dekan bzw. Rektor der Friedrich-WilhelmsUniversität, als Erdmann dort den Lehrauftrag bekam bzw. Honorarprofessor wurde. Am Ende des Krieges, vor dem 21.02.1945, verlor Grapow kurz hintereinander seine Schwester und seinen Vater (letzteren am 28.01.1945). Etwa drei Monate später, nach dem 24.04 und vor dem 27.04.1945, verlor er darüber hinaus sein Haus und seinen Besitz in der Binger Straße 89 in Berlin-Wilmersdorf.68 64 Aus einer unpublizierten Rede von W. Westendorf auf der Institutsfeier zu seinem 90. Geburtstag in Göttingen (2014). 65 Personal-Fragebogen Hildegard von Deines von 15.09.46 (Archiv BBAW). 66 Bescheinigung von Präsident Johannes Stroux vom 22.09.1945 für Grapow, wohnhaft Deisterpfad 24 (Personalakte Grapow, Archiv BBAW). Am 18.09.1946 wohnt Grapow in der Riemeisterstraße 144, ebenso laut Schreiben vom 09.04.1947, 29.05.1947 und 05.07.1947. In einem Schreiben vom 09.09.1947 bezüglich einer Lebensmittelkarte ist die Adresse erneut Deisterpfad 24 und in einer Aktennotiz von 1949 wird die Adresse nachträglich von Riemeisterstraße 144 in Deisterpfad 24 umgeändert (Personalakte Grapow, Archiv BBAW). 67 Mündliche Information der Familie. Im Nachlass des Chemikers Otto Hahn im Archiv der Max-Planck-Gesellschaft befindet sich ein Brief von Grapow mit einer Bitte um Fürsprache für Liselotte von Deines (https://www.archivportal-d.de/item/Y2LDLWA2JUIU ZYNKYTAHT6U6S5VWFAQG; zuletzt geprüft 29.04.2022). 68 Adresse in den Jahrbüchern der Preußischen Akademie gelistet, zuletzt Jahrbuch 1942:

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Grapow schreibt in einem Brief vom 20.09.1945 dazu: „Ich bin bettelarm geworden: ich habe einfach alles verloren, was ich besass, alles! Wir waren aus dem Haus gejagt und standen dann vor dem Aschenrest. Ich habe nur gerettet, was ich am Leibe trug und in den Händen halten konnte. Und ich bin meinem Freunde Rodenwaldt dankbar, dass ich einen alten Anzug von ihm tragen darf. […] Ich habe ein Dachzimmer bei Dr. Erdmann (dem von der islamischen Abt. der ehemaligen, so muss man sagen!!, Museen) Zehlendorf, Deisterpfad 24 am Bhhf der U-Bahn Onkel Toms Hütte.“69 Unmittelbar nach dem Ende des Krieges war die Zukunft von Grapow und die durch ihn zu verantwortende Fertigstellung des „Wörterbuchs der aegyptischen Sprache“, ungewiss, da er im „Dritten Reich“ in sehr exponierter Position in der Berliner Wissenschaftslandschaft tätig gewesen war.70 Im gerade zitierten Brief vom 20.09.1945 schreibt Grapow, dass er von seinen Ämtern als stellvertretender bzw. amtierender Rektor der Universität (am 23.05.1945), als Dekan der Philosophischen Fakultät, als stellvertretender bzw. amtierender Präsident der Akademie (am 06.06.1945, nach dem Rechenschaftsbericht) und als Sekretar der Philosophisch-historischen Klasse zurückgetreten, wenn nicht zum Rücktritt gezwungen worden sei.71 Zur Zeit des Briefes war er schon fast drei Monate im Krankenhaus Oskar-Helene-Heim in Dahlem und weiterhin mit einer Entzündung am rechten Kniegelenk ans Krankenbett gefesselt.72 In einem Brief der Philosophin Liselotte 19 (mit dem Stand vom 1. April 1943); ebenso im Personal-Fragebogen von Grapow von 11.03.48 (Archiv BBAW). Todesdatum des Vaters im Personal-Fragebogen. Binger Straße 89 lag an einer Straßenecke und deshalb sehr exponiert. Die zeitlichen Eingrenzungen erklären sich wie folgt: Der Tod von Schwester und Vater wird in einem Brief vom 21.02.1945 von Leopold Klotz vom Hinrichs-Verlag an Grapow erwähnt (Franzmeier und Weber 2013: 136, Anm. 115). Am 24.04.1945 besuchte Grapow den Philosophen und Pädagogen Eduard Spranger (Sachs und Bähr 1973: 273–274 und 277, Anm. 2: „Seit dem erwähnten Besuch war er [PD: Grapow] total ausgebombt und nach langem Umherirren völlig erschöpft aufgefunden worden.“). Der klassische Archäologe Gerhart Rodenwaldt beging am 27.04.1945 gemeinsam mit seiner Frau Selbstmord (Franzmeier und Weber 2013: 136, Anm. 113), muss also vorher Grapow den nachfolgend genannten Anzug gegeben haben. 69 Franzmeier und Weber 2013: 136. 70 Der Grad der Verstrickung mit dem NS-Regime und die Beurteilung seiner Handlungen sind noch nicht endgültig geklärt: siehe u.a. Schneider 2012: 157–165; Gertzen 2015; 2016b: 361–389. 71 Brief von Grapow an Klotz, 20.09.1045 (Franzmeier und Weber 2013: 135). Grapow spricht von sich als „der zuletzt vierfach gekrönte (der Papst sogar hat eine Krone weniger!)“. Zum Rücktritt als Rektor siehe: Jarausch, Middell und Vogt 2012: 22–23. 72 Brief von Grapow an Klotz, 20.09.1045 (Franzmeier und Weber 2013: 136). Bei seinem Besuch an Spranger am 23. Mai abends war Grapow „erheblich krank“ (Sachs und Bähr 1973: 277). Brief von Grapow an Johannes Stroux vom 05.09.1945 (Personalakte Grapow, Archiv BBAW): er liegt seit 7 Wochen mit einer Entzündung am rechten Kniegelenk danieder.

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Richter (1906–1968) ist von einem Selbstmordversuch die Rede.73 Er war als UniProfessor suspendiert und wurde am 29.11.1945 wegen seiner Mitgliedschaft in der NSDAP durch die Universitätsleitung entlassen.74 Grapow schreibt am 20.09.1945: „Nur Akademiemitglied bin ich weiter (noch?) bislang ohne Einschränkung.“ Am 29.04.1946 wurde er von der deutschen Polizei75 verhaftet und war bis 06.05.1946 in amerikanischer Untersuchungshaft,76 wo er vom US Counter Intelligence Corps zwecks Zeugenaussage die Nürnberger Prozesse betreffend befragt wurde.77 Versuche von deutschen Behörden in den Jahren 1945 und 1946, Grapow als ehemaliges NSDAP-Mitglied aus der Akademie entfernen zu lassen oder für Straßenarbeiten heranzuziehen, wurden von der Akademieleitung mit der Begründung zurückgewiesen, dass es für das spezielle wissenschaftliche Fachgebiet der Ägyptologie keine politisch unbelastete Person gab, die die altägyptischen Forschungen übernehmen könnte.78 Am 18. Juli 1946 wurde Grapow in die Sprachwissenschaftliche Kommission der Akademie gewählt79 und später, nachdem die Akademie am 1. August 1946 mit Genehmigung der russischen Besatzungsmacht ihre Arbeit wieder aufnehmen konnte, bekam er einen Forschungsauftrag von der Akademie „Über die Wortbildung im Ägyptischen.“80 Damit konnte er erneut seiner wissenschaftlichen Tätigkeit nachgehen. 73 Brief Edelstein an Steindorff 23.06.1946 (Gertzen 2016b: 375), der ein Schreiben von Frank zitiert, der selbst einen Brief von einer seiner Schülerinnen bekommen hat (zweifellos Liselotte Richter, die als Schülerin von Erich Frank und als die, „die an der Berliner Akademie ist und die Leibniz Nummer herausgegeben hat, welche gerade erschien“, einen Brief an Erich Frank in die USA geschrieben hat, um Grapow mit entlastenden Beweisen zu helfen, weil er vom US Counter Intelligence Corps verhaftet worden war). 74 Gertzen 2015: 32. Die Entlassung wird von Grapow in einem Brief an Klotz vom 29.01.1946 erwähnt (Schneider 2012: 163). Die Jahrbücher der Akademie verzeichnen für Jahrbuch 1946–1949: 11 „Professor für Ägyptologie“; ab Jahrbuch 1950–1951: 10 ist er „Professor für Ägyptologie i.R.“, d h. im Ruhestand. Zur Entlassung siehe: Jarausch, Middell und Vogt 2012: 45, 49. 75 Gertzen 2016b: 374. Die Verhaftung wurde Steindorff in einem Brief durch Bothmer vom 20.05.1946 mitgeteilt (Auszug bei Gertzen 2016b: 374: „Grapow has returned to Berlin a short while ago and was arrested by the German police.“). 76 Untersuchungshaftsdaten im Personal-Fragebogen vom 11.03.48 (Personalakte Grapow, Archiv BBAW). 77 Zeugenaussage erwähnt im Personal-Fragebogen vom 11.03.48 (Personalakte Grapow, Archiv BBAW). Gertzen 2016b: 375. Brief Edelstein an Steindorff mit dem Auszug eines Briefes von Frank, 23.06.1946 (siehe oben Anm. 73; Gertzen 2016b: 375): „Er ist von Eurem C.I.C. [PD: Counter Intelligence Corps] verhaftet. Ich weiss, dass er unschuldig ist […]“. 78 Personalakte Grapow (Archiv BBAW): Schreiben von 22.09.1945, 25.01.1946, 12.09.1946, 18.09.1946 und 21.09.1946. 79 Aus dem Protokoll der Gesamtsitzung vom 18. Juli 1946 in der Personalakte Grapow, Archiv BBAW. 80 Gertzen 2015: 32. Im BBAW-Archiv gibt es einen Nachweis, dass Grapow spätestens

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4. Hilde(gard) von Deines, die Ägyptologin Die ägyptologische Karriere von Hildegard von Deines fing am 1. Oktober 194681 im Alter von 44 Jahren an, nachdem das Wörterbucharchiv im Sommer 1946 von seiner kriegsbedingten Auslagerung in ein Salzbergwerk in Bernburg nach Berlin zurückgekehrt82 und Grapow auf der Suche nach Mitarbeitern für die Fortsetzung der Arbeiten am Altägyptischen Wörterbuch war. Mangels verfügbarer Ägyptologen stellte Grapow Personen mit einer humanistischen Bildung ein. Die erste Person war Hilde Erdmann (ab 1949 wieder Hildegard von Deines), promovierte Chemikerin, aber „Dr.-phil.“. Begründet wurde ihre Einstellung damit, dass „es sich um eine Mangelstelle handelt, in der nicht jede Hilfskraft ohne Spezialausbildung beschäftigt werden kann.“83 In den Lebenserinnerungen von Uga von Gündell steht, dass Hildegard „sich schon länger darauf vorbereitet und Hieroglyphen gelernt“ habe. Zwar hatte sie sich am 15.09.1946 als „Wissenschaftliche Hilfskraft“ beworben, sie wurde aber wegen des Dr.-phil.-Titels gleich als „Wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterin“ auf einer halben Stelle eingestellt.84 Spätestens 1949 war sie auf einer vollen Stelle in der Vergütungsgruppe W XII tätig, ab 01.10.1955 wurde sie auf Antrag ihres Institutsleiters R. Hartmann in die Vergütungsgruppe W XI befördert. Am 01.07.1961 fand die nächste Hochstufung in die Vergütungsgruppe W IX als „Wissenschaftliche Arbeitsleiterin“ statt, aus der sie am 31.12.1962

ab Oktober 1946 eine Vergütung bekam. Grapow wurde an der Akademie „rehabilitiert“, wie er selbst in einem – viel späteren – Brief vom 19.01.1948 an Klotz schreibt (Franzmeier und Weber 2013: 137). 81 Das Datum 01.10.1946 in der Personalakte Hildegard von Deines (Archiv BBAW). Reineke 1999: xvi, Anm. 20 schreibt „spätestens ab 1946“. 82 Der Zeitraum „Sommer 1946“ und das Salzbergwerk in Bernburg finden sich ausführlich dokumentiert im Archiv der BBAW. Die Angabe bei Reineke (1999: xiii), dass die Zettelkästen schon im Herbst 1945 in Unter den Linden 8 wieder notdürftig aufgestellt wurden, stimmt nicht. 83 Am 1. Okt. 1946 wird beim Arbeitsamt Berlin-Mitte die Genehmigung um Einstellung erbeten: „Die Wissenschaftliche Mitarbeiterin Dr. Hildegard Erdmann, geboren am 10.11. 1902, wohnhaft Berlin Zehlendorf, Riemeisterstraße 144, wird zur Erledigung wissenschaftlicher Forschungsarbeiten als Sonderkraft im Dienst der Deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften benötigt. Da es sich um eine Mangelstelle handelt, in der nicht jede Hilfskraft ohne Spezialausbildung beschäftigt werden kann, wird um Zustimmung der Einstellung der Frau Dr. Erdmann vom 1. Oktober 1946 an gebeten.“ (Archiv der Familie; ebenso Personalakte von Deines, Archiv BBAW). Die Genehmigung des Berliner Arbeitsamts, dass Hildegard Erdmann als Sonderkraft in der Deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften anfangen dürfte, ist auf den 04.10.1946 datiert: „Gegen die Einstellung der Frau Hildegard Erdmann, Berlin Zehlendorf, Riemeisterstraße 144, bei oben genannter Firma als Sonderkraft bestehen keine Bedenken.“ (Archiv der Familie). 84 Personalakte Hildegard von Deines, Archiv BBAW (auf dem eigenhändigen Bewerbungsschreiben vom 15.09.1946 und mit dem Vermerk vom 23.09.46 auf der Rückseite).

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altersbedingt ausschied.85 Als sie eines Tages im Herbst 1946 mit Grapow im Vorgarten eines Eiscafés in Zehlendorf saß, kam zufälligerweise Wolfhart Westendorf vorbei. Dieser hatte nach seiner Entlassung aus kurzer amerikanischer Kriegsgefangenschaft von 1945 bis 1946 sein Abitur am humanistischen Gymnasium in Charlottenburg nachgeholt und gerade vergeblich versucht, ein Studium der Atomphysik an der Berliner Universität aufzunehmen, so dass er auf der Suche nach einer vorübergehenden Anstellung war. Hildegard von Deines stellte ihn Grapow vor, der ihm daraufhin – zunächst für ein Jahr – eine Stelle als „Hilfsarbeiter“ beim Wörterbuch anbot.86 Dienstort war zunächst die Privatwohnung von Deines in Zehlendorf,87 weil das Akademiegebäude „Unter den Linden 8“ durch den Krieg schwer beschädigt worden war und dort im Magazinbereich nur das Wörterbucharchiv notdürftig gelagert werden konnte. Auch in den Folgejahren – seit 1947 war „Unter den Linden 8“ offiziell die Heimat des Wörterbuchs – wurde sehr viel zu Hause in Zehlendorf gearbeitet. Westendorf schrieb dazu: „Tatsächlich erfolgte die Arbeit am ‚Grundriss‘ vornehmlich in Zehlendorf im Deisterpfad 24, im Haus von Frau von Deines, wo Prof. Grapow ebenfalls wohnte, während ich keine 5 Min. entfernt täglich zur Arbeit erschien. Nur wenn wir weitere Materialien benötigten, fuhren wir im Dienstwagen in die Akademie.“88 Der ägyptologische Werdegang von Hildegard von Deines kann in vier Phasen unterteilt werden: (1) Ägyptologische Ausbildung und parallel dazu Wörterbucharbeit; (2) Interludium zwischen zwei Großprojekten; (3) Grundriss der Medizin; (4) Arbeiten im Rentenalter. 4.1. 1946–1952: Die ägyptologische Ausbildung und die Wörterbucharbeit Grapow führte von Deines und Westendorf in die ägyptische Sprache ein, indem er gleich mit der Lektüre und Kommentierung der „Geschichte des Schiffbrüchigen“ nach der Kurzgrammatik von Erman anfing.89 Wie die Hieroglyphenschrift funktionierte und was die Lautwerte der Zeichen waren, mussten von Deines und

85 Personalakte Hildegard von Deines, Archiv BBAW. Im Archiv der Familie findet sich ein Brief vom 16.12.1955 der Akademieverwaltung an von Deines, dass sie auf Antrag ihres Institutsleiters in die Vergütungsgruppe W XI eingestuft worden sei. 86 Aus einer unpublizierten Rede von W. Westendorf auf der Institutsfeier zu seinem 90. Geburtstag in Göttingen. 87 Anfänglich Riemeisterstraße 144, später Deisterpfad 24. 88 E-Mail von W. Westendorf an P. Dils vom 12.11.2014. 89 Gemeint ist sicherlich Adolf Erman, Kurzer Abriss der aegyptischen Grammatik zum Gebrauche in Vorlesungen. Mit Schrifttafel, Lesestücken und Wörterverzeichnis, Berlin: Verlag von Reuther & Reichard, 1919 (unveränderte Nachdrucke 1924 und 1931); Text des Schiffbrüchigen auf S. 48–52. Das Werk bietet auf 32 Seiten einen Überblick über die mittelägyptische Grammatik. Das Unterrichtsexemplar von Grapow befindet sich noch in Familienbesitz.

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Westendorf sich selbst beibringen. Als Fritz Hintze, der seit 193690 an der Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zunächst als Wissenschaftlicher Hilfsarbeiter angestellt und 1944 promoviert worden war, im Jahr 1946 aus Kriegsgefangenschaft zurückkehrte, wurde dieser der Dritte im Bunde der Wörterbuchmitarbeiter. Aber schon mit Beginn des Wintersemesters 1947–48 wurde Hintze Dozent an der Berliner Universität, die mit seiner Einstellung den Lehrbetrieb in der Ägyptologie wieder aufnahm, nachdem Grapow im Jahr 1945 entlassen worden war. So konnte Westendorf, der seine Pläne der Atomphysik zugunsten der Ägyptologie aufgegeben hatte, im Herbst 1947 ein reguläres Ägyptologie-Studium aufnehmen. Sowohl er als auch Hildegard von Deines wurden während der ägyptologischen Vorlesungen und Übungen, die damals noch direkt in den Räumen der Akademie stattfanden, von der Wörterbucharbeit freigestellt.91 Wie Westendorf, wird sie außer bei Fritz Hintze sicherlich auch bei Rudolf Anthes mindestens eine Übung belegt haben.92 Außer (Alt)ägyptisch lernte sie auch Koptisch.93 Einen Abschluss in der Ägyptologie hat Hildegard von Deines nicht angestrebt. Aber sie zeigte ein reges Interesse an der Dissertationsarbeit von Westendorf. Im Vorwort schreibt er: „Zu größtem Dank verpflichtet bin ich Frau Dr. Hilde von Deines, die an dieser Arbeit von den ersten Ansätzen bis zur vorliegenden Form so sehr viel mehr Anteil hat, als es sich im einzelnen aufzählen ließe, und Herrn Prof. Dr. Hermann Grapow, der mein Lehrer wurde […]. Beiden verdanke ich meinen Weg zur Ägyptologie, aber mehr noch meinen Weg in der Ägyptologie.“94 Die Arbeiten von von Deines und Westendorf waren in den ersten Jahren weitestgehend mechanischer und repetitiver Natur, was bei den anfänglich nicht vorhandenen Ägyptisch-Kenntnissen nicht verwunderlich war. Es fing damit an, dass 52 „Riesenkisten“ mit Wörterbuchmaterialien95 ausgepackt werden mussten. Mehr als 1500 direkt für die Arbeit relevante Kästen mit anderthalb Millionen Zetteln mussten entstaubt, aufgeschnürt, eingeräumt und inventarisiert werden. Es stellte sich heraus, dass zwei Wortstrecken fehlten: einige Zettelkästen waren aus einer wohl von der Sowjetischen Militäradministration aufgebrochenen Kiste abhanden gekommen.96 Gewappnet mit einer von Grapow vorbereiteten Liste der 90

Personalakte Hintze, Archiv BBAW. Westendorf 1999: 22–23. 92 Westendorf (1953: v), nennt eine Übung an Stelen des Mittleren Reiches bei Rudolf Anthes im Wintersemester 1947/1948 als Anregung für sein Dissertationsthema. 93 Als Fremdsprachen werden im Personal-Fragebogen von Hildegard Erdmann vom 11.03.1948 Altägyptisch und Koptisch aufgelistet, neben Französisch und Englisch (Personalakte Archiv BBAW). Im Personal-Fragebogen vom 15.09.1946 gibt Hildegard Erdmann Latein, Französisch und Englisch auf Schulbildungsniveau an. 94 Westendorf 1953: vi. 95 Erman und Grapow 1953: 46: 52 „Riesenkisten“ wurden im Jahr 1943 in ein Salzbergwerk in Bernburg an der Saale eingelagert. 96 Die aufgebrochene Kiste wird erwähnt in Grapow 1947: 196, linke Spalte. 91

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gängigen hieroglyphischen Schreibungen dieser Wörter, mussten von Deines und Westendorf daraufhin mehr als 60.000 Karteikarten in Mappen mit verzettelten hieroglyphischen Textausschnitten Zeile für Zeile durchgehen, in der Hoffnung Belege dieser Liste wiederzuerkennen. Mit der Ausbeute von einigen tausend Referenzen vom Typ „Mappe 273, Zettel 85“ durchsuchten von Deines und Westendorf anschließend die Karteikästen mit ungenutzten Zettelkopien auf der Suche nach einem Zettel mit dem betreffenden Beleg. Wenn kein Ersatzzettel gefunden wurde, musste der Originalzettel in Hieroglyphen auf einem neuen Zettel abgeschrieben werden.97 Die neue Zettelsammlung wurde schließlich von Grapow geprüft und eingeordnet. Weder von Deines noch Westendorf haben im Laufe der Jahre eine gute Hieroglyphenhandschrift entwickelt. Nachdem die Integrität der Wörterbuchmaterialien wiederhergestellt worden war, konnte die Arbeit am Wörterbuch dort weitergehen, wo sie im Jahr 1943 abgebrochen worden war, d.h. bei der Erstellung der Belegstellenbände zu den Wörterbuchbänden III, IV und V. Die Belegstellenbände lieferten illustrative Textnachweise für die in den Wörterbuchbänden vorgeschlagenen Wortbedeutungen und waren somit essenziell für deren Nachvollziehbarkeit. Dazu mussten in den Zettelkästen Lemma für Lemma alle Belege in die Hand genommen und auf ihre illustrative Relevanz ausgewertet werden. Westendorf beschreibt die bis ins Jahr 1953 andauernde, langweilige Arbeit wie folgt: Grapow suchte in den Wörterbuchkästen die geeigneten Belege heraus. Die so vorbereiteten Kästen wurden von Frau von Deines und mir übernommen. Wir fertigten zunächst für die entnommenen Zettel kurze Ersatz-Belege an, damit die Originalzettel später wieder an Ort und Stelle eingeordnet werden konnten; sodann brachten wir die Zitate mit Hilfe von Konkordanz-Mappen auf die für damalige Verhältnisse modernste Form, denn viele Texte hatten seit der Verzettelung für das Wörterbuch eine erneute Veröffentlichung oder Bearbeitung erfahren. Eine weitere Konkordanz lieferte uns Angaben über die Datierung des Belegs, die wir zusammen mit der neuen Fassung des Zitats auf der Rückseite des Zettels niederschrieben. Bei dieser Gelegenheit wurden auch Abweichungen in der Wortbedeutung festgestellt und entsprechend korrigiert. […] Die Ausbeute einer Arbeitswoche wurde jeweils am Sonnabend vorgenommen, und zwar in Zehlendorf im West-Teil Berlins, dem Wohnort von Grapow, Frau von Deines und mir: ich stellte das druckfertige Manuskript mit der Schreibmaschine her; Frau von Deines kollationierte meine Abschrift. […] Nachdem wir unser Wochenend-Pensum erledigt hatten, konnten am fol-

97

Westendorf 1999: 21–22.

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genden Montag die Zettel in die Wörterbuchkästen zurückgeordnet werden, nicht ohne vorher die unpublizierten Belege an Firchow zu übergeben, der die Hieroglyphen-Fassung zu schreiben übernommen hatte. So ging das Woche für Woche, Monat für Monat, Jahr für Jahr – es war die reinste Fließband-Arbeit, die auch durch Grapows tröstende Worte nicht versüßt werden konnte: ‚Liebster, Ihr müsst doch zugeben, dass Ihr aber auch eine Menge dabei lernen könnt!‘98 Während Westendorf die Mühsal der Arbeit an den Belegstellenbänden in den Vordergrund rückt, fanden diese Mühen durchaus auch öffentliche Anerkennung. So schrieb die Berliner Abendzeitung „Nacht-Express“ vom 10. November 1950: An dieser Arbeit, die sehr nüchtern und sachlich, mühsam und entsagungsvoll ist und die einen restlos zuverlässigen und gewissenhaften Facharbeiter erfordert, ist als verantwortliche Mitarbeiterin eine Wissenschaftlerin, Frau Dr. von Deines, beteiligt, die sich dieser Aufgabe mit großer Hingabe und feinem Einfühlungsvermögen widmet.99

Abb. 5: Das Wörterbuchteam im Jahr 1953. Von links nach rechts Wolfhart Westendorf, Elvira Liste, Otto Firchow, Hermann Grapow, Hildegard von Deines. 98

Westendorf 1999: 24–26. Nacht-Express. Die Illustrierte Berliner Abendzeitung, Freitag, 10. November 1950, im Abschnitt „Welt der Frau“. 99

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Der im obigen Zitat genannte Firchow war einer von zwei neuen Kollegen, die Hildegard von Deines zum 1. Januar 1950 bekam.100 Dr. Otto Firchow (*20.01. 1912) war ein ehemaliger Schüler von Sethe und Grapow in Berlin, der im Jahr 1942101 in Göttingen bei Kees promoviert wurde und von 1946 bis 1949 Wissenschaftlicher Assistent und Lehrbeauftragter an der Universität Hamburg war. Er konnte schöne Hieroglyphen zeichnen, weshalb er von Grapow eingestellt wurde. Im Jahr 1958 wurde er in der Nachfolge von Siegfried Morenz für kurze Zeit Direktor des Ägyptischen Museums in Ost-Berlin, bis er 1960 in den Westen floh. Die zweite Kollegin war Elvira Liste, eine ehemalige Opernsängerin, die als Hilfskraft und später wissenschaftlich-technische Assistentin bis 1956 im Team blieb.102 Gemeinsam erstellten sie die Belegstellenbände III (1951), IV (1953) und V (1953). Im Jahr 1955 kam schließlich eine zweite Auflage des Belegstellenbandes I hinzu, diesmal mit hieroglyphischen Belegstellen für die unpublizierten Texte durch Firchow. Das druckfertige Manuskript des Bandes III war der Akademie am 6. Oktober 1949 vorgelegt worden. Im Jahresbericht 1946–1949 werden nur Grapow und Hildegard von Deines als Bearbeiter aufgeführt – Wolfhart Westendorf war als „Hülfskraft“ wohl nicht erwähnenswert.103 Aber im Vorwort zum Band selbst lautet die Arbeitsaufteilung: „Der vorliegende Band beruht auf der gemeinsamen Arbeit des Unterzeichneten mit Dr. Hilde von Deines und cand. phil. Wolfhart Westendorf sowie Dr. Otto Firchow, der die Redaktion und Niederschrift des autographierten Teils durchgeführt hat.“104 In den Berichten des Instituts für Orientforschung, aber auch in der Berliner Presse, wird für die Jahre 1948–1949 noch eine weitere Arbeit von Hildegard von Deines verzeichnet: H. v. Deines brachte ihre Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der ägyptischen Chemie zu einem vorläufigen Abschluß, die noch der Ergänzung durch weiteres Material für diese sehr schwierigen Fragen bedürfen. Eine darstellende Untersuchung der Nachrichten, welche die ägyptischen Texte über

100

Personalakte Firchow in der BBAW: Er ist seit 1. Jan. 1950 wissenschaftlicher Mitarbeiter beim Institut für Orientforschung. Jahrbuch 1946–1949 (1950): 38 nennt Dr. Otto Firchow schon als Mitarbeiter. 101 Die Personalakte Firchow in der BBAW gibt an: Promotion 1938. Jedoch datiert die (gedruckte?) Dissertation von 1942: Otto Firchow, Studien zu den Pyramidenanlagen der 12. Dynastie, Göttingen, Univ. Diss. 1942 (https://katalog.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/titel/660 01176; https://katalog.ub.uni-leipzig.de/Record/0-1078221227). 102 Westendorf 1999: 24; Jahresangaben und Einstufungen gemäß http://aaew.bbaw.de/ projekt/mitarbeiter/mitwirkende (zuletzt geprüft 26.08.2017, aktuell nicht online). 103 Jahrbuch 1946–1949 (1950): 107. 104 Erman und Grapow 1951: Vorbemerkung.

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Kunstwerke und deren Herstellung aus Gold, Silber und kostbaren Steinen enthalten, wurde in Angriff genommen.105 Eine Berliner Zeitung kommentiert diese Leistung mit: „Eine Wissenschaftlerin, die Initiative genug hat, den Kreis ihrer Aufgaben weiter zu führen, als man von ihr verlangt.“106 Die Arbeit wurde nie veröffentlicht, aber ein Artikel über das „Gold der Tapferkeit“ von 1954 könnte daraus hervorgegangen sein. Im Jahr 1950 war auch der Wörterbuchband VI „Deutsch-Aegyptisches Wörterverzeichnis in alphabetischer und sachlicher Ordnung nebst Verzeichnissen der koptischen, semitischen und griechischen Wörter“ publiziert worden. Grapow nennt von Deines, Westendorf und Firchow im Vorwort als beteiligt an der Fertigstellung,107 aber es ist unklar, welchen konkreten Beitrag sie geleistet haben. Denn in einem älteren Artikel von Oktober 1947 schreibt er, dass er das Manuskript am 25. September 1947 zur Publikation in einer Akademiesitzung eingereicht habe,108 und da war Firchow noch kein Mitarbeiter, während von Deines und Westendorf noch mit der Zettelkastenwiederherstellung beschäftigt waren bzw. gerade mit dem Belegstellenband angefangen hatten.109 Nebenbei sei bemerkt, dass es damals vielleicht einer gesellschaftlichen Begründung für die Wörterbucharbeit bedurfte, oder dass bestehende wissenschaftliche Unternehmungen zur Steigerung des staatlichen Prestiges genutzt wurden. Ein Artikel über Hildegard von Deines von 1950 lautet „Eine Wissenschaftlerin im Dienste der Forschung“.110 Und während der sieben Stunden dauernden Maiparade am 1. Mai 1951 fuhren Hermann Grapow und Hildegard von Deines in 105

Jahrbuch 1946–1949 (1950): 108. Im internen Arbeitsbericht des Instituts für Orientforschung über das Jahr 1948 bzw. für die Zweijahresplanung 1949–1950 steht: „Frau Dr. Erdmann arbeitete, soweit es die Hauptarbeit zuließ, an Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der ägyptischen Chemie und der in der Medizin verwendeten mineralischen usw. Stoffe.“ und „Untersuchungen über die ägyptischen Mineralien und andere Stoffe auf Grund der Nachrichten in den ägyptischen Texten als Beitrag für die Geschichte der Chemie bei den alten Ägyptern.“ (Archiv der Berlin-Brandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Bestand Preußische Akademie der Wissenschaften nach 1945, Nr. 28. Orientalische Kommission der Preußischen Akademie bzw. Institut für Orientforschung der DAW). 106 Nacht-Express. Die Illustrierte Berliner Abendzeitung, Freitag, 10. November 1950, im Abschnitt „Welt der Frau“. 107 Westendorf 1999: 25; Erman und Grapow 1950: V. 108 Grapow 1947: 196, linke Spalte. 109 Westendorf 1999: 25. Er schreibt bezüglich der Wochenendarbeit an den Belegstellenbänden: „Grapow stand an diesen Wochenenden für eventuelle Rückfragen zur Verfügung, beschäftigte sich vornehmlich aber mit der Wiederaufnahme der Arbeit zu einem Deutsch-Ägyptischen Wörterverzeichnis, vor allem mit der Ordnung des ägyptischen Wortschatzes nach Sachgruppen, die er nach dem Vorbild von Franz Dornseiff in Angriff nahm.“ 110 Nacht-Express. Die Illustrierte Berliner Abendzeitung, Freitag, 10. November 1950, im Abschnitt „Welt der Frau“.

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einem offenen Auto mit dem Plakat „Unsere Nationalpreisträger entwickeln eine fortschrittliche deutsche Wissenschaft u. Technik“ mit.

Abb. 6: Maiparade am 1. Mai 1951. Hildegard von Deines und Hermann Grapow sitzen auf dem Rücksitz des hinteren Autos mit dem im Text erwähnten Plakat. 4.2. 1952–1953: Zwischen zwei Großprojekten Grapow meldete in einer Akademiesitzung am 15. Mai 1952 den Abschluss des Manuskripts von Band V der Belegstellen und damit das Ende der Arbeiten am Altägyptischen Wörterbuch.111 Der erfolgreiche Abschluss dieses monumentalen Wörterbuchs nach 55 Jahren Arbeit brachte ihm im Jahr 1953 den Nationalpreis der DDR II. Klasse für Wissenschaft und Technik ein.112 Das Team hatte zuerst keinen konkreten Plan, wie es mit der lexikographischen Arbeit weitergehen sollte,113 was es Hildegard von Deines vermutlich ermöglichte, vermehrt eigenen Forschungsinteressen nachzugehen. Eine mögliche Nachfolgearbeit wäre eine komplett überarbeitete Neuauflage des Wörterbuchs gewesen. Aber ein Aufruf 111

Jahrbuch 1952–1953: 199. Neues Deutschland, 8. Okt. 1953, S. 3 (https://www.nd-archiv.de/artikel/867329.natio nalpreis-ii-klasse html, zuletzt geprüft 05.05.2022). 113 Die stilistischen Studien Grapows, die er für die Hymnen des Mittleren Reiches gemeinsam mit von Deines und Westendorf durchführte (s. Grapow 1954: 18), waren nicht lexikographischer Natur. 112

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am 27. August 1954 beim 23. Internationalen Orientalistenkongress in Cambridge für eine erneute Zusammenarbeit zu diesem Zweck blieb wegen der Person Grapow sowie der internationalen Spannungen mit der DDR und der Sowjetunion ohne Erfolg.114 Eine andere Möglichkeit bot die Erforschung von bestimmten Teilen des Wortschatzes in Spezialwörterbüchern, wie es Gardiner angeregt hatte.115 In diesem Rahmen beschäftigte sich Hildegard von Deines mit „einer Ordnung und Untersuchung der im Neuen Reich in das Ägyptische eingedrungenen Fremdwörter, in erster Linie solcher in syllabischer Schreibung, auf ihr Vorkommen in den Texten hin und auf die Erfassung ihrer kulturgeschichtlichen Bedeutung.“116 Das führte im Jahr 1953 zu ihrem ersten ägyptologischen Artikel: über das Wissen um und den Wortschatz über Pferd und Wagen anhand der textlichen Quellen, die im Rahmen der Wörterbucharbeit gesammelt worden waren. Man könnte es einen Überblicksartikel zum Wortfeld „Pferd und Wagen“ nennen. In diesem Artikel kündigte sie zugleich einen weiteren Aufsatz „Das Wort wrt ‚Wagen‘“ für 1954 an,117 der aber niemals erschienen ist. Sie wollte darin die verschiedenen Schreibungen des Wortes wrr.t/wr.t thematisieren, der Frage nachgehen, ob wrr.t ein ägyptisches oder ein Lehnwort sei, sowie Zusatzmaterial zum Bereich Pferd im alten Ägypten liefern. Das Thema ihres nächsten Artikels über das „Gold der Tapferkeit: eine militärische Auszeichnung oder eine Belohnung?“ in der Biographie des Ahmose, Sohn der Abana, zeugt von philologischen und insbesondere grammatischen sowie lexikographischen Einblicken, die einer an der „Berliner Schule / École de Berlin“ ausgebildeten Ägyptologin würdig sind. Was die in der Artikelüberschrift angesprochene Frage vom „Gold der Tapferkeit“ als einer konkreten militärischen Auszeichnung oder als einer Belohnung im Allgemeinen angeht, kommt sie am Schluss zu der Überzeugung, dass die Fragestellung schlichtweg falsch sei, denn man sollte nicht „Gold der Tapferkeit“ als feste Wortverbindung, sondern „Gold für/wegen Tapferkeit“ übersetzen und die feste Wortverbindung aus dem Wörterbuch streichen. Eine Passage in diesem Artikel erweckt den Eindruck, dass sie eine „Gesamtbearbeitung des Textes“ der Biographie des Ahmose vorbereitete.118 In diesem größeren Rahmen wollte sie u.a. zwei grammatische Themen behandeln, nämlich die Funktion der beiden erzählenden Verbalformen ꜥḥꜥ.n und wn.jn sowie „die merkwürdige Form ꜥḥꜥ.n.tw m=k jwꜥ=j“. Auch die Wortverbindung ḥr sn.nw=sj wollte sie dort thematisieren.

114

Sinor 1954: 80: „H. Grapow distributed a leaflet entitled ‘Aufruf zur Mitarbeit an der Weiterführung des Wörterbuches der ägyptischen Sprache‘ and spoke briefly on this theme.“ 115 Ausführlicher beschrieben von Westendorf 1999: 26–29. 116 Von Deines 1953: 3. 117 Von Deines 1953: 11, Anm. 67a; 12; 15, Anm. 113. 118 Von Deines 1954a: 84 und Anm. 4.

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Das zeigt eindeutig, dass Hildegard von Deines sich auch für grammatische Fragen interessierte, was vielleicht von ihrer humanistischen Ausbildung herrührte und gewiss ihrem naturwissenschaftlich geschulten, logisch denkenden Geist entsprach. Das grammatische Interesse findet sich auch im Vorwort der Dissertation von Westendorf zum Passiv. Von Deines hat einen ausführlichen Artikel über die Bedeutung und Verwendung der vier verschiedenen Gruppen von Demonstrativpronomina im medizinischen Papyrus Edwin Smith publiziert. Für eine spezielle Verbalform, das sog. Pseudopartizip, vertrat sie die Auffassung, dass es im Kontext der Drogenherstellung und -verabreichung eine optativische und nicht eine passivisch-resultative Funktion habe; damit stand sie im Widerspruch zu Westendorf. Sie würde z.B. eine Stelle im Papyrus Hearst nicht mit „man möge diesen Spruch sagen über einer Perle aus Karneol, die an den After der Frau gegeben ist“, sondern mit „die an den After der Frau gegeben werde“ übersetzen.119 Und sie hatte die Absicht, einen Artikel über die jeweiligen Verwendungen der kontingenten Verbalformen sḏm.jn=f und sḏm.ḫr=f in Abgrenzung voneinander zu schreiben.120 Betrachtet man den Stil der beiden Artikel über die Demonstrativa (1954) und die Plazenta (1956, siehe weiter unten), dann fällt einerseits die logische, argumentative Struktur ins Auge, andererseits die Verwendung der 1. Person „ich“, manchmal auch „wir“, wenn von Deines den Leser mit einbezieht. Es finden sich vielfach Formulierungen wie „ich glaube, das berechtigt uns […]“ (S. 14), „aber ich glaube, das ist nicht richtig, […].“ (S. 16), „aber ich glaube, die Stelle läßt sich auch anders erklären“ (S. 18), „Wir haben also zwei Rezepte und könnten … auf das erste und das zweite beziehen. Aber ich glaube, diese logische Opposition ist hier gar nicht gemeint.“ (S. 17).121 Von Deines äußert also ihre persönliche Meinung ganz offen und zieht sich nicht hinter Passiv-Konstruktionen, Konstruktionen mit „man“ oder „nach Meinung dieses Autors“ u.ä. zurück. Ob man daraus schließen dürfte, dass Hildegard von Deines auch im täglichen Leben schon mal dezidiert ihren Standpunkt verteidigte? 4.3. 1953–1959: Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter Hildegard von Deines lieferte Grapow den entscheidenden Ansporn für die nächste Großarbeit des Wörterbuchteams, den „Grundriss der Medizin der Alten Ägypter“. Schon in den zwanziger und dreißiger Jahren hatte sich Grapow mit 119

Westendorf 1953: 128, Anm. 2. Westendorf 1953: 207, Anm. 2. Die eigenen Auffassungen über das Pseudopartizip und die kontingenten Verbalformen sḏm.jn=f und sḏm.ḫr=f wollte sie im Ergänzungsband zum Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter veröffentlichen, weshalb Westendorf in seiner vorher erscheinenden Grammatik prophylaktisch schon einmal eingehender dazu Stellung bezogen hatte (Westendorf 1953: 128, Anm. 2 und 207, Anm. 2). 121 Alle Beispiele aus von Deines 1954b; im Aufsatz von 1956 sind sie weniger auffällig, aber nichtdestotrotz vorhanden. 120

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dem neu zugänglich gewordenen Papyrus Edwin Smith beschäftigt und „Untersuchungen über die altägyptischen medizinischen Papyri“ (1935–1936)122 geschrieben. Jetzt ermutigte sie ihn, sich gerade mit dem Wortschatzausschnitt der medizinischen Texte auseinanderzusetzen „mit dem Hinweis, die Medizin sei doch schon immer ein Lieblingsthema von ihm gewesen.“123 Diese neue Aufgabe wird erstmals im Jahrbuch der Akademie 1952–1953 genannt.124 Die Arbeit wurde zwischen den Beteiligten (Grapow, von Deines und Westendorf) geteilt. Grapow schrieb drei einführende Bände zu den anatomischen und physiologischen Kenntnissen der Ägypter (1954), zu Form und Inhalt der medizinischen Texte (1955) und zu Krankheitsverständnis, Patient und Arzt in der altägyptischen Medizin (1956). Das brachte ihm im Jahr 1955 den Titel Doctor medicinae honoris causa von Seiten der Universität seines Geburtsortes Rostock ein. Hildegard von Deines übernahm – als ausgebildete Chemikerin – den pharmazeutischen Wortschatz (1959) und gemeinsam mit Westendorf den sonstigen Wortschatz der medizinischen Texte (1961–1962). Westendorf sollte außerdem die Grammatik untersuchen (1962). Die Übersetzung der Texte wollten alle drei gemeinsam vorantreiben (1958). Grapow, der als einziger vernünftig Hieroglyphen zeichnen konnte, autographierte dann wieder allein die ganzen Texte (1958). Hildegard von Deines charakterisierte die Arbeit als eine „angespannte Tätigkeit in unserer Arbeitsgemeinschaft am Grundriss der Medizin der Alten Ägypter“. Und: „unsere enge Zusammenarbeit bringt es mit sich, daß unsere kleineren und auch manchmal größeren Entdeckungen und neuen Erkenntnisse Gemeingut sind, das sich nicht herauslösen läßt aus dem Ganzen und nur in dem geplanten Grundriss an gegebener Stelle seinen Niederschlag finden kann.“125 Viele Erkenntnisse scheinen also im Laufe von Diskussionen in einem gemeinsamen Prozess entstanden zu sein.126 Aber mindestens einmal kann eine Erkenntnis eindeutig auf sie zurückgeführt werden. Hinter der Wortverbindung „Rosinen-Wasser“

122

Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-Ägyptischen Gesellschaft, 40/1, 1935 und 41/2, 1936. Westendorf 1999: 28. 124 Jahrbuch 1952–1953: 175: „eine Gesamtdarstellung der altägyptischen Medizin, die Herstellung eines Sonderwörterbuches der in den medizinischen Texten enthaltenen Ausdrücke nach neuen Gesichtspunkten.“ Während einer Sitzung der Akademie am 5. Februar 1953 spricht Grapow über das Thema „Zur altägyptischen Medizin“ (Jahrbuch 1952– 1953: 204). 125 Von Deines 1956: 27. Grapow 1954: 18: er habe „mit meinen Freunden von Deines und Westendorf […] in einer ebenso anregenden wie das Verständnis […] fördernden Arbeitsgemeinschaft“ Hymnen des Mittleren Reiches durchgenommen. 126 Grapow 1973: 9 schreibt: „wir, Frau von Deines, Westendorf und ich, (haben) in echter kameradschaftlicher Gemeinschaftsarbeit, an die wir alle Drei mit Freude zurückdenken, den Bau unseres Grundrisses errichtet.“ Wolfgang Schenkel erzählte mir eine Anekdote, dass die Erkenntnisfindung manchmal auch ein wenig anders verlief: „Die Zusammenarbeit, wurde erzählt, war so gestaltet, dass bei Meinungsverschiedenheiten das getan wurde, 123

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in der Phrase „die (Flüssigkeits-)Ansammlung, die daraus abfließt, ist kühl wie Rosinen-Wasser“ vermutete sie eine Bezeichnung des „Alkohol(s), der sich aus gegorenen Weinbeeren entwickelt hat und dessen Verdunstung die Kühlwirkung hervorbringt“.127 Eine weitere ihrer Entdeckungen kam aus dem Bereich der Körperteilbezeichnungen. Diese widmete sie ihrem „Lehrer und Freund“128 Hermann Grapow nachträglich zu seinem 70. Geburtstag. Sie stellte fest, dass die Körperteilbezeichnung „Mutter der Menschen“ eine Umschreibung für die Plazenta sei.129 Im Rahmen der Artikelwidmung an Grapow beschrieb sie ihre wissenschaftliche Tätigkeit genauer: „Wir Schüler Hermann Grapows sind uns voll bewußt, daß wir durch die Berliner Schule der Erforschung der Sprache der Alten Ägypter, die eine so alte Tradition hat, erst das Rüstzeug erhalten haben, um mit Erfolg ‚das Meer der Wissenschaft zu befahren‘. Hermann Grapow hat uns unermüdlich und in lebendiger Weise die großen Entdeckertaten seiner geistigen Väter, Großväter und Urväter vor Augen gehalten, und die Namen wie Lepsius, Brugsch, Erman, Steindorff und Sethe verpflichten uns, hier am alten Wörterbuch der Akademie auch weiterhin im alten Geiste gutes wissenschaftliches Handwerk zu leisten.“130 Im Jahr 1955 stellte sie in einer Grapow gewidmeten Artikelsammlung von Kollegen das Schriftenverzeichnis ihres Lehrers zusammen.131 Von Deines erwähnt in ihrem Plazenta-Aufsatz einen „späteren Aufsatz“, der eine Passage aus dem gynäkologischen Papyrus Kahun thematisieren sollte,132 aber sie hat in den nachfolgenden Jahren keine Einzelartikel mehr publiziert. Erst 1976 sollte ein letzter Aufsatz erscheinen, in dem sie in einer Gruppe von Heilmitteln im Papyrus Ebers zur weiblichen Brust die Themen Krankheiten von Schwangeren oder jungen Müttern und Plazenta wieder aufnimmt. Hildegard von Deines war also im Gesamtprojekt des Grundrisses für den Drogenwortschatz zuständig, und sie berichtete über ihre Arbeiten vor der Philologisch-historischen Klasse der Akademie in einer Sitzung am 15.11.1956.133 In ei-

was zwei Mitglieder befürworteten, und abgelehnt, was ein Mitglied vorbrachte. Und dieses eine Mitglied, konnte man erraten, auch wenn es nicht direkt gesagt wurde, war Westendorf.“ Das heißt, Hildegard von Deines war oft derselben Meinung wie Grapow oder ihm gegenüber zumindest loyal (E-Mail von Schenkel an Dils, 18.10.2018). 127 Westendorf 1966: 89, Anm. 8; von Deines und Grapow 1959: 137. 128 Von Deines 1956: 28. Auch Grapow nennt Hildegard von Deines und Wolfhart Westendorf „liebe Freunde“ (Grapow 1973: 8). 129 Von Deines 1956. 130 Von Deines 1956: 28. 131 Von Deines 1955. 132 Von Deines 1956: 32, Anm. 10. 133 Jahrbuch 1956: 396; gedruckt als: von Deines und Westendorf 1957.

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nigen Jahresberichten wird sie als alleinige Bearbeiterin dieses Materials aufgeführt,134 aber als das Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Drogennamen dann 1959 erschien, trug es zwei Namen, von Deines und Grapow. Um den Band schnell publizieren zu können und weil die hieroglyphischen Typen (Bleilettern) für das „Wörterbuch der medizinischen Texte“ blockiert waren, wurde es in Autographie in Grapows Handschrift gedruckt.135 Hilfe bei der Korrektur bekamen sie von Karl-Heinz Priese. Das Wörterbuch der medizinischen Texte erschien 1962, wie von Anfang an geplant mit von Deines und Westendorf als Verfasser. Über ihre Arbeit schreiben sie: Was unsere Arbeit über das rein Stoffliche hinaus so mühevoll und schwierig macht, ist dies: wir wollen Vollständigkeit erreichen. Das heißt, daß wir anstreben, die ägyptischen medizinischen Texte sämtlich zu interpretieren und zu übersetzen und sie mit sämtlichen Belegstellen aller in ihnen vorkommenden Wörter lexikalisch aufzubereiten. […] Die Lexika wären längst fertiggestellt und würden ungleich weniger Mühe gemacht haben, wenn ihre Bearbeiter sich, wie das üblich ist, mit einer Auswahl der Belegstellen begnügt hätten. Etwas sehr anderes ist es, einen Thesaurus zu machen mit Angabe jedes, auch des unbedeutendsten Belegs.136 Von Deines und Grapow hatten die Absicht, das Drogenwörterbuch ein zweites Mal auf breiterer Basis, d.h. nicht ausschließlich auf der Grundlage der medizinischen Texte, zu überarbeiten: Sobald das Ganze [gemeint ist das Grundriss-Projekt] abgeschlossen vorliegt, besteht die Absicht, die Drogen nochmals auf breiterer Grundlage zu untersuchen, so, wie es in vorbildlicher Weise John Harris in seiner Arbeit ‚Lexicographical Studies in Ancient Egyptian Minerals‘ getan hat […]. Wir selbst hoffen nach dem Beispiel von J. Harris bei Berücksichtigung sämtlicher Stellen des Vorkommens unserer Drogennamen in auch nicht medizinischen Texten, besonders durch die Auswertung der griechisch-römischen Inschriften, noch zu einer größeren Zahl von gesicherten Bedeutungen von Drogenbezeichnungen zu gelangen.137 Dazu ist es nicht gekommen; es gab wohl andere Prioritäten.

134

Von Deines und Westendorf 1957: 3; Jahrbuch 1958: 639–640. Ende der Autographie am 14.06.59 (von Deines und Grapow 1959: 615); Vorwort vom 1. September 1959. 136 Von Deines und Westendorf 1957: 5. 137 Von Deines und Grapow 1959: V. 135

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Laut Akademiejahrbuch 1959 ist die Arbeit am Grundriss der Medizin der Alten Ägypter „im Berichtjahr zum Abschluß gelangt“,138 auch wenn die Drucklegung in den nächsten Jahren noch Zeit in Anspruch nahm. Der Ergänzungsband, der schon 1958 im Manuskript abgeschlossen war,139 sollte erst 1973 unter den Namen von Deines, Grapow und Westendorf im Akademie-Verlag erscheinen. Im selben Jahr 1959 wurde das „Kollektiv Prof. Dr. Hermann Grapow / Dr. Hildegard von Deines / Dr. Wolfhart Westendorf / aus dem Institut für Orientforschung der Deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin“ für ihre Leistung auf dem Gebiet der Wissenschaft und Technik mit dem Nationalpreis II. Klasse durch den Präsidenten der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik ausgezeichnet.140

Abb. 7: Hildegard von Deines im Jahr 1959. 138

Jahrbuch 1959: 24. Jahrbuch 1958: 639. 140 Hohe Auszeichnungen zum 10. Jahrestag. Nationalpreise 1959, in: Neues Deutschland, 14. Jahrgang, Nr. 273, Sonntag, 4. Oktober 1959, S. 3 (https://www nd-archiv.de/artikel/ 457151.verdienstmedaille-der-ddr.html, zuletzt geprüft 05.05.2022). Ebenso: Neue Zeit, 15. Jahrgang, Ausgabe 232, Sonntag, 4. Oktober 1959, S. 5. 139

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Unter den ägyptologischen Kollegen von Hildegard von Deines im Institut für Orientforschung gab es am Ende der 1950er Jahre Veränderungen. Otto Firchow, der sich mit seiner Weigerung, weiterhin Hieroglyphen zu zeichnen, ins Abseits manövriert hatte, gehörte von Anfang an nicht zu den Grundriss-Forschern. Er bekam die Aufgabe, die griechisch-römischen Inschriften von Karnak, die Kurt Sethe kopiert hatte, und später ebenso die Kahun-Papyri im Berliner Museum zu publizieren, bis er dann 1958 ans Museum wechselte und 1960 nach Westdeutschland floh. Sein Nachfolger wurde Walter Friedrich Reineke, der im Herbst 1958 sein Ägyptologie-Studium beendet hatte. Weil Reineke, zusammen mit Irene Grumach, Karl-Heinz Priese, Erika Endesfelder und Steffen Wenig, im AkademieGebäude an Hintzes ägyptologischem Unterricht und während dessen Abwesenheit im Sudan an dem Grapows und Westendorfs teilgenommen hatte, war er kein Unbekannter. Da die Arbeiten am Grundriss so gut wie vollendet waren, wurde Reineke für die Erstellung eines Rückläufigen Wörterbuchs des Ägyptischen verpflichtet. 4.4. 1960–1976: Späte Arbeiten Die Grundriss-Arbeit war, wie erwähnt, bis auf die Drucklegung der Manuskripte im Jahr 1959 abgeschlossen, auch wenn das Projekt mindestens bis 1968 zu den Aufgaben des Instituts für Orientforschung zählte.141 Das nächste große Projekt, das die gesamte Arbeitsgruppe plante, fing 1960 mit „Vorbereitungen für eine umfassende Bearbeitung der Literatur der Alten Ägypter von den ältesten Texten bis zum Koptischen in Übersetzungen, Untersuchungen und Erläuterungen“ an.142 Welche Aufgaben Hildegard von Deines davon übernahm, ist nicht dokumentiert. Auch über neue Aufgaben nach ihrer Beförderung am 01.07.1961 zur Wissenschaftlichen Arbeitsleiterin liegen keine Hinweise vor. Nach dem Mauerbau am 13.08.1961 wurde es für die in West-Berlin wohnenden von Deines, Grapow und Westendorf schwierig nach Ost-Berlin reisen.143 Westendorf verließ zum 30.09.1961 das Team.144 Grapow schied im Alter von 77 Jahren am 30.11.1962 aus dem Amt des Direktors des Instituts für Orientforschung aus und wurde von Walter Ruben abgelöst.145 Das Angestelltenverhältnis

141

Reineke 1999: xxi, Anm. 35; Jahrbuch 1967: 610; Jahrbuch 1968: 480. Jahrbuch 1969 hat einen ganz anderen Aufbau und erwähnt die Arbeiten des Instituts nicht. 142 Jahrbuch 1960: 240. Schon im Jahr 1953 oder 1954 hatte Grapow mit seinen „Freunden“ von Deines und Westendorf stilistische Untersuchungen an Hymnen des Mittleren Reiches vorgenommen (Grapow 1954: 18). 143 In der Personalakte von Hildegard von Deines (Archiv BBAW, S. 29) ist am 17.08.1961 von einem „Passierschein für PKW“ die Rede, „da sie Prof. Dr. Grapow ins Institut bringt“, aber es geht nicht hervor, ob dieser gewährt wurde. 144 Jahrbuch 1961: 93. 145 Jahrbuch 1962: 296. Reineke 1999: xx, Anm. 29 nennt 30.09.1962 als Enddatum der Institutsleitung durch Grapow.

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von Hildegard von Deines endete am 31.12.1962.146 Da hatte sie das Renteneintrittsalter von 60 Jahren erreicht. Sie erhielt ab dem 01.03.1963 einen Werkvertrag für die Fortsetzung des „Grundrisses“, von dem nur noch der Ergänzungsband fehlte.147 Von 1964 bis 1967 wird sie als „freie Mitarbeiterin“ des Instituts für Orientforschung gelistet.148 Was Hildegard von Deines als „freie Mitarbeiterin“ genau machte, ist unklar. Vielleicht gehörte dazu der Registerband für die ersten 88 Bände der Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, den sie im Jahr 1964 gemeinsam mit Hermann Grapow veröffentlichte. Diese 88 Bände entsprechen 100 Jahren Existenz der ältesten ägyptologischen Fachzeitschrift weltweit. Der Registerband ist aufwendig gestaltet. Er besteht aus zwei Teilen, einem ersten Teil mit einem Verzeichnis der in der ZÄS enthaltenen Artikel, nach Verfasser und in chronologischer Reihenfolge angeordnet, und einem zweiten Teil, einem nach Stichwörtern geordneten Sachregister. Um einen Eindruck des Inhalts der Artikel zu bieten, wurden einerseits die Artikelgliederung mit Abschnittsüberschriften reproduziert und andererseits mit Siglen angegeben, ob Abbildungen, Übersetzungen, hieroglyphischer Text usw. vorhanden waren. Ein ähnlicher Umgang mit Siglen wird heute noch in der ägyptischen Wörterbucharbeit angewendet. Für den zweiten Teil des Registers konnte Hildegard von Deines möglicherweise auf ihre Erfahrung mit Registerbänden für chemische Literatur aus den 1940er Jahren zurückgreifen. Warum sich von Deines und Grapow an diese Arbeit gemacht haben, erläutern sie nicht. Vielleicht hatten sie durch die Wörterbucharbeit ständig die Notwendigkeit einer Text- und Wortbibliographie vor Augen und wollten zumindest in dieser Hinsicht die ZÄS erschließen. Im Vorwort steht lediglich: „Der Plan zur Herstellung […] entsprang dem Wunsche, die in der ZÄS während ihres bis heute hundertjährigen Lebens erschienenen Arbeiten der Forschung durch Aufgliederung und Aufschlüsselung […] zugänglich zu machen.“149 Über Arbeiten der Jahre 1965–1967 ist nichts überliefert. Die Kontakte mit dem Institut für Orientforschung werden vermutlich nicht ganz abgerissen sein. Grapow hatte als Akademiemitglied und Mitglied oder sogar Vorsitzender einiger Akademie-Kommissionen einen Sonderausweis und konnte nach dem Mauerbau doch wohl weiterhin nach Ost-Berlin reisen.150 Andererseits schreibt Westendorf, 146

Reineke 1999: xx, Anm. 29: „er [PD: Grapow] und v. Deines […] beendeten ihren Dienst zum 31. Dezember 1962“. Im Jahrbuch 1962 werden keine Mitarbeiter aufgelistet. Im Jahrbuch 1963: 708 wird von Deines nicht mehr als Mitarbeiterin gelistet (fast nur noch Sinologen, abgesehen von Ursula Hintze, Walter Reineke u.a.). 147 Reineke 1999: xx, Anm. 29. 148 Jahrbuch 1964: 781; Jahrbuch 1965: 724; Jahrbuch 1966: 697. In den Jahrbüchern 1967 und 1968 werden keine Mitarbeiter aufgelistet, aber laut einem intern genutzten Ergänzungsteil von Jahrbuch 1967 ist von Deines weiterhin „freie Mitarbeiterin“ (Reineke 1999: xxi, Anm. 35). 149 Von Deines und Grapow 1964: v. 150 Grapow war bis 1965 Vorsitzender der Sektion für Altertumswissenschaft (Jahrbuch

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dass der Mauerbau auch Grapow „von seiner lebenslangen Arbeitsstätte“ abtrennte und so dessen „körperlichen Verfall“ einleitete.151 Obwohl das fünfte Passierscheinabkommen Ende 1966 zwischen dem West-Berliner Senat und der DDR gescheitert war, standen Grapow und von Deines auf der vorläufigen Liste der von der Akademie einzuladenden offiziellen Gästen für die Jubiläumstagung „20 Jahre Institut für Orientforschung“ vom 23.–25.10.1967.152 Nach dem Tod Grapows (24.08.1967) wurde ihre Einladung nicht aufrechterhalten. Hildegard von Deines war nach dem Tod Grapows kaum noch ägyptologisch tätig. Der fehlende Zugang zu ihrem Quellenmaterial in Ost-Berlin könnte dabei eine Rolle gespielt haben, vielleicht auch die fehlende Ermutigung durch Grapow. Im Ägyptischen Museum von West-Berlin (gegründet am 10.10.1967) oder am Ägyptologischen Seminar der FU (gegründet 1968) scheint sie sich nicht vorgestellt zu haben. Einige Male ist sie nach Göttingen gefahren, wo Wolfhart Westendorf seit 1967 lehrte, um am Nachtragsband des Grundrisses zu arbeiten, der schließlich 1973 erschien. Wahrscheinlich mit Unterstützung von Westendorf publizierte sie 1976 – sie war damals 73 Jahre alt – noch einen Aufsatz über einen mutmaßlichen Zusammenhang zwischen Muttermilch und Plazenta. 4.5. Sonstige ägyptologische Tätigkeiten Zu den Aktivitäten einer Ägyptologin können neben der Forschung auch die Lehre, die Teilnahme an Kongressen, Ägyptenreisen bzw. die Grabungsteilnahme und Arbeiten mit ägyptischen Objekten gehören. Hildegard von Deines hat, soweit bekannt, niemals unterrichtet, obwohl das zeitweise vorgesehen war. In ihrer Personalakte steht, dass sie am 01.01.1953 eine Gehaltserhöhung bekommen hat, „mit der Bedingung […], dass sie bei vorliegendem Bedarf neben ihrer Berufausübung in der Akademie auch eine Lehrtätigkeit übernehmen“ solle.153 In einem Schreiben vom 06.10.1955 wird dazu Stellung genommen: „Sie hat diesen Zuschlag seinerzeit erhalten, als sie sich bereit erklärte, zur Ausfüllung einer Lücke im Vorlesungsbetrieb der Universität mit älteren Studenten Übungen an ägyptischen medizinischen und mathematischen Texten abzuhalten, wozu es allerdings schließlich nicht kam, da soweit geförderte Studenten der Ägyptologie noch nicht vorhanden waren.“154 Wie ihre Kollegen Grapow und Westendorf nahm auch Hildegard von Deines an nationalen und internationalen Tagungen teil. Ob sie dabei Vorträge hielt, ist mir bislang nicht bekannt. Überliefert ist ihre Teilnahme am 24. Internationalen 1965: 243) und Mitglied in der Sektion für Sinologie (Jahrbuch 1965: 244) und sogar bis 1966 weiterhin Mitglied der Sprachwissenschaftlichen Kommission (Jahrbuch 1965: 750, Jahrbuch 1966: 726). 151 Westendorf 1969: X. 152 Reineke 1999: xx, Anm. 29. 153 Archiv BBAW, Personaldossier Hildegard von Deines, Seite 12. 154 Archiv BBAW, Personaldossier Hildegard von Deines, Seite 15.

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Orientalistenkongress in München (28.08.–04.09.1957)155, am 25. Internationalen Orientalistenkongress in Moskau (09.–16.08.1960)156 und am 15. Deutschen Orientalistentag in Göttingen (30.07.–03.08.1961).157 Nach dem Tod Grapows, als im Rahmen der Ostpolitik von Willy Brandt und dem Viermächte-Abkommen ein Besuch in Ost-Berlin ab Juni 1972 wieder möglich wurde, nahm sie mindestens einmal in dieser Zeit an den „Neuen Forschungen zur ägyptischen Kultur und Geschichte“ teil.

Abb. 8–9: Hildegard von Deines und Hermann Grapow in Gisa, 1961; Wolfhart Westendorf, Hildegard von Deines und Hermann Grapow während einer Schifffahrt auf dem Nil, 1961. 155

Jahrbuch 1957: 70. Jahrbuch 1960: 241. 157 Jahrbuch 1961: 95. 156

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Schon Ende 1947 machten Grapow und von Deines Pläne, nach Ägypten zu reisen. Das war zu dieser Zeit nicht möglich.158 Einmal haben von Deines, Grapow und Westendorf gemeinsam eine Ägyptenreise unternommen: Anlässlich der 100-Jahr-Feier des Institut d’Égypte (27.–31.03.1961) überbrachten Grapow und von Deines die Glückwünsche der Deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften in Kairo. Die Zeitung Neue Zeit betont: „Sie nehmen als einzige geladene Vertreter einer deutschen Akademie an den Feierlichkeiten teil.“159 In der ägyptischen Zeitung Al-Ahram sind sie in dem einer ganzen Seite füllenden Bericht „International Scientists from 30 countries celebrate with Cairo’s scientists the 100th anniversary of the Establishment of the Egyptian Scientific Society“ mit Foto abgebildet.160 Der Bericht erwähnt, dass es Grapows zweite Ägyptenreise nach 1932/33 war und dass er von seiner Frau und seinem Assistenten und Co-Autor des Grundrisses begleitet wurde (gemeint sind von Deines und Westendorf). Die Familie besitzt Fotos von einer Nilkreuzfahrt des Trios bis nach Assuan.161 Welchen Eindruck die Ägyptenreise bei Hildegard von Deines hinterlassen hat, ist nicht überliefert.162 Hildegard von Deines besaß ein ägyptisches Objekt, eine Isis-lactans-Statuette aus Bronze mit abgesägten Füßen. Diese hat sie nach dem Krieg im Schaufenster eines Antiquitätenhändlers gesehen und für 5 DM gekauft. Grapow hat seinerseits ein kleines Steinfragment mit Hieroglyphen über die Kriegsjahre retten können, das er als Briefbeschwerer benutzte. Er hat es Liselotte von Deines zusammen mit einem Gedicht bei ihrer Hochzeit geschenkt. Beide Objekte wurden von Liselotte der ägyptischen Sammlung der Universität Heidelberg überlassen. 5. Die Ägyptologin Dr. Hildegard von Deines: Puzzleteile einer Würdigung Hildegard von Deines wurde in den gehobenen Militäradel hineingeboren, hat unterschiedliche politische und gesellschaftliche Systeme miterlebt und im Ersten und Zweiten Weltkrieg schreckliche persönliche Verluste erlitten. Sie war eine der ersten Wissenschaftlerinnen in einem naturwissenschaftlichen Bereich, als nur wenige Frauen an der Universität studierten, und machte Karriere in einem altertumswissenschaftlichen Fach zur Erforschung des Alten Orients. Persönliche Texte von Hildegard von Deines sind mir bislang nicht bekannt geworden, und

158

Die Reisepläne werden erwähnt in einem Gedicht von Grapow, beigelegt in einem Ägyptenbuch als Weihnachtsgeschenk, datiert Heiligabend 1947. 159 Neue Zeit, Jahrgang 17, Ausgabe 73, Sonntag 26.03.1961, S. 5; Berliner Zeitung, Jahrgang 17, Ausgabe 87, 28.93.1961, S. 5. Allgemeiner Deutscher Nachrichtendienst, Nachrichten vom 25.03 und 27.03.1961. 160 Seite im Besitz der Familie, die auch die Übersetzung des Artikeltitels lieferte. 161 Steffen Wenig hat eine Postkarte von den dreien zugeschickt bekommen. 162 Westendorf 1969: X erwähnt eine Gastprofessur von Grapow im Winter 1961/62 in Kairo. Dies scheint eine weitere Ägyptenreise von von Deines und Grapow zu implizieren.

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Augenzeugen, die sie gekannt haben, konnten nur einzelne Erinnerungen beisteuern. Deshalb wird hier nicht versucht, ein Persönlichkeitsprofil zu rekonstruieren, sondern bloß einzelne Aspekte davon als Puzzleteile zusammenzutragen. Hildegard von Deines und Hermann Grapow lebten in einer Wohngemeinschaft. Grapow war nie verheiratet. Seine Schwester war bis zu ihrem Tod, der ihn sehr getroffen hat, seine wichtigste weibliche Bezugsperson. Sicherlich beruhte die Beziehung zwischen von Deines und Grapow auf gegenseitigem Respekt, Anerkennung und Freundschaft. Nach dem Tod Grapows war sie seine Alleinerbin, obwohl er noch einen Bruder mit Familie hatte. Westendorf schreibt über die Beziehung von von Deines und Grapow: „Daß Grapow das Kriegsende und die erste Nachkriegszeit in Berlin überhaupt überstand und neuen Lebensmut und neue Arbeitslust bekam, verdankte er seiner späteren Mitarbeiterin Hilde von Deines. Die letzten zwanzig Jahren in Grapows Leben und besonders seine letzten einsamen Jahre können in einem Nachruf nicht erwähnt werden, ohne des Wirkens dieser Frau zu gedenken, die anspornend, helfend und kritisch an den Nachkriegsarbeiten Grapows beteiligt war.“163 In einer Entwurfsversion dieses Zitats steht „scharf kritisierend“ statt „kritisch“, was ein spannendes Licht auf die Persönlichkeit von Hildegard von Deines wirft. Diese Wohngemeinschaft wurde allerdings nicht von jedem akzeptiert, nicht einmal nach Grapows Tod. Der überzeugte Nazigegner Bernhard (von) Bothmer, der im Jahr 1939 seine Stelle am Ägyptischen Museum in Berlin aufgegeben hatte und in die USA emigriert war,164 ignorierte sie ostentativ bei einem privaten Empfang, der anlässlich der Vorbereitungen der Ausstellung „Africa in Antiquity“ (New York 1978) in Ost-Berlin stattfand.165 Das wird sie sicherlich verletzt haben. Von ihrer Mutter wird sie als eine Person charakterisiert, „der die Wissenschaft sehr viel mehr liegt als der Haushalt.“ Man möchte vermuten, dass ihr mathematisch und analytisch geschulter Geist sowie ihre Erfahrungen im Chemielaboratorium sie zu einer systematisch und gewissenhaft arbeitenden Wörterbuchmitarbeiterin haben werden lassen, die nicht davor zurückschreckte, ihre eigenen Ansichten zu artikulieren. Von Deines und Grapow haben jüngere Kollegen gefördert. Wolfhart Westendorf hat ihr seine Dissertationsarbeit „in Dankbarkeit gewidmet“166 und verdankte ihr so viel, dass er im hohen Alter das Gefühl hatte, ihr in einem ihm angetragenen 163

Westendorf 1969: IX. Für die Reise von Berlin (1939) über Frankreich und die Schweiz nach New York (1941) siehe Eaton-Krauss 2014/2015: 116–119; Eaton-Krauss 2019: 77–107. 165 Für das Verhalten Bothmers gegenüber ehemaligen Nazis siehe die Charakterisierung durch James Romano (abgedruckt in: Schneider 2012: 157). Bezüglich Grapow schreibt Bothmer an Steindorff, 20.05.1946: er kenne keine konkreten NS-Verbrechen von Grapow, aber „I hated him“ (Gertzen 2016b: 374); vgl. Eaton-Krauss 2019: 69 mit Anm. 268. 166 Westendorf 1953. 164

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Nachruf nicht mehr gerecht werden zu können. Als Steffen Wenig, seit 1959 Mitarbeiter im Ägyptischen Museum und nach dem Weggang von Firchow im Jahr 1960 für kurze Zeit sogar Interimsdirektor, einen neuen Führer für das Museum schreiben musste, fuhr er ein halbes Jahr lang jedes Wochenende nach Zehlendorf. Dort hörten Grapow und von Deines den während der Woche neu geschriebenen Textabschnitten kritisch zu und machten inhaltliche oder stilistische Verbesserungsvorschläge.167 Als Irene Grumach nach Berlin kam, nahmen von Deines und Grapow sie für ein Vorstellungsgespräch bei Hintze im Dienstwagen der Akademie mit.168 Hildegard von Deines war großzügig. Sie gehörte zu den Ost-Grenzgängern, d.h. sie bekam den größeren Teil ihres Gehalts in Ost-Mark ausgezahlt, nur einen kleinen Teil in West-Mark. Die DM-Ost konnte sie nur im Osten ausgeben. Neben ihrem Gehalt dürfte auch ihr Anteil am Nationalpreis der DDR auf ihr Ost-Konto eingezahlt worden sein. Bei einer Gelegenheit finanzierte sie für eine Ostberliner Studentin ein Zugticket in West-Mark für die Teilnahme an einer Tagung in Göttingen. Mehr als einmal lud sie Ostberliner Kollegen in das gehobene Restaurant Ganymed am Schiffbauerdamm ein. Und testamentarisch vermachte sie Gelder von ihrem Ost-Konto an mindestens eine Ostberliner Ägyptologenfamilie. Hildegard von Deines und Grapow hatten ein gemeinsames Hobby: aus Legosteinen berühmte Gebäude aus der ganzen Welt nachbauen. Bei einem Weihnachtsfest bekamen ihre drei Enkelsöhne und drei Enkeltöchter in Heidelberg von ihr einen Lego-Baukasten in der Form des gerade gekauften Elternhauses unter den Weihnachtsbaum gelegt. Sie schickte den Enkelkindern Kinderkleider nach Heidelberg und besuchte sie dort. Sie besuchte auch die Familie Westendorf in Göttingen, bei der sie Patentante der Tochter war. Am Ende ihres Lebens konnte sie nur noch schlecht sehen, aber sie beeindruckte eine ihrer Enkeltöchter damit, dass sie trotzdem genau wusste, was in dem Schrank voller ägyptologischer Bücher im Wohnzimmer stand. „Ich lese, in dem ich mich daran erinnere, was in den Büchern steht“, antwortete sie ihr auf die Frage der Achtjährigen, warum sie so viele Bücher habe, die sich nicht mehr lesen könne. Hildegard von Deines starb am 30.03.1978. Sie wurde auf dem ehemaligen Garnisonsfriedhof Columbiadamm beerdigt, unter demselben Grabstein, der auch die Namen ihres ersten Mannes Ortwin von Deines und ihres vermissten Sohnes Peter trägt.169 Den Ägyptologen, die sie gekannt haben, blieb sie in Erinnerung als eine kritisch denkende Wissenschaftlerin, die junge Kollegen unterstützte. Sie sei „großzügig“ (Steffen Wenig), „direkt und zupackend“ (Elke Blumenthal), „eine kluge Frau mit mäßigendem Einfluss auf Grapow“ (Ruth Priese) gewesen. Sie konnte eine gute Gastgeberin sein (Wolfgang Schenkel), „fröhlich, lebhaft, 167

Information Steffen Wenig. Es betrifft die Publikation Wenig 1961. Information Irene Shirun-Grumach. 169 Siehe oben Anm. 44. 168

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sehr interessiert am Gegenüber“ (Christa Müller), „extrovertiert“ sowie „viel lockerer als Grapow“ (Adelheid Burkhardt). Publikationsverzeichnis von Hildegard von Deines 1926: Riesenfeld, E. H., und H. v. Gündell. „Über die Bildung von Ozon und Wasserstoffsuperoxyd in der Knallgasflamme“. Zeitschrift für Physikalische Chemie, Stöchiometrie und Verwandtschaftslehre 119: 319–332. 1927: von Deines, Hildegard. Über die Bildung von Wasserstoffsuperoxyd und Ozon in der Knallgasflamme. Inaugural-Dissertation zur Erlangung der Doktorwürde vorgelegt der Philosophischen Fakultät der Friedrich-Wilhelmsuniversität zu Berlin, Tag der Promotion 17. Februar 1927 [korrigiert zu 29. Juli 1927]. 1940: Chemisch-technische Untersuchungsmethoden. 8. Aufl. Erg.-Werk. Herausgegeben von Jean d’Ans. Band 3. Untersuchungesmethoden der organischchemischen Technologie. Bearb. von A. Berthmann u.a. Mit einem Gesamtsachverzeichnis f. d. Haupt- und Erg.-Werk. Bearb. von Hilde Erdmann, Berlin: J. Springer Verlag. 1953: von Deines, Hilde. „Die Nachrichten über das Pferd und den Wagen in den ägyptischen Texten“. Mitteilungen des Instituts für Orientforschung 1: 3–15. 1954: von Deines, Hilde. „ ‚Das Gold der Tapferkeit‘, eine militärische Auszeichnung oder eine Belohnung?“. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 79: 83–86. 1954: von Deines, Hilde. „Die Demonstrativa im Wundenbuch des Pap. E. Smith“. Mitteilungen des Instituts für Orientforschung 2: 1–29. 1955: von Deines, Hilde. „Hermann Grapow – Verzeichnis seiner Schriften“. In O. Firchow (Hg.), Ägyptologische Studien. Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Orientforschung 29. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, ix–xiv. 1956: von Deines, Hilde. „ ‚Mutter der Menschen‘“. Mitteilungen des Instituts für Orientforschung 4: 27–39. 1957: von Deines, Hildegard, und Wolfhart Westendorf. Zur ägyptischen Wortforschung V: Proben aus den Wörterbüchern zu den medizinischen Texten. Abhandlungen der Deutschen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin. Klasse für Sprachen, Literatur und Kunst. Jahrgang 1956, Nr. 6. Berlin: AkademieVerlag. 1958: von Deines, Hildegard, Hermann Grapow und Wolfhart Westendorf. Übersetzung der medizinischen Texte. Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter IV 1. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. 1958: von Deines, Hildegard, Hermann Grapow und Wolfhart Westendorf. Übersetzung der medizinischen Texte: Erläuterungen. Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter IV 2. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.

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1959: von Deines, Hildegard, und Hermann Grapow. Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Drogennamen. Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter VI. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. 1961: von Deines, Hildegard, und Wolfhart Westendorf. Wörterbuch der medizinischen Texte: Erste Hälfte (Ꜣ–r). Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter VII 1. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. 1962: von Deines, Hildegard, und Wolfhart Westendorf. Wörterbuch der medizinischen Texte: Zweite Hälfte (h–ḏ). Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter VII 2. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. 1964: von Deines, Hildegard, und Hermann Grapow. Festausgabe zur Säkularfeier: Register zu Band 1–88 = Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 89. 1973: von Deines, Hildegard, Hermann Grapow und Wolfhart Westendorf. Ergänzungen. Drogenquanten, Sachgruppen, Nachträge, Bibliographie, Generalregister. Grundriss der Medizin der alten Ägypter IX. Berlin: AkademieVerlag. 1976: von Deines, Hildegard. „Die Rezepte Eb 808 und 809 im Pap. Ebers, um gs.w bei einer Frau zu behandeln“. Göttinger Miszellen 19: 17–22. Archivalische Quellen Familienarchiv der Nachfahren von Liselotte Heintze, geboren Liselotte von Deines. Erinnerungstagebuch: Lebenserinnerungen von Uga von Gündell (bis 1948; in den Jahren 1947–1948 durch Uga von Gündell und ihre Tochter Aeone zusammengestellt). Archiv der Berlin-Brandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (die Personalakten von Deines, Grapow und Firchow; Akten zum Institut für Orientforschung). Rede von Wolfhart Westendorf anlässlich einer Institutsfeier zu seinem 90. Geburtstag in Göttingen. Berliner Adreßbuch Berliner Adreßbuch 1929 https://digital.zlb.de/viewer/image/34115495_1929/1/) Berliner Adreßbuch 1930 (https://digital.zlb.de/viewer/image/34115495_1930 /1/) Berliner Adreßbuch 1931 (https://digital.zlb.de/viewer/readingmode/34115495_1 931/1/) Berliner Adreßbuch 1935 (https://digital.zlb.de/viewer/readingmode/34115495_ 1935/1/) Berliner Adreßbuch 1936 (https://digital.zlb.de/viewer/readingmode/34115495_ 1936/1/)

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Berliner Adreßbuch 1938 (https://digital.zlb.de/viewer/readingmode/34115495_ 1938/1/) Berliner Adreßbuch 1939 (https://digital.zlb.de/viewer/readingmode/34115495_ 1939/1/) Berliner Adreßbuch 1940 (https://digital.zlb.de/viewer/readingmode/34115495_ 1940/1/) Bibliographie Bodenstein, M. 1935. „Nachruf Dr. Ortwin von Deines“. In Berichte der Deutschen Chemischen Gesellschaft, 68. Jahrgang, Nr. 5, 8. Mai 1935, Band I, Abteilung A, 62. Eaton-Krauss, M. 2014/2015. „Bernard V. Bothmer – a biographical essay covering the years through 1941“. In D. Polz und S.J. Seidlmayer (Hgg). Gedenkschrift für Werner Kaiser = Mitteilungen des Deutschen Achäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 70/71: 111–120. — 2019. Bernard V. Bothmer, Egyptologist in the making, 1912 through July 1946. Investigatio Orientis 3. Münster: Zaphon. Erman†, A. und H. Grapow. 1950. Das Wörterbuch der aegyptischen Sprache, 6. Band: Deutsch-aegyptisches Wörterverzeichnis in alphabetischer und sachlicher Ordnung nebst Verzeichnissen der koptischen, semitischen und griechischen Wörter. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. — 1951. Wörterbuch der aegyptischen Sprache. Belegstellen, 3. Band. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. — 1953. Das Wörterbuch der aegyptischen Sprache. Zur Geschichte eines großen wissenschaftlichen Unternehmens der Akademie. Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin. Vorträge und Schriften 51. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Ettinghausen, R. 1965. „Kurt Erdmann (1901–1964)“. Der Islam. Zeitschrift für Geschichte und Kultur des Islamischen Orients 41: 253–260. Franzmeier, H. und A. Weber. 2013. „‚Andererseits finde ich, dass man jetzt nicht so tun soll, als wäre nichts gewesen‘. Die deutsche Ägyptologie in den Jahren 1945–1949 im Spiegel der Korrespondenz mit dem Verlag J. C. Hinrichs“. In S. Bickel et al. (Hgg). Ägyptologen und Ägyptologien zwischen Kaiserreich und Gründung der beiden deutschen Staaten. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Beihefte 1. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 113–152. Gertzen, T.L. 2015. Die Berliner Schule der Ägyptologie im Dritten Reich. Begegnungen mit Hermann Grapow (1885–1967). Berlin: Kadmos Kulturverlag. — 2016. „‚In Deutschland steht Ihnen Ihre Abstammung entgegen‘ – Zur Bedeutung von Judentum und Konfessionalismus für die wissenschaftliche Laufbahn Georg Steindorffs und seiner Rolle innerhalb der École de Berlin“. In S. Voss und D. Raue (Hgg). Georg Steindorff und die deutsche Ägyptologie im 20. Jahrhundert. Wissenshintergründe und Forschungstransfers. Zeitschrift

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The Egyptian Perspective

A Nazir and an Effendi Glimpses from the Abydos Paper Archive* Nora Shalaby, Ayman Damarany and Jessica Kaiser

A large paper archive containing thousands of Arabic language documents was recently discovered stacked inside a room in the Temple of Seti I at Abydos. This corpus of material, dating from the 1880’s to the 1960’s, contains letters and other types of correspondence written by and addressed to Egyptian inspectors, bureaucrats and archaeologists employed by the then-Egyptian Antiquities Service. The presence of these records challenges the traditional discourse of histories of Egyptology which portray Egyptians as non-contributors to the founding of the discipline, whilst foregrounding western experiences and perceptions. Focusing on the first two decades of the 20th century, and through the utilization of archival documents that constitute regular back and forth correspondence between different departments in the Antiquities Service, this paper sheds light on two Egyptian employees and their roles in the daily management and administration of the country’s heritage. The meanings that can be attached to their duties, responsibilities and experiences within the colonial framework of the time are explored. Ultimately, the paper aims to work towards rectifying the current one-sided narrative of the history of the discipline by incorporating into its historical trajectory local actors that have long been marginalized. Introduction This paper explores the involvement of Egyptians in the field of Egyptology at the beginning of the 20th century through the consideration of two Egyptian Antiquities Service employees. Relying mostly on administrative correspondence in Arabic between high-level officials in an institution based in Cairo (but also at the office of the Chief Inspector in Asyut) and a lower-level Inspector at the Sohag Inspectorate, over 400 documents from the Abydos Paper Archive were consulted. Discovered in 2013, the Abydos archive1 is a hitherto unexamined archive that was found stored inside the Temple of Seti I at Abydos, having been placed there by the Sohag Inspectorate for safekeeping. It is a large corpus of mostly

* The authors would like to express their gratitude to Egypt’s Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities for giving them permission to document and study the Abydos archive. Nora Shalaby is especially grateful for the financial support of the Fritz Thyssen Stiftung where she was a postdoctoral fellow in 2018. 1 See Shalaby 2022; Shalaby et al. 2020; Shalaby et al. 2019; Abu el-Yazid and Damarany 2020.

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Arabic language paper documents, dating from the 1880’s to the 1960’s, and belonging to the Egyptian Antiquities Service. It consists of loose single-page documents, files that bind together a varied collection of papers, ledgers, large bundles tying an assortment of records together, manuscripts and publications. Written by or addressed to Egyptian bureaucrats, archaeologists or inspectors, the records comprise various back and forth correspondence between the Sohag Inspectorate and other departments in the Service, as well as excavation reports and diaries, inspection reports of archaeological sites, bookkeeping, memos, maps and official publications. Together, these records shed critical light on Egypt’s official management of archaeological sites through the various inspectorates that were operating across the country. Although the recovery of ancient Egypt and the growth of Egyptology as a scholarly discipline were momentous events in the broader intellectual and cultural development of the West, Egyptologists themselves have been slow to document and examine their own intellectual history. Until quite recently, few Egyptologists recognized the importance of studying the discipline’s European colonial legacy, or fully acknowledged the contributions of modern Egyptians to an understanding of the country’s heritage. Many studies, for instance, have almost exclusively underlined the work of early western explorers and excavators, with Egyptians often relegated to the background as passive observers. In such a way, they tend to transcribe a historical trajectory that is based on western perceptions, with little or almost no mention of Egyptian histories and viewpoints.2 Revisionist studies that have sought to correct this bias and incorporate local accounts into the narrative3 remain inadequate, leaving gaps in the discipline’s historiography. Hence, the significance of the documents in the Abydos Paper Archive is the prospect they offer for articulating a more inclusive narrative of the history of Egyptology and the management of Egypt’s cultural heritage that considers actors who have traditionally been side-lined and kept at the margins. By highlighting the contributions of Egyptian inspectors, officials and others who partook in the management and organization of the discipline during its formative years, the archive exposes the limitations that have characterized many studies on the history of Egyptology. It is through the initiation of this dialogue, which incorporates local agents and their stories, that the currently often one-sided narrative can be rectified. For the purpose of this study, stand-alone letters dating from roughly 1910 to the mid-1920s were examined. They were chosen based on the involvement of two protagonists: a high-level official by the name of Joseph Messawir, and a First Class Inspector by the name of Hassan Hosni. The letters are formal and official in nature, exhibiting a uniformity in style. Their main elements include the title of 2

Colla 2007. See Reid 1985; Reid 2002; Reid 2015; Quirke 2010; Doyon 2015; Doyon 2018; Carruthers 2015. 3

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the addressee; the subject matter; the official correspondence number; the date; and additional reference numbers. In almost all examples, a French or English summary of the letter’s subject matter is to be found at the bottom. The beginnings: Maslahat al-Antikhana wal-Hafr In 1835, Muhammad Ali, Governor (Wali) of Egypt, issued the country’s earliest known antiquities decree as a first step towards the organization and protection of Egypt’s vast ancient heritage. The decree forbade the export of antiquities and ordered archaeological sites to be protected from plunder and destruction; additionally, antiquities were to be collected in a storeroom in Cairo, and for the first time, an Antiquities Inspector was to be appointed, Yusuf Diya Effendi.4 Already a junior state employee at the time of his appointment, his newly acquired duties included yearly inspections of archaeological sites.5 Rifaa al-Tahtawi, the director of the School of Languages when the decree was issued, was appointed as both head of the newly established Antiquities Service (Maslahat al-Antikhana walHafr) and the newly assembled antiquities collection.6 Decades later, by the beginning of the 20th century, the Egyptian Antiquities Service, which eventually became part of the Ministry of Public Works rather than tied to the now-Viceroy (Khedive), had grown into a considerable organization, with an annual budget of approximately 23,000 LE (Egyptian Pounds), compared to an annual budget of 4,120 LE in 1880,7 and employing thirty permanent staff members, with many more on temporary contracts.8 Several new antiquities laws, issued as each new Khedive assumed power, further served to control and administer the large number of archaeological sites and newly discovered artifacts.9 With the introduction of the railway service into parts of Upper Egypt, travel time was reduced, and sites became easier to access and monitor.10 At the top of the institute’s hierarchical organization was the Director General of the Service, Auguste Mariette having been the first to assume the title (ma’mur al-antiqat) in 1858.11 Along with museum curators and the bashmufatishin (Chief Inspectors),12 these top positions were mostly reserved for foreign nationals.13 4

Reid 2002: 55–56. Reid 2002: 56; Aly 2016: 451. 6 Reid 2002: 56. 7 Reid 2002: 135. 8 Aly 2016: 465. 9 For example, an antiquities law issued in 1863 deploys more inspectors and guards at various sites (Aly 2016: 265), and one issued in 1872 regulates the removal of sebakh (Aly 2016: 269). See also Hagen and Ryholt (2016: 138, 278) for an overview of antiquities laws and laws governing the trade in antiquities in Egypt over time. 10 Reid 2002: 85; Mitchell 2002: 78. 11 Reid 2002: 100. 12 Hagen and Ryholt 2016: 288. 13 Although Egyptians sometimes occupied the post of Chief Inspector, such as Ahmed 5

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Egyptians occupied positions lower down the ladder, as first, second and third class inspectors who, in comparison to the French Director General’s annual salary of 1,500 LE in 1906, were earning between 160 and 109 LE annually.14 From the outset, the relationship of Egyptians with the Antiquities Service was disadvantageous owing to the tight control exercised over it by the French and British quasi-colonial powers and their segregationist policies. The directorship was in the hands of a French national, while the British mostly held the posts of Chief inspectors and Museum Curators. Egyptians, on the other hand, unable to join the Service for years, were later only rarely promoted to positions beyond First Class Inspectors. For western Egyptologists, modern Egyptians were seen mostly as labourers or officials, but hardly as colleagues.15 Ahmed Kamal, recognized today as the earliest accomplished Egyptian Egyptologist, was, after being snubbed for many years, finally able to join the French-controlled Antiquities Service, first as secretary-translator, and then as assistant curator.16 However, his experience and seniority were not enough to push his career in the Antiquities Service forward, as often younger, less experienced foreign employees overhauled him and were promoted to positions of higher rank.17 It was in 1869 that Egyptians were granted their first opportunity to study Egyptology, when the School of the Ancient Language, located in Bulaq, opened its doors to ten students.18 Ahmed Kamal, one of the school’s pupils, along with nine other students, graduated three years later. Rather than acquiring posts in the Antiquities Service, however, as would have been expected, the newly trained students were hired as translators and assistants in the Ministry of Education.19 Following the death of Mariette, who had been vehemently opposed to the hiring of Egyptians, Kamal, and later his colleague Ahmed Najib, were able to return to Egyptology.20 In 1882, just as the British were occupying Egypt, and with money received from the Ministry of Public Works, Kamal was put in charge of a new school of Egyptology that admitted five Egyptian students.21 With the completion of their studies in 1885, the students were hired as Antiquities Inspectors by the then-Director General Gaston Maspero,22 increasing the total number of Antiquities Inspectors at the time from six to eleven.23 Among the five newly employed students, only Hassan Hosni and Muhammad Chaban (Ahmed Kamal’s nephew) Najib who was appointed in 1892 (Maspero 1912: 20) and Tewfik Boulos in 1924. 14 Aly 2016: 465. 15 Reid 1997: 130. 16 Bierbrier 2019: 246. 17 Reid 2002: 188–189. 18 Habib 1928: 438; Reid 2002: 116. 19 Reid 2002: 117–118. 20 Reid 2002: 186, 189. 21 Habib 1928: 439; Reid 2002: 186. 22 Habib 1928: 439; Reid 2002: 188. 23 Aly 2016: 423.

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continued working in the Antiquities Service. Ahmed Naguib, an Antiquities Inspector of al-Mansura and al-Zagazig, and Mahmud Hamdi, an Antiquities Inspector of al-Gharbiya and al-Beheira, were dismissed in 1887, while Abdel-Rahman Fahmi was dismissed in 1889.24 Mostly overlooked in Egyptology, particularly compared to his erstwhile teacher, Ahmed Kamal, and his well-published contemporary colleague, Muhammad Chaban, Hassan Hosni was, like his peers, first recruited by the Service in 1885 as a Third-Class Inspector25 earning 60 LE a year.26 Later, he took on a number of different posts, twenty years’ worth of which are recorded in both western archives and Maspero’s French Antiquities Service reports.27 From 1887–88, probably 22 or 23 years old at the time, he was an Antiquities Inspector on Petrie’s excavations in the Fayyum, but appears to have run into some kind of trouble.28 A year later, from 1889–90, Hosni is listed as a teacher at the preparatory school (al-Madrasa al-Tagheeziya) in Darb al-Gamameez,29 where it is possible he remained for almost eight years perhaps due to his earlier mishaps in the Fayyum. In 1898, he reappears in the records as an Inspector in Qurna (Luxor), where he, along with workers and the foreman, were involved in the discovery of the tomb of Thutmose III (KV34) in the Valley of the Kings, having been tasked to carry out sondages in the area while Director General Victor Loret was away on a trip to Aswan.30 Later that year, he was also involved in the discovery of the tomb of Amenhotep II (KV35).31 In 1899, he is listed as one of the Antiquities Inspectors of the Service, along with his erstwhile colleague Muhammad Chaban,32 and although it is unclear to which inspectorate he was assigned, it is safe to assume he was still an Inspector in Luxor at the time. Howard Carter, employed as Chief Inspector of Upper Egypt, names him twice in his site reports, firstly as the Inspector of Luxor who opened a tomb in Qift, discovered by one of the locals while digging foundations for his house (Hosni contributed a short report about the tomb, describing its contents and some of the inscriptions on the sarcophagus

24

Aly 2016: 425. Reid 2002: 344, note 55. 26 Reid 2002: 188. 27 See Maspero 1912; Maspero 1913; Reisner 1913; Quirke 2010; Loret 1898b; Loret 1898a; Carter 1903; Carter 1904. 28 Quirke 2010: 73. Petrie reports in his diary, as quoted in Quirke (2010: 73), that he had heard that ‘Hassan Effendi the museum youth’ had ‘beaten a man to death over some antiquity business’, after which Hosni was apparently sent back to the museum. It is unclear whether such an incident actually took place, and given that Hosni eventually returned to work as an inspector, the exact story as it is told by Petrie seems doubtful. 29 Asaf and Nasr 1889: 129. 30 Loret 1898b: 91, 95. 31 Loret 1898a: 99. 32 Maspero 1912: 25. 25

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as part of Carter’s longer account)33 and then again in the following Annales du Service des antiquités de l’Égypte (ASAE) volume, as the Inspector who was sent to transport the contents of the newly discovered tomb to Luxor.34 In Maspero’s annual Antiquities Service reports, Hosni is named as the Inspector of Luxor who helped Georges Legrain protect Karnak from looting in 1904,35 and in 1905 helped recover stolen artifacts and arrest an antiquities dealer.36 The records suggest that Hosni worked as an Inspector at Luxor from 1898 until 1906.37 Following this, in 1907, Hosni replaced Ali Effendi Habib and became a first class Inspector of Giza,38 and continued to be listed as such in Maspero’s annual reports until 1910.39 In 1912, signing as Inspector of Giza, he contributed a short article in French to the ASAE about a series of trenches he excavated at Atfih in Middle Egypt.40 After five years at Giza, his situation there takes an unhappy turn, when Maspero transfers him to al-Zagazig because of suspicious conduct. At alZagazig he is apparently given the opportunity to make amends.41 An entry dated to June 1913 in George Reisner’s diaries relates an incident with Hosni that seems to have taken place at al-Zagazig: Two bronze statuettes were found of the Ptolemaic or Roman period, in the Delta. On the order of the museum, these were seized by the native inspector Hasan Hosni, and taken to his house in Zagazig. In the night, thieves broke in and stole them. At any rate, Hasan makes this allegation.42 After the first twenty years of Hosni’s career, he disappears from the (mostly western) records, which suggests that his career as an Egyptologist and effendi in the Service had come to an end, particularly in light of Maspero’s and Reisner’s allegations. However, documents from the Abydos archive provide evidence to the contrary, showing us that he continued serving in the Antiquities Service as a long-time Inspector, until at least the mid-1920’s. Tracing and mapping out in detail Hassan Hosni’s path – an Egyptologist; an effendi; and one of the only remaining students from Ahmed Kamal’s school of 33

Carter 1903: 49. Carter 1904: 122. 35 Maspero 1912: 122, 171. 36 Maspero 1912: 174. 37 Maspero 1912: 204. 38 Maspero 1912: 228. 39 Maspero 1912. 40 Hosni 1912. 41 Maspero 1913: 17. 42 http://giza.fas harvard.edu/diarypages/3151/full/ (Unpublished Expedition Diary of G. Reisner, 15.06.1913; accessed 25 September 2022). It is likely that Hosni had by this time already been appointed as an Inspector in al-Zagazig (according to Maspero 1913: 17). The Digital Giza Archive, however, lists him as an Inspector at Giza from 1913 to 1914 (http://giza.fas harvard.edu/modernpeople/1178/full/). 34

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Egyptology – as he navigated his way through the second half of his career in the Antiquities Service, spearheaded our initial research. The idea was to expose gaps in the western narrative, and highlight instances where the archive gives us a better understanding of the discipline’s historiography and its marginalized protagonists. But, as we consulted the Abydos archive and continued with our inquiry and probing of Hosni’s professional history, we came across a character that was equally interesting and compelling: an individual by the name of Joseph Messawir with a life history in the Service that merits comparable attention. We learn from Maspero’s Service reports that, among the various posts in the Antiquities Service, was one with the title of ‘Nazir’ (‫)ﻧﺎﻅﺮ‬, the Arabic word for ‘Principal’ or ‘Supervisor’.43 This post, whose holder received a relatively high salary that ranged between 260–370 LE a year, was listed as part of the ‘Cadre Technique’, alongside the Director General, the Curators, the Chief Inspectors and the Inspectors.44 In 1885, the office-holder of the post was a certain Muhammad Effendi Khorshad,45 and in 1901, the date of the Egyptian Museum’s inauguration, the post was held by Ahmed Effendi Jaweesh as the ‘Nazir of the Antiqkhana’.46 Not much is known about the exact duties of the Nazir, but we do know that his office was located in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo,47 and he is mentioned in Maspero’s reports as having been in charge of handling the supplies and surveillance needed for expansion work there in 1908.48 Remarkably, the documents from the Abydos archive show, as we will demonstrate below, that Messawir was a rather influential figure in the Antiquities Service, who assumed a number of high-ranking titles throughout the years, but whose career history and contribution to the discipline has so far been unknown to us. The process of remembering and rediscovering Hosni and Messawir, while providing us with an opening to explore and renegotiate their silenced histories, also allows us to question a premise put forth by Donald Reid in 2015 regarding the ‘lost generation’ of Egyptian Egyptologists.49 Reid argues that, in their quest to penetrate the French and British dominated Antiquities Service, the new graduates of Ahmed Kamal’s short-lived Egyptology school were stopped in their tracks, unable to establish notable careers for themselves.50 Constituting this alleged ‘lost generation’ are the likes of Sobhi Aref, Tewfik Boulos51 and Muhammad Chaban. Hassan Hosni, although not mentioned by name, was certainly one 43

Maspero 1912: 16. Maspero 1912: 17. 45 Hagen and Ryholt 2016: 290. 46 Damaty 2001. 47 Maspero 1912: 81. 48 Maspero 1912: 246. 49 Reid 2015: 112. 50 Reid 2015: 110, 112. 51 Shalaby et al. 2020. 44

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of its members. The ‘lost generation’ is sandwiched between two other generations that had more encouraging outcomes: a ‘first generation’ which produced the prominent Egyptologists Ahmed Kamal and Ahmed Najib who, although they struggled initially, were eventually successful in some of their endeavours, and a ‘second generation’. This followed the intervening ‘lost generation’, and its members were witnesses to revolution, spiralling momentum and calls for self-determination, and an energetic atmosphere in the early 1920’s which allowed them to assert themselves within the discipline. Among them were Selim Hassan and Sami Gabra. Notwithstanding the myriad of obstacles that Hassan Hosni and his peers undeniably faced as early career Egyptian graduates destined to work in a field controlled and administered by westerners, many of them with racist and sceptical views regarding Egyptians, to classify them as a ‘lost generation’, with unreservedly failed prospects in the field of Egyptology, warrants a closer look. Documents from the Abydos archive illustrate, as we argue in this paper, that the narrative is in fact more complex, and that Egyptians, particularly the generation of Hassan Hosni, formed an integral part of the expanding Antiquities Service and the growing discipline of Egyptology. This incorporated, inter alia, aspects of administration, inspection, and heritage management, and was not limited to excavation work and archaeological research. A more nuanced study, taking into account a wider framework and understanding of what the Antiquities Service specifically, and the discipline of Egyptology more generally, entailed, and the ways in which they functioned, will help challenge notions of the absence that has been readily attached to Egyptians during these formative years. Within these larger parameters of definition and approach to the discipline, it will be possible to examine and highlight the roles played by such personalities as Messawir and Hosni. Bureaucrats and effendis in the Egyptian Antiquities Service Hassan Hosni, like other Inspectors in the Antiquities Service, held the title of ‘effendi’. Effendis were junior state officials of third administrative rank, employed in the government as foot-soldiers who ran the country’s modern bureaucracy and supervised its day-to-day policies.52 They were in a sense a sign of the country’s modern era, as it entered its nation building phase at the end of the 19th and first half of the 20th century. Employed as professional or white-collar workers and petty bureaucrats, their education and subsequent appointments in the government afforded them cultural and social capital, elevating their status amongst their kin regardless of their wealth,53 ‘they were the makers, as well as the primary consumers, of modern Egyptian political life, social institutions and cultural production’.54 Moreover, many of them were key players in the move towards an 52

Hunter 1984: 81; Ryzova 2014: 4. Ryzova 2014: 8. 54 Ryzova 2014: 4. 53

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independent Egyptian state, constituting a growing and discernible threat to Britain and its colonial interests.55 Hosni belonged to this emerging, mostly middleclass, social group, having received a school education and working closely thereafter with authorities from the government, both foreign and Egyptian alike. Although we are not certain about the educational background of Joseph Messawir (he is not listed as an effendi in the Antiquity Service reports but is listed as a bey later in his life), it is clear that he had enjoyed school education and was likely at the level of an effendi, if not of higher rank. He is listed in the 1943 edition of Le Mondain Égyptien, the Egyptian ‘Yellow Pages’, as ‘Joseph Messawer Bey’, a retired public official, born in Cairo in 1884, of Alawite/Syrian origin and a former director of administration at the Egyptian Antiquities Service.56 A transcript from the Ministry of Public Works dated to 1908, when Messawir would have been around 24 years old, lists him amongst those working under the ‘Personnel Technique’, which includes Maspero as Director General and Émile Brugsch as a museum curator.57 Apart from Ahmed Kamal, who was assistant curator at the time, and Messawir, the remainder of the top posts were held by non-Egyptians. Given that during this period Egyptians were absent from the majority of high-level posts, it is noteworthy to find Messawir in the midst of these foreigners. The first attestation of Hassan Hosni in the Abydos archive dates to May 1915 when he signs in Arabic as the Antiquities Inspector of al-Minya (C1886).58 This suggests that following his transfer to al-Zagazig, traced earlier from Maspero’s Service reports, he was moved to the al-Minya Inspectorate. Messawir, on the other hand, who features more frequently in the archive, is first attested in May 1910 (C1572) when, curiously, he signs on behalf of the Director General of Antiquities. In contrast to Hosni, who signs in Arabic, Messawir signs using Latin letters, although in some instances he adds Arabic annotations around his signature.59 In the approximately 400 documents analysed for this study, Messawir was found to have held five different high-ranking titles, until his apparent departure from the Antiquities Service around the mid-1920’s; Hosni, also attested in the archive until the mid-1920’s, remained a first class Antiquities Inspector, holding the title of Antiquities Inspector of Sohag following his Minya appointment (see Table 1):60

55

Ryzova 2014: 18, 42. Blattner 1943: 184. 57 Hagen and Ryholt 2016: 288. 58 ‘C + number’ refers to the catalogue number assigned to each document in the Abydos archive. 59 In Shalaby et al. 2019, the signature had been deciphered as ‘Houssny’, the French spelling of Hosni. We now know that this is an incorrect reading. 60 Given the damage that some documents in the archive have suffered, the title is not 56

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Joseph Messawir Original Arabic Title Translation ‫ ﻋﻦ ﻣﺪﻳﺮ ﻋﻤﻮﻡ ﺍﻵﺛﺎﺭ‬on behalf of the Director General of Antiquities ‫ ﻋﻦ ﺭﺋﻴﺲ ﺍﻟﻤﺼﻠﺤﺔ‬/‫ ﺭﺋﻴﺲ ﺍﻟﻤﺼﻠﺤﺔ‬Director of the Antiquities Service / on behalf of ‫ ﻧﺎﻅﺮ ﺍﻹﺩﺍﺭﺓ‬Principal of Administration ‫ ﺭﺋﻴﺲ ﻗﺴﻢ ﺍﻹﺩﺍﺭﺓ‬Director of the Administration Department ‫ ﻋﻦ ﻣﺮﺍﻗﺐ‬/‫ ﻣﺮﺍﻗﺐ ﺍﻟﻤﺼﻠﺤﺔ‬Supervisor of the Antiquities Service / ‫ ﺍﻟﻤﺼﻠﺤﺔ‬on behalf of Hassan Effendi Hosni ‫ ﻣﻔﺘﺶ ﺁﺛﺎﺭ ﺍﻟﻤﻨﻴﺎ‬Antiquities Inspector of al-Minya ‫ ﻣﻔﺘﺶ ﺁﺛﺎﺭ ﺳﻮﻫﺎﺝ‬Antiquities Inspector of Sohag Table 1: Titles held by Joseph Messawir and Hassan Hosni during their years as employees of the Antiquities Service.

The title under which Messawir signs most frequently, up to 69 times, is that of ‘Principal of Administration’. This is followed by both ‘Supervisor of the Antiquities Service’ (sometimes preceded by ‘on behalf of’) and ‘on behalf of the Director General of Antiquities’, which both occur 56 times. Hosni signs 29 times as ‘Antiquities Inspector of Sohag’, and one document is from his time as the Antiquities Inspector of al-Minya. The large corpus of letters associated with Messawir’s time in the Antiquities Service, particularly in relation to his regular correspondence with the Sohag Inspectorate, demonstrate the significance of his position, his multitude of responsibilities, and how these responsibilities changed over the years. In his first letter, mentioned above, addressed to the Antiquities Inspector of Sohag and dated to 24 May 1910, Messawir, signing on behalf of the Director General of Antiquities, informs the Inspector that he is sending him a copy of the new instructions from the Ministry of Finance. This is one of many memos and circulars that are mailed by Messawir to the inspectorates throughout his time at the Service, and which outline the new rules and regulations that were regularly being formulated as the country’s bureaucratic apparatus continued to grow. Examples include a memo on how to determine the age of Service employees (C347) and a law stipulating that dismissed antiquities guards were not be reemployed (C1626). In the six letters signed by him in 1912, his signature-block alternates between ‘Principal of Administration’ and ‘on behalf of the Director General of Antiquities’. The letters are mostly administrative in content, including information about rental contracts of houses leased to Antiquities Inspectors (C1483), or letters about the inspector’s travel allowance (C1588). Naturally, he also addresses non-Egyptian employees, always legible. Moreover, there remain thousands of documents that have yet to be catalogued. As such, the number of occurrences is only an approximation.

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including a letter sent to Gustave Lefebvre, the Chief Inspector of Middle Egypt at the time, with a money order for an outstanding amount and a request that he mail-in a receipt that had not yet been sent (C341). He rebukes the Sohag Antiquities Inspector (C1541), expressing his dissatisfaction with the way the inspector had addressed the institution in his latest correspondence, writing that he: found that the observations that you mentioned about this were relayed in an inappropriate way to an institution. The expressions in your letter did not take into consideration respectfulness towards my person and the position of the sender.61 This underlines the bureaucratic authority tied to his position (Fig. 1).

Fig. 1: Letter sent by J. Messawir to the Sohag Antiquities Inspector in 1913 (C1541) expressing dissatisfaction with the way the inspector addressed the Antiquities Service. © Abydos Archive.

61

Unless otherwise stated, excerpts from Abydos archive documents are translations made by Shalaby from the original Arabic text.

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In 1913 and throughout the First World War, Messawir continues in his role as Principal of Administration, sending packages with office supplies and cleaning equipment to inspectorates (C330, C947, C1476). These include items as trivial as zinc buckets and soap, but with their exact quantity precisely recorded (C1485), monitoring sebakh removal (C895, C126), and organizing what to do with the remaining Decauville railway tracks left behind by Eric Peet at Abydos (C1474). Among his most pressing tasks was to ensure that forms were being filled out properly (C340), in several letters reprimanding inspectors for filling out forms incorrectly (C1469, C948, C348), or refusing to pay the travel allowance of the sheikh-ghafir of al-Kharga after he failed to follow proper administrative procedures (C787). In 1914, there is a noticeable increase in his correspondence with the Sohag Antiquities Inspector (18 letters in total compared to seven in the previous year), perhaps due to the outbreak of the war, when the Service’s French and British senior officials returned to Europe, leaving him to run the institution’s affairs. At the end of 1917, the effect the Great War was having on Egypt’s economy become palpable in two letters sent by Messawir to the Sohag Inspectorate. The first concerns an employee’s net salary, in the amount of 22 LE and 810 milims, which included a ‘war subsidy’ (C797); the second is a request forwarded by him from the al-Amiriya press. This urges that ‘Government Institutions […] send, on the first of January 1918, all the carton paper that had wall calendars fixed to it, in order to help with the current paper crisis’ (C147). The paper crisis continued throughout the next year, with several more letters sent asking for the use of paper to be economized (C294, C56), or informing inspectorates that the annual supplies will be sent much later than customary due to an unprecedented increase in the prices of commodities (C1517). Year(s) 1910–1918 1919–1923

1923–1924

1924–1925

Messawir’s position in the Antiquities Service Principal of Administration also: ‘on behalf of’ the Director General of Antiquities Supervisor of the Antiquities Service / on behalf of also: ‘on behalf of’ the Director General of Antiquities ‘on behalf of’ the Director of the Antiquities Service Principal of Administration also: ‘on behalf of’ the Director General of Antiquities ‘on behalf of’ the Director of the Antiquities Service Director of the Administration Department

Table 2: Different titles held and signature-blocks employed by Joseph Messawir from 1910 to 1925, according to documents from the Abydos archive.

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Fig. 2: The route Sultan Fuad I was to follow during his visit to the antiquities of Middle and Upper Egypt in 1920, signed by J. Messawir (C142 and C1519). © Abydos Archive. Following the anti-British uprisings that took place in March and April of 1919, only four letters are attributed to Messawir during that year (compared to the 26 letters in the following year and 28 letters in 1921), perhaps related to the unrest, resulting in a slower workflow. He also assumes a new title, ‘Supervisor of the Antiquities Service’, possibly a promotion from his previous position. In this new role, one of his central tasks, alongside forwarding new laws and instructions issued from various Ministries, appears to be sending reminders to the inspectors to respond to unanswered letters and requests, in some instances threatening to penalize them for not doing so. For example, he sends a second reminder to the Sohag Inspector to send him a list of guards who carry weapons or else risk punishment (C949). As an indication of his increasingly important role in the Service, at the end of 1920, Messawir signs off on a letter that outlines in detail the route that Sultan Fuad I was to follow during his visit to the antiquities of Middle

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and Upper Egypt, which included stops at Beni Hasan, Asyut, Abydos, Dendera, Luxor and Aswan (C142, C1519). Details include the mode of transport to be used, whether by car, drawn carriages or donkey, as well as the duration of each visit (Fig. 2). Land encroachment, registration of antiquities land and confiscation of antiquities were also high on his agenda, particularly from 1921 onwards. For instance, reminders are sent to follow up on cases where antiquities had been found inside a person’s home (C1771, C1754), or where land encroachment had taken place (C252, C98, C1478). Furthermore, Messawir sends journals to all the inspectorates, asking that they be used by inspectors to record the plots of land containing antiquities in their district (C961), and in another correspondence he asks that they write the names of the koms and sites from which antiquities had been sold (C248). In a similar vein, he requests that the Sohag Inspector send a map to the national survey department, with clear demarcations of identified antiquities land found in al-Araba al-Madfuna (C1778). At the end of 1923, Messawir briefly returned to signing himself as ‘Principal of Administration’ before assuming the title of ‘Director of Administration’ in August 1924 (C793) (see table 2). During these last two full years, he appears to be less involved in conducting day-to-day administrative matters but more on mailing-in salaries for each of the inspectorates. He also issues a large number of permits to individuals to work certain mines and quarries which had been investigated by Antiquities Inspectors and found to be free of ancient remains. Very likely, in his new role as ‘Director of Administration’, he managed the distribution of payments to employees of the Antiquities Service, which possibly meant that he handled several thousand Egyptian Pounds each month. For example, the salaries of the employees in the district of Sohag in May 1925 totalled 104 LE and 661 milims, which were sent as a cheque to the Sohag Inspector to distribute (C812). In this capacity, he also made decisions as to whether specific individuals had a right to claim reimbursements for travel and accommodation, which at times he refused (C222). Amongst his more notable directives was a notice in 1922 that stated that ‘Monsieur Engelbach, Chief Inspector of the Antiquities of Upper Egypt, should take over the work of Monsieur Wainwright, Chief Inspector of the Antiquities of Middle Egypt during his annual leave starting from this 3rd of May’ (C326) (see Fig. 3). Another administrative order of a similar executive nature was issued in 1924 and signed by him. It stated that Cecil Firth was to return to his post of Inspector at Saqqara upon returning from his holiday, while Tewfiq Boulos should continue as the Chief Inspector of Upper, Lower and Middle Egypt until instructed otherwise (C332). In both cases, it is noteworthy that as Principal of Administration he signed on behalf of the Director General, and dictated the duties the Chief Inspectors were expected to perform.

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Fig. 3: An executive order for Engelbach and Wainwright, signed by J. Messawir on behalf of the Director General of Antiquities (C326). © Abydos Archive. Messawir, an upper class Egyptian with a western education, can be considered a hybrid of sorts, combining both the ‘western’ background that would place him on par with his French and British superiors, but possessing the necessary local knowledge that allowed him to navigate through the dense bureaucratic network which characterized modern Egyptian governance. The documents clearly underline his position of authority within the institution, manifested in the horizontal relationship that existed between him and employees lower down the hierarchical scale, including both non-Egyptian chief inspectors and Egyptian antiquities inspectors. While the nature of his correspondence mainly constitutes the mundane workings of the Antiquities Service, ranging from trivial matters such as mailing a bar of soap, to larger concerns related to monthly salaries and the circulation of new regulations, it is this type of administrative work and the meticulous recording it requires that forms the basic infrastructure of an institution and allows it to function. His job was to oversee and regulate the employees and help create a culture of uniformity and regularity, deal with moments of crisis, but also monitor the way the public interacted with the country’s ancient remains, enforcing encroachment laws and demarcating ancient sites. The documents thus disclose the scale of operation of the Antiquities Service in the early 20th century,

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that included a robust administration, a large part of which was steered by an Egyptian employee who occupied a position that has often remained invisible when a western history of the discipline is written. Year(s) 1885 1887–88 1889–90 1898–1906 1907–1912 1913–1914 (?) 1915–1917 1918–1925

Hosni’s position in the Antiquities Service Inspector (3rd Class) Fayum Inspector Teacher (?) Luxor Inspector Giza Inspector (1st Class) Zagazig Inspector (1st Class) Minya Inspector (1st Class) Sohag Inspector (1st Class)

Table 3: Titles and positions held by Hassan Hosni from 1885 to 1925, according to various documents and archives. Following his brief appearance in al-Minya as noted above, the next attestation of Hassan Hosni is in August 1918, when it appears that he has become an Inspector in Sohag (see table 3). This is confirmed by a letter signed by Georges Daressy, in which he addresses the Deputy Antiquities Inspector of Sohag at the time, informing him that Hassan Effendi Hosni will continue his holiday for another three days (C832). Two years later, in 1921, Hosni writes a letter to the sheikh-ghafir of the Kharga oasis, asking him to send an inventory of the items in the Kharga antiquities house (C3204). There are no letters associated with Hosni, as yet, between these dates. Hosni’s back and forth correspondence during what appears to be his final position in the Service, brings to light the detail of his day-to-day tasks of running an inspectorate during this time, as well as the larger issues he encountered and was expected to resolve. Examples include a letter sent to him in 1921 by Pierre Lacau, the Director General of the Service, asking that he inspect certain blocks that were found in a house at al-Araba al-Madfuna, the resident of which claimed they were ancient (C1743), or a request to inspect a wooden box that was found at Kom Akhmim (see Fig. 4). He sent a written report about this box and its contents (the bones of a dead person, wrapped in linen), its date and his assessment of its significance (C1594). At the beginning of 1922, Hosni sends repeated requests to the Prosecutor of al-Balyana to send the objects confiscated from Muhammad al-Rawi’s house in al-Araba, and which were being kept at the Prosecutor’s office, to the Inspectorate (C1772, C1766). Furthermore, on a monthly basis he sent his ‘book of travels’, or inspection journal, to the Chief Inspector in Asyut for review. In it, he recorded in detail the sites he had visited over the course of the month and his observations about the state of each site’s antiquities (C1714, C979, C983, C1738). In August 1923, he is asked by James Quibell, Secretary

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General of the Antiquities Service at the time, to ‘take over the work of the office of the al-Minya Inspectorate from the inspector who will be taking his annual holiday’ (C772), and to take care of both inspectorates mindfully.

Fig. 4: Letter about a wooden box found in Kom Akhmim, inspected by Hassan Hosni (C1594). © Abydos Archive. When Gerald Wainwright was appointed Chief Inspector of Middle Egypt in 1921, a few years after Hosni’s move to Sohag, their initial relationship appears to have been tense. In one example, Wainwright reprimands Hosni for not following instructions, and asks him to submit the documents directly to the Antiquities Service in Cairo and not to him as per the regulations he had sent him earlier

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(C806). In another, rather unusual, letter Hosni writes to Wainwright in English, responding to a letter the latter had sent him earlier about certain antiquities that were under his care, asking which ones were locked with a key (C977). Hosni responds: Many several years ago, many societies worked in the most parts of my monuments, which are under my charge. So I do not know exactly the closed or the unclosed monuments. Perhaps the service of Antiquities knows everything about them. Signing the letter ‘H. Houssny’. It is unclear why Hosni responded to Wainwright in English, given that the majority of his correspondence with the office of the bashmufatish was in Arabic. A few days following this exchange, Wainwright is clearly irritated when he writes to Hosni (C988), ‘I have long ago given instructions that the TA sheets should be sent by the 5th. Why is it necessary to repeat these instructions? Please do not let me have to do so again’. In another similar instance he reprimands him for not responding to one of his letters sent two months earlier (C1757). In the meantime, a letter sent to Hosni by Messawir asks him not to send certain letters directly to the Service in Cairo, but to send them first to the Chief Inspector’s office as per regulations (C1484), an indication perhaps of the animosity that existed between Hosni and Wainwright at the time, and whom Hosni might have been attempting to bypass. In November 1923, Wainwright again rebukes Hosni for not using the updated guidelines regarding the grade system that should be used when calculating his travel allowance, in addition to having mailed in the letter late (C970). Hosni responds that he was in fact correct in his calculations and that it is in accordance with the memo issued by the Ministry of Finance (C969). This problem persisted between both sides until the end of December, with Wainwright continuing to instruct Hosni to follow the new regulations (C981). Finally, Wainwright agrees to send Hosni’s forms for reimbursement to the Antiquities Service when Hosni writes: I would like to inform you that the forms for last September and October were adjusted according to text (b) in memo number 24 by the General Inspectorate. […] If you revise my letter to the Antiquities Service, enclosed, you will understand how’ (C976). At last, he was able to receive the 6 LE 418 milims he was owed. Similar exchanges take place about his late application for the 15-day holiday he undertook (C1759, C1758). Contextualizing these charged exchanges and examining them within the tense socio-political atmosphere of the time, when Egypt was fighting for independence from Britain, is important. It is no doubt easy to label Hosni as an incompetent inspector who did poorly at his job or to view these exchanges as tedious correspondence between two bureaucrats. However, it is also possible that

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the narrative is more multi-layered, and that these instances of tension can be seen as moments of subversiveness and challenges to a legacy of discrimination against Egyptians from the outset of the discipline’s founding. Hosni was perhaps using the limited space of manoeuvre afforded him as a lower-level bureaucrat in the institution to express his discontent.

Fig. 5: J. Messawir’s letter to Hassan Hosni, asking him to inspect Reisner’s excavation (C781). © Abydos Archive.

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Naturally, Hosni also had several exchanges with Messawir during his time as an Inspector in Sohag. Perhaps the most interesting is the letter Messawir sent to Hosni on 12 June 1921, asking him to inspect Reisner’s excavations62 at Naga alDer (Fig. 5). He writes: ‘we urge you to do your utmost to monitor Dr. Reisner’s excavation area, so that the Antiquities Service is not regarded as careless in the eyes of foreign scientists’ (C781). Hosni responds that he has informed the sheikh-ghafir to monitor the excavation area during the latter’s inspection rounds. While one aspect of the letter demonstrates Messawir’s inclination to assist the American Egyptologist who had likely requested help from the Service, perhaps of greater significance is Messawir’s caution that Egyptians not be judged negatively by foreigners, who at the time regularly portrayed Egyptians as inferior and inadequate. Such sentiments were clearly expressed, for instance, by Reisner himself,63 and by the British Chief Inspector Arthur Weigall: ‘During those first months of his new job, he writes of the difficulties of asserting his authority, of being cheated and taken advantage of by guards and sub-inspectors, and of being forced against his nature into treating them “like dogs”, as Carter had done.’64 Messawir, while giving credence to these false colonial perceptions, was nonetheless eager that they not be reinforced. On the other hand, it appears Hosni was perhaps less perturbed by these preconceptions deciding to send the sheikh-ghafir to the site, instead of monitoring it himself. As Hosni neared the end of his employment in the Service, in February 1924, he received a reply from Wainwright that his request for an increase in his salary and grade had not been approved by the Antiquities Service, and that there was nothing that could be done about the matter (C112). This appears to have been a final attempt by Hosni to improve his standing as a long-time Inspector in the Service: by May 1924, Hosni was still only receiving 6 LE 965 milims a month (C1464), amounting to approximately 84 LE a year, a paltry increase from his annual starting salary of 60 LE, forty years previously. During this last year of his employment, and perhaps as a last act of defiance (?) Messawir reprimands Hosni for not receiving the Principal of the Museum, even though the General Administration had notified the Inspector beforehand that the Principal would be arriving to Abydos and al-Kharga for a visit (C429). The last letter attributed to Hassan Hosni is a form signed by him stating that he will take his annual vacation for 20 days from the 14th of June until the 4th of July 1924 (C3746). In January 1925, Tewfik Boulos, now Chief Inspector of Middle Egypt, writes to the deputy Inspector of Sohag and requests that he asks Hassan Hosni if he has evidence that the sheikh-ghafir of Sohag destroyed a certain ancient room in al-Sheikh Hamad as had been previously reported (C1602). A few months later, this same deputy, 62

Der Manuelian 2022. Reid 2015: 60. 64 Hankey 2001: 65. 63

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Mityas Faam Effendi, becomes the new Antiquities Inspector of Sohag, replacing Hassan Hosni, who by 1925 would have been roughly 60 years old and had likely retired from the Antiquities Service. A defining characteristic of Hassan Hosni is that he is one of the earliest civil servants, trained in Egyptology, to have joined the Antiquities Service following the ease of restrictions on Egyptians. His time as an inspector and effendi in the western dominated institution from his graduation until his retirement was difficult and fraught with problematic encounters along the way. He did, however, persist and the documents that he authored from the archive, particularly those during his time as an Inspector in Sohag, materialize part of this experience. They relay his continued involvement in the inspection, documentation and recording of ancient sites, the confiscation of stolen artifacts and the general upkeep of his inspectorate. As in the case of Messawir, his role and contribution form one of the multitude of layers that constitute the entire Antiquities Service structure. Although Hosni did not partake in many archaeological excavations, at least towards the end of his career, the part he played in the administration and management of hundreds of heritage sites throughout his time as an inspector were crucial to the emerging discipline and its organization. Moreover, his dissociation from his foreign superiors and the lower level position that he occupied in the bureaucratic apparatus, unlike Messawir, can at times possibly shed light on moments of defiance. Bureaucrats are often defined by habit, following rules and regulations regardless of the changes taking place around them. Feldmann,65 however, forwards the idea of reflexive habit, where she questions the notion that habit was ‘a space of nonreflection’, or where there is an absence of active thought. Was Hosni perhaps being influenced by the drastic socio-political changes that were unfolding around him during the last five years of his employment as an inspector, propelling him towards an attitude of noncompliance given his own suppressed and unjust history? Towards a new narrative Studies focused on the decolonization of archaeological research have been steadily gaining momentum over the years.66 They aim at emphasizing and bringing to the forefront Indigenous and subaltern experiences, as well as pushing forth critical inquiries into colonial traditions of thought, so as to reassess the epistemological development of a discipline long based on western interpretative structures.67 Local communities which in the past were viewed as passive disengaged actors

65

Feldmann 2008: 67. See: Bahrani 1998; Bruchac et al. 2010; Gosden 2004, 2012; Irving 2017; Lydon and Rizvi 2010; Smith 2012; Effros and Guolong 2018. 67 Lydon and Rizvi 2010: 23; Gosden 2012: 253. 66

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are today active contributors in both the theoretical and practical aspects of archaeology, reclaiming their history and asserting control over their past.68 Informed debates that question European appropriation of the past69 and the reliance of western systems of thought upon the colonial ‘other’70 are being regularly revisited and grappled with by scholars of all backgrounds. Within the domain of Egyptology and the development of the history’s discipline, albeit still relatively underrepresented in comparison to postcolonial archaeologies elsewhere, a gradual reassessment that challenges notions of Egyptian ‘otherness’ has begun to produce relevant research that confronts this historical deficit.71 In many ways, the stories and social histories that we have explored in the Abydos documents can help bring a neglected aspect of the history of Egyptology to the forefront. The contents of the documents can furnish us with fresh perspectives in our reading of the discipline’s early years, expanding our vocabulary to incorporate broader definitions of who deserves a place in its historical trajectory. There is meaning to be attached to these mundane bureaucratic practices that we have just examined, manifested in their potential to expose local lived experiences and histories and the ways in which they contributed to and shaped the development of the field. Doyon,72 for instance, has examined the extent of Egyptian worker involvement on archaeological excavations, and how the use of Arabic by the Quftis through singing, note keeping and diaries ‘reveals active but publicly invisible roles of Egyptians in the archaeological process’, and also highlights the bilingual nature of archaeological work during that time, an aspect of early excavations which has never been fully acknowledged. Likewise, taking into account the Arabic records left behind by Egyptian bureaucrats and scholars during the first decades of the 20th century, reinstates the role of the language and its importance as a tool for administering and guarding the country’s heritage, clearly visible in the abundance of Arabic letters that were written on a daily basis and which were in turn signed by the foreign senior officials of the Service, who likely could not themselves read the content. It was through the use of Arabic, and those who had knowledge of it, that a large segment of the Antiquities Service could operate. During the First World War, when most foreign Egyptologists were compelled to leave Egypt, Petrie writes that there were no longer any European archaeological missions excavating in the country and that the Antiquities Service had been left ‘denuded of all available men’.73 While it is true that the number of western 68

Smith 2012: 31, 64; Bruchac et al. 2010. González-Ruibal 2010: 40. 70 Lydon and Rizvi 2010: 19. 71 See: Reid 1985, 2002, 2015; Colla 2007; Carruthers 2015; Quirke 2010; Doyon 2015, 2018. 72 Doyon 2018: 180. 73 Reid 2015: 40. 69

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excavations had decreased dramatically from 22 a year to almost zero,74 the claim that the Antiquities Service had been rendered immobile as a result, is a distorted perception of who and what constituted the wider field of Egyptology during this time. The Abydos archive, particularly the documents just examined of Messawir and Hosni, paint a picture that is in direct contradiction to Petrie’s reductionist view of the discipline. Both Messawir, in his role as a Principal and later Director of Administration, and Hosni, a long time Antiquities Inspector, were active local agents that contributed to the field in diverse ways. In Messawir’s case, a flexibility of roles is apparent where boundaries appear to be more permeable than once envisioned, even if only to a certain extent. Additionally, Hassan Hosni’s history and career path within the Antiquities Service speaks to the need to revisit the roles of comparable foot-soldiers in order to enrich our understanding of the organization and management of the country’s heritage during the discipline’s formative years, as well as attempt to discern moments of subtle negotiations of power that could have taken place. Bibliography Abu el-Yazid, M. and A. Damarany. 2020. ‘Egyptian Voices: The Abydos Temple Paper Archive’. Egyptian Archaeology 57: 34–37. Aly, A. 2016. al-Athar al-Misriyya al-Mustabaha. al-Idara al-Misriya wa al-Athar fi al-Qarn al-Tasi Ashar. Cairo: Dar al-Kutub. Asaf, Y. and Q. Nasr. 1889. Daleel Misr li-‘Amay 1889–1890. Cairo: n.p. Bahrani, Z. 1998. ‘Conjuring Mesopotamia: Imaginative Geographies and a World Past’. In L. Meskell (ed.), Archaeology under Fire: Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East. London: Routledge, 159–174. Bierbrier, M.L. (ed.), 2019. Who was Who in Egyptology. 5th ed., London: Egypt Exploration Society. Blattner, E.J. (ed.), 1943. Le Mondain Égyptien. The Egyptian Who’s Who. Cairo: Imprimerie F. E. Noury & Fils. Bruchac, M., S. Hart and H.M. Wobst (eds), 2010. Indigenous Archaeologies: A Reader on Decolonization. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. Carruthers, W. (ed.), 2015. Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. Routledge Studies in Egyptology 2. New York and London: Routledge. Carter, H. 1903. ‘Report on General Work Done in the Southern Inspectorate’. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 4: 43–50. — 1904. ‘Report of Work Done in Upper Egypt’. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 5: 112–129. Colla, E. 2007. Conflicted Antiquities. Egyptology, Egyptomania, Egyptian Modernity. Durham and London: Duke University Press.

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Damaty, M. 2001. Wathaiq al-Mathaf al-Masri. Cairo: Supreme Council of Culture. Der Manuelian, P. 2022. Walking Among Pharaohs: George Reisner and the Dawn of Modern Egyptology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Doyon, W. 2015. ‘On Archaeological Labor in Modern Egypt’. In W. Carruthers (ed.), Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. Routledge Studies in Egyptology 2. New York and London: Routledge, 140–156. — 2018. ‘The History of Archaeology through the Eyes of Egyptians’. In B. Effros and L. Guolong (eds), Unmasking Ideology in Imperial and Colonial Archaeology: Vocabulary, Symbols and Legacy. Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Press, 173–200. Effros, B. and L. Guolong (eds), 2018. Unmasking Ideology in Imperial and Colonial Archaeology: Vocabulary, Symbols and Legacy. Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Press. Feldmann, I. 2008. Governing Gaza. Bureaucracy, Authority and the Work of Rule, 1917–1967. Durham and London: Duke University Press. González-Ruibal, A. 2010. ‘Colonialism and European Archaeology’. In J. Lydon and U.Z. Rizvi (eds), Handbook of Postcolonial Archaeology. London and New York: Routledge, 39–50. Gosden, C. 2004. ‘The Past and Foreign Countries: Colonial and Post-Colonial Archaeology and Anthropology’. In L. Meskell and R.W. Preucel (eds), A Companion to Social Archaeology. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 161–178. — 2012. ‘Post-Colonial Archaeology’. In I. Hodder (ed.), Archaeological Theory Today. Cambridge: Polity Press, 251–266. Habib, T. 1928. ‘Dars al-Athar fe al-Jamia al-Misriyya’. al-Muqtataf 72: 438– 442. Hagen, F. and K. Ryholt. 2016. The Antiquities Trade in Egypt 1880–1930: the H.O. Lange Papers. Copenhagen: Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters. Hankey, J. 2001. A Passion for Egypt. Arthur Weigall, Tutankhamun and the Curse of the Pharaohs. London and New York: I.B. Tauris. Hoag, C. 2011. ‘Assembling Partial Perspectives: Thoughts on the Anthropology of Bureaucracy’. Political and Legal Anthropology Review 34: 81–94. Hosni, H. 1912. ‘Rapport sur une fouille exécutée dans le Désert Arabique à l’est d’Atfih’. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 12: 51–56. Hunter, F.R. 1984. Egypt Under the Khedives, 1805–1879. From Household Government to Modern Bureaucracy. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Irving, S. 2017. ‘A Tale of Two Yusifs: Recovering Arab Agency in Palestine Exploration Fund Excavations 1890–1924’. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 149: 223–236. Loret, V. 1898a. ‘Le tombeau d’Amenophis II et la cachette royale de Biban-elMolouk’. Bulletin de l’Institut Égyptien, 3e série, 9: 98–112.

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— 1898b. ‘Le tombeau de Thoutmes III à Biban-el-Molouk’. Bulletin de l’Institut Égyptien, 3e série, 9: 91–97. Lydon, J. and U.Z. Rizvi. 2010. ‘Introduction’. In J. Lydon and U.Z. Rizvi (eds), Handbook of Postcolonial Archaeology. London and New York: Routledge, 17–33. Maspero, G. 1912. Rapports sur la marche du Service des antiquités de 1899 à 1910. Cairo: Gouvernement égyptien. — 1913. Rapport du Service des antiquités pour l’année 1912. Cairo: Gouvernement égyptien. Mitchell, T. 2002. Rule of Experts. Egypt, Techno-Politics, Modernity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Quirke, S. 2010. Hidden Hands: Egyptian Workforces in Petrie Excavation Archives, 1880–1924. London: Bloomsbury. Reid, D.M. 1985. ‘Indigenous Egyptology: The Decolonization of a Profession?’. Journal of the American Oriental Society 105: 233–246. — 1997. ‘Nationalizing the Pharaonic Past: Egyptology, Imperialism, and Egyptian Nationalism, 1922–1952’. In J. Gershoni and I. Jankowski (eds), Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East. New York: Columbia University Press, 127–149. — 2002. Whose Pharaohs? Archaeology, Museums and Egyptian National Identity from Napoleon to World War I. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. — 2015. Contesting Antiquity in Egypt: Archaeologies, Museums, and the Struggle for Identities from World War I to Nasser. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Reisner, G. 1913. Expedition Diary 15.06.1913 http://giza.fas.harvard.edu/diary pages/3151/full/ Last accessed on 25 September 2022. Ryzova, L. 2014. The Age of the Efendiyya. Passages to Modernity in NationalColonial Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shalaby, N. 2022 ‘Unravelling Stories of Egyptian Involvement in Early Egyptology: A Brief Report on the Abydos Paper Archive’. In R.W. Kory, T.S. Carhart and A. Heising (eds), Der Kolonialgedanke als Manipulator archäologischer Ratio? Beiträge zweier Workshops an der Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg [November 2017 / Juli 2018]. Paläowissenschaftliche Studien 5. Hagen/Westfalen: Curach Bhán Publications, 57–64. Shalaby, N., A. Damarany and J. Kaiser. 2019. ‘A Lost Historical Narrative? The Role of Egyptians in Egyptology’s Formative Years as Echoed in the Abydos Heritage Archive’. In A. Verbovsek (ed.), Narrative. Geschichte – Mythos – Repräsentation. BAJA 8. Göttinger Orientforschungen 65. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 131–143. Shalaby, N., A. Damarany, and J. Kaiser. 2020. ‘Tewfik Boulos and the Administration of Egyptian Heritage at the Beginning of the Twentieth Century’. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 106: 75–88.

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Smith, L.T. 2012. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples. London and New York: Zed Books.

On the Trail of Ahmed Fakhry The Legacy of an Egyptian Archaeologist Mostafa I. Tolba

After Jean-François Champollion (1790–1832) set out the principles for deciphering the hieroglyphic writing system in his Lettre à Monsieur Dacier of 1822, Egyptology was established as an emerging scientific discipline largely through endeavours of European scholars. It is therefore understandable to find that the working languages of the newborn field were English, French, and German.1 These languages, however, were a barrier that disabled Egyptians from gaining knowledge in the science named after their own country. Nonetheless, the educational missions sent to European countries from the era of Mohamed Ali (1769–1849), the founder of modern Egypt, started to yield fruits during the reigns of his descendants.2 That happened when Khedive Ismail (1830– 1895), encouraged by his Minister of Education Ali Mubarak (1823–1893), issued decree No. 1 of 13th Rajab 1285 AH/1868 AD to establish the Madrasat al-Lisan al-Masry al-Qadeem, School of the Ancient Egyptian Language, (1868–1875) under the directorship of the German Egyptologist Heinrich Brugsch (1827– 1894).3 The purpose of founding the school was to equip native Egyptians with the knowledge and skills required for them to work either in the Boulaq Museum or in the Egyptian Antiquities Service.4 The subjects of the school were not limited to teaching history and the ancient Egyptian language, but also encompassed other languages such as Arabic, Coptic, Ḥabashīyah, and German.5 English and French were added to the curriculum later on. According to Brugsch6, Auguste Mariette (1821–1881), the French first Director of the Egyptian Antiquities Service, felt that the ten alumni of the school threatened his own position – or in any case he behaved as if he felt so-threatened. Brugsch notes that: […] my old friend Mariette worried that it might lead the Viceroy to have it up his sleeve to appoint officials who had studied hieroglyphics to his museum. No matter how much I tried to set his mind at ease, he remained so suspicious that he gave the order to museum officials that no native be

1

Reid 1997: 128–129. Haikal and Omar 2021: 43. 3 Fares 2017: 68; Mohamed et al. 2020: 37. 4 Reid 2002: 116; Ikram and Omar 2021: 32. 5 Mohamed et al. 2020: 39, table 1. 6 Brugsch 1894: 282. 2

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allowed to copy hieroglyphic inscriptions. The persons in question were thus simply expelled from the Temple. Thus, Mariette obstructed any attempts to employ those educated at the School in positions related to Egyptology, and they found themselves obliged to accept working as teachers, translators, and clerks.7 Seven years after its foundation, the School of the Ancient Egyptian Language was closed after losing hope of employing its graduates in Egyptology-related jobs. These first alumni have thus been considered as the first ‘lost’ generation of Egyptian Egyptologists.8 This situation gradually changed after Mariette died in 1881, and Gaston Maspero (1846–1916) took over his position. Under Maspero’s directorship, two of the School’s alumni succeeded in beginning their Egyptological careers. Those were Ahmed Kamal (1851–1923), who became SecretaryTranslator at the Boulaq Museum and was later on promoted to Assistant Curator, and Ahmed Naguib (1847–1910), who was appointed Inspector of Antiquities.9 However, it seems that Kamal never forgot the difficulties under which Egyptians had laboured during Mariette’s leadership of the Egyptian Antiquities Service. This could be inferred through Ahmed Kamal’s response to Pierre Lacau (1873– 1963) when the latter claimed that few Egyptians showed interest in Egyptian archaeology, Kamal said: ‘Ah, M. Lacau in the sixty-five years you French have directed the Service, what opportunities have you given us?’.10 Although the project did not last, the School of the Ancient Egyptian Language was a milestone on the path of preparing the next generations of Egyptian Egyptologists. Its principal alumnus, Ahmed Kamal, was significantly involved in the next two formal attempts to establish Egyptology education for Egyptians. His endeavours included teaching at the Madrasat al-Athar al-Tarikhia al-Masria, School of Egyptian Historical Monuments, (1881–1886)11 and the inception of an Egyptology Section at the Higher Teachers College (1910–1913).12 The graduates of the latter represented the second generation of Egyptian Egyptologists, including, among others, Selim Hassan (1886–1961), Mahmud Hamza (1890–1976), and Sami Gabra (1892–1979).13 In 1923, the Egyptian government announced the reopening of the Egyptology Section at the Higher Teachers School. According to the decree, Ahmed Kamal would be its Director, but unfortunately he died that same year.14 In 1925, the Egyptian University, now known as Cairo University, structured the Faculty of Arts to contain a Department of Archaeology including 7

Reid 1985: 235; Mohamed et al. 2020: 43, table 5. Reid 1997: 131. 9 Reid 1985: 236. 10 Wilson 1964: 192–193; Mekawy Ouda 2020: 72. 11 Mohamed et al. 2020: 49. 12 Reid 1985: 237; Reid 2002: 204; 2015: 33. 13 Mekawy Ouda 2020: 81; Haikal and Omar 2021: 49–53. 14 Reid 1985: 241. 8

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two subfields: Egyptology, and Islamic Civilization. The alumni of its first intake formed the third generation of Egyptian Egyptologists, to whom the subject of the present article, Ahmed Fakhry, belongs.15 1. Ahmed Fakhry: Social and Educational Background Ahmed Fakhry was born on 21 May 1905 in the Fayoum.16 He had wealthy parents, Ali Fakhry and Galila Abbas, who owned areas of farmland.17 As mentioned above, Ahmed Fakhry was among the first group enrolled at the newly founded Department of Archaeology and chose Egyptology as a major [Fig. 1]. Together with his classmates, Fakhry studied hieroglyphs with Vladimir Golénischeff (1856–1947), the Russian Egyptologist who headed the department until 1929. Throughout their undergraduate studies, Fakhry and his colleagues took various courses [Table 1] that provided them with the knowledge and language skills essential for Egyptological research.18 In 1928, Fakhry graduated with a licentiate (B.A.) in Egyptology and became among the first alumni of the Egyptology section of the Egyptian University.19

Fig. 1: The first group of Egyptology students at the Egyptian University, with Ahmed Fakhry (first to the left in the back row). © Courtesy of the Labib Habachi Archives, Chicago House, Luxor, Egypt. 15

Reid 1997: 138, Haikal 2003: 126; Mekawy Ouda 2020: 82; Haikal and Omar 2021: 53. Bierbrier 2019: 158. 17 Kamil 2007: 177. 18 Kamil 2007: 61. 19 Reid 1985: 241; Kamil 2007: 62; Bierbrier 2019: 158. 16

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Subject Hieroglyphs Archaeology Philology Latin and Greek French English Hebrew and the Old Testament Greco-Roman History Coptic and Demotic

Teaching Staff Vladimir Golénischeff (1856–1947) Thomas Eric Peet (1882–1934) Charles Kuentz (1895–1978) Paul Girard (1852–1926) Henri Grégoire (1881–1964) Rachel Evelyn-White (1867–1943) Ali el-Enany Taha Hussein (1889–1973) Gorgi Sobhi (1884–1964)

Table 1: List of subjects and the teaching staff of the first Egyptology Department at the Egyptian University. In June 1929, Fakhry joined the Egyptian Antiquities Service and the Egyptian government sent him to Europe two times. The first was a short-time scholarship to Brussels to serve as a Conservator in the Royal Collections under Jean Capart (1877–1947) while the second scholarship, between March 1930 and February 1932, was to study the different museums and to contact European professors. In England, he studied under Eric Peet, Aylward M. Blackman (1883–1956) and Francis L. Griffith (1862–1934). Thereafter, he travelled to Paris and then to Germany where he studied the antiquities in the Berlin Museum and listened to the lectures of Alexander Scharff (1892–1950), Hermann Grapow (1885–1967), and Kurt Sethe (1869–1934).20 When he returned to Egypt, Fakhry employed his newly acquired skills into several projects that will be addressed in this article. 2. The Scientific Legacy of Ahmed Fakhry Fakhry’s legacy includes various publications covering his archaeological fieldwork and discoveries, as well as anthropological observations of the resident societies in the areas he investigated. Fakhry carried out activities not only in the well-known sites such as the Giza Plateau and Theban Necropolis but also in sites far off the beaten track such as the oases of the Egyptian Western Desert. 2.1 Memphite Necropolis The Memphite Necropolis extends from Abu Rawash in the north to Maidum in the south, including cemeteries such as the Giza Plateau, Saqqara, and Dahshur. The Giza Plateau was the location of Fakhry’s first fieldwork for the Antiquities Service. He participated there as an Assistant Archaeologist in the third season of Selim Hassan’s excavations on behalf of the Egyptian University.21 No doubt that 20

The information is based on an autobiography summarizing his qualifications, see D-DAI-KAI-A-FAK-181-001-001. 21 Hassan 1941: 1.

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his further experience working under Hassan represented an excellent opportunity for practical implementation of the knowledge he had acquired during his undergraduate and postgraduate studies. Besides his work with Hassan, Fakhry was assigned to document seven tombs located about 400 meters to the east of the Great Pyramid of Khufu. Consequently, in 1935, he published a monograph that includes his documentation for the tombs belonging to Ankhwedjes, Tua, Khnumhotep, Nefert, Merykhufu, Kaneneb, and an unknown person.22 This monograph displayed Fakhry’s professionalism in the documentation techniques known in his time. In 1945, the Project of Pyramids Studies was started by the Egyptian Antiquities Service under the supervision of Abdulsalam Mohamed Hussein.23 In 1951, following the death of Hussein in 1949, Fakhry was put in charge of the project. Fakhry led four seasons in which he was able to work on two sites, Dahshur and South Saqqara, out of the four sites listed on the project schedule.24 In his third season, Fakhry dedicated two months, from 30 October until the end of December 1952, to excavation in and around the funerary complex of Isesi at South Saqqara.25 Fakhry focused his efforts on publishing the results of his three seasons at Dahshur, revealing an immense amount of information on the building and decoration programs of King Sneferu.26 His colleague, Mohamed Ibrahim Moursi (1935–1994), continued publishing posthumously the results of Fakhry’s work around the pyramid of Isesi, including the discovery of the tomb of Pepiankhsethu.27 The Project of Pyramids Studies represents the ground on which Fakhry’s reputation was established as a specialist in pyramid research. Therefore, it is not surprising to find that, although he left it in 1952, the Egyptian Antiquities Service appointed him as a co-director of the joint Pyramid Project of Egypt and the United States of America [Fig. 2]. This project was first conceptualized in 1965 by the American physicist and Nobel Prize winner Luis Walter Alvarez (1911– 1988).28 The rationale behind the project was the observation that the inner structure of the Khafre Pyramid is much simpler than that of his father Khufu and his grandfather Sneferu. Alvarez therefore wanted to find out if there were any undiscovered chambers inside Khafre’s Pyramid. To achieve the project’s aim, Alvarez made use of cosmic rays for the first time in archaeology. He also convinced IBM to donate a small scientific computer to be housed at Ain Shams University in Cairo, which was to be the first computer ever in any Egyptian university. In 22

Fakhry 1935a. Drioton 1947: 520–521. 24 Fakhry 1959: 25. 25 Fakhry 1959: 30–31. 26 Fakhry 1951a; 1952a; 1954a; 1954b; 1959; 1961 (2 parts). 27 Moursi 1987; 1988a; 1988b. 28 Alvarez et al. 1970: 832. 23

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1970, Alvarez, together with other scholars of the project including Fakhry, published the results of their examination concluding that no hidden chambers were found inside the Khafre Pyramid.29 However, the project indicates the interdisciplinary nature of Egyptian archaeology and the opportunities that become available when cooperating in the production of knowledge.30

Fig. 2: The co-directors of the Pyramid Project, Ahmed Fakhry (right) and Luis Walter Alvarez (left). © The Regents of the University of California, Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory. Interestingly, fifty years later, the Pyramid Project is still a source of inspiration to twenty-first-century scholars. This is confirmed by a more recent project launched to scan the pyramids in October 2015: Scan Pyramids. This project depends on the same concept and technique of the Pyramid Project, which used radiographic muons, i.e., cosmic rays or particles. Moreover, the team of Scan Pyramids is utilizing the most innovative technologies such as laser-scanner and 3D reconstruction, infrared thermography, and photogrammetry.31 While the Pyramid Project had reported that the Khafre Pyramid has no hidden chambers, the Scan Pyramids project has shown the possibility of a ‘plane-sized’ void in Khufu’s Pyramid.32 29

Alvarez et al. 1970: 839. Hassan 1979: 79. 31 http://www.scanpyramids.org/assets/components/pyramids/pdfs/About_ScanPyramidsen.pdf Accessed 23.02.2023 32 Morishima et al. 2017. 30

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2.2 Middle Egypt and Oases of the Western Desert In 1936, Fakhry had been promoted to the position of Chief Inspector of Antiquities for Middle Egypt and the Oases of the Western Desert.33 During this phase of his career, Fakhry’s attention was focused on the Egyptian oases. However, his archaeological activities also embraced the Minia inspectorate. For example, he published a statuette of a Nineteenth Dynasty official named Sethy, who held the title of the Overseer of the Double Treasury of the Lord of the Two Lands. The statuette shows Sethy in a kneeling position carrying in his hands a triad of divinities, which was a common type of representation in the New Kingdom.34 More importantly, Fakhry brought to light a new speos from the reign of Hatshepsut and Thutmose III, located in the same valley of the famous Speos Artemidos at Beni Hasan. Fakhry documented the small speos in detail illustrating that it was dedicated to the lioness goddess Pakhet, a local goddess of the region. He provided in his documentation a copy of the speos’ layout, described the decorative programme, translated the inscriptions, and commented on the names of deities as well as the local sites mentioned in the inscriptions. He also noted that the speos had been cut and decorated at the same time as Speos Artemidos.35 Intending to explore all the oases covered by the Egyptian Western Desert, Fakhry spent more than thirty years achieving that goal including an investigation of the desert routes in between them. Throughout these years, he was not only able to visit every site mentioned in the publications of earlier explorers, but also succeeded in discovering new sites, as well as correcting or building on the already known information. His contribution to the history of the Egyptian oases is easily gauged from the bibliography of his published works. Moreover, thanks to Fakhry’s interest in desert exploration, a new department for Desert Research was established in the Antiquities Service. He served as its Director from 1944 until 1950.36 2.2.1 Bahariya and Farafra Oases Fakhry conducted three campaigns to Bahariya and Farafra and chronicled them in three reports.37 While Fakhry’s explorations and discoveries in Bahariya were of great importance, his achievements in Farafra were scant because he made no excavations there. However, he listed the sites he visited and the ruins he saw with brief descriptions and comments.38

33

Bierbrier 2019: 158. Fakhry 1939a. 35 Fakhry 1939b; Takács 2019. 36 Bierbrier 2019: 158. 37 Fakhry 1938a; 1939c; 1940a. 38 Fakhry 1938a: 431–432; 1940a: 870–871. 34

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Fig. 3: King Ahmose II gives offerings to Osiris and Isis. © DAIK. In Bahariya Oasis, Fakhry rediscovered in Ain el-Muftella, about two miles from the village of el-Qasr, the chapel of King Ahmose II [Fig. 3] that had first been seen by the German Egyptologist Georg Steindorff (1861–1951). In addition, he discovered two new chapels in the same locality.39 He went on to discover a fourth chapel during his third campaign.40 All chapels were built by Djedkhonsufankh, the Governor of the Oasis and the Priest of all its Deities, to honour different gods such as Osiris and Bes. In the necropolis of el-Bawiti, he discovered the tomb of Djedameniufankh,41 and his son Baennentiu [Fig. 4].42 In addition, when he conducted a further examination of a tomb reported by Arthur Burton Buckley (1877–1964) in 1908,43 he found that it comprised, in fact, two tombs instead of one, belonging to Padiashtar and Tjaty.44 39

Fakhry 1938a: 423. Fakhry 1940a: 855. 41 Fakhry 1938a: 430. 42 Fakhry 1939c: 628. 43 Buckley 1908. 44 Fakhry 1939c: 628. 40

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Fig. 4: The entrance to the burial chamber of Baennentiu. © DAIK. Fakhry’s meticulous work has always been rewarded. For instance, his investigation of the chapel of King Wahibre at el-Qasr, first discovered by the German Botanist Paul Ascherson (1834–1913) in 1876 and examined later by Georg Steindorff in 1900, revealed that the ceiling inscriptions had three lines, not just one.45 His good fortune is also recognized when he detected in Bahariya an unfinished temple, known to the local inhabitants as Qasr el-Megysbeh, which was built by Alexander the Great in honour of the gods Amun-Re and Horus.46 Most scholars were expecting and hoping to find further traces of Alexander’s visit in 332 BC at Siwa itself. Fakhry followed the aforementioned three reports by two splendid volumes within a series on the Egyptian deserts. Each of the two volumes consists of ten chapters concentrating on the Bahariya Oasis. Their principal aim was to publish the scenes and texts with drawings and photographs.47 In the preface of the second volume, Fakhry stated the ultimate purpose of his work in Bahariya as follows: ‘I 45

Fakhry 1938a: 430–431; 1938b. Fakhry 1940b. 47 Fakhry 1942–1950. 46

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must make it clear that my work in this oasis was for the sake of exploring its sites in order to draw the attention of the scholars to its importance’. 2.2.2 El-A‘reg Oasis In August 1938, Fakhry went to el-A‘reg, a small oasis located between Bahariya and Siwa, with the aim of studying the monuments there. He did not carry out any excavations: he was only able to examine the already visible tombs. Fakhry reported the existence of forty-two rock-cut tombs arranged in two groups; twenty at the south and twenty-two at the north.48 Decorated tombs were rare El-A‘reg Oasis, but evidence of Egyptian art and religion could be witnessed in two tombs.49 A general characteristic of Fakhry’s reports in those cases when he was unable to excavate is his reference to promising spots at the sites. For example, at the end of his report on el-A‘reg tombs, Fakhry states: This corner of the valley is the most promising but unfortunately the wind has blown a big quantity of sand over the tombs. It is possible that the temple seen by Rohlfs in 1874 is buried here. This part is worth excavating and will certainly repay any efforts made to clear it.50 2.2.3 Siwa Oasis In August 1938, Fakhry explored Siwa Oasis for the first time. Besides his recognition of its archaeological potential, Siwa left on him a unique impression regarding its people, language, and architecture.51 However, the outbreak of World War II in 1939 halted his plan to start examining the necropolis of Gabal el-Mawta at Siwa [Fig. 5]. Even worse, when the village of Siwa was bombed in October– November 1940 its inhabitants abandoned their houses and moved to live in the ancient necropolis. Searching there for new places to live, the villagers found four inscribed tombs full of mummies. When the news reached Cairo, Fakhry wanted to go to the site immediately. Unfortunately, he could not be there until 6 January 1941. Upon his arrival, he saw the pathetic condition of the newly discovered tombs which suffered from the soot of cooking and heating fires, as well as looting and vandalism.52 Fakhry was only allowed to stay there for fifteen days. As a result, he only photographed and copied the texts of three tombs belonging to Siamun, Mesuiset, and the so-called (by Siwan) ‘tomb of the crocodile’ whose owner’s name was not found, but possessed a remarkable crocodile depiction, giving rise to the nickname.53 48

Fakhry 1939d. Fakhry 1939d: 617–619, figs. 58–59. 50 Fakhry 1939d: 619. 51 Fakhry 1973a: 211; Kamil 2007: 179. 52 Fakhry 1940d: 780–781. 53 Fakhry 1940d: 781; 1973a: 211. 49

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Fig. 5: General view of Gabal el-Mawta in Siwa Oasis. © DAIK. Fakhry’s efforts in Siwa also included working in the Temple of the Oracle and the Temple of Umm Ubeideh, which were dedicated to the god Amun.54 He republished the texts of the former with the insertion of new additions, and modest correction to older publications.55 In doing so he made available for the first time the preserved text on the only remaining wall of the Temple of Umm Ebeideh that contains 51 columns of inscriptions including the Ritual of Opening of the Mouth.56 Fakhry’s publications on Siwa, together with their companions on Bahariya Oasis, reflect his remarkable grasp of anthropology and ethnography that enabled him to describe in detail the traditions, customs, and costumes of the inhabitants [Fig. 6], as well as their social history.57 He recorded the habits of their society in a period when they had no electricity, and they were still distinctive from Egyptians of other districts. After thirty-five years of his first visit, Fakhry himself noted the alteration in the traditions of Siwan society:58 When I compare life in Siwa nowadays with what I saw in the year 1938, I can hardly believe the rapidity of the change which has taken place. The boys and girls who used to play in the streets of the quiet town, wearing their traditional clothes, have disappeared. The great majority are now dressed like the children of other places, such as Marsā Maṭrūḥ, or the Egyptian villages. Whenever a Siwan is reminded of a tradition or one of 54

Fakhry 1944 84, 97; 1971; 1973a: 211–212; 1973b: 143. Fakhry 1944: 84–96; 1973a: 211. 56 Fakhry 1944: 97–120; 1973a: 212. 57 Fakhry 1942–1950; 1944; 1973b; 1974. 58 Fakhry 1973b: 37–38. 55

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the old customs, he merely smiles and says that this used to happen a long time ago, as if such traditions were a sign of backwardness. Only the elderly people still adhere to ancient customs and speak of them with restricted pride.

Fig. 6: A girl wearing the traditional silver ornaments of Siwa Oasis. © DAIK. 2.2.4 Kharga Oasis One of Fakhry’s research interests was exploring the caravan routes that connected different oases with each other. He always preferred going through these routes on camel or even on foot guided by local inhabitants.59 During his exploration of the routes between Kharga and Dakhla, Fakhry recorded that two caravan routes connected the two oases. The northern route is called Darb Ain Amour and the southern one is Darb el-Ghoubari. On 23 December 1938, Fakhry went along

59

Riemer and Förster 2013: 37.

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the northern route, where he was able to find a Roman temple built inside a fortress. He provided photographs of the site and noted the existence of Coptic and Safaitic graffiti, in addition to the hieroglyphic texts on the walls of the temple.60 In the winter of 1937–1938, Fakhry worked in Gabal el-Teir near the town of Kharga. Although the site had been visited and mentioned by many scholars before Fakhry, none of them had made a comprehensive study on its inscriptions. Therefore, Fakhry, who was sure of the importance of the site, was keen on making its material available for study.61 In his study of Gabal el-Teir inscriptions, Fakhry provided key plans of the three sites where travellers left their graffiti. He classified the inscriptions into five categories that include early drawings, Egyptian drawings and texts, Demotic inscriptions, Greek inscriptions, and Coptic inscriptions.62 In addition, he gave some examples of the modern inscriptions including those in Arabic, as well as the existence of foreign names written by the soldiers of the Allied troops who were stationed at Kharga during World War I (1914–1918).63 The necropolis of el-Bagawat was another spot in Kharga on which Fakhry carried out one of his most important documentation activities.64 Although this necropolis is Coptic, Fakhry frequently visited it during his field trips to Kharga. In 1939, Fakhry observed that many paintings of the chapels of el-Bagawat had suffered from the abnormally heavy rains of the winter season. He reported the condition to Étienne Drioton (1889–1961), the Director of the Egyptian Antiquities Service. However, no protections were put into place until February 1945, when Ahmed Fakhry dedicated four weeks to the documentation of the necropolis of el-Bagawat. During his stay, Fakhry and his companions were able to produce a general plan of the necropolis, paintings in watercolours, drawings, as well as plans and sections for some of the chapels. These documents were kept at Fakhry’s office for five years; however, they were accessible to his colleagues. He confessed that he never had the intention to publish them because of two reasons. The first was that the material did not cover his area of expertise: second was that he thought the works of Walter Hauser (1893–1960) and Charles K. Wilkinson (1897–1986) of the Metropolitan Museum’s expedition would be published soon.65 Despite that, his colleagues were behind him, motivating him to publish a volume within the series of the Egyptian Deserts comprising his documentation of the necropolis of el-Bagawat.66

60

Fakhry 1940c; 1973a: 217. Fakhry 1951b. 62 Fakhry 1951b: 407; 1973a: 216. 63 Fakhry 1951b: 433. 64 Fakhry 1951c. 65 Hauser 1932; Wilkinson and Hill 1983: 158–161. 66 Fakhry 1951c: 6. 61

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2.2.5 Dakhla Oasis Fakhry’s work at Dakhla proved that there were many more monuments to be found there than had previously been reported.67 Unfortunately, he was only able to publish a brief account of his work there.68 His untimely death in 1973 deprived him of the chance of publishing his work by himself. Nevertheless, it came to light through the cooperation of a number of scholars with the German Archaeological Institute in Cairo (DAIK) which received a donation from Fakhry’s son containing several documents of Fakhry’s last activities in the Dakhla Oasis [Fig. 7]. When the material reached the Institute, the immediate decision was to edit and publish them in a book entitled Denkmäler der Oase Dachla. The book is divided into chapters that cover the outcome of Fakhry’s fieldwork on the sites of Balat, Ezbet Bashendi, and Qaret el-Muzawwaqa.69 During his first visit to Dakhla in 1937, Fakhry noticed the use of inscribed stones to build houses in the village of el-Qasr. He noted certain blocks that had once been part of a temple dedicated to the god Thoth. His next visit was in 1947 after a heavy sandstorm had revealed ancient ruins and inscribed stones at Ain Asil. He also visited the Roman tomb of Qitinus at Ezbet Bashandi.70 Thanks to the discoveries that resulted from the sandstorm, Fakhry’s interest in working in Dakhla Oasis was increased. He, therefore, went multiple times between October 1968 and May 1972 and conducted several fruitful excavations there.71 His excavations yielded the discovery of four mastaba tombs, encompassing the tombs of Pepi-ima, Khentika, Deshru, and Khentikau-Pepi as well as another tomb with an unknown owner. All tomb owners held the title ‘Governor of the Oasis’.72 In addition, he succeeded in rediscovering the tombs of Qaret el-Muzawwaqa [Fig. 8], belonging to Padiusir and Padibastet, which had been partly examined by Herbert Winlock (1884–1950) in 1908.73 It is undoubtedly through Fakhry’s discoveries that Dakhla Oasis emerged as a promising field for further archaeological research.

67

Fakhry 1973a: 217; 222. Fakhry 1973a: 217–222. 69 Osing et al. 1982. 70 Fakhry 1973a: 219. 71 Fakhry 1973a: 220. 72 Fakhry 1973a: 221; Osing et al. 1982: 21–29. 73 Fakhry 1973a: 218–219; Osing et al. 1982: 70–81. 68

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Fig. 7: A notebook of Ahmed Fakhry containing part of his last activities in Dakhla Oasis. © DAIK.

Fig. 8: Fakhry’s introduction on the tombs of Qaret el-Muzawwaqa. © DAIK.

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2.3 Upper Egypt 2.3.1 Luxor After his work in Giza under Selim Hassan in 1932, Fakhry was shortly relocated to serve in Luxor where he conducted various archaeological activities in its temples and cemeteries.74 His stay in Luxor would be clear proof that indicates Fakhry’s potential as a very active inspector. On the West Bank at Luxor, Fakhry was keen on investigating the different cemeteries of the Theban Necropolis. At Sheikh Abd el-Qurna, he translated the inscriptions of the tomb of Kaemheribsen (TT98), a Third Prophet of Amun,75 recorded the tomb of Nebmehyt (TT384), a Priest of Amun in the Ramesseum,76 and the tomb of Hunefer (TT385), a Mayor of the Southern City and Overseer of the Granary of Divine Offerings of Amun.77 On Qurnet Murai, Fakhry explored the tomb of Userhat (TT235), the First Prophet of Montju-Lord-of-Thebes, and brought to light the inscriptions on his sarcophagus, with a focus on translating his titles.78 He also gave a glimpse of the discovery, layout and decoration of the tomb of Usermontju (TT382), another First Prophet of Montju-Lord-of-Thebes, and also Overseer of the Cattle and Treasury.79 During Fakhry’s service in Luxor, the municipality of Luxor was running a project aiming to beautify the East Bank. The project included the demolition of a major group of houses located to the east of the Luxor temple. The clearance of the area was supervised by the employees of the Luxor inspectorate, including Ahmed Fakhry together with his classmate and friend Labib Habachi (1906– 1984). Both were assigned to publish a series of articles on some of the inscribed blocks that had been used in building the demolished houses, as well as many other decorated blocks from earlier excavations that were stored at the temple. In his first article, Fakhry published three stelae, a block from the procession of the Opet Festival, fragments of statues, and elements of Coptic decoration.80 The second article published a set of the talatat blocks, the decorated blocks from the destroyed buildings of King Akhenaten.81 The third article included a publication of sixteen inscribed blocks, dating to the reign of King Amenhotep II, depicting representations of bound foreigners and the names of cities which those people came from.82

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Fakhry 1935a: 2. Fakhry 1934a. 76 Fakhry 1936: 124–126. 77 Fakhry 1936: 126–129. 78 Fakhry 1934b. 79 Fakhry 1936: 129–130. 80 Fakhry 1934c; see pls. I–II. 81 Fakhry 1935b. 82 Fakhry 1937a. 75

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Moreover, Fakhry published another article comprising various artefacts collected at Thebes.83 It encompassed two stelae of the Roman Emperor Tiberius (Cairo JE 95903–4), two offering tables from the funerary temple of Thutmose III, as well as the foundation deposits of the temple, which included four sun-dried mud vessels, pottery, and a copper chisel.84 In this article, he added a note to rectify the location of two stelae of Akhenaten known as the ‘Zernikh stelae’, previously published by Georges Legrain (1865–1917).85 The article also included a pedestal of a statue belonging to King Rameses III, six funerary cones collected from the Theban Necropolis, two fragments of a granite sarcophagus, and two granite sarcophagi in the tomb of Djehutymose (TT32), an Overseer of the Granaries of Upper and Lower Egypt.86 Later on, between November 1942 and October 1944, Luxor welcomed Fakhry for the second time when he was made Chief Inspector of Upper Egypt.87 It was a time during which the Theban Necropolis was suffering severely from illicit digging, vandalism, and looting of scenes from the walls of several tombs.88 This damage triggered the Egyptian government to spend a sum of 50,000 LE for the purpose of expropriation of the village of Qurna, where many houses were built above the ancient tombs.89 It was planned that the inhabitants would be relocated to a new village designed by the Egyptian architect Hassan Fathy (1900– 1989), and built between 1946 and 1952 to the east of the Colossi of Memnon.90 However, only one group was moved to New Qurna in the 1960s. The remaining inhabitants were eventually evicted in successive phases between 2007 and 2009 to another second ‘New Qurna’ near El-Tarif.91 From Fakhry’s position as Chief Inspector of Upper Egypt, he strongly agreed with the relocation project for the sake of better conserving and protecting the Theban Necropolis, as well as facilitating future excavations to discover new tombs.92 A justification of his position was that he felt sorrow when he supervised the inventorying of the affected tombs with Zakaria Ghoneim (1911–1959) who was the Curator of the Theban Necropolis at that time. Ghoneim was supposed to give a full report on the damaged tombs – but this never appeared. For that reason, Fakhry only provided a list of the plundered tombs.93

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Fakhry 1937b. Fakhry 1937b: 25–30. 85 Fakhry 1937b: 30–33. 86 Fakhry 1937b: 33–38. 87 Fakhry 1947a: 25. 88 Fakhry 1947a: 31. 89 Fakhry 1943a: 449–450; 1947a: 34–35. 90 Fathy 1963; 1973. 91 Mahmoud 2016. 92 Fakhry 1947a: 34–35. 93 Fakhry 1947a: 31–33. 84

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On the Asasif, the outcome of Fakhry’s inspection of the tomb of Kheruef (TT192), the Steward of the Great Royal Wife Tiye, yielded a new section alongside that which had been previously known. Fakhry was hoping to make a full publication of the tomb, but his busy schedule prevented this. Therefore, he put together a preliminary description of the scenes and copies of all the texts in the tomb to make them available for Egyptologists.94 On Dra’ Abu el-Naga, the small and unfinished tomb of Nebamun (TT145), a Captain of Troops, was among the plundered tombs of the Theban Necropolis. Fortunately, Fakhry had made four photographs of its scenes at the end of his first time in Luxor. Fakhry’s photographs and documentation are thus indispensable records of the state of the tomb before it was mutilated.95 On Sheikh Abd el-Qurna, Fakhry re-discovered the tomb of Paser (TT367), a Head of the Bowmen, and originally intended to publish it as part of a study comprising all of the Theban tombs dating to the reign of Amenhotep II.96 Despite that intention, Fakhry was flexible enough to adjust his plans whenever he found a necessity to do so: only producing partial publications, so as not to monopolize either the monument’s information or too much of his time. Such a belief was stated by Fakhry himself:97 At the same time it would be great selfishness to keep the right of publication for myself until I have an opportunity to write an appropriate work, perhaps after seven or eight years. Consequently I decided that it was the right of every Egyptologist to have between his hands as soon as possible a brief but adequate account of the discovery and for this reason I am publishing this note. 2.3.2 Aswan During the 1930s, the Egyptian government was planning a second increase to the height of the Aswan Dam, and it was expected that the Nubian monuments would be affected. Therefore, in October 1934, the Antiquities Service sent a committee, including Fakhry, to study the potential impact of the project. When the committee was on its return journey, Fakhry stopped for four hours at Nag’ Bog’, a small village in the Dehmît district located about 35 kilometres south of Philae. The purpose was to examine the tomb of Nakhtmin, a High Steward of the Queen, which had never been published, although known to some of the early travellers and Egyptologists. Fakhry was keen on rescuing the tomb because it would be flooded in the same year of the committee’s visit and consequently ruined.98 In his article, Fakhry provided accurate plans that were made with the assistance of 94

Fakhry 1943a. Fakhry 1943b. 96 Fakhry 1943c. 97 Fakhry 1943a: 453. 98 Fakhry 1935c: 52. 95

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Wahba Mosaad Khalil, an Engineer in the Aswan Dam Heightening Project. In addition, he described the important scenes of the tomb and located their positions on the walls, illustrating his content with sketches.99 Based on artistic criteria, Fakhry suggested that the tomb most probably dated between the end of the Eighteenth Dynasty and the first half of the Nineteenth Dynasty.100 On Fakhry’s return from Nubia, the German Archaeological Institute in Cairo (DAIK) was made aware that the tomb was under threat and consequently sent Alfred Hermann (1904–1967) to make photographs of the tomb. To facilitate Hermann’s work, Fakhry assisted him in all the required arrangements and put all of his documentation at his disposal. Fakhry then used Hermann’s photos to revise his own description and included two of them in his article.101 2.3.3 Intangible Cultural Heritage of Nubia As mentioned above, the DAIK holds a set of documents that belonged to Ahmed Fakhry. They came to the Institute through three phases of donation. The first was made by Ali Fakhry, the son of Ahmed Fakhry, while the second was given by the heirs of Mohamed Ibrahim Moursi, who was an Egyptologist and a friend of Fakhry’s family. The last donation was recently given by Ola el-Aguizy, Emeritus Professor of Egyptology at Cairo University.102 One set of these documents contains short accounts written by Ahmed Fakhry in April and August of 1935. Refuting the recently promoted view that Egyptologists ignored the local population, Fakhry’s documents include records of Nubian traditions of the wedding, divorce, birth, as well as death and funerary [Fig. 9]. Many of these traditions probably no longer exist; therefore, Fakhry’s notes represent a significant account of the social history of Nubia. A careful and systematic study of these records would be a valuable source that enables tracing the changes that happened in Nubian society; especially since they were written before the building of the High Dam. The manuscripts also include the pronunciation (in Arabic letters) of Nubian phrases, together with their translation in Arabic. Also, the documents preserve Fakhry’s notes on studying the grammar of the Nubian language, and vocabulary lists of the Kunuzi dialect.

99

Fakhry 1935c. Fakhry 1935c: 57. 101 Fakhry 1935c: 61. 102 Tolba forthcoming. 100

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Fig. 9: A record on the traditions of death and birth in Nubia. © DAIK.

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2.3.4 Wadi el-Hudi The site of Wadi el-Hudi, covering approximately 300 square kilometres, is located in the Egyptian Eastern Desert, about 35 kilometres southeast of the town of Aswan. It was widely exploited to acquire amethyst, a translucent violet-coloured form of quartz, especially during the Middle Kingdom.103 Wadi el-Hudi was first rediscovered in 1923 as a mining site by the Egyptian Geologist Labib Nassim (d. 1965), but he did not mention anything about the existence of inscriptions.104 Thanks to the Authority of Topographical Survey of Egypt, the archaeological significance was recognized in January 1939 when they reported to the Aswan inspectorate that they had found a limestone stela. Fahmy M. Ali, an Inspector of Antiquities for Aswan, came to the site and removed the limestone stela of Horus along with another two sandstone stelae.105 All three stelae were published later by the British Egyptologist Alan Rowe (1890–1968).106 Despite knowing that the site contains monuments, the Antiquities Service left it without monitoring or protection, which encouraged the Bedouin to take over many artefacts and sell them to antiquities dealers in Cairo and Alexandria.107 When news of the thefts came to the ears of the Antiquities Service, they intervened and sent two inspectors, Zakaria Ghoneim and Fahmy Ali, to rescue the site either by recording or the transportation of inscribed stones to a magazine. However, their endeavours did not follow a systematic method of recording that would indicate the original position of the stones they transported, or the rationale behind their numbering system of the stones in the site.108 Such systematic archaeological and epigraphic work was only made when Fakhry had realized the archaeological significance of the site. This was on 23 April 1944 when he went to Wadi el-Hudi for the first time and stayed there for three weeks.109 To achieve his aim of a special study on Wadi el-Hudi, his first campaign was followed by two additional ones. The first was on 29 November 1945 and lasted for one week and the final was in February 1949.110 During his three campaigns, Fakhry was able to identify a set of fourteen archaeological sites and record the majority of the inscriptions and graffiti, overall, 142 inscriptions, provided with drawings and photographs. In addition, his publication on Wadi el-Hudi is accompanied by four annexes that contain a general index, indexes of royal and personal names, and an index of titles.111 103

Fakhry 1947a: 53; 1952b: 5; Aston et al. 2000: 50–51. Nassim 1926. 105 Fakhry 1947a: 52; 1952b: 1–2. 106 Rowe 1939. 107 Fakhry 1947a: 52; 1952b: 2. 108 Fakhry 1952b: 2–3. 109 Fakhry 1947a: 53. 110 Fakhry 1952b: 3–4. 111 Fakhry 1952b. 104

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3. Academic Posts Ahmed Fakhry was awarded his PhD for his first book, on Siwa, published in 1944. Eight years later, his teaching career started after he had served for twenty years in multiple inspectorates of the Antiquities Service. In 1952, Fakhry moved on to join the staff of the Faculty of Arts of Cairo University as Professor of History of Ancient Egypt and the Near East, a post which he held until his retirement in 1965.112 Fakhry lectured widely around the globe. In May 1956, Fakhry taught a course on ancient Egypt at Peking University in China and his lectures were published in the same year in Chinese, which publicized Egyptology in the country.113 In the United States of America, Fakhry was a Visiting Professor at Brown University in the academic year 1953–54. During 1961–62, Fakhry was sent to accompany and lecture on the first touring exhibit of Tutankhamun Treasures which was undertaken to increase public awareness of the UNESCO international campaign to save the monuments of Nubia. In addition to receiving an honorary degree of Doctor of Humane Letters (LHD) from the University of Pennsylvania in 1962, Fakhry was, in 1966, also appointed there as a Visiting Professor and a Visiting Curator of the Egyptian Department of the University Museum. He also lectured at the Berkeley campus of the University of California, at the invitation of Klaus Baer (1930–1987), his former student who visited Egypt as part of a Fulbright grant.114 In the Arab countries, Fakhry lectured in Jordan and Yemen.115 Fakhry contributed significantly to highlighting the archaeology of Yemen when he surveyed its sites in 1947. Subsequently, he published the outcome of his research visits in three remarkable volumes in which he provided valuable descriptions of many sites of the kingdoms of ancient Yemen.116 More importantly, he brought to light more than a hundred unpublished inscriptions, which were studied in the second volume by the Belgian orientalist Louis Constant de Gonzague Ryckmans (1887– 1969). Fakhry undertook lecture tours covering most of the seven continents to announce the results of his archaeological fieldwork. His last stop was in Paris where he died from a heart attack on 7 June 1973. He was reporting his latest discoveries of the tombs of the governors of the Dakhla Oasis during the Old Kingdom. His body was transported to Cairo where his funeral took place on 15 June 1973, to be buried in his own pyramid tomb in his beloved land.117 In the obituaries published in many scientific journals, his death was described as a significant loss for 112

Bierbrier 2019: 158; Haikal and Omar 2021: 55. Fakhry 1956; Xiaodong 2020: 66. 114 Sheikholeslami 2003: 219–220, 225. 115 Sheikholeslami 2003: 220; Bierbrier 2019: 158; Haikal and Omar 2021: 55. 116 Fakhry 1951–1952. 117 Sheikholeslami 2003: 220. 113

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the community of Egyptian archaeology.118 Indeed, upon his death, Egypt lost one of its most prominent scholars who spent his life discovering and protecting its heritage. 4. The Commemoration of Ahmed Fakhry In his life, Ahmed Fakhry was an honorary member of the DAIK and the American Research Center (ARCE). In addition, he was elected as a member of the prominent and prestigious Institut d’Égypte in January 1973. After his death, the Egyptian government honoured him by naming one of the main streets in Nasr City after him.119 His son, Ali Fakhry, was well-acquainted with the importance of his father’s work. Therefore, he made his father’s material available to be published by his colleagues and sent another part to the DAIK.120 In addition, Ali Fakhry founded in 1985 the Ahmed Fakhry Endowed Award in Egyptology in his father’s memory. This endowed award, funded from the sales of Fakhry’s two volumes of the Oases of Egypt (Volume I: Siwa, Volume II: Bahriyah and Farafrah Oases), is annually granted to the most outstanding Egyptology junior student at the American University in Cairo (AUC).121 In 2003, Zahi Hawass, Secretary-General of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, dedicated volume 77 of the Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte to the memory of Ahmed Fakhry. Hawass also honoured Fakhry’s name in the second celebration of the Egyptian Archaeologists Day that was held in 2008. Fakhry’s memory and legacy are still preserved in the oases. In the Islamic city of el-Qasr in Dakhla Oasis, the visitors of the Ethnographic Museum for Egyptian Oases Heritage are welcomed by two photographs showing Ahmed Fakhry and his foreman Ahmed Zayed (1914–1997) [Fig. 10]. Fawzia, the local Curator of the museum, known as Umm Fouad, commemorates Fakhry's legacy by telling the story of his discoveries in Dakhla and other oases.122 Rudolph Kuper, the German Archaeologist who worked in the Egyptian Western Desert for more than 30 years, has led a campaign to establish a regional museum there. He proposed that it be named the Ahmed Fakhry Desert Center Dakhla [Fig. 11]. The museum was planned to serve as a community venue that helps in raising the awareness of the natural and cultural heritage of the desert for both local inhabitants and desert tourists.123 It was thanks to Fakhry’s discoveries, that scholars’ interest began to be directed to Dakhla Oasis. Thus, a cultural and educational centre located there and bearing his name would be a fitting tribute to his legacy in the regional development of the Dakhla Oasis. 118

Leclant 1973; Mekhitarian 1973; O’Connor 1973; Edwards 1973; Attiatalla 1984. Sheikholeslami 2003: 220. 120 Tolba forthcoming. 121 Sheikholeslami 2003: 220. 122 Tolba forthcoming. 123 Kuper 2020. 119

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Fig. 10: The street leading to the entrance of the Ethnographic Museum for Egyptian Oases Heritage in the Islamic city of el-Qasr in Dakhla Oasis (left), details of the entrance panel (top right), two photographs of Fakhry and his foreman hung in the museum’s reception (middle right), and a section exhibiting the traditional costume of oases (bottom right).

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5. Conclusion Ahmed Fakhry is a remarkable example of the third generation of Egyptian Egyptologists who received a systematic education at the Egyptian University. When his generation joined the Egyptian Antiquities Service, Fakhry and most of his colleagues proved their competency in the skills required in archaeological fieldwork. They were passionate to participate in revealing and protecting the heritage of their country. For instance, Fakhry’s enthusiasm was the main reason behind establishing a Department for Desert Research, through which he conducted significant explorations in a vast area covering the five main Oases of the Egyptian Western Desert. He also surveyed other sites such as Wadi el-Natrun,124 Wadi elRayyan,125 and the monastery of Qalamoun,126 as well as conducted a fortnight excavation campaign in Madinet Quta in the Fayoum Oasis.127 Thanks to Fakhry’s efforts, a large number of sites were listed on properties of the Egyptian Antiquities Service. For that reason, they became well-guarded and monitored. On the ethnographic side, Fakhry’s legacy is no less important than the archaeological discoveries and documentations he made. For he recorded accounts of what could be the last layers of the identity of the conservative societies of Siwa, Bahariya, and Farafra, as well as Nubia. Therefore, he was a pioneer archaeologist who was interested not only in studying monuments but also in the intangible heritage of the local communities residing in the districts under investigation. Fakhry’s belief in disseminating information and rejecting the monopolisation of information were the reasons behind his rapid publications. We therefore notice in many cases that he published his documentation without further detailed comments. He also referred to many examples where he explored sites simply to bring them to scholars’ attention, or to encourage an institution to conduct a systematic investigation there. This approach to dessiminating knowledge was another reason behind the donation made by his son to the DAIK. Last but not least, it is should be noted that throughout the years of Fakhry’s fieldwork and academic career, he built a reputation as a pioneer scholar and a tireless fieldworker. His fingerprints were left on most of Egypt’s archaeological sites from north to south and Yemen’s ancient sites as well. Indeed, Ahmed Fakhry succeeded in carving his name among the famed scholars of his time, whose contributions are forming essential parts of Egyptology and desert research. This fact led some to call him ‘the Desert Monk’ for dedicating more than thirty-five years of his life to revealing the secrets of the Egyptian deserts.

124

Fakhry 1940e. Fakhry 1947b. 126 Fakhry 1947c. 127 Fakhry 1940f. 125

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Osing, J., M. Moursi, Do. Arnold, O. Neugebauer, R.A. Parker, D. Pingree, and M.A. Nur-el-Din 1982. Denkmäler der Oase Dachla: aus dem Nachlass von Ahmed Fakhry. Archäologische Veröffentlichungen, Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo 28. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Reid, D.M. 1985. ‘Indigenous Egyptology: The decolonization of a profession?’. Journal of the American Oriental Society 105: 233–246. — 1997. ‘Nationalizing the pharaonic past: Egyptology, imperialism, and Egyptian nationalism, 1922–1952’. In J. Jankowski and I. Gershoni (eds), Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East. New York: Columbia University Press, 127–149. — 2002. Whose Pharaohs? Archaeology, Museums, and Egyptian National Identity from Napoleon to World War I. Berkeley: University of California Press. — 2015. Contesting Antiquity in Egypt: Archaeologies, Museums, and the Struggle for Identities from World War I to Nasser. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Riemer, H. and F. Förster 2013. ‘Ancient desert roads: Towards establishing a new field of archaeological research’. In F. Förster and H. Riemer (eds), Desert Road Archaeology in Ancient Egypt and Beyond. Africa Praehistorica 27. Cologne: Heinrich-Barth-Institut, 19–58. Rowe, A. 1939. ‘Three new stelæ from the south-eastern desert’. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 39: 187–194. Sheikholeslami, C. 2003. ‘Ahmed Fakhry: An Appreciation’. Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 77: 217–237. Takács, D.V. 2019. ‘The Pakhet of Speos Artemidos and Wadi Batn el-Baqara’. Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 48: 283–315. Tolba, M. forthcoming. ‘The DAIK Archive of Ahmed Fakhry (1905–1973)’. Archäologie in Ägypten: Magazin des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo. Wilkinson, C.K. and M. Hill 1983. Egyptian wall paintings: The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s collection of facsimiles. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Wilson, J.A. 1964. Signs and Wonders upon Pharaoh: A History of American Egyptology. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Xiaodong, L. 2020. ‘Egyptology in China’. In I. Shaw and E. Bloxam (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Egyptology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 65–78.

Sixty Years of the el-Kereti Family at Abusir* Ladislav Bareš

The Czech (then Czechoslovak) archaeological excavations in the ancient Egyptian necropolis at Abusir started in May 1960, when Zbyněk Žába, the newly appointed Professor of Egyptology and Director of the Czechoslovak Institute of Egyptology at the Charles University in Prague, came to the mastaba of Ptahshepses.1 In choosing this place, he was following the advice of Jaroslav Černý, his former teacher at Prague University and, later on, a long-term mentor. Černý had visited Abusir some twenty years earlier to copy texts from that tomb to his famous notebooks.2 The mastaba of Ptahshepses had partly been unearthed by Jacques de Morgan, working for the Egyptian Antiquities Service, back in 1893.3 Following this work, some of the excavated parts of this tomb, in particular the chapel and the original vestibule, were roofed and their sides consolidated.4 At the beginning of his work in the mastaba of Ptahshepses, Žába and his team (including the workmen led by reis Hussein Ibrahim)5 continued the excavation started by de Morgan. In 1961, the Czechoslovak mission began its participation in the International Campaign to Save the Monuments of Nubia,6 and to combine the activities in Nubia and Abusir proved soon to be impossible. Because of this, the work at Abusir was first reduced to a bare minimum, and, after 1962 completely stopped until 1966. The season of 1962 at Abusir, short though it was (from 6 June to 3 July, and from 29 August to 8 September 8),7 nonetheless brought an important turning point in the history of the archaeological exploration of the Abusir necropolis. In that year, Žába decided to move huge architraves that had previously been unearthed in the pillared court to another place inside the mastaba. To accomplish * The publication was compiled within the framework of the Charles University Progress project Q11 – Complexity and resilience. Ancient Egyptian civilisation in multidisciplinary and multicultural perspective. – The work was supported by the European Regional Development Fund-Project ‘Creativity and Adaptability as Conditions of the Success of Europe in an Interrelated World’ (No. CZ.02.1.01/0.0/0.0/16_019/0000734). – The author expresses his gratitude to Prof. Miroslav Verner for his advice and help and to Abduh (‘Hatem’) Muhammad el-Kereti for his invaluable information about the previous generations of the el-Kereti family. 1 Žába 1979a. 2 Verner 1990b: 28, see also Navratilova and Jůnová Macková 2019: 330. 3 De Morgan 1893. 4 Krejčí 2009: 9 and 11. 5 Bareš 1990: 47. 6 Verner 1990a; see also Navratilova and Jůnová Macková 2019: 336–337. 7 Žába 1979b.

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such a difficult and, at the same time, sensitive task, he asked for another reis from the headquarters of the Department of Antiquities, situated, at that time, in a small building behind the Egyptian Museum on Tahrir Square. A new, much experienced foreman had been promised to him by the authorities of the Department (at that time led by Mohammed Anwar Shoukry) and, in due time, a slender young man came to the mastaba of Ptahshepses and introduced himself as the reis sent by the Antiquities Service. Žába, allegedly somewhat concerned at seeing such an apparently youthful individual, asked him a few questions and, according to the family tradition, was eventually persuaded by the words that what really matters is brains and not muscles.8 The young man, reis Abduh Muhammad Uthman Bashir el-Kereti,9 asked for large wooden beams and jacks to be brought and, with the help of the workmen, demonstrated to Žába that moving the first of the huge architraves was, in fact, a piece of cake for him. Žába, genuinely astonished, then asked reis Abduh to postpone the moving of the second architrave until the arrival of a team from Czechoslovak TV a few weeks later. Thus began a close and fruitful cooperation between reis Abduh’s family, the el-Keretis, and the Czechoslovak/Czech Egyptologists in the exploration of the Abusir necropolis that would last for more than half a century. In spite of his relatively young age – he was 35 at that time, as he was born on 6 March 1927 – reis Abduh el-Kereti was no novice in archaeological work, being a member of a family already renowned for its participation in digs in Egypt. He was the son of reis Muhammad el-Kereti (often called just reis el-Kereti after the village near Quft whence his ancestors came; he was born in Quft in 1883), who belonged to the very first generation of skilled excavation-foremen who had worked with their teams not only in Egypt, but in Palestine and Sudan as well.10 According to family recollections,11 reis el-Kereti was among the first people whom Flinders Petrie had met in Quft when he came to this town to find workmen for archaeological excavations there. Allegedly, Petrie had been rebuffed by the local people at first, as they had considered him to be an officer in the British army. Reis el-Kereti was among the first people ready to accept Petrie’s offer of work, and would work with him not just in Quft, but at a number of sites in Egypt. These were mainly in Upper Egypt, but also at Kom Ushim in the Fayyum region, and at Memphis; he also worked in Sudan and in Palestine (Deir el-Balah and Khan Younis). As an excellent cook and, seemingly, one of the closest Egyptian 8

Personal communication from Tallal el-Kereti. Bierbrier 2019: 251. 10 In the recollections of Petrie (1940: 151): ‘The excavation here was the founding of a tribe of workers who have been sought for by every excavator since; a ‘Qufti’ came to be almost a name for a good digger’. 11 Personal communication from Dr Hatem (Abduh) Muhammad el-Kereti in a letter addressed to Prof. M. Verner, August 26, 2021. 9

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collaborators of Flinders Petrie,12 he is repeatedly mentioned among the workmen listed in Petrie’s notebooks.13 On various occasions, his efforts and skills are much-praised in the lists sent by Hilda Petrie to her family members and friends.14 No wonder, therefore, that five of his sons followed his example and spent their lives working in archaeology. All of them reached important positions during their life – Muhammad (called el-Sogheir [‘Small’] to distinguish him from his father) finally becoming chief reis in Giza. Faheem reached the same position at Abydos, and Abdeen in Luxor and Aswan. Abduh worked as chief reis for excavations and restorations in the Saqqara area, together with his youngest brother Abd el-Metaal (born 1931), who was involved largely in restoration and conservation of excavated monuments. Abduh’s first major work in that field may have been moving the red granite colossus of Rameses II from Memphis to Ramesses Square in front of the main railway station in Cairo in March 1955; in 2018, this huge statue was transferred to the Grand Egyptian Museum at Giza.15 Starting from the year 1962, reis Abduh became an essential part of Czechoslovak/Czech archaeological activities in Egypt. During the years when activity at Abusir had to be suspended because of the work in Nubia, reis Abduh and his workmen spent much time aiding the epigraphic documentation and archaeological survey on the Czechoslovak concessions in Nubia (1963 and 1964)16 and in excavations at the late-Roman to early-Byzantine cemeteries at Wadi Qitna and Kalabsha-South (1965).17 In addition to working (usually between March and July/September) with the Czechoslovak mission in Nubia, reis Abduh participated in a number of other important activities during the UNESCO campaign, such as safeguarding and moving the temples of Abu Simbel, Derr, Wadi el-Sebua, Gerf Hussein and Kalabsha, and restoration works at Philae. The work in the mastaba of Ptahshepses was resumed only in 1966,18 to be continued in 1968 and 1970. At that time, reis Abduh was active in several places in the Memphite necropolis simultaneously, starting in early morning with the French mission of Jean Leclant and Jean-Philippe Lauer in southern Saqqara, then making a short stop at the British excavations led by Bryan Emery on the northern outskirts of that site, and then riding his donkey to Abusir at about 10 am to oversee the work in the mastaba of Ptahshepses. Throughout the year, he co-operated with other archaeological missions working in that area as well, such as the German mission at Dahshur. 12

Drower 1995: 269–271; 322; 349; 372; 382; 384. Quirke 2010: 82; 146; 238; 248; 263; 266–268. 14 Drower 1995: 321; 2004: 224; see also Quirke 2010: 80; 83–85. 15 https://english.ahram.org.eg/News/288684.aspx, Ancient Ramses II Statue Moved to Grand Egyptian Museum (nationalgeographic.com) (accessed on August 7, 2022). 16 Žába 1967a; 1967b, see also Navratilova and Jůnová Macková 2019: 336. 17 Strouhal 1984–2020. 18 Žába 1979c; see also Krejčí 2009: 12. 13

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At the same time, step by step, he started to involve his sons in the archaeological work. Already in 1966, his eldest son Muhammad – called Tallal since his early childhood, after a short-reigning King of Jordan, and known under that name to everybody until his death – was employed by him in the excavation of the mastaba of Ptahshepses. At first, his main task was to remove nails from wooden planks and to make them straight for further use. Even forty years later, reis Tallal remembered that when Professor Žába had seen him doing that work, he praised him for his diligence, and asked reis Abduh to raise his daily salary (fourteen piasters, according to Tallal’s recollections). Certainly, most of the training of the future generation of foremen took place in late afternoons or evenings, after reis Abduh had returned from his other activities – in addition to the archaeological work, he was heading a small family company involved in building and renovating houses, bridges, roads, etc. According to the recollections of his sons Tallal (born in 1953) and Ahmad (born in 1959),19 who became excellent reisin later on, their father used to instruct them – with the help of small pieces of stone or wood and short strings – how to build scaffolding suitable for lifting heavy columns, blocks or statues and how to move such huge pieces of stone using large wooden beams and solid ropes. At first, he demonstrated to them the method of operation and, following that, they had to show how they would accomplish such a difficult task themselves. The unearthing of the burial complex of Ptahshepses continued in 1968, when the oldest part of the mastaba was cleaned,20 and in 1970 by uncovering the remaining portions of it and a greater part of its outer walls.21 It concluded in 1974,22 sadly without Professor Žába, who had died three years earlier.23 Throughout those years, reis Abduh el-Kereti has been an indispensable part of the mission and gradually introduced Tallal and Ahmad, his sons and intended successors, to the actual archaeological work. In consolidating the walls of the mastaba, badly affected by the stone-robbing since antiquity, he was assisted by the youngest of his brothers, reis Abd el-Metaal el-Kereti, who specialized in the reconstruction of monuments and in building works. After the conclusion of the work in the mastaba of Ptahshepses, a question of the future continuation of the Czech/Czechoslovak archaeological work in Egypt arose. In 1975, Miroslav Verner, the newly appointed head of the Czechoslovak Institute of Egyptology at Charles University in Prague, applied to the Egyptian Antiquities Organization for a new archaeological concession, covering the area to the south of the Abusir pyramids.24 This part of the cemetery, while containing 19

Personal communication from Tallal and Ahmad el-Kereti during various occasions. Žába 1979d. 21 Žába 1979e. 22 Verner 1979; see also Verner 2017: 158–180; Krejčí 2009: 11–15. 23 Verner 1972. 24 Verner 2017a: ix–x. 20

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dozens of ancient structures, including an unfinished pyramid complex presumably of a king, and three smaller pyramid complexes belonging perhaps to queens, had never been explored before, except for a few sondages (generally, unsuccessful, as in the case of the unfinished tomb of King Raneferef)25 made many years earlier by Ludwig Borchardt and his team. The decision of Verner to choose this place resulted, among other things, from his discussions with reis Abduh elKereti, who – with his many years of experience – fully realized the importance of that area and its promising potential for future work.26 In 1976, excavations started in two places in the newly acquired concession, namely in the pyramid complex of a queen, situated in front of the southern side of the pyramid of Neferirkare, and in a group of mastabas located about one hundred metres to the east of that spot. In a very short time, it became clear that both sites were promising. The first discoveries revealed that the small pyramid complex situated to the south of the pyramid of Neferirkare belonged to his wife, Queen Khentkaus (II),27 while the mastaba in the eastern part of the concession had been built for a daughter of King Djedkare Isesi, princess Khekeretnebty, unknown until that time.28 Despite limited time and funding, the season thus brought excellent results, and reis Abduh, together with his sons Tallal29 and Ahmad,30 contributed much to that success. To reward reis Abduh for all his efforts and help and, at the same time, to acquainted him with methods and techniques of archaeological work used in Czechoslovakia, he was invited to our country in the summer of 1977 and spent three happy weeks there. During his stay, he visited several of the most important and prestigious archaeological institutions, museums and localities throughout the country. In addition to that, he spent a few days in the mountains of northern Moravia and, as Professor Verner often recalls, was so captivated by its deep forests that he even considered buying a small house somewhere in that region to spend part of his life there. Unfortunately, his dreams could not come true, as he passed away next year, on 22 April 1978, at the age of 51. According to the recollections of his sons, he came from his work at Saqqara that day, ate a small lunch, asked for a cup of tea and, sitting on a chair, took a nap, never to wake again. Like his sons Tallal and Ahmad many years later, he was buried in the family tomb inside the cemetery of Saqqara village, situated close to the pyramid complex of the Fifth Dynasty King Djedkare Isesi.

25

Borchardt 1910: 146. Personal communication from Miroslav Verner. 27 Verner 2017a: 68–71. 28 Verner 2017a: 198–205. 29 Bierbrier 2019: 252. 30 Bierbrier 2019: 251–252. 26

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After fifteen years of hard work and successes, the fruitful cooperation between reis Abduh and the Czechoslovak mission came to an end. The next archaeological season at Abusir was planned to start in September 1978, and the position and tasks of the chief reis were assumed by Abduh’s oldest son Tallal (then aged 25), who suddenly had to take care of his younger siblings as well, especially as their mother had died just a few years later. In his archaeological work, he was assisted by his younger brother, Ahmad (just 19 years old at the time). Both brothers had been given excellent training by their late father and, at the same time, were supported by other members of the el-Kereti family, in particular their uncle Abd el-Metaal. During the season of 1978, the work at Abusir continued in places that had already been partly unearthed, namely in the pyramid complex of Khentkaus II,31 and in the group of late Fifth Dynasty mastabas, later dubbed ‘Djedkare’s cemetery’.32 The brothers divided the tasks. While Tallal, energetic and already quite experienced, directed the work in the pyramid complex of Khentkaus, Ahmad with some 15 workmen excavated the mastabas adjoining the sepulchre of Princess Khekeretnebty. At that time, nobody who saw him there – a slender young man, somewhat shy and still a teenager, speaking in a mild and quiet voice – would believe that, very soon, he would become one of the most vigorous foremen of his generation, in the area of the pyramid fields at least. Already during that work, both Tallal and Ahmad clearly proved their ability to work in the best traditions of the el-Kereti family, especially those of their father and grandfather. With their help, work started in 1980 in two areas that proved to belong to the most notable and, at the same time, the most fruitful ones at Abusir, namely in the unfinished pyramid complex of King Raneferef and in a group of large Late Period shaft tombs on the western margin of the necropolis. During the next few years, the attention of the mission concentrated on the tomb complex of Raneferef, perhaps the most important single structure that had been unearthed at Abusir in the past decades.33 The efforts and skills of reisin Tallal and Ahmad contributed much to the successes of that work, which brought to light such important discoveries as numerous remnants of papyrus archives34 and dozens of fragments of royal statuary,35 not to mention other important and interesting artefacts.36 The brothers already formed a most efficient pair, complementing each other in many respects. While Tallal excelled in organizing the work in the field on a large scale and in finding and introducing new methods and techniques to make it easier and faster (such as the use of a hand-propelled winch), Ahmad seemed to 31

Verner 1995. Verner et al. 2002; see also Verner 2017a: 208–214. 33 Verner et al. 2006; see also Verner 2017a: 111–141. 34 Posener-Kriéger et al. 2007; see also Verner 2017a: 153–157. 35 Verner 2017b. 36 Landgráfová 2006; Vlčková 2006. 32

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be unsurpassable in archaeological survey, observing even the smallest details on the desert surface and estimating what was hidden under it, as well as in a detailed activity in an archaeological layer. Both of them were in any case brilliant in any activity connected with a position of a reis. No wonder, therefore, that – in the same way as their father and grandfather had been before – they were much in demand from other missions, both Egyptian and foreign.37 This covered both routine fieldwork and the movement of heavy artefacts, such as stone sarcophagi or large statues. Despite operating throughout the entire country, both Tallal and Ahmad always appeared to be bound to Abusir because of a combination of professional and personal links to that area, fully in accordance with the wishes of their late father. After the conclusion of work in the unfinished pyramid complex of King Raneferef, the attention of the Czechoslovak/Czech mission moved to the smaller pyramid complexes38 and mastabas of the members of the royal family to the east of Raneferef’s structure,39 alongside a large group of Old Kingdom mastabas and tombs situated in the so-called South Field of Abusir.40 Step by step, the exploration of the large Late Period shaft tombs on the western edge of the cemetery continued as well. After the clearance of the sepulchre of the famous Udjahorresnet was finished in 1993,41 the excavation of an adjacent tomb started two years later. In 1996, an intact burial chamber was reached in this structure, that belonged to an otherwise unknown priest, Iufaa.42 To secure and enable further work in the burial chamber – in particular the opening of the closed and sealed double sarcophagus – a huge structure (measuring 10 by 10 metres and 9.5 metres high) had to be erected, made of reinforced concrete, at the bottom of the main shaft. This task seemed impossible at first, as everything necessary (including a huge cement mixer and tons of cement, iron rods and other materials) had to be brought to that place over hundreds of metres of soft desert sand, but was accomplished by reisin Tallal and Ahmad and their workmen in just a few months, and will forever stand as a monument to their ability and skill.43 In that work, they were assisted by their uncle, reis Abd el-Metaal and their younger brother Khaled (simply dubbed Kereti). In 1998, the intact massive sarcophagus of Iufaa was opened in the presence of a number of important guests, including the then Minister of Culture Farouk Hosni and the Secretary-General of 37

Such as, e.g., Japanese or Australian missions working in North Saqqara. Generally speaking, as a chief-reis for the Saqqara antiquities zone, Tallal el-Kereti has overseen the foremen and workmen of all archaeological excavations in that area. 38 Krejčí et al. 2008. 39 Krejčí et al. 2014. 40 Bárta et al. 2001; 2014; 2014; Bárta 2009; Vymazalová 2011. 41 Bareš 1999. 42 Bareš and Smoláriková 2008. 43 Balík 2008.

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the Supreme Council of Antiquities Prof. Gaballa Ali Gaballa, together with numerous journalists from Egypt and several other countries including the Czech Republic. In the following years, the archaeological work at Abusir, undertaken in close cooperation with Tallal and Ahmad el-Kereti, brought a number of interesting and important results to light. The most notable among them is perhaps the unearthing of a group of the late Fifth Dynasty tombs concentrated around the sepulchre of Princess Sheretnebty,44 a hitherto-unknown daughter of King Niuserre. In the late Twenty-sixth Dynasty cemetery, other important structures were revealed as well.45 For a short while, the youngest of the el-Kereti brothers Sayyed (who would later work with the Polish mission at Saqqara) also participated in the activities at Abusir. At the same time, great attention was being paid to the consolidation and reconstruction of the previously excavated structures, in particular the vast mastaba of Ptahshepses and the mortuary temple of King Raneferef. Most of those activities were supervised by reis Abd el-Metaal, often assisted by his nephew Khaled (‘Kereti’) and, from time to time, also by Heshmat, the younger brother of Tallal and Ahmad. In addition to working at Abusir, reis Ahmad led a small group of workmen also to the Bahreya oasis, another place where the Czech mission has been active for several seasons.46 Like their late father, both Tallal and Ahmad elKereti were invited to Prague (in 2004 and 2005 respectively). On this occasion, Tallal el-Kereti was awarded the Bronze Medal of Charles University.47 Unfortunately, the unearthing of the complex of tombs surrounding the sepulchre of Princess Sheretnebty was the last activity done together by the el-Kereti brothers at Abusir. On 22 March 2013, reis Ahmad passed away after a serious illness.48 Shortly afterwards, reis Tallal retired at the age of sixty. Two years later, on 20 March 2015, he departed this life too.49 The family tradition, started by reis el-Kereti more than one hundred years ago, nevertheless continues with their sons, Abduh Muhammad (called ‘Hatem’), who obtained a PhD in Egyptology in Prague in 2011; his younger brother Hazem and their cousin Kareem Ahmad have graduated in Egyptology as well.

44

Vymazalová and Dulíková 2012; Vymazalová and Dulíková 2014. Bareš and Smoláriková 2011; Coppens and Smoláriková 2009. 46 Dospěl and Suková 2013; Dospěl 2020. 47 Zpráva o průběhu konference ‘Archeologie a umění Egypta doby Staré říše’ konané v Praze ve dnech 31.5.–4.6.2004, https://cuni.cz/UK-1665 html (accessed on February 20, 2023). 48 Reis Ahmad, the long-term foreman of workmen at Czech archaeological excavations in Egypt, passed away, https://cegu ff.cuni.cz/en/2013/04/04 (accessed on February 20, 2023). See also Verner 2013 and Bárta 2013. 49 Reis Tallal el-Kereti (1st September 1953 – 20th March 2015) died, https://cegu ff.cuni. cz/en/2015/03/23 (accessed on February 20, 2023). 45

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With the deaths of both Tallal and Ahmad, the main era of activities for the elKereti family at Abusir ended. On the other hand, some members of that family have participated or are still involved in the archaeological work there. Reis Abd el-Metaal, now more than 90 years old but still on the job, is always ready to give valuable advice. Khaled (‘Kereti’) el-Kereti, the younger brother of Tallal and Ahmad, works for the Abusir Inspectorate of Antiquities and assists in consolidation and/or restoration of the monuments that had been unearthed by his late father and brothers. In 2015 and 2018, reis Ahmad Masoud, a son of Tallal’s and Ahmad’s cousin Masoud Faheen, worked with the Czech mission during the unearthing of the large Late Period shaft tomb of Wahibre-meryneith situated to the northeast of the sepulchre of Udjahorresnet,50 and in clearing the mastaba of Kairsu in the northern part of the cemetery.51 Generations of the el-Kereti family have left a deep mark in the history of excavations of the ancient Egyptian necropolis at Abusir and helped to uncover precious and important monuments there. Without their enthusiasm and skills, our shared knowledge of this valuable part of ancient Egyptian history would be much limited. Because of that, their name and efforts will never be forgotten.

Fig. 1: Reis Abduh el-Kereti cleaning a wooden statue in the mastaba of Princess Khekeretnebty in 1976. 50 51

Tomb AW 6 (see Bárta et al. 2020a: 14–15, 19; Bareš et al. 2022). Bárta et al. 2020b.

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Fig. 2: Reis Tallal and reis Ahmad el-Kereti during the work in the mastaba of Inti at Abusir – South Field in 2000. Bibliography Balík, M. 2008. ‘Consolidation work in the tomb of Iufaa’. In L. Bareš and K. Smoláriková, Abusir XVII: The Shaft Tomb of Iufaa, 1: Archaeology. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague, 297–298. Bareš, L. 1990. ‘Survey of Czechoslovak Egyptological Expeditions to the Arab Republic of Egypt’. In M. Verner, L. Bareš and B. Vachala, Objevování starého Egypta / Unearthing Ancient Egypt, 1958–1988. Prague: Charles University, 47–52.

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— 1999. Abusir IV: The shaft tomb of Udjahorresnet at Abusir. Prague: Universitas Carolina Pragensis – The Karolinum Press. Bareš, L. and K. Smoláriková. 2008. Abusir XVII: The Shaft Tomb of Iufaa, 1: Archaeology. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. — 2011. Abusir XXV: The Shaft Tomb of Menekhibnekau, 1: Archaeology. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. Bareš, L., K. Smoláriková, J. Janák and R. Landgráfová. 2022. ‘Preliminary report on archaeological activities on the Late Period shaft tomb necropolis in Abusir, mainly the tomb of Wahibremeryneith (AW 6)’. Prague Egyptological Studies 29: 7–26. Bárta, M. 2009. Abusir XIII: Abusir South, 2: Tomb Complex of the Vizier Qar, His Sons Qar Junior and Senedjemib, and Iykai. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. — 2013. ‘Másaláma ja bášreis Ahmad – Sbohem, předáku Ahmade’. Prague Egyptological Studies 10: 7–10. Bárta, M., V. Černý and E. Strouhal. 2001. Abusir V: The Cemeteries of Abusir South, I. Prague: Set Out. Bárta, M., F. Coppens, H. Vymazalová et al. 2010. Abusir XIX: The Tomb of Hetepi (AS 20), Tombs AS 33–35, and AS 50–53. Prague: Charles University in Prague, Faculty of Arts. Bárta, M., K. Arias Kytnarová, Y. Abe, P. Havelková, L. Hegrlík, L. Jirásková, P. Malá, I. Nakai, V. Novotný, E. Ogidani, A. Okoshi, Z. Sůvová, M. Uchinuma, H. Vymazalová, P. Berounský, V. Brůna, and M. Frouz. 2014. Abusir XXIII: The Tomb of the Sun Priest Neferinpu (AS 37). Prague: Charles University in Prague, Faculty of Arts. Bárta, M., V. Brůna, L. Bareš, J. Krejčí, V. Dulíková, M. Odler and H. Vymazalová. 2020a. ‘Map of archaeological features in Abusir’. Prague Egyptological Studies 25: 7–34. Bárta, M., J. Jirásková, J. Krejčí, M. Odler, V. Brůna, P. Brukner Havelková and Z. Sůvová. 2020b. ‘Tomb of Kairsu discovered in Abusir (AC 33)’. Prague Egyptological Studies 25: 35–58. Bierbrier, M.L. 2019. Who Was Who in Egyptology, 5th ed. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Borchardt, L. 1910. Das Grabdenkmal des Königs Śa3ḥu-re‘, 1: Der Bau. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Coppens, F. and K. Smoláriková. 2009. Abusir XX: Lesser Late Period Tombs at Abusir: The Tomb of Padihor and the Anonymous Tomb R3. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. De Morgan, J. 1893. ‘Découverte du Mastaba de Ptah-chepsès dans la nécropole d’Abou-Sir’. Revue archéologique, 3e série, 34: 18–33.

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Dospěl, M. 2020. Ostraka and Other Inscribed Material from Bīr Shawīsh, Small Oasis: Excavation seasons 2005 and 2007. Ann Arbor: The American Society of Papyrologists. Dospěl, M. and L. Suková. 2013. Bahriya Oasis. Recent Research into the Past of an Egyptian Oasis. Prague: Charles University in Prague, Faculty of Arts. Drower, M.S. 1995. Flinders Petrie. A Life in Archaeology, 2nd ed. Madison WI: University of Wisconsin Press. — 2004. Letters from the Desert. The Correspondence of Flinders and Hilda Petrie. Oxford: Aris & Phillips. Krejčí, J. 2009. Abusir XI: The Architecture of the Mastaba of Ptahshepses. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague – Academia, Publishing House of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic. Krejčí, J., M. Verner, V.G. Callender et al. 2008. Abusir XII: Minor Tombs in the Royal Necropolis, I: The Mastabas of Nebtyemneferes, Nakhtsare, Pyramid Complex Lepsius no. 24 and Tomb Complex Lepsius no. 25. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. Krejčí, J., K. Arias Kytnarová, H. Vymazalová, A. Pokorná and J. Beneš. 2014. Abusir XXIV: Mastaba of Werkaure, 1: Tombs AC 26 and AC 32 – Old Kingdom Strata. Prague: Charles University in Prague, Faculty of Arts. Landgráfová, R. 2006. Abusir XIV: Faience Inlays from the Funerary Temple of King Raneferef: Raneferef’s Substitute Decoration Programme. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. Navratilova, H. and A. Jůnová Macková. 2019. ‘Czechoslovakia’. In A. Bednarski, S. Ikram and A. Dodson (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 318–343. Petrie, W.M.F. 1940. Seventy Years in Archaeology. London: Sampson Law, Marston & Co. Posener-Kriéger, P., M. Verner and H. Vymazalová. 2006. Abusir X: The Pyramid Complex of Raneferef: The papyrus archive. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. Quirke, S. 2010. Hidden Hands. Egyptian workforces in Petrie excavation archives, 1880–1924. London: Duckworth. Strouhal, E. 1984–2020. Wadi Qitna and Kalabsha-South: Late Roman – Early Byzantine Tumuli Cemeteries in Egyptian Nubia, 2 vols. Prague: Charles University, Faculty of Arts. Verner, M. 1972. ‘Professor Zbyněk Žába’. Archiv Orientální 40: 1–5. — 1979. ‘The Mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir, Report No. 7, The season of 1974 (January 16–June 13)’. In Preliminary report on Czechoslovak excavations in the mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir. Prague: Charles University, 33– 37.

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— 1990a. ‘The International UNESCO Campaign to Save the Monuments of Nubia’. In M. Verner, L. Bareš and B. Vachala, Objevování starého Egypta / Unearthing Ancient Egypt, 1958–1988. Prague: Charles University, 25–28. — 1990b. ‘Mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir’. In M. Verner, L. Bareš and B. Vachala, Objevování starého Egypta / Unearthing Ancient Egypt, 1958–1988. Prague: Charles University, 28–31. — 1995. Abusir III: The Pyramid Complex of Khentkaus. Prague: Universitas Carolina – Academia. — 2013. ‘Reis Ahmad’. Prague Egyptological Studies 10: 3–6. — 2017a. Abusir: The Necropolis of the Sons of the Sun. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. — 2017b. Abusir XXVIII. The Statues of Raneferef and the Royal Sculpture of the Fifth Dynasty. Prague: Charles University, Faculty of Arts. Verner, M., E. Strouhal and V.G. Callender. 2002. Abusir VI: Djedkare’s Family Cemetery. Prague: Set Out. Verner, M. et al. 2006. Abusir IX: The Pyramid Complex of Raneferef: Archaeology. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. Vlčková, P. 2006. Abusir XV: Stone Vessels from the Mortuary Complex of Raneferef at Abusir. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. Vymazalová, H. and K. Arias Kytnarová. 2011. Abusir XXII: The Tomb of Kaiemtjenenet (AS 38) and the Surrounding Structures (AS 57–60). Prague: Charles University in Prague, Faculty of Arts. Vymazalová, H. and V. Dulíková. 2012. ‘Sheretnebty, a King’s Daughter from Abusir South’. Archiv Orientální 80: 339–356. — 2014. ‘New Evidence on Princess Sheretnebty from Abusir South’. Archiv Orientální 82: 1–19. Žába, Z. 1967a. ‘Second season (1962) of the Czechoslovak Institute of Egyptology in Nubia: Tafa and Qertassi’. In Fouilles en Nubie (1961–1963): Campagne internationale de l’Unesco pour la Sauvegarde des Monuments de la Nubie. Cairo: Organisme Général des Imprimeries Gouvernementales, 209– 215. — 1967b. ‘The third Czechoslovak expedition to Nubia in the frame of the safeguarding of the Nubian monuments’. In Fouilles en Nubie (1961–1963): Campagne internationale de l’Unesco pour la Sauvegarde des Monuments de la Nubie. Cairo: Organisme Général des Imprimeries Gouvernementales, 217– 224. — 1979a. ‘The Mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir, Report No. 1, The season of 1960’. In Preliminary report on Czechoslovak excavations in the mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir. Prague: Charles University, 17–18. — 1979b. ‘The Mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir, Report No. 3, The season of

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1962 (June 6–July 3, August 29–September 8)’. In Preliminary report on Czechoslovak excavations in the mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir. Prague: Charles University, 21. — 1979c. ‘The Mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir, Report No. 4, The season of 1966 (July 17–November 30)’. In Preliminary report on Czechoslovak excavations in the mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir. Prague: Charles University, 23–24. — 1979d. ‘The Mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir, Report No. 5, The season of 1968 (March 1–December 12)’. In Preliminary report on Czechoslovak excavations in the mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir. Prague: Charles University, 25–28. — 1979e. ‘The Mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir, Report No. 6, The season of 1970 (December 12–June 18)’. In Preliminary report on Czechoslovak excavations in the mastaba of Ptahshepses at Abusir. Prague: Charles University, 29–32.

Les ouvriers de Médamoud Le fonctionnement d’un chantier français en Égypte au début du 20e siècle Felix Relats Montserrat

Médamoud, localité située au nord de Louqsor, était durant l’Antiquité une des villes de Thébaïde abritant le culte du dieu Montou. De nos jours, sont encore visible les vestiges partie d’un temple remontant au Nouvel Empire (ca. 1575– 1077 av. J.-C.), agrandi et modifié aux époques ptolémaïque et romaine. L’exploration archéologique du sous-sol a toutefois démontré qu’il s’élevait sur l’emplacement de monuments religieux du Moyen Empire (ca. 1980–1760 av. J.C.) dont les reliefs ont alimenté les collections des musées du Caire et du Louvre. En effet Médamoud connut une exploration cohérente par des équipes françaises au début du 20e siècle, ce qui explique le devenir des objets issus du site.1 En réalité, le temple était connu depuis le 18e siècle quand les premiers voyageurs européens en signalèrent les vestiges sortant hors-sol.2 Leur caractère modeste explique cependant que le site n’ait pas attiré l’attention des chercheurs avant le début du 20e siècle. Après une rapide exploration par Albert Daninos Pacha en 1913, le Louvre s’intéressa en premier à Médamoud, sous l’égide de son conservateur en chef Georges Bénédite. C’est ce dernier qui fit la demande de réserver le site pour le compte du musée auprès du Service des Antiquités dès 1914. Cependant le Louvre était dépourvu de personnel de terrain et il fallut attendre 1924 pour qu’une autre institution française – l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale (IFAO) – put mettre à la disposition du Louvre un de ses chercheurs (nommés « pensionnaires ») pour diriger les travaux de terrain. Bernard Bruyère étant mobilisé à Deir el-Medina, le choix se porta pour Fernand Bisson de la Roque. De ce fait, un équilibre fut établi entre les deux institutions : le musée parisien était le concessionnaire et à ce titre bénéficiait des partages d’œuvres à l’issue de chaque campagne, tandis que l’IFAO se chargeait de la direction des fouilles et de la publication de leurs résultats. Cet accord permit de lancer l’exploration du site qui se déroula entre décembre 1924 et mars 1940. Deux équipes se succédèrent sur le terrain, dirigées respectivement par F. Bisson de la Roque (1925–1932) et Clément Robichon (1933–1940). Ils concentrèrent leur attention sur le temple, ses fondations et les annexes l’entourant dans l’espoir de découvrir du matériel épigraphié gravé sur pierre, susceptible d’être soumis au partage. Un intérêt spécifique fut porté pour les remplois du Moyen Empire (12e–

1 2

Pour les aspects législatifs: Relats Montserrat 2021. Pour une histoire complète de l’exploration du site: Relats Montserrat sous presse.

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13e dynasties) qui constituaient une des richesses du site et expliquent que Médamoud ait été considéré comme un des fleurons de l’archéologie française au même titre que Deir el-Medina.3 Cependant, en raison du déclenchement de la Seconde Guerre mondiale, de la mobilisation de Robichon et de l’obtention par l’IFAO des sites de Tôd et de Karnak-nord, Médamoud fut abandonné.4 Un des intérêts des fouilles de Médamoud est, par conséquent, la cohérence de son exploration, permettant ainsi de mettre en lumière le fonctionnement d’une équipe française en Égypte au début du 20e siècle dans ses aspects matériels, politiques ou institutionnels. Les chercheurs français ne travaillèrent cependant pas seuls et employèrent des dizaines d’ouvriers égyptiens pour la réalisation des travaux pénibles. Or, jusqu’à récemment, l’historiographie a majoritairement délaissé la masse d’ouvriers qui travaillait dans les chantiers de fouilles et sans lesquels les sites antiques n’auraient jamais pu être déblayés. Ceci s’explique en grande partie par les processus de domination qui mettent l’accent exclusivement sur les résultats scientifiques, majoritairement du fait de chercheurs occidentaux, ainsi que par un héritage colonial dans la répartition du travail – encore souvent en vigueur sur les chantiers contemporains. Depuis 2010, plusieurs publications ont certes renouvelé le champ disciplinaire5 – ce à quoi s’attelle également le présent volume – mais leur nombre reste modeste en raison de l’absence de sources. En effet, les archéologues du début du 20e siècle n’ont accordé qu’une faible place aux ouvriers dans leurs écrits, signe de leur désintérêt.6 Le cas de Médamoud n’est pas une exception : s’il a été possible de retrouver une grande partie des archives écrites (journaux, correspondances officielles et personnelles) et photographiques des fouilleurs en raison de la cohérence des équipes qui ont exploré le site, les sources restent peu explicites. Ainsi Bisson de la Roque et Robichon font uniquement des mentions éparses des ouvriers, qui ne sont jamais individualisés. Même les spécialistes, sur lesquels nous reviendrons, qui étaient associés tous les ans au chantier, comme le raïs, ne sont jamais mentionnés individuellement. Une donnée significative est qu’aucun nom d’ouvrier n’apparait dans les journaux de Bisson de la Roque pendant les huit années pendant lesquelles il explora le site. De ce fait, les seules sources à notre disposition sont les comptes (appelés « états de 3

« Les fouilles que M. Bisson de la Roque conduit depuis 1924 au nom du musée du Louvre, sur le site de Médamoud, à une dizaine de kilomètres au Nord de Luxor, peuvent compter parmi les plus fructueuses qui aient été exécutées en Égypte » (Boreux 1932: 1). 4 Ce n’est qu’en 2011 qu’une nouvelle mission fut mise en place sous le patronage de l’IFAO, de l’université de la Sorbonne et désormais avec le soutien de la commission des fouilles du ministère de l’Europe et des Affaires-Étrangères. Sous la direction de F. Relats Montserrat, son objectif est de revisiter l’histoire du site et les résultats des fouilles des équipes qui nous ont précédées, ainsi que d’étudier la ville qui entourait le temple qui n’a jusqu’à présent jamais été explorée. Pour une présentation des résultats et des objectifs de la mission: Relats Montserrat 2022. 5 Quirke 2010; Doyon 2015; Georg 2015; Raue 2016. 6 Georg 2018: 49.

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personnel »), où les fouilleurs notaient le nombre de jours travaillés et le salaire que chaque ouvrier recevait.7 Cependant, à la différence des journaux de Fl. Petrie8, aucun commentaire ne les accompagne. C’est donc une vision essentiellement comptable qui peut être développée. En outre, si les fouilleurs ont réalisé une couverture photographique assez conséquence des travaux, très peu de clichés identifient les ouvriers. Ces derniers sont la plupart du temps photographiés en groupe lors des déblayages. Seul Étienne Drioton, sur lequel nous reviendrons, a photographié certains ouvriers qui lui étaient proches, livrant ainsi les seuls portraits disponibles (figs. 1 et 2).9 Enfin, il est à signaler que nous ne possédons aucune source ou témoignage provenant des ouvriers égyptiens et que, par conséquent, seules des sources françaises sont à notre disposition.10 Nous pouvons donc uniquement interroger la vision occidentale des ouvriers égyptiens au début du 20e siècle. Malgré les limites inhérentes aux sources à notre disposition, trois questionnements peuvent être développés : le nombre d’ouvriers travaillant à Médamoud, les rapports entre les équipes françaises avec ces derniers et quel type de travaux ils menaient. Les ouvriers du chantier : trois équipes pour dégager le temple Si les journaux de fouille ne font jamais mention explicite des ouvriers – autrement que comme un groupe – la principale source à notre disposition pour étudier les ouvriers ayant travaillé pour les équipes françaises réside dans les états des personnels. Ceux-ci sont conservés aux archives de l’IFAO et se présentent comme une série de listes énumérant les noms des ouvriers, suivis du nombre de jours travaillés et le salaire reçu.11 Ils correspondent donc aux listes de paiement de salaires, versés tous les sept jours par Bisson de la Roque et tous les mois par Robichon. Ils prennent la forme de tableaux, qui suivaient un modèle commun à

7

Ils sont conservés aux archives de l’IFAO. Leur inventaire est en cours de réalisation par l’équipe dirigée par C. Larcher que je remercie pour l’autorisation d’étudier cette documentation. La numérotation utilisée dans le présent article reprend les boîtes, classées par années, dans lesquelles les documents sont conservés. 8 Quirke 2010. 9 La collection de photographies produite par É. Drioton est désormais conservée aux archives de l’université de Leuven. Je remercie H. Willems et M. De Meyer pour leur autorisation de les inclure dans le présent article. 10 En travaillant à Médamoud depuis 2011, j’ai pu interroger les habitants, en particulier ceux qui portent des noms similaires à ceux mentionnés dans les listes du début du 20e siècle et aux habitants des maisons qui ont été photographiées par Bisson de la Roque et Robichon. Aucun résultat probant n’a cependant été obtenu. 11 Je remercie les directeurs de l’IFAO successifs (L. Bavay et L. Coulon) ainsi que le responsable des archives de l’Institut, C. Larcher, de m’avoir autorisé à étudier cette documentation.

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toutes les missions de l’IFAO de l’époque.12 Ils étaient rédigés en français et étaient remplis par les responsables des chantiers. Ces derniers transcrivaient les noms et les titres donnés aux ouvriers, ce qui explique l’orthographe peu rigoureuse utilisée. Ainsi le prénom Ahmad (‫ )ﺃﺣﻤﺪ‬fut écrit « Harmed » ou « Armed » par Bisson de la Roque. À ce titre, il est à rappeler que l’archéologue français ne parlait pas arabe, ce qui ne facilitait pas la communication et explique la difficulté de se repérer dans ces états de personnel. Les ouvriers de leur côté émargeaient toujours au moyen d’un tampon inscrit à leur nom. Ces états de personnel présentent cependant uniquement deux des trois noms de chaque ouvrier, ce qui complexifie leur identification et il est donc difficile de suivre les parcours des ouvriers. Dans la mesure où Bisson de la Roque était plus régulier dans les paiements de ses ouvriers et qu’il a livré plus d’informations que Robichon dans la documentation annexe (journaux de fouilles, correspondances, etc. …), ce sont les années 1925–1932 qui livrent plus d’informations pour étudier la composition des ouvriers du chantier.13 Au sein des ouvriers listés dans les états de personnel, trois catégories peuvent être distinguées : les spécialistes pour diriger ou surveiller les travaux, les ouvriers de Karnak mis à disposition par le Service des Antiquités et, enfin, les ouvriers locaux (terrassiers et enfants). La première catégorie regroupe le premier cercle des collaborateurs de l’équipe française. Il ne s’agit pas d’ouvriers locaux, mais provenaient majoritairement de Kerdasa, à proximité du Caire et travaillaient avec différentes missions de l’IFAO.14 Médamoud ne suivit donc pas l’habitude – généralisée depuis Petrie – d’avoir recours à des spécialistes de Coptos, devenus les piliers de l’archéologie égyptienne au tournant du 20e siècle.15 Il s’agit d’une spécificité des missions de l’IFAO qui constituèrent leur propre vivier de personnel. Ce groupe était composé du raïs Mahmoud Ibrahim et d’un, deux ou trois « surveillants » selon les années. Le raïs (fig. 1) dirigeait l’ensemble des ouvriers ; il s’agit du principal interlocuteur de Bisson de la Roque, auquel ce dernier confiait le soin de signer la totalité

12 Deir el-Medina procédait avec le même fonctionnement et utilisait les mêmes états de personnel que Médamoud. Ils sont également conservés aux archives de l’IFAO (voir supra note 7). 13 La deuxième étape du chantier, dirigée par C. Robichon, est plus complexe à décrire, car les états de personnel ne précisent pas les fonctions des différents ouvriers, qui sont distingués uniquement par leurs noms et salaires. Plusieurs noms déjà attestés sous Bisson de la Roque apparaissent comme Damarani Mohareb et ʿAli Senoussi. Il apparaît donc que Robichon garda ces ouvriers locaux comme postier pour l’un et gardien pour l’autre. N’ayant pas mené d’opérations de dégagement extensif, il ne semble pas avoir eu recours à un raïs de manière récurrente. 14 Au moins le raïs Mahmoud Ibrahim avait déjà travaillé avec Bisson de la Roque lors de ses fouilles d’Abou Raouasch. 15 Sur les ouvriers de Quft, voir Doyon 2015: 146–152.

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des justificatifs d’achats effectués à Louqsor auprès de petits commerçants.16 Mahmoud Ibrahim est aussi le seul à signer de son nom les états de personnel, contrairement à tous les autres ouvriers (spécialisés ou non) qui avaient recours à des tampons, signe de sa maîtrise de l’écrit. Son salaire était le plus élevé (18 PT/jour en 1925 puis 20 PT/jour depuis 1926). Il était le seul à posséder une tente individuelle. Outre le raïs, les autres spécialistes venus de Kerdasa sont appelés « surveillants » par Bisson de la Roque. Ils recevaient un traitement inférieur à celui du raïs : ils voyageaient en 3e classe (alors que le raïs le faisait en 2e et les Français en 1ère) et étaient payés 11 puis 12 PT/jour. En 1925, Bisson de la Roque emploie le terme de saouag (conducteur) pour les désigner, signe qu’il s’agissait de responsables de secteurs de fouille, possiblement les bras droits du raïs, plutôt que de gardiens, lesquels sont du reste attestés. Leur nombre augmenta surtout au cours des trois dernières campagnes de Bisson de la Roque (1930–1932), peutêtre en raison de la multiplication des secteurs ouverts en même temps. Ahmed Mosbah et ʿAli Souhefi sont ceux qui ont occupé cette position pendant toute la durée des fouilles de Bisson de la Roque. À ce premier groupe, il faut associer les gardiens (ghafīrs)17 et le facteur (bostagi) d’origine locale. Ce dernier occupait une position clef pour le chantier en assurant les liaisons régulières avec Louqsor, aussi bien pour aller chercher les nouveaux arrivants que pour la circulation du courrier. Les allers-retours à dos d’âne semblent être quotidiens.18 Cette position fut occupée pendant toute la durée des fouilles par un certain ʿAli Senoussi (fig. 2), qui fut employé de manière continue entre 1925 et 1939. Il fut le seul à connaître une augmentation de salaire régulière de 0,5 PT par an, passant de 5,5 PT/jour en 1925 à 10 PT/jour en 1930.19 Il était, avec toute vraisemblance, originaire de Médamoud et fut un des seuls employés à travailler encore avec Robichon. L’ensemble de ces personnels constituent donc le premier cercle de collaborateurs des équipes françaises. Se sont aussi les seuls – de manière très éparse – à être mentionnés dans la correspondance.

16

Relats Montserrat sous presse. Il y avait deux types de gardiens : ceux qui étaient payés par le Service des Antiquités et ceux qui étaient payés directement par la mission et apparaissent dans les comptes du chantier. Il s’agit uniquement de familles locales originaires de Médamoud. Plusieurs noms sont attestés comme ceux de Berbari ‘Abdelwahid (en 1925), Taher (en 1926), Sa‘id ‘Ali (en 1930 et 1931), Madani (en 1928) et Damarani Mohareb (1927–1939). 18 « Sanoussi, mon postier, passe chaque matin au Louxor hôtel » (lettre-rapport de F. Bisson de la Roque à P. Jouguet, datée du 6 janvier 1929, archives IFAO, ms_2004_0018). 19 D’après les états de personnel, il était payé 5,5 PT/jour en 1925, 6 en 1926, 6,5 en 1927, 7 en 1928 et 1929, 8 en 1930 et 1931, 9 en 1932 et 1933 et 10 en 1936, 1938 et 1939. Sa présence n’est pas attestée en 1940. 17

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Figs. 1–2 : Portrait du raïs Mahmoud Ibrahim, sans date, et de ʿAli Senoussi par É. Drioton, sans date. La deuxième catégorie d’ouvriers, habituellement qualifiés de « terrassiers », constituait le groupe le plus conséquent. Leur rôle était de dégager les vestiges et étaient tous originaires de Médamoud. Ils étaient payés entre 4 et 5 PT/jour, sans que cette différence soit justifiée dans les écrits des fouilleurs. Pendant la première étape du chantier, sous la direction de Bisson de la Roque, leur nombre est croissant, autour d’une trentaine au début, autour de quarante-cinq dans les dernières années (cf. table 1). Robichon, de son côté, en employa entre cinq et vingt. Ils constituent donc un nombre relativement limité. Leur salaire resta stable pendant toute la période, sûrement en raison de l’offre d’emploi limitée dans la région. À cet égard, il convient de rappeler que la plupart des fellahīn dépendaient à l’époque d’un travail salarié, l’essentiel des familles ayant perdu la possession de la terre au début du 20e siècle en raison des impôts et de la concentration de l’agriculture entre les mains de grands propriétaires.20 En outre, la forte croissance démographique depuis la fin de la Première Guerre mondiale eut pour conséquence

20

En 1907, 90 % des 1,6 million de familles égyptiennes n’avaient pas de terre (Beinin et Lockman 1998: 24–25; Georg 2015: 198–201).

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d’entre eux ne semble être devenu terrassier, sûrement en raison de leur jeune âge car Bisson de la Roque ne fouilla que huit ans à Médamoud.23

Fig. 3 : Groupe de terrassiers en train de dégager la partie sud-est du dromos, à proximité de la porte de Tibère. La présence d’une troisième catégorie d’ouvriers découle de la découverte de nombreux remplois à Médamoud. En effet, si l’essentiel des maçonneries du temple dataient de l’époque ptolémaïque, le monument fut fondé au Moyen Empire et il connut logiquement plusieurs extensions et modifications. En particulier, sous Thoutmosis III, une grande partie des maçonneries en calcaire érigées pendant les 12e et 13e dynasties furent démontées pour être réutilisées dans le radier de fondation sur lequel les souverains du Nouvel Empire construisirent leur propre sanctuaire.24 Ces blocs de remploi concentrèrent l’attention des fouilleurs en raison de leur rareté. Ceci explique également l’intérêt porté par Bisson de la Roque à assurer leur extraction en sous-œuvre. Un tel procédé nécessitait cependant de manœuvrer des pierres de plusieurs tonnes. Bisson de la Roque se tourna dès 1926 vers H. Chevrier qui mit à sa disposition des ouvriers travaillant pour le Service 23

L’âge des terrassiers ne peut pas être établi, mais d’après les photographies il s’agit d’adultes âgés et non pas de jeunes hommes (fig. 3), ce qu’ont pu devenir en 1932 les premiers enfants ayant travaillé pour Bisson de la Roque en 1925. 24 Pour un historique : Relats Montserrat et al. 2021: 414–423.

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des Antiquités. Ils sont habituellement appelés « les ouvriers du Service » ou « le chantier d’extraction des pierres ».25 L’équipe fut utilisée d’abord de manière ponctuelle en 1926 et 1927 puis son usage devint récurrent à partir de la saison 1928. Ce groupe possédait son propre raïs (payé entre 13 et 17 PT/jour) et un groupe de six à neuf ouvriers (payés entre 7 et 9 PT/jour). Par conséquent, pendant les huit années de la direction de Bisson de la Roque, entre 100 et 150 ouvriers furent employés annuellement. La logique était essentiellement comptable : l’essentiel des ouvriers étaient des enfants en raison du faible coût de leurs salaires. Les tâches les plus dures étaient confiées à des terrassiers locaux tandis que les taches spécifiques liées au démontage des fondations furent confiées à un groupe réduit et mieux payé venant de Karnak. Une autre preuve de la gestion comptable des ouvriers du chantier réside dans l’évolution du nombre d’ouvriers au sein d’une même campagne. Le table 1 propose une moyenne annuelle qui masque les forts écarts visibles semaine après semaine, ce qui est visible dans les tables 2 et 3 qui détaillent le nombre précis d’ouvriers (terrassiers et enfants) d’après les états de personnels hebdomadaires de la campagne de 1927.26 Il apparaît (table 2) que le nombre de terrassiers resta stable pendant les deux premiers mois de fouille (entre vingt et vingt-sept ouvriers). Un seul ouvrier était payé 5 PT/jour, entre 2 et 5 ouvriers étaient payés 4 PT/jour, tandis que l’essentiel de la main d’œuvre était formé par ceux qui étaient payés 4,5 PT/jour (entre quinze et vingt-deux terrassiers).27 Le nombre d’ouvriers changea profondément à partir de la semaine du 7 mars et jusqu’à la fin de la saison (table 2). Ce changement s’explique en premier lieu par le début de la fouille du lac.28 Cela nécessitait l’emploi de plus d’ouvriers et était un travail particulièrement pénible en raison du niveau de la nappe phréatique qui nécessita l’installation de chadoufs pour puiser l’eau afin de poursuivre la fouille.29 Les ouvriers furent donc en partie mieux payés car des savoirs plus spécialisés étaient nécessaires, comme l’usage et la réparation du chadouf. Sur les photographies, ils apparaissent souvent torse-nus au milieu de la boue produite par l’accumulation des remblais et l’eau.30 À cette première raison – liée à la nature du terrain fouillé – s’ajoute une deuxième explication conjoncturelle car, à partir du mois de mars, la reprise des travaux des champs offrait de nouveaux débouchés pour les ouvriers payés 4 ou 4,5 PT/jour qui abandonnaient la fouille et préféraient retrouver une activité agricole.31 L’évolution du nombre d’enfants connut la même évolution 25

Bisson de la Roque 1926: 1. États de personnel 1–11 de l’année 1927 (IFAO, archives administratives, boîte 1927). 27 Aucune source ne détaille cependant pourquoi Mohammed ‘Abdelkhaman est payé 5 PT/jour. 28 Bisson de la Roque et al. 1928: 12–21. 29 Bisson de la Roque et al. 1928: fig. 11. 30 Bisson de la Roque et al. 1928: fig. 12. 31 Ainsi l’annonce Bisson de la Roque explicitement dans son journal (Bisson de la Roque 26

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que celle des ouvriers (table 3). Leur nombre augmenta cependant de manière plus graduelle pendant toute la campagne. La fouille du lac, à partir de mars 1927, entraîna également une forte hausse. En particulier entre le 15 et le 21 mars, les enfants payés 3 PT/jour furent plus nombreux que ceux payés 2,5 PT/jour sûrement en raison de la difficulté de la fouille du lac. En revanche, le nombre d’ouvriers de Karnak resta stable. Ils furent intégrés au chantier qu’à partir du 7 mars et leur nombre resta stable jusqu’à la fin de la saison (5 ouvriers à 7 PT/jour, 2 à 8 PT/jour et 2 à 9 PT/jour). Entre désintérêt, orientalisme et domination : la vision des fouilleurs Étant la force active du chantier, les équipes françaises devaient interagir avec les ouvriers égyptiens pour assurer le bon fonctionnement du travail de terrain. Cependant nos sources ne mentionnent jamais de tels aspects pratiques qui doivent être restitués indirectement. L’équipe française logeait dans un campement installé à Médamoud et chaque membre de l’équipe avait sa propre tente.32 En revanche seuls les spécialistes, provenant du Caire étaient aussi logés sur le campement. Une hiérarchie est, de ce fait, clairement visible, le raïs étant le seul à posséder une tente individuelle tandis que le reste des spécialistes partageaient une même tente. Toutefois, aucune mention de leurs interactions quotidiennes n’est faite. Nous ne savons s’ils mangeaient ensemble ou pas, ni quels pouvaient être leurs moments de sociabilité commune.33 Les terrassiers et les enfants, originaires de Médamoud, n’avaient pas besoin de logement et devaient se déplacer par leurs propres moyens jusqu’au chantier. Restent les ouvriers du Service des Antiquités, chargés du démontage des fondations et qualifiés d’«originaires de Karnak» dans la correspondance de Bisson de la Roque.34 Aucune tente n’était prévue pour eux et aucune facture ne garde trace du défraiement de leur trajet. Il n’est donc pas possible de savoir où ils logeaient.35 Par conséquent, le site – et plus précisément la fouille – était le moment privilégié des interactions qui devaient majoritairement porter sur le travail à réaliser (la stratégie de fouille ou ses méthodes). Cependant Bisson de la Roque ne parlait pas arabe d’après la description livrée par Georges Posener.36 Le raïs était, de facto, l’intermédiaire nécessaire pour assurer la communication. Mahmoud Ibrahim, qui travaillait avec Bisson de la 32

Relats Montserrat sous presse. Un cuisinier, Matha, était préposé aux repas, mais il n’apparait pas dans les états de personnel et il est donc impossible de savoir s’il venait de Médamoud ou s’il accompagnait Bisson de la Roque. 34 Bisson de la Roque 1926: 19. 35 L’essentiel des trajets entre Médamoud et Louqsor se faisait à dos d’âne et durait un peu plus de 2 h. Il est donc peu probable que des allers-retours quotidiens aient été réalisés. Il faut attendre les années 1930 pour que les premières voitures soient utilisées, toujours de manière exceptionnelle. Il n’est pas à exclure que les ouvriers, même travaillant à Karnak pour le Service des Antiquités, vivaient dans des villages autour de Louqsor. 36 Posener 1981: 505. 33

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Roque, parlait un peu le français37 et signait la plupart des factures de petits achats de matériel nécessaires au chantier, signe de son rôle indispensable. Sur les photographies (fig. 1), il apparaît souvent au-dessus des ouvriers, systématiquement habillé d’une galabeya blanche,38 portant une écharpe autour du cou et un parapluie à la main qu’il utilisait parfois comme ombrelle. Pourtant, s’il transmettait les ordres aux ouvriers, il n’était pas décisionnaire et une telle organisation n’est pas sans rappeler les usages encore en vigueur dans de nombreuses missions travaillant en Égypte. Il faut cependant souligner que la vie quotidienne du chantier nous échappe largement, de même que toutes les interactions pratiques qui forcément devaient être partagées entre Bisson de la Roque et son raïs39. Ce dernier n’est ainsi jamais mentionné dans les correspondances, qui se concentrent sur des aspects scientifiques du travail. Même dans les échanges entre Bisson de la Roque et les directeurs de l’IFAO, quand le programme des fouilles était discuté, le raïs est toujours absent. À une seule occasion, apparait l’attachement de Bisson de la Roque pour Mahmoud Ibrahim quand il prit la défense de ce dernier lorsqu’il fut accusé d’avoir participé à des vols. Même si nous ne connaissons pas si la procédure aboutit, Bisson de la Roque rédigea plusieurs rapports pour dédouaner Mahmoud Ibrahim.40 Outre le raïs, les sources ne mentionnent jamais les interactions avec les autres ouvriers, signe d’une certaine distance entre les équipes françaises et les ouvriers égyptiens. Ces derniers sont perçus en groupe comme une main d’œuvre sans individualité. Il n’y a même aucune mesure de leur efficacité ou inefficacité au travail, signe d’un désintérêt global à leur encontre. Par exemple, il n’est jamais fait mention du moindre accident de travail, alors qu’en dix-huit campagnes il a dû s’en produire et que le bénéficiaire d’une concession de fouille était responsable des dommages survenus aux travailleurs employés.41 La vision des fouilleurs correspond donc à la doxa de l’époque, mais la rareté des témoignages trahit surtout leur désintérêt à leur endroit, tout en révélant une certaine démarcation sociale autour du campement. Une série d’archives permet cependant de corriger ce portrait. En effet, comme cela a été indiqué en introduction, É. Drioton a été le seul membre de l’équipe française à décrire certaines interactions avec le village de Médamoud et ce, pour 37

« Son reis et son cuisinier baragouinaient un peu le français » (Posener 1981: 505). Ce détail fut pointé par É. Drioton dans une lettre de 1931: « En blanc, le reïs. Il s’arrange toujours pour être sur les photos » (cité d’après Juret 2019: 63). 39 C’est le raïs qui négociait avec l’omda de Médamoud pour établir les listes d’ouvriers par exemple, ce qui devait forcément entrainer des discussions avec Bisson de la Roque qui n’ont cependant laissé aucune trace dans la documentation. 40 Sur cet épisode, voir Relats Montserrat sous presse. 41 Khater 1960: 146. Dans les comptes du chantier, il y a plusieurs factures d’achats à une pharmacie de Louqsor pour divers produits comme des bandelettes, mais il n’est pas précisé qui en bénéficiait (Relats Montserrat sous presse: annexe I). 38

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deux raisons : d’un côté il visita pour la première fois l’Égypte lors des séjours à Médamoud. Il découvrait donc le pays et fut enclin à noter ses impressions. D’un autre côté, il est le seul dont les archives personnelles aient été conservées, ce qui livre une documentation de nature et de contenu différents. En particulier, il maintint une correspondance personnelle régulière avec sa famille – surtout sa mère – pendant tous ces séjours à Médamoud.42 Il y décrit essentiellement le déroulé des travaux, mais il développa également un réel intérêt pour les scènes de la vie quotidienne du village entourant le chantier et, tout particulièrement, les travaux des champs. Outre sa correspondance, il photographia aussi la cueillette de la canne à sucre, le battage du blé ou encore l’utilisation de la sakia à proximité du chantier.43 Se dégage donc une vision bucolique qui dépeint l’Égypte comme un réservoir de pratiques millénaires. A l’occasion de ses promenades, il photographia plusieurs ouvriers du chantier, uniquement les spécialistes comme le raïs ou le postier ʿAli Senoussi (fig. 2). Il s’agit cependant de portraits hors contexte, parfois avec des fonds neutres ou alors avec des vues des champs entourant le site, qui ne dépeignent pas le travail réalisé par les ouvriers mais renvoient plutôt à une vision bucolique de la campagne égyptienne. Cependant, derrière cette vision de l’orient fantasmé, se dégage également un vocabulaire de la domination utilisé pour qualifier les relations avec les ouvriers. Ainsi É. Drioton appelle « mon esclave particulier » Mohammed Khalifa, l’enfant qui lui avait été assigné pour l’assister en 1929,44 et dépeint Bisson de la Roque comme « un authentique seigneur » face aux « ouvriers et aux paysans »45. Cette vision coloniale est, plus largement, visible par l’absence de réflexion sur le travail des enfants alors qu’au début du 20e siècle avait déjà vu la naissance des premières lois sociales encadrant leur travail.46 À une occasion, Drioton use même d’une métaphore animalière en

42 Les archives personnelles d’É. Drioton furent léguées à la municipalité de Montgeron, en Île-de-France. Elles sont constituées d’une importante correspondance et de clichés réalisés pendant les chantiers auxquels il avait participé ou qu’il avait visités quand il devint directeur du Service des Antiquités. 43 La série de clichés conservés aux archives de Montgeron ont été publiés par Juret 2019: 33–47 (fig. 20–32). Le fonds de photographies conservées par l’université de Leuven (voir supra note 9) furent également réalisées par Drioton. Il s’agit aussi bien de clichés portant sur l’avancement des travaux archéologiques que de vues du village de Médamoud et de ses habitants. 44 Lettre d’É. Drioton à sa mère, datée du 19 février 1929 (archives Montgeron : dossier 37). 45 Drioton et Sainte Fare Garnot 1959: 183. 46 Si la première loi française sur le travail des enfants date de 1841, il faut attendre la loi du 18 mai 1874, dite « loi Joubert », pour que l’âge minimum à l’embauche soit fixé à 12 ans, avec une journée de travail limitée à 6 heures. Cette mesure fut ensuite renforcée par les lois Ferry rendant l’enseignement primaire (jusque 12 ans) obligatoire.

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qualifiant de « singe sympathique » le postier ʿAli Senoussi.47 Si ces appellations appartiennent au vocabulaire courant du monde colonial du début du 20e siècle,48 elles restent cependant extrêmement rares dans la documentation ; il est de même à noter l’absence de catégories ethniques pour désigner les ouvriers (« indigènes », « arabes », « fellahīn »), pourtant habituelles à l’époque.49 Ces derniers étant donc majoritairement considérés comme une main d’œuvre. Les ouvriers au travail : le rôle joué dans l’archéologie du début du siècle ? Si les ouvriers étaient majoritairement vus comme une main d’œuvre chargée de dégager les vestiges antiques, il reste à établir leur fonction concrète dans les techniques archéologiques employées. De nouveau, les sources sont peu explicites pour restituer le type de travaux réalisés. Nous n’avons ainsi que peu de mention des outils employés dont au moins une partie était achetée par le chantier comme le prouvent les reçus des factures.50 De même, les photographies sont souvent peu informatives : elles furent conçues comme un outil documentaire soit pour illustrer l’état d’avancement des fouilles de terrain avec des vues très générales, soit pour enregistrer les objets inscrits dignes de figurer dans le registre d’inventaire. En ce qui concerne les ouvriers, soit ils sont absents des photographies, soit ils apparaissent en arrière-plan d’une maçonnerie. La scène, de ce fait, relève plus de l’évènementiel que du scientifique.51 Plusieurs informations à propos des trois groupes d’ouvriers précédemment décrits peuvent néanmoins être tirées de cette documentation. En ce qui concerne les ouvriers de Karnak, ils furent chargés de l’extraction des remplois des fondations (fig. 4). Le procédé consistait à fouiller en sousœuvre, à savoir de pouvoir extraire les fondations en conservant les superstructures du temple. Pour cela, les ouvriers furent chargés de creuser des tranchées parallèles aux fondations afin de les dégager entièrement jusqu’à la dernière assise. Des poutres métalliques étaient ensuite installées sous la première assise des fondations afin de supporter les superstructures (visibles sur la fig. 4). Les ouvriers procédaient ensuite à extraire les remplois, à l’aide de cordes et de poutres de bois comme l’illustre la fig. 4 sur laquelle le groupe d’onze ouvriers les utilisent comme leviers afin de soulever un bloc de fondation. Une fois extraits les fondations étaient remplacées par des pierres non épigraphiés, des briques et du

47

Lettre d’É. Drioton à sa mère, datée du 17 février 1929 (archives Montgeron : dossier 37). 48 Pour le contexte de l’Afrique subsaharienne, voir Lemaire 2006: 45–50. 49 Sur la perception des populations locales par le prisme de catégories ethniques, voir Georg 2015: 203. 50 Relats Montserrat sous presse : annexe I. Les factures font cependant mention d’achats d’outils de manière générique et il n’est pas possible d’établir leur nature ni leur nombre. 51 Lacoste 2011: 17.

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ciment puis les tranchées latérales étaient rebouchées. Les blocs étaient quant à eux halés au moyen de rondins de bois et de cordes jusqu’au magasin.

Fig. 4 : Groupe d’ouvriers originaires de Karnak en train de fouiller en sousœuvre la plateforme de fondation du Nouvel Empire. Les terrassiers originaires de Médamoud étaient quant à eux, chargés du dégagement des vestiges (fig. 3). Munis de pioches, ils étaient la première équipe qui devait avancer le travail. D’après les comptes de la mission, plusieurs gratifications leur étaient données (habituellement entre 5 et 20 PT par ouvrier, ce qui correspondait à un budget conséquent en comparaison avec leur salaire) quand une trouvaille exceptionnelle était faite.52 Sur la fig. 3, le groupe de terrassiers étaient en train de dégager le dromos (dont un des sphinx, fragmentaire, est visible à droite du cliché). N’ayant pas reçu de formation spécifique, ces terrassiers devaient piocher jusqu’à trouver des vestiges qui étaient alors enregistrés par Bisson de la Roque. Ce dernier s’il possédait une solide expérience de terrain, ne fut jamais réellement formé à l’archéologie qui se développait pourtant en Europe au même moment, ce explique aussi un certain nombre de lacunes de la documentation. Ainsi, il excavait par niveaux et non pas par couches, en enregistrant uniquement le niveau supérieur d’un vestige sans s’intéresser aux structures environ-

52

Les factures parlent simplement de « gratification pour une trouvaille d’antiquités » (Relats Montserrat sous presse: annexe I). Le raïs bénéficiait également d’une gratification personnelle à cette occasion.

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nantes ni à leur relation stratigraphique, qui demeurent souvent inconnues. Il demandait donc aux terrassiers d’excaver jusqu’à trouver un objet (qu’il s’agisse d’un bloc ou d’une maçonnerie en briques plus ou moins appareillées), qu’ils laissaient en place et poursuivaient la fouille tout autour. Une telle technique rendait complexe l’identification de certains vestiges, particulièrement la brique crue, que ni les terrassiers ni Bisson de la Roque ne repéraient souvent. De ce fait l’organisation des ouvriers correspondait au techniques archéologiques et au modus operandi suivis par l’équipe française, plus intéressée à trouver des objets dignes de soumettre au partage qu’à enregistrer les vestiges eux-mêmes. En parallèle au travail des terrassiers, les enfants devaient évacuer les déblais au moyen de couffins charriés sur la tête (fig. 3 en arrière-plan). Ils se dirigeaient vers les talus où les déblais étaient accumulés à chaque campagne, installés à l’extérieur de la zone de fouilles. Une telle organisation explique pourquoi les enfants ont formé l’essentiel des employés du chantier. Cependant certains enfants ont ponctuellement assisté de manière plus rapprochée certains membres du chantier. En particulier Drioton qui était chargé de l’édition des inscriptions du temple. Chaque année un ou deux enfants ont travaillé avec lui pour nettoyer les inscriptions au pinceau ou déplacer les blocs (fig. 5). Deux noms sont connus grâce à sa correspondance personnelle. Mohammed Khalifa, dont nous avons déjà parlé et qui fut photographié à de nombreuses reprises par Drioton.53 Le deuxième, ‘Ali Isma‘il, est décrit dans sa correspondance comme son assistant : « Je continue le pensum des blocs de la porte de Tibère, j’ai dépassé ce soir le N°750. Voici le brave Ali qui me nettoie les pierres qui en ont le plus besoin. Après ce travail préliminaire, le professeur prend ses notes ».54 Ce qu’illustre la fig. 5, dans laquelle il brosse les blocs de la porte de Tibère dont l’édition fut commencée par Drioton. Cette assistance pouvait être répercutée dans le salaire de ces enfants. Ainsi Mohammed Khalifa avait un salaire élevé par rapport aux autres enfants (3,5 PT/jour) pendant tout le temps qu’il travailla avec Drioton. Cela ne semble pas avoir été systématique car ‘Ali Isma‘il garda un salaire de 3 PT/jour.55 Au contraire, d’autres tâches ont ponctuellement pu être affectées à des enfants d’après l’état du personnel. Ainsi en 1927 (table 3) un enfant nommé Mohammed Ibrahim fut payé 4 PT/jour uniquement pendant la semaine du 8 au 14 février. Drioton n’était pas sur le chantier la semaine en question et il est probable que l’enfant ait été chargé d’une tâche spéciale sans que celle-ci ne nous soit connue.

53

Juret 2019: figs. 14, 15, 16 et 28. Juret 2019: 51 (lettre datée du 5 mars 1926). Notons, dans cet extrait, la mise en valeur de Drioton par le décalage entre les activités d’un employé et celles laissées à un professionnel (qualifié de « professeur »). 55 État de personnel no 8 daté du 23 février au 1 mars 1926 (IFAO, archives administratives, boîte 1926). 54

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Fig. 5 : ‘Ali Isma‘il nettoyant les blocs de la porte de Tibère. Conclusion Médamoud, site exploré entre 1925 et 1940, est connu pour le temple dégagé et publié par les équipes françaises du Louvre et de l’IFAO. Comme pour l’essentiel des chantiers du début du 20e siècle, nos sources se centrent cependant sur les données scientifiques du chantier et n’accordent qu’une faible importance aux ouvriers égyptiens sans lesquels l’exploration n’aurait pas été possible. En repartant des archives des fouilleurs, j’ai ainsi esquissé la vision que les équipes françaises avaient de leurs ouvriers : ceux-ci sont une main d’œuvre, gérée avec un esprit comptable pour maximiser les résultats obtenus. Les enfants, chargés de déplacer les déblais, constituaient l’essentiel des troupes qui ne sont que très rarement individualisées par leur nom dans la correspondance. Il ne s’agit cependant pas ici de faire un procès aux fouilleurs français : une telle organisation correspond non seulement à l’esprit colonial de l’époque, mais suit également les techniques archéologiques utilisées en Égypte au début du 20e siècle. Bisson de la Roque était un homme de terrain, mais comme de nombreux égyptologues de son temps, ne s’était pas formé à l’archéologie. Ceci explique les techniques utilisées, la répartition des rôles et la façon de gérer le chantier. Pour preuve, il ne faut pas oublier que Bisson de la Roque en 1932 décida d’abandonner Médamoud au profit de Tôd car il considéra que le site était épuisé du fait d’avoir terminé le dégagement du temple, alors que la ville de Médamoud ne fut jamais explorée. Celle-ci, construite

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en briques crues, ne pouvait livrer de maçonneries épigraphies susceptibles d’être soumises en partage. De ce fait, c’est non seulement l’organisation des ouvriers, mais également les objectifs même du chantier qui étaient influencés par la façon de percevoir l’archéologie de l’époque. Sources d’archives Archives Drioton, conservées aux archives du musée Josèphe Jacquiot de Montgeron, boîte 37 : lettres à sa mère, datées du 17 février et du 19 février 1929. Archives administratives de l’IFAO, états de personnel, années 1925–1940 (boîtes classées par années). Bisson de la Roque, F. 1926. Journal de fouilles 1926, carnet de fouilles, manuscrit, conservé aux archives de l’IFAO (ms_2004_02), couvrant la campagne de 1926. Bisson de la Roque, F. 1927. Journal de fouilles 1927, carnet de fouilles, manuscrit, conservé aux archives de l’IFAO (ms_2004_03), couvrant la campagne de 1923. Bibliographie Beinin, J. and Lockman, Z. 1998. Workers on the Nile : Nationalism, Communism, Islam, and the Egyptian Working Class, 1882–1954. Princeton : Princeton University Press. Bisson de la Roque, F., J.J. Clere and É. Drioton. 1928. Rapport sur les fouilles de Médamoud (1927). FIFAO 5/1. Le Caire : Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Boreux, C. 1932. « À propos d’un linteau représentant Sésostris III trouvé à Médamoud (Haute Egypte) ». Monuments et mémoires 32 : 1–20. De Gayffier-Bonneville, A.-C. 2010. L’échec de la monarchie égyptienne 1942– 1952. Recherches en archéologie philologie et histoire 33. Le Caire : Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Der Manuelian, P. 2022. Walking Among Pharaohs : George Reisner and the Dawn of Modern Egyptology. Oxford : Oxford University Press. Doyon, W. 2015. « On Archaeological Labor in Modern Egypt ». Dans W. Carruthers (éd.), Histories of Egyptology : Interdisciplinary Measures. New York / London: Routledge, 141–156. Drioton, É. et J. Sainte Fare Garnot. 1959. « Une vie exemplaire : Fernand Bisson de La Roque (1885–1958) ». Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 58 : 175–184. Georg, M. 2015. « La recherche commune d’une civilisation ancienne. Archéologues allemands, archéologues français et leurs ouvriers indigènes en Égypte, 1899–1914 ». Francia 42 : 185–206. — 2018. « Antiquity Bound to Modernity. The Significance of Egyptian Workers in Modern Archaeology in Egypt ». Dans G. Miniaci et al. (éds), The Arts of

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Making in Ancient Egypt. Voices, Images, and Objects of Material Producers 2000–1550 BC. Leiden : Sidestone, 49–66. Juret, M. 2019. Étienne Drioton et l’Égypte, parcours d’un éminent égyptologue passionné de photographie. Bruxelles : Safran. Khater, A. 1960. Le régime juridique des fouilles et des antiquités en Egypte. Recherches en archéologie philologie et histoire 12. Le Caire : Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Lacoste, A. 2011. « ‹ Un moyen de reproduction si exact › ? La photographie dans les missions archéologiques en Orient (1860–1900) ». Les nouvelles de l’archéologie 126 : 50–55. Lemaire, S. 2006. « L’esclavage dans l’imaginaire colonial ». Africultures 67/2 : 45–50. Posener, G. 1981. « La vie à l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale, il y a cinquante ans ». Comptes-Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres 125 : 502–506. Quirke, S. 2010. Hidden Hands. Egyptian Workforces in Petrie Excavation Archives, 1880–1924. Londres : Duckworth. Raue, D. 2016. « Georg Steindorff und seine Ausgrabungen ». Dans S. Voss et D. Raue (éds), Georg Steindorff und die deutsche Ägyptologie im 20. Jahrhundert : Wissenshintergründe und Forschungstransfers. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Beihefte 5. Berlin : De Gruyter, 401–486. Reid, D.M. 2015. Contesting Antiquity in Egypt. Archaeologies, Museums and Struggle for Identities from World War I to Nasser. Le Caire : American University in Cairo Press. Relats Montserrat, F. 2020. « De la fouille au musée : Les partages des antiquités égyptiennes au début du XXe siècle à travers l’exemple de Médamoud ». Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique moderne et contemporain 3 : 37–67. — 2022. « L’artisanat à la porte d’un temple thébain – actualité des fouilles de Médamoud ». Bulletin de la Société Française d’Égyptologie 205 : 59–78 — sous presse. Médamoud I, L’histoire d’une fouille (1924–1940). Le Caire : Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Relats Montserrat, F., C. Karlshausen et T. De Putter. 2021. « L’usage du calcaire dans l’architecture du temple de Médamoud à la lumière des autres temples thébains ». Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 121 : 413– 440.

Working with Capart Quftis and Local Workmen during the Elkab Excavation Seasons, 1937–1946* Marleen De Meyer, Wouter Claes, Noha Mostafa Mahran, Athena Van der Perre and Aude Gräzer Ohara

Ever since the publication of Stephen Quirke’s ground-breaking Hidden Hands,1 now just over a decade ago, interest in, and studies about, the agency of Egyptian workmen in archaeological excavations have been steadily on the rise – and rightfully so. The picture shifts from the corvee labour employed under Auguste Mariette in the mid-19th century, through the introduction of the Qufti workforce under Flinders Petrie at the end of the 19th century, and the broad dissemination of the Quftis at many excavations throughout Egypt in the 20th century, up to the present day.2 Several studies link historical workforces with modern day practitioners of the same craft,3 while others focus on the labour force at excavations today.4 This same emerging focus on workforces is noticeable as well in the broader range of Near Eastern archaeology, not just that of Egypt.5 The legacy of these thousands of skilled excavators who over decades have unearthed much of Egypt’s archaeological heritage is largely only to be found embedded in the documentation compiled by foreign expedition directors. One * This research was undertaken within the framework of the SURA Project and funded by the Belgian Federal Science Policy Office (Belspo) as part of the BRAIN-be 2.0 research programme (project B2/191/P2/SURA; www.sura-project.be); see Van der Perre et al. 2021; Gräzer Ohara et al. 2023. We thank Wendy Doyon for help with the Arabic documents and for her critical review of the paper and its findings. We also thank her and Peter Der Manuelian for stimulating discussions on the topic of archaeological labour in Egypt. 1 Quirke 2010. 2 Particularly prominent in this regard is the work of Wendy Doyon (Doyon 2015; Doyon 2018; Doyon 2021; Doyon 2023; Doyon forthcoming). For workers on German-led excavations, see Georg 2018; Georg 2019; Georg 2021; for French-led excavations, see Relats-Montserrat 2023. 3 Rowland 2014; Jeffreys 2014; Bareš 2023. 4 For instance Beck 2016. An exhibition about the Egyptian workmen was organised at Misr Public Library in Luxor by Wesam Mohamed from 21–27 January 2021, entitled ‘El Reis’. 5 See for instance recently Mickel 2019, Mickel 2021 and Cline 2022. The Badè Museum of Biblical Archaeology organised an online exhibition in 2021 entitled ‘Unsilencing the Archives: The Laborers of the Tell en-Nasbeh Excavations (1926–1935)’: https://story maps.arcgis.com/collections/dc601d4d131145f88f828196860b8a44 (accessed 16 November 2022).

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exception to this, however, is the collection of 73 Arabic expedition diaries written by Quftis of the Harvard University-Museum of Fine Arts Boston Expedition, under the direction of George A. Reisner. Between 1914 and 1942, the Qufti foremen documented the day to day work on site in their native language, and these documents now form the object of a new multidisciplinary research project.6 So far, it is mainly the workforces of large archaeological expeditions that have been studied, such as those working on British, French, German, and American excavations. A country that practiced archaeology in Egypt at a more modest scale during the first half of the 20th century was Belgium. With hardly any fieldwork before the start of the Elkab excavations in 1937,7 Belgian archaeology in Egypt had a late start. However, the documentation of the first three Elkab seasons between 1937–1946 that is preserved at the Royal Museums of Art and History (RMAH) in Brussels is quite extensive, and allows us to dig deeper into the organisation of the workforce. Not only are notebooks preserved that keep track of workers’ wages and expedition expenses, but also correspondence with the reis (lit. ra’is, rayyis; Eng. foreman), and a large collection of photographs. 1937–1946: Three seasons at Elkab The first Elkab campaign took place during February–March 1937, led by Jean Capart8 and a small team of collaborators (Fig. 1). During that first season of fieldwork, the Belgian team concentrated its efforts on the temples of Nekhbet and Thoth within the great enclosure wall. One year later, during January–March 1938, fieldwork continued in the same area, but was expanded beyond the temples-proper. The onset of the Second World War compromised plans for a third campaign in 1939, which could eventually only take place after the war, during November 1945–February 1946. This third campaign was Capart’s final one, owing to his death on 16 June 1947 at the age of 70. After the 1946 campaign, Capart published a popularising book containing memories, anecdotes and impressions of his three field seasons, entitled ‘El Kab: Fouilles en Égypte, impressions et souvenirs’.9 Capart was a true storyteller, who related many of his observations and experiences concerning working in the field, and his book offers the kind of personal reflections that are often lacking in official field reports. Most of his stories are about the Egyptians he collaborated with.

6

Manuelian 2022a–b. For an overview of the brief Belgian excavation seasons at Heliopolis (1907), Sheikh Fadl (1923–1924), and Tell Hiw (1927), see Bruffaerts 2012. For an overview of the Belgian excavations at Elkab between 1937 and 2007, see Limme 2008. 8 See the recent biography on Capart: Bruffaerts 2022. 9 Capart 1946. All quotes from this publication are translations by the authors from the French. 7

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The Elkab campaigns were led by fairly small teams, with Capart himself and his assistant Marcelle Werbrouck11 as the only constant elements through the three excavation seasons (Table 1). The architect Jean Stiénon was present during the first two campaigns and was responsible for producing maps of the site, and of the temples of Thoth and Nekhbet, where work had been concentrated during these seasons. The team set up camp in the Somers Clarke house12 overlooking the Nile, just a short distance to the south of Elkab, which remains today the (now itself historic) excavation house of the Belgian mission of the RMAH. Somers Clarke had a personal servant named Daoud, who built a house close to that of Clarke himself.13 After the death of Somers Clarke, Daoud went back to his native Nubia, and Daoud’s house was taken over by the old Sheikh Ibrahim, mayor of the village of al-Nasrab,14 which was located next to the Somers Clarke house. While al-Nasrab was the nearest small village, the nearest town where there was also a train station was al-Mahamid. The Elkab workmen: Quftis and local crew Capart had not done any serious archaeological work before 1937, and he needed a team of workmen when he started at Elkab. As head reis, he chose Chared (Shārid) Muhammad Mansur, who had experience at other sites and who was apparently recommended to him by (un-named) Americans (Fig. 2). For the organisation of work on site, Capart – who was already 60 years old when he undertook his first campaign at Elkab in 1937 – relied heavily on Reis Chared and his experience. We have a very experienced reis who supervised various excavations, among others at Giza and Medinet Habu. During the war, he entered the service of the British army in the Suez region where he intelligently directed several squads of workers. He seems to have returned to us very happy to be back in Elkab and it is perhaps no exaggeration to say that he is almost as interested as we are in the archaeological problems that arise every day.15

11

For Marcelle Werbrouck, see Bruffaerts 2018. Somers Clarke came to Elkab for the first time in 1892 with J.J. Tylor. He built the house in 1906 and used it intermittently until he died there in 1926. Capart 1946: 23–30 (Chapter 2, with various images) offers a description of the Somers Clarke house and its surroundings. An in-depth study of the house is found in Warner 2012. 13 For a photograph of Daoud’s house, see Capart 1946: 25. This house still exists today, although with modifications. 14 Capart 1946: 26 shows a photograph of the small village of al-Nasrab. 15 Capart 1946: 61. 12

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Fig. 2: Reis Chared Muhammad Mansur with six of his children (© Archives of the RMAH, photograph by Arpag Mekhitarian, 1950). Reis Chared put together a team of workers composed on the one hand of skilled and experienced workmen from Quft/al-Qal‘a (Fig. 3), and of local unspecialised laborers on the other: Reis Chared recruited about twenty men in the Coptos region who constitute the solid core of the team. They are truly specialists and one has to see them in action in the field to understand the finesse of their perception. These people are called Qufti because they were first recruited from the region of Quft (Coptos) over half a century ago. It was Flinders Petrie,16 the great excavator of Egypt, who taught these men principles and method; now a real tradition has been established.17

16

Capart knew Petrie well personally, and his organisation of the workforce was explained in his ‘Methods and Aims in Archaeology’ (Petrie 1904). 17 Capart 1946: 61.

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Fig. 3: The team of Quftis employed by Capart during the third Elkab campaign, with Reis Chared Muhammad Mansur in the center wearing a white galabiya. Three of his sons – Anwar, Sayf, and Kamal – are seated in front (© RMAH Inv. EGI.12234, photograph by Jean Capart, 1945–1946). In the archives of the RMAH is preserved a notebook of the 1945–46 season, in which Reis Chared kept track of wages and other mission expenses. This notebook is entirely in Arabic, and was in fact a repurposed school notebook of his son, Kamal Chared,18 who was in 4th grade of the school at al-Qal‘a, as the cover clearly states (Fig. 4). A list of 21 Quftis is recorded (Table 2), along with 57 local workmen from the villages of al-Mahamid, Hilal, and al-Nasrab (Table 3) (Fig. 5).

18

A photograph of Kamal Chared, along with Reis Chared’s two other sons Anwar and Sayf, was published in Capart 1946: 123.

Quftis and Local Workmen during the Elkab Excavation Seasons

Fares Muhammad Hussein ‘Ali Mahrus Muhammad Hussein Bishar Ahmed Abu Kharas Hilal Ahmed Muhammad Haraji Muhammad Mahmud Metwalli ‘Attiya Hamed Mahmud al-Dayri ‘Abdallah Muhammad Shahat Isma‘il Mahmud

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Al-Dasuqi Ahmed Mansur ‘Ali Dardir ‘Atta al-Sawy Yusuf ‘Urabi Muhammad Abu Zeid Suliman Badawi Ramadan Fares Muhammad Ahmed al-Shawry Mahmud Muhammad Gad al-Tayeh

Table 2: ‘Kashf bi‘umal Quft’ (List of workers from Quft), 1945–1946 (notebook of Reis Chared p. 1; see Fig. 5a). al-Mahamid ‘Abd al-‘Al Ahmed Ramadan Hamed Ramadan Zeidan Sayyid ‘Abd al-Hamid Ramadan Amin Ramadan Muhammad Galal Ali ‘Amr Ahmed Yusuf ‘Abd al-Dayyim Badawi Sa‘id Ahmed Musa Ahmed Hassan Saleh

Hilal Masry ‘Attitu Ahmed ‘Attitu ‘Abd al-Nasim Ahmed Muhammad Hassan Taha Khaled Ahmed Ahmed ‘Attallah Hassanein ‘Ali Wahbi Fargallah ‘Abd al-Rady Mahmud Hassan Ahmed Muzari‘a Muhammad Mahmud Midani

Muhammad ‘Eisa Abu al-Hassan Mustafa Badawi Ahmed Taha Ahmed al-Duwy Sayyid ‘Umar Al-Sayeh Hassan Mahmud Taha Ibrahim Rashidi ‘Amr Dahi ‘Amr Yusuf Sayyid Ahmed Hamed Isma‘il Isma‘il Taha

‘Ali Hassan Maghrabi Jabril Fu’ad ‘Eizza Nabrawy Muhammad ‘Ali Salim Hassan Ahmed al-Banna ‘Abd al-Rady Hamed Muhammad Ahmed ‘Attallah Muhammad ‘Abd al-Meguid Mamluk Bakr

al-Nasrab Fadl Hassan Hufni ‘Amr Hamdan ‘Abdallah ‘Attitu Hassan Gad al-Duwy Gami‘a Ahmed Shakir Hassanein Hassan ‘Abdallah Sa‘ad Musa Ahmed al-Duwy Hassan Muhammad Mahmud ‘Abd al-Dayyim

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al-Mahamid Sayyid Isma‘il Mustafa Muhammad Ibrahim 25

Hilal

al-Nasrab

21

11

Table 3: ‘Kashf ‘umal al-Mahamid wa Hilal wa al-Nasrab min 9/9/1945 ila 2/7/1946’ (List of workers from al-Mahamid, Hilal, and al-Nasrab from 9/9/1945 to 2/7/1946) (notebook of Reis Chared p. 2; see Fig. 5b).

Fig. 4: Notebook of Reis Chared 1945–1946, Elkab & al-Kula (© Archives of the RMAH). Arabic text on the cover: School: School of al-Qal‘a / Name: Subject of dictation / Class: Kamal Chared / Subject: 4th grade / School year: 1945–1946.

Quftis and Local Workmen during the Elkab Excavation Seasons

Fig. 5a–b: Notebook of Reis Chared 1945–1946. Left: List of 21 Quftis; Right: List of workmen from al-Mahamid, Hilal and al-Nasrab (© Archives of the RMAH).

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Fig. 6: The workmen inside the enclosure wall of Elkab at the end of the 1937 season (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11411, photograph by Jean Stiénon, 1937). The team of Quftis consisted of men who had worked with the Belgian expedition before 1945–46, together with new recruits.19 About the local workmen Capart writes: ‘Our porters are recruited, young and old, from the local population; they belong to neighbouring villages; they are sometimes members of the same family, form groups and clans; they are recommended by the village authorities’.20 The differences in wages between the different classes of workmen are clear (Table 4). The highest pay grade is 21 piasters (pt) per day, received by four of the Quftis; the lowest pay grade for the Quftis is 14 pt/day, which only one of them receives. For the local workmen, pay starts at 10 pt/day, which is given to 30 men; the lowest pay grade is 7 pt/day, given to only three workmen. The Quftis thus made on average double of what the local workmen made. Some of the Qufti workmen had developed a specialised skill, such as Abu Shusha, who had become an expert at identifying and exposing mud bricks. Our men put their pickaxes into the rubble and move quickly: it’s only sand. Suddenly, their movement slows down and they warn the reis that they have discovered bricks (tub). Indeed, under the influence of the sun, the surface of the uncovered bricks will soon become clear. When enough of the surface has been cleared to recognise the general direction of the wall, the ‘specialist’ will clean part of it. We had, in 1937 and 1938, an old man, Abu Shusha, who swept the wall with such care that he brought out the joints, making it possible to determine the dimensions of the bricks and thus their date.21

19

‘Several of these men have only known us for a few weeks; others have already worked with us in previous seasons’ (Capart 1946: 129). 20 Capart 1946: 63. 21 Capart 1946: 62, with a photo of Abu Shusha.

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35

Number of men

30 25 20 15 10 5 0 21

20

19

18,5

15

14

10

9

8

7

piasters/day

Table 4: Wages of Quftis (in black, 8/11–23/12/1945) and local workmen (in grey, 1–15/12/1945) during the 1945–46 Elkab season, in piasters per day (notebook of Reis Chared).22 The spirits of the workers were kept up by a singer (Fig. 7b), about whom Capart writes: One of our Quftis is the musician of the group and sometimes he accompanies his singing with the beat of the tambourine. The singer is as indispensable in a well-organised work site as he is among the crew of a ship. […] The singer naturally has a varied repertoire, but in order to be appreciated, he must be a brilliant improviser. We arrive at the site and the song rises; it greets the mudir and assures that I will soon raise the wages; then it is the wakil’s turn (my lieutenant Mekhitarian), about whom it is declared that at the next fortnight’s pay he will give more than at the previous one. Of course, no one takes this seriously, but it spreads a good mood and the work gets done.23

22

The numbers of workmen in the payment tables do not correspond exactly to the numbers of workmen listed initially in the notebook, so it seems more workmen were hired during the course of the excavation season. 23 Capart 1946: 66.

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Fig. 7a–b: Workmen at work. Left: At the northwestern corner of the temple of Thoth at Elkab (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11428, photograph by Jean Capart, 1937). Right: The Qufti singer animating the men at work (© RMAH Inv. EGI.12183, photograph by Jean Capart, 1945–1946).

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In between the various excavation seasons, Reis Chared corresponded by mail with the Belgian team when they were back in Belgium. The topics discussed were both personal as well as ‘business’: the purchase of a rifle for Chared, the guarding of the excavation house, and of course issues of salary. This correspondence was handled by Arpag Mekhitarian,24 who was of Armenian descent, but had been born in Tanta in Egypt in 1911. At age 14 his family immigrated to Belgium, but by then he already spoke and wrote Arabic fluently. He became one of Capart’s closest collaborators at the Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth (FÉRÉ)25 in Brussels, and Capart considered him like a son. The convenience of having a close collaborator in the Belgian team who had mastered Arabic also shines through when Capart writes: Late in the evening, the wékil [Capart’s designation for Mekhitarian, MDM] does the Arabic mail, because the official documents must be in this language. It is necessary to correspond with the Antiquities Service, for supplies with the suppliers of Edfu, Luxor, Tahta (for butter), Cairo (for the pharmacy); with the station master or the director of the post office of al-Mahamid.26 Capart always refers to the workmen as ‘nos gens’ (‘our people’) or ‘nos hommes’ (‘our men’), and his relations with them seem to have been very cordial. At his 60th birthday, on 21 February 1937, the workmen organised a big fantasia (entertainment), which Capart describes in detail.27 The men received a day off with pay and had arranged for two Coptic belly-dancers to come and entertain the team. The men asked Capart for two bottles of wine in order to encourage the dancers to perform better. Apart from the belly-dancers, there were also horsemen and stick dancing. The Quftis attended the party along with the local workmen. A photo taken that same day shows Capart surrounded by the team of Quftis, all dressed in their finest galabiyas (Fig. 1). Capart muses about the life and working methods of the workmen as follows: Really, one might think for a moment that these working methods are more of a game than a chore. Egyptians are, by nature, content and jovial; our workers are not like the proletarians crushed by industrialism. They are emerging this year from a long period of misery and epidemic. The wages

24

On Mekhitarian, see Bingen et al. 2005. During the Second World War, Mekhitarian, as an Egyptian citizen, was ordered to leave Belgium, and he watched over the excavation house and equipment of the Belgian mission at Elkab during those years (Capart 1946: 14; Bingen et al. 2005: 4–5). 25 For the FÉRÉ, see De Meyer et al. forthcoming. 26 Capart 1946: 114. 27 Capart 1946: 139–145 (Chapter 16, with photos).

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we bring them will give them a little well-being during the few weeks of our stay.28 The epidemic of which Capart speaks here was typhus, which wreaked havoc among the Egyptian population during the Second World War.29 Reis Chared acted as spokesman for his team in the matter of vaccination against typhus: ‘In the first days of November, Chared had already told the wékil of the desire of his Quftis to be vaccinated against typhus with the American vaccine he had heard about’.30 The workmen received their vaccinations at a hospital close to Elkab, but since typhus was transmitted by lice, other measures were taken too: Work is suspended and our men take turns to have their heads completely shaved by barbers. The government bears the cost of the syringes, which is quite high. Our workers are very happy to learn that they receive, in their skin, a very expensive medicine for which they don’t have to pay anything. Think about it: the vaccine represents, for each one, the salary of almost one or more than a week’s work. The doctor and his secretary, escorted by the wékil, then entered Somers Clarke House to vaccinate our servants and the family of Sheikh Ibrahim. We very politely declined the invitation to submit ourselves to the needle which had already passed through more than a hundred skins in succession without any disinfection.31 Ghafirs of the Service des Antiquités Besides the Quftis and local workmen, various other Egyptians worked on site during the Elkab excavations. There were the guards or ghafirs of the Service des Antiquités, one of whom (Mahmud) was already at the site when Capart visited Elkab in 1930 with Belgian Queen Élisabeth. Mahmud remembered that visit well when Capart started work in 1937.32 Capart devotes an entire chapter33 to the ghafirs, about whom he writes: There are two ghafirs in Elkab: an old one, Mahmud, and a young one, Musa. They both report to the chief ghafir of Edfu who comes once a month to see, I think, that his subordinates are still alive. The chief ghafir reports to the inspector of the Antiquities Service for the Moudirieh of Aswan, who is under the orders of the Inspector General of Upper Egypt, who resides in Luxor and has jurisdiction over the region from Nag Hamadi to

28

Capart 1946: 67. Described in Capart 1946: 134–137. 30 Capart 1946: 134. 31 Capart 1946: 136–137. 32 Capart 1946: 14. 33 Capart 1946: 76–84 (Chapter 9). 29

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the southern border of Nubia.34 Musa, the young man, a fairly strong fellow, is less interesting than his old colleague, called Mahmud Ahmed Aly, known as Mouzareh (farmer). This one is a real character, in the fullest sense of the word. From his shrivelled face, one estimates him to be fairly old, although he has remained alert. Mahmud does not want anyone to know his age, because he is afraid that his superiors might think of retiring him. Already a long time ago he claimed to be fifty-five to fifty-seven years old, and in this area, where civil status is hardly in order, it is difficult to contradict him. We call him Mahmud, but throughout the region he is known as Abu ‘Abbas, the father of ‘Abbas. This is quite a story, and a most fantastic one.35

Fig. 8: The two ghafirs, Musa and Mahmud (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11972, photograph by Jean Capart, 1937).

34

Capart 1946: 76. Capart 1946: 78. The story of ghafir Mahmud is recounted on p. 78–84, with an addition about his three dogs on p. 101–102. Mahmud’s son ‘Abbas died young and became venerated as a Sheikh (see Capart 1946: 85–91 (Chapter 10). 35

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The two ghafirs and their families lived in mud brick houses to the west of the temples of Elkab, the core of which had been built by Somers Clarke before building his own large house.36 The descendants of ghafir Mahmud/Abu ‘Abbas would work with the Belgian mission for generations to come. He had several children, among whom were Nabawiya and Muhammad, who were photographed by Éléonore Bille-de Mot in 1937 (Fig. 9a). Wouter Claes photographed the same Muhammad in 2012 (Fig. 9b), an old man then, who passed away in 2015, thereby ending the last direct link to the Capart-led missions. However, his son, also named Muhammad (Fig. 10a) worked with the Belgian mission as well, and two of his grandsons, Muhammad and Mahmud (Fig. 10b–c), still do so today, making it the fourth generation of the same family to work with the Belgians.

Fig. 9a–b: Left: Nabawiya and Muhammad, children of ghafir Mahmud, Elkab 1937 (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11207, photograph by Éléonore Bille-de Mot); Right: Muhammad, son of ghafir Mahmud, Elkab, 12 March 2012 (© RMAH, Belgian archaeological Mission to Elkab).

36

Capart 1946: 32, with a photo on p. 34.

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Fig. 10a–c: Left: Muhammad, son of Muhammad, Elkab, 9 November 2016; Middle and right: Two grandsons of Muhammad, named Muhammad (middle) and Mahmud (right), who still work with the Belgian mission, Elkab, 27 April 2022 (© RMAH, Belgian archaeological Mission to Elkab). House staff Life at the Somers Clarke house was run by an accomplished Egyptian house staff.37 The head sufragi (house servant) was named ‘Abd al-Baghi / ‘Abdu and he came from Luxor, recommended by French colleagues. He served at table, made the beds, and cleaned the house.38 He was assisted by Soliman, a cousin of Reis Chared, while Chared’s wife39 supplied the team with freshly baked bread every day. Two of Sheikh Ibrahim’s children were employed as well: Ahmed served as boatman and Badry as boatman, guardian and messenger. The brother of the ghafir Mahmud worked as a carpenter and did repairs in and around the house.40 The family relations that existed between the various staff in the house and on site did not go unnoticed by Capart, who remarks that ‘nepotism is practised very strongly here and, from the excavation site to the house, from the ghafirs to the farm of lbrahim, a network has been woven around us, like a spider’s web around flies. We feel that it would be dangerous to try and break a link in the web’.41

37

Capart 1946: 113–121 (Chapter 13). Capart 1946: 118. 39 Capart 1946: 116–117. While Capart refers to Chared’s wife several times throughout the book, he never records her name. This is also the case for other women he speaks about, such as the two wives of ghafir Mahmud (p. 78–84). In fact, the only Egyptian woman he calls by her name is Nabawiya, the daughter of ghafir Mahmud (p. 80–84) (Fig. 9a). 40 Capart 1946: 117. 41 Capart 1946: 118. 38

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Fig. 11: The two men depicted here in front of the Somers Clarke house were members of the house staff: on the right the sufragi ‘Abd al-Baghi, also named ‘Abdu, and on the left Badry, son of Sheikh Ibrahim, who worked as a boatman, guardian and messenger (© RMAH Inv. EGI.12164, photograph by Jean Capart, 1945). The cook was named ‘Abbas, and came from Karnak, recommended by French colleague Alexandre Varille.42 He was illiterate, but had devised his own ingenious system to keep track of the kitchen accounts, which Capart elaborately describes: Our good man showed us that, though he had not been to school, he was doing as well as anyone else, thanks to a pictographic method, the mother of writing. On a sheet of paper, he drew small images as best he could: a bird’s outline for chickens, an oval for eggs, an herbaceous bulb for onions, a large rectangle for the butter, a very small one for the salt and dots for the flour. Milk was admirably represented by the silhouette of a jar with a handle. The units of each species were noted by lines and the half-measures by

42

Capart 1946: 123.

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an o, which in Arabic numeration means 5 and characterises the coins of half a piaster (five milim).43

Fig. 12: The pictographic system devised by the cook ‘Abbas to keep track of the kitchen accounts (after Capart 1946: 121). Conclusion Making use of his connections with other international teams, Capart built his team for the archaeological work on site, as well as for the work in the dig house at Elkab. The administrative documents of Reis Chared preserved at the RMAH offer tangible evidence reflecting the workers’ organisation. The many stories Capart recorded about life during the excavation seasons allow us to go beyond just names and numbers, and they betray a fondness for the Egyptians and the country in which he worked. He described this sentiment himself as such: There is a real team spirit among all of us. We feel attached to the same work; our workers only imperfectly understand what the significance of the work may be, but they share in the joy of our findings, for which they are the indispensable agents. I could not help making this remark in my mind: What would be the attitude, in similar circumstances, of our workers in Belgium?44

43 44

Capart 1946: 121. Capart 1946: 129.

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While this article only offers a glimpse into one workforce during three excavation seasons in the period immediately preceding and following the Second World War, these observations may eventually be integrated into a wider social network analysis in both space and time of a community of Egyptians that was so central to the formative years of Egyptian archaeology. The stories presented here are an illuminating, if modest, contribution to our knowledge of the social and cultural dimensions of working in the field. And in at least one case, four generations of the same family have worked with the Belgian mission of the RMAH, which has a long-running concession at Elkab from 1937 until today. Chared also worked with the Belgian mission until long after Capart’s death, as the reis of the latter’s successors Pierre Gilbert and Herman De Meulenaere. He passed away on 18 June 1970 and is buried in Quft, which was communicated to the Belgian team by his son Anwar in a letter. With the emergent focus on diversity in the history of Egyptology that is well represented by this volume, we now have the historical understanding and theoretical framework to interrogate, rather than take for granted, what the attitudes and experiences of Egyptians working in the field were and are. This kind of ‘reading back’ on the archive is made possible by the stories documented in reports and notebooks like those presented here. Bibliography [Anonymous] 1940. Fouilles de El Kab: Documents, Livraison I. Brussels: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Bareš, L. 2023. ‘Sixty Years of the el-Kereti Family at Abusir’. In H. Navratilova, T.L. Gertzen, M. De Meyer, A. Dodson and A. Bednarski (eds), Addressing Diversity: Inclusive Histories of Egyptology. Investigatio Orientis: Beiträge zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Orientalistik 9. Münster: Zaphon, 309–322. Beck, T. 2016. Perspektivenwechsel. Eine Reflexion archäologischen Arbeitens in Ägypten: Die lokalen Grabungsarbeiter des Asyut Project. The Asyut Project 8. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Bingen, J., H. De Meulenaere, L. Limme and A. Martin. 2005. ‘Arpag Mekhitarian (1911–2004)’. Chronique d’Égypte 80: 3–8. Bruffaerts, J.-M. 2012. ‘Jean Capart, pionnier des fouilles belges en Égypte’. In L. Bavay, M.-C. Bruwier, W. Claes and I. de Strooper (eds), Ceci n’est pas une pyramide … Un siècle d’archéologie belge en Égypte. Leuven: Peeters, 20–31. — 2018. ‘Marcelle Werbrouck ou l’égyptologie belge au féminin’. In F. Doyen, R. Preys and A. Quertinmont (eds), Sur le chemin du Mouseion d’Alexandrie. Études offertes à Marie-Cécile Bruwier. Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry Montpellier 3, 43–71. — 2022. Jean Capart, le Chroniqueur de l’Égypte. Brussels: Racine.

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Capart, J. 1946. Fouilles en Égypte: El Kab, impressions et souvenirs. Brussels: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. De Meyer, M., J.-M. Bruffaerts and J. Vandersmissen. Forthcoming. ‘The Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth in Belgium and the creation of national and transnational Egyptological research infrastructures in the 1920–1940s’. In O. Matthes and T.L. Gertzen (eds), Oriental Societies & Societal SelfAssertion: Associations, Funds and Societies for the Archaeological Exploration of the ‘Ancient Near East’. Münster: Zaphon. Cline, E.H. 2022. ‘Invisible Excavators: The Quftis of Megiddo, 1925–1939’. Palestine Exploration Quarterly DOI 10.1080/00310328.2022.2050085. Doyon, W. 2015. ‘On Archaeological Labor in Modern Egypt’. In W. Carruthers (ed.), Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. Routledge Studies in Egyptology 2. New York: Routledge, 141–156. — 2018. ‘The History of Archaeology through the Eyes of Egyptians’. In B. Effros and G. Lai (eds), Unmasking Ideology in Imperial and Colonial Archaeology: Vocabulary, Symbols, and Legacy. Ideas, Debates, and Perspectives 8. Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Press, 173–200. — 2021. Empire of Dust: Egyptian Archaeology and Archaeological Labor in Nineteenth-Century Egypt. PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. — 2023. ‘Xia Nai’s Egypt in the Archaeology of China: Field Workers and Field Methods in Xia Nai’s Diary at Armant, Egypt, 1938’. In H. Navratilova, T.L. Gertzen, M. De Meyer, A. Dodson and A. Bednarski (eds), Addressing Diversity: Inclusive Histories of Egyptology. Investigatio Orientis: Beiträge zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Orientalistik 9. Münster: Zaphon, 509–534. — Forthcoming. ‘Quftis: Archaeological Technicians, Reis-ship, and the History of Wage Labor in Egyptian Archaeology’. In S. D’Auria and P. Lacovara (eds), Methods and Aims in Egyptian Archaeology: A Sourcebook. Columbus, Georgia: Lockwood Press. Georg, M. 2018. ‘Antiquity Bound to Modernity: The Significance of Egyptian Workers in Modern Archaeology in Egypt’. In G. Miniaci, J.C. Moreno García, S.G.J. Quirke and A. Stauder (eds), The Arts of Making in Ancient Egypt: Voices, Images, and Objects of Material Producers 2000–1550 BC. Leiden: Sidestone Press, 49–66. — 2019. ‘The Living Surrounding the Dead: European Archaeologists in Egypt and Their Relations with the Local Inhabitants, 1798–1898’. In H. Navratilova, T.L. Gertzen, A. Dodson and A. Bednarski (eds), Towards a History of Egyptology. Proceedings of the Egyptological Section of the 8th ESHS Conference in London, 2018. Investigatio Orientis: Beiträge zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Orientalistik 4. Münster: Zaphon, 91–124. — 2021. ‘Egyptian Workers in German-led Excavations in Egypt, 1898–1914’. In A. Bednarski, A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 244–252.

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Gräzer Ohara, A., A. Van der Perre, M. De Meyer and W. Claes. 2023. Sura: Egypt through a Belgian Lens. Gent: Snoeck. Jeffreys, D. 2014. ‘Egyptian colleagues at Saqqara (and elsewhere)’. Egyptian Archaeology 44: 13–14. Limme, L. 2008. ‘Elkab, 1937–2007: Seventy Years of Belgian Archaeological Research’. British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 9: 15–50. Manuelian, P.D. 2022a. Walking Among Pharaohs: George Reisner and the Dawn of Modern Egyptology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Manuelian, P.D. 2022b. ‘The “Lost” Arabic Excavation Diaries of the Harvard University–Boston Museum of Fine Arts Expedition’. Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 58: 129–162. Mickel, A. 2019. ‘Essential Excavation Experts: Alienation and Agency in the History of Archaeological Labor’. Archaeologies: Journal of the World Archaeological Congress 15: 181–205. Mickel, A. 2021. Why Those Who Shovel Are Silent: A History of Local Archaeological Knowledge and Labor. Louisville: University Press of Colorado. Petrie, W.M.F. 1904. Methods and Aims in Archaeology. London: Macmillan and Co. Quirke, S.G.J. 2010. Hidden Hands: Egyptian Workforces in Petrie Excavation Archives, 1880–1924. London: Duckworth. Relats-Montserrat, F. 2023. ‘Les ouvriers de Médamoud: Le fonctionnement d’un chantier français en Égypte au début du 20e siècle’. In H. Navratilova, T.L. Gertzen, M. De Meyer, A. Dodson and A. Bednarski (eds), Addressing Diversity: Inclusive Histories of Egyptology. Investigatio Orientis: Beiträge zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte der Orientalistik 9. Münster: Zaphon, 323–341. Rowland, J. 2014. ‘Documenting the Qufti Archaeological Workforce’. Egyptian Archaeology 44: 10–12. Van der Perre, A., Claes, W., De Meyer, M. and Gräzer Ohara, A. 2021. ‘SURAProject: Het ontstaan van de Belgische Egyptologie in beeld’. Ta-Mery 14: 88– 111. Warner, N. 2012. ‘An Architect Abroad: The Life and Work of Somers Clarke in Egypt’. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 68: 237–261.

Individuals and Encounters

Anthropometry beyond UCL Measuring the Egyptian Fellahin, c. 1900* Rosalind Janssen

Preamble The topic of this chapter represents a natural progression: an earlier volume in the Investigatio Orientis series saw me adopting an interdisciplinary approach to tease out the eugenic biographies of a series of objects housed in the Galton Collection at University College London (henceforth UCL).1 The origin of this contribution was an essay written in November 2018 for the Master of Studies in Literature and Arts (MLA) at the University of Oxford. The following month, UCL – now my former employer – initiated a Commission of Inquiry into its eugenic history. In July 2019, I attended the first in a series of focus groups facilitated by the Commission. Their aim was to collect data on the opinions, beliefs and ideas of a representative range of the campus community in relation to eugenics and its links to the history of UCL. I subsequently attended the release of the Commission of Inquiry’s report on 28 February 2020.2 This

* This chapter represents the reworking of a dissertation submitted in September 2020 for the Master of Studies in Literature and Arts (MLA) at the University of Oxford. Acting respectively as first and second supervisors, Toby Martin and Hana Navratilova gave generously of their time and expertise. For their provision of hi-res photographs and permission to publish them in this chapter, I thank Stephanie Boonstra at the Egypt Exploration Society; Hannah Cornish, UCL Culture; Dan Mitchell, UCL Library, Special Collections; Melanie Norton Hugow, University of Cambridge Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology; and Pamela Sutton, Cyril Kett Optometry Museum. Because the original dissertation was written during the Covid-19 pandemic, I owe a large debt of gratitude to the following colleagues. Debbie Challis provided me with a transcript of a letter in the Petrie Museum Archives; Kathleen Sheppard shared similar transcripts and also emailed me a copy of her unpublished MA thesis on Flinders Petrie as a eugenicist. Stephanie Boonstra made a greatly improved scan of the photograph of Petrie at Abydos, while Hannah Cornish provided a series of images of Pearson’s head-spanners. Katie Meheux alerted me to an electronic resource. At a point when the doors of academic libraries in the United Kingdom were still firmly barred, Thomas Gertzen scanned many pages from physical books in Berlin. Last but by no means least, Maximilian Georg engaged in lengthy email correspondence, providing me with valuable insights into the Egyptian fellahin. 1 Janssen 2019. 2 See UCL Provost 28 February 2020 for pdf copies of the Inquiry into the History of Eugenics at UCL – Final report.

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neatly coincided with the completion of a further MLA submission which addressed Galton and his collection, and the start of a related final dissertation topic.3 The present chapter is a systematic reworking of that MLA dissertation, and provides a critical appraisal of UCL’s involvement in anthropometry in Egypt around the year 1900. In doing so, it deconstructs the institution’s disquieting eugenic past beyond the narrow confines of its Bloomsbury campus. Fulfilling the ethos of the MLA, the original dissertation drew on history, material culture studies, and English poetry. On the rationale that it provides a richer set of conversational tools with which to engage with complicated histories, this interdisciplinary approach has been retained in the five component parts that follow. Each commences with a poetic epigraph, the subsequent close reading of which provides an integrating methodological element. Part 1: Anthropometry at Abydos The Arab is little more than an eater up of other men’s produce; he is a destroyer rather than a creator, and he is unprolific. Galton, The Times4 The letter to The Times, quoted from above, shows the controversial character of the Victorian polymath Francis Galton (1822–1911). In 1883, Galton invented the term ‘eugenics’, which he defined as the breeding of human ‘stock’ to give ‘the more suitable races or strains of blood a better chance of prevailing speedily over the less suitable’.5 This was the most dominant and best-known strain of eugenics. However, there were others such as Eastern Europe’s diverse local eugenics, closely intertwined with regional ideologies of nationalism and building the nation-state.6 The present contribution revolves around anthropometry: the Late Victorian science of systematically measuring the human body. It was first popularised by Galton’s anthropometric laboratory, which he set up at the International Health Exhibition in the grounds of the South Kensington Museum in 1884.7 An impressive 9,337 visitors paid threepence in order to have their height, weight, strength, hearing and vision measured with a wide range of Galton’s instruments, and to receive a take-away copy of their test results.8 As an early tool of physical anthropology, anthropometric measurements were used to promote the eugenic ideal of 3

Janssen 2020. Galton 5 June 1873: 8. 5 Galton 1883: 70 note. 6 Turda 2015. 7 Galton 1890. For photographic images of Galton’s Laboratory at the International Health Exhibition and a poster advertising his Anthropometric Laboratory, see Janssen 2020: 242, figures 19 and 20. 8 The retained data sheets still survive in UCL Special Collections. McEnroe 2012: 77. 4

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breeding a utopian race, assuming that the perfect material for doing so were certain white people. Not surprisingly, eugenics and anthropometry represent a particularly challenging chapter in the history of science.9 At UCL, Galton was an active figure, working in conjunction with his protégé and eugenic successor Karl Pearson (1857–1936), and William Matthew Flinders Petrie (1853–1942), a sympathetic member of the eugenics community.10 It was here that, as a professional scientist, he founded the Eugenics Record Office in 1904; three years later it became the Francis Galton Laboratory of National Eugenics under the direction of Pearson.11 The Galton Laboratory represented ‘the principal source of authoritative eugenic science, the scientific benchmark of all eugenic discussion in England’.12 The younger men both held UCL professorships: statistician Pearson had been appointed to the Goldsmid Chair of Applied Mathematics and Mechanics in 1884, and Egyptologist Petrie to the new Edwards Chair in Egyptian Archaeology and Philology in 1892. Kathleen Sheppard has convincingly argued that ‘the famous archaeologist’ was ‘deeply involved in eugenic research, theoretical development and analysis with Galton and Pearson’.13 In June 2020, UCL started to ‘dename’ (its term) commemorative structures associated with Galton and Pearson around its campus.14 The museum named after Petrie may perhaps follow suit.15 In order to evaluate the international implications of the institution’s eugenic concepts, this chapter addresses the following question: what was the contribution of UCL scholars to social networks involved in anthropometry in Egypt and in Britain, c. 1900? Its first two parts provide an introductory framework, presenting the people, places and historical context under discussion. Having explained the methodological and theoretical structure, the most important aspect of which is its interdisciplinarity, this first section concludes by relocating Galton to Petrie’s excavation at Abydos, the point of departure of our investigation. A history of science micro lens is aligned throughout with the macro sociopolitical history. Side by side are what Igor Kopytoff has theorised as ‘the cultural biography of things’: artefacts, visual images, and archival documents.16 These are deconstructed by means of a life writing approach.17 Additional borrowing from anthropology, archaeology and sociology makes anthropometrics an interdisciplinary issue. 9

Hacking 1992; Pickstone 2000. Its official designation since 2005. 11 McEnroe 2012: 77–78; Janssen 2019: 234 and 236. 12 Kevles 1985: 40. 13 Sheppard 2006: 34; see also, Sheppard 2010. 14 UCL News 19 June 2020. 15 Friends of the Petrie Museum 11 September 2020. 16 Kopytoff 1986. 17 Lee 2005; Renders and de Haan 2014. 10

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Aims and objectives The aim is to draw on object biographies in order to explore the social networks that existed between the UCL eugenicists Francis Galton, Flinders Petrie, and Karl Pearson, and the physical anthropologists William Rivers and Charles Myers, who were carrying out anthropometric experiments in Egypt around 1900. This is achieved by means of two case studies (Parts 3 and 4), which deconstruct the academic networks that existed between the three UCL eugenicists and the two anthropometricians about to be introduced in Part 2. A series of four objectives follow. The first two seek to evaluate the involvement of UCL’s eugenicists in Egyptian anthropometry and, as a result, to comment on the wider role of archaeology and its links with anthropology. On a macro level, two further objectives involve a contribution to a wider debate concerning British imperialism in Egypt, and an assessment of scientific superiority in Britain during this period. The former will be investigated in relation to narratives of the perceived inferiority of the local Egyptian population, and the latter in relation to the status allegedly afforded by Royal Society fellowships. Theory and sources While this chapter is necessarily concerned with the stories of white middle class ‘great’ men, it consistently problematises certain paradigms in science as at best unwise. Although eugenic narratives were already being challenged, Galton, Pearson, and Petrie, and the physical anthropologists they came into contact with, were men of their time.18 Putting moralistic labels – such as ‘racist’ or ‘white supremacist’ – on them may not help. They were as multifaceted as we all are, and identifying their dark side is not the end of the story since it omits their other research inputs and outputs. They were not some devils of imperialism; it is even more challenging than that: they were conforming to their time, building what they believed was a position of relevance for their respective disciplines. There is another disquieting element here: the ethics of research versus popularity.19 It leads us to immediately question whether Galton and Pearson were using their anthropometric laboratories to ‘sell’ science, thereby ensuring their popular memorialisation. As will be demonstrated in the sections that follow, Galton and his associates were complex people, with a talent for accuracy and a degree of curiosity. However, they opted to put on the blinkers of their privilege. Played out in a colonial setting, this investigation aligns with the Black Lives Matter debate in our contemporary world: it keeps at the forefront those affected by anthropometric experiments. Most notable are the local Egyptian fellahin, introduced in the following section. Employing postcolonial theory as a non-dominant method, it seeks to explore continuities with the past by uncovering their

18 19

Most notably Chesterton 1922, although it must have taken shape earlier. For an outline, Ruyter 3 December 2019.

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voices which were unintentionally hidden by the prevailing colonial discourse.20 Omitted by the historian because of the added linguistic complexity of accessing Arabic sources, their own social position within Egypt meant that they were not affording these people a substantial voice, irrespective of Western involvement.21 Believing that material culture can provide just that opportunity, this chapter opts for Actor Network Theory (henceforth ANT) as its main method.22 The rationale is that this sociological theory contains not merely people as human actors, but lays stress on material agency by extending its remit to objects as non-human actors. The latter are viewed as equally important to a social network, where all function as heterogeneous actors operating within the same boundaries. Power lies not with the individual, but through their associations.23 ANT is not a model of a technical grid, but rather a developing, changing, and interacting network.24 In the pages that follow, a map, a table, and a painting and a series of letters and photographs, are interwoven with wool test kits and wooden head-spanners. All take on the role of inanimate actors. Where feasible these items were selected for their physical accessibility: many reside at UCL, making it possible to examine them at close quarters. I was even able to handle the head-spanners.25 The bulk of the cited correspondence and photographic evidence is similarly housed amongst the Galton and Pearson Papers in UCL Special Collections (GALTON; PEARSON), and the Petrie Papers in UCL’s Petrie Museum Archive (PMA). The stories of these inanimate actors are used to deconstruct the relationships between animate social networks, at both micro and macro levels, in Egypt and Britain. History of Science requires a dialogue of different biographical narratives, and as such ANT offers a means of avoiding the privileging of the voices of Galton and his associates.26 Yet, at the same time, there is an immediate concern that all these ‘things’ represent colonial memoriālia. The fellahin have bequeathed no such material culture in the guise of maps, paintings, or letters, prompting the question as to how exactly they have been memorialised. Their story deserves a different mode of analysis: articulating the story of one inarticulate but named fellah allows for the memorialisation of the group. Archaeology has used ANT successfully for recovering traces of networks which no longer exist, and where only objects remain. Pertinent examples are Hodder’s rethinking of the Neolithic as a series of human-thing entanglements,

20

Gandhi 2019. For the diversity of spaces, see Ryzova 2014. 22 Latour 2005. 23 Law 1991. 24 Latour 1996: 369. 25 Thanks to Hannah Cornish, the then Curator of the Pathology and History of Science Collections, UCL Culture. 26 Meretoja 2018. 21

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and Van Oyen’s exploration of the spread of sigillata pottery production.27 However, as an analytical tool, ANT is not beyond critique. Anthropologist Tim Ingold has expanded the potential of Latourian networks, defined as ‘an assemblage of heterogeneous bits and pieces’, in favour of meshworks: ‘a tangle of threads and pathways’.28 A further aim in using this dynamic method is to test Latour’s assertion that his networks can dissolve the local micro and global macro spatial distinction, in favour of ‘a global entity’.29 This becomes particularly relevant in view of the stress already placed on the micro and macro elements of this study. Arriving at Abydos On his map, an inanimate actor that functioned as a colonial tool in his travels, Galton used purple ink to highlight Abydos as ‘where Flinders Petrie is’ (fig. 1). It was purely by chance that he ended up at the excavation. When booking his passage to Egypt in 1899, he happened to encounter his friend on the same errand.30 Petrie immediately invited Galton, who would be travelling with his greatniece and companion Eva Biggs, to join him on his dig (fig. 2). Their week spent at Abydos from 5 January 1900 turned out to be ‘one of the most interesting experiences of our lives’.31 Having returned from the ‘very rough’ excavation life to the creature comforts of the Karnak Hotel at Luxor – marked with a big purple cross on his map – Galton commenced a five page letter to his sisters Emma Galton and Elizabeth (Bessy) Wheler (fig. 3).32 As an immediate witness to his journey, this letter becomes a key player in presenting a vivid picture of the rigors of Petrie’s desert camp as experienced by a man approaching his eighties. In other correspondence amongst the Petrie Papers, the Professor had issued advance warning that the expedition members were ‘sleeping in mud huts on boards’.33 In turn, Galton describes packing cases substituting for bedroom furniture, and a flimsy mat, instead of a door, keeping out the marauding dogs at night.34 Moreover, ‘everyone had to throw away their own slops’.35 On several nights, it was ‘bitterly cold’ and he was forced to sleep ‘in thick socks, in a jersey, drawers, and in a complete pyjama suit’.36 For a man who displayed no humour with the Egyptians, his delightful colour sketch – 27

Hodder 2012; Van Oyen 2015. Ingold 2008: 212. 29 Latour 1996: 372. 30 Galton 1908: 97–98. 31 GALTON/1/4/12/1. Letter dated 14 January 1900. 32 GALTON/1/4/12/1. Letter dated 14 January 1900; completed at the Hotel Angleterre in Cairo. 33 PMA. Letter dated 9 December 1899. 34 GALTON/1/4/12/1. 35 GALTON/1/4/12/1. 36 GALTON/1/4/12/1. 28

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showing the additional layers of clothing and bedding heaped over one of his feet – reveals a rare comic side (fig. 3). With typical Galtonian meticulousness, he had listed all twelve items the following morning.

Fig. 1: Galton’s map of Egypt, with his highlighting of Abydos as ‘where Flinders Petrie is’ (c. 1900), paper and purple ink.

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Fig. 2: (left) Francis Galton aged seventy-seven; (right) his great-niece Eva Biggs (1899; undated) black and white photographs. Despite long working hours lasting from dawn until ‘at least 9 pm’, the frugal diet of the expedition members comprised tinned meats, jam, and local bread, with ‘no milk, butter, wine or spirits, no potatoes nor onions’.37 No wonder that Eva Biggs added a pencil postscript informing her great aunts about their ‘very nice queer time in the desert’, and that her Uncle Frank had been ‘just a little pleased to give up the teetotal ways and have a glass of wine!’ (fig. 3).38 In his memoirs, Galton would sum up his impressions of life on a Petrie dig: ‘our host and hostess were peculiarly independent of ordinary comfort, but the consumption of marmalade at their table [constructed from three rough deal boards] was enormous’.39 Similarly dining on marmalade, throwing away their own slops, and holding problematic views about the Egyptians, were our two anthropometrician actors at Abydos to whom we now turn. This section has quickly demonstrated the potential offered by ANT as an analytical method for exploring the complexity of the past. Inanimate objects, such as maps, letters, and memoirs, are not merely ‘evidence’ for Galton’s network. Instead, as key players facilitating his journey, they too can be numbered among the actors at Abydos. At a deeper postcolonial level, the introduction has further suggested the material means by which Galton and his associates created his problematic legacy: his Memories, the portrait by his great-niece, the International Health Exhibition, and the naming of parts of UCL.

37

GALTON/1/4/12/1. GALTON/1/4/12/1. 39 Galton 1908: 98. Information in square brackets from GALTON/1/4/12/1. 38

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Part 2: Actors at Abydos To wait in heavy harness On fluttered folk and wild― Your new-caught, sullen peoples, Half devil and half child. Kipling, The White Man’s Burden40 By the time Rudyard Kipling published this poem in The Times of 1899, Egypt had been under British occupation for seventeen years. Unlike the Filipinos, the subject of Kipling’s verse, the Egyptians did not fall into the category of ‘newcaught, sullen peoples’. Yet, Kipling’s racist sentiments replicate those directed against the Egyptians by no less a personage than the UK’s first post-occupation Consul-General in Egypt, Evelyn Baring, 1st Earl of Cromer (1841–1917). He told Petrie: ‘I do not know which is the greatest nuisance, the man-and-a-brother or the damned nigger’.41 The aloof and offensive style of the heavy-handed Cromer was applied in equal measure to some of his British colleagues as it would be to the Egyptians.42 Yet the parties that might have wished to be neatly separated by structures of power or prejudice occupied the same historical space, and were bound in the same network. The power was distributed unevenly, but the imperial networks were creating the type of hybrid space identified by postcolonial theorist Homi Bhabha (born 1949).43 His Third Space constitutes an ambivalent, in-between site containing unequal forces; its subversion opens up possibilities for the emergence of other cultural meanings resulting in hybridity.44 This section brings three anthropologists together at Abydos. Two become the lead human actors in the ensuing case studies, as they engage in anthropometrics in Egypt. The Egyptian fellahin, who would be subjected to their measuring activities, are then afforded the limelight. The conclusion draws both parties firmly together. The measurers In January 1901, a reunion took place between three Englishmen at El-Amrah, some six miles to the south of Abydos. This prehistoric cemetery site formed part of Petrie’s concession, at a time when he himself was busy excavating the Royal Tombs of the Early Dynastic Period in the Umm el-Qaab at Abydos (Fig. 5, below). The occasion is briefly described in a letter located amongst the Haddon Papers (HP) in Cambridge University Library:

40

Kipling 1899. Petrie 1931: 158. 42 Owen 2004 and 2005. 43 Leonard 2005: 127–56; Bauhn and Fulya Tepe 2016. 44 Bhabha 1994. That ANT does not support this idea of hybridity is seen in Latour 2013. 41

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In the quadrangle sat Rivers in his short sleeves and flannels, just as in the old Murray Island times, with a native intent on colourful wools before him. I spent a delightful five hours with them all.45

Fig. 4: Charles S. Myers (left) and Anthony Wilkin (right) (El-Amrah, January 1901), black and white photograph. The visitor – referenced as ‘I’ – was the physician and psychologist Charles Samuel Myers (1873–1946), the leading actor in Part 4. The man seated outside the dig house, to whom Myers enthusiatically refers, was his Cambridge tutor William Halse Rivers Rivers (1864–1922). With Petrie’s permission, Rivers was conducting colour vision experiments at Abydos; he and his colourful wools become the star players in Part 3. A physician like Myers, Rivers was a pioneer anthropologist and leading psychologist. However, it would be their involvement with ‘shell shock’ during the First World War that afforded these men popular fame.46 45

HP 1048. Letter dated 10 January 1901. In 1915, Myers introduced the term ‘shell shock’ into the medical literature, while Rivers is best known for his treatment of Siegfried Sassoon for this condition (see Part 5). 46

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The final member of the trio, was another Cambridge man: Anthony Wilkin (1878–1901). Having failed to obtain a job as a correspondent in the Boer War, he was now engaged as one of Petrie’s assistants with joint responsibility for supervising the El-Amrah excavations.47 Myers’s reference to ‘the old Murray Island times’, relates to the period when all three had been members of the 1898 Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to the Torres Straits (fig. 6). An unattributed image, chanced upon in the archives of the Egypt Exploration Society, provides tangible photographic evidence for Myers’s delightful five hour visit to his friends at El-Amrah (fig. 4). The grainy image shows two Europeans surrounded by an orderly display of dislocated skeletons in an area of desert which, judging by the palm tree, was close to the dig house. Myers sits on the left, his hands resting on a wooden crate that substitutes for his examination table. Perched on the crate is his friend Wilkin, to the right. There is added poignancy. This may well be the last surviving image of Wilkin, who as a photographer was normally positioned behind the camera. By May that year, aged just twenty-three, he would be dead from dysentery in Cairo. Part 3 identifies the photographer, and his reason for memoralising this moment. The measured As agricultural labourers, the fellahin (Arabic: farmers) composed the bulk of the Egyptian population in 1900. The Upper Egyptian fellahin were subsequently immortalised in Winifred Blackman’s ethnographic study of the 1920s, which emphasised the continuities between their cultural and religious practices and those of their Ancient Egyptian counterparts.48 While the photograph above shows that it was their ancient skulls that Myers was engaged in measuring during the five hours he spent at El-Amrah, his anthropometric remit with the modern population was far wider as will be demonstrated below. It is only in the last decade, with the appearance of Stephen Quirke’s Hidden Hands, that the use of the fellahin as modern archaeological labourers has received sustained attention.49 While Quirke focused exclusively on Petrie’s workforce, the wider surveys since undertaken by Wendy Doyon and Maximilian Georg have broadened our understanding of this neglected topic.50 Relevant to the site specific focus of this chapter is the ongoing Abydos Temple Paper Archive Project (ATPA), an international mission which seeks to narrate the site’s modern history from an Egyptian perspective.51 47

Shephard 2015. Blackman 1927. 49 Quirke 2010. 50 Doyon 2015. Georg 2018 and 2019. 51 The University of California Berkeley in collaboration with the Ministry of Antiquities. For the website, see Abydos Temple Paper Archive Project 1 March 2023, and see Shalaby, Damarany and Kaiser in this volume. 48

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While the daily experience of these workmen is not entirely omitted from the Western perspective, they hold a similar position to the three women hidden behind the pages of this chapter: Eva Biggs, Maria Sharpe Pearson, and Hilda Petrie (figs. 2 and 10). Like women or servants, the fellahin were merely the service providers, and the forgotten key workers, taken for granted in terms of power and economic structures. Moreover, intersectionality has a role here: they were a service provider perceived as racially different. The fellahin mainly referred to themselves as inhabitants of a particular village, in this case ‘Abydenes’.52 It is therefore disturbing that we can only talk about them as an indistinguishable collective. Bestowing on them one name represents a tool of colonialism; it classifies people in a similar manner to archaeology’s classification of the human past. As already indicated in Part 1, this investigation attempts to bring out that missing individuality by means of a recoverable name. Galton refers to a crew of about 130 fellahin.53 He notes that most had worked for Petrie in previous years.54 These would have been supervisors recruited from the Upper Egyptian village of Kuft (Qift) (fig. 1). The remainder were engaged locally, although not from the immediate vicinity of the dig since Petrie required his workforce to live on site.55 The end result was that Petrie created a worker hierachy of ‘older hands’, brought in from a distance, and more local labour.56 That the Abydos excavation functioned as a Third Space is evidenced by a letter from Petrie to Galton urging him not to bring his own dragoman or donkey-boy from Luxor.57 He explained that: We see the cloven hoof in all such and avoid having any outsiders about the place or work. […] All our workmen live behind our house, and are forbidden to go to the village on pain of dismissal, so needful it is to keep our business to ourselves.58 Confirming that the workmen lived in their own huts, a short distance behind the colonial camp, Galton relates in his Memories how the two parties came together there one evening:

52

Personal email communication from Maximilian Georg 28 July 2020, who further confirms that the fellahin never identified with the nation-state of Egypt. 53 GALTON/1/4/12/1. This represents a low number. Doyon 2015: 148 states that Petrie normally employed from one to two hundred excavators, and a similar number of basket carriers. 54 Galton 1908: 99. 55 Quirke 2010: 41–42. 56 Quirke 2010: 42. 57 PMA. Letter dated 23 December 1899. 58 PMA. Letter dated 23 December 1889.

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We were fortunate at being present at the impressive feast of the full moon, which included solemn chants. It was dignified in every respect, and appeared to have a deeper religious significance than might have been expected possible with these men.59 Notwithstanding his patronising tone, Galton here recalls a distinct moment of cultural hybridity which had opened up new meanings for him as an agnostic. A critical comparison of an Orientalist watercolour by the Pre-Raphaelite painter Henry Wallis (1830–1916), with the black and white photographic reality of the 1901 season at Abydos deconstructs the status of Petrie’s fellahin workmen (fig. 5). To informed London viewers, Wallis’s romantic temple backdrop would have evoked Shelley’s Ozymandias and the Younger Memnon statue head in the British Museum. Moreover, the half-naked workmen would have been reminiscent of the biblical scenes set in Ancient Egypt by artists such as Edward Poynter (1836–1919) and Edwin Long (1829–1890).60 But instead of Joseph or Moses or a pharaoh, the figure in control is Flinders Petrie. In both images, Petrie as the colonialist stands at a higher elevation relative to the fellahin. In the watercolour this is marginal, but in the photograph becomes considerably more pronounced owing to the depth of the excavations. Petrie’s pose as an art connoisseur in the former has more to tell us about Wallis as a collector of antiquities and a ceramics expert, and can be contrasted with his more naturalistic stance in the photograph.61 The things studied have been objectified and lie at Petrie’s feet. Most importantly, the inscribed pot that he clutches precariously by its base, holds dramatically at arm’s length, and on which he fixes his admiring gaze, denotes that it is only Western knowledge that can read the inscription and, as a result, assign the vessel to its correct epoch.62 Stressing British colonial ownership of Egypt, for us today it retrospectively emphasises the ninety-three per cent illiteracy rate of the Egyptian population.63 It was a status quo which must have also been familiar to Wallis and Petrie. With the blurring of human and object categories, we remain uncertain as to whether Petrie or the vase is the subject of the painting.

59

Galton 1908: 100. Moser 2020. 61 Lessens and Lanigan 2019. Reviewed by Inglesby 2020. 62 Wallis 1898 and 1900. 63 The 1908 figure cited in Toledano 1998. 60

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Fig. 5: (above) Henry Wallis, Flinders Petrie Admiring a Find, the Ramesseum, Western Thebes, 1895; (below) Petrie and his fellahin workmen in the Early Dynastic Tomb of Pharaoh Khasekhemwy (Umm el-Qa’ab, Abydos, 1901), framed watercolour; black and white photograph.

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There is continued uncertainty as to who are the subjects and objects of the image when turning to the fellahin. The vase appears to have been framed to possess a deeper humanity than the people who have been objectified. Wallis depicts them in a similar fashion to the things being studied: as an indistinguishable collective. He leaves us with a triangle: local population, artefacts, and foreigners. Of various ages, we see an older fellah in blue clothing crouched at Petrie’s feet, younger men, youths, and boys.64 Because of the nature of their task, the four basket carriers in the photograph are likely to be youths. This is confirmed by the features of the fellah on the far right; an older overseer stands directly behind him. It ties in with Petrie’s assertion that ‘the best age for diggers is about 15 to 20 years. After that many turn stupid’.65 The fellahin military conscripts measured by Myers in Part 4 fall into this age bracket, since they were rounded up from the age of eighteen. Petrie additionally deemed body size an important selection criterion, since ‘the best workers are the scraggy under-sized youths’.66 The camera confirms their backbreaking labour: the worker whose face is obscured by his loaded basket, and those to the left captured as they respectively stride and bend. In direct contrast with this dirt archaeology reality is the passivity of the fellahin, who gather around to admire Petrie in the watercolour. Moreover, the two figures at the far left exhibit what Quirke coyly describes as ‘some startingly rear exposures’.67 Reminiscent of Jean-Léon Gérôme’s The Snake Charmer (1879), the eyes of the onlooker are similarly directed to the boy’s buttocks.68 Framed by Wallis as the Western observer, the fellahin have not been explained ‘on their own terms’. By contrast, the youths in the photograph are fully clothed in traditional galabiyahs, reflecting the reality of everyday dig life. The painting and the photograph agree in capturing Petrie’s position of control, which was both symbolic and factual. His paternalistic authority is evidenced by the long staff that he grasps in his right hand. It personifies his statement that ‘engagement, dismissal, and the money-bag, are all in my hands’.69 In line with Kipling’s ‘half devil and half child’, Petrie believed that ‘an Egyptian cannot withstand temptations’; he therefore advocated a ‘constant keeping in hand’.70 Coming from a man who equated poverty with moral fault, this may well have been both

64

Petrie never employed women or girls on his Upper Egyptian excavations. Petrie 1904: 20. 66 Petrie 1904: 20. 67 Quirke 2010: 25. 68 Boone 2014: 343. 69 Petrie Journal 1883 to 1884 (Tanis), Griffith Institute Archives, University of Oxford, 22 February 1884. 70 Petrie 1904: 22. 65

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a racially and socially conditioned statement.71 Referring to Petrie as ‘a great excavator’ who could delegate ‘the mere digging’, Galton confirms the colonial stance: ‘the discipline of many men’, and the need ‘to supervise them narrowly’.72 He further specifies that they were divided into three parties.73 Because of his constant fear of being cheated, Petrie followed Kipling’s exhortation ‘to wait in heavy harness’ by resorting to a telescope to observe his workers.74 The covert nature of the controlling gaze may well have been part of its supervisory power. It was in this charged context that the Abydos workmen also became subject to anthropometric experiments. Measurer and measured The following section finds Rivers unwittingly involved in communication issues with his fellahin subjects. When asking them to classify colours, he failed to understand that his classification and theirs may have differed radically. In what is a poignant paradox, Myers was also trying to classify the Egyptians in relation to a colour scheme and in a letter to Galton admits to not knowing how.75 Describing himself as ‘somewhat at a loss to know how to describe the skin-colour’ of fellahin conscripts in his forthcoming anthropometric work, he also makes no reference to potential linguistic issues.76 The question is whether both anthropologists were baffled at how to communicate, or simply unbothered? Galton had recommended hermetically sealed tinted papers produced by his colleague William de Wiveleslie Abney (1843–1920), a chemist, photographer, and colour vision expert (Part 4). However, once in the field Myers quickly realised that standard coloured papers did not provide ‘the requisite number and variety of hues’.77 Drawing instead on his own network, he asked an artist friend to spend a morning with him, ‘painting in oils the skin colour of various Egyptians, and choosing for this purpose the inner surface of the upper arm’.78 Looking once again at the watercolour, Wallis’s variant skin tones for the fellahin now become obvious, as might be expected from a painter who, at a previous period when he was working in oils, had exquisitely caught the vibrant auburn of Chatterton’s hair.79 71

Petrie 1907: 60 for his promotion of the ‘natural weeding out of the unfit’ on eugenic grounds. 72 Galton 1908: 98–99. 73 GALTON/1/4/12/1. Letter dated 14 January 1900. 74 Petrie 1904: 28. 75 GALTON/3/3/13/46. Letter dated 30 August 1901. Felix von Luschan (1854–1924) would not invent his skin colour scale (Hautfarbentafel) until 1905. Illustrated in Manjapra 2020: Figs. 5.1 and 5.2 on 140. 76 GALTON/3/3/13/46. Letter dated 30 August 1901. 77 Myers 1906: 258. 78 Myers 1906: 258. 79 Henry Wallis, The Death of Chatterton (1856) in Tate Britain.

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The resultant papers were then ‘cut into equal slips and, having been arranged in order of brightness, were numbered and tied together’.80 In a blatant display of colourism, Myers then categorised his subjects as ‘medium, others dark, fair, etc’.; transferring the Victorian love of classification to an Egyptian context, he further grouped them into classes.81 The data was published as a Table, categorising the fellahin according to the colour and texture of their hair, the prominence of their chin, and thickness of their lips (table 1).82

80

Myers 1906: 258. Myers 1906: 258. 82 Myers 1906: Table V on 256. 81

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Table 1: Myers’s categorisation of the fellahin. Like a Victorian display of ‘new-caught’ pinned butterflies the Egyptians encapsulate Kipling’s ‘fluttered folk’. As evidenced in the following sections, the role of the fellahin in British classification games would be expanded further. Their agency then becomes more visible to the modern observer. Underpinned by postcolonial theory and ANT’s complex interplay between animate and inanimate players, Part 2 has demonstrated how the various actors at Abydos – the English measurers and the Egyptian fellahin – were central to

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archaeology in a colonial context.83 However, the latter were devoid of the colonial apparatuses that have served to preserve the individual characters and projects of the former. This reinforces what was already noted in Part 1: the marked imbalance between the literary men of UCL, and the collectivised fellahin who lacked the institutional and educational machines of memorialisation. Archaeology at Abydos was by necessity a hybrid project made complex by both local and global inequalities. Yet, with Galton’s account of the feast and his associated feelings of ‘otherness’, it seems that Bhabha’s cultural hybridity was taking place within this particular Third Space. Part 3: Testing excavation workers’ eyes Why here’s my neighbour colour blind, Eyes like mine to all appearance: green as grass do I affirm? ‘Red as grass’ he contradicts me⸻which employs the proper term? Browning, La Saisiaz: The Two Poets of Croisic84 Located amongst Petrie’s Papers is a tantalising letter written by Francis Galton from Aswan in December 1899.85 Its context is the one week visit that he and his great-niece were about to pay to Petrie’s Abydos excavations in early January 1900 (Part 1). Galton tells Petrie: ‘I am delighted to hear that anthropometric measurements are going on, for I want opportunity at experimenting according to a new theory of mine, with eyesight, strength, and the like’. Petrie, who considered himself a polymath, had long been interested in anthropometry. Back in 1885, he had given Galton critical feedback on his various experiments at the International Health Exhibition (see p. 368).86 An equally enigmatic reference occurs in Galton’s letter to his sisters, written immediately after his visit; this reads: ‘far more occurred than I can put down here’.87 Notwithstanding Galton’s lack of clarity as to whether he carried out any of his proposed experiments, this section takes as its point of departure the anthropometric measurements that Petrie had already authorised at Abydos. Relating to Galton’s lifelong interest in colour vision, these involved the the examination of fellahin workers, both men and boys (fig. 5, below). The main focus is on later experiments carried out by William Rivers, the recognised British authority on colour vision, between December 1900 and January 1901.88 83

Latour 1996: 369. This is just one aspect of Latour’s conception of the social networking of diverse actors in ANT. 84 Browning 1878. 85 PMA. Letter dated 17 December 1899. I am grateful to Dr. Debbie Challis for providing me with her transcript. 86 GALTON/3/3/16/20. Letter dated 12 February 1885. 87 GALTON/1/4/12/1. Letter dated 14 January 1900. 88 This had just been secured by the appearance of the ground-breaking Rivers 1900a.

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Holmgren’s wools, an ingenious device for testing colour blindness, functions as the lead inanimate actor. Galton’s own wool test and its employment on London Jews plays a subsidiary role. Moving from the Egyptian to the English stage, their object biographies reconstruct the social connections between the animate actors, thereby combining microhistory and global history.89 A grand finale is played out in London against the backdrop of the prestigious Royal Society and the stories of two minor characters: an English seaman and a reappearing Egyptian fellah. This sheds light on what was a crucial public safety issue for nineteenth-century policymakers, and a matter of long-held social and cultural beliefs for Rivers and Galton. We first connect these two men, before exploring their wider Egyptian networks. The Egyptian scene Back in 1898, the influential anthropologist Alfred Cort Haddon (1855–1940), who was an admirer of Galton, had recruited Rivers to head the psychological section of his Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to the Torres Straits (fig. 6).90 Preserved amongst the Haddon Papers is a letter written from Murray Island to his wife Fanny, which describes how Rivers ‘has done a lot of work that will prove of great interest and value’.91 Rivers’s main role had been to test the vision of the Murray Islanders; when examining their colour vision, he used Holmgren’s wools.92 His concurrent use of a genealogical method to identify heredity influences on vision, allowed him to venture into sociology.93 It is likely to have been taken from Galton whom he had consulted before leaving England.94 This would have been an easy matter, given that Rivers had been teaching experimental psychology at UCL since 1892. By the end of the Torres Straits expedition, Rivers was convinced that it was possible to study the evolution of culture by colour vision investigations, and he now needed comparative material.95 It was thanks to his contacts with Anthony Wilkin and David Randall-MacIver (1873–1945), that he gained access to the Abydos excavations first indirectly and then directly. Wilkin had acted as photographer for the Torres Straits expedition while still a promising Cambridge

89

Ghobrial 2019: 1–22. Haddon had opened an anthropometric laboratory in Dublin, modelled on that of Galton’s in London. 91 HP 12/1. Letter dated 26 July 1898. 92 Rivers 1901a. 93 Rivers 1900b. 94 Stocking 1983: 86. 95 In addition to an English control group, Rivers would also investigate the colour vision of eighteen Inuits from Labrador, who were visiting London, and the Todas from southern India. 90

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undergraduate (Figs. 4 and 6). Haddon had summarily dismissed him as ‘not very satisfactory, he is too young’.96

Fig. 6: Members of the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to the Torres Straits, standing are Alfred Cort Haddon (first row, left); Anthony Wilkin (first row, right); W.H.R. Rivers (second row, left); Charles S. Myers (third row, centre) (Murray Island, 1898), black and white photograph. Currently the first holder of the Laycock Studentship for Egyptology at Worcester College, Oxford, Randall-MacIver had started excavating for Petrie the previous winter.97 He can doubtless be identified as one of the ‘three Oxford men who had grants for making researches’, who are mentioned in Galton’s letter to his sisters.98 Two years’ later, Randall-MacIver would address an eight page letter to Galton, telling him that ‘people who are so kind as yourself expose

96

HP 12/1. Letter dated 26 July 1898. Randall-MacIver 1901: 49. 98 GALTON/1/4/12/1. Letter dated 14 January 1900. 97

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themselves’.99 Declaring himself a bad mathematician, he proceeded to ask Galton to advise on statistical analyses for what was to be a seminal anthropometric publication on ancient crania co-authored with the Oxford anatomist Arthur Thomson (1858–1935).100 This makes him the likely photographer of fig. 4, an image which memoralises the moment that visiting expert Myers examines these crania. Petrie had tasked his young assistants with the supervision of his El-Amrah excavations. It was here that Randall-MacIver, who is also remembered as an anthropologist, began testing the colour vision of fifty of his fellahin workers.101 This seamlessly links to Petrie’s reference to anthropometric measurements that were being carried out during December 1899.102 On returning to England, Randall-MacIver sent his test records to Rivers. This introduction must have been facilitated by Wilkin prior to Rivers’s arrival at Abydos in December 1900.103 With Petrie’s permission, Rivers invited his Cambridge friend (Sir) Grafton Elliot Smith (1871–1937), newly arrived to teach anatomy at the Cairo Medical School, to visit him at El-Amrah during the winter of 1900–1901, in order to study the preservation of the brain in the crania of Predynastic Egyptians.104 The two men had first met in 1896 at the physiological laboratory in Cambridge. Elliot Smith had newly arrived from his native Australia to undertake graduate work there; three years later, he was elected to a fellowship at St. John’s, which was also Rivers’s college. Elliot Smith had been resident in Cairo since October 1900 and, as a result of the El-Amrah visit, Rivers was unwittingly responsible for leading his young friend into his future anthropological studies in Egypt. As a renowned anatomist, anthropologist, and Egyptologist, Elliot Smith was destined to become one of the foremost authorities on the human brain.105 Moreover, his scientific disputes about Egyptian burial customs with Petrie, whom he may well have met on this visit, were legendary.106 We encounter Elliot Smith again in Part 4. Holmgren’s wools This device was invented by the Swedish physician and physiologist Frithiof Holmgren (1831–1897), following a fatal train crash at Lagerlunda in 1875. Holmgren claimed that this had been caused by an engine driver who was redgreen colour blind and misread the signals. Then, in 1876, a fatal train accident 99

GALTON/3/3/17/5. Letter dated 19 October 1902. Thomson and Randall-MacIver 1905. 101 Rivers 1901b: 229. 102 PMA. Letter dated 17 December 1899. 103 Rivers 1901b: 229. 104 Elliot Smith 1926: xiii–xiv. 105 Todd 1937. 106 Drower 1985: 345–347. 100

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occured at Arlesey Siding near Hitchin, with The Times similarly theorising that the driver had failed to distinguish between red and green signals.107 In a poem composed just two years later, Robert Browning (1812–1889) would capture what was the most common, and therefore most dangerous, form of colour blindness as ‘red as grass’ (epigraph). Given that the French still employed the derogatory term les viciés, ‘the polluted’, to denote the colour blind, Browning’s reference to ‘my neighbour’ is refreshing.108 Moreover, with his questioning ‘which employs the proper term?’, he acknowledges the condition as an embodied experience. As evidenced below, colour vision testing was destined to become a thorny political issue in Late Victorian and Edwardian Britain: working class railwaymen and sailors were prepared to challenge the results publically.109

Fig. 7: Holmgren’s Wools in original lidded carboard box with instructions (early Twentieth Century), wool and cardboard, 15.0 × 10.5 × 5.9 cm. As a highly portable and easy to use field kit, Holmgren’s wools was based on matching three test wools, coloured pale green, pale rose, and bright red (fig. 7). The additional wools piled inside the box comprise both match and confusion colours. In order to demonstrate that they were not colour blind, it was first necessary for subjects to correctly pick the same colour, rather than shade, of green.110 Those with a vision defect would instead select from the grey and brown confusion colours. The rose and red test wools were then used to identify the type 107

Anon. 1876. Holmgren 1877: 3. 109 Bailkin 2005: 95. 110 Keeler, Singh and Dua: 32. 108

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of colour blindness. In the version shown in fig. 7, the skeins carry numbered tags for ease of reference to the instructions on the lid. However, the first two digits are random with the intention of confusing the person being tested. Using Holmgren’s wools at Abydos As confirmed by Myers (see p. 377), Rivers employed Holmgren’s wools as his main testing method at Abydos. His numbering system was more sophisticated to that described above; not only did it allow for the recording of the skein finally matched with the test wool, but also for all those previously compared even if transiently.111 Rivers was also well aware that Holmgren’s wools was ultimately unreliable for ethnographic work, critiquing the test as ‘in the case of some races […] wholly insufficient as a means of diagnosing colour blindness’.112 Interestingly, there is no acknowledgement that this insufficiency potentially involved his own linguistic abilities. Instead, just as he had done with the Murray Islanders two years earlier, he simply added extra skeins of bright green, yellow, blue, and violet to the original three test wools. The fact that Randall-MacIver had already been using the same seven test skeins from Holmgren’s wools, confirms that Wilkin must have arranged the introduction to Rivers as early as 1899, prior to the commencement of that year’s excavation season.113 As in the Torres Straits, Rivers employed follow-up colour perception methods alongside Holmgren’s wools (fig. 8).114 Moreover, he combined such tests derived from the setting of a psychological laboratory with colour nomenclature in the field. This use of linguistics to tease out ‘peculiar defects’ of colour language rendered Rivers’s ethnographic studies more objective.115 While failing to acknowledge this directly, he must have been heavily reliant on Randall-MacIver and Wilkin for supplying him with the relevant Arabic names.116 Even more importantly, the question remains as to whether Rivers ever possessed sufficient Arabic to explain the experimental procedure clearly to his subjects. It may be possible to address this question by unpicking the sad case of Erfai, one of ten fellahin workmen whom Petrie had permitted Rivers to re-examine at El-Amrah, following their earlier testing by Randall-MacIver.117 All had displayed suspicious results. Upon being re-tested, Rivers summarily categorised Erfai as red-green colour blind. He further noted Erfai’s insensitivity to blue, since

111

Rivers 1901b: 229. Rivers 1901b: 237. 113 Rivers 1901b: 229. 114 Nagel’s test cards and Lovibond’s tintometer; both are beyond the concern of this contribution. 115 Rivers 1901b: 238. 116 Rivers 1901b: 230 has a vague mention of ‘in various ways’. 117 Rivers 1901b: 238. 112

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he had matched this colour with Holmgren’s pink and violet skeins.118 However, by associating pink and violet, Erfai had in fact shown that he possessed a clear colour concept. We can suspect miscommunication to have been at the root here, occasioned by a lack of Arabic on Rivers’s part. He had already noted such insensitivity to blue amongst the Murray Islanders, with whom he had communicated in pidgin English rather than in their local Meriam dialect.119

Fig. 8: W.H.R. Rivers and a Murray Islander with a colour wheel (1898), black and white photograph. In the fellahin, who frequently wore blue garments (fig. 5, above), Rivers interpreted it as due to sensory degeneration since the Ancient Egyptian language possessed a word for this colour.120 This stress on Egyptian inferiority was counter

118

Rivers 1901b: 238. With their extremely well-developed colour terminology, the Inuits proved the exception to the rule. Rivers 1901c. 120 Rivers 1901b: 244. 119

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to his idea of an evolution in human colour sense.121 As a result, George Stocking makes the interesting point that Rivers was ‘sometimes willing to ride roughshod over empirical difficulties that got in the way’, which in this case involved ‘calling upon subsidiary hypotheses even if they ran counter to the main line of his interpretation’.122 Notwithstanding, Rivers’ declaration of the modern Arabicspeaking Egyptians as a fallen version of their illustrious ancient ancestors, fitted perfectly well with the views expressed by a number of visitors, beginning with the Napoleonic savants.123 In 1904, Cromer would tell his successor that the Egyptians were not ‘nearly civilized enough to care about the preservation of their ancient monuments’.124 By inference, this was the role of Ancient Egypt’s worthy European successors.125 Between them Rivers and Randall-MacIver would end up testing eighty men and boys.126 Four of them, or five per cent, were revealed as definitely red-green colour blind.127 Displaying his evolutionary ideas about race, Rivers’ conclusion was that ‘savage and semi-civilised’ peoples, such as the Upper Egyptian fellahin, experienced colour in a more primitive manner than did the ‘civilised’ European.128 This meant that he was effectively arguing that ‘degrees of cultural sophistication […] correlated tightly with degrees of perceptual sophistication’.129 It is to Britain that we now turn, providing Rivers and Galton with a social network at the Royal Society that centred around their shared expertise. Galton’s wools Galton’s lifelong interest in colour vision was sparked by his father, who had published on the subject and possessed a collection of optical equipment.130 Commencing with his anthropometric laboratory at the International Health Exhibition, Galton designed his own gadgets to identify cases of colour blindness.One such device was a simple ‘apparatus for the appreciation of colour’, which was a variation of Holmgren’s pale green test.131 A variety of coloured 121

Rivers 1901d. Stocking 1995: 188. 123 Reid 2002: 33. For a summary of the narratives of reception of ancient cultures, see Moser 2015. 124 Welch 1988: 285. 125 González-Ruibal 2010: 40–41. 126 Rivers 1901b: 238–39. Twenty-two of these were tested by both Rivers and RandallMacIver. 127 Rivers 1901b: 239. As compared with the four per cent in most European populations at the time. The UK figure today is four and a half per cent of the entire population, http://www.colourblindawareness.org/colour-blindness/ (accessed 1 March 2023). 128 Rivers 1901b: 244. 129 Rossi 2019: 146. 130 Forrest 1974: 3. 131 Galton 1887: 7. I have been unable to trace a surviving example. 122

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wool samples were wound onto black wooden reels, and enclosed in a glass tube. The person tested was asked to insert pegs in the holes opposite the reels containing the four shades of green. The examiner then turned the tube by means of a handle, thereby exposing the letters attached to each reel. In normal colour vision, each peg would be found opposite one of the four greens. Reliant on selecting rather than matching wools and unable to test further colour weakness, Galton’s apparatus was of limited value. Indeed, its only advantage over Holmgren’s wools was that the examiner did not have to be present during the test, and could check the result later on.132 In 1880, the Opthalmological Society of London had carried out an investigation into colour blindness, which claimed that Eton schoolboys were the least affected by the condition, whereas Jews, Quakers, and deaf-mutes were ‘more defective as regards colour than the average’.133 Inspired by this study, Joseph Jacobs (1854–1916), a social scientist and early activist for Jewish rights, commenced a series of anthropometric experiments on London Jews.134 Seeking to replicate the testing equipment used by Galton, in his ‘classical experiments’ at the International Health Exhibition, Jacobs and his collaborator Isidore Spielman (1854–1925) adopted Galton’s wool test for identifying colour blindness.135 This was described as ‘an instrument exhibiting strips of wool, among which are four with a green shade, and the subject has to select these by placing pegs opposite to them’.136 With an over twelve per cent failure rate, the Jews showed ‘a remarkable inability to undergo this simple test’.137 Even allowing for misunderstandings, the authors asserted that this ‘would not reduce the percentage to anything under 10 per cent’ in what, in terms reminiscent of les viciés, they regarded as a ‘startling defect’.138 The lack of criticality directed towards the actual testing equipment, is perhaps explained by Jacobs’ indebtedness to Galton. Not only had the polymath tutored him in statistics and anthropology, but he had responded positively to Jacobs’ request by creating for him two composite photographs of a Jewish racial type.139 Notwithstanding its flaws, Galton’s wool test was marketed by the Cambridge Scientific Instrument Company in 1887 for the sum of two pounds and ten shillings (£350 at 2022 prices).140 The apparatus was housed in a wooden box, the 132

Forrest 1974: 297. Royal Society 1892a: 369. The 1880 findings are reproduced as Appendix I. Statistics of Colour-blindness. 134 Jacobs and Spielmann 1890: 84. 135 Jacobs and Spielmann 1890: 75. 136 Jacobs and Spielmann 1890: 83. 137 Jacobs and Spielmann 1890: 83. 138 Jacobs and Spielmann 1890: 84. 139 Jacobs 24 April 1885. 140 Galton 1887: 7. 133

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catalogue directing that this should be kept shut in order to prevent the colours from fading, while the test itself needed to be conducted in clear daylight.141 It is not surprising that Galton managed to get his problematic wool test marketed commercially: Horace Darwin (1851–1928), the founder of the Company, was a son of his first cousin Charles Darwin. Their shared pedigree would subsequently become useful, when Galton drew on data gleaned from the 454 Fellows of the Royal Society to argue for the eugenic inheritance of intellectual distinction.142 On the strength of Charles Darwin’s entry in the index, he was able to include his own name and list his Royal Society awards.143 It is to this illustrious institution and its Fellows that we now turn. Endorsing Holmgren’s wools at the Royal Society Founded in 1660 as a learned society, the Royal Society was ‘the prototype for all subsequent organisations of this kind’.144 Like his father and grandfather before him, Galton had become a Fellow of what was a ‘small, elite membership’.145 Moreover, thanks to his African explorations, he had achieved his fellowship in 1856 at the young age of thirty-four.146 For him, it represented a ‘“pass examination”’ into the scientific establishment.147 In 1902, Galton was able to arrange that the name of Flinders Petrie went forward unoppposed for election as a Fellow, despite suggestions of a rival candidate.148 This was because, at the age of eighty, he was still an active member of the elected council that ran the Society. In 1890, as a result of having experimented with inventions such as his wool test, Galton advocated for earlier colour vision testing in order to prevent young males from entering a profession from which they might be disqualified.149 That same year saw his appointment to the Royal Society’s Committee on ColourVision, which set out to ‘collect and evaluate expert testimony’ on what was now a matter of national interest.150 Included among its eleven members was Sir 141

Galton 1887: 7. Galton 1904. 143 Galton 1904: 92. 144 Hewitt, Dingwall and Turkmendag 2017: 775. 145 Fyfe 2015: 283. 146 Kuklick 1991: 65. Such election normally happened in early middle age. Haddon would similarly receive his fellowship as a result of the Torres Straits Expedition. 147 Galton 1874: 4. In 1886, Galton was to be the recipient of the Society’s Royal Medal. In 1902, he was awarded the Darwin Medal, and then in 1910, just a few months before his death, its oldest and most prestigious Copley Medal. The first two are referenced in Galton 1904: 95. For all three medals, see Royal Society https://royalsociety.org/grantsschemes-awards/awards/ (accessed 1 March 2023). 148 Drower 1985: 341. Sir John Evans had preferred Petrie’s professional-life rival: the British Museum Egyptologist E.A. Wallis Budge. 149 Galton 1890: 7. 150 Kuklick 1991: 16. 142

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William Abney, a Fellow since 1876, who acted as its Secretary (see p. 383).151 Their resultant publication, simultaneously published as a Parliamentary Report, contained twelve recommendations.152 The Committee pressed the Board of Trade to carry out mandatory testing of employees, whose roles required accurate colour discrimination. An extensive appendix was devoted to ‘Holmgren’s Method’.153 Having taken evidence from over 500 interested persons, the Committee had concluded that ‘the simplest efficient test is the wool-test of Holmgren’.154 That it did not require knowledge of colour names was an important consideration. The elitist Committee had introduced a category of ‘colour-ignorance’, to denote those who had ‘a defective knowledge of the names of colours’ due to their supposed ‘defective education’.155 Seventeen years later, Winston Churchill as President of the Board of Trade would uphold the efficiency of Holmgren’s wools in having been adopted ‘on the advice of a Committee of the Royal Society, which comprised both eminent physiologists and physicists’.156 Churchill clearly regarded them as an ‘intellectual aristocracy’.157 Francis Galton was one of their number, responsible for recommending what became the standardised method for testing colour blindness in Britain. Grand finale Having been elected a Fellow of the Royal Society in 1908, William Rivers joined the ranks of this intellectual aristocracy. A year later, the Society would make full use of their new member as its key witness at the climax to a celebrated colour vision dispute. John Trattles, a Merchant Navy seaman, had originally failed the colour vision test for his second mate’s certificate in 1905; he had repeatedly appealed against the verdict of the Board of Trade.158 Rivers’s brief in May 1909 was to observe the retesting of Trattles with Holmgren’s wools, an examination being overseen by Abney as the Royal Society’s expert examiner. In his subsequent report to the Society, Rivers testified against Trattles pronouncing his colour vision ‘a definite source of danger at sea’.159 He was particularly scathing of the seaman’s performance in Holmgren’s wools, stating that ‘he gave a good example of responding to this test followed by those 151

Nine of the eleven members had fellowships. Royal Society 1892a: 281–282; 1892b. All subsequent citations are from 1892a. 153 Royal Society 1892a: 375–391, Appendix III. Holmgren’s Method of Testing for Colour. 154 Royal Society 1892a: 298. 155 Royal Society 1892a: 296, 301. 156 Churchill 12 July 1909: 1818. 157 Annan 1995. 158 For a contemporary account, see Anon. 1910b. 159 Hamilton 30 June 1909: 119. 152

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who have been especially coached to pass it’.160 This seems odd. One reason why the Committee on Colour-Vision had originally recommended Holmgren’s wools was precisely because it was not easy to be coached.161 By the end of June, the case had escalated to the House of Lords, where Lord Muskerry referenced a report from another expert witness.162 Dr. William Ettles, from the Royal South London Ophthalmic Hospital, had previously assessed Trattles’ colour vision as competent. He was now convinced that the agenda had been ‘to prove the infallibility of the Board of Trade’, rather than to support Trattles who was ‘in a pitable state of nervousness’.163 In what is a reminder of the inherrent flaw in Galton’s wool test, Ettles alleged that Trattles had not been asked ‘to match the [light green] wool, the only correct test with wools, but to pick out all the greens’.164 Like many of those Jewish subjects tested by Jacobs with Galton’s apparatus, Trattles would doubtless have declared that ‘he could not see any difference between brick-red and pea green’.165 Moreover, for the second test, Abney had used a deeper shade of rose than that recommended by Holmgren.166 The third test had comprised a violet skein, whereas ‘the wool of Holmgren is a bright red’.167 Abney’s procedure with Trattles in London can be compared with that adopted by Rivers in the case of Erfai at Abydos. This fellah had matched Holmgren's green test with brownish and pinkish wools, the rose with violets and blues, and the red with browns and greens.168 Rivers then pronounced him ‘certainly colour blind’ of the red-green type.169 However, Erfai’s groupings make perfect sense when one considers the colours he was surrounded by in his desert environment. This raises the distinct possibility that Rivers, his fellow examiners, and their examinees, in both the Torres Straits and in Egypt, had been talking at cross purposes, and that the so-called ‘experts’ had not been listening to the other party. The conclusion is that Rivers was perfectly well aware of the requirement to match rather than select Holmgren’s wools, and of the correct test colours. Further, as noted above when discussing the fellahin insensitivity to blue, he was a scientist who might on occasions be prepared to override any inconsistencies in what he had observed. It seems that this might have applied to Trattles’ badly administered, problematic test. A return to Abydos has reinforced the inadequacy 160

Hamilton 30 June 1909: 119. Royal Society 1892a: 298. 162 Muskerry 30 June 1909. 163 Muskerry 30 June 1909: 115. 164 Muskerry 30 June 1909: 114–15. 165 Jacobs and Spielman, 1890: 84. 166 Muskerry 30 June 1909: 115. 167 Muskerry 30 June 1909: 115. 168 Rivers 1901b: 238. 169 Rivers 1901b: 238. 161

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of using Holmgren’s wools as a decisive probe in any cultural setting. By July, the Trattles case had also reached the House of Commons. In a clear reference to Rivers, Churchill stated that the Board of Trade had ‘the advantage of the services of two acknowledged authorities on colour vision – both Fellows of the Royal Society, who hold the degree of Doctor of Science’.170 Rivers once again represented the Royal Society at a special enquiry of the Board of Trade that December. As reported in The Times, he confirmed Abney’s evidence that Trattles ‘would never see red as red; he would see “signal red” as green’.171 However, the decision was that Trattles undertake an alternative practical test.172 Carried out on the Thames later that month, his colour vision was assessed as so accurate that he had been able to identify the planet Mars as ‘a reddish hue’.173 Trattles’s certificates were upheld; the Board of Trade had to pay his costs. A contemporary editorial in the British Medical Journal scathingly referred to the ‘amateur advice’ on colour blindness tendered by the Royal Society, and that ‘no examiner could be proved more incompetent than Sir William Abney’.174 This is a far cry from an institution that had reported the first documented case of colour blindness in 1777, and Churchill’s belief that its Fellows comprised an intellectual aristocracy.175 Conclusion Ultimately, it had been the privileged that pronounced the less privileged Trattles perfectly capable of doing his job. Whilst there must have been members of the elite – or indeed of any social group – who did not adhere to rigid narratives of superiority, there were many that did. Rivers was clearly one of them. The microhistory of Holmgren’s wools at Abydos and in London, reveals his unquestioning alignment with an influential narrative in the British establishment. Rivers promoted the argument of Egyptian inferiority by looking back at Egypt’s history when seeking to explain the fellahin’s insensibility to the colour blue.176 Then, by turning a blind eye to correct testing procedures, he later upheld the verdict of the Royal Society and its Fellows. Despite Churchill’s endorsement, Trattles versus the Board of Trade would sound ‘the death-knell of the inefficient wool test, and its application by incompetent examiners!’177 The death of Holmgren’s wools resulted in the abandonment of the even more problematic Galton’s wools, with its supposed revelations of 170

Churchill 12 July 1909: 1818. Anon. 1909a. 172 Anon. 1909b. 173 Anon. 1910a. 174 Anon. 1910b. 175 Bailkin 2005: 94. 176 Dighton 2000: 6. 177 Anon. 22 January 1910: 223. 171

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Jewish inferiority in relation to colour vision. Tracking their object histories has allowed the minor animate actors to voice their own stories in relation to the macro scale of research paradigms, cultural (mis)communications, and social policies. Victims of epistemic injustice, Trattles and Erfai had been given little choice but to undergo repeated testing with Holmgren’s wools.178 Yet the biography of exonerated merchant seaman John Trattles speaks of the dogged persistence of the working class man in Edwardian Britain. Tested six times, he had passed and failed in equal measure. That of Egyptian workman Erfai reveals his agency in offering his classification and his clear colour concept. It simultaneously unmasks Rivers’s serious cultural misunderstandings. Part 4: Measuring Egyptian soldiers’ heads With weeping and with laughter Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old. Macaulay, Lay of Horatius179 Located amongst the Pearson Papers is a letter written in August 1901 by Charles Myers. He informs Karl Pearson that he is in possession of ‘one of your headspanners’.180 In another letter, dated the same year and residing amongst the Galton Papers, Myers relates that he is about to ‘measure this winter the privates of the Egyptian Army’, with a view to ascertaining the racial identity of these fellahin conscripts.181 This section once again combines microhistory and global history by taking the head-spanner as a principal inanimate actor.182 The letters become secondary players. It uses their stories to deconstruct Myers’s relationships with his animate social network – in particular Pearson and Galton – as set against the academic stage in Britain and the imperial stage in Egypt. In order to set the scene, we first introduce the protagonists encountered by Myers in Egypt. The human actors It was while convalescing in Egypt during the spring of 1900, that the twentyseven year old Myers encountered Francis Galton and Eva Biggs. They took tea together at Helwan, during which he showed Galton a rough draft of his

178

Fricker 2007. Macaulay 1842: 76. 180 PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 8 August 1901. 181 GALTON/3/3/13/46. Letter dated 30 August 1901. 182 Ghobrial 2019. 179

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‘experimental psychological work’ on the Murray Islanders.183 It must have been a memorable introduction into a wider scientfic environment for this young Jewish man, whose focus during Haddon’s 1898 Torres Straits Expedition had been on hearing experiments conducted with the aid of a Galton whistle.184 Haddon had described his erstwhile student as ‘slow but very careful and accurate and is getting quite keen and will turn out good work’.185 Myers’s teacher William Rivers, together with Anthony Wilkin, were fellow expedition members (fig. 6). By late 1900, Rivers was conducting his colour blindness experiments at ElAmrah, while Wilkin was excavating there with Randall-MacIver (Part 3). Myers paid them a five hour visit (Part 2). Judging by his enthusiastic letter to Haddon and the photographic evidence, which shows him surrounded by ancient crania, it was this brief reunion with his inner circle that inspired Myers to become a central actor in a research network, and to carry out his own anthropometrics in Egypt (fig. 4). 186 Randall-MacIver, identified as the likely photographer, would assist Myers in taking measurements from sixteen Coptic Christians at a monastery near Abydos, while he and Wilkin measured fifteen fellahin of the Qena province.187 Following Wilkin’s untimely death, Randall-MacIver presented Myers with their portraitnegatives of the Qena conscripts. But it was to Sir Reginald Wingate (1861–1953), Sirdar of the Egyptian Army and Governor-General of the Sudan, that Myers was indebted for access to an unlimited ‘supply of subjects’.188 As a result of his popular Mahdiism and the Egyptian Sudan, Wingate had gained a reputation in Late Victorian Britain for his understanding of the Egyptian and Sudanese character; it was one that promoted the Orientalist view of native inferiority.189 He and his British officers regarded Egyptian soldiers as the ‘feminised’ military inferiors of their ‘manly’ Sudanese counterparts.190 This, in turn, led to a British-Sudanese bonding, resulting in the marginalisation of the Egyptian troops.191 As evidenced below, Myers would be provided with an additional supply chain by Elliot Smith. Their introduction was doubtless facilitated by Rivers, who had visited his friend in Cairo in 1901 (see p. 389). Elliot Smith had been appointed Professor of Anatomy at the Cairo School of Medicine the previous year, and 183

GALTON/3/3/13/46. Letter dated 30 August 1901. Myers 1902: 425 for his use of the whistle on ‘young adults’ in Egypt. Janssen 2020. 185 HP 12/1. Letter dated 26 July 1898. 186 HP 1048. Letter dated 10 January 1901. 187 Myers 1903a: 83. 188 Myers 1906: 237. 189 Wingate 1891. 190 Dighton 2000: 10. Unlike the Egyptian conscripts, the Sudanese soldiers had enlisted for life. 191 Dighton 2000: 10. Half of the Egyptian battalions lacked a British officer. 184

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would later became Professor of Anatomy at UCL from 1919–1937. Like Rivers and Elliot Smith before him, Myers was destined to become a Fellow of the Royal Society (Part 3).192 It was to all this ‘material’ that Myers turned his attention, Pearson’s headspanner in his hand. The tool itself had recently been no stranger to forceable use on other subjects, who had little choice but to accept its treatment. Using the head-spanner in British Schools The instrument that Myers had managed to obtain was a version of Galton 035, a simple wooden contraption used to measure the maximum length, maximum breadth, and auricular height of the head (fig. 9a). Opening its sturdy wooden case, reveals a page of printed instructions pasted onto the inside of the lid (fig. 9c). These detail the correct ‘Method of Using the Head Spanner’. A prominent black ink inscription on each component denotes the kit as: ‘The Property of the Galton Laboratory. University College’. Of similar design is Galton 159, which lacks its original box and the ink labelling (fig. 9b). As evidenced by Pearson’s 1903 Huxley Lecture, these objects comprise two of what were once a series of such head-spanners.193 The statistician had designed the prototype back in 1896 with the assistance of Horace Darwin at the Cambridge Scientific Instrument Company (see p. 394–395). Darwin had previously collaborated with Galton in the design of a horizontal head-spanner.194 Even earlier, Petrie had suggested his own head-spanner design to Galton, stating that ‘the size of the head and the shape of it would be most important data, and could be most readily taken, at least from men’.195 Pearson’s head-spanner had ‘the great advantage that, made in numbers it costs comparatively little and could be distributed widely among teachers’.196 Based at two hundred schools across the United Kingdom, they had volunteered to assist Pearson with his investigation into the inheritance of mental and moral character traits in pairs of siblings between the ages of ten and fourteen. Pearson issued the teachers with firm directives: ‘the spanners need to be carefully handled. Should any part be broken or lost the box with the spanner should be returned at once, in order that it may be repaired without delay and again sent out for use’.197

192

Shephard 2015: 153. In 1915, for his work on ethnic music. Pearson 1903. Republished as Pearson 1904. 194 Galton 1887: 3–4. 195 GALTON/3/3/16/20. Letter dated 12 February 1885. 196 Pearson 1903: 182. Each head-spanner retailed at nineteen shillings and six pence, as compared to the three pounds of Galton’s head-spanner. 197 Pearson 1903: 209. 193

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Fig. 9b

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Fig. 9c Fig. 9: (a and b) Karl Pearson’s head-spanners (1896), wood and brass, 29.3 × 24.5 cm.; (c) box with instructions for using the head-spanner (1896), wood, 36.5 × 28.5 × 4.0 cm. Accompanying the head-spanners were six thousand testing schedules. Included was a handwriting test. Pearson requested that ‘if possible’ teachers should ask the siblings to transcribe the final lines of Macaulay’s Lay of Horatius onto the back of their data sheets (epigraph).198 This seventy stanza ballad, first published in 1842, enjoyed ‘enduring popularity in the late nineteenth century, particularly among schoolboys’.199 The Roman hero Horatius Cocles had courageously and single-handedly held the bridge over the Tiber against the invading Etruscan army in the late sixth century BCE. The choice of Macaulay is symptomatic. The historian was setting up ‘the British male and the British Empire’ as direct ‘heirs to Roman heroes like Horatius and to the Roman Empire’.200 For the British officer in Egypt this translated into a duty to attempt a moral, as well as a military, reformation of the Egyptian Army, and to thereby ‘improve’ its fellahin conscripts.201 In a similar manner, Pearson 198

Pearson 1903: 209. Eastlake 2019: 226. 200 Eastlake 2019: 8. 201 Dighton 2000: 17. 199

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would have regarded moral bravery as a British national trait, and the product of race.202 He would therefore have sought this attribute in his schoolchild cohort. At a deeper level, his focus on the last few lines of the text shows the weight he placed on the mythic status of Horatius. The hero’s mental agility ‘in the brave days of old’ was the antithesis of the conclusions from his own study where ‘the mentally better stock in the nation is not reproducing itself at the same rate as it did of old’.203 Pearson’s eugenic remedy was ‘to alter the relative fertility of the good and the bad stocks in the community’.204 This would ensure that the British imperial race was replenished from the intellectual middle class, to which he as a man who had fathered three thriving children firmly belonged (fig. 10). Using the head-spanner in Egypt Pearson’s head-spanners gleaned data from 1000 British families over a five year period. By contrast, Myers used his solitary example to single-handedly measure 1006 Egyptian conscripts in an ambitious programme lasting just four months.205 He told Pearson that he had asked Horace Darwin to fix ‘a graduated circle with swinging index’ to his head-spanner, thereby permitting the rapid estimation of three additional facial angles ‘after determining the lengths of the radii by your spanner’.206 He was also including bespoke sliding metal calipers in his anthropometric kit.207 Pearson would acknowledge that his ‘special head-spanner’ had ‘not the exactness, of course, of the metal calipers of the craniologists’.208 However, he had assured the teachers that, provided it was ‘carefully handled’ (see above), the device would provide ‘a quite adequate means’ of obtaining the requisite ‘living head’ measurements of their charges.209 These measuring tools were employed by Myers once each soldier had been subjected to having his face marked out in blue pencil.210 Their accuracy depended on force; coming as close to the bone as possible, they inevitably caused pain.211 Both Pearson and Myers recorded eye colour and the colour and texture of hair, while the latter additionally assessed skin colour (Part 2). Myers reports that Wingate had ‘kindly placed at my disposal as many Egyptian and Sudanese troops as I could examine during my visit’.212 The

202

Dighton 2000: 7. Pearson 1903: 206. 204 Pearson 1903: 207. 205 Myers 1903a: 82. 206 PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 8 August 1901. 207 Gray 1903. Myers 1903b. 208 Pearson 1903: 182. 209 Pearson 1903: 182. 210 Myers 1908: 104. 211 Zimmerman 2001:164. 212 Myers 1903a: 82. 203

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Egyptians, as Cromer reports, had been ‘taken straight from the plough’.213 Moreover, Petrie details how: A lot of my men are all called off to go home for the register for future recruits; from boyhood, about ten years old, every boy and lad is periodically inspected, and a register of all sound ones kept, from which recruits are to be drawn in future.214 Aged between eighteen and twenty-five, they were quartered at Abbasia, then a suburb of Cairo. Myers later travelled to the Sudan, where he spent six weeks measuring one hundred and eighty-nine Sudanese soldiers based at Khartoum and Omdurman.215 In total, 17,000 separate measurements were taken, together with some two hundred full-face and profile photographs. Anthropometric data at this period was mostly taken from soldiers who were subservient to a colonial administration.216 Nonetheless, Myers was aware of the debt he owed to Wingate. He told Pearson that ‘the only other way of getting material is to measure the natives digging at an exploration-site or to accompany the recruiting-commission when it goes to various villages along the Nile-valley’.217 His statement provides an emphatic link between colonial administration and a research opportunity, raising the interesting question as to whether Myers was an imperialist, or rather an opportunist.218 The answer may lie in his announcement that he was not only measuring living soldiers.219 Myers’s November 1901 letter to Pearson delivers this soliloquy: Elliot Smith, Professor of Anatomy in the Medical School at Cairo, is also interesting himself in the matter. I go down three times weekly to his dissecting room and make measurements (including such as you […] require) on unclaimed bodies of hospital patients. By measuring these the same lengths as I have chosen to take on the living, and by repeating the measurements on the dried skeletons prepared from these corpses, I hope to obtain 80 results which will enable me to compare with the ancient Egyptian bones, the proportion of links among the present population. […] My dissecting-room work is especially promising as at present the Professor is engaged in macerating a number of bodies in order to prepare skeletons therefrom.220

213

Cromer 1908: 474. Petrie Journal 1890 to 1891 (Maidum), 14 February 1891. 215 Myers 1903a: 82. 216 Zimmerman 2001: 164. 217 PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 8 August 1901. 218 Compare Ellis 2017. 219 PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 22 November 1901. 220 PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 22 November 1901. 214

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At this period, colonial prison hospitals were also popular also with German anthropologists, since the dimensions taken from dried skeletons provided more accurate racial data than that obtained from the living.221 It is likely that the unclaimed bodies were those of convicts. That Pearson was the addressee opens up another set of links in relation to the network centred round Biometrika and Myers’ academic standing. To that we now turn. Correspondence about Biometrika Before undertaking his project in 1901, Myers had told Pearson: ‘I shall not forget your offer to publish my work, if it prove interesting enough. I hope that your new journal may meet with deserving success’.222 By the following year, Myers was hoping ‘some day for a short chat with you on the most satisfactory way of putting my material into shape – ? for the Biometrika’.223 Yet, by 1903, he had started to publish a series of four articles in its long-standing competitor: the Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland.224 Established in 1872, the JRAI was the prestigious mouthpiece of the Institute where Myers would later deposit his substantial field notes.225 In this section the letters speak of a scientific fallout centred on Pearson’s Biometrika, the official mouthpiece of UCL’s Galton Laboratory. One of Myers’s core aims was to investigate the racial differences between the ancient and modern Egyptians. In November 1901, he had written to Pearson from Cairo concerning ‘unpublished measurements by a Miss Fawcett on the Naqada crania’, requesting ‘a copy of Miss Fawcett’s paper if you are arranging for its publication in the near future’.226 Cecily Fawcett and Alice Lee, two of Pearson’s laboratory assistants, were to publish their Biometrika paper the following August (fig. 10).227 A seminal article for securing the importance of skulls in biometric studies, it was based on an examination of over four hundred skeletons from Naqada.228 Collected by Petrie at Pearson’s specific request, they had been transported back to his UCL laboratory. Further comparative evidence comprised RandallMacIver’s field measurements of a hundred Early Dynastic skulls from Abydos, some later Theban mummies, and eighty modern skulls from a cemetery near 221

Zimmerman 2001: 164. PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 8 August 1901. 223 PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 14 March 1902. 224 Dated 1903; 1905; 1906; 1908. 225 Housed in the Royal Anthropological Institute are Myers’s index cards, numbered 1– 1005, and sixteen handwritten tables (MS 100). For the website, see Royal Anthropological Institute 1 March 2023. 226 PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 22 November 1901. 227 Fawcett and Lee 1902: 432. 228 Challis 2016. 222

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Cairo. The resultant statistical comparison argued for a progressive intraracial evolution of the Egyptians.229 This aligns with the opening editorial of Biometrika, and its stress on Natural Selection and the role of the evolutionist.230

Fig. 10: Karl Pearson, his wife Maria Sharpe Pearson (seated directly in front), and two of his children host a Biometrika tea party at their home, with Alice Lee (seated third from left) (Christchurch Cottage, Hampstead 1900), black and white photograph. This article was critical in providing Myers with the ancient raw data that he had hitherto lacked. Set against Fawcett and Lee’s eighty modern Cairene skulls, he cites in his own paper fifty-nine measurements made by others of modern Cairene skulls currently in the Leipzig and Munich collections.231 He remains conspicuously silent about his own anthropometric data taken from the eighty abandoned hospital corpses. The end result was that, when comparing Fawcett and Lee’s statistical data with that derived from his conscripts, who hailed from the same region as the Naqadans, Myers instead concluded that his ‘more trustworthy’ material showed 229

Fawcett and Lee 1902: 432–433. Weldon, Pearson and Davenport 1901: 1 and 3. 231 Myers 1905: 81. 230

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that ‘there is no essential difference between the head dimensions of the “prehistoric” and those of the modern population of this region of Upper Egypt’.232 Significantly, he later noted that ‘prior to the present investigation, my opinion had been diametrically opposite’.233 In other words, as opposed to an evolutionary view of the Egyptian population, Myers argued that his material demonstrated its homogenity over the ages. This thesis of the Egyptians as a homogeneous people not only critiqued the painstaking statistical analysis of Fawcett and Lee, but, by inference, the supervisory role of Pearson as the controller of his female ‘computers’.234 It was not that Myers’ work did not ‘prove interesting enough’; rather it proved too adversarial.235 And disagreeing with a paper in Biometrika meant disagreeing with Pearson, because, as John Aldrich makes clear in its centenary edition, ‘the journal could not be separated from the man’.236 That this was the case is evidenced by Myers’s final letter to Galton in 1903.237 In terms suggestive of an existing debate, he complains about Pearson’s ‘sheer abuse of statistical method’ in relation to skull-measurements.238 Even though Pearson had promised to publish his response, Myers fears this was an ‘argumentum ad hominum’ and would ‘tell, I fear, against me’.239 This last letter to Galton becomes a key actor. It reveals why Myers needed his UCL network. He regrets that he has no-one in Cambridge to advise him; his own University currently possesses no lectureship in statistics.240 Conclusion A prominent actor, the head-spanner’s microhistory in Egypt was responsible for bringing its owner into direct conflict with its inventor in the British academic network. It also impacted global history, with measurements attesting that ‘the homogenity of the Egyptians […] is the same to-day as it was seven thousand years ago’.241 This had a potentially multiple impact. Firstly, there was the occasional tendency to equate the cultural characteristics of ancient and modern

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Myers 1905: 80 and 83. Myers 1908: 103. 234 Magello 1999: 89. 235 PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letter dated 8 August 1901. 236 Aldrich 2013: 3. 237 GALTON/3/3/13/46. Letter dated 29 July 1903. 238 Myers 1908: 100 further derides Petrie for the statistical curves on which he had based his racial analyses, calling these ‘sheer accidents’ as a result of his ‘examination of an insufficient number of measurements’. See Petrie 1906. 239 GALTON/3/3/13/46. Letter dated 29 July 1903. 240 GALTON/3/3/13/46. Letter dated 29 July 1903. A Cambridge man, he returned there in 1902 to assist Rivers with his teaching. 241 Myers 1905: 84. 233

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Egyptians.242 Secondly, at a more significant level, it promoted the argument of Egyptian inferiority or immaturity. On occasion the two arguments were merged. Wingate as Sirdar had sought to explain the military inferiority of the fellahin by looking back at Egyptian history.243 The timing of what Eve Troutt-Powell terms Myers’s ‘theory of racial distinctiveness’ was politically strategic.244 Occuring immediately after the Anglo-Egyptian conquest of the Sudan in 1899, it had the effect of further separating the Egyptians from the Sudanese.245 As GovernorGeneral of the Sudan, Wingate was eager to see that power there long remained in British, rather than in Egyptian hands.246 An academic argument within a scholarly network in London and Cambridge involved animate and inanimate actors, and impacted on willing and unwilling actors across several countries. This was ultimately reflected in a political argument from a respected colonial administrator. But the hierarchies applied in the British as well as in the colonial context. The child siblings, fellahin conscripts, and abandoned corpses were equally voiceless. All were ordered to undergo head measurements regardless of their consent.247 Part 5: Final thoughts Your soul is full of cities with dead names, And blind-faced, earth-bound gods of bronze and stone. Sassoon, To a Very Wise Man248 This chapter has unpacked the complex history of knowledge making, embedded in social structures where power is distributed unevenly. The answer to its initial question is that the contribution of UCL to social networks carrying out anthropometry in both Egypt and in Britain, c. 1900 was a significant one. With its eugenicists Galton, Pearson, and Petrie heavily involved in Egyptian anthropometry, UCL became a significant power broker in terms of interdisciplinary research networks in both countries.

242

For example, there were tendencies to explain the institution of the ‘harem’ (actually royal household) in ancient Egypt with some recourse to Ottoman parallels, although the equation was debated. 243 Dighton 2000: 6. 244 Troutt Powell 2000: 175. 245 Troutt Powell 2000: 175. 246 Compare Cromer 1908: 567 for his ‘that period is far distant’ statement (in relation to the Egyptians governing themselves). 247 While acknowledging that issues of consent may have been perceived differently in British and Ottoman contexts, the parallel is of hierarchical structures replicated across several regimes of control. 248 Sassoon 1920: 15.

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The contribution has not only introduced these European researchers and the Egyptian workmen, unequal in their historical relationship, although equal as historical actors, but also their testing devices – the wools and the head-spanner – used for the anthropometry of both the ancient and modern population of Egypt. It has further given material culture a leading role by engaging with a diverse range of memoriālia: a map, a chart, and a painting, together with a series of letters and photographs. Applying postcolonial theory and adopting a life writing approach in relation to their contentious object biographies has afforded a voice to those ordinary people targeted by anthropometric experiments and eugenic policies. Both Egyptian and British actors have been included: originally from different communities, but related in the same historical network. In the first case study, Erfai, as a representative of the collective fellahin, and John Trattles, as spokesman for merchant seamen and railwaymen, actively used their hands to match coloured wools. In the second, Egyptian army conscripts, deceased convicts, and British schoolchildren – all of them nameless individuals – became passive recipients of a head-spanner painfully locked around their skulls. The two case studies have revealed that, as anthropometricians, Rivers and Myers actively sought Galton’s advice as anthropometry’s éminence grise. Myers discovered Pearson to be an intractable gatekeeper in terms of access to publication in his UCL based Biometrika. Indicative of the wider role of Egyptian archaeology and its interdisciplinary links with anthropology, both men were entirely dependent on Petrie, the vigilant sentinel to the controlled Third Space of his Abydos excavations. Fascinating anthropological data was gathered at the site. But the anthropometry team failed to seize the opportunity to enter into a more complex cultural communication with the Egyptian workforce. The epigraph from Siegfried Sassoon’s (1886–1967) dedicatory To a Very Wise Man, shows the poet intrigued by his psychiatrist Rivers as an erstwhile anthropologist. By contrast, we have argued that, capable of serious cultural misunderstandings and errors of judgement when conducting out his colour blindness experiments on Petrie’s workforce, Rivers had acted very unwisely. ANT has proved an appropriate main method for approaching these animate and inanimate ‘actors at Abydos’. It has deconstructed the complex interactions between people, institutions, places and objects. Taking in site excavation, Egyptian workers, and fellahin conscripts has contributed to a wider debate concerning British Imperialism in Egypt. Critiquing the scientific status afforded by fellowship of the Royal Society, has necessitated a corresponding foray into home legislation. This engagement with anthropometrics, health and safety, and politics has dissolved the micro and the macro to achieve Latour’s ‘global entity’.249. The end result is that by positioning the field of anthropometrics within that of its socio249

Latour 1996: 372.

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political context, ANT’s networks have been flattened into meshworks: a ‘tangle of threads and pathways’, all interconnected in a fascinating way.250 The interdisciplinary approach offered by history, literature, and material culture studies has resulted in a novel contribution to contemporary debates within the field of ‘Oriental studies’. As a result, Galton’s memoirs are no longer privileged, but have become equal to Holmgren’s skeins of wool. Archival sources Galton Papers, UCL GALTON/3/3/16/20. Letter dated 12 February 1885. GALTON/1/4/12/1. Letter dated 14 January 1900. GALTON/3/3/17/5. Letter dated 19 October 1902. GALTON/3/3/13/46. Letters dated 30 August 1901; 29 July 1903. Haddon Papers, Cambridge University Library HP 1048. Letter dated 10 January 1901. HP 12/1. Letter dated 26 July 1898. Pearson Papers, UCL PEARSON/11/1/13/117. Letters dated 8 August 1901; 22 November 1901; 14 March 1902. Petrie Journals, Griffith Institute Archive, University of Oxford Petrie Journal 1883 to 1884 (Tanis). Petrie Journal 1890 to 1991 (Maidum). Petrie Museum Archives, UCL PMA. Letters dated 9 December 1899. PMA. Letter dated 17 December 1899. PMA. Letter dated 23 December 1899. Bibliography Printed Primary Sources Anon. 1876. ‘Railway Accident’. The Times, 25 December 1876: 4. Anon. 1909a. ‘Colour Vision at Sea’. The Times, 3 December 1909: 12. Anon. 1909b. ‘Colour Vision at Sea. The Case of Mr. John Trattles’. The Times, 9 December 1909: 12. Anon. 1910a. ‘Colour Vision Test’. Evening Express, 5 January 1910: 3. Anon. 1910b. ‘The Case of Mr. Trattles’. British Medical Journal 1.2560: 222– 223. Browning, R. 1878. La Saisiaz: The Two Poets of Croisic. London: Smith, Elder. Chesterton, G.K. 1922. Eugenics and Other Evils. London: Cassell, Churchill, W. 12 July 1909. ‘Colour Blindness. (Board of Trade Test)’. House of Commons. Hansard 7: 1817–818, https://hansard.parliament.uk/commons/ 1909-07-12/debates/c971e44e-8185-46af-9b83-41ad99ef9c38/ColourBlind 250

Ingold 2008: 212.

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ness(BoardOfTradeTest) [accessed 1 March 2023]. Cromer, Earl of. 1908. Modern Egypt. London: Macmillan. Elliot Smith, G. 1926. ‘Introduction. Dr. Rivers and the New Vision in Ethnology’. In W.H.R. Rivers, Psychology and Ethnology. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, xi–xxviii. Fawcett, C.D. and Lee, A. August 1902. ‘A Second Study of the Variation and Correlation of the Human Skull, with Special Reference to the Naqada Crania’. Biometrika 1: 408–467. Galton, F. 1873. ‘Africa for the Chinese’. The Times, 5 June 1873: 8. — 1874. English Men of Science: Their Nature and Nurture. London: Macmillan. — 1883. Inquiries into Human Faculty and its Development. London: Macmillan. — 1887. A Descriptive List of Anthropometric Apparatus: Consisting of Instruments for Measuring and Testing the Chief Physical Apparatus of the Human Body: Designed Under the Direction of Francis Galton, and Manufactured and Sold by the Cambridge Scientific Instrument Company. Cambridge: Cambridge Scientific Instrument Co. — 1890. Anthropometric Laboratory: Notes and Memoirs. London: Richard Clay and Sons. — 1904. ‘A Eugenic Investigation: Index to Achievements of Near Kinsfolk of Some of the Fellows of the Royal Society’. Sociological Papers 1: 85–99. — 1908. Memories of My Life. London: Methuen. Gray, J. 1901.‘Cephalometric Instruments and Cephalograms’. Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 31: 111–115. Hamilton, Lord of Dalzell. 30 June 1909. ‘Mercantile Marine – Eye Sight Tests’. House of Lords. Hansard 2: 117–121, https://hansard.parliament.uk/lords/ 1909-06-30/debates/ef2d603c-3c3b-4bd7-82f2-e5b4c85d6c3b/MercantileMa rine%E2%80%94Eye-SightTests [accessed 1 March 2023]. Holmgren, F. 1877. De la cécité des couleurs dans ses rapports avec les chemins de fer et la marine. Stockholm: Imprimerie Centrale. Jacobs, J. 24 April 1885. ‘The Jewish Type, and Galton’s Composite Photographs’. The Photographic News 29.1390: 268–269. Jacobs, J. and I. Spielmann 1890. ‘On the Comparative Anthropometry of English Jews’. Journal of the Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland 19: 75–88. Kipling, R. 1899. ‘The White Man’s Burden. An Address to the United States’. The Times, 4 February 1899: 14. Macaulay, T.B. 1842. Lays of Ancient Rome. London: Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans. Muskerry, Lord. 30 June 1909. ‘Mercantile Marine ⸻ Eye Sight Tests’. House of Lords. Hansard 2: 109–123, https://hansard.parliament.uk/Lords/1909-0630/debates/ef2d603c-3c3b-4bd7-82f2-e5b4c85d6c3b/MercantileMarine%E2

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The ‘little Brugsch’ The Life and Adventures of Emil(e) Brugsch* Heike C. Schmidt

Being a younger sibling can often be strenuous, even more so when you are working in the same field as your older brother and he is considered either a genius and/or a braggart. The name Brugsch is well known in the world of Egyptology. The most famous bearer of the name is considered a giant in the study of the ancient Egyptian language. Heinrich Brugsch was only 16 years old when he developed a Demotic grammar. Much of his work was probably accomplished in the presence of his younger brother Emil, who became known as the ‘little Brugsch’. Family affairs and early years Emil Charles Adalbert Brugsch was born on 24 February 1842 in Berlin, almost exactly 15 years after his brother Heinrich, who was born on 18 February 1827. No other children are known for Ernst Wilhelm and his wife Marie Henriette Dorothea Brugsch, née Schramm. Although the Brugschs were a family of Prussian soldiers, neither of the boys showed the slightest inclination for a military career. While their father prepared Heinrich to become a chancery clerk, nothing is known about the parents’ plans for Emil. Heinrich, however, opted for a very different profession. His love of antiquity in general, and Egypt in particular, prompted him to spend many hours in the Egyptian collection of the Monbijou Palace. Allegedly, his younger brother always accompanied him, even if he was only sleeping in his pram. Both brothers visited the Köllnisches Realgymnasium, where Emil was often questioned about the whereabouts of his older brother. In his teenage years, Emil seems to have enjoyed piano lessons, a talent that might have served him well later in life.1 Their father died when Emil was only 14 years old. This might have been the reason why Emil never had the chance for a university education, as money had always been short in the Brugsch family.2 Heinrich’s education had been largely financed by selling royal trinkets, which their father Ernst Brugsch had been given by Czar Nicholas I or other royal visitors to * Many thanks to Andrew Bednarski who checked my English and corrected errors and inaccuracies. All remaining errors are my own. 1 According to a letter by Heinrich Brugsch to his father, from 25 May 1853, and another one by Emil to Heinrich from 19 March 1854, both in the possession of the Brugsch family. 2 It continued in Heinrich’s as well as Emil’s household. For Emil cf. David 2003: 453. In a letter to his wife, Gaston Maspero conveys that although Emil’s salary was not increased, he was spending money as if he had had a pay raise, ibid: 74.

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Berlin, while he served as sergeant-at-arms in the emperor’s antechamber. After their father’s death, Heinrich took care of the family; at least when he was around, as he spent much time abroad. Adolf Erman used to call Emil’s brother Heinrich, quite dismissively, ‘a son of a sergeant’. However, their father Ernst Brugsch belonged to the personal guard of the Prussian King and thus came in contact regularly with people of higher social standing; and the same applied to his two sons. Despite those friends in high places, though, neither of their careers were anything but straightforward. Shortly after completing his schooling, Emil seems to have travelled either to South America or California. About this sojourn, barely anything is known. According to Felix von Luschan, Emil allegedly made his money in California as a gold digger;3 Adolf Erman mentions in his autobiography that he was earning his living in South America as a merchant, actor and photographer, while the Danish Egyptologist H.O. Lange relates that the younger Brugsch was the manager of a tavern with female singers, and Ludwig Keimer recalls that Georg Schweinfurth had told him, that Emil arrived in Alexandria as a sailor on board of a ship from South America4 – all of these stories seem possible. What is certain is that Emil began a new life in Cairo in 1870, when he started to work for the Egyptian government as a subaltern of his brother Heinrich. Though the latter had been only recently (1867) appointed as the first full professor of Egyptology at the University in Göttingen,5 he had applied for a two-year leave to become the director of the newly inaugurated ‘École d’Égyptologie’ in Cairo. It was there that Emil was employed as Public Instructor for the German language. It is not known when exactly Emil arrived in Egypt, but he must have married soon after. His wife was of Armenian origin and allegedly belonged to the royal entourage.6 When two American gentlemen visited Emil in 1878, they recalled meeting her: ‘Herr Emil Brugsch Conservateur Musie (sic) de Boulaq called on us and took us to his house. His wife a young fine-looking woman, an Armenian came in to see us smoking a cigarette. Her husband apologized and she put the cigarette down, but she soon had another lighted and was smoking again’.7 Her addiction to cigarettes is also conveyed by the American savant Charles Edwin Wilbour: ‘Mme. Brugsch is a soft Armenian Angora pussy cat, who is always

3

Szemety 2014: 105–106. Erman 1929: 213; Hagen and Ryholt 2016: 50–51 n. 170; Keimer 1950: 10 n. 4. 5 Schmidt 2019a. 6 Drower 1995: 37. In a letter from July 13 1886 to Adolf Erman held by the SuUB Bremen, Emil relates that he had sent his wife for recuperation to Constantinople, where she might have family connections, https://brema.suub.uni-bremen.de/urn/urn:nbn:de:gbv: 46:1-67063 (accessed February 2, 2022). 7 Gyllenhall 2011: 183. 4

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ready to take a back seat and a cigarette’.8 The couple had a daughter named Annette,9 who was 18 years old in 1885, when she fell in love with the Catalan Eduardo Toda i Güell (1855–1941), then Spanish Consul-General in Cairo, who is also considered to be the first Spanish Egyptologist. During his stay in Cairo Toda lived for a while in a small house in the direct vicinity of the Brugsch family in the garden of the Museum in Giza.10 Annette is first mentioned by Toda – who enjoyed several encounters with the fairer sex in Egypt – on an excursion to Saqqara in 1885. When she was alone with Toda in the tomb of Ptah-Hotep, she allegedly confessed her love to him whispering ‘je t’aime’. Although Toda seemed to have responded positively, things did not develop the way she, and most probably Emil, had hoped for.11 It seems Annette accompanied Toda on several trips, but the Catalan left Egypt without her. Four years later, on 19 April 1890, Annette married Emile Pacho, son of an Alexandrian merchant.12 Sometime later, the marriage of her parents fell apart, as can be read in the diary of H.O. Lange in 1899/1900, after he met Emil: ‘He was married to a rather questionable figure who ended up running away from him a few years ago’.13 It seems Mme. Brugsch had cheated on her husband before. Adolf Erman relates the story of how Emil was congratulated one morning by his doorkeeper with the words: ‘O Lord, salvation has come to your house, this and that Pasha has gone into your window tonight’.14 When exactly the couple divorced is not known, but on 11 November 1895 Emil married his second wife Agnès Mihelj, a citizen of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.15 According to the French naturalization announcement, she was born on 8

Capart 1936: 68. The name is sometimes spelled Annetta, or Anita. If she was indeed 18 years old in 1885 and Emil was her biological father, than he must have married, or at least met his wife around 1866, during Heinrich Brugsch’s time as Prussian Consul General in Cairo. 10 David 2003: 61, 68; Fiechter 2009: 83. 11 Carballido 2008: 83; David 2003: 68, 172, 203 without mentioning her name. 12 According to a wedding invitation in the possession of the Brugsch family. Emile was the son of Auguste Pacho d’Arzac and his wife Amalia, née Petracchi. His father seemed to have been a dealer of art, as he sold the so-called Syriac manuscript, Inv. N°17, 202, of the British Library in 1847 to the British Museum, Larsow 1852: 16–22. As Emile Pacho was a member of the Egyptological Company, which was formed on occasion of the Columbian Exposition in Chicago, Emil probably knew him from this occasion, Ormos 2021: 145. 13 Hagen and Ryholt 2016: 50–51 n. 170. 14 Erman 1929: 214. 15 Sometimes also written Agnes Michely; Archive of the German protestant community Cairo (1857–1977) held by the Swiss Institute for Architectural and Archaeological Research on Ancient Egypt, File B4 – 1872–1908, matrimonial matters (individual documents), parish office 1872–1897, baptisms and weddings 1893–1908. I am indebted to 9

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26 January 1855 in Samaria, Italy.16 Along with her, pets seem to have entered Emil's life; dogs to be precise. They are mentioned in a notebook in Emil’s hand that was acquired by the Musée Mariemont in 2011.17 In it a first dog by the name of Toby is mentioned in 1898, the last, Menotte II, in 1927.18 While the list of his closest relatives – Heinrich and his family – are conveyed in the same booklet, this list is incomplete and faulty.19 The dogs, however, are meticulously listed with their names, the dates of their births or purchase, as well as their deaths and places of burial. Agnes survived her husband by many years. She continued to live in Nice, on Rue Massenet, where she became the victim of a remarkable robbery in 1941. On 5 February a notice appeared on the front-page of the Swiss newspaper Le confédéré under the headline: ‘Un vol important à Nice’. The article conveys that the widow of the former Conservator of the Cairo Museum, Mme. Agnès Brugsch suffered the loss of jewellery amounting to two million francs and, amongst other items, two solid gold boxes, one given to her husband by the king of Siam, the other by Tsar Nicolas II, as well as stocks worth 200,000 francs.20 Within the Brugsch family the story is told that Mme. Brugsch had exhumed the coffin of her husband to be reburied at the same cemetery but on a sunnier spot. Professional career in the Service des Antiquités Emil’s career in the Antiquities Service spans a period of more than 40 years. According to the inscription on photographs he probably gave to some – if not all – of his colleagues prior to his departure from Egypt, it started in 1870 and ended in 1914.21 In 1870 Emil was undertaking an excavation at Mendes,22 possibly at the instigation of his brother Heinrich. A small report of this excavation, of which only a summary is published, can be found in the notebook mentioned above.23 In Mendes, Emil photographed, as far as we know for the first time, the famous Great Isolde Lehnert for the reference of this document, and Cornelius von Pilgrim for allowing me access. 16 Journal officiel de la République française. Lois et décrets. 188, 1934/03/04 (A66, N54), p.2321. It is not clear which city is meant by Samaria. Closest to the spelling is nowadays Slovakian Somorja, which until 1918 belonged to Hungary, but not to Italy. 17 Mariemont (BE MRM Aut. 6043), Quertinmont 2018. 18 Quertinmont 2018: 279. 19 Quertinmont 2018: 272. 20 http://doc.rero.ch/record/128837/files/1941-02-05.pdf (accessed February 2, 2022). The jewellery alone equates to more than half a million Euro today, 21 See the photograph given to Henri Munier, below Fig. 1, as well as Orsenigo 2010: 128 with a similar photograph dedicated to Pierre Lacau. 22 Mariette 1872: 12. In 1873 Emil – or Heinrich – conveyed a statuette of the god Harpokrates to the Berlin Museum, Schmidt 2017: 44 with n. 4. See also Brugsch 1871. 23 Quertinmont 2018: 273.

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Naos.24 Yet the Naos was not Emil’s only ‘first’; he was also present when the first photograph from atop of the Great Pyramid was taken in January 1882, when Emil accompanied his friend, the American photographer Edward Livingston Wilson to the Giza plateau.25 During his work for the Antiquities Service, Emil took thousands of photographs, something that prompted his superior, Gaston Maspero, to complain about; that Emile was nothing but a photographer.26 On the other hand, Maspero used many of these photographs as templates for the engravings in his own publications, including in the ground-breaking Catalogue Général of the Egyptian Museum.27 Similarly, his series Les temples immergés de la Nubie is abundantly illustrated with photographs taken by Emil, and museums all over the world, as far as the Te Papa Museum in Wellington, New Zealand, possess his photographs. Adolf Erman, who visited his fellow countryman whenever he was in Cairo, suspected Emil of illicitly trading these images: ‘I visited him, as was my duty; then he first scolded everyone and everything, declared his patriotism and began to show the photographs with which he openly dealt’.28 However, it rather seems that Emil was not only allowed to sell them under his copyright, but was also entitled to receive royalties when they were used by others.29 Shortly after Emil’s death on 14 January 1930, his wife Agnes tried to sell his photographic collection and equipment, as we know from a letter to the Belgian Egyptologist Jean Capart, Conservator of the Egyptian collection in Brussels.30 As the price that Mme. Brugsch demanded was too high, and the Museum already possessed copies of many of the photographs, the deal was never completed. At the start of his career, it was probably not Emil’s expertise as a photographer that got him his job at the Antiquities Service, but rather his skills as a lithographer. He created facsimiles of the papyri in the Egyptian Museum, which were published by Mariette in 1871 and 1872.31

24

Blouin 2014: 40; de Meulenaere and MacKay 1976: 93, Pl. 5a. The two met at the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in 1876, Mutter and Fishman 2013: 20. 26 Dawson 1947: 76. 27 Riggs 2013: 74. Emil also made photographs for other excavators, see Benson and Gourlay 1899: viii. 28 Erman 1929: 214. 29 Dawson 1947: 71, concerning an article by Amelia Edwards. 30 I have to thank Marleen De Meyer from KU Leuven University for bringing this correspondence to my attention, and Luc Limme for allowing me to refer to it. 31 Mariette 1871; 1872a–b. Emil’s skills as an artist can be also seen by the fact that he made the designs for the lamps in the Shepheard’s Hotel, Shepheard 1894: 19. 25

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Fig. 1: Photograph of Emil Brugsch. The inscription reads: ‘à Monsieur H. Munier. Souvenir affectueux de Emil Brugsch 1870–1914’. On 23 April 1872, Mariette made Emil conservateur-adjoint to the Bulaq Museum, where his skills were more than welcome after the premature death of Théodule Devéria, who previously assisted Mariette as a lithographer and photographer.32 The objects Emil had found in his excavation in Mendes, including a hoard of silver and gold, now became part of the Museum’s collection.33 In fact, they might have helped him to obtain the position. At this point at the latest, Emil changed his first name to Émile, at least in the documents relating to the Antiquities Service. In the German-speaking world, he stuck with the shorter Emil. Even though Mariette was a long-time friend of Heinrich Brugsch, it is quite 32

Staring 2016. Mariette 1872a: 12; Bissing 1901: 72–72, pl. iii. Three silver cups: CG 53267 = CG 3581, CG 53275 = CG 3583, CG 53277 = CG 3582 (Vernier 1927: 419–420, with pl. cviii, cix, 423, with pl. cix, cx, 424–425, with pl. cix, cxii), two silver vases: CG 53274 = CG 3584, CG 53276 = CG 3585 (Vernier 1927: 422–423, with pl. cix, cx, 423–424, with pl. cix, cxi).

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remarkable that the French archaeologist accepted a German assistant, considering the fact that the Franco-German War had just ended with the humiliation of the French. Yet Mariette, as we know from his own words, never considered Heinrich as a German, but as ‘Brugsch’ – a class of its own. He applied the same attitude to his younger brother. The filling of the position of Director, after Mariette’s death, particularly illustrates the state of affairs between France and Germany at that time. When Mariette died in 1881, his successor, Gaston Maspero confided to a friend that he had accepted the position of Director, if only to prevent the German (Heinrich) Brugsch from taking the position.34 The Khedive had indeed promised Heinrich to succeed Mariette, but as a contemporary wrote: ‘he (the Khedive) doesn’t rule Egypt. Maspero himself was very doubtful […] he thought the French Government had started too late. But Brugsch had no support of his government, […] thanks to Lepsius’;35 ‘[…] while the Consul-General of Germany was out shooting, the Consul-General of France […] demanded and insisted that the place of a Frenchman be filled by a Frenchman’.36 After eleven years of service as conservateur-adjoint Emil was promoted to the position of conservator, when Luigi Vassalli retired in July 1883.37 Unlike his brother Heinrich, Emil was not dismissed by the British authorities after Egypt became a protectorate. He and his family fled Egypt in the summer of 1882 for Constantinople during the Orabi revolt,38 but he returned soon after to continue his job under, successively, Gaston Maspero, Eugène Grébault, Jacques de Morgan, and Victor Loret, who followed Mariette as directors. Until his retirement in December 1913 Emil would act as Deputy Director, being the second in command for around 30 years.39 As such he was not only responsible – together with the Director – for the Museum’s permanent exhibition, and the annual remodelling after the excavation season to accommodate new finds. He was also responsible for moving the entire

34

David 1999: 82–83 with n. 1, and in another letter to Ernest Renan from April 19 1882, David 1999: 103. 35 In a letter dated 17.02.1881, Capart 1936: 46. 36 In a letter dated 22.02.1881, Capart 1936: 48–9. More or less the same happened in 1886, when Maspero left the Antiquities Service for the first time. It seems there was again hope that Heinrich might take the position, but Maspero made sure that Grébault followed. David 2003: 242. 37 Lebée 2013: 11 with n. 49. 38 IdF, ms 4008, folios 48–49, quoted according to David 1999: 105–107; Quertinmont 2018: 276. 39 Jaunay and de Morgan 1997: 358. However, it was a bit premature, when he was listed as Director of the Museum in July 1874, on occasion of a cure in Bad Ischl, Schmidt 2019b: 83 with n. 14.

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Museum, as well as the sarcophagus of Auguste Mariette, first from Bulaq to Giza in 1889, and later to the new museum at what is now Midan al-Tahrir.40

Fig. 2: Emil Brugsch – far right – supervising the installation of some objects in the Giza Palace Museum. Furthermore, Emil contributed to several world and centennial exhibitions, starting with the one in Philadelphia in 1876, where he was the Chief of Transportation and Installation under his brother Heinrich, who was the Commissioner General for the Egyptian exhibit.41 He similarly contributed to the Columbian Exposition in Chicago in 1893, and the Louisiana Purchase Exhibition in St. Louis in 1904, where James Edward Quibell was in charge of the archaeological exhibit.42

40

The transport to Giza was managed by Brugsch and Daressy according to Jacques de Morgan without any damage to the antiquities. The exhibition at the new museum at Midan el-Tahrir was arranged by Maspero, Brugsch, Daressy, and Barsanti, Grillot 2014. Cf. also Piacentini 2011: 26. Mariette’s tomb was transferred to the new museum on request of Alfred Chélu with a loan of 1,000 LE by Lord Cromer, Gady 2006: 84 with n. 25. 41 Perkins 1976; Delamaire 2003: 124. 42 https://www.readingroomnotes.com/home/archives/10-2014 (accessed February 2, 2022). For Chicago, see Ormos 2021: 69.

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Like the other employees of the Antiquities Service, Emil also had to conduct and supervise excavations all over Egypt, from the temples and cemeteries around Giza and Saqqara, to Upper Egyptian sites such as Abydos and Thebes, to name but a few.43 By far the most exciting of his excavations, which immortalized Emil in the history of Egyptology, is the clearance of the Royal Cache (TT320) in 1881, of which several first-hand descriptions are known. In 2002, the Berlin Museum acquired the so-called Salamat, the guest-book of Richard Lepsius, which includes the very first record of his work in TT320 in Emil’s own hand, dated 10 July 1881; a second can be found in the booklet in the Musée Mariemont.44 An early newspaper article by Emil was published in September 1881 in the German Illustrirte Zeitung, which was entitled, rather uninspiringly: ‘Der neue Ägyptische Mumienfund (The New Egyptian Mummy Find)’.

Fig. 3: Engraving after a sketch by Emil Brugsch, showing the recovery of some of the sarcophagi from the Royal Cache (TT320). 43

For Giza, Saqqara and Thebes see Quertinmont 2018. In Saqqara – and other places as well – Emil made also paper-squeezes, Orsenigo 2010: 126. For Abydos see the photograph in Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Institut national d’histoire de l’art, Arch. 67, 9, 16, which shows the French architects Ambroise Baudry and Jules Bourgoin besides Kurshid Effendi and Wasib Salib, the rais of Emil’s excavation in Abydos in 1883, Bideault 2015: 12 fig. 1. 44 Egyptian Museum Berlin, ÄM 36103. Cf. Schmidt 2007: 130–134. For the booklet in Mariemont see Quertinmont 2018: 275–276.

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Besides the story of the discovery and a detailed description of the mummies found, the article also contained a list of other finds, such as: ‘40 canopic jars, including 4 belonging to the mummy of Queen Aahmes nofert ari, 3700 Osiris statuettes, 12 to 15 large ceremonial wigs, 46 wooden boxes with inscriptions, several boxes made of papyrus and containing sacrificial objects, as ducks, pieces of meat etc., 4 bronze chairs with libation vases in the name of Princess Ast em cheb, a large wooden tablet with hieratic texts and a large number of smaller objects’.45 Out of fear of reprisals by the locals, Emil, Ahmed Kamal, Secretary and Interpreter of the Museum, and Tadrus Moutafian, Inspector of the Pyramid district,46 the only member of the Antiquities Service who accompanied Emil in this endeavour, cleared the tomb with the help of 300 men in a few days, without proper examination or photographic documentation.47 This fact led some people to suspect that Emil might have taken advantage of the situation. However, his superior, Gaston Maspero, never seemed to have doubted the integrity of his deputy in this case, and appreciated the prudence shown by his staff in the face of the threat of possible looting. In a small booklet about the Cache, which was published soon after, he wrote: The energy of Mr. Emile Brugsch, struggling with the difficulties, I will say more, with the real dangers of the situation, has not weakened for a moment […] I like to thank them (Emile Brugsch and Ahmed Effendi Kamel) publicly for the service that they have returned to the Museum and the sciences.48 Yet despite this happy ending, the royal mummies allegedly haunted Emil in his dreams, as he confided to the British princes Albert Victor and George, whom he accompanied on their trip in Egypt in March 1882. He told us how he did not sleep for two nights after the discovery of all these mummies, […] and then how after, when he had got them all down to Cairo, and safely housed in the Boolak Museum, and had gone home to rest that night, he had the dream in which he saw the mummies all sitting on horseback, and galloping away from him as fast as they could go, all down the Shoobra Road: then just as it seemed as if he would never overtake them, round they all wheeled upon him, and chevied him back to the 45

Illustrirte Zeitung N° 1994, September 17 1881: 236–238. Maspero 1903: 410. 47 The same applies to Victor Loret’s excavation in KV35, but not many complain about his conduct, whereas Emil is always denigrated. Loret’s notes were only published in 2004, after the archive of Egyptologist Alexandre Varille was acquired by the University of Milan, Forbes 2015: 96–97. 48 Brugsch and Maspero 1881: 9, translation by the author. For recent notes on the Cache s. Orsenigo 2010: 128–130, Bickerstaffe 2010, Graefe 2011. 46

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town, wielding this time their royal whips and their crooks over their heads, and pursuing him with angry glances and threatening gestures, for having disturbed their royal and ancient sleep.49 The encounter with the royal mummies proved to be crucial in Emil’s life in more than one way. The circumstances of the excavation underpinned rumours about shady dealings; his photographs of the mummies established his reputation as a photographer, and he himself became the subject of a painting by the Frenchman Marius Michel, which was exhibited at the Fine Arts Exhibition Paris 1883. It was entitled: ‘Ne bougeons plus! (Don’t Move!)’, and depicted Emil photographing a mummy while surrounded by several sarcophagi.50 Last but not least, in 1882 Emil was bestowed with the honorary title Bey by the Egyptian Khedive, which was most likely a delayed recognition of him finding the Royal Cache.51 Provider of mummies When Emil took over Vassalli’s position in 1883, he soon became responsible for selling antiquities not accessioned by the Museum, such as duplicates and pieces considered too damaged or insignificant to retain. Some of these pieces had already been listed as ‘disposable’ by excavators during their excavations. What would become known as the Sale Room in the Giza Palace Museum was already operational in the Cabinet du nazir in the Bulaq Museum.52 This Sale Room was opened to infuse money into the empty coffers of the Service des Antiquités, after the British had taken control of the country in 1882. From that year forward, the British, and to some extend the Caisse de la Dette, determined the country’s financial matters, although the Antiquities Service itself remained in the hands of the French. Besides duplicates and smaller and insignificant objects, which were mostly sold to tourists, the Sale Room’s bestsellers par excellence were mummies. The find of the Royal Cache had increased interest in Egyptian mummies enormously, and not only within the scientific community. By the end of July 1881, only days after the royal mummies had arrived in Cairo, Emil unwrapped Thutmosis III, allegedly because it had been severely damaged by ancient tomb robbers. He was not alone on that occasion, but in the company of Eugène Lefébure, Urbain Bouriant and Victor Loret. However, it took place without the permission of his superior Maspero, who was still on holiday in France.53 The mummy indeed proved to be 49

Prince Albert et al. 1886: 550–551. http://www.dylanb me.uk/wp/?page_id=1253 (last access 02.02.2022). Emil was also depicted in a painting by the French artist Paul Dominique Philippoteaux, showing the unwrapping of the mummy of a priestess of Amun, Schmidt 2017: 48 Fig. 3. 51 Capart 1936: 165. 52 Piacentini 2013–2014; Piacentini 2017: 76–77 with nn. 8 and 11. 53 Maspero 1889: 525 and 548; and Brugsch did it again in 1885, this time with the mummy found in the coffin of Ahmose-Nefertari, Maspero 1889: 525 and 536. 50

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quite damaged, and was rewrapped on Maspero’s order, to be unwrapped again officially in 1886, when the unwrapping of mummies became a regular and very popular feature in the Museum’s schedule of events.54 The first official ‘performance’ took place on 1 June1886, when the mummy of Ramesses II was unwrapped in the presence of his majesty the Khedive.55 Emil commemorated the event in the Illustrirte Zeitung of 3 July 1886.56 The unwrapping itself was not executed gently, if only because, according to Maspero’s notes, the whole process lasted no longer than a quarter of an hour.57 At least some of the participants were allowed to take away part of the bandages.58 Leftovers from these events, as well as other finds from the Cache found their way to the Sale Room, which was filled abundantly with mummies after the discovery of a cemetery in Akhmim by Maspero in 1884. The pits and shafts were considered to hold an estimate of 8–10,000 mummies, mostly from the Graeco-Roman period. As was customary in these days, the exploitation was left to the local French Consular agent, mill owner, and dealer Auguste Frenay,59 and according to the rules of find sharing, 50 percent of the finds were transferred to the Egyptian Museum. In the same year, Emil compiled a collection of 400 objects for the museum in Jaipur, India. The central object was the mummy of a teenage girl by the name Tutu, from Akhmim. Nine other sarcophagi with their associated mummies were acquired by the Berlin Museum through Emil’s mediation,60 and another one went to the Lippe State Museum in Detmold.61 Emil even provided mummies as far as to the other side of the world. For example, in 1886 he was approached by Ernesto Schiaparelli, a proxy for the Director of the Canterbury Museum in New Zealand, Sir Julius von Haast, who wanted to purchase two fine mummies. A female mummy, which most probably also originated from the excavations in Akhmim, arrived in Christchurch in 1888. The request for a second ‘fine one’62 was postponed by Emil, who replied that he had none such in stock. This changed shortly thereafter, when the discovery of the Second Cache (Bab el-Gasus) in the Theban necropolis in 1891 brought a new supply of superb mummies. The so-called Bab el Gasus is the largest undisturbed tomb found in Egypt ever. It contained the collective burial of priests and priestesses of Amun dating 54

Schmidt 2019b: 92. For Thutmose III see Forbes 2015: 45. Wilson 1964: 85. 56 The article was illustrated with three etchings after photographs of the mummy of the pharaoh taken by Emil (Brugsch 1886a). 57 Raven 2018: 17 with n. 39; cf. also David 2003: 235–237. The speed might have been caused by the presence of the Khedive. 58 Raven 2018: 37. 59 Raven 2018: 31–32. 60 Germer et al. 2009: 116; Brech-Nelder and Budde 1992: 66 with n. 55; Erman 1899: 176. 61 Schmidt 2019b: 93–94. 62 Emmitt and Furey 2018: 10. 55

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from the 21st dynasty containing 153 sarcophagi. Some of the coffins were presented as gifts to foreign nations on the occasion of the coronation of Khedive Abbas-Hilmi II.63 But the majority of the newly discovered find, with its coffins, papyri, shabti-boxes, statuettes, stelae, as well as the mummies – all of which were not considered unique artefacts – flooded the storerooms of the Museum, and subsequently the shelves of the Sale Room, now at the Giza Palace Museum. In the years to follow, dozens of these mummies and the accompanying equipment were dispersed into public and private collections all over the world. In 1892 Emil provided one to Charles Hutchinson for the Art Institute of Chicago, including the coffin of Nesi-pa-her-hat from the Second Cache, together with the coffin of Weni-hotep from the Late Period, as well as a bronze figure of Re-Horakhty.64 In 1894 another collection of over 700 artefacts was compiled by him on behalf of Edward E. Ayer, first president of the Field Museum. Even after 17 years, the Museum’s stock of mummies and sarcophagi was still not exhausted through sales, as Emil sold two mummies and coffin bottoms in 1909 to Samuel Brown, a Board member of the Albany Institute. To make sure that he would get a male and a female mummy, Brown asked the Museum authorities – probably Emil – to unwrap one of the mummies before he took him to the US. Although his request was granted to his satisfaction, it was later determined that the mummy thought to be a female was actually a male by the name of Anchef-en-mut. The associated mummy cover is part of the collections of the British Museum, and the coffin lid is in the collection of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna.65 It seems neither the Museum’s representatives, nor their customers cared about complete ‘sets’, but at least the transactions were recorded in the sales book.66 The money acquired from these sales was used particularly to finance further excavations. Emil’s efforts in procuring originals and casts for museums around the world earned him not only an honorarium from the Egyptian government, but also international recognition, including a medal from the Russian State, and induction into the French Legion of Honour.67 Some contemporaries, however, like the German Felix von Luschan suspected that Emil’s bookkeeping was questionable, to say the least. ‘So sometimes hundreds of pounds are paid daily in the museum for antiques, casts, and for export Teskereh's, but nothing is accounted for, everything disappears in the pockets of 63

Küffer 2017: 250. Chicago Art Institute N° 94.369 = Chicago Oriental Institute 17333, Chicago Art Institute N° 1893.14, Chicago Art Institute 1894.261. Teeter 2010: 304; Teeter 1994: 24+26 for the bronze; Arico and Teeter 2018–2019: 64–65. 65 Lacovara and d’Auria 2018: 13. 66 Piacentini 2017: 76 with n. 8. 67 For the Russian medal see Hodjash and Berlev 1982: 10. For the Legion of Honour see Norddeutsche allgemeine Zeitung, Abendausgabe, Wednesday 20.02.1895: 2. 64

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the officials, who simply take away everything they have taken in the evening’.68 While this is quite a serious accusation, it possibly contains a grain of truth; and Emil was not only operating from the Sale Room, especially when private collectors were involved. Collecting collectors Emil’s entanglement with the antiquities trade most probably started during his first excavation in Mendes in 1870. Shortly afterwards, a unique piece appeared in the neighboring Tell el-Yahudiya. It is the base of a model temple, from the time of Seti I.69 The American lawyer William J. Shaw70 was amongst the first to see it, and, according to his own account, showed it afterwards to: ‘the most learned of Egyptologists, Doctor Professor Brugsch Bey’, who declared it to be the most historically important piece to have been found in Egypt over the last few years.71 By giving the name as ‘Doctor Professor Brugsch Bey’, there can be little doubt that he speaks of Heinrich Brugsch, who resided in Egypt during that time. Shaw further relates that he was aware that the Egyptian authorities would never allow him to export it, so he asked Brugsch to keep absolutely quiet about it. He secretly stowed the model in one of the more than sixty crates filled with artefacts from his trip around the world, of which Egypt was only one stop. It subsequently arrived in San Francisco, from where it ultimately found its way to the Brooklyn Museum.72 However, the question remains: ‘What, or who, led Mr. Shaw to the neighborhood of Tell el Yahudija […] for the site was a dreary waste of sand and rubble which offered no attractions to the tourists?’73 When Emil visited Tell el-Yahudiya in the summer of 1870, some faience tiles attracted his attention. Immediately he applied for a concession from the Service des Antiquités and had conducted excavations by autumn of the same year, with 50 workmen over two months.74 He uncovered thousands of tiles and inlays which he duly delivered, in part, to the Bulaq Museum, while others were acquired a little later (1872) by the Berlin Museum through one of the Brugsch brothers.75 A report of the excavation was published by Emil roughly 16 years later. In it, he also gives 68

Szemethy 2014: 106. It was first published by Shaw himself, after it had been inspected by Heinrich Brugsch – Shaw 1875; Badawy 1972; Brand 2000: 143 speaks again of fellahin who found the piece before 1875, without mentioning Brugsch. 70 Riefstahl 1972: 20. 71 Shaw 1875: 441. 72 Riefstahl 1972. 73 Riefstahl 1972: 21. 74 Brugsch 1886b. 75 Erman 1899: 117 just mentions ‘acquired 1872 through Brugsch’ so it cannot be determined to which brother he is referring. The first excavation by Naville was only executed in 1886. 69

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a detailed description of the very model of the temple, saying: ‘I was morally compelled to refrain from publication. Today, as Mr. Shaw himself gave a rough description […] I don’t want to wait any longer to publish it based on the drawings I made in the past’. He also describes where the artefact was found: ‘The stone itself was found […] some meters outside the western enclosure, where it served as a bridge for one of the small canals nearby. It was pulled by the fellahs from inside the Tell itself, but no one could tell me the exact location’.76 Though it is not known whether Emil looked for the site of the find only after Shaw had brought it to his attention, or whether he knew it before, it seems appropriate to assume that William J. Shaw was among the first collectors Emil was taking care of – in collaboration with his brother Heinrich. In 1880, Emil published the catalogue of the collection of Count Gregor Stroganoff, which contained around 500 pieces. It is most likely that he was also involved in assembling them in the months prior to the publication, as Stroganoff visited Egypt in the winter of 1879/1880.77 The collection contained the superb torso of Pharaoh Pedubastis now in the Gulbenkian Museum. The artefact is thought to have come from Tanis, where Emil was also excavating in the 1870s.78 In his catalogue he marked it as triple ‘r’, meaning most rare or singular; and it is known from a letter by Maspero that Emil had a soft spot for bronzes: ‘[…] when it comes to gold objects or Egyptian bronzes, his eyes shine and he is full of ardour, but the rest bores him’.79 It is not known yet how the contact between Stroganoff and Brugsch was established, but since Emil’s work for the Antiquities Service – as much as Heinrich’s, whenever he was in Egypt – also included accompanying special guests as ‘cicerone de luxe’, there is a slight possibility that he accompanied the Count on his journey up and down the Nile.80 This would have been the best opportunity for him to assist Stroganoff in compiling his collection, as he did for other clients on other occasions. An example of Emil doing so occurred in 1884, when he accompanied Adolph Sutro, mayor of San Francisco, on his excursions in Luxor. Sutro purchased a room full of antiquities from the Luxor dealer Mohammed Mohassib for 2,500 francs. Amongst the 700odd objects were three mummies, which are housed now in the Global Museum of the San Francisco State University.81 Emil likely received a commission for this work, as is still common practice in the art world of today.82 76

Brugsch 1886b: 7–9. Hill et al. 2010. 78 Hill and Schorsch 2005: 166–167 with n. 17. 79 David 2003: 88. 80 For Emil as a cicerone de luxe see Schmidt 2019b: 84–87. 81 Capart 1936: 293. https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/sutro-egyptian-collection-skb (accessed February 2, 2022). 82 The same applies probably for the items he bought or commissioned for William Joseph Myers, Schmidt 2019b: 93, n. 58–59. 77

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In 1891 the Penn Museum acquired a collection of antiquities – mainly textile samples – from Emil through the subscription of Mrs. John Harrison (Emily Gardner Leland Harrison), president of the Associate Committee of Women of the Board of Trustees of the Pennsylvania Museum.83 As Lucy Wharton Drexel Dahlgren served together with her on the Board of Trustees it might be through her recommendation that Lucy’s uncle, Col. Anthony J. Drexel, contacted Emil in order to form another collection in 1895. It was acquired with a single purchase, for the sum of 9,000 pounds, and consisted of mummies, sarcophagi, stelae, statues, papyri, bronzes, and other Egyptian artifacts from the Predynastic to Roman Periods. It also contained finds from the Royal and Second Cache. Emil is said to have received $3,000 US for his work.84 When the new Egyptian Museum was built on what is now Tahrir Square, Emil again was amongst those responsible for the transportation of the collections from the Giza Palace Museum to the new premises. Prior to the relocation, it seems that the deaccessioning and sale of duplicate and minor as well as grander objects increased.85 In 1900 the American Jones Wister of Philadelphia – another collector with close ties to the Penn Museum – allegedly purchased through Emil what is now considered a unique monument from the reign of Pharaoh Akhenaten.86 The block, which was made out of the famous red quartzite from Gebel Ahmar, was reused – like many other pharaonic blocks – probably in medieval times in the el-Mosky area of Cairo. It was described by Georges Daressy in 1899, and was probably brought to the Giza Palace Museum shortly before or after, where it was offered to Wister in March or April of the following year.

83 https://www.penn museum/collections/accessionlot.php?irn=4314 (accessed February 2, 2022). 84 Harer 2008: 111 with n. 6; cf. also Gammon 2018: 281. The whole collection was sold in 1916 for $5,000 US to the Minneapolis Institute of Art, and in 1958 it was sold by the director of said institution to make room for modern art. Part of it went to a dealer, where it found its way to several private collections. A large variety of bronzes were sold at auction in 1958 by Parke-Bernet, New York, Parke-Bernet 1958. One of these bronzes, a striding figure of the goddess Neith, was sold at Christie’s on December 9, 2015, for $87,500 US, Christie’s, Antiquities, Live auction 3798, 09.12.2015 New York, Lot 135. Part of the former collection is held by the Harer Trust, who deaccessioned some pieces from the collection Emil assembled on December 9th 2005 at Christie’s, and some further pieces on 11.12.2014 also at Christie’s in New York. 85 Whole mastabas were sold to European museums, to fill the gaps in their exhibitions, and to prevent potential buyers from purchasing odd blocks and fragments from robbers, Piacentini 2017: 81 with n. 40. 86 The monument is part of a so-called royal sunshade of Meritaton, and is held by the Penn Museum (E 16230), Wegner 2017, for the acquisition see ibid. 9–13. Though it is not provable that Wister bought it from Emil, it is quite probable.

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Some publications allege that Emil was also behind the collection of Prince Rudolf of Austria, but this particular collection was compiled by his brother Heinrich. Such confusion was more common than one might think, especially as both brothers held the honorary titles of Bey and Pasha, although Emil never acquired an academic title. It seems that Emil’s second wife also had her own collections; one consisting of 273 pieces was sold – or at least agreed to be sold – by her husband in 1901 to Jane Stanford for $5,000 US.87 Last but not least, Emil’s own collection has to be mentioned. It consisted, among many other things, of a variety of shabtis from the Middle Kingdom to the Late Period, which mirror his activities during his more than 40 years in the Antiquities Service. A shabti of a man called Kemḥu can be traced back to Abydos,88 a group of ten for a man called Amen-Niut-Nakht to the Second Cache,89 and another one, of Nes-ba-neb-Djed, to Mendes.90 Furthermore there was a crown made of flowers said to have come from the tomb of Ramesses II, which also might have originated from the Royal Cache; and probably also a head of a mummy.91 Most pieces were sold by auction in Paris in 1996 and 1997.92 The catalogue of 1996 gives a short biography of the collector. Almost all the given data, however, refer to Heinrich and not to Emil. The biography was only rectified in the catalogue of the second sale. It is true that both brothers, however, were not held in high esteem by many of their contemporaries and colleagues. Adolf Erman, for example, who benefited greatly from both brothers, not only in terms of acquiring pieces for the Egyptian Museum in Berlin, significantly shaped their negative image, and coined Emil’s nickname ‘little Brugsch’. In his autobiography, he wrote: Among the secret dealers is one of our compatriots, who did not exactly do us credit. He was a senior official of the museum and was regarded by the ignorant strangers as a respectable person, even a scholar. And what is 87 https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/08741b5277f04504a22b32d02b8c26ae (accessed February 2, 2022), although the information on the website is inaccurate, as it confuses the two wives of Emil. See also a copy of a letter by Jane Stanford to Emil Brugsch from 06.01.1902 held by Stanford University, asking about said collection as well as a catalogue that Emil seemed to have promised to provide, https://purl.stanford.edu/tm737dd5587 (accessed February 2, 2022). For other items formerly belonging to Agnes Brugsch see Bonhams, Antiquities, London New Bond Street, 28th October 2009, Lot 68, https://www.bonhams.com/auctions/16853/lot/68/?category=list&length=10&page=7 (accessed February 2, 2022). 88 James 2002: 3–5. A statue of a man by the same name is in the Cairo Museum N° 482, Porter and Moss 1937: 59–60. 89 His coffin and shabti box are in the Cairo Museum. 90 http://www.shabtis.com/Examples.php (accessed February 2, 2022), James 2002: 189– 191. 91 Schmidt 2019b: 90 with fig. 4. 92 Ricqlès 1996; Ricqlès and Mariaud de Serres 1997.

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more, he bore a name that was forever linked to the exploration of Egypt, for he was none other than Emil Brugsch Bey, the brother of Heinrich Brugsch. If he was called the ‘little Brugsch’, this name was well chosen, for he was in every respect a poor reflection of his brother; the spirit was missing, but the questionable qualities of the great Brugsch were also his own.93 The German Egyptologist was not the only critic. In fact, it is difficult to find a friendly opinion, while the list of Emil’s opponents is quite long. One of them was his long time superior, Gaston Maspero. After Maspero finished his first term as Director in the summer of 1886, he wrote to his British friend Amelia Edwards: ‘Six years of daily contact with Brugsch […] disgusted me enough to give me real relief at the idea of never seeing him again and not to hear of him more than rarely.’94 The same resentments were found with many excavators, especially from within the anglophone community. First and foremost was Flinders Petrie. His biographer Margaret Drower relates: ‘He (Brugsch) was heartily disliked by many of the European community in Cairo and was believed to be making a handsome income from the antiquities he handled for the Museum’.95 The American James Henry Breasted also judged: ‘Emil Brugsch is an unscrupulous adventurer […] and though he knew absolutely nothing about science, was appointed to a position in the Antiquities Department […] and as everyone is very certain, is now industriously stealing from the museum of which he is in charge’.96 Last but not least is the not very flattering assessment of another German, Felix von Luschan: ‘Emil Brugsch […] has never been a famous man, rather a bastard who started his career as a gold-digger in California and will end it as a thief in Cairo if he is not chased away earlier’.97 This view on Emil has hardly been questioned, even if contemporaries told a different story.98 However, in addition to nationalistic reservations and personal animosities, some of Emil’s tasks at the Museum 93 Erman 1929: 213, translation by the author. Erman’s own duplicity is made clear by the dedication in one of his books, which is mentioned by the Egyptologist Ludwig Keimer in a letter to Jean Capart from March 1930. Erman dedicates the book to Emil: ‘as a faint token of his gratitude’. The letter is held in the Archive of the Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth in the Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussels. Once more I have to thank Marleen De Meyer for bringing this to my attention and Luc Limme for allowing me to refer to it. 94 David 2003: 243, translation by the author. The same applied to Henri Munier, Schmidt 2019b: 96, n. 75. 95 Drower 1995: 37. 96 Breasted 1977: 76–77. 97 Szemety 2014: 105–106. 98 Cf. for example Forbes 2015: 19–20, 53 n. 11, concerning Joseph Lindon Smith’s description of Emil’s involvement in finding the Cache. Cf. also Smith 1956: 76–78.

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probably also played an important role in creating the rather negative image of him. Pittfalls of bureaucracy Besides running the Sale Room, Emil was also responsible for the division of finds, which caused friction with excavators. When, for example, Flinders Petrie first visited Egypt, it is said that: ‘Mariette, director of the Service des Antiquités, and Emil Brugsch, keeper of the Cairo Museum, were his particular hates at this time.’99 Petrie’s attitude changed, at least towards the Director, when Gaston Maspero was in charge, but not towards Emil. A feeling that seemed to have been mutual at times, as Emil apparently denigrated Petrie in front of the new Director for not having shown all finds; although Petrie had already made an agreement with Maspero before the latter left his position for the first time.100 Maybe Maspero remembered that incident, when years later, during his second term as Director, it came to the division of the spectacular finds from the tomb of SatHathor-Iunet in Illahun. Maspero […] now applying the half-and-half rule with liberality, took the two unique objects, the crown and the mirror, and one of the two pectorals, but allowed Petrie everything else. It was a remarkably generous division; possibly Maspero felt able to be lenient because Emile Brugsch, who had always jealously watched any grant of objects to Petrie, had retired at last […].101 Nevertheless, Petrie admitted on another occasion that Emil handled the division competently and generously.102 Prior to the division of objects, there had to be an official excavation license, regardless of whether the excavation was headed by an Egyptologist, an institution or a private individual103 – just another opportunity for resentments. These permissions were always given by the Director of the Antiquities Service, though often signed by Brugsch as proxy. Petrie once complained that his permit did not come on time and coupled it with an accusation against the Antiquities Service: ‘It is of course only for careful work that any such permission is needed: for plundering and destruction any native may do what he likes and no one hinders him.’104 This allegation was repeated by others: ‘The western excavator had to 99

Quoted by Wilson 1964: 97. Petrie 1931: 72. 101 Drower 1995: 329. It seems that Maspero in general handled the division quite liberally, Piacentini 2017: 83. 102 Drower 1995: 181. 103 See for example the license for the excavation of Schiaparelli in the Valley of the Queens from 1903, Jarsaillon 2017: Fig. 1. 104 Drower 2004: 98. 100

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compete at a disadvantage with Egyptian antiquity dealers, who collaborated with Emil Brugsch of the Service of Antiquities to pillage the richer sites’.105 It is difficult to prove or disprove such allegations, but what is also on record is that Emil repeatedly asked higher-ranking officials to stop illegal excavations. Two examples include April 1893, when Brugsch expressed concerns with digs at the pyramid in Abu Rawash, and in 1898 in Abydos.

Fig. 4: Letter of Emil Brugsch concerning illegal operations in Abydos.

105

Wilson 1964: 133.

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Collectors also sometimes had difficulties with Emil when it came to export licenses, for which he also was in charge. In 1878 Emil complained to a visitor ‘[…] that whenever any especially rare discovery is made during the excavations, the most valuable relic of all is pretty certain to be found shortly after in one of the European museums’.106 Almost thirty years later, in 1909, the American collector Charles Lang Freer relates, that the German was ‘a terror’, and that they had a ‘red hot fight’, as Emil was reluctant to provide him with the export papers for his collection.107 There were plenty of opportunities to clash over official business. In Emil's case, however, there were also very personal animosities. During all of the years that they worked together, Gaston Maspero was never very enthusiastic about the German curator he inherited from his successor Mariette, even though Emil once saved his life, when one of the chambers of the pyramid of Pepy II collapsed.108 In Maspero’s letters to his wife the Frenchman rarely had a word of sympathy for Emil, but often complained about his attitude and conduct. When Victor Loret took over as Director, things went from bad to worse for Emil. Flinders Petrie wrote in a letter to his wife: ‘Brugsch said to an Arab that De Morgan was a small devil but Loret is 20 devils’;109 and the Reverend Archibald Henry Sayce conveys what Emil told him about his first encounter after Loret took office: Yesterday I had occasion to see the new Director on a matter of business and accordingly knocked at the door of his room. When I entered he said: ‘In future, Monsieur, I must ask you to send a note or a card to me first of all when you wish to see me’. I replied: ‘Monsieur le Directeur, my shadow shall never darken your threshold again’. And it never did.110 Yet what about the allegations that Emil was a thief or fraudster? Supposed malfeasance In 1884 the Dutch Egyptologist Jan Herman Insinger informed Willem Pleyte, curator of the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden in Leiden about an offer: Dear Sir, I have been requested by somebody who prefers not to do it directly himself, and who does not want his name to be mentioned overmuch (Brugsch, the curator here), to offer a collection of cloth and textile found on Egyptian mummies, from the Vth dynasty to the Coptic period, and including, the various kinds of textile in which the mummies of the pharaohs were wrapped. The collection consists of 250 different specimens […] The price asked is 50 Napoleons […] Though it is rather sensitive to be assisting 106

Young 1879: 285. Gunter 2002: 86–87 and 98. 108 Thompson 2015: 5–6. 109 Drower 2004: 118. 110 Sayce 1923: 306. 107

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in such a transaction, I have thought passing you the information would be to the interest of the museum, because somebody else might buy the collection.111 To the relief of Insinger, Pleyte declined. The collection was probably part of a much bigger one (800 pieces).112 Emil later sold it to the American financier George F. Baker, who gave it to the Metropolitan Museum, in New York, in 1890. The same Mr. Baker acquired a Roman head from Emil Brugsch in 1891, which was excavated allegedly in Benha.113 It proved to be a Roman copy of a bust of Herodotus, which even bore the name of the famous historian. One wonders, whether any other official of the Antiquities Service was aware of the find. However, since the bust lay for decades in the storeroom of the Metropolitan Museum, one can also imagine it left Egypt legally but incognito. In the early 1890s Armand de Potter, a Belgian travel agent, dealer and collector allegedly contacted Emil in Cairo. Their meeting is described according to diary entries of Potter in a novel by his great granddaughter. While Egyptian officials expected Brugsch and his colleagues to create a world-class-museum, they provided insufficient financial support and were known to use the mummies for bribes and graft. What did it matter, then, if Herr Brugsch occasionally sold a mummy before the officials could give it away? Early in 1894, he replied to Armand’s letter and invited him to Cairo, to come see ‘a double wooden coffin from the XXI Dynasty that was covered with numerous tableaux. They met in the back room of a shop of a local dealer in Cairo […] It was by far the most masterfully illustrated sarcophagus that Armand had ever seen. Mrs. Stevenson would be proud to display it in Philadelphia’.114 The coffin did not make it to Sara Yorke Stevenson, the first curator of the Egyptian Collection in Philadelphia, but ended up in the Brooklyn Museum, where the Potter collection went in 1908.115 Another far more criminal episode, which seems to support Felix von Luschan’s accusation: ‘Brugsch Bey would sell the whole museum, if he gets enough

111

Raven 2018: 61. Ratliff 2016: 118. Baker was not the only collector of textiles in these days, cf. the collection of Dikran Garabed Kelekian, a well-known collector and antiquities dealer, who might have also bought from Emil, Thomas 2009. 113 https://www metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/245829 (accessed May 27, 2022). 114 Scott 2014: 149. The dates given by Scott are erroneous, as the sarcophagus was already exhibited in Chicago in 1893. De Potter’s collection of Egyptian antiquities contained several hundred pieces. It was bought by the Brooklyn Museum in 1908 from his widow. Cooney 1963; Lacovara and d’Auria 2018: 3–4. 115 Brooklyn Museum Inv.N° 08.480.1–2; Bleiberg 2008: 96–7, Fig. 94–96. 112

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Bakschisch’,116 is conveyed by Sir Leonard Woolley, and relates to Lord Carnarvon. It is about some splendid objects that were taken right out from the showcases of the Egyptian Museum to be offered to his lordship.117 However, whether the culprit really was Emil cannot be proven. Another sort of alleged misconduct is documented by the Polish Egyptologist Tadeusz Smoleński.118 Smoleński came to Egypt in 1905. Like many in those days, he suffered from tuberculosis and hoped to find relief in the warm Egyptian climate. On his arrival, he was taken care of by his fellow countryman Mieczyslaw Stefan Geniusz, an engineer in charge of the ‘Usines des eaux’ at Port Said. To relieve boredom, Smoleński engaged himself with the study of Egyptian archaeology and became a pupil of Gaston Maspero. His patron Mieczyslaw Geniusz had acquired a pair of nicely decorated ceramic jars in the Sale Room of the Egyptian Museum on 2nd January 1905 for 250 piastres, which are now held in the National Museum of Warsaw.119 Their shape indicates that they belong to the Pre- or Early Dynastic Period. The decoration, however, is known only from the New Kingdom. In his book about forgeries, Jean-Jacques Fiechter relates that Smoleński was ordered by Brugsch to beautify the pottery, and that he chose the pattern of vases from the tomb of Sennedjem.120 Smoleński, however, arrived in Egypt only after the purchase. It seems he had tried to figure out where exactly the vases had come from and when and why exactly they had been altered, as they were already on display at the Louisiana Purchase Exhibition in St. Louis in 1904.121 Brugsch allegedly told Smoleński that they date from the New Kingdom and came from an excavation of Georges Daressy. The latter informed him, however, that they were unearthed by Émile Amélineau in Abydos.122 It should be noted that Emil was known to sell vases he painted by himself.123 Whatever might be behind these stories, Maspero only complained about the laziness of his employee, and at the end of Emil’s service, he even regretted the latter’s departure since he had been: ‘an easy and good fellow’.124 After Emil’s retirement, his position at the Museum should have been bestowed again to a German scholar. However, the two German archaeologists that were involved in the procedure, Ludwig Borchardt and Friedrich Wilhelm von

116

Szemethy 2014: 106. See also an episode conveyed by Wilbour, Capart 1936: 255. Schmidt 2019b: 95, n.71. 118 Maspero 1910; Śliwa and Zinkow 2010. 119 Inv.No. 237.724 and 237.725 MN. 120 Fiechter 2009: 87. 121 Piacentini 2017: 82 fig. 8; on the picture of the diorama in St. Louis, the vase in general seems to be a bit brighter, but the design is the same. 122 Dolińska 2000: 29–30, pl. 12, fig. 1. 123 Gyllenhall 2011: 183 with n. 31. 124 David 2003: 88 for his laziness, 559. 117

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Bissing, and their French colleagues, could not agree on a candidate. Georg Steindorff was in their opinion already too prominent a scholar to work as a subaltern, and Hermann Kees too young and inexperienced to become Director of such an important collection. In the end, the position was given to the Frenchman Georges Daressy, a long-term employee of the Museum. Daressy’s former position was assumed by the Brit James Edward Quibell.125 Thus, the German influence in the Egyptian Museum came to an end a little before World War I, which would most likely have ended it in any case. In his last years in Cairo, Emil was also granted the title Pasha. One honour, however, Emil was denied. Unlike his colleagues, Luigi Vassalli and Ahmed Kamal, or his brother Heinrich, he was not accepted into the illustrious circle of Egyptologists that adorn Mariette’s tomb in Cairo.126 Bibliography Albert Victor, Prince et al. 1886. The Cruise of Her Majesty’s Ship ‘Bacchante’ 1879–1882. Compiled from the private journals, letters, and note-books of Prince Albert Victor and Prince George of Wales, with additions by John N. Dalton, II. London: Macmillan and Co. Arico, A. and E. Teeter 2018–2019. ‘Collecting ancient Egypt in Chicago’. Kmt: A Modern Journal of Ancient Egypt 29/4: 63–73. Badawy, A. 1972. ‘A Monumental Gateway for a Temple of King Sety I. An Ancient Model Restored’. In B. von Bothmer, Miscellanea Wilbouriana. Brooklyn: Brooklyn Museum, 1–20. Benson, M. and J. Gourlay 1899. The Temple of Mut in Asher: An account of the excavation of the temple and of the religious representations and objects found therein, as illustrating the history of Egypt and the main religious ideas of the Egyptians. London: James Murray. Bickerstaffe, D. 2010. ‘The history of the discovery of the Cache’. In E. Graefe and G. Belova (eds), The Royal cache TT 320: A re-examination. Cairo: Supreme Council of Antiquities Press, 13–36. Bideault, M. 2015. ‘Jules Bourgoin au miroir de ses contemporains’. In M. Bideault et al. (eds), De L’Orient à la mathématique de l’ornement: Jules Bourgoin (1838–1908). Paris: Éditions A. et J. Picard, 11–20. Bissing, F.W. von 1901. Metallgefäße, Catalogue Général des antiquités Égyptienne du Musée du Caire, N° 3426–3587. Vienna: Holzhausen. Bleiberg, E. 2008. To Live Forever. Egyptian Treasures from the Brooklyn Museum. Brooklyn, N.Y.: Brooklyn Museum. Blouin, K. 2014. Triangular Landscapes: Environment, Society, and the State in the Nile Delta under Roman Rule. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 125

Mohl 1922: 265. Stated otherwise in Grillot 2014 and Grillot and Chartier 2017. The bust of ‘Brugsch’ depicts Heinrich Brugsch, who is well placed besides his lifelong opponent Richard Lepsius.

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[Erman, A.] 1899. Ausführliches Verzeichnis der ägyptischen Altertümer und Gipsabgüsse, Königliche Museen zu Berlin, 2. Auflage. Berlin: Spemann. Erman, A. 1929. Mein Werden und mein Wirken. Erinnerungen eines alten Berliner Gelehrten. Leipzig: Quelle & Mayer. Fiechter, J.-J. 2009. Egyptian Fakes: Masterpieces that duped the art world and the experts who uncovered them. Paris: Flammarion. Forbes, D.C. 2015. The Royal Mummies Caches (TT320 & KV35). Tombs, Treasures, Mummies: Seven Great Discoveries of Egyptian Archaeology, I. Sebastopol CA: Kmt Communications. Gady E. 2006. ‘Le Musée des Antiquités du Caire: Un lieu de mémoire pour les Egyptiens ou pour les Occidentaux?’ Outre-mers: Revue d’histoire 94, n°350– 351, 1er semestre 2006.: 81–90. Gammon, M. 2018. Deaccessioning and its Discontents: A Critical History. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Germer, R. et al. 2009. ‘Die Gräberfelder von Achmim – eine sprudelnde Geldquelle für Einheimische und Antikenhändler’. In R. Germer, Ägyptisches Museum und Papyrussammlung, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Berliner Mumiengeschichten: Ergebnisse eines multidisziplinären Forschungsprojektes. Regensburg: Schnell + Steiner, 113–138. Graefe, E. 2011. ‘Noch einmal: Emil Brugsch und seine Ausräumung der Königlichen Cachette TT 320’. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 67: 101–104. Grillot, M. 2014. ‘Emile Brugsch: Le ‘petit’ Brugsch était un grand égyptologue!’, https://egyptophile.blogspot.com/2014/06/le-petit-brugsch-un-grandegyptologue.html (last access 02.02.2022). Grillot, M. and M. Chartier 2017. ‘Dans la cour du musée du Caire, le monument de Mariette … et les bustes qui l’entourent’, https://egyptophile.blogspot.com /2017/02/dans-la-cour-du-musee-du-caire-le.html (last access 02.02. 2022). Gunter, A.C. 2002. A Collector’s Journey. Charles Lang Freer and Egypt. Washington, D.C.: Freer Gallery of Art. Gyllenhall, E. 2011. ‘From Parlor to Castle: The Egyptian Collection at Glencairn Museum’. In Z. Hawass and J. Houser Wegner (eds), Millions of Jubilees: Studies in Honor of David P. Silverman, I, Cahiers suppléments aux Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 39, 175–203. Hagen, F. and K. Ryholt 2016. The Antiquities Trade in Egypt 1880–1930. The H.O. Lange Papers. Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes Selskab. Harer, W. Benson jr. 2008. ‘The Drexel Collection: From Egypt to the Diaspora’. In S. d’Auria (ed.), Servant of Mut, Studies in Honor of Richard A. Fazzini. Leiden: Brill, 111–119. Hill, M. et al. 2010. ‘Rediscovering Grigory Stroganoff as a collector of Egyptian art’. Journal of the History of Collections 22: 289–306.

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Hill, M. and D. Schorsch 2005. ‘The Gulbenkian Torso of King Pedubaste: Investigations into Egyptian Large Bronze Statuary’. Metropolitan Museum Journal 40: 163–195. Hodjash, S. and O. Berlev 1982. The Egyptian Reliefs and Stelae in the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts Moscow. Leningrad: Aurora Art Publishers. James, G. 2002. Shabtis – a private view. Paris: Cybele. Jarsaillon, C. 2017. ‘Schiaparelli et les archéologues italiens aux bords du Nil: Égyptologie et rivalités diplomatiques entre 1882 et 1922’. Rivista del Museo Egizio 1: 87–107, Jaunay, A. and J. de Morgan 1997. Mémoires de Jacques de Morgan (1857– 1924). Souvenirs d’un archéologue. Paris: Editionsl’Harmattan. Keimer, L. 1950. ‘Le musée égyptologique de Berlin’. Cahiers d’histore égyptienne 3/1: 27–41. Küffer, A. 2017. ‘The coffins from the Cache-tomb of Bab el-Gasus in Switzerland’. In A. Amenta and H. Guichard (eds), Proceedings First Vatican Coffin Conference 19–22 June 2013, 1. Vatican City: Edizioni Musei Vaticani, 249– 254. Lacovara, P. and S.H. d’Auria (eds), 2018. The Mystery of the Albany Mummies. Albany: Excelsior Editions. Larsow, F. 1852. Die Fest-Briefe des Heiligen Athanasius Bischofs von Alexandria. Leipzig: Vogel et al. Lebée, T. 2013. Le musée d’antiquités égyptiennes de Būlāq (1858–1889). Faire connaître et aimer l’Égypte ancienne au XIXe. Paris: l’École du Louvre. Mariette, A. 1871. Les papyrus égyptiens du Musée de Boulaq, 1. Paris: Franck. — 1872a. Les papyrus égyptiens du Musée de Boulaq, 2. Paris: Franck. — 1872b. Monuments divers recueillis en Égypte et en Nubie. Paris: Vieweg. Maspero, G. 1889. ‘Les momies royales de Deir El-Bahari’. Mémoires publiés par les membres de la Mission Archéologique Française au Caire 1/4: 510– 787. — 1903. Guide to the Cairo Museum. Cairo: Printing Office of the French Institute of Oriental Archaeology. — 1910. ‘Thadée Smolenski (1884–1909)’. Annales du Service des antiquités de l’Egypte 10: 91–95. De Meulenaere, H. and P. MacKay 1975. Mendes II. Brooklyn: Brooklyn Museum / Institute of Fine Arts of New York university. Mohl, O. von 1922. Ägypten, II. Teil der „Fünfzig Jahre Reichsdienst“. Leipzig: Paul List. Mutter, G.L. and B.P. Fishman 2013. ‘First Photos Taken from the Great Pyramid Summit’. AERAgram 14/1: 16–21. http://www.aeraweb.org/wp-content/up loads/2015/01/aeragram14_1.pdf (last access 02.02.2022).

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Ormos, I. 2021. Cairo in Chicago. Cairo Street at the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893. Études urbaines 11. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Orsenigo, C. 2010. ‘Turning Points in Egyptian Archaeology 1850–1950’. In Piacentini, P. (ed.), Egypt and the Pharaohs. From the Sand to the Library. Pharaonic Egypt in the Archives and Libraries of the Università degli Studi di Milano. Milano: Skira / Università degli studi di Milano, 117–172. Parke-Bernet Galleries 1958. Egyptian and Classical Antiquities and Peruvian Pottery belonging to a Midwestern Museum. Parke-Bernet Galleries, New York, 15 May 1958. Perkins, K. 1976. ‘Centennial in Philadelphia’. Saudi Aramco World 27/6: 8–13. https://archive.aramcoworld.com/issue/197606/centennial.in.philadelphia. htm (last access 02.02.2022). Petrie, W.M.F. 1931. Seventy years in archaeology. London: Sampson Low, Marston. Piacentini, P. 2011. ‘The Presentation of Antiquities. Creation of Museums in Egypt during the Nineteenth Century’. In P. Piacentini (ed.), Egypt and the Pharaohs. From Conservation to Enjoyment. Pharaonic Egypt in the Archives and Libraries of the Università degli Studi di Milano. Milano: Skira / Università degli studi di Milano, 3–42. — 2013–2014. ‘The antiquities path: From the Sale Room of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, through dealers, to private and public collections. A work in progress’. Egyptian & Egyptological Documents, Archives & Libraries 4: 105–130. — 2017. ‘Notes on the History of the Sale Room of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo’. In T. Gertzen and J. Helmbold-Doyé (eds), Mosse im Museum. Die Stiftungstätigkeit des Berliner Verlegers Rudolf Mosse (1843−1920) für das Ägyptische Museum Berlin. Berlin: Hentrich & Hentrich, 59–69. Porter, B. and R. Moss 1937. Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts, Reliefs, and Paintings, V: Upper Egypt: sites. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Quertinmont, A. 2018. ‘À propos d’un carnet autographe d’Émile Brugsch. Histoires de Saqqara, de TT 320 et … de chiens’. In F. Doyen et al. (eds), Sur le chemin du Mouseion d’Alexandrie. Études offertes à Marie-Cécile Bruwier. Cahiers de l’ENIM 19. Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry, 271–286. Ratliff, T. 2016. ‘Collecting Late Antique Textiles at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’. In T.K. Thomas (ed.), Designing identity: The Power of Textiles in Late Antiquity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 117–125. Raven, M. 2018. The most prominent Dutchman in Egypt: Jan Herman Insinger and the Egyptian collection in Leiden. Leiden: Sidestone Press. Ricqlès, F. de 1996. Archéologie: Collection Emile Brugsch-Pacha et à divers amateurs : vente aux enchères publiques le lundi 30 septembre et le mardi 1er

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octobre 1996. Paris: Drouot-Richelieu. Ricqlès, F. de and J.-P. Mariaud de Serres 1997. Archéologie: Provenant des collections Koutoulakis, Krief, Maspéro, Brugsh-Pasha (2e partie) et à divers amateurs: Vente, Paris, Drouot-Richelieu, lundi 29 septembre 1997 et mardi 30 septembre 1997. Paris. Riefstahl, E. 1972. ‘The Recent History of King Sety’s Model with Bibliography’. In B. von Bothmer (ed.), Miscellanea Wilbouriana. New York: Brooklyn Museum, 20–23. Riggs, C. 2013. ‘Colonial Visions: Egyptian Antiquities and Contested Histories in the Cairo Museum’. Museum Worlds – Advances in Research 1: 65–84. Sayce, A.H. 1923. Reminiscences. London: Macmillan. Schmidt, H.C. 2007. ‘Am Anfang war Ägypten’. In H.H. Hillrichs (ed.), Troja ist überall. Der Siegeszug der Archäologie. Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer Scherz, 69– 135. — 2017. ‘Die Rolle der Gebrüder Brugsch im Ägyptischen Antikenhandel’. In T.L. Gertzen and J. Helmbold-Doyé (eds), Mosse im Museum. Die Stiftungstätigkeit des Berliner Verlegers Rudolf Mosse (1843–1920). Berlin: Hentrich & Hentrich, 44–58. — 2019a. ‘Ein Preuße in Göttingen: Heinrich Brugsch (1827–1894)’. In J. Arp– Neumann and T.L. Gertzen (eds), „Steininschrift und Bibelwort“. Ägyptologen und Koptologen Niedersachsens. Ta–Mehu: Ägyptologie in Norddeutschland 2. Rahden/Westf.: Leidorf, 19–24. — 2019b. ‘The notorious Emil Brugsch: “It is said that Brugsch would sell the whole museum”’. In N. Cooke (ed.), Journeys Erased by Time: The rediscovered footprints of travellers in Egypt and the Near East. Oxford: Archaeopress, 81–99. Scott, J. 2014. De Potter’s Grand Tour. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux. Shaw, W.J. 1875. ‘The Temple of Heliopolis’. Overland Monthly and Out West Magazine 14/5: 438–444. Shepheard Hotel (ed.), [1894]. Cairo und Aegypten – Ein praktisches Handbuch für die Besucher des Pharaonenlandes. Seinen Gästen gewidmet von Shepheards-Hotel. München: A. Bruckmann. Śliwa, J. and L. Zinkow 2010. Tadeusz Smoleński 1884–1909. Pisma naukowe i publicyszne. Kraków: Ksiegarnia Akademicka. Smith, J.L. 1956. Tombs, Temples & Ancient Art. Norman OK: University of Oklahoma Press. Staring, N. 2016. ‘The Mid-19th Century Exploration of Saqqara: Mariette and Early Photography’. Saqqara Newsletter 14: 39–52. Szemethy, H. 2014. ‘Die Reise Felix von Luschans in den Orient im Jahre 1889’. In F. Nikolasch (ed.), Symposium zur Geschichte von Millstatt und Kärnten 2013. S.l., 97–124.

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Teeter, E. 1994. ‘Egyptian art’. Museum Studies (The Art Institute of Chicago) 20/1, 14–31. — 2010. ‘Egypt in Chicago: A Story of Three Collections’. In Z. Hawass and J. Houser Wegner (eds), Millions of Jubilees, Studies in Honor of David P. Silverman. Cahiers suppléments aux Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Egypte 39. Cairo: Supreme Council of Antiquities, 303–314. Thomas, T.K. 2009. ‘From curiosities to objects of art: Modern reception of Late Antique Egyptian textiles as reflected in Dikran Kelekian’s textile album of ca. 1910’. In J.D. Alchermes (ed.), Anathemata erotica: Studies in honor of Thomas F. Mathews. Mainz: Zabern, 305–317. Thompson, J. 2015. Wonderful Things: A history of Egyptology, 2: The Golden Age: 1881–1914. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Vernier, É.-S. 1927. Bijoux et Orfèvreries. Catalogue Général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire, N° 52001–53855. Cairo: Imprimerie de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Wegner, J. 2017. The Sunshade Chapel of Meritaton from the House-of-Waenre of Akhenaten. Museum Monograph 144. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Wilson, J.A. 1964. Signs and Wonders upon Pharaoh. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Young, J.R. 1879. Around the world with General Grant: A narrative of the visit of general U. S. Grant, Expresident of the United States, to various countries in Europe, Asia and Africa in 1877, 1878, 1879, I. New York: American News Co.

Fritz Krebs (1867–1900) Forgotten école de Berlin Egyptologist and Pioneer Papyrologist1 Bart R. Hellinckx

It seems that Fritz Krebs was destined to be largely forgotten in the history of Egyptology. Repeated and prolonged periods of illness and an untimely death meant he only had a professional career for about a decade. Moreover, he worked mainly in the field of papyrology, something that immediately banished him to the margins of Egyptology. The acquisition of a book bearing his remarkable bookplate provided the impetus for a biographical study. Few details are available about his private life, so the focus is on his scholarly work, its contemporary reception, and its long-term value. Krebs’s scientific footprint turns out to be considerable. His pioneering contributions are diverse, numerous, of high quality, of enduring importance and to some extent even ‘modern’. They entitle him to a place of honour in the collective memory of both Egyptology and papyrology. Introduction In 2019 I acquired a copy of Wilhelm Spiegelberg’s dissertation with the Egyptian-style bookplate and the blue ink owner’s stamp of ‘Dr. Fritz Krebs Berlin’ (fig. 1). I was aware that this scholar was the co-author, with Adolf Erman, of a general book on the papyri in the Berlin Museum published in 1899,2 but I knew little else about him. He does not appear in the authoritative Who Was Who in Egyptology, nor in Thompson’s trilogy on the history of Egyptology, and not in the recent A History of World Egyptology.3 His remarkable bookplate is not included in Exlibris von Ägyptologen by Konrad and Pamminger.4 The Egyptological bibliography of Beinlich-Seeber lists nine publications by him,5 but in the 1

I would like to thank the editors of the present volume, especially Andrew Bednarski and Marleen De Meyer, for their valuable corrections and suggestions. Needless to say, any remaining mistakes are my own. 2 Erman and Krebs 1899. 3 Bierbrier 2019; Thompson 2015–2018; Bednarski et al. (eds) 2021. That Krebs does not feature in the history of Egyptology by Thompson is not surprising given the author’s disproportionate reliance on English-language secondary literature; see the criticism by Gertzen 2016: 361–363. 4 Konrad and Pamminger 2014. The catalogues of two exhibitions held in Belgium on ancient Egypt in bookplates include some additional bookplates of Egyptologists (Vanlathem and Oost 2013: 7–11, 16; Boyer and Quertinmont 2022: 151–153, 271, 279), but that of Fritz Krebs is also not included. 5 Beinlich-Seeber 1998: 945–946 (the two editions of his dissertation are counted as two publications).

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The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology, which contains an important overview of the history of the discipline, by Keenan, does not mention him at all.8 Likewise, the four superb Hermae volumes edited by Capasso,9 the main biographical resource on scholars in papyrology, contains no article about him. On the other hand, the Trismegistos database lists 555 text editions by Krebs10 and a search in the Berliner Papyrusdatenbank yields 755 hits.11 With regard to more general biographical works, he is missing in the biographical dictionary of Brill’s New Pauly, which contains biographies of some 2,500 individuals who made their mark on the study of Antiquity.12 On the other hand, there is a concise entry on him in the German version of Wikipedia.13 The main importance of this entry lies in the reference to Wilhelm Schubart’s lengthy obituary on Krebs, actually the most informative source on Krebs.14 He is not included in the authoritative Neue Deutsche Biographie (NDB), edited since 1953 by the Historischen Kommission bei der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften.15 These initial surveys convinced me that it would be worthwhile to undertake a biographical study of this somewhat forgotten scholar, alongside a description and analysis of the bookplate. My contribution on the bookplate will be published elsewhere,16 but the outcome of my biographical investigations is presented here. The overview is mainly based on published sources. The most informative biographical sources are the vita in Krebs’s dissertation,17 a brief Nachruf by Ulrich Wilcken,18 the above-mentioned substantial obituary by Wilhelm Schubart19 and some biographical studies on the papyrologists Grigorij F. Cereteli and Edgar J.

8; Müller 1957: 89; Pallat 1959: 270; Müller 1983: 136; Montevecchi 1988: 35; Reiter 2012: v. 8 Keenan 2009. 9 Capasso (ed.) 2007–10; Capasso (ed.) 2013–15. 10 https://www.trismegistos.org/edit/detail.php?edit_id=1196 (accessed 26 July 2022). 11 https://berlpap.smb museum/result/?Alle=Krebs (accessed 26 July 2022). 12 Kuhlmann and Schneider (eds) 2014. 13 https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friedrich_Krebs_(Papyrologe) (accessed 26 July 2022). 14 Schubart 1902. 15 For the NDB-online, see https://www.deutsche-biographie.de/ (accessed 26 September 2022). 16 Hellinckx forthcoming. Krebs’s bookplate will be discussed together with another remarkable ex libris that has not been described so far, that of the famous Berlin papyrus conservator Hugo Ibscher. The latter certainly must have known Krebs personally and his bookplate even occurs in the book published by Erman and Krebs (Erman and Krebs 1899). 17 Krebs 1889: [24]. 18 Wilcken 1900c. 19 Schubart 1902.

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Goodspeed.20 Egyptological archives available online were also used,21 but unpublished archival documents have not been mined. As rather few details are available on Krebs’s private life, the focus of this study is on his work, its contemporary reception, and its scientific value in the long term. Trained by the very best22 Fritz Krebs, officially Friedrich Maximilian Krebs, was born in Berlin on 28 May 1867 in a well-to-do family. His mother was Elisa Kichter and his father Friedrich Krebs, a district attorney and notary.23 In 1885, after his graduation at the Köllnisches Gymnasium in the Berlin suburb Neu-Kölln, he embarked upon the study of classical philology and Egyptology. With the exception of two semesters in Freiburg, he studied at the Friedrich Wilhelm University in Berlin, now the Humboldt University. He received his training as a classicist from such famous scholars as Hermann Diels, Ernst Hübner, Adolf Kirchhoff, Carl Robert, Johannes Vahlen and Ulrich Wilcken. Wilcken, who had earned his doctorate in 1885 with a thesis on Roman Egypt, based on papyri in the collection of the Berlin Museum, introduced him to the study of Greek papyri.24 In the field of Egyptology, he was also lucky to receive his training from two of the best scholars at the time. Professor Adolf Erman taught him Egyptian and Georg Steindorff, who would later become a professor at the University of Leipzig, trained him in Coptic. After he passed the state philological exam, he completed his philological and historical studies by attending the Historisches Seminar led by Ulrich Köhler and Otto Hirschfeld. The former was Professor of Ancient History and a renowned specialist in Greek epigraphy. The latter had, in 1885, succeeded the famous Theodor Mommsen as Professor of Ancient History and was a specialist in Latin epigraphy. The nominal sentence in Egyptian Nothing is known about Krebs’s student days except for one important fact. In his seminal study on the language of Papyrus Westcar, published in 1889, Erman acknowledged that he changed his views on the nominal sentence thanks to 20

Fichman 1988 (contacts with Cereteli); Hickey and Keenan 2021: 19–20, 27, 75, 79, 90, 117, 119 (contacts with Goodspeed). 21 Nachlass Adolf Erman in Bremen: https://brema.suub.uni-bremen.de/erman/content/ titleinfo/2367649 (accessed 16 August 2022). Marleen De Meyer kindly drew my attention to this archive. For the Steindorff correspondence, see https://arachne.dainst.org/search ?q=Steindorff (accessed 16 August 2022). 22 This section is essentially based on Krebs 1889: [24] and Schubart 1902. 23 The published sources do not contain information on the birth and death years of Krebs’s parents. 24 For Wilcken, see Poethke 2007a; Kruse 2009.

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candidatus Krebs, i.e. when the latter was still a student shortly before or during the final examinations.25 In his Neuägyptische Grammatik of 1880, Erman had defined the nominal sentence on the basis of the position of the subject, but following a proposal made by Krebs, he gave a new definition which was based instead on the word class to which the predicate belongs. While our understanding of the nominal sentence has of course developed considerably since then, this basic concept has stood the test of time.26 Obviously, Krebs was a talented student who did his bit to assist his professor in a groundbreaking work, reconstructing the principles of Egyptian grammar. Rigorous philological analysis That Krebs was well-versed in Egyptian philology is also evident in his doctoral dissertation, which he prepared under Erman’s supervision at Friedrich Wilhelm University. It deals with the famous autobiographical inscription of Khnumhotep II, governor of the Oryx Nome in the reign of Sesostris II, incised on the dado of the walls of his tomb chapel in Beni Hasan.27 As there were substantial differences between the two most recent translations of this text at the time, by Heinrich Brugsch and Gaston Maspero,28 Krebs attempted to explain the inscription with philological precision. On 1 November 1889 he publicly defended his dissertation which, as was customary at the time,29 was written in Latin: De inscriptione Aegyptiaca Chnemothis (Ḫnmḥtp) nomarchi.30 His opponents were three fellow humanities students. About two of these men, T. Kükelhaus and K. Hoppe, both candidatus, nothing is known. The third, then merely a studiosus, i.e. a university student, was Kurt Sethe, who would later become a real ‘giant’ of Egyptology. A year later a book edition of the dissertation, also in Latin, appeared.31 Krebs 25 Erman 1889: 113 (§ 274), with n. 3, 116 (§ 285). This point was rescued from oblivion by Polotsky in his study on the sentence structure in Coptic (Polotsky 1987: 13–14, 16). 26 In Egyptology nominal sentences are nowadays defined as ‘sentences with nominal predicates’ (Allen 2014: 88). 27 Tomb BH 3 (Porter and Moss 1934: 148); Newberry 1893: 56–66, pls. XXV–XXVI; Breasted 1906: 279–289 (§ 619–639); Montet 1930–35; Sethe 1935: 14–40; Vernus 1984; Lloyd 1992; Dantong 1995; Kamrin 1999: 34–36; Jansen-Winkeln 2001b; Simpson 2003; Le Guilloux 2005; Kanawati and Evans 2014: 31–36, pls. 7–13, 110–114. 28 Brugsch 1877: 139–143, 149–150; Maspero 1879: 160–181. The translation by Birch (Birch 1881) is based on the work of these scholars. 29 Some Latin dissertations of the Friedrich Wilhelm University in Berlin: Lepsius 1833; Erman 1878; Wilcken 1885; Schäfer 1892; Sethe 1892; Breasted 1894c; Rusch 1906. The dissertation of Krebs’s later colleague P. Viereck, defended in Göttingen: Viereck 1888. The dissertation of his successor W. Schubart, defended at Breslau: Schubart 1900. 30 Krebs 1889. 31 Krebs 1890. For a good description of the doctoral programme at the Friedrich Wilhelm University in those years, with the oral examination, the formal publication of the dissertation in Latin and the defence, see Abt 2011: 33–35.

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largely succeeded in his original goal. F.Ll. Griffith noted that ‘many passages are most satisfactorily explained’, admitting however that ‘in some cases Professor Maspero’s translation of 1879 is to be preferred’.32 According to Maspero several of the newly proposed translations were excellent, but some translations did not meet with his approval.33 He also regretted that the author had not taken into account some of the proposals made by other scholars in the literature. Maspero’s overall judgment, however, was entirely positive. He called it ‘un travail très méritoire’ and its author ‘un égyptologue doué de qualités solides’. His final comment read : ‘nous avons grand besoin de recrues aussi bien préparées qu’il semble être’. The strengh of the study obviously lay in the great care paid to grammatical questions, a point also observed by Maspero, who credited this to Krebs’s tutelage under Erman. Krebs acknowledged his debt to Erman and even dedicated the work to his mentor. Many years afterwards his study was indeed mainly cited for grammatical issues, even by such prominent philologists as Gardiner and Sethe.34 Over a hundred years later, Lloyd noted in a new study on the inscription that Krebs’s work ‘is still worth consulting’.35 With a lasting contribution to the definition of the nominal sentence and a sound philological dissertation, Krebs deserves a place of honour among the scholars of the ‘école de Berlin’. So far this has not been the case and he is completely absent in Gertzen’s important monograph on that school.36 Job at the Berlin Museum During his lifetime his talent certainly did not go unnoticed, as in 1889, the very year in which he defended his doctorate, he became Hilfsarbeiter in the Egyptian department of the Royal Museums in Berlin.37 A position had become vacant as a result of the appointment of Ulrich Wilcken at the University of Breslau (present day Wrocław), and Krebs was hired as academic auxiliary staff. Wilcken had been primarily involved in cataloguing the Greek papyri of the collection and, similarly, from the day he started there, Krebs was mainly occupied with classifying and cataloguing Greek papyri.

32

Griffith 1890: 263. Maspero 1890: 321. 34 Gardiner 1909: 86; Sethe 1962: 500. See also Erman 1889: 93, n. 1. Dévaud, who was mainly active in the field of Egyptian philology, also described Krebs’s work as an excellent study (Dévaud 1910: 112). 35 Lloyd 1992: 31, n. 4. 36 He is not mentioned in Gertzen’s seminal study on the Berlin school (Gertzen 2013a). 37 Wilcken 1900c: 375. 33

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Incisive critic Despite this new focus, Krebs’s first scientific output after his Ph.D. was still much in line with his Egyptological background. In 1891 he published five brief book reviews in Berlin-based periodicals, two in the Wochenschrift für klassische Philologie and three in the Berliner philologische Wochenschrift.38 His note on the first edition of the famous famine stela on Sehel Island by Heinrich Brugsch is entirely positive.39 It is possible that Krebs had no critical remarks at all on this work, but as there are indications that he knew the erudite scholar personally (see infra), he may also have chosen not to criticise his work. However, the tone in the review of Wilhelm Drexler’s study on the cult of Egyptian gods in the Danube countries is quite sharp.40 He acknowledged that the author had collected everything that sheds light on Serapis, Isis, Harpocrates and Anubis in those regions and also that for each of the sources the book mentions factual information, the relevant literature as well as some critical notes. However, his general evaluation is rather negative: ‘Leider hat der Verfasser ein dringendes Gebot für eine derartige Sammlung ausser Acht gelassen – das Gebot der Übersichtlichkeit! Der eigentliche Kern der Sache muss oft aus dem ihn erdrückenden, aber notwendigen Wust der Litteraturangaben mit Mühe herausgesucht werden, so dass bisweilen geradezu der Zusammenhang darunter leidet. Das hätte sich doch leicht vermeiden lassen!’41 He further discussed three books which Alfred Wiedemann had published around the time he became außerordentlichen Professor in Bonn. Two books are more popular in nature: one about the religion of ancient Egypt and another about its history.42 The third is a scholarly commentary on Book II of Herodotus.43 Krebs gave some positive comments on the three books. About the concise history of ancient Egypt, he expressed the wish that, through its wide circulation, it would help to eliminate the ‘unklaren und falschen Vorstellungen’ about the ancient Egyptians which still existed in many circles. However, in his review of the book on religion, and in that of the commentary on Herodotus, he also cited a considerable number of philological flaws. His judgment on the second work, destined for scholars, was exceptionally harsh in this regard: ‘Leider ist dagegen nur mit Vorsicht zu benutzen, was W[iedemann] in rein sprachlicher Beziehung bietet. Es scheint fast, als ob er die Ergebnisse der rein philologischen Forschung der letzten

38

Krebs 1891a, b, c, d, e. Krebs 1891e. 40 Krebs 1891b. 41 Krebs 1891b: 169–170. 42 Krebs 1891a, d. 43 Krebs 1891c. 39

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10 Jahre ignoriert’.44 Obviously, Krebs had grown into a confident young scientist, a proud representative of the philologically-oriented Berlin school of Egyptology headed by Erman. Dissertation opponent in a memorable session A year later, on 14 March 1892, Krebs had another occasion to showcase his Egyptological expertise. On that day he acted as the opponent during the public defence of two Egyptological Ph.D. dissertations at his alma mater. When Kurt Sethe defended his dissertation on the prosthetic aleph in verb forms, Krebs was part of the trio of adversarii together with theology student W. Felmy and doctoral student Heinrich Schäfer.45 Half an hour later, when Schäfer defended his own dissertation on the Ebers Papyrus, Krebs was joined as interrogator by the freshly promoted K. Sethe and by a certain Dr. J. Pierson.46 Further particulars on this remarkable ‘double ceremony’ are not known, but with hindsight, it can be said that it was an event of historical importance as it was the start of the academic career of two brilliant Egyptologists.

Fig. 2: Example of a text edition in the BGU by Fritz Krebs (photograph by the author after BGU I, fasc. 6, 1893: Krebs 1892–95: 179).

44

A similar criticism is noticeable in the testimony of Hermann Grapow, another representative of the Berlin school: ‘Wiedemann war so ganz der Typ eines vornehmen Gelehrten der alten Zeit. […] Wiedemann, der von der klassischen Philologie her kam, war als Ägyptologe seinen Büchern nach nie so recht jung gewesen und ist jedenfalls früh der ‘alte’ Wiedemann geworden, wie er wohl bezeichnet wurde.’ (Grapow 1973: 68). 45 Sethe 1892. 46 Schäfer 1892.

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Greek papyri in Berlin In the 1890s – the exact year cannot be ascertained – Krebs became Direktorialassistent of the Egyptian department in the Berlin Museum, i.e. Erman’s assistant.47 His job was to curate the collection of Greek papyri. Between 1877 and 1881 the museum bought a considerable amount of Greek papyri of Roman date from the Fayyum and, in 1891, it had acquired the papyri which Heinrich Brugsch had brought from his latest trip to Egypt, the majority of which was also from the Roman Period and from the Fayyum. Continuing the work of Wilcken, he organised the collection and inventoried the new acquisitions. There are no figures available for the early 1890s,48 but in 1897 there were 3720 inventoried Greek papyri, with a single inventory number sometimes including several papyrus fragments.49 Spurred on by Erman, who wanted to make accessible the rich array of texts from Egypt in the collection, and backed by the famous historian and Altertumswissenschaftler Theodor Mommsen, who was then secretary of the Historical-Philological Class at the Berlin Academy,50 Ulrich Wilcken set up an important publishing program. A specific series was reserved for the documentary, i.e. the non-literary Greek papyri of the Roman Period and to a lesser extent the Byzantine Period: Aegyptische Urkunden aus den Koeniglichen Museen zu Berlin herausgegeben von der Generalverwaltung: Griechische Urkunden (abbreviated as BGU).51 Besides Wilcken, the main text editors for this series were Krebs and another young doctor, Paul Viereck. The latter had studied classical philology at the University of Göttingen under the renowned Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff.52 He had no job at the university or the museum but worked as a wissenschaftlicher Hilfslehrer and physical education teacher at various secondary schools in Berlin. New papyri were constantly flooding into the museums, and fragments from the same papyrus, or papyri from the same archive, were surfacing in different

47

Wilcken 1900c: 375; Schubart 1902: 29. According to Preisendanz he had this function already when U. von Wilamowitz came over from Göttingen to Berlin in 1897 (Preisendanz 1933: 174). 48 So also Wilcken 1893: 264. 49 Wilcken 1897: 49, n. 43, after information provided by Krebs. 50 Poethke 2007a: 84–85. 51 Later similar series were launched for the Coptic documents (1895; BKU) and the Arabic documents (1896; BAU). 52 There is no article on Viereck in the Hermae vols. (Capasso (ed.) 2007–10; Capasso (ed.) 2013–15). A fairly detailed biographic overview is https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Paul_Viereck_(Philologe) (accessed 26 July 2022). In 1888, he had won the university’s competition which consisted of an investigation of the use of the Greek language in the political life of the Romans up to Emperor Tiberius, a work with which he also earned his doctorate (Viereck 1888).

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collections. As a result, Wilcken regarded his editions of the texts merely as ‘Vorarbeiten’, making them available to the scholarly community as quickly as possible: ‘Jetzt kann meines Erachtens unsere Aufgabe nur die sein, so schnell und so gut wie möglich die in den Museen aufgespeicherten Schätze zu edieren und ausserdem – aber möglichst gesondert von den Editionen und diese nicht als Ballast beschwerend! – Untersuchungen über den Inhalt der Texte nach den verschiedensten Richtungen hin anzustellen’.53 For this reason, translations and commentaries were not included in the publication. It was a plain text edition that contained only handwritten transcriptions of the Greek texts, with a reconstruction of lost parts between square brackets, and some basic data, such as inventory numbers, dimensions, provenance and dating. Concise notes on the reading appear under the text, and at the end the editor recorded his name (fig. 2). Each BGU volume consisted of a set of 12 fascicles, with the last one containing the index. The fascicles, composed of 32 autographed pages, photo-lithographically reproduced rather than printed from type, were gradually issued. To quicken the publication process, no effort was made to bring texts of the same genre together. As a result, the order of the documents in the publication is completely random. The first three fascicles of the first volume of the BGU came out simultaneously in 1892, a year after the well-known ‘annus mirabilis’ of papyrology, a year so-named because several epoch-making publications appeared. The Irish classicist John P. Mahaffy published the first volume of the Flinders Petrie papyri, an important collection of Ptolemaic documentary papyri extracted from mummycasings excavated by Petrie at Gurob in 1890.54 The British biblical and classical scholar Frederic G. Kenyon also edited some remarkable literary treasures in the British Museum: Aristotle’s Constitution of the Athenians, mimes of Herodas, and speeches by the orator Hyperides.55 The novelty of the BGU was that it was the first papyrological series. From then on, ‘serialised editing’ of papyri became the standard.56 As the BGU continues up to this day, it is the longest-running series of papyrus editions.

53

Wilcken 1897: 22, 24–25. Mahaffy 1891. 55 Kenyon 1891a–b. 56 In the following years several major new series started to appear: Greek Papyri in the British Museum (1893), Corpus Papyrorum Raineri (1895), Les Papyrus de Genève (1896), and The Oxyrhynchus Papyri (1898). 54

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Reception of the BGU The initiative to publish the papyri in the Berlin collection was widely acclaimed.57 Even though the papyri published in the first fascicles were not sensational or of ‘first class importance’, their informative value was unanimously recognised. About the format there were, understandably, mixed opinions. Some reviewers supported the choices that had been made because the publication offered what was needed, i.e. the texts.58 As the texts were unpretentious, it was accepted that the format of the publication was also unpretentious.59 For that reason, even ‘le désordre pittoresque’ of the documents was pardoned.60 It was also noted that because of their cheap price, the fascicles could be acquired by everyone who needed them.61 With regard to other aspects of the publication, there was less enthusiasm. The decision not to include facsimiles was understood but regretted, as the interests of palaeography were not furthered.62 The absence of translations was also regarded by some as a major shortcoming. One reviewer noted that translations would have made the contents more accessible to Egyptologists and jurists.63 Some reviewers disapproved of the systematic addition of diacritics and punctuation, and would instead have preferred a faithful reproduction of the original text.64 The first fascicle contains transcriptions by Wilcken, the second by Krebs and the third by Viereck. Whereas the quality of Wilcken’s work was unanimously praised, the contributions by Krebs and Viereck were not always assessed positively. The French scholars were especially critical about the accuracy of the texts transcribed by the two younger editors.65 Kenyon was kind: ‘His [i.e. Wilcken’s] colleagues have not hitherto made their mark in this department of research; but if this is their first appearance it is an eminently creditable one’.66 The German legal historian and specialist in juristic papyrology Otto Gradenwitz also excelled in diplomacy. After having pointed out that in this field ‘practice makes the master’ even more than usual, he stated that Krebs and Viereck gained their mastery through the great work assigned to them.67 57

The reviews of the early fascicles/volumes of the BGU are listed by Hohlwein 1905: 20–21. 58 Esp. Gradenwitz 1893: 718. 59 Blass 1894: 397. 60 Reinach and W[…] 1893: 139. 61 Kenyon 1893: 109. 62 Kenyon 1893: 109. 63 Wessely 1893: 372. 64 Wessely 1893: 372; Gradenwitz 1893: 720–721. 65 G[…] 1893; Reinach and W[…] 1893: 139. 66 Kenyon 1893: 109. He further stated that the ‘work was most carefully and faithfully executed’, that ‘lapses’ are few, and that the authors deserve credit for their ‘careful and conscientious work’. 67 Gradenwitz 1893: 719.

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The large number of corrigenda to the texts edited by Krebs and Viereck, strikingly more numerous than those to Wilcken’s texts,68 and the fact that some of their texts were re-edited in a later volume of the BGU, confirm that the early work of the two young collaborators was certainly far from perfect. In the field of papyrology it is common practice that after the first edition of a text, subsequent study leads inevitably to improved readings and new datings. The famous Berichtigungsliste der Griechischen Papyrusurkunden aus Ägypten (BL), initiated by F. Preisigke in 1913, lists these in alphabetical order of the documentary papyri. However, with the early BGU volumes, there is an additional issue. These were the pioneering days of deciphering Greek cursive texts in documentary papyri from the Roman Period, with their numerous ligatures and unfamiliar abbreviations. As the idea of calling scholars who study papyri ‘papyrologists’ first came up in relation to the BGU series,69 the BGU editors were literally the very first papyrologists. There were hardly any editions of similar papyri and they had to figure it all out for themselves. Wilcken already had considerable experience reading papyri, and had established his reputation as ‘zuverlässiger Papyrusleser’.70 His younger colleagues, however, were complete novices in the field. Honourably, Wilcken took up the defence of his young collaborators: ‘Wer selbst sich in dieses Labyrinth begeben hat, wird den richtigen Maßstab für Erstlingsarbeiten auf diesem Gebiet in seinen eigenen Erfahrungen finden; er wird aber auch den Leistungen der genannten Herren [i.e. Krebs and Viereck] trotz mancher Ausstellungen seine volle Anerkennung nicht versagen können’.71 He further added that the desire of the museum authorities to expedite the undertaking, of course, also left its mark on the work’s execution. Serial papyrus editor As head of the papyrus collection, Krebs had a prominent role in its publication. In the first few years of the BGU, he was clearly the most active editor. In the first two volumes and in the first six fascicles of the third volume – during the preparation of which, in 1900, he died suddenly – he edited no less than 434 out of 874 texts.72 As a result, Krebs had the opportunity to build up expertise and experience. He seems to have caught up quickly, as by the second series of addenda and corrigenda of BGU, he had already started to correct some of the texts edited by 68

The corrigenda were issued in the fifth and twelfth fascicle. See the remarks by Mitteis 1895: 565; Gradenwitz 1899: 1101, n. 3. 69 Van Minnen 1993: 7. The first recorded use of the term is Jules Nicole’s reference to the BGU editors as ‘les papyrologistes de Berlin’ (Nicole 1896: 3). An early, apparently unreported use of the term ‘Papyrologie’ in German occurs in Wilcken 1897: 5. 70 Gradenwitz 1893: 719. 71 Wilcken 1893: 266. 72 Krebs 1892–95, 1894–98; 1899–1900.

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Wilcken. Gradenwitz later stated that Krebs had developed into a collaborator worthy of Wilcken and he praised him for his expertise and supreme ‘Entzifferungskunst’.73 Several other scholars also testified that Krebs was an outstanding palaeographer,74 an ability that was of course essential to read and date texts. According to Schubart, he had such an experienced eye for the characteristics of writing that he could establish a date with great certainty.75 Schubart also observed that Krebs was generally very prudent in his readings.76 He read only what could be read and he was convinced that a reconstruction of a damaged word or passage that is not entirely certain would do more harm than good. Besides being the most productive editor of the BGU, Krebs also promoted the series in other ways. He prepared extensive indices for the two first volumes,77 in itself an admirable and useful achievement as it made its rich contents more accessible. A German reviewer proudly remarked that the indices were more practical than those in the first volume of The Oxyrhynchus Papyri and in the second volume of Greek Papyri in the British Museum.78 In 1894 Krebs wrote an elaborate article for the Berliner philologische Wochenschrift, on the first volume of the BGU. This raised awareness of the new series and gave an overview of its documents by means of examples.79 Over the years we have become accustomed to the wide range of documentary papyri, but in BGU I many types of documents were published for the very first time and in no particular order. Krebs’s article was a first attempt to classify an initially bewildering mass of documents in a makeshift but insightful way. Only a few years later, Wilcken made a second attempt when he divided the Papyrusurkunden of BGU I–II into scientifically useful categories.80 Papyrological mentor Some other scholars also contributed to the early BGU volumes, viz. Gradenwitz, Mommsen, Sethe, Grigorij F. Cereteli,81 Edgar J. Goodspeed and Wilhelm Schubart. Even though the contributions of Cereteli, a half-Georgian (but culturally Russian), and Goodspeed, an American, were rather modest, their involvement in the project is important for another reason. It shows that in these early years foreign scholars came to Berlin not just for the papyri but also to receive practical 73

Gradenwitz 1902: 650. De Ricci 1901a: 313; Schubart 1902: 30; Plaumann 1913: 2143, n. 1; Goodspeed 1953: 101. 75 Schubart 1902: 30. 76 Schubart 1902: 30. 77 Included in Krebs 1892–95; Krebs 1894–98. 78 Gradenwitz 1899: 1100–1101. 79 Krebs 1894d. 80 Wilcken 1898. See his comments on this Urkundenverzeichnis in Wilcken 1897: 26, with n. 52. For a recent survey of the range of documentary papyri, see Palme 2009. 81 Also spelled as Zereteli or Tsereteli. 74

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training in the study and editing of documents. Even though Berlin was not the only stop on their study trip, it certainly was a fundamental one, because of the considerable experience of the scholars there. Krebs, himself trained and supervised by the great Wilcken, seems to have played a crucial role in transmitting expertise to the young visiting scholars. Cereteli and Goodspeed acknowledged that they learned the ‘métier’ from him and they seem to have regarded him as a mentor.82 Schubart too recognized with gratitude that Krebs introduced him to the study of the originals.83 All three later became major scholars in their own country.84 Goodspeed was recently even described as ‘America’s first papyrologist’.85 Thus, in this unexpected and easily overlooked way, Krebs made his mark on the new discipline. Thanks to Schubart, we know that Krebs regarded the editing of unpublished papyri in the museum as his most important work.86 As we will see, he faithfully executed Wilcken’s scheme as, alongside the ‘bare’ editing of new texts, he also conducted research on the texts ‘nach den verschiedensten Richtungen’. Christian texts In 1892, the year in which his first contribution for the BGU appeared, Krebs also published his first two scientific papers, both in the Nachrichten von der Königlichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften und der Georg-Augusts-Universität zu Göttingen. In the first, he edited four Christian texts in the collection of the Berlin Museum, two on papyrus and two on parchment, all written in Greek and from the Fayyum.87 As he explained, he published the texts because they throw light on the Greek dialect of the common people and also because the rare documents might be of value for studies on church history. He admitted that he was a layperson in the latter field and so his focus was primarily philological.88 The 82

Cereteli: Fichman 1988: 50, n. 47. Goodspeed: Goodspeed 1953: 101, 107; Hickey and Keenan 2021: 19 (with n. 58), 20, 90 (n. 89), 119. 83 Schubart 1902: 28. This important fact is not mentioned by Poethke 2007b, nor by Palme 2014. 84 For Cereteli, see Fikhman 2007. Cereteli was the brother-in-law of the Egyptologist Boris Turaev as the latter had married Cereteli’s sister, Elena F. Cereteli, in 1898. This fact is not mentioned in Bierbrier 2019. For Schubart, see Poethke 2007b. For Schubart and his second wife, see Fikentscher 2013. An original study on Schubart’s first wife Frida Mensing Schubart, who also played a role in papyrology, is Davoli and Colaci 2018. 85 Hickey and Keenan 2021. 86 Schubart 1902: 31. 87 Krebs 1892a. See respectively Berlin P. 7561 (= TM 65408), Berlin P. 5603 (= TM 64983), Berlin P. 6697 (= TM 65170) and Berlin P. 6096 (= TM 64853). 88 For two texts, subsequent research has refined his provisory characterisations. The first ten lines of the second papyrus (P. 5603) were understood by Krebs as a thanksgiving to God and the last six lines as an intercession for the Emperor, the empire and the illustris of the city of Arsinoe. However, the text does not contain a real thanksgiving to God.

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fourth text (P. 6096), on a strip of very poor parchment, characterises itself as a phylakterion, i.e. a text worn on the body for magical protection. Krebs observed that it must have been intensively used as the sweat of its wearer had completely soaked it and he explained that the ‘Wunderkraft’ of the amulet was based on the quotations from the psalms and the gospels. This document was the first example ever published of an interesting category of amulets from late antique Egypt inscribed with the opening words and/or titles (so-called incipits) of biblical books. So far sixteen certain examples, made of various materials, have been identified.89 In his obituary of Krebs, Schubart noted with barely concealed disgust that the Christian texts are written in ‘ganz verwildertem Griechisch’ and that the last amulet ‘mit seinen zusammengewürfelten Bibelstellen zeugt mehr von dem Aberglauben als von dem Verstande der ägyptischen Christen’.90 Krebs seems to have had a less biased attitude towards such documents. He had a genuine scientific interest in them and, despite their ‘barbarous’ and ‘superstitious’ nature, he recognised their potential for information and carefully edited them. The identification of Soknopaiou Nesos His second article in the periodical of the university in Göttingen was a study of four unpublished Greek inscriptions on stone discovered by Heinrich Brugsch in Egypt a year before.91 The inscriptions occur on a funerary stela from Tell elMuqdam, a stela and a wall fragment from Dime, and a stela found not far from Ghazin on the eastern bank of the Rosetta branch.92 Krebs was able to extract important new information from these epigraphic documents. The inscription on the rectangular stela retrieved near Ghazin enabled Krebs to determine that the marriage of Ptolemy VI Philometor with his sister Cleopatra II took place, at the latest, in 172 BCE. Nowadays, the wedding is generally assumed to have occurred around 175 BCE.93 Krebs also determined that, contrary to a conclusion earlier reached by the Italian papyrological pioneer Amedeo Peyron, the legal district of the commission of the Chrematists was not the epistrategy but merely some

Inspired by the more elaborate staged acclamations which flourished in the Constantinopolitan court in that period, it seems to be an acclamation performed by the citizens of Arsinoe in honor of their pagarch (Maas 1912: 37; Berkes and Mihálykó 2019). The third text (P. 6697), merely defined by Krebs as a liturgical document, contains a praise to the creator god and may have functioned as an amulet (see https://berlpap.smb museum/ record/?result=0&Alle=6697 accessed 15 August 2022). 89 Sanzo 2014 (the Berlin amulet is no. 2). 90 Schubart 1902: 32. 91 Krebs 1892b. 92 Respectively Berlin ÄMP 11594 (= TM 98465), Berlin ÄMP 11634 (= TM 6406), Cairo EM 9202 (= TM 42851) and Berlin ÄMP 11869 (= TM 6397). 93 See e.g. Schentuleit 2019: 351.

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nomes. The inscription also provided important new information on the composition of the commission. However, his most important conclusions pertain to the site of Dime. The text on the granite stela from the reign of Ptolemy X Alexander I (97/96 BCE), found in the temple ruins of the site, stipulates that a certain Apollonios, and after his death his heirs, were to present each year an amount of wheat to the temple of Soknopaios and Isis Nepherses. With this information, Krebs was able to add two new gods to the Egyptian pantheon. He does not seem to have had a profound knowledge of Demotic94 and he sought the help of Heinrich Brugsch.95 The latter correctly explained that Soknopaios is the Greek version of the Demotic Sbk n Pay ‘Sobek of the island’, with Pay itself being a derivate from ancient Egyptian p3-iw,96 whereas (Isis) Nepherses corresponds to the Demotic nfr-s.t ‘with the beautiful throne’.97 The inscription also enabled Krebs to establish that the local temple was dedicated to these gods. On the basis of papyri from the same site newly acquired by the Berlin Museum, he further identified Dime correctly as the ancient Soknopaiou Nesos ‘the island of Soknopaios’. This was a fundamentally important identification, as other opinions about the site were circulating at the time. Petrie, for example, believed that Dime was the ancient town of Bakchias, mentioned in Ptolemy’s Geography.98 It was a rare occasion, for papyri to be linked with a specific archaeological site, and the first time that an ancient Fayyum town could be identified. Hogarth and Grenfell wrote in 1896, rather alarmingly: ‘Concerning all the documents which have found their way to London, Berlin, Vienna, and Paris, hardly a single fact as to provenance is known, their discovery having been due in all cases to native diggers. Consequently, out of scores of place names, added by the papyri to the meagre literary list of towns 94 In a later article (Krebs 1893a: 32) he erroneously made it appear as if the hieroglyphic writing of the divine name Soknopaios cited by him was a literal transcription of a Demotic inscription; see the critical remark by Spiegelberg 1928: 56, n. 3. 95 Krebs seems to have presented to Brugsch two offprints and a personally inscribed copy of his dissertation (Anonymous 1895: 14). When the news spread that Brugsch was again ill, Erman asked Krebs to keep him up to date; see Gertzen 2013b: 106. 96 For the god’s name in ancient Egyptian, see Leitz 2002b: 261b. In a later article Krebs (Krebs 1893a: 32) explained, also with Brugsch’s help, the name as ‘Sobek lord of the island’ (Sbk nb Pay) which is indeed the version which occurs in the Demotic texts; see Griffith 1909: 168–169. For Soknopaios, see Davoli 2014: 58, figs. 7b, 8c; Capasso 2015: 41–43; Kockelmann 2017: 29–30. For a brief and clear explanation of the name of the village and its crocodile god, see Clarysse 2005: 21. For an in-depth but in some of its details problematic discussion, see Pernigotti 2006a (summarised in Pernigotti 2006b: 11– 21). 97 For the god’s name in ancient Egyptian and Demotic, see Leitz 2002a: 232b–c. For Isis Nepherses, see Bonnet 1952; Griffiths 1982; Bricault 1998: 521–528; Capasso 2015: 88– 90; Messerer 2019: 51–52. For the role of Isis Nepherses in the Dime temple, see Stadler 2017: 30–33. 98 Brown 1892: 47.

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in the Arsinoite Nome, only one had been fixed to any particular site: that one was Socnopaei Nesus, identified certainly with Diméh in the far north-west’.99 Although Soknopaiou Nesos is located about 2 kilometres inland from the northern edge of Lake Qarun (ancient Lake Moeris), Krebs regarded the name of the locality and the presence of some ‘quay structures’ amidst the ruins as evidence that in antiquity the temple stood on an island and that for that reason its patron carried the title of ‘Island god’. In the same year, and apparently independently, Major R. H. Brown, Inspector General of irrigation in Upper Egypt, also interpreted the structure as a quay projecting into the water, and he believed that the site was originally located at the edge of Lake Qarun.100 However, subsequent research has shown that in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods the shore of the lake corresponded approximately to the modern one.101 The alleged ‘quay’ is actually the end of a dromos, a paved processional road that leads to the main temple of Soknopaios.102 Many scholars believe that the name of the site is based on the name of a much earlier temple when the lake was considerably larger and the site was located on an island or peninsula,103 but decisive evidence for this view is wanting.104 It is possible that the name ‘island’ should not be interpreted literally, but instead describes the settlement’s position on high ground in the desert plain.105 In any case, Krebs’s identification of Soknopaiou Nesos is of fundamental importance. Like Tebtynis, Soknopaiou Nesos is a key site of Graeco-Roman Egypt, because of the large number of Greek and Demotic documents that originate from it. Now that an Italian team is conducting methodical excavations at this reasonably well-preserved site,106 the textual and the archaeological evidence will illuminate each other and this will significantly deepen our understanding. Curiously, Krebs’s ‘historic’ identification is only acknowledged in a few publications on

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Hogarth and Grenfell 1896: 14. They did not mention that this identification was made by Krebs. 100 Brown 1892: 51–55, 59 101 Boak 1935: 1–2; Davoli 2010: 54. 102 Minaya 2012: 84–85. The observations by Krebs are not mentioned. 103 See e.g. Griffith 1909: 168; Hagedorn 1975; Arnold and Arnold 1979: 24, fig. 13. 104 Pernigotti suggested that the island mentioned in the divine name Soknopaios might be the island on the northern shore of the lake just to the west of Dime. Here, at an unspecified time, but certainly long before the Ptolemaic era, a cult of Sobek ‘lord of the island’ might have developed, who later ‘migrated’ to Soknopaiou Nesos to become its patron deity (Pernigotti 2006b: 16–17). This is an intriguing possibility, but one which is hard to prove. 105 Davoli 2006: 8. 106 For the publications of the ‘Soknopaiou Nesos Project’, which started in 2001 as the Joint Archaeological Mission of Bologna and Lecce Universities and which from the 2004 season onward was taken over by the Centro di Studi Papirologici of Lecce University, see www museopapirologico.eu/sok_pub htm (accessed 15 August 2022).

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Soknopaiou Nesos.107 In recent overviews of the site’s modern history, published in connection with the resumption of excavations, this crucial fact has been omitted.108

Fig. 3: Libellus P. Berlin 7297 (drawing reproduced from Erman and Krebs 1899: pl. XVI). The first libellus On 5 August 1893 Krebs again acted as adversarius during the defence of a doctoral dissertation at his alma mater, this time in the field of Latin philology. Krebs and two other doctors, M. Immich and K. Hoppe, examined Adolf Heidemann about his study on the use of the elliptical construction in the letters of Cicero.109 More importantly, he published that same year, in the proceedings of the Royal 107

Wessely 1902: 2; Pernigotti 2006b: 15, 42, n. 60. Davoli 1998: 39–72; Capasso and Davoli 2012. 109 Heidemann 1893. 108

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Prussian Academy of Sciences, a study on a small Greek papyrus from the Brugsch collection dated to the first year of Emperor Decius (= 26 June 250 CE) (fig. 3).110 In this document the 72-year-old Aurelius Diogenes, son of Satabus, from the Fayyum village of Alexandrou Nesos and ‘with a scar on the right eyebrow’, declared to the offering committee that he had persistently offered to the gods before and that he has now, in compliance with what has been ordered, made a food sacrifice. Mention of his further actions has disappeared in the lacuna, but the last action pertains to sacrificial animals. Diogenes further asked those present to certify this by signing the document, and below the main text the commissioners indeed wrote a confirmation of this fact. Krebs connected this curious document with the persecution of the Christians under the emperor Decius. The contemporary writings of Cyprian, bishop of Carthage (De Lapsis & Epistulae) and Dionysius, bishop of Alexandria (ap. Eusebius, Historia Ecclesiastica 6.41–42) indicate that the emperor had issued a decree that every person in the Roman Empire suspected of being a Christian had to prove their devotion to the traditional gods by means of a sacrifice. According to Cyprian, some Christians who were weak in faith escaped persecution by bribing local officials to procure a libellus, a certificate which proved that they had complied with the rule. Cyprian condemned this practice and called such Christians libellatici, to distinguish them from the sacrificati, i.e. those who had actually sacrificed, and the thurificati, i.e. those who had burned incense. On this basis, Krebs identified the Berlin papyrus as an original libellus belonging to a Christian libellaticus, adding – somewhat jokingly – that the 72-year-old Diogenes had apparently ‘keine Lust zum Martyrium’. The question as of the Church’s views on libellatici, i.e. those who had lied and denied their faith, had been a hotly debated topic among Church authorities for a while, but a copy of a libellus had never been found. As a result, Krebs’s discovery caused a real sensation. His paper was discussed by the prominent German church historian Adolf von Harnack in the Theologische Literaturzeitung and by John Wordsworth, bishop of Salisbury, in The Guardian.111 Krebs’s friend, the American James Henry Breasted, who was in Berlin to prepare his Egyptological doctoral dissertation on sun hymns in the reign of Akhenaten, helped to spread the news of this discovery in his homeland through articles in the New York newspaper The Evening and in the journal The Biblical World.112 He wrote 110

Krebs 1893c. The papyrus, P. Berlin 7297 (= TM 9033), was in 1893 also included in the BGU: Krebs, BGU I 287. He later also published a translation and a facsimile in the papyrological anthology co-authored with Erman (Erman and Krebs 1899: 147–148, pls. XVI–XVII). The text was re-edited by Wilcken: Mitteis and Wilcken 1912: no. 124. For recent translations of this document, see Hoogendijk 1983: 214; Beard et al. 1998: 165, no. 6.8c. For a photograph and a brief discussion, see Fluck and O’Connell 2015. 111 Harnack 1894: 38–41; Wordsworth 1894: 167. 112 Breasted 1894a; Breasted 1894b. In the latter article (p. 295) Breasted speaks of ‘my

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passionately: ‘Out of the dread years which so sorely tried the rising church, out of the vast whirlpool which marked Rome’s final efforts to annihilate a faith which, less than three-quarters of a century later, was to become the state religion of Rome herself – out of those far centuries which seem so unreal to us today, has come this little fragment, like a voice from the dead, to tell us more vividly what that period of storm and stress brought to the individual believer in the early church’.113 Since the publication of Krebs’s article, another 46 examples of Decian libelli, with the same stereotyped formula regarding sacrifice, libations and offering meat, have been identified.114 Thirty-eight instances come from a single archive in Theadelpheia, a village in the southwest of the Fayyum.115 The discovery of the offering certificate of Aurelia Ammounis, a priestess of the crocodile god Petesouchos,116 has cast some doubt on the traditional view that only those suspected of being a Christian had to sacrifice. It is now usually assumed that the edict obliged every inhabitant of the Roman empire to do this. As a result there is no longer any reason to believe that the persons for whom a libellus has been preserved were Christians, let alone that they had obtained the document in a fraudulent way to evade persecution. The traditional interpretation of the decree of Decius, assumes that it was initiated to persecute Christians. In the last twenty years, though, several scholars have argued that Decius’s intent was not fundamentally anti-Christian.117 The discussion will continue, but Krebs’s name will forever be associated with this extraordinary class of documents.

friend Dr. Krebs’. Krebs is not mentioned in the recent biography of Breasted (Abt 2011). At around the same time, in 1893, another American ‘lion’ of Egyptology, George Reisner, was in Berlin and met Krebs (Der Manuelian 2022: 687). 113 Breasted 1894b: 298. 114 The last identified libellus was published by Claytor 2015. The last but one was published by Scholl 2002. Scholl also provided a list of the 46 libelli and an in-depth evaluation of these. An English translation of 45 examples can be found in the appendix of Selinger 2002. A fundamental study, with the text and translation of 41 instances, remains Knipfing 1923. 115 TM Archive 331, ‘Libelli libellaticorum from Theadelpheia’, also called ‘archive of Hermas’, see the description by W. Clarysse in the online database. The libellus edited by Krebs is the 39th uncertain document of the archive. 116 P. Alexandria: originally published by E. Breccia in 1907, it was republished by Wilcken: Mitteis and Wilcken 1912: no. 125; see also Knipfing 1923: 361–365. 117 See especially Rives 1999: 135–154; Selinger 2002: 27–82. The thesis of Selinger was critically discussed by Dorbath 2016: 94–189.

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Priesthood and temple cults Whereas most reviewers of the BGU stressed the importance of the edited documents for knowledge of the law, the administration, the economy, and private life in Roman Egypt, Krebs used the documents to shed light on a totally different domain, i.e. the priesthood and temple cults. It is likely that his interest in these topics had something to do with his Egyptological background. He wrote four important articles on the subject. In his first study, published in 1893 in the Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde,118 he first gave a summary of his earlier conclusions regarding the temple of Dime. On the basis of some Berlin papyri from the same site, he further discussed the organisation of the priesthood and the ritual prescriptions which the priests had to follow. Almost all of his observations were entirely new at the time and are still valid today. For example, he could establish that in the Roman Period priests in individual temples were organised into five phyles, just as they had been in the Ptolemaic Period, since the time of the Canopus Decree. He also deduced that priestesses did not belong to the phyle of their husband, but continued in the phyle of their father.119 He discovered that there were strict regulations for becoming a priest in the Roman era and that these were tightly controlled by the Roman authorities. For a boy to become a priest, the parents had to demonstrate that he descended from priests, it had to be established that he was free of blemishes, and the archiereus, a Roman official who functioned as high priest for the whole of Egypt and who had a seat in Alexandria, had to give his permission for the boy to be circumcised.120 Priests had to respect prescriptions of bodily purity, i.e. they had to shave their heads and it was prohibited for them to wear woollen cloths. Krebs cited a remarkable text that shows that someone filed a complaint against a priest who did not follow these prescriptions and that the affair was subsequently investigated by the authorities.121 He further demonstrated that some priests could be exempted from compulsory public services (manual labour or administrative or financial duties).122 Finally, he drew attention 118

Krebs 1893a. For the phyle system in the temple of Soknopaiou Nesos, see Lippert 2009. 120 P. Berlin 7003: Krebs, BGU I 82 (= TM 9124). For a re-edition of this text, see Messerer 2017: 172–173 (no. 36). Krebs published later a specific study on this topic in Philologus (see below). For the archiereus, see Parássoglou and Stead 1981; Demougin 2006; Jördens 2014: 119–164; Messerer 2017: 2, 63–66. 121 P. Berlin 6889: Wilcken, BGU I 16 (= TM 8927). He later also published a translation and a facsimile in the papyrological anthology coauthored with Erman (Erman and Krebs 1899: 185, pl. XIV). For a new edition of this text, see Messerer 2017: 52–54 (no. 7). Messerer also mentions other Greeks texts related to these prescriptions; see Messerer 2017: 21–24 (no. 4), 29–51 (no. 6), 67–78 (no. 10). 122 For these so-called ‘liturgies’ in general, see Oertel 1917; Lewis 1997; Drecoll 1997. For the complicated issue in which cases priests, or at least a part of the clergy, could be exempted from them, see Messerer 2017: 2, 12–20 (nos. 2a, 3), 25–28 (no. 5). 119

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to two unknown gods: Amonnapis123 and Phemnoeris.124 In the article Neues aus dem Faijum und dem Soknopaios-Tempel, also published in the Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde in 1893, he discussed some additional documents from Soknopaiou Nesos.125 In two of these, a certain Stotoetis, son of Apynchis, invoked the local gods in connection with his illness.126 Krebs interpreted them as a kind of ex votos, left in the temple to thank the god for salvation from need and danger. In this, however, he erred. When more such documents became known, it was recognised that they are actually oracular questions.127 Stotoetis, in fact, wanted to know his chances of recovery from the

123 P. Berlin 7082 R: Krebs, BGU I 162, 13 (line 35 when the document is reconstructed together with P. Berlin 8456 R); Krebs, BGU II 590 (= TM 9247). New edition by Messerer 2019: 214–220 (no. 102). For Amonnapis, only attested in this single document, see Rübsam 1974: 154–155; Capasso 2015: 96–97. Whereas Krebs cautiously wondered whether the name of the god might be a composition of Amon and Apis, this explanation (without reference to Krebs) was mentioned as an established fact by Rübsam and Capasso. Recently, this explanation and the alternative explanation of a compound ‘AmunHapy’ have been contradicted on the basis of the Demotic evidence; see Dousa et al. 2004: 163. It is established that the name is a Greek transcription of the Egyptian Imn-npy, but the meaning of npy remains uncertain. 124 P. Berlin 7154: Krebs, BGU II 471, 6 (= TM 20170). For Phemnoeris, only known from this single text, see Rübsam 1974: 17, 219; Kockelmann 2017: 48. Krebs’s proposal that the name of this god is of Egyptian origin, with the end standing for wr ‘great’, is still valid. 125 Krebs 1893b. In this article he also summarised his findings on the libellus. 126 P. Berlin 7318: Viereck, BGU I 229 (= TM 25653); P. Berlin 7319: Viereck, BGU I 230 (= TM 25654). 127 This was established by Schubart 1931 on the basis of 17 Greek papyri. Clarysse explained that Schubart’s views later also had to be revised in the light of the numerous Demotic oracle questions (Clarysse 1984: 1348). The newly studied evidence shows that in the Greek documents the question proper is introduced by a conditional sentence. As Clarysse pointed out, this is not just a grammatical issue, it reveals the system itself of the oracle questions: there were always at least two separate chits thrown into a box and the questions were always alternatives. For more recent literature on the Greek oracular inquiries, see Henrichs 1973; Papini 1990a; Papini 1990b; Papini 1992 (almost half of the material possibly comes from Soknopaiou Nesos); Bastianini 1994; Assante 2004–2005; Jördens 2008: 426–429 (including a translation of the two Berlin papyri); Naether 2010: 361–365; Gallazzi 2012. For Demotic oracular inquiries, see Zauzich 2000; Di Cerbo 2004: 110–114; Martin 2004; Bresciani 2015. For the shift from Demotic as language of oracular inquiry to Greek at some point between the late first century BCE and the early first century CE, see Ripat 2006. For the oracle system in Roman Egypt in general, see Tallet 2012.

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god. Krebs also identified two further gods in the Soknopaiou Nesos papyri: Soknopiaiis128 and Isis Nephremmis.129 In the third article, published in 1894 in the journal Philologus, he discussed in more detail the abovementioned permission to circumcise a priest’s son, adding another papyrus with two similar texts.130 The title on the latter document shows that it contains an ‘extract from the minutes of the very powerful archiereus Ulpius Serenianus’. According to this papyrus, two fathers showed their sons to the archiereus, in front of the Apis temple in Memphis, and afterwards, the latter official gave permission for the boys to be circumcised. Krebs was the first to study such ‘circumcision certificates’, a remarkable class of documents entirely unknown at the time, but of which many more instances have been published since.131 The fourth article, which appeared in the Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde in 1897,132 comprises only two pages, but was again packed with new information. Krebs had identified several previously unknown gods,

128

P. Berlin 7318: Viereck, BGU I 229/1 (= TM 25653); P. Berlin 7319: Viereck, BGU I 230/1 (= TM 25654); P. Berlin 6972: Wilcken, BGU I 296/12 (= TM 47181). For the latter text, see now Messerer 2019: 271–273 (no. 111). The name of the god can be spelled in various ways, e.g. Sokonpieios, Sokopiaiis. For the god, see Rübsam 1974: 163–164, 166– 167; Kramer et al. 1982: 217–218; Pernigotti 1997; Capasso 2015: 87–88; Kockelmann 2017: 31. Pernigotti has suggested that the name is derived from the Egyptian designation ‘Sobek who resides on the hill of the lake’ (Sbk-ḥry-ib-i3.t-š), see Pernigotti 1997: 169– 173. A more likely explanation was proposed by Widmer: the name is a derivate from ‘Sobek, lord of the old age’ (Sbk-nb-p3-i3w), see Widmer 2003: 22, n. 19; Widmer 2005: 179, 183. 129 P. Berlin 6972: Wilcken, BGU I 296/12 (= TM 47181); see also the previous note. For this goddess (N3-nfr-ir-imy), see Rübsam 1974: 89–90, 126–128, 134, 134, 159; Capasso 2015: 90–95; Messerer 2019: 51–52, 188–189. Her popularity is also attested by the common name Panephremmis ‘The one of Nephremmis’. 130 Krebs 1894a. A brief addendum appeared in the next volume of the journal: Krebs 1895b. P. Berlin 7820 cols. I–II: Krebs, BGU I 347 cols. I–II (= TM 9069–9070). For a new edition, see Messerer 2017: 167–171 (no. 35). 131 See Reitzenstein 1901: 1–46 (who relies heavily on Krebs and who praises him for his ‘inhaltsreichen Aufsatz’ and his ‘vorzüglichen Vorarbeiten’); Wilcken 1903; Otto 1905: 86, 213–222; Grenfell and Hunt 1907: 58–63 (nos. 292–293); Otto 1908: 326–327; Nicole 1909: 22–36 (no. IV) (additional parts: Brashear 1976: 12–16 [BGU XIII 2216 = TM 9627]); Foucart 1911; Schwartz 1944. For a recent treatment of the group, see Messerer 2017: 109–194 (nos. 23–41). 132 Krebs 1897a.

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especially Sykatoimis,133 Karpocrates134 and Nechtharaus.135 He correctly explained Karpocrates as a specific Roman reinterpretation of the name Harpocrates based on the Greek word καρπός ‘fruit, crops, produce’ (cf. Lat. carpo, Engl. harvest), intended to stress the character of the god as a harvest god.136 He also announced his discovery of four new religious festivals, i.e. the Charmosuna, the Neilaia, the Soucheia, and the Taurika.137 He further quoted from a papyrus which lists the gold and silver treasure of the temple of Soknopaiou Nesos, thus demonstrating the great informative value of such temple inventories.138 Krebs fully realised that he had only begun to reconstruct the life and activities of the priesthood and he expressed the hope that ‘die noch im Dunkel ruhenden Schätze manche Urkunden bergen, die es ermöglichen, dies Bild vollständiger und genauer auszumalen’.139 More information on temples and priests in Roman Egypt indeed became available, in no small part due to a more intensive study of the Demotic sources. Many new works on the subject have appeared, broad overviews as well as studies on specific topics.140 With his pioneering research, Krebs 133 P. Berlin 1514 = Wilcken, BGU II 488 (= TM 9204). New edition of this fragmentary inventory from the Arsinoite nome: Messerer 2020: 91–94 (no. 127). For this god, only known from this single text, see Höfer 1909–1915; Kees 1931: 553 (a form of SobekAtum); Rübsam 1974: 17, 222; Naether 2010: 398 (also, without reference to Kees, a form of Sobek-Atum); Kockelmann 2017: 47 (merely a mention, without citing the preceding refs.). 134 P. Berlin 5101: Wilcken, BGU II 362 fragment VIII/6 (= TM 9139). 135 Grenfell and Hunt 1897: 58 (P. Grenf. II 33,5 = TM 114). For this god, see Drexler 1897–1909; Rusch 1935; Clarysse and Winnicki 1989: 45–46 (pointing out that it is the Greek equivalent of Demotic N3-nxt=f-r.r=w ‘he is strong against them’). 136 See now Malaise 1991: 228, with n. 119; Sandri 2006: 177–178. For the famous Karpocrates hymn in Chalcis on the Greek island of Euboia, see the new study by Matthey 2007. Sandri cites the study of Krebs, but she does not explicitly acknowledge that he was the first to identify and explain this form of Harpocrates. 137 For these, see now Perpillou-Thomas 1993: 75–76, 116–117, 140–144, 144. For the Charmosuna, see also Bricault 2007: 253–254, n. 45. 138 P. Berlin 7083: Krebs, BGU II 387 (= TM 9144). For such inventories of the cult objects which the priests of all temples had to send to the strategos together with a list of the temple personnel and an account of the expenses and revenues, see Bülow-Jacobsen and Whitehorne 1982: 141–142; Battaglia 1984; Burkhalter 1985; Messerer 2019: 113–328; Messerer 2020: 45–55, 91–111, 147–152, 172–178, 195–203. In a recent study of a Demotic temple inventory from Dime, it has been pointed out that BGU II 387, 2/9 and 2/11 which since Krebs’s primary study had usually been understood as mentioning ‘effigies of the god Bes of silver and copper’ mention in fact vessels called b3s in Egyptian and bs in Demotic; see Dousa et al. 2004: 160. 139 Krebs 1893a: 42. 140 In the former category, see especially Otto 1905–1908; Evans 1957; Bertrand 2013; Connor 2014; Capasso and Davoli 2015; Messerer 2017; Messerer 2019; Messerer 2020; Sippel 2020; Messerer 2022. An excellent concise overview is Clarysse 2010. For some

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has laid the foundations and showed the direction. By reporting, in the foremost Egyptological journal of the time, on the new gods and festivals he encountered in the Greek papyri, Krebs also demonstrated to the Egyptological community how important the new papyrological sources were for the study of Egyptian religion. In general, Egyptology has been somewhat slow to exploit these sources. In 1976, at the First International Congress of Egyptology in Cairo, Jan Quaegebeur drew attention to the importance of Greek documentary sources for understanding Egyptian religion and he pleaded for ‘un inventaire raisonné’ of these data.141 This idea failed to gain traction and he repeated his plea at the 16th International Congress of Papyrology in Naples seven years later.142 The reference work envisaged by Quaegebeur still remains an important desideratum.143 Krebs is obviously not to blame for this lack of progress, as he, once again, had paved the way in this promising field. Mummy labels In addition to the article on circumcision certificates in the journal Philologus, just discussed, and the article about the BGU in the Berliner Philologische Wochenschrift mentioned above, he wrote three other contributions in 1894, two for the Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde and one more for the Berliner Philologische Wochenschrift. In a lengthy article in ZÄS he published the Greek texts of 93 mummy labels in the Berlin Museum, only four of which had been published before.144 Compared with the study by E. Le Blant, published twenty years earlier,145 Krebs edited them, as his friend Goodspeed later noted ‘with more completeness’.146 With his knowledge of the abbreviations used in the papyri he was also able to rectify some of the readings of the French scholar. Krebs showed that these tags were used much longer than hitherto assumed, i.e. certainly from the second to the fourth century CE, a conclusion which still stands. He further observed that in all cases in which a year and the date of a month are mentioned next to each other, the first cannot be the indication of the age of the deceased, but must be a date, i.e. the regnal year of an unnamed studies on specific topics, see for example Lippert and Schentuleit 2005; Lippert 2007; Schentuleit 2015. 141 Quaegebeur 1979. 142 Quaegebeur 1984. 143 A single study on a subtopic, i.e. festivals, is available: Perpillou-Thomas 1993. The collected scripta onomastica of Jan Quaegebeur, which include his articles on Greek renderings of Egyptian names and words, also contain important information: Clarysse and Blasco Torres 2019. 144 Krebs 1894b. 145 Le Blant 1874; Le Blant 1875. Other early studies, to which Krebs also referred, are Steindorff 1890; Revillout 1891 (and Revillout 1896); Wessely 1892. 146 Goodspeed 1905: 179.

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emperor. This insight enabled him to date some labels precisely. He also gave an overview of the contents of the texts. Whereas many labels merely mention the name of the deceased, other examples also include the names of close relatives and further details such as age at death, occupation and geographical location. Two instances published by him are especially remarkable. One label contains the Christogram Chi-Rho (☧).147 Another example records that the death of a certain Apollonios was caused by a scorpion sting. For comparison he published the text of a funerary stela from Abydos in the Berlin collection which mentions the same cause of death.148 A major deficiency of the study was that Demotic labels were not included, and that, for the bilingual labels, only the Greek text was published. Krebs recognised this and saw his article merely as a ‘Vorarbeit’. Building upon the work of Krebs and on Spiegelberg’s important study of Egyptian and Greek anthroponyms on mummy labels,149 Möller later published a monograph on the ‘Mumienschilder’ in Berlin.150 However, as the new catalogue included no translations, it did not completely supersede the older publication. In 1924 Smith and Dawson still referred to Krebs’s contribution as an ‘important article’ on the subject.151 In the catalogue of the recent Akhmim exhibition in Berlin, his study is also mentioned several times. The fact that the information about the labels in the entries largely corresponds to that mentioned in his article demonstrates that he did a good job.152 Whereas Quaegebeur observed in 1978 that mummy labels are ‘sometimes all too easily treated as third-rate documents’,153 one definitely cannot accuse Krebs of such an attitude. On the contrary, he was one of the first to recognise their scientific potential and his article is one of the earliest systematic and meticulous publications of this fascinating and informative class of objects, of which now approximately three thousand instances are known.154 147

Berlin ÄM 11843 (= TM 120473). This label was published and discussed in depth by Carl Schmidt in a separate article in the same volume of ZÄS (Schmidt 1894). 148 Label Berlin ÄM 11825 (= TM 40174); stela Berlin ÄM 2134 (= TM 93591). Tod collected the sources of Graeco-Roman Egypt about the danger of scorpions (Tod 1939; his sources nos. 1 and 3 are the label and the stela published by Krebs). 149 Spiegelberg 1901. 150 Möller 1913. 151 Smith and Dawson 1924: 68, n. 1. 152 Gerhardt 2021: nos. 88–90. 153 Quaegebeur 1978: 259. The study of Quaegebeur does not include a detailed Forschungsgeschichte of this class of documents. Of the older publications, only a few basic works are mentioned, all postdating the study by Krebs: Spiegelberg 1901; Reich 1908; Möller 1913. 154 See Quaegebeur 1978: 232–259; Kaiser 2013. For the project, established in 2007, to create the Mummy Label Database (MLD), see Gaudard et al. 2019. For the database, see http://deathonthenile.upf.edu/database/. For a list, see Worp 2017. For mummy labels as a

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Minor publications For the 1894 volume of ZÄS, Krebs penned a brief addendum to Erman’s publication of a priest statue from Tyre.155 Erman had not proposed a date, identifying it simply as being ‘late’. Krebs pointed out that the mention of ‘all four phyles’ in the hieroglyphic inscription provides a sound terminus ante quem, as the Canopus Decree shows that in year 9 of Ptolemy III (238 BCE) a fifth priestly phyle was instituted in honour of the Theoi Euergetai (i.e. Ptolemy III and Berenike).156 Scholars still make use of this useful criterion to date statues,157 but probably few realise that Krebs was the first to do so. In the Berliner Philologische Wochenschrift Krebs briefly reviewed Théodore Reinach’s new study on P. Paris 68.158 He compared the conclusions of the French scholar with those reached by Wilcken a year before.159 Whereas Wilcken took the text to be a Jewish account of speeches for Jews before the Roman emperor, Krebs admitted that Reinach had convincingly argued that the delegation must have consisted of both Jews and Alexandrian Greeks. As to the emperor to whom the speeches were directed (Trajan according to Wilcken, Hadrian or one of the Antonines according to Reinach), Krebs did not take a position. At the end of his review he pointed out that he had recently identified a papyrus fragment in the Berlin collection which contained the scant remnants of a second version of the text. With the new copy, Krebs could prove Reinach right in his rejection of Wilcken’s restoration of a damaged passage. In the eleventh fascicle of BGU I, which also appeared in 1894, Krebs edited the Berlin papyrus.160 A lost love novel Although Krebs was primarily an editor of documentary texts, he also made a single contribution to literary papyrology, which, in the end, turned out to be a major one. In 1895, he published in the journal Hermes a papyrus fragment that had arrived in Berlin a year earlier as part of the Mosse collection.161 It contained a literary text that named Metiochos and Parthenope, and included a discussion source on mortality in Roman Egypt, see Scheidel 2001. 155 Krebs 1894c. For Erman’s study, see Erman 1893. The statue, originally in the possession of Loytved, the Danish Consul-General at Beirut (Porter and Moss 1951: 383), is now in London, BM EA 24784, see Parlasca 2004: 2–3, pls. 2a–d. 156 See now Pfeiffer 2004: 102–103, 238–241. 157 See e.g. Jansen-Winkeln 2001a: 258–266 (no. 41), 438–439, pls. 86–89. 158 Paris, Louvre 2376 bis (= part of TM 58927): Krebs 1894e. Krebs seems to refer to an offprint of a study that appeared in the Revue des études juives in 1893 (Reinach 1893). 159 Wilcken 1892. 160 P. Berlin 8111: Krebs, BGU I 341 (= TM 58937). For a recent discussion of the texts, see Horbury 2014: 215–222; Vega Navarrete 2017: 198–203. 161 P. Berlin 7927 (= part of TM 63381): Krebs 1895a. For the Berlin press tycoon Rudolf Mosse as a generous sponsor of the Egyptian museum in Berlin, see Helmbold-Doyé and Gertzen 2017; Gertzen 2017: 183–188.

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on Eros. Krebs linked the text to a comment by the twelfth century Byzantine scholar Eustathios on two lovers named Metiochos and Parthenope and he concluded that the composition on the papyrus was part of a love story in literary form. He also pointed out that in two of his works, Lucian of Samosata (born c. 120 CE) mentioned each of them separately as typical theatre figures, i.e. characters of pantomimes. He dated the papyrus palaeographically to the second century CE, which has not been contradicted since. As it displayed several provincialisms, he argued that it was written from dictation in a provincial dialect. For the rest, he restricted himself to a careful text edition. In an appendix, Georg Kaibel and Carl Robert, the editors of the journal, discussed the contents of this ‘hübschen Fundes’ in more depth. They proposed considerable reconstructions of the damaged text and they explicitly used the term ‘Romanfragment’. Just two years after Wilcken had published fragments of the lost Greek novel Ninos, Krebs had discovered another unknown Greek novel. Over the years much more has become known about the novel and its hero and heroine.162 In the Berlin collection, two other fragments of the same papyrus turned up which, together with the Krebs fragment, now contain two consecutive columns of text. New parts of the novel were also identified on two papyrus fragments in other collections and on an ostracon. The romance, possibly written as early as the first century BCE, was set in the sixth century BCE. The novelist borrowed the historical background of his plot from Herodotos, making Metiochos the son of the famous Athenian general Miltiades, ruler of the Thracian Khersonesos, and Parthenope the daughter of Polycrates, the tyrant of Samos. When Metiokhos, in refuge from his stepmother, came to Samos, the two fell in love. The novel, or its theatrical adaptation, must have been extremely popular, as two villas in the Roman province of Syria from c. 200 CE had beautiful floor mosaics with a representation of the two protagonists. The Norwegian classicist Tomas Hägg convincingly argued that the Arabic Martyrdom of St. Bartànùbà, of which a fragmentary Coptic version has been preserved, was inspired by the novel. Moreover, he and the Swedish Iranist Bo Utas made the startling discovery that the epic poem Vāmiq u ‘Adhrā (‘the ardent lover and the virgin’), by the eleventh century Persian court poet Unsuri, was based upon the Greek novel. It showed that the novel had enjoyed a remarkable afterlife in the east right through the Middle Ages. The preserved fragments of the Persian poem also made it possible to reconstruct the general outline of the novel. The story of the modern recovery of Metiochos and Parthenope, probably one of the first prose novels in the Western literary tradition, is absolutely fascinating. It all started with Krebs’s exemplary editio princeps of the first text fragment.163 162

See the magnificent monograph by Hägg and Utas 2003 (which includes the older literature). For more recent studies, see López Martínez and Ruiz Montero 2016a; López Martínez and Ruiz Montero 2016b; López Martínez and Ruiz Montero 2020. 163 Cf. Hägg and Utas 2003: 4. Zimmermann 1934: 19, described Wilcken’s and Krebs’s

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Crime in Roman Egypt Even though there are no indications that Krebs knew Georg Ebers personally,164 in 1897 he published in the Festschrift of the ‘nestor’ of German Egyptology a study entitled Die Polizei im römischen Ägypten.165 It is not a discussion of the police organisation itself, but an overview, with a light humorous tone, of the handling of crimes in villages, on the basis of fourteen petitions in the collection of the Berlin Museum.166 In the requests for justice and protection, which the villagers addressed to the centurio or the strategos, we hear about the theft of barley, camels and asses, about inheritance disputes, damage to fields, the attempted burglary of a fiscal grain store and various kinds of violence. Generously interspersed with quotations of the texts, the article paints a vivid picture of the disputes in the communities and how these were settled or, as it would seem, in many cases left unsolved. The local village officials often made no effort to have an order (for example the return of stolen goods by the thief) carried out. Sometimes the offensive acts were even committed by the local officials themselves, for example by a tax collector and a village policeman. Krebs believed that the fact that the population sometimes addressed their complaints directly to the epistrategos, demonstrated that they had little confidence in the authorities of the nome. Forty-five years after its appearance, this contribution was still included in the bibliography of the Papyrologisch Handboek,167 indicating its ongoing importance. Petitions are the most common type of record, except for tax receipts. Many more petitions have been published over the years and in-depth analyses of petitions and petitioning have been undertaken.168 From a ‘historiographical’ point of view, it is striking that many recent monographs on petitioning and violence in Egypt under Roman rule, in which many of the texts first discussed by

editions of the newly discovered Greek novels as ‘mustergültigen Editiones principes’. 164 Fischer 1993: 161, n. 1, also lists him among the authors of the Ebers Festschrift for whom no close assocations with the jubilee can be identified. 165 Krebs 1897b. 166 Krebs, BGU I 22 (= TM 8983), 36 (= TM 9083), 46 (= TM 9093), 98 (= TM 9137), 291 (= TM 9037), 322 (= TM 9054), 340 (= TM 9064); Viereck, BGU I 226 (= TM 8990); Wilcken, BGU I 321 (= TM 9053); Viereck, BGU II 436 (= TM 9168); Krebs, BGU II 454 (= TM 9185), 467 (= TM 9193), 515 (= TM 9210), 522 (= TM 28173). Krebs’s contribution to the Ebers Festschrift is not included in the bibliography of the Berliner Papyrusdatenbank (https://berlpap.smb museum/sammlung/, accessed 26 July 2022). Whitehorne demonstrated that the petitions BGU I 321 and 322, as well as their duplicates P. Berlin 7081 and P. Louvre I 3 were never submitted (Whitehorne 2003). 167 Peremans and Vergote 1942: 149. 168 For the linguistic and formal aspects of petitions of the Roman Principate, see Mascellari 2021. For the involvement of village officials in the handling of crimes, see Mascellari 2020.

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Krebs are explored,169 do not cite his pioneering contribution. Krebs also published a translation of a papyrus, which was rightly characterised by him as ‘einem Verhaftsbefehl’.170 At present, more than ninety examples of such ‘orders to arrest’ are known.171 Gagos and Sijpesteijn stated that the earliest modern classification of this type of document occurs in the first volume of the Oxyrhynchus papyri, published by Grenfell and Hunt in 1898.172 On closer inspection, that honour actually belongs to Krebs as he beat the Oxford Dioscuri by one year! Tutankhaten In 1899 Krebs wrote for the Amtliche Berichte aus den Königlichen Kunstsammlungen, a brief announcement of the acquisition of some Egyptian antiquities by the Berlin Museum.173 Apart from a plaster cast of the famous Narmer palette ‘mit Reliefdarstellungen, die inhaltlich und künstlerisch sehr merkwürdig sind’, he reported the acquisition – through Borchardt and von Bissing – of a stela fragment ‘merkwürdig als einziges bisher bekanntes Denkmal, auf dem der König Tuetanch-amon, der Schwiegersohn Amenophis’ IV, noch mit seinem ursprünglichen ketzerischen Namen Tuet-anch-aten erscheint’.174 Although nothing more than a notice,175 it is the first mention in print of this historically important object. More objects with a cartouche reading Tutankhaten would later be discovered in the king’s tomb, but the stela is still the only object with his old name that does not come from the tomb.176 One might be inclined to deduce from this brief note that Krebs had not entirely abandoned the field of Egyptology by this date, but such a conclusion is probably not warranted. Perhaps the simple task of compiling the brief report was just assigned to him because his illness prevented him from doing more serious work. All things considered, it is especially striking that after 1891 he did relatively little work on pharaonic Egypt. Despite his background and his close association with Erman, he did not contribute at all to the Verzettelung of texts for the Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache, a work which started around 1897.177 While his help on the mammoth project would have been most welcome, the study and publication of the thousands of papyri and other items with Greek text on them 169

Kelly 2011 (with an analysis of all published petitions, official correspondence, and reports of court proceedings from between 30 BCE and 284 CE); Bryen 2013. 170 P. Berlin 7448 R: Krebs, BGU II 374 (= TM 31262). 171 Bülow-Jacobsen 1986; Gagos and Sijpesteijn 1996. 172 Gagos and Sijpesteijn 1996: 77. 173 Krebs 1899a. 174 Berlin, ÄM 14197. 175 The proper publication was Erman 1900: 112–113. 176 See the assessment by Eaton-Krauss 2016: 21 (with fig. 5). 177 His name does not appear in the overview of collaborators given by Erman and Grapow 1953: 35–38. It was Günther Roeder who dealt with the Beni Hasan inscriptions, including the one that formed the subject of Krebs’s dissertation.

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was, of course, a no less formidable and important task, which demanded his full attention. It is certainly also one of the reasons why his plan to habilitate in ancient history never materialised.178

Fig. 4: Title page of Erman and Krebs 1899, with the owner’s inscription of American Egyptologist H.E. Winlock (private collection of the author). A new genre: the papyrological anthology In 1899, together with Erman, Krebs published a small volume entitled Aus den Papyrus der Königlichen Museen in the Berlin Royal Museums’ series of handbooks (fig. 4).179 As stated in the introduction, its aim was twofold: it had to serve as a guidebook for the papyri on exhibit and it had to convey a more vivid image 178 179

Schubart 1902: 29. Erman and Krebs 1899.

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of ancient Egypt, something which the monuments and artefacts in the museum alone could not do. While Erman was responsible for the sections on the hieratic, Demotic and Coptic papyri, Krebs authored the substantial section (more than 120 pages) on the Greek and Latin papyri.180 For the small final section on Arabic, Hebrew, Syrian and Persian papyri, the translations of the Arabist Ludwig Abel were used. The core of Krebs’s contribution consisted of translations of a large number of Greek documentary papyri from the Roman Period, mainly from the Arsinoite nome, with concise introductions and comments. The book was well received. The bibliographer and antiquarian Seymour de Ricci observed with satisfaction that the lack of a critical apparatus did not undermine the scientific exactitude.181 He concluded his review: ‘Le volume rendra des services et ne mérite que des éloges’. In the same vein the linguist, Egyptologist and Africanist Leo Reinisch praised the authors for a work that would be of great use to both the general public and scholars.182 He stated that, in contrast to what its modest and unspecific title suggests, it was nothing less than a real cultural history of Egypt from circa 3,000 BCE to the Arab conquest. Carl Wessely, curator of the papyrus collection in the Imperial Library in Vienna (now the Austrian National Library), cordially congratulated the authors for having made accessible the papyrus treasures of the Berlin Museum that span more than three thousand years. He also called it a beautiful book that provided a lot of reading pleasure.183 The volume indeed must have been appreciated by the general public, because, as Erman noted, it soon sold out.184 Obviously, it fulfilled a real need. The work was an important ‘first’ for several reasons: it is the ancestor of all the later guidebooks for the Papyrussammlung of the Berlin Museum.185 Compared to its successors, it seems to be the richest in content. Additionally, for the first time since systematic papyrological research began, a single volume offered translations of a large selection of the most common types of documents. In these early years of the new discipline, the work showed to the wider public the immense value of frail, tattered documents unearthed in Egypt. 180

Krebs 1899b. De Ricci 1901b. 182 Reinisch 1901. 183 Wessely 1900. The volume is also described in very positive terms by Schubart 1902: 34. 184 Erman 1929: 198. This testimony, however, does not mean that the book was ‘a bestseller’ in the modern sense. According to the booklet Zur Einführung in die Papyrusausstellung der Königl. Museen in Berlin, offered to the participants of the International Conference on Historic Sciences held in Berlin in 1908, the book could still be obtained in the museum as late as 1908 ([Schubart] 1908: 5). 185 For the older introductions and the fact that the Erman-Krebs book is the first of these, see Poethke 2007b: 197–198. Newer editions: Luft and Poethke 1977; Luft and Poethke 1986; Luft et al. 1991. 181

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It presented a wide variety of official or semi-official documents, at first sight perhaps ‘as dry as the material on which they are written’186 but actually most enlightening in many ways. In addition to gems of antique belles-lettres thought to be irretrievably lost, there was a plethora of private documents that bring us ‘directly in touch with the average man (and, occasionally, woman) of the time – concrete individuals with their own destinies, passions, and humours’.187 This makes the book, and especially Krebs’s contribution, the first example of a new genre, i.e. that of the general ‘papyrological anthology’, with translated texts (not to be confused with chrestomathies, readers or primers that contain only the Greek text). There are of course differences with later anthologies.188 Krebs’s contribution occurs in an anthology that also covers the Pharaonic period, it includes documentary as well as literary papyri, and it is based on the papyrus collection of a single museum. More fundamentally, however, while the editors of later anthologies could use the careful text editions of other scholars, Krebs largely had to do the groundwork himself, as almost none of the papyri had been studied and translated before. As a result, Krebs’s contribution to this book is both a milestone in papyrological popularisation and a genuine scholarly work in itself. It definitely counts as one of Krebs’s greatest achievements. More than fifty years after its publication, W. Erichsen called it a book that is still worth reading189 and even today it is worth consulting.190 The first papyrological journal In a general lecture, held at the Dresdener Philologentage on 30 September 1897, Wilcken observed that scholars who study Greek documentary papyri are hindered in their research by the ‘entsetzliche Zersplitterung der Arbeiten, die durch mehr als zwanzig Zeitschriften des In- und Auslandes zerstreut sind’.191 For that reason, he made a plea for the establishment of a ‘Sammelpunkt’, a ‘Centralorgan für die Papyrusforschungen’, with an international character. The assembly agreed with his proposal and, after having assured himself of the cooperation of colleagues at home and abroad, the project actually came to fruition a few years

186

Waddell 1932: 1. Waddell 1932: 2. 188 For later anthologies, see Helbing 1924; Milligan 1927; Hunt and Edgar 1932; Davis 1933; Hunt and Edgar 1934; Metzger 1974; Hengstl 1978; Zingale 1992; Schubert 2000; Burnet 2003; Reinard 2021. The volume of Erman and Krebs is mentioned in the two oldest works, but in the other books the ‘ancestor’ of the genre has been ignored. The works of Helbing, Milligan, Hunt and Edgar, Davis and Hengstl also include the Greek text. For a general anthology of translated Demotic texts, see Hoffmann 2000. 189 Erichsen 1953: 197. 190 Since 2020 a hardcover print on demand copy is available from publishing house de Gruyter. 191 Wilcken 1897: 25. 187

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later.192 On 13 February 1900, B.G. Teubner, the Leipzig publishing house renowned for its important series of Greek and Latin texts, issued the first fascicle of the first volume of the Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete. The new journal, now the oldest exclusively papyrological periodical,193 was edited by Wilcken, with the collaboration of eleven scholars from various countries. Fritz Krebs and Paul Viereck were the representatives in Berlin. The others were Otto Gradenwitz in Königsberg (present day Kaliningrad), Bernard P. Grenfell and Arthur S. Hunt in Oxford, Pierre Jouguet in Lille, Frederic G. Kenyon in London, Giacomo Lumbroso in Rome, John P. Mahaffy in Dublin, Ludwig Mitteis in Leipzig and Jules Nicole in Geneva. Sadly, Krebs never had the chance to publish in this new journal. By the time the second fascicle appeared, on 21 September 1900, he had passed away. That he was originally part of what we would call nowadays ‘the board’ of the journal is only evident from advertisements for the journal, and from a statement by Wilcken in his Nachruf on Krebs.194 When, in 1901, a front page for the entire first volume was issued, he was no longer listed among the collaborators. This explains why Keenan, in his discussion of the genesis of the journal in The Oxford Handbook of Papyrology, did not mention Krebs among the ‘international cast of papyrological ‘all-stars’’, which Wilcken had assembled as associates.195 In any case, the fact that Krebs was originally part of this group shows that the young scholar had become one of the leading figures of the new discipline. Unfortunately, as Schubart wrote at the end of his obituary, ‘ein tragisches Geschick ließ ihn den Höhepunkt des Schaffens nicht erreichen’.196 Working under difficult circumstances Krebs suffered from an incurable disease. The sources remain discrete about the nature of this disease, but it is clear that his death was preceded by a period of poor health over several years. Already in April 1896, Erman informed Ludwig Borchardt, who was then on his first research trip in Egypt, about the poor health 192

The reasons for founding the new journal are set out in more detail by Wilcken in the foreword of the first volume of the Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete (Wilcken 1900a). For a brief history of its first 100 years, see Kramer et al. 2001. 193 Joseph Karabacek, an Austrian specialist in Arabian papyrology, already edited from 1886 to 1897 six volumes of the Mittheilungen aus der Sammlung der Papyrus Erzherzog Rainer. This, however, was not a general papyrological journal but a series of volumes with studies and reports on new finds in the papyrus collection of Archduke Rainer in Vienna (presently the Austrian National Library). 194 Rivista delle Biblioteche e degli Archivi 10:2 (February 1899) col. 28; Deutsche Litteraturzeitung 21:4 (20 January 1900), cols. 335–336; Wilcken 1900c. It is possible that his name was printed on the original cover of the first fascicle, but I was unable to check this as libraries, in binding the fascicles into volumes, have typically disposed of their covers. 195 Keenan 2009: 63. 196 Schubart 1902: 35.

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of Krebs. On 4 May Borchardt answered: ‘Dass Krebs einen halbjährigen Urlaub antritt, ist sehr bedauerlich, danach muss sich sein Zustand doch verschlimmert haben. Wo geht er denn hin? Ich möchte ihm einmal schreiben’.197 Krebs’s physical condition prevented him from doing as much work as he wanted to do. In a state of despair, he said to Cereteli, then briefly working for the BGU in Berlin: ‘Was soll ich nur tun, ich möchte schon gern arbeiten, doch fehlt es an der früheren Kraft’.198 In the final years, when he was in a constant fight with his illness, it was only by using all his energy that he could continue to work.199 Sometimes Cereteli and Schubart had to complete and check his transcriptions. Krebs was on friendly terms with them and, before the deterioration of his health, the three had already established a habit of collating each other’s transcriptions. This situation, however, was different and it must have been painful for Krebs. It reminded him that he was only a shadow of who he was before.200 On rare occasions his illness also impacted the quality of his work. In connection with a few less reliable text editions in the BGU, Plaumann remarked that Krebs’s ‘vorzügliches paläographisches Können’ must have been undermined by the serious illness he suffered from.201 Untimely death In March 1900 Krebs asked for a longer leave of absence in the hope that it would lead to recovery. Wilcken’s letter to Erman on 11 March 1900 betrays serious concern about this development, albeit primarily from a professional point of view. He noted Krebs’s involvement in BGU III: ‘Von seinem Heft 6 hat er mir diesmal nichts mehr gezeigt. Ich habe ihm nicht darum gebeten weil er es ja offenbar nicht gern thut’.202 Although these were indications that things were going from bad to worse, Wilcken does not seem to have realised the seriousness of the situation as, around Easter (15 April 1900), he asked Krebs to collate the papyrus fragment of Metiochos and Parthenope,203 a request which was never fulfilled. Gradenwitz noted that, on 18 April, Krebs was working, but he also mentioned that on the following days there were ‘beunruhigenden Erscheinungen’.204 What these were can be inferred from a letter that Cereteli wrote on 20 April, from Vienna, to his friend, the Russian classicist and Byzantinist, Viktor Jernstedt: 197

Von Pilgrim 2021: 278. Recorded in a letter of Cereteli to Viktor Jernstedt, 3 May 1900; see Fichman 1988: 48, n. 35. A similar testimony is given by Schubart 1902: 35. 199 Wilcken 1900c; Schubart 1902: 29. 200 Fichman 1988: 48, with n. 36 (letter by Cereteli to Jernstedt, 3 May 1900). 201 Plaumann 1913: 2143, n. 1. 202 Nachlass Adolf Erman in Bremen: https://brema.suub.uni-bremen.de/erman/content/ titleinfo/2367649 (accessed 16 August 2022). 203 Wilcken 1900b: 264. 204 Gradenwitz 1902: 650. 198

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‘Heute erhielt ich vom liebenswerten Krebs aus Berlin […] einen sehr traurigen Brief: allem Anschein nach steht es um seine Gesundheit ganz schlecht. Abgesehen von dem langsam progressierenden Gedächtnisschwund schreibt er infolge eines nervösen Zitterns der Hände nur mit großer Mühe’.205 Krebs passed away on 20 April, the very day that Cereteli wrote his letter. His early and sudden death was, firstly, a human tragedy. He died about a month before his 33rd birthday and he left behind a wife, Else Krebs (born Sachse), and a daughter, Elisabeth.206 Little is known about his wife, but she seems to have worked at the Altes Museum in Berlin, also located on the Museumsinsel.207 His unexpected death, of course, also stirred the small community of papyrologists. His scientific supervisor and mentor Wilcken published a brief Nachruf in the second fascicle of the Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete.208 A long and warm obituary by his friend Schubart appeared in the Biographisches Jahrbuch für Altertumskunde.209 In a review of some fascicles of BGU III, Gradenwitz pointed out that the young science of papyrology had suffered a severe blow because of his death. At the same time, he expressed his concern that some dozen texts which Schubart had published in Krebs’s name, on the basis of his notes, were not in the final finished state in which Krebs himself would have published them.210 Papyrologists abroad also deplored his death. In the Archaeological Report of the Egypt Exploration Fund, Kenyon expressed ‘the regret which all students of Greek papyri must have felt’ at his ‘untimely death’.211 Seymour de Ricci noted that his premature death ‘a douloureusement ému le monde des travailleurs’.212 In another publication, he paid tribute to the memory of Krebs, ‘l’infatigable éditeur des papyrus de Berlin, aussi distingué égyptologue qu’habile et consciencieux paléographe’.213 His good friends Goodspeed and Cereteli were much upset. Goodspeed wrote 205

Fichman 1988: 48, n. 34. The name of his wife could be traced as follows: a business card of Krebs among the papers of Victor Jernstedt (Fichman 1988: 48, n. 33) showed that Krebs’s address in Berlin was Alt-Moabit 106 and according to a list of the members of the Deutschen kolonialkongresses of 1905 ‘Krebs, Frau Dr. Else, geb. Sachse’ was living at that address (Anonymous 1906: lx). The information regarding their daughter (Elisabeth Krebs von Majewski) is based on the genealogical website https://www.geni.com/people/Else-Krebs/60000000 00007746475 (accessed 16 August 2022). The website does not mention the name of Fritz Krebs. 207 On the genealogical website https://www.geni.com/people/Else-Krebs/600000000000 7746475 her profession is given as ‘Berliner Altes Museum?’. 208 Wilcken 1900c. 209 Schubart 1902. 210 Gradenwitz 1902: 650. 211 Kenyon 1899–1900: 41. 212 De Ricci 1901b: 193. 213 De Ricci 1901a: 313. 206

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on 7 May to his mother: ‘Hunt shocked me with the news of Krebs death’.214 When Cereteli heard the terrible news in Vienna, he wrote to Jernstedt that Krebs’s letter, which he had received on 20 April (and from which we quoted above) ‘war der letzte Gruß dieses wunderbaren Menschen […] Krebs siechte vor meinen Augen dahin […] Für mich ist sein Tod um so schwerwiegender, als ich mich ihm sehr verbunden wußte und ihn liebte’.215 Cereteli was so shocked that he wrote that it would be much worse in the museum without Krebs and that, while he had dreamed of a second stay in Berlin, he was no longer drawn to the German capital. On his way back from Paris, however, he visited the grieving widow and had a pleasant reunion with Schubart, who had succeeded Krebs as head of the Papyrussammlung.216 During his life, he forever cherished the brief period of friendship and collaboration with Krebs. Even 32 years later, when he congratulated Wilcken on his 70th birthday, he mentioned again the ‘unvergesslichen Dr. Fritz Krebs’.217 In some of the letters of Cereteli to Jernstedt, we find rare insights into Krebs’s personality: ‘Dies ist im wahrsten Sinne des Wortes ein seltener Mensch, mit dem man ganz offen sprechen kann, weil man sicher sein darf, daß er einem aus ganzer Seele entgegenkommt’; and further ‘[…] ein durch sein offenes und weiches Gemüt seltener Mensch’.218 With regard to the less considerate manner in which Erman and Breasted handled a certain case, Goodspeed made a remark that showed Krebs to be tactful and sensitive to others.219 Krebs’s kind willingness to help others is also repeatedly mentioned.220 His bookplate (fig. 1) shows that he must have had a certain playfulness. The testimony of Erman, his Doktorvater under whom his research career started and also his official ‘chief’ at the Berlin Museum at the time of his death, points somewhat in the same direction: ‘er war ein fröhlicher Geselle, und es war traurig, daß er durch ein schweres Leiden zu früh der Wissenschaft entrissen wurde’.221 Final considerations Why a study on Krebs in a volume on ‘underexposed’ or ‘marginalised’ figures or groups in the history of Egyptology? As explained in the introduction Krebs is a somewhat forgotten scholar and the reasons for this are twofold. First, he only had a professional career for about ten years, because of repeated and prolonged periods of illness and a premature death. This automatically makes him a rather 214

Hickey and Keenan 2021: 79. Letter of 3 May 1900: Fichman 1988: 48, with n. 34. 216 Fichman 1988: 48, with ns. 33, 38. 217 Fichman 1988: 50, n. 47. 218 Letters of 20 April 1899 and 3 May 1900: Fichman 1988: 47, n. 32. 219 Hickey and Keenan 2021: 75, with n. 22. 220 Schubart 1902: 29, 35; Gradenwitz 1902: 650. Cf. Kenyon 1899–1900: 41. 221 Erman 1929: 195. 215

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‘shadowy figure’ compared to scholars who were active much longer in the discipline. Secondly, the fact that he mainly worked in the field of papyrology also pushed him undeniably towards the margins of Egyptology. This is clearly evident in the way papyrologists are treated in Who Was Who in Egyptology. In the preface to the first edition, W.R. Dawson explained that only the pioneers of papyrology and those that were directly connected with work or institutions in Egypt were included.222 The ‘savants de cabinet’, a category into which Krebs might be placed, were explicitly omitted. In a review of the most recent edition of the reference work, the Belgian papyrologist Alain Martin rightly called this ‘un quasiostracisme’ of papyrology, noting, however, that in subsequent editions, this trend has somewhat decreased.223 I fully subscribe to Martin’s plea to tear down barriers and to include papyrologists systematically in the reference work. Greek, Coptic and early Arabic documents are major sources for the study of ancient Egypt and those who study them should in no way be excluded or ‘marginalised’. On the contrary, including them might help to narrow the uncomfortable and counterproductive gap that, over the years, has arisen between the worlds of Egyptology and papyrology. A second point, also related to the perspective chosen in the present volume, is the size of the ‘scientific footprint’ left by an individual scholar or a group on the discipline. Of course, science progresses by the joint efforts of the scholarly community, which includes ‘extraordinary’ figures, ‘average’ scholars, and ‘somewhat less prominent’ researchers. A mature history of the discipline should pay attention to all categories. Krebs is a special case in this regard. Had his health not been an obstructing factor, he certainly would have become a major figure. Despite the brevity of his active years and the difficult situation in which he must have worked because of his illness, one can only be struck by the diversity, the size, the quality, the lasting importance and even the ‘modernity’ of his contributions. Many present-day researchers would be proud of similar achievements at the end of a well-filled career. Krebs certainly had the advantage that he lived in the pioneering age of papyrology, when every scrap of papyrus that was studied transmitted entirely new information. Yet on the other hand, he could rely much less on the work of other scholars and he had no access to the reference works and tools which present-day scholars can use. The pioneering achievements of his short life are incredibly impressive and he deserves a place of honour in the collective memory of both Egyptology and papyrology. One final issue: it would have been appropriate if this contribution had included a portrait of Krebs, but, unfortunately, not a single photograph of him has

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Reprinted in Bierbrier 2019: ix–x. Martin 2020: 279. Despite the positive development, he observed that several prominent figures of the discipline are still lacking.

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thus far been identified. There is none in the portrait gallery of deceased papyrologists, maintained by the Association Internationale de Papyrologues (AIP),224 nor does the otherwise well-stocked gallery of Egyptologists on the website of a specialised bookseller contain one.225 This situation underlines, once more, his forgotten status. Hopefully, a photograph will soon surface now that he has been put in the limelight. Until then, the ‘portrait’ on his charming bookplate may function as a substitute. Dominic Montserrat once wrote: ‘To the pioneer papyrologists of the late nineteenth century, which was also the great era of psychic research, papyrus letters were a sort of ectoplasm by which the dead could commune with the living’.226 In this case, it was an ex libris, pasted in a book, which brought us closer to a kindred spirit from a bygone age. Bibliography Abt, J. 2011. American Egyptologist: The Life of James Henry Breasted and the Creation of His Oriental Institute. Chicago: University of Chicago. Allen, J.P. 2014. Middle Egyptian: An Introduction to the Language and Culture of Hieroglyphs 3rd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Anonymous. 1895. Katalog der Bibliothek des verstorbenen Ägyptologen Prof. Dr. H. Brugsch-Pascha im Besitze der Erben. Berlin: C. Regenhardt. Anonymous. 1906. ‘Die Mitglieder des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses’. In Verhandlungen des Deutschen Kolonialkongresses 1905 zu Berlin am 5., 6. und 7. Oktober 1905. Berlin: Reimer, xxxix–lxxxv. Arnold, D. and D. Arnold. 1979. Der Tempel Qasr el-Sagha. Archäologische Veröffentlichungen, Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo 27. Mainz: Zabern. Assante, M.G. 2004–2005. ‘Domande oracolari in greco: Miglioramenti di lettura e riflessioni’. Analecta Papyrologica 16–17: 81–102. Bastianini, G. 1994. ‘Una domanda oracolare da Soknopaiou Nesos (P. Vindob. G 298)’. In C. Burini, A. Privitera, P.J. Parsons and U. Pizzani (eds), Paideia cristiana. Studi in onore di Mario Naldini. Roma: Gruppo Editoriale Internazionale, 189–197. Battaglia, E. 1984. ‘Dichiarazioni templari: A proposito di P. Oxy. XLIX 3473’. Aegyptus 64: 79–99. Beard, M., J. North and S. Price. 1998. Religions of Rome II: A Sourcebook. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bednarski, A., A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), 2021. A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 224

https://aip.ulb.be/galerie/album/index html (accessed 20 February 2023). https://www.meretsegerbooks.com/gallery/1026/egyptologists-and-travelers (accessed 16 August 2022). 226 Montserrat 1996: 9. 225

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Beinlich-Seeber, C. 1998. Bibliographie Altägypten 1822–1946, 3 vols. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 61. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Berkes, L. and Á.T. Mihálykó. 2019. ‘A Greek Acclamation in Praise of an illustris from Seventh-Century Egypt (P.Berol.inv. 5603 Reconsidered)’. Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 59: 295–310. Bertrand, A. 2013. Prêtres en Égypte ptolémaïque et romaine. Inventaire et analyse des sources papyrologiques grecques, 4 vols. Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry. Bierbrier, M.L. 2019. Who Was Who in Egyptology, 5th ed. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Birch, S. [1881]. ‘Inscription of Chnumhetep’. In Records of the Past XII. London: Bagster and Sons, 65–76. Blass, F. 1894. ‘Review of Urkunden, Aegyptische, aus den Kgl. Museen zu Berlin, herausgegeben von der Generalverwaltung. Griechische Urkunden. Heft I, II, III, Berlin, 1892’. Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen [156]/5 (May 1894): 397–399. Boak A.E.R. (ed.), 1935. Soknopaiou Nesos. The University of Michigan Excavations at Dimê in 1931–32. University of Michigan, Humanistic Series 39. Ann Arbor MI: University of Michigan Press. Bonnet, H. 1952. ‘Nepherses’. In H. Bonnet, Reallexikon der ägyptischen Religionsgeschichte. Berlin: de Gruyter, 518b. Boyer, V. and A. Quertinmont (eds), 2022. Égypte et ex-libris: Entre fantasme, archéologie et imaginaire. Témoins d’Histoire 9. Brussels: Éditions Safran. Brashear, W.M. 1976. Greek Papyri from Roman Egypt. Ägyptische Urkunden aus den Staatlichen Museen Berlin – Griechische Urkunden XIII. Berlin: Staatliche Museen Preussischer Kulturbesitz. Breasted, J.H. 1894a. ‘The Latest Papyrus’. Evening Post [New York], 20 January 1894. — 1894b. ‘The Latest Discovery from the Egyptian Fayum’. The Biblical World 3/4: 295–298. — 1894c. De hymnis in solem sub rege Amenophide IV Conceptis. Berlin: B. Paul. — 1906. Ancient Records of Egypt, I: The First to the Seventeenth Dynasties. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bresciani, E. 2015. ‘Nouvelles demandes oraculaires en démotique de Tebtynis’. In F. Haikal (ed.), Mélanges offerts à Ola el-Aguizy. Bibliothèque d’étude 164. Cairo: Institut français d'archéologie orientale, 75–79. Bricault, L. 1998. ‘Isis Nephersès’. In W. Clarysse, A. Schoors and H. Willems (eds), Egyptian Religion: The Last Thousand Years. Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Jan Quaegebeur, I. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 84. Leuven: Peeters, 521–528.

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— 1900c. ‘Fritz Krebs [Nachruf auf]’. Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete 1/2 (21 September 1900): 375. — 1903. ‘Die ägyptischen Beschneidungsurkunden’. Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete 2: 4–13. Wordsworth, J. 1894. ‘Review of F. Krebs, Ein libellus eines libellaticus v.J. 250 n. Chr. aus dem Fajjum’. The Guardian, 31 January 1894: 167. Worp, K.A. 2017. Greek, Greek/Demotic and Demotic Mummy Labels: A Survey. Death on the Nile online publications 2. E-publication: http://deathonthenile. upf.edu/library/. Zauzich, K.-T. 2000. ‘Die demotischen Orakelfragen – eine Zwischenbilanz’. In P.J. Frandsen and K. Ryholt (eds), The Carlsberg Papyri 3: A Miscellany of Demotic Texts and Studies. The Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Ancient Near East Studies, Publications 22. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 1–25. Zimmermann, F. 1934. ‘Über die griechischen sog. Romanpapyri’. In W. Otto and L. Wenger (eds), Papyri und Altertumswissenschaft. Vorträge des 3. Internationalen Papyrologentages in München vom 4. bis 7. September 1933. Münchner Beiträge zur Papyrusforschung und antiken Rechtgeschichte 19. München: C.H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung, 18–41. Zingale, L.M. 1992. Vita privata e vita pubblica nei papiri d’Egitto. Torino: G. Giappichelli.

Xia Nai’s Egypt in the Archaeology of China Field Workers and Field Methods in Xia Nai’s Diary at Armant, Egypt, 1938 Wendy Doyon

As Flinders Petrie is to the history of Egyptian archaeology, so Xia Nai is to Chinese archaeology: each being architects of their respective fields’ methods and aims at a crucial turning point in their histories. Some years ago, while researching the history of archaeological excavations and labour in modern Egypt for my doctoral dissertation at the University of Pennsylvania, I became aware of Xia Nai’s participation in the Mond-Egypt Exploration Society (EES) excavations at Armant, Upper Egypt, during the 1930s, as well as the existence of a published tenvolume series of diaries covering Xia’s life in archaeology.1 Given his central importance to the history of Chinese archaeology, I was curious to know what impact, if any, Xia’s fieldwork in Egypt (and Palestine) may have had on the evolution of archaeological field methods in China. This essay considers that question, and more specifically the question of Xia’s experience of labour organization on Egyptian excavations, through the lens of his personal diary and the geopolitical background of Egyptian archaeology during the 1937–38 field season.2 It also fills a gap in our understanding of Xia’s marginalized contribution to the final Mond-EES season at Armant, and the activities of that still-unpublished season in general. On the question of Xia’s diverse social network, which stretched from England to the Middle East to Asia, and its cross-cultural influence in post-war China, this analysis is preliminary and open-ended. As such, readers will appreciate the need for further inquiry on the Chinese side of this history. Nevertheless, it is hoped that by presenting Xia’s impressions of fieldwork on the Egyptian side, this study may provide a baseline for further comparative analysis by historians of archaeology and may prove especially useful to the investigation of divisions of labour on Chinese excavations under Xia’s direction. Introduction Xia Nai (1910–1985) is a well-known figure in the archaeology of China. He began his career working on the Academia Sinica’s pioneering excavations at Anyang in 1935 and ended it fifty years later as the Honorary Director of the Chinese Academy of Sciences’ Institute of Archaeology, Vice President of the Chinese 1

Xia 2011. This paper was first presented in the framework of ‘Transnationalism, Borderlands, and the History of Archaeology in Twentieth-Century East Asia’, at the Annual Conference of the Association for Asian Studies, Seattle, 31 March–3 April 2016.

2

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Academy of Social Sciences, and President of the Archaeological Society of China.3 This was a period that bridged the first generation of professional archaeologists in China (who were trained abroad during the Republican era of the 1920s, initially at Harvard University) with the rebuilding of an institutional framework for archaeological research in Communist China after 1949 and during the Cultural Revolution of the 1960s and 70s. From his own training at University College London (UCL) in the 1930s, Xia went on to become ‘the principal force behind the revitalization of archaeology in China after the founding of the People’s Republic’.4 Among his many accomplishments as the architect of modern Chinese archaeology, he is remembered for having introduced China to systematic excavation methods after five years of academic study and scientific field training abroad during 1935–41 (Fig. 1).5 The field methods, interpretive frameworks, and training programs that he established at the Institute of Archaeology after 1950 laid the foundation for rigorous professional archaeology in post-war China. In terms of field methods, the core of modern archaeological practice in China was thus built on Xia Nai’s experiences excavating in England, Egypt, and Palestine.

Fig. 1: Xia Nai at Giza, c. 1938, as reproduced in his published ten-volume diary.

3

Field and Wang 1997. Field and Wang 1997: 38. 5 Chang 1986; Field and Wang 1997; Von Falkenhausen 1993; Wang and Ucko 2007; Xinyi and Jones 2008: 26. 4

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After a frustrating and unproductive start at the University of London’s Courtauld Institute in 1935–36, Xia transferred to UCL to pursue Egyptology in the footsteps of Flinders Petrie.6 Since taking up the first chair in Egyptian Archaeology at UCL a generation earlier, in 1892, Petrie had established the pedagogical tradition of fieldwork as central to all archaeological training and research. This tradition was then passed down by later London archaeologists, such as Mortimer Wheeler, Margaret Murray, and Stephen Glanville. Petrie’s original insights into the importance of small, ordinary objects; his development of seriation techniques for relative sequence dating; and his emphasis on recording find context and stratigraphy were at the heart of this paradigm shift in archaeology. Xia Nai chose to study for his PhD in Egyptology at UCL because it was, in 1936, the best place for professional training in archaeological methodology, as opposed to art history or philology.7 While in England studying for his PhD in 1936, Xia joined Mortimer Wheeler’s excavations at the Iron Age site of Maiden Castle (Dorset), where he learned first-hand the principles of archaeological stratigraphy, the illustration of section profiles, and a grid system of excavation with which he later distinguished himself on the Academia Sinica’s Neolithic excavations in Gansu during 1944– 45.8 Following his initial experience at Maiden Castle, Xia travelled to Egypt and the site of Tell el-Duweir (Lachish), Palestine during the winter/spring of 1937– 38. For the month of January 1938, he joined the excavations of Sir Robert Mond and the EES at the site of Armant,9 just south of Luxor in southern Egypt, where in combination with the experience gained under Wheeler at Maiden Castle, he developed the full range of his skills as a practicing field archaeologist. As Xia’s involvement at Armant did not appear in the published site reports, and the details of his work there have remained unclear,10 the diary excerpts presented below aim to fill this gap in our understanding of his training and contributions to both Egyptian and Chinese archaeology.11 The existence of his personal

6

Bierbrier 2019: 228; Field and Wang 1997: 38–39; Wang and Ucko 2007: 53–63. See esp. Wang and Ucko 2007: 59–63. 8 Field and Wang 1997: 39; Wang and Ucko 2007: 63–65. 9 The first systematic excavation of this important site dating back to Egypt’s predynastic period was sponsored by Sir Robert Mond and the Egypt Exploration Society between 1929 and 1938. See Bard 1999: 143–145; Bierbrier 2019: 323. See also note 28, below. 10 Wang and Ucko 2007: 65–66. See also Quirke 2014: vii–x. 11 The diary excerpts presented here come from Xia Nai’s published ten-volume series of diaries, covering most of his life from 1930 until his death in 1985. Though he would return to Egypt again in 1939 to complete his doctoral research at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, Xia’s time excavating in Upper Egypt was limited to the month of January 1938, for which see Xia 2011: II (1936–1941), 144–165. For their valuable assistance with the translation of these pages in 2016, I thank Yang Yi and Ivy Wong, then students in the Department of Chinese Studies at Drew University. 7

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diary, including details of the winter 1938 season, begs the question: What specific impact, if any, did Xia’s first-hand experience in Egypt have on the evolution of fieldwork in China? Petrie’s influence on Xia’s career has been acknowledged on account of his academic training at UCL, though he never studied directly under Petrie, either at UCL or in the field. The two men met in passing only once, in Jerusalem.12 There is no question, however, that Xia’s knowledge of site stratigraphy, seriation and dating techniques, find context, and especially recording methods was fundamental to his career and legacy as a field archaeologist in China. Or that Petrie’s own legacy as the architect of Egyptian archaeology was clearly at work in the theory, methods, and pedagogical tradition introduced to Chinese archaeology under Xia’s leadership. This included rigorous training programs with a strong fieldwork component for archaeologists in mainland China and a systematized format for excavation reports.13 In addition, Petrie’s publication of the first archaeological training manual in English in 1904 played a large part in Xia’s own training and provided the model for his publication of the first archaeological field manual in Chinese in 1959.14 The latter, considered China’s ‘bible’ of field methodology, became part of the standard textbook for all archaeologists trained in the People’s Republic of China. Naturally, however, the history of archaeology in the early twentieth century encompassed much more than Petrie’s intellectual insights on dating, find context, and recording methods. Archaeological excavations take place in specific political-economic contexts, which determine large parts of what enters the archaeological record. Let us turn briefly, then, to the geopolitical background of Xia’s work at Armant in the 1930s. A very brief history of Egypt’s archaeological economy, 1858–1938 For much of the nineteenth and early twentieth century, Egyptian antiquities and archaeology, like cotton, played an important role in Egypt’s state-building ‘modernization’ program and its integration into the modern world economy.15 Egypt’s archaeological administration was first institutionalized within the mid-nineteenth century political economy of the Mehmed Ali dynasty, an expansionist, viceregal (or khedival) state within the late Ottoman Empire, based on the centralization of military conscription and corvée labour for territorial expansion, both domestic and imperial.16 As part of the reform of Egypt’s agricultural lands into a plantation 12

Wang and Ucko 2007: 61; Xinyi and Jones 2008: 26. Field and Wang 1997: 40–41; Wang and Ucko 2007: 66–70; Von Falkenhausen 1999: 603–605; 608. 14 Petrie 1904; Xia 2000 [1959], as cited in Wang and Ucko 2007: 68. 15 This discussion is based largely on the author’s doctoral dissertation, Doyon 2021. For more general context, see also Jasanoff 2005; Owen 1993; Reid 2002; 2015. 16 On Egypt’s nineteenth-century reform era, see for example, Fahmy 1997; Hunter 1984; 13

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economy and monopoly run by the khedival state and its military, the state antiquities service was established in 1858 to manage a network of rural archaeological sites, primarily for the benefit of tourism and economic development, as well as for the benefit of scientific research.17 The organization of Egyptian labour was a vital state asset and key commodity in this emerging archaeological economy and tourism industry. And within the political economy of Egyptian labor, the hierarchical ‘reis-system’ was a key feature of state access to rural labour networks: The figure of the Egyptian reis as a rural, labour foreman or overseer similar in socioeconomic status to the ‘village shaykh’ was an indigenous feature of nineteenth-century Egyptian society, which was coopted by the Mehmed Ali dynasty and its household government to link cheap labour with modernizing infrastructure projects (such as the Suez Canal) and large-scale production and manufacture (such as cotton export) for the global economy. Beginning in the mid-to-late nineteenth century, such national, industrial-scale production had come to include the ‘clearance’, or total excavation, of Egypt’s most important archaeological sites, wherein state access to the cultural power of ancient Egypt’s surviving temples was made possible by the labour power of the Egyptian people and the regulatory function of the reis as an intermediary.18 During and after the financial crisis of the 1870s, Egypt’s political economy was transformed from a state-run plantation economy to an industrial-capitalist one. By the turn of the twentieth century, a wave of capitalist globalization, British administration of Egypt’s finances and military, and domestic land reforms had replaced the corvée labour system with a rapidly expanding wage labour market.19 Like the village shaykh, the Egyptian reis was a significant point of continuity between these two systems of corvée and wage labour. At the same time, the late nineteenth century also saw a series of domestic land reforms, which included opening concessions to private and foreign archaeological missions to excavate on state-owned antiquities land. The end of the state’s excavation monopoly and increased international competition for private concessions diversified the market for skilled archaeological labour, which was in turn spurred on by the development of more rigorous excavation methods. Archaeologists such as Flinders Petrie (among the first fieldworkers to benefit from Egypt’s more liberal regulation of antiquities land in the 1880s and 90s) both shaped and benefited from these reforms by developing new methods of scientific excavation, which employed an

Toledano 1990. On the role of archaeology within it, see Doyon 2021. 17 Doyon [2023a], forthcoming. 18 Doyon 2021, as also presented in ‘The Power of Antiquity in the Making of Modern Egypt’, Harvard Museums of Science and Culture Lecture Series, Cambridge, Massachusetts, 21 April 2022. https://hmsc harvard.edu. 19 Beinin and Lockman 1987; Brown 1994; Vitalis 1995.

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increasingly specialized workforce of rural Egyptian wage labourers.20 Despite many reforms in Egypt’s archaeological administration, which coincided with British military occupation, the Egyptian antiquities service was not – as is often assumed – colonized by the British administration after 1882. Rather, it was managed by French deputies on behalf of the khedival state, which continued to control and regulate the antiquities service, along with its land and other assets, just as it always had. And despite the capitalist turn of the late nineteenth century, the political economy and organization of Egyptian labour within this state-regulated antiquities market continued to be based on the ‘pre-colonial’ reis-system, just as it always had. At the same time, however, the expansion of private capital aided the paradigm shift to a more scientific archaeology, by diversifying the labour market for largescale excavations into skilled classes of technicians and foremen who supported the creation of a systematic, documentary record in archaeology.21 The niche market of this later period, well into the twentieth century, was captured by two groups: (1) A professional class of Western-trained researchers, artists, and technicians responsible for recording and publishing archaeological data recovered in the field, by (2) experienced Egyptian excavators and foremen who became skilled in the careful work of recovering finds and stratigraphic data in situ for scientific documentation, usually by members of the first group. This symbiotic ‘middle class’ of fieldworkers filled in the space between research directors and cheap manual labour (so-called ‘basket carriers’) that was carved out by the influx of private capital on archaeological concessions. The most successful and important capture of this new capitalist labour market in archaeology was represented by the rise of the Quftis between 1893 and 1897.22 Quft (or Qift) is the modern name of a town in southern Upper Egypt, located at the ancient town site of Coptos, just north of Luxor. Beginning in 1893–94, the men of Quft and some of their households formed a working association with Flinders Petrie, Reis Ali el-Suefi of the Fayum, and another British archaeologist, James Quibell, which carried over through three more seasons in the same region of Upper Egypt (at Naqada, Tukh, Deir el-Ballas, the Theban temples of Luxor’s west bank, and Elkab), where they gained a reputation for reliable excavation 20

Quirke 2010; Doyon 2015. On the evolving role of documentation and find context in scientific archaeology, see Petrie 1904; Drower 1995, and on the role of archaeological labour in this paradigm shift, see also Doyon 2018, and Doyon [2023b], forthcoming. 22 N.B.: The following under further development in Doyon [2023b], forthcoming, as also presented in ‘The Rise and Decline of Quft from Petrie to Postcolonialism’, Friends of the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, London, 1 July 2022, and ‘The Excavation Craft of Quft as Intangible Cultural Heritage: The Rise and Decline of an Archaeological Commodity in Rural Egypt’, Archaeology and Heritage in the Global South Colloquium, Institute for African Studies and Egyptology, University of Cologne, 13 July 2022. 21

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skills before branching out into other regions and social networks. First by way of the EES (née Egypt Exploration Fund) and other British concessions in the Fayum and Middle-to-Upper Egypt; then expanding into German and American concessions by 1899–1900; and in the process expanding their ranks among extended family and village networks of Quft. Thus did the new ‘Qufti class’ of Egyptian reises (as both labour foremen and skilled technicians) come to refine the craft of excavation and the control of stratigraphy and find context on a complex scale for the archaeological record – working hand in hand with Petrie and others’ key insights about dating and recording to drive the development of empirical research methods. Over the following decades, this diversified labour market in archaeology was fueled by the state’s liberal regulation of extremely well-funded archaeological research, largely in the economic interests of tourism. In 1937, the antiquated trade system of Ottoman Capitulations, and the extraterritorial rights it had long granted foreigners in the erstwhile province of Egypt, were abolished. But even without the Mixed Courts and other tax-free privileges, the pre-colonial practice of granting economic concessions to foreigners persisted. In the sphere of antiquities, these trade and land concessions functioned essentially as archaeological ‘leases’ in exchange for developing research, tourism, and heritage infrastructure; supplying the national museum with antiquities; and employing rural Egyptians. A measure of Egypt’s prestige value on the global market of its time, these archaeological concessions were funded by some of the world’s wealthiest industrialists and financiers, including Phoebe Hearst, Theodore Davis, J.P. Morgan, Sir Henry Wellcome, Eckley Coxe, Jr., John D. Rockefeller, Jr., Friedrich Wilhelm von Bissing, Lord Carnarvon, and (the benefactor of Xia’s season at Armant) Sir Robert Mond. Egypt in the 1930s was a semi-colonial constitutional monarchy, which witnessed an explosion of political parties and ideologies, from the Western-style liberalism that dominated the influential Wafd party to the growth of Marxism, Islamism, feminism, a free press, and secular nationalism. All had been fueled by the popular revolution of 1919 and were united by anti-colonial sentiment.23 Egypt’s limited self-rule between 1923 and 1952 saw an emergent democratic pluralism that was powerful, but still tightly constrained by continued British control of state security and the disproportionate power of the Egyptian monarchy in parliamentary government. The liberal, anti-British Wafd was essentially a coalition of indigenous elite, which claimed the support of both rural community leaders and urban workers, without effecting much real political change for Egypt’s majority population in the rural and working classes. Similarly, Egypt’s communist movement never gained any real traction outside of small, urban circles during the liberal period, and the radicalization of rural Egypt was left to the better 23

For the context of this discussion, see Beinin 1998; Beinin and Lockman 1987; Botman 1998.

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organized and more socially active Muslim Brotherhood. Despite the major industrial growth of this interwar period, agriculture and the cotton trade continued to dominate the Egyptian economy in the first half of the twentieth century, long after the end of the state monopoly system of the previous century. A small upper class of large landowners were the most powerful force in government and society,24 while Europeans controlled the largest shares of industrial capital in Egypt. Thus, although it experienced a rural crisis similar to many other parts of the world between the wars, Egypt did not witness the kind of large-scale, collective ‘peasant resistance’ to the centers of power that was seen, for example, in China and other parts of East Asia.25 In the context of Egypt’s rural economy, the expansion of wage labour in archaeology never proletarianized into the kind of organized workers’ movements that took place in the urban economies of Cairo at this time. In other words, there is no evidence that the organization of rural labour to exploit a niche market like archaeology ever entered the arena of Egyptian politics or class consciousness.26 What we see instead, in archaeology, was how skilled labour networks like the Quftis exploited the state-regulated antiquities market, by adapting an indigenous system of family organization, craft production, and ‘reis-ship’ to link into the modern, capitalist, global economy. Xia at Armant This, then, was the field into which Xia Nai stepped upon his arrival in Egypt late in 1937. While in Egypt for the winter season, Xia focused mainly on the prehistoric and ‘Saharan’ desert survey at Armant,27 directed by Sir Robert Mond and the British archaeologist, Oliver Myers – the latter a Petrie field trainee who went on to publish several comprehensive volumes on the archaeology of Armant.28

24 This included an estimated 12,000 families holding around forty percent of Egypt’s cultivated land, and another 2,000 large estate-holders with the royal family at the top of a landed elite, whose members consistently filled more than half the seats in the cabinet between 1923–52, while the other ninety-plus percent of rural Egyptians were landless, deeply impoverished, and illiterate; see Beinin 1998. 25 Beinin 1998: 330. 26 Although Anne Clément has argued for the existence of a ‘peasant consciousness’ among archaeological workers on state-sponsored excavations, her argument rests on the a priori assumption that Egypt’s archaeological economy and its Service des Antiquités were instruments of ‘colonial capitalism’, an assumption I refute on historical grounds. See Clément 2010, cf. Doyon 2021, and Doyon [2023a, 2023b], forthcoming, as also presented in ‘What Imperialism Does & Does Not Tell Us about the History of Egyptology – The case for Egypt’s political economy as a research lens’, Pyramids and Progress Symposium, Leuven and Brussels, Belgium, 8–10 November 2021. 27 On the ‘Saharan Site’ and culture at Armant, see notes 34–35 and 39, below. 28 The Mond-EES excavations at Armant hold a distinguished place in the history of Egyp-

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Armant was the site of an important predynastic cemetery and settlement site, similar to, but smaller than those of Naqada and Ballas; several phases of temple construction from the Early Dynastic through the New Kingdom; another GraecoRoman town and temple site (which had also, incidentally, been reused by Mehmed Ali Pasha for building material to construct a sugar factory in the nineteenth century); and the Bucheum, a funerary complex for sacred bulls, dating to the Thirtieth Dynasty of the Roman period.29 Xia’s diary entries at Armant, where he shared the field with a diverse crowd of specialists in all areas of Egyptian archaeology (such as the Armenian artist and photographer from Istanbul, Vahram Manavian) included detailed notes about his archaeological activities and observations about field methods in Egypt (Fig. 2–3). He notes (e.g., 2, 4, 6, 13, 18, 27 January) a clear distinction between ‘common’ day labour and the more highly valued work of seasonal contract excavators from Quft, whose skills and techniques he appears to have observed closely. In addition to Xia’s diary, we know from other sources, including Margaret Drower’s papers in the archives of the EES, that it was none other than Ali elSuefi – one of the best known and longest-serving archaeological reises ever to work in the field – in charge of the excavation workforce at Armant during the final Mond-EES season of 1937–38.30 Reis Ali first joined forces with Petrie excavating in the Fayum around 1889 and the two men went on excavating, both together and separately, for another fifty years. Xia’s season with Reis Ali at Armant thus came very late in the latter’s career as one of Egypt’s most experienced site foremen, having already spent several decades developing new excavation techniques in concert with the leading field directors of the day, and training whole generations of Qufti excavators along the way. In other words, Ali el-Suefi was an important figure on the dig and clearly a major influence on Xia’s field training.

tian archaeology, having made Armant the type-site for the ‘Naqada I-II-III’ archaeological chronology of predynastic material culture based on Werner Kaiser’s re-analysis of Sir Robert Mond and Oliver Myers’ Cemeteries of Armant I; see Mond and Myers 1937, cf. Kaiser 1957. 29 Bard 1999: 143–145; Bierbrier 2019: 323; 334–335. On the archaeology of Armant’s pharaonic and Graeco-Roman temple sites, see bibliographies therein. 30 The online article cited here notes the work of both Ali el-Suefi and Vahram Manavian at Armant during the 1937–38 season, with reference to the archives of Margaret Drower: Anon. n.d. ‘The House of Ali Suefi at Armant’, Collection Highlights of the Egypt Exploration Society online, https://www.ees.ac.uk/the-house-of-ali-suefi-at-armant (accessed May 12, 2022). On Ali el-Suefi, see also Quirke 2010.

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Fig. 2: Sample pay sheet (top) and other technical notes, as reproduced in Xia Nai’s field diary at Armant in 1938. Xia’s notes point to the divisions of labour and class differences between local workers (i.e., basket carriers and manual excavators), skilled wage labourers (i.e., Quftis), and professionally trained site supervisors and archaeologists like himself. Along with the other foreign researchers and assistants on the Armant expedition, Xia’s primary responsibilities for the season included surveying, mapping, epigraphy, drawing, and cataloging artifacts. Most of the manual archaeological labour of excavating on site was done or supervised by the Quftis, whose skills in prospecting for sites and finds and following stratigraphy were unsurpassed, even among most of the professional archaeologists in Egypt at the time.

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Fig. 3: Sample object card with site designations for Armant and other technical notes, as reproduced in Xia Nai’s field diary from 1938. The crew from Quft this season, led by Ali el-Suefi, Hofni Ibrahim, and Ahmed Ali, was long experienced in the highly specialized excavation of prehistoric and predynastic desert cemeteries of Upper Egypt, having worked for many years between them with Flinders Petrie at Naqada, Ballas, Abydos, and elsewhere, and with Guy Brunton and Gertrude Caton-Thompson in their groundbreaking excavations at the predynastic site complex of el-Badari.31

31

Mond and Myers 1937: ix. See also Brunton and Caton-Thompson 1928; Doyon 2021: 255–260, 270–283, 327–337, 342–347, inter alia.

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Let us hear how Xia Nai described the experience in his own voice.32 1 January 1938. Today I am still working on my job. I finished drawing one picture last night and began to draw another stone figure with a rubbing of the back, filled by paraffin wax. Late at night, I helped Mr. [Vahram] Manavian with his drawing because he could not understand Egyptian, and the rubbings were unclear to read because of abrasion. If we could understand what the rubbing was trying to say, we could begin to fix them.33 2 January 1938. We started off at 6am and went to the Ptolemaic Temple. One hundred workers are hired this season. Some work to repair the road and only thirty workers work on the dig. Their wages: child workers [i.e., basket carriers] 3 pt./day, common workers [i.e., manual excavators] 6 pt./day, and skilled workers [i.e., Quftis] 8 pt./day. Every Tuesday we give them wages. Workers work from 7am in the morning to 12pm, one hour to have lunch, and the afternoon job from 1pm to 5pm. Today, a British amateur archaeologist came to visit who used to dig in Palestine. In the afternoon we copied 10 engravings. At the Saharan Site,34 there were only some ceramics and stone implements on the ground […] There are two kinds of Saharan pottery; one has decoration, and one does not. We also found [Predynastic] Badarian and dynastic pottery fragments at the same time. 3 January 1938. We drew the stone implements which have engravings. We ultimately got 46 pieces, but none were important. In the evening, we used ‘Plotting Site 9’ to count the frequency of different ceramics and stone implements in the area. The result is that these ceramics and stone implements are the product of a Badarian and Saharan settlement, not a dynastic one. 4 January 1938. I came to the Saharan Site and watched how the workers were digging. We picked up ceramics and stone implements and sieved them. Sometimes we […] ‘beads’. If there are [?beads], we should pay more attention because [their] distribution could help us find the ancient roads and villages. The code for the Saharan Site is 2200. If the excavated location of a cultural relic [i.e., artifact] is unknown, we code them as 2200. 32

Xia 2011: II (1936–1941), 144–153, translated by Yang Yi and Ivy Wong, edited and annotated by W. Doyon (see also note 11, above). 33 This probably refers to joining the stone fragments of a stela or statue. 34 At first, I thought Xia’s use of the term ‘Saharan’ might correspond to a generic classification of either ‘Predynastic’ or earlier ‘Saharan Neolithic’ pottery, as described in Mond and Myers 1937: 1–3, cf. Jesse 2003. Upon further investigation, it became clear that Xia’s Saharan designation refers to what Myers described elsewhere as an unknown ‘Saharan culture’ originating southwest of the Nile valley, and roughly contemporary with the Nubian C-Group culture of the Old and Middle Kingdoms; see Bagnold et al. 1939: 287–290.

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Other codes for digging areas begin at 2201, in order of priority. (For example, the code of the cemetery is 600 for cultural relic[s] found not in one specific tomb, but in the cemetery area. The other tomb code[s] begin at 601). We may not excavate in the cemetery this season, but last season’s report of cemetery digging is already finished and ready to be published.35 5 January 1938. I helped Mr. Manavian to draw the stone, and painstakingly draw the distribution diagram in the evening. This season’s work is limited to the Saharan Site. My assistant is Mr. [John Grant] MacDonald, and the other four assistants are hired local people [i.e., residents of Egypt]. One of my assistants is an Italian Jew named Revah. He worked as an accountant, secretary, and on other small jobs. Mr. Revah’s wage is 20 pounds/month, and we provide him with food and round‐trip train tickets to Cairo. Another assistant is Palamoudian, the apprentice of Mr. Manavian. He mainly worked on drawing and photography. He got 15 pounds/ month and train tickets as well. The last assistant is the little brother of Palamoudian, [Mr. Hagob Palamoudian] who was a driver.36 He is Armenian and could speak French and Arabic. 6 January 1938. In the afternoon, I went to the Saharan Site, and went digging for ceramics and stone implements. Thirty workers walked in a straight line to find if there were ceramics and lithics in the ground [i.e., on or just under the surface]. Later, I went to Luxor and chatted with Mr. [Oliver] Myers in the car. In the ‘Chicago House’ I met Dr. [Harold Hayden] Nelson and he helped us check the name on the stone, but he could not find anything. The Chicago House is the library which has the largest number of books about ancient Upper Egypt (7000 books).

35

This entry clearly indicates that the main focus of the final Mond-EES season at Armant was the Saharan Site (see note 34, above), and that Xia learned this new method of data collection from the Quftis. This is confirmed by Myers’ statement (in Bagnold et al. 1939: 288) that, rather than ‘trying to find either the cemeteries of these [Saharan] people or a settlement with some depth’ (as in the excavations of previous seasons at Armant), during the 1937–38 season ‘we adopted a new technique of sieving the surface in all places where Saharan pottery was found and collecting all the sherds, flints, and other objects for statistical study’. Note that three Quftis who were trained in and may have helped develop this method also participated in the ‘Uweinat-Gilf Kebir expedition (see Bagnold et al. 1939: 281, 288). At Armant, the still-unpublished Saharan Site, which they named ‘2200’ (as distinct from the Predynastic cemetery and settlement area published in Mond and Myers 1937), was most likely described in O.H. Myers’ draft manuscript of Cemeteries of Armant II (unpublished ms., Egypt Exploration Society Archives). For further context, see also De Souza 2019. 36 Xia does not identify the names of the Palamoudian brothers, however the younger brother and driver, Hagob, is identified in Bagnold et al. 1939: 288.

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8 January 1938. In the morning, I used a [mapping] plane-table to measure at a scale of 1:5000. At the Saharan Site, [survey] measurement of the excavation area is the most important job. If we have one or two meters of error, it is fine. But the measurements cannot have an error of more than 5m. We measured from [survey] points 37 and 38 to points 22 and 23. We will measure [survey] point 1 tomorrow because it is on the roof.37 9 January 1938. In the morning we continued measuring from [survey] points 1 and 7 to 21 and 24. In the afternoon, I helped Mr. Manavian copy the hieroglyphs on the ‘Osiris statue’. I talked with Mr. Myers in the evening. Mr. Myers talked about himself: he majored in agriculture in college; and when he graduated, he worked in a theater, a magazine agency, and on the railroad. In 1927, he began his first dig with Mr. [Guy] Brunton in Deir Tasa and Mostagedda [Egypt],38 then in Armant in 1929. This afternoon, Mr. Myers traveled from Armant to Kharga to look for ruins. He already investigated there last month but found nothing. The decorated Saharan and Third Dynasty pottery were both unearthed at the same time. Plain Saharan [i.e., undecorated Saharan/Nubian pottery] was uncovered with Badarian pottery, but we did not know the connection between these two archaeological finds. They were of the same kind of ceramic, but different than other pottery from different time periods in Egypt. 10 January 1938. I helped Mr. Myers classify pottery. Every location [i.e., locus] is a square – the horizontal line is marked as A, B, C, D, or E and the vertical line is marked as 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5. Each square is 4 sq. m. If there are not many archaeological finds, in the future we can merge 16 squares into 1. We register archaeological finds in each square as Flint, Saharan pottery, Badarian, Dynastic pottery fragments, Arabo‐Roman, or ‘unknown’. Each archaeological find is put in a paper bag and, most importantly, we took photos and drew pictures. We also registered each find’s register number, ware, colour, coating [outer slip], hardness (Mohs), size and thickness, and additional notes. We measure every [locus] and stand two surveyors’ poles, using a plane‐table alidade to measure. In each [locus], we arrange pebbles on the ground to represent the number of each [locus]. Also, at each surveying point, we buried lead vats with cement. 11 January 1938. I continued to do yesterday’s job. At Location [locus] 17 we finished classifying today. For the Saharan Site, we already dug 26 of

37

Presumably referring to the survey reference point at the base location on the roof of the dig house. 38 Early Predynastic cemeteries attesting the Badarian culture, discovered and first excavated by Guy Brunton between 1922 and 1931; see Bard 1999: 161–164; Brunton 1937.

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the locations, the code is AR.2300. Mr. Myers said that the cost of the entire work station [i.e., camp] was 300 pounds which does not include the furniture. My bedroom is 2.8m × 3.6m and is near the director’s room. 12 January 1938. We finished registering all the archaeological finds at Location [locus] 17. We spent half the day counting the number of finds and drawing the graph. In the afternoon, the Inspector of Antiquities of Upper Egypt, Mr. Makramallah, came here and left after a 3 hours’ visit. 13 January 1938. Comparing the different locations and registration numbers of each archaeological find, we found the distribution proportion for each site. Mr. Myers said that the slide rule is the most important measuring instrument in archaeology. While exploring the distribution of the Saharan Site, we designated several skilled workers [Quftis] to look for pottery in the area which is north of Abu Shusha [adj. to Nag‘ Hamadi / Farshut] and south of Edfu. These workers came back yesterday with pan‐grave pottery, prehistoric pottery, and flints. However, they only found things in Armant.39 By mid-month, we can follow Xia as he shifts his attention from the Saharan Site to the Graeco-Roman temple sites of northwestern Armant.40 It is interesting to note that Xia is much less focused on the nature of the archaeology during this latter part of the excavation, and that, in light of his unenthusiastic response to the Theban tombs he visited on 21 January, his interest in Egyptological material, as opposed to archaeological methodology, was limited. 39 The meaning of Xia’s statement that ‘they only found things in Armant’ is unclear; nevertheless, the Quftis’ walking survey covered the desert area west of the Qena bend and south to Edfu. This entry supports Myers’ statement (in Bagnold et al. 1939: 288) that, during the 1937–38 season ‘it was possible to prove statistically that the Saharan sherds were related to a sealing-wax-red ware of Egypt made between the IIIrd and the VIth Dynasties. A few beads indicated the later date. A small expedition to the north as far as Farshut could find none of these sherds north of our concession, whereas one to the south as far as Edfu found examples all the way, and it seemed safe to assume that these people came in during the VIth Dynasty either from the west or the south, probably the latter. We set out [to Gilf Kebir] with the idea of seeing if traces of this Saharan people (or of any other earlier invaders) could be found due west and of filling in some points in the huge gap between Armant and the Gebel Silto (near Bilma, west of Tibesti), the nearest spot from which the same pottery had been recorded. The results were extremely satisfactory. Identical pottery was found at ‘Uweinat in the south, and none north of this. It seemed abundantly clear that the great stretch between ‘Uweinat-Gilf Kebir on the one hand and Kharga-Dakhla on the other was already closed by desiccation at this date (circa 2500 B.C.)’. 40 Xia 2011: II (1936–1941), 153–165, translated by Yang Yi and Ivy Wong, edited and annotated by W. Doyon (see also note 11, above).

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14 January 1938. Today I went to the Baqaria to oversee the digging and visited sites in the Bucheum and Baqaria.41 These sites were half covered by sand, and I could see the 1m trenches dug previously. 15 January 1938. Food for the workers costs 1 pound per person each week. They wake up at 7am every morning and have breakfast at about 8am. They eat fruit, eggs, bread, butter, milk, and jam. They take lunch at 12pm, which is usually a mixed salad or curry beef rice with coffee, tea, or milk. They have afternoon tea at 5pm which is the same food as breakfast. They have meat and two vegetables, pudding, and bread for dinner. These meals are served every day. We used to send people to the city to buy the food once a day; but this week, we changed it to twice a week (Tuesday and Friday). 16 January 1938. I wrote three letters today: one for my family, one for Dr. [Stephen] Glanville, and one for [the] Lachish Expedition about the digging. 17 January 1938. Mr. Myers went to Cairo today and will be back to the work station [camp] on Friday. I went to see the doctor today for my stomach trouble. 18 January 1938. Mr. MacDonald said that the [EES] Egyptian expedition members from Britain were given 100 pounds in travel expenses for their first excavation. Other costs such as food and medicine were covered by the digging team [i.e., by the expedition], but they did not have wages. People who joined the team a second time would have 80 pounds for travel but would [also] have wages […] Their contract is for one year [at a time]. He also said that the workers on Petrie’s excavation team were mostly volunteers and did not have wages. They also did not cover the cost of food or medicine. Other countries’ expeditions did not pay as much in wages as British expeditions. Wages on other countries’ teams: child workers receive 2 pt./day and adults receive 4 pt./day, all without baksheesh. The baksheesh [gratuity] is for encouraging workers to find small things. For example, a worker who found ostraca received baksheesh from Mr. Myers. 19 January 1938. The day before [yesterday], Mr. Myers went to Cairo and Mr. MacDonald became the overseer [i.e., field supervisor] instead. The [clerk of the works] went to the city for procurement of food and he didn’t come back until 8pm. Mr. MacDonald was very angry with him.

41

The Bucheum was a temple site northwest of Armant for the burial of Buchis bulls, sacred to the god Re, during the Roman period; farther to the northwest was the Baqaria, ‘a long vaulted passage with twenty-eight tombs for the mothers of Buchis bulls’, Bard 1999: 145.

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20 January 1938. Today is the king [Faruq] of Egypt’s wedding day. All the workers had a holiday because of the wedding. We had a celebration in the evening; workers were singing and dancing. 21 January 1938. Today I went to ‘Sheikh abd el Kurneh’ and visited ‘the tombs of the nobles’. I arrived at 10am and left at 4:30pm and was not very excited. In the evening, the celebration of the king’s wedding continued, and workers set off fireworks. 22 January 1938. Mr. Revah had a conflict with the chief [foreman], and Mr. MacDonald felt the situation was serious. He banned Mr. Revah and sent him back to the house. 23 January 1938. Mr. Myers came back from Cairo. Our team already spent 1,200 pounds on this season, we will negotiate the next season’s budget with Sir Robert Mond in Cairo later. We decided to stop the digging in the temple and focus on the Saharan Site unless Sir Robert Mond raises the budget to 2,000 pounds. 24 January 1938. Mr. Myers and I finished drawing the ‘Sketch Map’. 25 January 1938. We visited Medinet Habu today and saw ‘the Ptolemaic Temple of Deir el-Medina’. 26 January 1938. This is the last week of digging. It felt a little bit boring. It was raining this morning and the weather today was like in my hometown. I felt sad to be working under someone else’s roof.42 27 January 1938. The foreman Mr. Ali Suefi is 63 years old right now. He joined Petrie’s digging team at Nagada and Ballas when he was 13 years old. He knows almost all the archaeologists in Egypt. Almost all the skilled workers are ‘Qufti[s]’. They are called the ‘Qufti[s]’ because Petrie used to work near Quft and trained workers there. The ‘Qufti[s]’ became a special group of workers in Egypt and they have higher wages than other workers. The local workers are called ‘Baladi’. In the afternoon, Mr. [Terence Gray] and Major [Ralph] Bagnold came to visit us from Cairo. They drove two Ford cars here and planned to stay for a week.43 42

Lit. ‘I felt sad that I work under other people’s roof’, i.e., outside China. Bagnold’s arrival on 27 January, in fact, marked the beginning of the 1938 Royal Society-Mond-EES expedition to Gilf Kebir, which was both geographical and archaeological in scope; see Bagnold et al. 1939. Departing from the EES camp at Armant on 5 February 1938, the expedition included Maj. Bagnold and R.F. Peel on the geographical side, and on the archaeological side, Oliver Myers, Hans Winkler, Terence Gray, three unidentified Qufti excavators, and their driver and mechanic, Hagob Palamoudian. It is tempting to want to identify the three Quftis on the expedition with the three senior excavators at Armant that season – Ali el-Suefi, Hofni Ibrahim, and Ahmed Ali – but as Myers mentions 43

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28 January 1938. I planned to visit the King’s Tomb [i.e., the Valley of the Kings] today, but the director told me that these places are full, and I could not go there. 31 January 1938. We finished all the digging work for this season and paid off all the workers. Today Mr. [John] Cooney from the New York Brooklyn Museum came to visit us. A diverse social network from Egypt to Palestine It is possible to draw several observations from the notes Xia took the time to record in his personal diary for the winter field season of 1937–38. In his brief experience at Armant, Xia learned first-hand how to read the archaeological landscape. He paid particular attention to methods of recording the distribution and find-context of pottery and lithics to interpret a site’s spatial relations. He noted the importance of the Quftis’ work identifying and excavating prehistoric/Saharan material for the archaeological record. He was careful to note administrative details, concerning everything from the cost of running an excavation to sleeping arrangements, daily routines, and buying food. Among them, he highlighted the importance of labour organization and management in the field (e.g., wages, class divisions, and personal relations) as essential elements of archaeological practice. From the expedition’s field director, Oliver Myers, the site foreman, Ali el-Suefi, and the Quftis they worked with, Xia acquired and/or refined his skills in surveying, mapping, drawing, artifact registration, and the collection and classification of predynastic, dynastic, and Saharan/Nubian pottery types. This was, at its core, a social network with Flinders Petrie in the center and well over half a century of combined experience in the field. The winter season at Armant ended on the last day of January 1938. After a few weeks of sightseeing in Egypt, Xia traveled to Palestine where he would spend another month or so working on the British excavations at Tell el-Duweir / Lachish, led, since 1932, by another of Petrie’s former protégées, James Leslie Starkey.44 Prior to directing the work at Lachish, Starkey, like Myers, had gained his experience in the field with Guy Brunton at Qau in Egypt; then went on to excavate for the University of Michigan at Karanis, and again with Petrie at a number of sites in Palestine between 1926–32. Tragically, while Xia and Myers were busy classifying pottery in the desert at Armant, on 10 January 1938, Starkey was shot and killed while traveling near Hebron, possibly by politically motivated insurgents, as was officially reported; or (more likely) in revenge for a land dispute relating to the excavation area.45 But only that they were ‘a man and two boys’, this seems unlikely. 44 Bierbrier 2019: 442; Seton-Williams 1988: 74–79; Tufnell, Inge and Harding 1940: 9– 12; Wang and Ucko 2007: 62, 65–66. 45 Garfinkel 2016.

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despite the murder of its director, the political unrest of the ongoing Arab Revolt, and the looming threat of another world war, the field season at Tell el-Duweir proceeded through the spring, with Xia supervising the excavation of a cave site there during the month of March.46 The composition of the workforce at Lachish was entirely familiar to Xia, albeit somewhat more complex and chaotic than the dig he had come from in Egypt. Apart from Starkey’s European assistants (including Olga Tufnell, Charles Inge, Lankester Harding, and Veronica Seton-Williams), the excavation was supervised by at least one senior foreman from Quft, Reis Sultan Bakhyt [Bakhit], who along with Tufnell and other senior Quftis in 1932, had moved with Starkey from Petrie’s Gaza excavations at Tell el-‘Ajjul.47 Among them, Tufnell and Reis Sultan remained at Lachish until the final season in 1938. Sultan Bakhyt and the other Quftis who initially transferred to Lachish had helped Starkey’s team set up the new British concession there and had also trained a group of skilled workers recruited from Petrie’s local networks in Palestine. The latter included primarily Ammarin and Terrabin Bedouin hailing from the Sinai-Gaza region of South Palestine, who began working with Petrie’s teams in the 1920s as they shifted their archaeological focus from Egypt to Palestine, and stayed on as essentially ‘Qufti apprentices’ in excavation work for more than ten years.48 Among the skilled Bedouin excavators were Salim Muhammed, Hassan Awad el-Qutshan, Abd el-Karim el-Salaameh, and three brothers, Salman, Suleyman, and Abdullah Aly [Ali].49 At Lachish, Reis Sultan and the Bedouin ‘Quftis’ supervised a local workforce from the village of Qubeiba in Gaza, who worked as basket carriers, unskilled excavators, and light railway operators. On the face of it, people and things at Lachish may have looked different, but Xia’s extra month of fieldwork in Palestine can, in an important sense, be considered a continuation of his experience in Egypt. The methods, aims, and diverse but Petrie-centered social network were inextricable in practical terms. In addition, Xia’s one and only in-person meeting with Flinders Petrie seems to have taken place during the same season, which was also the last of Petrie’s work at nearby Tell el-‘Ajjul (with Hilda Petrie, Margaret Murray, Ernest Mackay, and others).50 Indeed, in an ironic twist, 1937–38 was to be the very last season of Petrie’s whole long life in the field. 46

Seton-Williams 1988: 78. About Xia’s arrival on site, Olga Tufnell had this to say in a letter home dated 16 March: ‘We have a little heathen Chinese with us – a student of Glanville and Wheeler, who is really very sweet and most intelligent, much more human than our Japs […]’ as quoted in Green and Henry 2021: 391. 47 Tufnell, Inge and Harding 1940: 9; Tufnell 1953: 9. See also Drower 1995: 380–395; Garfinkel 2016, Green and Henry 2021: 1–28; Petrie 1931: 1; Tufnell 1950. 48 Seton-Williams 1988: 75. 49 Tufnell 1953: 9. 50 Von Falkenhausen 1999: 601; Wang and Ucko 2007: 61; cf. Drower 1995: 415–417.

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In the meantime, having completed a full and combined season of rigorous fieldwork at Armant and Lachish, Xia returned to London in the spring of 1938 to continue his studies at UCL, where he was awarded the University’s first Douglas and Margaret Murray prize scholarship. He then returned to Cairo again in the fall of 1939, where he spent a year researching materials at the Egyptian Museum for his doctoral dissertation on Ancient Egyptian Beads.51 While in Cairo, Xia was often homesick, just as he had been in the field two years before. At Armant (26 January), he had earlier described for his diary the melancholy he felt to be working, as he put it, ‘under someone else’s roof’. And in Cairo he wrote of his experiences as a Chinese man living in Egypt at the beginning of the Second World War.52 Yet despite the estrangement of his combined months in rural, southern Egypt, desolate Tell el-Duweir, and cosmopolitan Cairo, there can be no question that his time in England and the Middle East provided something of the inner intellectual, practical, and psychological foundation on which Xia built his career in China after the War. When he returned to China, after a long and difficult journey via the Middle East, India, and Burma during wartime, Xia emerged as the best trained archaeologist in his homeland.53 Already by 1944–45, he was directing the Academia Sinica’s Neolithic excavations at eleven or more different settlement and burial sites in the northwestern region of Gansu, where he was the first person to accurately record the correct sequence of prehistoric cultures based on stratigraphic evidence and techniques he had learned, practiced, and refined abroad.54 Did Xia’s first major desert survey, employing more than a hundred workers in rural China, remind him of his time in the remote desert sites of southern Egypt? Diversity, hidden in plain sight Xia’s diary for the short excavation season at Armant in 1938 gives no direct indication that he was deeply affected by Egyptian culture, society, politics, or class differences. If anything, he comes across as vaguely aloof and condescending with respect to the social world of Upper Egypt, leaving us to wonder exactly what kind of imprint it may have made on his mind. Still, anyone who has spent time in the field knows the transformative nature of such immersive experience. The kind of sensory knowledge acquired through first-hand learning and practice lives not only mentally, but also physically, in one’s memory. Among the methods he picked up in the field, Xia’s proximity to Ali el-Suefi and the network of Qufti excavators transmitted something of their knowledge to him. A multicultural field methodology that was transmitted, not through ideology or political discourse, but 51

Xia 2014 [1946 ms.] For the period 1939–1940, see Xia 2011: II (1936–1941), 236–330. 53 Chang 1986; Field and Wang 1997; Von Falkenhausen 1999. 54 Chang 1986: 443; Field and Wang 1997: 39; Von Falkenhausen 1999: 602; Wang and Ucko 2007: 67. 52

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through organized practice. The Quftis’ excavation practices carried a collective instinct for reading the soils, sherds, beads, lithics, and bones hidden meaningfully in a landscape. This was an instinct circulated through interpersonal connections of craftsmanship and kinship, both real and fictive, that was built into the production of archaeological knowledge from the ground up: (1) Find contexts and spatial relations identified through manual labour; (2) data captured and recorded in situ; and (3) interpretations published from the archaeological record. Given what, how, and when Xia learned his field practices from the Quftis, he would not have seen them as class-conscious workers or peasants, but as something more like a guild of semi-professional technicians or artisans in a class all their own. Is it possible to speculate on how this multicultural social network and its practices followed Xia back to China and spread into archaeological practice there, perhaps a ‘borrowed’ mode of production hiding in the plain sight of an avowedly nationalist (and Marxist) archaeology? It has already been noted that the historical connection between British, Middle Eastern, and Chinese archaeology is most apparent – as well as most ambiguous – with respect to field methods.55 Xia Nai, after opting to stay on the mainland when most of the rest of the Academia Sinica moved to Taiwan in 1949, took a direct and personal leadership role in rebuilding the Marxist/Maoist archaeology of Communist China through standardized excavation methods and systematic training programs with a nationalistic pulse from the very founding of the People’s Republic.56 As one writer put it, ‘the fine field technology applied in [his] first excavation[s, c.1950] […] provided the model for all subsequent excavations’.57 And as an influential member of the Chinese Communist Party, he left behind a legacy that both incorporated and rejected multiculturalism.58 Xia was China’s most powerful archaeologist of the twentieth century, and he became increasingly authoritarian throughout the 1950s and 60s. Yet he also brought a noticeably international background to a deeply nationalist practice, and his thoughts on the cultural interrelations between East and West were conflicted. Even while practicing a scrupulously Anglo-Egyptian centered methodology, which reproduced a Western model of collecting, documenting, and interpreting archaeological data, he expressed anti-Western concerns for how China could ‘take over [a] field archaeology that [had] always been under a semi-colonised context […] and make it into a Chinese archaeology of a high scientific standard’;59 as well as a Marxist goal ‘to adopt the viewpoint of class and class struggle to investigate social phenomena reflected in archaeological data, to wipe 55

Wang and Ucko 2007: 68–70. Enzheng 1995; Li and Xingcan 2012: 1–21; Von Falkenhausen 1993; see also Trigger 1984: 359. 57 Chang 1986: 443. 58 Field and Wang 1997: 40; Von Falkenhausen 1999; Wang and Ucko 2007: 68–70. 59 Xia 2000 [1959], as quoted in Wang and Ucko 2007: 70. 56

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out all the abominable influences of the distortion of history of the bourgeois and other exploiting classes, to […] let archaeology better serve the politics of the proletariat’.60 He was the central architect of the Communist government’s archaeological policy during this period, appointed director of its reconstructed Institute of Archaeology in 1962. And, like Flinders Petrie, his profound influence on succeeding generations was encapsulated by the number of students trained in his methods, which (again true to his international background) were taught equally between the field and the classroom. Between 1949 and 1965, the number of professional archaeologists trained under his direction in China rose from fewer than a dozen to perhaps five hundred.61 Xia Nai thus stands at the center of an historical trajectory that spans China’s search for its indigenous cultural origins, beginning on the 1928–37 Academia Sinica excavations at Anyang during the Western-oriented Republican era, with the ultra-nationalist state-building of the Communist period – the latter including large-scale construction and infrastructure projects on a national level; huge salvage archaeology projects relating to state expansion; and the restrictive foreign relations of the Cultural Revolution that blocked international exchange or discourse of any kind.62 Within this personal and historical trajectory for Xia, much emphasis has been placed on the purely intellectual background of his methods and theory, and especially the academic influence of Mortimer Wheeler and Flinders Petrie. Indeed, his field training under Wheeler at Maiden Castle and the pedagogical influence of Petrie’s Methods and Aims are usually cited as two of the central elements on which Xia rebuilt the methodology of Chinese archaeology after 1950. This emphasis not only suggests undue bias toward Xia’s own authoritarian rhetoric, it also, I would argue, neglects too much of his experiential knowledge as part of a diverse and multicultural social network in the history of field archaeology and Egyptology. Xia’s intellectual contact with Petrie was indirect only. It manifested itself primarily through his experiences within and among the diversity of field practitioners with whom he came into direct, personal contact in Egypt and Palestine: Oliver Myers, Ali el-Suefi, Hofni Ibrahim, Ahmed Ali, Sultan Bakhyt, John MacDonald, Olga Tufnell, and other unnamed Quftis. Thus, beyond the pedagogical limits of Xia’s method and theory, there is a need to reflect critically on the cross-cultural and cross-class impact of this social network and its ‘borrowed practices’ on fieldwork in China. Qufti excavation practices were integral to Xia’s international training, for example. How might we identify and investigate possible parallels between the role 60

Xia Nai [1972], as quoted in Enzheng 1995: 182. Li and Xingcan 2012: 9; cf. Von Falkenhausen 1999: 604. 62 See esp. Li and Xingcan 2012; Von Falkenhausen 1993; see also Enzheng 1995; Field and Wang 1997: 40–41; Xinyi and Jones 2008: 26–27. 61

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of skilled workers in Egyptian archaeology (Quftis) and skilled workers (‘jigong’) on Chinese excavations? Were Chinese excavations between 1945 and 1965 organized, or were Xia’s junior colleagues and trainees otherwise taught, with reference to Anglo-Egyptian practices other than the textbook-variety ‘methods and aims’? Was Xia Nai and his large excavation network in Communist China – like Flinders Petrie and his Middle Eastern network – a conduit by which Qufti field methods and their economics were disseminated outside Egypt? It seems reasonable to wonder, in the light of Xia’s higher interest in the organization and administration of labour as part of archaeological methodology over and above any question of theory or Egyptology in the field, how his observations on labour translated into the practice of Chinese archaeology. Xia’s diaries during his time abroad personalize large-scale processes of globalization at a time when both the Second World War and the Civil War within China restricted its relationship with the outside world. In a sense, his remembered field experience brings the world home, back under his own roof. Xia’s time at Armant during the winter of 1938 opens a more diverse window onto the intellectual genealogy of Xia’s training in the West, and it shows us forces of globalization internal to the history of archaeological thought and practice in nationalistic China. Did Xia apply his practical knowledge of labour organization in Egypt and the Middle East to the creation of the archaeological record in Communist China? Perhaps the continuation of his diaries for those years may offer clues.63 In any case, should the comparative history of archaeology in Egypt and China gather momentum in the future, perhaps the small window offered here will open onto others to give us a more complete, and much more diverse, picture of the way knowledge converges through socio-economic networks within whatever intellectual framework it is being made. Bibliography Anon. n.d. ‘The House of Ali Suefi at Armant’. Collection Highlights of the Egypt Exploration Society online, https://www.ees.ac.uk/the-house-of-ali-suefi-atarmant (accessed May 12, 2022). Bagnold, R.A., O.H. Myers, R.F. Peel and H.A. Winkler. 1939. ‘An Expedition to the Gilf Kebir and ‘Uweinat, 1938’. The Geographical Journal 93/4: 281– 312. Bard, K.A. (ed.), 1999. Encyclopedia of the Archaeology of Ancient Egypt. London: Routledge.

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Possible starting points for continued research would include Xia 2011: III–IV, covering the period 1942–1952, Academia Sinica excavation reports for the period 1944–1949, Chinese Academy of Sciences Institute of Archaeology excavation reports and monographs after 1950, and accounts of Xia Nai’s travels to London and his visits to the Petrie Museum at UCL in 1973 and again, just three months before his death, in 1985.

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Beinin, J. 1998. ‘Egypt: Society and Economy, 1923–1952’. In M.W. Daly (ed.), The Cambridge History of Egypt, II: Modern Egypt, from 1517 to the end of the twentieth century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 309–333. Beinin, J. and Z. Lockman. 1987. Workers on the Nile: Nationalism, Communism, Islam, and the Egyptian Working Class, 1882–1954. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Bierbrier, M.L. (ed.), 2019. Who Was Who in Egyptology, 5th ed. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Botman, S. 1998. ‘The Liberal Age, 1923–1952’. In M.W. Daly (ed.), The Cambridge History of Egypt, II: Modern Egypt, from 1517 to the end of the twentieth century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 285–308. Brown, N. 1994. ‘Who Abolished Corvee Labour in Egypt and Why?’ Past and Present 144: 116–137. Brunton, G. 1937. Mostagedda and the Tasian Culture. London: Bernard Quaritch. Brunton, G. and G. Caton-Thompson. 1928. The Badarian Civilisation, and Predynastic Remains near Badari. Egyptian Research Account Thirtieth Year 1924. London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt and Bernard Quaritch. Chang, K.C. 1986. ‘Xia Nai (1910–1985)’. American Anthropologist 88/2: 442– 444. Clément, A. 2010. ‘Rethinking “Peasant Consciousness” in Colonial Egypt: An Exploration of the Performance of Folksongs by Upper Egyptian Agricultural Workers on the Archaeological Excavation Sites of Karnak and Dendera at the Turn of the Twentieth Century (1885–1914)’. History and Anthropology 21/2: 73–100. De Souza, A. 2019. ‘Missing Pieces: The Nubian Cemeteries at Armant’. Egypt Centre Collection Blog, 26 August 2019, https://egyptcentrecollectionblog. blogspot.com/2019/08/missing-pieces-nubian-cemeteries-at.html (accessed May 25, 2022). Doyon, W. 2015. ‘On Archaeological Labor in Modern Egypt’. In W. Carruthers (ed.), Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. New York: Routledge, 141–156. — 2018. ‘The History of Archaeology through the Eyes of Egyptians’. In B. Effros and G. Lai (eds), Unmasking Ideology in Imperial and Colonial Archaeology. Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology Press, 173–200. — 2021. Empire of Dust: Egyptian Archaeology and Archaeological Labor in Nineteenth-Century Egypt. PhD dissertation, University of Pennsylvania. — [2023a]. ‘To Hell with Translation, Philology, Rougé, and the Louvre itself! Auguste Mariette and the Egyptianization of Archaeology and Egyptology, 1855–1875’. In D. Devauchelle and J.L. Podvin (eds), Actes du Colloque Mariette, Deux Siècles Après. Lille: Presses Universitaires du Septentrion.

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— [2023b]. ‘Quftis: Archaeological Technicians, Reis-ship, and the History of Wage Labor in Egyptian Archaeology’. In S. D’Auria and P. Lacovara (eds), Methods and Aims in Egyptian Archaeology: A Sourcebook. Columbus, GA: Lockwood Press. Drower, M. 1995. Flinders Petrie: A Life in Archaeology, 2nd ed. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Enzheng, Tong. 1995. ‘Thirty Years of Chinese Archaeology (1949–1979)’. In P. Kohl and C. Fawcett (eds), Nationalism, Politics, and the Practice of Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 177–197. Fahmy, K. 1997. All the Pasha’s Men: Mehmed Ali, His Army, and the Making of Modern Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Field, E. and Wang Tao. 1997. ‘Xia Nai: The London Connection’. Orientations 28/6: 38–41. Garfinkel, Y. 2016. ‘The Murder of James Leslie Starkey near Lachish’. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 148/2: 84–109. Green, J.D.M. and R. Henry (eds), 2021. Olga Tufnell’s ‘Perfect Journey’: Letters and Photographs of an Archaeologist in the Levant and Mediterranean. London: UCL Press. Hunter, F.R. 1984. Egypt under the Khedives, 1805–1879: From Household Government to Modern Bureaucracy. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Jasanoff, M. 2005. Edge of Empire: Lives, Culture, and Conquest in the East, 1750–1850. New York: Vintage Books. Jesse, F. 2003. ‘Early Ceramics in the Sahara and the Nile Valley’. Studies in African Archaeology 8: 35–50. Kaiser, W. 1957. ‘Zur inneren Chronologie der Naqadakultur’. Archaeologia Geographica 6: 69–77. Li, Liu and Xingcan Chen. 2012. The Archaeology of China: From the Late Paleolithic to the Early Bronze Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mond, R. and O.H. Myers. 1937. The Cemeteries of Armant, 2 vols. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Owen, R. 1993. The Middle East in the World Economy, 1800–1914, revised ed. London: I.B. Tauris. Petrie, W.M.F. 1904. Methods and Aims in Archaeology. London: Macmillan. — 1931. Ancient Gaza I (Tell El Ajjul). London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt. Quirke, S. 2010. Hidden Hands: Egyptian Workforces in Petrie Excavation Archives, 1880–1924. London: Duckworth. — 2014. ‘Preface: On Receiving Xia Nai Ancient Egyptian Beads in the TwentyFirst Century’. In Xia Nai, Ancient Egyptian Beads. Beijing: Chinese Academy of Social Sciences Academic Press / Heidelberg: Springer Verlag, vii–x.

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Reid, D.M. 2002. Whose Pharaohs? Archaeology, Museums, and Egyptian National Identity from Napoleon to World War I. Berkeley: University of California Press. — 2015. Contesting Antiquity in Egypt: Archaeologies, Museums, and the Struggle for Identities from World War I to Nasser. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Seton-Williams, M.V. 1988. The Road to El-Aguzein. London: Kegan Paul International. Toledano, E.R. 1990. State and Society in Mid-Nineteenth-Century Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Trigger, B. 1984. ‘Alternative Archaeologies: Nationalist, Colonialist, Imperialist’. Man 19.3: 355–370. Tufnell, O. 1950. ‘Excavations at Tell Ed-Duweir, Palestine, Directed by the Late J.L. Starkey, 1932–1938’. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 82/2: 65–80. — 1953. Lachish III (Tell Ed-Duweir): The Iron Age, The Wellcome-Marston Archaeological Research Expedition to the Near East Publications, 3. London: Oxford University Press. Tufnell, O., C.H. Inge and L. Harding. 1940. Lachish II (Tell Ed Duweir): The Fosse Temple. The Wellcome-Marston Archaeological Research Expedition to the Near East Publications, 2. London: Oxford University Press. Vitalis, R. 1995. When Capitalists Collide: Business Conflict and the End of Empire in Egypt. Berkeley: University of California Press. Von Falkenhausen, L. 1993. ‘On the Historiographical Orientation of Chinese Archaeology’. Antiquity 67/257: 839–849. — 1999. ‘Xia Nai, 1910–1985’. In T. Murray (ed.), Encyclopedia of Archaeology: The Great Archaeologists, II. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 601–614. Wang, Tao and P. Ucko. 2007. ‘Early Archaeological Fieldwork Practice and Syllabuses in China and England’. In P. Ucko, Qin Ling and J. Hubert (eds), From Concepts of the Past to Practical Strategies: The Teaching of Archaeological Field Techniques. London: Saffron, 45–76. Xia, Nai. 2000 [1959]. ‘Basics of Archaeology’. In Xia Nai Wenji, compiled by the Institute of Archaeology, Chinese Academy of Sciences, 3 volumes. Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 178–198 (in Chinese). — 2011. Xia Nai ri ji, 10 volumes. Shanghai Shi: Hua dong shi fan da xue chu ban she. — 2014 [1946 ms.] Ancient Egyptian Beads. Beijing: Chinese Academy of Social Sciences Academic Press / Heidelberg: Springer Verlag. Xinyi, Liu and M. Jones. 2008. ‘When Archaeology Begins: The Cultural and Political Context of Chinese Archaeological Thought’. Bulletin of the History of Archaeology 18/1: 25–27.

Ancient Egypt in Africa Why it matters to Brazilian Egyptology* Thais Rocha da Silva

Still today, as soon as the subject of Blacks and Africa is raised, words do not necessarily represent things; the true and the false become inextricable. Achile Mbembe, The critique of Black Reason The development of Egyptology in Brazil in the last two decades has presented to students and to young scholars in the field an opportunity to embrace a discipline that is facing its colonial past. Egyptologists from the Global North have gradually acknowledged many issues of colonialism and the academic debate has opened venues for transformation in fieldwork practice and community engagement. The relationship between ancient Egypt with other parts of Africa has been an issue since the beginning of Egyptology. The geographical location of Egypt in Africa did not stop the orientalist approach that pushed ancient Egypt towards the East together with the whitewash of ancient Egyptians.1 Modern Egyptology is a European and colonial discipline in its origins and African scholars were left (many still are) at the margins of the field until recently, making some of them believe that Egyptology was not meant to explain Egypt, but to explain away Egypt.2 Before Bonaparte’s invasion of Egypt, Constantin de Volney travelled to the region and wrote Travels in Syria and Egypt, During the Years 1783, 1784, & 1785, published in 1787, in which he called the great Sphinx ‘typically Negro [Black African] in all its features’.3 In this work, he also expressed surprise that the persons enslaved in the modern period are exactly those persons that look like Egyptians and were ‘the very race to which we owe our arts, sciences, and even the use of speech!’ The assumption that the European model of civilisation4 (which included a writing system, monumental architecture, centralised power, and urban planning) could be developed solely by white people was part of the 19th and early 20th centuries’ milieu in the West. Academic disciplines like History and Archaeology contributed to shape narratives and hierarchies that kept Egypt * I am grateful to Chiké Pilgrim, Juliana Serzedelo, Gilberto Francisco, Otávio Luiz Vieira Pinto, Maria Carolina Rodrigues, Franziska Naether and Hana Navratilova for their comments and suggestions in early drafts of this paper. All mistakes here are my own. 1 See Burleigh 2007 for an overview. 2 Langer 2017. 3 Volney 1787: 49. 4 See for example Mignolo 2012: 2–9; Langer 2021; Wengrow and Graeber 2021.

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out of Africa until recently.5 More than this, Africa became an idea of a place with no history, no humans, in need of Western intervention.6 The history of modern racism is deeply connected with colonialism. Islamic rule in Europe between 711–1492 CE, which reintroduced Graeco-Roman texts to European audiences and paved the way to the Renaissance, also reinforced antiAfrican and anti-Islam attitudes after the defeat of the Moorish empire.7 The LusoSpanic voyages in the 15th and 16th centuries opened Africa and the Americas to European exploitation and established skin colour and slavery as key elements to this system.8 In the 18th century, Europe was transformed by a shift in colonial powers, from Spain and Portugal, to France and England.9 The new effort to acquire and keep colonies and to expand trade was accompanied by scientific investment, promoted by the State. Racial classifications and scientific racism developed – coincidently –, with the increase of slaves in European colonial domains. Nineteenth-century colonialism opened new venues of exploitation and violence in Asia and Africa, creating and promoting a new type of racism, one that England had a special participation in by putting the previous Atlantic framework (colonialism, slavery, trade) into a global context.10 The creation of academic disciplines dedicated to Asia and Africa (i.e. Anthropology and Oriental Studies) was an important element of colonialism. The ability to produce taxonomies also offered the structure and the instruments to classify and to establish hierarchies of peoples and societies.11 This is the context in which Egyptology was born. During the 19th and most of the 20th century, ancient Egypt became a canvas in which myths about cultural and racial superiority were projected by Europeans, creating an image of an essentialised, eternal Egypt.12 Within this framework 19th century scholars would have found it impossible to equate Egypt with anything but European-ness and the “White” identity that was slowly starting to form via racial classification. The process of recognition that ancient Egypt is an African civilisation had many developments during the 20th century, beyond the academic environment,

5

The development of these disciplines in the context of colonialism is complex and it needs to be examined according to other, specific, social and historical contexts. See for example: Said 1994; van Dommelen 1997; Barringer and Flynn 1998; Jeffreys 2003; DíazAndreau 2007; Osterhammel 2015; Carruthers 2019; Bednarski, Dodson and Ikram 2021. 6 Boahen 2010; Mbembe 2018. 7 For further discussion see Bethencourt 2013; Wells 2015; Monteiro-Ferreira 2018; Hochman 2019. 8 Wells 2015. 9 Mignolo 2012. 10 Wells 2015. 11 Said 1998; Burleigh 2007; Cole 2007; Díaz-Andreau 2007. 12 Jeffreys 2003; Challis 2013; Moreno-Garcia 2015; Carruthers 2015; see for further discussion: Jeffreys 2003; Challis 2013; Moreno-Garcia 2015; Carruthers 2015.

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sometimes used to legitimise specific historical and social discourses.13 This discussion is far from concluded. The ongoing debates need to move on from merely criticising previous scholarship and ideas linked to scientific racism, socio-cultural evolution, and colonial and imperialist practices.14 To acknowledge the complex network of ideas reflected in previous studies is an important part of the process but it is also essential to understand the social hierarchy in Egypt and how this also may have impacted the development of specific epistemologies. It is worth noticing that colonialism is not monolithic, and it needs to be examined within specific social settings.15 Similarly, responses to colonial practices will be different worldwide. Despite the fact that some elements of the epistemology about ancient Egypt (i.e. Egyptology) belong to a colonial matrix of power,16 the appropriations of what ancient Egypt is (or was) are not homogeneous. It is in this context that this paper will explore how the idea of black Egypt has been developed in Brazil. The African roots of ancient Egypt became an important topic amongst Egyptologists in the 1960s with the salvage campaign of monuments in Lower Nubia. The question of race was revisited by scholars,17 but there was a focus on the sovereignty of Egypt over Nubia and terms like Egyptianisation were common. In this regard, Egypt was perceived as non-black. Early Egyptologists, like George Reisner (1867–1942), considered the father of Nubiology, have portrayed Nubian populations as inferior and incapable of constituting a civilisation.18 The question of racial supremacy was also part of the early days of Nubian and Egyptian archaeology: William Flinders Petrie (1853–1942), for example, based much of his studies of ancient Nubia on skeletal remains and racial depictions.19 For Heinrich Brugsch (1827–1894), Egyptians were part of the Caucasian race who came from the north to the banks of the Nile by crossing the Suez Canal.20 This scenario has been changing with the development of Nubian studies in the last decade. As Manzo pointed out,21 one of the main problems archaeologists dealing with the relationship between ancient Egypt and its African neighbours encounter is that the information we have is severely biased by the available data. The 13

For discussion and references see, for example, O’Connor 2003; Bindman and Gates 2010; Bonnet 2019; Carruthers et al 2021. 14 See for example Brugsch 1891; Petrie 1886; Reisner 1910; Seligman 1913; Breasted 1935. For discussion see Lorimer 1988; 1990; Chalis 2013; Murray and Spriggs 2017. 15 For example Mignollo 1999; 2012. 16 Jeffreys 2003; Carruthers 2015; Moreno-Garcia 2015; Riggs 2017; 2019; Langer 2021; Lemos 2022. 17 For example Trigger 1976; 1994; Török 1997; 2002; 2009; Reid 2002; Valbelle 2004. 18 For further discussion Matič 2018; Manzo 2022. 19 See Challis 2013. 20 Brugsch 1891: 3; Matič 2018: 27. 21 Manzo 2022: 80.

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knowledge of some areas is limited to the conditions of archaeological fieldwork and publications. For most of the 20th century, Egyptology privileged the middle Nile Valley, whereas other African regions around Egypt, like the northern Libyan Desert and the Eastern Desert were not central focusses of archaeological research: a situation that has changed recently.22 In addition, virtually nothing is known about northern Ethiopia and Eritrea before the first millennium BCE.23 More archaeological work is needed to allow us to properly deal with the diversity of the Nile Valley and the African borders of Egypt. This process will take time but it is paramount to the re-contextualisation of Egypt into its African context and in dealing with the appropriations of this issue by various disciplines in the humanities and in popular culture. The way ancient Egypt was received in Brazil can be outlined on two fronts, one from Egyptology and the other from Afro social movements, heavily influenced by the United States. Little dialogue, if any, has been established between Egyptologists and those associated with the Afro movements in Brazil so far. Despite the recent development of Egyptology in the country and the expansion of laws against racism, black Egypt is still an issue that divides those interested in ancient Egypt and social activists. This paper addresses this lack of dialogue, exploring aspects in the contemporary history of Brazil and the establishment of Egyptology as a field of investigation. As a white Egyptologist trained in the United Kingdom, who was born and lived in the Bahia (Brazil), the state with the largest black population in the country, I experienced two very different worlds and faced the absence of conversation and information on both sides. This paper is not a manifesto, but an attempt to offer a common ground to reduce the distance between academics dealing with ancient Egypt, who need to be aware of racism and occupy the public debate about it and, and the social movements, which lack specialised knowledge of the discipline. For my colleagues in Europe and in the US, I hope to demonstrate the relevance of this debate in Brazil and to our Egyptology. The idea of black Egypt in Brazil has been spread in popular culture especially through carnival performance. Afoxé groups in Bahia like Olodum and samba schools in Rio de Janeiro have dedicated part of their lyrics and outfits to ancient Egyptian themes and motifs, linking Egypt to blackness and then to Brazil. The overlap of history and political agenda can be traced to the arrival of Afrocentric ideas amongst Brazilian intellectuals in the 1980s. In the first part of this paper, I discuss how Pan-Africanist and Afrocentric ideas impacted the conceptualisation of a black Egypt in Brazil. It is not my intention to conclude this debate or to be a referee between Afrocentrist scholars and Egyptologists. They come from different perspectives and have different 22

For example Boozer 2015; Mynářová et al 2019; Morkot 2020; Castiglioni et al. 2020; Cooper 2020a; 2020b; Darnell 2021; Jesse 2021; Manzo 2021; Durand et al 2022. 23 Manzo 2022: 81.

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agendas. In Brazil, Egyptology is not an established discipline, and it is developing thanks to the effort of a young generation of scholars and students. The Afrocentric movement is also growing as a response to the exclusion and violence the black population endures around the world and in Brazil. As these two fields have developed almost simultaneously in the last few decades, it is worth noting that they took different paths in Brazilian society and a dialogue is much needed. The rise of the idea about black Egypt in Brazil is examined by exploring the relationship between the work of Abdias Nascimento (1914–2011) and the Afro movements in the United States, like Black is Beautiful and the movement for Civil Rights.24 Nascimento imported the debate from African intellectuals who became prominent in the US, like Cheikh Anta Diop (1923–1986) and John Henrik Clarke (1915–1998), when Brazil was revisiting the history and legacy of four centuries of slavery. Nascimento’s activism intended to tackle the miscegenation ideology in Brazil, that lead, in his view, to the exclusion of black Brazilians from the Pan-African community and the Afro-centric debate.25 Pan-Africanism and Afrocentrisms Contemporary African thinking was born as a response from African intellectuals, and from the diaspora, to the effects of European colonialism and to the impact of spreading capitalism in the 19th century.26 Afrocentric ideas first appeared in the United States during the 19th century, much earlier than any African scholar has suggested,27 inspired by the African diaspora and the Christian missionaries to Africa from Europe and America.28 The development of Afrocentrism needs to be examined within the socio-political context of the United States and the context of how the black population responded to oppression at the end of the 19th and the first half of the 20th centuries. These ideas were boosted by postcolonial movements in Africa after the 1950s, with different appropriations around the world. Edward Wilmot Blyden (1832–1912) and Marcus Garvey (1887–1940) are perhaps the most critical figures in the US Afro Movements, who promoted the idea that Egypt, Nubia, and Ethiopia were important representatives of African civilisations.29 Indigenous Pan-Africanism can be broadly defined as a movement that attempts to unify African peoples within the continent and not just in response to external aggression. Responsive Pan Africanism is part of this larger movement and focuses on the liberation of peoples of African descent (continental and

24

See: Taylor 2016; Umoja et al 2018 for further references and discussion. Pilgrim, personal communication. See also Miles 2017. 26 Barbosa 2020: 14. 27 Farias 2003: 318. 28 Barbosa 2020 16–24; Gilroy 2001. 29 See for example Asante 2002; Grant 2003; Fergus 2010; Barbosa 2020. 25

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diasporic) through forms of unity, most importantly through political alliance.30 It aggregates African history in a single historical experience. The narrative is that Africans were oppressed and excluded because of slavery and colonisation but share a common important past with great civilisations.31 Race then became common ground on which to fight the global violent experience which Africans and Africans in the diaspora (especially in the Americas) were subjected. Colonialism and racism deprived Africans of their own history, which Pan-Africanism intends to restore, and then, to promote a better future for African populations around the world through its political agenda. The Pan-Africanism movement expanded and developed on various fronts, and Afrocentrism is one of them. There is no single definition for Afrocentrism. As argued by Farias,32 it is not a monolithic doctrine, rather ‘a label that covers a range of positions and proposals from popular culture to the academic environment’.33 The genealogy of Afrocentric ideas can be found both in the works of white and black scholars, including Jewish intellectuals.34 Afrocentrism combines a Utopian history and a millenarian future in its political project.35 In 1962, the Afro-American sociologist W. E. B. Du Bois, who was directing the project of Encyclopaedia Africana proposed to define Afrocentrism in geographical terms, moving away from the racial/biological perspective of the 19th century.36 The Encyclopaedia he started in the 1930s was intended to be a scientific endeavour made solely by Africans, as they were understood to be the only ones able to talk about their history and their culture.37 The Encyclopaedia covered the debate between privileging the entire black race or the geographical entity of Africa, a debate that took different directions. This favoured some Afrocentrists to revisit the biological criteria, arguing that blackness is also defined by ancestry.38 Scholars involved in this debate 30 Pilgrim 2013. See for example Abdul-Raheem 1996; Adi and Sherwood 2003; Adi 2018; Karim Bangura 2012. 31 See Goyal 2014 for a summary and discussion about Paul Gilroy’s ideas. 32 Farias 2003: 317. 33 See also Okafor 1991; Falola 2007; Carroll 2007; 2014; Maat and Carroll 2012; Yehudah 2015. 34 Farias 2003: 318; Moses 1998: 11; 29; 37. See for example: Asante 1999; Fauvelle, Chrétien and Perrot 2000; Shavit 2001; Obenga 2001; Walker 2001. 35 Moses 1998: 33. 36 Moses 1998: 18; Du Bois 2007 [1946]; was part of the Pan-Africanist movement in the United States, which refers to the unity of all African countries on the continent. Its origins can be located within abolitionist demonstrations in the Americas and the fight against racism. Pan-African ideas from the 19th century already mentioned ancient Egypt as a black civilisation, and it has developed in the 20th century on many fronts and will not be discussed in this paper. For further discussion see for example Falola and Essien 2013; Adi 2018; Soyinka 2015; Asante and Canaiwa 2010. 37 Moses 1998: 18. 38 Moses 1998: 20; see also Falola 2007; Appiah 2010; Karim Bangura 2012; Barbosa

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welcomed the ideas of the Senegalese Cheikh Anta Diop, who put ancient Egypt again at the forefront of the Afrocentric debate. Diop was a physicist who became interested in history, philosophy, and anthropology during his time studying in Paris. His work questioned the Eurocentric perspective of the history of humankind and the way Africa had been portrayed by European scholars. It was not before 1960 that Diop completed his studies, having changed his thesis topics several times.39 Diop believed that Egypt was of paramount importance to understanding the development of Africa and, subsequently, the rise of civilisation. According to him, ancient Egypt was black and the Semitic world owned their knowledge to the Egyptians. Diop’s work had an explicit political agenda: asking all Africans to question European hegemony and the assumption that Africa was less significant to the historical development of the world. For him it was urgent to (re)write African history, reframing the past to then promote changes in the present and future of the continent. This revaluation would be possible only by valuing what is good and positive in Africa. It is important to notice that these ideas were not disconnected from the independence movements of African countries, in which a new ‘African consciousness’ was raised and used politically to develop the new agenda of the decolonisation process.40 Ancient Egypt was crucial for this reconciliation of African history and for legitimising Diop’s Pan-Africanist project. He recovered the 19th century North American Vindicationist history, which focused on the ancient civilizations of Egypt, Ethiopia and Meroe.41 The Vindicationist historical narrative is designed to present the African past as heroic and monumental and not as a simple receptor of Western culture.42 Diop developed many critical ideas, which he developed in 2012. 39 Diop’s first Ph.D. dissertation The Cultural Future of African Thought was under the supervision of Gaston Bachelard. Who were the Predynastic Egyptians?, was the second topic, supervised by Marcel Griaule. He never defended his thesis, but published it as Nations nègres et culture – De l’antiquité nègre égyptienne aux problèmes culturels de l’Afrique noire d’aujourd’hui in 1954. In 1956 he returned to his Ph.D. with another subject Comparative study of the political and social systems of Europe and Africa, from antiquity to the formation of modern states, supervised this time by André Leroi-Gourhan with no particular mention to ancient Egypt. 40 For example Fanon 1963; see also Falola 2001; Muchie 2003; Boahen 2010; Hernandez 2014; Barbosa 2020. 41 See for example the work of the nineteenth-century writers: Samuel Ringgold Ward, William Wells Brown, and Frederick Douglass who pointed out the connection of African Americans to the builders of Ancient Egypt (Moses 1998, 24). It is important to mention that in the last few decades, Afrocentrists have struggled to demonstrate linguistic and cultural connections between ancient Egypt and the societies of tropical Africa. For further discussion see Moses 1998, especially chapter 2. 42 Moses 1998: 23–24.

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many of his publications, but as Carroll pointed out, most discussions about him ‘[…] limit his scholarly contributions to his ground-breaking work on the African origin of Ancient Egyptian civilization (Diop, 1974). As a result, Cheikh Anta Diop is only known through a myopic lens without a firm understanding of the theoretical and philosophical arguments that inform his scholarship’.43 While Diop’s ideas have been of paramount importance for the development of Afrocentrism, he never used the term Afrocentricity, as he was focused on PanAfricanism instead. As a Pan-Africanist, Diop was concerned with all of Africa, but like any scholar, had time constraints and particular interests that led him to focus on Egypt.44 Not all Afrocentrist scholars were concerned with Egypt, but Egypt played a key role to the removal of Africa from a subaltern position. The general history of Africa published by UNESCO (1964–1999) was an important advertisement for the Afrocentric debate and for the dissemination of Diop’s ideas, with an immense repercussion worldwide. The books were the result of a collective effort of African scholars to put together the best of their scientific work at the time. It does not present a homogeneous approach, but rather brings a variety of perspectives on the history of the continent. It was a seminal work for questioning eurocentrism.45 After World War II, African scholars engaged in independence movements also tried to respond to how eurocentrism had built an image of Africa and its people. However, many of these intellectuals came from European universities or were in institutions tailored by European cultural practices. To overcome eurocentrism, it was also necessary to question the theoretical-methodological approaches in which African scholars were formed.46 This large decolonisation project sponsored by UNESCO represented a reassurance that an African perspective, from their own history, was known worldwide. It made no excuse to the scientific community, and made it impossible to ignore African historians when writing about the history of the continent.47 A publication sponsored by the UNESCO certainly contributed to the promotion of the books in a global scale, inasmuch it legitimised the African perspective. The enthusiastic and celebratory reception of the publication also shielded it from any criticism.48 In Brazil, the books were 43

Carroll 2018: 59. Chike Pilgrim, personal communication. 45 Eurocentrism is not a monolithic term and there is extensive literature that addresses the definitions and the problems of this terminology (e.g. Young 1990, Amin 1994, Shohat and Stam 1997, Wallerstein 2007). In this paper, I follow Barbosa and Amin, using the idea that Eurocentrism is based on the general assumption that the development of Western European societies is desirable for all societies. As Barbosa re-asserted, from this perspective, what is intended to be global is in fact provincial. For further discussion see also Barbosa 2012: 16–20; Gilroy 2000; Mignollo 2012; Mbembe 2014. 46 Barbosa 2012: 20–21. 47 Barbosa 2012: 15. 48 Moses 1998. 44

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published in 1980 and many of the debates,49 despite their relevance, were soon viewed as outdated. In this context, Diop’s ideas spread quickly, with an impact that should not be underestimated, especially in Brazil, as it will be further discussed. In the second volume, Diop presented his vision of ancient Egypt and he was not alone in affirming that ancient Egypt, a black civilisation, was the point of origin for human progress.50 George James’ Stolen Legacy (1954) followed a similar path arguing that Greek philosophy derived from ancient Egyptian mystery religions that were presumed to have their roots in central Africa.51 Mary Lefkowitz described the book as ‘hate literature’ despite the absence of hate discourse in James’ work.52 Instead, his book sought to unite African peoples with the rest of humanity. As Moses argued, it was ‘[…] a moving response to segregation and dehumanization, the product of a heart that is filled with tears’.53 Molefi Kete Asante is an important figure that reframed and expanded Diop’s thesis under the idea of Afrocentrism. While Diop worked under the Pan-Africanist umbrella, Asante conflated two concepts, black and Africa, moving away from Africanness (defined in terms of geography and race) to blackness. His main works, Afrocentrity the theory of social change (1980) and The Afrocentric idea (1987), argued that blackness is a commitment to put black people and their history at the centre of the historical debate. He defines blackness in terms of Afrocentrism and Afrocentrism in terms of blackness. Ancient Egypt is the core of his Afrocentric thesis, as the cultures of the African diaspora present numerous and significant remnants of Egyptian civilization.54 For him, Afrocentrism is Egyptocentrism.55 These ideas echoed in Martin Bernal’s Black Athena,56 who proposed the African origins of Greek culture, and was heavily criticised by the academic community, including black intellectuals.57 Most of the Afrocentric theses regarding ancient Egypt and the ancient world have used the same colonial elements they were aiming to subvert to transcend colonial order. Moreover, their argument is based on outdated anthropological theories, like evolutionism, diffusionism and cultural relativism.

49

The edition published in 2010 is the best known in Brazil. Diop 2010. 51 Moses 1998: 36. 52 Moses 1998: 36. 53 Moses 1998: 36. See also Lefkowitz 1996b and the late discussion with Bernal 1996a; 1996b. 54 Asante 1998 [1987]; 2007. 55 These ideas will be also developed by Obenga 1993; 1995; 1996; 2010. 56 Bernal 2020 [1987]. 57 For example Gilroy 2000; Mbembe 2014. See also Lefkowitz and Rogers 1996; van Binsbergen 1996–1997; Berlinerblau 1999; Bernal 1996a; 2001; North 2003. 50

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The Cameroonian philosopher Achille Mbembe, in his work The Black Reason, argued that representations of black peoples were constructed by modern Europe, starting in the 16th century, then subsequently with the Atlantic slave trade, the end of Apartheid in South Africa, and more recently with neoliberalism and globalisation.58 In this historical process, Europe built its identity based on the exclusion of other peoples, making ‘being white’ something desirable.59 Hence, the idea that ‘black’ is a Western European construction to justify colonisation; everything that is not European can be enslaved and colonised, in India, the Americas and Africa. Mbembe acknowledged that the definition of blackness is complex and it is rooted beyond the idea of ancestry and geography. The black reason is ‘[…] a set of voices, statements and discourses, knowledge, comments and nonsense’, whose object is the thing or people ‘[…] of African origin’ and what we claim to be its name and its truth.60 In this context, black reason designates both a set of discourses and practices – daily work that consists of inventing, telling, repeating and putting into circulation formulas, texts, rituals, with the objective of making the Black person a subject of race.61 For him, the black reason established a quasiidentity between race and geography creating a cultural identity that combines racial authenticity and territoriality.62 If the concept of black is an invention of modern reason, it is necessary to problematise the use of black as a category.63 His work received some harsh criticism for ignoring the issues of racism.64 Following Mbembe, one cannot affirm ancient Egyptians were not black simply because this category did not exist in ancient Egypt.65 Africanist ideas create an image of ancient Egypt that is essentialised, framed by a 19th-century, civilisational (and colonial) perspective, precisely the one they aim to criticise. Moreover, it assumes a homogeneous ancient Egypt (or Nubia) defined by black identity. If ancient Egypt is African, which Africa is that? Recent archaeological work in Nubian and Egyptian settlements have demonstrated the variety and the complexity of the populations in the Nile Valley and in Nubia, hence any

58

Mbembe 2014. See also Fanon 1963 and Appiah 1997. 60 Mbembe 2017: 57. 61 Mbembe 2017: 58. 62 Mbembe 2017: 91. 63 Mbembe 2017. 64 For example Tshaka 2018, Goldberg 2018. Kabengele Munanga addressed this issue when he delivered his Aula Magna at the University of São Paulo. See: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ycCV0ldkdRE. See also Gilroy 2001. 65 See for example Baines 1996; Smith 2014a; 2014b; 2021. Smith also discussed this at the lecture Black Pharaohs? Egyptological bias, racism and Egypt and Nubia as African civilisations for the Hutchins Center, University of Harvard: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=4QK7P0Bdpj0 59

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essentialised perspective of ancient Egypt needs to be avoided.66 This shows that, apart from a problematic theoretical model, Pan-Africanism theses may lack specialised knowledge of ancient Egyptian sources, its history and language, and the same is true for Nubian sources.67 This is particularly evident in Diop’s thesis about Kmt (Kemet). The name, translated by Egyptologists as ‘fertile land’ referred to how ancient Egyptians named their homeland. The word is written with the determinative used for places,68 therefore, it is not a reference to people, but to the soil fertilized by the Nile flood.69 However, Cheikh Anta Diop postulated, rather than demonstrated, that this interpretation ‘[…] derives from a gratuitous distortion by minds aware of what an exact interpretation of this word would mean’.70 Obenga pushes Diop’s argument further arguing that, in fact, the geographical reference is related to the géographie humaine, i.e. to the colour of ancient Egyptians.71 Mary Lefkowitz, who severely criticised Afrocentric ideas and to the work of Martin Bernal, argued that Afrocentrism was an excuse to teach myth, not history.72 In stating this, she failed to criticise the myth of Western civilisation: in refuting Afrocentric ideas, she reproduces the artificial and essentialist polarisation of Eurocentrism vs Afrocentrism, as if these are the only two available

66 To name a few examples: the project Living in Nubia by Aaron de Souza (Austrian Academic of Sciences) (https://inbetweennubia.com/2021/01/10/from-inbetween-toliving-nubia/); Diverse Nile, by Julia Budka (Ludwig-Maximilians-University Munich) (https://www.sudansurvey.gwi.uni-muenchen.de/index.php/ueber-mich/); and Being Egyptian by Linda Hulin (Oxford) and Thais Rocha da Silva (Universidade de São Paulo/Oxford) (https:// www.ees.ac.uk/news/being-egyptian). See also Spencer 2014; Spencer et al 2017; Budka and Auenmüller 2018; Cooper 2020a; Emberling and Williams 2021. 67 The terms African and black are European categories, defined by European colonial intellectual traditions. Diop argued that African societies have traits defined by the Southern Cradle hypothesis and have occupied the African continent as indigenous groups rather than outsiders and it is in this context that Egypt was African (Pilgrim, personal communication). See also Bussotti and Nhaueleque 2018, and Binder 2019. 68 See Gardiner’s sign list N25. 69 Note for example that the representations of Osiris are usually black or green, as these colours are reference for fertility. 70 This appears in various pieces written by Diop, e.g. 1955; 1967; 1974. See for example, Farias 2003, 330, note 40; Fauvelle 1996. 71 Obenga 1990: 232, 239; 2001: 43–46; Farias 2003: 330. Farias (2003, 330) pointed out that Obenga chose carefully what to use to corroborate his idea (and Diop’s argument), mentioning Bilad as-Sudan in Arabic to refer to ‘the country of the black’, showing geography and people can overlap in some designations, but ignored the term Sawad, for example that refers to the cultivated land. Farias also reinforces that ‘black’ is used in toponyms in many languages. See also Cooper 2020b. 72 Lefkowtiz 1996a; 1996b.

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categories.73 Afrocentrism denounces the white civilisational project, by creating its own. If race does not exist as a biological category, racism as an ideology that structures and legitimises exclusion and oppression cannot be ignored. Is it possible to conciliate a political project, which uses essentialism as a tool to promote the end of racism, with historical research?74 Ancient Egypt is simultaneously the subject of Egyptology, Ancient Near East and Mediterranean Studies, but it is no less relevant for the history of modern and Islamic Egypt and a topic for African studies. Ancient Egypt is a territory of disputes about histories, identities, and epistemologies. Africa was built as a geographic and symbolic space that only exists as the result of colonialism.75 If that is the case, then any investigation into African history should avoid essentialist perspectives on Africa.76 Imperialism, equipped with ethnology, geography and biology, as well as institutions such as museums, schools, and universities were established on the existence of race.77 How can Egyptologists better engage with African history? Is it enough simply to move to Nubian studies?78 We need to do more than point out that Egyptology, Archaeology and Nubiology were born in the context of colonialism: we need to try to effectively transcend our disciplinary niches. Egyptology in Brazil and Brazilian Egyptology Egyptology in Brazil was a product of the monarchy. The first Egyptian collection was acquired by Dom Pedro I shortly after Brazil became independent from Portugal in 1824. His son was Pedro II, who had a scholarly interest in the ancient Egyptian history and art and travelled to Egypt to visit its monuments and archaeological sites, as many monarchs from the 19th century did. He visited Egypt twice (in 1871 and 1876) and met important Egyptologists from this time, with whom he maintained personal correspondence to discuss his studies.79 Pedro II was perceived as an eccentric emperor who did not like to rule, but rather preferred to spend his time studying.80 Because of his love for ancient Egypt, his opponents usually portrayed him with ancient elements to criticise his attitudes and political decisions.81 73

Farias 2003: 325. See for example Imarisha 2016. I am grateful to Juliana Sezerdello for pointing out this work. 75 Mbembe 2017: 166. 76 For example Fanon 1963; Appiah 1997. 77 Osterhammel 2015; Carruthers 2015; 2021; Hicks 2020. 78 See Lemos 2022 for further discussion. 79 Bakos 2004; Rocha da Silva 2019. 80 Schwartz 1998. 81 Schwartz 1998; Bakos 2004. 74

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While the acquisition of ancient objects by the imperial family were accordingly part of a ‘national project’ in Brazil, the republicans had little interest in them, aiming to find a different national identity completely separate from the empire.82 The imperial collection was given to the National Museum in Rio de Janeiro, which was destroyed in 2018, but it was not investigated by a Brazilian scholar until the second half of the 20th century.83 The field was later co-opted by the discipline of ancient history,84 in which the idea of ‘antiquity’ was taken up by the Brazilian educated elites, who believed to have inherited the legacy of ‘classical culture’. In this regard, ancient Egypt was viewed as within the study of the ancient Mediterranean, which was perceived as a Western civilisation, and detached from Africa. The dictatorship (1964–1985) reinforced this model for ancient history by emphasising a positivist perspective focused on the study of ancient Greece and Rome. One can say that ancient history in Brazil, for long time, mirrored a Eurocentric, elitist approach, reinforcing the idea that the history of ancient Greek and Roman societies was the history of Europe.85 It was only after the democratisation of Brazil in 1985 that scholars could openly question the Eurocentric bias for studying the ancient world. The new approach was influenced by nouvelle histoire, Marxism, and cultural history, especially during the 1990s.86 In the late 1980s, the first courses and supervisions on ancient Egypt occurred in Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo, promoted by Ciro Flamarion Cardoso.87 The decade of 1980 was crucial to determine the path of ancient Egypt in Brazil. On one hand, ancient historians, who were trying to establish their field of research, were focusing on the Mediterranean and Classics, and little attention was given to the investigation of ancient Egypt.88 On the other hand, the process 82

Schwartz 1998; Rocha da Silva 2017. Rocha da Silva 2019. 84 Ferreira and Funari 2015; Rocha da Silva 2019. 85 For further discussion about the development of ancient History in Brazil, see Carvalho and Funari 2007; Guarinello 2008; Santos 2019. Guilherme Moerbeck has recently organised Didaskō, a research group that emerged in 2019 at the Estate University of Rio de Janeiro (UERJ) and caught the attention of researchers of antiquity from various regions of Brazil interested in engaging in dialogue with the teaching of ancient History. In general terms, Didaskō proposes to take the sensitive issues of the present day and use them when thinking about teaching themes in antiquity in an inclusive way. By doing so, it seeks to create a dialogue with post-colonial theories and human rights, within a research group focused on teaching ancient History in Brazil (Moerbeck, personal communication). 86 Carvalho and Funari 2007: 15–16. 87 See Rocha da Silva 2019: 134–135 for further references. 88 It is worth highlighting that despite Cardoso’s efforts, he was not an Egyptologist. Brazil has no degree in Egyptology and students who want to study Egyptology usually have a degree in history. For further discussion see Santos 2018; Santos et al. 2017; Rocha da Silva 2014; 2017; 2019. 83

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of democratization, the constitution of 1988, and the centenary of the abolition of slavery favoured the rise of an important debate in Brazil about its relationship with Africa and the legacy of the black population in the country. It is in this context that the idea of Black Egypt in Brazil should be examined.89 Whilst in the United States, Egyptology was an established field of research and teaching at the beginning of the 20th century, the first significant works about ancient Egypt in Brazil only appeared from the 1980s onwards. Brazilian students in Egyptology did not investigate the relationship between ancient Egypt and Africa until the 2010s, with the M.Phil. dissertations of Fabio Frizzo90 and Fabio Amorin Vieira.91 Frizzo’s Ph.D. thesis was the first to explore the relationship between Nubia and Egypt, although from a political and economic perspective.92 The topic had only modest growth in the years that followed. Raisa Sagredo presented the first M.Phil. dissertation discussing issues about Egypt and Africa in a more systematic way.93 Brazilian classicist Gilberto Francisco has engaged with the Afrocentric debate, problematizing the Afrocentric thesis for the Mediterranean world and touching upon ancient Egyptian evidence.94 Despite the greater impact Afrocentric ideas have in Brazil, historians dealing with the ancient world in Brazil have largely ignored the topic. The relationship between ancient Egypt and Africa received greater attention from those teaching at schools, than those teaching ancient history in universities. In 2003, president Luís Inácio Lula da Silva sanctioned a law that introduced mandatory African history in the national curriculum,95 transforming the way history was taught. The inclusion of African history, and an emphasis on the relationship between Brazil and Africa, left the teaching of ancient Egypt in secondary school and high school in limbo. Ancient Egypt should be included in African Studies, because of its relevance in addressing questions about identity and race, but this would mean that the history of ancient Egypt was disconnected from the history of the Mediterranean and Europe. The other layer of this issue was the argument that the history of ancient Egypt (as the history of ancient Greece, Rome, and Mesopotamia) had no connection to Brazilian history. A solution proposed by most schoolbooks was to replace Egypt for Nubia when talking about antiquity, highlighting the existence of a powerful African kingdom. In this way, Nubia was portrayed using the same model of civilisation as had been used when presenting 89

See also Zavalis 2018. Frizzo 2010. 91 Vieira 2017. 92 Frizzo 2016. 93 Sagredo 2017. 94 Francisco delivered numerous lectures between 2020 and 2021. See for example (in Portuguese): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8ZFIrfsHLQ and https://www.youtu be.com/watch?v=TtEHenMDsMU. 95 Pereira 2010; Rocha da Silva 2019; Funari 2020; Mariz 2021. 90

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ancient Egypt, highlighting the existence of pyramids, kings, art, writing, and a complex society.96 Scholars working on the ancient world rapidly responded to this demand, but problems persist.97 The lack of specialists in ancient Egyptian history in the country certainly affects the availability of teaching materials for schools; the bibliography available in Portuguese is outdated and inaccurate. As a result, it should come as no surprise that what is presented to the non-specialist audience, including schoolbooks, is still the Egypt rooted in 19th-century orientalism, which reinforces the Eurocentric view of ancient Egypt as the civilisation of monuments and exoticism.98 If this is the Egypt Afrocentrists are questioning, then we are on the same page. More than this, as Egyptologists, we need to show that the discipline changed and is still in the process of transformation. For this, we need to reach other audiences and truly engage in conversation.99 Brazil is an extension of Africa According to the 2016 census, 54% of the Brazilian population is black. Brazil was the largest colony of the Portuguese empire, starting in the 16th century, and was responsible for a large portion of the slave trade, with an estimate that more than 4,500,000 African slaves were brought to Brazil over the course of four centuries.100 The Portuguese empire built its economic power through the transatlantic slave trade, which boosted the production of sugar cane, Tabaco, and 96 See for example Rennan Lemos: https://www.cafehistoria.com.br/imperio-da-nubiaantiga/. 97 See for example (in Portuguese): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyniylrT_8s&t= 6283s. Giovani José da Silva (UNIFAP), a Brazilian historian specialised in Brazilian history and indigenous populations, publicly criticised ancient historians in the country. A public note by GTHA in response to his comments was published here: https://www. gtantiga.com/post/nota-sobre-o-ensino-de-hist%C3%B3ria-antiga-no-brasil-em-virtudede-manifesta%C3%A7%C3%B5es-recentes. 98 There has been an effort to tackle this issue in the academic sphere but there is still a long way to go. Between 2020 and 2021, the coordination of Ancient Historians (GTHA – Grupo de Trabalho de História Antiga), of the National Association of Historians (ANPUH) put together a team of specialists to prepare supporting material for schools on ancient history. In addition, groups dedicated to the teaching of ancient history have been discussing strategies and methodologies to bring updated perspectives to studies of the ancient world. See for example Moerbeck 2017; 2021. 99 In 2021 the Interdisciplinary Egyptology journal promoted a series of debates with the Egyptian Centre, discussing the current state of Egyptology and its challenges. The 12th panel addressed including one session about Egypt and Africa, featuring Heba Abd el Gawad (Researcher Affiliate, University College London) Solange Ashby (Assistant Professor, University of California Los Angeles) and Shomarka Keita (Research Affiliate, Smithsonian Institution). See also Solange Ashby, Black is queen. The Divine Feminine in Kush: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBMrRCL-RtA. 100 Mattoso 1987; Reis and Gomes 1996; Singleton and Souza 2009.

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gold mining. Portuguese-Brazilian slavery benefitted other countries and helped to promote the Industrial Revolution in England during the 18th and 19th centuries. Brazil was the last country in the world to end its participation in the slave trade, in 1888. The slave workforce was quickly replaced by European immigrants (mostly Italians and Germans), who moved to the South and the Southeast of the country. The freed black population received no support from the government and social integration was not promoted. The legacy of four centuries of black slavery can still be observed in contemporary Brazilian society. While there was a previous focus on the oppression and the contribution of the black population, contemporary scholarship switched to highlight their resistance,101 privileging individual and collective strategies against slavery. To this end, scholars focused on material culture as a means to identify how these populations could organise and represent themselves, and shape and keep their traditions.102 In parallel, Afro social groups have addressed other mechanisms of resistance and the importance to offer alternative perspectives to the history of the African diaspora. Abdias do Nascimento is the key person to understand the establishment of Afrocentrism in Brazil. He was an artist and a politician who was exiled during the dictatorship and lived in the United States until his return in 1983. Nascimento became an important activist in the Pan-African movement in the US and was exposed to the ideas of Diop during his time abroad. He adapted Diop’s thesis to the Brazilian context, which appeared in his publications and artistic work.103 In Asante’s words: ‘He was to Brazil what Cheikh Anta Diop, the multidimensional scholar, was to Senegal, a singular African intellectual with an immense commitment to African history and culture’.104 Nascimento benefitted immensely from the Afrocentrism agenda in the United States, and was deeply influenced by Cheikh Anta Diop’s thesis of African unity. Nascimento’s work had a clear political orientation to culture, literature, and drama, as means to combat racist hierarchies and patriarchies.105 The fact that he 101 The term ‘contribution’ is problematic and needs to be critically examined as it maintains the hierarchy between groups of people. It is important to acknowledge the agency of subaltern groups and their creative responses. 102 Ferreira and Funari 2015. I am referring specifically to quilombos which was the most typical organization, by slaves, to shelter those who managed to escape slavery. These villages still exist, and their lands were legally recognized by the national constitution of 1988, to be protected and preserved. Many are still in the process of being recognized. The quilombos are crucial to the preservation of the legacy of these populations, and have offered important information to archaeologists interested in the history of African slavery in Brazil. 103 Nascimento 1978; 2003. 104 Asante 2021: 578. See also the obituary of Nascimento by Asante: http://dialogue seriesnew.blogspot.com/2011/05/usa-africa-dialogue-series-obituary.html. 105 Asante 2021: 579.

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was ‘the first African Brazilian to articulate the plight of the African in Brazil internationally’ gave him a heroic reputation.106 In Quilombismo, Nascimento’s Afrocentric ideas for Brazil privileged Brazilian national figures like Zumbi dos Palmares. In the 1980s, writing the history the black population in Brazil was associated with the construction of a memory of resistance. Three important events in this decade framed the debate about the relationship of Brazil and Africa, creating a new narrative in which Africans were then celebrated and recognised as protagonists in history. Ancient Egypt was part of this enterprise, introduced to a Brazilian audience by Abdias Nascimento, who was inspired by Diop’s thesis. The reception of ancient Egypt by Brazilians can be viewed through the lens of Egyptomania.107 Carnival in Rio de Janeiro and Bahia has played an important role in promoting ancient Egypt as a black civilisation, with great repercussions in popular culture, but which has received almost no attention from Brazilian scholars who deal with ancient Egypt.108 In 1986, the band collective Olodum from Bahia engaged with the centenary of abolition and became a pioneer in presenting ancient Egypt as a black civilisation.109 Margareth Menezes gave voice to one of Olodum’s most famous songs in 1987 Faraó (Divindade do Egito), written by her and Djalma Oliveira.110 The director of the group João Jorge dos Santos Rodrigues mentioned in a 2020 interview that the song was influenced by the ideas of Cheikh Anta Diop and Abdias Nascimento. Some supporting material that included their ideas, together with the book by Federico Arborio Mella, Egito dos Faraós, História e Civilização, with many mistakes and inaccuracies, was given to the composers. The music was extremely successful and it is still played in the Bahian Carnival. Olodum reconstructed the memory of the black past by mentioning black Egypt many times in their songs.111 Faraó celebrated ancient Egyptian blackness and Egypt as the origin of the black community. The song contains references to Egyptian mythological traditions, especially from the Memphite Theology, which overlap with the Yoruba 106

Asante 2021: 579. For example Bakos 2004. 108 Risério 1981; Agier 2000; Moura and Agier 2000; Nunes 2003; Mello 2009; Zinkow 2016; Naether forthcoming. 109 Founded in 1979, Olodum gained international fame with their drums and choirs in Michael Jackson’s song and accompanying music video They Don’t Care About Us (Naether forthcoming). 110 Naether forthcoming. 111 Nubia, Axum, Etiopia (1989), Do deserto do Saara ao Nordeste Brasileiro (1990), Os tesouros de Tutankhamun, Farao do Egito (1993), Do Egito a Bahia, Caminho da Eternidade, Rameses II (2000), O casal Solar – Akhenaton e Nefertiti – o monoteísmo africano (2005), O Vale dos Reis – As sete portas da Energia (2012), O Sol – Akhenaton: os caminhos da Luz (2017). See Nunes 2017. 107

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traditions.112 Mention of the Contendings of Horus and Seth is juxtaposed with the fight of black people in Brazil, claiming equality.113 Mention of Tutankhamun, Akhenaten and Nefertiti, as Naether argued,114 can be understood in terms of a general fascination with Egypt through famous rulers who became popular for non-specialist audiences. In Faraó, ancient Egyptian motifs are combined, with no concern for historical accuracy. Ancient Egypt becomes a way to voice the fight against racism, in which contemporary black Brazilians self-identify with ancient (black) powerful Egyptians. Egypt thus sparks interest because it presents the possibility to subvert the historical narrative in which the black population is only associated with slavery. Olodum presents Egypt through kings and the pyramids, linking these directly to the Pelourinho,115 the historical centre of Salvador where Olodum is located and the place where slaves were publicly tortured during colonial times. The song has a political agenda clearly inspired by Diop’s ideas, in which ancient Egypt becomes the point of origin for all black nations and where they can posit/locate their special position in the history of civilisations. However, as Naether convincingly argued,116 while “pharaoh” in Brazil is a cry for freedom and equality, in modern Egypt, it has been largely a title associated with oppressive leaders. Egypt, both as the country and as historical construct, matters because it constantly redefines historical memory. In 1988, the samba school Beija Flor de Nilopolis chose the samba lyrics Sou Negro, do Egito à liberdade, composed by Ivancué, Claudio Inspiração, Aloísio Santos and Marcel Guimarães, for the carnival parade. The song does not focus on Egypt, but the parade pays tribute to Sudan as a place of resistance, shown in costumes and on allegoric cars. Joãozinho 30, the artist who idealised the parade, mentioned in a 1990 interview that his ideas were inspired by the General History

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It is worth mentioning that Abdias Nascimento engaged with the Afrocentric debate, assuming Afro-Brazilians descend from the Yoruba. However, recent research has attested that the vast majority of the slaves brought to Brazil came from the Banto. 113 In the 2006 Summer Festival, Margareth Menezes made a speech mentioning the struggle of the black and poor black population. She became emotional over the lyrics ‘Pelourinho, a small community that Olodum one day [built] in the bonds of brotherhood. Awake to Egyptian culture in Brazil; instead of braided hair, we will see Tutankhamun’s turbans. And in the heads filled with freedom the black people ask for equality leaving separations apart’ (Translation F. Naether and T. Rocha da Silva). Menezes adds: ‘the black people ask for consideration, for opportunities’ See: https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=FtG8h2syIzA. In another show, she wears ancient Egyptian motifs: https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=pdNHfnnNvV8. 114 Naether forthcoming. 115 The name ‘pelourinho’ refers to a stone column, located at the main square of a village in which slaves were tied and whipped. 116 Naether forthcoming.

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of Africa, by UNESCO, and by Diop’s ideas. For Joãozinho, it was urgent to question Hollywood whitewashing and to show that Brazil was not limited to its colonial past, but was connected to something bigger: the African past.117 In the parade by Beija Flor, Yourubá and the Egyptian pantheon overlap, linking Brazil with African ancestry and history.118 Carnival has been the largest arena for the reception and dissemination of Afrocentric ideas regarding ancient Egypt, demonstrating the impact of Diop’s theses outside of the ‘academic bubble’. In this regard, Diop and the Afrocentric perspective became almost a paradigm in Brazil, one in which Egyptologists do not take part (and sometimes are not allowed to), and which may still leave them open to accusations of racism. The demand for an African (or indigenous) past in Brazil still clashes with colonialism, not only in discussions about racism but also in the way the recently-born discipline positions itself at the margins of the debate. Decolonizing ancient Egypt is not limited to transforming Egypt within an African nation: it also requires us to acknowledge modern Islamic Egypt, which Afrocentrists prefer to ignore (cf. the divergence in interpreting the symbolic figure of a Pharaoh). On this topic, we need to understand the contradictions and tensions created by multiple discourses that constitute ancient Egyptian histories. Challenges The statue of Zumbi dos Palmares in Rio de Janeiro, created by João Figueiras Lima, commemorates the end of slavery and the fight against racism. The 3-metre bust is placed on the top of a pyramid and Zumbi is featured as an African king.119 This monument transformed a former slave into a royal figure, supported by the iconic pyramid form of ancient Egypt; it subverts the historicity of Zumbi, the pyramids of ancient Egypt, and African royal figures. It is a Pan-Africanist monument. Egyptologists and Afrocentric scholars in Brazil have (purposefully?) ignored each other until now, but the recent growth of both fields will bring the inevitable – and desirable – encounter between the two. There are mutual accusations and virtually no dialogue. To think about black Egypt in Brazil means ultimately to be aware of what type of Egyptology we are constructing. As Egyptologists we cannot escape this debate, pretending Pan-Africanism and Afrocentrism do not exist as they are reflected in Carnival celebrations once a year. To do so is to ignore that the history of ancient Egypt is constantly re-signified and publicly 117

See the interview for Roda Viva here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uKWdtj ABV8 See also Mello 2009. 118 See for example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWeBDPAT8t4 (comments in Portuguese). 119 The statue is inspired by the statue of Oni of Ifé (Af1939,34.1), from Nigeria, today in the The British Museum. See: https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/E_Af 1939-34-1.

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appropriated, a process Egyptologists are part of and need to reflect on. As we do not take part in this conversation, ancient Egypt becomes the territory of dispute of other groups, but it is a territory about which we certainly have something to offer. Most of the Afrocentric debate in Brazil was imported from the United States, where the fight against racism has different social and historical developments than in Brazil. Moreover, Egyptology is an established discipline in North American academia. It impacted upon Afro social movements and popular culture in a different manner. The recontextualization of Egypt in the US was in response to demands that are not the same as those in Brazil. Both countries have different histories of colonisation and engaged with African slavery in different ways. Similarly, Brazilian scholars dealing with ancient Egypt cannot simply copy debates from abroad. They need to properly engage with ancient sources and move on within the historiographical discussion. We all need more than demonising or canonising our predecessors. A new and young generation of Brazilian students is keen on the debate about decolonising Egyptology. They are also more sensitive to the questions of racism. However, this has been often nothing more than a buzzword. It is necessary to engage with African scholars and with Egyptian Egyptology, as they were also excluded from the discipline. This is why the question of ancient Egypt in Africa matters to us: it offers an opportunity to revisit the frameworks that set up disciplines in the humanities, in which we were raised. In addition, it creates an opportunity to understand the history of Africa and to construct a Brazilian perspective towards these topics that will potentially reorganise established hierarchies within academic disciplines and social movements. It requires a lot of hard work, and for this, we need to talk to each other. Bibliography Abdul-Raheem, T. 1996. Pan Africanism: Politics, Economy and Social Change in the Twenty-first Century. New York: NYU Press. Adi, H. 2018. Pan-Africanism: A History. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Adi, H. and M. Sherwood. 2003. Pan-African History: Political Figures from Africa and the Diaspora Since 1787. London: Routledge. Agier, M. 2000. Anthropologie du carnaval – La ville, la fête et l’Afrique à Bahia. Marseille: Éditions Parenthèses/IRD. Amin S. 1994. Eurocentrismo: crítica de uma ideologia. Lisboa: Dinossauro. Appiah, A.K. 1997. Na casa de meu pai: a África na filosofia da cultura. Tradução: Vera Ribeiro. Rio de Janeiro: Contraponto. — 2010. The Ethics of Identity. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Asante, M.K. 1998 [1987]. The Afrocentric idea, revised ed. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

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— 1999. The Painful Demise of Eurocentrism: An Afrocentric Response to Critics. Trenton, Asmara: Africa World Press. — 2002. 100 Greatest African Americans: A Biographical Encyclopaedia. Amherst NY: Prometheus Books. — 2007. An Afrocentric Manifesto: Toward an African Renaissance. Cambridge: Polity. — 2021. ‘The Remarkable Curvature of the Mind of Abdias do Nascimento’. Journal of Black Studies 52: 577–587. Asante, S.K.B and D. Canaiwa. 2010. ‘O Pan-Africanismo e a Integração Regional’. In A.A. Mazrui and C. Wondji (eds), A África desde 1935. Brasília: UNESCO. Bakos, M.M. (ed.). 2004. Egiptomania: o Egito antigo no Brasil. São Paulo: Paris Editorial. Baines, J. 1996. ‘On the aims and methods of “Black”. In M. R. Lefkowitz and G. M. Rogers (eds), Black Athena revisited. Chapel Hill; London: University of North Carolina Press, 27–48. Barbosa, M. 2012. A África por ela mesma: a perspectiva africana na História Geral da África (UNESCO). PhD dissertation, Faculdade de Filosofia, Letras e Ciências Humanas, Departamento de História, Universidade de São Paulo. — 2020. A Razão Africana. Breve história do pensamento africano contemporâneo. São Paulo: Todavia. Barringer, T.J. and T. Flynn. 1998. Colonialism and the object: empire, material culture and the museum. London: Routledge. Bednarski, A., A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), 2021. A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Berlinerblau, J. 1999. Heresy in the University: The Black Athena Controversy and the Responsibilities of American Intellectuals, New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Bernal, M. 1996a. Review Mary R. Lefkowitz, Not Out of Africa: How Afrocentrism Became an Excuse to Teach Myth as History. New York: New Republic and Basic Books, 1996: https://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/1996/1996. 04.05/. — 1996b. ‘The Afrocentric interpretation of history: Bernal replies to Lefkowitz’. The Journal of Blacks in Higher Education 11: 86–94. — 2001. Black Athena Writes Back: Martin Bernal Responds to His Critics. Durham NC: Duke University Press, 2001. — 2020 [1987]. Black Athena: The Afroasiatic roots of classical civilization. Reprint edition 2020. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Binder, M. 2019. ‘The role of physical anthropology in Nubian archaeology’. In D. Raue (ed.), Handbook of ancient Nubia. Berlin; Boston: De Gruyter: 103– 127. Bindman, D. and J.H.L. Gates (ed.). 2010. The image of the black in western art. I. From the pharaohs to the fall of the Roman empire, new ed. Cambridge,

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MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Boahen, A.A. 2010. A África sob dominação colonial: 1880–1935. Brasília: UNESCO. Bonnet, C. and J.H.L. Gates. 2019. The Black Kingdom of the Nile. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Boozer, A.L. 2015. The Social Impact of Trade and Migration: The Western Desert in Pharaonic and Post-Pharaonic Egypt. Oxford Handbooks Online. Breasted, J.H. 1935. Ancient Times. A History of the Early World: An Introduction to the Study of Ancient History and the Career of Early Man. Revised 2nd Edition. Boston: Ginn and Company. Brugsch, H. 1891. Egypt under the Pharaohs: A History Derived Entirely from the Monuments. London: Murray. Budka, J. and J. Auenmüller. 2018. From Microcosm to Macrocosm. Individual Households and Cities in ancient Egypt and Nubia. Leiden: Sidestone Press. Burleigh, N. 2007. Mirage: Napoleon’s scientists and the unveiling of Egypt. New York: Harper Collins. Bussotti, L. and L.A. Nhaueleque. 2018. ‘A invenção de uma tradição: as fontes históricas no debate entre afrocentristas e seus críticos’. História 37: https:// doi.org/10.1590/1980-4369e2018005. Carroll, K.K. 2007. The influence of Cheikh Anta Diop’s “Two Cradle Theory” on Africana academic discourse: Implications for Africana Studies. PhD dissertation, Philadelphia: Temple University. — 2014. ‘An Introduction to African-Centered Sociology: Worldview, Epistemology, and Social Theory’. Critical Sociology 40: 257–270. — 2018. ‘Cheikh Anta Diop’s ‘Two Cradle Theory,’ Racism and the Cultural Realities of African Descended People in America’ In M. Tillotson (ed.), Whispering Out Loud: Voices of Africana. Trenton NJ: Africa World Press, 57–79. Carruthers, W. (ed.). 2015. Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. New York: Routledge. — 2019. ‘Archaeological (Non?) Alignments: Egypt, India, and Global Geographies of the Post-War Past’. South Asian Studies 36: 45–60. Carruthers, W., J.C. Niala, S. Davis et al. 2021. ‘Inequality and race in the histories of archaeology’. Bulletin of the History of Archaeology 31: 1–19. Carvalho, M.M. and P.P. Funari. 2007. ‘O desenvolvimento da História Antiga no Brasil: algumas ponderações’. Revista Brasileira de História 26/1: 14–19. Castiglioni et al. (eds). 2020. Travelling the Korosko Road: archaeological exploration in Sudan’s Eastern Desert. Oxford: Archaeopress. Challis, D. 2013. The Archaeology of Race: the eugenic ideas of Francis Galton and Flinders Petrie. London: Bloomsbury. Cole, J. 2007. Napoleon’s Egypt: Invading the Middle East. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

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From Class Foes to the Upper Class Diverse Paths to Fame and Fortune in Soviet Egyptology Alexandre Loktionov

This paper seeks to address the topic of diversity in Egyptology by offering an insight into the processes that shaped conceptualisations of Egyptological success in the Soviet Union. For most of its history, the Soviet Union found it quite difficult to engage with the Western scholarly tradition that has been instrumental in shaping mainstream understandings of what Egyptology is right up to the present day. While an extensive literature on various historical aspects of Russian and Soviet Egyptology has long existed within its homeland, only in very recent years has this field of scholarship started to make an effort to engage with international academic audiences outside the Russophone sphere. This has occurred with the release of various English-language works highlighting the importance of Russia and the USSR as a player on the global Egyptological scene.1 However, these more internationally-focussed histories – and indeed their Russian counterparts too – have to date focussed predominantly on simply chronicling events and broad socio-political trends therein. Little attention has so far been paid to how exactly the Soviet Union determined who among its academic cadres would go on to occupy significant positions in its new, communist Egyptological tradition. The present article represents a step in that direction. By selecting three case studies of arguably the most prominent Egyptologists of the Soviet era, an attempt is made here to clarify the principles of career growth in USSR Egyptology. From the outset, it should be noted that the chosen case studies are all white men from backgrounds of considerable financial privilege: Vladimir Golenishchev, Vasily Struve, and Mikhail Korostovtsev. This is a choice which, while perhaps unconventional for a work with diversity as a central theme, nonetheless reflects the reality of who leading USSR practitioners of Egyptology generally were. While this would certainly not be a surprise for twentieth-century Egyptology overall, it is most interesting that the Soviet system – allegedly based around egalitarianism – should nonetheless prove to be just as patriarchal, and further research ought to be done to understand the reasons behind this. However, that is beyond the scope of the present work, which instead focuses on the diversity of approaches used by these three men, and what this may tell us about the operating principles of Soviet Egyptology more generally. In doing so, it is hoped that this contribution may open up a broader discussion about ways in

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Bolshakov 2020; Loktionov 2017; 2019.

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which Egyptology – and Egyptologists – can adapt to practical realities in countries whose styles of government differ to those of Western states with the oldest and best-known Egyptological traditions. Such a focus on the modus operandi of Egyptology in a very different political, social and economic context to that of the collective West seems particularly pertinent in the light of recent events, given the re-emergence of explicit geopolitical confrontation and, indeed, armed conflict between Russia and pro-Western forces. It seems likely that difficult decisions will need to be made, on all sides, about how academics from opposing geopolitical blocs might continue engaging with one another. One option is clearly to stop talking altogether, but given that this would inevitably be detrimental to the collective pursuit of new knowledge, which most scholars would subscribe to, such a solution seems hardly satisfactory. It would also serve to further perpetuate and exacerbate geopolitical distrust, with no obvious gain in return. However, any alternative to such isolationism will require a sustained effort to understand how the humanities as a whole – and Egyptology in particular – might develop in contexts other than one’s own. As Egyptology hopefully continues to expand into new polities over the course of the twenty-first century, while maintaining existing connections over geopolitical divides, lessons from the past may yet prove to be instructive in shaping the future. New beginnings under Lenin The personal characteristics of contemporary professors are such that among them one can encounter even extraordinarily unintelligent people […] but the social standing of professors in bourgeois society is such that their posts can be occupied only by those willing to sell research in the interests of capital.2 Such was Lenin’s assessment of the state of Russian academia three years before the Revolution of 1917, and while his article did not explicitly offer any solutions, relatively simple logic on behalf of his communist readership would appear to dictate two remedies: firstly, remove ‘unintelligent’ incumbents from academic posts, and, secondly, ensure that academics passing this initial triage do not serve capitalism. Thus, Lenin was effectively proposing a dual aptitude test for holding academic office: one for unadulterated academic ability, and another for political acceptability. Once he had attained power, Lenin’s ambition could finally be realised – ultimately in ways unknown to, and unsanctioned by, Lenin himself. Set against this backdrop was the Russian Egyptology of the early twentieth century. By 1917, this was a potent academic discipline with a history of over a century of development under imperial rule, having already produced a number of highly respected Egyptologists such as Vladimir Golenishchev, Boris Turaev

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and Oscar Lemm.3 The career trajectories of these scholars had been closely intertwined with the world beyond Russia: Golenishchev was independently wealthy and spent much of his time on excavations in Egypt4; Turaev had studied the ancient Egyptian language in the French and German traditions of Adolf Erman and Gaston Maspero5; while Lemm had been educated in Leipzig and Berlin and his connections to German Egyptology were such that he would publish his magnum opus in the German language rather than his native Russian.6 The emerging Soviet Egyptology therefore faced a dilemma in how it should handle this existing intellectual tradition of the late Russian Empire. On the one hand, its practitioners could hardly afford to fit Lenin’s label of ‘stupid’, and there could be benefit in harnessing their achievements both in terms of bolstering the newlyconstituted communist country’s prestige abroad and strengthening higher education and scholarly research back home. On the other hand, such a strategy brought with it inherent risk, as these same intellectuals could easily be seen to harbour the supposedly bourgeois sympathies of their friends and colleagues in the capitalist West. As the Revolution progressed, circumstances meant that part of this dilemma resolved itself through a series of deaths: Lemm in 1918, Turaev in 1920 and ultimately Lenin himself in 1924. Golenishchev, meanwhile, had already left Russia before these events unfolded. Thus, by the time the political situation in the new Soviet Union had stabilised, neither Lenin nor any of the previous regime’s foremost Egyptologists were present in the country – and, indeed, only one was alive. This meant that the Soviet Union effectively had a blank slate on which to create its new national implementation of Egyptology, but that it would have to do so without the political leader ultimately responsible for the approach being implemented. Nonetheless, in the decades that followed, the country did succeed in retaining its Egyptology tradition, signifying that the discipline was too valuable to be altogether scrapped. By considering the following three case studies of Soviet Egyptologists who achieved success in the eyes of the new regime, one may attempt to arrive at a more general conclusion about how the Soviet Union was able to keep its Egyptology alive, how it constructed notions of ‘greatness’ among its Egyptologists, and why it chose to do so. Vladimir Golenishchev (1856–1947): The useful relic of Empire Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, the one surviving prominent Egyptologist of the imperial era, Vladimir Golenishchev, proved extremely convenient to the Soviet state – despite not even living there. By the time of the Revolution, Golenishchev

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Loktionov 2019: 157–159. Russian Encyclopaedia of World History 2022. 5 Loktionov 2017: 131. 6 Lemm 1883. 4

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already had 45 scholarly works to his name, including the earliest widely-circulated translation of the Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor7 and an array of other translations and artefact studies published predominantly in prestigious French or German journals.8 This allowed him to attract international audiences in a way that eluded other Russians working in the same discipline both before and after. While Golenishchev had served as Keeper of Egyptian Antiquities at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg since as early as 1880, he had emigrated in 1915 – a move that was not intrinsically political, but instead motivated by the ill health of his French wife.9 The timing proved crucial here: even though his subsequent countries of residence – France and then Egypt – were ostensibly capitalist, Golenishchev had departed before the onset of the Revolution, and therefore could not be deemed to have fled from it.10 On the contrary, he had technically left behind the imperial regime; an action which could not be viewed as reprehensible by the Soviet authorities which themselves claimed to oppose imperial oppression. In the process, Golenishchev had also left his vast collection of Egyptian antiquities to the Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow.11 Furthermore, his unique academic library went to the State Hermitage in St. Petersburg.12 Although Golenishchev almost certainly did not intend this, these transfers ultimately greatly helped the nascent Soviet Egyptology, endowing it with a diverse supply of artefacts and texts for subsequent teaching and research. Given such happy circumstances, and the formidable academic reputation of the man on the international stage, it made good sense to recognise Golenishchev formally as the founder of the discipline – and Soviet Egyptology gladly did so. Golenishchev would not die until 1947, a full three decades after the Revolution, and in this period, he certainly did not express any great enthusiasm for the Soviet cause. Crucially, however, he also did not say anything against it, focussing instead on establishing a new school of Egyptology in Cairo.13 In the meantime, Soviet Egyptology was free to idolise Golenishchev in his absence, culminating with the centenary of his birth in 1957 being marked by fulsome tributes by the country’s leading Egyptologists of the time, Vasily Struve and Mikhail Korostovtsev, who explicitly acknowledged themselves and their colleagues as heirs to Golenishchev’s pioneering tradition.14 This was not entirely correct – given that Struve and Korostovtsev were both, by this time at least, professed Marxists while

7

Golénischeff 1912. Kulakov and Sokolova 2011. 9 Bolshakov 2020: 356–357. 10 Bolshakov 2006. 11 Bolshakov 2020: 356–357. 12 Russian Encyclopaedia of World History 2022. 13 Bolshakov 2006. 14 Struve 1957; Korostovtsev 1957. 8

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Golenishchev was not – but that was of little consequence. He had become a protagonist of an Egyptological heroic age, a man who had courageously established the discipline during the imperial regime but who did not support the empire himself, who was nonetheless widely respected by foreign specialists, and who could be a source of pride to Soviet scholars in his capacity as the founder of Egyptology among the Egyptians themselves.15 Now it was up to later Marxist scholars to build on this fine start, but the legacy of Golenishchev as effectively a Soviet pioneer was assured – even if he himself never would have thought so. Vasily Struve (1889–1965): Pioneering Marxist Egyptology despite a non-Marxist background The second case study concerns Vasily Struve, the academic who – in practical and ideological terms – actually moulded Soviet Egyptology into the general form which it has retained throughout its existence. While he has, in recent years, been labelled the ‘father of Marxist Egyptology’16, Struve’s background was in fact not dissimilar to that of Golenishchev. Like Golenishchev, his career started under the Empire and, as was common at the time, was characterised by study abroad as well as in Russia. While Golenishchev had particularly strong ties to France, Struve’s connection was to Germany: in 1914, he worked in Berlin under the guidance of some of the most renowned Egyptologists of the time, including Adolf Erman, Georg Möller and Eduard Meyer.17 Moreover, just as Golenishchev had been born into a financially privileged milieu, Struve too had been raised in the upper echelons of imperial St. Petersburg society: he came from a family of noted astronomers well known to the Tsar, and indeed one member of this family, Piotr Struve, was a keen critic of Lenin in the years before the Revolution.18 Consequently, at the onset of communist rule, he would have seemed a somewhat unlikely candidate for Egyptological greatness in the Soviet Union: here was a scion of the imperial elite, with connections to foreign capitalist states and a relative known to explicitly oppose the Revolution. Yet, Struve was able to turn matters around. The key to Struve’s success appears to have been a mixture of immense academic productivity (around 200 published works)19 combined with a willingness not only to follow the Communist line, but to actively develop new approaches within his field that enhanced Marxist doctrine by providing examples from hitherto unstudied societal contexts. Initially, Struve harnessed the clout of Golenishchev to propel his career forward: having first met him while still an undergraduate at St. Petersburg, he was initially appointed as his assistant and deputy 15

Struve 1960: 69. Loktionov 2017: 134–136. 17 Sevost’yanov et al. 2000: 42. 18 Sevost’yanov et al. 2000: 41. 19 Loktionov 2017: 135. 16

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in 1915 and ultimately as his successor as Keeper of Egyptian Antiquities at the Hermitage in 1919.20 Once in post, Struve was quick to emphasise that – despite his background – he was attuned to the ideological needs of the time, promptly giving a major public lecture on social revolution in ancient Egypt that same year and repeating it in 1921.21 He then started a large-scale research project on Egyptian chronology, with a particular emphasis on disproving the veracity of biblical events, thereby again proving convenient to the Communist government and its atheism.22 This work culminated in a series of articles published through the 1920s, which solidified Struve’s status as both a rigorous and politically palatable researcher.23 In addition to this, as his career progressed, Struve increasingly engaged in literary studies: particularly influential from an ideological perspective was his proposed notion of a ‘social revolution’ in Egypt, in which he interpreted works such as the Admonition of Ipuwer from a perspective of class struggle.24 For instance, Struve claimed that Ipuwer’s descriptions of social strife and misrule in Egypt represented the complaints of a ‘wealthy and aristocratic individual, who had endured rebellion, and was therefore seething with hatred for the masses’.25 This rebellion, Struve argued, envisaged a new system where ‘property and cattle expropriated from the rich did not undergo large-scale assimilation into the private holdings of the peasants, but rather what had been confiscated came under collective ownership to a far greater extent’.26 Such an analysis, while built around scenes of social upheaval that are genuinely present in the text, is coloured with an interpretation based on collectivisation for which the text provides no firm evidence – but which would have been entirely consistent with Communist Party policy at the time.27 Nonetheless, Struve was not always overtly ideological: he also further bolstered his credentials by spearheading a major edition of the Moscow Mathematical Papyrus, which was ultimately released by a leading German publishing house and was one of the few Soviet works to gain an international Egyptological readership.28 Again though, despite the absence of politically charged content in this piece, Struve was being very helpful to the state here – he was boosting the image of the Soviet Union as an intellectual power on the global stage, where explicitly ideological works may not have successfully navigated peer review. 20

Bolshakov 2020: 360; Sevost’yanov et al. 2000: 42–43. Vassoevich 2003: 12, 14. 22 Vassoevich 2003: 17–19. 23 Subsequently published in a convenient single edition – see Struve 2003. 24 Bukharin 2019. 25 Struve 1941: 164. Quotation translated by the present writer. 26 Struve 1941: 167. Quotation translated by the present writer. 27 The literature on Communist Party policy and collectivisation is extensive. As a point of departure, see for instance Davies 1980. 28 Struve and Turaev 1930. 21

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Thus, by writing on a mathematical topic, Struve was able to get published in the West, but without being liable to be seen as pandering to pro-Western sympathies back home. This political astuteness, and the resulting favour of the authorities, would remain with Struve for the rest of his career. In 1929, the Soviet Union formally adopted the so-called ‘pentameral formula’ for analysing all world history, which claimed that all societies begin with initial egalitarianism and then progress to slaveholding, feudalism, capitalism, and ultimately communism.29 This doctrine was broadly based on a lecture Lenin had given in 191930, but since he was now dead, it was up to politically savvy Soviet historians to further develop the theory – and here Struve was prompt and effective in making his mark. In June 1933, he gave an extensive public seminar on the topic of the ‘rise, development and fall of slaveholding societies in the Ancient East’, speaking for four hours at the State Academy of the History of Material Culture in Leningrad.31 This talk, symbolically given at the former imperial residence at the Marble Palace, highlighted how Struve was shedding a new Marxist light on the history of class-based oppression – having taken over as his venue the former seat of the oppressors themselves. While the contents of the lecture initially met with some criticism from less ideologically attuned colleagues, by 1935 both the political and scholarly momentum were firmly with Struve, and he was elected to the USSR Academy of Sciences – the highest honour for a Soviet scholar.32 This period also saw him cement his credentials as an ideologically sound university teacher, working on a large-scale ancient history textbook detailing Marxist approaches to studying Ancient Egypt, Mesopotamia, the Levant, Anatolia, the Caucasus, Iran, India and China.33 This book – in conjunction with his earlier track record of Marxist lectures and publications – won Struve comprehensive praise from the Soviet establishment and consolidated his standing as not only the country’s leading Egyptologist, but also one of the foremost ancient historians of the USSR. He would retain this standing until his death in 1965, continuing to publish works in a similar vein, and indeed remained a figure of great posthumous renown in Soviet academia in the decades that followed.34 Overall, Struve had a complex career and his overtly ideological works – often seen today as bastions of Soviet orthodoxy – are now easy to criticise for forcing the evidence to fit communist theory even when it did not readily do so.35 However, his achievement is impossible to underestimate, as by publishing, Struve succeeded in preserving the discipline he led through some of the toughest and 29

Bolshakov 2020: 361. Lenin 1919. 31 Krih 2015: 141–142. 32 Sevost’yanov et al. 2000: 48–49. 33 Struve 1941. 34 Berlev et al. 1989. 35 Loktionov 2017: 135. 30

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most tragic times of Soviet history, including both the Second World War and the entirety of Stalin’s rule.36 He worked tirelessly to first train junior colleagues and then to protect them from the purges: only one Egyptologist died as a result of political repression during Struve’s time in charge of the discipline, and this one case was impossible to prevent as it involved an alleged military offence on the front line, where Struve could have no influence.37 The vast majority of Struve’s colleagues were not repressed at all, and in the three other cases where arrests were made, all the Egyptologists were not only ultimately released, but were able to return to work – a highly impressive statistic given the extreme brutality of the time.38 For context, it is worth noting that, from the inception of the USSR and up to the death of Stalin, 750 academics working in what was then termed ‘Oriental Studies’ were arrested – and only 0.5% of that vast total were Egyptologists.39 This remarkable record of shielding scholars from repression meant that by the time Struve died, the Soviet Union had a plethora of Egyptologists who – while Marxist as the regulations demanded – were nonetheless highly knowledgeable about the culture and language they studied. A host of big names in Soviet Egyptology and ancient history all counted among Struve’s students or mentees; these included Mikhail Korostovtsev, Isaac Livshits, Isidor Lourie, Militsa Matthieu, Yuri Perepelkin, and future Hermitage director Boris Piotrovsky.40 Regardless of his shortcomings, such a contribution to the future of the discipline must be considered a major success of Struve, and all the more remarkable given that his own academic and family background had been so far removed from the communist ideal. Mikhail Korostovtsev (1900–1980): Between Cairo, Moscow and the Gulag The final case study presented here relates to Mikhail Korostovtsev, a scholar whose life story presents another – and arguably much more dramatic – route to eventual recognition as a top Soviet Egyptologist. Of the three men discussed in this article, Korostovtsev was the only one to have reached adulthood already after the Revolution, the only one to represent the USSR in Egypt, and the only to be repressed. The basic biographical facts pertaining to Korostovtsev point to the cultural, geographical and intellectual diversity inherent in him: born to an aristocratic family in eastern Ukraine, schooled in Tbilisi, originally employed in the merchant navy, then trained as an ancient historian by the State University of Azerbaijan, Korostovtsev would go on to work in Cairo and Moscow as well as

36

Sevost’yanov et al. 2000: 49–50. Loktionov 2017: 136. 38 Loktionov 2017: 136. For a general overview of the Stalin era purges, see for instance Shearer and Khaustov 2015 and Shearer 2009. 39 Vasil’kov and Sorokina 2004. 40 Bolshakov 2020: 360–364. 37

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enduring imprisonment in a Gulag in the Russian far north.41 Thus, his was a career that took him across an unprecedented range of Soviet territories as well as overseas, bringing him into conflict with the regime but ultimately securing his place as one of the Soviet era’s most acclaimed Egyptologists. The reasons for this are worthy of further attention. Korostovtsev faced the same initial challenge as Golenishchev and Struve: he came from a very privileged background that would have certainly raised suspicions about his allegiance to the cause of the working class. Initially, he seems to have managed to alleviate these concerns by virtue of his service in the merchant navy, coupled with a stint in the Red Army and a decision to join the Communist Party in 1929.42 With Struve’s backing, Korostovtsev had completed his doctoral studies in Egyptology by 1943 – with ideologically sound dissertations on slavery43 and literacy44 in Ancient Egypt – and was then promptly posted to Egypt as a representative of the Soviet Academy of Sciences. On arrival, his was a dual goal of engaging in academic Egyptological research while also strengthening USSR soft power in the region at a time when the end of the Second World War was in sight, creating a geopolitical necessity to promote the socio-cultural and intellectual ‘positive image’ of the Soviet Union.45 Based in Cairo, Korostovtsev made valuable contacts with staff of the French Institute, the German Institute, the Egyptian Museum, and the Chicago Oriental Institute, learning about the approaches foreign powers took in organising their permanent missions to Egypt and systematising his observations in correspondence to the Academy of Sciences about how a putative Soviet project in Egypt might be run in the future.46 However, in July 1947, Korostovtsev’s tenure as the first USSR Egyptologist (if one excludes the somewhat ambiguous status of Golenishchev) to work in Egypt came to an end: he was kidnapped by security service agents while on what he thought was an innocuous visit to a Soviet steamship in Beirut harbour, and in May 1948 the USSR Ministry of State Security condemned him to 25 years hard labour for treason.47 The reasons for Korostovtsev’s arrest were multifaceted and have been the subject of detailed study: they were most likely rooted in a belief that he was liable to defect to the West due to his desire to spend more time in Egypt; his requests for additional financial resources from the Soviet state to expand associated research activity; his closeness to foreign colleagues; and perceived romantic indiscretions in his personal life.48 Korostovtsev’s removal from 41

Vasil’kov and Sorokina 2003. Krol 2009: 22–23. 43 Korostovtsev 1939. 44 Korostovtsev 1942. 45 Loktionov 2017: 136; Ladynin and Timofeeva 2016: 359. 46 Timofeeva 2016: 339; Ladynin and Timofeeva 2014. 47 Kormysheva 1993: 6–7. 48 Ladynin and Timofeeva 2014: 369–377. 42

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Soviet Egyptology – and indeed from Soviet society – highlights a paradox in what the USSR wanted its Egyptologists to achieve: on the one hand, they were encouraged to promote Soviet intellectual ambition and achievement on the international stage, but on the other, that same commitment to work across borders could make them vulnerable. Of the three case studies in this piece, Golenishchev had consistently stayed outside the USSR and avoided repression, Struve had consistently stayed inside and also avoided repression, but Korostovtsev had attempted to chart a middle course by working both inside and out – and repression ensued. Given the secrecy surrounding the apparatus of Soviet state repression, it is perhaps unsurprising that little is known about Korostovtsev’s time in the Gulag. In later years, he would joke bitterly about his sudden ‘flight from the land of Keme to the land of Komi’49, referring to his transfer from Egypt to the Abez’ Gulag in the Komi Republic, in the far north of the USSR.50 Korostovtsev would serve over seven years of his sentence; with his only link to the ancient world during this period being a volume of Plutarch which he fortuitously had with him at his unexpected arrest, and which became a source of comfort all the way up to his release.51 Unsurprisingly, the imprisonment of Korostovtsev would in later years be roundly condemned as one of the most high-profile miscarriages of justice in Soviet academia.52 Remarkably, though, this arrest did not destroy Korostovtsev’s career and he would go on to re-emerge as one of the most celebrated figures in the post-Struve Soviet Egyptological tradition. Rehabilitated in 1955, and re-emerging into the somewhat milder political environment of the post-Stalin years, Korostovtsev that same year petitioned the Academy of Sciences to develop plans for a Soviet research institute in Egyptology.53 This initiative came very close to success, with the government approving its founding and drawing up a charter for the new body, which would have been based in Cairo, but ultimately a combination of political considerations, funding constraints and disagreements between various scholars and administrators over the hypothetical institute’s specific focus meant that the plan never came into being.54 Although Korostovtsev said little about this in public, this inability to return to Egypt – and potentially re-establish links with Western colleagues too – would almost certainly have been a major personal disappointment, and perhaps even more so given that, overall, the post-Stalin détente environment might have seemed conducive to a resumption in international collaboration. However, even if the geopolitics were favourable, domestic politics 49

Pavlova 1990: 238–239. Vasil’kov and Sorokina 2003. 51 Krol 2009: 24–25. 52 E.g. Loktionov 2019: 161–162; Vasil’kov and Sorokina 2003; Pavlova 1990: 238–239. 53 Krol 2009: 26–27. 54 Loktionov 2019: 162–165; Timofeeva 2016. 50

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were less so: Nikita Khrushchev’s closeness to the Egyptian President Gamal Abd el-Nasser was being increasingly seen as excessively warm, and when the Soviet premier decorated his Egyptian colleague with the USSR’s highest state honour, he was openly lampooned and replaced shortly afterwards in 1964.55 In the years that followed, Egypt gradually began to reorient itself away from the USSR and into the American sphere of influence56, meaning that Korostovtsev’s best chance for establishing a potential network of international colleagues in Egypt receded even further. The fact that he kept any negative thoughts on this topic private is perhaps unsurprising, given his previous experience of repression. Nonetheless, Korostovtsev’s later career saw him achieve great esteem, and the state that had previously imprisoned him now showered him with honours. Korostovtsev was elected to the Academy of Sciences – just as Struve had been before him – and would hold the chair of Egyptology at the Oriental Institute of the Academy of Sciences in Moscow until his death in 1980. After his release, he would go on to write over 200 works in 25 years57, including publications of international significance such as the first comprehensive edition of the Voyage of Wenamun58, a Late Egyptian grammar in French59, and various philological contributions to leading Western Egyptology journals such as the Revue d’Égyptologie60 and the Journal of Egyptian Archaeology.61 Through these works, Korostovtsev was at least able to keep Soviet Egyptology known to some degree beyond the borders of the USSR, partially compensating for the broader isolation of the discipline from Western scholarship and the inability of Soviet researchers to be physically present on the international scene. In summary, it is therefore impossible to regard Korostovtsev as anything other than a leading Soviet Egyptologist – despite the extremely harsh treatment inflicted on him by the state for many years of his life. His path to success, much like his path to arrest, appears to have lain in him occupying a middle ground between Golenishchev and Struve: like Golenishchev, he was a scholar of international standing, with connections to Western academia and a wide range of publications in foreign languages and journals, but at the same time, like Struve, Korostovtsev was firmly rooted in the Soviet Union: he lived there for most of his life, was a Communist Party member, and had achieved initial career progression by working on topics that were consistent with the prevailing ideology of the re-

55

Loktionov 2019: 164. For more on Egypt’s political realignment, see for instance Daigle 2004 and Slonim 1975. 57 Kormysheva 1993: 7–29. 58 Korostovtsev 1960. 59 Korostovtsev 1973. 60 Korostovtsev 1972; Korostovtsev 1961. 61 Korostovtsev 1963. 56

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gime. Clearly, his eventual success was also, to a certain extent, a product of fortune, as he would almost certainly not have been released had Stalin remained alive, but that in itself might be considered symptomatic of the nature of the politically turbulent times in which many prominent Soviet Egyptologists – and indeed Soviet researchers more generally – were compelled to operate. Indeed, while the secrecy of the Soviet archive means that much of his interactions with the state will probably never be fully revealed, it is clear enough that Korostovtsev’s life can be seen to represent the fundamental dilemma faced by the USSR in all its interactions with Soviet scholars seeking to engage with the West: a balance had to be struck between countering the threat – real or perceived – posed by these scholars potentially harbouring subversive ideas, and the benefit – again of uncertain value – of these researchers bolstering Soviet soft power on the international stage and contributing to the country’s academic prestige. At one point, this balance tilted decisively against Korostovtsev, but in the end the benefits of his activities were ultimately seen to outweigh the potential drawbacks. Concluding comments Although the USSR did impose a high degree of ideological conformity on its academics, the above case studies illustrate that there were still multiple routes which scholars could take to attain recognition as leaders of Egyptology in their country. Importantly, it appears that family background in a privileged class originally hostile to Soviet rule did not seem to preclude success, nor did prior service to the Egyptology of the defunct imperial regime. Instead, going back to Lenin’s original assessment, success required an ability to show beyond doubt that the researcher was not ‘unintelligent’, which typically manifested itself in publication productivity. As shown by Golenishchev and later by Korostovtsev too, if such publications were capable of generating resonance beyond the USSR, that was – in and of itself – seen as a generally good thing. However, this was also where an academic could potentially fall foul of Lenin’s second stipulation. Contact with the West, even decades after the Revolution and the stabilisation of Soviet power, could still be seen as ideologically suspect at best and outright treasonous at worst. In objective terms, such an approach undoubtedly held back the development of the discipline: no permanent presence by Soviet Egyptologists in Egypt was ever established, conference travel abroad was not usually permitted, and – despite the occasional Soviet publication appearing in a Western journal – USSR Egyptology overall was never integrated into the broader international fabric of the discipline. When funding was then withdrawn following the collapse of the USSR in the 1990s, the discipline therefore could not rely on any international collaborations to keep it going, and was arguably fortunate to survive. An appropriate term for classifying the mechanism for career growth in Soviet Egyptology might therefore be managed meritocracy. Seniority of academic rank

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and reputational prestige were conferred on merit, with even émigrés like Golenishchev or former convicts like Korostovtsev eligible for elevated and indeed almost revered status on the basis of their scholarly contributions. Indeed, sometimes these contributions did not even have to be particularly Marxist – although this was desirable. Publications on politically neutral topics, such as Egyptian philology, were also welcome and the regime appears to have accepted that these were necessary if Soviet works were to be printed in leading Western journals that were not Marxist in outlook. However, this meritocratic element was carefully managed: Korostovtsev was punished for supposedly going too far with his international initiatives, while Struve was in all probability concerned about a similar fate – both for himself and his subordinates – and therefore preferred activities that, while academically productive, could be carried out deep in the Soviet territory, both geographical and ideological. Only Golenishchev, living wholly outside the USSR, seems to have retained complete freedom of manoeuvre in his work while also retaining recognition from the Soviet establishment as an unambiguously positive contributor to the field. This highlights the pragmatism of the regime: the perceived threat to national security of an Egyptologist permanently living abroad – and generally cut off from mainstream Soviet academia – was very low, whereas the risks associated with Struve and especially Korostovtsev required more careful management. Ultimately though, through their diverse career pathways and varying strategies in interacting with the political reality of their time, all three scholars were able to emerge as leaders of Soviet Egyptology in their generation, and the system was sufficiently flexible to allow them to do so. Thus, it provides a useful insight into the methods available to Egyptologists seeking to attain greater influence in states whose political models do not fit the conventions of Western democracy – and it may be that other Egyptological traditions emerging in such countries today can benefit from this analysis going forward. Bibliography Berlev, O.D., M.A. Dandamaev and I.F. Fikhman. 1989. ‘К 100-летию со дня рождения академика Василия Васильевича Струве’. Вестник древней истории 1989 (1/188): 244–249. Bolshakov, A.O. 2020. ‘Russia’. In A. Bednarski, A. Dodson and S. Ikram (eds), A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 354–368. — 2006. ‘Голенищев и мы’. Вестник древней истории 2006 (4/258): 173– 180. Bukharin, M.D. 2019. ‘Василий Струве м сложение категориального аппарата советской исторической науки’. Вестник Санкт-Петербургского Университета. История 64/4: 1440–1458.

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Daigle, C.A. 2004. ‘The Russians are going: Sadat, Nixon and the Soviet Presence in Egypt, 1970–1971’. Middle East Review of International Affairs 8: 1–15. Davies, R.W. 1980. The Socialist Offensive: The Collectivisation of Soviet Agriculture, 1929–1930. London: Macmillan. Golénischeff, W. 1912. Le conte du naufragé. Bibliothèque d’étude 2. Le Caire: Institut français d’archéologie orientale . Kormysheva, E.E. (ed.), 1993. Ancient Egypt and Kush. In Memoriam Mikhail A. Korostovtsev. Moscow: Nauka Oriental Literature Publishers. Korostovtsev, M.A. 1939. Рабство в древнем Египте в эпоху Нового Царства. Эпоха XVIII дин. Leningrad: Candidate of Sciences dissertation (unpublished). — 1942. Письмо и язык древнего Египта. Опыт культурно-исторического исследования. Leningrad: Doctor of Sciences dissertation (unpublished). — 1957. ‘100-летие со дня рождения В.С. Голенищева’. Вестник АН СССР 1957 (2): 130–133. — 1960. Путешествие Ун-Амуна в Библ. Египетский иератический папирус №120 Государственного Музея изобразительных искусств им. А.С. Пушкина в Москве. Moscow: Академия Наук СССР. — 1961. ‘Notes philologiques’. Revue d’Égyptologie 13: 51–64. — 1963. ‘Does the model ỉw.f ḥr sd̠ m of the Late-Egyptian Praesens II refer to future?’ Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 49: 173–175. — 1972 ‘La classification des propositions (phrases) simples en néo-égyptien’. Revue d’Égyptologie 24: 96–100. — 1973. Grammaire du néo-égyptien. Moscow: L’Académie des Sciences de l’URSS. Krih, S.B. 2015. Образ древности в советской историографии: конструирование и трансформация. Omsk: Doctor of Sciences dissertation (unpublished). Krol, A.A. 2009. ‘«Центростремительное движение». Три эпизода из истории российской египтологии’. In G.A. Belova (ed.), Возвращение в Египет: страницы российской египтологии. Moscow: Российская Академия Наук, 12–29. Kulakov, A. and M. Sokolova. 2011. ‘Голенищев Владимир Семенович’. Moscow: Egyptology.ru http://www.egyptology.ru/personal/bibl-golenischev.htm, accessed 6 January 2022. Ladynin, I.A. and N.S. Timofeeva. 2014. ‘Египтолог М. А. Коростовцев и его инициатива по созданию научного представительства СССР в Египте’. Исторические записки 15: 358–382. Lemm, O.E. 1883. Ägyptische Lesestücke. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Lenin, V.I. 1919. ‘О государстве’. Speech given on 11th July 1919 at Sverdlovsk University. http://az.lib.ru/l/lenin_w_i/text_1919_o_gosudarstve.shtml, accessed 4 January 2022.

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— ‘Либеральный профессор о равенстве’. Путь правды 33 (11 March 1914). http://revolucia.ru/lenin24_361.html?ysclid=le3cm5kuja667127509, accessed 13 February 2023. Loktionov, A.A. 2019. ‘A Revolution in Egyptology, or an Egyptology of the Revolution?’. In H. Navratilova et al. (eds), Towards a History of Egyptology: Proceedings of the Egyptological Section of the 8th ESHS Conference in London, 2018. Investigatio Orientis 4. Münster: Zaphon, 157–170. — 2017. ‘Of Pilgrims and Poets, Prisoners and Politics: The Story of Egyptology in Russia’. In C. Langer (ed.), Global Egyptology: Negotiations in the Production of Knowledges on Ancient Egypt in Global Contexts. London: Golden House Publications, 129–146. Pavlova, O.I. 1990. ‘К 90-летию со дня рождения академика Михаила Александровича Коростовцева’. Вестник древней истории 192/1: 238–239. Russian Encyclopaedia of World History (Энциклопедия Всемирная История). 2022. Голенищев Владимир Семенович. Moscow: Российское военно-историческое общество. https://w.histrf.ru/articles/golenishchev-vladimir-se m enovich, accessed 13 February 2023. Sevost’yanov, G.N., L.P. Marinovich and L.T. Mil’skaya. 2000. Портреты историков. Время и судьбы, 2: Всеобщая история. Moscow and Jerusalem: Университетская Книга / Gesharim. Shearer, D.R. 2009. Policing Stalin’s Socialism: Repression and Social Order in the Soviet Union, 1924–1953. New Haven: Yale University Press. Shearer, D.R. and V.N. Khaustov. 2015. Stalin and the Lubianka: A Documentary History of the Political Police and Security Organs in the Soviet Union, 1922– 1953. New Haven: Yale University Press. Slonim, S. 1975. ‘American-Egyptian rapprochement’. The World Today 31/2: 47–57. Struve, V.V. 1941. История Древнего Востока. Moscow: ОГИЗ Политиздат. — 1957. ‘К столетию со дня рождения В. С. Голенищева’. Вестник древней истории 1957 (2/60): 3–7. — 1960. ‘Значение В.С. Голенищева для Египтологии’. Очерки по истории востоковедения 3: 3–69. — 2003. Манефон и его время. St. Petersburg: Летний Сад. Struve, V.V. and B.A. Turaev. 1930. Mathematischer Papyrus des Staatlichen Museums der Schönen Künste in Moskau. Berlin: Springer. Timofeeva, N.S. 2016. ‘Об организации советской научно-исследовательской работы на территории Египта в 1940-1960гг. Обзор архивных материалов. In M. Bárta, O.A. Vasilyeva, A.E. Demidchik, N.V. Lavrentyiva, I.A. Ladynin and M.A. Chegodaev (eds), Aegyptiaca Rossica 4. Moscow: Русский фонд содействия образованию и науке, 332–346.

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Vasil’kov, Y.V. and M.Y. Sorokina. 2004. Люди и судьбы: библиографический словарь востоковедов-жертв политического террора в советский период. St. Petersburg: Петербургское Востоковедение https://memory.pvost. org/pages/index2.html, accessed 16 June 2022. — 2003. ‘Михаил Александрович Коростовцев’. Люди и судьбы: библиографический словарь востоковедов-жертв политического террора в советский период. St. Petersburg: Академик. https://vostokoved.academic.ru/338/%D0%9A%D0%9E%D0%A0%D0%9E %D0%A1%D0%A2%D0%9E%D0%92%D0%A6%D0%95%D0%92%2C_ %D0%9C%D0%B8%D1%85%D0%B0%D0%B8%D0%BB_%D0%90%D0 %BB%D0%B5%D0%BA%D1%81%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B4%D1%80 %D0%BE%D0%B2%D0%B8%D1%87, accessed 13 February 2023. Vassoevich, A.L. 2003. ‘В.В. Струве и «Египетская история» Манефона’. In V.V. Struve, Манефон и его время. St. Petersburg: Летний Сад, 5–54.

Illustration Credits Andreas Alm Fig. 1: A young Valdemar Schmidt. Photo: Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, København. Fig. 2: Valdemar Schmidt, Maria Mogensen and Mathilius Schack Elo at Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen. Photo: Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, København. Fig. 3: Valdemar Schmidt at Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen. Photo: Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, København. Wolf B. Oerter Abb. 1–2: Das ungarische Städtchen Sárvár um die Jahrhundertwende und Baden bei Wien. Privatbesitz, Thomas L. Gertzen. Abb. 3: Nathaniel Julius Reich um 1910. University of Pennsylvania: Library at the Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies, Nathaniel Julius Reich Collection ARC MS 20 – with special thanks to Bruce E. Nielsen and Josef Gulka, for providing high resolutionscan under strenuous archival conditions after the pandemic. Abb. 4: Die Frontseite des Heeresgeschichtlichen Museums in Wien auf einer alten Postkarte. Privatbesitz, Thomas L. Gertzen. Abb. 5 a–c: Reichs US-amerikanischer Pass, ausgestellt am 3. Juli 1929. University of Pennsylvania: Library at the Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies, Nathaniel Julius Reich Collection ARC MS 20 – with special thanks to Bruce E. Nielsen and Josef Gulka, for providing high resolution-scan under strenuous archival conditions after the pandemic. Abb. 6: Deckblatt des von Nathaniel Reich kompilierten Demotischen Wörterbuches. University of Pennsylvania: Library at the Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies, Nathaniel Julius Reich Collection ARC MS 20 – with special thanks to Bruce E. Nielsen and Josef Gulka, for providing high resolution-scan under strenuous archival conditions after the pandemic. Abb. 7: Zeitungsausschnitt aus Collier’s The National Weekly vom 25. Juli 1925. University of Pennsylvania: Library at the Herbert D. Katz Center for Advanced Judaic Studies, Nathaniel Julius Reich Collection ARC MS 20 – with special thanks to Bruce E. Nielsen and Josef Gulka, for providing high resolution-scan under strenuous archival conditions after the pandemic.

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Isolde Lehnert Fig. 1: Keimer and an unknown person on the old sycamore tree in Old Cairo during an excursion on 7 June 1929. © DAIK. DAIK-KEI094-001-046. Fig. 2: The first page of Keimer’s booklet, with his purchases for Capart’s Fondation 1930/31. © DAIK. DAIK-KEI-DIV-008-002. Fig. 3: A piece from the Collection Keimer: Harpocrates, sitting on a lotus flower or fruit capsule. © DAIK. DAIK-KEI-090-004-022. Fig. 4: The spine of the first of Keimer’s three oversize volumes about the sycamore tree. © DAIK. DAIK-KEI-093-001-001. Fig. 5: An exhibition room, Section des fruits, in the catalogue of the Agricultural Museum 1936. © DAIK. DAIK-KEI-164-004-018. Fig. 6: A portrait of Keimer on the front page of the newspaper Journal d’Égypte of 18 January 1938 on occasion of his interview about the Musée Agricole. © DAIK. DAIK-KEI-164-003-011. Fig. 7: Keimer’s medal of merit from the Desert Institute, given to him in April 1951. © DAIK. DAIK-KEI-146-004-001. Fig. 8: In 1954 Keimer was awarded the badge of Officer of the Order of Orange Nassau for services rendered to Egyptology. © DAIK. In Keimer 1955a: 8. Vincent Oeters Fig. 1: Frans Jonckheere (1903–1956) (after Steuer 1959, n.p.). Fig. 2: The alleged mummy of Butehamun before Jonckheere’s autopsy. © RMAH Inv. EGI.11995. Fig. 3: Dedication by Jonckheere to his teacher Baudouin van de Walle (private collection of the author). Fig. 4: Tobie Félix Jonckheere (1878–1958) (after Lurquin et al. 1948, n.p.). Thomas L. Gertzen Fig. 1: Ludwig Julius Christian Stern. From Jacobs 1912; courtesy of the Department for Celtology at Bonn University. Fig. 2: The Adreaneum Gymnasium in Hildesheim, 1896. © AKG Images 5400096; Foto, 1896 (Römmler & Jonas, Dresden). Berlin, Sammlung Archiv für Kunst und Geschichte. Fig. 3: The Egyptologist Georg Ebers (1837–1898). Postcard, private possession of the author. Fig. 4: Encoded Script. From Zauzich 2006. Fig. 5: Coptic Letter by ⳨ ⲗⲟⲩⲇⲟⲟⲩⲓⲕⲟⲥ ⲥⲧⲉⲣⲛ to Georg Ebers. © Staatliches Museum Ägyptischer Kunst, München.

Illustration Credits

Fig. 6: Fig. 7: Fig. 8: Fig. 9a–b: Fig. 10a: Fig. 10b:

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The Khedivial Library in Cairo. Postcard, private possession of the author. Adolf Erman in 1881. From Grapow 1935: 1. Reading Hall within the Berlin Royal Library. Postcard, private possession of the author. Title pages of the Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde in 1884 and 1889. Staatsbibliothek Berlin. Title page of the Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie, Vol. 1, 1897. Staatsbibliothek Berlin. Celtologist Kuno Meyer, brother of the famous historian Eduard. Wikimedia Commons: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File: K_meyer.jpg.

Hélène Virenque Fig. 1: Hermine Hartleben. [s.d.] © Martin Hartleben. Fig. 2: Lettre envoyée à Hermine Hartleben, « homme de lettres », 31 mars 1898. © Martin Hartleben. Fig. 3: Frontispice de H. Hartleben, Champollion. Sein Leben und sein Werk, 1906. Reproduction du tableau de Victorine Genève-Rumilly conservé au Musée Champollion de Vif, après 1822. © BnF/Gallica. Nicky van de Beek Fig. 1: Herta Mohr’s photo from her enrolment at Leiden University, 1937/1938 (courtesy of the Leiden University Library). Fig. 2: Dismantling the mastaba chapel of Kaninisut at Giza in 1914 (Hölzl 2005: fig. 4). Fig. 3: The mastaba of Hetepherakhty in Leiden (Boeser 1905: pl. 5). Fig. 4: Detail of the decoration of the mastaba of Hetepherakhty. Photo from the folder that contains Mohr’s manuscript (courtesy of the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden in Leiden). Fig. 5: Letter from Herta Mohr to Marcelle Werbrouck, 12 November 1940 (© Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussels, Archive of the AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/585, folder Mohr, Herta Theresa). Fig. 6: Cover of Mohr’s publication of the mastaba of Hetepherakhty (Mohr 1943). Fig. 7: The final postcard Mohr sent to the FÉRÉ, perhaps from Westerbork (1943?) (© Royal Museums of Art and History in Brussels, Archive of the AÉRÉ-EGKE: BE/380469/2/585, folder Mohr, Herta Theresa). Fig. 8: Stolpersteine for Herta Mohr and her parents outside their last voluntary address, Fagelstraat 17 in Leiden (photo by the author).

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Peter Dils Abb. 1–2: Abb. 3: Abb. 4: Abb. 5:

Abb. 6:

Abb. 7: Abb. 8: Abb. 9:

Illustration Credits

Hildegard von Gündell, 1920er Jahre (Fotos in Familienbesitz). Hildegard von Deines mit den Kindern Peter und Liselotte, ca. 1935 (Foto in Familienbesitz). Hilde Erdmann, ca. 1944 oder 1945 (Foto in Familienbesitz). Das Wörterbuchteam im Jahr 1953. Von links nach rechts Wolfhart Westendorf, Elvira Liste, Otto Firchow, Hermann Grapow, Hildegard von Deines (Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-19681-0009 / Gielow). Maiparade am 1. Mai 1951. Hildegard von Deines und Hermann Grapow sitzen auf dem Rücksitz des hinteren Autos (Foto in Familienbesitz). Hildegard von Deines im Jahr 1959 (Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-676390002 / Christa Hochneder). Hildegard von Deines und Hermann Grapow in Gisa, 1961 (Foto in Familienbesitz). Wolfhart Westendorf, Hildegard von Deines und Hermann Grapow während einer Schifffahrt auf dem Nil, 1961 (Foto in Familienbesitz).

Nora Shalaby, Ayman Damarany and Jessica Kaiser Fig. 1: Letter sent by J. Messawir to the Sohag antiquities inspector in 1913 (C1541) expressing dissatisfaction with the way the inspector addressed the Antiquities Service. © Abydos Archive. Fig. 2: The route Sultan Fuad I was to follow during his visit to the antiquities of Middle and Upper Egypt in 1920, signed by J. Messawir (C142 and C1519). © Abydos Archive. Fig. 3: An executive order for Engelbach and Wainwright, signed by J. Messawir on behalf of the Director General of Antiquities (C326). © Abydos Archive. Fig. 4: Letter about a wooden box found in Kom Akhmim, inspected by Hassan Hosni (C1594). © Abydos Archive. Fig. 5: J. Messawir’s letter to Hassan Hosni, asking him to inspect Reisner’s excavation (C781). © Abydos Archive. Mostafa I. Tolba Fig. 1: The first group of Egyptology students at the Egyptian University, with Ahmed Fakhry (first to the left in the back row). © Courtesy of the Labib Habachi Archives, Chicago House, Luxor, Egypt. Fig. 2: The co-directors of the Pyramid Project, Ahmed Fakhry (right) and Luis Walter Alvarez (left). Photo: Marilee B Bailey. © The Regents of the University of California, Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory.

Illustration Credits

Fig. 3: Fig. 4: Fig. 5: Fig. 6: Fig. 7:

Fig. 8:

Fig. 9:

Fig. 10:

Fig. 11:

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King Ahmose II gives offerings to Osiris and Isis. Photo: D-DAIKAI-A-FAK-103-001-019 Ahmed Fakhry Archive. © DAIK. The entrance to the burial chamber of Baennentiu. Photo: D-DAIKAI-A-FAK-084-001-002 Ahmed Fakhry Archive. © DAIK. General view of Gabal el-Mawta in Siwa Oasis. Photo: D-DAI-KAIA-FAK-051-001-025 Ahmed Fakhry Archive. © DAIK. A girl wearing the traditional silver ornaments of Siwa Oasis. Photo: D-DAI-KAI-A-FAK-050-001-022 Ahmed Fakhry Archive. © DAIK. A notebook of Ahmed Fakhry containing part of his last activities in Dakhla Oasis. Photo: D-DAI-KAI-A-FAK-130-001-001-002 Ahmed Fakhry Archive. © DAIK. Fakhry’s introduction on the tombs of Qaret el-Muzawwaqa. Photo: D-DAI-KAI-A-FAK-133-002-001-005 Ahmed Fakhry Archive. © DAIK. A record on the traditions of death and birth in Nubia. Photo: D-DAI-KAI-A-FAK-126-001-001-006 Ahmed Fakhry Archive. © DAIK. The street leading to the entrance of the Ethnographic Museum for Egyptian Oases Heritage in the Islamic city of el-Qasr in Dakhla Oasis (left), details of the entrance panel (top right), two photographs of Fakhry and his foreman hung in the museum’s reception (middle right), and a section exhibiting the traditional costume of oases (bottom right). Photos: Mostafa I. Tolba, design by Bassem Ezzat. External elevation of the west side and ground plan of the Ahmed Fakhry Desert Center Dakhla designed by the architect Achim Krekeler © Courtesy of Rudolph Kuper.

Ladislav Bareš Fig. 1: Reis Abduh el-Kereti cleaning a wooden statue in the mastaba of Princess Khekeretnebty in 1976 (© Archives of the Czech Institute of Egyptology, photo Milan Zemina). Fig. 2: Reis Tallal and reis Ahmad el-Kereti during the work in the mastaba of Inti at Abusir – South Field in 2000 (© Archives of the Czech Institute of Egyptology, photo Kamil Voděra). Felix Relats Montserrat Fig. 1: Portrait du raïs Mahmoud Ibrahim, sans date (© KU Leuven). Fig. 2: Portrait de ‘Ali Senoussi par É. Drioton, sans date (© KU Leuven). Fig. 3: Groupe de terrassiers en train de dégager la partie sud-est du dromos, à proximité de la porte de Tibère (© Archives Ifao – pv_2004_10984).

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Fig. 5:

Illustration Credits

Groupe d’ouvriers originaires de Karnak en train de fouiller en sousœuvre la plateforme de fondation du Nouvel Empire (© Archives Ifao – pv_2004_10903). ‘Ali Isma‘il nettoyant les blocs de la porte de Tibère (© KU Leuven).

Marleen De Meyer, Wouter Claes, Noha Mostafa Mahran, Athena Van der Perre and Aude Gräzer Ohara Fig. 1: Group photo of the Elkab team taken inside the Somers Clarke house on 21 February 1937. (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11296, photograph by Éléonore Bille-de Mot, 21 February 1937). Fig. 2: Reis Chared Muhammad Mansur with six of his children (© Archives of the RMAH, photograph by Arpag Mekhitarian, 1950). Fig. 3: The team of Quftis employed by Capart during the third Elkab campaign (© RMAH Inv. EGI.12234, photograph by Jean Capart, 1945–1946). Fig. 4: Notebook of Reis Chared 1945–1946, Elkab & al-Kula (© Archives of the RMAH). Fig. 5a–b: Notebook of Reis Chared 1945–1946. (© Archives of the RMAH). Fig. 6: The workmen inside the enclosure wall of Elkab at the end of the 1937 season. (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11411, photograph by Jean Stiénon, 1937). Fig. 7a–b: Workmen at work. Left: At the northwestern corner of the temple of Thoth at Elkab (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11428, photograph by Jean Capart, 1937). Right: The Qufti singer animating the men at work (© RMAH Inv. EGI.12183, photograph by Jean Capart, 1945– 1946). Fig. 8: The two ghafirs, Musa and Mahmud (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11972, photograph by Jean Capart, 1937). Fig. 9a–b: Left: Nabawiya and Muhammad, children of ghafir Mahmud, Elkab 1937 (© RMAH Inv. EGI.11207, photograph by Éléonore Bille-de Mot); Right: Muhammad, son of ghafir Mahmud, Elkab, 12 March 2012 (© RMAH, Belgian archaeological Mission to Elkab). Fig. 10a–c: Left: Muhammad, son of Muhammad, Elkab, 9 November 2016; Middle and right: Two grandsons of Muhammad, named Muhammad (middle) and Mahmud (right), 27 April 2022 (© RMAH, Belgian archaeological Mission to Elkab). Fig. 11: Members of the house staff: on the right the sufragi ‘Abd al-Baghi, also named ‘Abdu, and on the left Badry, son of Sheikh Ibrahim, who worked as a boatman, guardian and messenger (© RMAH Inv. EGI.12164, photograph by Jean Capart, 1945).

Illustration Credits

Fig. 12:

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The pictographic system devised by the cook ‘Abbas to keep track of the kitchen accounts (after Capart 1946: 121).

Rosalind Janssen Fig. 1: Galton’s map of Egypt, with his highlighting of Abydos as ‘where Flinders Petrie is’ (c. 1900), paper and purple ink (Reproduced by permission of UCL Library, Special Collections; Galton Papers, GALTON/1/4/12/1). Fig. 2: (left) Francis Galton in later life as sketched by his great-niece Eva Biggs (right); (both undated), charcoal sketch; black and white photograph (Reproduced by permission of UCL Library, Special Collections). Fig. 3: The final page of Galton’s letter to his sisters Emma Galton and Elizabeth Wheler (14 January 1900), paper, ink, crayon and pencil (Reproduced by permission of UCL Library, Special Collections; Galton Papers, GALTON/1/4/12/1). Fig. 4: Charles S. Myers (left) and Anthony Wilkin (right) (El-Amrah, January 1901), black and white photograph (Reproduced by permission of the Egypt Exploration Society; AB.NEG.02.07). Fig. 5: (above) Henry Wallis, Flinders Petrie Admiring a Find, the Ramesseum, Western Thebes, 1895; (below) Petrie and his fellahin workmen in the Early Dynastic Tomb of Pharaoh Khasekhemwy (Umm el-Qa’ab, Abydos, 1901), framed watercolour; black and white photograph (Above reproduced by permission of UCL Art Collection; 2674. Below reproduced by permission of the Egypt Exploration Society; AB-RT.NEG.II.256). Fig. 6: Members of the Cambridge Anthropological Expedition to the Torres Straits, standing are Alfred Cort Haddon (first row, left); Anthony Wilkin (first row, right); W.H.R. Rivers (second row, left); Charles S. Myers (third row, centre) (Murray Island, 1898), black and white photograph (Reproduced by permission of University of Cambridge Museum of Archaeology & Anthropology; N.22900. ACH2). Fig. 7: Holmgren’s Wools in original lidded carboard box with instructions (early Twentieth Century), wool and cardboard, 15.0 × 10.5 × 5.9 cm. (Reproduced by permission of the Cyril Kett Optometry Museum, Melbourne; cat. no. 1934) Fig. 8: W.H.R. Rivers and a Murray Islander with a colour wheel (1898), black and white photograph (Reproduced by permission of University of Cambridge Museum of Archaeology & Anthropology; N.23036.ACH2).

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Fig. 10:

Table 1:

Illustration Credits

Karl Pearson’s head-spanners (1896), wood and brass, 29.3 × 24.5 cm., box with instructions for using the head-spanner (1896), wood, 36.5 × 28.5 × 4.0 cm. (Reproduced by permission of UCL Culture; Galton 035 [top left and below]; Galton 159 [top right]). Karl Pearson, his wife Maria Sharpe Pearson (seated directly in front), and two of his children host a Biometrika tea party at their home, with Alice Lee (seated third from left) (Christchurch Cottage, Hampstead 1900), black and white photograph (Reproduced by permission of the UCL Library Special Collections). Myers’s categorisation of the fellahin (Myers 1906: Table V on 256).

Heike C. Schmidt Fig. 1: Photograph of Emil Brugsch. The inscription reads: à Monsieur H. Munier. Souvenir affectueux de Emil Brugsch 1870–1914. © DAIK. Fig. 2: Emil Brugsch – far right – supervising the installation of some objects in the Giza Palace Museum. The Graphic, June 21, 1890: 689. Fig. 3: Engraving after a sketch by Emil Brugsch, showing the recovery of some of the sarcophagi from the Royal Cache (TT320). Illustrirte Zeitung N° 1994, 17 September 1881: 236. Fig. 4: Letter of Emil Brugsch concerning illegal operations in Abydos, private collection. Bart R. Hellinckx Fig. 1: Bookplate of Fritz Krebs on the front pastedown of W. Spiegelberg, Studien und Materialien zum Rechtswesen des Pharaonenreiches, Hannover, Hahn, 1892 (private collection of the author). Fig. 2: Example of a text edition in the BGU by Fritz Krebs (photograph by the author after BGU I, fasc. 6, 1893: Krebs 1892–95: 179). Fig. 3: Libellus P. Berlin 7297 (drawing reproduced from Erman and Krebs 1899: pl. XVI). Fig. 4: Title page of A. Erman and F. Krebs, Aus den Papyrus der Königlichen Museen, Berlin, Spemann, 1899, with the owner’s inscription of American Egyptologist H.E. Winlock (private collection of the author). Wendy Doyon Fig. 1: Xia Nai at Giza, c. 1938, as reproduced in his published ten-volume diary (Xia 2011: II, 1936–1941, n.p.). Fig. 2: Sample pay sheet (top) and other technical notes, as reproduced in Xia Nai’s field diary at Armant in 1938 (Xia 2011: II, 1936–1941, p. 145).

Illustration Credits

Fig. 3:

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Sample object card with site designations for Armant and other technical notes, as reproduced in Xia Nai’s field diary from 1938 (Xia 2011: II, 1936–1941, p. 146).

Index

Abbas-Hilmi II, Khedive of Egypt 431 Abel, L. 480 Abel, O. 184 Abemayor, E.A. 91 Abney, W. 396, 398 Achmaoui Bey 82 Albert, King of Belgium 90 Albert, Prince of Wales 428 Ali, F.M. 297 Allam, M. 97 al-Rawi, M. 266 al-Tahtawi, R. 253 Alvarez, L.W. 281 Amélineau, E. 441 Andrae, W. 216 Anthes, R. 224 Aref, S. 257 Asante, M.K. 543 Ascherson, P. 285 Avierino, Ch. 98 Ayer, E.E. 431 Bachelard, G. 541 Baer, K. 298 Bagnold, R. 525 Baker, G.F. 440 Balcz, H. 182, 184 Baring, E., 1st Earl of Cromer 376, 393, 405 Baud, M. 345 Bénédite, G. 323 Biggs, E. 379, 399 Bille-de Mot, É. 111, 114, 118, 127–128, 132, 187, 194, 345, 358 Bircher, A. 85 Bissing, F.W. von 58–59, 191, 442, 478, 515

Bisson de la Roque, F. 323–326, 328, 330–331, 333–335, 337, 339 Blackman, A.M. 280 Blok, H.P. 186, 191, 194, 197 Blumenthal, E. 242 Blyden, E.W. 539 Boas, F. 67 Bodenstein, M. 210, 214 Boeser, P. 185, 189 Böhl, Th. de Liagre 191 Bonomi, J. 100 Borchardt, L. 313, 441, 478, 482 Borsche, W. 210 Bothmer, B.V. 241 Boulos, T. 254, 257, 264, 270 Bouriant, U. 429 Breasted, J.H. 22, 65–67, 144, 436, 467, 485 Brown, R.H. 465 Brown, S. 431 Brown, W.W. 541 Browning, R. 390 Brugsch, E. 21–22, 419–448 Brugsch, H. 22, 33, 141–145, 148– 149, 153, 156, 159, 170, 174, 233, 277, 419–420, 422, 424, 426, 432–433, 435–436, 442, 453, 455, 463–464, 537 Brunton, G. 519, 522, 526 Bruyère, B. 323 Buckley, A.B. 284 Bühler, A. 104 Bühner, F. 197 Burckhardt, J.L. 104 Burkhardt, A. 243 Capart, J. 16, 21, 75–93, 99, 112, 114, 119–124, 126–130, 132,

592

186–187, 193– 194, 280, 343– 346, 348, 352–353, 355–356, 359–362, 423 Carnarvon, George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, 5th Earl of Carnarvon 113, 441, 515 Carter, H. 10, 20, 255–256, 270 Cassis, A. 95 Caton-Thompson, G. 519 Cereteli, G.F. 451, 461–462, 483– 485 Černý, J. 21, 309 Chaban, M. 254–255, 257 Champollion, J.-F. 10, 17, 32, 167, 172–173, 175, 176, 277 Champollion-Figeac, J.-J. 172– 173, 175 Chevrier, H. 330 Churchill, W., British Prime Minister 396, 398 Clarke, H. 539 Cnoop Koopmans, W. 106 Coehn, A. 210 Cohen, D. 199 Cooney, J. 526 Coxe, E. 515 Czermak, W. 18, 65, 182, 184 Daninos, A. 323 Daressy, G. 266, 426, 434, 441, 442 Darwin, Ch. 395 Darwin, H. 395, 401, 404 Davis, D. 515 de Buck, A. 185, 189, 191, 194, 199 de Gonzague Ryckmans, L.C. 298 de la Brière, A.-L. 173 De Meulenaere, H. 362 de Morgan, J. 14, 309, 425, 439 de Paikert, A. 92 de Potter, A. 440

Index

de Ricci, S. 480, 484 de Rougé, E. 33 de Volney, C. 535 de Wiveleslie Abney, W. 383 Deines, H. von 18, 20, 205–247 Derry, D.E. 113 Devéria, Th. 424 Diels, H. 452 Dingli, A. 44 Diop, Cheikh Anta 539, 541, 543, 545 Diya Effendi, Y. 253 Douglass, F. 541 Drexel, A.J. 434 Drexel Dahlgren, L.W. 434 Drexler, W. 455 Drioton, É. 99, 289, 325, 334–335, 338 Drower, M. 517 Du Bois, W.E.B. 540 Dümichen, J. 171 Ebbell, B. 124 Ebers, G. 19, 141, 143–144, 146– 152, 156, 159–160, 171, 477 Edwards, A. 22, 170 Eisenlohr, A. 169 el-Aguizy, O. 295 Elaut, L. 130 el-Enany, A. 280 Élisabeth, Queen of Belgium 75, 90, 186, 356 Elliot Smith, G. 389, 400, 405 el-Shaer, I.A. 92 Emery, W.B. 98, 311 Empain, É. 187 Endesfelder, E. 236 Engelbach, R. 80, 264, 265 Erichsen, W. 481 Erman, A. 19, 50, 129, 141, 145, 149–151, 153, 156, 160, 170– 171, 233, 420, 423, 435, 449,

Index

452, 454, 456–457, 475, 478– 479, 482, 485, 567, 569 Evelyn-White, R. 280 Ewald, H. 142–143, 160 Faam, M. 271 Fahmi, A. 255 Fahmy, I. 97 Fakhry, A. 17, 277–307 Fakiyya 101 Faruk, King of Egypt 97, 103 Fathy, H. 293 Fatima, Princess, daughter of Khedive Ismail 90 Fawcett, C. 406–408 Fechheimer, H. 10–11, 20 Federn, W. 20, 182, 194, 199 Felmy, W. 456 Firchow, O. 226–228, 236, 242 Firth, C. 264 Fleischer, H.L. 160 Franck, J. 210 Frank, A. 197 Frankfort, H. 190, 194, 198 Frederik III, King of Denmark 43 Freer, Ch.L. 439 Frenay, A. 430 Freytag, G.W. 160 Friederichs, K. 33 Friedrich III, German Emperor 170 Fuad, King of Egypt 90–93, 98–99, 102 Gaballa, G.A. 316 Gabra, S. 82, 258, 278 Galton, F. 368–370, 372, 374, 379–380, 383, 386–388, 393– 395, 399, 401, 408–411 Gardiner, A.H. 124, 454 Garstang, J. 22 Garvey, M. 539 Genève-Rumilly, V. 174 Geniusz, M.S. 441 Gérôme, J.-L. 382

593

Ghoneim, Z. 293, 297 Gilbert, P. 362 Girard, P. 280 Glanville, S. 511, 524, 527 Goekoop, A. 189 Goldziher, I. 149 Golénischeff / Golenishchev, V. 150, 279–280, 565–569, 573– 575, 577 Goodspeed, E.J. 452, 461, 484 Goßler, G. von 170 Gradenwitz, O. 459, 461, 482–483 Grapow, H. 20, 205, 219–224, 226–229, 231–238, 240, 242, 280, 456 Gray, T. 525 Grébault, E. 425 Grégoire, E. 34 Grégoire, H. 280 Grenfell, B.P. 464, 482 Griffith, F.Ll. 58, 65–66, 280, 454 Groppi, A. 82 Grumach, I. 236, 242 Guéraud, O. 78 Haast, J. von 430 Habachi, L. 292 Habib, A. Effendi 256 Haddon, A.C. 387–388, 400 Hamdi, M. 255 Hamdi, S. Bey 113 Hamza, M.A. 82, 278 Harnack, A. 160, 467 Harris, J. 234 Harrison Gardner Leland, E. 434 Hartleben, H. 17, 19, 167–179 Hartmann, R. 222 Hassan, H. 97 Hassan, S. 82, 258, 278, 280, 292 Hauser, W. 289 Hearst, Ph. 515 Heidemann, A. 466 Hermann, A. 295

594

Herzog, R. 100, 102 Hintze, F. 224, 242 Hirschfeld, O. 452 Hitler, A. 98 Hogarth, D.G. 464 Holmgren, F. 389 Holwerda, J.H. 186 Hoover, H.C., President of the United States of America 84 Hopfner, Th. 59 Hoppe, K. 453, 466 Hosni, H. 251–276 Høyen, N.L. 32 Hübner, E. 452 Hunt, A.S. 482 Huntington Blanchard, R. 92 Hussein, A.M. 281 Hussein, T. 280 Hutchinson, Ch. 431 Ibrahim, K. 94 Ibscher, H. 451 Immich, M. 466 Insinger, J.H. 439–440 Ismail, Khedive of Egypt 277, 425 Italie, G. 197–198 Iversen, E. 50 Jacobs, E. 151 Jacobs, J. 394 Jacobsen, C. 43–44, 48 Janssen, J. 194, 199, 345 Janssen, J.M.A. 189 Jaweesh, A. Effendi 257 Jernstedt, V. 483, 485 Jonckheere, F. 20, 111–140 Jonckheere, T. 111, 114–116, 128– 132 Jouguet, P. 84, 482 Junker, H. 65, 183, 184, 193 Kahle, J.P. 20 Kaibel, G. 476 Kaiser, W. 517

Index

Kamal, A. 22, 254–257, 278, 428, 442 Kampman, A. 198 Karar, A.A. 100 Kees, H. 227, 442 Keimer, L. 21, 75–110, 420, 436 Kelekian, D.G. 440 Kenyon, F.G. 458–459, 482, 484 Khalil, W.M. 295 Khawam, Brothers 91 Khorshad, M. Effendi 257 Khrushchev, N.S., First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union 575 Kipling, R. 376, 383 Kirchhoff, A. 452 Köhler, U. 452 Korostovtsev, M. 18, 20, 565, 568, 572–577 Krebs, F. 20, 449–507 Kuentz, Ch. 280 Kükelhaus, T. 453 Lacau, P. 91, 266, 278 Lange, H.O. 44–46, 50, 420–421 Lauer, J.-Ph. 311 Le Blant, E. 473 Leclant, J. 311 Lee, A. 406–408 Lefébure, E. 429 Lefebvre, G. 261 Legrain, G. 256, 293 Lemm, O. 567 Lenin, V.I. 566–567, 569, 571, 576 Lepsius, R. 10, 141, 143–145, 150–151, 153, 156, 159–160, 233, 425 Leroi-Gourhan, A. 541 Levi, Simeon 144 Liste, E. 227 Livshits, I. 572 Long, E. 380

Index

Loret, V. 75, 255, 425, 428–429, 439 Loukianoff, G. 92 Lourie, I. 572 Loytved, P.J. 475 Lumbroso, G. 482 Luschan, F. von 420, 431, 436, 440 Macaulay, T.B. 403 MacDonald, J.G. 521, 524, 530 Mackay, E. 527 Madsen, H. 40 Mahaffy, J.P. 458, 482 Maignien, E. 174 Manavian, V. 517, 520–522 Mariette, A. 22, 33, 189, 253–254, 277–278, 343, 423–424, 426, 437, 439, 442 Masaryk, J. 98 Maspero, G. 18, 22, 169–171, 173, 175, 189, 254, 256–257, 278, 419, 423, 425, 428, 430, 433, 436–437, 439, 441, 453–454, 567 Massart, A. 345 Matthieu, M. 572 Mbembe, A. 544 Meijers, C. 196 Meijers, E. 196 Mekhitarian, A. 345, 353, 355 Menzalawi, A. 97 Messawir, J. 251–276 Metwalli, M. 102 Meyer, E. 153, 569 Meyer, K. 158, 159 Meyerhof, M. 92 Mitteis, L. 482 Mogensen, M. 31 Mohassib, M. 433 Mohr, H. 18, 19, 20, 22, 151–203 Molattam, S. 92 Möller, G. 474, 569 Mommsen, Th. 452, 457, 461

595

Mond, R. 509, 511, 515–516, 525 Morenz, S. 227 Morgan, J.P. 515 Mosse, R. 475 Moursi, M.I. 281, 295 Moutafian, T. 428 Mubarak, A. 277 Muhammad Ali (Mehmed Ali), Khedive of Egypt 253, 277, 512–513, 517 Müller, Ch. 243 Müller, J. 208 Münter, F. 43 Murray, M. 511, 527 Musil, A. 22 Myers, Ch. 370, 377–378, 382– 384, 388–89, 391, 399–400, 404–406, 408–410 Myers, O.H. 516, 521, 523–524, 526, 530 Naguib, A. 255, 278 Nagy, I. 92, 94 Nahman, M. 92 Najib, A. 254, 258 Napoleon I, Emperor of France 535 Nascimento, A. 539 Nasser, G.A., President of Egypt 575 Nassim, L. 297 Naus, H. 76–77 Naville, E. 173 Nelson, H.H. 521 Nernst, W. 210 Nicholas I, Czar of Russia 419 Nicholas II, Czar of Russia 422 Nicole, J. 482 Nohl, H. 210 Nooteboom, Ch. 103 Pearson, K. 369–370, 399, 401, 403–406, 409 Pearson, M. Sharpe 379, 407

596

Pedro I, Emperor of Brazil 546 Pedro II, Emperor of Brazil 546 Peel, R.F. 525 Peet, E. 262, 280 Perepelkin, Y. 572 Perrot, G. 167, 169 Petrie, H. 14, 311, 379, 527 Petrie, W.M. Flinders 10, 14, 22, 39, 41, 255, 272–273, 310–311, 325–326, 343, 347, 369–370, 372, 376–383, 386, 388–389, 391, 395, 401, 405–406, 409, 436–437, 458, 464, 509, 511– 512–514, 516, 517, 519, 524– 527, 530–531, 537 Peyron, A. 463 Pierson, J. 456 Pietschmann, R. 156 Piotrovsky, B. 572 Planck, M. 210 Plaumann, G. 483 Pleyte, W. 439, 440 Pohl, R.W. 210 Posener, G. 333 Poynter, E. 380 Preisigke, F. 460 Priese, K.-H. 234, 236 Priese, R. 242 Pückler, H. von 152 Quaegebeur, J. 473–474 Quibell, J.E. 44, 266, 426, 442, 514 Randall-MacIver, D. 387–388, 391, 393, 400, 406 Ravn, O.E. 50 Reich, N. 21, 55–73 Reinach, Th. 475 Reineke, W.F. 236 Reinisch, L. 60–61, 480 Reisner, G.A. 256, 270, 329, 344, 468, 537 Riesenfeld, E.H. 210

Index

Rivers, W.H.R. 370, 377, 386–389, 391, 393, 396–398, 401, 410 Robert, C. 452, 476 Robichon, C. 323–325, 327, 328 Rockefeller, J.D. jr. 515 Roeder, G. 176, 190 Rohlfs, G. 286 Rosellini, I. 10 Rowe, A. 297 Ruben, W. 236 Rudolf, Crown Prince of Austria 435 Sassoon, S. 410 Sayce, A.H. 439 Schack Elo, M. 42 Schäfer, H. 193, 456 Scharff, A. 280 Scharling, H. 32 Schenkel, W. 242 Schiaparelli, E. 144, 430 Schmidt, V. 19, 31–53 Schreiber, Th. 44 Schubart, W. 451, 461, 463, 482, 484–485 Schwarzenberg, A. 99 Schweinfurth, G. 75, 84, 100–101, 106, 420 Seckendorff, G. von 170 Sethe, K. 233, 236, 280, 453, 456, 461 Seyffarth, G. 13 Shaw, W.J. 432–433 Shoukry, M.A. 310 Skeat, T.C. 72 Smart, W. 98 Smither, P.C. 20 Smoleński, T. 441 Sobhi, G. 280 Somers Clarke, G. 346, 358 Spiegelberg, W. 58, 84, 145, 171, 176, 449 Spielman, I. 394

Index

Stalin, J. 572 Stanford, J. 435 Starkey, J.L. 526 Steindorff, G. 99, 145, 185, 233, 284–285, 442, 452 Stern, L. 19, 141–163, 170–171 Steuer, R.O. 114 Stevenson, S. Yorke 440 Stiénon, J. 345, 346 Stilling, H.C. 33 Stock, H. 107 Stocking, G. 393 Stohrer, E. von 90 Stroganoff, G. 433 Struve, V. 18, 565, 568–571, 573, 575, 577 Sutro, A. 433 Tammann, G. 210 Tano, J.T. 91 Tantawy, A.R.M. 95 Teubner, B.G. 482 Thausing, G. 185 Thomsen, C.J. 19, 35, 42 Thomson, A. 389 Thorvaldsen, B. 43 Todros, M. 92 Tufnell, O. 527, 530 Turaev, B. 462, 566 Uhlemann, M.A. 12 van de Walle, B. 114, 119, 123, 128, 130 van den Bergh, L. 198 van der Putt, H. 197 Van Heurck, H.F. 113 van Leer, W.A. 194, 198 van Leer-de Jongh, B. 194 van Proosdij, B.A. 194, 199 van Wijngaarden, W.D. 83, 106, 186, 191, 193–194 Varille, A. 428 Varnhagen, R.A.F. 152 Vassalli, L. 425, 429, 442

597

Verhoogen, V. 345 Verner, M. 312–313 Verstijnen, M. 198 Victoria, German Empress 170 Victoria, Queen of Great Britain 18 Viereck, P. 457, 459–460, 482 Virchow, R. 171 Wainwright, G.A. 264–265, 267, 268 Wallis, H. 380–383 Ward, S.R. 541 Weigall, A. 270 Weinreb, F. 198 Wellcome, H. 515 Wenig, S. 236, 242 Werbrouck, M. 88, 121, 187, 190, 193–194, 345, 346 Wertheimer, M. 210 Wessely, C. 480 Westendorf, W. 20, 205, 217, 223– 225, 227–228, 231–232, 235– 238, 240–242 Wheeler, M. 511, 527, 530 Wiedemann, A. 455 Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. 457 Wilcken, U. 451–452, 454, 457– 462, 475–476, 482–483, 485 Wildhagen, M. 215 Wilhelm II, German Emperor 18 Wilkin, A. 377–378, 387–389, 391, 400 Wilkinson, Ch. K. 289 Wilkinson, J. Gardner 10, 11 Wilson, E.L. 423 Windaus, A. 210 Wingate, R. 400, 404–405, 409 Winkler, H. 525 Winlock, H.E. 290, 479 Wister, J. 434 Wolfhagen, F. 35 Woolley, L. 441 Worsaae, J.J.A. 32, 35–36, 39

598

Wreszinski, W. 145 Xia, N. 18, 509–534 Žába, Z. 309–310, 312

Index

Zayed, A. 299 Zoulficar, M. 94