The Oxford Handbook of Egyptology 0199271879, 9780199271870

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T h e Ox f o r d H a n d b o o k o f

E GY P TOL O GY

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The Oxford Handbook of

EGYPTOLOGY Edited by

IAN SHAW and

ELIZABETH BLOXAM

1

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1 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, ox2 6dp, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Oxford University Press 2020 The moral rights of the authors have been asserted First Edition published in 2020 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2020937288 ISBN 978–0–19–927187–0 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, cr0 4yy Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

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With love to our parents: Wallace and Brenda Bloxam, and Michael and Dorothy Shaw

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Contents

List of Figuresxiii List of Tablesxxiii List of Contributorsxxv

Introduction: Egyptology in the twenty-first century: an historical curiosity or setting new agendas in multidisciplinary research?

1

Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw

PA RT I .   E GY P TOL O GY: PE R SPE C T I V E S ON A DI S C I PL I N E 1. The nature and history of Egyptology

33

Andrew Bednarski

2. Egyptology and cognate disciplines

48

David Wengrow

3. Egyptology in China

65

Li Xiaodong

4. Reception of ancient Egypt

79

Florian Ebeling

PA RT I I .   T H E NAT U R A L E N V I RON M E N T: S T U DY I NG T H E M AC RO A N D M IC RO -L E V E L 5. Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile valley: a critical review and prospectus

99

Karl W. Butzer

6. Flora of ancient Egypt

125

Claire Malleson

7. Ancient Egyptian fauna Salima Ikram

151

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viii   Contents

8. The mineral world: studying landscapes of procurement

165

Elizabeth Bloxam

PA RT I I I .   A RC H A E OL O GIC A L L A N D S C A PE S : SU RV E Y I NG , C H A R AC T E R I Z I NG , A N D M A NAGI NG 9. Mapping and topography

197

David Jeffreys

10. Recording rock inscriptions: methods and challenges from an Egyptian perspective

214

Adel Kelany

11. Cultural Heritage Management in Egypt: community-based strategies, problems, and possibilities

232

Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany

12. Methods of site survey and excavation in Egypt

252

Ana Tavares

PA RT I V.   M AT E R I A L C U LT U R E 13. Studying materials and technology: Introduction

269

Paul T. Nicholson

14. Settlement archaeology and the contextualization of domestic artefacts

283

Ian Shaw

15. Ancient Egyptian pottery

312

Bettina Bader

16. Textiles

333

Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden

17. Funerary equipment

354

Aidan Dodson

18. Seals and scarabs

367

Regine Schulz

19. Mummies and physical anthropology Salima Ikram

409

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Contents   ix

20. Ancient Egyptian architecture

427

Corinna Rossi

21. Statuary

441

Campbell Price

22. Relief sculpture

457

J. Brett McClain

PA RT V.   E GY P T A N D I T S N E IGH B OU R S : R E V I SI T I NG C RO S S-B OR DE R R E L AT ION SH I P S 23. Africa south of Egypt

473

Robert Morkot

24. The Libyans

493

Linda Hulin

25. Western Asia

514

Carolyn Routledge

26. The Aegean

540

Jacke Phillips

PA RT V I .   E GY P T I A N H I S T ORY: E X PL OR I NG S OU RC E S A N D I N T E R PR E TAT I V E F R A M E WOR K S 27. The Predynastic Period

573

Stan Hendrickx

28. The Early Dynastic Period

596

Ludwig D. Morenz

29. The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period

619

Nigel Strudwick

30. The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period

638

Wolfram Grajetzki

31. The New Kingdom Colleen Manassa Darnell

657

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x   Contents

32. The Third Intermediate Period

684

David A. Aston

33. Egypt in the Late Period

720

Anthony Leahy

34. The Ptolemaic and Roman Periods

744

Khaled Essam Ismail

PA RT V I I .   S O C I E T Y A N D C U LT U R E : T E X T UA L A N D IC ONO GR A PH IC A PPROAC H E S 35. National administration

763

Wolfram Grajetzki

36. Local administration

778

Christopher J. Eyre

37. Law

795

Sandra Lippert

38. Genealogies

809

Morris L. Bierbrier

39. Gods, mythology, and cosmology

820

Susanne Bickel

40. Symbolism and religious iconography

833

Richard Wilkinson

41. Theology

844

Alexandra von Lieven

42. Funerary beliefs and practices

856

Eltayeb Abbas

PA RT V I I I .   S C R I P T S A N D PH I L OL O GY 43. Scripts

869

Andréas Stauder

44. Lexicography Julie Stauder-Porchet

897

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Contents   xi

45. Grammar

912

Sami Uljas

46. History of the Egyptian language

930

Andréas Stauder

PA RT I X .   T E X T UA L G E N R E S : C U R R E N T P O SI T ION S A N D F U T U R E DI R E C T ION S 47. Orality and literacy in ancient Egypt

959

Jacqueline E. Jay

48. Historical texts

971

Ronald J. Leprohon

49. ‘Autobiographical’ texts

994

Denise Doxey

50. Literary texts

1007

Bill Manley

51. Socio-economic texts

1019

John Gee

52. Mathematical texts

1033

Annette Imhausen

53. Texts for healing and protection

1041

Rune Nyord

54. Letters

1055

Deborah Sweeney

55. Demotic texts

1072

Richard Jasnow

56. Coptic texts

1096

Terry Wilfong

57. Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti

1111

John Coleman Darnell

58. Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts Olaf E. Kaper

1138

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xii   Contents

59. Greek and Latin sources

1154

Ian S. Moyer

PA RT X .   M USE OL O GY A N D C ON SE RVAT ION 60. Museum collections

1173

Campbell Price

61. Egyptian museums and storehouses

1187

Maher A. Eissa and Ashraf El-Senussi

62. Conservation in Egyptological museum collections

1205

Deborah Schorsch

Index

1219

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List of Figures

3.1 The first international Conference of Egyptology in China, held in IHAC, Northeast Normal University, Changchun.

67

3.2 The entrance of Henan Museum in Zhengzhu, capital of Henan province, China.

68

3.3 An exhibition of ancient Egypt opened to an audience in China in 2017.

74

3.4 Dr Li Xiaodong working in the Hypostyle Hall, Karnak Temple, in 2016.

75

4.1 Francesco Colonna: Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, Venetia 1499, fol. cI, recto: Renaissance artists write in an Egyptian manner.

84

4.2 Frontispiece of Athanasius Kircher’s Oedipus Aegyptiacus, Roma 1652: Egypt as a symbol and a mystery.

86

4.3 Philipp von Zesen: Assenat, Amsterdam 1670, 294, 111: Joseph in the garden of Potiphar.

88

5.1 The Nile Delta, c.4000–3000 bc.105 5.2 The Faiyum region, c.250 bc.107 5.3 Nile flood levels, c.4000 bc–ad 2000.

113

5.4 The landscape of Old Kingdom Giza.

119

6.1 Scene in Offering Chapel of Kayemnofret, Saqqara, 5th Dynasty. Boston Museum of Fine Arts.

126

Photograph by author.

6.2 Ornamental garden from the tomb of Nebamun, 18th Dynasty. British Museum.

129

Photograph by author. © Trustees of the British Museum.

6.3 Bucket flotation of archaeobotanical samples at Tell el-Retaba, Wadi Tumilat.

133

Photograph by author.

6.4 Hulled barley grains

136

Courtesy of DAI Cairo, Elephantine Project.

6.5 Date palm grove near Medinet el-Gurob, Faiyum

142

Photograph by author.

7.1 A scene depicting a hippopotamus hunt in the tomb of the Old Kingdom official Mereruka at Saqqara (c.2350 bc).152 Photograph by author, courtesy of the Ministry of State for Antiquities.

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xiv   List of Figures

7.2 Young cattle bones recovered by the Japanese Mission to the tomb of the 18th-Dynasty ruler Amenhotep III in the West Valley, Thebes (c.1350 bc).153 Photograph by author, courtesy of the Japanese Mission to the Tomb of Amenhotep III.

7.3 New Kingdom mummy of a pet baboon, imported from sub-Saharan Africa and buried in the Valley of the Kings (c.1500–1000 bc; Luxor Mummification Museum 39; JE38745).

154

Photograph by author, courtesy of the Ministry of State for Antiquities and the Mummification Museum.

7.4 CT-scanning of a monkey mummy at the Smithsonian Institution’s Museum of Natural History.

157

Photograph by author, courtesy of Smithsonian Institution’s Museum of Natural History.

8.1 Map showing procurement landscapes mentioned in the text.

167

8.2 Life-sized statue of Khafre produced from ‘Chephren gneiss’. Egyptian Museum, Cairo.

168

8.3 Stone circle plateau at Umm es-Sawan, Northern Faiyum prior to excavation.169 8.4 Inscription of the Middle Kingdom dating to Senusret 1 (G61, CM87) in the Wadi Hammamt greywacke quarries.

170

8.5 View towards the Aswan West Bank ancient quarry landscape.

175

8.6 Saddle quern (silicified sandstone) found in Old Kingdom settlement levels on Elephantine Island.

176

8.7 Grinding stone quarries showing typical feature of sand-filled circles surrounded by spoil heaps. Aswan West Bank.

177

8.8 Grinding stone rough-outs: (a) Late Palaeolithic; (b) New Kingdom; (c) Ptolemaic—Early Roman Period.

177

8.9 a) Typical shelter showing low-level dry-stone walls butted up against a rock outcrop, inside fragments of pottery. Gebel Gulab, Aswan West Bank. b) Rock art of (possibly) Nubian A-group man (4th millennium bc) found close to Predynastic grinding stone quarries. Gebel es Sawan, Aswan West Bank.

178

8.10 The Narmer Palette carved from Wadi Hammamat greywacke (height 63 cm) c. 3000 bc (Dynasty 0) found in the Main Deposit at Hierakonpolis.

179

8.11 Predynastic to Early Dynastic quarry pit (‘small block quarry’ for vessels, palettes, bracelets) looking south towards the main road, Bir Hammamat, central Wadi Hammamat.

181

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List of Figures   xv

8.12 Greywacke stone vessel rough-outs x 20 (Predynastic to Early Dynastic) found in quarry shown in Fig. 8.11, Bir Hammamat, central Wadi Hammamat.

181

8.13 Greywacke chisels and rods in stages of manufacture located in Predynastic to Early Dynastic quarries at Bir Hammamat, central Wadi Hammamat.

182

8.14 Main area of ‘large block quarries’ at the Bekhen-mountain region of the central Wadi Hammamat showing area of Late-Period—RomanPeriod settlement. Inset: evidence for fire-setting in the ‘large block quarries’ at the Bekhen-mountain- charcoal and greywacke fragments in thick ashy deposits.

183

8.15 Abandoned rough-out of a sarcophagus (probably Late Period) lying in the ‘large-block quarries’ at the Bekhen-mountain. Inset: typical marks left from the ‘wedging’ technique to split large blocks. Central Wadi Hammamat.

184

8.16 Main area of inscriptions. Inset: G61 (Goyon 1957) Middle Kingdom (dating to reign of Senusret I, early 2nd millennium bc) list of personnel, location marked by a white rectangle on main photo, elevation approx. 15 metres above ground level.

185

9.1 Description de l’Egypte map of the region south of Cairo, including the site of Memphis.

199

9.2 Survey of Egypt map of central Memphis (Mit Rahina and Ptah temple; SoE MR ToP001).

200

9.3 Ministry of Housing map of the Saqqara plateau (MHR 20K N saq003).

203

9.4 Landsat image of Cairo, 1978.

204

10.1 Map of Egypt showing the Aswan and Wadi Hammamat locations.

215

10.2 Coloured rock inscription at the main street to Philae temple.

218

10.3 Egyptian archaeologist climbing a hill in order to locate a rock art or inscription panel, at Wadi Subeira, North of Aswan city.

220

10.4 Copying the rock art using plastic sheets.

221

10.5 Using chalk to help copy very hard to see rock inscription, Aswan.

221

10.6 Different rock inscriptions made in different style and techniques, Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarries.

225

10.7 Using Differential GPS to accurately record the location rock inscriptions in order to make a detailed map, Wadi Hammamat.

225

10.8 Maps showing the preliminary results of using GIS to locate the inscriptions of the central Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarry landscape by dating.

226

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xvi   List of Figures

11.1 Map of sites mentioned in the text.

234

11.2 One of four cafes located in the central Wadi Hammamat close to quarrying and mining regions.

241

11.3 ‘City of Gold’ British colonial period derelict gold mine, central Wadi Hammamat.242 11.4 Museum created inside an abandoned building in the ‘City of Gold’.

243

11.5 Members of Ancient Quarries and Mines Department (AQMD) team and Egyptian Mineral Resources Authority (EMRA) showing local contractors archaeological sites in the Wadi Subeira.

245

11.6 A private contractor’s loader that was used to help AQMD close parts of the modern road where there are important rock art sites.

246

13.1 Catherine Powell conducting experiments with a potter’s wheel of the type seen at Beni Hasan, and excavated at Amarna.

273

Photo: P.T. Nicholson, reproduced by courtesy of the Egypt Exploration Society.

13.2 Potters using wheels. Tomb of Bakt III. Beni Hasan (BH15). 11th Dynasty.

274

Photo: P.T. Nicholson.

13.3 Experimental glass furnace modelled on one of those unearthed at Amarna site O45.1.

275

Photo: P.T. Nicholson, reproduced by courtesy of the Egypt Exploration Society.

13.4 Looking east over the excavations at Amarna site O45.1, an industrial estate of the time of Akhenaten (1352–1336 B.C.).

276

Photo: P.T. Nicholson, reproduced by courtesy of the Egypt Exploration Society.

14.1 Plan of the Old Kingdom settlement at Heit el-Ghurab, Giza plateau.

285

Map prepared by Rebekah Miracle, AERA GIS, ©2017 by Ancient Egypt Research Associates.

14.2 Plan of the New Kingdom city at Amarna.

288

Map courtesy of the Amarna Project.

14.3 Part of the hilltop dry-stone settlement at the turquoise and copper mines of Wadi Maghara, in the Sinai peninsula.

294

Photograph by author.

14.4 (a) Axonometric reconstruction of house P47.24 (located in the southern residential area of the New Kingdom city at Amarna) as a three-storey dwelling, (b) north-south section through the house, looking east; Spence 2004, Fig. 14. Line-drawings courtesy of Kate Spence and the Amarna Project.

296

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List of Figures   xvii

14.5 Map of the ancient remains at the site of Gurob, superimposed on a satellite photograph, in which late twentieth-century intrusions by the Egyptian military are still clearly visible as a series of rectangular excavations.

299

14.6 Plan of the Grid 12 area of the New Kingdom city at Amarna.

304

Map courtesy of the Amarna Project/Egypt Exploration Society.

15.1 New Kingdom amphora made of oasis fabric.

317

(Bader 2006: Fig. 3).

15.2 Various pottery types to which small fragments can be ascribed.

320

(Bader 2010: Fig. 9).

16.1 Composite drawing by F. Cailliaud, 1–6 from the tomb of Bakt III, 7–9 from the tomb of Kheti, 10 from the tomb of Khnumhotep III. Bednarski 2014, pl 17a.

339

Image © W. Benson Harer.

16.2 Chest 289 showing two figures of King Tutankhamun, that on the left in its original untouched wrapping.

342

Photograph by Harry Burton. © Griffith Institute, University of Oxford.

16.3 The Tarkhan dress, confirmed as the oldest surviving sewn garment.

344

© Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, UCL.

16.4 Wrapping and tying women’s clothing. Basic wrap-around dress with shawl; complex wrapped dress; open-fronted dress with sash; mss and shawl, Nineteenth Dynasty; mss and shawl, Twentieth Dynasty.

345

Drawing Janet Johnstone.

17.1 The 12th Dynasty tomb of the Steward Mentuhotep on the Asasif at Thebes, as discovered by Giovanni Passalacqua in 1823, showing the outer coffin (of three) and tomb-models found alongside it.

355

Prisse d’Avennes 1878–79: II, pl. [61].

17.2 Plan of the 13th Dynasty tomb of King Hor at Dahshur, as discovered by Jacques de Morgan in 1894, the earliest near-intact tomb of an Egyptian king known.

357

De Morgan 1895: fig. 211.

17.3 Some of the funerary equipment from the tomb of Yuya and Tjuiu (KV46, later 18th Dynasty), as displayed in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo, in the early twenty-first century.

359

Photo: Aidan Dodson.

17.4 The British Museum’s display of mummies and funerary equipment around 1875.

362

Aidan Dodson collection.

18.1 Private cylinder seal: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.168. Image: The Walters Art Museum.

372

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xviii   List of Figures

18.2 Royal cylinder seal with names and titles of Sahura: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 57.1748.

372

Image: The Walters Art Museum.

18.3 Geometric stamp seals; New York, MMA, 62.7.41; MMA, 10.130.981; London, British Museum, EA 24609.

373

© Trustees of the British Museum.

18.4 Figurative stamp seals: London, British Museum, EA 63373; EA 57855; London, Petrie Museum, UC 38148.

373

© Trustees of the British Museum. The Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology UCL. CC BY-NC-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/legalcode).

18.5 Back types of scarabs: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.14; 42.27; 42.51; 42.32; 42.44.

385

Images: The Walters Art Museum.

18.6 Identification of the different parts of scarab amulets and seals.

388

Variation of Schulz and Seidel 2007: 3. © R. Schulz.

18.7 Bottom designs of the Second Intermediate Period: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.14; 42.17; 42.12; 42.19; 42.16.

394

Images: The Walters Art Museum.

18.8 Figurative bottom design with royal representations: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.376; 42.31; 42.381; 42.76; 57.1530.

396

Images: The Walters Art Museum.

19.1 The mummy of a young boy, dating to the 17th Dynasty (c.1550 bc), found in a coffin and buried near the Theban tomb TT11 at Dra Abu el-Naga, on the west bank at Thebes.

410

Photograph by author, courtesy of the Spanish Mission to Dra Abu el-Naga’, Spanish National Research Council.

19.2 Dr Daniel Fouquet (1850–1914) unwrapping a mummy at the Cairo Museum in the late 19th century, while museum officials and interested members of the public watch the event.

412

19.3 Radiography being carried out in situ on a mummy of the mid-18th Dynasty (c.1450 bc), which had been somewhat compromised by tomb robbers in the Valley of the Kings, tomb KV31.

415

Photograph by author, courtesy of the University of Basel King’s Valley Project.

19.4 A CT-scan showing M1 – a wrapped Ptolemaic mummy (c.285–30 bc) in the Museu Nacional de Arqueologia of Lisbon.

417

Photo courtesy of Museu Nacional de Arqueologia of Lisboa, the Lisbon Mummy Team, and Imagens Médicas Integradas (IMI).

19.5 A mummy dating to the Ptolemaic Period (c.332–30 bc) from Deir el-Banat, in the Faiyum region of Egypt. Photograph by author, courtesy of the Russian Mission to Deir el-Banat.

420

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List of Figures   xix

20.1 Plan of the tomb of Rameses IV on Turin Papyrus 1885 (recto).

434

Photo by Nicola Dell’Aquila/Museo Egizio, Turin.

22.1 Bark procession in sunk relief from the reign of Rameses II. Karnak, Great Hypostyle Hall, south interior wall.

459

Photograph by author.

22.2 Architectural panel in a combination of high relief, low raised relief, and sunk relief. Medinet Habu, palace of Rameses III.

460

Photograph by author.

22.3 Raised relief scene from the reign of Senusret I. Karnak, White Chapel, north exterior.

465

Photograph by author.

23.1 Map of the region south of Egypt.

474

Drawn by Henry Bishop-Wright

23.2 Abu Simbel.

480

Photograph by author

23.3 Pyramid in the North Cemetery at Meroe.

484

Photograph by author

24.1 Modern wadi cultivation in the Wadi el-’Ayn, western Libya, showing the contrast between the fertility of the wadi beds and the surrounding hills. In the foreground are rock-carvings dating to at least the first millennium bc.498 Photo: Ian Cartwright; © Linda Hulin and the Institute of Archaeology, University of Oxford.

24.2 Bates’ conjectural map of the homes of the Libyan tribes.

499

24.3 Libyans represented in the tomb of Seti I.

502

25.1 Map of ancient Egypt and Western Asia.

515

From O. Bates (1914) The Eastern Libyans. An Essay. London: Macmillan. From R. Lepsius, Denkmäler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien. vol. 3, pl. 136. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Created by Norman Einstein on Wikimedia Commons (https://commons. wikimedia.org). Public domain.

25.2 Thutmose III preparing to smite the heads of foreign captives, temple of Karnak.

518

Wikimedia Commons (https://commons.wikimedia.org). Public domain.

25.3 Gebel Tarif knife. Motifs on handle have been compared to Mesopotamian style depictions including the entwined snakes and rosettes, Cairo Museum.

522

Drawing by James Edward Quibell, 1905. Wikimedia Commons (https://commons.wikimedia.org). Public domain.

25.4 Niched mudbrick wall, Shunet el-Zebib, Abydos.

523

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xx   List of Figures

25.5 Duck cosmetic dish carved from Hippopotamus ivory, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; 40.2.2a, b.

528

Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; Rogers Fund, 1940.

26.1 Relevant chronological divisions with timescales for Egypt, Crete (Minoan) and the Greek Mainland (Mycenaean), marked in 25-year divisions with more precise divisions correlated to the nearest marked. Minoan and Mycenaean divisions are flexible, within limits, and diagonal lines a wider approximation of divisions. This chart follows relative chronology, correlated to Egyptian dating. 

544

Courtesy of the author.

27.1 Model of changing contact patterns on the Egyptian Limestone Plateau.

577

After Riemer & Kindermann 2008: Fig. 9.

27.2 Predynastic iconography including human, bovine and avian elements, at the origin of the Early Dynastic Bat emblem and White Crown (not to scale).

582

1) Drawing by Françoise Roloux; 2) Petrie & Quibell 1896 pl. LXIII.57; 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) Drawing by Merel Eyckerman; 4) Reconstruction drawing by Merel Eyckerman; 7) Quibell 1898.

27.3 Elkab, chronological seriation of rock art showing the most important motifs.

583

Huyge 2002: Fig. 2.

27.4 Hierakonpolis, elite cemetery HK6, map after the 2019 excavations.

586

Courtesy of the Hierakonpolis Expedition, cartography by X. Droux.

28.1 The Libyan Palette, c.3100 bc (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE27434).

599

28.2 The Ceremonial Palette of Narmer, c.3000 bc (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE14716).

604

After Quibell 1898: pl. XII.

30.1 View of the mortuary temple of King Nebhepetra Mentuhotep I at Deir el-Bahari.

640

Picture by Olaf Tausch. Wikimedia Commons (https://commons. wikimedia.org).

30.2 Plan of the pyramid complex of King Senusret III at Dahshur.

644

Drawing: Grajetzki; after Arnold, D. 2002: plan 1.

30.3 Stele of Sobek-khu.

645

After Garstang 1901, pl. V.

30.4 King Hor, one of the short-reigning kings of the Thirteenth Dynasty: wooden statue found in his tomb at Dahshur.

646

De Morgan, J. 1895: pl. XXXV.

31.1 Painted scene of Nubian tribute from the tomb of Amenhotep, called Huy, in Thebes (TT 40). Photograph by author.

662

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List of Figures   xxi

31.2 Hittite chariot at the Battle of Kadesh, Year 5 of the reign of Rameses II, from the battle reliefs in his Abydos temple.

665

Photograph by author.

31.3 High Priest of Amun, Amenhotep, before pharaoh Rameses IX at Karnak Temple.

670

Photograph by author.

40.1 Types of symbolic associations.

835

40.2 Multiple aspects of visual symbolism incorporated in a single representation from KV-21, the 18th Dynasty tomb of Ay.

836

Photograph by author.

42.1 The funeral procession in the tomb of Rekhmira TT 100.

860

After Davies 1935, pl. XXIV.

42.2 The Opening of the Mouth ritual in the tomb of Roy TT 225.

861

Courtesy of the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities.

57.1 A portion (Group V) of the early ritual tableau of royal power in the Wadi of the Horus Qa’a, northwest of ancient Thebes.

1114

57.2 Facsimile drawing of the early hieroglyphic inscription from el-Khawy.

1116

57.3 Wadi el-Hôl Rock Inscription No. 19, a ‘spending the day on holiday’ inscription of late Twelfth-Dynasty date, apparently recording activities in honor of the goddess Hathor, probably in conjunction with the return of the goddess.

1124

57.4 At the rock shrine of the Eighteenth-Dynasty priest Pahu (Pahu Rock Inscription No. 22), the man depicts himself offering to the goddess in her bovid form, and adjures those who would worship her: ‘Behold the Gold, she who saves us in the hour of salvation. Wash your thoughts, when they are in the temple, and place incense upon the flame.’

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61.1 Abbass Helmi laying the foundation stone of the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir.

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© G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

61.2 Boulaq Museum.

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© G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

61.3 Interior view of the Boulaq Museum.

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© G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

61.4 Giza Museum.

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© G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

61.5 Interior view of the Giza Museum.

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© G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

61.6 The completion of work on the Egyptian Museum, Tahrir Square. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

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xxii   List of Figures

61.7 Egyptian Museum during construction.

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© G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

61.8 Egyptian Museum during construction.

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© G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

61.9 Kom Usheim storehouse museum.

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© Ashraf el-Senussi.

61.10 The guard tower and the garden of Kom Usheim storehouse museum.

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© Ashraf el-Senussi.

61.11 The Kom Usheim storehouse named after Ali Radwan.

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© Ashraf el-Senussi.

The publisher and the author apologize for any errors or omissions in the above list. If contacted they will be pleased to rectify these at the earliest opportunity.

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List of Tables

6.1 List of taxa found at three settlement sites

134

32.1 Re-numbering of Twenty-second Dynasty rulers, in light of the Leiden 2007 conference.

697

32.2 Current chronology of Dynasties 21–26.

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40.1 Aspects of visual symbolism.

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61.1 List of the Egyptian archaeological and historical museums.

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List of Contributors

Eltayeb Abbas is Associate Professor, Faculty of Tourism and Hotels, Minia University, Egypt David A. Aston, Egypt & Levant Department, Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna, Austria Bettina Bader is Principal Investigator (Beyond Politics: The material culture of Second Intermediate Period Egypt and Nubia), Institute for Oriental and European Archaeology, Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna, Austria Andrew Bednarski is Affiliated Scholar, McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, University of Cambridge, UK Susanne Bickel is Professor of Egyptology, Department of Ancient Civilisations, University of Basel, Switzerland Morris L. Bierbrier is former Assistant Keeper, Department of Egyptian Antiquities, British Museum, London, UK Elizabeth Bloxam is Visiting Professor in Egyptology at the Northeast Normal University in Changchun, China and an Honorary Research Associate at University College London. Karl W. Butzer was Centennial Professor of Liberal Arts, Department of geography and the Environment, University of Texas Austin, Texas, USA Colleen Manassa Darnell is Adjunct Professor of Art History, University of Hartford, Connecticut, USA John Coleman Darnell is Professor of Egyptology in the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, Yale University, USA Aidan Dodson is Honorary Professor of Egyptology, Department of Anthropology & Archaeology, University of Bristol Denise Doxey is Curator of Ancient Egyptian, Nubian and Near Eastern Art, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston MA, USA Florian Ebeling is Editor of Aegyptiaca, Egyptological Department, University of Heidelberg,  Germany Maher  A.  Eissa is Associate Professor of Egyptology, Faculty of Archaeology, Faiyum University, Egypt

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xxvi   List of Contributors Christopher J. Eyre is Professor of Egyptology, Department of Archaeology, Classics and Egyptology, University of Liverpool, UK John Gee is William Gay Research Professor, Neal  A.  Maxwell Institute for Religious Scholarship, Brigham Young University, Utah, USA Wolfram Grajetzki is Honorary Research Associate at the Institute of Archaeology, University College London, UK Stan Hendrickx is former Professor, Media, Arts and Design Faculty, Hasselt University, Belgium Linda Hulin is Research Officer, Oxford Centre for Maritime Archaeology, University of Oxford, UK Salima Ikram is Distinguished University Professor of Egyptology, American University in Cairo, Egypt Annette Imhausen is Professor of History of Science in the Ancient World, AG Wissenschaftsgeschichte Historisches Seminar, Goethe-University, Frankfurt am Main, Germany Khaled Essam Ismail is an Archaeological Curator at the Grand Egyptian Museum, Cairo, Egypt Richard Jasnow is Professor of Egyptology, Department of Ancient Near Eastern Studies, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore MD, USA Jacqueline E. Jay is Associate Professor of Egyptology, Department of History, Philosophy and Religious Studies, Eastern Kentucky University David Jeffreys is Honorary Senior Lecturer in Egyptian Archaeology, Institute of Archaeology, University College London, UK Janet Johnstone is Director of the Egyptian Cultural Heritage Organization, UK Olaf E. Kaper is Professor of Egyptology, Department of Egyptology, Leiden University, Netherlands Adel Kelany is Director of Archaeological Awareness in Aswan, Supreme Council of Antiquities, Aswan, Egypt Tony Leahy is Honorary Research Fellow in Egyptology, Department of Classics, University of Birmingham, UK Ronald J. Leprohon is Professor of Egyptology, Department of Near and Middle Eastern Civilizations, University of Toronto, Canada Sandra Lippert is Senior Researcher, Équipe Égypte Nilotique et Méditerranéenne, CNRS, Laboratoire Archéologie des sociétés méditerranéennes, Université Paul-Valéry, Montpellier, France

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List of Contributors   xxvii Claire Malleson is Assistant Professor of Archaeology, American University of Beirut, Lebanon Bill Manley is Egyptology and Coptic Tutor at the University of Glasgow, UK J. Brett McClain is Senior Epigrapher and Research Associate, Epigraphic Survey, Oriental Institute, University of Chicago, USA Ludwig  D.  Morenz is Professor of Egyptology, Institute of Archaeology and Cultural Anthropology, University of Bonn, Germany Robert Morkot is Senior Lecturer in Archaeology, Department of Archaeology, University of Exeter, UK Ian  S.  Moyer is Associate Professor in the Department of History at the University of Michigan Paul  T.  Nicholson is Professor of Archaeology, Department of Archaeology and Conservation, School of History, Archaeology and Religion, Cardiff University, UK Rune Nyord is Assistant Professor of Art History, Department of Art History, Emory University, Atlanta GA, USA Jacke Phillips is Research and Teaching Fellow, Department of Art History and Archaeology, School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, UK Jan Picton is Teaching Fellow, Institute of Archaeology, University College London, UK Campbell Price is Curator of Egypt and Sudan, Manchester Museum, University of Manchester, UK Ivor Pridden is an independent researcher Corinna Rossi is Associate Professor in Egyptology, Politecnico di Milano, Italy Carolyn Routledge is Chief Curator and Project Manager, United Exhibits Group, Copenhagen, Denmark Deborah Schorsch is a Conservator at the Sherman Fairchild Center for Objects Conservation Department, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, USA Regine Schulz is Director of the Roemer- und Pelizaeus-Museum, Hildesheim, Germany Ashraf el-Senussi is an Inspector of Antiquities, Ministry of Antiquities, Faiyum, Egypt Ian Shaw is Research Fellow in Egyptian Archaeology at the University of Liverpool, UK, and Visiting Professor of Egyptology at the Northeast Normal University, Changchun, China Andréas Stauder is Professor of Egyptology, École Pratique des Hautes Études/PSL Research University, Paris, France Julie Stauder-Porchet is Assistant Professor, Department of Sciences in Antiquity, University of Geneva, Switzerland

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xxviii   List of Contributors Nigel Strudwick is Visiting Associate Professor of Art History, Department of Art, University of Memphis, USA Deborah Sweeney is Senior Lecturer in Egyptology, Department of Archaeology and Ancient Near Eastern Cultures, Tel Aviv University, Israel Ana Tavares is a Curator at the Grand Egyptian Museum, Cairo, Egypt Sami Uljas is Senior Lecturer in Egyptology, Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, University of Uppsala, Sweden Alexandra von Lieven is Professor of Egyptology, Institute for Egyptology and Coptology, Westphalian Wilhelm University, Münster, Germany David Wengrow is Professor of Comparative Archaeology, Institute of Archaeology, University College London, UK Terry Wilfong is Director and Curator for Graeco-Roman Egypt, Kelsey Museum of Archaeology and Professor of Egyptology, Department of Near Eastern Studies, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor MI, USA Richard Wilkinson is Regents’ Professor of Egyptian Archaeology (Emeritus), University of Arizona, Tucson, AZ, USA Li Xiaodong is Professor of Egyptology, Institute for the History of Ancient Civilizations, Northeast Normal University, Changchun, China

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I n troduction Egyptology in the twenty-first century: an historical curiosity or setting new agendas in multidisciplinary research? Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw

Does Egyptology have an identity crisis? If we look back to the last decade, then the answer would probably be ‘yes’. Over the last few years there has been a gathering consensus that the discipline needs to seriously search for its identity and relevance within the social sciences if it is to survive as an academic field in its own right. The main criticism levelled at Egyptology is that it remains stuck within its core narratives focused on religion, art, kingship, temples, and tombs. Recent conferences addressing these and other problems that Egyptology faces often turn to the founding of the subject for answers.1 Moreno Garciá2 for instance suggests that Egyptologists are the problem, not the subject, because they continue to play the role of ‘zealous keepers and unique interpreters of pharaoh’s achievements’, and because of the way in which the myth of ‘ “eternal Egypt” and its by-products continue to hamper our comprehension of the pharaonic world’. We think, however, that survival and relevance of Egyptology lies not so much in navelgazing about the past, but rather getting to grips with some of the more fundamental aspects of what original research should look like. First, what questions are we asking of material culture? Secondly, what practical and theoretical methods are we going to use to interpret these datasets? Thirdly, what role can multi-disciplinary collaborations play in taking Egyptological study in new research directions? And finally, is the next generation of Egyptologists ready to embrace these changes and challenge the orthodoxy of the subject? To fully engage with all four questions, much more needs to be done. For instance, our attendance at a ‘Young Egyptologists’ conference in 20153 made for uneasy listening given 1  ‘Disciplinary Measures? Histories of Egyptology in Multi-Disciplinary Context’ was a conference held at University College London in 2011 with the objective of instigating a multi-disciplinary discussion on the isolated nature of Egyptology. See Carruthers 2014 for papers delivered at this conference. 2  Garcia 2014: 52. 3  The University of Vienna in cooperation with the Austrian Academy of Sciences hosted the 5th International Congress for Young Egyptologists (ICYE) 15–19 September 2015 in Vienna. The conference is for postgraduate students and early post-doctoral researchers.

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2   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw the general lack of fresh questions and new methods of interpreting material culture outside the rigid boundaries of traditional Egyptological discourse. There were little or no signs of any comparative and multi-disciplinary approaches to developing original research questions and methods, and in some instances, a rather dismissive reaction to taking on agendas that might threaten the orthodoxy. Although similar critiques have already been levelled at the rather dull and repetitive dialogues that remain threaded into the majority of international Egyptological conferences, apart from those looking at largely Predynastic material,4 it is certainly more alarming to learn that the next generation of Egyptologists is not significantly engaged in revitalizing our understanding of ancient Egyptian civilization. In our view, this situation lies in a general under-appreciation and misunderstanding about what interdisciplinary research actually means in practice. Collaboration and designing research methods in an interdisciplinary framework is not unidirectional. Expanding our methods of interpretation in which we ask questions of material culture is also about allowing those outside Egyptology to have a voice. There are certainly cases where some scholars, particularly in the textual areas of the discipline, show a reluctance to allow any intrusion into these domains by non-Egyptologists. This volume is therefore an attempt to move the subject into more progressive comparative and multi-disciplinary agendas in terms of research and the questions we are asking. But, before we do that, we need to acknowledge the patience of all the contributors to this Handbook given its long history of gestation, initially commissioned in 2003 (and at first co-edited by Ian Shaw and Jim Allen) and its appearance now in hardcopy (some chapters having already been available online), which required all authors to significantly update their chapters. We therefore extend enormous thanks for these efforts in bringing this volume, at last, to fruition. The long development of this volume however, far from being a negative, has enabled us to significantly broaden the canvas on which we can interrogate the discipline of Egyptology as it currently stands. Egyptology, probably more than any other discipline in the hu­man­ ities, drowns in ‘compendia’ of one sort or another that aim to provide historical overviews of ancient Egyptian civilization through largely western, ‘top-down’ discourses. Our aim has therefore been to re-model the way in which we present Egyptology as a discipline outside of the orthodoxy, which as David Wengrow remarks, ‘evaluates claims of Egypt’s uniqueness’ (Chapter  2). Rather, we are aiming to address the imperative of re-thinking the ways in which we introduce comparative frameworks into our interpretative models and bring together the often polarizing textual and archaeological arms of the discipline, which, despite fighting talk, remain entrenched in their various camps. Universities, whether intentionally or not, further exacerbate this divide by usually prioritizing the need for ‘text­ual’ scholarship over the ‘archaeological’. Therefore, our objective has been to integrate approaches to studying ranges of divergent material culture through ten broadly-based themes that aim to stimulate fresh debates, as a necessity, if the discipline is to remain rele­ vant to future generations of students as well as scholars. Moving the volume forward most significantly into both multi-disciplinary and multi-cultural arenas has been the inclusion of non-western perspectives on some key topics, such as in our opening theme, ‘Egyptology: perspectives on a discipline’, which examines the subject of Egyptology not only as a curiosity in its own right through its history within western Orientalist discourses, but as a cognate discipline in the social sciences. The story of the ‘reception’ of ancient Egypt which began in the 1960s, as Florian 4  Garcia 2014: 57–8.

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Introduction   3 Ebeling (Chapter  4) remarks ‘ends with the beginning of modern Egyptology in the nineteenth century . . . ancient Egypt was always a second-hand image in western culture handed down by the accounts of the Bible or classical literature’. The emergence of the term ‘Egyptomania’ in the nineteenth century is further remarked upon as a powerful conceptualization of anything that adopted forms of Egyptian art, yet, as Ebeling notes, this implies a rather ‘irrational’ interest in ancient Egypt which today is being heavily critiqued. For instance, ‘Egyptomania’ and ancient ‘Egyptianizing’ or ‘Orientalizing’ all need to be scrutinized, as Wengrow (Chapter 2) addresses, given that these views posit ‘a timeless cultural dichotomy between East and West’. Several authors note the impact of the series of books titled Encounters with Ancient Egypt, which emerged from a conference held at the Institute of Archaeology (UCL) in 2000.5 These eight volumes are still considered by many to be the most insightful series of English language works that address the status of Egyptology at the beginning of the twenty-first century. Although new publications addressing the problems that the discipline face have superseded this,6 Andrew Bednarski (Chapter 1) still stresses the need for us to look back into the foundations of discipline if we are to move it forward. In many ways, it is Wengrow’s chapter that sets the agenda for the scope of this volume and our aims in terms of grappling with the problems that the discipline has in remaining relevant. He aptly remarks that the way forward for the discipline is to make greater efforts to find a common language between ‘the Arabic-speaking world and the European discourses out of which modern Egyptology arises’. The situating of Egyptology within the social sciences, as he argues, is therefore an important consideration in terms of developing more comparative, multi-disciplinary frameworks, and in particular placing Egypt within the diverse trajectories of social life in  other ancient civilizations, such as Mesopotamia, India, China, South America, and Mesoamerica.7

Stretching Egyptology beyond European and American perspectives Comparative work by Chinese Egyptologists brings into the volume a whole new arena of research that not only touches on the need for voices outside of European discourses, but as the chapter by Li Xiaodong (Chapter 3) implies, a strand of study in which comparing the evolution of Chinese written characters with Egyptian hieroglyphs can open up significant new ways of pairing nationhood with writing. Yet, Egyptology as a discipline in Chinese universities is still evolving since its true integration into studies of Ancient World History, which only happened in the mid-1980s. There is a breathtaking enthusiasm for Egyptology in China, both in academic scholarship and throughout popular culture, which as Maher Eissa and Ashraf el-Senussi remark in their chapter on Egyptian museums (Chapter 61), has unfolded in Chinese tourism now making up one of the largest groups of visitors coming to Egypt since the 2011 revolution. 5  Ucko 2003: Encounters with Ancient Egypt (series title, eight volumes), London: UCL. 6  e.g. Carruthers 2014. 7  See Trigger 2003; Yoffee 2005; Wengrow 2010.

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4   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw The establishment of the Institute for History of Ancient Civilizations (IHAC) at Northeast Normal University in 1985 made it one of the first university departments in China to run undergraduate and postgraduate degrees in Egyptology. This has been a milestone in terms of bringing non-western voices into debates about ancient Egyptian civilization. Yet, Chinese students still have to grapple with western biases not only through the dominance of Eurocentric ideas, but also because of a lack of publications in Mandarin. Currently, universities in China are still reliant on academic exchanges from Europe and the USA to move the study of Egyptology forward. Yet, as the discipline matures with now at least two doctoral students a year graduating and joining archaeological teams in Egypt, the future looks promising for the emergence of new ‘non-western’ approaches to the dis­cip­line. In further developing discourses outside of Eurocentric ideas, several new additions to the volume have been made by Egyptian Egyptologists and archaeologists, who may often be side-lined when it comes to publications of this type. We can find numerous parallels with our Chinese colleagues in terms of the still poor number of Arabic publications in Egyptology, and of course, English remains the discourse of practically all conferences in Egypt. Western approaches to archaeological practice and conservation naturally loom large in post-colonial regions such as Africa, and recent critiques by indigenous archaeologists in Australia have steered attention towards the embeddedness of western ideas, particularly in   cultural heritage management. Termed ‘authorized heritage discourse’ (AHD)8 the suggestion is that the western model is the only effective route to heritage management, yet, as numerous examples in Egypt indicate, the failure rate is high—(see Chapter 11). Never has it been so essential to seek fresh ideas about the ways in which we can finesse working relationships with local communities in managing Egypt’s antique heritage. Campbell Price (Chapter 60), in his fascinating, in-depth analysis of the ways in which ancient Egypt is ‘presented’ in western museums, sheds some valuable insights into the ways in which Orientalist discourses have lain behind attitudes of ‘western’ archaeological missions towards local communities. As Price points out, there has been an ‘assumed moral mandate of westerners to “save” pharaonic antiquities from the modern inhabitants of Egypt’, whereby ‘Concerned (western) experts were contrasted with native Egyptians—depicted as (at best) ignorant bystanders or (at worst) destructive peasants.’9

Issues concerning cultural heritage The publicity surrounding the 2011 revolution and the subsequent sporadic looting, which in our opinion was vastly overplayed by the media, is a particularly good example of a tendency to perpetuate the myth that Egyptians do not value their own heritage sufficiently. In fact, as Maher and El-Senussi tell us in their chapter on Egyptian museums and storehouses (Chapter  61), there was little reporting of the instances in which some storehouses of artefacts were actually protected by local people, and in others, considerable amounts of looted items were eventually returned. The illegal antiquities market is of course greatly profiting from the political and social fragility in countries such as Egypt, and its neighbours, and although we would like to have included a chapter on this topic, 8  Smith 2006: 299.

9  For the background to Price’s comments, see Colla 2007: 12–16.

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Introduction   5 we were not able to commission it in time for the volume to appear this year.10 However, as Deborah Schorsch reminds us in her chapter concerning object conservation (Chapter 62) ‘conservators have an obligation to apply their specialized knowledge to recognize newly excavated artefacts and debunk false attributions intended to disguise illegal traffic’. If we turn our attention to perhaps the biggest threat to Egypt’s cultural heritage, which comes largely from infrastructure development, then we tread a perilous path in terms of deciding who sets the agenda in balancing the social and economic needs of growing populations with those of archaeological conservation. Several archaeologists working in the field in Egypt have highlighted where these dangers lie, such as David Jeffreys (Chapter  9), in regard to the site of Memphis, and Egyptian archaeologist Adel Kelany together with Elizabeth Bloxam (see Chapter  11), in the more forgotten archaeological landscapes in the Eastern Desert and in the region surrounding Aswan (see Chapter 10). Through a series of case studies in the Wadi Hammamat and Aswan, the prevailing consensus lies with finding imaginative ways in which local people can be engaged in setting the agenda. This may sound like nothing particularly new, certainly in relation to the innovative methods of community engagement used to protect Egypt’s Islamic heritage where there are numerous success stories. For instance, in Cairo the ‘Hammam Project’ and Al-Azhar Park have exemplified what can be achieved through steering inclusive ‘bottom-up’ initiatives that work together with local people who live directly among historic buildings, thus giving them a stake in the future of their community. Yet, when it comes to Egypt’s antique heri­tage we step into a range of competing interests and ideas of managing sites that largely follow the western model (AHD), often supported by international funding agencies and other organizations such as the World Bank, European Union (EU), USAID, and UNESCO. In other words, ‘top-down’ solutions that largely disengage local custodians from decision making, to the extent that the whole machinery of heritage funding and allocation of resources ends up marginalizing those whom it is seeking to empower (see Chapter 11). The tension that exists between ‘top-down’ bureaucratic, ‘expert-based’ perspectives, and those who actively have knowledge of local people’s viewpoints both of values and of the significance of places near to them is thus the framework surrounding the two case studies in the Wadi Hammamat and Aswan. What both studies incorporate are ideas that do not involve the deploying of large amounts of financial resources, or teams of ‘foreign’ experts, but more simply are finding ways of stewarding local initiatives that are already in existence. Successes are being made with this form of engagement by Egyptians working in the field in Aswan (see Chapters 10 and 11) as members of the Ministry of Antiquities Ancient Quarries and Mines Department (AQMD). What they have managed to do is to protect endangered sites through ‘bottom-up’ engagement with local people and contractors working in the area. Not only have they alerted local people to the significance of archaeological sites, that often contain a wealth of prehistoric rock art, but in return, contractors have provided the team with vehicles to travel to often quite remote sites. Steering contractors away from some of these sites and providing other locations to quarry has been a major success story in Aswan. We often assume that effective cultural heritage management in countries such as Egypt needs western money and experts to make it happen, but what these new approaches are proposing is the need for dialogues outside such alienating processes. And 10  See the work of Neil Brodie and others in light of new developments in the trade of illegal antiquities: Brodie 2017; Brodie and Manivet 2017: 3–16; Brodie 2015: 99–215; Brodie and Tubb 2001.

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6   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw perhaps most importantly, this kind of dialogue should involve Egyptians who are already successfully integrating sustainable managing of Egypt’s Islamic heritage. Another forgotten strand of debate in terms of museum curation, museums in general, and also the future of the ongoing mega-museum project ‘The Grand Egyptian Museum’ (GEM) is, who will the visitors be? Efforts to guide the sector into adapting to the significant downturn in tourism from ‘western’ countries, such as Europe and America, have meant re-thinking and prioritizing relevance first to Egyptian tourists, and also to markets in Asia. As Maher and El-Senussi inform us (Chapter 61), such moves are already underway and local non-governmental organizations (NGOs) now play a significant role in steering young curators towards prioritizing initiatives to attract local people. The Egyptian National Committee of International Council of Museums (ICOM Egypt), established in 2014, has been at the forefront of organizing lectures, workshops, conferences, and museum day events for museum curators, graduate students, researchers, and the public as well. Perhaps most important was the publication in 2016 of a museum booklet in Arabic ‘Krasat Muthafia’, which aims to ‘raise awareness of the importance of museums for the Egyptian, and to spread the knowledge of Egyptian history and civilization’. Success stories in increasing Egyptian visitor numbers are notable at the self-directed ‘Bibliotheca Alexandrina Museum’ in which over 60 per cent of visitors are from local communities, and also the ‘Nubia Museum’ in Aswan, given its particular focus on displaying local Nubian traditions through time. The drop-off in foreign tourists has therefore had some unexpected and positive outcomes in terms of driving cultural heritage initiatives and education more towards Egyptians themselves—the way forward in terms of sustaining Egypt’s heritage. So where does this leave the foreign tourist market and museums such as the GEM? With foreign visitors from Asian countries, such as China, India, and Indonesia, as well as Arab tourists from the Gulf, far outnumbering those from other countries, some interesting challenges have been created to the ways in which ‘ancient Egypt’ is curated and displayed to these increasingly non-western audiences.

Investigating archaeological landscapes Other challenges that we face, in terms of recent geo-political events in the Middle East and north Africa, are the problems of advancing archaeological research ‘in the field’ in Egypt given the many security restrictions in accessing sites. With our own site in the Wadi Hammamat (Eastern Desert), for the last two years state security has not been forthcoming in giving us the permits we need to work there (see Chapter 8), and a case study of work on the settlement site of Gurob (Chapter  14) highlights a variety of practical problems encountered in another research project. Of course we are not alone: like others, we suffer the knock-on consequences of being low on the list in terms of research funding and are therefore unable to confidently set out any long-term field-based research agendas. Consequently, in terms of field methods, we are having to continually adapt and focus more on survey and the use of technologies that can speed up our documenting and mapping of

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Introduction   7 sites. Also, as several authors point out in this volume, much more emphasis is now being placed on the education and training of Egyptian Egyptologists and archaeologists, who will ultimately be the new generation of field directors as foreign missions gradually withdraw. Adel Kelany and his team at the AQMD in Aswan are well aware of these responsibilities and challenges and are already running their own training of local Egyptologists, without the involvement of foreign missions. As he explains in his chapter (Chapter 10), the ways in which they are adapting techniques in epigraphy to document rock art and inscriptions in the face of increasing destruction of remote sites in the numerous wadis north and south of Aswan, has been an internal development. In turning our attention to surveying ‘archaeological landscapes’ rather than individual sites, we can therefore significantly enhance our ability to characterize and map large areas that would otherwise either be ignored or considered too time-consuming to document. Remote sensing using satellite imagery and aerial photography (including drone technology) has revolutionized the ways in which we can survey large archaeological landscapes, and importantly, monitor and track threats. Use of these technologies is of course a far cry from the early days of cartography and topographical mapping of Egypt’s archaeology and environment. David Jeffreys (Chapter  9) delves into the history of mapping Egypt’s landscapes and, using Memphis as a case study, discusses the ways in which new technologies such as remote sensing and free access to high resolution satellite images (e.g. Google Earth) provide the local detail of an ever-changing environment. These innovative methods can be used to model such phenomena as the movement of the Nile over millennia.11 The project at Avaris in the Delta, for instance, combines these new kinds of mapping with sediment coring and resistivity survey, demonstrating a relatively cheap and rapid way of mapping buried deposits without intrusive excavation. Surveying of extensive procurement landscapes has truly been made possible with remote sensing techniques, using high resolution satellite images as a base map in com­bin­ ation with on-the-ground GPS technology to record features (see Chapter  8). These techniques have been particularly used to document ancient mining and quarrying regions, which are not only some of our most neglected archaeological landscapes in Egypt but also perhaps the most prone to the pitfalls of polarizing research between philology and archaeology—nevertheless, we have been able to make essential holistic studies of diverse ranges of material culture that have changed the ways in which we can map out transformations to these landscapes within broader social and cultural change. As Elizabeth Bloxam explains (Chapter 8), the study of procurement strategies and the social organization of these exploits has been dogged by assumptions drawn largely from textual data that regard these as primarily state-sanctioned activities that are supposedly largely unskilled and hierarchical. Two case studies in the major quarrying regions of Aswan and in the Eastern Desert (Wadi Hammamat), in which epigraphic and archaeological remains have never been contextualized together into the landscape, give us fresh insights into the role of skilled mobile crafts­people operating locally and regionally, creating arenas for technological transmission and knowledge exchange. There needs to be more emphasis on seeing that dynamic interactions can occur in a range of settings. Therefore, instead of sidelining the study of quarries and mines (on the basis that they only provide information about ‘technologies’ and state-run expeditions), we now need to pay much more attention to what 11  Bunbury 2012: 15–17; Bunbury et al 2008: 351–73.

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8   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw these landscapes can reveal about non-elites, social life, and relationships, an area of Egyptology where we have the least amount of data. Of course, remote sensing has its limitations and cannot be the only method of mapping and characterizing features, or monitoring threats to cultural heritage, without feet on the ground. As Ana Tavares informs us in her discussion of archaeological practice in Egypt (Chapter 12) we need to make sure that micro-level practice in survey and excavation in the field contains all the elements of sound stratigraphic recording. She further reminds us that archaeological field methods are often neglected in Egyptology degree courses and, some would argue, not seen as necessary to scholarship in the discipline. Unless Egyptological study is part of a wider degree course that has options for practical methods in archaeology,12 students are missing out on this extremely important part of the discipline, particularly as opportunities for gaining practical skills in the field in Egypt are becoming more difficult. Addressing this situation is key if Egyptologists are to hone their holistic approaches to studies of Egyptian material culture.

Science in Egyptology Western archaeologists have remained highly influential players in terms of fieldwork in Egypt even in the twenty-first century, and this is surely primarily because of a combination of financial resources and scientific expertise. However, in the introductory chapter to a recent book dealing with the applications of science in Egyptian archaeology, the authors argue that Egyptology has not engaged sufficiently with the kinds of scientific analysis that have become commonplace in archaeology across the globe.13 Additionally, Paul Nicholson (Chapter 13) points out that Egyptian archaeology is still lacking in the kind of overarching theoretical frameworks that allow scientific results to be better understood in the context of other areas of material-based research such as ethnoarchaeology and experimental work.14 Nevertheless, the use of science in Egyptology, particularly in the field of analytical studies relating to northeast African material culture, has increased enormously in the last few decades, culminating in 2017 with an Egyptian-organized international conference in Cairo dealing with scientific studies of ancient Egyptian materials and technologies.15 It might be argued that this area of Egyptology is the most multi-disciplinary and outwardlooking of all, but, just as technology cannot be properly understood without contextualizing, so scientific analysis is more likely to be productive if it takes place in a context of rigorous problem-oriented enquiry. It is therefore with some justification that Nicholson draws attention to the frequent lack of real direction and purpose in the application of science to Egyptian data. A British Academy analysis of the current state of British archaeology points out that ‘The best projects investigate large questions through a complex integration of techniques, which often involve developing new modes of analysis with applications outside archaeology’.16 12  Although Manfred Bietak was already asking universities to include courses on field practice in Egyptology degrees back in 1979—Weeks 1979: 140. 13  Zakrzewski et al 2015: 1–10. 14  See, e.g., Powell 1995; Nicholson 2007: ch 4; Wendrich 2013. 15  Nicholson and Shaw in press.    16  British Academy 2017.

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Introduction   9 Specific challenges do of course exist with certain categories of artefact—hence Picton et al (Chapter 16) argue that the earliest proper scientific analyses of Egyptian textiles enabled this area of material culture both to be taken more seriously and to begin to contribute to broader research questions, because the study of clothing was no longer seen as purely ‘women’s work’. Bettina Bader (Chapter 15) stresses that the analysis of pottery, clearly the most ubiquitous form of artefact at any Egyptian archaeological site from the Predynastic onwards, should not take place in isolation, but in relation to other forms of evidence, in order to allow it to shed light on broader issues (beyond pure manufacture or uses of ceramics), such as exchange of commodities, socio-economic systems, and the holistic in­ter­pret­ation of specific features in the archaeological record. Salima Ikram (Chapter 7) notes that the study of animal remains from excavations in Egypt, once conducted primarily in order to determine the nature of the specific remains, is now routinely used to explore diachronic aspects of the climate and environment of the Nile valley and surrounding deserts.17 There is a further obstacle to the development of scientific analysis of Egyptian artefacts and materials, and this is the practical difficulty encountered by many archaeologists in gaining permission to take samples out of Egypt for analysis in laboratories elsewhere in the world, as Ikram (Chapter 19) points out, in relation to access to freshly excavated samples of human and animal tissue from Egyptian sites. Indeed, this general issue of sample accessibility was highlighted in a keynote paper at the 2017 Cairo conference mentioned earlier.18 Clearly there are many projects that can utilize material in museum collections outside Egypt (such as the chronological projects led by the Oxford University Radiocarbon Accelerator unit),19 but these artefacts are mostly either unprovenanced or from archaeological contexts that are only vaguely recorded since, by definition, they tend to derive from nineteenth- or early twentieth-century excavations, before the time that official partage (or ‘division’) of finds took place.20

Archaeological practice and multi-disciplinarity Rounded, multi-disciplinary approaches to field projects are of course where we need to focus our efforts and in Clare Malleson’s comprehensive chapter on Egypt’s flora and the role of archaeobotanists (Chapter  6), she paints a picture of the ways in which we can combine micro-level analysis of botanical remains within larger archaeological contexts. She provides us with case studies from the AERA project directed by Mark Lehner at the Old Kingdom settlement of Heit el-Gurab (pyramid builders’ town) at Giza and from current research led by Johanna Sigl of the German Archaeological Institute on Elephantine island, examining a Middle Kingdom house.21 In practising holistic techniques that 17  See, for instance, Thompson et al 2005; Bárta and Bezdek 2008. 18  Nicholson and Shaw in press. 19  Shortland and Bronk Ramsey 2013; Dee et al 2013; Wengrow et al 2014. 20  See Stevenson 2014 for a discussion of the partage/division of Egyptian finds. 21  Sigl and Kopp 2020.

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10   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw combine ranges of organic and inorganic remains, it has been possible to truly analyse social life and differentiation through diet in relation to settlements. The goal, as Malleson points out, ‘is to reveal the “realities” of living in typical Egyptian village—the sights, sounds, and smells of daily life’. If we turn to other specialisms in the study of micro-level data, such as the role of archaeozoologists, Ikram (Chapter 7) argues that these experts need to play a much bigger role than they currently do in archaeological investigations. She stresses that the recovery of faunal remains needs more rigorous collection methods and better dialogues between specialists and archaeologists, if they are to provide a more complete view of Egypt’s past. This is particularly because faunal data can answer significant questions about ancient climate, diet, veterinary practices, and cultural beliefs, which, together with the use of DNA analysis, can provide exciting information about the origins of numerous domestic species.22 Yet, as Ikram tells us, ‘one of the major concerns in archaeozoology in Egypt is the limited number of excavated settlement sites, in part due to the continued use of these sites through the modern era’. Therefore, we are always struggling with these biases in the archaeological record, which can often result in highly flawed interpretations. As Ian Shaw discusses in his assessment of settlement archaeology (Chapter  14), our understanding of social life in ancient Egypt remains woefully inadequate compared with our knowledge of royalty, death, and the afterlife. He points out, for instance, that major developments in settlement studies and social studies within mainstream archaeology across the globe, as documented by Sharon Steadman in 2015,23 have so far only been partially replicated in Egyptian settlement archaeology. There have been some encouraging developments both in the increasing use of ethnographic data to contextualize ancient Egyptian settlements (e.g. fieldwork comparing modern and ancient mud-brick villages)24 and in the study of particularly neglected types of settlements, such as the ephemeral encampments of nomadic pastoralists.25 Overall, however, this feels like an area of Egyptology that is still in its infancy, with many of the most pressing aspects of social archaeology in Egypt (e.g. the roles played by gender, eth­ni­ city, social hierarchy, and religion in the creation and development of urban neighbourhoods) still requiring not only more relevant data but also more theoretical frameworks that are specific to the northeast African context.

Debates in ethnicity, human mobility, and cross-cultural contact In a recent discussion of bioarchaeological perspectives on Egyptian ethnicity, Sonia Zakrzewski26 draws attention to the fluidity of ancient Egyptian ethnic types, and the sheer complexity of the relationships between social identity and ‘biological affinities’. The im­port­ ance of establishing clear definitions of ethnicities in order to try to understand the nuances of social and political change in the Nile valley and surrounding regions is repeatedly stressed by a number of different authors. These debates occur not only in the chapters in 22  Blench and MacDonald 2000. 23  Steadman 2015: 25–66. 25  Riemer 2011. 26  Zakrzewski 2015: 8–9.

24 Correas-Amador 2013.

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Introduction   11 Part V of this volume that explicitly deal with such issues, but also in many of the chapters dealing with material culture, history, and language. While it is no surprise for Stan Hendrickx (Chapter 27) to note the paucity of contemporary scholars supporting the idea of mass immigrations as sources of cultural change in the Predynastic, it is perhaps more intriguing to see that new debates have emerged concerning contact between sedentary and pastoralist groups in the Nile Valley and the surrounding deserts, which are now much more central to our understanding of many developments from the sixth millennium bc onwards. Thus Linda Hulin’s discussion of Libyan cultural and ethnographic data (Chapter 24) stresses the problems that are encountered in understanding what is meant by nomadism or pastoralism in different geographical and chronological contexts, while Hendrickx argues that attempts by some scholars to suggest that pharaonic culture was directly underpinned and presaged by rock art deriving from semi-nomadic groups27 are flawed by neglect of archaeozoological data and lack of chronological precision. Ludwig Morenz (Chapter 28) emphasizes the particular ambiguities that existed in early historical Egypt, in that attributes of ‘otherness’ and foreignness appear to have been assigned to indigenous inhabitants of Egypt who had been conquered and assimilated in the process of cultural and political unification of Egypt. In a much later twist on this paradox, Tony Leahy (Chapter 33) points out the irony of an Egyptian-style statue of Darius I found at Susa, in which Egypt itself features among the ‘foreign’ lands crushed under the ‘pharaoh’ Darius’ feet.28 Still later on in Egypt’s history as a vassal state, ethnicity remains a ‘difficult’ aspect of cultural studies; thus Khaled Essam Ismail (Chapter 34) notes that many cultural differences between individual Egyptians and communities in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods were not related to ethnic backgrounds, and in many cases were socially constructed, according to scholars such as Koen Goudriaan.29 Ian Moyer (Chapter 59) also discusses the huge importance of the emergence of greater numbers of ‘bilingual’ re­searchers, competent in both Greek and demotic, in order to produce more holistic historical accounts by combining numerous Ptolemaic and Roman documents that had previously been erroneously assigned to separate ethnic or cultural spheres.30 Scales of human mobility and the transmission of ideas in the emerging states of the Bronze Age Eastern Mediterranean, near East and North Africa, have also long been topics of debate in archaeology and anthropology. In terms of discourses about ancient Egypt’s relations with its near neighbours, the movement of people, and the presence of ‘foreigners’ in the Nile valley, there still remains a reluctance to embrace other viewpoints that might critique the dominant cultural-historical paradigms of the last century. In particular there is insufficient discussion of the ways in which migration, invasion, trade (and economics), colonization, or diffusion are deployed to interpret similarities and differences in material culture of sites or regions.31 Carl Knappett and Evangelia Kiriatzi perhaps best sum this up by asserting that ‘we can be lulled into thinking that an interconnected world was achieved by mobility solely in the domain of chiefly elites, set against a background of immobility at the household level’.32 Current debates in post-processual archaeology are therefore asking questions about the ways in which we look at human mobility outside the idea of mass or macro-level migrations, which seem to have been infrequent in most places and cultures, 27  See, for instance, Wilkinson 2003; Wilkinson et al 2004. 28  Wasmuth 2015: 209–11, fig 2. 29  Goudriaan 1992: 94–5. 30  See, for instance, Clarysse and Thompson 2006. 31  Knappett and Kiriatzi 2016: 2–3. 32  ibid: 6.

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12   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw and more towards ideas that stress the movement of people as continual flows at a range of scales and for a variety of reasons. For instance, quarrying and mining are activities that are often framed in terms of the mass movement of labour orchestrated by elites, but this is not actually reflected in the archaeological record. Strong arguments are currently emerging that centre around small-scale mobility of skilled craftspeople and stonemasons, perhaps as kin-groups, operating locally and regionally. Contact between people in this more nuanced way creates contexts where technological know-how and other cultural characteristics could be transmitted (Chapter 8).33 If we look at the excavations in Aswan (Elephantine) in the south of Egypt and sites in the Delta (i.e. the north), research into these permanent settlements reveals that populations were much more heterogenous than previously thought.34 These debates are obviously permeating our ideas about the ways in which we view ‘foreigners’ such as ‘Libyans’, ‘Asiatics’, and ‘Nubians’ in Egypt, and indeed influencing our views concerning cross-border relationships outside ideas of dominance and empire-building. Carolyn Routledge (Chapter 25) particularly challenges orthodox perspectives such as diffusion, empire, trade, and core-periphery studies, in shaping our ideas about the relationship between Egypt and its neighbours in western Asia. As she aptly remarks ‘Current models have a tendency to privilege economic explanation and elite society above many other forms of interpretation’. She demonstrates the problems of these past viewpoints by re-visiting two important questions in Egyptology relating to Egypt’s relations with western Asia: first, the nature of the impact of western Asian culture on the development of the state in ancient Egypt, and secondly, the distinctive features of Egypt’s impact on Late Bronze Age Canaan. This latter point treads into the thorny question of ‘empire’ and the degree to which it may or may not be visible in the archaeological record. Although no consensus has yet been reached, Routledge tells us that multi-disciplinary symposia and cross-disciplinary co-authorships are beginning to shift ideas away from ‘top-down’ inferences and towards ideas that forefront, as mentioned earlier, the nuances and complexities of interactions across regions through which social and cultural transformations occur. Questions of identity and ethnicity also generate other contentious areas of discussion in Egyptology, particularly since so many assumptions about ‘foreigners’ such as ‘Asiatics’, ‘Libyans’, and ‘Nubians’ have been characterized largely from the textual and iconographic sources. Theorizing notions of ethnicity and identity through paradigms such as agency theory, social archaeology, and anthropology have not been truly adopted as frameworks to get at the nuances of cross-cultural relationships in ancient Egypt. Linda Hulin (Chapter 24) tackles this issue in the light of our perceptions about ‘Libyans’ and the Libyan dynasties in New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period Egypt. In particular, she focuses on the ways in which new archaeological evidence from north Africa, west of the Nile valley, is re-shaping some previously entrenched viewpoints which assume that Libyan culture was ‘per­sist­ent­ly nomadic . . . but also rather simple’. As Hulin points out, we are constantly having to review the sense of Egyptian identity as ‘monolithic’ and therefore, given the paucity of archaeological data in Libyan contexts, scholars are having to produce arguments to identify ‘un-Egyptian 33  See Bevan and Bloxam 2016: 68–93. 34  Raue  2002: 20–4;  2008: 1–14; Jiménez-Serrano and von Pilgrim, C.  2015; Müller  2016: 213–43; Bietak  2016: 263–74; Cline  1998: 199–219; Karetsou  2000; Ciałowicz  2008: 1035–8; Wilson and Grigoropoulos 2009; Forstner-Müller et al 2015.

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Introduction   13 traits’ to characterize ‘Libyan’ identities. On a more positive note, Hulin suggests that the current trend towards refining studies of the archaeology of nomads suggests that these models are allowing us to realize the degrees of ‘social complexity and adaptability across the nomadic-settled continuum’ that need to be more utilized in our research agendas. This is particularly important to our understanding of the extent to which the Libyan peoples were assimilated into Egyptian society. Even more contentious than perceptions of Libyans in Egypt are those of Nubians, and questions about the nature of relationships between Egyptians and their southern neighbours. Our understanding of Nubian/Egyptian relations has of course significantly improved with the expansion of multi-disciplinary excavations in north Sudan, as Egyptian archaeologists move their research interests away from the challenges, as mentioned earlier, of working in Egypt, given the unpredictable security situation. Sites between the Second and Third Cataract regions, such as the New Kingdom ‘temple-towns’ at Saï Island,35 Amara West,36 Sesebi,37 and Tombos,38 have had a particular focus in recent years, the findings from which are challenging the numerous assumptions that have been made about Egyptian/Nubian relations in the Bronze Age.39 Even the notion of the ‘temple-town’ may need to be revised in light of such work, given that this characterization conquers up imperialist and colonialist definitions of a dominant, highly bureaucratized Egyptian presence based largely on economic motives.40 Rather, we need to look at these sites in their larger landscape settings, and to think more about these centres as the loci of various cultural entanglements that have an essentially Nubian character. With these projects focusing more on settlements than ever before, we now have significant new perspectives in terms of the ways in which we understand the more nuanced interplay between local populations and Egyptians during the New Kingdom. We also see that procurement and working of materials, such as gold, were major influences on the character of these places, and we can observe the extent to which craft-working activities seem to have been controlled by local elites. Julia Budka and Florence Doyen’s excavations of the settlement and burials on Saï Island41 suggest that there was a much greater social complexity within local populations than previously thought, with local elites forming the major group of officials in the town, as well as others who were certainly involved with gold working.42 As with other excavations of ‘temple-towns’ in the region, these projects show numerous parallels suggestive of microcosms of Egyptian town planning but with multiple building phases, thus underlying the changing dynamics of these settlements from the early New Kingdom phases of occupation. At Amara West, Neal Spencer’s excavations reveal an even greater sense of comparatively unplanned settlement, and copious evidence of production places (workshops) and Nubian pottery.43 35  Budka 2015a: 55–87; 2015b: 40–53; 2017a:14–21; 2017b: 71–81. 36  Spencer 2014: 169–209; Spencer et al 2014. 37  Spence and Rose 2014: 409–15. 38  See http://www.tombos.org. 39  The ‘AcrossBorders Conference 2017’ organized by Julia Budka in Munich on 1–3 September 2017 was an enlightening forum into latest research of settlement, burials, and ‘temple-towns’ between the Second and Third Cataracts in Sudan. See Budka and Auenmüller 2018, for publication of the proceedings from this conference. 40  See Vieth 2018, for recent work on the subject of terminology and the concept of the ‘temple-town’. 41  Budka & Doyen 2017. 42 Budka 2017b. 43  Spencer 2014: 169–209; Spencer et al 2014.

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14   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw The ongoing work of the Sudan Archaeological Research Society44 has also been pivotal in providing, through its annual bulletin, the latest findings from these and other excavations, in particular the long-standing work of Derek Welsby at Kawa and the Dongola Reach.45 As Robert Morkot explains (Chapter  23) in his historical overview of Egyptian/Nubian relationships, older interpretations of the political geography even further south in Upper Nubia need to be revised. He suggests that evidence from more recent excavations in the region between the Third and Fourth Cataracts, such as Stuart Tyson Smith’s excavations at Tombos, show that New Kingdom material is limited in quantity and specific in type.46 Morkot also points out that few artefacts of Egyptian origin have been found south or east of the limits of Kerma, Egyptian New Kingdom, or Meroitic control. He goes on to suggest that ‘whether archaeological material will ever be found to indicate ancient Egyptian contacts (direct or indirect) with sub-Saharan Africa matters little, as Egypt was, and will always be, a significant African culture’. If we turn our attention to the question of contact and interplay between Egypt and its northern neighbours in the Aegean, studies of maritime trade and the movement of ma­ter­ ials have of course played a major part in determining the scope of these interactions. Luxury items such as stone and pottery vessels, gemstones, gold, and other exotic materials, particularly those found in the Uluburun shipwreck,47 have provided us with a sense of the numerous opportunities for contact that existed through the movement of materials both as ‘exotic’ gift-giving at the elite end of the spectrum, and in the form of the more utilitarian logistics of raw material transportation to places of production. Pottery, probably more than any other class of object (in particular ‘Mycenaean’ vessels found in settlement sites in  Egypt at Kahun, Gurob, and Amarna) has been studied as a means of synchronizing Egyptian and Aegean chronologies.48 Yet, as Jacke Phillips (Chapter 26) points out, it has been Aegeanists rather than Egyptologists who have led the way in furthering our know­ ledge of broader questions surrounding interactions across the Aegean. Andrew Bevan’s study of the movement of a single class of material culture such as stone vessels, not only as finished products but down to the origins of their material source and manufacture, can give the real detail about regimes of value and contact across the Aegean; Bevan’s work has been a key advance in the way in which we use such studies to formulate comparative ideas about social life and the variability of relationships, as well as the movement of people in the region.49 But as Phillips discusses in her in-depth look at the range of other datasets that have been the focus of investigating Egypto-Aegean relations in the Bronze Age, there is a pressing need for much greater collaboration between the two disciplines if we are to address important current research debates concerning cross-cultural chronology and dating, as well as considerations about imported goods and the tangible/intangible influence of one civilization upon the other. The general current absence of cultural interdisciplinarity, if we look back at the development of Egyptology as a discipline, is actually much more of a post-war phenomenon when we consider that archaeologists such as Arthur Evans, John Pendlebury, and Henri Frankfort regularly worked across the region of the eastern Mediterranean and near East in 44  Sudan & Nubia Bulletin of the Sudan Archaeological Research Society; http://www.sudarchrs.org.uk/. 45 Welsby 2001; 2010; 2011. 46 Smith 2003. 47  Bass 1987: 693–733; 1997: 153–70; Pulak 1998: 188–224; 2005: 295–310. 48  For recent work in this area, see Hassler 2011 and Gasperini 2014; 2018. 49 Bevan 2007.

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Introduction   15 the 1930s.50 The sense of isolation that came from ideas about the ‘uniqueness’ of Egypt as a civilization apart from its neighbours can arguably be linked to the greater focus being placed on studies of texts, rather than archaeology—a situation that is even more apparent today. As mentioned in the opening pages of this chapter, the divide between the two arms of Egyptology is ever broadening and littered with wasted opportunities because we are not formulating analytical frameworks through which we study all classes of material culture equally. Attempts to address this have come from some multi-disciplinary quarters, working with Egyptologists (from both the philological and archaeological arms of discipline) who have been contextualizing epigraphic data within broader landscape contexts.51 However, when we delve into the holy grails of temple and tomb inscriptions and papyrus documents, there is an undeniable breach between the textual and archaeological sectors of the discipline.

Society and culture: viewpoints from texts and iconography Issues that can raise significant barriers between the textual and archaeological spheres respectively are stressed in the chapters in Part VII Society and culture: textual and ­iconographic approaches, which consider the more orthodox analytical approaches to text and iconography that have dominated our understanding of social and cultural life in ancient Egypt for several decades. Administration, genealogies, religion, gods, theology, and symbolism are all topics that have mostly lain in the domain of philological study. But as these chapters address, it is the depth of the research questions we are asking that we need to work on, and then also the extent to which we challenge the problem of data bias, which, as Christopher Eyre (Chapter  36) tells us, ‘is often contradictory, not simply as a consequence of incomplete evidence but reflecting structural factors in the ecology and political order of a state that was never as monolithic as ancient ideology or modern historiography presents it’. Wolfram Grajetzki (Chapter  35), for instance, takes us through a range of archaeological contexts in which we can encounter epigraphic evidence relating to the emergence of titles and social hierarchies from the Early Dynastic through to the Late Period. In grappling with the notion of a ‘national administration’ he presents us with a detailed account of the research problems that we encounter in approaching such ideas from a single data source and context, such as elite burials, and reminds us that we need to be careful in avoiding the assumption that a title reflects an actual role in practice: ‘A high percentage of ancient Egyptians identify themselves on objects and documents with administrative titles. However, even if the translation of a title is possible, the function of it remains most often obscure.’ Eyre (Chapter 36) takes this idea even further, and argues, through the formulation of seven important research questions, that the idea of ‘administration’ as a fixed and structured mode of state control has been vastly overplayed by Egyptologists. By examining the 50  Evans 1899–1900: 60–6; Pendlebury 1930: 75–92; Frankfort 1924: 7. 51  See Darnell 2002 and Chapter 57 of this volume; Storemyr 2009; Huyge 2014; Bloxam 2015.

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16   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw environment and settlement patterns in Egypt, as well as giving us an in-depth look at the range of contexts in which we find documents and inscriptions relating to social hier­arch­ies, he suggests that we need to think again about the ways in which we assume the existence of a ‘bureaucratic regime’. Rather, we need to re-think roles at local levels, such as ‘headmen’ who mediated and represented their communities, proposing therefore that we should define local government ‘according to degrees of alienation between peasant communities and state government, and the enforcement of revenue demands through local intermediaries’. As in Egypt today, it seems that settling of local disputes and other matters tended to fall on community ‘leaders’, and allegiances were much more based on identity and kinship ties to specific village locales. Yet, when we try to turn our gaze onto ideas of social life, kinship, and relationships at  lower social levels through the textual record, of course we come up against the stillpowerful doctrines of ‘kingship’ as an ideology that masks the role of individuals under its orthodoxy.52 Egyptology still struggles to move very far from these constraints, particularly when it comes to understanding private, more secular rituals and religious practices outside of this sense of state religion. There is however a growing consensus amongst Egyptologists who work with the textual record that our approaches to these themes do need revitalizing if we are to move away from repeating the same ideas. Morris Bierbrier (Chapter  38), Susanne Bickel (Chapter 39), Richard Wilkinson (Chapter 40), and Alexandra von Lieven (Chapter 41) take us on insightful journeys into some of these better-studied arenas of text­ual and iconographic aspects of core Egyptological research such as genealogies, gods, myths, religion, theology, and symbolism. They discuss the extent to which we need to revise our research questions and to concentrate much more on the context of the textual and iconographic record or, in other words, to take more holistic approaches. Wilkinson (Chapter  40), for instance, points out that future research into symbolism needs to pay much more attention to the origins of symbolism, as well as connections between the visual and verbal use of symbols. He urges us to move away from single object studies to broader contexts of landscape. Bickel (Chapter  39) similarly argues for more holistic approaches to our research questions if we are to get at the nuances of the ways in which people interacted with theological ideas about the divine in religious practice. As she succinctly states: ‘The extremely codified and conventionalized forms with which religious matters were treated in writing and iconography are a major barrier to our knowledge of individual and community belief and practice.’ As Abbas (Chapter 42) stresses in his discussion of funerary beliefs, even the fundamental corpora of myths relating to death and the afterlife in the pharaonic period only became codified into coherent continuous narratives at a much later date, in the work of Classical authors. For much of the pharaonic period, our sense of the crucial narratives that underpinned funerary beliefs and practices is highly fragmentary and elusive, comprising hints and sometimes obscure symbolism,53 rather than the straightforward full-scale ‘stories of the gods’54 that provide the framework of Greek and Roman religion. Theological speculation is another fundamental component of text-based research, which, as Alexandra von Lieven (Chapter 41) points out, needs to be properly defined away from our modern Christian notion of theology, and towards ideas that people had across the social spectrum, with regard to gods, myths, and the cosmos. The paucity of data is of 52  See Eyre in Chapter 36 of this volume, who addresses this in more detail. 53  Discussed by Assmann 1977. 54  See, for instance, Groenwald 2006 and Malan 2016.

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Introduction   17 course a problem in getting at the nature of these concepts through time, given that cultural contexts of the evidence are mostly funerary and temple domains. Problems of context and quality of evidence have clearly hampered efforts to extrapolate ideas about religious practices, particularly at individual household levels. We are still reliant, perhaps overly so, on sites such as Deir el-Medina for our insights into practices such as ancestor worship, given that this settlement presents us with both archaeological and textual evidence for family cult practices in the New Kingdom.55 It is the sense that texts are themselves very much artefacts, embedded within material culture as a whole, that has been stressed by many of those dealing with the philology of ancient Egypt. In Jim Allen’s text book on the Middle Egyptian language, he points out that he is providing an introduction to the language and crucially also the culture of hieroglyphs. He therefore includes numerous essays on aspects of Egyptian society and thought, with the explicit intention of enabling students not only to translate Middle Egyptian texts but also to ‘understand what they have to say’.56 This distinction between literal translation and real cultural understanding has probably been one of the most distinctive characteristics of the study of ancient Egyptian texts in the twenty-first century. Andréas Stauder (Chapter 43) sees this cultural dimension operating even at the level of scripts when he discusses the ‘complex, historically shifting, cultural code’ comprising values attached to the various different script types. Jacqueline Jay (Chapter 47), on the other hand, emphasizes the almost stratigraphic process by which the textual output of ancient Egypt can be forensically examined to determine surviving traces of the oral or non-literate culture that both preceded and then also co-existed with the elite text-based ‘high’ culture. She argues that the change from orality to literacy is a gradual one, with no dramatic specific turning point yet discerned, and indeed the wealth of recent work on non-textual marking systems57 (noted by Stauder at the beginning of Chapter  43) indicates that diverse forms of communication existed within the conventionally defined illiterate non-elite throughout the pharaonic, Ptolemaic, and Roman periods, thus suggesting that orality only recedes into the background in historical times, rather than being superseded or suppressed. The widespread appearance of such things as pot marks, quarrying/stone marks, and soldiers’ identity marks in ancient Egypt shows that non-textual systems effectively created a kind of ‘grey area’ of graphic communication that was neither oral nor fully literate but spanned the activities of a wide range of artisans and professionals. This undoubtedly complicates the picture presented by anthropologists such as Jack Goody,58 who appear to have generally worked on the assumption that there are only two modes of communication: oral and literate, whereas it is clear that there are a plethora of scenarios in which ostensibly illiterate ancient Egyptians could choose to communicate through non-textual signing. This is not merely a case of marks on pottery vessels, textiles, masonry, and ostraca as part of complex relationships that have usually been placed solely in the domain of Bronze Age ‘economics’—what we also need to include are marking systems documented on rock-faces in or near mines and quarries (see Bloxam, Chapter 8), and on the living rock at hilltop sites in the desert.59 In other words, these phenomena are widespread throughout Egyptian culture, regardless of geographical place or social stratum. There are of course many other 55  See, for instance, Demarée 1983 and Friedman 1985. 56  Allen 2000: xi. 57  Andrassy et al 2009; Haring and Kaper 2009; Haring 2018. 58 Goody 1968. 59  See, for instance, Kaper 2009.

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18   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw neglected categories even among the conventional writing scripts, such as the many demotic inscriptions on small artefacts, which are discussed by Richard Jasnow (Chapter 55).60 A few years ago graffiti of all kinds, whether on monumental architecture or on natural desert surfaces, might have also been regarded as neglected and under-appreciated as a resource, but, as various chapters, particularly that of John Darnell (Chapter 57), demonstrate, there has been a real growth of work in this area in the last decade or so, fuelled perhaps partly by growing interest in different forms of self-representation in the visual and textual records.61 Darnell also points out that the emergence of the ‘lapidary’ form of hieratic, from the Old Kingdom onwards, is an indication of a hybrid form of script that seems to have specifically evolved in order to facilitate the production of rock inscriptions and graffiti on an un­pre­ce­ dent­ed scale in the Middle Kingdom. Allen’s ‘historical study’ of the diachronic nature of ancient Egyptian language62 takes a general, all-encompassing view of the sequence of linguistic changes and innovations. Yet, as Sami Uljas (Chapter  45) correctly stresses, there has been a tendency in recent years towards a wider diversity of individual views and approaches to all phases of the language. This change may, as much as anything, represent a reaction against the long-term rigid conformity to the so-called Standard Theory that was introduced by Jakob Polotsky in the 1940s,63 and gained general acceptance in the 1970s and 1980s. The question therefore of whether to seek a wide, global solution, as opposed to specialized ‘local’ endeavours has also characterized the history of ancient Egyptian lexicography, according to Julie StauderPorchet (Chapter 44). Thus, a subject undoubtedly dominated for much of its development by the attempt to create an overarching solution in the form of the Wörterbuch project (initiated in Berlin in 1897 by Adolf Erman and Hermann Grapow)64 and its modern digital equivalents (the Digitaler Zettelarchiv, which is accessible through the Thesaurus Linguae Aegyptiae database),65 has become increasingly characterized by smaller projects, often geared towards phases of the language (such as Leonard and Barbara Lesko’s Late Egyptian dictionary)66 or specific corpora of texts (such as van der Molen’s dictionary of the Coffin Texts).67

Problems in the construction of historical narratives As Stauder points out in his discussion of the history of the ancient Egyptian language (Chapter 46), the traditional subdivision of the language into different diachronic phases ‘is inherently problematic as it projects historical periodization onto linguistic history’, so that ‘the boundaries between discrete stages as traditionally defined are also getting blurred’. In a more general cultural sense, the construction of chronologies and the writing of narrative history have both been integral elements of Egyptology since the nineteenth century, when 60 Vleeming 2011; 2015. 61  For good examples, see the collection of papers in Ragazzoli et al 2018. 62 Allen 2013. 63  See Polotsky 1969 for a discussion of the general aspects of Standard Theory. 64  See, for instance, Erman and Grapow 1953; Reineke 1999a; Dils 2010. 65  See Hafemann and Dils 2013. 66  Lesko and Lesko 1982–90. 67  Van der Molen 2000.

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Introduction   19 Sir John Gardner Wilkinson, for instance, began his Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians with ‘a brief account of the general history and early advancement of that ancient state’.68 It is characteristic of the historical branch of the subject, however, that Wilkinson was already drawing attention to the ‘many doubts and discrepancies’ that divided re­searchers, even at this early date. Not surprisingly, the chapters dealing with Egyptian history in this Handbook confirm that, for some periods, there are still major lacunae and points of controversy. For many periods of ancient Egyptian history, there is a clear consensus on most of the basic chronological aspects, such as sequences and lengths of reigns, although huge numbers of specific names and dates are still contested, as a recent co-authored history clearly indicates.69 There is still significant debate, for instance, around the existence and nature of ‘coregencies’ (periods of deliberate overlap between reigns, usually assumed to be designed to ensure smooth succession), which Wolfram Grajetzki (Chapter  30) discusses in the context of the Middle Kingdom.70 Most labyrinthine of all, most would argue, is the Third Intermediate Period, and David Aston (Chapter 32) makes the point that, frustratingly, the apparent chronological resolution for this period provided by Ken Kitchen in the late 1990s,71 has been slowly but surely unpicked and stirred around by the work of the last two decades.72 On the positive side, our understanding of the material culture of the Third Intermediate Period has greatly benefitted from a real plethora of studies undertaken and published in recent years.73 In the case of some other historical periods, there are specific problems in relation to material culture studies: thus Nigel Strudwick (Chapter  29), for instance, stresses that Old Kingdom material is very much dominated by artefacts from tombs and temples, as opposed to domestic data from settlements of this date, which are still not being excavated and/or adequately published in sufficient numbers or diversity. Grajetzki (Chapter 30), on the other hand, emphasizes the lack of precision in dating of some aspects of late Middle Kingdom typologies of artefacts, such that difficulties are sometimes encountered in distinguishing between Twelfth-Dynasty, Thirteenth-Dynasty, and Second Intermediate Period material. Not only do we need to understand the interplay between processes of change in material culture and the traditional framework of ‘dynasties’ and ‘kingdoms’, but we also need to be able to locate intricate local geneaological studies within the broader picture of national political and social change. As Bierbrier (Chapter 38) tells us, studies of genealogies can bring fresh insights into the depth of family linkages with chronology, which has remained a rather shadowy area of research. He stresses the need to look back at our already accumulated archive of documentation from the last two centuries and to draw these together with new archaeological material to refine our knowledge, yet he cautions that ‘genealogy in ancient Egypt often can be considered more of an art than a science’. Advances in scientific dating, particularly radiocarbon dating, have affected all periods, but inevitably prehistory in particular, as Stan Hendrickx (Chapter 27) stresses. He notes, for instance, that radiocarbon dates have revealed a chronological overlap between the 68  Wilkinson 1878: v. 69  Hornung et al 2006. 70  Schneider 2006: 170–5; Wegner 2007: 36–9. 71 Kitchen 1996. 72  See, for instance, Payraudeau 2014; Meffre 2015; Jurman 2018. 73  See, e.g., Hill 2007; Taylor 2007 (metal statuary); Aston 1996; Budka 2010; Mittelmann 2014 (pottery); Taylor 2003 (coffins).

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20   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw Badarian and Naqada I cultures, but of course opinions differ as to whether this simply implies a slower transition in the Badarian heartland, or, more radically, a need to regard Badarian culture as a geographical rather than chronological phenomenon. It is also as a result of radiocarbon dating that it is now suggested that cereal farming appeared first in Egypt at Neolithic sites such as Kom W in the northern Faiyum region, by the mid-fifth millennium bc.74 One of the most recent radiocarbon dating projects that specifically targeted the Predynastic and Early Dynastic periods reached the conclusion that the Predynastic as a whole was actually shorter by six or seven centuries, compared with previous estimates of length.75 On a more theoretical level, Hendrickx throws out, once and for all, Jean Capart’s attempt to consign Predynastic iconography to the realm of the ‘primitive’ through ethnographic parallels.76 The question of how we define what constitutes an actual historical record, in the modern evidential sense (as opposed to a piece of ritual, myth, or ideology) is discussed by several authors in this Handbook. Morenz (Chapter 28) uses the phrase ‘iconems of power’ to refer to the fascinating iconographic system that was developing in Egypt in the late Predynastic and Early Dynastic periods, as the country moved towards a unified state that seems to have required (and brought into existence) a repertoire of so-called semiophors77 to justify and culturally embed the emerging political system. From an aesthetic point of view, Brett McClain (Chapter 22) points to the way in which the transition from relief-carved mobiliary art, such as the Protodynastic Narmer Palette, to architecturally embedded stelae took place at the same time as the rapid development of a set of new canonical principles and iconography. The latter coincided with the process of cultural and political unification, and McClain therefore uses the term ‘state-sponsored’ to refer to these early royal reliefs. This is a reminder that the many genres of texts that provide the backbone of our accepted political and social historical narratives for Egypt derive from texts that, according to Ronald Leprohon (Chapter 48), were often written primarily in order to define the state’s role as conscious and explicit controller of the people. Grajetzki (Chapter 35), Chris Eyre (Chapter 36) and John Gee (Chapter 51), on the other hand, stress the danger of simply assuming the centrality of the state, in their analyses of the administrative and socio-economic data, when in fact there are indications that a confused plethora of local concerns often lie beneath the thin shell of national governmental control. The recurrent question of the extent to which most Egyptian elite texts and images might be regarded as pure expressions of state control is also taken up by John Darnell in his discussion of rock art and graffiti (Chapter 57). Darnell addresses the issue of early com­ bin­ations of art and proto-writing, and the extent to which any of these ‘early tableaux’ (such as the ‘Scorpion tableau’ at Gebel Tjauti and the Gebel Sheikh Suleiman inscription)78 can be regarded as records of actual historical events—he stresses the extent to which these Dynasty 0 rock inscriptions appear to ritualize events, transforming and celebrating the cosmic significance of happenings by incorporating them into timeless royal imagery. Both Regine Schulz (Chapter 18) and Colleen Manassa Darnell (Chapter 31) stress the im­port­ance of much later unconventional historical sources (from a western viewpoint), in the form of the so-called ‘commemorative scarabs’,79 which provide glimpses of events and individuals 74  Wendrich et al 2010. 75  Dee et al 2013. 76 Capart 1905. 77 Pomian 1984. 78  Hendrickx and Friedman 2003 [Gebel Tjauti]; Somaglino and Tallet 2015 [Gebel Sheikh Suleiman]. 79  Blankenberg-van Delden 1969; Berman 1992; Schulz 2007: 40–2.

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Introduction   21 from the reign of Amenhotep III, but in the context of what might be described as ‘verbal tableaux’. Like the Dynasty 0 tableaux, these scarabs intertwine the static celebration of royal ritual and ceremony with some sense of dynamic historical narrative. Both Denise Doxey and Bill Manley (Chapters 49 and 50 respectively) discuss the extent to which the historical or factual information that we seek to glean from texts may be restricted by the mixing and overlapping of genres. Doxey points out that elite individuals’ ‘autobiographies’, primarily inscribed in tombs from the Old Kingdom onwards, overlap in aims and content not only with royal texts of various types but also with literary texts. The suggestion is that borrowing from the latter genre (particularly the so-called ‘lamentations’) adds pessimism to these supposedly historical accounts of individuals’ careers, thus producing modern historical views, particularly of the First Intermediate Period, that have sometimes been unduly negative in terms of the view presented of social and economic conditions.80 Strudwick’s overview of the sources for this period (Chapter 29), including the plethora of theories concerning the decline of the Old Kingdom, argues against the automatic assumption of ‘historicity’ of data deriving from funerary biographies, and cautions particularly against monocausal explanations. What we demonstrably lack, however, are historical narratives that primarily draw on the surviving vestiges of material culture rather than textual data. In relation to the administrative and socio-economic aspects of historical change in Egypt there have been few real attempts to use archaeological data to approach these kinds of issues. From the 1970s onwards, there have been some instances in which the mud-brick buildings associated with administrative control and storage have been studied,81 but it is still rare to see diachronic studies of the impacts on materials and artefacts within the archaeological record, as indicators of changing patterns of production, consumption, and control.82 Yet, these are all well-worn paradigms in which we tend to automatically search for answers and insights into social and cultural change. If we are to move Egyptology into fresh debates we must re-think our research questions away from monolithic concepts such as administration, economy, and state control, and seek to generate enquiries into the complex nature social interactions across a range of situations through which cultural and social change occurs.

Contexts and problem-oriented approaches In recent years, ideas derived from the Social Construction of Technology (SCOT) movement, which originally developed among sociologists in the 1980s,83 have been increasingly

80  See Seidlmayer 2000: 128–30, for a discussion of the historical misuse of such texts. 81  See, for instance, Kemp 1986; Moeller 2008. 82  Murray 2011 attempts something along these lines for the life of the so-called Royal Administrative Building at Heit el-Ghurab, Giza, while Werschkun  2010 uses purely archaeological data to analyse resource management during the Old Kingdom, using data from Heit el-Ghurab, Ayn Asil, Kom el-Hisn and Elephantine. See also Warden 2014. 83  See, e.g., Bijker et al 1989.

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22   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw applied to the study of archaeological material across the globe.84 However, this view of ancient technologies as embedded and reactive components of complex social systems, exemplified by such studies as Andrew Welton’s metallurgical analysis of Anglo-Saxon weaponry85 and Elizabeth Murphy and Jeroen Poblome’s work on pottery production at Sagalassos,86 has still not been particularly widely applied in Egyptian archaeology. As Nicholson (Chapter 13) underlines in Part IV: Material culture, the study of ancient Egyptian materials and technology will always tend to be hugely flawed and restricted if the allimportant cultural and archaeological contexts are neglected or ignored. The importance of context is a recurrent theme, not only in the Handbook (see, for instance, Chapters 14, 15, 21, and 22) but in many other Egyptological publications from the last decade or so.87 Aidan Dodson (Chapter 17) stresses the enormous importance of such contextualization with regard to the chronology and typologies of funerary material, particularly coffins and sarcophagi. Thus, it was the actual excavation of the coffin of Sethnakhte (c.1186–1184 bc) in tomb KV35 and the coffin of Psusennes II Pasebakhaenniut I (c.959–945 bc) at Tanis, among others, that demonstrated that the so-called ‘rishi’ coffin continued to be used for royal burials into the Third Intermediate Period, despite the fact that it had fallen out of use for non-royal individuals by the mid-Eighteenth Dynasty. Cultural context can also be crucial to the process of extracting maximum meaning from texts, therefore Terry Wilfong (Chapter 56) notes the importance of the survival of large numbers of Manichaean Coptic texts at the well-preserved settlement site of Kellis in Dakhla Oasis, where their value is enhanced by the fact that they have been found in secure archaeological contexts, embedded among the artefacts and urban landscape that can give them crucial added meaning. The network of links between Greek and Roman temple texts and their surrounding architecture and reliefs are discussed by Olaf Kaper (Chapter 58), particularly in relation to the ‘library’ of hieroglyphic, hieratic, and demotic papyri (dating mostly to the second ­century ad) discovered in a cellar below the temple at Tebtunis in 1931. He points out that these can be seen to have clear and intriguing links with the texts and images carved on the walls of the temple itself, including two papyri specifically relating to the processes and nature of temple decoration.88 In her chapter on architecture, Corinna Rossi (Chapter 20) emphasizes the importance of the location and orientation of religious and funerary architecture within the landscape as highly influential contextual features, especially in the case of the Old and Middle Kingdom pyramid complexes and New Kingdom temples such as those at Abu Simbel and Deir el-Bahri. In discussing the wide diversity of attempts by scholars over the last three centuries to understand the underlying principles of ancient Egyptian architecture, she also stresses the importance of properly recognizing cognitive contexts. First, she points out that it is generally incorrect to base modern architectural theories primarily on ground-plans, when all the evidence suggests that Egyptians designed their buildings three-dimensionally. Secondly, she notes that many hypotheses rely on mathematical concepts or language that had not yet been formulated in the third and second millennia bc. A similar point is made by Rune Nyord (Chapter 53) in relation to 84  See Sillar and Tite 2000 for an early example of archaeological views of technology as a social construct. 85 Welton 2016. 86  Murphy and Poblome 2012. 87  See, e.g., Bourriau and Phillips 2004; Shaw 2012; Miniaci et al 2018. 88  See Vittmann 2002/2003; Quack 2000: 14–18; 2016.

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Introduction   23 texts relating to healing and protection—he underlines the need for ‘adequate conceptual frameworks’ to replace the dangerous, but very widespread, tendency to look at such texts ex­pli­cit­ly within the parameters of modern medicine. As he further notes, there are distinct parallels with challenges in medical anthropology, where standard modern western concepts such as mind, medicine, and magic are clearly recognized as inappropriate to non-western contexts.89 The cognitive context is also crucial for study of ancient Egyptian mathematical texts, as Annette Imhausen (Chapter 52) indicates in her discussion of the social and cultural settings of such texts. She underlines the point that, even before the Middle Kingdom, when the first specifically mathematical manuscripts started to appear, the funerary ‘biographies’ of individuals (e.g. that of Weni in the Sixth Dynasty)90 already began to hint at the need for access to some kind of mathematical ability in order to be successful as an administrator or builder. Egyptology’s anthropological and sociological contexts are frequently neglected, despite a sprinkling of ground-breaking attempts to establish a role for the discipline as a genuine social science.91 Egyptologists have often struggled to come to grips with the full complexity of issues relating to social identities, and in particular the key area of gender studies, whether in textual or archaeological terms. There are some small indications of advances in this area in the Handbook. Thus Deborah Sweeney’s discussion of letter writing (Chapter  54) not only deals with the evidence for female literacy but also addresses the issue of female letter contents as indications of aspects of social behaviour and communication that were regarded as appropriate to women. Although women’s social roles and rights are particularly thinly attested in the Old and Middle Kingdoms, there are increasing amounts of archaeological and textual evidence from the New Kingdom. Picton et al (Chapter  16) discuss the centrality of gender in the analysis and interpretation of textiles, and note the important role played by women in the New Kingdom community at Deir el-Medina as producers and traders of cloth. Shaw’s brief examination of the syntax of domestic architecture in Egypt (Chapter 14) highlights the contributions of Barry Kemp and Lynn Meskell to gender-oriented study of New Kingdom houses and use of domestic space. At a more abstract level, Sandra Lippert’s presentation of textual evidence for the legal position of women in the New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period (Chapter 37) indicates that a greater diversity of documentary sources now exist, many indicating the rights of women and children in relation to property. We can finally return to our opening question: does Egyptology have an identity crisis? It is probably now up to the readers of this volume to make their own minds up about this. Although we have argued that a lot more needs to be done to forge new paths into multidisciplinary collaborations, and also methods, it is clear from some of these chapters that a number of fresh approaches have already begun to appear and thus there is reason for optimism. This is particularly the case when we consider the greater number of voices coming into debates outside of traditional western discourses. So, what we need to think about now are the ways in which we collectively shake off the stale image and perception of Egyptology and shout more about the interesting changes of direction that are happening, particularly in the archaeological side of the discipline. To do this we need to publish more widely across the spectrum of archaeological and anthropological journals, participate 89  See also Nyord 2009: 41–4. 90  See Lichtheim 1973: 21. 91  Notably Weeks 1979; Lustig 1998; Meskell 1999; Howley and Nyord 2018.

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24   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw more actively in forums across disciplines, and work more rigorously towards finding common research agendas that generate opportunities for cross-disciplinary collaboration, both within and outside Egyptology. There is no perfect way to compile a multi-authored volume that covers all topic areas of a discipline and therefore we are aware of omissions such as more comment from pre­his­tor­ ians, from those working in interesting cross-border regions in Sudan, and of course, from anthropology. But perhaps the next volume of articles should not be another batch framed within Egyptology, but one that is much more inclusive of cross-cultural debates across the archaeological and historical spectrum. In other words, a ‘world’ perspective in which we seek new ways of working together to find that common ground that unites us, rather than those things that potentially isolate us from our fellow researchers in the other humanities and social sciences.

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Introduction   25 Blench, R.M. and Macdonald, K.C. (eds) 2000. The Origins and Development of African Livestock. Archaeology, Genetics, Linguistics and Ethnography. London: University College London Press/ Taylor & Francis. Bloxam, E. 2015. ‘A Place Full of Whispers’: Socialising the Quarry Landscape of the Wadi Hammamat. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 25/4: 789–814. Bourriau, J. and Phillips, J. (eds) 2004. Invention and Innovation: The Social Context of Technological Change. Egypt, the Aegean, and the Near East, 1650–1150 bc. Oxford: Oxbow. British Academy 2017. Reflections on Archaeology. London: The British Academy. Downloadable from https://www.thebritishacademy.ac.uk/publications/reflections-archaeology/ (Accessed 10 June 2020). Brodie, N. 2015. Archaeological and Criminological Approaches to Studying the Antiquities Trade: A  Comparison of the Illicit Antiquities Research Centre and the Trafficking Culture Project. Cuadernos de Prehistoria y Arqueología 25: 99–215. Brodie, N. 2017. The Role of Conservators in Facilitating the Theft and Trafficking of Cultural Objects: The Case of a Seized Libyan Statue. Libyan Studies 48: 117–123. Brodie, N. and Manivet, P. 2017. Cylinder Seal Sales at Sotheby’s and Christie’s (1985–2013). Journal of Art Crime: 3–16. Brodie, N. and Tubb, K.W. (eds) 2001. Illicit Antiquities: The Theft of Culture and the Extinction of Archaeology. New York: Routledge. Budka, J. 2010. The Use of Pottery in Funerary Contexts during the Libyan and Late Periods. In F. Coppens, L. Bares, and K. Smolarikova (eds), Egypt in Transition. Social and Religious Development of Egypt in the First Millennium bc. Prague: Charles University, 22–72. Budka, J. 2015a. The New Kingdom in Nubia: New Results from Current Excavations on Sai Island. Egitto e Vicino Oriente 37 [2014]: 55–87. Budka, J. 2015b. The Pharaonic Town on Sai Island and its Role in the Urban Landscape of New Kingdom Kush. Sudan & Nubia 19: 40–53. Budka, J. 2017a. Crossing Borders: Settlement Archaeology in Egypt and Sudan. Near Eastern Archaeology 80/1: 14–21. Budka, J. 2017b. The 18th Dynasty on Sai Island—New Data from Excavations in the Town Area and Cemetery SAC5. Sudan & Nubia 21: 71–81. Budka, J. and Auenmüller, J. (eds) 2018. From Microcosm to Macrocosm: Individual Households and Cities in Ancient Egypt and Nubia. Leiden: Sidestone Press. Budka, J. and Doyen, F. 2017. Across Borders 1: The New Kingdom town of Sai Island, Sector SAV1 North. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences Press. Bunbury, J.M. 2012. The Mobile Nile. Egyptian Archaeology 41:15–17. Bunbury, J.M., Graham, A., and Hunter, M.A. 2008. Stratigraphic Landscape Analysis: Charting the Holocene Movements of the Nile at Karnak through Ancient Egyptian Time. Geoarchaeology 23/3: 351–73. Capart, J. 1905. Primitive Art in Egypt. London: H. Grevel & Co. Carruthers, W. (ed). 2014. Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. London: Routledge. Cialowicz, K.M. 2008. Cult, Ideology and Social Complexity. Introduction. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y.  Tristant (eds), with the collaboration of J.  Rowland and S.  Hendrickx, Egypt at its Origins 2, Leuven: Peeters, 1035–8. Clarysse, W. and Thompson, D.J. 2006. Counting the People in Hellenistic Egypt. 2 vols. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Cline, E.H. 1998. Rich Beyond the Dreams of Avaris: Tell el-Dab’a and the Aegean World—A Guide for the Perplexed. Bulletin of the School of Athens 93: 199–219. Colla, E. 2007. Conflicted Antiquities. Egyptology, Egyptomania, Egyptian Modernity Durham and London: Duke University Press. Correas-Amador, M. 2013. Ethnoarchaeology as a Tool for Holistic Understanding of Mudbrick Architecture in Ancient Egypt. Cuadernos de Prehistoria y Arqueología de la Universidad Autónoma de Madrid 39: 65–80.

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26   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw Darnell, J.C. 2002. The Theban Desert Road Survey I: The Rock Inscriptions of Gebel Tjauti in the ­Theban Western Desert, Part 1, and the Rock Inscriptions of the Wadi el Hôl, Part 1. OIP 119, Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute. Dee, T., Wengrow, D., Shortland, A., Stevenson, A., Brock, F., Girdland Flink, L., and Bronk Ramsey, C. 2013. An Absolute Chronology for Early Egypt, Using Radiocarbon Dating and Bayesian Modelling. Proceedings of the Royal Society A. Mathematical, Physical and Engineering Sciences: 469/2159. Available from: doi:10.1098/rspa.2013.0395 (Accessed 10 June 2020). Demarée, R. 1983. The Akh iqr n ra Stelae: On Ancestor Worship in Ancient Egypt. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Dils, P. 2010. Das Projekt Altägyptisches Wörterbuch und die Geschichte der altägyptischen Wortforschung. Denkströme. Journal der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 4: 143–58. Erman, A. and Grapow, H. 1953. Das Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache: zur Geschichte eines grossen wissenschaftlichen Unternehmens der Akademie. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Evans, A.J. 1899–1900. The Palace of Knossos in its Egyptian Relations. Archaeological Report of the Egypt Exploration Fund 9: 60–6. Fostner-Müller, I., Herbich, T., and Schweitzer, C. 2015. Archaeological and Geophysical Survey of Tell el-Dab‘a, an Ancient Town in the Nile Delta. Archaeologia Polona 53: 157–61. Frankfort, H. 1924–27. Studies in Early Pottery of the Near East, 2 vols. London: Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland. Friedman, F. 1985. On the Meaning of Some Anthropoid Busts from Deir el-Medina. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 71: 82–97. Garciá, J.C.M. 2014. The Cursed Discipline? The Peculiarities of Egyptology at the Turn of the Twenty-First Century. In W. Carruthers (ed.), Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. London: Routledge. 50–63. Gasperini, V. 2014. Mycenaean and Cypriot Pottery from Gurob in the Manchester Museum Collection: A Test of Trade Network Theories for the New Kingdom Faiyum. Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 6/2: 10–22. Gasperini, V. 2018. Tomb Robberies at the End of the New Kingdom: The Gurob Burnt Groups Reinterpreted. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Goody, J. 1968. Literacy in Traditional Societies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goudriaan, K. 1992. Ethnical Strategies in Graeco Roman Egypt. In P.  Bilde (ed), Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press. 76–95. Groenewald, A. 2006. Mythology, Poetry and Theology. HTS Theological Studies 62/3: 909–24. Hafemann, I. and Dils, P. 2013. Das Thesaurus Lingua Aegyptiae—Konzepte und Perspektiven. In  I.  Hafemann (ed), Perspektiven einer corpusbasierten historischen Linguistik und Philologie. Inter­ nation­ ale Tagung des Akademienvorhabens „Altägyptisches Wörterbuch” an der BerlinBrandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 12.—13. Dezember 2011. Berlin: Achet Verlag, 127–43. Haring, B. 2018. From Single Sign to Pseudo-Script. An Ancient Egyptian System of Workmen’s Identity Marks. Leiden & Boston: Brill. Haring, B. and O. Kaper (eds). 2009. Pictograms or Pseudo-script: Non-Textual Identity Marks in Practical Use in Ancient Egypt and Elsewhere. Proceedings of the Conference in Leiden, 19–20 December 2006. Leuven: Peeters/NINO. Hassler, A. 2011. Mycenaeans at Tell Abu Gurob? In K. Duistermaat and I. Regulski (eds), Intercultural Contacts in the Ancient Mediterranean: Proceedings of the International Conference at the Netherlands-Flemish Institute in Cairo, 25–29 October 2008. Leuven: Peeters, 125–35. Hendrickx, S. and Friedman, R. 2003. Gebel Tjauti Rock Inscription 1 and the Relationship between Abydos and Hierakonpolis during the Early Naqada III Period. Göttinger Miszellen 196: 95–110. Hill, M. 2007. Heights of Artistry: The Third Intermediate Period. In M. Hill (ed), Gifts of the Gods. Images from Egyptian Temples. New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 51–63. Hornung, E., Krauss, R., and Warburton, D.A. (eds). 2006. Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Leiden: Brill.

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Introduction   27 Howley, K. and Nyord, R. (eds). 2018. Egyptology and Anthropology: Historiography, Theoretical ­Exchange, and Conceptual Development: Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 17. Huyge, D. 2014. The Painted Tomb, Rock Art and the Recycling of Predynastic Egyptian imagery. Archéo-Nil 14: 93–102. Jiménez-Serrano, A. and von Pilgrim, C. (eds). 2015. From the Delta to the Cataract: Studies Dedicated to Mohamed el-Bialy. Leiden: Brill. Jurman, C. 2018. Memphis in der Dritten Zwischenzeit. Eine Studie zur (Selbst-) Repräsentation von Eliten in der 21. und 22. Dynastie. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag. Kaper, O. 2009. Soldiers’ Identity Marks of the Old Kingdom in the Western Desert. In B.J.J. Haring and O.E. Kaper (eds), Pictograms or Pseudo-script? Non-textual Identity Marks in Practical Use in Ancient Egypt and Elsewhere. Leuven: Peeters, 169–78. Karetsou, A. (ed). 2000. Crete–Egypt. Three Thousand Years of Cultural Links: Essays. Athens: Kapon Editions. Kemp, B.J. 1986. Large Middle Kingdom Granary Buildings and the Archaeology of Administration. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 113: 120–36. Kitchen, K.A. 1996. The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt, 3rd ed. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Knappett, C. and Kiriatzi, E. 2016. Technological Mobilities: Perspectives from the Eastern ­Mediterranean—An Introduction. In E.  Kiriatzi and Kanppett, C. (eds), Human Mobility and Technological Transfer in the Prehistoric Mediterranean. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1–17. Lesko, L.H. and Lesko, B. 1982–90. A Dictionary of Late Egyptian, 5 vols. Berkeley and Providence: bc Scribe. Lichtheim, M. 1973. Ancient Egyptian Literature I: The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Los Angeles & Berkeley: University of California Press. Lustig, J. (ed). 1998. Anthropology and Egyptology: A Developing Dialogue. Sheffield: Continuum. Malan, G. 2016. Myth as Metaphor. HTS Theological Studies 72/4: 1–8. http://dx.doi.org/10.4102/hts. v72i4.3260. (Accessed 10 June 2020). Meffre, R. 2015. D’Héracléopolis à Hermopolis. La Moyenne Égypte durant la Troisième Période Intermédiaire (XXIe–XXIVe dynasties). Paris: Presses de l’Université Paris Sorbonne. Meskell, L. 1999. Archaeologies of Social Life: Age, Sex, Class et cetera in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Blackwell. Miniaci, G., Moreno Garcia, J.C., Quirke, S., and Stauder, A. (eds). 2018. The Arts of Making in Ancient Egypt: Voices, Images and Objects of Material Producers, 2000–1500 bc. Leiden: Sidestone Press. Mittelman, R.J. 2014. Ceramics as an Ethnic Identifier: Libyans in the Nile Delta during the Third Intermediate Period. Unpublished PhD thesis. University of Memphis, TN. Moeller, N. 2008. The Archaeological Evidence for Town Administration: New Evidence from Tell Edfu. In S. Ikram and A. Dodson (eds), Beyond the Horizon: Studies in Egyptian Art, Archaeology and History in Honour of Barry J. Kemp. Cairo: American University in Cairo, 263–74. van der Molen, R. 2000. A Hieroglyphic Dictionary of Egyptian Coffin Texts. Leiden, Boston, and Cologne: Brill. Müller, M. 2016. Among the Priests of Elephantine Island: Elephantine Island Seen from Egyptian Sources. Die Welt des Orients 46/2: 213–43. Murphy, E.A. and Poblome, J. 2012. Technical and Social Considerations of Tools from Roman Period Ceramic Workshops at Sagalassos (Southwest Turkey). Not Just Tools of the Trade? Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology 25/2: 197–217. Murray, M.A. 2011. Archaeological Science 2009. In M. Lehner (ed), Giza Occasional Papers 5: Giza Plateau Mapping Project, Season 2009: Preliminary Report. Boston: AERA, 153–71. Nicholson, P.T. 2007. Brilliant Things for Akhenaten: The Production of Glass, Vitreous Materials and Pottery at Amarna site O45.1. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Nicholson, P.T. and Shaw, I. In press. Key Issues in the Science of Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technologies. Science of Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technologies. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale.

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28   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw Nyord, R. 2009. Breathing Flesh: Conceptions of the Body in the Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. ­Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum. Payraudeau F. 2014. Administration, société et pouvoir à Thèbes sous la XXIIe dynastie bubastite. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Pendlebury, J.D.S. 1930. Egypt and the Aegean in the Late Bronze Age. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 16: 75–92. Polotsky, H.-J. 1969. Zur altägyptische Grammatik. Orientalia 38: 465–81. Pomian, K. 1984. L’Ordre du temps. Paris: Éditions Gallimard. Powell, C. 1995. The Nature and Use of Ancient Egyptian Potter’s Wheels. In B.J. Kemp (ed), Amarna Reports VI. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 309–35. Pulak, C. 1998. The Uluburun Shipwreck: An Overview. The International Journal of Nautical ­Archaeology 27: 188–224. Pulak, C. 2005. Who Were the Mycenaeans Aboard the Uluburun ship? In R. Laffineur and E. Greco (eds), EMPORIA Aegeans in Central and Eastern Mediterranean. Proceedings of the 10th International Aegean Conference/10e Rencontre égéenne internationale, Athens, Italian School of Archaeology, 14–18 April 2004 (=Aegaeum, 25) Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, I, 295–310. Quack, J.F. 2000. Das Buch vom Tempel und verwandte Texte: ein Vorbericht. Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 2: 1–20. Quack, J.F. 2016. Translating the Realities of Cult: The Case of the Book of the Temple. In I. Rutherford (ed), Greco-Egyptian Interactions: Literature, Translation and Culture, 500 bce–300 ce. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 267–86. Ragazzoli, C., Harmansah, Ö., Salvador, C., and Frood, E. 2018. Scribbling through History. Graffiti, People and Places from Antiquity to Modern Times. London: Bloomsbury. Raue, D. 2002. Nubians on Elephantine Island. Sudan & Nubia 6: 20–4. Raue, D. 2008. Who was Who in Elephantine of the Third Millennium bc. British Museum Studies of Ancient Egypt and Sudan 9: 1–14. Reineke, W. 1999a. Das Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache: zur Geschichte eines grossen wissenschaftlichen Unternehmens der Berliner Akademie zwischen 1945 und 1992. In S. Grunert and I.  Hafemann (eds), Textcorpus und Wörterbuch. Aspekt zur ägyptischen Lexikographie. Leiden, Boston, and Cologne: Brill, 1–43. Riemer, H. 2011. El Kharafish: The Archaeology of Sheikh Muftah Pastoral Nomads in the Desert around Dakhla Oasis (Egypt). Cologne: Heinrich-Barch Institute. Schneider, T. 2006. The Relative Chronology of the Middle Kingdom and the Hyksos Period (Dyns. 12–17). In E. Hornung, R. Krauss, and D.A. Warburton (eds), Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Leiden & Boston: Brill, 168–96. Schulz, R. 2007. Khepereru—Scarabs. Scarabs, Scaraboids, and Plaques from Egypt and the Ancient Near East in the Walters Art Museum Baltimore. Oakville, CT: Halgo. Seidlmayer, S. 2000. The First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc). In I. Shaw (ed.), The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 118–47. Shortland, J.J. and Bronk Ramsey, C. (eds). 2013. Radiocarbon and the Chronologies of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxbow. Sigl, J. and Kopp, P. 2020. Working from Home—Middle Kingdom Daily Life on Elephantine Island, Egypt. In A. Hodgkinson and C.L. Tvetmarken (eds), Approaches in the Analysis of Production at Archaeological Sites. Oxford: Archaeopress. 8–24. Sillar, B. and Tite M.S. 2000. The Challenge of Technological Choices for Materials Science Approaches in Archaeology. Archaeometry 42/1: 2–20. Smith, S.T. 2003. Wretched Kush. Ethnic Identities and Boundaries in Egypt’s Nubian Empire. London: Routledge. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge. Somaglino, C. and Tallet, P. 2015. Gebel Sheikh Suleiman: A First Dynasty Relief After All. Archéo-Nil 25: 123–34.

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Introduction   29 Spence, K. and Rose, P.J. 2014. Fieldwork at Sesebi 2010. In J. R. Anderson and D.A. Welsby (eds), The Fourth Cataract and Beyond: Proceedings of the 12th International Conference for Nubian Studies. British Museum Publications on Egypt and Sudan 1. Leuven: Peeters, 409–15. Spencer, N. 2014. Amara West: House and Neighbourhood in Egyptian Nubia. In M.  Muller (ed), Household Studies in Complex Societies: (Micro)archaeological and Textual Approaches. Chicago, IL: Oriental Institute, 169–209. Spencer, N., Stevens, A., and Binder, M. 2014. Amara West: Living in Egyptian Nubia. London: British Museum. Steadman, S.R. 2015. Archaeology of Domestic Architecture and the Human Use of Space. Walnut Creek CA: Left Coast Press. Stevenson, A. 2014. Artefacts of Excavation: The British Collection and Distribution of Egyptian Finds to Museums, 1880–1915. Journal of the History of Collections 26/1: 89–102. doi:10.1093/jhc/ fht017 (Accessed 10 June 2020). Storemyr, P. 2009. Prehistoric Geometric Rock Art Landscape by the First Nile Cataract. Archéo-Nil 19: 121–50. Taylor, J.H. 2003. Theban Coffins from the Twenty-second to the Twenty-sixth Dynasty: Dating and Synthesis of Development. In N. Strudwick and J. Taylor (eds), The Theban Necropolis. Past, Present and Future. London: British Museum Press, 95–119. Taylor, J.H. 2007. Figural Surface Decoration on Bronze Statuary of the Third Intermediate Period. In M. Hill (ed), Gifts of the Gods: Images from Egyptian Temples. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 65–81. Thompson, A., Richards, M.P., Shortland, A., and Zakrzewski, S.R. 2005. Isotopic Paleodiet Studies of ancient Egyptian Fauna and Humans. Journal of Archaeological Science 32: 451–63. Trigger, B.G. 2003. Understanding Early Civilizations: A Comparative Study. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ucko, P.J. (ed). 2003. Encounters with Ancient Egypt (series title, 8 vols). London: UCL. Vieth, J. 2018. Urbanism in Nubia and the New Kingdom Temple Towns. In J. Budka and J. Auenmüller (eds), From Microcosm to Macrocosm: Individual Households and Cities in Ancient Egypt and Nubia. Leiden: Sidestone Press. 227–38. Vittmann, G. 2002/2003. Ein Entwurf zur Dekoration eines Heiligtums in Soknopaiu Nesos (pWien D 10100). Enchoria 28: 106–36. Vleeming, S. 2011. Demotic and Greek-Demotic Mummy-labels and other Short Texts Gathered from Many Publications. 2 vols. Leuven: Peeters. Vleeming, S. 2015. Demotic Graffiti and other Short Texts Gathered from Many Publications (Short Texts III 1201–2350). Leuven: Peeters. Warden, L.A. 2014. Pottery and Economy in Old Kingdom Egypt. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Wasmuth, M.  S. 2015. Political Memory in the Achaemenid Empire: The Integration of Egyptian Kingship into Persian Royal Display. In J. M. Silverman and C. Waerzeggers (eds), Political Memory in and after the Persian Empire. Atlanta: SBL Press, 203–37. Weeks, K. (ed). 1979. Egyptology and the Social Sciences: Five Studies. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Wegner, J. 2007. The Mortuary Temple of Senwosret III at Abydos. New Haven: Peabody Museum of Natural History. Welsby, D.A. (ed). 2001. Life on the Desert Edge Seven Thousand Years of Settlement in the Northern Dongola Reach, Sudan. London: The Sudan Archaeological Research Society. Welsby, D.A. 2010. Excavations at Kawa, 2009–10. Sudan & Nubia 14: 48–55. Welsby, D.A. 2011. Excavations at Kawa, 2010–11. Sudan & Nubia 15: 54–63. Welton, A., 2016. Encounters with Iron: An Archaeometallurgical Reassessment of Early Anglo-Saxon Spearheads and Knives. Archaeological Journal 173: 206–44. Wendrich, W. 2013. The Relevance of Ethnoarchaeology: An Egyptian Perspective. In A. Marciniak and N. Yalman (eds), Contesting Ethnoarchaeologies. New York: Springer Press, 191–209.

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30   Elizabeth Bloxam and Ian Shaw Wendrich, W., Taylor, R.E., and Southon, J. 2010. Dating Stratified Settlement Sites at Kom K and Kom W: Fifth Millennium bce Radiocarbon Ages from the Fayum Neolithic. Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research Section B: Beam Interactions with Materials and Atoms 268/7–8: 999–1002. Wengrow, D. 2010. What Makes Civilization? The Ancient Near East and the Future of the West. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wengrow, D., Dee, M., Foster, S., Stevenson, A., and Bronk Ramsey C. 2014. Cultural Convergence in the Neolithic of the Nile Valley: A Prehistoric Perspective on Egypt’s Place in Africa. Antiquity 88: 95–111. Werschkun, C. 2010. Resource Procurement and Management in Egyptian Settlements of the Old Kingdom. Unpublished PhD thesis, University of Liverpool. Wilkinson, Sir  J.G. 1878. The Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians, 2nd ed. London: J. Murray. Wilkinson, T.A.H., 2003. Genesis of the Pharaohs: Dramatic New Discoveries that Rewrite the Origins of Ancient Egypt. London: Thames & Hudson. Wilkinson, T.A.H., Butzer, K.W., Huyge, D., Hendrickx, S., Kendall, T., and Shaw, I. 2004. Review Feature of Wilkinson, T.A.H.: Genesis of the Pharaohs. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 14: 113–35. Wilson, P. and Grigoropoulos, D. 2009. The West Nile Delta Regional Survey, Beheira and KafrelSheikh Provinces. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Yoffee, N. 2005. Myths of the Archaic State. Evolution of the Earliest Cities, States, and Civilizations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Zakrzewski, S. 2015. ‘Behind every mask there is a face and behind that a story’. Egyptian Bioarchaeology and Ancient Identities. In S.  Ikram, J.  Kaiser, and R.  Walker (eds), Egyptian Bioarchaeology: Humans, Animals, and the Environment. Leiden: Sidestone Press, 157–67. Zakrzewski, S., Shortland, A., and Rowland, J. 2015. Science in the Study of Ancient Egypt. London: Routledge.

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pa rt I

E GY P TOL O GY PE R SPE C T I V E S ON A DI S­C I P­L I N E

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chapter 1

The natu r e a n d history of Egyptology Andrew Bednarski

Introduction In its present form, Egyptology is an umbrella-like term for the study of the remains of ancient Egyptian civilization. Along with an intense focus on the philology of the ancient Egyptian language, the remnants of this civilization are studied using a variety of methodological tools from other disciplines, including, but not limited to, archaeology, literary studies, architecture, and religious studies. There is, as yet, neither a set way for one to ‘do’ Egyptology, nor much agreement amongst professionals on its nature. As a result, and as noted elsewhere, the discipline remains poorly defined.1 With this in mind, it comes as no surprise to learn that the history of Egyptology is, itself, poorly defined and still poorly understood. The purpose of this chapter is to offer the reader some basic historical facts, as they are currently understood, along with a discussion of some lines of enquiry using English language sources, to help them start research into the fascinating and rich history of Egyptology. While Egyptology as a scientific discipline began to formalize in the nineteenth century, it developed partly from interest in, and studies of, ancient Egypt stretching back to Classical antiquity. Why have different people been interested in ancient Egypt over the centuries? What has this interest meant to them? What does it mean today? Understanding what investigations into Egypt’s past have accomplished, the motivations behind this work, and the impact it had/has, are central to writing a history of Egyptology. With this topic in ascendency as an area of study in its own right, research into the history of Egyptology is in an exciting state of flux. Until recently, English-language histories of the discipline’s development would start with the writings of ancient Greek and Roman authors and progress through a recounting of people, usually European, and events, usually well-known, to the present day. While such narratives very rightly acknowledge a long interest in ancient 1 Carruthers 2015.

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34   Andrew Bednarski Egypt by non-Egyptians, this model has presented a number of problems for understanding the complicated history of Egyptology. Due to word limits, for example, complex historical dynamics, such as the motivations for conducting field work, or the transition to ‘scientific’ exploration, have been inevitably oversimplified in such accounts.2 Similarly, the repercussions of certain phenomena, such as the publication of the Description de l’Égypte and the ‘race’ to translate hieroglyphics, have been frequently exaggerated.3 In short, such narratives list a series of ‘developments’ without being able to explore critically what a development means in its own historical context, or how it came to pass. In addition, until recently, English-language histories of Egyptology were written by authors largely unfamiliar with many of the temporal periods they discussed, as well as non-European sources. The results were often superficial, and Eurocentric. Despite these severe limitations, however, a rapid overview of interest in, and the exploration of, ancient Egypt, can prove a useful starting point for researchers new to the history of the discipline. As such, this chapter will continue with just such a survey before offering commentary on existing histories of Egyptology.

Ancient sources As stated, overviews of the history of Egyptology have typically begun with discussions of certain Greek and Roman authors. The primacy given to such works appears to be the result of the influence these texts played in nineteenth-century exploratory efforts, as well as their accessibility to European scholars who have written about Egyptology. Certainly, these works form the earliest, best studied accounts of ancient Egyptian civilization by nonEgyptians. This is not to say that contact between Greece and Egypt began with the texts of the following authors. Cultural contact between the two regions existed long before these authors recorded their thoughts. What the following selection of writing demonstrates, however, is a clear interest in understanding aspects of the land, and people, of Egypt. A case can be made to support claims that the influential seventh-century philosopher Thales of Miletus’ ideas on mathematics and cosmology stemmed from Egyptian sources.4 A more definite interest in Egypt can be found in the writings of the sixth-century historian Hecataeus of Miletus. He attempted to write an account of all the peoples known to him and included a comprehensive account of those living in Egypt. The writings of Herodotus, the fifth-century historian, were probably influenced by his efforts.5 Herodotus’ account itself, comprising the second book of a larger historical work, is today the most famous classical text on ancient Egypt; based on a journey taken in 459–454 bc, his work is still used as a source for reconstructing facets of ancient Egyptian civilization, such as practices of mummification. Yet efforts to record Egyptian civilisation did not end with Herodotus. A fourth-century Greek historian by the name of Hecataeus of Abdera accompanied Ptolemy I Soter in an expedition to Syria and sailed up the Nile as far as Thebes. He appears to have recorded his experiences in two works which were eventually used in the writings of Diodorus Siculus, who travelled to Egypt in 59 bc (Diodorus, trans 1933–67). Between 285 and 246 bc Manetho, an Egyptian priest born in the Egyptian Delta, wrote a history of 2 Gange 2013. 3  Bednarski 2005; 2007: 483; Gange 2013: 53–4. 4  Kirk and Raven 1983: 79–81, 85, 88–98. 5  Burn 1972: 24–8; Lloyd 1975–88; Armayor 1978.

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The nature and history of Egyptology   35 the country dedicated to Ptolemy II. The complete text has failed to survive, but sections of it appear to have been incorporated into the writings of Josephus (1st century ad), Julius Africanus (ad 220), Eusebius (ad 320), and George, called Syncellus (ad 800).6 It is partly from these surviving fragments of Manetho’s work that the modern framework for Egyptian chronology was constructed. The Greek historian Strabo also wrote a geography based on his years living in Alexandria and his travels within the country, which brought him as far south as Aswan in c.25 bc (Strabo, trans Roller 2014). Like Diodorus before him, sections of this work rely on the writings of previous authors. Repositories of knowledge, many of which would have contained the works of the authors discussed above, formed throughout the Roman Empire. With its fragmentation, these repositories influenced, to varying degrees, local cultures. European countries have often been portrayed as the cultural and intellectual inheritors of Greek and Roman culture.7 By extension, histories of Egyptology that begin with an exploration of Greek and Roman texts on ancient Egypt have either explicitly or implicitly reinforced the notion that it was Europeans who were first interested in studying ancient Egyptian civilization. Such a starting point contributes to the notion that Egyptology has largely, and naturally, been the result of European enquiry. Both of these perspectives are tenuous when exploring the history of the discipline. In addition to Europe, the Roman Empire spread throughout North Africa and the Middle East. During the period of, and after, its fragmentation, the centres of learning located in these regions, much as in Europe, were assimilated into local traditions. The influence that Greek and Roman texts had on North African, and Middle Eastern cultures, and how they contributed to the exploration of Egypt, however, has been greatly underexplored, largely because European scholars have been unable to access source ma­ter­ial.8 More generally, the contributions of non-Europeans, and even native Egyptians, to the exploration of ancient Egypt from the Middle Ages to the present day remains an understudied subject. When discussing ancient sources on Egypt available to people after antiquity, the role played by scripture should not be underestimated. These texts, containing hundreds of references to Egypt, presented a familiar starting point for many researchers from the Middle Ages through to the nineteenth century.

Medieval, Renaissance, and Enlightenment sources Throughout the Medieval and Renaissance periods, Europeans travelled to Egypt and docu­ ment­ed their experiences. A number of these sources are readily available. One example of such a travel account, most likely an amalgam of other accounts, is The Travels of Sir John Mandeville, written in approximately ad 1356. By 1400 the work was distributed in every major European language and by 1500 a vast number of manuscripts were available.9 Collections and translations of other European travellers’ accounts on Egypt from these 6  Trans. Waddell 1964. 7  E.g. Gress 2004. 8  For a corrective to this lacuna, see El-Daly 2005.

9  Moseley 1983: 9.

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36   Andrew Bednarski periods can be found in works such as Collection des voyageurs occidentaux en Égypte, Voyageurs et écrivains Français en Égypte du début à la fin de la domination Turque10 and L’Égyptologie avant Champollion.11 While such texts provided a literary link to the Near East for Europeans, the Crusades provided a physical one. These religious-military endeavours facilitated the transfer of people from Europe to Egypt, and objects and information from Egypt to Europe. In the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, Europeans appear to have begun travelling to Egypt expressly for the collection of antiquities.12 An interest in ancient Egypt also became explicit through the adoption of Egyptian motifs in European art and architecture.13 Similarly, a clear interest in the symbols carved on Egyptian objects developed. This interest is evident in Athanasius Kircher’s attempts, during the seventeenth century, to translate the dead language of the ancient Egyptians (Kircher 1650–4). His work was based on the notion that hieroglyphs were purely figurative in nature, an idea with grounding in classical texts, such as that by Horapollo.14 Yet his work also marked a new interest in Coptic and would prove valuable to nineteenth-century efforts at decipherment.15 It was also during the seventeenth century that efforts were made by Europeans to study Egyptian monuments in new ways. John Greaves’ 1646 Pyramidographia, for example, used Humanist scholarship to quantify and qualify Egyptian pyramids.16 By the 1700s European interest in Egypt existed beyond curios, hieroglyphs, and pyramid studies. Ordered by the Regent Philippe d’Orléans to make an exact investigation of Egyptian monuments, the Jesuit linguist Claude Sicard travelled between 1707 and 1726, correctly identifying several sites and monuments on the basis of classical texts, including: Thebes, the Colossi of Memnon, and the Valley of the Kings. His manuscript was lost after his death, but letters on his work were preserved. These letters were used by Jean Baptiste Bourguignon d’Anville to construct a map of Egypt in 1765, which was later incorporated into the Napoleonic Description de l’Égypte.17 Of ideological importance to the study of Egyptian exploration at this point are the letters of Benoît de Maillet, written during his time as Ancien Consul de France in Cairo, and published in 1735 by Jean Baptiste le Mascrier. Within his commentary on Egypt, de Maillet put forth the notion that the country’s ‘ruinous’ state in the eighteenth century was a direct result of its doomed, despotic system of government.18 This perspective would later lend weight to the ideological imperatives that drove the Napoleonic invasion. By the early 1700s, travel to Egypt by Europeans had increased partly as a result of a large diffusion of publications on the country.19 One important work was Captain Frederik Ludvig Norden’s Travels in Egypt and Nubia, ori­gin­al­ly published in 1741.20 A second such work is Richard Pococke’s A Description of the East and Some Other Countries, originally published in 1743 (Pococke  1743–45). A new focus on the study of ancient Egypt can also be found in the compilations of Bernard de Montfaucon, published between 1719 and 1724, and that of Baron de Caylus, published between 1752 and 1764.21 Even a cursory sampling of texts, such as this, demonstrates that popular and academic 10 Carré 1932; 1956. 11  Lamy and Bruwier 2005. 12  Baines and Malek 1980: 22. 13 Curran 2007. 14  Greener 1966: 142. 15  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 229. 16  Greener 1966: 54; Wortham 1971: 19–23; Dawson and Uphill 1995: 176; Lehner 1997: 44. 17  Greener 1966: 70–3. 18  Laurens in Bret 1999: 3. 19  Leclant in Bret 1999: 125. 20  Norden 1757. 21  Baines and Malek 1980: 24.

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The nature and history of Egyptology   37 knowledge of Egypt, in particular its antiquities, natural environment, culture, and peoples, was available to Europeans long before Napoleon set foot on Alexandrian soil.

The Napoleonic invasion With the Franco-British Treaty of 1763 France was forced to reappraise its ambitions to remain a world power. Rather than abandon resources attainable through colonization, it concentrated on territories left to it by the treaty and those that remained either unexplored or unexploited.22 The exploration and colonization of foreign lands in the 1700s was only made possible by developments in technological knowledge and organization in Europe. One important development was the coupling of national, territorial ambition, with professional methodical exploration. Driving French foreign policy at this time, along with the pressures of expanding empires, new technologies, and a need for resources, were philosophical constructs developed during the French Enlightenment. One such construct was put forward by Constantin-François Chasseboeuf, Comte de Volney (1757–1820). Following a line of thinking similar to de Maillet, Volney prophesied the eventual collapse of the Ottoman Empire and ideologically facilitated French expansion into the Orient.23 All of these factors motivated Napoleon, in 1798, to undertake an invasion of Egypt, a nation controlled by the French-friendly Ottoman Empire.24 With his army, and capitalizing on precedents set by earlier missions of colonization as well as his own Italian campaign, Napoleon brought with him a corps of scholars. This impressive group of savants, initially 151 in number, were brought primarily to create a modern infrastructure necessary for rapid colonisation.25 As their time in Egypt progressed, this group applied their skills to record all aspects of the strange land: its antiquities, its people, its flora and fauna, its arts and sciences, its geography, etc. To aid them in these studies, the scholars had access, for a time, to a library brought from France.26 As the campaign and the scholars’ explorations continued, the notion of pooling all resources into one comprehensive publication was born. By 1802 the surviving French scholars had returned to France and the government began the lengthy process of publishing their findings. The result is the mighty Description de l’Égypte, whose official, yet inaccurate, publication dates range from 1809 to 1828. The work comprises ten folio volumes of plates, two atlases, and nine volumes of text. What the work represents is the sum of French knowledge concerning both ancient and modern Egypt at the end of the eighteenth century. It was the direct result of a large-scale, violent invasion, motivated by new social ideologies, as well as economic and political ambitions, and strongly rooted in prior traditions.27 The conquest of Egypt was not only a part of the great civilizing, Enlightenment project. It was meant to compensate France for its territorial losses elsewhere, as well as 22  Broc 1975: 275. 23  Laurens 1987: 117, 189–90. 24  For further information on the build-up to the invasion see Clément  1960; Laissus  1973; Laurens 1987; Beaucour et al 1989; Laurens 1990; Kalfatovic 1992; Bret 1999; and for information on the invasion and the activities of the French savants in Egypt see Dewachter and Gillispie 1987; Laurens 1999; Beaucour et al 1989. 25  See Dewachter and Gillispie 1987: 2; Dhombres and Dhombres 1989: 104. 26  Godlewska 1995: 12, 27. 27  For a brief examination of these traditions see Bednarski 2005: 3–20.

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38   Andrew Bednarski secure established commercial interests in the Near East.28 As  such, the invasion was undertaken with all of the force and cunning that France could muster at the time. This fact, combined with the hardships endured by the French savants during their investigations, the scale of research that they undertook, the quality of their research, and the long-term efforts behind the project, make the Description unique amongst early colonial-exploratory works. Similarly, the corpus remains distinct from prior enquiries into Egypt’s past.

The early to mid-nineteenth century The Napoleonic invasion opened the study of Egypt to Europeans in ways never before ­possible. The military conflict in Egypt forced Europeans to focus on this far-off land. Famous objects, such as the Rosetta Stone, and collections of antiquities, brought to Europe by both the French and British armies, aroused interest in the country. Interest was also piqued by publications stemming from the Napoleonic invasion, such as Dominique Vivant Denon’s Voyage dans la Basse et la Haute Égypte, published in 1802. Throughout the early 1800s both France and Britain had historically unprecedented access to the country through missions of exploration. Between Henry Salt, appointed British Consul-General in 1815, and Bernardino Michel Maria Drovetti, appointed French Consul-General in 1811, Egypt was rapidly divided into geographic spheres of influence in which archaeological investigations and the accumulation of collections took place. It was amidst this environment that Johann Ludwig Burckhardt undertook his extensive travels in Egypt, passing himself off as a native, and becoming the first European to visit Abu Simbel.29 It was Burckhardt who recommended Giovanni Battista Belzoni to Salt, and thereby en­abled a famous, albeit brief, career in Egyptian exploration. Belzoni’s efforts resulted in the acquisition of some of the most famous pieces of Egyptian culture by British institutions. British enquiry was also influenced by the works of John Gardner Wilkinson, such as his 1835 Topography of Thebes and his 1837 Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians, the result of twelve years’ living and working in Egypt.30 Yet the Description was not forgotten as the nineteenth century progressed, with Franz Christian Gau’s Antiquités de la Nubie, published between 1821 and 1827, meant as a supplement to the Napoleonic corpus.31 Similarly, Karl Richard Lepsius undertook the best prepared expedition ever to have gone to Egypt and published his findings in twelve massive folio volumes of plates that comprised the Denkmäler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien in 1859. The text to the work was later published under the guidance of Edouard Naville between 1897 and 1913.32 The face of Egyptian exploration was also forever changed by the work of François Auguste Ferdinand Mariette (1821–81). Amongst his long list of accomplishments, Mariette discovered the Serapeum and founded both the Egyptian Antiquities Service (now the Ministry of Antiquities) and the first national museum in the Near East, the Egyptian Museum in Cairo.33

28  Godlewska 1988: 2. 29  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 74. 30  Thompson 1992: 133–41; Dawson and Uphill 1995: 443–4. 31  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 164. 32  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 249. 33  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 275.

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The nature and history of Egyptology   39 Along with these archaeological discoveries, the groundwork for reconstructing the ancient Egyptian language was set during the nineteenth century. A systematic approach to studying hieroglyphic signs was established by George Zoëga (1755–1809), even though he himself never made attempts at translation.34 Significant efforts at translation were undertaken early in the century by, among others, Thomas Young (1773–1829), Johan David Åkerblad (1763–1819), Antoine Isaac Silvestre de Sacy (1758–1838) and Jean François Champollion (1790–1832). In 1822 Champollion published his famous Lettre à M. Dacier, which marks a turning point in the history of translation. His Précis du système hiéroglyphique, expanded upon this work and was published the following year. It was not until his Grammaire (1836–41) and Dictionnaire (1841–44) were published, however, that the extent of his ideas was realised.35 Despite the validity of much of his work, many of his ideas were disputed into the mid- and late 1800s.36 Other scholars contributed greatly to our understanding of ancient Egyptian. Charles Wycliffe Goodwin’s Hieratic Papyri, published in 1858, is a case in point.37 Similarly François Joseph Chabas (1817–82) made numerous textrelated discoveries.38 All of these advances were connected to other developments in Europe. The nineteenth century witnessed the professionalization not only of Egyptology but also of the sciences in general. Along with a host of other social factors, historical studies were influenced by theories and techniques in many disciplines that accompanied this professionalization. Archaeology, for example, stemmed from developments in the field of geology. New mental tools influenced ideas, and spurred debate, on the antiquity of the planet and humanity’s presence on it.39

The late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries The period of the late 1800s and early 1900s continued the story of archaeological efforts in Egypt, as well as developments in the understanding of its ancient language. In the 1870s, while the Egyptian Antiquities Service was under French direction, a cache of royal mummies was found in the Valley of the Kings, marking the first find of royalty (Baines and Malek 1980: 28). To better marshal archaeological resources, foreign organizations dedicated to the exploration of ancient Egypt were developed. With the help of Amelia Edwards, the Egypt Exploration Fund (now Egypt Exploration Society (EEF)) was founded in 1882. The Fund was established to conduct a Biblically-motivated exploration of Egypt’s Nile Delta, and chose Henri Edouard Naville to act as its first field director in 1883. Through its efforts, the EEF contributed greatly to the amassment of antiquities both in England and the USA. The legendary William Matthew Flinders Petrie also worked for the Fund, and his efforts greatly influenced archaeological practice in Egypt.40 Jacques Jean Marie de Morgan was made Director-General of the Egyptian Antiquities Service in 1892. He made many important discoveries and, along with Petrie, was fundamental in linking the Predynastic 34  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 457. 35  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 93. 36  Ceram 1954: 80. 37  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 171. 38  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 90. 39  Gange 2013; Colla 2007. 40 Drower 1985.

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40   Andrew Bednarski remains of Egyptian civilization with those of the Dynastic period.41 The first extensive study of Egyptian architecture was undertaken by Ludwig Borchardt (1863–1938), who also excavated at Amarna and discovered the bust of Nefertiti, now in Berlin.42 Gaston Camille Charles Maspero succeeded Mariette in the Egyptian Antiquities Service and, amid his legion of publications, produced the first edition of the Pyramid Texts in 1894.43 By the early 1900s, Howard Carter had spent many years working and travelling in Egypt. He was, for example, Chief Inspector of Antiquities for Upper Egypt in 1899 and for Lower Egypt in 1904. Yet it is his discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun in 1922, after years of excavating in the Valley of the Kings, for which he is most famous.44 Finally, George Reisner’s (1867–1942) efforts to further systematize Petrie’s archaeological methods should be mentioned.45

Twentieth-century Egyptology In addition to further changes in nineteenth-century methodological and conceptual tools, the early twentieth century witnessed the introduction of technologies that had a profound effect upon the way in which people interacted with Egypt’s past. One scientific development that has greatly affected the study of Egypt is remote sensing. Yet less obvious technological developments have affected the place of ancient Egypt in Western culture. Tutankhamun’s golden burial mask has become a canonical image associated with ancient Egypt, symbolising the civilization’s wealth and artistic achievements. It has also symbolized the romantic exoticism of the land of the Nile. This priority placed on the mask is largely the result of several historical factors: at the time of its discovery it was found in the least disturbed king’s tomb in Egypt; prior to its discovery, Tutankhamun was a little-known historical figure; the young king’s ascension to the throne and eventual death marks the end of the anomalous Amarna period; the historical data about his life facilitates speculation rife with political intrigue; and Carter’s work occurred at a time when new technologies could disseminate both the story and images of the discovery in manners never before imagined. Newspapers, movie footage, and innumerable consumer objects capitalized on the discovery, catering to the wealthy and less well-off, which, in turn, both created and fuelled a public fascination with ancient Egypt.46 Twentieth-century technology has also directly affected the way in which archaeological problems are approached. The preservation of monuments has long been a concern of Egyptologists.47 The most dramatic example of how contemporary technology can assist in the conservation of monuments is the UNESCO salvage campaign of the 1960s. In 1959 an international donations campaign was launched to save Egyptian and Nubian monuments south of Aswan. These monuments were endangered from the development of Lake Nasser. Between 1964 and 1968 both temples of Abu Simbel were dismantled and reassembled on 41  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 297. 42  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 54–5. 43  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 278–9. 44  James 1992. 45  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 351–2. 46 Frayling 1992. 47  Champollion, for example, wrote to Mohammed Ali expressing his concern for the monuments and urging appropriate action; see Dewachter 1990: 120–3.

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The nature and history of Egyptology   41 higher ground, while the expansion of the lake effectively wiped away vast swaths of the archaeological record in the area. The completed project, however, is also a testament to human engineering skills and international cooperation, and has succeeded in preserving temples that continue to attract tourists. Several European-Egyptian projects, developments, and discoveries in the twentieth ­century have demonstrated the importance of archaeology, not only for the procurement of artefacts, but also for a holistic comprehension of ancient Egyptian civilization. The long-term, and ongoing, exploration of two sites in particular underscore this fact. Tell el-Amarna, the capital city of Akhenaten, is one of the most important sites for the study of settlement archaeology in the Middle East. The discovery of cuneiform tablets in the 1880s drew attention to the site, prompting Urbain Bourriant to undertake the first official excavations in the area and publish his findings in 1884.48 Petrie was next to excavate at Amarna between 1891 and 1892, followed by Ludwig Borchardt’s expedition of 1913–14. British excavations took place over several seasons in the 1920s and 1930s and the site continues to be investigated under the direction of Barry Kemp. Similarly, the archaeological and textual data gathered from the site of Deir el-Medina has changed our understanding of ancient Egyptian village life. Many objects found at the site throughout the nineteenth century prompted further work. An Italian excavation took place at the turn of the twentieth century, followed by German efforts, led by Georg Möller, in 1911 and 1913. The long-running work of the Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale in Cairo started excavating the site in 1917.49 Another example of important twentieth-century archaeology is Pierre Montet’s work at Tanis between 1929 and 1939, which significantly expanded the available information on what was an obscure period of Egyptian history.50 Complementing, and acting as a starting point, for all archaeological activities in Egypt is the Topographical Bibliography. The work was the brainchild of Francis Llewellyn Griffith (1862–1934) and the product of efforts by Bertha Porter (1852–1941) and Rosalind Louisa Beaufort Moss (1890–1990). The first volume was produced in 1927 and the series continues to be enlarged. As with Egyptian archaeology, the study and recording of ancient Egyptian texts, the traditional focus of Egyptology, continued to develop in the twentieth century. Alan Gardiner’s (1879–1963) grammar remains influential for studying ancient Egyptian. Kurt Sethe’s (1869–1934) publications of texts have also proven invaluable to the study of the language. Our understanding of ancient Egyptian, as well as Coptic, its final form, was revolutionized by Hans Jacob Polotsky (1905–91). Similarly, Jaroslav Černý’s (1898–1970) efforts with the textual material from Deir el-Medina were significant. Gerhard Fecht also significantly changed the way in which people look at the organization of Egyptian texts.51 The Wörterbuch, the principal dictionary for ancient Egyptian was published between 1926 and 1953. It was largely a product of the Berlin School and a result of the efforts of Jean Pierre Adolphe Erman and Hermann Grapow. Finally, epigraphic missions to the country continue to add to our corpus of ancient Egyptian texts and reliefs. Perhaps the best-known mission of this sort is the University of Chicago’s epigraphic survey, established in 1924 by James Henry Breasted, which continues to operate.

48  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 59. 50  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 294.

49  Baines and Malek 1980: 28. 51  Baines and Malek 1980: 29.

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42   Andrew Bednarski

Histories of Egyptology As the first section of this chapter suggests, the history of Egyptology is a complex subject that can be addressed from a number of different perspectives. In this section, I will describe and discuss a few of the approaches undertaken in English literature. To begin with, several books on ancient Egypt incorporate brief overviews of the history of exploration, be they archaeological or philological. In-depth, scholarly investigations of the social and political context in which such exploration took place, however, of the type witnessed in French literature, have been difficult to find until recently. Two English works, now dated in their handling of the subject matter, that are typically cited and that offer broad overviews are C.W. Ceram’s Gods Graves & Scholars and Leslie Greener’s The Discovery of Egypt. A similar, third work, not often cited, but useful as a point of departure, is John David Wortham’s British Egyptology, 1549–1906. In addition to these works, other broad comprehensive overviews exist. Morris Bierbrier’s Who Was Who in Egyptology presents an encyclopaedic, although contested, approach to the subject.52 The work comprises brief biographical entries for amateurs and professionals recognized to have made contributions to the study of ancient Egypt. Regarding scholarly contributions to the field, T.G.H. James’ Excavating in Egypt offers an account of the first one hundred years of investigations by the Egypt Exploration Society.53 Similarly, Allen and Thomas’ The American Discovery of Ancient Egypt offers a national narrative on work done in Egypt.54 As a cautionary note, William Carruthers’ recent book highlights one pitfall such works can face: presenting past events in a narrative of ‘progress’, of heroic disciplinary genealogy.55 The narrative contained within the first portion of this chapter inevitably falls into this ­category. Broad, comprehensive, or encyclopaedic overviews are obviously not the only way to address the subject. Barry Kemp presented another approach, by discussing developments in the study of Egypt as occurring within two competing strands of Egyptology: linguistic versus archaeological.56 The development and role of archaeology, versus that of linguistics, within the discipline of Egyptology is a topic peripherally addressed in other publications.57 Colonial and post-colonial perspectives present yet another approach to the discipline’s history. Edward Said’s Orientalism lent such perspectives academic weight and spurred on numerous studies. Books by John and Elizabeth Romer, and by Brian Fagan also present an imperial history by concentrating on the systematic plundering of antiquities by Europeans.58 More recently, Donald Malcolm Reid presented an assessment of the reaction of Egyptians to such plundering and the manipulation of antiquities; he also explored links between Egyptian archaeology, tourism, and nationalism. Perhaps more importantly, though, Reid successfully wrote Egyptians into the narrative of ancient Egypt’s rediscovery, as well as the appropriation and use of its ancient remains.59 Elliott Colla’s more recent work continued to locate Egyptians in the history of the dis­cip­line. Of particular importance to the study of Egyptology’s history, however, is Colla’s 52 Bierbrier 2012. 53 James 1982. 54  Allen and Thomas 1996. 55 Carruthers 2015. 56 Kemp 1984. 57  See Trigger 1989; O’Connor 1990. 58  Fagan 1975; Romer 1993. 59 Reid 2002.

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The nature and history of Egyptology   43 categorization of prior attempts to write disciplinary narratives into four interpretations: a colonial enlightenment narrative; a colonial rape narrative; a national enlightenment narrative; and, as he espouses, an agnostic narrative. With this final narrative Colla successfully refuted claims that Egyptology is a value-free science that has ‘progressed’ to an objective state since its inception.60 As noted by Carruthers, he also demonstrated how prior histories were the product of a network of interests related to the governance of Egypt.61 Stephen Quirke’s recent study of UCL’s Petrie archive62 also successfully posits Egyptians in a history of archaeological exploration. Quirke’s study demonstrates the intricacies Petrie faced while managing his enormous workforces and offers extensive material with which to construct a better social and economic history of Egypt in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. At the same time, by detailing the complexities of conducting field work in Egypt during this period, Quirke offers keen insight into the nature of the archaeological practices that shaped Egyptological knowledge. Okasha El-Daly also took an important step with his Egyptology: The Missing Millennium by drawing attention to a vast corpus of Arabic sources available for study.63 European Renaissance and Enlightenment scholars used such sources to inform studies of ancient Egypt. As El-Daly demonstrates, however, the influence of such sources in histories of Egyptology is now typically forgotten, largely because contemporary European scholars’ usually lack the philological ability to engage with them. Biographies of Egyptologists offer yet another approach to the history of Egyptology. Jason Thompson’s book Sir Gardner Wilkinson and his Circle traces Wilkinson’s development from a young man into the leading early-Victorian authority on ancient Egypt, as well as the period in which he worked and lived.64 As a result, Thompson’s book stresses the work of gentlemen-scholars on the study of ancient Egypt in the early nineteenth century. Such an approach has many advantages to the study of the history of Egyptology. It offers the researcher/author a definite, and relatively short, temporal period to investigate. With such an approach the writer may, therefore, avoid the superficiality occasionally inflicted by publisher’s word limits. Such an approach also allows for concentration on different geographic areas: with the narrative following the subject’s movements. At the same time, and as noted earlier, such works run the risk of mythologizing their subject matter. Stephanie Moser’s Wondrous Curiosities investigates the amassment and display of ancient Egyptian material culture within a single, authoritative institution: the British Museum. Moser then infers the reception of ancient Egypt amongst Britons in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and discusses changes in display vis-à-vis changes in the British Museum and Egyptology. The end result is a fruitful discussion on how the display of objects in galleries reflected and dictated disciplinary changes within antiquarianism and Egyptology. David Gange’s more recent work, Dialogues with the Dead: Egyptology in British Culture and Religion, 1822–1922, provides a broad cultural history of the development of Egyptology in the United Kingdom. Gange deftly built a context in which to explain the birth and development of the discipline, locating it within a number of social dynamics, including the religious debates of the period. His work demonstrates the uses to which research into 60 Colla 2007. 63  El-Daly 2005.

61 Carruthers 2014. 64  Thompson 1992.

62 Quirke 2010.

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44   Andrew Bednarski ancient Egypt was put, and how such work changed depending on the desired uses. It also corrects the usual narrative of the transition from Biblically-motivated research to scientific research. The now largely outdated series Encounters with Ancient Egypt, based upon a conference, incorporated a variety of approaches to the history of Egyptology (Encounters 2003). Both the conference and series attempted to explore aspects of this history within an inter­dis­ cip­lin­ary forum, in an effort to understand what it means to ‘do’ Egyptology. A more recent, and much more relevant, interdisciplinary compilation has been edited by William Carruthers.65 This work, also the result of an international conference, directly addresses the methodological questions central to writing histories of Egyptology, and sets such work on a firmer footing. Carruthers’ text draws upon more developed areas of research, such as the history of archaeology and the history of science, to create a wider context for the study of ancient Egypt. The work explores the process of creating knowledge of ancient Egypt, and investigates how this process can tell us something about what it means to make such knowledge, and the uses to which this knowledge is put. My own forthcoming effort at addressing the history of Egyptology will take the form of another multi-author compilation.66 This work will present country-specific chapters, exploring information on how Egyptology developed within, and what it meant to the people living in, those countries between the early 1800s and the late twentieth century. Finally, the Journal of Egyptian History needs to be mentioned as a venue for publishing works on the history of the discipline, and more generally as a forum for ongoing debate. This journal focuses broadly on issues related to Egyptology’s development and relevance. As mentioned in the introduction, Egyptologists borrow methodological tools from a number of different disciplines to address the varied remains of ancient Egypt. A student, therefore, is required to have at least rudimentary skills in various academic areas. This scholastic reality confers certain strengths and weaknesses to the student of Egyptology. On the one hand, students can be encouraged to adopt a holistic approach to their work: in­corp­or­at­ing philological, archaeological, art-historical, and other perspectives, while researching. On the other hand it means that it is unrealistic to expect mastery of the subtleties of every field that impacts upon Egyptological research. As the study of the history of the discipline is increasingly accepted as part of Egyptology, this weakness becomes more apparent. Egyptologists receive little to no formal training in writing early-modern and modern historical works. As has been demonstrated with Carruthers’ work, the study of the history of Egyptology by Egyptologists is by no means an impossibility. What it requires is a desire to collaborate with scholars working in related disciplines, and a willingness to learn complementary skills. The study of Egyptology deserves to be given in-depth attention by Egyptologists, much as the history of archaeology has evoked considerable interest among archaeologists. Egyptologists today continue a long tradition of research. If they do not appreciate the historical continuum in which they work, few others will.

Acknowledgements Thanks to William Carruthers for his illuminating thoughts on this chapter. 65 Carruthers 2014.

66  Bednarski, Dodson, and Ikram 2020.

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The nature and history of Egyptology   45

Suggested reading Early European discoveries in Egypt are covered in now slightly outdated volumes by Greener 1966 and Wortham 1971, and the first century of British Egyptology is discussed in Gange 2013. T.G.H. James (1982) brings together a number of discussions on the crucial role played by the Egypt Exploration Society in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, while Stephanie Moser (2006) explores the involvement of the British Museum in Egyptology. Donald Malcolm Reid (2002) analyses the ways in which Egyptians themselves have reacted to early plundering, archaeology, and tourism in the Nile valley. The best source for detailed discussion and bibliographies of individual Egyptologists is Bierbrier 2012, and an excellent summary of a variety of ‘narratives’ of western involvement with ancient and modern Egypt is Colla 2007.67

Bibliography Allen, J. and Thomas, N. 1996. The American Discovery of Ancient Egypt. Los Angeles: Los Angeles County Museum. Armayor, O.K. 1978. Did Herodotus ever go to Egypt? JARCE 15: 59–73. Baines, J. and Málek, J. 1980. Atlas of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Phaidon Press Ltd. Beaucour, F., Laissus, Y., and C. Orgogozo 1989. La découverte de l’Égypte. Paris: Flammarion. Bednarski, A. 2005. Holding Egypt: Tracing the Reception of the Description de l’Égypte in Nineteenthcentury Great Britain. London: Golden House Publications. Bednarski, A. 2019. ‘Building a Disciplinary History. The challenge of Egyptology’, in H. Navratilova, T. 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 4. Munster: Zaphon. Bednarski, A., A. Dodson, and S. Ikram, (eds). 2020. A History of World Egyptology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bierbrier, M. 2012. Who Was Who in Egyptology, 4th ed. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Burn, A.R. 1972. Introduction. In Herodotus, the Histories, A. de Sélincourt (trans). London: Penguin Books, 7–37. Bret, P. (ed). 1999. L’expédition d’Égypte, une entreprise des Lumières 1798–1801. Paris: Technique et Documentation. Broc, N. (ed). 1975. La géographie des philosophes, géographies et voyageurs français au XVIIIe siècle. Paris: Editions Ophrys. Carré, J.M. 1932. Voyageurs et écrivains français en Égypte: du début à la fin de la domination Turque (1517–1840). Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Carré, J.M. 1956. Voyageurs et écrivains français en Égypte: deuxième édition revue et corrigée. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Carruthers, W. 2015. Histories of Egyptology: Interdisciplinary Measures. London: Routledge. Ceram, C.W. 1954. Gods Graves & Scholars, the Story of Archaeology. London: Readers Union. Clément, R. 1960. Les français d’Égypte aux XVII et XVIII siècles. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Colla, E. 2007. Conflicted Antiquities: Egyptology, Egyptomania, Egyptian Modernity. London: Duke University Press. 67  See also Bednarski, Dodson, and Ikram 2020.

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46   Andrew Bednarski Collection des voyageurs occidentaux en Égypte. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Curran, B. 2007. The Egyptian Renaissance: The Afterlife of Ancient Egypt in Early Modern Italy. ­Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dawson, W.R. and Uphill, E.P. 1995. Who Was Who in Egyptology, 3rd ed, rev M. Bierbrier. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Dewachter, M. 1990. Champollion, un scribe pour l’Égypte. Paris: Découvertes Gallimard. Dewachter, M. and Gillispie, C.C. 1987. Monuments of Egypt, the Napoleonic Edition, the Complete Archaeological Plates from la Description de l’Égypte. New Jersey: Princeton Architectural Press. Dhombres, N. and Dhombres, J. 1989. Naissance d’un nouveau pouvoir, sciences et savants en France (1793–1824). Paris: Éditions Payot. Diodorus Siculus. Library of History: Loeb Classical Library, trans. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. 1933–67. Drower, M. 1985. Flinders Petrie: A Life in Archaeology. London: Victor Gollancz. El-Daly, O. 2005. Egyptology: The Missing Millennium, Ancient Egypt in Medieval Arabic Writings. London: University College London Press. Fagan, B.M. 1975. The Rape of the Nile, Tomb Robbers, Tourists, and Archaeologists in Egypt. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Frayling, C. 1992. The Face of Tutankhamun. London: Faber and Faber. Gange, D. 2013. Dialogues with the Dead: Egyptology in British Culture and Religion, 1822–1922. ­Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gillispie, C.C. 1987. Historical Introduction. In C.C. Gillispie and M. Dewachter (eds), Monuments of Egypt, the Napoleonic Edition, the Complete Archaeological Plates from la Description de l’Égypte. New Jersey: Princeton Architectural Press, 1–29. Godlewska, A. 1988. The Napoleonic Survey of Egypt. A Masterpiece of Cartographic Compilation and Early Nineteenth-century Fieldwork, Cartographica 25/1–2 (spring/summer), monograph, 38–9. Godlewska, A. 1995. Map, Text and Image, the Mentality of Enlightened Conquerors: A New Look at the Description de l’Égypte, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, n.s. 20: 5–27. Greener, L. 1966. The Discovery of Egypt. London: Cassell & Company Ltd. Gress, D. 2004. From Plato to Nato. New York: Free Press. James, T.G.H. (ed). 1982. Excavating in Egypt, the Egypt Exploration Society 1882–1982. London: British Museum Publications Ltd James, T.G.H. 1992. Howard Carter: The Path to Tutankhamun. London: Kegan Paul International. Kalfatovic, M.R. 1992. Nile Notes of a Howadji: A Bibliography of Travelers’ Tales from Egypt, from the Earliest Time to 1918. London: Scarecrow Press. Kemp, B.J. 1984. In the Shadow of Texts: Archaeology in Egypt, Archaeological Review from Cambridge 3/2: 19–28. Kirk, G.S. and Raven, J.E. 1983. The Presocratic Philosophers, a Critical History with a Selection of Texts. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kircher, A. 1650–54. Oedipus Aegyptiacus. Rome: Mascardi. Laissus, Y. 1973. Description de l’Égypte, bilan scientifique d’une expédition militaire’. In G. Bonnin (ed), L’art du livre à l’Imprimerie Nationale. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 191–205. Lamy, F. and Bruwier, M.-C. 2005. L’Égyptologie avant Champollion. Louvain-la-Nueve. Laurens, H. 1987. Les origines intellectuelles de l’expédition d’Égypte: l’orientalisme islamisant en France (1698–1798). Istanbul: Isis Yayimcilik Ltd. Laurens, H. 1990. Le royaume impossible, la France et la genèse du monde arabe. Paris: Armand Colin Editeur. Laurens, H. 1999. Introduction, les Lumières et l’Égypte. In P.  Bret (ed), L’expédition d’Égypte, une entreprise des Lumières 1798–1801. Paris: Technique et Documentation, 1–6. Leclant, J. 1999. L’égyptologie avant l’expédition d’Égypte. In P. Bret (ed), L’expédition d’Égypte, une entreprise des Lumières 1798–1801. Paris: Technique et Documentation, 121–8. Lehner, M. 1997. The Complete Pyramids. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Lloyd, A. 1975–88. Herodotus, Book II. 3 vols. Leiden: E.J. Brill.

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The nature and history of Egyptology   47 Moseley, C.W.R.D. 1983. The Travels of Sir John Mandeville. New York: Penguin Books. Moser, S. 2006. Wondrous Curiosities: Ancient Egypt at the British Museum. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Norden, F.L. 1757. Travels in Egypt and Nubia. London: Lockyer Davis and Charles Reymers. O’Connor, D. 1990. Egyptology & Archaeology: An African Perspective. In P.  Robertshaw (ed), A History of African Archaeology. London: James Currey, 236–51. Pococke, R. 1743–45. A Description of the East and Some Other Countries. London: W. Bowyer. Quirke, S. 2010. Hidden Hands: Egyptian Workforces in Petrie Excavation Archives, 1880–1924. London: Duckworth. Reid, D.M. 2002. Whose Pharaohs? Archaeology, Museums, and Egyptian National Identity from Napoleon to World War I. London: University of California Press. Romer, J. and Romer, E. 1993. The Rape of Tutankhamun. London: Michael O’Mara Books. Said, E. 2003. Orientalism. London: Penguin Books. Strabo. 2014. The Geography of Strabo, trans D. Roller. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thompson, J. 1992. Sir Gardner Wilkinson and His Circle. Texas: University of Texas Press. Trigger, B.G. 1989. A History of Archaeological Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ucko, P.J. (ed). 2003. Encounters with Ancient Egypt. London: University College London, Institute of Archaeology. Waddell, W.G. 1964. Manetho. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Wortham, J.D. 1971. British Egyptology 1549–1906. Newton Abbot: David & Charles.

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chapter 2

Egy ptol ogy a n d cognate discipli n e s David Wengrow

‘In my first lessons in the Egyptian language at Cairo University, I had recourse to Gardiner’s admirable Egyptian Grammar, and saw clearly that there were many parallels in Arabic. As a result, I came to the conclusion that the Egyptian language should be approached in Egypt from a different angle . . . Since my professor, at that time, was not acquainted with Arabic, it was not possible to pursue this line of enquiry. Now, since I have myself taken up the position of a teacher, my pupils insist, as I myself once desired, that I should elucidate their grammatical difficulties through comparative examples from Arabic.’ An Introduction to the Study of the Egyptian Language: a Semitic Approach, A.M. BAKIR (1978: ii) ‘Linguistically, the ties between Egyptian and the Semitic family can be detected only by the eye of an historical linguist.’ ‘Defining Egyptian Literature: Ancient Texts and Modern Theories’, A. LOPRIENO (1996: 39)

Introduction: a problematic birth Histories of Egyptology cite the decipherment of hieroglyphs by Jean François Champollion le Jeun, announced between the years 1822 and 1824, as the founding event of a new dis­cip­line. As his claims gained acceptance, the last outpost of a Renaissance dream—the dream of a form of writing residing ‘in the world, among the plants, the herbs, the stones, and the ­animals’1—was largely abandoned. What lay ahead was the long and still ongoing task of translation; the translation of ancient Egyptian writings into modern languages and their further interpretation and classification into genres, accompanied by the creation of an institutional apparatus for transmitting knowledge within a scholarly community.2

1  Foucault 2002 [1966]: 39.

2 Schenkel 1996.

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Egyptology and cognate disciplines   49 The implications of decipherment were only gradually realized, however, and for much of the nineteenth century the primary skills employed in the field remained those introduced with the Napoleonic expedition to Egypt in 1798.3 They were concerned with the production of images and measurements, and with the movement of large and valued objects—mainly visible on the surface—through survey, draughtsmanship, and engineering. Growing interest in excavation, and its attendant cost, was conveyed to potential donors and the wider public through the appeal of Old Testament studies, as reflected in the mission statement of the Egypt Exploration Fund (now Society), founded in 1882: ‘It is proposed to raise a fund for the purpose of conducting excavations in the Delta . . . here most undoubtedly lie concealed the documents of a lost period of Biblical history—documents which we may confidently hope will furnish the key to a whole series of perplexing problems’.4 Encompassing these diverse enterprises was a wider set of disciplinary codes shared by many Europeans who resided in and reported on ‘oriental’ cultures. The intricacies of these codes—from linguistic skills and particular modes of writing and depiction to wearing local costume—have been widely discussed.5 Egyptology arose from, and was in many ways emblematic of, what Edward Said (1995) described as a distinct ‘family’ of ideas and modes of enquiry linking the study of Egypt to that of the Near East, India, and China. Members of this extended family shared certain habits of thought, including an occasional ambivalence towards their subject matter. In drawing a contrast with the study of ancient Greece and Rome, Alan Bowman notes how this ambivalence is encapsulated in the very terms ‘Egyptology’ and ‘Assyriology’ (and simi­lar­ly ‘Indology’ and ‘Sinology’).6 Such terms, he points out, express a tension between cultural identification and scientific distance, the search for the universal within the ­specific, and perhaps the spectre of a ‘pseudo-humanistic’ discipline, which also haunts anthropology. Like these other disciplines, Egyptology became strongly oriented towards the study of written language at a time when the established, sacred discourse on language origins was being replaced by one that took as its model the classification of biological species. The ‘new philology’ of the nineteenth century was both judge and jury to its own conclusions: the language families or ‘proto-languages’ that it produced (Semitic, Hamitic, Dravidian, IndoEuropean, etc) were conceived, not on the model of natural language, but as purely his­tor­ic­al entities that could only be reconstituted within the sphere of philological analysis. As such, they were isolated from criticism in the light of modern practice. Contemporaneous histories of ancient Egypt, such as those of Heinrich Brugsch (1877) and Gaston Maspero (1886), provided the newly constructed linguistic taxonomies with visual and historical substance. Often richly illustrated, these political narratives reveal to today’s reader a deep concern with questions of purity and danger, fusing monumental representations of ‘self ’ and ‘other’ from ancient Egyptian sources with modern concepts of racial difference, and introducing a related discourse on the dangers of admixture and contagion. The com­bin­ation was a heady one. ‘Libyans’, ‘Asiatics’ (or ‘Semites’), ‘Nubians’ (or ‘Negros’), and, crucially for these writers, ‘Europeans’ (or ‘Indo-Germans’: naturally ‘warrior-like’ and always ‘restless in their isles’) were made to rise up from the surfaces of temples and tombs to wage war upon the

3  See Jeffreys 2003. 4  Cited in James 1988: 20. 5  E.g. Mitchell 1991; Bohrer 2003. 6 Bowman 2002.

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50   David Wengrow Egyptian stage, which appeared through the eyes of the historian as a kind of ‘world-cradle’, where the earliest struggles for racial and national supremacy were played out. Understandably, most western Egyptologists would now rather forget these early narratives, and similarly the diffusionist arguments that accorded Egypt a quasi-mythical status as the font of all scientific and technical knowledge (see Champion 2003). With some degree of modification, both approaches to the Egyptian past have, however, resurfaced in recent decades through alternative claims to Egyptological knowledge oriented, not towards Europe, but towards the cultural renaissance of Africa.7 I evoke them here in an attempt to characterize something of the disciplinary environment within which Egyptological scholarship took form, and against which many Egyptologists subsequently reacted. This counter-reaction is manifest in calls for the subject to abandon its parochial status as an orientalist discipline and form alliances with universalistic fields of study. On a practical level it may be reflected in a lack of attendance at conferences with ‘oriental’ in the title, a lack of contributions to similarly named journals, and a tendency for scholars working on ancient Egypt to define their interests more broadly. What seems unclear, at least in some statements on the matter8, is whether this process of redefinition answers primarily to his­ tor­ic­al realities (i.e. Egypt’s putative isolation in antiquity, particularly from its eastern neighbours) or to the intellectual and institutional concerns of Egyptologists. In view of this, it may be worth returning to some basic issues of disciplinary identity, and in particular to the significance of decipherment.

Classification, translation, and identity The act of decipherment—a term derived via Italian from the Arabic sifr, meaning ‘zero’—may be said to stand guard over the disciplinary history of Egyptology at its point of origin, rooting it in a scientific achievement of unquestionable importance. A recent analysis of medieval Arabic sources challenges the uniqueness of this achievement, but not its under­lying principles.9 Decipherment has a certainty about it that the term ‘translation’, with its implications of cultural relativity, lacks. Arguably these expectations of certainty and ob­ject­ive knowledge—the possibility of decoding a civilization, much as one would reveal the anatomy of a biological specimen—define a more general mode of enquiry that is, at least to the western public, still recognizably ‘Egyptological’, even if it characterizes only a tiny fraction of the work now done by Egyptologists. Those occasional cases where public perception and scholarly reality cross paths would include publications claiming to contain a complete inventory of some aspect of Egyptian culture (ranging from gods and goddesses to royal families and particular types of monument) and attempts to describe entire domains of creativity such as art, literature, or the design of funerary monuments

7  Discussed by various contributors in O’Connor and Reid 2003. 8  Loprieno 1996: 39. 9 El-Daly 2005.

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Egyptology and cognate disciplines   51 as the outcome of adherence to a formulaic template; metrological, mathematical, ­astronomical, or otherwise.10 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.11 The relationship may be most mutually bene­fi­cial when it is 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 The most successful Egyptological studies, by which I mean simply those that have impacted upon broader areas of analysis, have mainly been undertaken by what might be termed ‘nominal Egyptologists’. I take this to define a type of scholar whose main interest lies in, for example, the cognitive basis of representational art,13 the relationship between the political and the sacred,14 or the nature of religious experience,15 and who has mastered enough of the specialist skills and knowledge required to bring ancient Egyptian material successfully to bear upon such topics. It is questions of translation rather than decipherment that lie at the heart of any attempt to locate Egyptology within a wider framework of academic disciplines. This seems true, both in terms of the need to translate highly specialized knowledge into some more generally relevant form, and in a more direct sense, highlighted by the opening passage from AbdEl-Mohsen Bakir’s An Introduction to the Study of the Egyptian Language: ‘A Semitic Approach’, which opens this chapter. Translation, in its broadest meaning, always involves the transmission of content from one more or less coherent system of meanings to another, and is therefore always an incomplete and imperfect process. The term ‘cognate’, implying family resemblance but not absolute replication, conveys well the resulting relationship between an original and its redaction. The ironic situation of an Egyptian student recognizing affinities between his own first language and that of ancient Egypt (via a study of Middle Egyptian grammar compiled according to European didactic principles by an English scholar) further points towards the complex, and often submerged, histories of exchange linking apparently discrete systems of knowledge (as does the hybrid etymology of ‘de­cipher­ment’ itself). More often than not, translation entails a shift of perspective, placing the original in a new light. The hypothetical ‘historical linguist’ of the second opening citation would, in reality, be approaching ancient Egyptian language from a particular perspective and state of knowledge; perhaps one from which Semitic languages are always experienced as remote, intellectual constructs, rather than living forms of communication. Bakir’s recollection therefore roots the question of disciplinary orientation within a broader set of issues concerning the role of cultural identity in the production of new knowledge. A discipline can be defined both as the study of any particular set of things or as a particular way of studying anything.16 Rigid adherence to the latter notion, especially in the early phases of European research and exploration, led to the fragmentation of monuments 10  Exemplified by Iversen’s 1975 work on representation, with refutation by Robins  1994, and to a lesser degree by Fecht’s 1963; 1993 work on literature, discussed by Mathieu  1988–97; Burkard  1996; Moers 1999. 11  Compare discussions in Weeks 1979; Lustig 1997. 12  Trigger 1979: 29. 13  Schäfer 2002 [1919]. 14 Frankfort 1948. 15 Hornung 1996. 16 Clarke 1999.

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52   David Wengrow and landscapes, and their presentation as isolated corpora of ‘literature’, ‘art’, and ‘architecture’, in turn separated into their various (to us) familiar sub-genres of poetry, painting, tombs, temples, etc. Reassembling those fragments into comprehensible wholes and restoring something of their original unity and coherence has been a guiding aim of much scholarship. In pursuing this goal, however, there is a danger of portraying past societies as seamless wholes: internally harmonious, externally bounded, and beyond the pale of comparison. The authors of a study which compares aspects of ancient Egyptian and Mesopotamian society observe that: ‘few scholars of these civilizations are inclined to be comparativists, and many even regard the principle of comparison as violating the “conceptual autonomy” . . . of  their area of study—its unique developmental trajectory and historical character’.17 Claims of the kind they refer to simply bypass the truism that cultural histories are inherently plural and hybrid, being mediated at every stage by the encounter between past data and modern frameworks of perception (as widely explored in the ‘Encounters with Ancient Egypt’ series).18 Putting disciplinary frameworks of knowledge ‘back in their place’ by demonstrating their inherent cultural biases, their historicity, or their plain arbitrariness has emerged as a major theme of twentieth-century scholarship, from Lévi-Strauss’s anthropology to the work of Foucault.19 The intellectual traditions of ancient Greece and Rome, which constituted an ancestral paradigm for modern fields of study in European universities, have not been immune to such critiques. Classicists now openly acknowledge the inadequacy of ‘history’, ‘geography’, ‘literature’, ‘economics’, and ‘philosophy’—in their modern senses— as lenses through which to view the development of societies in the ancient Mediterranean. The implicit misrepresentations that plague any attempt ‘to convey meaning and cultural connotation in the process of translating Greek and Egyptian languages’ have also been duly noted.20 What, then, is the place of Egyptology within this shifting academic, institutional, and political landscape? Individual scholars loom very large in such small fields, such that any answer to this question can turn all too easily into a patronising exercise in flattery (or ­battery). Although often chastized for its insularity, the work of professional Egyptologists has encompassed a remarkably broad range of disciplinary approaches. Methods and aims are not always neatly compatible, and European scholarship in particular is flavoured by distinct national traditions. Rather than claim to have discerned some common orientation, I will, where possible, take as my starting point discussions that Egyptologists themselves have initiated concerning the relationship of their work to broader fields of study. As a nonlinguist, whose training is in archaeology and anthropology, I must confess at the outset to a certain agenda. It is my own view that future disciplinary orientation will be determined to a significant extent by the manner in which Egyptologists redefine their relationship to the world of objects and material practices. I refer here, not just to the contextualization of written language within broader understandings of cultural transmission, but also to issues concerning the treatment and display of Egyptian remains,21 and substantive questions

17  Baines and Yoffee 1998: 203. 18 Ucko 2003. 19  E.g. Lévi-Strauss 1966; Foucault 2002 [1966]. 20  Bowman 2002; cf. Clarke 1999. 21 Riggs 2014.

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Egyptology and cognate disciplines   53 concerning, for instance, the origins of the hieroglyphic writing system,22 the understanding of ancient Egyptian art and literature,23 and the writing of ancient Egyptian history.24

Egyptology and its objects In what remains a provocative, if now dated discussion of the relationship between Egyptology and history, Donald Redford described the former as a discipline tortured by its own source material. Egyptologists are ‘at the mercy’ of field archaeologists, who supply evidence for the study of inscriptions, but in the process generate much other evidence that has no immediate relevance for them, and which they do not know how to interpret.25 Excavation in Egypt, he observed, is often simply a process of recovering objects, with little attempt to record or extract historical meaning from stratified cultural deposits. Particularly for the Bronze and Iron Ages, Egyptian archaeology is therefore the mirror-image of its Levantine counterpart. In the latter region, inscriptions are rare for these periods, and the understanding of tell stratigraphy has long been a technological obsession. It is worth noting, however, that the interpretation of Levantine archaeological sequences often harks back, ultimately, to a textual framework of understanding supplied by Egyptian and Assyrian monuments. In Egypt, regional survey remains at a still more preliminary stage, its implementation being hampered by the fragmentation of archaeological concessions. Accordingly there has been relatively little engagement with the interest in landscape-wide studies, current among archaeologists and anthropologists working in other parts of the world.26 The potential of such approaches is highlighted by work in the Memphite region, which begins to show how the spatial and temporal logic of monumental construction might be situated within complexities of alluvial ecology, social organization, and cos­mol­ogy.27 In considering the changing relationship between Egyptology and archaeology, a his­tor­ic­al perspective seems useful. It is particularly noteworthy that hieroglyphic decipherment coincided, during the early nineteenth century, with the establishment of the ‘three age system’ for human prehistory in northern Europe. These might appear, on first appraisal, to be complementary developments, but the relationship between them was, from the beginning, a complicated and ambivalent one. Orientalist prehistories of the nineteenth century did not adhere to the short Biblical chronology, then only recently discredited by archaeological discoveries in Europe. For the most part they did, however, retain a notion of prim­or­dial time based upon king-lists and other written sources, rather than acknowledging the much more extensive record of artefacts and other excavated remains. A section of Brugsch’s ­history, in its English translation, bears the striking caption: ‘No Stone, Bronze or Iron Ages in Egypt’. Among early twentieth-century scholars, Jacques de Morgan stands out for his  attempts to synthesize what he called ‘préhistoire orientale’ with more established, Egyptological modes of interpretation.28 Other continental Egyptologists such as Alexandre Moret and Jean Capart went still further in seeking reconciliation with theories of social evolution then emerging through the new field discipline of ethnography and the synthetic 22  Piquette and Whitehouse (eds) 2013. 23 Baines 2007. 24  Van de Mieroop 2011. 25  Redford 1979. 26  E.g. Bender 1993; Ucko and Layton 1999. 27  Jeffreys and Tavares 1994; Jeffreys 1998. 28  De Morgan 1896–7.

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54   David Wengrow work of the Année sociologique.29 Their bold, if only moderately successful, attempts to cross disciplinary boundaries and merge different modes of historical discourse are now largely forgotten. Revealingly, perhaps, it is the technical and field-based achievements of Flinders Petrie that tend to dominate recent histories of Egyptian archaeology. In essence, the issues raised by francophone scholars in the early twentieth century remain at the heart of more recent attempts to address what is still rightly viewed as a problematic relationship between Egyptology, prehistory, and the social sciences. Recent controversies over the early development of hieroglyphic writing, for example, have centred upon attempts by Egyptologists to discern royal names among the enigmatic signs inscribed on objects from a mud-brick tomb at Abydos, and on contemporaneous monuments dating to the late fourth millennium bc.30 While Egyptologists acknowledge the limitations of de­cipher­ment as applied to these early forms of notation, it remains for archaeologists to develop alternative models of script formation, based upon detailed interpretations of the social contexts and media of transmission within which writing emerged, and situating these against a wider background of prehistoric practices.31 As James Allen observed, a holistic perspective of this kind might also be profitably extended to the translation of later, more fully legible texts; in their current emphasis upon syntax, he suggests, Egyptologists resemble ‘paleontologists, able to assemble impressive reconstructions of long-dead species, but still with only a vague notion of what they looked like in the flesh’.32 Such an approach would ideally incorporate analysis of the forms and functions of inscribed objects as an integral part of the process through which interpretative context is constructed, rather than treating such objects as ‘supports’ for philological interpretation. When Redford observed that late twentieth-century Egyptology had become ‘objectoriented’, this was not what he had in mind. Rather he was describing a retreat from his­ tor­ic­al interpretation into the unreflective cataloguing and publishing of primary data. That retreat, he argued, was producing a lacuna between the activities of Egyptologists and public interest in their subject matter, which was being filled by bungling popularizers and presumptuous theoreticians. What was, and still is, needed is a middle-ground where cre­ ative synthesis takes place, and where the cultural transformations implicit in modern acts of copying and translation are acknowledged and debated.

Writing ancient Egyptian history Explicit methodological discussions of history-writing in Egyptology remain rare.33 It is alarming to find assertions that ancient Egyptian history cannot be written, woven into narratives that do precisely that. What seems to be meant is that political history can no longer be written with conviction, owing to the pre-eminence of sources relating to kingship: ‘The source material is so slight that narrative history may be considered an inappropriate literary form, particularly if one begins to suspect that the impressive façade of uniformity and continuity . . . hides a complex and changing political scene’.34 Narrative 29  Capart 1904; Moret and Davy 1926. 30  See Baines 2004, with references. 31  E.g. Piquette 2010; Wengrow 2006: 176–217. 32 Allen 2003. 33  Björkman 1964; Redford 1979; 2003. 34  Kemp 1983: 73.

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Egyptology and cognate disciplines   55 surveys of ancient Egyptian history35 reflect these uncertainties, often moving between two different modes of historical writing, sometimes applied to the same monuments. One mode, which follows a traditional example of European history, associates significant political transformations with the personal agency, qualities, and fortunes of particular ­rulers; their success and failure in battle, their ability to control the court, and so on. The other, more closely allied to anthropology, seeks to embed political experience within more general notions of cos­mol­ogy, social structure, and identity, relating the record of royal activity more closely to ritual performances for the gods than to the representation of human history. Both perspectives are valid, and attempts to reconcile them are increasingly common, not just in Egyptology, but also in histories of early modern Europe and its encounters with non-European societies.36 Studies of the latter kind have prompted important revisions of ‘canonical’ anthropological works on sacred kingship in Africa, Oceania, and India, many of which drew comparative material from ancient Egypt and exerted a reciprocal influence upon Egyptological interpretation.37 These developments, combined with a growing tendency among historians to emphasize the ‘exotic’ dimensions of European kingship,38 point towards the emergence of a new configuration of global political history, provocatively referred to by Marshall Sahlins as ‘the subterranean history of our own democracies’.39 Egyptological responses to this changing scene must confront the distribution of his­tor­ic­al knowledge on the African continent, still very much an artefact of the colonial period.40 It is sobering to consider that we probably know more today about the formation of the ancient Egyptian state around 3000 bc than about the emergence of the Shilluk state on the Upper Nile only a few centuries ago. An attempt to escape this particular ‘shape of time’ has been made by Michael Rowlands, who follows the example of Henri Frankfort and later structuralist approaches in choosing to ignore (rather than deny) the effects of linear history within a given cultural area. Instead he seeks to identify cognate relations between ancient Egypt and more recent societies of sub-Saharan Africa, focusing upon the structure of institutional practices relating to kingship, sacrifice, and ‘the cosmology of giving and receiving life as part of morally conceived relationships’.41 Other anthropologists work on a still broader canvas, exploring the evolutionary implications of what has long been recognized as a family resemblance between the ancient ci­vil­iza­tions of Egypt, Mesopotamia, India, China, South America, and Mesoamerica. Global comparisons of this kind have sometimes been undertaken in order to define the essential properties of evolutionary categories, such as ‘early civilization’ or the ‘archaic state’.42 But they have also been used to reveal the diversity of social life within early literate ci­vil­iza­tions, and to highlight their different cultural orientations.43 Comparisons of this kind remain important for Egyptology, providing a rigorous means of evaluating claims for the historical uniqueness of ancient Egyptian cultural practices and institutional forms. Comparative studies are not, however, ineluctably tied to evolutionary frameworks of 35  E.g. Trigger et al. 1983; Grimal 1992; van de Mieroop 2011. 36  E.g. Sahlins 1987; Boureau and Ingerflom 1992. 37  E.g. Dirks 1987; Ekholm Friedman 1991. 38  Medieval and early modern; e.g. Monod 1999; Klaniczay 2002. 39  Sahlins 1987: 77. 40  See Wengrow 2003. 41  Rowlands 2003: 45. 42  E.g. Feinman and Marcus 1998; Trigger 2003. 43  E.g. Yoffee 2005; Wengrow 2010.

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56   David Wengrow interpretation, as demonstrated by work on Egyptian and Mayan modes of bodily experience, and ancient uses of landscape as a medium of political expression.44 Petites histoires, the histories of individuals and everyday lives, have always co-existed with grand narratives of political change in Egyptology,45 and are increasingly informed by anthropological understandings of gender and social construction of the human life-cycle.46 At the same time there is growing interest in understanding the transformation of ancient Egyptian society in relation to broader, long-term structures of economic change, which bind the ancient states of the eastern Mediterranean, northern Africa, and western Asia into wider networks of dependence.47 To date there has been relatively little interchange between these two scales of analysis, but both owe something to the Annales school of historical writing, which showed how large and small worlds interpenetrate in the making of social forms. Movements in this direction are indicated by an increasingly sophisticated use of analytical techniques deriving from archaeology—including those that deal with unassuming types of object, such as everyday ceramics—in order to comment upon and contextualize the parallel record of monuments and inscriptions.48 Egyptologists, like other historians, have also been drawn into cross-disciplinary debates concerning the interplay of history and memory in reconstructing the past. Two studies dealing with the conceptualization of the Amarna period and the reign of Akhenaten address these debates directly, but in very different ways. One brings social and intellectual history directly to bear on the interpretation of the archaeological record, and highlights the ability of that record to resist various claims placed upon it by political, religious, and commercial interests.49 The other posits a methodological distinction between the ‘history of memory’ and the ‘history of fact’, carving out a risky space of interpretation, in which events such as the expulsion of an entire people (the Hyksos) can be discussed without reference to an objectively verifiable past.50 The memory of monotheism charted in this latter study is a high literary memory, transmitted from ancient elites in Egypt to the JudeoChristian West, and bypassing other forms of memory-work, rooted in everyday practices and the transformation of tangible sites in the Egyptian landscape.

Literary artefacts and modes of performance In a pioneering study of Sumerian poetry, Jeremy Black (1998) noted how the desire to formulate an explicit definition of literature has been particularly characteristic of Egyptology, differentiating it from parallel work on Mesopotamian cuneiform texts.51 This contrast, he suggested, arises in part from the nature of the sources. Unlike Sumerian literature, that of ancient Egypt was not written in a poetic form that marks it out clearly from other modes of inscription. Attempts, in spite of this, to establish formal criteria for the identification of 44  Meskell and Joyce 2003; A.T. Smith 2003. 45  Wilkinson 1841; Erman 1984. 46 Meskell 2002. 47  E.g. Rowlands et al. 1987; S.T. Smith 2003; Broodbank 2013. 48  E.g. Seidlmayer 2000; Baines 2003a. 49 Montserrat 2000. 50 Assmann 1997. 51  See, for instance, Parkinson 2009.

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Egyptology and cognate disciplines   57 literary texts—notably the use of standard metre—have looked mainly to parallels in the European literary canon.52 Alternative sources of comparative data, which have been less explored, include the ethnographic record of oral literature, and modes of scriptural notation and recitation attested within the ambit of modern world religions.53 Modern literary ­theory has also provided models for the study of ancient Egyptian narrative. Similarities have, for instance, been noted in the use of foreign travel to express otherwise suppressed tensions between social and individual, ideal and reality, royal and private, sacred and profane.54 The main divergences in current Egyptological uses of literary theory seem to arise from the different weight given by various scholars to issues of historicism, medium of transmission, and contexts of performance.55 Such issues are less problematic for those who treat ancient Egyptian literature as a self-referential domain of creativity and reception. For ­others, however, ‘inter-textuality’ must include relations between contexts of inscription, such as funerary monuments, and between hierarchical modes of social performance and display, including oral transmission, ritual action, and monumental imagery. The range of relevant contexts implies a very different set of relationships between individual and society to those obtaining between modern producers and consumers of literary works, as does the importance of tomb biography and administrative practices in the development of literary forms.56 The fact that modern reading practices are often solitary and static raises further difficulties for the interpretation of ancient Egyptian literature, which developed in relation to overarching genres of oral performance.57 Understandably, the latter have only been modelled in tentative terms by Egyptologists, while anthropologists have largely confined their observations to Homeric epic when comparing living and ancient traditions of oral narrative.58 Here significant opportunities to widen the interpretive context of ancient Egyptian literature are perhaps being missed. Studies of West African ‘praise poetry’—quite aside from thematic parallels, which may be superficial—could, for instance, be of assistance in modelling the principles through which monumental genres of biography were constructed, circulated, and activated as sources of power. Accounts of oral literary forms such as the Yoruba oriki provide concrete examples of how praise formulae and epithets may be treated as a limited cultural resource, transmitted among living individuals, gods, objects, lineages, towns, natural phenomena, and the dead.59 Terry Eagleton has bemoaned the decline of literary criticism as a ‘medium of vital concerns deeply rooted in the general intellectual, cultural and political life of an epoch’.60 The civilizing role of literature, which flourished among the middle classes with the decline of Europe’s old regimes, is increasingly taken over by a range of other media for disseminating essential social values and knowledge. One consequence of this has been a greater intellectual sensitivity to what literary critics, philosophers, and social scientists are calling the ‘materiality’ of communication.61 Following current trends in literary theory may therefore 52  References to Fecht 1993 and Mathieu 1988–97; also Foster 1977; and comments in Moers 1999: vii, n 7. 53  E.g. Finnegan 1970; Barber and Moraes Farais 1989. 54  Loprieno 1988; 2003; Moers 1999; cf. Iser 1993. 55  See Baines 2003b. 56  Baines 1999; Assmann 1999. 57  Eyre and Baines 1989; Parkinson 1992. 58  E.g. Finnegan 1970; and note White’s 1989 critique. 59 Barber 1989; 1991. 60  Eagleton 1996: 107. 61  E.g. Kolbas 2001; Gumbrecht and Pfeiffer 1994.

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58   David Wengrow lead Egyptology in some surprising (and perhaps ironic) directions, oriented more towards archaeology, anthropology, cognitive science, and digital humanities.

Art, cognition, and object biographies Art and architecture have proved to be among the most translatable aspects of ancient Egyptian culture, from antiquity to the present. The seemingly inexhaustible capacity of canonical forms to acquire new meanings and adapt to new contexts of use stands in marked opposition to the original messages of exclusion often carried on their surfaces. Transformations of Egyptian art in post-medieval Europe have generated a variety of superb descriptive studies,62 but these rarely engage in the kinds of critical analysis reserved for more ancient episodes of cultural borrowing, which often involved much the same repertoire of forms and images. The implicit contrast between modern ‘Egyptomania’ and ancient ‘Egyptianizing’ or ‘Orientalizing’ art needs to be scrutinized, not least because it presupposes (without explaining) a rupture between modern and ancient experience, while at the same time positing a timeless cultural dichotomy between East and West. Here recent work on processes of cultural transmission in cognitive anthropology may be pertinent,63 notably with regard to the intriguing relationship between cross-cultural exchange (e.g. of imagery relating to hybrid creatures) and canon-formation, which characterizes both Protodynastic Egypt and archaic Greece.64 Heinrich Schäfer’s work on representational art and its recent development by John Baines, as well as a study by the latter on colour categories, place Egyptologists in a strong position from which to engage with the turn towards cognition in art history and the anthropology of art.65 Such engagements might be profitably extended beyond questions of representation and classification to consider the cognitive properties of geometrical pat­ terning, knots and bindings, monumentality and minuscularity, concealment, and the layer­ing or nesting of objects inside one another; all richly represented in the Egyptian record. Of particular comparative interest are studies in other fields that seek to break down Cartesian oppositions of object, mind, and person, arguing instead for relationships of ­continuity and reciprocity between them. Social anthropologists have placed particular em­phasis upon the animation of objects, and what Susanne Küchler calls the ‘fluid mechanics of persons and things’: the manner in which objects and images merge with human actors, extending and diverting their agency beyond the confines of the biological body.66 The tendency in such studies is to explore the social and cognitive properties of objects as such, rather than treating them as ciphers for some externally generated system of meanings—cultural, semiotic, linguistic—held to originate outside the domain of objects.67 To date such approaches have taken little account of Egyptology, using only marginal and outdated analyses to exemplify theoretical insights that could be extensively explored 62  E.g. Curl 1994; Humbert et al 1994. 63 Boyer 1994. 64 Wengrow 2013. 65  Schäfer 2002 [1919]; Baines 1985a; 1985b. 66 Küchler 2001. 67  E.g. Gell 1998.

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Egyptology and cognate disciplines   59 through mortuary and temple art. For Egyptologists, approaches of this kind may offer an escape from stale confrontations between connoisseurship—which stresses stylistic variability over time and between genres68—and theoretically-oriented studies that place a contrasting emphasis upon the purported invariance and uniformity of ancient Egyptian art.69 Even very large art-works often had dynamic histories of movement and re-use within and beyond the Egyptian landscape, and these might be considered in terms of recent the­ or­et­ic­al work on ‘object biographies’.70 All of the theoretical approaches discussed here have implications for museum display, which have perhaps been more widely explored in relation to ethnographic collections.71 At issue is the need to re-humanize objects such as mummified bodies, which have become material clichés, by stressing their complex life-histories, encompassing both past and present contexts of meaning and use.72

Conclusion It has been argued that the disciplinary orientation of Egyptology can be usefully con­ sidered in terms of its changing relationship to the world of objects, and in terms of its orientation to questions of translation, broadly conceived. Increasingly, this might include the translation of primary source material into locally sustainable resources through innovative collaboration between Egyptologists, archaeologists, conservators, and heritage ­pro­fes­sionals. Conservation without contemplation is, however, a potentially endless (and pointless) exercise. Increased communication between scholars within and outside Egypt and Sudan is no less important for the future, including the translation of Egyptological and archaeological texts—interpretive as well as technical—from European languages into Arabic, and vice versa, as well as critical engagement with the ethics of fieldwork in contested regions.73 Here, perhaps, cultural translation comes up against its greatest challenge, one that transcends Egyptology and touches upon wider issues of mutual miscomprehension between the Arabic-speaking world and the European discourses out of which modern Egyptology arises. That is, the search for a common language of secular and sacred, history and memory.

Suggested reading Relationships between Egyptology, archaeology, and the social sciences are critically reviewed from a broad range of perspectives in the Encounters with Ancient Egypt Series (Ucko (ed) 2003). Alan Bowman (2002) offers a valuable discussion of Egyptology’s place in the wider study of ancient history and classics. For Egyptian literature in its wider dis­cip­lin­ary 68  E.g. Grimal 1998; Bothmer 2004. 69  E.g. Davis 1989. 70 Meskell 2004. 71  E.g. Gosden and Marshall 1999. 72  For an exemplary study, see Riggs 2014. 73  See, e.g., Kleinitz and Naeser 2013.

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60   David Wengrow context see the collected in essays in volumes edited by Loprieno (1996) and Moers (1999), as well as Richard Parkinson’s (2009) Reading Egyptian Poetry. On the relationship between Egyptology and the history of art, John Baines’ (1994) essay remains seminal.

Bibliography Allen, J.P. 2003. Response (to Baines 2003b). In Z. Hawass (ed), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twentyfirst Century, Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists, Cairo, 2000, Volume 2: History, Religion. Cairo and New York: The American University in Cairo Press, 27–8. Assmann, J. 1997. Moses the Egyptian. The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press. Assmann, J. 1999. Cultural and Literary Texts. In G. Moers (ed.), Definitely: Egyptian Literature, Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 2. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie, 1–15. Baines, J. 1985a. Color Terminology and Color Classification: Ancient Egyptian Color Terminology and Polychromy, American Anthropologist 87: 282–97. Baines, J. 1985b. Theories and Universals of Representation: Heinrich Schäfer and Egyptian Art, Art History 8: 1–25. Baines, J. 1994. On the Status and Purposes of ancient Egyptian Art, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 4: 67–94. Baines, J. 1999. Prehistories of Literature: Performance, Fiction, Myth. In G. Moers (ed.), Definitely: Egyptian Literature, Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 2. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie, 17–41. Baines, J. 2003a. Early Definitions of the Egyptian World and Its Surroundings. In T. Potts, M. Roaf, and D. Stein (eds), Culture through Objects: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honour of P.R.S. Moorey. Oxford: Griffith Institute, 27–57. Baines, J. 2003b. Research on Egyptian Literature: Background, Definitions, Prospects. In Z. Hawass (ed), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-first Century, Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists, Cairo, 2000, Volume 2: History, Religion. Cairo and New York: The American University in Cairo Press, 1–26. Baines, J. 2004. The Earliest Egyptian Writing: Development, Context, Purpose. In S.D. Houston (ed), The First Writing. Script Invention as History and Process. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 150–89. Baines, J. 2007. Visual and Written Culture in Ancient Egypt. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Baines, J. and Yoffee, N. 1998. Order, Legitimacy and Wealth in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. In G.M.  Feinman and J.  Marcus (eds), Archaic States. Santa Fe, CA: School of American Research Press, 199–260. Bakir, A.M. 1978. An Introduction to the Study of the Egyptian Language: A Semitic Approach, Part 1: Middle Egyptian. Cairo: General Egyptian Book Organization. Barber, K. (1989). Interpreting Oríkì as History and Literature. I in K. Barber and P.F. de Moraes Farias (eds), Discourse and its Disguises: The Interpretation of African Oral Texts, Birmingham University Studies Series 1. Birmingham: University of Birmingham, Centre of West African Studies, 13–23. Barber, K. 1991. I Could Speak Until Tomorrow: Oríkì, Women, and the Past in a Yoruba Town. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Barber, K. and de Moraes Farias, P.F. (eds) 1989. Discourse and its Disguises: The Interpretation of African Oral Texts, Birmingham University Studies Series 1. Birmingham: University of Birmingham, Centre of West African Studies. Bender, B. (ed.). (1993)., Landscape: Politics and Perspectives., Oxford: Berg. Björkman, G. 1964. Egyptology and Historical Method, Orientalia Suecana 13: 9–23. Black, J. 1998. Reading Sumerian Poetry. London: The Athlone Press.

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62   David Wengrow Gosden, C. and Marshall, Y. 1999. The Cultural Biography of Objects, World Archaeology 31: 169–78. Grimal, N. 1992. A History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Blackwell. Grimal, N. (ed). 1998. Les critères de datation stylistiques à l’ancien empire. Cairo: IFAO. Gumbrecht, H.-U. and Pfeiffer, K.L. 1994. Materialities of Communication. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Hawass, Z. (ed). 2003. Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-first Century, Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists, Cairo, 2000, Volume 3: Language, Conservation, Museology. Cairo and New York: The American University in Cairo Press. Hornung, E. 1996. Conceptions of God in Ancient Egypt. The One and the Many, trans J. Baines. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Humbert, J.-M., Pantazzi, M., and Ziegler, C. 1994. Egyptomania: Egypt in Western Art, 1730–1930. Ottawa: National Gallery of Canada; Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux. Iser, W. 1993. The Fictive and the Imaginary: Charting Literary Anthropology. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Iversen, E. 1975. Canon and Proportions in Egyptian Art, 2nd ed (in collaboration with Yoshiaki Shibata). Warminster: Aris and Phillips. James, T.G.H. 1988. Ancient Egypt. The Land and its Legacy. London: British Museum. Jeffreys, D. 1998. The Topography of Heliopolis and Memphis: Some Cognitive Aspects. In H. Guksch and D. Polz (eds), Stationen: Beitrage zur Kulturgeschichte Ägyptens. Rainer Stadelmann Gewimdet. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 63–71. Jeffreys, D. 2003. Introduction—Two Hundred Years of ancient Egypt: Modern History and Ancient Archaeology. In D. Jeffreys (ed), 1–18. Jeffreys, D. (ed). 2003. Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonaparte: Imperialism, Colonialism and Modern Appropriations. London: UCL Press. Jeffreys, D. and Tavares, A. 1994. The Historic Landscape of Early Dynastic Memphis, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 50: 143–73. Kemp, B.J. 1983. Old Kingdom, Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period c.2686—1522 bc. In Trigger et al, 71–182. Klaniczay, G. 2002. Holy Rulers and Blessed Princes: Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe, trans E. Pálmai. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kleinitz, C. and Naeser, C. 2013. Archaeology, Development and Conflict: A Case Study from the African Continent, Archaeologies: Journal of the World Archaeological Congress 9(1): 162–91. Kolbas, E.D. 2001. Critical Theory and the Literary Canon. Oxford: Westview Press. Küchler, S. 2001. Why Knot? Towards a Theory of Art and Mathematics. In C. Pinney and N. Thomas (eds), Beyond Aesthetics: Art and the Technologies of Enchantment. Oxford: Berg, 57–77. Lévi-Strauss, C. 1966. The Savage Mind. London: Wiedenfeld and Nicolson. Loprieno, A. 1988. Topos und Mimesis. Zum Ausländer in der ägyptischen Literatur, ÄgAbh 48. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Loprieno, A. 1996. Defining Egyptian Literature: Ancient Texts and Modern Theories. In A. Loprieno (ed), 39–58. Loprieno, A. (ed.) 1996. Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Loprieno, A. 2003. Travel and Fiction in Egyptian literature. In D.  O’Connor and S.  Quirke (eds), Mysterious Lands. London: UCL Press, 31–51. Lustig, J. (ed.) 1997. Egyptology and Anthropology: A Developing Dialogue. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Maspero, G. 1886. Histoire ancienne des peuples de l’Orient. Paris: Hachette. Mathieu, B. 1988–97. Études de métrique Égyptienne I-IV, Revue d’Égyptologie 39: (1988), 63–82; 41 (1990), 127–41; 45 (1994), 139–54; 48 (1997), 109–63. Meskell, L. 1999. Archaeologies of Social Life: Age, Sex, Class et cetera in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Blackwell. Meskell, L. 2002. Private Life in New Kingdom Egypt. Princeton, NY: Princeton University Press. Meskell, L. 2004. Object Worlds in Ancient Egypt: Material Biographies Past and Present. Oxford: Berg.

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Egyptology and cognate disciplines   63 Meskell, L. and Joyce, R. 2003. Embodied Lives: Figuring Ancient Maya and Egyptian Experience. ­London: Routledge. Mitchell, T. 1991. Colonising Egypt. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Moers, G. (ed.) 1999. Definitely: Egyptian Literature, Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 2. ­Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie. Monod, P. 1999. The Power of Kings: Monarchy and Religion in Europe, 1589–1715. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Montserrat, D. 2000. Akhenaten: History, Fantasy and Ancient Egypt. London: Routledge. Moret, A. and Davy, G. 1926. From Tribe to Empire. London: Kegan Paul. O’Connor, D. and Reid, A. (eds). 2003. Ancient Egypt in Africa. London: UCL Press. Parkinson, R.B. 1992. Literary Form and the Tale of the Eloquent Peasant, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 78: 163–78. Parkinson, R.B. 2009. Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry: Among other Histories. Chichester: WileyBlackwell. Piquette, K. 2010. A Compositional Approach to a First Dynasty Inscribed Label Fragment from the Abydos Tomb Complex Ascribed to Qa´a, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 137: 54–65. Piquette, K. and Whitehouse, R. (eds) 2013. Writing as Material Practice: Substance, Surface, and Medium. London: Ubiquity Press. Redford, D. 2003. The Writing of the History of ancient Egypt. In Z. Hawass (ed), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-first Century, Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists, Cairo, 2000, Volume 2: History, Religion. Cairo and New York: The American University in Cairo Press, 1–11. Riggs, C. 2014. Unwrapping Egypt. London: Bloomsbury. Robins, G. 1994. Proportion and Style in Ancient Egyptian Art. London: Thames and Hudson. Rowlands, M.J., Larsen, M., and Kristiansen, K. 1987. Centre and Periphery in the Ancient World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rowlands, M.J. 2003. The Unity of Africa. In D. O’Connor and A. Reid (eds), Ancient Egypt in Africa. London: UCL Press, 39–54. Sahlins, M. 1987. Islands of History. London: Tavistock. Said, E. 1995. Orientalism. Western Conceptions of the Orient, 4th ed, London: Penguin. Schäfer, H. 2002. Principles of Egyptian Art, edited with an epilogue by Emma Brunner-Traut, translated and edited with an introduction by John Baines (first published 1919, in German), foreword by E. H. Gombrich. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Schenkel, W. 1996. Ägyptische Literatur und ägyptologische Forschung: eine wissenschaftsgeschichtliche Einleitung. In A. Loprieno (ed), Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms. L ­ eiden: E.J. Brill, 21–38. Seidlmayer, S. 2000. The First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055). In I. Shaw (ed), The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 118–47. Smith, A.T. 2003. The Political Landscape. Constellations of Authority in Early Complex Polities. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Smith, S.T. 2003. Wretched Kush: Ethnic Identities and Boundaries in Egypt’s Nubian Empire. London: Routledge. Trigger, B.G. 1979. Egypt and the Comparative Study of Early Civilizations. In K. Weeks (ed), Egypt­ology and the Social Sciences: Five Studies. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 23–56. Trigger, B.G. 2003. Understanding Early Civilizations: A Comparative Study. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Trigger, B.G., Kemp, B.J., Lloyd, A.B. and O’Connor, D. 1983. Ancient Egypt: A Social History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ucko, P.J. 1968. Anthropomorphic Figurines of Predynastic Egypt and Neolithic Crete with Comparative Material from the Prehistoric Near East and Mainland Greece. London: Andrew Szmidla. Ucko, P.J. (ed.) 2003. Encounters with Ancient Egypt (series title, eight volumes). London: UCL.

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64   David Wengrow Ucko, P.J. and Layton, R. (eds). 1999. The Archaeology and Anthropology of Landscape: Shaping Your Landscape. London: Routledge. Van de Mieroop, M. 2011. A History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Blackwell. Weeks, K. (ed.) 1979. Egyptology and the Social Sciences: Five Studies. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press. Wengrow, D. 2003. Landscapes of Knowledge, Idioms of Power: The African Foundations of Egyptian Civilization Reconsidered. In D.  O’Connor and A.  Reid (eds), Ancient Egypt in Africa. London: UCL Press, 121–36. Wengrow, D. 2006. The Archaeology of Early Egypt: Social Transformations in North-East Africa, 10,000 to 2650 bc. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wengrow, D. 2010. What Makes Civilization? The Ancient Near East and the Future of the West. ­Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wengrow, D. 2013. The Origins of Monsters: Image and Cognition in the First Age of Mechanical Reproduction. Princeton, NY: Princeton University Press. White, L. 1989. Poetic Licence: Oral Poetry and History. In K. Barber and P.F. de Moraes Farias (eds), Discourse and its Disguises: The Interpretation of African Oral Texts, Birmingham University Studies Series 1. Birmingham: University of Birmingham, Centre of West African Studies, 34–8. Wilkinson, J.G. 1841. Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians, 3 volumes. London: John Murray. Yoffee, N. 2005. Myths of the Archaic State. Evolution of the Earliest Cities, States, and Civilizations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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chapter 3

Egy ptol ogy i n Chi na Li Xiaodong

History: ancient Chinese works, early Chinese tourists, and the founding of Egyptology in China Though Chinese scholars have noted contact between Egypt and China as early as the first century bc1, it is not until the Song Dynasty (965–1279) that Egypt is mentioned in Chinese works such as Zhu Fan Zhi (the Annals of Some Foreign Countries).2 The lighthouse of Alexandria, called Da Ta (Great Pagoda), is recorded in detail in this geographical work. Later, in the Qing Dynasty (1644–1912) there are more works touching on ancient Egyptian civilization such as in Haiguo Tuzhi (Atlas of Foreign Countries)3 and Yinghuan Zhilue (Atlas of the World).4 In the 1860s, some late Qing Dynasty politicians travelled to Europe and America via Egypt, and subsequently introduced Chinese scholars to the monuments and other material culture of ancient Egypt such as the pyramid, the mummy, the sphinx, and other artefacts in their journals. Guo Songtao (1818–91), one of these politicians, refers to papyrus, obelisks, and some ancient sites in his diaries.5 However, there were no scholars visiting Egypt in a research capacity until Duan Fang (1861–1911) arrived there at the beginning of the 1900s. As an epigraphy specialist, Duan Fang took three ‘rubbing workers’6 with him to Egypt who made more than forty tracings of Egyptian stela, thus enriching his collection of Egyptian artefacts. Unfortunately, all the Egyptian artefacts Duan Fang brought back to China from Egypt are missing, apart from the stela tracings which are still in storage at Peking University. No Chinese scholars could read the hieroglyphic script in these tracings at the time, but the inscription made by Duan Fang on one of the copies says: ‘In May of Bingwu of Guangxu, returning from visiting Europe by way of Egypt, [I] got this statue 1  Xiangruo 1994: 85. 2  Egypt is called E Gen Tuo in Zhu Fan Zhi of Zhao Rushi (1170–1231), cf. Zhu Fan Zhi Jiaozhu (Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 1996) 123–5. 3  Wei Yuan 1998: 987. 4  Xu Jiyu 2001: 242. 5  Guo Songtao 1981: 86. 6  Individuals who work for epigraphers but who are not themselves academics.

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66   Li Xiaodong in Cairo, the old capital. The inscription on the breast could be read by Egyptologists.’7 Although Ai-Ji Beishi (Translation of Egyptian Stele), which was published during the reign of Emperor Xuantong of Qing Dynasty, is a Chinese translation of the Rosetta Stone inscriptions, it is not actually a translation of the hieroglyphic text, Demotic or Greek, but from the English. China was therefore looking forward to the first Egyptologist who could open the founding page of China’s Egyptology. It was not until the 1930s that Xia Nai finally founded the discipline of Egyptology in China.

The first Chinese doctorate in Egyptology In 1935, Xia Nai (1910–85) began his doctoral study of Egyptology in University College London under his English name of N.  Shiah8 and was supervised by Professor Stephen Glanville. Sir Alan Henderson Gardiner taught him Middle Egyptian, while Mortimer Wheeler educated him in the techniques of field archaeology. He undertook research and archaeological fieldwork in Egypt between 1937 and 1940 and finished his doctoral dissertation ‘Ancient Egyptian Beads’ in 1943. He was awarded his PhD in Egyptian Archaeology 1946.9 With experience of archaeological fieldwork in Egypt, following the methods advocated by William Flinders Petrie, Xia Nai turned to Chinese archaeology and participated in archaeological excavations in China. He became Director of the Institute of Archaeology of Academy of Social Science, a faculty member of the Academy of Social Science, and Vice President of Academy of Social Science of China. Although Xia Nai is hailed as the first true ‘Egyptologist’ in China, he is better remembered for giving up Egyptological research which inevitably led to a hiatus in the development of Egyptology in China.

Egyptology as a part of general ancient world history Until the 1950s, university teaching of Egypt’s ancient history always formed part of a compulsory module within a larger general history of the world. But it was not until 1955 that Northeast Normal University became the first academic institution to offer Egyptology as an independent discipline. It introduced classes for advanced studies in the teaching of the discipline to teachers who taught ancient world history in history departments in other universities in China. This then was the training of the first generation of teachers who specialized in Assyriology, Egyptology, and Classics. Returning to their universities, they became the authoritative teachers of ancient world history in universities of China. From this time on, Chinese world history teachers began to realize that Egyptology should be taught as an independent discipline on Chinese campuses. As a result, Ahmed Fakhry, Professor of the History of Ancient Egypt and the East, at Cairo University and Mustafa El-Amir, Professor of the University of Alexandria, were invited by Peking University to teach courses on ‘Ancient Egypt’ and ‘Egyptian Archaeology’—these lectures being subsequently 7  A-Ying 1981: 736–7. Bingwu of Guangxu means the year 1906. 8  N. stands for his first name while Xiah is his family name in English spelling. 9  Xia Nai, 2014: v.

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Egyptology in China   67

Figure 3.1  The first international Conference of Egyptology in China, held in IHAC, Northeast Normal University, Changchun.

published in Chinese.10 From this point onwards, the history of ancient Egypt and Egyptian archaeology became part of the curriculum of most history departments of universities in China (see Figure 3.1). For political reasons in the new China, there were almost no historical documents introduced into China for studying ancient Egyptian history. In order to lay the foundations for the development of Egyptology in China, Professor Lin Zhichun (1910–2007), who wrote under the name of Ri Zhi of Northeast Normal University, selected and translated a collection of historical documents relating to ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia from English into Chinese. This collection of papers was published to help teachers who taught ancient world history, who otherwise had no suitable text books in these subjects.11 Some research institutes of history and archaeology then began to subscribe to journals such as the Journal of Egyptian Archaeology, Journal of Near Eastern Studies, some dictionaries of Middle Egyptian such as Woeterbuch der Aegyptischen Sprache and Coptic. This should have been a good start for the development of Egyptology in China, however the Cultural Revolution (1966–76) put an end to almost all teaching and research activities.

10  Under the titles of Ancient Egypt: A Brief Survey of its History from the Beginning till 332 B.C. (A course of lectures given in Peking University, China, in May 1956) and Egyptian Archaeology: A study of Ancient Egyptian Architecture, Sculpture, Reliefs and Paintings in the Pharaonic Period (A course of lectures, given in Peking University, China, in 1957) in 1956 and 1959 respectively in China. 11  Then there were A World History, Document Collections of World History and Documents of World History vol I edited by Zhou Yiliang, professor at Peking University and Wu Yujin, professor at Wuhan University, as well as Lin Zhichun, professor at Northeast Normal University.

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68   Li Xiaodong

Establishing of IHAC After the Cultural Revolution, a symposium on the academic development of ancient world history was held in Beijing in 1978. During this symposium, a group of sinior historians felt that there was an urgent need to establish the subjects of Assyriology, Egyptology, and Hittitology in Chinese universities. Three senior historians12 commented in 1985 that: ‘The void in the study of Ancient Civilizations in Our Country must be filled’13 and stated that Chinese scholars working on ancient world history should ‘learn ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, cuneiforms of Sumerian and Akkadian . . . and carry out research on the basis of reading documents in hieroglyphs and cuneiforms’.14 This appeal attracted the attention of the Ministry of Education of the central government of China, who then, in 1985, established the Institute for History of Ancient Civilizations (IHAC) at Northeast Normal University. This event is considered to be the true beginning of Egyptology in China. After the establishment of IHAC, classes in ancient world civilization were opened to students from some top national universities, such as Peking University, Nankai University, and Fudan University. Postgraduate students were enrolled at IHAC, while foreign experts in Egyptology, Assyriology, Hittitology, and Classics from Germany, Belgium, and America

Figure 3.2  The entrance of Henan Museum in Zhengzhu, capital of Henan province, China. 12  Zhou Gucheng, professor of Fudan University, Wu Yujin, professor of Wuhan University, and Lin Zhichun, professor of Northeast Normal University. 13  World History is one of the two most authoritative academic journals in Chinese world history studies. 14  Zhou Gucheng, Wu Yujin, and Lin Zhichun 1985: 1–3.

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Egyptology in China   69 were employed to teach the students at various levels. The study of hieroglyphics, hieratic, demotic, and Coptic became compulsory courses for students majoring in Egyptology, alongside courses on the history, archaeology, and art of ancient Egypt. A year after the establishing of IHAC, the annual Journal of Ancient Civilizations (JAC) was launched with the article ‘The Void in the Study of Ancient Civilizations in Our Country Must be Filled’ in English as its first article (see Figure 3.2).15

Teaching and resourcing Egyptology in China In order to have a material foundation for research and teaching of Egyptology, IHAC began to buy books and documents from western countries to enrich its library, which is now the best resource in Egyptology in China. IHAC students also have access to an inter­ nation­al range of Egyptological and Near Eastern journals and take part in an exchange of publications with counterparts in western countries. These exchanges, donations, and contributions to IHACs own publication JAC, enables the Department to keep abreast of the latest developments in the field of Egyptology.

Teaching: the view from IHAC Thirty-two years after the establishment of IHAC, students who have graduated from the Institute with Master Degrees and/or Doctorates, have often gone to Europe and America to further their studies in Egyptology. Today, most of these graduates work at the forefront of teaching and research in Egyptology, in various institutes and universities in China. IHAC, Peking University, Fudan University, Inner Mongolia University for Nationalities, Beijing Normal University, as well as the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, are some of the main institutions who now offer academic posts in Egyptology. But only one or two PhD candidates per year actually receive their doctorates in Egyptology in China. Therefore, foreign Egyptology professors and experts are regularly invited by Chinese universities to support teaching in the discipline. However, organized courses of Egyptology are expected to be offered in most universities of China, and these are not limited to history departments, but should be offered in other departments or colleges too, such as those focusing on art and archaeology.

Egyptological research in China: past influences and current trends Another aspect in the development of Egyptology in China is the study of Chinese re­searchers who founded the discipline. These researchers can be divided into three 15  Zhou Gucheng, Wu Yujin, and Lin Zhichun 1986: 3–11.

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70   Li Xiaodong g­ enerations: the first is composed of only one, namely Dr Xia Nai, as mentioned earlier. Xia Nai did not publish a great deal on Egyptology, although articles such as ‘A Chinese Parallel to an Egyptian Idiom’,16 ‘Beads from Saharan Sites at Armant’,17 and ‘Some Remarks on the Bekhen Stone’18 as well as his doctoral dissertation ‘Ancient Egyptian Beads’19 set a good example for later Chinese Egyptologists. What Xia Nai also set in motion through his publications, was a growing realization of the contribution that Chinese scholars could make to Egyptological research. In particular, his work promoted the idea that a Chinese perspective could contribute to a new understanding of ancient Egypt. There are more Egyptologists from the second generation with Liu Wenpeng (1931–2007) as its main representative. He learned about ancient Egyptian history from Russian professors between 1955 and 1958 when he was a postgraduate student under the supervision of Professor Lin Zhichun. Afterwards, Liu Wenpeng worked in teaching and researching Egyptology until 2007, with his main works, History of Ancient Egypt20 and Archaeology of Ancient Egypt,21 together with more than fifty articles, laying the foundation for Chinese Egyptology. Especially important is his book History of Ancient Egypt which was introduced by the Ministry of Education of China as a course book for postgraduate students of world ancient history. These publications were influential in attracting students of world ancient history to focus more on Egyptology. Liu Wenpeng also wrote most of the entries about ancient Egypt in the Encyclopedia of China, including the volumes on History, Archaeology, and Economy.22 Third-generation Egyptologists, namely Dr Linhu Ruoming (of Jilin University), Dr Jin Shoufu (of Fudan University) who graduated from Heidelberg University, Dr Yan Haiying, (of Peking University), and Dr Li Xiaodong (of Northeast Normal University) form the contemporary nucleus of Egyptology scholars in China.23 A summary of the work carried out by these three generations of Chinese Egyptologists gives us a general picture of Egyptology in China. Generally speaking, their work can be classified into two main cat­ egor­ies: first, the translation of Egyptian texts, and secondly, research. Text translation is mainly of hieroglyphic documents into Chinese, with commentaries from Egyptian versions such as Urkunden der 18. Dynastie24 as their original texts. These translations provided more credible research materials for Chinese historians. Selected Historical Inscriptions of Ancient Egypt25 and Ancient Egyptian Book of Dead26 and other translations published in journals have helped Chinese scholars to understand ancient Egyptian texts from their own perspective, rather than from mostly western viewpoints. Not only have ancient Egyptian inscriptions been translated in Chinese, but the works of Egyptologists from western countries have also been published in China.27 China’s most influential publishers including the Commercial Press, SDX Joint Publishing Company, and Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press, are keen to publish translations of books about ancient Egypt. 16  Shiah, N. 1938. 17  Shiah, N. 1937. 18  Shiah, N. 1942: 189–205. 19 Xia N. 2014. 20  Liu Wenpeng 2000. 21  Liu Wenpeng 2008. 22 Cf. Encyclopedia of China, History of World volume (Encyclopedia of China Publishing House,  1990) and Encyclopedia of China, Archaeology volume (Encyclopedia of China Publishing House, 1986). 23  Pu Muzhou, who first taught in Taiwan and then transferred to Hong Kong. 24  Kurt Sethe 1906–14. 25  Li Xiaodong 2007. 26  Jin Shoufu 2016. 27  Books including Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization (Barry J. Kemp 1991); Empire of Ancient Egypt (Wendy Christensen  2009); A History of Egypt: From Earliest Times to the Present (Jason Thompson 2008); and the short book, Ancient Egypt: A Very Short Introduction (Ian Shaw 2004).

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Egyptology in China   71 The early research agendas of Chinese Egyptologists, and also scholars of world ancient history, have focused on the issues surrounding the origins of Egyptian civilization and despotism.28 Several of these publications in the 1990s became the main voice of Chinese researchers at that time. The reason Chinese researchers concentrated on issues like these at that time is because of the argument that arose when a translated version of Karl Wittfogel’s Oriental Despotism: A Comparative Study of Total Power was published in 1989.29 Nearly all researchers of ancient world history became involved in this intense debate about the role that hydraulic infrastructure and water management played as the precursor to state-level civilization. In their article, ‘On the Characteristic of the ancient Egyptian Civilization’,30 Liu Wenpeng and Linghu Ruoming pointed out the futility of the ‘hydraulic empire’ theory as an analysis of the emergence of ancient Egyptian state-level civilization. Their critique is now accepted by more than half of Chinese scholars.

Current research agendas The research interests of Chinese Egyptologists in the 2000s began to include topics such as diversification, politics, economy, religion, and art of ancient Egypt. Meanwhile, the old discussion of the origins of ancient Egyptian civilization was still of interest to some Egyptologists, such as Jin Shoufu.31 Research on kingship in ancient Egypt as part of the study of the origins of ancient Egyptian civilization went in another direction to become the study of the politics of ancient Egypt. Among the early articles on kingship, ‘The Pharaoh’s Third Title: Hr Nebw’32 which was later published in Chinese, analysed different ideas on this title and confirmed that the ‘nbw’ under the Horus title expresses the decorative pro­ tect­ive concept of ancient Egyptian. Guo Zilin also wrote several articles on kingship in which the evolution of the shape, scale, structure, offerings, fresco, inscriptions, and other elem­ents of royal tombs from the Predynastic to Old Kingdom reveal the process of the formation of early kingship and its evolution to despotism in ancient Egypt.33 Foreign relations between ancient Egypt and other countries is another research priority in China. There are not many books on this topic published in China, although since 2011 some have begun to emerge, for example, the concept of the foreigner and territorial borders in the minds of ancient Egyptians.34 Various aspects of ancient Egyptian social life have begun to be studied, which challenge in particular the idea that ancient Egypt was a nation

28  ‘On the Origin of Egyptian Civilization’ (Liu Wenpeng 1995: 42–57); ‘The Early Cities of ancient Egypt’ (Liu Wenpeng  1988: 163–75); ‘The Early Countries of ancient Egypt and the Unification’ (Liu Wenpeng 1985: 27–35): ‘The Development of Egyptian Tombs from the Pre-dynasty to Early Dynasties’ (Liu Wenpeng 1988: 1–9). 29 Karl A. Wittfogel, Oriental Despotism: A Comparative Study of Total Power (Yale University Press, 1957). 30  Liu Wenpeng and Linghu Ruoming 2000: 92–104. 31  This author wrote ‘The Early Stage of the Formation of Ancient Egypt’ (Jin Shoufu 2010: 19–31); ‘The Role of Cultural Communication Played in the Formation of Ancient Egyptian Country’ (Jin Shoufu 2003: 138–44): ‘On the Reciprocity of the King and the Gods in Ancient Egypt’ (Jin Shoufu 2010: 79–89). 32  Cf. Li Xiaodong 2007. 33  Guo Zilin 2010: 17–22. 34  Ge Huipeng 2013: 34–41; Ge Huipeng 2017: 123–32.

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72   Li Xiaodong of conservative inertia.35 Several other articles have given a Chinese perspective on aspects of gender, marriage, and other textual sources that provide insights into social life.36 Most pioneering however, are the comparative studies that Chinese Egyptologists are undertaking in terms of examining the structure of words of the two writing systems, namely Egyptian hieroglyphs and Chinese characters. The likeness in the two writing systems between the hieroglyphs of ancient Egyptian and Chinese characters was realized as early as 1866, at the end of Qing Dynasty. A group of Chinese officials of Qing Dynasty travelled to Europe and saw hieroglyphs on ancient Egyptian relics and exclaimed with amazement that the hieroglyphs looked so much ‘like the inscriptions on ancient bronze objects of ancient China’. They concluded that hieroglyphs of ancient Egyptian did not go beyond the three categories of the Liu Shu (six categories of Chinese characters), namely pictographs, making use of other words, and mutually synonymous characters.37 However, the earliest Chinese scholars who tried to make academic comparisons between the two ancient writing systems can be traced back to 1929 when Chinese historian He Bingsong published his article ‘A New Mythology of the Origin of Chinese Nation’.38 Though the main idea in He Bingsong’s article is to deny the view that the origin of Chinese culture had something to do with western influence, he compares the basic forms of hieroglyphs with those of Chinese characters. Comparative studies of the two writing systems continued and Xia Nai led research into individual words and expressions with his article, ‘A Chinese Parallel to an Egyptian Idiom’.39 After more than half a century’s silence from academics on the comparative study of the two writing systems, several articles and a book on the ancient writing systems of Sumerian, Egyptian, and Chinese were published. These publications have gradually directed this research in a thought-provoking way.40 The comparative study of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs and Chinese characters is a research subject not only about how the writing systems of the two ancient nations recorded their languages with signs, but how they created a workable way to make space–time communication possible. It is easy to understand that pictographs form one of the main ways to convey words not only limited to the hieroglyph of ancient Egyptian, but also to ancient Chinese characters. However, the reason why all six categories of the Chinese character formations are based on the same principles of hieroglyphic character formation is the most interesting aspect to explore. Pictographs of Chinese characters correspond to ideograms of the hieroglyph, while many examples of indicative characters and associative compounds can also be found. The surprising research outcomes from these comparative 35  Cf. Li Xiaodong 2010: 65–9; Guo Zilin 2010: 4–18. 36 ‘Comparative Study of Female Social Status in Ancient Egypt’ (Wang Haili  2010: 46–9) and ‘Diplomatic Marriage of “only marry not marry off ” of ancient Egypt’ (Wang Haili 2002: 177–81) concern the status of women. See also ‘The Birth of Ancient Egyptian Dominant Social Consciousness and the Historical Periodization’ (Li Xiaodong 2015: 4–9). It should be noted that the articles listed here are far from complete, with just some representative articles being mentioned. 37  Li Changlin and Yang Junming 1995: 84. 38 ibid. 39  Cf. n 18. 40  ‘The Six Categories of Chinese Characters and the Word Formation of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs’ (Li Xiaodong  1992: 10–13) was published and a series of articles evidencing significant research achievements followed: ‘The Course of Cognition of Hieroglyph and Pictograph’ (Deng Zhangying and Li Junna 2012: 110–13); ‘On the Chinese Mistranslation of the Egyptological Term “Hieroglyphic” ’ (Wang Haili 2003: 52–7); ‘The Classic “Cross Coordinate” Symbol System of Ancient Law Examination: From Ancient Pottery Shuangdun Chinese Text and Oracle Bone Inscriptions and Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs Evidence’ (Wu Tian 2014: 132–51).

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Egyptology in China   73 studies of the two writing systems is that all six character formations of Chinese are also used in hieroglyphic words. As most characters of the two writing systems are half phonetic and half ideogram, it is therefore not so difficult to understand. Xu Shen (c.58–147 ad) set examples for later scholars to refer to. For instance, in explaining characters in his Shuowen Jiezi (Analytical Dictionary of Characters) in a pattern, A follows B and pronounced as C, B in character A acts as a determinative just as an Egyptian character, but what are the other reasons for this beyond the sameness of all the six categories? What seems to be indicated is that there are two parallel routes of development in their written languages, and what is contained in these is also related to the two different cultures. As an example of this, take the word ‘love’ in Chinese 爱 and in Egyptian mr(i)—both are phonograms, the formations are the same: phonetic + ideogram. Interestingly, the ideogram in the word ‘love’ in Chinese is a heart 心 while the determinative in the word ‘love’ in Egyptian is a person pointing with his finger to his mouth. The word ‘love’ in Chinese emphasizes the feeling that comes from the heart which reflects the connotation in Chinese culture, while in Egyptian it stresses that the feeling should be said outwards. This example reveals the straightforwardness of ancient Egyptian, at least when ancient Chinese and ancient Egyptians expressed their feelings of love. To know a nation one needs to know the character of the nation, and the comparative study of the two written languages’ formation gives us the opportunity to understand ancient Egyptian culture and society through their writing. More focus on this type of comparative study of language is a research direction in which Chinese Egyptologists can contribute important new insights that will significantly advance the study of Egyptology (Figure 3.3).

Popularizing Egyptology in China Dr Rainer Hannig, who was the first Egyptologist to be invited to teach at IHAC as a foreign expert, commented that Chinese Egyptologists should not only work in academic research, but also in universal education and direct their efforts into producing popular works.41 A series of popular works introducing ancient Egyptian civilization was published and great enthusiasm for the study of ancient Egypt was sparked. Mummy of Early Human Civilization: The Truth of ancient Egyptian Culture,42 one of the first books on the subject for non-expert Chinese readers, presents an overview of ancient Egyptian history and culture. If we then include chapters on ancient Egypt in some world comprehensive history books, this has allowed many more Chinese people, outside of academia, to learn the meaning of words like pharaoh, mummy, pyramid, hieroglyph, and ushabti, most of which are brand new to Chinese people generally. To meets the needs of readers on ancient Egyptian history and culture, publishing houses showed great enthusiasm for inviting authors, including Egyptologists and historians, to write books in Chinese about ancient Egypt.43 These and others have greatly contributed to 41  ‘To Develop the Study of Egyptology in China’ in the Seminar on World Classical Civilizations in 1985. 42  Cf. R. Hannig and Zhu Weilie 1988. 43  Books such as the Album of Ancient Egypt, Eternal Glory, Pyramid of Ancient Civilizations: Egypt of Pharaoh, Mysterious Solar Barque of Khufu, and Tutankhamen 3000 Years.

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74   Li Xiaodong

Figure 3.3  An exhibition of ancient Egypt opened to an audience in China in 2017.

satisfying the intellectual curiosity of readers. Meanwhile, a large number of western ­popular books about ancient Egypt were translated and published, and these books44 have attracted both general Chinese readers and undergraduate students. Indeed many of these readers then turned their interests to Egyptology at postgraduate level.

44 eg The Keys of Egypt: The Race to Read the Hieroglyphs; How to Read Egyptian Hieroglyphs; and Handbook to Life of Ancient Egypt.

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Egyptology in China   75

Figure 3.4  Dr Li Xiaodong working in the Hypostyle Hall, Karnak Temple, in 2016.

Not wanting to lag behind, Chinese television stations produced and showed programmes about ancient Egypt. ‘The Lecture Room’, one of China Central Television Station (CCTV)’s most popular programmes, invited Dr Li Xiaodong to present six programmes about the pyramids, the great sphinx, the supposed ‘curse of the pharaohs’, Cleopatra VII, the solar barque of Khufu, and the rediscovery of ancient Egypt in 2004. Following in the footsteps of CCTV, Shanghai TV station also produced a programme called ‘The World Civilization Forum’, offering seventeen lectures on ancient Egypt written by Li Xiaodong. CCTV channel 10 also subscribed to a series of documentary films from different countries to show Chinese viewers ideas about ancient Egypt, a series which has become one of their most popular. Soon, theme parks even began to get in on the act with ‘Beijing World Park’ offering famous models from round the world, including the great sphinx, pyramids of Giza, Abu Simbel Temple, Karnak Temple, and the lighthouse of Alexandria (Figure 3.4).

International collaboration: the way forward The development of Egyptology in China cannot advance without the help of western Egyptologists. From the very beginning of the Institute for History of Ancient Civilizations (IHAC), western Egyptologists have been invited to teach the language and history of ancient Egypt. Egyptologists from Germany, the United Kingdom, America, and some other European countries have greatly contributed to the study of Egyptology in China.

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76   Li Xiaodong Inviting western Egyptologists to China is important in the exchange of ideas within the discipline between Chinese Egyptological approaches to the subject, and their western counterparts. The participation of Chinese scholars in international conferences of Egyptology is also another important form of exchange that needs to be encouraged. Since the late 1990s, Chinese Egyptologists have begun to attend international conferences on Egyptology, such as those held in Cambridge (1995) and Alexandria (1999). However, the presence of Chinese Egyptologists at such international conferences needs to be increased further. It was not until 2015 that Chinese Egyptologists actually held their first inter­nation­al conference devoted to Egyptology in China. Initiated by IHAC in Changchun in 2015, this first important step towards bringing together Egyptologists not only based in China, but from all over the world, has started a new form of academic exchange that now includes Chinese Egyptologists. The success of this conference means that it will continue to be held in China every four years (Figure 3.2). Since the research work of Xia Nai in Egypt 1940 there had been no Chinese scholars working on archaeological sites in Egypt. However, after this near seventy-year absence, the first student from IHAC joined the archaeological team of the Karnak Hypostyle Hall Project in November 2016.45 Also in 2016, thanks to the negotiation and decision making of the Institute of Archaeology of Academy of Social Sciences of China, more Chinese archaeological teams have been permitted to work in Egypt. It is expected that one team will go to a site with a temple of god Mentu near Karnak which they have chosen in Egypt to complete the first independent excavation performed by a Chinese archaeological team. It will be a remarkable event for those working across both archaeology Egyptology in China.

Suggested reading Du Ping, ‘Dr. Xia Nai and Egypt Studies’, Yindu Journal 2002(2) 39–42; Guo Zilin, ‘Summary of 30 Years of Egypt Studies in China’, West Asia and Africa 2009(6) 66 –71; Hao Xin and Zeng Jiang, ‘The Current Situation and Problems of Egyptology in Our Country’, Chinese Social Science Network, 21 January 2014; Li Xiaodong, ‘Egyptology in the 20th Century’, Journal of Northeast Normal University 2004(6) 131 –7; Linghu Ruoming, ‘The Construction and Development of Egyptology in China’, Arab World Studies 2008(3) 67–73; Liu Wenpeng, ‘Egyptology and China’, Historiography Quarterly 2002(1) 66–76; Xiang Ruo, ‘The Birth and Development of Egyptology and Studies in China’, World History 1994(1) 80–7.

Bibliography A-Ying. 1981. A-Ying Anthology. Beijing: SDX Joint Publishing Company. Adkins  L. and Adkins, R. 2001. The Keys of Egypt: The Race to Read the Hieroglyphs. London: HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. Christensen, W. 2009. Empire of Ancient Egypt. New York: Chelsea House Publishers. Collier, M. and Manley, B. 1998. How to Read Egyptian Hieroglyphs. London: British Museum Press. David, R. 1998. Handbook to Life of Ancient Egypt. New York: Acts on File, Inc. 45  This project is directed by Professor Dr Peter Brand of America’s Memphis University.

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Egyptology in China   77 Deng Zhangying and Li Junna. 2012. The Course of Cognition of Hieroglyph and Pictograph, Journal of Ocean University of China (Social Sciences) 1: 110–13. El-Amir, M. 1959. Egyptian Archaeology: A Study of Ancient Egyptian Architecture, Sculpture, Reliefs and Paintings in the Pharaonic Period (A course of lectures, given in Peking University, China, in 1957). Beijing: Science Press. Encyclopedia of China, Archaeology volume. 1986. Beijing: Encyclopedia of China Publishing House. Encyclopedia of China, History of World volume. 1990. Beijing: Encyclopedia of China Publishing House. Fakhry, A. 1956. Ancient Egypt: A Brief Survey of its History from the Beginning till 332 B.C. (A course of lectures given in Peking University, China, in May 1956). Shanghai: Commercial Press. Ge Huipeng. 2013. Nubians in Ancient Egyptian Texts, Journal of Ancient Civilizations 3: 34–41. Ge Huipeng. 2017. The Formation of the Concept of ‘Frontier’ in Ancient Egypt and Its Influence, World History 3: 123–32. Guo Songtao. 1981. Guo Songtao Diary, vol 3. Changsha City (Hunan): Hunan People’s Publishing House. Guo Zilin. 2010. Law and Judicial Practice of Ptolemaic Egypt, History Study 4: 4–18. Guo Zilin. 2010. Kingship Reflected in Ancient Egyptian Royal Tombs from Pre-dynasty to Old Kingdom, West Asia and Africa 9: 17–22. Guo Zilin. 2013. Sed Festival of Ancient Egypt and Kingship, World History 1: 100–12. Guo Zilin. 2015. Performing the Mystery Play of the Succession: The Ritual of Succession to the Throne in Ancient Egypt, History Study 2: 85–100. Guo Zilin. 2015. Studies on the Despotism of Ptolemaic Dynasty. Beijing: China Social Sciences Press. Guo Zilin. 2017. Falcon-worship and Kingship in Ancient Egypt, Journal of Northeast Normal University 3: 60–6. Hannig, R. and Weilie, Z. 1988. Mummy of Early Human Civilization: The Truth of ancient Egyptian Culture. Hangzhou (Zheijiang): Zhejiang People’s Publishing House. Jin Shoufu. 2003. The Role of Cultural Communication Played in the Formation of Ancient Egyptian Country, Social Science Front 6: 138–44. Jin Shoufu. 2003. Eternal Glory. Fudan: Fudan University Press. Jin Shoufu. 2010. On the Reciprocity of the King and the Gods in Ancient Egypt, Journal of Peking University 47(6): 79–89. Jin Shoufu. 2010. The Early Stage of the Formation of Ancient Egypt, World History 3: 19–31. Jin Shoufu. 2016. Ancient Egyptian Book of Dead. Shanghai: Commercial Press. Kemp, B.J. 1991. Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization. London: Routledge. Li Changlin and Yang Junming. 1995. The Early Study of Chinese on Hieroglyph of Ancient Egypt, World History 2: 84. Li Xiaodong. 1992. The Six Categories of Chinese Characters and the Word Formation of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphs, Journal of Inner Mongolia University for Nationalities 1: 10–13. Li Xiaodong. 1996. Pyramid of Ancient Civilizations: Egypt of Pharaoh. Liaoning: Liaoning University Press. Li Xiaodong. 2000. Mysterious Solar Barque of Khufu. Tianjin: Tianjin People’s Press. Li Xiaodong. 2007. The Pharaoh’s Third Title: Hr Nebw, Journal of Northeast Normal University 6: 15–20. Li Xiaodong. 2007. Selected Historical Inscriptions of Ancient Egypt. Shanghai: Commercial Press. Li Xiaodong. 2010. Research of Ancient Egyptian Red Sea Route, Journal of Northeast Normal ­University 6: 65–9. Li Xiaodong. 2015. The Birth of Ancient Egyptian Dominant Social Consciousness and the Historical Periodization, Collected Papers of History Studies 2: 4–9. Lin Zhichun. 1962. Documents of World History. Shanghai: Commercial Press. Liu Wenpeng. 1983. The Early Cities of ancient Egypt, History Study 3: 163–75. Liu Wenpeng. 1985. The Early Countries of ancient Egypt and the Unification, History of World 2: 27–35. Liu Wenpeng. 1988. The Development of Egyptian Tombs from the Pre-dynasty to Early Dynasties, Journal of Inner Mongolia University for Nationalities 3: 1–9.

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78   Li Xiaodong Liu Wenpeng. 1995. On the Origin of Egyptian Civilization, Historiography Quarterly 2: 42–57. Liu Wenpeng. 2000. History of Ancient Egypt. Shanghai: Commercial Press. Liu Wenpeng. 2008. Archaeology of Ancient Egypt. Beijing: SDX Joint Publishing Company. Liu Wenpeng and Linghu Ruoming. 2000. On the Characteristic of the Ancient Egyptian Civilization, Historiography Quarterly 1: 92–104. Sethe, K. 1906–14. Urkunden der 18. Dynastie. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Shaw, I. 2004. Ancient Egypt: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shiah, N. 1937. ‘Beads from Saharan Sites at Armant’, Mond, Robert Sir, Cemeteries of Armant II. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shiah, N. wrote for this book but did not published because of World War II. The manuscript is now kept in Egypt Exploration Society. Shiah, N. 1938. A Chinese Parallel to an Egyptian Idiom, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 24:1: 127–8. Shiah, N. 1942. Some Remarks on the Bekhen Stone, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Egypte 41: 189–205. Thompson, J. 2008. A History of Egypt: From Earliest Times to the Present. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Wang Haili. 2010. Comparative Study of Female Social Status in Ancient Egypt, West Asia and Africa 2: 46–9. Wang Haili. 2003. On the Chinese Mistranslation of the Egyptological Term ‘Hieroglyphic’, History of World 5: 52–7. Wang Haili. 2000. Tutankhamen 3000 Years. Tianjin: Tianjin Peoples Press. Wang Haili. 2002. Diplomatic Marriage of ‘only marry not marry off ’ of Ancient Egypt, History Study 6: 177–81. Wei Yuan. 1998. Haiguo Tuzhi. Changsha City: Yuelu Shushe. Wittfogel, K.A. 1957. Oriental Despotism: A Comparative Study of Total Power. New Haven: Yale ­University Press. Wu Tian. 2014. The Classic ‘Cross Coordinate’ Symbol System of Ancient Law Examination: From Ancient Pottery Shuangdun Chinese Text and Oracle Bone Inscriptions and Ancient Egyptian ­Hieroglyphs Evidence, Architecture and Culture 1: 132–51. Xia Nai. 2014. Ancient Egyptian Beads. Berlin: Springer. Xiangruo. 1994. World History (1): 80–7. Xu Jiyu. 2001. The Birth and Development of Egyptology and Studies in China, Yinghuan Zhilue. Shanghai: Shanghai Bookshop. Yan Haiying. 2001. Album of Ancient Egypt. Kunming (Yunnan): Yunnan People’s Press. Zhang Ye and Liu Hongcai. 2003. The Evolution of Egyptian Kingship in Pharaonic Period, Journal of Historical Science 3: 68–73. Zhao Rushi (1170–1231). 1996. Zhu Fan Zhi Jiaozhu. Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company. Zhou Gucheng, Wu Yujin, and Lin Zhichun. 1985. The Void in the Study of Ancient Civilizations in Our Country Must be Filled, World History 1: 1–3. Zhou Gucheng, Wu Yujin, and Lin Zhichun. 1986. The Void in the Study of Ancient Civilizations in Our Country Must be Filled, Journal of Ancient Civilizations 1: 3–11. Zhou Yiliang and Wu Yujin. 1962. A World History, Document Collections of World History. Shanghai: Commercial Press.

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chapter 4

R eception of a ncien t Egy pt Florian Ebeling

Scope and history of research It is common practice to consider Herodotus as the starting point of the history of reception of ancient Egypt although there are older documents that have survived as extracts and quotations.1 In the strict sense of the term, the reception of ancient Egypt ends with the beginning of modern Egyptology in the nineteenth century. In a broader sense, it is still going on, at least beyond academic research. With regard to material culture, the encounters of Egypt with the West are much older than Herodotus and can be traced back at least to the Middle Kingdom.2 The Western concept of ancient Egypt is a topic that has not emerged as a coherent discussion and therefore is treated in many different scientific disciplines. Art and literary history, the history of philosophy and religion, archaeology, and many more disciplines have contributed to this research. Various discussions have made Egypt a topic: hieroglyphs in the context of the language, the relationship of monotheism and polytheism or idolatry in the context of religion, symbolic knowledge and revelation in the history of hermeticism, the quest for the best medicine and spiritual treasures in the context of alchemy, and so on. Many of these discussions were interwoven and overlapped. Egypt was used as an argument in these different contexts, but not as a topic in its own right.3 A coherent discussion focused primarily on understanding ancient Egyptian culture only emerged with scientific Egyptology in the nineteenth century, perhaps with regard to art and aesthetics within the eighteenth century. Scientific Egyptology, as the main discourse about ancient Egypt, nowadays does not cover the history of reception by its self-definition. Egyptology focuses on ancient Egypt itself, it incorporates the Greco-Roman period and Coptic Egypt, but draws the line of its competence at least with the inception of Islamic Egypt. Initially, Egyptology formed its self-concept in sharp distinction from the history of reception, and stigmatized it as a 1  Lloyd 2010: 1068–85.

2  Panagiotopoulos 2005: 34–49.

3  Assmann 1997a: 561–85.

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80   Florian Ebeling history of errors and failures.4 Nevertheless, Egyptologists helped to establish the research into the history of the reception of ancient Egypt as a scientific topic in its own right. Nowadays, Egyptology shows an increasing interest in this topic, as there are more studies concerned with the history of Egyptology and the question of when it begins, or in which way Egyptologists owe their epistemological interest to pre- or outer-Egyptological discourses.5 On the other hand, research into Demotic literature investigates the transition period when Greeks, Romans and Egyptians cohabitated in ancient Egypt, in which ways they interacted, and about the knowledge each side had about the other. Scientific research into the history of reception of ancient Egypt began in the 1960s with books by Erik Iversen (1961), Juris Baltrušaitis (1967), and Siegfried Morenz (1968/69). These three ground-breaking studies initialized something new by focusing on the concept of Egypt in the longer term of Western history, and in a broader cultural context. At the same time, they are fraught with problems: Iversen is in danger of equating a part of the story with the whole, Morenz deforms the history of reception by taking it as the gap between antiquity and modern Egyptology, and Baltrušaitis’ book is an essay without any  systematic or comprehensive purpose.6 Unfortunately, Baltrušaitis used the term ‘Egyptomania’ as a subtitle to his study. This term was already used in nineteenth century and applied by Jean Marcel Humbert regarding a conscious adoption of decorations and forms from ancient Egyptian art.7 Later on, and together with Clifford Price, he used this term for any ‘kind of approach to anything ancient Egyptian’.8 The term bears the problem that ‘mania’ suggests an evaluative difference between the scientific Egyptological approach with the word ‘logos’, and the pathogenesis of the human mind with the word ‘mania’. Neither Baltrušaitis nor Humbert used this term in such a way for their research. Nevertheless, this evaluative term bears the overtone of an irrational interest in ancient Egypt. The scientific community is increasingly critical of this term. Despite the various terminologies used (Construction of ancient Egypt, Egyptian Renaissance, Reception, Afterlife, Effective History, Egyptian revival, etc), proper research is generally characterized by focusing on two major elements: on the one hand the author or artist who forms an image of ancient Egypt in his socio-historical context, and on the other, the tradition (or history as having a power of its own) that preforms the ways in which one faces ancient Egypt.9 Terms denoting a special interest in ancient Egypt like Egyptosophia or Egyptophilia, may suit this interest but not the research field in general. Reception of ancient Egypt must not be regarded as a part of the history of the reception of the classic ancient word (Antikenrezeption). Greek and Roman Antiquity were always comprehensible in direct confrontation with the Latin and Greek texts, at least since Humanism for the ‘res publica literaria’. In addition, Antiquity was grosso modo a normative part of Western culture, sometimes as a distinction, more often as an identification. In ­contrast, ancient Egypt was always a second-hand image in Western culture handed down by the accounts of the Bible or Classical literature. Before modern Egyptology was established, one had to read, interpret, criticize, or transform the Bible or the Latin and Greek writings. In this regard, we can look at ‘reception of ancient Egypt’ as a subdivision of Biblical studies or the classics. Focusing on the concept of ancient Egypt in the West, we have to consider the basis of this concept, the underlying interpretation and reception of the 4  Ermann 1882: 1–4. 7 Humbert 1989.

5  Gange 2013: 175–96. 8  Humbert and Price 2003: 1.

6 Ebeling 2019. 9  Assmann 2017; Ebeling 2017.

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Reception of ancient Egypt   81 Bible and the authors from antiquity. These images preformed the modes of ‘reception of ancient Egypt’ until the nineteenth century and the decipherment of hieroglyphs. Consequently, ‘reception of ancient Egypt’ needs a different approach to ‘reception of Antiquity’. In his concept of ‘mnemohistory’ Jan Assmann has made the point that ‘reception of ancient Egypt’ had no direct access to ancient Egyptian realities and was not able to go ‘ad fontes’. ‘Mnemohistory’ stresses the diachronic aspects of research into history including the synchronic ones that dominate methods like ‘New Historicism’, ‘constellation analysis’, and ‘Microhistory’. As Assmann describes it: ‘Unlike history proper, mnemohistory is concerned not with the past as such, but only with the past as it is remembered. It surveys the story-lines of tradition, the webs of intertextuality, the diachronic continuities and discontinuities of reading the past.’10

Sketch of the historical development The history of reception of ancient Egypt, focused on intellectual history, has its foundations in Biblical writings, especially the Book of Exodus, and in the accounts of Greek and Roman authors. However, both sides pass on a very different concept of ancient Egypt. While the Book of Genesis presents Egypt in a positive way when Joseph worked successfully (cap. 37–50) for the common good, and as an asylum for Jacob and his family, the evaluation changed completely with the Book of Exodus.11 In this account, the Israelites are supressed by the Egyptians and Moses becomes the rescuer of ‘God’s chosen people’. As Pharaoh refuses to allow the Israelites to leave Egypt, the conflict heats up with Egyptian polytheism, idolatry, and tyranny on the one side, and on the other, Moses, ‘God’s chosen people’, monotheism, and purity. These oppositions are dramatically expressed in the narratives of the ‘plagues of Egypt’, the exodus from Egypt, and the obliteration of the Egyptians in the Red Sea. Egypt represents in this Biblical narrative a traumatic past, even when these writings also report about sages in Egypt. Within the history of reception, Egypt was the incarnation of polytheism, idolatry, and tyranny. For the ‘New Testament’ Egypt is less crucial; once more it granted an asylum, this time for the ‘holy family’ that had to flee from Herod. The Book of Exodus is paraphrased by the Acts of the Apostles (7, 22), mentioning that Moses was learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians. The accounts about ancient Egypt in Classical antiquity are much more diverse than the accounts of the Hebrew Bible.12 The first comprehensive account is by Herodotus. He characterized Egypt as a culture from immemorial times, as the origin and role model for many cultural technologies of the West, but likewise strange and sometimes barbarous. Of great influence in the history of reception was Herodotus’s identification of Egyptian and Greek gods (‘interpretatio graeca’) in terms of the differences between the appearance and the names of the gods, depending on the different cultures. In the essence, Osiris corresponds to Dionysos, Amun to Zeus, Thot to Hermes, and Isis to Demeter. In the wake of the conquest of Egypt by Alexander the Great and the following reign of the Ptolemaic dynasty from Macedonian Greece, the country became part of the Hellenistic 10  Assmann 1997b: 9.

11 Assmann 2015.

12  Lloyd 2010: 1067–85.

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82   Florian Ebeling world and Alexandria was one of its cultural centres. Hecataeus of Abdera wrote in about 300 bc a history of Egypt for Ptolemy I, in which he describes Egypt as the cradle of culture in the Hellenistic word. This pan-Egyptianism was taken up by Diodorus Siculus (first ­century bc) for his account of Egypt that was of great influence to Early Modern Times.13 The Ptolemaic dynasty ended in 30 bc with the death of Cleopatra VII and the in­corpor­ ation of Egypt into the Roman Empire. From then on, the image of Egypt in Latin literature is dominated by negative stereotypes. For instance, Juvenal (first until second century ad) mocks the ‘demented Egyptians’ in his fifteenth satire as barbarians for worshipping animals and committing cannibalism. During the Roman Imperial period, the Egyptians were widely regarded as devious, xenophobic, and less sophisticated—one of the few exceptions is the Metamorphoses by Apuleius.14 A different image is however presented by Greek literature. Plutarch (c.45–c.125) philosophically systematized the hermeneutics forming the background of the ‘interpretatio graeca’ and the idea of the cultural transition from Egypt into Greek. In his book On Isis and Osiris, Plutarch postulates an argument that was most influential to the history of reception of ancient Egypt in suggesting that it is not the obvious first impression that reveals the essence of Egyptian culture. Only by means of an interpretation that enables to see below the surface, can the true meaning be deducted. He demonstrates this by using the example of the myth of Isis and Osiris and the religious practice of the Egyptians. By definition, nothing Egyptian is irrational even when it seems to be at first glance. It is only dependent on a proper (or adequate) interpretation to find the concealed meaning.15 This idea of ancient Egypt as a paragon of an interplay of appearance or surface on the one hand and essence on the other, refers to Platonic philosophy. Therefore, the history of reception of ancient Egypt can be widely seen as a part of ­platonic currents. Apuleius (c.123–c.170), a Platonist philosopher like Plutarch, used this model as a poetological programme for his narrative of the mystery cult of Isis in Metamorphoses.16 He used colourful, ambiguous verbal images to describe the divinity that exceeds all human language and concepts of perception, or the very act of the initiation that must remain silent. By mixing the image of Egyptian religion with ­traditional topoi of the mysteries like asceticism, scepticism of the importance of the human body, readiness to die, and Platonic psychology and philosophy, he made Egypt the prototype of a mystery culture for the West. During the first centuries ad, Egyptian culture and Egyptian deities were not fixed to the Nile-valley, they belonged to Western culture. Besides derision, there has been fascination for Egypt as well.17 Temples of Isis were widespread in the Roman Empire, Rome was full of Egyptian obelisks and pieces of art, and Gaius Cestius Epulo even built his grave in the form of a pyramid (finished c.12 bc). In the course of late antiquity, pseud-epigraphic writings claimed to reveal an Egyptian wisdom. The Hermetic writings were attributed to the legendary Egyptian sage Hermes Trismegistos and were regarded as a primordial revelation that was thought to be oldest Egyptian theology and philosophy but actually have been written in the first centuries ad.18 13  E.g. Jean Terrasson (1670–1750) was an editor of Diodorus’ writings and is one of the many authors referring mainly to Diodorus for his most influential novel Sethos, cf. Assmann/Ebeling 2015, 48–65. 14  Nimis 2004: 34–67. 15 Görgemanns 2017. 16  Merkelbach 2001: 266–304, 335–484. 17 Verluys 2002. 18  Ebeling 2007: 7–27.

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Reception of ancient Egypt   83 They pretend to be dialogues performing an initiation. These texts understand the unity of the holy and spiritual realm as being transcendent and not comprehensible, whereas in contrast, nature is regarded as being God’s creation referring in each aspect to the transcendental origin. Even when both realms are ontologically and epistemologically categorically different, they refer to each other. From this proposition, hermetic writings deducted the­orems concerning theology, philosophy of nature and mind, ethics, astrology, and magic. During late antiquity, Egypt was less understood as a challenge for the human mind to serve a rational interpretation as proposed by Plutarch, but as a revelation of supernatural wisdom. This supernatural wisdom is beyond the human mind and must not be rationalized by transforming the divine realm into the pattern of the human mind. In his account of the doctrines of Egyptian mysteries, Jamblichus (240/45–320/25) identified in De Mysteriis Aegyptiorum Hermeticism with Egyptian philosophy.19 Divine names, as they occur in Egyptian theurgic practice, must not be comprehensible as they are ontologically and epistemologically superior to the human mind and concepts of understanding. Egypt turns out to be a synonym for revealed eternal wisdom. A crucial point for the interpretation of Egypt in the Christian West was the in­ter­pret­ ation of Egyptian religion and Hermeticism by the early Christian apologetics. These authors took up the Platonic hermeneutics for ancient Egypt as expressed by Plutarch. With the thesis that the culture of Egypt is only to be understood through the distinction of surface and depth, the evident contradiction of Christianity and ancient Egyptian religion was resolved. Only outwardly was Egypt polytheistic and idolatrous, beneath the surface it was a proto-Christian monotheism or at least a form of deism. Clemens from Alexandria (c.150–c.215 ad) regards the Egyptian mysteries a precursor of Christianity, and Lactantius (c.250–c.320) wanted to identify central Christian doctrines in the hermetic writings.20 Besides the attempts to understand Egypt as a part of the religious identity of the West, there remain critical views as well. In the first century, the Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria individualized the account of the Exodus by means of stigmatizing Egypt as the ‘land of the body’ from which the soul has to migrate to find the realm of the divine spirit.21 Jewish and Christian writers alongside Classical authors like Juvenal and Lucian were revolted by the animal worship of the Egyptians.22 While many Classical texts were preserved in the Byzantine Empire, they were widely omitted from the cultural memory of the Latin West. Art in the Middle Ages presented ancient Egypt as a stage for Biblical narratives without any cultural significance, and only a few citations are known.23 In contrast, medieval Arabic writings presented a vivid image of ancient Egypt focused on magic and alchemy.24 These describe Egyptian temples with subterranean alchemical laboratories and the finding of a secret wisdom, concealed in symbols. The numerous legendary achievements of Hermes Trismegistus are divided up on three sages which bear this name.25 During the twelfth and the thirteenth centuries these texts were translated from Arabic into Latin and passed on this concept of Egypt to the West. Magic and alchemy were regarded as Egyptian arts that owed their reputation to the authority of Hermes Trismegistos. The hermetic Tabula Smaragdina with its axiom ‘That which is above is like to that which is below, and that which is below is like to that which is

19 Quack 2017. 22 Pfeiffer 2008.

20  Löw 2002: 88–186. 23  Burnett 2003: 65–99.

21  Pearce 2007: 241–308. 24 El-Daly 2005. 25 Bladel 2009.

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84   Florian Ebeling above’ was part of the long version of the Secretum Secretorum and widespread in more than 350 copies in Latin.26 By the rediscovery of Graeco-Roman literature in humanism during the Renaissance, the  concept of ancient Egypt from Classical antiquity was revitalized.27 Two discoveries enhanced the interest in Egypt: the Hieroglyphica by Horapollon and the Corpus Hermeticum. Horapollons Hieroglyphica dates back to the fifth century but relies on older sources that were not preserved like the Hieroglyphika of Chairemon. The hieroglyphs are explained according to the form: ‘when the Egyptians wanted to describe X they depicted Y because of Z’. X is the meaning, Y the hieroglyph, and Z is knowledge about the nature of the world that explains the relationship between X and Y. The manuscript was discovered in 1419 and brought to Florence in 1422 where it had deep influence on Renaissance culture. A famous example is the romance Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (1499) by Francesco Colonna where for the first time the West tried to write in hieroglyphs, or later on the many emblem books that referred to ancient Egypt symbolism and hieroglyphs28 (see Figure 4.1). The Corpus Hermeticum was considered an authentic articulation of the most ancient Egyptian philosophy and theology. When it came to Florence, Marsilio Ficino (1433–99)

Figure 4.1  Francesco Colonna: Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, Venetia 1499, fol. cI, recto: Renaissance artists write in an Egyptian manner.

26  Ebeling 2014: 23–34.

27 Curran 2007.

28  Kiefer 2002.

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Reception of ancient Egypt   85 immediately translated it from Greek into Latin and described the Egyptian Hermes as the founder of a tradition of wisdom which, via Orpheus and Pythagoras, led to Plato. Ficino regards this ‘Prisca Sapientia’ in its essence as being in perfect correspondence to the Biblical writings. Even though the primacy of Christianity remained undisputed, Hermetic, Platonic, and Christian teachings were interwoven. During the sixteenth-century era of confessionalization, this understanding of Egyptian wisdom served as a means of reconciliation. By referring to Egyptian Hermeticism, Sebastian Franck (1499–1543) relativized the Christian claim of superiority and dogmatic truth in support of his religious and philosophical universalism.29 In a similar manner Philippe de Mornay (1549–1623), by claiming that Christian dogmas represent natural truths in which even the Egyptians believed, uses his concept of Egypt to promote religious tolerance.30 Not only in intellectual history but also in art, the perception of ancient Egypt changed with the Renaissance. Ancient Egypt is still depicted as a part of ‘Salvation History’, but it gains aesthetic recognizability. Lorenzo Ghiberti’s (1378–1455) ‘Gates of Paradies’ show Noah’s Ark in the form of a pyramid. During the Italian Renaissance, an antiquarian interest arose that incorporates ancient Egypt, which peaked in the sixteenth century. Under the auspices of Pope Alexander VI, the Villa Adriana was excavated and the many obelisks that are now seen in Rome were uncovered and erected (Curran et al 2009). Some authentic Egyptian objects and even more copies, mainly from the Imperial period, were discovered like the famous ‘Mensa Isiaca’ (Bembine Table of Isis). At the same time many books represent the ancient Egyptian pantheon alongside the Graeco-Roman one and travellers began to describe objects from Egyptian antiquity.31 A combination of the understanding of ancient Egyptian symbols and hieroglyphs, with the idea of Egyptian mysteries, has been significant for the concept of Egypt in AlchemoParacelsism since the middle of the sixteenth century. Like many other texts in the context of the Paracelsian movement, the Aurora Philosophorum reports from the primeval know­ ledge that survives the diluvium to a large part in Egypt, but was also passed along by Moses to ‘the children of Israel’. This wisdom was recorded in symbols and hieroglyphs that were adopted by a number of Greeks, such as Homer and Pythagoras. For the hermetic-Egyptian wisdom, the ‘how’ rather than the ‘what’ of knowledge, is important.32 In contrast to the Hermetic tradition that was focused on the Corpus Hermeticum, the alchemical Hermeticism, the central text of which is constituted by the Tabula Smaragdina, frequently distinguishes between orthodoxy and heresy with a polemic rigour. Egyptian wisdom, and Platonic and Phythagoreic philosophy are considered to anticipate Christianity, which is continued by Alchemo-Paracelsism, while Aristotelism is understood as a dia­bol­ ical human attempt to put reason before the divine. The dispute about the Corpus Hermeticum as an incarnation of Egyptian theology ­cul­min­ated in the seventeenth century ad. Isaac Casaubon identifies in 1614 the texts as pseudepigrapha dating from the Christian era.33 Nonetheless, Ralf Cudworth (1617–88) attempted to comprehend them as the esoteric core of Egyptian religion, and Ole Borch (1626–90) and Hermann Conring (1606–28) argued about the scientific value of the alchemical Hermetica.34 Even though scholars such as Athanasius Kircher continued to understand ancient Egypt and Hermeticism as ‘Prisca Sapientia’, the conception of Egypt 29 Gilly 1999. 30  Ebeling 2007: 84–6. 31  Syndram 1990: 29–53. 32  Ebeling 2007: 78–9. 33  Grafton 1991: 145–91. 34  Mulsow 2002.

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86   Florian Ebeling

Figure 4.2  Frontispiece of Athanasius Kircher’s Oedipus Aegyptiacus, Roma 1652: Egypt as a s­ ymbol and a mystery.

became largely detached from Hermeticism. Kircher tried to gather all knowledge about ancient Egypt in Oedipus Aegyptiacus (1652–54) in order to combine Christian speculative theology, Biblical universal history, and Egyptian culture in an encyclopaedic description of mankind (Figure  4.2). Previously, Kircher had published a Coptic grammar and other books interpreting ancient Egypt as a symbolic culture.35 At the same time, a more sobering 35 Stolzenberg 2013.

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Reception of ancient Egypt   87 concept of ancient Egypt came up in the wake of the science of religion, that developed in the seventeenth century.36 John Selden in De Diis Syris (1617) described ancient Egyptian religion by using ancient sources, but analysed them with new scientific standards beyond veneration and contempt.37 Occasionally, ancient Egypt would appear as a stigma following the tradition of the Book of Exodus. The Pietists were accused by their opponents of having adopted, together with Platonic and Hermetic doctrines, ungodly teachings from the ancient Egyptians.38 The Pietists had little interest in the image of ancient Egypt or Hermeticism and rejected the notion that they were part of an Egyptian-Hermetic tradition. They explained that any ana­ lo­gies between the hermetic teachings and Pietist doctrines were the result of Joseph’s teaching of ancient Biblical truth to the Egyptians, who, in turn, corrupted it with idolatry and zoolatry.39 Many novels of Joseph in Egypt offers a combination of fiction with scientific discourse about Egyptian religion and the Biblical accounts in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Europe.40 Philipp von Zesen made not Joseph, but Assenat, following the Book of Genesis, the daughter of the high-priest of Heliopolis the protagonist of his novel. The conversion from Egyptian religion to the God of Joseph is explained by von Zesen using Kircher’s Oedipus Aegyptiacus, and other scholarly literature that discussed Egyptian idolatry (Figure 4.3). In the eighteenth century, the concept of ancient Egypt was shimmering between the poles of Enlightenment and Occultism. The philosophic-historical sciences are widely free of theological implications and do not take Egypt as a part of ‘Historia Sacra’. The historical criticism of the Bible, Oriental studies, and Hebraic studies regarded ancient Egypt as belonging to the cultural background of the actual discipline. In this context, descriptions of Egyptian religion are published that do not adore Egypt as the superior origin of Greek culture, but as a rudimentary early form, for example, Johann Jakob Brucker in his extensive and influential Historia critica philosophiae (1742–44). The scientific concept of ancient Egypt predominantly does not rely any more on the hermetic writings and reads ancient sources with historical criticism. The different lodges of Freemasonry in the eighteenth ­century were more enthusiastic about ancient Egypt. In his influential history of Freemasonry, James Anderson referred to ancient Egypt and in succession many Freemasons followed him.41 Some were interested in ancient Egypt in order to promote moderate Enlightenment ideas,42 whilst others tried to maintain their position between the values of Enlightenment and the traditional doctrine of revelation as the Lodge of the ‘Afrikanische Bauherren’.43 The masonic order of the ‘Golden and Rosy Cross’ practised practical and spiritual alchemy, following the Paracelsians and Rosicrucians from the beginning of the eighteenth century. Under the pseudonym Cagliostro, the notorious fraud Giuseppe Balsamo (1743–95) used the aura of ancient Egyptian wisdom for self-dramatization. He was revered as a sage, alchemist, and faith healer, who generously helped the poor and had a special relationship with divinity. Using this mystical reputation, he instituted the ‘Rite de la Haute Maçonnerie Egyptienne’.44

36 Stroumsa 2010. 37 Mulsow 2001. 38  Lehmann-Brauns 2004: 187–222. 39  Ebeling 2007: 109–13. 40 Lang 2009. 41  Anderson 1723: 5f. 42 Assmann 2017. 43  Gerlach 2014: 576–89. 44  Assmann and Ebeling 2011: 147–54.

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88   Florian Ebeling

Figure 4.3  Philipp von Zesen: Assenat, Amsterdam 1670, 294, 111: Joseph in the garden of Potiphar.

The beginning of scientific Egyptology and the persistence of pre-Egyptological concepts In the nineteenth century, this basic pattern of the concept of ancient Egypt changed completely with the decipherment of hieroglyphs, together with the advent of more precise

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Reception of ancient Egypt   89 documentation of Egyptian objects and architecture, and thus the establishment of s­ cientific Egyptology. The West had direct access to ancient Egypt, being able to read the culture via its authentic sources. It was no longer necessary to interpret the accounts of the Bible and Classical literature. The perspective changed from focusing on the inside and the hidden wisdom, alle­ gories and philosophical interpretations, to the outside quantification, edition, and translation. This transition was in reality not particularly rigorous. It took some years until Champollion’s comprehension of Egyptian hieroglyphs was generally accepted, and decades before long hieroglyphic texts were available in translation. For the Romantic period in the first half of the nineteenth century, the concept of ancient Egypt from the history of reception was still valid but was enriched with the new knowledge, delivered in the wake of the Napoleonic campaigns.45 Even after Egyptology was the undisputed paradigm within the sciences, this was not the end of the associations and evocations of the history of reception. In art, literature, film, and religious groups, these topics survived and are still effective. As art and literature are not about historical truth and accuracy of depiction, their reference for the encounter with ancient Egypt must not necessarily be Egyptology. For example, Paul Klee (1879–1940) created paintings that reflect a first-hand impression from his travel to Egypt as well as an inspiration by anthropo­ sophical books from Rudolph Steiner about Egyptian mysteries. Klee’s next-door neighbour and friend Wassily Kandinsky (1866–1944) was a member of the Theosophical Society and Kandinsky’s book Über das Geistige in der Kunst (Concerning the Spiritual in Art) is strongly influenced by Madame Blavatsky who understood Egyptian freemasonry from the eighteenth century as old Egyptian mysteries. All of this was an inspiration for Klee’s artistic work.46 In a similar way, a variety of literature referred to ancient Egypt as an inspiration and many religious groups referred to it in a pre-Egyptological way like the Mormons.47 Ancient Egypt matters here as an argument, like a myth that is true because it matters and not because it corresponds to verifiable facts. This is particularly obvious in the case of the influential and notorious occultist Aleister Crowley (1875–1947). For the foundation of his religion of ‘Thelema’ he referred to ancient Egypt. By a kind of legitimation legend, he claimed that he had a revelation stimulated by a stela with the registration number of the museum in Bulaq (Cairo) 666, now known as Cairo A9422.48 This revelation was published under the name ‘The Book of Law’ and Crowley’s presentation as the prophet of an ancient Egyptian religion is pure nonsense in regard to scientific Egyptology. Nevertheless, it is admired in popular culture. L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of ‘Scientology’, was a follower of Crowley and the Rosicrucian group AMORC (‘Ancient Mystical Order Rosae Crucis’) took up Crowley’s writings for some time.49

The different storylines of the history of art and objects This representation of the history of reception of ancient Egypt is focused on intellectual history, philosophy, and Hermeticism. It would be possible to tell a slightly different story 45 Jeffreys 2003. 48 Munro 1973.

46 Ebeling 2015. 49  Pasi 2005: 281–7.

47  Givens and Barlow 2005: 109–20, 134–48.

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90   Florian Ebeling that is focused on art and objects. Following this storyline Rome is central as the place where many ancient Egyptian artefacts came to Europe.50 During the Imperial period the Romans produced many artefacts in a hybrid-style by incorporating an Egyptian touch to Roman and Greek aesthetics. Their Egyptian role model came from the Late Egyptian period, not from a Classical Egyptian era. Nevertheless, these objects and the pseudoEgyptian aesthetic were popular and widespread in ancient Rome and they were regarded as Egyptian originals within the history of reception. As with intellectual history, the representation of ancient Egypt was less manifest throughout the Middle Ages where we in most cases find Egyptian themes that came from the Bible like the ‘Flight into Egypt’ where we can hardly identify ancient Egypt because of a lack of iconic significance.51 In the Italian Renaissance, important pieces of art made ancient Egypt a topic and Horapollon’s Hieroglyphica had an impact not only in literature and intellectual history, but also in visual art.52 Aesthetics that were regarded as being Egyptian prospered in the form of an interplay of text and image in the emblematic books of the Baroque Age. Antiquarians not only collected Greek and Roman, but also ancient Egyptian art, and these collections were the basis for extensive publications.53 The books still depict the ancient Egyptian objects that came from Rome. Other books like travelogues depicted Egyptian antiquities and began in the eighteenth century to represent a distinct Egyptian style. The same shift to original Egyptian objects and aesthetics can be found in the books published in the wake of expeditions by Frederic Louis Norden (1708–42) and Carsten Niebuhr (1733–1815).54 This style then becomes even more obvious in the publications following Napoleon’s campaigns in Egypt.55

The study of reception: topics, diversity, and interchange As the Western image of ancient Egypt is a topic that has not emerged as a coherent discussion about ancient Egypt, but was a topic of discussion in various discourses, we therefore have a huge amount of literature concerned with different aspects of the history of reception on the one hand, and just a few books focused on the whole history on the other. The only attempt to cover the whole range of the history of reception with a scientific approach, written in this millennium, results from a conference that took place in London in 2000 titled ‘Encounters with Ancient Egypt’. The resulting eight volumes published in 2003 form a stunning collection of articles and topics.56 They offer a good insight into a variety of topics, but do not present an overview. There is neither a general introduction, just introductory remarks, nor is there a general index or a discussion of the research field and its history. There are many gaps with regard to the topics covered—this is inevitable in 50 Curran 2007. 51 Burnett 2003. 52  Assmann and Assmann 2003. 53 Whitehouse 1992. 54 Hansen 2016. 55  Edmé François Jomard, Description de l’Égypte ou recueil des observations et des recherches qui ont été faites en Égypte pendant l’expedition de l’Armée Française publié par les ordres de Sa Majesté l’empereur Napoléon le Grand, Paris 1809–28. 56 Ucko 2003.

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Reception of ancient Egypt   91 general, but becomes a serious problem when there is no overview classifying the different articles as part of a bigger story. Science still lacks an overview and the Encounters are proof that the discussion about the history of reception is in danger of being treated as a bunch of loosely connected topics and detailed studies. In order to give an idea of the vast number of topics that were concerned with ancient Egypt, a short sketch without a claim of comprehensiveness is provided. Hieroglyphs were regarded as an outstanding characteristic of ancient Egypt and have widely been understood as a symbolic knowledge only known to some priests, concealing the wisdoms but revealing these to the few that are initiated in the mysteries. Hieroglyphs, philosophy, the­ology, and the idea of Egyptian mysteries are all characterized by the idea that the appearance of religion, myth, or culture shows only the deceptive surface, and that only an initiation or a philosophical analysis will reveal the essence of Egyptian wisdom. This pattern is part of Platonic philosophy and in fact the reception of ancient Egypt in general takes place within the Platonic tradition. Aristotle and his teachings only played a role within discussions that had no philosophical or theological relevance, like the discussion of the geography of the Nile, or in the form of Aristotelian pseudepigrapha that are actually Neoplatonic texts.57 In the ‘Attic tragedy’, the Egyptians appear as voluptuous barbaric and xenophobic,58 a picture that changed to be more nuanced with Hellenism.59 Nevertheless, the concept of Egypt remained shimmering—ancient Egypt was admired as a primordial culture, whereas the contemporary Egyptians were suspected of being devious. After the incorporation into the Imperium Romanum, negative stereotypes dominated in Latin literature, while the Greek literature changes between admiration towards the land of wisdom and mysteries, and contempt about robberies and frauds.60 In Early modern times, the novels about ‘Joseph in Egypt’61 mingled the Biblical narrative with contemporary scientific literature and in the eighteenth century, dozens of books made the Egyptian mysteries a topic. For example, the Bildungsroman, the gothic novel, religious novels, and many others.62 These novels follow Apuleius in using Egypt for a literary interplay of surface and essence, inside and outside, allusion and revelation. In a similar way, the topic of Egypt as a land full of riches refers to this model. In Genesis 41, Egypt granted asylum for Jacob and his family and this valuation is turned around in Exodus where the riches of Egypt are in confrontation to the loyalty towards God. The Arabic literature features handbooks concerning Egyptian treasures and narratives about the pyramids as places of concealment.63 These Arabic accounts of the finding of long concealed hermetic and alchemical books are a combination of the idea of the material, with the spiritual riches that can be found in Egypt.64 By the medium of translations from Arabic into Latin since the twelfth century, these ideas came to the West. For Herodotus Egypt was a political power as a joint opponent with the Greeks against the Persians. In the time of the Ptolemaic dynasties, the concept of Egypt as a superior civ­il­iza­tion served legitimizing purposes in an attempt to connect the Greek and the Egyptian traditions.65 The complete loss of Egyptian political autonomy with its incorporation into the Imperium Romanum, resulted in a trophy-like Egyptian image, the erecting of obelisks

57  Kraye et al 1986.    58 Nimis 2004: 34–67.   59 Stephens 2003. 60  Holzberg 2013: 112–25. 61 Lang 2009. 62  Assmann and Ebeling 2011. 63  El Daly 2005: 31–44. 64  Ebeling 2014: 23–34. 65 Stephens 2003.

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92   Florian Ebeling in Rome being a clear demonstration of Rome’s supremacy over Egypt.66 This function of Egypt for imperial self-representation was taken up in the nineteenth century with vo­lu­ min­ous publications like the Description de l’Égypte (1809–23). Many more discourses beyond Egyptology made and still make ancient Egypt a topic. Just to name a few: mummies in the discussion of medicine; necromantic in gothic novels,67 and maybe most popular nowadays Cleopatra, mummies, magic, and hidden treasures in contemporary films.

Afrocentrism The ‘reception of ancient Egypt’ has become a topic of socio-political controversies in the case of Afrocentrism: one of the eight volumes of the Encounters with Ancient Egypt is in fact dedicated to this topic.68 In an attempt to prove that ancient Egypt was a black culture and the origin of Western civilization, many authors quote texts from the history of reception. In 1789 John Marrant gave a speech in the first lodge for Afro-Americans, referring to Egypt and Africa as the origin of freemasonry and humanity.69 He referred to Egypt and freemasonry in order to argue against racial abuse. In the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries this was the exception rather than the rule. The most dominant concept of Egypt within the discussion of slavery was the idea of release from Egypt as the ‘house of bondage’ and the identifications of the blacks with the Israelites in Egypt.70 Nevertheless, some authors were fighting for abolitionism referring to Egypt as the black African origin of culture. In the twentieth century, this movement became powerful in the course of post-colonialism and the ‘black power’ movement. Some authors only wanted to show that black culture is not a deficient mode of European culture, but has its own right. Egypt played a major role for these authors in trying to prove that Western culture is only the offspring of black African culture that first flourished in ancient Egypt. Cheikh Anta Diop understood Egypt as a black African culture that should not be comprehended as part of the Mediterranean world but in the nexus of African cultures. Much more radical was George Granville Monah James when he claimed that the Western culture was not only the offspring of black Egypt, but was also neglected in this relationship. With his battle yell ‘stolen legacy’ James did not intend to take part in academic discourse, but acted as a political activist.71 With Martin Bernal’s Black Athena this discussion became part of the discourse of the humanities.72 Like his many predecessors, he is reading the texts from the history of reception like factual reports without any historical-critical contextualization. According to Bernal the Greeks acknowledged the fact that the Egyptians, like the Phoenicians, formed the foundation of their own culture. Out of antisemitic and racist reasons, the first pro­tag­ on­ist of Classical studies neglected the importance of the predecessors and labelled Greek an Aryan civilization. Grosso modo this discussion is a continuation of the history of recep­ tion of ancient Egypt. The most important sources are Greek narratives about Egypt taken 66 Curran 2009. 67 Luckhurst 2012. 68  O’Connor and Reid 2003. 69  Bogdan and Snoek 2014: 424f. 70  Trafton 2004: 245–8. 71  James 1954: 7. 72  Bernal, 3 vols. 1987, 1991, 2006.

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Reception of ancient Egypt   93 as factual reports, and in particular, the concept of Egypt formed by eighteenth-century freemasonry is still living on.73

Future research approaches Besides ongoing research into different aspects of the history of reception of ancient Egypt, there are some new developments shifting the research landscape. Egyptology is increasingly concerned with Demotic literature in terms of understanding the cultural interchange between Egyptians with Greeks and Romans. This research is contributing to a better comprehension of the transition process of the concept of ancient Egypt to the West. Besides the traditional traces of intellectual history and history of art that are increasingly intermingled, research into other material culture has of course provided promising new perspectives.74 A research infrastructure is inaugurated in the form of a Thematic InternetPortal (part of ‘Propylaeum: Specialized Information Service for Classical Studies’) and a scientific Journal (Aegyptiaca: Journal of the History of Reception of Ancient Egypt), both of these are dedicated to the history of reception of ancient Egypt.

Suggested reading So far there is no handbook or academically sound summary of the topic and its research history. The following texts provide the best insights into different aspects of the subject: for the concept and the practice of ‘mnemohistory’ see Assmann (1997b) and Assmann (2017); for material culture see Versluys (2017); for the history of art in Renaissance Italy see Curran (2007); for the history of hieroglyphs see Assmann and Assmann (2003) or Iversen (1961); for esoteric currents see Hornung (2002); for hermeticism see Ebeling (2007); for an overview of the diversity of topics see the eight volumes of Ucko (2003) and for Egyptian mysteries in eighteenth century see Assmann and Ebeling (2011). For the ongoing research see Aegyptiaca: Journal of the History of Reception of Ancient Egypt.

Bibliography Anderson, J. 1723. Constitutions of the Free-Masons. Containing the History, Charges, Regulations etc. of the most Ancient and Right Worshipful Fraternity. London: William Hunter. Assmann, J. 1997a. Ägypten als Argument. Rekonstruktion der Vergangenheit und Religionskritik im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert, Historische Zeitschrift 264: 561–85. Assmann, J. 1997b. Moses the Egyptian. The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Assmann, A. and Assmann, J. (eds). 2003. Hieroglyphen. Stationen einer anderen abendländischen Grammatologie. München: Fink.

73  Howe 1998: 66–72.

74 Versluys 2017.

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94   Florian Ebeling Assmann, J. and Ebeling, F. 2011. Ägyptische Mysterien: Reisen in die Unterwelt in Aufklärung und Romantik. München: C. H. Beck. Assmann, J. 2015. Exodus. Die Revolution der alten Welt. München: C. H. Beck. Assmann, J. 2017. Egyptian Mysteries and Secret Societies in the Age of Enlightenment. A ‘Mnemohistorical’ Study, in Aegyptiaca 1: 4–25 (DOI: https://doi.org/10.11588/aegyp.2017.1.40162). Baltrušaitis, J. 1967. La quête d`Isis, essai sur la légende d’un mythe, introduction à l’égyptomanie. Paris: Perrin. Bernal, M. 3 vols. 1987, 1991, 2006. Black Athena: The Afroasiatic Roots of Classical Civilization. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Bladl, K.  van. 2009. The Arabic Hermes. From Pagan Sage to Prophet of Science. Oxford: Oxford ­University Press. Bogdan, H. and Snoek, J. 2014. Handbook of Freemasonry. Leiden: Brill Burnett, C. 2003. Images of ancient Egypt in the Latin Middle Ages. In P. Ucko and T. Champion (eds), The Wisdom of Egypt: Changing Visions Through the Ages. London: UCL Press, 65–100. Curran, B. 2007. The Egyptian Renaissance. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Curran, B., Grafton, A., Long, P.O., and Weiss, B. 2009. Obelisk, a History. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. El-Daly, O. 2005. Egyptology: the Missing Millennium, Ancient Egypt in Medieval Arabic Writings. London: UCL Press. Ebeling, F. 2007. The Secret History of Hermes Trismegistos. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Ebeling, F. 2014. Ägypten als Heimat der Alchemie. In P. Feuerstein-Herz and S. Laube (eds), Goldenes Wissen. Die Alchemie—Substanzen, Synthesen, Symbolik. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 23–34. Ebeling, F. 2015. Ägyptische Mysterien bei Max Klee und Paul Slevogt. Eine Wirkungsgeschichte jenseits von Orientalismus und Ägyptologie. In H. Biedermann, A. Dehmer, and H. Karge (eds), Imagination und Anschauung: Ägyptenrezeption und Ägyptenreisen in der ersten Hälfte des 20. ­Jahrhunderts, Dresden: Sandstein Verlag, 66–74. Ebeling, F. 2017. The Pre-Egyptological Concept of Egypt as a Challenge for Egyptology and the Efforts to Establish a Research Community. In G. Rosati and M.C. Guidotti (eds), Proceedings of the XI Congress of Egyptologists. Oxford: Archaeopress, 184–7. Ebeling, F. 2019. Hans-Georg Gadamer’s ‘history of effect’ and its application to the pre-Egyptological concept of ancient Egypt. In: Aegptiaca 4: 55–73 (DOI: https://doi.org/10.11588/aegyp.2019.4.66093). Erler, M. and Stadler, M.A. (eds) 2017. Platonismus und Spätägyptische Religion. Plutarch und die Ägyptenrezeption in der Römischen Kaiserzeit. Berlin and Boston: Walter de Gruyter. Ermann, A. 1882. Athanasius Kircher, Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie, herausgegeben von der ­Historischen Kommission bei der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Band 16: 1–4. Gange, D. 2013. Dialogues with the Dead. Egyptology in British Culture and Religion (1822–1922) Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gerlach, K. 2014. Die Freimaurerei im Alten Preußen 1738–1806. Die Logen in Berlin, Innsbruck: Studien-Verlag. Gilly, C. 1999. The First German Translation of the Corpus Hermeticum in the Struggle for R ­ eligious Tolerance. In S.  Gentile and C.  Gilly (eds), Marsilio Ficino e il retorno die Ermete Trismegisto. ­Florence: Centro Di, 287–9. Givens  T.L. and Barlow  P.L. (eds). 2005. The Oxford Handbook of Mormonism. Oxford: Oxford ­University Press. Görgemanns, H. 2017 Plutarchs Isisbuch. In M.  Erler and M.A.  Stadler (eds), Platonismus und ­Spatagyptische Religion. Kusterdingen: De Gruyter, 7–20. Grafton, A. 1991. Defenders of the Text. The Tradition of Scholarship in an Age of Science, 1450–1800. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hansen, A.H. 2016. Niebuhr’s Museum. Artefacts from the Royal Danish Expedition to Arabia 1761–1767. Copenhagen: Forlaget Vandkunsten. Holzberg, N. 2013. Egypt in the Greek Novel, Antike und Abendland 59: 112–25.

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Reception of ancient Egypt   95 Hornung, E. 2002. The Secret Lore of Egypt, Its Impact on the West. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Howe, S. 1998. Afrocentrism. Mythical Pasts and Imagined Homes. London & New York: Verso. Humbert, J.-M. (ed). 1989. L’Égyptomanie dans l’art Occidental. Paris: ACR Editions. Humbert, J.M. and Price, C. (eds) 2003. Imhotep Today: Egyptianizing Architecture. London: UCL Press. Humbert, J.-M., Pantazi, M., and Ziegler, C. (eds). 1994. Egyptomania: Egypt in Western Art, 1730–1930. Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux. Iversen, E. 1961. The Myth of Egypt and its Hieroglyphs in European Tradition. Copenhagen: Gad. James, G.G.M. 1954. Stolen Legacy. New York: Philosophical Library. Jeffrey, D. 2003. Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonaparte (Encounters of Ancient Egypt). ­London: UCL Press. Kraye, J., Ryan, W.F., and Schmitt, C.B. (eds). 1986. Pseudo-Aristotle in the Middle Ages. The Theology and other Textes. London: Warburg Institute. Kiefer, M. 2003. Ex mysticis Aegyptiorum. Überlegungen zum Verhältnis von Emblematik und ­Hieroglyphenkunst. In Assmann, A. and Assmann, J. (eds) Hieroglyphen. Stationen einer anderen abendländischen Grammatologie. München: Fink, 191–219. Lang, B. 2009. Joseph in Egypt. A Cultural Icon from Grotius to Goethe. Yale: Yale University Press. Lehann-Brauns, S. 2004. Weisheit in der Weltgeschichte. Philosophiegeschichte zwischen Barock und Aufklärung. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Lloyd, A.B. 2010. The Reception of Pharaonic Egypt in Classical Antiquity. In A.B.  Lloyd (ed), A Companion to ancient Egypt. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 1067–85. Löw, A. 2002. Hermes Trismegistos als Zeuge der Wahrheit, die christliche Hermesrezeption von ­Athenagoras bis Laktanz. Berlin: Philo. Luckhurst, R. 2012. The Mummy’s Curse: The True History of a Dark Fantasy. Oxford: Oxford U ­ niversity Press. Morenz, S. 1969. Die Begegnung Europas mit Ägypten. Erweitert und mit einem Beitrag von Martin Kaiser über Herodots Begegnung mit Ägypten. Zürich; Stuttgart: Artemis. Mulsow, M. 2001. John Seldens De Diis Syris. Idolatriekritik und vergleichende Religionsgeschichte im 17. Jhrhundert, Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 3: 1–24. Munro, P. 1973. Die spätägyptischen Totenstelen. Glückstadt, Hamburg, New York, Textband, 187; Tafelband, Tf. 2, Abb. 5. Nimis, S. 2004. Egypt in Greco-Roman History and Fiction, Journal of Comparative Poetics 24: 34–67. O’Connor, D. and Reid, A. 2003. Ancient Egypt in Africa. London: UCL Press. Pasi, M. 2005. Crowley. In W. Hanegraaff (ed), Dictionary of Gnosis and Western Esotericism. Leiden: Brill, 281–7. Panagiotopoulos, D. 2005. Chronik einer Begegnung. Ägypten und die Ägäis in der Bronzezeit. In H. Beck, P.C. Bol, and M. Bückling (eds), Ägypten Griechenland Rom. Abwehr und Berührungen. Tübingen, Wasmuth, and Frankfurt: Liebighaus, 34–49. Pearce, S.J.K. 2007. The Land of the Body, Studies in Philo’s Representation of Egypt. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Pfeiffer, S. 2008. Der ägyptische ‘Tierkult’ im Spiegel der griechisch-römischen Literatur. In A.  Alexandridis, M.  Wild, and L.  Winkler-Horaček (eds), Mensch und Tier in der Antike: Grenzziehung und Grenzüberschreitung Wiesbaden: Reichert, 373–93. Quack, J. 2017. (H)abamons Stimme. In M.  Erler and M.A.  Stadler (eds), Platonismus und Spätägyptische Religion. Plutarch und die Ägyptenrezeption in der Römischen Kaiserzeit. Berlin and Boston: Walter de Gruyter, 149–74. Stephens, S. 2003. Seeing Double. Intercultural Poetics in Ptolemaic Alexandria. Berkeley et al, CA: University of California Press. Stolzenberg, D. 2013. Egyptian Oedipus: Athanasius Kircher and the Secrets of Antiquity. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

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96   Florian Ebeling Stroumsa, G. 2010. A New Science: The Discovery of Religion in the Age of Reason. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Syndram, D. 1990. Ägypten-Faszinationen. Untersuchungen zum Ägyptenbild im europäischen ­Klassizismus bis 1800. Frankfurt/M. et al: Lang. Trafton, S. 2004. Egypt Land: Race and Nineteenth-century American Egyptomania. Durham: Duke University Press. Ucko, P.J. 2003. Encounters with Ancient Egypt (series title, eight volumes). London: UCL Press. Versluys, M.J. 2002. Aegyptiaca Romana. Nilotic Scenes and the Roman Views of Egypt. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Versluys, M.J. 2017. Exploring Aegyptiaca and their Material Agency throughout Global History, ­Aegyptiaca 1: 122–44 (DOI: https://doi.org/10.11588/aegyp.2017.1.40167). Whitehouse, H. 1992. Towards a Kind of Egyptology: The Graphic Documentation of Ancient Egypt, 1587–1666. In E. Cropper (ed), Documentary Culture: Florence and Rome from Grand-Duke ­Ferdinand I to Pope Alexander VII. Bologna: Nuova Alfa Ed., 62–79.

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pa rt I I

T H E NAT U R A L E N­V I R­ON­M E N T S T U DY I NG T H E M AC RO A N D M IC RO -L E V E L

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chapter 5

L a n dsca pes a n d en v ironm en ta l history of th e N il e va l l ey A critical review and prospectus Karl W. Butzer

Introduction: was the primeval Nile valley a marsh? In around 450 bc, when Herodotus visited Egypt, he was told that in the time of the ­ uasi-mythical Protodynastic ruler Menes (c.3100 bc) the whole country, except for the q Theban nome, had been marsh, and that the alluvial land north of the Faiyum did not yet show above the waters (The Histories II, 4). The priests also informed him that Menes had protected Memphis from the annual floods by a dam, re-routing the Nile from the western to the eastern side of that capital (II, 99). Herodotus seems to have interpreted these claims within his conception of alluvial history, as a matter of geomorphic processes and human intervention. A second notion about the primeval Nile came as a result of the first scientific exploration of the southern Sudan by Georg Schweinfurth, who described the vast Sudd swamps of the Albert Nile and Bahr el-Zeraf (in Sudan) as a morass of papyrus, floating masses of weeds, and water-grasses.1 In conjunction with other travel reports, this gave rise to a serious misconception that the Sudd was a valid analogue for the prehistoric Nile, and could thus be characterised as a ‘riotous riverine jungle’, vestiges of which were recorded by pharaonicperiod tomb-scenes of hunting in the swamps.2

1 Schweinfurth 1873.

2  Wilson 1951: 9–10.

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100   Karl W. Butzer The myth of the primeval marsh struck deep roots.3 It created a false scenario based on the premise that early farmers were unable to settle in the Valley or Delta until both had been reclaimed from marshy jungles. The implications for interpretation of the archaeological record were considerable, with a widespread assumption that Predynastic settlements were limited to the edge of the desert, because the Sahara was drying out, while the floodplain had not yet been drained and brought under control. In the case of the Delta, the symbols and toponymy of the nome standards were offered as evidence for a persistent marsh and lagoon landscape until well into Dynastic times.

Sub-saharan analogues for a free-draining, convex floodplain The above misconceptions reflected continual ignorance about seasonally inundated, freedraining convex floodplains in tropical Africa. Prototypes are given by the lower ChariLogone,4 the middle Niger,5 and Senegal rivers,6 all systems with very strong seasonality, low gradients, and abundant clays and silts ‘in storage’ (i.e. when the water is detained in a natural basin or channel). The monsoonal, summer rains (typically 500–800 mm/year) were mirrored by rising discharge during July, and waning floods in September or October. In sectors with little human disturbance, the scrub and low trees of the channel banks slowed down the flood velocity, so that sandy sediment was deposited on point bars along the channel and, at the height of strong floods, atop the levees or bank ridges. Water also surged through low points of the levees to inundate the low-lying basins with slow-moving, muddy waters. Such basins remained flooded for perhaps six weeks, with a metre or more of standing water, at which time the suspended silt was gradually laid down as a fresh increment of sediment. Water that had not been absorbed by the soil or evaporated, would eventually return to the river. This annual rhythm of the Nile reinforced key geomorphic features such as a low-water channel, fringing levees, flood basins, and residual back-swamps along the outer margin of  the plain. Traditional flood-recession agriculture began with the broadcasting of seed ­(sorghum, millets) on the fresh mud, where crops came to maturity solely through the moisture held in the clayey soil. Such recessional agriculture continued to be practised on West African floodplains well into the twentieth century ad. Similar practices persisted along the middle Nile, but here, in a hyper-arid climate, importance accrued to the break of gradient between the Ethiopian highlands and the Sudanese plains, as several mighty tributaries modulated the combined flow of the main Nile along a seemingly endless river course. Arriving in southern Egypt with a 7–9-metre deep channel and a floodplain relief of 1.5–4 metres, this is the pattern of a forty-five-day flood, slowly rolling downstream between August and November.

3  See Willcocks (1904: 65), Newberry (1924: 435–7), Baumgartel (1947: 3–5, 49, 55), Wilson (1951), Arkell and Ucko (1965: 156–7, 162), and, with a new twist, Kleindienst (2000). 4 Pias 1962. 5 Park 1992. 6  Harlan and Pasquereau 1969.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   101 It was Siegfried Passarge who first pointed out this more convincing analogue for the Egyptian Nile.7 He had the benefit of existing studies on the basins of the Nile by irrigation engineers such as Barois and Willcocks and Craig.8 But Passarge had also studied the Okavango River (Botswana) and the Chari-Logone floodpain. He understood these analogues, and recognized that they offered trenchant criticism of the Sudd hypothesis (as put forward by Schweinfurth and others), emphasizing the fundamental difference of a great tectonic depression, little or no seasonality of discharge, a channel blocked by immense masses of floating vegetation, and only putative levees, mainly of organic materials. He explained instead how the Nile floodplain was free-draining and hence never an obstacle to settlement, with towns and villages historically located on active levees or those of former channel-ways. Because of publication in a relatively obscure German periodical, and because it was during the Second World War, Passarge’s work remained largely ignored.9 But his analogues represent a model rather than a blueprint for the ways in which irrigation agriculture evolved in Egypt during pharaonic and later times.

A closer approximation for pharaonic irrigation Ghislaine Alleaume10 studied the topographic maps of the Description de l’Egypte,11 in ­conjunction with Arabic-language works of the 1800s, to point out that this model has its limitations. The basins of ad 1800 were not necessarily identical to the formal basins of a century later and, more questionably, she argues that the integration of multiple basins by longitudinal canals and drains was mainly a result of top-down intervention after about 1830. In southern Egypt, basins were small, given natural breaks of gradient and a constricted valley, so that they were traditionally watered directly from the river by short, transverse canals, that did not allow sufficient silt to settle out each year, thus leading to soil exhaustion if tillage was not practised prior to seeding. In the large basins of the northern valley, the Nile naturally diverged into a main and a secondary channel, on the western side of the floodplain. That allowed deeper and longer flooding, with silt accretion and soil replenishment, but did not assure timely draining. Alleaume supported her arguments with several Egyptian sources, to argue that basic technological improvements for water allocation, planting strategies, and drainage escapes in Upper Egypt were only brought to bear during the nineteenth century ad. She believes that ineffective use of floodwaters upstream added to the concentration of destructive floods downstream, prior to the construction of transverse dams and effective drains in Upper Egypt. As a result, the official record of flood levels at Roda might not be a reliable proxy for discharge up-valley. The basin-irrigation network that functioned like clockwork in ad 1900 evidently was far removed from the recessional agriculture posited above for Predynastic Egypt. It had been converted into a cultural artifice even before barrage construction. Willcocks illustrates the last phase of that basin system, ending with inauguration of the first dam at Aswan, and 7 Passarge 1940. 8  Barois 1889 and Willcocks and Craig 1913. 10 Alleaume 1992, 1999. 11 Jacotin 1826.

9 Passarge 1940.

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102   Karl W. Butzer his depiction is not a valid model for the less efficient irrigation of medieval or pharaonic times.12 In historical perspective, it is relevant that technological problems continued to impede development of very large basins in Middle Egypt during the New Kingdom (the existence of which is suggested by Papyrus Wilbour, 1141 bc).13 Close reading of Danielle Bonneau also suggests limited success with top-down water allocation at the regional level in the Ptolemaic-Roman Faiyum, despite rational organization and implementation at the local level.14 Alleaume’s study of basin-irrigation has implications for contemporary research on changing landscapes in Egypt, and can be extended to make a number of points. First, the Sub-saharan analogues offer an illuminating model for prehistoric agriculture, but are less helpful for the Old Kingdom. Secondly, Willcocks is useful for understanding how an advanced system can function in a proto-industrial context, but is certainly not paradigmatic for traditional irrigation in Egypt.15 Thirdly, the early modern basins of the Nile Valley cannot be assumed to be identical with those of a millennium earlier. By extension, landscape surveys such as Kessler, which attempt to reconstruct the historical location of basins and transverse dikes by analogy with nineteenth-century counterparts, are based on debatable premises.16 And fourthly, the mounting evidence for significant, periodic downcutting of the Nile floodplain during the last 4,500 years (see later in this chapter) strongly implies that irrigation landscapes have repeatedly been reorganized, to disallow a literal equation of past with present.

Critique of the Alleaume thesis on irrigation Despite such insights or precisions, Alleaume’s core argument is unacceptable. She claims that the chains of basins connected by feeder canals and drains were only implemented after 1820. Part of her primary evidence is that many canals were opened after 1839, during an era of undisputed irrigation improvements in a directed economy, implemented by specialists, and supported by infusions of capital. Unlike the Delta-head Barrage and the low-water Ibrahimiya Canal, which represent a dramatic modernization completed in the 1870s, the construction of some new, intermediate, or small-scale canals does not of itself demonstrate novel, overriding strategies. The other part of Alleaume’s argument is based on general comparison of an inadequate sample of four French maps of 1800 with modern counterparts. This requires an examination of the quality of such evidence. A first question is whether the suite of topographic maps (at 1:100,000) by the French expedition to Egypt in 1799–180117 is adequate to propose an alternative model for the ‘traditional’ irrigation network. Carried out under extremely difficult conditions, the scope and impact of the monumental French survey were unprecedented in their time. But the data must be used with due caution. The French project was over-ambitious, obliging a 12 Willcocks 1904. 13  See Katary 1989; Murray 2000b: 515. 14  Bonneau 1971; Thompson 1999. 15 Willcocks 1904. 17 Jacotin 1826.

16 Kessler 1981.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   103 very small staff of topographic engineers, with subordinate rank to the military branch, to cover large areas with nothing but the most basic equipment. Over half (55 per cent) of the Valley was only surveyed in reconnaissance fashion, by ‘pacing and compass’.18 Beyond the ensuing, incorrect coordinates and map distortions, the omission of some major canals means that absence by itself can be misleading. The net of villages, which might have helped fix the location of other canals, is unreliable, and places that actually are at the same latitude may be shown as several kilometres too far north or south. For one French map19, 75 per cent of the villages cannot be located on the modern 1:100,000 map (AMS 1959: Series P677, sheet 5777, revised 1936).20 Even in front of the Giza Pyramids, the villages shown are incomplete with respect to tax lists of ad 131521 or the current map at 1:5000, and toponyms are sometimes assigned to the wrong site. Disconcerting is that the work of the prime surveyor for Upper Egypt (who was obliged to work without an interpreter) evidently included an ‘extraordinary number of incomplete, purely descriptive and bogus names’.22 Despite these flaws, the French maps have utility (if and when used in conjunction with modern maps and the regional geomorphology) to identify the historical evolution of the main Nile and its secondary branches, west of the floodplain between Nag Hammadi and Giza. The one-metre contours of the more modern maps, surveyed in 1926–36, reflect longterm processes and allow inferences to be made concerning floodplain dynamics. Some of the secondary branches are highly sinuous, with well-developed natural levees; others now are almost straight, and function entirely as canals; others still are only recorded by discontinuous, topographic depressions and occasional cut-off meander bends, indicating abandoned channels of some age. Where the Nile intakes are preserved in the contour maps, it is apparent that most began as crevasse splays, behind breaches that must have been difficult to bring under control. The topography shows that torrents of Nile flood waters created diverging rivers, with their own channels, and that considerable sediment was transported and deposited along such branches. The most prominent of these is the Bahr Yusef, which runs for 210 km from Dairut to the mouth of the Faiyum. The French maps, when compared with the twentieth-century contours, indicate that in 1800 one 28-km-long stretch of the Bahr Yusef ran 3 to 6 km further west than it does now. An even older channel is evident among low dunes another 2 or 3 km further out. A very approximate time range is given by the archaeology: just west of Tuna el-Gebel, a saqiya well-shaft shows 230 cm of nilotic mud and channel sands, sandwiched between aeolian sands, and including abundant sherds of ribbed-neck Hellenistic/Roman amphorae23; extensive cemeteries and settlement ruins of Ptolemaic and Roman age also lie north and south of Tuna el-Gebel, west of the abandoned channel here, but under the local dune sands.24 The Bahr Yusef has in fact been shifting eastwards for at least two millennia, partly as a consequence of local blockage by blown sand, in part probably due to changes of Nile volume. The lowest parts of the floodplain north of Dairut are not in the west, but in the centre, typically about 1.5 m below the level of the natural levees. The depth of water within such basins determines the extent of inundation from year to year. But the maximum flood level 18  Godlewska 1988: 32–7. 19  Jacotin 1826: sheet 10. 20  See also Godlewska 1988: Figure 23. 21  Silvestre de Sacy 1810: 671–7: Halm 1979: 215–41. 22  Godlewska 1988: 123. 23  Butzer 1961: 62–4: Kaiser 1961: Figure 8. 24  Kaiser 1961: 29–30.

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104   Karl W. Butzer is measured directly at the Nile channel, or indirectly at sediment contacts preserved at the outer edge of the floodplain. In riverine segments where Google Earth images are not deliberately masked by screening, the distinctive mid-floodplain hollows have youngerlooking field parcellations, which suggest delayed reclamation from marshland at some unknown time. In most of the Nile Valley the traditional floodplain was wettest along a central axis, and such ‘backswamps’ could have enabled elite ‘hunting in the marshes’, as represented in New Kingdom art. The modern contours show that the lee slopes of the natural levees provided a 3- or 4-km-wide belt of reasonably good agricultural land west of the artificial ­levees along the Nile. The import of these details is that in Middle Egypt the floodplain was initially situated between two rivers, with water mainly moving longitudinally, and distributing silt from diagonally opposing vectors, towards a slightly lower central axis. As both rivers shifted their channels over time, they would leave linear depressions between raised levees that facilitated excavation of feeder canals. The lower central axis was suitable for longitudinal drains, or for receiving brackish channel or seepage runoff at low-water stage. North of Nag Hammadi, the Nile floodplain was preconditioned for enhancing and controlling natural processes by feeder canals and drains, as sometimes shown in didactic fashion.25 It appears that Alleaume did not fully appreciate how the Nile and its diverging, secondary branches set the stage for artificial irrigation by basin and feeder canal systems.26 The French maps further verify that transverse dams were in general use before 1800, namely east-west lines labelled as digues (dikes) or in Arabic as gesr (gisr, meaning dike or bank), partly coincident with the basin boundaries of Willcocks (1889: pl.12).27 Equally important is that such irrigation controls were already well-known and sophisticated in Hellenistic times, with a clear terminology in place for both basins (limne) and transverse dikes (emblem).28 One modern example near Giza is particularly interesting, running from Shabramant to Abu el-Numrus: the one-metre contours of the modern 1:5000 map show that the topography downstream of that bank is intensely furrowed by multiple channels, arguing for a dam failure and catastrophic flood during an excessive Nile year, such as that of ad 1818, 1874 or 1878.29 The type of flood damage that Alleaume considered as local (limited to the northern valley), and blamed on inadequate management or technology, was in fact representative of phenomenally high and destructive Niles along the length of Egypt.30 This discussion suggests that Alleaume underestimates the complexity and effectiveness of the pre-modern irrigation system of Egypt. The basin-irrigation network may not have been properly maintained under the later Mamluks (c. ad 1350–1500), but it was in place at the time of the French survey. Drawn from eotechnic African roots and a geomorphologic situation very different to the antecedents of Mesopotamian or Indus Valley irrigation, its unique ‘mini-max’ technology (i.e. technology intended to minimize the possible loss for a worst case scenario) evolved across many millennia. The relevant ancient Egyptian textual data have been brought together by Eyre, to at least sketch the transformation taking place during pharaonic times.31 In their turn, the rich papyrus records allowed Bonneau to detail the structural features of the irrigation system emerging during the Hellenistic period.32 25  E.g. Butzer 2001b: 544. 26 Alleaume 1992. 27  Willcocks 1889: pl.12. 28  Bonneau 1993: 39–44, 52–4. 29  Ball 1939: 231; Seidlmayer 2001: 39. 30 Alleaume 1992. 31 Eyre 1994; 1999. 32 Bonneau 1993.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   105 Given the favourable, physical layout of the Nile floodplain, traditional Egyptian irrigation developed and functioned without top-down control.33 But within those parameters it was sufficiently effective that the industrial-era system could be grafted onto this existing base with comparative ease.

A manageable Delta Following up on Passarge’s seminal monograph, Butzer used the data from drill-corings that were then available to outline simple cross-sections of the Valley and Delta.34 These suggested that only the Delta fringe was intruded by marshland, lagoons, or salt flats during Dynastic times, while the central core of the Delta had level or slightly raised sand islands (‘turtle backs’) at or near the surface, which would preclude late prehistoric swamps. The picture for the Delta fringe was later revised in greater detail (see Figure 5.1), after full publication of a deep coring project of the Smithsonian Institution, as interpreted by Butzer.35

Figure 5.1  The Nile Delta, c.4000–3000 bc. 33  See Butzer 1976. 34  Butzer 1959b; 1960; Attia 1954; Butzer 1976: Figures 1, 3–4. 35  Stanley et al. 1996; Butzer 2002: Figures 4.1–4.5.

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106   Karl W. Butzer Current assessment of the nature of the Delta landscape in pharaonic times is not rad­ic­al­ly different from that implicit from the better segments of the French maps.36 Since Nile flood levels taper off when waters diverge over a broadening delta plain, the raised levees of the distributary branches are lower, but serve the same function as they do up-valley. The same applies to the inter-distributary basins, which began to show up in the geological record twelve to fourteen millennia ago. Subsequently, as world sea level rose during the terminal Pleistocene, the delta fringe was invaded by the sea, as recorded by marsh, lagoonal, and prodeltaic sediments in the deep cores. At c.7000–6000 bc the Nile distributaries flowed strongly, depositing great masses of mud on the delta plain and offshore, balancing further marine transgression. Despite these changes, the basic arrangement of levees and freedraining basins persisted across 70 per cent of the delta surface, which was certainly suit­ able for agricultural settlement.37 The apparent absence of archaeological sites in the northern Delta before c.4500 bc will reflect the rapid rate of alluviation during the preceding two or three millennia, leaving evidence of human occupation buried by 5–15 m of Nile mud, insofar as they have not been eroded by shifting channels. Lack of evidence in an en­vir­on­ment of rapid change does not imply lack of settlement.

Questions about the Faiyum The great, over-deepened Faiyum depression is linked to the Nile by the narrow Hawara channel. Inflow diverges over a broad fan of nilotic mud, by a host of radial channels (long converted into canals) that feed a non-outlet lake, the Birket Qarun (or ancient Lake Moeris; see Figure  5.2). Holocene sediment thickness totals 6–10 m. Based primarily on dated archaeological sites along rapidly shifting shorelines38, lake level fluctuated ­significantly from below 10–25 m asl (above sea level), on a centennial or perhaps decadal scale. That level will have depended mainly on the influx of Nile water, through a channel periodically blocked by sediment. That was affected by changing flood levels in the adjacent Nile Valley, a relationship complicated by alluviation of the floodplain from perhaps 1–26.5 m during the last seven millennia. Yet such accretion was not simply progressive, but complicated by long39 intervals of stability or even incision, as has recently been verified near Giza. It is unclear what methods were implemented to control water influx prior to documented repairs of a floodgate at Lahun during the thirteenth century ad.40 It is supposed that a first control gate was built by Amenemhat III (c.1831–1786 bc), in order to draw down the lake and open up the Faiyum for settlement. Even so, lake level fluctuated within a range of 15 m during the course of the Twelfth Dynasty. A small temple with a platform at 9.7 m asl was built by Amenemhat III and his successor Amenemhat IV (c.1786–1777 bc), but a settlement near Qasr el-Sagha was partly destroyed by a lake level at 22 m shortly thereafter. Either the supposed control gate was inadequate or it had never been built. The early Ptolemies began to build the first effective control works, initially little more than an earthen dam41, since 36  See Jacotin 1826; Godlewska 1988. 38  Caton-Thompson and Gardner 1929. 41  Garbrecht and Jaritz 1990.

37  Contra Holmes 1993. 39  See Butzer et al. 2013.

40 Shafei 1940.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   107

Figure 5.2  The Faiyum region, c.250 bc.

the water table north of the lake dropped at least 5 m during the reign of Ptolemy II (285–246 bc); the lake level itself hovered around 2 m below sea level for the next several centuries.42 Prior to the Ptolemies, the Faiyum was a precarious environment, given to ­periods of partial submergence on a perhaps catastrophic scale. Even thereafter, disastrous floods, such as those of ad 1817–18, occasionally broke into the Faiyum, wreaking havoc.43

Woodland habitats on a free-draining floodplain The arboreal components of the Nilotic environment are well enough known44, but their physiognomy and placement in the riverine landscape is not. There are several problems. The first of these is that arboreal biota have been greatly impoverished with respect to pharaonic associations of trees documented by macro-fossils, texts and hieroglyphs, or 42  See Caton-Thompson and Gardner 1929; Ball 1939: 210–12, Figures 28–9. 43  Garbrecht and Jaritz 1990. 44 Täckholm 1976; 1977.

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108   Karl W. Butzer ­ ictorial representations. In the Faiyum, solid lines of tamarisk stumps have been p ­encountered within old shoreline features on the low-energy north shore of the Birket Qarun: those at lower elevations, namely at 2 m and -2 m asl (Dynastic to Ptolemaic) are ‘fresh’ and accompanied by reeds, while those at 18 m asl are calcified (? late prehistoric).45 Pollen cores from the Birket Qarun show that during the last two centuries the only trees of any note were tamarisk and date palm46, in addition to recent olive plantings and expanding Australian exotica (Casuarina and eucalypts), successfully introduced during the 1920s and ’30s. This complements the field evidence of ubiquitous date palms, commonplace acacias, and scattered groves of mainly bushy tamarisks (salt cedar) on levees and the banks of streams or canals in the better-drained parts of the Faiyum today.

Sacred and ornamental trees The pharaonic vegetation of the Valley was somewhat more complex (see Chapter 6 below). Perhaps the most interesting picture is given by the ancient Egyptian cultural reading embedded in shrines or myths on the one hand, and in the ornamented trees of gardens on the other.47 An inventory of the sacred and symbolic associations48 indicates that the key genera and species from early times include Acacia nilotica, Balanites aegyptica (the Egyptian ‘plum’), Zizyphus spina christi (sidder, a species of jujube), and Maerua crassifolia. These dominate hieroglyphic lists from both Upper and Lower Egypt. Less important in this same category are Ficus sycomorus (sycomore fig), date palm, Acacia tortilis, Tamarix spp., Salix subserrata (willow), Moringa peregrina (behen), Mimusops laurifolia (persea), and Hyphaene thebaica (dom palm). This inventory is based on a phytomythical catalog of Ptolemaic age, that presumably records much older traditions for species linked to the sacred places of 42 nomes. Although the scores for Upper versus Lower Egypt are similar, there are logical differences among them that appear to reflect local cults and desert proximity. With due caution, such lists should give a reasonable ecological impression of the traditional sacred trees. Problems arise as to whether some of these species had been domesticated or whether they represented floodplain ecotypes mainly found in adjacent wadis and desert valleys. The most interesting case is that of the sycomore fig, today a spontaneous riverine form in East Africa. But in Egypt it is only propagated by vegetation reproduction. The sycomore was one of the most important trees of ancient ornamental gardens49, and is verified from rooting systems older than Predynastic at the low desert edge in Upper Egypt, well above floodplain level (Armant cemeteries 1400–1500).50 In early Dynastic times, Hathor was given the epithet ‘lady of the sycomore’, and the species was subsequently linked to the tree goddess and funerary cults (some 145 documents).51 Sycomore figs were typically grown near garden pools, fed by irrigated canals, and the eighteenth-dynasty garden of Ineni claimed seventy-three specimens, in comparison with 170 date palms, 120 dom palms, and thirty-one perseas.52 This hygrophytic species retained religious status in Coptic Egypt, and is still found in Muslim cemeteries. 45  Caton-Thompson and Gardner 1929: 37 [with photos], 39, 51. 46  Mehringer et al. 1979. 47  Baum 1988: part 2. 48  Baum 1988: 304–42. 49  Baum 1988: 18–85. 50  See Mond and Myers 1937. 51  See Baum 1988: 38–46. 52  Baum 1988: 26–31, 206.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   109

A desert-edge ecotone (i.e. spatial transition between clusters of habitats) The ancient vegetation of the desert edge itself raises another issue. Excavations of Predynastic sites during the 1920s and 1930s commonly struck tree roots and small stumps at intervals, that grew in position from before Badarian occupation into Old Kingdom times, since they were cut by Predynastic or Old Kingdom interments. They include roots radiating out to a length of 4.5 m, stumps up to 32 cm in diameter, and were found down to 75 cm below surface, at elevations of 1.5–5 m above the modern floodplain. The trees in question are Acacia sp., Tamarix sp., sycomore fig, and Zizyphus spina Christi.53 The same pattern, with sycomore fig and acacia, was observed at Armant in a buried wadi fill 100 m from the desert edge.54 Macrobotanical evidence for tamarisk, acacia, and sycomore was also recovered from occupation levels or burials of Predynastic age at Hierakonpolis, in association with Zizyphus, date palm, wetland plants (Phragmites, Cyperus, Juncus), and halfa grass.55 These features provide a context for vegetation and animals shown on the coloured, spring-season panel of the Fifth-Dynasty sun-temple of Nyuserra at Abusir.56 Two large sycomore figs and an acacia are represented on an undulating, sandy desert surface (dotted red), also partly covered with unidentifiable desert shrubs, including succulents and probable halfa grass. How can the arboreal taxa from Badari, Armant, and Abusir best be explained? The sycomore fig is hygrophytic, excluding a hypothesis of local rainfall. The modern Muslim cemetery near the mouth of the Menkaura valley at Giza provides an answer. A well goes down to below the nilotic watertable, at 6 m below surface; this water is tapped by the deep roots of three sycomore figs and several acacias. The wadi embouchure in effect allows nilotic groundwater to penetrate hundreds of metres into unconsolidated alluvium below the desert surface. That also explains the Armant habitat, but the Badari sites would require spring seepage at the foot of limestone cliffs, something compatible with thick, cemented limestone screes above the cultural horizons at these early sites.57

Discussion of the biotic landscape The prehistoric juncture of desert and floodplain was not sharp but formed an irregular ecotone where open stands of trees were found in the embouchures of many larger wadis. Similarly, within the floodplain the composition and distribution of dominant trees must have been primarily controlled by edaphic factors, that is, soil properties and micro-relief, much as on the lower plains of the Chari-Logone: a dense riverine thorn forest on its expansive silty levees (dominated by Balanites, several kinds of acacia, fig, and Zizyphus), with a mix of grass-savanna going over into open tree-savanna on slightly higher ground.58 53  Identified by Alfred Lucas in Brunton 1937: 30–3, 57–61, 67–8, 90–2, and III; Brunton 1948: 48–50. 54  Mond and Myers 1937: 7–8. 55 El-Hadidi 1982. 56  See Bissing 1956; Edel and Wenig 1974. 57  See Butzer 1959b: Photo 1. 58  Erhart and Pias 1954: 45–51; Pias 1962: 60, 171–8.

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110   Karl W. Butzer The most common wood used for Egyptian domestic furniture from the earliest times was acacia, and almost all the charcoal from archaeological sites is the same.59 Acacia nilotica is characteristic of riparian habitats, especially levees, and thrives in wadi mouths. It would appear to have been the dominant floodplain tree in Pharaonic times, but its initial competitive role with respect to the date palm remains enigmatic. Another ubiquitous and non-ornamental tree is Tamarix sp., which has phenomenal variability as to ecology and physiognomy, some subspecies present in bushy form amid dune fields, others as low trees along riparian borders. Two further forms are native to the Egyptian floodplain, namely Balanites and Zizyphus, both taxa relatively hygrophytic and prominent in the fringing forest of the Chari-Logone. They too were once present in the Nile-margin ecotone, but with affinity for higher and drier ground on the floodplain. While verified early, the willow seems to have been uncommon, possibly colonizing the inner slopes of the Nile channel, as it does along the Senegal River.60 Other trees that had hieroglyphic names and cultic significance include Acacia tortilis, Maerua, Mimusops and dom palm, but these are native to desert wadis or limited to the Sudan. Their Pharaonic role presumably was abetted by artificial propagation. In lieu of palynological evidence, this suggests that the dominants of the Nile floodplain were Acacia nilotica, Tamarix sp. and, increasingly, date palm. There is no direct evidence from any Nile valley backswamp or marshes, but pollen from the wetlands of the northernmost Delta is dominated by papyrus (Cyperus cf. papyrus) and reeds (cf. Phragmites).61 There were expansive marshlands in the delta fringe, but cattle were grazed here or fed with harvested water plants.62 The Delta was available for agricultural settlement throughout the Holocene.

Geoarchaeology and environmental history: Giza as a case study This chapter has so far focused on the relationships of the Nile, the biophysical landscape, and Egyptian irrigation. However, environmental change was not only basic to the contrast between water and desert but also a potential hazard to both the ancient Egyptian population and their rulers. It demands a strong historical perspective to analyse and synthesize this rich body of data objectively, without preconceptions or facile assumptions. Such conditions are best met by a detailed case study, that allows cross-referencing to a range of related issues. In my own recent work on the geoarchaeology of the Old Kingdom settlement site of Heit el-Ghurab,63 a critical part of the strategy was to integrate site-specific observations with sixty-four drill cores taken by the Egypt Exploration Society in and around the site, as well as access to the logs of forty-three industrial-scale cores from below the floodplain.64 A total of 730 drill-core samples were extracted and logged, and 164 of these were drysieved by Elizabeth Butzer, using a set of seven standard sieves (−2.0 to +4.75 phi) carried from Texas. Another suite of core samples was also measured for magnetic susceptibility 59  Murray 2000a; Gerisch 2004. 60  Trochain 1940: 175–80. 61  Butzer 2002: 92–3. 62  Moens and Wetterstrom 1988. 63  Lehner 2009; 2015; Lehner and Wetterstrom 2007. 64 AMBRIC 1989.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   111 (186 samples) and calcium carbonate, or subjected to CILAS laser analysis, for granulometry. The magnetic readings proved a good proxy for the relative abundance of nilotic silt and clay. This emphasis on laboratory follow-up was imperative in order to distinguish between aeolian and alluvial sands, or mixed components, which cannot be re­li­ably identified visually or manually from drill-core samples. Microstratigraphy and facies architecture were also recorded from numerous open profiles and sections, allowing greater accuracy for intra-site correlation and interpretation. The primary conclusions (illustrated in Figure 5.4) are as follows: (1) there were severe climatic perturbations during the Fourth Dynasty, when sustained heavy rains liquefied mudbrick or fed flood surges of the wadi, which descended from near the Menkaura pyramid and repeatedly swept destructively through Heit el-Ghurab; (2) on several occasions the wadis deposited great alluvial fans of sandy wash far out onto the floodplain; and (3) Nile flood levels rose cumulatively until the Fourth Dynasty, after which they fluctuated around an equilibrium level, at times interrupted by entrenchment and floodplain readjustment. The key results are highlighted below.65

Trends and oscillations of the Nile floods Controlled by short-term fluctuations and long-term trends of rainfall over Ethiopia and the Equatorial lakes, Nile discharge has not conformed to a predictable equilibrium m ­ odel.66 Sediment flux and corresponding patterns of deposition and erosion were complex, with geoarchaeological evidence contradicting the once dominant ‘truth’ that sedimentation rates were uniform across time. In the Giza district the earliest Holocene sedimentary unit (EH 1) created a nilotic floodplain of suspended sediment, that cumulatively built up from ~5 m asl to 10 or 11 m asl, resting on compact Pleistocene sands. This was a radical shift from an unstable braidplain to a low-energy, convex floodplain. After a pause with a few metres of erosion, nilotic ag­grad­ation then resumed, leaving alluvial silts with local, basal sands in an elevation range of 9–14 m (MH 1). Muds preserved along the desert edge were later used for Fourth-Dynasty mud-brick, and yield AMS ages of 5900–3200 (cal.) bc, while a cache of Maadian jars (dating to the mid-fourth millennium bc) at 13 m asl, suggest deposition of the unit may have continued into the Early Dynastic.67 Renewed nilotic accumulation during the Fourth Dynasty was overwhelmed by crossbedded fluvial sands, ejected from the main, Menkaura wadi at Giza, to fill a deep channel from 10–15.5 m asl (MH 2). Other wadis also spread alluvial fans out onto the floodplain, while excessive rainstorms and desert floods repeatedly ravaged part of the Heit el-Ghurab site.68 At the end of the Fourth Dynasty, not long after ~2500 bc, the Menkaura wadi again entrenched its bed, by 6 m or more, and later refilled this channel with wash, reflecting a major readjustment of the Nile floodplain that may or may not have culminated during the First Intermediate Period. At Giza there is little further evidence of changes in the river Nile and surrounding landscape until the Twenty-fifth Dynasty, given that deflation was dominant and any nilotic 65  After Butzer et al. 2013. 67  El-Senussi and Jones 1997.

66  Butzer et al. 2013. 68  Butzer 2001a; 2005; Butzer et al. 2013.

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112   Karl W. Butzer deposits may have been eroded. Part of that missing record is however preserved at Memphis, where Nile floods rose rapidly from below 15 m during the later Twelfth Dynasty (c.1850 bc) to 18.5 m at the beginning of the Nineteenth Dynasty (c.1300 bc), before declining to below 13.5 m by c.1100 bc (Twenty-first Dynasty).69 Fresh floodplain expansion at Giza is verified by flood deposits as high as 18 m, radiocarbondated to 710 bc (LH 1), supported by excavation of a Late Period cemetery (after 664 bc) through these deposits. Another hiatus followed at Giza, until high floods again lapped above 18 m during late Roman/Coptic times (radiocarbon-dated to c. ad 700) (LH 2). At this point the long but incomplete series of Nile flood readings at Cairo-Roda becomes the standard.70 Centennial means rose minimally towards 17 m between ad 622 and c.1350, then more strongly to 20 m at the close of the nineteenth century, before falling again. Near Giza however the clay-silt floodplain elevation remained at 17.5 m, with any higher ground a result of overlying medieval alluvial fans or settlement debris. The salient features of post-Old Kingdom flood history are verified upriver. There are, for  example, (a) phenomenal Nile floods during the late Twelfth Dynasty at the Semna Cataract;71 (b) very high floods at Aksha (Nubia) under Rameses II, followed by long-term desiccation of the floodplain, with salt accumulation;72 (c) high flood inscriptions of the Twenty-first to Twenty-sixth Dynasties at Luxor-Karnak;73 and (d) destructive high floods of the seventh to tenth centuries ad at Meinarti, also in Nubia.74 More problematic may be apparent historical and archaeological evidence (the latter from Aswan-Elephantine) for strongly declining flood levels in the First to Sixth Dynasties75, but which appear to be higher than those of Giza. As with other seeming discrepancies, this may be due to the fact that there is a difference of 3.5 m between unusually high or average flood levels at Cairo and Giza towards ad 1900.76 A final category of evidence is given by the record of the Faiyum Depression, where the floodplain at the Lahun entrance is 9 m higher than at Giza. Even so, the adjusted data points are unsystematic and argue that the level of ancient Lake Moeris depended not only on Nile levels but also on access through a channel prone to blockage by silt or artificially controlled. Interesting is a 13 m rise of the lake between the Fourth and Thirteenth dynasties.77 But the level based on Herodotus’s description of the appearance of the colossal ­statues of Amenemhat III at Biyahmu implies a late Twelfth-Dynasty lake 8.5 m lower than the Giza floodplain. The Faiyum record offers useful information, but it is not a reliable proxy for Nile behaviour.

The wider picture of fluctuations in the level of the annual Nile flood The materials summarized above can be assembled as a tentative approximation of chan­ ging flood levels (Figure  5.3). The initial impression of limited coherence results from 69  Jeffreys and Tavares 1994; Giddy 1994; Giddy and Jeffreys 1992; Jeffreys and Giddy 1989. 70  See Seidlmayer 2001: chapters 2–3. 71  Seidlmayer 2001: 73–80. 72 DeHeinzelin 1964. 73  Seidlmayer 2001: 63–73. 74 Adams 1965. 75  Seidlmayer 2001: 81–92; Bell 1970. 76  See Willcocks 1904: pl. 12; and modern topographic maps at 1:5000. 77  Caton-Thompson and Gardner 1929; Ginter et al. 1982; Kozlowski and Ginter 1989; Hassan 1986; see also review of the fragmented literature in Butzer 1998.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   113 different kinds of evidence (inscriptions, written observations, archaeology, geoarchaeology), derived from multiple localities with local contexts, rather than inherent ‘errors’. A major background problem is apparent at Cairo, with respect to the Nilometer site and the western floodplain edge at Giza. The level of the Giza floodplain is at 17.5 m, but ‘ground level’ at Cairo-Roda is 19.5 m78, which is the current elevation of the adjacent levees. But the five highest floods of ad 1826–1900 averaged 21.03 m at Roda.79 The Roda measurements are 2 m higher than the floodplain-edge elevation at Heit el-Ghurab, but for especially high floods that difference is 3.5 m. The latitude for misunderstanding or misinterpretation is immense. Further, the published Nilometer readings after ad 622 include adjustments for changing datums, units of measure, rebuilding of Nilometers, and the imponderable that the list of flood readings is a compilation of many historical authors, who do not always agree.80 It is likely that some data points were incorrectly recorded, transcribed, or even falsified. Whether the result is a time series that can be usefully subjected to rigorous statistical procedures is debatable. Against such background uncertainty, early Nile levels at Giza defined by geoarchaeology fit within a 3.5 m range, and will primarily approximate maximum flood heights, yet rarely represent the equivalent of Roda measurements. Sites upstream of Roda and Giza have higher datum elevations and must be ‘reduced’ to match with those of Giza, so introducing further uncertainties. The primary value of a graphic rendition such as Figure  5.3 is

Figure 5.3  Nile flood levels, c.4000 bc–ad 2000.

78  Willcocks 1904: pl. 12. 79  Seidlmayer 2001: Figure 10, text, and Appendix 2.2. 80  Hassan 1981; Seidlmayer 2001: chapters 2–3; compare with Garbrecht and Jaritz 1990: Appendix 97, who use an alternative, Egyptian source.

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114   Karl W. Butzer therefore heuristic. The broadly-drawn grey trace attempts to emphasize the uncertainties, but does not imply a range of possible error, presumed to be greater. Figure  5.3 suggests some long-term trends for further investigation. For example, we know that most of the nilotic alluvium under the floodplain in the Giza district built up in stages before c.2500 bc, but the details are complicated by intervals of erosion and a significant problem of dating. The two dramatic episodes of low flood levels during the late Old Kingdom (and First Intermediate Period?) and at the end of the New Kingdom, require further research from different perspectives. These two anomalous trends go well beyond the common clusters of higher and lower floods, and must have been accompanied by significant floodplain adjustments. In conjunction with the evidence for channel deepening, this would imply that there were incomplete inundations and recurrent food shortfalls. Perhaps underappreciated in a different body of literature and commentary, are the un­usual­ly strong floods at Giza about 700 bc and again at around ad 700, as corroborated by the Karnak inscriptions or the geoarchaeological evidence at Christian sites near the Second Cataract. Finally, the impression persists that Nile floods since c.1000 bc have fluctuated around an equilibrium level of sorts, unlike the great swings of the preceding c.1500 years, and again different from primary floodplain construction during the early Holocene. Far upstream, in c.2600–2300 bc, there was a decline in the discharge of the Omo River from western Ethiopia into Lake Turkana, to marked lows at about 2200 and 1900 bc.81 This points to reduced discharge from the sub-Saharan Nile Basin. In combination with evidence for weakening monsoonal rains in the southern Sahara82, this would appear to confirm the suggestion that there were Nile failures and famines towards the end of the Old Kingdom.83 However, in order to achieve greater certainty on this, a full review of the latest paleoclimatic evidence from East Africa and the Sahara is required. Last but not least, the Nilometer readings after ad 622 suggest that net flood trends before about ad 1350 were relatively subdued, to be followed by a striking rise of flood levels until 1900, without however affecting floodplain elevations in the Giza district. That may have been a response to the Little Ice Age anomaly.84 Statistical testing of the Nilometer series from ad 622 to 1470 also reveals different degrees of variance within the maximum and minimum flood levels, but at different times85, implying that the Ethiopian and Equatorial catchments responded to distinctive inputs. But the more immediate question here is why only the Nile channel and levees near Cairo were built up. Stronger Nile floods should carry a greater sediment load, including much more fine sand, which would favour rapid build-up of the levees next to the channel. While the delayed rise of the silt floodplain is logical, a time lag of a millennium seems surprising. The underlying problem is that recent literature continues to depend on iconic but exploratory ‘hydrological’ investigations from before 1940, as well as poorly focused, traditional soil studies. More specialized attention to sedimentology and microstratigraphy is needed, in order to identify changing sediment parameters over time, for channels, levees, and floodplain, along a number of cross-sections of the valley. Rigorous time-control—by lead isotopes, thermoluminescence (TL), optically stimulated luminescence (OSL), and AMS radiocarbon dating—is equally essential. Such a project would require a major investment 81  Halfman et al. 1993. 84  Mann et al. 2009.

82  E.g. Kröpelin et al. 2008. 85  Fraedrich et al. 1997.

83 Butzer 1997.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   115 of time and funding, as well as full support of the Egyptian authorities, rather than casual sampling with pick-and-choose testing.

Minor Nile branches near the Giza pyramids The question of the use of boats or barges to transport the finishing-blocks of fine limestone (quarried from Tura) across the Nile and floodplain to the pyramids, is intriguing.86 Long before reasonable evidence of possible boat ramps became available, Goyon proposed an elaborate canal network, linking the Giza pyramids with an extension of the Bahr Yusef along the western margin of the floodplain.87 More recently there has been speculation that the main Nile itself passed almost at the foot of the Giza plateau some 5000 years ago, based on impressions from satellite surface imagery88, but the subsurface geology simply does not allow this. The largest, suballuvial channel trace in this district was entrenched into the Late Pleistocene braidplain (i.e. ‘braided’ alluvial system) at or before the beginning of the Holocene. If fully functional at one time, this old channel, located 500–1000 m northeast of the Khufu harbour89, would have had a depth of c.5 m, width ~500 m, meander wavelength c.2 km, and cross-sectional area c.1500 m2.90 Even so it could have carried no more than 20 per cent of the modern Nile volume at medium flood stage, with a cross-sectional area of 7800 m2.91 This large, sinuous channel only qualifies as a branch, although it is the largest such feature found in the bore profiles. If a large, mid-Holocene channel did exist at Giza, it would now be buried under units LH 1, LH 2, and MH 2, that is, under 5 or 6 m of younger sediments, at the outer limits of even ground-penetrating radar. The alleged levee lineaments noted by Bunbury92 are the artificial embankments of modern roads built on cumulative settlement rubble, the dredged spoilheaps of the Mariutiya Drain, or heavily disturbed terrain on the Mena House golf course. Old Kingdom water-borne transport to the ‘valley temples’ of the three pyramids could have readily used a longitudinal channel the size of the current Bahr Yusef (Willcox and Craig 1913). Such a feature is verified in unit MH-2 at Giza, but this is not on the axis of the atrophied Bahr el-Libeini Canal, which did not yet follow its historical course.

The challenge of poor floods The traditional Nile agricultural eco-system was quite vulnerable to abrupt change, despite the resilience of its human actors. Water-lifting technology was unavailable during the Old and Middle Kingdoms, and thereafter technologies diffused slowly. The shaduf appears in Eighteenth-Dynasty representations93, but only came into common use during the second century ad.94 The saqiya is verified archaeologically in the Faiyum during the early third 86  See Lehner 2013. 87 Goyon 1971. 88  Lutley and Bunbury 2008; Bunbury et al. 2009. 89 Hawass 1997. 90  Butzer et al. 2013. 91  Willcocks 1904: pl. 12, table 42; see also subsurface profiles in Said 1975. 92  Bunbury et al. 2009: pl. 38. 93 Butzer 1984b. 94  Bonneau 1993: 307.

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116   Karl W. Butzer century bc95, but remained uncommon until the fifth or sixth centuries ad96, perhaps for administrative and fiscal reasons. Transverse dikes were made stronger and reservoirs larger, but major expansion of canal irrigation may have been limited to the Faiyum.97 Official ­mitigation of shortfalls remained limited to improved food storage and redistribution, much as during the First Intermediate Period.98 The repertoire of irrigation management was simply too conservative.99 What response there was appears to have been a matter of individual improvisation, such as the shifting of annual plantings to lower ground or irrigated tracts.100 There apparently was no integrated, organizational response to persistent flood crises, whether due to Nile failures or the destruction of irrigation infrastructure by excessive floods.101 Danielle Bonneau (1971) laboriously compiled a list of scattered flood-related records between about 260 bc and ad 290, gauging them according to a semi-quantitative scale. For some 450 years with usable records, more than seventy-five are rated as poor and over twenty-five as excessive, that is, at least 100 of c.450 years had either low or destructive floods, providing an eye-opener for the difficulties of traditional agriculture during what were not particularly unusual centuries. Grain had to be imported from Cyprus or Syria in 247–245 bc and again in 203–198 bc. Famines were sometimes linked to revolts or civil war, while fiscal stability in 175–136 bc coincided with mainly good floods. During the early second century ad, widespread rural flight, exacerbated by relentless tax demands, tended to follow upon repeated destructive floods or close pairings of poor and excessive ones. Chronically weak floods in 186–280 ad led to mainly incomplete basin flooding, and advancing aeolian sands and town abandonment appear to have become common along the high, peripheral canals of the Faiyum. These patterns, which date primarily to relatively late periods and are based on texts ­written on papyri, probably offer a pertinent picture of the vicissitudes of rural life and economic productivity in pharaonic times. During the long-term decline of flood levels implicit for the late Old Kingdom or late Ramessid times, Nile failures must have become common, with the outcome that increasing numbers of floodplain tracts did not receive the annual inundation for years at a time. Famine, food riots and worker strikes, rural depopulation, and dynastic instability became plausible outcomes of such sustained economic stress, and are perhaps evidenced by texts.102 Such scenarios should be studied as events, rather than allegorical literature. Recurrent Nile failure during periods of floodplain incision would have had a less dramatic but very real impact on the biotic landscape, since abandonment of cultivated lands typically leads to regeneration of spontaneous vegetation. This might have taken the form of a bushy, low-tree savanna, favouring shrubs, tamarisk, and acacia.

Aeolian sands versus alluvial wash Most of Egypt is a lifeless desert, with extensive sheets of drift sand and trains of mobile sand dunes in some sectors. The appearance of aeolian sands in the archaeological record is 95  Caton-Thompson and Gardner 1929: 49–51; Ball 1939: 210–12. 96  Bonneau 1993: 307. 97  Bonneau 1993: parts 1B, 1C. 98  Guglielmi 1980; Butzer 1984a. 99  Bonneau 1993: 215, 306–9. 100 Bonneau 1971. 101  See the timing of rural flight with respect to destructive floods in Bonneau 1971. 102 Butzer 1984a.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   117 to be expected, particularly in areas exposed to the prevailing, effective winds from the northwest. In archaeological terrain, the accumulation of aeolian sands has some analogues to snow drifts. For example, on the Giza plateau, as encountered during early excavation, sands had preferentially accumulated in the lee of the many, minor tombs, before filling in the areas between them. Sand did not build up in open stretches, kept clear by cross-winds. Sands also built up rapidly near the base of the plateau, because of the sharp declivity, so that the Sphinx has been constantly been buried and cleared. Aeolian sand is inconspicuous in the open context of the Menkaura wadi, where it was largely flushed out by occasional spates. But in the next (unnamed) wadi to the south of Heit el-Ghurab, thick sands built up in the mountainous basin of its headwaters, so as to ‘stream’ down the narrow, valley channel as a mix of aeolian and alluvial components. At Heit el-Ghurab, aeolian sand was also blended with fluvial sand north of the Wall of the Crow, but at its unfinished end the winds were funnelled to sweep drift-sand as far as the so-called ‘Royal Administrative Building’, at the southeastern edge of the settlement area. The visible patterns of aeolian scour or sand accretion are controlled by the microtopography of the Heit el-Ghurab site and its margins. Given the absence of a vegetation mat, the presence of such sand does not encode palaeoclimatic information, but its absence may reflect erosion by a competing agency such as Nile floods. In the Faiyum, sands swept across the mountains to the northwest, and accumulated in the Birket Qarun (Lake Moeris), as forest beds at the former shorelines (incorrectly called ‘deltaic’ in some reports103). The absence of such steeply bedded sands in many depositional units of the northwestern Faiyum was the result of fluctuating lake levels that eroded aeolian-derived shore sands, and re-worked them into carbonate beds (chalks, marls, ‘diatomites’). At the desert edge and on the floodplain, aeolian bedforms are minor and subdued, because they are intermittently eroded by Nile flood waters or wadi activation. This makes the identification of allegedly aeolian beds in cores near Abu Roash104, Memphis105, and Dahshur106 problematic, since aeolian sands without surface expression or good exposures can only be reliably diagnosed by sediment analyses in the laboratory. The aeolian sands of the Giza project are well to moderately sorted (Folk parameters: sigma 0.65–1.0) and mediumgrained (phi 1.6–2.25, or mean diameter 210–325 microns). At Heit el-Ghurab and in the Menkaura wadi, sands matching these values are uncommon in what are fluvial suites. The aeolian sands are usually clean, but include some grit-sized particles (over 2 mm) moved by traction. Semi-aeolian sands are coarser, especially in the 0.5–1.0 mm fraction, and have more grit. There are indeed uncontested aeolian sands along the western margin of the Valley in Middle Egypt, but they are found in unequivocal dune fields. For example, south of Tuna el-Gebel three long lines of W-dunes (visible on Google Earth) postdate the abandoned Graeco-Roman channel of the Bahr Yusef and pertain to Islamic times.107

Exceptional desert flooding Two remarkable periods saw strong desert floods carry masses of sandy wash more than a kilometre out onto the nilotic floodplain, in the form of alluvial fans several metres thick.108 103  See Butzer 1998. 104 Jones 1995. 106  Alexanian and Seidlmayer 2002: 23–5. 108  Butzer et al. 2013.

105  Jeffreys et al. 1997. 107  Butzer 1959a: Figure 2; 1961.

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118   Karl W. Butzer At Fourth-Dynasty Heit el-Ghurab, desert sediments document at least eleven distinct flood events during the reigns of Khafra, Menkaura, and probably Shepseskaf.109 They resulted from excessive rains at the site, sufficient to liquify mudbrick and to promote mass movements of mud, or torrential transport of crude potsherds and rock fragments through battered parts of the Heit el-Ghurab site. This poses fascinating issues of urban ­geoarchaeology.110 Such deluges can be estimated to have occurred three times per decade over an interval of perhaps thirty-five years, but may have begun earlier or lasted longer. Later on, another climatic anomaly built alluvial fans out onto the floodplain, but did not significantly impact Heit el-Ghurab, and can only be roughly dated as Medieval, postdating the high floods of about ad 700. The irregular surface of the floodplain near the modern desert edge is mainly a result of such old alluvial fans debouching on a shallow nilotic channel, coincident in part with the migrating Bahr el-Libeini (see Figure 5.4). Coeval palaeoclimatic analogues are not found in the Libyan Desert or southern Sahara.111 But exceptional rains still occur in the Cairo area and the Red Sea Hills during the winter season, in connection with upper-air lows or deep troughs of the mid-latitude jetstream. The intensity and rapid recurrence-intervals of the Giza MH-2 anomaly described above suggest a remarkable frequency of such synoptic situations. None of the evidence links these desert-edge disasters with the Nile flood season. Current research on abrupt changes of moisture in the mid-Holocene of the Mediterranean Basin has also begun to reveal surprising, short-term variability, although problems of detailed dating remain to be resolved.112 The Holocene record further south in Egypt appears to offer evidence for such unusual rains on a large scale, but unconnected with the tropical monsoonal rains. Wadis with catchments in the Red Sea Hills display mid-Holocene sediment accumulations that grade from channel alluvium to sheets of gravelly slope colluvium, due to sheet-flooding and talus erosion.113 Such desert processes on the Kom Ombo Plain and in the Khor Adindan on the east bank in Nubia were preceded by 15 m of Nile channel deepening and followed by 5 m of incision, demonstrating major readjustments of that river. But Nile and wadi activity were seasonally out of phase: dried pellets or rip-up flakes of hardened mud were intermixed with wadi sands where the two facies intersected. In effect the wadi wash was deposited months after the Nile floods had overtopped their banks, probably during the winter months. Dating is poor, with nilotic associations pointing to A-Group or Early Dynastic times, but the analogues are intriguing. A closing caveat: the sporadic heavy rains of the Fourth Dynasty did not ameliorate the aridity of the Saharan realm. These were exceptional, short-term events. It would be a gross misinterpretation of the evidence to claim that ‘the sphinx and the pyramids . . . were built at the end of a special time of more dependable rainfall . . . But then, over the centuries, the landscape dried out and harvests grew more precarious’ (Hadingham 2010: 47). Old myths are recycled in new guises.

109  c.2558–2498 bc; Butzer et al. 2013. 110 Butzer 2008. 111  Compare Butzer 2001a; Kuper and Kröpelin 2006; Kröpelin et al. 2008. 112  Fouache et al. 2010, with references. 113  The Shaturma Formation of Butzer and Hansen 1968: 121–5, 287–90, 305, 330–1, table 6-5.

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   119

Figure 5.4  The landscape of Old Kingdom Giza.

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120   Karl W. Butzer

Suggested reading Early Hydraulic Civilization in Egypt114 is still a crucial volume concerning the central role played by the Nile in the development of the landscapes of north-eastern Africa, as are Rushdi Said’s two monographs on the river Nile and its geological context (Said 1988; 1990), but the most up to date general book on the waterscapes and landscapes of the Nile valley is Bunbury 2019. Karl Butzer (2002) has also provided a good discussion of the geoarchae­ ology of the Nile Delta. Much more recently, Harco Willems and Jan-Michael Dahms (2017) have brought together a number of papers dealing with the Nile and its surrounding natural and cultural landscapes. There have been numerous articles published over the last decade that have discussed the evidence for the movement of the main Nile channel over time (e.g. Bunbury and Lutley 2008; Bunbury 2012).

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Landscapes and environmental history of the Nile   123 Jones, M. 1995. A New Old Kingdom Settlement Near Ausim. Mitteilungen der Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo 51: 85–98. Kaiser, W. 1961. Bericht über eine archäologisch-geologische Felduntersuchung in Ober- und Mittelägypten. Mitteilungen der Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo 17: 1–53. Katary, S.L.D. 1989. Land Tenure in the Ramesside Period. London and New York: Kegan Paul International. Kessler, D. 1981. Historische Topographie der Region zwischen Mallawi und Samalut. Wiesbaden: ­Reichert Verlag. Kleindienst, M.R. 2000. On the Nile Corridor and the Out-of-Africa Model. Current Anthropology 41: 107–8. Kozlowski, J.K. and Ginter, B. 1989. The Fayum Neolithic in the Light of New Disclosure. In L. Krzyzaniak and M. Kobusiewicz (eds), Late Prehistory of the Nile Basin and the Sahara. Poznan: Poznan Archaeological Museum, 157–80. Kröpelin, S., Verschuren, D., Lézine, A.M., Eggermont. H., Cocquyt, C., and Francus, P. 2008. Climatedriven Ecosystem Succession in the Saharas: The Past 6000 Years. Science 320: 765–8. Kuper, R. and Kröpelin, S. 2006. Climate-controlled Holocene Occupation in the Sahara. Science 313: 803–7. Lehner, M. 2009. Capital Zone Walk-about 2006: Spot Heights on the Third Millennium Landscape. In M. Lehner, M. Kamel and A. Tavares (eds), Giza Plateau Mapping Project, Seasons 2006–2007; Preliminary Report. Boston: Ancient Egypt Research Associates, 97–151. Lehner, M. 2013. The Lost Port City of the Pyramids. AERAgram 14/1: 2–7. Lehner, M. 2015. Labor and the Pyramids: the Heit el-Ghurab ‘Workers Town’ at Giza. In P. Steinkeller and M. Hudson (eds), Labor in the Ancient World. Dresden: ILET-Verlag, 397–522. Lehner, M. and Wetterstrom, W. (eds). 2007. Giza reports I.  Project History, Survey, Ceramics, and Main Street and Gallery III.4 Operations. Boston: Ancient Egypt Research Associates. Lutley, C. and Bunbury, J. 2008. The Nile on the Move. Egyptian Archaeology 32/2: 3–5. Mann, M.E., Zhang, Z., Rutherford, S., Bradley, R.S., Hughes, M.K., Shindell, D., Anmann, C., ­Faluvegi, G., and Ni, N. 2009. Global Signatures and Dynamical Origins of the Little Ice Age and Medieval Climate Anomaly. Science 326: 1256–60. Mehringer, P.J., Peterson, K.L., and Hassan, F.A. 1979. A Pollen Record from Birket Qarun and Recent History of the Fayum, Egypt. Quaternary Research 11: 238–56. Moens, M.F. and Wetterstrom, W. 1988. The Agricultural Economy of an Old Kingdom Town in  Egypt’s West Delta: Insights from the Plant Remains. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 47: 159–73. Mond, R. and Myers, O.H. 1937. Cemeteries of Armant I. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Murray, M.A. 2000a. Cereal Production and Processing in Pharaonic Egypt, With Particular R ­ eference to Giza, Abydos, and Memphis. PhD thesis, University College London. Murray, M.A. 2000b. Cereal Production and Processing. In P.T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 505–36. Newberry, P.E. 1924. Egypt as a Field for Anthropological Study. Smithsonian Institution, Annual ­Report 1924: 435–59. Park, T.K. 1992. Early Trends Toward Class Stratification: Chaos, Common Property and Flood ­Recession Agriculture. American Anthropologist 44: 90–117. Passarge, S. 1940. Die Urlandscaft Ägyptens und die Lokalisierung der Wiege der alt-ägyptischen Kultur. Nova Acta Leopoldina 9: 77–152. Pias, J. 1962. Les sols du Moyen et Bas Logone, du Bas Chari, des régions riveraines du Lac Tchad et du Bahr el-Ghazal. Paris: Office de la recherche scientifique et technique outre-mer. Said, R. 1975. Subsurface Geology of the Cairo Area. Memoires de l’Institut d’Egypte 60: 1–57. Said, R. 1988. Geological Evolution of the Nile Valley. New York: Springer. Said, R. 1990. The River Nile: Geology, Hydrology, and Utilization. New York: Pergamon Press. Schweinfurth, G. 1873. The Heart of Africa: Three Years of Travels and Adventures in the unexplored Regions of Central Africa, 1868–1871, 2 vols. London: Murray.

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124   Karl W. Butzer Seidlmayer, S.J. 2001. Historische und moderne Nilstände. Untersuchungen zu den Pegelablesungen des Nils von der Frühzeit bis in die Gegenwart. Berlin: Achet Verlag. Shafei, A. 1940. Fayyoum Irrigation as Described by Nabulsi. Bulletin de la Société de Géographie de l’Egypte 2: 71–101. Silvestre de Sacy, M. (ed and trans). 1810. Relation de l’Egypte, par Abd-Allatif, médicin arabe de ­Bagdad. Paris: Imprimerie Impériale. Stanley, D.J., McRea Jr, J.E., and Waldron, J.C. 1996. Nile Delta Drill Core and Sample Database for 1985–1994: Mediterranean Basin Program. Washington DC: Smithsonian. Täckholm V. 1976. Ancient Egypt, Landscape, Flora and Agriculture. In J. Rzóska (ed), The Nile, Biology of an Ancient River. Monographiae Biologicae, vol 29. Dordrecht: Springer. Täckholm, V. 1977. Flora. In Lexikon der Ägyptologie II. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 267–75. Thompson, D.J. 1999. New and Old in the Ptolemaic Fayum. In A.K. Bowman and E. Rogan (eds), Agriculture in Egypt from Pharaonic to Modern Times. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 123–38. Trochain, J. 1940. Contribution a l’étude de la vegetation du Sénégal. Paris: Institut Française de l’Afrique Noire. Willcocks, W. 1889. Egyptian Irrigation. 1st ed. London: E. and F.N Spon. Willcocks, W. 1904. The Nile in 1904. London: E. and F.N Spon. Willcocks, W. and Craig, J.I. 1913. Egyptian Irrigation. 3rd ed. London: E. and F.N Spon. Willems, H. and Dahms, J.M. (eds) 2017. The Nile: Natural and Cultural Landscape in Egypt. Bielefeld: Transcript. Wilson, J.A. 1951. The Burden of Ancient Egypt. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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chapter 6

Fl or a of a ncien t Egy pt Claire Malleson

Introduction The study of the ancient flora of Egypt is based on a variety of evidence which, when ­combined, can contribute towards a greater understanding of almost all aspects of ancient Egyptian life, culture, and society. Traditional Egyptological sources include scenes in elite tombs, texts, and the objects found in funerary contexts (e.g. baskets/jars of food offerings, wooden objects, and floral garlands) (Figure  6.1). The specialist study of plant remains in  archaeological contexts—archaeobotany (also sometimes termed palaeobotany or palaeoethobotany)—is also of vital importance to this topic. Archaeobotany has the potential to contribute to a broad range of topics in Egyptology including (but not restricted to) the study of ancient agriculture, diet, economy, food production, daily life activities, religion, trade, environment, and ecology. Not only can we learn about the use of plants in medical and funerary contexts, but also differing uses of plants in domestic contexts as household items, animal fodder, fuel, and human food. Study of plant remains can also provide an indication of variations in diet across the population, short- and long-term changes in the environment and ecology, and the ways in which agricultural methods and strategies were adapted to different locations and situations. We can also gain valuable insights into the trade and importation of exotic and economically important plants, into and out of Egypt.

Brief history of archaeobotany By 1820, plant remains were being collected during excavations in elite tombs in Egypt. The first report about ancient botanical material dates to 1826 when M. Kunth published the results of his work on seeds, leaves, and fruits from Theban tombs.1 Then later in 1881, 1 Kunth 1826.

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126   Claire Malleson

Figure 6.1  Scene in Offering Chapel of Kayemnofret, Saqqara, 5th Dynasty. Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Photograph by author.

the discovery of the Deir el-Bahri cache of royal mummies yielded a large number of well- preserved funerary garlands and wreaths. These were examined by the German botanist Georg Schweinfurth, who founded the herbarium in the Dokki Agricultural Museum, Cairo, at the end of the nineteenth century.2 During the late 1880s, British archaeologist Flinders Petrie began work at several sites in the Fayum region, recovering many plant specimens dating from the Middle Kingdom and the Greco-Roman periods which were analysed by the English Botanist/Egyptologist Percy Newberry. Significantly, the archaeological material deriving from the Middle Kingdom town at Kahun was the first to be examined from a settlement context, and therefore provided the first insights into the ‘everyday’ use of plants in ancient Egypt.3 At the time, the only materials collected were desiccated remains clearly visible during excavations. Due to the relative lack of stratigraphic excavation, most of the plant remains Newberry reported to be present in the Middle Kingdom actually date from the later New Kingdom, Roman, and Medieval Islamic occupation/use of Kahun.4 Newberry’s primary interest lay in the physical/morphological alterations to individual species over time, the changing species present in Egypt, and transformations in the geographic distribution of species. He was also interested in the presence of ‘garden’ plants and the weeds that contaminated 2  Täckholm 1977: 275.

3 Petrie 1890.

4  Germer 1998: 84.

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Flora of ancient Egypt   127 cereal crops.5 Newberry also worked on the material discovered by Howard Carter in 1922 in the tomb of Tutankhamun, undoubtedly still one of the most valuable sources to the ­botanist working in Egypt.6 The abundant and well-preserved material comprised funeral garlands and wreaths containing olive (Olea europaea), papyrus (Cyperus papyrus), lotus (Nymphaea lotus, Nymphaea caerulea), cornflower (Centaurea depressa), willlow, (Salix subserrata), ‘wild’ celery (Apium graveolens), date palm (Phoenix dactylifera), withania nightshade (Withania somnifera), pomegranate (Punica granatum), oxtongue (Picris radicata), and mayweed (Anthemis pseudocotula)7. There were also baskets and jars containing plant food remains such as watermelon (Citrullus lanatus), sycamore fig (Ficus sycomorus), grewia (Grewia tenax), doum palm (Hyphanae thebaica), persea (Mimusops laurifolia), almond (Prunus dulcis), date palm (Phoenix dactylifera), pomegranate (Punica granatum), grapes (Vitis vinifera), Christ’s thorn (Ziziphus spina-christi), emmer wheat (Triticum turgidum ssp. dicoccum), hulled barley (Hordeum vulgare), fenugreek (Trigonella foenum-graecum), and chickpea (Cicer arietinum)8, as well as loaves of bread with intact grains and seeds.9 Sadly, despite several publications,10 the material has still not been comprehensively studied or published. One of the most important scholars working in Egyptian archaeobotany during the early 1900s was the Swedish scientist Vivi Laurent-Täckholm. Täckholm joined the Faculty of Science in Cairo University with her husband Gunnar Täckholm in 1926, where they established the herbarium. After the death of her husband, Vivi continued to work on the Flora of Egypt11 which dealt with not only the living flora of Egypt, but the archaeobotanical ­evidence from ancient Egypt. This research is still widely relied upon as one of the most authoritative publications on the subject. A revised and updated Flora of Egypt was published by Loufty Boulos in 1999–2005,12 and is currently one of the primary reference works for all archaeobotanists working in Egypt. Other crucial reference volumes include The Weed Flora of Egypt13 and The Digital Atlas of Economic Plants in Archaeology.14 During the 1970s, new methods for the recovery of plant remains from archaeological deposits were developed in Near Eastern archaeology15 and also began to be used in Egypt. Simultaneously, there was an increase in the number of settlement excavations in Egypt, and the study of plant remains subsequently became more common. Research into the modern flora of Egypt by Täckholm, Nabil el-Hadidi,16 and Mahmoud Abdel Zahran and A. J. Willis17 has provided the foundation on which most interpretations of ancient flora have been based. More traditional studies of plant remains from funerary contexts, are invaluable to our appreciation of different traditions, as well as social and religious practice.18 But it is the research conducted on plant remains from settlement sites that has advanced our understanding of human–plant relationships in ancient Egypt. The number of settlements at which archaeobotanical research is conducted is increasingly impressive, with sites dating from the Epipalaeolithic to the Late Medieval Islamic. Examples are Epipalaeolithic 5  Newberry in Petrie 1890. 6  Hepper 1990: 4–5. 7  ibid: 9–10. 8  ibid: 50–3. 9 ibid. 10  Germer 1989; Hepper 1990; Vartavan 1990. 11  Täckholm, Täckholm, and Drar 1941–69; Täckholm amd Drar 1956. 12 Boulos 1999–2005. 13  Boulos and El-Hadidi 1984. 14  Neef, Cappers, and Bekker 2011. 15  Stewart and Robertson 1973; Williams 1973. 16  Boulos and El-Hadidi 1984; El-Hadidi and Kosinová 1971. 17  Zahran and Willis 2009. 18 Cappers and Hamdy  2007; Fahmy, Kawai, and Yoshimura  2014; Germer  1989; El-Hadidi and Hamdy 2010; Hamdy 2007; Hamdy and El-Hadidi 2011; Hepper 1990.

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128   Claire Malleson and Neolithic period sites in the Eastern and Western Deserts;19 Predynastic towns at elAbadiya,20 Adaïma,21 and Hierakonpolis;22 Early Dynastic Tell Ibrahim Awad, Buto23 and Tell Farkha;24 Old Kingdom towns at Giza,25 Kom el-Hisn,26 and Shaykh Sa’id;27 Middle Kingdom Elephantine; Second Intermediate period Tell el-Retaba,28 Tell el-Dab’a,29 and Tell el-Maskhuta;30 New Kingdom Amarna,31 Tell el-Retaba,32 and Amara West (Sudan);33 Third Intermediate period Tell el-Retaba;34 and a plethora of late multi-period sites dating to the Ptolemic, Roman, and Late Antique periods at Amarna,35 Qasr Ibrim,36 Quseir el Qadim,37 Mons Claudianus,38 Berenike,39 Kellis,40 and Dayr al-Bersha.41 Whilst the majority of those studies focus on various aspects of the human–plant ­relationship—revealing information on ancient environment and ecology, diet, economy, trade—other studies have looked in more detail at specific aspects of certain food types for example, wine production,42 agriculture and cereal processing,43 fruits and vegetables,44 and bread and beer production.45 Other research has focused on specific species for example, argun palm,46 date palm,47 olive,48 and sorghum.49 Some ethnographic and experimental studies have also taken place which have shed a great deal of light on the interpretation and understanding of aspects of cereal food processing.50 With the increasing range of highpower microscopy techniques used to study plant micro-remains, this is a promising step forward to the important studies already conducted on plant-based remains from ceramic vessels, stone tools, and food remains such as bread.51 The number of specialist archaeobotanists working with ancient Egyptian plant remains is still small, but is increasing, thanks to Ministry of Antiquities field-school training programmes (usually run in conjunction with foreign missions), and the increased awareness 19  Fahmy 2014; Lucarini 2006; 2008; 2014; Thanheiser 2009; Wetterstrom 1993; Vermeersch, Linseele, Marinova, Van Neer, Moeyersons, and Rethemeyer 2015. 20  Cappers, Van Thuyne, and Sikking 2004. 21 Newton 2004; 2007. 22  Fahmy, Freidman, and Fadl 2011; Marinova, Ryan, Van Neer, and Freidman 2013. 23 Thanheiser 1992; 1996.   24 Kubiak-Martens 2012. 25  Gerisch, Wetterstrom, and Murray 2008; Malleson In preparation A; 2016b; 2017; Murray 2009; 2011; Murray and Malleson 2016. 26  Moens and Wetterstrom 1988. 27 Marinova 2009. 28  Malleson forthcoming; 2011; 2012; 2013; 2014; 2015; 2016a.    29 Thanheiser 2004. 30 Crawford 2003. 31  Clapham and Stevens  2012; Gerisch  2007;  2010;  2012; Renfrew  1985; Samuel  1989;  1993a;  1993b; 1994; 1999; Stevens and Clapham 2014. 32  Malleson forthcoming; 2011; 2012; 2013; 2014; 2015; 2016a. 33  Ryan, Cartwright, and Spencer 2012; Ryan 2017. 34  Malleson forthcoming; 2011; 2012; 2013; 2014; 2015. 35  Harlow and Smith 2001; Smith 2003. 36  Clapham and Rowley-Conwy 2007; 2009; Rowley-Conwy 1989; 1994. 37  Van der Veen 2011; Van der Veen, Morales and Cox 2009; Wetterstrom 1982. 38  Van der Veen 1996; 1998. 39 Cappers 2003; 2006a. 40  Thanheiser 1999; Thanheiser, Walter, and Hope 2002. 41  Marinova, Van Loon, Meyer and Willems 2011. 42  El-Dorry In preparation; 2015; 2016; Murray, Boulton, and Heron 2000. 43  Murray 2000a; Samuel 1993a; 1994. 44 Murray 2000b. 45 Samuel 1989; 1993b; 1996; 1997; 1999, 2000; 2010. 46 Newton 2001. 47  Newton et al 2013. 48  Newton, Terral, and Ivorra 2006. 49  Rowley-Conwy, Deakin, and Shaw 1999. 50  Cappers 2006b; Lucarini 2008; Samuel 2010. 51 Kubiak-Martens  2012; Lucarini  2014; Ryan, Cartwright, and Spencer  2012; Samuel  1996; Serpico 2003; Serpico and White 2000b.

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Flora of ancient Egypt   129 by project directors of the need to involve archaeobotanists in research and rescue ­excavations in Egypt.

Artistic evidence Scenes decorating the walls of elite tombs from the Old Kingdom onwards have traditionally provided a rich source of evidence for the study of ancient flora in Egypt. Many of the images of plants are exceptionally detailed and can include gardens (ornamental, symbolic, and horticultural), with depictions of palms and fruit-bearing trees such as date palm and doum palm, sycamore fig, common fig, and pomegranate (Figure 6.2).52 Images of specific vegetables being cultivated frequently accompany scenes of small-scale domestic horticulture, but in most instances the species are hard to determine (see later in this chapter). Offering scenes invariably include images of fruits and vegetables, but these species are almost impossible to identify accurately. Agricultural scenes always depict a crop being

Figure 6.2  Ornamental garden from the tomb of Nebamun, 18th Dynasty. British Museum. Photograph by author. © Trustees of the British Museum.

52 Hugonot 1989.

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130   Claire Malleson harvested, then threshed, winnowed, and stored. Often it is possible to ascertain whether the crop is a cereal or flax (linen) based on the method of harvesting and processing, but it is usually difficult to identify the cereal crop species. The two most commonly represented species, and those most closely associated with ‘Egyptian-ness’ in art are papyrus (Cyperus papyrus) and the so-called lotus, now known to be a species of water-lily (Nymphaea lotus and N. caerulea).53 These tomb scenes were, of course, created to fulfil certain requirements relating to the afterlife of the deceased, and therefore cannot be totally relied upon to portray accurate information regarding the flora of ancient Egypt. The detail in some paintings has allowed specialists to identify the plants being represented with some certainty, but in other instances the plants in the paintings are less easily identified.54 Often the images can be highly ­misleading to the non-specialist and therefore caution must be used when dealing with these sources.

Objects placed in funerary contexts It is likely that all elite and royal tombs in ancient Egypt would have contained objects made of plant materials. The arid conditions in parts of Egypt provide the perfect environment for the preservation of organic remains, and the desiccated remains of food offerings placed in baskets and jars are commonly found in private tombs. These specimens of fruit, vegetables, pulses, and cereals are relatively easily identified by specialists. Also, large varieties of wooden objects were placed in tombs and these can provide important information about tree species growing in Egypt, as well as identifying timber that had been imported. There have also been a number of discoveries of well-preserved floral garlands placed inside coffins and these can also provide a wealth of information regarding the flowering plants of ancient Egypt. Sally McAleely and Nigel Hepper have raised the point that the quantity of plants needed to make the funerary garlands and the floral bouquets offered in temples is considerable. To obtain this amount of good quality undamaged flowers and leaves, many plants would have been cultivated or managed, as opposed to being simply gathered from the wild.55 Perhaps the most spectacular type of wooden funerary ‘objects’ are the solar boats found associated with royal burials of the Old Kingdom, most famously the two ‘Khufu’ boats on the Giza plateau, the second of which is currently under investigation and conservation by a large Egyptian/Japanese team in Cairo.

Textual evidence Plants are referred to in a variety of different writings and inscriptions, but the greatest obstacle to the identification of the species is the problem of translating ancient plant names.56 53  The true lotus (Nelumbo nucifera) was not introduced into Egypt until the Persian period. Hepper 1990: 11. 54  See Beaux 1988. 55  Hepper 1990; McAleely 2005. 56 Germer 1998.

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Flora of ancient Egypt   131 Words denoting plants are easily identified in texts and inscriptions by the ­hieroglyphic plant determinative signs, however, a considerable proportion of the plants named in texts are still unidentified. Medical papyri refer to different plant products, and a considerable amount of work has been carried out to ascertain which species are indicated. Those for which there is agreement amongst scholars are discussed by John Nunn.57 The ancient names for both barley (it) and wheat (bdt) are well known, as are the terms for dates (bnr) (although this is not accepted universally) and chick-pea (hr-bik) to name just a few.58 Texts often specify what type of grain is being traded/grown, but how their distinctions relate to what we know about the species is almost impossible to determine in most cases. Documentary archives from Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt can provide exceptionally high levels of detail regarding certain aspects of agriculture, land management, and crops, but it has to be remembered that Greek words for plants will not be directly related to Egyptian words, and in some cases a similar word may refer to a different plant. But despite these problems, papyri remain a rich and valuable resource for the study of ancient plants.59 Classical texts (Greek and Latin) traditionally provided a source of information regarding plants and their uses in Ancient Egypt. However, as with the administrative papyri, the uncertainties surrounding the nomenclature adopted by these authors makes it difficult to rely on their identifications, as the names they provide may represent only local or colloquial terms.60

Archaeobotanical evidence from settlement sites The evidence from archaeobotanical research at settlement sites has provided important information regarding the flora of ancient Egypt which is not available in other contexts.61 Settlements located away from the floodplain provide the arid conditions that are ideal for the preservation of organic remains via desiccation. In some instances, plants can also be preserved by water-logging or mineralization but this is rare in Egypt. At all settlements, regardless of location, charred plants will be present. The burning of plants as fuel converts these to carbon (‘ash’), and the morphology of the seeds or grains is often retained and therefore specimens can be identified in the same manner as desiccated remains. Phytoliths can be recovered from deposits and extracted from the surfaces of tools, as well as pollen and starch, but the laboratory equipment required for these analyses are not easily accessible in Egypt. Although pollen can be used to determine long-term climate change across large

57  Nunn 1996: tables 7.4 and 7.5; see also Charpentier 1981 for an extensive list of all plants named in inscriptions. 58  Nunn 1996; Manniche 1989. 59 Blouin 2012. 60  Darby, Ghalioungui, and Grivetti (1977) rely heavily on classical writers, leading to many misconceptions. 61  A good introduction to methods and practices in Egypt can be found in Zakrzewski, Shortland, and Rowland 2016: 100–7.

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132   Claire Malleson areas, it is less useful for smaller scale analyses such as diet, socio-economics, or ­short-term ecological shifts.62

Sampling methods The recovery and analysis of charred or desiccated plant macro-remains can be a timeconsuming business, yet the results are invariably worth the effort. Each excavation should have a strategy for the recovery of plant material and it is acknowledged amongst most archaeobotanists that, ideally, a sample should be taken from every archaeological feature (e.g. pits, ditches, hearths, layers, fills, etc.) in order to allow a complete cross-reference and spatial/temporal comparison of material. However, this is not always possible, practical, or necessary. Sampling strategies naturally vary considerably from site to site, depending on what research questions are being asked. These strategies are also dependent upon the status of preservation of the remains, and of course time and personnel constraints.63 In Egypt, as in most other countries, the standard technique for the collection of macrobotanical remains is flotation, or careful dry sieving. The flotation procedure relies on the principle that plant remains float when immersed in water and can therefore be collected from the surface of the flotation tank/bucket. This technique was first attempted in 196064 and since then the method has been refined.65 In most instances the equipment used is relatively make-shift, often consisting of buckets or water tanks made from old oil drums— thus relatively low-tech (Figure 6.3). The one crucial piece of equipment is a set of geological sieves with 250–500 micron mesh. The material is then collected, and dried and examined under a microscope. The archaeobotanist (like the faunal analyst) will have a relevant modern reference collection and detailed botanical illustrations to aid identification. In many cases, the overlap in the morphological features of seeds, grains, fruits, and other parts of the plants of different species within a genus or tribe, renders specific identification impossible. This can be especially the case when working with charred plant remains which can become distorted by the charring process. Desiccated plant remains are frequently more easily identified and the samples are often richer and more diverse, and can be more informative.

Species present in ancient Egypt In any assemblage of plant remains, from a burial or settlement context, there will be a mixture of cultivated and ‘wild’ plants. In settlements the archaeobotanical samples are usually dominated by the remains of cereal processing (chaff and weeds), and plants consumed by 62  Mehringer, Petersen, and Hassan 1979; Bernhardt, Horton, and Stanley 2012. 63  See Malleson 2016a and Malleson In preparation B for examples of how sampling strategies can be adapted to allow for the recovery and analysis of the optimal archaeobotanical assemblage, in order to best address research questions, working within various time constraints. See also Zakrewski, Shortland, and Rowland 2016: 100–7. 64 Struever 1968. 65  See http://archaeobotany.googlepages.com for the history of this technique.

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Flora of ancient Egypt   133

Figure 6.3  Bucket flotation of archaeobotanical samples at Tell el-Retaba, Wadi Tumilat. Photograph by author.

animals (found in dung remains). Wood from a range of trees can be found either as furniture, waste pieces (small twigs), and fuel (charcoal). The inedible parts of pulses (pods), and fruits (stones and seeds), are also sometimes found. As can be seen in Table 6.1, the range of species found in assemblages from settlements are overwhelmingly the remains of ‘wild’ uncultivated plants, the majority of which grew as ‘weeds’ in cereal crops, or along canals and rivers, and were all highly valued as fuel and animal fodder.66 These plants are indicative of local environment/ecology, and crop management strategies. Many plants are difficult to categorise as being either wild or cultivated, some were gathered ‘wild’ in earlier periods and cultivated later in history. Also, some may have been found both growing wild and cultivated at the same time, but in different locations. Whilst images of fruit trees and palms in paintings can be identified with relative ease, the identification of most vegetable and cereal species represented on the walls of elite tombs is frequently unreliable, due to the similarities between species of the same family. More dependable evidence is found in the form of the food offerings in tombs, and archaeobotanical remains from settlement sites. It is difficult to be precise about which vegetables ancient Egyptians might have been consuming on a daily basis, as the primary edible parts of the plants would have been eaten and therefore will never be present in the archaeological record. Any uneaten and discarded soft or leafy plant parts are highly vulnerable to 66  Van der Veen 1999; Murray 2009.

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134   Claire Malleson

Table 6.1  List of taxa found at three settlement sites67 Old Kingdom Giza

Middle Kingdom Elephantine

2nd Intermediate Period, New Kingdom and 3rd Intermediate Period Tell el-Retaba

Cereals: Hordeum vulgare subsp. vulgare L. Triticum turgidum subsp. dicoccum (Schrank) Thell.

Cereals: Hordeum vulgare subsp. vulgare L. Triticum turgidum subsp. dicoccum (Schrank) Thell.

Cereals: Hordeum vulgare subsp. vulgare L. Triticum turgidum subsp. dicoccum (Schrank) Thell. Triticum cf. aestivum L.

Other edible plants: Vicia cf. faba L. Lens culinaris Medic Vitis vinifera L.

Other edible plants: Citrullus colocynthis (L.) Schrad Vicia cf. faba L. Vitis vinifera L.

Other edible plants: Vicia cf. faba L. Lens culinaris Medic Vitis vinifera L.

Fibre/oil crops: Linum usitatissimum L.

Fibre/oil crops: Linum usitatissimum L.

Fibre/oil crops: Linum usitatissimum L.

Wild grasses: Lolium temulentum L. sp. Phalaris paradoxa L. sp. Bromus sp. cf. Desmostachya bipinnata (L.) Stapf. in Dyer cf. Imperata cylindrica (L.) Raeusch. Avena cf. fatua L./sterilis L. Triticum monococcum L. cf. Phragmites australis (Cav.) Trin ex Steud. cf. Cynodon dactylon (L.) Pers.

Wild grasses: Panicum sp. Lolium sp. Phalaris sp. Sorghum cf. halepense (L.) Pers. Phragmites australis (Cav.) Trin ex Steud./Desmostachya bipinnata (L.) Stapf. in Dyer

Wild grasses: cf. Panicum sp. Lolium sp. Phalaris sp. Bromus sp. cf. Sorghum arundinaceum (Desv.) Stapf./halpense (L.) Pers.

Reeds and sedges: Schoenoplectus sp. Schoenoplectus cf. praelongatus (Poir.) J. Raynal Eleocharis palustris (L.) Roem. & Schult. Fimbristyllis bisumbellata (Forssk.) Bubani cf. Carex sp. cf. Cyperus alopecuroides Rottb. cf. Cyperus articulatus L. cf. Cyperus rotundus L. Cyperus esculentus L.

Reeds and sedges: Cyperus sp. Schoenoplectus sp. Eleocharis sp. Fimbristyllis bisumbellata (Forssk.) Bubani

Reeds and sedges: Schoenoplectus cf. praelongatus (Poir.) J. Raynal Schoenoplectus sp. Eleocharis sp. Fimbristyllis bisumbellata (Forssk.) Bubani cf. Carex sp. Cyperus esculentus L. Cyperus rotundus L.

67  Malleson and Miracle 2018.

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Flora of ancient Egypt   135

Legumes: Medicago polymorpha L. Melilotus sp. Trifolium alexandrinum L. Scorpiurus muricatus L. Vicia ervilia (L.) Willd. Lathyrus cf. hirsutus L. Lathyrus sativus L.

Legumes: cf. Trifolieae tribe

Legumes: Melilotus sp. Trifolium sp. Scorpiurus muricatus L. Astragalus sp. Vicia ervilia (L.) Willd. Lathyrus sp.

Other wild/weed species: Polyganum sp. Rumex dentatus L. Glinus lotoides L. Brassicaceae Portulaca oleracea L. Silene sp. Chenopodium sp. Beta vulgaris L. Rosaceae cf. Rubus sp. type Malva parviflora L. Trachyspermum ammi (L.) Sprague ex Turrill Echium rauwolfii Delile Boraginaceae Primulaceae cf. Anagallis L. Lithospermum sp. Anthemis cf. pseudocotula Boiss Centaurea sp. Crepis sp. Asteraceae Apiaceae Liliaceae Solanaceae cf. Hyosycamus niger L.

Other wild/weed species: Rumex sp. Glinus lotoides L. Ambrosia maritima L. Raphanus raphanistrum L. Solanum sp. Caryophyllacae Rubus sp. Boraginaceae

Other wild/weed species: Rumex sp. Polygonaceae Glinus lotoides L. Portulaca oleracea L. Silene sp. Chenopodium sp. Beta vulgaris L. cf. Rosacae Rubus sp. Euphorbia sp. Malvacae Boraginaceae Lithospermum sp. Primulaceae Lamiaceae cf. nigella L. Centaurea sp. Crepis sp. Asteraceae Curcubitaceae Solanaceae cf. Hyosycamus niger L.

Trees and palms: Acacia nilotica (L.) Delile Olea europaea L. Ficus carica L. Ficus sycomorus L. Phoenix dactylifera L. Ziziphus spina-christi (L.) Desf

Trees and palms: Acacia nilotica (L.) Delile Ficus carica L. Ficus sycomorus L. Phoenix dactylifera L. Hyphaene thebaica (L.) Mart. Medemia argun Wuert. ex H. Wendl. Ziziphus spina-christi (L.) Desf Balanites aegyptiaca (L.) Delile Tamarix cf. nilotica (Ehrenb.) Bunge Tamarix aphylla (L.) H. Karst

Trees and palms: Acacia nilotica (L.) Delile Ficus carica L. Ficus sycomorus L. Phoenix dactylifera L. Ziziphus spina-christi (L.) Desf Tamarix cf. nilotica (Ehrenb.) Bunge Tamarix aphylla (L.) H. Karst

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136   Claire Malleson decomposition and destruction by rodents/insects, so they rarely survive in the archaeological record, although the seeds are sometimes found. We also have to bear in mind that the foods regularly represented in tomb iconography were likely to be those consumed by the elite, and may therefore may not have been part of the diet of lower status Egyptians— for that information we have to depend on the results of archaeobotanical investigations in settlements.

Cereals The staple foods of the ancient Egyptian diet were bread and beer, both made from the two most important crops:68 emmer wheat (Triticum turgidum subsp. dicoccum), and hulled barley (Hordeum vulgare). The cultivation and processing of these crops would have dominated the lives of most Egyptians (Figure 6.4). A great deal of research has been done on cereal cultivation and processing (see more on wild species and weeds later in the chapter) as well as bread and beer production.69 Prior to the adoption of formal agriculture, wild grasses were gathered and processed for human consumption. Recent research highlights the important role played by Sorghum (Sorghum sp.) during the Neolithic period in the

Figure 6.4  Hulled barley grains Courtesy of DAI Cairo, Elephantine Project

68  Murray 2000a; Samuel 2000.

69  Murray 2000a; Samuel 1994; 2000.

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Flora of ancient Egypt   137 Egyptian western desert oases.70 There is a general consensus that despite the use of ­free-threshing cereals such as bread wheat (Triticum aestivum) throughout Western Asia, Egyptians seem to have actively chosen not to adopt the cultivation of these more easily processed cereals until the Greco-Roman period, when emmer wheat gradually fell out of use. Various explanations suggest that emmer wheat may have been favoured up to the Greco-Roman period because it survives better in storage as the tough chaff is retained on the grains after threshing, protecting it from insect infestation. Because free-threshing wheat does not retain its chaff and is therefore less bulky and takes up less storage space, this suggests that the adoption of free-threshing bread wheat by the Romans was an obvious economic option when large quantities of grain were being shipped to Rome.71

Other edible plants Pulses are considered to have formed a major part of the ancient Egyptian diet. Archaeobotanical evidence from settlement sites and remains in tombs occasionally includes specimens of lentils (Lens culinaris), peas (Pisum sativum), fava bean (Vicia faba), and chick pea (Cicer arietinum).72 However, it is notable that pulses rarely feature in artistic evidence, perhaps indicating that these foods were considered to be lower status. Tubers of the sedge plant Cyperus esculentus—Chufa/Tiger nuts—may also have formed part of the diet of Egyptians, as remains of this species are frequently found in tombs and occasionally in settlement sites.73 There is evidence to suggest that a far wider variety of pulses became available in Egypt by the Roman period, given that remains of these, for example termis bean (Lupinus albus) are commonly found in sites of this period.74 There is very little evidence for species considered (in modern western society) to be vegetables. Vegetables resembling leek/kurrat or onion/garlic (Allium spp.) are two very different plants regularly represented on offering tables and in gardening scenes. However, specimens of Allium are only rarely found among archaeobotanical samples and generally only in Greco-Roman and Islamic contexts.75 This may be explained by the lack of survival of the waste parts which are soft/leafy and therefore unlikely to be recovered from archaeological sites. A plant suggested as being a species of lettuce (Lactuca sativa) is also depicted in many tomb and temple scenes. This plant is known to have had symbolic connections to the fertility god Min, but remains of this species have never been found on any site in Egypt prior to the Third Intermediate Period.76 As with pulses in later periods, the range of vegetables available in Egypt expanded considerably, for instance, cress (Lepidium sativum), endive/chicory (Cichorium endivia/intybus), beet (Beta vulgaris), and brassicas were all found at the Roman port of el-Quseir.77 The radish (Raphanus sativus) has also been found in large quantities at the Late Antique fort of Hisn el-Bab (Aswan).78 Watermelon (Citrullus lanatus), and the related bitter-melon colocynth (Citrullus colocynthis), are both well attested in ancient Egypt, although precise identification is 70  Fahmy 2014; Lucarini 2014. 71  Pers. Comm. Cappers 2013. 73  Murray 2000b: 613. 74  Van der Veen 2011: 145–9. 75  e.g. see Van der Veen 2011: 161–5. 76  Murray 2000b: 613. 77  Van der Veen 2011: 161. 78  Pers. Comm. Clapham 2017.

72  Murray 2000b: 610.

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138   Claire Malleson ­ ifficult as their seeds can be remarkably similar. Colocynth still grows wild in Egypt and is d sometimes considered to be the wild ancestor of watermelon. Although the fruit is almost inedible, it is still used today in traditional medicine.79 Watermelon seeds have been identified at several Pharaonic period sites, but questions remain about these identifications due to the confusion between this fruit and colocynth. From the evidence that we do have, it appears that watermelons were as popular in later Roman and Medieval Islamic periods as they are today.80 The grape vine (Vitis vinifera) was also widely cultivated in ancient Egypt, principally for wine production, and this species was common in all periods of history from the Pre-dynastic onwards. Wine production was a crucial element of the economy in Coptic monasteries.81 As vine cultivation and wine production are both commonly depicted in tombs, together with our empirical data sets, we now have a great deal of evidence about this industry in Egypt.82 We even have evidence of the location of specific vineyards, as these are often named on the wine jars. Certain varieties of herb/spice-plants may have been deliberately cultivated, including coriander (Coriandrum sativum), cumin (Cuminum cyminum), nigella/black cumin (Nigella sativa), dill (Anethum graveolens), and fenugreek (Trigonella foenum-graecum).83 During the Roman period the Egyptian Red Sea ports became crucial to the international spice trade, at which point many plants (e.g. black pepper (Piper nigrum), rice (Oryza sativa), and cardamom (Elettaria cardamomum)) were introduced to Egypt and later became staples of local cuisine.84

Oils and fibre-plants Linum usitatassimum (flax/linseed) was widely cultivated for use in textiles and possibly also for its oil. The species is frequently represented in tombs scenes and is easily differentiated from cereals by the harvesting method employed—flax is pulled up by its roots in order to gather the longest fibres possible. The seeds, which are removed during the preparation of the fibres for spinning, occur regularly on settlement sites, as do fragments of the seed capsules and unprocessed fibres. The textile industry in Egypt was crucial to the economy, and flax would therefore have been a major crop.85 Other common species that were utilized for their secondary products (e.g. oil) include castor oil plant (Ricinus communis), safflower (Carthamus tinctorius), and radish (Raphanus sativus), which have all been identified in archaeobotanical remains of later periods.86

79  Murray 2000b: 633; Van der Veen 2011: 106–8. 80  Van der Veen 2011: 179–85. 81  El-Dorry 2015; El-Dorry 2016; El-Dorry In preparation. 82  Murray, Boulton, and Heron 2000. 83  Murray 2000b: 614. 84  Van der Veen 2011: 39–74. 85  Vogelsang-Eastwood 2000; Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001. 86  Serpico and White  2000a; based upon the discovery of vast quantities of the seeds found at Karanis, safflower was probably cultivated in the Fayum during the Roman period (personal observation of botanical remains held in the Kelsey Museum of Archaeology, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor).

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Flora of ancient Egypt   139

Wild grasses It is thought that all cereal crops were infested with the grass weeds Lolium sp.87 and Phalaris sp. (rye grass and canary grass), both of which are found in abundance at Egyptian settlement sites, alongside a broad range of other species such as Bromus sp. (brome grass) and Sorghum spp (wild sorghum).88 It is likely that the average Egyptian rural family would have spent a large proportion of their time cleaning the threshed cereal crop of weeds and chaff. This material was of great value to society as fuel, animal fodder, and mudbrick/ceramic temper.89 The study of cereal processing in ancient societies is one of the most important areas of research in archaeobotany, pioneered by Gordon Hillman in the 1970s.90 Along with reeds and sedges, some wild halfa grasses may have been gathered for use in making matting, baskets, and bedding (see below).

Reeds and sedges Many highly symbolic funerary scenes depict river-plants such as reeds and sedges, but with the exception of papyrus (Cyperus papyrus), it is not easy to determine the precise species. It is unclear if papyrus was gathered wild or cultivated for the production of papyrus sheets for writing, but the quantities required would have been remarkable, and some level of control or management of this plant seems likely.91 Similar to today, canals, river banks, and marshy areas would have been covered in reeds, rushes, and sedges, the fibres of these plants being widely employed for use in matting, ropes, basketry, roofing, walling of huts, and bedding.92 Reeds, rushes, sedges, and wild grasses have been identified in both the remains of finished products and as seeds found in settlement sites (see Table 6.1). Many of these plants were also consumed by grazing cattle, sheep, and goats, and so the seeds found in settlements often derive from the charred remains of animal dung which had been ­utilized as fuel.93 The most common river-bank species include sedges (Cyperus spp./Fimbristylis spp.), rushes (Schoenoplectus/Scirpus spp.), and halfa grasses (Phragmites australis/Desmostachya bipinnata/Imperata cylindrica).94 The seeds of Eleocharis sp. (spikerush) also commonly occur in settlement sites,95 which may indicate the use of this species in roofing or bedding, as well as its presence in animal diets.

Legumes The remains of leguminous species are regularly found in abundant quantities in samples from settlements. The role of these plants is somewhat confusing—some are indeed edible, 87  Samuel 2000: 558–9. 88  Murray 2000a: 518; Malleson 2016b; Murray and Malleson 2016; Malleson In preparation A. 89  Van der Veen 1999. 90  Hillman 1984; Murray 2000a; Van der Veen 2007; Fuller, Stevens, and McClatchie 2014. 91  Leach and Tait 2000. 92 Wendrich 2000. 93  Malleson In preparation C. 94  Malleson 2015; Malleson 2016a. 95  Malleson In preparation C.

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140   Claire Malleson and in some cultures these are consumed during times of famine, but generally they were grown as animal fodder or they occurred ‘wild’ in cereal crops as weeds.96 Today in Egypt, berseem clover (Trifolium alexandrinum) is a major crop, cultivated as animal fodder for cattle, horses, and donkeys. In the past, animal fodder plants could include legumes such as vetches and clovers from the Viciae and Trifoliae tribes, including Lathyrus sp., Vicia sp., and Trifolium sp. The antiquity of growing legumes specifically for use as animal fodder in ancient Egypt is not yet known, but was certainly practised in the Greco-Roman period.97 It has been thought that this was the case for earlier in Egyptian history,98 but the issue of fodder cultivation in Pharaonic Egypt has recently been questioned. The suggestion now is that prior to the Ptolemaic period, these species were tolerated as major crop weeds, similar to ryegrass and canary grass.99

Other wild/weed species The many ‘wild’ species that grew as cereal crop weeds in ancient Egyptian crops are not attested in the artistic and textual sources. However, a great deal is known about the presence of these species from the analysis of archaeobotanical remains. Ahmed Fahmy100 identified 112 field weed species dating from the Predynastic to the Greco-Roman period in Egypt.101 Within assemblages from settlement sites the list of different ‘wild’ species can be very diverse (see Table 6.1). These species are useful in determining a number of ecological and agricultural conditions. For instance, different weeds may be associated with different cereal crops, agricultural strategies, or harvesting methods.102 Examples of how localized short-term ecological changes have been detected can be found in studies based on archaeobotanical remains at Memphis and Tell el-Retaba. The assemblages from these sites indicate an increase in the wet-loving species present in the samples from certain phases of occupation of the towns. This information supports other evidence we have in the archaeological, geological, and textual records.103 In the Old Kingdom settlement of the pyramid builders at Giza (Heit el-Ghurab) a species of Rumex (Dock/Sorrel) has been found throughout the entire site, suggesting that while it may have been a cereal crop weed, it may have also been used for an as-yet unidentified purpose, perhaps roofing or bedding?104

Trees and palms Objects found in funerary contexts such as furniture, weapons, chariots, and boats, obviously yield important information on the types of wood that were available in ancient 96 Murray 2009. 97  Blouin 2012; Murray 2009: 252–3. 98  Crawford 2003; Moens and Wetterstrom 1988. 99 Malleson 2016b. 100 Fahmy 1997. 101  But only included species fully identified to species level, therefore it is highly likely that many more species were present. 102  Fahmy 1997; Fuller and Stevens 2009; conclusions are always based upon the modern ecology of Egypt, see Zahran and Willis 2009. 103  Murray 2009; Malleson 2015; Malleson 2016a. 104  Pers. Comm. Murray 2009.

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Flora of ancient Egypt   141 Egypt. However, caution should be used when identifying ancient wood, as the degradation of specimens and the variations in anatomical structure caused by climate changes can make it exceptionally hard to identify species accurately.105 A.C. Western and W. McLeod106 note that in many instances samples were identified by relying on just basic experience, but often re-examination of this material by a specialist invariably means that re-identification is needed. The most common trees along the Nile in ancient Egypt, as today, were Acacia (Acacia nilotica) and tamarisk (Tamarix nilotica/Tamarix aphylla). They are frequently found as charcoal on settlement sites and as a component of furniture and smaller wooden items in funerary contexts. Sycamore and common fig (Ficus sycomorus/Ficus carica) were also common and even pomegranate (Punica granatum) was present (initially as an import) in Egypt from at least the 12th Dynasty. Christ’s Thorn (or Sidder; Ziziphus spina-christi) was (and still is) common in Egypt. The fruits were eaten and used in medicine, and remains of both the wood and seeds are found in both funerary and settlement contexts.107 Less common, but certainly present from at least the Old Kingdom, was the Egyptian plum (Cordia sinensis/myxa),108 also desert date (Balanites aegyptiaca) which was likely used as a source of oil.109 Although the relative abundance of desert date stones in settlements in the south of Egypt does suggest that the fruit itself may have been consumed by people, as it is in Egypt today.110 At least three species of palm were present in ancient Egypt: the date palm (Phoenix dactylifera),111 the doum palm (Hyphaene thebaica), and the argun palm (Medemia argun now extinct in Egypt),112 and the fruits of all three are commonly found in funerary contexts. One problem with the study of date palm is the discrepancy between the artistic and archaeobotanical records. Date palm relies on wind pollination as the species exists as ­separate male and female trees, and therefore, unless hand pollination occurs, the trees do not bear large harvests of fruits. However, it is thought that from the Middle Kingdom hand pollination was adopted, resulting in larger quantities of dates appearing in the archaeological record from that period onwards (Figure 6.5).113 A considerable number of other woods have been found in mortuary contexts in Egypt, in particular specimens that are found as part of chariots and weapons dating from the 18th Dynasty. As chariots were possibly imported directly from South-Western Asia, it is highly unlikely that the species (one example is elm) were ever present in Egypt.114 Timber imported into Egypt from at least the Old Kingdom includes ebony (Dalbergia melanoxylon) from Africa, and cedar (Cedrus libani) from Lebanon, both attested from at least the Early Dynastic period.115 Although olive (Olea europaea) is rare prior to the New Kingdom, specimens of olive wood charcoal from Giza have provided crucial information regarding aspects of early trade and economy with the Eastern Mediterranean region.116

105  Gale et al 2000: 334. 106  Western and McLeod 1995. 107  Murray 2000b: 627; Gale et al 2000: 347. 108  Murray 2000b: 626. 109  Serpico and White 2000a: 392–3. 110  Malleson In preparation B. 111  Newton et al 2013. 112 Newton 2001. 113  Murray 2000b: 617. 114  Gale et al 2000. 115  ibid: 338–9, 349. 116  Newton, Terral, and Ivorra 2006; Gerisch, Wetterstrom, and Murray 2008.

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142   Claire Malleson

Figure 6.5  Date palm grove near Medinet el-Gurob, Faiyum Photograph by author.

Discussion: current and future research One problem that clearly affects studies of the flora of ancient Egypt are the difficulties of aligning the various forms of evidence. Many plants are well-attested artistically, but are only very exceptionally found in archaeobotanical assemblages. Some species may occur regularly in tombs, but only infrequently in settlements. Additionally, the lack of clearly defined sampling and excavation strategies leads to difficulties in conducting cross-site multi-period analyses. At many archaeological sites in Egypt strict excavation and recording techniques are implemented, often based on UK MoLAS (Museum of London Archaeological Services) standards, and it is at these sites that some of the best quality results are being obtained. Another relevant point, as raised by Mary Anne Murray,117 is the need for full integration at every stage of the research process. From design of sampling strategies, interpretation of results, and publication, not only should the various sources of botanical information be analysed, but other materials from excavations should be included. By looking at plant remains in their archaeological contexts, and in association with other 117 Murray 2009.

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Flora of ancient Egypt   143 empirical data such as human osteological remains, faunal data, ceramics, objects, and ­lithics, we can create a much more detailed, holistic understanding of social and cultural change in the past. There are several excellent examples which aptly demonstrate the value of archaeobotanical research, when used in such an integrated way. For instance, the work by Marijke Van der Veen and Rene Cappers on the Roman and Islamic ports at Quseir el-Qadim and Berenike shed a vast amount of light on international trade networks in those periods.118 AERA (Ancient Egypt Research Associates) excavations at the pyramid builder’s town at Heit el-Ghurab (Giza plateau) have also been deploying these holistic methods of data analysis for the last thirty years, with exceptional results.119 The integration of the various specialist studies (faunal, ceramic, lithic, mud sealings, excavation, archaeobotanical) with traditional Egyptological research into artistic and written evidence has allowed for a detailed reconstruction of the use of plant materials at the site.120 A recent study assessed the production of bread in the town utilizing the full range of evidence, including botanical remains.121 The differences in the status and wealth of the inhabitants in the different areas of the settlement are clearly apparent—the workers in the barracks were provided with wood fuel (Nile acacia), and a basic diet of primarily bread, beer, and meat, while the inhabitants of the village-like ‘Eastern Town’ were far more self-sufficient. This community utilized cereal processing waste, dung, and wood as fuel, and also had a much more varied diet, including some pulses. The more elite members of the community living in the ‘Western Town’ had a far richer diet of better quality meats, fish, and more fruits.122 One very recent project is the ‘Realities of Life’ initiative led by Johanna Sigl. Between 2013–2019, the German Archaeological Institute (DAI) ran this project on Elephantine Island. The project was specifically aimed at conducting a range of different scientific analyses on remains from the excavations of one Middle Kingdom house.123 Their ­ ­programme of sampling botanical remains was even more extensive than that at Giza, ­partially due to the excellent preservation of both charred and desiccated plant remains. The results promise to address the realities of human–plant interactions in ancient Egypt in great detail, via the integration of results from the analyses of food residues in ceramics, studies of insect remains, micromorphology of floors in the house, and analysis of remains from fine-sieving (as small as ¼ mm of all deposits). The goal is to reveal the ‘realities’ of living in typical Egyptian village—the sights, sounds, and smells of daily life.

Suggested reading Several chapters in Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology (eds. Nicholson, P.  and Shaw, I. 2000) cover botanical materials; those by Murray being the most directly relevant. 118  Cappers 2006a; Van der Veen 2011. 119  See http://www.aeraweb.com for all publications, many freely available for download. 120  Murray 2011; Murray and Malleson 2016. 121 Malleson 2017. 122  See http://www.aeraweb.org for accessible digital publications. Moeller (2016) includes discussion of many of these results. 123 https://fallback.dainst.org/projekt/-/project-display/25953.

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144   Claire Malleson Pharaoh’s Flowers (1990) by Hepper is an accessible starting point as is Manniche An Ancient Egyptian Herbal (1989). For more detailed species lists see Germer, Flora des pharaonischen Ägypten (1985) and Vartavan, Arakelyan and Asensi Amorós Codex of Ancient Egyptian Plant Remains (2010). Good examples of site reports include Cappers Roman Foodprints at Berenike (2006), Clapham and Stevens, ‘The Plant Remains from the Stone Village’ (2012), Malleson ‘Archaeobotanical Investigations at Tell El-Retaba’ (2015; 2016a), Moens and Wetterstrom, ‘The Agricultural Economy of an Old Kingdom Town in Egypt’s West Delta’ (1988), Newton, ‘Growing, Gathering and Offering’ (2007), Stevens and Clapham, ‘Botanical Insights into the Life of an Ancient Egyptian Village: Excavations Results from Amarna’ (2014), and Van der Veen Consumption, Trade and Innovation (2011). Key papers on research and method include Cappers ‘The Reconstruction of Agricultural Practises in Ancient Egypt: An Ethnographical Approach’ (2006), Fuller and Stevens ‘Agriculture and the Development of Complex Societies: An Archaeobotanical Agenda’ (2009), Hillman, ‘Interpretation of Archaeological Plant Remains: The Application of Ethnographic Models from Turkey’ (1984), Murray, ‘Questions of Continuity. Fodder and Fuel Use in Bronze Age Egypt’ (2009), and Van der Veen, ‘The Economic Value of Chaff and Straw in Arid and Temperate Zones’ (1999) and ‘Formation Process of Desiccated and Carbonized Plant Remains—The Identification of Routine Practice’ (2007).

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Flora of ancient Egypt   149 Rowley-Conwy, P., Deakin, W., and Shaw, C.H. 1999. Ancient DNA from Sorghum. In M. Van Der Veen (ed), The Exploitation of Plant Resources in Ancient Africa. Boston: Springer, 55–61. Ryan, P. 2017. From Raw Resources to Food Processing: Archaeobotanical and Ethnographic Insights from New Kingdom Amara West and Present-Day Ernetta Island in Northern Sudan. In L. Steel and K. Zinn (eds), Exploring the Materiality of Food ‘Stuffs’. Transformations, Symbolic Consumption and Embodiments, Routledge Studies in Archaeology 23. London: Routledge, ­15–38. Ryan, P., Cartwright, C., and Spencer, N. 2012. Archaeobotanical Research in a Pharaonic Town in Ancient Nubia. British Museum Technical Research Bulletin 6: 97–107. Samuel, D. 2010. Experimental Grinding and Ancient Egyptian Flour Production. In S. Ikram and A. Dodson (eds), Beyond the Horizon: Studies in Egyptian Art, Archaeology and History in Honour of Barry J. Kemp. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 456–77. Samuel, D. 2000. Brewing and Baking. In P. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 537–76. Samuel, D. 1999. Bread Making and Social Interactions at the Amarna Workmen’s Village, Egypt. World Archaeology 31/1 (1999): 121–44. Samuel, D. 1997. Cereal Food and Nutrition in Ancient Egypt. Nutrition 13: 579–80. Samuel, D. 1996. Investigation of Ancient Egyptian Baking and Brewing Methods by Correlative Microscopy. Science 273: 488–90. Samuel, D. 1994. Cereal Food Processing in Ancient Egypt: A Case Study of Integration. In R. Luff and P. Rowley-Conwy (eds), Wither Environmental Archaeology?. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 153–8. Samuel, D. 1993a. Ancient Egyptian Cereal Processing: Beyond the Artistic Record. Cambridge Archaeological Journal 3: 276–93. Samuel, D. 1993b. A New Look at Old Bread: Ancient Egyptian Baking. Archaeology International 3: 28–31. Samuel, D. 1989. Their Staff of Life: Initial Investigations on Ancient Egyptian Bread Baking. In Amarna Reports V, Occasional Publications 6. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Serpico, M. 2003. Quantifying Resin Trade in the Eastern Mediterranean during the Late Bronze Age. In K. Foster and R. Laffineur (eds), Metron. Measuring the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 9th International Aegean Conference, Yale University 18–21 April, 2002. Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège. Liège: Université de Liège, 224–30. Serpico, M. and White, R. 2000a. Resins, Amber and Bitumen. In P. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 430–74. Serpico, M. and White, R. 2000b. The Botanical Identity and Transport of Incense during the Egyptian New Kingdom, Antiquity 74: 884–97. Smith, W. 2003. Archaeobotanical Investigations of Agriculture at Late Antique Kom El-Nana (Tell ElAmarna). Egypt Exploration Memoirs 17. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Stevens, C.J. and Clapham, A.J. 2014. Botanical Insights into the Life of an Ancient Egyptian Village: Excavations Results from Amarna. In C.J. Stevens, S. Nixon, M.A. Murray, and D.Q. Fuller (eds), Archaeology of African Plant Use, Institute of Archaeology Publications 61. Walnut Creek, California: Left Coast Press, 151–64. Stewart, R.B. and Robertson, W. 1973. Application of Flotation Technique in Arid Areas. Economic Botany 27: 114–16. Struever, S. 1968. Flotation Techniques for the Recovery of Small-Scale Archaeological Remains. American Antiquity 33/3: 353–62. Täckholm, V. 1977. Flora. In Lexikon Der Ägyptologie Band II, Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 267–75. Täckholm, V. and Drar, M. 1956. Students’ Flora of Egypt. Cairo: Anglo Egyptian Bookshop. Täckholm, V., Täckholm, G., and Drar, M. 1941–1969. Flora of Egypt. Cairo: Fouad I University. Thanheiser, U. 1992. Plant-Food at Tell Ibrahim Awad: Preliminary Report. In E.C.M. Van Den Brink (ed), The Nile Delta in Transition: 4th–3rd Millennium bc. Tel Aviv: Israel Exploration Society, 117–22.

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150   Claire Malleson Thanheiser, U. 1996. Local crop production versus import of cereals in the Predynastic period in the Nile Delta. In L. Kryżaniak, K. Kroeper, and M. Kobusiewicz (eds), Interregional contacts in the Later Prehistory of Northeastern Africa. Studies in African Archaeology 5. Poznan: Poznan Archaeological Museum, 291–302. Thanheiser, U. 1999. Plant Remains from Kellis: First Results. In C.A.  Hope and A.J.  Mills (eds), Dakhleh Oasis Project: Preliminary Reports on the 1992–1993 and 1993–1994 Field Seasons. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 89–103. Thanheiser, U. 2004. Die Pflanzenreste. In Tell El-Dab’a 11. Areal A/V: Siedlungsrelikte Der Späten 2. Zwischenzeit, Wien: Österr Akad Wiss, 378–83. Thanheiser, U. 2009. Vegetation and Subsistence of the Epipalaeolithic in Dakhleh Oasis, Egypt: ­Charcoal and Macro-Remains from Masara Sites. In A. Fairburn and E. Weiss (eds), From Foragers to Farmers. Papers in Honour of Gordon C. Hillman. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 171–78. Thanheiser, U., Walter, J., and Hope, C.A. 2002. Roman Agriculture and Gardening in Egypt as Seen from Kellis. In Dakhleh Oasis Project: Preliminary Reports on the 1994–5 to 1998–9 Field Seasons. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 299–331. Van Der Veen, M. 2011. Consumption, Trade and Innovation. Exploring the Botanical Remains from the Roman and Islamic Ports at Quseir Al-Qadim, Egypt. Journal of African Archaeology Monograph Series 6. Frankfurt am Main: Africa Magna Verlag. Van Der Veen, M. 2007. Formation Process of Desiccated and Carbonized Plant Remains—the ­Identification of Routine Practice. Journal of Archaeological Science 34: 968–90. Van Der Veen, M. 1999. The Economic Value of Chaff and Straw in Arid and Temperate Zones. ­Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 8: 211–24. Van Der Veen, M. 1998. A Life of Luxury in the Desert? The Food and Fuel Supply to Mons C ­ laudianus. Journal of Roman Archaeology 11: 101–16. Van Der Veen, M. 1996. The Plant Remains from Mons Claudianus, a Roman Quarry Settlement in the Eastern Desert of Egypt—an Interim Report. Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 5: 137–41. Van Der Veen, M., Morales, J., and Cox, A. 2009. Food and Culture: The Plant Foods from Roman and Islamic Quseir, Egypt. In A.  Fairbairn and E.  Weiss (eds), From Foragers to Farmers. Papers in ­Honour of Gordon C. Hillman. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 268–76. Vartavan, C. 1990. Contaminated Plant Foods from the Tomb of Tutankhamun: A New Interpretative System. Journal of Archaeological Science 17: 473–94. Vartavan, C., Arakelyan, A., and Asensi Amorós, V. 2010. Codex of Ancient Egyptian Plant Remains 2nd ed. London: Sais. Vermeersch, P.M., Linseele, V., Marinova, E., Van Neer, J. Moeyersons, W., and Rethemeyer, J. 2015. Early and Middle Holocene Human Occupation of the Egyptian Eastern Desert: Sodmein Cave. African Archaeological Review 32: 465–503. Vogelsang-Eastwood, G. 2000. Textiles. In P. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian ­Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 268–98. Wendrich, W.Z. 2000. Basketry. In P. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 254–67. Western, A.C. and Mcleod, W. 1995. Woods Used in Egyptian Bows and Arrows. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 81: 77–94. Wetterstrom, W. 1993. Foraging and Farming in Egypt: The Transition from Hunting and Gathering to Horticulture in the Nile Valley. In T. Shaw, P. Sinclair, B. Andah, and A. Okpoko (eds), The Archaeology of Africa: Food, Metals and Towns, One World Archaeology 20. London: Routledge, 165–226. Wetterstrom, W. 1982. Plant Remains. In Quseir Al-Qadim 1980, American Research Center in Egypt Reports. Malibu: Undena Publications, 355–77. Williams, D. 1973. Flotation at Siraf. Antiquity 47: 288–92. Zahran, M.A. and Willis, A.J. 2009. The Vegetation of Egypt. 2nd ed. Boston: Springer. Zakrzewski, S., Shortland, A. and Rowland, J. (eds). 2016. Science and the Study of Ancient Egypt, Routledge Studies in Egyptology. London: Routledge.

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chapter 7

A ncien t Egy pti a n fau na SALIMA Ikram

Introduction The range of ancient Egyptian fauna was rich and varied, encompassing wild and domestic species of mammals, birds, fish, reptiles, amphibians, and insects. The study of Egyptian fauna can elucidate such diverse aspects of ancient Egyptian culture as the relationships between humans and animals in the realms of religion, language, diet, medicine, farming (livestock), and varied aspects of economy, trade, and daily life (as pets, parts of a men­agerie, objects of the hunt, or exploited for their fur, feather, guts, shells, horns, or hooves). Evolution and variation in animal types, as well as animal domestication, can also be documented by the study of Egyptian fauna through the ages.1 Animals provide information about the ancient environment and can help to document changes in the climate and en­vir­on­ment throughout Egyptian history, as well as imports through trade or warfare. Tracing the changes in Egypt’s ancient environment has long been of interest to scholars,2 particularly as the environment is, to a large extent, responsible for forming the culture of the ancient Egyptians.

Sources Traditionally, artistic images (reliefs, carvings, paintings, models, toys, and statuary) have provided the main source of information.3 These come from a variety of contexts: tombs, temples, and settlements, with the first two yielding the bulk of the evidence. Mammals are fairly easy to identify in Egyptian art, although naturalists and Egyptologists have often puzzled over the precise identification of certain representations. (The publications of zo­olo­gists who have worked on the current fauna of Egypt and have then turned their attention to the ancient fauna, such as Osborn4 are very helpful in these identifications.) This is 1  Ginsburg et al. 1991. 2  Boulenger 1907; Lortet and Gaillard 1905–09; Boessneck 1988. 3  See, e.g., Churcher 1984; Flower 1932. 4  Osborn and Helmy 1980; Osborn and Osbornova 1998.

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Figure 7.1  A scene depicting a hippopotamus hunt in the tomb of the Old Kingdom official Mereruka at Saqqara (c.2350 bc). Photograph by author, courtesy of the Ministry of State for Antiquities.

particularly true for exotic animals that were either unfamiliar to the Egyptian artist, or perhaps only described verbally to him, such as the rhinoceros in Tomb 15 belonging to Bakt III at Beni Hasan.5 While most birds and fish can be identified to the level of genus, without the painted details that are now often missing, they are more difficult to identify to species level (see Figure 7.1). Caution should be employed when using representations to study ancient Egypt’s fauna as environmental evidence. First, the ritual context in which the majority of these images appear (tombs and temples) imposes certain limitations on the evidence as the images do not always provide actual reflections of the environment, but are often idealized or constructed for a specific religious purpose.6 Secondly, certain images might also hark back to earlier periods and reflect the historic rather than current landscape. Finally, the elite nature of the artistic evidence is also responsible for an imbalance in the evidence. Thus, there is often discord between the real environment and what is pictured. Hieroglyphic signs taking the form of creatures or parts of creatures, as well as textual evidence from tombs, temples, papyri, and ostraca, also adds to our knowledge of animals in ancient Egypt. For the most part, tombs and temples yield inscriptions pertaining to offerings or religious texts invoking certain aspects of different deities’ animal totems. The association of certain gods with specific animals also contributes to our understanding of Egyptian fauna and the ancient Egyptians’ attitudes towards particular animals. Texts from tombs might be more varied, providing counts of game or flocks owned by the deceased. Papyri and ostraca provide more concrete information on the quotidian uses of animals, including lists of animals (or animal parts) owned, traded, or given in payment, as well as literary texts containing animal-based metaphors and similes. The physical remains of animals have been recovered from tombs, temples, and ­settlements. The various types of deposits studied include offerings (particularly funerary), 5  Newberry 1891: pl. IV.

6  Dodson and Ikram 2008: 77–81.

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Figure 7.2  Young cattle bones recovered by the Japanese Mission to the tomb of the 18th-Dynasty ruler Amenhotep III in the West Valley, Thebes (c.1350 bc). Photograph by author, courtesy of the Japanese Mission to the Tomb of Amenhotep III.

foundation deposits (see Figure  7.2), and less frequently (until recently) middens and other settlement deposits. None of these types of remains have been consistently studied until relatively recently, although their presence has been noted by some of the earliest excavators. Indeed, formal archaeozoology—the study of animal bones from archaeological sites—is a relatively young field in the context of Egyptian archaeology. Archaeozoological remains consist not only of animal bones, but also of animal mummies (see Figure  7.3). Animals were mummified from the earliest periods of Egyptian history, with larger quan­tities occurring from the Late Period onwards. There are four kinds of animal mummies: pets, food/victual mummies, sacred animals, and votive ­offerings. The species range from beetles to bulls, with all types of mummification technology being used to preserve these creatures.7 The physical remains of animals provide a very real and concrete record of Egyptian fauna in multiple contexts, as well as elucidating aspects of the Egyptians’ relationships with the animal world.8 However, differential preservation, accidents of archaeology, and a var­ iety of recovery methods used by excavators all influence our perspectives on the fauna of 7 Lortet and Gaillard  1905–09; Daressy and Gaillard  1905; Armitage and Clutton-Brock  1981; Ikram 1995: Appendix 2; Ikram and Iskander 2002; Ikram 2005. 8  Boessneck 1988; Ikram et al. 2013.

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Figure 7.3  New Kingdom mummy of a pet baboon, imported from sub-Saharan Africa and buried in the Valley of the Kings (c.1500–1000 bc; Luxor Mummification Museum 39; JE38745). Photograph by author, courtesy of the Ministry of State for Antiquities and the Mummification Museum.

ancient Egypt. To some extent, travellers’ and early naturalists’ accounts help to flesh out the historical fauna of Egypt, and thus, by extrapolation, those of the pharaonic period.9

Brief history of Egyptian faunal studies The study of ancient Egyptian fauna has not only been of interest to Egyptologists, but also to naturalists who study the changing environment and document anatomical changes in animals. The majority of information about Egyptian fauna was initially derived from artistic representations. Thus, tomb art in particular formed the basis of both scholarly and more popular views of ancient Egypt’s environment. Animal mummies provided a more solid source of evidence for ancient Egyptian animals. Many mummified birds, crocodiles, 9  See, e.g., Herodotus [de Sélincourt]; Pliny [Rackham  1938–63]; Pococke  1743–45; Adams [1870] 2009; Alpin [1735] 1979; Blount 1636; Brown 1973.

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Ancient Egyptian fauna   155 cats, and dogs that were buried in the various necropoleis scattered throughout the Nile Valley were unwrapped and examined, not just out of curiosity, but also to learn about how they were mummified, as well as to establish the fauna present in the time of the pharaohs. Thus, mentions of mummified animals appear quite early in the literature.10 Indeed, the scientists who accompanied Napoleon Bonaparte to Egypt in 1798 collected several animal mummies, and unwrapped and examined them (beautifully illustrated in the Déscription de l’Égypte vol II pls: 51–5). These creatures formed part of the basis of the work of the noted zoologist Étienne Geoffroy St Hilaire, who accompanied Napoleon, as well as that of Georges Cuvier, in addition to being of interest to antiquarians. Interestingly, Geoffroy St Hilaire (1807) identified two types of Nile crocodiles based on skull morphology from mummified samples, an identification that did not meet with general acceptance until 2011, when Hekkala proved the existence of Crocodylus suchus using DNA.11 The Bulaq Museum (Cairo) had several animal mummies on display.12 One of the first mummies to be x-rayed was that of a cat, accomplished in 1896 by W. Koenig.13 Although most of the nineteenth century saw no systematic study of Egyptian fauna, there are many instances of excavators who, upon discovering animal mummies or bones, noted their existence, tried to make some kind of basic identification of the species, and sometimes attempted to explain their presence in that particular context. For example, when Giovanni Battista Belzoni (the much-criticized circus strongman-cum-engineer who turned Egyptologist) cleared the tomb of Seti I (KV 19) he records coming upon the remains of a bull in one of the chambers. Although he writes nothing else about this find, he at least records its presence.14 Not all excavators were equally interested in recording such mundane objects, thus funerary offerings as well as animal mummies were generally cursorily documented. Scientific interest in ancient Egyptian fauna began to burgeon in the 1880s, particularly under the aegis of Louis Lortet of the Faculty of Medicine at Lyons. Lortet wanted to compare the species of animals that used to live in Egypt with those that were then present, and to understand better the nature of the ancient Egyptians’ relationship with their en­vir­on­ ment. To do this, he proposed the establishment of a collection of ancient Egyptian fauna, to be divided between the Egyptian Museum in Cairo and the Natural History Museum in Lyons. Despite enthusiasm for the project and the availability of specimens, this did not come to fruition until 1901, with a room for the fauna and flora of ancient Egypt being established in the new museum (in what is now Tahrir Square) in 1902.15 Lortet was joined by his assistant Claude Gaillard, and together they published the earliest comprehensive study of animals in ancient Egypt, La Faune Momifiée de l’Ancienne Egypte,16 as well as a Catalogue Général volume on mummified fauna, written by Gaillard and Georges Daressy.17 The early part of the twentieth century saw a marked increase in publications related to Egyptian fauna. Naturalists such as John Anderson published zoological treatises concerning ancient Egypt (mammals and reptiles), with reference to ancient Egyptian fauna both as zooarchaeological remains and as ancient pictorial representations,18 while Nicoll devoted

10  Pearson 1805; Mariette 1856; 1857; 1880. 11 Hekkala 2011. 12  Ikram and Helmi 2002. 13 Koenig 1896. 14  Belzoni 2001; reprinted 2003. 15 Lortet 1902. 16  Lortet and Gaillard 1905–09. 17  Daressy and Gaillard 1905. 18  Anderson and de Winton 1902.

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156   SALIMA Ikram himself to birds.19 Fast on the heels of these came a similar work on fish, published by G.A. Boulenger,20 which influenced the 1923 work of Gaillard focusing on representations of fish in Egyptian tombs; Gaillard then went on to work on animals that had been present in Egypt in prehistoric times, including fossils as well as bones in his 1934 study. Ludwig/Louis Keimer, a student of the botanist and geographer Georg Schweinfurth, was greatly influenced by the work of naturalists working in Egypt, and after a brief stint at Lyons he moved to Egypt in 1927, studying Egyptian fauna and flora and publishing on them extensively.21 In 1930 an agricultural museum was founded in Cairo, located at Dokki. Keimer directed its historical section (Building 2) until 1937. This museum (now rehoused within the same complex) contains a significant collection of Egyptian fauna and flora from archaeological contexts, as well as modern comparative material. However, the increased interest in and knowledge of Egyptian fauna did not greatly influence the recording of animal bones from archaeological sites, unless entire animals were recovered. Excavators continued to make perfunctory references to animals that they unearthed, but little work was done to analyse the bones and to use them to recreate the ancient economy and culture. For the most part, Egyptologists continued to rely on artistic and textual sources for this information, although they did contextualize animals through habitat and habits. Studies on animals or groups of animals in ancient Egypt appeared,22 but frequently with minimal reference to the faunal record. There are many such excellent studies, including Gamer-Wallert on fish,23 Behrmann on hippopotami,24 Brunner-Traut on mongooses and shrews,25 Rommelaere on horses,26 and Malek on cats.27 With regard to the economy, the work of Ghoneim on animal husbandry should also be remembered.28 This slowly began to change under the leadership of Joachim Boessneck, who basically established archaeozoology in Egypt. His initial work on Egyptian domestic animals, Die Haustiere in Altägypten,29 led to an extensive study of animal bones from a myriad of sites in Egypt.30 After his death, his mantle was taken on by Angela von den Driesch, who has trained and guided a host of archaeozoologists who are working in Egypt now. The number of expeditions with archaeozoologists increased slightly in the 1980s, with significant contributions at several sites (particularly in the Sudan) being made by Achilles Gautier,31 Richard Redding,32 Howard Hecker,33 Wim Van Neer,34 and Louis Chaix.35 Although the number of archaeozoologists working on Egyptian material is still small, it is increasing steadily. Since the 1990s there has been a marked increase in archaeozoology in Egypt. Faunal specialists are now more commonly included as part of excavation teams, and their work is being integrated into the larger picture of ancient Egypt’s environment 19 Meinerzhagen 1930. 20 Boulenger 1907. 21  See van de Walle 1958 for a list of Keimer’s publications. 22  E.g. Brewer 1989; Epstein 1971. 23 Gamer-Wallert 1970. 24 Behrmann 1989. 25 Brunner-Traut 1965. 26 Rommelaere 1991. 27 Malek 1993. 28 Ghoneim 1977. 29 Boessneck 1953. 30  See, for instance, Boessneck 1976; 1981; 1987. 31  Gautier 1980; 2005a; 2005b; 2011; Gautier and Van Neer 2009. 32 Redding 1991; 1992; 2005; 2006a; 2006b; 2010. 33 Hecker 1984. 34 Van Neer  1997;  2010; Van Neer et al.  2014; Van Neer and Lentacker  1996; Van Neer and De Cupere 2013; Van Neer and Linseele 2008; 2009. 35 Chaix 1980; 1982; 1984; 1985; 1986a; 1986b; 1987; 1988a; 1988b; 1990; 1992; 1993a; 1993b; 1994a; 1994b; 1995a; 1995b; 1998a; 1998b; 1999; 2000a; 2000b; 2001; 2003; 2006; 2007; Chaix and Olive 1986; Chaix and Gratien 2002; Chaix and Grant 1987; 1992; Chaix and Queyrat 2003; Chaix et al. 1989.

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Ancient Egyptian fauna   157 and culture. Increasingly, studies concerning ancient Egyptian fauna strive to synthesize pictorial, textual, and archaeozoological material.36 Additionally, work on identifying ­animals in art and studying their depicted behaviour is enhancing our understanding of the interaction of the Egyptians and animals.37

Current archaeozoology: a combination of methods Archaeozoology is now much more integrated into the field of Egyptian archaeology, and comprises the traditional analysis of faunal assemblages, as well as using other analytical tools (CT scans, DNA analysis, isotope analysis, etc.) to extract more information from the data (Fig 7.4). Specialists are also working more closely with (or are also trained as) Egyptologists in order to obtain the maximum amount of data from texts, images, and the bones themselves.

Figure 7.4  CT-scanning of a monkey mummy at the Smithsonian Institution’s Museum of Natural History. Photograph by author, courtesy of Smithsonian Institution’s Museum of Natural History.

36 E.g. Boessneck  1988; Houlihan and Goodman  1986; Brewer and Friedman  1989; Ikram  1995; Dunand, Lichtenberg, and Charron 2005; Rice 2006. 37  Evans 2010.

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158   SALIMA Ikram On excavations, faunal remains are gathered by hand as well as through sieving. Flotation also yields more small bones, particularly those of fish that might otherwise never be noted in the archaeological record. Flotation tends to be used primarily at settlement sites, and most often in conjunction with archaeobotanical work (see Malleson, Chapter  6 of this volume). When working on faunal assemblages, specialists focus on the identification of species, anatomical elements, age at death, butchery marks, disease, sex, and the taphonomic history of the bone (e.g. gnawing, burning, root activity, erosion, and discoloration due to fungus). Most work is carried out in the field using publications and a comparative collection. The results of these studies provide information that allows ratios of different animals at a site to be compared, elucidating the role that each played in its economy, identifying different styles of animal husbandry, understanding how each species was exploited at the site, and obtaining some sense of social stratification based on meat consumption, as well as answering questions about the ancient climate, fauna, diet, veterinary practices, and cultural beliefs of the ancient Egyptians. The knowledge gained from the archaeozoological evidence can then be integrated with other Egyptological data to provide a more complete view of Egypt’s past. Work is also now being carried out to better understand the different forms of livestock management practised by the ancient Egyptians, and to note the challenges that they might have faced. Studies on enamel hypoplasia—a condition where tooth enamel does not form correctly or is damaged during its development due to trauma, malnutrition, weaning, or infections—are currently being carried out on assemblages in Egypt to better understand animal rearing practices and to plot climatic changes at selected sites.38 Isotope analysis is being pressed into use to recreate animals’ diet, and thus provide information about rearing and feeding them, as well as the ancient environment. DNA work is also contributing to the field in a variety of ways. The most significant is in the study of origins of domestic species.39 In addition to examining domestic species, ­scholars are also tracing the spread of animals and trying to track changes within species (see, e.g., Kurushima et al. and Ottoni et al. on cats,40 and various studies on ibises41) or document the spread of disease.42 There have also been attempts to identify or confirm the identities of previously proposed species, as is the case with Crocodylus suchus.43 Additionally, DNA can be used to identify leather and gut that have been used to make certain artefacts.44 Experimental archaeology is also working with DNA survival in animal mummies; for example, the DNA of modern mummified animals is being extracted and studied in order to plot deterioration over time, in tandem with a study on taphonomic influences on both the bodies and the DNA (Eklund 2007). Additionally, archaeozoologists are now increasingly pressed into service to identify ­artefacts made of animal parts. Thus, work is being carried out to differentiate between bone and ivory, the use of ostrich eggshells and feathers is being explored, amulets made of animal teeth are being studied in detail, and work is being carried out to distinguish between different types of fur, leather, and gut.45 38  E.g. Bertini 2011. 39  Blench and MacDonald 2000. 40  Kurushima et al. 2012; Ottoni et al. 2017. 41  Spigelman et al. 2008; Wasef et al. 2019. 43  Hekkala et al. 2011. 42  Goudsmit and Brandon-Jones 2000. 44  See Nougoue 2012 for an example of methodology. 45  E.g. Krzyszkowska 1990; Poplin 2006.

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Ancient Egyptian fauna   159

Current concerns and future work Many of the primary concerns of archaeobotanists are shared by archaeozoologists, especially in the case of excavation methods and sampling strategies (see Malleson, Chapter 6 in this volume), but archaeozoologists also have more specific interests. Although becoming increasingly common in Egyptian archaeology, archaeozoology is not always standard procedure as an integrated element of excavation strategy and teams. Improvements in the discipline can be made with the recovery of faunal remains by instituting more rigorous collection methods and increasing dialogue between the specialists and the archaeologists. One of the major concerns in archaeozoology in Egypt is the limited number of excavated settlement sites, in part due to the continued use of these sites through to the modern era. Additionally, when such sites are excavated, they do not always yield middens or other deposits with a significant amount of archaeozoological material. However, such excavations can yield valuable real information about what and how much people ate, practices of  animal husbandry, social stratification, etc, as can be seen from those sites already published.46 Hopefully this absence can be addressed in the future. Since Boessneck’s overview of Egyptian fauna47 there has been no broad survey of Egyptian animals that thoroughly integrates archaeozoological finds with more traditional Egyptological evidence. Houlihan provides a very solid overview of the different roles that animals played in ancient Egypt,48 but relies heavily on the textual and pictorial evidence rather than the archaeozoological. Although this type of volume would require a substantial amount of work, it would be invaluable to the field. Perhaps this is a direction that future scholars will pursue. Additionally, a digital database providing species lists, dates, and sites, together with relevant publication information would be of great service to the discipline.

Suggested Reading A myriad of site reports in monograph and article form provide lists (and in­ter­pret­ations) of Egyptian fauna. These are too numerous to list here, although a few appear in the bibliography as they are specifically referred to in the text. Publications relating to sites such as the Dakhla Oasis, Sais, the Workmen’s Town at Giza, Amarna, Berenike, Tell el-Borg, Tell el-Dab’a, Elephantine, Hierakonpolis, and Tuna el-Gebel all have archaeozoological components. The AERA website has regular faunal reports on material from the workers’ settlement at Giza (http://www.aeraweb.org), as does the Hierakonpolis website (http://www. hierakonpolis-online.org). Several articles by Louis Keimer are also helpful on the subject (see van de Walle 1958 for a complete list). See the general books on Egyptian fauna that

46 E.g. Hecker  1984; von den Driesch and Boessneck  1985; Redding  1992; Ikram  1995: 199–230; Boessneck, von den Driesch, and Ziegler 1989; Rossel 2007; Redding 2010; Ikram et al. 2013; Bertini and Ikram 2014; Linseele 2014. 47 Boessneck 1988. 48 Houlihan 1996.

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160   SALIMA Ikram provide a good starting point to its study, and which have good bibliographies, including the following: Boessneck, J. 1988. Die Tierwelt des Alten Ägypten. Munich: C.H. Beck. Dunand, F., Lichtenberg, R., and Charron, A. 2005. Des animaux et des hommes. Paris: Rocher. Houlihan, P. 1996. The Animal World of the Pharaohs. Cairo: American University in Cairo. Janssen, R. and Janssen, J. 1989. Egyptian Household Animals. Aylesbury: Shire. Lortet, C.  L. and Gaillard, C. 1905–1909. La faune momifiée de l’ancienne Egypte. Lyon: ­Archives du Muséum Histoire Naturelle de Lyon VIII: 2, IX: 2, X: 2.

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Ancient Egyptian fauna   161 Chaix, L. 1982. Seconde note sur la faune de Kerma (Soudan)—Campagnes 1981 et 1982, Genava, n.s., 30: 39–42. Chaix, L. 1984. Troisième note sur la faune de Kerma (Soudan)—Campagnes 1983 et 1984, Genava, n.s., 32: 31–4. Chaix, L. 1985. Quelques réflexions sur le bucrane, Cahiers du CEPOA 2: 33–8. Chaix, L. 1986a. Les troupeaux et les morts à Kerma (Soudan) (3000 à 1500 avant J.C.). In H. Duday and C. Massay (eds), Anthropologie physique et archéologie. Paris: CNRS, 297–304. Chaix, L. 1986b. Quatrième note sur la faune de Kerma (Soudan)—Campagnes 1985 et 1986, Genava, n.s., 34: 35–40. Chaix, L. 1987. Rapport préliminaire sur la faune du site de Kadrouka I, Soudan Nord (Néolithique et Protohistorique), Archéologie du Nil moyen 2: 61–2. Chaix, L. 1988a. Cinquième note sur la faune de Kerma (Soudan)—Campagnes 1987 et 1988, Genava, n.s., 36: 27–9. Chaix, L. 1988b. Le monde animal à Kerma (Soudan), Sahara 2: 77–84. Chaix, L. 1990. Le monde animal. In C. Bonnet (ed), Kerma, royaume de Nubie: l’antiquité africaine au temps des pharaons. Catalogue de l’exposition. (Musée d’Art et d’Histoire, Genève, juin-novembre 1990). Geneva: Mission archéologique de l’Université de Genève au Soudan, 108–13. Chaix, L. 1992. La faune des édifices napatéens à Kerma. In M.A. Salah el-Din (ed), L’agglomération napatéenne de Kerma. Enquête archéologique et ethnographique en milieu urbain. Paris: Recherche sur les Civilisations, 121–2. Chaix, L. 1993a. Les moutons décorés de Kerma (Soudan): problèmes d’interprétation, Memorie della Societa Italiana di Scienzie Naturali e del Museo Civico di Storia Naturale 26.2: 161–4. Chaix, L. 1993b. The Archaeozoology of Kerma (Sudan). In W.V. Davies and R. Walker (eds), Biological Anthropology and the Study of Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press, 175–85. Chaix, L. 1994a. Das Rind: eine wichtige und allgegenwärtige Komponente der Kerma-Kultur (N S­ udan, zwischen 3000–1500 v. Chr.), Forschungen und Berichte zur Vor-und frühgeschichte in Baden-Württemberg 53: 163–7. Chaix, L. 1994b. Nouvelles données de l’archéozoologie au nord du Soudan. In C. Berger, G. Clerc, and N. Grimal (eds), Hommages au Professeur J. Leclant, vol 2. Cairo: IFAO, 105–10. Chaix, L. 1995a. Kerma: sixième note sur la faune—Campagnes 1989–1995, Genava, n.s., 43: 53–7. Chaix, L. 1995b. La integracio dels animals en les practiques ludiques, magiques o religioses, Cota Zero 11: 81–8. Chaix, L. 1998a. Nouvelles données sur l’exploitation du monde animal au Soudan central et septentrional, Cahiers de Recherches de l’Institut de Papyrologie et Egyptologie de Lille 17: 79–84. Chaix, L. 1998b. Une tombe inhabituelle à Kerma, Soudan. In P. Antreiter, L. Bartosiewicz, E. Jerem, and W. Meid (eds), Man and the Animal World: Studies in Archaeozoology, Archaeology, Anthropology and Palaeolinguistics in Memoriam Sandor Bökönyi. Budapest: Archaeolingua, 147–55. Chaix, L. 1999. The Dogs from Kerma (Sudan) 2700 to 1500 BC. In C. Becker, H. Manhart, J. Peters, and J. Schibler (eds), Historia Animalium ex Ossibus. Beiträge zu Paläoanatomie, Archäologie, Ägyptologie, Ethnologie und Geschichte der Tiermedizin. Festschrift für Angela von den Driesch zum 65. Geburtstag. Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 109–26. Chaix, L. 2000a. La faune des peintures murales du temple K XI. In C. Bonnet (ed), Edifices et rites funéraires à Kerma. Paris: Errance, 163–74. Chaix, L. 2000b. Les animaux et les morts à Kerma (Soudan) entre 2500 et 1500 avant J.-C.  Faits ­archéologiques et interprétations, Colloques d’histoire des connaissances zoologiques 11: 15–39. Chaix, L. 2001. Animals as Symbols: The Bucrania of the Grave KN 24 (Kerma, Northern Sudan). In H.  Buitenhuis and W.  Prummel (eds), Animals and Man in the Past: Essays in Honour of Dr. A. T. Clason, Emeritus Professor of Archaeozoology Rijkuniversiteit Groningen, The Netherlands. Groningen: ARC, 364–70. Chaix, L. 2003. La découpe de l’agneau: un rite funéraire à Kerma (Soudan) vers 2000 av. J.-C., Revue Archéologique de Picardie 21: 219–24.

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Ancient Egyptian fauna   163 Ginsburg, L., Delibrias, G., Minault-Gout, A., Valladas, H., and Zivie, A. 1991. Sur l’origine égyptienne du chat domestique, Bulletin du Muséum d’Histoire Naturelle, series 4.13: 107–13. Goudsmit, J. and Brandon-Jones, D. 2000. Evidence from the Baboon Catacomb in North Saqqara for a West Mediterranean Monkey Trade Route to Ptolemaic Alexandria, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 86: 111–19. Hecker, H.M. 1984. Preliminary Report on the Faunal Remains from the Workmen’s Village. In B.J. Kemp (ed), Amarna Reports 1. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 154–64. Hekkala, E., Shirley, M.H., Amato, G., Austin, J.D., Charter, S., Thorbjarnarson, J., Vliet, K.A., Houck, M.L., Desalle, R., and Blum, M. J. 2011. An ancient Icon Reveals New Mysteries: Mummy DNA Resurrects a Cryptic Species Within the Nile Crocodile, Molecular Ecology 20.20: 4199–215. Herodotus 1954. The Histories, trans A. de Sélincourt. Middlesex: Penguin. Houlihan, P. and Goodman, S. 1986. The Birds of Ancient Egypt. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Ikram, S. 1995. Choice Cuts: Meat Production in Ancient Egypt. Leuven: Peeters. Ikram, S. (ed). 2005. Divine Creatures: Animal Mummies in Ancient Egypt. Cairo: American ­University in Cairo Press. Ikram, S. and Helmi, A. 2002. The History of the Animal Mummy Collection in the Egyptian M ­ useum, Cairo. In M. Eldamaty and M. Trad (eds), Egyptian Museum Collections Around the World. Cairo: SCA, 563–8. Ikram, S. and Iskander, N. 2002. Catalogue Général of the Egyptian Museum: Non-Human Remains. Cairo: SCA. Ikram, S., Nicholson, P. T., Bertini, L., and Hurley, D. 2013. Killing Man’s Best Friend?, Archaeological Review from Cambridge 28.2: 48–66. Koenig, W. 1896. Vierzehn photographien mit Roentgen-Strahlen. Leipzig: Johann Ambrosius Barth. Krzyszkowska, O. 1990. Ivory and Related Materials. London: Institute of Classical Studies. Kurushima, J. D., Ikram, S., Knudsen, J. Bleiberg, E., Grahn, R. A., and Lyons, L. A. 2012. Cats of the Pharaohs: Genetic Comparison of Egyptian Cat Mummies to their Feline Contemporaries, Journal of Archaeological Science 39/10: 3217–23. Linseele, V. 2014. Fish Remains from Neolithic Contexts. In P. Wilson, G. Gilbert, and G. Tassie (eds), Sais II: The Prehistoric Period. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 141–8. Lortet, C. L. 1902. Recherches sur les momies d’animaux, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 3: 15–21. Lortet, C.L. and Gaillard, C. 1905–09. La faune momifiée de l’ancienne Egypte et recherches anthropologiques. 2 vols. Lyons: H. Georg. Malek, J. 1993. The Cat in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Mariette, A. 1856. Memoire sur la mère d’Apis. Paris: J. de Baudry. Mariette, A. 1857. Le Sérapeum de Memphis découvert et décrit par Auguste Mariette. Paris: Gide. Mariette, A. 1880. Catalogue général des monuments d’Abydos. Wiesbaden: LTR, 1982 reprint. Meinerzhagen, R. 1930. Nicoll’s Birds of Egypt 1–2. London: Hugh Rees. Newberry, P.E. 1891. Beni Hasan II. London: EEF. Nougoue, A.R. 2012. DNA Barcoding as a Tool for the Identification of Illegally Traded Wildlife ­Products. Unpublished MSc thesis, Concordia University, Montreal. Available online at: . Osborn, D. and Helmy, I. 1980. The Contemporary Land Mammals of Egypt. Chicago: Field Museum of Natural History. Osborn, D. and Osbornova, J. 1998. The Mammals of Ancient Egypt. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Ottoni, C., W. Van Neer, B. De Cupere, J. Daligault, S. Guimaraes, J. Peters, N. Spassova, M. E. Prendergast, N. Boivin, A. Morales-Muniz, A. Balasescu, C. Becker, N. Benecke, A. Boroneant, H. Buitenhuis, J. Chahoud, A. Crowther, L. Llorente, N. Manaseryan, H. Monchot, V. Onar, M. Osypinska, O. Putelat, E. M. Q. Morales, J. Studer, U. Wierer, R. Decorte, T. Grange, and E.-M. Geigl. 2017. The Palaeogenetics of Cat Dispersal in the Ancient World. Nature Ecology and Evolution 1, 0139. Doi:10.1038/s41559-017-0139 Pearson, J. 1805. Some Account of Two Mummies of the Egyptian Ibis, One of Which Was in a ­Remarkably Perfect State, Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London 95: 264–71.

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164   SALIMA Ikram Pliny 1938–63. Natural History 1–10, trans H. Rackham. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Pococke, R. 1743–45. A Description of the East and Some Other Countries. London: Printed by the author. Poplin, F. 2006. L’ivoire de rhinocéros et les ivoires du Proche-Orient ancient, Comptes rendus de l’Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres 2006 fasc. II: 1119–30. Redding, R.W. 1991. The Role of the Pig in the Subsistence System of ancient Egypt: A Parable on the Potential of Faunal Data. In P. J. Crabtree and K. Ryan (eds), Animal Use and Culture Change, MASCA Research Papers in Science and Archaeology, supplement 8. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum, 21–30. Redding, R.W. 1992. Egyptian Old Kingdom Patterns of Animal Use and the Value of Faunal Data in Modeling Socioeconomic Systems, Paléorient 18.2: 99–107. Redding, R.W. 2005. Pyramids and Protein: Of Cattle, Sheep, Goats And Pigs, Aeragram. Available online at: . Redding, R.W. 2006a. The Faunal Remains from the Excavations of Main Street. In M. Lehner (ed), Giza Reports: The Giza Plateau Mapping Project, Vol. 1: Project History and Survey, Main Street, Gallery III.4, and Ceramics. Brighton, MA: AERA, 171–8. Redding, R.W. 2006b. The Faunal Remains from Gallery III.4. In M. Lehner (ed), Giza Reports: The Giza Plateau Mapping Project, Vol. 1: Project History and Survey, Main Street, Gallery III.4, and Ceramics. Brighton, MA: AERA, 263–9. Redding, R.W. 2010. Status and Diet at the Workers’ Town, Giza, Egypt. In D. Campana, P. Crabtree, S. D. de France, J. Lev-Tov, and A. Choyke (eds), Anthropological Approaches to Zooarchaeology. Oxford: Oxbow, 65–75. Rice, M. 2006. Swifter than the Arrow. London: I.B. Tauris. Rommelaere, C. 1991. Les chevaux du Nouvel Empire égyptien: Origines, races, harnachement. Brussels: Connaissance de l’Egypte ancienne. Rossel, S. 2007. The Development of Productive Subsistence Economies in the Nile Valley: Zooarchaeological Analysis at El-Mahâsna and South Abydos, Upper Egypt. Unpublished PhD thesis, Harvard University. Spigelman, M., Ikram, S., Taylor, J., Berger, L., Donoghue, H. D., and Lambert, D. M. 2008. Preliminary Genetic and Radiological Studies of Ibis Mummification in Egypt. In P. Atoche, C. Rodriguez Martin, and M. A. Rodriguez (eds), Proceedings of the Egyptian Mummy Congress, Tenerife, Spain, February 2007. Santa Cruz de Tenerife: Academia Canaria de la Historia, 545–52. Van de Walle, B. 1958. Nécrologie. Le Dr. Ludwig Keimer (1893–1957), Chronique d’Égypte 33: 74–78, 235. Van Neer, W. 1997. Archaeozoological Data on the Food Provisioning of Roman Settlements in the Eastern Desert of Egypt, ArchaeoZoologia 9: 137–54. Van Neer, W. 2010. Egyptian Longhorn Cattle from the Elite Cemetery at HK6: Not Just a Load of Old Bull, Nekhen News 22: 8–9. Van Neer, W. and De Cupere, B. 2013. Offering up the Very Young at HK6, Nekhen News 25: 9. Van Neer, W. and Lentacker, A. 1996. The Faunal Remains. In S.E. Sidebotham and W.Z. Wendrich (eds), Berenike ‘95. Preliminary Report of the Excavations at Berenike (Egyptian Red Sea Coast) and the Survey of the Eastern Desert. Leiden: CNWS, 337–55. Van Neer, W. and Linseele, V. 2008. More Animal Burials from the Élite Cemetery, Nekhen News 20: 12–13. Van Neer, W. and Linseele, V. 2009. Animal Hospital: Healed Animal Bones from HK6, Nekhen News 21: 11–12. Van Neer, W., Linseele, V., Friedman, R., and De Cupere, B. 2014. More Evidence for Cat Taming at the Predynastic Elite Cemetery of Hierakonpolis (Upper Egypt), Journal of Archaeological Science 45: 103–11. Von den Driesch, A. and Boessneck, J. 1985. Die Tierknochenfund aus der neolithischen Siedlung von Merimde-Benisalame am westlichen Nildelta. Munich: Institut für Paleoanatomie, Domestikationsforschung und Geschichte der Tiermedizin der Universität München und Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, Abteilung Kairo. Wasef, S., Huynen, L., Millar, C. D., Subramanian, S., Ikram, S., Holland, B., Willerslev, E., and Lambert, D. M. (2019). ‘ “Fishing” for Mitochondrial DNA in Egyptian Sacred Ibis Mummies’, S. Porcier, S. Ikram and S. Pasquali, eds. Creatures of Earth, Water, and Sky: Proceedings of the International Symposium of Animals in Ancient Egypt. Amsterdam: Sidestone. 331–39.

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chapter 8

The mi n er a l wor ld Studying landscapes of procurement Elizabeth Bloxam

Introduction The mineral resources of Egypt represent some of the most extensive and most sought-after raw materials in the world. Gold, copper, gemstones, and a range of high quality stones such as granites, porphyry, gneisses and sandstones are just some of the raw materials that have been procured over thousands of years, many into the present day. Travelling down the Nile Valley and into the Western and Eastern Deserts, the landscapes we see today have been largely shaped by procurement of minerals, often as far back as the early hominids of the Lower Palaeolithic. Yet, as landscapes that represent human endeavours to procure resources over such great time depths, their archaeological significance remains poorly understood. Therefore, procurement landscapes still reside on the fringes of Egyptological discourse, and they are usually only seen as relevant either to discussions about ‘technologies’ or to broader geoarchaeological/geological aspects of environment. Opportunities to place procurement landscapes into progressive agendas that are analysing social life and social change in ancient Egypt have missed the extent to which this type of archaeological site can contribute exceptional, often well-preserved evidence. Not only do these landscapes yield production areas (quarries, mines) but also ranges of other features such as roads, settlements, tools, epigraphic data, and often spectacular partly finished monumental objects, such as colossal statues or obelisks. We can therefore learn from this evidence about early subsistence practices, logistics, technological transmission, craft specialization, and the social organization of quarry and mining over time. The history of research of procurement landscapes is a fundamental aspect in terms of understanding why holistic, multi-disciplinary methods of documenting and interpreting procurement landscapes in Egypt remain in their infancy in comparison with similar research agendas in European, American, and Australian contexts. This chapter therefore aims to set out the research background of quarrying and mining studies, and its impact in terms of understanding the reasons why this type of archaeological landscape has been largely ignored in Egyptological studies.

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166   Elizabeth Bloxam The chapter opens with a background discussion of the earliest pioneers in the field of quarry and mine studies, and looks at the extent to which this underpinned a polarization of the discipline between geologists/archaeologists on the one hand, and philologists on the other. The chapter then goes on to discuss the limiting effect that this disciplinary polarization has had on our understanding of the social and technological context of quarrying and mining, and examines the ways in which current, holistic multi-disciplinary research is reshaping our view of raw material procurement over time in Egypt.

Researching procurement landscapes: a brief history The romance of Egypt’s desert landscapes was naturally a magnet for some of the earliest explorers of the nineteenth century, who were seeking to uncover their hidden treasures. This widespread exploration of Egypt was at a time when French, and then British, colonial rule allowed unfettered access to a wealth of previously unmapped desert regions along the Nile Valley and beyond. Napoleon’s savants, who produced the first records and maps of Egypt in the Description de l’Egypte (1809), were some of the first European explorers and scholars to record Egypt’s desert landscapes.1 Attention was of course primarily given to monumental architecture, although Edmé Jomard2 and François-Michel de Rozière3 were the first non-Egyptians to describe the more highly visible quarries in Aswan, such as the red granite quarries on the East Bank. Yet, the savants were unaware that these quarries in Aswan were just the ‘tip of the iceberg’ in what we now know to be one of the world’s earliest and most extensive ‘industrial landscapes’ relating to quarrying and mining (Figure 8.1). De Rozière4 was also the first European explorer to venture into the Eastern Desert and describe the greywacke quarrying region of the Wadi Hammamat, known as the Bekhenmountain. Although this was a region much more famous for its inscriptions than its quarries, de Rozière’s visit sparked interest in the wealth of textual information that could be found in these ‘remote’ desert landscapes. However, it was not until the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that quarries and mines began to feature a little more prominently in archaeological, geographical, and geological discourse as described by several scholars.5 Even so, all of these accounts were extremely generalized and split across disciplines with no coordinated research until the work of Reginald (Rex) Engelbach, George Murray, and Somers Clarke in the 1920s and 1930s.6 Engelbach was the first of these scholars to take a true interest in the technological aspects of quarrying red granite in the Aswan (granite/ granodiorite) quarries,7 as well as exploring bigger questions of construction methods and materials.8 Subsequently, Engelbach and Murray re-discovered the lost quarry landscape of Gebel el-Asr, otherwise known as the Chephren Diorite Quarries, where blue Chephren 1  Description de l’Egypte. Antiquités Descriptions I. 2  Jomard 1809: 78. 3  de Roziére 1809. 4  de Roziére 1813: 83–9. 5 de Morgan et al  1894; Ball  1939; Beadnell  1905; Petrie and Currelly  1906; Weigall  1909,  1910; Timme 1917; Hume 1934, 1937. 6  Engelbach 1922; 1923; 1933; 1938; Clarke and Englebach 1930; Murray 1939. 7 Engelbach 1922; 1923. 8  Clarke and Englebach 1930; see also Lucas 1934.

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Mediterranean

Quarry/mining landscape

0 Umm es-Sawan Widan el-Faras

Giza

100

200

KILOMETRES

CAIRO

SINAI

Memphis

Serabit elKhadim

Faiyum Region

N

Gebel Zeit Amarna EGYPT

Red Sea

Hatnub

El-Kharga Oasis

Abydos

Wadi Hammamat Quft

SAUDI ARABIA

QUSEIR

LUXOR

Sikait Zubara

Aswan West Bank (Gebel Gulab)

Aswan Granite Quarries Wadi el-Hudi

Gebel el-Asr (Chephren’s Quarry) Buhen

Abu Simbel NUBIA

Figure 8.1  Map showing procurement landscapes mentioned in the text.

gneiss was quarried to produce some of the most exquisite statues and stone vessels of the Early Dynastic and Old Kingdom (Figure 8.2).9 Gertrude Caton-Thompson and Elinor Gardner’s geological/archaeological expeditions in the Northern Faiyum in the 1930s similarly took more interest in the ways in which raw material procurement and technological innovation converged during the Old Kingdom explosion in monumental architecture.10 They examined several quarries in the Northern Faiyum, such as the basalt sources at Widan el-Faras, and the ancient Old Kingdom quarry 9  Englebach 1933: 65–80; 1938: 369–90; Murray 1939: 97–114. 10  Caton-Thompson and Gardner 1934.

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168   Elizabeth Bloxam Figure 8.2 Life-sized statue of Khafre produced from ‘Chephren gneiss’. Egyptian Museum, Cairo.

road that connected them with Lake Moeris.11 In addition, they produced the first detailed account of the Early Dynastic gypsum quarries at Umm es Sawan12 and were particularly interested in understanding the ways in which the explosion in production of these stone vessels, between the 1st and the 3rd Dynasties, was organized. Being under the assumption that most early scholars were that there had to be hundreds, even thousands, of people involved in these activities, they mistakenly interpreted a plateau of over 250 ‘hut circles’ above the gypsum quarries as the settlement (Figure 8.3).13 However, more recent survey and excavation of the whole procurement landscape of Umm es-Sawan revealed these to be silicified sandstone quarries for production of grinding stones, and that the settlement, such as it was, utilized natural rock shelters above the stone workshops, housing probably no more than twenty people.14 This misinterpretation of procurement landscapes revealed two important trends in the study of quarries and mines occurring in the early to mid-twentieth century: first, that stone circles in procurement landscape had to be automatically interpreted as settlements, and secondly, that textual sources (usually mentioning expedition forces into the thousands) 11  ibid: 132–8; see also Shafei 1960: 192–3; Harrell and Bown 1995; and Bloxam and Storemyr 2002: 29–30 re discussion of the ancient quarry road. 12  Caton-Thompson and Gardner 1934: 107–8. 13  ibid: 120–2. 14  Heldal et al 2009: 59–63.

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Figure 8.3  Stone circle plateau at Umm es-Sawan, Northern Faiyum prior to excavation.

should be taken to be literal explanations of practice. The work of French Egyptologists/ philologists Jules Couyat and Pierre Montet15 during the early twentieth century, in the Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarries, was, and remains, influential in terms of the ways in which these misconceptions took hold. As pioneers in translating this type of inscription, later followed by Georges Goyon16 in the 1940s and 1950s, their work had a profound impact on perceptions of the social organization of quarry and mining ex­ped­itions as largely stateorganized enterprises.17 Subject to most detailed study are those texts that give long hierarchical lists of expedition forces sent by the king, some supposedly numbering over 18,000 people (Figure 8.4).18 Although these seminal works have a secure place in terms of Egyptological study of expedition texts, these early philologists failed to take into account the full significance that location of textual evidence has in terms of understanding the social context of resource procurement over time. Goyon19 did make an attempt at contextualizing the main areas of inscriptions, and also rock art, into the Wadi Hammamat landscape, but he did not truly get 15  Couyat and Montet 1912. 16 Goyon 1949; 1957. 17  See Hikade 2006; Lloyd 2013: 361–82; 2014: 195–7; Seyfried 1981. 18  See Couyat and Montet 1912: 64–6, pl. xx CM87; Goyon 1957: 81–5, Figure 14, Simpson 1963: 24, 35, 38; Mueller  1975; Hikade  2001;  2006: 164–7. See also Baines  1988: 124–33; Eyre  2013: 249–354; Ross  2010; Shaw 2012: 31–8 for longer discussion of the importance lists as a genre in early writing associated with a rising literary/scribal class. 19 Goyon 1957.

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Figure 8.4  Inscription of the Middle Kingdom dating to Senusret 1 (G61, CM87) in the Wadi Hammamt greywacke quarries.

to grips with the key question of what the association might be between the social implications of quarrying and the inscribing of texts in specific places. Rather, interest was largely confined to ‘top down’ interpretation of the ‘monumental’ inscriptions in terms of emphasizing the extent of royal control over raw material procurement, that has subsequently been taken as a given.20 It was not until the 1980s and 1990s that a renewed interest was shown in quarrying and mining sites in Egypt. At a time when scientific approaches in archaeology and geoarchaeology were de rigueur, geological provenancing, description of sites and studies of ancient technology governed research agendas. Pioneers of this type of approach were geologists/ geoarchaeologists such as James Harrell21 and Dietrich and Rosemarie Klemm.22 These works added a substantial amount to our empirical knowledge of quarries and mines, and furthered quarry and mining research by paying particular attention to the geology, describing extraction technologies and archaeological infrastructure. During these mainly brief surveys, previously unknown places of quarrying and mining were discovered, therefore adding significantly to the inventory of such sites.23 Systematic archaeological survey and excavation of procurement landscapes by archaeologists was still an under-developed field of study until the work of Ian Shaw,24 David Peacock, 20  See Bloxam 2015: 790–1, 809–10 note 20 for a longer discussion. 21  Harrell 1989; 2002; Harrell and Brown 1994; 1995. 22  Klemm and Klemm 1993; 2008. 23 See James Harrell in particular at: http://www.eesscience.utoledo.edu/faculty/harrell/Egypt/ AGRG_Home.html. A further definitive listing of all known quarries (including their conservation status) can also be found in Harrell and Storemyr 2009. 24 Shaw 1986; 1987; 1994; 1998; 2002; 2010.

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The mineral world: landscapes of procurement   171 and Valerie Maxfield25 in the mid-1980s to mid-1990s, who were more interested in understanding the archaeological significance of quarry and mining sites as providing a rare window into the lives of the ‘non-elite’ in Egyptian society. Shaw26 in particular, through his study of pharaonic settlements in quarries and mines, provided a much fuller picture of the ways in which we interpret these features, and therefore significantly contributed to our understanding of ancient technology and the social context of procurement during the Bronze Age. His work at Hatnub27 near Tell el-Amarna, a major source of travertine procured from the early Dynastic onwards, as well as surveying the amethyst mines at Wadi el-Hudi,28 provided valuable foundations for the ways in which we survey these archaeological sites, particularly from the perspective of settlement architecture. Studies of mining sites have fared in a similar fashion in terms of their past study. The earliest investigations were much more focused towards studying gemstone and gold mining, than the procurement of other, less glamorous raw materials. Areas of the Eastern Desert that are rich in gold mines, such as Bir Umm Fawakhir in the Wadi Hammamat, and others in Lower and Upper Nubia have been documented.29 The Ptolemaic period ­emerald mines at Sikait Subara30 and the amethyst mines in Wadi el-Hudi31 are similarly well-documented, although in places such as Serabit el-Khadim, interest was much more focused on the Hathor Temple and the inscribed stelae than on the mines.32 As a consequence, given the destruction of many of these sites by modern mining, opportunities were largely missed with regard to not only examining early mining technology, but also to realizing the extent to which copper production was the key industry in the Sinai from prehistory, rather than gemstone mining.33 Materials such as copper, galena, iron, and other minerals have only recently foregrounded mining studies in Egypt.34

Landscape archaeology and the holistic study of procurement sites Despite the pioneering aspects of the research described above, inferences into the social context of mineral procurement in the past were, in numerous instances, just vague stabs in 25  Peacock and Maxfield 1997; Maxfield and Peacock 2001. 26  Shaw 1994: 108–19. 27  Shaw 1986: 189–212; 1987: 160–7; 2010. 28  Shaw and Jameson 1993: 81–97. 29  See Ogden 2000: 148–76 for more of an overview of metals in Egypt; Klemm and Klemm 2013 for gold mining, as well as Meyer  1995;  1997—see also University of Chicago website on the Bir Umm Fawakhir Project: https://oi.uchicago.edu/research/projects/bir-umm-fawakhir-project. 30  Shaw 1998: 242–58; 2002: 244–51; Shaw et al 1999: 203–15; Harrell 2006; Sidebotham et al 2004 and website http://www.egypt-archaeology.com/Sikait1e.html. 31  Shaw and Jameson  1993: 81–97; Liszka  2017a–c; for description of textual data see Fakhry  1952; Sadek 1980. 32  Petrie and Currelly 1906; Gardiner et al 1955; Valbelle and Bonnet 1996; Bonnet and Valbelle 1997: 82–9; Chartier-Raymond et al 1994: 31–77. 33  Beit Arieh 1980: 45–64; Beit Arieh et al 1978: 170–87; Giveon 1974: 100–8; Rothenberg 1987: 1–7. 34  For galena see Castel and Soukiassian 1989; Castel et al 1988; for recent survey of copper sources in the Eastern Desert and Sinai see Abdel-Motelib et al 2012: 3–59 and for general studies of mineral procurement in Egypt see Lucas  1934; Nicholson and Shaw  2000; Rademakers et al  2017 and for social aspects see Knapp et al 1998; Shaw 1998: 242–58; 2002: 244–51; Bloxam 2006: 277–303.

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172   Elizabeth Bloxam the dark. Rather than deploying rigorous archaeological and anthropological interpretative methods, explanations about the social aspects of resource procurement were often taken verbatim from the textual sources. In addition, with the separating of quarry (stone procurement) and mine (usually metals) studies between scholars, this had the effect of seeing these types of site as unconnected in terms of their archaeological context. In the late 1990s, archaeologists in Australia and Europe, particularly those working in production landscapes, pioneered a whole new approach to this type of archaeological setting. These new ideas abandoned the erroneous study of single-site and single-period examination of material culture and embraced holistic, multi-period, multi-disciplinary methods. The birth of ‘landscape archaeology’ was in essence about documenting archaeological sites not in isolation from each other, but as multiple layers of material culture spread across time and space.35 What this allows us to do is pinpoint, at a micro-level, where and when significant change might occur and then to place this within a broader historical context. In essence, this ‘bottom up’ approach, can give us significant insights into the ways in which macro-level social and cultural transformations impacted on the environment across time. Richard Bradley and Mark Edmonds were some of the first archaeologists to use these approaches during their pioneering work in the Neolithic greenstone axe quarries in Cumbria.36 What they were able to deduce from examining axe production within its broader landscape context, was the extent to which these quarries were central places for negotiating social relationships between people. Rather than taking the conventional viewpoint that all such activities, even in the Neolithic, are driven by purely ‘economic’ motives, they argued for greenstone axe quarrying being a central part of complex social interactions and extensive long-distance networks of communication that were integral to these early societies. 37

Practical and theoretical approaches to analysing procurement landscapes: new approaches and case studies Although still lagging behind studies of procurement landscapes in Europe, America, and Australia, holistic, multi-disciplinary ‘landscape’ research methods applied to Egyptian quarry and mining sites are now beginning to gain some traction. Landscape methods of documenting sites have been particularly pivotal in terms of cultural heritage management and the ways in which we can assign values to ranges of material culture that might otherwise be ignored (see Bloxam and Kelany, Chapter 11 of this volume).38 Consequently, as a further move away from seeing quarries and mines as unconnected isolated ‘sites’, we can gain significant insights by seeing these as ‘historic environments’ from which we can draw,

35  Ucko and Layton 1999; David and Thomas 2010. 36  Bradley and Edmonds 1993. 37  ibid: 96, 155–207. 38  Fairclough 2008; Mason 2008: 120.

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The mineral world: landscapes of procurement   173 comparatively and cross-culturally, on exceptionally rich practical and interpretative ­methods.39 The use of remote sensing using satellite imagery is becoming increasingly fashionable,40 although it should be noted that these have been used for decades as a tool to initially identify quarries and mines in Egypt. Pioneered by the work of James Harrell in the late 1980s, access to declassified CIA satellite images (although then at great cost), enabled him to map several previously unknown regions of quarrying and mining in Egypt.41 Today it is an altogether different story, with the advent of Google Earth and other free internet resources such as Landsat, Quickbird, IKONOS, and CORONA, access to this type of satellite ‘base map’ has revolutionized the ways in which we can survey archaeological landscapes. However, these do not stand alone, despite access to exceptionally high-resolution images. Even with the addition of aerial photography, and now use of drone technology, there still has to be  ‘on the ground’ survey to accurately characterize archaeological features and other material. Combining the use of satellite images with GPS/GIS mapping tools to pinpoint features within the landscape has made it possible to survey extensive landscapes. Therefore, as procurement landscapes and their material culture can sometimes be scattered across upwards of 100 km, it has been possible to survey these large areas with relatively small, multi-disciplinary teams.42 As a great deal of procurement material culture is often on the surface, and of course usually (advantageously) located within a desert environment, this non-intrusive survey method allows us flexibility to make an initial overall assessment of archaeological features. We can then more accurately map and target small areas where excavation might be valuable, for instance, to aid in dating and defining characteristics of features such as settlement areas. Several research projects that started in the early 2000s, including those in the Gebel el-Asr gneiss quarrying region in the Western Desert (also known as the Chephren Diorite Quarries, Chephren’s Quarry), and at the Widan el-Faras basalt quarries in the northern Faiyum, began to develop these survey methods.43 Then, during the ‘QuarryScapes Project’, it proved possible to enhance the multi-disciplinary aspect of this research into the pressing matter of conservation and management of these endangered landscapes.44 Funded by the European Union and co-directed by the present author, ‘QuarryScapes’ was the first multi-disciplinary research project of its kind that had matters of conservation and cultural heri­tage management at its heart. The pioneering aspects of the project were to adapt methods from Historic Landscape Characterization (HLC) and mould these into models applicable to procurement landscapes and their material culture. Thus, we were able to analyse the specific types of material that constitute procurement landscapes as ‘complexes’ of remains that can be connected to each other in a variety of ways across time, space, and/or function.45 39  Bloxam and Heldal 2008; Bloxam 2009: 165–83; 2011a: 149–66. 40  Parcak 2009; see Endangered Archaeology website: http://eamena.arch.ox.ac.uk/. 41  See Harrell website: http://www.eesscience.utoledo.edu/faculty/harrell/Egypt/AGRG_Home.html. 42  Heldal et al 2007: 90–112; 2009: 227–41. 43 Bloxam and Storemyr  2002: 23–36; Heldal et al  2009: 90–112; Shaw  2010: 293–312; Shaw and Bloxam 1999. 44  Abu Jaber et al 2009; Bloxam 2009: 165–83; see ‘QuarryScapes’ website: http://www.quarryscapes. no/index.php. 45  Bloxam and Heldal 2008: 118–33.

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174   Elizabeth Bloxam The material culture that can be encountered when surveying procurement landscapes varies enormously, but we can characterize this empirical data into four main categories to aid our analysis: (1) The Resource: the actual mineral deposit itself be that stone, gemstones, copper, gold, etc. (2) Production: tool marks, tools, spoil heaps, and object blanks (discarded products) and secondary resources brought into quarries from other sources, for example, prefabricated tools of non-local material. (3) Logistics: infrastructure laid down to remove products from the quarry and/or mine. (4) Social Infrastructure: the remains left by people who worked in the quarry/mine such as settlements, inscriptions, ceramics.46 The material culture of course does not arrange itself easily into these neat packages, but can be temporally diverse and strewn across a landscape in varying states of preservation. But when we apply the idea of material ‘complexes’ we can begin to make sense of these layered landscapes by analysing aspects of material culture within such categories, and by studying the ways in which they can be connected with each other into one historical epoch, or across several periods. This method allows us to get a grasp on the time   depth of transformations of the landscape and to pinpoint intensive periods of procurement within a known historical context. In essence, this allows us to explore the linkages between changes in procurement strategies and landscape transformation within broader aspects of social and cultural change. Below are two case studies that illustrate the deployment of these methods from two environmentally diverse procurement landscapes—in the Nile Valley at Aswan and in the central Eastern Desert region of the Wadi Hammamat—both of which are projects undertaken by myself, along with archaeological and geological colleagues.

The Aswan West Bank: deep histories Holistic study of several procurement landscapes undertaken during the ‘QuarryScapes’ project (2005–08) revealed that key stone resources usually have a deep history of ex­ploit­ ation.47 But why might this be significant to our understanding of the social context of long-term landscape transformation? The West Bank at Aswan, a rich source of high quality silicified sandstone (often termed ‘quartzite’), is possibly one of the best examples for examining this aspect and its impact on the environment over time (Figure 8.5). Multi-disciplinary survey, using the methods described earlier, revealed that procurement of silicified sandstone on the Aswan West Bank reached as far back as the early hominid tool makers of the Lower Palaeolithic and as recently as the present day.48 Characterizing and interpreting the landscape, outside of site and period specific constraints, also revealed the extent to which the more well-known monumental side of resource procurement here, 46  ibid; Heldal 2009: 125–53. 47  Bloxam et al 2007. 48  ibid; Heldal and Storemyr 2007: 72–7, 132–4; Bloxam and Heldal 2008: 127–9; Bloxam 2011b: 45.

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Figure 8.5  View towards the Aswan West Bank ancient quarry landscape.

dating to the early New Kingdom (18th Dynasty), was only a fraction of the picture. It was actually the abrasive properties of silicified sandstone that were the most sought-after attributes for domestic grinding tools, such as querns (Figure 8.6). We established that production of grinding stones represents an extraordinary 80 per cent of quarrying across the Aswan West Bank, making it therefore the major contributor in transforming the landscape over a period of 16,000 years from the Late Palaeolithic (18,400–18,100 BP) until the early Roman period (c.30 bc) (Figure 8.7).49 This discovery opened up a range of interpretative avenues from which we could connect early food production in the first Late Palaeolithic semi-permanent settled communities of the Wadi Kubbaniya,50 in the northern reaches of the procurement landscape, and its immediate environmental impact as far south as the Old Aswan Dam in the south. The key question to ask focused on understanding what insights can be drawn about long-term social relationships through this narrative of domestic grinding stone production? Examining the ‘grinding stone quarry complex’ as a whole, as we observed from production evidence and from the diagnostics of grinding stones, implied that methods used to produce these, especially secondary trimming and shaping, revealed little technological change over time (Figure  8.8).51 In terms of social infrastructure within this complex of 49  Heldal and Storemyr 2007: 72; Bloxam 2011b: 43–53. 50  Wendorf and Schild 1989; Roubet 1989: 427–73. 51  Heldal and Storemyr 2007: 98; Bloxam 2009: 172–5; 2011b: 46–8.

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Figure 8.6 Saddle quern (silicified sandstone) found in Old Kingdom settlement levels on Elephantine Island.

remains we have a scant, but complementary, suite of epigraphic data (rock art, graffiti dating from at least the fifth millennium bc), shelters, and a few ceramics (mostly connected with the later production phases in the New Kingdom) occurring in varying degrees across the landscape (Figures 8.9a, 8.9b).52 This continuity gives us the sense of the narrative of human engagement with the resources of the Aswan West Bank, particularly suggested by the placement of some of the earliest rock art close to these quarries. Connecting early food production in the first semipermanent settled communities of the Wadi Kubbaniya in the Late Palaeolithic, and its immediate environmental impact on the Aswan West Bank through production of domestic grinding equipment, is an enduring theme that may have significantly figured in the social construction of the landscape. As a setting for the generational handing down of stone-working traditions and knowledge through kin groups, this activity has left us with one of the world’s most extraordinary ‘industrial’ landscapes devoted to the production of grinding stones.53

52  Bloxam and Kelany 2007: 194–9, 203–6; El Senussi 2007: 254–75; Bloxam 2011b: 49–50. 53  Bloxam 2009: 172–5; 2011a: 156–63; 2011b: 49–51.

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Figure 8.7  Grinding stone quarries showing typical feature of sand-filled circles surrounded by spoil heaps. Aswan West Bank. Figure 8.8  Grinding stone rough-outs: (a) Late Palaeolithic; (b) New Kingdom; (c) Ptolemaic—Early Roman Period.

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Figure 8.9  a) Typical shelter showing low-level dry-stone walls butted up against a rock outcrop, inside fragments of pottery. Gebel Gulab, Aswan West Bank. b) Rock art of (possibly) Nubian A-group man (4th millennium bc) found close to Predynastic grinding stone quarries. Gebel es Sawan, Aswan West Bank.

The Wadi Hammamat: a landscape of contact Landscape approaches have also allowed us to completely review the ways in which procurement landscapes were potential places of contact between people. Therefore, creating social arenas that may have provided opportunities for the transmission of knowledge and technological know-how. Of all the mineral resources in the Wadi Hammamat region of the Eastern Desert apart from gold, greywacke was one of the most intensively exploited stones from as early as the fifth millennium bc.54 Greywacke was particularly prized for its aesthetic values, as demonstrated by the numerous exquisite ornamental objects that furnish most museum collections across the globe—the most famous being the Narmer Palette (Figure 8.10).55 Finding stone classifications in ancient written records is difficult, although there is a general consensus that greywacke was known as the bekhen (bḫn) stone, from at least the Middle Kingdom onwards, with the topographic term ‘the mountain of bekhen’ emerging by the New Kingdom.56 However, as greywacke is usually mis-classified as either schist, slate, siltstone, or basalt, past research has missed the extent to which the Wadi Hammamat was the main provenance for these objects. Greywacke objects found in burials and other elite contexts, as far afield as the Western Desert (close to the Libyan border) to Mesopotamia, indicate their widespread distribution.57 54  It should be noted that the ‘Wadi Hammamat Project’ also discovered copper mines in the region (dating to New Kingdom, Persian, and Ottoman periods)—see Bloxam et al 2014; Bloxam 2015: 793—a publication is in progress concerning a survey of the copper mines conducted by Ian Shaw and Elizabeth Bloxam. 55  Aston et al 2000: 57–8; Harrell 2002: 239; Klemm and Klemm 2008: 302. 56  Erman and Grapow 1926: 471; Shiah 1942: 199–205; Lucas and Rowe 1938: 155; Harris 1961: 78–82; see Harrell and Brown  1992: 91–2 and also for a description and interpretation of the ‘Turin Mining Papyrus’; see also Goyon 1949 on the Turin Papyrus. 57  See Trichet and Poupet  1974; Klemm and Klemm  2008: 302; Aston et al  2000: 58; Brown and Harrell 1991; Harrell 2002: 239; Wengrow et al 2014: 105–6; see Bloxam 2015: 795–6 and note 8 re possible distribution of greywacke products into Mesopotamia in the late fourth millennium bc.

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Figure 8.10  The Narmer Palette carved from Wadi Hammamat greywacke (height 63 cm) c. 3000 bc (Dynasty 0) found in the Main Deposit at Hierakonpolis.

Although it is well-known that the Wadi Hammamat was a major trade route from prehistory, connecting the Red Sea at Quseir with the Nile Valley at Quft, there has been a total underestimation of the extent to which the procurement of greywacke from here made it potentially a central place of local and regional contact (see Figure 8.1).58 Products made 58  Debono (1951) describes the prehistory of the Wadi Hammamat and investigated Predynastic settlements, burials and excavated a greywacke workshop at Bir Hammamat.

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180   Elizabeth Bloxam from greywacke span two major phases: from the fifth millennium bc for small objects such as palettes (including the Narmer Palette), bowls, and bracelets. Then, from the Old Kingdom to Late Period, for much larger objects such as sarcophagi, coffins, and statues.59 By deploying the holistic ‘landscape’ methods described earlier, ‘The Wadi Hammamat Project’60 has been investigating first the thorny question surrounding the role that the Egyptian ‘state’ may (or may not) have played in the procuring of greywacke; and secondly, the extent to which technological transmission was a product of local and regional contact through mobile craft specialists.61 These have been important questions to address because past enquiries have usually let the textual evidence provide the answer, thus leaving researchers with the erroneous impression that the role of the ‘state’ was all-encompassing. From our discovery of the earliest ‘Predynastic’ phases of quarrying for small objects, (the so-called ‘small block quarrying complex’), we were therefore able to study the extent to which the transformation to ‘dynastic’ production of larger objects (‘large block quarrying complex’) left any traceable transformations in stone-working methods (Figure 8.11).62 What emerged is a comparable situation to that described at the Aswan West Bank, in that we tend to see only minimal changes between production methods from the earliest phases of small block quarrying, to large block extraction. In essence, stone tools locally made from greywacke (shaped into chisels and wedges), and imported diorite (shaped into pounders and axes) are the most consistent implements found in both small block and large block quarries (Figures 8.12 and 8.13).63 In terms of changes to larger settlements with advent of large-block quarrying, we have so far little or no evidence of this until the Ptolemaic period.64 We can therefore make no correlation between the textual evidence, which suggests large influxes of people, particularly during the Middle Kingdom, and the archaeological record, which does not appear to indicate the presence of large groups at these times.65 There are only two significant innovations that occur with the advent of large-block extraction in the ‘Dynastic’ period. First is the use of fire-setting and wedging to extract and split greywacke, and second, the construction of more elaborate transport infrastructure, such as ramps, to move large objects out of the quarries (Figures  8.14 and  8.15).66 What might these innovations tell us about an expansion of local and regional contact and thus the role of the ‘state’? Logistics is a particularly important place to look, in terms of bringing people together, and it is in this aspect of the evidence that we can elaborate the range of contacts between local and regional groups as pivoting around new logistical transport-driven arrangements necessary to move bigger products out of the quarries. These broadening 59  Aston 1994: 28–32; Aston et al 2000, 57– 8; Harrell 2002: 239; Riemer et al 2009; Stevenson 2009; Ciałowicz 1991; Midant-Reynes 2000, 192–4; Klemm and Klemm 2008: 304. 60  The Wadi Hammamat Research Project is a multi-national, interdisciplinary cooperation between University College London and the SCA (Supreme Council of Antiquities) Ancient Quarries and Mines Department, Aswan, Egypt. We have been surveying the quarry landscape from the Bir Hammamat to the Wadi Masaq el-Baqar since 2010. See website www.wadi-hammamt-project.co.uk. 61  Bloxam et al 2014: 11–30; Bloxam 2015: 789–814; Bevan and Bloxam 2016: 68–93. 62  Bloxam et al 2014: 11–30. 63  ibid: 15–21; Bloxam 2015: 792–3, Table 1. 64  See Cuvigny 2003 for discussion of the Ptolemaic settlement; Zitterkopf and Sidebotham 1989 for discussion of the Roman Period influences along the Wadi Hammamat trade route 65  Bloxam 2015: 802–6, 809 see note 20. 66  Ibid: 792–3 Table 1, 798–802.

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Figure 8.11  Predynastic to Early Dynastic quarry pit (‘small block quarry’ for vessels, palettes, bracelets) looking south towards the main road, Bir Hammamat, central Wadi Hammamat.

Figure 8.12  Greywacke stone vessel rough-outs x 20 (Predynastic to Early Dynastic) found in quarry shown in Fig. 8.11, Bir Hammamat, central Wadi Hammamat.

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Figure 8.13  Greywacke chisels and rods in stages of manufacture located in Predynastic to Early Dynastic quarries at Bir Hammamat, central Wadi Hammamat.

connections could have been the stimulus through which knowledge-sharing could have occurred with people involved in other places of craft specialization (particularly monumental construction sites).67 Can we also make a linkage between these broadening contacts and the introduction of fire-setting? Although a technique largely overlooked by previous scholars, fire-setting was actually one of the most commonly used methods to quarry hard rocks such as granite, gneisses, and greywacke.68 Comparative research argues for the introduction of this extraction technique as being closely connected with the transformation to monumental construction during the Old Kingdom.69 We therefore need to consider the extent to which mobile groups of specialists, possibly connected through kin, transmitted this technique widely to other local groups procuring hard stone resources. 67  ibid: 802, 805–8; Bevan and Bloxam 2016: 80–3. 68  Heldal and Storemyr 2015; metal tools almost never occur in Egyptian quarries, and although there can be several reasons for this, such as re-use, we discovered in the Wadi Hammamat that wedging (to split large blocks, leaving the characteristic ‘u-shaped’ marks) was executed using greywacke wedges—see Bloxam 2015: 799 and 808–9 note 12 for more discussion. 69  See various discussions of this technique and its introduction in Heldal 2009: 136–42; Heldal and Storemyr 2007: 102–16, 2015; Heldal et al 2005: 15–21; Bloxam 2007: 23; Storemyr et al 2002; Darvill and Wainwright 2014: 1103–09. See also Lombard 2013: 382 on technological/engineering uses of fire on stone during the Middle Stone Age in Africa.

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Figure 8.14  Main area of ‘large block quarries’ at the Bekhen-mountain region of the central Wadi Hammamat showing area of Late-Period—Roman-Period settlement. Inset: evidence for fire-setting in the ‘large block quarries’ at the Bekhen-mountain- charcoal and greywacke fragments in thick ashy deposits.

If we then turn to the epigraphic data in its context, we can also gain some fresh insights. First, it is evident that the inscribing of names by far outweighs the number of ‘monumental inscriptions’, and secondly, it is clear that there is a clustering and layering of inscriptions over time in particular landscape ‘zones’ (Figure 8.16).70 Rather than the ‘royal’ and highly-crafted texts informing us about practice, the message they convey may be an altogether more subtle disclosure of connections and access to arenas of knowledge through which social identity was forged. State involvement in procurement strategies was therefore much more nuanced. Logistics and the process of gaining access to greywacke producers through engagement was structured around maintaining social relationships at the source, rather than through monopolization of the resource itself. Mediating these relationships over generations, through repeated and shared social practices at important places in the landscape, may have therefore created fruitful arenas of contact and the sharing of technological know-how between people.71 70  Bloxam 2015: 802–6. 71  Bevan and Bloxam 2016: 74–83; Bloxam 2015: 806–8. We might have the first written evidence of one individual overseer, not local to the Wadi Hammamat and possibly from a more central Nile Valley locale, travelling between two important Old Kingom quarries. The hieroglyphic inscription of his name identified him as an inspector of craftsmen named Tz (Tjesi)– possibly of the 3rd Dynasty. He inscribed his name both in the Chephren Quarries at Gebel el Asr (near Abu Simbel in Lower Nubia) and in the Wadi Hammamat, these places are over 500 kms apart. This connection came to light during a research visit to Yale University and discussions with Vincent Morel who helped in identifying this connection. We will be publishing a paper about this important discovery soon.

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Figure 8.15  Abandoned rough-out of a sarcophagus (probably Late Period) lying in the ‘largeblock quarries’ at the Bekhen-mountain. Inset: typical marks left from the ‘wedging’ technique to split large blocks. Central Wadi Hammamat.

Future directions: comparative archaeological approaches and local Egyptian initiatives It is still the case that Egyptology lags behind other areas of archaeology in terms of deploying the more rigorous comparative and cross-cultural methods needed to analyse the social context of procurement strategies. Although the adoption of ‘landscape’ survey methods is gaining more traction in current multi-disciplinary work, for instance at the Hatnub travertine quarries,72 the tendency still remains to adopt a ‘top down’ position in terms of extrapolating the social context. Comparative methods of analysis that apply ‘bottom up’ approaches to archaeological evidence, as discussed above in the case studies, are rarely incorporated into research agendas in Egyptology. In ‘world archaeology’ therefore, Australia, America, and Europe still lead the way in terms of driving the study of procurement landscapes in interesting 72  Enmarch 2015 and see ‘Hatnub Epigraphic Project’ website: https://www.liverpool.ac.uk/archaeologyclassics-and-egyptology/research/projects/hatnub/.

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Figure 8.16  Main area of inscriptions. Inset: G61 (Goyon 1957) Middle Kingdom (dating to reign of Senusret I, early 2nd millennium bc) list of personnel, location marked by a white rectangle on main photo, elevation approx. 15 metres above ground level.

new directions. Most prescient are the ways in which we understand these types of landscapes as inherently centres of social interaction, as well as settings for the exchange and transmission of technological expertise, that can be maintained across generations.73 Although studies of procurement landscapes are still a low priority in ‘western’ Egyptological research, increasing problems obtaining state security permits to work in Egypt has significantly added to the problem. Work in many archaeological landscapes outside of the Nile Valley and Delta have largely stalled because of the tightening of security measures since 2015—for instance, three years have now elapsed since we last worked in the Wadi Hammamat. Other missions working in procurement landscapes, such as the Liverpool University/French Institute project at the Hatnub travertine quarries, have faced similar problems (although more recently they have managed to gain access to the site). Because of these problems ­experienced by non-Egyptian teams, it is therefore the current work of Egyptian a­ rchaeologists themselves, particularly that of the SCA Ancient Quarries and Mines Department, that is providing the crucial continuity in terms of documenting and conserving procurement landscapes (see greater discussion of this in Kelany, Chapter 10 of this volume).74 73 See discussions of this in Bradley  2000; Bradley and Edmonds  1993; Brumm  2004;  2010; Cooney 1998; 1999; Edmonds 1995; 1999; Fullagar and Head 1999; Hamilton et al 2011; McBryde 1997; 2000; Taçon 1991; 1994. 74  Kelany et al 2007; 2009: 87–98; Kelany 2009: 547–65; 2012: 5–21; 2013: 19–21.

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186   Elizabeth Bloxam Concerned mainly with the Aswan region of quarries and mines, the SCA Ancient Quarries and Mines Department (based in Aswan and managed by Adel Kelany), has pursued a twofold agenda: first, to document procurement landscapes using landscape ­methods to add to the National Database of Quarries and Mines (created as a conservation tool during the ‘QuarryScapes’ Project),75 and secondly, to work with local contractors and other parties in the protection of these landscapes. Institutional support and collaboration with ‘foreign’ missions that can bring the necessary financial resources to our Egyptian colleagues is now where the future of procurement landscape research and conservation lies.

Suggested reading For more detailed information on the early pioneers who studied quarries and mines over the last century see Aston et al (2000). For a general overview of stone quarrying in Egypt, see Bloxam (2010) in the UCLA online Encyclopedia of Egyptology, and also the website of geologist James Harrell, which provides a great deal of geological/geoarchaeological information about quarries and more published work, http://www.eesscience.utoledo.edu/faculty/ harrell/Egypt/AGRG_Home.html. The ‘QuarryScapes’ website, http://www.quarryscapes.no, includes an online atlas of ancient quarries across the Eastern Mediterranean, plus a range of free downloadable reports from this research project, over and above those that are mentioned in the text. These include ‘QuarryScapes’ work in Turkey and Jordan. See Aston (1994); Aston et al (2000); Bloxam (2003a-b); Lehner (1997); and Verner (2002) for more comprehensive overview of hard and soft stone use for ornamental and building purposes during the pharaonic period. Stocks (2003); Arnold (1991); Lucas (1934); and Vandeput (1987–88) provide a great deal of information about stone-working technologies. In regard to quarry roads and other work concerning logistics, see Shaw (1986; 1987; 2013), particularly on investigations of the ancient quarry road that connects the Hatnub travertine quarries with the Nile. See also Storemyr et al (2013) on the quarry roads across the Aswan West Bank, and for more discussion of the logistics surrounding long-range stone transportation from quarries in the Old Kingdom see Bloxam (2000; 2003a; 2003b). Fleisher (2013) has an overview chapter in the Oxford Handbook of African Archaeology regarding the practice of landscape archaeology more generally in Africa (and see Chapter 11 in this volume for a broader discussion of risks to procurement landscapes and current status of managing these and other sites in regard to conservation measures, and relevant bibliography). For more analysis of what constitutes ‘monumental discourse’ see Assmann (1996: 63); Eyre (1996: 431); Parkinson (2002: 62). A more detailed discussion of textual evidence in relation to archaeological evidence in pharaonic period quarries is provided in  Bloxam  2015 and Bloxam et al 2009. See also Gasse  1987; Simpson (1959;  1963); and Enmarch (2011) for work on some of the Wadi Hammamat hieroglyphic inscriptions, as well as lexical notes on these, including records of building projects in the Middle Kingdom. Refer to Cruz-Uribe (2001) for his study of the demotic graffiti and inscriptions in the greywacke quarries. 75  See Shawarby et al 2009: 155–64.

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190   Elizabeth Bloxam Giveon, R. 1974. Investigations in the Egyptian Mining Centres in Sinai, Tel Aviv 1(3): 100–8. Hamilton, S., Seager Thomas, M., and Whitehouse, R. 2011. Say it with Stone: Constructing with Stones on Easter Island, World Archaeology 43(2): 167–90. Harrell, J. 1989. An Inventory of Ancient Egyptian Quarries, Newsletter of the American Research Center in Egypt 146: 1–7. Harrell, J. 2002. Pharaonic Stone Quarries in the Egyptian Deserts. In R. Friedman (ed), Egypt and Nubia: Gifts of the Desert. London: British Museum Press, 232–43. Harrell, J. 2006. Archaeological Geology of Wadi Sikait, PalArch’s Journal of Archaeology of Egypt/ Egyptology 4(1): 1–12. Harrell, J.A. and Brown, V.M. 1992. The Oldest Surviving Topographical Map from ancient Egypt (Turin Papyri 1879, 1899, and 1969), Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 39: 81–105. Harrell, J. and Brown, M. 1994. Chephren’s Quarry in the Nubian Desert of Egypt, Nubica 3(1): 43–57. Harrell, J.A. and Bown, T.M. 1995. An Old Kingdom Basalt Quarry at Widan el-Faras and the Quarry Road to Lake Moeris in the Faiyum, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 32: 71–91. Harrell, J.A. and Storemyr, P. 2009. Ancient Egyptian Quarries—An Illustrated Overview. In N.  Abu-Jaber, E.G.  Bloxam, P.  Degryse, and T.  Heldal (eds), QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean (Geological Survey of Norway Special Publication 12.) Trondheim: Geological Survey of Norway, 7–50. Harris, J.R. 1961: Lexicographical Studies in Ancient Egyptian Minerals. 54, Berlin: Veröffentlichung Deutsche Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, Institut für Orientforschung. Heldal, T. 2009. Constructing a Quarry Landscape from Empirical Data. General Perspectives and a Case Study at the Aswan West Bank, Egypt. In N. Abu-Jaber, E.G. Bloxam, P. Degryse, and T. Heldal (eds), QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean (Geological Survey of Norway Special Publication 12.) Trondheim: Geological Survey of Norway, 125–53. Heldal, T. and Storemyr, P. 2007. The Quarries at the Aswan West Bank. In E. Bloxam, T. Heldal, and P. Storemyr (eds), Characterisation of Complex Quarry Landscapes: An Example from the West Bank Quarries, Aswan. QuarryScapes report, Trondheim: Geological Survey of Norway, 69–140. http:// www.quarryscapes.no. Heldal, T. and Storemyr, P. 2015. Fire on the Rocks: Heat as an Agent in Ancient Egyptian Hard Stone Quarrying. In G. Lollino, A. Manconi, F. Guzzetti, M. Culshaw, P. Bobrowsky, and F. Luino (eds), Engineering Geology for Society and Territory 56 Vol 5. Switzerland: Springer International Publishing, 291–5. Heldal, T., Bloxam, E., Storemyr, P., and A. Kelany, 2005. The Geology and Archaeology of the Ancient Silicified Sandstone Quarries at Gebel Gulab and Gebel Tingar, Aswan, Egypt, Marmora: International Journal for Archaeology, History and Archaeometry of Marbles and Stones 1: 11–35. Heldal, T., Bloxam, E., and Storemyr, P. 2007. Unravelling Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean: Three Egyptian Case Studies. In B. Ooghe and G. Verhoeven (eds), Broadening Horizons: Multidisciplinary Approaches to Landscape Study. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 90–112. Heldal, T., Bloxam, E., Degryse, P., Storemyr, P., and Kelany, A. 2009. Gypsum Quarries in the Faiyum Quarry Landscape, Egypt: A Geo-archaeological Case Study. In N.  Abu-Jaber, E.G.  Bloxam, P.  Degryse, and T.  Heldal (eds), QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean. (Geological Survey of Norway Special Publication 12.) Trondheim: Geological Survey of Norway, 51–66. Hikade, T. 2001. Das Expeditionswesen im ägyptyschen Neuen Reich. Ein Beitrag zu Rohstoffbesorgung und Außenhandel. (Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte des Alten Ägypten 21.) Heidelberg: Orientverlag. Hikade, T. 2006. Expeditions to the Wadi Hammamat during the New Kingdom, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 92: 153–68. Hume, W.F. 1934. Geology of Egypt II: The Fundamental Precambrian Rocks of Egypt and the Sudan, 1: The Late Plutonic and Minor Intrusive Rocks. Cairo: Geological Survey of Egypt.

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The mineral world: landscapes of procurement   191 Hume, W.F. 1937. Geology of Egypt II: The Fundamental Precambrian Rocks of Egypt and the Sudan, 3: The Minerals of Economic Value. Cairo: Geological Survey of Egypt. Jomard  E. 1809. Description de Syène et des Cataractes. In Description de l’Egypte. Antiquités ­Descriptions I, 66ff (page numbers refer to the digital edition by Bibliotheca Alexandrina. Available at: http://descegy.bibalex.org). Kelany, A. 2009. Marks of the Quarry Workers at the Unfinished Obelisk Quarry, Aswan, Egypt: ­Preliminary Report. In P. Jockey (ed), Interdisciplinary Studies on Mediterranean Ancient Marbles and Stones. Proceedings of the VIIIth International Conference of the Association for the Study of Marble and other Stones used in Antiquity (ASMOSIA), Aix-en-Provence, 12–18 June 2006. Paris: Karthala, 547–65. Kelany, A. 2012. More Late Palaeolithic Rock Art at Wādi Abū Subeira, Upper Egypt. Bulletin des Musées royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 83: 5–21. Kelany A. 2013. The Archaeological Excavation and Survey at the Unfinished Obelisk and at Wadi Subyrh. In D. Raue, S. J.Seidlmayer, and P. Speiser (eds), The First Cataract: One region -Diverse Perspectives, MDAIK 36: 97–102, pl. 19–21. Kelany, A., Negem, M., Tohami, A., and Heldal, T. 2009. Granite Quarry Survey in the Aswan Region, Egypt: Shedding New Light on Ancient Quarrying. In N. Abu-Jaber, E.G. Bloxam, P. Degryse, and T.  Heldal (eds), QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean. (Geological Survey of Norway Special Publication 12.) Trondheim: Geological Survey of Norway, 87–98. Kelany, A. et al. 2007. Canal Extension Confirmed by Geophysical Survey, Aswan Obelisk Quarry. In El-Sayed A.A. Youssef (ed.), Proceedings of the Second International Conference on the Geology of Tethys. Cairo: Tethys Geological Society, Cairo University, 35–56. Klemm, D. and Klemm, R. 1993. Steine und Steinbrüche im alten Ägypten. Berlin: Springer-Verlag. Klemm, D. and Klemm, R. 2008. Stones and Quarries in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Klemm, R. and Klemm, D. 2013. Gold and Gold Mining in Ancient Egypt and Nubia: Geoarchaeology of the Ancient Gold Mining Sites in the Egyptian and Sudanese Eastern Deserts. Berlin: Springer. Knapp, A.B., Pigott, V.C., and Herbert, E.W. 1998. Social Approaches to an Industrial Past. London: Routledge. Lehner, M. 1997. The Complete Pyramids. London: Thames and Hudson. Liszka, K. 2017a. Egyptian or Nubian?: Settlement Architecture at Wadi el-Hudi, Wadi es-Sebua, and the Eastern Desert, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 103: 1–17. Liszka, K. 2017b. Site 4 at Wadi el-Hudi: A Lost Amethyst Mining Settlement, Egyptian Archaeology 51: 36–40. Liszka, K. 2017c. Salvaging and Protecting the Archaeology of Wadi el-Hudi, Eastern Desert, Bulletin of the American Research Center in Egypt 210: 16–21. Lloyd, A.B. 2013. Expeditions to the Wadi Hammamat: Context and Concept. In J.A. Hill, P. Jones, and A.J. Morales (eds), Experiencing Power, Generating Authority: Cosmos Politics, and the Ideology of Kingship in ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 361–82. Lloyd, A.B. 2014. Ancient Egypt: State and Society. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lombard, M. 2013. Hunter-gatherers in Southern Africa before 20,000 Years Ago. In P.  Mitchell and P. Lane (eds), The Oxford Handbook of African Archaeology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 367–86. Lucas, A. 1934. Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries. 2nd ed. London: Edward Arnold. Lucas, A. and Rowe, A. 1938. The ancient Egyptian Bekhen-stone, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 38: 127–56. Mason, R. 2008. Assessing Values in Conservation Planning: Methodological Issues and Choices. In G. Fairclough, R. Harrison, J.H. Jameson, Jnr, and J. Schofield (eds), The Heritage Reader. London: Routledge, 99–124. Maxfield, V. and Peacock, D. 2001. The Roman Imperial Quarries Survey and Excavation at Mons Porphyrites 1994–1998. Vol. I: Topography and Quarries, ed A. Leahy. (EES memoir 67.) London: Egypt Exploration Society.

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192   Elizabeth Bloxam McBryde, I. 1997. The Landscape is a Series of Stories. Grindstones, Quarries and Exchange in Aboriginal Australia: A Lake Eyre Case Study. In A. Ramos-Millán and M.A. Bustillo (eds), Siliceous Rocks and Culture. Granada: Editorial Universidad de Granada, 587–607. McBryde, I. 2000. Travellers in Storied Landscapes: A Case Study in Exchanges and Heritage, Aboriginal History 24: 152–74. Meyer, C. 1995. A Byzantine Gold-Mining Town in the Eastern Desert of Egypt: Bir Umm Fawakhir, 1992–1993, Journal of Roman Archaeology 8: 192–224. Meyer, C. 1997. Bir Umm Fawakhir: Insights into ancient Egyptian Mining. JOM: the Journal of Minerals, Metals and Materials Society 49: 64–7. Midant-Reynes, B. 2000. The Prehistory of Egypt: From the First Egyptians to the First Pharaohs. Oxford: Blackwell. Mueller, D. 1975. Some Remarks on Wage Rates in the Middle Kingdom, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 34: 249–63. Murray, G.W. 1939, The Road to Chephren’s Quarries, The Geographical Journal XCIV(2): 97–114. Nicholson, P. and Shaw, I. 2000 Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ogden, J. 2000. Metals. In P.T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 148–76. Parcak, S.H. 2009. Satellite Remote Sensing for Archaeology. Oxford: Routledge. Parkinson, R.B. 2002. Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt: A Dark Side to Perfection. (Athlone Publications in Egyptology and Ancient Near East Studies.) London: Continuum. Peacock, D. and Maxfield, V. 1997. Mons Claudianus Survey and Excavation 1987–1993. Vol. I. ­Topography and quarries. (Fouilles de l’IFAO 37.) Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie ­Orientale. Petrie, F. and Currelly, C. 1906. Researches in Sinai. London: John Murray. Rademakers, F.W., Rehren, T., and Pernicka, E. 2017. Copper for the Pharaoh: Identifying Multiple Metal Sources for Ramesses’ Workshops from Bronze and Crucible Remains, Journal of Archaeological Science 80: 50–73. Riemer, H., Kindermann, K, and Atallah, M. 2009. Die “Schminkpaletten” des 6. Jahrtausends v. Chr. Kulturbeziehungen zwischen Wüste. Ein Beitrag zu den prähistorische Zeit, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 65: 355–71. Ross, J.C. 2010. The Scribal Artefact: Technological Innovation in the Uruk Period. In S.R. Steadman and J.C.  Ross (eds), Agency and Identity in the Ancient Near East: New Paths Forward. London: Equinox Publishing, 80–98. Rothenberg, B. 1987. Pharaonic Copper Mines in South Sinai, Institute for Archaeo-Metallurgical Studies 10/11: 1–7. Roubet C. 1989. Report on Site E-82-1: A Workshop for the Manufacture of Grinding Stones at Wadi Kubbaniya. In F. Wendorf and R. Schild (eds), The Prehistory of Wadi Kubbaniya, Vols 2–3. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 589–608. Sadek, A. 1980. The Amethyst Mining Inscriptions of Wadi el-Hudi Part I and II. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Seyfried, K.J. 1981. Beiträge zu den Expeditionen des Mittleren Reiches in die Ost-Wüste. (Hildesheimer Ägyptologische Beiträge.) Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Shafei, A. 1960. Lake Moeris and Lahûn Mi-Wer and Ro-Hûn: The Great Nile Control Project Executed by the Ancient Egyptians, Bulletin Société de la Géographie D’Egypte 33: 187–217. Shaw, I. 1986. Survey at Hatnub. In Amarna Reports III, ed B. Kemp. London: EES Occasional Publication 4, 189–212. Shaw, I. 1987. Survey at Hatnub. In Amarna Reports Iv, ed B. Kemp. London: EES Occasional Publication 10, 160–7. Shaw, I. 1994. Pharaonic Quarrying and Mining: Settlement and Procurement in Egypt’s Marginal Regions, Antiquity 68: 108–19.

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The mineral world: landscapes of procurement   193 Shaw, I. 1998. Exploiting the Desert Frontier: The Logistics and Politics of Ancient Egyptian Mining Expeditions. In A.B. Knapp, V.C. Pigott, and E.W. Herbert (eds), Social Approaches to an Industrial Past: The Archaeology and Anthropology of Mining. London: Routledge, 242–58. Shaw, I. 2002. Life on the Edge: Gemstones, Politics and Stress in the Deserts of Egypt and Nubia. In R. Friedman (ed), Egypt and Nubia: Gifts of the Desert. London: The British Museum Press, 244–51. Shaw, I. 2010. Hatnub: Quarrying Travertine in ancient Egypt. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Shaw, I. 2012. Ancient Egyptian Technology and Innovation. London: Bloomsbury. Shaw, I. 2013. ‘We went forth to the desert land . . . ’: Retracing the Routes between the Nile Valley and the Hatnub Travertine Quarries. In F.  Förster and H.  Riemer (eds), Desert Road Archaeology in Ancient Egypt and Beyond. Cologne: Heinrich-Barth-Institut, 521–32. Shaw, I. and Bloxam, E. 1999. Survey and Excavation at the ancient Pharaonic Gneiss Quarrying Site of Gebel el Asr, Lower Nubia, Sudan Archaeological Research Society Bulletin 3: 13–20. Shaw, I. and Jameson, R. 1993. Amethyst Mining in the Eastern Desert: A Preliminary Survey at Wadi el-Hudi, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 79: 81–97. Shaw, I., Bunbury, J., and Jameson R. 1999. Emerald Mining in Roman and Byzantine Egypt, Journal of Roman Archaeology 12: 203–15. Shawarby, A., Fathy, E., Sadek, M., Amin, N., Yousri, R., and Kayser, S. 2009. National Inventory and Database of Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in Egypt. In N. Abu-Jaber, E.G. Bloxam, P. Degryse, and T. Heldal (eds), QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean. (Geological Survey of Norway Special Publication 12.) 155–64. Shiah, N. 1942. Some Remarks on the Bekhen-stone, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 41: 199–205. Sidebotham, S.E., Nouwens, H.M, Hense, A.M., and Harrell, J.A. 2004. Preliminary Report on Archaeological Fieldwork at Sikait (Eastern Desert of Egypt), and Environs: 2002–2003, Sahara 15: 7–30. Simpson, W.K. 1959. Historical and Lexical Notes on the New Series of Hammamat Inscriptions, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 18: 20–37. Simpson, W.K. 1963. Papyrus Reisner I. The Records of a Building Project in the Reign of Sesostris I. Boston, MA: Museum of Fine Arts. Stevenson, A. 2009. Social Relationships in Predynastic Burials, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 95: 175–92. Stocks, D. 2003. Experiments in Egyptian Archaeology: Stoneworking Technology in Ancient Egypt. London: Routledge. Storemyr, P. 2009. Prehistoric Geometric Rock Art Landscape by the First Nile Cataract, Archéo-Nil 19: 121–50. Storemyr, P. 2008. Prehistoric Geometric Rock Art at Gharb Aswan, Upper Egypt, Sahara 19: 61–76. Storemyr, P., Bloxam, E., Heldal, T., and Salem, A. 2002. Survey at Chephren’s Quarry, Gebel el-Asr, Lower Nubia. Sudan & Nubia Bulletin No 6: 25–9. Storemyr, P., Bloxam, E., Heldal, T., and Kelany, A. 2013. Ancient Desert and Quarry Roads on the West Bank of the Nile in the First Cataract Region. In F. Förster and H. Riemer (eds), Desert Road Archaeology in Ancient Egypt and Beyond. Cologne: Heinrich-Barth-Institut, 399–423. Taçon, P.S.C. 1991. The Power of Stone: Symbolic Aspects of Stone Use and Tool Development in Western Arnhem Land, Australia, Antiquity 65: 192–207. Taçon, P.S.C. 1994. Socialising Landscapes: The Long-term Implications of Signs, Symbols and Marks on the Land, Archaeology in Oceania 29: 117–29. Timme, P. 1917. Tell el Amarna von der deutschen Ausgrabung im Jahre 1911. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Trichet, J. and Poupet, P. 1974. Étude pétrographique de la roche constituant la statue de Darius découverte à Suse en décembre 1972, Cahiers de la Délégation Archéologique Française en Iran 4: 57–9. Ucko, P.J. and Layton, R. 1999. Archaeology and Anthropology of Landscape: Shaping your Landscape. London: Routledge.

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194   Elizabeth Bloxam Valbelle, D. and Bonnet, C. 1996. Le Sanctuaire d’Hathor, maîtresse de la Turquoise Sérabit el-Khadim au Moyen Empire. Paris: Picard Editeur. Verner, M. 2002. The Pyramids. London: Atlantic Books. Vandeput, L. 1987–88. Splitting Techniques in Quarries in the Eastern Mediterranean, Acta ­Archaeologica Lovaniensia 26–27: 81–107. Weigall, A. 1909. Travels in the Upper Egyptian Deserts. Edinburgh and London: William Blackwood & Sons. Weigall, A. 1910. A Guide to the Antiquities of Upper Egypt from Abydos to the Sudan Frontier. New York: Macmillan. Wendorf, F. and Schild, R. 1976. Prehistory of the Nile Valley. New York: Academic Press. Wendorf, F. and Schild, R. 1989. The Prehistory of Wadi Kubbaniya, Vols 2–3. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press. Wengrow, D., Dee, M., Foster, S., Stevenson, A., and Ramsey, C.B. 2014. Cultural Convergence in the Neolithic of the Nile Valley: A Prehistoric Perspective on Egypt’s Place in Africa, Antiquity 88(339): 95–111. Zitterkopf, R.E. and Sidebotham, S.E. 1989. Stations and Towers on the Quseir-Nile Road, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 75: 155–89.

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pa rt I I I

A RC H A E OL O GIC A L L A N DS C A PE S SU RV E Y I NG , C H A R AC T E R I Z I NG , A N D M A NAGI NG

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chapter 9

M a ppi ng a n d topogr a ph y David Jeffreys

Introduction: the history of mapping Egypt The past pattern of mapmaking in Egypt, from pharaonic times (second millennium bc) to the present is discussed in this chapter. It also considers the different aspects and techniques of mapping and its impact on archaeological research and exploration. Egypt has perhaps one of the longest and most fascinating associations with mapmaking. The Turin Papyrus map, dating to the mid- to late second millennium bc, which maps out a region of the Eastern Desert (Wadi Hammamat) is believed to be one of the earliest functional, geological/geographical maps known.1 Because of the proprietary uncertainties caused by the annual flood, there was almost certainly a constant awareness of the need for accurate land-ownership records. For example, several fiscal surveys survive from the pharaonic and later periods.2 Roman route maps such as the Peutinger map,3 whatever their original format, were converted into a form of visual reference in the European middle ages. Mosaic maps such as Madeba and Jerash in Jordan,4 as well as the Nilotic genre of mosaic and painted house decoration exemplified by the Palestrina and Zippori illustrations,5 also present a (highly schematized) Late Antique view of Egyptian topography and landscape. Arab geographers, such as Ibn Hawqal and Idrisi,6 produced two-dimensional images of the Nile Valley and Delta. However, the majority of the surviving map-like or panoramic highangle oblique views of the country, individual towns and cities, or the modern sense of maps, dates to the arrival of western (usually European) travellers in Egypt. From the fifteenth century onwards, often in the form of illustrative woodcuts such as those of Braun and Hogenberg from 1569,7 these were used to illustrate their various accounts of travelling through or living in Egypt. 1  Bradbury 1988; 1996; Harrell and Brown 1992. 2  Gardiner 1948; Déléage 1934. 3 Miller 1962. 4  Jacoby 1905; Crowfoot 1931: 24, pl. viiia; cf. pl. xii. 5  Meyboom 1995; Netzer and Weiss 1994. 6 Jaubert 1975. 7  Ghaleb 1951: 54, pl. xl; Klemp 1968: no 33.

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198   David Jeffreys While eighteenth-century maps such as those of d’Anville, Fourmont, Norden, and Pococke8 offer many useful topographical insights, the watershed event in the development of cartographic technique and accuracy was undoubtedly the French expedition to Egypt at the end of the century (Figure  9.1). For the first time an Atlas edition of the entire Nile Valley appeared, which despite some fundamental flaws,9 set the standard for all other maps through the nineteenth century. Mapmaking was at this time a means of reflecting increasing imperialist interest in, and appropriation of, the East generally and perhaps Egypt in particular. It is notable that cartographic improvements are frequently linked not just with technological changes in surveying methods worldwide, but also with progressive state control.10 This situation is reflected in the increasing involvement of the western imperialcolonial powers in the political trajectory of Ottoman Egypt, combined with the industrial revolution promoted by Mohammed Ali. Although industrial and multi-disciplinary archaeological practice was almost unknown at this time, there was a considerable influx of foreign engineers, architects, hydrologists, geologists, and other specialists coming to Egypt to work on archaeoligcal sites. The organization of several large archaeological recording expeditions, such as that of Karl Lepsius in the 1840s,11 led rapidly to the development and improvement in the technology and production of maps for a wide variety of industrial and cultural purposes. A boost to the formal mapping of the country came with the military intelligence required for the British blockade of Alexandria and invasion of Egypt in 1882 (eg the local coverage of Wadi Tumilat and Tell el Kebir, site of the famous battle), and the effective conversion of Egypt into an economic British-French protectorate. By the end of the century detailed cartography had become a direct function of government, with the first large-scale national maps being produced by the new Survey of Egypt office for the Department of Works of the Ministry of Finance. These maps were largely produced by veterans of the Survey of India under Henry Lyons,12 in advance of the construction of the first Aswan dam and the ­re-organization of Egypt’s irrigation infrastructure. This series led in the 1920s to perhaps the most widely used version—the Normal Topographical Series. Produced at a variety of scales, but best known for its 1:100,000, 1:50,000, and 1:25,000 sheets, these covered the Delta, the whole of the Nile Valley south to the border with Sudan, and much of the desert region to east and west. The British-administered Survey of Egypt (SoE), now renamed the Egyptian General Survey Authority (EGSA), the official national mapping agency which has produced all official cartography since before 1900, subsequently broadened its remit to include geological, quarrying and economic maps of the country as well as street maps of major towns (Figure 9.2). Its coverage of Cairo and Alexandria, for example, among other urban areas, are still vital sources for a reconstruction of social and environmental change during the twentieth century.13 The reconciliation of apparently incompatible old and new formats of these maps has recently been explored.14 The SoE began as a triangulation network with a baseline along the straight stretch of railway track between Cairo and Bedrashein, and also established a national grid coordinate reference system. These were based on a false origin in the 8  D’Anville 1766: 131; Fourmont 1755: pl. 1; Norden 1757; Pococke 1743: map opposite p 22. 9  Ball 1932. The level of the Mediterranean and Red Seas was also miscalculated, later delaying plans for the Suez Canal. 10  Kain and Baigent 1992. 11 Lepsius 1843. 12 Lyons 1908. 13  Ilbert 1996; Arnaud 1989. 14  Walker 1994; Martin 2002: [email protected].

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Mapping and topography   199

Figure 9.1  Description de l’Egypte map of the region south of Cairo, including the site of Memphis.

western desert that is still in use today, alongside and correlated with latitude and longitude. More recently global projection coordinates such as the Universal (Egyptian) Transverse Mercator (U/ETM) have been used, based on global datums such as Heyford 1909 and World Geographical System (WGS) 84. These remain the three most common reference systems for maps of Egypt, many current issues contain at least two of them, and some contain all three.

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200   David Jeffreys

Figure 9.2  Survey of Egypt map of central Memphis (Mit Rahina and Ptah temple; SoE MR ToP001).

Applying cartography to archaeological investigations The application of cartography to archaeology in Egypt has had a mixed history during the past 200 years. At certain times, notably in the 1920s and 1930s, the Survey of Egypt has adopted an inclusive policy towards archaeological interests (broadly in line with the policies of the Ordnance Survey’s mapping of archaeological sites in the UK). Surprisingly few archaeologists seem to have taken advantage of the availability of the wide range of map series at this time. Flinders Petrie, for example, promised a new archaeological map of the ruins of Memphis when he first started work there in 1906, and clearly had access to current government maps, but continued to make do with his own sketch version, adapted from Karl Lepsius’s map of 1843! Ironically, the best maps of Memphis at that time were those drawn by Joseph Hekekyan, a British-trained geologist-engineer, which were used to support his geoarchaeological investigation of the site in the 1850s. Although these were far superior to Lepsius’s map, they were never published and Petrie was apparently unaware of them.15 15 Jeffreys 2010.

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Mapping and topography   201 This reluctance to make use of existing map resources is surprising given that one series, the 1:2,500 government cadastral (fiscal) maps covering the valley and Delta floor and margins, has consistently formed the official documentary record and basis for land claims and protection of archaeological areas up to the present. This series, originally surveyed in the 1920s and sporadically updated and revised since then, records individual landholdings with their registered numbers and hod boundaries, as well as some altitude information. However, these are inadequate for effective monitoring and management of archaeological sites since it records established field patterns and boundaries, but not recent urban growth. The lack of interest among archaeologists may be due in part to the time-honoured concession system of licensing archaeological work, a modern version of the Ottoman (Turkish) tradition of the firman, whereby relatively small land parcels are normally involved in permits for archaeological survey, excavation or ‘clearance’. Official maps have therefore often been at scales too small to be useful, and archaeologists have been obliged to construct their own. This has tended to militate against useful survey archaeology, except in special circumstances such as those of the UNESCO Nubian survey in the 1950s and ’60s. It is still surprising however how little general use has been made in the past of government maps. For instance of Thebes, perhaps the most intensively explored archaeological locality in Egypt, which was well represented by official cartography with a topographical series at 1:1000.16 It has also meant that archaeologists have often been content to proceed with only local, ‘floating’ coordinate systems, or none at all. The recent surveys of the Valley of the Kings and Theban west bank used not a global or even a national coordinate system, but a local grid based on the east–west axis of the Amun-Ra temple at Karnak.17 It may seem strange that a national mapping framework has been so under-used over the last century, but it must be remembered that cartographic values for details such as triangulation points and for local altitude benchmarks have at times been difficult or impossible to obtain through official channels. The lack of accurate, rational geographical coordinates in the past has also perpetuated an inability to establish a workable Site and Monuments Record for Egypt. This has been accomplished (albeit at a very basic level) with the setting up of the Egyptian Antiquities Information System (EAIS), and its machinery rightly puts the onus and a requirement on individual fieldworkers to provide data. However, as already commented in Chapter 11, lack of external international funding led to the absorption of the EAIS into the larger Ministry of Antiquities, and is now known as the ‘GIS Center’. Since then it has faced a crippling lack of resources, both financial and human, to keep this project going. To what extent the system, if and when it can continue its objectives, will be able to be retrospective to include all past recorded fieldwork will obviously depend on resources and political will. But despite these recent negatives, it is clear that this was a major step in the creation of a truly effective site management system on a national scale.18 Following Egyptian independence in the 1940s, and particularly after the Suez crisis in the mid-1950s, the problem of general access to maps became more widely felt as foreigners were forbidden to acquire the latest editions, and were in any case banned from further work on existing or new sites. As a result of this most foreign archaeologists began instead 16  e.g. Survey of Egypt 1921–26. 18  See Chapter 11 in this volume.

17  Goodman 2000: 2, figs. 1, 2; 3.

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202   David Jeffreys to turn their attention to sites and regions elsewhere, some included in the newly established Nubian Survey ahead of the construction of the Aswan high dam. Although these restrictions have generally eased, from time to time there are still awkward exceptions. For example, some important sheets of the recent/current 1:50,000 topographical series (mainly desert regions and parts of the Cairo metropolitan area) are still available only through the office of military security which in practical terms means that they are unavailable to foreigners even though most became available during the 1990s. For the Cairo area, the photogrammetric map series produced in 1978 by the French Institut Géographique National for the Ministry of Housing/Environment19 was for many years unavailable to foreigners (Figure 9.3). Nearly thirty years later they are now a commonly used resource, although the air photographs used for the series are still not available. Even with full, substantial, or only partial availability of coverage, there is always the problem of precision and accuracy, usually depending on the date and origin of production of the maps in question. Recent attempts have been made to reconcile historical, recent, and contemporary map data, especially in urban settings, as at Alexandria,20 Memphis,21 and Cairo.22 Ironically, much of this officially restricted information is of course now freely available through satellite imagery, and notably from Google Earth which provides free, up-to-date and reasonably high-resolution imagery, with accurate global coordinates in both cartesian and rectangular formats.

Remote sensing Aerial photography, a vital technique in the recording and interpretation of archaeological sites, has also undergone similar fluctuations in terms of accessibility, although usually remaining more restricted than conventional maps. Most of the photography done by the RAF/Egyptian Air Force, and by individual aviators such as C.A. Sims, in the first half of the twentieth century, is still held in collections in the UK. These are often available on open access (as in the case of university library holdings),23 or, with a charge for printing and handling in the case of the full RAF archive. But more recent stock, whether military or commercial, is generally restricted, even when the maps that have photogrammetrically been produced from them (eg the 1978 series of Greater Cairo) can now be bought. The effectiveness and potential of recent air photography when made available is however clear. For example, from the recent Italian risk assessment map produced for the Saqqara plateau,24 which despite some anomalies of detail, is a potentially useful tool for the recording and monitoring of environmental threats to the archaeology of the plateau, including those caused by tourism and other forms of human-led factors. As noted above, the difficulties caused by such restrictions on access to information are today alleviated to some extent by free (or at least reasonably affordable) access to other 19  Ministère de l’Habitat et de la Reconstruction 1978. 20 Martin 2002. 21  Rebekah Miracle of AERA has been collecting and coordinating data, from Giza and Memphis respectively, into an integrated GIS system: for Memphis, see http://memphisegypt.org/research/ documenting-and-recording-memphis. 22 Walker 1994. 23  Kennedy 1980: 54–60. 24  Pisa 2003.

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Figure 9.3  Ministry of Housing map of the Saqqara plateau (MHR 20K N saq003).

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204   David Jeffreys

Figure 9.4  Landsat image of Cairo, 1978.

imaging systems. Most notable is satellite imagery, which is now available at a resolution that equals, and can even exceed, conventional air photography (Figure 9.4). For example the QuickBird (1-metre resolution) image of the Memphite necropolis from Abusir to Dahshur, recently issued by the Czech Institute of Archaeology25 and which, combined with global positioning systems, affords archaeologists a certain degree of independence from more conventional, government-controlled sources. Depending on requirements, many of these images are accessible on the internet, such as the 1-metre resolution IKONOS image of the Giza plateau captured in 1999,26 though normally without technical data. Others can be acquired through franchises and accredited agents or, like the imagery released by the Czech Institute, can be produced to order with repositioning of the satellite orbit path, although the cost of this is often prohibitive for archaeological projects. There are also now specialist web pages offering specific coverage of the Middle East (http://www.spaceimaging.me.com). Recent advances in remote sensing techniques to survey archaeological sites for the purposes of identifying features,27 down to mapping out zones of destruction and risk 25  Bárta et al 2003; Bárta and Bruna 2005; http://www.arup.cas.cz. 26 http://www.spaceimaging.com/gallery/other_images/pyramids. 27  James Harrell was one of the first to publish his use of satellite imagery to survey quarry and mining sites in the 1980s; see also Bloxam et al 2007; Parcak 2009.

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Mapping and topography   205 are now common.28 Use of satellite imagery as a base map, together with the advances made in use of GPS (Global Positioning System) hand-held devices and ARC GiS mapmaking software, has revolutionized archaeological surveying and mapping techniques (see Chapter 8). Therefore, there is no longer any reason not to be able to supply global coordinates for archaeological sites and even individual features—although this is now becoming a controversial matter given that publication of these can have a negative effect in terms of site destruction. Despite pioneering work on settlement recognition in Egypt, for example by soil phosphorus sampling in the early 1900s,29 and some pilot project work in using remote sensing,30 such techniques (mostly ground-based remote sensing) have become a commonly-used resource. The recovery of archaeological information can utilise a variety of survey methods— magnetometry, acoustic, thermal, and geoelectric (resistivity-meter) survey have been tried, often with spectacular results. For instance at Saqqara and Abusir,31 Buto,32 Piramesse-Qantir and Avaris-Tell Daba,33 Thebes,34 and Abydos35 among other sites. In these cases, the method can be used as a ready means of producing maps with minimum intervention and destruction of archaeological data.

The EES Survey of Memphis A good representative example of the various travails, challenges, and solutions involved in dealing with regional survey archaeology in Egypt at present may be seen in the experience of the Egypt Exploration Society’s Survey of Memphis. This project, which has run from the first field season in 1981 to the present publication phase, is one with which I am most familiar. At the beginning there was little cartography available for the site and region, other than historical maps and the official maps of the official Survey of Egypt. These included the coloured normal topographical series at various scales, and the black and white cadastral/ fiscal maps at a scale of 2:2500. These maps provided official boundaries and names of land parcels (ahwad or hods), but by the 1980s they were hopelessly out of date for information on recent development. At an early stage we were able to obtain the Government Department of Environment/Housing maps at a scale of 1:5000, limited to the Cairo area, which have since become the default resource for ourselves and colleagues (Figure 9.3). These black and white maps were produced photogrammetrically (by the French Institut Géographique National in 1978 from aerial photography by the Canadian survey company Kenting in 1977), and have the advantage of UTM coordinates, but the disadvantage of lacking ground markers or in fact any sort of ground truthing at all. Therefore, this data has had to be established by our own ground-based GPS and conformed to the map coordinates. A triangulation network at Saqqara was established by the University of Cairo in 1988 at the request of the then Egyptian antiquities authority, but credible values for the survey points were never delivered. Instead, distances were measured by the Memphis survey in 1989 and the subsequent GPS survey, carried out by Ian Mathieson for his National 28  See Storemyr et al 2007; and Endangered Archaeology website: http://eamena.arch.ox.ac.uk/. 29  Proudfoot 1976: 110. 30  Moussa and Dolphin 1977. 31  Mathieson 2004: 4–6; figures 3, 4; Bárta et al 2003. 32  Herbich and Hartung 2004. 33 Pusch 1999. 34  Sourouzian 2004: 232–4. 35  Harvey 2004: 5–6.

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206   David Jeffreys Museums of Scotland geophysical project as part of his magnetometer mapping of the Saqqara plateau. Over the intervening years the E(G)SA (Egyptian (General) Survey Authority) has published a new topographical series edition of coloured maps (by Finnmap and US survey agencies) which were for a short time available for sale to foreigners. However, the two sheets covering the Memphis region have always been withheld for security reasons, due to the existence of so many military installations in the area. Although not ground-truthed and by no means as detailed as the original series of the 1920s and 30s at the same scales, they are nevertheless valuable additions to the map collection. They have however been superseded in effect by newer technology, and in particular Google Earth, which provides regularly updated and georeferenced satellite imagery. The Memphis–Giza–Cairo region is always well covered (including those military camps) and has been particularly valuable for monitoring and assessing recent land use and loss of archaeological space and potential. As well as providing local detail in an ever-changing environment, this easy access to satellite imagery has also given us the base for a broader, smaller-scale computer-model reconstruction of the local behaviour of the Nile over millennia, brilliantly realized by Katy Lutley and Judith Bunbury.36 Importantly, the website also offers historical imagery which allows the user to track changes over time (and select the better examples for illustration). As at Avaris, early use from the 1980s of ground-based methods such as resistivity meter survey and sediment coring, used in combination, have been a valuable and cost-effective way of mapping buried deposits and features that avoids (or complements) larger-scale intrusive excavation.37

The problems and challenges of remote sensing Remotely sensed maps, once released, can have the ‘accidental’ or incidental effect of revealing archaeological features which then become a target for both illicit and formally approved excavation. Increasingly, remote sensing is being seen as a prerequisite to any kind of archaeological field project, despite the fact that favourable conditions are often not present on complex, deeply stratified, or deeply buried settlement sites. It is moreover a vital part of the armoury in the recording of rescue and salvage sites—in other words most settlements and other cultural landscapes across Egypt.38 Recourse to remote sensing, as part of a drive towards documentation on a national scale, may now become the norm, or at least a procedure followed routinely by most projects. Remote sensing, whether ground-based or aerial, in particular highlights a real conundrum for site recognition, recovery, and management in the Nile Valley. The traditional method of recording archaeological sites of all periods is based on the paper record of what is or was physically visible, either above ground or through intrusive excavation. Therefore, there is very little flexibility or capacity to accommodate archaeological data recovered from such new techniques that needs to be considered and included. This has in the past been 36  Bunbury and Lutley 2008. 37 Forstner-Müller 2009. 38  See Storemyr et al 2007 for use of satellite, aerial photography as an aid to map destruction of sites and to make a case for rescue survey.

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Mapping and topography   207 comparatively unimportant for liminal/marginal (or formerly marginal) desert/valley zones, typically but not always used for burial. Today, however, that is changing, with a rapid increase in raised desert-edge irrigation and agricultural development. Sites long thought to be comparatively safe, such as Amarna or Kellia, which are now directly threatened by lift-irrigation agriculture and others in more remote locations such as Toshka and the ‘New Valley’ (Kharga Oasis) where the more recent raising of Lake Nasser has changed the landscape.39 A similar situation is encountered along the Red Sea and Mediterranean coasts. It is particularly crucial for alluvial settlement archaeology in the Nile Valley and Delta where, astonishingly, exploration has historically barely begun and is urgently needed, and yet where conventional methods of investigation are often problematic. Of course we have to balance the needs of local people and necessary infrastructure improvements with the necessity to record archaeological sites for future generations. Therefore, the task is even more crucial to foster cooperation between local stakeholders, the antiquities authorities, and archaeological missions in the face of numerous risks from natural and man-made threats, such as a rising groundwater table and unchecked development projects.40 No case illustrates this more clearly than the New-Kingdom conurbation of Avaris-Piramesse (Tell Dab’a-Qantir), where barely one per cent of the ancient site is above present floodplain level and officially recognized, while the rest lies beneath land that is in private ownership, and is under cultivation or is currently being built over. Similarly, at the site of Memphis the central area of the iconic Ptah temple, being low-lying, was prime agricultural land and is in private ownership, unlike the surrounding higher ground. In the past twenty years this area has been almost entirely built over with no adequate record of its underlying archaeology. This may be a unique case where the most important settlement site nationally—the temple, hutkaptah, gives its name to the country (Aigyptos, Aegyptus)—has never been officially recognized or protected. Quite how these tensions between archaeological priorities and modern demographic necessity are to be resolved is far from clear. No real compromise has yet been reached between preservation in situ and preservation by record.

Topography All of the above techniques still have to be applied within a context of only partial site survival in the Nile Valley and Delta. The phenomenon of the annual inundation, and the drift of the course of the Nile eastwards or westwards across the floodplain, inevitably means that the full range of sites at different scales will not be present.41 Small, ephemeral, rural habitation sites may even have been intended to be abandoned as the floodwaters rose, and because of the annual practice of turning over the topsoil by hand after each flood deposition, few if any past field patterns can be expected. However, past and sometimes ancient field boundaries can be detected in the present distribution of plots and ‘basins’ (ahwad), and former channels of the river and its distributaries can survive in the modern landscape.42 39 Shaw and Heldal  2003; cf. http://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/Newsroom/NewImages/images. php3?img_id=4806. 40  See Chapters 11 and 12 in this volume for further perspectives on cultural heritage management. 41 Bunbury 2012. 42 Lyons 1908.

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208   David Jeffreys Stereotypical concepts of the earlier topography of the Nile Valley assumed by scholars in the past, and a general unwillingness to challenge them, have forced a rather uniformitarian view of the Egyptian environment and the human response to it in antiquity.43 The Nile, with all the settlement that depends on it, is often supposed to have been static, the climate unchanging, and the environment generally beneficent. Human activity is consequently viewed as being repetitive and predictable, rarely seeking to exploit resources on the Mesopotamian model based on a system of labour-intensive artificial canals and drains designed to harness both direct rainfall catchment and flood flow, or to institute artificial water-storage schemes. This may however underestimate the vulnerable nature of Egyptian agriculture with no known strategies in place to collect and conserve water, except in marginaldesert and full-desert/oasis areas44 the Egyptian agricultural economy was entirely dependent on the flood. This is of course apart from large low-desert wells at Amarna and Thebes (Deir el Medina), the qanat water storage systems at Kharga oasis, and artesian wells at Dakhla. In addition, any temporary lapse in the efficient practice of flood recession agriculture in more southerly parts of the country will have had an effect further north, as can be inferred from later (post-pharaonic) times.45 There has also been a tendency to compare the natural topography of the Nile Valley and Delta in antiquity with that of the present, and this too leads to distortions. For instance the idea that the valley floor, which was certainly lower in antiquity, must therefore have also been narrower since the contours of marginal strips and paleofans will have intruded further into the floodplain. The Delta coastline and distributary river system have changed out of all recognition in the past 3000 years.

The natural environment Over-familiarity with the map of Egypt has perhaps also tended to obscure the extraordinary, indeed almost unique, appearance of the natural environment of ancient Egyptian culture. Essentially a desert with a river running through it, the Egyptian economy and agricultural infrastructure was founded on ecological phenomena located far to the south, in the east African lakes and foothills providing water through the tributaries of the Atbara and the Blue and White Niles. The result is a ‘linear oasis’ which presents a distribution of settlement centres and satellites unlike anything else in the ancient or modern worlds. Cemeteries in antiquity, at least elite ones, were typically located on the margins of the Nile Valley, either on the low desert edges or cut into the steep or sheer faces of the bounding cliff line. The possibilities for settlement were (until the construction and raising of the first Aswan dam in the 1890s and 1900s, and even more significantly the Aswan high dam in the 1960s) limited to the same desert margins and other elevated areas, that is, river banks or (in the Delta) maritime or riverine sandbanks usually known as turtlebacks. For this reason, the examples of town planning and urban spread that are usually produced in the Egyptological literature are misleading. For instance, no alluvial pharaonic town is known to any extent in any detail, with the exception of Tell el-Dab’a/Qantir where important geophysical survey in recent years has demonstrated what can be recovered, given the right conditions. 43  Kubiak 1998; 2016; Bunbury 2012.

44 Attia 1953.

45  Borsch 2000.

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Mapping and topography   209 When considering the case of Egypt the lack of attention paid to settlement sites has also been responsible for some other commonly held misconceptions. The contrast with Mesopotamia, Anatolia, and the Levant is often remarked, to the extent of forcing a belief that Egypt has no ‘tell’ or ‘kom’ sites, in the sense of raised settlement platforms built by the accumulation of earlier collapsed construction and destruction deposits, refuse, and natural processes (alluvial silt and aeolian sand deposits). It is therefore incorrect to suggest that these do not exist in Egypt. Every modern town and village site of any duration displays this kind of aggradation, but in the case of abandoned ancient sites the effect of any prominent high ground is negated by the rise in the alluvial floodplain. The effect is particularly marked in the Delta where sites with a long history of occupation, such as Sheikh Ibrahim Awad inhabited from the Predynastic to at least the Middle Kingdom (3300–1600 bc), but probably not thereafter, are now virtually indistinguishable from the surrounding agricultural land. These are now marked only by citrus groves over the extra-fertile soil of the site.46 Similarly, the entire model for urban development has too often been predicated on the Levant/Mesopotamia examples, to the extent in the past of the famous, even notorious, suggestion that pharaonic Egypt was a ‘civilization without cities’.47 Although objections to this suggestion were raised at the time, and frequently since then, it remains a symptom both of our deep ignorance of settlement sites in Egypt as well as a reluctance to challenge conventional models.

Discussion Over the last ten years the Middle East and North Africa has experienced many important developments, many of them less than encouraging and even alarming, especially for its archaeology. In Egypt, by far the most important event that led to theft and destruction of some archaeological sites and storage magazines, was of course in the aftermath of the 2011 revolution. The damage involved obviously does not compare with the devastation wrought by military and quasi- or pseudo-military forces on archaeological sites in the Middle East during the Afghan, Iraqi, and Syrian wars, but still deserves mention here, if only because of its more low key media coverage. In the aftermath of the revolution, one inevitable effect, apart from the immediate destruction and targeted looting, has been the longer term uncontrolled expansion of residential and industrial building into what were assumed to be protected archaeological sites. At Memphis (the site that I personally am most familiar with), this has increased significantly over the (previously protected) archaeological zone. This has happened not only in the low-lying ground of the Ptah temple enclosure (which has always been privately owned agricultural land), but now also on the higher land that surrounds it, with its better preserved levels of human stratigraphy. The need for more investigative archaeological work here, or at least a close watching brief on building development, and possible archaeological data recovery, through continuous mapping is now pressing. The low staffing levels and systemic problems linked to poor resourcing of the office of antiquities and changing directors has constrained the dialogues 46  Edwin van den Brink, personal communication.

47 Wilson 1960.

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210   David Jeffreys that need to happen, between all the various stakeholders, if we are to formulate any kind of strategy to address the needs of this internationally important site. Although theoretically Memphis and its cemeteries are a world heritage site, the vast majority of any funding invariably goes to the high profile necropolis sites such as Saqqara, not the city itself. Memphis is not alone, major settlements throughout the Nile Valley and Delta have been, and still are, woefully neglected.

Suggested reading Good illustrative maps can be found throughout the Egyptological literature, notably in The Cultural Atlas of ancient Egypt (Baines and Malek, various reprints), while imaginative landscape reconstructions are found in the three volumes of L’Egypte restituée (Aufrère and Golvin 2014). The following map sheets are variously available, singly or in bound volumes, and are suggested here as samples for comparison. Not all series feature all three of the main sets of global or national coordinates (Latitude/Longitude, UTM, SoE). For the period up to 1900, the following are available: Fourmont; d’Anville; Description de l’Egypte (see Figure 9.1) in three sections: Antiquités; Etat moderne; Atlas (original mapping 1799–1801); Lepsius, Denkmaeler. Many of the pre-1900 mapsheets concentrate on the Cairo area. For the early twentieth century, there are the following mapsheets: the cadastral/fiscal series (see Figure 9.2) at a scale of 1:2,500 (maslahat al misaha al masriya, Egyptian Survey Service; 1920s to present, but some revisions are now very outdated); Survey of Egypt normal topographical series (in colour; various scales). For the period from the 1930s to the present, there are the following mapsheets: Ministère de l’Habitat et de la Reconstruction (wazarat al askan w’al ta’mir) (at 1:5,000, Cairo region only (see Figure 9.3), mapped photogrammetrically by French consortium SFS/IGN (Institut Géographique National) in 1978 from air photography 1977; EGSMA topographical series (in colour), Nile Delta and Valley produced by Finnmap and US agencies for the Egyptian General Survey Authority (ha’iat al misḥ al ‘ama al masriya); USA tactical pilotage charts (TPCs) at 1:500,000. Some of these post-1900 mapsheets are only available inside Egypt, and may be of limited access. One issue of the EES Egyptian Archaeology (41 for autumn 2012) bulletin was largely devoted to landscape archaeology in Egypt; some of the short articles are listed below.

Bibliography D’Anville, J.B. 1766. Mémoires sur l’Égypte ancienne et moderne. Paris: Imprimerie royale. Arnaud, J.-L. 1989. Cartographie de l’Égypte. Cairo: CEDEJ. Attia, M.I. 1953. Ground Water in Egypt, Bulletin de la Société Géographique d’Egypte 26: 207–25. Aufrère, S.H. and Golvin, J.C. 2014. L’Egypte restituée. 3 vols. Paris: Editions Errance. Baines, J. and Malek, J. 1980. Atlas of ancient Egypt. Oxford: Phaidon (Subsequently reissued unrevised as Cultural Atlas of ancient Egypt). Ball, J. 1932. The ‘Description de l’Égypte’ and the Course of the Nile between Isna and Girga, Bulletin de l’Institut d’Égypte 14: 127–39.

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Mapping and topography   211 Ball, J. 1939. Contributions to the Geography of Egypt. Cairo: Ministry of Finance, Survey and Mines Department. Ball, J. 1942. Egypt in the Classical Geographers. Cairo-Bulaq: Government Press. Barta, M., Bruna, V., and Krivánek, R. 2003. Research at South Abusir in 2001–2002—Methods and Results, Památky Archeologické 94: 49–82. Bárta, M. and Bruna, V. 2005. Satellite Imaging in the Pyramid Fields. Egyptian Archaeology 26: 3–6. Bloxam, E., Heldal, T., and Storemyr, P. (eds). 2007. Characterisation of Complex Quarry Landscapes: An Example from the West Bank Quarries, Aswan. (QuarryScapes report) Trondheim: Geological Survey of Norway. Available at: http://www.quarryscapes.no. Borsch, S.J. 2000. Nile Floods and the Irrigation System in Fifteenth-century Egypt, Mamluk Studies Review 4: 131–45. Bradbury, L. 1988. Reflections on Traveling to ‘God’s Land’ and Punt in the Middle Kingdom, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 25: 127–56. Bradbury, L. 1996. Kpn-boats, Punt Trade, and a Lost Emporium, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 33: 37­–60. Buhl, M.-L. 1993. Les dessins archéologiques et topographiques de l’Égypte ancienne faits par F. L. Norden 1737–1738. Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Danske Videnskabernes Selskab, commissionaire Munksgaard. Bunbury, J. M. and Lutley, K. 2008. The Nile on the Move, Egyptian Archaeology 32: 3–5. Bunbury, J. 2012. The Mobile Nile, Egyptian Archaeology 41: 15–17. Craig, J.I. 1910. The Theory of Map-projections, with Special Reference to the Projections Used in the Survey Department. Cairo: National Printing Department. Crowfoot, J.W. 1931. Churches at Jerash. A Preliminary Report of the Joint Yale-British School Expeditions to Jerash, 1928–1930. London: British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem. Dawson, E.M. and Sheppard, V.L.O. 1946. The Cadastral Survey of Egypt, 1879–1907, Empire Survey Review 8: 162–75. Déléage, A. 1934. Les cadastres antiques jusqu’à Dioclétian, Études Papyrologiques 2: 73–228. Forstner-Müller, I. 2009. Providing a Map of Avaris, Egyptian Archaeology 34: 10–13. Fourmont, C.L. 1755. Description historique et géographique des plaines d’Héliopolis et de Memphis. Paris: Briasson; DuChesne. Gardiner, A.H. 1948. The Wilbour Papyrus. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ghaleb, K.A. 1951. Le mikyas ou nilomètre de l’île de Rodah. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Goodman, D.A. 2000. Methods of Topographic Survey. In K.R. Weeks (ed), Atlas of the Valley of the Kings. Cairo: American University in Cairo, (text) 2–4. Graham, A. 2012. Investigating the Theban West Bank Floodplain, Egyptian Archaeology 41: 21–4. Harrell, J.A and Brown, V.M. 1992. The Oldest Surviving Topographical Map from ancient Egypt (Turin Papyri 1879, 1899, and 1969), Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 29: 81–106. Harvey, S. 2004. New Evidence at Abydos for Ahmose’s Funerary Cult, Egyptian Archaeology 24: 3–6. Herbich, T. 2012. Geophysical Methods and Landscape Archaeology, Egyptian Archaeology 41: 11–14. Herbich, T. and Hartung, U. 2004. Geophysical Investigations at Buto, Egyptian Archaeology 24: 14–17. Holz, R. K., Stieglitz, D., Hansen, D. P, and Ochsenschlager, E. 1980. Mendes I. Cairo: American Research Center in Egypt. Ilbert, R. 1996. Alexandrie, 1830–1930: histoire d’une communauté citadine. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale au Caire. Iliffe, J. 2000. Datums and Map Projections for Remote Sensing, GIS, and Surveying. Boca Raton (etc): Whittles. Jacoby, A. 1905. Das geographische Mosaik von Madaba. Die älteste Karte des Heiligen Landes. Leipzig: Dieterich’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Jaubert, P.-A. 1975. La Géographie d’Edrisi: kitab nuzhat al-mushtaq fi ishtiraq al-’afaq (kitab rujar). Amsterdam: Philo.

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212   David Jeffreys Jeffreys, D. 2010. The Hekekyan Papers and other sources for the Survey of Memphis (Survey of Memphis VII). London: Egypt Exploration Society. Jeffreys, D. 2012. Egyptian Landscapes and Environmental Archaeology, Egyptian Archaeology 41: 8–10. Jeffreys, D. and Bunbury, J. 2011. Real and literary Landscapes in ancient Egypt, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 21: 65–76. Kain, R. P. J. and Baigent, E. 1992. The Cadastral Map in the Service of the State: A History of Property Mapping. Chicago and London: University of Chicago. Kamal, Y. 1926–51. Monumenta cartographica Aethiopi et Aegypti. Cairo. Kennedy, D.L. 1980. An Aerial Photographic Archive for Archaeology in the Middle East, Aerial Archaeology 6: 54–60. Klemp, E. 1968. Africa on Maps Dating from the Twelfth to the Eighteenth Century. Leipzig: Edition Leipzig. Kubiak, W. 2016. Al–Fustat: Its Foundation and Early Urban Development. Cairo: AUC. Kubiak, W. 1998. The Nile in the Urban Region of Cairo: Its Course Changes and Land Formation During the First Millennium of Islam, Africana B 46: 23–40. Lepsius, K.R. 1843. Denkmaeler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien. Berlin: Nicolaische Buchhandlung. Lyons, H.G. 1908. The Cadastral Survey of Egypt 1892–1907. Cairo: maslahat al-misaha (Survey Service). Martin, N. 2002. A Permanent GPS Station at Alexandria, Egyptian Archaeology 21: 25–6. Mathieson, I.J. et al. 2004. Saqqara Geophysical Survey Project 2003. Unpublished: Glasgow Museums. Meyboom, P.G.P. 1995. The Nile Mosaic of Palestrina: Early Evidence of Egyptian Religion in Italy. Leiden: Brill. Miller, K. 1962. Die Peutingersche Tafel. Stuttgart: F.A.Brockhaus. Ministère de l’habitat et de la Reconstruction (Wazarat Al-Askan W’al-Ta’mir). 1978. Map series at 1:5,000 (Greater Cairo area) sheets E3-L29. Moussa, A.  H. and Dolphin, L.T. 1977. Applications of Modern Sensing Techniques to Egyptology. Menlo Park: SRI International. Netzer, E. and Weiss, Z. 1994. Zippori. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Norden, F.L. 1757. Travels in Egypt and Nubia. London: Lockyer Davis and Charles Reymers. Parcak, S.H. 2009. Satellite Remote Sensing for Archaeology. London: Routledge. Petrie, W.M.F. 1909. Memphis I. London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt. Pococke, R. 1743. A Description of the East. London: W. Bowyer. Price, C. 2009. Geophysical Survey East of the Saqqara Step Pyramid, Egyptian Archaeology 34: 38–9. Proudfoot, B. 1976. The Analysis and Interpretation of Soil Phosphorus in Archaeological Contexts. In D.A. Davidson and M.L. Shackley (eds), Geoarchaeology: Earth Sciences and the Past. London: Duckworth, 93–113. Pusch, E. 1999. Towards a Map of Piramesse, Egyptian Archaeology 14: 13–15. Rennell, J. 1800. The Geographical System of Herodotus Examined and Explained, by a Comparison with those of Other Ancient Authors and with Modern Geography etc. London: W. Bulmer & Co. Shaw, I. and Heldal, T. 2003. Rescue Work in the Khafra Quarries at Gebel al-Asr, Egyptian Archaeology 23: 14–16. Sourouzian, H., et al. 2004. The Temple of Amenhotep III at Thebes. Excavation and Conservation at Kom el-Hettân: Third Report on the Fifth Season in 2002/2003, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 60: 171–236. Storemyr, P., Bloxam, E., and Heldal, T. (eds). 2007. Risk Assessment and Monitoring of Ancient Egyptian Quarry Landscapes, Geological Survey of Norway, QuarryScapes report. Available to download at http://www.quarryscapes.no. Survey of Egypt (1921–26), The Theban Necropolis. Scale 1:1,000. Published by the Survey of Egypt 1921 (etc.) in collaboration with the Antiquities Department. Cairo: Survey of Egypt. Tristant, Y. and Ghilardi, M. (eds). 2010. Landscape Archaeology: Egypt and the Mediterranean World. International colloquium on geoarchaeology, Cairo, September 2010 (programme and abstracts volume).

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Mapping and topography   213 University of Pisa. 2003. The North Saqqara Archaeological Site: Handbook for the Environmental Risk Analysis. Pisa: Plus. Walker, B.J. 1994. New Approaches to Working with Old Maps: Computer Cartography for the Archaeologist, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 31: 191–202. Wilson, J.A. 1960. [Egypt through the New Kingdom:] Civilization without cities. In: C.H. Kraeling and R.M. Adams (eds), City Invincible. A Symposium on Urban and Cultural Development in the ancient Near East. Chicago: University of Chicago, 124–64.

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chapter 10

R ecor di ng rock i nscr iptions Methods and challenges from an Egyptian perspective Adel Kelany

Introduction Epigraphy is the study of inscriptions, in terms of the ways in which we read and record images in situ, be these on rock faces, stele, temple and tomb walls. It is therefore a part of the philological processes of recording and interpreting ancient inscriptions that are fundamental aspects in Egyptological research.1 However, epigraphy is not simply the recording of inscriptions, but entails a complex set of analytical techniques which aim to determine chronology, their social/cultural context, and, most difficult of all, interpret their meaning. As several chapters in this Handbook discuss the analysis and interpretation of the text­ual record, this chapter focuses on the methods that Egyptian Egyptologists are taking in the field to document important, and threatened, areas of rock-cut inscriptions. The chapter presents a brief overview of the practice of epigraphy in Egypt and then discusses two current epigraphic projects being carried out in Aswan and in the Wadi Hammamat (Figure  10.1). Each of these places having their own geographical and environmental character, the chapter approaches the difficulties and challenges to surveying and protecting such sites through survey and documentation methods used, and developed, by local Egyptian archaeologists. The Aswan inscriptions and rock art are at very high risk, whereas the Wadi Hammamat inscriptions, although also threatened by planned mega-construction planned in the Eastern Desert, are at least for the time being the control of the Antiquities Office and protected twenty-four hours a day. In both cases however, there is an urgent need swiftly to develop 1  Seidlmayer 2013: 205–10.

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Recording rock inscriptions   215

MEDITERRANEAN SEA

CAIRO

SINAI FAYUM

EA DS

RE

N ASYUT

Wdi Hammamat LUXOR EL-KHARGA EL-HOSH

QURTA WADI SUBEIRA ASWAN

0

100

500 Km ABU SIMBEL

Figure 10.1  Map of Egypt showing the Aswan and Wadi Hammamat locations.

methods to effectively document these rock inscriptions in the field and set up a simple database to record them in light of the current unpredictable social and political climate. This chapter therefore discusses these new methods, which have been designed by the Ancient Quarries and Mines Department (AQMD) team, and in particular looks at the ways in which we can develop these to be useful in other sites which have large amounts of epigraphic data, especially in the Eastern Desert.

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Overview of epigraphic research methods used in Egypt The methods used in documenting inscriptions and rock art in Egypt have evolved from their earliest origins, as principally executed by Napoleon Bonaparte’s savants in the late eighteenth century, and published in the Description de l’Égypte.2 In the beginning, recording and documentation was done by making copies of the inscriptions and/or rock art by direct tracing onto paper.3 But as amply described by some of these earliest practitioners, the challenge lies in producing an accurate, interpretable record of what is essentially a threedimensional inscribed surface converted onto a two-dimensional page.4 Another method developed by these earliest epigraphists, particularly to copy an inscription or relief carve into a monument, is a method called ‘squeezes’.5 This essentially destructive technique required the pressing of a damp pulp into the inscription, which, once dried, was prized away. Although producing an accurate, albeit a reversed image, this method was highly damaging to the stone surface, in particular by simultaneously removing paint layers. Therefore, this technique is no longer used by modern epigraphers because this type of destruction cannot be repaired. Photography still remains the most useful method of epigraphic documentation, ­particularly now in the age of digital cameras and the immediacy of being able to simply enlarge, reduce, re-colour images at a minimal cost—given of course the right conditions in terms of sunlight.6 Currently, epigraphic documentation has turned a corner with the advent of more sophisticated software packages, and the use of laser scanning, with equipment that is now more easily transportable into the field. 3D laser scanning, although still costly in terms of equipment, is a technology that has greatly enhanced our ability to truly contextualize inscriptions and rock art into their broader landscape context.7 In addition, these ‘remote’ methods cause no damage or contamination to stone surfaces, which is particularly important in the case of dating early rock art.

The history of epigraphic research in Aswan The high number of petroglyphs (inscriptions, rock art, graffiti) in the First Cataract region of Aswan has attracted many scholars to study and record these. The first epigraphic documentation in Egypt was made by French scientists who, as already mentioned earlier, accompanied Napoleon Bonaparte’s army to Egypt in 1798.8 The second important work on epigraphic documentation in Aswan was made in 1885 by Karl Richard Lepsius, who led the 2  Description de l’Égypte 1809–22; Dorman 2008: 80–3. 3  See Caminos 1976: 3–25. 4  Dorman 2008: 83. 5  See ibid: 86. 6  ibid: 86–7 for more detail on the origins of using photography in epigraphy. 7  See examples for the use of 3D laser scanning in the UK in Díaz-Andreu et al 2005; Trinks et al 2005. 8  Jomard and Jacotin 1818.

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Recording rock inscriptions   217 Prussian mission to Egypt and Ethiopia between 1849 and 1859. This extensive survey work produced one of the most accurate published recording of monumental inscriptions from Aswan, amongst other archaeological monuments.9 Another important work followed a few years later by Flinders Petrie during his field in season in Aswan in 1887, which catalogued the inscriptions in the Aswan region and presented them in geographical order.10 Another important catalogue was made after that by Jacques De Morgan, who made copies of hundreds of inscriptions in the Aswan area.11 However, the lack of topography and location details of the inscriptions published in the late nineteenth century was not the only problem. On closer inspection, it is clear that most of these copies are quite unreliable and contain numerous mistakes, as recently discovered during fresh work on many of these inscriptions.12 Yet, the massive amount of work and high degree of detail in some of the copies made by these early scholars is still to be admired. Later, in the twentieth century, another stage of work focused not on surveying the whole area of the First Cataract inscriptions, but on particular sites and/or inscriptions. Labiab Habachi’s work is possibly the most remarkable representing this time.13

The Aswan First Cataract: an overview of epigraphic survey work undertaken in the region In the Aswan First Cataract region, the numerous instances of inscriptions on ancient monu­ments and also carved into the rocks on the approaches to the city is quite noticeable (Figure 10.2). The unique location and landscape of the city, as well as the city’s role in the whole of Egyptian history from prehistory to the present time, may explain the phe­nom­ enon in Aswan’s landscapes. Since as least the Late Palaeolithic, Egyptians left rock art on the hills north of Aswan. So far it is the oldest rock art known, not only in Egypt, but in the whole of north Africa.14 In the same places, together with the Late Palaeolithic rock art, there are other engravings of Bedouin names and signs which can be dated back to a few years ago. Between these two diverse chronological periods of about 19,000 years is where the story of rock engraving in Egypt is situated.

Recent fieldwork Recently, much epigraphic work has been undertaken in the Aswan region, in most cases as part of archaeological field work being carried out by different missions. For instance, the German–Swiss project in Elephantine,15 the Swiss–Egyptian project in Old Aswan,16

9 Lepsius 1849–1913. 10 Petrie 1888. 11  De Morgan et al 1894. 12 Seidlemayer 2013. 13  Habachi 1957: 55–71; Habachi 1981. 14  Huyge 2009: 108–20; 2011: 1184–93. 15  Seidlmayer 2002: 440–7. 16  Von Pilgrim et al 2008: 305–56.

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Figure 10.2  Coloured rock inscription at the main street to Philae temple.

the Aswan and Kom Ombo survey project,17 the ‘QuarryScapes’ Project,18 and the Ancient Quarries and Mines Department survey.19 Other projects which worked only for epigraphic or rock art documentation are the French team recording the Sehel inscriptions,20 later followed by the German mission,21 the Austrian Academy at Philae temple,22 the French–Egyptian project rock art of Wadi Subeira East,23 and the German–Egyptian project for rock inscription documentation.24 However, because this work has been undertaken by numerous independent teams of archaeologists using different methods of documentation, and who remain isolated from each other, there is no holistic archive or database of the Aswan region rock inscriptions. Therefore, the information we have about the epigraphy of the Aswan First Cataract region is still very limited and comes mostly from short publications, which usually take a very long time to be published. At the same time, the development and growth of Aswan city, and the increase in the mining and quarrying activities around the region, has led to the loss of many archaeological sites, especially inscriptions and rock art, before these are properly documented.25 The last project working on the inscriptions mentioned in the list above, the German and Egyptian Project, has taken a step forward by widening cooperation and building a system 17  Gatto et al 2009: 151–68. 18  Bloxam et al 2007. 19 Kelany 2013. 20  Gasse and Rondot 2007. 21 Bormann 2016. 22  Holger and Winter 2016. 23  Graff et al 2015: 51–66. 24 Bormann 2014. 25  Storemyr et al 2007: 79–82; Kelany and Graff 2016: 85–94; Liszka 2017: 16–21.

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Recording rock inscriptions   219 for inscription documentation. In this joint project, a small centre has been set up in the ‘Unfinished Obelisk Quarry’ office (connected with Ancient Quarries and Mines Department) to receive all data relating to inscription documentation, to be filed in a database which will then be used for research and site protection.

The survey work of the Ancient Quarries and Mines Department Since 2005, a new scientific department has been established in Aswan, the Ancient Quarries and Mines Department (AQMD).26 The main goal of this department is the recording of archaeological sites before companies, such as building, mining, and quarrying contractors, are allowed to start work. A massive survey has been made, pit by pit, around the whole of Aswan city where many open-air archaeological sites and features were identified. Rock art, rock inscriptions, ancient quarries, and mines are the main types of sites identified during the survey.27 The chapter will now focus on the epigraphic work we have undertaken in recording rock art and rock inscriptions.

Case Study 1: recording the rock inscriptions of the First Cataract region The Aswan/First Cataract region is a very active place for modern quarrying and mining, with over fifty new quarries and mines being added to list every year. A few of these quarries are only in operation for one year, while the rest will continue for at least five years. Many raw materials are the target of these quarrying and mining activities, such as granite (from middle and south of Aswan city); clay, iron clay, and iron oxide (from the east bank and north of Aswan city); and sand and gravel (from the west bank). These areas are therefore the target for the Egyptian archaeological team to survey. Usually one quarry or mine takes one day to survey. However, this is only to briefly agree or disagree to the use of the site for modern quarrying. That is quite easy to do in one day if there is no archaeological evidence on the surface, but extremely difficult if you do find ancient sites during the survey. The archaeological evidence that you find will of course vary significantly, but usually we encounter ancient quarries, mines, roads, shelters, rock art, and inscriptions that can cover a chronological range from the Late Palaeolithic into the Islamic period. It is for these reasons, particularly in the case of epigraphic recording, that we have had to develop simple methods of recording to fit with an often very tight schedule before the site might disappear (Figure 10.3).

26  See also Chapter 12 in this volume for more information about the work of AQMD. 27  Kelany 2009; 2013; Kelany et al 2015.

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Figure 10.3  Egyptian archaeologist climbing a hill in order to locate a rock art or inscription panel, at Wadi Subeira, North of Aswan city.

Documentation methods The team of archaeologists cover the whole target area of the quarries and mines (around 100 × 100 m) by walking on foot, using their experience to find archaeological evidence on the surface, with hand-held GPS devices and cameras. With each archaeological feature we take the GPS point, which will become the ID (usually a number) for this feature. After recording the location by GPS, many photos will be made for each inscription. Usually, we take many photos of the inscription itself, as well as all other archaeological evidence around the inscriptions such as tools, quarries, mines, roads, and shelters. In this way, we are able to put the inscription into its archaeological context. Also, we record any important geological features and/or environmental impacts around the inscription. In addition, a short description will be made of the inscription, including the data we cannot extract from the photos alone. We make an account of the level of threats to the area and the condition of the inscription. In some cases, if we have time, we may be able to copy the inscription using plastic sheets at a scale of 1:1 (Figure 10.4). During our Joint Mission work with the German Archaeological Institute, we use chalk to follow the inscription details, which are often hard to see on the stone surface (Figure  10.5). By using your fingers, you will be able to follow the smooth ­surface made by the chisel, or other tools, used to make the inscription. This technique is used by Stephan Seidlmayer, who developed it through dozens of years of work on the

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Figure 10.4  Copying the rock art using plastic sheets.

Figure 10.5  Using chalk to help copy very hard to see rock inscription, Aswan.

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222   Adel Kelany inscriptions in Aswan.28 Chalk can be used only on igneous rocks such as granite or granodiorite, because it is very easy to clean the chalk from these stones after finishing documentation. In addition, the chalk will not adversely affect the stone surface. On sandstone surfaces we use the plastic sheeting directly onto the stone surface. If we are lucky, the inscriptions will have a much less weathered surface. One of the main challenges with the rock inscriptions in Aswan is to identify the inscription itself. Later, and if you are fortunate enough to find it, you will spend a long time trying to read part of the inscription. In cases like this, photos will not help so much and you need to spend more time trying to catch the ‘right light’ to help read the inscription. ‘Right light’ means the time of day—early, mid, or latter part—when you are recording the inscriptions. Some will almost disappear if the sun is not at the right angle. Therefore, the direction and the orientation of each inscription is crucial and in some cases you may well wait for the right light not for just hours, but for months even, for the sun to be in right location. Back in the AQMD office, all of the data will be filed later in the simple database made for all of the archaeological evidence of the survey, including inscriptions and rock art. Using Excel spreadsheets first, we later move all the data to the (Access) database, designed during the ‘QuarryScapes’ project, which contains information fields specifically created for this kind of survey.29 On our archaeological record sheet created for our new finds we have a field for the level of risk, which is divided into four levels: (1) immediate; (2) high; (3) low; (4) intact. Level 1 is clearly the most important because we will change our field work schedule for this site to be our top priority. All these levels threat go onto our risk map which we update every three months. From this method we have been able to identify where the most threatened sites are located as follows: within the New Aswan city project area,30 the Wadi Subeira iron mines,31 and gold mines in Wadi el-Hudi. 32 All these archaeological sites have consequently survived and we have identified rock art and rock inscriptions which are now completely protected and recorded into our database.

Case Study 2: the central Wadi Hammamat The second case study focuses on the central Wadi Hammamat (see Figure  10.1). This unique site, located half way between Quft and Quseir in the Eastern Desert, is famous for the remarkable rock inscriptions that are concentrated in and around the numerous ­greywacke quarries.33 High quality greywacke was quarried here from at least the 5th  millennium bc into the Roman period. Green breccia and gold were also highly sought after minerals that were exploited, particularly during the New Kingdom.34 The 28  Seidlmayer 2013: 205–10. 29  See Storemyr and Heldal 2007: 238–40. 30  Storemyr et al 2007. 31  Kelany et al 2015: 98–107. 32  Kelany 2016; Liszka 2017: 16–21. 33  See Chapter 8 in this volume for longer description of the region; Bloxam et al 2014. 34  Aston et al 2000: 57–8; Harrell 2002: 239; Klemm and Klemm 2008: 302.

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Recording rock inscriptions   223 ancient inscriptions suggest that the greywacke quarried from this place was known as the bekhen (bḫn)stone.35 Bracelets, sarcophagi, statues, vessels, and palettes are just some of the numerous ornamental objects produced from greywacke.36 However, the inscriptions suggest that quarry activities were extensive during the Old and Middle Kingdoms, although the arch­aeo­logic­al evidence for these quarries, particularly the Middle Kingdom, are yet to be lo­cated.37

History of epigraphic research in the Wadi Hammamat The remarkable inscriptions of the central Wadi Hammamat were the subject of study for early epigraphers. The first scientific study was made by the Prussian expedition led by Karl Lepsius during the nineteenth century (1884–85)38 and was followed in the early twentieth by Arthur Weigall in 1909,39 Jules Couyat and Pierre Montet in 1912,40 and Hans Winkler in 1939.41 During the second half of the twentieth century, there was the important work made by the French Egyptologist, Georges Goyon in the 1950s who was the first to make a map of the inscription locations.42 Later work, such as that of Donald Redford43 and David Rohl,44 includes the Wadi Hammamat inscriptions amongst other inscription and rock art sites in the Eastern desert. Studies of Eastern Desert rock art in general have been made by numerous Egyptologists and also modern-day explorers of the region, such as Maggie and Mike Morrow who include maps and locations of numerous inscription and rock art sites, including Wadi Hammamat.45 Other more targeted studies also have been made about the Wadi Hammamat inscriptions, for instance Annie Gasse,46 Hans Goedicke,47 Thomas Hikade,48 and Tony Judd49 to name just a few. During the 1990s many fresh mainly geoarchaeological/geological explorations were made in the area that have focused on the ancient quarry activities, rather than the inscriptions.50 These works have led to a better understanding of the technologies used in quarry­ing greywacke and green breccia, but it was not until 2010 (and still ongoing) that the ‘Wadi Hammamat Project’ began to focus on studying the relationship between the rock inscriptions and ancient quarries.51

Problems and challenges Although the early recording of the Wadi Hammamat inscriptions was done in a meticulous fashion in terms of copying and translation, these documents do not include all of the epigraphic data and, importantly, lack any kind of contextualization into the landscape. 35  Erman and Grapow 1926: 471; Shiah 1942: 199–205; Lucas and Rowe 1938: 155; Harris 1961: 78–82. 36  Aston et al 2000: 57–8; Harrell 2002: 239; Klemm and Klemm 2008: 302. 37  Bloxam et al 2014; Bloxam 2015. 38 Lepsius 1849–1913. 39 Weigall 1909. 40  Couyat and Montet 1912. 41 Winkler 1939. 42 Goyon 1957. 43  Redford and Redford 1989: 3–49. 44 Rohl 2000. 45  Morrow and Morrow 2002. 46 Gasse 1987. 47  Goedicke 1964: 43–50. 48 Hikade 2006:153–68. 49 Judd 2009. 50  Harrell 2002: 232–43; Klemm and Klemm 2008. 51  Bloxam et al 2014: 11–30; Bloxam 2015.

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224   Adel Kelany Hence, to date, we have no clear overview of the relationship between the inscriptional data and quarrying, or indeed their general association within the landscape as a whole. Few of the previous epigraphic works on Wadi Hammamat inscriptions included maps, or even sketches of the inscription location. This situation made it is very difficult, or even impossible, to use maps to find a particular inscription, or to identify the correlation between the inscriptions, that are often found in clusters, with ancient quarries in the vicinity. Anyone studying the Wadi Hammamat inscriptions will find many numbering systems. Some are in Arabic, whilst the others are in English. Some of these numbers match numbers in some publications, but there are other numbers we cannot find any reference for at all. This is due to the overlapping of documentation systems used by different archaeological missions. Each team made its own numbers and then kept it in its own archiving system. This situation has created one of the biggest difficulties when working in a place like this. Another issue about the previous work is the complete ignoring of small inscriptions found with the main inscriptions, or the ones which are located away from the main quarry site. Included in these omissions are hieroglyphic, semi hieroglyphic, hieratic, demotic, and Arabic inscriptions (Figure 10.6). This last point is because of the lack of a complete survey, not only in the main wadi, but also on the top of high hills that flank the wadi.

English–Egyptian joint mission to Wadi Hammamat In 2010, an archaeological team from the UK and Egypt initiated a project (the Wadi Hammamat Project)52 to survey and study the Wadi Hammamat quarries, including the epigraphic data. The main goal of the new survey and documentation of the epigraphic data of Wadi Hammamat is to make a detailed map for the inscriptions, graffiti, and rock art in their archaeological context. A new numbering system is being made for the epigraphic data in the area, with mention of previous numbers if they exist. The new numbers will be logged in the official register book of the Antiquities Office.

Methodology In the years between 2010 and 2013, we were recording all inscriptions, graffiti, and rock art in the main quarry areas by taking GPS readings with short descriptions, as well as photos (Figures 10.7 and 10.8). All this data has been put into an Excel spreadsheet as a first step, for later conversion and digital attachment to the GIS map. We continue to add significant new inscriptions, graffiti, and rock art to those already recorded by Couyat, Montet, and Goyon. One-hundred and forty-one panels with more than 600 inscriptions and graffiti have been recorded during these seasons, which are mostly located along the main wadi, north and south of the tarmac road. Further petroglyphs were also recorded along adjoining small wadis near areas of quarrying, many of which were not previously known.53

52  See Chapter 8 in this volume for more information about the project and its overall aims; and also Bloxam et al 2014; Bloxam 2015. 53  See Bloxam et al 2014: 20–7.

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Recording rock inscriptions   225

Figure 10.6  Different rock inscriptions made in different style and techniques, Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarries.

Figure 10.7  Using Differential GPS to accurately record the location rock inscriptions in order to make a detailed map, Wadi Hammamat.

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226   Adel Kelany

Figure 10.8  Maps showing the preliminary results of using GIS to locate the inscriptions of the central Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarry landscape by dating.

Our key finding concerning the location of inscriptions, graffiti, and rock art is that they usually occur in association with quarrying activities, even if the stone quality was not particularly good for their engraving. Although more analysis is required, we can suggest that quarry areas were marked with inscriptions or graffiti in some cases to show who did this work. Given that many of these inscriptions can be dated, this is going to be extremely important evidence to aid in determining the chronology of these quarries. In other instances, however, a few inscriptions and rock art panels seem to be attached more to the main thoroughfare through the Wadi Hammamat, implying notation by travellers passing through the region.54 Some also occur close to wells. The number of inscriptions, graffiti, and rock art recorded now is over 600, and the task is not yet complete. In a nutshell, it can be said that throughout the site the royal and elite inscriptions are usually found in the main body of the valley, a part of the site packed with such texts. Inscriptions from what might be considered lower social levels were either found with royal inscriptions, in the side valleys associated with the main valley, or sometimes within quarry­ing areas. Importantly, most of these are simply the recording of names, and also titles, which greatly outnumber any other inscription theme.55 The study of the inscription levels from the valley floor, in addition to the distribution of inscriptions through the cliff

54  See Bloxam 2015: 802–6.

55  See Bloxam et al 2014: 27; Bloxam 2015: 803–6.

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Recording rock inscriptions   227 faces and its association with other archaeological evidence, is important. We continue to work on this, to make a three-dimensional map of the inscriptions and the valley.

Conclusion and discussion Egyptian archaeologists face many difficulties and challenges in recording inscriptions and rock art. A number of these challenges include the lack of availability of material resources to carry out these tasks, inefficient management, and more generally, the state’s lack of interest in archaeology.56 Two years ago, the Ministry of Antiquities announced the suspension of the use of plastic to copy the archaeological inscriptions. This is not the place to discuss that decision, but it should be noted that the work of registration of rock art and inscriptions goes into the entire digital system. Therefore, we have to develop methods to fit with this technology. The case studies above describe methods that we can use, with limited resources, by developing a speed-based system to register these sites. Working for short periods of time in places that are crowded with inscriptions such as Wadi Hammamat, and the archaeological survey of modern mining and quarrying areas in Aswan, requires a rapid registration of these sites. This has motivated us to develop the system of registering such important archaeological sites, in an attempt to protect them from danger. In Aswan, it is worth underlining that at the northern part of the city we found more rock art than rock inscriptions. This stands in contrast to the southern part of Aswan city, which has more rock inscriptions and much less rock art. This situation may be explained by climate changes, when the Eastern Desert wadis north of Aswan such as Agag, Agbab, and Subiera, were settled by hunter-gatherers in the Predynastic and before.57 From our work in the Wadi Hammamat (and bearing in mind this is still ongoing), we can draw some parallels between placement of rock inscriptions here with that of Aswan. In particular, placement was not random, but selected where they could be easily seen, perhaps as a way to praise their owners.58 This theory may be different for rock art, although location also appears to be of great importance in terms of being put there to be seen.59 If the rock art and rock inscriptions were made to be seen, by using the right location on the cliff faces, on road landmarks, and on the approaches to quarries and mines (and within them), even if the landscape now is different, it would be relatively easy to find such inscriptions and rock art during the survey. It is with these ideas in mind that we have been most successful in finding places of rock inscription, looking for where you can easily see it, or where you would like to put your own inscription if you wanted it to be seen. With our survey in both Aswan and the Wadi Hammamat, we discovered that the Eastern Desert still has so much to tell us about ancient history, as many uncovered sites still wait. To work in such places you need special survey and documentation systems to survey a large area in a short time. To date, we have succeeded in doing this in our work areas. As a final point of discussion, the ‘Antiquities Protection Law’ states that foreign ­arch­aeo­logic­al missions operating in Egypt must leave copies of all their work in Egyptian arch­aeo­logic­al sites (e.g. maps, databases, etc), but very few do this, despite the previous 56  See Chapter 11 in this volume for more discussion of heritage management problems in Egypt. 57  Kelany In press. 58 Seidlmayer 2013. 59  Kelany 2012: 5–21.

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228   Adel Kelany efforts of the EAIS, and more recently, MSA GIS Center.60 Generally, foreign archaeological missions leave an initial report of a few pages, and later deliver a fuller report. These reports do not help Egyptian archaeologists working in the field because they do not give a detailed enough account of archaeological sites and potential threats to them. In addition, as discussed earl­ier, foreign missions tend to work independently from each other, and therefore the large number of rock inscriptions and rock art recorded, for instance, in the Eastern Desert over several decades, remains uncollated and outside Egypt in the archives of numerous institutions. It is difficult for Egyptian archaeologists to protect archaeological sites in the desert areas if they do not have this data. These sites cannot be put on the risk maps to be protected from large projects in desert areas that are either now in progress, or will be in the near future.61

Suggested reading For the roots of hieroglyphic writing where we can see the relation between rock art and hieroglyphic, see Graff and Serrano 2016. For more information about the methods of epigraphic recording see Dorman  2008; Caminos  1976; Traunecker  1987; and Fischer  1976. Also for the German methods used in recording Aswan rock inscriptions see Seidlmayer 2013.

Bibliography Aston, B., Harrell, J., and Shaw, I. 2000. Stone. In P. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 5–77. Bell, L. 1987. Philosophy of Egyptian Epigraphy After Sixty Years: Practical Experience. In J. Assmann, G., Burkard, and V. Davies (eds), Problems and Priorities in Egyptian Archaeology. London: Kegan Paul, 43–55. Bloxam, E. 2015. ‘A Place Full of Whispers’: Socialising the Quarry Landscape of the Wadi Hammamat, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 25(4): 789–814. Bloxam, E., Harrell, J., Kelany, A., Moloney, N., El-Senussi, A., and Tohamey, A. 2014. Investigating the Predynastic Origins of Greywacke Working in the Wadi Hammamat, Archéo-Nil 14: 35–55. Bloxam, E., Heldal, T, and Storemyr, P. (eds). 2007. Characterisation of Complex Quarry Landscapes: An Example from the West Bank Quarries, Aswan. (QuarryScapes report) Trondheim: Geological Survey of Norway. Available at: http://www.quarryscapes.no. Borrmann, L. 2014. Felsinschriften und Felsbilder der Region von Assuan: Die Arbeiten der Jahre 2012 und 2013, e-Forschungsberichte des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (eDAI-F) 2014-3, 14–17 (urn:nbn:de:0048-DAI-EDAI-F.2014-3-0). Borrmann, L. 2016 Felsinschriften und Felsbilder der Region von Assuan: Die Arbeiten der Jahre 2014 und 2015, e-Forschungsberichte des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts (eDAI-F) 2016-3, 5–11 (urn:nbn:de:0048-DAI-EDAI-F.2016-3-02-2). Caminos, R. 1976. The Recording of Inscriptions and Scenes in Tombs and Temples. In H. G. Fischer (ed), Ancient Egyptian Epigraphy and Palaeography. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 3–25. 60  See Chapter 11 in this volume on the closure of the Egyptian Antiquities Information System (EAIS) and its now under-resourced successor, the SCA GIS Center. 61  See Chapter 11 in this volume for more detail about current threats to the Wadi Hammamat region from planned mega road-building projects.

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Recording rock inscriptions   229 Couyat, J. and Montet, P. 1912. Les Inscriptions Hiéroglyphiques et Hiératiques du Ouâdi Hammâmât. Cairo: Imprimerie de L’Institut Français et Archaéologie Orientale. De Morgan J., Bouriant, U., Legrain, G., Jéquier, G., and Barsanti, A. 1894. Catalogue des monuments et inscriptions de l’Égypte antique, Vol. I, de la frontiére de Nubie a Kom Ombos. Vienna: Adolphe Holzhausen. Description de l’Égypte, ou recueil des observations et des recherches qui ont été faites en Égypte pendant l’expédition de l’armée française. Antiquités. 5 vols. Paris: L’Imprimerie Impériale (1809–22). Díaz-Andreu, M., Hobbs, R., Rosser, N., Sharpe, K., and I.  Trinks. 2005. Long Meg: Rock Art Recording Using 3D Laser Scanning, Past 50: 2–6. http://www.ucl.ac.uk/prehistoric/past/past50. html#LASERSCANNING and http://eprints.dur.ac.uk/archive/00000144/. Dorman, P.F. 2008. Epigraphy and Recording. In R.H. Wilkinson (ed), Egyptology Today. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 77–97. Erman, A. and Grapow, H. (eds). 1926. Wörterbuch Der Ägyptischen Sprache. Vol 1. Berlin: AkademieVerlag. Fischer, H.G. 1976. Archaeological Aspects of Epigraphy and Palaeography. In H.G.  Fischer (ed), ­Ancient Egyptian Epigraphy and Palaeography. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 29–50. Gasse, A. 1987. Une expédition au Ouadi Hammâmât sous le règne de Sebekemsaf Ier [avec 4 ­planches], Bulletin de l’institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 87: 207–18. Gasse, A. and Rondot, V. 2007. Les inscriptions de Séhel, Le Caire, Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Gatto, M.C., Darnell, J.C., De Dapper, M., Gallorini, C., Gerisch, R., Giuliani, S., Hart, E., Hendrickx, S., Herbich, T., and Joris, H. 2009. Archaeological Investigation in the Aswan-Kom Ombo Region (2007–2008), Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts. Abteilung Kairo, 65: 9–47. Goedicke, H. 1964. Some Remarks on Stone Quarrying in the Egyptian Middle Kingdom ­(2060–1786 bc), Journal of the American Research Centre in Egypt 3: 43–50. Goyon, G. 1957. Nouvelles Inscriptions Rupestres du Wadi Hammamat. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient Adrien-Maisonneuve. Graff, G., Kelany, A., and Bailly, M. 2015. Prospections dans le secteur est du Wadi Abu Subeira: prem­ iers résultats et perspectives. In A.  Jimenez-Serrano and C.  Von Pilgrim (eds), The Delta to the Cataract. Studies dedicated to Mohamed el-Bialy. Leiden: Brill, 51–66. Habachi, L. 1957. A Group of Unpublished Old and Middle Kingdom Graffiti on Elephantine, Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 54: 55–71. Habachi, L. 1981. Sixteen Studies on Lower Nubia. Imprimerie de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Harrell, J. 2002. Pharaonic Stone Quarries in the Egyptian Deserts. In R. Friedman (ed), Egypt and Nubia: Gifts of the Desert. London: British Museum Press, 232–43. Harris, J.R. 1961. Lexicographical Studies in Ancient Egyptian Minerals. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Hikade, T. 2006. Expeditions to the Wadi Hammamat during the New Kingdom, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 92(1): 153–68. Holger, K. and Winter, E. 2016. PHILAE III. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences. Huyge, D. 2009. Late Palaeolithic and Epipalaeolithic Rock Art in Egypt: Qurta and el-Hosh, Archéo-Nil 19: 108–20. Huyge, D., Vandenberghe, M., De Dapper, F., Mees, W., Claes, J., and Darnell, J. C. 2011. First Evidence of Pleistocene Rock Art in North Africa: Securing the Age of the Qurta Petroglyphs (Egypt) through OSL Dating, Antiquity 85(330): 1184–93. Jomard, E.F. and Jacotin, P. 1818. Description de l’Egypte, ou Recueil des observations et recherches qui ont été faites en Egypte pendant l’expedition de l’armée Francaise: Antiquités, Descriptions. Judd, T. 2009. Rock Art of the Eastern Desert of Egypt Content, Comparisons, Dating and Significance. Oxford: BAR Publications Kelany, A. In press. Human Figures in the Aswan Rock Art; Recent Survey along the East Bank of Aswan City. In D. Huyge and F. Van Noten (eds), Whatever Happened to the People? Humans and Anthropomorphs in the Rock Art of Northern Africa. Brussels (Belgium): Royal Academy for Overseas Sciences in collaboration with the Royal Museums of Art and History, Brussels.

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230   Adel Kelany Kelany. A. 2012. More Late Palaeolithic Rock Art at Wādi Abū Subeira, Upper Egypt, Bulletin des Musées royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 83: 5–21. Kelany, A. 2013. The Archaeological Excavation and Survey at the Unfinished Obelisk and at Wadi Subayrah. In D. Raue, S.J. Seidlmayer, and P. Speiser (eds), The First Cataract of the Nile: One Region— Diverse Perspectives. Berlin: SDAIK. Kelany, A. 2016. The Survey Work at Wadi Hudi Aswan. Unpublished Report Presented to SCA, Aswan. Kelany, A. and Graff, G. 2016. A First Predynastic Aardvark’s Representation on Rock in the Eastern Desert Egypt (Wadi Aqaba, Aswan), Göttinger Miszellen Beiträge: zur Ägyptologishen Diskussion 249: 85–94. Kelany, A., Negem, M., Tohami, A., and Heldal, T. 2009. Granite-quarry Survey in the Aswan Region, Egypt: Shedding New Light on Ancient Quarrying, QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean, Geological Survey of Norway Special Publication 12: 87–98. Klemm, R. and Klemm, D.D. 2008. Stones and Quarries in ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Lepsius, K.R. 1849–1913. Denkmäler aus Ägypten und Äthiopien nach den Zeichnungen der von SM dem Könige v. Preussen Friedrich Wilhelm nach diesen Ländern gesendeten und in den Jahren, 5 vols. Berlin: Nicolaische Buchhandlung Liszka, K. 2017. Salvaging and Protecting the Archaeology of Wadi el- Hudi, Eastern Desert, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 210: 6. Lucas, A. and Rowe, A. 1938. The ancient Egyptian Bekhen-stone, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 38: 127–56. Morrow, M. and Morrow, M. 2010. Desert RATS: Rock Art Topographical Survey in Egypt’s Eastern Desert: Site Catalogue. Bloomsbury Summer School, Department of History, UCL, London: Archaeopress. Petrie, W.M.F. 1888. A Season in Egypt, 1887. London: Field & Tuer. Redford, S. and Redford, D.B. 1989. Graffiti and Petroglyphs Old and New from the Eastern Desert, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 26: 3–49. Rohl, D.M. 2000. The Followers of Horus: Eastern Desert Survey Report. UK Institute for the Study of Interdisciplinary Sciences. Rothe, R.D., Miller, W.K., and Rapp, G. 2008. Pharaonic Inscriptions from the Southern Eastern Desert of Egypt. Indiana: Eisenbrauns. Seidlmayer, S. 2013. Rock Inscriptions in the Aswan: From Epigraphy to Landscape Archaeology the First Cataract of the Nile: One Region-Diverse Perspectives Berline-Germany Sanderschrift Des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 36. Shiah, N. 1942. Some Remarks on the Bekhen-stone, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 41: 199–205. Storemyr, P. and Heldal, T. 2007. Appendix: Documentation of the QuarryScapes Aswan West Bank Field Survey: GIS and Databases. In E. Bloxam, T. Heldal, and P. Storemyr (eds), Characterisation of Complex Quarry Landscapes: An Example from the West Bank Quarries, Aswan. QuarryScapes report, Trondheim: Geological Survey of Norway. Available for download from http://www. quarryscapes.no, 231–51. Storemyr, P., Kelany., A., Negm., M., and Tohami, A. 2008. More Lascaux along the Nile’? Possible Late Palaeolithic Rock Art in Wadi Abu Subeira, Upper Egypt, Sahara-Segrate 19: 155. Storemyr, P., Bloxam, E., and Heldal, T. (eds). 2007. Risk Assessment and Monitoring of Ancient Egyptian Quarry Landscapes, Geological Survey of Norway, QuarryScapes report. Available for download from http://www.quarryscapes.no. Traunecker, C. 1987. Les techniques d’épigraphie de terrain. Principes et pratique. In J. ASSMANN, G.  BURKARD, and V.  DAVIES (eds), Problems and Priorities in Egyptian Archaeology. London: Kegan Paul, 260–96. Trinks, I., Díaz-Andreu, M., Hobbs, R., and Sharpe, K. 2005. Digital Rock Art Recording: Visualising Petroglyphs Using 3D Laser Scanner Data, Rock Art Research 22(2): 131–9. http://www.dur.ac.uk/m. diaz-andreu/articles/2005_RAR_Trinks_et_al.pdf.

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Recording rock inscriptions   231 Von Pilgrim, C., Keller, D., Martin-Kilcher, S., El-Amin, F.M., and Muller, W. 2008. The Town of Syene: Report on the 5th and 6th Season in Aswan, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts. Abteilung Kairo 64: 305–56. Weigall, A. 1909. Travels in the Upper Egyptian Deserts. Edinburgh and London: William Blackwood & Sons. Winkler, H.A. 1939. Rock Drawings of Southern Upper Egypt. I. Sir Robert Mond Desert Expedition. Humphrey Milford. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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chapter 11

Cu ltu r a l h er itage m a nagem en t i n Egy pt Community-based strategies, problems, and possibilities Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany

Introduction Discussion of Egypt’s cultural heritage and its management is probably one of the most perilous and contested aspects of Egyptological and archaeological discourses. The very notion of cultural heritage management (CHM), and also archaeology as practice, is a heavily laden importation of largely Eurocentric, anglophone ideas transmitted by colonizing forces into non-western countries.1 Egypt stands as probably one of the world’s greatest recipients of the westernized model of archaeology in practice, as well as more recently in terms of methods of preservation, conservation, and communication of heritage values. English, for instance, is the language of discourse in Egyptological/archaeological conferences held in Egypt, these events largely organized and sponsored by western institutions. Bodies such as the World Archaeological Congress (WAC), UNESCO, ICOMOS, and other international organizations have of course played an important role in facilitating and encouraging initiatives that have offered support and training to ‘local’ archaeologists glo­bal­ly. ‘Archaeologists without Borders’ is one such global initiative whose good intentions are to include archaeological discourses across a range of economically disadvantaged communities and institutions, and provide access to global libraries.2 Although one cannot argue with the laudable intentions of a global inclusivity of archaeological discourses, and its aim to stimulate a range of voices in terms of cultural heritage management, the under­lying ideology is of course from the western model. ‘Authorized heritage discourse’ (AHD), as termed by Laurajane Smith,3 encapsulates the embeddedness and dominance of western ideas on heritage management. Heritage 1  Carmen 2015: 191–9. 2  Carmen 2015: 193; online resources relating to Egypt specifically are available, although mostly in English. 3  Smith 2006: 299.

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Cultural heritage management in Egypt   233 discourses are now actively dissecting the ways in which AHD, or western approaches, have invaded heritage agencies, government institutions, and museums in non-western countries.4 Frequently argued is what place do these ideas have relative to differing cultural values and available resources, and to what extent has their imposition been benevolent? Or in other words, the insistence of the western model as the only route to effective heritage management. Ecotourism, sustainable development, conservation, and promoting community participation, are all concepts derived from the western model of CHM, but how useful have these been in an Egyptian context? This chapter attempts to address these questions from the perspective of current trends in CHM not only in Egypt, but cross-culturally and internationally. It also explores the extent to which such approaches can be proven to have benefitted heritage initiatives, as well as the question of how such benefit is evaluated. As the concern has usually been directed towards Egypt’s monumental ‘antique’ heritage, this chapter intends, in contrast, to address the issue from the perspective of some of the most forgotten and vulnerable ‘non-monumental’ historic environments that fall under the radar in terms of CHM. It tackles the challenges of managing this type of heritage in Egypt on the basis of case studies that have focused on archaeological landscapes associated with mineral procurement. It  therefore aims to address the pitfalls of ‘top down’ conservation practice, as opposed to  a  more locally driven, ‘bottom up’ approach which finesses the idea of ‘community participation’ (Figure 11.1).

Cultural heritage management in Egypt: what is the state of play? Over two decades, academic discourses have homed in on the political, ideological, and historical backdrops that have dogged the practice of archaeology in Egypt and its frequent failure to truly implement sustainable management of its heritage, in particular that which engages local communities.5 These critiques have largely been levelled at the conduct of ‘foreign’ archaeological missions, and both their lack of interest in engaging communities (apart from employing them as labourers on the site) and their general lacklustre approach to matters of heritage. International agencies such as the World Bank, UNESCO, and ICOMOS have also come under fire. As Colin Breen comments,6 these organizations have generally set the heritage management and resourcing agenda in the majority of African countries in the post-colonial era. In Egypt, where the focus is largely on the monumental World Heritage sites, museums, and objects, it is therefore no surprise that the influence of ‘authorized heritage discourse’ (AHD), as mentioned earlier, or ‘western hegemony’ remains as entrenched as ever in the practice of heritage management and conservation.7 Recent case studies have clearly illustrated the problems of implementing the ‘western model’, and in particular constructing methods that promote ‘sustainable heritage tourism’ (SHT) of ‘antique’ monumental sites.8 Although terms such as ‘sustainable management’ 4  Byrne 2008: 232. 5  Meskell 2001: 146–69; Hassan et al 2008: 21–7; Mitchell 2000. 6  Breen 2007: 364. 7  Smith 2006: 299; Byrne 2008: 232. 8  See Helmy and Cooper 2008: 514–35; Ghanem and Saad 2015: 357–77.

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234   Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany

Mediterranean Major Ancient Quarries and Mines 0

100

200

KILOMETRES

CAIRO

SINAI N

Faiyum Region

Eastern Desert Red Sea

EGYPT Wadi Hammamat EI-Kharga Oasis

Quft

SAUDI ARABIA

SAFAGA QUSEIR

Luxor

New Aswan City Aswan West Bank

Wadi Subeira Wadi Agbab Aswan Granite Quarries Wadi el Hudi

Abu Simbel NUBIA

Figure 11.1  Map of sites mentioned in the text.

of sites may sound good to western ears, to date no viable plan for SHT relating to Egypt’s pre-Islamic heritage has actually been implemented. Why is this the case? A recent study carried out at Esna (southern Egypt) tried to tackle this issue by conducting an SHT assessment of the World Heritage site of the Khnum Temple precinct (dating mostly to the Ptolemaic period).9 Ghanem and Saad identified that the failure to implement a sustainable heritage plan resulted from a lack of engagement with the social and economic realities in which the Khnum Temple is situated. Lack of financial resources, poverty, marginalization, lack of 9  Ghanem and Saad 2015.

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Cultural heritage management in Egypt   235 skills and education, and systemic problems at management level were just some of the inhibiting factors.10 It would be easy to pounce therefore on the idea that managing heritage, or lack of it, largely boils down to lack of financial resources and economic deprivation—but is this entirely the reason? After the revolution in January 2011, there was a brief period of change and a respect for the country and its heritage that had been understood for long periods, despite of course a minority who chose to loot a number of antiquities storerooms.11 But the current de­teri­ or­at­ing political situation has significantly dampened this spirit. Today, in high prices, and other factors, this loyalty is now waning as priorities turn towards the basics of providing food, medical treatment, and other essentials. Therefore, the imperative is now to find even more imaginative ways of engagement with people whose attention and priorities are naturally elsewhere. Within this highly charged social and political mix, enormous amounts of money, particularly from ‘western’ based international agencies,12 are still thrown at initiatives designed to tackle the problems of sustainably managing, preserving, and conserving Egypt’s monumental ‘sites’—but with limited success. For instance, lack of financial resources was not a hindrance to designing a ‘site management plan’ for the most famous monumental site of all, the Giza Plateau Pyramids. Rather, it was the series of attempts to develop such a plan from the ‘top down’ that fundamentally failed, and the strategy has never fully materialized, largely because of a total absence of engagement with the local community.13 Along similar lines, progression in terms of heritage curation in non-western countries is also wrapped up in the now outmoded policy of throwing financial resources towards science and scientific analyses of ‘objects’. This policy tends to focus purely on defining the methodology, rather than embracing theory that addresses practice within local social and cultural contexts.14 It is therefore often the case, when it comes to international funding for heritage projects, that efforts are significantly channelled towards conservation, the acquiring of scientific equipment, training, and other expert-driven agendas that are frequently not sustainable in the longer term. There is a graveyard of scientific equipment gathering dust in Egyptian museums and other antiquities institutions, because, once the funding dries up, there are no local resources available to maintain them, and often not enough of the requisite expertise to use them. Another legacy of the colonial era that strongly resonates in Egypt is, as Tim Winter sums up in relation to Asia, the influence of entrenched European institutions that maintain a hegemony over archaeological practice and heritage: 15 What we see in the global conservation institutions of today is the reproduction of historical asymmetries, where scientifically oriented knowledge practices enable regions like Europe to occupy the position of expertise and theory generation. Although efforts are being made to pluralize the expertise feeding into the system, a number of examples of how inbuilt historical imbalances remain could be cited here. One important thread, for instance, pertains to the on­going legacy of European colonial era institutions, such as the Dutch Archaeological Service, Archaeological Survey of India, and the École Française d’Extrême-Orient, all of which continue to shape conservation practice and the framing of policy across Asia. 10  ibid: 373–5. 11  See Ikram 2013 for overview of looting, etc post the 2011 revolution. 12  UNESCO, ICOMOS, USAID, British Council, AHRC, and numerous other international agencies. 13  Shetawy and El Khateeb 2009; see also Scarre and Coningham 2013: 9–10. 14  See Winter 2014: 131–2 in the case of Asia. 15  ibid: 132.

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236   Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany In Egypt, institutions such as the French, German, Swiss, and Dutch Institutes have a permanent presence. Although their focus tends towards maintaining their archaeological excavations and providing a research base for their own nationals, there are no similar well-funded institutions that are wholly Egyptian-run in Egypt. Apart from small nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) and agencies such as CULTNAT and ECHO, as Fekhri Hassan points out,16 this disparity has undermined an independent indigenous theory of heritage outside of the western model. However, there is no escaping the extent to which Egyptian heritage practitioners and academics, who usually comprise a university-educated (often in Europe and/or the USA) upper class social elite, continue to practise and aspire to western-designed approaches to heritage curation.17 For instance, economics, scientific methods of conservation, international tourism, and sustainable development form the baseline to the whole mechanics of ‘top down’ heritage practice and management that in some way needs to be legitimized through international recognition and endorsement by bodies such as UNESCO.18 But what about the Egyptian government’s Ministry of Antiquities (MoA)? Arguably the MoA should be seen at the forefront of major local and regional influence in terms of implementing and managing Egypt’s heritage strategies. However, as an institution it cannot be seen as Egypt’s answer to ‘English heritage’ because it simply lacks the power (and resources), within a highly bureaucratic political regime, to truly function as an effective instigator, or implementer, of heritage practice. For instance, the Egyptian Antiquities Information System (EAIS), in its former guise as an independent, internationally funded centre within the MoA, was tasked with mapping and documenting all of Egypt’s archaeological sites.19 The worthy aim of this mission was to create a ‘national database’ for the purposes of heritage planning that would function along similar lines as the UK’s Sites and Monuments Records. However, once foreign funding ceased, the centre was absorbed into the larger MoA and is now called the ‘MoA GIS Center’. Despite competent and motivated staff, it has been largely unable to maintain essential equipment to function, and access to limited financial and human resources has made it extremely difficult to truly complete its mission. However, the exception is the MoA Department of Quarries and Mines, based in Aswan (AQMD, managed by this chapter’s co-author Adel Kelany). Although facing similar problems due to lack of essential resources, the case studies that follow demonstrate that success in stewardship of archaeological landscapes can be achieved in a much less structured way, unhindered by ‘western’ models which simply, as discussed next, have very often failed to engage at local, community levels.

Community-based heritage: the critique There is now a considerable critique and discourse surrounding the (over)use of the term ‘community’ and ‘community-based projects’ in heritage discourse.20 These critiques have 16  Hassan 2008: 22. 17  Helmy and Cooper 2008: 514–35. 18  ibid: 516–18. 19  Shawarby et al  2009: 155–64; see also http://www.quarryscapes for more information about the EAIS’s role as a partner in the ‘QuarryScapes’ Project. 20  Waterton and Smith 2010: 4–15; Chirikure et al 2010: 30–44.

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Cultural heritage management in Egypt   237 largely focused on the erroneous idea that some form of homogeneity exists among the ‘community’ comprising people living on or near ‘heritage’ sites, often characterized in terms of geography, ethnicity, and class.21 Critiques from African contexts are particularly pertinent, as numerous studies have clearly highlighted the problems in not properly defining what ‘community’ and ‘community participation’ actually mean in the context of management of heritage, and also not recognizing the extent to which local situations differ.22 For instance, community leaders and guides to archaeological sites (often coming from regional antiquities organizations) may not necessarily represent the interests of all those who live near heritage sites, and in some instances not be keen to involve some communities, whom they might even regard as a threat to the site.23 Indeed, there is also no reason to assume that local communities living near archaeological sites must necessarily take an interest in ‘heritage’ per se, when there has been no mutual dialogue to create new associations with place.24 In the case of the Kasubi Tombs in Uganda, conservation initiatives have been fraught with sectional conflict between local communities through longestablished power structures between groups.25 What these studies have emphasized is the extent to which the notion of ‘community-participation’ is not a ‘one size fits all’ model, but is more about developing dialogues that are very specific to the local social landscape. Australian ‘indigenous archaeology’ has really led the field in this debate, and has been re-thinking the ways in which we define community participation and foster this inter­active process. Heritage discourses in Australia have, since the 1980s, truly blazed a trail of groundbreaking participatory work between archaeologists and indigenous communities. Numerous projects across Australia have underscored the crucial role that local indigenous ‘communities’ play in cultural heritage discourses.26 These initiatives have understood the multi-vocality of community engagement and the need for ‘bottom up’ thinking, rather than communities responding to expert-driven agendas in which defining heritage values, often at a global scale, simply detaches local people from the process.27

Implementing community-based heritage initiatives in Egypt: an overview Egypt, like many other states in Africa, still struggles to shake off the legacy of a colonial past and ideologies that loom large in terms of the ways in which archaeological practice and heritage management has tended to exclude local people in all aspects of the research process.28 The only significant inroads that have been made in Egypt to truly engage in a two-way discourse with local people in the protection of important places has come from work with more recent Islamic heritage, such as the ‘Hammam Project’ in Cairo, which produced 21  Waterton and Smith 2010: 9–10. 22  Chirikure et al 2010: 31–35, 41; Kigongo and Reid 2007: 371–84. 23  Chirikure et al 2010: 41. 24  Chirikure et al 2010: 40–1. 25  Kigongo and Reid 2007: 380. 26  Field et al 2000; Greer et al 2002; Waterton and Smith 2010. 27  Greer 2010: 46, 55; Smith and Waterton 2009a; 2009b; Waterton and Smith 2010: 9–10. See also Zimmerman 2013: 98–118 on local stewardship rather than just archaeologists setting the agenda 28  Reid 1997; Mitchell 2000; Meskell 2001: 147–9; Moser et al 2002: 221–2; Chirikure et al 2010: 38.

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238   Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany innovative ideas surrounding sustainable, adaptive re-use of Islamic buildings into local society to ensure conservation.29 Similar positive results have also come from the Aga Khan Trust for Culture steering numerous community-inclusive projects in which local residents have acutely benefitted from living next to a historic site, rather than this being a negative. Restoration of the Islamic heritage contained within Al-Azhar Park in Cairo sits within the community who live at nearby Darb al-Ahmar. In the past, local p ­ eople would have been forcibly removed from the area and isolated from the historic buildings (as happened in Luxor, in clearing residents to reveal ‘the Avenue of Sphinxes’,30 and in the residential area close to the Valley of the Kings, where the village of Gurna was destroyed).31 But the Al-Azhar Park project has been a triumph of low-level provision of micro-credit, helping to create viable businesses and assisting owners in restoring crumbling houses. These are among a host of other inclusive ‘bottom up’ driven initiatives that have given local residents a stake in the future of their community.32 It has of course been a very different story for Egypt’s ancient pre-Islamic heritage, except for a few attempts having been made to engage local communities in heritage initiatives concerning ancient sites outside of the more well-known monu­ments.33 In the late 1990s, David Peacock and Stephanie Moser pioneered one of the first community-based projects aimed at protecting the pre-Islamic, Roman period remains situated in and around the Red Sea port town of Quseir el-Qadim.34 ‘The Community Archaeology Project’ was conceived as a means to actively collaborate with local communities based in el-Quseir in the dissemination and interpretation of archaeological investigations at the nearby ancient port of Myos Hormos.35 The pioneering methodology and strategy was designed to break down the barriers that have existed between ‘foreign’ expert-driven investigation and interpretation of the past, and the concerns and interests of local people. As Moser succinctly pointed out, ‘[it is] no longer acceptable for archaeologists to reap the material and intellectual benefits of another society’s heritage without that society being involved and able to benefit equally from the endeavour’.36 Despite the pioneering aspects of this project, sustaining the initiatives which rely on local people, often working on a voluntary basis, are difficult to maintain in absentia and particularly when international funding eventually dries up. Our own experience of ‘heritage’ research in co-directing the ‘QuarryScapes’ conservation project (2005–08) in Egypt,37 encountered similar problems. From a purely research perspective, the positive outcomes of the project have added significantly to agendas in terms of interpreting and assigning values to this type of archaeological landscape that can be used cross-culturally, as well as  creating a comprehensive overview of risks and threats to procurement landscapes.38 Activities such as training of antiquities staff in ways of documenting these historic 29  See Dumreicher 2008: 229–42. 30  See Jones 2008: 118–19. 31  See Mitchell 2000. 32  See website: http://www.akdn.org/where-we-work/middle-east/egypt. 33  Moser et al 2002; Shetawy and El-Khateeb 2009; Ghanem and Saad 2015. 34  Moser et al 2002. 35  ibid: 229. 36  ibid: 221. 37  The ‘QuarryScapes’ conservation project (2005–08) was the first international multi-disciplinary collaboration of its kind, funded by the European Union (EU), to focus specifically on generating prac­tical and theoretical methods to protect these endangered quarry landscapes, not only in Egypt, but also in Jordan and Turkey. See a series of downloadable reports at http://www.quarryscapes.no website—in particular Storemyr et al 2007 on risk assessment and monitoring. 38  See Chapter 8 in this volume on studying procurement landscapes.

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Cultural heritage management in Egypt   239 en­vir­on­ments were a crucial element, and workshops allowed for dissemination of project results in Egypt and elsewhere.39 The creation of a National Database of Quarries and Mines40 was also a key element, yet overall the project failed to really engage with a more local and general audience in Egypt. Although at the end of the project much was still left to be done in this regard, the founding of a ‘Department of Ancient Quarries and Mines’ (AQMD) within the Ministry of Antiquities at Aswan, as the case study below indicates, has achieved considerable success in protecting vulnerable areas of heritage in the region through direct engagement with local people, despite extremely limited financial resources.

Marginalization and the problem of ‘top down’ management and bureaucracy So where did the QuarryScapes project, and many others, go wrong? Although, as discussed above, there has been more recent debate about the dominant influence of western cultural values on heritage management in non-western cultures, such as AHD,41 a lot less has been said about the ways in which the whole machinery of heritage funding and allocation of resources still ends up marginalizing those it is seeking to empower. For instance ‘QuarryScapes’, funded by the European Union (EU), like other large overseas funded projects, had to adhere to strict rules and criteria in the allocation of money to ‘eligible partners’. Defining ‘eligible partners’ outside of ‘western’ ideas of the hierarchies of government institutions is fraught with pitfalls that can often steer the financial resources to the wrong people and places. What this usually means is that ‘top down’ bureaucracy intervenes and therefore individuals who are actively stewarding and engaging at local levels often end up being excluded from vital decision making, in terms of where resources can be most ef­fect­ive­ly channelled. Therefore, a tension exists between ‘top down’ bureaucratic, ‘expert-based’ perspectives, with those who actively have knowledge of what is important to local people, as well as the significance of places near to them. This problem with the funding application process itself emerged again at a recent heritagethemed workshop in Cairo, whose laudable aim was to open up channels of communication and fund selected cooperative projects between British and Egyptian professionals working in the heritage sector.42 The general consensus that emerged from the workshop was that more needed to be done to define the notion of ‘community-based’ heritage and to design fresh imaginative ways of generating ‘bottom up’ discourses at local level. Yet, iron­ic­al­ly, the 39 See http://www.quarryscapes.no; Bloxam and Heldal  2007;  2008; Abu-Jaber et al  2009; Bloxam 2009; 2011. 40  The creation of a National Database of Quarries and Mines in Egypt was a landmark—the aim of the database is to identify the legal status, governorate, and preservation of quarry and mining sites as well as crucially their listing, or not, as archaeological landscapes—see Shawarby et al 2009: 155–63. 41  See Byrne 2008; Smith 2006; Chirikure et al 2010. 42  The workshop was part of an international partnership scheme organized and funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) and Science & Technology Fund (STDF) called ‘Preserving Egypt’s Cultural Heritage: Mitigating Threats for a Sustainable Future’.

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240   Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany criteria to acquire funds for these new initiatives, specifically in terms of who could be ‘eligible project partners’, excluded from the process those who actually work with heritage/ conservation locally. The selection criterion thus perpetuated the ‘top down’ because the channelling of funds into governmental institutions as ‘eligible partners’ meant that the management of projects often fell to a ‘remote’ centrally based Principal Investigator, who usually must have a PhD, but may not necessarily have any knowledge of the site, local conditions, and problems. In Egypt, individuals in possession of a PhD are few, and as mentioned earlier, those who are so qualified usually belong to a select educated elite often schooled in ‘western’ institutions and/or notions about the processes of CHM. It is important to stress that not all ‘western’ models of CHM are so deeply flawed that they should be abandoned, and nor is it  automatically the case that institutionally based academics and professionals cannot ­contribute successfully to projects. What is argued here is that the processes described above do not allow for local, non-expert driven ideas to effectively emerge. What ends up happening is a demotivating and by-passing of the key individuals who actually work among local people. For heritage initiatives to have ‘teeth’ in terms of the strategic allocation of resources—be those financial, local team-building, and/or connected with basic things such as funding transportation to archaeological sites—a much more discursive look at the ways in which the funding process can be adapted to empower those outside of the elite professional arena is required. The case studies below are therefore aimed at providing examples of different strategies to the ways in which we can look at resourcing and empowering ‘bottom up’ local initiatives. They show the value of the judicious use of a more interactive local expert/local community method of engagement in the protection of historic environments, and/or the stewarding of the balance between modern needs in terms of infrastructure development, and the protection of important archaeological sites (Figure 11.1).

Case study 1. The central Wadi Hammamat: a peopled landscape The mountainous region of the Wadi Hammamat, 75 km east of Quft in the Nile Valley and 75 km west of el-Quseir on the Red Sea coast, is the source of rare high-quality minerals such as gold, copper, granite, and greywacke, which have all been exploited to varying degrees over a period of 6000 years from the fourth millennium bc to the present day.43 The ‘cultural landscape’ therefore presents us with a unique narrative of human endeavours to exploit these resources from material remains left behind such as settlements, workshops, ritual places, ceramics, mines, and quarries, which are complemented by a virtually unparalleled ‘rock cut’ textual record across a corresponding time-depth.44 These remains are easily accessible as they lie scattered along either side of a 20 km stretch of the modern tarmac road that connects the Red Sea with the Nile Valley (Figure 11.1). 43  See Chapter 8 in this volume for longer description and also Bloxam et al 2014; Bloxam 2015. 44  Couyat and Montet 1912; Goyon 1957; Harrell and Brown 1992; Klemm and Klemm 2008; Bloxam et al 2014; Bloxam 2015.

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The communities and potential threats at Wadi Hammamat Today, the social landscape and infrastructure largely focuses around four privately owned cafes at this midway point along the 150 km stretch of road that connects the Red Sea with the Nile Valley (Figure 11.2). The cafes are the focal point of interaction between groups of travellers, and a more regular clientele of lorry drivers, as well as a small local community who live in close proximity. Residing here on a semi-permanent basis, these mainly Ababda people (descended from Bedouin who have semi-permanently inhabited this region of the Eastern Desert for several millennia) have family connections either at Quft and Qena (Nile Valley) or el-Quseir (Red Sea coast). They also make up a rotating staff of six guards (employed by the Ministry of Antiquities (MoA)) who watch over the ‘pharaonic’ elements of the archaeological remains. A few kilometres to the east of the antiquities guards’ house, a team of managers, geologists, and guards (employed by the Egyptian Mineral Resources Authority (EMRA)) reside in the now abandoned British gold mine (called ‘City of Gold’) that was active during the colonial period from the 1930s to the early 1950s (Figure 11.3). Like most of these remote archaeological landscapes that are rich in minerals such as gold, the region has always been under threat from large-scale mining and mega-projects. Most recently, and potentially more imminent, is a proposed mega-project to expand the Wadi Hammamat road from two lanes into four. This initial phase of development is part of

Figure 11.2  One of four cafes located in the central Wadi Hammamat close to quarrying and mining regions.

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242   Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany

Figure 11.3  ‘City of Gold’ British colonial period derelict gold mine, central Wadi Hammamat.

major infrastructure plans in this part of the Eastern Desert (called the ‘Golden Triangle’) associated with increasing exploitation of the region’s natural resources. These plans will have a catastrophic effect on the whole social landscape if dialogues are not opened up soon between the various stakeholders. Road widening here will completely destroy all in its path, not only the ‘antique’ heritage, but also the ‘City of Gold’ and local cafes.45 The challenge at Wadi Hammamat has therefore been to find ways of engaging with local people in terms of protection of these vulnerable areas by tapping into existing initiatives that are educating Egyptians in the social history of the region.

Communicating a deeper history: stakeholder awareness and expanding the educational, touristic, and economic benefits locally The backdrop to our strategy focuses on the neglected Egyptian tourist market and the groups of geology students who regularly come to the central Wadi Hammamat from 45  Natural forces such as flash-floods are also a potential threat due to their increasing frequency and escalating levels, connected with climate change in the region.

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Figure 11.4  Museum created inside an abandoned building in the ‘City of Gold’.

universities all over Egypt to study the region’s exceptional geology. For decades, the hub for these largely educational and occasional touristic visits has been the ‘City of Gold’. Run by Egyptian managers, geologists, and guards connected with EMRA working on a rota system, they also act as guides and educate students and visitors about the history of British colonialism in Egypt and its impact in bringing new mining technologies into North Africa. By ingeniously re-using abandoned buildings within the complex, they have already created a small museum that contains numerous artefacts and an archive of letters that give an unusually intimate insight into the workings of a colonial mining town, and thus a unique social history (Figure  11.4). Justly proud of these achievements, the people who manage the gold mine have embedded their presence here into the social life of the area that has in­dir­ect­ly impacted in securing the long-term protection of this historic site. Therefore, our ‘bottom up’ strategy has been to give the lightest of touches by tapping into this already existing arena and audience to steer them towards the exceptional legacy of human exploitation of this region’s mineral resources, stretching back into prehistory, which is little known. Our Egyptian colleagues and other stakeholders who created the ‘City of Gold’ museum are enthusiastic about communicating this deeper history, as part of a continuous narrative of the social landscape. There is capacity in the gold mining complex to re-use other buildings to display artefacts relating to ancient mining and quarrying technology to complement what already exists. Promoting the area educationally not only as a landscape containing the archaeological remains in situ of human history of exploiting Egypt’s mineral resources,

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244   Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany but also as it is already, a centre for the study of ancient to modern mining technology, would be a significant draw-card. There is also the prospect of engaging with those who make their livelihoods in ways unconnected to the history and geology of the region. The cafes are of course at the heart of the social dynamics, in particular providing contact between groups from different educational and cultural backgrounds who regularly travel to and from the Nile Valley. They can certainly harness the economic benefits of bringing more people into the region, but it is also about local and regional communication in terms of transmitting the more recent past, as well as its deep history—in particular, the local narratives of those still alive who actually worked in the gold mine during the 1950s. Therefore, generational linkages can, as successfully demonstrated in other mining contexts, be an exceptionally strong avenue to engagement that can be one of the most powerful protectors of place.46 Of course we cannot ignore the larger regional auspices of the MoA, EMRA, and other environmental agencies as stakeholders who need to be brought to the table, but this ­discreet, low-key strategy that potentially only needs existing local support and im­petus to work, could provide the greatest guardianship of the area that has failed in other places. In  our second case study, we can demonstrate the ways in which local engagement and stewarding has worked to protect vulnerable archaeological sites in Aswan.

Case study 2. Aswan: new directions in balancing heritage protection with local livelihoods The Ancient Quarries and Mines Department (AQMD) was founded in 2006 in Aswan as part of an initiative, supported by the Egyptian antiquities organization (MoA), tasked with taking forward a number of protection measures and communication strategies. These strategies have been aimed at balancing the needs of modern development in the area, with the conservation of important archaeological sites. Supervised entirely locally in Aswan by a small team of Egyptian archaeologists, the main mission of AQMD has been to keep abreast of surveying and docu­ment­ing archaeological material in the Aswan region such as rock art, and settlement and other material culture that can span a time depth from the Lower Palaeolithic to the early Islamic period.47 These non-monumental heritage landscapes have been ignored and destroyed at an alarming rate and so AQMD has been building a database of sites, as well as actively engaging with local people and contractors in terms of creating awareness of these areas of heritage.

46  This has been achieved in other countries whereby miners who worked in the mines, and their stories, are communicated in museum settings, e.g. Big Pit in South Wales, see https://museum.wales/ bigpit; Bloxam and Heldal 2007: 305–23. 47  This region covers Aswan City, the West Bank of Aswan City, part of the gold mines in Wadi el-Hudi 50 km to the southeast—see map Figure 11.1; see also Kelany  2012;  2013; Kelany and Graff 2016.

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Local dialogues and the case of re-directing modern quarrying and mining The successes of steering the development–protection balance have been because AQMD has a team of exceptionally motivated individuals who take pleasure in their work and therefore act largely autonomously from the larger regional centres of ‘top down’ control—such as the Ministry of Antiquities in Cairo. The systems and plans that they have put in place at local level have enabled AQMD to control the issuing of permission as to where quarrying and mining activities can work, and, in cases where it might be unstoppable, to ensure that it does not happen before an archaeological survey has been completed. Initial resistance to AQMD was because it was difficult for local managers to recognize the im­port­ance of the archaeological sites, above the economic necessity of keeping open the quarries and mines that they had run for decades. Sensitivity to this dilemma was all about being able to directly communicate significance, and yet not stop quarrying activity, but simply move it elsewhere. Typically, AQMD propose new quarrying and mining areas, far from the archaeological sites, and can quickly issue an agreement to work initially for one year, renewable on an annual basis (Figure 11.5). A large number of modern quarries and mines were moved away from archaeological sites. For instance granite quarrying being moved to the east of Aswan, and from Wadi Subeira to Wadi Agbab, north of Aswan city (see Figure 11.1). This highly successful pragmatic, low-key, bottom up strategy has also had some interesting and unexpected consequences. Contractors and quarry owners, rather than being seen as ‘the enemy’, now assist archaeological works, mainly by lending cars for surveys, even to the

Figure 11.5  Members of Ancient Quarries and Mines Department (AQMD) team and Egyptian Mineral Resources Authority (EMRA) showing local contractors archaeological sites in the Wadi Subeira.

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Figure 11.6  A private contractor’s loader that was used to help AQMD close parts of the modern road where there are important rock art sites.

extent of providing transport to sites other than theirs (Figure 11.6).48 AQMD was able to get financial support from local contractors, as an ‘approval’ requirement, so that they were able to employ local guards from well-known families who live in these areas, as well as have a sense of ‘ownership’, to help stop any illegal work. This has been extremely successful and effective, and has shown that resourcing such initiatives does not need to involve ‘top down’ interference, financing, foreign experts, and bureaucracy. The process of sustaining this strategy is now in the hands of those guards who live in the area and who have become the link between AQMD and the local people. There has, however, been another more subtle and unexpected outcome to all this, namely that all local people now have a vested interest in protecting these jobs for their family members, and therefore also seeking to prevent any infringement into archaeological sites. The growth in local engagement and respect for these archaeological sites has come about through trust and minimal imposition of outside sanctioned rules and managers by simply allowing local people to take charge and ownership of their neighbourhoods.

Issues still to be resolved: the influence of top down bureaucracy, control and sectional conflict Since the beginning of AQMD’s work, there has been a constant battle to maintain administrative and logistical support and resources from the larger MoA (and also from 48  Kelany et al 2015.

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Cultural heritage management in Egypt   247 more local managers) to allow the department to complete the rest of its objectives. This lack of cooperation between staff within the MoA has had a corrosive effect, involving a  persistent degree of resentment for the success of AQMD from other managers in the local MoA office. Ironically it is these factors that constitute the biggest obstacles to the completion of AQMD’s objectives. The absence of an overall MoA strategy to protect archaeological sites, and the priority of dealing with these sites according to a risk map, has made it more difficult to work as a quarry management department. The lack of coordination between different MoA departments has made work in places such as desert areas much more difficult. The current situation in Egypt, especially the country’s economic problems, has caused the Egyptian government to rush into work on large projects without serious consideration of the side effects that such undertakings may have on both the environment and arch­aeo­ logic­al sites. A clear example is the ‘Golden Triangle’ project in the Eastern desert region between Qift/Qena in the Nile Valley and Safaga on the Red Sea coast, as mentioned in the previous Wadi Hammamat case study. In this project, there are a very large number of archaeological sites that have not been studied or registered. It appears that an unqualified team was chosen to examine the Golden Triangle region, perhaps deliberately in order to ensure that the exploitation of resources goes ahead, even if archaeological sites are known to exist within the project area. This is despite the fact that AQMD provided a list of arch­ aeo­logic­al sites in the region with the request for a comprehensive archaeological survey of the region. The Golden Triangle project also evidently ignores the fact that the development of the region has been taken in an exciting and enriching way, with the development of the ‘City of Gold’ mining site in the central Wadi Hammamat as discussed above.

Conclusions and discussion In this chapter we have presented a considerable critique of ‘top down’ western approaches to CHM and the ways in which these models have failed to live up to expectations in Egypt. On a more positive note, however, we have provided case studies that have demonstrated pragmatic ways in which we can side-step some of the major bureaucratic blockages to increasing local participation. These have been low-key initiatives that on the one hand tap into already existing ‘heritage’ projects, as in the case of the Wadi Hammamat, and/or more simply are just about creating dialogues of cooperation that balance imperatives of economic livelihoods with care for local archaeological sites. We have also shown that such initiatives do not require large injections of money, foreign expert-driven control, or complicated administrative bureaucracy, but, by using innovative methods of engagement, can be locally stewarded and resourced. Inspirational models of generating local participation in protecting Islamic heritage sites in Cairo are clearly fine examples of the ways in which socially and economically deprived communities can become valued stakeholders through imaginative methods of engagement. As we have shown in the case of Aswan, the problems of engagement are only hampered when there is interference from distant offices whose objectives are in conflict with those at a local level. On this last point there may yet be light at the end of the tunnel. The influence of the older generation of archaeologists who have held leadership positions in the MoA has

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248   Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany begun to wane, as many of them have now retired. A new younger generation of archaeologists has therefore begun to take leadership roles in the MoA, and it is very important to inject new blood and fresh ideas into this revolutionary stage of archaeological management. A major part of this is the extent to which young Egyptian archaeologists are taking part in directing field projects that were once the sole domain of foreign missions. Collaborative Masters degrees and diplomas in managing archaeological sites, such as those being initiated between Helwan University and the German Archaeological Institute in Cairo can be important initiatives.49 It is clear, however, that we still need to be aware of the problems of marginalization, poor selection processes, and issues of interference, that have been discussed above. Until now, a number of archaeological management ‘scientific’ courses run by foreign scientific institutes have had mixed results from an Egyptian perspective, largely because the selection process has tended to exclude many of the most able potential participants. Field schools carried out by the American Mission in Giza (AERA), under the supervision of Mark Lehner, have been more successful in training a large number of archaeologists on specialized archaeological work, and these archaeologists now compete with foreign missions in directing work on archaeological sites, as well as jointly as team members. Although this chapter has critiqued the heavy hand of top down, western models of man­aging heritage, it should nevertheless be stressed that education locally, particularly in arch­aeo­logic­al techniques, means that we can still extract the best and most relevant approaches and mould them to be applicable to local conditions.

Suggested reading There are numerous publications concerning the practice of CHM globally, but Fairclough et al  2008 (Heritage Reader) is perhaps the most comprehensive compendium of papers written by experts in the field, and discusses methods in the practice of heritage management through numerous case studies across a range of archaeological landscapes. See also Hassan et al 2009 (Managing Egypt’s Cultural Heritage), which provides papers from a conference held in Egypt in 2009, and see also the website of the Egyptian Cultural Heritage Organization (ECHO), which was initiated by Hassan. Cleere  1984 (Approaches to the Archaeological Heritage) is still a valuable book today in relation to archaeological methods in the practice of CHM. The Journal of International Heritage Studies is an important means of keeping abreast of the latest developments in the field.

Bibliography Abu-Jaber, N., Bloxam, E.G., Degryse, P., and Heldal, T. 2009. QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean. Norway: Geological Survey of Norway. Bloxam, E. 2009. New Directions in Identifying the Significance of Ancient Quarry Landscapes: Four Concepts of Landscape. In N.  Abu-Jaber, E.G.  Bloxam, P.  Degryse, and T.  Heldal (eds), 49  In this joint diploma, the German Archaeological Institute in Cairo offers scholarships to a number of archaeologists working at the Ministry—the idea is that these individuals will later work in a new office belonging to the Ministry, with the aim of developing and managing archaeological sites.

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Cultural heritage management in Egypt   249 QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean. Norway: Geological Survey of Norway, 163–81. Bloxam, E. 2011. Ancient Quarries in Mind: Pathways to a More Accessible Significance, World Archaeology 43/2: 149–66. Bloxam, E. 2015. ‘A Place Full of Whispers’: Socialising the Quarry Landscape of the Wadi Hammamat, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 25(4): 789–814. Bloxam, E. and Heldal, T. 2007. The Industrial Landscape of the Northern Faiyum Desert as a World Heritage Site: Modelling ‘Outstanding Universal Value’ of 3rd Millennium BC Stone Quarrying in Egypt, World Archaeology 39(3): 305–23. Bloxam, E. and Heldal, T. 2008. Identifying Heritage Values and Character-defining Elements of Ancient Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean: An Integrated Analysis. Geological Survey of Norway, QuarryScapes report. Available at http://www.quarryscapes.no. Bloxam, E., Harrell, J., Kelany, A., Moloney, N., El-Senussi, A., and Tohamey, A. 2014. Investigating the Predynastic Origins of Greywacke Working in the Wadi Hammamat, Archéo-Nil 14: 35–55. Breen, C. 2007. Advocacy, International Development and World Heritage Sites in Sub-Saharan Africa, World Archaeology 39(3): 355–70. Byrne, D. 2008. Western Hegemony in Archaeological Heritage Management. In G.  Fairclough, R.  Harrison, J.H.  Jameson Jnr., and J.  Schofield (eds), The Heritage Reader. London: Routledge, 297–321. Carmen, J. 2015. Archaeological Resource Management: An International Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chirikure, S., Manyanga, M., Ndoro, W., and Pwiti, G. 2010. Unfulfilled Promises? Heritage Management and Community Participation at Some of Africa’s Cultural Heritage Sites, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 30–44. Cleere, H. (ed). 1984. Approaches to the Archaeological Heritage: A Comparative Study of World Cultural Resource Management Systems. New Directions in Archaeology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Couyat, J. and Montet, P. 1912. Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques et hiératiques du ouâdi Hammâmât. Cairo: Institut Français et Archaéologie Orientale. Dumreicher, H. 2008. The Hammam: Scenarios for a Sustainable Future. In F. Hassan, A. De Trafford, and M. Youssef (eds), Cultural Heritage and Development in the Arab World. Egypt: Bibliotheca Alexandrina, 229–42. Fairclough, G., Harrison, R., Jameson, J.H. Jnr, and Schofield, J. 2008. The Heritage Reader. London: Routledge. Field, J., Barker, J., Barker, R., Coffey, E., Coffey, L., Crawford, E., Darcy, L., Fields, T., Lord, G., Steadman, B., and Colley, S. 2000. ‘Coming Back’: Aborigines and Archaeologists at Cuddie Springs, Public Archaeology 1: 35–48. Ghanem, M.M. and Saad, S.K. 2015. Enhancing Sustainable Heritage Tourism in Egypt: Challenges and Framework of Action, Journal of Heritage Tourism 10(4): 357–77. Goyon, G. 1957. Nouvelles inscriptions rupestres du Wadi Hammamat. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient Adrien-Maisonneuve. Greer, S. 2010. Heritage and Empowerment: Community-based Indigenous Cultural Heritage in Northern Australia, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 45–58. Greer, S., Harrison, R., and Mcintyre-Tamwoy, S. 2002. Community-based Archaeology in Australia, World Archaeology 34(2): 265–87. Harrell, J.A. and Brown, V.M. 1992. The Oldest Surviving Topographical Map from ancient Egypt (Turin Papyri 1879, 1899, and 1969), Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 39: 81–105. Hassan, F.A. 2008. Heritage for Development: Concepts and Strategic Approaches. In F.  Hassan, A. De Trafford, and M.  Youssef (eds), Cultural Heritage and Development in the Arab World. Egypt: Bibliotheca Alexandrina, 21–7. Hassan, F., De Trafford, A., and Youssef, M. 2008. Cultural Heritage and Development in the Arab World. Egypt: Bibliotheca Alexandrina.

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250   Elizabeth Bloxam and Adel Kelany Hassan, F.A., Owens, L.S., De Trafford, A., Tassie, G.J., and Van Wetering, J. 2009. Managing Egypt’s Cultural Heritage: Proceedings of the First Egyptian Cultural Heritage Organisation Conference on Egyptian Cultural Heritage Management. Egyptian Cultural Heritage Organisation Conference 2009: London, England. London: Golden House. Helmy, E. and Cooper, C. 2002. An Assessment of Sustainable Tourism Planning for the Arch­aeo­logic­al Heritage: The Case of Egypt, Journal of Sustainable Tourism 10(6): 514–35. Ikram, S. 2013. Cultural Heritage in Times of Crisis: The View from Egypt, Journal of Eastern Mediterranean Archaeology and Heritage Studies 1(4): 365–71. Jones, M. 2008. Monument and Site Conservation. In R.H.  Wilkinson (ed), Egyptology Today. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 98–122. Kelany. A. 2012. More Late Palaeolithic Rock Art at Wādi Abū Subeira, Upper Egypt, Bulletin des Musées royaux d’Art et d’Histoire 83: 5–21. Kelany A. 2013. The Archaeological Excavation and Survey at the Unfinished Obelisk and at Wadi Subayrah. In D. Raue, S.J. Seidlmayer, and P. Speiser (eds), The First Cataract: One region -Diverse Perspectives. Berlin: Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts: Berlin, 97–102, pls 19–21. Kelany, A. and Graff, G. 2016. A First Predynastic Aardvark’s Representation on Rock in the Eastern Desert Egypt (Wadi Aqaba, Aswan), Göttinger Miszellen 249: 85–94. Kelany, A., Tohami, A., Harby, H., Mokhtar, M., El Homosany, S., Badawy, M., El Taher, H., and Abd El-Basset, M. 2015. Surveying Work at Wad Abu Subeira, Season 2012. In A. Jiménez and C. Von Pilgrim (eds), From the Delta to Cataract: Studies Dedicated to Mohamed el-Bialy. Leiden: Brill, 98–107. Kigongo, R. and Reid, A. 2007. Local Communities, Politics and the Management of the Kasubi Tombs Uganda, World Archaeology 39(3): 371–84. Klemm, D. and Klemm, R. 2008. Stones and Quarries in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Meskell, L. 2001. The Practice and Politics of Archaeology. In A.M.  Cantwell, E.  Friedlander, and M.L. Tram (eds), Egypt, in Ethics and Anthropology: Facing Future Issues in Human Biology, Globalism and Cultural Property. New York: Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 146–69. Mitchell, T. 2000. Making the Nation: The Politics of Heritage in Egypt. In N.A. Sayyad (ed), Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage. Global Norms and Urban Forms in the Age of Tourism. London: Routledge, 212–39. Moser, S., Glazier, D., Phillips, J.E., El Nemr, L.N., Mousa, M.S., Aiesh, R.N., Richardson, S., Connor, A., and Seymour, M. 2002. Transforming Archaeology Through Practice: Strategies for Collaborative Archaeology and the Community Archaeology Project at Quseir, Egypt, World Archaeology 34(2): 220–48. Reid, D.M. 1997. Nationalising the Pharaonic Past: Egyptology, Imperialism, and Egyptian Nationalism in the Arab Middle East. In I. Gershoni and J. Jankowski (eds), Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East. New York: Columbia University Press, 127–315. Scarre, G. and Coningham, R. 2013. Appropriating the Past: Philosophical Perspectives on the Practice of Archaeology Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shawarby, A., Fathy, E., Sadek, M., Amin, N., Yousri, R., and Kayser, S. 2009. National Inventory and Database of Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in Egypt. In N. Abu-Jaber, E.G. Bloxam, P. Degryse, and T. Heldal (eds), QuarryScapes: Ancient Stone Quarry Landscapes in the Eastern Mediterranean. Norway: Geological Survey of Norway, 155–64. Shetawy, A.A. and El-Khateeb, S.M. 2009. The Pyramids Plateau: A Dream Searching for Survival, Tourism Management 30: 819–27. Smith, L. 2006. Uses of Heritage. London: Routledge. Smith, L. and Waterton, E. 2009a. Heritage, Communities and Archaeology. London: Duckworth. Smith, L. and Waterton, E. 2009b. Constrained by Commonsense: The Authorised Heritage Discourse in Contemporary Debates. In J. Carmen, R. Skeates, and C. Mcdavid (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Public Archaeology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 153–71.

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Cultural heritage management in Egypt   251 Storemyr, P., Bloxam, E., and Heldal, T. (eds). 2007. Risk Assessment and Monitoring of Ancient ­Egyptian Quarry Landscapes, Geological Survey of Norway, QuarryScapes report. Available for download at http://www.quarryscapes.no. Waterton, E. and Smith, L. 2010. The Recognition and Misrecognition of Community Heritage, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–2): 4–15. Winter, T. 2014. Beyond Eurocentrism? Heritage Conservation and the Politics of Difference, International Journal of Heritage Studies 20(2): 123–37. Zimmerman, L.J. 2013. On Archaeological Ethics and Letting Go. In G. Scarre and R. Coningham (eds), Appropriating the Past: Philosophical Perspectives on the Practice of Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 98–118.

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chapter 12

M ethods of site su rv ey a n d excavation i n Egy pt Ana Tavares

Introduction Within the subject of Egyptology, Egyptian archaeology has been overshadowed by ­philological and architectural studies. At several points in time, up-to-date scientific practices were used in Egypt often as forerunners in the field. Examples include the work of the Napoleonic expedition in the 1790s, Flinders Petrie’s innovations in excavation and recording practices in the 1880s, and Manfred Bietak’s introduction of stratigraphic excavation and recording methodology to the settlement site of Tell el -Dab’a in the 1970s.1 Early excavations in Egypt were driven by the need for finds, either written material—which dominated the study of ancient Egypt—or objects for museums and private collections. The monumentality of Egyptian architecture and the excellent preservation of funerary material have provided an inexhaustible supply of ‘discoveries’ which required little archaeological skill and no recording of the actual archaeological layers. The early decades of Egyptian archaeology were often darkened by the use of fire, dynamite, or excavations employing hundreds of men in order to make ‘discoveries’. Archaeology aims to retrieve information; it is not a quest for objects or monuments. The ‘curse’ of Egyptian archaeology has been that a search for ‘things’ (objects, tombs, temples) is invariably very fruitful. Therefore, a project can be considered successful even if the information from the actual archaeological layers was disregarded. Elsewhere archaeology has focused on retrieving information from the archaeological layers and the study of material culture within its archaeological context. The central role played by philology and architectural studies in the development of Egyptology has often minimized the need for adequate archaeological methodology.2 1  Petrie 1901; Bietak 1976.

2  Bietak 1979; Giddy 1999; Jeffreys 2003; 2014.

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Methods of site survey and excavation in Egypt   253 Although the study of Egyptian archaeology now plays a more important role in Egyptology, much academic training is still based on the study of philology, epigraphy, history, art history, and religion. Material culture, when taught, often relies on poorly contextualized museum material. Academic institutions are increasingly providing training in Egyptian archaeology, but there is still a great lack of opportunities for field experience, which often must be acquired outside Egypt. Excavations in Egypt have traditionally been carried out by skilled workmen, but recorded by ‘archaeologists’ who often have not excavated the layers they record.3 A basic tenet of archaeology is that ‘excavation is destruction’. Each archaeological feature is unique therefore ‘the study of a site by excavation is an unrepeatable experiment’.4 Consequently, every effort must be made to retrieve and record information of the layers being destroyed, that is, during excavation. Without such records, objects will be found and structures exposed but the archaeological information will be forever lost. Excavation for objects or simply to expose monuments is no longer justifiable. Discussions of excavation methodology within Egyptology courses are few, or are delivered through more general courses in archaeology that may not necessarily include the specific environmental conditions found in Egypt. Excavation and recording methodology is often relegated to a short paragraph or section in final site publications. Although insularity has characterized the study of pharaonic Egypt there are several projects in Egypt using mainstream and updated archaeological methodologies; from excavation and recording, through to data curation, interpretation, and publication.5 The study of prehistoric and Predynastic Egypt has been less insular and practitioners have engaged actively with methodological issues.6

Survey methodology Archaeological survey designates a range of techniques used to locate and graphically represent both archaeological sites and their wider landscapes. Archaeological sites need to be located at an inter-site level within the general landscape and broader environment, and, if possible, within known coordinate systems.7 Initial site-wide and regional surveys8 benefit from incremental and collaborative work, which is greatly enhanced if the data is shared

3  Tassie 2007: 1775–6; Rowland 2014. An interesting early exception are the diaries in Arabic of the Reises (foremen) Said Ahmed Said Diraz and Mohamed Said Diraz working with Reisner at Giza, available at: http://www.gizapyramids.org/static/html/pressrelease006.jsp. 4  Barker 1993: 13. 5  Projects run by Ancient Egypt Research Associates (AERA), University of California Los Angeles (UCLA), the German Archaeological Institute Cairo (DAIK), and the Egypt Exploration Society (EES) among others. 6  Midant-Reynes 2000: 1; Crubezy et al 2002; Friedman 2009; Rowland and Bertini 2016; Crubezy 2017. 7  Parcak 2008; Zakrzewski et al 2016. 8  Bietak 1975; Jeffreys 1985; van den Brink 1987; Chlodnick et al 1992; Kemp and Garfi 1993.

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254   Ana Tavares online.9 A further important development would be the creation, by the Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities, of a sites and monuments register.10 At a macro-scale, survey is used to locate new sites, to records sites excavated in the past but lost due to urban expansion or agricultural development, and most importantly using an array of modern remote sensing techniques to gather information on buried features both natural and man-made. The pioneering work of J.  Dorner, using a combination of auger and resistivity survey, allowed for a reconstruction of the ancient landscape of the region of Tell el-Dab’a–Qantîr.11 Similar geomorphology surveys have produced new understandings of other Egyptian sites.12 Non-intrusive archaeological prospection ­methods, such as resistivity, magnetometry, and ground penetrating radar, are often used with excellent results on Egyptian sites.13 The early use of satellite imagery, to map ­paleochannels in the desert,14 has been expanded to several other areas as satellite imagery data sets have become more readily available.15 The combined use of aerial photography/ satellite imagery with surface survey produces highly informative mapping.16 Within excavations (intra-site), site survey is used to lay out the site grid, to set out a drawing axis, and to locate features or finds in three dimensions (x, y, z values, i.e., north, east, and elevation values). Archaeological survey can be carried out at a low-tech level, requiring little more than a compass, measuring tapes, and simple site equipment (grid pegs, hammer, string, a line level). This is sufficient to lay out grids, make simple site maps, and locate features within the site. An essential piece of equipment in an archaeological site is a surveyor’s level (Dumpy level or automatic level). This consists of a short telescope fixed rigidly to a horizontally rotating circle and a spirit level. The dumpy level is used constantly during excavation work to measure elevations, either from a local site Datum or preferably from a point with a known elevation above sea level. Automatic levels have a protactor built in, that is, the rotating circular plate marked with degrees so that angles can be read. Distances can also be calculated using a Dumpy level by sighting the lowest and highest stadia lines. The automatic level can be used to set up section lines, take bearings, set out a grid, measure a contour map, and carry out a traverse (ie transfer an elevation value, in several stages, across some distance). To locate the site within a national grid or other known coordinate systems, the archaeologist will use equipment such as theolodolites or satellite-based navigation systems that is, Global Positioning Systems (GPS) and Differential Global Positioning Systems (DGPS). Archaeological sites often have a site grid, commonly of 5 × 5 m squares. Grids are not appropriate for all archaeological sites and excavation is not necessarily carried out by grid square. However, a site grid in an open-area excavation facilitates planning of archaeological 9  For instance the Delta Survey of the Egypt Exploration Society, https://www.ees.ac.uk/alphabeticalindex; the Giza Archives, http://www.gizapyramids.org/; the Theban Mapping Project, http://www. thebanmappingproject.com/, or the Geographical Information System for the Theban Necropolis, http:// prosper.cofc.edu/~olgis/. 10  Tassie and Hassan 2009. 11  Dorner 1983; further bibliography in Bietak and Forstner-Muller 2011: 26, note 8. 12 Jeffreys  1985; Pusch et al  1999; Hoffmeier and Moshier  2006; Hillier et al  2007, Moshier and El-Kalani 2008; Rowland and Phillips 2012; Toonen et al 2017. 13  Herbich 2003; 2014; Herbich and Zych 2015. 14  Wendorf et al 1987. 15  Barta and Bruna 2007; see also Parcak 2004; 2008: 67–73. 16 Fenwick 2004.

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Methods of site survey and excavation in Egypt   255 units and recording of finds in three dimensions. The site grid should be tied to a known coordinate system—either local, national, or international. If this is not possible, the grid can be aligned to magnetic north. This involves sighting a set of ranging poles along a north-south line, which can be used as a baseline. Perpendicular lines can be set out simply with tapes, using a 3:4:5 triangle, an isosceles triangle, or calculating the hypotenuse (diagonal measurement of a right-angle triangle). So, a 5 × 5 m triangle will have a 7.07 m hypotenuse, a 10 × 10 m triangle a 14.14 m hypotenuse, etc. A grid can also be set out by using an automatic level to measure angles and distances. Access to a theodolite greatly facilitates site survey. Many projects will use this type of equipment to tie the site to a known coordinate system, to set out the grid and, on a daily basis, to locate archaeological units and finds. The point of origin of a grid is the southwest corner. Grid values increase towards the north (Y axis) and towards the east (X axis). The point of origin of a grid may be labelled with a local value such as 100 North/50 East. The grid origin should not be marked with 000/00 or low values in case the grid is extended to the south and west, forcing the grid values into negative numbers. For ease of reference, alpha-numerical grid references (e.g. grid square A12, W19) are often used in addition to north and east values The site grid should be clearly marked out on the ground using secure pegs at 5 m or 10 m intervals over the entire excavation area. The coordinate values of the corners of every square should be marked on the appropriate peg prior to excavation. Measurements can be taken with two tapes set perpendicularly to the grid sides in order to locate features within the grid squares (i.e., X-Y values, north and east values). During excavation basic survey skills are used daily to locate features and finds.

Excavation and recording methodology There are several different, yet adequate, excavation and recording methodologies currently in use in Egyptian archaeology. Often differences in terminology and lack of published explanations of field methods creates an impression of widely disparate archaeological practices. In fact, the archaeological documentation of many projects expresses common semantic relationships and shares a conceptual framework. Adequate excavation methodology should be applicable to diverse periods and settings; from long-term research projects to monitoring of modern engineering works.17 Appropriate excavation methodology aims to document site formation processes. There is no single ‘right’ excavation and recording methodology but the minimum requirements may be summarized as follows: - each archaeological unit must be clearly identified on site and recorded during excavation; - archaeological units must be recorded in relation to other features and within a stratigraphic sequence; - information which enables site formation processes to be identified must be recorded; - a comprehensive archive needs to be created and the results of the work disseminated (as open access datasets, preliminary reports, or comprehensive site publications).18 17  Barker 1993; Sheehan 2010: 8–20, 137–42.

18  Sheehan 2003; Tassie 2015.

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256   Ana Tavares

Stratigraphic units and single context recording The starting point in excavation and recording is the stratigraphic unit (archaeological unit or context, unité stratigraphique, Schischten, Fundstellen, locus). Archaeological sites are formed by processes of stratified deposition and removal. Therefore, every action, whether it leaves a positive or a negative trace in the stratigraphic sequence is known, in British archaeology, as a ‘context’ (or ‘feature’ in north American terminology). A group of related ‘contexts’ constitutes a ‘feature’. There are three types of stratigraphic units: deposits, built units, and cuts. The first two represent actions which leave a positive trace, while cuts (voids) leave a negative trace in the stratigraphic sequence. The foundation cut for a wall is a negative record while the wall and construction fill of the cut create positive records.19 A stratigraphic unit, therefore, can be a thin ash spread, or a 2 m thick sloping bank of debris, a wall or its foundation cut. Excavation and recording of each unit must follow the ‘shape of the unit’ and not an imposed arbitrary removal sequence. Occasionally, excavation in ‘spits’, that is, by removing units arbitrarily assigned a measurement of depth and extent, may be acceptable. This method can be used in sites where no stratigraphy is visible and possibly in the excavation of intrusive and fill deposits. The latter, however, can be excavated more effectively in half sections or quadrants, if there is no visible stratigraphy and there is a need to verify if one or more deposits may be present. Stratigraphic units are excavated in reverse order of deposition. Excavation should remove the most recent material first, then proceed backwards through the history of the site. Recording systems vary but all archaeological units must have a written, drawn, and photographic record. The need to document in detail every single unit, however insignificant, results from the fact that the process of excavation itself destroys the archaeological units. Excavation removes the archaeological layers, in a process which cannot be repeated. Given that each archaeological unit is unique, full documentation is the only way to reconstruct the corresponding ancient action. In order to deal with complex stratified sites a recording methodology, known as single context recording (SCR), was developed by the Museum of London. Simply, one unit, one number, one complete record. This system, therefore, requires an individual graphic record for each unit. SCR methodology is used by several projects in Egypt.20 The cycle of excavation and recording starts with the cleaning of the excavation area and the identification of the limits of the archaeological unit. The unit is photographed, allocated a unique sequential number, located within the site (e.g., within grid squares if used) and planned. Plans are drawn at 1:20 or 1:10 as appropriate. Top elevations are measured preferably within a known altimetric system (e.g., above sea level). Sections are drawn at 1:10 or 1:5 as appropriate. A detailed written form is started; this is amended and completed during excavation. The appropriate excavation and sampling method is chosen. During excavation material culture and samples are logged in relation to the unit’s unique number. This number (like a barcode) connects finds, samples, drawings, elevations, and photographs, and represents a unique action within the stratigraphic sequence.

19 Westman 1994. 20  Jeffreys  1985; Wendrich  2003; Hassan and Tassie  2003; Midant-Reynes et al  2004; Lehner  2007; Rowland 2008.

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Methods of site survey and excavation in Egypt   257 There are several variations to this recording system. Because SCR disassembles the site graphically as separate individual units, it requires careful record-keeping and a high degree of archival organization. In SCR, accurate but graphically schematic plans are produced— that is, plans show outlines of units with slope information but no graphic rendition of inclusions or composition of units. These plans contrast greatly with traditional archaeological plans. Furthermore, composite plans—plans showing several units—are usually only drawn at the pre- and post-excavation stages. In practice, supplementary composite plans can be drawn in the field when an area or structure shows archaeological units ‘in-phase’. Phased plans of built units are often drawn at 1:50 or 1:100. The system developed by the Museum of London places equal weight on all archaeological units—deposits, built units, and cuts. They constitute equal stratigraphic components in site formation. This can be considered a disadvantage when approaching sites architecturally. The longevity of built features is often difficult to highlight within a stratigraphic matrix and to capture graphically.

Layers and levels (Schichten, Planum) An important methodological development in Egyptian archaeology was the introduction of stratigraphic excavation and recording in the settlement site of Tell el-Dab’a.21 This approach is underpinned by an understanding of site formation processes and involves detailed recording of the resulting archaeological strata. The method differs from current standard archaeological methodology (described above) in that, although archaeological layers (Schichten) are recorded separately they may be excavated by ‘levels’—Planum. Planum are arbitrary spits deemed to correspond to a change in use within an archaeological layer. Negative features (such as pits or cuts) are not numbered and therefore are only defined by either fills or built units (e.g., walls). Phasing represents principally building activity. At Tell el-Dab’a excavations are carried out within grid squares separated by standing baulks (Wheeler-Kenyon method). The baulk sections are the focus of the archaeological recording. The matrix is constructed from the sections during the post-excavation process, and is essentially a visualization of the sections rather than a standard ‘Harris’ stratigraphic matrix.

Work-step recording (Fundstellen) The complex stratigraphy at Elephantine Island is recorded in a system of ‘work-steps’ (Fundstellen). Built features such as walls, installations, silos, and cellars are numbered separately from deposits; negative features are not numbered. Deposits are excavated following their shape, not in arbitrary levels. When a change in deposit is visible (colour, composition), it is given a separate ‘Funstellen’ number. If the same deposit is excavated over different seasons or in different areas it is allocated a separate ‘Funstellen’ number. During postexcavation ‘Funstellen’ numbers corresponding to the same layer are grouped under a feature number. Feature numbers (deposits) and built units are then sequenced in a ‘Stratigrame’— an adaptation of the Harris matrix. The Fundstellen system tries to postpone the moment 21 Bietak 1975; 1976.

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258   Ana Tavares of synthesis as far as possible and to remain open for new interpretations (e.g. by observations in sections and profiles) without relabelling finds, photos, and drawings.22

Lot-and-locus system The lot-and-locus system of excavation and recording has also been used in Egypt. Essentially, locus corresponds to an archaeological unit which includes deposits, built units, and cuts. However, excavation is carried out by lots or ‘baskets’. This seems to introduce a degree of disconnectedness between identifying a feature, excavating it as a whole, and maintaining control of material from the unit. Furthermore, the hierarchy of recorded units is also confusing. For example, negative units such as cuts are not numbered. A ‘pit locus’ therefore refers to the pit fills not to the pit cut (void). The pit cut, although it corresponds to an action would only be recorded by the fill which correspond to a different, subsequent action. When pits show variation in the fill this is generally recorded by changing pottery buckets. Complex sequences of intercutting pits and fills would be difficult to follow both during excavation and in the post-excavation analysis. Foundation cuts for walls and architectural features would not be identified except by their fill. If a wall has multiple architectural phases, these are excavated in separate loci. If a wall has multiple courses of the same phase, these are excavated in separate pottery buckets. This system is seldom used today.

Section recording Sections are essential in recording and understanding a site. They are not restricted to the actual excavation edges but can be drawn at any point deemed necessary in the excavation, for example, a half-section through a pit fill, a section through a series of floor repairs too thin to be identified in plan, sections though post holes, etc. On sites being excavated by grid-square with intervening baulks a number of sections will be available. Baulks however can obscure relationships in plan and impose arbitrary sections. Several projects opt for a system of open-area excavation, placing sections and profiles judiciously during excavation. In all cases supplementary sections are likely to be drawn during excavation. Sections can be drawn in great detail, at large scales (1:10 or 1:5), colour coded, and can include graphic information on the composition and inclusions within layers. Profiles—two-dimensional outline representations—are essential in recording cut units and in illustrating relationships between built units. Cumulative profiles can be created during excavation along any chosen axis. They depict units in outline without showing their internal composition. In complex stratified sites where grid excavation is not feasible and where multiple areas are excavated over several seasons, cumulative profiles play a crucial role. To ensure consistency of recording and to facilitate the organization of data through databases and GIS, units are recorded in standard forms. These forms include notes on excavation method and interpretation of the archaeological unit.23 Notebooks are used by 22  Pilgrim 1996: 15–27. 23  Several adaptable template forms are available in Tassie and Owens 2010.

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Methods of site survey and excavation in Egypt   259 the excavators for additional thoughts and ideas during the excavation process. Additional documentation such as video tours of an area ‘in-phase’, a specific assemblage of finds, or an installation are also useful in reconstructing the site.

The stratigraphic matrix The sequential position of each archaeological unit is then recorded within a ‘Harris matrix’.24 This system demonstrates simply and graphically the sequence of deposition or truncation on a site. A chronologically early unit will be either ‘sealed’ or ‘cut’ by a chronologically later unit. The sequence establishes relative date of activity between one unit and another. Within SCR all units are considered equally with reference to the stratigraphic sequence. Physical relationships are not taken into account in establishing the site’s stratigraphic sequence. For example, a pit cuts through a series of earlier layers and contains a sequence of later fills. The only relevant relationship is between the latest layer which the pit truncates and the cut itself. The physical contact between the pit fills and the earlier layers cut by the pit are not relevant to establish the stratigraphic sequence. In order to increase the interpretive power of the site matrix, archaeological units can be assembled in higher order groupings (features and structures). A further development of these seriation diagrams, such as the Carver matrix, was used to represent longevity of use of recognizable archaeological entities such as floors, pits, and walls. Stratigraphic unit numbers remain the basic elements of the site sequence.25 In Egypt, a modified version of such seriation diagrams has been used at Elephantine to highlight longevity and use of built architecture.26 At Tell el-Maskhuta a further modification to the Harris matrix was ­proposed to include information on physical relationships between units as well as longevity of use of built features.27

Discussion The combination of SCR and a Harris matrix is an effective means in understanding deeply stratified sites. However, matrices of stratigraphic units of complex sites can quickly become unmanageable, even if handled digitally. There are several computer programs developed to assemble stratigraphic matrices,28 but a complex site matrix can be effectively constructed and searched using a simple spreadsheet (such as Microsoft Excel). In the past, making stratigraphic data available has proved difficult. Publication of full site matrices and the accompanying sections/profiles in book form are rare. The cost of such publications would be prohibitive and the volumes unwieldy. Final site publications often present site synthesis in the form of phased historical or architectural summaries, rather than providing comprehensive stratigraphic data. The increasing use of digital repositories for archaeological data

24 Harris 1989. 25 Carver 2009. 26  Pilgrim 1996: 25–7. 27 Paice 1991. 28  E.g. Harris Matrix Composer, http://harrismatrixcomposer.com/; ArchEd, http://www.ads.tuwien. ac.at/ArchEd/; Stratify, http://www.stratify.org/index.htm; SysLat, https://isyslat.droidinformer.org/.

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260   Ana Tavares is changing this situation.29 Detailed stratigraphic reporting, such as data structure reports (DSR) or document final de synthèse (DFS) can now be made available for consultation, together with a full site stratigraphic matrix and excavation records.

A case study The work carried out by Ancient Egypt Research Associates (AERA) in Giza, Memphis, and Luxor provides a useful case study for the application of SCR both in long-term research excavations and one-off salvage situations. At Giza the project began as a survey of the Giza plateau, followed by the long-term excavation of the 4th Dynasty settlement site at Heit elGhurab. Recording and excavation was extended to the area of the funerary monument of Queen Khentkawes and the Menkaure Valley Temple. The project uses SCR methodology,30 with feature-level GIS linking site data—written, drawn, and photographic records—with survey and specialist data.31 The detailed information from the SCR form is summarized into a ‘synoptic’ form which provides key information on individual archaeological units for specialists. Both excavation and specialist data are integrated, and accessible, via an online comprehensive database. In salvage excavations in Luxor, a simplified unit form was used when appropriate. These forms include a unit description, dimensions, elevations, stratigraphic relationships, and material recovered. A simplified version of SCR—using notebooks with millimetres paper rather than expensive pre-printed grid sheets so that archaeological units can be drawn separately—was developed during the AERA/ARCE archaeological field schools.32 This allows SCR to be implemented in excavations where there are budget and equipment constraints. SCR works effectively when archaeological units are assembled into phased plans regularly. In AERA excavations, information is further assembled into weekly reports. These are complemented by bi-weekly site tours which allow for direct exchange of information between excavators and specialists. At the end of the season excavation data are assembled, by area, into a data structure report, comprising excavation aims and methodology, a full description of all stratigraphic units in order of excavations (top down), followed by a phased discussion (bottom up), accompanied by a phased Harris matrix. These detailed reports form the basis of site publications.33

Current issues—methodology and training Current challenges regarding excavation methods in Egyptian archaeology remain the focus on ‘discoveries’ rather than information. Often ‘discoveries’—new tombs, mummies, statues—are presented with little archaeological context. Archaeological context is often neglected or poorly understood. This situation is exacerbated by a lack of standardization of recording methods. Frequently, archaeological recording may be adequate in the field but is

29  E.g. Archaeology Data Service, http://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/; Open Context, https:// opencontext.org/. 30  Lehner et al 2011: 9–12; Tavares and Kamel 2015. 31  Renfrew and Bahn 2008: 92, 93. 32 Tavares 2015. 33  Lehner et al 2009a; 2009b; 2009c; Tavares et al 2014.

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Methods of site survey and excavation in Egypt   261 only briefly addressed in publications. These often lack enough sections and stratigraphic matrices to provide verifiable archaeological context. The lack of practical archaeological training in standard ‘Egyptology’ university courses34 is also experienced in Egypt. To address this situation, several archaeological field-schools for inspectors of the Ministry of Antiquities have been running in Egypt for over three decades. As a case study, we highlight the AERA/ARCE field-schools where SCR is taught in both research and salvage excavations. The AERA/ARCE field-schools developed into a  four-fold, comprehensive programme of Beginners, Advanced, Salvage, and Analysis/ Publication Field-Schools.35 Each session covers incremental skills and includes practice over a minimum of eight weeks. The Beginners’ Field-School provides basic excavation and recording training and an introduction to ceramics, survey, illustration, burial excavation, zooarchaeology and archeo-botany. The Advanced Field-School provides focused training in either: advanced (independent) excavation recording, human osteology, ceramics analysis, zooarchaeology, archeo-botany, archaeological illustration, or archaeological survey. AERA/ ARCE Salvage Field-Schools were run in Luxor where intricate settlement stratigraphy was excavated in real salvage situations.36 Analysis and publication of archaeological results are often an unachievable stage in Egyptian excavations due to time and budget constraints. AERA has run several Analysis and Publication Field-Schools (Giza, Luxor, and Memphis) to redress this situation and bring to publication the hard work of the field-school teams.37 A Heritage and Site Management Field-School at Memphis represents a further expansion of AERA’s field training.38 The consistent and substantial training programmes run by AERA/ARCE, among others,39 has helped to train a generation of Egyptian archaeologists who now run further training and carry out excellent archaeological work independently.40

Suggested reading Formation processes of settlement sites and the appropriate excavation and recording methodologies were first addressed in Egyptian archaeology by M.  Bietak (1975;  1976). Excavation and recording approaches, within specific projects, were addressed, for example, by Kemp (1995) Pilgrim (1996); Lehner et al (2011). It is interesting to compare Petrie’s pioneering cemetery excavation and recording methods (1901), with his disappointing approach to settlement stratigraphy (1909). Discussions of current excavation and recording methodological issues can be found in Tassie (2007; 2015). A comprehensive field manual (Tassie and Owens 2010), with adaptable recording forms, was published specifically for archaeologist working in Egypt. There are several interesting surveys of specific sites and regions, for example, Kemp and Garfi (1993); Laisney (2010); Wilson and Grigoropoulos (2009). An overview of site survey and remote sensing methodologies in Egyptian archaeology can be found in Parcak (2008). 34 Giddy 1999. 35 Tavares 2015. 36  Kamel and Tavares 2008: 8–14; AERAGRAM 2010: 2–6. 37  AERAGRAM 2011/1: 6–8; AERAGRAM 2011/2: 18–19; Sadarangani and Witsell 2015. 38  AERAGRAM 2015: 2–7; AERAGRAM 2016: 12–16. 39  Saunders 2005; Wendrich 2010a; 2010b; Rowland 2012. 40  eg the field-school at Kom Rasras, Ministry of Antiquities Newsletter 21, February 2018: 1.

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Methods of site survey and excavation in Egypt   263 Herbich, T. 2014. Results of the Magnetic Survey at Tell el-Borg, North Sinai, March 2006 and 2007. In J. Hoffmeier (ed), Excavations in North Sinai. Tell el-Borg I. The ‘Dwelling of the Lion’ on the Ways of Horus. Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns: 346–63. Herbich, T. and Zych, I. (eds). 2015. Archaeological Prospection: Archaeologia Polona, 53. Warsaw, Poland: The Institute of Archaeology and Ethnology, Polish Academy of Sciences. Hillier, J., Bunbury, J., and Graham, A. 2007. Monuments on a Migrating Nile, Journal of Archaeological Science 34(7): 1011–15. Hoffmeier J. and Moshier, S. 2006. New Paleo-Environmental Evidence from North Sinai to Complement Manfred Bietak’s Map of the Eastern Delta and Some Historical Implications. In E. Černy et al (eds), Timelines: Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak II. Leuven: Peeters, 167–76. Jeffreys, D.G. 1985. Survey of Memphis I. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Jeffreys, D.G. 2003. Introduction—Two Hundred Years of Ancient Egypt: Modern History and Ancient Archaeology. In D.G. Jeffreys (ed), Views of ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonaparte: Imperialism, Colonialism and Modern Appropriations. London: UCL, 1–18. Jeffreys, D.G. 2014. Materiality and the Observer: Active and Passive Archaeologies. In P. Paccentini, C. Orsenigo, and S. Quirke (eds), Forming Material Egypt. Proceedings of the International Conference, London 20–21 May, 2013. EDAL IV. Milan: Pontremodi Editore, 129–33. Jeffreys, D.G. and Smith, H.S. 1988. The Anubieion at Saqqara I: The Settlement and the Temple Precinct. Egypt Exploration Society, Excavation Memoir 54. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Kamel K. and Tavares, A. 2008. Real World Rescue Dig: AERA Fields the SAFS in Luxor, AERAGRAM: Newsletter of Ancient Egypt Research Associates 9(1): 8–14. Boston: Ancient Egypt Research Associates. Kemp, B. 1995. Site Formation Processes and the Reconstruction of House P46.33. In B.J. Kemp (ed), Amarna reports VI. London: The Egypt Exploration Society, 146–68. Kemp, B. and Garfi, S. 1993. A Survey of the Ancient City of El-’Amarna. Occasional Publications 9. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Laisney, D. 2010. Balat IX. Cartographie de Balat, FIFAO 61. Le Caire: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Lehner, M. 2007. Introduction. In M. Lehner and W. Wetterstrom (eds), Giza Reports Volume 1: Project History, Survey, Ceramics, and Main Street and Gallery III.4 Operations. Boston: Ancient Egypt Research Associates, 3–50. Lehner, M., Kamel, M., and Tavares, A. (eds). 2009a. Giza Plateau Mapping Project, Season 2004: Preliminary Report. Giza Occasional Papers 1. Boston, MA: Ancient Egypt Research Associates. Lehner, M. Kamel, M., and Tavares, A. (eds). 2009b. Giza Plateau Mapping Project, Seasons 2006–2007: Preliminary Report. Giza Occasional Papers 3. Boston, MA: Ancient Egypt Research Associates. Lehner, M., Kamel, M., and Tavares, A. (eds). 2009c. Giza Plateau Mapping Project, Season 2008, Preliminary Report. Giza Occasional Papers 4. Boston, MA: Ancient Egypt Research Associates. Lehner, M., Kamel, M., and Tavares, A. 2011. Introduction: Season 2009 Overview and How We Construct the Record. In M. Lehner (ed), Giza Plateau Mapping Project, Season 2009: Preliminary ­Report. Giza Occasional Papers 5. Boston, MA: Ancient Egypt Research Associates, 9–12. Midant-Reynes, B. 2000. The Prehistory of Egypt: From the First Egyptians to the First Pharaohs. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers Ltd. Midant-Reynes, B., Briois, F., Buchez, N., De Dapper, M., Duchesne, S., Fabry, B., Hochstrasser-Petit, C., Staniaszek, L., and Tristant, Y. 2004. Kom el-Khilgan. A New Site of the Predynastic Period in Lower Egypt. The 2002 Campaign. In S.  Hendrickx, R.F.  Friedman, K.M.  Cialowicz, and M.  Chlodnicki (eds), Egypt at its Origins. Studies in Memory of Barbara Adams. Proceedings of the International Conference “Origin of the State, Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt”, Krakow, 28th August–1st September 2002. OLA 138. Leuven: Peeters, 465–86. Ministry of Antiquities Newsletter. 2016. Issue 5, October. Moshier S. and El-Kalani, A. 2008. Late Bronze Age Paleogeography along the Ancient Ways of Horus in Northwest Sinai, Egypt, Geoarchaeology: An International Journal 23: 450–73. Paice, P. 1991. Extensions to the Harris Matrix System to Illustrate Stratigraphic Discussion of an Archaeological Site, Journal of Field Archaeology 18(1): 17–28.

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264   Ana Tavares Parcak, S. 2004. Satellite Remote Sensing Resources for Egyptologists, Göttinger Miszellen: Beiträge zur ägyptologischen Diskussion 198: 63–78. Parcak, S. 2008. Site Survey in Egyptology. In R.H. Wilkinson (ed), Egyptology Today. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 57–97. Petrie, W.F. 1901. Diospolis Parva, the Cemeteries of Abadiyeh and Hu, 1898–9. London: Egypt ­Exploration Fund. Petrie, W.F. 1909. Memphis I. London: School of Archaeology in Egypt. Pilgrim, C. 1996. Elephanitne XVIII. Untersuchungen in der Stadt des Mittleren Reiches und der Zweiten Zwischenzeit. (Archäologische Veröffentlichungen 91). Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Pusch, E., Becker, H., and Fassbinder, J. 1999. Wohnen und Leben oder: weitere Schritte zu einem Stadtplan der Ramsesstadt, Ägypten & Levante 9: 155–70. Renfrew, C. and Bahn, P. 2008. Archaeology: Theories, Methods and Practice. London: Thames & Hudson. Rowland, J. 2008. The Ptolemaic-Roman Cemetery at the Quesna Archaeological Area, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 94: 69–94. Rowland, J. 2012. The First Archaeological Field-School at Quesna,Egyptian Archaeology 40: 7–8. Rowland, J. 2014. Documenting the Qufti Archaeological Workforce, Egyptian Archaeology 44: 10–12. Rowland J. and Bertini, L. 2016. New Results and Perspectives from Fieldwork at Merimde Beni Salama, Quaternary International 410: 160–72. Rowland J. and Philllips, R. 2012. Survey Strategy in Disturbed Landscapes: A Case Study from the Nile Delta, Topoi, Journal for Ancient Studies Special Volume 3: 93–100. Sadarangani, F. and Witsell, A. (eds). 2015. Settlement and Cemetery at Giza: Reports from the AERAARCE Field School. AERA Field-School Series. Boston, MA: Ancient Egypt Research Associates. Saunders, S. 2005. Archaeological Field Schools: ARCE Responds to an Egyptian Need, BARCE 187: 1, 3–4. Sheehan, P. 2003. Brief Encounters with the Ancient Landscape: Urban Archaeology in Modern Cairo. In Z. Hawass and L. Pinch Brook (eds), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century: Proceedings of the 8Th International Congress of Egyptologists, Cairo 2000, Volume 1 Archaeology. Cairo: Supreme Council of Antiquities/American University in Cairo Press, 455–60. Sheehan, P. 2010. Babylon of Egypt: The Archaeology of Old Cairo and the Origins of the City (American Research Center in Egypt Conservation). Cairo and New York: AUCP. Tassie, G.J. 2007. Have We Dug Ourselves into a Hole? Reappraising Excavation Methodology and Approaches in Egyptian Archaeology. In J.-C. Goyon and C. Cardin (eds), Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Egyptologists: Grenoble, 6–12 septembre 2004 2. Leuven: Peeters, 1769–82. Tassie, G.J. 2015. Single-context Recording in the Context of Archaeological Fieldwork in Egypt: Part One. In L.S. Owens, and A. De Trafford (eds), The Management of Egypt’s Cultural Heritage. London: ECHO; Golden House, 175–84. Tassie, G. and Hassan, F. 2009. Sites and Monuments Records (SMRs) and Cultural Heritage Management (CHM). In F.A. Hassan, G.J. Tassie, A. De Trafford, L.S. Owens, and J. van Wetering (eds), Managing Egypt’s Cultural Heritage. London: Golden House and ECHO Publications, 191–205. Tassie, G. and Owens L. 2010. Standards of Archaeological Excavation: A Field guide to the Excavation Methodology, Recording Techniques and Conventions.London: ECHO Publications and Golden House Publications. Tavares, A. 2015. The AERA-ARCE Field School in Context. In F. Sadarangani and A. Witsell (eds), Settlement and Cemetery at Giza: Reports from the AERA-ARCE Field School. AERA Field-School Series. Boston, MA: Ancient Egypt Research Associates, 257–83. Tavares, A., Jones, D., Sadarangani, F., Mahmoud, H., Kamel, M., Eissa, R., Rikhaby, H., Witsell, A., Abd El Moneim, S., El- Shafey, M., Shaban Aba Yazeed, N., Bayoumi, R., Redding, R., Malleson, C., and Malak, E. 2014. Excavations East of the Khentkawes Town in Giza: A Preliminary Site Report, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale (au Caire) 114 (2): 519–61. Tavares, A. and Kamel, M. 2015. Preface. In F. Sadarangani and A. Witsell (eds), Settlement and Cemetery at Giza: Reports from the AERA-ARCE Field School. AERA Field-School Series. Boston, MA: Ancient Egypt Research Associates, 11–14.

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Methods of site survey and excavation in Egypt   265 Toonen, W., Graham, A., Pennington, B., Hunter, M., Strutt, K., Barker, D., Masson-Berghoff, A., and Emery, V. 2017. Holocene Fluvial History of the Nile’s West Bank at ancient Thebes, Luxor, Egypt, and Its Relation with Cultural Dynamics and Basin-wide Hydroclimatic Variability, Geoarchaeology 1–18. https://doi.org/10.1002/gea.21631 Wendorf, F., Close, A., and Schild, R. 1987. A Survey of the Egyptian Radar Channels: An Example of Applied Archaeology, Journal of Field Archaeology 14(1): 43–63. Wendrich, W. 2003. Fayum Fieldschool 2002, week 1 report, UCLA/RUG Fayum Fieldschool. Available at: http://www.archbase.com/fayum/reports.html. Wendrich, W. 2010a. From Practical Knowledge to Empowered Communication: Field Schools of the Supreme Council of Antiquities in Egypt. In R. Boytner, L. Schwarz-Dodd, and B. J. Parker (eds), Controlling the Past, Owning the Future: The Political Uses of Archaeology in the Middle East. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 178–95. Wendrich, W. 2010b. The Archaeological Field School in the Fayum. In R. Danforth (ed), Preserving Egypt’s Cultural Heritage. Cairo: AUC Press, 271–4. Westman, A. (ed). 1994. Archaeological Site Manual. London: Museum of London Archaeology Service. Wilson, P. and Grigoropoulos, D. 2009. The West Delta Regional Survey. Beheira and Kafr el-Sheikh Provinces (EES Excavation Memoir 86). London: Egypt Exploration Society. Zakrzewski, S., Shortland, A., Rowland, J., and Strutt, K. 2016. Finding Sites and Building. In S. Zakrzewski, A. Shortland, and J. Rowland (eds), Science in the Study of ancient Egypt. (Routledge Studies in Egyptology 3). New York; London: Routledge, 50–82.

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pA RT I V

M AT E R I A L C U LT U R E

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chapter 13

Stu dy i ng m ater i a l s a n d tech nol ogy: I n troduction Paul T. Nicholson

Introduction As consistent with the aims of this book, this chapter does not attempt to provide guidelines for the study of individual classes of material or the technologies that might be employed to work them. Rather, an attempt is made to review the ways in which Egyptologists have attempted to study materials, and how these ways have changed as the discipline itself has developed. Whilst it is undoubtedly true that Egyptology would be much reduced without the study of textual evidence, and that the discipline owes much to those who study it, it is argued that, at least until recently, the balance has been too much towards language and too little towards conventional archaeology. This chapter also aims to show that materials and technology cannot successfully be studied in isolation divorced from their context. They need to be considered during excavation, and their understanding depends not only on the appropriate planning and staffing of excavations, but also on laboratory studies, ethno-archaeology, experimental archaeology, and written evidence. The successful study of materials and technology is a holistic one.

The study of materials and technology in Egyptology The earliest western visitors to Egypt, from the Renaissance onwards, were travelling in terra incognita. What little knowledge they possessed came from Classical sources such as Herodotus and Strabo or from the Bible.1 As a result, these early travellers knew virtually 1  For Herodotus Sélincourt 1972; Lloyd 1975–88; for Strabo Roller 2014.

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270   Paul T. Nicholson nothing of the country or its people, and still less of the ancient material culture they might encounter and how it might have been created. It was not surprising, therefore, that they sought to collect objects that reinforced the exotic nature of their travel. Thus we find coffins and other inscribed objects being brought to Europe or at least described. Here after all were tangible objects whose surfaces were covered in an unknown—and in all probability magical—script. With Champollion’s decipherment of the hieroglyphic script2 came the possibility of learning the history of Egypt through texts written by the Egyptians themselves, and of making sense of the scenes rendered in tombs, the texts in which had hitherto meant nothing. If the earliest visitors to Egypt had been interested simply in acquiring objets d’art, attention now shifted towards attempting to understand those objects through literature and ‘art’ rather than through the detailed study of the objects themselves. It is true that scholars such as Sir John Gardiner Wilkinson took an interest in the objects of daily life, but such individuals were—understandably—more interested in trying to understand the broad picture of ancient Egypt.3 The technology of the materials of daily life represented a level of more detailed study that could only barely be imagined. By the late nineteenth century, however, times had changed. The study of hieroglyphs was well established, so much so that until the late twentieth century it was the defining feature of Egyptology, apparently setting it apart from archaeology in most other parts of the world. As a result of this linguacentric view, excavations in Egypt often came to suffer the fate of some of those in the Classical world and parts of the Near East, with a standard of recording below that which was developing in Europe. Excavations were often specifically organized in order to obtain written material, both ancient Egyptian and Greco-Roman.4 It is notable that the scholar most associated with an explicitly archaeological approach to Egyptology and to the technology of artefacts is also the one usually credited with developing superior excavation technique. If W.M. Flinders Petrie was not the first to pay attention to artefacts, he was certainly the most prominent and consistent practitioner, as can be seen from his work at Naukratis5, Amarna6, and Memphis7, to cite but three of his most prominent contributions. He also took the trouble to synthesize his work in these areas8 and in so doing offered a popular summary of Egyptian technology. In a similar position is the work of George A. Reisner, again meticulous in his attention to excavation technique and in his attempts to reconstruct technology.9 Reisner and Petrie are today regarded as among the most significant excavators of their day, and there is a clear association between those genuinely interested in archaeological method and its development and the study of materials and technology. From 1923 to 1932 Alfred Lucas worked as chemist to the Department of Antiquities in Egypt and developed a great interest in the materials used by the Egyptians, the technology employed in working such materials, and in the conservation of them. To this end he produced two works of particular importance Antiques: Their Restoration and Preservation and the much better known Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries.10 The latter volume provided a summary of the materials and their working and went through four editions, the last one being produced in 1962, with its bibliography updated by J.R. Harris.11 2 Champollion 1822. 3 Wilkinson 1837. 4 Baikie 1925. 6 Petrie 1894. 7 Petrie 1909a; 1911. 8 Petrie 1909b. 10 Lucas 1924; 1926. 11  Lucas and Harris 1962.

5 Petrie 1886. 9  E.g. Reisner 1923.

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Introduction: studying materials and technology   271 It is perhaps symptomatic of the path taken by Egyptology that a single book, the principal author of which had died in 1945, was regarded as virtually all that was necessary for the study of ancient Egyptian materials until the end of the twentieth century. Generations of Egyptologists relied upon ‘Lucas’ or ‘Lucas and Harris’ to inform them of ancient technology. The rest, it was often believed, could be learned from textual or pictorial evidence. One scholar, in speaking of scenes showing craftsmen at work states that ‘the way in which craft work was divided into stages can be established for all the crafts known from pharaonic Egypt’.12 This is certainly not the case, for many crafts—such as the production of faience, glass, and pigments, for which we have little or no pictorial or written evidence. There were, of course, developments in the study of technology between 1926 and 2000, and these stemmed from the examination of the materials and artefacts themselves. Notable amongst these was the study of pottery where the so-called ‘Vienna System’ of fabric classification was devised.13 This allowed pottery fabrics from any excavation in Egypt to be classified according to a set of standard criteria. Not only did this facilitate communication between those working in the field, but also allowed similar material to be readily and quickly identified, thus establishing chronological and geographical connections between sites. This development was significant, as were studies in pottery technology14, but they remained the exception rather than the rule. As Bourriau has noted, ‘The data of the linguist and the ceramicist complement each other: thus, the identification of a place name may be made easier if the vessel is known to be made of clay from the Western Oases . . . ’.15 Indeed, Bourriau has been instrumental in taking an integrated approach to the study of Egyptian ceramics at both a technological and compositional level.16 Into the 1970s, Egyptologists carrying out excavations tended to continue the tradition of working on text-rich sites, notably the excavation and recording of tombs and temples rather than settlements and industrial installations. This is not to belittle the work done by these scholars, since frequently the standard of excavation employed has been high and the publications valuable, but rather it is to illustrate why we know relatively little about aspects of materials and technology in ancient Egypt. This bias towards the religious and monumental began to change in the last quarter of the twentieth century with, for example, the work of Barry Kemp at Amarna, where attention was paid to the excavation of domestic areas and industrial features.17 Similarly, at Abydos, the joint expedition of the University of Pennsylvania Museum, Yale University and the Institute of Fine Arts, New York University uncovered and recorded early faience manufacturing installations.18 A German expedition led by Edgar Pusch (1990) unearthed important metallurgical installations along with evidence of glass production at Qantir in the Nile Delta19, and work on behalf of the Egypt Exploration Society at Memphis has also produced significant evidence of domestic life.20 Work by the French Archaeological Institute at Ayn Asil (Dakhla Oasis) has yielded similarly significant results for pottery manufacture.21 Such expeditions as these also began to recruit 12  Drenkhahn 1995: 336. 13  Nordström 1975; Nordström and Bourriau 1993. 14  E.g. Arnold and Bourriau 1993. 15  Bourriau 2004: 79. 16  Bourriau (2006). 17  See Kemp 1987 for a retrospective article on the excavations at the Workmen’s Village; see Kemp and Stevens 2010, for publication of work in the main city at Amarna, and see Nicholson 1995b and 2007 for work on industrial installations at Amarna. 18 Adams 1998. 19  Rehren and Pusch 1997; Pusch and Rehren 2007. 20  E.g. Jeffreys 1985; Aston and Jeffreys 2007; Giddy 2013. 21  Soukiassian et al. 1990.

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272   Paul T. Nicholson specialists in materials, often trained, at least in part, outside conventional Egyptology. As a result, the last quarter of the twentieth century saw the production of numerous specialist reports on materials and technology. There was also a renewed recognition that Egyptology’s wider public might be interested in aspects of ancient crafts and industries. As a result a number of summary volumes were produced on textiles22, woodworking23 and shipbuilding24, pottery25, faience and glass26, and metalworking27. In order that the work of these specialists should be made more widely available, many of them were invited to contribute to the volume Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology28, a work which it was hoped might serve the same need as had the Lucas’ volume in previous generations. With the growth in students of materials and technology it is to be hoped that Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology may not be so long-lived as its predecessor, given the greater integration of Egyptology into faculties and departments of archaeology, thus breaking down some of the traditional barriers between disciplines. Materials scientists are now as likely to opt to work on Egyptian materials as on those from prehistoric Europe, and Egyptologists are themselves suggesting such projects to them. It is therefore also increasingly common to find Egyptian examples discussed in general text-books on archaeological materials science.29 This is not, however, the whole picture. It is necessary also to consider the role played by ethno-archaeology and experimentation in relation to Egyptology.

Ethno-archaeology and experimental archaeology Whilst the study of contemporary culture in Egypt has a long tradition, including the work of Edward Lane and Gardiner Wilkinson, there has been relatively little such research undertaken in relation to crafts and industries.30 It is true that the Napoleonic expedition recorded certain crafts, but it is not really until the 1920s and the work of Winifred Blackman that fairly detailed descriptions were made of some of the more humble crafts such as pottery manufacture.31 That Blackman’s work has recently been reprinted is both a tribute to its quality and a recognition that there has been all too little similar work in recent years.32 There remains a great need for such studies, and one that should be filled as rapidly as possible before traditional industries are lost to modern industrial technology. Experimental archaeology has also had less impact on the study of materials in Egypt than it ought to have done. In this respect Egyptology has lagged only slightly behind other branches of archaeology, where such experimental studies have also been slow to take hold. 22 Hall 1986. 23 Killen 1994. 24  Vinson 1994; Ward 2000. 25 Hope 1987. 26 Nicholson 1993. 27 Scheel 1989. 28  Nicholson and Shaw 2000. 29  E.g. Henderson 2000. 30  Lane 1836/2000; Wilkinson 1837. 31  Jomard 1809–28; Blackman 1927. 32  Blackman  2000. However, some research has been attempted for example in the study of stone vases (Hester and Heizer 1981), pottery (Brissaud 1982; Golvin et al 1982; Nicholson 1995a; Nicholson and Patterson  1985;  1989; Henein  1997), basketry (Wendrich  1991), and glass (Henein and Gout  1974; Fischer 2008).

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Introduction: studying materials and technology   273 Although, it could justifiably be argued that Egyptology briefly led the way in this direction with the work of Engelbach, relatively little work seems to have been done between the 1920s and 1980s, with the possible exception of work on black-topped red ware.33 During the 1980s Barry Kemp, directing the Egypt Exploration Society’s excavations at Amarna, encouraged those working with aspects of Egyptian materials and technology to undertake experiments that could help to further the understanding of those materials. To that end, a small experimental area was set up near the excavation house and experiments in throwing pottery on the hand-turned wheel were undertaken.34 These showed con­vin­ cing­ly that the two stones, often thought to be no more than a turntable, could effectively be used to develop centrifugal force sufficient for the throwing of vessels, even if the wheel was spun by the potter without assistance. These findings were used in association with the study of tomb scenes showing potters at work, not least the well-known examples at Beni Hasan.35 It was also found that throwing ‘one handed’ was possible. There was mutual feedback between the experiments and the study of the tomb scenes, each gaining value from the

Figure 13.1  Catherine Powell conducting experiments with a potter’s wheel of the type seen at Beni Hasan, and excavated at Amarna. Photo: P.T. Nicholson, reproduced by courtesy of the Egypt Exploration Society.

33  Engelbach 1923: esp. 48–9; for black-topped red ware see, e.g., Baba and Saito 2004. 34  Powell 1995; see also Figure 13.1. 35  See Holthoer 1977: 33–4; Nicholson and Doherty 2016, see also Figure 13.2.

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274   Paul T. Nicholson

Figure 13.2  Potters using wheels. Tomb of Bakt III. Beni Hasan (BH15). 11th Dynasty. Photo: P.T. Nicholson.

other. This sort of integrated study represents an important step forward in developing our attitudes towards the study of materials. Similarly useful insights into the design of the ‘chalice form’ of bread mould were discovered through experiment at Amarna36; the apparently useless ‘foot’ on this form of vessel served to remove it from the patrix over which it was formed. Experiments were also undertaken in the use of updraught kilns37 and into the production of glass.38 The case of the glassmaking experiment (Figure 13.3.) is a good example of one in which there was no known artistic or literary data to assist in the study of the technology itself. The evidence used in the glassmaking experiment entirely derived from the study of the artefacts in museum collections, recent excavations, and scientific analysis, as well as information derived from other early glassmaking traditions beyond Egypt. In this instance it was proven that glass could have been made from materials available at Amarna and using a furnace of the type excavated at site O45.1. However, like all such archaeological experiments it must be borne in mind that proving that ancient craftsmen could have done something is not the same as demonstrating that they did so. Experiments help to demonstrate what is and is not possible within given parameters; they do not, of themselves, demonstrate what was actually done. Experiments are at their best when it is possible to incorporate as much evidence as possible to support them. Such evidence is not only archaeological, in its broadest sense, but 36 Nicholson 1989. 37 Nicholson 1995c. 38  Nicholson and Jackson 1998; Nicholson 2007.

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Introduction: studying materials and technology   275

Figure 13.3  Experimental glass furnace modelled on one of those unearthed at Amarna site O45.1. Photo: P.T. Nicholson, reproduced by courtesy of the Egypt Exploration Society.

also ethnographic. The experiment is likely to be more meaningful if the experimenters are able to learn aspects of technique from traditional practitioners, or even from those who have re-learned technique from an earlier era (e.g. Bill Gudenrath, who has learned a var­iety of early glassmaking techniques from literary sources as well as from the study of artefacts themselves).39 Kemp has himself been involved with the experimental construction of a vertical loom, drawing on a whole range of archaeological and ethnographic evidence.40 Experimental mummification has also received attention41, but like other craft experiments a very great deal remains to be done. Thus far only one summary volume has been published dealing with experimental archaeology and that confines itself to stone technology42; however, its author points out that crafts do not stand in isolation, and that the by-products of one activity might form the raw materials for another. Thus he argues that the detritus from the drilling of hard stones might, possibly, have been used in the manufacture of faience body materials.43 Irrespective of whether this particular example is valid, it is certainly true that we should investigate the interrelatedness of crafts in ancient Egypt in the same way as we would for Europe during the industrial revolution. Craftsmen rarely operate in complete isolation; they share technologies, if not actual craft secrets. The recent volumes by Kemp and Stevens (2010) are an excellent example of the integration of work on technology within the sphere of ‘daily life’. The recent excavations at Amarna site O45.144 clearly show that pottery production, pigment manufacture, faience, and glassmaking were all taking place in a relatively small 39  See http://www.cmog.org/publication/glass-masters-work-william-gudenrath. 40  Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001. 41  Brier and Wade 2001; Ikram 2005. 42 Stocks 2003. 43 Stocks 1997. 44  Nicholson 1995b; 2007; see also Figure 13.4.

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Figure 13.4  Looking east over the excavations at Amarna site O45.1, an industrial estate of the time of Akhenaten (1352–1336 B.C.). Photo: P.T. Nicholson, reproduced by courtesy of the Egypt Exploration Society.

area, constituting what is, effectively, an industrial estate. These high temperature industries seem to have been deliberately clustered together not only because they were, it is believed, under state control, but also because there may have been some sharing of craftsmen between them.45 It may be that we need to think in terms of general makers of ‘vitreous materials’ rather than individual makers of glass, faience, and ‘Egyptian blue’ pigment. This opens up entirely new avenues of investigation for us. A similar situation seems to hold good at Qantir where the production of metal is well-attested as well as the production of red glass.46 This red glass uses copper, perhaps derived from the local metal workshops. Much of the laboratory work carried out by Alfred Lucas, and a few other scholars who interested themselves in ancient Egyptian materials, was conducted separately from the excavators concerned. With the exception of the work carried out at the tomb of Tutankhamun (KV62) most scientific and conservation work was carried out in la­bora­tor­ ies, sometimes attached to museums, and often with very little input from the excavators. Occasionally excavators would address a particular question to the scientists, as Petrie did in the case of his ‘frits’ from Amarna when he consulted a Dr Russell concerning their composition47 but more generally research seems to have been conducted when it was necessary to try to preserve an object or purely to understand its composition. The absence of conservators or scientists on excavations is well-attested, not least during Petrie’s work at Amarna when he was forced to improvise conservation regimes with varying degrees of success.48 45  Shortland et al. 2001. 46  Pusch 1990; Pusch and Rehren 2007. 48  Summarized in Kemp 2004.

47  Petrie 1894: 25.

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Introduction: studying materials and technology   277 It remained common for expeditions working in the field to operate without a conservator, and without a scientist of any kind, well into the last quarter of the twentieth century. Whilst it may not always be necessary for such specialists to work in the field alongside the excavators, the very nature of archaeological discovery tends to produce the unexpected, and such finds often require immediate conservation care. Frequently the field conservator is the first person to handle an object, and discussions between him or her and the archaeologist frequently lead to the generation of new research questions, pertinent to understanding the site as a whole. It has now become increasingly common for field directors to take specialists into the field with them to examine areas of a site likely to produce industrial remains, as for example at Qantir.49 The specialist may be able to determine the purpose of structures found, identify waste from industrial processes, or understand the nature of apparently ‘natural’ materials lying around the site. The absence of such individuals in early excavations, whilst understandable, has undoubtedly led to the loss of a great deal of techno­ logic­al information. Excavations may also be carried out specifically in order to try to learn more about a particular craft or group of crafts, as has been the case at Amarna site O45.1 where glass and faience production have been the subjects of study50 and Memphis, Kom Helul.51 The work has been linked to study of Petrie’s finds of these materials and to experimental and laboratory work. Similarly, detailed laboratory work has been carried out on the glasses from Qantir, again by a scientist involved in the excavation and present during part of the excavation season.52 Where possible, the ethno-archaeological and experimental work should be carried out by those who are investigating the materials in the laboratory, or who are in direct contact with those who are doing so. The combination of these approaches is much more satisfactory than any single method used alone.

The future for materials and technology in Egyptology This brief review has attempted to outline how the study of materials and technology in Egyptology has reached its present position within the discipline. However, this is certainly not its final position. As Egyptology has moved ever closer to archaeology as practised elsewhere in the world, so it has begun to change in ways beyond the study of material technology. Whilst it is by no means true that Egyptology has in the past been entirely lacking in theoretical frameworks for research, it has not been explicitly theoretical in the ways advocated by archaeologists since the 1960s. However, only in recent years have Egyptologists sought to address this issue53, and there is still little in the way of an explicit body of theory for materials scientists working in Egypt. In order for the development of such theory to take place, it is necessary for Egyptologists to abandon once and for all the implied view that textual evidence is sufficient evidence and that material culture is simply the tangible 49  Pusch and Rehren 2007. 52  Pusch and Rehren 1999.

50  See Nicholson 1995b; 2007. 51 Nicholson 2013. 53  E.g. Kemp 1989; Meskell 1999; 2004.

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278   Paul T. Nicholson supporting evidence for life in Egypt as reflected in texts. One need only look at any general book on ‘daily life’ in ancient Egypt to realize that its reconstructions attempt to sew together a patchwork of examples drawn from widely separated periods of time, frequently including material from Greek and Roman times when the indigenous culture of Egypt was already much modified. At least insofar as the study of materials and material culture is concerned, Egyptology had reached the point at which it was in danger of becoming what Professor John Collis (personal communication) has called ‘text hindered’. What is needed is to take a genuinely holistic view of materials, technology, and material culture. This should draw on examination of the objects themselves by means of material science, informed by a knowledge of ethnographic practice where relevant situations remain, of experimental archaeology. It is not enough to draw on ethnographic ‘parallels’; rather there is a need to account for differences between ancient and contemporary practice of the same craft, since it is in the explanation of change that the archaeologist’s meth­od­ ology and interpretation have the most value. However, this combination is not enough without textual and pictorial evidence. Here the archaeology of Egypt and the Near East is in a privileged position. Those who study language have a significant contribution to make by being able to discuss the production or use of particular objects at particular times, as commented on by the Egyptians themselves. This is not, however, the same as saying that the texts are always right. Textual and pictorial evidence for certain crafts and materials may be virtually absent, as in the case of faience manufacture for example. The crafts may be of such lowly rank that no full description of them has survived for us, and we have only the briefest of captions, as in the case of the potting and flint knapping scenes at Beni Hasan.54 Similarly, the artist or writer may have seen something happening but not have understood why it happened or what its purpose was. As a consequence such accounts will, of themselves, be unreliable but may have a valuable contribution to make when used alongside the other classes of evidence. It should be noted that those working in Egypt are increasingly making use of the concept of the chaîne opératoire55, a system of making explicit the various steps in a production process from selecting a raw material to completing a finished object. This is very closely akin to the stages of production discussed by many archaeologists, mostly working in Europe, from the 1950s onwards. Materials and technology have tended to be seen by Egyptologists and archaeologists as the preserve of the scientist or of the ‘technician’. They have certainly not been at the forefront of the theoretical revolution that has taken place within archaeology. This is strange, for in the making of objects and the objects themselves we have—cast in material form—some of the thought processes of the maker. Choices have been made concerning materials, method of production, and finished form. These choices may be influenced, or even determined, by the ma­ter­ials used, but the material itself represents choice.56 In this way materials, technology, and material culture are very much bound up with human thought and action, and this has been the stuff of reflection on archaeological theory. Some limited work has been conducted on technology as choice57, but this field is only beginning to develop and should be defined within the same strictures as set out above. It is not enough for archaeologists to study materials and technology, and then hand over the 54  See Snape and Tyldesley 1983; Nicholson and Doherty 2016. 55  E.g. Lemmonier 1993 and see Bloxam et al. 2014. 56  Sillar and Tite 2000. 57  E.g. Lemonnier 1992; 1993.

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Introduction: studying materials and technology   279 interpretation to theoreticians. The most appropriate individuals to study aspects of choice in materials and technology are the archaeologists who interest themselves in those technologies and who understand the society that was producing the artefacts concerned. In this way it is possible to see the production of artefacts fully embedded within the social context, and to see technology as closely linked to material culture and its consumption. An attempt to address some of these issues has recently been made by Shaw.58 Clearly a single individual cannot be proficient in all branches of the subject, but as Egyptology shares more in common with other archaeologies so its practitioners will be better placed to take a more properly ‘archaeological’ view of artefacts in their technological context. In recent years significant steps have been taken towards bringing those interested in materials and technology in context together and several useful publications have resulted.59 These have focused on change and innovation in Egypt and the Near East. It is a truism to say that archaeologists study change, but the explicit focus on materials and technology is a relatively new development. Peck has attempted an introduction to the study of ancient Egypt explicitly through material culture and it is to be hoped that similar studies will follow for a specialized readership.60 Egyptology is in an almost unique position to provide studies of materials and technology. The standard of preservation of artefacts and materials is exceptionally high, and the descendants of some of those crafts are still practised in modern Egypt, therefore materials are available for experimental replication studies whose products can be examined in the laboratory alongside the ancient originals. Add to this a valuable, if patchy, literary and pictorial record, and it can be seen that Egyptologists today have it within their grasp to produce outstanding studies of materials, technology, and the use of material culture in ancient Egypt.

Suggested reading For an introduction to a range of materials and techonologies, as well as the means by which materials by which they are determined, readers might consult Nicholson and Shaw 2000. For a discussion of the way in which crafts relate to one another and suggestions on how ‘innovation’ occurs, the reader is directed to Shaw 2012. Peck (2013) attempts to place materials and technology in their broader social context for the general reader.

Bibliography Adams, M.D. 1998. The Abydos Settlement Site Project: Investigation of a Major Provincial Town in the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period. In C.J. Eyre (ed), Proceedings of the 7th International Congress of Egyptologists. Leuven: Peeters, 19–30. Arnold, D. and J.D. Bourriau 1993. An Introduction to Ancient Egyptian Pottery. Mainz: Phillipp von Zabern. Aston, D. and D.G. Jeffreys 2007. The Survey of Memphis III: The Third Intermediate Period Levels. London: Egypt Exploration Society. 58  Shaw 2012.     60  Peck 2013.    

59  E.g. Shortland 2001; Bourriau and Phillips 2004.

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280   Paul T. Nicholson Baba, M. and M. Saito 2004. Experimental Studies on the Firing Methods of the Black-topped Pottery in Predynastic Egypt. In S. Hendrickx, R.F. Friedman, K.M. Cialowicz, and M. Chlodnicki (eds), Egypt At Its Origins: Studies In Memory Of Barbara Adams. Leuven: Peeters, 575–89. Baikie, J. 1925. Egyptian Papyri and Papyrus-Hunting. London: Religious Tract Society. Blackman, W. 1927. The Fellahin of Upper Egypt. London: Harrap. Blackman, W. 2000. The Fellahin of Upper Egypt (reprint of 1927 edition with new introduction by Salima Ikram). Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Bloxam, E., Harrell, J., Kelany, A., Moloney, N., el-Senussi, A., and Tohamey, A. 2014. Investigating the Predynastic Origins of Greywacke Working in the Wadi Hammamat, Archéonil 24: 11–30. Bourriau, J. 2004. The Beginnings of Amphora Production in Egypt. In J.D.  Bourriau and J.  Phillips (eds), Invention and Innovation: The Social Context of Technological Change 2. Oxford: Oxbow, 78–95. Bourriau, J. 2006. Technology in the Pottery of the Middle and New Kingdoms: An Underrated Tool in the Archaeologist’s Armoury. In B. Mathieu, D. Meeks, and M. Wissa (eds), L’Apport de l’Egypte à l’Histoire des Techniques: Méthodes, Chronologie et Comparaisons. Cairo: IFAO, 31–43. Bourriau, J. and J.  Phillips 2004. Invention and Innovation: The Social Context of Technological Change 2. Oxford: Oxbow. Brier, B. and Wade, R.S. 2001. Surgical Procedures during ancient Egyptian Mummification, Chungara, Revista de Antropología Chilena 33(1): 117–23. Brissaud, P. 1982. Les Ateliers de Potiers de la Région de Louqsor. Cairo: IFAO. Champollion, J-F. 1822. Lettre A M. Dacier Relative A L’Alphabet Des Hieroglyphes Phonetiques. Paris: Didot Père et Fils. Drenkhhan, R. 1995. Artisans and Artists in Pharaonic Egypt. In J.M. Sasson (ed), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 331–43. Engelbach, R. 1923. The Problem of the Obelisks. London: Fisher Unwin Ltd. Fischer, A. 2008. Hot Pursuit: Integrating Anthropology in Search of Ancient Glass Blowers. Lanham: Lexington Books. Giddy, L. 2013. The Survey of Memphis VI: The Late Middle Kingdom. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Golvin, L., Thiriot, J., and Zakaria, M. 1982. Les Potiers Actuels De Fustat. Cairo: IFAO. Hall, R. 1986. Egyptian Textiles. Aylesbury: Shire. Henderson, J. 2000. The Science and Archaeology of Materials. London: Routledge. Henein, N.H. and Gout, J.-F. 1974. Le verre soufflé en Égypte. Cairo: IFAO. Henein, N.H. 1997. Poterie et potiers d’al-Qasr Oasis de Dakhla. Cairo: IFAO. Hester, T.R. and Heizer, R.F. 1981. Making Stone Vases: Ethnoarchaeological Studies at an Alabaster Workshop in Upper Egypt. Monographic Journals of the Near East. Malibu, CA: Undena Publications. Holthoer, R. 1977. New Kingdom Pharaonic Sites: The Pottery. Lund: Scandinavian University Books. Hope, C. 1987. Egyptian Pottery. Aylesbury: Shire. Ikram, S. 2005. Manufacturing Divinity: The Technology of Mummification. In S. Ikram (ed), Divine Creatures. Cairo: AUC Press, 16–43. Jeffreys, D. 1985. The Survey of Memphis I: The Archaeological Report. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Jomard, E.F. (ed). 1809–28. Description de l’Egypte. Paris: Imprimerie Impériale. Kemp, B.J. 1987. The Amarna Workmen’s Village in Retrospect, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 73: 21–50. Kemp, B.J. 1989. Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilisation. London: Routledge. Kemp, B.J. 2004. The Fate of the Tell el-Amarna Paintings, Egyptian Archaeology 25: 3–6. Kemp, B. and Stevens, A. 2010: Busy Lives at Amarna, 2 vols. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Kemp, B.J. and Vogelsang-Eastwood, G. 2001. The Ancient Textile Industry at Amarna. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Kemp, B.J. and Stevens, A. 2010. Busy Lives at Amarna: Excavations in the Main City (Grid 12 and the House of Ranefer, N49.18), 2 vols. London: Egypt Exploration Society.

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Introduction: studying materials and technology   281 Killen, G. 1994. Egyptian Woodworking and Furniture. Aylesbury: Shire. Lane, E.W. 1836. An Account of the Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians. London: L. Nattali and Bond. Lane, E.W. 2000. Description of Egypt. Ed, with an introduction, by J. Thompson. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Lemonnier, P. 1992. Elements for an Anthropology of Technology. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Lemonnier, P. (ed). 1993. Technological Choices: Transformation in Material Cultures since the Neolithic. London: Routledge. Lloyd, A. 1975–88. Herodotus, Book II. 3 vols. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Lucas, A. 1924. Antiques: Their Restoration and Preservation. London: Edward Arnold and Co. Lucas, A. 1926. Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries. 1st ed. London: Longman, Green and Co. Lucas A. and J.R. Harris 1962. Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries. 4th ed. London: Edward Arnold (reprinted by Histories and Mysteries of Man Ltd in 1989). Meskell, L. 1999. Archaeologies of Social Life: Age, Sex, Class etc. in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Blackwell. Meskell, L. 2004. Object Worlds in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Berg. Nicholson, P.T. 1989. Experimental Determination of the Purpose of a ‘Box Oven’. In B.J. Kemp (ed). Amarna Reports V. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 241–52. Nicholson, P.T. 1993. Egyptian Faience and Glass. Aylesbury: Shire. Nicholson, P.T. 1995a. The Potters of Deir Mawas, An Ethnoarchaeological Study. In B.J. Kemp (ed). Amarna Reports VI. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 279–308. Nicholson, P.T. 1995b. Glass Making/Working at Amarna: Some New Work, Journal of Glass Studies 37: 11–19. Nicholson, P.T. 1995c. Construction and Firing of an Experimental Updraught Kiln. In B.J. Kemp (ed). Amarna Reports VI. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 239–78. Nicholson, P.T. 2007. Brilliant Things for Akhenaten: The Production of Glass, Vitreous Materials and Pottery at Amarna site O45.1. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Nicholson, P.T. 2013. Working in Memphis: The Production of Faience at Roman Period Kom Helul. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Nicholson, P.T. and Doherty, S. 2016. Arts and Crafts: Artistic Representations as Ethno-archaeology, a Guide to Craft Technique. In C. Kohler (ed). Vienna 2: Egyptian Ceramics in the 21st Century. Leuven: Peeters, 435–50. Nicholson, P.T. and Jackson, C.M. 1998. Kind of Blue: Glass of the Amarna Period Replicated. In W.D. Kingery and P. McCray (eds), The Prehistory and History of Glass and Glass Technology. Col­um­bus, OH: American Ceramic Society, 105–20. Nicholson, P.T. and Patterson, H.L. 1985. Pottery Making in Upper Egypt: An Ethnoarchaeological Study, World Archaeology 17(2): 222–39. Nicholson, P.T. and Patterson, H.L. 1989. Ceramic Technology in Upper Egypt: A Study of Pottery Firing, World Archaeology 21(1): 71–86. Nicholson, P.T. and Shaw, I. (eds). 2000. Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nordström, H.A. 1975. Ton. In W. Helck and E. Otto (eds), Lexikon der Ägyptologie VI. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 629–34. Nordström, H.A. and Bourriau, J.D. 1993. Ceramic Technology: Clays and Fabrics. In D. Arnold and J.D. Bourriau (eds), An Introduction to Ancient Egyptian Pottery. Mainz: Phillip von Zabern, 147–90. Peck, W.H. 2013. The Material World of Ancient Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Petrie, W.M.F. 1886. Naukratis I, 1884–5. London: Trubner and Co. Petrie, W.M.F. 1894. Tell el Amarna. London: Methuen. Petrie, W.M.F. 1909a. Memphis I. London: BSAE and Quaritch. Petrie, W.M.F. 1909b. The Arts and Crafts of Ancient Egypt. Edinburgh: Foulis. Petrie, W.M.F. 1911. The Pottery Kilns at Memphis. In E.B.  Knobel, W.W.  Midgeley, J.G.  Milne, M.A. Murray, and W.M.F. Petrie (eds), Historical Studies I. London: BSAE and Quaritch, 34–7.

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282   Paul T. Nicholson Powell, C. 1995. The Nature and Use of ancient Egyptian Potter’s Wheels. In B.J. Kemp (ed), Amarna Reports VI. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 309–35. Pusch, E. 1990. Metallverarbeitende werkstätten der frühen Ramessidenzeit in Qantir-Piramesse Nord, Ägypten und Levante 1: 75–113. Pusch, E. and Rehren, T. 1999. ‘Glass and Glass Making at Qantir-Piramesses and Beyond, Ägypten und Levante 9: 171–9. Pusch, E. and Rehren, T. 2007. Rubinglas für den Pharao. Forschungen in der Ramses-Stadt, Band 6, 2 vols. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg Verlag. Rehren, T. and Pusch, E. 1997. New Kingdom Glass-melting Crucibles from Qantir-Piramesses, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 83: 127–41. Reisner, G. 1923. Excavations at Kerma. Cambridge, MA: Peabody Museum of Harvard University. Roller, D. (trans). 2014. The Geography of Strabo. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Scheel, B. 1989. Egyptian Metalworking and Tools. Aylesbury: Shire. Sélincourt, A. de (trans). 1972. Herodotus, the Histories. London: Penguin Books. Shaw, I. 2012. Ancient Egyptian Technology and Innovation. London: Bristol Classical Press. Shortland, A. (ed). 2001. The Social Context of Technological Change. Oxford: Oxbow. Shortland, A., Nicholson, P.T., and Jackson, C. 2001. Glass and Faience at Amarna: Different Methods of Both Supply for Production, and Subsequent Distribution. In A.J.  Shortland (ed), The Social Context of Technological Change. Oxford: Oxbow, 147–60. Sillar, B. and Tite, M.S. 2000. The Challenge of ‘Technological Choices’ for Materials Science ­Approaches in Archaeology, Archaeometry 42(1): 2–20. Soukiassian, G., Wuttmann, M., Pantalacci, L., Ballet, P., and Picon, M. 1990. Les ateliers de potiers d’Ayn-Asil. Cairo: IFAO. Snape, S.R. and Tyldesley, J.A. 1983. Two Egyptian Flint Knapping Scenes, Newsletter of the Lithic Studies Society 4: 46–7. Stocks, D. 1997. Derivation of Ancient Egyptian Faience Core and Glaze Materials, Antiquity 71(271): 179–82. Stocks, D. 2003. Experiments in Egyptian Archaeology: Stoneworking Technology in Ancient Egypt. London: Routledge. Vinson, S. 1994. Egyptian Boats and Ships. Aylesbury: Shire. Ward, C.A. 2000. Sacred and Secular: Ancient Egyptian Ships and Boats. Philadelphia PA: University Museum, University of Pennsylvania. Wendrich, W.Z. 1991. Who is Afraid of Basketry? A Guide to Recording Basketry and Cordage for ­Archaeologists and Ethnographers. Leiden: CNWS Wilkinson, J.G. 1837. Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians. London: John Murray.

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chapter 14

Set tl em en t a rch a eol ogy a n d th e con textua liz ation of dom estic a rtefacts Ian Shaw

Introduction Archaeological discourse concerning urbanism in Egypt and Nubia has developed considerably over the last fifty years, since John Wilson’s infamously inaccurate description of pharaonic Egypt as a ‘a major civilization without a single major city’, commenting specifically that ‘ancient Egypt carried on her life through dozens of moderate-sized towns and myriads of agricultural villages’.1 The developments over the ensuing six decades of research have been paradigm-changing, including a huge geographical and chronological expansion in terms of the available data on settlements, many innovations in fieldwork methodology, and the establishment of new frameworks for interpreting the evidence.2 Fifty years ago, only a very small number of settlement sites in Egypt had been excavated and published: Lahun,3 Gurob,4 Amarna,5 Deir el-Medina,6 supplemented by several Egyptian towns in Nubia (such as Sesebi7 and Amara West8). These sites were all arguably unrepresentative of the general process of Egyptian urbanization, and only the Late Bronze Age city at Amarna was sufficiently well-documented to provide any reliable archaeological basis for the analysis of patterns of Egyptian urban life. Well-preserved towns of any period were once considered to be rare in Egypt.9 Such was the dearth of evidence in the 1940s that 1  Wilson 1960: 124. 2  See, for instance, Moeller 2016 on settlements of the Old Kingdom, the First Intermediate Period, and the Middle Kingdom. 3  Petrie 1890; 1891; O’Connor 1997; Quirke 2005; Horvath 2009. 4  Petrie 1890; 1891; Shaw 2011; 2012b. 5  Petrie 1894; Kemp and Stevens 2010. 6 Bruyère 1939. 7  Spence and Rose 2014. 8  Spencer and Binder 2014. 9  Fairman 1949: 31; O’Connor 1972: 683.

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284   Ian Shaw H.W. Fairman proposed an analogy between social patterning in Old Kingdom cemeteries, and that of towns of the same date, in a somewhat desperate attempt to provide some means of reconstructing Old Kingdom town planning.10 When less information was available about Egyptian towns, there was a frequent tendency to make generalized comparisons across many hundreds of years and between different functional types of settlement in diverse geographical locations. For instance, a small Old Kingdom settlement associated with the funerary monument of Queen Khentkawes at Giza was once compared directly, and in detail, with the late New Kingdom settlement associated with the mortuary temple of Rameses III at Medinet Habu, in southwestern Thebes.11 Undoubtedly there is evidence to suggest a certain degree of continuity in Egyptian urban planning from the Old Kingdom to the Late Period, but the routine and indiscriminate comparison of towns and villages separated by several centuries has tended, in the past, to result in a blurred picture, in which the particular cultural, chronological, and geographical contexts of settlements were neglected.12 Now, however, the long-term excavations at sites such as Elephantine, in Upper Egypt, and Tell el-Dab’a, in the eastern Delta, have been able to provide a more reliable view of the gradual processes of urbanization. This transformation to our understanding of urbanism has come about through excavations that have revealed the chronological layering of settlement strata, often over thousands of years. The published evidence from Elephantine,13 for instance, charts the growth of the pharaonic-period town from an Old Kingdom settlement of some 16,000 square metres to a congested Late Period city, covering more than 70,000 square metres. The excavations at Tell el-Dab’a14 have revealed a detailed local socioeconomic and ethno-cultural history in which the Egyptian inhabitants of the First Intermediate Period (c.2134–2040 bc) were gradually augmented and dominated by an Asiatic element of the population during the Second Intermediate Period (c.1640–1532 bc). In addition, excavations at prehistoric settlement sites in a variety of geographical locations and environmental contexts, such as Bir Kiseiba, Nabta Playa, and Bir el-Obeiyid Playa (in the Western Desert),15 Adaïma (in the southern Nile Valley),16 and Tell el-Farkha (in the eastern Delta)17 have extended understanding of patterns of sedentary life back into periods that had previously been primarily understood through the often-distorting prism of cemetery material. The Egyptian urban database has expanded sufficiently to allow the different chronological phases of urbanization in Egypt to begin to be discerned and studied separately.18 Therefore, the idiosyncracies of individual sites and particular periods of urban growth can be clearly distinguished from overall trends. Mark Lehner, for instance, has presented detailed studies of the Heit el-Ghurab Old Kingdom settlement site (see Figure 14.1), which was primarily created to house the workforce engaged in building and maintaining the adjacent Giza pyramid complexes. He stresses the diversity of social and economic units within individual Old Kingdom settlements, as well as the remarkable tendency of the village-style settlement 10  Fairman 1949: 36. 11  Uphill 1988: 39–46. 12  See Shaw 1998 for an early attempt to understand some of the inherent problems in comparing different kinds of settlement, even of the same approximate date. 13  Kaiser et al 1988; von Pilgrim 2010. 14 Bietak 1981; 1996. 15  Wendorf et al 1984; Wendorf and Schild 2001; Nelson 2002; Barich et al 2012. 16  Midant-Reynes and Buchez 2002. 17  Chłodnicki et al 2012. 18  See, eg, Kemp 2006; Lehner 2010; Moeller 2016.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   285

Figure 14.1  Plan of the Old Kingdom settlement at Heit el-Ghurab, Giza plateau. Map prepared by Rebekah Miracle, AERA GIS, ©2017 by Ancient Egypt Research Associates.

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286   Ian Shaw to survive even very high degrees of urbanization. Lehner remarks that ‘the Heit el-Ghurab site can be seen as a village (the Eastern Town), a town (the Western Town) and a state barracks cobbled together into a larger urban centre’.19 Nadine Moeller, on the other hand, has been able to study the Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period phases of the city at Edfu in some detail, particularly with regard to storage and administration facilities. Moeller’s research here has indicated a surprising level of resources controlled and exploited by a major provincial settlement during a time of supposed social and economic decline in Egypt as a whole. Since most settlements throughout Egyptian history were located on or near the floodplain, their preservation has tended to be relatively poor compared with the cemeteries located in the adjacent desert. This adds a very significant environmental factor into the process of archaeological preservation or disappearance/inaccessibility of Egyptian settlement sites, particularly affecting our perception of overall regional and national patterning. In ­addition, the Nile channel has gradually moved at many points along its route, thus greatly altering the topography, character, and visibility of many urban sites in Egypt.20 Many settlements of the pharaonic period have survived because they were unusual communities located for some specific purpose outside the Nile valley, as in the case of communities with religious and funerary links, such as Heit el-Ghurab, Deir el-Medina, and Medinet Habu. Is this motley collection of towns and villages, almost by definition, therefore unrepresentative of Egyptian urbanization as a whole?

A brief history of settlement archaeology in Egypt and Nubia Certain town sites had already been investigated by the travellers, antiquarians, and ­pioneering archaeologists of the early nineteenth century, such as Sir John Gardner Wilkinson and Robert Hay. In 1826, for example, Wilkinson made a detailed survey of the Ptolemaic and Roman port of Berenice on the Red Sea,21 which had been discovered a  few years earlier by Giovanni Belzoni.22 Both Wilkinson and Georg Erbkam (Lepsius’ cartographer) produced survey plans of the city at Amarna that already show the basic structure of the site and several of the major ceremonial buildings in the centre of the city.23 The first attempt at a fully scientific study of an ancient Egyptian town was Flinders Petrie’s excavation of a planned settlement forming part of the site of the Middle Kingdom pyramid complex of Senusret II at Lahun, in 1889–90.24 The settlement was found next to the valley temple, which had been destroyed in the pharaonic period and reused for a cemetery of the Christian period. There, Petrie discovered an area of about 24 acres (9.5 hectares) scattered with Middle Kingdom potsherds and his survey of the area revealed the outlines of a large planned town consisting of numerous mud-brick houses organized into groups of very different sizes, which had evidently originally been built in connection with the 19  Lehner 2010: 94. 22 Mayes 1959.

20  Graham and Bunbury 2016. 23  Kemp and Garfi 1993: 10–18.

21  Wilkinson 1867: 388–9. 24 Petrie 1890; 1891.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   287 maintenance of the nearby royal funerary complex. Petrie called the town Kahun, to distinguish the settlement site from the pyramid complex, but it appears from his journal that only one local villager used this name (probably mistakenly) to describe the site, and so it is now more frequently known as Lahun.25 The settlement at Lahun has been given greater social and cultural context, as a planned Middle Kingdom settlement, through the recent excavations of Josef Wegner of a similar kind of town associated with a funerary complex of Senusret III in the southern part of Abydos.26 Wegner’s excavations have centred on a very large building in the southwest corner of a block of housing originally partially excavated in 1902 by Charles Currelly.27 It is the largest of what appears to be a block of about twelve major Middle Kingdom residences, and can be compared with the 13th-Dynasty palace at Tell el-Dab’a28 and the élite buildings at Lahun. Its total area is about 3200 sq m, compared with an average size of 2600 sq m for the mansions at Lahun, and a size of 3600 sq m for the Tell el-Dab’a palace. Wegner found three main sets of seal-impressions in Buildings A, B, and C, and those from Building A clearly identify it as the residence of the first ‘mayor’ (ḥꜣty-ꜥ) of the town. The seal-impressions also show that the name of the town was ‘Enduring are the places of Khakaura-maa-kheru in Abydos’, which was sometimes shortened to ‘Enduring are the places’ or Wah-Sut. It appears that this name was still held in the 18th Dynasty, when it is actually one of a number of towns mentioned in the Theban tomb of the 18th-Dynasty vizier Rekhmira. Because the rest of the Wah-Sut town extends beneath the cultivation, it is difficult to know exactly how large the settlement originally was. It seems unlikely to have been quite as extensive as Lahun, but it is nevertheless a sizeable and complex settlement with its own mayor. The presence of a mayoral official confirms the pattern evidenced at Lahun, whereby settlements initially established purely in connection with royal mortuary complexes seem to have often expanded and become major towns in their own right.

Amarna Petrie’s pioneering work in Egyptian settlement archaeology continued with his survey and excavations at Amarna in 1891–92 (see Figure 14.2).29 By the end of the nineteenth century, the surface of the site of Amarna had already been disturbed through a combination of sebakhin (the Arabic word for those who remove for agricultural purposes the fertile soil or sebakh of which most ancient mud-brick remains are composed), casual local surface ­collection, and organized ‘treasure-hunting’. Nevertheless, large areas of the site remain unexcavated even now, despite the fact that the site has been dug by several generations of archaeologists, using a variety of methods and strategies. Although Petrie’s work provided an excellent basis for later excavations at the site, the remains Amarna are extremely diverse, and his characteristically industrious season could really do no more than scratch the surface. Over the last 120 years there have been essentially four phases of work: Petrie’s excavations, in 1891–92; the work of the Deutsche 25  See Quirke 1990: 158 and Mazzone 2017: 20 for discussion of ways of defining and identifying the Lahun community. 26 Wegner 1988; 2001; 2010. 27  Ayrton et al 1904. 28  Bietak et al 2012–13. 29 Petrie 1894.

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288   Ian Shaw Stele V Northern tombs

NORTH CITY

Desert altars

Stele U

North Palace NORTH SUBURB

to the royal necropolis

CENTRAL CITY

el-Till

STONE VILLAGE

Palace Rubbish Heaps

WORKMEN’S VILLAGE

MAIN CITY

NILE

Southern tombs Modern cultivation

el-Hagg Qandil

Kom el-Nana

el-Amariya Modern cultivation Maru-Aten

N

el-Hawata Stele N Stele M

0

1

2 km

Figure 14.2  Plan of the New Kingdom city at Amarna. Map courtesy of the Amarna Project.

Orient-Gesellschaft in 1907 and 1911–14;30 the Egypt Exploration Society (EES) excavations from 1921–37;31 and finally the work directed by Barry Kemp from 1977 to the present day.32 30  Borchardt and Ricke 1980. 31  Peet and Woolley 1923; Frankfort and Pendlebury 1933; Pendlebury 1951. 32  See Kemp and Garfi 1993 for a general summary of the site from a 1990s perspective, and see Kemp and Stevens 2010 for excavation of areas of housing, streets, and yards in the main city. See Shaw 2000 for a summary of the changing strategies of excavation at the site.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   289 The work of the pre-1977 excavators at Amarna in the early twentieth century, was dominated by clearance of debris to reveal the architectural outlines of houses. The excavation of these houses only very occasionally included the surrounding courtyards, streets, roads, and open areas.33 This, together with poor methods of finds recovery that resulted in a very low proportion of the artefactual assemblages being either recorded or published, means that a relatively small proportion of the urban network of living spaces was being recorded. Within these limited areas, only about 20 per cent of the artefacts were being described and analysed.34 Considering the tendency of 1907–37 Amarna excavators to ignore deposits outside houses, it is likely that less than 4 per cent of the original assemblages of material in yards, pits, or streets was actually excavated or recorded during these three decades of work.35

Deir el-Medina Another iconic Egyptian settlement site was being excavated at roughly the same time as the early EES excavations at Amarna: the workmen’s village at Deir el-Medina, in western Thebes. This was the site where the royal tomb-workers were housed from the early 18th Dynasty to the late Ramessid period (c.1550–1070 bc). Their walled village is situated in a bay in the cliffs midway between the Ramesseum and Medinet Habu. The site was excavated by Ernesto Schiaparelli from 1905 to 1909 and by Bernard Bruyère between 1917 and 1947. The prime importance of the site to Egyptian archaeology as a whole lies in its unusual combination of extensive settlement remains with large numbers of ostraca (and some papyri), these providing important evidence of some aspects of the socio-economic system of Egypt in the New Kingdom. Unfortunately, however, this unrivalled opportunity to synthesize contemporaneous textual and archaeological data from a single site has not been fully realized. This is primarily because of the poor standards of the early twentiethcentury excavators of the site leaving us with a very incomplete, and therefore distorted view of the evidence. At its height (c.1300–1100 bc), the village at Deir el-Medina consisted of some seventy houses arranged in rows within an enclosure wall. The numbers of workmen varied during the history of the village. In the reign of Rameses II there were at least forty-eight workers but numbers had dropped to about thirty-two by the end of this reign (presumably because his tomb was completed by then). It seems likely that new workmen were taken on at the beginning of each fresh reign. The total village population, including the workmen’s wives and children, probably peaked at about 500 in the late Ramessid period. The community at Deir el-Medina is strong proof of the existence of an Egyptian state-employed non-military workforce, evidently housed, fed, and equipped by a central authority. However, we do not know whether the existence of patronage and of ‘professional’ craftsmen was a central and dominant feature of New Kingdom Egyptian society, or whether the majority of skilled craftsmen plied their trades as private individuals in their  own houses (or whether some other socio-economic scenario prevailed). As the Danish Egyptologist Jac Janssen has pointed out, in a textually based economic study of Deir el-Medina, ‘we seem to be in the following paradoxical situation: the only community about which our knowledge of its economy is at present sufficiently extensive to allow 33  Stevens 2015: 6.

34  Shaw 1995: 227; Stevens 2015: 6.

35  Shaw 2012d: 325.

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290   Ian Shaw of reliable conclusions cannot be regarded as representative of the situation in the rest of the country’.36

The influence of prehistory on settlement archaeology Between the mid-nineteenth century and the Second World War fieldwork in Egypt and Nubia was dominated by a preference for the study of religious and funerary architecture rather than the artefacts and architecture deriving from daily life. Both of these tendencies effectively inhibited the methodological and intellectual development of Egyptian settlement archaeology until the 1970s, when two major new influences emerged—the rapid growth of the study of the prehistory of the Nile Valley and a steady increase in excavation of town sites of all periods, which was partially inspired by the holistic nature of the UNESCO-backed Nubian salvage campaign of the 1960s (see Chapter 23 [Nubia]). Arguably, the use of innovative techniques by prehistorians, working initially in Nubia, and cannibalizing other subjects such as geography, geology, and anthropology, helped significantly to provide a new toolkit for the study of settlements, whether of prehistoric, pharaonic, Ptolemaic, or Roman periods. The long-neglected study of Egypt’s prehistory provided the ideal testing ground for techniques of purely archaeological analysis and interpretation. Projects such as the excavation and survey of Epipalaeolithic remains at Elkab37 and the study of areas of Predynastic settlement at Hierakonpolis contributed to major advances in our understanding of early settled communities in the Nile Valley.38 This type of new fieldwork laid the foundations for more general interpretative works, such as Karl Butzer’s ground-breaking study of man-land relationships in the Nile Valley (see Chapter 5 in this volume).39

Areas of progress and debate in the archaeology and understanding of ancient Egyptian settlements Settlement archaeology (and the related area of ‘social archaeology’) has been on the rise in the last few decades, not only in Egyptian archaeology but in the global discipline as a whole.40 Sharon Steadman provides a clearly written recent discussion of the history and current state of the global field, particularly in terms of the research questions typically asked.41 The topics discussed by Steadman include patterns of settlement within landscapes, the issues surrounding the choices of settlement locations, and the reasons why such villages, 36  Janssen 1975: 558. 37 Vermeersch 1978. 38  Fairservis 1972; Hoffman 1979: 155–64. 39  Butzer 1976. 40  Ucko et al 1972 presents a good snapshot of the nascent sub-discipline, including some early case studies by Egyptologists. 41  Steadman 2015: 25–66.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   291 towns, and cities wax or wane. This pattern-based area of settlement archaeology, although very common for decades in Near Eastern archaeology,42 has not received the same amount of attention in Egyptology, despite the work of a small number of researchers in the 1970s–1990s.43 The study of settlement patterns in Egypt has become slightly more prevalent in the last twenty years, particularly with the greater utilization of satellite images.44

Demographics and population estimates Steadman also provides cross-cultural discussion of the various different attempts that have been made to estimate the populations of ancient houses and settlements.45 Archaeological demography emerged in the 1960s, using many different forms of data, including artefactual distributions/concentrations and domestic architecture. The latter method has been dominated by the work of Raoul Naroll, who, in the early 1960s, published a very brief analysis of the allometric relationship between dwelling floor area and number of house occupants, on the basis of ethnographic data from many different ethnic and cultural groups (e.g. Tikopia and Zulu).46 This essentially led him to suggest the very simple algorithm that estimates of ancient populations could usually be assumed to be roughly 10 per cent of the quantity of square metres of ground area occupied by the group in question. Over the six decades following this article, anthropologists and archaeologists have responded in a variety of positive and negative ways to Naroll’s proposal, with many scholars in the 1970s and 1980s, perhaps surprisingly, broadly approving of the suggested ratio,47 although, by the late 1990s, many researchers were taking the view that such universal formulae were generally to be avoided, in favour of methods tailored to specific historical, geographical, or cultural situations.48 In Mark Lehner’s excavations at Heit el-Ghurab, he has grappled with many issues concerning the demographics of the people who lived there.49 As noted earlier in this chapter, the Old Kingdom residential areas at Heit el-Ghurab are diverse (and include areas devoted to food storage and production,50 as well as enclosures for animals); they therefore require a range of different approaches to the process of population estimation, depending on which part of the site is being examined. An area of 6000 sq m is estimated to have provided barrack-like sleeping quarters for at least 1600 individuals (considerably more if the galleries had incorporated a loft-style upper floor)—this would be nearly three times the standard figure suggested by Naroll in 1962, but there are several caveats—the assumption that these were barracks rather than individual households means that Lehner’s estimate is based purely on use of this area for sleeping quarters, probably involving rotating shifts of pyramid building work groups. Much more could be written on the demographics of Heit el-Ghurab 42  See, eg, Adams 1981 for early work of this kind, and Hritz 2010 for a more recent instance, using satellite imagery. 43  Butzer 1976; Hassan 1993; O’Connor 1993. 44  For early instances, see Harrell and Bown 1995 and Storemyr et al 2002, and more recently, using infrared imagery, see Parcak and Mumford 2012. 45  Steadman 2015: 40–7. 46 Naroll 1962. 47  See, eg, Leblanc 1971; Schacht 1981. 48 Curet 1998. 49 Lehner 2015. 50  See also Chapter 6 in this volume for discussion of botanical remains found at Heit el-Ghurab.

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292   Ian Shaw (especially as it relates to the dietary data),51 particularly when the so-called Royal Administrative Building and the Western and Eastern Towns are taken into account, but the main point to be made here is that the process of estimating an ancient population, far from being a simple spatially based algorithm, is one that involves numerous assumptions and deductions concerning the nature and use of structures and their surviving contents. Kemp has suggested methods of estimating the total population of the New Kingdom city at Amarna and its various zones.52 His calculation is essentially allometric, like that of Narroll, assuming a density of 50 houses per 200-m sq for half of the suburb, and densities of 80 and 110 for the other half; he also assumes that the average house contained between five and six people, on the basis of ancient textual evidence.53 Kemp therefore calculates that the total population of Amarna is somewhere between 20,000 and 50,000, but he points out the limitations of his estimate, and the parameters on which it has been based: ‘How much of the total area of the city was given over to houses? . . . What was the size of the average family? . . . we ought to factor in the low survival-rate of older people. . . ’.54 As with Lehner’s dilemmas at Heit el-Ghurab, the very richness of the data at Amarna means that any population estimate must be qualified by a long list of cultural assumptions and uncertainties. In an attempt to place ancient Egyptian population estimates within some kind of anthropological context, as in the pioneering research of Near Eastern archaeologists such as  Kent Flannery,55 Maria Correas-Amador56 has conducted ethno-archaeological work, comparing modern Egyptian mud-brick buildings and their inhabitants with domestic structures from the Old Kingdom through to the Third Intermediate Period. This research has laid the groundwork for the ethno-archaeological study of Egyptian mud-brick housing. However, it is clear that much more of this kind of research will be required to enable archaeologists such as Lehner and Kemp to be able to utilize similar types of data within the complex area of interconnections between individuals, communities, and their built surroundings.

Ephemeral settlements and encampments Encampments or seasonally occupied settlements have received much less attention than larger, more permanent settlements.57 These types of settlement tend to have been created and used by nomads and pastoralists, by groups involved in mining and quarrying, or by maritime traders based in the vicinity of harbours. With regard to nomadic/pastoralist settlements, Karim Sadr analysed the nature of nomadism in northeast Africa, using such methods as the quantification of density of artefacts and the study of site formation processes to distinguish between long-, medium-, and short-term occupations in Egypt, Sudan, 51  Redding 2010; Lehner 2015: 407–9. 52  Kemp 1981: 93–7. See also Janssen 1983: 282–8. 53  See Valbelle 1985. 54 Kemp  2012: 272. See also Lacovara  1997a: 82–3 for discussion of methods of estimating New Kingdom urban populations in relation to his own attempts concerning Deir el-Ballas. 55 Flannery 1972; 2002. 56 Correas-Amador 2013a; 2013b. 57  Although see Barnard and Wendrich 2008 and Szuchman 2009 for studies of the archaeology and anthropology of nomadism (particularly the papers by Barnard and Ritner), and see also McDonald 2015 for an excellent detailed study of various types of sedentism in the Dakhla Oasis and surrounding areas.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   293 and Ethiopia.58 He suggests that these northeastern African nomads largely emerged through a process of symbiosis with developing states; thus, for instance, he argues that the appearance of nomadism in Upper Nubia in the late third millennium bc was directly related to the emergence of a powerful late Predynastic agricultural economy in Upper Egypt and Lower Nubia, leading the Upper Nubian population to switch voluntarily from a mixed economy to the more specialized exploitation of the hinterland at the margins of the state. Of course, as Jeffrey Szuchman has pointed out, there is ‘ever-increasing evidence that the distinction between nomadic and sedentary communities is not always clear’,59 and the process of studying nomadic remains presents unique challenges to researchers because of the very nature of the mobile lifestyle—particularly given that the phenomenon described by Szuchman as the ‘archetypal black tent’ may not be the physical form of encampment or  quasi-settlement that was necessarily utilized in specific ancient Egyptian or Nubian pastoralist-nomad contexts. As a case study, Heiko Riemer’s recent excavations at the site of el-Kharafish60 represent a fairly holistic archaeological view of an encampment used by groups of pastoralist nomads exploiting outlying areas of the Dakhla Oasis in the late third millennium bc (i.e. roughly contemporary with the Old Kingdom). This cultural grouping, known as Sheikh Muftah (on the basis of their association with a distinctive form of hand-made pottery), occupy rock-shelters in marginal locations, surviving primarily through goat-herding and hunting. Riemer argues that the shelters may have been seasonally occupied and multi-functional, serving both for human habitation and also to some extent as animal pens.61 Over the last two decades, an increasing amount of archaeological survey, and occasionally excavation, has focused on the relatively ephemeral encampments and settlements created in association with quarrying and mining from the Predynastic period through to Roman times (see Chapter 8 in this volume).62 Bernard Knapp stresses the degree to which quarrying and mining expeditions, however isolated their locations, tend to be firmly integrated into the overall social and economic of the cultures from which they emanate: ‘Despite their social and spatial remoteness, and by virtue of their ability to supply a raw material in demand, mining communities—past or present—are inevitably linked into broader social, communications, transport and economic networks’.63 As Elizabeth Bloxam has argued, on the basis of the archaeological evidence at the Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarries, these social networks can be very diverse, involving extensive, long-term links with highly skilled local and regional kinship groups, just as much as with the activities of the pharaonic state, however that may be defined.64 A good example of diversity of settlement is provided by the turquoise and copper mines at Wadi Maghara, in the Sinai, which were particularly exploited during the Old and Middle Kingdoms.65 The three components of the site (see Figure 14.3)—hilltop settlement, 58 Sadr 1991. 59  Szuchman 2009: 3. 60 Riemer 2011. 61  Riemer 2011: 173. 62  See, for instance, Shaw and Jameson 1993; Shaw 2010; Shaw et al 2010; Bloxam 2015. 63  Knapp et al 1998: 14. 64  See Bloxam 2006: 277–303 re the over-emphasis of the role of the state in mining through comparative approaches to analysing settlement evidence; and see also Bloxam et al 2014: 24–7 and Bloxam 2015: 806–8 on recent work on the social context of quarrying in the Wadi Hammamat; Bevan and Bloxam 2016 considers contexts for technological transmission in quarry and mining sites through mobile social networks 65  Petrie and Currelly 1906; Chartier-Raymond 1988; Shaw 1994: 114–15.

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294   Ian Shaw

Figure 14.3  Part of the hilltop dry-stone settlement at the turquoise and copper mines of Wadi Maghara, in the Sinai peninsula. Photograph by author.

wadi-floor settlement, and wall/dam—reflect the isolation and vulnerability of the miners, housed in a tightly clustered, defensive main settlement combined with unprotected accommodation in reasonable proximity to the mines themselves. Studies of several other encampments associated with quarrying and mining sites tend to show patterns of settlement and exploitation of the local environment that are very specific to their physical ­contexts—in other words, there are clear strategies and adaptations but no strict templates or

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   295 expectations—each procurement site is distinctive and unique in terms of its surviving traces of occupation.66

Understanding the relationships between people and mud-brick buildings If the ephemeral sites discussed above are primarily examples of the simple neglect of a particular category of settlement data, the problems encountered in studying the classic urban sites tend to be more rooted in methodology and interpretive strategies. In cities such as Amarna the mud-brick house is arguably the only major surviving quantifiable measure of individuals’ socio-economic status.67 Jack Goody68 and Carol Kramer69 have both suggested that the malleability of mud-brick structures, as opposed to those of stone or other durable materials, gives them a closer ‘fit’ to the behaviour of the inhabitants. Naturally this malleability can also have the effect of complicating the situation, since the archaeologist may be presented with traces of modifications of structures corresponding to a succession of different owners and socio-cultural events, and it may be difficult to assess the periods of time involved, which could be anything from days to centuries. Another crucial aspect of the analysis and interpretation of mud-brick housing is the question of the use of space above ground level, that is, to what extent did houses have upper storeys, and how much was roof-space utilized?70 More than thirty years ago there was already emerging evidence suggesting that even in a very spacious urban environment such as the newly constructed city at Amarna, many houses may have had upper storeys.71 Clearly the question of whether houses frequently, occasionally, or rarely had multiple storeys is a crucial one with regard to such phenomena as demographics and spatial patterning of activities. As Kemp points out, ‘Second-storeys on Amarna houses, even if only partial, have a direct impact on how we reconstruct the pattern of living that took place within. It immediately increases the roofed living-area by a substantial amount, and provides a different order of privacy and comfortable surroundings. In particular it offers the environment for the ambience of womanhood that is so strongly suggested by the representational evidence’.72 More recently, Kate Spence has made a strong case for the presence of upper storeys in many of the houses at Amarna, using both archaeological data and visual evidence in the form of roughly contemporaneous paintings and models of houses (see Figure 14.4).73 Despite this complexity, the mud-brick house is undoubtedly responsive to (and expressive of) the dynamic social and economic systems within villages, towns, and cities, particularly when compared with the more fossilized and inert record of stone structures. Claude Lévi-Strauss defined houses as ‘crystallizations of human processes’,74 and the combined evidence of texts and architectural remains suggests that this was very definitely the case in 66  See, for instance, Shaw 1994 and Bloxam et al 2007. 67  Kemp 1977; Crocker 1985. 68 Goody 1971. 69 Kramer 1982. 70  See, for instance, Spence 2004 and Koltsida 2007. 71  One of the earliest pieces of archaeological evidence for upper storeys emerged from Kemp’s excavations in the workmen’s village at Amarna, see Kemp 1986: 7–27. 72  ibid: 25. 73 Spence 2004. 74 Lévi-Strauss 1975.

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296   Ian Shaw (a)

15

20 s ter me

10 5 0

(b)

0

5

10

15

20 meters

Figure 14.4  (a) Axonometric reconstruction of house P47.24 (located in the southern residential area of the New Kingdom city at Amarna) as a three-storey dwelling, (b) north-south section through the house, looking east; Spence 2004, Fig. 14. Line-drawings courtesy of Kate Spence and the Amarna Project.

ancient Egyptian settlements: The Instruction of Ptahhotep, composed c.2100 bc, contains advice on morality and social protocol, including the establishment of explicit links between the rooms of a house and codes of social behaviour.75 The text clearly suggests that mud-brick houses had subtle cultural resonances at a relatively early stage in the development of Egyptian society. As Steadman points out, ‘The house as symbolic container and as reproduced 75  Lichtheim 1973: 61–80.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   297 actions and behavior has become firmly embedded in the way archaeologists approach the study of domestic architecture’.76 A wide area of social archaeology is based on the identification of ways in which people both shape their domestic spaces and react to them. This includes the application of such approaches as semiotics,77 proxemics,78 and access analysis79 in order to try to understand the whole syntax of human responses to their built environment.80 Certain aspects of this syntax of domestic architecture have been applied to the Egyptian domestic data, as in the case of Neal Spencer’s work on households and neighbourhoods at Amara West,81 and Kate Spence’s discussion of the ways in which Amarna houses may have expressed social structures: ‘houses were ordered around social practices almost exclusively focused on the presentation of the head of household in structured settings’.82 A particular area of ancient Egyptian architectural syntax that has primarily been explored by Lynn Meskell is the gender-oriented social analysis of Egyptian housing.83 Describing the front rooms of Deir el-Medina houses as ‘notionally female-oriented, centred around elite, married, sexually potent, fertile females of the household’,84 Meskell took the study of Egyptian domestic architecture in an intriguing new direction, that has not yet been further developed to any extent by subsequent researchers.

Strategies and problems in settlement archaeology in Egypt: the Gurob Harem Palace Project as case study Developments in the spatial analysis and socio-economic interpretation of ancient households in Egypt, such as those discussed above, have taken place alongside similar new approaches to the much broader process of attempting to understand the overall patterning of ancient townscapes and their contexts. The gradually changing strategies of such long-term projects as those at Tell el-Dab’a, Amarna, and Memphis are all good examples of quite different approaches to overall strategy, largely dictated by the nature of the sites in question. At Amarna, for instance, the focus on certain parts of the city in recent years has been driven as much by the pressing need to conserve and protect certain parts of the site as by research questions per se. Thus, for example, an area of Amarna-period palatial remains and traces of a much later monastic community, in the Kom el-Nana area of Amarna, was excavated during the 1990s primarily because it was under threat from expansion of local irrigation and agriculture.85 Similarly, all kinds of non-research pressures can be seen to have influenced changing strategies of the Gurob Harem Palace Project (GHPP), which forms a case study below, exploring the ways in which settlement archaeology projects in Egypt can be influenced by factors outside the initial research aims. 76  Steadman 2015: 15. For examples of this tendency see, for instance, Bogucki 1999; Bradley 2005. 77  For use of semiotics in a Minoan context, see Preziosi 1983. 78  See, for instance, Rapoport 1982. 79 Fisher 2009. 80  Sanders 1990; Steadman 2015: 18–19. 81 Spencer 2015. 82  Spence 2015: 96. 83 Meskell 1999; 2002. 84  Meskell 1999: 99. 85  See, eg, Kemp 1995.

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298   Ian Shaw The work of the GHPP, initiated by the present author in 2005, comprised eight seasons of survey, excavation, and small-finds analysis, the last of which took place in 2013. The site in question is the ‘harem town’ of Mer-wer (or Mi-Wer) at the site of Medinet el-Ghurob in the southern Faiyum region.86 The main area of settlement remains at the site can be identified (primarily through textual data) as a set of urban remains (and surrounding cemeteries) evidently relating to an independent establishment for Egyptian royal women (perhaps a form of ‘harem-palace’, for which the term ḫnr or pr ḫnty was used), founded in the reign of Thutmose III (c.1479–1425 bc) and occupied until some point in the Ramesside period. The vast majority of the pottery and small-finds covering the surface of the site dates to the mid- to late New Kingdom, affording considerable potential to analyse chronological and functional patterns across the site through the study of such material. The inscriptions on stelae, papyri, and various other inscribed artefacts from the main buildings at the site repeatedly include the titles of officials connected with the royal harem of Mer-wer. There was evidently a similar royal establishment at Memphis, but that site has not survived.87 The original principal aims of the multi-disciplinary Gurob Harem Palace Project were as follows: • to produce an accurate 1:1000 map of the site as a whole, combining GIS so as to allow databases of ceramics, small-finds, and lithics to be mapped onto the ancient features that were either still visible on the surface or had been previously identified and/or excavated; • to create more detailed plans of the main points of archaeological interest in the settlement and cemeteries; • to produce a basic modern corpus of pottery at the site; • to use satellite photographs, geophysical methods, and core-drilling to gain a better understanding of the sub-surface material and architectural remains, as well as the relationship between the site of Gurob and its landscape and environment; • to excavate those areas of the site that appeared to offer the greatest potential to elucidate aspects of the ancient settlement and its purpose. The main aim of this case study is to demonstrate some of the difficulties that we encountered in the project, and to discuss the various logistical, social, and political factors that made many aspects of our strategy difficult to attain. A few points need to be made about the site and the project to contextualize this discussion. First, the site was occupied by an Egyptian military camp between the 1960s and 1980s, and this resulted in severe damage to archaeological remains and significant topographical modification.88 When a satellite image of Gurob is viewed, with the plan of the ancient palace and surrounding enclosure superimposed (see Figure 14.5), these modern intrusions are clearly visible as roughly rectangular shapes spread at regular intervals over the surface. The military bunkers, each measuring several metres square, have not only removed some of the archaeological data, but they also make the ancient topography much more difficult to reconstruct. There was no doubt also a psychological legacy of the military occupation, 86  See, for instance, Shaw 2011; 2012a; 2012b. 87  Reiser 1972: 28–31. 88 The first ‘post-military’ work at the site was a brief survey by Peter Lacovara in 1983—see Lacovara 1997b.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   299

Kiln Area

North Palace Area

South Palace Area

0

15

30

60

90

120

150 Meters

Figure 14.5  Map of the ancient remains at the site of Gurob, superimposed on a satellite photograph, in which late twentieth-century intrusions by the Egyptian military are still clearly visible as a series of rectangular excavations.

meaning that, as foreign archaeologists, we found that general relations with local villagers were more difficult to establish, probably owing partly to long-term associations that had developed during the period of military occupation, perhaps causing the site to be identified with state oppression. Ultimately, there turned out to be a further problem with the site’s former military status, and this was that, unknown to us, it had never been fully de-militarized, thus leading in 2012 to our ejection from the site by the Egyptian army towards the end of that year’s season of survey and excavation, and despite having been given full Ministry of Antiquities and national security permissions to work at the site at that time. Subsequently, the archaeological site was re-defined as a very narrow strip along the edge of the cultivation, and our lack of permission to access the ‘real’ area of archaeological remains, where we had worked since 2005, eventually led to the winding down of the project, after a final study-season in 2013, working on the pottery and small-finds stored in the MoA magazine at Kom Aushim. Apart from the impact of modern military occupation of Gurob, there were a number of other practical problems that we encountered in achieving our original aims. To begin with, we met with few problems in terms of mapping the site, conducting surface collection for small-finds and pottery, and undertaking geophysical survey (both magnetometry and sub-surface radar), auger-boring, and satellite image analysis. By 2008, realistically we had reached the stage where some sample excavation areas would have allowed us to begin to

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300   Ian Shaw verify some of the preliminary indications provided by these various types of survey. We were, however, unable to proceed with excavation until 2010, when we first obtained permission from the MoA to excavate at the site. The latter delay was a direct result of the MoA policy, which was particularly enforced in the first decade of the twenty-first century, to try to encourage excavation in the Delta and restrict the ability to excavate elsewhere in the country. Although this policy had the laudable aim of privileging the under-exploited and severely threatened archaeological sites in northern Egypt, a perhaps unintended effect was to unnecessarily constrict the procedures allowed on sites located further to the south, but equally endangered and—in the case of a settlement site like Gurob—containing potentially crucial and rarely exploited sources of new data on Egyptian urban society. We were thus able to undertake only two seasons of excavation before the end of the project—these produced interesting new evidence concerning a New Kingdom industrial area89 and parts of the palace and surrounding residential areas, but the full aim of gaining a clear understanding of the patterning of activities across the city as a whole was not achieved. A third problem in attaining our original goals at Gurob derived from a significant political event in 2011: the so-called ‘Arab Spring’, which in Egypt resulted not only in the deposing of the Mubarak regime but also subsequent problems in terms of looting of archaeological sites during a period of loss of control by the state for at least a year, until the election of the short-lived Morsi government in June 2012. During this period of around eighteen months (January 2011–June 2012) many archaeological sites and antiquities stores in Egypt were subject to looting, and the site of Gurob was no exception. This meant that a significant proportion of our work in 2012 had to switch focus to the recording of looted areas of the New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period cemetery, which had been the main part of the site affected, rather than being able to continue to work primarily on the urban part of the site.90 What, then, were we able to achieve at Gurob, between 2005 and 2013? We were successful in some of our initial goals—producing improved mapping of surviving traces of New Kingdom palatial and residential mud-brick architecture and other features; surface-collecting largescale samples of pottery and small finds; and interpreting sub-surface features identified through geophysical survey. In addition, we were able to create a detailed corpus of the pottery at the site, through the identification and recording (in a Filemaker database) of many hundreds of diagnostic sherds. Anna Hodgkinson has incorporated some of the spatial analytical data from Gurob into her GIS-based study of New Kingdom urbanization and technology;91 Valentina Gasperini’s study of the Gurob ceramics has contributed significantly to her re-interpretation of the intriguing so-called ‘burnt-group’ material at the site;92 Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden have used textiles from the site to make new contributions to the understanding of production and use of cloth in the New Kingdom;93 and the overall mapping, surface collection, auger boring, and excavation have produced results relating to such phenomena as Late Bronze Age pyrotechnological production,94 and the possible location of the New Kingdom harbour and relationship 89  See Shaw 2012b. 90  See Shaw 2017, for publication of some of the funerary material surviving from recently looted areas of Gurob. 91  Hodgkinson 2017: 187–205, 248–62. 92 Gasperini 2018. 93  Picton et al 2014; 2016; Picton In preparation; see also Chapter 16 in this volume. 94  Hodgkinson, in Shaw 2012b: 46–8; Hodgkinson 2017: 248–62.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   301 with the Bahr Yusef water channel.95 In other words, a great deal can be achieved by a determined multi-disciplinary team, even at the most challenging of Egyptian town sites, but the Gurob project also demonstrates just how wide-ranging are the practical problems that settlement archaeologists must tackle, in order to explore ancient social and economic data in the context of twenty-first-century Egypt.

Studying tools and domestic artefacts in their urban contexts Evidence from the earliest semi-permanent settlements in the Nile valley (e.g. Wadi Kubbaniya), dating from the Late Palaeolithic period onwards, demonstrates the excellent conditions of preservation that can exist in Egypt.96 This situation means that an unusually high diversity and quantity of types of domestic artefacts have survived, particularly from the settlements and cemeteries from the Late Palaeolithic into the pharaonic period. The study of tools and domestic artefacts of the pharaonic period, is based on a variety of different types of evidence, primarily archaeological survival of whole or fragmentary tools in domestic, funerary, and religious contexts, but also models and visual images (mostly in funerary contexts), and finally textual terms referring to tool types.97

Examining artefacts within their original contexts One issue that significantly affects the study of domestic artefacts is the fact that through much of the history of Egyptological research, the vast majority of artefacts have not been excavated scientifically from daily life contexts, such as houses, streets, or courtyards within settlements. These have instead either been found in funerary contexts (often highly elite ones) or, in some cases, have no known provenance at all, having come to light on the antiquities market. Increasingly now, however, we have detailed assemblages of materials and artefacts from meticulously excavated domestic contexts. As indicated earlier in this chapter, one of the best sites to have provided New Kingdom instances of assemblages relating to production and consumption is the city at Amarna.98 Several issues are raised by the study of artefacts at Amarna embedded within their contexts of original production or use. For example, what do we currently know about the physical location of craftworkers and ateliers in ancient settlements? Where did people usually ply their different trades and to what extent were they ‘self-employed’ or subject to state or temple control? Part of the challenge of the material remains at ancient Egyptian settlements such as Heit el-Ghurab, Lahun, Abydos South, Amarna, Gurob, and Memphis is that of bringing to life the socio-economic terminology used in some of the surviving

95  Bunbury, in Shaw 2012b: 52–4. 96  See Wendorf and Schild 1976; 1989. 97 Quirke 2005. 98  See, for instance, Kemp and Stevens 2010 and Shaw 2012d: 127–50.

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302   Ian Shaw texts (e.g. Papyrus Boulaq 499 and Papyrus Lansing100) through interpretation of the ­material debris found within houses and surrounding areas. Many excavated houses at Amarna have yielded artefactual evidence that numerous different activities were taking place, perhaps often involving several different groups or individuals within households. The process of attempting detailed analysis and interpretation of these assemblages is often dogged by what appear to be real discrepancies between the somewhat one-dimensional and idealized world of textual labels and images, and the complexity of the real world as reconstructed from archaeological remains.101 A few houses in the so-called north suburb and the main city at Amarna contained traces of workshops of various types, for example, house O49.14 (sculpting), Q46.23 (copper-working), Q47.2 (bead-making), U35.2 (painting), and Q47.3 (leatherworking). However, this evidence for the plying of different crafts in domestic contexts derives primarily from the interiors of houses (since these were the main target of pre-1970s excavators at the site), whereas the most recent excavations at the site have clearly shown that a great deal of the production and working of materials took place outside, in courtyards and open areas.102 The most recent excavations at Amarna have focused on complete areas of housing and surrounding spaces, thus exploring such neglected open areas and beginning to provide a great deal more evidence concerning the plying of trades in and around individual houses at Amarna.103 It is also not clear whether it is correct to identify all the excavated domestic structures as ‘houses’, when in fact many structures and spaces might be more accurately identified as ‘workshops’ or ‘ateliers’—leading Kemp and Stevens to point out that ‘Really, the question is how fixed was the boundary between residential space and workplace in ancient Egypt; the answer being probably, not very’.104

Refuse disposal mechanisms: exposing the hinterlands and afterlives of workshops Craft workshops inevitably produce not only finished artefacts but also rubbish, often in very large amounts. It is therefore surprising that one aspect of the relationships between Egyptian domestic architecture and artefacts that has received surprisingly little attention is the study of refuse disposal mechanisms. In the 1970s, Michael Hoffman105 described the ‘social context of trash disposal’ at Hierakonpolis in the early Dynastic period, and David Dixon produced a very brief summary of some of the evidence for later periods,106 but since then these crucial aspects of ancient Egyptian material culture and social dynamics have been oddly neglected, despite the richness of some of the available urban data.107

99  Mariette 1871: pls15–28, Lichtheim 1976: 136–46. 100  Budge 1923; Blackman and Peet 1925. 101  See, for instance, Eyre 1995. 102  See Stevens and Eccleston 2007: 153 for evidence of this type at Amarna, and see also Spencer and Binder 2014 for examples at Amara West, a New Kingdom settlement in Nubia. 103  See Kemp 1995: 1–168. 104  Kemp and Stevens 2010: 493. 105 Hoffman 1974. 106 Dixon 1972. 107  Although for two recent discussions of Egyptian waste disposal at a specific site, see Kemp and Stevens 2010: 499–503 and Shaw 2012c. See also Müller 2015, in which many of the papers discuss issues relating to the interpretation of refuse deposits, particularly the chapter by Felix Arnold.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   303 One of the most useful aspects of the explicit study of Egyptian refuse disposal patterns lies in the area of craftwork studies, whereby specific types of production, such as textile manufacture or carpentry, can be assigned to particular locations inside and outside residential housing. By analysing the positions of particular types or mixtures of refuse, it is possible to theorize more accurately as to which types of technology were conducted primarily in external or internal locations, and to what extent these patterns may vary both geographically and chronologically. In 2010, Kemp and Stevens observed, in the context of their excavation of the ‘Grid 12’ area of housing in the main city at Amarna (Figure 14.6), that ‘the management of waste is an aspect of ancient Egyptian society that is not well understood . . . and it is difficult to get a measure of the impact this had on the quality of life’.108 Since the city at Amarna may have existed for as little as twenty or thirty years in the late 18th Dynasty, the archaeological situation in terms of refuse deposition is particularly interesting. This is accentuated by the fact that there is a generally minimal amount of post-18th-Dynasty occupation at the site. Refuse deposits at Amarna are therefore likely to be unusual, first because they represent a relatively short period of human activity, compared with other urban sites at Memphis and Elephantine for instance, and secondly because the most recent period of deposition is less likely to have been disturbed by later activity. A familiar problem with the study of refuse at Amarna is the patchy preservation and recording of organic material, particularly in the 1907–37 excavations in the city. A whole range of activities, including food preparation, leatherworking, and woodworking, can sometimes be under-represented or entirely missed from among the many deposits of ­refuse recorded by these early twentieth-century expeditions.109 In the main city at Amarna, the combination of household, neighbourhood, and suburban strategies of refuse disposal makes it a much more difficult task to trace the disposal of refuse deriving from a single household or even a neighbourhood. Michael Schiffer points out that ‘artifact diversity is a strong line of evidence that can be used in many cases to differentiate various refuse sources’.110 The analyses of different deposits of refuse at Amarna demonstrate that it is possible—even when relying primarily on early twentieth-century excavation records—to distinguish, to some extent, between de facto, primary and secondary refuse in one part of the city at least, and that the mechanisms of refuse disposal at Amarna seem to be at least partially determined by the particular activities and types of material involved. The study of refuse patterns at Amarna is almost inseparable from the general question of the socio-economic organization of this major Late Bronze Age city. Large-scale agglomerations of relatively heterogeneous refuse such as the so-called ‘palace rubbish heaps’,111 together with examples of public wells,112 suggest that there were at least a few groups of households, or neighbourhoods, interlinked by their use of shared amenities.113 Extensive areas of specialized refuse, on the other hand, imply that some sections of the population were mass-producing certain items, probably under the control of a central authority.114 Patterns of trash disposal in Egyptian settlements, to paraphrase Lévi-Strauss, are crystallizations of technological activities, including the use and disposal of both domestic artefacts and their by-products. 108  Kemp and Stevens 2010: 501. 109  See Shaw 2000. 110  Schiffer 1987: 282. 111  Petrie 1894: 15–17; Peet 1921: 183; Shaw 2012c: 328–30. 112  Kemp 1989: 1–14; Franzmeier 2010; Kemp 2012: 51–5. 113  See, for instance, Shaw 2004: 17–19. 114  For glass production, see Nicholson 2007.

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304   Ian Shaw

Figure 14.6  Plan of the Grid 12 area of the New Kingdom city at Amarna. Map courtesy of the Amarna Project/Egypt Exploration Society.

Conclusions and discussion This chapter has had two primary aims. First, it has attempted to trace the early historical development of Egyptian settlement archaeology and the study of domestic artefacts. Secondly, it has sought to explore the ongoing process by which the definition of Egyptian

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   305 settlement data, the creation of analytical goals, and the development of interpretive frameworks have become increasingly holistic and multi-disciplinary. A sub-discipline that began as simply an attempt to work out whether pharaonic Egypt had towns and cities of any significance, has become much more of an exercise in social archaeology in its widest sense. Chronologically, the study of settlements and domestic life in Egypt covers many millennia, stretching from the earliest surviving forms of shelter and subsistence at Middle Holocene sites such as the Bir el-Obeiyid Playa in Farafra Oasis (c.9380–8205 bc)115 through to the complex and multi-cultural suburbs of Bronze Age and Hellenistic cities such as Amarna and Alexandria respectively. But the study of human sedentary life in the Nile Valley and the surrounding deserts and oases also ranges in scale from the micro-morphological study of sediments within dwellings116 to the analysis of broad patterns of trade and procurement that link the ephemeral encampments of miners and quarriers with densely populated cities in which raw materials and exotic imported artefacts were absorbed, transformed, and discarded. We need to add to the above, of course, developments in the study of Egyptian settlements that are not so much concerned with the economics and subsistence of life in towns and villages, but focus much more on less tangible aspects of settled society and social relationships. Some of these have been briefly discussed above, such as gendered space, social aspiration, and levels of privacy or access. There are many other social aspects of settled life that might be discussed, such as the expression of individuality and identity through domestic contexts and architecture,117 the presence or absence of cult and ritual within houses,118 and the roles played by such phenomena as ethnicity, social hierarchy, and religion in the creation of urban neighbourhoods. These are all research questions within ancient Egyptian social archaeology that have begun to be asked, but there is immense further potential still to be derived from research utilizing the well-preserved and diverse data outlined above.

Suggested reading Despite the significant growth in settlement archaeology in recent years, there are still few books that cover the topic adequately. Barry Kemp’s Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization is a roughly chronological analysis of Egyptian culture that involves a great deal of material and discussion relevant to urbanization (Kemp 2018). Steven Snape (2014) provides a general summary of the currently available data on Egyptian settlements, and Nadine Moeller (2016) has produced a very useful synthesis of settlements from the Predynastic to the end of the Middle Kingdom, while Kemp (2012) has published a very detailed discussion of the city at Amarna, with some references to other New Kingdom settlements. The work at the Gurob harem-palace town is summarized in Shaw 2011 and 2012b. The classic work on Egyptian use of materials and craftwork is Alfred Lucas’s Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries (4th ed., 1962). More recently, there are many chapters in 115  Barich et al 2012. 116  See, for instance, Panagiotakopulu 2010 for the study of insect remains from floor sediments at Amarna. 117  Altman and Gauvin 1981: 283. 118  See, for instance, Bomann 1991; Stevens 2006; Spence 2007.

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306   Ian Shaw Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology (Nicholson and Shaw  2000) and Ancient Egyptian Technology and Innovation (Shaw 2012d) that cover different types of tools and domestic artefacts as they relate to the processing and production of a variety of materials.

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310   Ian Shaw Sadr, K. 1991. The Development of Nomadism in Ancient Northeast Africa. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Sanders, D. 1990. Behavioral Conventions and Archaeology: Methods for the Analysis of Ancient Architecture. In S. Kent (ed), Domestic Architecture and the Use of Space. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 43–72. Schacht, R. 1981. Estimating Past Population Trends, Annual Review of Anthropology 10: 119–40. Schiffer, M.B. 1987. Formation Processes of the Archaeological Record. Albuquerque NM: University of New Mexico Press. Shaw, I. 1994. Pharaonic Quarrying and Mining: Settlement and Procurement in Egypt’s Marginal Areas, Antiquity 68: 108–19. Shaw, I. 1995. The Simulation of Artifact Diversity at el-Amarna, Egypt, Journal of Field Archaeology 22(2): 223–38. Shaw, I. 1998. Egyptian patterns of Urbanism: A Comparison of Three New Kingdom Settlement Sites. In C. Eyre (ed), Proceedings of the 7th International Congress of Egyptologists, Cambridge, 3–9 September 1995. Leuven: Peeters, 1049–60. Shaw, I. 2000. Sifting the Spoil Heaps: Excavation Techniques from Peet to Pendlebury at el-Amarna. In M.A. Leahy and J. Tait (eds), Studies Dedicated to Prof. H.S. Smith. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 273–82. Shaw, I. 2004. Identity and Occupation: How Did Individuals Define Themselves and Their Work in the Egyptian New Kingdom? In J. Bourriau and J. Phillips (eds), Invention and Innovation: The ­Social Context of Technological Change. Oxford: Oxbow, 12–24. Shaw, I. 2010. Hatnub: Quarrying Travertine in Ancient Egypt. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Shaw, I. 2011. Seeking the Ramesside Royal Harem: New Fieldwork at Medinet el-Gurob. In M. Collier and S. Snape (eds), Ramesside Studies in Honour of Ken Kitchen. Bolton: Rutherford Press, 207–17. Shaw, I. 2012a. New Fieldwork at the Medinet el-Gurob New Kingdom Settlement: Investigating a Harem Palace Town in the Faiyum (Summary of the 2009–10 Seasons). In G.A.  Belova (ed), Achievements and Problems of Modern Egyptology: Proceedings of the International Conference held in Moscow on September 29–October 2, 2009. Moscow: Russian Academy of Sciences, 348–64. Shaw, I. 2012b. The Gurob Harem Palace Project, Spring 2012, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 98: 43–54. Shaw, I. 2012c. The Archaeology of Refuse Disposal in New Kingdom Egypt: Patterns of Production and Consumption at el-Amarna, Talanta (Proceedings of the Dutch Archaeological and Historical Society) 44: 315–33. Shaw, I. 2012d. Ancient Egyptian Technology and Innovation: Transformations in Pharaonic Material Culture. London: Bloomsbury. Shaw, I. 2017. New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period Coffin and Textile Remains from the 2011–12 Excavations at Medinet el-Gurob, Faiyum Region. In A.  Amenta, C.  Greco, and H.  Guichard (eds), Proceedings: First Vatican Coffin Conference. Vatican: Musei Vaticani Città del Vaticano, 181–92. Shaw, I., Bloxam, E. Heldal, T., and Storemyr, P. 2010. Quarrying and Landscape at Gebel el-Asr in the Old and Middle Kingdoms. In F. Raffaele, M. Nuzzollo, and I. Incordino (eds), Recent Discoveries and Latest Researches in Egyptology: Proceedings of the First Neapolitan Congress of Egyptology, Naples, June 18th–20th 2008. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 293–312. Snape, S. 2014. The Complete Cities of Ancient Egypt. London: Thames and Hudson. Spence, K.E. 2004. The Three-dimensional Form of the Amarna House, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 90: 123–52. Spence, K. 2007. A Contextual Approach to ancient Egyptian Domestic Cult: The Case of the ‘Lustration Slabs’ at El-Amarna. In D.A. Barrowclough and C. Malone (eds), Cult in Context: Reconsidering Ritual in Archaeology. Oxford: Oxbow, 285–92. Spence, K. 2015. Ancient Egyptian Houses and Households: Architecture, Artifacts, Conceptualization and Interpretation. In M. Müller (ed), Household Studies in Complex Societies: (Micro) Archaeological and Textual Approaches. Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 83–100.

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Settlement archaeology and domestic artefacts   311 Spence  K.E. and Rose  P. 2014. Fieldwork at Sesebi 2010. In J.  Anderson and D.  Welsby (eds), The Fourth Cataract and Beyond: Proceedings of the 12th International Conference for Nubian Studies. Leuven: Peeters, 409–16. Spencer, N., Stevens, A., and Binder, M. 2014. Amara West: Living in Egyptian Nubia. London: British Museum Press. Spencer, N. 2015. Creating a Neighourhood Within a Changing Town: Household and Other Agencies at Amara West in Nubia. In M. Müller (ed), Household Studies in Complex Societies: (Micro) Archaeological and Textual Approaches. Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 169–210. Steadman, S.R. 2015. Archaeology of Domestic Architecture and the Human Use of Space. Walnut Creek, CA: Left Coast Press. Stevens, A. 2006. Private Religion at Amarna: The Material Evidence. Oxford: Archaeopress. Stevens, A. 2015. The Archaeology of Amarna. Oxford Handbooks Online. http://www.oxfordhandbooks. com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199935413.001.0001/oxfordhb-9780199935413-e-31. Stevens, A. and Eccleston, M. 2007. Craft Production and Technology. In T. Wilkinson (ed), The Egyptian World. London: Routledge, 146–59. Storemyr, P., Bloxam, E.G., Heldal, T., and Salem, A. 2002. Survey at Chephren’s Quarry, Gebel el-Asr, Lower Nubia, 2002, Sudan and Nubia 6: 25–9. Szuchman, J. (ed). 2009. Nomads, Tribes and the State in the Ancient Near East: Cross-disciplinary ­Perspectives. Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Uphill, E.P. 1988. Egyptian Towns and Cities. Princes Risborough: Shire Publications. Valbelle, D. 1985. Les ouvriers de la tomb: Deir el-Medineh à l’époque ramesside. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Vermeersch, P. 1978. Elkab II: L’Elkabien: Epipaléolithique de la Vallée du Nil Egyptien. Leuven: Universitaire Pers Leuven. Wegner, J. 1988. Excavations at the Town of Enduring-are-the-places-of-Khakaure-maa-kheru-inAbydos: A Preliminary Report on the 1994 and 1997 Seasons, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 35:1–44. Wegner, J. 2001. The Town of Wah-Sut at South Abydos: 1999 Excavations, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 57: 281–308. Wegner, J. 2010. Tradition and Innovation: The Middle Kingdom. In W.  Wendrich (ed), Egyptian Archaeology. Oxford: Blackwell, 119–42. Wendorf, F. and Schild, R. 1976. Prehistory of the Nile Valley. New York: Academic Press. Wendorf, F. and Schild, R. 1989. The Prehistory of Wadi Kubbaniya, vols 2–3. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press. Wendorf, F. and Schild, R. 2001. Holocene Settlement of the Egyptian Sahara, Volume 1: The Archaeology of Nabta Playa. New York: Kluwer. Wendorf, F., Schild, R., and Close, A. 1984. Cattle Keepers of the Eastern Sahara: The Neolithic of Bir Kiseiba. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press. Wilkinson, J.G. 1867. A Handbook for Travellers in Egypt. 1st ed. London: John Murray. Wilson, J. 1960. Egypt through the New Kingdom: Civilization Without Cities. In C.H. Kraeling and R.McC. Adams (eds), City Invincible. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 124–36.

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chapter 15

A ncien t Egy pti a n pot tery Bettina Bader

Introduction The examination of ceramics in Egypt has a relatively short history compared to archaeologies in other areas of the world (see Chapter 13 in this volume), previously seriously neglecting an important and abundant source that can be used for historical interpretations far beyond chronological disputes. The study of such material should not be considered in isolation, but in relation to other sources. It provides insights into issues connected to exchange of commodities, socio-economy, and functional interpretation of archaeological features. The ceramic repertoire found in and around tombs and cultic installations gives direct clues concerning the cult, how the cult was conducted, and how long it may have lasted. Technological questions connected to the production and firing of ceramics can be addressed as well as metrology and supply routes, and even organizational or socio-economic developments might be visible in the way ceramics were distributed. Together with textual evidence and other archaeological finds, the interpretation of the archaeological record as a whole provides a  powerful tool towards a more comprehensive view on numerous aspects of life and culture in ancient Egypt.

History While beautifully decorated painted vessels of the Predynastic Period and New Kingdom blue-painted jars were always prized as objects of early art, the same cannot be said for the bulk of undecorated wares which abound on Egyptian sites. In the late 1800s and early 1900s archaeology in Egypt began to be conducted in a more scientific and controlled way, mostly due to the work of Flinders Petrie and, as a result of his influence, pottery vessels gained value as chronological markers and as ethnographic objects illustrative of daily life in Egypt.1 In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries Petrie shipped many pots 1 Petrie 1904.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   313 back to Britain for educational purposes, the majority of which ended up in University College, London, but other vessels were distributed as ‘payment’ for subscriptions from smaller provincial museums, which helped to defray the costs of Petrie’s excavations.2 Collections in Europe and the United States—New York, Leiden, Paris, Turin, Munich, London, Leipzig, Berlin, and Vienna come to mind—also started to obtain pottery vessels, mainly from excavations these museums had sponsored. Gradually Egyptian ceramics came to be displayed in the great museums, mostly complete and/or decorated examples like the assemblage of pottery from the tomb of Tutankhamun in the Museum in Cairo.3 A boost for pottery in museum showcases came in the late 1970s and early 1980s, with exhibitions focusing on ceramics and their importance for interpreting ancient Egypt from another point of view.4 Early excavation reports treated ceramic finds somewhat cursorily, sometimes giving only a verbal description of vessels found. If such pieces were drawn, the drawings were made in perspective, much like a tracing from a photograph, and showed only the outline. While these are far from ideal, distinctive pottery types can usually be recognized.5 Petrie’s treatises of finds in his later years (in the 1920s) were exemplary for his time, because he supplied typologies of all find categories and tomb registers which listed all items found. If checked closely there are of course inconsistencies, but his publications can be used to reassess archaeological material to this day, because many of the finds still exist in museum collections all over the world, often with their contextual information available. While Reisner’s work in Nubia provides the second example of early rigour in methodology concerning pottery analysis6, the combined efforts of several excavators in the 1930s to bring some system into Egyptian pottery studies were not successful in the end.7 In the 1960s and 1970s, when archaeologists in other parts of the world were no longer content with the ­traditional approach to archaeological interpretations8, a new generation of excavators in Egypt began to regard ceramics as an additional source for dating, and collected more ceramic material than ever before.9 This can also be seen in connection to the salvage campaign of UNESCO in Nubia before the Aswan High Dam was built.10 The year 1975 saw the publication of the first volume of the Bulletin de Liaison du groupe international d’étude de la céramique Ègyptienne, which was the first successful public forum for general information on pottery found in excavations around Egypt including a gazetteer. Soon thereafter a need was felt to categorize the wares and fabrics, and due to the initiative of a group of field archaeologists working in Egypt the so-called ‘Vienna System’ of fabric classification was created in the 1980s.11 This system, based on pottery mainly from the Middle Kingdon and the Second Intermediate Period, was meant to provide a general framework that could be utilized at any site and for various periods, with the inbuilt intention of extending and elaborating it as the ceramicist at a given site would see fit (Nordström and Bourriau 1993: 168). At the same time it provides the possibility of comparing the ceramic material from different sites and ascertaining that the same kind of material appears at 2 Stevenson 2016. 3  See El-Khouli et al. 1993, although the addition of new drawings would have been an asset in view of such an important and well-dated assemblage. 4  Arnold and Schulte 1978; Bourriau 1981. 5  E.g. De Morgan 1895; Garstang 1907. 6 Reisner 1910. 7  Bader et al. 2016: ix–x. 8  E.g. Binford 1972. 9 Arnold 1968. 10  Bourriau et al. 2000: 121. 11 Bourriau  1981; Arnold  1982; Bourriau and Aston  1985; Bietak  1991a: 324–30; Nordström and Bourriau 1993, and see also ‘Fabrics: Vienna System’, later in this chapter.

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314   Bettina Bader various sites. It also facilitates mapping the distribution of certain fabrics in Egypt and beyond, and thus emerging spatial patterns can be interpreted. There are local differences between certain Nile clay fabrics in some periods12, but currently there are no additional scientific studies to test this hypothesis. While this is perhaps less significant for the ubiquitous alluvial Nile clay fabrics, it might give a better idea of the origin of the ‘desert wares’ or marl clay fabrics, which to this day remain a grouping much more difficult to distinguish. This particularly holds true for the earliest periods of Egyptian history—the Predynastic, early Dynastic, and Old Kingdom marls—due to the very elaborate preparation of fabrics in these periods. In the late 1980s a new journal with a focus on ceramic studies in Egypt was launched, the Cahier de la Céramique Égyptienne (founded by Pascale Ballet and now edited by Sylvie Marchand, ceramicist at the Institut Française Archéologique Orientale, Cairo). It provides a venue for longer reports and articles than the Bulletin de Liaison as well as themed discussions. Since then numerous reports and books with ceramic studies as their sole topic, based on painstaking work, have come into the public domain. These reports improved continuously in their standards, particularly in terms of general description of shape and fabric, craftsmanship of drawings, and the amount of material covered. The works include pottery catalogues from excavations, typologies, and analyses, as well as interpretations.13 Sometimes pottery is the only type of artefact recovered from a site, and therefore the only means for dating and interpretation in addition to the excavated structures. A certain caveat is still noticeable in the interpretation of ceramic finds, which is not as far advanced as in other areas of the world.14 Undoubtedly progress has been made, as demonstrated by the variety of contributions to the conference Vienna 2 in 2012.15 In the twenty-first century, excavators in Egypt are generally conscientious not to leave pottery they have unearthed unprocessed or unanalysed. However, the resources put into the study of ceramics differ to a great degree and this has an immediate bearing on the quality and extent of the results that can be achieved. It is hoped that this chapter will help to remove some of the barriers which still exist, and raise awareness for the use of ceramics as a source in the historical disciplines in conjunction with all other available sources.

Fabrics: Vienna System The first specialized treatise on the raw materials of ancient Egyptian ceramics was by Alfred Lucas in Materials and Industries in Ancient Egypt.16 He distinguished the fabrics in the first place by colour, with the additional remark that there was a difference between ‘desert’ wares and wares with organic inclusions. He also devoted some attention to surface treatments and pigments. In order to use ceramic material for any interpretation a categorization is a necessary first step. It has been stated in the past17 that vessel shape is not sufficient for a proper assessment, because similar shapes were manufactured from different raw materials. And those, in turn, 12  Bourriau 1998; Bader 2009: 602–39. 13 Millet 2007. 14 Arnold 1985; 1993. 15  Bader et al. 2016. 16  Lucas 1948: 425–41. 17 Bourriau 1991.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   315 could be derived from different locations or workshops. Therefore the interpretation of the vessel being made locally or imported from somewhere else (even within Egypt) depends heavily on the identification of the raw materials. Crucial for the correct identification of fabrics of wheel-turned pottery is the examination of a fresh sherd break made parallel to the rim, because due to the centrifugal force of turning devices the organic inclusions are oriented in the same way. In handmade pottery the classification may be based on scrutiny of the surface and closer examination of the raw material. Because several works on fabric classification of various periods have already appeared, the description is here kept short.18 The classification of ceramics is based on the division between Nile clay fabrics, marl clay fabrics, a mix of the two, and ceramics imported into Egypt from the Aegean, Cyprus, Syria/Palestine, and Nubia. The first three groups are distinguished as follows. The Nile clay fabrics are divided into A, B1, B2, C, D, and E according to their inclusions. Nile A shows fine mica and mineral inclusions, B1 some mineral inclusions and chaff, B2 a larger amount of mineral inclusions and chaff, C contains pieces of straw and some mineral inclusions, D includes limestone particles, and E rounded mineral inclusions. The Nile E fabric was further divided into two groups depending on the number of quartz grains and the presence of additional chaff.19 Some pottery classification systems divide between Nile C1 and C2 depending on the size of the straw particles.20 The marl clay fabrics are divided depending on the presence and quantity of mineral inclusions, limestone, and argillaceous inclusions/‘marl pieces’. Marl A can be broken down into A1, A2, A3, and A4, whose appearance seem to be chronologically significant.21 Marl A3 is the most distinctive of the group due to the density of the groundmass and relative scarcity of inclusions. Marl A1 is also relatively dense and limestone inclusions dominate, with some coarser mineral inclusions. Marl A2 appears well sorted and contains a large quantity of limestone particles, sometimes small pieces of marl/argillaceous inclusions, as well as some fine quartz. Marl A4 contains the same range of inclusions but coarser. Marl B shows many mineral grains in different colours and a dense groundmass. Marl C22 was divided into three distinct subgroups: Marl C compact, Marl C1, and C2, with ‘C compact’ being distinguished by its very thick white surface layer and extraordinary density. The nature and reason for the development of this surface layer has recently been examined using chemical analysis.23 C1 shows a dominance of limestone particles over mineral inclusions and C2 is dominated by mineral inclusions over limestone particles. All three varieties contain relatively coarse brownish reddish marl/argillaceous inclusions which give the fabrics their distinctive appearance.24 Marl D appears first in the 18th Dynasty, showing a red-brown section with many very small limestone inclusions. Like Marl C, the surface shows a naturally developed light surface that is often burnished, particularly in the later New Kingdom.25 The designation of Marl E was given to a fabric similar to Marl B, but additionally containing coarse straw. The 18 Nordström  1972; Holthoer  1977: Bourriau and Aston  1985; Bietak  1991a: 317–33; Bourriau and Nicholson  1992; Nordström and Bourriau  1993; Bourriau et al.  2000; Aston  1998; Bader  2001; Cyganowski 2003; Rzeuska 2006: 35–44; Rose 2007: 11–16. 19  Bietak 1991a: 326. 20  Bietak 1991a: 325–6. 21  Nordström and Bourriau 1993: 176–8. 22  Nordström and Bourriau 1993: 179–81; Bader 2001; Cyganowski 2003. 23  See Ownby and Griffiths 2009. 24  Cyganowski 2003; Griffiths and Ownby 2006: 67; Ownby and Griffiths 2009. 25  See Nordström and Bourriau 1993; Aston 1998: 65–6; McGovern 1997, but note that this study is flawed due to the lack of a control sample: see Aston 2004c: 236.

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316   Bettina Bader main inclusion characterizing Marl F, the latest addition to the Vienna System, is mineral grains, which are densely packed and give the fabric a crumbly and loose structure. It is found mainly in the Eastern Nile Delta.26 There may be some overlap with a very sandy fabric belonging to the Marl C2 grouping that appears at Tell el-Dabʿa in the late Second Intermediate Period, but a thorough analysis is needed to find distinguishing criteria. The existence of fabrics mixed from Nile and marl clays was proved by means of petrologic and chemical analysis for the Old and the New Kingdoms.27 The visual identification of such mixes by means of macroscopic detection with a 10x hand lens, which is the usual tool for the bulk of the material, is not easy and identification can only be ascertained by means of technical analyses (see ‘Scientific Technologies used for Analysis of Ancient Ceramics (Overview)’, later in this chapter). Imports into Egypt, particularly from Syria/Palestine, are found on a regular basis, ran­ ging from the Predynastic to the Late Periods and beyond.28 While the differentiation of imports from the Egyptian fabrics in the Pharaonic periods is, in most cases, straightforward (despite exceptions to this rule, particularly in the Early Bronze Age), the distinction between the various imported fabrics poses more problems. Ground-breaking petrographic work has been done for the New Kingdom29, but the assumed less standardized organization of production of transport containers (Figure  15.1) in the Middle Kingdom and the Second Intermediate Period creates more difficulties. It is possible to define areas of origin, but the distribution within Syria/Palestine is still largely unclear. Shape catalogues (also of rims) might help in demarcating the distribution of certain form varieties. Such corpora are available only for very few areas, such as Jericho and Aphek.30 A combination of petrologic data and vessel or rim shape might also suggest origins of transport vessels. To date it is not certain if there is a relationship between fabric and shape in the Middle Bronze Age ma­ter­ ial, because pilot studies are sorely missing. This information could be used for in­ter­pret­ ation of transport routes and volume as well as for detection of shifts in trade patterns. Imports from the Aegean and Cyprus are generally less common, but this is subject to change during different periods.31 Such imports are considered particularly important for the establishment of chronological networks between those cultures, and are used extensively.32

Other fabric classification systems For the Predynastic and early Dynastic periods as well as for the Late Period, the GrecoRoman period, and late antiquity, it has been noted that fabrics appear that cannot be easily accommodated within the Vienna System, and thus somewhat defy the original idea of a comparative ‘skeleton’. Pottery specialists of the early periods therefore created their own

26  Bietak 1991a: 328; Aston 1998: 67; Aston 2004a: 35; Bader 2009: 652–3. 27  Nordström and Bourriau 1993: 166–7; Aston 1998: 68; Bourriau et al. 2000: 19–25; Rzeuska 2006: 42–4. 28  Hartung et al. 2015; Nordström and Bourriau 1993: 183–6. 29  Smith et al. 2000; Serpico et al. 2003. 30  Kenyon and Holland 1982; Beck 2000. 31 See Merrillees  1968; Kemp and Merrillees  1980; Bell  1985; Walberg  1991;  1992; Maguire  1995; Hankey 1995; Bourriau and Eriksson 1998; Fitton et al. 1998; Merrillees 2003; Hein 2007. 32  Åström 2001; Bietak 2000–07; Phillips 2008.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   317

0 1 2 3 4 5

10

Figure 15.1  New Kingdom amphora made of oasis fabric (Bader 2006: Fig. 3).

classification systems.33 Similarly, the approach to the pottery fabrics in the later periods concentrates much more on wares (fabric + surface treatment) because by then it is safe to speak about large-scale industries that were distributed all over Egypt. This development had already started in the Late Period and continued.34

Scientific technologies used for analysis of ancient ceramics (overview) Since the late 1960s, several modern technologies, generally used in other scientific fields, have found their way into Egyptian archaeology.35 One of the first methods used was Neutron Activation Analysis (NAA), initially applied in order to obtain information on the 33  E.g. Köhler 1998. 34  See Aston 1999: 2–9; Marchand 2009; Ballet and Południkiewicz 2012; Gates-Foster 2012. 35  I would like to thank M. Ownby for providing me with literature and discussing technologies with me.

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318   Bettina Bader chemical composition of ceramics and to detect the origins of the fabric.36 It was used, on the one hand, to characterize Egyptian fabric groups and to check if they were consistent37 and, on the other hand, to detect the origins of wares imported into Egypt from the Levant.38 This expensive and destructive method involves the use of a nuclear research reactor and multivariate statistical analysis for interpretation. The interpretations of the results of such analyses can be very useful39 but can also be misleading.40 This depends both on the sampling strategy used by the archaeologists and the comparative databases of the scientific laboratory. It has also proved difficult to relate ceramics and raw materials within this ­method.41 Another factor to be considered is whether the chemical soil composition in the regions under scrutiny is different enough to yield a meaningful result. It has been found that even Nile alluvium can be differentiated.42 Recent years have seen a considerable reduction of research reactors and therefore fewer possibilities to use this method. Gradually NAA has been replaced by Inductively Coupled Plasma Mass Spectrometry (ICP-MS), which provides a similar set of data to NAA but without the toxic waste.43 As for Egyptian ceramics and ceramics found in Egypt, petrography by itself, or in conjunction with X-Ray Fluorescence Analysis (XRF), is being used more frequently.44 The principle of petrography is to link the geology of inclusions (minerals, microfossils, etc) and clay to the geology of a given region by scrutinizing a thin section. Not only does this method provide a way of getting closer to the origins of ceramics, but a check on grouping strategies for fabrics is also possible along with general information on shaping methods and firing temperatures.45 The ideal way of publishing such information is in colour photographs of the thin sections in conjunction with the sherd break, because it is the sherd break the ceramicist tries to identify in the field. Thus, it would be possible to compare published fabric groupings to material currently under analyses (ideally executed by Smith et al.  2000). Unfortunately, this is still not standard procedure and therefore much of the benefit of such analyses cannot be used by ceramicists. Standard XRF analysis acquires bulk compositional chemical data from powdered ceramic material. However, non-destructive XRF analysis measures the chemical com­pos­ition on the surface of pottery fragments or on the sherd break, as does Scanning Electron Microscopy (SEM). Both provide data for the interpretation of slips, washes, and other surface layers, as has been done on Marl clay fabrics. Such data allows syntheses on how and why surface layers develop.46 The use of thermo-luminescence for Egyptian ceramics is quite restricted and generally applied in order to estimate firing temperatures and to detect the date of pigments and pottery.47 It is well worth exploring scientific technologies for analysis of ceramic material, because, if used correctly, they can provide much additional information for a diverse range of research questions.

36  Perlman and Asaro 1969. 37  Bourriau 1998; Bourriau et al. 2006. 38  McGovern and Harbottle 1996; McGovern 2000. 39  Bourriau et al. 2006. 40  McGovern 2000; Goren 2003; Aston 2004c. 41  Bourriau 1998: 190–1. 42  Bourriau 1998: 193–9. 43  Mallory-Greenough et al. 1998; Tschegg et al. 2008. 44 Bourriau, Nicholson, and Rose  2000: 133; Cohen-Weinberger and Goren  2004; Griffiths and Ownby 2006; Rzeuska 2006: 522–36; Ownby and Griffiths 2009. 45  Bourriau et al. 2000: 132–3. 46  See Ownby and Griffiths 2009. 47  Bourriau 1981: 58; Crowfoot Payne et al. 1977.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   319

Quantitative analysis The knowledge of the quantity of different types of pottery (and/or other artefacts) in contexts gives additional information about the character of a site: trade emporium versus settlement versus workshop, to name but a few. The consideration of the frequency distributions of pottery types in contexts may help to clarify functions or functional areas.48 The measurement for quantity of pottery forms the backbone of any statistical analysis. In the past several methods for quantification have been used, such as sherd count49, number of vessels represented50, surface measurement, displacement volume, or weight. The results of such methods may be useful, but some applications are either complicated or heavily biased, due to the various properties of ceramics. For example, sherd count is biased towards thin-walled vessels, because they break more easily and into more pieces, and besides it is not a constant measure.51 The concept of estimated vessel equivalents, first described in print by Clive Orton, is based on the premise that each sherd broken off an ancient vessel represents a certain proportion or percentage of a formerly complete vessel, regardless of whether it is a body, base, handle, or rim fragment. This measurement represents the preserved part of a vessel and creates no bias due to ceramic properties. As it is not always possible to measure the preserved proportion of the rim/base exactly, the term estimated vessel equivalent is used.52 Measuring the preserved (diagnostic) parts of the vessels for determination of quantity has been used in Egyptian archaeology by the founder members of the ‘Vienna Group’ since the mid-1970s, although it has not been formulated or tested theoretically. Only recently several studies were published using this kind of data.53 Because body fragments are often ambiguous, the focus of quantitative studies is on so-called diagnostics like bases and rims. They provide the most information about ancient vessels, facilitating an attribution to a type. The identification of sherd material sometimes suffers from ambiguity, because some rim types could belong to more than one vessel shape.54 Such cases must be taken into consideration in the analysis, but should not deter from the approach in general. A measurement of diameter is necessary for a measurement of the preserved part of the vessel (fractions of a circle), taken by means of a rim diameter chart.55 This is the collected frequency data which will disclose the quantity of the pottery in the end, sorted by type, fabric, or any other criterion the analyst is interested in. Through a mathematical transformation, the estimated vessel equivalents can be turned into numbers that have the same statistical properties as counts, and can be used in statistical analyses56, although this has not yet been attempted with Egyptian material. In connection with random sampling techniques such data provide a powerful tool to answer the question ‘How many?’ in an objective way.57

48  Bader 2010: Figure 9, 2016. 49 Arnold 1982. 50  Arnold 1988: 116, n 303. 51  Orton et al. 1993: 169–70. 52  Orton 1975; Orton et al. 1993: 21, 171–3. 53 Bader  2007;  2009;  2015; Bader et al.  2016; Bourriau and Gallorini  2012;  2016; Kopetzky 2010; Müller 2008. 54  See Figure 15.2, and also Bader 2010: Figures 8–10. 55  Egloff 1973; Orton et al. 1993: Figure 13.2. 56  Orton et al. 1993: 174; Orton 1993. 57  Fletcher and Lock 1994; Orton 2000; Bader 2009: 58–74; Bourriau and Gallorini 2016.

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320   Bettina Bader (b)

(a)

0 1 2 3 4 5

(c)

(d)

10

(e)

(k)

(j)

(f)

(i) (g)

(h)

Figure 15.2  Various pottery types to which small fragments can be ascribed (Bader 2010: Fig. 9).

Typology The desire to try and impose order on things is perhaps deeply ingrained in human nature, thus a division into different groups either according to shape, function, or size is often presented. Ideas proposed for botany by Linné and for archaeology by Montelius (1903) found their counterparts in Egypt.58 The compilation of typologies of various ceramic vessels in Egyptology began with Petrie. He and his followers were the first archaeologists in Egypt to arrange (complete) pottery vessels by shape into a system of types and subtypes arranged by letters and numbers, as for example in the Riqqeh corpus (e.g. 2k2 on pl. 28). A similar procedure was proposed by Guy.59 Petrie also did the same for all other artefact groups.60 This arrangement developed over time, and rather than presenting a range of pottery of the same type, as for example from Tell el-Yahudieh in 1906 (Petrie 1906: pl. 10), the approach later changed to providing one example of each type as in Riqqeh61, Harageh62, and Sedment63, although quite a wide variety of pots was shown. An intrinsic problem in the 58  Petrie 1904: 122–6. 61 Engelbach 1915.

59  Cf. Rose 2007: 169–76. 62  Engelbach and Gunn 1923.

60 Engelbach 1915. 63  Petrie and Brunton 1924.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   321 re-evaluation of work done by Petrie and his followers is that the criteria for ascribing a vessel to one type or another are unknown, and often vessels from one site were typed to vessels from another site.64 It remains unknown how the early archaeologists typed pots from one site to another, as examples are not physically available. In order to use these valuable data collections, which are often the only information available from sites that are now destroyed, there is no choice but to assume that the vessels were very similar.65 To disregard these early works entirely would be a loss of information we cannot afford (see ‘Going Back to Material from Old Excavations’, later in this chapter). Nevertheless, it could only have been a small fraction of what was actually found and most broken pottery was ignored (as was usual in the first half of the twentieth century). Pots showing differences in fabrics or wares on the whole were not distinguished as separate types. Since then ceramic typologies have been greatly refined, and not only do they take fabric and ware into consideration, but also sherd material and certain indices. The typologies of hemispherical cups66 and so-called ‘beer/wine jars’67 in the Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period provide a good example, as well as amphorae in the New Kingdom.68 These particular cases demonstrate that minute changes in the morphology of vessel types are often of chronological significance, but not always. While passing time need not necessarily be the only reason for such changes, it is by far the most frequently observed one. Differences in morphology could also be due to regional shifts or the way in which workshops are organized or knowledge is transferred, but painstaking analysis is necessary to find firm evidence for any of these interpretations. In contrast, other pottery types do not seem to show any remarkable changes in shape over long periods of time (e.g. large rough Nile C plates or dishes and pot stands in the Middle Kingdom and the Second Intermediate Period), but other changes such as in raw material or technology may occur. Crucial for inferences of this kind is the employment of enough well-stratified examples in order to be sure that a suspected change is not a mere coincidence, and consideration of all the different factors together. The possibility of using computerized statistical seriation and correspondence analysis to define types and distributions has so far only been applied in cemeteries in Nubia.69

Why a good drawing is important Drawings of vessels or diagnostic fragments, whether rim or base, handle or decorated wall fragment, constitute the main part of an accurate, up-to-date description of ceramics. Inaccurate drawings can very easily lead to misinterpretations.70 Nevertheless good drawings convey a much better idea of the material than any verbal description could ever do, provided the published scale is not too small. It should be noted that the pottery drawings produced by Flinders Petrie and Guy Brunton in Sedment, for instance, were quite accurate 64  See Petrie and Brunton 1924: pl. xlvii. 65  Seidlmayer 1990: 5, 17–19. 66  Arnold 1982; 1988; Bietak 1991b; Bader 2007. 67  Arnold 1988; Szafranski 1998; Bader 2007; 2009: 160–82, 215–22. 68 Aston 2004b. 69  Säve-Söderbergh and Troy 1991: 220–93. 70  See Bader 2003; Marcus et al. 2009; Doumet-Serhal et al. 2009.

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322   Bettina Bader even by modern standards. When the author redrew some vessels from Sedment, reduced them to a scale of 1:6 and overlaid them with the drawings of the same types from the original publication they looked exactly the same. However, for a critical consideration of various aspects of the vessel, a scale of 1:3 is highly preferable, where even small details of technology and rim morphology are recognizable. Certain conventions should be followed, namely the combination of the outside view with the section of the vessel in order to make the material visually comparable. Additionally, an indication in the drawing of the manufacturing technique is useful, because it supplies further clues not only for the dating of the vessel but also for technological considerations. Sketching the quality of the surface, by drawing large straw, limestone, or other particles, may prove useful sometimes, but the fabric description includes the quality of the surface. Because time constraints are always involved, such a procedure is not considered crucial. Often this is subject to artistic taste, much like the question concerning whether the section of a vessel should be blackened in or left white, or whether the top line should touch the section or not. While the process of drawing a vessel brings the ceramicist very close to knowing its shape intimately, it is not sufficient by itself and needs to be complemented by a short description including fabric, surface treatment, state of preservation, and measurements, in order to produce a high standard for modern reports. Archaeological illustration today has come a long way from the standards of the late nineteenth century.71 Ready access to digital photography has certainly radically changed procedures in documentation of pottery in the last seven to ten years. But while it is an easy way to create a visual record of a sherd or vessel, or minute details of it, digital photography cannot replace drawing of pottery and with it the personal engagement with the material. The same holds true for 3D scanning of pottery vessels, which may make sense for very special or fragile material in museums.

Manufacture The interpretation of pictorial evidence, mainly from tombs, helps in understanding the stages of manufacture of Egyptian pottery.72 Additional data could be obtained from arch­ aeo­logic­al sites and scientific methods73, as well as from ethno-archaeology.74 By means of this combined approach it has been possible to obtain a clearer idea of which techniques were used in which periods. The particulars of collecting the raw material, processing it, various shaping methods by hand or wheel or combined techniques, drying of the vessels, and surface treatment and decoration, as well as firing, all have a potential bearing on the dating of ceramics75 as well as on the history of manufacturing techniques and organizational issues. Close scrutiny of the vessels and fragments themselves provides additional 71  See pottery illustrations in De Morgan 1895; Nagel 1938; Bourriau 1981; Bourriau et al. 2000: Figure 5.4; as well as Wegner 2007; Rose 2007; and Hendrickx et al. 2016. 72  Arnold 1976; Bourriau 1981: 14–22; Arnold 1993; Holthoer 1977: 5–37. 73  Vandiver and Lacovara 1985/1986. 74  Brissaud 1982; Nicholson and Patterson 1985a; 1985b. For a list of kiln sites over a larger spread of periods see Bourriau et al. 2000: 137–43 and Soukiassian et al. 1990. 75 Bourriau 2006.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   323 hints on the techniques used76, because the potters did not always remove all traces of manu­fac­ture very carefully, and thus the ceramicist gains insights into the sequence of steps undertaken to produce the vessels (chaîne operatoire). One particular problem is the recognition in pottery vessels of the use of the fast or kick wheel, in contrast to the slow wheel, which according to Klotz’s discovery of a depiction of the kick wheel in the Ramesside period should be dated much earlier than traditionally.77 In particular the firing process is of great interest, because the technology used can tell us much about the temperatures achieved and therefore the technical abilities of the ancient Egyptians.78

Function of vessels Beside the actual shape of vessels—open for presentation and consumption and closed for storage and preservation79—pictorial evidence is crucial in the Egyptian context for the interpretation of the function of vessels. This source helped to identify a number of functional vessels used such as bread moulds, spinning bowls, large vats for the production of beer, beer jars, and firedogs, to name but a few.80 The identification of special ritual vessels like hes-vases or canopic jars does not pose further problems. Relating pottery to reliefs or wall paintings and ritual is very rewarding81 and provides further insights into the use of ceramic vessels, even though there may sometimes be a discrepancy between the intended use and the actual use. The latter can occasionally be understood by traces of secondary modification and use like abrasions (stand) or smoke blackening marks from exposure to fire (for cooking).82 The study of jar labels might also allow some interpretations, but whether the designation signifies usual or unusual contents often remains unresolved.83 The archaeological context and additional non-ceramic finds often also allow ­interpretations concerning function.84 Many avenues of exploration are still to be followed in this field.

Strategies to tackle ceramics: consideration of context With an overwhelming amount of potsherds resulting from controlled excavations85 a ­strategy for dealing with these finds is necessary. Because ceramics are often the only type 76  Rzeuska 2006: 45–54. 77 Klotz 2013. 78  Nicholson and Patterson 1985b; Soukiassian et al. 1990; Nicholson 1993; Hope 1993. 79  Arnold 1988: 135–6. 80  See for bread moulds Jacquet-Gordon  1981, spinning bowls Dothan  1963; Vogelsang-Eastwood 1987/1988; Allen 1998; Gould 2010, large vats for the production of beer Faltings 1998, beer jars Holthoer 1977: 86–8, and firedogs Aston 1989. 81  E.g. Seiler 1995; Rzeuska 2001; Hendrickx et al. 2002; Op de Beeck 2007. 82  See Bourriau et al. 2000: 142–4. 83  Aston 2007. Here chemical contents analysis can help. 84  Bietak 1985; Bader and Ownby 2013; Sullivan 2013. 85 E.g. 1,000,000 diagnostics mentioned by Rzeuska  2006: 55, and 85,000 mentioned by Bourriau 1991: 264.

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324   Bettina Bader of artefact found, there should be a system in operation that allows evaluation of as many aspects as possible, in order to take the whole archaeological record into account. It will only rarely be possible to ‘draw everything’, except in very favourable conditions and with plenty of resources. Crucial in the decision of what and how to record is the nature of the site. If the ceramic material comes from the surface or contexts disturbed in modern times, it would be a waste of resources to concentrate on typological studies of certain morphological aspects of pottery. The same holds true for most known dumps of early excavators and the fills of casemate structures. While it would be deeply wrong to simply discard such material without any further study, a general corpus of shape and fabrics will enhance the knowledge of spatial distribution of shapes and fabrics within the country and the site. It will also allow periods of use to be pinpointed by comparative analysis with ceramic material from better dated sites. There may not be other types of finds in some periods, so ceramics are almost always the best way to get a comprehensive overview of the occupational history of a site. Another issue is controlled excavation versus survey, both of which require different approaches towards the material. Certainly the most rewarding strategy is to concentrate on diagnostic fragments such as rims, bases, handles, and any painted, incised, or unusual sherds. The viability of the attempt to reconstruct complete vessels depends on the care taken in the excavation, the scale of the operation, and the nature of the site. While complete vessel shapes are much more common in grave contexts or special (e.g. foundation) deposits, the likelihood of such finds is rather small in settlements. Without doubt, complete vessels hold more information than partly ambiguous sherd material, therefore any chance for reconstruction should be taken wherever feasible. With some experience it is possible to judge fairly accurately if certain contexts will yield joins, making it potentially worthwhile to spend time on this. The body fragments of broken vessels also contain information that should not be disposed of too lightly. Non-joining body fragments of various contexts should at least be sorted into fabric and ware groups and the quantity measured. The most promising methods are weighing (e.g. Memphis) or measuring the surface area (practice at Dahshur, S.  Allen, personal communication and Tell el-Dab‘a), in order to gain independent quantitative data that is comparable between contexts in addition to the diagnostic fragments.86 Moreover, fabrics may be represented among the body fragments missing in the range of diagnostics, and therefore such information would be lost. A combination of weighing and sherd count can provide interesting insights into post-depositional processes in different contexts, if compared. The use of random sampling is an innovation in Egyptian archaeology and a few recent studies have utilized this methodology. It has to be understood that techniques like random sampling do not replace the knowledge of the ceramicist but form an addition to retrieving quantitative data in an objective way.87 Random sampling does not mean a subjective choice (or ‘shopping list’) as many archaeologists still believe, and it is common practice in prehistory as well as in zooarchaeology and the study of human remains, and is now included in various computer programs (e.g. the Statistical Package for the Social Sciences).

86  See Bourriau 1991. 87  See Bourriau 1991 for an example involving a ceramicist collaborating with a trained statistician; see also Bourriau and Gallorini 2012; 2016; Bader 2009.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   325

The art of discarding ceramics from archaeological excavations With the need to process a huge amount of pottery unearthed every season in controlled excavations, sooner or later a lack of storage space will affect work. In Petrie’s days after recording the pottery found, a selection of typical specimens was prepared for find division as well as for shipping back to Britain. Some of the bulkier material was reburied, for ex­ample, in excavated tombs. Some caches of such material left behind by Petrie have been found (e.g. Sedment: A.  Abd el-Galal, personal communication). Since finds division between the Egyptian Antiquities Service and foreign missions was abolished around the mid-1980s, all ceramic material has to remain at the site, ideally in purpose-built magazines but not unfrequently in the open air. Thus, space restrictions apply and a decision has to be made as to which material can be discarded to make room for newly excavated material. For long-term projects it is an advantage to plan ahead where to rebury material, and to then take the coordinates and mark the spot of the reburial. The addition of several labels, as was done by the Expedition of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in Dahshur, can help to prevent future confusion. Ceramics derived from surface layers and large secondary pit fills lacking a secure stratigraphic position should be sorted into body and diagnostic fragments and then into fabrics and wares. The body fragments are subsequently weighed88 or measured (surface area), ideally in combination with counting, while the diagnostics are kept for recording. The bulk of the body sherds can be discarded after processing, except for special imports, and painted or otherwise decorated fragments or pieces unknown to the ceramicist. Probably most of the diagnostics could also be discarded after recording, except for special fragments. A teaching collection at the site may be built up from such material. Fragmentary pottery from closed contexts should be kept wherever possible, although non-joining body fragments might be discarded after recording and publication. It seems to be self-evident that intact or complete vessels must not be disposed of, even after publication. In no instance is it advisable to discard any ceramic material that is not processed or not identifiable by the ceramicist. Where no site magazine exists, for example during surveys, a controlled redeposition will be much appreciated by any following archaeological team.

Going back to material from old excavations The increasing trend to re-evaluate pottery in museums from excavations conducted in the early part of the twentieth century offers valuable insights by means of re-recording and redrawing the material according to modern standards. This undertaking alone provides vital evidence for the distribution of shapes and fabrics in Egypt, hitherto only suspected due to the cursory description given in these old site reports.89 Combined with a re-evaluation of the excavation itself, a possibility exists for more refined dating of find groups other than 88 Bourriau 1991.

89  E.g. Bader 2001: 111, for comparanda for ‘type 36’.

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326   Bettina Bader just the pottery, and additional inferences may in many cases be possible.90 Several such studies have been undertaken, but unfortunately not all have been published to date.91 A re-evaluation of the early Middle Kingdom cemetery of Sedment undertaken by the author still awaits its final touches and publication. The largest project making use of the excellent preservation of ceramic vessels was the Middle Kingdom Pottery Handbook project (initiated by Bietak in the framework of the Special Research Programme: Synchronisation of Civilisations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the 2nd Millennium bc), the results of which were published.92 In this respect there are still many possibilities for future projects hidden in the storerooms of museums.

Suggested reading During the past decade so many publications dealing with ancient Egyptian ceramics appeared that it is impossible to list them here in their entirety. The conference proceedings of Vienna 2—Egyptian Ceramics in the 21st century edited by Bader Knoblauch and Köhler in 2016 may serve as a starting point because it contains a diachronic overview of the steadily growing field with many older references and new research avenues. Nevertheless, the fundamental works on Egyptian ceramic studies of the pharaonic periods out of which everything else developed are Arnold, D. 1981, Bourriau 1981, Arnold and Bourriau 1993, and Bietak  1991a. While those provide the foundations for successful engagement with Egyptian pottery on a practical level, works such as Aston 1998, Bourriau and Nicholson 1992, and Bourriau, Smith, and Nicholson 2000 point the way to New Kingdom fabric classification systems. For more fabric classification systems beyond the Vienna System see Ballet and Południkiewicz 2012, Gates-Foster 2012, Köhler 1998, and Marchand 2009. Ideas for research avenues to be applied on data from Egyptian pottery can be found in Arnold, Dean 1985, Bader and Ownby 2013, Redmount and Keller 2003, and Orton et al. 1993 (with a new edition by Orton and Hughes 2013). Pollard et al. 2007 gives a comprehensive overview of the application of analytical chemistry to ceramics although many of those can currently only be applied to Museum pieces outside of Egypt due to severe sampling restrictions. Two specialized periodicals dealing with Egyptian pottery are Bulletin de Liaison de la Céramique Égyptienne (1975 onwards) and Cahiers de la Céramique Égyptienne (1977 onwards).

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   327 Arnold, D. 1968. Keramikbeispiele aus den Gräbern der frühen 11. Dynastie in El-Tarif, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 23: 38–67. Arnold, D. 1976. Wandbild und Scherbenbefund. Zur Töpfertechnik der alten Ägypter vom Beginn der pharaonischen Zeit bis zu den Hyksos, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 32: 1–34. Arnold, D. 1981. Studien zur altägyptischen Keramik. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Arnold, D. 1982. Keramikbearbeitung in Dahschur 1976–1981, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäolo­ gischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 38: 25–65. Arnold, D. 1988. The Pottery. In D. Arnold, The Pyramid of Senwosret I.: The South Cemeteries of Lisht I.­The Metropolitan Museum of Art Expedition XXII. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 106–49. Arnold, D. 1993. Techniques and Traditions of Manufacture in the Pottery of ancient Egypt. In D. Arnold and J. Bourriau (eds), Introduction to Ancient Egyptian Pottery. Fascicle 1. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 1–141. Arnold, D., Arnold, F., and Allen, S.J. 1995. Canaanite Imports at Lisht, the Middle Kingdom Capital of Egypt, Egypt and the Levant 5: 13–32. Arnold, D. and Bourriau, J.D. (eds). 1993. Introduction to Ancient Egyptian Pottery. Fascicles 1 and 2. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Arnold, D. and Schulte, R. 1978. Meisterwerke altägyptischer Keramik: 5000 Jahre Kunst und Kunst­ handwerk aus Ton und Fayence. Höhr-Grenzhausen Keramik-Museum Westerwald. Hachenburg: Druckerei Hachenburg. Aston, D. 1989. Ancient Egyptian ‘Fire Dogs’—A New Interpretation, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 45: 27–32. Aston, D. 1998. Die Keramik des Grabungsplatzes Q1. Teil 1: Corpus of Fabrics, Wares and Shapes. Forschungen in der Ramsesstadt, vol 1. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Aston, D. 1999. Elephantine XIX: Pottery from the Late New Kingdom to the Early Ptolemaic Period. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Aston, D. 2004a. Tell el-Dabʿa XII: A Corpus of Late Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate ­Period Pottery. 2 vols. Vienna: Österreichische ­Akademie der Wissenschaften. Aston, D. 2004b. Amphorae in New Kingdom Egypt, Egypt and the Levant 14: 175–213. Aston, D. 2004c. Review of P. E. McGovern, The Foreign Relations of the ‘Hyksos’: A Neutron Activation Study of Middle Bronze Age Pottery from the Eastern Mediterranean, British ­Archaeological Reports, International series 888, Oxford 2000, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 90: 233–7. Aston, D. 2007. A Taste of Honey. mnt- and mdqt-vessels in the late Eighteenth Dynasty. In T.  Schneider and K.  Szpakowska (eds), Egyptian Stories: A British Egyptological Tribute to Alan B. Lloyd on the Occasion of his Retirement. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 347. Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 13–31. Aston, D. 2008. Untersuchungen im Totentempel des Merenptah in Theben IV: The Pottery (Beiträge 17). Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Åström, P. (ed). 2001. The Chronology of Base-ring Ware and Bichrome Wheel-made Ware. In P.  Åström (ed), Proceedings of a Colloquium held in the Royal Academy of Letters, History and ­Antiquities, Stockholm, May 18–19 2000. Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvtets Akademien ­Konferenser 54. Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell, 131–42. Bader, B. 2001. Tell el Dabʿa XIII: Typologie und Chronologie der Mergel C-Ton Keramik: Materialien zum Binnenhandel des Mittleren Reiches und der Zweiten Zwischenzeit. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Bader, B. 2003. The Egyptian Jars from Sidon in Their Egyptian Context. A Preliminary Report, Archaeology and History in Lebanon, Issue 18: 31–37. Bader, B. 2006. Von Palmen und Vögeln: Vorschau auf die Keramik aus dem Areal H/VI östlich des Palastes G in ʿEzbet Helmi, Egypt and the Levant 16: 37–60. Bader, B. 2007. A Tale of Two Cities: First Results of a Comparison between Avaris and Memphis. In M.  Bietak (ed), The Synchronisation of Civilisations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second

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328   Bettina Bader Millennium B.C., vol. III, Proceedings of the SCIEM 2000 Euro Conference, Vienna, 28th of May to 1st of June 2003. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 249–67. Bader, B. 2009. Tell el-Dab‘a XIX: Auaris und Memphis im Mittleren Reich und in der Hyksoszeit: ­Vergleichsanalyse der materiellen Kultur. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Bader, B. 2010. Processing and Analysis of Ceramic Finds at the Egyptian Site of Tell el-Dab‘a/Avaris (‘Eves’ and Other Strange Animals). In B. Horejs, R. Jung, and P. Pávuk (eds), Analysing Pottery: Processing—Classification—Publication. Studia Archaeologica et Medievalia IX. Bratislava: Commenius University in Bratislava, 209–33. Bader, B. 2015. A late Middle Kingdom Settlement at Tell el-Dab‘a and its Potential. In P. Kousoulis and N.  Lazaridis (eds), Proceedings of the Tenth International Congress of Egyptologists, Rhodes, 22nd to 29th of May 2008. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 241. Leuven: Peeters, 45–63. Bader, B., Knoblauch, C.M., and Köhler, E.C. (eds) 2016. Vienna 2: Ancient Egyptian Ceramics in the 21st Century. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 245. Leuven: Peeters. Bader, B. and Ownby, M.F. (eds). 2013. Functional Aspects of Egyptian Ceramics in Their Arch­aeo­logic­al Context. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 217. Leuven: Peeters. Ballet, P. and Południkiewicz, A. 2012. Tebtynis V: la céramique des époques hellénistique et impéri­ ale: Campagnes 1988–1993. Production, consommation et réception dans le Fayoum méridional. Fouilles de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 68. Le Caire: Institut Français d’Archéologie ­Orientale. Beck, P. 2000. Area A: Middle Bronze Age IIA Pottery. In M. Kochavi, P. Beck, and E. Yadin (eds), Aphek-Antipatris I: Excavations of Areas A and B, the 1972–1976 Seasons. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, Sonia and Marco Nadler Institute of Archaeology, 173–238. Bell, M.R. 1985. Gurob Tomb 605 and Mycenaean Chronology. In P. Posener-Kriéger (ed), Mélanges ­Gamal Eddin Mokhtar. Bibliothèque d’étude 97. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 61–86. Bietak, M. 1985. Eine ‘Rhythmusgruppe’ aus der Zeit des späten Mittleren Reiches, Jahreshefte des Österreichischen Archäologischen Institutes in Wien 56: 3–18. Bietak, M. 1991a. Tell el-Dab‘a V: Ein Friedhof der Mittleren Bronzezeitkultur mit Totentempel und ­Siedlungsschichten, Teil I. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Bietak, M. 1991b. Egypt and Canaan in the Middle Bronze Age, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 281: 27–72. Bietak, M. (ed). 2000–07. The Synchronisation of Civilisations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C. vols 1–3. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Binford, L.R. 1972. An Archaeological Perspective. New York: Seminar Press. Bourriau, J.D. 1981. Umm el-Ga’ab: Pottery from the Nile Valley before the Arab Conquest. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bourriau, J.D. 1991. The Memphis Pottery Project, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 1(2): 263–8. Bourriau, J.D. 1998. The Role of Chemical Analysis in the Study of Egyptian Pottery. In C.J. Eyre (ed), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists, Cambridge 3–9 September 1995. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 82. Leuven: Peeters, 189–99. Bourriau, J.D. 2006. Technology in the Pottery of the Middle and New Kingdoms: An Underrated Tool in the Archaeologist’s Armoury. In B.  Mathieu, D.  Meeks, and M.  Wissa (eds), L’apport de l’Égypte à l’histoire des techniques: Methodes, chronologie et comparaisons, BdÉ 142. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 31–43. Bourriau, J.D. and Aston, D. 1985. The Pottery. In G.T. Martin, The Tomb Chapels of Paser and Ra’ia at Saqqara. London: The Egypt Exploration Society, 32–55. Bourriau, J.D. Bellido, A., Bryan N., and Robinson, V. 2006. Egyptian Pottery Fabrics: A Comparison between NAA Groupings and the ‘Vienna System’. In E. Czerny, I. Hein, H. Hunger, D. Melman, and A. Schwab (eds), Timelines: Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 149/3. Leuven: Peeters, 261–91. Bourriau, J.D. and Eriksson, K.O. 1998. A Late Minoan Sherd from an Early 18th Dynasty Context at Kom Rabi‘a, Memphis. In J. Phillips (ed), Ancient Egypt, The Aegean and the Near East: Studies in Honour of Martha Rhoads Bell. San Antonio: Van Siclen Books, 95–120.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   329 Bourriau, J.D. and Gallorini, C. 2012. Pottery from Memphis, Kom Rabi’a. In R. Schiestl and A. Seiler (eds), A Handbook of Middle Kingdom Pottery, Vol. 2: Regional Volume. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 107–30. Bourriau, J.D. and Gallorini, C. 2016. Kom Rabi’a: The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period Pottery, Survey of Memphis VIII. London: The Egypt Exploration Society. Bourriau, J.D. and Nicholson, P.T. 1992. Marl Clay Pottery Fabrics of the New Kingdom from Memphis, Saqqara and Amarna, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 78: 29–91. Bourriau, J.D., Nicholson, P.T., and Rose, P.J. 2000. Pottery. In P.T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 121–47. Bourriau, J.D., Smith, L.M.V., and Nicholson, P.T. 2000. New Kingdom Pottery Fabrics: Nile Clay and Mixed Nile/Marl Clay Fabrics from Memphis and Amarna. Occasional Publications 14. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Brissaud, P. 1982. Les ateliers de potiers de la région de Louqsor. Bibliothèque d’Etude 78. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Cohen-Weinberger, A. and Goren, Y. 2004. Levantine–Egyptian Interactions during the 12th to the 15th Dynasties Based on the Petrography of the Canaanite Pottery from Tell el-Dab‘a, Egypt and the Levant 14: 69–100. Crowfoot Payne, J., Kaczmarczyk, A., and Fleming, S.J. 1977. Forged Decoration on Predynastic Pots, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 63: 5–12. Cyganowski, C.J.K. 2003. An Intersite Comparison of Middle Kingdom Lower Egyptian Marl C Fabric. Unpublished MPhil thesis. Cambridge: University of Cambridge. De Morgan, J. 1895. Fouilles à Dahchour, Mars–Juin 1894. Vienna: Adolf Holzhausen. Dothan, T. 1963. Spinning-bowls, Israel Exploration Journal 13: 97–112. Doumet-Serhal, C., Bader, B., Forstner-Müller, I., and Kopetzky, K. 2009. The Egyptian Jars from Sidon in their Egyptian Context—Some Fresh Evidence, Archaeology and History in the Lebanon 29: 79–83. Egloff, B.J. 1973. A Method for Counting Ceramic Rim Sherds, American Antiquity 38(3): 351–3. El-Khouli, A., Holthoer, R., Hope, C.A., and Kaper, O.E. 1993. Stone Vessels, Pottery and Sealings from the Tomb of Tutankhamun. Oxford: Griffiths Institute, Ashmolean Museum. Engelbach, R. 1915. Riqqeh and Memphis VI. BSAE 19. London: Bernard Quaritch. Engelbach, R. and Gunn, B. 1923. Harageh. BSAE 28. London: Bernard Quaritch. Faltings, D. 1998. Die Keramik der Lebensmittelproduktion im Alten Reich: Ikonographie und Archäologie eines Gebrauchsartikels. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 14. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Fitton, L., Hughes, M., and Quirke, S. 1998. Northerners at Lahun: Neutron Activation Analysis of Minoan and Related Pottery in the British Museum. In S. Quirke (ed), Lahun Studies. Reigate: SIA Publishing, 112–40. Fletcher, M. and Lock, G.R. 1994. Digging Numbers: Elementary Statistics for Archaeologists. Oxford University Committee for Archaeology Monograph 33, 2nd ed. Oxford: University Committee for Archaeology. Garstang, J. 1907. Burial Customs in Ancient Egypt. London: A. Constable and Co. Ltd. Gates-Foster, J. 2012. Pottery. In C. Riggs (ed), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 648-63. Goren, Y. 2003. Review of P. E. McGovern, The Foreign Relations of the ‘Hyksos’: A Neutron A ­ ctivation Study of Middle Bronze Age Pottery from the Eastern Mediterranean. British Archaeological ­Reports, International series 888, Oxford 2000, Bibliotheca Orientalis 60(1–2): 105–10. Gould, B. 2010. Egyptian Pottery. In T. Dothan and B. Brandl (eds), Deir el-Balah: Excavatations in 1977–1982 in the Cemetery and Settlement, Volume II: The Finds. Quedem 50. Jerusalem: Hebrew University, 7–56. Griffiths, D. and Ownby, M. F. 2006. Assessing the Occurrence of Egyptian Marl C Ceramics in Middle Bronze Age Sidon, Archaeology and History in the Lebanon 24: 63–77. Hankey, V. 1995. Stirrup Jars at el-Amarna. In W.V. Davies and L. Schofield (eds), Egypt the Aegean and the Levant: Interconnections in the Second Millennium BC. London: British Museum Press, 116–24.

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330   Bettina Bader Hartung, U., Köhler, E.C., Müller, V., and Ownby, M.F. 2015. Imported Pottery from Abydos: A New Petrographic Perspective, Egypt and the Levant 25: 295–333. Hein, I. 2007. The Significance of the Lustrous Ware Finds from Ezbet Helmi/Tell el-Dab‘a (Egypt). In I. Hein (ed), The Lustrous Wares of Late Bronze Age Cyprus and the Eastern Mediterranean. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences, 79-106. Hendrickx, S., Eyckerman, M., and Vereecken, S. 2016. The Visualisation of Pottery in Egyptian ­Archaeology. In B.  Bader, C.M.  Knoblauch, and E.C.  Köhler (eds), Vienna 2—Ancient Egyptian Ceramics in the 21st Century: Proceedings of the International Conference Held at the University of Vienna, 14th–18th of May, 2012. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 245. Leuven: Peeters, 277–86. Hendrickx, S., Faltings, D., Op de Beeck, L., Raue, D., and Michiels, C. 2002. Milk, Beer and Bread Technology During the Early Dynastic Period, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Insti­ tuts, Abteilung Kairo 58: 277–304. Holthoer, R. 1977. New Kingdom Pharaonic Sites: The Pottery. The Scandinavian Joint Expedition to Sudanese Nubia, vol 5:1. Lund: Berlings. Hope, C.A. 1987. Ceramics from the Dakhleh Oasis. Burwood: Victoria College. Hope, C.A. 1989. Pottery of the Egyptian New Kingdom: Three Studies. Burwood: Victoria College. Hope, C.A. 1993. Pottery Kilns in the Oasis of el-Dakhla. In D. Arnold and J.D. Bourriau (eds), Intro­ duction to Ancient Egyptian Pottery. Fascicle 1. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 121–7. Jacquet-Gordon, H. 1981. A Tentative Typology of Bread Moulds. In D. Arnold (ed), Studien zur alt­ ägyptischen Keramik. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 11–24. Kemp, B.J. and Merrillees, R.S. 1980. Minoan Pottery in Second Millennium Egypt. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Kenyon, K.M. and Holland, T.A. 1982. Excavations at Jericho IV: The Pottery Type Series and Other Finds. London: British School of Archaeology, Jerusalem. Klotz, D. 2013. The Earliest Representation of a Potter’s Kick-wheel in Egypt, Égypte Nilotique et Méditerranéenne 6: 169–76. Köhler, E.C. 1998. Tell el-Fara’in—Buto III. Die Keramik von der späten Nagada-Kultur bis zum frühen Alten Reich (Schichten III bis VI). Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Kopetzky, K. 2010. Tell el-Dab‘a XX: Die Chronologie der Siedlungskeramik der Zweiten Zwischenzeit aus Tell el-Dab‘a. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Lucas, A. 1948. Materials and Industries in Ancient Egypt, 3rd ed. Timperley, Altrincham: St Ann’s Press. Maguire, L. 1995. Tell el-Dab‘a: The Cypriot Connection. In W.V. Davies and L. Schofield (eds), Egypt, the Aegean and the Levant. London: British Museum Press, 54–65. Mallory-Greenough, L.M., Greenough, J.D., and Owen, J.V. 1998. New Data for Old Pots: Trace ­Element Characterization of ancient Egyptian Pottery using ICP-MS, Journal of Archaeological ­Science 25: 85–97. Marchand, S. 2009. Appendix 2. Hawara 2000—The Pottery from Hawara. In I. Uytterhoeven (ed.), Hawara in the Graeco-Roman Period: Life and Death in a Fayum Village. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 174. Leuven: Peeters, 685-813. Marcus, E.S., Porath, Y., Schiestl, R., Seiler, A., and Paley, S.M. 2008. The Middle Kingdom Egyptian Pottery from Middle Bronze Age IIa Tel Ifshar, Egypt and the Levant 18: 203–19. McGovern, P.E. 1997. Wine of Egypt’s Golden Age: An Archaeochemical Perspective, Journal of ­Egyptian Archaeology 83: 69–108. McGovern, P.E. 2000. The Foreign Relations of the ‘Hyksos’: A Neutron Activation Study of the Middle Bronze Age Pottery from the Eastern Mediterranean. British Archaeological Reports, International Series 888. Oxford: Archaeopress. McGovern, P.E. and Harbottle, G. 1996. ‘Hyksos’ Trade Connections between Tell el-Dab‘a (Avaris) and the Levant: A Neutron Activation Study of the Canaanite Jar. In E.D. Oren (ed), The Hyksos: New Historical and Archaeological Perspectives. University Museum Monograph 96. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum, 141–57. Merrillees, R.S. 1968. Cypriote Pottery Found in Egypt. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology XVIII. Lund: Paul Aström Forlag. Merrillees, R.S. 2003. The First Appearances of Kamares Ware in the Levant, Egypt and the Levant 13: 127–42.

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Ancient Egyptian pottery   331 Millet, M. 2007. Architecture civile antérieure au Nouvel Empire: rapport préliminaire des fouilles archéologiques à l’est du lac Sacré, 2001–2003, Cahiers de Karnak XII: 681–743. Montelius, O. 1903. Die älteren Kulturperioden im Orient und in Europa, vol. 1: Die Methode. Stockholm: Selbstverlag des Verfassers. Müller, V. 2008. Tell el-Dab‘a XVII: Opferdeponierungen in der Hyksoshauptstadt Auaris (Tell el-Dab‘a) vom späten Mittleren Reich bis zum frühen Neuen Reich. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences. Nagel, G. 1938. La Céramique du Nouvel Empire à Deir el-Médineh. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Nicholson, P.T. 1993. The Firing of Pottery. In D.  Arnold and J.D.  Bourriau (eds), Introduction to Ancient Egyptian Pottery. Fascicle 1. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 103–20. Nicholson, P.T. and Patterson, H.L. 1985a. Ethnoarchaeology in Egypt: The Bâllas Project, Archaeology 38(3): 52–9. Nicholson, P.T. and Patterson, H.L. 1985b. Pottery Making in Upper Egypt: An Ethnoarchaeological Study, World Archaeology 17(2): 222–39. Nordström, H.A. 1972. Neolithic and A-Group Sites. The Scandinavian Joint Expedition to Sudanese Nubia, vol 3:1. Stockholm: Scandinavian University Books. Nordström, H.A. and Bourriau, J.D. 1993. Ceramic Technology: Clays and Fabrics. In D. Arnold and J.D.  Bourriau (eds), An Introduction to Ancient Egyptian Pottery. Fascicle 2. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 143–90. Op de Beeck, L. 2007. Relating Middle Kingdom Pottery Vessels to Funerary Rituals, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache 134: 157–65. Orel, S.E. 1993. Chronology and Social Stratification in a Middle Egyptian Cemetery. Unpublished PhD Dissertation. Toronto: University of Toronto. Orton, C. 1975. Quantitative Pottery Studies: Some Progress, Problems and Prospects, Science and Archaeology 16: 30–5. Orton, C. 1993. How Many Pots Make Five?—An Historical Review of Pottery Quantification, Archaeometry 35: 169–84. Orton, C. 2000. Sampling in Archaeology. Cambridge Manuals in Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Orton, C., and Hughes, M. 2013. Pottery in Archaeology. 2nd ed. Cambridge Manuals in Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Orton, C., Tyres, P., and Vince, A. 1993. Pottery in Archaeology. Cambridge Manuals in Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ownby, M. and Griffiths, D. 2009. Issues of Scum: Technical Analyses of Egyptian Marl C to Answer Technological Questions, Egypt and the Levant 19: 229–39. Perlman, I. and Asaro, F. 1969. Pottery Analysis by Neutron Activation, Archaeometry 11: 21–52. Petrie, W.M.F. 1904. Methods and Aims in Archaeology. London: Macmillan. Petrie, W.M.F. 1906. Hyksos and Israelite Cities. London: British School of Archaeology. Petrie, W.M.F. and Brunton, G. 1924. Sedment I. BSAE 34. London: Bernard Quaritch. Phillips, J. 2008. Aegyptiaca on the Island of Crete in their Chronological Context: A Critical Review. Contributions to the Chronology of the Eastern Mediterranean 18. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Pollard, A.M., Batt, C.M., Stern, B., and Young, S.M.M. 2007. Analytical Chemistry in Archaeology. Cambridge Manuals in Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pusch  E.B. (ed). 2007. Die Keramik des Grabungsplatzes Q I—Teil 2. Schaber—Scherben—Marken. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg Verlag. Redmount C.A. and Keller C.A. 2003. Egyptian Pottery: Proceedings of the 1990 Pottery Symposium at the University of California, Berkeley. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Reisner, G.A. 1910. The Archaeological Survey of Nubia. Report for 1907–1908. Volume 1: Arch­aeo­logic­al Report. Cairo: National Printing Department. Rose, P.J. 2007. The Eighteenth Dynasty Pottery Corpus from Amarna. Egypt Exploration Memoir 83. London: The Egypt Exploration Society. Rzeuska, T. 2001. The Pottery from the Funerary Complex of Vizier Merefnebef (West Saqqara), the Evidence of a Burial and Cult of the Dead in the Old Kingdom. In J. Popielska-Grzybowska (ed),

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332   Bettina Bader Proceedings of the First Central European Conference of Young Egyptologists, 1999: Perspectives of Research. Warsaw: Institute of Archaeology, Warsaw University, 157–66. Rzeuska, T. 2006. Saqqara II: Pottery of the Late Old Kingdom: Funerary Pottery and Burial Customs. Polish-Egyptian Archaeological Mission. Warsaw: Edition Neriton. Säve-Söderbergh, T. and Troy, L. 1991. New Kingdom Pharaonic Sites: The Finds and the Sites. The Scandinavian Joint Expedition to Sudanese Nubia, vol 5:2. Uppsala: Almqvist and Wiksell Tryckeri. Schiestl, R. and Seiler, A. 2012. A Handbook of Egyptian Middle Kingdom Pottery. vol. I: Corpus; vol. II: Regional. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Seidlmayer, S.J. 1990. Gräberfelder aus dem Übergang vom Alten zum Mittleren Reich. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 1. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Seiler, A. 1995. Archäologisch faßbare Kultpraktiken in Grabkontexten der frühen 18. Dynastie in Dra’ Abu el-Naga/Theben. In J. Assmann (ed), Thebanische Beamtennekropolen. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 12. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag, 186–203. Serpico, M., Bourriau, J., Smith, L.M.V., Goren, Y., Stern, B., and Heron, C. 2003. Commodities and Containers: A Project to Study Canaanite Amphorae Imported into Egypt during the New Kingdom. In M. Bietak (ed), The Synchronisation of Civilisations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C. vol 2. Proceedings of the SCIEM 2000—EuroConference, Haindorf, 2nd of May to 7th of May 2001. Contributions to the Chronology of the Eastern Mediterranean 4. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 365–75. Sinclair, P. and Troy, L. 1989. A Multivariate Analysis. In T.  Säve-Söderbergh (ed), Middle Nubian Sites: The Scandinavian Joint Expedition to Sudanese Nubia, vol. 4:1. Udevalla: Bohusläningens Boktrykeri, 273–90. Smith, L.M.V., Bourriau, J.D., and Serpico, M. 2000. The Provenance of Late Bronze Age Transport Amphorae Found in Egypt, Internet Archaeology 9. Available at: http://intarch.ac.uk/journal/ issue9/bourriau_index.html. Snape, S.R. 1986. ‘Mortuary Assemblages from Abydos.’ Unpublished PhD dissertation. Liverpool: University of Liverpool. Soukiassian, G., Wuttmann, M., Pantalacci, L., Ballet, P., and Picon, M. 1990. Balat III: Les Ateliers de Potiers d’Ayn Asil. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Stevenson, A. 2016. Artefacts of Excavation: The International Distribution of Finds from British ­Excavations in Egypt 1880–1990. In T. Amijima (ed), From Petrie to Hamada: Proceedings of the International Symposium on Egyptian Antiquities of Kyoto University. Kyoto: Kyoto University ­Museum, 32–7. Sullivan, E.A. 2013. A Glimpse into Ancient Thebes: Excavations at South Karnak (2004–2006). BAR International Series 2538. Oxford: Archaeopress. Szafranski, Z.E. 1998. Seriation and Aperture Index 2 of the Beer Bottles from Tell el-Dab‘a, Egypt and the Levant 7: 95–119. Tschegg, C., Hein, I., and Ntaflos, T. 2008. State of the Art Multi-analytical Geoscientific Approach to Identify Cypriot Bichrome Wheelmade Ware Reproduction in the Eastern Nile Delta (Egypt), Journal of Archaeological Science 35(5): 1134–47. Vandiver, P. and Lacovara, P. 1985/1986. An Outline of Technological Changes in Egyptian Pottery Manufacture, Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar 7: 53–85. Vogelsang-Eastwood, G.M. 1987/1988. A Note on the So-called ‘Spinning Bowls’, Jaarbericht Ex Ori­ ente Lux 30: 78–87. Walberg, G. 1991. The Finds at Tell el-Dab‘a and Middle Minoan Chronology, Egypt and the Levant 2: 115–20. Walberg, G. 1992. The Finds at Tell el-Dab‘a and Middle Minoan Chronology, Egypt and the Levant 3: 157–9. Wegner J., 2007. The Mortuary Temple of Senwosret III at Abydos, ed W. K. Simpson and D.B. O’Connor. Publications of the Pennsylvania-Yale Institute of Fine Arts Expedition to Egypt 8. New Haven and Philadelphia: The Peabody Museum of Natural History of Yale University.

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chapter 16

Textil es Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden

Introduction Textiles or cloth are defined here as ‘those flexible, thin sheets that can be wrapped, shaped, and folded and are used to clothe, cover, and contain’.1 The majority of Egyptian textile producers processed flax into linen yarn and cloth although other fibres have appeared in the archaeological record. Wool, goat hair, and incidental examples of hemp and ramie, which may have been invasive fibres, have been documented.2 Herodotus believed that the Egyptian priests thought that wearing wool garments was unclean, and that wool was banned from temple precincts and burials.3 Whether this is true or not, processed wool dates back to Predynastic graves4 and the use of wool and by-products may have been more widespread than the scant physical evidence indicates; for example, processed wool was recovered from Amarna.5 From the Roman period (30 bc–ad 395) onwards, there is much more variety but for ancient Egypt in the Predynastic and pharaonic periods we think almost exclusively of linen, and its uses were extensive.

Linen Of the natural materials available to ancient Egyptians, flax is probably the most versatile and overlooked major commodity in the Egyptian economic arsenal. Considering the immense quantities of cloth produced over centuries of mass production from the Predynastic period (c.5300–3000 bc) into the first century ad, only a very small collection of intact garments or lengths of cloth remain. Despite a climate generally considered 1  Harris 2012: 62. 2  Vogelsang-Eastwood 2000: 69. 3 Herodotus Histories II: 90. 4  Petrie and Quibell 1896: 44. 5  Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001: 53–4 for a discussion of fibre preferences. A large quantity of processed wool is on display in the Agricultural Museum, Dokki, Cairo.

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334   Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden conducive to organic survival, this is very dependent on circumstance and varies ­considerably throughout Egypt. During the nineteenth century ad, the casual destruction of textiles found in archaeological contexts was common. The export of ancient Egyptian funerary wrappings used as cloth waste or ‘mummy paper’ to supply the brown grocery bag manufacturers in North America diminished the commodity by thousands of tons but highlights the monetary value of cloth for some—ancient and modern—as opposed to its research value.6 Amelia Edwards, founder of the Egypt Exploration Fund (now Egypt Exploration Society), recalled visiting the Saqqara Plateau in 1873 and walking over the unwrapped remains of mummies strewn over the ground that had been disinterred for the amusement of tourists.7 Even Edwards, while decrying this devastation, was happy to use textiles cut and pasted into Christmas cards in pursuit of contributions to the Fund. There were some notable exceptions to this rule. Flinders Petrie, who had particular interests in the everyday lives of the ancient Egyptians, took care to note when textiles were found, and also noted their quality, as in the case of the exceptionally fine linen (160/120 warp/ weft threads per inch) found in the tomb of King Djer of the First Dynasty (c.3000 bc).8 In  contrast, the Tarkhan dress (UC28614Bi, radiocarbon-dated to the late fourth ­millennium bc) remained unidentified among unsorted bundles of textiles until its rediscovery in 1977.9 Petrie may also have been directed by the interests of his sponsors, many of whom were the cotton magnates of northern England, such as Jesse Haworth, and were consequently interested in ancient textile production. The Bolton Museum (ex Chadwick Museum) holds a substantial collection of Egyptian textiles due to the foresight first of Miss Annie Barlow, daughter of a wealthy Bolton mill-owning family who acquired textiles for the museum, and then to the first two curators of the museum, William Midgley (curator 1883–1906) and his son Thomas (curator 1906–34), who were specialists in the study of ancient textiles.10 Midgley senior contributed textile analyses to Petrie’s excavation reports.11 Howard Carter’s discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun in 1922 drew public and scientific interest to the cache of royal attire amongst the wealth of burial goods in the tomb. The tomb contained ceremonial clothing alongside bundles of everyday linen underclothing (but Carter himself suggested that many of the plainer textiles may have been stolen).12 Textile research began to move from the realm of women’s work and ‘handicraft’ as various items were scientifically examined and conserved. Rudolf Pfister13 analysed the chemical components of the coloured textile dyes, and isolated inorganic materials, primarily red ochre (earth), and organic dyes such as madder, kermes, and indigotin. Egyptian dyers appeared to use a small number of dye colours, but mixed and over-dyed to get a wider range of colours and shades. Alfred Lucas’s experimental conservation techniques helped consolidate and preserve some of the beadwork sequences and the stronger linen items.14 Although much of the textile that supported the beading disintegrated on touch, Lucas saved enough for later researchers to be able to reconstruct replicas of the ceremonial clothing.15 6  Hunter 1978: 382–5. 7  Edwards 1989: 39–40. 8  Petrie 1909: 147. 9  Hall 2001: 27. 10 http://www.boltonlams.co.uk/museum/collections-overview/the-egyptology-collection. See also Thomas 2007. 11  See, eg, Midgley 1915, reporting on linen from Heliopolis, Kafr Ammar, and Shurafa. 12  Picton In prep. 13  Pfister 1937: 208–10. 14 Lucas 1922. 15 Vogelsang-Eastwood 1999.

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Textiles   335 Twenty years after the discovery of the tomb, Grace Crowfoot and Nina de Garis Davies examined some of the garments and gave detailed descriptions of the weave patterns of the king’s mss garment, a long loose tunic with applied bands of woven decoration.16 Harry Burton photographed the collection, and his black and white photographs17 provide a detailed record of all the pieces, but a full catalogue with descriptions has yet to be published. Gillian Vogelsang-Eastwood was given access to the collection and the resulting publication, and exhibition in October 1999, provide a rare insight into a royal burial.18 Nancy Arthur Hoskins furthered research with reconstructions of the weave patterns from the king’s complex woven garments, illustrating the skill of New Kingdom weavers using a basic vertical loom set-up.19

Current excavations Today’s excavators are aware of the need to meticulously record excavated textiles—even if not all of them manage it. The best examples of the practice continue to offer new information about ancient textile production and use. Vogelsang-Eastwood recorded all the textile fragments recovered from the site of Amarna still held on site, and, with Barry Kemp, produced an exemplary publication discussing the textiles and related weaving equipment.20 At Hierakonpolis, excavations in the HK-6 cemetery have produced ‘vast amounts’ of linen used as palls wrapping sacrificed animals,21 and some of the earliest uses of textile pads soaked in resins in the ritual preparation of bodies for burial (dated to c.3600–3400 bc, although it should be noted that there is similar material from Badari and Mostagedda of even earlier date).22 Despite difficulties in analysis due to desiccation, fragility, and other adhering matter (e.g. skin, resin, sand, etc), preliminary results from analysis in 2018 indicate that there are fringed linen textile fragments in several tombs, dating to the period Naqada IC-IIB from the elite cemetery (HK-6).23 Fragments from different tombs appear to show fringing being constructed by grouping several plied yarns of the tabby weave together, which were then tied off in knots. This technique was then repeated across that particular end of the weave, creating a simple fringe, thus preventing the weave from unravelling and providing a decorative element for whatever purpose the textile was intended to be used.24 These fringed linen textiles (Tomb 52, HK-6) found at the hip of several of the burials may represent the earliest example of a wrapped garment.25 The oldest specimen in the Turin Egyptian Museum is a painted cloth found by Giullo Farina in a burial pit in the necropolis of Gebelein during his 1930 excavation. lt was radiocarbon dated in 2013 and confirmed as dating to the Naqada II phase of the Predynastic period (3600–3350 bc).26 Every new or re-examined excavation has the potential to expand

16  Crowfoot and Davies 1941: 113–30; Johnstone 2002: 595–601 (the latter discussing a reconstruction of the tunic). 17 http://www.griffith.ox.ac.uk/gri/carter/gallery. 18 Vogelsang-Eastwood: 1999. 19  Hoskins 2011: 199–215. 20  Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001. 21  Friedman 2011: 87. 22  Jones, Higham et al 2014. 23  Friedman et al 2017: 274–5. 24  With thanks to Alastair Dickey, Hierakonpolis Expedition textile specialist, for this information. 25  Friedman et al 2017: 264. 26  Borla and Oliva 2015: 105.

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336   Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden the story of textiles although we are unlikely to match the earliest dated Neolithic textiles from Caton-Thompson’s work in the Faiyum.27

Linen production We cannot know the organization of processing and weaving in the Predynastic period. Although surviving examples already suggest a sophisticated system we must assume that production remained part of the domestic economy. Simple horizontal ground looms were made from found objects and easily erected and dismantled as required, leaving little archaeological evidence. The earliest visual evidence is a scene on a bowl from Badari in the Petrie Museum (UC9547), showing a loom and the preparation of threads, and dating to c.3700–3450 bc.28 This was a period of technological innovation in processing, as a change from Z-twist to an S-twist produced longer, stronger, and finer yarns, with tighter angles of twist, enabling the weaving of some of the finest, widest and longest linen textiles.29 As we move into the Early Dynastic Period (c.3000–2686 bc), and the centralization of the economy, different areas of production become identifiable. As early as the 3rd Dynasty (c.2686–2613 bc), there was an office of the ‘director of all the flax of the king’.30 The Pyramid Texts mention a ‘town of weavers’.31 There are also references to titles32 indicating roles in state-organized production that become increasingly complex through the Old Kingdom, for example ‘chief of weavers’, ‘king’s weavers’, ‘(female) overseer of the weavers’ house’, ‘overseer of the two weaving shops/sheds of the Great House’, as well as scribal roles relating to recording and distributing production. Through most of the pharaonic era, textiles were produced as part of state-run ‘industrial’ workshops in palaces, royal administrative ­centres, and temple estates, on elite estates belonging to the highest levels of society, and within households, as a ‘cottage industry’ which nevertheless made a substantial contribution to total production. As well as the production of flax on royal lands, texts indicate that the palace would have received flax and finished linen both as ‘rent’ and taxation from private individuals, private estates, and from temples, with estimated taxation levels at 10 per cent of production.33 The bulk of textile resources needed for the army and the enormous bureaucracy was obtained from this latter source. The variety of textiles used for wrapping the slain soldiers of the 11th-Dynasty ruler Mentuhotep II (c.2055–2004 bc) indicate that the textiles came from at least twenty-six different sources, including the magazines of the temples of Thebes.34 Karl Butzer has proposed that the area of cultivatable land remained basically the same from the Predynastic through to the Middle Kingdom, at approximately 8000 sq km in the Nile Valley.35 Expansion in the New Kingdom increased the amount of arable land by 27  Caton-Thompson  1934: 46, pl. XXVIII, 3. See also the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology UC2943 catalogue entry: ‘Found in the Fayum Neolithic granary annex to silo pit K16, . . . in the excavation publication this is said to be the only find of Neolithic textile from the Fayum.’ 28  Contra attempts to identify it as a hunting scene, Vandier 1952; Graff 2009. 29  Cortes 2011: 94–5; Jones 2008: 108–9. 30  Sethe 1903: 3. 31  Erman and Grapow 1971: 231. 32  Jones 2000 provides a synthesis of Old Kingdom titles. 33  Baer 1962 cited in Tata 1986: 53. 34  Tata 1986: 93. 35  Butzer 1976: 92.

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Textiles   337 10–15 per cent, perhaps due to the introduction of the shaduf. In addition to increasing the amount of usable land, the shaduf would have improved existing yields. The importance of flax production may be measured by its equal status to grain as depicted in tomb paintings, for example that of the 19th-Dynasty royal tomb-worker, Sennedjem, where tomb-owner and spouse are shown planting and harvesting both grain and flax.36 A middle rank of elite women managed extended households, operating domestic production of textiles and other commodities necessary for the efficient running of her household, and acquisition of independent capital.37 The women of Deir el Medina played an important role in trade and the economic life of the village, including weaving textiles, which they bartered for other goods (perhaps indicated in the tomb of Kenamun, TT162, where textiles are offered for sale at the quayside),38 and on a micro-scale even the poorest women could be involved in home spinning as a tradeable commodity.39

Storage Temples were always an integral part of the storage and redistribution element of the Egyptian economy with the palace at the centre, and were responsible for the collection and storage of wealth, whether produced within Egypt or acquired from foreign markets.40 New Kingdom expansion and the presence of prisoner labour and increased royal donation to the temples were perhaps the principal factors leading to what appears to be an expansion of temple linen production. The extent of temple and palace storage of textiles is indicated in several tomb paintings. An early French Egyptologist, Gaston Maspero, illustrated his History of Egypt with a scene (source unknown) captioned ‘the packing of the linen and its removal to the White Storehouse’,41 and the 18th-Dynasty tomb of Meryra at Amarna shows a substantial temple building housing numerous storerooms, including one packed with boxes of textiles.42 Meryra, as High Priest of the god Aten, would presumably have been responsible for the wealth stored here.

Cultivation and processing Flax was grown and harvested during the winter along the Nile floodplain and Delta. In some areas two harvests may have been possible. Flax (Linum usitatissimum) needs a good water supply; watercourses and drainage ditches were dug and kept clear to supply the demand, and such work may have formed part of the corvée duties demanded by the state. The range and grades of linen cloth produced were dependent upon the time of harvest. The finest grade linen came from the youngest, green flax. As the crop matured, the ­yellowing stalks were pulled for standard good quality utilitarian linen and the older stems with a tough fibre were used for mat-making and cordage. The plant was pulled up 36  For the scene, see https://osirisnet.net/tombes/artisans/sennedjem1/e_sennedjem1_03.htm. 37  Eyre 1996: 178. 38  Pino 2005: 96; Eyre 1996: 185. 39  Eyre 1996: 181. 40  Tata 1986: 241. 41  Maspero 1904: figure on p 59. 42  Davies 1903: 34–6, pl. XXXI.

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338   Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden by the roots and the seed-heads removed by pulling the top of the plant through a wooden comb, as seen in the 18th-Dynasty tomb of Paheri at Elkab.43 The seeds were saved for the following year’s crop, some used as animal feed and some further processed to make linseed oil for a variety of uses. The stalks were commonly soaked in ditches and channels to water-ret. This process loosened the tough outer layer from the usable finer bast fibres. It appears that this was a short process and the fibres were only partially retted compared with modern techniques (see following description). The straw was dried and hand-cleaned to remove any stubborn outer fibre by scraping and pounding with heavy mallets. The fibres were combed to lie in the same direction and smooth the surface. The prepared flax was then ready to be spun into yarn. Gillian Vogelsang-Eastwood has suggested that improved retting results may have been accomplished by partial drying during the process.44 Scenes from the 12th-Dynasty tombs at Beni Hasan and Deir el-Bersha show both women and men in the weaving workshops.45 Women kneel preparing the fibres into roves by rolling them into a loose continuous length either along the thigh or on a preparation block before them. This was wound onto balls and placed into a spinning bowl—usually of fired clay46— ready to feed out to the spinner. Probably a little water would have been added to the bowl in order to moisten the fibres and activate gums that aided in conditioning the rove as it was worked into a yarn. The spinner either knelt with one leg forward for balance or stood on the floor (or on a raised mound), spinning the fibre into a thread using a top-weighted spindle. The male spinners in the 11th-Dynasty tomb of Kheti at Beni Hasan demonstrate the three methods of spinning (Figure 16.1: 7–9). One man manipulates the drop spindle and stands holding up the rove with one hand and guiding it through his fingers to the drop spindle in the other hand. The spindle was run along the thigh to create rotation, allowing it to spin free. The rove twisted into a tight thread and was wound around the shaft of the spindle. The second spinner squats on the floor ready to employ the grasped spindle with the ball of rove in a bowl before him. He feeds the rove up and out, holding it high with arm outstretched; again the spindle was rolled down the thigh to generate spin, and the spindle rotated freely to twist the yarn. The third man works the supported spindle method and uses a forked stick pushed into the floor to guide his rove over from the spinning bowl, grasping the spindle with both hands and spinning it, letting it drop or guiding it. The latter technique (i.e. that used by the third man) would only be suitable for a coarse fibre and may have been better for mat-making or wool-spinning. One of the women in the tomb scene stands on a block with one leg bent up to roll a spindle along her thigh, while she controls a second drop spindle as it completes its rotation. She appears to be controlling four threads on to two spindles and is probably plying to make a more resilient yarn or sewing thread.47 The thread was then ready to be woven.

43  Tylor and Griffith 1894: pl. IV. 44  Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001: 28. 45  Newberry 1895 Part I: pl. XXVI, registers 2 and 3; Newberry 1893 Part I: pl. XXVI, register 4, left of door; Newberry 1893 Part II: pl. IV, register 3 right of door, pl. XIII, register 3, women weaving, register 2, laundrymen and men weaving (all available online via http://digi.ub.uni-heidelberg.de). 46  For examples, use the Petrie Museum online catalogue, http://petriecat.museums.ucl.ac.uk, search ‘spinning bowl’. An alternative suggested use was as plying bowls. 47  For further information regarding spinning and weaving see Vogelsang-Eastwood 1993.

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Textiles   339

Figure 16.1  Composite drawing by F. Cailliaud, 1–6 from the tomb of Bakt III, 7-9 from the tomb of Kheti, 10 from the tomb of Khnumhotep III. Bednarski 2014, pl 17a. Image © W. Benson Harer.

Looms The earliest form of loom was a horizontal ground loom comprising two wooden beams with the warp threads stretched between them and secured into the ground at each corner with a peg.48 The heddle was raised and supported on two blocks and the alternating shed and countershed operated by a further rod. This form of loom is still used today by bedouin from Palestine to Saudi Arabia to make heavy tent textiles, rugs, and saddlebags.49 The ease of knocking the four pegs away, rolling up and transporting the working loom complements the bedouin lifestyle. A basic plain or tabby weave (which was easy to work and fast to make) produced a good quality firm cloth. The tomb model of a weaving workshop from the 12th-Dynasty Theban tomb of Meketra50 gives a detailed view inside the establishment, where women are preparing rove, spinning, warping the thread, and weaving. By the New Kingdom, a more sophisticated vertical loom was being used, although it is assumed that the ground loom continued in use in smaller workshops and domestic cloth 48  Roth 1951: 4–15; Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001: Ch. 9 for a detailed discussion of horizontal looms. 49  Gaspa 2017: 49. 50  Winlock 1955: pl. 25–7.

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340   Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden production.51 The transition from a ground loom to a vertical space-saving industrial loom would seem to be an indication of demand inspiring invention as the need for linen increased and the industrial process was standardized.52

Uses of linen Clothing is only one of a range of uses for linen. However, it may give a scale for discussion if we refer to Vogelsang-Eastwood’s estimate for the manufacture of a simple mss tunic requiring cloth 3 m long, 1 m wide with a minimum of fifteen threads per cm warp/weft, equaling 9 km of spun thread. Sewing the tunic would have taken just a few hours at the end of a season-long process from planting through harvesting to spinning, weaving, and finally sewing.53 Using linen thread in jewellery made the larger necklace collars sit comfortably around the wearer’s neck and shoulders, acting more like beaded clothing than a piece of jewellery.54 Linen thread was found in situ among the disintegrated remains of bead-nets draped over mummies. Reconstructions of 4th- and 5th-Dynasty bead-net dresses in Boston Museum of Fine Arts (BMFA 27.1548.1)55 and the Petrie Museum (UC17743)56 demonstrate how the sophisticated threading technique of the diamond-shaped netting hugs the contours of the wearer’s figure.57 Maritime uses included heavy linen sails, rope, caulking material, making and repairing fishing and fowling nets, rope cages, and carrying slings. In the area of hunting and warfare, there were archery gauntlets, arm greaves, bags, covers for equipment, quivers, slings padding in chariots, bandages. With regard to industrial production, faience tiles and objects were placed on linen cloth in trays to dry or harden, creating lasting impressions of textile weave on the back.58 Lengths of linen were used as part of the sealing process on vessels, and chests were tied with linen before sealing. Bags and sacks had many uses, including carrying scribal equipment and straining wine. There were numerous uses of linen in furniture. A square basket constructed like a box from the tomb of Tutankhamun (no.271a)59 was made from papyrus-pith and lined in linen. Beds, stools, and chairs had woven cord bases. Cushions, footstools, and bolsters are frequently shown in art but rarely survive. Other uses include rugs, window and floor coverings, 51  Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001: 310, 333–5. Despite claims to the contrary there is little evidence that the Hyksos introduced the vertical loom. 52  A replica of a vertical loom can be found in Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001: 405–426. 53  Vogelsang-Eastwood 1993: 131–54. 54  Andrews 1990: pls 102, 103. 55 Jick 1988. 56  Seth-Lister and Smith 1990–1995. 57  Experiments with a replica of the Petrie Museum bead-net dress made by Janet Johnstone (see Johnstone 2015a) and modelled by a number of women of differing figure types and size proved that the dress was adaptable and could fit a wide range of bodies. It worked best as an overdress with a linen shift dress underneath but, once dressed, the wearer could not sit down or the beads would break. Whether the bead-net dress was ever worn is uncertain and, if so, it appears to have been for ceremonial or funerary use only. 58  Friedman and Borromeo 1998: 254. There are many examples in museum collections. 59  Carter catalogue number (or record card) 271a in the Griffith Institute, Oxford.

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Textiles   341 matting, animal covers, and saddlecloths—both practical and ceremonial. Architectural features include pavilions, sunshades, flags and banners, etc. There are also instances of various domestic uses of linen—the bed placed among the funerary equipment of an 18th-Dynasty woman called Merit (from the tomb of Kha and Merit, at Deir el-Medina) was covered in large sheets of linen and a thick blanket with loops on one side.60 The looped surface was face down on the bed frame and probably acted as an under-blanket. A square of linen (ifd) was a universal cloth that could be used for all occasions; as funerary pall, bed linen, towel, cloak, or for winnowing chaff from grain at harvest time. Patterned textiles were also found including cushions and warp-weave tapestry covers decorated with water-lily buds and flowers with twists of fringing knotted to make a series of large loops on the selvedges. The loops are decorative but would facilitate hanging the tapestries over a window or on a wall or just to cover an item of furniture. In the area of funerary customs and embalming, new and re-used (recycled) domestic linen was used as shrouds, wrappings, pads, strips of linen for bandages, winding sheets, and rags and cloths for packing and cleaning.61 Waste linen and papyrus were used in the production of cartonnage. The Theban 12th-Dynasty tomb of Wah, estate manager for Meketra, contained high quality linens amongst his burial goods. Wah was wrapped in approximately 375 sq m of used and new linen cloth, providing valuable information regarding funerary preparation in the Middle Kingdom. A number of bandages measured over 12 m, and several of the torn textiles were marked with Wah’s name, while others carried the names of unknown individuals, presumably donated by family or from the embalmers’ linen store.62 The total quantity of textiles found in the tomb was 845 sq m, probably representing around 2500 work-hours. Rituals concerned with wrapping in cloth were associated with ideas of hiddenness and sanctity—priests responsible for wrapping the statues of the gods were the ‘masters of secrets’. All statues of the gods within their temple shrines were ‘clothed’ and ‘unclothed’ as part of the daily ritual for the service of the gods. It was not accidental that so many of the objects in Tutankhamun’s burial were covered or wrapped, even after two partial robberies. The twenty-two small black shrines contained individually cloaked statues of Tutankhamun and twenty gods (Figure 16.2). The quantity and quality of the cloth, and the care taken, all point to the importance of the action.63 Some 17th-Dynasty clay female figurines found in a burial context at the Temple of Mut at Karnak were carefully wrapped in linen, evidently more to indicate their special selection for inclusion in the burial rather than as mummy wrapping, thus imbuing the objects with magical and spiritual significance.64 Servants included in Middle Kingdom tomb models were given painted details including white linen clothing,65 but figures were often also wrapped in scraps of linen to dress them in kilts, cloaks, and dresses over their painted clothing (UC71218, UC75619). This perhaps gave the inanimate figures a human quality, preparing them for continued work in the

60  The intact tomb of the architect Kha and his wife Merit (TT8) was excavated by Schiaparelli in 1906. Schiaparelli 1927 II: figure 16; Vassilika 2010. The contents of the tomb are now in the Museo Egizio, Turin. 61  Picton et al 2016: a recent example identified at Gurob appears to be part of a mss in the process of being torn into strips, and stained with lumps of residue wiped on to the surface to clean an implement. 62  Winlock 1940: 253–8 pl. 1 (available online); Ikram and Dodson 1998: 156, pls 176–81. 63  Riggs 2014: 19. 64  Waraksa 2009: 99–102. 65 Winlock 1955.

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Figure 16.2  Chest 289 showing two figures of King Tutankhamun, that on the left in its original untouched wrapping. Photograph by Harry Burton. © Griffith Institute, University of Oxford.

afterlife. Sympathetic magic was a part of life; tying knots into cloth as protection—reciting a prayer or spell to action or consolidate the magic all involved a medium to carry the spell.66 Linen also features in foundation deposits: thus, for instance, two small unopened bags of linen with folds of cloth inside were located in a foundation deposit in the southwest corner of the 12th-Dynasty pyramid complex of Senusret II at Lahun (UC6536, UC6537), 66  Azzam 2010: 191.

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Textiles   343 alongside a small roll of white linen cloth sewn neatly down one side and containing a fragment of papyrus (UC6538).67 Everyday clothing for men and women was styled from lengths of cloth wrapped and tied around the body, or basic cut-to-shape sewn items of clothing. Predynastic garments were simple wraps of cloth worn as kilts, wrap-around dresses, cloaks, and shawls. While male clothing styles stayed within the same genre of kilt, tunic, loincloth, and cloak throughout the pharaonic era becoming more complex and varied in later periods, female clothing showed more variation. A form of long-sleeved straight dress with a deep V-neck and horizontal hand-pleated sleeves and yoke is portrayed in some Early Dynastic representations, and a few actual garments of this type have survived. These kinds of dresses appear as fully formed textile constructions.68 An early dress from Tarkhan (UC28614Bi) was recently radiocarbon dated and confirmed as the oldest known example of a cut-to-fit and hand-sewn woven garment (c.3482–3102 bc, see Figure 16.3).69 Representations of the straight dress and a longer version of the men’s kilt continued into the Middle Kingdom, changing little over time until the early 18th-Dynasty when more elaborate and complex layered fine linen clothing was worn. Later in the Dynasty, long voluminous tunics (mssw) were worn by men, often secured with a wide and intricately tied sash kilt around the hips. Women wore complex, versatile wrapped dresses, which were wound around the body and secured by knotting the ends of the cloth, or simply worn as a fine, often pleated, tunic with a shawl tied over one shoulder and knotted under the breast (Figure 16.4). By the 20th-Dynasty’, this style of dress reached its zenith, and later periods often reverted to archaizing earlier historical dress or adapting foreign modes of wearing idiosyncratic Egyptian clothing.70 The tomb of Kha and Merit at Deir el-Medina also contained separate piles of clean and dirty clothing, highlighting the everyday nature of Egyptian clothing spanning the social classes. Some of Kha’s triangular linen loincloths and simple mss, bag-shaped tunics, were grouped together to make a set for daily wear.71 Linen was generally hand-pleated: the method was simple and quickly achieved by professional laundry workers,72 but not all pleating was hand manipulated. Specialist spinning and weaving can produce natural pleating, that is a form of collapse weave where highly twisted warp threads are crammed and spaced to form stripes that will buckle when moistened, producing lines of ridges and dips.73 This became apparent when the 5th-Dynasty straight dresses with V-neck and long sleeves from Deshasha (Petrie Museum UC31182, UC31183) were conserved and mounted for exhibition. During the humidification process, some areas of the textile began to crinkle into ridges similar to ‘crépon’ (a fabric resembling crêpe, but heavier and with a more pronounced crinkled effect).74 When the dress was ori­ gin­al­ly worn it would have been skin-tight, the wearer pulled it over her head and the stretchy weave hugged her figure in similar fashion to the long tight dresses depicted in representations of women at this time. Another indication of the sophistication of these 67  Petrie 1923: 19. 68  Jones 2014: 209–31. 69  Stevenson and Dee 2016. 70  See Johnstone 2009 and 2014 for a further and more detailed discussion. 71  Hall 2001: 37; Schiaparellli 1927 II: figures 62, 64, 68. 72  Newberry 1893 Part I: pl. XI, register 5, and pl. XXIX, register 1; Davies 1927: pl. XXVIII; and see Johnstone 2015b for further practical information on pleating linen. 73  Richardson 2015: 139–50. 74  Hall and Barnett 1985: 9.

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Figure 16.3  The Tarkhan dress, confirmed as the oldest surviving sewn garment. © Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, UCL.

dresses is the fact that slight variation in thread colour was used to produce a very subtle ‘striping’ in the fabric. Linen was also used for headwear—rectangles or squares of cloth were tied around the head as protection from sun and dust, as seen in tomb models and representations of fieldworkers. The king wore a version of this style of head cloth (khat) made from a semi-circle

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Textiles   345

Figure 16.4  Wrapping and tying women’s clothing. Basic wrap-around dress with shawl; complex wrapped dress; open-fronted dress with sash; mss and shawl, Nineteenth Dynasty; mss and shawl, Twentieth Dynasty. Drawing Janet Johnstone.

of cloth with a band sewn along the straight edge that was knotted around the back of the head. The khat and the nemes headdress (the striped pharaonic head covering with a long queue hanging down the back) were worn by every king and the method of construction appears to be similar. A linen skullcap on the skull of Tutankhamun75 was beaded with a design of four cobras in tiny blue and red glass beads and gold beads. The object card describes the textile as fine cambric-like linen. Linen head covers for the king had a prac­tical and ceremonial purpose. A linen wig-cover (afnet) was a functional way to cover the king’s head but also held divine significance as a royal headdress. The afnet first appears in 18thDynasty representations of Akhenaten censing and making offerings to the Aten.76

Coloured and patterned textiles The import of foreign material riches into Egypt encouraged an appreciation for patterned textiles, presumably introduced by the influx of foreign customs and foreign workers bringing knowledge of new techniques to the textile workshops.77 The representations of sleek Egyptian river craft with cabins covered in Aegean-style spiral-patterned cloth suggests the import of the cloth or the imitation of it.78 Similar patterns appear on the painted ceilings of many tombs either as pure decoration or to represent imported woven hangings. The sophisticated fabrics in Kha’s tomb, and the elaborate embroidery techniques on Tutankhamun’s tunics, their beadwork, and the presence of a tunic identified as ‘Mitannian’ among his possessions, all demonstrate the presence of foreign workers influencing trad­ ition­al Egyptian techniques,79 if only for a short time.

75  This cap has the Carter catalogue number 256.4t and can be studied online at: http://www.griffith. ox.ac.uk/gri/carter/256,4,t.html. 76  See Aldred 1988: pl. 32; this painted relief is on a partially destroyed talatat re-used and located at Karnak (Boston, MFA 67.922). 77  Tata 1986: 250. 78  Barber 2016: 207. 79 Vogelsang-Eastwood 1999.

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346   Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden Coloured textiles were not new to the New Kingdom, but the extent and variety was. A striped selvedge cloth with bands of red and blue was found in the 5th-Dynasty pyramid of Unas80 (but possibly a later intrusion?). In Tutankhamun’s tomb, the ‘cloth’81 tied around the neck of Anubis was a tunic with red and blue stripes, marked with Akhenaten’s name, and other blue-striped selvedge textiles were found. The Deir el-Bahari cache of royal and priestly reburials were found with quantities of blue-banded linen that are usually attributed to the 21st Dynasty82 but there is no reason why it should not have been present earlier in the New Kingdom. At Gurob, material recovered from a small group of looted tombs (ST1-3) in 2012 included a quantity of blue selvedge striping83 (and two pieces of blue/red striping84); forty examples produced only a few duplications in the striping so early hopes of identifying a ‘signature’ for individual workshops or makers await a wider sample. Only scientific analysis will identify the indigotin dyes used,85 or give a definitive date (but at the moment the date is assumed to be either New Kingdom or Third Intermediate Period). We suggest as a very tentative hypothesis that the fashion for blue stripes in Amarna pottery—perhaps itself an imitation of the striping on Mycenaean pottery—may have influenced textiles or vice versa. As Toby C. Wilkinson has argued, ‘pottery is the most common and most useful material to show evidence for cross-craft interaction, whether as skeuomorphs of an object or of an aesthetic. . . . Polychrome painted patterns on pottery can also closely mimic patterns from textiles.’86

What linen means Technology that has evolved over millennia is embedded in wider cultural beliefs and practices, and nothing insists on a stronger sense of decorum than that governing funerary rit­ uals. Although the use of colours, the importing of foreign textiles and their local imitations, and the enjoyment of embroidery87 and beading techniques obviously appealed to the Egyptian elite, it may not have been appropriate to introduce that colourful world into the decorum of the tomb, where it did not fit aspects of social and cultural identity, which recognized only the dignity of pristine creamy-white linens. Perhaps the presence of so many coloured garments, footstools, and cushions in the tomb of Tutankhamun can be explained by the long-held belief that his tomb contained the guilty secrets of the Amarna period discarded under the restoration pharaohs.88 80  Riefstahl 1944: 49, n 4. 81  Carter catalogue number 261a. 82  Van ‘t Hooft et al 1994: 5 for introduction, catalogue for entries. 83  Including an almost complete child’s tunic with striped side panels and transverse edge, see Picton et al 2016. 84  There may be up to seven examples but the red colour is very fugitive and hard to identify when faded. 85  Useful studies on this topic are Lucas 1948: 172–7; Vogelsang-Eastwood 2000: 278–9; for pigments, see Lee and Quirke 2000: 104–20. 86  Wilkinson 2014b: 330. 87 The tomb of Tutankhamun contained some of the oldest extant embroideries in the world, Vogelsang-Eastwood 2016: 52–7. 88  Reeves 1990: 208.

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Textiles   347 Even in today’s world, textiles, through their metaphorical and material qualities and the ways in which they are worn, can seduce, conceal, and reveal through their interactions with the body.89 Dorothea Arnold refers to fine Egyptian linens being the wonder of the ancient world but then assumes that the artist routinely exaggerates the diaphanous nature of the textile.90 Examples from Gurob show that at its best Egyptian linen could be very fine indeed, as demonstrated by items in the Petrie Museum;91 and an example of the sheerest fabric can be seen in the Berlin Museum, which displays a length of linen through which one could read newsprint.92 Whatever the quality of cloth worn in life, that portrayed in ancient tomb scenes of transparent and suggestive semi-nudity provides an erotic charge meant to challenge and enable the viewer, whether god or deceased tomb-owner.93

Status and economic values Textiles are the non-verbal language of a people. The ability to access the finest quality linen—and the best was produced in the royal weaving workshops and given as gifts to elite individuals—demonstrated the status of the individual. It is unsurprising therefore that 19th-Dynasty tomb depictions make a virtue of the quantity and quality of cloth the tombowner is wearing as it demonstrates his individual status and his value to his superior, he literally wears his wealth upon his back. There is a very clear understanding of the value of cloth measured against copper, with identifiable patterns of exchange demonstrated in many written texts. ‘Weave it! After it has been evaluated . . . they should take it and rent farmland for what it [the cloth] is worth’.94 As well as the presentation of linen as part of the redistributive system by the king to elite individuals, on a lesser scale we see cloth being part of the annual payment received by workers as at Deir el-Medina alongside their own production of cloth as part of the domestic econ­ omy.95 When Hatshepsut’s steward Senenmut buried his mother Hatnefer, her tomb goods included three chests containing seventy-six long sheets of linen varying in length from 4–18 m, both new and mended, and all beautifully laundered; Senenmut was perhaps at least partly making a statement of his wealth.96

The future for the past The examination of European textiles has always employed the latest available scientific techniques because too often it was one of the few sources of information available for the study of European prehistory. To some extent, the prevalence of textiles in the Egyptian 89  Kettle and Miller 2018. 90  Arnold 1996: 24. 91  Hall 1986: 28–32. 92  From Deir el Bahri, now in the Ägyptisches Museum, Berlin: AM10696. 93  Meskell 2002: 135. 94  From the Hekanakhte papyri, see Wente 1990: 59. 95 Janssen 1975. 96 http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/htnf/hd_htnf.htm. For a list of the clothing found in the tomb, see Vogelsang-Eastwood 1993: 132.

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348   Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden archaeological record alongside so much other contributory information caused them to be neglected. However, textiles and archaeology are beginning to benefit from analytical techniques developed in other research fields. At some point in the future, it may become routine to use isotopic tracing to identify geographic origins, radiocarbon dating, High Performance Liquid Chromatography (HPLC) for dye analysis, Scanning Electron Microscopy (SEM) to identify fibres more accurately than would have been thought pos­sible a generation ago, X-ray spectroscopy for the examination of mineralized textiles, and even DNA analysis on residues to tell us more about the people who wove or wore these textiles.97 The scientific identification of natural dyes is a complex task because age and deposition conditions can make significant alterations to the results. Fortunately recent decades have seen the development of new analytical procedures and spectrometric and chromatographic techniques for identifying organic dyes even in the smallest samples.98 The addition of new radiocarbon techniques that require much smaller destructive samples (to the relief of museums)99 will aid in revolutionizing dating evidence and give hope that, for example, we will be able to more closely date the previously mentioned blue-banded textiles from Gurob rather than the contested 21st to 23rd Dynasty dates currently given to any blue-banded fabric. As the technique becomes even more refined (and cost and sample size significantly reduce) it may enable the analysis of complete burial contexts to give chronologically comparative dates for assemblages that will allow the identification of cherished ‘heirloom’ objects.100 New projects are underway that will revolutionize our knowledge of organic and inorganic compounds in excavated textiles. Funding has been awarded for a multi-disciplinary scientific team from a number of universities to examine the extensive pleated textile collection of the Museo Egizio, Turin. Early results on a small sample of eleven pieces reported at a 2018 conference101 suggested exciting possibilities, and the new project will use a set of combined micro-invasive instrumental technique to produce robust information on compounds associated with the textiles, and the possible presence of pleating agents, including:102 • • • • • • • •

Optical microscopy (OM) Scanning electron microscopy (SEM) micro-Fourier transform infra-red spectrometry (micro-FTIR) X-ray fluorescence (XRF) X-ray diffraction (XRD) Solid-state and solution nuclear magnetic resonance (NMR) Chromatographic techniques coupled with mass spectrometry Raman spectrometry103

97  Andersson Strand et al 2010. 98  Degano et al 2009. 99  The Tarkhan tunic in the Petrie Museum was previously tested in the 1980s but the recent radiocarbon tests required a significantly smaller sample for a more reliable result; Stevenson and Dee 2016. 100  Andersson Strand et al 2010: 158. 101  Borla et al 2018. 102  I would like to thank Cinzia Oliva (Conservator, Museo Egizio, Turin), and Maria Luisa Saladino (Assistant Professor of physical chemistry at the University of Palermo) for extensive discussions on this topic, and for confirming the details of the grant application and the investigative techniques to be employed. 103  This project involves most of the co-authors cited in n 98, from the Universities of Turin (CH— UniTo), Palermo (STBEBICEF-UniPa), Conservation Centre ‘La Venaria Reale’ (CCR) and Istituto per i Processi Chimico Fisici—Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche (IPCF-CNR).

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Textiles   349 The use of these techniques is likely to continue to be limited to material in European museums unless the Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities can be persuaded to permit the temporary export of archaeological samples for study, or more laboratories are developed in Egypt prepared to examine fragmentary excavated samples. The new Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM) conservation laboratories are a reason for envy in the scientific community but are tied to working on objects coming into the museum for display rather than archaeological sampling. It is exciting to consider, however, that the GEM laboratories may be able to answer the many outstanding questions concerning the textiles from Tutankhamun’s tomb.

Conclusions The ‘string revolution’ 20,000 years ago had as much impact on our ancestors’ lives as the industrial revolution 200 years ago.104 The economic value of textiles has had a major impact on world trade throughout history. Textiles play a central part in life. They protect us, clothe us, shroud us, and mark rites of passage. When we examine language, metaphor, and myth, we find expressions that indicate how central textiles are in expressing our collective real­ity.105 We cut the cord, hang on to life by a thread, and feel emotion with every fibre of our being. Textiles do so much more than just telling us what people wore, or even how they made their clothes. They are a lens that tell us about the social, chronological, and cultural aspects of ancient Egypt. They tell us about the complex relationships between resources (land, people, animal) and resource management, technology, and the choices that the society that commanded those resources made. In the west we take textiles for granted and it is only recently that we have started to explore the multitude of ways in which linen was woven into the social, cultural, and spiritual fabric of ancient Egypt.

Suggested reading This chapter has only been able to discuss the topic in the most superficial manner, and any one of the themes covered is worthy of far more in-depth investigation. A concise introduction to Egyptian textiles for the general reader is Hall 1986, or the serious student should start with Vogelsang-Eastwood 2000 and continue with her many books (1992, 1993 (still the major sourcebook), and 1999) and a recent publication on embroidery (2016) that briefly includes Egypt. Her joint publication with Barry Kemp on textiles at Amarna (Kemp and Vogelsang-Eastwood 2001) remains one of the most comprehensive on the topic, and sets the standard for textile description and analysis. For land use, taxation, and production, see Tata 1986 and Butzer 1976. Janssen (1975) discusses the economic value of textiles and the shortcomings in our understanding of terminology—both for economics and for textiles. The role of women in the economy is covered in Allam 1989. Recent investigations into the nature of clothing and how it was worn is discussed in Johnstone’s archaeo-experimental

104  Barber 1994: 45.

105 Gordon 2010.

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350   Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden work (2009, 2014), and colour and pattern in Tutankhamun’s clothing (Hoskins 2011). The Petrie Museum online catalogue provides an invaluable resource for exploring the topic: http://www.petriecat.museums.ucl.ac.uk as does digitalegypt.ucl.ac.uk. For those interested in recent research at Gurob we refer you to the GHPP website http://www.gurob.org.uk for a detailed bibliography for the site, and copies of the reports to the Ministry of Antiquities.

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352   Jan Picton, Janet Johnstone, and Ivor Pridden Jones, D. 2000. An Index of Ancient Egyptian Titles, Epithets and Phrases of the Old Kingdom, Volume I. Oxford: BAR International Series 866. Jones, J. 2007. New Perspectives on the Development of Mummification and Funerary Practices During the Pre- and Early Dynastic Periods. In J.-C. Goyon and C Cardin (eds), Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Egyptologists = Actes du neuvième Congrès international des égyptologues, Grenoble 6–12 September 2004. Orientalia Lovaniensia analecta; Vol 150. Leuven: Peeters, 979–89. Jones, J. 2008. Pre and Early Dynastic Textiles: Technology, Specialization, Administration During the Process of State Formation. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y. Tristant (eds), Egypt at Its Origins 2: ­Proceedings of the International Conference ‘Origin of the State, Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Toulouse, France, 5-8th September 2005. Orientalia 172. Leuven: Peeters, 99-132. Jones, J. 2014. The Enigma of the Pleated Dress: New Insights from Early Dynastic Helwan Reliefs, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 100: 209–31. Jones, J., Higham, T.F.G., Oldfield, R., O’connor, T.P., and Buckley, S.A. 2014. Evidence for Prehistoric Origins of Egyptian Mummification in Late Neolithic Burials, PLOS One 9(8): e103608. doi:10.1371/ journal.pone.0103608. Kemp, B.J. and Vogelsang-Eastwood, G. 2001. The Ancient Textile Industry at Amarna. London: EES. Kettle, A. and Miller, E. 2018. The Erotic Cloth: Seduction and Fetishism in Textiles. London: Bloomsbury. Lee, L. and Quirke, S. 2000. Painting Materials. In P.T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 104–20. Lucas, A. 1922–23. Alfred Lucas’s Notes on Conservation of Objects from the Tomb of Tu­tan­ kha­ mun. Griffith Institute, Oxford. Available at: http://www.griffith.ox.ac.uk/discoveringTut/ conservation/4lucasn1.html. Lucas, A. 1948. Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries. 3rd ed. London: Edward Arnold and Co. Maspero, G. 1904. A History of Egypt, volume 2. London: Grolier Society. Meskell, L. 2002. Private Life in New Kingdom Egypt. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press. Midgley, T. 1915. Reports on Early Linen. In W.M.F. Petrie (ed), Heliopolis, Kafr Ammar and Shurafa. London: British School of Archaeology, and Quaritch, 48–50. Newberry, P.E. 1893. Beni Hasan. Part I. Archaeological Survey of Egypt. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Newberry, P.E. 1893. Beni Hasan. Part II. Archaeological Survey of Egypt. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Newberry, P.E. 1895. El Bersheh Part  I.  The Tomb of Tehuti-hetep. Archaeological Survey of Egypt. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Petrie, W.M.F. 1909. The Arts and Crafts of Ancient Egypt. 1996 ed. Twickenham: Senate Books. Petrie, W.M.F. and Quibell, P.E. 1896. Naqada and Ballas, 1895. London: Bernard Quaritch. Petrie, W.M.F., Brunton, G., and Murray, MA. 1923. Lahun II. British School of Archaeology and Egyptian Research Account, 26th Year, 1920. London: Bernard Quaritch. Pfister, R. 1937. Les textiles du tombeau de Toutankhamon, Revue des Arts Asiatiques 11(4): 208–10. Picton, J.E. in prep. The textiles Missing from Tutankhamun’s Tomb: The View from Gurob. Papers from the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Tutankhamun Conferences. Cairo: Grand Egyptian Museum, forthcoming. Picton, J.E., Pridden, I., and Jones, E. 2014. Work on the Textiles Recovered from the Looted Tombs. In Report to the Ministry of Antiquities. Available at: http://gurob.org.uk/seasons.php. Picton, J.E., Johnstone, J., and Pridden, I. 2016. Report to the Ministry of Antiquities on a Study Season on the Gurob Textiles. Available at: http://gurob.org.uk/seasons.php. Pino, S. 2005. The Market Scene in the Tomb of Khaemhat (TT 57), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 91: 95–105. Reeves, N. 1990. The Complete Tutankhamun: the King, the Tomb, the Royal Treasure. London: Thames and Hudson. Richardson, A. 2015. Did Ancient Egyptian Textiles Pleat Themselves? In C.  Graves-Brown, with W. Goodridge (eds), Egyptology in the Present: Experiential and Experimental Methods in Archaeology. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 139­–50.

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chapter 17

Fu n er a ry equ ipm en t Aidan Dodson

Introduction Mummies and their accompaniments—funerary equipment—have long been the most ubiquitous of Egyptian antiquities. Along with the mummies within, coffins entered European collections from at least the seventeenth century AD onwards. One set, now datable to the 26th Dynasty, arrived in Lübeck before 1651, but owing to their deterioration, the contained mummy was placed in a ‘replica’ coffin in 1812.1 The British Museum’s first coffin arrived in 1755, having been in private hands in the UK for the previous thirty years, and having already been published in 1735.2 These all derived from the acquisitions of the early travellers, as did canopic jars, shabtis, and funerary papyri that were also amongst the earliest aegyptiaca to arrive in Europe. In addition, the publications of some of these early travellers contained drawings of objects seen in Egypt, sometimes with some interesting interpretations. For example, the giant canopic jars of Apis bulls were believed by Paul Lucas in 1714 to have contained the bodies of young girls sacrificed to the Apis.3 Other visceral jars were equated with the human-headed jars said by Classical writers to be associated with the cult of Canopus, helmsman of Menelaus at Abu Kir, thus giving visceral containers their modern adjective. The quantity of known material greatly increased in the wake of the Napoleonic ex­ped­ ition at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and the formation of the great collections of Henry Salt, Bernardino Drovetti, Giovanni Anastasi, other Consuls, and their agents. These contributed to the main European collections examples of the principal types of sarcophagi, coffins, canopics, and other items of funerary equipment. In particular, Giovanni Battista Belzoni’s work produced a number of key pieces. Among these were the sarcophagus lid of Rameses III (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge) and the same king’s coffer (Louvre), a typical representative of the late 19th/early 20th Dynasty royal form, with a recumbent mummiform figure of the king atop a cartouche-shaped slab. From Belzoni’s excavations (and now in Sir John Soane’s Museum) also came what is still the only intact example of a stone anthropoid royal outer coffin, that of Seti I (c.1294–1279 bc) from his tomb, KV17 in

1  Germer 1997: 96–101.

2  See Bierbrier 1988.

3 Dodson 2000.

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Figure 17.1  The 12th Dynasty tomb of the Steward Mentuhotep on the Asasif at Thebes, as dis­ covered by Giovanni Passalacqua in 1823, showing the outer coffin (of three) and tomb-models found alongside it. Prisse d’Avennes 1878–79: II, pl. [61].

the Valley of the Kings. The latter type was distinctive of the Ramesside period, and work in the 1990s in the Valley demonstrated that this style remained current until at least the time of Rameses IV, or even VI. Belzoni also revealed the first examples of the wooden ‘sentinel’ statues—after the discovery of examples in situ in Tutankhamun’s tomb, it became clear that these types of royal statue were intended to guard the way into the royal burial chamber. Belzoni’s sentinel statues came to light in the tomb of Rameses I; these, together with a similar example found by Henry Salt in the tomb of Rameses IX, are now in the British Museum. Finally, Belzoni’s opening of the Second Pyramid at Giza revealed the earliest extant royal canopic installation, that of Khafra. With the honourable exception of some of Belzoni’s discoveries, the bulk of these early collections comprised material whose provenance was more or less vague—and in some cases apparently falsified—making their assessment distinctly problematic. There was also the difficulty that their inscriptions were as yet untranslatable. However, when hieroglyphs were finally adequately deciphered, although funerary items were highly regarded by the scholars attempting to use the new key to elucidate the belief-systems of the Egyptians, this interest was almost entirely concentrated on the inscriptions. Thus, for many years the objects themselves were neglected, and little attempt was made to consider the development of form and other ‘archaeological’ issues. Indeed, a similar attitude affected the tombs themselves, regarded more for their decoration—and in particular texts—than for their architecture or decorative schemes. Thus, although a few coffins were published in facsimile,4 most funerary inscriptions were published as simply ‘from a coffin’, without any mention of its size, 4  See Niwinski 1988: 29–32.

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356   Aidan Dodson shape, or colouration. An example of the resulting vagueness about dating can be seen in the fact that it took many years to recognize that the coffin lid found in the pyramid of Menkaura at Giza—its form now seen as clearly of the Saite/Late Period—was not of the 4th Dynasty. Another instance is Auguste Mariette’s mistaken attribution of the 17th-Dynasty rishi coffins to the 11th Dynasty on the basis of the commonality of Inyotef name between the two periods, without understanding the implications of the design, as compared with the ubiquitous rectangular coffins actually used during the Middle Kingdom. Perhaps the most intensively studied elements of the funerary ensemble were the papyri that tended to accompany the mummy from the 18th Dynasty onwards, specifically the Book of Coming Forth by Day, better known as the ‘Book of the Dead’. The earliest hieroglyphic scholars took close interest, with a full edition from a Ptolemaic copy published by Carl Richard Lepsius.5 Édouard Naville produced a monumental three-volume compilation based on New Kingdom manuscripts in 1886.6 Although many translations exist, there remain significant holes in our understanding of the Book of the Dead as a whole, in particular as regards the many variations seen during its long history and its links with other funerary compositions, especially the originally exclusively-royal ‘Books of the Underworld’ which started to appear on papyrus in private burials during the Third Intermediate Period. Work undertaken since the 1990s by the ‘Book of the Dead Project’ has done much to elucidate matters.7 The era initiated by Mariette’s foundation of the Antiquities Service in 1858 marked the beginning of excavations that brought to light key groups of material, albeit only in some cases with contexts fully recorded. The 1881 clearance of the tomb usurped in the 21st Dynasty by Panedjem II (TT320), which had later been used to cache a large number of looted royal mummies, revealed a cross-section of high-status funerary equipment of the 18th through early 22nd Dynasties, albeit much of it badly damaged. However, little effort was expended in contextualizing these items at the time, most effort being expended on unwrapping the mummies. Similarly, the unprecedented corpus of 153 burials of 21stDynasty priests found in the Bab el-Gasus communal tomb at Deir el-Bahri, which was excavated in 1891, received only summary recording, and no analysis was carried out for many years. Batches of coffins and shabtis from this tomb were donated to seventeen foreign countries, providing the core of the Egyptian funerary collections in a number of European museums, although much of this material would not be properly scientifically studied for another century or more. Two years later, in 1893, there appeared the first edition of Wallis Budge’s The Mummy, which attempted to provide one of the first syntheses of funerary archaeology.8 However, funerary equipment only formed part of the actual content of the book, and little attempt was made to give a time-depth to its expositions or illustrate a representative cross-section of items. In addition, the book suffered from the typical Budge malaise of sometimesdoubtful factual material, in particular as to the provenance of objects. A revised edition appeared in 1925, with the principal faults remaining; however, it was to remain the only generally available synthetic work on funerary equipment for the rest of the century, and has continued to be reprinted into the present century, although now wholly obsolete.

5 Lepsius 1842.

6 Naville 1886.

7 Müller-Roth 2010.

8 Budge 1893.

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Figure 17.2  Plan of the 13th Dynasty tomb of King Hor at Dahshur, as discovered by Jacques de Morgan in 1894, the earliest near-intact tomb of an Egyptian king known. De Morgan 1895: fig. 211.

Matters began to improve late in the nineteenth century with the appearance of site publications that included proper drawings and photographs of provenanced material. Although flawed, Jacques de Morgan’s work at Dahshur provided intact examples of royal family tombs of the 12th Dynasty, and also the largely untouched tomb of the 13th-Dynasty ruler Hor, providing the first indication of what accompanied a pre-New Kingdom monarch to the grave. In addition, the first comprehensive corpora of museum items began to be published. The appearance of the great Cairo Catalogue Générale (CCG) volumes, starting at the beginning of the next century, hugely increased the amount of material available for study, although the subject continued to suffer from the malady of disinterest in form and an excessive concentration on inscriptions. Thus, many objects would be left unillustrated, with little or nothing said about their archaeological or cultural provenances, or indeed grounds for dating. An important work of this period, however, is an extensive article by George Reisner on the dated canopic jars in Cairo, which provided some basis for dating other material, and still remains important.9 Interestingly, it includes some pieces that were not included in his CCG volume on canopics.10 This had been left unpublished at Reisner’s death, and when finally edited for publication, no attempts were made to add in such items, nor cover the large number of jars and chests accessioned by the museum since Reisner’s day. Around the turn of the nineteenth century, a series of excavations, particularly in Middle Egyptian sites, brought to light a large corpus of rectangular coffins of the type characteristic of the Middle Kingdom, decorated externally with offering and protective texts, and a panel with a pair of wadjet-eyes, evidently to allow the mummy inside to ‘see’ out. Unfortunately, many of these excavations were poorly recorded, leaving much of the dating to internal criteria. A feature of many of these coffins was the adornment of their interior with the so-called ‘object friezes’ and the ‘Coffin Texts’, a digest of magical funerary spells, derived in part from the royal Pyramid Texts of the Old Kingdom. The latter became the subject of a large-scale project initiated by James Henry Breasted in 1922 to copy and translate all extant versions, largely carried through by Adriaan de Buck over three decades, and incidentally providing the core of a systematic corpus of Middle Kingdom coffins, further extended by subsequent scholars, and of a kind that would not be available for other types of coffin for many years.11 9 Reisner 1899.

10 Reisner 1967.

11  De Buck 1935–61.

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358   Aidan Dodson A large literature has developed concerning the Coffin Texts, hampered on occasion by the many unresolved issues concerning dating—one example has variously been attributed to both the end of Old Kingdom and the end of the 12th Dynasty. In spite of this, the basic conclusion has been that the Coffin Texts go back to the 9th/10th Dynasties, and the assumption that they reflect the socio-political changes of the period, in transferring formerly royal afterlife conceptions to private individuals, has largely been accepted by subsequent scholars. However, this has been challenged, in particular by Wolfgang Schenkel, who argued that no extant example could be demonstrated to predate the latter part of the 11th Dynasty.12 Analysis by Harco Willems has supported the rarity (but not necessarily non-existence) of indisputably pre-Middle Kingdom examples of the Coffin Texts, certainly pointing to the Middle Kingdom as the crucial epoch for at least the spread of this com­pos­ition.13 A further complicating factor in the study of Middle Kingdom coffins has been the discovery at Dahshur and Lisht of coffin-ensembles that do not fit in with the abovementioned corpus, but belong to what has been dubbed the ‘Court Style’, of richer materials, yet simpler decorative schemes. Although all found within kings’ pyramid complexes, their contexts have been such as to allow suggestions of later dating, the issues surrounding which have yet to be firmly resolved. For example, a set of tombs in the complex of Amenemhat II (c.1929–1895 bc) has variously been dated to that king’s reign and to the middle of the 13th Dynasty (with an earlier date seemingly most probable). The 13thDynasty tomb of Senebtisi at Lisht remained for many years the best-published of all Middle Kingdom tombs. At the other end of the social spectrum, John Garstang’s 1902–04 work at Beni Hasan provided a large number of intact ‘middle-class’ tombs. In addition to their coffins and mummies, these burials produced large numbers of the tomb-models that are distinctive of the provincial cemeteries of the Middle Kingdom. Although flawed, Garstang’s publication14 attempted to provide a broad overview of the cemetery and the funerary equipment found there. This stands in great contrast to many of the other similar cemeteries in Middle Egypt excavated at the same time, which remain unpublished in most essentials. An important corpus of high-status tomb-models from the late 11th-Dynasty tomb of Meketra was published by Herbert Winlock.15 A monumental attempt to bring together a wide range of coffins, sarcophagi, and related material was made by Valdemar Schmidt; his book took the form of an album incorporating illustrations taken from a wide range of sources, the material being arranged chronologically.16 However, the limitation of the current state of analysis is shown by a number of the datings given. Thus, rishi coffins were still placed in the 11th Dynasty, and a great deal of Third Intermediate, Saite, Late Period, and Ptolemaic material was indiscriminately lumped together, with little attempt at isolating dating criteria. This attribution of post-New Kingdom objects into a ‘Late Period/Ptolemaic’ mass would endure for a long time. A key requirement was for the excavation and publication of well-dated and properly contextualized material to provide evidence for both evolution and variety of funerary material. A series of discoveries by James Quibell in the Ramesseum at Thebes brought to light examples of a type of all-enveloping cartonnage case long known, but inexactly d ­ ated.17

12  Schenkel 1962: 116–23.    13 Willems 1988: 244–9.   14 Garstang 1907. 15 Winlock 1955.   16 Schmidt 1919.   17 Quibell 1898.

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Funerary equipment   359

Figure 17.3  Some of the funerary equipment from the tomb of Yuya and Tjuiu (KV46, later 18th Dynasty), as displayed in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo, in the early twenty-first century. Photo: Aidan Dodson.

These were made on a mould, the mummy then being inserted via a slit at the back, which was then laced up and sealed with plaster. A wooden panel, pegged in place, then closed the foot-end. Thus sealed, the casing was extensively painted with funerary motifs. Dated linen on some of the mummies within showed placed their preparation in the reign of Osorkon I (c.924–889 bc), fitting in neatly with the fact that the latest dated ‘yellow’ coffins, found in the Theban private tomb TT320, and belonging to the time of the preceding Sheshonq I (c.945–924 bc). Nevertheless, both types of mummy-casing continued to be dated to the 26th Dynasty (or to the Late Period generally) in many excavation reports and museum catalogues until recent years. Clarification of the 18th-Dynasty date of these burials was finally provided by a series of well-dated discoveries during the first third of the twentieth century. The contents of high-status burial chambers were demonstrated by the tombs of Maiherpri (KV36),18 found by Victor Loret, Yuya and Tjuiu (KV46), found by Theodore Davis,19 and Kha (TT8), found by Ernesto Schiaparelli.20 The range of items was remarkable (far in excess of anything seen in earlier or later periods), as was the variation within a given category over a short time-scale. Data for the artisan class was provided by a number of tombs, ranging from the early 18th Dynasty onwards, excavated by Bernard Bruyère at Deir el-Medina, starting in the 1920s. Hints of what had lain in royal burial chambers had been provided by the examination of the burial places of Thutmose III, Amenhotep II, and Thutmose IV (KV34, KV35, and KV42), in the Valley of the kings, by Loret and Davis, during the late nineteenth and early 18  Carter 1903; Reeves 1990: 140–7.

19 Davis 1907.

20 Vassilika 2010.

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360   Aidan Dodson twentieth centuries, including the discoveries of various statues and statuettes of the king and of deities. However, definitive demonstration of the potential of royal funerary ensembles arrived with the discovery of the tomb of Tutankhamun (KV62) by Howard Carter in 1922.21 It should be noted, however, that, in spite of the massive publicity generated at the time, Carter was only able to complete a popular account (albeit a high-quality one) before his death. Luckily, his records survive in the Griffith Institute in Oxford, on the basis of which a series of monographs have appeared since the 1960s, each concentrating on a discrete part of the assemblage. The tomb remains a long way from full publication, although the on-line availability of Carter’s notes has certainly eased the situation. By the 1920s it had become clear that three types of private coffin had been current during the first half of the 18th Dynasty—known as ‘rishi’, ‘white’, and ‘black’ coffins. How they actually related to one another chronologically was shown by two discoveries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art expedition on the Sheikh Abd el-Qurna hill and on the Asasif at Thebes. The tomb of Senenmut’s parents and the tomb of Neferkhuet and his family provided closely-dated deposits containing all three types which enabled it to be shown that the ‘rishi’ coffin lasted down to mid-Thutmosid times, running in parallel with the ‘white’ type, before both were superseded by the ‘black’ type early in the reign of Thutmose III (c.1479–1425 bc). Although the rishi had thus gone out of private use early on, Tutankhamun’s tomb (and KV55, containing the coffin of a queen, altered for an Amarna period pharaoh) showed that it had remained in royal use at least until the end of the dynasty. The battered coffin of Sethnakhte (c.1186–1184 bc), found in KV35, took the type forward another ­century-and-a-half, but the discovery of the Tanite tomb of Pasebakhaenniut I (c.959–945 bc) at Tanis in 1939/40 showed that it had continued to be deployed in a pharaoh’s burial down to the middle of the 21st Dynasty. The coffin of 22nd-Dynasty king Sheshonq IIa in the same deposit showed, however, that less than a century later, this venerable coffin type had finally vanished, replaced by a design that melded current private practice with a falcon head. These discoveries also shed light on the evolution of other specific items of funerary material, in particular canopics and shabtis. The tomb of Amenhotep II (c.1427–1400 bc) was particularly important in this respect. First, it preserved the remains of the earliest of a distinctive kind of Egyptian alabaster (travertine) canopic chest specific to royal burials. This combined the jars and the chest in a single block of stone, which continued in use until the late 19th Dynasty, and was briefly revived by Sheshonq I. Secondly, the tomb contained a large number of ‘shabtis’ (funerary figurines, usually mummiform in appearance), contrasting with the single examples found in earlier tombs. It is notable that no figures were found in the immediately preceding tomb of Thutmose III, which otherwise preserved a fair proportion of its equipment, suggesting that only one or two had once been present. The reign of Amenhotep II could thus be seen as the point of origin of the rapid growth in the number of shabtis in a high-status tomb, rising by the time of Tutankhamun to a total of 413 shabtis. The work of Howard Carter and the Earl of Carnarvon in a late 17th- or early 18thDynasty cemetery in the Asasif in 1908 revealed the earliest known examples of canopic jars with heads that differentiate between each of the Four Sons of Horus. While the canopic jars 21 Carter 1923–33.

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Funerary equipment   361 from other 18th-Dynasty burials have human heads (like those of the Middle Kingdom), there are examples form the same period that bear the heads of the Four Sons of Horus (Imseti: human; Hapy: ape; Duamutef: dog; Qebehsenuef: falcon), and these heads are also depicted inconsistently on coffins, canopic chests, and sarcophagi during the dynasty, even within a single person’s equipment. However, by the end of the reign of Rameses II one finds a consistent usage of differentiated heads, which continue onwards into later periods. In spite of these discoveries, very little work was done on proper typological studies of particular classes of material, although a detailed treatment of the various textual formulations found on canopic jars was published by Kurt Sethe in 1934.22 His analysis remains fundamental, while his classification of the canopic formulae into discrete types continues to be employed by modern scholars. However, apart from listing a selection of items bearing a particular text, Sethe did little to address typological aspects of the canopic jars and chests themselves. On the other hand, William C. Hayes’ seminal dissertation on the earlier 18th-Dynasty royal sarcophagi was published in 1935, and remains a key work on funerary containers.23 Hayes took into account the full range of relevant factors, placing these sarcophagi and related material into morphological, textual, and religious contexts for the first time, and thus correcting a number of long-standing misconceptions. Nevertheless, detailed studies of funerary equipment remained rare for much of the twentieth century. A notable exception in the 1950s was Marie-Louise Buhl’s 1959 work on Saite/Late/Ptolemaic Period anthropoid stone coffins, which catalogued most known examples, placing them in a typ­ ology and attempting to date (and in some cases provenance) the many examples without a known find-spot or affiliations.24 Their rectangular contemporary sarcophagi were not, however, properly studied until the twenty-first century.25 The work of Bryan Emery on the Early Dynastic tombs at Saqqara (from the late 1930s through to the 1950s) provided useful data on the contents of elite 1st- and 2nd-Dynasty burials. In particular, his publication of the contents of the burial chamber of the intact tomb of Princess Shepsesipet (S3477) gave a good indication of the equipment of a high status tomb of the early 2nd Dynasty.26 In spite of over a century of study, the continuing poor state of understanding of even the date of many funerary assemblages was illustrated by the British Museum’s 1968 catalogue of its mummies. Many were associated with masks and cartonnages, which were in a number of cases badly misdated. In the most extreme case, the late 18th-Dynasty masked mummy of Katebet was assigned to the Ptolemaic period. Similar problems existed in other museums, particularly with a tendency to automatically assign any atypical item to the Ptolemaic period. The fundamental problem was the continued lack of published systematic studies of particular categories of object. Fortunately, from the 1970s onwards, an increasing number of gaps began to be filled, shabtis being given comprehensive treatment by Jean-François and Liliane Aubert27 and Hans Schneider28 in the 1970s, the latter creating a notation that has allowed researchers to compare material in a systematic fashion. The boxes that developed to contain them during the later New Kingdom, Third Intermediate, and Late Periods were properly classified for the first time by David Aston in the 1990s.29

22 Sethe 1934. 25 Manassa 2007. 28 Schneider 1977.

23 Hayes 1935. 26 Emery 1962. 29 Aston 1994.

24 Buhl 1959. 27  Aubert and Aubert 1974.

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362   Aidan Dodson

Figure 17.4  The British Museum’s display of mummies and funerary equipment around 1875. Aidan Dodson collection.

New additions to the repertoire of funerary equipment during the Third Intermediate Period were figures of the god Ptah-Sokar-Osiris within the burial chamber, together with painted stelae showing the deceased adoring the sun god. Both these categories of object were studied in the 1970s, resulting in a book by Peter Munro30 and a crucial paper by Maarten Raven,31 with further studies ongoing. A synthesis of the current understanding of Third Intermediate Period funerary assemblages as a whole was published by Aston in 2009.32 A major gap in the literature was any meaningful study of the ‘yellow’ coffins of the later New Kingdom and earlier Third Intermediate Period. Such a study was finally published by Andrzej Niwinski,33 providing a typological analysis and catalogue of the vast majority of known examples. This marked a great advance for the study of such material, with a usable scheme for dating them, although this has subsequently required a degree of modification. By the 1990s, important work had taken place on Middle Kingdom coffins, with the publication of ground-breaking research by Harco Willems34 and Günther Lapp;35 together, Willems and Lapp resolved, or at least exposed, many issues concerning these coffins, and provided an enhanced vocabulary for considering them. Although these works filled significant gaps, important groups of coffins remained substantially unstudied, including pre-Middle 30 Munro 1973. 33 Niwinski 1988.

31 Raaven 1978–79. 34 Willems 1988.

32 Aston 2009. 35 Lapp 1993.

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Funerary equipment   363 Kingdom examples, ‘pre-yellow’ anthropoid coffins, and those from the 22nd Dynasty onwards. Those of the Third Intermediate Period and 26th Dynasty were researched by John Taylor during the 1980s, although detailed summaries of his findings were not published until 2003 and 2009, with the full study still unpublished. A useful overview of 18th- to 26thDynasty coffin design and colouration was also provided by Taylor in 2001. The rishi coffins of the Second Intermediate Period received a comprehensive study by Gianluca Miniaci,36 while ‘white’ examples of the early 18th Dynasty were classified by Mirosław Barwik.37 A preliminary overview of 18th-Dynasty funerary equipment in general was provided by Stuart Tyson Smith in 1992.38 While Ptolemaic coffins and mummy furniture still lack a published study, Roman ma­ter­ ial has received increasing attention since the 1990s, in the form of Lorelei Corcoran’s detailed study of portrait mummies,39 and the catalogue and colloquium papers that accompanied the British Museum’s exhibition of such material in 1997.40 The longneglected category of pottery coffins has now been the subject of both a museum catalogue41 and a monograph.42 An important new contribution to the study of ‘yellow’ coffins has been Kara Cooney’s work on detecting cases where they had been reused from earlier pieces.43 Of all extant examples bearing 21st-Dynasty decoration, perhaps half showed signs of either having being reworked from New Kingdom pieces, and/or re-used during the 21st Dynasty itself, sometimes on multiple occasions. This endemic re-use seems specific to the 21st Dynasty, and appears to have been abandoned after the transition to the 22nd Dynasty, perhaps reflecting an improvement in economic and/or social conditions. Coffin studies in general also became more widespread during the twenty-first century, as evidenced by the two Vatican Coffin Conferences, in 201344 and 2017, as well as dedicated exhibitions with comprehensive catalogues.45 Catalogues of the complete holdings of a number of museums have also started to appear,46 with work on specific assemblages (especially the Twenty-first/Twenty-second coffins from the 153 burials excavated at Bab el-Gasus, Deir el-Bahri)47 also ongoing. Canopic equipment had received little attention since Reisner and Sethe’s day, but the publication of a number of museum groups in the ‘Corpus Antiquitatum Aegyptiacarum’ series brought more material to scholarly attention,48 while the studies of Barbara Lüscher and the present author considered discrete groups of material.49 However, a comprehensive analysis of the broad sweep of canopic equipment is still awaited. Thus, in spite of the ubiquity of funerary material in the Egyptian archaeological record, it can be seen that its study has been an unsystematic process, with the result that dating and consequent interpretation of deposits have frequently been hampered. Although the 36 Miniaci 2011. 37 Barwik 1999. 38 Smith 1992. 39 Corcoran 1995. 40  Walker and Bierbrier 1997; Bierbrier 1997. 41 Sabbahy 2009. 42 Cotelle-Michael 2004. 43 Cooney 2010; 2011. 44  Amenta and Guichard 2017. 45  eg coffin-related exhibitions at Brussels and the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, see Delvaux and Therasse 2015 and Strudwick and Dawson 2016 respectively. 46  See, e.g., Manley and Dodson 2010, for a catalogue of the National Museums Scotland coffin collection. 47  The ‘Gate of the Priests: Bab el-Gasus Project’, organized by the University of Coimbra, since 2014, in collaboration with numerous museums holding funerary items (e.g. coffins, papyri, canopic equipment, statues, and stelae) from the 1893 discovery at Bab el-Gasus, aims to gain an overall understanding of the entire assemblage. 48  E.g. Brovarski 1978. 49  Lüscher 1990; Dodson 1994.

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364   Aidan Dodson s­ itu­ation has now considerably improved, there remain gaps in the study of specific groups of object, a particular lack being in the area of synthetic textbooks.

Suggested reading An overview of the main categories of funerary equipment is provided by Taylor  2001a, while comprehensive overview of sarcophagi, coffins, masks, and related material, with an extensive bibliography is provided in Ikram and Dodson 1998, although this suffers from a publisher-imposed lack of references. Such items, together with the other categories of funerary equipment extant during the Third Intermediate Period, are covered in fully referenced detail in Aston 2009. English translations of the Coffin Texts and the Book of the Dead are provided in Faulkner 1973–78 and 1985, with an excellent overview of the Book of the Dead and its uses in Taylor 2010 and Scalf 2017. Papyri of the Third Intermediate Period are covered in detail in Niwiński 1989. For canopic equipment, Dodson 1994 covers royal material in particular, as well as broader issues in general. Shabti figures are covered in summary in Stewart 1995, and in more detail in Aubert and Aubert 1974 and Schneider 1977, while Middle Kingdom tomb models are summarized in Tooley 1995. Third Intermediate and Late Period wooden stelae are covered in Munro 1973 and Saleh 2007.

Bibliography Amenta, A. and Guichard, H. (eds). 2017. Proceedings First Vatican Coffin Conference 19–22 June 2013. Vatican City: Edizioni Musei Vaticani. Aston, D.A. 1994. The Shabti Box: A Typological Study, Oudheidkundige Mededelingen uit het Rijksmuseum van Oudheden te Leiden 74: 21–54. Aston, D.A. 2009, Burial Assemblages of Dynasty 21–25: Chronology—Typology—Developments. ­Vienna: Verlag der Österreichen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Aubert, J.-F. and Aubert, L. 1974. Statuettes égyptiennes: chaouabtis, ouchebtis, Paris: Librairie d’Amérique et d’Orient. Barwik, M. 1999. Typology and Dating of the ‘White’-type Anthropoid Coffins of the Early XVIIIth Dynasty, Études et Travaux 18: 7–33. Bierbrier, M.L. 1988. The Lethieullier Family and the British Museum. In J.  Baines, T.G.H.  James, A.  Leahy, and A.F.  Shore (eds), Pyramid Studies and Other Essays Presented to I.  E.  S.  Edwards. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 220–8. Bierbrier, M.L. (ed.) 1997. Portraits and Masks: Burial Customs in Roman Egypt, London: British ­Museum Press. Brovarski, E. 1978. Canopic Jars: Corpus Antiquitatum Aegyptiacarum: Loose-leaf Catalogue of Egyptian Antiquities. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Budge, E.A.W. 1893. The Mummy: A Handbook of Egyptian Funerary Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Buhl, M.-L. 1959. The Late Egyptian Anthropoid Sarcophagi. Copenhagen: Nationalmuseets Skrifter. Carter, H. 1903. Report on General Work Done in the Southern Inspectorate: Biban el-Moluk, Annales du Service des Antiquités del’Égypte 4: 43–50. Carter, H. 1923–33. The Tomb of Tutankhamun. 3 vols. London: Cassell and Co. Cooney, K.M. 2010. Gender Transformation in Death: A Case Study of coffins from Ramesside Period Egypt, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 73: 224–37.

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Funerary equipment   365 Cooney, K.M. 2011. Changing Burial Practices at the End of the New Kingdom: Defensive Adaptations in Tomb Commissions, Coffin Commissions, Coffin Decoration, and Mummification, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 47: 3–44. Corcoran, L.H. 1995. Portrait Mummies from Roman Egypt (I-IV Centuries A.D.), with a Catalog of Portrait Mummies in Egyptian Museums. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Cotelle-Michael, L. 2004. Les Sarcophages en Terre Cuit. Dijon: Edition Faton. Davis, T.M. 1907. The Tomb of Iouiya and Touiyu. London: Constable and Co. Ltd. De Buck, A. 1935–61. The Egyptian Coffin Texts, 7vv. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. De Morgan, J. 1895. Fouilles à Dahchour, I. Vienna: Adolphe Holzhausen. Delvaux, L. and Therasse, I. 2015. Sarcophages: sous les étoiles de Nout. Brussels: Racine. Dodson, A. 1994. The Canopic Equipment of the Kings of Egypt. London: Kegan Paul International. Dodson, A. 2000. The Eighteenth-Century Discovery of the Serapeum, KMT: A Modern Journal of Ancient 11(3): 48–53. Emery, W.B. (1962), A Funerary Repast in an Egyptian Tomb of the Archaic Period. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Faulkner, R.O. 1973–78. The ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts, 3vv. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Faulkner, R.O. 1985. The Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, revised ed. Edited by Carol Andrews. London: British Museum Publications. Garstang, J. 1907. The Burial Customs of Ancient Egypt. London: Constable. Germer, R. 1997. Mummies: Life After Death in Ancient Egypt. Munich & New York: Prestel. Hayes, W.C. 1935. Royal Sarcophagi of the XVIII Dynasty. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ikram, S. and Dodson, A.M. 1998. The Mummy in Ancient Egypt: Equipping the Dead for Eternity. London and New York: Thames and Hudson; Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Lapp, G. 1993. Typologie der Särge und Sargkammern von der 6. bis 13. Dynastie, Heidelberg: Orientverlag. Lepsius, R. 1842. Das Todtenbuch der Ägypter: nach dem hieroglyphischen Papyrus in Turin. Leipzig: Wigand. Lüscher, B. 1990. Untersuchungen zu ägyptischen Kanopenkästen. Vom Alten Reich bis zum Ende der Zweiten Zwischenzeit. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg Verlag. Manassa, C. 2007. The Late Egyptian Underworld: Sarcophagi and Related Texts from the Nectanebid Period. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Manley, B. and Dodson, A.M. 2010. Life Everlasting: National Museums Scotland Collection of ancient Egyptian Coffins. Edinburgh: National Museums Scotland. Miniaci, G. 2011. Rishi Coffins and the Funerary Culture of Second Intermediate Period Egypt. London: Golden House Publications. Müller-Roth, M. 2010. The Book of the Dead Project: Past, Present and Future, British Museum ­Studies on Ancient Egypt and Sudan 15: 189–200. Available at: http://www.britishmuseum.org/ research/online_journals/bmsaes/issue_15/mueller_b.aspx. Munro, P. 1973. Die Spätägyptischen Totenstelen. Glückstadt: Augustin. Naville, É. 1886. Das ägyptische Todtenbuch der XVIII. bis XX. Dynastie, 3vv. Berlin: Asher. Niwiński, A. 1988. 21st Dynasty Coffins from Thebes: Chronological and Typological Studies. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Niwiński, A. 1989. Studies on the Illustrated Theban Funerary Papyri of the 11th and 10th Centuries B.C. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Prisse d’Avennes 1878–79. Histoire de l’art égyptien d’après les monuments depuis les temps les plus reculés jusqu’à la domination romaine, 3vv. Paris: Arthus Bertrand. Quibell, J.E. 1898. The Ramesseum. London: Bernard Quaritch/Egyptian Research Account. Quibell, J.E. 1908. The Tomb of Yuaa and Thuiu. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Raaven, M. 1978–79. Papyrus Sheaths and Ptah-Sokar-Osiris Statues, Oudheidkundige Mededelingen uit het Rijksmuseum van Oudheden 59–60: 251–96. Reeves, C.N. 1990. The Valley of the Kings: The Decline of a Royal Necropolis. London: Kegan Paul International.

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366   Aidan Dodson Reisner, G.A. 1899. The Dated Canopic Jars of the Gizeh Museum, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 37: 61–72. Reisner, G.A. 1967. Canopics. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Sabbahy, L.K. 2009. Catalogue General of Egyptian Antiquities in the Cairo Museum. Nos. 17037–17091, 7127–7129: Anthropoid Clay Coffins. Cairo: Supreme Council of Antiquities. Saleh, H. 2007. Investigating Ethnic and Gender Identities as Expressed on Wooden Funerary Stelae from the Libyan Period (c. 1069–715 B.C.E.) in Egypt. Oxford: Archeopress. Scalf, F. 2017. Book of the Dead: Becoming God in ancient Egypt. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Schenkel, W. 1962. Frühmittelägyptische Studien. Bonn: Selbstverlag des Orientalischen Seminars der Universität Bonn. Schmidt, V. 1919. Levende og Døde det gamle Ægypten: Album til ordnung af Sarkofager, Mumiekister, Mumiehylstre o. lign. Copenhagen: J. Frimots Forlag. Schneider, H.D. 1977. Shabtis, 3vv. Leiden: National Museum of Antiquities. Sethe, K. 1934. Zur Geschichte der Einbalsamierung bei den Ägyptern, und einiger damid verbundener Bräuche. Berlin: Verlag der Akademie der Wissenschaften. Smith, S.T. 1992. Intact Tombs of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Dynasties from Thebes and the New Kingdom Burial System, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 48: 193–31. Stewart, H.M. 1995. Egyptian Shabtis. Princes Risborough: Shire. Strudwick, H. and Dawson, J. 2016. Death on the Nile: Uncovering the Afterlife of Ancient Egypt. Cambridge and London: Fitzwilliam Museum in association with D Giles Limited. Taylor, J.H. 2001a. Death and the Afterlife in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Taylor, J.H. 2001b. Patterns of Colouring in ancient Egyptian Coffins from the New Kingdom to the Twenty-sixth Dynasty: An Overview. In W.V. Davies (ed), Colour and Painting in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press, 164–79. Taylor, J.H. 2003. Theban Coffins from the Twenty-second to the Twenty-sixth Dynasty: Dating and Synthesis of Development. In N.  Strudwick and J.H.  Taylor (eds), The Theban Necropolis: Past, Present and Future. London: British Museum Press, 95–121. Taylor, J.H. 2009. Coffins as Evidence for a ‘North-South Divide’ in the 22nd–23rd Dynasties. In G.P.F. Broekman, R.J. Demarée, and O.E. Kaper (eds), The Libyan Period in Egypt. Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties: Proceedings of a Conference at Leiden University, 25–27 October 2007. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Ooseten/Leuven: Peeters, 375–415. Taylor, J.H. (ed). 2010. Journey through the Afterlife: ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead. London: British Museum Press/Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press Tooley, A.M.J. 1995. Egyptian Models and Scenes. Princes Risborough: Shire. Vassilika, E. 2010. The Tomb of Kha: The Architect. Turin: Museo egizio. Walker, S. and Bierbrier, M. (eds). 1997. Ancient Faces: Mummy Portraits from Roman Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Willems, H. 1988. Chests of Life. Leiden: Ex Orient Lux. Winlock, H.E. 1955. Models of Daily Life in Ancient Egypt from the Tomb of Meket-Re’ at Thebes. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

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chapter 18

Sea l s a n d sca r a bs Regine Schulz

Introduction: seals and sealing in ancient Egypt Sealing and stamping has been part of Egypt’s administration and ritual practices since Predynastic times (c.5300–3000 bc).1 The Egyptians used seals to mark objects or buildings,2 and to place brands or tattoos on living beings.3 Ancient Egyptian seal-devices4 are made of stone, metal or other durable substances. They have an incised or moulded intaglio sealingsurface that produces a seal-impression in counter-relief on a malleable sealing substance, such as wet clay, mud, or plaster, which becomes stable after drying. The person responsible for the sealing process would have pressed the seal-device on a lump or layer of the sealing substance (Egyptian: sỉn),5 which was either shaped over a container’s stopper or lock, as a bulla6 (Egyptian: sỉn.t)7 around the knot of a closing cord, or directly on the surface of the object to seal. Most of the sigillary items are either pierced, have a loop or mount, or were possibly knotted in a small bag8 and fastened to a necklace;9 others have a handle attached,10 or form the bezel of a signet ring.11 1  For the beginning of administrative structures in Predynastic Egypt, as early as the Naqada IId period see Hartung 1999: 35–50, and Honoré 2007: 31–45 (with further references). 2  See Boochs 1982; James 1993: 31–46. 3  The Egyptians used branding irons to mark cattle beginning at least in the Old Kingdom, see Eggebrecht 1975: col. 850–2; Boochs 1982: 23–24, but occasionally also for prisoners of war (e.g. Medinet Habu 1930: pl. 42) or criminals, see Boochs 1982: 27–30. For examples of such irons see Petrie 1917a: 56–7, pl. LXXI (W42–9). For tattooing see Tassie 2003; Poon 2006. 4  For a list of publications before 1985 see Martin 1985. 5  Wb 4.37.1–38.2; see also Harris 1961: 202–4. 6  Keel 1995: 116–18. 7  Wb 4, 39.16. 8  One can consider whether the knotted amulet, which was carried on a long necklace, e.g. in the late Old Kingdom, by high officials, or in the Middle Kingdom by king Senusret III, contained a seal or seals. 9  Probably the earliest representation of a cylinder seal on the necklace of an official can be seen on the so-called Narmer palette (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE 32169), see James 1993: 32; and for seals as part of the vizier’s attire, see Fay 2008: 89–101. 10 E.g. the cylinder seals of king Mentuhotep II, see Naissance de l’écriture cuneiformes et hiéroglyphes 1982: 284 no 237 (Paris, Louvre, E 25686–25,688). 11  For examples see Andrews 1990: 165 Figure 148.

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368   Regine Schulz The ancient Egyptian language has several function-oriented, partly interchangeable terms for seal: ḫtm,12 which derives from the verb ḫtm ‘to lock, close, seal’, names the ‘sealdevice’, the ‘impression’, and also the ‘sealed item’. In the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2125 bc), the term described cylinder seals, but was later used for all seal types, including signet rings. Sd ˍ ꜣw.t,13 which is based on sd ˍ ꜣ ‘to move, drive, travel’, probably describes the roll-out movement of the cylinder seal, and therefore, the ‘sealing process,’ and in addition, it names the ‘sealdevice’. With the progressive replacement of cylinders by stamp seals, beginning in the late Old Kingdom and the Middle Kingdom (c.2055–1650 bc), the term sd ˍ ꜣw.t became less common, and was replaced by ḫtm; in addition, ḫt(.t) was used in the New Kingdom (c.1550–1069 bc), which derives from ḫti ‘to incise, engrave, inscribe’, and names ‘seals with incised inscriptions’ and ‘sealed items’.14 The last term is ˍdbꜥ15 or ˍdbꜥ.wt,16 which refers to ˍdbꜥ ‘finger’ and the related verb ˍdbꜥ ‘to mark with the finger,17 ‘to seal’; it describes the ‘seal-device’—particularly stamp seals and signet rings—but also named ‘impressions’ and ‘sealed items’. All of these terms relate to the sealing process, and not to specific function or meaning. Seals belonging to high officials, institutions, and members of the royal family usually have standard shapes, which changed over time from cylinder, to stamp seal, to signet ring.18 Many of the official seal-devices are lost, but preserved seal-impressions provide additional information. The sealing-surface displays standardized textual and/or figurative elements, as well as a variety of geometric patterns. Seal-impressions were attached to jars,19 bags, baskets, or chests20 to prove the ownership and integrity of the sealed contents. They were also used, in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods (c.332 bc–ad 311), to name the producer of a vessel.21 Seal-impressions further appear on bricks and funerary cones22 naming the owner of a building or tomb,23 on doors and windows to lock rooms,24 as well as on offerings25 to guarantee proven purity and suitability. On rolled-up documents,26 they certify authenticity and legitimacy and serve as protection from unauthorized use. Furthermore, seals are ­symbols of authority and power. Royal and official institutional seals played a significant role in the hierarchical social system, as well as in the administration of the state. Seals of individual officials, private persons, and families not only marked personal property, but could define the position of the owner in the society, as well. Therefore, unauthorized use, removal, destruction, or falsification was severely punished.27 The repeated inspection of the seals was necessary because locks and keys were uncommon, and seals guaranteed safety and security. Most of the administrative departments had their own ‘sealers’ and 12  Wb 3, 305.3–12. 13  Hannig 1995: 792. 14  Kaplony 1984: col. 934–5 (with further references). 15  Meeks 1980–82: AL 77.5199; 78.4908. 16  Wb 5, 566.12­–15. 17  Kaplony 1984: col. 294. 18 For a cylinder-shaped seal of the Fifth Dynasty depicted in the mortuary temple of Sahura see Borchardt 1913: 53; for a scarab-shaped signet ring of the Eighteenth Dynasty in the tomb of Huy (TT 40) see, e.g., Davies and Gardiner 1926: pl. VI; for a cartouche-shaped signet ring of the Thirtieth Dynasty on the doorjamb from the tomb of Tja-aset-imu, see Fazzini et al 1989: 78 (New York, Brooklyn Museum, 56.152). 19  Keel 1995: 119–25. Seals on wine jars for example contain not only the name of the king, but sometimes also information on the quality and origin of the wine, see Boochs 1982: 13–14. 20  Keel 1995: 126 Figures 243–5. 21  Boochs 1982: 23. 22  Davies and Macadam 1957. 23  Boochs 1982: 21–2. 24  ibid: 32–6. 25  ibid: 25–7; Keel 1995: 127. 26  Boochs  1982: 43–55; e.g. the Hekanakhte papyri seal of the Twelfth Dynasty, see Ward 1978: 42 Figure 7.4 (New York, MMA, 22.3.516–23); or the seal of the Sennefer letter from the Eighteenth Dynasty, see Eggebrecht 1987: 129 no 35 (Berlin, Egyptian Museum, Papyrus Collection, P 10463). 27  Boochs 1982: 78–80.

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Seals and scarabs   369 ‘seal-keepers’ (Egyptian: ḫtm.w),28 and the ‘keeper of the royal seal’ was the most important of all. Nonetheless, the title ‘royal seal-keeper’ (ḫtm.w biti)29 was only considered to be a real job title at the beginning of the Egyptian history, and was later used to describe the high courtly rank of a person. Seals played an important role in ancient Egypt, and modifications in their typology and use are excellent indicators of political and social change. For example, the introduction of cylinder seals in the Predynastic period, which displayed a variety of different icons and motifs, conveys the need of local authorities to express their administrative responsibilities as well as their control.30 The replacement of the early motifs by royal icons and names is the manifestation of the makeup of a centralized system. Nevertheless, the existence of private (i.e. non-royal) pseudo-seals demonstrates the ongoing desire of the people for selfassertion inside, and assurance for the individual’s existence in the afterlife. The prohibition of these seals in the Fourth Dynasty is a clear indication of the consolidation of hierarchical structures directly dependent on the king. However, the introduction and development of a wide diversity of stamp seals in the late Old Kingdom and the First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc), used for private and administrative purposes, indicates political decentralization as well as competitive social structures.

Pseudo-seals and amulet seals As well as true seals, there are also examples of pseudo-seals, which were not actually used for sealing.31 No impressions of these objects were found in the same surroundings, and therefore no proof is given for their sigillary use. Furthermore, some of these objects were made of materials unsuitable for sealing (such as faience), or the decoration on the sealing surface is not incised deeply enough to produce an appropriate seal-impression. However, it is sometimes difficult to decide whether a small object with an inscribed, or figurative decorated flat surface was intended to be a sigillary tool, a pseudo-seal, or an amulet. Most of the pseudo-seals and amulets were discovered in tombs,32 and only a few were found in temples33 or settlements.34 The function, meaning, shape, and decoration of pseudo-seals overlap with those of amulets, and in most publications, seals with ritual and magic uses, but no administrative function, are described as ‘amuletic seals’ or ‘seal amulets’.35 The precondition of the amuletic practices of the ancient Egyptians is the belief in the possibility to affect reality by symbols and rituals through the supernatural power of magic, which was defined as an elementary, creative force, and part of the religious system. The symbolic meaning of an amulet evokes this power, and results from the amulet’s shape, decoration, material, and colour, as well as the performed rituals, which provoke the communication process between the natural and supernatural spheres.36 Egyptian amulets were 28  Wb 5, 638.2–11; Franke 1984: 112–14. 29  Wb 5, 638.12–14. 30  Regulski 2018: 258–70. 31  Kaplony 1984: 934–5, names them ‘fictional seals’ because in the Early Dynastic period they copy official seals, which were not available for private use. 32  For figurative stamp seals see Stoof 1982: 60–78; Wiese 1996: 15–42. 33  For examples see Stoof 1982: 78–9. 34  For examples see ibid: 79–81. 35  E.g. Keel 1995; Wiese 1996. 36  See Conney/Tyrell 2005: 9­–10.

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370   Regine Schulz carried around in daily life, and on an extended level also displayed at home, or placed in a tomb to protect, to avert evil, to aid, as well as to bring luck, success, and regeneration to the amulet’s owner in the afterlife.37 The conceptual range of the Egyptian terminology for ‘amulet’38 includes words such as: wd ˍ ꜣ.w39 ‘inhibitor, amulet, magical/protective spell’, deriving from wd ˍ ꜣ ‘be safe, intact, undamaged, well preserved’; nh.t40 ‘inhibitor, defence, shelter, amulet’, from nhỉ ‘to protect, to escape;’ mk.t ḥ ꜥ.w41 ‘protection of the body, amulet’, from mkỉ ‘to protect’; sꜣ42 ‘protection, magic, amulet’; ꜣw.t-ỉb43 ‘joy, pleasure, amulet’ from ꜣwỉ-ỉb ‘to be pleased, to be confident’; and wꜣd ˍ 44 ‘amulet’, from wꜣd ˍ ‘to be green, renewed, and well; to flourish, to prosper’. Obviously, three result-oriented semantic levels are involved: protection, wellbeing, and renewal. The definition of amulets is partly applicable to pseudo-seals, but they are not identical. Pseudo-seals are individualized items that name or represent the user (individual person or king) and/or the expected provider, protector, or patron (deity, king, institution). The Egyptians considered them effective in bringing about not only divine, but also royal and official aid and protection. Most of the pseudo-seals with a royal name or image were not produced for the personal use of the king himself; they were handed over to royal family members, and distributed to officials, institutions, and private individuals. In addition, local workshops produced copies of them to fulfil the large demand. The recipients are usually unnamed, and only the archaeological context, the material (e.g. faience), and the workmanship (often mass-produced) of the pseudo-seal can be used to verify the non-royal user. Pseudo-seals bearing private names can also express self-manifestation, and function as status symbols.

The seal-devices The Egyptians carved their seals, pseudo-seals, and amulet-seal devices from a variety of different materials,45 such as hard stones (e.g. granite)46 and soft stones (e.g. serpentine and steatite),47 obsidian,48 local (e.g. agate, and carnelian)49 and imported gem stones (e.g. lapis lazuli),50 as well as organic materials such as wood,51 and, more rarely, bone,52 ivory,53 or

37  For the development of amulets from the Old Kingdom to the Eighteenth Dynasty see Györy 2001: 99–110. 38  See Regner 1995: 3–4. 39  Wb 1, 401.10–11. 40  Wb 2, 282.2. 41  Wb 2, 161.1. 42  Wb 3, 415.12–17. 43  Wb 1, 4.20. 44  Wb 1, 264.10. 45 See Hornung and Staehelin  1976: 22–5; Ward 1978: 33–6; Tufnell  1984: 38–42; Boochs  1982: 95–101; Stoof 1992: 30–1; Wiese 1995: 93–104; Keel 1995: 136–52. 46  E.g. for a hard stone granite cylinder seal of Pepy I, see Limme 1992: 16–17 (Brussels, Royal Museums of Art and History, E 7311); for other hard stone varieties see Boochs: 97. 47  Steatite hardens by firing, and named in this condition enstatite or (proto-)enstatite, see Keel 1990, 87, and 146–8. 48  E.g. see Andrews 1990: 164 Figures 146g and h (London, BM, EA 2933, and 37,308). 49  E.g. see Schulz/Seidel 2007: 22–3 no 8, pl. 1 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.56). 50  For examples see Boochs 1982: 96–7. 51  See Merrillees 2006: 222 (with further references). 52  Boochs 1982: 99; eg Adams/Ciałowicz 1997: 13 Figure 6 (Oxford, Ashmolean Museum, E.4714). 53  Boochs 1982: 99; eg Drenkhahn 1986: 18, pl. LXXXV.225 (London, Petrie Museum, UC 16157).

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Seals and scarabs   371 resin.54 They also formed or cast them in metal (gold, silver, electrum, copper alloy, and bronze),55 or artificial products such as clay,56 faience, Egyptian blue, frit,57 and glass.58 Most of these objects were produced using materials that were readily available and easy to process. However, the Egyptians used more precious materials for the elite, and in order to enhance the magical effectiveness, which was possible through the symbolism of special materials, as well as their colour.59 The Egyptian craftsmen, who shaped, pierced, and engraved the stone seals, worked with knives, chisels, and drills, which were made in the Predynastic and Early Dynastic periods of chipped flint, in the Old Kingdom also of copper alloys, and in the New Kingdom of bronze.60 For hard stone items they also continued to work with flint and obsidian tools, as well abrasive substances such as quartzose or corundum sand. To enhance the drilling process, the drilling bow was invented in the late Predynastic period, and the metal tubular drill in the Early Dynastic period (c.3000–2686 bc).61 The artisans used linear engraving for the decorations on the sealing-surfaces, but also hollowing-out techniques, beginning in the Second Intermediate Period (c.1650–1550 bc), and particularly in the 18th and 19th Dynasties. The seal-devices cast in a mould often required reworking of the sealing-surface, which was done as a final process, to achieve a more accentuated image. The manufacturing of stone seals, amulets, and beads62 was evidently regarded as such an important activity that it was depicted in Egyptian tombs as part of workshop scenes.63 Most illustrative was the drilling of the holes, which is usually displayed in those scenes.64 Egyptian seal-devices are divided into two main functional groups: rollout and stamp seals. Only cylinder seals produced rollouts (Figure 18.1 and Figure 18.2), but stamp seals are further divided into geometrical (Figure 18.3) and figurative (Figure 18.4) subgroups. The standard forms of the seal-devices changed and diversified over time. Geometrical stamps65 as well as cylinder seals,66 made from limestone, were the first seal types that appeared in Egypt during the Naqada IIb-c period. These early examples were imported from, or strongly influenced by the Near East,67 and possibly used as exotic pieces of jewellery, or

54  It is unlikely that devices made from faience or frit had a sealing function, because they were not stable enough for such procedures. 55  Boochs 1982s: 95; eg silver cylinder seal with the name of Khafra (Boston, Museum of Fine Arts, 11.962), see Reisner 1931: pl. 64l; or golden cylinder seal of Djedkare Isesi (Boston, Museum of Fine Arts, 68.115), see Young 1972: 11 Figure 8; Loeben 2014: 59–82. 56  Wiese 1995: 99. 57  E.g. Petrie 1925: pl. XIX no 1448 (London, Petrie Museum, UC 61141). 58  Most of them are from the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, eg Stern and Schlick-Nolte 1994: 365 no 119. Earlier examples with only slightly incised royal names of the New Kingdom were unusable for sealing; eg Lilyquist 1993: 49 Figure 24 (New York, MMA 10.130.170), and 49 Figure 24 (MMA 30.8.566). 59  Wilkinson 1994: 82–125. 60  Keel 1995: 132–4. 61  Stocks 1989: 527–31. 62  Gwinnett and Gorelick 1993: 125–32. 63  For the scenes in the Old Kingdom tombs of Ty and of Niankhkhnum at Saqqara, and for the interpretation of the depicted production process, see Merrillees 2006: 217–24. 64  For tomb scenes depicting the use of the hand hold drill see Andrews 1990: 73 Figure 53, and for the bow drill, see Andrews 1990: 74 Figure 54. 65  For the stamp seal from Naga ed-Dêr see Podzorski  1988: 263; for the seal from Harageh see Honoré 2007: 31–5. 66  For the seals from Naqada see Podzorski 1988: 259–68; Honoré 2007: 31–3 (with further references). 67  For the older discussion of the origin of these seals see Boochs 1982: 81 fn 1, for the more actual discussion and references see Honoré 2007: 38–42.

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372   Regine Schulz

Figure 18.1  Private cylinder seal: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.168. Image: The Walters Art Museum.

Figure 18.2  Royal cylinder seal with names and titles of Sahura: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 57.1748. Image: The Walters Art Museum.

symbols of social status. The Egyptians began to produce their own seals beginning in the Naqada IId period, and carved them of a variety of different materials.68 From the Predynastic period to the late Old Kingdom, they exclusively used cylinder seals, but then also stamp seals were developed. Most common was the scarab, and from the New Kingdom to the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, the signet ring with a fixed bezel. The shape, size, and material of the seal-device are dependent upon its function and meaning, as well as the place and period of manufacture. The basic shape of the sealingsurface is either curved for cylinder seals, or flat (usually round, rectangular, oval, and shield/69 stele-form70) for stamp seals. The design of the sealing-surface is guided by a general theme, which is connected to the item’s function and operational area, even if this connection 68  See Podzorski 1988: 267–8. The earliest in Egypt produced seal-devices of the Naqada IId period were discovered in Egyptian cemeteries, and impressions in both settlements and cemeteries, see Hartung 1998: 187–217. In addition, there are also seals from A-Group sites in Lower Nubian, see Hartung 1998: 205, and from the Egyptian trading post ‘En Besor, see Hill 2004: 117. 69  Wiese 1996: 54. 70  Stoof 1992: 10.

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Seals and scarabs   373

Figure 18.3  Geometric stamp seals; New York, MMA, 62.7.41; MMA, 10.130.981; London, British Museum, EA 24609. © Trustees of the British Museum.

Figure 18.4  Figurative stamp seals: London, British Museum, EA 63373; EA 57855; London, Petrie Museum, UC 38148. © Trustees of the British Museum.The Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology UCL. CC BY-NC-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/legalcode).

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374   Regine Schulz is not always obvious to modern-day viewers. Inscriptions, figurative motifs, icons, and patterns (as well as the composition of all these) express this theme.71 The displayed texts include names, epithets, and titles of gods, kings, officials, and private persons; they reference institutions, places, and buildings, report on relations, actions, and events, and contain wishes and protective formulas. Texts, as well as hieroglyphic signs (e.g. nfr ‘perfect, beautiful’, wd ˍ ꜣ ‘flourish, prosper’, ꜥnḫ ‘live’) and sign combinations appear independent of, or in conjunction with icons (e.g. lotus flowers, feathers, cobras) and pattern (e.g. spiral scrolls, circles, cross-lines). The transition between script, icons, and pattern is fluid, the ascertainment of which is not always definite (e.g. whether a nb-basket hieroglyphic sign on the top and bottom of an oval sealing-surface should be translated as ‘all’ or ‘master’, interpreted as a symbol of control and kingship, or just regarded as a ‘fill’ element), and the connotation is often multi-layered. Central representations in the display—as single icons and motifs— are usually the ruler72 (in his human or animal manifestation), deities, and occasionally non-individualized human beings and animals. The meaning of some of the elem­ents is not always clear, and the interpretation, for example, of geometrical pattern, icon combinations, and particularly cryptographic writings is controversially discussed.

Cylinder seals From the Predynastic period73 to the Old Kingdom,74 cylinders were the devices for all royal, official, and private seals. The written standard notation for ‘seal’ and ‘sealing’ was established in the Early Dynastic period, and a representation of a cylinder seal on a necklace was used as an ideogram or determinative. This notation endured, even after the ori­gin­al seals had changed their form, and cylinder seals were no longer the main seal-devices. There are two different variations of the seal-sign, one displaying the seal and the necklace in frontal view: ¿, and the other displaying the necklace in side view: ø.75 Cylinder seal-devices and impressions have been discovered in royal and private tombs as well as in settlements. Most of the seal-devices found in private tombs, displaying private names, royal ring-names, figurative elements, and pattern, are pseudo-seals, which have social status connotations and/or amuletic functions.

Shape types of cylinder seals Cylinder seals have a constant outer diameter, and are usually pierced lengthwise. There are also some non-perforated examples that have only small depressions on both ends for a 71  The terms icon and motif are used here for images and scenes with well-defined, binding form and meaning, see Schulz and Seidel 2007: 7. 72  Representations of individual kings on seals and scarabs became very common from the New Kingdom see Wiese 1990, 135, fn 1. 73  Most of the Naqada IIc–Naqada IIId impressions come from places such as Naqada, Deir el-Ballas, Matmar, Naqa ed-Dêr, Abusir el-Meleq, Zawiyet el-Aryan, Abadiyeh, El-Amrah. 74  For the Early Dynastic material see Kaplony 1966 and 1992, as well as Regulski 2011: 5–32; for the Old Kingdom seals Kaplony 1977 and 1981; see also Pätznick 2005. 75  For the differences in usage see Boochs 1982: 105–6.

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Seals and scarabs   375 mount or handle,76 and a very small number that have a loop at the top end.77 The size of the devices and the diameter of the piercing changed over time, and can therefore be used as one of several dating criteria. Only a few seal-devices of the Predynastic period have been preserved; and in addition, seal-impressions exist. The Predynastic (Naqada IId–IIIc) sealdevices are quite small (average height and diameter c.0.7–2 cm),78 and were sometimes rolled out several times on the same object. The official seals of the Early Dynastic period were larger (average height c.3–5 cm), but for most of them only the seal-impressions have been preserved. The seal-devices were possibly made of soft stones, and reused or discarded when no longer in use.79 From the same time, small, squat, private seals (average heights and diameter c.1.5–3 cm) with straight ends and a narrow piercing have survived. Most consist of steatite or other soft stones,80 only a few of wood81 or ivory.82 They were discovered in tombs, but no seal-impressions of them have been found; therefore, they have to be considered as pseudo-seals. In the Old Kingdom, royal and official seals became longer and slimmer (average height c.4–7 cm, diameter c.1.5–3 cm), and the piercing became wider. In the late Old Kingdom, stamp seals emerged and began to replace the cylindrical types. However, slim cylinders of different lengths (average from 1.5–8 cm) with narrow piercing, remained common in the Middle Kingdom,83 and the Second Intermediate Period.84 During the New Kingdom, cylinder seals became rare in Egypt,85 and very few examples exist from the Third Intermediate Period (c.1069–664 bc).86 Although the shape of cylinder seals was exclusively guided by its sigillary function, its depiction had an iconic value and symbolized legitimate authority.

76  Boochs 1982: 82; Fischer 1972: 14–15. 77  For an example see James 1993: 42, 44, no 2/8 (London, BM, EA 29212). 78  Hartung 1998: 189. 79  It has been considered that most of the official seal devices were produced of wood (e.g. Boochs 1982: 99), and therefore have not been preserved after discarding. This seems unlikely, because the soft Egyptian wood was not stable enough and would also have been difficult to clean after use without damaging the sealing-surface. A few examples of wooden seals, including imported ebony, have been discovered (for examples see Boochs  1982: 99 fn. 1; 2015 Kalloniatis: 313–19), but possibly they are pseudo-seals. It seems to be more feasible that the Egyptians used easily available and workable soft stones for the production of their official seal-devices. After discarding they were either reworked or destroyed to avoid misuse. 80  See, e.g., Kaplony 1964: pl 101, Figure 455 (London, BM, EA 48986), pl 119, Figure 712 (BM, EA 66811), pl 117, Figure 681 (BM, EA 65863); see also Donadoni Roveri and Tiradritti  1998: 230 nos 192–4. 81  See, e.g., Spencer 1980: 414, 416, 419 (London, BM, EA 36462, 49,018, and 52,839). 82  See, e.g., Drenkhahn 1986: 18, pl LXXXV (London, Petrie Museum, UC 16157). 83  E.g. cylinders of Senusret II and Amenemhat III, see Engelbach 1923: pl XX, no 29 (Manchester, Manchester Museum, 6140); and the cylinder seal of Sobekneferu of the late Middle Kingdom, see Callender 1998: 227–36 (London, BM, EA 16581). An extraordinary example in the British Museum (EA 59868) contains a list of royal names of the Twelfth Dynasty (Amenemhat I, Amenemhat II, Amenemhat IV, Senusret I, Senusret II, and Senusret III). 84  See, e.g., Petrie 1917b: VI, 464A (London, Petrie Museum, UC 11128). 85  E.g. a cylinder of Seti I, see James 1993: 33, 43 no 2/7 (London, BM, EA 64973). 86  An impressive example is a cylinder seal of the divine consort of Amun Amenirdis (possibly Amenirdis I), which has a length of 25.5 cm long, a diameter of 5.8 cm, and a loop on the back, see James 1993: 42, 44, no 2/8 (London, BM, EA 29212).

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376   Regine Schulz

Sealing-surfaces of cylinder seals The earliest cylinder seals, produced in Egypt during the Naqada IId period, show rows of animals, such as mammals (ibexes and predators), fishes, scorpions, and birds. Sometimes the animals are combined with depictions of plants, nets, or wickerwork architecture,87 and signs with possible ideographic meaning, for example stars or two-sided, multi-serrated horizontal elements.88 Centrally placed icons or ideograms may represent a ruler, deity, or an institution.89 During the Naqada IIIa period, activity-oriented motifs enriched the repertoire,90 displaying. for example, the animal- or human-shaped manifestation of the ruler controlling wild animals. Iconic and ideographic elements representing the ruler’s power, such as the palace-facade (serekh) and/or the Horus falcon, became essential in the Naqada IIIb-c (or Protodynastic) period. Beginning in the Early Dynastic period, inscriptions with the names of individual kings became common, as well as lists of names of several rulers,91 and even historic events seem to be indicated.92 The official cylinder seals from the Early Dynastic period primarily display inscriptions and only very few figurative elements.93 Arrangements of animals groups in the time of King Aha (c.3000 bc) are an exception. The inscriptions consist of one or more columns or lines. Early examples show the repetition of elements in several rows, either in parallel or opposite order, and from the second half of the First Dynasty (c.2950–2890 bc), free arrangements are more common. In the Old Kingdom, royal (e.g. Horus falcon, Seth animal, or sphinx) and divine figures occasionally occur as part of the inscription,94 whereby the iconic and ideogramatic function may overlap. The small private pseudo-seals of this period present the name, occasionally the title of the owner, and sometimes, additional members of the family. Very few figurative motifs were used, such as the owner seated at an offering table.95 Royal seals of the Old Kingdom display the names and titles of the king, and the Horus name seems to have been particularly important. Official institutional seals bearing the titles of officials or offices also seem to have been required to mention the name of the ruler, and to use the Horus-name as well; however, no individual names of the officeholders were included. After the dignitary’s retirement, such seals appear to have been handed over to his successor, but lost their function when the king changed. Private seals with individual names appear to have been prohibited from the Fourth Dynasty onwards, by the royal administration.96 Therefore, the Egyptians began to use seals with the cartouche names of the king or iconic elements for private use. Cylinders with figurative motifs occur from the late Fifth Dynasty,97 and from the Sixth to the early Twelfth Dynasties freely

87  Boehmer 1974: 500–1. 88  Hartung 1998: 201, Figure 8. 89  E.g. the face of a goddess (probably Hathor) combined with a bird on a standard, see Hartung 1998: 200–1. 90  Hill 2004: 217. 91  E.g. from the tombs of the First-Dynasty rulers Den and Qa’a at Abydos, see Dreyer 1987: 34–43. 92  In the time of Narmer, see Dreyer 2000: 7­–8. 93  See Kaplony 1963; 1966. 94  See Wiese 1996: 87. 95  E.g. London, BM, EA 32627, see Spencer 1980: 60, pl 37, no 413. 96  Kaplony 1981: V. 97  E.g. the cylinder seal of king Unas with ritual scenes see James  1993: 41 and 43, no 2/5 (Berlin, Ägyptisches Museum, 20,387).

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Seals and scarabs   377 arranged combinations of royal and divine icons (mostly animal shaped) and hieroglyphic signs.98 The Egyptians used them as sigillary items, but also for amuletic purposes. Starting in the late Old Kingdom the production of cylinder seals declined. However, in the Middle Kingdom and the Second Intermediate Period, cylinder seals with royal names continued to exist,99 and names of private individuals were no longer banned.100 Cylinders with icon and hieroglyphic sign combinations became rare, and those bearing only patterns, such as spiral scrolls or cross-hatching,101 were only occasionally used. Cylinder seals from the New Kingdom to the Late Period102 are rare and have to be identified as pseudo-seals; most ­display royal cartouche names,103 and only very few bear the name of a high official.104

Stamp seals and stamp-seal amulets The Egyptians developed stamp seals in the late Old Kingdom (c.2250 bc) and used them until the Late Period (c.664–332 bc).105 The seal-devices as well as seal-impressions have been discovered all over Egypt,106 in the Egyptian oases107 and Nubia,108 as well as in Palestine.109 Only a few seal-devices have been excavated in the same context as seal-impressions,110 but one can assume that most devices were geometrical or scarab-shaped. Pseudo-seals or amulet seal-devices discovered in tombs were often placed at the hand or neck of the deceased.111 The majority of the non-scarab, figurative examples of the late Old Kingdom and the early First Intermediate Period (6th–9th Dynasties) come from female burials, but particularly in the later First Intermediate Period (10th–11th Dynasties), when they were also deposited in male tombs. However, men preferred the scarab type, while women continued to use a variety of different figurative amulet seals.112 Besides scarabs, scaraboids became popular, particularly in the New Kingdom, and also plaques with fig­ura­tive decorated and finger rings. The shape of figurative seals has significance, and is not only a decorative ornament. The seal’s shape strengthens or modifies its overall meaning. The representation of animals 98  For examples see Wiese 1995: 89–90, Figures 22–3. 99  For examples see Newberry 1905: pl VI. 100  For examples see Martin 1971: pl 46.17–20, and 27. 101  For spiral scrolls see Newberry 1905: pl VII nos 8 and 9, see also Paris, Louvre, E 22656, and for cross-hatching Boston, MFA, 27.2002. 102  For examples see Kaplony 1984: 299, fn 23. 103  See, e.g., the seal of Amenhotep II in the British Museum (EA 16579), for a seal of Amenhotep III and Tiye see Newberry 1905: pl VIII no 3. 104  E.g. a cylinder seal of Senenmut, see Roehrig 2005: 111 no 57 (Boston, MFA, 67.1137). 105  For the development from the late Old to the Middle Kingdom see Seidlmayer  1990: 185–94; Wiese 1996: 43–59 (with further references); for Old Kingdom examples see Keel 1995: 268. 106  See Wiese 1996: 16–33; Pilgrim 2002: 161–72 (with further references); Bagh 2004: 13–25. 107  Pantalacci 2005: 229–38. 108  Gratien 2002: 47–69; Smith 2002: 173–94. 109  Keel 1995; 1997; Ben Tor 2007 (with further references). 110  E.g. in Abu Ghâlib, see Bagh 2004: 19–21. 111  For the amulet seals in the cemetery of Mostagedda, see Stoof 1996: 43–79; and for those in the cemetery of Matmar, see Stoof 1999: 7–45. 112  See Stoof 1999: 10–11; see also Cortebeeck 2016: 105–23.

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378   Regine Schulz and human beings conveys a variety of different aspects, which are similar to those of amulets. In some cases the primary meaning expressed originally in the decoration of the sealing-surface is superseded by the significance of the overall shape of the sigillary item, which has to be determined as amulet seal.

Stamp-seal terminology Stamps seals have either a geometrical or a figurative top, and a flat bottom, which is inscribed, figuratively decorated, or ornamented with patterns. The top is fully formed or half-in-the-round, and in the case of plaques, which are flat, designs are incised, or executed in sunken, or raised relief. The most famous type was the scarab, and the scarab related parallel types with oval base, such as scaraboids (with figurative, regularly curved, non-scarab back) and cowroids113 (with cowry shell shaped back), are common. However, the typological classification of figurative and scaraboid stamp seals is not always clearly defined, and the use of the terms inconsistent. Stamp seals are also named ‘button seals’,114 but the term is occasionally used in a more limited way for stamp-seals with round bases and with a loop on the upper side.115 To address the amuletic function of most of these objects, the term ‘seal amulet’ was created116 in combination with the figurative form the term ‘design amulets’.117 André Wiese created the following terminological structure: as a group term he uses either seal-amulets or stamp seals, which he subdivides into three cat­egor­ies: scarabs, scaraboids, and stamp seal amulets; and the latter two categories are each further divided into geometric and figurative subcategories.118 This categorization is helpful, but does not consider overlapping forms (e.g. scarabs/scaraboids with beetle-shaped body and human face/ head), or the interchangability of scaraboids and figurative stamp seal amulets. It also mixes form- and meaning-oriented terms. Therefore, the formative cat­egor­iza­tion in geometrical and figurative stamp seals with sub-types including scarabs and scaraboids, as well as the meaning conveying characterization as seals, pseudo-seals, and amulet seals seems to be a good option.

Shape types of non-scarab stamp seals The shape of the geometrical stamp seals was mainly guided by sigillary functionality. Nevertheless, the outer shape of the seal-surface could have symbolic significance, for example disc-shaped for the sun, oval for a scarab, and rectangular for centres of power or places of rituals. The geometrical types of the earliest phase (6th–9th Dynasties)119 are ­pyramid-shaped, or have disk, cap, or cubic forms, and a pierced bar or loop on the back. From the later First Intermediate to the early Middle Kingdom (10th–early 12th Dynasties),

113  Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 35–6; see also Stoof 1992: 10; 2016. 114  For examples, see Newberry 1905; Petrie 1925. 115  For the different terms and their background see Wiese 1996: 3–9, 11–13. 116  Used by Winifred Brunton-Newberry in her unpublished manuscript on ‘button seal amulets’, see Wiese 1996: 11. 117  Ward 1970: 65–80. 118  Wiese 1996: 13. 119  See Seidlmayer 1990; Wiese 1996.

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Seals and scarabs   379 conoid,120 bell-shaped, and ovoid types are known, as well as elongated beads with a flat ­bottom and high back. Plaques and lentoid seals occur occasionally in the Middle Kingdom,121 and were frequently used from the New Kingdom onwards. Another type, which became common from the New Kingdom, has a handle in form of a bundle of plant, probably papyrus stems.122 Angular and rounded conoid123 seals possibly reappear in the Third Intermediate and Late Period, and co-exist together with a variety of different kinds of plaques with and without loops or bar shaped handles. Figurative seals are either zoomorphic or anthropomorphic, and usually depict icons, such as heads or full figures; they also display motifs, particularly figurative pairs or small groups.124 The first figurative types may have been developed as a special design of the bars and loops on the upper side of geometrical stamp seals with the intention to strengthen the amuletic function. The earliest examples (Sixth Dynasty) depict single or double animal heads,125 which may have had an apotropaic function (e.g. hippopotamus), or refer to royal power (e.g. double-falcon126), then full figured animals occurred (6th–9th Dynasties), starting with lions and frogs, then turtles, calves, dogs, guenons, baboons, ba-birds, and hippopotami. In a second phase (9th–11th Dynasties), human figures (e.g. squatting child or adult, double human head), as well as figurative groups (e.g. mother with child, man with dog, suckling animals, zoomorphic double figures, such as crocodiles or lions) were introduced. The range of amuletic meaning of these representations presumably include protection and aversion, royal and divine power, fertility and renewal, as well as aid and care.127 Somewhat difficult to determine is the meaning of human double heads, which have no gendered or status-specific characteristics. It is possible that they represent the deceased, and may have the same background as the pseudo-groups of the Old Kingdom.128 Representations of human body parts (face, eye, hand, or leg)129 are thought to convey not only the desire of the deceased that his body may be intact and functioning well in the other world, but also that his body may be associated with the divine community, and each part of it with a deity. However, the depiction of body parts can also probably have an additional meaning, for example the hand as a symbol of protection.130 The most successful and sustainable innovation of the First Intermediate Period is the scarab, which became the main seal type in Egypt from the Middle Kingdom to the Late Period, and replaced many of the older stamp seal forms. Nevertheless, non-scarab stamp seals continued to exist, and new types were invented, for example sphinx-shaped seals,131 or miniature block statues.132 Beginning in the Middle Kingdom and the Second Intermediate Period, figurative stamp seals were progressively replaced by scaraboids with zoomorphic motifs, such as lions, croco­diles, and frogs, and also flies, tilapia fishes, hares, and cats.133 These scaraboids were 120  For the term, see Keel 1995: 100. 121  See, e.g., Martin 1971: cat no 1637 (London, BM, EA 30554). 122  See, e.g., Newberry 1905: 90, Figure 98; Hall 1913: 120 no 1227 (London, BM, EA 3590); Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 247 no 283, pl 28. 123  See, e.g., London, Petrie Museum, UC 58213 and UC 61461. 124  See Stoof 1992: 289–90. 125  From the time of Pepy II, see Seidlmayer 1990: 192. 126  See, e.g., Fay 1990: 51 (Berlin, Egyptian Museum and Papyrus Collection, VÄGM, 97–87). 127  See Wiese 1996: 159–64. 128  See Eaton-Krauss 1995: 57–74; Rezepka 1996: 335–47. 129  See Wiese 1996: 60–73. 130  See Andrews 1994: 69–73. 131  See, e.g., Boston, MFA, 2007.256. 132  See, e.g., Schulz 1992: 335, no 203, pl 92a (Leiden, RMO, F 1955/2.21). 133  Stoof 1992: 82–3.

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380   Regine Schulz pierced lengthwise, in contrast to the older figurative stamp seals, which had loops or ­cross-wise piercing. In the Eighteenth Dynasty, full-figured representations of humans became common,134 and ducks,135 cats, frogs, and hedgehogs were popular; more rare are falcons and vultures.136 In the Ramesside period, baboons and fishes dominate. Third Intermediate Period artisans also focused on ibexes, and cats, and in the Twenty-fifth Dynasty on lions, ram’s heads,137 and baboons.138 In addition, human-headed scaraboids became popular once again during this period. Seals depicting deities on their top designs are rare. In the Eighteenth Dynasty Hathor-heads occur,139 and in the Third Intermediate and Late Periods, full-figured representations, such as Amun-Ra,140 Isis nursing Horus the Child,141 Pataikos,142 and Bes or Bes-heads appear.143 Small gold and silver figures of gods (such as Amun-Ra, Thoth, Nefertem, Hathor, and Wadjet) with a loop on the back and individualizing inscription on the bottom, which appeared in the Third Intermediate Period, have to be considered pseudo-seals in the broadest sense.144 Metal figures of gods, particularly Amun-Ra, with large, square, inscribed bases are known from the Late Period.145 In the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, stamp and pseudo-stamp seals became outdated in Egypt, and were replaced by finger rings with and without gems. They display royal ­portraits146 or representations of deities (such as Isis,147 Horus,148 or Serapis149); others have cartouches with royal names,150 which continued to be common until the Roman imperial era.151 However, the signet ring had been developed much earlier, and two main types are known: finger rings with swivelling bezels,152 which were possibly an invention of the Twelfth Dynasty, and those with rigid bezels,153 which are last seen in the Second Intermediate Period. The latter became common from the New Kingdom to the Ptolemaic and Roman periods for royal154 and administrative,155 but also religious purposes;156 their bezels are 134  Stoof 1992: 149. 135  E.g. http://www.globalegyptianmuseum.org/record.aspx?id=12904 (St. Petersburg, SHM, 18046). 136  Stoof 1992: 293. 137  E.g. London, Petrie Museum, UC 60403. 138  Stoof 1992: 83. 139  Stoof  1999b: 52–5; incised Hathor-heads on the bottom of a seal are known from the late Old Kingdom, see ibid: 52. 140  E.g. Petrie 1927: 69, pl 60, no 178 (London, Petrie Museum, UC 59464). 141  E.g. Brussels, MRAH, E.3382. 142  E.g. Boston, MFA, 29.1693. 143  See Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 328, no 693, pl 77. 144  E.g. Schulz 2006: 307–8 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 57.1417). 145  See, e.g., Petrie 1927: 69 no 178, pl 60 (London, Petrie Museum, UC 59464). 146  See, e.g., two signet rings with representation of Ptolemy VI (Paris, Louvre Bj 1093 and 1094), see Kyrieleis  1975: 63, pls 46, 5 and 6; for a signet ring of Cleopatra VII (London, Victorian and Albert Museum, M38.1963) see Walker and Higgins 2001: 217 no 195. 147  See, e.g., Amsterdam, Allard Pierson Museum, 7022, see Ägypten, Griechenland, Rom  2005: 630–31, no 214. 148  See, e.g., Ägypten, Griechenland, Rom 2005: 691–2, no 296. 149  See, e.g., London, BM GR 1865.7–12.55; Walker and Higgins 2001: 64, no 35. 150  See, e.g., London, BM EA 36468; Walker and Higgins 2001: 64, no 36. 151  See, e.g., a signet ring of Ptolemy III; Hall 1913: 283 (London, BM EA 36468); for an example of Antoninus Pius (Amsterdam, Allard Pierson Museum, 7018), see Willems and Clarysse 1999: 201, no 96. 152  For examples of these, see Andrews 1990: 164, Figure 146. 153  See ibid: 165, Figure 148. 154  Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 37. 155  See, e.g., the finger ring of the chief steward Shoshenq (London, BM EA, 68868); Andrews 1990: 165, Figure 148b. 156  See, e.g., a ring with representation of Taweret see Fay 1990: 23 (Berlin, Egyptian Museum, VÄGM 52–83).

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Seals and scarabs   381 r­ ectangular157 or oval,158 or formed as single or double cartouches.159 Finger rings with ­swivelling bezels continued to exist, but they functioned as pseudo- or amulet seals. Moulded faience finger rings,160 which are too fragile to be worn on the finger in daily life, have a similar function, and may have been gifts to the people at festivals,161 or produced as funeral objects.162

Sealing-surface and seal-impressions of non-scarab stamp seals Most of the stamp seals of the late Old Kingdom and the First Intermediate Period should be regarded as amulets, despite their real function as seals or amulet seals. They display a variety of different icons and motifs,163 which are similar to the representations on the fi­gura­tive cylinder seals of the same period. Divine representations such as: Heh, Bes-Aha, and Taweret, Hathor symbols,164 udjat-eyes, and mythical creatures, are connected to magic protection.165 Royal motifs, which offer aid and protection are: the single and double Horus falcon, double Seth animals, Horus and Seth, the lower Egyptian crown, and the royal bee, as well as the ‘unification of the two lands’ icon (smꜣ tꜣwy).166 In addition, double captive enemies167 demonstrate royal power. Representations of girls, acrobats, dancers, and ser­ vants are related to funerary rituals, and stem from the tradition of Old Kingdom tomb scenes.168 Icons of children, similar to the motif of mother and child on the top of the seal, convey not only the desire for children, but also for rebirth into the afterlife.169 Many of the stamp seal decorations display single and double animals, which represent protective forces, such as the lions, bulls, hippopotami, crocodiles, and scorpions. Other animals convey the overcoming of death, such as birds, antelopes, guenons, and dogs, or else symbolize regeneration, for example hares, lizards, turtles, or scarab beetles.170 Icons, such as hands,171 papyri, ankh-signs, and lotuses, might be expected to have provided protection, life, and renewal.172 Geometric patterns were also common, such as different crosses, double angles above semicircles, single and double spirals, loops, and cross-hatching;173 some may derive from stylized figurative motifs, and others may have been formed independently. They may have emblematic character, or represent organized structures, which are yet undetermined.

157  See, e.g., several examples of Amenhotep II (New York, Brooklyn Museum, 37.726 E; Paris, Louvre, AF 2276; Boston, MFA 1985.433) and Thutmose III (London, BM EA 71.492); Müller and Thiem 1999: 156, Figures 322–6; see also Andrews 1990: 165, Figure148. 158  For rings of Akhenaten (London, BM EA 32723, EA 37644) and Nefertiti (private collection) see Müller and Thiem 1999: 159, Figure 338, and New York, MMA 27.7.767; Freed et al 1999: 234 no 98; for further examples see Aldred 1971: 210–11, Figures 69–71; for Ramesside examples, e.g., a signet ring of Rameses II (Munich, State Museum of Egyptian Art, ÄS 5851), see Müller and Thiem 1999: 195 (410, and of Rameses X (Vienna, KHM, Egyptian-Oriental Collection, 6293); Seipel 2001: 100–1, no 112. 159  Schulz and Seidel 2005: 313–14. 160  See Andrews 1990: 60, Figure 45. 161  See Aldred 1971: 161. 162  See Ben-Tor 1987: 99 no 90; see also Ertman 2008: 73. 163  See Wiese 1996: 107–55. 164  See Stoof 1999b: 46–55. 165  See, e.g., Wiese 1996: pls. 1–9. 166  See, e.g., ibid: pls 10–13, for the royal bee pls 37–9. 167  See, e.g., ibid: pl 12. 168  See, e.g., ibid: pls 14, 18. 169  See, e.g., ibid: pls 15–18. 170  See, e.g., ibid: pls 20–40. 171  See, e.g., ibid: pl 19. 172  See, e.g., ibid: pls 41–2; see also Stoof 1992: 136–9. 173  See, e.g., Wiese 1996: pls 43–50.

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382   Regine Schulz From the late First Intermediate Period, when scarabs were invented, the bottom ­ ec­ora­tions of scarab and non-scarab stamp seals were interchangeable to a large extent. d The Egyptians used both types as administrative and private name seals in the late 12th and 13th Dynasties,174 as well as pseudo-seals. In addition, cartouche-shaped plaques for royal names were invented.175 In the New Kingdom, names and icons of deities appear on the sealing-surface, while the top often displays associated animals;176 the most frequently occurring deities are Amun-Ra and Ptah, as well as Bes, or female goddesses, such as Hathor and Taweret. Seals with names of kings and queens, as well as royal motifs are also common. In the Eighteenth Dynasty, they appear on a variety of different shaped seals, displaying, for example, human beings in proskynesis,177 fishes,178 hedgehogs,179 or ducks.180 In the Ramesside period, royal names and icons appear frequently on baboon-shaped seals,181 in the Twenty-fifth Dynasty, on ram-figured and ramheaded examples, and in the Late Period, on lion-shaped seals. Different plaques displaying royal,182 and divine icons,183 motifs,184 or names185 are common from the New Kingdom to the Late Period. They also combine these motifs with icons of protection and wellbeing,186 as well as a variety of geometrical, floral, and multi-iconic patterns (eg combinations of cobras, lotus flowers, and spirals).187 In the Ramesside period, representations of private persons occur, representing individuals as worshippers in front of a royal cartouche.188 Despite all the similarities between the bottom designs of scarab and non-scarab stamp seals, there is a difference in the overall meaning of the both categories. The top designs of the non-scarab stamp seals are changeable and convey a variety of different meanings, which are strengthened or modified by the bottom design. It presumably connects the owner to special deities or kings, and requests, above all, protection, aid, and fertility.

Scarabs The scarab beetle was one of the most popular icons in ancient Egypt and the whole Mediterranean world. The Egyptians believed that the dung beetle Scarabaeus sacer (and similar species of the scarabaeinae beetle subfamily)189 was the nocturnal renewable form

174  See Martin 1971: pls 42A–B, 43–47, 47B and 47C. 175  See, e.g., Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 62 no 203, pl 3 (with name of Senusret III); 205 no 70, pl 4 (with name of Amenemhat III). 176  See, e.g., Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 277 no 429, pl 46. 177  Stoof 1992: 156. 178  ibid: 109. 179  ibid: 113. 180  Duck-shaped seals also carry names of queens and ‘Divine Consorts of Amun’, see ibid: 219. 181  See ibid: 189–93. 182  See, e.g., Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 255–6 no 323, pl 32; 258 no 336, pl 34; 260 no 345, pl 35. 183  See, e.g., ibid: 255–6 nos 322–323, pl 32. 184  See, e.g., ibid: 260 no 345, pl 35. 185  See, e.g., ibid: 231 no 205, pl 20; 232 no 208, pl 20; 241 no 251, pl 24. 186  See, e.g., ibid: 248 no 291, pl 29. 187  See, e.g., combinations of uraei and plants, such as ibid: 258–9 no 338, pl 34; 261 no 351, pl 36, and Stoof 1992: 105–6. 188  See, e.g., Newberry 1905: pl XXXV, 22–4; and Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 301–2 nos 554–5, pl 62. 189  See Hanski and Cambefort 199; Wilkinson 2008: 7–9.

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Seals and scarabs   383 of the solar manifestation of the creator god,190 who had to regenerate himself during the night before he re-emerged into the world each morning. The scarab form was part of the three-phased transformation process of the solar creator, which manifests in the falconshaped Ra, the human-shaped Atum, and the scarab-shaped Khepri.191 However, Khepri is described in the pyramid and coffin texts not only as the nocturnal and morning sun  mani­fest­ation of Ra, but also as an independent primeval deity, who had created himself.192 Representations of the god occur in the New Kingdom, for example in the books of the underworld and of the sky, on funerary stelae, as well as on royal monuments. In the image cycle of the Litany of Ra, which displays the nocturnal manifestations of the sun god, he appears in four different versions: as a standing mummy with winged scarab instead of a head named ẖpry, as scarab inside of the sun disc named Rꜥ-itny, as a standing man with scarab head named ẖprr, and twice as scarab with sun disc in front of his legs named ẖpri, and ḥ d ˍ wty. In other descriptions of the otherworld, he is also represented, for example as a beetle in the solar bark,193 as a beetle with island sign (which possibly representing the underworld, and replaces the solar disc in front of the beetle’s legs),194 as a man with a scarab on top of his head,195 or as a beetle combined with the sun-disk and solar child.196 The solar reference of the scarab results from the beetle’s distinctive behaviour pattern. The scarab is a dung-feeding beetle; it collects dung (usually from cattle), forms it into a ball, which is larger than the insect itself, rolls it into its subterranean burrow, and hides it in a feeding tunnel as its food supply. When the supply is exhausted, it leaves the burrow to produce the next dung ball. Some scarabs try to steal the ball from the original producer, and hard battles take place. Female scarabs have an additional duty; they form a pearshaped dung pellet, in which to deposit their eggs, and then hide it in an underground chamber to protect the future hatchlings and their food source. When the young beetles leave the chamber, they are fully formed, can spread their wings, and fly away. The Egyptians observed this behaviour and integrated it into their metaphysical conceptions. The beetle was interpreted as a primeval life form, the dung ball as manifestation of the sun disk, the fight for the ball possibly as the struggle between the sun god and Apophis (Apepi),197 and the emerging young beetles, which fly to the sky as the regenerated sun god. In addition, the Egyptians named the beetle, as well as the scarab-shaped seal or amulet ḫprr;198 this term derives from the verb ḫpr ‘to become, to come into existence, to exist, to transform’, and supports the integration of the scarab in the creation model. Other terms for the scarab are

190  For the deity see Leitz 2002: 713–20. 191  All three manifestations are depicted together in a bark, e.g. in the vignette of Chapter 17 of the Book of the Dead, see Minas–Nerpel 2006: 111, Figure 4. 192  See Minas-Nerpel 2006: 74–81. 193  See, e.g., Amduat: First Hour, see Barta  1990: Figure 1; Book of the Gates: Final Section, see Barta 1990: Figure 24; Book of the Earth: Part A, see Barta 1990: Figure 31. 194  Amduat: Tenth Hour, see Barta 1990: Abb. 10. 195  E.g. in Chapter 17 of the Book of the Dead, see Minas–Nerpel 2006: 111, Figure 4. 196  See, e.g., Book of the Caverns: Final Section, Barta 1990: Figure 30. 197  E.g. in Book of the Dead: Chapter 134, see Hornung 1993: 259. 198  Wb 3, 267.7–9.

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384   Regine Schulz ꜥbb199 and the demotic mḫrr,200 which both describe the winged solar beetle, and ꜥpy,201 which may have replaced ḫprr in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods. There are also other beetles that played a role in early ancient Egypt. The carcasses of actual beetles of the species Prionotheca coronata Olivier were discovered, stored in jars, in tombs at Tarkhan and Diospolis Parva of the Predynastic and Early Dynastic periods.202 Furthermore, beetle-shaped amulets of two different types occur in the same period and the Old Kingdom.203 One represents the so-called click beetle (Agrypnus notodonta Latr.),204 which was an early emblem of the goddess Neith, the other the buprestid or jewel beetle (Steraspis squamosa).205 The Egyptians probably named these beetles ꜥnḫ,206 and their amuletic meaning as life-spending force may result from the sound similarity or derivation from the term anx ‘to live, life’. In the pyramid texts, the solar beetle was described as ꜥnḫ,207 but the standard name of the beetle shaped sun god was ẖpr or ẖpri.208 However, the term ꜥnḫ-mrr was used in reference to the scarab amulet until the Ptolemaic period.209 The scarab’s solar assignment combined the renewal aspect with the life-related connotation of the ꜥnḫ-beetle, and therefore, the scarab replaced the other beetle symbols. The Egyptian scarabs with decorated bottoms developed in the late First Intermediate Period as one of the innovative forms of figurative stamp seals. They functioned as administrative seals and pseudo-seals, as well as non-individualized amulet seals (Figure  18.5). Special scarab types with specific functions emerged over time. Included are examples produced for the deceased, such as heart scarabs,210 winged scarabs, pectorals with scarab ­centrepiece, as well as naturally formed scarabs with beetle-shaped undersides. Heart scarabs were invented in the late Middle Kingdom. They are larger than scarab seals and amulets, and most range from approximately 3.5 to 11 cm in length.211 The bottoms of these scarabs usually have an inscribed version of Chapter 30B, occasionally 30A, from the Book of the Dead, which was believed to control the memory and conscience of the heart to prevent it from testifying against the deceased in front of the Hall of Judgement in the underworld. A few examples display parts of Chapter 26, 27, and 29 of the Book of the Dead, or similar texts, that focus on both the threat of being separated from, and losing control of one’s own heart.212 Most heart scarabs were carved from green or black stone, or other green or blue-green materials symbolizing the hope of renewal and rebirth into the afterlife. In the rubric of Chapter 30B of the Book of the Dead, the text reads: ‘Make a scarab of green jasper (nmḥ f) adorned with gold, and place it on the chest of a man . . . ’. In another

199  Wb I, 178.10–12; see also Stadler 2001: 73–4. 200  Erichsen 1954: 177. 201  Wb I, 179.22; Stadler 2001: 73–4. 202  See Levinson and Levinson 1996: 577–85. 203  See Ward 1978: 43. 204  E.g. an early dynastic capsule from Naga ed-Dêr, tomb 1532 (Cairo, EM, CG 52821–2), see Müller and Thiem 1999: 32, Figure 49, and Hendrickx 1996: 32–3; and a necklace of a woman composed of clickbeetle-shaped pendants from Giza, tomb 294, of the Fourth Dynasty (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE 72334), see Aldred 1971: Figure 5, and Müller and Thiem 1999: 87, Figure 176. 205  E.g. Boston, MFA 13.3424b. 206  See Kahl et al 2002: 86. 207  Wb 1, 204.7–8; e.g. in the Pyr 537 ‘You should . . . live like the onx-beetle, and endure like the ­vd-pillar eternally.’ See also Minas-Nerpel 2006: 53. 208  See Leitz 2002: 713–18. 209  Wb 1, 203.10. 210  Malaise 1978; Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 184–7; Sousa 2011. 211  Ben-Tor 1993: 17. 212  Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 186–7.

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Seals and scarabs   385

Figure 18.5  Back types of scarabs: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.14; 42.27; 42.51; 42.32; 42.44. Images: The Walters Art Museum.

version, the deceased’s neck is mentioned instead of the chest. The heart scarab was invented in the late Middle Kingdom, and some of the earliest examples have a human face instead of a beetle’s head,213 and later varieties sometimes depict a full-sculpted human head.214 Several of the heart scarabs have a mount and a necklace preserved,215 and a few examples have a carved loop at the upper end of the base.216 Stone scarabs of similar size, but without bottom inscriptions, are particularly common in the Late Period, and are often interpreted as heart scarabs. Some may have lost their mount with the inscribed bottom plate, but others were never inscribed. Such examples were discovered between the mummy wrappings and inside the body cavities of the deceased, but they never replace the real heart. Large, non-inscribed stone scarabs could also function as inlaid centrepieces of funeral pectorals, used from the New Kingdom217 to the Late Period. The motifs vary, but all belong to the general theme of resurrection and regeneration. For example, some display the scarab in the solar boat flanked by Isis and Nephthys, by solar baboons,218 or uraei,219 the reverse side of which often shows the owner of the pectoral in an adoration gesture in front of the god Osiris. Other pectorals have an inscribed heart scarab inserted, which is usually flanked by Isis and Nephthys,220 a djedpillar and tit-knot,221 or a winged scarab version.222

213  See Andrew 1994: Figure 44a (London, BM, EA 64378); Schneider 1998: no 210 (Leiden, RMO, L.II.6), Quike 2003: 31–40 (Paris, Louvre N 2780 C, and Leiden, RMO N 2780 C); Ben-Tor 1993: 52 nos 1, 2 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.18 252 and 253). 214  E.g. Ben-Tor 1993: 54 no 6 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.18.268); Minault-Gout  1994: 81–2 no 268 (Lille, Institute de Papyrologie et d’Égyptologe, Université de Lille III L 2472); and Boston, MFA 1979.570. 215  E.g. the scarab of Hatnefer, see Roehrig 2005: 93 no 41 (New York, MMA 36.3.2). 216  E.g. Beste 1978: 1, 7 (Hannover, Kestner Museum, 1935). 217  See Feucht-Putz 1967: 117; Feucht 1971: 7. 218  See, e.g., Schulz and Seidel 2007: 165–6 no 128, pl 19 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.83 and 42.91). 219  Tanis 1987: 242–3 no 80 (Cairo, EM, JE 72172). 220  E.g. Seipel 1989: 241 no 402 (London, BM, EA 7865); Feucht 1971: 68–9, pls I–II (Leiden, RMO AG 165). 221  See, e.g., Bongioanni and Croce 2003: 376 (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE 31379). 222  See, e.g., Ikram and Dodson 1998: 141, Figure 156 (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE 6194); Tanis 1983: 238–9 no 78 (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE 85785).

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386   Regine Schulz The standard form of the winged scarabs is probably an innovation of the early New Kingdom,223 but a first prototype already occurs as royal pendant in the Middle Kingdom.224 From the New Kingdom to the Late Period, winged scarabs were also combined with royal pectorals.225 Faience examples, which functioned as the centrepiece of the amulet set of mummies, and were made in one- or three-piece versions, were produced much later, and were common from the Twenty-fifth to the Thirtieth Dynasty.226 These winged faience ­scarabs should not be interpreted as a form of the heart scarab. Their connotation appears to be different, probably linking the resurrection of the individual deceased with that of the sun god. The motif also appears on mummy cartonnages and coffins from the Third Intermediate Period,227 as well as on mummy masks,228 particularly in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods. A further category of scarabs made for the amulet sets of mummies are naturalistic examples, which have a beetle shape, but not a flat bottom, and are made of faience and different stones, such as carnelian, haematite, and diorite.229 Most have a loop on the bottom to fasten the amulet on the mummy wrappings or net, while larger examples without a loop may have been placed between the mummy’s wrappings.230 Individual examples are known in the early New Kingdom231 and the Third Intermediate Period,232 but became particularly common in the Late Period.233 On the papyrus of Men234 of the Ptolemaic period, these scarabs were depicted as part of the amulet set for a mummy. A sub-type of naturalistic scarabs from the Late Period has the head of a falcon instead of a beetle.235 Another special category is that of the large (length c.5.5–11 cm) so-called ‘commemorative scarabs’, which were produced between years two and eleven of Amenhotep III.236 However, 223  See, e.g., Roehrig 2005: 44 no 21 (New York, MMA 26.7.575). 224  For a pendant of Senusret II, combining the throne name of the king, Kha-kheper-Ra, with wings and papyrus blossoms, see Andrews 1990: 130, Figure 133a (London, BM, EA 54460). 225  E.g. the pectorals with the throne name of Tutankhamun, see James 2000: 218, 230–1, 234 (e.g. Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE 61884, 61,886, 618,887, or JE 61890); or Tanis 1983: 240–1 no 79 (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE 87709). 226  For examples see Schulz and Seidel 2007: 157–61, pls 16–17 nos 118–23. 227  As icon with circular fanned out wings of the Third Intermediate Period see, eg, Ikram and Dodson 1998: 231, Figures 303–4 (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, 61029A and B), and with spread out wings, particularly in the Ptolemaic period, see, eg, Ikram and Dodson 1998: 241, Figure 326 (London, BM, EA 6678). 228  E.g. see Schulz and Seidel  2009: 168–9 no 70 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 78.3); Ikram/ Dodson  1998: 187, Figure 218 (Cambridge University, Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, Z.44754). 229  For examples see Schulz and Seidel  2007: pls 20–1 nos 133–41; Ben–Tor  1989: 76–7 nos 1–15; Regner 1995: pls 10–12 nos 51–7; pl 12 nos 59, 60, 62; pls 14–15 nos 63, 65, 68; pl 17–18 nos 85, 88. 230  E.g. Ben-Tor 1993: 76 no1 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.29.535). 231  E.g. a scarab pendant of queen Ahhotep, see Müller and Thiem 1999: 133, Figure 262–3 (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, CG 52670). 232  For an example forming part of a pectoral of Sheshonq II see Tanis 1987: 232 no 80 (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE 72172). 233  See, e.g., Schulz and Seidel 2007: 170–7 nos 133–141, pls 20–1. 234  See Andrews 1994: 8, Figure 2 (London, BM, EA 10098,12). 235 See, e.g., Ben-Tor 1993: 78 nos 16, 17 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.29.871 and 873); Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 368 no 914, pl 103; Schulz/Seidel 2007: pl 21 no 142 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.375). 236  Blankenberg-Van Delden 1969; Gundlach 2002: 31–46; Baines 2003: 29–43.

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Seals and scarabs   387 they were probably not produced just to commemorate special events, but to celebrate the divine and royal power of the king, his authority, and sphere of control, as well as the royal status of his wife, Tiye. These scarabs were distributed to high officials and special offices in Egypt and abroad, and focus on special events (such as marriage,237 a bull hunt, a lion hunt, the arrival of princess Gilukhepa of Naharina, and the construction of a lake).238 A few examples of comparatively large scarabs have survived, which were commissioned by Amenhotep IV, later called Akhenaten, and his wife Nefertiti, possibly for the royal jubilee of the king.239 A couple of other scarabs were also commissioned for a special event,240 and one can consider ranking them also as commemorative scarabs. For example, a scarab of king Thutmose III, which reports on the construction of two obelisks,241 and a scarab of king Shabaqo, which celebrates his victory over Egyptian rebels.242 The largest of all scarabs are monumental examples with lengths of up to 2.5 metres. Seven of them have been preserved, but not all remain in their original location. Originally, they were placed in temple sections related to the solar cult. Amenhotep III was possibly the first to commission such scarab statues, followed by Rameses II. However, it has not yet been determined as to whether some of these scarabs date into later periods. King Taharqo in the Twenty-fifth Dynasty had a special interest in these objects, and ordered the transport of the large scarab-topped monument of Atum-Khepri of Amenhotep III from Kom el-Heitan in Western Thebes to the Amun temple at Karnak, where it was placed at the sacred lake. The presentation of a scarab monument or shrine is also displayed in royal sculpture, for example a kneeling statue of Rameses II holding a shrine-shaped monument with a scarab on top of it.243 Finally, scarabs were also carved or modelled on top of the heads of some statues, including those of gods, kings (from the New Kingdom)244 and ­private individuals (from the Third Intermediate Period),245 as well as cats246 and pataikoi.247

Scarab terminology The terms used to describe the body parts of a scarab are well defined, except for some minor variations. Many of these terminologies focus on the living beetle,248 instead of the ancient Egyptian representation,249 and most of the body parts of the living beetle and its

237  Gundlach 2002: 39–41 interprets the text on the scarab not as a marriage statement of Amenhotep III and Tiye, but as declaration of his and his queen’s royal authority and sphere of control. 238  See Kozloff/Bryan 1992: 67–72. 239  See Freed/Markowitz/D’Auria 1999: 241 no 122 (Boston, MFA 1973.108); and Ben–Tor 1989: 25, 59 (Jerusalem, IMJ 76.18.247). 240  The commemorative scarab of Thutmose IV in the British Museum (London, BM, EA 65800), which reports the arrival of a princess from Naharina, and also mentions the name of the god Aten, is probably a forgery. 241  See Wilkinson 2008: 41, Figure 45 (New York, MMA 14.8). 242  See Yoyotte 1956: 457–76 (Toronto, Royal Ontario Museum, 2004_1039_5). 243  Bovot 1998: 429–46. 244  Minas-Nerpel 2006: 399–405. 245  Brandl 2008: 328–30; e.g. the block statue of Ankh-khered-nefer (London, BM, EA 1072). 246  Satzinger 1997: 399–407. 247  See, e.g., Andrews 1994: 39 (London, BM, EA 63475). 248  The best overview of the terms (including different languages) is offered by Keel 1995: 20. 249  For a revised version see Schulz and Seidel 2007: 3.

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388   Regine Schulz

Figure 18.6  Identification of the different parts of scarab amulets and seals. Variation of Schulz and Seidel 2007: 3. © R. Schulz.

representation are the same. However, some parts, such as the scutellum and the flat base, or stylizations, such as the V-shape of the shoulder marks, do not exist in real life (Figure 18.6).250

Back design of scarabs Detailed typologies have been developed to differentiate the shapes of the heads, backs, and sides of scarabs,251 but the diversity of these variations often makes such classification difficult. William Ward and Olga Tufnell identified thirty main types and 250 sub-types alone.252 Nevertheless, there are some typological characteristics, not only of the bottom design, but also of the scarab’s overall shape, which change over time. Nevertheless, the identification and determination of these characteristics is an ongoing process. 250  Variation of Schulz and Seidel 2007: 3 (© R. Schulz). 251  For typologies see Martin 1971: 4–5, pls 50–7; Ward 1978: 25–33; Tufnell 1984; O’Connor 1985: 1–41; for the older typologies see Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 32. A good overview is offered Keel 1995: 39–61; he also discusses the problems and difficulties of the typological systems. 252  Ward 1994: 196.

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Seals and scarabs   389 The earliest scarabs of the First Intermediate Period253 are small, and have an average length of c.1.0–1.6 cm, and the very first examples are pierced crosswise instead of lengthwise. The backs of the First Intermediate Period and early Middle Kingdom scarabs usually have a partition line, as well as single, double, or triple sutures. The heads of the earlier phases are semi-circular or semi-elliptical, and later forms can also be trapezoidal or shield-shaped. In most cases, the eyes are marked with single separation lines. Occasionally, the clypeus is defined by serrations, and by a base notch. The sides usually display full ex­trem­ities (front-, mid-, and hindlegs), or a reduced version with front- and hindlegs, which are deeply carved, and sometimes even perforated.254 In addition, a single circle line can sep­ar­ate base and body, and legs are not marked. The Middle Kingdom scarabs from the late 11th–13th Dynasties255 show several modifications. The average scarab has a length of 1.1–2.3 cm. Most of the backs still have single, double, or triple sutures, but examples without sutures become progressively more common, and usually display short side notches.256 Special décor on the elytron became common, such as lotus flowers, or curved borderlines with spiralled ends.257 The sides continue to display full or reduced versions of the ex­trem­ities, as well as a simple circle line. Newly developed characteristics are hatch line markings for the tibial teeth and the pilosity on the legs. The earliest shapes of the heads were p ­ redominantly elliptical or semi-elliptical, and from the late 12th and 13th Dynasties onwards, they were also trapezoidal, and square-shaped, respectively. The eyes are usually marked, and the clypeus occasionally has a base notch. In the Twelfth Dynasty, serrations are rare, but are more common in the Thirteenth Dynasty. In this period, a new type of scarab was introduced, which has a human head instead of that of a scarab; the first examples were invented together with the new heart scarab type, and soon afterwards this combination was also used for scarab amulets.258 Another innovation of this time is that of the sim­ul­tan­eous display of multiple scarabs upon a base, which can hold between two and ­seventy-five scarabs.259 For the scarab production of the late Middle Kingdom (late Twelfth and Thirteenth Dynasties) and the Second Intermediate Period, Daphna Ben-Tor was able to identify differences between the Egyptian/Nubian and Palestinian typologies.260 The Egyptian scarabs of the Second Intermediate Period261 are similar in size to the Middle Kingdom examples. The heads have a variety of different forms, from triangular, to trapezoidal, to elliptical. Base notches can occur, but serrations are rare. The backs have no sutures in most cases, but instead bear short side notches; some examples do not even have separation line between pronotum and elytron.262 Pairs of branches can occur as elytron design.263 The execution of 253  For an overview of the different shapes see Ward 1978: 20–38. 254  See Keel 1995: 52–3. 255  See Martin 1971: 4–5, pls. 50–4; Tufnell 1984: 27–52; and O’Connor 1985: 5. 256  See Keel 1995: 48. 257  See Ben-Tor 2007: pls. 23, 27, 29; Tufnell 1984: 35. 258  See, e.g., Ben-Tor 2007: pl 29 no 50 (Jerusalem, IMJ 76.31.1674; Schulz and Seidel 2007: pl 6 no 42 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.27). 259  See Keel 1995: 61–2. 260  See Ben-Tor 2007 (with further references). 261  See ibid: pls 41–9. 262  See O’Connor 1985: 11; e.g. Ben-Tor 2007: pls 43 no 4, 44 no 12, 48 no 3. 263  Ben-Tor 2007: pls 43 nos 2, 7, 16, 17; 44 nos 9, 14 (only with one branch on the pronotum); Schulz and Seidel 2007: pls 9 no 71; 12 no 97; 14 no 109.

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390   Regine Schulz the sides continues the Middle Kingdom traditions, but sometimes two, instead of one circle line were incised. The Palestinian scarabs of this time are divided into early Canaanite and late Canaanite types. The earlier group has almost no sutures, and sometimes no separation between elytron, head, and clypeus.264 The heads are predominantly trapezoidal, and occasionally open towards the clypeus. If they are separated, bottom notches can occur and serrations; the eyes are often not marked. A few examples of more elaborately designed scarabs have semi-circular or elliptical heads.265 The backs have either no suture but short side notches, and in cases with suture, double lines are common. A variety of different back designs occur, such as lotus flowers, spirals, and branches in different combinations,266 as well as criss-cross patterns.267 The sides differ from the Egyptian examples. The extremities are marked as double lines, but hatch lines could imply tibial teeth and pilosity on the legs. The range of the back and head types of the latter group is more limited.268 Back types without sutures and a separation line between the pronotom and elytron, with the only decorative element being branches, are common. The heads are predominantly trapezoidal, occasionally semi-elliptical. The sides show double lines, or vaguely implied extremities, as well as hatch lines for tibial teeth and pilosity. A special situation arose in Tell el Dab’a. Beside Egyptian scarabs, Palestinian scarabs were found, which also inspired local productions in the Fifteenth Dynasty.269 New Kingdom scarabs show the largest variety of body forms and sub-types. Early Eighteenth-Dynasty scarabs are small (c.1.2 cm–1.7 cm) and have a round-oval base, while later examples from the mid-Eighteenth Dynasty to the Ramesside period are larger (c.1.5–3.7 cm), and possess an oval or long-oval base. The heads of Eighteenth-Dynasty ­scarabs are usually semi-circular, semi-elliptical, or quarter ovoid, and often trapezoidal and triangular in the Ramesside period. Single or double lines separate the eyes from the head. The clypeus of early Eighteenth-Dynasty examples usually show no inner structures, but later examples often display one or two base notches or serrations. However, both types of markings can co-exist.270 The back has either a single or a double partition line, and occasionally a two-parted, slightly V-shaped, curved variation, as well as single, double, or triple sutures. Examples without structural lines also appear from the Ramesside period. The most characteristic elements of scarabs from the New Kingdom to the Late Period are V-shaped shoulder marks; they first occurred in the Second Intermediate Period,271 and became a standard element during the Eighteenth Dynasty. From the Ramesside period they occasionally have an oval shape. Only a very few examples of scarab amulets display hatching on the wing cases,272 but this design element became common on heart starting in 264  See, e.g., Ben-Tor 2007: pl 64 nos 4, 18. 265  See, e.g., ibid: pls 71–2. 266  See, e.g., ibid: pl 70 nos 1–10. 267  See, e.g., ibid: pl 70 nos 11–14. 268  See ibid: pls 106–7: Schulz and Seidel 2007: 175–6 no 139, pl 21 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.366). 269  Mlinar 2004: 107–40. 270  E.g. the scarabs discovered in the foundation deposit of the Hatshepsut temple at Deir el Bahari, see Roehrig 2006: 142. 271  For examples see Keel 1995: 50. 272 The possibly first examples comes from the Twelfth-Dynasty scarabs of Sathathoriunet and Mereret see Seipel 2002: 51 no 36, and 62 no 54 (Cairo, EM CG 52975 and 52,240); another example of the early Eighteenth Dynasty belonged to queen Ahhotep, see Aldred 1971: 74, Figure 56 (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, CG 52670).

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Seals and scarabs   391 the New Kingdom, and on winged and naturalistic scarabs beginning in the Late Period. Another heart scarab specific design of the New Kingdom are rows of dots on the pronotum, which may represent the sun rays.273 From the New Kingdom onwards, scarabs occasionally display additional designs or inscriptions on the back, particularly heart scarabs.274 The sides of New Kingdom scarabs usually display the front-, mid-, and hindlegs, which often show tibial teeth and pilosity incised on the topside of the legs. In some examples of the Nineteenth Dynasty, the pilosity can encircle the whole body. In the Eighteenth Dynasty, the legs are deeply carved, and are more flat in the Ramesside period. However, there are also examples from the Ramesside period that only have one or two circle lines instead of the legs. Along with single scarabs, double,275 triple276 and other multiple scarabs277 occur in the New Kingdom, and in addition, the combination of a small scarab on top of the back of a large one with extensive hatch line pattern on the legs.278 Third Intermediate and Late Period scarabs show evidence of the continuation of the New Kingdom traditions, but few studies have focused so far on this period.279 Special features are ram-headed scarabs in the Twenty-fifth Dynasty,280 and falcon-headed naturalistic scarabs in the Twenty-sixth Dynasty.281 In addition, the producers of naturalistic scarabs sometimes replaced partitions, divisions, and borderlines of pearl-shaped protrusions.282 In the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, gems progressively replaced scarabs, and the few existing examples are similar to the standard types of the earlier periods.283

Bottom design of scarabs Several categorization systems for the bottom design of scarabs have been developed over time. Flinders Petrie, for example, divided the material into four classes,284 Erik Hornung and Elisabeth Staehelin into eleven written, figurative, and ornamental categories,285 and 273  See, e.g., Beste 1978: 1, 7–9 (Hannover, Kestner Museum, 1935). 274  For representations of deities on heart scarabs see Schulz and Seidel 2007: 149–50, no 114, pl 15 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.30), and Beste 1978: 1, 17–19 (Hannover, Kestner Museum, 1940); for inscriptions see Roehrig 2006: 214, no 136 (Leiden, ROM, AO 1a) and on the pronotum of a commemorative scarab see Blankenberg-van Delden 1969: 142–3, pl XXXI (New York, MMA 35.2.1). 275  Matouk 1976: 398 nos 1269 and 1270. 276  See, e.g., Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 227 no 185, pl 18; Matouk 1976: 398 nos 1271–2. 277  See, e.g., Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 233 no 212, pl 21, and 390 no D 9, pl 117; Matouk 1976: 398 nos 1273–8. 278  See, e.g., Hall 1913: 128 no 1301 (London, BM, EA 46840); Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 232 no 209, pl 20; 253, no 313, pl 31. 279  A project of Angelika Lohwasser and Stephan Seidlmayer on Egyptian scarabs of the 1st millennium bc started in 2008. For a summary of former results, see Keel 1995: 57–61. 280  See, e.g., Newberry 1905: 76, Figure 80; Schulz and Seidel 2007: 47–9 no 27, pl 4 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.34). 281  E.g. Boston, MFA, 02.752; Schulz and Seidel 2007: 178 no 142, pl 21 (Baltimore, WAM, 42374). 282  E.g. Ben-Tor 1993: 76–7 nos 1, 2, and 6 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.29 535, 538, and 543); Schulz and Seidel 2007: 175–6 no 139, pl 21 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.366). Hölbl 1986: I, 172–3, describes scarabs with flat bottoms and dotted sutures, which he includes in the Near Eastern types, and Keel 1995: 59 dates them to the Persian period. 283  See, e.g., Égypte Romaine 1997: 246–7, no 281 (private collection). 284 Petrie 1925. 285  Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 5.

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392   Regine Schulz Fouad Matouk into twenty-one representation-groups.286 Olga Tufnell287 developed an enhanced system of twelve classes on the basis of William Ward’s studies.288 It consists of ten classes for figurative, hieroglyphic, and ornamental elements, one for royal and private names, and one for scarabs without design; it has forty-two sub-categories, and further subdivisions. This system was critical discussed, revised, and enlarged by Othmar Keel.289 Daphna Ben-Tor focuses her typology on the dominant motifs of the Second Intermediate Period and refers to Tufnell’s system.290 Other publications avoid motif-typologies, and concentrate on general themes,291 consider semiotic, anthropological, and psychological factors,292 or present excavated material with place and strata specific typologies, and discuss chronological and historical implications,293 as well as international relations.294 The earliest decorated scarabs of the late First Intermediate Period display attributes simi­lar to non-scarab stamp seals, such as geometrical and floral elements, as well as figurative icons (such as scarab, serpent), and from the early Middle Kingdom also combinations of hieroglyphs.295 However, these scarabs were unique objects, and the mass production of scarabs did not begin until the late 12th and the 13th Dynasties.296 During that period, a large variety of geometrical (scrolls, spirals, coils, and loops)297 and floral patterns (lotuses, papyri)298 developed, which are displayed together with script sign arrangements on ­scarabs. These signs refer to the titles and responsibilities of the king and express kingship: the royal plant (swt), the gold sign (nbw), the two ladies (nbty), the red crown (dšrt), the bee (bỉt), cartouches, leadership (ḥ ꜣty), unification (smꜣtꜣwy),299 cobras, and the pharaoh controlling the Sethianic elements300 by hunting hippopotami301 or brandishing a mace. They also probably convey divine aid and protection by icons: for example, Ptah, Taweret, Aha-Bes and other variations of lion deities, Hapy, the Hathor-symbol, or pairs of udjat-eyes.302 In addition, they express general wishes: for example, life (ꜥnḫ), protection (sꜣ), stability (d ˍ d), perfection and happiness (nfr), satisfaction (ḥ tp), renewal (wꜣd ˍ or ẖrd), unification (smꜣ), and life force (kꜣ).303 At the same time, the production of scarabs inscribed with royal names, as well as those of governmental departments, or individual persons began, all of which were used as sigillary items and pseudo-seals. The first contemporaneously produced scarabs with royal names are from the reigns of Senusret III and Amenemhat III, and were excavated at Dahshur and Lahun, and the few earlier examples with the names of Senusret I,304 Amenemhat II, and Senusret II, may have been commissioned posthumously.305 They are small, and display only the royal throne name without any additional décor.

286  Matouk 1977: 5. 287  Tufnell 1984: 7–31. 288  Ward 1978: 23–5. 289  Keel 1995: 158–62. 290  Ben-Tor 2007: 10–35. 291  See, e.g., Sarr 2001; Schulz/Seidel 2007. 292  See, e.g., Cooney and Tyrell 2005: 1–12. 293  See, e.g., Teeter and Wilfong 2003; Smith 2004: 203–19; Mlinar 2004: 107–40. 294  See, e.g., Richards 2001; Ben-Tor 2003: 239–48. 295  See, e.g., Bagh 2004: 16–21. Excavated examples and impressions, which may date in this period come, for example, from Kahun, Haraga, Kubaniya South, Qau el-Kebir, and Hammamiya. 296  Excavated material comes, for example, from Lisht, Kahun, Haraga, Abydos south, Nubt, Elephantine, Mirgissa, Uronarti. 297  See, e.g., Ben-Tor 2007: pls 2–5, 13–15. 298  See, e.g., ibid: pl 1. 299  See, e.g., ibid: pls 5–12. 300  See, e.g., ibid: pl 20. 301  See Keel 1993: 63–8. 302  See, e.g., Ben-Tor 2007: pl 19. 303  See, e.g., ibid: p. 7. 304  Boston, MFA 1974.570. 305  For discussion on the royal-name scarabs of the Twelfth Dynasty see Ben-Tor 2007: 36–8.

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Seals and scarabs   393 Thirteenth-Dynasty royal scarabs, including those produced posthumously for TwelfthDynasty kings,306 are often in the shape of cartouches and have two column arrangements for the inclusion of titles and epithets.307 In addition, pseudo-royal names were invented, which consist of combinations of hieroglyphs in a cartouche or oval shaped frame.308 Private seals with names and titles of individuals and administrative seals with the name of the institution are usually arranged in column writing. They are framed by single, double, or triple borderlines,309 or by single or double rope borders.310 They are often enclosed or flanked by spiral scrolls or a loop pattern,311 and are sometimes accompanied by a representation of the standing seal owner.312 Occasionally, combinations of hieroglyphs encircle or flank the inscription, or are accompanied by representations of the male or female owner of the seal.313 Middle Kingdom scarabs were not only distributed in Egypt and Nubia, but also exported to the Palestinian regions, where they inspired local productions. The early Canaanite ­scarabs series (of the MBIIB period)314 were strongly influenced by Egyptian prototypes, but also show some Levantine inspirations.315 However, they developed their own characteristics and favoured certain elements, such as the three-stem papyrus, branches, pseudoinscriptions (including an omega-shaped symbol),316 griffins, and the kneeling human figure with branch in the hand, as well as the Horus falcon with an angle behind him.317 A special series of scarabs was developed in the late Middle Kingdom in the Eastern Delta of Egypt in Tell el-Dab’a. Early Canaanite types influenced this series, which displays, for example, similar branches and pseudo-inscriptions, as well as Canaanite modifications of Egyptian icons, such as the Hathor-symbol with vegetal extensions instead of cow horns on the head.318 The later Canaanite scarab series319 were produced contemporaneously to the 15th (Hyksos)–18th Dynasties in Egypt, and were rooted in Egyptian and Palestinian traditions. Good examples of Canaanite scarabs with Levantine backgrounds are the standing nude goddess,320 and the men in long coats with thickened seams.321 Especially popular are ­­falcon- or crocodile-headed deities, human- or falcon-headed sphinxes, falcons and lions, as well as groups of two human or divine figures.322 The simplified forms of human, divine, and animal figures (such as ibexes, lions, falcons, cobras, crocodiles and human- or falconheaded sphinxes),323 as well as the partial decoration with hatching, cross-hatching, or a series of short markings are characteristic of these scarabs.

306  For the dating of two scarabs with the name of Amenemhat II from the jewellery of queen Weret II at Dahshur, see Ben-Tor 2004: 17–33, and for other examples Ben-Tor 2007: 37–38, pl 20. 307  Tufnell 1984: 159–61; Ryholt 1997: 34–7; Ben-Tor: 38–61, pls 21–2. 308  Ben-Tor 2007: pl 12. 309  Martin 1971: pl 49 type 5. 310  See ibid: pl 49 type 4. 311  ibid: pls 48 and 49. 312  Ben-Tor 2007: pls 19–20. 313  Martin 1971: pl 50. 314  Excavated material comes, for example, from Ginnosder, Megiddo, Tell el-Far’ah north, Aphek, Tel Aviv Harbor, Roshon Leziyyon, Jericho, Beth Shemesh, Tell el-’Ajjul. 315  Keel 2004: 73–101; Ben-Tor 2007: 152–3. 316  Keel 2004: 79–81; Ben-Tor 2007: 133–4. 317  See Ben-Tor 2007: 76–7. 318  Types II and III of Mlinar 2004: 113–22; Ben-Tor 2007: 150. 319  Excavated examples come, for example, from Megiddo, Jericho, Gezer, Lachish, Tell el-’Ajjul, and Tell el-Far’ah South. 320  Keel 1995: 210–12; Keel et al 1989: 90–138. 321  Keel 1995: 207. 322  ibid: 218–26. 323  Ben-Tor 2007: pls 101–2.

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394   Regine Schulz

Figure 18.7  Bottom designs of the Second Intermediate Period: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.14; 42.17; 42.12; 42.19; 42.16. Images: The Walters Art Museum.

Second Intermediate Period scarabs (see Figure 18.7) excavated in Egypt324 and Nubia325 continued to display floral and geometrical patterns, traditional royal and divine icons, and combinations of hieroglyphs. However, many also show Canaanite influences, and it is possible that they were produced in the Eastern Delta, particularly in Tell el-Dab’a, and distributed together with Canaanite imports into the southern regions of Egypt and Nubia. Such influences may include the rdi-rꜥ formulae (so-called ꜥnrꜥ),326 or the preference for the partition of the scarab’s bottom layout into three horizontal panels.327 Scarabs with the names of the Hyksos rulers and names of foreign individuals were probably all produced in the workshops of Tell el-Dab’a by non-Egyptian artisans, and present a large variety of different layouts.328 Private seals are rare in that period, and the few preserved examples belong to individuals of the royal family or high officials. At the end of the Second Intermediate Period, scarab production resumed in many parts of Egypt, particularly in Thebes. Some of the pictorial elements that had been developed in the late Middle Kingdom and the Second Intermediate Period remained present into the early Thutmoside period, while others never became part of the repertoire of the new workshops, including pseudo-inscriptions, the icon of the nude goddess, or of kneeling falcon headed deities. In the Eighteenth Dynasty, palmettos and multi-iconic rosettes consisting of  vegetal elements, spirals, and/or serpents (uraei-knots) were invented,329 and certain trad­ition­al icons were modified, such as the winged scarab beetle.330 Along with combinations of meaningful signs, formulas and wishes became common, and were particularly popular in the Ramesside period. The Egyptians requested to have children, and to receive long life, protection, happiness, as well as divine guidance and aid. They also express love to gods, 324  Excavated examples come, for example, from Tell el-Dab’a, Tell el-Maskhuta, Tell el-Yehudiya, Memphis, Lisht, Sedment, Matmar, Mostagedda, Qau-Badari, Abydos south, Diospolis Parva, Esna, and Elephantine. 325  From Aniba, Buhen, Mirgissa, Semna, several Middle Nubian sites, Ukma West, Saï Island, and Kerma. 326  Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 51–2, Richards 2001; Görg 2001: 22–5; Ben-Tor 2007: 83–4 (with further references). 327  Ben-Tor 2007: 86–7. 328  Ben-Tor 2007: 105, pls 43–8. 329  E.g. Newberry 1905: pl XXVIII, 22. 330  See Roehrig 2005: 44 no 21 (New York, MMA 26.7.575).

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Seals and scarabs   395 fearlessness because of the presence of a god, and include a variety of different mottos, as well as ‘Happy New Year’ blessings.331 Another innovation of the early New Kingdom is the cryptographic writings of names332 and formulae on scarabs, particularly of the name of the god Amun. However, the identification, reading, and interpretation of these names and short texts are not always definite and are therefore controversially discussed.333 Scarabs with the names of individuals are less common in the New Kingdom than in the late Middle Kingdom, and only some examples of very high officials are known.334 Representations and  names of deities became common in the New Kingdom, and the most popular was Amun-Ra.335 Furthermore, many other gods occur alone or together with the name or representation of the king. Most common are creator and imperial gods (such as Ra-Harakhty and Ptah336), protective deities (such as Onuris, Reshef and Seth), gods to appease (eg Khonsu), goddesses (eg Hathor and Sekhmet), as well as deities with magical capacities (eg Bes337).338 Some of these gods are also represented by their animal manifestations, such as an ibis or baboon for Thoth, and a ram for Amun. In the Ramesside period, the Egyptians favoured divine triads,339 as well as groups including the king, especially those where he is depicted together with Amun and Ra-Harakhty. However, the main focus of these New Kingdom scarabs was the king. Those with royal names and titles are most frequent and widespread, and were distributed even to foreign countries. Scarabs of some popular rulers, such as Amenemhat I (and his mother Ahmose-Nefertari), and Thutmose III, were produced both contemporaneously and posthumously until the Late Period. The popularity of scarabs with the throne name of Thutmose III is conspicuous, and the possibility has been suggested that the writing of the king’s throne name Mn-ḫpr-Rꜥ might be a tripartite cryptogram of Amun.340 Formulas that expressed the relationship of the king to gods began to appear during the reigns of Hatshepsut and Thutmose III, and became especially popular during the time of Amenhotep III.341 Many scarabs were produced for this king; they may display his throne and his personal names, as well as the name of his wife, Tiye. Under the reign of Amenhotep IV/Akhenaten, official scarab production declined,342 and eventually stopped entirely. The production and distribution of royal scarabs started again under Tutankhamun and Horemheb, and reached its largest output under Rameses II. Later Ramesside kings also commissioned and distributed scarabs, but in lesser quantities. The New Kingdom ­rulers are not only represented on scarabs by their names, but also by a

331  See Drioton 1957; Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 181–2 (with references); Keel 1995: 177–80 (with references); for the more actual discussion on cryptography in general see, e.g., Darnell 2004. 332  One of the earliest example may be the writing of the name of Amenhotep I, see Schulz/Seidel 2007: 18 no 5, pl 1 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.74). 333  See Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 173–89. 334  Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 88. 335  One of the first representations dates to the reign of Amenhotep II, see Matouk 1971: 213 no 478; see also Ben-Tor 1993: 73 nos 4 and 5 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.31.3666 and 3239). 336  See, e.g., Teeter and Wilfong 2003: 69–71 nos 95–98, pl 30. 337  For an overview, see Jaeger 1982: 216–33. 338  Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 90–110. 339  See, e.g., Ben-Tor 1993: 75–6 nos 26–30. 340  See Jaeger 1982: 62–63; 66–7; Roulin 1999: 77–99 (with references). 341  Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 54–73. 342  Several scarabs with his name dating in the early period of his reign exist, eg London, UC 28929; and scarabs without official inscriptions were even discovered in Amarna, see Samson 1972: 84, pl 48.

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396   Regine Schulz

Figure 18.8  Figurative bottom design with royal representations: Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.376; 42.31; 42.381; 42.76; 57.1530. Images: The Walters Art Museum.

series of motifs with numerous modifications. From the reigns of Thutmose III to Amenhotep III, the number of figurative representations of the king on scarabs increased, and did so again in the Nineteenth Dynasty, particularly under Rameses II (see Figure 18.8). The depictions display the king standing,343 kneeling,344 seated on a throne,345 carried in a litter,346 in a bark,347 or in his chariot.348 He is represented as a ritualist (worshipping,349 offering,350 presenting Maat351), as a fighter (trampling,352 knocking353 down, controlling354 the enemies), or as a hunter of wild animals with a bow,355 or as a charioteer.356 In addition, the king appears in animal manifestations (e.g. as a bull,357 lion358 or horse359), accompanied by a lion,360 or as a sphinx,361 and is depicted either in a resting posture or while throwing

343  See Jaeger 1982: 90 (1.b), 166 (k); e.g. Newberry 1905: pl XXIX.39. 344  See Jaeger 1982: 90 (1.a); e.g. for Thutmose III, Newberry 1908: pl XXIX.37; Ben-Tor 1993: 48 no 8 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.31.1984). 345  See Jaeger 1982: 90 (1.c), e.g. for Amenhotop III, Schulz and Seidel 2007: 51–2 no 31, pl 4 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.376); for Rameses II, Ben-Tor 1993: 48 no 4 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 74.31.1972). 346  E.g. Cambridge, Fitzwilliams Museum, E.66.1920; London, BM, EA 41933, and 28,078; see also Matouk 1973: 186 no 428 (Amenhotep III), and 194 no 623–4 (Rameses II). 347  See Jaeger 1982: 168 (7.o); eg Conney and Tyrell 2005: cat no 3 (Los Angeles, LACMA 50.4.5.5). 348  See Jaeger  1982: 92 (4.d), 199–200; eg for Rameses II, Ben-Tor 1993: 48 no 1 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.31.4174). 349  See, e.g., Hall 1913: 219 nos 2194–6 (London, BM, EA 37808, 38,592, 29,995). 350  See, e.g., Hall 1913: 220 no 2202 (London, BM, EA 32339), 221 no 2207 (London, BM, EA 2105). 351  e.g. for Rameses II, see Schulz and Seidel 2007: 53–4 no 32, pl 5 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.31). 352  See Jaeger 1982: 167 (7.m). 353 See ibid: 167 (7.n), 198 (13.b­–c); eg for Rameses II, Schulz and Seidel  2007: 56–7 no 34, pl 5 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.381). 354  See, e.g., Hall 1913: 187 no 1867 (London, BM, EA 16916). 355  Shaheen 1992: 19–20, Figures 1–3. 356  ibid: 26, Figures 4–5. 357  See, e.g., Newberry 1905: pl XXVIII.34; Schulz and Seidel 2007: 58–9 no 35, pl 5 (Baltimore, WAM, 42.76); Ben-Tor 1993: 48 no 3 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.31.2068). 358  See, e.g., Newberry 1905: pl XXVIII.8. 359  See, e.g., Ben-Tor 1993: 48 no 5 (Jerusalem, IMJ, 76.31.2147). 360  See, e.g., Petrie 1917b: pl XL, 24; see also Jaeger 1982: 198 (13.b). 361  See, e.g., Newberry 1905: pl XXVIII.12, 15, 26; Schulz and Seidel 2007: 61­–3 nos 37–8, pl 5 (Baltimore, WAM, 42.1263 and 42.77).

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Seals and scarabs   397 down the enemies. Even representations of captive enemies alone stand for the victory of the pharaoh.362 The scarab production of the Third Intermediate Period continued in the tradition of the late New Kingdom. Bottom designs with divine names and icons, as well as mottos and wishes are common. The names, and occasionally figures, of Amun-Ra, Ra-Harakhty, and Ptah are still popular, and other gods also occur, such as Thoth363 or Hapy,364 as well as divine icons, such as falcons or cobras. However, it is often difficult to decide if a scarab dates to the late Ramesside or the Third Intermediate Period. Scarabs with royal names365 (usually the personal name,366 but also personal and throne name combinations,367 particularly in the Twenty-second Dynasty) are common, and sometimes combined with the name of the Eighteenth-Dynasty ruler Thutmose III.368 Figurative representations of the human form of the king on scarabs from the Twenty-first and Twenty-second Dynasties are rare,369 and only for Bakenrenef/Bocchoris (c.727–715 bc) in the Twenty-fourth Dynasty do several examples exist.370 In the Twenty-fifth Dynasty, the king is represented as a sphinx again,371 but is also integrated into ritual scenes, such as in front of the ram’s head of Amun,372 or in front of a goddess.373 The Kushite rulers commissioned and distributed not only ­scarabs with their own names, but also scarabs with the names of Old Kingdom rulers. It may be possible that they wanted to express their direct relationship with these ‘ancient’ kings, and activate their support for the Kushite kingship, particularly for their control over Lower Egypt, where the pyramids of the Old Kingdom kings were located. The names of these Old Kingdom rulers were written without cartouches or titles, and sometimes the names of Kushite rulers, such as Taharqo, also lacked these elements. Scarabs were also commissioned for the divine consorts of Amun, as well as royal patrons.374 Besides standard writings and motifs, there are also some extraordinary scenes that may have been produced for special events: such as two worshippers in front of a phallus on a base,375 two royal worshippers together with Ptah-Sokar-Osiris and Taweret celebrating and protecting Kushite kingship,376 and two kings with upper and lower Egyptian crowns under the solar boat flanking the cartouche of Thutmose III.377 In the Twenty-sixth Dynasty, the focus on New Kingdom traditions is still evident. The personal and throne names of kings, written with or without cartouches,378 as well as the 362  See, e.g., Schulz and Seidel 2007: 70–1 no 44, pl 6 (Baltimore, Walters Art Museum, 42.10). 363  E.g. London, BM, EA 32343 (on which the king is offering to the Abydos fetish and Thoth). 364  See, e.g., Matouk 197 no757 (two figures of the god Hapy flank the cartouche of Shoshenq I). 365  See Matouk 1973: 197–8. 366  E.g. in the case of a scarab of Siamun, Portland Art Museum, 29.16.40b, see Sarr 2004: 25; or of Sheshonq III, Boston, MFA 1972.1077. 367  E.g. a scarab of Sheshonq I, see Hall 1913: 241 no 2404 (London, BM, EA 17167). 368  See Jaeger 1982: 240–6. 369  See, e.g., Matouk 1973: 197 no 258 (Shoshenq I), 198 no 776 (Shoshenq V). 370  See Matouk 1973: nos 793 and 796; Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 283 no 459, pl 49. 371  E.g. London, BM, EA 66166 (Taharqo); Matouk 1973: 199 nos 804 and 812 (Shabaqo). 372  London, BM, EA 59267. 373  See Hall 1913: 250 no 2496 (London, BM, EA 32310). 374  E.g. London, BM, EA 40834, and 20,855. 375  London, BM, EA 58162 (scarab excavated in Sanam). 376  See Schulz/Seidel 2007: 71–3 no 45, pl 6 (Baltimore, WAM 42.29). 377  Manchester, the University of Manchester, the Manchester Museum, 6477. 378  See, e.g., Matouk 1973: 200–1 nos 834–71; Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 285–6 nos 466–72, pls 50–1.

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398   Regine Schulz Horus name occur occasionally.379 Figurative representations depict the king in human form,380 as a sphinx,381 a griffin,382 or a falcon;383 in addition, representations of horses384 may have functioned as royal symbols. No scarabs with royal names were produced in the Twenty-seventh Dynasty (the first period of Persian occupation), and only a few disputed examples from the 28th until the 30th Dynasties exist. Scarabs of the Late Period with private names are extremely rare, and these few examples belonged to the high elite.385 Combinations of hieroglyphic signs—of which some may be interpreted as cryptograms, mottos and good wishes386—are still in use, as well as names and icons of deities. However, after the Twenty-sixth Dynasty, scarab production declined dramatically, and only scarabs for funerary purposes, such as heart scarabs, winged scarabs, and scarab pectorals con­ tinued to exist.

Use of scarabs Finally, the following questions have to be raised. Why did the Egyptians choose the scarab as the most popular form for true seals, and for pseudo- and amulet seals in the Middle Kingdom, and not a more powerful icon such as lion or falcon? Why were its sealing functions abandoned in the New Kingdom, and its pseudo-seal functions abandoned after the Twenty-sixth Dynasty? The choice of the scarab form may be explained by its special renewal connotations, which connects the different spheres of the creation. The icon conveys divinity and was therefore appropriate for royal use, but it has no exclusive focus on kingship, and was therefore also suitable for administrative and private use according to Middle Kingdom conceptions. The popularity of the scarab increased further in the New Kingdom, and scarabs were, for instance, used in their hundreds as part of the foundation deposit of the royal temple of Hatshepsut in Deir el-Bahari. However, the widespread popularity and the multi-functional applications of the form also created problems with the clear articulation of official sigillary items. As a result, the Egyptian administrators replaced the scarab shape of their seals by more neutral forms, such as plaques, and signet rings. The extensive use of scarab in funerary contexts, particularly in the first millennium bc, may have led to further limitations in use, as daily life amulets and pseudo-seals, beginning, at the latest, in the fourth century bc. This shift may have also caused a last modification in the scarab’s connotation towards an Osirian symbol.387 The popularity of scarab amulets also outside Egypt, in societies and cultures with different religions is amazing. Scarabs were not only exported from Egypt to the Mediterranean and the Western Asian world, but also locally produced in these countries. Starting from the

379  See Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 75. 380  See, e.g., Hall 1913: 4 no 36 (London, BM, EA 49875); Matouk 1973: 200 nos 846 and 855. 381  See, e.g., Hall 1913: 4 no 35 (London, BM, EA 29238). 382  See, e.g., Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 200 no 47, pl 1, 285 no 468, pl 50. 383  See, e.g., Hall 1913: 5 no 40 (London, BM, EA 48151). 384  E.g. London, BM, EA 39315, and 39,639. 385  E.g. the scarab of the vizier and high priest Harsiese, see Newberry 1905: pl XXXVIII; and of the Libyan prince Pimai II, see Hornung and Staehelin 1976: 302–3 nos 560–2, pl 63. 386  E.g. London, Petrie Museum, UC 58349–58351. 387 Stadler 2001.

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Seals and scarabs   399 second millennium bc, scarabs occur in the Palestinian388 and Western Asian389 regions, as well as on the island of Crete.390 Phoenician and Punic scarabs became common from the eighth century bc onwards,391 and were mainly discovered in tombs. On the bottomsurfaces of these scarabs, Egyptian motifs, particularly representations of the main deities, were favoured, as were inscriptions with names of gods, royal cartouches, and personal names.392 Greek and Etruscan393 scarabs date from the sixth century bc, and most were found in temple contexts. They display Egyptianizing and Eastern Mediterranean motifs, such as lions, falcons, griffins, sphinxes, and ibexes, as well as divine names and good luck formulas. Amuletic meaning in foreign countries was not the same as in Egypt, and the idea of the renewal of the sun god was not relevant to other religious systems. Nevertheless, they trusted in the magical efficacy of the scarab amulet, as well as in the potency of some of the Egyptian inscriptions and motifs on its bottom. However, they modified the decoration to serve their own needs, and to have them function as protective amulets or charms.

Suggested reading Good introductions and overviews on Egyptian seals, on their shapes and functions are provided by the following: Hornung and Staehelin 1976; Boochs 1982; Martin 1985; Keel 1990; Stoof 1992; 2017; James 1993; and Sparavigna 2009. For amulet seals, see Andrew 1994 or Györy 2001. For cylinder seals, see Fischer 1972; Boehmer 1974; Kaplony 1977; 1981; 1984 and for those of the Predynastic and Early Dynastic periods in particular, see Ben-Tor  1989; Kaplony 1992 and Pätznick 2005. The publications of Petrie 1925; Ward 1970; Stoof 1992; and Wiese 1996 deal with stamp and button seals. For information on the materials and m ­ ethods of manufacture see Hornung and Staehelin  1976; Ward 1978; Tufnell  1984; Boochs  1982; Stoof 1992; Gwinnett and Gorelick 1993; Wiese 1995; and Keel 1995. There are many publications of scarabs, but good overviews are provided by Newberry 1907;  1908; Hall  1913; Hornung and Staehelin  1976; Matouk  1971;  1976; Ward and Tufnell  1984; Ben-Tor  1989;  2007; Regner  1995; Sarr  2001; Bietak  2004; Schulz and Seidel 2007 and Wilkinson 2007. For special focus on cowroids, see Stoof 2016. For special functions, such as the commemorative scarabs, see Blankenberg-van Delden  1969; Gundlach  2002 and Baines  2003; for heart scarabs see Malaise 1975; Beste  1978/1979; Roehrig 2006; Schulz/Seidel 2007; and Sousa 2011; and for winged scarabs see Schulz and Seidel 2007. For the roles played by scarabs in understanding the relations of Egypt with the Near East, see Moorey 1987; Keel 1995; 1997; 2004; Nunn 2004; Ben-Tor 2003; 2011; and for those relating to northern Mediterranean regions, see Zazoff 1968; Hölbl 1986; Phillips 2004; Ben-Tor 2006.

388  Ben-Tor 2007 (with further references). 389  Giveon 1985; Nunn 2004 (with further references); see also Bschloos 2012: 175–81. 390  Phillips 2006: 161–70; Ben-Tor 2006: 77–86. 391  Hölbl 1986: 164–254; Broadman 2003 (with further references). 392  Gorton 1996: 185. 393 Zazoff 1968.

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400   Regine Schulz

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Seals and scarabs   407 Schulz, R. 2002. Die Ringe des ‚Diebesbündels’ im Grab des Tut-anch-Amun. In M.  Eldamaty and M. Trad (eds), Egyptian Museum Collections around the World 2. Cairo: Supreme Council of Antiquities, 1065–77. Schulz, R. 2004. Löwe und Esel—Eine ungewöhnliche Bildkomposition. In A. Nunn and R. Schulz (eds), Skarabäen außerhalb Ägyptens: Lokale Produktion oder Import? Worksshop an der LudwigMaximilians-Universität München, November 1999. BAR International Series 1205, Oxford: ­Archaeopress, 55–61. Schulz, R. and Seidel, M. 2005. Die Fingerringe des Tut-anch-Amun. In K.  Daoud, B.  Shafia, and A.E.  Sawsan (eds), Studies in Honor of Ali Radwan 2. Supplément aux Annales du Service des ­Antiquités de l’Égypte 34. Cairo: SAE, 310–27. Schulz, R. 2006. Ein neuer Prinz Schoschenq? In E.  Czerny (ed), Timelines: Studies in honour of ­Manfred Bietak, Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 149. Leuven: Peeters, 307–8. Schulz, R. and Seidel, M. 2007. Khepereru—Scarabs: Scarabs, Scaraboids and Plaques from Egypt and the Ancient Near East in the Walters Art Museum. Baltimore: Halgo Inc. Schulz, R. and Seidel, M. 2009. Egyptian Art: The Walters Art Museum. London: Giles. Schulz, R. and Seidel, M. 2010. The Walters Art Museum Scarabs Collection. Available at: http://­scarabs. thewalters.org/src_pages/004_7_contact.aspx. Seidlmayer, S.J. 1990. Gräberfelder aus dem Übergang vom Alten zum Mittleren Reich. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte der Ersten Zwischenzeit 1. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Seipel, W. 1989. Ägypten: Götter, Gräber und die Kunst – 4000 Jahre Jenseitsglaube (special exhibition Linz, Oberösterreichisches Landesmuseum/Schloßmuseum). Linz: Oberösterreichisches Landesmuseums. Seipel, W. 2001. Gold der Pharaonen (special exhibition Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna). Vienna: Skira. Shaheen, A.E.M. 1992. Royal Hunting Scenes on Scarabs, Varia Aegyptiaca 8: 7–28, 33–47. Smith, S.T. 2002. Sealing Practice, Literacy, and Administration in the Middle Kingdom, Cahiers de recherches de l’Institut de Papyrologie et d’Égyptologie de Lille 22: 173–94. Sousa, R. 2011. The Heart of Wisdom: Studies on the Heart Amulet in Ancient Egypt. British Archaeological Reports International Series 2211. Oxford: Archaeopress. Sparavigna, A. 2008. Symmetries in Images on Ancient Seals. Turin: Lulu.com. Sparavigna, A. 2009. Ancient Egyptian Seals and Scarabs. Turin: Lulu.com. Spencer, A.J. 1980. Early Dynastic Objects V. London: British Museum Press. Stadler, M.A. 2001. Der Skarabäus also osirianisches Symbol vornehmlich nach spätzeitlichen Quellen, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 128: 71–83. Stern, E.M. and Schlick-Nolte, B. 1994. Early Glass of the Ancient World 1600 bc–a.d. 50. Ernesto Wolf Collection. Ostfildern: Gerd Hatje. Stocks, D.A. 1989. Ancient Factory Mass-Production Techniques: Indication of Large-Scale Stone Bead Manufacture During the Egyptian New Kingdom Period, Antiquity 63: 526–31. Stoof, M. 1992. Ägyptische Siegelamulette in menschlicher und tierischer Gestalt: eine archäologische und motivgeschichtliche Studie. European University Studies Series 38, Archaeologie 41, Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Stoof, M. 1996. Siegelamulette in den Gräbern von Mostaggeda (Mittelägypten). Halleische Beiträge zur Orientwissenschaft 21. Halle. Stoof, M. 1999a. Siegelamulette in den Gräbern von Matmar (Mittelägypten), Halleische Beiträge zur Orientwissenschaft 28: 7–45. Stoof, M. 1999b. Hathorkopf-Stempelsiegelamulette, Halleische Beiträge zur Orientwissenschaft 28: 46–55. Stoof, M. 2016. Kauroide und kauroidähnliche Siegelamulette im alten Ägypten, Schriften zur ­Ägyptologie 1. Hamburg: Kovac. Stoof, M. 2017. Pferd, Nilpferd und Thoeris: Motive aud Siegelamuletten im Alten Ägypten. Schriften zur Ägyptologie 4. Hamburg: Kovac. Tanis 1987. Tanis: L’or des pharaons (special exhibition Paris, Galeries National du Grand Palais). Paris: Association française d’art artistique.

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408   Regine Schulz Tassie, G.J. 2003. Identifying the Practice of Tattooing in ancient Egypt and Nubia, Papers from the Institute of Archaeology 14: 85–101. Taylor, G. and Scarisbrick, D. 1978. Finger Rings from Ancient Egypt to the Present Day (special ­ex­hib­ition Oxford, Ashmolean Museum). Oxford: Ashmolean Museum. Teeter, E. and Wilfong, T.G. 2003. Scarabs, Scaraboids, Seals, and Seal Impressions from Medinet Habu. Oriental Institute Publications 118. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Vandrope, K. 2014. Seals and Stamps as Identifiers in Daily Life in Greco-Roman Egypt. In M. Depauw and S. Coussement (eds), Identifiers and Identification Methods in the Ancient World. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 229. Leuven: Peeters, 141–51. Walker, S. and Higgins, P. (eds). 2001. Cleopatra of Egypt: from History to Myth (special exhibition London, British Museum). London: British Museum Press. Ward, W.A. and Tufnell, O. 1984. Studies on Scarab Seals, vol II. Scarab Seals and their Contribution to History in the Early Second Millennium BC. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Ward, W.A. 1970. The Origin of Egyptian Design Amulets (‘Button Seals’), Journal of Egyptian ­Archaeology 56: 65–80. Ward, W.A., 1994. Beetles in Stone: The Egyptian Scarab, Biblical Archaeologist 57(4): 186–203. Wiese, A.B. 1990. Zum Bild des Königs auf ägyptischen Siegelamuletten. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 96. Freibourg & Göttingen: Freibourg Academic Press. Wiese, A.B. 1996. Die Anfänge der ägyptischen Stempelsiegel-Amulett: eine typologische und religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchung zu den ‘Knopfsiegeln’ und verwandten Objekten der 6. bis frühen 12. Dynastie. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 12. Freibourg & Göttingen: Freibourg Academic Press. Wilkinson, A. 1971. Ancient Egyptian Jewellery. London: Methuen. Wilkinson, R. 1994. Symbol and Magic in Egyptian Art. London: Thames and Hudson. Wilkinson, R. 2007. Egyptian Scarabs. Princes Risborough: Shire Publications. Willems, H. and Clarysse, W. 1999. Keizers aan de Nijl. Special exhibition Tongres, Musée Gallo-Romain. Leuven: Peeters. Williams, B. 1977. Aspects of Sealing and Glyptic in Egypt Before the New Kingdom. In McG. Gibson and R.D. Biggs (eds), Seals and Sealings in the Ancient Near East. Bibliotheca Mesopotamica. Malibu: Undena, 135–40. Young, W.J. 1972. The Fabulous Gold of the Pactolus Valley, Boston Museum Bulletin LXX(359): 5–13. Yoyotte, J. 1956. Plaidoyer pour l’authenticité du scarabée historique de Shabako, Biblica 37: 457–76. Zazoff, P. 1968. Etruskische Skarabäen. Mainz am Rhein: von Zabern.

Special abbreviation Wb Erman, Adolf, and Hermann Grapow, Wörterbuch der Ägyptischen Sprache, Berlin 1987–1961.

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chapter 19

M um m ies a n d ph ysica l a n thropol ogy Salima Ikram

A mummy is the artificially preserved and wrapped body of a human being or animal (Figure 19.1). Studying a mummy in context, with its wrappings, amulets, and coffin, provides a rich source of information concerning such topics as ancient Egyptian culture, technology, trade, environment, health, economy, and ethnic groups. Mummy studies can be augmented by examining skeletal remains, often a result of poor quality mummification, or none at all. Skeletal studies provide information on the sex, age, diet, and health of the deceased, and when extended to a familial or social group can be used to answer broader questions regarding health and diet as well as socio-economic and cultural issues.

Sources of information Despite the multitude of texts inscribed on tombs, temples, and papyri, the Egyptians did not leave any sort of manual for mummification or any particular explanation for the practice. Indeed, there are few representations showing any part of the mummification procedure other than the final wrapping of the body. Papyri such as the Ptolemaic Apis Embalming Ritual (c.150 bc; Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum, P. Vindob 3873 and P. Zagreb 597–2) and the Rhind Papyrus I and II (c.200 bc; Edinburgh National Museum of Scotland A 1956.313 and A 1956.314), provide some of the spells used in rituals associated with the wrapping of the dead, rather than directions for embalming. Thus, the study of mummification has had as its main sources, first the mummies themselves, secondly embalming deposits related to mummification, and thirdly, the reports of Classical authors such as Herodotus (fifth century bc), Diodorus Siculus (c.80 bc) and Porphyry (third century ad). Experimental mummification, on both humans1 and animals,2 based on the information obtained from the above-mentioned sources, adds greatly to our knowledge of mummification technology today.

1  Brier and Wade 1996: 89–100; 1999: 89–98. 2  Lucas 1962: 302–3; Sandison 1963, 1986; Garner 1979; Ikram 2005: Chapter 2.

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Figure 19.1  The mummy of a young boy, dating to the 17th Dynasty (c.1550 bc), found in a coffin and buried near the Theban tomb TT11 at Dra Abu el-Naga, on the west bank at Thebes. Photograph by author, courtesy of the Spanish Mission to Dra Abu el-Naga‘, Spanish National Research Council.

The early history of mummies Although mummies were of more interest than some other Egyptian antiquities to the Arabs, they did not generally use them to better understand the culture of ancient Egypt. Due to the misidentification of the black substance that covered Egyptian mummies as bitumen or mûm in Arabic (which was the basis for the English ‘mummy’), Arab doctors of the twelfth century ad used ground up mummy as part of their materia medica, a practice that was enthusiastically adopted by western physicians. They believed that mummy could cure paralysis, hemicrania, epilepsy, abscesses, eruptions, fractures, concussions, vertigo, spitting of blood from the lungs, haemorrhages, throat ailments, coughs, nausea, ulcers, poisons, and disorders of the liver and spleen. Thus, many medical treatises, both eastern and western, included information and advice on medical uses of mummy. Pierre Pomet, in 1694, recommended that you choose your mummy with care; it should be black without bones or dust, with a good smell—that of something burnt, not of pitch or resin. Ground-up mummies were used as medicine by commoners and kings well into the eighteenth century, if not later.3 In some areas its use persisted into the twentieth century: magical shops in the United States stocked mummy dust, and some of the inhabitants of Luxor’s West Bank were reported to use mummy powder mixed with butter for bruises, and staunching bleeding, calling it ‘mantey’. Thus, thousands of mummies were ground up and consumed as medicine. In addition to being used as medicine, mummies were also collected as they served as the basis of a particular colour of paint, known as ‘mummy brown’. Furthermore, for a brief period during the American Civil War when cotton was scarce, the paper manufacturer, 3  Ikram and Dodson 1998: 64–8.

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Mummies and physical anthropology   411 Augustus Stanwood (and later others) used mummy bandages to make brown butcher paper. At one point, cat mummies from the delta site of Bubastis were used as ballast for ships returning to Europe. In Europe they were either offloaded into the sea, or were broken up and used as fertilizer. Within Egypt mummies also suffered many ignominies. Due to the scarcity of wood they were burnt as firewood, and limbs were often used as improvised torches. Not least, mummies were sold as curiosities. There is almost no museum in Europe or the United States without a mummy or fragment thereof,4 and these specimens are now providing a basis for the scientific study of mummies.

The era of unwrapping Souvenir mummies that had been taken abroad often languished in their owners’ homes or were disposed of when the damp climates to which they had been taken caused them to smell. Some mummies were used for parlour entertainment, while a few others were the subject of scientific research; both of these activities involved unwrapping. The first mummy unwrapping occurred in 1698 under the direction of Benoit de Maillet, the consul of Louis XIV in Cairo, who reported on several mummies he saw at various sites.5 Unfortunately he only described the amulets and jewellery found on the body rather than details concerning the body or its wrappings. This was also the case with the unwrapping carried out in 1823 by Frédéric Caillaud.6 Nonetheless this information is valuable for understanding some of the religious components of mummification. Several other mummies were unwrapped in front of a large audience during ‘at homes’, such as that of Lord Londesborough in 1850, with drinks and canapés to follow (the latter being best known via the much-reproduced invitation—now in a private collection—to an unwrapping at this peer’s residence).7 Indeed, such events became a small part of the social scene of nineteenthcentury cosmopolitan Europe. This ghoulish entertainment was slightly offset by more ­scientific unwrappings, the first of which was carried out by Christopher Hertzog,8 an apothecary, who unwrapped a mummy and published some of his findings about the mode of mummification and the corpse before grinding it up and selling it. In the 1790s Johann Friedrich Blumenbach, a German doctor, spent much of his time in England unwrapping mummies and recording and publishing his discoveries.9 In addition to unwrapping mummies, the viscera, stored in canopic chests were also opened up and examined. Archbishop William Laud established the correct use of canopic chests, and an identification of their contents in the seventeenth century. The majority of scientific mummy unwrappings occurred in the nineteenth century, with a physician called Thomas Pettigrew leading the way. Pettigrew, who later earned the sobriquet ‘Mummy Pettigrew’ on the basis of his activities, was a friend of Giovanni Battista Belzoni, the Italian strong-man and explorer. Belzoni gave a collection of mummies to Pettigrew for scientific investigation. Pettigrew started his investigations privately, but soon succumbed to the public’s desire to be view his work. From 1833 onward he held public unwrappings in the lecture theatre of the Charing Cross Hospital, selling tickets to all 4  ibid: 64–9. 5  De Maillet 1735: 277–85; Ikram and Dodson 1998: 64–9. 6 Caillaud 1827. 7  Ikram and Dodson 1998: 71, Figure 64. 8 Hertzog 1718. 9  Blumenbach 1796; 1794; Ikram and Dodson 1998: 69–72.

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Figure 19.2  Dr Daniel Fouquet (1850–1914) unwrapping a mummy at the Cairo Museum in the late 19th century, while museum officials and interested members of the public watch the event.

c­ omers. On the basis of his investigations, Pettigrew published one of the earliest scholarly tomes on mummification in 1834, entitled History of Egyptian Mummies.10 He was so renowned that Alexander, the tenth Duke of Hamilton, requested that Pettigrew mummify him upon his demise, a request that was honoured—the first experimental mummification in modern times. Currently scholars are seeking permission to disinter the duke in order to study and evaluate the methods employed by Pettigrew—unfortunately if Pettigrew made any notes concerning his embalming, they are lost. Other serious scholars also participated in the more scientific unrollings of mummies. The Egyptologist John Davidson worked with Pettigrew and published his own findings in ‘Embalming and Unrolling of a Mummy’,11 while a similar (but less medically informed) study was carried out by the Egyptologist Samuel Birch.12 The British gynaecological surgeon Augustus Bozzi Granville,13 also unrolled mummies and was the first to report a cystic ovarian tumour he discovered in a mummy’s abdomen. Unwrappings also occurred in Egypt (Figure  19.2). The most famous of these were ­performed in the 1880s on the recently excavated royal mummies found in tomb 320 at Deir el-Bahari, ostensibly with some scientific intent, although the majority of spectators just wanted to view the faces of the great royal dead.14 The anatomist, Daniel Fouquet (1850–1914), a Cairo resident, officiated at many of the unwrappings and provided the medical expertise. Unfortunately, his work was later criticized as being imprecise.15 Subsequently, Grafton Elliot Smith, Professor of Anatomy at Cairo School of Medicine, examined several mummies. His publications on mummies and mummification (including the catalogue of the 10 Pettigrew 1834. 13 Granville 1825.

11  Davidson 1833 and discussed in Sluglett 1980. 12 Birch 1850. 14 Maspero 1889. 15  Dawson and Uphill 1995: 155.

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Mummies and physical anthropology   413 royal mummies in the Egyptian Museum that were first examined by Fouquet and Maspero) are the basis for our knowledge of mummies and mummification practices.16 In addition to studying mummies as a manifestation of ancient Egyptian religion and technology, the bones of both de-fleshed mummies and excavated skeletons were examined sporadically, and are now the subject of rigorous scrutiny. For the most part, these specimens were used to extract information concerning age, sex, and disease. Bones were also used to help answer questions of ethnicity. The anthropologist S.G. Morton17 subjected the skulls of the ancient Egyptians to craniometric analysis in an effort to identify their race, using a system of measurement popular with anthropologists of that time. However, for the most part, during the nineteenth century, Egyptian skeletal remains were not given the same attention as mummies. The first large-scale examination of a significant population was carried out on about 6000 bodies excavated by the Archaeological Survey of Nubia, by Grafton Elliot Smith, together with his colleagues W.R. Dawson and F. Wood-Jones.18

The birth of complex mummy studies The majority of the early mummy and skeletal studies used basic tools to extract limited information from mummies. The most simple and common method, sometimes the sole one used when in the field, is visual examination. Such examinations yield crucial information about the bandage patterns, amulets, and other objects placed on the mummy, body and arm positions, cosmetics, tattooing, and hairstyles. Although the unwrappings and resulting autopsies are destructive, they still provide invaluable detailed and useful information. Unwrapping a mummy is particularly useful in understanding the bandaging and amulet placement process as well as other issues regarding mummies, and can be very valuable if used judiciously. Several scientific autopsies were carried out on mummies during the 1970s, with multi-disciplinary teams of researchers involved in the investigations.19 False limbs made of linen and other materials that are less clearly visible on X-rays or scans can be easily identified and other tools used to understand the body and the mummification process. Diseases can also be tentatively identified with the naked eye, although such identifications are unreliable. For example, visual examination identified a possible case of poliomyelitis in the mummy of the pharaoh Siptah.20 Polio is a viral infection of the central nervous system that manifests itself in the paralysis of one or more muscle groups: Siptah has one short and withered leg. On the other hand, the same symptoms can result from certain types of cerebral palsy. Smallpox has also been suspected in the mummy of the pharaoh Rameses V, due to the pox markings visible on his face.21 Visual examination can be augmented by scientific analyses that can provide information about other aspects of mummification, such as identification of the materials used in mummification, or a study of mummified tissues. As the sciences evolved, so did mummy 16  Smith 1912; Smith and Dawson 1924. 17 Morton 1844. 18  Smith and Wood-Jones 1910. 19  Cockburn et al  1975; Hart et al  1977; David  1979; Cockburn et al  1980: 52–70; Millet et al  1980; Reyman and Peck 1980; David and Tapp 1984; Goyon and Josset 1988. 20  Smith 1912: 70–3. 21  Smith 1912: 90–2.

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414   Salima Ikram studies. The first mummy to be submitted to a professional chemical analysis (in an effort to determine the materials used in its manufacture) was the ‘Leeds Mummy’;22 although the results of this examination raised more questions than answers, it was the first such scientific investigation carried out on a mummy, setting the foundation for further studies, particularly those performed by Alfred Lucas in the early twentieth century.23 Lucas collaborated extensively with Egyptologists and physical anthropologists on identifying the different materials used in mummification. The first microscopic examination of Egyptian tissue was performed by the Viennese laryngologist, Johan Czermak.24 This sort of study increased dramatically in the twentieth century with the advent of ‘palaeopathology’, a term coined by Marc Armand Ruffer, Professor of Bacteriology in Cairo, meaning the study of ancient diseases from the tissues.25 One of this field’s major aims is to trace the origins, development, and disappearance of specific diseases and to study the effects of diseases on society.26 Ruffer used microscopic examination on many samples from mummies and managed to identify diseases as well as organs that had dried beyond recognition.27

Holistic mummy studies By the end of the nineteenth century, with the discovery of radiography by Roentgen, Egyptian mummies became candidates for such examination. The first X-ray of a mummy was made by W. Koenig,28 who published an X-ray of a cat mummy. Subsequently X-rays became a more common, non-invasive method of studying mummies, with the first royal mummy, that of Thutmosis IV being X-rayed in 1903 by Dr Khayrat.29 A large-scale study of royal mummies was carried out in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo, in the 1960s and 1970s,30 and the Cairo collection of animal mummies was radiographically examined in 2002.31 This method of non-destructive study is becoming standard, and is often used in the field (see Figure 19.3). Currently a major endeavour using CT-scans is being instituted in Egypt, with the mummies in the Egyptian Museum providing the main focus, including computed tomography (CT) scans of Tutankhamun in his tomb in the Valley of the Kings, as well as the other royal mummies.32 It is more common now to employ non-destructive technologies, such as X-ray radiography, CT scans, magnetic resonance imaging (MRI), and ultrasound imaging whenever possible, and several museums all over the world are engaging in such imaging studies of mummies in the start of the twenty-first century.33 The improvements and advances in imaging technologies and chemical analyses contributed to the holistic examination of mummies. Holistic studies of mummies, following a 22 George 1828. 23 Lucas 1910; 1931; 1932; 1962. 24 Czermak 1852. 25 Ruffer 1921. 26  Brothwell et al 1967. 27  Ruffer 1921; 1911; Moodie 1931. 28 Koenig 1896. 29  Smith 1912: iii–iv. 30  Harris and Weeks 1973; Harris and Wente 1980. 31  Ikram and Iskander 2002. Other large-scale radiographic studies include Moodie 1931; MorrisonScott 1952; Gray 1966; 1973; Dawson and Gray 1968; Gray and Slow 1968; David 1979: 13–15; Isherwood et al 1979; 1984; Cockburn and Cockburn 1980: 287–300; Bard et al 1985; Clutton-Brock 1988; Armitage and Clutton-Brock 1981; Taylor 1995; and Filer 1999. 32  Hawass 2004–5: 29–38; Hawass and Saleem 2016. 33  See Böni et al 2004 for an overview of palaeo-radiology; Taylor and Antoine 2014.

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Figure 19.3  Radiography being carried out in situ on a mummy of the mid-18th Dynasty (c.1450 bc), which had been somewhat compromised by tomb robbers in the Valley of the Kings, tomb KV31. Photograph by author, courtesy of the University of Basel King’s Valley Project.

standardized protocol, can yield a significant amount of knowledge about technology, ­disease, diet, medical science, aesthetics (cosmetics, tattooing, and hairstyles), religious beliefs and customs, diachronic change in mummification technology, specific materials used in manufacturing mummies, ateliers, trade, social and religious divisions, and the environment of ancient Egypt. Additionally, histories of particular diseases can be traced by treating the encoffined mummy as a single artefact, and studying the body, its position, cosmetic treatments, the method of evisceration, the bandages, amulets, embalming materials, coffin, and sarcophagus as a whole, and applying as much scientific technology as is possible to the study of the different elements. The trend in mummy studies is slowly moving in this direction, with many experts involved in the study of a single mummy, including Egyptologists, medical doctors, physical anthropologists, chemists, imaging specialists, textile and other materials specialists, and entomologists. Further information, particularly of a medical nature can be achieved by larger scale population studies when sizeable groups of mummies/bodies are examined in order to establish patterns of disease and diet across class at any one time, as well as studies that analyse diseases within specific families.34 Such investigations are also useful in epidemiological studies.35 In 1908 Margaret Murray and her team of experts carried out the first such holistic examination, focusing on the mummies of Nakhtankh and Khnumnakhte, from Rifeh, which 34  Hawass et al 2010.

35  Miller et al 1992; Miller et al 1994; Zink et al 2003.

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416   Salima Ikram form the core of Egyptian human remains in the Manchester collection.36 The baton was picked up by Rosalie David, who launched the Manchester Museum Mummy Project that studied all the mummies in the collection.37 This holistic trend of mummy study was ­continued in Canada at the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto, and by the University of Pennsylvania Museum,38 and by now has spread, becoming the norm rather than the exception. Of course, due to practicalities, museum collections of mummies have been subjected to more holistic studies, although now excavations are trying to carry out similar studies in the field, as far is as possible within the constraints of funding, technology, and permits available to excavators.

Current work using science and ancient remains The new technologies and advances in the sciences are responsible for several mummy studies and resulting data concerning mummification, disease, and the cultural habits of the ancient Egyptians. Each technology provides insights into different aspects of mummification and the bodies themselves.

Imaging A large-scale study of royal mummies was carried out in the Egyptian Museum in the 1960s and 1970s.39 This method of non-destructive study is becoming standard, and is often used in the field. Currently a major endeavour using CT-scans is being instituted in Egypt, with the mummies in the Egyptian Museum providing the main focus, although it also includes CT scans of Tutankhamun in his tomb in the Valley of the Kings.40 The great advantage of CT-scans is that pictures can be taken of slices through the body that can be strung together, producing a three-dimensional image of the body. In this way density differences are easily noted, so that soft organs can be viewed, something that cannot be done by simple X-rays that concentrate only on bone. Modern CT-imaging also allows for a more detailed study of bone, and has even been used to diagnose prostate cancer in a mummy.41 X-rays and CT-scans provide a variety of information: brain removal, arm position, presence of artefacts, age at death, gender, dental condition, disease, injury, the density and location of mummification deposits (resins, linen, other fillers), embalmers’ restorations, 36 Murray 1910. 37  David 1979; David and Tapp 1984. 38  David 1979; Cockburn and Cockburn 1980: 11–117. 39  Harris and Weeks 1973; Harris and Wente 1980; and for other large-scale radiographic studies see Moodie 1931; Gray 1973; 1966; Dawson and Gray 1968; Gray and Slow 1968; Isherwood et al 1979, 1984; Cockburn and Cockburn  1980: 287–300; Bard et al  1985; Clutton-Brock  1988; Morrison-Scott  1952; Armitage and Clutton-Brock 1981; David 1979: 13–15; Ikram and Iskander 2002; Taylor 1995; Filer 1999. 40  Hawass 2004–5: 29–38; Hawass and Saleem 2016; Allam et al 2014. 41  Prates et al 2011.

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Figure 19.4  A CT-scan showing M1 – a wrapped Ptolemaic mummy (c.285–30 bc) in the Museu Nacional de Arqueologia of Lisbon. Photo courtesy of Museu Nacional de Arqueologia of Lisboa, the Lisbon Mummy Team, and Imagens Médicas Integradas (IMI).

and, sometimes, the cause of death (see Figure 19.4). CT-scans also make some examination of the soft tissues more possible. The most common disease identified by these means is osteoarthritis, while violent trauma wounds are also easily visible. Linear calcification in bladder tissue suggesting the presence of the parasite, Bilharzia haematobium, has also been identified.42 Teeth lend themselves particularly to study by these means. Dental caries, abscesses, and severe attrition have all been documented on Egyptian teeth through these media. CT-scans also make facial reconstruction possible.43

Palaeopathology and histology It is possible to test mummies for specific diseases. In unwrapped mummies, endoscopy can be used for examination or obtaining samples. This involves introducing a narrow tube into the body through one of its natural orifices or through a small incision in the abdominal or 42  Isherwood et al 1979: 38.

43  Neave 1992; 1979; Drenkhahn and Germer 1991.

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418   Salima Ikram chest wall, thereby limiting the amount of damage to the mummy. It is used to look into the body cavity and identify remains there in order to determine the need to take specimens and perform biopsies to identify diseases or the cause of death (and such examinations might also reveal the presence of insects, which may in turn reflect on the mummification process). Retrieval forceps can also be attached to the endoscope to take biopsy samples of tissue that can be examined histologically. Several parasitic and other diseases have thus been identified, including hyatid cysts and sand pneumoconiosis.44 Other diseases identified in mummies include anthracosis, a lung disease caused by inhaling smoke from fires and oil lamps in poorly ventilated places.45 Sand and dust inhalation is also responsible for similar diseases, such as pneumoconiosis or perhaps silicosis, from which the 20th-Dynasty weaver Nakht suffered (Toronto, Royal Ontario Museum).46 Evidence of tuberculosis has also been found in ancient Egyptian mummies dating from the Predynastic period as well as from the 19th and 21st Dynasties, with more research being carried out on this recently, as reported in the Fifth World Mummy Congress.47 Nowadays, a vast variety of medical tests and technologies can be used on mummified tissues in order to identify the tissue in question, and to distinguish diseases, such as malaria, schistosomiasis, tuberculosis, and trichinosis that might be present in mummies.48 Some evidence for leprosy has also been found in Egypt.49 The most commonly identified disease is arteriosclerosis, or calcification of the arteries, and is found in pharaohs and ­commoners during all periods of Egyptian history: Lady Teye, Rameses II, Merenptah, and an anonymous Third Intermediate Period mummy at Pennsylvania University Museum (PUM-I). The identification of blood groups, useful in determining familial relationships, can also be conducted using tissue samples, although these studies are not fool-proof and the accuracy of the results are now being re-evaluated. Such serological tests have been undertaken with tissue from mummies from the Amarna group, notably Yuya, Tuyu, Amenhotep III, Tutankhamun, and the KV55 mummy, but their precise relationships cannot be clearly determined without the body of Akhenaten. Thus, although these methodologies have great potential, so far they suffer from serious drawbacks.50

Other technologies, specialities, and the resulting data Other types of technology have also contributed to the study of mummification and mummified tissues. Histochemical stains of mummified tissue permit a limited number of chemical substances in cells to be identified. Scanning electron microscopy (SEM), transmission electron microscopy (TEM), and analytical electron microscopy (AEM) have all been used on mummies.51 These methods permit one to examine small pieces of tissue and see what

44  Cockburn and Cockburn 1980: 29–84. 45 ibid. 46  ibid: 71–84. 47  ibid: 31; Nunn 1996: 73–4; Zink et al 2005. 48  Cockburn and Cockburn 1980; Miller et al 1992; 1994; Nehrlich and Zink 1999; Zink et al 2003. 49  Cockburn and Cockburn 1980: 31; Nunn 1996: 74. 50  Harrison 1966; Harrison, Connolly, and Abdalla 1965; Harrison and Connolly 1969; Harrison and Abdalla 1972. 51  Lewin 1967; Macadam and Sandison 1969; Hufnagel 1974; Lewin et al 1974; Lewin and Cutz 1976; Horne and Lewin 1977; Curry et al 1979; Riddle 1980; Ikram 1995.

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Mummies and physical anthropology   419 they contain, whether it means identifying the use of salt or natron in mummification,52 or identifying the presence of liver flukes, or silica particles indicative of sand pneumoconiosis.53 Small samples of tissue subjected to the ELISA test (‘enzyme-linked immunosorbent assay’, which distinguishes substances through study of antibodies and colour change) have been used to identify schistosomiasis, while ParaSight™-F tests have been used to isolate malaria in mummies.54 Stable isotope analysis is used on bone or tooth enamel in an effort to better understand ancient diets. Gas chromatography and mass spectrometry have also been employed to identify the materials used in mummification.55 Resins and oils have been separated and basic identification of the latter, that is, animal versus vegetable, has been made. The black substances smeared on mummies that originally gave them their name can also be tested. In some instances this has been found to be bitumen from the Red Sea, rather than resin or oil, the earliest such example dating to c.900 bc.56 Currently there is a great deal of interest in the use of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) analysis on mummies. However, although DNA can be extracted from mummies, it is very degraded and only the mitochondrial DNA survives; furthermore, the risk of contamination is great. Much of the work carried out on human mummies has not been very successful as the DNA is often contaminated, or too degraded to provide a workable sample. The most reliable samples for DNA come from the teeth. In the future, as DNA extraction and processing improves, and our understanding of the degradation process of mummification on tissue is increases, it might be possible to use DNA to study ancient relationships between peoples as well as the history of different diseases. At present DNA is most useful in relating modern humans to prehistoric peoples and to gain some understanding of prehistoric migrations; perhaps in the future the information derived from it will dramatically extend our knowledge of the ancient Egyptians.57 For the most part, the dating of mummified remains depends on stylistic criteria or context. Recently, radiocarbon dating has also been employed to date mummified remains. This has not proven to be reliable with the same sample yielding dates that are 800 or so years different; one of the problems with this sort of dating is contamination. Furthermore, the resin or asphalt used during mummification can significantly alter the dates.58 Entomologists are now also involved in mummy studies. They can provide interesting information about the lapse in time between death and the mummification process, as well as the season of death, depending on what insects are present, and what developmental stage they have achieved.59

The future of the study of human remains Increasingly, a standard holistic protocol for studying mummies is being adopted in order to elicit as much information from them as possible. In an effort to preserve mummified 52 Ikram 1995. 53  Curry et al 1979. 54  Miller et al 1990; 1992; 1994: 31–2. 55  Buckley et al 1999; Buckley and Evershed 2001; Buckley et al 2004: 294–9. 56  Harrell and Lewan 2002: 285–94. 57  See Cooper and Poinar 2000 for a protocol on retrieving ancient DNA, and for early DNA work see Pääbo 1985: 644–5; 1986. For some recent work on Egyptian DNA, see Hawass et al 2010; Zink et al 2014; Khairat et al 2013; Schuenemann et al 2017. 58  Maurer et al 2002: 751–62; Aufderheide (personal communication). 59  Huchet 2010; Abdel-Maksoud et al 2011.

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420   Salima Ikram tissue for future scholars who will have access to more developed scientific methods, an International Ancient Egyptian Mummy Tissue Bank has been established at the University of Manchester with the understanding that small samples of tissue will be available for study as scientific developments occur. The establishment of the World Congress of Mummy Studies in 1992, a forum for specialists to exchange information (historical and the application of scientific technologies) about human remains (Egyptian and other), has also contributed to advances in the field. As a result of these different ventures, and the increasing interest in human remains, more attention is being paid to mummies and a push for a more holistic approach to these remains has been initiated. An additional improvement to the study of human and animal remains would be to carry out large-scale cemetery studies instead of only studying single burials. Some work of this sort was executed during the Nubian campaign, and is now becoming more usual. An increasing number of cemetery studies are being carried out at sites in Nubia,60 as well as in Egypt at Hierakonpolis,61 Adaima,62 Tell Ibrahim Awad, Douch,63 el-Deir,64 the Faiyum (see Figure 19.5), el-Hagarsa,65 Kafr Hasan Dawood, and Amarna,66 as well as on older collections.67

Figure 19.5  A mummy dating to the Ptolemaic Period (c.332–30 bc) from Deir el-Banat, in the Faiyum region of Egypt. Photograph by author, courtesy of the Russian Mission to Deir el-Banat.

60  Smith and Wood-Jones 1910. 61 Friedman 1997–2014. 62  Crubézy et al 2002. 63  Dunand et al 1992. 64  Dunand et al 2010. 65 Kanawati 1993. 66  Dabbs et al In press; Rose and Zabecki 2010. 67  See, e.g., Podzorski 1990.

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Mummies and physical anthropology   421 Working on groups of burials and examining them stylistically and scientifically would be most rewarding, providing substantial data on larger social groups, as well as information on families, diet, disease, and burial customs. Additionally, scholars need to redress the balance of the socio-economic classes that have been studied thus far to extend our knowledge about the health of a wider demographic. Current concerns in mummy studies are focused on ethics. Increasingly, particularly in the museum world, the ethics of displaying bodies are being argued.68 In Egypt the royal mummies were taken off display in the 1970s and currently, there is some talk about returning to this model, although no move has been made in that direction. Obtaining mummified samples for study is also becoming more of a problem in Egypt, although it is still feasible elsewhere, providing the mummies are damaged and specimens are accessible.

Suggested reading A vast number of site reports (particularly those dealing with cemeteries), both in monograph and article form, contain references and information to excavated human remains. These cannot be listed here due to their sheer numbers. Additionally, there are many individual articles dealing with specific aspects of human remains, in particular, disease (see Rose et al 1996; Sabbahy 2012, for the bibliography), many of which appear in non-Egyptological or archaeological publications, but rather in journals associated with medicine, radiology, or physical anthropology. Only a few general works on human remains exist at present (for mummies see Smith and Dawson 1924; Ikram and Dodson 1998; and Smith 1912 in the bibliography). Also, of note, for information on mummies in Egypt and elsewhere is Aufderheide (2003). See also the following: Aufderheide, A.C. 2003. The Scientific Study of Mummies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bahn, P.G. 1992. The Making of a Mummy, Nature 356: 109. Brothwell, D., Sandison, A.T., and Thomas, C.C. (eds). 1967. Diseases in Antiquity. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas. Daressy, G. and Gaillard, C. 1905. La faune momifiée de l’Antique Égypte. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. David, A.R. 2000. Mummification. In P.T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technologies. Cambridge: Cambridge University, 372–89. David, A.R. (ed). 1986. Science in Egyptology. Manchester: Manchester University. David, A.R. (ed). 2008. Egyptian Mummies and Modern Science. Cambridge: Cambridge University. Ikram, S. 2003. Death and Burial in Ancient Egypt. London: Longman. Janot, P. 2000. Les instruments d’embaumement de l’Egypte ancienne. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Rose J.C., Tucker, T.L., Lovell, N., and Filer, J. 1996. Bioarchaeology of Ancient Egypt and Nubia: A Bibliography. London: British Museum Press. 68  See, e.g., Ikram 2011; Exell 2013.

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422   Salima Ikram Sabbahy, L. 2012. Paleopathology of the Ancient Egyptians: An Annotated Bibliography 1998–2011. Cairo: American University in Cairo. Taylor, J. H. 2001. Death and the Afterlife in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press.

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Mummies and physical anthropology   425 Lewin, P. and Cutz, E. 1976. Electron Microscopy of ancient Egyptian Skin, British Journal of Dermatology 94: 1011–12. Lewin, P., Mills, A.J., Savage, H., and Vollmer, J. 1975. ‘Nakht: A Weaver of Thebes, Rotunda 7(4): 14–17. Lewin, P.K. 1967. Palaeo-electron Microscopy of Mummified Tissue, Nature 213(5074): 416–17. Lortet, C. and Gaillard, C. 1903–9. La faune momifiée de l’ancienne Egypte. Lyon: Archives du Muséum Histoire Naturelle de Lyon VIII: 2, IX: 2, X: 2. Lucas, A. 1910. Preservative Materials Used by the ancient Egyptians in Embalming, Cairo Scientific Journal 4: 66–8. Lucas, A. 1931. ‘Cedar’-tree Products Employed in Mummification, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 17: 13–21. Lucas, A. 1932. The Use of Natron in Mummification, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 18: 125–40. Lucas, A. 1962. Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries, 4th ed. rev. and enlarged by J.R. Harris. London: Histories and Mysteries of Man (1989 reprint). Macadam, R.F. and Sandison, A.T. 1969. The Electron Microscope in Palaeopathology, Medical ­History 13: 81–5. Maspero, G. 1889. Les momies royales de Deir el-Bahari. Paris: E. Leroux. Maurer, J., Möhring, T., Rulkötter, J., and Nissenbaum, A. 2002. Plant Lipids and Fossil Hydrocarbons in Embalming Material of Roman Period Mummies from the Dakhleh Oasis, Western Desert, Egypt, Journal of Archaeological Science 29(7): 751–62. Miller, R., Ikram, S., Armelagos, G.  J., De Jone, N., Krijger, F.W., and Deelder, A.M. 1992. Palaeoepidemiology of Schistosoma Infection in Mummies, British Medical Journal 304: 555–6. Miller, R., Ikram, S., Armelagos, G. J., Walker, R., Harer, W.B., Shiff, C.J., Baggett, D., Carrigan, M., and Maret, S.M. 1994. Diagnosis of Plasmodium Falciparum Infections in Mummies Using the Rapid Manual ParaSight™-F Test, Transactions of the Royal Society of Tropical Medicine and Hygiene 88: 31–2. Millet, N.B., Hart, G., Reyman, T.A., Zimmerman, M.R., and Lewin, P.K. 1980. ROM I: Mummification for the Common People. In A. and E. Cockburn (eds), Mummies, Disease and Ancient Cultures. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 71–84. Moodie, R.L. 1931. Roentgenologic Studies of Egyptian and Peruvian Mummies. Chicago: Field ­Museum. Morrison-Scott, T.C. 1952. The Mummified Cats of ancient Egypt, Proceedings of the Zoological ­Society, London 121(4): 861–7. Morton, S.G. 1844. Crania Aegyptiaca; or, Observations on Egyptian Ethnography, Derived from ­Anatomy, History, and the Monuments. Philadelphia, PA: J. Penington. Murray, M.A. 1910. The Tomb of Two Brothers. Manchester: Sherratt and Hughes/London: Dulau. Neave, R.A.H. 1979. The Reconstruction of the Heads and Faces of Three ancient Egyptian Mummies. In A.R. David (ed), The Manchester Museum Mummy Project. Manchester: Manchester Museum, 149–58. Neave, R.A.H. 1992. The Facial Reconstruction of Natsef-amun. In A.R. David and E. Tapp (eds), The Mummy’s Tale. London: Michael O’Mara, 162–7. Nehrlich, A.G. and Zink, A. 1999. Detection of Tuberculosis in an ancient Egyptian Population and the Estimation of its Frequency, Journal of Paleopathology 11(2): 86. Nehrlich, A.G., Zink, A., Szeimies, U., Rohrbach, H., Bachmeier, B., and Hagedorn, H. 1999. ­Paleopathological Evidence for Surgical Treatment in ancient Egypt, Journal of Paleopathology 11(2): 87. Nunn, J. 1996. Ancient Egyptian Medicine. London: British Museum Publications. Pääbo, S. 1985. Molecular Cloning of ancient Egyptian Mummy DNA, Nature 314(6012): 644–5. Pääbo, S. 1986. DNA is Preserved in ancient Egyptian Mummies. In A.R.  David (ed), Science in ­Egyptology. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 383–8. Paris. 1985. Musée national d’histoire naturelle—Musée de l’homme, La Momie de Ramsès II: ­contribution scientifique a l’égyptologie. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Pettigrew, T.J. 1834. A History of Egyptian Mummies. London: Longman. Podzorski, P. 1990. Their Bones Shall Not Perish. New Malden, Surrey: SIA.

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426   Salima Ikram Prates, C., Sousa, S., Oliveira, C., and Ikram, S. 2011. Prostate Metastatic Bone Cancer in an Egyptian Ptolemaic Mummy, A Proposed Radiological Diagnosis, International Journal of Paleopathology 1(2): 98–103. Reyman, T.A. and Peck, W.H. 1980. Egyptian Mummification with Evisceration Per Ano. In A. and E.  Cockburn (eds), Mummies, Disease and Ancient Cultures. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 85–100. Riddle, J.M. 1980. A Survey of Ancient Specimens by Electron Microscopy. In A. and E. Cockburn (eds), Mummies, Disease and Ancient Cultures. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 274–86. Rose, J.C. and Zabecki, M. 2010. The Commoners of Tell el-Amarna. In S. Ikram and A. Dodson (eds), Beyond the Horizon: Studies in Egyptian Art, Archaeology and History in Honour of Barry J Kemp. Cairo: Publications of the Supreme Council of Antiquities, 408–22. Ruffer, M.A. 1911. Histological Studies on Egyptian Mummies, Memoires de l’Institut de l’Egypte 6(3): 1–33. Ruffer, M.A. 1921. Studies in the Paleopathology of Egypt. Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Sandison, A.T. 1963. The Use of Natron in Mummification in ancient Egypt, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 22: 259–67. Sandison, A.T. 1986. Human Mummification Technique in ancient Egypt. In A.R. David (ed), Science in Egyptology. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1–5. Schuenemann, V.J., Peltzer, A., Welte, B., van Pelt, W.P., Molak, M., Wang, C.C., Furtwängler, A., ­Urban, C., Reiter, E., Nieselt, K., Teßmann, B., Francken, M., Harvati, K., Haak, W., Schiffels, S., and Krause, J. 2017. “Ancient Egyptian mummy genomes suggest an increase of Sub-Saharan African ancestry in post-Roman periods”. Nature Communications 8: 15694. Sluglett, J. 1980. Mummification in ancient Egypt, MASCA Journal 1(6): 163–7. Smith, G.E. 1912. The Royal Mummies (CCG). Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Smith, G.E. and Dawson, W.R. 1924. Egyptian Mummies. London: Allen and Unwin. Smith, G.E. and Wood-Jones, F. 1910. Report on the Human Remains. The Archaeological Survey of Nubia. Report for 1907–8, 2. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Taylor, J.H. 1995. Unwrapping a Mummy. London: British Museum Press. Taylor, J.H. and Antoine, D. 2014. Ancient lives, new discoveries: eight mummies, eight stories. London: British Museum Press. Zink, A.R., Köhler, S., Motamedi, N., Reischl, U., Wolf, H., and Nehrlich, A.G. 2005. Preservation and Identification of Ancient M. Tuberculosis Complex DNA in Egyptian Mummies, Journal of Biological Research 80: 84–7.

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chapter 20

A ncien t Egy pti a n a rchitectu r e Corinna Rossi

Introduction Architectural remains are one of the most important sources of our knowledge of ancient Egypt. Irrespective of their size, shape, or function, they provide information on a wide spectrum of issues. First of all, buildings certainly ‘speak for themselves’; many monuments, for instance, provide abundant evidence on the accuracy and ingenuity of the ancient builders. They may be analysed as artefacts, focusing on how they were conceived, planned, and physically built. This line of enquiry began in the first half of the twentieth century,1 took firm root subsequently2 and has now earned an important place in itself.3 The most famous Egyptian monuments certainly convey powerful aesthetic ideals that did not fail to capture the imagination of travellers and scholars—sometimes excessively. The eagerness of discovering hidden entrances, hidden passages, and hidden chambers in the ancient monuments spread to theoretical studies as well; discovering secrets (hidden rules, hidden meanings, hidden proportions) has been the leit-motif of generations of scholars that have embarked on the slippery path of symbolic studies.4 Buildings might also provide shelter and support for other works of art, such as statues, paintings, and reliefs, that in turn play a fundamental role in our knowledge of ancient Egypt. Temples, in particular, apart from being elaborate dwellings for the gods and ­powerful economic institutions, also ‘were the core locus for architectural, visual, verbal and performance arts’.5 Aside from their physical components, buildings were also planned as ‘containers’ of objects and ‘scenes’ of events; as such they can provide a wealth of information on the culture that produced them. The archaeological remains of houses, for instance, offer abundant material to study the material culture and the composition and organization of the ancient society.6 As we shall see later in the chapter, the study of ancient Egyptian architecture has a long and varied history in itself, which reflects both 1  Clarke and Engelbach 1930. 2  See, e.g., Maragioglio and Rinaldi 1963–77. 3  See, e.g., Arnold 1991; 1999; Rossi 2004. 4  See, e.g., Schwaller de Lubicz 1957. 5  Baines 1997: 216. 6  See, e.g., Kemp 1977.

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428   Corinna Rossi the evolution of Egyptology and the existence of different branches of studies within the same subject. As the study of ancient Egypt proceeds as a whole, new directions of research appear, in which architecture can play an important role.

Discovering ancient Egyptian architecture The architectural achievements of the ancient Egyptians inspired awe and interest already in antiquity. The pyramid of Khufu was numbered among the Seven Wonders of the ancient world, together with the Lighthouse of Alexandria, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the statue of Zeus at Olympia, the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, and the Colossus of Rhodes. A witness to the ingenuity and accuracy of the ancient builders is the fact that the pyramid of Khufu is the only survivor of this list, and has rightly become a symbol of Egypt itself. Other ancient Egyptian buildings were well known in the Ptolemaic and Roman worlds. The elaborate temple of the funerary complex of Amenemhat III at Hawara, for instance, became famous as ‘the Labyrinth’, of which the Greek historian Herodotus wrote: ‘I have seen this building, and it is beyond my power to describe . . . The pyramids, too, are astonishing structures, each one of them equal to many of the most ambitious works of Greece; but the labyrinth surpasses them’ (History, Book II: 148).7 After the Roman conquest, the political power of Egypt declined, but not the spell cast by its ancient architecture: many Roman emperors spent time and resources to add their contributions (and their names) to major temples all over Egypt;8 obelisks, as well as blocks of granite and porphyry to be turned into columns and statues, were shipped from Egypt to Rome,9 where building funerary monuments in the shape of small pyramids became fashionable.10 Several elements and characteristics of ancient Egyptian architecture were absorbed by Roman architecture, and survived well into the middle ages.11 Even when the ancient Egyptian language died and the Arab conquest of the northern African coast distanced Egypt from southern Europe, interest in the relics of this ancient culture remained intact, and may even have increased. A first wave of ‘Egyptomania’ swept across Italy during the Renaissance;12 shortly afterwards, the reports of daring travellers concerning their journeys across Egypt and the Middle East started to circulate. The Roman nobleman Pietro Della Valle, for instance, embarked on a long journey across Egypt in 1615–16; like many travellers before and after him, his only literary sources on ancient Egypt were the Classical ­writers.13 He visited the Giza pyramids and organized an expedition to the ‘dangerous’ site of Saqqara, where he purchased two mummies that were later triumphantly shipped to Italy.14 Mummies and small objects were relatively well known as they were traded or smuggled to Europe (see, for instance, Chapter 19 in this volume). However, only a few travellers had actually seen the architectural monuments, and only crude sketches of these existed in the west, leaving them somewhat difficult to understand and appreciate.15 The growing interest 7  See de Selincourt and Marincola 2003. 8 Arnold 1999. 9  Iversen 1968–72; see also Aston et al 2000: 34–5, 48–9. 10 Alfano 1991. 11  Arnold 1999: 312–13. 12 Curran 2007. 14 Holt 1998. 15  Rossi 2004: 7.

13  See Edwards 1888.

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Ancient Egyptian architecture   429 in Egypt and its antiquities culminated in the Napoleonic expedition, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, which provided, for the first time, a more realistic and accurate description of the visible archaeological remains (see Chapter 4 in this volume). As plans and elevations of temples, tombs, and pyramids started to circulate, the first studies attempting to understand their proportions also appeared.16 Discovering ‘the rule’ that regulated ancient Egyptian architecture soon became an obsession; in particular, the 4th-Dynasty pyramid of Khufu at Giza (the ‘Great Pyramid’) has been the subject of countless studies based on dozens of different geometrical figures.17 In general, the vast majority of the various theories that were suggested in the last 150 years to explain the proportions of ancient Egyptian architecture18 are biased by two main groups of faults, one relating to architectural drawings, the other to mathematics. Concerning the use of drawings, first of all, not all the available architectural surveys are necessarily reliable: modern surveys rely on technological instruments and techniques that obviously allow a higher degree of accuracy in comparison with surveys carried out one hundred years ago, but for many Egyptian monuments (including famous ones) the old surveys are all that we have to hand. Secondly, there is a problem of scale: those who looked for alignments worked on plans of large buildings reduced to a very small size, and drew lines across them to highlight alignments and connections. In these cases, however, the thicknesses of both of the lines that represent the walls and other architectural elements, and of those that are drawn across the plan, may correspond to 1–2 m in the real building, thus nullifying the reliability of the operation. Finally, the exclusive use of plans to describe buildings is a modern habit that happens to be especially counterproductive for ancient Egypt: a study of the ancient architectural drawings, in connection with the building techniques, suggests in fact that ancient Egyptian buildings were planned and built directly in three dimensions. The plan was certainly an important element (being the first trace on the ground of the forthcoming construction), but both then and now it does not fully represent the reality of the actual building.19 The second group of problems that undermine the majority of the theories suggested to  explain the proportions of ancient Egyptian architecture depends on the adoption of incorrect mathematical language: ancient buildings are often explained on the basis of math­em­at­ic­al concepts that were conceived and elaborated centuries (or even millennia) after these monuments had been built.20 By deliberately ignoring the contemporary mathematical sources, this anachronistic approach produces results that are historically incorrect, and do not do justice to the ancient builders, who were perfectly equipped to conceive, build, and complete astonishing monuments that have survived into modern times.

Internal space, external shape, and landscape Ancient Egyptian buildings share a common characteristic: a marked discrepancy between the internal space and the external aspect. In architecture, the degree of contiguity of these 16  ibid: 11–23. 17  Rossi 2004: 200–2. 19  Rossi 2004: Part II. 20  ibid: 23–56.

18  See, e.g., Badawy 1965.

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430   Corinna Rossi two aspects may vary. In many cases, if one looks at a building from the outside, one can tell something of its internal arrangement. Modern multi-storey residential architecture built in concrete represents one of the most straightforward examples of an ‘easy’ reading: the number of floors can be promptly counted; the vertical distance between windows informs us about the internal height of the rooms; the presence of windows of special design at different levels indicates the position of the staircase; the dimensions of the windows suggest the function of the various rooms. Thus, for instance, bathrooms will generally have smaller openings; moreover, bathrooms tend to be placed along a vertical line, together with kit­ chens, and therefore it is even possible to understand the position of the main pipes that run in the walls. Pharaonic architecture, however, represents the opposite extreme: in the vast majority of cases, understanding the internal space of a building by just looking at its external shape is virtually impossible. Internal space and external shape either develop in parallel but independently, or one of the two is nearly or completely missing. This discrepancy became less marked in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods (332 bc–ad 394), but it is quite striking for most of the pharaonic era. The first and most important internal space is represented by dwellings; they are the earliest architectural expression, and were shaped by a combination of basic needs and interaction with the outer world. The archetypal dwelling might even be considered the starting point of subsequent architectural development (and this idea, suggested by the Roman architect Vitruvius, has been the origin of a 2000-year long debate).21 Climatic reasons must have heavily influenced the design of ancient Egyptian domestic architecture, which in all periods appears to focus inwards, rather than outwards. Humble dwellings packed into planned settlements of all periods (from the Old Kingdom settlement supporting the cult of queen Khentkawes at Giza, to the Middle Kingdom pyramid town of Kahun, to the New Kingdom workmen’s villages of Deir al-Medina and Amarna, see Chapter 14 in this volume) lack external space altogether, while wealthier houses might be provided with a private garden or courtyard, each of which appear, however, to have been perceived as enclosed spaces.22 The models of houses found in the late 11th-Dynasty tomb of Meketra at Thebes are quite revealing: the focus of the whole composition is the garden around the pool (i.e. a portion of nature ‘­captured’ and ‘domesticated’), turned into some sort of internal space by the presence of a tall and blank wall that surrounds the garden on three sides; the fourth side is occupied by a thicker block that represents the internal rooms, which however are not shown; there is only one façade, on the street, and it is decorated.23 Free-standing temples (often described as ‘mansions of the gods’) followed a very similar pattern: one main façade, containing the main entrance, decorated with statues, flagstaffs, and reliefs, then three solid sides that prevent any understanding of the internal organization of the sacred area. Inside, the space was organized in a ‘telescopic’ sequence: open-air courtyards were followed by covered porticoes and then by progressively darker chambers;24 as one proceeds inside, the floor rises, the ceiling becomes lower—and the external space is  long forgotten. This description reflects our ‘normal’ way to visit an ancient Egyptian temple, that is, proceeding from the entrance to the inner core. The organization and design

21  See Vitruvius 2.1.1–3; see also Odgers, Samuel, and Sharr 2006. 22  Kemp 2006: Chapter 5. 23  Winlock 1955; Kemp 2006: 214.

24  Wilkinson 2000: 52–71.

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Ancient Egyptian architecture   431 of the space, however, may also be interpreted the other way around, that is, starting from the inner core and progressively descending outwards into the broad daylight—which is, after all, how large temples that grew over time were actually built. The sacred space of traditional Egyptian temples is dark and closed on all sides, apart from the entrance; it basically resembles a subterranean chamber. The origins of this characteristic date back to the earliest periods. Thus, the innermost core of the Old Kingdom temple at Medamud consisted of two subterranean chambers buried under an artificial mound.25 It appears that the Early Dynastic sacred shrine at Elephantine was set into a niche in the rock and completed by a simple mud-brick shelter.26 The extreme point reached by this trend may be represented by Serabit el-Khadim, a temple associated with turquoise and copper mines in the Sinai desert, which consists of a long sequence of partly rock-cut and partly roofed chambers, entered by a simple and undecorated entrance.27 The Serabit temple may be described as a chthonic entity that grew out of its original core and was never intended to have a precise external shape. The traditional, ‘inward-looking’ type of temple filtered its exchange with its physical context: the interior remained sealed off from the view, and the temple interacted with the surroundings as a ‘block’, marking the landscape with its solid presence. In some specific, exceptional cases, natural elements were allowed inside. This appears to be the case with the mortuary temple of Amenhotep III (c.1390–52 bc) on the west bank opposite Luxor, where the inundation flooded the vast courtyards and turned the sanctuary into an island, resembling the original primeval mound from which the world was thought to have emerged. This also seems to have been the case with the temples dedicated to Aten, which were built by Akhenaten (c.1352–36 bc) at Amarna; the new religious and philosophical ideas of the king revolutionized the traditional arrangement of the sacred space, that here consisted of open-air courtyards into which the sunlight poured all day long.28 Other monuments interacted in a more direct way with the landscape: this was the situation not only with all of pyramids, but also with the New Kingdom temples at Deir el-Bahri and Abu Simbel. In all these cases, the presence of any internal space is totally independent from the strong relationship that these monuments had with the surrounding landscape. In particular, in the case of the pyramids, the discrepancy between internal space and external shape reached its acme: nothing can be said (in fact, nothing must transpire) of the presence and arrangement of internal passages and chambers from the outside. When, in the Middle Kingdom, tomb-robbers became too familiar with the traditional design of the funerary apartments, the architects drastically changed it (though only succeeding in fooling archaeologists), without any impact on the external shape.29 The subsequent architectural evolution of royal burials then reached the extreme op­pos­ite to the pyramids: New Kingdom rulers stopped building the external shape (the pyramids) and only quarried the internal space (the rock-tombs in the Valley of the Kings and of the Queens). Pharaonic architecture therefore ranged from being totally focused towards the inside to being part of (or even creating) the landscape. The two extreme points are represented by rock-cut tombs, consisting only of a hidden, sealed off, richly decorated internal space, and by large pyramids, that are not only part of the landscape, but actually 25  Robichon and Varille 1940. 26 Dreyer 1986. 27  See Aufrère and Golvin 1994, vol 2: 250–1. 28  Wilkinson 2000: 140–1, 188–9. 29  Lehner 1997: 175–87.

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432   Corinna Rossi define it. Every day the sun set behind the western plateau, dominated by the distinctive silhouettes of the final resting-places of the kings: here architecture merged not only with the landscape, but also with ancient cosmology and astronomy. The orientation of important monuments, in fact, was frequently based on solar or stellar observations. The connections between buildings or architectural elements and the sun took various shapes, from simply establishing a ‘physical’ connection to the actual alignment of the entire building. Examples of the first type of interaction are the pyramidia of pyramids (the uppermost, pyramidal stone), sometimes even decorated with solar motifs, that were the first points of the landscape to be lit by the rising sun, and the last to be abandoned; the same effect was obtained on obelisks, also surmounted by pyramidia, but greatly enhanced by the addition of an electrum casing, that effectively kept the sun shining on the temple all day long.30 Examples of solar orientations include several temples in the Theban area, built on either side of the Nile, that were aligned to the winter solstice.31 The Great Temple at Abu Simbel includes both types of solar connections: the first element of the temple to be lit in the morning is a frieze of sun-worshipping baboons; and twice a year, the sun’s rays would reach the deepest sanctuary, illuminating statues of Rameses II and the sun-gods Amun-Ra and Ra-Horakhty, and leaving the chthonic god Ptah in partial ­shadow.32 The links between monuments and stars followed the same path. The limestone statue of the 3rd-Dynasty king Djoser (c.2667–48 bc) fixed his inlaid eyes on the ‘imperishable stars’ (the stars that never set below the horizon) through two holes carved in his serdab, a small chamber built along the northern side of his Step Pyramid at Saqqara. The circumpolar stars played a crucial role both in symbolic and practical terms, as they could be used to establish extremely precise alignments based on the simultaneous transit, that is, the moment in which two circumpolar stars align perpendicularly to the horizon. The appearance, some years ago, of computer programmes able to reconstruct the appearance of the night sky in ancient times opened the way to the possibility to virtually match the monuments with the position of the stars at the time of their construction.33 The ensuing discussion on the orientation of pyramids has been particularly heated, and many important details still remain unclear.34 In general, it is interesting that the position of the pyramids has been explained as depending on reasons ranging from purely astronomical (the much-discussed theory that groups of pyramids mirrored on the ground some constellations),35 to mainly visual (the alignment of groups of pyramids with Heliopolis, located on the other side of the Nile),36 or purely terrestrial (the most convenient construction site in terms of basement and transport routes).37 Clearly the pyramids connected earth and sky in more than one sense, and their position and alignment must have been the subject of careful evaluations. At the same time, moving around thousands of huge blocks must have been a fundamental concern for the ancient builders, and therefore any theory must be checked against this practical issue. 30  Rossi 1999; 2004: 184. 31  Magli 2013: 161–5. 32  Wilkinson 2000: 226. 33  Magli 2013: Chapter 2; see also Rossi 2010: 394–7. 34  See Maravelia 2003 for a summary on the discussion triggered by Spence 2000 and Belmonte 2001. 35  Bauval 1989, challenged by Krupp 1997; see Orofino and Bernardini 2016 for further references. 36  Magli 2013: Chapter 5. 37  Lehner 1999: 83, 204–5.

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Ancient Egyptian architecture   433

From the project to the building In ancient Egypt the basic unit of measurement was the cubit, subdivided into palms and fingers. The ‘small cubit’ was equal to 6 palms (c.45 cm), the royal cubit was 7 palms (c.52 cm), and each palm (c.7.5 cm) was in turn divided into 4 fingers (c.1.8 cm each). The royal cubit was the basic unit of measurement used in architecture.38 Cubic cubits (cubes with side-length corresponding to 1 cubit) appear in building records reporting on the foundations of standing buildings and on the works done in rock-cut tombs.39 ‘Volume palms’ appear in Papyrus Reisner I, and deserve a specific comment: they do not correspond to small cubes with their side-length corresponding to 1 palm, but to 1-palm wide ‘slices’ of cubic cubit.40 This is an important detail, for at least two reasons: first of all, it may be noted that, in practical terms, if one has to dig a trench or quarry a block, such a sub-unit makes more sense than a small cube with a side-length of one palm; secondly, it reminds us that one should never take for granted a correspondence between modern and ancient mindsets. In contrast to modern architectural practices, ancient Egyptian buildings appear to have been imagined, planned, and built directly in three dimensions: drawings, models, and written specifications might be used to describe different aspects, but none of them was expected to provide an exhaustive description of the final result. It is even possible that the more the building adhered to a conventional style or design, the fewer explanations were thought to be required. The extant architectural drawings may be roughly divided into two groups: first, crude sketches accompanied by written dimensions, probably used during the construction to establish or record the dimensions of some elements, and secondly, welldrawn surveys, rich in details and often in colours, completed with written labels, providing dimensions and additional information. None of these sketches and drawings is to scale.41 Drawings belonging to the planning stage invariably contain simple dimensions, expressed in whole numbers of cubits, whereas surveys reflect the reality, and contain detailed dimensions expressed in cubits, palms, and even fingers. The same difference can be discerned in the New Kingdom rock-cut tombs of the Valley of the Kings: in this case, the combination of extant texts and drawings allows a detailed reconstruction of the planning and building processes. The dimensions of the various chambers were established in advance: once the volume of stone to be removed was known, it was also possible to calculate both the workforce to be employed and the time required to complete the task.42 The project was laid out according to a set of simple, linear dimensions expressed by whole numbers of cubits; corridors, for instance, were all planned to be 30 cubits long. In practice, however, although the general layout of the project was generally respected, the final dimensions of the various elements could be significantly different.43 The progress of the work was recorded on ostraca and papyri, by listing the various elem­ents of the tomb together with their detailed dimensions expressed in cubits, palms, and fingers, as they had been completed to a certain date. The final dimensions of the chambers were probably decided during the excavation,44 and the detailed records of their actual dimensions were meant to prove the accuracy of the work that was being carried out. At the 38  Arnold 1991: 10–11; Rossi 2004: 96–147. 39  Simpson 1963: 124–6; Koenig 1997: 9. 40  Rossi and Imhausen 2009: 444–5. 41  Rossi 2004: 101–13. 42  Ventura 1988; Koenig 1997: 9. 43 Rossi 2001a. 44  Engelbach 1927; Reeves 1986.

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434   Corinna Rossi

Figure 20.1  Plan of the tomb of Rameses IV on Turin Papyrus 1885 (recto). Photo by Nicola Dell’Aquila/Museo Egizio, Turin.

very end of the work, an official survey of the tomb probably certified its successful completion,45 as suggested by the detailed drawing of the tomb of Rameses IV (c.1153–47 bc) on Turin Papyrus 1885 (see Figure 20.1). The extreme care used to record the final dimensions of a finished building or tomb suggests that the ancient Egyptians did not care about the correspondence between the dimensions envisaged in the project and those of the actual building. Completing a building was a long and arduous task, that engaged architects, workmen, and artists for years, and recording the final dimensions in extreme detail was a way to certify and celebrate not only the completion but also the accuracy of the work.

Materials and construction techniques In the general perception, ancient Egyptian architecture immediately recalls huge, carefully shaped blocks of stone. Indeed, spectacular and famous temples and tombs were mainly built of stone, with skills and methods that never cease to surprise observers. The use of soil as a building material, however, has an even longer and more articulated history: wattle-and-daub was the favourite building technique until the beginning of the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2125 bc), when unfired mud bricks took over and quickly became the favourite material to build houses, palaces, forts, magazines, workshops, granaries, and enclosure walls of various sizes, shapes, and functions, as well as tombs and temples.46 Fired mud bricks were sometimes used, but the cost of the fuel required to produce them (and the need for a stronger mortar) relegated this option to only specific occasions.47 The poor preservation of many mud-brick buildings results not only from the inherent fragility of the material, but also from the tradition of sebakh-digging, the pulverization and re-use of the ancient ruins as a fertilizer for the local agriculture, a practice that led to the destruction of several archaeological sites, particularly in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries ad.48 Stone monuments, although more resistant, might suffer a similar 45  Rossi 2004: 142–7. 46  Spencer 1979: 10–110. 48  For a description, see Edwards 1888: Chapter 19.

47  Kemp 2000: 78–9.

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Ancient Egyptian architecture   435 fate and be used as quarries to the point of disappearing, as happened, for instance, to the ‘Labyrinth’ at Hawara.49 Ancient Egyptian towns were mainly built of mud brick; private estates of various sizes could be either built as part of a strictly gridded pattern, or could freely occupy the available surface (see Chapter 14 in this volume). One example of the first case is the Middle Kingdom pyramid town of Lahun, which consisted of a combination of large and small dwellings neatly arranged in rows within a roughly square enclosure wall.50 A well-studied example of the second case is the New Kingdom town of Amarna, consisting of a spread of houses and private estates of similar design but in many different sizes.51 Kings also made extensive use of mud bricks for their own buildings; one striking surviving example is the large complex of Malkata, where Amenhotep III celebrated his first and second sed-festivals, that included palaces, temples, houses, and a huge T-shaped lake.52 The length of bricks was always roughly twice the breadth, as these proportions facilitate the operations of bricklaying. Their overall size, however, varied considerably: Early Dynastic mud bricks are smaller if compared with examples dating to the pharaonic period, when however no universal rule can be discerned. Obviously large mud bricks facilitated the construction of large buildings, while smaller bricks tended to be chosen for the thin walls of smaller buildings, but this is not a general rule and the contemporary use of mud bricks of various sizes in the same construction is not uncommon.53 Wood was often used in connection with mud-brick buildings: timbers might be inserted at regular intervals in the masonry of large walls, and beams were used to build flat roofs.54 Wooden beams were sometimes used in stone buildings to prop or shore up damaged structures, as in the case of the western chamber of the Bent Pyramid; wooden beams might also be inserted in the construction to help to lower stone blocks or to keep them in position, as in the funerary complex of Khufu at Giza.55 Wood was also used to erect scaffoldings, although these were mainly used in the final part of the building process to refine and decorate the walls. The use of stone in architecture appears between the Early Dynastic period and the very beginning of the Old Kingdom (c.3000–2648 bc). Originally restricted to specific architectural elements of large funerary monuments built in mud brick and light materials, in just three centuries stone became the favourite material for buildings that were meant to endure. Its inception is embodied by the funerary complex of Djoser at Saqqara, entirely built in limestone, and yet still visually referring to the traditional architecture made of light ma­ter­ ials: the blocks of the pyramid, small and all equal, recall the way that mud bricks were used, and many secondary buildings are simply ‘petrified’ representations of chapels and pavilions traditionally made of wood, reeds, and mats.56 In the course of the following century the Egyptians quickly learned how to fully exploit stone as a building material, both formally and structurally; as no major standing buildings survive from this crucial period, it is possible that most of the experience was actually gained underground. The tradition of quarrying and roofing over the vast royal funerary apartments had already started in the 2nd Dynasty, and continued throughout the 3rd: the builders became acquainted with the necessity to use large stone slabs, and to use them in continuity with the quarried surfaces thanks to 49 Arnold 1979. 50  Kemp 2006: 211–15. 51  Kemp and Garfi 1993. 52  Kemp 2006: 276–81. 53  Kemp 2000: 87. 54  Spencer 1979: 130–3. 55  Arnold 1991: 234–6. 56  Lauer 1936–9; Kemp 2006: 142–58; Rossi 2010: 404; see also Badawy 1948.

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436   Corinna Rossi precise joints. The daring experiments of Sneferu (c.2613–2589 bc) in his pyramid complexes at Meidum and Dahshur suggest that a great effort (and wealth) was poured into this new architectural vein, able to celebrate the life and death of a king in an un­pre­ce­dent­ed way. In a way, the construction of the Giza funerary complexes marks the apex of this learning curve: the huge blocks and the perfect joints that can be admired in the valley temple of Khafra (c.2558–32 bc) at Giza attest not only to the evolution of the building technique, but also to the appearance of a new aesthetics based on the use of stone to its full potential.57 This new way of dealing with stone blocks, which was laborious and expensive, was from time to time set aside in favour of alternative solutions. For instance, the architects of several Middle Kingdom pyramids abandoned the idea of a solid stone core, and opted for an elaborated skeleton made of stone and filled by stone slabs or mud bricks, to be completed by an external stone casing.58 Another good example is the adoption of standardized, one-cubit-long blocks, now called talatat, for the construction of the stone buildings at Amarna, the new capital founded by Akhenaten: obtaining a quick result must have been a priority for the king, and the mass production of identical blocks speeded up the construction process.59 For geological reasons, limestone was the most common building stone in the area north of Thebes for most of the pharaonic period; sandstone was occasionally used during the Old and Middle Kingdoms, but at the beginning of the 18th Dynasty it became the principal building stone for the Theban area and other sites to the south. Other stones, such as gra­nite, basalt, travertine, quartzite, and porphyry were also used for pavements, casing, doorframes, and architraves.60 Different stones might also be used together to create a decorative effect; in the Valley Temple of Sahura, for instance, the floor was made of black basalt, and the dado of red granite, while the walls, covered with painted reliefs, were made of limestone.61 The construction of many large monuments necessitated the construction, and subsequent demolition, of a large number of subsidiary structures, particularly ramps and scaffolding. The choice of the location of large monuments was heavily influenced by logistic considerations; one good example is the Old Kingdom royal cemetery of Abusir, where a lake (now dry) once functioned as a convenient harbour to unload the building material at the foot of the plateau.62 Roads reinforced with timber, as well as mud-brick ramps, might be built to transport the material close to the building site; well-documented examples are the remains uncovered around the pyramids of Amenemhat I (c.1985–65 bc) and Senusret I (c.1965–20 bc) at Lisht.63 Mud-brick ramps were also built inside and around buildings, in order to lift the stone blocks to the desired height; the Theban tomb of the 18th-Dynasty vizier Rekhmira contains a unique representation of a construction ramp made of mud bricks mixed with reed mats, along which a stone block is being dragged.64 Large stone monuments must have required huge mud-brick ramps and embankments; the majority of these structures were thoroughly dismantled, and have either left only faint traces or have completely vanished. For instance, in the case of pyramids the debate on the shape of the ramps that served the construction of these monuments is still open.65 One relatively well-preserved example of a ramp used for the construction of a large building may be found in the court of the First Pylon of the temple at Karnak; while its function is 57  Arnold 1991: 160, Figures 1–2. 58  Lehner 1997: 168–83. 60  Aston et al 2000. 61  Lehner 1997: 142. 62  ibid: 13, 142. 63  Arnold 1991: 79–95. 64  ibid: 97. 65  ibid: 81–3, 98–101.

59  Arnold 2003: 238.

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Ancient Egyptian architecture   437 clear, its original, final shape has not yet been clearly established.66 The unfinished columns nearby suggest that stone blocks were first piled up as the ramp grew, and then refined while the ramp was being demolished; a similar method appears to have been employed to smooth the casing of the pyramids, at the very end of the building process.67

Conclusions and future directions of research Ancient Egyptian buildings, from humble dwellings to large monuments, can still yield a vast amount of important information. Further research is likely to reveal and clarify several aspects that still need in-depth investigation, relating to both the ‘visible’ building and to the ‘invisible’ building process. Nowadays, the architectural remains are studied at a far greater level of accuracy than is ever likely to have happened in the past. Among many cases, particularly fitting examples may be the pyramid complexes of Senusret I and Senusret III, first excavated in the late nineteenth century ad,68 and then re-excavated one hundred years later to a larger scale and in greater detail.69 Although experimental archaeology has been very effective in some aspects of Egyptian materials and technology,70 as far as architecture is concerned, such experimental research does not necessarily represent an easy way to obtain answers to our doubts; nevertheless, small-scale experiments on pyramid building have been successfully carried out and helped to focus on the various issues that the ancient builders had to face during construction.71 In general, more attention is now regularly devoted to constructional techniques, including not only how walls, columns, and roof were built but also, when the level of preservation allows it, detailed studies on the lighting system, and on architectural and decorative solutions against rain.72 Thanks to modern technology, it is now possible to gather important information even on the composition, and therefore the provenance, of the building materials: whereas mud bricks were invariably made using local materials, stone could frequently be quarried in remote locations and then laboriously transported to the building site.73 Modern instruments and techniques (electronic theodolites, aerial photography, GPS, satellite images, magnetometry, photogrammetry, etc) are instrumental in producing particularly accurate surveys not only of buildings,74 but also of entire archaeological areas.75 Producing reliable architectural surveys is a key issue: in particular, it can be useful to express the dimensions both in our modern units of measurements and in cubits, palms, and fingers. Whenever this effort has been made, as for instance in the case of the tombs of the Valley of the Kings,76 further research has immediately highlighted aspects that until then had gone unnoticed.77 The visible remains of buildings were the result of a long process, that started with an idea (which might undergo a certain amount of elaboration on papyrus or ostracon), and relied on the use of temporary structures such as roads and ramps, which were eventually dismantled. 66  ibid: 96–7. 67  Lehner 1997: 220–1. 68  Gautier and Jéquier 1902; De Morgan 1903. 69 Arnold 1988–92; 2002. 70 Ikram 2015. 71  Lehner 1997: 215, 223. 72  See, e.g., Zignani 2000; 2004. 73  Kemp 2000; Aston et al 2000. 74  See, e.g., Rossi and Fiorillo 2018. 75  See, e.g., Fenwick 2004. 76  Theban Mapping Project 2000. 77 Rossi 2001a; 2001b; 2002.

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438   Corinna Rossi This process might be defined as the ‘invisible’ part of the construction, and mirrored in size and scale the building that was being produced. The organization of the ancient building sites is starting to attract some attention, as it is now clear that it had a significant impact: in the case of large monuments, for instance, it might have heavily influenced the choice of the location.78 Logistical problems also arose for building sites organized within existing monuments, as happened in crowded cemeteries or in temples that were progressively enlarged. In the New Kingdom, for instance, during the course of just one century, Karnak was the scene of frantic building works, including the construction of Amenhotep IV-Akhenaten’s additions, the restorations carried out by Tutankhamun, the thorough demolition of Akhenaten’s buildings, the construction of Horemheb’s traditional-style pylon, and of the large Hypostyle Hall, built under Seti I and completed by Rameses II. All these operations must have implied the building and dismantling of a large number of subsidiary structures, the constant arrival of building materials and various supplies, and a considerable amount of dust and noise—all within the now silent sacred enclosure.79 Further studies may cast further light on these operations, instrumental to complete famous monuments, and do justice to the hidden effort that was made by the ancient builders.

Suggested reading For an overview on the history of ancient Egyptian architecture, readers may turn to Badawy (1954–68), complemented by the reconstructions offered by Aufrère and Golvin (1994–7). Ancient Egyptian building techniques are admirably analysed and described by Arnold (1991); for information on specific building materials, the reader may refer to Nicholson and Shaw (2000), in particular to the contributions of Aston et al (on stone) and Kemp (on mud bricks). The relationship between architecture and mathematics was investigated by Rossi (2004), while that between architecture and astronomy was summarized by Magli (2013). Exhaustive overviews on the numerous studies of specific types of monuments can be found in Reeves and Wilkinson (1996); Lehner (1997); Arnold (1999); Wilkinson (2000); and Dodson and Ikram (2008).

Bibliography Alfano, C. 1991. Pyramids in Rome, Göttinger Miszellen 121: 7–17. Arnold, D. 1979. Das Labyrinth und seine Vorbilder, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo, 35: 1–9. Arnold, D. 1988–92. The Pyramid of Senwosret I. 3 vols. Metropolitan Museum of Art Egyptian Expedition 22, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Arnold, D. 1991. Building in Egypt. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Arnold, D. 1999. Temples of the Last Pharaohs. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Arnold, D. 2002. The Pyramid Complex of Senwosret III at Dahshur. Architectural Studies, Metropolitan Museum of Art Egyptian Expedition 24. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. 78  See, e.g., Lehner 1997: 13, 106, 142.

79 Rossi 2007.

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Ancient Egyptian architecture   439 Arnold, D. 2003. The Encyclopedia of Ancient Egyptian Architecture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Aston, B., Harrell, J., and Shaw, I. 2000. Stone. In P.T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 5–77. Aufrère, S. and Golvin, J.-C. 1994–7. L’Égypte restituée. 3 vols. Paris: Errance. Baines, J. 1997. Temples as Symbols, Guarantors, and Participants in Egyptian Civilization. In S. Quirke (ed), The Temple in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press, 216–41. Badawy, A. 1948. Le dessin architectural chez les anciens Égyptiens. Cairo: Impremerie Nationale. Badawy, A. 1954–68. A History of Egyptian Architecture. Cairo and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Badawy, A. 1965. Ancient Egyptian Architectural Design. A Study of the Harmonic System. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Badawy, A. 1966. Architecture in Ancient Egypt and the Near East. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Bauval, R. 1989. A Master Plan for the Three Pyramids of Giza Based on the Configuration of the Three Stars of the Belt of Orion, Discussions in Egyptology 13: 7–18. Belmonte, J.A. 2001. On the Orientation of Old Kingdom Egyptian Pyramids, Journal for the History of Astronomy 32: S1–20. Clarke S. and Engelbach R. 1930. Ancient Egyptian Masonry. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Curran, B. 2007. The Egyptian Renaissance. The Afterlife of Ancient Egypt in Early Modern Italy. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Dodson, A. and Ikram S. 2008. The Tomb in Ancient Egypt. London: Thames and Hudson. Dreyer, G. 1986. Elephantine VIII. Der Tempel der Satet. Mainz: von Zabern. Edwards, A. 1888. A Thousand Miles up the Nile. Rev ed. London: Routledge and Sons. Engelbach, R. 1927. An Architect’s Project from Thebes, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 27: 72–6. Fairall, A. 1999. Precession and the Layout of the ancient Egyptian Pyramids, Astronomy & Geophysics 40(3): 3–4. Fenwick, H. 2004. Ancient Roads and GPS Survey: Modelling the Amarna Plain, Antiquity 78: 880–5. Jéquier, G. and Gautier, J. 1902. Fouilles de Licht. Mémoires de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 4. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Holt, P.M. 1998. Pietro Della Valle in Ottoman Egypt, 1615–1616. In P. Starkey and J. Starkey (eds), Travellers in Egypt. London and New York: Tauris, 15–23. Ikram, S. 2015. Experimental Archaeology: From Meadow to Em-baa-lming Table. In C.  GravesBrown (ed), Egyptology in the Present: Experiential and Experimental Methods in Archaeology. Swansea: Classical Press of Wales, 53–74. Iversen, E. 1968–72. Obelisks in Exile. Copenhagen: GAD. Kemp, B.J. 1977. The City of el-Amarna as a Source for the Study of Urban Society in ancient Egypt, World Archaeology 9: 123–39. Kemp, B.J. and Garfi, S. 1993. A Survey of the Ancient City of El-’Amarna. Occasional Publications 9. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Kemp, B.J. 2000. Soil (Including Mud-Brick Architecture). In P.T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 78–103. Kemp, B.J. 2006. Ancient Egypt. Anatomy of a Civilization. 2nd ed. London and New York: Routledge. Koenig, Y. 1997. Les ostraca hiératiques inédits de la Bibliothèque nationale et universitaire de Strasbourg. Documents de Fouilles de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 33. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Krupp, E.C. 1997. Pyramid Marketing Schemes, Sky & Telescope 93(2): 64. Lauer, J.-P. 1936–9. La pyramide à degrés, l’architecture. Cairo: Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte. Lehner, M. 1997. The Complete Pyramids. London: Thames and Hudson. Magli, G. 2013. Architecture, Astronomy and Sacred Landscape in Ancient Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maragioglio V. and Rinaldi, C. 1963–77. L’architettura delle Piramidi Memfite. Turin: Artale.

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440   Corinna Rossi Maravelia, A.-A. 2003. The Stellar Horizon of Khufu. On Archaeoastronomy, Egyptology . . . and Some Imaginary Scenaria. In S. Bickel and A. Loprieno (eds), Basel Egyptology Prize 1: Junior Research in Egyptian History, Archaeology and Philology. Basel: Schwabe and Co, 55–74. Morgan, J. De, 1903. Fouilles à Dahchour en 1894–1895. Vienna: Holzhausen. Nicholson P.T. and Shaw, I. (eds). 2000. Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Odgers, J., Samuel, F., and Sharr, A. 2006. Primitive, vol 1. London: Routledge. Orofino, V. and Bernardini, P. 2016. Archaeoastronomical Study of the Main Pyramids of Giza, Egypt: Possible Correlations with the Stars?, Archaeological Discovery 4: 1–10. Reeves, N.C. 1986. Two Architectural Drawings from the Valley of the Kings, Chronique d’Égypte 61: 43–9. Reeves, N. and Wilkinson, R.H. 1996. The Complete Valley of the Kings. London: Thames and Hudson. Robichon C. and Varille, A. 1940. Description sommaire du temple primitif de Médamud. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Rossi, C. 2001a. The Plan of a Royal Tomb on O. Cairo 25184, Göttinger Miszellen 184: 45–53. Rossi, C. 2001b. The Dimensions and the Slope of the Royal Tombs, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 87: 73–80. Rossi, C. 2002. The Identification of the Tomb Described on O. BM 8505, Göttinger Miszellen 187: 97–9. Rossi, C. 2004. Architecture and Mathematics in Ancient Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rossi, C. 2007. Review of E.  Blyth, Karnak: Evolution of a Temple (London/New York: Routledge, 2006), Aestimatio 4: 40–3. Rossi, C. 2010. Science and Technology. In Alan B. Lloyd (ed), The Blackwell Companion to Ancient Egypt, vol 1. Oxford: Blackwell, 390–408. Rossi, C. and Fiorillo, F. 2018. A metrological study of the Late Roman Fort of Umm al-Dabadib, Kharga Oasis (Egypt), Nexus Network Journal 20(2): 373–91. Rossi C. and Imhausen A. 2009. Papyrus Reisner I: Architecture and Mathematics in the Time of ­Senusret I. In S. Ikram and A. Dodson (eds), Beyond the Horizon: Studies in Egyptian Art, Archaeology and History in Honour of Barry J. Kemp, Cairo: American University Press, 439–54. Rowland I.D. and Howe, T. (eds). 1999. Vitruvius, Ten Books on Architecture, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schwaller De Lubicz, R.A. 1957. Le Temple de l’Homme. Paris: Caractères. Sélincourt, A. De and Marincola, J. 2003. Herodotus: Histories. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Simpson W.K. 1963. Papyrus Reisner I. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Spence, K. 2000. Ancient Egyptian Chronology and the Astronomical Orientation of Pyramids, Nature 408: 320–4. Spencer A.J. 1979. Brick Architecture in Ancient Egypt. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Theban Mapping Project, 2000. Atlas of the Valley of the Kings. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Ventura, R. 1988. The Largest Project for a Royal Tomb in the Valley of the Kings, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 74: 137–56. Wilkinson, R.H. 2000. The Complete Temples of Ancient Egypt. London: Thames & Hudson. Winlock, H.E. 1955. Models of Daily Life in Ancient Egypt. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Arts. Zignani, P. 2000. Éspaces, lumières at composition architecturale au temple d’Hathor à Dendara. Résultats préliminaires, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 100: 47–77. Zignani, P. 2004. Le temple d’Hathor à Dendara: conception architectonique d’un temple pharaonique, Thèse EPFL no 2888.

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chapter 21

Statua ry Campbell Price

Introduction Three-dimensional sculpture from ancient Egypt ranges from the miniature to the colossal, and is extremely diverse in material and artistic quality. In terms of subjects and forms, however, surviving Egyptian statuary is characterized by its fairly narrow range. This is largely due to principles of artistic decorum and limited original locations of display. The recoverable contexts of the majority of statues indicate them to have been restricted to two settings: the tomb and the temple. Evidence for statuary in more poorly preserved house and palace contexts is scarce. Information gleaned from texts adds to the archaeological information about physical location, and emphasizes the function of statues: to enable nonphysical beings—deities and the deceased—to interact with the living in the physical world.1

Reception, acquisition, and excavation of statuary Several factors characterize the important role of statuary in pharaonic visual culture: an early standardization of conventions governing the depiction of the human body, the salience of the body itself as a motif in representation, and the tendency for these forms to be repeated over time.2 The aesthetic value of sculpture is generally seen to have been incidental to its primary, functional role—although aesthetic impact should not be discounted.3 The cultural value accorded to Egyptian statuary by non-Egyptians is evident from ancient times. During his 1916–20 excavations at Kerma, George Reisner unearthed Middle Kingdom sculpture which, he assumed, indicated an Egyptian presence there.4 In fact, the statues were later acquired by the Kermans as prestige items from Egypt during the Second Intermediate Period5, perhaps with the aim of subsequent defacement. 1 Robins 2001. 2  Davis 1989; Moers 2005: 9–26. 3  Baines 1994: 67–94; Vandersleyen 2005: 128–31. 4  Reisner 1923: 22–48. 5  Valbelle 2004: 176–83.

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442   Campbell Price Egyptian models are likely to have exerted an influence on Archaic Greek sculpture, ­ articularly in standing male kouroi figures of the seventh to fifth centuries bc.6 A later p high-cultural appreciation of Egyptian works is demonstrated by the significant number of statues transported from Egypt to Imperial Rome.7 The richest collection was that amassed by the Emperor Hadrian (ad 117–38) at his villa at Tivoli, but other collections of Egyptian sculpture are attested more broadly among the later Roman elite.8 A corresponding interest in the aesthetic and intellectual value of inscribed pharaonic statuary underlies western fas­ cin­ation with, and imitation of, Egyptian styles in sculpture. From the beginning of the nineteenth century, Egyptian monumental sculpture became a prized addition to European museums. Consequently, early public collections such as that of the British Museum were unrepresentative of the diverse range of Egyptian material culture, instead being dominated by many over-life-size statues. Although these Egyptian works were—at least initially—compared unfavourably with Classical sculpture, their scale and visual impact appealed to the museum-going public.9 Temple and tomb sites were a focus for both antiquities dealers and archaeological excavations, yielding statuary of suitably high quality for sale and display. Indeed, many of the most commonly cited ‘masterpieces’ of Egyptian sculpture derive from such aesthetically-targeted excavations. Early explorations, such as those of Auguste Mariette at Saqqara, yielded large numbers of s­ tatues, yet the tombs in which they were found were insufficiently recorded and their architectural contexts became lost. The largest collection of statuary from a single archaeological context was unearthed between 1903 and 1907, when Georges Legrain excavated the Karnak Cachette beneath the courtyard in front of the seventh pylon at Karnak.10 In addition to several thousand bronze votive objects, the Cachette contained around 1000 stone statues of deities, royal, and nonroyal individuals. This vast assortment of sculpture was likely collected from around the Karnak complex and deposited late in the temple’s history. An IFAO/MSA database of Cachette material is an important resource for this still under-studied collection of statuary (Coulon and Jambon nd). The practice of caching temple objects such as statues was common in pharaonic Egypt. Many statues survive in good condition because they were deliberately buried in temple deposits, having been removed from sight but still considered physically present within sacred space. Notable discoveries include the ten seated statues of Senusret I from his pyramid complex at Lisht11, over 200 sculptures found during excavations by the Egypt Exploration Society near the Serapeum at Saqqara12, and a collection of royal and divine statuary found in 1989 during maintenance work at Luxor temple.13 Even the distinctive features of Akhenaten from his Karnak colossi escaped defacement in this way, giving an important insight into his three-dimensional representations.14 This typically Egyptian practice was also paralleled outside Egypt, as in the cache of royal statues found at the Napatan-period temple at Kerma.15

6  Davis 1981: 61–81. 7  Colburn 2016: 226–38. 8  Varin 2002: 213–34. 9  Moser 2006: 93–105. 10  Legrain 1906–14; Coulon 2016. 11  Gautier and Jéquier 1902: 30–8. 12 Hastings 1997. 13 el-Saghir 1992. 14 Manniche 2010. 15  Valbelle and Bonnet 2007: 174–204.

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Statuary   443

Publication and study of Egyptian statuary Late in the nineteenth century there appeared the first attempts at comprehensive publication of Egyptian statuary housed in museums. The statuary held at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo was the subject of a series of volumes of the Catalogue Générale (CGC): Daressy published the collection of divine statuary16, and Legrain followed by Borchardt contributed several volumes focused on royal and non-royal sculpture.17 The aim of these early works was to make available for study texts from inscribed objects. Consequently, many pieces are included without illustration or commentary on their forms. Other scholarly works placed statuary in a broader artistic context18, with an important synthesis of chronological and stylistic developments by Vandier.19 These assessments have largely stood the test of time and provided the basis for later work. A typically Egyptological focus on typology was relatively slow to emerge for statuary and the primary enterprise was basic publication rather than analysis. The most notable early analytical contribution was Hornemann’s seven-volume hand-drawn catalogue, which still retains its importance due to the broad scope of the types of statuary it includes. The publication of statuary in the Corpus Antiquitatum Aegyptiacarum series has brought more material from dispersed museum collections to scholarly attention, in addition to the steady publication of catalogues of individual collections and exhibitions. As with other areas of material culture, but especially due to the stylistically sensitive features of the human face and body, advances in detailed photography and the digital accessibility of museum collections have been im­port­ ant in facilitating comparative analysis. A number of approaches have emerged—which have subsequently rarely been inter­ woven—towards the assessment of statuary as a category of Egyptian material culture. The first places primary importance on the texts which statues carry, viewing sculpture mainly as a medium for inscriptions. In addition to names and the palaeography of the inscription itself, texts on a sculpture may indicate its geographical origin, because statues typically bear offering formulae specifying a deity or listing official titles, each often with known regional associations. Another approach has centred on art historical assessment of statues as aesthetic objects—works of ‘art’—treated separately from their inscriptions, rather than forming complementary aspects of an integrated object. A third approach treats statues as the objects of rituals known from texts, of little intrinsic value themselves. Another problem for interpretation is the easily portable nature of many small-scale sculptures, or parts of larger ones, sourced from poorly recorded or illicit digging. Thus, little is known about provenance for many pieces which continue to appear on the art market. Heads and faces particularly appeal to modern aesthetic sensibilities20, meaning that the upper parts of many pieces were deliberately severed by dealers for ease of transport and sale as objets d’art. By combining art historical analysis of a piece with philological study of

16 Daressy 1905–6. 17  Legrain 1906–14 and Borchardt 1911–36. 18  E.g. Schäfer 1986 [1919]. 19 Vandier 1958. 20  E.g. Berman 2015 on the Boston Green Head.

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444   Campbell Price its texts, several parts of the same broken sculpture (‘membra dispersa’) have been identified and reunited, even if only temporarily or virtually by photographic means.21 Despite a steady increase in understanding of sculptural trends and stylistic peculiarities over time, it may be unclear if a piece—especially one without a secure provenance—is a relatively modern forgery or a genuinely ancient, atypical example of its type.22 Conversely, atypical examples of minor sculpture may also erroneously be identified as fakes or assigned a nebulous ‘Late’ date, often precluding further investigation. Recent studies have attempted to bridge the gap between traditional approaches to interpret statues as desirable objects in both ancient and modern contexts. Such authors23 attempt to assess ancient concepts of materiality, using cross-cultural perspectives, in order to evaluate the statue as a physical object in a social setting. This approach is potentially a rewarding one, as Egyptian statues represent the material expression of a number of ideological concepts which are documented explicitly in texts. For example, the significance and mythological associations of Egyptian terms for human and divine (statue) forms has been surveyed and compared with biblical sources by Ockinga.24

Materials and manufacture The wide range of materials used for statuary is most succinctly expressed in the Twentyfifth Dynasty text of the so-called ‘Memphite Theology’, in which statues of the gods are said to be made of: ‘every wood, every stone, every clay, every thing that grows upon [earth]’.25 The surviving distribution of materials is likely to be skewed, with stone being significantly over-represented. For example, large-scale wooden statuary—from the Old Kingdom onwards—survives better in tomb contexts, where preservation conditions are favourable.26 While this material is obviously funerary in nature, it points towards what may be lost from temples. A hierarchy of values for statue materials is difficult to reconstruct due to partial preservation and a general lack of explicit textual data concerning costs of production. Metal statuary of relatively large scale is less common than wooden sculpture, doubtless due to metal’s intrinsic value for reuse. Examples of royal and divine statues in metal are attested from the Old Kingdom, and in significant numbers—often of fine workmanship—during the Third Intermediate Period and later. Advances in understanding metallurgy have been matched by an increased interest in the iconography and symbolism of this class of stat­uary.27 Stone was the favoured medium for statues of any significant size. Archaeological ­investigation of quarrying sites28 and interest in their associated inscriptions29 has shed light on the organizational dynamics behind the procurement of material for sculpture. Understanding of the geological make-up and associations of certain stones has also

21  Bothmer in Cody 2004: 39–56, 103–20, 299–314, 337–50, 395–406. 22  Fiechter 2005; Hardwick 2011: 31–41. 23  E.g. Meskell 2004: esp. 87–115; Kjølby 2009: 31–46. 24 Ockinga 1984. 25  Lichtheim 1973: 55. 26 Harvey 2001. 27 Hill 2004; 2007. 28  Klemm and Klemm 2008. 29  E.g. Hikade 2001.

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Statuary   445 increased significantly over the years30, adding to the range of terminology employed in description, and refining older descriptions of statue materials. Study of fragmentary stone sculpture from Amarna is revealing the innovative range of royal statues at the site, ­notably of composite form.31 Experimental approaches have indicated kiln-hardened soft stones like steatite were used to produce more affordable statues for the lower elite during the Late Middle Kingdom.32 Old Kingdom tomb scenes sometimes depict the manufacture and transport of statues33, a theme which later reappears occasionally. A famous scene in the tomb of the Middle Kingdom nomarch Thuthotep at Deir el-Bersha shows large numbers of men dragging a colossus.34 The logistics of the operation depicted has attracted much interest35, although the extent to which statues were complete when they left the quarry is obscured by artistic convention. Statues are invariably depicted in two dimensions as finished works: the scene of workshop manufacture in the New Kingdom tomb of Rekhmira illustrates this.36 Artisans shown producing statues are frequently captioned by their personal names, as opposed to the majority of other artisans who remain anonymous.37 This may indicate that those who sculpted statues held greater status than other craftsmen; the act of creating a statue also had a significant ritual dimension.38 Identifying separate schools or workshops, or even individual hands, in Egyptian statue production remains problematic compared, for ex­ample, with the study of Classical Greek sculpture.39 The survival of partially completed statues gives the best insight into the stages of ­production. George Reisner’s Harvard-Boston excavations at the pyramid temple of Menkaure at Giza uncovered fifteen partially completed sculptures, illustrating the ­process of manufacture.40 The existence of so-called ‘trial pieces’ or ‘sculptors’ models’, attested chiefly during the Late and Ptolemaic periods, may shed further light on the final stages of production. This assumes these objects were intended as functional models for sculptures; they may instead represent non-utilitarian votive offerings.41

Statue forms Divine statues Egyptian temple ritual focused principally upon a deity’s cult statue. Surviving accounts of ritual procedures allow the basic components of rites to be reconstructed to some extent. Scenes on temple walls present ritual as an exclusively royal action, vis-à-vis the deity.42 In practice, temple staff carried out these rites on statues representing the gods. Papyrus Berlin 3055, of the Twenty-second Dynasty, preserves the most complete version of the daily cult ritual to be performed on a statue of the god Amun.43 Other procedures carried out on a deity’s statue 30  Aston et al 2000: 5–77. 31  Thompson and Hill forthcoming. 32  Connor, Tavier, and de Putter 2015: 227–311. 33  Eaton-Krauss 1984: 38–9. 34  Newberry 1895: pl 15. 35  Joosse 2002: 67–70. 36  Davies 1943: pl LX. 37  Drenkhahn 1995: 338–9. 38  Lorton 1999: 123–210. 39  Kozloff and Bryan 1992: 136–8. 40  Vandier 1958: 21–8, Figure 4. 41 Tomoum 2005. 42  E.g. Eaton 2013. 43  Moret 2007 [1902].

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446   Campbell Price share features with mythological episodes and funerary rites, although their origins and influences upon each other prove difficult to disentangle.44 Rituals such as the ‘Opening of the Mouth’ were of importance in activating inanimate images which included statues, the mummified corpse, and two-dimensional wall scenes.45 Characteristically, the divinity was envisaged as descending from the sky to their image(s) on earth. A Ramessid wisdom text, the ‘Maxims of Ani’, describes the situation: ‘God of this earth is the sun in the sky, while his images are on earth; when incense is given them as daily food, the lord of risings is satisfied’.46 This conception is echoed in the inscriptions from the Ptolemaic temple of Edfu, which describe the god Horus: ‘He descends (ḥr) upon his image (sḫm), he unites with his hawk idols’.47 However, a more fixed connection between deity and statue is implied in the Late New Kingdom ‘Report of Wenamun’, who carries a divine statue on a foreign expedition.48 Similarly, the Ramessid ‘Turin Strike Papyrus’ records a visit by the vizier To, ‘after he had come to take the gods (nṯrw) of the southern region to the Sedjubilee’.49 The implication here is that individual divine statues had to be physically transported in order for deities to participate in rituals outside their own cultic sphere. During the Late Period, short descriptive texts—including measurements—caption two-dimensional representations of what appear to be divine statues. These may have had their own cultic function and need not be reliable indicators of how statues appeared.50 Similarly, large numbers of divine forms depicted elsewhere in Late and Ptolemaic temple scenes have also been interpreted as representing cult statues; perhaps a non-specific apotropaic function for these is more plausible.51 The earliest examples of what appears to be divine sculpture are three fragmentary colossi of the ithyphallic god Min from Coptos, dating to the Predynastic period.52 Before the New Kingdom, however, divine images are very rarely attested on a monumental scale. An undoubted high-point of production occurred during the reign of Amenhotep III (c.1390–52 bc), when the largest extant number of royal and divine statues are attested, most notably hard stone statues of the lioness-headed goddess Sekhmet.53 The first of several hundred statues of the goddess—represented either standing or seated—came to scholarly attention at Karnak around ad 1760. Subsequently, many more have been discovered at Amenhotep III’s mortuary temple at Kom el-Heitan, where ongoing ­ ­excavations continue to reveal examples.54 In addition to demonstrating the vast scale of stone statue production during Amenhotep III’s reign, this relatively well-preserved collection has allowed more detailed analysis than has been possible for material from other periods. Interpretations include suggestions that the statues represent a divine litany in stone,55 a celestial map, or reflect further ritual symbolism which is known from contemporary religious texts.56 The majority of divine images which proliferate in museum collections are small votive objects, often made of metal and usually ascribed to the Late Period. Relatively few come 44  Roth 1993: 57–79. 45  Roth 1992: 113–47; Fischer-Elfert 1998; Lorton 1999: 123–210. 46  Lichtheim 1976: 141. 47  Blackman and Fairman 1941: 399. 48  Lichtheim 1976: 224–30. 49  Gardiner 1948: 55, 15–16; Frandsen 1990: 188–9. 50  Hoffmann 2002: 109–19. 51  Spencer 2006: 19–30. 52  Petrie 1896: 7–9, pls III–V; Williams 1988: 35–59. 53  Kozloff and Bryan 1992: 225–6. 56  Bryan 1997: 57–81. 54  E.g. Sourouzian 2006: 21–4. 55  Yoyotte 1980: 46–75.

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Statuary   447 from recorded excavations, exceptions including temple caches at Ayn Manâwir57 and North Saqqara58, which indicate a concentration at popular cult centres. The abundance of these objects and their small scale has so far precluded a stylistic assessment to enable more accurate dating.

Royal statues Historical annals highlight the importance of royal statuary from the earliest times. The creation of a royal statue features among the significant events recorded on the Palermo Stone59 and the provision of royal statues continues to be part of boastful royal claims about furnishing temples into the Third Intermediate60, Ptolemaic, and Roman periods61. The conception of statues of the king as gifts, directed principally at the gods, was central to royal texts.62 This is articulated succinctly in a relief in the Peristyle Court at Karnak, showing Tuthmose IV dedicating statues to Amun.63 Royal statue forms relate closely to the ideology of kingship. The king could be represented in a wide variety of guises, including zoomorphic forms such as the sphinx, and in rebus writings of his own name.64 From the early Old Kingdom royal images found expression on an over-life-size scale, to a much greater extent than their divine or non-royal counterparts. Several colossal statues long-believed to be of New Kingdom date have been identified as reworked Middle Kingdom examples.65 However, it was during the 18th and 19th Dynasties that royal statuary production on a colossal scale saw its zenith. Many of these colossi carry individualized names and are depicted in a number of other media, such as stelae and graffiti, indicating a particularly active cult for the statues under Amenhotep III and Rameses II.66 Such colossal representations have been interpreted as aspects of the divinity of the king (and his ka) embodied in physical form67 and as such a focal point of popular ­religion. A prevailing assumption has been their use as a form of state-sponsored ­propaganda.68 While the visual impact of the colossi in an architectural setting is undeniable, a propagandistic purpose is difficult to substantiate; inscriptions on some examples state the principal function of such monuments to be directed towards a divine audience.69 A number of administrative documents record the endowment of private donations to royal statues, in the form of land to yield offerings.70 These have allowed an insight into the economic realities which surrounded statues, in contrast to perceiving them as objects isolated from society—the romantic image portrayed in modern nineteenth-century poetry, such as Percy Shelley’s ‘Ozymandias’. A later source of information on royal statue cults are the titles of priests serving the cult of the deified Nectanebo II71 and Ptolemaic sacerdotal decrees concerned with royal statues in temple contexts.72 57  Wuttmann et al 2007: 167–73. 58  Davies 2007: 174–87. 59  Wilkinson 2000: 69, 90–240. 60  Caminos 1952: 51. 61 Brophy 2015. 62 E.g. Urk. IV: 1672–3; Kozloff and Bryan 1992: 138. 63  Kehrer 2009: 241–53. 64  Habachi 1969: 38–9. 65  Sourouzian 1988: 229–54. 66  Price 2011: 403–11. 67  Habachi 1969; Bell 1985: 259. 68  Kozloff and Bryan 1992: 127; Simpson 1982: 266. 69  Habachi 1969: 19–20, Figure 13. 70  Gardiner 1948: 17, 86–7, 111–13; Hovestreydt 1997: 116–21. 71  De Meulenaere 1960: 92–107. 72  Stanwick 2003: 6–14; Brophy 2015.

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448   Campbell Price Despite a relative abundance of Old Kingdom royal sculpture, an indication of what ­ roportion remains unknown is the frequently cited statuette of Khufu. Although this is the p only labelled sculpture of the king, and may be of significantly later date73, the pyramid complexes of his successors, Khafra and Menkaura, contained a significant number of royal statues. It can thus be inferred that a similar quantity awaits discovery in Khufu’s valley temple, currently inaccessible under modern housing. Royal sculpture has tended to monopolize study of stylistic trends, which have also been used to provide an index of wider ideological shifts. Middle Kingdom royal sculpture attracted early attention due to the perception of individualism in the treatment of the royal face, focused on an aged and care-worn appearance rather than youthful idealization.74 It is often stated that these features of 12th-Dynasty sculpture reflected concerns expressed in contemporary literary compositions; the king as the shepherd of his people.75 More recent studies of Middle Kingdom royal sculpture draw on a wide range of extant examples to reveal influences and styles to be more complex.76 The sheer quantity and variety of surviving royal sculpture of New Kingdom date, ­particularly from the reigns of Hatshepsut77, Thutmose III78, and Amenhotep III79, has meant that the royal image during this period has been the focus of particularly detailed analysis. The influence of a standard royal portrait type—rather than direct emulation of the king’s own features—is recognized for post-New Kingdom royal sculpture and may apply to earl­ier periods.80 Manipulation of a sculpture with the aim of reappropriation often causes modern confusion. The re-carving of the facial features of Amenhotep III to reflect those of Rameses II is an extreme example of a widespread practice.81 Inscriptions cannot always be relied upon to indicate the date of the creation of statue, as the re-inscription of royal sculpture is very common, especially during the Ramessid period. Differing attitudes to earlier sculpture is illustrated by several sphinxes found at Tanis and originally created for Amenemhat II82, but interpreted by their excavator as belonging to Khafra of the Fourth Dynasty.83 The statues bear no fewer than three later sets of royal names, having been re-inscribed for Rameses II and Merenptah then later usurped for Sheshonq I. Contradictory though they may appear in total, these additions allow a history to be charted of the statue as a reusable commodity.

Non-royal statues Excluding small divine votives, most statues from ancient Egypt represent non-royal p ­ eople. Among the earliest examples is that of a kneeling man named Hetepdief from Memphis of the early Third Dynasty (number ‘1’ in the Catalogue Générale of the Egyptian Museum, Cairo), which displays a series of Second-Dynasty royal names on its shoulder. This early ex­ample highlights the important role played by non-royal statues as media for inscriptions, which may be of potential historical import. Royal and divine statue inscriptions tend to be more terse. 73  Hawass 1985: 379–94. 74 Evers 1929. 75  Bourriau 1988: 37–46. 76  E.g. Fay 1996; Müller 2009: 47–61. 77 Tefnin 1979. 78 Laboury 1998. 79  Kozloff and Bryan 1992. 80 Myśliwiec 1988. 81  Kozloff and Bryan 1992: 172–5. 82 Fay 1996. 83  Montet 1962: 97–100.

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Statuary   449 A standard repertoire of forms existed for non-royal statues, generally following poses established for royal and divine representations. Seated and standing types were augmented by the cross-legged ‘scribal’ pose from as early as the Old Kingdom.84 Husband and wife pair statues are common, especially for funerary contexts, into the New Kingdom. Appearing in the Middle Kingdom, the so-called block statue became the most popular form of nonroyal male sculpture from the New Kingdom until the Ptolemaic period.85 Written sources suggest Old Kingdom cult temples, for which archaeological evidence is scarce, were the setting for some non-royal statues.86 These imply a royal monopoly for the manufacture of statues and the right to place them within a temple. The Old Kingdom elite cemeteries near Memphis are a particularly rich source of statuary in situ. Many of the bestpreserved statues survive from the serdab, or enclosed statue chamber of a mastaba, which was typically the focus of the non-royal offering cult.87 Statues were thus the focus of religious and social practices within tombs.88 At Saqqara, for example, archaeological evidence for tomb statue placement in later periods has emerged with recent excavation of the elite New Kingdom cemetery.89 An issue which has exerted a fascination for art historians is the extent of realism and mimetic portraiture in sculpture.90 Non-royal statuary is particularly open to interpretation in this respect due to its variety of forms and typically less-formal constraints. While it is an Egyptological cliché to assert that most formal Egyptian art is idealized, exactly what the Egyptians considered to be ideal forms in statuary tended to vary. Mariette’s 1860 discovery at Saqqara of two statues depicting the same Fifth-Dynasty official, Kaaper, demonstrated that several ­statues representing the same individual may display different body shapes. One is youthfully toned, while the famous ‘Sheikh el-Beled’—so named because of a resemblance to a (living) local headman—shows the pronounced depiction of age or corpulence generally equated with gerontocratic success.91 Evidence of modelling from life is perhaps suggested by the discovery of plaster masks in sculptors’ debris at Amarna.92 Special attention has been given to pieces which are perceived to be atypical within the context of Egyptian sculptural trends generally. Uninscribed sculptures invite a particularly wide range of interpretations. A notable category which lies outside the traditional conception of a statue are the so-called ‘reserve heads’, dating to the Fourth Dynasty. Discovered mostly by Reisner at Giza, and believed by him to exhibit family similarities93, these sculptures have been at the centre of arguments on the nature and origin of portraiture, and its associated ritual functions.94 Another cluster of material which also typically lacks any inscription are the so-called ‘ancestor busts’ at Ramessid Deir el-Medina, with scattered parallels elsewhere.95 Several had an apparently domestic context, and were most likely associated with a local ancestor cult.96 Evidence for the placement of non-royal sculpture in temples can be established from statue inscriptions of the Middle Kingdom.97 By the New Kingdom, texts inscribed upon statues became more extensive and are a valuable source of biographical—and thus 84 Scott 1990. 85 Schulz 1992. 86  Strudwick 2005: 106. 87  Barta 1998: 65–75; Arnold 1999: 41–9. 88  Bolshakov 1997; Fitzenreiter 2006. 89  Malek 1987: 117–37. 90  Spanel 1988; Kaiser 1990: 269–85; Assmann 1996: 55–81. 91  E.g. Vandersleyen 1983: 61–5. 92  Phillips 1991: 31–40. 93  Reisner 1915: 32. 94  Tefnin 1991; Junge 1995: 103–9; Roehrig 1999: 73–81. 95 Keith 2011. 96  Friedman 1985: 82–97; Harrington 2013: esp. 49–59. 97 Verbovsek 2004.

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450   Campbell Price incidental historical—data. Increasingly, non-royal statues display religious content in both their form and texts. From the Eighteenth Dynasty, individuals begin to be shown supporting or presenting a divine figure or emblem.98 Within the wider context of increased mani­ fest­ations of private religious practice during the New Kingdom, these new statue-forms display a mutually beneficial association between human and divine.99 The functions asserted in the inscriptions of some New Kingdom non-royal statues have been explored by Clère in studies on the title ‘doorkeeper’100 and ‘chauve’ (‘bald-headed one’) of the goddess Hathor.101 These designations do not appear to have been titles held by an individual in life, but rather refer to the function of the statue itself. Clère’s analysis especially highlights the competitive nature of statue inscriptions, which claim for their monument the role of intercessor with the gods in return for offerings. This reciprocal aspect of non-royal statues is asserted in inscriptions from as early as the Middle Kingdom.102 It is best illustrated by several statues of Amenhotep son of Hapu, chief of works under Amenhotep III who later gained (semi-)divine status. Their inscriptions assert the statue’s role as an intermediary by claiming the ability to report petitions to the gods, and several show signs of abrasion from regular contact with pious hands.103 Non-royal sculpture of the First Millennium bc was predominantly situated in temples rather than in tombs. Despite a notable gap in the preservation—and likely production—of sculpture during the 21st Dynasty104, the Third Intermediate Period provides a large number of non-royal statues with often-extensive filiations of the individuals represented by, and responsible for, dedicating them.105 As such they provide a key source of genealogical data. The block statue of Basa, of late Twenty-second-Dynasty date, typifies this concern to demonstrate priestly pedigree: the statue’s inscription traces Basa’s ancestry back twenty-six generations to the reign of Rameses II.106 Another means of attracting attention, and of asserting knowledge of past generations, was the deliberate replication of already-ancient models in statue forms. This archaism is characteristic of much post-New Kingdom sculpture and is attested in both royal and private examples. Although associated particularly with the Twenty-fifth and Twenty-sixth Dynasties107, archaizing features are notable in non-royal statuary from the Twenty-second Dynasty onwards, at which time the practice of re-inscribing older statues was also common.108 Into the Ptolemaic period, non-royal statues continued to carry hieroglyphic inscriptions with filiations and titles. These have formed the basis for prosopographical study, most notably on Theban material.109 Extensive biographical inscriptions continue to be a feature of non-royal statuary throughout the Late Period110, during which time texts also offer a particularly self-reflexive insight into the expected role of statuary.111 The fundamental art historical study of Late Period sculpture came in 1960, with a catalogue to accompany an exhibition on the theme by Bernard Bothmer.112 This was the primary— and so far only—publication of the work of Bothmer, H-W Müller, and de Meulenaere on the Corpus of Late Egyptian Sculpture, a comprehensive photographic archive located in 98 Bernhauer 2010. 99  van Dijk 1983: 51–8. 100  Clère 1968: 135–48; cf. Rondot 2011: 141–57. 101  Clère 1995. 102  Fischer-Elfert and Grimm 2003: 60–80. 103  Galán 2003: 221–9. 104  Leahy 2006: 181. 105 Jansen-Winkeln 1985. 106  Ritner 1994: 205–26. 107  Bothmer 1969 [1960]: xxxvii–viii. 108 Brandl 2010. 109  De Meulenaere 1995. 110  E.g. Jansen-Winkeln 2001; Bassir 2014. 111  Klotz 2014: 291–337; Price forthcoming. 112  Bothmer 1969 [1960].

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Statuary   451 Brooklyn Museum which allowed the recognition of several membra dispersa (see earlier in the ­chapter). Bothmer’s writings have remained influential113, especially in the field of Late Period statuary.114 His traditional focus on mainly art historical issues inspired a wider evaluation of First Millennium bc sculpture.115 The metaphysical power of a statue and the text it carried are expressed most compactly by so-called ‘healing statues,’ which represent non-royal individuals and are attested between the Twenty-sixth Dynasty and early Ptolemaic period.116 Liquid poured over the statues, and the associated Horus cippus stelae, became magically charged, due to the spells inscribed upon them. The ‘healing statues’ particularly highlight the importance of interaction between sculptures and the living.117 The meanings of pharaonic sculpture can thus be most profitably approached by taking into account both text and object, architectural and arch­aeo­logic­al context, and exploring parallels within a vast and increasingly well-studied corpus.

Suggested Reading A concise introduction to Egyptian statuary is given in Robins 2001. A recent overview of relevant issues is Hartwig  2015. Almost every museum or exhibition catalogue contains publications of individual pieces, often with good photography and bibliography. An exemplary series of publications are those of Delange 1987; Barbotin 2007; and Perdu 2012 on a large range of statuary in the Louvre. This information increasingly appears online, with the Karnak Cachette Database (Coulon and Jambon nd) being an outstanding resource for studies of sculpture. Spanel 1988 addresses issues of portraiture and Russmann 1989 provides a valuable survey of sculpture exhibited in Egypt. Bothmer 1969 [1960] remains the fundamental work on many types of Late Period sculpture. An important typological study of the block statue form is Schulz 1992, while theoretical approaches to the materiality of statues are offered by Meskell 2004 and Kjølby 2009. Berman’s (2015) account of the Boston Green Head illustrates the complex post-deposition object biography of many sculptures.

Bibliography Albersmeier, S. 2002. Untersuchungen zu den Frauenstatuen des ptolemäischen Ägypten. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Arnold, D. 1999. Old Kingdom Statues in Their Architectural Setting. In Metropolitan Museum of Art (ed), Egyptian Art in the Age of the Pyramids. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 41–9. Assmann, J. 1996. Preservation and Presentation of Self in ancient Egyptian Portraiture. In P.  Der Manuelian (ed), Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson Boston, MA: Boston Museum of Fine Arts, 55–81. Aston, B.G., Harrell, J., and Shaw, I. 2000. Stone. In P.T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 5–77.

113  See Cody 2004 for posthumous republication of selected articles by Bothmer. 114  Josephson 1997: 1–20. 115  E.g. Perdu 2012; Albersmeier 2002. 116 Kákosy 1999. 117  Price 2016: 269–83.

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452   Campbell Price Baines, J. 1994. On the Status and Purpose of Egyptian Art, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 4(1): 67–94. Barbotin, C. 2007. Les statues égyptiennes du nouvel empire: statues royales et divines. Paris: Khéops. Barta, M. 1998. Serdab and Statue Placement in the Private Tombs Down to the Fourth Dynasty, ­Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 54: 65–75. Bassir, H. 2014. Image and Voice in Saite Egypt: Self-Presentations of Neshor Named Psamtikmenkhib and Payeftjauemawyneith. Tucson: University of Arizona Egyptian Expedition. Bell, L. 1985. Luxor Temple and the Cult of the Royal Ka, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 44: 251–94. Berman, L. 2015. The Priest, the Prince and the Pasha. The Life and Afterlife of an Ancient Egyptian Sculpture. Boston: Museum of Fine Art. Bernhauer, E. 2010. Innovationen in der Privatplastik: die 18. Dynastie und ihre Entwicklung. ­Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Blackman, A. and H.W. Fairman 1941. A Group of Texts Inscribed on the Facade of the Sanctuary in the Temple of Horus at Edfou. In R. Anthes and B. Nogara (eds), Miscellanea Gregoriana. Vatican City: Tipografia Poliglotta Vaticana, 397–428. Bolshakov, A. 1997. Man and his Double in Egyptian Ideology of the Old Kingdom. Wiesbaden: ­Harrassowitz. Borchardt, L. 1911–36. Statuen und Statuetten von Königen und Privatleuten im Museum von Kairo (Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire). 5 parts. Berlin: Reichsdruckerei. Bothmer, B. 1969 [1960]. Egyptian Sculpture of the Late Period, 700 b.c.  to a.d.  100. Reprint with ­addenda. New York: Arno Press. Bourriau, J. 1988. Pharaohs and Mortals. Egyptian Art in the Middle Kingdom. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brandl, H. 2010. Untersuchungen zur steinernen Privatplastik der dritten Zwischenzeit: Typologie, Ikonographie, Stilistik. Marburg: University Press. Brophy, E. 2015. Royal Statues in Egypt 300 bc—ad 220. Context and Function. Oxford: Archaeopress. Bryan, B.M. 1997. The Statue Program for the Mortuary Temple of Amenhotep III. In S. Quirke (ed), The Temple in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press, 57–81. Caminos, R. 1952. Gebel es-Silsilah No. 100, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 38: 46–61. Clère, J. 1968. Deux statues ‘gardiennes de porte’ d’époque Ramesside, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 54: 135–48. Clère, J. 1995. Les chauves d’Hathor. Leuven: Peeters. Cody, M. (ed). 2004. Egyptian Art. Selected Writings of Bernard  V.  Bothmer. Oxford: Oxford ­University Press. Colburn, H.P. 2016. Roman Collecting and the Biographies of Egyptian Late Period Statues, World Archaeology 48(2): 226–38. Connor, S.H., Tavier, H., and de Putter, T. 2015. ‘Put the Statues in the Oven’: Preliminary Results on Research on Steatite Sculpture from the Late Middle Kingdom, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 101: 227–311. Coulon, L. (ed). 2016. La Cachette de Karnak. Nouvelles perspectives sur les découvertes de Georges Legrain. Cairo: IFAO/SCA. Coulon, L. and Jambon, E. No date. The Karnak Cachette Database. Available at: http://www.ifao. egnet.net/bases/cachette/. Daressy, G. 1905–6. Statues de divinites (Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire Nos 38001–39384). Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Davies, N. de G. 1943. The Tomb of Rekhmire at Thebes II. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Davies, S. 2007. Bronzes from the Sacred Animal Necropolis at North Saqqara. In M. Hill (ed), Gifts for the Gods. Images from Egyptian Temples. New York and London: Yale University Press, 174–87. Davis, W. 1981. Egypt, Samos, and the Archaic Style in Greek Sculpture, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 67: 61–81. Davis, W. 1989. The Canonical Tradition in Ancient Egyptian Art. Cambridge and New York: C ­ ambridge University Press.

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Statuary   453 Delange, E. 1987. Catalogue des statues égyptiennes du moyen empire, 2060–1560 avant J.-C. Paris: ­Réunion des musées nationaux. De Meulenaere, H. 1960. Les monuments du culte des rois Nectanébo, Chronique d’Egypte 35: 92–107. De Meulenaere, H. 1995. La prosopographie Thébaine de l’époque ptolémaique à la lumière des ­sources hiéroglyphiques. In S.  Vleeming (ed), Hundred-Gated Thebes. Acts of a Colloquium on Thebes and the Theban Area in the Graeco-Roman period. Leiden: Brill, 83–90. Drenkhahn, R. 1995. Artisans and Artists in Pharaonic Egypt. In J. Sasson (ed), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons/Simon and Schuster/Macmillan, 331–43. Eaton, K. 2013. Ancient Egyptian Temple Ritual. Performance, Pattern and Practice. London: ­Routledge. Eaton-Krauss, M. 1984. The Representations of Statuary in Private Tombs of the Old Kingdom. ­Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. el-Sagir, M. 1992. Das Statuenversteck im Luxortempel. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Evers, H. G. 1929. Staat aus dem Stein: Denkmäler, Geschichte und Bedeutung der ägyptischen Plastik während des Mittleren Reichs. Munich: F. Bruckmann. Fay, B. 1996. The Louvre Sphinx and Royal Sculpture from the Reign of Amenemhat II. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Fiechter, J.-J. 2005. Faux et faussaires en art égyptien. Turnhout: Brepols. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 1998. Die Vision von der Statue im Stein: Studien zum altägyptischen Mundöffnungsritual. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter. Fischer-Elfert, H-W. and Grimm, A. 2003. Autobiographie und Apothese. Die Statue des ÅS(S)n ÅA-Îwt-Îrw im Staatlichen Museum Ägyptischer Kunst München, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 130: 60–80. Fitzenreiter, M. 2006. Statue und Kult: Eine Studie der funerären Praxis an nichtköniglichen Grabanlagen der Residenz im Alten Reich. Berlin: Internet-Beiträge zur Ägyptologie und Sudanarchäologie (IBAES) 3. Frandsen, P. 1990. Editing Reality: The Turin Strike Papyrus. In S. Israelit-Groll (ed), Studies in Egypt­ ology Presented to Miriam Lichtheim. Jerusalem: Magnes P., Hebrew University, 166–99. Friedman, F. 1985. On the Meaning of Some Anthropoid Busts from Deir el-Medina, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 71: 82–97. Galán, J. 2003. Amenhotep Son of Hapu as Intermediary Between the People and God. In Z. Hawass (ed), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century II, Cairo: AUC Press, 221–9. Gardiner, A.H. 1948. The Wilbour Papyrus: Translation. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gautier, J.-E. and Jéquier, G. 1902. Mémoire sur les fouilles de Licht. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Habachi, L. 1969. Features of the Deification of Ramesses II. Glückstadt: J.J. Augustin. Hardwick, T. 2011. Recent Developments in the Forgery of Ancient Egyptian Art. A Review Article, Imago Aegypti 3: 31–41. Harrington, N. 2013. Living with the Dead: Ancestor Worship and Mortuary Ritual in ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxbow. Hartwig, M. 2015. Sculpture. In  M.  Hartwig (ed), A Companion to Ancient Egyptian Art. Oxford: Blackwell, 191–218. Harvey, J. 2001. Wooden Statues of the Old Kingdom: A Typological Study. Leiden: Brill/Styx. Hastings, E. 1997. The Sculpture from the Sacred Animal Necropolis at Saqqara 1964–76. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Hawass, Z. 1985. The Khufu Statuette: Is It an Old Kingdom Sculpture?’ In P. Posener-Kriéger (ed), Mélanges Gamal Eddin Mokhtar I. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 379–94. Hikade, T. 2001. Das Expeditionswesen im ägyptischen Neuen Reich: ein Beitrag zu Rohstoffversorgung und Aussenhandel. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Hill, M. 2004. Royal Bronze Statuary from Ancient Egypt. Leiden: Brill. Hill, M. (ed). 2007. Gifts for the Gods: Images from Egyptian Temples. New York and London: Yale University Press.

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454   Campbell Price Hoffmann, F. 2002. Measuring Egyptian Statues. In J.M. Steele (ed), Under One Sky. Astronomy and Mathematics in the Ancient Near East. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 109–19. Hornemann, B. 1951–69. Types of Ancient Egyptian Statuary. Copenhagen: Munksgaard. Hovestreydt, W. 1997. A Letter to the King Relating to the Foundation of a Statue (P. Turin 1879 vso.), Lingua Aegyptia 5: 107–21. Jansen-Winkeln, K. 1985. Ägyptische Biographien der 22. und 23. Dynastie, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Jansen-Winkeln, K. 2001. Biographische und religiöse Inschriften der Spätzeit. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Joosse, A. 2002. Spanish Lashings in ancient Egypt?’, KMT: A Modern Journal of Ancient Egypt 13(1): 67–70. Josephson, J. 1997. Egyptian Sculpture of the Late Period Revisited, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 34: 1–20. Junge, F. 1995. Hem-iunu, Anch-ha-ef und die sog. ‘Ersatzköpfe’. In R. Stadelmann and H. Sourouzian (eds), Kunst des Alten Reiches. Mainz: Phillip von Zabern, 103–9. Kaiser, W. 1990. Zur Büste als einer Darstellungsform ägyptischer Rundplastik, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 46: 269–85. Kákosy, L. 1999. Egyptian Healing Statues in Three Museums in Italy: (Turin, Florence, Naples). Turin: Museo Egizio. Kehrer, N. 2009. Das Bild des Königs als Geschenk: Eine Form königlicher Präsenz in thebanischen Grabanlagen des Neuen Reichs. In D. Kessler, R. Schulz, M. Ullmann, A. Verbovsek, and S. Wimmer (eds), Texte-Theben-Tonfragmente. Festschrift für Günter Burkard. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 241–53. Keith, J.L. (ed). 2011. Anthropoid Busts of Deir el Medineh and Other Sites and Collections: Analyses, Catalogue, Appendices. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Kjølby, A. 2009. Material Agency, Attribution and Experience of Agency in Ancient Egypt: The Case of New Kingdom Private Temple Statues. In R. Nyord and A. Kjølby (eds), ‘Being in Ancient Egypt’ Thoughts on Agency, Materiality and Cognition. Oxford: Archaeopress, 31–46. Klemm, R. and Klemm, D.D. 2008. Stones and Quarries in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Klotz, D. 2014. Replicas of Shu: On the Theological Significance of Naophorous and Theophorous Statues, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 114: 291–337. Kozloff, A.P. and Bryan, B.M. 1992. Egypt’s Dazzling Sun. Amenhotep III and His World. Cleveland: Indiana University Press. Laboury, D. 1998. La statuaire de Thoutmosis III. Essai d’interprétation d’un portrait royal dans son contexte historique. Liège: Centre Informatique de Philosophie et Lettres. Leahy, A. 2006. A Battered Statue of Shedsunefertem, High Priest of Memphis (BM EA 25), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 92: 169–84. Legrain, G. 1906–14. Statues et statuettes de rois et de particuliers. (Catalogue général des antiquités égyptiennes du Musée du Caire). Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Lichtheim, M. 1973–80. Ancient Egyptian Literature. 3 vols. California: Berkeley. Lorton, D. 1999. The Theology of Cult Statues in ancient Egypt. In M.B. Dick (ed), Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 123–209. Malek, J. 1987. The Saqqara Statue of Ptahmose, Mayor of the Memphite Suburbs, Revue d’Egyptologie 38: 117–37. Manniche, L. 2010. The Akhenaten Colossi of Karnak. Cairo: AUC Press. Meskell, L. 2004. Object Worlds in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Berg. Montet, P. 1962. Chephren et le sphinx A. 23, Kêmi 16: 97–100. Moret, A. 2007 [1902]. Le rituel du culte divin journalier en Égypte. Paris: Leroux. Moers, G. 2005. Ägyptische Körper-Bilder in physischen, visuellen und textuellen Medien, Imago Aegypti 1: 9–26. Moser, S. 2007. Wondrous Curiosities. Ancient Egypt in the British Museum. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Müller, M. 2009. Self-perception and Self-assertion in the Portrait of Senwosret III: New Methods for Reading a Face. In R. Nyord, and A. Kjølby (eds), ‘Being in ancient Egypt’: Thoughts on Agency, Materiality and Cognition. Oxford: Archaeopress, 47–61.

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Statuary   455 Myśliwiec, K. 1988. Royal Portraiture of the Dynasties XXI–XXX. Mainz: Phillip von Zabern. Newberry, P. 1895. El Bersheh I: The Tomb of Tehuti-Hetep. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Ockinga, B. 1984. Die Gottebenbildlichkeit im Alten Ägypte und im Alten Testament. Wiesbaden: ­Harrassowitz. Perdu, O. 2012. Les statues privées de la fin de l’Égypte pharaonique (1069 av. J.-C.-395 apr. J.-C.), I, Hommes. Paris: Louvre—Khéops. Petrie, W.M.F. 1896. Koptos. London: B. Quaritch. Phillips, J. 1991. Sculpture Ateliers of Akhenaten, Amarna Letters 1: 31–40. Price, C. 2011. Ramesses, ‘King of Kings’: On the Context and Interpretation of Royal Colossi. In S. Snape and M. Collier (eds), Ramesside Studies in Honour of K. A. Kitchen. Bolton: Rutherford Press, 403–11. Price, C. 2016. On the Function of ‘Healing’ Statues. In C. Price, R. Forshaw, A. Chamberlain, and P.T. Nicholson (eds), Mummies, Magic and Medicine in Ancient Egypt: Multidisciplinary Essays for Rosalie David. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 269–83. Price, C. Forthcoming. Perfected Images. Form and Function in Egyptian Non-Royal Sculpture of the Late Period. Brepols. Reisner, G.A. 1915. Accessions to the Egyptian Department During 1914, Bulletin of the Museum of Fine Arts 13: 29–36. Reisner, G.A. 1923. Excavations at Kerma VI. Cambridge, MA: Peabody Museum of Harvard University. Ritner, R. 1994. Denderite Temple Hierarchy and the Family of Theban High Priest Nebwenenef: Block Statue OIM 10729. In D. Silverman (ed), For His Ka. Essays Offered in Memory of Klaus Baer. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 205–26. Robins, G. 2001. Egyptian Statues. Princes Risborough: Shire Publications. Roehrig, C. 1999. Reserve Heads: An Enigma of Old Kingdom Sculpture. In Metropolitan Museum of Art (ed), Egyptian Art in the Age of the Pyramids. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 73–81. Rondot, V. 2011. De la fonction des statues-cubes comme cale-porte, Revue d’Égyptologie 62: 141–57. Roth, A.M. 1992. The Pesesch-kef and the ‘Opening of the Mouth; Ceremony: A Ritual of Birth and Rebirth, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 78: 113–47. Roth, A.M. 1993. Fingers, Stars, and the ‘Opening of the Mouth’: The Nature and Function of the ­nrwi-blades, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 79: 57–79. Russmann, E. 1989. Egyptian Sculpture: Cairo and Luxor. Austin: University of Texas Press. Schäfer, H. 1986 [1919]. Principles of Egyptian Art, trans John Baines. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Schulz, R. 1992. Die Entwicklung und Bedeutung des kuboiden Statuentypus: eine Untersuchung zu den sogenannten Würfelhockern. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Scott, G. 1990. The History and Development of the Ancient Egyptian Scribe Statue. Unpublished PhD dissertation. Ann Arbor. Simpson, W.K. 1982. Egyptian Sculpture and Two Dimensional Representation as Propaganda, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 68: 266–71. Sourouzian, H. 1988. Standing Royal Colossi of the Middle Kingdom Re-used by Ramesses II, ­Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 44: 229–54. Sourouzian, H. 2006. The Theban Funerary Temple of Amenhotep III, Egyptian Archaeology 29: 21–4. Spanel, D. 1988. Through Ancient Eyes: Egyptian Portraiture. Birmingham, AL: Birmingham Museum of Art. Spencer, N. 2006. The Naos of Nekhthorheb from Bubastis. Religious Iconography and Temple Building in the 30th Dynasty. London: British Museum Press. Stanwick, P. 2003. Portraits of the Ptolemies: Greek Kings as Egyptian Pharaohs. Austin: University of Texas Press. Strudwick, N. 2005. Texts from the Pyramid Age. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Tefnin, R. 1979. La statuaire d’Hatschepsout: portrait royal et politique sous la 18e Dynastie. Brussels: Fondation Egyptologique Reine Elisabeth. Tefnin, R. 1991. Art et magie au temps des pyramides: l’énigme des têtes dites de remplacement. Brussels: Fondation Egyptologique Reine Elisabeth.

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456   Campbell Price Thompson, K. and Hill, M. Forthcoming. Royal Statuary from Amarna. Tomoum, N. 2005. Egyptian Sculptors’ Models of the Late and Ptolemaic Periods. Cairo: SCA Press. Valbelle, D. 2004. The Cultural Significance of Iconographic and Epigraphic Data Found in the Kingdom of Kerma. In T. Kendall (ed), Nubian Studies 1998. Boston, MA: Department of AfricanAmerican Studies, Northeastern University, 176–83. Valbelle, D. and Bonnet, C. 2007. The Nubian Pharaohs: Black Kings on the Nile. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Vandersleyen, C. 1983. La date du Cheikh el-Beled (Caire CG 34), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 69: 61–5. Vandersleyen, C. 2005. Méditation devant une oeuvre d’art: le visage du trésorier Maya, Imago Aegypti 1: 128–31. Vandier, J. 1958. Manuel d’archéologie égyptienne III. Les grandes époques: La Statuaire. Paris: Picard. Van Dijk, J. 1983. A Ramesside Naophorous Statue from the Teti Pyramid Cemetery, Oudheidkundige Mededelingen uit het Rijksmuseum van Oudheden te Leiden 64: 52–8. Varille, A. 1968. Inscriptions concernant l’architecte Amenhotep, fils de Hapou. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Varin, E. 2002. Notes sur la dispersion de quelques objets égyptiens provenant de la ville Quirini à Alticchiéro, Revue d’Egyptologie 53: 213–34. Verbovsek, A. 2004. ‘Als Gunsterweis des Königs in den Tempel gegeben’: private Tempelstatuen des Alten und Mittleren Reiches. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Williams, B. 1988. Narmer and the Coptos Colossi, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 25: 35–59. Wilkinson, T. 2000. Royal Annals of Ancient Egypt: The Palermo Stone and Its Associated Fragments. London: Kegan Paul International. Wuttmann, M., Coulon, L., and Gombert, F. 2007. An Assemblage of Bronze Statuettes in a Cult ­Context: The Temple of ‘Ayn Manâwir’. In M. Hill (ed), Gifts for the Gods. Images from Egyptian Temples. New York and London: Yale University Press, 167–73. Yoyotte, J. 1980. Une monumentale litanie de granite: les Sekhmet d’Aménophis III et la conjuration permanente de la déesse dangereuse, Bulletin de la Société Français de l’Égyptologie 87–8: 46–75.

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chapter 22

R elief scu lptu r e J. Brett M c Clain

Introduction As a component of ancient Egyptian art, ‘relief sculpture’ may be understood to mean the carved decoration of a surface generally, though not always, flat, using the typical Egyptian conventions and canon of proportions for representing three-dimensional objects in two dimensions. Relief sculpture is to be distinguished from statuary or other types of sculpture in the round, wherein these conventions give way to full three-dimensional representation. These two categories of sculpture were, however, frequently used in juxtaposition on the same monument or object, being combined as part of larger decorative schemes. By itself, relief carving nevertheless constituted one of the main components of Egyptian monumental decoration. Used alone or in combination with either of the two other major decorative techniques—three-dimensional sculpture and polychrome painting—relief carving was the most widespread method used by Egyptian artists to provide buildings or objects with suitable surface ornamentation. Ubiquitous in the surviving corpus of art and architecture from the Predynastic to the Roman period, relief sculpture is perhaps the most visually familiar type of Pharaonic art; for the Egyptologist, the vast wealth of textual and iconographic information preserved in relief carving necessitates a basic understanding of the techniques whereby reliefs were created and the principles according to which they were employed in monumental contexts throughout Egyptian history.

Types of relief sculpture The terminology commonly employed for this category of sculpture requires clarification, since strictly speaking ‘relief ’ indicates the rendering of a surface whereby the objects depicted—figures, objects, or characters—are raised above or ‘relieved’ from the surrounding surface of the stone, which is cut back to form a flat background around the sculpted features. ‘High relief ’, in which the raised figures have a three-dimensional sculptural character, though sometimes found in Egyptian monuments, appears rarely in comparison to ‘bas-relief ’

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458   J. Brett Mc Clain or ‘low relief ’, in which the objects, though rising above the surrounding surface, are depicted according to the Egyptian two-dimensional canon. Typically, in fact, low relief carving on pharaonic monuments is referred to as ‘raised relief ’. The purpose of this evident tautology is to distinguish it from the other major category of two-dimensional sculpture, in which the figures and signs are incised in the surface of the stone, their forms being thus sunk below the surrounding smooth, flat background. This latter, classically termed cavo relievo, is commonly referred to as ‘sunk relief ’ or ‘incised relief ’. In fact, it is appropriate that the term ‘relief ’ is retained for incised decoration, since the internal details of the figures and hieroglyphs so rendered are frequently themselves sculpted in low raised relief. Indeed, the contour of internal raised details of sunk relief carving could at times be quite dramatic, limited only by the depth to which the incisions were carved into the surface, and thus allowing for a wealth of low relief detail within the sunken outlines of the objects and figures (Figure 22.1). Almost all relief sculpture from ancient Egypt falls into one of these two categories. Generally, the Egyptian sculptors seem to have made a neat distinction between the two types, though sometimes using them in close juxtaposition with each other (Figure 22.2). There seems to have been an acknowledgment that raised and sunk relief were each appropriate to particular architectural or decorative contexts; in part this shows an appreciation of the technical and artistic strengths of each type. An important feature of raised relief decoration was, of course, that it required more work to execute than sunk relief, simply because carving down the background field meant removing more stone than incising the figures and hieroglyphs themselves. To say that raised relief sculpture required more skill than sunk relief is, perhaps, to presume a knowledge of the training of Egyptian sculptors which in fact we lack; nevertheless, it is often observed that raised relief decoration frequently exhibits overall more care and precision than seems to have been put into sunk relief carving. Certainly, larger areas of surface could be decorated more quickly and easily in sunk relief than in raised relief, and explanations for the preponderance of sunk relief in the decoration of the gigantic temples of the Ramesside period (c.1295–1186 bc) often point to this fact. Examples abound where incised relief decoration appears to have been executed in haste and with little concern for quality. Yet against these must be set well-known instances in which sunk relief carving was rendered with exquisite, gem-like detailing; nor is there any scarcity of carelessly rendered raised relief wall art in Egyptian temples of many periods. Chronological generalizations about the relative use of raised or sunk relief in monumental contexts cannot be made with any confidence; both raised and sunk relief carving were essential components of Egyptian wall decoration of all periods. The choice of raised versus incised relief for any given decorative context appears to have been made according to the location and physical character of, and the overall iconographic plan for, the monument or object in question. Both types of relief decoration could be executed on surfaces composed of a variety of materials. By far the most common were surfaces in stone of various kinds, including the soft stones (limestone and sandstone) used to construct most monumental buildings, or into whose strata rock-cut tombs or shrines might be excavated, as well as the harder stones (granite, greywacke, quartzite, basalt, etc), used sometimes in building, especially for architraves, doorjambs, and the like, but more often for stelae, statuary, sarcophagi, or other types of objects, which were decorated in relief. Yet other materials could be used

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Figure 22.1  Bark procession in sunk relief from the reign of Rameses II. Karnak, Great Hypostyle Hall, south interior wall. Photograph by author.

to make architectural elements or objects that were decorated in raised or sunk relief. The exquisitely carved wooden panels from the tomb of Hesira from the Third Dynasty (c.2686–2613 bc)1 are perhaps the most celebrated early examples of raised relief sculpture in a material other than stone; the ‘ebony shrine’ from Deir el-Bahri2 is a well-known   PM III2, 2, 438–9.

1

  Naville 1896: pls. 25–9.

2

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Figure 22.2  Architectural panel in a combination of high relief, low raised relief, and sunk relief. Medinet Habu, palace of Rameses III. Photograph by author.

New Kingdom instance of relief carving in wood, and other examples abound. Numerous wooden objects in relief from tomb contexts illustrate the extent to which this type of decoration was applied to objects of funerary equipment, most significantly the wooden coffins of many periods, which frequently bear imagery and hieroglyphic inscriptions in sunk relief. Objects of ivory were frequently decorated in carefully rendered raised or  sunk relief of the smallest scale. Metal objects, especially pieces of jewellery, were sometimes sculpted in relief, but items of gold, silver, bronze, or copper were more frequently cast, moulded, hammered, or otherwise worked into the semblance of relief decoration. Moreover, architectural features or objects with underlying relief decoration might be clad in precious metals, in the form of thin foil moulded to the contours of the sculpted surface. A particular category of relief sculpture is lapidary relief, in which precious or semi-precious gemstones might be carved with raised or sunk decoration; this category may be extended to include the textual or figurative decoration found on scarabs and other amuletic objects. Nevertheless, the quantity of relief carving in stone, and particularly upon monuments built in stone, that has survived from antiquity is far greater than that of any of these other categories; it is thus monumental relief that provides us with the greatest range of inscribed iconographic and textual information from pharaonic times. When assessing the character of any given example of relief decoration, it should be kept in mind that the Egyptian craftsmen applied to different projects variable degrees of effort and expense, based upon the available resources, the range of styles and techniques that were current at the time, and the consideration of what was appropriate for the ritual or ideological significance of the building or object to be so decorated. As a result, historical circumstances are usually reflected in the style and quality of the relief, as well as in the decorative and textual details contained therein, adding another level of information that must be taken into account.

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Carving techniques The most common process whereby blank surfaces were embellished with carved decoration is illustrated by numerous instances in which the work on a monument or object was left in a state of incompletion. In the case of a stone wall, once the structure itself was ready, its blocks, roughly hewn, having been fixed in place, or, in the case of a rock-cut shrine or tomb, the wall having been cut to the desired depth and dimensions, the sculptors then smoothed back the stone face to create a flat, uniform working surface. In cases where the quality of the rock was particularly unsatisfactory, small stone patches (flicksteine) might also be inserted to complete missing or damaged areas of the wall. Almost always in the case of walls cut from living rock, and very frequently for walls built out of blocks of stone, a layer of plaster was applied on top of the stone, it being otherwise impossible, due to the usual imperfections in the rock, to make the surface perfectly flat; the plaster also served to fill any smaller gaps between, or imperfections within, individual blocks. This plaster base also provided a uniformity of colour and texture, giving the draughtsmen a clean ‘canvas’ upon which to work. Once the surface was ready, the design for the decoration, which had been planned beforehand in gridded sketches, was laid out on the plastered wall. First a grid of squares in red paint was made over the whole area to be decorated; this grid allowed the registers of figures, objects, hieroglyphs, and other elements to be rendered at scale based on the preliminary sketch, according to the correct orientation and proportions. Then the figures and hieroglyphs to be carved were rendered in black ink. Frequently it can be seen that a master draughtsman has gone over the work of his apprentices, making corrections to the design in red ink, frequently in consultation with a scribe whose responsibility it was to check the accuracy of the hieroglyphic texts. Once the drawing was corrected, the sculptors began their work. Variously sized copper chisels allowed them to work in large or small scale as needed, while fine finishing occasionally required instruments of flint or obsidian, and polishing work could be done with abrasive sand or pumice powder. Where the surface was to be carved in raised relief, the negative space around the figures and signs was first cut back to the predetermined background level, leaving roughly shaped outlines for the raised elements. These were then gone over more carefully, individually sculpted into the correct shapes, with contour and details added where appropriate. It should be noted that, although the draughtsmen’s sketches often included the internal details of figures or hieroglyphs, the sculptors, being the more expert in how these features were to be rendered in a plastic surface, used the sketch only as a guide, employing the styles and techniques of their own profession to render the sculpture fittingly. Often it is apparent that the sculpting of one wall was underway even as the draughtsmen were laying out the design on an adjacent wall, while nearby sections were still being excavated out of the living rock; in other words, all craftsmen involved in the process were at work simultaneously within the same room or structure. In cases where the wall was to be carved in sunk relief, the procedure was undertaken in a similar order, but the figures and signs themselves, as sketched, were carved out of the surrounding surface, which was itself left blank. The outlines of the sunken elements were engraved first, and, where applicable, the raised-relief details were rendered within. If the surface preparation plaster was damaged or fell away in the process of carving, it could

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462   J. Brett Mc Clain readily be patched and even sculpted while still wet into the desired shape. Finally, for both raised and sunk relief decoration, in cases where paint was to be applied, the finished, sculpted surface was covered with a thin layer of whitewash as a base, and the artists then rendered the painted details over the carved elements, with the background areas rendered in the desired tones as well. As the sculptors interpreted the draftsmen’s design according to their own craft, so also did the painters decorate the figures and glyphs over the carving based on their particular mastery of colour and detail; even carefully finished reliefs in stone were often destined to serve merely as three-dimensional bases for final polychrome paintings, and painted deviations from, or enhancements of, the sculpted surface are frequently observed. This sequence of techniques was typical,3 and is well-documented by observable examples of interrupted work in progress found especially among the royal and private tombs of New Kingdom Thebes;4 it may be considered as a basis for understanding the staged approach to the creation of relief scenes, involving teams of individually specialized craftsmen, working under scribal oversight. There were, of course, many possible variations of this process in other historical and regional contexts. Examples of non-royal relief carving from many periods exhibit proportional and stylistic anomalies sufficient to demonstrate that the figures and signs were not laid out according to the strict, gridded canon of proportions used in more formal or more elite contexts, and non-architectural objects in relief, such as stelae, especially those made for the use of private individuals, were likely often carved without such a stringently formal layout procedure.

Historical development of relief sculpture As a technique for the decoration of wall surfaces, relief carving seems to have been preceded by polychrome painting, as evinced by the Hierakonpolis wall paintings in the so-called Painted Tomb or Tomb 100 (c.3500 bc).5 In fact, the earliest examples of relief carving are to be found not on the walls of structures, but upon small objects of stone or other materials. Given the consummate skill exhibited by the Predynastic artisans who created shaped flint objects or greywacke palettes and vessels such as the Louvre fragment,6 it is not surprising that the technique of small-scale relief carving in greywacke, basalt, and other hard stones appears in late Predynastic times as an art fully developed. Although the limited attestation of precursors to such objects may be ascribed to accident of preservation, the exquisite quality of detail in the carving of such objects is nevertheless astonishing, and the advanced state of the development of visual principles for the representation of objects in two dimensions is readily apparent. A clue to the process whereby the techniques of relief carving in stone came into being may be provided by the rare survivals of similar work in ivory,7 demonstrating at the very least an emergent uniformity of artistic principles, applied to the decoration of   Aldred 1975: 802–3; Arnold 1977: 847–50.   Hornung 1971: 32–7 and pls. 25–59; Rickerby and Wong 2016: 141–7. 6 7   Smith 1949: pl. 30a.   Hayes 1960: 27–8. 3 4

  Smith 1958: 14–15.

5

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Relief sculpture   463 surfaces in both soft and hard materials. By the beginning of the Dynastic period, these principles, along with the techniques for rendering such decoration on even larger objects, had been perfected. At the same time, it is apparent that canonical iconographic principles for state-sponsored works of art, particularly those containing representations of the king, had been established. The Narmer Palette, created at the beginning of the First Dynasty (c.3000 bc), embodies the culmination of these developments, and at the same time provides an archetype of the principles and thematic elements of pharaonic relief carving in the historic eras that were to follow. Another development of the First Dynasty were large-scale royal stelae inscribed in raised relief, installed at Abydos as part of both the royal and non-royal tomb complexes; these may be considered among the earliest examples of monumental relief carving. By the Second Dynasty (c.2890–2686 bc), relief carving had begun to be applied to the decoration of wall surfaces; appearing first in the form of inscribed wooden or stone stelae inserted into the offering niches of mud-brick private tombs.8 These might bear decoration in raised or sunk relief. Similar to these niche-stelae in function were the slab stelae installed in mastabas of the Third Dynasty (c.2686–2613 bc) at Saqqara and Fourth Dynasty (c.2613–2494 bc) at Giza, which bore, in their incipient form, the types of offering scenes that eventually became standard in later periods. A number of well-preserved examples of such private stelae demonstrate the use of polychrome painting to finish the decoration of the relief,9 an early illustration of the symbiotic relationship between the two techniques. Meanwhile, in the Third Dynasty, high-quality relief carving had begun to be employed on the standing stone walls of monumental structures, most beautifully exhibited by the reliefs of Djoser (c.2667–2648 bc) from the subterranean chambers of his tomb complex, as well as by the remains of raised relief decoration from his temple at Heliopolis.10 Even at this early date, the critical elements of wall relief decoration, such as the registration of scenes, the canon of proportions for figures of various scales, the juxtaposition of text with figural elements, the use of line dividers, and the use of groundlines, sky-lines, and the kheker-frieze as framing elements, were fully employed. Thus by the beginning of the Fourth Dynasty the tradition of relief carving as a method of architectural decoration was fully in place. The interior chambers of mastaba tombs of Old Kingdom courtiers in the Giza and Saqqara necropoleis, the arrangement of whose apartments generally increased in size and complexity over time, would come to be adorned with raised-relief decoration of the highest quality, including traditional offering scenes and other funerary motifs. Such elements were frequently supplemented by daily-life representations and natural scenes of stunning liveliness and beauty, such as those in the Sixth-Dynasty tombs of Kagemni11 and Mereruka.12 The quality and style of relief decoration in these elite monuments was frequently imitated in lager ages. The monarchs of the Old Kingdom, and particularly those of the Fifth and Sixth Dynasties, also lavished the walls of their funerary temples with relief decoration of comparable excellence. Since relatively little remains of the decorated wall surfaces in the Fourth-Dynasty royal pyramid complexes, these funerary reliefs are best exemplified by the carvings that adorned the causeways connecting the valley temples and pyramid temples within the complexes of Sahura,13 Niuserra,14   Smith 1958: pls. 13–14.   Von Bissing 1905–11. 14  Borchardt 1907. 8

11

9   Der Manuelian 2003.   Sakkarah Expedition 1938.

12

  Smith 1949: Figures 48, 50–3. 13  Borchardt 1910–13.

10

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464   J. Brett Mc Clain and Unas15 of the Fifth Dynasty (c.2494–2345 bc). Executed in limestone in raised relief, these extensive scenes, now preserved only in fragments, showed processions of offering bearers and foreign tributaries, as well as episodes from the funerary procession itself, along with representations of the sed-festival (royal jubilee). Along with the other kings of his dynasty, Niuserra also constructed his own solar temple at Abusir, the corridors of which were also adorned with reliefs, including sed-festival representations.16 At the end of the 5th and continuing through the Sixth Dynasty, the subterranean chambers of the royal pyramids were also decorated, not with ritual scenes, but with the spells of the Pyramid Texts, carved in sunk relief on the rock-cut walls. Throughout the Old Kingdom, both raised and sunk relief carving continued to be executed in hard stone as well, as exemplified by the elaborate palace-façade patterns on sarcophagi such as that of the Fourth Dynasty courtier Ankh-Khufu.17 In the succeeding First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc), regional stylistic variations and fluctuating levels of quality of execution in relief carving contrast starkly with the high ‘Memphite’ style of the preceding dynasties. Inscribed structures, such as the tomb of Ankhtify at Mo’alla,18 or stelae, such as those known from Naga ed-Deir,19 are readily recognizable by their stylistic, perhaps regional, idiosyncrasies, with lively, less formally composed renditions of their subjects. The re-establishment of central authority under the Eleventh Dynasty (c.2125–1985 bc) seems to have led to resumed production of relief ­works in a regularized court style and with royal standards of craftsmanship, apparent in the decoration of the mortuary temple of Nebhepetra Mentuhotep II.20 Shortly afterward, during the reign of Senusret I (c.1965–1920 bc), Theban sculptors created one of the great masterpieces of monumental relief carving, the White Chapel of Karnak;21 inscribed in a combination of raised and sunk relief, its elegant, yet highly detailed hieroglyphs and figures of the king and gods (Figure 22.3) embodied iconographic themes that would characterize Theban temple decoration for centuries to come. From the funerary complex of the same ruler at Lisht have survived reliefs of comparable quality that imitate the Memphite style of the Fifth and Sixth Dynasties. Yet high quality relief decoration also remained available to non-royal patrons; such work is found in the carved and painted tombs of the nomarchs at Qau,22 Beni Hasan,23 Meir,24 and Deir el-Bersha,25 all from this period. In both the Twelfth Dynasty and the Thireenth, statuary in harder stones also continued to incorporate decorative or inscriptional elements in relief. Fundamentally, the principles and content of relief sculpture in both temple and tomb contexts in the New Kingdom (c.1550–1069 bc) were firmly rooted in the canonical traditions that had been developed in the earlier dynasties. To this tradition were added two major innovations. The first of these was simply an expansion of scale. At Thebes, Amenhotep I (c.1525–1504 bc) began what was essentially a single long building campaign at Karnak, a ­project of continual expansion that would occupy his successors for the next five centuries and beyond, adding building upon building to the temple’s Middle Kingdom core, with every new surface decorated in raised or sunk relief. From the reign of Hatshepsut (c.1473–1458 bc) 16   Von Bissing and Borchardt 1905–28.   PM III2, 2, 417–20. 18 19   Borchardt 1964: 209–12, pl. 112.  Vandier 1950.  Dunham 1937. 21 20   Lacau and Chevrier 1956–69.   Naville et al 1907–13. 22 23 24  Petrie 1930.   Newberry et al 1893–1900.  Blackman 1914–53. 25   Newberry 1894; Griffith 1895. 15 17

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Relief sculpture   465

Figure 22.3  Raised relief scene from the reign of Senusret I. Karnak, White Chapel, north exterior. Photograph by author.

onwards, the scale of these structures rapidly increased, and the great pylons, colonnades, and courts that characterized the expansion of the Karnak complex provided an unprecedented quantity of stone wall surface available for decoration. A corollary development was the increased use of sandstone in monumental construction, which allowed the building of more massive structures than was possible with limestone. The second innovation of the New Kingdom was the variety of new types of compositions with which these vast surfaces were filled. Chief among these were the great narrative reliefs, such as those carved under

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466   J. Brett Mc Clain Tutankhamun26 in the Eighteenth Dynasty, Seti I27 and Rameses II28 in the Nineteenth Dynasty, and under Rameses III29 in the Twentieth Dynasty. Rendered primarily in sunk relief on large sandstone wall surfaces, these series of scenes depicting Egypt’s foreign wars and other historical events employed complex arrangements of registers and dynamic new modes of presenting large groups of figures, landscape elements, and other features designed to convey the action and movement of the episodes recorded. Finished in bright polychrome paint, as the preserved examples from Rameses III’s mortuary temple at Medinet Habu30 illustrate, these reliefs exhibit a realism and vibrancy not dissimilar to that found in the daily life scenes in the Old Kingdom mastabas, but on a much more massive scale, and with the intent of depicting specific events as elaborately as possible in monumental form. The gigantic wall surfaces of these New Kingdom monuments also allowed more formal types of scenes, such as the ­smiting-the-enemies motif or long sequences of festival scenes, to be presented at much larger scales than had previously been possible. The level of care with which such large-scale reliefs were made seems to have varied based on historical circumstances and on the resources available for construction and decoration; the vast monumental programmes of Amenhotep III and Seti I included thousands of square meters of wall surface, decorated with some of the finest raised and sunk relief carving ever seen, while the monuments of Rameses II, known for their even larger scope and scale, frequently display the apparent haste with which the carving, primarily in sunk relief, was executed. Another important feature to be kept in mind when studying New Kingdom temple relief is the distinct stylistic evolution that occurred over time. What may at first appear to be varying levels of quality may in fact have resulted from deliberate stylistic choices, as the artistic taste of the court changed over the centuries. The reliefs and inscriptions found in tombs and temples of the late Ramesside period, often seen as ‘decadent’ in comparison with the sculptured surfaces of preceding dynasties, were in fact rendered according to consciously ­chosen stylistic considerations and incorporated innovative features such as the j­ uxtaposition of raised and sunk relief in architectural elements31 and relief panels with polychrome glass inlaid decoration,32 along with the vivid and lifelike depictions of foreign peoples33 for which Rameses III’s war reliefs are justly famed. Relief carving in hard stone was carried to a new level of quality in the New Kingdom. Of particular note is the Red Chapel of Hatshepsut at Karnak,34 whose exquisite sunkrelief scenes in red quartzite and black granite still defy full explanation of the techniques by which they were so skilfully engraved. The vast quantities of hard stone statuary produced during Amenhotep III’s reign, particularly the pieces executed for his mortuary temple, include many examples of both raised and sunk relief carving of the finest quality, and the massive obelisks hewn under the Thutmoside dynasty and under Seti I and Rameses II, with their finely carved sunk relief scenes and texts, form their own category of inscribed monument.35 As with carving in sandstone and limestone, the quality of execution of reliefs and inscriptions in hard stone varied greatly from reign to reign, based on the time and resources available to the artisans who created them. Reliefs in hard stone might be finished in paint, but they might also be left unpainted in order to display the 27 28   Epigraphic Survey 1986.   Kuentz 1929–34.   Epigraphic Survey 1994. 30   Epigraphic Survey 1930: pl. 20.   Epigraphic Survey 1930; 1932. 31 32   Hölscher 1941: pls. 36–7.   Hölscher 1951, pls. 5, 30–2. 33 34 35   Epigraphic Survey 1932: pl. 100.   Burgos and Larche 2006.  Habachi 1978. 26 29

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Relief sculpture   467 beauty of the stone; and in some cases, gilding or other precious metal coatings might be applied to the finished reliefs. As with temple relief, the use of relief carving in tomb contexts in the New Kingdom was primarily distinguished by the scale of the monuments themselves. As reign followed reign, ever-larger royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings provided copious subterranean wall surface for decoration. Yet in the earlier tombs of this sequence, the decoration was provided in paint only. From the reign of Horemheb onwards, however, relief carving was used in the royal tombs, of which that of Seti I, with its exquisite raised relief scenes, is the most celebrated example;36 it is also the only raised relief carved tomb whose decorative scheme was entirely finished. Later tombs, beginning with that of Merneptah, but particularly tombs such as those of Rameses III, VI, and IX, were decorated in a combination of painted sunk relief alongside scenes in polychrome paint only. Again, historical circumstance dictated the degree of elaboration employed in tomb reliefs; unlike the reliefs in a temple, a tomb’s decoration had to be completed quickly, before the interment of its kingly occupant. Nonroyal tombs of the period also frequently employed decoration in either raised or sunk relief, the nature, quantity, and quality of which varied widely based on historical factors, the rank and wealth of the tomb owner, and also upon the quality of the stone matrix in which the tomb happened to be carved; as with the royal tombs, in almost every case the reliefs were finished in paint, or were intended to be so finished. Again, it is among the royal and private tombs of Thebes, many of which were left incomplete, that the complementary processes of relief carving and wall painting, with their stages of execution, can most clearly be observed. By the end of the New Kingdom, the repertoire of types and styles of relief carving was fully elaborated. In the Third Intermediate Period, under Kushite rule, and during the Saïte, Persian, and Late Dynastic periods, the use of relief sculpture in temple and tomb contexts, and for stelae and other objects in hard or soft stone, continued to employ the same range of techniques and canonical principles that had been developed in the preceding ‘classical’ ages. Innovations in the first millennium bc involved iconography and style, rather than scale or technique. The kings of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty constructed large-scale monuments decorated in both raised and sunk relief, whose decorative features were clearly intended to imitate standing Ramesside temples, and yet the manner in which the figures and hieroglyphs were rendered in both raised and sunk relief, in traditional ritual scenes, is quite distinctive, imitating to a degree the Memphite style of the Old Kingdom in both style and content. The great private tombs of this period, such as those of Pabasa and Harwa,37 display even more clearly this homage to the decorative style of the Old Kingdom, including exquisite scenes of daily life, funerary processions, and netherworld texts and scenes, finely rendered in limestone in raised relief. The relatively limited quantity of relief carving surviving from the final dynasties of the pharaonic period also displays distinctive stylistic features, but defined very much, in terms of technique and content, by traditional models.38 In the Ptolemaic period (332–30 bc), the accelerated pace of large-scale temple construction provided ample space for the carving of relief decoration. Again, innovation in the reliefs of this era, and in those of the following Roman period (30 bc–ad 311), was concerned with style and content rather than with technique or context. Both raised and sunk relief carving of the Ptoelmaic period are stylistically distinctive, with figures of kings and   Hornung 1999.

36

 Russman 1992.

37

  Smith 1958: 250–2.

38

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468   J. Brett Mc Clain gods rendered in such a way as to portray the Hellenistic ideal of tryphe in Egyptian form, provided with crowns, regalia, and ritual implements of the most baroque character, and the greater profusion of hieroglyphic signs allowing for a degree of creative expression in the written characters that had not previously been conceivable. Of great interest are those monuments in which elements of Hellenistic art were incorporated into traditional Egyptian relief representation, such as the tomb of Petosiris;39 yet these seem to have been exceptional cases. Certainly the relief decoration of great temple complexes of Edfu, Dendera, Philae, Kom Ombo, and Esna, along with the numerous monumental additions to Theban temple complexes, reflects traditional Egyptian style and content, rendered in the elaborate, densely adorned manner of the Ptolemies. As for quality of composition and execution, a wide range is to be found, from the hastily or incompletely rendered re-carving of existing monuments that often occurred in Thebes, to the finely and carefully detailed scenes and inscriptions found within the temple of Edfu, and the crowded and, in places, unfinished hieroglyphic inscriptions with which the columns of Esna were encrusted.40 From the second century ad onwards, a gradual deterioration in the quality of relief carving can be observed, a process which reflects no doubt the progressive impoverishment of the temples themselves; yet even in the second and third centuries ad, both raised and sunk relief carving might be executed at a large scale, and surfaces decorated in this period display a particular Late Antique hieroglyphic style that has a character of its own.41 Stelae, statuary, and other hard stone objects also continued to be decorated in relief of varying quality. In monumental contexts and upon other sculpted objects, the decoration of surfaces in relief carving, in the traditional Egyptian fashion, continued up to the end of pharaonic civilization, of which it formed a core component.

Suggested reading The best source for the techniques and historical development of relief sculpture in Egypt remains the classic Smith (1958), many times updated, most recently as Smith and Simpson (1999). There are a few studies dedicated to specific epochs: for the formative period through to the end of the Old Kingdom, consult Smith (1949), to which add the relevant observations made by Brovarski (2008). The early Middle Kingdom is covered by Freed (1984), while Russmann (1992) has assembled the most relevant data for the Kushite and Saïte periods. The salient general issues are summarized by Vandersleyen (1982), with a number of useful references.

Bibliography Aldred, C. 1975. Bildhauer und Bildhauerei. In Lexikon der Ägyptologie. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, Vol 1, 800–5. Arnold, D. 1977. Grabbau. In Lexikon der Ägyptologie. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, Vol 2, 845–51. Bell, L. 1996. New Kingdom Epigraphy. In N. Thomas (ed), The American Discovery of Ancient Egypt: Essays. Los Angeles: Abrams Publishers, 97–109.   Lefebvre 2007; Cherpion et al 2007.

39

  Sauneron 1959: pls. 9, 14.

40

 Hölbl 2000.

41

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Relief sculpture   469 Bissing, W. von 1905–11. Die Mastaba des Gem-ni-Kai. 2 vols. Berlin: Verlag von Alexander Duncker. Bissing, W. von and Borchardt, L. 1905–28. Das Re-Heiligtum des Königs Ne-woser-re’ (Rathures), vols I–III. Leipzig: J.-C. Hinrichs. Blackman, A. 1914–53. The Rock-Tombs of Meir. 6 vols. ASE 22, 23, 24, 25, 28, 29. London: Egypt ­Exploration Fund. Borchardt, L. 1907. Das Grabdenkmal des Königs Ne-user-re’. Leipzig: J.-C. Hinrichs. Borchardt, L. 1910–13. Das Grabdenkmal des Königs S’aḥu-re’, vols I–II. Leipzig: J.-C. Hinrichs. Borchardt, L. 1964 [1899]. Denkmäler des alten Reiches, part II. CGC Nos 1542–1808. Cairo: Organisme Général des Imprimeries Gouvernmentales. Brovarski, E. 2008. A Second Style in Egyptian Relief of the Old Kingdom. In S.E. Thomson and P. Der Manuelian (eds), Egypt and Beyond: Essays Presented to Leonard H. Lesko. Providence: Brown University, 49–89. Burgos, F. and Larche, F. 2006. La chapelle rouge: La sanctuaire de barque d’Hatshepsout. Volume I: Facsimilés et photographies des scenes. Paris: Éditions recherche sur les civilisations. Cherpion, N., Corteggiani, J.-P., and Gout, J.F. 2007. Le tombeau de Pétosiris à Touna el-Gebel. Relevé photographique. Cairo: IFAO. Der Manuelian, P. 2003. Slab Stelae of the Giza Necropolis. New Haven and Philadelphia: Peabody Museum of Natural History, Yale University, and the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Dunham, D. 1937. Naga-ed-Dêr Stelae of the First Intermediate Period. London: Oxford University Press. Epigraphic Survey, The. 1930. Medinet Habu I. Earlier Historical Records of Ramses III. OIP 8. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Epigraphic Survey, The. 1932. Medinet Habu II. Later Historical Records of Ramses III. OIP 9. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Epigraphic Survey, The. 1986. The Battle Reliefs of King Seti I. OIP 107. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Epigraphic Survey, The. 1994. The Festival Procession of Opet in the Colonnade Hall at Luxor Temple. OIP 112. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Freed, R. 1984. The Development of Middle Kingdom Egyptian Relief Sculptural Schools of Late ­Dynasty XI, with an Appendix on the Trends of Early Dynasty XII (2040–1878 b.c.). Unpublished PhD thesis, New York University. Griffith, F.Ll. 1895. El-Bersheh II (with P. Newberry). ASE 4. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Habachi, L. 1978. The Obelisks of Egypt: Skyscrapers of the Past. London: J.M. Dent. Hayes, W. 1960. The Scepter of Egypt, Part I: From the Earliest Times to the Middle Kingdom. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Hölbl, G. 2000. Altägypten im Römischen Reich: der römische Pharao und seine Tempel. Vol. I. Römische Politik und altägyptische Ideologie von Augustus bis Diokletian. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Hölscher, U. 1941. The Excavation of Medinet Habu III. The Mortuary Temple of Ramses III, Part I. OIP 54. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hölscher, U. 1951. The Excavation of Medinet Habu IV. The Mortuary Temple of Ramses III, Part II. OIP 55. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hornung, E. 1971. Das Grab des Haremhab im Tal der Könige. Bern: Francke Verlag. Hornung, E. 1999. Das Grab Sethos’ I. Zürich: Artemis & Winkler. Kuentz, C. 1928–34. La bataille de Qadech. MIFAO 55. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Lacau, P. and Chevrier, H. 1956–69. Une chapelle de Sésostris Ier à Karnak. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Lefebvre, G. 2007. Le tombeau de Pétosiris (I-II), 2nd ed. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Naville, E. 1907–13. The XIth Dynasty Temple at Deir el-Bahari, parts I–III. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Naville, E. 1896. The Temple of Deir El Bahari: Parts 1 and 2. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Newberry, P.E. 1894. El-Bersheh I: The Tomb of Tehuti-Hetep (with G. Fraser). ASE 3. London: Egypt Exploration Fund.

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470   J. Brett Mc Clain Newberry, P.E. and Griffith, F. Ll. 1893–1900. Beni Hassan. 4 vols. ASE 1, 2, 5, 7. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Petrie, W. 1930. Antaeopolis. The Tombs of Qau. BSAE 51. London: BSAE. Rickerby, S. and Wong, L. 2016. The Technology of Royal Tomb Decoration. In R.  Wilkinson and K. Weeks (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Valley of the Kings. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 137–52. Russman, E. 1992. Relief Decoration in Theban Private Tombs of the Twenty-Fifth and Twenty-Sixth Dynasties: Its Origins and Development with Particular Reference to the Tomb of Harwa (TT 37). Unpublished PhD thesis, New York University. Sakkarah Expedition 1938. The Mastaba of Mereruka, vols I–II. OIP 31, 39. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Sauneron, S. 1959. Quatre campagnes à Esna. Esna I. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Smith, W.S. 1949. A History of Egyptian Sculpture and Painting in the Old Kingdom, 2nd ed. London: Oxford University Press. Smith, W.S. 1958. The Art and Architecture of Ancient Egypt. Baltimore: Penguin Books. Smith, W.S. and Simpson, W.K. 1999. The Art and Architecture of Ancient Egypt. New Yaven: Yale University Press. Vandersleyen, C. 1982. Relief. In Lexikon der Ägyptologie. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, Vol 5, 224–9. Vandier, J. 1950. La tombe d’Ankhtifi et la tombe de Sébekhotep. BdÉ 18. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale.

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pa rt V

E GY P T A N D I T S N E IGH BOU R S : R E V ISI T I NG C RO S S-BOR DE R R E L AT IONSH I P S

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chapter 23

A fr ica sou th of Egy pt Robert Morkot

Introduction The states of the Lower Nile that are defined as ‘ancient Egypt’ always had a complex ­relationship with the regions further to the south. Much of this relationship was ­economic, as the countries of the ‘Middle Nile’, the Ethiopian highlands, and Red Sea coast, and the regions that are now the eastern and western deserts provided—directly or indirectly—precious materials (‘luxuries’) that formed a major element of Egypt’s trade and gift exchange with western Asia and the eastern Mediterranean, as well as being of internal importance. The economic relationship developed into complex political and cultural interactions, with periods of Egyptian domination in the Middle Nile, but also Kushite domination of Egypt. In some phases economic and cultural connectivity was more significant than the politics.

Names and terminology The Egyptians used a large number of terms and names for the regions to the south, some imposed by them, most taken from the peoples and places of those regions. The earliest names, ‘Ta-Seti’ (the land of Bow[-users]) and Ta-Nehesyu (the ‘southerners’), remained generalized terms throughout Egyptian history, usually in relation to the world-conqueror status of the pharaoh. Territorial designations changed much more frequently, reflecting internal political factors. Names of states or ‘tribes’, originally quite precisely defined, became more generalized: so Wawat indicating a political unit immediately south of the First Cataract, was eventually applied to the whole region from the First to Second Cataracts; Kush, the name of a state south of the Third Cataract first attested in the later third millennium, ultimately came to be used for the whole region south of the First Cataract, and so it appears in Assyrian and Biblical sources of the first millennium. Names appear and d ­ isappear, or rise to prominence, giving a vague idea of political growth and change which can rarely be tied to archaeological evidence.1 Geographically, ‘Nubia’ is conventionally divided into two: Lower Nubia being the region from the First to Second Cataracts, and Upper Nubia the Second to Fourth Cataracts (Figure 23.1). As a cultural and archaeological term, Nubia/Nubian has been rather loosely 1  Zibelius 1972; Zibelius-Chen 1988.

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Figure 23.1  Map of the region south of Egypt. Drawn by Henry Bishop-Wright

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Africa south of Egypt   475 applied to the whole Nile Valley from Aswan to Khartoum.2 There are, however, numerous implications in the use of ‘Nubian’ as it also defines languages and ethnic groups which are not all indigenous to the Nile valley.3 In more recent times Kush and Kushite have been favoured by many, and the even less loaded ‘Middle Nile’ by others.4 The surrounding regions have usually been specified as eastern and western (or Libyan) desert, and by their own names (Darfur, Kordofan) or specific features (Ethiopian highlands, Gash Delta, Wadi Howar). The terminology for the historical and archaeological phases (apart from the 25th Dynasty) was coined by George Reisner as a direct response to his first season’s ­excavation in the First Archaeological Survey of Nubia in 1907.5 This resulted in a range of ‘new’ cultures which Reisner labelled simply from ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘C’ to ‘X’ (with some gaps in the sequence), representing prehistoric to Byzantine phases. Although the excavations were confined to a small region immediately to the south of Aswan, these terms soon became standard and were applied across Lower Nubia as far as the Second Cataract in subsequent excavations and surveys. The A–X terminology is specific to Lower Nubia, and although the cultures have parallels further south, a different terminology has been developed in response to excavations there. Upper Nubia is now divided into eight major cultural-historical phases: prehistoric; pre-Kerma; the kingdom of Kerma; the Egyptian domination; the indigenous kingdom focused on Napata; its successor at Meroe; Christian and Islamic. All of these phases are further subdivided. ‘Napatan’ designates the period from the origin of the state (eleventh/ninth century bc) through to the 25th Egyptian Dynasty (c.750–656 bc) and its immediate successors contemporary with the 26th Dynasty (664–525 bc); with ‘Late Napatan’ designating the period from 525 to 300 bc (roughly equivalent to the Persian Period in Egypt). The term ‘Meroitic’ is generally applied to the historical and archaeological phases from c.300 bc to the fourth century ad. The defining change is the transfer of the kings’ burial place from Nuri to Meroe, following the burial of Nastaseñ (conventionally around 330 bc). In more recent years ‘Kushite’ has been applied to the indigenous powers, and some archaeologists refer specifically to Kerma as the ‘First Kushite Kingdom’ (or Kingdom of Kush) and Napata as the ‘Second Kushite Kingdom’. The post-Meroitic period prior to the emergence of the Christian kingdoms was, in Reisner’s terminology for Lower Nubia, ‘X’-Group: ‘Ballana culture’ is now generally used for this phase. In the south, ‘Post-pyramidal Meroitic’ was suggested by Patrice Lenoble6 for the period following the abandonment of the royal cemetery at Meroe, but still dominated by a major ‘royal’ site at el-Hobagi. Tradition claims that Christianity was introduced into Nubia in ad 542 by rival missions of the Emperor Justinian and his wife Theodora, each attempting to convert the indigenous kingdoms to their own preferred creed. The Christian kingdoms are referred to by name in written sources.7 Lower Nubia was the kingdom of Nobadia with its capital at Faras, and other key centres at Ibrim, Jebel Adda, and Meinarti. Old Dongola was the residence of the kings of Makuria, and Soba East the capital of the southernmost kingdom of Alwa.

2  Adams 1977: 20–33. 3 Thelwall 1989. 4  E.g. Edwards 2004. 5  See Adams 1977: 71–4; Morkot 2000: 24–5. 6 Lenoble 1999. 7  Welsby 2002; Welsby and Anderson 2004: 202–8.

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The Nile Valley south of Egypt Prehistory Prehistoric cultures are attested throughout the Nile Valley and into what is now the ­surrounding desert.8 In Lower Nubia, between the First and Second Cataracts the ‘A’-Group culture was first identified by Reisner. He argued that this was effectively Egyptian colonization in the late Predynastic period that then declined through miscegenation (interbreeding) with peoples coming from the south (a phase he termed ‘B’- Group)9: an interpretation now completely refuted. The most significant challenge to Reisner’s model came with the excavations of the ‘A’-Group cemetery at Qustul by the Oriental Institute of Chicago. As a result of these, Bruce Williams argued that the pharaonic monarchy appeared first in Nubia, not in Egypt. He based his argument on material that incorporated Egyptian royal iconography and Horus names.10 William Adams contested this interpretation and the full publication confirmed that the artefacts were imports from Egypt, and more recent excavations at Abydos now pre-date the Qustul material.11 Although Williams’s interpretation has been rejected, it is certain that a process of state formation was taking place in Lower Nubia contemporaneously with the emergence of the united state in Egypt. ‘A’-Group kingdoms were probably based at Seyala12 and Qustul, perhaps being united before the aggressive campaigns of the pharaohs of the 1st Dynasty. It has been assumed that the early Egyptian pharaohs wished to gain direct control of the trade coming from further south, itself implying that there were organized states in Lower Nubia, and presumably in the Kerma region, that were channelling commodities northwards. The situation in Nubia at the time of the Egyptian Old Kingdom remains unclear. Rather than the decline proposed by Reisner, most later archaeologists concurred that the Egyptian campaigns forced the ‘A’-Group population to abandon their settlements and either retreat further into Upper Nubia, or revert to a pastoralist lifestyle in the surrounding (semi-) desert.13 An Egyptian fortress and town were built at Buhen, and evidence indicates that copper was being smelted.14 The inscribed material from Buhen continues through the 4th into the 5th Dynasties. The gneiss quarries to the west of Toshka were exploited, notably during the reign of Khafra.15 The evidence ceases in the 5th Dynasty which is the time that the appearance of indigenous chiefdoms is recorded by Egyptian inscriptions. It is possible that the Lower Nubian population used the valley seasonally for crop production, but ­otherwise had little interaction with the Egyptians at Buhen. Recent studies suggest that there was significant climate change in the later Old Kingdom, resulting in the present state of the Sahara: this could have had a major effect on pastoralists, and forced them back ­permanently into the Nile Valley. Some writers argue that the indigenous population (early ‘C’-Group) continued to occupy the Lower Nubian Nile Valley throughout the Old 8  E.g. Fisher et al 2012: 10–14; Welsby and Anderson 2004: 20–60; Midant-Reynes 1992. 9  Adams 1977: 118–35; O’Connor 1993: 10–23. 10 Williams 1980. 11  Williams 1985; 1986. 12 Smith 1991. 13  Fisher et al 2012: 15–16. 14 O’Connor 2014. 15  Shaw et al 2010.

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Africa south of Egypt   477 Kingdom, but had no interaction with the Egyptians in this phase. Recent survey in the southern parts of the western desert has found evidence for 4th-Dynasty activities and wells in the region of the Wadi Howar, and pottery dumps indicate a caravan route, ‘the Abu Ballas trail’, extending south west from Dakhla Oasis towards the Gilf Kebir and Jebel Uweinat.16 The key texts used for the reconstruction of events in Nubia in the 5th and 6th Dynasties are in tombs of officials at Aswan, notably that of Harkhuf. These inscriptions name three polities south of Aswan: Wawat, Irtjet, and Setju, all of which are also known from other Egyptian sources. Harkhuf ’s account records the emergence of these three ‘chiefdoms’ into one state in the 6th Dynasty. Bruce Trigger argued that these chiefdoms represented the three most fertile areas of Lower Nubia, and Wawat itself became the Egyptian term for the whole of the region between Aswan and the Second Cataract.17 The focus of Harkhuf ’s trading expeditions was the land of Yam. There has, inevitably, been a voluminous literature on the location of Yam.18 A consensus was reached that identified Yam with the region of Kerma, but the debate was renewed by David O’Connor who proposed a complete re-evaluation of the account of Harkhuf.19 In his analysis, the polities named covered the whole Nile Valley from Aswan to the Shendi Reach and Yam lay in the southernmost part.20 More recently, a rock inscription of a pharaoh Mentuhotep has been found at Jebel Uweinat. This includes references to the lands of Yam/Ima and Tekhebet, suggesting the possibility that these territories lay far to the west of the Nile Valley.21 Excavations by the Swiss-Sudanese team led by Charles Bonnet have pushed the early ‘pre’-Kerma phases back further into the Old Kingdom.22 They also show that there was not an absolutely clear cultural divide between Lower and Upper Nubia.

The First Intermediate Period During the First Intermediate Period, the situation within Egypt prevented military activities by pharaohs or nomarchs in the Nile Valley to the south, but strong contacts remained. Soldiers from the regions south of Aswan were employed in the armies of rival nomarchs, and the archaeological material suggests that they came from the Nile Valley, Kerma region, and the eastern desert. The stelae from Gebelein, the large wooden model of a troop of archers from the tomb of Mesehti at Asyut, and scenes in tombs at Beni Hasan show that ‘Nubians’ were widespread.23 The Theban ruler Mentuhotep II may have had wives of Eastern Desert Medjay origin. This period probably saw the growth of the states along the Nubian Nile. A series of rock inscriptions and graffiti with royal images might belong to this phase. Adopting Egyptian iconography, the ‘kings’ wear the White Crown, and have cartouches, both nomen and prenomen, sometimes with additional titles. These inscriptions were considered by earlier scholars to name Herakleopolitan rulers of the First Intermediate Period, but have since been ascribed to indigenous rulers of the Second Intermediate Period.24 More recently they 16  Förster 2013; Hendrickx et al 2013; Pantalacci 2013. 17 Trigger 1965; 1976. 18  See O’Connor 1982; 1986; 1993. 19 O’Connor 1986. 20  O’Connor 1993: 32. 21 Pantalacci 2013. 22 Honegger 2004. 23 Fischer 1961. 24 Kemp 1983.

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478   Robert Morkot have been attributed to the local rulers of the late First Intermediate Period and early Middle Kingdom.25

The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period Following Egyptian reunification in the 11th Dynasty, the pharaohs expanded their power into Lower Nubia, building fortresses around the Second Cataract.26 It was generally assumed that the conquest of Nubia was relatively easy, and that the Egyptians largely ignored the local population. However, the inscriptions of Inyotef-iqer state that he ­campaigned for twenty years to establish Egyptian control. Fortress building began in the 11th Dynasty, but the major work was that of the 12th-Dynasty rulers, Senusret I and III. Large ‘plains’ forts at Buhen and Mirgissa acted as supply and storage facilities to serve the smaller forts and to receive the produce brought from the south. Small forts controlled the islands and west bank, with a major defence at Semna, the narrowest point on the river. The evidence for the indigenous ‘C’-Group culture was re-examined by Manfred Bietak, who proposed a new and more detailed chronology of the material.27 Most of the excavated material is from cemetery sites, but some settlements are known. The site of Areika was first examined by Leonard Woolley and David Randall MacIver who thought that it was the ‘castle’ of local Nubian chief. The material was completely re-assessed by Josef Wegner who came to the conclusion that it was a settlement associated with Nubian soldiers in Egyptian service.28 Reisner’s original interpretation of Kerma as an Egyptian trading centre with an Egyptian governor has long since been discredited. Brigitte Gratien totally reordered Kerma chronology on evidence from excavations at Sai, effectively inverting Reisner’s peak-to-decline scheme, to show that Kerma achieved its greatest wealth in its latest phases.29 Peter Lacovara confirmed and refined Gratien’s work based on a reassessment of Reisner’s material from Kerma itself.30 The Swiss–Sudanese excavations directed by Charles Bonnet have vastly expanded our knowledge and present a totally new interpretation of the site and its importance throughout ancient times.31 Egyptian activity is now seen as exploiting the mineral resources of Lower Nubia, with the fortresses controlling the transit of trade from the south. It is now argued that the Egyptians initially ‘bolstered’ Kerma as their trading partner, but that the rising power and expansion of the Kerma state then became a contributory factor to the end of Egyptian occupation of Lower Nubia. The excavation of the Second Cataract Fortresses in the UNESCO campaign showed that many were abandoned during the 13th Dynasty, and then taken over by Kerma garrisons. Direct trading between Kerma and the Hyksos rulers of Lower Egypt is attested through the clay seals from the site of Kerma. A picture emerges in which Kerma and the Delta dominated the international trade, leaving the Theban kingdom relatively poor and without any direct access to external markets. There is a large quantity of archaeological evidence 25  Morkot 1999b; 2000: 53–6. 26  Fisher et al 2012: 21–5. 27  Bietak 1968; Fisher et al 2012: 17–21. 28  Wegner 1995; O’Connor 1993: 46–50. 29 Gratien 1978. 30 Lacovara 1987. 31  E.g. Bonnet 1986; 1990; Welsby and Anderson 2004: 70–89.

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Africa south of Egypt   479 from Egypt revealing the presence of Kushites throughout the country during the Second Intermediate Period, again probably employed as troops. First identified by Flinders Petrie, and dubbed ‘Pan Grave’, the burials, which are the main source of evidence, include Kermaware pottery.32 Textual evidence from the tomb of Sobeknakht at el-Kab narrates Kushite attacks on Upper Egypt in the 17th Dynasty.33 Theban campaigns against Kush, as a prelude to the major offensive against the Hyksos, are documented by the Kamose Stele34 and by the archaeological evidence from Buhen.35 The most recent work by Bonnet’s team at DokkiGel in the northern part of Kerma, has found elaborate mud-brick foundations to wooden structures that are not like anything else found in the Nile Valley, and may relate to this precise historical phase.36

New Kingdom Egyptian expansion into Nubia in the early 18th Dynasty is documented by a number of inscriptions, and was once viewed as a relatively simple process.37 Having secured the ­fortresses of the Second Cataract, the Egyptians attacked and defeated Kerma, and then absorbed ‘Kush’ as far as Gebel Barkal and the Fourth Cataract. The whole of Upper Nubia from the Second to the Fourth Cataracts became the administrative province of ‘Kush’, ruled by the viceroy and his deputies, the idnw. The Egyptians proceeded to exploit the whole of Nubia and the regions beyond through systems of ‘tax’ and ‘tribute’. In Upper Nubia (Kush) the archaeological evidence was interpreted as ‘colonial’ settlement with, possibly, Egyptian settlers; the main centres were at Soleb, Sedeinga, Sesebi, Kawa, and perhaps ‘Napata’. Some writers even proposed that ‘Napata’ was the vice-regal ‘capital’. Cecil Firth argued that the population of Lower Nubia declined during the 18th Dynasty, with the result that the great temple-building projects of the reign of Rameses II were essentially in a deserted land (see Figure 23.2 for his major complex at Abu Simbel).38 A modified and more complex view of settlement and imperialism was proposed by Barry Kemp, Paul Frandsen, and David O’Connor.39 Apart from the new material uncovered in excavation, there has been relatively little recent reassessment of Nubia during the New Kingdom.40 On the evidence from the UNESCO excavations, Torgny Säve-Söderbergh and Lana Troy showed that Nubian cultural traditions continued alongside Egyptianization, and presented a rather more complex view of Egyptian rule and cultural change. Recent studies have discussed issues of hybridization and cultural entanglement.41 At Tumbos, and elsewhere, food production has been used as a sign of cultural difference: production of millet and porridge, against the Egyptian preference for wheat and bread.42 32  Bourriau 1991; Hein 2001. 33 Davies 2003. 34  Smith and Smith 1976. 35  Caminos 1974; Emery et al 1979; Smith 1976. 36  Available at: https://kerma.ch/publications. 37  Adams 1977: 217–25; Fisher et al 2012: 25–33. 38  Adams 1977: 241–2. 39  Kemp 1972; 1978; Frandsen 1979; and O’Connor 1983; 1986; 1987; 1991; 1993. 40  Morkot 1987; 1995a; Spencer et al 2017. 41  Säve-Söderbergh and Troy (1991); van Pelt 2013. 42  Edwards 2004; Smith 2003.

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Figure 23.2  Abu Simbel. Photograph by author

Morkot challenged the older interpretation of the political geography, arguing that direct integration extended only to the Third Cataract, with the Dongola Reach left under the rule of Kushite vassals.43 This has apparently been confirmed by recent survey and excavation between the Third and Fourth Cataracts, where the New Kingdom material is limited in quantity and specific in type. In the region immediately south of the Third Cataract, Stuart Tyson Smith’s excavations at Tumbos show, unsurprisingly, a complex interaction spanning the border (in Morkot’s interpretation) of the Egyptian province and the region to the south.44 At Dokki-Gel in north Kerma, a temple with foundation deposits of Thutmose IV has been excavated.45 Further south, there is no evidence of Egyptian settlement throughout the Dongola Reach, and very little Egyptian material.46 Exactly how important the temple of Amun at Gebel Barkal became during the New Kingdom is far from clear: Timothy Kendall’s elaborate hypothesis surely stretches the evidence much further than is likely. The monumental stele of Thutmose III excavated at Gebel Barkal states that the king built a fortress in the vicinity of the Fourth Cataract, but nothing of it has yet been identified. Many of the statues in the later temple of Amun were taken there from other sites. There is evidence for a small temple dating to the reign of Thutmose IV and the earliest parts of the principal temple of Amun were begun during the 43 Morkot 1991a; 2000; 2001; 2013. 44 Smith 2003. 45  Welsby and Anderson 2004: 108–13; Bonnet and Valbelle 2006.

46 Grzymski 1989.

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Africa south of Egypt   481 reign of Horemheb and completed by Seti I, with an addition by Rameses II. The core of this structure re-used talatat blocks from a temple of Akhenaten, but whether that temple was at Gebel Barkal or further north cannot be substantiated.47

The emergence of Napata The older cultural-historical model argued that Lower Nubia had become depopulated by the Egyptian ‘Third Intermediate Period’ beginning in the later 18th Dynasty. Some archaeologists argued that Lower Nubia was without a settled population until the Ptolemaic period.48 After an unexplained hiatus, an indigenous ‘chiefdom’ emerged in Upper Nubia around 850 bc, in the region of Napata (Gebel Barkal), its rulers being buried at el-Kurru.49 Within the Egyptian chronological framework there was thought to be very little inscriptional or archaeological evidence from the end of the 20th Dynasty until the earliest burials in the cemetery at el-Kurru. In the cemetery at el-Kurru, Reisner identified the burials of Piy, Shabaqo, Shebitqo, and Tanwetamani, having already found that of Taharqo at Nuri.50 According to Reisner, the chiefdom based on el-Kurru expanded rapidly, and in three generations it became ­powerful enough to conquer a divided Libyan Egypt and rule there as the 25th Dynasty until ousted by Psamtik I (656 bc). The emergence of the Kushite kingdom has been the focus of considerable debate. Kendall has published more of the material from el-Kurru but argued that Reisner’s interpretation was correct.51 Morkot challenged the conventional interpretation of vice-regal collapse and the rise of Kush: he argued that the end of the 20th Dynasty saw the emergence and re-alignment of political power in the Nile Valley south of Aswan, possibly the expansion of the Kingdom of Irem.52 Morkot further proposed that the inscription of Karimala (or Kadimala) at Semna53 and inscriptions found at Gebel Barkal and Kawa belonged to Kushite rulers contemporary with Libyan Egypt, and argued that Kawa may have been a significant centre for this new kingdom before the development of the ‘Kurru’ Kingdom. László Török also argued for a ‘long chronology’ for the Kurru cemetery: in his model, the Kurru ‘chiefdom’ emerges following the end of the 20th Dynasty.54 Using the evidence from Assyrian sources, Lisa Heidorn and Morkot both argued that horses were being bred in Upper Nubia (the Dongola or Barkal region) and perhaps exported to Egypt and Assyria.55 The excavations of Irene Vincentelli at Hillat el-Arab have examined tombs which contain pottery, including imported Canaanite amphorae and other material that appear to span the apparent ‘gap’ between the late New Kingdom and the beginning of the Napatan period.56 Similarly, the work of Angelika Lohwasser at Sanam confirms the idea that the Sanam cemetery has New Kingdom origins, even if not in continuous occupation to its later phases.57 47  See now T. Kendall et al, in Spencer et al 2017, 159–92. 48  See Adams 1964; 1977: 241–5; Dixon 1964; Trigger 1965. 49  See Adams 1977: 246–60. 50 Dunham 1950. 51 Kendall 1982; 1999. 52 Morkot 1987; 1994; 1995b; 1999a; 1999b; 2000; 2003. 53  Caminos 1994; 1998; Darnell 2006. 54 Török 1995; 1999a. 55  Heidorn 1997 and Morkot 1995a. 56  Vincentelli 2006; see also Welsby and Anderson 2004: 138–47. 57 Lohwasser 2010.

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482   Robert Morkot There are still many unresolved issues relating to the New Kingdom-Kushite transition, but there is now archaeological evidence for continuity. Certainly this period was far more dynamic than earlier orthodoxy allowed. There is a continued interest in this phase reflected in renewed excavations at el-Kurru58, Amara West59, Sesebi60 and Kawa.61 The major issues relating to the history and chronology of the Kushite 25th Dynasty and its rule in Egypt were considered to be securely established.62 Recently, there have been challenges to the accepted ordering of the kings Shabaqo and Shebitqo, making the latter the direct successor of Piy, and new chronologies for the early 25th Dynasty.63 There are reassessments of the evidence for, and historical details of, the period of Kushite rule in Egypt and its significance.64 Some writers emphasize that the Kushite control of Egypt was a relatively short phase in the entire span of Kushite history, and therefore play down its significance in internal development.65

Later Napatan period The older interpretation of the period following the invasion of Kush by Psamtik II (593 bc) was that the ‘Late Napatan’ state become more inward looking and less involved with Egypt. It has generally been agreed that there was increasing emphasis on the southern domains around Meroe, even though the royal coronation and burial places continued to be at Napata until the reign of Nastaseñ. A series of crises, and perhaps dynastic changes, saw the emergence of a Meroe-based dynasty contemporaneous with the first Ptolemies, and considerable interchange with Egypt, artistic renaissance, Egyptianization and some Hellenization, with ‘recolonization’ of Lower Nubia. There has been less attention paid to the ‘Late Napatan’ period66 and although the views and language of Reisner and other earlier scholars, who talked about the ‘thin veneer’ of Egyptian civilization being peeled away, have been abandoned, there is still a perception that this was a time of cultural and political decline, and with fewer contacts with Egypt. The crucial moment was the invasion in the reign of Psamtik II when it is likely that Napata was attacked.67 The cache of broken statues excavated by Reisner at Gebel Barkal seems to confirm the Egyptian destruction, as the latest statues belonged to Aspelta, estimated to have ruled at the time. Other caches of very similar broken statues have been excavated at Dokki-Gel in the northern part of Kerma and at Dangeil near the Fifth Cataract.68 58  Fisher et al 2012. 59 Binder  2011; Binder, Spencer, and Millet  2011; Spencer, Stevens, and Binder  2014; http://www.­ britishmuseum.org/AmaraWest 60  Spence et al 2009; 2011. 61  Welsby 1998, 2000, 2001; http://www.sudarchrs.org.uk/fieldwork/kawa-excavation-project/. 62 Morkot 1999b; 2000. 63  Aston 2009; Bányai 2013; 2015; Broekman 2011; Jurman 2017; Kahn 2001; 2006a; 2006b. 64 Morkot 2000. 65  E.g. Edwards 2004. 66  But see Morkot 1991b. 67  Sauneron and Yoyotte 1950. 68  Bonnet and Valbelle 2006; Anderson and Salah eldin Mohamed Ahmed 2009.

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Africa south of Egypt   483

Meroitic period The Meroitic phase is marked by the end of burials at Nuri69, and a new cemetery for the kings at Meroe70: some members of the royal family and the elite had been buried at Meroe since the eighth century bc.71 There is very little that can be said about the political history of the six- or seven-hundred year kingdom following the reign of Nastasen, although it is rich culturally and shows strong economic and cultural links with Egypt.72 The outline framework is established through the king-list, itself compiled on the evidence of the ­burials at Meroe, including their positions in the cemeteries and the imported objects within them; even reign-lengths are guessed from the size of a pyramid. A series of alternative king-lists has been produced, but there is an overall rough consensus on ordering and approximate dates: some writers give rather precise dates73, and others, more wisely, opt for a generalized indication.74 This succession of rulers probably represents a number of ‘dynasties’ and other changes, but the detail is unknown (Figure 23.3). There was certainly a ‘renaissance’ coincident with the first Ptolemies in Egypt (roughly 320–200 bc). Contemporary writers tell us that Ptolemy II sent an expedition beyond Meroe to discover the source of the Nile: extensive trade was re-opened at that time and cemeteries have yielded large quantities of imported artefacts. Ptolemy IV began to use the Red Sea and by the early Roman Period the routes to India were being exploited. Ptolemy IV also acquired elephants from regions close to the Red Sea for training and for use in his armies. The ‘Lion Temple’ at Musawwarat es-Sufra, carries inscriptions in hieroglyphic Egyptian and the ­additional epithets and titles of the builder, Arnekhamani, were influenced by those of Ptolemy IV. Masons’ marks in Greek have been found at Meroe and Musawwarat, and there are clear Hellenistic (Alexandrian) stylistic influences in architecture. At the ‘capital’, Meroe, excavation first concentrated on the cemeteries and the large walled enclosure known as the ‘Royal City’, with the temple of Amun adjacent.75 Excavations have been directed towards the settlement history76, yet there is still very little evidence for the majority of the settlement. Grzymski suggests that the population was around 10,000 and that there are sectors showing evidence of urban planning.77 Other important Meroitic sites demonstrate the extent of Meroitic settlements. The ‘Great Enclosure’ at Musawwarat es-Sufra is remarkable for the complexity of its plan. At the centre is a temple-like structure surrounded by corridors, courtyards, and ramps, some with elephant images: there are no inscriptions. The excavations directed by Fritz Hintze78 revealed a complex series of rebuildings and long usage. The nearby ‘Lion Temple’ was more easily dated by the hieroglyphic inscriptions, and images of Arnekhamani, a contemporary of Ptolemy III and IV (therefore c.230–200 bc). Török has suggested that this was a seasonal palace and centre where the Meroitic kings came for some coronation ritual that involved the ceremonial hunting of elephants.79 69 Dunham 1955. 70 Dunham 1957. 71  Dunham 1963; Yellin 2015. 72  Baud et al 2010; Pérez Die 2003; Wildung 1996; Welsby and Anderson 2004; Wenig 1978. 73  See Shinnie 1967: 58–61; Wenig 1967. 74  Török 1997a: 200–6. 75  Garstang et al 1911; Török 1997b. 76  Shinnie and Bradley 1980; Welsby and Anderson 2004: 165–7. 77 Grzymski 2003. 78  See Wenig and Fitzenreiter 1994. 79  Török 1997a: 400.

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Figure 23.3  Pyramid in the North Cemetery at Meroe. Photograph by author

The major site of Naga has a ‘Lion Temple’ constructed by Natakamani and his Kandake Amanitore, rulers of the first century ad. Close by is an ‘Amun temple’ of the same rulers, and an earlier temple of the reign of Kandake Shanakdakheto. The ‘Roman kiosk’ was also notable for its eclectic style. Recent excavations have shown the large scale of this important settlement.80 Both Meroite rulers and Ptolemies built extensively in Lower Nubia, but scholarship has been divided as to whether this represents changes in political dominion or some sort of ‘condominium’.81 The ‘Famine Stele’ on the island of Sehel shows that the priesthood of the temple of Khnum at Aswan were asserting claims over territory to the south of the cataract, perhaps challenging the rising importance of the temple of Isis at Philae. Lower Nubia itself was divided at Maharraqa, a frontier that continued into the Roman period. This was the southern limit of the Dodekaschoinos, and part of Egypt.

80  Wildung 2004: 174–85.

81  Adams 1976; Török 1997a: 432–5.

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Africa south of Egypt   485

Discussion: beyond Meroe Regions south of Khartoum first received attention from the excavations funded by Henry Wellcome at Sennar82, Abu Geili83, and Jebel Moya.84 This showed that artefacts produced during the ‘Napatan’ period (specifically 25th Dynasty) reached far to the south of the ­centre of power. The huge cemetery at Jebel Moya was first reassessed by Gerharz and although his interpretations are now being challenged, they were the first major reassessment of the material since its excavation.85 There has been considerable work outside of the Nile Valley and this has clearly shown that the characterizations of the valley as a corridor, or even as a cul-de-sac, are wrong. Use of desert routes may have been more frequent than generally accepted in Egyptology. The network of routes between the Egyptian Oases and those further west has been acknowledged for the first millennium bc and later: these oases and wells connect with the sub-Saharan roads, and with Meroe.86 Rock inscriptions in both the eastern and western deserts now confirm the significance of these routes extending back into much earlier periods.87 To the west of the Nile Valley, the work of Rudolph Kuper and his teams has vastly expanded our understanding of climate change and occupation.88 Of major importance for our understanding is the survey of the Wadi Howar, the major west-east tributary of the Nile which joined the river at Dongola, allowing a deeper understanding of the process of desiccation, and consequently of animal and human occupation. The first human activity is dated to the sixth millennium bc and the wadi ceased to be able to sustain settled population around 1100 bc. A number of different cultural horizons have been identified, some having affinities with the ‘A’-Group, and others completely uninfluenced by the Nile region.89 The sub-Saharan east-west routes that operated in early modern times may extend back into the remote past. Although the idea of diffusion of Egyptian culture through Meroe to West Africa, as advocated by Anta Diop and Arkell90 can be safely rejected as an adaptation of the racist diffusion model, this does not mean that the sub-Saharan belt was not significant throughout history. Regions that are presently very difficult for archaeological work, such as Darfur, Kordofan, and Chad, may be important not only in understanding the cultures of Kush, but also of Egypt. Before political conflicts within Sudan prevented archaeological work in much of the country south and west of the Nile, surveys were carried out in southern provinces identifying sites from the early Neolithic onwards. The broad cultural affinities of southern Sudan appear to be with Uganda and northern Kenya, rather than with those known from the Middle Nile region. To the east of the Nile Valley, Egyptian contacts were principally with the land of Punt, a source of exotic materials, notably incense.91 Punt was reached by sailing along the Red Sea, the most detailed record being that of the expedition of Hatshepsut in the temple at Deir el-Bahari. Locations on both the east and west coasts of the Red Sea were suggested, but the 82 Dixon 1963. 83  Crawford and Addison 1951. 84 Addison 1949; 1956. 85 Gerharz 1994. 86 Morkot 1996. 87 Darnell 2013. 88 Kuper 1989. 91 Phillips 1997. 89  See Jesse 2004: 53–60. 90  See MacDonald 2003; Arkell 1961.

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486   Robert Morkot older consensus placed Punt in East Africa, specifically the ‘Horn of Africa’ (Somalia). Kenneth Kitchen challenged this view and proposed a location further north, inland from Suakin, and this is now more generally accepted.92 It is generally agreed that ‘Punt’ was a loose designation and that the political entity it represented changed at different periods according to local circumstances. Looking for archaeological evidence, Rodolfo Fattovich sought to place New Kingdom/Late Bronze Age Punt in the Gash Delta of western Ethiopia.93 Archaeological work throughout this whole area is still quite limited and the undoubted connections between the Nile Valley and Eastern Desert peoples and cultures and those of Ethiopia and the Red Sea coast require further investigation. The cultures of the Gash Delta and Kassala show considerable affinities with the ‘C’-Group, and could be evidence of either a wide cultural horizon or seasonal (or other) movements of people.94 Evidence from el-Kurru shows that there were contacts, whether direct or indirect, between the emerging Kushite kingdom and the Red Sea coast in the early first millennium bc. The development of the Aksumite culture and kingdom in the middle of the first millennium bc and its relationship with Meroe remains obscure. There can be little doubt that, ultimately, it had a significant political and economic effect on Meroe which was, at the very least, a contributory factor in Meroe’s collapse. The extent to which Ptolemaic activities along the Red Sea aided Aksum’s emergence as a power, is currently unknown. Clearly, being able to understand the wider African cultural context of the ‘Kushite’ ­civilizations is of immense importance. For obvious reasons the links with the north were always of major significance, but they were not the only connections. Hardly any artefacts of Egyptian origin have been found far south or east of the limits of Kerma, Egyptian New Kingdom, or Meroitic control. Whether archaeological material will ever be found to indicate ancient Egyptian contacts (direct or indirect) with sub-Saharan Africa matters little, as Egypt was, and will always be, a significant African culture. Recent work in the western desert of Egypt, and in Libya, shows that Egyptian culture developed in late prehistory in the Sahara region and thus has strong associations with many other African cultures.

Suggested Reading The mid-twentieth-century view of the region—its historical development and relationship with Egypt, as well as its culture and archaeology—was canonized in works such as A.J. Arkell’s (1961) History of the Sudan to 1821. As early as 1964 there were already challenges to that view: W.Y. Adams (1964; 1965) usefully summarized the older interpretations, and gave his response to those resulting from the first phases of the UNESCO campaign. Bruce Trigger (1965) reassessed the evidence for Lower Nubia through all historical phases and produced a synthetic study of Nubia to the end of the Egyptian New Kingdom (Trigger 1976) which paralleled Peter Shinnie’s (1967) volume on Meroe. Adams produced a full new synthesis of the history and archaeology of the Nile valley from Aswan to the Khartoum region in 1977: W.Y. Adams (1977), Nubia: Corridor to Africa, Princeton University Press. This has remained as the standard text until recently. Not an 92 Kitchen 1971; 1993; 1999.

93 Fattovich 1982; 1989; 1990; 1991.

94 Sadr 1987; 1990.

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Africa south of Egypt   487 Egyptologist, Adams was the first to write a ‘Nubiocentric’ study, and his own background enabled him to approach the archaeology in a fresh way, but his use of historical texts is reliant on Egyptological interpretations, as are some other basic premises. Although in many ways out of date, it remains an indispensable introduction. It summarizes views up to the time of writing and gives a large amount of information on earlier archaeological work, as well as the UNESCO campaign. It provides the basis for understanding the developments and arguments of more recent years that can be found in more recent syntheses, such as David O’Connor (1993), Ancient Nubia: Egypt’s Rival in Africa, The University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of Pennsylvania. Philadelphia; Derek Welsby (1996), The Kingdom of Kush. The Napatan and Meroitic Empires. London: British Museum Press; Török (1997a), The Kingdom of Kush: Handbook of the Napatan-Meroitic Civilization, Leiden: Brill; Robert Morkot (2000), The Black Pharaohs: Egypt’s Nubian Rulers, London; and David Edwards (2004), The Nubian Past: An Archaeology of Sudan, London. The most recent is Marjorie Fisher et al (2012), Ancient Nubia: African Kingdoms on the Nile, Cairo and New York: AUC Press.

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Africa south of Egypt   491 O’Connor, D. 1991. Early States Along the Nubian Nile. In W.V. Davies (ed), Egypt and Africa. Nubia from Prehistory to Islam. London: British Museum Press, 145–65. O’Connor, D. 1993. Ancient Nubia. Egypt’s Rival in Africa. University of Pennsylvania, PA: University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. O’Connor, D. 2014. The Old Kingdom Town at Buhen. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Pantalacci, L. 2013. Broadening Horizons: Distant Places and Travels in Dakhla and the Western Desert at the End of the 3rd Millennium. In F. Förster and H. Riemer (eds), Desert Road Archaeology in Ancient Egypt and Beyond. Africa Praehistorica 27. Köln: Heinrich Barth Institut, 283–96. Pérez Die, C. 2003. Nubia. Los reinos del Nilo en Sudán. Barcelona: Fundación ‘la Caixa’. Phillips, J. 1997. Punt and Aksum. Egypt and the Horn of Africa, The Journal of African History 38: 423–57. Sadr, K. 1987. The Territorial Expanse of the Pan-grave Culture, Archéologie du Nil Moyen 2: 265–93. Sadr, K. 1990. The Medjay in the southern Atbai, Archéologie du Nil Moyen 4: 63–86. Säve-Söderbergh, T. and Troy, L. 1991. New Kingdom Pharaonic Sites: The Finds and the Sites. Uppsala: Scandinavian Joint Expedition to Sudanese Nubia. Sauneron, S. and Yoyotte, J. 1950. La campagne nubienne de Psammétique II et sa signification ­historique, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d ‘Archéologie Orientale 50: 157–207. Shaw, I., Bloxam, E., Heldal, T., and Storemyr, P. 2010. Quarrying and Landscape at Gebel el-Asr in the Old and Middle Kingdoms. In F. Raffaele, M. Nuzzollo, and I. Incordino (eds), Recent Discoveries and Latest Researches in Egyptology: Proceedings of the First Neapolitan Congress of Egyptology, Naples, June 18th–20th 2008. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 293–312. Shinnie, P.L. 1967. Meroe: A Civilization of the Sudan. London: Thames and Hudson. Shinnie, P.L. and Bradley, R.J. 1980. The Capital of Kush 1. Meroitica 4. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Smith, H.S. 1976. The Fortress of Buhen II. The Inscriptions. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Smith, H.S. 1991. The Development of the ‘A-Group’ Culture in northern Lower Nubia. In W.V. Davies (ed), Egypt and Africa. Nubia from Prehistory to Islam. London: British Museum Press, 92–111. Smith, H.S. and Smith, A.L. 1976. A Reconsideration of the Kamose Texts, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache 103: 48–76. Smith, S.T. 2003. Wretched Kush. Ethnic Identities and Boundaries in Egypt’s Nubian Empire. London: Routledge. Spence, K., Rose, P., Bunbury, J., Clapham, A., Collet, P., Smith, G., and Soderberg, N. 2009. Fieldwork at Sesebi, 2009, Sudan & Nubia 13: 38–46. Spence, K., Rose, P.J., Bradshaw, R., Collet, P., Hassan, A., MacGinnis, J., Masson, A., and van Pelt, P. 2011. Sesebi 2011, Sudan & Nubia 15: 34–8. Spencer, N., Stevens, A., and Binder, M. 2014. Amara West, Living in Egyptian Nubia. London: The British Museum. Spencer, N., Stevens, A., and Binder, M. 2017. Nubia in the New Kingdom: lived experience, pharaonic control and indigenous traditions. Leuven: Peeters. Thelwall, R. 1989. Meroitic and African Language Prehistory: Prelude to a Synthesis, Meroitica 10: 587–615. Török, L. 1995. The Emergence of the Kingdom of Kush and Her Myth of the State in the First Millennium bc. In Actes de la VIIIe Conférence Internationale des Études Nubiennes. CRIPEL (Cahiers de Recherches de l’Institut de Papyrologie et Egyptologie de Lille) 17. I: Communications principales. Lille: Université Charles de Gaulle, 203–28. Török, L. 1997a. The Kingdom of Kush. Handbook of the Napatan-Meroitic Civilization. Leiden: Brill. Török, L. 1997b. Meroe City. An Ancient African Capital. John Garstang’s Excavations in the Sudan. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Török, L. 1999. The Origin of the Napatan State: The Long Chronology of the el-Kurru Cemetery. In Studien zum Antiken Sudan. Akten der 7.Internationalen Tagung für meroitistische Forschungen vom 14. bis 19. September 1992 in Gosen/bei Berlin. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 149–59. Trigger, B.G. 1965. History and Settlement in Lower Nubia. Yale University Publications in Anthropology, 69. New Haven: Yale University Press.

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492   Robert Morkot Trigger, B.G. 1976. Nubia under the Pharaohs. London: Thames and Hudson. Van Pelt, W.P. 2013. Revising Egypto-Nubian Relations in Lower Nubia: From Egyptianization to ­Cultural Entanglement, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 23: 523–50. Vincentelli, I. 2006. Hillat el-Arab: The Joint Sudanese-Italian Expedition in the Napata Region. Sudan. Oxford: Archaeopress. Wegner, J.W. 1995. Regional Control in Middle Kingdom Nubia: The Function and History of the Site of Areika, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 32: 127–60. Welsby, D.A. 1996. The Kingdom of Kush. The Napatan and Meroitic Empires. London: British Museum Press. Welsby, D.A. 1998. Survey and Excavations at Kawa, the 1997/8 Season, Sudan & Nubia 2: 15–20. Welsby, D.A, 2000. The Kawa Excavation Project, Sudan & Nubia 4: 5–10. Welsby, D.A. 2001. Excavations Within the Pharaonic and Kushite Site at Kawa and in its Hinterland, 2000–2001, Sudan & Nubia 5: 64–70. Welsby, D.A. 2002. The Medieval Kingdoms of Nubia. Pagans Christians and Muslims Along the Middle Nile. London: British Museum Press. Welsby, D.A. and Anderson, J.R. 2004. Sudan, Ancient Treasures. An Exhibition of Recent Discoveries from the Sudan National Museum. London: British Museum Press. Wenig, S. 1978. Africa in Antiquity. The Arts of ancient Nubia and the Sudan. II. The Catalogue. New York: Brooklyn Museum. Wenig, S. and Fitzenreiter, M. 1994. Musawwarat es Sufra. Berliner Ausgrabungen im Sudan. Nuremberg: Naturhistorisches Museum. Wildung, D. (ed). 1996. Sudan: Antike Königreiche am Nil. Tübingen: Wasmuth. Wildung, D. 2004. Kushite Religion: Aspects of the Berlin Excavations at Naga. In  D.A.  Welsby and J.R. Anderson, Sudan, Ancient Treasures. An Exhibition of Recent Discoveries from the Sudan National Museum. London: British Museum Press, 174–85. Williams, B.B. 1980. The Lost Pharaohs of Nubia, Archaeology 33: 12–21. Williams, B.B. 1986. The A-group Royal Cemetery at Qustul: Cemetery L. OINE 3. Chicago: Oriental Institute Nubian Expedition. Yellin, J. 2015. The Family of Arkamani in the Southern Cemetery at Meroe. In Beiträge zur Sudanforschung, Beiheft 9: The Kushite World: Proceedings of the 11th International Conference for Meroitic Studies, Vienna 1–4 September 2008, 601–9. Žabkar, L.V. 1975. Apedemak, Lion God of Meroe. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Zibelius, K. 1972. Afrikanische orts-und Völkernamen in hieroglyphischen und hieratischen Texten. TAVO Beiheft Reihe B/1. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Zibelius-Chen, K. 1988. Die ägyptische Expansion nach Nubien. Eine Darlegung der Grundfaktoren. TAVO Beiheft Reihe B 78. Wiesbaden: Reichert.

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chapter 24

The Libya ns Linda Hulin

Introduction European travellers to Libya focused upon the undeniably impressive—and clearly ­vis­ible—Hellenistic and Roman remains of Tripolitania and Cyrenaica, establishing a ­pattern of engaging with Libyan archaeology from a settler, rather than an indigenous perspective. The archaeology of pre-Classical Libya is not amenable to historical analysis and as a result, Libyan cultural development from the mid-fourth to the mid-first millennium bc has been largely defined by events in Egypt. Even in the Third Intermediate Period, when Libyans ruled Egypt, material evidence for their activity remains difficult to define and impossible to evaluate in relation to events in the western desert or beyond. As a result, modern ­scholars are tasked with creating a rounded picture out of partial history and fragmentary archaeology. However, such disagreement as there is occurs not so much over matters of fact, but over the most suitable models to be applied to those facts. These are often underpinned by ethnographic parallels—generally with the Bedouin in the western desert of Egypt and in Cyrenaica during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries ad—­ parallels that have significant implications for the way in which Libyan culture and the archaeological record is interpreted. While much of the literature is necessarily descriptive, discussion ultimately revolves around two points: (i) the nature of Libyan social and material culture, which focuses on the New Kingdom, for which there is the most evidence, and (ii) the fate of that culture on Egyptian soil in the Third Intermediate Period. Before these are explored, it is worth reviewing common facts and assumptions that underlie both questions.

Names ‘Libyan’ is an umbrella term used by modern scholarship to refer to populations found in the desert and oases to the west of Egypt who were not, in Egyptian eyes, native oasis-dwellers.1   Wright 2011; Cooney 2011.

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494   Linda Hulin In the context of this discussion, the term rebu (equated by scholars with the later Greek λιβυες) has no great antiquity, the first written reference occurring in the reign of Rameses II, but it was never an exclusive term, and was assigned to but one of a patchwork of groups in the western desert. However, although the Egyptians recorded a plethora of different names for the people found to the west of Egypt, it is unclear whether the differing terms referred to discrete tribes, or to territories, or to both. This confusion is not simply a modern artefact resulting from a lack of data; it reflects the uncertainties of the Egyptians themselves. Even in periods when contact between Egyptians and Libyans was at its most intense, Egyptian scribes continued to be imprecise and inconsistent in their recording of Libyan names. This may, in part, be attributable to the instability of the terms themselves: the life-span of Libyan names seems in historical terms to have been relatively short.2 The most long-lived were the Tjehenu, who were present at the dawn of writing in the fourth millennium bc.3 The Tjemehu were first recorded in the Sixth Dynasty4 and appear to have been territorially distinct from the Tjehenu. By the Middle Kingdom, however, either this geographical separateness had ceased to be absolute, or the Egyptians were no longer able to distinguish it. Thus Senusret I army could go to the land of the Tjmehu and return with Tjehenu prisoners, although this would still be correct if the terms referred to both territories and people.5 However, certainly by the New Kingdom, Tjehenu and Tjemehu were applied to both the whole and the part, to specific areas and to general ones.6 In addition, a host of new names appeared. Some, such as the Meshwesh and the Rebu, were the most significant, or at least the most active on the Egyptian horizon; others, such as the Imukehek, Esbet, Shai, Hes, and Beken, were recorded but once.7 Use of the terms Tjehenu and Tjehemu declined in the Third Intermediate Period, enjoying a brief revival in the Twenty-fifth and Twenty-sixth Dynasties.8 In spite of 400 years of Libyan rule, most Libyan names became extinct in the Kushite period. The Meshwesh lived on in a chiefly title, albeit much reduced in importance, until year 31 of Psamtek I (634 bc). Even so, some two ­centuries later Herodotus wrote that the inhabitants of the western delta still regarded themselves as Libyan, rather than Egyptian.9 The latter point is significant: names form part of the bedrock of self-definition. However, it may be that in recording a greater array of names, the Egyptians unwittingly over-­exaggerated their importance, at least in relation to each other.10 Oric Bates saw the Libyans of the New Kingdom as ‘Mediterranean Hamites’, a subsection of ‘Western Hamites’, to be  divided ­further into regional groups consisting of the Tjehenu, Tjemehu, Rebu, and Meshwesh, and into smaller entities, such as the Imukehek, whom he identified as tribes.11 Bates’ distinction between group and tribe was largely speculative and is certainly old-­fashioned, and it is clear that he linked lesser tribal status to the frequency with which any group appeared in Egyptian accounts. Presumably the different names reflected some emic reality, but we do not know how socially restrictive such terms were, or how each group was related to the other, if at all. Egyptian texts of the New Kingdom reported what were clearly joint military ventures, with the Rebu and Meshwesh playing the most prominent roles. However, we   Bates 1914: 45–72; Smith 2003.    3  Spalinger 1979: 125–6 and fnn 2–4. 5 6   Lichtheim 1973: 25–6.   O’Connor 1990: 92–4.   Spalinger 1979: 137–43. 7 8 9   Bates 1914: 47–8.  Yoyotte 1961.   Herodotus II.18. 10   O’Connor 1990; Ritner (2009b) stresses he Egyptian lack of knowledge of Libyan society. 11   Bates 1914: 45, 46. 2

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The Libyans   495 cannot know if such relationships were temporary, if relations between groups were ­routinely hierarchical, or if there were circumstances, such as in trade, in which they could be more heterarchical. Anthony Spalinger argued that Tejehnu names end in -š, and that this was a pattern exclusive to them;12 however, the extent to which this maps onto ­marriage patterns or trade alliances, is unknowable at this stage.

Environment, culture, and geography Our uncertainty over the significance of different names for the ancient Libyans leads to an equal uncertainty over how to describe their social structure. Recent anthropological and archaeological work has become more cautious about using studies of modern nomads to shed light upon ancient nomadic and semi-nomadic societies.13 While there is a vigorous debate within archaeology—and to a more limited extent within Egyptology14—over the ability of ethnographic analogy to shed light upon ancient society, western observations of pastoral nomads in Cyrenaica and Marmarica in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries ad15 have been regarded as legitimate cultural models to apply to the Libyans of the fourth–first millennia bc, even though there is no historic continuity between the two.16 While there is a general continuity between material artefacts from at least from Classical to Mediaeval times, this phenomenon relates to their utilitarian nature. The extent to which similar modes of subsistence result in similar social structures is not necessarily clear. The longterm persistence of utilitarian artefacts in Libya helps in the identification of things as Libyan in Egypt. However, it also hinders the identification of their date17 and reinforces a model of unchanging culture, justifying the unsafe use of modern ethnographic parallels to describe ancient social forms.18 The differing Libyan groups are routinely called ‘tribes’ in the literature.19 Robert Ritner argued vigorously for the utility of the term in relation to ancient Libyan groups on the grounds that repeated emphasis upon brotherhood in Egyptian records reflects an or­gan­iza­tion into segmentary lineages, to aspect being classificatory, rather than direct ­kinship, that is widespread amongst tribal societies.20 David O’Connor preferred the term ‘components’, as a culturally neutral term, although he recognized that the close family of Libyan rulers (wrw) were prominent enough to intrude upon the notice of the Egyptians: there are five separate references to the wives of Maryu, and his children and brothers are also mentioned. There also references to great ones (ꜥꜣ) and foremost ones (ḥ ꜣtyw), as well as mhwt, the latter a term always applied to nomads or semi-nomads and possibly referring to a non-Egyptian kind of familial or tribal structure.21 Taken together, these terms imply a stratified society of some kind, but there is no indication of the criteria for selection to office, the permanence of appointments, or how difficult it was to enter the 13   Spalinger 1979: 130.   See, eg, Cribb 1991; Barnard and Wendrich 2008.   Wendrich and Kooij 2002. 15   eg Randall-Maciver and Wilkin 1901; Evans-Pritchard 1949; Johnson 1973; Behnke 1980. 16   eg O’Connor 1990: 89–95; Hounsell 2001; Simpson 2002. 17 18   Smith 2003; Snape 2003: 96; Vetter, Rieger, and Nicolay 2009.   eg Simpson 2002. 19 20   Faulkner 1975: 242–3; Osing 1980: 1016.   Ritner 2009a: 333–9. 21   O’Connor 1990: 77–81; Giveon 1971. 12 14

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496   Linda Hulin ranks of the powerful. We do not know if the rulers or chiefs of the Meshwesh, Libu, and Soped mentioned from the time of Seti I took charge in times of war only, or whether they were occupied in some long-term position.22 The latter is suggested by the disgrace of Mauroy following his return from Egypt. Mauroy was identified in Egyptian records as the son of Ded, and he was replaced by a relative, suggesting the recognition of hereditary rights to his position, or at least the existence of a ruling family or cohort.23 O’Connor argued that, by the close of the New Kingdom, increased contact with Egypt, coupled with either increased sedentarization or control over a sedentary population, led to the emergence of an expansionist nomadic state.24 However, more cautious, but greater weight needs to be given to the social implications of the influx, and control over, new goods and materials acquired by trade (with both Egypt and the Mediterranean). Arguably, this may have led to inequality and the buttressing of a military caste that accelerated social change.25 Ritner vigorously contested O’Connor’s notion of a nomadic state, fundamentally because of the tribal characteristics that he was able to discern in the Libyan period in Egypt. The levels of social complexity achievable by nomads is at the heart of much discussion of Libyans. In the absence of archaeological evidence, Egyptian reports of towns (dmỉw) and villages (wḥ ywt) are generally regarded as ill-informed projections by Egyptian authors, although there is good anthropological evidence that towns grow up at nodes in nomadic routes. Scholarly assumptions about Libyan social complexity are generally informed by the kinds of society found in the western desert today and, once again, the relationship between environment and social form.

The environment Ancient Egyptian records provide information about the environment in which the Libyans lived only in passing. The ṯhnw palette (also known as the Libyan Palette, or the Cities Palette) seems to refer to olive cultivation in Predynastic Libya, alongside cattle.26 In the temple of Sahura, the goddess Sheshat recorded the spoil seized, including cattle, asses, and goats, as well as people. Merenptah listed the destruction the Egyptians wreaked upon ‘every herb that came forth from [the Libyan’s] fields’, adding that ‘no field grew to keep alive [the Libyans]’; ‘the grain of [the Libyan chief] was plundered’.27 Merenptah and Rameses III also recorded vast numbers (doubtless inflated) of animals taken as booty: large numbers of sheep, goats and asses, and cattle. These accounts are in accord with known environmental constraints. Within the desert, pockets of water and fertile land are found in the oases of Siwa, Kharga, Dakhla, Farafra, Bahariya, and the Fayyum. However, the Libyan heartland—in terms of congregated ­numbers—must have lain between the Gebel Akhdar and Marsa Matruh, with the bulk of the population concentrated in the former. The Gebel Akhdar offers a year-round water supply and mixed forest, grazing, and agricultural land, although it should be noted that a broad cultural horizon extends to the Tadrart Acarcus range east of Ghat in western Libya.28 23 24   O’Connor 1990: 66–76.   Kitchen 1983: text 5.1–2.   O’Connor 1990: 32, 106–8. 26 27  Hulin 2012a.   Newberry 1937: 3–16.   Kitchen 1990: 20. 28  Mattingly 2003; 2007.

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The Libyans   497 East of the Gebel Akhdar, the area of fertile land shrinks to a coastal strip and associated wadis, Marsa Matruh marking the easternmost limit of the coastal plain sufficient to ­support a population of any size. Thus, mixed sedentary, semi-pastoralist, and nomadic lifestyles were possible in the ‘Green Mountain’ (Jebel Akhdar, the heavily forested and fertile upland later settled by Greek colonists at Cyrene) with arable agriculture along the coast and in the oases, and nomadic herding. All these combined with seasonal exploitation of the wadi beds and fans in the pre-desert, the zone between the desert and the coast which receives limited amounts of moisture (Figure 24.1). As late as the twentieth century, Bedouin were allowed by Siwans to pasture their flocks in the oasis in the summer, the sheep and goats being driven to the coast for the winter.29 Movement between the two required a tremendously detailed knowledge of the viability of microenvironments in the desert, and was only possible at specific times of the year, but indicates that, had the Libyans possessed similar knowledge, they would have been able to traverse great distances. In year 5 of Merenptah, the Libyans tried to time their invasion of Egypt to coincide with a northwards push by the Kushites, a co-ordination that suggests long-distance travel by one or both parties. Oric Bates offered a map of Libyan territories in the western desert that has, with modifications, remained more or less standard, not least because it is largely conjectural (Figure 24.2).30 While it is possible to gain some idea of the position of each Libyan group relative to Egypt and to each other from Egyptian texts, we cannot be sure of either the distances between them or the precise directions involved.31 In fact, there is an inverse relationship between our levels of certainty and the proximity of the tribes to Egypt: the general circulation of the Tjehenu and Tjehemu along the western margins of Egypt is reasonably established,32 but Bates’ suggestion that the Meshwesh occupied the Gebel Akhdar in Cyrenaica overlooking the Gulf of Sirte lacks supporting evidence. Anthony Spalinger noted the non-desert-like environment shown in Old Kingdom representations of encounters with the Tjehenu and suggested that they occupied parts of the Delta at this stage. Certainly by the New Kingdom, the distinction between desert and non-desert (as opposed to simply foreign) land was not always maintained.33 Spalinger also drew a distinction between the ḥ ꜣtyw-ꜥ m ṯhnw, the foremost amongst the Tjehenu, and other Tjehenu, suggesting that the former were to be found in the Delta, whereas the latter roamed more widely in the western desert.34

The Egyptian view of the Libyans: cosmology and history The Libyans functioned in ancient Egyptian texts and images as the exotic other, a chaotic force to be contained and suppressed. The Tjehenu first appeared on Egyptian ceremonial artefacts in the mid-fourth millennium (Naqada IIIb) in the wider context of Egyptian state 30 31  Roe 2008.   Bates 1914: Figure 50.   O’Connor 1990: 31–45. 33   Hölscher 1955; Osing 1980.   Spalinger 1979: 127; O’Connor 1990: 32. 34   O’Connor 1990: 128–9. 29 32

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498   Linda Hulin

Figure 24.1  Modern wadi cultivation in the Wadi el-’Ayn, western Libya, showing the contrast between the fertility of the wadi beds and the surrounding hills. In the foreground are rock-carvings dating to at least the first millennium bc. Photo: Ian Cartwright; © Linda Hulin and the Institute of Archaeology, University of Oxford.

building and the assertion of royal power, a topos of defeat and subjection that persisted for two and a half millennia.35 However, it is not easy to distinguish cosmological from histor­ ic­al truth. The walled cities being attacked in the eponymous Cities Palette, which include   Baines 2003; Wengrow 2006: Chapter 9.

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The Libyans   499

Figure 24.2  Bates’ conjectural map of the homes of the Libyan tribes. From O. Bates (1914) The Eastern Libyans. An Essay. London: Macmillan.

the hieroglyph for Tjehenu, probably represent notional, rather than actual, cities.36 The scenes of defeated Libyans on the Narmer palette and on an ivory cylinder bearing his name may represent broad historical truths, but we cannot know if they recorded specific events.37 The theme of conflict continued in the Old Kingdom, with three identical representations of defeated Tjehenu in the mortuary temples of Sahura, Niussera, and Pepi II, reinforcing the cosmological aspect of those narratives. References to the Tjemehu first appeared in the Sixth Dynasty and followed the same lines: the accounts of Harkhuf indicate that they were a troublesome force, harrying the king of Yam in Nubia.38 References to the campaigns against the Libyans continued intermittently until the New Kingdom. Amenhotep I campaigned against the Kehek, a previously unheard of group in the western desert. A fragmentary papyrus from Amarna shows, unusually, Libyans preparing to cut the throat of an

  Petrie 1953: pl G; Newberry 1937; Spalinger 1979.   Lichtheim 1973: 25–6.

36 38

  Quibell 1900: pls XV: 7, XXIX.

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500   Linda Hulin Egyptian,39 although the very peculiarity of the image renders is nature—historical or cosmo­logic­al—uncertain. However, there are hints of more peaceful encounters with Libyans. Even in the First Dynasty there are references to Libyan oil. In the second jubilee of Amenhotep III, fat bulls of the Meshwesh were listed among provisions sent to the palace at Malkata. While Meshwesh here probably refers to a breed of bull, rather than the tribe itself, that in itself suggests antecedent trade relations.40 Libyans are shown bringing ostrich eggs to the Amarna court and as bodyguards to Akhenaten.41 However, such peaceful relations as there might have been were swamped by accounts of a genuine rise in attacks in the Nineteenth Dynasty, and the image of Libyans changed from defeated other to predatory land-hungry settlers, albeit subsumed under the traditional topos of Libyan defeat and subjection. References to abject Tjehenu and Tjemehu took a back seat to accounts of incursions led by the Meshwesh and the Libyans that were given particular prominence on public monuments, both in Thebes and the Delta. Seti I presented Libyans to the temple of Amun in Karnak and claimed to have defeated the Tjehenu, but this clearly did little to halt the threat long-term, since Rameses II was forced to establish a chain of fortresses along the western edge of the desert and along the coast as far as Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham in order to check their advance.42 A statue from the fortress at el-Alamein celebrates the capture of a chief of the Libu, indicating the eastward spread of this group in to what was probably traditionally Tjehenu territory. At Zawiyet Umm elRakham, Tjemehu were put to work in the fields around the garrison, another unexpected occurrence in Tjehenu territory. The Libyans may not have been able to force an entry into Egypt proper, but they could and did settle in the oases, to the extent that in year 44 of Rameses II, Setau, viceroy of Nubia, was able to conscript them for work at Wadi es-Sebua.43 By year 5 of Merenptah control of the western desert collapsed and Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham was abandoned in the face of a combined force under the command of Maryu, which was only repulsed at the very edge of the Delta. The accounts of Merenptah stress the desire for the Libyans to acquire land and the overall intention to settle, with Bahariya oasis falling to the Libyans, and Kharga needing to be garrisoned, ironically by Libyan troops.44 Twenty years later, Rameses III halted a similar settler movement, repulsing an alliance of the Libu, Meshwesh, and Soped in year 5 and the Meshwesh again six years later. Papyrus Harris records that Rameses III was forced to fortify vulnerable institutions on the west bank: the temples at Thinis and Hermopolis, specifically to exclude Asiatics and Tjehenu and the temple at Asyut was similarly strengthened.45 What the Libyans failed to achieve by direct confrontation was nevertheless partly achieved as a consequence of it, with prisoners of war being confined within Egypt to supplement the labour force. Just where the Libyans were settled is unclear; many of the references are clearly cosmological, showing the pharaoh’s ability to transport northerners to the south, and westerners to the east. However, given the predominance of Libyans in the Delta 40   Parkinson and Schofield 1993.   Hayes 1951; Kitchen 1990: 16.   Davies 1905: pls xiii, xl. 42   See Snape and Wilson 2007: 1–7 for a history of excavation at the site. 43 44 45   Kitchen 1980: 95.   Limme 1973: 43.  Peden 1994. 39 41

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The Libyans   501 in the Third Intermediate Period, it is likely that the bulk of the prisoners were settled there.46 Jean Yoyotte argued that most of the Libu entered after the Meshwesh and were concentrated in the western Delta and certainly the bulk of inscriptions with Libyan names derive from the Delta as a whole.47 Libyans were also deliberately settled at Tanis, which became the capital of Egypt in the Twenty-first and Twenty-third Dynasties, and Bubastis, home city of the Twenty-second Dynasty. A group of Meshwesh were recorded living in the Delta near Per-herbyt under Rameses III.48 Some Libyans were drafted into the army and would consequently have been distributed more widely around the kingdom. A settlement of Tjuku Libyans was recorded at Herakleopolis in the Wilbour Papyrus in the reign of Rameses V.49 Raids on workers in the Theban royal necropolis and on Thebes itself seem to have begun in the time of Rameses VI, although they were most frequent between the reigns of Rameses IX–XI. Under the last king, Herihor was appointed vizier of Upper Egypt, leader of the army and high priest of Amun and later aspired to kingship. Either he, his wife Nodjmet, or both of them were Libyan since five of their sons, shown in the temple of Khons at Karnak bore Libyan names. With the passing of the Twentieth Dynasty rule the country fractured. During the Twenty-first Dynasty, rule over the south of Egypt was concentrated in the hands of the priests of Amun in Thebes, several of whom bore Libyan names and were seemingly related. The north of the country was ruled by a dynasty whose origins remain unclear, but the ruling families of Thebes and Tanis appear also to have been related, so the break between north and south may not have been severe. The fifth king of the dynasty, Osorkon the Elder, was the first pharaoh to bear a Libyan name. The accession in 945 bc of the explicitly Libyan Sheshonq, ‘Chief of the Meshwesh’, who went on to found the Twenty-second Dynasty, seems to have been a smooth continuation of this trend. Local ruling families continued to flourish into the Twenty-third Dynasty, during which time titles were bandied about to the extent that it is difficult, in the absence of king-lists, for modern scholars to sort out which kings belong to Manetho’s Twenty-third Dynasty, which also ruled from Tanis.50 Around 730 bc Piy, son of the king of Kush, erected a stele at Gebel Barkal that recorded four Libyan kings (two in the Delta and two in Upper Egypt), a prince regent, four great chiefs of the Ma and a Prince of the West. Shortly afterwards, the ‘Libyan period’ drew to a close with the establishment of a Kushite dynasty.

Iconographic evidence The Egyptians viewed the Libyans from the lofty heights of cultural superiority. Artists were keen to portray the stereotypical other-ness of the Libyans and they exoticized their   Snape 2003 provides an overview of the evidence. 49   Kitchen 1990: 22–3.   Gardiner 1948: 80–1. 50   See Kitchen 1973 for a thorough review. 46 48

  Yoyotte 1961: 148–9.

47

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502   Linda Hulin

Figure 24.3  Libyans represented in the tomb of Seti I. From R. Lepsius, Denkmäler aus Aegypten und Aethiopien. vol. 3, pl. 136. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung.

representations accordingly. Old Kingdom reliefs show the Tjehenu wearing phallus sheath and chest bands, a form of dress which, along with ostrich feathers came to be stereotypically applied to all inhabitants of the western desert, in spite of the fact that the Egyptians themselves may also have worn elements of this dress at times.51 Tattoos and brightlycoloured skin or fabric cloaks were added to the repertoire later (Figure 24.3). Most stereotypes are ultimately rooted in a version of reality, and similar dress codes are to be found on images from the Tadrart Acasus, albeit earlier.52 However, a small number of Egyptian representations indicate that at least some Libyans wore Egyptian-style kilts, at least some of the time.53 There is some correlation between named groups and visual style, but not often enough for modern scholars to be totally certain of the firmness or the constancy of the link between name and dress code. Stereotypical representations of Libyans ceased after the reign of Rameses III, in spite of the fact that Egyptian-Libyan relations had hardly improved, but in parallel with the new predatory-settler topos, which had to find some way of dealing with the presence of numbers of Libyans on Egyptian soil. Thereafter, Libyans were shown entirely according to the Egyptian canon—possibly a little heftier—although an ostrich feather in the hair continued to be used as an ethnic marker on private stelae.54

  Bates 1914; Fischer 1961; Cooney 2011.   See O’Connor 1990: 47–57 for discussion.

51 53

  E.g. Hachid 2000, esp Figures 236–6. 54  Saleh 2007.

52

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The Libyans   503

Libyan material culture in the New Kingdom: interpreting the archaeological evidence Archaeological evidence for the Libyans of the New Kingdom centres upon the western desert. Bates excavated five cist graves on the ridge overlooking Marsa Matruh. These graves are dated to the Late Bronze Age, largely through their proximity to the fourteenth/­ thirteenth century remains on ‘Bates’ Island’ (geziret el-yehudiyeh) in the third lagoon at Marsa Matruh.55 The island itself contains evidence of contact with traders from the eastern Mediterranean, most probably Cypriot.56 Fragments of ostrich egg and chert blades and scrapers indicate a Libyan presence. Twenty-five kilometres along the coast lies the second key site for dating Libyan New Kingdom archaeology, the Egyptian fortress of Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham. The fortress which was established sometime in the reign of Rameses II and abandoned in year 5 of Merenptah.57 Chert, including knapping debris, possible beads, ceramics, and stone circles were found near the chapel and western magazines of the ­fort­ress. This material, which overlaps with remains from Bates’ Island, is nonetheless com­ par­able to material that is considerably earlier: to Capsian artefacts from Haua Fteah in Cyrenaica dated to the Neolithic period, and to Early Dynastic objects from Kharga oasis.58 The presence of sickle blades on Bates’ Island may be explained by the presence of stands of wild barley in the region dated to this period. Anna-Katharina Rieger also gave a New Kingdom date to terraces in the Wadi Umm el-Ashtan, some 50 km south of Marsa Matruh.59 Pottery broadly similar to that found in the fortress, and most likely New Kingdom in date, was present in the vicinity of the site and in one of the cist graves at Marsa Matruh, and in the desert to the south.60 Stone circles were noted by both Bates and Howard Carter on Seal Island, west of Tobruk, and by the author near Kambut, c.50 km further east, although all may be of a later date.61 There is little overlap between the material culture referred to by the Egyptians and the recovered material record.62 Ceramics are referred to, but of no specific type. Where Libyans are shown presenting Aegean pots to the Egyptian court, an artist’s mistake has been assumed, rather than evidence for secondary trade.63 Booty seized from Mauroy includes a folding chair, linen, and stone vessels, and chariots. The material from the western desert reflects a less rich group. There is some similarity in the faunal record: cattle and sheep/goat bones were present at both Marsa Matruh and Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham, although their origin was not necessarily local. Indeed, they could have formed part of the sailor’s own provisions at the former, and the provisions of the latter were supplemented by sea. 56 57  Bates 1915.  White 2002.   Snape 1997; 1998; Snape and Wilson 2007.   Simpson  2002, who sees this as evidence for cultural stagnation (contra Hulin 2011: 119–10 who sees this as fit-for-purpose technology). 59 60   Rieger et al 2012: 165–8.   Hulin 1999; Hounsell 2001; Rieger et al 2012: esp Figure 11.13. 61   Bates 1913; Carter 1963; Hulin 2011; 2012 and references therein. 62   See O’Connor 1990: Figure 3 for an annotated summary. 63   Rowe 1954: 486; Vercoutter 1956: 358–9; Wainwright 1962: 93–7. 55 58

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504   Linda Hulin To date, studies of the Bronze Age material record have been necessarily descriptive, primarily due to the paucity of the data found. The model applied to it is one of unchanging tribal pastoral nomadism and the assumption—more or less explicit—that the Libyans did not acquire new skills. This is clearly seen in the interpretation of crucibles found at both sites. There are no ore deposits in North Africa west of the Nile valley and any metal the Libyans did acquire must have been obtained from outside, either as booty from Egypt, or through trade. Nonetheless, crucible fragments were found on Bates’ Island, and at Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham.64 They were found in association with slag, suggesting the on-site casting of copper or bronze items, although no moulds or bellows were identified in either place. The crucibles from both sites are broadly similar, generally plain of rim and cylindrical of body, manufactured out of local clay with a coarse temper. One example from Marsa Matruh was produced from an unidentified stone. Many had droplets of metal adhering to their inner surface. At Marsa Matruh, small utilitarian items were recovered in the general vicinity, such as pins/nails, fish hooks, and a chisel, as well as a blade and two barbless arrowheads. At Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham pins, an Egyptian-style chisel, and a blade fragment were found.65 Initially, it was proposed that the finds from Marsa Matruh reflect the activities of mariners who cast small items on the spot as trade items to be exchanged for food, water, ostrich egg shells, and, less probably, silphium.66 The Libyans in this scenario were passive recipients of finished metal goods from the outside world. This view was reinforced by Fiona Simpson, who regarded the crucible from Zawiyet Umm el‑Rakham as evidence for a failed attempt by Libyans, squatting in the abandoned Egyptian fortress, to produce metal objects on their own.67 Part of Simpson’s argument was based upon the assertion that the crucible found in the fortress was too coarse and porous to function. No such doubts seem to have assaulted White and colleagues in their examination of selected crucible fragments from Marsa Matruh, which were of similar coarseness and friability.68 Scholars were united in their assertion that the Libyans were incapable of casting metal in their own right.69 With regard to the material from Marsa Matruh, this view is implicit, yet if correct the encounter between mariners and Libyans is difficult to interpret. Why would the mariners seek out local clay and make them on the spot? The crucibles were small and easily transportable and they could easily have included them in the ships’ cargoes. Simpson argued that the Libyans in the western desert of Egypt were not capable of developing a metallurgical tradition, by virtue of being nomads, although she did concede the possibility that the Meshwesh, located (probably) in Cyrenaica, and (probably) settled, did do so.70 However, nomadism does not in itself exclude the possibility of the Libyans having acquired a rudimentary knowledge of casting. Even without a sophisticated knowledge of all aspects of metallurgy a knowledge of casting and hammering would have emerged, for their Aegean-style weapons would have needed ongoing repairs, as would their chariots and horse-tack.71 Such knowledge, possibly acquired by members of the community on their travels, enabled different Libyan groups to cast small items, and the crucibles found at   White 2002: II: 52–3, 72; Simpson 2002: 193–4; White et al 2002.   These finds are yet to be published. 66 67   Conwell 1987; White 1999; Richardson 1999; Hulin 2002.   Simpson 2002: 194–5. 68 69   White et al 2002.   Bates 1914: 143; O’Connor 1990: 63; White et al 2002. 70 71   Simpson 2002: 195.   Edgerton and Wilson 1936: 66; Camps 1982. 64 65

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The Libyans   505 Marsa Matruh and Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham should be seen in this light. While certainty on this point is impossible without more data, it is important to recognize the assumptions that lie behind the argument, assumptions which have also been applied to other aspects of Libyan material culture in the Late Bronze Age which have only recently been challenged.72

The Libyans in the Third Intermediate Period in Egypt How ‘Libyan’ was the Libyan period in Egypt? Or rather, why, given Libyan control of Egypt, were Libyan characteristics not more evident? For many, the answer is that the Libyans had become largely assimilated into Egyptian culture. Thus, the absence of identifiably Libyan cultural traits—be they text, image, or object—is equated with a complete embrace of Egyptian habit, practices, and values, and their presence is taken to indicate the persistence of Libyan lifeways. There are three problems with this approach: (1) it assumes that all aspects of Libyan identity is played out in the material world; (2) that equal and importance is given to all aspects of self-identity, so that, for example, to be Libyan is to only eat Libyan food, dress in a Libyan fashion, use Libyan-style objects, and worship Libyan gods in Libyan languages, which flies in the face of studies that demonstrate the contingent and flexible nature of identity in both the past and the present;73 and thirdly, such assessments also depend upon the ability of scholars to identify un-Egyptian traits, a somewhat monolithic view of Egyptian identity. There is indeed a decided continuity of Egyptian forms of royal iconography and titulary and indeed, a lack of Libyan features in Egyptian high culture. In the early Twenty-second Dynasty this is coupled with a revival of traditional Egyptian culture.74 However, it is also because it is difficult to define Libyan markers in the archaeological record: there is nothing ‘Libyan’ within Libya proper to compare it with. The Garamantean villages and towns of the Fezzān may well stretch back to the first millennium, but they do not seem to have been in contact with Egypt.75 While Libyans were recorded in the oases, they have not left dis­tinct­ ive material culture behind them.76 Since virtually no information has survived from the Twenty-first Dynasty, that vital period when the nomadic or semi-nomadic Libyans settled in Egypt, we have no real idea of how Libyan society evolved on Egyptian soil.77 On one level, this is a problem of the ease with which a pastoral-nomadic culture could have been subsumed under a state-level pastoral-urban one. What tends to be missing from the discussion, however, is the depth of the desire to do so. Assimilation may be an economic and political decision, but it is played out in the social realm. Its configuration would have depended upon the relations between Egyptians and incoming Libyans, and the social costs to the individual involved either in assimilating or retaining a strong Libyan identity. Anthony Leahy argued that the extent to which incoming Libyans were Egyptianized varied depending upon their location, their comparative numerical strength, and the rapidity with 73 74  Hulin 2009.   e.g. Jones 1997.   Baines 1996: 37–83; Morkot 2003. 76  Mattingly 2003; 2007.   E.g. Hubschmann 2010. 77   See also Chapter 32 in this volume on historical aspects of the Third Intermediate Period. 72 75

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506   Linda Hulin which the Libyan settlements were created.78 He argued that although Merenptah and Rameses III settled Libyans in fortified camps and made them learn Egyptian,79 their (enforced) concentration would have allowed them to retain their cultural identity. In his view, those entering in small groups may have assimilated more rapidly. In any event, all such judgements are hampered by the biases in the record. The Libyan heartland lay in the Delta, an area neglected by archaeologists and Egyptologists until the latter quarter of the last century. Although the majority of Libyan names known have been found on inscriptions from that area, the bulk of the data consists of private stelae from Thebes.80 The Libyans would almost certainly have been a minority there, Thebes was seemingly neglected by the Libyan ruling caste: with the exception of the Bubastite portal at Karnak erected by Osorkon, Libyan rulers reported their achievements elsewhere.81 At the heart of the debate is the proper arena for the expression of Libyan identity. This is a problem that has dogged the archaeology of ethnicity, which draws much of its in­spir­ ation, and many of its examples, from modern social studies of minority groups. Case ­studies abound of groups who now speak the same language, eat the same food, and dress the same way as the dominant group, but who are still regarded, or regard themselves, as different.82 Nevertheless, ethnic identity cannot exist without some broadly agreed definitions between communities, albeit often stereotypical, inaccurate, and contested ones. Inter-ethnic conflict plays out in the value judgements applied to each group and the rights that are awarded or withdrawn as a result. The idea of what it was to be Libyan must have been clearly understood and visible in ancient Egypt for any cultural markers to have circulated. Classical sources suggest that the Egyptians did not view the Libyan dynasties as foreign, neither Herodotus nor Manetho describe them as non-Egyptian, whereas ‘Ethiopian’ dynasties are mentioned.83 Certainly viewing the Libyans as a single cultural unit is as unhelpful in the Third Intermediate Period as it was in the New Kingdom—certainly Libyan rulers established in Egypt, in common with pharaohs if the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties, regarded Libyan incursions from the west as a threat to be resisted.84 John Baines stressed the continuity of the Third Intermediate Period, and concluded that while Libyan ethnicity may well have become a positive marker to be manipulated to advantage, it did not carry with it the implication of any real cultural difference.85 On the other hand, Leahy and Ritner both identified Libyan tribal features in the Egyptian political landscape in the form of a cooperative decentralization of government into the hands of a network and hierarchy of chiefs and princes. In addition, a disregard of traditional seats of royal and religious power, and the shift in royal and private burial practices from long-term, pre-mortem, planning focused upon the individual to short-term, post-mortem, prep­ar­ ation for collective interment in family vaults are seen as Libyan cultural traits.86 However, the difficulty lies in judging whether these developments should be seen as specifically Libyan ethnic markers or simply as developments typical of times when the state had  Leahy 1985.   Bruyère 1929: 35–7; Kitchen 1983 (KRI V): 90–1 ‘they hear the language of the (Egyptian) people, serving their King, he makes their languages disappear, he changes (?) their tongues, they go on a way they have not descended before’. 80 81 82  Yoyotte 1961.  Caminos 1958.   See Jones 1997 for a wide-ranging review. 83 84   See Mittelman 2014: 73, n 108 for a review of sources.  Winnicki 2009. 85   Baines 1996: 37–83. 86   Leahy 1985; Ritner 2008; 2009a. See esp Yoyotte 1961 for modes of Libyan rule in the Delta. 78 79

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The Libyans   507 become weak and was no longer capable of imposing centralized rule. In this light, Edmund Meltzer’s contention that long genealogies and walled cities in the Delta are Libyan cultural markers is difficult to prove one way or the other.87 Similarly, the devolution of rule into the hands of local princes with local military responsibility can be seen as an application of tribal heterarchical structures, or simply an inability to impose centralization—most likely both.88 The central plank in the case for a high degree of assimilation and the continuity of royal iconography, is not necessarily sound. The Kushites, Greeks, and Romans all expressed their power in traditional Egyptian ways. Names form the most obvious, and often the only, identifiable Libyan cultural marker during this period and the names of the rulers certainly remained Libyan (Osorkon, Sheshoq, Takeloth, etc). Libyan names also appeared in nonroyal stele and inscriptions. The titles of Chief of the Ma (Meshwesh) or Libu, continued until the end of the eighth century bc, although by then many of the title holders bore Egyptian names. Libyan elements could also appear within Egyptian naming patterns.89 These naming patterns do suggest some level of assimilation, since it is unlikely that Egyptians would have adopted Libyan names. Nevertheless, the fact that Libyan names survived into the Ptolemaic period is, for Leahy, evidence for the persistence of some level of Libyan cultural integrity, since in the New Kingdom the names of Asiatics disappeared within a generation or two. The Libyan language was not written down in hieroglyphs and, for Baines, the fact that it is known only from personal names points to a high degree of assimilation.90 He drew upon the persistence of Greek in Egypt as an example of the successful transmission of minority culture within Egypt. However, the fate of primarily oral and written cultures are not necessarily the same. A more apt comparison could be with the Romani language-group, where tales and epics only came to be written down with any regularity in the twentieth century ad, and then primarily in a variety of host languages, not in Romani. If we assume that Libyan culture was oral, rather than written, then it may well have been set down in the Egyptian language. Unfortunately, the survival of written material from this period is relatively limited and it is difficult to come to a firm conclusion on this point. If the Libyan language itself failed to make any impact upon Egyptian language, changes in Egyptian writing have been taken to be the result of Libyan presence. The hieratic of the New Kingdom developed in the Libyan period into abnormal hieratic in Thebes and Demotic in the north. A general decline in spelling is evident, alongside some unorthodox spelling forms.91 Furthermore, use of hieratic moved into the formal public sphere and appeared on public monuments, particularly in the Delta. For Leahy these phenomena reflect the presence of Libyans within the scribal class,92 a position that implies that Libyans were less able to master the complexities of writing than Egyptians. Given the intensity of scribal training for all students, this is doubtful. However, it is arguable that scribal traditions suffered a decline as part of the general bureaucratic changes that came about with the division of the country. The complexity of rule is definitely a feature of the Libyan period. At the end of the period, the victory stele of the Kushite king Piy listed four kings, two in the Delta and two

  Meltzer 2002: 48.  Baines 1996.

87 90

  Mittelman 2014: 72–4.  Vernus 1975a; 1975b. 88

91

  Yoyotte 1960; Graefe 1975.   Leahy 1985: 60. 89

92

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508   Linda Hulin in Middle Egypt, and a plethora of Great Chiefs in the Delta.93 Although military titles abounded and the number of fortified enclosures increased, there is no evidence for internecine warfare or low-level rivalry. The only discernible disputes were between the Delta and the south.94 Once again, the question is whether this is to be interpreted as a feature of Egyptian society consequent upon the collapse of the centralized state comparable to the general state of affairs in the First and Second Intermediate Periods, or as evidence for a sedentarized form of tribal government, with decentralized institutions of equal validity. The locus of identity is centred in the individual: domestic space, food habits, ritual and burial practices tend to be the most resistant to change. In the Libyan period, the royal necropolis on the west bank was abandoned, instead, rulers throughout the country were buried within the confines of their local temple in necessarily smaller chambers.95 This may have been a pragmatic move to safer environs, but there was also a shift in private burial practices and the elaborate superstructures and rock-cut tombs of Upper Egypt also ­disappeared.96 The coffin caches of the priests of Amun and Montu and the presence of family tombs in Thebes suggest a move away from individual burials to group interment. Moreover, royal burials often re-used pieces in their superstructures and tomb furnishings were simpler than has previously been the case.97 This relative simplicity seems to have been the result of a shift in spending priorities rather than a lack of funds, since the pharaohs made huge donations to temples. Leahy suggested that this was a reflection of tribal practice, although his model, of ‘people who habitually buried their dead where they fell, without ostentation or prior concern’ was based upon a needlessly simplistic and unsustainable view of nomad burial practice.98 While these changes may be seen as reflective of Libyan cultural practice, an equally pertinent point is that the bodies were nonetheless mummified in the Egyptian manner. The absence of evidence for both contemporary burial practices in the Libyan heartland to the west of Egypt, and of non-elite burials within Egypt itself, only serves to highlight the nuances of social identity that may well have reflected differences in age or status that are lost to us.

Discussion The extent to which the Libyan peoples were assimilated into Egyptian society, and the arenas in which it was important for Libyan-ness to be asserted, will remain debated until more evidence can be added to the database. This is, of course, true of all Libyan-Egyptian relations from the fourth millennium bc onwards. The fate of Libyan communities in Egypt, after the Libyan period, remains unknown. Most debate tends to be framed within a view of Libyan culture that is not only persistently nomadic—inherently unhelpful when considering Libyan populations in either the ‘Green Mountain’ or on the banks of the Nile—but also rather simple. Recent work on the archaeology of nomads is also refining these models 94  Grimal 1981.  Kitchen 1973.   Montet 1947; 1951; 1960; Stadelmann 1971. 97 98   Kitchen 1973: 354.   Leahy 1985: 62. 93 95

  eg Carmen Pérez Die 2009; Adderley 2015.

96

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The Libyans   509 and shining light upon their social complexity and adaptability across the nomadic-settled continuum. These issues remain an important and under-utilized field of research that could be of use to forwarding studies in both Libyan archaeology and Egyptology.

Suggested reading Bates (1914) provided a wide-ranging and detailed overview of Libyan material culture and history from Cyrenaica to the Nile Valley and it remains a basic reference work. This was updated by O’Connor (1990) for the New Kingdom and Leahy for the Third Intermediate Period (1985; 1980). The standard history for the latter is Kitchen (1973) (with revisions and additions in 1986 and 1995). Ritner and Wente’s (2009) compilation of Libyan texts is not only thorough, but highlights the linguistic idiosyncrasies of the period and Yoyotte (1960) presents a detailed analysis of political rule in the Delta. In the coastal western desert, the areas in and around Marsa Matruh (White 2002; Hulin 1999; 2002; and Rieger, Vetter, and Müller 2012), Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham (Snape and Wilson 2007; Hulin 1999) Kambut/Wadi el-Ayn (Hulin 2012b), and Haua Fteah present the most important data for the New Kingdom, and Mattingly (2003; 2007) documents Libyan evidence into the first millennium bc. Work is still ongoing on major Libyan sites in the Delta, but Montet’s work at Tanis (1947; 1951; 1960) provides an important jumping off point.

Bibliography Adderley, N.J. 2015. Personal Religion in the Libyan period in Egypt. Saarbrücken: Scholars Press. Bates, O. 1913. Nomad Burials in Marmarica, Man 13: 159–62. Bates, O. 1914. The Eastern Libyans: An Essay. London: Macmillan. Bates, O. 1915. Archaic Burials at Marsa Matruh, Ancient Egypt 14: 158–65. Baines, J. 1996. Contextualizing Egyptian Representations of Society and Ethnicity. In J.S. Cooper and G.M. Schwartz (eds), The Study of the Ancient Near East in the Twenty-First Century (The William Foxwell Albright Centennial Conference. Winona Lake: Einsenbrauns, 339–84. Baines, J. 2003. Early Definitions of the Egyptian World and its Surroundings. In T. Potts, M. Roaf, and D. Stein (eds), Culture through Objects. Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honour of P.R.S. Moorey. Oxford: Griffith Institute, 25–57. Barnard, H. and Wendrich, W.J. (eds). 2008. The Archaeology of Mobility: Old and New World Nomadism (Cotsen Advanced Seminars 4). Los Angeles: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology. Behnke, R. 1980. The Herders of Cyrenaica (Illinois Studies in Anthropology 12). Chicago: Urbana. Bruyère, B. 1929. Mert Seger à Deir el Médineh. Cairo: IFAO. Caminos, R. 1958. The Chronicle of Prince Osorkon. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. Camps, G. 1974. Les civilisations préhistorique de l’Afrique du nord et du Sahara. Paris: Doin. Camps, G. 1982. Les char préhistorique du Sahara: archéologie et techniques d’attelage. Aix en Provence: Université de Provence. Carmen Pérez Die, M. 2009. The Third Intermediate Period Necropolis at Herakleopolis Magna. In G.P.F. Broekman, R.J. Demarée, and O.E. Kaper (eds), The Libyan Period in Egypt. Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties: Proceedings of a Conference at Leiden University, 25–27 October 2007. Leuven: Peeters, 302–26. Carter, T.H. 1963. Reconnaissance in Cyrenaica. Expedition 5(3): 18–27.

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510   Linda Hulin Conwell, D. 1987. On Ostrich Eggs and Libyans. Traces of a Bronze Age People from Bates’s Island, Egypt, Expedition 29(3): 25–34. Cooney, W.A. 2011. Egypt’s Encounter with the West: Race, Culture and Identity. In J.  Corebelli, D.  Boatright, and C.  Malleson (eds), Current Research in Egyptology (Proceedings of the Tenth ­Annual Symposium University of Liverpool 2009. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 43–52. Cribb, R. 1991. Nomads in Archaeology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Davies, N. de G. 1905. The Rock Tombs of El Amarna Part II.—The Tombs of Panehesy and Meryra II (ASE 14). London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Edgerton, E.F. and Wilson, J.A. 1936. Historical Records of Ramses III. The Texts in Medinet Habu. Vols 1 and 2. (Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 12). Chicago: Oriental Institute. Evans-Pritchard, E.E. 1949. The Sanusi of Cyrenaica. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Faulkner, R. 1975. Egypt: From the Inception of the Nineteenth Dynasty to the Death of Ramesses III. In Cambridge Ancient History II.2, 3rd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 217–51. Fischer, H.G. 1961. The Nubian Mercenaries of Gebelein during the First Intermediate Period, Kush 9: 44–80. Gardiner, A.H. 1948. The Wilbour Papyrus, Volume 4. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Giveon, R. 1971. Les bédouins shosou des documents égyptiens. Leiden: Brill. Graefe, E. 1975. Die libyschen Stammesnamme p(j)d(j)/pjt im spätzeitlichen Onomastikon, Enchoria 5: 13–17. Grimal, N.-C. 1981. La stèle triomphale de Pi(‘nkh)y au Musée du Caire. Cairo: IFAO. Hachid, M. 2000. Les Premiers Berbères entre Méditerrannée, Tassili et Nil. Aix‑en‑Provence: Edisud. Hayes, W.C. 1951. Inscriptions from the Palace of Amenhotep III, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 10: 35–56. Herodotus 1992. Histories. Book II, trans A. de Sélincourt. London: Penguin. Hölscher, W. 1955. Libyer und Ägypter. Beitrage zur Ethnologie und Geschichte Libyscher Völkerschaften nach den altägyptischen Quellen. Glückstadt: Augustin. Hounsell, D. 2001. The Occupation of Marmarica in the Late Bronze Age. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Liverpool. Hubschman, C. 2010. Searching for the ‘Archaeological Invisible’: Libyans in the Dakhleh Oasis in the Third Intermediate Period, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 46: 173–87. Hulin, L. 1999. ‘Marmaric’ Wares: Some Preliminary Remarks, Libyan Studies 30: 11–16. Hulin, L. 2002. A Final Summary of the Evidence. In D. White (ed), Marsa Matruh II. The Objects. The University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology’s Excavations on Bates’s Island, Marsa Matruh, Egypt 1985–1989. (Prehistory Monographs 2) Philadelphia: INSTAP, 169–86. Hulin, L. 2009. The Western Marmarica Coastal Survey 2009: Preliminary Report, Libyan Studies 40: 95–103. Hulin, L. 2011. Pragmatic Technology: Issues on the Interpretation of Libyan Material Culture. In K. Duitsermaat and I. Regulski (eds), Intercultural Contacts in the Ancient Mediterranean. Leuven: Peeters, 101–14. Hulin 2012. The Western Marmaica Coastal Survey, Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 4(4): 14–17. Johnson, D. 1973. Jabal al-Akhdar, Cyrenaica: An Historical Geography of Settlement and Livelihood. University of Chicago, Department of Geography Research Paper 148. Jones, S. 1997. The Archaeology of Ethnicity: Constructing Identities in the Past and Present. London: Routledge. Kitchen, K.A. 1973. The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt (1100–650 b.c.). Warminster: Aris and Phillips Ltd. Kitchen, K.A. 1980. Ramesside Inscriptions III. Oxford: Blackwell. Kitchen, K.A. 1983. Ramesside Inscriptions V. Oxford: Blackwell. Kitchen, K.A. 1990. The Arrival of the Libyans in the Late New Kingdom. In A. Leahy (ed), Libya and Egypt c1300-750 b.c. London: SOAS/SLS, 15–28.

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The Libyans   511 Leahy, A. 1985. The Libyan Period in Egypt, Libyan Studies 16: 51–65. Lichtheim, M. 1973. Ancient Egyptian Literature I: The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Berkeley, CA: ­University of California Press. Limme, L. 1973. Les oases de Khargeh et Dakhleh d’après les documents égyptiens de l’époque ­pharaonique, Cahiers de Recherches de l’Institut de Papyrologie et d’Egyptologie de Lille 1: 39–58. McBurney, C.B.M. 1967. The Haua Fteah (Cyrenaica) and the Stone Age of the South-East ­Mediterranean. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mattingly, D.J. 2003. The Archaeology of the Fazzan I. London: Society for Libyan Studies. Mattingly, D.J. 2007. The Archaeology of the Fazzan II. London: Society for Libyan Studies. Meltzer, E.S. 2002. Influencia de los Libios en Egipto, Siglos XIII-XI y primer milenio a.C, Revista de Egyptologia Isis 5: 46–9. Mittelman, R.J. 2014. Ceramics as an Ethnic Identifier: Libyans in the Nile delta during the Third Intermediate Period. Unpublished PhD thesis: University of Memphis. Montet, P. 1947. La nécropole de Tanis I—Les constructions et le tombeau d’Osorkon II à Tanis. Paris: Type Jourde et Allard. Montet, P. 1951. La nécropole de Tanis II—Les constructions et le tombeau de Psousennes à Tanis. Paris: Type Protat Frères. Montet, P. 1960. La nécropole de Tanis III—Les constructions et le tombeau de Chéchanq III à Tanis. Paris: Type Protat Frères. Morkot, R.G. 2003. Archaism and Innovation in Art from the New Kingdom to the Twentieth Dynasty. In J. Tait (ed), ‘Never Had the Like Occurred’: Egypt’s View of its Past. London: University College London Press, 79–100. Newberry, P.E. 1937. On Some African Species of the Genus Olea and the Original Home of the ­Cultivated Olive Tree, Linean Society Proceedings 150: 3–16. O’Connor, D. 1990. The Nature of Tjemhu (Libyan) Society in the Later New Kingdom. In A. Leahy (ed), Libya and Egypt c1300-750 b.c. London: SOAS/SLS, 29–114. Osing, J. 1980. Libyen, Libyer. In W. Helck and E. Otto (eds), Lexikon der Ägyptologie III. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1015–33. Parkinson, R. and Schofield, L. 1993. Akhenaten’s Army, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 3: 34–5. Peden, A.J. 1994. Egyptian Historical Inscriptions. Documenta Mundi Aegyptica 3. Jonsered: Paul Åströms förlag. Petrie, W.M.F. 1953. Ceremonial Slate Palettes. London: British School of Egyptian Archaeology. Quibell, J.E. 1900. Hierakonpolis I (Egyptian Research Account 4). London: Bernard Quaritch. Randall-Maciver, D. and Wilkin, A. 1901. Libyan Notes. London: Macmillan and Co. Richardson, S. 1999. Libya Domestica: Libyan Trade and Society on the Eve of the Invasion of Egypt, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 36: 149–64. Rieger, A.-K., Vetter, T., and Müller, H. 2012. The Desert Dwellers of Marmarica, Western Desert: Second Millennium bce to First Millennium bce. In H.  Barnard and K.  Duistermaat (eds), The History of the Peoples of the Eastern Desert. Los Angeles: Cotsden Insitute of Archaeology, 157–73. Ritner, R.K. 2008. Libyan vs Nubian as the ideal Egyptian. In S.E. Thompson and P. Der Manuelian (eds), Egypt and Beyond. Essays Presented to Leonard H. Lesko upon his Retirement from the Wilbour Chair of Egyptology at Brown University June 2005. Providence Rhode Island: Department of Egypt­ ology and Ancient Western Asian Studies, Brown University, 305–14. Ritner, R.K. 2009a. Fragmentation and Re-integration in the Third Intermediate Period. In G.P.F. Broekman, R.J. Demarée, and O.E. Kaper (eds), The Libyan Period in Egypt. Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties: Proceedings of a Conference at Leiden University, 25–27 October 2007. Leuven: Peeters, 327–40. Ritner, R.K. 2009b. Egypt and the Vanishing Libyan: Institutional Responses to a Nomadic People. In J. Szuchman (ed), Nomads, Tribes and the State in the Ancient Near East. Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 43–56.

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512   Linda Hulin Ritner, R.K. and Wente, E.F. 2009. The Libyan Anarchy: Inscriptions from Egypt’s Third Intermediate Period. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Roe, A. 2008. Naming the Waters: New Insights into the Nomadic Uses of Oases in the Libyan Desert of Egypt. In H. Barnard and W.J. Wendrich (eds), The Archaeology of Mobility: Old and New World Nomadism (Cotsen Advanced Seminars 4). Los Angeles, CA: Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, 487–508. Rowe, A.H. 1954. A Contribution to the Archaeology of the Western Desert, II, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, Manchester 36: 484–500. Saleh, H. 2007. Investigating Ethnic and Gender Identities as Expressed on Wooden Funerary Stelae from the Libyan Period (c. 1069–715 b.c.e.) (BAR International Series 1734). Oxford: BAR. Simpson, F. 2002. Evidence for a Late Bronze Age Libyan Presence in the Egyptian Fortress at Zawiyet Umm el‑Rakham. Liverpool: Unpublished PhD thesis. Smith, R.L. 2003. What Happened to the Ancient Libyans? Chasing Sources Across the Sahara from Herodotus to Ibn Khaldun, Journal of World History 14(4): 459–500. Snape, S.R. 1997. Ramesses II’s Forgotten Frontier, Egyptian Archaeology 11: 23–4. Snape, S.R. 1998. Walls, Wells and Wandering Merchants: Egyptian Control of Marmarica in the Late Bronze Age. In C. Eyre (ed), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists. Leuven: Peeters, 1081–4. Snape, S.R. 2003. The Emergence of Libya on the Horizon of Egypt. In D. O’Connor and S. Quirke (eds), Mysterious Lands. London: University College London, 93–106. Snape, S.R. and Wilson, P. 2007. Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham  I.  The Temple and Chapels. Bolton: ­Rutherford Press. Spalinger, A.J. 1979. Some Notes on the Libyans of the Old Kingdom and Later Historical Reflexes, Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities 9: 125–62. Stadelmann, R. 1971. Das Grab im Tempelhof: Der Typus des Königsgrabes in der Spätzeit, M ­ itteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 27: 111–23. Vaufrey, R. 1955. Préhistoire de l’Afrique. Tome I: Maghreb. Paris: Masson. Vercoutter, J. 1956. L’Égypte et le monde Égéen préhellénique. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Vernus, P. 1975a. Inscriptions de la troisième période intermédiaire (I), Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 75: 1–66. Vernus, P. 1975b. Inscriptions de la troisième période intermédiaire (I), Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 75: 67–72. Vetter, T., Rieger, A.-K., and Nicolay, A. 2009. Ancient Rainwater Harvesting Systems in the ­Northeastern Marmarica (Northwestern Egypt), Libyan Studies 40: 9–24. Wainwright, G.A. 1962. The Meshwesh, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 48: 89–99. Wendrich, W. and van der Kooij, G. 2002. Moving Matters. Ethnoarchaeology in the Near East: ­Proceedings of the International Seminar held in Cairo, 7–10 December 1998. Leiden: Research School of Asian, African and Amerindian Studies. Wengrow, D. 2006. The Archaeology of Early Egypt. Social Transformations in North-East Africa, 10,000 to 2650 bc. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. White, D. 1999. Water, Wood, Dung and Eggs: Reciprocity in Trade Along the LBA Marmarican Coast. In P.  Betancourt et al (eds), MELETEMATA, Studies in Aegean Archaeology Presented to Malcolm Wiener as He Enters his 65th Year. Liège: University of Liège, Vol III, 931–6. White, D. 2002. Marsa Matruh. The University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology’s Excavations on Bates’ island, Marsa Matruh, Egypt 1985–1989. Vol. I. The Excavation. Vol. II. The Objects. Philadelphia: INSTAP Academic Press. White, D., Fleming, S.J., Killick, D., Pigott, V.C., and Swann, C.P. 2002. MASCA Analysis of Crucibles and Lump of Ore. In D.  White (ed), Marsa Matruh. The University of Pennsylvania Museum of ­Archaeology and Anthropology’s Excavations on Bates’ island, Marsa Matruh, Egypt 1985–1989. Vol. II. The Objects. Philadelphia: INSTAP Academic Press, 187–90.

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The Libyans   513 Winnicki, J. 2009. Late Egypt and her Neighbours: Foreign Populations in Egypt in the First Millennium bc. Warsaw: University of Warsaw Press. Wright, J. (ed). 2011. Travellers in Turkish Libya 1550–1911. London: Silphium Press. Yoyotte, J. 1960. Anthroponymes d’origine libyenne dans les documents égyptiens, Comptes rendues du groupe linguistique d’études chamito-sémitiques (GLECS) 8: 22–4. Yoyotte, J. 1961. Les principautés du Delta au temps de l’anarchie libyenne. In Mélanges Maspero. Cairo: IFAO, I/4, 121–81.

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chapter 25

W ester n Asi a Carolyn Routledge

Introduction There is evidence for contact between Egypt and Western Asia throughout the historic period of ancient Egyptian civilization, beginning at least as early as the Predynastic (fourth millennium bc), and perhaps even earlier. These contacts were particularly important for the immediately adjacent area north-east of Egypt in the southern Levant, but were also significant for areas farther afield such as Mesopotamia and Anatolia. Varying through time, these contacts centred around activities such as trade, warfare, foreign rule, royal marriages, treaties, forced and unforced labour, and the exchange of ideas. Indeed, relations with Western Asia were never homogenous, including as they did, roughly equal powers such as the Hittites, as well as relations of dominance with vassals such as the Canaanite city-states. These contacts created a series of conflicting ideologies in ancient Egypt regarding both the people and land of Western Asia. Thus it is fair to say that the relations between Western Asia and ancient Egypt were rich, complex, and integral to the social, political, and economic development of both of these regions. Ancient Egypt’s contacts with Western Asia are particularly significant for the understanding of Egypt’s economic history. Ancient Egypt relied heavily on Western Asia for goods not available within its borders such as large trees, resin, copper, turquoise, and lapis lazuli. Additionally, in later periods of their history, ancient Egyptians supplemented their own resources with surplus labour and food products from the region. Access to Western Asia primarily was through the Sinai, with the southern Levant occasionally acting as a buffer between Egypt and the major civilizations of Mesopotamia, Syria, and Anatolia and through the sea route along the Levantine coast (see Figure 25.1). While the study of Egypt and Western Asia is important, it is a difficult task due to the quantity and range of evidence that must be mastered, including much material from dis­cip­lines outside of Egyptology: for example consider area specialization (e.g. Assyriology, Syro-Palestinian archaeology, Hittitology, Mediterranean Studies) language specialization (e.g. Akkadian, Sumerian, Hebrew), scientific specialization (e.g. Palaeobotany, Geology).1 In recent years, the difficulty of the task has of course been exacerbated by the conflicts and   Creasman and Wilkinson 2017; Mynářová, Onderka, Pavúk 2015.

1

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Western Asia   515

ANATOLIA

Ugarit *

Maadi *

EGYPT

* Tang-i Var MESOPOTAMIA

SYRIA

SOUTHERN En Besor* LEVANT/ CANAAN

* Uruk

SINAI

* Abydos

MAP OF EGYPT AND WESTERN ASIA

0

250

NORTH 200

1,000

ETHIOPIA

Kilometres

Figure 25.1  Map of ancient Egypt and Western Asia. Created by Norman Einstein on Wikimedia Commons (https://commons.wikimedia.org). Public domain.

unrest in key areas of the region, in particular the Sinai, Syria, and Iraq, therefore fresh archaeological research in the field has been much more difficult, even impossible, to carry out with many projects being curtailed or suspended.2 In view of this, the chapter will review how scholars have accomplished their research up to the last few years and the theoretical and methodological approaches taken. First will be   Danti 2014; Lawler 2012; Casana 2013.

2

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516   Carolyn Routledge considered the most significant challenges facing those who wish to study Western Asian contacts: interdisciplinary methods; the use of models; ideological representation; chronological synchronization; and the identification and interpretation of ‘foreign’ materials. Second, we will look at two case studies, first the West Asian influence on the rise of the Egyptian state, and secondly, the nature of Egypt’s New Kingdom empire in Canaan. These will be discussed in order to demonstrate how specific debates are addressed in relation to these challenges.

Background to the study of Western Asia in Egyptology: past influences and current trends Due to the limited nature of the available evidence in the early days of Egyptology, contacts with Western Asia could be studied broadly by an individual Egyptologist. Early knowledge of these contacts came in part from Biblical narratives, such as the Joseph and Exodus stories. Additionally, Classical authors preserved memories of contacts such as Josephus’ recording of Manetho’s account of the Hyksos coming from the east to rule over Egypt.3 Once hieroglyphs had been deciphered and scientific archaeological excavations began, substantial evidence for Egyptian contacts with Western Asia became clear. Flinders Petrie was one of the most significant of the early Egyptologists who recognized the importance of Western Asian contacts. He led excavations in both regions4 and was involved in the discovery and publication of such wide ranging objects as Early Dynastic images of Asiatics, his famous wavy-ledge handled jars of Canaanite style5 and the Amarna letters, an archive of diplomatic correspondence between Egypt and their vassals and the rulers in Western Asia dating to the late Eighteenth Dynasty.6

Interdisciplinary work In the course of the twentieth century, the body of material related to the connection between ancient Egypt and Western Asia had increased substantially. Today, this increase has led to expanded specialization. Additionally, academic institutions have developed more specific programmes of study, sometimes resulting in stronger disciplinary bound­ar­ies. Thus, it is considered difficult for any single scholar to control the range of material required to study the topic broadly as Petrie did in the nineteenth century. Many studies that relate to such contacts involve highly specialized knowledge (e.g. neutron activation of a specific group of ceramics and stable isotope analysis7) or specialization within a specific time

4  Redford 1997.   Petrie 1891; 1900; 1901; 1906; 1931–34.   Petrie 1901: pl IV, 1921: pl XXVIII–XXX; Kantor 1965: 7–8. 6 7   Petrie 1898; Knudtzon 1907–15; Moran 1992.   McGovern 2000; Arnold et al 2016. 3 5

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Western Asia   517 period (such as prehistoric Egypt)8 with few synthetic works.9 More common are collaborative works by scholars specializing in some aspect of the wider problem and multi-authored collections of essays.10 Additionally, the strong development of disciplinary boundaries can result in some studies showing a bias towards a scholar’s ‘home’ area of study.11

Theoretical models Put simply, models outline how specific historical circumstances might be explained with reference to certain general processes. In general, scholars have found the use of theoretical models helpful in studying Egypt’s contacts with Western Asia, but these have also been the source of much academic critique. Models can be useful in bringing together disparate types of evidence spread over broad geographical regions, while simplifying that evidence to highlight issues of explanation as predicted in the model. A large variety of models have been applied to evidence in an effort to increase our understanding of Egyptian and Asiatic interactions. Initially popular were the more traditional historical models that emphasized one-directional aspects of contact, such as diffusion and imperialism.12 Both these models explain how a stronger culture impacted on a weaker one. The diffusion model takes evidence to explain the movement of new ideas from a more culturally advanced people to a less advanced through a mode of interaction such as trade. The imperialism model of inter­ action involves using evidence that relates to the use of force and foreign rule based on physical occupation and ideological appropriation of territory by a more powerful society. While scholars still work with such models to organize and understand evidence, many find them limited by their inherent passive view of subject cultures. More recent work, such as core (centre) and periphery studies, have focused on the multi-directional aspects of contact.13 Core and periphery studies examine the shared impact of asymmetrical relations, usually economic, between two civilizations. Ideological exchange looks at the perceived mutual obligations that develop between cultures that interact. While such models have advanced the study of regional interaction, they have been criticized for providing, once again, a one-dimensional view of complex realities.14 To move interpretation away from these rather constraining approaches, one solution suggested is to take a multiple-model approach. The advantage of this being that they can mirror the existence of a range of social and cultural relationships and motivations.

Ideological representation Scholars studying Egypt’s relations with Western Asia have been influenced by the role of Asiatics in ancient Egyptian ideology. In this ideology, the Asiatics represent the forces  Wengrow 2006.   See discussion in Baines and Yoffee 1998: 203–4; exceptions include Helck 1962; Redford 1992. 10  Oren  1997; Cohen and Westbrook  2000; Levy and van den Brink  2002; Maïla-Afeiche  2009; Creasman and Wilkinson 2017. 12 11   See Kemp 1978; Frandsen 1979; Redford 1992: 192–213; Shaw 2001.   Liverani 1996: 288. 13   Liverani 1990; Levy and van den Brink 2002; Cohen 2016a. 14   Baines 1996; Joffe 2000; Adams 2002; Andelković 2012. 8 9

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Figure 25.2  Thutmose III preparing to smite the heads of foreign captives, temple of Karnak. Wikimedia Commons (https://commons.wikimedia.org). Public domain.

of chaos and the Egyptians that of order. Egyptians thus ‘pacify’ the Asiatics, usually forcefully, to create order. This ideology was represented in a number of ways in literature, art, and architecture; perhaps most obviously in the scene of the king smiting the head of a captive Asiatic (see Figure  25.2).15 The martial overtones of such representation has been an overwhelming influence in scholarly interpretation of Egypt’s relations with Western Asia, which suggest these as primarily through military conquest.16 Recent scholarship has pointed out that the ancient Egyptians had more complex views and experience of Asiatics than might appear from this dominant ideology. For example, Peter Kaplony suggests some early representations of Asiatics have been misunderstood as portraying subdued captives, when they actually represent visiting traders, craftsmen, or officials.17 A sub-text identified within ancient Egyptian literature is a fear that Egyptians who travel within Western Asia might ‘go native’ suggesting that it was far from clear that ancient Egyptians would necessarily find the cultures they encountered inferior and unattractive.18 Toby Wilkinson and Thomas Schneider point to steady peaceful contact between Egyptians with Asiatics throughout ancient Egyptian history, both within Egypt and outside.19 Ellen Morris explores the impact of significant numbers of captive foreigners as labour, and as symbols of the

 Malek and Forman  1986: 94–5; Loprieno  1988; Gilroy  2002; Kaplony  2002a; Köhler  2002; Menu 2003; Hikade 2012; Bard 2017: 26–7; Garcia 2017. 16   Of the First Intermediate Period—Wilson 1951: 110–12; of Den—Trigger 1983: 61; Grimal 1992: 52; of the New Kingdom—Redford 1992: 214–37. 17 18  Kaplony 2002b.   Routledge Forthcoming. 19   Wilkinson 2000b; 2002a; Schneider 2003. 15

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Western Asia   519 ideology of empire on the Egyptian elite.20 Finally, John Baines problematizes scholarly interpretation of the dominant ideology suggesting it should be more rich and complex.21 He suggests that more elaborate models of society should be created by examining the elite ideology surrounding concepts such as ‘the foreign’ and then examining evidence for divergent views. Such studies create a deeper, more nuanced reading of ancient Egyptian representations of Western Asiatics.

Identification and interpretation of ‘foreign’ materials The identification and interpretation of foreign materials, both items of foreign manufacture and of raw materials only available from foreign sources, is a significant factor in the study of Western Asian contacts with Egypt. Much of the historical reconstruction of cultural contact is based on the discovery in Western Asia of materials identified as being as being ‘Egyptian’ and/or the discovery in Egypt of artefacts identified as being ‘West Asian’. However, it has been proven to be more difficult to identify the origin of an object as foreign to its setting than might be expected, and much debate has resulted as to the stylistic features of an object or the local sources of raw materials. Once identified, an artefact can be even more difficult to interpret in terms of the significance of a foreign object to the history of contact. Recent investigations have benefited from the advances made in scientific ­methods of studying ancient materials and new theoretical approaches. In particular, the sourcing of materials traded in antiquity has clarified many problems faced by earlier investigators.22 For example, neutron activation analysis and petrographic analysis of pottery have been useful in indicating where a particular object originated. The information derived from such studies can aid in pinpointing trading partners, determining the origin of ethnic groups settled in Egypt, and also help in the identification of ancient cities and regions.23 Residue analysis (gas and liquid chromatography) has been used to identify materials, such as resins and lipids, once transported in ceramic vessels allowing scholars to identify trading regions, reconstruct shifts in trading patterns, and reveal formerly unidentified trade items.24 While scientific studies of materials have been added to the tools and techniques Egyptologists can employ to understand the past, they introduce their own interpretative problems. For example, neutron activation analysis and petrographic analysis of ceramic vessels from the Abydos cemetery U have been interpreted as producing conflicting sources for the origin of the clay used to produce vessels of Canaanite style.25

Chronological synchronization Chronological synchronization is a significant issue for the study of cultural interactions. Chronology is of course problematic for studies of ancient Egyptian history as well as other 21 22  Baines 1996.   Forstner-Müller and Kopetzky 2009.  Morris 2014.  McGovern  2000;  2001; Bourriau, Smith, and Serpico  2001; Goren, Finkelstein, and Na’aman 2002; 2003; Hartung 2002; Porat and Goren 2002; Arnold et al 2016. 24   Serpico and White 2000; McGovern, Glusker, and Exner 2001; Stern et al 2003. 25   Hartung 2002; Porat and Goren 2002; Stevenson 2016: 446. 20 23

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520   Carolyn Routledge regions within Western Asia, which can often be even more difficult.26 Such challenges can  arise within single dating methods such as incomplete data (e.g. regnal year length unknown)27 and interpretative differences.28 Adding a second level of complexity, a variety of methods of relative (e.g. king-lists, object seriation) and absolute dating (e.g. radiocarbon, dendochronology, astronomical) must be harmonized.29 These problems intensify when trying to coordinate chronologies across regions. For example, there are difficulties in understanding the synchronization of chronology for Middle Kingdom Egypt with peri­od­ iza­tion in the southern Levant (EBIV-MBII).30 For some historical studies, even a few years’ difference in chronological calculations can be significant. The recent publication of the Tang-i Var inscription, a monumental Neo-Assyrian cuneiform text with relief carving discovered on the face of a cliff in Iranian Kurdistan, suggests a possible correlation between Sargon II of Mesopotamia and Shabitqo of Egypt. Depending on interpretation, such a correlation could require adjustments to both the chronology of Egypt and the understanding of foreign relations for this period.31 The problems of chronological synchronization for the broader eastern Mediterranean are being addressed by a working group of international scholars who are employing improved techniques in C14 dating.32 Some large-scale research projects examining specific periods and Egyptian material have significantly increased confidence in the baseline absolute dates for Egyptian chronology and also related synchronisation for relative dating between Western Asia and Egypt.

Case studies Most debates in the study of Egypt’s relations with Western Asia require scholars to consider a number of the methods and problems of interpretation just outlined. Two important aspects in the study of Egypt and Western Asian relations can act as good exemplars of these discourses: first, the role of Western Asia in the rise of the ancient Egyptian state in the fourth millennium bc, and second, the nature and role of the ancient Egyptian empire in Western Asia in the Late Bronze Age.

Uruk, Egypt, Canaan, and the rise of the early state For many years, scholars have made a connection between contacts with Western Asia and Egypt’s earliest development. Early in the scientific consideration of the ancient Egyptian past, archaeologists such as Petrie noted that objects of apparently Mesopotamian origin or   Kitchen 2000; Matthiae 2000; Stevenson 2016: 441–3.   Kitchen 2000; Kutschera and Stadler 2000. 28   Bruins, van der Plicht, and Mazar 2003a; 2003b; Finkelstein and Piasetzky 2003. 29   Gilboa, Sharon, and Zorn 2004; Regev et al 2012; Höflmayer 2014; Falconer and Fall 2016. 30   Cohen 2002: 11–14, 128–36; Cohen 2012; 2015; 2017. 31   Frame 1999; Redford 1999; Kitchen 2000: 50–1; Kahn 2001; Höflmayer 2017. 32   Bietak 2000; Bietak and Höflmayer 2007; Dee et al 2013; Dee et al 2014; Höflmayer 2016. 26 27

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Western Asia   521 influence were found in connection with Predynastic and Early Dynastic remains.33 Additionally, Egyptologists were struck by the seemingly rapid development of early Egyptian culture from agricultural settlements to a unified country.34 Putting these two perspectives together, theorists sought to explain this rapid change as occurring through an invasion of a more advanced people from greater Mesopotamia (the so-called ‘Dynastic Race Theory’).35 As chronological knowledge and the study of physical anthropology became more developed, the idea of rapid change and that physical evidence of a foreign population invading at the critical time was not accepted.36 However, the idea that significant contact with Mesopotamia influenced the development of the ancient Egyptian state remained. In part, this idea was based on a model of diffusion of the essential concepts/inventions necessary to the development of the state (e.g. writing, monarchy, centralized urban administration) with Mesopotamia being the originator of these concepts/inventions.37 The critical element in the theory of such a transfer of ideas is the identification of artefacts of Mesopotamian origin or influence. One of the best known studies of these was by Helene Kantor who collected examples of pottery, artistic motifs, cylinder seals, and niched mud-brick architecture.38 There has been substantial debate over the origin and manufacture of these objects and their significance to Egyptian cultural development. Recent excavations at sites in Egypt and Canaan have provided significant new information suggesting alternate identifications and significance for some artefacts. Stan Hendrickx and Laurent Bavay suggest that some pottery previously identified as Mesopotamian, should be con­sidered as being of Egyptian or Canaanite derivation.39 Toby Wilkinson upholds the Mesopotamian origin of several forms of pottery, but is hampered by the small number of examples and the lack of petrographic or neutron activation analyses, such as exist for Canaanite pottery found in Egypt.40 Additionally, the Mesopotamian origin of some motifs in Egyptian art has been questioned and native Egyptian developments of artistic styles have been suggested (see Figure 25.3).41 Holly Pittman, in a useful review of the debate, argues that the motifs are Mesopotamian and were transmitted to Egypt along with Mesopotamian ‘modes of thought’.42 Al Joffe supports the Mesopotamian character of the representations, but suggests that they were reinterpreted in Egyptian terms ‘without indication of the transmission of serious conceptual or organizational influences’.43 Similarly, Hendrickx recognizes a resemblance between the Mesopotamian and Egyptian motifs, but suggests that all the motifs could be traced to images on Mesopotamian cylinder seals that may have arrived in Egypt without any original Mesopotamian ideology being transmitted.44 David Wengrow and Alice Stevenson suggests 34   Emery 1961: 30; Redford 1992: 13, 17; Kemp 2000: 236.  Petrie 1900.   Emery 1961: 30–1, 39–42. 36   Berry, Berry, and Ucko 1967; Trigger 1983: 12–13; Wilkinson 1999: 150, 2000a: 393; Savage 2001: 110. 37   Redford 1992: 18, 24–6; Algaze 1993a: 316; Pittman 1996; Savage 2001: 130; Wilkinson 2002b: 242, 245; Midant-Reynes 2003: 296; see also Frankfort 1956: 121–37. 38   Kantor 1942; 1952; 1965. For a more recent studies see Moorey 1987; Smith 1992; Hikade 2012. 39   Hendrickx and Bavay 2002: 66–70; also see Hendrickx 2001: 96; van den Brink 2001: 100–1. 40   McGovern 2001; Wilkinson 2002b: 238–41. 41   Davis 1976 (register lines); Stevenson Smith and Simpson 1981: 36, 432–3, n 24; Williams, Logan, and Murnane 1987 (boats); Hendrickx 2001: 97–8; Hendrickx and Bavay 2002: 69; Midant-Reyenes 2003: 314–25. 42 43   Pittman 1996; similarly Hill 2004.  Joffe 2000:115–16. 44   Hendrickx 2001: 96–7; Hendrickx and Bavay 2002: 72–3. 33 35

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Figure 25.3  Gebel Tarif knife. Motifs on handle have been compared to Mesopotamian style depictions including the entwined snakes and rosettes, Cairo Museum. Drawing by James Edward Quibell, 1905. Wikimedia Commons (https://commons.wikimedia.org). Public domain.

the motifs were part of a larger development that included a group of cultures who used ‘exotica’, such as these motifs, for their own purposes.45 Finally, the Mesopotamian origin of niched architecture in Egypt is not as secure as once thought (Figure 25.4) Some scholars suggest that niched architecture is a translation of a   Wengrow 2006: 141–2; Stevenson 2013.

45

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Western Asia   523

Figure 25.4  Niched mudbrick wall, Shunet el-Zebib, Abydos.

native Egyptian reed and matting construction technique, given the decorative painting that represents reed mat-work found in Egyptian niches, as well as the significant differences in building techniques vis-à-vis those known in Mesopotamia.46 Thomas Von der Way also suggests that there is evidence for the use of clay cones in Egyptian architecture which, in Mesopotamia, is associated with the decoration of mudbrick architecture.47 Data collected from subsequent excavations has led to a reinterpretation of these clay objects in Egypt as actually being related to food production and not architecture.48 While it is clear that some materials found in Predynastic Egypt indicate long distance trade (obsidian—Ethiopia, lapis lazuli—Afghanistan), the nature of the relations between Mesopotamia and Egypt remain obscured.49 If contact was indirect and only through small trade items, it would seem unlikely that ideas related to the development of the state, such as writing, could have been transmitted to Egypt. Currently, many scholars are hypothesizing an independent development of writing in Egypt.50 The discovery of early writing in the Predynastic tomb U-j at Abydos51 stimulated the study of evidence for early writing in Egypt. These studies have provided evidence for the development of pictorial and graphic signs into writing within Egypt, thus suggesting an indigenous development.52   Stevenson Smith and Simpson  1981: 35–36, 432–3, nn 23 and 24; Hendrickx  2001: 96–7, 102–5; Stevenson 2013. 47   von der Way 1992. 48   Faltings 1998: 40; Friedman 2000; Faltings 2002; Wilde and Behnert 2002. 49   Bavay et al 2000; Hendrickx and Bavay 2002: 60–6; Midant-Reynes 2003: 296–306. 50   For examples of early views expressing a diffusion of the idea of writing see Ray 1986; Redford 1992: 18; Spencer 1993: 61–2. For a recent description see Garcia 2016. 51 52  Dreyer 1993; 2011.   Postgate, Wang, and Wilkinson 1995. 46

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524   Carolyn Routledge Additionally, considerations of fundamental differences in Mesopotamian and Egyptian writing systems suggest independent origins and development.53 Finally, theories concerning diffusion, rather than independent discovery of ideas, have become less popular. The shift away from models of diffusion has encouraged scholars to apply new methods. Egypt is now often described as a ‘pristine state’, one of the first nation-states in history and in this sense quite distinct from the city-states of early Mesopotamia.54 While the model of diffusion from Mesopotamia containing the ideas necessary for state development is not often employed today, models of state development applied to explain Mesopotamian evidence are being used to understand state development in ancient Egypt. One of the most influential explanations was Guillermo Algaze’s ‘Uruk World System’ where he describes the growth of city-states in southern Mesopotamia as being reliant on trade items from colonized outposts in the less developed peripheries.55 Algaze suggests that trade was based on the acquisition of raw materials by the core in exchange for finished goods, often exotics, for consumption by local elites in the periphery.56 The requirements of managing this trade encouraged the development of state structures. From this explanation of state development comes one of the most productive models: core and periphery relations.57 When this model is applied to ancient Egyptian evidence, Egypt becomes a core area whose inter­ action with areas that are less developed in its periphery stimulates the growth of the nation-state in Egypt. The move towards the application of the core and periphery model was also encouraged by new discoveries in Egypt and southern Canaan that indicated a close relationship between these two geographical areas. While there had been indications of Canaanite pottery in Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt, renewed excavations at sites in Egypt (e.g. Maadi, Buto, and Abydos), new excavations in Israel (e.g. `En Besor, Halif Terrace, and Lod), and new forms of analysis (e.g. residue analysis, petrography) suggest that there was significant interaction between Egypt and Canaan in both the Predynastic and beginning of the Early Dynastic period.58 Unlike the case of Mesopotamian interaction, where no indication of Egyptian material has been found in Mesopotamia, complementary remains were found in both southern Canaan and Egypt. From this evidence, scholars suggest that trade, especially with Canaan, was crucial to the development of the nation-state in ancient Egypt. Initially, trade representing relatively equal relations developed in the Naqada I–II periods between the Egyptian Delta and southern Canaan. This trade may have been carried out by private ‘entrepreneurs’ according to Tim Harrison who matches archaeological remains to Colin Renfrew’s modes of exchange model for ‘freelance Middleman trading’.59 In Naqada III, the pattern changes with southern Egyptian culture dominating in the Delta and Canaanite trade items become evident in Upper Egypt.60 Therefore, it is suggested that access to Canaanite trade items was a stimulus 53  Baines  1988: 193–199, 208; Bard  1992; Menu  2003; Stauder  2010/2015; Wengrow  2011; Garcia 2016. 54   Wenke 1997; Baines and Yoffee 1998; Lehner 1999; Savage 2001: 104; B. Routledge 2003. 56 55   Algaze 1993a: 307–8.  Algaze 1993b. 57   For a convenient summary see Levy and van den Brink 2002. 58  Gophna  1995; Serpico and White  1996; Hartung  2001; Braun  2002; Faltings  2002; Kansa and Levy 2002; van den Brink 2002; Hartung et al 2003; Badawi 2003; Braun 2011; Andelković 2012. 59 60   Harrison 1993: 88–9.   Harrison 1993: 90–1; Andelković 2012.

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Western Asia   525 for the unification of the state.61 Concomitant with the unification came the development of a strong national identity and royal ideology that arose in order to cement together the various geopolitical regions of Egypt. Writing is suggested to have developed in Egypt as part of the administrative apparatus for trade with Canaan, and the representation of royal ideology and national identity.62 Thus Egypt became the core using the periphery (Canaan) as a source for a variety of raw materials. In the development of the state, these raw ma­ter­ials represented wealth and ideological power.63

Discussion While core and periphery studies have suggested new ideas about Western Asian influence on the development of the state in ancient Egypt, the reconstruction of the primacy of Canaanite contacts faces a number of critiques. For example, there is no agreement on the timing of a number of developments in state formation to coincide with intensification of Egyptian trade with Canaan.64 Not all commentators agree that the relationship between Canaan and Egypt represents the asymmetrical relationship necessary for a core-periphery model.65 Additionally, the Canaanite role in Egyptian state formation is diminished by those who wish to see Mesopotamian influence as occurring through Egypt’s periphery in Canaan. A strong Egyptian presence in Canaan would allow for a possible route of transmission for Mesopotamian ideas from the Uruk periphery in the northern Levant. However, there has been little evidence of Uruk period Mesopotamian remains in Canaan itself.66 Finally, a more global form of trade has been suggested as an appropriate model that would change the relationship between both Canaan and Mesopotamia with Egypt by bringing Egypt into contact with more numerous influences from a wider world.67 Thus state development in ancient Egypt could not be explained with reference to Mesopotamia or Canaan alone. Recently, research building on these last concerns, has focused on the African nature of Egyptian cultural development. Scholars examine the development of directly adjacent Nubian groups and African ideology of power and politics to create models to apply to the evidence from ancient Egypt to understand the rise of the state. In these models, Western Asia becomes a source not only for raw materials, but also for exotica which served the emerging elites as symbols of their ideological power. This power of the elites was expressed through their ability to control scarce resources and provide opportunities for ritual display.68   Algaze 1993a: 316–19; Postgate, Wang, and Wilkinson 1995: 466; Joffe 1998: 300–3; Bard 2000: 63–82; Wilkinson 2000a 2002a; Savage 2001: 130–2; Hendrickx and Bavay 2002; de Miroschedji 2002; Watrin 2002; Menu 2003: 309–13, 319–21; Morenz 2004. 62   Bard 2017: 18–20. 63   Andelković 2011; 2012 proposes that there was an Egyptian Province in Canaan during Dynasty 0 (Naqada III). 64   Baines 1988: 194–8; Adams 2002: 525; Ilan 2002: 319. 65   Braun 2002: 181–3; Kansa and Levy 2002: 203–7; Paz 2002: 252–5. 66   Joffe 2000; Yannai and Braun 2001; Philip 2002. 67   Wilkinson 2002b: 245; Wilde 2003; Köhler 2011. 68   Garcia 2013; Bard 2017; Wengrow 2006: 6–7, 135–42. 61

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526   Carolyn Routledge For example, Kathryn Bard suggests exotic goods including from Canaan and the wider Western Asian sphere were used by elites as symbols of their socio-economic and political status as part of the development of the state using a ‘dual processual’ theory related to invention of a political economy with a model of territorial expansion. David Wengrow appeals to ‘practice theory’ referencing bodily practice as a model to apply to the early development of Egypt due to the large body of evidence derived from cemeteries where social ideas and experience are deposited as evidence through ritual practices. Stevenson’s research that combines newer radiocarbon dating methods with relative dating, and in particular, the seriation series originated by Petrie, questions the existing assumptions around the evolutionary premise behind much of the discussion of the rise of the state in ancient Egypt. She proposes a much more convoluted pattern of change over time and points to the significant role of the Levant, Mesopotamia, and other areas in Western Asia as sources for materials that allowed elites to assert their position, particularly through ritual practice.69

The Bronze Age Empire Similar to the relations between Western Asia and ancient Egypt in the fourth millennium bc discussed above, relationships between these two regions in the Late Bronze Age have been studied and debated since the early days of Egyptology. The nature of the evidence of these relations, however, is quite different in regards to quantity of it and the availability of written sources. Early accounts of Egypt’s empire in the Near East were derived principally from Egyptian sources, for example: royal accounts of battles; pictorial representations on temple walls; tomb reliefs; and the foreign correspondence with Egypt as represented by the Amarna Letters.70 These sources presented a complex and at times, contradictory view of the Egyptian Empire and its diplomatic ties. While the Egyptian documents presented a view of the Egyptians as the regional superpower—culturally advanced, militarily superior, and largely secure in their empire; the Amarna letters suggested Egypt was one of a number of great powers struggling to control its vassals.71 The model most scholars used to understand this evidence was that of imperialism, describing Egypt occupying Canaan under direct rule with varying levels of success in their control of the region.72 An important aspect of the direct rule model of imperialism is that Egypt is seen as having a heavy impact on Canaan. This impact includes the effects of military intervention (destruction of property, architecture, and people), resident Egyptians (construction of garrisons, imposition of new governmental forms), heavy taxation, and superior Egyptian goods (adoption of Egyptian culture and art).73 Archaeological discoveries in the Levant that question the validity of the Egyptian Empire model generally came after initial early historical studies. These discoveries provide a somewhat different view of the nature of the  Stevenson 2015; 2016.   Breasted 1906–07; Knudtzon 1907–15; also source list in Redford 1992: 140–6. 71   Liverani 1990: 14, 24–5, 44–8, 117–22. 72  Erman  1885: 694–709; Wilson  1951: 173–93; Steindorff and Seele  1957: 103–15; Droiton and Vandier 1962: 398–429. 73   Steindorf and Seele 1957: 103–14; Albright 1979: 337–8; Leonard 1989: 12–27; Redford 1992: 196–213. 69 70

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Western Asia   527 Egyptian Empire.74 While clearly indicating an Egyptian presence, the timing and placement of this presence is not necessarily what is expected based on the Egyptian sources, and the prevailing model of Egyptian imperialism. First, given the textual and pictorial sources from Egypt, it would be expected that evidence for an Egyptian presence should be strong from the reign of Thutmose III through to Rameses III. However, archaeological remains of an Egyptian nature are relatively rare for the Eighteenth Dynasty.75 Second, archaeological evidence for forts and garrisons within Canaan, in the shape of Egyptian architecture and goods, are not as frequent as would be expected in the traditional model of imperialism, especially when the frequencies of these remains in Nubia are considered.76 One trend in recent research related to the Egyptian Empire in Canaan is the questioning of the impact of Egyptians on Canaan, and the utility of the traditional model of imperialism. In most cases, this research engages the issue of the variance between textual, pictorial, and archaeological evidence. For example, Michael Hasel, utilizing Egyptian pictorial and literary evidence, suggests that Nineteenth-Dynasty Egyptian military activity in Canaan was not as destructive, particularly to cities, as has been believed. This suggestion being based on fresh interpretation of the evidence of destruction levels at sites in the Levant.77 In addition, Stefan Wimmer argues, based on architectural style, that with the exception of Gaza and Byblos, none of the temples previously identified as Egyptian should be con­sidered as being built by Egyptians as Egyptian temples.78 One of the most interesting debates in this vein is related to the question of the use of material culture to interpret the nature of Egyptian control in Canaan. Harold Liebowitz suggests that Canaan did not suffer a cultural decline, which some others have attributed to heavy taxation during the period of Egyptian control. Liebowitz points to the existence of the high quality of ancient ivories discovered in Canaanite contexts, many of which show Egyptianizing style, as evidence that Canaan flourished economically and culturally during this period.79 Carolyn Higginbotham also rejects the prevailing model of imperialism by arguing that the material culture remains from the Levant suggest that Egyptians did not have a strong presence in the region. Using a model she calls ‘elite emulation’, which is derived from core-periphery studies, she suggests that the Egyptians ruled through control of local elites who adopted Egyptian styles to enhance their power.80 Betsy Bryan, building on Liebowitz’s and Higginbotham’s studies, suggests that the closeness of Canaanite ivories to original Egyptian objects can be used to suggest the nature of Egyptian rule in Canaan.81 She concludes that in the Eighteenth Dynasty, Egyptianized Canaanites governed the region, this being based on the Egyptian quality of the ivories found there while in the Nineteenth Dynasty, the quality of the ivories is less Egyptian, reflecting the presence of a few Egyptian garrisons and many independent Canaanite city-rulers.82 Higginbotham’s and Bryan’s ideas have not gone unchallenged. Ellen Morris suggests that the identification of objects as Egyptian, Egyptian in style, or Egyptianizing is difficult, because there is little evidence to suggest that Egyptian culture was privileged as the elite culture of Canaanites. In addition, the elite emulation fails to explain the placement of other   Weinstein 1981; 2003: 151–3.   Weinstein 1981: 14–15; Morris 2001: 386–93; Höflmayer 2015. 76 77   Higginbotham 2000: 10–16; Morris 2005.   Hasel 1998; Burke et al 2017. 78 79  Wimmer 1990; 1998.   Liebowitz 1987; 1989; Bienkowski 1989; Knapp 1989. 80 81 82   Higginbotham 1996: 155–6; 2000: 6–9.  Bryan 1996.   ibid: 76–7. 74 75

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528   Carolyn Routledge utilitarian objects at strategically located sites.83 Morris supports a model of direct rule suggesting that the paucity of Egyptian remains in the Eighteenth Dynasty is related to a change in imperial policy.84 She suggests that the Egyptians required Canaanites to supply their own housing and material needs, thus leaving little mark on the archaeological record. Morris proposes that a policy shift towards Egyptian government supply, initiated by Horemheb across Egypt and Canaan, is responsible for the observed Egyptianization of archaeological remains in subsequent reigns. Felix Höflmayer finds Morris’ hypothesis unlikely given that some sites show evidence of an Egyptian presence and instead suggests a form of control via key transport routes using garrisons.85 Christine Lilyquist is also concerned by the identification of particular objects in relation to their Egyptian character. Additionally, she questions the ability of scholars to attach specific historical interpretations to objects, given our current knowledge of chronology for archaeological finds from Canaan.86 Lilyquist suggests that a number of objects Bryan identifies as Egyptian in origin may actually be Canaanite (e.g. cosmetic duck dishes) (Figure  25.5). Her suggestions invert traditional views of interaction by suggesting that

Figure 25.5  Duck cosmetic dish carved from Hippopotamus ivory, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; 40.2.2a, b. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; Rogers Fund, 1940.

  Morris 2001: 17–22.   Lilyquist 1998: 25–6, 28.

83 86

  Morris 2001: 386–93.

84

  Höflmayer 2015: 202.

85

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Western Asia   529 Egyptians adopted Western Asian styles and goods. Finally, Lilyquist proposes that Egypt was participating in an ‘international style’ that included the broader Mediterranean and Western Asian world and therefore needs to be considered in any study of Egyptian objects.87 Taken as a whole, Lilyquist’s work suggests a more complex interaction of cultures than can be sustained by the traditional model of imperialism. Marian Feldman further problematizes any simple equation between objects, imperial influence, and particular cultural reference. In a study of objects from Canaan dating to the Late Bronze Age, said to be in an international style, she suggests that there was a ‘multi­pli­city of artistic expression’ in the works of this period.88 Feldman identifies three categories of luxury objects from Ugarit. First, are objects made for local consumption that have in­di­ gen­ous features. Second, are objects made for local consumption, but that have foreign features. Third, are objects made for international consumption that present a hybrid tradition of the broader Mediterranean region.89 Feldman proposes that more is to be gained by understanding these luxuries in relation to their cultural context, and not in relation to some nationally identified characteristics they might display.90 Based on Feldman’s conclusions, elite emulation would be too simple a model to promote useful understanding of Egyptian-style motifs in objects found in Western Asia. Her study suggests a more sophisticated approach must be applied in order to understand the nature of the Late Bronze Age in the region. Morris adds to the discussion of the international exchange of objects by highlighting the potential intricate political, diplomatic, religious, and ideological meanings that could be associated with, and embodied in, objects exchanged or created through the interactions of rulers and leaders and thereby raising their significance beyond exotica or luxury goods. Morris further suggests that there can be multiple potential meanings embodied in the creation and erection of statues within the intricacies of diplomatic relations.91

Future directions of research It is evident from the two issues reviewed here (the impact of Western Asian culture on the development of the state in ancient Egypt, and the nature of Egypt’s impact on Late Bronze Age Canaan), that scholarly consensus has yet to be reached. Although these issues are separated in time and engage very different types of evidence, many of the methods and problems are identical. The scholars who address these issues often share some specific characteristics in their research in that they are participants in interdisciplinary projects, they employ models to explain the available evidence, they address the problem of ideological representation in seeking to advance their research, and they recognized it was a struggle to date and accurately identify key aspects of objects. The common methods and problems employed by scholars studying Egyptian contacts with Western Asia provide a strong indication of future trends in this field. A significant number of studies produced in recent years come from multi-disciplinary symposia and

88   Feldman 2002: 25.   ibid: 28–9.   Morris 2015a; 2015b.

87 91

  ibid: 9.

89

  ibid: 25.

90

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530   Carolyn Routledge joint authorships.92 These collaborations have been instrumental in advancing the study of Egyptian–West Asian interaction. While such collaboration has not been as common in Egyptology as in other disciplines, its recent success in addressing the issue of the complexity of the evidence should set a pattern for future study. One of the strongest approaches to understanding Egyptian relations with Western Asia as seen in the discussion reviewed here is the use of models to organize and interpret evidence. The current trend towards employing models that recognize and incorporate new ideas about the complexity of interactions across regions should be developed further. Current models have a tendency to privilege economic explanation and elite society above many other forms of interpretation. Certainly, many of the Egyptians resident in, or visiting Canaan, would not be members of the elite. Additionally, top down models of social systems are not always the best methods of understanding cultural exchange.93 More refined models need to be applied that can take into consideration a wider range of social and behavioural motivations. As with the use of more complex models, new methods of examination of Egyptian materials have become more sophisticated. Egyptologists are therefore much more aware of  the complex nature of Egyptian representations of the foreign, and the multi-cultural nature of Egyptian society. This awareness is relatively new and thus considerations of the ­multivalent nature of Egypt’s foreign relations should develop further. The ability to make chronological links between Western Asia and Egypt has improved significantly in recent years. Continued refinements in methods of dating and continued interdisciplinary cooperation should allow scholars to make more secure correlations. In the case studies reviewed here, the scientific methods of petrographic analysis and residue analysis were clearly important to the ability of scholars to identify the origin and use of artefacts. While new methods of analysis should be expected to be developed, creative applications of existing methods, such as the recent application of petrographic analysis to the Amarna tablets94 and the statistical analysis of site clusters in Canaan95 may prove to be productive. As in other areas of Egyptology, new archaeological finds are potentially the most significant driver of future research. This is particularly true in relation to contacts with Western Asia. Areas known to be important to Egyptian contacts, such as in Syria and Lebanon, have not been investigated or are in the early stages of excavation.96 Additionally, work in areas in the border regions of Egypt are continuing to produce unique materials such as funerary cones from Gaza and an Old Kingdom fort in Sinai.97 But of course, such new directions are now significantly curtailed given the current political and social unrest in these countries. Given the rich evidence for prolonged contact between Egypt and Western Asia, the study of these cultural contacts should be significant well beyond Egyptology. Continued multi-disciplinary studies of the pattern of relations between ancient Egyptians and their northeastern neighbours will be important to Egyptologists, historians, and anthropologists. 92   Postgate, Wang, and Wilkinson 1995; Oren 1997; Baines and Yoffee 1998; Bietak 2000; Cohen and Westbrook; Shortland 2001; Levy and van den Brink 2002. 93   Stallybrass and White 1986. 94 95   Goren, Finkelstein, Na`aman 2002; 2003.   Savage and Falconer 2003. 96   E.g. Tell Acharneh, ancient Tunip-Fortin and Cooper 2013. 97   Steel, Manley, Clarke, and Sadeq 2004; Mumford 2005.

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Western Asia   531

Suggested reading For a recent overview, see Hikade 2012. An excellent detailed starting place for investigations of Egypt’s relations with Western Asia is Redford 1992. Although becoming dated on some issues, Redford provides a comprehensive view of the subject. His work can be updated through recent specialized volumes and relevant articles in the Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections and Aegypten und Levante. For an overview of contact between Egypt and the Levant see Cohen 2016b. For an overview of contact between Egypt and Mesopotamia see Stevenson 2013. For the period of first contacts consult Levy and van den Brink 2002; Midant-Reynes 2003; and Wengrow 2006. For the Hyksos period consult Oren 1997. For the Middle Kingdom consult Cohen 2002. For questions of the Exodus consult Hoffmeier 1996 and Frerichs and Lesko 1997. For the New Kingdom see Oren 2000 and Morris 2005. Finally, Liverani 1990 can be consulted for an influential study of the diplomatic exchanges of the region.

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Western Asia   537 Moorey, P.R.S. 1987. On Tracking Cultural Transfers in Prehistory: The Case of Egypt and Lower Mesopotamia in the fourth Millennium b.c. In M Rowlands, M. Larsen, and K. Kristiansen (eds), Centre and Periphery in the Ancient World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 36–46. Moran, W. 1992. The Amarna Letters. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Morenz, L. 2004. Hieroglyphen im frühbronzezeitlichen Südpalästina, Zeitschrift des deutschen Palästina-Vereins 120: 1–12. Morris, E. 2001. The Architecture of Imperialism: An Investigation into the Role of Fortresses and Administrative Headquarters in New Kingdom Foreign Policy. unpublished Ph.D.  dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, Ann Arbor: UMI. Morris, E. 2005. The Architecture of Imperialism: Military Bases and the Evolution of Foreign Policy in Egypt’s New Kingdom. Probleme der Ägyptologie 22, Leiden: Brill. Morris, E. 2014. Mitanni Enslaved: Prisoners of War, Pride, and Productivity in a New Imperial Regime. In J. Galán, B. Bryan, and P. Dorman (eds), Creativity and Innovation in the Reign of Hatshepsut. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 361–79. Morris, E. 2015a. Egypt, Ugarit, the Good Ba’al, and the Puzzle of a Royal Rebuff. In J.  Mynářová, P. Onderka, and P. Pavúk (eds), There and Back Again—The Crossroads II. Prague: Charles University, 315–51. Morris, E. 2015b. Exchange, Extraction, and the Politics of Ideological Money Laundering in Egypt’s New Kingdom Empire. In B. Eder and R. Pruzsinszky (eds), Policies of Exchange: Political Systems and Modes of Interaction in the Aegean and the Near East in the 2nd Millennium b.c.e. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences, 167–90. Mumford, G. 2014. Egypt and the Levant. In A. Killebrew and M. Steiner (eds), Handbook of Archaeology of the Levant: c. 8000–332 bce. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 69–89. Mumford, G. 2015. Explorations in el-Markha Plain, South Sinai: Preliminary Findings at Tell Markha (site 346) and Elsewhere, Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 7.1: 91–115. Mynářová, J., Onderka, P., and Pavúk, P. 2015. There and Back Again—The Crossroads II. Prague: Charles University Faculty of Arts. Oren, E. (ed). 1997. The Hyksos: New Historical and Archaeological Perspectives. Philadelphia: University Museum. Oren, E.D. (ed.) 2000. The Sea Peoples and their World: A Reassessment. Pennsylvania PA: Philadelphia University Museum. Paz, Y. 2002. Fortified Settlements of the EB IB and the Emergence of the First Urban System, Tel Aviv 29: 238–61. Petrie, W.M.F. 1891. Tell el Hesy (Lachish). London: Palestine Exploration Fund. Petrie, W.M.F. 1898. Syria and Egypt; from the Tell el Amarna Letters. London: Methuen & Co. Petrie, W.M.F. 1900. Royal Tombs of the First Dynasty I, EEF Memoir 18. Petrie, W.M.F. 1901. The Royal Tombs of the Earliest Dynasties II. London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt. Petrie, W.M.F. 1906. Hyksos and Israelite Cities. London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt. Petrie, W.M.F. 1921. Corpus of Prehistoric Pottery and Palettes. London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt. Petrie, W.M.F. 1931–34. Ancient Gaza I-IV (Tell el Ajjul). London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt. Philip, G. 2002. Contacts between the ‘Uruk’ World and the Levant during the Fourth Millennium bc: Evidence and Interpretation. In J. Postgate (ed), Artefacts of Complexity: Tracking the Uruk in the Near East. Iraq Archaeological Reports 5, Cambridge: British School of Archaeology in Iraq, 207–35. Pittman, H. 1996. Constructing Context: The Gebel el-Arak Knife. Greater Mesopotamian and Egyptian Interaction in the Late Fourth Millennium b.c.e. In J. Cooper and G. Schwartz (eds), The Study of the Ancient Near East in the Twenty-First Century. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 9–32. Porat, N. and Goren, Y. 2002. Petrography of the Naqada IIIa Canaanite Pottery from Tomb U-j in Abydos. In E. van den Brink and T. Levy (eds), Egypt and the Levant. Interrelations from the 4th through the early 3rd Millennium bce. London: Leicester University Press, 252–70.

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538   Carolyn Routledge Postgate, N., Wang, T., and Wilkinson, T. 1995. The Evidence for Early Writing: Utilitarian or Ceremonial?, Antiquity 69: 459–80. Ray, J. 1986. The Emergence of Writing in Egypt, World Archaeology 17(3): 307–16. Redford, D. 1992. Egypt, Canaan, and Israel in Ancient Times. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Redford, D. 1997. Textual Sources for the Hyksos Period. In E. Oren (ed), The Hyksos: New Historical and Archaeological Perspectives. Philadelphia, PA: University Museum, 1–44. Redford, D. 1999. A Note on the Chronology of Dynasty 25 and the Inscription of Sargon II at Tang-i Var, Orientalia 68: 58–60. Regev, J, De Miroschedji, P., Greenberg, R., and Braun, E. 2012. Chronology of the Early Bronze Age in the Southern Levant: New Analysis for a High Chronology, Radiocarbon 54(3–4): 525–66. Routledge, B. 2003. The Antiquity of the Nation? Critical Reflections from the Ancient Near East, Nations and Nationalism 9: 213–33. Routledge. C. Forthcoming. Ancient Egyptian Royal Ideology and Imperialism. In J.C. Margueron, P. Miroschedji, and J.-P. Thalmann (eds), Proceedings of the Third International Conference on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, Paris, 2002. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Savage, S. 2001. Some Recent Trends in the Archaeology of Predynastic Egypt, Journal of Archaeological Research 9: 101–55. Savage, S. and Falconer, F. 2003. Spatial and Statistical Inference of Late Bronze Age Polities in the Southern Levant, Bulletin of the Oriental Schools of Research 330: 331–45. Schneider, T. 2003. Foreign Egypt: Egyptology and the Concept of Cultural Appropriation, Egypt and the Levant 13: 155–61. Serpico, M. and White, R. 1996. A Report on the Analysis of the Contents of a Cache of Jars from the Tomb of Djer. In J. Spencer (ed), Aspects of Early Egypt. London: British Museum Press, 128–39. Serpico, M. and White, R. 2000. The Botanical Identity and Transport of Incense during the Egyptian New Kingdom, Antiquity 74: 884–97. Shaw, I. 2001. Egyptians, Hyksos, and Military Hardware: Causes, Effects, or Catalysts? In A. Shortland (ed), The Social Context of Technological Change: Egypt and the Near East, 1650–1550 bc. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 59–71. Shortland, A. 2001. The Social Context of Technological Change: Egypt and the Near East, 1650–1550 bc. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Smith, H. 1992. The Making of Egypt: a Review of the Influence of Susa and Sumer on Upper Egypt and Lower Nubia in the Fourth Millennium b.c. In R. Friedman and B. Adams (eds), The Followers of Horus: Studies Dedicated to Michael Allen Hoffman. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 235–46. Spencer, J. 1993. Early Egypt: The Rise of Civilisation in the Nile Valley. London: British Museum Press. Stallybrass, P. and White, A. 1986. The Politics and Poetics of Transgression. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Stauder, S. 2010/2015. The Earliest Egyptian Writing. In C. Woods (ed), Visible Language: Inventions of Writing in the Ancient Middle East and Beyond. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 137–47. Steel, L., Manley, W., Clarke, J., and Sadeq, M. 2004. Egyptian ‘Funerary Cones’ from el-Moghraqa, Gaza, The Antiquaries Journal 84: 319–33. Steindorff, G. and Seele, K. 1957. When Egypt Ruled the East. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Stern, B. et al. 2003. Compositional Variations in Aged and Heated Pistacia Resin Found in Late Bronze Age Canaanite Amphorae and Bowls from Amarna, Egypt, Archaeometry 45(3): 457–69. Stevenson, A. 2013. Egypt and Mesopotamia. In H.  Crawford (ed), The Sumerian World. Oxford: Routledge, 620–36. Stevenson, A. 2015. Telling Times: Time and Ritual in the Realization of the Early Egyptian State, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 25(1): 145–61. Stevenson, A. 2016. The Egyptian Predynastic and State Formation, Journal of Archaeological Research 24: 421–68. Stevenson Smith, W. and Simpson, W. 1981. The Art and Architecture of Ancient Egypt. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Trigger, B. 1983. The Rise of Egyptian Civilization. In B. Trigger et al., Ancient Egypt: A Social History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1–70.

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Western Asia   539 Van Den Brink, E. 2001. Some Comments in the Margins of the Origin of the Palace-Façade as Representation of Lower Egyptian Elites, Göttinger Miszellen 183: 99–111. Van Den Brink, E. 2002. An Egyptian Presence at the End of the Late Early Bronze Age I at Tel Lod, Central Coastal Plain, Israel. In E. van den Brink and T. Levy (eds), Egypt and the Levant. Interrelations from the 4th through the early 3rd Millennium bce. London: Leicester University Press, 286–305. Van Den Brink, E. and Levy, T. (eds) 2002. Egypt and the Levant. Interrelations from the 4th through the early 3rd Millennium bce. London: Leicester University Press. Von Der Way, T. 1992. Indications of Architecture with Niches at Buto. In R. Friedman and B. Adams (eds), The Followers of Horus: Studies Dedicated to Michael Allen Hoffman. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 217–26. Watrin, L. 2002. Tributes and the Rise of a Predatory Power: Unraveling the Intrigue of EB I Palestinian Jars found by E. Amélineau at Abydos. In E. van den Brink and T. Levy (eds), Egypt and the Levant. Interrelations from the 4th through the early 3rd Millennium bce. London: Leicester University Press, 450–63. Weinstein, J. 1981. The Egyptian Empire in Palestine: A Reassessment, Bulletin of the Oriental Schools of Research 241: 1–28. Weinstein, J. 2003. Egypt and Canaan in the Bronze Age—A Century of Research. In D.  Clark and V. Matthews (eds), One Hundred Years of American Archaeology in the Middle East. Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 145–56. Wengrow, D. 2006. The Archaeology of Early Egypt: Social Transformations in North-East Africa, 10,000 to 2650. Cambridge World Archaeology, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wengrow, D. 2011. The Invention of Writing in Egypt. In E. Teeter (ed), Before the Pyramids: The Origins of Egyptian Civilization. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 99–103. Wenke, R. 1997. City-States, Nation-States, and Territorial States: The Problem of Egypt. In D. Nichols and T. Charlton (eds), The Archaeology of City-States: Cross-Cultural Approaches. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press, 27–49. Wilde, H. 2003. Interkuluteller Austausch Ägyptens mit Palästina an der Schwelle zur Urbanisierung— Globalisierung im orientalischen Chalkolithikum?, Göttinger Miszellen 194: 79–104. Wilde, H. and Behnert, K. 2002. Salzherstellung im vor-und frühdynastischen Ägypten? Überlegungen zur Funkktion der sogenannten Grubenkopfnägel in Buto, Mitteilungen des deutschen archäologischen Institut, Kairo 58: 447–60. Wilkinson, T. 1999. Early Dynastic Egypt. London: Routledge. Wilkinson, T. 2000a. Political Unification: Towards a Reconstruction, Mitteilungen des deutschen archäologischen Institut, Kairo 56: 377–95. Wilkinson, T. 2000b. What a King is This: Narmer and the Concept of the Ruler, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 86: 23–32. Wilkinson, T. 2002a. Reality versus Ideology: The Evidence for ‘Asiatics’ in Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt. In E. van den Brink and T. Levy (eds), Egypt and the Levant. Interrelations from the 4th through the early 3rd Millennium bce. London: Leicester University Press, 514–20. Wilkinson, T. 2002b. Uruk into Egypt: Imports and Imitations. In J.  Postgate (ed), Artefacts of Complexity: Tracking the Uruk in the Near East. Iraq Archaeological Reports 5, Cambridge: British School of Archaeology in Iraq, 237–48. Williams, B., Logan, T., and Murnane, W. 1987. The Metropolitan Museum Knife Handle and Aspects of Pharaonic Imagery before Narmer, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 46: 245–85. Wilson, J. 1951. The Culture of Ancient Egypt. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wimmer, S. 1990. Egyptian Temples in Canaan and Sinai. In S. Israelit Groll (ed), Studies in Egypt­ology Presented to Miriam Lichtheim. Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, 1065–106. Wimmer, S. 1998. (No) More Egyptian Temples in Canaan and Sinai. In I.  Shirun-Grumach (ed), Jerusalem Studies in Egyptology. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 87–123. Yannai, E. and Braun, E. 2001. Anatolian and Egyptian Imports from Late EB I at Ain Assawir, Israel, Bulletin of the Oriental Schools of Research 321: 41–56.

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chapter 26

The A ege a n Jacke Phillips

Introduction Research on Graeco-Egyptian relations has always divided chronologically into two ­distinct histories and documentary sources.1 Thanks to numerous surviving texts in both civilizations and the ability to read them, even nineteenth-century Egyptologists and Greek scholars had a reasonable understanding of their relations from the seventh century bc onwards. Earlier periods in Greece were virtually unknown (barring inferences in later texts such as Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey) before Heinrich Schliemann excavated Tiryns and Mycenae in 1876. Contact between Egypt and the ‘Aegean’ (modern Greek mainland and islands) is demonstrable from the mid-third millennium bc, with some imported Egyptian objects in EM IIA levels (generally Dynasties II–IV) at Knossos on Crete, and subsequent research remains based almost entirely on archaeological evidence. Scholars focusing on the prehistoric Aegean (second millennium bc and earlier) generally are called ‘Aegeanists’ or ‘Aegean archaeologists,’ distinct from ‘Greek archaeologists’ studying later periods of ancient Greece. This artificial division has barely been breached.

Chronology The most significant problems in interdisciplinary research ultimately can be reduced to the question of chronological synchronization. Absolute dates are cited in terms of the modern calendar, while relative dates are associative and not necessarily absolute. Although absolute dates can be quoted in subsequent periods, internal Aegean chronologies—Helladic (Greek mainland), Minoan (Crete), and Cycladic (Greek islands)—have relied on relative dating through ceramic development and terminology. Absolute Aegean dates are another matter, and under dispute.

1   Bernal 1987; 1990; 1991; 2001; Lefkowitz and Rogers 1996. Leclant 1996 and Phillips 2008, I: 16–19 are short summaries of earlier developments. All online sites are active at time of writing.

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The Aegean   541 Egyptian dates have been the ultimate relative basis for estimating Aegean absolute c­ hronology since the late nineteenth century. Furtwaengler and Loeschke’s (1886) corpus of ‘Mycenaean’ vessels presented the first artefactual link between the two regions. Flinders Petrie2 recovered ‘Aegean’ vessels and sherds at Kahun, Gurob, and Amarna, dating them by association with the dateable Egyptian material. He described the Kahun material as ‘distinctly Aegean,’ introducing and defining the term as covering ‘the Greek islands, and coasts of the Peloponnese and Asia Minor, without the limitations of place and aged implied by the name Greek’.3 ‘Aegean’ pottery comparable with Kahun types were recovered in the Kamares cave in 1895, indicating their Cretan origin. Gurob and Amarna types were already known from Mycenae. Arthur Evans found stratified Egyptian artefacts at Knossos and used it to date his ceramic development and Minoan chronology.4 Imports found in both Egypt and the Aegean are still cited for dating Aegean chronological development, although Aegeanists have not always kept abreast of Egyptian revisions.

The Thera eruption Some Aegeanists in the late 1980s began to advocate carbon (14C) dating as a secure independent means of obtaining Aegean absolute dates, specifically the volcanic eruption of Thera (Santorini), a Cycladic island, and the destruction of its site of Akrotiri.5 This event also is visible through trace elements in stratified ash recovered elsewhere.6 Conventional relative dating placed the eruption within 1550–00 bc, the main evidence collated by Warren and Hankey.7 Detailed studies of relevant artefact types and contexts have since refined the relative Aegean (especially Minoan) chronologies, especially phases immediately before and after the eruption. Absolute 14 C dating initially placed the eruption at 1649 bc, at least a century earlier. Other scientific dating methodologies, especially dendrochronology (tree-ring dating)8 and analysis of Greenland ice-core trace elements9 also generally favoured 14C dates; all correspond to European data elsewhere,10 Thera’s absolute date was revised as further data accumulated, more recently eschewing specific dates for date ranges within the second half of the seventeenth century bc.11 The issue is summarized from different perspectives for Aegeanists by several non-Egyptologists,12 all coloured by publication date and author’s stance.13 3  Petrie 1890; 1891; 1894.   Petrie 1891: 9; Phillips 2006a; Fotiadis 2005: 163.   Evans (1899–1900a–b); Cadogan 2006. 5   Manning 1987; 1988; Betancourt 1988 (and Betancourt and Weinstein 1976). 6   Bichler et al 2003; Hardy and Renfrew 1990: 241, 242. 7   Warren and Hankey (1989; updated Warren 1998; 2006; 2010). 8  See http://ltrr.arizona.edu/resources; https://dendro.cornell.edu/projects/aegean.php; Manning and Bruce 2009. 9 10  Hammer 2000.   E.g. Bouzek 1996. 11   Betancourt 1998; Bronk Ramsey et al 2004; Hammer et al 2003; Manning 1995; 1999; Manning and Bronk Ramsey 2003; Manning et al 2001; Friedrich et al 2006; Manning 2014.  12   MacDonald  2001; Rehak and Younger  1998;  2001: 97–100/389–92; 2001: 467; Rutter 1993/2001: ­756–7/106–7; Shelmerdine 19972001: 539–41/331–3; Wiener 2007. 13  Davis  1995: 733; Dickinson  1994: 17–21; Driessen and Macdonald 1997: 22–3; Muhly  1998: 212; Wiener and Earle 2006. 2 4

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542   Jacke Phillips Most Aegeanists initially accepted these scientific dates14, but some still preferred relative dating. The main advocates of both positions became more firmly entrenched despite—or perhaps due to—several conferences over most of the 1990s, albeit with revised or refined data and interpretations.15 Several extended interdisciplinary projects such as SCIEM2000 hosted dedicated conferences in the 2000s, specifically a­ddressing East Mediterranean Bronze Age chronological correlations and certain specific events, p ­ eriods, and cultures. The date of an olive branch found in the Thera tephra/ash remains controversial.16 Both positions now acknowledge evidence for the other cannot be dismissed, striving to reconcile their evidence with the alternative amidst growing appreciation of the difficulties involved. Basic stumbling blocks are the recorded later seventeenth-century anomaly is not yet specifically identified as the Thera eruption,17 whilst no later sixteenth-century eruption has been isolated in the data. The outcome amongst Aegeanists cannot be predicted with certainty, but is crucial to future research.18 Despite limited scientific parameters and slight revisions in internal Egyptian chronology, attempts to correspond Egyptian historical dates with scientific Aegean dates remain difficult for Egyptologists to accept.19 Egyptian chronology is far more affected by Egyptian/Syro-Palestinian correlation revisions especially in the Tell elDab’a stratigraphy, which both disciplines generally accepted. Aegean material recovered in Syro-Palestinian contexts is rarely integrated into the debate.20 Ongoing detailed study of Tell el-Dab’a data has revised some relevant stratigraphic dates in Egyptian terms that may be further revised or refined as work progresses.21 Other than here, Aegeanists have conducted most of the relevant cross-chronological analyses for Aegeanists, as most Egyptologists generally view this as an Aegeanist problem. Nonetheless, some Aegean (often with SyroPalestinian) evidence can support—sometimes even query—otherwise arguable Egyptian absolute date parameters or for re-dating Egyptian contexts. Egyptologists generally accept the revised fifteen-year reign for Horemhab, halving his regnal length but requiring revised adjoining absolute regnal dates.22

LH IIIA2, Amarna, and Uluburun Other key chronological events include MBA/MK correlations, using Syro-Palestinian and Egyptian material, for which Aegean evidence is minor.23 More pertinent for this chapter is

  Davis 1995: 733.   MacDonald  2001: 532; Rehak and Younger  2001: 467; Bronk Ramsey et al  2004. Conferences include Bietak  1992; Davies and Schofield  1995; Bietak  1995b;  1996b; Randesborg  1996; Balmuth and  Tykot  1998; Cline and Harris-Cline  1998 (no Egyptologist participated in the last two); also Åström 1987–89, before 14C dating became a serious issue. 16  Bietak 2003b; 2006; Bietak and Czerny 2007; see also Bietak 2000b; Warburton 2009; Shortland and Bronk Ramsey 2013; Friedrich et al 2006; Cherubini et al 2014. 17 18   Pearson et al 2009: 1206–2007.   Warren 2006; Wiener 2006; Bietak 2013. 19  Bietak 1996a: 76; 2003a; Goedicke 1992; Kitchen 1996, 6; 2002; Phillips 1997–98; Vercoutter 1997; Dee et al 2012; Shortland and Bronk Ramsey 2013, passim. 20   Brandl 2013; Boschloos 2012 are exceptions. 21   Overviews include Bietak 2000a; 2013; Cline 1998. See now Addendum and Pearson et al 2018; 2020. 22   Aston 1997; Hornung et al 2006; Van Dijk 2008; Aston 2012–13. 23   Bietak 1992; MacGillivray 1995; Walberg 1991a-b; 1992; 1998. 14

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The Aegean   543 the absolute chronology of the LH IIIA2 phase.24 LH IIIA2 is the most abundant Aegean pottery recovered beyond the Aegean, and remains a lynchpin for relative synchronisms at Amarna and elsewhere. Excavation of the Uluburun shipwreck off the south Turkish coast,25 with its wealth of finds, has both revived old questions of East Mediterranean trade routes and transmission of goods and ideas.26 Egypt, one end of this continuum, is represented most importantly by a ‘fairly worn’ gold scarab of Nefertiti, implying a post-Amarna date,27 and Aegean finds include LH IIIA2 ceramics. Dendrochronological and 14C analyses for this wreck provided several successively superseded absolute dates, all generally within the later fourteenth century.28 Assessments of the ship’s possible origin, destination and route, and the identities of captain, crew, and any passengers continue, as does study of the full Uluburun assemblage.29 Hankey (for Amarna) and Rutter (for Uluburun) suggested one or two ceramic vessels at each site are LH IIIB, indicating this style had at least begun by that time. French and Mountjoy state they are uniformly LH IIIA230 and so LH IIIB must post-date both contexts. Evidence elsewhere31 suggests the latter, but final Uluburun ceramic publication and date ultimately will help isolate both absolute and relative dating of LH IIIA2.

Contact routes Use of an anti-clockwise sailing route from Egypt, generally hugging the Levantine and south Anatolian coastlines, to Cyprus, various southern Aegean islands, the Greek mainland, and Crete, has long been advocated. Uluburun underlines this route’s importance and multi-culturalism, and the previously unimagined huge variety and quantities of (especially raw) goods transported aboard one ship.32 Wachsmann repeats Vercoutter’s often overlooked point that ancient Egyptian ­association of Kf.tiw (discussed below) with the West, not North, makes greater sense if Minoans ­travelled southwards directly from Crete, then eastwards along the coast to Egypt.33 Marsa Matruh, 290 km west of Alexandria, produced some exclusively LH IIIA2 Mycenaean (none Minoan; prematurely reported) fine-wares and open shapes,34 and Cypriote, Canaanite, and Egyptian vessels. Five coarseware transport stirrup-jars were recovered at Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham, founded by Rameses II another 25 km west (see Chapter 25 in this   Bell 1985; 1991; Phillips 2005a; Wiener 1998; 2003.   Pulak 2010 summarizes the extensive literature. See also Ward 2010: 157. 26   Clarke 2005; Gale 1991; Haider 1988; 1989; 1990; 1996. 27   Bass 1998: 191; Weinstein 1989; in Aruz et al 2008, 358 #223. 28   Bass 1998; Kuniholm et al 2005; Manning et al 2001: n 37; 2009; Pulak 2005: n 2; 2010: 862. 29   Bass 1998; Bloedow 2005; Pulak 2005. 30   Hankey 1997 (Amarna); Pulak 2005: 297, n 16 (Uluburun). Wiener 1998: 312; 2003: 241–2, passim summarize discussion. 31  Phillips 2005a; Wiener 2003. 32   Knapp 1991; Pulak 1998; 2005; 2008; Ward 2010: 155–7. 33   Wachsmann 1998: 298; Vercoutter 1956. 34   Russell 2002; see Hulin 1989: 121; White 1986: 77. 24 25

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544   Jacke Phillips Chronological Chart BC 1100

EGYPT:

Upper

1150

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Lower

BC 1100 1150

20

1200

1200

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1300

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early Ahmose 17 at Thebes

politically LE Second Intermediate 16 at Thebes culturally UE Period 1650 at Thebes 1700 13 1750 1600

15 'Hyksos' at Avaris 14 at Xois

Middle Kingdom

12

2000

11

First Intermediate 2100 Period 2050

at Thebes ?

2150

9 & 10 'Herakleopolitan' 7&8

6

2250 Old Kingdom

LH IIIB2

LM IIIA2

LH IIIA2

1350

LM IIIA1 LM II

LH IIIA1

1400

LH IIIB1

LH IIB LH IIA

NeoPalatial

LM IA

1250 Palatial

Early Palatial

1700

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1750 1800

MH

1850

MM IB

1900

1900 1950

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EM III

2200 EH III

2250

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4 3

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2

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2550

1

2350 2400 2450

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2500 2550

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2600

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ProtoPalatial

1300

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LH I

MM IIIB

1750

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2750

Late LM IIIB early

LM IB

2350 5

2400

1150

LH IIIC

2300

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BC 1100

LM IIIC

2200

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2700

Final Palatial

1950

1950

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1700

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'End Palatial'

1650

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MAINLAND GREECE

1200

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CRETE PostPalatial

2850

EM I

EH I

2850

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3000 Predynastic 3050 3100

Naqada III ('Dynasty 0')

3050

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Final Neolithic

Final Neolithic

3100

Figure 26.1  Relevant chronological divisions with timescales for Egypt, Crete (Minoan) and the Greek Mainland (Mycenaean), marked in 25-year divisions with more precise divisions correlated to the nearest marked.

volume for discussion of this fortress).35 Analyses remain unpublished, but they ­probably are Cretan, although Mainland Greece, Kythera, and Kos are also known/possible origins. Although the reverse route has been argued, most recently by Watrous and Warren36, a clockwise—west then north—sea journey from Egypt to the Aegean would have been impossible before invention of ‘brailed sail’ technology. It is first illustrated during the Amarna period,   Thomas 2003, 525–6; Kardamaki et al 2016: 146, 147, Figure 1, passim.   Watrous 1992: 172–8; Warren 1995: 10–11.

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The Aegean   545 but likely invented elsewhere, as Giorgiani notes ‘a new rigging and brailing system’ in the ‘final phase of the Late Bronze Age’, a wide dating parameter permitting a possibly earlier Aegean origin.37 Wachsmann’s recent identification of an early Dynasty XVIII ship-cart model as an Aegean-style galley is not yet integrated into the discussion.38 Nonetheless, material earlier than LH IIIA2 has not yet been recovered at either coastal site, and no other sites have been located.39

Texts and inscriptions The few relevant Egyptian texts published since Vercoutter40 have shed new light on Aegean names and identities; almost all in Cline41, the most recent compilation. The name Kf.tiw, appearing by Hyksos times (but possibly in Dynasty XII), is now almost universally accepted as ‘Crete’/‘Cretan,’ although objections persist.42 The Mainland and Mycenaeans are seen as Ti-n3-iiw, and the Cyclades as Iww ḥ riw-ib nw w3d-wr (‘islands in the midst of the Great Green’); neither appears before Thutmose III. W3d-wr, attested over 300 times from Dynasty V onwards, is identified with multiple locations but, when associated with iww ḥriw-ib nw and Kf.tiw, is generally considered the Mediterranean Sea. Two texts predating Thutmose III mention ‘islands,’ but are uncertain attributions.43 Few have accepted Vandersleyen’s proposed location of the ‘islands in the midst of the Great Green’ in the southeastern Delta44, although Duhoux but not Vandersleyen retains Kf.tiw for Minoan ­émigrés purportedly living there during the Hyksos Period and perhaps later.45 Papyrus fragments from Amarna depicting foreign, likely Mycenaean, warriors wearing characteristic ‘boar’s-tusk helmets’ allied with Egyptians, revived the ‘Sea Peoples’ identity question in the 1990s, whilst Pusch recovered a single ‘boar’s tusk helmet’ tusk element at Qantir.46 Recent excavations mainly in southern Palestine keep the issue topical, but more amongst Syro-Palestinianists and Aegeanists than Egyptologists. Some scholars have associated the ‘Sea Peoples’ and ‘Philistines’ with twelfth-century bc Mycenaeans, but not all appear to have connections with the region.47 The uniquely extensive topographical list of Aegean place-names on a statue-base of Amenhotep III found at Kom el-Heitan in 1964 has recently been cleaned and re-studied.48 Some (including Amnissos, Knossos, Mycenae) are located on a modern map. Until the disputed identities and locations of others are agreed, all interpretations are based on the author’s opinion. Vandersleyen correctly emphasized its front proper left half is mostly uninscribed, not destroyed.49 It is seen either as an itinerary of successive ports-of-call around the Aegean or of known Aegean place-names impractical and unrepresentative as such;50 much therefore depends on locating unidentified sites. It is usually associated with   Vinson 1994: 42–3; Wachsmann 1998: 371, n 5; Tiboni 2005 (dating errors); Giorgiani 1999: 338. 39 40   Wachsmann 2013.   White and White 1996.   Vercoutter (1956). 41 42   Cline (1994: 108–20).   Vandersleyen 2002. 43   Kitchen 2000; Vandersleyen 1988; 1999; 2000; Cline 1994: 116; Vercoutter 1956: 127–9 #29–30. 44 45   Vandersleyen 1994; 1999; 2000.   Duhoux 2003; Vandersleyen 2002. 46   Parkinson and Schofield 1997; Schofield and Parkinson 1994; Pusch 1989: 254. 47   Gitin et al 1998; Mountjoy 2005; Oren 2000; Shelmerdine 1997/2001: 581–3/373–5; Vanschoonwinkel 2005. 48 49   Edel and Görg 2005; Edel 1966; Cline 1994: 112–16 passim.   Vandersleyen 2002: 10. 50   Wachsmann 1998: 297; Osing 1992; Cline and Standish 2011. 37 38

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546   Jacke Phillips the surprisingly numerous artefacts found in the Aegean naming Amenhotep III or his wife Tiye, for the still appealing (to Aegeanists) proposal that he, or an official diplomatic envoy, actually visited the Aegean,51 but is now either rejected or seen as problematic by Egyptologists.52 Kyriakides53 most recently extracted possible correlations between the Egyptian and Kf. tiw languages and Haider attempted to name Kf.tiw deities via phonetically transliterated Kf.tiw words on Egyptian documents.54 Both may encourage further linguistic efforts and aid in identifying the unknown Kom el-Heitan place-names. References to ‘Kf.tiw-ships’ and other ‘Kf.tiw-’ terms remain ambiguous and open to different interpretations.55 Two long-known Linear B tablets from Knossos name two suggestively Egyptian ‘working’ men, although the vocabulary itself is Semitic.56 A number of royal names are inscribed on (mostly) NK artefacts recovered in the Aegean. The contentious contextual dating of the Khyan lid at Knossos seems now to have been resolved, and new interpretations of the ‘User’ statuette inscription and context at Knossos also proposed.57

Artefacts and iconography The other major emphasis has focused on imported artefacts and iconography, now encompassing indigenous products influenced by material imported from abroad. Research has developed substantially over the past two decades, partly in its own right and partly in response to the chronological debate discussed above. Most reassess the typological and context dates of imported artefacts recovered in both cultures, aiding arguments favouring the scientific absolute or (usually) the relative dating methodology. Many imports pre-date their actual importation and/or find context abroad, sometimes by over a millennium. This point was often forgotten in earlier publications that assumed an import would be contemporary with the latest associated indigenous material, rather than an heirloom or loose/ discarded individual fragment in widely dated contexts (re-used tombs; destruction levels). New finds and formerly obscure material are continually drawn into the discussion.58 Increasingly, detailed databases of petrographic, chemical, and elemental analyses of clay and other materials have been employed59 for more accurate identifications and individual artefact origins. Research has also begun to expand beyond simple cataloguing and identification of indigenous or imported (directly or via a third culture, or indigenous in the culture), to investigate rationales behind their importation, adoption and adaptation.60 Raw materials recovered at Uluburun potentially from or transported via Egypt, except Egyptian blackwood (‘ebony’), have been found in Aegean contexts or used on Aegean artefacts, confirming their importation as raw goods.   Banou 2000/2001; Cline 1987; 1995a; first suggested by Faure 1968.   Osing 1992: 35; Vercoutter 1997; Cline and Standish 2011. 53 54 55   Kyriakides 2000; 2001; 2002.   Haider 2001.   Ward 2010: 152. 56   Cline 1994: 128; 2010: 454; Shelmerdine 1997/2001: 562/354; Phillips 2010: 823. 57   Edel 1990; Wotzka 1990; Gill 2005; Bietak 2013, 84; Phillips 2008: I, 92–4 Cat. 158; 2010, 823. 58   Höflmayer et al 2013. 59   Panagiotaki et al 2004; French 2003; Mommsen et al 1992; Stos-Gale et al 1995. 60   Marinatos 1995; Phillips 2001; 2005b; 2006b; Warren 2000; Boschloos 2012. 51 52

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The Aegean   547 Detailed re-investigation and reassessment through focused typological and iconographical studies ‘at home’ in Egypt, the Aegean and elsewhere remains in its infancy but already is productive. Accurate typologies and contexts are our best way forward towards a better understanding of the fluctuating relationships between Egypt and the Aegean over time. New evidence sometimes profoundly alters and/or augments research.61

Egypt in the Aegean Pendlebury’s pioneering but increasingly outdated catalogue raisonné of known Egyptian imports to the Aegean was finally updated in two 1990s collations of imports from throughout the Mediterranean and Near East.62 Both are comprehensive but often differ in content, identification, and emphases, and do not always distinguish imported and indigenous goods, whilst some entries are incorrectly identified. The 2000 Herakleion Crete-Egypt exhibition catalogue and essay volumes63 and Phillips64 both focus on Crete and Egypt throughout the Bronze Age, and again present differing emphases, identifications, conclusions, and errors. The volumes introduced many unpublished artefacts, others from elsewhere in Greece and, like Pendlebury, include the first millennium bc. Phillips attempted to distinguish Egyptian imports, imports from elsewhere, and indigenous products, and emphasized that certain artefact and iconographical types appear in the Aegean at different times, that must (or most likely) have originated in the Egyptian repertoire but were also adopted and adapted to forms more suited to Aegean cultural requirements. Other scholars have explored these aspects using different emphases.65 Opinion on the degree, types, and range of importation and influence of one culture’s material on the other varies considerably,66 and consensus on this issue is highly unlikely to come soon. Comparable focus on the mainland or island material (beyond listings) is little investigated, except for Mycenae, Akrotiri, and individual artefacts, although a review of the mainland evidence is in progress and island evidence is planned.67 Some revised identifications and shrinking chronological parameters remain controversial. One example is the recent recovery of a known Egyptian artefact type (the closed ‘arch’ sistrum) on Crete, and previously known on Crete only as a single image, and not 61  Cline  1995b; Hassler  2015; Schlick-Nolte et al  2011: 28–36. Egyptian material found abroad is a­ nnually collated in Orientalia ‘Fouilles et traveaux . . . ’ from published sources; e.g. British Archaeological Reports (until 2010–11) and Bulletin de correspondance hellénique ‘Chronique des fouilles . . . ’ (until 2003, when only French sites are reported). 62   Pendlebury 1930b; Cline 1994 (more accurate and influential); Lambrou-Phillipson 1990. 63 64   Karetsou et al 2000/2001; Karetsou 2000.   Phillips 2008. 65  Laffineur  2005; Warren  1995;  2000; Weinstein  1995; Beset and ‘genius’ figures: Weingarten 1991; 2000; 2013; monkey figure: Cline 1991; Phillips 2016; scarabs: Phillips 2004; Pini 1981; 1989; 2000; Boschloos 2012; cat figure: Militello 2000; Phillips 1995; stone vessels: Lilyquist 1996; 1997a; Phillips 2001; Warren 1969; 1997; 2017; Bevan 2007; crocodile and ‘dragon’ figures: Phillips 1998; Poursat 1976; jewellery: Branigan  1970; Phillips  1992;  2003;  2009; administrative seals and sealings: Foster  2000; amphorae: Cucuzza 2000. See also Phillips 2008, passim; Ribeny 2016. 66   Merrillees 1998 (minimal); Watrous 1998 (maximum), at the same conference. 67  Cline  1990;  1991;  1995a; Devetsi  2000; Phillips  2007;  2016; Phillips and Cline  2005; Bevan  2007; Phillips Forthcoming.

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548   Jacke Phillips attested in Egypt until the New Kingdom. Seven examples are so far known, all but one are MM clay artefacts and the last a bronze Egyptian import in an LM context. Who introduced this form of the instrument to whom?68

The Aegean in Egypt Focused consideration of Aegean and ‘aegeanizing’ material in Egypt as a cultural phenomenon, comparable to that in the Aegean, is long overdue. Published studies either are generalized, or focus almost exclusively on ceramic vessels.69 No compendium similar to Kemp and Merrillees yet exists for non-ceramic artefacts70, Mycenaean ceramics, or iconographic adoption in Egypt. Individual site re-analyses of Mycenaean ceramics and their contexts71 have appeared, but most ultimately address artefact/context relationships for chronological inferences. Individual MM IB and MM IIIA sherds recently recovered at Mersa Gawasis are important new finds as the earliest recovered along the Red Sea, and the MM IB sherd the earliest in Egypt; neither is yet absorbed into Aegeanist and Egyptological literature. Individual imported ceramic types and some other artefacts have been analysed or ­re-analyzed72 and compared stylistically.73 Indigenous ‘aegeanizing’ material is rarely discussed, but the Malkata Aegean-style fresco fragments from Malkata have been studied.74 Comprehensive syntheses are generally absent, but two issues are vigorously investigated: the Tell el-Dab’a wall painting fragments and Theban Kf.tiw scenes. No specifically Aegean raw goods have yet been identified in Egypt, except possibly the ambiguous ‘bean from Kf.tiw-land’ mentioned in the Papyrus Ebers. Imported Aegean ceramic and other containers have suggested importation of Aegean commodities such as perfumes, olive oil, and wine.75

The Tell el-Dab’a wall paintings Certain wall painting fragments recovered since 1990 in secondary contexts at Tell el-Dab’a have considerable and much discussed technical and thematic resonance in Aegean wall painting. Their iconographical range is extensive,76 with comparanda in Aegean art. Their 68  Betancourt  2005; Sakellarakis and Sapouna-Sakellaraki  1997, I: 328–9, 351–6; Soles  2005; Phillips 2008, II, 35–6 Cat. 53. 69  Pendlebury 1930a; 1930b: vii; Kemp and Merrillees 1980; Phillips 2008, I: 19; Van Winjgaarden 2002 (excludes Egyptian material). See texts and inscriptions above. 70   Kemp and Merrillees 1980. 71   Bell 1982; 1991; Bourriau and Eriksson 1997 (queried by French 2003); Hankey 1997; Hankey and Aston  1995; Hankey and Tufnell  1973; MacGillivray  1995; Russell  2002; Walberg  1991b;  1992;  1998; Weinstein 1983; Marcus 2007: 161–4; Wallace-Jones 2018: 32. 72   Koehl 2000; 2006: 342–5; Vermeule 1982; jewellery types: Koehl 1999; Shiestl 2000; Walberg 1991a; spiral motif: Quirke and Fitton 1997. 73   Bourriau  1996; Koehl  2000; Vermeule  1982 (elaborated and queried by Bell  1983); Koehl  2006: ­342–5; Ayers 2015. 74   Nicolakaki-Kentrou 2000; 2003, based on excavation records. 75   Merrillees and Winter 1972: 111–15 passim; Kelder 2009. 76   Aslanidou 2002; 2005; 2006; 2007; Bietak and Marinatos 1995; Bietak et al 2000; Marinatos and Morgan 2005; Morgan 1995; 2004.

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The Aegean   549 relevant stratigraphic dates have been revised several times in Egyptian terms, from late Hyksos to (now) early Thutmose III (generally contemporary with the earliest Theban Kf.tiw tomb representations). Thus any published discussion and future evaluations of their relationship to Aegean painting must first be considered in light of the stratified Egyptian date stated and the author’s interpretation of Aegean wall painting development and dating of comparable individual Aegean wall paintings. The Akrotiri wall paintings are dated by its LM IA destruction, but most are problematically based on style,77 with inherently inaccurate and disputed reconstructions of fragmentary Aegean78 and Tell el-Dab’a wall paintings. The basic painting techniques used at Tell el-Dab’a include the same basic techniques as in the Aegean,79 but whether they were painted by Minoan artists or by Egyptians (trained by Minoan/Aegean artists or under their supervision) remains controversial. Morgan and Bietak80 believe them to be Minoan, whilst Shaw, Rehak81 and others see them as ‘aegeanizing’ compositions not actually produced by Aegean artists. Others argue they should be seen as part of a general East Mediterranean koine, as similarly ‘Aegean’ or ‘aegeanizing’ paintings at Syro-Palestinian sites (Tell Kabri, Alalakh and Qatna82) cannot be excluded from any discussion.83 However, their dates also remain problematic relative to both Tell el-Dab’a84 and Aegean painting development. Various theories explaining the presence of the Tell el-Dab’a paintings range from interdynastic marriage between an Aegean princess and the Hyksos ruler85 (since emended86 and obviated when the relevant Tell el-Dab’a context dates were revised in Egyptian terms) to mobile or officially obtained Minoan—or at least Aegean—painters either hired87 or trained.88 The paintings have been compared with those at Akrotiri,89 especially when their contextual date was considered roughly contemporary in relative terms,90 but more problematic with the Thutmose III dating. More recent discussion has expanded to include other Aegean paintings, especially at Knossos91 (the majority of surviving Minoan paintings) and other Cycladic islands,92 with the Tell el-Dab’a revised dating, now also even later Mainland artefacts and paintings.93 Only published fragments are available for full discussion,94 and true evaluation of the paintings in toto is unlikely to emerge before full publication of the fragments, which may take many years. Consensus may never come: their techniques are more Aegean than Egyptian, yet many iconographic details are problematic compared to Aegean paintings that, except at Akrotiri, are mostly very fragmentary with considerable modern restoration.   Hood 2000; 2005; Immerwahr 1990.   Niemeier 1987. 79   Brysbaert 2002; 2008; Chryssikopoulou et al 2000; Seeber 2000. 80  Bietak 1995a; Bietak and Marinatos 2000: 44; Morgan 1995; 2004. 81   Shaw 1995; Rehak 1996; 1998. 82   Marinatos 2010; Evely and Jones 1999: 44–9; Neimeier and Neimeier 1998; 2000. 83   Knapp 1998; Kopke in Cline 1995b: 285; Niemeier & Niemeier 2000; Winter 2000. 84 85   Bietak 2007: 280–1.  Bietak 1995a; Boulotis 2000: 850; Warren 1995, 1. 86   Laffineur 2000: 1001; Vandersleyen 2001. 87   Boulotis 2000; Laffineur 1998: 59; Morgan 2004: 295; Niemeier and Niemeier 1998. 88   Davis 2000: 70, now obviated by re-dating. 89   Doumas 1992. Sherratt 2000 and papers in Morgan 2005 further discuss various Aegean paintings. 90  Bietak 1995a; Morgan 1995. 91   Bietak et al 2000; Davis 2000; Laffineur 1998; Marinatos 1998. 92 93   Marinatos and Morgan 2005.   Morgan 1995; 2004; Marinatos 1998. 94   Bietak and Forstner-Müller 2003: 46–7; Seeber 2004. 77 78

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550   Jacke Phillips Recent investigations consider the wall paintings in their archaeological context for i­ deological and interpretive explorations of their meaning, including how the ancient viewers related to them.95 This theme promises to develop greater theological and theoretical depth, but also greater interpretive disparity.

The Theban tomb scenes Scenes of figures identified as Kf.tiw painted on several Theban tomb walls, mainly dated within the reigns of Hatshepsut/Thutmose III and Amenhotep II,96 were scrutinized in detail by Wachsmann.97 He concluded many details in later depictions are direct copies of earlier images from ‘copy-books’, but with decreasing authenticity.98 Panagiotopoulos (2001) examined the scenes as historical genre, noting the traditional translation of inw as ‘tribute’ should be ‘diplomatic gift’ without otherwise-implicit derogatory overtones (agreeing with Bleiberg’s interpretation as ‘official gift’)99, and concluded they reflect repeated historical events. Duhoux followed Vandersleyen in questioning the relationship between text and painted figures in Rekhmire’s tomb.100 Other re-analyzes, focusing on specific aspects of the clothing worn and goods presented by the painted Kf.tiw, served to refute academically entrenched Aegeanist assumptions based on these images, not all fully absorbed into Aegeanist literature. Rehak’s dismissal of the Kf.tiw clothing as indicators of Minoan and Mycenaean ethnicity effectively eliminated a long-standing Aegeanist chronological marker.101

Future research Problems and issues now dominating Aegypto-Aegean research are generally similar for any past intercultural exchange: correlating relative and absolute chronology in both cultures, and investigating their relationships over time and space—issues always uppermost within the discipline and instrumental in defining it over a century ago. Debate will continue over the foreseeable future as we become—or try to become—ever more precise and specific in our understanding and interpretations. Increased precision in turn will raise new questions and interpretation of both old and new data. This is the thrust of research over the next few decades, still likely to be dominated by Aegeanist rather than Egyptological research. Recent discourses have stimulated evaluation of the state of the discipline and re-evaluation of the bases upon which it has evolved, rather than reiterating old concepts. Were these ideas in fact correct, in light of evidence found after they had been proposed and accepted? Some are no longer acceptable, and we have now begun to investigate new avenues, 96   Bietak 2005; Kemp and Weatherhead 2000; Palyvou 2000.   See also Martin 1989: 27. 98   Wachsmann 1987.   See now also Dziobek 1994: 91–2; Martin 1989: 27; Pinch Brock 2000. 99 100   Bleiberg 1996.   Duhoux 2003. 101   Rehak (1996;  1998). Other studies focus on mats and textiles: Barber 1998; rhyta: Koehl  2000; clay(?) vessel: Lilyquist 1997b; bronze vessels: Matthäus 1995; 1996; Laboury 1990; clothing: Barber 1991: 311–57; 2005. 95 97

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The Aegean   551 ­ erspectives, and conclusions, and their sometimes far-reaching implications and new p ­perspectives. Only now beginning to be explored in any depth, it will take years before—if ever—the results are properly evaluated. Compared with other regions interacting with Egypt, evidence for Aegean relations is limited and patchy, but nonetheless it seems something sufficiently important emerges almost annually. Continued application of new scientific methodologies to available evidence and more detailed excavation recording methodologies will prove increasingly fruitful, but we cannot ignore ‘traditional’ methodologies and data and their implications, nor the input of Egyptologists to balance equations proposed by Aegeanists alone.

Suggested reading Cline (2010) and Shelmerdine (2008) overview Aegean cultures. Jerry Rutter’s regularly updated http://www.dartmouth.edu/~prehistory/aegean/?page_id=2 website is an excellent student resource subdivided into readable ‘lessons’ including extensive bibliographies and glossary. All introduce the various Aegean chronologies. On Aegean art in general, see Hood (1978). Although now somewhat outdated, no equally comprehensive volume has appeared since; the nearest is Dickinson’s (1994) ‘Arts and Crafts’ chapter. Immerwahr (1990) covers Aegean wall painting in general, and Morgan (1988) and Doumas (1992) those from Akrotiri, both with many excellent illustrations. Cross-cultural transmission is twice overviewed fruitfully by Warren (1995;  2000). Wachsmann (1998) investigates Bronze Age Mediterranean ships and shipping. Mountjoy (1993/2003) introduces Mycenaean and Betancourt (1985) Minoan ceramic development. Absolute dating techniques are described for non-scientists by Bichler et al (2003; tephra/ash), Hammer (2000; ice core), and Oxford laboratory websites https://c14.arch.ox.ac.uk/calibration.html (14C dating) and https://www. dendrochronology.com/basic_dendrochronology.html); see also Shortland and Bronk Ramsey 2013. See Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections and Ägypten und Levante for ongoing research.

Bibliography Aruz, J., Benzel, K., and Evans, J.M. (eds) 2008. Beyond Babylon. Art, Trade, and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium  b.c. New York/New Haven/London: Metropolitan Museum of Art/Yale ­University Press. Aslanidou, K. 2002. Der minoische Spiralfries aus dem Grabungsareal H/IV in Tell el-Dabca. ­Malvorgang und Rekonstruktion, Ägypten & Levante 12: 13–27. Aslanidou, K. 2005. The Minoan Wall Paintings from Tell el-Dabca/’Ezbet-Helmi: The Life-Size Male Figures. In R. Laffineur and E. Greco (eds), EMPORIA Aegeans in Central and Eastern Mediterranean. Proceedings of the 10th International Aegean Conference/10e Rencontre égéenne internationale, Athens, Italian School of Archaeology, 14–18 April 2004. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 25. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, II, 463–9. Aslanidou, K. 2006. Eine ‘Priesterdarstellung’ aus Tell el-Dabca/cEzbet Helmi (Grabungssareal H/IV). In E. Czerny et al. (eds), Timelines, Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 149. Leuven/Paris/Dudley: Uitgeveru Peeters en Departement Oosterse Studies, II, 67–72.

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562   Jacke Phillips Manning, S.W. 1995. The Absolute Chronology of the Aegean Early Bronze Age. Archaeology, ­Radiocarbon  and History. Monographs in Mediterranean Archaeology 1. Sheffield: Sheffield ­Academic Press. Manning, S.W. 1999. A Test of Time: The Volcano of Thera and the chronology and history of the Aegean and east Mediterranean in the mid second millennium b.c. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Manning, S.W. 2014. A Test of Time and a Test of Time Revisited: The Volcano of Thera and the Chronology and History of the Aegean and East Mediterranean in the Mid Second Millennium b.c. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Manning, S.W. and Bruce, M.J. (eds) 2009. Tree-rings, Kings, and Old World Archaeology and Environment. Papers Presented in Honor of Peter Ian Kuniholm. Oxford/Oxbow: Oxbow Books. Manning, S.W. and Bronk Ramsey, C. 2003. A Late Minoan I–II Absolute Chronology for the Aegean—Combining Archaeology with Radiocarbon. In M. Bietak (ed.), The Synchronization of Civilizations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second Millennium bc II. Proceedings of the SCIEM 2000-Euroconference, Haindorf, 2nd of May–7th of May, 2001. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichisches Akademie der Wissenschaften, 111–33. Manning, S.W. et al. 2009. Absolute Age of the Uluburun Shipwreck: A Key Late Bronze Age TimeCapsule for the East Mediterranean. In S.W. Manning and M.J. Bruce (eds), Tree-rings, Kings, and Old World Archaeology and Environment. Papers Presented in Honor of Peter Ian Kuniholm. Oxford/ Oxbow: Oxbow Books, 164–87; see also comments (‘The Thera Debate’), 275–332. Manning S.W., Kromer, B., Kuniholm, P.I., and Newton, M.W. 2001. Anatolian tree rings and a new Chronology for the East Mediterranean Bronze-Iron Ages, Sciencexpress 294: 2532–5. Marcus, E.S. 2007. Amenemhat II and the Sea: Maritime Aspects of the Mit Rahina (Memphis) ­Inscription, Ägypten und Levante 17: 137–90. Marinatos, N. 1995. Formalism and Gender Roles: A Comparison of Minoan and Egyptian Art. In R. Laffineur and W.-D. Niemeier (eds), POLITEIA Society and State in the Aegean Bronze Age. Proceedings of the 5th International Aegean Conference, Göteborg, Göteborg University, 12–15 April 2000. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 22. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, II, 577–85. Marinatos, N. 1998. The Tell el-Dabca Paintings: A Study in Pictorial Tradition, Ägypten und Levante 8 83–99. Marinatos, N. 2010. Lions from Tell el Dabca, Ägypten und Levante 20: 325–56. Marinatos, N. and Morgan, L. 2005. The dog pursuit scenes from Tell el-Dabca and Kea. In L. Morgan (ed.), Aegean Wall Painting. A Tribute to Mark Cameron. British School at Athens Studies 13. London: British School at Athens, 119–22. Martin, G.T. 1989. The Memphite Tomb of Ḥ oremḥeb Commander-in-Chief of Tut’ankhamūn I: The Reliefs, Inscriptions, and Commentary. Egypt Exploration Society Memoir 55. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Matthäus, H. 1995. Representations of Keftiu in Egyptian Tombs and the Absolute Chronology of the Aegean Late Bronze Age, Bulletin of the Institute of Classical Studies of the University of London 42: 177–94. Matthäus, H. 1996. Die Absolut Chronologie der Periode SM II/SH IIB. In E. De Mira, L. Godart, and A. Sacconi (eds), Atti e Memorie del Secondo Congresso Internazionale di Micenologia (Roma–Napoli, 14–20 ottobre 1991). Incunabula Graeca 98.1–3. Rome: Gruppo Editoriale Internazionale, 3, ­1457–70. Merrillees, R.S. 1998. Egypt and the Aegean. In E.H. Cline and D. Harris-Cline (eds), The Aegean and the Orient in the Second Millennium: Proceedings of the 50th Anniversary Symposium, Cincinnati, 18–20 April 1997. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 18. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/ University of Texas at Austin, 149–58.

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566   Jacke Phillips Pulak, C. 2001. The Cargo of the Uluburun Ship and Evidence for Trade with the Aegean and ­B eyond. In L. Bonfant and V. Karageorghis (eds), Italy and Cyprus in Antiquity: 1500–450 bc. Proceedings of an International Symposium held at the Italian Academy for Advanced Studies in America at Columbia University, November 16–18, 2000. Nicosia: Costakis and Leto Severis Foundation, 13–60. Pulak, C. 2005. Who Were the Mycenaeans aboard the Uluburun Ship? In R. Laffineur and E. Greco (eds), EMPORIA Aegeans in Central and Eastern Mediterranean. Proceedings of the 10th International Aegean Conference/10e Rencontre égéenne internationale, Athens, Italian School of Archaeology, 14–18 April 2004. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 25. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/ University of Texas at Austin, I, 295–310. Pulak, C. 2008. The Uluburun Shipwreck and Late Bronze Age Trade. In J.  Aruz, K.  Benzel and J.M. Evans (eds), Beyond Babylon. Art, Trade, and Diplomacy in the Second Millennium b.c. New York/New Haven/London: Metropolitan Museum of Art/Yale University Press, 289–305. Pulak, C. 2010. Uluburun Shipwreck. In E.H. Cline (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of the Bronze Age Aegean (ca. 3000—1000 bc). Oxford: Oxford University Press, 862–76. Pullen, D.J. (ed.) 2010. Political Economics of the Aegean Bronze Age. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Pusch, E.B. 1989. Auslandisches Kulturgut in Qantir-Piramesse. In S. Schoske (ed.), Akten des Vierten Internationalen Ägyptischen Kongresses München 1985, 2: Archäologie Feldforschung—Prähistorie. Studien zur Altägyptischn Kultur Beihefte 2. Hamburg: Helmut Buske Verlag, 249–56. Quirke, S. and Fitton, L. 1997. An Aegean Origin for Egyptian Spirals? In J.S. Phillips et al. (eds), Ancient Egypt, the Aegean, and the Near East: Studies in Honour of Martha Rhoads Bell. San Antonio: Van Siclen Books, 421–44. Randesborg, K. (ed.) 1996. Absolute Chronology Archaeological Europe 2500–500 bc. Acta Archaeologica 67/Acta Archaeologica Supplementa 1. Copenhagen: Munksgaard. Rehak, P. 1996. Aegean Breechcloths, Kilts, and the Keftiu paintings, American Journal of Archaeology 100: 35–51. Rehak, P. 1998. Aegean Natives in the Theban Tomb Paintings: The Keftiu Revisited. In E.H. Cline and D. Harris-Cline (eds), The Aegean and the Orient in the Second Millennium: Proceedings of the 50th Anniversary Symposium, Cincinnati, 18–20 April 1997. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 18. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, 39–51. Rehak, P. and Younger, J.G. 1998/2001. Review of Aegean Prehistory VII: Neopalatial, Final Palatial, and Postpalatial Crete, American Journal of Archaeology 102: 91–173. Republished in Cullen, T. (ed.), Aegean Prehistory. A Review. AJA Supplement 1. Boston MA: Archaeological Institute of America, 383–465. Rehak, P. and Younger, J.G. 2001. Addendum: 1998–1999. In Cullen, T. (ed.), Aegean Prehistory. A Review. AJA Supplement 1. Boston MA: Archaeological Institute of America, 466–73. Russell, P. 2002. Aegean Pottery and Selected Cypriot Pottery. In D. White (ed.), Marsa Matruh II: The Objects. The University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology’s Excavations on Bates’s Island, Marsa Matruh, Egypt, 1985–1989. INSTAP Prehistory Monographs 2. Philadelphia: The Institute for Aegean Prehistory Academic Press, 1–16. Rutter, J.B. 1993/2001. Review of Aegaean Prehistory II: The Prepalatial Bronze Age of the Southern and Central Greek Mainland, American Journal of Archaeology 97: 745–97. Republished in Cullen, T. (ed.), Aegean Prehistory. A Review. AJA Supplement 1. Boston MA: Archaeological Institute of America, 95–147. Sakellarakis, I.A. and Sapouna‑Sakellaraki, E. 1997. Archanes. Minoan Crete in a New Light. Athens: Ammos Publications. Schiestl, R. 2000. Archäologische Notiz: Eine Neue Parallele zum Angänger aus Tell el-Dabca aus dem Petrie Museum, University College London, Ägypten und Levante 10: 127–8. Schlick-Nolte, B., Werthmann, R., and Loeben, C.E. 2011. An Outstanding Glass Statuette Owned by Pharaoh Amenhotep II and Other Early Egyptian Glass Inscribed with Royal Names, Journal of Glass Studies 53: 11–44.

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The Aegean   567 Schofield, L. and Parkinson, R.B. 1994. Of Helmets and Heretics: A Possible Egyptian Representation of Mycenaean Warriors on a Papyrus from el-Amarna, Annual of the British School of Archaeology at Athens 89: 157–70. Schoske, S. (ed.) 1989. Akten des Vierten Internationalen Ägyptischen Kongresses München 1985, 2: Archäologie Feldforschung—Prähistorie. Studien zur Altägyptischn Kultur Beihefte 2. Hamburg: Helmut Buske Verlag. Seeber, R. 2000. The Technique of Plaster Preparation for the Minoan Wall Paintings at Tell el-Dab’a, Egypt—Preliminary Results. In S. Sherratt (ed.), The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium Petros M. Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August – 4 September 1997. Athens: The Thera Foundation, I, 91–102. Seeber, R. 2004. Erster Restaurierungsbericht über die Malerei auf Lehmziegel aus dem Areal H/III aus cEzbet Helmi (Frühlung 2004), Ägypten und Levante 14: 157–61. Shaw, M.C. 1995. Bull Leaping Frescoes at Knossos and their Influence on the Tell El Dab’a Murals. In M. Bietak (ed.), Trade, Power and Cultural Exchange: Hyksos Egypt and the Eastern Mediterranean World 1800–1500 b.c.  An International Symposium in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Wednesday, November 3, 1993 (= Ägypten und Levante 5). Vienna: Verlag der Österreichisches ­Akademie der Wissenschaften, 91–120. Shelmerdine, C.W. 1997/2001. Review of Aegean Prehistory VI: The Palatial Bronze Age of the Southern and Central Greek Mainland, American Journal of Archaeology 101: 537–85. Republished in Cullen, T. (ed.), Aegean Prehistory. A Review. AJA Supplement 1. Boston MA: Archaeological Institute of America, 329–77. Shelmerdine, C.W. 2008. The Cambridge Companion to the Aegean Bronze Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sherratt, S. (ed.) 2000. The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium Petros  M.  Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August–4 September 1997. Athens: The Thera Foundation. Shortland, A.J. (ed.) 2001. The Social Context of Technological Change. Egypt and the Near East, 1650–1550 bc. Proceedings of a conference held at St Edmund Hall, Oxford 12–14 September 2000. Oxford: Oxbow Books Shortland, A.J. and Bronk Ramsey, C. (eds) 2013. Radiocarbon and Chronologies of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Soles, J.S. 2005. From Ugarit to Mochlos—Remnants of an Ancient Voyage. In R.  Laffineur and E. Greco (eds), EMPORIA Aegeans in Central and Eastern Mediterranean. Proceedings of the 10th International Aegean Conference/10e Rencontre égéenne internationale, Athens, Italian School of Archaeology, 14–18 April 2004. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 25. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, I, 429–39. Stos-Gale, Z., Gale, N., and Houghton, J. 1995. The Origin of Egyptian Copper. Lead isotope analysis of Metals from El-Amarna. In W.V. Davies and L. Schofield (eds), Egypt, the Aegean and the Levant. Interconnections in the Second Millennium bc. London: British Museum Press, 127–45. Thomas, S. 2003. Imports at Zawiyet Umm al-Rakham. In Z. Hawass and L. Pinch Brock (eds), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century. Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists Cairo, 2000. I: Archaeology. Cairo/New York: The American University in Cairo Press, 522–9. Tiboni, F. 2005. Weaving and Ancient Sails: Structural Changes to Ships as a Consequence of New Weaving Technology in the Mediterranean Late Bronze Age, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 34: 127–9. Vandersleyen, C. 1988. OUADJ-OUR ne signifie pas ‘mer’: qu’on se le dise, Göttinger Miszellen 103: 75–80. Vandersleyen, C. 1994. L’Asie des Égyptiens et les iles de la Méditerranée orientale sous le Nouvel Empire, Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 25: 37–47. Vandersleyen, C. 1999. Ouadj our w3d wr. Un autre aspect de la vallée du Nil. Éditions Connaissance de l’Égypte ancienne, Étude 7. Brussels: Connaissance de l’Égypte ancienne. Vandersleyen, C. 2000. Encore Ouadj our, Discussions in Egyptology 47: 95–109.

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568   Jacke Phillips Vandersleyen, C. 2001. Les peintures minoennes de Tell el-Dabca (Avaris) et l’hypothèse d’un marriage princier. In H. Györy (ed.), Mélanges offerts à Edith Varga. ‘Le lotus qui sort de terre’. Budapest: Connaissance de l’Égypte ancienne, 469–74. Vandersleyen, C. 2002. Keftiu = Crète? Objections preliminaires, Göttinger Miszellen 188: 109–212. Van Dijk, J. 2008. New Evidence for the Length of the Reign of Horemheb, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 44: 193–200. Vanschoonwinkel, J. 2005. L’armement des Philistins est-il d’origine égéenne? In R.  Laffineur and E. Greco (eds), EMPORIA Aegeans in Central and Eastern Mediterranean. Proceedings of the 10th International Aegean Conference/10e Rencontre égéenne internationale, Athens, Italian School of ­Archaeology, 14–18 April 2004. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 25. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, II, 731–41. Van Winjgaarden, G.J. 2002. Use and Appreciation of Mycenaean Pottery in the Levant, Cyprus and Italy (1600–1200 bc). Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Vercoutter, J. 1956. L’Égypte et le Monde égéen préhellénique: Étude Critique des Sources égyptiennes (Du début de la XVIIIe à la fin de la XIXe Dynastie) Bibliothèque d’Étude 22. Cairo: L’Institut ­français d’archéologie orientale. Vercoutter, J. 1997. Égyptiens et Préhellènes, nouveaux pointes de vue. In J.S.  Phillips et al. (eds), ­Ancient Egypt, the Aegean, and the Near East: Studies in Honour of Martha Rhoads Bell. San Antonio: Van Siclen Books, II, 463–70. Vermuele, E.T. 1982. Egyptian Imitations of Aegean Vases. In E. Brovarski, S. Doll, and R.E. Freed (eds), Egypt’s Golden Age: The Art of Living in the New Kingdom 1558–1085 b.c. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 152–8. Vinson, S. 1994. Egyptian Boats and Ships. Shire Egyptology 24. Princes Risborough: Shire Publications. Wachsmann, S. 1987. Aegeans in the Theban Tombs. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 20. Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters. Wachsmann, S. 1998. Seagoing Ships and Seamanship in the Bronze Age Levant. College Station/­ London: Texas A & M University Press/Chatham Publishing. Wachsmann, S. 2013. The Gurob Ship-Cart Model and its Mediterranean Context. College Station: Texas A&M University Press. Walberg, G. 1991a. A Gold Pendant from Tell el-Dab‘a, Ägypten und Levante 2: 112–14. Walberg, G. 1991b. The Finds at Tell el-Dabca and the Middle Minoan Chronology, Ägypten und ­Levante 2: 115–20. Walberg, G. 1992. The Finds at Tell el-Dabca and Middle Minoan Chronology, Ägypten und Levante 3: 157–9. Walberg, G. 1998. The Date and Origin of the Kamares Cup from Tell el-Dabca, Ägypten und Levante 8, 107–8. Wallace-Jones, S. 2018. Egyptian and Imported Pottery from the Red Sea port of Mersa Gawsis, Egypt. Archaeopress Egyptology 20. Oxford: Archaeopress. Warburton, D.A. (ed.) 2009. Time’s Up! Dating the Minoan Eruption of Santorini. Acts of the Minoan Eruption Chronology Workshop, Sandbjerg November 2007. Monographs of the Danish Institute at Athens 10. Århus: Aarhus University Press. Ward, C.A. 2010. Seafaring in the Bronze Age Aegean: Evidence and Speculation. In D.J. Pullen (ed.), Political Economics of the Aegean Bronze Age. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 149–60. Warren, P.M. 1969. Minoan Stone Vases. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Warren, P.M. 1985. The Aegean and Egypt: Matters for Research, Discussions in Egyptology 2: 61–4. Warren, P.M. 1989. The Aegean Civilizations. From Ancient Crete to Mycenae. 2nd edn. Oxford: Phaidon Press. Warren, P.M. 1995. Minoan Crete and Pharaonic Egypt. In W.V. Davies and L. Schofield (eds), Egypt, the Aegean and the Levant. Interconnections in the Second Millennium bc. London: British Museum Press, 1–18. Warren, P.M. 1997. The Lapidary Art—Minoan Adaptations of Egyptian Stone Vessels. In R. Laffineur and P.P. Betancourt (eds), Craftsmen, Craftswomen and Craftsmanship in the Aegean Bronze Age.

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The Aegean   569 Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 16. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, I, 209–23. Warren, P.M. 1998. Aegean Late Bronze 1–2 Absolute Chronology: Some new Contributions. In M.S. Balmuth and R.H. Tykot (eds), Sardinian and Aegean Chronology: Towards the Resolution of Relative and Absolute Dating in the Mediterranean. Proceedings of the International Colloquium ‘­Sardinian Stratigraphy and Mediterranean Chronology,’ Tufts University, Medford, Massachusetts, March 17–19, 1995. Studies in Sardinian Archaeology 5. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 323–31. Warren, P.M. 1999. LM IA: Knossos, Thera, Gournia. In P.P. Betancourt, V. Kargeorghis, R. Laffineur, and W.-D.  Niemeier (eds), Meletemata. Studies in Aegean Archaeology Presented to Malcolm  H. Wiener as he Enters his 65th Year. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 20. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, III, 893–903. Warren, P.M. 2000. Crete and Egypt: The Transmission of Relationships. In A.  Karetsou (ed.), Κρητη–Αιγυπτος. Πολιτισμικοι δεσμοι τριων χιλιετιων. Μελετες (Crete–Egypt. Three thousand years of cultural links. Essays), Athens: Kapon Editions, 24–8. Warren, P.M. 2006. The Date of the Thera Eruption in Relation to Aegean-Egyptian Interconnections and the Egyptian Historical Chronology. In E. Czerny et al. (eds), Timelines, Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 149. Leuven/Paris/Dudley: Uitgeveru Peeters en Departement Oosterse Studies, II, 305–23. Warren, P.M. 2010. The Absolute Chronology of the Aegean circa 2000 b.c.–1400 b.c. A Summary. In W. Müller (ed.), CMS Beiheft 8, Die Bedeutung der Minoischen und Mykenischen Glyptik VI. Internationales Siegel-Symposium aus Anlass des 50 jährigen Bestehens des CMS. Marburg, 9.–12. Oktober 2008. Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philipp von Zabern, 383–94. Warren, P.M. and V. Hankey 1989. Aegean Bronze Age Chronology. Bristol: Bristol Classical Press. Watrous, L.V. 1992. Kommos III: The Late Bronze Age Pottery. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Watrous, L.V. 1998. Egypt and Crete in the Early Middle Bronze Age: A Case of Trade and Cultural Diffusion. In E.H.  Cline and D.  Harris-Cline (eds), The Aegean and the Orient in the Second ­Millennium: Proceedings of the 50th Anniversary Symposium, Cincinnati, 18–20 April 1997. Aegaeum Annales d’archéologie égéenne de l’Université de Liège et University of Texas at Austin Program in Aegean Scripts and Prehistory 18. Liège/Austin: Université de Liège/University of Texas at Austin, 19–28. Weingarten, J. 1991. The Transformation of Egyptian Taweret into the Minoan Genius: A Study in ­Cultural Transmission in the Middle Bronze Age. Studies in Mediterranean Archaeology 88. Partille: Paul Åströms Förlag. Weingarten, J. 2000. The Transformation of Egyptian Taweret into the Minoan Genius. In A. Karetsou (ed.), Κρητη–Αιγυπτος. Πολιτισμικοι δεσμοι τριων χιλιετιων. Μελετες (Crete–Egypt. Three thousand years of cultural links. Essays), Athens: Kapon Editions, 114–19. Weingarten, J. 2013. The Arrival of Egyptian Tweret and Bes[et] on Minoan Crete: Contact and Choice. In L. Bombardiere et al. (eds), SOMA 2012. Identity and Connectivity. Proceedings of the 16th Symposium on Mediterranean Archaeology, Florence, Italy, 1–3. March 2012, Vol. I. BAR International Series 2581 (I). Oxford: Archaeopress, 371–8. Weinstein, J.M. 1983. Appendix A: Tomb SA 17 at Aniba and its ‘Aegean’ vase. In P.P. Betancourt (ed.), The Cretan collection in the University Museum, University of Pensylvania I: Minoan objects excavated from Vasilike, Pseira, Sphoungara, Priniatikos Pyrgos and other sites. Philadelphia, 83–6. Weinstein, J.M. 1989. The Bronze Age Shipwreck at Ulu Burun, 1986 Campaign III: The Gold Scarab of Nefertiti from Ulu Burun: Its Implications for Egyptian History and Egyptian‑Aegean Relations, American Journal of Archaeology 93: 17–29. Weinstein, J.M. 1995. Review of Cline 1994, Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea, Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research 297: 89–91. White, D. 1986. Excavations on Bates’s Island, Marsa Matruh, 1985, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 23: 51–84.

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570   Jacke Phillips White, D. 2002. Marsa Matruh II: The Objects. The University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology’s Excavations on Bates’s Island, Marsa Matruh, Egypt, 1985–1989. INSTAP Prehistory Monographs 2. Philadelphia: The Institute for Aegean Prehistory Academic Press. White, D. and White, A.P. 1996. Coastal Sites of Northeast Africa: The Case against Bronze Age Ports, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 33: 11–30. Wiener, M.H. 1998. The Absolute Chronology of Late Helladic IIIA2. In M.S. Balmuth and R.H. Tykot (eds), Sardinian and Aegean Chronology: Towards the Resolution of Relative and Absolute Dating in the Mediterranean. Proceedings of the International Colloquium ‘Sardinian Stratigraphy and Mediterranean Chronology,’ Tufts University, Medford, Massachusetts, March 17–19, 1995. Studies in Sardinian Archaeology 5. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 309–22. Wiener, M.H. 2003. The Absolute Chronology of Late Helladic IIIA2 Revisited, Annual of the British School of Archaeology at Athens 98: 239–50. Wiener, M.H. 2006. Chronology going Forward (with a Query about 1525/4 b.c.). In E. Czerny et al. (eds), Timelines, Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 149. Leuven/Paris/Dudley: Uitgeveru Peeters en Departement Oosterse Studies, I, 317–28. Wiener, M.H. 2007. Times Change: The Current State of the Debate in Old World Chronology. In M. Bietak and E. Czerny (eds), The Synchronisation of Civilisations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second Millennium b.c. III, Proceedings of the SCIEM 2000–2nd EuroConference, Vienna, 28th of May–1st of June 2003. Contributions to the Chronology of the Eastern Mediterranean 9/ Österreichisches Akademie der Wissenschaften Denkschriften der Akademie 37. Vienna: V ­ erlag der Österreichisches Akademie der Wissenschaften, 25–47. Wiener, M.H. 2012. Problems in the Measurement, Calibration, Analysis, and Communication of Radiocarbon Dates (with special reference to the prehistory of the Aegean World). In E. Boaretto and F.N. Rebollo (eds), Proceedings of the 6th International Radiocarbon and Archaeology Symposium (= Radiocarbon 54.3–4), 423–34. Winter, I.J 2000. Thera Paintings and the Ancient Near East. In S. Sherratt (ed.), The Wall Paintings of Thera. Proceedings of the First International Symposium Petros  M.  Nomikos Conference Centre, Thera, Hellas, 30 August–4 September 1997. Athens: The Thera Foundation, II, 745–62. Wotzka, H.-P. 1990. The Abuse of User, Annual of the British School of Archaeology at Athens 85: 449–53. Yalçin, Ü. (ed.) 2005. Anatolian Metal III (Der Anschnitt, Beiheft, 18). Bochum: Deutsches BergbauMuseum.

Addendum As this article was going to press after some delay, I draw attention to several important new studies that I initially neglected to include or have appeared recently; these have been appropriately referenced in the main text: Morgan, L. 1988. The Miniature Wall Paintings of Thera: A Study in Aegean Culture and Iconography. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ribeny, A. 2016. Aegyptiaca in Pre- and Protopalatial Crete. Honours Thesis, University of Sydney. Warren, Peter 2017. Egyptian Alabaster and Minoan (Bronze Age Cretan) Stone Vases. Marmora 13: 11–24. Peter Warren also kindly brought to my attention two recent scientific publications supporting the relative 16th c. be dating for the eruption of Thera. Future research undoubtedly will confirm, negate or refine the results presented, but they are an important development in the current controversy: Pearson, C.L. et al 2018. Annual radiocarbon record indicates 16th century bce date for the Thera eruption, Science Advances 2018.4, eaar8241. http://advances.sciencemag.org/ Pearson, C.L. et al 2020. Annual variation in atmospheric 14C between 1700 bc and 1480 bc, Radiocarbon. DOI:10.1017/RDC.2020.14.

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pa rt V I

E GY P T I A N H ISTORY E X PL OR I NG S OU RC E S A N D   I N­T E R­PR E T­AT I V E F R A M E WOR K S

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chapter 27

The Pr edy nastic Per iod Stan Hendrickx

Introduction Within ancient Egyptian history as a whole, it might be argued that Predynastic (c.5300–3000 bc) and Early Dynastic times (c.3000–2686 bc) should be considered the periods for which the most changes and revisions in our conceptions have been made, in recent decades. The excellent overview published forty years ago by Michael Hoffman1 is now in many respects outdated. There are several reasons for this. First, there is the fact that only a limited number of excavations of prehistoric sites in Egypt had taken place between about 1930 and 1975 and that hardly any of these were fully published. From the late 1970s onwards, a new group of scholars appeared, excavating in Upper Egypt at sites that had already been known for some time, such as Hierakonpolis,2 Elkab,3 Abydos4 and Mahasna,5 and at a few newly discovered sites such as Naq’ el-Qarmila6 and Adaïma.7 In the Memphite region, there was renewed interest in Helwan8 and Abu Roash.9 In addition, a most important factor is that excavations were no longer limited to Upper Egypt and the Memphite region. Until the 1950s, the Delta was considered to be a region for which information on the formative period of the ancient Egyptian culture would always be lacking, because the earliest layers were supposed to be buried under metres of alluvium. Finds of new and exceptional objects were the first indications that this picture was erroneous.10 At present, new discoveries are every year being made in the Delta, allowing a far better view of regional developments and the interaction between Upper and Lower Egypt. The list of sites explored is long, especially in the eastern Delta,11 with sites such as Tell el-Farkha,12  Hoffman 1980.   For an overview, see Friedman 2011; Baba and Friedman 2016; Friedman et al. 2017. 3 4   Hendrickx 1994; Claes et al. 2014.   Dreyer 1998; Hartung 2001; Hartmann 2016. 5 6  Anderson 2011.   Gatto et al. 2009. 7   Midant-Reynes and Buchez 2002; Crubézy et al. 2002; Crubézy 2017. 8 9   Köhler 2005, 2014a, 2017a; Köhler and Jones 2009.   Tristant 2017. 10 11   cf. Fischer 1958.   Tristant 2020.     12   Jucha 2005; Ciałowicz 2007; Chlodnicki et al. 2012; Mączyńska et al. 2019. 1

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574   Stan Hendrickx Tell el-Murra,13 Tell el-Iswid,14 Kôm el-Khilgan,15 Tell Ibrahim Awad,16 Minshat Abu Omar17 and Kafr Hassan Daoud.18 In the central part of the Delta, Tell el-Fara’in/Buto19 and Sâ el-Hagar/Saïs20 should be mentioned. Work has also increased considerably in the Western Desert, both in the oases and the desert in general,21 and on the routes connecting them with the Nile valley.22 For the late Predynastic and Early Dynastic periods, important discoveries were also made in the southern Levant.23 Another highly relevant development is the greater interest shown in the excavation of settlement sites, considering that previously nearly all available information came from cemeteries.24 But perhaps the most important change has been the widespread adoption of multidisciplinary approaches that have already, for some time, characterized most excavations, but which have yielded particularly rewarding results for Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt. Despite the wealth of new data, a number of important points of discussion still remain. The aim of the present chapter is not to give a full overview of the Predynastic and Early Dynastic periods because several syntheses are already available;25 instead the emphasis will be placed on a number of topics which are important bones of contention, or have been so recently. More technical aspects, such as the relative chronology of the Naqada culture,26 will not be addressed.

The origins of the Predynastic cultures One of the most problematic questions concerns the origins of the Predynastic cultures27 and therefore, indirectly, issues concerning the nature of ancient Egyptian culture in general. The question is as old as the discovery of the Predynastic cultures themselves. Petrie con­sidered the Predynastic of Upper Egypt to be defined by immigration. He labelled the cemeteries excavated at Naqada in 1894–5 as belonging to ‘The New Race’, although at that moment he did not yet realize the Predynastic age of his discoveries.28 Afterwards he defined the three phases distinguished by him as the result of immigration.29 The earliest phase, responsible for the Amratian culture (now Naqada I–IIB), was supposed to have come from Libya. The subsequent Gerzean culture (now Naqada IIC–D) was supposed to have its origins in the Red Sea area. But, for the origins of the Early Dynastic culture, Petrie turned towards Mesopotamia. The question of foreign influence and migration continued to dominate the discussion for a long time and was revived with the discovery of the Badarian culture in 14   Midant-Reynes and Buchez 2014.   Jucha and Bąk-Pryc 2017. 16   Belova and Sherkova 2002; van Haarlem 2009.   Buchez and Midant-Reynes 2011. 18 17   Hassan et al. 2015.   Kroeper and Wildung 1994, 2000. 20 19   Wilson et al. 2014.   Hartung et al. 2016; Hartung 2017. 21   See for example, McDonald 2002, 2009; Kobusiewicz et al. 2010; Barich et al. 2014; Dachy et al. 2018. 22   D. Darnell 2002; J.C. Darnell 2002, 2009, 2013; Riemer and Kindermann 2008; Kindermann 2010. 23   See for example, Brandl 1992; Gophna 1995; de Miroschedji et al. 2001; Braun 2003; van den Brink and Braun 2003; Braun and van den Brink 2008; Braun 2014. 24   See Hendrickx and van den Brink 2002. 25   See ‘Suggested Reading’, at the end of this chapter.   26   Hendrickx 2006; see also Buchez 2011 and Hartmann 2016. 27   The term “culture” only refers to material culture (or cultural system) and not to an ethnic unit. This is particularly relevant to note because “culture” has for a long time been used in Europe centred, racist interpretations of early Egypt (cf. Köhler in press).  28   Petrie and Quibell 1896.    29  See for example, Petrie 1920: 46–50. 13 15

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The Predynastic period   575 the  late 1920s.30 One of the most important twentieth-century scholars focusing on Predynastic Egypt, Elise Baumgartel,31 considered Predynastic civilization to have originated in the south (in what is now Sudan), and regarded the Delta as an unimportant and undeveloped backwater. This view was already questioned in the 1960s, but at that time the available documentation was limited. Meanwhile, the idea of the immigration of foreigners as an impetus for Predynastic culture can no longer be sustained, as newly available information and subsequent ideas have changed the picture radically. The Delta has been shown to be far more important than Baumgartel could ever have imagined. ‘Lower Egyptian culture’ (previously described as Maadi culture or ‘Buto-Maadi culture’) has been attested at many of the Delta sites already mentioned and is now identified as a specific part of Predynastic Egypt.32 For the Nile valley, a relatively large amount of data is available for the late Palaeolithic cultures and also for Predynastic times. The ‘downcutting’ of the Nile (i.e. its erosion downwards) between c.11000 and 8000 BP resulted in a reduced floodplain and restricted en­vir­on­men­tal possibilities (see Chapter 4 for discussion of many aspects of this). The Nile valley will nevertheless not have been deserted, although the sites are now covered by more  recent alluvial deposits. Human occupation of the Nile valley is attested for the Epipalaeolithic, from c.7000 bc onwards, but again the sites in the Nile valley itself are largely covered by flood plain deposits and have only been discovered in exceptional circumstances.33 During the Epipalaeolithic, the Palaeolithic style of subsistence was continued. Nomadic hunters were fishing and hunting in the Nile valley during winter, when the Nile was low, and exploiting the desert during summertime, when fishing was difficult because of the high water. There is no indication of agriculture at all, although it was at that time already well established in the Levant. The period between the Epipalaeolithic at Elkab and the earliest Predynastic cultures in Upper Egypt, from about 7000 to c.4400 bc remains unfortunately almost completely unknown because these sites have also disappeared under the alluvium. For this period, our knowledge is largely restricted to the desert areas, especially the Western Desert (see Chapter  9). This has caused a rather one-sided view, which in extreme cases can lead to the complete neglect of possible inhabitation of the Nile valley during the middle Holocene.34 But the strong resemblances between the material cultures found for different periods on both sides of the Nile leaves no doubt that the Nile served as a unifier rather than a border.35 The interaction between the Nile valley and the deserts was of utmost importance. A development of contacts was proposed by Heiko Riemer and Karin Kindermann, based on the results of extensive investigations on the Abu Muhariq plateau, the central part of the limestone plateau between the oases and the Nile valley of Middle Egypt (Figure 27.1).36 During most of the sixth millennium bc, hunter-gatherers, with a very small pastoral component, occupied the area. Because of the variability in rainfall, they had to adapt continuously to changing environmental conditions, causing high mobility and consequently long-distance contacts, exemplified by (bi)facial lithic technology. The presence of Nile bivalves demonstrates

31  Baumgartel 1955, 1960.   Brunton and Caton-Thompson 1928.   Mączyńska 2013. See however the ongoing debate about the nature and implications of contacts between Upper and Lower Egypt, Midant-Reynes and Buchez 2019 vs. Köhler 2014b, 2017b. 34 33   Kuper and Kröpelin 2006.   Vermeersch 1978. 35   See for example, Vermeersch 2008: 97–8; Friedman and Hobbs 2002: 188–9. 36   Riemer and Kindermann 2008. 30 32

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576   Stan Hendrickx contact with the Nile, indicating most probably that an important part of the yearly cycle was spent in the valley. Pottery is rare on sixth-millennium sites, but it includes a small percentage of black-topped and rippled pottery, the techniques of which are however different from those of the Badarian and Naqada I pottery, causing the term ‘desert black-topped’ to be proposed.37 Also of interest are a few sherds of beakers with incised decoration, showing strong similarities with Tasian beakers (see below), although locally produced. Climatic change caused the drying up and depopulation of the Western Desert from c.5300 bc onwards. During the first half of the fifth millennium bc, the Abu Muhariq plat­eau was only sporadically visited from the Nile valley, and between 4500 and 3000 bc no evidence is attested at all, except for the southern Abu Muhariq plateau which may have served as a corridor between the Nile valley and the oases.38 Again, because of the lack of sites in the Nile valley, hardly any documentation is avail­able for the beginning of agriculture in Egypt. Its origin is certainly to be looked for in the Near East, because neither emmer wheat nor barley have wild progenitors in Egypt. Agriculture is probably first attested in the Faiyum Neolithic, which has recently been re-investigated and dated to at least 5200 bc.39 In Upper Egypt, however, there is no attestation of agriculture before the Badarian, starting c.4400 bc. The retreat from the Western Desert, with the exception of some more favourable areas, especially the oases, is an important element for the origin of the Predynastic cultures in Upper Egypt. However, because hardly any evidence is available in the Nile valley for the first half of the fifth millennium bc, we have a chronological gap with the new evidence from the Abu Muhariq plateau. The Tasian/Badarian, dating from c.4400 bc onwards, seems to be related to the Late Neolithic of the Western Desert, through the above-mentioned lithic and ceramic parallels. But, apart from the chronological difference, the subsistence strategy of the Badarian, based mainly on agriculture, herding and intensive fishing, is of course strongly different from that of the sixth-millennium Western Desert hunter-gatherers. The question remains whether the transition to agriculture only took place during the second half of the fifth millennium or if the Western Desert only gives us evidence for the nomadic aspect of the sixth-millennium subsistence. The presence of sheep and goat, be it in very limited quantities, in the Faiyum and the Western Desert during the late seventh and especially the sixth millennium40 not only indicates contact with the Nile valley (because the animals were introduced from the Near East and had to pass through the valley), but also hints at a life pattern in which herding may have been more important, as shown through the archaeozoological record.41 This is to some extent confirmed by the important sixth-millennium presence of sheep and goat in the Eastern Desert, for which unfortunately only a few sites are known.42 The Tasian culture, originally identified by Guy Brunton43 has always been a point of discussion. Its actual existence as predecessor of the Badarian was refuted by Baumgartel,44 and this was generally accepted until Werner Kaiser suggested that the Tasian was linked with the Neolithic sites of Lower Egypt.45 However, recent discoveries both in the Eastern46 38   J.C. Darnell 2002, 2009; D. Darnell 2002.   Riemer and Kindermann 2008: 618–21. 40   Riemer 2007: 107–13; Linseele et al. 2016.   Wendrich et al 2010. 42 41   Linseele and Van Neer in Vermeersch 2008: 82–3.   See also Riemer 2007: 114–22. 44 45 43   Baumgartel 1955: 20–1.  Kaiser 1985.  Brunton 1937. 46   Friedman and Hobbs 2002. 37 39

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The Predynastic period   577 Fayum

Fayum

Bahariya

Bahariya

Farafra

Farafra

le Ni

le Ni

Dakhla

Dakhla Kharga

0

100

Kharga

200 km

0 Dungul

PHASE 1 6th mill. BC

100

200 km Dungul

PHASE 2 around 5000 BC

Bir Kiseiba Fayum

Bir Kiseiba Fayum

Bahariya

Bahariya

Farafra

Farafra

le Ni

le Ni

Dakhla

Dakhla Kharga

Kharga 0

100

200 km

PHASE 3 5-4th mill. BC

0 Dungul

Bir Kiseiba

seasonal desert dwellers

migration

100

200 km

PHASE 4 around 3000 BC

Dungul

Bir Kiseiba

early desert travel

pastoral nomadism

Figure 27.1  Model of changing contact patterns on the Egyptian Limestone Plateau. After Riemer & Kindermann 2008: Fig. 9.

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578   Stan Hendrickx and Western Deserts47 show that the Tasian is not related to the Delta but to the deserts and, through these, with Sudan.48 As noted by Renée Friedman and Joseph Hobbs, it is a missing link between the desert dwellers and the Nile valley.49 It is of particular importance to observe that the new discoveries include burials, not least the remarkable cemeteries at Gebel Ramlah, showing that the finds represent more than just occasional expeditions into the deserts but rather that at least this part of the Tasian was desert-based. Also, the avail­able radiocarbon dates indicate that the Tasian already dates to the first half of the sixth millennium, at least in the desert.50 The Naqada culture has dominated the concept of Predynastic Egypt for a very long time. Although its importance can hardly be questioned, several remarks are to be made. The uniformity of the Naqada culture has most probably been overestimated. Although a common material culture certainly exists, there are also regional differences,51 but it remains nevertheless appropriate to use the term ‘Naqada culture’. As for the origins of the Naqada culture, the relationship between the Badarian and the Naqada I period is the essential question. Radiocarbon dates show that the Badarian starts at the latest around 4400 bc and is therefore older than the Naqada I period, the onset of which is to be placed around 3900 bc. However, the most recent dates of the Badarian suggest a possible overlap with Naqada  I.  The concentration of Badarian sites in the Badari region has been used as an argument for regional differentiation, but Badarian finds are now also known far more to the south, e.g. at Hierakonpolis52 and Elkab.53 The Badarian must have been present over most of Upper Egypt and seems to have evolved smoothly into Naqada I, but there was perhaps a somewhat slower evolution in the Badarian region itself. Furthermore, there is the question of the relationship between Upper and Lower Egypt. In an influential article on the relative chronology of the Naqada culture, Kaiser also discussed the spread of the Naqada culture from Upper Egypt into Lower Egypt.54 Meanwhile, numerous finds allow the formulation of a definition of Lower Egyptian culture in the Delta, dated between c.3800 and 3200 bc, that differs considerably in its material characteristics from the Naqada culture. Unfortunately, the available information for Middle Egypt in the fourth millennium bc is very limited, and this most probably enhances the image of a straightforward, swift takeover of the Naqada culture in Lower Egypt. It is probably better, however, to consider this process as a period of intensified contacts during Naqada IIC–IID followed by the acculturation and assimilation of Lower Egypt by the Naqada culture.55

Social structure Even as early as his excavations at Naqada, Petrie noticed important differences between ‘poor’ and ‘rich’ tombs, as well as the existence of the elite ‘Cemetery T’, separate from the ‘Main Cemetery’.56 These kinds of observations were repeated in his and other archaeologists’   D. Darnell 2002; Kobusiewicz et al. 2010. 49   Friedman and Hobbs 2002: 178.   Friedman and Hobbs 2002: 189. 50   Friedman and Hobbs 2002; Kobusiewicz et al. 2010: 117–20. 51  Köhler 2014–15: 256–8. 52  Hoffman 1986. 53   Vermeersch 1978: 141, pl. VI; Hendrickx and Eyckerman 2009: 16, fig. 14; Claes et al. 2014. 55 54   cf. Buchez and Midant-Reynes 2011.  Kaiser 1957. 56   Petrie and Quibell 1896. 47 48

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The Predynastic period   579 reports on excavations of Predynastic cemeteries. A first attempt at a detailed insight into the development of social structure during the fourth millennium bc was made by Juan José Castillos for the Predynastic cemeteries, based on tomb size and object numbers.57 Although methodological problems can be noted,58 among which the influence of different soil types on tomb size is especially to be mentioned,59 the studies by Castillos nevertheless allowed him to present a picture of social evolution throughout the fourth millennium. According to Castillos, a relatively egalitarian society changed rapidly into a class-based stratified society.60 The egalitarian society during Badarian times is certainly to be doubted,61 but the general trend towards increasing social differentiation has never been contradicted. The use of additional criteria by other scholars, such as the occurrence of ‘rare’ materials,62 inferred status symbols,63 presence or absence of artefact classes,64 or estimations of time investment,65 have not yielded fundamental new insights. It should also be noted that the available data show important inconsistencies because of the nature of the old, selective excavation reports, which often omit tombs without funerary equipment. Also, despite the size of some cemeteries, information is only available for about eight thousand Predynastic tombs in Upper Egypt, which is a relatively limited sample given that we are dealing with a period of almost a thousand years, and given the number of cemeteries involved. Of course not all cemeteries have been discovered, and it is even most likely that many have disappeared entirely. Also, we only know about cemeteries located in the low desert, just outside the inundation plain. As the inundation plain has risen considerably over time, cemeteries originally in the low desert may now be covered by alluvium. But the possibility that not all of the population was buried according to the same principles is certainly also worth considering, and it is obvious that new-borns and very young children are strongly underrepresented in the cemeteries. Occasionally such burials have been found in settlement sites. On the other hand, a limited number of very young children were buried among the ju­ven­iles and adults. The reasons for including some and excluding others are unclear. But as some process of selection was used for this age group, it could very well also have been used for other age groups. Sex on the other hand does not seem to have been a criterion, because the two sexes are more or less equally represented in cemeteries.66 It is only in a few rare instances that it can be demonstrated that a full population was buried in the same cemetery, the best example being the Eastern Cemetery at Adaïma, dating mainly to Naqada IIIA–D.67 It may well be that it was only from that time onwards that entire family groups were buried in the same cemetery, but not entire populations. The Eastern Cemetery at Adaïma may only represent one or two extended families.68 Nevertheless, when considering all of the available information, a general tendency towards increasing wealth of the funerary equipment can be observed throughout the fourth millennium bc. This is accepted as an indication of expanding and improving agricultural production in Upper Egypt. At the same time, exceptionally rich burials seem to have become even more important over time (i.e. the funerary differentiation between the elite and the rest of the population gradually increased). This would imply a society of 58   Hendrickx 1994: 217–18.   Castillos 1982, 1983. 60   Castillos 1982: 175–6.   Buchez and Midant-Reynes 2011. 63 64 62  Griswold 1992.  Savage 1997.   Bard 1994. 66 65   Castillos 1983: 175.   Hendrickx 1994: 217–24; Delrue 2001. 68   Crubézy 2017. 57 59

 Anderson 1992.

61

 Crubézy 2017.

67

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580   Stan Hendrickx improving economic circumstances, from which the whole population benefited, but with elite groups managing to control an increasing proportion of the resources. The most spectacular example is the discovery during recent years by Friedman that the elite cemetery HK6 at Hierakonpolis was already in use from the late Naqada I period onwards, with unexpectedly large and wealthy tombs during the early Naqada II period (see below).69 Craft specialization as an indicator of social differentiation has only rather recently been considered.70 This was mainly due to the absence of information or incomplete understanding of technical processes. The site offering the best possibilities for research is again Hierakonpolis, where specialized units for the production of pottery, beer, beads and stone vessels have been identified, some of which date back to the early Naqada II period.71 They indicate beyond doubt that already at that time a high degree of specialization existed and most probably this was limited to that site. Brewery installations of similar importance are only known for more recent periods at other sites. During the Naqada III period, especially from Naqada IIIC onwards, a change in the nature of the funerary equipment can be observed in Upper Egypt. Some object classes, such as cosmetic palettes, disappear, while the importance of stone vessels increases greatly. Despite the latter, a tendency towards less richly endowed burials can nevertheless be observed. Elite burials from Upper Egypt are almost exclusively restricted to Hierakonpolis and Abydos, the latter being the burial ground of the kings of the First Dynasty. On the other hand, very rich burials are frequently attested in the Memphite region and the Delta. This must reflect the shift of the administrative centre from south to north, with Abydos still remaining royal burial ground for some time until this also moved to the Memphite region for most of the Second-Dynasty kings, and definitely from the beginning of the Third Dynasty onwards. On a more general level, the change in burial customs is to be seen in the context of state formation and the social and religious expression of the elite.

Predynastic iconography The discovery of the Predynastic culture at the end of the nineteenth century opened a whole new world of visual representations, which could not be understood using the visual language of pharaonic Egypt. The first overview by Jean Capart used ethnographic parallels and at the same time tried to place Predynastic ‘art’ in the context of the developmental stages through which art was in those days supposed to have passed.72 The Predynastic representations were considered ‘primitive’, having utilitarian and magical purposes. This ‘primitive art’ was seen by Capart as African in origin and considered to have changed into the Dynastic Egyptian art through influence from the Near East. The ethnographic parallels, with emphasis on magic, remained very much in vogue until the middle of the twentieth century. An important change came with the work of Baumgartel, who, in a structuralist approach, made full use of the documentation gathered by Petrie.73 Her work starts from rigorous typological work with great attention for the provenances and physical contexts of 70   Friedman 2008; Friedman et al. 2011, 2017.  Takamiya 2004.   Takamiya 2008; Hendrickx 2008; Baba and Friedman 2016; Baba et al. 2017. 72 73   Capart 1905, see also Huyge 2002: 192–3.  Baumgartel 1955, 1960. 69 71

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The Predynastic period   581 objects. Baumgartel tried to understand the meanings of objects, and in doing so considered such factors as gender. Although many interpretations made by Baumgartel have not stood the test of time, her contribution is nevertheless fundamental because she discussed the available material within its archaeological context. In an important study, Bruce Williams and Thomas Logan demonstrated that a number of elaborate Predynastic representations consisted of interrelated and standardized series of themes and iconographic elements.74 The principal underlying ideas appear to be the rituals of the elite and consequently of the king. The main elements are victory, hunt, sacrifice and boat procession, all of which can be traced back to early Predynastic times. Although Williams and Logan may have overestimated our potential ability to integrate all of the Predynastic representations into the ‘greater pharaonic cycle’, the link between the mentioned themes remains nevertheless fundamental. Pottery with painted decoration is an essential element for our knowledge of Predynastic iconography. The chronological difference between White Cross-lined and Decorated pottery has caused an almost automatic search for two different iconographic traditions. However, the main reason for this difference is that figurative representations on White Cross-lined pottery show victory scenes and hunting scenes in both the Nilotic and the desert environment, while Decorated pottery mainly deals with funerary themes and the renewal of life.75 The amount of the Decorated pottery bearing iconography involving the latter themes outnumbers by far those decorated with other themes, causing these to be considered exceptions, which obscures our ideas of Predynastic iconography.76 When looking at the ‘exceptions’, and including other object categories, it is obvious that hunting and victory scenes continue into the Early Dynastic Period. It is of fundamental importance to realize that the artists seem to have been deliberately choosing not to represent natural phenomena in a realistic manner, aiming instead at creating meaning in a more or less standardized manner. Gwenola Graff has shown that semiotic analysis of the representations on Decorated pottery has great possibilities,77 as was already indicated by Roland Tefnin.78 The analysis shows that the iconographic elements are not arranged in a linear sequence of narrative elements but that meaning is created through association and opposition.79 The combination of elements can also be observed within single representations. For example, the well-known female figurines are combinations of at least three elements: human, bovine and avian.80 Stylization of certain aspects of these elem­ ents allows the development of visual symbols that can express cognitive values by themselves, although the realistic origins are sometimes difficult to recognize as can be seen in the horns-ears emblem often used on tags, tusks and other types of amulets.81 As for the transition from Predynastic to Dynastic times, a new approach was made in the 1980s by Barry Kemp,82 who distinguished between ‘formal’ and ‘preformal’ art. The concept is primarily based on temple architecture, for which Kemp accepts that the preformal tradition continued occasionally on a ‘provincial level’ even into the New Kingdom. For figurative representations, he links the development of the formal style to the court system that itself is the result of state formation.83 However, this model can now be questioned, 75   Williams and Logan 1987.   Graff 2009: 122–4. 77  Graff 2009.   Hendrickx and Eyckerman 2010; Hendrickx and Förster 2010. 79 80 78   Graff 2009: 123.   Hendrickx 2002; Hendrickx and Eyckerman 2012.  Tefnin 1979. 83 82 81   Kemp 2006: 137.  Kemp 2006.   Hendrickx and Eyckerman 2011, 2012. 74 76

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582   Stan Hendrickx

Figure 27.2  Predynastic iconography including human, bovine and avian elements, at the origin of the Early Dynastic Bat emblem and White Crown (not to scale). 1) Drawing by Françoise Roloux; 2) Petrie & Quibell 1896 pl. LXIII.57; 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) Drawing by Merel Eyckerman; 4) Reconstruction drawing by Merel Eyckerman; 7) Quibell 1898.

because new evidence shows that certain iconographic elements (such as emblems of the falcon and the cow-goddess Bat) are already attested at Hierakonpolis from the early Naqada II period onwards and can be related to the origin of the White Crown.84 Also, the importance and dimensions of funerary and religious constructions at Hierakonpolis makes it difficult to consider them preformal.85 It seems rather that some concepts existed for a long time before becoming part of the dynastic icon­og­raphy while others, such as the iconography on Decorated ware, disappeared towards the onset of the Naqada III period (Figure 27.2). The possibilities offered by rock art for understanding Predynastic times have been much neglected until recent years. With the notable exception of Winkler’s fundamental studies,86 most rock art studies have been limited to cataloguing or, at best, chronological work. Winkler distinguished between different cultural and chronological horizons, including ‘Eastern Invaders’.87 At present, these theories are no longer acceptable, but Winkler at least showed that chronological and conceptual interpretation of rock art was possible. The fundamental study by Dirk Huyge on the rock art from Elkab shows that, besides typology and chronology, the location of art within the landscape, and the combination of  scenes, also ought to be taken into consideration.88 Altogether, this allowed Huyge to distinguish chronological horizons ranging from Predynastic up to the Islamic times, which he was able to combine with changes in meaning over time (Figure 27.3). The first three horizons roughly correspond to Naqada I–IIB, Naqada IIC–D and Naqada III. The first horizon is dominated by giraffes, perhaps related to the solar cycle.89 The second horizon is 85 86   Hendrickx et al. 2014–15.     Friedman 2009, 2010.  Winkler 1938, 1939. 88 89   Winkler 1938: 33–5.   Huyge 2002.   Huyge 2002: 199–200.

84 87

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The Predynastic period   583 BC/AD (Cal BC) 1000

Islamic Period

64.15*

83.4

Byzantine Period GraecoRoman Period

0

64.99

64.2

64.3

VII

83.9

64.331

64.317

64.319

64.334

VI

Late Period (DYN. 25–31)

1000

56.13

Third Intermediate Period 64.296

New Kingdom (DYN. 18–20) Second Int. Period

2000

First Int. Period

Early Dynastic Period (DYN. 1–2) Culture

III II

Naqada 4000

83.26

64 .165*

64.190 bis

V

62.6

Middle Kingdom (DYN. 11–14)

Old Kingdom (DYN. 3–8)

3000

82.18

82.15

I Badarian Culture

79. 2

83.25

64.236 bis

64.255

64.304

48.17

IV 64.293

64.238

64.148*

64.109*

64.206

64.144*

64.228 64.268*

III

64.174 48.12

64.102* 64.105* 77.18

64.61*

64.75*

64.31*

II

64.71 64.184

64.272*

56.2

56.6

56.5

64.17* 64.290*

56.3

I

?

5000

Tarifian Culture

Elkabian ± 7000

Figure 27.3  Elkab, chronological seriation of rock art showing the most important motifs. Huyge 2002: Fig. 2.

partly dominated by elements that also occur on Decorated pottery such as boats, but also by elem­ents that are hardly ever found on pottery, such as donkeys and elongated boats with straight base lines. The solar interpretation, in function of the renewal of life, suggested by Huyge is most plausible, although it cannot be applied without further discussion to sites much farther away from the Nile, both in the eastern and western deserts. The Naqada III

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584   Stan Hendrickx horizon, coinciding largely with the Early Dynastic Period, is characterized by scenes that can be related to royal symbolism, including procession barges. Following Huyge, a growing tendency can be noted towards interpretation of rock art in its context, and the search for meaningful relations between individual rock art scenes from the same site. This approach shows that the meaning of rock art sites is not necessarily uniform. The rock art from Elkab, although showing a broad range of representations, does not cover all of the Predynastic–Early Dynastic rock art. For example, at Khor Abu Subeira, north of Aswan, a rock art site can almost entirely been considered in the context of elite hunting and its socio-religious implications.90 In the Theban Western Desert on the other hand, several sites show elaborate scenes that are directly linked with royal and ritual icon­og­raphy, in which elements of the ‘greater pharaonic cycle’ (mentioned above) can be identified.91 There are striking resemblances and differences between the images in rock art and on both White Cross-lined and Decorated pottery. On the former, hunting scenes occur frequently, as is the case for rock art. On the other hand, there are some motifs that occur frequently in rock art but not on pottery, such as boats with a row of ‘towing’ humans in front of them.92 The relevance of such scenes is illustrated by the important rock art tableaux at Nag’ el-Hamdulab, immediately north of Aswan, dating most probably immediately before the reign of Narmer. Here we find Predynastic iconographic elements such as towing boats combined with the earliest representations of kings wearing the royal white crown. These scenes bridge Predynastic themes with the developing iconography of Dynasties 0 and 1.93 Interpretation of rock art can also wander off into highly speculative and hardly sustainable statements such as Wilkinson’s hypothesis that the rock art in the Eastern Desert shows that a semi-nomadic pastoral economy, with an important hunting component, is at the root of the Pharaonic culture.94 This is only possible by applying a very vague chronological framework and ignoring the archaeozoological record.95 He furthermore recognizes shamanistic elements in a large number of representations. The latter has been rigorously rejected by Le Quellec,96 who on the other hand himself makes an impossible link between the ‘floating’ figures in the Cave of the Swimmers (at Wadi Sura, in the Gilf Kebir) and Egyptian funerary beliefs,97 ignoring entirely the chronological differences and the fact that Predynastic funerary beliefs are expressed in a different manner. Despite statements by several other authors,98 there is nothing in the Predynastic fourth-millennium rock art that is reminiscent of the Saharan rock art as exemplified by the Cave of the Swimmers and other rock art sites in the Gilf Kebir and beyond.

The relationships between early Egypt and the Near East Discussions concerning contacts between Egypt and the Near East, and especially the Near Eastern influence on the origin of Egyptian culture, date back to the end of the nineteenth 91   Gatto et al. 2009: 159–65.  J.C. Darnell 2009. 93 94   See, for example, Gatto et al. 2009: 163.   Hendrickx et al. 2012.  Wilkinson 2003. 95   For a full discussion, see the review feature in Cambridge Archaeological Journal 14 (2004): 113–35. 96 97 98   Le Quellec 2006: 243.   Le Quellec et al. 2005: 243–5.   d’Huy 2009; Barta 2010. 90 92

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The Predynastic period   585 century. The idea of a ‘dynastic race’ coming from the Near East (like Petrie’s ‘New Race’, mentioned above) was still being defended by Bryan Emery as recently as the 1960s,99 but has otherwise been completely abandoned. Stylistic influence from Mesopotamia has been discussed extensively100 and although a few elements such as the headdress of the ‘master of the beasts’ on the Gebel el-Arak knife handle101 show convincing Mesopotamian influence, this does not imply direct contact between Egypt and Mesopotamia. It is fairly implausible that such contact ever existed, not least because not a single Mesopotamian sherd has yet been found at any Predynastic site. The importance of contact with Mesopotamia has certainly been overestimated, resulting even in the reconstruction of a trade route leading directly from Mesopotamia through the Persian Gulf to the Red Sea102 without a trace of hard evidence. Contact with the southern Levant, on the contrary, is well attested for Predynastic times.103 However, the earliest attestations, dating to the Badarian, are so few that no direct contact could have been involved. Such direct links can only be ascertained from the later Naqada II period onwards, when the number of finds increases strongly. During the early Naqada III period, the nature of the contacts seems to change. Until then, one can accept— although not prove—that the contacts involved exchange of goods. This, however, no longer seems likely for tomb U-j at Abydos (see below), where over 800 imported wine vessels represent a huge quantity of about 4200 litres of wine.104 No Egyptian equivalent for this has been found in the southern Levant and although this of course does not imply that such never existed, it opens the possibility that the Egyptian kings represented such a threatening power that the goods instead represented a kind of tribute (rather than commerce). The Egyptian threat would anyhow become very real during the time of Narmer, or already immediately before, when Egypt expanded its power into southern Palestine. Although one can hardly consider this as an actual process of colonization, Egypt had control over the area through several types of settlements.105 Already by the middle of the First Dynasty, Egypt seems to have lost its interest in the direct control of the region. The reason for this is most probably twofold. Firstly, a commodity such as wine was by then also produced in Egypt itself, therefore there was no more urgent reason for import. Secondly, coastal seafaring seems to have increased greatly, making the difficult journey through the Sinai unnecessary and the direct control of southern Palestine superfluous.

The origins of Egyptian kingship The ongoing excavations of the elite cemetery HK6 at Hierakonpolis have yielded astonishing results.106 It is not yet clear at what moment HK6 began to be used as a burial place, but, as far as can be determined at present, it was exclusively reserved for the elite. The earliest tombs are known date to Naqada IC,107 but the onset of the cemetery may well have been earlier. Already during the early Naqada II period, c.3700 bc, very large tombs delimited with enclosures in wood and reed existed in combination with large, pillared buildings (Figure 27.4). 100 101   Hendrickx and Bavay 2002: 58.   Delange 2009: fig. 5.   Capart 1905; Emery 1961. 103 104   Hartung 2001; Hendrickx and Bavay 2002.  Hartung 2001.  Mark 1998. 106 105   Friedman 2008; Friedman et al. 2011, 2017.   cf. Braun 2003; de Miroschedji et al. 2001. 107  Adams 2000. 99

102

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Figure 27.4  Hierakonpolis, elite cemetery HK6, map after the 2019 excavations. Courtesy of the Hierakonpolis Expedition, cartography by X. Droux.

Equally remarkable is the presence of numerous subsidiary animal burials, both wild and domesticated.108 There can be no doubt that at that remote period, Hierakonpolis represented far more than a local centre of power. Although it is at present impossible to define the extent of the region controlled by Hierakonpolis, it may already have spanned most of southern Upper Egypt. The idea of kingship in its dynastic concept is first attested at Hierakonpolis and may have originated there, as is for example shown by the presence in the early ‘royal’ tombs of falcon statuettes, one of the most explicit royal symbols of later periods.109 The apparent evidence for very early kingship at Hierakonpolis, which had not previously been suspected, contradicts Kemp’s hypothesis of more or less equal proto-kingdoms as the starting point for Egyptian state formation.110 The question of the development of kingship and state formation, regarding which Kemp’s ideas were widely accepted over recent years, has to be dealt with once again. Nothing similar to HK6 has ever been found at any contemporaneous cemetery, not even at cemetery U at Abydos, the latest phase of which is directly linked with the royal tombs of the First Dynasty. Cemetery U covers the whole of the Predynastic Period, but not all tombs

  Van Neer et al. 2004; Friedman et al. 2017.   Kemp 2006: 73–8; Wilkinson 2000.

108 110

  Hendrickx et al. 2011.

109

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The Predynastic period   587 can be considered elite.111 Exceptionally important late Naqada I–early Naqada II tombs are also known from a few other sites, for example at Hu112 and Mahasna.113 These can be compared in size and wealth with cemetery U, but they seem to have been less numerous at Hu and Mahasna. Abydos therefore stands out from other cemeteries, but is itself outshone by HK6. Obviously there was already a hierarchy of sites from at least the early Naqada II period onwards. Hierakonpolis must have had no equal around 3700 bc, while at the same moment Abydos must have been more important than local centres such as Mahasna and Hu. For the Naqada IIC period, only the mud-brick-lined ‘painted tomb’ at Hierakonpolis is known as a truly exceptional burial, mainly because of its decoration.114 But considering the size and importance of the early Naqada II tombs at HK6, it should no longer be auto­ mat­ic­al­ly assumed that the ‘painted tomb’ was ‘royal’. Important, mud-brick-lined Naqada IIC tombs have also been found at Naqada, cemetery T,115 and there is a single similar tomb (U-q) in cemetery U that dates to this period.116 However, their importance is again to be reconsidered in the light of the HK6 tombs and in this respect, the absence of exceptionally important Naqada IIC tombs is puzzling. Most probably, ‘royal’ tombs of that period await discovery at either Hierakonpolis or Abydos, although the former site seems the best candidate. When, in 1977, the German Archaeological Institute started the reinvestigation of the royal tombs at Umm el-Qaab, their aims were limited to checking architectural details. Although nothing much was expected in the way of finds, the results greatly exceeded expectations. The most remarkable discovery is of course that by Günter Dreyer of tomb U-j (Naqada IIIA1), in which a wealth of objects was found, including a royal sceptre and the earliest extensive evidence for writing.117 Although important tombs are also known at Hierakonpolis for the early Naqada III period,118 they are not comparable with tomb U-j. Obviously, the dominant position of Hierakonpolis had disappeared by the early Naqada III period, and Abydos had taken over, which is confirmed by the evolution of cemetery U into the Early Dynastic royal cemetery. Given the previously mentioned apparent absence of ‘royal’ tombs for the Naqada IIC–D period, it is, however, far from obvious when Abydos assumed control, and nor do we know how this happened. Hierakonpolis remained a most important centre during Early Dynastic times and there are no indications of any military victory of Abydos over Hierakonpolis. As far as the presently available documentation allows us to say, cooperation between the two major sites seems the most likely possibility. Because of the expansion and acculturation of the Naqada culture into the Delta and the increasing importance of contacts with the southern Levant, the location of Hierakonpolis was less suitable as the main seat of power, compared with Abydos. Tentatively, one could suggest Abydos as the more ‘worldly’ or administrative centre from the early Naqada III period onwards, while at that moment Hierakonpolis remained of great symbolic im­port­ ance referring to the origins of kingship. One might suggest that Hierakonpolis was the religious counterpart to the political-administrative centre Abydos, to the extent that such a secular/religious division is meaningful for ancient Egypt.119 112   e.g., Hartung in Dreyer et al. 2000: Abb. 5.   Petrie 1901: 33, cf. Wilkinson 2000: 380. 114 115   Eyckerman and Hendrickx 2011.   Case and Payne 1962.  Davis 1983. 116 117 118   Dreyer 1990: 57.  Dreyer 1998.  Adams 2000. 119   Hendrickx and Friedman 2003. 111 113

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Future directions of research on Predynastic cultures Although the chronology of Predynastic Egypt has not been addressed in this contribution, this is nevertheless one of the research fields for which important updates can be expected. New absolute dates are already available,120 but these have not yet been integrated with recent research concerning relative chronology,121 which itself should be used for the re­inter­pret­ation of old excavations such as the Main Cemetery at Naqada for which, in addition, new archival excavation records have emerged. After a long period of neglect, rock art has attracted much deserved attention but its dialogue and confrontation with Predynastic iconography (known mainly from objects found in funerary contexts) offer many more possibilities than have been addressed up to now. Furthermore, rock art still offers the possibility for new information as for example the (re)discovery of the already mentioned Dynasty-0 sites at Nag’ el-Hamdulab has shown. And there are of course the new and ongoing excavations. Work in the Delta sites has already changed the overall view of Predynastic Egypt and will continue to do so. The excavation of cemetery U at Abydos/Umm el-Qaab and the discovery of tomb U-j with its wealth of documentation on early writing have already allowed new views about the development of writing,122 but the interpretation of the earliest texts is far from final. The ongoing excavations at Hierakonpolis will continue to bring up almost yearly surprises and novelties. But also in a less spectacular manner important new information is to be expected from settlement sites which have not attracted enough attention in the past. The excavations at, among others, Mahasna123 and Elkab124 have shown that settlement sites in Upper Egypt have just as much potential as those in the western Delta. All in all, it can hardly be doubted that the new impetus given about 40 years ago to the study of the Predynastic cultures will not lose its drive in the years to come.

Suggested reading For a general overview of Egyptian prehistory, including the Early Dynastic Period, MidantReynes 2000, Ciałowicz 2001 and Wengrow 2006 can be advised, as well as the relevant chapters in the Oxford History of Ancient Egypt (Shaw 2000) and in The Cambridge World Prehistory (Renfrew and Bahn 2014). For the Early Dynastic Period, Wilkinson 1999 offers a very complete synthesis. Most stimulating is Midant-Reynes 2003, which does not present a classic synthesis but discusses a number of fundamental topics. A full bibliography of Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt can be found in Hendrickx 1995, with annual updates in the journal Archéo-Nil.

  Dee et al. 2013.   Claes et al. 2014.

120 124

 Hartmann 2016.

121

 Regulski 2010.

122

 Anderson 2011.

123

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The Predynastic period   591 de Miroschedji, P. et al. 2001. Les fouilles de Tell es-Sakan (Gaza): Nouvelles données sur les contacts égypto-cananéens aux IVe–IIIe millénaires, Paléorient 27,2: 75–104. Dreyer, G. 1990. Umm el-Qaab: Nachuntersuchungen im frühzeitlichen Königsfriedhof. 3./4. Vorbericht, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 46: 53–90. Dreyer, G. 1998. Umm el-Qaab I. Das prädynastische Königsgrab U-j und seine frühen Schriftzeugnisse. Archäologische Veröffentlichungen 86. Mainz: von Zabern. Dreyer, G. et al. 2000. Umm el-Qaab. Nachuntersuchungen im frühzeitlichen Königsfriedhof 11./12. Vorbericht. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 56: 43–129. Emery, W.B. 1961. Archaic Egypt. Harmondsworth: Penguin Book. Eyckerman, M. and Hendrickx, S. The Naqada I Tombs H17 and H41 at El-Mahasna, a Visual ­Reconstruction. In R.F.  Friedman and P.N.  Fiske (eds), Egypt at its Origins 3. Proceedings of the Third International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, London, 27th July–1st August 2008. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 205. Leuven–Paris–Walpole: Peeters, 379–429. Fischer, H.G. 1958. A Fragment of Late Predynastic Egyptian Relief from the Eastern Delta, Artibus Asiae 21: 64–88. Friedman, R.F. 2008. Excavating Egypt’s Early Kings: Recent Discoveries in the Elite Cemetery at Hierakonpolis. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y. Tristant (eds), J. Rowland and S. Hendrickx (ass.), Egypt at its Origins 2. Proceedings of the International Conference ‘Origin of the State, Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Toulouse (France), 5th–8th September 2005. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 172. Leuven–Paris–Dudley: Peeters, 1157–94. Friedman, R.F. 2009. Hierakonpolis Locality HK29A: The Predynastic Ceremonial Center Revisited, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 45: 79–103. Friedman, R.F. 2010. The Early Royal Cemetery at Hierakonpolis: An Overview. In F.  Raffaele, M.  Nuzzolo, and I.  Incordino (eds), Recent Discoveries and Latest Researches in Egyptology. ­Proceedings of the First Neapolitan Congress of Egyptology. Naples, June 18th–20th 2008. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 67–86. Friedman, R.F. 2011. Hierakonpolis. In E. Teeter (ed.), Before the Pyramids. The Origins of Egyptian Civilization. Oriental Institute Publications 33. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 33–44. Friedman, R.F. and Hobbs, J. 2002. A ‘Tasian’ Tomb in Egypt’s Eastern Desert. In R.F. Friedman (ed.), Egypt and Nubia. Gifts of the Desert. London: British Museum Press, 178–91. Friedman, R.F., Van Neer, W. and Linseele, V. 2011. The Elite Predynastic Cemetery at Hierakonpolis: 2009–2010 Update. In R.F. Friedman and P.N. Fiske (eds), Egypt at its Origins 3. Proceedings of the Third International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, London, 27th July–1st August 2008. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 205. Leuven–Paris–Walpole: Peeters, 157–91. Friedman, R.F., Van Neer, W., De Cupere, B., and Droux, X. 2017. The Elite Predynastic Cemetery at Hierakonpolis HK6: 2011–2015 Progress Report. In B.  Midant-Reynes and Y.  Tristant (eds), E.M. Ryan (coll.), Egypt at its Origins 5. Proceedings of the Fifth International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Cairo, 13th–18th April 2014. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 260. Leuven–Paris–Bristol: Peeters, 231–76. Gatto, M.C. et al. 2009. Archaeological investigation in the Aswan-Kom Ombo region (2007–2008), Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 65: 9–47. Gatto, M.C., Hendrickx, S., Roma, S., and Zampetti, D. 2009. Rock art from West Bank Aswan and Wadi Abu Subeira, Archéo-Nil 19: 151–68. Gophna, R. 1995. Excavations at ‘En Besor. Tel Aviv: Ramot Publishing. Graff, G. 2009. Les peintures sur vases de Naqada I–Naqada II. Nouvelle approche sémiologique de l’iconographie prédynastique. Egyptian Prehistory Monograph 6. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Griswold, W.A. 1992. Imports and Social Status: The Role of Long-distance Trade in Predynastic Egypt State Formation. Cambridge MA: U.M.I.

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592   Stan Hendrickx Hartmann, R. 2016. Umm el-Qaab IV. Die Keramik der älteren und mittleren Naqadakultur aus dem prädynastischen Friedhof U in Abydos (Umm el-Qaab). Archäologische Veröffentlichungen 98. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Hartung, U. 2001. Umm el-Qaab II. Importkeramik aus dem Friedhof U in Abydos (Umm el-Qaab) und die Beziehungen Ägyptens zu Vorderasien im 4. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Archäologische Veröffentlichungen 92. Mainz: von Zabern. Hartung, U., Hartmann, R., Kindermann, K., Riemer, H., and Stähle, W. 2016. Tell el-Fara’in - Buto 12. Vorbericht, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 72: 73–126. Hartung, U. 2017. Constructions of the Early Dynastic Period at Tell El-Fara’in/Buto. In B. MidantReynes and Y.  Tristant (eds), E.M.  Ryan (coll.), Egypt at its Origins 5. Proceedings of the Fifth ­International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Cairo, 13th–18th April 2014. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 260. Leuven–Paris–Bristol: Peeters, 63–80. Hassan, F.A., Tassie, G.J., Rehren, T., and van Wetering, J. 2015. On-Going Investigations at the Predynastic to Early Dynastic Site of Kafr Hassan Dawood: Copper, Exchange and Tephra, Archéo-Nil 25: 75–90. Hendrickx, S. 1994. Elkab V. The Naqada III Cemetery. Bruxelles: Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire. Hendrickx, S. 1995. Analytical Bibliography of the Prehistory and the Early Dynastic Period of Egypt and Northern Sudan. Egyptian Prehistory Monographs 1. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Hendrickx, S. 2002. Bovines in Egyptian Predynastic and Early Dynastic iconography. In F.A. Hassan (ed.), Droughts, Food and Culture. Ecological Change and Food Security in Africa’s Later Prehistory. New York: Kluwer/Plenum, 275–318. Hendrickx, S. 2006. Predynastic–Early Dynastic Chronology. In E.  Hornung, R.  Krauss, and D.A. Warburton (eds), Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Handbook of Oriental Studies, Section One, The Near and Middle East 83. Leiden–Boston: Brill: 55–93, 487–8. Hendrickx, S. 2008. Rough Ware as an Element of Symbolism and Craft Specialisation at Hierakonpolis’ Elite Cemetery HK6. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y. Tristant (eds), J. Rowland and S. Hendrickx (ass.), Egypt at its Origins 2. Proceedings of the International Conference ‘Origin of the State, Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Toulouse (France), 5th–8th September 2005. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 172. Leuven–Paris–Dudley: Peeters, 61–85. Hendrickx, S. and Bavay, L. 2002. The Relative Chronological Position of Egyptian Predynastic and Early Dynastic Tombs with Objects Imported from the Near East and the Nature of Interregional Contacts. In E.C.M. van den Brink and T.E. Levy (eds), Egypt and the Levant. Interrelations from the 4th through the Early 3rd Millennium bce. New Approaches in Anthropological Archaeology Series. London–New York: Leicester University Press, 58–80. Hendrickx, S., Darnell, J.C., and Gatto, M.C. 2012. The Earliest Representations of Royal Power in Egypt. The Rock Drawings of Nag el-Hamdulab (Aswan), Antiquity 86/334: 1068–83. Hendrickx, S. and Eyckerman, M., coll. Van Winkel, C. 2009. The 1955 Excavation of an Early Old Kingdom Storage Site at Elkab. In W. Claes, H. De Meulenaere, and S. Hendrickx (eds), Elkab and Beyond. Studies in Honour of Luc Limme. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 191. Leuven–Paris– Dudley: Peeters, 1–30. Hendrickx, S. and Eyckerman, M. 2010. Continuity and Change in the Visual Representations of Predynastic Egypt. In F. Raffaele, M. Nuzzolo, and I. Incordino (eds), Recent Discoveries and Latest Researches in Egyptology. Proceedings of the First Neapolitan Congress of Egyptology. Naples, June 18th–20th 2008. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 121–44. Hendrickx, S. and Eyckerman, M. 2011. Tusks and Tags. Between the Hippopotamus and the ­Naqada  Plant. In R.F.  Friedman and P.N.  Fiske (eds), Egypt at its Origins 3. Proceedings of the Third International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, ­London, 27th July–1st August 2008. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 205. Leuven–Paris–Walpole: Peeters, 497–570. Hendrickx, S. and Eyckerman, M. 2012. Visual Representation and State Development in Egypt, Archéo-Nil 22: 23–72. Hendrickx, S. and Förster, F. 2010. Early Dynastic Art and Iconography. In A.B. Lloyd (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Egypt. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 826–52.

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The Predynastic period   593 Hendrickx, S. and Friedman, R.F. 2003. Gebel Tjauti Rock Inscription 1 and the Relationship Between Abydos and Hierakonpolis During the Early Naqada III Period, Göttinger Miszellen 196: 95–109. Hendrickx, S., Friedman, R.F., and Eyckerman, M. 2011. Early Falcons. In L. Morenz and R. Kuhn (eds), Vorspann oder formative Phase? Ägypten und der Vordere Orient 3500–2700 v. Chr. Philippika 48. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 129–62. Hendrickx, S., Piquette, K.E., Eyckerman, M., Madrigal, K., and Graves-Brown, C. 2014–15. The origin and early significance of the White Crown, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 70–71: 227–38. Hendrickx, S. and van den Brink, E.C.M. 2002. Inventory of Predynastic and Early Dynastic Cemetery and Settlement Sites in the Egyptian Nile Valley. In E.C.M. van den Brink and T.E. Levy (eds), Egypt and the Levant. Interrelations from the 4th through the Early 3rd Millennium bce. New Approaches in Anthropological Archaeology Series. London–New York: Leicester University Press, 346–99. Hoffman, M.A. 1980. Egypt Before the Pharaohs. The Prehistoric Foundations of Egyptian Civilization. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Hoffman, M.A. 1986. A Preliminary Report on 1984 Excavations at Hierakonpolis, Newsletter of the American Research Center in Egypt 132: 3–14. Huyge, D. 2002. Cosmology, Ideology and Personal Religious Practice in Ancient Egyptian Rock Art. In R.F. Friedman (ed.), Egypt and Nubia. Gifts of the Desert. London: British Museum Press, 192–206. Jucha, M.A. 2005. Tell el-Farkha II. The Pottery of the Predynastic Settlement (Phases 2 to 5). Kraków–Poznań: Institute of Archaeology, Jagiellonian University/Archaeological Museum Poznań. Jucha, M.A. and Bąk-Pryc, G. 2017. Settlement and Cemetery—New Research on the 4th/3rd Millennium Nile Delta Site of Tell el-Murra. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y. Tristant (eds), E.M. Ryan (coll.), Egypt at its Origins 5. Proceedings of the Fifth International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Cairo, 13th–18th April 2014. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 260. Leuven–Paris–Bristol: Peeters, 175–97. Kaiser, W. 1957. Zur inneren Chronologie der Naqadakultur, Archaeologia Geographica 6: 69–77. Kaiser, W. 1985. Zur Südausdehnung der vorgeschichtlichen Deltakulturen und zur frühen Entwicklung Oberägyptens, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 41: 61–88. Kemp, B.J. 2006. Ancient Egypt. Anatomy of a Civilization. 2nd edn London: Routledge. Kinderman, K. 2010. Djara. Africa Praehistorica 23.1–2. Köln: Henrich Barth Institute. Kobusiewicz, M. et al. 2010. Gebel Ramlah, Final Neolithic Cemeteries from the Western Desert of Egypt. Poznań: Institute of Archaeology and Ethnology, Polish Academy of Sciences Poznań Branch. Köhler, E.C. 2005. Helwan I. Excavations in the Early Dynastic Cemetery. Season 1997/98. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 24. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Köhler, E.C. 2014a. Helwan III. Excavations in Operation 4, Tombs 1–50. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 26. Rahden: Verlag Marie Leidorf. Köhler, E.C. 2014b. Of Pots and Myths—Attempting a Comparative Study of Funerary Pottery Assemblages in the Egyptian Nile Valley during the late 4th Millennium bc. In Mączyńska, A. (ed.), The Nile Delta as a Centre of Cultural Interactions between Upper Egypt and the Southern Levant in the 4th Millennium bc. Studies in African Archaeology 13. Poznań: Poznan Archaeological Museum, 155–80. Köhler, E.C. 2014–15. Auch die letzte Scherbe—More thoughts on the ‘Naqada Culture’, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 70–1: 255–64. Köhler, E.C. 2017a. Helwan IV. Excavations in Operation 4, Tombs 51–100. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 28. Rahden: Verlag Marie Leidorf. Köhler, E.C. 2017b. The Development of Social Complexity in Early Egypt. A View from the Perspective of the Settlements and Material Culture of the Nile Valley, Ägypten und Levante 27: 335–56. Köhler, E.C. in press. Of Culture Wars and the Clash of Civilizations in Prehistoric Egypt—An Epistemological Analysis, Ägypten und Levante. Köhler, E.C. and Jones, J. 2009. Helwan II. The Early Dynastic and Old Kingdom Funerary Reliefs and Slabs. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 25. Rahden: Verlag Marie Leidorf.

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594   Stan Hendrickx Kroeper, K. and Wildung, D. 1994. Minshat Abu Omar. Ein vor- und frühgeschichtlicher Friedhof im Nildelta. I. Gräber 1–114. Mainz: von Zabern. Kroeper, K. and Wildung, D. 2000. Minshat Abu Omar II. Ein vor- und frühgeschichtlicher Friedhof im Nildelta. Gräber 115–204. Mainz: von Zabern. Kuper, R. and Kröpelin, S. 2006. Climate-Controlled Holocene Occupation in the Sahara: Motor of Africa’s Evolution, Science 313: 803–7. Le Quellec, J.-L. 2006. Chamanes et Martiens: même combat ! Les lectures chamaniques des arts rupestres du Sahara. In M. Lorblanchet, J.-L. Le Quellec, P.G. Bahn, H.-P. Francfort, B. Delluc, and G. Delluc (eds), Chamanismes et arts préhistoriques. Vision critique. Paris: Errance, 233–60. Le Quellec, J.-L., de Flers, P., and de Flers, P. 2005. Du Sahara au Nil, peintures et gravures d’avant les pharaons. Paris: Fayard/Soleb. Linseele, V., Holdaway, S.J., and Wendrich, W. 2016. The Earliest Phase of Introduction of Southwest Asian Domesticated Animals into Africa. New Evidence from the Fayum Oasis in Egypt and its Implications, Quaternary International 412: 11–21. Mączyńska, A. 2013. Lower Egyptian Communities and their Interactions with Southern Levant in the 4th Millennium bc. Studies in African Archaeology 12. Poznań: Poznań Archaeological Museum. Mączyńska, A., Chłodnicki, M., and Ciałowicz, K.M. (eds) 2019. Tell el-Farkha. 20 years of Polish Excavations. Poznań-Kraków: Muzeum Archeologiczne w Poznaniu. Mark, S. 1998. From Egypt to Mesopotamia. A Study of Predynastic Trade Routes. London: Chatham Publishing. McDonald, M.M.A. 2002. Dakhleh Oasis in Predynastic and Early Dynastic Times: Bashendi B and the Sheikh Muftah Units, Archéo-Nil 12: 109–19. McDonald, M.M.A. 2009. Increased Sedentism in the Central Oases of the Egyptian Western Desert in the Early to Mid-Holocene: Evidence from the Peripheries, African Archaeological Review 26: 3–43. Midant-Reynes, B. 2000. The Prehistory of Egypt. From the First Egyptians to the First Pharaohs. Tr. I. Shaw. Oxford: Blackwell. Midant-Reynes, B. 2003. Aux origines de l’Egypte. Du néolithique à l’émergence de l’état. Paris: Fayard. Midant-Reynes, B. and Buchez, N. 2002. Adaïma 1. Economie et habitat. Fouilles de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 45. Le Caire: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Midant-Reynes, B. and Buchez, N. (dir.) 2014. Tell el-Iswid 2006–2009. Fouilles de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 73. Le Caire: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Midant-Reynes, B. and Buchez, N. 2019. Naqadian Expansion: A Review of the Question based on the Necropolis of Kom el-Khilgan, Archéo-Nil 29: 129–56. Petrie, W.M.F. 1901. Diospolis Parva. The Cemeteries of Abadiyeh and Hu. 1898–1899. Egypt Exploration Fund 20. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Petrie, W.M.F. 1920. Prehistoric Egypt. British School of Archaeology in Egypt and Egypt Research Account 31. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Petrie, W.M.F. and Quibell, J.E. 1896. Naqada and Ballas. London: Quaritch. Regulski, I. 2010. A Palaeographic Study of Early Writing in Egypt. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 195. Leuven–Paris–Walpole: Peeters. Renfrew, C. and Bahn, P. (eds) 2014. The Cambridge World Prehistory. Vol. 1. Africa, South and Southeast Asia and the Pacific. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Riemer, H. 2007. When Hunters Started Herding: Pastro-Foragers and the Complexity of Holocene Economic Change in the Western Desert of Egypt. In M. Bollig, O. Bubenzer, R. Vogelsang, and H.-P. Woltzka (eds), Aridity, Change and Conflict in Africa. Proceedings of an International ACACIA Conference held at Königswinter, Germany, October 1–3 2003. Cologne: Heinrich-Barth-Institut, 105–44. Riemer, H. and Kindermann, K. 2008. Contacts Between the Oasis and the Nile: A Résumé of the Abu Muhariq Plateau Survey 1995–2002. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y. Tristant (eds), J. Rowland and S. Hendrickx (ass.), Egypt at its Origins 2. Proceedings of the International Conference ‘Origin of the State, Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Toulouse (France), 5th–8th September 2005. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 172. Leuven–Paris–Dudley: Peeters, 609–33.

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The Predynastic period   595 Savage, S.H. 1997. Descent Group Competition and Economic Strategies in Predynastic Egypt, ­Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 16: 226–68. Shaw, I. (ed.) 2000. The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Takamiya, I.H. 2004. Development of Specialisation in the Nile Valley During the 4th Millennium bc. In S. Hendrickx, R.F. Friedman, K.M. Ciałowicz, and M. Chłodnicki (eds), Egypt at its Origins. Studies in Memory of Barbara Adams. Proceedings of the International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Kraków, 28th August–1st September 2002. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 138. Leuven–Paris–Dudley: Peeters, 1027–39. Takamiya, I.H. 2008. Firing Installations and Specialization: A View from Recent Excavations at Hierakonpolis Locality 11C. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y. Tristant (eds), J. Rowland, and S. Hendrickx (ass.), Egypt at its Origins 2. Proceedings of the International Conference ‘Origin of the State, Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Toulouse (France), 5th–8th September 2005. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 172. Leuven–Paris–Dudley: Peeters, 187–202. Tefnin, R. 1979. Image et histoire. Réflexions sur l’usage documentaire de l’image égyptienne, Chronique d’Egypte 54: 218–44. Tristant, Y., Abu Rawash. New Data from the Recent Excavations of 1st Dynasty Elite Mastabas at the Cemetery M. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y. Tristant (eds), E.M. Ryan (coll.), Egypt at its Origins 5. Proceedings of the Fifth International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early D ­ ynastic Egypt’, Cairo, 13th–18th April 2014. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 260. Leuven–Paris–Bristol: Peeters, 465–95. Tristant, Y. 2020. L’occupation humaine dans le delta du Nil au Ve et IVe millénaires. Approche géoarchéologique à partir de la région de Samara (delta oriental). Bibliothèque d’Etude 174. Le Caire: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Van den Brink, E.C.M. and Braun, E. 2003. Egyptian Elements and Influence on the Early Bronze Age I of the Southern Levant. Recent Excavations, Research and Publications, Archéo-Nil 13: 77–91. Van Haarlem, W. 2009. Temple Deposits at Tell Ibrahim Awad. Amsterdam: Willem van Haarlem. Van Neer, W., Linseele, V., and Friedman, R.F. 2004. Animal Burials and Food Offerings at the Elite Cemetery HK6 of Hierakonpolis. In S. Hendrickx, R.F. Friedman, K.M. Ciałowicz, and M. Chłodnicki (eds), Egypt at its Origins. Studies in Memory of Barbara Adams. Proceedings of the  International ­Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, Kraków, 28th August–1st September 2002. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 138. Leuven–Paris–Dudley: Peeters, 67–130. Vermeersch, P.M. 1978. Elkab II. L’Elkabien, Epipaléolithique de la Vallée du Nil Egyptien. Bruxelles–Leuven: Fondation Egyptologique Reine Elisabeth/Universitaire Pers Leuven. Vermeersch, P.M. (ed.) 2008. A Holocene Prehistoric Sequence in the Egyptian Red Sea Area: The Tree Shelter. Egyptian Prehistory Monographs 7. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Wendrich, W., Taylor, R.E., and Southon, J. 2010. Dating Stratified Settlement Sites at Kom K and Kom W: Fifth Millennium bce Radiocarbon Ages from the Fayum Neolithic, Nuclear Instruments and Methods in Physics Research Section B: Beam Interactions with Materials and Atoms 268/7–8: 999–1002. Wengrow, D. 2006. The Archaeology of Early Egypt. Social Transformation in North-east Africa, 10,000 to 2650 bc. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilkinson, T.A.H. 1999. Early Dynastic Egypt. London: Routledge. Wilkinson, T.A.H. 2000. Political Unification: Towards a Reconstruction, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 56: 377–95. Wilkinson, T.A.H. 2003. Genesis of the Pharaohs. London: Thames & Hudson. Williams, B.B. and Logan, T.J. 1987. The Metropolitan Museum Knife Handle and Aspects of Pharaonic Imagery before Narmer, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 46: 245–86. Wilson, P., Gilbert, G., and Tassie, G. 2014. Sais II: The Prehistoric Period at Sa el-Hagar. Egypt ­Exploration Society 107. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Winkler, H.A. 1938. Rock Drawings of Southern Upper Egypt. I. Sir Robert Mond Desert Expedition. London: Egypt Exploration Society/Oxford University Press. Winkler, H.A. 1939. Rock Drawings of Southern Upper Egypt. II. Sir Robert Mond Desert Expedition. Egypt Exploration Society 27. London: Egypt Exploration Society/Oxford University Press.

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chapter 28

The Ea r ly Dy nastic Per iod Ludwig D. Morenz

Wieviel Wahrheit braucht der Mensch? R. Szafranski1

Introduction In historiography it has always been particularly fascinating to look for the origins of cultural phenomena, of institutions and discourses. The Early Dynastic Period2 comprises the first two dynasties in Egyptian history, and it is arguably especially rewarding to study, because it was the formative period that ultimately influenced the character and shape of Egyptian culture down to the Roman Period. All of these transformations of society and culture were themselves results of a complex, long-term process, but, due to the fragmentary nature of their transmission, our knowledge of this process will always remain very partial. In order to assess these fragments of fragments, historians of culture usually analyse them with a broad variety of methods. In this chapter, the discussion will concentrate primarily on the study of iconography/iconology,3 archaeology of media, and sociology of knowledge in relation to the Early Dynastic Period, but it would also be worthwhile to delve into geography, gender or analysis of discourse. The Early Dynastic Period dates from c.3050 to 2740 bc, preceded by a ‘Protodynastic’ Period beginning at around 3300 bc. As the terms indicate, these periods saw a shift from regional centres of power to a rather centralized ‘dynastic’ government. This however does not mean that such phenomena as local socio-economic networks and regional traditions did not continue. On the contrary the unified national ‘state’ was probably a rather thin layer above a rural country.4 1 Szafranski 1990. 2  This article was written within the Bonn-SFB 1167 ‘Macht und Herrschaft’. I am grateful to B. Büma and D. Sabel for various discussions. 3 Morenz 2014. 4  For further discussion of this topic see Chapters 35–6 [administration]; see also Eyre 2000.

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The Early Dynastic Period   597 We know the names of nineteen rulers of the first two dynasties. Recent research has revealed names of earlier rulers from various territories, so that we can understand the formation of ‘pharaonic’ kingship as the product of competition among regional centres of power5. The era of the kings ARMS (or ‘Ka’),6 Scorpion (the later of two kings that appear to have held this name) and Narmer7 may be regarded as a transitional stage combining aspects of both the Protodynastic and the Early Dynastic Periods. In the Early Dynastic Period, the king’s Horus-name was most prominent, because the ruler was considered the earthly incarnation of the celestial god Horus. The question of local rule versus kingship versus pharaonic rule is just one aspect of a very complex transformation in culture and politics. In the second half of the fourth millennium bc, society became more differentiated and a distinctly Egyptian high culture developed. This had a multifarious impact on the way life was organized: new media came into existence, a system of measures was created, a system of central administration was spread throughout Egypt, society became more stratified, specialization in the field of professional skills took place, the first urban centres developed, and the framework of art and religion was substantially moulded for millennia to come. In the Nile valley we can observe early nation building and relate that in addition to socio-economic processes also to the old philosophical question which ‘truths’ and which ‘lies’ a society needs (as discussed in the works of Friedrich Nietzsche)8 and how conceptions of society were embedded in socio-economic reality. This process had a snowballing effect on the agency of the participants of high culture and affected power relations. The relevant historical sources which mainly belong to this very sphere of high culture can give us only a fragmented and biased picture of this process, since, at best, no more than 1–10 per cent of society participated in high culture, while the broad world of popular culture remains visible primarily through archaeology rather than texts—thus modern archaeology may ultimately open up new sources for a better understanding of Early Dynastic social and cultural diversity. This historical drama of the formation of the Egyptian high culture took place in the Nile valley and reached from the Delta in the north to Elephantine in the south, but the process also affected the Sinai, southern Palestine and Nubia. Following the cultural and political unification of Egypt in the late fourth and early third millennia bc, the territory of ancient Egypt was defined, and its borders were fixed.9 In the Early Dynastic Period, the areas on the fringes of Egypt, such as the Sinai desert and Nubia, were gradually cut off from the cultural and socio-economic development in Egypt itself, but trade relations continued to exist.10 The Nile valley north

5  For references to game theory, see Kemp 1989; see also Wilkinson 2000b; Hartung 2014–15 (for a recent Abydos perspective). 6  The name is written ideographically with the hieroglyph depicting a pair of arms. One possible reading would be Ka but other readings are equally possible. 7  In the case of Narmer, the traditional reading Nar-mer should probably be replaced by Nar-meher because the hieroglyphic sign ‘chisel’ (sign-list U 23) might read not mr but mḥr, see Quack 2003; for new arguments on the traditional reading mr, see Schweitzer 2011. This mr/mḥ r—‘aggressive’—would be an epithet to nꜥr—‘catfish’. 8 Szafranski 1990. 9  Note that unlike the situation in the case of Narmer, no objects with the name of his successor Aha have been found outside Egypt. 10  See van den Brink and Levy 2002.

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598   Ludwig D. Morenz of  Aswan became politically homogenized, but nevertheless it was not transformed into an isolated society.

Egyptianness versus otherness We might assume a deep tradition relating the Egyptian high culture of the fourth millennium bc back to the Early Neolithic (PPNA and PPNB) of Upper Mesopotamia but this assumption requires further research.11 Alongside the Egyptians of the fourth millennium bc, Semites lived in the Delta region, and Nubians settled in Upper Egypt. We should also note anthropological differences, but  this topic needs further research. Non-Egyptian names and toponyms indicate their presence. There are quite a number of Egyptian place-names, the etymology of which is very likely to be non-Egyptian, e.g. Abydos (3bdw) and Koptos (gb.ty). A Semitic etymology is likely for toponyms of places in the delta such as cnp.t (Mendes) or b3s.t (Bubastis). Furthermore, in the late fourth/early third millennium bc unknown artists created a special iconography characterizing non-Egyptians; its use informs us about the presence of Nubians, who were depicted with curly hair, Libyans who were depicted with a beard and distinctive elements of dress, and Semites, who were shown with a particular hairstyle, beard and costume. On the other hand, these new iconographic conventions appear to demonstrate the desire of early Egyptians to construct and reinforce a distinctly Egyptian identity by stressing differences between themselves and ‘others’.12 Attributes of ‘otherness’ and foreign character were also assigned to some native inhabitants of Egypt who had been conquered and assimilated in the process of the creation of a unified Egypt. Our knowledge of them is very scarce, but a close examination and interpretation of details such as toponyms and iconography can give us some idea. Our knowledge of the original inhabitants of the town (or city-state) of Buto in the Nile delta can serve as an example (although we know very little about the socioeconomic realities of early Buto). This city was to become a very important sacred centre in the third millennium bc, but it had a deeper history.13 Information about its past history appears to be transmitted by two ritualistic artefacts dating to the late fourth millennium bc—the ceremonial mace-head of king Scorpion and the so called ‘Libyan’ (or ‘Cities’) palette (see Figure 28.1). They add a distinctly ‘historic’ colour to other archaeological data such as the Naqada-culture pottery excavated in Buto.14 The interpretation given here rests on the observation that there is a tightly woven intertextual net between these two artefacts, which suggests that they both refer to the king Scorpion and illustrate his reign.15 Both objects show palm trees, sacred buildings and a scorpion acting with a hoe. In the case of the mace-head the reference to king Scorpion is self-evident: it shows an image of the king, accompanied by the hieroglyphic sign of the 11  Discussion in Morenz 2014. 12  See Morenz 2014. 13  See von der Way, Buto, 1999, in: Bard, Encyclopedia, 180–184; excavations in Buto are going on; for more recent work cf. U. Hartung et al., Tell el Fara’in-Buto. 12 Vorbericht, in: MDAIK 72, 2016, 73–126. Considering the huge size of the tell which is just very partially excavated we can hope for additional archaeological data in the future. 14 Köhler 1998. 15 Morenz 2011.

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The Early Dynastic Period   599

Figure 28.1  The Libyan Palette, c.3100 bc (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE27434).

Scorpion encoding his name. In the case of the palette, the emblematic animal scorpion appears on top of the wall surrounding a sacred building. Reading this against the background of described intertextuality, the fragmentary city palette can also be ascribed to the reign of king Scorpion (the scorpion in the picture represents the name of the king, whereas the other images of animals might represent epithets or titles of this ruler). The mace-head shows an action of the Upper Egyptian ruler in a landscape characterized by a winding arm of the river, with sacred buildings and palm-trees next to it. Since this iconography represents the idealized landscape of Buto as we know it from nearly contemporary sources (Early Dynastic funerary labels),16 as well as later depictions, the scenery depicted can perhaps be interpreted as a trace of Buto’s history and the fate of its inhabitants. On the banks of this arm of the river, dead bodies are shown. They are iconographically characterized as nonEgyptians by their beards and penis sheaths. The left-hand figure in a hieroglyphic image of two wrestlers on the ‘Libyan’ palette has the same beard, characterizing him as non-Egyptian. Furthermore, both wrestlers are naked, another Egyptian iconographic characteristic of foreigners. The lower register of this palette shows what appears to be the foundation of seven places by king Scorpion. On its reverse side, booty is shown: cattle, donkeys, sheep and olive trees, each arranged in a special register. The latter is accompanied by a hieroglyphic monogram, the generic sign for land and a specific sign. While it was traditionally interpreted as a throw-stick (i.e. the hieroglyph for ṯḥ nw-Libya, see Chapter 24 [Libya]), palaeographically it looks more like the hieroglyphic sign for ‘finger’, and as a third option we could think of an archaic snake-sign. Thus, the historical interpretation is blurred by epigraphic uncertainties. Like the hieroglyphic sign of the heron used in the earliest writing of this toponym, the hieroglyph ‘finger’ also encodes the sound dbc, and in later documents the 16  Collected in Helck 1987 (although the drawings are not entirely reliable and need revision).

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600   Ludwig D. Morenz place-name dbc was written with either the heron or finger hieroglyph. According to this interpretation of the monogram, the impressive tribute would therefore derive from the so-called ‘land of Buto’. The capture of the town was followed by the foundation of sacred areas and Buto was integrated into the growing Egyptian state. This interpretation can be supported by a linguistic observation. For Buto we can detect two ancient toponymical strata. The name dbc (written with the hieroglyph of the heron) was used in the earliest Egyptian written documents (dating to c.3200 bc)—a set of labels excavated from tomb U-j in the early necropolis of Abydos. This toponym was replaced in the Early Dynastic Period by ‘Pe and Dep’ (based on the concept of a double-town), but occasionally the older name was used as an alternative (thus a similar case can be made for ancient Mendes, for which the old, probably Semitic name cnp.t was complemented and replaced by the Egyptian ddt). The toponyms Pe and Dep have a proper Egyptian etymology (pe = ‘(royal?) seat’, and for dep various etymologies are possible), while dbc (written with the hieroglyph of a heron probably does not have to mean ‘(city of) the heron’ but could alternatively be interpreted as a phonetic writing of a toponym dbc (= Zebed) by means of the rebus principle. The toponym Zebed might be either a Semitic or a Proto-Berber word written in the ‘Egyptian’ hieroglyphic code. Because of the accidents of fragmentary transmission there remains an inherent uncertainty concerning the proper etymological interpretation of this toponym. From an Egyptian perspective this possible conquest of ‘foreign’ Buto by the people of Upper Egypt, and the (re-?)foundation of sacred areas was an important step on the way to the cultural and political unification of Egypt in the reigns of the kings who held the names ARMS,17 Scorpion18 and Narmer (= ‘aggressive cat-fish’), while we can assume earlier trade relations and cultural contacts with the proto-Egyptian kingdom of Abydos (labels with the place-name dbc in the tomb U-j)19 in the south. The conquered city-state of Buto appears to have been transformed into an important place for Egyptian kingship in the late fourth/ early third millennium bc. The presentation on these ceremonial objects have obvious ideological intentions, celebrating the victorious Upper Egyptian ruler Scorpion and Egyptian nation-building. The perspective of the conquered ‘Buto-people’ is completely lost to us; they therefore remain in the shadow of historiography with just a few traces surviving of their existence and ethnicity. The same holds true for other non-Egyptian ethnic and cultural groups. We might assume that certain elements of their culture were integrated into Egyptian culture, but they are obviously very difficult to detect in the archaeological record.

Development of media In the above discussion of the problem of early Egyptian conceptions of Egyptianness versus otherness, we have already dealt with the issue of availability and interpretation of 17  Ink-inscriptions on cylinder vessels from this king refer to tributes from ‘Upper Egypt’ as well as from ‘Lower Egypt’, see Petrie 1902: pls I.1, III. 30. 18  Note that inscriptions of Scorpion were found in the Memphite area and in Minshat Abu Omar (see Kaiser 1982: 266), but they may well be interpreted as indicators of trade. The readings of the signs are not certain, but Dreyer (1992) suggested reading them as the ideogram for ‘crocodile’. 19 Dreyer 1998.

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The Early Dynastic Period   601 sources. Quite obviously, our knowledge of Egyptian history depends very much on the nature of the sources that have actually survived. Many facets of life are barely reflected in the available sources from the fourth/early third millennium bc. Nevertheless, the growth in historical data (compared to the Predynastic Period) is remarkable. This is mainly due to the development of new media of communication. Certain iconems of power can be traced back as far as the first half of the fourth millennium bc. One example is the ‘red crown’, which first appears on a potsherd from Naqada, dating to the Naqada I Period (c.4000–3500 bc). It is not just a pictorial element, but an iconic ‘metonym’ representing the (anonymous) ruler in a symbolic notation. A rock picture at Wadi Gash, dating to the Naqada IIc Period (c.3450 bc), shows a man with this crown holding a sceptre. This iconography appears to indicate that the ruler was engaged in  a great hunt.20 Both examples come from Upper Egypt; thus, the red crown was not originally associated with Lower Egypt, but developed this geographical link later, from about the time of Narmer (c.3100 bc) onwards. Another potsherd from the Naqada I Period shows a bird above a sacred building, probably a temple and/or palace. This predecessor of the pharaonic ‘serekh’ symbol refers to royal or divine authority. Furthermore, the emblematic scene of smiting the enemy, that is so often shown later in pharaonic art is depicted already on a pot from Abydos dating to approximately 3800 bc.21 These examples of the Naqada I Period referring to the theme of rulership indicate that, as early as the first half of the fourth millennium bc, a rudimentary system of symbolic representation was developed within the framework of a high culture. Compared with these precursors, we can detect an intensification in graphic encodings of specific information (as well as a formalization in the iconographic tradition and style) in the late fourth millennium bc. In order to express certain ideas, objects from the sphere of daily life were transformed into ceremonial objects carrying specific pictorial and written messages in monumental form—semiophors as the historian Krzysztof Pomian called such objects.22 In size, material and decoration they transcend usage in daily life. Semiophors of the late fourth/early third millennium bc, such as decorated combs, knife-handles, maceheads and ceremonial stone palettes, are expressive documents within a rapidly growing system of communication in high culture, and their imagery can be linked with the motifs in temple reliefs that we know from the First Dynasty onwards (see Chapter 22 [Reliefs]). They were produced to celebrate and commemorate the ruler and the elite, but what do we know about their role and presence within society as a whole? A bone cylinder from ancient Hierakonpolis (Oxford, Ashmolean E.4714) bears a depiction of four upright maces. This suggests that objects such as the mace-head of Scorpion or of Nar-mer were displayed in a similar way, either permanently or during festivals.23 We can assume that these ceremonial objects were displayed in temples, but it is possible that the ruler was accompanied by some of these symbols and signs of authority when travelling around the country. Since the depictions frequently refer to specific individual rulers, such as Scorpion or Narmer, this suggests that such objects were replaced whenever a new king assumed power, and probably the old ceremonial objects were stored in a temple.

20  Wainwright 1923; Winkler 1938: pl. XIV. For recent discussion of its counterpart, the white crown, see Hendrickx et al. 2014–15. 21  Dreyer et al. 2003. 22 Pomian 1984. 23 Morenz 2005.

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602   Ludwig D. Morenz A particularly important new medium of communication that was emerging in the late fourth millennium bc was the pictorial-phonetic writing for individual words.24 At this stage, phonetic encoding was used alongside ideographic notation, but except in personal names verbs and grammatical signifiers were not yet notated, so narrative texts could not have been written down. In Abydos this early type of writing can be traced back to 3300/3200 bc.25 It was in use for some five hundred years before the transition to a more developed writing method (including the recording of verbs, particles etc.) that took place in c.2800–2700 bc Rebuses were an important tool for the phoneticization of pictorial images. In the emergence of writing, they were applied particularly to proper names. Cross-cultural contact played a key role here, as can be deduced from the fact that some of the first examples of phonetic notation are proper names of non-Egyptian origin: foreign sounds which had no obvious meaning to the Egyptian ear had to be notated phonetically, e.g. the place-names such as dbc(.t), b3s.t or 3bdw. Contrary to single-cause theories, stressing either ideological or economic needs,26 we can assume various reasons for the development of pictorial-phonetic writing, such as economy, administration, representation and sacred need,27 and we can fix the origins of developed phonetic writing for complex texts in the spheres of religion and representation of power. The second stage of writing was reached in the late Second and early Third dynasties.28 Discoveries during the last few decades, particularly in the royal necropolis of Abydos, indicate quite clearly that the art of writing was not invented by some ingenious individual but that it emerged in the course of a process that was shaped by economic, administrative, representational and religious factors. Accordingly, we should not try to attribute the origins of writing to just one stratum of Egyptian society or to just one place in Egypt. It is likely, however, that the developing urbanized environment was especially important.29

Functions of writing, and its relevance for society in the perspective of sociology of knowledge Knowledge and media of communication are not isolated phenomena—the whole system of communication depends on social conditions and vice versa. The culture of writing is interconnected in many ways with the organization of society. Practical knowledge in the fourth and early third millennium bc cannot be detected in writing or pictures, but it is evidenced in applied technologies, such as the production of pottery, tools, weapons and early architecture. The high-cultural media of writing and pictorial representation of the Early Dynastic Period particularly articulated governmental knowledge of the elite, especially in the 24  See Morenz 2004; while recent research is more sceptical concerning the phonetic dimension of early ‘writing’ in the period of the labels from Abydos tomb Uj (Vernus 2016) there are some strong examples for an early phoneticization of some signs (discussion in Morenz forthcoming). 25 Dreyer 1998. 26  Classic examples are Schott 1950; Schenkel 1983. 27  For contemporaneous Mesopotamia, see Glassner 2000; Selz 2000. 28 Morenz 2013. 29 Vernus 2011.

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The Early Dynastic Period   603 following areas: the sacred world (e.g. gods, holy places, festivals), the sphere of ‘the familiar’ (i.e. ‘domestic politics’, including titles, geographic organization of the country and administration), and the sphere of ‘the other’ (i.e. ‘foreign politics’: tributes, conquests, names of enemies). Furthermore we might assume that already in the First and Second dynasties texts from applied sciences, such as lists of substances for medical prescriptions were written down.30 As mentioned earlier, only ‘hard facts’, such as names, were written down in this first stage of writing. Thus only certain bits of knowledge were recordable. Writing formed just one part of a much bigger system of information dominated by oral communication and supplemented by pictorial representation as well as other techniques. From the later Second and early Third dynasties onwards, narrative texts were written down. The oldest preserved example is found in a shrine in Heliopolis, and recording a speech of the gods to king Djoser,31 but it is possible that the first narrative texts were written in hieratic. The existence of sacral narrative texts (not preserved in the early third millennium) is probably suggested by the titles ‘scribe of the divine book’ (zh3 md3.t ntr) and lector priest (hr.w ḥ b.t) known from the Second Dynasty onwards.32 The few literati (probably less than 1 per cent of the population33), served as authors and archivists of knowledge within the high culture. Rather than being unattached intellectuals (Karl Mannheim’s ‘free-floating intellectuals’), they formed a substantial group of the governing bureaucratic elite having a corporate identity as literati (zh3.w). These specialists of knowledge were of outstanding importance, moulding high culture. The semiophors bear witness to their work and interests, but the surviving objects are just a small part of the past reality. Taking into consideration that only a small percentage of the population participated directly in writing, we have to envisage the problem of power versus public representation. Writing was no neutral technology, but it served power in Early Dynastic Egypt as well as in many other cultures.34 According to later data, and in line with general observations, we might assume that provincial farm-workers would be rather sceptical about central assessments, and indeed the whole system of administration. This governmental knowledge, stored in archives, had the effect of enforcing payment. Thus, the term ‘raiding the archives’ became a topos in Egyptian literature, although there is no specific surviving evidence for considerations about repressive aspects of the new writing technology during the Early Dynastic Period. Due to fragmentary transmission, the early archives are entirely lost, but we can assume that they basically consisted of lists. Papyrus was used from the First Dynasty onwards, and this writing material would have provided sufficient space for longer lists. The hieroglyphic sign for the papyrus-roll (Gardiner’s Y1) is known from the time of the late First-Dynasty ruler Qa’a, and an unused papyrus roll was found in a First-Dynasty tomb at Saqqara.35 Such lists have not survived, therefore we only have the raw material: inscriptions on labels and on pottery, as well as seal-inscriptions (see Chapter 18 [Seals]). Writing was

30 Vernus 1993. 31 Morenz 2002. 32  Lacau and Lauer 1959: 17, n.113. 33 Baines 2007. 34  The relationship between the economic, political and intellectual spheres is discussed from an anthropological perspective in Gellner 1988. 35  Emery 1938: 14.

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604   Ludwig D. Morenz

Figure 28.2  The Ceremonial Palette of Narmer, c.3000 bc (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE14716). After Quibell 1898: pl. XII.

imitated from c.3200 bc onwards,36 because it also enjoyed high prestige among the ­illiterate members of the population. Writing was an important and prestigious technique of the new high culture, but this does not necessarily imply that the rulers themselves were literate; they may have employed literati to write and read on their behalf. Figures such as the so-called ‘butler’ (wdpw), portrayed as a man probably carrying a seal (the iconographic identification is not entirely certain) at his neck and standing behind the king on the Narmer Palette (Cairo, Egyptian Museum, JE32169; see Figure 28.2) are likely candidates for the role of ‘keeper of the royal seal’. A seal inscription from Tarkhan points in the same direction, in that it contains the name of king Narmer and the title of vizier (ṯ ꝫty).37 As the keeper of the seal of king Narmer, the vizier himself remained anonymous in the shadow of his ruler. A number of royal seals have survived from each of the First-Dynasty rulers: for instance, at least eight different seals of king Aha have been preserved. Hence different persons and institutions were authorized to use a royal seal, and these seals seem to indicate the existence of a royal administration and the development of a bureaucratic elite close to the king. How was writing gendered in Early Dynastic Egypt? This new cultural technology was a predominantly masculine activity. Most (if not all) users were men and even the inventory 36  Morenz 2004: 94.

37  Morenz 2004: 240.

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The Early Dynastic Period   605 of signs is quite clearly biased. We know far more signs of men than women. It therefore may not only be a result of fragmentary transmission that the earliest signs show men and masculine activities (e.g. archery), but no women at all.38 In Early Dynastic Egypt the art of writing was practised from Elephantine in the south to Buto and Bubastis in the north, basically in urban centres but not in rural areas. The ability to encode and decode messages in the same way in such distant locations as Buto and Elephantine would have required a common method of scribal training throughout Egypt. Written documents were found particularly in the Protodynastic and Early Dynastic necropolis of the elite in Abydos. We might therefore assume the existence of a school of writing attached to the royal residence in Abydos, and it is possible that all the early literati were educated at this hypothetical school. However, it seems more likely that offshoots were established in various different places at an early date, or that individual scribes taught other people the art of writing. At this point we once more arrive at the search for the origins of writing, but this time from the perspective of a sociology of knowledge. Most of the early scribes remain anonymous and we cannot capture them as individuals. On the other hand we can postulate two ideal types as promoters of writing: ‘rentiers’ and ‘speculators’. Rentiers (of knowledge) live on cultural capital and reproduce it while speculators (of knowledge) stake on radical innovations with a high yield39. During the process of the development of writing, speculators would probably have made ‘wild’ innovations such as the first applications of the rebus principle to encode words phonetically. Rentiers would then have adopted and developed these graphic innovations systematically creating an inventory of signs and various other conventions of graphic communication.

A case-study in media, ideology, and politics: the dual kingship of Narmer The specific readability of the newly developed art of words and images will now be discussed in a close reading of one specific Early Dynastic semiophor. In doing so, the historiographic as well as mythological question of the ‘unification of the two lands’ (Egyptian zm3 t3.wj) will receive special attention. The ‘unification of the two lands’ appears to have been an Egyptian sacro-political concept of utmost importance for royal ideology. It was considered to be the essential basis of the rule of the ‘dual king’ (nsw bjtj). In this title probably a semitic (bjtj) and a hamitic (nsw)40 word are combined.41 This linguistic detail shows the impact of different cultural traditions on a typical Egyptian phenomenon such as ‘pharaoh’ rather clearly. The title nsw bjtj first appears in the titles of De(we)n, the fifth ruler of the First dynasty (c.2950 bc), but it might well be older. On the principal register of the Narmer Palette, this ruler is shown with the white crown smiting a helpless enemy (see Figure  28.2). The dress of the king is highly symbolic. 38  Discussion in Morenz 2013: 352–72. 39 Burke 1994. 40  See Peust 2007 for a suggested etymological relationship between Egyptian nsw and Sumerian ensi. 41  Suggested in Schneider 1993.

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606   Ludwig D. Morenz He wears a pendant comprising four cow-heads, corresponding to the four cow-heads on top of the palette. They may perhaps indicate Narmer’s domination of all of the four cardinal points of the world. Narmer thus appears as his incarnation living on earth, conceptualized as a divine king. Furthermore, this major image of Narmer’s triumph over his enemy is probably a direct reference to the divine sphere. An emblematic sign shows the partially anthropomorphized divine falcon with a human arm holding the anthropomorphized, human-headed symbol of ‘papyrus-land’ on a rope. This rope is pulled through the nose of the papyrus-land, and the brutal emblematic sign as a whole is readable as ‘Horus carries away papyrus-land’, conveying strong ideological significance. The personal name Narmer is written above the figure of the king while the anonymous servant following behind him is designated as ‘butler’ (wdpw) of the ‘king’. He presents a pair of sandals, and indeed the sandals have a specific meaning in this context. The king himself is shown barefooted when smiting his enemy and when visiting the battlefield, where he stands before ten dead enemies. His barefootedness indicates the sacred nature of his actions and perhaps refers to the concept of a holy war. Ritual purity is also indicated by the water-pot in the other hand of the royal butler. The place of the battlefield is designated as ‘big gate’ (c3-wr), a toponym also known from contemporary inscriptions. The semographic signs accompanying the dead enemies in the lower register probably indicate their places of habitation: thus, one symbol seems to refer to a walled settlement, while another perhaps represents a type of structure occupied by nomads. Traditionally the two ideograms written to the right of the man being smitten by Narmer have been interpreted as a phonetic rendition of the personal name ‘Wash’, written in syllabic orthography, and designating Narmer’s opponent.42 Close palaeographic observation shows, however, that the first sign is not a harpoon (wc, = Gardiner’s sign T 21) but a butchering knife (T 30), while the second one is the lake-hieroglyph (N 37). Thus the two hieroglyphs do not represent a personal name but provide a kind of brutal caption for the scene: ‘Butchering water-land!’. The pairs of signs thus perhaps corresponds to the highly mythologized semogram of the personified ‘papyrus-land’. The overall theme of subduing enemies continues on the other side of the palette. It shows a royal victory-procession towards a row of dead enemies. Four standard-bearers followed by a man with a long wig and panther-skin march in front of the king. Iconographically (in terms of size), the man with the panther-skin is the second most important figure next to Narmer. The inscription designates him as ‘the young man’ (t3.t, with the final t representing a diminutive; perhaps therefore meaning ‘heir apparent’).43 All of the enemies are shown bound, decapitated, and with their heads placed between their legs. In addition, the penises of all but one man have been removed and placed above their heads.44 The counting of hands and penises is known to have been a common ‘administrative’ practice in Egyptian wars in later times, but primarily cutting of the penis of a dead man might have been seen as a magical act to deprive him of power. Thus, it was another key element of the ‘holy war’, and above the royal boat, king Narmer is mythologized in this battlefield-scenario as ‘Horus, the harpooner’ (Ḥ r msn). What does the term ‘sacristy’ (dbc), written behind the figure of Narmer mean in this context? The picture shows only a rectangle specified by the hieroglyph dbc. Narmer is 42  Among others, see Morenz 2002b. 44  Davies and Friedman 2002.

43  See discussion in Morenz 2003b.

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The Early Dynastic Period   607 shown here wearing the red instead of the white crown. This iconographic change perhaps indicates the transformation of Narmer into a bjtj-king, which could have physically happened in some form of sacristy. Both sides of the palette express the following basic message: ‘the nsw-king Narmer transforms into bjtj-king by subduing the ruler of papyrusland/water-land and is now the dual king’. This ceremonial palette appears to be a product of royal ideology as developed in the process of nation building, showing the concept of a national kingdom of Egypt with a universal claim sanctioned by the god Horus. It ascribes a superhuman status to Narmer. At least in Egyptian ideology this war against ‘papyrus-land/water-land’ was evidently considered the central event in the creation of a unified Egypt, with Narmer as the first ‘dual king’ (nsw bjtj). The ideological nature of the semiophor makes it harder to assess the historicity of the event. In particular the perspective of the ‘victim’ remains completely unknown.

Processes and structures in Early Dynastic history In order to understand the Early Dynastic Period, we should not only consider events, ideological frameworks or ways of communication, but we have to assess certain long-term structures of Egyptian history. Scholars tend to work with an ideal opposition, such as farmers versus pastoralists/nomads, but the latter are quite difficult to detect in the archaeological record. We might assume a rather complex relationship between groups with different socio-economic ways of life. From the Egyptian perspective of the Pharaonic Period, nomadism was conceptualized as the distinctly other, a phenomenon situated on the edges of Egypt. Thus nomads were considered rapacious and dangerous to the order of Egypt, probably from the fourth millennium bc onwards. The process of state formation in Egypt was by no means monolithic, but very complex indeed, presumably involving such factors as trade, technologies, ideology, political ambition, media of communication, stratification of society. Due to fragmentary transmission it is probably impossible to draw a properly balanced picture of this process. One major driving force, however, was probably a vision of universal order related to the Egyptian concept of Maat.45 The development of discourse and ideology relating to Maat, and the process of state formation might perhaps have had mutual impacts. It should be noted that the root mꜣꜥ is known from the First Dynasty onwards, and, in addition, the topic of ‘subjugation of chaos’ is important among the semiophors of the Predynastic Period. Smaller farming communities may have been relatively unaffected by the process of nation building and state formation. From the second half of the fourth millennium bc various areas perhaps developed into proto-states, each with a chief (wr) at their head (although see Chapter 27 [Predynastic] for an alternative view on this).46 Urban settlements, such as Abydos, Hierakonpolis and Naqada may have formed the cores of these proto-states. Certainly inscriptions on the early labels from tomb U-j at Abydos (Naqada IIIA1: c.3150 bc) mention these places, from Elephantine in the south to Buto and Bubastis in the north, thus 45 Assmann 1990.

46  For this understanding see Morenz 2004: 80–5.

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608   Ludwig D. Morenz perhaps indicating a network of trade relations as well as diplomatic contacts (although it is worth noting that, geographically, middle Egypt seems to have participated less in this process). The second half of the fourth millennium bc might be described as the period of city states in the Nile valley, but gradually This/Abydos and Hierakonpolis became dominant. The chiefdom/kingdom of This/Abydos might be considered as the nucleus of the unified Egyptian state, and thus also its capital, and the burial place for its rulers during the Early Dynastic Period. The transition from a system of city states into a kind of territorial state was a significant development distinguishing the Protodynastic from the Early Dynastic Period. Indeed, ancient Egypt is the first territorial state we know in world history47. From the time of Narmer onwards, a central administration was developed to fit the needs of the new territorial state, based on a small bureaucratic elite surrounding the king. The funerary equipment provides a possible indication of the social and economic stratification of society at this date, perhaps allowing elite, middle class and commoners to be distinguished. By the end of the fourth millennium bc clear divisions of labour had developed, as evidenced, for instance, by a large brewery excavated at Hierakonpolis.48 The enormous quantity of luxurious objects produced for the elite is amply demonstrated by the  30,000 travertine (Egyptian alabaster) vases found in just one gallery beneath the Third-Dynasty Step-pyramid of Djoser at Saqqara.49 It should be noted that not all of these vases were manufactured at the time of Djoser. Objects from his predecessors of the First and Second Dynasties were included in the funerary equipment of Djoser, and one inscription even refers to Narmer. Thus we might assume a deliberate intention to include all of the earlier rulers in order to create a symbolic continuity from Djoser down to the ‘unification of the two lands’. This sense of continuity achieved by recycling older objects can be traced back to the First Dynasty. Some inscriptions on stone vessels from the step-pyramid bear a sequence of four royal names of the First Dynasty: De(we)n—Anedjib—Semerkhet—Qa’a, indicating that some of the vessels were used continuously. These stone vessels can be linked with individuals holding the title ‘overseer of sculptors and producers of (stone-)vases’,50 who included members of the high elite such as the famous Imhotep, credited with the design of Djoser’s pyramid. Within this stage of cultural development, various people specialized in certain professions. Thus we know about prospectors searching for precious metals and minerals,51 who, on the one hand, appear to have been marginal figures, but on the other hand provided the material basis for Egypt’s ‘golden’ high culture. A seal inscription from a royal tomb52 refers to the ‘leadership of the prospectors of the Horus(-king) Sekhemib (aka Peribsen)’, providing special gifts to the royal household. Social groups such as these prospectors must have shared a substantial practical knowledge that would have earned prestige within society. Fields of culture such as economy, administration, government or religion cannot easily be isolated as self-sufficient subsystems at this date. Thus, on the labels of the Early Dynastic Period pieces of information that we would now categorize as economical, historical or 47 Yoffee 2005. 48 Geller 1992. 49  Aufrère 200; for the inscription of Narmer see PD IV, pl. I, 1, and for the sequence of four royal names see Lacau and Lauer 1959: pl. IV, nos 19–21. 50  I would suggest reading the second part of the title as mnḫ ḥb.w with the literal meaning ‘polisher (= the one who makes smooth with the chisel) of the (stone-)vases’. 51  One of the hieroglyphs appears to portray the bag used for collecting precious materials. 52  Kaplony 1963: Abb. 755; see also a black cylinder-seal in the British Museum (29463).

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The Early Dynastic Period   609 ideological were closely interwoven. The famous ivory label of king De(we)n (British Museum EA55586) is somewhat exceptional in this respect, since it simply shows a scene of the king smiting an enemy, accompanied by the inscription: ‘First occasion: smiting the East(erners)’53. A pair of sandals depicted on the other side of the label may refer to sandals as material items to which the label was attached, but it may also be using the image of sandals to allude to an idea expressed elsewhere in the royal epithet ‘useful sandal against the foreign country’.54 Thus royal ideology appears to dominate the surviving cultural scenery at this early date. We might assume a close interconnection between royal residence(es) and some temples for the late fourth and early third millennia bc. Thus the term pr-wr, primarily designating the most important Upper Egyptian sanctuary, probably also included reference to an associated royal residence. Furthermore we know of a building serving as a stage for the royal cult: the ‘fort’ of Khasekhemwy at Hierakonpolis.55 Early temple areas, as we know them from Hierakonpolis or Elephantine, appear to indicate the great significance of sacred places and institutions in the Early Dynastic Period56. Furthermore, a seal-inscription of the Sobek temple from Crocodilopolis might be interpreted as surviving evidence for a temple economy partly based on writing.57 By the end of the fourth millennium bc, temples appear to have existed as sacred, ideological, administrative and economic centres. They were closely related to the king, but had some autonomy as well. The temples and holy places had various degrees of size and importance, but again the scarcity of data does not allow a precise model. Various small inscriptions (such as the ebony label, Philadelphia E9396, from royal tomb B19 at Abydos) refer to expeditions searching for copper and turquoise in Sinai, while a series of monumental hieroglyphic rock inscriptions ranging from the Predynastic to the end of the Second Dynasty has been found in Wadi Ameyra (southwestern Sinai).58 The  main centre from which Egyptian expeditions were dispatched to Sinai (via Wadi Hammamat and the Red Sea) seems to have been Koptos, and here we find a remarkable number of archaic statuary including the colossi of Min59.

Events in Early Dynastic history The idea of history of ‘great men’ has become a dubious historical approach for various reasons. On the other hand, however, the data supporting ancient Egyptian proto-historiography are very much dominated by references to the king, and our main sources for Early Dynastic history are annalistic inscriptions referring to individual rulers. They contain references to actions that might be categorized as political (wars against enemies), administrative (cattle-counts) or sacred (erection of statues and temples, celebration of festivals), each 53  Its authenticity may not be beyond doubt because we can detect about twenty iconographic particularities, and the fact that it does not come from a controlled excavation. This issue needs further research but there remains a certain caveat. 54  The relief of Khasekhem, Cairo JE33895, see Godron 1968. 55 Alexanian 1998, 1999. 56 Bussmann 2010. 57  Morenz 2004: 156–161. 58 Tallet 2016. 59  Kemp et al 2000.

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610   Ludwig D. Morenz action being related to a specific regnal year. Thus, some inscriptions record that rulers such as Aha or Djer travelled to Buto, a place of high ideological importance for Early Dynastic kingship conceptualized as the seat of the Lower Egyptian crown-goddess, Neith. The early kings used to go to Buto in order to celebrate festivals, and it is possible that this royal tradition was inaugurated by Scorpion, but the importance of Buto as a sacred centre might date back even earlier.60 It is noticeable that dating in the First Dynasty referred exclusively to eponymous events, while, from the Second Dynasty onwards, a numerical dimension later came into play: dating according to yearly or biannual ‘counts’ of produce.61 The reference to specific events is based on an oral conception of history, with special events structuring time and memory, while dating according to regular counts reflects bureaucratic needs within the new administrative framework, utilizing the new technology of writing. The first known annalistic inscription celebrates king Narmer’s defeat of his enemy Nuw,62 and it is likely that the system of written eponymous data was introduced in this reign, although it may have had oral predecessors. Such eponymous data served the administration of the new territorial state and ascribed glory to the king.63 The lunar calendar that is hypothesized to have been in use in the Predynastic Period was replaced by a civil calendar created in the Early Dynastic Period.64 Continuous annals listing the year names were probably kept in archives from the First Dynasty onwards, most likely on papyrus-rolls. The first complex annals that survive are written in stone: the so-called Palermo Stone,65 covering the period from the mytho-historic past to the Fifth Dynasty (which is when it is assumed to have been created). Another important source for historiography are royal names that appear to contain possible programmatic statements. De(we)n, for instance, held the throne-name Khasty (‘the foreigner’), which probably does not refer to foreign origins of the ruler himself but to victorious wars against foreign countries,66 particularly his activities in southwestern Sinai. Indeed, annalistic inscriptions attest to military campaigns of De(we)n against Asiatics and so-called ‘dog-people’. It is interesting to note that dozens of Syro-Palestinian vessels dating to the reign of De(we)n have been found, although these may be interpreted as booty, tribute or the result of trade. Captured foreign women were integrated into the royal harem, as we know from seven surviving stelae of women bearing the identical epithets Ḥ tm(.t) Ḥ r—‘provider of Horus’— and sḳ r.t ḫ ꝫs.tj—‘conquered of Khasty’. As an act of integration, these women acquired Egyptian names such as ‘Neith is high’ (ḳ ꝫ N.t) on stele UCL 14273. A funerary stele from the time of the First-Dynasty ruler Semerkhet67 appears to allude to a similar scenario since the name of the woman is Jtj-ḥ r (‘the one taken by the Horus(-king)’. From a cross-cultural perspective such abduction of women during wartime is a well-known occurrence. Victorious wars constituted one of the favourite topics in pictures and written sources of  the Early Dynastic Period. The inscriptions appear to provide specific data, linked to general icons such as the scene of smiting the enemy. Imported pottery, depictions of foreign traders and written sources provide evidence for extensive trade-relations that constituted another important aspect of Egyptian foreign politics, although, within the Egyptian ideological framework, trade was usually presented (or ideologically re-designated) as a 60 Morenz 2011. 61 Baud 2000. 62  For the reading of the name Nuw, see Morenz 2002. 63  For the usage of year-names in Mesopotamia, see Horsnell 2003. 64 Spalinger 2002. 65  Redford 1986; Wilkinson 2000a. 66 Godron 1990. 67  RT I, 31.34.

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The Early Dynastic Period   611 process of reception of tribute. Luxury goods such as oil, wine and precious metals were particularly exchanged, and cedar-wood was imported as early as the First Dynasty.68 Various products such as lapis-lazuli from Beluchistan can be taken as likely evidence for more distant trade via middlemen.69 Thus, the early Egyptian state was closely connected with the cultures of its neighbours.70 Furthermore the high cultures of Mesopotamia and Elam appear to have had a certain impact on the formation of the Egyptian high culture, as some have hypothesized on the basis of such data as the decoration on the Gebel el-Arak knife-handle, architectural features (palace-façade) as well as categories of objects, such as the adoption of the cylinder seal (see Chapter 18 [Seals]).71 As we have seen, king Narmer may perhaps be regarded as the founder of the Egyptian unified territorial state, and indeed seal inscriptions containing the names of the kings of the First Dynasty in chronological order appear to begin with Narmer. One seal lists the royal names from Narmer to De(we)n and Meretneith, while the other spans from Narmer to Qa’a.72 It was perhaps during Narmer’s reign that the concept of divine kingship was shaped, but contrary to this ideological image we can detect traces of conflicts and competing claims of power. A good example of the latter is the era of the Second-Dynasty Seth-King Peribsen. Certain conflicts are rather obvious, but our sources are still very scarce. In particular the reference to the god Seth instead of Horus is an apparent breach in tradition. This is accentuated by the fact the fact that Peribsen was buried in Abydos like the rulers of the First Dynasty, while his predecessors in the Second Dynasty were buried in Saqqara from Hetepsekhemwy onwards.73 An inscription on the statue of his successor Khasekhemwy refers to the subduing of ‘47,209 papyrus-people’, suggesting a new unification of the country after what may have been a north–south divide under Peribsen. This scenario is perhaps supported by inscriptions on stone vessels referring to the ‘year of fighting the northern enemy’, combined with the emblematic representation of the Upper Egyptian crown goddess Nekhbet of Hierakonpolis.74 Furthermore, some monuments of Khasekhemwy appear to refer to wars against ‘Nubia’ and ‘Asia’, thus evoking the idea of active foreign politics. A granite stele (Cairo JE 33895) shows the personification of t3-stj-Nubia subdued by the king, while a relief fragment from the ‘fort’ in Hierakonpolis mentions the ‘fourth occasion of [beating] st-t-Asia’. In addition, cf. the title ‘overseer of foreign lands’ (jmj r3 ḫ 3s.t), is first documented in the reign of Khasekhemwy.75 Unfortunately, however, our data are too limited to reconstruct a specific historical scenario of Second-Dynasty foreign policy. One of the first Egyptian kings from Abydos, probably Narmer, founded a capital with the programmatic name ‘walls of the mace’, subsequently reinterpreted as ‘white walls’ (and corresponding to the city later known as Memphis) in the north.76 It was a counterpole to Abydos and Hierakonpolis, perhaps in order to escape certain restrictions of tradition, to indicate the beginning of a new era, and to connect the ‘two lands’ (t3.wj) geo-politically. Note that the new capital was not build on a virgin location, since the graves in Helwan predate the First Dynasty. The rise of Memphis probably caused the decline of Tarkhan 68  For an annalistic inscription from the time of Qa’a, see Kahl 2004: 365. 69  For lapis-lazuli trade, see Bavay 1997. 70 Hartung 2001. 71  For decorated knife handles: Dreyer 1999, for cross cultural contacts: Sievertsen 1992. 72  Dreyer et al. 1996, 72f. 73 Morenz 2007. 74  Quibell 1900: pl. XXXVI. 75  Alexanian 1998; Kaplony 1963, fig. 269. 76  See discussion in Morenz 2012.

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612   Ludwig D. Morenz (and various other population centres in the general Memphite region) by the end of the First Dynasty. In the Early Dynastic Period, the country was probably already organized into territorial units thus expanding a net of high culture into rural areas. The oldest emblems of nomes clearly predate the Third Dynasty while the system of nomoi was developed in the Early Dynastic Period.77 During the process of emergence of the nomes, the old urban centres probably became transformed into their capitals. In order to fit the needs of the territorial system some smaller settlements may have been turned into local capitals regardless of the degree to which their urban environment had developed. Furthermore, royal foundations were established by each ruler in various places of the country—particularly in the Delta— probably in order to support his mortuary cult. This process no doubt had a significant impact in shaping the countryside. The earliest attested royal domain founded by king Djer is ‘Horus who advances the mountain’, and seal impressions attest various managers of this domain, named as Am-ka, Ankh-ka, Medjet-ka and Hema-ka.78 The king does not appear to have lived exclusively in a few residences but instead he appears to have travelled the country on a regular basis (the Egyptian concept is expressed by the term šmsw ḥ r), stopping in certain places to perform sacred rites, dispense justice and collect taxes. Usually he was accompanied by members of the elite. From the First Dynasty onwards special officials were engaged in the counts. Thus an annalistic inscription from the time of the First-Dynasty ruler Semerkhet provides the title ‘calculator’ (ḥ sb.w),79 the ‘determinative’ sign for which is the seal ideogram, therefore evidently referring to an administration based on writing. The court did not exclusively collect taxes and gifts for festivals (as in the case of travertine vessels for use in the sed-festival),80 but prestigious objects were given to various persons, thus perhaps creating social bonds and expanding participation in high culture. Numerous objects with inscriptions from Narmer were found in various places in both Egypt and Palestine, suggesting that by this kind of means writing and other elements of high culture were being made popular and subsequently imitated locally.81 This system of representation and participation could perhaps have led to acceptance of Egyptian high culture in other strata of society.

Names and individuals in Early Dynastic history The actors involved in Early Dynastic history were human beings and this basic individual condition should never be forgotten. However, the available sources of the Early Dynastic Period usually restrict our knowledge simply to personal names. 77  For the emblems/hieroglyphs of early nomes see Engel 2006. 78 Kaplony 1963. 79  G. Dreyer et al., MDAIK 52, 1996, Taf. 14d. 80  Aufrère 2003: 4–6. Note that there are inscriptions such as: ‘brought before the king at the occasion of the Sed-festival (by) Iyenkhenemu’, see Lacau and Lauer 1959:6–7, no. 5. 81 Morenz 2003a.

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The Early Dynastic Period   613 The Protodynastic labels from Abydos mention territories, as well as individual local rulers (wr.w) such as hyena, jackal or elephant/rhinoceros. All of these names refer to animals that appear to somehow represent authority, and this pattern remained relevant during the Second Dynasty. Our knowledge of the Protodynastic rulers remains very partial, but at least the names of the kings from Narmer onwards are preserved fairly well. The First Dynasty begins with Narmer and ends with Anedjib, while the Second Dynasty spans from Hetepsekhemwy to Khasekhemwy.82 A few rulers of the Second Dynasty, such as Neferkara and Neferkasokar are not confirmed by contemporary sources but only mentioned in later documents. Thus their very existence still remains conjectural. On the other hand an inscription from the magazines of Djoser written with the hieroglyph of a bird provides the Horus-name (b3 ?) of an otherwise unknown king of either the First or Second Dynasty or the Predynastic Period83. History was probably more complex than we tend to think. The royal wives were shown less prominently than the kings themselves, but some figures such as Mer(et)-neith, wife of ‘snake’ (possible readings of the ideographic writing are Djet or Wadji) and mother of De(we)n, gained special prominence. A seal inscription from the tomb of De(we)n contains a list of royal names from Narmer onwards. It ends with the signs denoting ‘the kings mother Mer(et)-neith’, which has been interpreted as indicating that she acted as a regent during De(we)n’s minority. Her regency is the first known occasion of a woman holding ‘pharaonic’ power. Various members of the elite also appear in our sources by names and titles from the First Dynasty onwards. Thus, we know of a man called Wus, whose funerary stele at Abydos described him as ‘sealer of the bjtj-king, friend and scribe’.84 These titles must surely allude both to his competence in writing and to his membership of a bureaucratic elite close to the king. Our Early Dynastic view of private individuals is limited to such interpretations based on prosopography, whereas, from the Old Kingdom onwards, these self-presentations became more narrative in style, thus providing more detailed information. Names of gods such as Ptah, Hathor or Min were fixed in writing at an equally early date. In parallel with the Early Dynastic processes of cultural and political unification, an Egyptian pantheon was gradually developed (or at least revealed by the textual sources). Certain gods, such as Horus, gained general acceptance within the territory of Egypt, and it is reasonably likely that his relative importance and close association with kingship may be explained by the significance of Hierakonpolis, the town where his cult appears to have originated, in the Protodynastic and Early Dynastic Periods. The literal meaning of the name of Nebra, the second king of the Second Dynasty, contains a strong theological statement: ‘my lord is Re’,85 presumably indicating a specific focus on the cult of the sun-god, which would be very important for Egyptian religion in the centuries to come. For the historian, the religious system of Egypt is a highly dynamic element within its overall cultural development.

82 Dodson 1996. 83  Lacau and Lauer 1959: Fasc.1:Taf. IV.7. 84  Petrie 1900: pl. 31, no. 43. 85 Kahl 2007.

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614   Ludwig D. Morenz

Memories of the Early Dynastic Period in later Egyptian history In addition to artefacts and monuments that actually date to the First and Second dynasties, the Early Dynastic Period also appears in later sources. Having in many respects been the formative stage for Egyptian culture, this period became particularly mythologized through time. Thus, writing was later not considered to have been the result of a complex long-term human process of development but as an invention of the god Thoth. In many other ancient cultures, the art of writing was considered to have been a divine contrivance, although in early Mesopotamia it was ascribed to the king Enmerkar of Uruk, conceptualized as a cultural hero. Similar ‘cultural heroes’ were shaped in ancient Egyptian historical discourse, particularly King Menes and the royal ‘architect’ Imhotep. While Imhotep, vizier of Djoser, seems to have definitely been a real historical figure, the case of king Menes is much less clear: he may be identified with Narmer or with Aha, but it seems more likely that we should understand him as an invented tradition.86 From the time of Narmer onwards, we can see traces of a proto-historiography, particularly in the form of annalistic inscriptions on labels. In annals and king-lists the First Dynasty appears as an entirely new epoch, while the earlier rulers blur into mytho-history. Thus the group of the akh-spirits of the Turin Royal Canon from the New Kingdom (a king-list on papyrus, supplemented by a few annalistic notes) can be interpreted as a reminiscence of various Protodynastic rulers, but such a historical reading remains highly hypothetical. From the Middle Kingdom onwards, the tomb of Djer (the third ruler of the First Dynasty) was considered to be the tomb of the god Osiris.87 Hence the distant Early Dynastic events and actors were reinterpreted as mytho-history. We may wonder whether (and how) Early Dynastic history is reflected in the later Egyptian religious literature (particularly the Pyramid Texts), but this much-debated question has not yet been properly resolved.

Epilogue: the dark side of history Due to the character of the sources available to us, this Early Dynastic historical survey has concentrated on high culture in terms of data relating to both society and surviving media. This should not allow us to forget that the literate elite represented only a very small fraction of ancient Egyptian society, the majority of which remained illiterate. Although barely accessible to us through the surviving texts, this popular culture provided the fertile ground upon which Egyptian high culture was based. Furthermore, the demarcation lines between social groups were probably never crystal-clear. Despite our assumption of an unquestioned cultural representivity we have to at least consider the possibility of social conflicts regarding 86 Allen 1992. 87  This might be due to a similarity of names, as in the case of the Manethonian Ουενεϕηζ which sounds similar to the god’s name Wnn-nfr (Οννωϕριζ), see Fecht 1960: §§103–6.

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The Early Dynastic Period   615 interpretative authority. However, tradition provides rather scarce evidence in that respect. Moreover, actors of Egyptian culture were not writing on a tabula rasa but carried with them an enormous cultural package containing language, traditions, techniques and methods, even in the fourth and early third millennia bc. These traditions had to be used and reproduced by any actor in order to encode whatever he or she wanted to ‘say’, thereby gradually transforming the disposition of power in a both conscious and subconscious process.

Suggested reading For a brief account of the history of the Early Dynastic Period, aimed at a relatively popular audience, see Ciałowicz and Adam 1997, and for various essays on specialized aspects of the topic, see Spencer 1996, Friedman and Fiske 2008 and Midant-Reynes et al. 2017. For more text- and image-oriented approaches to the period, see Morenz  2013 and  2014a, and for more object-oriented discussion, see Kuhn 2015. For the most recent English-language academic synthesis of the sources, see Wilkinson 1999.

Bibliography Alexanian, N. 1998. Die Reliefdekoration des Chasechemui aus dem sogenan- nten Fort in Hierakonpolis. In N. Grimal (ed.), Les criteres de datation stylistiques a 1’Ancien Empire. Bibliotheque d’Etude 120. Cairo: IFAO, 1–29. Alexanian, N. 1999. The Relief Decoration of Khasekhemwy at the Fort, Nekhen News 11: 14–15. Allen, J. 1992. Menes the Memphite, Göttinger Miszellen 126: 19–22. Assmann, J. 1990. Maat. Gerechtigkeit und Unsterblichkeit im Alten Ägypten. Munich: C.H. Beck. Aufrère, S. 2003. L’origine de l’albâtre à la Ire dynastie d’après les inscriptions des vases provenant des galeries de la pyramide à degrés, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Oriental 103: 1–15. Baines, J. 2007. Visual and Written Culture in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: OUP. Baud, M. 2000. Les frontières des quatre premières dynasties, Bulletin de la Société d’Égyptologie, Genève 149: 32–46. Bavay, L. 1997. Matière première et commerce à longue distance: le lapis-lazuli et l’Egypte prédynastique, Archéo-Nil 7: 79–100. von Beckerath, J. 1999. Handbuch der Ägyptischen Königsnamen. 2nd ed. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. van den Brink, E.C.M. and Levy, T.E. (eds) 2002. Egypt and the Levant. Interrelations from the 4th through the Early 3rd Millennium b.c.e.: New Approaches to Anthropological Archaeology. London and New York: Continuum. Burke, P. 1994. Venice and Amsterdam. Cambridge: Polity Press. Bussmann, R. 2010. Die Provinztempel Ägyptens von der 0. bis zur 11. Dynastie. Archäologie und Geschichte einer gesellschaftlichen Institution zwischen Residenz und Provinz. PdÄ 30. Boston, Leiden: Brill Ciałowicz K. and Adams, B. 1997. Protodynastic Egypt. Princes Risborough: Shire. Davies, W.V. and Friedman, R. 2002. The Narmer Palette: an Overlooked Detail. In Z.  Hawass, M. Eldamaty, and M. Trad (eds), Egyptian Museum Collections around the World. Studies for the Centennial of the Egyptian Museum I. Cairo: Supreme Council for Antiquities, 243–6. Dodson, A. 1996. The Mysterious 2nd Dynasty, KMT: A Modern Journal of Ancient Egypt 7/2: 19–31.

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616   Ludwig D. Morenz Dreyer, G. 1993. Horus Krokodil, ein Gegenkönig der Dynastie 0. In R. Friedman and B. Adams (eds), Followers of Horus: Studies Dedicated to Michael Allen Hoffman. Oxford: Oxbow, 259–63. Dreyer, G. 1998. Umm el-Qaab I. Das prädynastische Königsgrab U-j und seine frühen Schriftzeugnisse. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Dreyer, G. 1999. Motive und Datierung der prädynastischen Messergriffe. In C. Ziegler (ed.), L’art de l’Ancien Émpire Égyptienne. Paris: La Documentation Française, 195–226. Dreyer, G. et al. 1996. Umm el-Qaab. Nachuntersuchungen im frühzeitlichen Königsfriedhof, 7./8. Vorbericht, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 52: 11–81. Dreyer, G. et al. 2003. Umm el-Qaab. Nachuntersuchungen im frühzeitlichen Königsfriedhof 13./14./15. Vorbericht, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 59: 67–138. Emery, W.B. 1938. Excavations at Saqqara. The Tomb of Hemaka. Cairo: Government Press. Engel, E.M. 2006. Die Entwicklung des Systems der Nomoi in der ägyptischen Frühzeit, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 62: 151–60. Eyre, C.J. 2000. Pouvoir central et pouvoirs locaux: problèmes historiographiques et méthodologiques. In B. Menu (ed.), Égypte pharaonique: pouvoir, société. Paris: L’Harmattan, 15–39. Fecht, G. 1960. Wortakzent und Silbenstruktur. Glückstadt, Hamburg and New York: J.J. August. Friedman, R.F. and Fiske, P.N. (eds) 2008. Egypt at its Origins 3. Proceedings of the International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’. Leuven: Peeters. Geller, J.R. 1992. Predynastic Beer Production at Hierakonpolis, Upper Egypt: Archaeological ­Evidence and Anthropological Implications, PhD thesis, Washington University. Gellner, E. 1988. Plough, Sword and Book: The Structure of Human History. London: Collins. Glassner, J.-J. 2000. Écrire à Sumer: l’invention du cunéiforme. Paris: Seuil. Godron, G. 1968. A propos d’une inscription de l’Horus Khâsekhem, Chronique d’Égypte 43: 34–5. Godron, G. 1990. Études sur l’Horus Den et quelques problèmes de l’Égypte archaïque. Geneva: Patrick Cramer. Hartung, U., 2001. Umm el-Qaab II: Importkeramik aus dem Friedhof U in Abydos (Umm el-Qaab) und die Beziehungen Ägyptens zu Vorderasien im 4. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Hartung, U. 2014–15. Der Friedhof U in Umm el-Qaab und die funeräre Landschaft von Abydos in prädynastischer Zeit, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 70–1: 175–92. Hartung, U. 2016. Tell el Fara’in-Buto. 12 Vorbericht, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 72: 73–126. Hendrickx, S. et al. 2014. The Origin and Early Significance of the White Crown, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 70: 227–38. Helck, W. 1987. Untersuchungen zur Thinitenzeit. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Hoffman, M.A., Hamroush, H.A., and Allen, R.O. 1986. A Model of Urban Development for the Hieraconpolis Region from the Predynastic through Old Kingdom Times, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 23: 157–87. Horsnell, M.J.A. 2003. Why Year-Names. An Exploration into the Reasons for their Use, Orientalia 72: 196–203. Kaiser, W. and Dreyer, G. 1982. Umm el Qaab. Nachuntersuchungen im frühzeitlichen Königsfriedhof, II. Vorbericht, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 38: 211–69. Kahl, J. 2004. Frühägyptisches Wörterbuch III. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Kahl, J. 2007. Ra is my Lord: Searching for the Rise of the Sun God at the Dawn of Egyptian History. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Kaplony, P. 1963. Der Inschriften der Ägyptischen Frühzeit I-III. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Kemp, B.J. 1989. Ancient Egypt. Anatomy of a Civilisation. 1st edn. London: Routledge. Kemp et al. 2000. The Colossi from the Early Shrine at Coptos in Egypt, CAJ 10: 211–42. Köhler, E.C. 1998. Tell el-Faracin.Buto III. Die Keramik von der späten Naqada-Kultur bis zum frühen Alten Reich (Schichten III bis VI). Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Kuhn, R. 2015. Ägyptens Aufbruch in die Geschichte. Frühe (Kultur-)Technologien im Niltal—Highlights aus dem Ägyptischen Museum und Papyrussammlung Berlin. Wiesbaden: Reichert.

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The Early Dynastic Period   617 Lacau, P. and Lauer, J.P. 1959. La pyramide à degrés IV: inscriptions gravées sur les vases. 2 fasc. Cairo: IFAO. Legrain, G. 1903. Notes d’inspection VII: le Shat er-Riqal (Sabah Raiqaleh), Annales du Service des Antiquités del’Égypte 4: 220–3. Midant-Reynes, B., Tristant, Y., and Ryan, E.M. (eds) 2017. Egypt at its Origins 5: Proceedings of the Fifth International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’. Leuven: Peeters. Morenz, L. 2002. Gegner des Nar-mer aus Papyrus-Land, Göttinger Miszellen 189: 81–8. Morenz, L. 2003a. Schrift und Imitation. Eine Hieroglyphe als lokales Autoritätssymbol im frühbronzezeitlichen Arad und zur Verbreitung der ägyptischen Hieroglyphenschrift im frühbronzezeitlichen Südkanaan. In L. Morenz and E. Bosshard Nepustil (eds), Herrscherpräsentation und Kulturkontakte: Ägypten—Levante—Mesopotamien. Acht Fallstudien. AOAT148. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 21–47. Morenz, L. 2003b. Frühe Schrift und hohe Kultur im alten Ägypten—Aspekte von Ideologie auf Beischriften der Nar-mer-Palette, Orientalia 72: 183–93. Morenz, L. 2004. Bild-Buchstaben und symbolische Zeichen, Die Herausbildung der Schrift in der hohen Kultur Altägyptens. Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Morenz, L. 2005. Genese und Verwendungskontext archaischer Prunk-Objekte in Ägypten, Göttinger Miszellen 206: 49–60. Morenz, L. 2007. Synkretismus oder ideologiegetränktes Wortspiel? Die Verbindung des Gottes Seth mit der Sonnenhieroglyphe bei Per-ib-sen, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 134: 151–6. Morenz, L. 2011. Ereignis Reichseinigung und der Fall Buto. In M.  Fitzenreiter (ed.), Das Ereignis Geschichtsschreibung zwischen Vorfall und Befund. London: Golden House Publications, 199–209. Morenz, L. 2012. Der erste ägyptische Territorialstaat und seine neue Hauptstadt, Göttinger Miszellen 235: 63–74. Morenz, L. 2013. Kultur- und medienarchäologische Essays zu einer Archäologie der Schrift. Berlin: EBV. Morenz, L.D. 2014. Anfänge der ägyptischen Kunst: eine problemgeschichtliche Einführung in ägyptologische Bild-Anthropologie. Freiburg: Academic Press. Morenz, L. 2014. Medienevolution und die Gewinnung neuer Denkräume. Das frühneolithische Zeichensystem (10./9. Jt. v.Chr.) und seine Folgen. Berlin: EBV. Morenz, L. forthcoming. Gibt es phonographische Lesungen bereits um 3200 v.Chr. oder doch nur nicht-phonetische Semographie? Überlegungen um ein schriftarchäologisches Problem Peust, C. 2007. Zur Bedeutung und Etymologie von nzw ‘König’, Göttinger Miszellen, 213: 59–62. Petrie, W.M.F. 1900. The Royal Tombs of the First Dynasty, Part I. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Petrie, W.M.F. 1902. Abydos I. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Pomian, K. 1984 L’Ordre du temps. Paris: Éditions Gallimard. Quack, J.F. 2003. Zum Lautwert von Gardiner Sign-List U 23, Lingua Aegyptia 11: 113–16. Quibell, J.E. 1900. Hierakonpolis I. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Redford, D. 1986. King-lists, Annals and Day-books: A Contribution to the Egyptian Sense of History. Missisauga, Ontario: SSEA. Schenkel, W. 1983. Wozu die Ägypter eine Schrift brauchten. In J. Assmann and C. Hardmeier (eds), Schrift und Gedächtnis. Munich: Fink, 45–63. Schneider, T. 1993. Zur Etymologie der Bezeichnung ‘König vor Ober- und Unter- Ägypten’, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 120: 166–81. Schott, S. 1950. Hieroglyphen. Untersuchungen zum Ursprung der Schrift. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Schweitzer, S. 2011. Zum Lautwert einiger Hieroglyphen, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und ­Altertumskunde 138: 132–49. Selz, G. 2000. Schrifterfindung als Ausformung eines reflexiven Zeichensystems. Rez. zu J.-J. Glassner, Écrire à Sumer, Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 90: 169–200. Sievertsen, U. 1992. Das Messer vom Gebel el Araq, Baghdader Mitteilungen 23: 1–75.

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618   Ludwig D. Morenz Spalinger, A.J. 2002. Ancient Egyptian Calendars: How Many Were There? Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 39: 241–50. Spencer, A.J. (ed.) 1996. Aspects of Early Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Szafranski, R. 1990. Wieviel Wahrheit braucht der Mensch? Über das Denkbare und das Lebbare. Munich: Hanser. Tallet, P. 2016. La zone minière du Sud-Sinaï II. Les inscriptions pré- et proto-dynastiques du ouadi Ameyra. Cairo: IFAO. Vernus, P. 1993. La naissance de l’écriture dans l’Égypte ancienne, Archéo-Nil 3: 75–108. Vernus, P. (ed.) 2011. Les premières cités et la naissance de l’écriture: Actes du colloque du 26 septembre 2009, Musée archéologique de Nice-Cemenelum. Arles: Actes Sud. Vernus, P. 2016. La naissance de l’écriture dans l’Égypte pharaonique: une problématique revisitée, Archéo-Nil 26: 105–34. von der Way, T. 1999. Buto. In K. Bard (ed.), Encyclopedia of the Archaeology of Ancient Egypt. London: Routledge, 180–4. von der Way, T. 1989. Tell el Faracin, Buto I. Mainz: Otto Harrassowitz. Wainwright, G.A. 1923. The Red Crown in Early Prehistoric Times, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 9: 26–33. Wilkinson, T.A. 1999. Early Dynastic Egypt. London: Routledge. Wilkinson, T.A. 2000a. Royal Annals of Ancient Egypt. The Palermo Stone and its Associated Fragments. London: Kegan Paul International. Wilkinson, T.A. 2000b. Political Unification: Towards a Reconstruction, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 56: 377–95. Winkler, H.A. 1938. Rock Drawings of Southern Upper Egypt I. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Yoffee, N. 2005. Myths of the Archaic State. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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chapter 29

The Old K i ngdom a n d First I n ter m edi ate Per iod Nigel Strudwick

An historical outline It is conventional to begin the Old Kingdom with the Third Dynasty (c.2686–2613 bc), since the reign of Netjerikhet Djoser, the first or second king, saw the beginning of largescale building in stone, a technical achievement that characterizes the Old Kingdom.1 The principal references for the major issues in this historical outline will be found in the ‘Suggested reading’ section at the end of the article, and many of the references in the text below are to surveys in which fuller bibliography can be found. Some individual issues are discussed further below. Relatively little is known about the history of the Third Dynasty, in complete opposition to what is known about its architectural achievements. After the Step Pyramid of Djoser at Saqqara, most of the monuments appear never to have been completed. The successors of Djoser were Sekhemkhet and Khaba, and the last king of the dynasty was probably Qaihedjet Huni, who may or may not have been involved in the building of the pyramid at Meidum, just north of the Faiyum. The successor of Huni was Sneferu, first king of the Fourth Dynasty (c.2613–2494 bc), although there is no clear family break in contemporary records.2 Sneferu (c.2613–2589 bc) is recorded in the Palermo Stone as raiding Nubia, and it is quite likely that incursions started by Egyptian kings in the First Dynasty (c.3000–2890 bc) meant that this area was depopulated from then until later in the Old Kingdom; a graffito of Sneferu from Khor el-Aquiba can be interpreted as referring to an expedition contributing to this process of depopulation, perhaps for labour needed in Egypt.3 He certainly built two pyramids at Dahshur, and had a significant involvement in that at Meidum. Sneferu survived in Egyptian mythical memory as a beneficent king, whereas his son and successor, 1  See Verner 2001 for a survey of all pyramids covered in this article. 2  See von Beckerath 1997 and Hornung et al. 2006 for comprehensive surveys of Egyptian chronology, dates and rulers; for detailed individual names of rulers see von Beckerath 1999. 3  López 1967, Helck 1974.

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620   Nigel Strudwick Khufu (Greek Kheops) was recalled as a tyrant; these aspects are best illustrated in the late Middle Kingdom Papyrus Westcar.4 Khufu as a tyrant is perhaps most widely known from Herodotus History (Book II: 124–7). It is possible that the sheer size of Khufu’s funerary monument, the Great Pyramid at Giza, suggested to later Egyptians that he must have been a despotic ruler. Little is known about Khufu himself, but it is quite clear that the vast amount of pyramid building going on at this time required the development of a strong central administration to enable such work to proceed. Khufu’s son Djedefra built his pyramid at Abu Roash to the north of Giza, but his successor, another of Khufu’s sons, called Khafra (Greek Chephren) returned to Giza to construct his funerary monument; construction of the Great Sphinx at that site is usually attributed to him.5 Although the last two known royal tombs of the Fourth Dynasty did not rival those of the earlier rulers, the Fifth Dynasty (c.2494–2345 bc) adopted more modest designs for its pyra­mids. The reason for this may not have been so much economic overreaching as a result of the immense projects of the preceding dynasty as a change in emphasis to the building of more temples, including the ‘sun temples’, dedicated to the king and the sungod, just to the north of the predominant royal burial site of Saqqara/Abusir.6 The cult of the sun had been growing in influence since the middle of the Fourth Dynasty when, for example, Ra, the name of one of the principal forms of the sun god, became a standard part of the royal names. Changes in the way in which the administration was structured are evident at this time. While previously the royal family had filled many of the offices of state, private individuals were increasingly promoted to high levels.7 Although the tombs of many Fourth Dynasty officials are relatively close to their kings at Giza, more of a separation was observed in the Fifth Dynasty, with the majority being buried at Saqqara, while most of their rulers’ pyra­ mids were at Abusir. Private tombs became more elaborate, and there was an increase in the number of texts. Increasing levels of decoration are attested in royal temples, and in those of Neferefra and Neferirkara at Abusir substantial remains of administrative archives were uncovered.8 The number of rock inscriptions in the Sinai and elsewhere suggests a growth in expeditions abroad.9 The construction of sun temples seems to have ceased in the reign of Djedkara Isesi, the penultimate king of the dynasty, who also built his pyramid at the relatively little-used site of South Saqqara—although how much should be read into either development is de­bat­ able. Also at about this time a somewhat changed attitude to provincial officials is seen; whereas the provinces had before been mostly administered from the capital, more tombs of important persons are now found outside Memphis.10 This may indicate not so much a shift to decentralization as an attempt to govern and exploit these regions more effectively, since some of these officials came originally from the Memphite region. The last king of the dynasty, Unas, was the first king to inscribe the Pyramid Texts on the walls of the burial chambers of his pyramid at Saqqara; tombs of some of his high officials were built adjacent to his pyramid complex. After Unas, the rise of the Sixth Dynasty (c.2345–2181 bc) coincides with the first clear break in the so-called ‘Turin Canon’, a fragmentary papyrus bearing a list

4  Translated Lichtheim 1973: 215–22. 5 Lehner 1992. 6  Kaiser 1956; Verner 2016. 7  Strudwick 1985; Bárta 2013. 8  See survey in Strudwick 2005: 39–40. 9  See Eichler 1993. 10  Martin-Pardey 1976; Kanawati 1980.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   621 of royal names, probably a king-list of the Ramesside Period, much used to reconstruct the sequences of kings and chronology before the New Kingdom.11 Even if there was a family change, the Old Kingdom continued apparently much as before. Teti, the first king, built a pyramid at Saqqara, around which clustered the tombs of his high officials. A possible ephemeral king called Userkara might have reigned for a short while after Teti, and an argument has been advanced for some instability in the early years of the Sixth Dynasty, involving assassinations and palace intrigues.12 However, the longish reign of Pepy I (c.2321–2287 bc) ensured a measure of stability,13 and this king seems to have carefully modified the balance of power of provincial officials to prevent anyone becoming too powerful.14 He also built a series of temples throughout Egypt at major cult centres, which might have included some of the first stone examples of such structures, which had previously mainly been made of mud brick.15 He may also have conducted military campaigns on the borders of Egypt. His son Merenra had a short seven-year reign, after which he was succeeded by the child-king Pepy II, who may have been a son of either of his predecessors. Tradition holds that this Pepy was aged six at accession and lived to be 100 years old (Manetho from Africanus Fr. 20).16 The first signs of internal weakness that may eventually have put paid to the strong centralized Old Kingdom possibly appear at this time (c.2250 bc). The successors of Pepy II seem to have been relatively short-lived, although royal decrees from Koptos17 suggest that Memphis at least held nominal control over the country until the end of the Eighth Dynasty, but at some point around 2170 bc central control disintegrated. The kingship seems to have passed to the governors of Herakleopolis, a town just to the south of the Faiyum. The period of around 160 years (there is no overall consensus on the length of the period, however; see below) that followed is usually termed the First Intermediate Period. It is not really known why the kingship moved to Herakleopolis, as this city is almost unknown during the later Old Kingdom; presumably the local nomarchs saw the chance to seize power in a vacuum. Manetho assigned the Ninth and Tenth Dynasties to these rulers, although so little is known about them that making a clear division between these dynasties seems over-optimistic.18 Much better attested is the situation in the southern part of Egypt. The Eighth Dynasty rulers were recognized in Upper Egypt—some of their principal attestations are in the aforementioned decrees from Koptos but at some point following the demise of the Eighth Dynasty, the local chiefs of each ran their provinces as local fiefdoms with little or no reference to whatever central government there was. There are many monuments of these men, and they attest to fighting and disputes between the southernmost provinces. The most famed document is the biography in the remarkable tomb of Ankhtifi at Moalla19 in the Upper Egyptian third nome (province). The best-known disputes are those between the third and fourth nomes of Upper Egypt (Moalla and Thebes), but there is some evidence of earlier clashes between Thebes and Koptos.20 The result was that the Theban rulers of the 11 Gardiner 1959. 12 Kanawati 2003. 13 Gourdon 2016. 14  Kanawati 1980. 15  The use of stone had previously been concentrated on funerary temples and tombs designed for eternity; survey in Bussmann 2010. 16  Gardiner 1959: pl. II, v.5. 17  See, for example, Strudwick 2005: 116–24. 19  Vandier 1950. 18  Brovarski 2018: 7–49. 20  For example, the texts in Darnell and Darnell 1997.

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622   Nigel Strudwick Eleventh Dynasty, whose names were Inyotef and Mentuhotep, and who before long began writing their names in cartouches and calling themselves kings, gradually extended their control south to Aswan and north to beyond Abydos. There they came into conflict with the nomarchs of Asyut, who seem to have been loyal to the Herakleopolitan rulers. So much is attested in inscriptions, and although it cannot be precisely dated, the expansion north to Abydos seems to have been completed before the end of the reign of Inyotef II Wahankh (c.2112–2063 bc). Progress towards the eventual reunification of Egypt under his successor Mentuhotep II (c.2055–2004 bc) has to be pieced together from more convoluted sources, above all a series of royal name changes which are presumed to reflect a combination of aspirations and achievements, culminating in the name ‘Uniter of the Two Lands’ in about his year 39 (c.2016 bc). At that point in the Eleventh Dynasty it is normal to end the First Intermediate Period.

Available data on monuments An almost complete series of pyramids for kings from the beginning of the Third to the end of the Sixth Dynasty exists in the Memphite region, from Abu Roash to Meidum, as do tombs for the major rulers of the Eleventh Dynasty at Thebes. For extensive bibliographic coverage of the Memphite cemeteries, see Porter and Moss volume III, 2nd edition, and for basic coverage of the southern sites see Porter and Moss volume I 2nd edition and volume IV. Several publications on the early Theban royal tombs have appeared since volume I of Porter and Moss was published21, and new private tomb reports appear all the time. Also, fieldwork is finding the formerly lost locations of a number of well-known tombs, such as those of Weni and Iuu at Abydos22, and tombs have been located in the Delta, which does not have the luxury of the excellent preservation usually afforded in the Nile Valley, such as Bubastis.23 There is, however, a major gap in material relating to the Herakleopolitan kings and ­officials24, and there is the inevitable gap in the Delta record. The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period probably has the widest geographical range of non-royal elite tombs of the Pharaonic Period, and is perhaps also the least incomplete of all the great Egyptian epochs. The tomb locations include the large court cemeteries of Saqqara and Giza and the lesser ones of Abusir, Dahshur and Meidum. South of the Memphite region, tombs, or elem­ents of them, primarily of the Fifth to Eleventh Dynasties, are known in almost all of the 22 Upper Egyptian nomes. The state of publication of this material is mostly quite good, in particular for the site of Giza. One notable gap in this type of evidence concerns temples, other than those in the service of royal cults; it is assumed that many were of brick and were lost in later re-buildings.25

21  See Arnold 1976, 1979, 1974–81. 22  Richards 2002; Herbich and Richards 2006. 23  See Bakr and Lange 2017. 24  See Pérez-Die 1995 for discussion of the Spanish Archaeological Mission’s work at Herakleopolis since 1966, including the excavation of a First Intermediate Period cemetery. 25  O’Connor 1992; cf. Bussmann 2010. For the early Amun temple at Karnak, see Gabolde 2018.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   623

Available textual data The majority of texts come from tombs, and are thus of a funerary nature. Many documentary texts are collected in hieroglyphs in Sethe26 (abbreviated in Egyptological publications as Urk. I) and also in Clère and Vandier.27 A set of translations of most Old Kingdom sources has been published by Strudwick28, including an introduction to the period and the texts and language; many of these texts are translated into French in Roccati.29 Collections of specific texts dealing with the First Intermediate Period, mostly with translations, are Vandier, Schenkel, Edel, and Daoud.30 Many tomb owners had inscribed for themselves a ‘biographical’ text, quite a number of which are of an idealizing nature, but there are others that seem to refer to real events. As their context is the tomb, they tend to stress the strengths of the owners and are short on what we might consider historical detail.31 Temple texts are few in number, but they include many royal decrees, usually giving exemptions from state requirements, which can shed light on administrative practices. Administrative texts were limited until 2013 to two major archives from Abusir and Gebelein, one of a royal cult and the other of a funerary estate. These provide a wealth of detail, but, as administrative documents, they make no allowances for the lack of background of the reader in the twenty-first century ad. The Abusir and Gebelein papyri are edited in Posener-Kriéger and de Cenival and Posener-Kriéger respectively.32 A fascinating commentary on the Abusir Papyri is provided in PosenerKrieger.33 Further papyri were discovered at Abusir in the 1970s and 1980s.34 A remarkable addition to Old Kingdom papyri came in 2013, when excavations at the Old Kingdom port at Wadi el-Jarf revealed many fragments from the reign of Khufu.35 The published part of these papyri concerns the day-book of an official named Merer, whose duties were to command crews carrying limestone from Tura to the building site of the Great Pyramid at Giza, a type of text hitherto unknown from this date. These are now the oldest written papyri from Egypt and their importance cannot be underestimated. There are in addition a number of letters and the like, including unusual mud tablets from the site of Balat in Dakhla oasis36, as well as sealings from various sites. The principal religious texts of the Old Kingdom are the Pyramid Texts, which also formed the basis of the Coffin Texts of private individuals in the First Intermediate Period. The Pyramid Texts were first collected by Sethe37, and translated into English most recently in Allen.38 The classic editions of the Coffin Texts have been published by de Buck and Allen, and the standard English translation was published by Faulkner.39 The position of the use of Egyptian literary texts as sources for the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period is problematic. Many earlier publications assign three so-called ‘Wisdom Texts’ (associated with the Old Kingdom ‘sages’ Ptahhotep, Djedefhor, and 26 Sethe 1932–33. 27  Clère and Vandier 1948. 28 Strudwick 2005. 29 Roccati 1982. 30  Vandier 1950, Schenkel 1965, Edel 1984, and Daoud 2006. 31  Kloth 2002; Stauder-Porchet 2017. 32  Posener-Kriéger and de Cenival 1968; Posener-Kriéger 2004. 33 Posener-Krieger 1976. 34  See Posener-Kriéger et al. 2006. 35 Tallet 2017. 36 Pantalacci 2013. 37 Sethe 1908–22. 38 Allen 2005. 39  de Buck 1935–61; Allen 2006; Faulkner 1973–8.

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624   Nigel Strudwick Kaigemni) to the Old Kingdom, but the most recent studies date them to the Middle Kingdom.40 Likewise, it used to be fashionable to use the ‘doom and gloom’ of certain texts, particularly the Lamentations of Ipuwer, as depicting the chaos of the First Intermediate Period, but such texts are now treated as creations of the Middle Kingdom and reflect a popular literary topos of the time.41 More complex is the status of the Instruction for Merikara.42 An argument was made in 2011 for dating it to the First Intermediate Period.43

Data deriving from settlements The Egyptological study of preserved material remains suffers from a rather extreme skewing in favour of objects from tombs and temples. This is partly due to the ancient Egyptians’ deliberate attempts to preserve those aspects for eternity, as their beliefs required. The dearth of material from settlements also derives both from the fact that many were located in the cultivated areas (where the environment is not conducive to the preservation of remains, particularly organic ones) and from the unfortunate but understandable attraction of fieldworkers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries ad to the easier and perhaps choicer pickings from funerary contexts. In addition, town sites have been frequently rebuilt over the past 5,000 years, and often modern investigators have been technically illequipped to deal with the more complex archaeology encountered in these locations (for further discussion of these issues see Chapter 18). This situation only really began to change in the decades since Bietak published his overview of this subject.44 The first Old Kingdom settlements to be studied and published were mostly connected with funerary establishments, in particular that of Khentkawes at Giza45; fieldwork presently being undertaken by Mark Lehner and Zahi Hawass at Heit el-Ghurab in Giza, the ‘town of the pyramid builders’, will reveal much interesting information about this neglected group of people.46 However, a number of town sites are now being investigated in the Nile Valley, the Delta and the oases. Most of these excavations are still in progress and incompletely published; some sites suffer from the regrettable preference given by their excavators to continuing fieldwork to the detriment of the writing up of the results.47 The settlement at Elephantine dates back to the Predynastic Period, and in the Old Kingdom there was a sizeable town and, most important of all, a fortress. Elephantine has long been under investigation by the German Archaeological Institute. Much of the information is in their preliminary reports, but there is a partial overview of some of the Old Kingdom information in Seidlmayer, while Ziermann includes discussion of the fortifications of the Old Kingdom; see also the overview of the entire site in Raue.48 Further sites in 40  Summaries and survey in Parkinson 2002: 313–15; many references in Moers et al. 2013. 41  Summary and survey in Parkinson 2002: 204–16, 308–9; many references in Moers et al. 2013. 42  Summary and survey in Parkinson 2002: 248–57, 315–16; many references in Moers et al. 2013. See also Brovarski 2018: 42–9. 43 Demidchik 2011. 44 Bietak 1979. 45 Hassan 1943. 46  See Lehner and Wetterstrom 2006; Lehner at al. 2011; Lehner 2015. 47  But see the overview in Moeller 2016. 48  Seidlmayer 1996; Ziermann 1993; Raue 2007.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   625 Upper Egypt that have seen investigation and study for the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period are Kom Ombo49, Edfu50, Dendera51 and Abydos.52 No doubt many of the main Delta sites have occupation levels that cover the Third to Eleventh Dynasties, but this region has been largely ignored until relatively recently. Some examples of Delta sites where Old Kingdom and First Intermediate settlement phases have been revealed are Tell Basta, Tell el-Dab’a, Mendes and Kom el-Hisn.53 Particularly in­tri­ guing is the late Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period site of Ayn Asil in the Dakhla Oasis. While the site was used in later periods, the earlier occupation phases, which include settlements, including pottery workshops54, the governors’ palace55, and of course the associated cemeteries, are by far the most important. This material sheds light on an area much different from the Nile Valley.56

Specific historical issues Periods and dating Egyptology tends to be shackled by various structures imposed in the past, and broad dating is no exception. In many Egyptological publications, the Seventh and Eighth Dynasties are not included in the Old Kingdom, although it seems clear from cautious use of the king lists that they should be so included. Likewise, some authors include the whole Eleventh Dynasty in the First Intermediate Period, although I prefer to terminate it with the reunification in the latter part of the reign of Mentuhotep II. The dynastic structure in use is still basically that of Manetho, but research has shown that this is not something that Egyptians of the time would have recognized. Thus, while Manetho conceived of each dynasty along the lines of a ‘ruling house’ there are clear family links between the Second and Third Dynasties, perhaps between the Third and Fourth, and almost certainly between the Fourth and Fifth. The Turin Canon may be instructive in this regard, as it places its first sub-total of kings at the end of the Fifth Dynasty; Jaromir Malek has suggested that the manner in which this document was copied might even have given rise to some of the historical divisions which led to Manetho’s structures.57 The early periods in Egypt have an additional dating complexity, that of the manner in which the years of individual reigns are expressed. Dating may have started out at the beginning of Egyptian history by recording the years based on events, and this is probably reflected in the compartments of the Palermo Stone.58 The key event seems to have been a 49  Kemp 1985, who indicates that Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period remains appear to be the most extensive. 50 Moeller 2003. 51  Marchand and Laisney 2000; Marchand 2004. 52 Adams 1998. 53 el-Sawi  1979 (Tell Basta); Bietak  1996 (Mendes); Redford  2010 (Tell el-Dab’a); Wenke and Brewer 1996 (Kom el-Hisn). 54  Soukiassian et al. 1990. 55  Soukiassian et al. 2002. 56  See Pantalacci  1998 for an overview of the social composition of the Dakhla Oasis in the Sixth Dynasty. 57  Malek 1982: 106. 58  See Wilkinson 2000 for an overview of the Palermo Stone and other annals.

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626   Nigel Strudwick recurring census of the cattle of Egypt within the reign of a king, the first of which would have taken place not long after his accession to the throne, presumably as a way of establishing and announcing the authority of the new ruler, and the recurrence of this event seems to have given rise to the principal dating system employed in the Early Dynastic Period and Old Kingdom. Thus an Old Kingdom document might be dated the year of the n-th occasion of the count of the cattle, sometimes, but not always, accompanied by the name of a king; this is frequently abbreviated to ‘year of the n-th occasion’. The problem with understanding this system is our uncertainty concerning the frequency of these counts, as there are many cases where the count is indeed biennial (shown by the use of ‘year after the n-th occasion’), but others where the textual and other data cannot be reconciled. The solution is not to impose our modern rigorous concepts of dating but to understand that the Egyptians knew what they meant, and that was what mattered.59 Most historical issues are still at the rather basic level of the succession of kings and reign lengths. There are a number of reigns where the evidence of the king lists is contradicted by dated contemporary monuments.60 The whole Third Dynasty is quite suspect, even allowing for the fact that several royal pyramids are known; the problem is making the links between the rulers, and obtaining some idea of the reign lengths. And these almost pale into insignificance with the uncertainties of the First Intermediate Period!

The Fourth Dynasty Bicheris and Thampthis, two of the names given by Manetho in his history of Egypt (Manetho from Africanus Fr. 14), cannot easily be equated with known kings, although it has been suggested that the latter name might come from the Egyptian Djedefptah.61 Whether such a king actually existed is somewhat dubious, but it is speculated that it might have derived from Hordjedef, a son of Khufu.62 This is supported to some extent by the Turin Canon, which seems to have spaces for two otherwise unknown kings in the dynasty. One of these kings could be the owner of the ‘great excavation’ at Zawiyet el-Aryan, which is thought to be the substructure of an unfinished pyramid of Fourth-Dynasty date, presumably of a ruler who died after a short reign. Builders’ marks of uncertain reading have been found at this site, and the name of the king has been suggested as Nebka or Bikka, which it may be possible to reconcile with Bicheris.63 No other monuments can be associated with these kings, and (almost) contemporary lists of kings include no others than the well-known ones. It has been speculated that there was a split in the family over the succession of Khufu, based largely on some damage in the Eastern Cemetery at Giza, where members of the royal family are buried, and on the variable location of Fourth-Dynasty pyramids. Specifically, the decision of Djedkara, the son and successor of Khufu, to build his funerary monument at Abu Roash, several kilometres to the north of Giza, has been viewed as evidence of a split. 59  See Strudwick 2005: 10–14, for an overview and bibliographical references, and see also Verner 2006, Verner 2008, and the more calendrically based studies in Nolan 2003 and Nolan 2015. 60  See Spalinger 1994 for a survey of the dating information available from contemporary monuments. 61  Summary Gundacker 2015: 122–3. 62  Gundacker 2015: 138–41. 63  Barsanti 1906: 257–65, Dodson 1985, but see also Theis 2014.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   627 The latter is rather misleading however, as both his predecessors had chosen new sites for their burial complexes (Dahshur and Giza), and thus it would be continuing a practice for their successor to seek a new site. It could actually be argued that the other two kings who built at Giza, Khafra and Menkaura, were acting out of sequence, perhaps due to nothing more than a lack of good alternative sites.

The Fifth Dynasty The question of the transition between the later Fourth and earlier Fifth Dynasty, and the succession and origin of the kings is still an issue. The Turin Canon makes no break anywhere in this period, and the archaeological evidence tends to support that. A crucial figure in the transition seems to be Khentkawes, a queen buried in a tomb which has been termed the ‘fourth pyramid of Giza’, the excavation of which caused a sensation in the 1930s when inscriptions were found that called her ‘mother of two kings of Upper and Lower Egypt’.64 From her burial location she would seem to be a queen of the later Fourth Dynasty, although to whom she was married is unclear. An interesting attempt was made by Hartwig Altenmüller to argue that she and the two kings were the prototype for the story of Radjedet in the Westcar Papyrus, although this theory now seems to find little favour.65 The identity of her sons is not certain, although the preferred candidates are Userkaf and Sahura. The picture is somewhat complicated by the existence of a second Khentkawes with the same title, this time a wife of Neferirkara and known from Abusir.66 Who were her sons? Neferirkara was succeeded by Neferefra and Niuserra for certain, both of whom have pyra­ mids at Abusir, but there is also a rather shadowy king called Shepseskara, known only from sealings from Abusir and from his possible association with the cartouche of the equally unknown king Isi.67 Miroslav Verner argues that a second unfinished pyramid at Abusir (in addition to that of Neferefra), excavated in the 1980s, might have been built for Shepseskara.68 While the succession of the remaining kings of the dynasty is not questioned, we know little about their relationships to each other. Niuserra was succeeded by Menkauhor, ­possibly his son69, but that king’s pyramid is the only funerary monument of a major Old Kingdom ruler never to have been located. The monument is named in various titles, but it is also mentioned in the decree of Pepy I that relates to the pyramids of Sneferu at Dahshur, in which it is forbidden to take labour from these pyramids to that of Menkauhor70, and there is a certain logic to the argument that this ought to mean that the missing pyramid was therefore in the vicinity of Dahshur. However, another location has also been proposed at north Saqqara, not far from the pyramid of Teti.71 The pyramid of Djedkara at south Saqqara has never been fully studied72, and it is possible that further information about family relationships might be revealed there. Unas, whose pyramid complex is well-known, is also a king whose origins are somewhat mysterious. The locations of the so-called ‘sun-temples’ remain a problem. The titles of officials of the Fifth Dynasty make it clear that a new category of royal temple came into being, which we 64  Hassan 1943: 16. 65  Altenmüller 1970; Hays 2002. 66 Verner 2015. 67 Verner 2000. 68  Verner 2001: 310–11. 69  Verner 2015: 91. 70  Translated Strudwick 2005: 103–5. 71  Berlandini 1978 and Verner 2001: 322–4. 72  See now Megahed at al. 2019, with further references.

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628   Nigel Strudwick term ‘sun-temples’, characterized by prominent obelisks and courts open to the sky.73 Perhaps some of the reduction in size of Fifth-Dynasty pyramids, when compared with those of the Fourth, can be attributed to a shift in emphasis to other temple construction; certainly we can see from the Abusir papyri how the sun-temple worked in tandem with the royal mortuary temple in the provision and distribution of the income from the royal estates, which was used for maintaining the royal cult. Six temples are known from titles (attributed to Userkaf, Sahura, Neferirkara, Neferefra, Nyuserra and Menkauhor) but the remains of only two have been found (those of Userkaf and Nyuserra). Where were the ­others? The answer is unknown, although suggestions have been made over the years that the temples were re-used, or dismantled.74 This is an archaeological problem with important historical and religious dimensions. It is particularly a mystery in relation to the sun-temple of Neferirkara, which is so frequently attested in the Abusir papyri from the mortuary complex of the same king.

The Sixth Dynasty There seems to be a further little-known king early in the Sixth Dynasty, named Userkara, who is attested from a small number of sources. An apparent gap in the listing of the Turin Canon between Teti and Pepy I suggests his presence, and the Sixth-Dynasty annals on the lid of the sarcophagus of Ankhesenpepy suggest that he reigned for a short period at that time.75 Relatively recent excavations in the Teti pyramid cemetery at Saqqara have suggested that a number of tombs of the early Sixth Dynasty there show signs of deliberate damage as if there were some dispute over the succession.76 Other historical problems in the Sixth Dynasty revolve mainly around the reign lengths of Pepy I and II. The former is given 20 years in the Turin Canon list, which is flatly contradicted by contemporary dates, and it is not impossible that whatever happened surrounding Userkara may have skewed the historical record to some degree.77 The reverse is true for Pepy II, who is said by Manetho to have come to the throne at the age of six and to have reigned until he was 100; the Turin list gives 90 years for him (Manetho from Africanus Fr. 20).78 However, contemporary sources seem to provide few dates that might encompass the last three decades of the reign, and this has given rise to suggestions that he may have reigned for 60–70 years. This of course assumes a certain regularity in the year recording systems about which caution has been expressed above.79

The end of the Old Kingdom Probably the most debated and vexatious issue is the end of the Old Kingdom: who ruled, for how long, where, and why did control disintegrate? The long reign of the Sixth-Dynasty 73  See further Nuzzolo 2015; Nuzzolo 2016; Verner 2016; Nuzzolo 2019. 74  See Kaiser 1956, and see also Stadelmann 2000: 540–2 for the argument that the Userkaf sun temple might have been modified for use by Sahura and Neferirkara. 75  See Baud and Dobrev 1995. 76 Kanawati 2003. 77  Baud 2006: 146; Kanawati 2003: 4. 78  Gardiner 1959: pl. II, v.5. 79  See most recently Gourdon 2016: 15–41.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   629 ruler Pepy II was followed by two short reigns, one of which has for many years been ­considered to be that of a woman known by the Greek name Nitocris. It seems that this idea has now become less plausible if a misreading of the Turin Canon is accepted.80 A further group of names is found in the Turin Canon, plus a mysterious reference to ‘missing six years’. A total of 855 years is then given, and next the Ninth and Tenth Dynasties are reached. Many scholars have equated the aforementioned ‘further group of names’ with the Eighth Dynasty while the ‘missing six years’ may perhaps be the Seventh Dynasty. The Seventh and Eighth Dynasties have also been linked with a list of otherwise little-known kings in the Abydos king list.81 Few significant monuments have survived from this period at the end of the Old Kingdom. All the evidence points to a number of short reigns following that of Pepy II, and this implies a level of instability, to which I will return shortly. It seems that Manetho’s Seventh and Eighth Dynasties were very short-lived, and the only substantial evidence of them comes from a series of decrees set up by one of the last rulers, Neferkauhor, at Koptos.82 As at least one pyramid of this dynasty, that of Ibi, is located at Saqqara, it is reasonable to assume that they ruled from Memphis, and that southern Upper Egypt was still under their control.83 However, it is evident that it was not long before the authority of the central government declined. Upper Egypt had for a very long time been composed of a series of 22 nomes, and it appears that each of these became its own little kingdom for a time. What caused this collapse of the central government?84 Various theories have been suggested over the years85 ranging from instability outside Memphis caused by the increasing power of provincial officials during the Sixth Dynasty, to economic problems caused by low Niles and subsequent famines; recently the theory of “punctuated equilibrium” has been advanced.86 It used to be fashionable for scholars to favour one theory or the other. Economic problems were once favourite, as there are a number of references in tomb texts of the late Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period to possible famines87, and studies suggest that Egypt did indeed become drier in the later Old Kingdom.88 But it is not right to assume the total historicity of tomb texts, given that they are a form of religious document intended to promote the personality of the tomb owner and not to convey objective history, and it is plausible that possible difficulties were exaggerated as the mention of famine became a fashionable subject in these texts.89 Likewise, the growth in provincial cemeteries as the Old Kingdom progressed has been taken as an indication of growing independence of these local magnates, and yet studies have shown that by and large, power over these rulers was maintained by the central government.90 However, some instability after the reign of Pepy II is undeniable, as shown by the paucity of royal monuments and the rapid turnover of kings. It is in fact most likely that the causes were a multiplicity of factors, including those mentioned, and that the structures that underpinned the Old Kingdom could not take the new strains placed on them. The result was the eventual disintegration of the centralized 80 Ryholt 2000. 81  Baud 2006: 156–8; Papazian 2015: 411–17. 82  For translation see Strudwick 2005: 117–23. 83  Overview in Papazian 2015. 84  General overviews will be found in Müller-Wollermann 2014 and Bárta 2011: 220–8. 85  See, for instance, Bell 1971, Kanawati 1977, 1980, Müller-Wollermann 1986, Vercoutter 1993. 86  Bárta 2015b.  87 Vandier 1936. 88  Bell 1971; Bárta 2015a. 89  See Seidlmayer  2000: 129–33 for a discussion of the interpretation of First Intermediate Period ‘biographical’ texts. 90 Kanawati 1980.

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630   Nigel Strudwick state91; however, Nadine Moeller queries the effects of climate change, and Moreno Garcia poses the question as to whether there even was a collapse.92 More contemporary material is needed to help with these problems.

The length of the First Intermediate Period There seems to be no scholarly consensus on which dynasties to include in this complicated period. Nowadays, most scholars tend to include the Seventh and Eighth Dynasties within the Old Kingdom, indicating that the Memphite kingship was continuing in some form93, although sometimes the obscurity of these two dynasties encourages some to add them into the First Intermediate Period. But the real debate has been on the length of the period, with a shorter versus a longer duration, best considered in Seidlmayer.94 The longer model presently seems to be most in favour.

The Ninth and Tenth Dynasties While the Eleventh Dynasty is quite well documented for the First Intermediate Period, the  largest gaps in our present knowledge are, firstly, the nature of the Ninth and Tenth Dynasties95, secondly the identities and burial places of their kings96, even whether there are one or two dynasties, and thirdly the progress towards their defeat by the Theban rulers of the Eleventh Dynasty (see below). Despite evidence pointing to these rulers as having come from Herakleopolis, excavations at the site have revealed a singular lack of material of that date, and nothing approaching tombs of significant officials or rulers of the town has ever been found.97 The main tombs of officials that can clearly be dated to the kings of these dynasties are those at Asyut, which contain some texts relevant to the conflict.98

The ‘reunification’ The so-called ‘reunification’ of Egypt roughly halfway through the Eleventh Dynasty, marks the end of the First Intermediate Period, and is also subject to some debate. Most of the evidence for the beginning of the conflict between the rulers of Thebes and Herakleopolis comes from the earlier parts of the Eleventh Dynasty and is largely from Thebes (particularly datable to the reigns of Inyotef II and the first years of Mentuhotep II99). The Instruction for Merykara may also refer to these events (but see the caution urged above in the discussion of available textual data), as do the tombs of the nobles at Asyut.100 However, given that the Theban campaigns must have proceeded north along the Nile Valley, where there are impressive tombs of governors of the more northerly provinces, for example at Beni Hasan 91  See particularly Müller-Wollermann 1986. 92  Moeller 2005; Moreno Garcia 2015. 93  Strudwick 2005: 10; Seidlmayer 2000: 118. 94 Seidlmayer 2006. 95  E.g. Demidchik 2013. 96  E.g. Demidchik 2016. 97  See for example, Pérez-Die 2010. 98  Kahl 2007: 74–82; el-Khadragy 2012. 99  For example, the two stelae in Russmann 2001: 81–3. 100  Kahl 2007: 74–82; el-Khadragy 2012.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   631 and el-Bersha101, and graffiti associated with the latter officials in the quarries at Hatnub, but none of these make explicit reference to the difficulties of the time. The one possible exception to the latter is Graffito 16 at Hatnub (attributed to Kay son of Nehery), discussed by Giuliani, which has been thought to make an oblique reference to the armies of the south passing through the nome.102 Thus there is a historical void roughly between years 14 and 39 of Mentuhotep II, in which momentous events must have occurred, but of which we are almost entirely ignorant.

Suggested Reading For more detailed overviews of the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period re­spect­ ive­ly, see the chapters by Malek and Seidlmayer in The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt (Shaw 2000), and for chronology, see the relevant sections of Ancient Egyptian Chronology (Hornung et al. 2006). Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization (Kemp 2006) should be read by anyone seeking insights into the development and functioning of ancient Egyptian society. A ‘cultural’ perspective on the Old Kingdom can be found in The Mind of Egypt (Assmann 2003: 46–77). Parts of the Old Kingdom and its end are reviewed in Bussmann 2015, Bárta 2017 and Müller-Wollermann 2014. The First Intermediate Period does not attract a great deal of ‘accessible’ studies, although it has been a very fertile ground for arch­aeo­ logic­al, textual and artistic study. The Old Kingdom figures prominently in all books on Egyptian art and architecture, but  perhaps the best introduction to this is the catalogue of an important exhibition in 1999–2000 (Metropolitan Museum 1999). Stylistic and artistic criteria formed the basis for the important studies by Cherpion 1989 and Harpur 1987. For administration and the dating of monuments, the abundance of decorated tombs, particularly for the Old Kingdom, has made it a fruitful dataset for administrative studies, and also studies of other areas that need to establish good dating criteria before moving to the area of interest. Beginning with Helck  1954, such work has moved through that of Baer  1960, Kanawati  1977 and  1980, Martin-Pardey  1976, Strudwick  1985, Cherpion  1989, Harpur  1987, Baud  1999, Papazian 2013, all of which have contributed to our detailed knowledge of the officials of the period. The original manuscript of this contribution, written in 2005, was not emended from 2007 until 2017, and again in 2020, during which time an explosion of relevant publications occurred. I have done my best to incorporate as many as possible, but the article is still very much a 2007 one with some additions and much important additional bibliography.

Bibliography Adams, M.D. 1998. The Abydos Settlement Site Project: Investigation of a Major Provincial Town in the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period. In C. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the Seventh Inter­ nation­al Congress of Egyptologists. Leuven: Peeters, 19–30.

101  For Beni Hasan see Newberry et al. 1893–1900; Shedid 1994, and for Deir el-Bersha see Griffith and Newberry 1895; Brovarski 1981. 102  Giuliani 1997; see also Brovarski 1981: 22.

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632   Nigel Strudwick Allen, J.P. 2005/2015. The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts. 1st ed. 2005; 2nd ed. 2015. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Allen, J.P. 2006. The Egyptian Coffin Texts, Volume 8: Middle Kingdom Copies of Pyramid Texts. ­Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Altenmüller, H. 1970. Die Stellung der Königsmutter Chentkaus beim Übergang von der 4. zur 5. Dynastie, Chronique d’Égypte 45: 223–35. Arnold, D. 1974–81. Der Tempel des Königs Mentuhotep von Deir el-Bahari. 3 vols. Mainz: von Zabern. Arnold, D. 1976. Gräber des Alten und Mittleren Reiches in El-Tarif. Mainz: Von Zabern. Arnold, D. 1979. The Temple of Mentuhotep at Deir el Bahari. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Assmann, J. 2003. The Mind of Egypt: History and Meaning in the Time of the Pharaohs. Trans. A. Jenkins. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Baer, K. 1960. Rank and Title in the Old Kingdom. The Structure of the Egyptian Administration in the Fifth and Sixth Dynasties. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Bakr, M.I. and E. Lange 2017. Die Nekropolen des Alten Reiches in Bubastis. In F. Feder, G. Sperveslage, and F. Steinborn (eds), Ägypten begreifen: Erika Endesfelder in memoriam. London: Golden House Publications, 31–48. Barsanti, A. 1906. Fouilles de Zaouiét el-Aryan, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 7: 257–86. Bárta, M. 2011. Journey to the West: The World of the Old Kingdom Tombs in Ancient Egypt. Prague: Charles University in Prague, Faculty of Arts. Bárta, M. 2013. Kings, Viziers, and Courtiers: Executive Power in the Third Millennium bc. In Moreno García (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration. Leiden, Boston: Brill, 153–75. Bárta, M. 2015a. Long term or short term? Climate change and the demise of the Old Kingdom. In S. Kerner, R.J. Dann, and P. Bangsgaard (eds), Climate and ancient societies. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 177–95. Bárta, M. 2015b. Ancient Egyptian history as an example of punctuated equilibrium: an outline. In P.D. Manuelian and T. Schneider (eds), Towards a new history for the Egyptian Old Kingdom: ­perspectives on the pyramid age. Harvard Egyptological Studies 1. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 1–17. Bárta, M. 2017. Radjedef to the Eighth Dynasty. UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology. https://escholarship. org/uc/item/67n4m4c4 Baud, M. and V.  Dobrev 1995. De nouvelles annales de l’Ancien Empire égyptien: une ‘Pierre de Palerme’ pour la VIe dynastie, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 95: 23–92. Baud, M. 1999. Famille royale et pouvoir sous l’Ancien Empire égyptien. 2 vols. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Baud, M. 2006. The Relative Chronology of Dynasties 6 and 8. In E.  Hornung, R.  Krauss, and D. ­Warburton (eds), Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Leiden–Boston: Brill, 144–58. von Beckerath, J. 1997. Chronologie des pharaonischen Ägypten. Die Zeitbestimmung der ägyptischen Geschichte von der Vorzeit bis 332 v. Chr. Münchner Ägyptologische Studien 46. Mainz: von Zabern. von Beckerath, J. 1999. Handbuch der ägyptischen Königsnamen. Mainz: von Zabern. Bell, B. 1971. The Dark Ages in Ancient History I: The First Dark Age in Egypt, American Journal of Archaeology 75: 1–26. Berlandini, J. 1978. La pyramide ruinée, Bulletin de la Société Français de l’Égyptologie 83: 24–38. Bietak, M. 1979. Urban Archaeology and the ‘Town Problem’ in Ancient Egypt. In K. Weeks (ed.), Egyptology and the Social Sciences. Cairo: American University of Cairo Press, 97–144. Bietak, M. (ed.) 1996. Haus und Palast im Alten Ägypten. Internationales Symposium 8. bis 11. April 1992 in Kairo. Vienna: Wien Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Brovarski, E. 1981. Ahanakht of Bersheh and the Hare nome in the First Intermediate Period and ­Middle Kingdom. In W.K. Simpson and W.M. Davis (eds), Studies in Ancient Egypt, the Aegean, and the Sudan. Essays in Honor of Dows Dunham. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 14–30. Brovarski, E. 2018. Naga ed-Dêr in the First Intermediate Period. Atlanta, GA: Lockwood Press. de Buck, A., 1935–61. The Egyptian Coffin Texts. 7 vols. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bussmann, R. 2010. Die Provinztempel Ägyptens von der 0. bis zur 11. Dynastie. Probleme der ­Ägyptologie 30. Leiden: Brill.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   633 Bussmann, R. 2015. Pyramid Age: Huni to Radjedef. In W. Wendrich (ed.), UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology. https://escholarship.org/uc/item/9wz0c837 Cherpion, N. 1989. Mastabas et hypogées d’Ancien Empire. Le problème de la datation. Brussels: ­Connaissance de l’Égypte Ancienne. Clère, J.J. and J. Vandier, J. 1948. Textes de la première période intermédiaire et de la XIème dynastie. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Daoud, K.A. 2006. Corpus of Inscriptions of the Herakleopolitan Period from the Memphite Necropolis Translation, Commentary and Analyses. Oxford: Archaeopress. Darnell, J.C. and D. Darnell 1997. New Inscriptions of the Late First Intermediate Period from the Theban Western Desert and the Beginnings of the Northern Expansion of the Eleventh Dynasty, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 56: 241–58. Demidchik, A.E. 2011. The Date of the ‘Teaching of Merikare’. In E. Kormysheva, E. Fantusati, and D. Michaux-Colombot (eds), Cultural Heritage of Egypt and Christian Orient, volume 6: Egypt and Near Eastern countries, III mill. bc—I mill. AD. Moscow; Orléans; Rome: Institute of Oriental Studies, Russian Academy of Sciences; Association Soleil Ailé, Musée des Beaux Arts d’Orléans; La Sapienza, University of Rome, 49–70. Demidchik, A.E. 2013. The History of the Herakleopolitan Kings’s Domain. In H.W. Fischer-Elfert and R.B. Parkinson (eds), Studies on the Middle Kingdom: in memory of Detlef Franke. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 93–106. Demidchik, A. 2016. The Sixth Heracleopolitan King Merikare Khety, Journal of Egyptian History 9/2: 97–120. Dodson, A. 1985. On the Date of the Unfinished Pyramid of Zawyet el-Aryan, Discussions in ­Egypt­ology 3: 21–4. Edel, E. 1984. Die Inschriften der Grabfronten der Siut-Gräber in Mittelägypten aus der Herakleop­ olitenzeit. Eine Wiederherstellung nach den Zeichnungen der Description de l’Égypte. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. Eichler, E. 1993. Untersuchungen zum Expeditionswesen des ägyptischen Alten Reiches. ­Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. el-Khadragy, M. 2012. The Nomarchs of Asyut During the First Intermediate Period and the Middle Kingdom. In J. Kahl, M. El-Khadragy, U. Verhoeven, and A. Kilian (eds), Seven seasons at Asyut: first results of the Egyptian-German cooperation in archaeological fieldwork. Proceedings of an inter­nation­al conference at the University of Sohag, 10th–11th of October, 2009. Wiesbaden: ­Harrassowitz, 31–46. Eyre, C. (ed.) 1998. Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists. Leuven: Peeters. Faulkner, R.O. 1973–8. The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts, 3 vols. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Gabolde, L. 2018. Karnak, Amon-Rê: la genèse d’un temple, la naissance d’un dieu. Bibliothèque d’étude 167. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Gardiner, A.H. 1959. The Royal Canon of Turin. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Giuliani, S. 1997. A New Proposal for the Interpretation of Hatnub Graffito No. 16, Göttinger Miszellen 159: 53–9. Gourdon, Y. 2016. Pépy Ier et la VIe dynastie. Paris: Pygmalion. Griffith, F.Ll. and P.E Newberry 1895. El-Bersheh II. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Gundacker, R. 2015. The Chronology of the Third and Fourth Dynasties According to Manetho’s ­Aegyptiaca. In Manuelian and Schneider (eds), Towards a new history for the Egyptian Old Kingdom: perspectives on the Pyramid Age. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 76–199. Harpur, Y. 1987. Decoration in Egyptian Tombs of the Old Kingdom. Studies in Orientation and Scene Content. Studies in Egyptology. London and New York: Kegan Paul International. Hassan, S. 1943. Excavations at Giza IV (1932–33). Cairo: Government Press. Hays, Harold M. 2002. The Historicity of Papyrus Westcar, Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und ­Altertumskunde 129: 20–30. Hein, I., Billing, N., and Meyer-Dietrich, E. (eds) 2016. The Pyramids: Between Life and Death: ­Proceedings of the Workshop held at Uppsala University, Uppsala, May 31st–June 1st, 2012. Uppsala: Uppsala Universitet.

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634   Nigel Strudwick Helck, W. 1954. Untersuchungen zu den Beamtentiteln des ägyptischen Alten Reiches. Glückstadt. ­Hamburg and New York: Verlag J.J. Augustin. Helck, W. 1974. Die Bedeutung der Felsinschriften J. Lopez, Inscripciones rupestres Nr. 27 und 28, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 1: 215–25. Herbich, T. and J. Richards 2006. The Loss and Rediscovery of the Vizier Iuu at Abydos: Magnetic Survey in the Middle Cemetery. In E. Czerny et al. (eds), Timelines: Studies in Honour of Manfred Bietak I. Leuven: Peeters, 141–9. Hornung, E., Krauss, R., and Warburton, D.A.  (eds) 2006. Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Leiden–Boston: Brill. Kahl, J. 2007. Ancient Asyut: The First Synthesis after 300 Years of Research. ­Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Kaiser, W. 1956. Zu den Sonnenheiligtümern der 5. Dynastie, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 14: 104–16. Kanawati, N. 1977. The Egyptian Administration in the Old Kingdom. Evidence on its Economic Decline. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Kanawati, N. 1980. Governmental Reforms in Old Kingdom Egypt. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. Kanawati, N. 2003. Conspiracies in the Egyptian Palace: Unis to Pepy I. New York: Routledge. Kemp, B.J. 1985. Kom Ombo: Evidence for an Early Town. In P. Posener-Kriéger (ed.), Mélanges ­Gamal Eddin Mokhtar. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 39–59. Kemp, B.J. 2006. Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization. 2nd ed. London and New York: Routledge. Kloth, N. 2002. Die (auto-)biographischen Inschriften des ägyptischen Alten Reiches: Untersuchungen zu Phraseologie und Entwicklung. Hamburg: Buske. Lehner, M. 1992. Reconstructing the Sphinx, Cambridge Archaeological Journal 2/1: 3–26. Lehner, M. and M. Wetterstrom (eds) 2006. Giza Reports I: Project History, Survey, Ceramics and Main Street Gallery III.4 Operations. Cambridge MA: Ancient Egypt Research Associates. Lehner, M. et al. 2011. Re-Examining the Khentkaues Town. In N. Strudwick and H. Strudwick (eds), Old Kingdom, New Perspectives: Egyptian Art and Archaeology 2750–2150 bc. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 143–91. Lehner, M. 2015. Shareholders: the Menkaure Valley Temple Occupation in Context. In Manuelian and Schneider (eds), Towards A New History for the Egyptian Old Kingdom: Perspectives on the Pyramid Age. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 227–314. Lehner, M. 2016. The Name and Nature of the Heit El-Ghurab Old Kingdom Site: Worker’s Town, Pyramid Town, and the Port Hypothesis. In I. Hein, N. Billing, and E. Meyer-Dietrich (eds), The Pyramids: Between Life and Death: Proceedings of the Workshop held at Uppsala University, Uppsala, May 31st–June 1st, 2012. Uppsala: Uppsala Universitet, 99–160. López, J. 1967. Inscriptions de l’ancien empire à Khor el-Aquiba, Revue d’Égyptologie 19: 51–66. Lichtheim, M. 1973. Ancient Egyptian Literature: A Book of Readings. Volume I: The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London: University of California Press. Malek, J. 1982. The Original Version of the Royal Canon of Turin, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 68: 93–106. Malek, J. 2000. The Old Kingdom (c.2686–2160 bc). In I. Shaw (ed.), The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 89–117. Manuelian, P.D. and T. Schneider (eds) 2015. Towards a New History for the Egyptian Old Kingdom: Perspectives on the Pyramid Age. Leiden; Boston: Brill. Marchand, S. 2004. Fouilles récentes dans la zone urbaine de Dendara: La céramique de la fin de l’Ancien Empire au début de la XIIe dynastie, Cahiers de la céramique égyptienne 7: 211–38. Marchand, S., and D. Laisney 2000. Le survey de Dendara (1996–7), Cahiers de la céramique égyptienne 6: 261–97. Martin-Pardey, E. 1976. Untersuchungen zur ägyptischen Provinzialverwaltung bis zum Ende des Alten Reiches. Hildesheim: Verlag Gebrüder Gerstenberg. Megahed, M., Jánosi, P., and Vymazalová, H. 2019. Exploration of the pyramid complex of King Djedkare: season 2018, Prague Egyptological Studies 23: 12–36.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   635 Metropolitan Museum of Art 2000. Egyptian Art in the Age of the Pyramids. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Moeller, N. 2003. Tell Edfu at the End of the Third Millennium bc, Egyptian Archaeology 23: 7–9. Moeller, N. 2005. The First Intermediate Period: A Time of Famine and Climate Change? Ägypten und Levante 15: 153–67. Moeller, N. 2016. The Archaeology of Urbanism in Ancient Egypt: From the Predynastic Period to the End of the Middle Kingdom. New York: Cambridge University Press. Moreno García, J.C. (ed.) 2013. Ancient Egyptian Administration. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Moers, G. et al. (eds) 2013. Dating Egyptian Literary Texts. Dating Egyptian Literary Texts, Göttingen, 9–12 June 2010, 1. Hamburg: Widmaier. Moreno García, J.C. 2015. Climatic Change or Sociopolitical Transformation? Reassessing Late 3rd Millennium Egypt. In H. Meller, H.W. Arz, R. Jung, and R. Risch (eds), 2200 bc—A Climatic Breakdown as A Cause for the Collapse of the Old World? Landesmuseum für Vorgeschichte, Halle, 79–94. Müller-Wollermann, R. 1986. Krisenfaktoren im ägyptischen Staat des ausgehenden Alten Reichs. ­Dissertation Tübingen. Müller-Wollermann, R. 2014. End of the Old Kingdom. In W. Wendrich (ed.), UCLA Enyclopedia of Egyptology. https://escholarship.org/uc/item/2ns3652b Newberry, P.E., Fraser, G.W., and Griffith, F.Ll. 1893–1900. Beni Hasan, 4 vols. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Nolan, J.S. 2003. The Original Lunar Calendar and Cattle Counts in Old Kingdom Egypt. In S. Bickel and A. Loprieno (eds), Basel Egyptology Prize 1: Junior Research in Egyptian History, Archaeology, and Philology. Basel: Schwabe, 75–97. Nolan, J.S. 2015. Cattle, Kings and Priests: Phyle Rotations and Old Kingdom Civil Dates. In P.D. Manuelian and T. Schneider (eds), Towards a New History for the Egyptian Old Kingdom: Perspectives on the Pyramid Age. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 337–65. Nuzzolo, M. 2015. The Sed-Festival of Niuserra and the Fifth Dynasty Sun Temples. In P.D. Manuelian and T. Schneider (eds), Towards a New History for the Egyptian Old Kingdom: Perspectives on the Pyramid Age. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 366–92. Nuzzolo, M. 2016. The Fifth Dynasty Sun Temples and their Relationship with the Contemporary Pyra­mids. In I.  Hein, N.  Billing, and E.  Meyer-Dietrich (eds), The Pyramids: Between Life and Death: Proceedings of the Workshop held at Uppsala University, Uppsala, May 31st–June 1st, 2012. Uppsala: Uppsala Universitet, 163–86. Nuzzolo, M. 2019. The Fifth Dynasty Sun Temples. Kingship, Architecture and Religion in Third Millen­ nium BC Egypt. Charles University, Prague, Faculty of Arts. O’Connor, D. 1992. The Status of Early Egyptian Temples: An Alternative Theory. In R. Friedman and B.  Adams (eds), The Followers of Horus. Studies Dedicated to Michael Allen Hoffman 1944–1990. Egyptian Studies Association Publication 2 = Oxbow Monograph 20. Oxford: Oxbow, 83–98. Pantalacci, L. 1998. Les habitants de Balat à la VIème dynastie: esquisse d’histoire sociale. In C. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists. Leuven: Peeters, 829–37. Pantalacci, L. 2013. Balat, a Frontier Town and its Archive. In J.C. Moreno García (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 197–214. Papazian, H. 2013. The Central Administration of the Resources in the Old Kingdom: Departments, Treasuries, Granaries and Work Centers. In J.C. Moreno García (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 41–83. Papazian, H. 2015. The State of Egypt in the Eighth Dynasty. In Manuelian and Schneider (eds), Towards a New History for the Egyptian Old Kingdom: Perspectives on the Pyramid Age. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 393–428. Parkinson, R.B. 1997. The Tale of Sinuhe and other Ancient Egyptian Poems, 1940–1640 bc. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Parkinson, R.B. 2002. Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt: A Dark Side to Perfection. Athlone Publications in Egyptology and Ancient Near Eastern Studies. London; New York: Continuum.

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636   Nigel Strudwick Pérez-Die, M.C. 1995. Discoveries at Heracleopolis Magna (Ehnasya el-Medina), Egyptian Archaeology 6: 23–5. Pérez-Die, M.C. 2010. The False Door at Herakleopolis Magna (I): Typology and Iconography. In ­Hawass, Z.A., P.D.  Manuelian, and R.B.  Hussein (eds), Perspectives on Ancient Egypt: Studies in Honor of Edward Brovarski. Cairo: Conseil Suprême des Antiquités de l’Égypte, 357–93. Posener-Kriéger, P. and de Cenival, J-L. 1968. Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum. Fifth Series. The Abu Sir Papyri. London: British Museum Press. Posener-Kriéger, P. 1976. Les archives du temple funéraire de Néferirkarê-Kakaï (Les papyrus d’Abousir). Traduction et commentaire. 2 vols. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Posener-Kriéger, P. 2004. I papiri di Gebelein: scavi G.  Farina 1935. Turin: Ministero per i Beni e le ­Attività Culturali. Turin: Soprintendenza al Museo delle Antichità Egizie. Posener-Kriéger, P., M. Verner, and H. Vymazalová 2006. Abusir X: The Pyramid Complex of Raneferef. The Papyrus Archive. Excavations of the Czech Institute of Egyptology. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Charles University. Raue, D. 2007. Elephantine: 4500 Jahre an der Südgrenze Ägyptens. In G. Dreyer and D. Polz (eds), ­Begegnung mit der Vergangenheit—100 Jahre in Ägypten: Deutsches Archäologisches Institut Kairo 1907–2007. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern, 275–84. Raue, D. 2008. Who was who in Elephantine of the Third Millennium bc? British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 9: 1–14. Roccati, A. 1982. La littérature historique sous l’Ancien Empire égyptien. Littératures anciennes du Proche-Orient 11. Paris: Les Editions du Cerf. Redford, D. 2010. City of the Ram-Man: The Story of Ancient Mendes. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Richards, J. 2002. Text and Context In Late Old Kingdom Egypt: The Archaeology And Historiography Of Weni The Elder, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 39: 75–102. Richards, J. 2010. Spatial and Verbal Rhetorics Of Power: Constructing Late Old Kingdom History, Journal of Egyptian History 3: 339–66. Russmann, E.R. 2001. Eternal Egypt: Masterworks of Ancient Art from the British Museum. London: British Museum Press. Ryholt, K. 2000. The Late Old Kingdom in the Turin King-List and the Identity of Nitocris, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 127: 87–100. el-Sawi, Ahmad 1979. Excavations at Tell Basta. Report of Seasons 1967–1971 and Catalogue of Finds. Prague: Charles University. Schenkel, W. 1965. Memphis · Herakleopolis · Theben. Die epigraphischen Zeugnisse der 7.–11. Dynastie Ägyptens. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Seidlmayer, S.J 1996. Town and State in the Early Old Kingdom: A View from Elephantine. In A.J. Spencer (ed.), Aspects of Early Egypt. London: British Museum Press, 108–27. Seidlmayer, S.J. 2000. The First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc). In I. Shaw (ed.), The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 118–47. Seidlmayer, S.J. 2006a. The Relative Chronology of Dynasty 3. In E.  Hornung, R.  Krauss, and D. Warburton (eds), Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Leiden–Boston: Brill, 116–23. Seidlmayer, S.J. 2006b. The Relative Chronology of the First Intermediate Period. In E.  Hornung, R. Krauss, and D. Warburton (eds), Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Leiden–Boston: Brill, 159–67. Sethe, K. 1908–22. Die altaegyptischen Pyramidentexte. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Sethe, K. 1932–3. Urkunden des alten Reiches. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Shaw, I. (ed.) 2000. The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shedid, A.G. 1994. Die Felsgräber von Beni Hassan. Mainz: von Zabern. Soukiassian, G., Wuttmann, M., and L.  Pantalacci 2002. Balat VI: Le palais des gouverneurs de l’époque de Pépy II: les sanctuaires de ka et leurs dépendances. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Soukiassian, G. et al. 1990. Balat III: Les ateliers de potiers d’Ayn Asïl. Fin de l’Ancien Empire, Première Période intermédiaire. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale.

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The Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period   637 Spalinger, A. 1994. Dated Texts of the Old Kingdom, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 21: 275–319. Stauder-Porchet, J. 2017. Les autobiographies de l’Ancien Empire égyptien: étude sur la naissance d’un genre. Leuven: Peeters. Strudwick, N. 1985. The Administration of Egypt in the Old Kingdom. The Highest Titles and their Holders. London: Kegan Paul International. Strudwick, N. 2005. Texts from the Pyramid Age. Atlanta: Society for Biblical Literature. Tallet, P. 2017. Les papyrus de la mer Rouge I: Le ‘journal de Merer’ (Papyrus Jarf A et B). Cairo: Institut français d’Archéologie Orientale. Theis, C. 2014. Zu den an der Pyramide Lepsius XIII gefundenen Namen: die Frage nach  Nfr-kꜢ und BꜢ-kꜢ, Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur 43: 423–38. Vandier, J. 1936. La famine dans l’Egypte ancienne. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Vandier, J. 1950. Mo’alla. La tombe d’Ankhtifi et la tombe de Sébekhotep. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Vercoutter, J. 1993. La fin de l’Ancien Empire: un nouvel examen. In S.  Curto, S.  Donadoni, A.M. Donadoni Roveri, and B. Alberton (eds), Atti di VI Congresso di Egittologia II, Turin: International Association of Egyptologists, 557–62. Verner, M. 2000. Who was Shepseskara, and When did he Reign? In M. Bárta and J. Krejčí (eds), Abusir and Saqqara in the year 2000, Prague: Academy of Sciences, 581–602. Verner, M. 2001. The Pyramids: The Mystery, Culture, and Science of Egypt’s Great Monuments. New York: Grove Press. Verner, M. 2006. Contemporaneous Evidence for the Relative Chronology of Dynasties 4 and 5. In E. Hornung, R. Krauss, and D. Warburton (eds), Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Leiden–Boston: Brill, 124–43. Verner, M. 2008. The system of dating in the Old Kingdom. In H. Vymazalová and M. Bárta (eds), Chronology and archaeology in ancient Egypt (the third millennium b.c.). Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague, 23–43. Verner, M. 2015. The Miraculous Rise of the Fifth Dynasty: The Story of Papyrus Westcar and Historical Evidence, Prague Egyptological Studies 15: 86–92. Verner, M. 2016. Thoughts on the Fifth Dynasty Sun Temples, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäolo­ gischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 70–1: 457–61. Wenke, R.J. and Brewer, D.J. 1996. The Archaic–Old Kingdom Delta: the Evidence from Mendes and Kom El-Hisn. In M. Bietak (ed.), Haus und Palast im Alten Ägypten. Internationales Symposium 8. bis 11. April 1992 in Kairo. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 265–85. Wilkinson, T.A.H. 2000. Royal Annals of Ancient Egypt: The Palermo Stone and its Associated ­Fragments. London: Routledge. Ziermann, M. 1993. Elephantine XVI: Befestigungsanlagen und Stadtentwicklung in der Frühzeit und im frühen Alten Reich. Mainz: von Zabern.

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chapter 30

The Middl e K i ngdom a n d Secon d I n ter m edi ate Per iod Wolfram Grajetzki

Introduction: the sources of data The Middle Kingdom is often seen as the classical period of Egyptian history. Especially in the Twelfth Dynasty. eight kings ruled for almost 200 years bringing stability and prosperity to the country. However, the survival of sources for writing a history is patchy. The temples of the period, pyramids and pyramid temples as well as the tombs of officials are often heavily destroyed. Historical important inscriptions on temple walls and in tombs are therefore most often totally gone.1 Despite this destruction, some important texts with historical inscriptions have been preserved. There are biographical inscriptions of court officials on stelae found at Abydos, and those of local officials in their tombs.2 In addition, there are parts of stone-inscribed annals belonging to Senusret I (c.1956–1911 bc), found at Heliopolis,3 and to Amenemhat II (c.1911–1877 bc), found at Memphis,4 and many dated documents (both private and official) provide a framework for the history of the period. Several important papyri are preserved from the Middle Kingdom; those found at the town site of Lahun reveal many details of the administration and urban life.5 Papyrus Boulaq 18 is an administrative document deriving from the Thirteenth-Dynasty Theban palace.6 In addition to legal and administrative manuscripts, Middle Kingdom papyri also preserve the earliest literary compositions (see Chapter 50 [Literary]). 1  The only exception is the funerary temple at the pyramid of Senusret I, see Arnold 1988: 41–57. 2 Lichtheim 1988. 3  Postel and Regen 2005. 4  Altenmüller and Moussa 1991; Altenmüller 2015. 5  For the so-called ‘town papyri’ from Lahun (those in the collection of the Petrie Museum, University College London) see Griffith 1898; Collier and Quirke 2002, 2004, 2006; and Collier 2009. For the so-called ‘temple archive’ of papyri (those in the Berlin museum), see Borchardt  1899; Scharff  1924; KaplonyHeckel 1971. 6  See Scharff 1922; Quirke 1990: 10–24.

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The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period   639 The Middle Kingdom is especially rich in provincial cemeteries, including the decorated tomb chapels of local governors and the smaller burials of their administrators. These provide a wide source base for religious beliefs and local histories, as many coffins decorated with long religious texts were found at these sites. The tomb chapels of local governors sometimes bear long biographical texts.7 Indeed, the history of some provincial places is better known than those of the capital and the whole country. Altogether, there is a wider source base especially in comparison to the Old Kingdom, providing more information on different aspects of life, administration and political events. Many modern histories of ancient Egypt are still restricted to discussion of the history of the king and the king’s family, and the wider population is most often fully ignored.8 These histories also frequently focus on architecture and culture and are therefore more often cultural and architectural, rather than political histories in a narrower sense. The reason seems clear. On the one hand, the monuments are the major survivals from ancient Egypt, and, on the other hand, there are few preserved texts that come even close to the concept of modern history writing (see Chapter 48 [Historical texts]). Therefore, it should clearly be said that the information, even when taken together, is fragmented and patchy. The recent re-excavation of a mastaba at Dahshur, belonging to the ‘high steward’ and vizier Khnumhotep serving under the Twelfth-Dynasty ruler Senusret III (c.1870–1831 bc), included fragments of a long biographical wall-inscription, describing an expedition to Byblos and another Near Eastern coastal town; this inscription reveals a level of Egyptian involvement in the Near East that was not previously appreciated,9 demonstrating that a single new find can fundamentally change our view of specific periods. In recent decades, the society of the Middle Kingdom has attracted increasing attention from researchers, some of whom interpret it as the age of a rising middle class. The evidence, for this, however, is vague, and connected in part with the first appearance of literary papyri, with distinctive terms and themes.10 The only major study with an archaeological approach confirms that there were several levels of wealth in the society of the period, but terminology for social relations remains only roughly defined.11 Foreigners in Egypt and foreign relations are also popular research topics in the last years. Written sources indicate high numbers of  people from the Levant in Egypt.12 The current interest in their presence is probably influenced by the challenges that these topics raise for modern societies.

The Eleventh Dynasty At the end of the First Intermediate Period, Egypt was ruled by two lines of kings. In the north there were the Herakleopolitans, in the south there was a line of kings at Thebes. The latter was the Eleventh Dynasty (c.2125–1985 bc) with kings named Inyotef and Mentuhotep. Egypt was reunified within the 51-year reign of Nebhepetra Mentuhotep II, who changed 7  The Middle Kingdom provincial milieu is best described in Willems 2014. 8 Exceptions include Callender  2000; Kemp  1983, Kemp  2006; for a Marxist approach see Zingarelli 2016. 9 Allen 2008. 10  Critical: Franke 1998. 11 Richards 2005. 12  Schneider 2003; Mourad 2015.

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640   Wolfram Grajetzki his so-called ‘Horus-name’ several times, thus causing some confusion for early historians, as it was initially uncertain whether these names only to Mentuhotep or to several kings.13 Little is known about the ‘reunification’ itself, which must have taken place in the second half of his reign.14 References to civil wars within Egypt are vague, and it is hard to gain any consistent picture of the events. Following the unification, Nebhepetra Mentuhotep II launched several military campaigns into Lower Nubia,15 and even perhaps into southern Palestine,16 but whether such activities resulted in permanent occupations of these regions remains unknown. A rock inscription at Jebel Uweinat, very close to the Sudanese-Libyan border, demonstrates that Egyptian activities in this reign had already extended considerably to the west of the Nile valley.17 With these campaigns, the king initiated a model for future kings of the Middle Kingdom. All of the Twelfth-Dynasty kings that enjoyed reasonably long reigns seem to have launched military campaigns into neighbouring regions. Mentuhotep II established a new administration partly based on Old Kingdom models, with the re-introduction of the positions of vizier and ‘scribe of the royal documents’. Other titles were new to the royal court, coming in part from the First Intermediate provincial administration, such as the ‘treasurer’ or the ‘steward’. Mentuhotep II also launched a building programme renovating

Figure 30.1  View of the mortuary temple of King Nebhepetra Mentuhotep I at Deir el-Bahari. Picture by Olaf Tausch. Wikimedia Commons (https://commons.wikimedia.org).

13  Gestermann 1987: 51–3. 14  Gestermann 1987: 35–47. 16 Willems 1989. 17  Clayton et al. 2008.

15 Postel 2008.

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The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period   641 several temples in Upper Egypt, or adding new elements to them. His main project was his own funerary temple at Deir el-Bahri. Although the evidence for the Old Kingdom is much more fragmentary, it seems that this was also a new element of royal policy. Many Middle Kingdom rulers built or renovated temples across the country as a whole, not merely in the capital or specific religious centres. Another important element of early Middle Kingdom politics was the organization of the provinces, the local governors of which had already become strong in the late Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period (see Chapters  35 and  36 for discussion of the interplay between national and local administration). With the unification of the country, it is likely that Mentuhotep II had to face the fact that there were, in several parts of the country, power­ful local families, perhaps not always accepting the new dynasty. There are indeed inscriptions mentioning situations resembling civil war. At least in the case of Deir el-Bersha, Mentuhotep II seems to have promoted local governors to the position of viziers, perhaps to gain help from powerful local partners.18 Similar civil wars are also indicated by inscriptions dating to the Twelfth Dynasty.19 In reaction, several new lines of governors were installed in different parts of the country. Those at Beni Hasan appear already in the  Eleventh Dynasty; at other places, such as Elephantine, Meir or Qau ­el-Kebir, they were installed at the beginning of the Twelfth Dynasty. Local governors loyal to the kings were evidently seen as an essential part of the royal power base.20 A high proportion of the resources of the country remained in the provinces and show a wide spread of wealth, at least for the upper levels of society. In terms of material culture, the Eleventh Dynasty still had strong connections with the First Intermediate Period. At many sites it can be problematic to date objects and even officials to the periods before or after unification.21 Sankhkara Mentuhotep III, the son of Mentuhotep II, is little attested, although he seems to have continued the politics of his father. He is mainly known from several temple buildings in Upper Egypt. From the next reign, that of Nebtawyra Mentuhotep IV, only several expedition inscriptions have survived, at the Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarries, in the Wadi el-Hudi amethyst mines, and at the port of Ayn Sukhna. He seems to have reigned for only a few years, and the end of the dynasty and of this king remains obscure for us. There is also evidence for activities of some local kings in Lower Nubia.22

The Twelfth Dynasty The reigns of the eight Twelfth-Dynasty rulers (all but one holding the name Amenemhat or Senusret) spanned a period of almost two centuries, and they appear to have been among the strongest to rule Egypt. The dynasty ended with the ruling queen Sobekneferu. It is usually divided culturally and politically into early and late phases. From the beginning of the Twelfth Dynasty there are some texts preserved referring to situations resembling civil

18  Willems 2007: 109. 19  Arnold, Do. 1988: 18–20. 20  Franke 1996: 8–29; Favry 2004; for the governors at Qau el-Kebir, see Fiore Marochetti 2016. 21  Seidlmayer 1990: 394–7. 22  Grajetzki 2006: 26–7.

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642   Wolfram Grajetzki war.23 Later manuscripts preserve a Teaching of King Amenemhat I, mentioning a physical attack on the king. These texts are often hard to place into a general picture and their interpretation and dating is disputed in Egyptology (see Chapters 48 and 50 on the debates surrounding such historical and literary texts).24 Amenemhat I and Senusret I, together ruling for about 65 years, represent the first phase of the Twelfth Dynasty.25 Amenemhat I moved the capital to the north to a place called Amenemhat-itj-tawy (‘Amenemhat is the seizer of the two Lands’), usually abbreviated to Itjtawy. This city was perhaps located near the modern village of Lisht, some 50 kilometres south of modern Cairo, close to the site of Amenemhat’s pyramid complex.26 In a broader sense it can be said that this is basically the region where Egypt always had its capital, from the Old Kingdom at Memphis to modern Cairo. From here it was easier to control the Delta but also Upper Egypt. The new capital was also closer to the Faiyum, a river oasis, and a region that received special attention throughout the Twelfth Dynasty. It was probably during this period that the Faiyum was first fully cultivated, becoming an important economic zone within Egypt. The new city of Itjtawy seems to have also rapidly developed into a ­centre of production with many new developments in material culture, best visible from the pottery; a typical Middle Kingdom ware appeared there first under Senusret I and then spread than over the whole country.27 Both kings, but especially Senusret I launched a building programme, renovating and building new temples all around the country, perhaps inspired by piety, but undoubtedly also as an opportunity to take tighter control over the provinces.28 In the Old Kingdom, local temples were under local control, but now they were placed under the control of the central government. After Senusret I, few new temples were built, perhaps because they were now fully under central control.29 Both kings built pyramids at Lisht, and that of Senusret I appears to be intended to closely replicate the Old Kingdom style of pyramid complex, with a temple of Sixth-Dynasty plan located beside the pyramid, and with a niched enclosure wall evoking that around the Third-Dynasty Step Pyramid of Djoser.30 Senusret I reorganized the provinces, and founded or at least fixed its limits. There is even a listing of all provinces (including measurements of their extent), on a chapel erected at Thebes. Two boundary stelae bearing his name have survived.31 Under the early TwelfthDynasty kings, many cemeteries that had flourished in the First Intermediate Period now fell out of use, such as those in the region of Qau and Badari32 and the cemeteries at Sedment33. This might indicate that substantial parts of the population became poorer and therefore became less visible in the archaeological record.34 Most likely it was during this reign that a corvée system was introduced, appearing in the sources as the ‘great enclosure’; almost all Egyptians had to work for state projects, and runaways were heavily punished.35 There are indications of new settlements founded all around the country,36 and this evidence 23  Willems 1984: 95–101. 24  For the problem of dating Middle Kingdom texts see Stauder 2013. 25  Grajetzki 2006: 28–45; Willems 2007: 90–2. 26  See, for example, Simpson 1963; Malleson 2007. 27  Do. Arnold 1988: 145. 28  Grajetzki 2017: 159. 29  Bussmann 2010: 512–13. 30  Arnold 1988: 56–587. 31  Habachi 1975: 209–12 (one of the stelae was found at Karnak, the provenance of the other is unknown). 32  Dubiel 2008: 166–9. 33  Petrie, and Brunton 1924: 5. 34 Grajetzki 2017. 35  Hayes 1955: 64–5; Quirke 1988. 36  Kemp 2006: 22–244.

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The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period   643 suggests that there were substantial population movements, perhaps under government control.37 Amenemhat I and Senusret I were heavily involved in foreign campaigns, including the conquest of Lower Nubia up to the Second Cataract. There is also evidence for expeditions to Libya and South Palestine, although hardly any that appear to have resulted in permanent land occupation in these two regions. All borders of the country were heavily secured with fortresses. Those at the border to Palestine are only known from written sources, but those in Nubia are partly excavated and are impressive monuments demonstrating royal power.38 Recent years have seen much discussion as to whether kings of the Middle Kingdom had a ‘co-regency’ system, whereby one king might choose, in his old age, to nominate one of his sons as successor reigning together with him in the period leading up to the death of the father. There are indeed several dated inscriptions that name two kings simultaneously, indicating that this practice may have existed. Arguments against this interpretation have been raised, and the evidence has been reviewed by several scholars, but recent discoveries apparently support the existence of co-regencies. There are for example inscriptions of Senusret III at Abydos39 and Dahshur40 that provide a year 30 and 39. On a long-known Lahun papyrus, a year 19 is followed by a year 1, and for chronological reasons these dates can only relate to Senusret III and Amenemhat III. Taken together, these texts seem to indicate that Senusret III ruled for 19 years alone and for a further 20 years together with Amenemhat III.41 The four decades or so for which Amenemhat II and Senusret II reigned are not well attested, although two years of Amenemhat’s II reign are documented by fragments of annals found at Memphis that report mainly donations to different temples of the country, but also trade missions to Asia, and an attack on two towns located in Palestine or even in Turkey or Cyprus.42 Captives were brought to Egypt and employed at the royal pyramid complex.43 Silver bowls and a silver seal of Aegean origin found at the temple el-Tod seem to be proof of a flourishing trade with this region.44 In the late Twelfth Dynasty (lasting about 75 years, from Senusret III to Sobekneferu) new developments are visible in almost all areas of Egypt,45 perhaps the first indications of significant change being the disappearance of the provincial tombs of local governors.46 Under Senusret III the last monumental tombs of governors were erected. The line of governors itself continues at most places, but they no longer had the resources for building large tombs, perhaps because of decreased resources and power.47 A range of new titles (such as the now very common ‘commander in chief of the town regiment’ or ‘general of the ruler’s crew’)48 appeared in the administration, indicating a reorganization of the whole country49. The country was more centralized, a situation evidently backed up by the fact that the vast majority of large-scale monuments were being constructed for the king and his court. The centres of the country were the Memphite-Fayum region (where the capital was located), Abydos and Thebes, with the latter developing into a form of second capital. There were changes in burial customs,50 and the mass-production of scarab seals started, including 37  Grajetzki 2017: 156–60. 38  Grajetzki 2006: 31–32, 42–3. 39  Wegner 1996. 40  Arnold, F. 1992. 41  For recent discussion of the evidence, see Schneider 2006: 170–5. 42  Altenmüller 2015: 297–304. 43  Altenmüller 2015: 116–117. 44 Maxwell-Hyslop 1995. 45  Gestermann 1995; Grajetzki 2013. 46  Meyer 1913: 276. 47 Franke 1991. 48  Quirke 2004: 99. 49  Quirke 2004: 7–9. 50 Bourriau 1991.

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100 m

Figure 30.2  Plan of the pyramid complex of King Senusret III at Dahshur. Drawing: Grajetzki; after Arnold, D. 2002: plan 1.

examples bearing names and titles of officials and kings (see Chapter 21 for further detail on the emergence and significance of scarabs).51 Senusret III52 is best known for his military campaigns into Lower Nubia, where he built or re-built a chain of fortresses, presumably linked with Egyptian interests in raw materials, especially gold. Military campaigns to Palestine are attested too, but they remain obscure, mainly because written texts mentioning enterprises are generally missing, and the arch­ aeo­logic­al evidence in Palestine itself is not strong, but there is potentially relevant textual evidence in the form of a stele of an official called Sobek-khu which is inscribed with a brief account of a campaign.53 Senusret III erected a pyramid and pyramid complex at Dahshur, but also built a tomb at Abydos,54 underlining the growing importance of this religious centre. Amenemhat III built two pyramids, one at Dahshur, and the second at Hawara, where he also erected a funerary complex, later known as the famous ‘Labyrinth’.55 Many rock inscriptions in mining regions report expeditions. Otherwise, only one rock inscription in Lower Nubia reports a short raid. After the reign of Amenemhat IV, the dynasty ends with the ruling queen Sobekneferu, of whom little is known.56 There is also only sparse evidence concerning the general nature of the end of the Twelfth Dynasty; often it is simply assumed that Amenemhat IV had no male heir and that therefore a woman of the family, Sobekneferu, became ruler, but this explanation remains pure speculation.57 51  Martin 1971: 3; Ben-Tor 2004: 27. 52  See the monograph on his reign, Tallet 2006. 53  For a most recent summary, see Tallet 2014. 54 Wegner 2007. 55 Blom-Böer 2006. 56  Gillam 2012. 57  Grajetzki 2006: 61–3.

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The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period   645

Figure 30.3  Stele of Sobek-khu. After Garstang 1901, pl. V.

The Thirteenth Dynasty Some scholars regard the Thirteenth Dynasty as part of the Middle Kingdom,58 while others prefer to place it in the Second Intermediate Period.59 Politically, one major difference 58  Grajetzki 2006: 63–75.

59  von Beckerath 1964; Ryholt 1997: 311–12.

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Figure 30.4  King Hor, one of the short-reigning kings of the Thirteenth Dynasty: wooden statue found in his tomb at Dahshur. De Morgan, J. 1895: pl. XXXV.

between the Twelfth and Thirteenth Dynasty is indeed visible: the line of strong rulers with long reigns ended. Many kings of the Thirteenth Dynasty ruled only for a few years, indicating a stark decline in royal power. In terms of material culture it is often hard to  decide whether an object belongs to the end of the one or to the beginning of the other dynasty.60 60  Hayes 1953: 344–5; Bourriau 1991: 13–16.

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The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period   647 The Thirteenth Dynasty (c.1773–1650 bc) comprises a long succession of short-reigning kings. The names of the early Thirteenth-Dynasty rulers are well preserved in the Turin Canon (a Ramessid papyrus inscribed with a list of kings from mythical prehistory through to the Nineteenth Dynasty); there are problems in detail with the papyrus, but in general the order seems to be reliable.61 Most kings still built pyramids and their capital was still Itjtawy,62 but some kings were buried at Abydos, thus evidently following the model of Senusret III.63 At least at the beginning of the Thirteenth Dynasty, they seem to have ruled over the whole of Egypt, as well as Lower Nubia up to the Second Cataract, since monuments bearing their names have been found all around the country. Neferhotep I is even attested in Byblos, where a relief in Egyptian style, bearing an Egyptian hieroglyphic inscription, shows him in front of a local governor, indicating close contacts to that place. In the middle of the dynasty there is a core group of kings, including Neferhotep I, Khaneferra Sobekhotep,64 Ibia and Ay, the first three reigning for about ten years, and Ay for about twenty. The first two rulers are known from a number of monuments, and it is notable that many private monuments, especially stelae and statues, are d ­ atable to this period. However, Ibia and Ay appear only on crudely cut scarab seals and a few other objects. There is the impression of a steady decline of the country under these two kings, as they reigned long and so few objects bearing either royal name have survived.65 There is little evidence for family relations between these rulers, therefore it is unclear whether the Thirteenth Dynasty ever formed a true ‘dynasty’ in terms of being one family. Neferhotep I and Khaneferra Sobekhotep were brothers. There is a queen Nubhetepti with the titles ‘king’s wife’ and ‘king’s mother’, showing that at least one king was also the father of another king, but the actual husband and son of this queen are not known.66 Other evidence indicates that, at least for some kings, close relations existed with the highest state officials,67 and it is possible that some kings shared the same background with high state officials. In recent years it has been proposed that the double names of Thirteenth-Dynasty kings are filiations—thus, Amenemhat Senbef would be Amenemhat’s son Senbef.68 However, no definite proof has yet been found for this hypothesis, and it should be rejected, since double names are well attested for Egyptians at all social levels, without any implication of filiation.69 King Merneferra Ay is the last ruler attested in both Upper and Lower Egypt,70 and he is also one of the last kings whose name is still preserved in the Turin Canon. After his reign it becomes hard to follow and reconstruct the line of the kings. There are even problems encountered in assigning certain kings known from monuments to particular dynasties. At about this time or a little bit earlier, the political unity of the country seems to have de­teri­ or­ated, and Egypt began to be ruled by more than one king, which indicates the starting point of the Second Intermediate Period.71 61  Ryholt 1997: 9–33. 62 Hayes 1947. 63  Wegner, Cahail 2015 (the buried kings might be Neferhotep I and Khaneferra Sobekhotep). 64  Formerly called Sobekhotep IV; but see now Connor and Siesse 2015. 65  Ryholt 1997: 298–9. 66  Quirke 1991: 129. 67  Franke 1998: 249, n. 5; Ryholt 1997: 220, 222. 68  Ryholt 1997: 207–9; Allen 2010. 69  Vernus 1986; Quirke 2006: 263. 70  Ryholt 1997: 297–8. 71 Bourriau 2000.

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The Second Intermediate Period: general issues For the whole Second Intermediate Period more than a fifty rulers are known from inscriptions on contemporary objects, but their chronological order is open to discussion. Most of them appear on only a few objects, which are often of poor quality. Only at the very end of the period are there a few instances of kings (of the Seventeenth Dynasty) that are known from inscriptions in temple buildings, on a scale not attested since the Thirteenth Dynasty.72 For this and other reasons the history of the Second Intermediate Period is more problematic than that of the Twelfth and even of the early Thirteenth Dynasty. Only the beginning and the end are clear. At some point in the Thirteenth Dynasty the unity of the country fell apart, and at the end of the period there were two distinct sets of rulers. On  the one hand there were foreigners, in later sources called Hyksos (Greek for the Egyptian title ḥ ḳ ꜣ-ḫꜣswt—‘ruler of the foreign lands’), ruling from the city of ḥ wt-wꜥrt, which is usually known by the Greek name Avaris (the modern archaeological site of Tell el-Dab’a) at the eastern side of the Delta. On the other hand, there were Egyptian kings ruling from Thebes. After a long war, the latter conquered the Hyksos capital and managed to unite Egypt under one ruler. Everything in between these fixed points currently appears to be floating around, relatively un-anchored chronologically. The Turin Canon is of no great assistance with regard to placing the rulers in a chronological sequence, as it is much destroyed for this period, and the physical piecing together of the surviving fragments remains problematic. With the exception of the Hyksos, the surviving versions of the history compiled by the Egyptian historian Manetho, written in Greek, name only dynasties rather than any individual rulers. Even here, the different ancient authors preserving versions of parts of Manetho’s history provide conflicting information. The version preserved via Africanus says that there were thirty-two so-called ‘shepherd kings’ during the Sixteenth Dynasty, while the version preserved via Eusebius assigns the dynasty to Thebes and says that it consists of just five rulers. According to Manetho, the Thirteenth Dynasty is Theban, the Fourteenth Dynasty derives from Xois, a town in the Delta, and the Fifteenth Dynasty consists of foreign Hyksos rulers. The rulers of the Fifteenth Dynasty also appear in the Turin Canon, although only the name of the last one, Khamudi, is preserved. At the end of the Twelfth Dynasty, the material culture of Egypt had been quite homogeneous across the entire country, but by the end of the Second Intermediate Period each region had developed its own pottery and other cultural styles.73 In the eastern Delta there are strong links with Palestine; in the Memphis region Middle Kingdom traditions are still visible, and in Thebes a distinctive local pottery style developed during the Second Intermediate Period.74

72  For the Seventeenth Dynasty, see Polz 2007: 5–59. 73 Bourriau, 1997, 2000. 74  Bourriau 1997; see also the disappearance of scarab seals in Upper Egypt, while they were still produced in Lower Egypt: Ben-Tor 2004; for Thebes see Seiler 2006.

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The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period   649

The ‘Hyksos’ culture and rulers As early as the beginning of the Thirteenth Dynasty there was already archaeological evidence that people from Palestine or the Levant were settling at the eastern edge of the Delta.75 Their main city was Avaris (Tell el-Dab’a), where an urban centre developed, with close cultural relations to the Levant and Palestine.76 At a certain point these people seems to have become independent and were ruled by their own kings. However, the timing and development of events is far from certain. According to the Jewish writer Artapanos, who used Manetho as a source, this might have happened under Khaneferra Sobekhotep. In the Turin Canon a certain king Nehesy appears in column 9 as the first ruler. He is also known from contemporary monuments found basically only at sites at the edge of the Eastern Delta, including Avaris.77 It has been proposed that Nehesy was one of the kings of the Fourteenth Dynasty, ruling parts of the Delta contemporary with the Thirteenth Dynasty.78 By this view, Nehesy would stand at the beginning of the Second Intermediate Period. However, a newly discovered stele, as well as evidence from the style of scarab seals, might indicate that he reigned at the very end of the period.79 The example of this specific ruler demonstrates the fundamental problems that researchers still face when dealing with this period. Many scarab seals from the period record kings bearing foreign names. It seems possible that these started to reign at one point from Avaris. These kings have not yet been identified on any other objects than scarabs, and are also not known from later records. However, Manetho’s history suggests that a continuous succession of Hyksos kings ruled over parts of Egypt for about century, based at their capital Avaris. Their relationship with those rulers who are only known from scarabs is not known. In Manetho there are six Hyksos rulers recorded, providing the impression of a stable dynasty.80 Khyan and Apepi are known from a much larger number of objects, and their texts include royal titles suggesting that they were full Egyptian kings. Khyan is also known from a large number of seal impressions found at Tell el-Dab’a and Edfu. At Edfu, they were discovered in a context with seals of the Thirteenth Dynasty king Khaneferra Sobekhotep, indicating that he might have ruled earlier than previously thought.81 Both the nature and particularly the extent of their rule are disputed. There is some doubt as to whether any of them ever ruled the whole of Egypt.82 Apepi in particular seems to have been in a constant war with the Egyptians ruling in Thebes. The origins of the Hyksos are much debated. There are two approaches in research for finding a solution. On the one hand there are the names of the foreign kings known from scarabs both of the Hyksos rulers and of some of their officials, which various researchers have compared with the large numbers of names known from contemporary writing in the Near East. On the other hand, there is the material culture found at Avaris and other places, and most likely relating to these foreigners, providing another clue for their origin. The ­rulers, mainly known from scarabs, are thought to bear Semitic names,83 but both Hurrian and Semitic origins have been proposed.84 In terms of archaeology the picture is also rather 75 Mourad 2015. 76  For the archaeology of Avaris see the summary Bietak 1996. 77  Bietak 1984: 62. 78  Ryholt 1997: 252–4. 79  Abdel Maksoud, Valbelle 2005; Ben-Tor 2007: 109–10. 80  Waddel 1980: 91. 81  Moeller et al. 2011. 82  Polz 2006: 246. 83  Ryholt 1997: 99–102. 84  Ryholt 1997: 126–30.

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650   Wolfram Grajetzki unclear. The material culture from earlier strata at Avaris show strong links to the northern Levantine. The donkey burials found at several tombs have closest parallels in Syria and northern Mesopotamia.85 The fragments of a more than life-size statue found at Avaris,86 have their closest parallels with statues found at Ebla (in northern Syria)87 and Alalakh (at the southern edge of modern Turkey).88

The Theban dynasties The line of Egyptian kings and dynasties in Upper Egypt after king Merneferra Ay is also far from certain. About forty of them appear on fragments of the Turin Canon. Following Manetho and the remains of the Turin Canon, it has been proposed that these rulers should be separated into three groups. Firstly there are kings still belonging to the Thirteenth Dynasty and still residing in Itjtawy. Secondly, there is the Sixteenth Dynasty consisting of kings with a capital in Thebes, who appear to have been contemporary with the Hyksos in the north. So far it is not known where these kings were buried. However, in 2014, the tomb of king Useribra Senebkay was excavated at Abydos, along with other similar tombs, whose owners’ names are not known.89 The evidence seem to confirm that there were kings in the Second Intermediate Period for whom Abydos was their main place of residence and also their burial-place. The evidence, however, is not conclusive. Senusret III and a Thirteenth Dynasty ruler called Sobekhotep also had tombs at Abydos, but these two earlier rulers were most likely to have resided in the north, not at Abydos. Senebkay may perhaps belong to a Theban ruling family.90 Finally there are the kings of the Seventeenth Dynasty, also ruling from Thebes, and contemporary with the Hyksos. These kings are known largely from the remains of their bur­ials, found at the beginning of the nineteenth century at Dra Abu el-Naga in Thebes. The idea of grouping these rulers together into one dynasty, purely on the basis of their shared burial places and funerary equipment, is problematic and might perhaps be an artificial construct created by the accident of surviving sources. King Nubkheperra Inyotef is also known from his recently excavated pyramid,91 as well as several blocks coming from temples in Upper Egypt and providing some evidence for a more stable and perhaps longer reign. However, his pyramid is small, probably indicating the limited resources of this king.92 The resources for contemporary officials were probably also restricted; thus, the tomb of the ‘treasurer’ Teti, one of the leading officials at the royal court (found next to the pyramid of king Nubkheperra Inyotef) is a small mud-brick built structure. There are only a few political events known for the whole Second Intermediate Period in Upper Egypt. Some references on royal stelae and private inscriptions indicate a time of trouble and war. At one point the Hyksos in the North must have become a threat, but reports of military campaigns between the Hyksos and Upper Egypt are only known from the very end of the period. The Nubian state Kerma also became an important power during the Second Intermediate Period,93 and an inscription in a tomb at Elkab reports a 85  Bietak 1997: 103. 86  Bietak 1997: 100. 87  Matthiae 1997: 400, fig. 14.18. 88  Woolley 1955: 235, pl. XL. 89 Wegner 2015. 90  Ilin-Tomich 2016: 10. 91 Polz 2010. 92  Compare Ryholt 1997: 69–93, 151–183, Ben-Tor 1999 and Polz 2007. 93  See Edwards 2004: 75–111, for a convenient summary of the Kerma culture.

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The Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period   651 raid of the Nubians into Upper Egypt.94 The Second Intermediate Period saw the resurgence of some strong local governors in the provinces of Upper Egypt. The tomb of Sobeknakht at Elkab is one of the largest and best decorated known from the period, demonstrating this governor’s resources; his family was connected both to kings of the Thirteenth Dynasty.95 The local governors at Edfu had also connection to the royal family.96 The end of the Second Intermediate Period is marked by the wars of the Theban rulers against the Hyksos. The military campaigns of king Kamose, including the conquest of parts of Middle Egypt, are well known as they are described on two stelae of the king.97 Under king Ahmose, Kamose’s successor, the Hyksos were finally defeated. The details of these events are still obscure, although Ahmose’s mortuary temple at Abydos contained scenes relating to these events (now much destroyed).98 Another important text describing the events belongs to Ahmose, son of Ibana, an official buried at Elkab.99 His biography mentions the sack of the city and that Ahmose moved on to South Palestine to expel the Hyksos from Egypt.

Future directions of research Many archaeological missions are currently working on Middle Kingdom sites, but the number of expeditions seems small compared to those working on monuments of other periods. The majority of tombs of the state officials, and most of the late Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period kings are still missing,100 in stark contrast to the situation for the Old and New kingdoms. New discoveries of royal tombs of the Thirteenth Dynasty would provide pottery and therefore help to date other assemblages with pottery more closely, as the precise dating of archaeological material of the late Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period is still a considerable challenge. The full publication of old excavations is also urgently needed.101 In comparison to other periods, the settlements of the period, often planned on a grid pattern, are quite well known.102 Nevertheless, ‘organic’ settlements are still underrepresented in the record. The excavation of an ‘ordinary’ village would provide important insights into social relations and into how local culture differs from ‘official’ culture (see Chapter 14 for more discussion of issues relating to settlement archaeology). Furthermore, the Delta is still poorly known in terms of archaeology, with substantial Middle Kingdom remains so far excavated only at the sites of Abu Ghalib (edge of Western Delta), Tell el-Dab’a and Bubastis. Many Middle Kingdom provincial sites, such as Beni Hasan, Meir, el-Bersha and Asyut were excavated around the beginning of the twentieth century, with inadequate recording and publications. New missions are now beginning to fill these gaps, and provide new insights.103 However, here too, the missions most often target the burials of the local upper classes, while those of the broader population do not receive much attention. This gap in past and current research applies even to sites thought to be more fully explored: at Thebes, almost all documented burials are of the wealthiest people in society. The priority for future fieldwork and research is clearly a new 94  Davies 2003. 95  Tylor 1896; Davies 2010. 96  Ryholt 1997: 268–9; Farout 2007. 97  Ryholt 1997, 399 File 17/9; 6, 7 (with further bibliography). 98 Harvey 2001. 99 Davies 2009. 100 Schiestl 2015. 101  Such as Arnold 1988. 102  Moeller 2015: 279–375. 103  For example Willems 2007 (el-Bersha); Kahl 2008(Asyut).

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652   Wolfram Grajetzki and intense effort to investigate the population as a whole, in order to begin understanding its diverse elements and the relations between them.

Suggested reading A summary of Middle Kingdom history is provided in The Middle Kingdom of Ancient Egypt (Grajetzki 2006), and shorter syntheses of this period have also appeared (e.g. Callender 2000 and Willems 2010). Still important is the first volume of The Scepter of Egypt (Hayes 1953), which uses the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, to provide an excellent guide to the material culture and history of the period. For the same reason several exhibition catalogues are important (Bourriau  1988; Morfoisse, Andreu-Lanoë  2014, Oppenheim, Arnold, Arnold, Yamamoto 2015). The political history of the Second Intermediate Period is covered by Jürgen von Beckerath (1964) and Kim Ryholt (1997); more recent comments and additions to Ryholt’s work are Ben-Tor 1999 and Ilin-Tomich 2016. The material culture of the Second Intermediate Period is best summarized by Janine Bourriau (2000).

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654   Wolfram Grajetzki Fiore Marochetti, E. 2016. Some Aspects of the Decorative and Cult Programme of Twelfth Dynasty Tombs at Qaw el-Kebir. In L. Hudáková, P. Jánosi, and A. Kahlbacher (eds), Change and Innovation in Middle Kingdom Art Proceedings of the MeKeTRE Study Day held at the Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna (3rd May 2013). Middle Kingdom Studies 4. London: Golden House Publications, 37–46. Favry, N. 2004. Le normarque sous le règne de Sésostris Ier. Paris: Presses de l’Université Paris-Sorbonne. Franke, D. 1988. Zur Chronologie des Mittleren Reiches, Teil II: Die sogenannte ‘Zweiten Zwischenzeit Altägyptens’, Orientalia 57: 245–74. Franke, D. 1991. The Career of Khnumhotep III of Beni Hasan and the So-Called ‘Decline of the Nomarchs’. In S. Quirke (ed.), Middle Kingdom Studies. Whitstable: SIA Publishing, 51–67. Franke, D. 1996. Das Heiligtum des Heqaib auf Elephantine. Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens 9. Heidelberg: Orientverlag. Franke, D. 1998. Kleiner Mann (nds)—was bist Du? Göttinger Miszellen 167: 33–48. Garstang, J. 1901. El Arábah: A Cemetery of the Middle Kingdom; Survey of the Old Kingdom Temenos; Graffiti from the Temple of Sety. Egyptian Research Account 6. London: Bernard Quaritch. Gestermann, L. 1987. Kontinuität und Wandel in der Politik und Verwaltung des frühen Mittleren Reiches in Ägypten. Göttinger Orientforschungen IV/18. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Gestermann, L. 1995. Der politische und kulturelle Wandel under Sesostris III.—Ein Entwurf. In L. Gestermann and H. Sternberg-El Hotabi (eds), Per aspera ad astra: Wolfgang Schenkel zum neunundfünfzigsten Geburstag. Kassel: Gestermann, 31–50. Gillam, R. 2012. Sobeknefru. In R.S.  Bagnall, K.  Brodersen, C.B.  Champion, and A.  Erskine (eds) The Encyclopedia of Ancient History http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/9781444338386. wbeah15372/references Grajetzki, W. 2006. The Middle Kingdom of Ancient Egypt: History, Archaeology and Society. London: Duckworth. Grajetzki, W. 2013. Late Middle Kingdom. In Wendrich, W. (ed.), UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology. http://digital2.library.ucla.edu/viewItem.do?ark=21198/zz002hcnh5 Grajetzki, W. 2017. Sinuhe, Senusret I and the Centralisation of Egypt. In F.  Feder, G.  Spereslage, and F. Steinborn (eds), Ägypten begreifen Erika Endesfelder in memoriam. Internet-Beiträge zur Ägyptologie und Sudanarchäologie 19. London: Golden House, 155–62. Griffith 1898. Hieratic Papyri from Kahun and Gurob. London: Bernard Quaritch. Habachi L. 1975. Building Activities of Sesostris I in the Area to the South of Thebes, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Insituts, Abteilung Kairo 31: 27–37. Harvey, S. 2001. Tribute to a Conquering King: Battle Scenes at Abydos Honor a Pharaoh’s Triumph over the Hyksos Occupiers and his Reunification of Egypt, Archaeology 54/4: 52–5. Hayes, W.C. 1947. Horemkhaauef of Nekhen and his Trip to It-towe, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 33: 3–11. Hayes W.C. 1955. A Papyrus of the Late Middle Kingdom in the Brooklyn Museum. New York: Brooklyn Museum. Hayes, W.C. 1953. The Scepter of Egypt I. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Ilin-Tomich, A. 2016. Second Intermediate Period. In W.  Wendrich (ed.), UCLA Encyclopedia of ­Egyptology. Los Angeles. http://digital2.library.ucla.edu/viewItem.do?ark=21198/zz002k7jm9 Kahl, J. 2008. Die Determinative der Hereret in Assiut, oder: von der Notwendigkeit epigraphischen Arbeitens am Original, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 135: 180–2. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 1971. Ägyptische Handschriften I. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner. Kemp, B. J. 1983. Old Kingdom, Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period c.2686–1552 bc. In B. G. Trigger, B. J. Kemp, D. O’Connor, and A. Lloyd (eds), Ancient Egypt, A Social History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 71–182. Kemp, B.J. 2006. Ancient Egypt, Anatomy of a Civilization. Second edn. London, New York: Routledge. Lichtheim, M. 1988. Ancient Egyptian Autobiographies, Chiefly of the Middle Kingdom: A Study and an Anthology. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Malleson, C. 2007. Investigating Ancient Egyptian Towns: A Case-Study of Itj-tawy. In R. Mairs and A. Stevenson (eds), Current Research in Egyptology 2005. Oxford: Oxbow, 90–104.

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656   Wolfram Grajetzki Seidlmayer  S.  J. 1990. Gräberfelder aus dem Übergang vom Alten zum Mittleren Reich, Studien zur Archäologie der Ersten Zwischenzeit, Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens I. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Seiler, A. 2006. Tradition und Wandel: Die Keramik als Spiegel der Kulturentwicklung Thebens in der Zweiten Zwischenzeit. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Schiestl, R. 2015. Locating the Cemeteries of the Residential Elite of the Thirteenth Dynasty at Dahshur. In P. Kousoulis and N. Lazaridis (eds), Proceedings of the Tenth International Congress of Egypt­olo­gists, University of the Aegean, Rhodes, 22–29 May 2008. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 241. Leuven: Peeters, 429–43. Schneider, T. 2003. Ausländer in Ägypten während des Mittleren Reiches und der Hyksoszeit II, Die ausländische Bevölkerung. Ägypten und Altes Testament 42. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Schneider, T. 2006. The Relative Chronology of the Middle Kingdom and the Hyksos Period (Dyns. 12–17). In E. Hornung, R. Krauss, and D.A. Warburton (eds), Ancient Egyptian Chronology. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 168–96. Simpson, W.K. 1963. The Residence of Itj-towy, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 2: 53–9. Stauder, A. 2013. Linguistic Dating of Middle Egyptian Literary Texts. Lingua Aegyptia Studia ­Monographica 12. Hamburg: Widmaier. Tallet, P. 2005. Sésostris III et la fin la XIIe dynastie. Paris: Pygmalion. Tallet, P. 2014. Les relations extérieures: Nubie, Proche-Orient, Sinaï. In F. Morfoisse and G. AndreuLanoë (eds), Sésostris III, pharaon de légende. Lille: Snoek, 144–52. Tylor J.J. 1896. The Tomb of Sebeknekht: Wall Drawings and Monuments of El Kab. London: Bernard Quaritch. Vernus, P. 1986. Le surnom au moyen empire. Studia Pohl 13. Rome: Biblical Institute Press. Waddel, W. G. 1940. Manetho, with an English Translation. The Loeb Classcial Library. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press. Wegner J. 1996. The Nature and Chronology of the Senwosret III–Amenemhat III Regnal Succession: Some Considerations Based on New Evidence from the Mortuary Temple of Senwosret III at Abydos, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 55/4: 249–79. Wegner, J. 2007. The Mortuary Temple of Senwosret III at Abydos. Publications of the Pennsylvania– Yale Institute of Fine Arts Expedition to Egypt 8. New Haven: Peabody Museum of Natural ­History. Wegner, J. 2015. A Royal Necropolis at South Abydos: New Light on Egypt’s Second Intermediate Period, Near Eastern Archaeology 78/2: 68–78. Wegner, J. and Cahail, K. 2015. Royal Funerary Equipment of a King Sobekhotep at South Abydos: Evidence for the Tombs of Sobekhotep IV and Neferhotep I? Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 15: 123–64. Willems, H. 1984. Nomarchs of the Hare nome and Early Middle Kingdom History, Jaarbericht Ex Oriente Lux 28: 80–101. Willems, H. 1989. Review of Jaroš-Deckert, B.  Das Grab des Jnj-jtj.f. Die Wandmalereien der XI. Dynastie, Mainz 1984, Bibliotheca Orientalia 46: 592–601. Willems, H. 2007. Dayr al Barsha/1: the Rock Tombs of Djehutinakht (No. 17K74/1), Khnumnakht (No. 17K74/2) and Iha (No. 17K74/3); with an Essay on the History and Nature of Nomarchal Rule in the Early Middle Kingdom. Leuven, Paris: Peeters. Willems  H. 2010. The First Intermediate Period and the Middle Kingdom. In A.B.  Lloyd (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Egypt I. Malden, Oxford and Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 81–100. Willems, H. 2014. Historical and Archaeological Aspects of Egyptian Funerary Cultur:. Religious Ideas and Ritual Practice in Middle Kingdom Elite Cemeteries. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 73. Leiden and Boston: E.J. Brill. Woolley, L. 1955. Alalakh: an Account of the Excavations at Tell Atchana in the Hatay, 1937–1949. ­London: The Society of Antiquaries. Zingarelli, A. 2016. Asiatic Mode of Production: Considerations on Ancient Egypt. In L. da Graca and A. Zingarelli (eds), Studies on Pre-Capitalist Modes of Production. Historical Materialism 97. Leiden and Boston: E.J. Brill, 27–76.

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chapter 31

The N ew K i ngdom Colleen Manassa Darnell

Introduction: historical overview The three dynasties of the New Kingdom represent the pinnacle of Egyptian imperial power and wealth, embodied in monumental construction projects throughout the Nile Valley and reflected in the increasing internationalism of the Egyptian economy and society. Egypt’s expanded empire brought the Nile Valley into increased contact with Nubian cultures to the south, Libyan groups to the west, and the numerous polities of the Near East, Asia Minor, and the Mediterranean, harbingers of Egypt’s later political preoccupation with foreign powers during the post-New Kingdom period. Chronologies of the New Kingdom lack significant disparities and gaps,1 although the existence and length of certain coregencies within Egypt2 and synchronization with events outside of the Nile Valley3 remain areas of debate.

The Eighteenth Dynasty Ancient Egyptian historical documents, as well as later Greek sources, credit the pharaoh Nebpehtyra Ahmose with the founding of the Eighteenth Dynasty.4 Ahmose completed the expulsion of the Hyksos Fifteenth Dynasty and re-established sovereignty over the ‘Two Lands’. The most detailed accounts of Ahmose’s military success appear in the biographies of soldiers buried at Elkab,5 and fragmentary scenes from a royal monument at Abydos provide complementary pictorial evidence for naval and land combat.6 Other monuments 1 Hornung 2006. 2  For example, the debated coregency between Amenhotep III and Akhenaten, which is probably non-existent or of two-year duration—compare Gabolde 1998: 62–98; Dorman 2007; with Johnson 1996. 3  Bietak and Czerny (ed.) 2007. 4  Barbotin 2008 provides a detailed treatment of his reign, catalog of monuments, and translation of key texts. 5  Popko 2006: 187–220. 6  Harvey 1998; Spalinger 2005: 19–24.

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658   Colleen Manassa Darnell from Ahmose’s reign focus on his pious activities, including the restoration of temples in Thebes and throughout Egypt7 and the endowment of an Abydene cult for himself, his chief wife Ahmose-Nefertari, and his grandmother Tetisheri.8 Ahmose-Nefertari received an even more prominent posthumous cult in Thebes alongside her son Amenhotep I.9 Ahmose’s successor Amenhotep I also constructed widely at Thebes, including a small north–south-oriented temple dedicated to himself and Ahmose-Nefertari on the west bank.10 As the first two pharaohs of the Eighteenth Dynasty consolidated their newly unified dominion, they also paid homage to their ancestors. Ahmose and his successor Amenhotep I belong to the same family as the kings of the Seventeenth Dynasty and their domestic and foreign policies appear to continue those of the preceding dynasty.11 For example, the conspicuous absence of viziers continues from the Seventeenth Dynasty through the reign of Amenhotep I,12 and the Nubian and Syro-Palestinian campaigns under Amenhotep I do not extend much further than those of Ahmose and Kamose.13 An analogous situation occurred during the mid-Eleventh Dynasty: Montuhotep II is credited with the founding of the Middle Kingdom in Egyptian sources, yet the classic traits of the Middle Kingdom ­rulership, art, and material culture do not begin until the joint reign of Amenemhat I and Senusret I (see Chapter  30 [Middle Kingdom]).14 Ancient Egyptian historiography thus emphasized political unity over dynastic succession or larger cultural and social transitions. Thutmose I is not the son of Amenhotep I and his exact relation, if any, to the family of his predecessor is unknown;15 at least one of Thutmose I’s two known wives, Mutnofret, was the daughter of Amenhotep I. In terms of foreign policy, Thutmose I is the true founder of the New Kingdom, and in his twelve-year reign he established the furthest limits of Egypt’s northern and southern boundaries, commissioning triumphal stelae at the banks of the Euphrates16 and at Kurgus, between the Fourth and Fifth Cataracts of the Nile.17 The reign of Thutmose I also witnessed the codification of important facets of New Kingdom political theology, developing the connection between the time-honoured parallelism of hunting and warfare and a new stress on royal deeds of valour into the ‘sporting king’ tradition,18 in token of which the king takes the epithet ‘victorious bull’ as his Horus name.19 The death of Thutmose II, the son of Thutmose I and a secondary wife, after about three years as pharaoh led to an unusual interlude in pharaonic kingship. Thutmose II’s wife Hatshepsut, the daughter of Thutmose I and his chief queen Ahmose, served as god’s wife and chief queen during the brief reign of her husband. Hatshepsut continued to serve these political and ritual functions as regent for the young Thutmose III, who was only

7  Helck 2002a: 104–110, particularly lines Vs 16–18/Rt 18–21; any connection between the ‘Tempest Stela’ and the eruption of Thera (Ritner and Foster 1996) is uncertain (Allen and Wiener 1998); however, the dating of the Thera eruption to the time of Ahmose is confirmed with other sources—see Warren 2006. 8  Harvey 2002; Barbotin 2008: 115–130, 226–9. 9 Gitton 1975. 10  Polz 2007: 104–11. 11  Even ceramic styles from the late Seventeenth Dynasty also continue into the early Eighteenth Dynasty: see Seiler 2005: 160. 12  Polz 2007: 307. 13  Minault-Gout 2007; Davies 2004a. 14  Arnold 1991; Bourriau 1991. 15  Baligh  2003; Vandersleyen  2005 argues that Ahmose Sapir died before he reached puberty and could thus not have been the father of Thutmose I. 16  Klug 2002: 82. 17  Davies 2001, 2004b; Klug 2002: 79–81. 18  Sethe 1906: 103–5; the link between hunting and warfare in Syria-Palestine may appear as early as the reign of Ahmose: see Carter 1916: pl. 21, no. 4. 19  Gundlach 1992: 32.

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The New Kingdom   659 a child when his father Thutmose II died.20 During the regency period, Hatshepsut combined her traditional queenly and priestess regalia with a royal prenomen, and by the seventh year of the regency, Hathsheput further experimented with male pharaonic iconography, although the textual references continued to use feminine pronouns and epithets.21 As co-pharaoh with Thutmose III, Hatshepsut commissioned wide-ranging building projects, the best known being the rock-cut temple of Pakhet at Beni Hasan,22 the ‘Chapelle Rouge’23 and Mut Temple24 at Karnak, and a temple for Horus of Buhen in Nubia (the latter now in the Sudan National Museum). In her mortuary temple at Deir el-Bahri, Hatshepsut emphasized the legitimacy and accomplishments of her reign, including a text describing her ­pre­des­tin­ation as king already during the reign of her father,25 the first complete attestation of the ‘Divine Birth Cycle,’26 and detailed depictions of the quarrying of obelisks and an expedition to Punt. Although female pharaohs were an anomaly in dynastic succession, Hatshepsut in many ways represents the culmination of the secular and sacerdotal importance of Tetisheri, Ahhotep I, and Ahmose-Nefertari.27 While Hatshepsut used the exemplary reign of her father to legitimate her own rule, her death and the start of his sole rule enabled Thutmose III to equal his grandfather’s military achievements.28 According to the Karnak annals and other historical stelae,29 in Year 22 Thutmose III defeated an enemy coalition led by the ruler of Kadesh; in one of the most detailed accounts of an ancient Egyptian battle, the sources describe Thutmose III’s strategy to exploit the narrow Aruna Pass and surprise the enemy encamped at Megiddo.30 In Year 33, Thutmose III showed similar strategic flair when he floated the Egyptian army and chariotry across the Euphrates for a strike at the kingdom of Mitanni. To celebrate his success, Thutmose III replaced his grandfather’s boundary stela at the Euphrates with his own. Similarly, Thutmose III commissioned a nearly identical inscription to that of Thutmose I at Kurgus, the southernmost Egyptian outpost in Nubia.31 In the west, evidence for Egypto-Libyan relations is sparse for the entire Eighteenth Dynasty. Trade goods more typical of Nubia are assigned to Libya in an obelisk inscription of Hatshepsut, although this may be an error in the text;32 Libyan envoys in Nubia appear in a text dated to the reign of Thutmose III.33 Thutmose III’s military skills were probably developed already during his co-rule with Hatshepsut, and the commencement of essentially annual campaigns immediately after his accession to sole rule, as well as the continuity in the holders of administrative offices before 20 Maruéjol 2007. 21  Dorman 2005a; Keller 2005; Galán et al. 2014. 22  Chappaz 1994; for Hatshepsut’s well-known inscription from the Speos Artemidos mentioning the depredations of the Hyksos, see Allen 2002. 23  Borges and Larché 2006. 24  Fazzini 2002; Bryan 2014. 25  Ockinga 1995; Spalinger 1997. 26  Brunner 1986; while the detailed progression of scenes and texts first appears during the reign of Hatshepsut, the theological principle of divine birth is attested already during the reign of Mentuhotep II—see Berlev 1981; Darnell 2004: 26. 27  Troy 1986: 140–2; Gitton 1984. 28  For a detailed examination of all aspects of the reign of Thutmose III, of which only a few are mentioned here, see Cline and O’Connor 2005. 29  See Chapter 53 for discussion of such ‘historical’ texts as the Karnak annals. 30  Spalinger 2005: 83–100. 31  Klug 2002: 210. 32  Manassa 2003: 86. 33  Caminos 1974: 50.

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660   Colleen Manassa Darnell and after the death of Hatshepsut, are features suggesting a smooth transfer of power.34 Hatshepsut does not appear to have suppressed her co-ruler’s authority,35 and the monumental record does not demonstrate that Thutmose III harboured personal animosity—rather the destruction of Hatshepsut’s kingly cartouche and images was carried out in the final years of Thutmose III’s reign, and even then only consistently in visible locations.36 Most likely, the proscription of Hatshepsut was intended to strengthen the succession of Amenhotep II and sanitise an aberration in the male dynastic line. The military success of Thutmose III established an area of Egyptian influence that extended to the vassal states of Mitanni in the north and past the Fourth Cataract in Nubia, to the south. Amenhotep II engaged in two or three Syro-Palestinian campaigns in the first decade of his reign,37 but then negotiated a peace with Mitanni, which had profound implications for the remainder of the Eighteenth Dynasty. Several of Amenhotep II’s royal stelae emphasise ritualistic displays of physical prowess: running, rowing, horsemanship, and archery, with only the latter having attested parallels in earlier reigns.38 Although Amenhotep II’s athleticism and misreadings of a message to his Nubian viceroy Usersatet39 have led to negative characterizations of his rule,40 he left a strong record of administrative development41 and construction projects.42 The transformation of Mitanni from enemy to ally allowed Amenhotep II’s successor Thutmose IV to expand the diplomatic ties between the two ‘superpowers,’ including marriage to a Mitannian princess. At least three foreign women, probably Syro-Palestinians, were queens of Thutmose III,43 but the diplomatic importance of such marriages first becomes apparent during the reigns of Thutmose IV and Amenhotep III.44 Economic ties also existed with the Aegean world, and depictions of Aegean tribute bearers in Eighteenth-Dynasty Theban tombs are not merely ‘exotica’, but accurate reflections of an Egyptian court ceremony.45 Thutmose IV presages both the royal solar cult of Amenhotep III and the Aten religion of Akhenaten with the construction of solar monuments at Heliopolis, Giza, and Karnak and innovative uses of solar adornments.46 After the relatively uneventful nine-year reign of his father, Amenhotep III ascended the throne. Like Hatshepsut before him, Amenhotep III commissioned a complete version of the ‘Divine Birth’ cycle, showing the god Amun impregnating his mother Mutemwia, who was not a chief queen. Ruling over an exceptionally long period of peace, Amenhotep III transformed the military and physical expressions of royal authority, which were so significant for the earlier part of the Eighteenth Dynasty, into a display of ritual power and ultimately divine transformation.47 Outside of a small Nubian campaign, Amenhotep III’s reign is devoid of military activities, although the Amarna archive provides for the first time details concerning Egypt’s diplomatic relations 34 Bryan 2005. 35 Dorman 2005c. 36  Dorman 2005b; Arnold 2005 (noting that the destruction of Hatshepsut’s statuary—more violent and thorough than the damage to her other monuments—occurred between Years 30 and 42 of Thutmose III’s reign); Roth 2005. 37  Morris 2005: 126–32. 38 Decker 2006. 39  Manuelian 1987: 157; Morschauser 1998. 40  O’Connor 2003: 156 (whose postulation of ‘metaphorical rape’ is not supported by the Egyptian sources); cf. also Redford 1984: 32–3. 41 Darnell 2014. 42  Manuelian  1987; Bryan 2002: 248–53. Vandersleyen 1995: 341 also credits Amenhotep II with personally fostering the worship of Syro-Palestinian deities in Egypt. 43 Lilyquist 2003. 44  Roth 2002: 50–62. 45 Panagiotopoulos 2001. 46  Bryan 1998: 49–52. 47 Kozloff 2012.

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The New Kingdom   661 with Western Asia (see below). Texts from the reign of Amenhotep III foreshadow later Egypto-Libyan relations—mentioning both economic interactions48 and the seizure of Libyans for construction projects in Thebes.49 The large building projects on the west bank of Thebes included a city at Malqata devoted to the celebration of his sed-festivals,50 which was situated south of Amenhotep III’s mortuary temple. The increasing solarization of the king, and concomitant changes in artistic styles after the first sed-festival, combined with the establishment of a new ‘festival’ city, all foreshadow the more dramatic changes during the reign of Akhenaten. The seventeen-year reign of Akhenaten represents one of the most unusual episodes of the New Kingdom.51 Initially, as Amenhotep IV, the pharaoh commissioned several temples at Thebes, all dedicated to manifestations of the solar god.52 Although anthropomorphic forms of Ra-Horakhty appeared in the first of these monuments, Amenhotep IV soon limit­ed divine iconography to a solar disk with numerous rays ending in hands, the icon of the Aten. Around the fifth year of his reign, the pharaoh instituted a change in his titulary— from Amenhotep to Akhenaten—and moved the religious and administrative capital of Egypt to Akhetaten, modern Tell el-Amarna. The hymn to the Aten, the Amarna art style, and prominence of a single divinity led early nineteenth-century Egyptologists to see Akhenaten as a pacifist and a monotheist, a Christ-like figure.53 Textual and pictorial evidence, however, demonstrates that Akhenaten maintained the martial role of other pharaohs— even Nefertiti, like Tiye before her, partook of military iconography54—and ordered Nubian enemies to be impaled following an Egyptian victory over the Eastern Desert Akuyati tribe.55 The monotheistic claims for Akhenaten’s solar religion also overlook the divine trinity of Aten, Akhenaten, and Nefertiti, and the significance of a single primordial deity within traditional Egyptian polytheism.56 A graffito at Dayr Abū Ḥ innis records that Akhenaten and Nefertiti continued as a royal couple until Year 16.57 Between Akhenaten’s death in Year 17 and the accession of Tutankhamun, two rulers are attested. Evidence for the reign of Ankhkheperura Smenkhkara is extremely limited, and the chief confirmation of his existence as a male ruler is a scene in the tomb of Merira II in which Smenkhkara is shown with his wife, Meritaten, eldest daughter of Akhenaten. Smenkhkara probably died within a year of his accession (if he ruled at all as sole pharaoh).58 Ankhetkheperura Neferneferuaten was a female pharaoh, who may have been Nefertiti, as suggested by the epithet ‘she who is effective for her husband’ placed within her nomen; an alternate theory postulates that the female pharaoh was Akhenaten’s

48  During a jubilee of Amenhotep III, ‘fresh fat from bulls of the Meshwesh’ was among the commodities transported to Malqata, and since the jar label mentions an Egyptian stable, the bulls must have been imported earlier than the fat delivery (Hayes 1951: 91 and fig. 10, no. 130). 49  Klug 2002: 401 (= Urk. IV 1656: 13–17). 50  See note 154 below. 51  The bibliography for the reign of Akhenaten is expansive—for overviews see Dodson 2014; Laboury 2012; Montserrat 2003. 52 Vergnieux 1999. 53  Montserrat 2003: 98–105. 54 Roth 2002. 55  Murnane 1995: 101–3; Darnell and Manassa 2007: 118–19. 56  Hornung 1999; Darnell and Manassa 2007: 36–44. 57  Van der Perre 2014. 58  A review of the literature and source material appears in Van der Perre 2014: 83–96;Gabolde 1998: 187–226 postulates that Smenkhkara is the Hittite prince Zannanza, but no direct evidence supports this theory.

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662   Colleen Manassa Darnell eldest daughter Meritaten.59 Unfortunately, both of Akhenaten’s successors are often subsumed under the designation ‘Smenkhkara,’60 further complicating discussions. Still a child when he acceded to the throne, king Tutankhaten changed his name to Tutankhamun, and he—or at least his advisers—began a program of restoration of monuments, shrines, and cultic personnel abandoned during the reign of Akhenaten. Although the wealth of burial goods in the tomb of Tutankhamun has overshadowed important historical events of his reign, new discoveries in Nubia, objects within Tutankhamun’s tomb, and paintings in the tomb of his Viceroy Huy, suggest that Tutankhamun took a strong, personal interest in Nubian administration.61 The fragmentary Asiatic war reliefs from the temple of ‘Nebkheperura in Thebes’62 and depictions of Hittites in the Memphite tomb of Horemheb and on one of Tutankhamun’s chariots63 suggests that his short reign witnessed the first military conflict between Egypt and central Hittite forces from Anatolia (Figure 31.1).

Figure 31.1  Painted scene of Nubian tribute from the tomb of Amenhotep, called Huy, in Thebes (TT 40). Photograph by author.

59  Gabolde 1998: 147–85; Gabolde 2015: 72–81. 60  Compare the mixing of Ankhkheperura’s prenomen Neferneferuaten with the name of Smenkhkara in Shaw (ed.) 2000: 481. 61  Darnell 2003; Darnell and Manassa 2007: 113–117, 127–31. 62 Johnson 1992. 63 Darnell 1991.

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The New Kingdom   663 Few events can be attributed to the short reign of Ay, but he was probably related to the royal family, likely through a connection with Yuya and Tuya, the parents of queen Tiye.64 The emphasis on his title ‘god’s father’ further ties Ay to the Amarna succession. Ay may have tried to appoint a family member, Nakhtmin, as his successor, which elicited a damnatio memoriae during the reign of the next pharaoh, Horemheb.65 The practical aspects of Horemheb’s transition from chief general to pharaoh remain unknown, although in his monuments, Horemheb claimed that Tutankhamun appointed him heir apparent, after the god Horus of Hutnesu had already recognized his royal destiny.66 Using the Opet Festival as the setting for his coronation, Horemheb turned his energy as military official to the office of pharaoh.67 A lengthy text from Karnak details Horemheb’s legal decrees, which were intended to redress specific abuses attributed to military units and government officials as well as reverse long-standing tax and levy policies deemed unfair to the populace.68 The Karnak text provides much insight into the administrative corruption that plagued the country during the reign of Akhenaten and his immediate successors.

The Nineteenth Dynasty The Nineteenth Dynasty began another cycle of stable reigns, economic growth, and military success followed by problems in succession and civil conflict. Although official king lists begin the Nineteenth Dynasty with the reign of Rameses I, sources did at times recognise Horemheb as the scion of a new dynasty.69 The military backgrounds of Horemheb and Rameses I, who were not of royal blood, led some early twentieth-century scholars to attribute their power to a ‘military takeover’ of the pharaonic state.70 More recent scholarship, however, has emphasized the interdependence of the military, civil, and religious administration, as well as the existence of officials who held titles in all three spheres.71 Rameses I had a long and successful administrative and military career as Paramessu before ascending to the throne as pharaoh. During his two-year reign, Rameses I managed to dedicate monuments in Nubia and Western Asia, but his primary significance was as the founder of a new and powerful dynastic line.72 Seti I fought campaigns in all corners of the Egyptian empire, including a small Libyan war, of uncertain date and location,73 and a Year 4 campaign against the Nubian region of Irem.74 In the north, Seti I began his military actions with a small campaign in (or slightly before) Year 1 against the infighting tribes of Shasu bedouin, who were interfering with the Ways of Horus and Egyptian bases in southern Palestine.75 Seti I’s later campaigns focused on the area of Kadesh and Amurru, whose defection to the Egyptians from the Hittite fold 64  Vandersleyen 1995: 478–84. 65  Ockinga 1997: 54–61; Kawai 2010. 66  Gardiner 1953; Helck 1955–8: 2113–20; Murnane 1995: 230–3; Kawai 2010. 67 Exemplified in texts from Horemheb’s tomb at Saqqara—see Martin  1989: 78–84 and pl. 91; Gnirs 1996: 44–51. 68  Kruchten 1981; Gnirs 1989; Kruchten 2003. 69  Vandersleyen 1995: 485. 70  Helck 1939; for the history of scholarship in this field, see also Spalinger 2005: 169–86. 71 Gnirs 1996. 72  Vandersleyen 1995: 493–6. 73  Murnane 1990: 99–100. 74 Darnell 2009. 75  Murnane 1990: 40–2.

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664   Colleen Manassa Darnell may have precipitated the hostilities.76 Kadesh’s location along the Beqa Valley—a north–south corridor that by-passed the buffer state of Amurru—made the city a focus of Egyptian-Hittite conflicts from the reign of Akhenaten until Rameses II.77 Seti I commemorated his military achievements in a well-executed series of reliefs on the south exterior wall of the newly constructed hypostyle hall at Karnak,78 which are only the tip of the iceberg of architectural and artistic production during the king’s reign.79 The raised relief decoration characteristic of Seti’s reign, such as that in Seti’s tomb and his temple at Abydos, represent the epitome of Ramesside art (see Chapter  22 [Reliefs]). Seti I devoted much energy to the restoration of monuments damaged during the Amarna Period, in many cases ‘usurping’ restorations already carried out during the reign of Tutankhamun;80 in general, Seti I’s construction program emphasises his piety towards earlier kings.81 Rameses II’s long reign and multitudinous offspring were the envy of the nine other pharaohs named Rameses.82 None, however, would share their namesake’s success abroad and at home. In his fifth year of rule, Rameses fought a Hittite force led by Muwatallis II at Kadesh, and chose to commemorate this battle in at least five temples with a series of reliefs and two separate textual accounts,83 one of which is unusually preserved in a papyrus copy, suggesting that it was ‘published’ outside of monumental contexts.84 In descriptions of the battle, Egyptologists often emphasise Rameses’ gullibility and youthful overconfidence— the mighty pharaoh who believed the Bedouin spies and sent his divisions headlong into a Hittite trap.85 Although Rameses did not achieve his strategic goal and despite his initial mistakes, the pharaoh’s rapid counter-attack and the arrival of reinforcements—whose precise time of arrival Rameses probably knew—ensured a tactical victory.86 The Hittite sources likewise claim victory and emphasise their regained control over the territory of Amurru (Figure 31.2).87 For the remaining half-century of Rameses II’s rule, no major military conflicts are recorded, and during this lengthy period of time, the pharaoh continued the active building program that had existed since the inception of his reign. Among Rameses II’s impressive monuments are a series of rock-cut temples in Nubia.88 Rameses II appears to have taken a particular and personal interest in building activities, such as identifying statues in unworked quarry faces, rewarding loyal workmen,89 and patronizing the digging of wells in the gold mining regions.90 Rameses II was the first to initiate large-scale construction projects for

76  Murnane 1990: 51–65. 77  Darnell and Manassa 2007: 176–8. 78  Epigraphic Survey 1986; Heinz 2001: 30–6. 79 Brand 2000. 80 Brand 1999. 81  Vandersleyen 1995: 504–8. 82  An envy Rameses IV states explicitly in his Abydos Stela to Osiris (Kitchen 1969: 19, l. 12). 83  Von der Way 1984. 84 Spalinger 2002. 85  Both Kitchen (1990: 53–63) and Brand (2007) over-emphasise ideology and so-called ‘irrational’ behavior, ignoring the geographical importance of Kadesh, and Egyptian knowledge of geo-political realities, such as that detailed in ten columns of P. Anastasi I (col. I 17, 2 - I 28, l; text edition: FischerElfert 1986, 1992); the arguments in Bryan 1996: 164–7 similarly assume that Rameses needed to ‘cover up’ a shameful truth, and wrongly suggest that the images provide a different message from that of the texts—compare the detailed analysis of the reliefs in Spalinger 2003. 86  Spalinger 2005: 209–29; Obsomer 2016. 87  Bryce 2005: 239–41. 88  Hein 1991; Ullmann 2016. 89  Manshiyet es-sadr Stela, Kitchen 1976: 360–2; Kitchen 1999: 216–18. 90  Quban and Ashka stelae, Kitchen 1976: 353–60; Kitchen 1999: 214–16.

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The New Kingdom   665

Figure 31.2  Hittite chariot at the Battle of Kadesh, Year 5 of the reign of Rameses II, from the ­battle reliefs in his Abydos temple. Photograph by author.

the new capital at Piramesse (modern Qantir),91 near where Thutmoside rulers and Horemheb had constructed edifices atop the old Hyksos capital of Avaris.92 Piramesse was in part a military centre strategically located near the so-called Ways of Horus, although the need for rapid deployment of forces to Syria-Palestine diminished after an Egyptian-Hittite treaty was ratified in Year 21 with Hattusili III.93 Rameses II’s marriage to two Hittite princesses cemented these diplomatic relations;94 one Hittite queen, Maathorneferura, is attested at Gurob,95 which is among the many indications that an economically distinct ‘queen’s p ­ alace’ existed near the Faiyum.96 In addition to his foreign wives, Rameses II had two ‘great royal wives’—Nefertari and Isisnofret—at the beginning of his reign and later had 91  Herold 1999, 2006; Pusch and Rehren (ed.) 2008. 92  Bietak, Dorner, and Janosi 2002; Bietak et al. 2007. 93  Bryce 2005: 273–83; Edel 1997. For earlier Egyptian treaties, see Sürenhagen 2006. 94  Roth 2006a. The marriage of Rameses II and the Hittite princesses was one aspect of additional diplomatic exchange between the two courts, including the dispatching of Egyptian doctors to heal an ailing daughter of Hattusili III, later incorporated into the plot of the story ‘The Princess of Bakhtan’ on the Bentresh Stela (on historicity of the main characters, see Cannuyer 2001). 95  Politi 2001; Shaw 2011. 96  The economic independence of the queen’s palace appears as early as the autobiography of Harkhuf (Sethe 1933: 124, l. 1): inn inw n ẖkr.t nswt m ḫꜣs.wt nb.t ‘who brings the inw-tribute for the “royal ornament” (i.e. queen) from every foreign land.’

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666   Colleen Manassa Darnell three daughters elevated to that office. Few other wives are known by name, but Rameses II had around one hundred children in total. For the first time, these royal offspring are featured prominently in temple reliefs, suggesting a change in the status of princes and princesses who were not part of the dynastic succession.97 After Rameses’ extraordinary long reign and the death of several of his heirs, Merenptah ascended the throne, probably as a man in his fifties or sixties. Merenptah’s twelve-year reign was dominated by a Libyan invasion, in which the Libyans were perhaps aided by Sea People forces (see below, under Rameses III), possibly in conjunction with a Nubian revolt. Libyan people as well as goods had entered Egypt during the Eighteenth Dynasty—Akhenaten employed Libyan tribesmen in his bodyguard,98 and military conflict appears on a painted papyrus from Amarna99 and blocks from Horemheb’s mortuary temple.100 Libyan battles also appear in the monumental records of Seti I and Rameses II, although the texts lack geographical specificity.101 During the reign of Rameses II, a series of forts were constructed along the Mediterranean coast and the western edge of the Delta,102 which suggests that the Egyptians recognized and actively counteracted a growing Libyan threat. The failure of these fortresses, or their abandonment, is often cited in conjunction with the massive Libyan-Sea Peoples invasion in Year 5 of Merenptah; however, the detailed textual records of this invasion indicate that the Libyan-Sea People force bypassed the Egyptian fortifications, using routes from Siwa and Farafra oases into the Nile Valley to move their large army within striking distance of Egypt, without needing to besiege the coastal defense system.103 Trading posts on the Libyan coast, such as Mersa Matruh,104 facilitated the alliance between the largely pastoral Libyan groups and sea-faring Mediterranean peoples. An Egyptian victory against the Sea People and Libyan coalition at the fields of Perire, probably near the apex of the Delta, secured Egypt’s western border for the remainder of the Nineteenth Dynasty. Other historical events of note during Merenptah’s reign include a campaign into Palestine, which occurred shortly before the Libyan invasion. The northern campaign would be unremarkable in Nineteenth-Dynasty history if it were not for the unique mention of Israel on Merenptah’s Victory Stele from Karnak. Merenptah also honoured the alliance his father made with the Hittites, sending the beleaguered empire grain to aid in the defence against the Sea Peoples.105 After Merenptah’s twelve-year reign, his son Seti II became pharaoh. For the next two decades, Egyptian historical records remain mute on further foreign invasions, but civil war would tarnish the end of the Nineteenth Dynasty.106 At some point during the first two years of Seti II’s rule, a usurper appeared in the south—Amenmessu;107 Amenmessu’s precise identity and the means by which he gained power remain uncertain—his mother’s name was Takhat, probably a daughter of Rameses II,108 although some have identified her also as a wife of Seti II, making the usurper the pharaoh’s own son. The identification of 97 Fisher 2001. 98  Darnell and Manassa 2007: 196–200. 99  Parkinson and Schofield 1995; Schofield and Parkinson 1994; Darnell and Manassa 2007: 198–9. 100  Johnson 1992: 120, 165–6. 101  Murnane 1990: 99–100. 102  Morris 2005: 621–44 with earlier literature; Snape 2003. 103  Manassa 2003. 104  White et al. 2002. 105  Kitchen 1981: 5, l. 3 (=l. 24 of the Great Karnak Inscription); Manassa 2003: 37. 106 Dodson 2010. 107  Dodson 1999 (with earlier bibliography in note 1). 108  Yurco 1979: 28–31.

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The New Kingdom   667 Amenmessu with the Viceroy of Nubia Messuy is equally uncertain,109 as is the significance of the figure ‘Mesi’ (with enemy-determinative), who had the authority to remove a vizier in a juridical papyrus from the reign of Seti II.110 Seti II ruled for about a year after the defeat of Amenmessu, and after his death, a child named Siptah ascended the throne; if Siptah was Amenmessu’s son, this would provide further evidence that Amenmessu belonged to a branch of the Ramesside dynastic line. Seti II’s chief queen, Tausret, served as regent during the six-year reign of the minor Siptah. The short reign of Siptah is linked closely with a Syrian named Bay, whose titles included ‘great chancellor of the entire land’ and possibly ‘chief of the troops.’111 An ostracon from Deir el-Medina records the execution of Bay by an unnamed pharaoh in regnal Year 5.112 This unnamed ruler may be Siptah, the king whom Bay bombastically claimed to have placed on the throne.113 Although some have subsequently questioned the identification of Bay with the Syrian ‘Irisu’114 mentioned in the historical retrospective of Papyrus Harris I,115 nothing within the latter eliminates the possibility that Irisu was contemporaneous with Siptah. After Siptah’s death, Tausret assumed sole kingship and subsumed the regnal years of her predecessor.116 Tausret’s reign ended two years later, and the following period remains one of the darkest corners of New Kingdom history.117

The Twentieth Dynasty After the turmoil of the end of the Nineteenth Dynasty, the next firmly dated event occurs in Year 2 of the king Sethnakht, whose origins are unknown, but his identification as founder of the Twentieth Dynasty is certain.118 The so-called Elephantine Stele recounts his victory over rebellious enemies and his consolidation of a newly unified pharaonic state.119 Sethnakht’s claim to kingship are also unknown, although a line in the Elephantine Stele may allude to divine confirmation through oracle, a process of royal legitimization expressed 109  Compare the contrasting presentations in Dodson 1997 and Yurco 1997. 110  P. Salt 124 Col. 2, ll. 17–18; for an overview of the text, see Vernus 2003: 70–86. 111  The military title is known only from a letter in an archive in Ugarit—see Singer 1999: 713–15. 112  Grandet 2000. An alternative solution to the Year-5 date in the ostracon, not previously suggested, would be to identify the unnamed king with Sethnakht; although the sparse records of his reign only attest to a rule of three years, Sethnakht may have subsumed some of the reign of Tausret into his own, like Tausret did to Siptah, and as Horemhab did earlier with the reigns of Akhenaten, Aye, and Tutankhamun. The mention of Asiatics given precious metals in lines 10–11 of the Sethnakht Stela (Seidlmayer 1998) may also allude to Sethnakht’s interaction with Bay. 113  For the two attestations of the epithet smn nswt r s.t it=f ‘who establishes the king on the throne of his father,’ see Kitchen 1981: 364, l. 5 and 371, ll. 8–9. 114  Schneider 2003: 138–9 proposes an alternate reading of the hieroglyphs Ir-sw in P. Harris I 75, ll. 4–5 as ir s.t rnp.wt ‘who ruled (lit. made) six years,’ thus identifying the Syrian usurper with Siptah, who in this interpretation would be designated by his six-year reign. 115  Schneider 2003: 136. 116  Callender 2004: 93–104; Wilkinson (ed.) 2012. 117 Even the ancient Egyptians disparaged this period—compare the historical retrospective in P. Harris I 75, ll. 2–6 (Grandet 1994: 215–26). 118  Sethnakht’s re-establishment of order after the end of the previous dynasty appears prominently in P. Harris I 75, l. 6- 76, l. 2 (Grandet 1994: 226–36). 119 Seidlmayer 1998.

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668   Colleen Manassa Darnell in royal epithets as early as Thutmose I, and additional texts during the Twentieth Dynasty show a continuity in this tradition.120 Rameses III’s eventful thirty-one-year reign witnessed foreign invasion and civil unrest as well as a well-documented ‘harem’-conspiracy that might have been the cause of the pharaoh’s death.121 In Years 5 and 11, Egyptian forces repelled invasions of Libyan tribes, while in Year 8, a combined land and sea campaign was waged against a coalition of Sea People forces.122 The Egyptian appointment of a young man to rule the Tjemeh-Libyans, which would have created a client state on Egypt’s western border, appears to have sparked the Year 5 Libyan war.123 The Meshwesh tribe, who are mentioned as the providers of swords in the Year 5 invasion during the reign of Merenptah,124 appear again in Year 11 of Rameses III, led by their chief Keper and his son Mesher. During the eighth year of the reign of Rameses III, the Sea Peoples invaded the shores of the Delta with a large fleet. These people ‘who come from the isles of the sea,’ as they sometimes appear in Egyptian texts, are also given more specific ethnonyms: Akawasha, Terusha, Lukka, Sherden, and Shekelesh appear in the Year 5 Libyan-Sea Peoples text of Merneptah, with some of those groups, alongside Denyen, Peleset, Tjeker, and Weshesh, appearing in the records of Rameses III.125 The ul­tim­ate origins of these diverse groups lay in the north Mediterranean and Aegean, and some were employed as auxiliary troops in Near Eastern, Hittite, and Egyptian armies.126 During the twelfth century bc, the Sea Peoples turned their military skills against these same kingdoms, raiding the coast of Turkey and Syria-Palestine before attacking the Egyptian Delta. Rameses III’s navy defeated the invaders, and a land battle in Djahi, northeast of Sinai, may have occurred alongside the naval invasion or been part of a retaliatory attack against the Peleset.127 The ‘mortuary’ temple of Rameses III on the west bank of Thebes is one of the best preserved temples of the New Kingdom, and the aforementioned Papyrus Harris I, records at great length Rameses III’s temple endowments throughout the Nile Valley.128 Delayed payments to the workers at Deir el-Medina precipitated the world’s first known labour strike in Year 29 of Rameses III’s reign;129 whether this was a local distribution problem or a part of a wide-spread economic crisis remains unknown. The national preparations for Rameses III’s sed-festival (jubilee) may even have contributed to the interruption in the royal tomb artisan’s wages.130 Three years after the strikes were successfully resolved, Rameses III faced the greatest domestic challenge to his reign: a ‘harem’ conspiracy.131 A series of administrative papyri record the trial and punishment of over thirty conspirators who 120  Jansen-Winkeln 1999, with earlier literature. 121  Domestic and foreign policies, as well as religion and literature during Rameses III’s reign, are all discussed in Cline and O’Connor (eds.) 2012. 122 Simon 2016. 123  Kitchen 1970: 22, l. 15–23, l. 4. 124  Manassa 2003: 59–60. 125  Cline and O’Connor 2003; Killebrew 2005: 197–234 (Philistines); Spalinger 2005: 249–63; Cline and O’Connor 2012. 126  The origins of the Sea Peoples and their role in the collapse of the Bronze Age remain a topic of debate—key works include Drews 1993; Killebrew 2005: 33–42; Killebrew and Lehmann (eds.) 2013. 127  Drews 2000; a different reconstruction is offered in Ben-Dor Evian 2017 (with citations to earlier literature). 128  Grandet 1994; for monuments during Rameses III’s reign see also Mojsov 2012. 129  Vernus 2003: 50–69. 130  Grandet 1993: 324. 131  Vernus 2003: 108–20.

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The New Kingdom   669 plotted—or knew of the plot—to assassinate the pharaoh. Tiye, a secondary queen, was the instigator, whose ultimate goal was to elevate her son (called Pentaweret in the extant records) to the throne. The conspiracy included several high-ranking administrators within the large institution of the queen’s palace, as well as a few military officers; the trial records suggest that the conspirators also attempted to incite a rebellion against the pharaoh. As the papyri indicate, the plot was uncovered and a tribunal condemned nearly everyone involved—including the prince Pentaweret—to death. Rameses III died shortly thereafter, although whether from natural causes or Tiye’s conspiracy remains unknown. The next five kings of the Twentieth Dynasty were all sons or grandsons of Rameses III, whose reign lengths averaged less than six years each. Rameses III’s immediate successor, Rameses IV, prosecuted the criminals involved in the ‘harem’ conspiracy; he also initiated large quarrying expeditions and building projects, many of which remained incomplete at the end of his seven-year reign.132 Large-scale foreign invasions did not threaten Egypt during the rule of Rameses IV and his successors, but the kings’ short reigns may have promoted the rise of strong local families.133 The power of these families and their control of lucrative priesthoods presaged the decentralized nature of the Third Intermediate Period and the struggle that the Twenty-Fifth Dynasty would undergo to reunite the Nile Valley under a single pharaoh. The mid-Twentieth Dynasty also signals the final weakening of Egypt’s control of territories to the northeast, and Rameses VI is the last New Kingdom pharaoh with extant monuments in Syria-Palestine and the Sinai Peninsula. The final rulers of the Twentieth Dynasty—Rameses IX, X and XI—enjoyed relatively longer reigns, but faced more serious economic trouble. Food shortages and subsequent inflation in grain prices plagued the Thebaid, and archaeological evidence suggests that precisely at this time, state-sponsored caravans were transporting large quantities of wheat, probably intended for temple granaries.134 The tomb robberies in western Thebes are among the most dramatic events of these reigns, although private thieves successfully plundered few royal tombs in their entirety (one notable exception being the tomb of Sobekemsaf II and his queen Nubkaes in Dra Abu el-Naga), according to extant records.135 The wholesale plundering of private tombs in western Thebes during the latter part of the Twentieth Dynasty coincides both with the economic troubles of the period and Libyan incursions into the Thebaid, some of which disrupted work on the royal tombs.136 Near the end of Rameses XI’s second decade of rule, a civil war erupted in the Thebaid.137 The difficulties appear to have begun when the Viceroy of Nubia, Panehesy, arrived in Thebes, perhaps to quell potential unrest from a local famine, memorialized in texts as the ‘Year of the Hyenas.’ The presence of a rival authority and military troops appears to have 132 Peden 1994. 133 Interregional marriages appear as early reign of Rameses II with the extensive family of Ameneminet—see Raedler 2006: 73–83; for the Theban family of Ramssesnakht, which controlled important administrative positions throughout the Twentieth Dynasty (although not necessarily at odds with royal interests) see Polz 1998. 134  Darnell 2007: 44–5. 135  Jansen-Winkeln 1995; Vernus 2003: 1–49. 136 Haring 1993. 137  The chronology and motivations behind this event remain unclear, and the reconstruction presented here is one of many possibilities, based on earlier studies of Jansen-Winkeln  1992 and Thijs  2003; for a different reconstruction, see Kitchen  1996: xiv-xix. Discussions of textual and archaeological evidence, with references to earlier literature, include Ridealgh 2014 and Rummel 2014.

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670   Colleen Manassa Darnell

Figure 31.3  High Priest of Amun, Amenhotep, before pharaoh Rameses IX at Karnak Temple. Photograph by author.

created a conflict between Panehesy’s forces and those of the High Priest of Amun, Amenhotep, which led to a nine-month ‘suppression’ of the High Priest. A general named Paiankh, who would himself ascend to the position of Viceroy of Nubia and High Priest of Amun within a decade, appears to have ended the conflict, driving out Panehesy and restoring Amenhotep to power (Figure 31.3). These civil upheavals probably occurred shortly before the political changes that mark the last ten years of the reign of Rameses XI, who established a new type of dating system in Year 19, which became simultaneously Year 1 of the ‘Renaissance (wḥ m ms.wt)’. During the Renaissance Era, Herihor wielded power as High Priest of Amun, and while still a topic of serious debate, it appears that only after the death of Rameses XI did Herihor claim ­kingship.138 The eleven years of the Renaissance Era represent the transition between the ideology of centralized, imperial pharaonic kingship of the New Kingdom—however diminished the reality might have been during the Twentieth Dynasty—to the regionally based kingship of the Third Intermediate Period that divided authority between Delta-based 138  Jansen-Winkeln  1992,  1997; recent bibliography collected in Demidoff  2008 and Palmer  2014. Placing Herihor’s tenure before or even during Paiankh as High Priest are problematic—compare James and Morkot 2010.

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The New Kingdom   671 dynasties and an Upper Egyptian state centred on the Theban High Priest of Amun. Economic pressures—including the loss of Egypt’s territories in Syria-Palestine and more importantly, the gold mines of Nubia—frustrated the attempt to forge stability among the different power centres. To solve this, late New Kingdom and early Third Intermediate Period Egypt literally turned in on itself, sanctioning official plundering of the spectacular wealth of the royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings;139 the resulting influx of precious metals probably helped to ensure the peaceful transition from the New Kingdom to the power-sharing of the Third Intermediate Period.

Sources for New Kingdom history Primary source material virtually explodes during the New Kingdom, and ongoing arch­ aeo­logic­al and textual research is continuously expanding our knowledge of all aspects of the Eighteenth–Twentieth Dynasties. Sources for the New Kingdom, as in earlier periods, include predominately hieroglyphic inscriptions within temples and tombs and hieratic texts on papyrus scrolls. During the reign of Amenhotep III, the Egyptians experimented with a new medium for the distribution of political records—the ‘commemorative scarab’ (see Chapter  18 [Seals]).140 The New Kingdom—particularly the Ramesside Period, but beginning as early as the Thutmoside Period—witnessed the first extensive corpora of ostraca; deriving almost exclusively from the West Bank of Thebes (Deir el-Bahri, Deir ­el-Medina, and the Valley of the Kings), New Kingdom ostraca provide detailed information about aspects of daily life, work practice, and local economy (see Chapter 51 [Socio-economic texts]).141 The information contained within ostraca, papyri, and monumental records offer some of the first substantial sources for state redistribution, private markets, commodity prices, and land tenure,142 foreshadowing the economic details available within demotic texts. The New Kingdom is also the first period for which sources written in foreign languages— both inside and outside the Nile Valley—become significant for scholars of Egyptian history. Greater awareness of foreign geography appears in New Kingdom topographical lists,143 and textual evidence within Egypt and abroad indicates that diplomatic correspondence with these far-flung regions was an important aspect of Egyptian foreign policy.144 Since the discovery of the ‘Amarna Letters’ in 1887, translations and commentaries have explored the relationships between Egypt, the other members of the ‘Great Powers Club’ (e.g. Hatti, Assyria, Babylonia), and Egypt’s Syro-Palestinian vassals; new in­ter­pret­ations of diplomatic procedure, diplomatic lexicography, and the strategic decision-making process (e.g. the role 139 Jansen-Winkeln 1995. 140  Berman 1992; Schulz 2007: 40–2 (with earlier literature); Baines 2003 (on p. 43, Baines states that these scarabs serve to ‘secularise’ the king’s actions, but the opposite is probably the case: the emphasis on royal hunting and building activity transforms these actions into ritual events, like his later sed-festival— compare Darnell and Manassa  2007: 19–24). A few examples of similar ‘commemorative’ scarabs are known from later rulers—see the list in Blankenberg van Delden 1969: 166–8. 141  Among the many works, compare Burkard 2003; Cooney 2007; Dorn and Hofmann 2006; FischerElfert 1997; Helck 2002b; Mathieu 2003; see also note 158 below on Deir el-Medina. 142  See inter alia Haring 1997; Katary 1999; Kemp 2006: 302–35; Warburton 1997. 143  Adrom, Schülter, and Schülter (eds.) 2008; Edel and Görg 2005. 144 Bryce 2003.

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672   Colleen Manassa Darnell of Amurru) emerge on a yearly basis.145 Debate continues concerning several key events in the Amarna Letters and other foreign archives, such as the identity of the Egyptian queen (most likely Ankhesenamun) who wrote to the Hittite king Shuppiluliuma requesting that he send a son to become her husband and pharaoh of Egypt.146 An archive from Hattusas, capital of the Hittite empire, also provides information concerning Egyptian foreign relations during the Ramesside period,147 and the discovery of a fragmentary tablet at Piramesse suggests that portions of the Egyptian archive may survive.148 The ‘cosmopolitanism’ of the New Kingdom also appears in the adoption of foreign gods into the Egyptian pantheon.149 Foreign texts, often referring to the divine world, are also necessary to examine literary and magical texts that allude to or borrow from non-Egyptian traditions.150 These trends play an increasingly large role in Egyptian history and culture in later periods.

Funerary data Although more types of material are preserved in greater quantities from the New Kingdom, the geographical distribution of extant, decorated tombs is more limited than earlier periods. Western Thebes contains the majority of tombs of high officials from the New Kingdom; the architecture, decoration, and artifacts within these tombs contain a wealth of information about Egyptian society, religion, economy, foreign relations, and countless other fields of study.151 However, Theban tombs represent only a portion of the burials of the upper echelons of New Kingdom administration, with the majority of tomb-owners holding offices specific to Upper Egypt, Thebes (particularly the estates and temple administration of Amun), or Nubia.152 Examples of tombs outside of Thebes that indicate the extent of material otherwise missing from the archaeological record include the tombs of the Memphite necropolis,153 such as Horemheb (as general, reign of Tutankhamun),154 Maya (overseer of the treasury, reign of Tutankhamun),155 and Aper-El (vizier, reign of Amenhotep III/Akhenaten).156 A list of known tomb owners from the New Kingdom Memphite necropolis (e.g. Giza, Abusir, Saqqara, and Dashur) from the reign of Thutmose III to the end of the Eighteenth Dynasty suggests that the highest administrators with country-wide responsibilities were interred in these northern cemeteries.157 Biographical texts within tombs and statues, primarily from the Thebaid, but known from many other locations, demonstrate continuity with earlier periods as well as indicating new trends that continue into the postNew Kingdom era. In the Eighteenth Dynasty, particularly the first half of the dynasty, biographical texts provide unparalleled detail concerning military events, emphasizing an 145  Bryce 2003; Darnell and Manassa 2007: 147–86; Liverani 2001; Morris 2005: 217–62; Morris; 2006; Cohen and Westbrook 2000. For scientific analysis of clay sources, see Goren et al. 2004. 146  For an overview of the debate, see Bryce 2003: 188–9; Helck 2001: 39–51. 147 Roth 2006a. 148  Pusch and Jakob 2003. 149  Wettengel 2004; Petschel and von Falck (eds.) 2004: 178–81. 150  Kemp 2006: 292–6; for the story of ‘Astarte and the Sea’ see inter alia Wente 2003; for magical texts with foreign influence, see Fischer-Elfert 2005: 42–5. 151  Compare among the great number of possible references Hofmann 2004; Hartwig 2004; Strudwick and Taylor (eds.) 2003; Kampp 1996. 152  Martin 2000: 104–112. 153  Raven 2000; Zivie 2000. 154  Martin 1989. 155  Martin 1991: 147–188; Schneider et al. 1991. 156  Zivie 1990, 2000. 157  Martin 2000: 115–119.

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The New Kingdom   673 individual’s relationship with the king, and his worldly experience. Biographies are not common in Ramesside tombs, but appear more frequently on statues dedicated within temples, and the primary concern of the texts shifted to the divine sphere.158

Settlement data In addition to the plethora of textual sources, rich archaeological evidence exists for the entire New Kingdom period.159 Large settlement sites of the early New Kingdom include Tell el-Daba160 (Avaris, the capital of the Hyksos) and the ‘campaign palace’ site of Deir elBallas.161 The architectural and material remains from Malqata162 and Amarna163 provide an archaeological basis for the pictorial representations and textual descriptions of royal ritual,164 since both urban landscapes functioned as physical stages for royal displays. Among the wealth of data from the different areas of Amarna, the site also preserves a workmen’s settlement.165 Far and above the most famous settlement from the New Kingdom remains Deir el-Medina, where textual and archaeological remains continue to provide new information about all aspects of religious and social life.166 New examinations of the administrative capitals of Memphis167 and Piramesse168 are transforming knowledge concerning the institutions of urban centres, including their roles as important arsenals and naval ­bases.169 New settlements are also being discovered and excavated along the desert hinterlands of Egypt. Surveys along the coast of the Sinai Peninsula have revealed the full chronological and geographical extent of the physical infrastructure that supported the Ways of Horus.170 Along the western Mediterranean littoral, Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham171 exemplifies the chain of fortresses constructed against the growing Libyan threat; excavations 158  Frood 2007. 159  The following will present only a brief overview of settlement archaeology of the New Kingdom; for other summaries of the material, see O’Connor 1993; Uphill 2001, and see also Chapter 17 in this Handbook. 160  The excavations of the Österreichische Archäologische Institut are on-going, as are the publications of the results in the monograph series Tell el-Daba (published by the Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften) and the journal Ägypten und Levante; see also http://www.auaris.at (accessed October 15, 2017), which contains an extensive bibliography. 161  Lacovara  2006; for the possible climatological significance of the casemate architecture of the Second Intermediate Period and early new Kingdom, see Szafranski 2003. 162  O’Connor 1998: 160–2; Kemp 2006: 276–81. 163 The on-going excavations at Amarna are described at http://www.amarnaproject.com/ and Kemp 2012; for examinations of the ‘ritual landscape’ of the city, see inter alia Kemp 1991: 261–317; Darnell and Manassa 2007: 37–40; Roth 2006b: 235–8. 164 Roth 2006b. 165  Weatherhead and Kemp 2007; Kemp 1987. 166  The bibliography for Deir el-Medina is huge and ever-expanding—see the continually updated A  Systematic Bibliography on Deir el-Medîna by R.J.  Demarée, B.J.J.  Haring, W.  Hovestreydt and L.M.J. Zonhoven at http://dmd.wepwawet.nl/(accessed October 15, 2017); Demarée and Haring 2003. 167  Field reports on the on-going Egypt Exploration Society excavations, directed by David Jeffreys, appear regularly in JEA. 168  See above, note 91. 169  The identification of the important port of Perunefer with either Piramesse or Memphis remains a topic of debate—compare Bietak 2005 and Jeffreys 2006. 170  Oren 2006 (with bibliography and overview of current research). 171  Snape and Wilson 2007.

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674   Colleen Manassa Darnell at Mersa Matruh, further to the west, indicate trade interactions between Libyan, Egyptian, and northeast Mediterranean civilizations (e.g. Mycenaean, Minoan, and Cypriot material).172 Settlements continue in both Kharga and Dakhla oases during the New Kingdom, and desert roads connecting the Nile Valley with the oasis region as well as points further to the southwest were used for trading expeditions.173

Future directions of research into New Kingdom history A wealth of information is available for the textual and archaeological record of the three dynasties of the New Kingdom, and few problems remain with the chronology of the period; we are fortunate that most of the key texts have been published, although epigraphic copies that allow for paleographic studies remain a desideratum. The end of the Eighteenth and Twentieth Dynasties remain topics of active debate, although until further evidence is discovered, the extant material does not allow for definitive answers to key questions. It is hoped that additional inscriptions—such as the recently recorded dipinto at Dayr Abū Ḥ innis174—will help determine the identity of the immediate successors of Akhenaten, and whether Nefertiti should be equated with Ankh(et)kheperure Neferneferuaten. Similar issues plague the transition between the New Kingdom and the Third Intermediate Period, and until new texts are published, doubts will remain about the relative chronology of Paiankh and Herihor, and the extent of the latter’s ‘kingship’. Ongoing excavations in both Egypt and Nubia continue to provide yet more information about settlements inhabited during the New Kingdom, and as noted above, these urban areas include a diversity of sites—fortresses and towns, workmen’s villages and capital cities. Additional exploration of the pharaonic hinterlands, including the Western Desert oases and Eastern Desert mining regions, and re-examination of the extensive corpus of New Kingdom rock inscriptions could provide more details about the economic and political control of Egyptian territories outside of the Nile Valley. Future archaeological work in Libya and the Near East may also provide important details about Egyptian foreign policy, which will hopefully balance the bias of ancient Egyptian presentations of those territories and their populations.

Suggested reading Overviews of the history of New Kingdom Egypt appear in the relevant chapters in The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt (Shaw  2000), and studies of individual rulers and their 172  White et al. 2002. 173  For Dakhleh Oasis, see Hope and Kaper 2011 and Hope 2002. An early New Kingdom outpost at Tundaba was strategically located along the Girga Road between Thebes and Kharga (Darnell 2013: 245– 52); sites in Kharga Oasis include vineyards at Gebel Ghueita (functioning during the reign of Amenhotep III), for which see D. Darnell 2002: 173. For the Abu Ballas Trail, southwest of Dakhleh during the New Kingdom, see Förster 2015: 494–501. 174  Van der Perre 2014.

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The New Kingdom   675 reigns include Ahmose (Barbotin 2008), Hatshepsut (Galán et al. 2014), Thutmose III (Cline and O’Connor  2005), Amenhotep III (Kozloff  2012), Akhenaten (Laboury  2010), Seti I (Brand  2000), Tausret (Wilkinson  2012), Rameses III (Cline and O’Connor  2012), and Rameses IV (Peden 1994). For the social and economic history of the New Kingdom, see the relevant chapters in Muhs 2016; Kemp 2006; Grimal and Menu 1998.

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680   Colleen Manassa Darnell Kemp, B.J. 2012. The City of Akhenaten and Nefertiti: Amarna and Its People. London: Thames and Hudson. Killebrew, A. 2005. Biblical Peoples and Ethnicity: An Archaeological Study of Egyptians, Canaanites, Philistines, and Early Israel, 1300–1100 B.Ce.E. Leiden: Brill. Killebrew, A. and G. Lehmann (eds) 2013. The Philistines and Other ‘Sea Peoples’ in Text and Archaeology. Atlanta: SBL Press. Kitchen, K.A. 1969. Ramesside Inscriptions, Historical and Biographical, Vol. VI: Ramesses IV to XI and Contemporaries. Oxford: Blackwell. Kitchen, K.A. 1970. Ramesside Inscriptions, Historical and Biographical, Vol. V: Setnakht, Ramesses III, and Contemporaries. Oxford: Blackwell. Kitchen, K.A. 1976. Ramesside Inscriptions, Historical and Biographical, Vol. II: Ramesses II, Royal Inscriptions. Oxford: Blackwell. Kitchen, K.A. 1981. Ramesside Inscriptions, Historical and Biographical, Vol. IV: Merenptah and the Late 19th Dynasty. Oxford: Blackwell. Kitchen, K.A. 1996. The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt (1100–650 bc). Oxford: Aris and Phillips. Kitchen, K.A. 1999. Ramesside Inscriptions, Translated and Annotated, Notes and Comments, Vol. II: Ramesses II, Royal Inscriptions. Oxford: Blackwell. Klug, A. 2002. Königliche Stelen in der Zeit von Ahmose bis Amenophis III. Turnhout: Brepols. Kozloff, A. P. 2012. Amenhotep III, Egypt’s Radiant Pharaoh. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kousoulis, P. and Magliveras, K. (eds) 2007. Moving Across Borders. Foreign Relations, Religion and Cultural Interactions in the Ancient Mediterranean. OLA 159. Leuven: Peeters. Kruchten, J.-M. 1981. Le Décret d’Horemheb. Belgium: Université Libre de Bruxelles. Kruchten, J.-M. 2003. Nouveaux fragments du «Décret d’Horemheb». Cahiers de Karnak XI: 487–502. Laboury, D. 2010. Akhénaton. Paris: Pygmalion. Lacovara, P. 2006. Deir el-Ballas and the Development of the Early New Kingdom Royal Palace. In E. Czerny et al. (eds), Timelines: Studies in Honor of Manfred Bietak. 3 vols. Leuven: Peeters, 187–96. Lilyquist, C. 2003. The Tomb of Three Foreign Wives of Tuthmosis III. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Liverani, M. 2001. International Relations in the Ancient Near East, 1600–1100 bc. New York: ­Palgrave. Manuelian, P. 1987. Studies in the Reign of Amenophis II. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Martin, G. 1989. The Memphite Tomb of Horemheb Commander-in-Chief of Tutankhamun I. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Martin, G. 2000. Memphis: The Statue of a Residence City in the Eighteenth Dynasty. In W. Barta and J. Krejčí (eds), Abusir and Saqqara in the Year 2000. Prague: Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, Oriental Institute, 99–120. Maruéjol, F. 2007. Thoutmosis III et la corégence avec Hatchepsout. Paris: Pygmalion. Mathieu, B. 2003. La littérature égyptienne sous les Ramsès d’après les ostraca littéraires de Deir elMédineh. In G. Andreu (ed.), Deir el-Médineh et la Vallée des Rois. Paris: Éditions Khéops-musée du Louvre, 119–37. Minault-Gout, A. 2007. Les installations du début du Nouvel Empire à Sai: un état de la question. Cahiers de Recherches de l’Institut de Papyrologie et Egyptologie de Lille 26: 275–93. Mojsov, B. 2012. The Monuments of Ramesses III. In E. Cline and D. O’Connor (eds), Ramesses III: The Life and Times of Egypt’s Last Hero. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 271–304. Montserrat, D. 2003. Akhenaten: History, Fantasy and Ancient Egypt. London: Routledge. Morris, E. F. 2005. The Architecture of Imperialism. Leiden: Peeters. Morris, E. F. 2006. Bowing and Scraping in the Ancient Near East: An Investigation into Obsequiousness in the Amarna Letters, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 65: 179–95. Morschauser, S. 1998. Approbation or Disapproval? The Conclusion of the Letter of Amenophis II to User-Satet, Viceroy of Kush (Urk. IV,1344.10–20). Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 24: 203–22. Muhs, B. 2016. The Ancient Egyptian Economy, 3000–30 bce. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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The New Kingdom   681 Murnane, W. J. 1990. The Road to Kadesh, A Historical Interpretation of the Battle Reliefs of King Sety I at Karnak. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Murnane, W. J. 1995. Texts from the Amarna Period in Egypt. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Obsomer, C. 2016. La bataille de Qadech de Ramsès II: les n’arin, sekou tepy et questions d’itinéraires. In C. Karlshausen and C. Obsomer (eds), De la Nubie à Qadech: la guerre dans l’Égypte ancienne. Brussels: Safran, 81–170. Ockinga, B. 1995. Hatshepsut’s Election to Kingship: The ba and ka in Egyptian Royal Ideology, ­Bulletin of the Australian Centre for Egyptology 6: 89–102. Ockinga, B. 1997. A Tomb from the Reign of Tutankhamun at Akhmim. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. O’Connor, D. 1993. Urbanism in Bronze Age Egypt and Northeast Africa. In T. Shaw (ed.), Archaeology of Africa. London: Routledge, 570–86. O’Connor, D. 1998. The City and the World: Worldview and Built Forms in the Reign of Amenhotep III. In D. O’Connor and E.H. Cline (eds), Amenhotep III: Perspectives on His Reign. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 125–72. O’Connor, D. 2003. Egypt’s View of Others. In Tait (ed.), ‘Never Had the Like Occurred’: Egypt’s View of Its Past. London: UCL Press, 155–85. O’Connor, D. and Cline, E. (eds) 1998. Amenhotep III: Perspectives on His Reign. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. O’Connor, D. and Quirke, S. (eds) 2003. Mysterious Lands. London: UCL Press. Oren, E. 2006. The Establishment of Egyptian Imperial Administration on the ‘Ways of Horus’: An Archaeological Perspective from North Sinai. In E. Czerny et al. (eds), Timelines: Studies in Honor of Manfred Bietak. 3 vols. Leuven: Peeters, 279–92. Palmer, J. 2014. The High Priests of Amun at the End of the Twentieth Dynasty, Birmingham Egypt­ology Journal 2: 1–22. Panagiotopoulos, D. 2001. Keftiu in Context: Theban Tomb-Paintings as a Historical Source, Oxford Journal of Archaeology 20: 263–83. Parkinson, R. and Schofield, L. 1995. Images of Mycenaeans: A Recently Acquired Painted Papyrus from el Amarna. In V.W. Davies and L. Schofield (eds), Egypt, the Aegean and the Levant: Interconnections in the Second Millennium bc. London: British Museum Press, 125–6. Peden, A.J. 1994. The Reign of Ramesses IV. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Petschel, S. and Von Falck, M. (eds) 2004. Pharao siegt immer, Krieg und Frieden im Alten Ägypten. Bönen: Kettler. Philips, A. 1977. Horemheb, Founder of the XIXth Dynasty, O. Cairo 25646 Reconsidered, Orientalia 46: 116–21. Politi, J. 2001. Gurob—the Papyri and the ‘Burnt Groups’, Göttinger Miszellen 182: 107–11. Polz, D. 1998. The Ramsesnakht Dynasty and the Fall of the New Kingdom: A New Monument in Thebes, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 25: 257–93. Polz, D. 2007. Der Beginn des Neuen Reiches. Zur Vorgeschichte einer Zeitenwende. SDAIK 31. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Popko, L. 2006. Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung der Ahmosiden- und Thutmosidenzeit. ­Würzburg: Ergon Verlag. Pusch, E. and Jakob, S. 2003. Der Zipfel des diplomatischen Archivs Ramses’ II.’ Ägypten und Levante 13: 143–53. Pusch, E. and Rehren, T. 2008. Die Grabungen des Pelizaeus-Museums Hildesheim in Qantir—Pi-Ramesse Forschungen in der Ramses-Stadt ein Gemeinschaftsprojekt des Pelizaeus-Museums Hildesheim und des Österreichischen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo 6. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Raedler, C. 2006. Zur Struktur der Hofgesellschaft Rameses’ II. In R. Gundlach and Klug (eds), Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, Seine Gesellschaft und Kultur im Spannungsfeld zwischen Innen- und Außenpolitik. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 39–87. Raven, M. 2000. Twenty-Five Years of Work in the New Kingdom Necropolis of Saqqara: Looking for Structure. In W. Barta and J. Krejčí (eds), Abusir and Saqqara in the Year 2000. Prague: Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, Oriental Institute, 133–44.

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682   Colleen Manassa Darnell Redford, D.B. 1984. Akhenaten, The Heretic King. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ridealgh, K. 2014. A Tale of Semantics and Suppressions: Reinterpreting Papyrus Mayer A and the So-Called ‘War of the High Priest’ during the Reign of Ramesses XI, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 43: 359–73. Roehrig, C. (ed.) 2005. Hatshepsut: From Queen to Pharaoh. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Roth, A.M. 2005. Erasing a Reign. In Roehrig (ed.), Hatshepsut: From Queen to Pharaoh. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 277–81. Roth, S. 2002. Gebieterin aller Länder. Die Rolle der königlichen Frauen in der fiktiven und realen Aussenpolitik des ägyptischen Neuen Reiches. Freiburg: Academic Press. Roth, S. 2006a. Internationale Diplomatie am Hof Ramses’ II. In R. Gundlach and A. Klug (eds), Der ägyptische Hof des Neuen Reiches, Seine Gesellschaft und Kultur im Spannungsfeld zwischen Innen- und Außenpolitik. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 89–118. Roth, S. 2006b. Der Herrscher im Fest. In D. Bröckelmann and A. Klug (eds), In Pharaos Staat, Festchrift für Rolf Gundlach zum 75. Geburtstag. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 205–49. Rummel, U. 2014. War, Death and Burial of the High Priest Amenhotep: The Archaeological Record at Dra’ Abu el-Naga, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 43: 375–97. Schmitz, F-J. 1978. Amenophis  I.  Versuch einer Darstellung der Regierungszeit eines ägyptischen Herrschers der frühen 18. Dynastie. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Schneider, H.D. et al. 1991. The Tomb of Maya and Merit: Preliminary Report on the Saqqara Excavations, 1990–1, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 77: 7–21. Schneider, T. 2003. Siptah und Beja, Neubeurteilung einer historischen Konstellation, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 130: 134–46. Schofield, L. and Parkinson, R. 1994. Of Helmets and Heretics: A Possible Egyptian Representation of Mycenaean Warriors on a Papyrus from el-Amarna, The Annual of the British School at Athens 89: 157–70. Schulz, R. 2007. Khepereru—Scarabs. Scarabs, Scaraboids, and Plaques from Egypt and the Ancient Near East in the Walters Art Museum Baltimore. Oakville, CT: Halgo. Seidlmayer, S.J. 1998. Epigraphische Bemerkungen zur Stele des Sethnachte aus Elephantine. In H. Guksch and D. Polz (eds), Stationen: Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Ägyptens. Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern, 363–86. Seiler, A. 2005. Tradition und Wandel: Die Keramik als Spiegel der Kulturentwicklung Thebens in der Zweiten Zwischenzeit. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Sethe, K. 1906. Urkunden der 18. Dynastie I. Urkunden des ägyptischen Altertums IV. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Sethe, K. 1933. Urkunden des Alten Reiches, 2nd edn. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Shaw, I. 2009. Seeking the Ramesside Royal Harem: New Fieldwork at Medinet el-Gurob. In M. Collier and S. Snape (eds), Ramesside Studies in Honour of K.A. Kitchen. Bolton: Rutherford Press, 453–63. Shaw, I. (ed.) 2000. The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Szafranski, Z.E. 2003. The Impact of Very High Floods on Platform Constructions in the Nile Basin of the Mid-Second Millennium bc. In M. Bietak (ed.), The Synchronisation of Civilisations in the Eastern Mediterranean in the Second Millennium B.C. II. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 205–18. Simon, C. 2016. Les campagnes militaires de Ramsès III à Médinet Habou: entre vérité et propogande. In C. Karlshausen and C. Obsomer (eds), De la Nubie à Qadech: la guerre dans l’Égypte ancienne. Brussels: Safran, 171–94. Singer, I. 1999. A Political History of Ugarit. In W. Watson and N. Wyatt (eds) Handbook of Ugaritic Studies. Leiden: Brill, 603–733. Snape, S. 2003. The Emergence of Libya on the Horizon of Egypt. In D. O’Connor and S. Quirke (eds), Mysterious Lands. London: UCL Press, 93–106. Snape, S. and Wilson, P. 2007. Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham I: The Temple and Chapels. Bolton: ­Rutherford Press.

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The New Kingdom   683 Spalinger, A. 1997. Drama in History: Exemplars from Mid Dynasty XVIII, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 24: 269–300. Spalinger, A. 2002. The Transformation of an Ancient Egyptian Narrative: P. Sallier III and the Battle of Kadesh. GOF IV: 40. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Spalinger, A. 2003. The Battle of Kadesh: The Chariot Frieze at Abydos, Ägypten und Levante 13: 163–99. Spalinger, A. 2005. War in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Strudwick, N. and Taylor, J. H. (eds) 2003. The Theban Necropolis: Past, Present, and Future. London: British Museum Press. Sürenhagen, D. Forerunners of the Hattusili-Ramesses Treaty. British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 6: 59–67. http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/online_journals/bmsaes.aspx (accessed January 12, 2009). Tait, J. (ed.) 2003. ‘Never Had the Like Occurred’: Egypt’s View of Its Past. London: UCL Press. Thijs, A. 2003. The Troubled Careers of Amenhotep and Panehsy: the High Priest of Amun and the Viceroy of Kush under the Last Ramessides, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 31: 289–306. Uphill, E.P. 2001. Egyptian Towns and Cities. Princes Risborough: Shire. Ullmann, M. 2016. Zur Entwicklung von Raumstruktur und -funktion in den nubischen Felstempeln Ramses’ II. In M. Ullmann (ed.), 10. Ägyptologische Tempeltagung: ägyptische Tempel zwischen Normierung und Individualität. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 155–78. Van Der Perre, A. 2014. The Year 16 Graffito of Akhenaten in Dayr Abū Ḥinnis. A Contribution to the Study of the Later Years of Nefertiti, Journal of Egyptian History 7: 67–108. Vandersleyen, C. 2005. Iahmès Sapair, fils de Séqénenré Djéhouty-Aa (17e dynastie) et la statue du ­Musée du Louvre E 15682. Brussels: Éditions Safran. Vergnieux, R. 1999. Recherches sur les monuments Thébains d’Amenhotpe IV à l’aide e’outils informatiques. Geneva: Société d’Égyptologie. Von Der Way, T. 1984. Die Textüberlieferung Ramses’ II. zur Qadeš-Schlacht. HÄB 22. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Warburton, D. 1997. State and Economy in Ancient Egypt: Fiscal Vocabulary of the New Kingdom. Freiburg: Academic Press. Warren, P.M. 2006. The Date of the Thera Eruption in Relation to Aegean-Egyptian Interconnections and the Egyptian Historical Chronology. In E. Czerny et al. (eds), Timelines: Studies in Honor of Manfred Bietak. 3 volumes. Leuven: Peeters, 305–21. Weatherhead, F.J. and Kemp, B.J. 2007. The Main Chapel at the Amarna Workmen’s Village and its wall paintings. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Wente, E.F. 2003. Astarte and the Insatiable Sea. In W.K.  Simpson (ed.), The Literature of Ancient Egypt. New Haven: Yale University Press, 108–11. Wettengel, W. 2004. Fremde Götter in Ägypten. In S. Petschel and M. von Falk (eds), Pharao siegt immer, Krieg und Frieden im Alten Ägypten. Bönen: Kettler, 176–7. Wilkinson, R.H. (ed.) 2012. Tausret: Forgotten Queen and Pharaoh of Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. White, D. 2002. Marsa Matruh. 2 volumes. Philadelphia: Institute for Aegean Prehistory Academic Press. Yurco, F. 1979. Amenmesse: Six Statues at Karnak, Metropolitan Museum Journal 14: 15–31. Yurco, F. 1997. Was Amenmesse the Viceroy of Kush, Messuwy? Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 34: 49–56. Zivie, A. 2000. La résurrection des hypogées du Nouvel Empire à Saqqara. In W. Barta and J. Krejčí (eds.), Abusir and Saqqara in the Year 2000. Prague: Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, Oriental Institute, 173–92. Zivie, A. 1990. Découverte à Saqqarah: le vizir oublié. Paris: Editions du Seuil.

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chapter 32

The Thir d I n ter m edi ate Per iod David A. Aston

Introduction Defining the time frame of the Third Intermediate Period is easy—it comprises Egypt from the end of the Twentieth Dynasty in c.1070 bc to its reunification under Psammetichus I in 656 bc, and can be split into three component parts; the Twenty-first Dynasty, the Libyan Period (Dynasties 22–24) and the Kushite period (Twenty-fifth Dynasty); however trying to understand what was happening at this time is considerably more difficult. The past twenty-five years or so have seen many studies devoted to the character of the Third Intermediate Period, and it has become typified as a period of disintegration and reintegration.1 Whilst the Egypt of the Twenty-first Dynasty appears, as far as we know, thoroughly Egyptian, and the Twenty-fifth Dynasty, Kushite, although our evidence for both these periods comes primarily from Thebes and is, therefore, biased, one of the major problems of the period is defining Libyan Period culture. At first glance there is no Libyan culture2, and even attempts to find Libyan, as opposed to Egyptian, type pottery have been unsuccessful.3 Libyan kings are shown as ‘Egyptian’ with typical Egyptian dress and attributes in temple reliefs and minor arts, and nor are they considered as foreign kings in later texts, in marked contrast to the earlier Hyksos, or later, Persian kings. In fact Libyans can only be recognized by their name forms, but as several are known to have adopted Egyptian names they are then lost to the textual record, but the adoption of an Egyptian name makes the owner no more a native, than showing Sheshonq I with the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt makes him an Egyptian. Yet conversely the Libyan chieftains retained their chief of the Meshwesh titles, etc. and had themselves represented on donation stelai with typical Libyan headdresses. In the Third Intermediate Period, king’s sons were given unprecedented administrative powers and were placed in charge of major settlements that enjoyed considerable autonomy, chief amongst these being Memphis, Herakleopolis, and Thebes, and, since these

1 Ritner 2009b. 2  Jurman 2009, 2015a; Jansen-Winkeln 2012. 3  Mittelman 2014: vii, 298–304.

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The Third Intermediate Period   685 princes also had military power at their disposal this added to the political fragmentation.4 Equally telling was the royal policy of allowing offices in the bureaucracy, clergy and military to become hereditary. In the Third Intermediate Period the practice of passing on High Office from father to son became endemic, and this gave rise to pride in long genealogies and local power bases. Under these conditions the independence of regional centres and the rise of collateral dynasties were almost inevitable. This may also explain the greater ‘militarization’ of the Third Intermediate Period with numerous small fortresses being established such as Per-sekemkheperre, Qus, Gebelein, Abu Id, and even Medinet Habu. In the First and Second Intermediate Periods this was generally seen as unacceptable whereas in the Third Intermediate Period it seems to have been actively tolerated. It would appear that this fragmentation really gathered pace under Osorkon II5, was in full flow under Sheshonq III, when Sheshonq III, Takeloth II, and Pedubast I were all reigning at the same time6, until by the time of Piy’s invasion he found four separate kings, several princes and various Great Chiefs and Chiefs all in control of different areas as described on his Victory stele, Cairo JE 48862.7 One of the major aspects of the Third Intermediate Period, and which should be constantly borne in mind is the distinct North–South divide.8 Essentially Lower Egypt as far south as the Fayoum, and the western Oases, were ‘Libyan’ whilst Middle and Upper Egypt remained ‘Egyptian’. Most of the recorded Libyan names come from the Delta whilst recognisable Libyan names in the south are distinctly rare. In Lower Egypt it is easy to see that the central and eastern delta was settled by the Meshwesh, the western delta by the Libu, and the southern delta by the Mahasun. No such ethnic divisions are recognisable in Upper Egypt. In terms of language, Donation stelai were inscribed in hieratic in the north, and in hieroglyphic in the south. Demotic developed in the north, abnormal hieratic in the south. Funerary items also varied with northern ushabtis being better modelled than their southern counterparts9, whilst there are distinct differences between northern and southern coffins.10 During the Third Intermediate Period there is a profound change in religious beliefs. There is a distinct rise in the use of oracles11, oracular amuletic decrees12 and oracular property decrees.13 At the same time there is a marked increase in personal piety14 shown in the greater frequency of theophorous names and, for those who could afford it, the placement of personal statues in temples. Members of the lower echelons of the priesthood seem to have scratched graffiti, including drawing round their feet, on temple roofs.15 Both the statues and the scratched feet would thus act as a kind of substitute for themselves so that they would remain forever in the presence of their god and under his protection. Paradoxically there also developed a more questionable view in which the gods were being challenged. This is especially noticeable in the official and unofficial responses to a high Nile. Whilst the Nile flood was necessary, with a low flood often leading to famine in the following year, a high Nile could be just as disastrous. In Year 6 of Taharqa there was an unusually High Nile 4  Yoyotte 1961; Leahy 1985, Lange 2008, Ritner 2009b, Broekman 2010. 5  Jacquet-Gordon 1960: 23; Lange 2008: 138–41. 6 Aston 1989. 7  Grimal 1981a; Ritner 2009a 465–91. 8 Jansen-Winkeln 2000. 9  Yoyotte 1972: 48; Petersen 1977. 10 Taylor 2009. 11  Cerny 1962; Ryholt 1993; Römer 1994: 180–6; Fischer-Elfert 1996. 12  Edwards 1960; Bohleke 1997; Lucarelli 2009. 13 Muhs 2009. 15 Jacquet-Gordon 2003.

14 Addersley 2015.

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686   David A. Aston which led to widespread flooding, and whilst the official response was to thank Amun for his benefice16, a graffito referring to a high flood in Year 3 of Osorkon III specifically asks Amun why he has let the city be flooded.17 Another papyrus, Berlin 3056, dated to the reign of Takeloth II or III18, refers to an invasion of foreigners, and dares to ask Amun why he allowed this to happen.19 In view of the large amount of Libyan Period qu’abs—small votive pots—found at Abydos, it would also seem that large numbers of the population were undertaking pilgrimages to Abydos, including, perhaps, every northern king from Psusennes II to Osorkon II, and their associated High Priests of Amun, who, personally, or at least on, presumably, their instructions, clearly left inscribed pots there.20 In addition many of the Theban elite were buried at Abydos instead of in their home city. There is a general increase in the rise to prominence of women in the temple clergy, particularly noticeable in the Twenty-first Dynasty.21 Several important religious offices were fulfilled by the wives and daughters of the Kings and High Priests of Amun, the most important of which was that of ‘First great chief of the musical troupe of Amun’, the exact significance of this office being unclear. These same women also held titles relating to the goddesses Mut and Hathor. During the early to mid Twenty-second Dynasty the position of First great chief of the musical troupe of Amun was replaced by a change in the importance of the God’s Wife of Amun.22 Her principal function was to stimulate the god’s procreative urges, thus ensuring the fertility of the land and the repetition of creation. During the Twenty-second Dynasty the God’s Wife was expected to be celibate, with her successors being adopted, and this was as much political as religious. The rise of the God’s Wife coincided with a consequent decline in importance of the High Priests of Amun23, this change possibly being deliberately promoted as a measure to solve the ‘problem’ of Theban secession, as her celibacy meant that no sub-dynasty could arise through her. Funerary practices underwent profound changes, the most noticeable being the burial of the kings, and their immediate families, in tombs erected within the enclosure walls of cult temples.24 At Thebes new tomb construction during the Twenty-first Dynasty was nonexistent, and, as far as I am aware, no-one has satisfactorily explained why this should be25, although Kara Cooney comes closest, in her arguments that it was basically driven by the need for greater security.26 At the same time there must have been a distinct change in the significance attached to funerary provisions, since, although it is evidently cheaper to reuse a previously existing tomb, than to make a new one. The elite were still buried in elaborate coffin ensembles, with sets of burial equipment which included a Book of the Dead, and a Book of Amduat, and, in some cases also an amuletic papyrus, stelai, an Osiris figure, shabti boxes, and 401 faience ushabtis, and, as Cooney demonstrates, this did not come cheap.27 Moreover it would appear that, in real terms, the elite were actually investing more in their grave goods during the Twenty-first Dynasty than ever before.28 It has also been advocated that the lack of tomb construction was related to the influx of Libyans into Egyptian society. Lacking an ancestral tradition of creating permanent monuments for the dead, the Libyan

16  Ritner 2009a: 543–4. 17 Bickel 2009. 18  Payraudeau 2004: 82–5. 19 Osing 1983. 20  Leahy 1990a: 169–70; Effland 2006: 139; 2010; 2012. 21  Naguib 1990; Onstine 2005; Becker 2016; Li: 2016. 22 Ayad 2008. 23 Meffre 2016. 24  Stadelmann 1971; Lull 2002; Quack 2006. 25  Cf. Strudwick 2009–10: 254–60. 26  Cooney 2011: 15–20. 27 Cooney 2007. 28  Cooney 2011: 21–3.

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The Third Intermediate Period   687 rulers in Egypt can perhaps be said to have neglected mortuary practice.29 There are certainly no conceptual innovations in burial ritual or provision which could be attributed to them, and the picture, which the evidence paints, is one of mechanical adherence to concepts which were perhaps not fully understood and, it has been suggested that the lack of development at royal level perhaps deprived the lower strata of society of the aspirational impetus to imitate, leading to stagnation.30 However, whilst this may be true of the ‘Libyan’ north, Thebes apparently remained very much ‘Egyptian’ and, in any case, a ‘Libyanization’ of Egypt can only really be traced under the Libyan Twenty-second Dynasty31, when, paradoxically, new tombs were indeed constructed in the Theban necropolis. This division of the burial from the now non-existent funerary chapel meant that traditional ceremonies associated with the cults of the dead could no longer be performed at the tomb. Whilst Kikuchi argues that these ceremonies, in particular, the Opening of the Mouth, would have taken place in the house, Niwinski suggests that such ceremonies would have taken place in temples.32 Moreover he also points out that the traditional decorative motifs depicted in Twentieth-Dynasty tomb chapels are replaced by the introduction of several new papyri compositions33, and the iconographic repertoire now found on coffin decoration.34 Although this observation is disputed by Van Walsem, it finds support from Cooney who states that ‘essentially, it could be argued that, without a tomb chapel in the funerary complex, the coffin now had to function not only as the burial place, but also as an ersatz cult place for the deceased’s well-being, performed by the deceased him or herself. Indeed, many scenes on the coffin exterior show the dead person performing rituals before gods, censing, purifying and offering, as if they are chief priest in his or her own discrete temple space.’35 With the beginning of the Twenty-second Dynasty, new types of free standing tombs came back into fashion at Thebes.36 At the same time there were new developments in the styles of funerary goods37, particularly in the coffins which became more sparsely decorated, and the vividly decorated coffins were replaced by cartonnages, less susceptible of reuse. Such ensembles may have been inspired by northern burial customs. Around 750 bc another change in funerary customs took place with the cartonnage-type coffin ensembles being replaced by qrsw coffins, a change in customs which may have been inspired by Kushite burial customs.38 Throughout the period there is also a growing awareness and harking back to the past, which is characterized as an ‘Age of Archaism’.39 Up until the reign of Osorkon II any deliberate copying of earlier artistic features seem to reflect back on New Kingdom Tuthmosid features and it is only during the later Third Intermediate Period that there is a conscious looking back to Old Kingdom models. Morkot has suggested that this Late Libyan Old Kingdom influenced archaism developed sometime between Year 28 of Sheshonq III and Year 2 of Pimay.40 This can be seen in the simplification of the kings’ names, the writing of the cartouche in which the flat base is replaced by a tapered one, names of the Ankh+KN type41, ear tabs, reeded crowns, shendyt kilts with a particularly broad middle part, attenuated female figures with a long torso and prominent forward 29  Leahy 1985: 61–2. 30  Taylor 2010: 237. 31  Leahy 1985; Ritner 2009b. 32  Kikuchi 2002: 357; Niwinski 1988: 29; 1989: 36. 33  Niwinski 1989 34–6. 34  Niwinski 1981: 49; 1988–89; 1988: 15, 18. 35  Van Walsem 1992; 1997: 356–61; Cooney 2011: 21. 36  Aston 2009b: 411–16. 37  Aston 2011: 12–23. 38  Taylor 2008; Aston 2011: 23–30. 39  Morkot 2003, 2007, 2014; Jurman 2006b; 2009: 129–32; 2015b; Becker 2012. 40  Morkot and James 2009: 40, 45. 41 Leahy 1992.

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688   David A. Aston thigh, rather ‘top heavy’ figures with apparently short legs and long torso, and types and lengths of kilt, which all have Old Kingdom precedents. Examples of such archaism in art are most noticeable on relief blocks attributed to kings of Manetho’s Twenty-third Dynasty (cf. below) at Tanis, in the reliefs of the temple of Osiris heqa-djet at Karnak, originally built under Osorkon III and Takeloth III, and extended by Shabataka, the glazed plaque of Iuput II, Brooklyn 59.17; the Athens stela of Tefnakhte (I), and in various reliefs executed under the Twenty-fifth Dynasty. Since this chapter deals specifically with unresolved problems, it is not my intention, however, to give a general overview of the Third Intermediate Period, but to highlight the problems inherent in the history of the period, and I start with the assumption that the interested reader does, in fact, have some idea of what is thought to have happened between 1100 and 650 bc. If not, the reader is advised to consult John Taylor’s summary, which currently provides the best concise (and, in terms of dynastic composition, conventional) overview of all aspects of this period.42 Karl Jansen-Winkeln, the present author and Aidan Dodson (2012) provide less conventional views of Third Intermediate Period history.43 If this chapter had been written at the turn of the century, one would probably have said that the history and chronology of the Third Intermediate Period was reasonably well established; the third edition of Kenneth Kitchen’s magisterial The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt44 had classified and surveyed all the (then) available evidence and so had built up a  chronology from mostly first-hand data,—now superseded by Jurman, Meffre and Payraudeau, for the Memphite, Middle Egypt and Theban areas respectively45—and at the same time, had attempted to include, or dispute, advances in knowledge made between 1972 when the first edition of the book appeared, and 1995. Moreover Morris Bierbrier’s study of the major Theban families of the Ramesside and Third Intermediate Periods and Günter Vittman’s study of the later Theban priestly families had seemingly put everything on a firm footing.46 However, these three studies were essentially prosopographic, constructed by the linking of like-named individuals into larger building blocks. This was to some degree inevitable, since, in the 1970s practically nothing was then known of the art history of the Third Intermediate Period. Apart from the fact that beautifully decorated coffins were always assigned to the Twenty-first Dynasty, little else in terms of objects could be accurately dated except to the all-embracing Third Intermediate Period.47 Since then studies on Third Intermediate and Late Period funerary stelai48 and Niwinski’s, Elias’, van Walsem’s, and Taylor’s work on Theban coffins49 have shown the value of a stylistic study of certain classes of grave goods for the reconstruction of the genealogies of their owners. A large number of individuals can be related to statues found in the Karnak Cachette—a deposit of literally thousands of statues found buried in the courtyard in front of the seventh pylon of the Karnak temple. These statues were originally set up within the temple by their dedicants, or more often their immediate heirs, and sometimes bear the cartouches of the reigning kings, or mention ancestors with their contemporary kings, 42  Taylor 2000: 324–63. 43  Jansen-Winkeln 2006a: 218–33, 2006b: 234–64; Aston 2009a; Dodson 2012. 44  Kitchen 1996. 45  Jurman 2020; Meffre 2015; Payraudeau 2014. 46  Bierbrier 1975; Vittmann 1978. 47  Cf. Fazzini 1988, 1997. 48  Munro 1973; Saleh 2007; Loth 2009; Leahy 2009. 49  Niwinski 1988; Elias 1993; van Walsem 1993, 1997; Taylor 2001, 2003, 2006a.

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The Third Intermediate Period   689 which thus acts as termini post quem. Moreover these statues can often be dated stylistically50 which thus helps in dating the people mentioned on them. Among the lesser arts, there are also studies on metal statuary51, pottery52 and minor funerary arts of the period53, while the upsurge in interest in the Tanite royal burials, following a number of international exhibitions in the late 1980s, has led to a re-examination of a number of types of minor objects. There have also been advances in philology, with the result that in certain cases it is possible to date inscriptions by their orthography. During the Third Intermediate Period, the orthography of the Karnak Nile Level Texts helps to put them on a proper chronological footing54, while the writing of Osiris with a pennant (Gardiner sign R8) means that the object on which it is written cannot be earlier than 740/720 bc55, the reversal of the is sign (Gardiner sign M40) is no earlier than 620 bc56, while the style of the twisted flax (Gardiner sign V28) can also be used as a dating criterion.57 As a result of the above, we are now in a much better position to appreciate the minor arts, but conversely, as a result of these studies, there are now numerous unresolved problems in the history of the period, and thus, this essay will concentrate on this aspect of the Third Intermediate Period. One of the major problems encountered by any student trying to make sense of the Third Intermediate Period is the immense plethora of sources which relate to a bewildering number of kings, most of whom are called Sheshonq. Not only that, but, depending on the date of the book or article being read, these rulers may even have changed their number—indeed only Sheshonq I, the biblical Shishak, has remained the same since the early days of Egyptology. In the beginning it was very simple, only four definite king Sheshonqs were known, then called, naturally, Sheshonq I–IV. The discovery of an intact burial of a hitherto unknown Sheshonq at Tanis in 1942 rather upset the apple cart.58 This new Sheshonq was subsequently numbered Sheshonq II, a term which has entered all general literature as a result of Kitchen’s study on this period, which meant that the Sheshonq II–IV of the earlier Egyptologists thus became Sheshonq III–V respectively. Recently this Sheshonq II has been renumbered Sheshonq IIa, with two other not very well-known kings being termed Sheshonq IIb and IIc, and, if they are separate kings rather than differing prenomena of Sheshonq I59, all three probably reigned somewhere between the well-known Sheshonq I and Sheshonq III. During the 1990s it became clear that yet another previously unrecognized king Sheshonq, whose name, Hedjkheperra Setepenra Sheshonq Netjerheqaiunu, is confusingly similar to Hedjkheperra Setepenra Sheshonq sibast, Sheshonq I, must have reigned very close in time to Sheshonq III. The original ‘discoverer’ of this king named him Sheshonq Ib, owing to the similarity of the names of the two kings, while subsequent commentators, trying to give an indication of where this king might fit in real time, named him Sheshonq IIIa or Sheshonq IV, the latter term being somewhat confusing as this meant that the previous Sheshonq IV had to be renumbered . . . . However, this discussion is jumping ahead of itself, and all will be explained below. Since the period consists of different dynasties which may have, and in some cases certainly did, rule contemporaneously with one another, this chapter will proceed dynasty by dynasty: 50 Brandl 2009. 51  Hill 2007, Taylor 2007. 52  Aston 1996, Budka 2010, Mittelmann 2014. 53  Saleh 2007, Aston 2009b, Marini 2012. 54  Broekman 2002. 55 Leahy 1979. 56  Leahy 1980: 174–5. 57 Taylor 2006b. 58  Montet 1951: 37–60. 59  As argued by Niwinski 2013.

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690   David A. Aston

Dynasty 21 As has been indicated in the earlier historical essays in this book, much of our chronological structure depends on Manetho, and this is just as true for the Twenty-first Dynasty as earlier. According to Manetho, the Twenty-first Dynasty, which ruled from Tanis, comprised seven kings, namely, in Manetho’s order, Smendes, Psusennes I, Neferkara (Amenemnisu), Amenenope, Osochor, Psinaches (Siamun), and Psusennes II, although, apart from their burials in Tanis, they are poorly attested60, with the first three being almost entirely absent from any southern records. Moreover no year dates can be associated with any of the first three kings, not even in the north, leaving one entirely reliant on Manetho’s reign lengths for the first three kings of the dynasty. Theban monuments, however, clearly refer to the three High Priests of Amun (HPAs), Herihor, Pinedjem (I), and Menkheperra (A) as both military commanders and kings, and it has long been recognized that during the Twentyfirst Dynasty, Egypt had basically split into two, with a line of real kings in the East Delta— the kings of Manetho—ruling the north, and a line of military commanders ruling the south. For a long time it was assumed that the regnal years found in association with Herihor and Pinedjem I referred to the regnal years of the Tanite kings, but it is now becoming increasingly clear that both Herihor and Pinedjem I,—the evidence for Menkheperra A  is less conclusive—used their own regnal years61, whilst Krauss, whose thinking is ­primarily based on astronomy, goes so far as to (re-)suggest that Herihor was actually a ‘real’ king who succeeded Rameses XI and ruled for seven to eight years before being ­succeeded by Smendes I. Relations between Tanis and Thebes were apparently amicable, and as Kitchen says, each was confirmed in its fief under a mutual policy that probably varied from firm alliance to ‘live and let live’. When the Twenty-first Dynasty ruled is not problematic—based on astronomical grounds Smendes probably came to the throne either in 1080 or 1069 bc, while Sheshonq I, first king of the Twenty-second Dynasty, began to rule in 954 or 943 bc62, although from the Tepy shemu data alone, the entire dynasty could be moved some thirty years later in time.63 The main problem with the composition of the (Tanite) Twenty-first Dynasty is whether Psusennes I preceded Amenemnisu (as in Manetho’s account), or succeeded him. Manetho gives the order Psusennes I (forty-one/forty-six years)—Amenemnisu (four years), and apart from this record in Manetho, the king Neferkara Meriamun Amenemnisu is known only from a genealogy on the relief Berlin 23,673, which dates from the reign of Sheshonq V, and on two bow caps (Cairo JE 85886-85,887), found with the burial of Psusennes I, which are inscribed with the joint names of Psusennes I and Amenemnisu, both in a cartouche, which suggests a coregency between them. The Berlin relief lists a line of the owner’s ancestors in which three generations of priests are said to be contemporary with Amenemnisu, a king Akheperra Setepen [ . . . ], a king Psusennes and a king Psusennes respectively. If the throne name should be read as Akheperra Setepen[ra] then this would unequivocally refer to Osochor, and this would indicate that 60  James and Morkot 2013: 219–22. 61  Thijs  2005;  2006; Lull  2006; Jansen-Winkeln  2006a: 229; James and Morkot  2010; Krauss  2015: 346–9. 62 Krauss 2015. 63 Gautschy 2015.

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The Third Intermediate Period   691 the four priests were contemporaries of Amenemnisu, Osochor, Psusennes (II), and Psusennes (II) respectively, and Amenemnisu would have ruled after Psusennes I. If this is correct then the bow caps found in the tomb of Psusennes I could then be seen as evidence of an elderly Psusennes I, who ruled for forty-one/forty-six years, adopting a younger Amenemnisu as coregent,—the latter being fated to survive Psusennes by a mere four years, which would be in keeping with the Manethonian tradition. If the throne name is Akheperra Setepen[amun] then this might refer to Psusennes I, and the priests would be contemporaries of Amenemnisu, Psusennes I, Psusennes (I) and Psusennes (I) respectively. On this ­scenario the bow caps must date from early in the reign of Psusennes I, and would have presumably been kept as heirlooms to be placed in his tomb at his burial. However, confusingly, Osochor also used the epithet Akheperra Setepenamun, in addition to Akheperra Setepenre64 so we are no farther forward; although current scholarship is more in favour of the king of the Berlin relief as being Osochor.65 For some time there was a debate as to whether Psusennes II was a Pharaoh in the true sense of the word, and, if he were, for how long did he reign, or was only a Theban High Priest arrogating royal titles to himself during the reign of Sheshonq I in the manner of Pinedjem I during the reign of Smendes, but the discovery of Fragment P of the Karnak Priestly Annals has now made it clear that Psusennes II was a real king who reigned for at least eleven years, and in all probability thirteen.66 The dates of the HPAs can be, at least conventionally, tied to the reigns of the Twenty-first Dynasty kings, since the HPAs are mentioned on a series of linen dockets in association with unnamed year dates, which, before it was realized that Herihor and Pinedjem I actually used their own regnal years, were assumed to be the year dates of Tanite pharaohs. Leaving aside Herihor and Paiankh, who will be discussed below, Pinedjem I as High Priest of Amun is known from Year 10 to Year 15 (of Smendes I?) after which he is attested as ‘King’ until his regnal Year 8. The HPA Masaharta A is attested in Years 16, 18, and 19 (of Smendes I?), whilst the HPA Menkheperra A was inducted in Year 25 (of Smendes I?) and is attested as late as Year 48 (of Psusennes I?). That he did not outlive Psusennes I is clear from the fact that among the grave goods of Psusennes I are objects donated by the HPA Smendes II, who was thus in office by the time Psusennes I died. The HPA Pinedjem II is attested from Year 3 of Amenemope, and possibly as early as Year 1, thus the pontificate of Smendes II must have been relatively short. Pinedjem II died in Year 10 of Siamun. The HPA Psusennes III was the son of Pinedjem II and presumably succeeded his father into office. The next attested High Priest of Amun is Iuput I who was appointed by his father, Sheshonq I. It is thus possible that Psusennes III was HPA from Year 10 to the end of the reign of Psusennes II, although there is some evidence to indicate that the High Priest of Amun, Psusennes III ascended the throne as Psusennes II on the death of Siamun. To the above list must be added the HPA Djedkhonsefankh, son of Pinedjem I, who is known solely from a genealogy recorded on a now lost coffin of the HPA Djedkhonsefankh’s son, . . . . . . ra, which was evidently buried intrusively within a New Kingdom tomb. As a son of Pinedjem I, his pontificate is probably to be placed between that of Masaharta A and Menkheperra A. However if Herihor and Pinedjem I used their own regnal years, why are the High Priests apparently dating by the years of the Tanite kings and not those of Herihor and Pinedjem I? The answer would seem to be that67, Herihor died before Smendes I became king in Tanis, 64 Payraudeau 2000. 67  With Krauss 2015.

65 Jurman 2018.

66  Payraudeau, 2008; Effland 2012.

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692   David A. Aston whilst Pinedjem I became king of Thebes and reigned for eight years which are equivalent to the first eight years of the reign of Smendes I. On this scenario all dockets with a year date of 8 or less could refer to either Herihor or Pinedjem I. With the death of Pinedjem I it would appear that there was no following Theban ‘king’, and the following HPAs then dated by the Tanite king, presumably Smendes, hence any year dates higher than 8 must refer to Smendes. This scenario has been criticized because it leads to both a long lived king in Tanis (Psusennes I) and at the same time, a similarly long lived HPA in Thebes (Menkheperra A) with apparent gaps in the number of officials one would expect to be contemporary with these two individuals, and, moreover, it also creates long-lived styles in funerary goods. To overcome this, James and Morkot suggest that after the accession of Smendes as king in Tanis, Herihor remained as king in the south where he continued to rule down to his Year 19 at least, hence Pinedjem I as High Priest of Amun is known from Year 10 to Year 15 of Herihor, after which he is attested as ‘King’ until his regnal Year 8.68 Masaharta A is then attested in Years 16, 18, and 19 of Herihor, with the implication that Herihor and Pinedjem I must have been co-regents for at least four years. A bandage found on the rewrapped burial of Seti I bears a Year-6 date and the name of the HPA Menkheperra, which implies that Menkheperra was a HPA in regnal Year 6 of a king who can only be Pinedjem I or a successor of Smendes. James and Morkot suggest that the Year 6 must be Pinedjem I, yet the Maunier stele69 implies that Menkheperra was inducted in a Year 25 which does not fit this scenario, since if this Year 25 is attributed to Herihor, it would be later than Year 6 of Pinedjem I, since Year 6 of Pinedjem I would be equal to Herihor’s Year 22! This anomaly is explained by James and Morkot with the suggestion that the Year 25 actually refers to the wḥ m-mswt and that all of the ‘high’ dates associated with Menkheperra should also belong in the wḥ m-mswt, assuming that the era continued on from Year 19 of Rameses XI as a valid means of dating through the end of his reign and that of his Theban successors, Herihor and Pinedjem I and then some.70 Menkheperra A would then have become High Priest thirteen years after the death of Rameses XI which works well with both the scenario that Herihor became king in Year 6 of the wḥ m-mswt and reigned for twenty-one years,—Year 20 Herihor being equivalent to Year 25 wḥ m-mswt with James and Morkot, or, with Krauss became king after the death of Rameses XI and reigned for seven years (= Years 12–19 wḥ m-mswt). Herihor would then have been followed by Pinedjem I who reigned eight years (= Years 20–27 wḥ m-mswt). This scenario removes the extreme age of Menkheperra A, who would now be in office for only twenty-four/twenty-five years (= Years 25–48/49 wḥ m-mswt) instead of the conventional forty-nine/fifty years (Year 25 Smendes–Year 48 Psusennes I), and also removes the apparent gap in the archaeological record. At the same time it would also shorten the length of the Twenty-first Dynasty, by up to twenty-five years, which seems unlikely on astronomical grounds.71 Conversely Jansen-Winkeln and Broekman would argue that Menkheperra was made High Priest in Year 25 of Pinedjem I, with the presumed assumption that the Year-6 docket refers to Menkheperra’s own reign as king.72 This idea retains the conventional length of the Twenty-first Dynasty, keeps the notion that Herihor and Pinedjem used their own regnal years, but removes the necessity of Herihor and Pinedjem I being co-regents. In 68  James and Morkot 2013: 229–32. 69  Ritner 2009a: 124–9. 70  James and Morkot 2013: 243–5. 71  Krauss 2015: 341–51. 72  Jansen-Winkeln 2006b: 230; Broekman 2012: 204.

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The Third Intermediate Period   693 this thesis, Herihor would be king until his Year 8, after which he is followed by Pinedjem  I.  The dates 16, 18, and 19 associated with the HPA Masaharta would thus be ascribed to Pinedjem I, and Masaharta would presumably be High Priest down to around Year 24 of Pinedjem I, being replaced by, the presumably short pontificate of Djedkhonsefankh, and then by Menkheperre in Year 25 of Pinedjem I. There are, however two drawbacks to this scheme. It entails a twenty-four-year gap—Years 1–8 of Herihor and Years 1–16 of Pinedjem I—in which there is apparently no High Priest of Amun between the accession of Herihor as king and the induction of Masaharta in Year 16, with Broekman suggesting that Herihor and Pinedjem I combined both the kingship and the High Priesthood, although he does not explain why, suddenly in Year 16, Pinedjem I gave up the High Priesthood, devolving it upon his son, Masaharta A. Similarly the dockets dating to Years 9–13, 15, and 16 in association with the High Priest Pinedjem, would have to be his own regnal dates, but then why does he not style himself ‘High Priest of Amun [and] King Pinedjem’ in these texts? Pinedjem I was clearly preceded in office by the High Priests Herihor and Paiankh. Traditionally it is said that Herihor precedes Paiankh, but Jansen-Winkeln has suggested reversing their order of rule.73 That Herihor was High Priest of Amun during the reign of Rameses XI seems clear from the decoration in the temple of Khonsu, and from the socalled Oracle of Herihor74, which, although somewhat garbled, begins with a reference to the time of Rameses XI and then refers to a period of twenty years, as well as to a period of thirty years. Traditionally this is interpreted to mean that Amun has already granted Herihor a period of twenty years (in high office?) and will continue to favour him for another thirty years. Dated references to the High Priest of Amun Herihor refer only to years 4, 5, and 6, with no attribution to a given king. On the order Herihor-Paiankh these dates are considered as Years 4–6 of the wḥ m-mswt era (= Years 23–25 of Rameses XI), since references to the High Priest of Amun, Paiankh are clearly dated between Years 7 and 10 with specific reference to the wḥ m-mswt era. On the order Paiankh-Herihor, Herihor’s Year-4–6 dates must postdate Year 10 of the wḥ m-mswt era, and can thus only refer to a king who post-dated Rameses XI. The logical candidate is thus Smendes I; however the Year-5 date of the High Priest of Amun, Herihor is known from the Story of Wenamun, in which Smendes is not termed Pharaoh. Either, therefore, one must suppose the existence of an unknown king, or argue that the composer of the Story of Wenamun paid scant regard to royal protocol. Thijs, for instance, postulates separating King Pinedjem (I) from the High Priest of Amun, Pinedjem I, and inserting the King Pinedjem (I).75 Recently, however, Mladjov has argued that such a scenario is unlikely, but is thus left with the problem of the unknown king, and, going back to the early days of Egyptology, postulates the existence of a king ‘Rameses XII’, whom he would equate with Wasermaatra Heqawaset Rameses Merreramun, known from the Wadi Hammamat Inscription 22.76 Wasermaatra Heqawaset Rameses Merreramun is usually seen as a variant name of Wasermaatra Heqawaset Rameses Meryamun, Rameses II, but apart from this variant name, Rameses II is otherwise ­unattested in the Wadi Hammamat, which appears to have been abandoned between the reigns of  Seti I and Rameses IV. Even if ‘Rameses XII’ is not Wasermaatra Heqawaset Rameses Merreramun, the problem of the unknown king persists, and he might well be 73 Jansen-Winkeln 1992. 75  Thijs 2005: 83–5, 2006.

74  Epigraphic Survey 1981: 14–17. 76 Mladjov 2017.

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694   David A. Aston a(n unknown) king Rameses. Contra this scenario, however, as indeed Mladjov points out, there is absolutely no record of this ‘Rameses XII’ in any of the inscriptions or texts in the Khonsu temple, where Rameses XI, Herihor and Pinedjem all appear as kings. Others have argued that the Year 5 refers to Herihor’s Year 577 and that he is the unknown king. Building on Jansen-Winkeln’s hypothesis, Taylor has made a very plausible suggestion that Nodjmet was first married to Paiankh, and then, presumably on Paiankh’s death, ­married Herihor, which could imply that Herihor followed Paiankh.78 Since then, with the notable exception of Kitchen, most commentators have followed the order PaiankhHerihor.79 However the traditional view could be rescued if Herihor began to assume the attributes of kingship in Year 7 of the wḥ m-mswt era, and appointed Paiankh to (some of) the offices hitherto held by himself.80 After all, Pinedjem I (assuming that the HPA Pinedjem I and king Pinedjem I are one and the same) clearly devolved his office of HPA to his son Masaharta A, when he (Pinedjem I) began claiming the kingship in Years 15/16 of Smendes I (or Herihor). If this scenario is correct, then presumably Paiankh died very shortly after taking office, being only attested in Years 7–10 of the wḥ m-mswt era. On Paiankh’s death, his offices then passed to his own son, Pinedjem I, while Nodjmet then married Herihor. The latter would thus have effectively both preceded and succeeded Paiankh.81 Paiankh was only General and not Generalissimo, because Herihor was still the de facto Generalissimo. Moreover, in the above scenario Paiankh could not have arrogated royal titles to himself, since Herihor was still ‘king’, and upon his death Pinedjem I assumed royal titles and acceded to the Theban kingship. The major problem with this hypothesis, however, is the so-called Oracle of Nesamun.82 In this oracle scene Paiankh appears as the High Priest of Amun and acting as the deputy for the king who is named as Ramesses XI. As this oracle is securely dated to Year 7 of the wḥ m-mswt era, it would be strange that Paiankh does not recognize Herihor if he owes his position to him.83

Dynasty 22 For the Twenty-second Dynasty Manetho fails us, since, at least in the versions which have come down to us, he makes a number of short cuts reporting only that this dynasty comprised nine kings who ruled from Bubastis for a total of 120 years, namely Sesonchis twentyone years, Osorthon fifteen years, three unnamed kings, twenty-five years, Takelothis thirteen years and three other unnamed kings, forty-two years. The first two have long been equated with Sheshonq I and Osorkon I, while the Takelothis must refer to Takeloth I or II. Over the past twenty five years, views on this dynasty have crystallized into two opposing views, a so-called Chronology K, named after Kitchen, and a so-called Chronology A named after myself, the basic difference being whether Takeloth II is an integral part of the Twenty-second Dynasty, ruling after Osorkon II and before Sheshonq III, so Chronology K, or whether Takeloth II belongs to an entirely different dynasty, so Chronology A (see below for further discussion of this). 77  Jansen-Winkeln 1992: 25–6; 1997: 65–72; Egberts 1998: 104; Broekman 2012: 198. 78 Taylor 1998. 79  Cf. Gregory 2014: 8–19. 80  Cf. James and Morkot 2010. 81  Römer 1994: 48–9. 82 Nims 1948. 83  Broekman 2012: 202: Gregory 2013: 9–10.

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The Third Intermediate Period   695 In the last thirty years there have been a number of new discoveries which must be taken into account in reconstructing the chronologies of Dynasties 22 and 23. Essentially this comprises the finding of new kings and the publication of new highest known year dates for some of them. As these references deal mostly with various ‘new’ Sheshonqs it is best to make clear which Sheshonqs are meant. For the purposes of this paper Sheshonq I, Sheshonq III and Sheshonq V remain as given in Kitchen’s Third Intermediate Period.84 It  should be noted, however, that, rather confusingly, Donald Redford continually terms Kitchen’s Sheshonq V as Sheshonq IV.85 Kitchen’s king Usimara Meryamun Sheshonq IV, has been dismissed in some quarters as nothing but an aberrant form of the name of Sheshonq III, or renumbered Sheshonq VI. In 1990, David Rohl pointed out that a hitherto unrecognized king, Hedjkheperra Setepenra Sheshonq Netjerheqaiunu, with the epithet Netjerheqaiunu differentiating this king from the well-known Sheshonq I, must have lived in the later eighth century bc. Rohl terms this king Sheshonq Ib, whereas Dodson names him Sheshonq IV86; and von Beckerath calls him Sheshonq IIIa87, although in view of the proposal laid down at a conference on the Third Intermediate Period held in Leiden in 2007, he will be termed Sheshonq IV for the remainder of this article.88 Although the precise placement of this king is uncertain, he is clearly a contemporary of the chief of the Libu, Niumataped, since Niumataped’s stele, St Petersburg 5630, is dated to Sheshonq IV’s Year 10. Since a chief of the Libu Niumataped is dated to Year 8 of Sheshonq V, it is reasonable to assume that Sheshonq IV is a close contemporary of Sheshonq V. Moreover, the title chief of the Libu is, on present evidence, first attested in Year 31 of Sheshonq III, and thus Year 10 of Sheshonq IV is presumably no earlier than this. Dodson would therefore place Sheshonq IV as the immediate successor of Sheshonq III, a factor which would be in keeping with the finding of a second sarcophagus, and canopic jars of a Hedjkheperra Setepenra Sheshonq within Sheshonq III’s tomb at Tanis.89 To the Twenty-second Dynasty should undoubtedly also be associated the kings Hekakheperra Sheshonq (Sheshonq IIa), Tutkheperra Sheshonq IIb, Maakheperra Sheshonq (Sheshonq IIc), and Wasnetjerra Sheshonq. Hekakheperra Sheshonq is known only from his burial, which was found at Tanis.90 Tutkheperra Sheshonq is known from an ‘ostracon’, more likely part of an inscribed pot (Paris Louvre E.13886), found at Abydos, and from a relief block at Bubastis.91 The latter suggests that he was recognized as a Delta ruler, and must be fitted into the Twenty-second Dynasty. In view of his prenomen, this king should be positioned somewhere near the beginning of the dynasty, since all later kings used the more banal prenomen Usermaatra, and Jansen-Winkeln thus places Tutkheperra Sheshonq IIb as the successor of Hekakheperra Sheshonq IIa.92 Maakheperra Sheshonq IIc is known from the Cairo statue CG 42192, found in the Karnak Cachette, on which he is called the son of Psusennes (II), and an unpublished sherd from an inscribed vessel from Abydos (Andreas Effland, personal communication). Von Beckerath originally identified Maakheperra Sheshonq as Sheshonq II, although arguing that he was ‘not identical’ with the king Hekakheperra Shoshenq buried at Tanis. Moreover, von Beckerath situated Maakheperra

84  Kitchen 1972: 85–7. 87  von Beckerath 1997: 94. 90  Montet 1951: 37–57.

85  Redford 1986: 63, 309; 2004: 66, 69, 85. 86 Dodson 1993. 88  Broekman et al. 2008: 9–10. 89  Montet 1960: 76. 91 Lange 2004. 92 Jansen-Winkeln 2006b.

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696   David A. Aston Sheshonq as a king with a short reign between Osorkon I and Takeloth  I.93 However, between 1994 and 1997, he seems to have changed his mind and linked Maakheperra with Hekakheperra as one and the same94, since no mention is made of Maakheperra in his later works, whilst Hekakheperra is positioned as the successor of Takeloth I with a two-year reign. However, it would be surprising that the only earlier objects recorded with this burial refer to Sheshonq I, with nothing which can be attributed to the intervening reigns of Osorkon I and Takeloth  I.  Hekakheperra Sheshonq IIa should thus most likely be positioned somewhere earlier in the dynasty, presumably as a close successor of Sheshonq I. Recently, however, both Broekman and Niwinski have proposed that Hekakheperra Sheshonq is a variant name of Sheshonq I, with Niwinski going so far as to suggest that Tutkheperra and Maakheperra are also variant names of the first Sheshonq.95 Wasnetjerra Sheshonq is known through a bronze pendant, formerly in the Petrie collection96, and an unpublished sherd from Abydos (Andreas Effland, personal communication). Petrie termed this king Sheshonq V (Sheshonq II being unknown at the time) and Kitchen, Sheshonq VI, who is not to be confused with Usimara Meryamun Sheshonq VI (formerly Sheshonq IV), and Ritner, Sheshonq VII.97 In the 2007 Leiden renumbering of the Sheshonq kings, Wasnetjerra Sheshonq was omitted as his existence was deemed doubtful; however his ‘re-appearance’ on sherds at Abydos in a sequence of kings which extend from Psusennes II to Osorkon II98, indicate that he should be reinstated. In view of his nomen and the Abydos evidence he should be placed somewhere in the first half of the dynasty and should perhaps be better termed Sheshonq IId. Noticeably Sheshonq IIa is missing from this sequence of kings known from the inscribed Abydene sherds, but Sheshonq IIb, IIc, and IId are all present, which might give some credence to the belief that the king termed Sheshonq IIa is nothing but a variant spelling of Sheshonq I. Finally from an orthographical study of the Karnak Nile Level Texts, Broekman has shown that Nile Level Text 3 cannot be associated with Sheshonq I, as is usually assumed, but must belong to yet another new king Hedjkeperra Setepenra Sheshonq Siese Meriamun, who lived at least 130 years after Sheshonq  I.99 Broekman originally termed this king Sheshonq VIa, but at Kitchen’s suggestion, renamed him Sheshonq VII; however in view of the proposals laid down at the Leiden conference of 2007 the original Sheshonq VIa will be retained. The same orthographic study has also led to the fact that Nile Level text 14, dated to a regnal Year 29, is better ascribed to Osorkon II, rather than Osorkon III or Sheshonq III as advocated by other scholars (Table 32.1). Apart from the reign of Sheshonq I, the early years of the Twenty-second Dynasty are but poorly known.100 Sheshonq I appears to have suppressed the quasi-independent status of Thebes by appointing his own men to various leading offices, including his own son, Iuput A, as High Priest. He reigned for twenty-one years and was responsible for various building works, particularly in Tanis, Bubastis, Memphis Athribis, El-Hibeh, Heliopolis, and Thebes, but is probably best known for his military campaign in Palestine identifiable from both biblical sources and the Karnak topographical list.101 In Year 21 quarrying work was undertaken at Gebel el-Silsila specifically to extract stone for a pylon at Karnak, but as this pylon 93  von Beckerath 1994: 87.    94  von Beckerath, 1997: 98. 95  Broekman 2007; 2009: 75–6; 2018; Niwinski 2013. 96  Petrie 1905, 271. 97 Ritner 2009a: 434.    98 Effland 2010: 70.   99 Broekman 1998; 2005b. 100  Kitchen 1972/86/96: 302–12; Dodson 2012: 95–101. 101  Cf. Kitchen 1972/86/96: 432–47, 575.

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The Third Intermediate Period   697

Table 32.1  Re-numbering of Twenty-second Dynasty rulers, in light of the Leiden 2007 conference King

2007 Numbering

Previous numbering

  Hedjkheperra Setepenra Sheshonq sibast Hekakheperra Setepenra Sheshonq Tutkheperra Sheshonq Maakheperra Sheshonq Usimara Setepenra/amun Sheshonq Hedjkheperra Setepenra Sheshonq Netjerhekaiunu Aakheperra Setepenre Sheshonq Usimara Meryamun Sheshonq Hedjkheperra Setepenra Sheshonq siese Wasnetjerra Sheshonq

  Sheshonq I Sheshonq IIa Sheshonq IIb Sheshonq IIc Sheshonq III Sheshonq IV

  Sheshonq I Sheshonq II   Sheshonq II Sheshonq II, Sheshonq III Sheshonq Ib, Sheshonq IIIa, Sheshonq IV Sheshonq IV, Sheshonq V Sheshonq III, Sheshonq IV Sheshonq VIa, Sheshonq VII Sheshonq VI, Sheshonq VII

Sheshonq V Sheshonq VI Sheshonq VIa omitted

was never built, it is generally assumed that Sheshonq I must have died at this point. Osorkon I who appears to have ruled for at least thirty-three years as suggested by a linen bandage dated to Year 33 found on a mummy buried with leather braces mentioning Osorkon I102, and possibly thirty-four years since reliefs on the bubastite chapel at karnak appear to show Osorkon I with a reference to a renewal of the heb-sed103, has left little trace in the archaeological record, although he appears to have also been actively involved in Palestine. Almost nothing is known of Sheshonq IIa-IIc nor of Takeloth I, except for the fact that the burials of Sheshonq IIa and Takeloth I were found at Tanis.104 The length of Osorkon II’s reign is slightly problematic. The highest unequivocal year date known is Year 23, but in view of the large number of officials known under his reign it is probably longer than that. As stated above, Broekman has indicated a Year 29, while, judging from relief blocks from Bubastis, Osorkon II appears to celebrate a Heb-Sed jubilee in Year 22 of his reign. Kitchen suggests that the Nile Level Text of Year 29 need not necessarily belong to Osorkon II, but could still belong to Osorkon III, the supposed early variant of the writing being simply a scribal preference, but if it did, then he would amend the Year 22 on the Bubastis blocks to a more logical Year 30 by assuming that the apparent ‘2’ ( ) is nothing but a broken ‘10’ (∩) thus giving Osorkon II a minimal reign of thirty years.105 Taking the above into account, the latest version of Chronology K106 postulates that the composition of the Twenty-second Dynasty is as follows: Sheshonq I, Osorkon I, Sheshonq IIa as co-regent with Osorkon I, Takeloth I, Osorkon II, HarSiese A as co-regent with Osorkon II, Takeloth II as co-regent with Osorkon II, followed by fifteen years of sole rule and then part co-regent with Sheshonq III, Sheshonq III, Sheshonq IV, Pimay, Sheshonq V and Osorkon IV. The suggestion that Takeloth II and Sheshonq III were co-regents derives from the acceptance of Broekman’s attribution of Nile Level Text 14 to Osorkon II. If this is correct, then Kitchen has too many years in which to fit all his kings. If, however, the Year 102  Quibell 1896: 10–11. 103  Epigraphic Survey 1954: pl. 13. 104  Montet 1947: 81–4; 1951: 37–57. 105  Kitchen 2006: 301. 106  Broekman et al. 2009: 202.

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698   David A. Aston 29 does not belong to Osorkon II, then the Heb-Sed date does not need to be emended, and Osorkon could have died in, or not long after, his Year 23, in which case the full twenty-five year reign of Takeloth II could be accommodated between the reigns of Osorkon II and Sheshonq III so no coregency would be necessary. In contrast to Chronology K, I have argued that Takeloth II, far from being a Tanite Pharaoh, was in fact a king of a different line—the Theban Twenty-third Dynasty107, although I would now term this family line, the Herakleopolitan Twenty-third Dynasty108, since the only records pertaining to him are southern, whilst all his immediate family members held positions of power in Herakleopolis and Thebes. Moreover, for a king who reigned at least twenty-five years there is no record of him in Tanis, somewhat surprising for a supposed Tanite king. I also postulated that he was a contemporary of the Tanite Sheshonq III109, who, I supposed, immediately followed the reign of Osorkon II. Furthermore, by arguing from the year dates recorded in the famed Chronicle of Prince Osorkon110, I suggested that Year 22 of Sheshonq III must have been very close to Year 24 of Takeloth II, and not twentytwo years later. Assuming that Sheshonq III’s Year 22 followed Takeloth II’s highest known year date, Year 25, then Sheshonq III came to the throne in Tanis in Year 3 of Takeloth II. Furthermore I suggested that the civil war that broke out in Thebes in Takeloth II’s Year 11, as recorded in the Chronicle of Prince Osorkon, was caused by Pedubast Siese setting himself up in opposition to Takeloth as king and, as such, Year 1 of Pedubast = Year 11 of Takeloth II = Year 8 of Sheshonq III. Based on the Chronicle of Prince Osorkon, I had pointed out that in Chronology K there was a gap of about twenty-five years between the dated references to Year 24 of Takeloth II, and Year 22 of Sheshonq III, and moreover, everybody mentioned in Takeloth’s Year 24 is in the same position some twenty years later in Year 22 of Sheshonq III. Broekman has also pointed out that Chronology K results in a similar blank period, of thirty-two years, within the Karnak Nile Level Texts, whilst in Chronology A this gap is considerably reduced to a more reasonable ten years.111 Another consequence of utilizing Chronology A is that it considerably reduces the number of supposedly very long lived people otherwise recorded in the middle of the ninth century bc, a factor indicated long ago by Bierbrier.112 In addition, Osorkon IV probably does not belong in the Twenty-second Dynasty, while HarSiese A should also be removed from it. The latter was clearly an Upper Egyptian king arrogating royal titles to himself in much the same way as the earlier High Priests of Amun, Herihor and Pinedjem I. Furthermore HarSiese A was buried at Thebes113 and not at Tanis. Omitted from Chronology K are the two kings Sheshonq IIb and Sheshonq IIc, although in view of their prenomina they must be placed somewhere near the beginning of the dynasty. Hekakheperra, Sheshonq IIa is best sited after the reign of Osorkon I and before that of Takeloth I, and can thus be seen as one of the three kings between Manetho’s Osorthon (Osorkon I) and Takelothis (Takeloth I). Indeed, it is perhaps significant that if Hekakheperra Sheshonq IIa, Tutkheperra Sheshonq IIb and Maakheperra Sheshonq IIc, were all placed between Osorkon I and Takeloth I, Manetho’s three kings would be vindicated. If Sheshonq I and Sheshonq IIa are one and the same, then Sheshonq IId could be inserted as one of the three kings between Osorkon I and Takeloth I. The order of these 107 Aston 1989. 108 Aston 2009a. 109  See also Daressy 1913: 137. 110  Caminos 1958; Ritner 2009a 348–77. 111  Broekman 2005a: 28. 112  Bierbrier 1975: 76–7, 115–16. 113  Hölscher 1954: 8–10.

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The Third Intermediate Period   699 three kings is uncertain. In Chronology A114, therefore, the Twenty-second Dynasty consists of the following: Sheshonq I, Osorkon I, Sheshonq IIa, Sheshonq IIc, Sheshonq IIb (perhaps now to be replaced by Sheshonq IId), Takeloth I, Osorkon II, Sheshonq III, Sheshonq IV, Pimay, and Sheshonq V.

Dynasty 23 If the composition of the Twenty-second Dynasty is problematic, the Twenty-third Dynasty is a mess. In dealing with its composition, one cannot but be reminded of Redford’s cogent statement that the Twenty-third Dynasty has ‘suffered at the hands of modern scholars who have felt free to treat it as a sort of “catch all” into which they can throw any name they cannot otherwise place’115, although Saad Allah’s view that the Twenty-third Dynasty remains a total mystery is undoubtedly going too far.116 At least for the Twenty-second Dynasty, the state of current research has polarized into two camps—Chronology K and Chronology A, but for the Twenty-third Dynasty there are probably as many different views as there are scholars who have written on the period. However, as usual, one should begin with Manetho. According to Manetho, the Twenty-third Dynasty is said to consist of three, or four, kings— Petoubastes (twenty-five/forty years), Osorthon (eight years), Psammous (ten years), and, in one version, Zet (thirty-one years), of which only the first two are recognisable as names of kings known from contemporary sources. The third suggests an original Pꜣ-sn-n-X type name, presumably Pasenenmut, whilst the fourth, following an idea of Petrie, and subsequently restated by von Beckerath, is probably a scribal notation for zetatai, ‘needs to be checked’ or zetema ‘problem’.117 These four are said to have ruled from Tanis. In the latest study by Kitchen, the Twenty-third Dynasty is said to comprise the following eight kings (some of whom are clearly unrelated to each other)118: Pedubast I, Iuput I, Sheshonq VI, Osorkon III, Takeloth III, Rudamun, Sheshonq VIa and Iuput II. Since Iuput II is known to have been king at Leontopolis at the time of Piy’s invasion as recorded on Piy’s Victory Stele, Kitchen states that this dynasty ruled from Leontopolis (contra Manetho), equating Pedubast I and Osorkon III with the like-named kings of Manetho. Additionally, since Nile Level Text 24 indicates that the reign of Pedubast I began in Year 8 of Sheshonq III, Kitchen suggests that his Leontopolite dynasty began to rule contemporaneously with the later Twenty-second Dynasty. Such a theory, however, is based on a number of grounds, which are tenuous at best, and difficult to support. Jeffrey and Patricia Spencer put forward a number of persuasive arguments to suggest that Iuput II has no links with the remainder of Kitchen’s dynasty and should be removed from his list, thus undermining the evidence adduced for the location of Kitchen’s dynastic capital at Leontopolis.119 In the same year, Redford proposed that the Twenty-third Dynasty consisted of the five kings Pedubast I, Osorkon III, Takeloth III, Rudamun, and Osorkon IV, once again correlating Manetho’s Pedubast and Osorkon with Pedubast I and Osorkon III.120 Furthermore, Redford argued that, since Osorkon IV is attested in the Delta—he is mentioned on the Piy Stele as king in 114 Aston 2009a. 115  Redford 1986: 316 n.125. 116  Allah 2005: 275. 117  Petrie 1914; von Beckerath 1997: 95 n.393. 118 Kitchen 2006, 2009. 119  Jeffrey and Patricia Spencer 1986. 120  Redford 1986: 311–17.

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700   David A. Aston Bubastis and Ra-nefer (i.e.Tanis and its environs)—then the above line of kings can be ‘squared’ with Manetho’s view that the Twenty-third Dynasty came from Tanis, even though he admits that the connection of the remaining kings with Tanis is ‘ostensibly a puzzle’. Some time before these works were written, however, Priese had suggested that the Osorkon of Manetho’s Twenty-third Dynasty should be identified, not with Osorkon III but with Osorkon IV.121 Anthony Leahy has built on this hypothesis, and suggested that, if this identification were accepted, then Manetho’s Pedubast is probably Sehetepibra Pedubast, who is attested in building works at Tanis.122 Leahy then equated Sehetepibra Pedubast with Pedubast II. Kitchen rightfully argues, however, that Sehetipibra Pedubast must be later in time because the form of his prenomen does not fit into the sequence of Usimara, Hedjkheperra or Akheperra used by the kings of the Twenty-second Dynasty.123 Von Beckerath, while accepting that the Pedubast of Manetho is not Kitchen’s Pedubast I (Usimara Setepenamun Pedubast Sibast/Siese Meryamun), proposed initially that Kitchen’s Pedubast I was really two separate kings, Usimara Setepenamun Pedubast Sibast Meryamun and Usimara Setepenamun Pedubast Siese Meryamun. In so doing, he revived an old theory of Alan Schulman.124 The epithet Siese is strongly indicative of an Upper Egyptian king since it is used by Takeloth II, Osorkon III, Takeloth III, and Iny. Thus, Usimara Setepenamun Pedubast Siese could be seen as Kitchen’s Pedubast  I.  Von Beckerath then saw Usimara Setepenamun Pedubast Sibast, whom he called Pedubast II, as the Pedubast of Manetho, the first king of Manetho’s Twenty-third Dynasty.125 This would make Sehetepibra Pedubast, Pedubast III, a later king of the Twenty-third Dynasty. However, this theory has itself been criticized since it is deemed somewhat suspicious that both kings, Pedubast Siese and Pedubast Sibast, have the same attested highest year date (Year 23), and von Beckerath has now suggested that they are one and the same, and, as such, he follows Leahy in equating the Pedubast of Manetho with Sehetepibra Pedubast.126 However, although it makes things much neater to equate Pedubast Sibast and Pedubast Siese, as one and the same, this is, in fact, unlikely. Pedubast I (Pedubast Siese) is well known in the Theban region, and from Karnak Nile Level Text 24 it can be seen that Year 5 of Pedubast Siese (Pedubast I) is equal to Year 12 of an unnamed king, who is usually seen as Sheshonq III127, which would mean that Year 1 Pedubast I would be the same as Year 8 of Sheshonq III (or Takeloth II), a dating which is confirmed by the attestation of Pedubast I on various private statues and in the annals of the High Priests. From here it is but a short step to attribute various other Theban monuments of an Usimara Setepenamun Pedubast to this same king. Pedubast Siese would thus be contemporary with Sheshonq III’s Years 8–31. The question then arises as to whether Pedubast Sibast is the same person as Pedubast Siese or not. Monuments of Pedubast Sibast come exclusively from the north of Egypt and can only be explained either as one and the same Pedubast consciously honouring a northern deity (Bastet), in all known monuments, in the north, and a southern deity (Isis), or none at all (since the epithet Siese is used only once, on Karnak Nile Level Text 24) in the south. As such, Pedubast Sibast/Siese would be a national king recognized throughout the whole of Egypt. Conversely, as Redford and Leahy have tried to argue, the ‘northern’ monuments of Pedubast Sibast/Siese may have been 121  Priese 1970, 20 n.23. 122  Leahy 1990b; Habachi 1966: 71–2; Montet 1966: 63–5. 123  Kitchen 1996: xxvii; 2006: 299. 124  Schulman 1966: 37–8. 125  Von Beckerath 1995: 9–13. 126  von Beckerath 2003: 34. 127  Although Gautschy 2015: 91 now suggests Takeloth II.

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The Third Intermediate Period   701 brought to the north at a later date, implying that Pedubast Sibast/Siese was a local Theban king only. Recently Kahn has argued that Pedubast Sibast and Sheshonq III were unlikely to have been contemporaries, and thus Pedubast Siese and Pedubast Sibast could not have been the same person.128 Kahn then goes on to suggest that Pedubast Sibast should be dated later in time, and postulates that he ruled immediately after the reign of Osorkon IV. Attempts to date the Manethonic Twenty-third Dynasty have always foundered on the need to make a Pedubast the first king of that dynasty, hence Kitchen, with Pedubast I (Siese/Sibast), must have an overlap between his Twenty-second and Twenty-third Dynasties, while Leahy, who considers Pedubast I (Siese/Sibast) to be a Theban king unknown to Manetho, must interpose Sehetipbra Pedubast II between Sheshonq V and Osorkon IV. Following on from the work of Kahn, I have now suggested that perhaps the first two kings of the Twenty-third Dynasty, as recorded by Manetho, have been accidentally transposed.129 If true, the order of these kings would then be Osorkon (eight years) followed by Pedubast (twenty-five/forty years), and Kahn’s suggested positioning of Pedubast Sibast would not only be justified, but also the interpolation of Sehetepibra Pedubast II into the dynastic line between Sheshonq V and Osorkon IV would be unnecessary, and the prenomina pattern of the kings from the Twenty-second Dynasty down to the second king of the Twenty-third Dynasty (Usimara Setepenamun Pedubast Sibast), would be continuous. However, if Pedubast Sibast (Pedubast II) were a different king to Pedubast Siese (Pedubast I), then it would also be possible for Pedubast II to have ruled in Tanis after the death of Sheshonq V, Pedubast II then being followed by Osorkon IV thus maintaining, for what it is worth, the integrity of Manetho. Sehetepibra Pedubast would thus have to be a later king, Pedubast III, perhaps the Pedubast (Putubišti) of Tanis mentioned in Assyrian records of 671 and 667/666 bc. For long, Osorkon IV was only a shadowy figure but in the winter of 2010–11, a number of blocks were found at, significantly, Tanis mentioning an Usimara Osorkonu, who can only be Osorkon IV.130 To this Tanite Twenty-third-Dynasty line of kings must also be attributed Sankhtawy Sekhemkara, along with Shepseskara Irenra Gemenefkhonsbak and Neferkara PPamiy II . . . , all similarly known from relief blocks at Tanis.131 I have therefore suggested that the Twenty-third Dynasty, at least that meant by Manetho, consists of the following Tanite kings132: Osorkon IV, Pedubast II, P ꝫ-sn-n-X, Sankhtawy Sekhemkara, Gemenefkhonsbak, Sehetepibra Pedubast III and Neferkara PPamiy II…133, although, of course, king Psammous still remains to be identified.

Dynasty 22A (Herakleopolitan/ Theban Dynasty 23) If Manetho thus appears to be essentially correct, what then happens to the remaining plethora of kings known to have lived at the end of the eighth century bc? The core of both Kitchen’s and Redford’s Twenty-third Dynasties is the family group comprising Osorkon III, and his sons, Takeloth III and Rudamun, and there can be no doubt that they do indeed 128 Kahn 2006b. 131  Montet 1966: 68.

129 Aston 2009a. 132 Aston 2009a.

130  Brissaud-Cranson 2010; Dodson 2014: 6–10. 133  Cf. also Moje 2014: 186–90.

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702   David A. Aston form a separate dynasty. Priese, Baer and Leahy have all emphasized that this latter dynasty, known only from monuments with an Upper Egyptian origin, is Theban, bearing no relation to Manetho’s Twenty-third Dynasty134, but as these three kings have passed into common currency as the Twenty-third Dynasty, it is, perhaps, still useful to keep this term but to preface it by the word ‘Theban,’ ‘Herakleopolitan,’ or ‘Hermopolite’ since this line of kings may have ruled from Herakleopolis or Hermopolis135, or, following von Beckerath, Dynasty 22A.136 Some time ago I suggested that Takeloth II was a purely southern king and father of Osorkon III, and as such should also be added to this line of kings.137 Jansen-Winkeln, however, while accepting the broad outlines of my arguments concerning Takeloth II and the civil war, suggests that Iuput I, rather than being a rebel king, as I had originally termed him, may have been the successor of Takeloth II, and a predecessor of Osorkon III.138 Karnak Nile Level Text 26 is double-dated to Year 16 of Pedubast Siese, and Year 2 of Iuput. Now, if Takeloth II reigned for only twenty-five years, then, as Jansen-Winkeln points out, following Chronology A, Year 1 of Iuput would be the same as Year 15 of Pedubast as well as Year 23 of Sheshonq III and Year 26 of Takeloth II, therefore Iuput I could have succeeded Takeloth II. Jansen-Winkeln would thus position Iuput I as king after Takeloth II in this Herakleopolitan line. The only records pertaining to Iuput I are Theban, and it is probable that Iuput I was only recognized there. In Herakleopolis, after the death of Takeloth II, the Herakleopolitans presumably recognized Sheshonq III. Conversely von Beckerath would postulate that the gap between the death of Takeloth II and the accession of Osorkon III was filled by Pedubast I, Iuput I and Sheshonq VI, and this makes good chronological sense.139 The discovery of a stele at Amheida in 2005 dated to Year 13 of Takeloth (III) refers to a chief of the Shamain, Nesdjehuty, and there can be little doubt that this is the same person who reappears as the great chief of the Shamain on the smaller Dakhla stele dated to Year 24 of Piy140 hence Year 13 of Takeloth III and Year 24 of Piy must be close enough in time to parallel the normal career of a chief becoming a great chief. It also means that Takeloth III is probably closer in time to Piy than previously thought. With the realization that Takeloth III is probably nearer in time to Piy than was once believed this also has the effect of making Osorkon III later in time since Osorkon III’s Year 28 is equal to Year 5 of Takeloth III (Karnak Nile Level Text 13). Once this is accepted, then both Pedubast I and Iuput I could indeed have been the predecessors of Osorkon III.141 This has the effect of, as it were of creating a civil war between a Dynasty 22A, comprising Takeloth II and his son, the High Priest Osorkon B, and presumably HarSiese A as the predecessor of Takeloth II, and a Dynasty 22B, comprising Pedubast I and Iuput I. In Year 39 of Sheshonq III, Osorkon B claims, in the Chronicle of Prince Osorkon, to have finally overthrown his enemies, which presumably is a reference to Sheshonq VI (or possibly Iny, see below). If, at this point, the High Priest of Amun, Osorkon B ascended the throne as Osorkon III, then this, presumably, would also make the reigns of Takeloth II and Sheshonq III later in time, unless Osorkon B/III lived into extreme old age, with an implied lengthening of the reign of Osorkon II.142 Moreover if the reigns of Osorkon III and Takeloth III should be downdated by about a generation, as seems inevitable, irrespective of whether Osorkon B and Osorkon III are one 134  Priese 1970; Baer 1973; Leahy 1990b. 135  Meffre 2015: 331–6. 136  von Beckerath 1999: 192–9. 137 Aston 1989. 138  Jansen-Winkeln 1995: 140. 139  von Beckerath 1995: 9–13; 1997: 94; Aston 2009a: 25; Kitchen 2009: 185. 140  Kaper-Demarée 2005. 141  von Beckerath 1995: 9–13; Kitchen 2009: 202. 142  Aston 1989, Jansen-Winkeln 2006b, Krauss 2015.

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The Third Intermediate Period   703 and the same, this would also be more in keeping with the burials of Takeloth III’s children whose grave goods indicate a date of death sometime around 700 bc, which could otherwise only be explained by assuming that they all outlived their father by around fifty years.143

Dynasty 24/Dynasty 26 Manetho’s Twenty-fourth Dynasty consists of one Saite king, Bakenrenef, but it has been suggested that his immediate predecessor, the Great Chief of the West, Tefnakht (I) also called himself king, since a stele now in Athens is dated to Year 8 of a king Shepseskara Tefnakht.144 The Great Chief of the West, Tefnakht, son of, or at least a descendant of, a Great Chief of the Ma, Osorkon145 which suggests some familial relationship to Dynasty 22, embarked on a military expansion extending his rule southwards as far as Hermopolis, and thus encroaching on areas of Twenty-fifth Dynasty influence, prompting Piy to send an army northwards. As recorded on Piy’s Victory Stele, dated to Piy’s Year 21, Tefnakht was decisively beaten in the ensuing conflict and forced to retreat back to his homeland, Sais, where he pledged loyalty to Piy. Shortly after this Kitchen argues that Tefnakht then proclaimed himself king and ruled for at least eight years, however most other commentators believe the stele should be ascribed to his grandson Tefnakht II.146 Tefnakht (I) was followed by Bakenrenef who was certainly recognized as king in Memphis, since his cartouches are found on stelai commemorating the burial of an Apis bull in his Year 6, shortly after which he was reputedly burnt alive by, according to Africanus’s version of Manetho ‘the first king of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty’ most probably in that king’s Year 2. Most Egyptologists argue that Piy’s victory stele relates to contemporary events hence the campaign must have taken place in, or around, Year 20. If this were the case, and then Tefnakht (I) claimed the kingship after this point and ruled for a minimum eight years, to be followed by six years of Bakenrenef, before he was executed by ‘the first king of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty,’ then it follows that a minimum fourteen years elapse between circa Year 20 of Piy and Year 2 of his successor, hence Piy must have reigned for a minimum thirty-four years. Piy’s highest known regnal date is Year 24 on the small Dakhleh stele, whilst a Year 27 bandage epigraph should apparently be attributed to him.147 Unaware of this bandage epigraph, Morkot, who is dismissive of any king Tefnakht II, suggests that Piy’s reign did not last much past his twenty-fourth year, and that the military struggle referred to on the Year 21 Victory Stele refers back to a campaign which took place somewhat earlier, either in Years 3–4 or Year 12, which would thus allow for Tefnakht (I) and Bakenrenef to rule, as kings, for fourteen years, without extending the reign of Piy past, or much past, his twenty-fourth year.148 However, he then seems to defeat his own argument, by suggesting that reliefs found in the forecourt of the Gebel Barkal Temple 500, apparently decorated under Piy, seem to refer to a heb-sed festival149, which was normally celebrated in the king’s Year 30. That being the case the fragmentary linen bandage, London BM 6640150 could also be a reference to a Year 30.151 Bakenrenef was, according to Manetho, followed by four other kings,—Ammeris, 143  Aston and Taylor 1990: 138–43, cf. Morkot 2000: 165; Morkot and James 2009: 24. 144  Kitchen 1972: 138–41; Dodson 2012: 153. 145 Yoyotte 1961. 146  Cf. Ritner 2009a: 439. 147  Barwik 2011: 392–3. 148  Morkot 2000: 172–4, 198–9. 149  Morkot 2000: 170. 150  Jansen-Winkeln 2007b: 363 no. 33. 151  Kitchen 1972/86/96: 370 n. 732.

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704   David A. Aston Stephinates (Tefnakht II?), Nekauba and Necho I—as the proto-Saite Twenty-sixth Dynasty before the fifth king, Psammetichus I, who is seen as the first king of the Twenty-sixth Dynasty, succeeded in reuniting the country in the mid-seventh century bc.

Other Egyptian kings not belonging to Dynasties 22, 22A, 23, or 24 Of all the kings which cannot be fitted into Dynasties 22, 22A, 23, or 24, the one who is currently best known is Pedubast Siese (Pedubast I), who is securely attested in Thebes from private statuary, the annals of the High Priests and Nile Level Texts, one of which Karnak Nile Level Text 24 is double dated to Year 5 of Pedubast and Year 12 of an unnamed king, who is usually assumed to be Sheshonq III or, following Gautschy Takeloth II, but as Takeloth II and Sheshonq III are close contemporaries, this has little effect on the dating of Pedubast.152 Karnak Nile Level Text 26 is double dated to Year 16 of Pedubast and Year 2 of Iuput I showing that Iuput became king in Pedubast’s Year 15. Iuput reigned for at least twelve years153, and he was presumably followed by Sheshonq VI until he was overthrown by the faction of the High Priest of Amun, Osorkon B. If the High Priest Osorkon B, son of Takeloth II, is not the same as the future king Osorkon III, then it is possible that another king, or kings, can be placed between Sheshonq VI and Osorkon III. In this sense the only possible candidates are Hedjkheperra Setepenra Sheshonq Siese (Sheshonq VIa) who ruled for a minimum five years (Karnak Nile Level Text 3), or Iny Siese Meriamun who also reigned at least five years (cf. below). Contemporary with the Hermopolite/Herakleopolitan/Theban Twenty-third Dynasty is the king Peftjauawybast154, husband of Rudamun’s daughter, Irbastwedjanefu B, and named as king of Herakleopolis on the Piy Stele. Considering that he was the son-in-law of Rudamun he could have come to the Hermopolite/Herakleopolitan/Theban throne immediately, or at the very least, shortly after, the death of Rudamun. Alternatively Peftjauawybast could have been entirely independent of the family line Osorkon III-Takeloth III-Rudamun, who may have been residing in Hermopolis, and was an autonomous king who ruled in Herakleopolis for at least ten years.155 Morkot and James postulated that Peftjauwawybast may have been earlier in time than Takeloth III, assuming that the Osorkon in Bubastis mentioned on the Piy stele was Osorkon III, otherwise not attested in Lower Egypt156; however, this theory seems to have been outdated by the discovery of blocks of Osorkonu IV at Tanis, let alone for a number of other reasons, not least the fact that the Great Chief of the Shamain on the smaller Dakhla stele dated to Year 24 of Piy157 would have been demoted to a mere chief in Year 13 of Takeloth III.158 Peftjauawybast may have been followed as king of Herakleopolis by a king Bakenrenef, beloved of Herishef (chief god of Herakleopolis) known from a linen fragment.159 The king Iny Siese Meryamun, who reigned at least five years is known from the stele Louvre  C.100, is mentioned in graffiti at Karnak160, and on stamped mud bricks from 152  Gautschy 2015: 91. 153  Jacquet-Gordon 2003: 85 no. 245. 154  Morkot and James 2009. 155  Meffre 2015: 357. 156  Morkot and James 2009. 157  Kaper-Demarée 2005. 158  Cf. Broekman 2011: 61–75. 159  Meffre 2015: 150–1. 160  Jacquet-Gordon 2003: 55 no. 146.

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The Third Intermediate Period   705 Elephantine.161 He can be dated two generations after a king Sheshonq Meryamun162, and is presumably allied to the Herakleopolitan/Theban/Hermopolite Twenty-third Dynasty. In this respect it should be noted that Jean Yoyotte has pointed out that the style of this king’s name with s ꝫ-RꜤ inside the cartouche, is closely allied to the name forms of Osorkon III, Takeloth III and Rudamun, from which it probably follows that Iny is closely allied to these three kings in time if not in a direct family line.163 Moreover, like the reliefs of Osorkon III and Takeloth III, Iny’s stele Louvre C100 also shows distinct archaistic tendencies. Sheshonq Meryamun can be correlated with any one of Sheshonq III, Sheshonq VI or Sheshonq VIa, and he has previously been seen as Sheshonq VI164, two generations after whom would place Iny in the mid-eighth century bc as a contemporary of Piy. This, however, is a problem since, at this time Elephantine was firmly under the sway of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty and it is hard to see how a building dated to the reign of Iny should have been built there then. Perhaps Iny should be moved some fifty years earlier and is perhaps a contemporary, or predecessor, of Osorkon III. Iny would then be two generations after Sheshonq III. Whether the Hermopolitan kings Djehutyemhet165 and Nimlot D166 were also recognized at Thebes is unclear. The statue, Cairo CG 42212, of Tjanhesret, son of the fourth Prophet of Amun, Nakhtefmut B, bought at Luxor, bears the cartouche of Djehutyemhet, while the Rome Vase—a fragment of a stone vessel in the Museo Barracco167—shows the cartouches of Nimlot D and the Theban Divine Wives, Shepenwepet I and Amenirdis I. On Tjanhesret’s statue Djehutyemhet is termed ‘beloved of Thoth and the gods of Hermopolis’, and is thus seen as a king of Hermopolis, related perhaps to Nimlot D, named as king of Hermopolis on the Piy Stele. The fourth Prophet of Amun, Nakhtefmut B, was certainly in office at the time of the coregency of Osorkon III and Takeloth III, so Djehutyemhet must be dated one generation later than this. Since both Nimlot D and Peftjauawybast are mentioned on the Piy Stele, they are clearly contemporaries, and Nimlot D may thus be the immediate predecessor of Djehutyemhet. If these kings were recognized at Thebes, it would make perfect sense to date them to late in the eighth century, as possible successors of Rudamun or Peftjauawybast.168 Jansen-Winkeln has also suggested identifying Rudamun as a king based at Hermopolis, ruling contemporaneously with Takeloth III.169 That he is the brother (or half-brother) of Takeloth III is clear from a relief block, Cairo JE 33902, found at Medinet Habu and obviously deriving from the tomb chapel of one of his daughters, Nesterwy, which clearly states that Rudamun is the son of Osorkon (III). This, however, is simply a convention to overcome the fact that, on his 2006 chronology, he has only ten to fifteen years in which to fit the reigns of Takeloth III (highest known year date 13, of which at least five were in coregency with his father, Osorkon III), Rudamun (no known year dates), Sheshonq VIa (highest known year date 5) and Iny (highest known year date 5). However this is not necessary, since a secure chain of events can be reconstructed, by dating back from the more securely dated Twenty-fifth Dynasty (see below). This is because the famed Wadi Gasus inscription, which for a long time was thought to render a correlation between the Twenty-third and Twentyfifth Dynasties, in which Year 12 of a presumed Twenty-fifth-Dynasty king was thought to be equivalent to a Year 19 of a Twenty-third-Dynasty king, need no longer be taken into consideration, as the two inscriptions, whilst side by side, were evidently written by different 161  Raue-von Pilgrim 2008: 2–3. 162  Jacquet-Gordon 2003: 55 no. 146. 163  Yoyotte 1989: 125. 164  Aston, 2009a: 19; Kitchen 2009: 189. 165  Meffre 2015: 352–3. 166  Meffre 2015: 348–52. 167  Bongrani-Fanfoni 1987; Meffre 2015 137–9. 168 Nobuyuki 1995. 169  Jansen-Winkeln 2006b: 256.

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706   David A. Aston scribes. Thus the logical conclusion is that they were written at different times.170 However a necessary down-dating of the reign of Takeloth III as indicated by the Amheida donation stele makes this again an attractive possibility. A king Padinemty, known only from fragments of his Book of the Dead is usually also related to the Hermopolitan Djehutyemhet-Nimlot D line, although, as Leahy points out, the papyrus was reputedly found at Assiut, and Padinemty may thus be a king of Assiut.171 Finally the Piy Stele also states that at the time of Piy’s invasion in his Year 20, Iuput II was king in Leontopolis. Although he reigned for at least twenty-one years since a Year 21 stele was found at Mendes, he is little known.172 His authority, however, may have extended to Tell el-Yahudieh where a statue/barque base bearing his names were found173, and as far as Buto since a high official was buried there with bracelets bearing Iuput’s cartouches.174 Although Redford spurns any theory proposing a number of local dynasties all ruling at once, dismissing it as a ‘counsel of despair’ which ‘ought to be rejected’175, the above comments seem to be the only logical system of ordering the numerous kings of the eighth century bc. It is certainly significant that the only contemporary document we possess which relates to the kingship during the eighth century bc—the Piy Stele—does indeed show a number of different kings, Osorkon (IV), Iuput (II), Peftjauawybast, and Nimlot (D), all ruling at the same time.

The Twenty-fifth Dynasty According to Manetho, as preserved in both the Africanus and Eusebius versions the Twenty-fifth Dynasty comprises three kings, Sabakon, in whose reign ‘Bochchoris [Bakenrenef] was taken captive and burnt alive’, Sebichos and Tarcos (or Turacos) who are said to have reigned for eight, fourteen, and eighteen years (Africanus) or twelve, twelve, and twenty years (Eusebius). There is no doubt these three kings are Shabaka (Shabako/ Shabaqo), Shabataka (Shebitku/Shebitqo) and Taharqa respectively. As Manetho is certainly based on northern, probably Memphite176, sources, it is probable that these three kings were the only Twenty-fifth Dynasty rulers who were actually recognized in the north of Egypt. Monuments, particularly stelai, and inscriptions, however, clearly indicate that Kashta, Piy and Tanwetamani were also recognized in Upper Egypt. Kashta is known from a stele fragment found at Elephantine and in the Karnak priestly annals. His successor, Piy is better known, as he established control over the Thebaid and he reigned for at least twenty-seven years, as is evidenced by a linen fragment found at Deir el-Bahri, and probably reigned at least thirty years (cf. above). How far his influence extended north of Thebes is not clear, although the Herakleopolitan king, Peftjauawybast was clearly one of his allies. The southward expansion of the Great Chief of the Ma Tefnakht (I), who marched on, and besieged Herakleopolis, prompted Piy to send his army northwards to deal with this menace, and following a series of battles, in which Piy’s army was ultimately victorious, Tefnakht was forced to retreat to his homeland in Sais. At this point Piy returned to Nubia, leaving Egypt in the position he found it as recorded on his victory stele—that is with a number of 170  Jurman 2006a: 88–90. 171  Weill 1950, Leahy 1999. 172 Chappaz 1982. 173  Naville 1890: 1. 174  Kopp 2009: 98. 175  Redford 1986: 317 n. 126. 176  Redford 1986: 297–302.

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The Third Intermediate Period   707 contemporary kings, princes and great chiefs. Piy was followed by the first king of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty as recorded in Manetho. For a long time, based principally on the Manethonic record, it was always assumed that this king must be Sabakon = Shabaka (Shabako), but in 2013 Banyai put forward a number of arguments suggesting that in fact, Shabaka (Shabako) was not the predecessor of Shabataka (Shebitku), but his successor, and that Piy was succeeded, not by Shabaka (Shabako) but by Shabataka (Shebitku).177 Indeed this revised order has now been confirmed by an examination of the Karnak Nile Level Texts which conclusively showed that the Nile Level Text of Shabataka’s Year 3 was carved before the Year-2 Text of Shabaka.178 This has widespread implications on the history of the period179, which have not yet been fully explored. Obviously if Shabataka were the first of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty kings to be recognized by Manetho, then it was clearly he, and not Shabaka, who had Bakenrenef burnt to death. If the Twenty-fourth Dynasty king Bakenrenef, the successor of Tefnakht (I) of Sais, is the same as Bakenrenef, beloved of Herishef, then it is possible, that he, like his father, attempted to, and perhaps succeeded in, conquering Herakleopolis resulting in a new war between the Twenty-fifth and Twenty-fourth Dynasties180, in which once again, the Twenty-fifth Dynasty was victorious. However, to prevent yet another repeated incursion into Upper Egypt by the Saite ruling house, it is possible that Shabataka had Bakenrenef executed. The stelai Kawa IV and V181 indicate that Taharqa, at the age of twenty, was called north by Shabataka, whilst Taharqa was but a youth to fight in Shabataka’s army. Usually seen as a request to join in a reputed war between Shabataka and Assyria, Broekman points out that, with Shabataka following Piy, it is more likely that the army Taharqa joined was being used to (re-)establish control over the Delta.182 Assyrian records indicate that, in 713 bc Yamani of Ashdod rebelled against Assyrian hegemony and tried to gain support from Pharaoh of Egypt, but this revolt was suppressed by Sargon II resulting in Yamani then fleeing to the Egyptian border and the king of Kush, from which it may be inferred that in 713 bc an Egyptian pharaoh (possibly Osorkon IV who is probably the Shilkanni, king of Musri who paid tribute to Sargon II in 716 bc), was the recognized ruler of the eastern delta, but by 712 bc the Kushite Twenty-fifth Dynasty had gained control of this area.183 If we accept Manetho’s notice of eight years for Shabataka, then he would have ruled from 713/712–705/704 bc184, and Bakenrenef would have been executed in 712/711 bc after a reign of six years, hence his regnal dates can be put at between 718/717–712/711. Yamani of Ashdod must have outstayed his welcome, since the Tang-I Var inscription of Sargon II (located in Iranian Kurdistan) dated to 706 bc, shows that in this year Shabataka extradited him back to Assyria. Shabataka was then followed by Shabaka, whose Year 14 is recorded and hence a minimum fourteen-year reign should be attributed to him, and he would have reigned from 705/704 to 690 bc. He was succeeded by Taharqa who was to reign for twenty-six years, from 690 to 664 bc. Although much building activity was undertaken by Shabataka, Shabaka, and Taharqa particularly in Nubia, Thebes, and Memphis, which they made their capital, their reigns were mostly taken up with a growing conflict with Assyria. Whilst Shabataka, seems to have kept peaceful relations with Sargon II, witness his eventual extradition of Yamani of Ashdod, relations descended into open warfare under Shabaka, and particularly during the reign of 177  Banyai 2013; Banyai et al. 2015. 178 Jurman 2017. 179 Broekman 2015, 2017a, 2017b. 180  Cf. Jansen-Winkeln 2017: 38. 181  Ritner 2009a: 535–45. 182 Broekman 2017b. 183  Spalinger 1973: 99. 184  Payraudeau 2014:1 24.

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708   David A. Aston Taharqa. In 705 bc Sargon II died and was succeeded by Sennacherib, whose accession prompted a number of revolts in Babylon and Chaldea, leaving the western part of the Empire to practically secede. Quelling the rebellions in Babylonia and Chaldea took around four years so it was not until 701 bc, that Sennacherib turned to the west where, in the battle of Eltekeh, he came up against a coalition of Egyptians and Nubians as well as elements from Ekron along with Hezekiah of Judah. In this first phase of battle Sennacherib claims to have inflicted a heavy defeat on the coalition forces, although it seems that the coalition was able to withdraw and regroup. Sennacherib meanwhile was mopping up resistance in towns such as Lachish, but before defeating Jerusalem, biblical sources (II Kings 19.9) mention that Taharqa, king of Kush, was on the way to make war on him. This is evidently a problem since Taharqa was not king in 701 bc, so either there were two campaigns, although there is no mention of a second campaign in any extant Assyrian sources, one under Shabaka and one during the reign of Taharqa, or, as is usually assumed, the ‘king of Kush’ is only a gloss added by the biblical sources if the account were written down during the reign of Taharqa; Taharqa being only a prince at the time of the actual skirmish. It is actually unclear whether, in fact, Taharqa’s army ever joined battle—there is no record of any such conflict in either the Assyrian or biblical sources, and it is possible that the coalition tactically retreated on facing superior forces, Jerusalem being spared by ‘an angel of the lord’ (plague?) which decimated the Assyrian army. Nevertheless the battle of Eltekeh was followed by a quarter century of peaceful relations and Lebanese cedar and Phoenician goods seemed to have been traded for Kushite merchandise, primarily horses. It is unclear why warfare between Assyria and Kush broke out again in 674 bc but it may have been for trade reasons particularly over Lebanese timber. Theoretically since the days of Tiglath Pilesser III, coastal cities in the Assyrian fold had been forbidden to sell wood to Egypt185, but this edict seems to have been generally ignored. In 681 bc Sennacherib was succeeded by Esarhaddon who spent the first years undertaking massive building programmes in Nineveh and Babylon for which he needed large amounts of cedar. Babylonian records (The Babylonian Chronicle 1 col iv) show that in the first battle in 674 bc the Assyrians were defeated, allowing Taharqa a short-lived Levantine Empire186, but they returned in 671 bc, and successfully took Memphis, capturing several members of the royal family, who, along with several other officials were deported to Nineveh (Babylonian Chronicle; Esarhaddon chronicle; Zincirli victory stele) although Taharqa himself escaped. Whilst the records are scanty it would appear that there was a de facto border between the Assyrian domains, and that part of Egypt still controlled by Taharqa somewhere in the region of Herakleopolis. Assyrian hegemony lasted from 671 to 669 bc, with Esarhaddon appointing a number of ‘kings’ (Assyrian ‘sarru’) to various northern cities, which he renamed. In 669 bc Taharqa managed to retake most of the country prompting Esarhaddon to once more march against Egypt but he died en route, and was succeeded by Ashurbanipal who, having settled matters at home, returned to Egypt in 667/666 bc, where at the battle of Kar-Banite, Taharqa’s forces were defeated, and the Assyrians pursued Taharqa as far south as Thebes (Prisms E and A; Large Egyptian Letters). Ashurbanipal then re-established the Assyrian form of control put in place by his father apparently re-appointing the same ‘kings’, which, as listed on the Rassam Cylinder (London BM 91026), comprised Necho, King of Memphis and Sais (evidently Necho I), Šarru-lū-dāri, King of Pelusium (?), Pasenhor, King of Natho, Pakruru, King of Per-Sopdu, Bakennefi, King of Athribis, Nahke, King of Herakleopolis Parva, 185 Saggs 1955:128.

186  Vernus 1975: 1–12; Kahn 2004.

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The Third Intermediate Period   709 Pedubast, King of Tanis (Sehetibre Pedubast III); Wenamun, King of Leontopolis, HarSiese, King of Sebennytos; Pa-im, King of Mendes, Sheshonq, King of Busiris, Tefnakht King of Perinbu, Bakennnefi, King of Ichenu, Nefertemirdis, King of Terenuthis, Nachthornaschenu, King of Per-Sopdu-en-jati, Bakenrenef, King of Pachnuti, Djedhor, King of Siut, Nimlot (E), King of Hermopolis, Nespamedu, King of Thinis, and Montuemhat, King of Thebes. At this point the Assyrian records state that Ashurbanipal forced Taharqa to flee back towards Kush, but this may not be entirely true. A fragmentary stele, without name or year date, might indicate that Taharqa defeated the Assyrians just outside Thebes187, and in this sense it should be noted that the Assyrians did not enter Thebes at this time, whilst Theban papyri are known dated to Years 24–6 of Taharqa (so 666–664 bc). It is also possible that Taharqa was able to reconquer the whole of Upper Egypt, at least as far as Memphis, since an Apis bull was buried there in his Year 26 (664 bc). Moreover Assyrian records show that at around this time some of the Delta dynasts including Necho (I) of Sais, Šarru-lū-dāri of Mendes and Pakruru of Pelusium, made an alliance with Taharka against the Assyrians, a conspiracy which was discovered; the rebel towns being cruelly punished and their ringleaders being carried off to Nineveh. For reasons not exactly clear Necho (I) was spared captivity and sent back to Kār-Bēl-Mātāti (Sais), whilst his son, Nabû-šezibanni (Psammetichus) (I), was set up as governor of Limmer-iššaku-Aššur (Athribis). As for Taharqa, Ashurbanipal records that, ‘as for Taharqa, the King of Kush, the terror of the might of Assur, my lord, overwhelmed him and the night of death overtook him.’ It is not surprising that Taharqa should have died of old age at this time since he records coming north to join Shabataka at the age of twenty in, probably Shabataka’s Year 2, so Taharqa would have been twenty + six (remaining years of Shabataka) + fourteen (reign of Shabaka) + twenty-six years = 66 years old in 664 bc. He was succeeded by Tanwetamani (Tanutamun) who once more marched north and, as reported in his dream stele188, recaptured Memphis after a pitched battle in which Necho (I) and several Assyrian troops were apparently killed; Necho being succeeded as king of Sais, by his son, Psammetichus I, who, according to Herodotus, fled to Assyria. As a result of this victory, most of the Delta dynasts then swore allegiance to Tanwetamani, but on hearing of this defeat Ashurbanipal once more marched on Egypt. This time, in 663 bc, Ashurbanipal was more successful, forcing Tanwetamani to flee back to Kush, with Assyrian troops actually sacking Thebes (Prisms E, C, B and A). However, this had little effect on the political realities of the situation, Ashurbanipal’s allies, including the now returned Nabû-šezibanni (Psammetichus I), remained in their posts in the Delta, and although Montuemhat remained the de facto governor of Thebes, Theban documents were still dated to the reign of Tanwetamani. Whether Tanwetamani returned again after the Assyrian withdrawal is uncertain. No contemporary Egyptian or Assyrian documents mention such an action but later Greek sources, principally the work of the second-century ad writer, Polyaenus (Strategika VII.3) indicate that Psammetichus, aided by Carian mercenaries defeated Tementhes (Tanwetamani) near the temple of Isis at Memphis.189 Whether this is true or not, it is clear that whilst Ashurbanipal was tied up with business at home, the Assyrian Prism A records that Gyges, king of Lydia sent troops to Psammetichus ‘who had overthrown the yoke of my (i.e. Ashurbanipal’s) kingship.’ It would seem that Psammetichus spent the first nine years of his reign conquering the whole of Lower Egypt, until, in 656 bc, as a result of diplomacy, Psammetichus was recognized in Thebes as king of a reunified Egypt (Table 32.2). 187  Redford 1994; Revez 2003; Kahn 2006c: 259. 189  Morkot 2000: 297–8.

188  Grimal 1981b 3–20; Ritner 2009a: 566–73.

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710   David A. Aston

The Dynasties and their kings Table 32.2  Current chronology of Dynasties 21–26 Dynasty 21 (Tanis/Manetho)

Dynasty 21 (Thebes)

Smendes I Amenemope Psusennes I Amenemnisu Amenemope Osochor Siamun Psusennes II

Herihor Pinedjem I            

Dynasty 22 (Bubastis Chronology K)

Dynasty 22 (Bubastis Chronology A)

Sheshonq I Osorkon I Sheshonq IIa Takelot I Osorkon II HarSiese A Takelot II Sheshonq III Sheshonq IV Pamiy Sheshonq V Osorkon IV

Sheshonq I Osorkon I Sheshonq IIa Sheshonq IIb Sheshonq IIc Takelot I Osorkon II Sheshonq III Sheshonq IV Pamiy Sheshonq V  

Somewhere near the beginning of Dynasty 22 should be placed Wasnetjerra Sheshonq IId, whilst Sheshonq I and Sheshonq IIa might be the same individual using two different prenomena.  Dynasty 22A

Dynasty 23 (Tanis/Manetho)

HarSiese A Takelot II Pedubast I Iuput I Sheshonq VI Iny Osorkon III Takelot III Sheshonq VIa

Osorkon IV Pedubast II Pasenenmut Sekemkara Gemenefkhonsbak Pedubast III Neferkara P. Pamiy II. . .    

‘Dynasty 23 Leontopolis’

‘Dynasty 23 Herakleopolis’

Iuput II Bakenrenef beloved of Herishef

Peftjauawybast  

‘Dynasty 23 Hermopolis’

‘Dynasty 23 Assiut’

Rudamun Nimlot D Djehutyemhet Nimlot E

Padinemty      

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The Third Intermediate Period   711

Dynasty 24/26

Sais Dynasty 25 (in Egypt)

Tefnakht I Bakenrenef Ammeris Tefnakht II Nekauba Nekau I Psamtek I Nekau II Psamtek II Apries Amasis Psamtek III

Kashta Piy Shabitqo Shabaqo Taharqa Tanutamani            

Suggested Reading Addersley, N.J. 2015. Personal Religion in the Libyan Period in Egypt. Saarbrucken: Scholars Press. Bennett J.E. The Archaeology of Egypt in the Third Intermediate Period, Cambridge, Cambridge ­University Press, 2019. Bierbrier, M.L. 1975. The Late New Kingdom in Egypt. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Broekman, G.P.F., Demarée, R.J and Kaper, O.E. 2008. The numbering of the kings called Shoshenq, Göttinger Miszellen 216: 9–10. Broekman, G.P.F., Demarée, R.J., and O.E. Kaper (eds) 2009. The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties, Proceedings of a Conference at Leiden University, 25–27 October 2007. (Egyptologische Uitgaven 23), Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten & Leuven, Peeters. Dodson, A. 2012. Afterglow of Empire. Egypt from the Fall of the New Kingdom to the Saite Renaissance, Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Grimal, N. 1981a. La Stèle triomphale de Pi(‘ankh)y au Musée du Caire (Mémoires publiés par les membres de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 105). Cairo: Institute Francais d’Archéologie Orientale. Jurman C. 2020. Memphis in der Dritten Zwischenzeit. Eine Studie zur (Selbst-) Repräsentation von Eliten in der 21. und 22. Dynastie. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag. Kitchen, K.A. 1972/86/96. The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt.3rd ed . Warminster: Aris and Phillips (reprinted 2004). Leahy, M.A. 1985. The Libyan Period in Egypt: an essay in interpretation, Libyan Studies 16: 51–65. Leahy, M.A. (ed.) 1990. The Libyan Period in Egypt c.1300–750 bc. London: Centre of Near and Middle Eastern Studies. Meffre R. 2015. D’Héracléopolis à Hermopolis. La Moyenne Égypte durant la Troisième Période Intermédiaire (XXIe–XXIVe dynasties). Paris: Presses de l’université Paris Sorbonne. Morkot, R.G. 2000. The Black Pharaohs. Egypt’s Nubian Rulers. London: Rubicon. Moje J. 2014. Herrschafträume und Herrschaftswissen ägyptischer Lokalregenten. Soziokulturelle Interaktionen zur Machtkonsolidierung vom 8.bis 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr. (Topoi 21). Berlin: de Gruyter. Mysliwiec, K. 1988. Royal Portraiture of the Dynasties XXI–XXX. Mainz: Philip von Zabern. Mysliwiec, K. 2000. The Twilight of Ancient Egypt. First Millennium bc. New York: Cornell University Press. M. Becker, A.I. Blöbaum and A. Lohwasser eds. 2016. Prayer and Power. Proceedings of the Conference on the God’s Wives of Amun in Egypt during the First Millenium bc (Ägypten und Altes Testament 84). Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Payraudeau  F. 2014. Administration, société et pouvoir à Thèbes sous la XXIIe dynastie bubastite (­Bibliothèque d’Étude 160). Cairo: Institute Francais d’Archéologie Orientale.

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712   David A. Aston Redford, D.B. 2004. From Slave to Pharaoh, The Black Experience of Ancient Egypt. Baltimore MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Ritner R.K. 2009a. The Libyan Anarchy. Inscriptions from Egypt’s Third Intermediate Period (Writings from the Ancient World 21). Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Taylor, J.H. 2000. The Third Intermediate Period (1069–664 bc). In I. Shaw (ed.) The Oxford History of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 324–63. Vittmann, G. 1978. Priester und Beamte im Theben der Spätzeit. Vienna: Institut für Afrikanistik und Ägyptologie der Universität Wien. Vittmann, G. 2003. Ägypten und die Fremden im ersten vorchristlichen Jahrtausend. Mainz: Philip von Zabern. Yoyotte, J. (ed.) 1987. Tanis l’or des pharaons. Exhibition catalogue. Paris: Association française d’action artistique For the Assyrian sources, conveniently Pritchard  J.B. 1950/1955/1969. Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament. Princeton: University Press, 290–305.

Bibliography Aston, D.A. 1989. Takeloth II—a King of the ‘Theban Twenty-third Dynasty’?, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 75: 139–53. Aston, D.A. 1996. Egyptian Pottery of the Late New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period (Twelfth to Seventh Centuries bc) (SAGA 13). Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Aston, D.A. 2009a. Takeloth II—A King of the Herakleopolitan Twenty-Third Dynasty Revisited. In G.P.F. Broekman, R.J. Demarée and O.E. Kaper (eds), The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties. Leiden Egyptologische Uitgaven 23, Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten & Leuven: Peeters, 1–28. Aston, D.A. 2009b. Burial Assemblages of Dynasties 21–25—Chronology—Typology—Developments. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Aston  D.A. 2011. Theban Funerary Customs c. 950–650 bc. In Z.  Hawass, T.  Bacs and G.  Schreiber eds., Proceedings on the Colloquium on Theban Archaeology at the Supreme Council of Antiquities, ­November 5 2009. Cairo: Supreme Council of Antiquities. Aston, D.A. and Taylor, J.H. 1990. The Family of Takeloth III and the ‘Theban’ Twenty-Third Dynasty. In M.A. Leahy (ed.) Libya and Egypt c.1300–750 bc. London: Centre of Near and Middle Eastern Studies, 131–54. Ayad M.F. 2008. God’s Wife. God’s Servant. The God’s Wives of Amun (ca. 740–525 bc). London–New York: Routledge. Baer, K. 1973. The Libyan and Nubian Kings of Egypt: Notes on the Chronology of Dynasties XXII–XXVI, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 32: 4–25. Banyai M. 2013. Ein Vorschlag zur Chronologie der 25. Dynastie in Ägypten, Journal of Egyptian ­History 6: 46–129. Banyai  M. with Commentaries by A.I.  Blobaum, G.  Broekman, K.  Jansen-Winkeln, C.  Jurman, D. Kahn, A. Lohwasser, and H. Neumann. 2015. Die Reihenfolge der kuschitischen Konige, Journal of Egyptian History 8: 115–80. Barwik  M. 2011. Third Intermediate Period Cemetery in the Hatshepsut Temple at Deir el-Bahri. Recent Research, Polish Archaeology in the Mediterranean 20: 387–98. Becker M. 2012. Identität und Krise. Erinnerungskulturen im Ägypten der 22. Dynastie, SAK Beiheft. 13. Hamburg: Helmut Buske Verlag. Becker, M. 2016. Female Influence, aside from that of the God’s Wives of Amun during the Third Intermediate Period. In M. Becker, A.I. Blöbaum and A. Lohwasser eds, Prayer and Power. Proceedings of the Conference on the God’s Wives of Amun in Egypt During the First Millenium bc (Ägypten und Altes Testament 84). Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Beckerath, J. von 1994. Rückeninschrift der Statuette Kairo CG 42192, Orientalia 63: 84–7.

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718   David A. Aston Niwinski, A. 2013. Multiplicity of Shoshenqs in the Early Twenty-Second Dynasty, Études et Travaux 26: 488–99. Nobuyuki, F. 1995. After the Reign of Osorkon III in Upper Egypt—A Study on the So-Called ‘Theban Twenty-third dynasty’, Oriental Bulletin of the Society for Near Eastern Studies in Japan 38: 113–29. Onstine S. 2005. The Role of the Chantress (Smayt) in Ancient Egypt. BAR International Series 1401. Oxford: Oxbow. Osing J. 1983. Die Worte von Heliopolis. In M. Gorg (ed.), Fontes atque pontes. Fs Hellmut Brunner. Ägypten und Altes Testament 5. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 347–61. Petrie, W.M.F. 1914. The Mysterious Zêt, Ancient Egypt 1: 32. Payraudeau F. 2000. L’identite du premier et du dernier Osorkon, Göttinger Miszellen 178 75–80. Payraudeau F. 2004. Le règne de Takélot III et les débuts de la domination koushite à Thébes, GM 198: 79–90. Payraudeau F. 2008. De nouvelles annales sacerdotales de Siamon, Psousènnes II et Osorkon Ier, Bulletin de I’institut Francaise d’Archéologie Orientale 108: 293–308. Payraudeau F. 2014. Retour sur la Succession Shabaqo–Shabataqo, Nehet 1: 115–27. Petersen B. 1977. Gesicht und Kunststil, Medelhavsmuseet Bulletin 12: 12–37. Petrie, W.M.F. 1905. Roman Ehnasya (Herakleopolis Magna) 1904. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Petrie, W.M.F. 1914. The Mysterious Zet, Ancient Egypt 1: 32. Priese, K.-H. 1970. Der Beginn der Kuschitischen Herrschaft in Ägypten, Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 98: 16–32. Quack, J.F. 2006. Das Grab am Tempeldromos. Neue Deutungen zu einem spätzeitlichen Grabtyp. In K. Zibelius-Chen and H.-W. Fischer-Elfert eds. Von reichlich ägyptischen Verstande. FS. Waltraud Guglielmi. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Quibell J. 1896. The Ramesseum. Publications of the Egyptian Research Account 3. London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt. Raue, D. and von Pilgrim C. v. 2008. Elephantine. In Rundbrief des Deutsches Archäologisches Institut Abteilung Kairo, Oktober 2008. Cairo: Deutsches Archäologisches Institut, 1–6. Redford, D.B. 1986. Pharaonic King Lists, Annals and Day-Books. Mississuaga: Benben Publications. Redford D.B. 1994. Taharqa in Western Asia and Libya, Eretz Israel 24: 188*–91*. Revez, J. 2003. Une stele inédite de la Troisième Periode Intermédiaire à Karnak: Une guerre civile en Thébaide, Cahiers de Karnak 11: 535–69. Ritner  R.K. 2009b. Fragmentation and Re-integration in the Third Intermediate Period. In G.P.F. Broekman, R.J. Demarée, and O.E. Kaper (eds), The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties. Leiden Egyptologische Uitgaven 23. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten & Leuven: Peeters, 327–40. Rohl, D. 1990. The Early Third Intermediate Period: Some Chronological Considerations, Journal of the Ancient Chronology Forum 3: 45–70. Römer, M. 1994. Gottes- und Priesterherrschaft in Ägypten am Ende des Neuen Reiches. Ägypten und Altes Testament 21. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Ryholt, K. 1993. A Pair of Oracle Petitions Addressed to Horus-of-the-Camp, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 79: 189–98. Saad Allah, M.A. 2005. King Iw-wpt and the Twenty-Third Dynasty. In K.  Daoud, S.  Bedier, and S. Abd el-Fattah (eds), Studies in Honour of Ali Radwan 2. Cairo: Service des Antiquités de l’Egypte, 275–8. Saggs, H.W.F. 1955. The Nimrud Letters 1952–Part II: relations with the west, Iraq 17: 126–60. Saleh, H. 2007. Investigating Ethnic and Gender Identities as expressed on Wooden Funerary Stelae from the Libyan Period (c.1079–715 bc). BAR International Series 1734. Oxford: Oxbow. Schulmann, A.R. 1966. A Problem of Pedubasts, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 5: 33–41. Spalinger, A. 1973. The Year 712 bc and its Implications for Egyptian History, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 10: 95–101. Spencer, P.A. and Spencer, A.J. 1986. Notes on Late Libyan Egypt, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 72: 198–201.

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The Third Intermediate Period   719 Stadelmann R. 1971. Das Grab im Tempelhof/Der Typus des Königsgrabes in der Spätzeit, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Abteilung Kairo 27: 111–23. Strudwick, N. 2009–10. Use and Reuse of Tombs in the Theban Necropolis. Patterns and Explanations, Cahier de Recherches de l’Institut de papyrology et d’égyptologie de Lille 28, 239–61. Taylor, J.H. 1998. Nodjmet, Payankh and Herihor: The End of the New Kingdom Reconsidered. In C.J. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists. Leuven: Peeters, 1143–55. Taylor, J.H. 2001. Patterns of Colouring on Ancient Egyptian Coffins from the New Kingdom to the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty: An Overview. In W.V. Davies (ed.), Colour and Painting in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press, 164–81. Taylor, J.H. 2003. Theban Coffins from the Twenty-Second to the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty: Dating and Synthesis of Development. In N. Strudwick and J. Taylor (eds), The Theban Necropolis. Past, Present and Future. London: British Museum Press, 95–119. Taylor, J.H. 2006a. The Coffin of Padiashaikhet. In K. Sowada and B.G. Ockinga (eds), Egyptian Art in the Nicholson Museum, Sydney. Sydney: Meditarch, 263–91. Taylor, J.H. 2006b. The Sign Ô (Gardiner V28) as a Dating Criterion for Funerary Texts of the Third Intermediate Period. In B. Backes, I. Munro, and S Stöhr (eds), Totenbuch Forschungen. Gesammelte Beiträge der 2. Internationalen Totenbuch-Symposiums. Bonn 25. bis 29. September 2005. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 357–63. Taylor J.H. 2007. Figural Surface Decoration on Bronze Statuary of the Third Intermediate Period. In M. Hill (ed.), Gifts of the Gods. Images from Egyptian Temples. New Haven-London: Yale University Press, 65–81. Taylor, J.H. 2008. Changes in Funerary Religion in the Twenty-Fifth and Twenty-Sixth Dynasties. In F. Tiradritti (ed.), Pharaonic Renaissance. Ljubljana: Cankarjev dom Cultural and Congress Center, 115–29. Taylor, J.H. 2009. Coffins as Evidence for a ‘North–South Divide’. In G.P.F. Broekman, R.J. Demarée, and O.E. Kaper (eds), The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties. Leiden Egyptologische Uitgaven 23. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten & Leuven: Peeters, 375–415. Taylor, J.H. 2010. Changes in the Afterlife. In W.  Wendrich ed., Egyptian Archaeology. Blackwell Studies in Global Archaeology 13. Oxford: Blackwell, 220–40. Thijs, A. 2005. In Search of King Herihor and the Penultimate Ruler of the 20th Dynasty, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 132: 83–5. Thijs, A. 2006. King or High Priest? The Problematic Career of Pinedjem I, Göttinger Miszellen 211: 81–8. Vernus, P. 1975. Inscriptions de la Troisième Periode Intermédiaire (I), Bulletin de I’institut Francaise d’Archéologie Orientale 75: 1–66. van Walsem, R. 1992. The Usurpation of Royal and Divine Actions and/or Attributes in the Iconography of Late 21st–early 22nd Dynasty Coffins. In Sesto Congreso Internazionale di Egittologia atti vol 1. Turin, 643–8. van Walsem R. 1993. The Study of 21st Dynasty Coffins from Thebes, Bibliotheca Orientalis 50 no. 1/2, 9–91. van Walsem, R. 1997. The Coffin of Djedmonthuiuefankh in the National Museum of Antiquities at Leiden. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Weill, R. 1950. Un nouveau pharaon de l’époque tardive en moyenne Égypte et l’Horus de Deir el-Gebrâwi, Bulletin de l’Institut Francais d’Archéologie Orientale 49, 57–65. Yoyotte J. 1961. Les principautés du Delta au temps de l’anarchie Libyenne, Mélanges Maspero I pt 4. Cairo: Institut Francais d’Archéologie Orientale, 121–81. Yoyotte J. 1972. Les adoratrices de la Troisième Periode Intermédiaire. À propos d’un chef-d’ouevre rapport par Champollion, Bulletin de la Société Francaise d’Égyptologie 64: 31–52. Yoyotte, J. 1989. Pharaon Iny: un roi mystérieux du VIIIe siècle avant J.-C., Cahiers de Recherches de l’Institut de Papyrologie et d’Égyptologie de Lille 11: 113–31.

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chapter 33

Egy pt i n th e L ate Per iod Anthony Leahy

Introduction The ‘Late Period’, from 664 to 332 bc, comprises three distinct phases. The ‘Saite Renaissance’ saw renewed unity and prosperity under the kings of the Twenty-sixth Dynasty (c.664–526 bc). There followed a period of turmoil and impoverishment under the absentee Persian ­rulers of the Twenty-seventh Dynasty (c.526–404 bc). Egypt then regained a precarious independence through the military monarchs of the Twenty-eighth to Thirtieth Dynasties (c.404–343 bc), before a further decade of Persian domination was ended by Alexander’s ‘liberation’ in 332 bc. Within this period absolute dates are possible for the first time in Egyptian history and the overall chronology is secure.1 The dynastic framework is supplied by the king-list of Manetho, originally compiled in the third century bc.2 This is buttressed by information from religious monuments (temples and tombs, statues and stelae) created to commemorate the ruling elite, and by a variety of cursive texts on papyri and ostraca.3 The relationship between crown and temples was a major factor throughout the first millennium bc and provides some guide to political stability and economic prosperity.4 The archaeological remains suggest that temple building was both intensive and extensive under the Twenty-sixth and Thirtieth Dynasties, but very ­limited in the intervening period.5 Most of that architectural achievement has disappeared, however, and with it the range of royal inscriptions on which Egyptian history usually rests.6

1  Pestman and Vleeming  1994; Depuydt  2006. Refinements may still be proposed: Depuydt  2010, Quack 2011 and Ryholt 2011a. 2  Waddell 1940; Gozzoli 2006; Moyer 2011. 3  The inscriptions of the Twenty-sixth Dynasty are now conveniently accessible in hieroglyphic form in Jansen-Winkeln 2014a and future volumes are planned for the remainder of the period. 4  Agut-Labordère and Gorre 2014. 5  Meeks 1979 and 2009; Arnold 1999; Zivie-Coche 2008; Spencer, N. 2010; Quack 2016a. 6  Der Manuelian 1994; Perdu 1986 and 2002a.

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Egypt in the Late Period   721 Non-royal monuments are more numerous, with a range of inscriptions that, even when not autobiographical in the narrative sense, are important for prosopography.7 By contrast, there is a new abundance of foreign perspectives. These include official Assyrian and Babylonian chronicles, the Hebrew Bible, and Greek writers, of whom the foremost is Herodotus of Halicarnassus.8 Their accounts, combined with archaeological finds, allow Egypt to be placed in its Mediterranean and Near Eastern contexts more fully than at any earlier period, but offer little on its internal history. The challenge for the historian is to reconstruct from such disparate sources a sequence of events and interconnections, and some sense of social and cultural developments. In that context, the early demotic papyrus known as P. Rylands IX occupies a unique, if problematic, position. Dated to the early Persian period, and ostensibly a petition concerning entitlement to temple revenues, it traces the rise and fall of a family of priests at el-Hiba from Year 4 of Psamtek I onwards and is often cited as historical evidence for aspects of the Twenty-sixth Dynasty. The nature of the text continues to be debated.9 The Histories of Herodotus, who wrote in the mid-fifth century bc, are important for much of the period c.665–450 bc, although his account of Egyptian society is full of misunderstanding.10 His audience was Greek, as were many of his sources, and this determined his presentation of material. His focus on contacts between the Aegean and Egypt ignores the Near Eastern dimension prior to the emergence of the Persian empire.11 Egyptian texts cast little light on any aspect of international relations, yet a heightened appreciation of the significance of the Aegean was a natural reaction to the expansion of successive Mesopotamian superpowers towards the Mediterranean from the eighth century bc onwards. Their Levantine ambitions encroached on Egypt’s traditional commercial and strategic interests and created the recurrent danger of invasion of Egypt itself. The search for allies against this threat, which persisted down to the fourth century bc, led initially to Lydia and Caria on the Anatolian coast. Later, as Persia threatened the Greek mainland, it involved Athens and Sparta.12 The reorganization of the army and the development of a navy, both of which owed much to these connections, ensured the military a prominent place in Egyptian society throughout the period.13

The Twenty-sixth Dynasty The loose overlordship of the Kushite Twenty-fifth Dynasty had not diminished the political fragmentation of the later Libyan Period (see Chapter 32 above).14 In the Delta, Assyrian incursions and Kushite responses in the 670s and 660s led to frequent changes of allegiance among local potentates: Psamtek I (c.664–610 bc) himself came to the throne as an Assyrian 7  Otto 1954; Heise 2007; Coulon (ed.) 2016. 8 Moyer 2014. 9  The text has been edited by Griffith  1909 and Vittmann  1998. For a variety of perspectives, see Chauveau 1996b; Ray 2001; Leahy 2011b; Agut-Labordère 2013; Jay 2015; Pope 2014 and 2015. 10  For the text, see Waterfield 1998 and Holland 2013. For discussion, e.g. Lloyd 1975, 1988a and 1988b; Gozzoli 2006; Moyer 2002 and Lloyd 2011. 11 Mumford 2007. 12 Agut-Labordère 2012a. 13  Chevereau 1985 and 1990; Lloyd 2001. 14 Moje 2013.

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722   Anthony Leahy vassal. Manetho records that three kings preceded him in the Twenty-sixth Dynasty: Stephinates, Nechepsos, and Nekau (I).15 While the royal status of the latter is certain and Stephinates can plausibly be identified with a king Shepsesra Tefnakht,16 Nechepsos can probably be eliminated from the sequence, leaving Nekau (I) as son of Tefnakht.17 The evidence here comes in part from demotic texts, which, although much later in date in the form we have them, are not without value for knowledge of early seventh century history.18 These men were the political heirs to the kingdom of the western Delta that had emerged at Sais in the second half of the eighth century bc, eclipsing Tanis in the east.19 They were perhaps also descended from its rulers and therefore ‘Libyan’ in origin, although the nonEgyptian names ‘Nekau’ and ‘Psamtek’ are not attested earlier.20 A tantalizing fragment of demotic king-list seems to trace the line of Saite kings back to the time of the invasion of Egypt by the Kushite Piy, c.730 bc.21 The opposition then was led by a Libyan prince Tefnakht, father of Bakenrenef (Bocchoris), sole king of the Twenty-fourth Dynasty, and possibly grandfather of Manetho’s Tefnakht. ‘Ammeris the Ethiopian’,22 who appears in Eusebius’ ­version of Manetho, may have occupied part of the hiatus between Bakenrenef, who died c.715 bc, and the appearance of Tefnakht (II), c.680 bc, but he is not otherwise attested. When Psamtek I (c.664–610 bc) succeeded his father, Libyan chieftains held sway in other parts of the Delta and independent rulers further south included Montuemhat at Thebes. Events favoured the new king: the Kushite hold was weakened by Ashurbanipal’s sack of Thebes in 663 bc and the Assyrians themselves were then distracted by events elsewhere. Classical tradition has it that the arrival of Greek soldiers was also a factor. For Herodotus (II, 152), this was a divinely inspired fulfilment of a prophecy, whereas an Assyrian text records more mundanely that it was an alliance with Gyges of Lydia that allowed Psamtek I his independence.23 Egyptian bronzes found at the temple of Hera on Samos may provide indirect testimony for the diplomatic links implied by such military support.24 Herodotus presents it as instrumental in Psamtek I’s suppression of internal opposition, yet contemporary Egyptian texts and the durability of the unity achieved suggest that diplomacy was at the heart of royal strategy.25 The Delta may have been reconciled without much difficulty. Nekau I had held Sais and Memphis and was also acknowledged at Behbeit el-Hagar. Psamtek I controlled the Delta city of Athribis before he became king, and his position was strengthened by an early marriage alliance with a leading family at the influential religious centre of Heliopolis. This broad base allowed the creation of an anti-Assyrian, anti-Kushite coalition. The Libyan principalities faded away, their chieftains accepting roles as local officials within the new administrative structure or being replaced.26 A stele from south Saqqara recording the defeat of a Libyan force in Year 11 relates to an external challenge rather than internal resistance.27

15  Waddell 1940; Perdu 2002b. 16 Perdu 2002b; cf. Kahn 2009. 17 Ryholt 2011a and 2011b. 18  Smith, M. 1991; Ryholt 2004; Quack 2006; Holm 2007; Rutherford 2016. 19  Yoyotte 2011; Leahy 2011a. 20  Quaegebeur 1990; Ray 1990; Leahy 2011a. 21 Quack 2009. 22 Waddell 1940. 23 Lloyd 2007b. 24  Jantzen 1972; Bumke 2007 and 2012. 25  Sullivan 1996; De Meulenaere 2003; Perdu 2003; Leahy 2011b. 26  Perdu 2004 and 2006. 27  Der Manuelian 1994: 323–32; Perdu 2002a: 30–5; Ritner 2009: 585–7.

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Egypt in the Late Period   723 In negotiations with Thebes, Psamtek I relied on an influential ally, Somtutefnakht of Herakleopolis, exemplifying a symbiosis of royal and elite interests that was to characterize the period.28 Earlier contact had been established through the dedication of a daughter of Nekau I in the entourage of the Kushite God’s Wife of Amun,29 but the decisive moment came in 656 bc when Psamtek’s daughter Nitiqret (Nitocris) was formally adopted as eventual heiress to that influential religious position. A granite stele set up at Karnak records the acceptance of Saite hegemony30 by the Theban dignitaries, who abandoned their Kushite allegiance in return for retention of some of their offices.31 The depiction of the new king in the tomb of Mentuemhat established a tradition followed at Thebes in later generations. Nitiqret became God’s Wife by 638 bc,32 and the subsequent erection of chapels at Karnak in the joint names of the king and the God’s Wife provided a regional focus for loyalty to the Saite Dynasty. It was her officials who assumed leadership of the local elite, as their imposing tombs testify.33 If Theban pride was thus assuaged, the city inexorably lost influence to Sais and Memphis, the twin political centres and royal residences of the new era. While the court ties of the Memphite high priests are evident in their basiliphorous names (i.e. personal names incorporating a king’s name), the functions of the high priest of Amun were absorbed by the God’s Wife.34 The longevity of the king and of Nitiqret, who lived to 586 bc, laid the foundations for stability.35 The re-establishment of a national administration increased wealth, as taxes from the whole country flowed to the Saite treasury, and there followed a sustained resurgence in building and sculpture as far afield as the Dakhla oasis.36 A new gallery for the burial of the Apis bull was excavated at Saqqara and the temple of Ptah at Memphis was much enhanced.37 Royal patronage is also evident at Heliopolis, where classical statues of the king in hard stone—and in one case on a colossal scale—were accompanied by strikingly innovative relief representations.38 Elsewhere more traditional iconography prevailed; as with the terse epithets chosen for the pharaoh’s titulary, earlier paradigms of kingship were revived to create a distinctive image for the dynasty.39 Under Psamtek I, a new ‘Greek’ element emerged in the traditionally cosmopolitan military and mercantile spheres.40 In the development of Aegean trade, Naukratis, an Egyptian town that gradually acquired a more Hellenic character, played a major role.41 Greek soldiers helped to garrison the defences of the eastern Delta, although here too recent research emphasizes the intrinsically Egyptian character of fortified settlements such as Defenna.42 A Carian community at Memphis is known from funerary stelae at Saqqara and a Carian 28 Leahy 2011b; Spencer, N. 2010; Jansen-Winkeln 2011. 29  Coulon and Payraudeau 2015. 30  Caminos 1964; Der Manuelian 1994; Ritner 2009; Blöbaum 2016. 31  Parker 1962; De Meulenaere 1997. 32  Graefe 1994; Ritner 2009. 33  Graefe 1981; Eigner 1984. 34  De Meulenaere 1985; Leahy 1996; Ayad 2009. 35  Spalinger 1978; Pressl 1993 and 1998; Jansen-Winkeln 2001; Agut-Labordère 2013. 36 Kaper 2012. 37 Jurman 2010b; Devauchelle 2011. 38 Perdu 2002a. 39 Jurman 2010a; Kahl 2010. 40  Braun  1982; Pernigotti  1993,  1996a,  1996b,  1999; Laronde  1995; Hockmann and Vittmann  2005; Pfeiffer 2013. 41  Sullivan  1996; Möller  2000 and  2005; Bresson  2005; Spencer, A.J.  2011; Agut-Labordère  2012c; Thomas and Villing 2013; Leclère, Spencer and Villing 2014; British Museum website Naukratis: Greeks in Egypt. 42  Oren 1984; Leclère 2007 and 2013; Smoláriková 2008; Hussein and Abd el-Aleem 2013; Leclère and Spencer 2014.

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724   Anthony Leahy presence at Thebes as early as c.650 bc has been mooted.43 Rewards for those who rose to positions of authority could be considerable: one Pedon returned home to the region of Priene, recording in archaic Greek on an Egyptian block statue the prestigious status he had held in Egypt and the gift of gold given him by the king.44 A man named Wahibraemakhet exemplifies the rapid acculturation possible for those who stayed. His name is a basiliphorous celebration of Psamtek I and his elaborately inscribed sarcophagus is thoroughly Egyptian: only his parents’ names reveal his Greek origin.45 There were other foreigners, including military contingents of ‘Asiatics’ under Psamtek I.46 Detail on the deployment of the army emerges only late in the reign. From 616 bc, the Babylonian Chronicle records Egyptian forces beyond the Euphrates in alliance with Assyria against the growing power of Babylon.47 No mention is made of the Egyptian king and the crown prince Nekau may have been in command, just as the Babylonian Nebuchadnezzar acted for his father Nabopolassar. An enabling factor in this intervention was an Egyptian garrison at Carchemish on the Euphrates, which presupposes the establishment of secure supply routes earlier in the reign, when an Egyptian presence on the Levantine coast had been reasserted as Assyrian authority waned.48 The story in Herodotus (I, 105) that Psamtek I halted a Scythian march on Egypt may be relevant in this context. Military intervention beyond the Euphrates represented a much greater investment of resources, based on the realization that the destruction of Assyria was not in Egyptian interests. Nineveh fell nonetheless, in 612 bc. Our understanding of Nekau II (c.610–595 bc) is strongly influenced by external and later sources.49 Herodotus (II, 158–9) credits him with ambitious enterprises: a canal linking the Nile to the Red Sea, the circumnavigation of Africa and the acquisition of triremes.50 A fragmentary inscription from Elephantine, recording a substantial expedition into Nubia, hints at the enhanced naval capacity necessary to support the active strategy he pursued in the Levant.51 After initial successes in 609 bc, when Josiah of Judah was killed trying to prevent Nekau II marching north, Egyptian armies were gradually pushed back to their own frontier.52 There is a rare Egyptian allusion to these wars on a statue fragment from Mendes.53 Only a victory over the Babylonians at Migdol on the north-eastern border prevented invasion of Egypt in 601 bc. According to Herodotus, Nekau II dedicated garments he wore in that battle to the sanctuary of Miletus, perhaps in thanks for the involvement of soldiers from that region. Fragments of a shrine with the names of Nekau II found at Ialysos on Rhodes can be understood in the same light.54 Although he is attested at Karnak in his first year, and continued his father’s building at Heliopolis and elsewhere, many of his monuments were usurped by his son.55 The addition of the epithet ‘the wise’ to his name in later demotic texts hints at a more positive recollection of Nekau II.56

43  Masson 1978; Kammerzell 1993; Ray 1994 and 1995. 44  Ampolo and Bresciani 1988; Masson and Yoyotte 1988; Agut-Labordère 2012b. 45  Grallert 2001; Vittmann 2003. 46  De Meulenaere 1965; Kahn 2007. 47 Grayson 1975. 48  Sauneron and Yoyotte 1952b; Redford 1992. 49  Yoyotte 1958; Leahy 2009; Ryholt 2011a. 50  Lloyd 2001; Moje 2003. 51  Junge 1987; Jansen-Winkeln 1989. 52  Na’aman 1991; Schipper 2010; Kahn 2015. 53  Redford 2000 and 2004. 54  Kousoulis and Morenz 2007. 55  Gozzoli 2000; Leahy 2009; cf. Koch 2014. 56 Ryholt 2011a.

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Egypt in the Late Period   725 By contrast, foreign sources offer little on Psamtek II (c.595–589 bc).57 The installation of a new Apis calf at Memphis and of a daughter, Ankhnesneferibra, as heiress to Nitiqret at Thebes, within months of his accession, encapsulate his desire to make a mark, as do the many basiliphorous personal names that commemorate his kingship.58 Herodotus devotes most of his brief summary (II, 160–1) to a visit to Egypt by an embassy from Elis in the Peloponnese,59 which may attest to a Greek perception of Egypt as a source of wisdom rather than a specific historical event. He concludes with the observation that the king ‘died shortly after invading Ethiopia (scil. Nubia)’. The narrative thus foregrounds a story of no consequence from the official Egyptian perspective and relegates to a parenthesis an event that was central to Psamtek II’s presentation of himself as champion of pharaonic values. The Nubian campaign, which occurred in his third year, was considered significant enough to warrant the carving of multiple accounts on large stone stelae.60 Although it is predictably presented as a great victory, the expedition of Nekau II, and probably others under Psamtek I and Ahmose II (Amasis), shows that it was only one episode in Egyptian action against the residual power of the Kushite kingdom over a prolonged period.61 A consequence in this case may have been the widespread erasure or usurpation of Kushite cartouches from monuments untouched in the sixty years since the Twenty-fifth Dynasty’s retreat from Egypt.62 The presence of foreign troops in the force sent to Nubia is attested by the Abu Simbel graffito of Psamtek son of Theocles,63 and a celebratory Palestinian expedition may have taken place in the following year.64 The evidence for Psamtek II’s son and successor, Apries (c.589–570 bc), derives mainly from non-Egyptian accounts. According to Herodotus (II, 161), he fought against Tyre and Sidon, while biblical tradition held him responsible for encouraging, then failing to support, a rebellion against Babylon that provoked the sacking of Jerusalem in 586 bc and the dispersal of its population. An incomplete royal stele of Year 7, recently discovered at Defenna, may refer to victory over an invading force in 582 bc.65 Another military incident difficult to place in context is a mutiny of foreign soldiers in the south, which was subdued by a high official named Neshor.66 At Thebes in Year 4 the king’s sister Ankhnesneferibra became God’s Wife of Amun, a position she retained for the next sixty years.67 At Memphis, Apries built a fortified palace with a citadel at Memphis, once adorned with archaizing reliefs.68 His downfall stemmed from the defeat of a force he sent to help the indigenous Libyan population against the Greek colony of Cyrene. A rebellion by his Egyptian troops, who resented his Greek auxiliaries, led eventually to the seizure of the throne by a commoner, Ahmose II (Amasis). The episode is described in some detail by Herodotus (II, 161–3, 169; IV, 159) but its duration and wider dimension emerge only from other sources, notably a stele erected at Elephantine,69 which shows that it ended in the fourth year of Ahmose II with the defeat of a Babylonian force bent on restoring Apries to power.

57 Gozzoli 2017. 58  De Meulenaere 1966, 1981 and 2001. 59 Gozzoli 2006. 60  Sauneron and Yoyotte 1952a; Der Manuelian 1994; Gozzoli 2017. 61 Zauzich 1992. 62 Yoyotte 1951a; cf. Koch 2014. 63  Haider 2001; Hauben 2001. 64 Yoyotte 1951b; Kahn 2008b; Gozzoli 2017. 65  Maksoud and Valbelle 2013. 66  Schäfer 1904; Heise 2007; Perdu 2011; Bassir 2016a. 67 Leahy 1996. 68  Petrie 1909; Petrie et al. 1910; Kemp 1977. 69  Daressy 1900; Edel 1978: Leahy 1988: Ladynin 2006 and 2007; Jansen-Winkeln 2014b.

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726   Anthony Leahy The kingdom survived this test. Ahmose II’s presentation of the outcome as the triumph of native interests over foreign was balanced by the unifying image he nurtured. Indeed, he reorganized both the status of Naukratis and the wider situation of Greeks in Egypt so effectively that he was remembered as a ‘philhellene’ (Herodotus II, 178). Like other usurpers, he used pharaonic titulary to assert his legitimacy, associating himself with the dynastic deity by adding ‘son of Neith’ to his personal name and proclaiming himself ‘one who (re-)establishes Maat’.70 Herodotus (II, 172–8) preserves a favourable recollection of Ahmose II, his humble background and informal behaviour, for which Egyptian tradition too remembered him,71 while also recognizing the king’s promotion of national prosperity. The splendour of temple building under Ahmose II, particularly at Sais and Memphis (Herodotus II, 175–6), has been obscured by the destruction of monuments that accompanied the posthumous erasure of his name.72 Even at the beginning of the reign, however, the activity at Abydos of an official Peftjauawyneith, who had supervised work for Apries at Heliopolis, demonstrates continuity of construction.73 At Saqqara, monolithic stone sarcophagi for the Apis bull were introduced and new temples appeared in the Serapeum precinct. The cult of the ‘mother of Apis’ is attested for the first time and the Sacred Animal Necropolis bears witness to the early stages of formal provision for one of the most important cultural developments of the period.74 In the Siwa oasis, the temple that became for the Greek world the home of the oracle of Zeus-Amun came into being.75 There was also major governmental reorganization, the national scope of which is illustrated by the belated adoption of demotic, the northern bureaucratic script, at Thebes (see Chapter 60).76 The new senior administrative post of snty was to prove a significant innovation in the longer term.77 Foreign policy continued to be framed with an eye to the rapidly changing east. At the start of his reign, Ahmose II moved quickly to secure Cyrenean support against the Babylonian threat. Further defensive measures are reported to have included the annexation of Cyprus and the cultivation of Aegean rulers, above all Polycrates of Samos. At least in his last years, Ahmose and his closest advisers were resident at Memphis,78 perhaps preparing for an attack from Achaemenid Persia, which had assumed the imperial mantle after its conquest of Babylon in 539 bc.

The Twenty-seventh Dynasty The Persian onslaught arrived in 526 bc,79 shortly after the death of Ahmose II, whose forty-fourth and final year acquired a special resonance in later memory.80 Egypt became a province of the Persian empire for the next century and a quarter, ruled on the Great King’s behalf by a provincial governor (satrap) based at Memphis.81 An informal division of the 70  Kahl 2002; Blöbaum 2006. 71  Müller 1989; Ritner 2003. 72  Blöbaum 2006; Klotz 2010a. Graefe 2011. 73  Lichtheim 1980; Leahy 1984; Bassir 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016b. 74  Smith, H.S. 1992. 75  Kuhlmann 1988 and 2007. 76 Martin 2007. 77  Yoyotte 1989; Agut-Labordère 2013. 78  Glanville 1934–35; Cruz-Uribe 2003; Jurman 2007; Smoláriková 2015. 79  Ray 1988; Cruz-Uribe 2003; Quack 2011; Vittmann 2011. 80 Thiers 2011. 81 Quack 2016b; Ma and Tuplin, forthcoming.

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Egypt in the Late Period   727 period into two phases has become conventional. For the reigns of Cambyses (c.526–522 bc) and Darius I (c.522–486 bc), sources such as Apis epitaphs from the Serapeum and stelae commemorating the completion of a canal to the Red Sea, as well as a statue of Darius I found at Susa, suggest a degree of continuity and some engagement with native traditions on the part of the invaders.82 By contrast, little survives from the reigns of Xerxes I (c.486–465 bc), Artaxerxes I (c.465–424 bc) and Darius II (c.424–405 bc), and our understanding of events rests largely on Greek sources. A collateral effect of Persian attacks on the Greek mainland was the creation of a common interest between Athens, Sparta and Egyptian rebels, and the period from the death of Darius I onwards was punctuated by opportunistic outbreaks of dissent in Egypt at times of perceived Persian weakness.83 On the deaths of Cambyses, Darius I and Xerxes I respectively, several native ‘kings’— Pedubast III, Psamtek IV, Amyrtaios and Inaros, and Psamtek V—were briefly able to muster support for their claims. Whether or not they were descended from the Twenty-sixth Dynasty, they benefited by association through their western Delta base and by access to the Mediterranean.84 Continued dating by the Persian monarchs in Wadi Hammamat graffiti and in Aramaic papyri from Elephantine seems to indicate that Upper Egypt remained quiescent throughout the fifth century. Demotic ostraca discovered at Ayn Manawir in the Kharga oasis have reinforced this view, adding usefully to the evidence for poorly attested rulers from late in the reign of Ahmose II to the time of Nectanebo I.85 However, one ostracon, intriguingly dated to Year 2 of Inaros ‘prince of rebels (?)’, may hint at a more complex situation.86 Aramaic papyri from the Jewish garrison at Elephantine, combined with recent excavation at the site, allow unprecedented insights into a foreign community within Egypt, whose written record ends with the loss of its temple in 410 bc.87 The narrative provided by Herodotus’ circumstantial account of the Persian conquest and its aftermath has stimulated debate about the nature of Persian rule and its impact, in particular Persian engagement with pharaonic tradition and indigenous responses to their Near Eastern overlords.88 Against his very negative presentation of Cambyses, exemplified by reports on the execution of Psamtek III, Ahmose II’s son and successor, the killing of an Apis calf and military disasters in Nubia and the Western Desert,89 scholars have emphasized the more positive image of the king to be found in the principal Egyptian text, the autobiographical statue inscription of Udjahorresnet.90 Given the different agendas behind the two compositions, the divergence is unsurprising. It emerges most sharply in their respective versions of the only point on which they agree, namely that Cambyses went to Sais. Udjahorresnet’s statement that the Persian king participated in the worship of Neith there need not be discounted, but neither should Herodotus’ account of the mutilation of the body of Ahmose II, disinterred from the ancestral temple necropolis. The antipathy implied is consistent with the extensive archaeological evidence for the defacement of Ahmose II’s monuments, of which Cambyses is the only conceivable author. A decree issued by the latter that seems to have increased the financial burden on most Egyptian temples may also have influenced Herodotus’ sources on Cambyses, as it has 82 Posener 1936. 83 Rottpeter 2007. 84 Carrez-Maratray 2005a; Wilson and Gilbert 2007. 85 Chauveau 1996a and 2003. 86  Chauveau 2004; Winnicki 2006; Kahn 2008a. 87  Porten 2011; Von Pilgrim 2003. 88 Lloyd 2007a and 2014; Wasmuth 2015 and 2017. 89 Lloyd 1988c: Depuydt 1995. 90  Lichtheim 1980; Lloyd 1982; Holm-Rasmussen 1988; Menu 1995a; Baines 1996; Smoláriková 2015.

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728   Anthony Leahy modern scholarship.91 A lack of engagement with the politico-religious traditions of previous centuries is also evident at Thebes, where there is no sign of a Persian heiress or successor to Ahmose II’s daughter Nitiqret (II), who had succeeded as God’s Wife of Amun in the last year of his reign.92 Herodotus’ contrastingly positive portrait of Darius I must be due in part to the king’s use of pharaonic iconography and ideology, infused with Persian ruler-culture: the two traditions are skilfully combined on a statue of the king found at Susa. On the base, a modified version of the traditional Egyptian list of foreign lands nullified by their position beneath the king’s feet includes the name of Egypt written in hieroglyphs in a list of imperial provinces.93 Elements of cultural integration outside the royal sphere occur on a Saqqara stele of a ‘Persian’ official who had an Egyptian mother.94 A crucial monument in ongoing debate is the temple of Hibis in the Kharga oasis. This bears the cartouches of Darius I and has been seen as evidence of the king’s support for Egyptian religion. However, a re-dating of the foundation of the temple to the reign of Psamtek II has been proposed and Darius’ cartouches argued to be secondary additions. Furthermore, the royal names may only identify the ruler who was on the throne when the building was completed, rather than prove the involvement of the Persian king in the project.95 The prosperity that some scholars have seen in Persian rule has left little mark in the archaeological record.96 Evidence for an Egyptian elite, whether civil, priestly or military, is very limited.97 Pottery is the most abundant material extant but the ceramic sequence can rarely be linked to any inscriptional record.98 The view that this was an artistically productive period, prevalent in the mid-twentieth century, was never firmly grounded and almost no sculpture can in fact be confidently ascribed to the fifth century bc.99 While the difficulty of dating material may be a factor, as has been suggested in relation to funerary equipment,100 it is nonetheless remarkable that the dearth also applies to stone monuments: the statues, stelae and sarcophagi that characterized Twenty-sixth Dynasty elite culture. An Aramaic papyrus of the fifth century bc testifies to the wealth that could be generated by taxes on trade, but those taxes went to the Persian government.101

The Twenty-eighth to Thirty-first Dynasties The last of the western Delta rebels and the first to achieve independence was Amyrtaios of Sais (c.404–399 bc), the sole ruler of Manetho’s Twenty-eighth Dynasty. He has been equated with a king Psamtek whose Years 5 and 6 are attested in the Ayn Manawir ostraca (p. 727) at the end of the fourth century, and also with the Delta ruler Psamtek mentioned by 91 Agut-Labordère 2005a and 2005b. 92 Ayad 2001. 93  Vittmann 2003; Wasmuth 2015 and 2017. 94  Mathieson et al. 1995; Wasmuth 2010. 95  Davies 1953; Cruz-Uribe 1988 and 2005; Kaper 2012; Lloyd 2007a. 96  Sternberg-el Hotabi 2000; Serrano Delgado 2004. 97  Chauveau 2009; Vittmann 2009. 98  Defernez 2011 and 2012. 99  Bothmer 1960; Munro1970; Leahy 1984; Josephson 1997b. 100 Aston 1999. 101  Briant and Descat 1998; Kuhrt 2007.

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Egypt in the Late Period   729 Diodorus Siculus (xiv, 35, 3–5) as a descendant of Psamtek (I). Perhaps a grandson of the earlier Amyrtaios, he has left no monuments, and Aramaic papyri show that he was not acknowledged at Elephantine in the far south of the country until late in his short reign.102 His connection with Sais may have added to his credibility, but the instability of the times is exemplified by the ‘prophecy’ that his son would not succeed him, recorded retrospectively in the Demotic Chronicle. That cryptic text, perhaps Herakleopolitan in origin, epitomizes the separation of the religious interest and the dynastic one.103 Amyrtaios’ successors came from a non-royal, military background and from other Delta strongholds. Manetho’s Twenty-ninth Dynasty (c.399–380 bc) consisted of Nepherites I, Hakor and the ephemeral Nepherites II. An association with Mendes has been confirmed by the discovery there of the modest and much-damaged tomb of Nepherites I, in whose reign the beginnings of an architectural revival can be discerned.104 A king ‘Psammuthis’, named by Manetho as successor to Hakor, is now regarded as an Upper Egyptian rival who briefly interrupted the latter’s kingship.105 Wider temple building under Hakor shows that he was the more secure of the two: as so often, both the past and the gods were invoked in his cause. Elements of the titulary of both Nepherites I and Hakor recall that of Psamtek I, testimony to both the enduring prestige of the latter and the aspiration of his emulators. The addition of the epithet ‘chosen of Banebdjed’ to Hakor’s throne name made explicit the god of Mendes’ approval of his rule.106 Throughout the fourth century, Greek alliances and foreign auxiliaries, as recorded by Greek historians rather than Egyptian sources, were fundamental to the fragile independence of the country: Nepherites I pursued a Spartan alliance and Hakor cultivated the support of Evagoras, king of Cyprus, who was also allied to Athens. Nepherites II, presented in the Demotic Chronicle as the son of Hakor, was unable to emulate his father’s success. The Thirtieth Dynasty (c.380–343 bc), linked by Manetho to another Delta city, Sebennytos, was dominated by Nectanebo (Nakhtnebef) I and II, who each ruled for nearly two decades, separated by the short reign of Teos, son of the former.107 The father of Nectanebo I was a general and son of an unknown king, so presumably from the family of the previous dynasty. On a stele from Hermopolis Nectanebo I declared the oracular support of the local goddess Nehemtaway for his accession, while both his successors claimed in their titularies to have been chosen by Onuris, patron deity of Sebennytos.108 A particularly significant monument, the ‘Naukratis’ stele, which echoes the format of earlier royal monuments, is now known from a second exemplar recovered in perfect condition from the sunken city of Thonis (Heraklion).109 These masterpieces of artistic and hieroglyphic sophistication record the ‘decree of Sais’, the granting to the temple of Neith at Sais of a proportion of the revenues raised from the taxation of commerce at Naukratis.110 Its date in the first year of Nectanebo I highlights the continuing need of a new royal line for the support of the earlier capital city. Both Nectanebos pursued commitment to the temples as the route to legitimacy and unity. Extensive additions to sanctuaries rank them among the most

102 Carrez-Maratray 2005b; Porten 2011. 103 Johnson 1983a and 1983b; Devauchelle 1994; Felber 2002; Agut-Labordère 2011; Quack 2015. 104 Redford 2004. 105  Traunecker 1979; Ray 1986. 106 Kahl 2002. 107 Engsheden 2006. 108 Klotz 2010b. 109  Yoyotte 2001 and 2006; Von Bomhard 2012. 110  Lichtheim 1980; Von Bomhard 2012.

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730   Anthony Leahy widely attested of all pharaohs,111 and suggest a particular emphasis on animal cults. Like Hakor, they explicitly harked back to Twenty-sixth Dynasty models, as reliefs of Nectanebo I from Heliopolis show.112 Their economic and architectural achievements are the more remarkable given the ever-present Persian threat exemplified by the attacks of Artaxerxes II in 373 bc and Artaxerxes III in 351 bc. In seeking to finance an aggressive land and sea ­expedition to the Levant, with Spartan and Athenian reinforcements, Teos alienated support at home by levying heavy taxes and was overthrown by a coup that led to the accession of his nephew as Nectanebo II.113 In 343 bc, or shortly thereafter,114 Artaxerxes III was able to secure both the reconquest of Egypt and the departure of Nectanebo II, and Egypt once more became a subject province.115 Severe oppression rekindled anti-Persian feeling and a widespread insurrection116 ­culminated in the brief reign of the obscure Khababash in the mid-330s bc.117 A few individuals were still able to produce memorials of traditional type exemplifying Egyptian values. The stele of Somtutefnakht commemorates a Herakleopolitan priest who became embroiled in the Persian wars,118 while the perhaps slightly later tomb of Petosiris, a temple administrator at Hermopolis, is remarkable both for its decoration and for its inscriptions.119 In emphasizing local loyalties and divine inspiration in turbulent times, both make clear the importance of the native priesthood in the transition to Macedonian rule after the arrival of Alexander.120

Future directions for research on Late Period history Future directions will be determined by ever-more intensive analysis from different perspectives of artefacts already in museum collections, by the excavation of new material and the application of new methodologies. For any historian, the closest possible access to primary sources is fundamental. In the past, this has been achieved through examination in situ or in a museum and through conventional text editions, exemplified by the ongoing publication in a standardized hieroglyphic font of a very high proportion of ‘historical’ inscriptions of the Late Period. While first-hand examination will remain the ideal, digital photography and three-dimensional imaging offer new opportunities for remote access via museum and other websites. Reflectance Transformation Imaging has created the prospect of improved readings of worn or otherwise damaged inscribed surfaces and other technological developments will follow. Among websites leading the way, the one devoted to the Karnak Cachette provides a model, offering interactive access to an extensive photographic archive and frequently updated annotated bibliography, to which the addition of transcriptions 111 Josephson 1997a; Arnold 1999; Spencer, N. 2006; Perdu 2010; Ladynin 2013. 112 Mysliwiec 1988. 113  Will 1960; Agut-Labordère 2011. 114  Cf. Depuydt 2010. 115 Ladynin 2010. 116 Devauchelle 1995a and 1995b; Lloyd 2014. 117  Huss 1994; Ladynin 2005; Moje 2010. 118  Lichtheim 1980: 41–4; Perdu 1985; Devauchelle 1995b; Sternberg-el Hotabi 2005; Menu 2008 119  Lefebvre 2007; Kessler 2009; Menu 1994, 1995b, 1996, 1998. 120  Chauveau and Thiers 2006.

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Egypt in the Late Period   731 of texts is in progress. Future studies are thus likely to combine the best of traditional analytical formats with complementary digital resources in a holistic approach to text, image and material culture. Much remains to be done, even at Thebes, where long-known monuments such as the chapels of Karnak and tombs such as those of Mentuemhat and Petamenophis, important for the beginning of the Late Period, await publication to modern standards. For the north of Egypt, much may be expected from the completion of projects on monuments from the Serapeum and on stelae recording donations. In the field of demotic, significant contributions can be expected from the continuing reconstruction of the epic cycles and of the Book of the Temple, both from fragments scattered across the world, as well as from new documentary texts. Ongoing survey and excavation will continue to shed new light on understanding of the Late Period at sites from the north-eastern frontier to the western oases and the southern border at Elephantine. These currently include Buto, Naukratis, and Heliopolis in the Delta, Hermopolis, Herakleopolis, and Abydos in Middle Egypt, while Memphis and Saqqara are from exhausted. A common theme in all these research areas should be the identification of more precise dating criteria than we currently possess for the majority of extant artefacts. Fuller integration of ceramic studies will be important in that context.

Suggested reading Concise narrative histories of the years 664–332 bc from different perspectives can be found  in Lloyd  2000, Perdu  2010 and Van de Mieroop  2011. Lloyd  1983 takes a broader view. Mysliwiec (2000) covers the period within a wider timeframe, while Klotz (forthcoming) offers a more detailed account. For the Twenty-sixth Dynasty, see also James  1991. Vittmann 2003 provides an extensively illustrated account of the international character of the period. Some of the key sources for Egyptian historiography are explored in Gozzoli 2006. For Herodotus from an Egyptological perspective, the standard commentary is Lloyd 1975–88; shorter introductions are Lloyd 2002 and Moyer 2011. There are easily accessible translations of The Histories in Waterfield 1998 and Holland 2013. For the Persian Empire, translations of sources can be found in Kuhrt 2007, and a comprehensive history from an Achaemenid standpoint in Briant 2002. Ruzicka 2012 focuses specifically on Persian-period Egypt, as does, more briefly, Klotz 2015. For the fourth century bc, see Ray 1987, Lloyd 1994 and Ladynin 2013.

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Egypt in the Late Period   741 Ray, J. D. 1986. Psammuthis and Hakoris. Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 72: 149–58. Ray, J.  D. 1987. Egypt: Dependence and Independence (425–343 b.c.). In H.  Sancisi-Weerdenburg (ed.)  Achaemenid History I: Sources, Structures and Synthesis: Proceedings of the Groningen 1983 Achaemenid History Workshop. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 79–95. Ray, J. D. 1988. Egypt 525–404 b.c. In J. Boardman, N. G. L. Hammond, D. M. Lewis and M. Ostwald (eds), The Cambridge Ancient History IV: Persia, Greece and the Western Mediterranean c.525 to 479 b.c. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 254–86. Ray, J. D. 1990. The Names Psammetichus and Takheta, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 76: 196–9. Ray, J. D. 1994. Intervention. In M. E. Gianotta (ed.), La decifrazione del Cario: atti del 10 Simposio Internazionale, Roma, 3–4 maggio 1993. Rome: Consiglio nazionale delle ricerche, 194. Ray, J. D. 1995. Soldiers to Pharaoh: The Carians of Southwest Anatolia. In J. Sasson (ed.), Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, II, 1185–94. Ray, J. D. 2001. Reflections of Osiris. Lives from Ancient Egypt. London: Profile Books. Redford, D. B. 1992. Egypt, Canaan, and Israel in Ancient Times. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Redford, D. B. 2000. New Light on Egypt’s Stance toward Asia, 610–586 bce. In S. L. MacKenzie and T. Römer (eds), in collaboration with H. H. Schmid, Rethinking the Foundations. Historiography in the Ancient World and in the Bible. Essays in Honour of John Van Seters. Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 183–95. Redford, D. B. 2004. Excavations at Mendes I: The Royal Necropolis. Leiden: Brill. Ritner, R. 2003. The Tale of Amasis and the Skipper. In W.K. Simpson et al., The Literature of Ancient Egypt. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 450–2. Ritner, R. 2009. The Libyan Anarchy. Inscriptions from Egypt’s Third Intermediate Period. Atlanta: ­Society of Biblical Literature. Rottpeter, M. 2007. Initiatoren und Träger der ‘Aufstände’ im persischen Ägypten. In S. Pfeiffer (ed.), Ägypten unter fremden Herrschern zwischen persischer Satrapie und römischer Provinz. Frankfurt: Antike, 9–33. Rutherford, I. 2016. The Earliest Cross-Cultural Reception of Homer? The Inaros-Narratives of Greco-Roman Egypt. In I. Rutherford, I (ed.), Greco-Egyptian Interactions: Literature, Translation, and Culture, 500 bce–300 ce. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 83–106. Rutherford, I. (ed.) 2016. Greco-Egyptian Interactions: Literature, Translation, and Culture, 500 bce–300 ce. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ruzicka, S. 2012. Trouble in the West. Egypt and the Persian Empire, 525–332 bc. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ryholt, K. 2004. The Assyrian Invasion of Egypt in Egyptian Literary Tradition. A Survey of the Narrative Source Material. In J. G. Dercksen (ed.), Assyria and beyond: Studies presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Osten, 483–510. Ryholt, K. 2011a. New Light on the Legendary King Nechepsos of Egypt, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 97: 61–72. Ryholt, K. 2011b. King Necho I Son of King Tefnakhte II. In F. Feder, L. D. Morenz and G. Vittmann (eds), Von Theben nach Giza: Festmiszellen für Stefan Grunert zum 65. Geburtstag. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie der Universität Göttingen, 123–7. Sauneron, S. and Yoyotte, J. 1952a. La campagne nubienne de Psammétique II. Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 51: 157–207. Sauneron, S. and Yoyotte, J. 1952b. Sur la politique palestinienne des rois saïtes. Vetus Testamentum 2: 131–6. Schäfer, H. 1904. Die Auswanderung der Krieger unter Psammetich I. und der Söldneraufstand in Elephantine unter Apries. Klio 4: 152–63. Schipper, B. U. 2010. Egypt and the Kingdom of Judah under Josiah and Jehoiakim, Tel Aviv 37/2: 200–26. Serrano Delgado, J. M. 2004. Cambyses in Sais: Political and Religious Context in Achaemenid Egypt, Chronique d’Égypte 79: 31–52. Smith, H. S. 1992. The Death and Life of the Mother of Apis. In A. B. Lloyd (ed.), Studies in Pharaonic Religion and Society in Honour of J. Gwyn Griffiths. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 201–25.

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742   Anthony Leahy Smith, M. 1991. Did Psamtek I Die Abroad? Orientalia Lovaniensa Periodica 22: 101–9. Smoláriková, K. 2008. Saite Forts in Egypt: Political-military History of the Saite Dynasty. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology. Smoláriková, K. 2015. Udjahorresnet: the Founder of the Saite-Persian Cemetery at Abusir and his Engagement as Leading Political Person during the Troubled Years at the Beginning of the TwentySeventh Dynasty. In J. M. Silverman and C. Waerzeggers (eds.), Political Memory in and after the Persian Empire. Atlanta: SBL Press, 151–64. Spalinger, A. 1978. The Concept of the Monarchy during the Saite Epoch—An Essay of Synthesis, Orientalia 47: 12–36. Spencer, A. J. 2011. The Egyptian Temple and Settlement at Naukratis, British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 17: 31–43. Spencer, N. 2006. A Naos of Nekhthorheb from Bubastis: Religious Iconography and Temple Building in the 30th Dynasty. London: British Museum Press. Spencer, N. 2010. Sustaining Egyptian culture? Non-Royal Temple Initiatives in Late Period Temple Building. In L. Bareš, F. Coppens and K. Smoláriková (eds), Egypt in Transition. Social and Religious Development of Egypt in the First Millennium bce. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague, 441–90. Sternberg-el Hotabi, H. 2000. Politische und sozio-ökonomische Strukturen im perserzeitlichen Ägypten: neue Perspektiven. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 127: 153–67. Sternberg-el Hotabi, H. 2005. Der Denkstein des Sematauitefnacht. In B. Janowski and W. Gernot (eds), Staatsverträge, Herrscherinschriften und andere Dokumente zur politischen Geschichte. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 279–82. Sullivan, R. D. 1996. Psammetichus I and the Foundation of Naukratis. In W. D. E. Coulson (ed.), Ancient Naukratis II: The Survey at Naukratis and Environs, Part 1: The Survey at Naukratis. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 177–95. Thiers, C. 2011. L’an 44 d’Amasis sur la grande stèle ptolémaïque d’Héracléion. In D.  Devauchelle (ed.), La XXVIe dynastie, continuités et ruptures: actes du colloque international organisé les 26 et 27 novembre 2004 à l’Université Charles-de-Gaulle—Lille 3; promenade saïte avec Jean Yoyotte. Paris: Cybele, 247–51. Thomas, R. I. and Villing, A. 2013. Naukratis Revisited 2012: Integrating New Fieldwork and Old Research, British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 20: 81–125. Traunecker, C. 1979. Essai sur l’histoire de la XXIXe dynastie. Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 79: 395–436. Van de Mieroop, M. 2011. A History of Ancient Egypt. Chichester and Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Vittmann, G. 1998. Der demotische Papyrus Rylands 9. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Vittmann, G. 2003. Ägypten und Fremden im ersten vorchristlichen Jahrtausend. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Vittmann, G. 2009. Rupture and Continuity: On Priests and Officials in Egypt during the Persian Period. In P. Briant and M. Chauveau (eds), Organisation des pouvoirs et contacts culturels dans les pays de l’empire achéménide: actes du colloque organisé au Collège de France par la ‘Chaire d’Histoire et Civilisation du Monde Achéménide et de l’Empire d’Alexandre’ et le ‘Réseau International d’Études et de Recherches Achéménides’ (GDR 2538 CNRS), 9 – 10 novembre 2007. Paris: De Boccard, 303–18. Vittmann, G. 2011. Ägypten unter persischer Herrschaft. In R. Rollinger, B. Truschnegg and R. Bichler (eds), Herodot und das Persische Weltreich. Akten des 3. Internationalen Kolloquiums zum Thema „Vorderasien im Spannungsfeld klassischer und altorientalischer Überlieferungen’ Innsbruck, 24.–28. November 2008. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 373–429. Von Bomhard, A.-S. 2012. The Decree of Saïs: The Stelae of Thonis-Heracleion and Naukratis. Oxford: Oxford Centre for Maritime Archeology. Von Pilgrim, C. 2003. Tempel des Jahu und ‘Strasse des Königs’: ein Konflikt in der späten Perserzeit auf Elephantine. In S. Meyer (ed.), Egypt – temple of the whole world / Ägypten – Tempel der gesammten Welt: studies in honour of Jan Assmann. Leiden: Brill, 303–18. Waddell, W. G. 1940. Manetho. London: Loeb.

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Egypt in the Late Period   743 Wasmuth, M. S. 2010. Integration of Foreigners—New Insights from the Stela Found in Saqqara in 1994. In J. Curtis and St. J. Simpson (eds), The World of Achaemenid Persia: History, Art and Society in Iran and the Ancient Near East. London: I. B. Tauris, 535–43. Wasmuth, M.  S. 2015. Political Memory in the Achaemenid Empire: The Integration of Egyptian ­Kingship into Persian Royal Display. In J. M. Silverman and C. Waerzeggers (eds), Political Memory in and after the Persian Empire. Atlanta: SBL Press, 203–37. Wasmuth, M. S. 2017. Ägypto-persische Herrscher- und Herrschaftspräsentation in der Achämenidenzeit. Mit einem Beitrag von Wouter Henkelman. Oriens et occidens: Studien zu antiken Kulturkontakten und ihrem Nachleben 27. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Waterfield, R. 1998. Herodotus. The Histories. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Will, É. 1960. Chabrias et les finances de Tachos. Revue des Études Anciennes 62: 254–75. Wilson, P. and G.  Gilbert. 2007. Sais and its Trading Relations with the Eastern Mediterranean. In  P.  Kousoulis and K.  Magliveras (eds), Moving Across Borders: Foreign Relations, Religion and Cultural Interactions in the Ancient Mediterranean. Leuven: Peeters, 251–65. Winnicki, J. K. 2006. Der libysche Stamm der Bakaler im pharaonischen, persischen und ptolemäischen Ägypten. Ancient Society 36: 135–42. Yoyotte, J. 1951a. Le martelage des noms royaux éthiopiens par Psammétique II. Revue d’Égyptologie 8: 215–39. Yoyotte, J. 1951b. Sur le voyage asiatique de Psammétique II. Vetus Testamentum 1: 140–4. Yoyotte, J. 1958. Néchao ou Néko. Dictionnaire de la Bible. Supplément, Paris VI, Fascicule 31, 363–93. Yoyotte, J. 1989. Le nom égyptien du ‘ministre de l’économie’—de Saïs à Méroé. Comptes rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions & Belles-Lettres 133/1: 73–88. Yoyotte, J. 2001. Le second affichage du décret de l’an 2 de Nekhtnebef et la découverte de ThônisHéracléion. Égypte, Afrique & Orient 24: 25–34. Yoyotte, J. 2006. An Extraordinary Pair of Twins: The Steles of the Pharaoh Nektanebo I. In F. Goddio and M. Clauss (eds), Egypt’s Sunken Treasures. Munich: Prestel, 316–23. Yoyotte, J. 2011. Les fondements géopolitiques du pouvoir saïte. In D. Devauchelle (ed.), La XXVIe dynastie, continuités et ruptures: actes du colloque international organisé les 26 et 27 novembre 2004 à l’Université Charles-de-Gaulle—Lille 3; promenade saïte avec Jean Yoyotte. Paris: Cybele, 1–32. Zauzich, K.-T. 1992. Ein Zug nach Nubien unter Amasis. In J. H. Johnson (ed.), Life in a Multicultural Society. Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and Beyond. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 361–4. Zivie-Coche, C. 2008. Late Period Temples. UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology. Retrieved from: http:// www.escholarship.org/uc/item/30k472wh.

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chapter 34

The Ptol em a ic a n d Rom a n per iods Khaled Essam Ismail

Introduction The period covered by this chapter begins with Alexander the Great’s victory over the Persian ruler Darius III at the battle of Issus, in 332 bc. After Alexander’s death, and the ­so-called Wars of the Successors (301–280 bc), Egypt fell under the control of the Ptolemies until the death of Cleopatra VII, in 30 bc, when it became a Roman province; it was then controlled by Rome for more than five centuries, until the Arab conquest in ad 640. Egypt continued to occupy an important position in the ancient world under Ptolemaic and Roman rule, and Alexandria, the capital of Egypt during both periods, became one of the most significant political and commercial cities in ancient world. The Ptolemaic and Roman periods in Egypt have not yet received proper attention from the modern scholar, despite the fact that, due to beneficial climatic conditions, enormous quantities of cultural and textual data provide researchers with a wide variety of historical evidence. The use of the term ‘Greco-Roman’ (as opposed to ‘Ptolemaic and Roman’) Egypt has sparked some debate; in the past, this chronological phrase was often used, but some recent scholars, such as Naphthali Lewis,1 argue that the expression can be inaccurate and misleading, given that it may imply cultural continuity between Greek and Roman rule and administration in Egypt. In Lewis’s Point of view, the Roman domination of Egypt brought essential changes, so that it is much better to use the individual terms Ptolemaic (or Hellenistic), Roman and Byzantine for the individual chronological components. Lewis’s approach is therefore adopted here, although it is worth acknowledging the arguments put forward by other current scholars that the use of the term Greco-Roman does not automatically imply cultural or political continuity, and that it can be used to indicate the Greek or Hellenic nature of certain aspects of the Roman empire.2 Although Hellenistic culture rapidly spread in Egypt within a few years of Alexander’s arrival, many native Egyptian traditions still persisted during Ptolemaic and Roman times 1  Lewis 1970: 13.

2  See, for instance, Riggs 2012: 3.

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The Ptolemaic and Roman periods   745 as a whole. Alexander the great and his successors adopted Egyptian royal titles and wrote their names in cartouches.3 No Egyptian-style royal sculptures can be recognized from the end of fourth century bc until the early Ptolemaic period, except some examples of temple reliefs showing the Greek rulers in pharaonic regalia.4 Two main different artistic styles appeared during the Ptolemaic period: the first included royal sculptures of so-called ‘Hellenistic mixed style’, which combined some Greek features with the standard Egyptian format—this was adopted by Greek sculptors in Alexandria. The second style includes portraits that were executed in a traditional Egyptian manner, without any classical elements.5 Most of the royal sculptures of the Ptolemaic rulers in the mid-third century bc typically carried on the depiction of Egyptian features in a manner deriving from the style of royal artists during the Thirtieth Dynasty.6 This combination of Egyptian and Greek elements continued until the end of the Ptolemaic period. The archaeological evidence, in particularly sculptural statues from early Roman Egypt, suggests that the Egyptian elite in Alexandria or Metropolis maintained the old Egyptian stylistic traditions, especially the technique of representing frontal standing figures with left leg set forward, interspersed with Greek artistic elements.7 The distinctive political conditions during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods led to the emergence of profound developments in the ethnic structure of Egyptian society. A large number of groups co-existed in Egypt during these periods, including Macedonians, Greeks, Jews, Thracians and Phoenicians, alongside indigenous Egyptians. The issue of ethnicity in Ptolemaic Egypt is very problematic, due to difficulties in determining the boundaries between social categories. Ethnic identity during this period in Egypt was dependent on a variety of aspects of social life, such as religion and languages. For instance, the population of Alexandria, whether ethnically Greek or Egyptian, all appear to have worshipped the god Serapis without apparent discrimination,8 although Claire Préaux argues that the creation of Serapis represented Ptolemaic government policy that favoured the Greeks and slighted the Egyptians.9 Koen Goudriaan, on other hand, assumes that ethnicity is not biological but socially determined, generally arising from cultural features, and not necessarily connected with political issues or religious aspects, thus making it difficult to distinguish clearly between ethnicity and cultural variations.10 It is important to note that many cultural differences and labels are not linked to ethnic origins, and equally it is clear that individuals frequently held both Greek and Egyptian identities simultaneously.11 Documents from the Fayoum Nome indicate that some Egyptians held Roman ranks according to Roman law, as in the case of the Egyptian soldiers who received the Roman citizenship after finishing their military service.12 It seems that ethnic labels during the Roman period deriving from cultural or religious features may indicate that individuals are Egyptian, Greek or Roman. The so-called ‘mummy portraits’ of the elite in the Fayoum were made in a ‘Greco-Egyptian’ style with Greek clothing and sometimes Roman hairstyles, but buried in standard Egyptian contexts.13

3  Bianchi 1991: 1–2. 6  Smith 1988: 6. 9  Préaux 1978: 650. 12  Bagnall 2004: 20.

4  Josephson 1997: 41. 5  Stanwick 1999: 1. 7  Lembke 1998: 291–2. 8  Goudriaan 1992: 76. 10  Goudriaan 1992: 94–5. 11 Lewis 1986. 13  Vadorpe 2012: 269.

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746   Khaled Essam Ismail The Greek language became the official language of state during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, although probably most of the population continued to speak the Egyptian language. The introduction of Greek language is reflected in the so called ‘diglossia’ or bilingual texts, which comprise the same information written both in Greek and Egyptian languages. Many documents bearing texts written in demotic and Greek scripts on one single writing surface have been found in Egypt (see Chapters 56 and 60 for discussion of types of demotic and Greek texts). Bilingual documents are frequently used in a variety of forms, such as official decrees and social texts, during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods.14 The recognition of Christianity in Egypt under the reign of the Emperor Constantine (ad  306–337) led to sweeping changes in the late Roman period. The Coptic Church became more powerful, with subsequent effects on Egyptian society. Christians had to give their sons and daughters new names extremely different to the pagan names of the early Roman period. Early Coptic documents indicate that the Christian inhabitants of Egypt had begun to use various Christian cultural symbols to express and distinguish their new identity.15

Art and material culture in the Ptolemaic period As indicated above, Egyptian art during Ptolemaic and Roman times was influenced by both Greek and Egyptian cultural concepts. This artistic interaction mainly appears in the official royal portraiture of the Ptolemaic kings. The Egyptian-style portraits of the first Ptolemies are typically treated like Egyptian portraits of the Thirtieth Dynasty (380–343 bc). The fleshy faces, full lips, closely set eyes, distinctively shaped eyebrows, large noses and wide, continually smiling mouths are all prevalent features, mainly deriving from portraits of Nectanebo I and II.16 Paul Stanwick’s catalogue of Ptolemaic royal sculpture includes several examples illustrating this interactive style, such as the well-preserved statues of Ptolemy II and his wife Arsinoe II in the Vatican museum;17 in these instances it is clear that the Egyptian style, particularly in their facial features, closely parallel a statue of Nectanebo I from Hermopolis Magna. Another statue that might be mentioned as an influential example is a granite head of the same king, now in the Louvre, which has many similarities with statues of Ptolemy II.18 Bernard von Bothmer has pointed out that there is also intense interaction between Egyptian and Greek traditions on non-royal statues dating back to the late Ptolemaic period. The portraits of the chief-priests and other members of the elite show innovative styles emerging during the second and first centuries bc. The execution of hairstyle and costumes became more Hellenistic than before, while the features of faces kept some trad­ ition­al Egyptian style in terms of the treatment of oval eyes and semi-circular eyebrows familiar from earlier Egyptian sculpture.19 With regard to the ‘mixing’ of artistic traditions, 14  Depauw 2009: 114. 15  Bagnall 1982: 107. 16  Josephson 1997: 43. 17  Stanwick 2002: pl III, figs 5–6. 18  Stanwick 2002: 66, figs 2–5 [A3–A4]. 19  Bothmer 1996: 225.

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The Ptolemaic and Roman periods   747 Sally-Ann Ashton points out, however, that ‘There are no indications that Greek sculptors attempted to incorporate Egyptian attributes or style into their repertoire, and it is this hesitation to embrace the Egyptian traditions that highlights a fundamental discrepancy between the Hellenistic and Roman periods. The Egyptian artists, on the other hand, were keen to embrace foreign attributes’.20 It seems that the Ptolemaic rulers set in place a rather complicated process of borrowing of some specific Greek or Egyptian elements to allow the representation to be comprehensible to both Greeks and Egyptian. As Ashton argues that the Ptolemaic royal statues were effectively ‘bilingual’, in that ‘the necessary elements were there for Greeks to recognize their ruler and for Egyptians to identify the statue as a representation of their king’.21 Other objects also illustrate the cultural interconnections between Egyptian and Greek traditions, including terracotta figurines, bronze statuettes and faience objects. Local workshops in Egypt specialized in producing terracotta types related to Greco-Egyptian syncretic religious cults that had been incorporated into the religious lives of Egyptian and Greeks, such as Serapis, Hathor-Aphrodite, Isis-Demeter, Thoth-Hermes, and AthenaNeith and so on. The iconography of the god Harpocrates in Egyptian form accompanied by some Greek features was used in terracottas, particularly taking the form of the cippus, a kind of stele on which the child-god was portrayed holding snakes and standing on a ­crocodile in order to invoke healing powers.22 Laszlo Török has discussed some other pieces that express this fusion of Hellenistic and Egyptian culture in the early Ptolemaic period, e.g. a much-admired terracotta figure depicting a Nubian woman dressed in an Egyptian costume similar to that of the Egyptian Isis priestesses, but adapted to a Greek style, dating to the second century bc. Another example depicts an Egyptian priest playing an aulos in a style dating to the late third century bc or probably beginning of the second century bc. These types of artistic icon­og­raphy suggest some characteristics of the development of Hellenistic intellectual cre­ativ­ity in Egypt during the early Ptolemaic period.23

Ptolemaic and Roman religion and temples The continued elaboration and decoration of the Egyptian temples in Upper Egypt under Ptolemaic and Roman rule is characterized by a boom in activity hardly attested before.24 A  number of aspects of Egyptian temple-building were initiated from the beginning of the Ptolemaic period and continued under the Roman emperors until the beginning of the fourth century ad, and these developments were exemplified by the temples of Esna, Edfu, Dendera, Kom Ombo, and Philae.25 The well-preserved reliefs on the temples embodied native Egyptian traditions in terms of the continuing Egyptian style of decorations and the patterns of writing of texts on the walls. This accuracy and high quality of decoration leads Erhart Graefe to believe that the Egyptian texts that were written on the walls of temples of 20  Ashton 2010: 977–8; see also Ashton 2001: 25–8. 21  Ashton 2010: 978. 22  Bailey 2008: 2. 23  Török 1995: 22. 24  Finnestad 1997: 185–6; also, Chauveau 2000: 102–4. 25  Arnold 1999; Hölbl 2001: 85–90.

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748   Khaled Essam Ismail the Ptolemaic and Roman period are not too far removed from the religious precepts of the early Pyramid Texts, several millennia earlier.26 Although the temples are generally dom­in­ ated by Egyptian traditions, we can identify certain Greek additions and symbolism. The representation of the zodiac in Greek style is exemplified by a unique scene executed in the Dendera temple. This rare scene at Dendera reflects the complex integration of Greek and Egyptian cultures in the Egyptian temples of Upper Egypt.27 It seems increasingly that these texts and decorative scenes of these temples need to be much more deeply studied and analysed so as to gain better understand of Egyptian culture and religion during this period, as in the case of Eleni Vassilika’s pioneering deconstruction of the grammaire du temple of Ptolemaic Philae (Vassilika 1989).

The priesthood in the Ptolemaic period, and the importance of Memphis With regard to the critical issue of the position of the Egyptian priesthood during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, we should first mention the so-called Raphia stele as a remarkable piece of evidence that sheds light on the development of the relationship between the Ptolemaic authorities and the power of temple and priests. After Ptolemy IV Philopator’s victory at the Syro-Palestinian city of Raphia, on 22 June 217 bc, the priesthood became highly influential within the political and social aspects during the Ptolemaic period. It appears that the power of the Ptolemaic rulers became slightly reduced compared with the influence of the priesthood. Ptolemy IV in particular was forced to improve the political relationship between the Ptolemaic authorities and the priesthood; he flattered the chief-priests, in line with the previous policies of Egyptian pharaohs, in an attempt to reduce the power of temples and priests. The images on the Raphia decree (which has survived in fragments found at Memphis, Tell el-Maskhuta and el-Tod) include a unique scene in which the equestrian king, crowned by the double crowns, wearing military clothes and holding a lance in his hands, compares his own success with the mythical victory of the Egyptian god Horus, who protected his father and overcame his divine counterpart Seth. It seems that the key point of the priesthood issuing the Raphia stela was to honour Ptolemy IV’s victory in Syria-Palestine, and to legitimize his regime in Egypt.28 A set of demotic papyri from Memphis indicate a close relationship between the Ptolemaic kings and the Egyptian priests of the god Ptah in the city during the early Ptolemaic period. The chief-priest of god Ptah served as a scribe in the popular posthumous royal cult of the queen Arsinoe II, whereby she was worshipped together with the god Ptah in the latter’s main temple of at Memphis (and throughout Egypt, her cult statue was placed beside that of the local deity). It is also notable, however, that, in 44–43 bc, Tnepheros, holder of the title ‘sistrum-player of Ptah’ and wife of the chief-priest of Ptah, Psenamun I, was designated as a wife of Ptah, a divine relationship that may have derived from the

26  Graefe 1991: 130. 27  Minas-Nerpel 2012: 375. 28  Thissen 1966; Hölbl 2001: 163.

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The Ptolemaic and Roman periods   749 well-known New Kingdom office of ‘god’s wife of Amun’ at Thebes.29 Even more intriguingly, Psenamun II (Psenamun I’s cousin), who was the last chief-priest of Ptah at Memphis, took on the additional title of ‘Prophet of Caesar’ in 28–27 bc, evidently as part of the process of inaugurating the divine cult of the emperor Augustus, at the beginning of the Roman ­period.30 Some problematic issues with the priesthood can be observed in Ptolemaic sources that mention a number of chief-priest’s families using marriage alliances to form elite groups among families in Memphis. Some demotic stelae provide us with information concerning the ethnicity of the Ptolemaic priesthood; some of the texts include double names for the priests: one in and Egyptian form and other Greek. These forms are rare in Ptolemaic documents generally, but relatively common texts relating to the administration of the priesthood. Some Ptolemaic documents, on the other hand, refer to priests holding double names that are both Egyptian. This latter phenomenon was found among priestly families in Letopolis, in keeping with the Memphite style. In some cases, the priests in Memphis had names that included royal Egyptian titles and names, making them quite distinctive from the rest of the local inhabitants—this suggests that the power of priesthood in Egypt at this date was particularly strong in Memphis.31

Hellenistic and Roman cults in Egypt The arrival of Alexander the Great in 332 bc led to the introduction of different aspects of Hellenistic cults into Egypt. The new cult of Serapis was created under Ptolemy I, becoming the principal deity worshipped at Alexandria, and having great significance in the civil life of the community during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods. Nevertheless, thanks to a policy of religious tolerance pursued by the Ptolemaic and Roman rulers, with regard to the whole spectrum of members of society, many ancient Egyptian traditions were preserved during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods. It was perhaps an inherent flexibility of Egyptian religion that permitted it to absorb the new Hellenistic cults, often involving syncretism between Egyptian and Greek deities, both of which could be worshipped, side by side, particularly in the metropolitan contexts (although Greek cults were often mediated to a greater extent by private individuals rather than by professional priests, as was usually the case with traditional Egyptian religion). Many shrines both in the towns and chora (countryside) were dedicated to Egyptian, Greek and Greco-Egyptian gods and goddesses, such as Isis, Thoth, Sobek, Thoeris (Taweret), Zeus, the Dioscuri, and Aphrodite.32 Greek papyri from Oxyrhynchus, in Middle Egypt indicate that the city was a major centre for a wide variety of cult-centres of gods and goddesses (some very local and others with much wider geographical impact), attracting pilgrims and worshippers from all over Egypt.33 There were three temples in Oxyrynchus, dedicated to the cults of Isis-Hera, Zeus-Amun, and the Syrian god, Atargatis. In addition, there were temples dedicated to the Egyptian deities Osiris, Isis and Taweret; a ‘Serapeum’ 29  Quaegebeur 1980: 80. For Tnepheros’s funerary stele (BM EA184), see Maystre 1992: 428–30. 30  Peremans and Van’t Dack 1981: 5843b; Hölbl 2001: 310. 31  Thompson 1990: 102–3. 32  Bowman 1986: 171. 33  Whitehorne 1995: 3056.

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750   Khaled Essam Ismail for the worship of the syncretic deity Serapis, and also shrines of Greek deities (including Demeter, Kore (Persephone), Dionysus, Hermes and Agathos Daimon) and the Roman gods Mars and Jupiter Capitolinus. After the Roman conquest of Egypt in 30 bc, Augustus created a new Roman cult in Egypt under the umbrella of the imperial cult, thus giving himself legitimacy as ruler of Egypt; in some contexts (e.g. the temple at Philae), he identified himself with Zeus Eleutherios, the ‘father of all gods and men who brought freedom to humanity’. On the other hand, Augustus was also equated with the god Horus in Egyptian temples, in keeping with the practices of earlier, indigenous pharaohs. Both archaeological evidence and clas­ sic­al textual sources demonstrate the widespread practice of the imperial cult, and some imperial temples (known as sebasteia or caesarea) were built in the early Roman period in Egypt. Philo of Alexandria mentions the largest imperial temple in Egypt, founded in Alexandria, close to the royal Ptolemaic district. Other two imperial temples are also well known in Egypt, one located on the island of Philae and another forming part of the Karnak temple complex.34

Christianity The emergence of Christianity in Roman Egypt can be dated to the middle of the first century ad, although ‘pagan’ religion survived in Egypt for several more centuries, until Constantine I (ad 306–337) recognized Christianity as the official religion of the empire. A number of Egyptian temples and Roman camps during this period were transformed into churches and Coptic monasteries. The walls and reliefs of the temples were covered by Coptic symbols such as crosses, demonstrating the victory of the new religion.35 A diverse range of textual and archaeological evidence survives concerning monasteries and monks during the late Roman and early Byzantine periods in Egypt, when many churches were founded in Alexandria and also in provincial towns. Although Alexandria was clearly established as the centre of Egyptian Christianity and its clergy, many bishops nevertheless had constructed Coptic churches all over Egypt by the mid-sixth century ad. During this time, the Patriarch in Alexandria was established as the head of the church, with Coptic institutions in the rest of Egypt being under the authority of local bishops and abbots. The administration of organized monastic communities clearly dominated early Christianity from the end of the fourth century to the middle of the sixth century ad.36 Numerous texts indicate that such holy men as Shenute, Makarios, and ‘Moses of Abydos’ in Upper Egypt played a key role in the religious struggle to establish Christianity as the pre-eminent faith, simultaneously using their charisma to oust the old pagan cults, while also shrewdly absorbing and transmuting certain popular aspects of the pre-Christian religion and magic.37 As Frankfurter points out, ‘Christianity, like any ideal great tradition, was only be realized in cultures through the appropriation of its idioms . . . After the initial

34  Pfeiffer 2012: 85–90. 36  Frankfurter 1998: 277–8.

35  Bowman 1986: 192. 37  Frankfurter 1998: 273–7.

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The Ptolemaic and Roman periods   751 violence, after the shift in mapping demonic powers, Christianity settled back to function as an idiom for supernatural authority’.38

Egypt’s place in the Roman Empire In 30 bc, Augustus issued a commemorative coin in Rome, bearing the legend ‘Aegypto Capta’ (and representing a crocodile as a symbol of the Egyptian land), which thus ­explicitly states that the emperor had officially annexed Egypt as a Roman province, and ended the Ptolemaic domination of Egypt. Augustus then carried out comprehensive processes of political and economic change in Egypt, apparently initially treating it as a special imperial province, although there are now few scholars who continue to regard Egypt as ‘special case’ throughout the rest of the Roman period; as Livia Capponi points out, ‘numerous studies have shown beyond doubt that Egypt was not an atypical province (as there was no typical province), nor a personal possession of the emperor, but a Hellenistic kingdom that was turned into a Roman province, governed by Roman officials’.39 Among his strict political and economic procedures was the complete ban on members of the Senate and prominent equites from visiting Egypt without his personal permission. He also established a new economic system by issuing so-called Alexandrian coins that could not be used for payments outside Egypt in order to strengthen the Egyptian economy. As part of the strict policy imposed by the Roman authorities to secure control of Egypt during the early Roman period, a number of garrisons and auxiliary troops were placed both on the Egyptian borders and inside major towns such as Alexandria, Thebes and Aswan under the leadership of a governor known as the praefectus Aegypti.40 By 23 bc, the Roman garrisons in Egypt had been reduced to three legions only, one stationed in the west of Alexandria to secure the western borders of the city, and the other two located in Babylon (old Cairo) and on the southern border, at Thebes.41 Hadrian, who made a tour of Egypt in ad 130–1, was the Roman emperor who left some of the most significant material contributions to Egypt. He built the new city of Antinoopolis in honour of his companion the young Antinoos, who drowned in the Nile during the imperial journey to Upper Egypt. Several excavations were conducted in Antinoopolis in the late twentieth century; a French mission, directed by Albert Gayet excavated numerous graves dating back to the third and fourth centuries ad. Since 2000 Rosario Pindauti has worked at the site, concentrating on the Roman necropolis in the northern part of ancient city, which have yielded many finds, including pottery vessels, terracotta figurines, lamps, Roman coins, and some fragments of papyri, indicating the city’s importance during the second century ad.42 By the middle of first century ad many aspects of Egyptian culture and religious cults (especially those of Serapis, Isis, and Harpocrates) were transferring to the Roman world, and this is particularly notable from the reign of Domitian (ad 81–96) onwards. The goddess 38  Frankfurter 1998: 283–4. 39  Capponi 2010: 183. See also Rathbone 1993. 40  See Geraci 1995 for discussion of the title and administrative role of the praefectus. 41  Speidel 1982: 120–1. 42  Pintaudi 2008: 539–40.

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752   Khaled Essam Ismail Isis gained an important place in the Roman pantheon, and was associated with Roman goddesses who had similar connotations, such as Venus and Fortuna. Throughout Italy, a variety of Egyptian sanctuaries dedicated to Isis were created,43 the most important such temple being located on the Capitoline hill in Rome. The earliest known temple of Isis in Italy was the one in Pompeii, which was established at some time in the first century ad, destroyed by a massive earthquake in 62ad, and rebuilt by Domitian, as part of his plan to restore all Egyptian temples in Italy.44 Egyptian art was also widely disseminated through Italy, particularly in the form of portraits of Egyptian deities. The Hellenized iconography of goddess Isis typically included a headdress combining sun-disc with two ears of corn or cow horns, as well as a long himation knotted at her breast, while she held such accoutrements as the sistrum or a horn of plenty (cornucopia). It is also not uncommon to see embodiments of the Nile river in the form of an old man with naked corpulent torso, referring to the fertility of Egypt as one of the most important provinces, providing grain for Rome and its people. It seems that the admiration of Roman artists for the natural environment of Egypt was also expressed such surviving works as the Palestrina mosaic and the ‘mosaic of the Nile’ in Rome.45 After Hadrian’s journey through Egypt, he founded a new villa in Tivoli (an area equivalent in location to the Eleusis/Canopus region to the east of Alexandria), decorating it with a var­ iety of statues of Egyptian deities.46 Septimius Severus (ad 193–211), like Hadrian, visited Egypt inad 199/200; his interest in Egyptian cults led him to subsequently represent ­himself as the Alexandrian god Serapis, but there is also evidence for this emperor bringing in economic reforms in Egypt aimed at devolving government to town councils (bouleutai) with responsibility for local taxation, and also with control over temple revenues, which appears to have led to significant decline and even abandonment of some Egyptian cult centres.47

The administration of Roman Egypt From the very beginning, during the reign of Augustus, the internal administration of Egypt began to be significantly reorganized. Some Ptolemaic administrative posts were retained, but now, as noted above, the most important senior governmental post was the governor or ‘prefect’ (praefectus), who was appointed by the emperor and served for three to four years. The prefect was responsible for controlling Egypt from Alexandria and acting on behalf of the emperor in dealing with the state’s legal affairs, as well as acting as commander of the army. The Romans retained the Ptolemaic title of idios logos with some slight changes, making the duties close to those of the patrimonial procurator post.48 The idios logos played an important role in organizing the relationship between the Egyptian temples and the state, maintained control over all property confiscated as penalties.49 One of the new posts introduced by the Romans was the dioiketes, who was responsible for organizing 43  Witt 1971: 70. 44  Versluys 2002: 10–11. 45  Lembke et al. 2004: 32–3. 46 Aurigemma 1961. 47  Bowman 1971; Bagnall 1988: 286–8. 48  Riccobono 1950; Swarney 1970. 49  Swarney 1970: 141.

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The Ptolemaic and Roman periods   753 financial resources and supervising the government’s lands and taxation. The post of dikaiodotes (Latin: iuridicus) was mainly created in Egypt to dealing with the critical social and civil issues according to the roman civil law.50 Both the dioiketes and dikaiodotes served as deputies to the prefect. Some other administrative posts with a military flavour were introduced in Egypt during the Roman period but originally had roots in the Ptolemaic period; this was the case with the epistrategoi and strategoi, who were appointed by the prefect (or by the emperor himself) to take charge of the nomes, or regions. According to Roman rules, these two posts should be drawn from the ranks of equestrian appointments or staff of freedmen. At the beginning of the Roman period two epistrategoi were appointed by Augustus in ad 11, one for Lower Egypt (the Delta) and the other for Upper Egypt (Heptanomia), but at some point the number of epistrategoi rose to three of four as a result of administrative changes to the provincial system. These epistrategoi were mainly responsible for controlling large areas comprising several districts and towns, such as the Theban region in Upper Egypt.51 The strategoi were appointed to assist the epistrategoi in controlling the nomes or cities, but they did not hold any military power. The strategos had authority to appoint local officers such as the basilikos grammateus (royal scribe), who could in some instances replace the strategos if necessary.52 One aspect of the strategos post that was maintained from the late Ptolemaic Period through to the Roman period was the tendency to appoint individuals who either had mixed Greek and Egyptian ancestry or came from elite, Hellenized families.53

Ptolemaic and Roman archaeology in Egypt Fieldwork focusing on Ptolemaic and Roman sites (or even strata within sites) has been much neglected until recently. During the last thirty years, however, a number of Egyptian and European missions have begun to place more emphasis on Ptolemaic and Roman ma­ter­ial, such as the Polish-Egyptian team that excavated the site of Athribis (Tell Atrib) in 1985–95, uncovering one of the largest Ptolemaic settlements in the Delta.54 Perhaps the most important monument excavated at Tell Atrib was the large Ptolemaic bath-house that continued in use up to the early Roman period.55 Between 2006 and 2016, extensive excavations were undertaken by the Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities in front of the Karnak temple complex, revealing two large public baths dating to Ptolemaic and Roman times.56 The majority of work on Ptolemaic and Roman settlements has taken place in Alexandria, Athribis, Naukratis, Ptolemais Hermiou (el-Mansha), and Antinoopolis.

50  Bowman & Rathbone 1992: 110. 51  Thomas 1982: 15. 52  Bowman & Rathbone 1992: 111; Kruse 2002. 54  Mysliwiec 1992: 394. 55  Mysliwiec 1995: 206. 56  Boraik 2013: 47; Fournet and Masekh 2017: 246.

53 Coulon 2001.

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Alexandria Alexandria was founded by Alexander the Great in 332 bc on the remains of the small Egyptian village called Rhakotis, and gradually became one of the most important cities in the Hellenistic world. Diodorus Siculus described it as ‘the first city of the civilized world’, referring to its high prestige, particularly under the first three Ptolemaic kings.57 Due to the dense concentration of relatively modern urban construction in Alexandria, the ancient topographical characteristics of the city have proved very difficult to unravel, leading some scholars to rely heavily on ancient textual descriptions of the city. This situation has been alleviated, however, to some extent by the extensive work of the Centre d’Études Alexandrines (CEA; established by the French archaeologist Jean-Yves Empereur in 1990) at sites such as the Caesareum, a temple dating from at least the reign of Cleopatra VII (51–30 bc) onwards.58 The foundation of the Greco-Roman Museum in 1892 is regarded as a turning point in the history of Alexandria. Most of the excavations conducted in city and its environs during the first half of the twentieth century were under the supervision of three successive Italian directors of the museum (Giuseppe Botti, Evaristo Breccia, and Achille Adriani), providing crucial data concerning the city and its necropolis.59 Adriani and Botti’s excavations were conducted in the west of the ancient city, which includes the main necropolis of the ancient city.60 A number of cemeteries were explored, including Kom el-Shugafa,61 Anfoushi,62 Mustafa Kamel,63 and el-Gabbari (several remarkable objects from the latter now displayed in the Greco-Roman Museum).64 In the early 1990s, Empereur directed a variety of excavations across the modern city, on behalf of the CEA, focusing particularly in the central urban area and in the ancient eastern harbour, as well as continuing the earlier excavations at the el-Gabbari cemetery, where new data have emerged on the continuation of Egyptian funerary practices during the second and third centuries bc.65 In July 1996, the CEA, in cooperation with the Egyptian Supreme Council for Antiquities, and with the participation of twelve French divers, conducted underwater archaeology for more than four months in the eastern harbour (Portus Magnus). They discovered numerous architectural and sculptural remains from a part of Alexandria that had disappeared beneath the Mediterranean, such columns, capitals, lintels and fragments of colossal statues.66 These finds included four Egyptian sphinxes, the head of a royal Ptolemaic statue wearing the Egyptian nemes-headdress, and a standing statue of a priest of Isis holding a canopic jar.67 Although the excavations in Alexandria indicate the importance of Alexandrian art during the Hellenistic period, there has been some debate regarding the existence of a specific local artistic school/style in Alexandria, like those in other Hellenistic centres such as Rhodes and Pergamon. In the late nineteenth century, Theodor Schreiber argued vehemently that Alexandria was the focus for a flourishing local artistic school based on cosmopolitanism 57  Austin 2006: 33. 58  See, for instance, Empereur 2017. 59  Empereur 1998: 25. 60 Venit 2002. 61  Rowe 1942; and for an intriguing recent cultural heritage approach to the Kom el-Shuqafa necropolis, see Malek Ali et al. 2016. 62 Adriani 1940–50. 63 Adriani 1936. 64  Botti 1991: 87. 65  Empereur 1998: 28–9; Empereur and Nenna 2003. 66  Goddio 1998: 8–9. 67  Kiss 1998: 173.

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The Ptolemaic and Roman periods   755 and utilizing the skills and techniques of both Egyptian and Greek artists. He also described the Alexandria school of art as a universal style that could accommodate different types of techniques and subjects.68 In the first half of the twentieth century both Frederik Poulsen69 and Ibrahim Noshy70 supported Schreiber’s views, arguing that the Alexandrian style had characteristic features that exerted influence on art-forms elsewhere in the Hellenistic and Roman world, e.g. Roman republican ‘veristic’ portraits and styles of Pompeian painting. Many of the issues surrounding this debate concerning the status of Alexandria as a distinctive centre of artistic production are discussed in the publication of a symposium on ‘Alexandria and Alexandrianism’ held at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Malibu in 1993.71

Naukratis Naukratis (modern Kom Gi’eif) was the first Greek colony in Egypt, located on the Canopic branch of the Nile, southeast of Alexandria. According to Herodotus, the site was given to the Greeks by Amasis II (570–526 bc), along with a monopoly on seaborne trade to Egypt, although it is more likely that Amasis simply reorganized an existing settlement of foreigners, giving them new trading privileges. It is clear from such finds as Corinthian ‘transitional’ pottery, that the Greek settlement at the site dates back at least to c.630 bc, the time of Psamtek I. The levy on trade was directed to the temple of Neith at nearby Sais. The earliest excavations at Naukratis were conducted by Flinders Petrie and E.A. Gardner from 1884 to 1903. A large Greco-Egyptian temple (the so-called ‘Great Temenos’, as described by Herodotus) was uncovered, as well as remains of some Greek temples dedicated to Greek deities, including Aphrodite, Apollo Apollon and the Dioscuri.72 In the 1970s, fieldwork by William Coulson focused on the southern part of the ancient city, but was impeded by the high level of groundwater, which made work very difficult.73 Since 2015, however, fieldwork at the site has resumed, under the direction of Alexandra Villing and Thomas Ross, on behalf of the British Museum, continuing Petrie’s work in the northeastern part of the site, and revealing two workshops for terracotta figurines dating to the third and second centuries bc, as well as other workshops of Roman and Byzantine date.74 Finds include large numbers of terracotta figurines, pottery lamps, models, and seals of Late Period and Ptolemaic date. Many imported vessels and amphorae produced in regions of Greece and Italy, from the beginning of the fourth century bc to the end of the Ptolemaic period, clearly indicate that the city was an important harbour-city in Egypt for the import of goods from Mediterranean countries until the early Roman period.75

Memphis Memphis appears to have been the second city after Alexandria during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods in terms of population size, and during the reign of Ptolemy V Epiphanes (205–180 bc) it temporarily replaced Alexandria as capital. Many temples were founded in 68  Schreiber 1885: 380–400. 69  Poulsen 1939: 51. 70  Noshy 1937: 83–97. 71  True and Hamma 1996. 72  Petrie & Gardner 1886: 24. 73  Coulson 1979: 154. 74  Ross 2015: 3. 75  Villing 2015: 8–9.

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756   Khaled Essam Ismail the city in the post-pharaonic period, in honour of both Greek and Greco-Egyptian deities, particularly the temples of Ptah-Hephaistos and Aphrodite were among the most important structures in the ancient city. Petrie excavated some remarkable Ptolemaic and Roman objects from the site, such as the mask of a Greek satyr and glazed figures in Egyptian style, as well as large numbers of terracotta figurines and pottery lamps.76 Dorothy Thompson’s wide-ranging 1988 publication on the city gives a strong sense of social, economic and religious practices at the site, on the basis of a combination of texts and archaeology.77

Conclusions and future research directions This chapter has attempted to address a number of critical points concerning the history and culture of Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt, but it clearly cannot cover all of the sources and cultural aspects of these periods. More detailed discussion of the languages and texts (hiero­ glyph­ic, demotic, Greek and Latin) can be found elsewhere in the Handbook (primarily in Chapters 56, 59, and 60), and these philological, literary and archival areas of study continue to be important research themes that will continue to expand. In particular, it may be expected that further links can be made between texts and archaeological evidence that will be beneficial in terms of interpreting the cultural contexts of Ptolemaic and Roman objects and developing deeper understandings of social history during these periods. One significant aspect of the religious and cultural concepts of Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt that has arguably been neglected is the practising of ‘individual cults’. A few researchers have dealt with this kind of complex topic, one example being Olaf Kaper’s study of the god Tutu.78 On the archaeological front, on the other hand, potential new directions for studies of Roman Egypt are suggested by recent excavations at the ancient city of Trimithis (modern Amheida) in the Dakhla Oasis, allowing such broader issues as economic growth in antiquity and diachronic change in Hellenistic and Roman cities to be studied more effectively, using Trimithis as a rich archaeological case-study.79

Suggested reading Detailed overviews of the history of Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt are given by Bagnall 2004 and Bowman 1986, 1996. The political, social and economic aspects of the two periods are discussed in Hölbl 2001, Manning 2012 and Monson 2012. The special position of Egypt and its relationship with Roman Empire is discussed by Grenier 1995 and Lembke 2004. The  administration of Roman Egypt is covered by Swarney  1970, Brunt  1975, and Thomas  1982. The interaction of Egyptian, Greek, and Roman styles of art during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods (particularly royal sculptures) have been the focus of many 76  Petrie 1909: 14. 78 Kaper 2003.

77 Thompson 1988. 79  Bagnall et al. 2015.

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The Ptolemaic and Roman periods   757 studies, exhibitions, and catalogues, such as Bothmer 1960, Smith 1988, Stanwick 1999, 2002, and Ashton 2001. Terracotta figurines in Egypt during the Ptolemaic and Roman period have been catalogued and discussed by Dunand  1990, Fischer  1994, and Bailey  2008. Hellenistic cults, and religion during the Ptolemaic and Roman periods are discussed by Bell 1954, Quaegebeur 1983, Dunand 1984, and Frankfurter 1998. Thompson 1990 provides the best discussion of chief-priests in the Ptolemaic period.

Bibliography Adriani, A. 1936. La nécropole de Mustafa Pacha. Annuaire du Musée gréco-romain, Alexandrie 2. Alexandria: Greco-Roman Museum. Adriani, A. 1940–50. Nécropoles de l’île de Pharos: B/Section d’Anfouchy. Annuaire du Musée grécoromain, Alexandrie 4. Alexandria: Greco-Roman Museum. Arnold, D. 1999. Temples of the Last Pharaohs. New York: Oxford University Press. Ashton, S.A. 2001. Ptolemaic Royal Sculpture from Egypt: The Interaction between Greek and Egyptian Traditions. Oxford: British Archaeological Reports. Ashton, S.-A. 2005. Ptolemaic Royal Sculpture: A Review of P.E. Stanwick: Portraits of the Ptolemies: Greek Kings as Egyptian Pharaohs, Journal of Roman Archaeology 17: 543–50. Ashton, S.-A. 2010. Ptolemaic and Romano-Egyptian Sculpture. In A. Lloyd (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Egypt. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 970–89. Aurigemma, S. 1961. Villa Adriana. Rome: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato. Austin, M. 2006. The Hellenistic World from Alexander to the Roman Conquest. A Selection of Ancient Sources in Translation. Second Edition. London: Cambridge University Press. Bagnall, R.S. 1982. Religious Conversion and Onomastic Change, Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 19: 105–24. Bagnall, R.S. 1988. Combat ou vide: christianisme et paganism dans l’Égypte romaine tardive. Ktema 13: 285–96. Bagnall, R. S. 2004. Egypt from Alexander to the Copts: An Archaeological and Historical Guide. London: British Museum Press. Bagnall, R.S. et al. 2015. An Oasis City. New York: NYU Press. Bailey, D. 2008. Catalogue of the Terracottas in the British Museum: Ptolemaic and Roman Terracottas from Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Bell, I. 1954. Cults and Creeds in Greco-Roman Egypt. Being the Forwood Lectures for 1952. Liverpool: University Press of Liverpool. Bianchi, R.S. 1991. Graeco-Roman Uses and Abuses of Ramesside Traditions. In E.  Bleiberg and R. Freed (eds), Fragments of a Shattered Vis­age: The Pro­­ceedings of the International Symposium of Ramesses the Great. Memphis: Memphis State University, 1–8. Bieber, M. 1949. The Portraits of Alexander the Great, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 93/5: 373–427. Bieber, M. 1961. The Sculpture of the Hellenistic Age. 2nd rev. edn. New York: Columbia University Press. Boraik, M. 2013. Ptolemaic Baths in Front of Karnak Temples. Recent Discovery (season 2009–10). Cahiers de Karnak 14: 33–46. Bothmer, B.V. 1960. Egyptian Sculpture of the Late Period 700 bc to ad 100. New York: Brooklyn ­Museum. Bothmer, B.V. 1996. Hellenistic Elements in the Sculpture of the Ptolemaic Period. In M. True and K. Hamma (eds), Alexandria and Alexandrianism. Malibu: The J. Paul Getty Museum, 215–29. Botti, G. 1901. Catalogue des Monuments exposés au Musée Gréco-Romain d’Alexandrie, Alexandria: Imprimerie Générale. Bowman, A. 1971. The Town Councils of Roman Egypt. Toronto: Hakkert.

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758   Khaled Essam Ismail Bowman, A. 1986. Egypt after the Pharaohs, London: British Museum Press. Bowman, A.K. and Rathbone, D. 1992. Cities and Administration in Roman Egypt. Journal of Roman Studies 82: 107–27. Bowman, A. 1996. Egypt after the Pharaohs, 2nd rev. ed. London: British Museum Press. Brunt, P.A. 1975. The Administration of Roman Egypt, Journal of Roman Studies 65: 124–47. Capponi, L. 2010. The Roman Period. In A. Lloyd (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Egypt I. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 180–98. Chauveau, M. 2000. Egypt in the Age of Cleopatra: History and Society under the Ptolemies. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Coulon, L. 2001. Quand Amon parle à Platon (la statue Caire JE38033). Revue d’Égyptologie 52: 85–125. Coulson, W.D.E. 1979. A Preliminary Survey of the Naukratis Region in the Western Nile Delta, Journal of Field Archaeology 6/2: 151–68. Depauw, M. 2009. Bilingual Greek-Demotic Documentary Papyri and Hellenization in Ptolemaic Egypt. In P. Van Nuffelen (ed.), Faces of Hellenism. Studies in the History of the Eastern Mediterranean (4th centuty B.C.–5th Century A.D.). Leuven: Peeters, 113–31. Dunand, F. 1984. Religion populaire et iconographie en Égypte hellénistique et romaine. In H.G. Kippenberg (ed.), Visible Religion : Annual for Religious Iconography 3. Leiden: Brill, 18–42. Dunand, F. 1990. Catalogue des terres cuites gréco-romaines d’Egypte. Paris: Musée du Louvre. Empereur, J.-Y. 1998. Alexandrina 1. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Empereur, J.-Y. (ed.) 2017. Alexandrie, Césaréum. Les fouilles du cinéma Majestic. Alexandria: Centre d’Études Alexandrines. Empereur, J.-Y. and Nenna, M.-D. (eds) 2003. Necropolis 2. Alexandria: Centre d’Études Alexandrines. Finnestad, R.B. 1997. Temples of the Ptolemaic and Roman Periods: Ancient Traditions in New Contexts. In B.E. Shafer (ed.), Temples of Ancient Egypt. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 185–237. Fischer, J. 1994. Griechische-Römische Terrakottem aus Ägypten. Berlin: Ernst Wasmuth Verlag Tübingen. Fournet, Th. and Masekh, S. 2017. The Roman Baths at Karnak, Between River and Temples. In R. Bérangère (ed.), Collective Baths in Egypt 2. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 99–126. Frankfurter, D. 1998. Religion in Roman Egypt. Assimilation and Resistance. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Geraci, G. 1995. Praefectus Alexandreae et Aegypti; alcune riflessioni. Simblos 1: 159–75. Goddio, F. (ed.) 1998. The Submerged Royal Quarters. London: Periplus. Goddio, F. 2005. Alexandria II: Portus Magnus, London. Goudriaan, K. 1992. Ethnical Strategies in Graeco Roman Egypt. In P. Bilde (ed.), Ethnicity in Hellenistic Egypt. Aarhu: Aarhus University Press, 76–95. Graefe, E. 1991. Über die Verarbeitung von Pyramidentexten in den spät Tempeln. In U. Verhoeven, and E.  Graefe (eds), Religion und Philiosophie im alten Ägypten: Festgabe für Philippe Derchain. Leuven: Peeters. Grenier, J.  C. 1995. L’empereur et le pharaon. In W.  Haase and H.  Temporini (eds), Aufstieg und ­Niedergang der römischen Welt II 18,4. Berlin: de Gruyter, 3181–94. Hölbl, G. 2001. A History of the Ptolemaic Empire. London: Taylor and Francis. Josephson, J.A. 1997. Egyptian Royal Sculpture of the Late Period 400–246 bc. Mainz: Phillipp von Zabern. Kaper, O. E. 2003. The Egyptian God Tutu. A Study of the Sphinx–god and Master of Demons, with a Corpus of Monuments. Leuven, Paris, Dudley MA: Peeters. Kiss, Z. 1998. Les sculptures. In F.  Goddio (ed.) 1998. The Submerged Royal Quarters. London: Periplus, 176. Kruse, T. 2002. Der königliche Schreiber und die Gauverwaltung. Munich: Saur Lembke, K. 1998. Private Representation in Roman Times: The Statues from Dimeh/Fayum. In N. Bonacasa, M. C. Naro, E. C. Portale and A. Tullio (eds), L’Egitto in Italia dall’antichità al medioevo. Atti del III Congresso Internazionale Italo–Egiziano, Roma, CNR–Pompei, 13–19 Novembre 1995. Rome: Consiglio nazionale delle ricerche, 289–95.

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The Ptolemaic and Roman periods   759 Lembke, K., Fluck, C., and Vittmann, G. 2004. Ägyptens späte Blüte: Die Römer am Nil. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Lewis, N. 1970. Greco-Roman Egypt: Fact or Fiction? In D.H. Samuel (ed.), Proceedings of the Twelfth International Congress of Papyrology. Toronto: Hakkert, 3–14. Lewis, N. 1986. Greeks in Ptolemaic Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Malek Ali, M. et al. 2016. Environmental’s Design Role in the Reviving and Preserving of Architectural Heritage Case Study (Catacombs of Kom el-Shoqafa). Procedia—Social and Behavioral Sciences 225: 132–44. Manning, J.G. 2012. The Last Pharaohs. Egypt under the Ptolemies 305–30 bc. London: Princeton University Press. Maystre, C. 1992. Les grands prêtres de Ptah de Memphis. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Minas-Nerpel, M. 2012. Egyptian Temples. In C. Riggs (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Egypt. London: Oxford University Press, 362–82. Monson, A. 2012. From The Ptolemies to The Romans. Political and Economic Change in Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mysliwiec, K. and Rageb, M.A.H. 1992. Fouilles polono-égyptiennes à Tell Atrib en 1986–1990. Études et Travaux 16: 393–416. Mysliwiec, K. and Abu Senna, S. 1995. Polish-Egyptian Excavations at Tell Atrib in 1991–1993, Études et Travaux 17: 210–44. Noshy, I. 1937. The Arts in Ptolemaic Egypt. A Study of Greek and Egyptian Influences in Ptolemaic Architecture and Sculpture. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Peremans, C.W. and Van’t Dack, E. 1981. Prosopographia Ptolemaica IX. Leuven: Peeters. Petrie, W.M.F. and Gardner, A. 1886. Naukratis: Part I. 1884–5. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Petrie, W.M.F. 1909. The Palace of Apries (Memphis II). London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt. Pfeiffer, S. 2012. The Imperial Cult in Egypt. In C. Riggs (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 83–97. Pintaudi, R. 2008. The Excavations of the Instituto Papirologico ‘G.Vitelli’ of Florence at Antinoopolis (2000–2007)—Preliminary Report. In R. Pintaudi (ed.), Antinoupolis I. Florence: Pirenze, 539–56. Poulsen, F. 1939. Geb e seine alexandrinische kunst? From the collections of Ny Carlsberg. Copenhagen: Glyptotek. 2. Préaux, C. 1978. Le monde hellénistique. La Gréce et l’Orient (323–146 avant J.-C.). Paris: PUF. Quaegebeur, J. 1980. The Genealogy of the Memphite High Priest Family in the Hellenistic World. In D.J.  Crawford, J.  Quaegebeur and W.  Clarysse (eds), Studies on Ptolemaic Memphis. Leuven: Peeters, 43–81. Quaegebeur, J. 1983. Cultes égyptiens et grecs en égypte hellénistique: l’exploitation des sources. In E. Van’ T Dack, E. and P. Van Dessel (eds), Egypt and the Hellenistic World. Leuven: Orientaliste, 303–24. Rathbone, D. 1993. Egypt, Augustus and Roman Taxation. Cahiers du Centre G. Glotz 4: 81–112. Riccobono, S. 1950. Il Gnomon dell’Idios Logos. Palermo: Palumbo. Riggs, C. (ed.) 2012. The Oxford Handbook of Roman Egypt. London: Oxford University Press. Ross, Th. 2015. Ptolemaic and Roman Figures, Models and Coffin-Fittings in Terracotta. In A. Villing (ed.), Naukratis: Greeks in Egypt. London: British Museum Press, 2–20. Rowe, A. 1942. Kom el-Shukafa: in the Light of the Excavations of the Graeco-Roman Museum during the Season 1941–1942, Bulletin de la Société Archéologique d’Alexandrie 35: 3–45. Schreiber, T. 1885. Alexandrinische Sculpturen in Athen. Mittheilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Athenische Abteilung 10: 380–400. Smith, R. 1988. Hellenistic Royal Portraits. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Speidel, M.P. 1982. Augustus’ Deployment of the Legions in Egypt, Chronique d’Égypte 57: 120–4. Stanwick, P.E. 1999. Egyptian Royal Sculptures of the Ptolemaic Period. PhD thesis, New York: Institute of Fine Arts. Stanwick, P. E. 2002. Portraits of the Ptolemies. Greek Kings as Egyptian Pharaohs. Austin: University of Texas Press.

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760   Khaled Essam Ismail Swarney, P.R. 1970. The Ptolemaic and Roman Idios Logos. Toronto: Hakkert. Thissen, H.J. 1966. Studien zum Rhaphiadekret. Meisenheim am Glan: Hain Thomas, J.D. 1982. The Epistrategos in Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt, Part 2. The Roman Epistrategos. Opladen: Westdeutscher. Thompson, D. 1988. Memphis under the Ptolemies. 2nd ed. London: Princeton University Press. Thompson, D.J. 1990. The High Priests of Memphis under Ptolemaic Rule. In M. Beard and J. North (eds), Pagan Priests: Religion and Power in the Ancient World. Ithaca NY: Cornell University Press, 95–116. Török, L. 1995. Hellenistic and Roman Terracottas from Egypt. Rome: L’Erma di Bretschneider. True, M. and Hamma, K. (ed.) 1996. Alexandria and Alexandrianism. Malibu: The J. Paul Getty Museum. Vandorpe, K. 2012. Identity. In C. Riggs (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Roman Egypt. London: Oxford University Press, 260–76. Vassilika, E. 1989. Ptolemaic Philae. Leuven: Peeters. Venit, M.S. 2002. Monumental Tombs of Ancient Alexandria: The Theatre of the Dead. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Versluys, M.J. 2002. Aegyptiaca Romana. Nilotic Scenes and the Roman Views of Egypt. Leiden: Brill. Whitehorne, J. 1995. The Pagan Cults of Roman Oxyrhynchus. In W. Haase and H. Temporini (eds), Aufstieg und Niedergang der römische Welt, II/18.5. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 3050–91. Witt, R.E. 1971. Isis in the Ancient World. London: The Johns Hopkins University Press.

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pa rt V I I

S O C I ET Y A N D ­C U LT U R E T E X T UA L A N D ­I C ONO GR A PH IC A PPROAC H E S

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chapter 35

Nationa l a dmi n istr ation Wolfram Grajetzki

Introduction The administration, in general terms, has the task of regulating and guiding systems, people and resources within a given region. In this case it is the territory of the Egyptian state, including in some periods adjacent lands that had been annexed (e.g. Nubia, Levant— although to what extent remains a topic of debate, see Chapters 23 and 25 in this volume concerning Nubia and Western Asia). An administration might function according to rules, which might be written down or, perhaps more likely in earlier societies, were performed following long-time traditions that were introduced to deal with new problems and demands. The following article aims to provide a rough overview on the development of the administration of ancient Egypt. From the beginning it should be made clear that administrative structures were most likely much looser and more informal than the written sources imply. Furthermore, the national administration was from the beginning mainly an organization that supplied the king’s palace and funerary cult with resources. That changed only slowly over time when Egypt started to have foreign provinces and in the New Kingdom with the big temples that also commanded reasonable resources.

The sources and research The extent to which administration played a major role in the lives of ancient Egyptians is of course a continuing topic of debate, however, the greater part of the surviving papyri found in Egypt are in some way related to a form of administrative document. These texts suggest the perceived need to record and control people and resources. Writing developed out of the administration and also scribal knowledge, that is comparative with the emergence of early lists on clay tablets in Mesopotamia during the Uruk Period.1 Although the 1  See for instance Ross 2010.

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764   Wolfram Grajetzki exact function of these as purely ‘administrative’ is more recently critiqued,2 Egyptians seem to have identified themselves most often by their administrative titles. The sources for the study of the administration in ancient Egypt vary over the periods. Cylinder seals and seal impressions of officials, offices, and institutions are very important for the Early Dynastic Period. They are still a significant source for the Old Kingdom, but titles and inscriptions of officials in their tombs become now the essential information source. From the Old Kingdom there are also known a number of royal decrees for pyramid towns, providing special rights for their inhabitants, and the Abusir Papyri, providing evidence for the administration of a royal funerary temple.3 From the Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period several papyri (Reisner Papyri, Lahun Papyri, Papyrus Boulaq 18) add further information to our picture.4 In the early Middle Kingdom stelae, tomb inscriptions and rock inscriptions made by expeditions are also important.5 Seals with names and titles are not common then, but they appear in the late Middle Kingdom (after king Senusret II), this time in the form of inscribed scarabs. There are only a few tomb inscriptions preserved from this period, leaving a big gap in our knowledge about high state officials. There are now many stelae set up by colleagues working in different branches of the administration, providing detailed information on hierarchies at certain workplaces. In the New Kingdom the seals become less important, but the period is relatively rich in papyri and ostraca (Wilbour Papyrus,6 Papyrus Amiens,7 Tomb Robbery Papyri,8 ostraca from Deir el-Medina).9 Nevertheless, titles of officials on their monuments (stelae and ­statues) are still an important source, especially for higher levels of administration. There are many problems connected with the documentation for the administration of the ­periods after the New Kingdom. There are still some administrative papyri, but a great amount remains unpublished. Officials known from their statues, coffins and other monuments do not often bear administrative titles, but mainly priestly titles instead. Therefore, the picture provided on administrative positions might be misleading, as it can be assumed that only certain important titles were placed on monuments, while less prestigious positions—especially now the administrative ones—are not expressed on monuments. These sources deliver different kinds of information. Titles and biographies of officials are important for the upper levels of highest state administration. Through the uneven chance of survival, the information gained by papyri is difficult and open to various interpretations, and of course need, where this is possible, to be analyzed within their archaeological context. Papyri and ostraca, however, are important for information on lower officials, as these people do not often appear on their own monuments. Papyri are also an important source for the relations between administrative branches and how they functioned together. Archaeology of course can help to fill some of the gaps in the written sources. The large granary installations found in the Middle Kingdom houses at Lahun, in the fortresses in Lower Nubia of the same period, and near the New Kingdom temples at Thebes, had be

2  See Eyre 2013, 353–4 who suggests that there was also an element of ritual and performance in early writing. 3 Posener-Kriéger 1976. 4 Quirke 1990. 5 Seyfried 1981. 6 Gardiner 1941–52. 7 Janssen 2004. 8 Peet 1930. 9  Czerny 1973; Valbelle 1985.

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National administration   765 taken as evidence that the Egyptian state was highly prescriptive10 and its economy based on a redistribution system in which the state (in the New Kingdom represented by the temples) collected and distributed food and other goods.11 The seal impressions found at many late Middle Kingdom sites also provide evidence for a system which suggests the control of valuables. Yet, there are not many administrative buildings or institutions known from written sources that have been identified on settlement sites. One reason for this might be that certain bureaus were attached to the houses of the officials and not to administrative buildings in a narrower sense. One example might be the term kha (office) appearing in several sources. It is possible that this was simply the main hall of an official’s house, like the divan in the Arab/Persian world. On Elephantine a building was excavated that might have had functioned as the central redistribution office for the town,12 and in Amarna there were several buildings in the centre of the city that must have been purely administrative (for example, a ‘house of life’13).

Writing and archaeology The uneven survival of writing in the archaeological record is reflected in the research on different periods. There is a vast bibliography of research on administration up to the end of the New Kingdom, with significant gaps only for the First Intermediate Period, which is most often treated as extension of the Old Kingdom. The same holds true for the Hyksos Period, which is poorly documented. The number of publications concerning the periods after the New Kingdom is still rather limited. Only for the Ptolemaic period, where the administration was based on a Greek prototype and was conducted in Greek at higher ­levels, are there several important studies published.14 The investigations into Egyptian administration include prosopographic studies (biographical descriptions) on the highest level of society for all periods;15 only for the Late Dynastic Period (Dynasties 28–30) are such studies still missing. Prosopographic studies for lower levels of administration exist only for certain titles or title groups (for example, military titles16), but there is no systematic study for one period on all known officials. Given the mass of data even for a short period within Egyptian history, this seems indeed almost impossible. There are also several dictionaries for titles of the Old and Middle Kingdoms,17 but a systematic collection of titles for all later periods has yet to be undertaken. Indices in studies with objects bearing many titles are sometimes the only guide for titles of one period. For example, A. Niwiński’s study of the coffins of the Twenty-first

10  Compare the discussion in Richards 1997. 11  Kemp 1986; Kemp 2006, 241–4. 12  Von Pilgrim 1996, 231–4. 13  Pendlebury 1951, pl. XIX (plan), LXXXIII, 6; compare the general discussion in Kemp 2012, 123–35. 14 Verhoogt 2013. 15  Strudwick 1985, 55–170 (Old Kingdom); Grajetzki 2000 (Middle Kingdom); Helck 1958, 285–533 (New Kingdom); Pressl 1998 (Late Period). 16  Chevereau 1985, Chevereau 1991, Chevereau 1992, Chevereau 1994. 17  Jones 2000, important comments: Fischer 2002 (Old Kingdom); Ward 1982, important comments: Franke 1984; Fischer 1997 (Middle Kingdom).

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766   Wolfram Grajetzki Dynasty includes a list of the titles held by the coffin owners, which is useful, although it provides only a rough guide for the period as a whole.18

Titles Titles of officials are one starting point for researching administration, but the translation of many of them is a major problem. Even if a secure translation is possible, this does not automatically provide evidence for the function and meaning of a title. For example, the title ‘royal sealer’ (ḫtmtj-bjtj), which appears already in the First Dynasty, has been interpreted literally to refer to the official who had permission to use the royal seal.19 There are, however, several indications in the Old Kingdom that this title marked a rank at the royal court rather than a specific function.20 The same holds true for the New Kingdom title ‘king’s scribe,’ which seems to denote a certain group of people at the royal court, rather than the actual scribe next to the king.21 The same problem appears with institutions appearing in administrative texts, titles or biographies, such as the ‘six great houses’ of the Old Kingdom. For a long time it has been assumed that these were central law courts. More recent studies are more cautious, and it has been proposed that these ‘six great houses’ were in fact not real buildings but rather an expression for several administrative institutions.22 For the Predynastic Period there is so far not much evidence for any formal administration. Nevertheless, the appearance of seals and seal impressions in the Naqada Period announce ownership and a certain control over valuable resources which may have had some kind of administrative system behind it.23 The system is more clearly visible in our sources with the introduction of writing, closely connected with all levels of administration. Administrative institutions and administrators operating in them appearing now in the written sources.24 The earliest known Egyptian hieroglyphs were found in an Abydos tomb (U-j), dating to the time before the First Dynasty. Many of these early hieroglyphs were incised on small bone plaques, which seem to have marked the ownership and origin of certain products.25 Similar writings have not yet been found to the same extent at other places. Therefore, this might indicate that the writing and the administration is connected with it developed around the early rulers who were buried at Abydos. Against this background, it comes as no surprise that the titles of the highest state officials often refer to the king (‘royal sealer’) or royal institutions. This raises the question as to what extent the country and the whole population was controlled by the central administration? Were people especially in the countryside not included in the administrative system, and were they just living inside the Egyptian borders without being controlled? For the New Kingdom, the Wilbour Papyri provide evidence that most parts of the country, and therefore a high percentage of the population, were managed by the state, which was in this period represented by the temples, via intermediate officials or more or less private landowners.26 The papyri provide a detailed account of parts of Egypt in the Twentieth Dynasty. Most of the land required to pay revenues was owned by the temples, and only a small

18  Niwinski 1988, 191–4. 19  Wilkinson 1999, 131–2. 20  Helck 1954, 111–19. 21  Redford 1999, 59. 22  Martin-Pardey 1989, 541–3. 23  Wengrow 2006, 187–91. 24 Engel 2013. 25  Dreyer 1998. 26  Katary 2013, 746–8.

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National administration   767 proportion by high officials. Soldiers and other lower officials appear as people renting these lands. The real working force (serfs or peasants) is not even mentioned.27 Titles relating to an institution called ‘enclosure’ (ḫnrt) or ‘great enclosure’ (ḫnrt wr) have been found in the late Middle Kingdom. This institution seems to have organized labour (corvée) for the state.28 In this context, the question arises as to which institution or which official was responsible for this task in other periods. In particular, the big pyramid building projects of the Old Kingdom are thought to have needed a strong central administration for labour organization, which is so far not clearly visible in the textual sources, and also not explicitly from the archaeological record.29 In the same context, the question arises whether taxes were regularly collected or whether the central administration assembled the needed resources only when required. This question, however, might be irrelevant for Egyptian society. At least in the Middle Kingdom, and maybe also in the other periods, a greater part of the population seems to have lived in some kind of dependency (like the medieval ‘serfs’)30 and worked on estates where a high proportion of the production surplus was collected by the state or an estate owner. In ancient Egypt the executive and the judiciary branches of administration were not separated. There are no titles that can be translated exclusively as ‘judge.’ Most officials who supervised a certain number of people had to judge in case of disagreement. The vizier was therefore the highest judge in a more general way, while many other officials, especially those leading a large number of people, often bear titles with juridical implications, such as ‘priest of Maat.’ The situation is clearly visible in the literary text known as The Eloquent Peasant, which describes how a low-ranking official took away from a trader some donkeys and the trader went to the chief of this low official—a high steward—who had to judge in the case.31 In other sources the high steward is not explicitly connected with juridical functions. In the New Kingdom the qenbet often had the function of a law court. The qenbet was a loose assemblage of people coming together for judging on criminal cases.32 This might comprise in some cases a range of different officials coming together.

Early Dynastic Period The beginning of an elaborate administration system may be suggested as being visible in the First Dynasty, with the appearance of thousands of inscribed seal impressions, pot inscriptions, and monuments of officials.33 Nevertheless, it is often hard to see distinct patterns of organization because our textual and archaeological sources only give a partial picture. This is mainly due to the biases of preservation, as well as the research focus being, until more recent work on settlements, mainly restricted to elite burials. With this in mind, we do however see the appearance of the office translated by Egyptologists as ‘vizier’, a term borrowed from Arabic. The vizier may be envisaged as a ‘prime minister’, the head of the 27 Gardiner 1941–52. 28 Quirke 1988. 29  See Lehner 2010, 85–101 who describes the pyramid settlement at Giza as more like a series of villages—see also Lehner 2015; and Chapter 14 in this volume on settlements. 30  Berlev 1972, 7–146; Vinogradov 1991, 163–4. 31 Allam 2000. 32  Lippert 2008, 44. 33 Engels 2013.

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768   Wolfram Grajetzki national administration for almost all periods of Egyptian history. The titles related to this office are securely attested before the Fourth Dynasty only once (for a certain Menka, dating to the Second Dynasty),34 and one wonders whether other title holders are just missing in the sources or whether the titles related to this office were only given sporadically to people at the royal court. Nevertheless, the beginning of the Egyptian administration comes most likely from this period and seems most probably connected with the organization of food supply to the royal court and royal funerary complex. In the early written sources the names of certain institutions are written inside an enclosure wall. They are often called royal domains,35 but their real nature is far from certain and it has been argued that these are the names of the royal funerary complexes, because only one per reign is attested. Different titles are connected with these institutions and it is again uncertain whether these ranges of titles imply various responsibilities, or, whether they indicated more or less the same function but just expressed in diverse designations. These early title holders seem to have been always very important officials. Many of them were most likely buried in the great First Dynasty mastabas at Saqqara, such as Merka. His stela was found next to mastaba Saqqara S 3505.36 The picture given by the written sources, however, might again be misleading. The people involved in controlling the resources appear more often in our documentation than other officials who were not directly involved in sealing goods. Their part of the administration used seals; the seal impressions have been found in the elite tombs at major centres, at Abydos and Saqqara.37 Other officials who might have had the same importance did not use seals and are therefore not dominant in our records. This might be the case, for example, with the early viziers, which would explain why they only appear relatively late on monuments. Indeed, with the Fourth Dynasty the sources change. There are now the inscribed tombs, mainly in the Memphite region, of officials providing information on their owners.38 The picture at least on the highest level of administration might be now more balanced.

Old Kingdom After the Third Dynasty the institutions of royal domains in the form known from the first dynasties disappear and other titles and institutions become important, such as the vizier already mentioned. His office was most often involved in organizing labour. He was the head of the scribal offices and the highest juridical official in Egypt. It is perhaps therefore no surprise that this office only appears regularly in the Fourth Dynasty, because these branches of administration seem only to have gained more importance with the colossal scale of the pyramid building projects. Many of the titles typical for the following periods appear in the Fourth Dynasty for the first time or at least more regularly. Next to the title ‘vizier’, there was the ‘overseer of all royal works’, who seems to have been responsible for building projects. The ‘overseer of the 34  Wilkinson 1999, 138. 35  Wilkinson 1999, 119, fig. 4.1. 36  Kemp 1967, 27; Hendrickx 2008, 64. 37 Regulski 2016. 38  Texts of the period are collected and translated in Strudwick 2005.

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National administration   769 treasury’ was the head of the treasury, where raw materials such as metal but also linen or wood were stored. The treasury supplied royal building works with the needed materials. The ‘overseer of the granary’ was responsible for the agricultural products that the palace required. All these titles seem to have been given to certain officials when needed, rather than being permanent institutions. An official might bear just one of these titles, but some individuals also held several of them.39 It remains therefore questionable whether it is possible to place them in a proper sequence. The problem is evident with the high number of viziers at the end of the Old Kingdom and it has been assumed that they were simultaneously in office, or that some of them were just ‘titulary’ viziers, therefore officials with the title of vizier but without this function.40 One problem resulting from the insecure chronological order of many officials and their monuments is that the development of administration and innovations are often hard to pinpoint to certain reigns or periods. New proposals for the chronology of officials are therefore an important part of several studies on Old Kingdom administration,41 but none of them have yet found universal acceptance. One sector of the Old Kingdom royal court that comprised people involved in close contact to the king, such as hair-dressers and manicurists are known from their impressive monuments and certainly played an important role at the royal court.42 In the following periods these titles lost their dominant positions and purely administrative titles became prominent. The title manicurist, however, is again attested for a high court official in the Late Period, reflecting a certain revival at this time, not only known from titles.43 In the early Old Kingdom there also developed the system of ranking titles. High officials held certain titles that seem to announce a high social position in relation to the king and to the other officials at the royal court. The highest of these was jrj-pˁt (‘member of the elite’), which only the highest state officials could bear. The other important ranking titles are ḥ 3tj-ˁ (‘foremost of action’), ḥ tmtj-bjtj (‘royal sealer’), and smr-wˁtj (‘sole friend’).44 At the end of the Old Kingdom and in the First Intermediate Period there is conspicuous inflation of titles, with almost everyone identified as a ‘member of the elite’.

Middle Kingdom The national administration of the Middle Kingdom developed from the organization of the private households of high officials and local governors of the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period.45 In the Old Kingdom, officials had their own people managing their estates or provinces. Here titles different from those in the state administration appeared. These offices included the ‘steward’ (jmj-r pr) and ‘treasurer’ (jmy-r ḫtmt). These were also the important titles at the royal court of the Eleventh Dynasty. After the unification of the country under Mentuhotep II, the kings of the late Eleventh Dynasty retained these offices 39 Müller-Wollermann 1988. 40 Strudwick  1985, 325–6; see also Chapter  29 in this volume on the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period. 41  Strudwick 1985, 2–52. 42  Only the hair-dressers have been so far systematically studied and collected: Speidel 1990. 43  Pressl 1998, 264. 44 Baer 1960. 45  Helck 1958, 92.

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770   Wolfram Grajetzki in the state administration. With the unification, however, Mentuhotep II seems to have reorganized the state, reintroducing the office of vizier but also keeping the former ‘household’ titles. The system of ranking titles was again introduced and only a select number of officials could bear them. Offices and responsibilities are clearly divided in the Middle Kingdom, expressed in the one most important title carried by each official, which appears in inscriptions always in front of his name.46 Officials could also bear other titles or designations, but they seem to relate to specific tasks of the moment, honors, or ranks. These secondary titles have been called ‘biographical phrases’ or ‘epithets’.47 In the Middle Kingdom the treasurer was responsible for the palace as an economic unit while the high steward was in charge of the estates outside the palace. The treasurer took over the function of the Old Kingdom ‘treasury overseer’. The introduction of the office of steward has been seen as a sign of separation of king’s and state property.48 Apart from this title, however, there is no indication of such a separation and the few sources relating to land ownership are often hard to interpret, making it at the moment impossible to decide whether there were two sets of land under the king—that of the state and his own ‘private’ land. The division of property inherited by the father and property belonging to an office is clearly expressed in the contracts of the governor of Asyut under Senusret I, Djefahapi, written down in his tomb.49 Therefore, it might have operated at the highest level, kingship, too; this is not least a question of ideology. Under Senusret III another phase in terms of administration seems to have started.50 Offices were now more specific than ever before and after. An often cited example is the title ‘steward’. In the early Middle Kingdom the title is just ‘steward’ (jmy-r pr). In the late Middle Kingdom, it could bear additions such as ‘who counts the cattle’ or ‘who counts the ships’.51 Similar additions are found for other titles and demonstrate very detailed designations of offices and positions. It is not always certain whether this relates really to a new organization of the country or whether already existing structures are just being expressed in a more detailed way. For the late Middle Kingdom, there is rich textual evidence for the administration of the royal palace, whose head was the ‘treasurer’. Under him there were certain officials in charge of units called ‘chambers’, in which products seem to have been stored and produced.52 Stelae provide a strong impression that this part of administration is well known. Nevertheless, these monuments were perhaps set up on a particular occasion and therefore provide information only on hierarchies and functions at that point in time. In other branches of administration, the relations between offices are not always clear. ‘Steward’ (jmy-r pr) is one of the most common titles in the Middle Kingdom, and it has been proposed that the ‘high steward’ (jmj-r pr wr) was in charge of other stewards.53 Nevertheless, in the Reisner Papyri the vizier sent orders to the stewards and there is little evidence that a high steward started his career as a common steward.54 Stewards were more likely employed for different institutions and officials as administrators of their estates. This title system of expressing functions and rankings of the late Middle Kingdom seems to have continued until the Second Intermediate Period, when the source base becomes very weak. In the Second Intermediate Period there is no longer much evidence for a 46  Grajetzki 2000, 1. 47 Quirke 1988. 48  Helck 1958, 93. 49  Théodoridès 1971, Spencer 2010, 268. 50  Berlev 1978; Quirke 1990. 51  Berlev 1978, 45–7. 52  Berlev 1978, 126–286. 53  Helck 1958, 92. 54  Simpson 1965, 20–3.

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National administration   771 detailed administration system on the lower levels, while there is at least enough evidence that the administration at the highest court levels went on without much change. Under the Hyksos and rulers of the Second Intermediate Period with foreign names, the title ‘treasurer’ appears most often on scarabs and the few other surviving monuments. This office was already important in the Middle Kingdom and the foreign rulers seem to have continued it, or they chose this Egyptian title to record the highest official in the administrative positions of their own culture, not otherwise recorded because of lack of written sources for Middle Bronze Age Palestine.

New Kingdom The administration of the early New Kingdom represents a continuation of the late Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period in Upper Egypt. The office of the vizier was most likely divided under Thutmose III, with one for Upper and one for Lower Egypt,55 while the Nubian provinces and the southern parts of Upper Egypt were governed by the ‘viceroy of Kush’. The northern foreign provinces were under the ‘overseer of the northern foreign lands’. He seems to have been not as important as the viceroy of Kush, maybe because the Asiatic provinces had a vassal status and were not as much a part of Egyptian administration as Lower Nubia was.56 An important text relating to the vizier is the Duties of the Vizier, known from several New Kingdom tombs of these officials.57 The text describes the daily duties of the vizier and his relation to other officials and to the king. An open question is the dating of the original composition and there is a dispute over whether it belongs to the late Middle Kingdom or was first written down in the early New Kingdom.58 One new feature of the New Kingdom is the appearance of the great temple domains (especially those of the Theban Amun temple and the royal funerary temples).59 These temples are an important economic factor in the New Kingdom. At their head were the high priests, such as the ‘first priest of Amun’ at the Amun temple. The temple domains also had their own administrators; some of them were important individuals of their day, as can be seen from their impressive monuments. The temple administration and that of the country at the royal court, however, were not clearly divided into two separate units. Officials with administrative positions at the royal court could also have at the same time important positions at the temple of Amun or at other temples. One example is the ‘steward of the domain of Amun’ Senenmut, who played a leading role at the royal court under the ruling queen Hatshepsut. In the New Kingdom the military gained greater importance.60 There are almost no exclusively military positions at the highest level at the royal court in the Old and Middle Kingdom. The title ‘overseer of troops’, well attested as highest state official in the Middle Kingdom, was a military position, but these people were also involved in royal building projects, most probably because their main task was to control and recruit a high number of people and not goods or estates. Some officials related to the military reached high positions

55  Raedler 2004, 285. 56  Gnirs 2013, 696. 59 Eichler 2000. 60  Helck 1939; Gnirs 1996.

57 Boorn 1988.

58 Pardey 2003.

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772   Wolfram Grajetzki in the New Kingdom. Indeed, there are several instances of a high court official starting his career in the military administration. The classical ranking titles seem to have lost their importance and were in some way replaced by the expressions ‘scribe of the king’ and ‘fan bearer of the king’.61 The office of treasurer diminished in importance in the New Kingdom, while the high steward, or ‘high steward of the king’, as he is often labeled in the New Kingdom, became the most important person at the royal court after the viziers. In the late Eighteenth Dynasty, after the Amarna Period, the office of treasurer seems to have disappeared and the ‘overseer of the treasury’ took over his functions. The end of the New Kingdom is still a mystery in terms of administration, which might be mainly a problem of missing sources. There are not many tombs of state officials attested for the time after Ramses II. Nevertheless, many administrative documents are known, especially from the workmen’s village at Deir el-Medina, providing detailed information on at least one small part of the country.62 This village, however, where the skilled craftspeople who created the royal tombs lived, had such a special status that it is hard to generalize from it to the country as a whole. The vizier appears there often, but certainly because of its special status as work community for the royal tombs. It seems unlikely that the vizier was involved in other parts of the country in the daily administration to the same extent. Much attention has been drawn to the growing importance of the ‘royal butlers’ in the Ramesside Period.63 These are people without formal administrative titles but obviously with an influential position at the royal court. Their growing power might be taken as sign of the decline of a formal administration, perhaps in much the same way as the eunuchs, also people without a high formal administrative position, became so powerful in the Ottoman Empire.64

Third Intermediate Period and Late Period The Third Intermediate Period is so far little researched.65 The South was under the control of the temple domain of Amun and the North, where most of the kings ruled, is not very rich in textual sources. There is a relatively high number of court officials attested for the Late Period, but surprisingly little evidence for the lower levels of administration outside Demotic sources (mostly unpublished in the case of account documents of the Twentysixth and later Dynasties). The office of the vizier, not very important in the Third Intermediate Period, seems to have been again installed as the head of the administration, with two viziers, one for Upper and one for Lower Egypt. There are many other titles attested at the royal court that are identical to titles known from the Old, Middle, or New Kingdom, such as ‘steward’, ‘high steward’, ‘overseer of the treasury’, and ‘treasurer’.66 It is often hard to decide whether these relate to the same functions as in the earlier periods or whether a totally new system just used old designations. 61 Pomorska 1987. 62  Bruyère 1939; Czerny 1973; Valbelle 1985. 63  Helck 1958, 268–76; Malek 1988, 134–6; Schulman 1990. 64 Hathaway 2017. 65  Most importantly for Thebes in the Twenty-second Dynasty: Payraudeau 2014. 66  Pressl 1998, 29–35.

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National administration   773 Considering the new political circumstances under which Egypt operated, it seems unlikely that the administration did not change at all. In Thebes, the ‘domain of the divine adoratice’ was the main economic and political institution. It served the ‘god’s wife of Amun’, a king’s daughter placed in this position and ruling the South, with a high steward at its head. The tombs of these high stewards are among the biggest private tombs ever built in Egypt, demonstrating their economic and political power at least in Upper Egypt.67 The administration under the Persian domination is still very problematic, but it is at least clear that the satrap (the Persian governor)68 ruled from Memphis, with military garrisons at strategic points such as Elephantine.69 The relations between the governor and Egyptians remain difficult to chart, because it is often hard to date monuments into this period, leaving a big gap in our knowledge. At Memphis, Aramaic seal impressions have been found providing evidence for what seems to be a purely foreign administrative system, at least at the provincial capital. The Late Dynastic Period (Dynasties 28–30) is the last period of ancient Egyptian history in which the administration worked under Egyptian rule and with traditional offices, such as the vizier.

Conclusion The study and understanding of Egyptian administration remains problematic. There seems to be a rich source-base with thousands of administrative titles known from many ­monuments. A high percentage of ancient Egyptians identify themselves on objects and documents with administrative titles. However, even if the translation of a title is possible, the function of it remains most often obscure. Furthermore, there are many administrative documents preserved providing some insights into the interaction of officials in the procedures at certain institutions. However, these documents are not abundant. This is in stark contrast to Mesopotamia where there are hundreds of thousands of administrative cuneiform texts that provide detailed information on many levels70. Deir el-Medina and Balat71 are the only exceptions in Egypt where there are unusually many documents preserved, supplying more details on the functioning of administrative structures at one place within a short period of time.

Suggested reading The fundamental volume on administration is now ‘Ancient Egyptian Administration’ (Moreno García 2013a) covering almost all periods. The study of titles is the backbone of understanding administration. Jones 2000 and Ward 1982 provide dictionaries of Old and Middle Kingdom Titles. Al-Ayedi 2006 covers the New Kingdom. There are several studies covering the national administration of the main periods for the highest social level; these 67  Agut-Labordère 2013, 977–81. 68  Klinkott 2005; Klotz 2015, 4. 71 Pantalacci 2013.

69  Klotz 2015, 3.

70  Postgate 1992, xxi–xxiii.

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774   Wolfram Grajetzki include Strudwick  1985 (Old Kingdom), Grajetzki  2000 (Middle Kingdom); Helck  1958, (New Kingdom); Pressl 1998 (Late Period). There are several studies on single offices, such as Dresbach 2012 on Twentieth-Dynasty vizier, Quirke 2004 provides a dictionary of late Middle Kingdom titles with longer discussions of the titles’ functions.

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776   Wolfram Grajetzki Pantalacci, L. 2013. Balat, A Frontier Town and its Archive. In Moreno García, J.  C. (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration. Handbook of Oriental Studies, Section 1, Ancient Near East 104. Leiden, Boston: Brill, 197–214. Pardey, E. 2003. Die Datierung der ‘Dienstanweisung für den Wesir’ und die Problematik von Tp rsj im Neuen Reich. In N. Kloth (ed.), Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück: Festschrift für Hartwig Altenmüller zum 65. Geburtstag. Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur Beihefte 9. Hamburg: Buske, 323–34. Payraudeau, F. 2014. Administration, société et pouvoir à Thèbes sous la XXIIe dynastie bubastite. Bibliotheque d’Etude 160, 1 and 2. Cairo: Institut Francais d’Archeologie Orientale. Peet, T. E. 1930. The Great Tomb-Robberies Of The Twentieth Egyptian Dynasty: Being a Critical Study, with Translations and Commentaries, of the Papyri in which these are Recorded. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pendlebury  J.  D.  S. 1951. The City of Akhenaten III. Memoirs of the Egypt Exploration Society 44. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Pomorska, I. 1987. Les flabellifères à la droite du roi en Égypte ancienne. Warsaw: Éditions scientifiques de Pologne. Posener-Kriéger, P. 1976. Les archives du temple funréraire de Neferirkare-Kakai (Les papyrus d’Abousir), Traduction et commentaire. Bibliotheque d’Etude 6. Le Caire: Institut Francais d’Archeologie Orientale. Postgate, J. N. 1992. Early Mesopotamia, Society and Economy at the Dawn of History. London, New York: Routledge. Pressl, D. A. 1998. Beamte und Soldaten. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Quirke, S. 1988. State and Labour in the Middle Kingdom: A Reconsideration of the Term ḫnrt, Revue d’égyptologie 39: 83–106. Quirke, S. 1990. The Administration of Egypt in the Late Middle Kingdom, The Hieratic Documents. New Malden: SIA Publishing. Quirke, S. 1996. Horn, Feather and Scale, and Ships: On Titles in the Middle Kingdom. In P.  Der Manuelian (ed.), Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 679–82. Quirke, S. 2004. Titles and Bureaux, of Egypt 1850–1700 BC. GHP Egyptology 1. London: Golden House Publications. Raedler, C. 2004. Die Wesire Ramses'II.-Netzwerke der Macht. In R. Gundlach and A. Klug (eds), Das ägyptische Königtum im Spannungsfeld zwischen Innen- und Außenpolitik im 2. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 277–316. Regulski, I. 2016. The Origins and Early Development of Writing in Egypt. In Oxford Handbooks Online (10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199935413.013.61) Redford, D. B. 1999. New Kingdom, Overview. In K.A. Bard (ed.), Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. London, New York: Routledge, 57–61. Richards, E. 1997. Ancient Egyptian Mortuary Practice and the Study of Socioeconomic Differentiation. In J. Lustig (ed.), Anthropology and Egyptology. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 33–42. Ross, J. C. 2010. The Scribal Artefact: Technological Innovation in the Uruk Period. In S. R. Steadman &  J.  C.  Ross (eds.), Agency and Identity in the Ancient Near East: New Paths Forward. London: Equinox Publishing Ltd, 80–98. Schulman, A. R. 1990. The Royal Butler Ramessessami’on: An Addendum, Chronique d’Égypte, 65: 12–20. Seyfried, K. J. 1981. Beiträge zu den Expeditionen des Mittleren Reiches in die Ost-Wüste. Hildesheimer ägyptologische Beiträge 15. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Simpson, W. K. 1965. Papyrus Reisner II, Transcription and Commentary. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Speidel, M. A. 1990. Die Friseure des agyptischen Alten Reiches. Konstanz: Hartung Gorre. Spencer, N. 2010. Priests and Temples: Pharaonic. In A. B. Lloyd (ed.), A companion to Ancient Egypt, volume 1. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 255–73. Strudwick, N. 1985. The Administration of Egypt in the Old Kingdom. London: Routledge and Keagan Paul.

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National administration   777 Strudwick, N. C. 2005. Texts from the Pyramid Age. SBL Writings from the Ancient World 16. Leiden: Brill. Théodoridès A. 1971. Les contracts d’Hapidjefa (XIIe dynastie, 20e s. av. J.-C.), Revue Internationale des Droits de l’Antiquité 18: 109–251. von Pilgrim, C. 1996. Untersuchungen in der Stadt des Mittleren Reiches und der Zweiten Zwischenzeit, Elephantine XVIII, Archäologische Veröffentlichungen 19. Mainz: Von Zabern. Valbelle, D. 1985. Les Ouvriers de la tombe, Deir El-Médineh à l’époque ramesside, Bibliothèque d’étude, no 96. Cairo: IFAO. Verhoogt, A. 2013. Administration, Ptolemaic Egypt. In The Encyclopedia of Ancient History, http:// dx.doi.org/10.1002/9781444338386.wbeah07002 (retrieved 15/01/2018). Vinogradov, I. V. 1991. The Middle Kingdom of Egypt and the Hyksos Invasion. In I. M. Diakonoff, Early Antiquity. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 179–92. Ward, W. A. 1982. Index of Egyptian Administrative and Religious Titles of the Middle Kingdom. Beirut: American University of Beirut. Wengrow, D. 2006. The Archaeology of Early Egypy, Scoial Transformation in the North-East Africa 10,000 to 2650 bc. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilkinson, T. A. H. 1999. Early Dynastic Egypt. London, New York: Routledge.

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chapter 36

L oca l a dmi n istr ation Christopher J. Eyre

Introduction and research questions Pharaonic Egypt appears homogenous geographically, culturally, and politically. Ideology justified government by the benefits of security, economic order, and justice. The political order imposed by the king is contrasted with the disorder of a country under independent, and squabbling local rulers.1 This ideology of the king as good shepherd, however, was part of a discourse with the small literate class, and not a reality of daily life. Variations in the agricultural regime, ethnic and linguistic differences, and local religious loyalties only appear explicitly at times of crisis, when the country was highly fragmented, with a patchwork of independent rulers. Yet reality was always complex, the penetration of central government uneven and complicated by local identities: autobiographies regularly stress that officials were in the favour of the local god (nṯr njwtj) as well as the king, and that they cared for and were popular with the local community. The core research questions are: 1. Government penetration. What government presence can be seen in the provinces, and how did government impose itself on the individual? 2. The organization of provinces. How to identify provincial centres, and how consistent was their administration? 3. Local elites. Did government co-opt hereditary local elites, or impose outside officials on provincial centres? Were provincial elites incorporated into the central court? 4. Village identities. How isolated were individual communities? Were communities self-regulating? To what extent were they estates of temples or great men? How free were individuals to move about the country? 5. Taxation and conscription. Were revenues managed through consistent bureaucratic systems, or through ad hoc local delegation? 1  P. Harris I, 75, 2–4 = Grandet 1994, I, 335 for Dynasty 20; Merikare 85–89, 98–103, and Neferti 49–51 with discussion by Gnirs 2006 for an earlier period.

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Local administration   779 6. The enforcement of government. Who enforced public order and revenue collection? How were they policed? 7. Bureaucracy. Do titles document effective and impersonal local bureaucracy?

Settlement patterns Settlement patterns in the Nile valley were largely defined by the annual inundation.2 Towns and villages stood on tells or river-bank levies, with local urban centres at regular intervals through the country.3 Tightly packed villages, surrounded by their fields, were self-contained in the countryside. Landing places (mryt) provided at the market crossroads, while larger towns, at regular intervals, dominated their rural hinterland, shaped by local travel times. The largest centres lay at important crossroads, controlling the trade routes on the river or through the deserts. The relationship between these centres and the natural basin ­ecology of the Nile is not clear.4 Flood patterns are not securely documented for ­pre-eighteenth-century Egypt, but the landscape was much wilder than it is today, with scrub-land, savannah and swamp around the arable cultivation. Villages were sensitive to cycles of good and bad Niles, to depopulation and re-colonization. Major artificial canalization is not attested until the early modern period, although the oases, at least by the late Old Kingdom, and the Fayum rather later, show genuine irrigation regimes where there was no natural flood. In the Nile valley cultivation was based on natural flow patterns into the basins, and local transverse canalization that provided limited local control. Any management was at a village level, below that of the documentary record.5 Egypt did not have a central political system built on hydraulic management, nor was water management the root of local administration. Much more important was local management of the access to cultivable land and its revenue streams. Local government had to ensure the flooded land was worked to maximum effect, and that labour was available for public works, the transport of revenues, and the exploitation of natural resources. Modern images of the corvée as a tool of central state authority are based on nineteenth-century models and are not applicable to the pharaonic period. Regular corvée for the maintenance of the hydraulic regime is not clearly documented; such activities were collaborative, at the level of the individual village and local flood basin. Demotic and Greek documents are more informative about local watering and labour duties for water channels, but this also reflects a continuing build-up of rural landscapes and extension of artificial watering.6

2  Kemp 1977; O’Connor 1972; Seidlmayer 1996; Eyre 1999, 35–9; Willems et al. 2017; and see Chapter 14 in this volume for archaeological approaches to settlement data. 3  Moeller 2016, 17–20. 4  See Chapters 5 and 9 in this volume for more detailed ecological, archaeological, and environmental perspectives. 5  Atzler 1995; Eyre 2004b. 6  Manning 1999, esp. 99–101, notes the newness of the well-documented Fayum, and its contrast with greater continuity (as well as real diversity) in the valley of Upper Egypt.

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780   Christopher J. Eyre

Provinces: the nome system The geographical divisions of the country are referred to by the Greek term ‘nome’. Each had a distinctive standard, used to write its name; standards of a type carried in procession on the mace-heads and palettes of the Early Dynastic Period. Such provinces are well attested in the Old Kingdom,7 and the detailed measurements of this systematic division of the country are documented on a kiosk of Senusret I from Karnak: 22 nomes for Upper Egypt and 14 of the standard 20 for Lower Egypt are preserved.8 By the Ptolemaic period these made up a systematic sacred geography, each nome distinguished by its town, god, temple, sacred animal, sacred tree, and distinctive taboo. A piece of the dismembered body of Osiris was buried in each nome-temple, so that the body politic of the state, physically and ideologically, comprised the body of Osiris.9 It is only a guess that this system derived from early political units, or that the nomes represent systematic administrative structures and not just geographical divisions of the country. The picture is often contradictory, not simply as a consequence of incomplete evidence but reflecting structural factors in the ecology and political order of a state that was never as monolithic as ancient ideology or modern historiography presents it.10 The inscription of Senusret I documents a codified knowledge of the geography of the provinces, important for revenue calculations, and asserts central authority over the provinces. It does not, however, document the structures of local administrations. In the Greco-Roman period the central regime targeted administrative coherence, with village scribes reporting through subordinate nome officials to the strategos in the metropolis and then to the central administration at Alexandria.11 Yet the system was not monolithic; individual towns had special status, and scribes also reported directly to the centre, while provincial administrations often covered a number of nomes.12 The administration of the Thebaid typically covered the whole of the far south. There are parallels with the Middle Kingdom, when the great magnates of Middle Egypt often controlled more than one nome, when the Head of the South functioned as a unit,13 but when officials of a nome-style administration are hardly known for the Delta.14

The Old Kingdom Early Egyptian year names refer to a regular ‘following of Horus’ and to a biennial counting of cattle, suggesting a system of revenue collection associated with regular royal progress 7  Fakhry 1961, 17–58 and pls. XII–XV; Jacquet-Gordon 1962, 125–37. 8  Lacau and Chevrier 1969; Leitz 2006. 9  Beinlich 1984; Osing and Rosati 1998, 30–43; cf. also Quack in Ryholt 2006, 2. 10  Eyre 2000, 22–8; Willems 2013. 11  Verhoogt 1998 gives the most detailed description of the activities of such a scribe, essentially the duties of land-revenue management. 12  Manning 2003, 31–3; 52–4; 136; 137–8; 156; Van t’Dack 1949; Thomas 1975–82; Butzer 1976, 103–5. 13 Pardey 2003. 14  But note an early Old Kingdom ḥ3tj-ˁ of the Busirite nome: Jones 2000, 497.

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Local administration   781 through the country and not through the actions of resident bureaucrats. Officials buried at Memphis hold titles that assert their authority over particular nomes, but more specifically over the wpwt ‘missions’ of individual nomes.15 Offering-bearers are also depicted as personifications of villages and estates in the provinces. The impression is that officials resident at court managed the resource flow from the provinces, controlling great estates—their pr ḏt—made up of individual villages and estates in different parts of the country. Often these were new foundations, named after the official or the contemporary king.16 Revenue scenes in Old Kingdom tombs show the presentation of produce from such estates; the headmen (ḥq3) of each village (njwt) and estate (ḥwt) report to scribes of the great man, and are flogged if production is insufficient. The village community was the key social unit, and its leading men were the key low-level administrators.17 The impression is that the country was not very densely populated, and that internal colonization was enriching a growing palace elite, but this may be distorting in light of the very limited evidence from the provinces before the late Fifth Dynasty. The picture then changes, with the appearance of major cemeteries in Upper Egypt and tomb autobiographies that provide narrative information.18 For instance, Weni served the king in the palace in the reigns of Teti and Pepi I.19 He was then appointed Overseer of Upper Egypt by Merenre, a new role at this date.20 He was twice responsible for the taxation (‘counting’) of Upper Egypt for the palace, as well as quarrying, canal-digging and boat-building to transport stone for the royal pyramid. He recruited an army, led by a ḥ3tj-ˁ or ḫtmtj-bjtj or ḥwtj-ˁ3tj smr wˁtj— holders of court rank—but also by ḥrjw-tp or ḥq3w-ḥwt—local chiefs—and by overseers of priests or overseers of the gs-pr. Their contingents came from the estates and villages (ḥwwt and njwwt) that they ruled. Also there were contingents of Nubians, under their own overseers. Weni recruited for specific missions, at a level below the nome; the picture is not that of a systematic provincial structure. Weni was almost certainly buried in his tomb at Abydos, but also had a funerary monument at Saqqara; his father held the title vizier, as he did himself at the end of his career.21 It is impossible to tell whether he, or contemporaries such as Djau of Deir el Gebrawi, or Qar at Edfu, or Pepinakht at Aswan were originally men of the palace or came to court from the provinces, but by the end of this period the provincial cemeteries show families of resident local magnates. It is unclear whether this witnesses the creation of more effective local government or a new recognition of local elites.22 Pharaonic ideology stressed meritocracy and nobility of office, not birth, but the absence of a class-defined concept of aristocracy does not imply that hereditary and kinship patterns were unimportant; for a man to pass his ‘office’ to his son was the norm, and kinship as well as patronage networks underlay social hierarchies and control of access to land within individual communities, although this is generally below the level of surviving evidence.23

15  Martin-Pardey 1976; 1984; 1995; Vallogia 1976, 29–39. 16 Jacquet-Gordon 1962. 17 Piacentini 1994. 18  Strudwick 2005, 328–78. 19  Eyre 1994b; Richards 2002. 20  Strudwick 317–19, 325–6; Martin-Pardey 1984, 248–9. 21  Richards 2010, 347–54; Collombert 2015. 22  Eyre 1994b, 117. 23  Moreno García 2013a.

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782   Christopher J. Eyre

The Middle Kingdom First-Intermediate-Period autobiographies from Upper Egypt show fierce local magnates claiming to feed the starving and to acquire people from other districts devastated by famines, while another sequence of magnates claimed royal titles at Herakleopolis. From this patchwork a new national regime emerged,24 yet even at the height of the Middle Kingdom the picture is very uneven.25 For many nomes there is no documented sequence of nomarchs, and as in the Old Kingdom, evidence for nome government is lacking in the Delta. There is no systematic title of ‘nomarch’.26 Some local magnates were ḥrjw-tp ˁ3 ‘Great Chiefs’ of a nome; ḥrj-tp ˁ3 ‘Chief ’ was used to designate local headmen. Others used the old ranking title of ḥ3tj-ˁ to mark authority over particular nomes.27 Generally they also claimed a title of Overseer of the Priests. The necropoleis of the most prosperous nomes of Middle Egypt in the early Twelfth Dynasty show powerful local families, accepting a central royal authority but imitating that court in their own sphere of influence: their tombs are situated high and prominently in the cliffs above the river, dominating the landscape, and with the extensive cemeteries of their subordinates in the plain below.28 The picture is one of personal subordination and patronage, not that of an impersonal regime or bureaucratic office. A distinction is made by Djefahapi of Assiut, funding the endowment of his cult: Look, it is property of the house of my father; it is not property of the house of the ḥ3tj-ˁ.

Kheti (II), son of Itefib, of Assiut, defines his relationship to the centre:29 One whom the king instructed (sb3) about the Two Lands, who poured water [for his] local god in the places of collection(?), whom the troops (jzwt) of Horus conducted south ([s]ḫnt) to the house of his father, who entered in [his . . .], who provided authority(?) (smn ḥr) for the fugitives that he himself had collected by his physical prowess, admired by the whole land, and with a famous name, Khety.

He also claimed to be:30 A lord, son of a lord, lord of lords, ancient seed, of pre-eminent ancestry, descendant of a primeval line, enduring on earth, whom his local god loves, Kheti.

Kheti was Great Chief of Nedjefyt, and Overseer of the Priests of both Wepwawet and Anubis. His father and grandfather were also provincial magnates at Assiut, and he appears 24 Favry  2005, with listings of ‘nomarchs’ for the relevant period and general discussion of the nomarch’s role. For the Old Kingdom attestations, see Jones 2000, 650–8. 25  Tallet 2005, 83–90 for brief general treatment; also see Willems 2007. 26  In general see LA II, 413–14 ‘Gaufürst’; LA II, 1042 ‘Hatia’; Willems 2013. 27  Baud et al. 1999, 9–13. 28  Garstang 1907; Seidlmayer 2007. 29 Tomb Siut IV, Lines 72/77ˊ–75/80ˊ. The inscription is now destroyed; the text established by Edel 1984, 99, is partly a reconstruction, but the sense here is clear; see also Kahl 1999, 21; Osing and Rosati 1998: 68–84. 30  Lines 85–7. For the themes see Kahl 1999, 249; Franke 1998.

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Local administration   783 to be the heir to a provincial noble family, brought up at court. The Middle Kingdom Satire on the Trades begins with a father sending his son from the provinces for education at the palace. The situation seems normal, although the distinction between pupil and political hostage is one of degree. Kheti’s installation was accompanied by a demonstration of military support from the centre. In the reign of Senusret III, the local ruler Amenemhet of Beni Hasan dated his tomb inscriptions by his own tenure of office in parallel to the regnal year of the king.31 He participated—at the head of locally recruited troops—in a campaign to Nubia, and twice on mining expeditions from Coptos, to acquire gold for the king. He stresses the transmission of revenues:32 A ruler whom his town loved, I spent years as ruler (ḥq3) of the Oryx-nome, all work (b3k) of the king’s house happening under my charge. Then I appointed overseers of gangs (mrwṯ3zwt) for the organizations (gsw-pr) of herdsmen of the Oryx-nome, 3,000 cattle as their yoke-oxen. I was favoured over it in the King’s-house each year of cattle-tax(??) (jrw). I delivered their production (f3.n.j b3kw.sn) for the king’s house; there was no deficit against me in any bureau of his. The entire Oryx nome was working (b3k) for me in unison. . . . There was no hungry man in my time. The hungry years came. Then I ploughed all the fields of the Oryx nome, to its southern and northern borders, so that I sustained (sˁnḫ) its inhabitants and provided its food (jr šbw.f). No man became hungry in it.

From the reign of Senusret III any stress on the nome as a unit of local administration disappears from the record, along with the title of ‘great chief ’. The title ḥ3tj-ˁ now seems focused on the administration of towns rather than provinces:33 the picture that is standard for the New Kingdom.

The New Kingdom The Eighteenth-Dynasty state claimed to replicate the Middle Kingdom, but with a new military focus. Ahmose son of Abana records land-grants to participants in the campaign of reunification: military holdings, dependant on allegiance to the king. Larger grants to the military created personal estates, in parts of the country to which the officer was not native.34 The admiral Neshi received property near the mouth of the Fayum, still held by his family in the reign of Rameses II; the estate Henput-Neshi and the village Wehat-Neshi carried his name.35 Such estates provided income for officials of the central regime, who were not necessarily resident in the provinces. The title ḥ3tj-ˁ now marked places where a resident ‘mayor’ served as political agent of the state.36 The functions of his office are ill-defined, however, and seem to vary. The Theban mayor Inene claimed responsibility for building the tomb of Thutmose I, and a range of other major works, as well as control of the local granaries and considerable authority over 31  Lichtheim 1988, 135–41; he also stresses that he succeeded his father. 32  Urk. VII, 15, 13–21 + 16, 7–11. 33  Tallet 2005, 86–9; Franke 1991. 34  Urk. IV, 2, 4; 6, 7–9; 10, 15–11, 14; Eyre 1994a, 114–15. 35  Gaballa 1977; Eyre 1994a, 116–17. 36 O’Connor, 1972; LA I, 875–80 ‘Bürgermeister’.

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784   Christopher J. Eyre the temple economy at Karnak.37 He was enriched by royal grants: control over mryt-people and personal income from the granary of the palace. In contrast, during the late Twentieth Dynasty inquiries into the tomb robberies, the Theban mayors Paser and Paweraa seem hapless figures: expected to report to the king but dominated politically by the local temple hierarchy, with little practical authority, and objects of contempt to the local population when the men of the Tomb demonstrated outside Paser’s office.38 Revenue collection certainly lay at the heart of the mayor’s role.39 The tomb of the vizier Rekhmire, from the reign of Thutmose III, shows the collection of revenues from the provinces:40 Seeing the accounts, accounted to the Office of the Vizier of the Southern Town, accounted against the mayors (ḥ3tjw-ˁ), chiefs of estates (ḥq3w-ḥwt), councillors of districts (qnbtjw nw w), heralds of nomes(?) (wḥmw nw sp3wt(?)), their scribes, and the scribes of their fields, which are in the Head of the South, from Elephantine—the fortress of Bigeh—done according to ancient records (zẖ3w n jzwt).

The functions associated with the title of Herald are not clear.41 Overall the impression is that patterns of local government were not fully systematic, despite the underlying expectation that a district was able to document its cultivated fields, and local functionaries were responsible for the revenues. Late New Kingdom land registers from the Temple of Amun—Papyrus Wilbour is the earliest—illustrate the collection process. These were not legal documents but revenue surveys. The temple authority was responsible for large parts of Upper and Middle Egypt, including the endowments of smaller temples. These registers provide grain assessments, listing those responsible for the payment on individual plots. Local oversight of the domains containing these plots lay in the hand of (m-ḏrt) a local representative: the term rwdw is characteristic. This man might himself be a ‘cultivator’ (jḥwtj), was often a scribe, but did not hold a specific state office. The letter P. Valençay 1 then exemplifies the complexity of collection.42 The mayor of Elephantine wrote to the Chief Taxing Master (ˁ3 n št) of the Temple of Amun at Thebes. He denied responsibility for revenues demanded by a scribe of the House of the Divine Adoratrice of Amun and for those due on some khanto-fields near Kom Ombo. These were fields of ‘freemen’ (nmḥw) who paid directly to the royal treasury; khanto-fields are a class of royal land, very often administered by temple estates. The mayor also protests at claims on partially inundated land at Edfu, insisting that he had paid the correct reduced assessment. A few years later a scribe of the Royal Tomb collected grain revenues in the districts of Gebelein and Esna; some was then delivered to the mayor of Western Thebes, Paweraa, and some to Theban temple administrators.43 The picture seems chaotic, but this is not simply a consequence of administrative breakdown. The system is not one of tax-farming; nor that 37  Urk. IV, 53–74; Dziobek 1992. 38  P. Abbott 5, 10–6, 24; Vernus 1993, 33–4. 39  E.g., also inscriptions of Renni of El-Kab, Urk. IV, 75. 40  Urk. IV 1119–39; the quotation is Urk. IV, 1119, 16–1120, 5, and see Urk. IV. 1128, 16–1129, 3 for parallel heading for the regions from Coptos to Assiut. The text may be of Middle Kingdom origin. 41  Quirke 2004, 112–13; Gnirs 1996, 176–8. 42  RAD 72–3; recent discussion in context, Eyre 2004b, 171. 43  Turin Taxation Papyrus, RAD 35–44; Gardiner 1941, 22–37.

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Local administration   785 of liturgies seen in Greco-Roman Egypt, where such functions were expensive duties imposed on local notables. It has, however, elements common with both. Local responsibility—local collection—was not delegated to local bureaucracies, but to leading members of the local communities, minimizing the size of salaried government. The state granaries and treasury seem to be essentially receiving institutions. Substantive data for their local functions are lacking.44 A temple endowment provided security of income in perpetuity.45 This predominance of temple administration may be a marked characteristic of the later New Kingdom and of Upper Egypt; the majority of fields here continued to be classed as temple and not state land through the Ptolemaic period, and much of the revenues passed through temple granaries and treasuries. The priesthood now provided the local lord. The Twentieth-Dynasty High Priest of Amun at Karnak controlled quarrying and mining in the Wadi Hammamat and the region of Elephantine, nominally as royal commissioner but practically as the regional power.46 This contrasts with earlier periods, when local magnates controlled their priesthoods.

Offices and structures The oasis site of Balat provides the best archaeological evidence for local government;47 the residence of local governors, including a funerary estate (ḥwt-k3) established by royal decree of Pepi II. An archive of hieratic clay tablets—used instead of papyrus—was found in a porticoed courtyard, as depicted in Old Kingdom tombs: scribes sit in the shade, surrounded by their document boxes, and those accounted stand in the open air. Original documents of local government offices are rare, and insight into administrative and archival practice is very limited. Property settlements do sometimes make reference to process in offices: for instance, in a late Twentieth-Dynasty case,48 the vizier presided over the hearing and ordered it to be put on a roll of papyrus at Medinet Habu, where the office of the mayor of Western Thebes was then situated.49 The coherence of local archives, however, and their value for reference should not be over-estimated. A description of the Duties of the Vizier,50 from tombs of the Eighteenth Dynasty, presents an idealized picture. The vizier, in daily consultation with the king, oversaw every form of local administration from his central office; land tenure, land management (including tree-felling), and the local officials, local councillors, mayors and headmen (qnbtjw nw w ḥ3tyw-ˁ ḥq3w-ḥwt) 44  Note the Turin Indictment Papyrus, RAD 73–82; Gardiner 1941, 60–62, for grain collections from the Delta for the Temple of Khnum at Elephantine. P. Baldwin + P. Amiens documents collections by transport boats in the regions of Hermopolis and Nefrusi, Janssen 2004; Megally 1971 for similar receipts of dates by the granary. 45  Eyre 1994, esp. 118–24. 46  Polz 1998; see also Chapter 8 in this volume for archaeological and cross-cultural perspectives on the organization and role of kinship in quarrying and mining expeditions. 47 Pantalacci  2001; Soukiassian, Wuttmann and Pantalacci,  2002; Pantalacci 2005; for Middle Kingdom administration of Dakhla see Baud et al. 1999. 48  P.Turin 2021 + P. Genf. D 409; KRI VI, 738–42; Eyre 2007. 49  For the physical remains of a mayor’s residence and its potential for understanding the functioning of the office see Wegner 2001a, 91; 2001b. 50  van den Boorn 1988; Eyre 2013, 58–77.

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786   Christopher J. Eyre who controlled cultivation and the harvest.51 The focus lay on written report, the dispatch of envoys, and the respect due to them from local officials. The difficulty of maintaining such control is emphasized in a decree of Horemheb,52 which lists measures to protect individuals, particularly nmḥw ‘freemen’, from exactions by state officials and the military.

Control of individuals Cult endowments and protection decrees attempt to restrict government intervention at a local level. Private endowments guarantee income from land, entailed in perpetuity to the heirs of the founder. Royal decrees protect the revenues of a temple.53 For instance, the Dashur decree of Pepi I is addressed to the very highest state officials, forbidding all sorts of taxation and conscription of the people and lands of the pyramids of Sneferu. The EighthDynasty decree Coptos L is addressed to a scribe of fields of five local nomes: he is told to survey the region with the local magnate Shemay—vizier, overseer of Upper Egypt, and overseer of the priests of Min—to document the protected endowment for Min.54 In contrast, the autobiography of Harkhuf records a suspension of protections, to allow him to draw on local institutions for resources on his journey from Nubia to the residence.55 These decrees refer to forms of conscription, but clear evidence for its local use for field work or the maintenance of water-courses is lacking.56 Project-based recruitment for public works—building, transport, or colonization—is better attested, but the mechanisms are unclear. Kahun papyri imply the local administration of a household census, perhaps related to other papyri that deal with local labour demands.57 Middle Kingdom magnates claim to recruit young men (ḏ3mw) for public works.58 The Old Kingdom Gebelein papyri include registers with lists of men and women from a number of settlements conscripted for public works,59 and accounts dealing with the personnel of two villages—peasants, artisans, and specialists, including local scribes—belonging to a pr-ḏt. Many are classed as ḥm-nswt, ‘king’s slave’. Local power structures depended on economic control. There is no clear evidence from the pharaonic period of legal restrictions on the movement of individuals—but this may not be particularly significant.60 Access to land and employment were so closely tied to socialization within a community, and authority so closely tied to retaining the working population on productive land, that individuals were effectively tied by their economic role. A Middle Kingdom papyrus in Brooklyn records agricultural defaulters:61 those who had ‘fled’ from ḫbsw-lands. These were managed by officials of the ‘Great Prison’ (ḫnrt wrt) and the ‘Office of Allocating People’. The context is uncertain, possibly land-development projects that were difficult to staff. The local economy depended on underlying peasant security. 51  Notably van den Boorn 1988, 234–49, §16 = Urk. IV, 1113, 3–5. 52 Kruchten 1981. 53  For the Old Kingdom see Goedicke 1967; 1970; Strudwick 2005. 54  Goedicke 1967, 165–71; Strudwick 2005, 120–1; for the New Kingdom see the Nauri decree of Seti I, Edgerton 1947; Brand 2000, 294–5. 55  Urk. I, 231; Strudwick 2005, 333. 56  Eyre 2004b, 181–4. 57  Collier and Quirke 2004, 110–17; on census see Valbelle 1987. 58  Eyre 2010 more generally for local investment in and management of building projects. 59  Posener-Kriéger 1975; Posener-Kriéger and Demichelis 2004; cf. Eyre 1999, 40–1. 60 Eyre 2004b. 61  Hayes 1955; Menu 1981; Quirke 1990, 127–54.

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Local administration   787 Insufficient inundation, excessive revenue demands, or simple public disorder resulted in the peasants abandoning the land. Conversely, the individual peasant is physically powerless in the face of local hierarchies. In his Sixth-Dynasty autobiography, the Overseer of Works Nekhebu tells how he had managed his elder brother’s village early in his career,62 and while managing his estate for him: Never did I beat any man so that he fell under my fingers. Physical constraint, however, need not have been a major factor in retaining populations. More typical is a village communal identity. It was characteristic to settle captives brought back from campaigns in their own communities. For instance, Rameses III settled Libyan communities in the western Delta, reflected clearly in the Libyan identity of these regions at the end of the Twentieth Dynasty. Similarly the Dashur decree of Pepi I refers to a community of ‘settled Nubians’ whose incursions on the pyramid town of Sneferu had to be prevented. In general, people were identified by where and under whose control they belonged. Theban documents of the late New Kingdom identify individuals by the institution to which they were attached,63 and the local official under whose authority they fell. At earlier periods this patronage seems more personal; in the Story of the Eloquent Peasant, the local official who abused the peasant belonged to the ḏt of the High Steward, who spoke of him as a dependant, while the High Steward’s advisors excuse the abuse as the sort of measure people take against their ‘peasants’ who turn to others. Often the working rural population are referred to as mrt; the term refers to people working to the profit of a great man or a temple. This contrasts with people classed as nḏz or nmḥw, who are ‘freemen’, probably in the sense of economically self-managing, and with no intermediary patron before Pharaoh. Such terms do not, however, define a technical legal status; the relationship is more one of patronage and group identity.

Village administration and local councils The local picture is one of tightly knit village communities, frequently part of the estate of a great man or a temple, over which authority was exercised through local headmen. The social organization of larger towns is virtually undocumented, although it is likely that professional and kinship groupings provided strong social identities and communal solidarities. The Ramesside village of Deir el Medina provides the only thoroughly documented model. Its inhabitants were all employed building the royal tomb. Nobody else lived in their village, a single street of tightly packed houses isolated in its desert wadi, and comparable to a farming village in the middle of its fields. A triumvirate of two foremen and a scribe controlled the work and dominated the village socially. They reported direct to the vizier, not the local mayor.64 The communal foci were the local council—the qnbt—and the local cult, particularly the oracle of Amenhotep I. Not simply a law court, nor simply a public assembly, the qnbt witnessed financial and social transactions; it—or sometimes the oracle—mediated in disputes; and it acted as conduit for public business. Like the oracle, it brought social pressure to bear, as a tool of and a limitation on the authority of the village leaders. For trivial 62  Strudwick 2005, 265–9; Eyre 1999, 41–2. 63  Haring 1997; Eichler 2000; Römer 1994. 64  For the administration by visit see Janssen 1997, 147–73.

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788   Christopher J. Eyre business a qnbt might consist of the scribe and an odd witness, to notarize a transaction written as procès verbal on an ostracon. In matters of real significance the qnbt was an assembly of the entire community, all the workmen and even with their wives and children present. Like the district councils of the Duties of the Vizier, it was the forum of local law and representative administration for the individual citizen, under the aegis of the local headmen.65

Local administration of law The administration of law is a key marker of government; he who judges is he who governs.66 To judge fairly was a standard claim of tomb autobiographies, and despite appeal to the king and vizier, judgment was in practice a function of the local hierarchy, on the basis of patronage and physical ability to enforce. The central regime shows little interest in controlling disputes within the individual community; there was no criminal police force, and no distinctive judiciary. Officials of state intervened in matters of importance to maintain the revenue stream and to enforce state power, but the involvement of an official in personal law demonstrated his prestige as mediator rather than a specific judicial function. The problem of rural disorder—banditry—is, however, a running theme in the history of Egypt.67 To keep order and suppress violence was an expected function of the state. The Eloquent Peasant expressed particular indignation that he was robbed on the road in the district of the High Steward, a man who ‘suppresses every bandit in this entire land’.68 Rameses III claimed to have made the roads safe for any woman to pass along.69 Rural ­security was likely to be an issue for local villages, but evidence for process is lacking. Ramesside documents from Thebes refer frequently to local forces of mḏ3y, particularly the mḏ3y of the (Royal) Tomb but also of other towns. These seem to be rural and desert security guards, but their very function is poorly documented.70 Other police-like functions were characteristically performed by the adherents and attendants of officials acting in the case.

Conclusions Bureaucracies of the pharaonic period were small in absolute terms, and focused on the person of the leading official. The abundance of titles complicates rather than clarifies government structure, since title-hierarchies are not consistent and functions can rarely be defined narrowly.71 Bureaucracy was not impersonal and systematic, but a scribal tool in the exercise of authority, while patronage and material reward for service brought advancement. The dealings of central government were mission-oriented, focused on the dispatch 65  See Allam 1995 for stress on qnbt as mixed administrative-judicial councils, and the absence of any separation of powers between administration and judicial function. 66 Eyre 2004a. 67 Eyre, 1996. 68  Peas. B1, 48; Parkinson 1997, 59–60. 69  P. Harris I, 78, 8–9; Grandet 1994, I, 339. 70  Cf. Darnell 2003. 71  See, e.g. Baer 1960, 296–302.

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Local administration   789 of agents on specific tasks. The speed of communication varied seasonally,72 dependant on the state of the Nile and the vagaries of the prevailing winds, and the appearance of central officials was cyclical, not a constant. Government was about drawing the maximum of resources for the minimum of effort. It did not want to pay the cost of bureaucracy but to privatize or delegate that cost. The extensive holding of provincial estates by officials or temples acted to the detriment of secular local government but also diminished locally based challenges to central authority. Effective regional authorities—local magnates and temples—will normally have maximized revenues but diminished central authority. The interplay is complex and often contradict­ ory. A self-confident king may strengthen resident provincial administration to increase revenue flow—probably the situation in the late Fifth and early Sixth Dynasties—just as a regime may disintegrate through failure to maintain flow of revenues, which was probably the situation in the Seventh–Eighth Dynasties. Yet a simple model of fluctuation between central and local authority in good and bad times is insufficient. The ideology of unique kingship masks the realities of local power structures and obstructs a clear view of the political incorporation of dominant families in the great provincial centres. State interest in the local management of cultivable land was locally mediated at all periods. Pressure was brought on local hierarchies to ensure productivity, to manage tenure and transmit revenues, but contact with the peasantry was delegated to intermediaries and not managed directly by a bureaucratic regime. The hierarchies of regional government are poorly understood, but the contact an ordinary Egyptian had with government was that of his local headman, who was the tax collector and the official conscripting men. Authority was based on hierarchies of patron–client relations, where government was not an impersonal mechanism, in contact with the individual, but mediated through headmen, who represented their communities, and by scribes who were the agents of the ruling authority. Scribal education asserted that the scribe was the only one who was not taxed but taxed others. The history of local government should then be measured according to degrees of alienation between peasant communities and state government, and the enforcement of revenue demands through local intermediaries.

Suggested reading There is no extensive general treatment of provincial administration, although many papers in Moreno García 2013 discuss the issues, and Eyre 2013 deals with bureaucratic issues relevant to the interaction of centre and periphery. The key works for geographical and administrative divisions are Helck 1974 and O’Connor 1972. For discussion of the evidence and its inter­ pretation for the Old Kingdom see Martin-Pardey 1976, Kanawati 1980, Moreno García 1999 and Moreno García 2013a; and for the Middle Kingdom Favry 2005, Tallet 2005, Willems 2007 and Willems  2013. There is no convenient systematic discussion of secular local administration for the New Kingdom and later; for the temples and their role in management and revenues see Haring 1997, and more generally for economic administration Janssen 1975. 72  Adams 2007, 19–22, 191–94, for post-pharaonic evidence.

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790   Christopher J. Eyre For a discussion of the problems and parameters in study of local administration see Eyre 2000; for convenient comparison with post-pharaonic material see Manning 2003.

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792   Christopher J. Eyre Kanawati, N. 1980. Governmental Reforms in Old Kingdom Egypt. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Kanawati, N. with A. McFarlane 1992. Akhmim in the Old Kingdom, I: Chronology and Administration. Sydney: Australian Centre for Egyptology. Kees, H. 1932. Beiträge zur altägyptischen Provinzialverwaltung und der Geschichte des ­Feudalismus  I: Oberägypten, Nachrichten von der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Philologisch-­Historische Klasse [1932]: 85–119. Kees, H. 1933. Beiträge zur altägyptischen Provinzialverwaltung und der Geschichte des Feudalismus II: Unterägypten, Nachrichten von der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, PhilologischHistorische Klasse [1933]: 579–98. Kemp, B.J. 1977. The Early Development of Towns in Egypt, Antiquity 51: 185–200. Kemp, B.J. 2006. Ancient Egypt: Anatomy of a Civilization. 2nd ed. London and New York: Routledge. Kruchten, J.-M. 1981. Le décret d’Horemheb: traduction, commentaire épigraphique, philologique et ­institutionel. Brussels: Université de Bruxelles. Lacau, P. and H. Chevrier 1969. Une chapelle de Sésostris Ier à Karnak. Cairo: Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte. Leitz, C. 2006. Die Größe Ägyptens nach dem Sesostris-Kiosk in Karnak. In G. Moers et al. (eds), jn.t ḏrw: Festschrift für Friedrich Junge. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie, 409–27. Lichtheim, M. 1988. Ancient Egyptian Autobiographies Chiefly of the Middle Kingdom: a Study and an Anthology. OBO 84. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. Lloyd, A.B. 1992. The Great Inscription of Khnumhotpe II at Beni Hasan. In A.B. Lloyd (ed.), Studies in Pharaonic Religion and Society in Honour of J.  Gwyn Griffiths. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 21–36. Manning, J.G. 1999. The Land-Tenure Regime in Ptolemaic Upper Egypt. In A.K.  Bowman and E. Rogan (eds), Agriculture in Egypt: From Pharaonic to Modern Times. PBA 96. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 83–105. Manning, J.G. 2003. Land and Power in Ptolemaic Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Martin-Pardey, E. 1976. Untersuchungen zur ägyptischen Provinzialverwaltung bis zum Ende des Altern Reichs. HAB 1. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Martin-Pardey, E. 1984. Gedanken zum Titel jmj-r3 wpt, SAK 11: 231–51. Martin-Pardey, E. 1995. Das ‘Haus des Königs’ pr-nswt. In D. Kessler and R. Schulz (eds), Ḥ tp dj n ḥ zj: Gedenkschrift für Winfried Barta. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 279–83. McDowell, A. G. 1990. Jurisdiction in the Workmen’s Comunity of Deir el-Medîna. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Megally, M. 1971. Le papyrus hiératique comptable E.  3226 du Louvre. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Menu, B. 1981. Considérations sur le droit pénal au Moyen Empire égyptien dans le P.  Brooklyn 35.1446 (texte principal du recto): responsables et dépendants, Bulletin du Centenaire, Supplément au BIFAO 81: 57–76. Moeller, N. 2016. The Archaeology of Urbanism in Ancient Egypt: from the Predynastic Period to the End of the Middle Kingdom. Cambridge: University Press. Moreno García, J.C. 1997. Études sur l’administration, le pouvoir et l’idéologie en Égypte de l’Ancien au Moyen Empire. Liege: Centre Informatique de Philosophie et Lettres, Université de Liège. Moreno García, J.C. 1998. De l’Ancien Empire à la Première Période Intermédiere: l’autobiographie de Q3r d’Edfou, entre tradition et innovation, RdE 49: 151–60. Moreno García, J.C. 1999. Ḥ wt et le milieu rural égyptien du IIIe millénaire: économie, administration et organisation territoriale. Paris: Libraire Honoré Champion. Moreno García, J.C. (ed.) 2005. L’agriculture institutionnelle en Égypte ancienne: état de la question et perspectives interdisciplinaires. CRIPEL 25. Lille: Université Charles-de-Gaulle. Moreno García, J.C. (ed.) 2013. Ancient Egyptian Administration. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Moreno García, J.C. (ed.) 2013a. The territorial Administration of the Kingdom in the 3rd Millennium. In J.C. Moreno García (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 85–151.

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Local administration   793 Müller-Wollermann, R. 1986. Krisenfaktoren im Ägyptischen Staat des ausgehenden Alten Reichs. ­Dissertation Tübingen. Müller-Wollermann, R. 1991. Präliminierung zur ägyptischen Stadt, ZÄS 118: 48–54. O’Connor, D. 1972. The Geography of Settlement in Ancient Egypt. In P. J. Ucko et al. (eds), Man, ­Settlement and Urbanism. London: Duckworth, 681–98. Osing, J., and G. Rosati. 1998. Papyri geroglifici e ieratici da Tebtynis. Florence: Instituto Papyrologico ‘G. Vitelli’. Pantalacci, L. 2001. L’administration royale et l’administration locale au gouvernorat de Balat d’après les empreintes de sceaux, CRIPEL 22: 153–60. Pardey, E. 2003. Die Datierung der ‘Dienstanweisung für den Wesir’ und die Problematik von Tp rsj im Neuen Reich. In N. Kloth, K. Martin, and E. Pardey (eds), Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück: Festschrift für Hartwig Altenmüller zum 65. Geburtstag. SAK Beiheft 9. Hamburg: Buske, 323–34. Parkinson, R.B. 1997. The Tale of Sinuhe and Other Ancient Egyptian Poems 1940–1640 bc, Translated with Introduction and Notes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Polz, D. 1998. The Ramsesnakhte Dynasty and the Fall of the New Kingdom: a New Monument in Thebes, SAK 25: 257–93. Posener-Kriéger, P. 1975. Les papyrus de Gébélein: remarques préliminaires, RdE 27: 211–21. Posener-Kriéger, P. and S. Dimechilis 2004. I papyri di Gebelein. Studi del Museo Egizio di Torino Gebelein I. Turin: Ministero per i Beni e le Attività Culturali—Soprintendenza al Museo delle Antichità Egizie. Piacentini, P. 1994. On the Titles of the ḥ q3 ḥ wt. In S. Allam (ed.), Grund und Boden in Altägypten. Tübingen: im Selbstverlag des Herausgebers, 235–49. Quirke, S. 1990. The Administration of Egypt in the Late Middle Kingdom: the Hieratic Documents. New Malden: Sia. Quirke, S. 2004. Titles and Bureaux of Egypt 1850–1700 bc. London: Golden House. Richards, J. 2002. Text and Context in late Old Kingdom Egypt: the Archaeology and Historiography of Weni the Elder, JARCE 39: 75–102. Richards, J. 2010. Spatial and Verbal Rhetorics of Power: Constructing Late Old Kingdom History, JEH 3.2: 339–66. Römer, M. 1994. Gottes- und Priesterherrschaft in Ägypten am Ende des Neuen Reiches: eine religionsgeschichtliches Phänomen und seine Grundlagen. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Ryholt, K. (ed.) 2006. The Carlsberg Papyri 7. Hieratic Texts from the Collection. With contributions by J.F. Quack, A. von Lieven, and K. Ryholt. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, University of Copenhagen. Seidlmayer, S. 1996. Town and State in the Early Old Kingdom: a View from Elephantine. In J. Spencer (ed.), Aspects of Early Egypt. London: British Museum, 108–27. Seidlmayer, S. 2007. People at Beni Hassan: Contributions to a Model of Ancient Egyptian Rural Society. In Z. Hawass and J. Richards (eds), The Archaeology and Art of Ancient Egypt: Essays in Honor of David B. O’Connor. CASAE 36. Cairo: Conseil Suprême des Antiquités de l’Égypte, II, 351–68. Soukiassian, G., Wuttmann, M., and Pantalacci, L. 2002. Balat VI. Le palais des gouverneurs de l’époque de Pépy II: les sanctuaires de ka et leurs dépendances. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Strudwick, N. 1985. The Administration of Egypt in the Old Kingdom: the Highest Titles and Their Holders. London: KPI. Strudwick, N. 2005. Texts from the Pyramid Age. Leiden: Brill. Tallet, P. 2005. Sésostris III et la fin de la XXe dynastie. Paris: Éditions Flammarion, département Pygmalion. Thomas, J.D. 1975–82. The Epistrategos in Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt. 2 vols. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. Vallogia, M. 1976. Recherches sur les ‘messagers’ (wpwtyw) dans les sources égyptiennes profanes. Geneva: Libraire Droz.

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794   Christopher J. Eyre Valbelle, D. 1987. Les recensements dans l’Égypte pharaonique des troisième et deuxième millénaires, CRIPEL 9: 33–49. Van T’dack, E. 1949. Recherches sur l’administration du nome dans la Thébaïde au temps des Lagides, Aegyptus 29: 3–44. Verhoogt, A.M.F.W. 1998. Menches, Komogrammateus of Kerkeosiris: the Doings and Dealings of a Village Scribe in the Late Ptolemaic Period (120–110 B.C.). P.L.Bat 29. Leiden: Brill. Vernus, P. 1993. Affaires et scandales sous les Ramsès: la crise des valeurs dans l’Égypte du Nouvel Empire. Paris: Pygmalion, Gérard Watelet. Wegner, J. 2001a. Institutions and Officials at South Abydos: an Overview of the Sigillographic Evidence, CRIPEL 22, Le Sceau et l’administration dans la Vallée du Nil, 77–106. Wegner, J. 2001b. The Town of Wah-sut at South Abydos: 1999 Excavations, MDAIK 57: 281–308. Willems, H. 2007. Dayr al-Barsha I. The Rock Tombs of Djehutinakht (no. 17K74/1), Khnumnakht (no. 17K74/2), and Iha (no. 17K74/3, with an Essay on the History and Nature of Nomarchial Rule in the Early Middle Kingdom. Leuven: Peeters. Willems, H. 2013. Nomarchs and Local Potentates: the Provincial Administration in the Middle Kingdom. In J.C. Moreno García (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 341–92. Willems, H., Creylman, H., de Laet, V., and Verstraeten, G. 2017. The Analysis of Historical Maps as an Avenue to the Interpretation of Pre-Industrial Irrigation Practices in Egypt. In H. Willems and J.-M. Dahms (eds), The Nile: Natural and Cultural Landscape in Egypt. Bielefeld: Transcript, 255–343.

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chapter 37

L aw Sandra Lippert

Introduction This article discusses our knowledge of ancient Egyptian law from the Old Kingdom to the end of the Third Intermediate Period, c.2686–664 bc (see Chapter  55 in this volume for demotic sources dealing with Egyptian law from the Late Period onwards; and see also Lippert 2016 for general discussion of Egyptian law from the Saite period to the Roman period, c.664 bc–ad 394).

Terms and concepts Two Egyptian terms are generally cited in order to explain the role played by ‘law’ in ancient Egyptian culture, and how this relates to our modern definition of law. The first is m3ʿ.t, a multi-layered term covering such concepts as ‘correctness’, ‘truth’, ‘justice’, and ‘order (­cosmic, natural as well as social)’: m3ʿ.t can be seen as the framework in which all human action has to take place so as to guarantee the continuation of the cosmic cycles and thus existence itself.1 The rules of m3ʿ.t bind king and commoners alike, assigning to each person tasks and comportments proper to their station. Thus, the king not only has to defend the country and keep the population well fed, content and thus at peace, but also to fulfil ritual obligations towards the gods, such as temple building and maintenance, the organization of festivals and daily offerings. Similarly, individuals have to show loyalty to their superiors and the king, behave justly towards their peers, and charitably towards their inferiors.2 Thus, although there is a certain element of ‘legality’ in the notion of m3ʿ.t, the concept obviously transcends the modern term ‘law’. The second important term is hp, most likely in use since about 2000 bc.3 It was applied in the sense of ‘(single) law’ throughout Egyptian history, but its scope is broader than that of our modern term, including regulations concerning the clergy or agreed upon by the members of associations, which we would call ‘precepts’ or ‘conventions’ rather than ‘laws’. 1  Assmann 2000: 185.

2  Lippert 2008: 2–4.

3  Lorton 1986: 58.

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796   Sandra Lippert A viable definition for hp would be ‘any rule of behaviour that was considered obligatory and the disregard of which resulted in punitive action by the community or the state’.4 An additional, somewhat later meaning of hp was that of ‘legal title’: a right attributed by law or acquired through a legal document or a court decision.5 The plural hp.w, and at least in demotic texts also the determined singular p3 hp, can refer to the totality of laws (in the above-mentioned Egyptian sense) and thus includes our modern notion of ‘the law’, without quite coinciding.6 A problem in dealing with Egyptian legal history arises from the fact that our modern understanding of law is very much coloured not only by the respective legal systems of our own modern cultures (that is, the Anglo-Saxon, Napoleonic, German, Scandinavian etc. legal systems), but to a certain degree also by Roman law. This not only makes it ­difficult to approach Egyptian law unprejudiced, but also seriously hampers the translation of ancient Egyptian legal texts, as technical terms of the source language practically never have a one-to-one correspondence with those of the target language, as has been exemplified with the terms hp and ‘law’ above. Thus, translation always has to be accompanied by explanation in order to avoid misunderstandings between scholars coming from different cultures and/or disciplines. To give just one example of ways in which ancient Egyptian and modern views can diverge: modern societies generally distinguish between civil and criminal law and deem that a deed is ‘criminal’ when it not only affects the immediate victim, but also harms society itself, and thus has to be prosecuted by state organs, and subjected to penalization. For ancient Egyptians, however, the boundaries between acts merely warranting reparation for the victim and those demanding a punishment targeting the person of the perpetrator (be it imprisonment, forced labour, whipping, mutilation or even capital punishment), were not the same as for us: in cases of theft, assault or rape committed against private citizens, which we would label as crimes, the legal consequences were limited to financial amendments for the victim (which would only correspond to the civil law side of such cases in modern societies), while corporeal punishment of the perpetrator is generally only menaced, not as the consequence of the deed itself, but as a result of the non-observance of the court’s injunction to henceforth abstain from these acts.7 While such a treatment of crimes against private citizens might seem to us astonishingly lenient, theft from temples or royal tombs, but also perjury (considered as an offence against the king invoked in the oath) could be punished by mutilation or even execution.8

The Old Kingdom and the First Intermediate Period Since the number of documents of legal import surviving from the Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period is comparatively small, many details of Egyptian law in this period still escape us. Almost all sources for legal activities in the Old Kingdom come from funerary contexts, because copies of papyrus documents inscribed on tomb walls are much likelier to 4  Lippert 2012: 2. 7  Lippert 2012: 2.

5  Nims 1948: 243–60; van den Boorn 1988: 167–8. 8  Lippert 2008: 65, 67.

6 Lorton 1986.

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Law   797 survive than the documents themselves. The scope of these sources is therefore biased, ­centering around property (as sign of status), inheritance, and funerary foundations, concerning almost exclusively male persons of high rank.

Property and its transmission The texts suggest that, originally, the king was the only person to own property in land. To reward his officials, he provided them with fields and serfs to cultivate them. At first only given as fiefs, these domains gradually developed de facto into personal property, as the king granted their hereditary character as an additional favour. But even then, the transfer of real estate by inheritance probably had to be approved by the royal administration.9 Sources show a strong preference for the eldest son as (sole) heir. The ideal case saw the eldest son also following his father in terms of his office, although at least in the Old Kingdom this was subject to royal approval. It is possible that, in the absence of documents, the eldest son automatically received the whole property of his deceased father, although he might have been responsible for the maintenance of his younger siblings. We do not have sufficient sources to say whether intestate inheritance from the mother followed the same rules. The inheritance, however, could also be apportioned differently: for example, it might be divided among the children or conveyed to someone other than the eldest son, by a document of transfer that became valid upon the death of the testator.10 The question of the existence of slavery in Old Kingdom Egypt (and later periods) has led to controversy.11 As Menu rightly pointed out, no study on the Egyptian terminology of servitude has hitherto succeeded in identifying a word that corresponds exactly to our modern understanding of ‘slave’, which is based on the Roman legal definition12: i.e. a person whose life and freedom is in the power of another person, and who has no property of his own, but is the property of another. Even though, by simplification, the term ‘slave’ continues to be used in connection with ancient Egyptian dependent workers, it is now widely admitted that slavery in the modern sense of the word did not exist in ancient Egypt before the Hellenistic period, a possible exception being the condition of foreign captives of war.13 Rather, various grades and types of dependency can be seen already in the Old Kingdom, from the mr.t-serfs assigned by the king to work on the estates alotted to temples or state functionaries14 to the salaried ỉsw.w-workers who (or rather whose services) are ‘bought’ by private persons15, while the term b3k ‘servant’ is used since the Old Kingdom even for (and by) the highest officials to express their subservience to the king.16

Women’s rights, marriage, and divorce The sparse documentation concerning the legal position of women in the Old Kingdom at least allows us to state that they were able to own property and to bequeath it to their 9  Andrassy 1994: 343–5. 10 See Papyrus Berlin P. 9010, published by Sethe 1926. 11  Pirenne 1934: 316, 456; Seidl 1939: 42; Bakir 1952: 64–9; Menu 2000: 59–79. 12  Menu 2000: 66. 13 Vittmann 2006. 14  Allam 2004: 123–42; 155. 15  Thus Goedicke 1970: 209, against Bakir 1952: 14. 16  Hofmann 2005: 99–101.

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798   Sandra Lippert children (the main source being the Inscription of Meten17). Tomb scenes show men with more than one wife, but there is no proof that these marriages were simultaneous and not consecutive, due to death or divorce.18 The earliest textual evidence for divorce comes from the Instruction of Ptahhotep19, which dates itself (probably fictitiously) to the Fifth Dynasty (c.2494–2345 bc). It is tempting, although not compulsory, to suggest that divorce may be the explanation for instances of erasure of images of the wife on monuments of her husband, as in the case of a pair statue in Hildesheim.20

Legal transactions and their documentation Although no primary sources for written law are known from the Old Kingdom, a certain degree of formalization, which is visible in documents of juridical importance from the Third Dynasty (c.2686–2613 bc) onwards, hints at the existence of binding rules governing legal transactions. Documents concerning sales of houses, transfer of property without payment (often in lieu of wills) and regulations pertaining to the establishment of funerary cults are known, although mostly through more or less accurate copies on tomb walls. These latter are often erroneously identified as ‘documents of foundation’21, although the foundation itself was set up by different documents that are referred to in the regulations.22 Legal transactions in the Old Kingdom consisted of oral declarations in front of a body of officials and a number of witnesses. The date, name and speech of the declarant as well as the names of the witnesses were written down and the document sealed, thus enabling it to be used as proof in case of a dispute. Documents concerning sales contained the dec­lar­ ations of both parties (a practice apparently limited to the Old Kingdom), whereas those for transfers of property without payment and regulations were unilateral declarations.23 The role of the so-called jmy.t-pr documents is widely discussed. This term appears quite frequently in texts of legal importance. The context shows that it concerns a transfer of property, usually (if not always) between family members, and the formulaic contrast between ‘giving by jmy.t-pr’ and ‘giving for payment’, e.g. in the Inscription of Kaemnefret24, suggests that it was without payment. However, since no document from the Old Kingdom refers to itself as an jmy.t-pr, the exact form and circumstances remain obscure. The Inscription of Nebkauhor B mentions several times ‘this jmy.t-pr’, but the reference is to another document, the text itself belonging to those that can be classified as regulations.25 Menu is convinced that the aim of an jmy.t-pr was to preserve the transferred property as a whole.26 Gödecken maintains that the person issuing the document reserved for himself the right of property, the other party being entitled to its usufruct.27 Mrsich explains the jmy.t-pr as a document regulating difficult transactions, be they donations or sales.28 Goedicke equates the jmy.t-pr and Roman testamentum, but thinks that it might, in some cases, have also been used for sales.29 Johnson also sees it as a will by which property can be 17  See Goedicke 1970: 17; Gödecken 1976: 11. 18  Pace Kanawati 1976: 158. 19  Papyrus Prisse 15.6; see Žaba 1956: 56; Lichtheim 1973: 73. 20  Pelizaeus-Museum 2973; see Pestman 1961, 59; Helck 1984: col. 559–60; Eggebrecht 1986: 102–3. 21  Lange 1914: 1004. 22  Lippert 2008: 23–4. 23  Lippert 2008: 22–3. 24  Goedicke 1970: pl. V. 25  See Goedicke 1970: pl. X. 26  Menu 1971: 158. 27  Gödecken 1976: 213–15; 1980: col.143. 28  Mrsich 1968: 69. 29  Goedicke 1970: 204.

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Law   799 transferred to a person who, without this document, would not inherit it.30 However, the explanation that is the best fit to the evidence is that the jmy.t-pr documents are to be identified with the documents of transfer of property without payment mentioned above, which were quite frequently used as wills.31

Royal decrees The king could issue decrees (wḏ(.t)-nsw) for the benefit of institutions such as temples and royal funerary cults, freeing them from taxes and compulsory labour, or for individuals, granting them property or elevating them in rank.32 These royal decrees follow a consistent layout of horizontal and vertical lines and contain formulaic phrasing, pointing to a welldeveloped bureaucracy.33

Tribunals, court proceedings, and punishment Law courts in the Old Kingdom consisted of officials (sr.w) with otherwise administrative functions34; there were no professional judges. Like other divisions of the royal administration, these officials were supervised by the vizier, who in this function bears the juridical titles of z3b ‘judge’ and jmy-r3 ḥ w.t-wr.t 6 ‘overseer of the six great houses’. They acted as a group (ḏ3ḏ3.t), although there are no sources about statutory or minimum numbers of members. It is to be expected that courts existed not only in the royal residence but also in larger provincial towns. Exceptional and therefore of little value to the understanding of Old Kingdom court ­procedure is the investigation and/or trial of queen Weretiamtes alluded to in the a­ utobiography of Weni.35 A single document (Papyrus Berlin P. 901036) gives details about legal ­pro­ced­ure in the Sixth Dynasty (c.2345–2181 bc). The beginning of the text, and thereby the mention of the court, is lost. The plaintiff states his position and submits a document supporting his claims; the defendant then answers by doubting the authenticity of the document. The judges decide that, in order to win his case, the plaintiff has to bring three witnesses who are able to swear that the document is genuine. If he is unable to do so, the defendant wins. This kind of ‘conditional judgement’ remains typical throughout Egyptian legal history. We do not know much about criminal law in the Old Kingdom, mainly because of the funerary contexts of most sources. The penalty of beating is mentioned in texts (e.g. Inscription B of Nebkauhor37) and represented on tomb walls38, but without clear reference to the crime committed. Capital punishment was possibly restricted to prisoners of war and rebels. The Instruction for Merikara, of the First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc), advises its avoidance and recommends beating and confinement in its stead (section E4839).

30  Johnson 1996: 177. 31  Lippert 2008: 25–6. 32  For translations of Old Kingdom royal decrees, see Goedicke 1967. 33  Gödecken 1976: 1–45, esp. 2–6. 34  Martin-Pardey 1994: 164–5. 35  Lichtheim 1973: 18–23. 36  See Sethe 1926: 67–79. 37  See Goedicke 1970: 94–103, pl. X. 38  Beaux 1991: 33–9. 39  See Quack 1992: 32–3.

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800   Sandra Lippert

The Middle Kingdom and the Second Intermediate Period Although primary sources are still lacking, the existence of written law in the Middle Kingdom (c.2055–1650 bc) is highly likely. The Admonitions of Ipuwer refer to ‘laws of the work camp/prison (ḫnr.t, see below)’ being torn up and trampled (sections 6.9–1040), and there are other texts citing names of particular laws (e.g. Papyrus Brooklyn 35.144641). Whether these laws were already collected in extensive legal codes remains obscure, it is also possible that the central administration simply kept track of legislation by filing royal decisions for further reference.

Property After the breakdown of the Old Kingdom, property in the form of land became available for larger portions of the population. From the Middle Kingdom onwards, even offices, and income resulting from the latter, were treated as personal property, and could be bought and inherited seemingly without reference to the king (see Papyrus Kahun VII.142). Servants were transferred by jmy.t-pr (see Papyrus Kahun  I.143), and serfs were bought and sold together with the land on which they worked.44

Legal transactions and their documentation Legal documents, as in the Old Kingdom, start with a date. The introductory formula shows the new pattern ‘Transaction/document made by A with/for B’. Sales were now recorded as unilateral declarations of the seller, who states that he has received the price. The use of the jmy.t-pr as a will is documented by Papyrus Kahun I.145, where an earlier jmy.t-pr for the first wife was abolished in favour of a new one—something that would be impossible if the first document had been valid immediately, and not only after the death of its issuer. No land leases seem to have survived, although references in the Hekanakht papyri imply that fields in fact were leased out in the Middle Kingdom.46 A legal document of the Seventeenth Dynasty (c.1580–1550 bc), copied on the Cairo Juridical Stele (aka Stèle Juridique) (ori­gin­ al­ly found in the hypostyle hall of Karnak Temple), contains clauses that aim to prevent objections against the transaction, which are almost identical in content to those still used in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods.47 The oath by the king—taken in front of witnesses, and at least in some cases recorded on a document—appears as a method to secure promises and confirm declarations, both before a court and in private transactions, such as those recorded on Papyrus Kahun II.148 and the Berlin leather scroll (Berlin P. 1047049). 40  See Lichtheim 1973: 199. 41  See Hayes 1955: 47–8. 42  Ganley 2003a: 17. 43  Griffith 1898: 31–5; Ganley 2003a. 44  Bakir 1952: 22. 45  Ganley 2003a: 17–19. 46  James 1962: 19 n.10, 114. 47  Lacau 1949; Ganley 2004: 57–67. 48  Ganley 2003b: 37–44. 49  See Vittmann 1996: 35–40.

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Law   801

Women’s rights, marriage, and divorce As far as sources allow us to judge, the legal position of women in the Middle Kingdom remained comparatively strong. There is evidence that they were able to own property (Papyrus Kahun I.150) and bring suits independent of their husbands (Papyrus Brooklyn 35.1446 verso B51). Multiple marriages existed, as in the Old Kingdom, although there is no necessity to consider them as contemporaneous. Possible cases of brother-sister-marriage have been quoted for the Middle Kingdom52, however, given the large application of the term sn.t, which not only means ‘sister’, but also ‘aunt’, ‘niece’, and, most relevant in this context, ‘female (first or second) cousin’53, they are far from certain. Divorce is mentioned in the Tale of the Eloquent Peasant (section B 1 94) and might be the reason for the legal transaction of Papyrus Kahun VII.1.54

Tribunals, court proceedings, and punishment The term qnb.t, known from the First Intermediate Period onwards as a designation of administrative bodies, developed in the Middle Kingdom into the usual designation of legal courts, gradually replacing ḏ3ḏ3.t. In the Second Intermediate Period (c.1650–1550 bc), cases were brought before the bureau of local commissioners (wḥ m.w), who decided after consultation with the bureau of the vizier. Evidence for the latter can be found on the leather scroll Berlin P. 1047055 and the Cairo Juridical Stele at Karnak.56 An institution connected with the judgment as well as the punishment of criminals is the ḫnr.t, often translated as ‘prison’ but more likely a labour camp.57 The reasons why people are to be confined there usually remain obscure, although desertion from compulsory labour for the state is sometimes mentioned. There are no textually recorded cases of physical injuries, manslaughter, murder or theft of private property in the Middle Kingdom, although it is of course unlikely that they did not occur. The stealing and selling of animals belonging to a temple domain resulted in the perpetrator being expelled from the priesthood and being deprived of his fortune (e.g. the Decree of Inyotef VII Nubkheperra58).

The New Kingdom and the Third Intermediate Period From the New Kingdom (c.1550–1069 bc), we possess a wealth of legal sources compared to earlier periods, but many of these texts derive from Deir el-Medina, the settlement of the workers building royal tombs. The Deir el-Medina community were under direct supervision of the vizier and their texts are therefore not always representative of the legal practice of the rest of Egypt. 50  See Ganley 2003a: 21–7. 51  See Hayes 1955: 114–1123, pl. XIV. 52 Černý 1954: 26, 29; Frandsen 2009: 38. 53  See Franke 1983: 160–71. 54  Ganley 2003a: 17–21. 55  Vittmann 1996: 35–40. 56  Ganley 2004: 57–67. 57  See Hayes 1955: 36–41. 58  See Goebs 2003.

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802   Sandra Lippert By this date, written law is attested by royal decrees with general import, such as the Decree of Horemheb59, as opposed to those pertaining to special institutions, such as the Nauri Decree.60 Laws are also cited in protocols of court proceedings, where they are usually defined as royal pronouncements. The forty šsm.w described in the Duties of the Vizier, and depicted in the Theban tomb of Rekhmira (TT100) as lying in front of the vizier during court sessions, are, however, not leather scrolls containing legal codes, as once thought, but rods or whips symbolizing the vizier’s power of punishment over the forty districts of Egypt (van den Boorn 1981: 29). Nevertheless, the bureau of the vizier seems to have performed the role of record keeper of the royal legislation, to which local courts turned in order to receive instructions.61

Women’s rights, marriage, and divorce The New Kingdom offers more evidence for the independent legal position of Egyptian women: they appear in virtually all types of legal transactions, as witnesses and perhaps even as judges in the local court of Deir el-Medina (Ostracon Gardiner 15062). However, Menu points out that, while there is ample attestation for women as holders of landed property, there are indications that, at least during the Third Intermediate Period (c.1069–664 bc), some women chose (or had to choose) a male representative in the actual handling of their affairs.63 As in earlier periods, legal documentation was not necessary for the validity of a marriage as such. Some sources point to the existence of a law that foresaw that, in case of divorce, the woman had a right to one third of the property that the couple had acquired during their marriage.64 The earliest marriage settlements, i.e. legal documents regulating the financial support of the woman and the inheritance rights of the children in case of a divorce, date from the Twenty-second Dynasty (c.945–715 bc), and they do not change in form until the Twenty-sixth Dynasty (c.664–525 bc). They contain three important paragraphs: the man is said to enter the house of the bride’s father in order to make her his wife; a list of things (usually money and grain) designated as ‘woman’s gift’ is drawn up; and the man swears that, if he divorces the woman (unless he does so because of her infidelity), he will give her the ‘woman’s gift’, and the children she bore him will remain heirs to his ­fortune.65 As the term sn.t (see above) is the usual term of endearment for a wife in the New Kingdom66, it becomes practically impossible to identify marriages between close relatives. From the early Eighteenth Dynasty onwards, kings are known to have married their (half-) sisters, for example Amenhotep I and Ahmose Meritamun, Thutmose II and Hatshepsut, or Merenptah and Isisnofret. For Amenhotep III, Amenhotep IV/Akhenaten and Rameses II even marriages with their own daughters have been assumed based on the latters’ titles, but this was refuted by Meyer.67 The earliest certain case of a marriage between (half?-)siblings outside the royal family is attested in the Twenty-second Dynasty among Libyan nobles (Stele Louvre IM 374968). 59 Kruchten 1981. 60 Griffith 1927. 61  Lippert 2008: 47–8. 62  See Allam 1973: 181, no.180. 63  Menu 1989: 197–9; 205. 64  Lippert 2008: 58–9. 65  Lüddeckens 1960: 10–17, nos 1–4. 66  Černý 1954: 23–5; 28; 40. 67  Meyer 1984: 259. 68  Lippert 2008: 58.

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Law   803

Legal transactions and their documentation Legal documents continue to be unilateral declarations, with large portions phrased as direct speech. The introductory formula of legal documents, ‘Transaction/document made by A with/for B’, is still used in the early New Kingdom, but during the Eighteenth Dynasty was gradually replaced by ‘This day of making a transaction/document that A makes with/for B’. From the Twenty-second Dynasty onwards, this may be replaced by  ‘Says A to B’, which becomes the normal introduction in the Twenty-fifth Dynasty (c.747–656 bc). The latter also sees the development of a new variety of script: in Upper Egypt, especially the Thebaid, abnormal or cursive hieratic takes the place of hieratic in letters and legal documents. Jmy.t-pr documents are still used as wills (e.g. Ostracon DeM 10869; Stele Cairo CG 3401670), but other types (donations mortis causa and property divisions) can also serve this purpose.71 If a person did not set up a document with testamentary force during his lifetime, the inheritance came to his children or, if he had none, to his siblings. Apart from their statutory third of the joint property, spouses were not considered legal heirs, as can be seen by the case of a childless man adopting his wife in order to make her sole heir to the disadvantage of his siblings (Papyrus Ashmolean 1945.9672). The New Kingdom yields the earliest attested cases of disinheriting children because of misbehaviour (Papyrus Ashmolean 1945.9773). A law stated that only persons who carried out the burial of a deceased could inherit from him (Papyrus Cairo CG 58092 recto74). Sales of goods of minor value (such as food, clothing, furniture, and household utensils) were carried out without setting up elaborate legal documents. The receipt of the payment is, however, sometimes recorded in an informal way on ostraca, sometimes together with the names of witnesses.75 Purchase on credit was quite common at Deir el-Medina and probably elsewhere, as were complaints or suits because of delayed payment (e.g. Ostracon Chicago 1207376). Proper documents were employed for the sale of dependant workers, offices, and land, including the statements of the seller as to receipt of the price, legal transfer of the object of the sale, and the future sole and unencumbered ownership of the buyer (Papyrus Gurob II.1, II.277). Dependant workers (ḥ m.w, bȝk.w), sometimes explicitly of foreign (Asiatic) origin, are not only attested on temple domains, but also transferred from one private person to another by sale, lease and inheritance, which made earlier scholars label them as ‘slaves’—however, the phrasing of the corresponding documents and their contextualization shows that, from an Egyptian point of view, it was less the person him/herself than his/her workforce that was the object of these transactions.78 There are cases where these dependant workers were released from their work obligations preceding their marriage with free citizens (e.g. a statuette in the Louvre, E 1167379) or their adoption by their former boss (Papyrus Ashmolean Museum 1945.9680).

69  See Allam 1973: 89–91: no.57. 70  See Spalinger 1984: 631–51. 71  Lippert 2013: 6–8. 72  See Allam 1973: 258–67, no.261. 73  See Allam 1973: 268–74, no.262. 74  See Allam 1973: 289–93, no.268. 75  Lippert 2008: 49–50. 76  See Allam 1973: 73–6, no.40. 77  See Gardiner 1906: 35–7. 78  Menu 1998: 193–206. 79  See de Linage 1939. 80  See Allam 1973: 258–67, no.261.

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804   Sandra Lippert Loans are first securely attested from the Ramesside period (c.1295–1069 bc), although two cases from the Second Intermediate Period might already have involved loans or de­posits.81 Actual loan documents survive only from the Twenty-second Dynasty. In these, the debtor declares that he has received a sum that he has to pay back on a certain future date with interest. For grain loans, this was usually fifty per cent, as the grain would have been used for sowing, but money loans had different rates of interest. According to Diodorus Siculus (I: 79.2), king Bakenrenef (Bocchoris) of the Twenty-fourth Dynasty is said to have put the upper limit of the accumulated interest in money loans at double the capital sum, and evidence for this might actually be preserved in a fragmentary copy of what was probably the Egyptian law collection ordered by Achaemenid ruler Darius I (c.522–486 bc) in the Twenty-seventh Dynasty.82 Leases of animals and servants are first recorded from the Eighteenth Dynasty. A peculiar feature is that they are phrased as sales of working days (e.g. Papyrus Gurob II.1, II.283). Although there is evidence for the leasing of land already in the Middle Kingdom (see above), and of rent paid as a portion of the harvest as early as the Nineteenth Dynasty (e.g. Papyrus Berlin P. 304784), no documents for leases of land are known before the Twentyfifth Dynasty.85 Then they can be made out either by the lessor or the lessee, and usually stipulate a quarter of the harvest as rent.

Tribunals, court proceedings, and punishment As in earlier periods, courts were composed of several judges acting as a body. At least from the Second Intermediate Period onwards, there were two levels of jurisdiction. A high court (qnb.t ʿȝ.t) was presided over by the vizier and situated at the royal residence(s), at times one at Thebes and one at Heliopolis and/or Memphis (see Gardiner 1903–5: 33–5 [119–21]). It was concerned with matters of land ownership and criminal cases in which mutilation or capital punishment was to be imposed, as attested by the Ostracon BM 65930.86 The king himself would occasionally render judgment in these courts (according to Papyrus Geneva D 19187). On a local level, courts of officials and priests that decided on matters of lesser importance existed in towns and even villages. The trial was held publicly; plaintiff and defendant both had to be present. They stated their positions and the judges would then ask questions and call up witnesses. Decision was given under the formula ‘A is right, B is wrong’. Occasionally laws were cited either by one of the parties or the judges. The proceedings were documented more or less extensively; ideally the date, composition of the body of judges, names of the parties, their statements, the judgment, and the names of witnesses to the trial were all noted.88 An alternative method was the consultation of a deity. Oracular decisions were usually given by gods during processions, the movements of the cult image on the shoulders of its bearers being interpreted as answers.89 Apart from the exchange of divine for human judges, the procedure and the documentation of oracular trials were quite similar to those of conventional court sessions.90 81  Lippert 2008: 33–4. 82  See Lippert 2004: 397–8. 83  See Gardiner 1906: 35–7. 84  See Helck 1963: 37–48. 85  Donker van Heel 1997: 83–4. 86 Allam 1973: 214–17, no.217. 87  See Allam 1973: 303–7, no.273, pl. 100–1. 88  Lippert 2008: 79–81. 89  Černý 1962: 43–5. 90  Allam 2008: 122–30.

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Law   805 Thieves, as long as their crime concerned only private property, were condemned to give back the stolen goods and to pay double or treble their worth to the owner. In cases of theft from temples, royal tombs, or state institutions, graver measures, up to and including the death penalty, were applied.91 A number of cases of physical injuries (usually inflicted through beating) and of rape are known from the New Kingdom. Seemingly, the local courts, who had no authority to inflict heavy bodily punishments, could do not much more than to impose an oath on the per­pet­ ra­tor not to repeat his violent actions, and they could only threaten him with deportation and penal labour—often with no result (e.g. Papyrus DeM 2792). Cases of manslaughter and murder against private persons are rare in our sources, and as a consequence it remains somewhat unclear how they were treated, but there are indications that local officials were expected to solve cases of suspicious deaths.93 High treason was punished harshly, as is shown by the proceedings following the ex­pos­ ure of the ‘harem conspiracy’ against Rameses III (c.1184–1153 bc). Involved in this plot to murder the king and to install a minor prince in his place were royal women and high officials. Most of the accused were condemned to death; at least some of them were allowed or forced to commit suicide.94

Suggested Reading A series of monographs by Erwin Seidl (1939, 1956, 1962, 1964, 1973) are among the earliest comprehensive works on ancient Egyptian law; these are still important for the understanding of the historical development of research in Egyptian law, although they are now largely outdated through the discovery of new sources and the application of new approaches that favour the comprehension of the Egyptian legal system ‘from the inside’, instead of through the lens of Roman law and its institutions. For a good, relatively recent, overview of Egyptian law, including more recent editions and secondary literature, see the chapters by Richard Jasnow (2003a, 2003b, 2003c, 2003d) on the Old Kingdom to Third Intermediate Period and Joseph Manning (2003) on demotic law in Westbrook’s A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law. See also Lippert 2008, a monographic introduction to Egyptian law (in German) which is currently being updated and augmented for a planned English edition. For specific aspects of Egyptian law treated in monographs and articles, the reader is referred to the bibliographies given in the abovementioned publications.

Bibliography Allam, S. 1973. Hieratische Ostraka und Papyri aus der Ramessidenzeit. Urkunden zum Rechtsleben im Alten Ägypten 1. Tübingen: Schafik Allam. Allam, S. 2004. Une classe ouvrière: les merit . In B. Menu (ed.), La dépendance rurale dans l’Antiquité égyptienne et proche-orientale, Bibliothèque d’Étude 140. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 123–55. 91  Peet 1930: 26; Eyre 1984: 93; Lippert 2008: 64–5. 93  Lippert 2008: 67. 94  Weber 1977: 989.

92  See Allam 1973: 301–2, no.272.

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806   Sandra Lippert Allam, S. 2008. Religiöse Bindungen im Recht und Rechtswirksamkeit in Altägypten. In H. Barta, R. Rollinger, and M. Lang (eds), Recht und Religion: menschliche und göttliche Gerechtigkeitsvorstellungen in den antiken Welten, Philippika 24. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 109–34. Andrassy, P. 1994. Überlegungen zum Bodeneigentum und zur Acker-Verwaltung im Alten Reich. In S. Allam (ed.), Grund und Boden in Altägypten: Akten des internationalen Symposions Tübingen 18.–20. Juni 1990. Untersuchungen zum Rechtsleben im Alten Ägypten 2. Tübingen: Schafik Allam, 341–9. Assmann, J. 2000. Herrschaft und Heil. Politische Theologie in Altägypten, Israel und Europa. Munich/ Vienna: Carl Hanser. Bakir, A.  el-M. 1952. Slavery in Pharaonic Egypt. SASAE 18. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Beaux, N. 1991. Ennemis étrangers et malfaiteurs égyptiens: la signification du châtiment au pilori, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 91: 33–53. Černý, J. 1954. Consanguineous marriages in pharaonic Egypt, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 40: 23–9. Černý, J. 1962. Egyptian Oracles. In R.A.  Parker (ed.), A Saite Oracle Papyrus from Thebes in the ­Brooklyn Museum (Papyrus Brooklyn 47.218.3). Brown Egyptological Studies 4. Providence: Brown University Press, 35–48. Donker van Heel, K. 1997. Papyrus Louvre E 7852: a land lease from the reign of Taharka, Revue d’Egyptologie 48: 81–93. Eggebrecht, A. 1986. Das Alte Reich: Ägypten im Zeitalter der Pyramiden. Roemer- und PelizaeusMuseum Hildesheim. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Eyre, C.J. 1984. Crime and adultery in ancient Egypt, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 70: 92–105. Frandsen, P. 2009. Incestuous and close-kin marriage in ancient Egypt and Persia: An examination of the evidence. CNI Publications 34. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press and University of Copenhagen. Franke, D. 1983. Altägyptische Verwandtschaftsbezeichnungen im Mittleren Reich. Hamburger Ägyptologische Studien 3. Hamburg: Borg. Ganley, A.H. 2003a. The legal deeds of transfer from Kahun: Part one, Discussions in Egyptology 55: 15–27. Ganley, A.H. 2003b. The legal deeds of transfer from Kahun: Part two, Discussions in Egyptology 56: 37–44. Ganley, A.H. 2004. A fresh look at the Karnak Legal Stela, Discussions in Egyptology 58: 57–67. Gardiner, A.H. 1903–5. The Inscription of Mes: a Contribution to the Study of Egyptian Judicial Pro­ced­ure. UGAÄ 4. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Gardiner, A.H. 1906. Four papyri of the 18th Dynasty from Kahun, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 43: 27–47. Gödecken, K.B. 1976. Die Inschriften des Meten. ÄA 29. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Goebs, K. 2003. Ḫ ftj nṯr as euphemism—the case of the Antef decree, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 89: 27–37. Gödecken, K.B. 1976. Die Inschriften des Meten. ÄA 29. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Goedicke, H. 1967. Königliche Dokumente aus dem Alten Reich. ÄA 14. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Goedicke, H. 1970. Die privaten Rechtsinschriften aus dem Alten Reich. Beihefte WZKM 5. Wien: Notring. Griffith, F.Ll. 1898. Hieratic Papyri from Kahun and Gurob (Principally of the Middle Kingdom): The Petrie Papyri. London: Bernard Quaritch. Griffith, F.Ll. 1927. The Abydos Decree of Seti I at Nauri, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 13: 193–208. Hayes, W.C. 1955. A Papyrus of the Late Middle Kingdom in the Brooklyn Museum. Brooklyn: The Brooklyn Museum. Helck, W. 1963. Der Papyrus Berlin P 3047, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 2: 65–73. Helck, W. 1984. Scheidung. In W. Helck, E. Otto, and W. Westendorf (eds), Lexikon der Ägyptologie V. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 559–60.

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Law   807 Hofmann, T. 2005. Zur sozialen Bedeutung zweier Begriffe für ‹Diener›: b3k und ḥm. AegHelv 18. Basel: Schwabe Verlag. James, T.G.H. 1962. The Ḥ eḳanakhte Papers and Other Early Middle Kingdom Documents. PMMA 19. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jasnow, R. 2003a. Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period Egypt. In R. Westbrook (ed.), A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law. HdO 72.2. Leiden and Boston: J.J. Brill, 93–140. Jasnow, R. 2003b. Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period. In R. Westbrook (ed.), A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law. HdO 72.2. Leiden and Boston: J.J. Brill, 255–88. Jasnow, R. 2003c. New Kingdom. In R. Westbrook (ed.), A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law. HdO 72.2. Leiden and Boston: J.J. Brill, 289–359. Jasnow, R. 2003d. Third Intermediate Period. In R. Westbrook (ed.), A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law. HdO 72.2. Leiden and Boston: J.J. Brill, 777–818. Johnson, J.H. 1996. The legal status of women in ancient Egypt. In A.K. Capel and G.E. Markoe (eds), Mistress of the House, Mistress of Heaven. Cincinnati: Hudson Hills Press, 175–86. Kanawati, N. 1976. Polygamy in the Old Kingdom of Egypt? Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 4: 149–60. Kruchten, J.-M. 1981. Le décret d’Horemheb. Brussels: Éditions de l’Université de Bruxelles. Lacau, P. 1949. Une stèle juridique de Karnak. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Lange, H.O. 1914. Eine neue Inschrift aus Hermonthis, Sitzungsberichte der Königlich Preussischen Akademie der Wissenschaften XXXVIII: 991–1004. Lichtheim, M. 1973. Ancient Egyptian Literature I: The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press. de Linage, J. 1939. L’acte d’établissement et le contrat de marriage d’un esclave sous Thoutmès III, ­Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 38: 217–34; pls 24–5. Lippert, S.L. 2004. Fragmente demotischer juristischer Bücher (pBerlin 23890 a–b, d–g rto und pCarlsberg 628). In F. Hoffmann and H.-J. Thissen (eds), Res severa verum gaudium. Festschrift für Karl-Theodor Zauzich. Studia Demotica 6. Leiden: Peeters, 389–405. Lippert, S.L. 2008. Einführung in die ägyptische Rechtsgeschichte. EQA 5. 2nd edition 2012. Berlin: LIT. Lippert, S.L. 2012. Law. In UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology, ed. by W. Wendrich et al., 2013. Permalink: http://digital2.library.ucla.edu/viewItem.do?ark=21198/zz002bzzgj Lippert, S.L. 2013. Inheritance. In UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology, ed. by W. Wendrich et al., 2013. Permalink: http://escholarship.org/uc/item/30h78901 Lippert, S.L. 2016. Egyptian Law, Saite to Roman Period. Oxford Handbooks Online DOI: 10.1093/ oxfordhb/9780199935390.013.48, 2016. Lorton, D. 1986. The king and the law, Varia Aegyptiaca 2: 53–62. Lüddeckens, E. 1960. Ägyptische Eheverträge. ÄA 1. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Manning, J. 2003. Demotic law. In R. Westbrook (ed.), A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law. HdO 72.2. Leiden and Boston: J.J. Brill, 819–62. Martin-Pardey, E. 1994. Richten im Alten Reich und die sr-Beamten. In B.M. Bryan and D. Lorton (eds), Essays in Egyptology in Honor of Hans Goedicke. San Antonio: Van Siclen Books, 157–67. Menu, B. 1971. Quelques remarques à propos de l’étude comparée de la Stèle Juridique de Karnak et de la ‘Stèle’ d’Ahmès-Nefertari, Revue d’Égyptologie 23: 155–63. Menu, B. 1989. Women and Business Life in the First Millennium B.C. In B. Lesko (ed.), Women’s Earliest Records from Ancient Egypt and Western Asia: Proceedings of the Conference on Women in the Ancient Near East, Brown University, Providence Rhode Island November 5–7, 1987. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 193–205. Menu, B. 1998. Les échanges portant sur le travail d’autrui. In N.  Grimal and B.  Menu (eds), Le ­commerce en Égypte ancienne. Bibliothèque d’étude 121. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie ­Orientale, 193–206. Menu, B. 2000. La question de l’esclavage dans l’Égypte pharanonique, Droit et Cultures 39,1: 59–79. Meyer, C. 1984, Zum Titel ‘ḥmt njswt’ bei den Töchtern Amenophis’ III. und IV. und Ramses’ II, ­Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 11: 253–63.

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808   Sandra Lippert Mrsich, T.Q. 1968. Untersuchungen zur Hausurkunde des Alten Reiches: ein Beitrag zum altägyptischen Stiftungsrecht. MÄS 13. Berlin: Bruno Hessling. Nims, C.F. 1948. The term hp ‘law, right’ in Demotic, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 7: 243–60. Peet, T.E. 1930. The Great Tomb Robberies of the Twentieth Egyptian Dynasty. 2 vols. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pestman, P.W. 1961. Marriage and Matrimonial Property in Ancient Egypt: a Contribution to Establishing the Legal Position of the Woman. P. L. Bat. 9. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Pirenne, J. 1934. Histoire des Institutions et du Droit Privé de l’Ancienne Égypte II. La Ve dynastie. ­Brussels: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Quack, J.F. 1992. Studien zur Lehre für Merikare. GOF IV, 23, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Seidl, E. 1939. Einführung in die ägyptische Rechtsgeschichte bis zum Ende des Neuen Reiches I: Juristischer Teil. ÄF 10. Glückstadt–Hamburg–New York: J.J. Augustin. Seidl, E. 1956. Rechtsgeschichte der Saiten- und Perserzeit. ÄF 20. 2nd edition 1968. Glückstadt: J.J. Augustin. Seidl, E. 1962. Ptolemäische Rechtsgeschichte. ÄF 22. Glückstadt–Hamburg–New York: J.J. Augustin. Seidl, E. 1964. Altägyptisches Recht. In B.  Spuler (ed.), Handbuch der Orientalistik 1, I.  Abteilung, Ergänzungsband III. Leiden: Brill, 1–48. Seidl, E. 1973. Rechtsgeschichte Ägyptens als römischer Provinz (Die Behauptung des ägyptischen Rechts neben den römischen). Sankt Augustin: Verlag Hans Richarz. Sethe, K. 1926. Ein Prozeßurteil aus dem Alten Reich, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 61: 67–79. Spalinger, A.J. 1984. The will of Senimose, In F. Junge (ed.), Studien zu Sprache und Religion Ägyptens zu Ehren von Wolfhart Westendorf, überreicht von seinen Freunden und Schülern. Göttingen: Hubert & Co., 631–61. van den Boorn, G.P.F. 1988. The Duties of the Vizier: Civil Administration in the Early New Kingdom. London and New York: Kegan Paul International. Vittmann, G. 1996. The hieratic texts. In B.  Porten (ed.), The Elephantine Papyri in English: Three Millennia of Cross-Cultural Continuity and Change. Leiden, New York, Cologne: E.J. Brill, 30–73. Vittmann, G. 2006. Ägypten (vom Alten Reich bis in die Spätzeit). In H. Heinen (ed.), Handwörterbuch der antiken Sklaverei. Lieferung I (Forschungen zur antiken Sklaverei 5). Stuttgart: Franz Steiner ­Verlag (on CD, without pagination). Weber, M. 1977. Harimsverschwörung. In W. Helck, E. Otto, and W. Westendorf (eds), Lexikon der Ägyptologie II. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 987–91. Žába, Z. 1956. Les maximes de Ptaḥ ḥ otep. Prague: Éditions de l’académie tchéchoslovaque des ­sciences.

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chapter 38

Gen ea l ogie s Morris L. Bierbrier

Introduction Genealogy, the knowledge of one’s family pedigree and genetic background, and more precisely, one’s direct ancestors, has been a feature of human existence form time immemorial. In antiquity, an exact appreciation of one’s position in society, clan, and family was often vital to one’s continued existence. Ancient Egyptians had good reason to retain and record this information. From a religious point of view, it was incumbent on the son to make funerary offerings to his parents, grandparents, and ancestors. There is certainly strong archaeological evidence for ancestor worship as a family cult in the New Kingdom, notably at Deir el-Medina1, and probable indications in earlier periods, but its extent remains a thorny problem. This aspect of Egyptian religion remains shadowy, and more work is required to understand and illuminate this most private religious function, which was most probably undertaken in household shrines rather than in major temples. For peasant farmers and office-holders alike, it was extremely important to have some knowledge of ancestry. Peasants with their own land would want to retain information of their original ancestral landholder in case of legal challenges to their property. Their detailed knowledge of the intervening generations may at times have been hazy, but the founder of the family fortune most certainly had to be remembered. Although there was no hereditary nobility in Egypt, office-holders in the bureaucratic elite, whether temporal or priestly, sought to retain these sinecures in the family, and would be careful to keep alive their claims through relationships. Of course, from our knowledge of the records, this ideal was rarely consistently maintained, especially for the major offices, although the impact of hereditary claims varied from period to period. So it was extremely important to know where one’s family came from. Opposed to this obvious need to know one’s place and relations is the curious fact that the ancient Egyptian language is remarkably poor in terms of genealogical relationships. 1 Keith 2011.

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810   Morris L. Bierbrier Only the basic words for the nuclear family are used: jt for father, mwt for mother, z3(t) for son/daughter, and sn(t) for brother/sister.2 This is in stark contrast to other cultures, which often have a much richer vocabulary—even English, which uses such terms as aunt, uncle, cousin, grandfather, great-grandfather, etc. In ancient Egypt, only circumlocutions were available, such as jt n jt for ‘paternal grandfather’, mwt n jt for ‘paternal grandmother’, and sn n mwt for ‘maternal uncle’. The known relationship terms could be used with a wider meaning, such as jt for any direct male ancestor or sn for a cousin, but this of course would cause confusion to any outsider unaware of the exact relationship. This rather gives the impression that in ancient Egypt the nuclear family was the basic unit of relationship, and the genealogical links between the descendants of siblings were considered rather more tenuous. Still, this should not affect the need to concentrate on the knowledge of one’s direct ancestors. Our knowledge of the Egyptian point of view, however, is limited by the evidence available. The stress on genealogy in surviving inscriptions does indeed appear to vary with time, but it appears to grow stronger as Egyptian history progresses. Genealogy also played an important function in another aspect of ancient Egyptian life, and one which much bedevils modern Egyptologists, namely chronology. Egyptians did use generations to reckon the passage of time, but only in a vague sense. There were of course other methods of time reckoning available, such as king lists and even Sothic cycles, but these were tools that could be used only by the literate and bureaucratic elite. The ordinary peasant would only be able to judge passage of time by reckoning the generations, and, if important issues, such as land rights or some local disaster, were at issue, he could only call on his family knowledge to fix the time. Even the literate could only fall back on generation counts when their documents failed. Thus, the passage of time in prehistoric Egypt was conceived in terms of generations.3 Genealogy may play a major part in the reconstruction of ancient Egyptian chronology by modern Egyptologists, since we too lack all the necessary documentation available to the ancient Egyptians. It must be admitted, however, that the available evidence on genealogy is also very patchy and inconsistent. A detailed analysis of royal and, where available, private genealogy can indicate the passage of time. There are difficulties here not only with the haphazard survival of source material but also with the complete lack of information on ages. Thus, the famous generation jump may come into play where an older man has children who are young enough to be his grandchildren, thus confusing the reckoning. This can be avoided when diverse genealogies come into play, but it is a rarity for such sources to be readily at hand. Another problem for modern historians concerns exactly what constitutes a generation. This debate can have the appearance of mere quibbling, although it does have a significant chronological impact whether a generation is reckoned at twenty, twenty-five, or even thirty years.4 Unfortunately, having a detailed genealogy is not enough for chronological reckoning, since the genealogy must also have at least one fixed point to a known king or event for it to become relevant to the passage of time. Without this, the genealogy can have no real input into the chronological debate.

2  Robins 1979; Bierbrier 1980.

3 Uphill 2003.

4 Henige 1981.

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Genealogies   811

Modern research into Egyptian genealogy Genealogy took some time to become established as an area for concern for Egyptological scholars. During the nineteenth century scholars were more concerned with establishing the basic framework of Egyptian history, so they concentrated primarily on royal genealogies. Much of the source material had not yet become available. The Norwegian scholar Jens Lieblein (1827–1911) attempted to assemble the material at hand in his pioneering work Dictionnaire de noms hiéroglyphiques (1871–92), thus preserving some inscriptions that have since disappeared or perished. Major discoveries in the twentieth century—such as the Karnak cachette, the Deir el-Medina tombs, papyri, and ostraca, and the publication of major tombs at Giza and elsewhere—have helped to advance our knowledge of priestly and workmen’s families, especially in the New Kingdom and later. Georges Legrain (1865–1917) began the analysis of priestly families in a series of articles, notably in Recueil de Travaux, and was followed by Herman Kees (1886–1964) in his major Das Priestertum im agyptischen Staat vom Neuen Reich bis zur Spätzeit (1953–8). Wolfgang Helck (1914–93) analyzed the official families of the Middle and New Kingdoms in his Zur Verwaltung des Mittleren und Neuen Reiches (1958–75), while Jaroslav Černý (1898–1970) began the construction of the genealogies of the workmen of Deir el-Medina in his various writings on that community, notably A Community of Workmen at Thebes in the Ramesside Period (1973) followed by B. Davies, Who’s Who at Deir el-Medina (1999). Now the study of genealogy is widely accepted as a vital and often crucial role in the understanding of Egyptian chronology, history, and social history, as witnessed, for example, by works by Detlef Franke (1952–2007) in his Personendaten aus dem Mittleren Reiches (1984) and Kim Ryholt in his The Political Situation in Egypt in the Second Intermediate Period, c.1800–1550 B. C. (1997) on the Middle Kingdom and the Second Intermediate Period respectively.

Early Dynastic to Old Kingdom The earliest inscriptions from the Archaic Period in Egypt are too unpractised and crude to give any meaningful insight into the use of genealogy at that time, as only single names appear on the few inscribed monuments. It is clear, however, that as far as the royal family was concerned, genealogy did matter. One inscription from the time of Djer appears to be the earliest genealogical reference in naming his mother.5 The discovery of the dynastic seals of the First Dynasty at Abydos is highly significant.6 One lists the kings from Narmer to Den and for good measure adds the name of Den’s mother, Queen Merneith. This list is more than a mere chronological listing of kings and can also be seen as a genealogical listing 5  Troy 1986, 152; Roth 2001, 16–18, 376–7; Dodson and Hilton 2004, 48. 6  Dreyer 1987; Dreyer 1996.

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812   Morris L. Bierbrier as well—a father-to-son succession from Narmer to Den. As far as Den was concerned, Narmer was regarded as the ancestor of his dynasty, which should be taken into account in the continuing debate as to which king was the mythical King Menes, who is alleged to have united Egypt (assuming that he was a historical personality). Whether Narmer was himself connected to the earlier predynastic rulers is unclear, but he appears to mark a break from the past or signal a new beginning. From the Third Dynasty there also appears the first example of royal inscriptions depicting a king (Djoser) with his daughter.7 This paves the way for a new style in pharaonic reliefs and statues, that would last throughout ancient Egyptian civilization. Namely, the king is portrayed with his wife and/or daughters by his side, although they are usually on a much smaller scale. Thus, genealogically there is more abundant evidence for royal daughters than sons. It is not entirely clear why royal princes are rarely depicted with their father, although some examples are found in the Thirteenth Dynasty and the very early Eighteenth Dynasty. Much of our evidence concerning princes comes from their own tombs and the tombs and inscriptions or statuary of their tutors and nurses, as well as the occasional administrative document. Even when the future Rameses II is shown in battle and other scenes with his father, some of these images were undoubtedly superimposed later. It was Rameses II who for the first time clearly depicted his royal sons as well as royal daughters. It would appear that such appearances of royal sons with their father were usually regarded as outside the normal range of depictions, possibly because the king could not be diminished by the presence of a potential heir or his appearance with his father might be seen as tempting fate. The inscriptions from the Old Kingdom gradually yield increasing genealogical detail, especially from the tomb chapel reliefs at Giza and Saqqara. It becomes axiomatic to name the nuclear family—wife, children, parents, and occasionally siblings—although there are no lengthy genealogical expositions. Thus, it remains difficult and uncommon to follow family sequences over several generations. The most informative sources are the princely tombs at Giza, where many royal sons were buried next to their father’s pyramid, and so a reconstruction of the royal family of the Fourth Dynasty can be attempted once these tombs have been fully recorded and published. Full publication is still underway, but a preliminary reconstruction of the royal genealogy of the Fourth Dynasty was put forward by William Stevenson Smith (1907–69). His proposals, although widely accepted, are still tentative in places and may be open to reinterpretation, especially when the publication of tomb inscriptions from Giza is finally complete.8 Controversy still surrounds the position of Queen Khentkaues at the end of the Fourth Dynasty and the beginning of the Fifth Dynasty. It is not clear whether there were two queens or only one who served as a link between the two dynasties, although recent studies tend to favour two queens and no link between the dynasties.9 Lack of source material makes such detailed genealogical study more difficult for subsequent dynasties of the Old Kingdom and certainly for the First Intermediate Period. Again, it is the quirky survival of evidence that allows more detailed knowledge of the maternal relations of Pepi II than those of other royal women of the Sixth Dynasty. Recent excavations at the Sixth-Dynasty pyramids at Saqqara have increased our knowledge slightly with 7  Troy 1986, 152–3; Dodson and Hilton 2004, 48. 8  Troy 1986, 153–4; Roth 2001, 67–87, 359–60, 385–98; Dodson and Hilton 2004, 50–61. 9  Troy 1986, 154–5; Verner 1995, 165–78; Roth 2001, 87–102; Dodson and Hilton 2004, 68.

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Genealogies   813 the names of new queens, but problems of identification and attribution still remain.10 Even so, very few officials can be linked into extended family groups throughout this period, so their genealogies remain stubbornly silent.

Middle Kingdom A wealth of information from the Middle Kingdom allows more detailed genealogies to be reconstructed for the elite, while curiously that of the royal family remains more tenuous. While the main line of the Twelfth Dynasty is clear, the identification of which queens were consorts of which kings is still a complicated question, and confusion surrounds the end of the dynasty.11 This pales into insignificance, however, compared to the lack of knowledge of the relationships, if any, between the kings of the succeeding dynasties in the Second Intermediate Period. There have been advances in determining the genealogies of fragments of these dynasties, but alas the evidence can only go so far.12 Again, there are no lengthy genealogical lineages of officials, but the detail on the nuclear families, notably in the form of stelae from Abydos, often allows similar material from their sons to be identified and so, family pedigrees to be put together.13 Information on more humble priestly families is also available from the papyri discovered at Kahun.14 None of these genealogies can be followed for more than a few generations. In the Middle Kingdom it was the normal procedure to refer to an individual with his father’s patronymic, such as Ameny’s son Qemaw, and sometimes even with the patronymic of his grandfather, such as Ameny’s son Intef ’s son Amenemhat. The surviving administrative papyri make suggest that at least some genealogical detail was demanded by the authorities. It is perhaps not surprising that much later genealogies claim to go back to the better recorded Middle Kingdom and become much vaguer when attempting a link to the Old Kingdom.

New Kingdom With the advent of the New Kingdom, source material of all kinds becomes increasingly more available. Tombs and stelae supply lengthier family pedigrees, so for a lucky few, detailed genealogies can be prepared. For the Eighteenth Dynasty, most of these cover only two or three generations before the source material dries up, such as the family of the vizier Rekhmire.15 Major gaps remain right at the top of society, such as the origin of Thutmose I, whose relationship, if any, to the previous kings is unknown; and the later King Ay, who has been proposed as a son of Yuya and Tuya, and the father of the later Queen Nefertiti, although this remains unproven.16 The line of the Eighteenth Dynasty can be followed for 10  Troy 1986, 155–6; Roth 2001, 411–23; Dodson and Hilton 2004, 70–8. 11  Troy 1986, 157–9; Fay 1996, 43–52; Roth 2001, 203–45, 364, 432–43; Dodson and Hilton 2004, 92–9. 12 Ryholt 1997. 13 Franke 1984. 14  Collier and Quirke 2002. 15 Helck 1958. 16  Dodson and Hilton 2004, 127, 132, 144.

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814   Morris L. Bierbrier over two hundred years, although only in the main royal line; the paucity of evidence on minor royal princes remains except for the immediate family of Ahmose I. That king does appear with his son Ahmose, who did not survive to become his heir. Indeed, the problem is that at the beginning of the Eighteenth Dynasty all the princes and princesses seem to have carried the name Ahmose as a sobriquet and it is very difficult to determine where they all fit in, despite speculation. The demolition of the theory that a king had to marry an heiress sister to beget the next heir has meant that wives such as Hatshepsut II, wife of Thutmose III, who had been supposed of royal origin, can be seen as commoners and removed from the royal genealogy.17 Much speculation surrounds the origin of Nefertiti, all essentially baseless, since apart from the fact that she came from a good Egyptian family no details are vouchsafed. The recent theory that her father might be the future king Ay is weakened by the fact that his wife and later Queen Tey claims to have been Nefertiti’s nurse, not her mother or even stepmother. One would have to claim that Ay remarried the nurse of his first wife’s child, which is possible but perhaps not likely. Yet curiously, the origins of Nefertiti’s mother-in-law Tiye are publicly recorded on royal scarabs, a unique privilege for a common spouse of the pharaoh. It is a pity that this was one innovation not taken up by his successor Akhenaten. The confusion regarding Akhenaten’s family remains a point of contention among Egyptologists, but it is now generally agreed that his eventual successor Tutankhamun must have been his son.18 Problems still remain with the position in the royal genealogy of Smenkhkare, who is alternatively seen as Akhenaten’s son or as a form of Nefertiti herself. The advent of the Nineteenth Dynasty brings a wealth of new documentation, which enables genealogies to be constructed with greater ease. As ever in Egypt, the flow of information begins right at the top. Rameses II is the first ruler to provide detailed lists of his children, and indeed details of his maternal grandparents. This enables his genealogy to be confirmed as one of a military family from the Delta region. His monuments even allow the mothers of some of his younger children to be identified, and a few grandchildren and at least one great-grandson to be traced. He is much more sparing, however, about the background of his wives, apart from a Hittite princess. In the past, various theories were put forward concerning the origin of Nefertari, such as linking her with the previous dynasty, but these can now be seen as without foundation. The plain fact is that nothing is known concerning her and her co-wife Isisnofret beyond the remark of the king that he was given wives by his father at a young age. The obvious assumption is that they were Egyptian commoners from perhaps respectable but not influential Egyptian families. The dynasty also ends in confusion. The obvious and probably correct assumption is that Seti II was the son of Merneptah and the following king Siptah was his son, but the position of the rival king Amenmesse is a complete mystery and likely to remain so. It has now been shown that the objects from his tomb belonging to his alleged relation Tia refer to a princess of the Eighteenth Dynasty and have nothing to do with him.19 Genealogical information concerning grandparents, siblings, etc. now appear in the tombs and monuments of officials and workmen. The increasing appearance of hereditary office-holders makes this information more widespread and presumably more vital for the officials to record. There is more specific information in tomb paintings and on statuary 17 Robins 1983. 18  Dodson and Hilton 2004, 149–50. 19  Dodson and Hilton 2004, 158–83.

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Genealogies   815 about ancestors, immediate families, and even linked relations. Most can only be followed for a few generations, but links with other contemporary families and later inscriptions from remote descendants help to show that some families lasted, especially at Thebes, for hundreds of years in top positions.20 The passing of priestly offices from one generation to the next has proved extremely valuable in constructing lengthy family genealogies.

Deir el-Medina At the lower end of the scale, the vast documentation that survives from Deir el-Medina allows the workmen’s families and in some cases detailed pedigrees to be established over many generations. Problems still remain, of course, since the more detail that survives, the more confusing the genealogical position becomes. The evidence from tomb paintings and inscriptions show that within the families, the number of children was large, although some may not have survived to adulthood. A workman apparently had only one wife at a time; several are attested with more than one wife, but it may be assumed that the first wife had died or been divorced. Certainly, some divorces are known to have taken place. It is also clear that some women remarried, either after widowhood or divorce, such as the obvious case of the lady Naunakhte, who married consecutively the wealthy scribe Kenherkhepeshef and the workman Khaemnun, by whom she had her children. Unfortunately, the records are not so precise as to clarify how common was the question of remarriage. Intermarriage among the families in the village was exceedingly common; there must have been some importing of spouses from time to time, although this is difficult to identify. One such arrival was the slave Hesunebef, who became a regular village worker and married into a local family. The appearance of new names in the Twentieth Dynasty implies that there may well have been some incomers at that time. The lack of tomb documentation in the Twentieth Dynasty means that lengthy genealogies of the ordinary workmen are more difficult to construct, even allowing for the survival of part of the midTwentieth-Dynasty census of the village. The family of the workman Sennedjem, which later rose to the position of foreman in the Twentieth Dynasty, can be traced from the beginning of the Nineteenth Dynasty right through to the end of the Twentieth, and the linked family of the scribe Amennakhte, which first appears in the Twentieth Dynasty, carries on into the early Twenty-first. As the holding of the chief offices of foreman and scribe became hereditary in the reign of Rameses II, these families can be used quite easily to determine the relative chronology of the Nineteenth to Twentieth Dynasties and even the early Twenty-first Dynasty.21

Twentieth to Twenty-second Dynasties Although Rameses II must have left hundreds of descendants, his line fades remarkably towards the end of his dynasty. Only one known descendant, his great-grandson the vizier 20  Bierbrier 1975, 1–18.

21  Bierbrier 1975, 19–44; Davies 1999.

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816   Morris L. Bierbrier Hori, is known to have made the transition to the next dynasty, and nothing much is available on his issue. The origin of the Twentieth Dynasty is obscure, and the family relationships there open to debate. Nothing is known of the first ruler Sethnakht, and the supposition that he was connected to the Nineteenth Dynasty is based on no evidence whatsoever. His son Rameses III consciously modelled himself on his illustrious predecessor Rameses II but never once mentions that he was in any way related to him. He also has left a scene featuring his sons, but most inconveniently never appears to have included the identifying inscriptions. These were added at a much later date amid some confusion, which has led to uncertainty in the identification of the princes and future kings. The end of the dynasty is shrouded in genealogical obscurity with the relationship of the kings uncertain. It is assumed that son succeeded father, but firm evidence is lacking.22 While the information on the royal families of this time is sketchy, much genealogical information survives from the statues and coffins of the priests of the Theban area, which allows long genealogies to be restored and a relative chronology to be determined. Much of the information comes from statues from the Karnak cachette, which indicates the importance and haphazard survival of genealogical evidence.23 Information on the Twenty-first Dynasty remains elusive, as that family was established in the north, where the evidence is scanty. There is still some debate on the relative order and the genealogical connections between the high priests Herihor and Paiankh, and that question cannot yet be considered closed.24 Much detail survives on the genealogy of the Twenty-second Dynasty and its links with the Theban priesthood, but, as ever, this wealth of information raises additional problems, especially with the position of the children of the various Kings Takelot and the career of the high priest of Amun Osorkon. The use of the same prenomen by Takelot I and Takelot III means that only interlinked genealogical pedigrees can determine to which king the children should be assigned, and even this study can lead to varying conclusions. Chronologically it seems unlikely that the high priest of Amun Osorkon, son of Takelot III, who left a noted inscription detailing his career as high priest, can be identified with the future King Osorkon III, who also bears the title of high priest of Amun, but the issue remains unresolved.25

Late Period Detailed genealogical information on both the royal lines and most priestly families at the end of the Twenty-second Dynasty and during the Twenty-third and Twenty-fourth Dynasties remain elusive, although some priestly families in Thebes can be traced through to the Nubian Twenty-fifth Dynasty, notably that of the mayor Mentuemhat and the complicated and confusing Besenmut family.26 The shift of power to the north under the Saite Twenty-sixth Dynasty dries up much source material. Even genealogical material from the 22  Kitchen 1972; Kitchen 1982; Kitchen 1984. 23  Bierbrier 1975, 45–108; Kitchen 1973, 187–239. 24  Kitchen 1973, 3–81; Dodson and Hilton 2004, 196–209; Taylor 1998. 25  Kitchen 1973, 85–137; Leahy 1990; Dodson and Hilton 2004, 210–31. 26  Bierbrier 1975, 92–7; Kitchen 1973, 224–33.

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Genealogies   817 better excavated Theban region appears to lessen. Much less attention has been paid to this period by modern scholars, however, and there may well be surprises in store for a determined researcher. A major project would be the publication of the statuary and documentation from the end of the native Egyptian era, perhaps allowing some genealogical pedigrees to be proposed for the priestly families of the Twenty-sixth to Thirtieth Dynasties. Genealogy still played a major role, for in this time period are found some long genealogies purporting to trace families back to the Middle Kingdom, although that of the high priests of Ptah seems based on a list of officeholders and not an actual genealogical descent of all holders.27 The disruption of the state due to the two Persian invasions obviously did not help the preservation of inscriptional material that might aid in the construction of genealogies at this time.

Ptolemaic period to Roman period The conquest of Egypt by Alexander the Great and the installation of the Ptolemaic dynasty pushed the former Egyptian ruling class into lesser positions of power, although the high priests of the various main cults managed to maintain some influence. The details of the Greek ruling class and other Greek immigrants have been published in the various volumes of the Prosopographica Ptolemaica,28 where only the royal line can provide a lengthy and sustained genealogy. Much evidence on the high priests of Ptah has come to light from their lengthy biographical inscriptions from the official tombs at Saqqara. Problems as ever still remain, and a proposed link with the royal family itself, through the reading of the name of one the priest’s wives as Berenice, is very debatable.29 Similar details for the high priests at Thebes are not so rich, and further research is required to establish a firm genealogy for this family or families.30 Demotic documents however, allow several generations of families at Thebes and elsewhere to be reconstructed.31 Source materials become rarer in the Roman period, but the cache of coffins and other objects from the Soter family allows a firm pedigree to be formed over several generations.32 For priestly families, genealogy became an important factor when the Roman government banned circumcision apart from the sons of priests, and several exemption certificates survive as witness to the need of these families to know their ancestral line. Similarly, the survival of some census records from Roman Egypt allows a brief glimpse into forgotten genealogies.33 The last major genealogical reconstruction that can be attempted is that of the Apion family of the fourth to sixth centuries ad, thanks in part to the cache of their family documents discovered in Upper Egypt.34 These and other sources illustrate the rise of a provincial Egyptian family to the consulship in Constantinople. Genealogy is less of a chronological factor in the Greco-Roman period but still remains an important element in the study of the social history of that era.

27  Couyat and Montet 1912, Nos. 91–3; Borchardt 1935, 96–100. 28  Peremans and van‘t Dack. 1950–2002. 29 Reymond 1981. 30 Quaegebeur 1995. 31  For example, Andrews 1990, Pestman 1995. 32  Van Landuyt 1995. 33  Bagnall and Frier, 1994. 34  Martindale 1980, stemma 27; 1992, stemma 9.

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818   Morris L. Bierbrier

Conclusion Modern research into most aspects of ancient Egypt cannot avoid genealogy. Even in religion, the varying and conflicting genealogies of the gods have an impact. Much work still remains to sort out both royal and private genealogies from the documentation that has accumulated after two centuries of excavation. No doubt new finds from continuing archaeological work will refine and enlarge knowledge into the pedigrees that have already been established and allow new ones to be reconstructed. Problems will always remain, however. Unlike for later cultures, genealogy in ancient Egypt often can be considered more of an art than a science.

Suggested reading There is no overall survey of Egyptian genealogies. For the pedigrees of the royal families see Dodson and Hilton 2004 although continued archaeological discoveries will inevitably lead to further additions and adjustments. For the genealogies of the workmen of Deir elMedina see Bierbrier 1975; Davies 1999, and Demarée and Valbelle, 2011. For the officials of the New Kingdom see Helck 1958–75. The basic source for pedigrees from the later period in Egyptian history is Bierbrier 1975, but the genealogies have continued to be revised and updated. For the Ptolemaic period see Peremans and Van’t Dack 1950–2002. Some information on late Roman families in Egypt can be found in Martindale 1980–92.

Bibliography Andrews, C. 1990. Catalogue of Demotic Papyri in the British Museum IV. London: British Museum Publications. Bagnall, R. and Frier, B. 1994. The Demography of Roman Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bierbrier, M L. 1975. The Late New Kingdom in Egypt. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Bierbrier, M L. 1980. Terms of Relationship at Deir el-Medina, JEA 66: 100–7. Borchardt, L. 1935. Die Mittel zur zeitlichen Festlegung von Punkten der agyptischen Geschichte und ihre Anwendung. Berlin: Selbstverlag. Černý, J. 1973. A Community of Workmen at Thebes in the Ramesside Period. Cairo: IFAO. Collier, M. and Quirke, S. 2002. The UCL Lahun Papyri: Letters. Oxford: Archaeopress. Couyat, J. and Montet, P. 1912. Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques et hiératiques du Ouadi Hammamat. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Davies, B. G. 1999. Who’s Who at Deir el-Medina. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Demarée, R. and Valbelle, D. 2011. Les Registres de Recensement du Village de Deir el-Medineh. Leuven: Peeters. Dodson, A. and Hilton, D. 2004. The Complete Royal Families of Ancient Egypt. London: Thames and Hudson. Dreyer, G. 1987. Ein Siegel der frühzeitlichen Königsnekropole von Abydos, MDAIK 43: 33–43. Dreyer, G. 1996. Umm el-Qaab, MDAIK 52: 72–3. Fay, B. 1996. The Louvre Sphinx and Royal Sculpture from the Reign of Amenemhat III. Mainz: von Zabern.

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Genealogies   819 Franke, D. 1984. Personendaten aus dem Mittleren Reiches. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Helck, W. 1958–75. Zur Verwaltung des Mittleren und Neuen Reiches. Leiden: Brill. Henige, D. 1981. Generation-Counting and Late New Kingdom Chronology, JEA 67: 182–4. Kees, H. 1953–8. Das Priestertum im ägyptischen Staat vom Neuen Reich bis zur Spätzeit. Leiden: Brill. Keith, J. 2011. Anthropoid Busts of Deir El Medineh and Other Sites and Collections. Cairo: IFAO. Kitchen, K.A. 1972. Ramesses VII and the Twentieth Dynasty, JEA 58: 182–94. Kitchen, K.A. 1973. The Third Intermediate Period in Egypt (1100–650 bc). Warminster: Aris and ­Phillips. Kitchen, K.A. 1982. The Twentieth Dynasty Revisited, JEA 68: 116–25. Kitchen, K.A. 1984. Family Relationships of Ramesses IX and the Late Twentieth Dynasty, SAK 11: 127–34. Leahy, A. 1990. Abydos in the Libyan Period. In A. Leahy (ed.), Libya and Egypt c.1300–750 bc. London: SOAS, 155–200. Legrain, G. 1901. Recherches généalogiques, RdT 31: 1–10. Leiblein, J. 1871–92. Dictionnaire de noms hiéroglyphiques en ordre généalogique et alphabétique. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Martindale, J. 1980–92. The Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire II–III. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Peremans, W. and van ‘t Dack, E. 1950–2002. Prosopographica Ptolemaica, Louvain: Publications Universitaires de Louvain, now online. Pestman, P. 1995. A Family Archive Which Changes History. In S. Vleeming (ed.), Hundred-Gated Thebes. Leiden: Brill, 91–100. Quaegebeur, J. 1995. A la recherche du haut clergé thébain. In S.  Vleeming (ed.), Hundred-Gated Thebes. Leiden: Brill, 139–61. Reymond, E. A. E. 1981. From the Records of a Priestly Family from Memphis I. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Robins, G. 1979. The Relationships Specified by Egyptian Kinship Terms of the Middle and New ­Kingdoms, CdE 54: 197–217. Robins, G. 1983. A Critical Examination of the Theory That the Right to the Throne of Ancient Egypt Passed through the Female Line in the 18th Dynasty, GM 62: 68–9. Roth, S. 2001. Die Konigsmütter des alten Ägypten von der Frühzeit bis zum Ende der 12. Dynastie, Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Ryholt, K. 1997. The Political Situation in Egypt during the Second Intermediate Period, c.1800–1550 b.c. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Taylor, J. H. 1998. Nodjmet, Payankh and Herihor: the End of the New Kingdom Reconsidered. In C. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists. Leuven: Peeters, 1143–55. Troy, L. 1986. Patterns of Queenship in Ancient Egyptian Myth and History. Uppsala: Acta Universitatis Upsalienses. van Landuyt, K. 1995. The Soter Family Genealogy and Onomastics. In S. Vleeming (ed.), HundredGated Thebes. Leiden: Brill, 69–83. Verner, M. 1995. The Pyramid Complex of Khentkaus. Prague: Karolinum Press. Uphill, E. 2003. The Ancient Egyptian View of World History. In J. Tait (ed.), ‘Never Had the Like Occurred’: Egypt’s View of its Past. London: UCL Press, 15–30.

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chapter 39

G ods, m y thol ogy, a n d cosmol ogy Susanne Bickel

Introduction Ancient Egyptian gods have been a matter of interest since antiquity, when classical authors reflected on them, but in very contradictory ways. They either rejected the deities as abstruse unworthy ‘dog-heads’, or else referred respectfully to them as the most ancient representatives of wisdom and mystery. It was this last vision that prevailed in the European Renaissance and early modern era. When Egyptology began to gain access to the Egyptian written sources themselves, from the mid-nineteenth century onward, considerations about religion were highly influenced by the then current opinion that monotheism was the ori­ gin­al form of belief, whereas polytheism was a later evolution often considered as a form of degeneration. Scholars had no difficulties finding in the ancient religious texts certain mentions of a ‘sole god’, which they used as proof of the fundamentally monotheistic character of Egyptian religion. Around the turn of the twentieth century, the most ancient corpus of inscriptions, the Pyramid Texts dating to the end of the Old Kingdom (2400 bc), were discovered and these revealed an overwhelming multiplicity of gods with no sign of any mono­ the­is­tic predisposition. Research in the following decades concentrated on the roots of Egyptian religion and its evolution. Kurt Sethe sought to explain various mythological ­features as reflections of archaic historical events or political situations. It was not until the middle of the twentieth century that scholars spoke again about monotheism as being the substance of Egyptian religion, interpreting the individual gods as manifestations and realizations of an anonymous unique divine power.1 In a ground-breaking study drawing exclusively on ancient sources, Erik Hornung investigated the appearance of the Egyptian gods, the various means by which the Egyptians sought to seize aspects of the boundless nature of the deities, and the way in which the gods were described by those who worshiped them.2 He showed Egyptian religion to be thoroughly polytheistic, and introduced the concept of henotheism into Egyptology to 1  For an overview of early approaches to Egyptian religion, see Hornung 1971/1982 and Koch 1989. 2 Hornung 1971/1982.

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Gods, mythology, and cosmology   821 describe the fact that, for the believer, one particular deity could be experienced as supreme and all-encompassing. Jan Assmann, working particularly on solar aspects of religion from the New Kingdom, developed the notion of ‘cosmotheism’, a form of monotheism compatible with the existence of numerous deities, which emphasized the oneness of the world and the divine force that brought it into existence.3 All together, Egyptian theology, religious practice, and worldview reflect a complex system in which a few dozen important and individualized deities were seen in various relations and functions, capable of unfolding in an unlimited number of facets of divine presence and efficacy.4 Although of utmost importance and interest, the question of the origin and early developments of the Egyptian belief system and of the individual deities is nowadays less central in research, mainly because too little analysable information is available to approach this subject accurately.

Sources Egyptian civilization produced hardly any theoretical treatise on belief and theology. Our sources are texts that were of practical use in temples and in everyday life: funerary texts destined to accompany the dead into the divine world, ritual texts used in the cult of gods and the deceased, hymns to the gods from temple and tomb contexts. Images of gods on temple and tomb reliefs, stelae, statues, and small objects are equally informative, as they often express the deity’s being and actions in synthesized and incisive form. Modern research on different aspects of Egyptian religion emphasizes the importance of the context and the purpose in which a particular concept or deity is mentioned.5 It seeks to analyze features of religion with reference, wherever possible, to the Egyptians’ own forms of expression and cultural setting, departing from previous approaches based on western concepts and in particular on Old Testament studies. In what ways were the gods perceived? What did one know about them? Religious know­ ledge was mobilized mainly in two different spheres: the temple sphere and the individual sphere. Egyptian temples were not places for community gathering but institutions run on behalf of the kings, with highly restricted access. Their main function was to enable the performance of rituals in a manner that was supportive of the gods’ maintenance of the universe, mankind and the overall socio-cultural system. The purpose of the temple cult was global, directed toward the cosmos and society as a whole. To express demands for health, everyday problems or concerns about the afterlife, the individual could turn to the temples’ periphery, the outdoor parts of divine festivals, house shrines with small statuary, and various informal means of communication. Further research might bring a more detailed understanding of the interplay of these rather distinct facets of a single belief system, as well as a clearer perception of what individuals knew about theological concepts and felt in their relation with the divine.6 The extremely codified and conventionalized forms with which religious matters were treated in writing and

3 Assmann 1983/1995; 1993. 4 Baines 2000. 6  On the relation of the two spheres, see Bickel 2002.

5 Quirke 2015.

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822   Susanne Bickel icon­og­raphy are a major barrier to our knowledge of individual and community belief and practice.7 In spite of the permanence of most deities and mythical concepts over three millennia, Egyptian religion was by no means unchanging. In general, the notions related to deities, myth, and cosmology were extremely stable, whereas the practices and contexts in which they were made relevant were subject to variation and change of emphasis. Our perception of the evolution is highly dependent not only on the existent documentation of each period, but even more so on our understanding of the different ways in which religious matters were expressed in written, iconic or any other material forms that had any chance to be preserved.8

The gods The word that is generally translated as ‘god’ covered in Egyptian thinking a much wider range of beings. The word nṯr ‘god’ applied to three kinds of entities: the invisible beings that people experienced through their deeds and efficacy, the dead humans who had acquired an immaterial state of being, and the living king. These three kinds of beings shared several characteristics: they possessed capacities and powers not available to normal living humans, they evolved in spheres not accessible to the living, and they communicated with people mainly through codified, ritualized cultic action. Although each of these three kinds of beings was nṯr, as opposed to humans, the difference of their essence was well perceived, and the word nṯr was regularly used in a more restricted sense corresponding roughly to what we call ‘gods’. The most general way of conceptualizing divine powers was to imagine them as an­thropo­ morph­ic personalities. Anthropomorphism not only referred to the shape and capacities of human beings, it also expressed in particular the deities’ nature as volitional beings. All gods were individuals, either male or female. Their sexual differentiation was the only limitation to an otherwise boundless range of possibilities of appearances. Child-gods, always male, constitute a third category of divine beings, not less powerful than the ‘adult’ gods, and particularly prominent in Greco-Roman times.9 The deities’ lifespan encompassed the entire duration of created existence, the gods being inherent in creation. As a whole, the gods were responsible for the total universe, for its structure and functioning. Nature’s regularity and fertility, human coexistence, and the individual’s destiny in life and afterlife were all subject to the gods’ power and depended on their willingness to engage in the management of the world. In addition to their collective and global responsibility, most deities were attributed specific domains of efficacy. It is probably in the nature of polytheistic thinking that the gods were not only humanlike personalities who looked after the world they had created, but that they also constituted the world. There is a complex relation between the god Ra, for example, being considered either as the god in charge of the sun or as the sun itself, or the sun being perceived as a manifestation of the god Ra. These relations were hardly ever theorized; they were seen as the expression of the ubiquitous nature of the deities. The gods’ being was not definitely 7 Weiss 2015.

8 Assmann 2014.

9 Budde 2011.

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Gods, mythology, and cosmology   823 linked to a specific form or aspect; an individual deity could manifest itself in various forms. Natural elements or components of the universe were considered to represent deities. The association between a divine being and a natural phenomenon points to the former’s function as a constitutive part of the cosmos and as a responsible agent of its permanence. The cosmos signals divine presence.10

Gods reflected in animals The connection of deities with animals is frequently regarded as typically Egyptian. Animals entered into the visual rendering of a deity, its iconography, often in the form of the animal head being joined to the human body. Living animals could be considered as representation or embodiment of a specific deity, either as a single creature or as entire species. The animal generally referred to the god’s or goddess’s character or to one particular feature of the divine personality. Bull, ram, lion, and crocodile were connected with power and male fertility, the cow with female fertility as well as with the cosmic expanse, the snake with the underground sphere and agrarian fertility, the dog or jackal with the liminal state between this world and the beyond. Baboon and ibis were both associated with Thoth, the god connected with wisdom, word, law and mathematical exactitude.11 Birds were indicative of divine remoteness and inaccessibility, the male falcon and the female vulture being common classifying signs for the words ‘god’ and ‘goddess’. The falcon was associated with the sun and with kingship, the vulture with maternity and protection. The animal could be regarded as the visible manifestation of a deity; in cult practice, it could be venerated as the carrier of part of the divine essence. According to Egyptian anthropology, which also pertained to gods, it was mainly the ba of a deity, as the mobile part of the immaterial personality, which rested upon the animal.

Multiple forms and names The same conception applied to cultic objects, especially cult statues, and indeed to every image of a deity. Representations conveyed a fraction of the divine being; cultic objects and images were marks where the gods became visible and present on earth. The multiplicity of manifestations and forms of appearance was characteristic for every Egyptian deity. These features also account for the conviction that the essence of the divine lay beyond what is perceptible to human experience, a concept frequently expressed throughout Egyptian history. The name was an essential constituent of a god’s personality. Certain deities had very general names such as Sekhmet ‘the Powerful One’. Many of the important gods and goddesses had names that cannot be etymologically explained with any degree of certainty, such as Isis, Osiris, and Thoth. A third category had names that were closely related to the deity’s theological concept, the main examples being Amun ‘the Hidden One’ and Atum, whose name derives from a verb concurrently meaning ‘not to exist’ and ‘to be complete’.

10  Assmann 1984, chapter 3.

11 Stadler 2009.

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824   Susanne Bickel This is a sophisticated construction referring to the god’s role as creator and as the ­transitional force from inexistence to the completeness of the universe. Just as the image, the name was one possible recognizable element of the deity’s personality, which did not, however, cover the entire divine being. The gods were frequently referred to by epithets, descriptive designations that pointed to one of their aspects, functions, or to a mythological feature. The Egyptians were aware that names and epithets were merely a means of making the gods apprehensible. A way of referring to the entirety of a deity’s personality was to say that he or she possessed ‘millions of names’ or that the real name was hidden and inaccessible. Aspects and names of gods only offered an attempt to approach their boundless and all-encompassing essence. The Egyptian deities were primarily considered as active and powerful agents in the universe. They were individualized by their names, aspects, functions, and mythical relations, but there was no clear-cut demarcation between the sphere of power of the different deities. They all partook of the same general essence. They were integrated as a homogenous group of beings into a single conceptual scheme and rooted in the same cultural context. One of their common characteristics was their profound beneficence, which is illustrated by the fact that almost every known deity could be referred to in peoples’ personal names. All deities possessed the double capacity of global custody and individual care. Iconography also expresses these common beneficent features: whenever deities are shown with a human body, they hold a life-sign in one hand to indicate their life-giving capacity. In the other hand, gods normally hold a sign of power, goddesses a symbol of generation and fertility. In addition to these general characteristics as divine agents, most gods were assigned a more specific sphere of action. These were either the spatial spheres of the universe or aspects of human activity. Many of the important deities were related to heaven. Ra, the god of the sun, was con­ sidered as the source of creative energy and as the driving power of the constant regeneration of existence and the universe. He was generally attributed the hierarchically dominant position within the pantheon. Several gods were assimilated with Ra, particularly Atum, more specifically the god of creation, and Harakhti, the solar Horus related to the expanse between the two horizons. Hathor was a major solar goddess closely related to Ra. During the two decades of the reign of King Akhenaten (1353–1336 bc), the visible sun, called the Aten, became the exclusive object of the official cult, all traditional deities being explicitly and violently rejected. The netherworld, with Osiris as its ruler,12 was the permanent or occasional abode of a great number of deities as well as demon-like forces. Gods such as Anubis and Wepwawet were in charge of the transition between the earth and the netherworld. Most major goddesses had fewer specific roles and spheres of efficacy. They shared a similar nature, analogous mythical patterns, and possessed a more ambivalent character than gods. Many goddesses embodied both protective and motherly as well as dangerous and destructive features. Several deities were particularly in charge of human concerns, such as maternity, health and destiny, harvest, or weaving. A very frequent phenomenon of Egyptian religion is the conjunction of two deities, occasionally even three and more. This theological process, improperly termed syncretism in 12 Smith 2017.

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Gods, mythology, and cosmology   825 Egyptology, consisted in the combination of the names and sometimes also iconographic features of the deities.13 These associations mainly served the enhancement of a particular aspect of a deity rather than the fusion of gods or the constitution of a new god. The ­combination Amun-Ra, for instance, referred to the god Amun with special emphasis on his solar and creative aspects. Ptah-Sokar-Osiris designated Ptah in his quality of funerary deity. Through the association of divine names the character of the first deity was amplified and connected with the sphere of action of the associated gods. A particular category of Egyptian deities, commonly termed personifications, comprises beings that represented notions and concepts. They had almost exclusively human form and followed in gender the word that designated the notion they embodied. The most central such personification was Maat, the principal of order and harmony assumed to keep in balance the entire cosmos as well as human coexistence.14 This goddess and the central cultural value she represented were the reference for all divine, royal, and human action. The universe could only function if all actors proceeded in accordance to Maat. Other frequent personifications were Heka, the embodiment of the coercive power of magic; Sia, representing the notion of discernment and perspicacity; and Hu, creative and effective utterance. Personifications had little mythological implications and only occasionally received their own cult. A further group of beings, probably also classified as nṯr, was not related to some broad concept but had a clearly defined, limited range of action. These were guardians of netherworld areas or gates, protective figures, deliverers of disease, and so forth. These beings were closer to what we could call demons or genii, but they did not form a separate category.15 They had no mythic dimension other than the one inherent in their function, and they generally received no cult, although they tended to become more present in temple contexts in the Greco-Roman period. Iconography often shows them in ways that transgress the rules of canonical representations. Frontality is a frequent feature of theirs, and they often combine parts of the human body with parts of different animals in unconventional manners; they also hold knives rather than life signs.

Myth Through the language of myth, the gods became social beings. Myths refer to interactions between gods, which can be situated either in a distant past or in the present. The gods’ relations and groupings were meaningful; actions and events in the divine world had profound implications on the state of the real world. Myths explained and gave significance to actual situations in the human, cosmic, or social environment. They constituted a further means of circumscribing the nature of a deity through the knowledge of his or her deeds and personality. Unlike those of other civilizations, Egyptian myths were only rarely transmitted in coherent narrative texts. This fact has led to an extensive discussion about the existence, nature, and role of myth in ancient Egypt. Research during the mid-twentieth century was mainly devoted to questions of the origin of myths and to the relation between myth and ritual. 13 Baines 1999.

14 Assmann 2001.

15 Lucarelli 2010.

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826   Susanne Bickel Reflection on the definition began with Assmann who suggested linking the existence of myth to the occurrence of narrative mythological texts, and posited a rather late appearance of myths in Egyptian history.16 Further research has departed from this definition and led to  the opinion that myths constitute a cultural structure, a common, culturally relevant knowledge that could be referred to in various forms of discourse.17 Iconography could express mythical features, and different types of texts (rituals, hymns, stories, magical spells, etc.) could build on myths and mobilize their significance. A myth was not linked to a fixed form of expression; its individual components (sometimes termed mythologems) could be enunciated and combined in multiple ways and became significant in numerous contexts. The gods were not only connected by myths, which imply action and transitivity, they were also associated in different groupings that structured the pantheon. Some of these groupings—also called constellations—were of general importance, others had a more limit­ed and local scope. One basic structure was the group of three, a male, a female, and a child god. The ideal type of these triads—and probably the oldest one—was formed by Osiris, Isis, and Horus. The creator god Atum and his two children Shu and Tefnut constitute a particular triad which was extended into a sequence of generations of nine deities, the so-called Ennead. This structure of nine gods, with the creator god Atum or Ra at its hierarchical top, was the emblem of the created world. His eight descendants all together stood for the entire universe: Shu, representing life and space; Tefnut, associated with Maat; Geb, the earth; Nut, the sky; and the four representatives of society, Osiris, Isis, Nephthys, and Seth. As the number nine expressed the multiplied plurality, the Ennead also embodied the whole world of the gods, the pantheon. Local groupings called Enneads often comprised more than nine gods. The mobility and variability of Egyptian myth allowed the development of innumerable concepts referring to actions in the divine world, which explained major or minor facts and situations. Many less frequent or less explicit mentions of mythical features are still poorly understood. Three mythical concepts can be considered major.

The Osirian myth complex The most prominent belief complex with a mythical structure involved the gods Osiris, Seth, Isis, and Horus. The principal episodes were the murder of Osiris through the hand of Seth, who sought to usurp his brother’s kingship; the posthumous birth of Horus; his childhood under the protection of Isis; his revenge and defeat of Seth in fights and court sessions; Isis’ and Horus’ care of the deceased Osiris, who became king of the netherworld; and finally, the establishment of Horus as king of the living. Nowhere is this myth transmitted in its entirety and coherence, not even in its Greek version, written by Plutarch. The individual episodes could be made meaningful in various contexts and referred to with different degrees of explicitness. This myth accounted for most features of Egypt’s social and political structure: it offered a model for the son’s inheritance of his father’s function and the son’s care for his parent’s afterlife through the performance of funerary cult, for husband–wife relations, motherhood, childcare, and medicine. The myth addressed the problem of human

16 Assmann 1977.

17  Baines 1991; Bickel 1994, chapter 9; Assmann 2004, chapter 2.

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Gods, mythology, and cosmology   827 conflict and violence. It also offered the model for kingship as a divine function, every ­ruling king being identified with Horus.

Creation of the universe Another fundamental question that could only be treated in the language of myth concerned the origin or creation of the universe.18 It is based on the concept of an original, ever-present, fertile flood, called Nun, in which potential existence was latent until the solar creator god Atum or Ra gained consciousness, emerged, and initiated life. Being the sole source of existence, he created the other gods, mankind, and the universe with all its components through the medium of his semen, spittle, tears, breath, word, or will. The temporal dimension of creation was immense, but not infinite. Eschatological (end times) concepts, which were probably marginal in the Egyptian consciousness, imagined the end of the world as a reversal of the creation. The basic scheme of the creation myth, which seems closely related to the city of Heliopolis, was adapted in different manners but without substantial changes. From the mid-second millennium bc onward, various aspects were emphasized according to place, time, and context. Other deities, mainly Amun-Ra, Ptah, or the goddess Neith, were also considered as creator gods; many cult places were identified as the creator’s point of emergence; different means of creation were associated with major or minor elements of the universe. These variants did not form original local traditions or, even less, competing theologies; they were merely ways of highlighting certain features in accordance with the function of the concepts in specific contexts. The main circumstances in which notions of cosmogony were mobilized were funerary texts and rituals, hymns to praise certain gods and their achievements, and temple cult, where, especially in the GrecoRoman period, local and cultural particularities were linked to the process of creation. A text that has had a great impact in twentieth century research, even outside Egyptology, is the so-called ‘Treatise of Memphite Theology’.19 This composition, the original context of which is difficult to elucidate, presents the god Ptah as the creator who realized the world mainly through the power of the spoken word, a means of creation, however, that was not specific to Ptah.

The solar eye A third major mythical complex focused on the so-called solar eye, a goddess who was the daughter of the sun-god Ra. For a number of reasons this solar eye became furious, departed from the sun-god, and left Egypt, raging as a fierce lioness through the desert and through foreign countries, mainly Nubia. Her absence caused sadness and distress in Egypt. A god was dispatched to calm her, make her change into a friendly cat, and bring her back home. Most goddesses of the Egyptian pantheon could be identified with this ambivalent, potentially dangerous lion-cat figure, and several gods could play the role of the appeaser who convinced her to return. Many temples were considered as the place where the furious ­goddess reached Egypt on her way back home. Her return was associated with the rising of 18  Allen 1988; Bickel 1994.

19  El Hawary 2010.

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828   Susanne Bickel the star Sirius and the appearance of the annual Nile flood. According to an alternative ­version of this myth, the creator sent out his daughter to destroy disobedient mankind. The goddess chased people into the desert, became a bloodthirsty lioness, and was about to eradicate mankind when the creator dispatched a god who spread out red-coloured beer. She drank, became peaceful, and then returned to Egypt. This myth—the Egyptian version of the Noachian deluge—accounted for the imperfect state of the world and for the fact that the gods withdrew from earth and settled in the sky as a consequence of these events.20 It is one of the various ancient Egyptian approaches to the question of theodicy; a reflection on the contradiction between the belief in the creator’s perfection and justice on the one hand, and the perception of the world’s and mankind’s deficient condition on the other.21

Myths in cultural dynamics During the mid-second millennium bc, Egypt adopted deities such as Baal and Astarte from neighbouring areas of the Near East, and also occasionally integrated and adapted foreign myths.22 Kingship was closely tied into the world of the gods by myth. The idea that the reigning king was the son of the gods or of a particular deity was expanded into a cycle of texts and images frequently displayed on New Kingdom temple walls. This composition was taken over in Greco-Roman temples and modified to describe the birth of the child-god as a sign of permanent renewal of divine force. The large number of diverging, sometimes contradictory versions of mythical concepts was long seen as one of the principal problems in analyzing Egyptian religion. Until the mid-twentieth century, this phenomenon was taken as a sign of a ‘pre-logical’ state of mind, or, in some cases, as residual local traditions going back to prehistoric times. Henri Frankfort’s theory of the ‘multiplicity of approaches’ had great influence and credited the Egyptians more positively with a real endeavour to approach essential questions in a global way.23 Erik Hornung argued in favour of the use by the Ancient Egyptians of a multi-valued logic, referring in particular to modern theories on the logic of complementarity.24 The contemporary approach sees myth as an important phenomenon of cultural dynamics, as a medium of expressing cultural values and speculative explanations. The individual mythological realizations take into account particular contexts, functions, or locally prominent features;25 variants diverge only in details, not in structure, nor in significance. Myths were pertinent models, precedents, and explanations; they never became religious dogma.

Cosmology Like most civilizations of the ancient world, Egypt developed various models to apprehend the structures of the universe. These concepts accounted for the state and permanence of 20 Hornung 1982. 21  Enmarch 2008; Loprieno 2003. 22  Zivie-Coche 1994. Collombert and Coulon 2000. 23 Frankfort 1946. 24  Hornung 1971/1982, chapter 7. 25  Goebs 2002; Quack 2008.

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Gods, mythology, and cosmology   829 the created world and were often related to myths. The cosmologies were speculative ­representations of the universe rather than descriptions of concrete observations. They ­contained little action and transitivity other than the regular and cyclical movements of the  cosmic constituents. Contrary to the myths, which were only rarely presented in narrative form, extensive descriptions of the impenetrable spheres of the universe, even maps, existed from the Middle Kingdom on and were particularly prominent in New Kingdom royal tombs. The combination of text and image is characteristic of these cosmological compositions.26 From early periods on, the world view contained four main elements: the sky, the earth, the underworld, and the generative water Nun that surrounded the whole universe. In ­certain places Nun met the other three constituents, the fertilizing Nile being its main emergence on earth. The earth was generally seen as a flat plate with the Nile valley at its centre. Mythologically, the god Geb represented the earth, his companion being the sky goddess Nut. Occasional mentions and images also refer to the earth, and to the world altogether, as a circular structure.27 The sky was considered as an expanse. It could be seen as a watery area structured by gates, fields, canals, and other geographical features, which encompassed the movements of the sun and the stars. It was a place of residence of the gods and offered a dwelling for the deceased. Most frequently, the sky was envisaged as a woman, the goddess Nut, stretching her arms and bowing her body over the earth, an image that might be inspired by the shape of the Milky Way. Nut’s body constituted the celestial space as well as the path on which the sun moved from East to West. Her mouth lay in the West, where she swallowed the sun in the evening, regenerating it during the night and giving birth in the morning to a re­ju­ven­ated sun. Through this cosmological concept the sky became the principal space of the permanent renewal of the cosmic forces. Nut’s regenerating, protective, and motherly nature also conferred on her great significance in the funerary sphere, every deceased expecting to enter her womb and to become part of the permanent cosmic cycle. Another possible rendering was to show the sky as a cow. In this form the celestial expanse was associated with Hathor in her role as mother of the sun. Iconography showed the sun disk between her horns, the sun bark travelling along the cow’s belly. No substantial distinction can be made between the representations of the sky as a woman or as a cow. Less frequently the sky was depicted by two bird’s wings or shown as a ­rectangular expanse with tips projecting downward on its ends, like the hieroglyphic sign for ‘sky’. Apprehension of the fragility of the structure of the universe underlies all concepts of the sky. Divine forces had to sustain the sky and prevent its collapse. Texts and images refer to the god Shu, who represents the air and the space in which terrestrial life unfolds, lifting up his arms to secure the sky. Personifications of endlessness hold the legs of the celestial cow, which represent the four edges of the universe. Imaginary spatial concepts were extremely detailed when concerning the underworld. It was never conceived as a body but as an immense abode underneath the earth, clad in partial or total darkness, characterized by great secrecy, structured by paths, waterways, lakes,

26 Hornung 1999.

27 Allen 2003.

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830   Susanne Bickel chambers, and gates. The most exhaustive depiction is contained in the Amduat, the ‘writings of the hidden chamber of the underworld’ from the mid-second millennium bc, which refers to the journey of the sun from west to east during the twelve hours of the night.28 Two central mythical concepts are embedded in this composition. One concerns the struggle of the god Ra and the entire divine community with a giant snake, Apophis, symbolizing the destructive force opposing creation. This fight was thought to take place continuously, the antagonistic power never being entirely overcome. The concept of permanent threat to the structure of the universe became very prominent in ritual practice during the first millennium bc. The other important mythical notion associated with the underworld was the unification of Ra and Osiris, a mystical temporary union through which both deities renewed their faculty of life. Like the sky, the netherworld was considered as a sphere of regeneration, an area where the creative power of certain deities was rejuvenated and enhanced in a process that set off a new cosmic cycle. The deceased could likewise sojourn and regenerate in the underworld. The movement of the sun, perceived as the circumnavigation of the universe, dominated the Egyptian world view and all cosmological concepts. The night journey, as the invisible part of the cycle, fostered the most fertile speculations. The search for explanation concentrated on the permanent regeneration of the solar and vital energy, a process that could have effect both in the celestial body of Nut or in the inhospitable sphere of the underworld. This cyclical renewal was assimilated to the original creation of the universe and thus every sunrise could be celebrated as the beginning of new existence.

Conclusion The ancient Egyptian belief system and people’s attempts to explain the realities of their lives, natural surroundings and the universe are still in great need of further research. Variations and evolutions of the conceptions of gods, of myths and of the perception of the cosmos should be worked out more precisely over the long span of existence of Egyptian culture. The social dimensions of religion, its multiple contexts and implications in everyday life, as well as levels of conceptualization are large fields of research. Further investigations and analyses can contribute to the establishment of a denser picture of ancient Egyptian people’s emotional and intellectual experiences.

Suggested reading Fundamental works are those of Hornung (1971/1982), Baines (2000), Assmann (1984), and Dunand and Zivie-Coche (1991/2004). A stimulating, largely context and archaeology based overview is Quirke (2015). For case studies on religious change see Assmann (2014) and Smith (2017). 28  Hornung and Abt 2007.

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Gods, mythology, and cosmology   831

Bibliography Allen, J.P. 1988. Genesis in Egypt: The Philosophy of Ancient Egyptian Creation Accounts. Yale ­Egyptological Studies 2. New Haven: Yale Egyptological Seminar. Allen, J.P. 2003. The Egyptian Concept of the World. In D. O’Connor and S. Quirke (eds), Mysterious Lands. London: UCL Press, 23–30. Assmann, J. 1977. Die Verborgenheit des Mythos in Ägypten, Göttinger Miszellen 25: 7–43. Assmann, J. 1983/1995. Re und Amun: die Krise des polytheistischen Weltbilds im Ägypten der 18.–20. Dynastie. OBO 51. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Translated as Egyptian Solar Religion in the New Kingdom, Re, Amun, and the Crisis of Polytheism by A. Alcock. London: Kegan Paul. Assmann, J. 1984. Ägypten: Theologie und Frömmigkeit einer frühen Hochkultur. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Translated as The Search for God in Ancient Egypt by D. Lorton. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Assmann, J. 1993. Monotheismus und Kosmotheismus: ägyptische Formen eines ‘Denkens des Einen’ und ihre europäische Rezeptionsgeschichte. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Akademie der W ­ issenschaften. Assmann, J. 2001. Ma’at. Gerechtigkeit und Unsterblichkeit im Alten Ägypten. München: Beck. Assmann, J. 2004. Ägyptische Geheimnisse. München: Wilhelm Fink. Assmann, J. 2014. From Akhenaten to Moses. Ancient Egypt and Religious Change. Cairo, New York: American University Press. Baines, J. 1991. Egyptian Myth and Discourse: Myth, Gods, and the Early Written and Iconographic Record, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 50: 81–105. Baines, J. 1999. Egyptian Syncretism: Hans Bonnet’s Contribution, Orientalia 68: 181–214. Baines, J. 2000. Egyptian Deities in Context. In B.N.  Porter (ed.), One God or Many? Concepts of ­Divinity in the Ancient World. Chebeague: Casco Bay Assyriological Institute, 9–78. Bickel, S. 1994. La cosmogonie égyptienne avant le Nouvel Empire. OBO 134. Freiburg: ­Universitätsverlag. Bickel, S. 2002. Aspects et fonctions de la déification d’Amenhotep III, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 102: 63–90. Budde, D. 2011. Das Götterkind im Tempel, in der Stadt und im Weltgebäude. Darmstadt: P. von Zabern. Collombert, P. and L. Coulon. 2000. Les dieux contre la mer: le début du ʻpapyrus d’Astartéʼ (pBN 202), Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 100: 193–242. Dunand, F. and C. Zivie-Coche. 1991/2004. Dieux et hommes en Egypte: 3000 av. J.-C.–395 apr. J.-C.: anthropologie. Paris: Colin. Translated as Gods and Men in Egypt: 3000 bce–395 ce by D. Lorton. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Enmarch, R. 2008. Theodicy. In J. Dieleman, W. Wendrich (eds), UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology, Los Angeles. http://digital2.library.ucla.edu/viewItem.do?ark=21,198/zz000s3mj5 El Hawary, A. 2010. Wortschöpfung. Die Memphitische Theologie und die Siegesstele des Pije—zwei Zeugen kultureller Repräsentation in der 25. Dynastie. OBO 243. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Frankfort, H. (ed.). 1946. The Intellectual Adventure of Ancient Man. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Goebs, K. 2002. A Functional Approach to Egyptian Myth and Mythemes, Journal of Near Eastern Religions 2: 27–59. Loprieno, A. 2003. Theodicy in ancient Egyptian texts. In A. Laato and J. C. de Moor (eds), Theodicy in the World of the Bible. Leiden: Brill, 27–56. Lucarelli, R. 2010. Demons (benevolent and malevolent). In J. Dieleman, W. Wendrich (eds), UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology, Los Angeles. http://digital2.library.ucla.edu/viewItem.do?ark=21,198/ zz0025fks3 Hornung, E. 1971/1982. Der Eine und die Vielen: ägyptische Gottesvorstellungen. Darmstadt: ­Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Translated as Conceptions of God in Ancient Egypt: the One and the Many by J. Baines. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Hornung, E. 1982. Der ägyptische Mythos von der Himmelskuh: eine Ätiologie des Unvollkommenen. OBO 46. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Hornung, E. 1999. The Ancient Egyptian Books of the Afterlife. Translated by D. Lorton. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

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832   Susanne Bickel Hornung, E. and T. Abt. 2007. The Egyptian Amduat. The Book of the Hidden Chamber. Translated by D. Warburton. Zurich: Living Human Heritage Publications. Koch, K. 1989. Das Wesen altägyptischer Religion im Spiegel ägyptologischer Forschung. Hamburg: Joachim Jungius Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften. Meeks, D., and C. Favard-Meeks. 1993/1996. La vie quotidienne des dieux égyptien. Paris: Hachette. Translated as Daily Life of the Egyptian Gods by G.M. Goshgarian. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Quack, J.F. 2008. Lokalressourcen oder Zentraltheologie? Zur Relevnaz und Situierung geographisch strukturierter Mythologie im Alten Ägypten, Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 10: 5–29. Quirke, S. 2015. Exploring Religion in Ancient Egypt. West Sussex: Wiley Blackwell. Smith, M. 2017. Following Osiris. Perspectives on the Osirian afterlife from four millennia. Oxford: ­Oxford University Press. Stadler, M.A. 2009. Weiser und Wesir. Studien zu Vorkommen, Rolle und Wesen des Gottes Thot im Totenbuch. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Weiss, L. 2015. Religious Practice at Deir el-Medina. Egyptologische Uitgaven 29. Leuven: Peeters. Zivie-Coche, C. 1994. Dieux autres, dieux des autres: identité culturelle et altérité dans l’Égypte ­ancienne. In I. Alon et al. (eds), Concepts of the Other in Near Eastern Religions. Israel Oriental Studies 15. Leiden: Brill.

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chapter 40

Sym bolism a n d r eligious iconogr a ph y Richard Wilkinson

Introduction: the origins of Egyptian symbolism Symbolism, in all its forms, may be said to lie at the very core of a great deal of ancient Egyptian culture and certainly underlies much of Egyptian religion as it was expressed in art, architecture, and artefacts of everyday life. Egyptian two- and three-dimensional representation were symbolically imbued to a degree rarely equalled in other cultures, for it was through symbols that the Egyptians represented or encoded many of their beliefs about the nature of life, death, and reality itself. Symbolism was, in fact, a primary aspect of ancient Egyptian religious thought, and it is clear that it provided a system that facilitated belief and in which the dilemma posed by the existence of conflicting facts and religious ideas was often successfully resolved. At its most basic level, a symbol is merely something that stands for something else—often an element that is invisible or intangible in a concrete sense. In many cultures symbols are thus inextricably tied to religious iconography, which represents the spiritual world through conventional images. In Man and His Symbols, the psychologist Carl Jung stressed that humans use symbols to represent what they cannot define or fully understand.1 According to Jung, at first ‘art’ and ‘religion’ were essentially the same, with the symbolism present in both being an attempt to interact with the universe in areas where direct physical action or relation are not possible. Different purposes may have developed as time progressed, and other scholars have looked at the use of symbols from anthropological, psychological, sociological, and religious perspectives; but Jung’s approach is widely accepted and would seem to apply to the evidence from ancient Egypt. The use of symbols appears from very early times in Egypt. Many apparent examples may be found in remains dating to the Predynastic cultures, even though we are not always sure 1 Jung 1964.

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834   Richard Wilkinson what these symbols represented. Although the evidence that survives from this time is entirely representational, the functional link between symbols, art, and religion posited by  Jung is clear, if not ubiquitous. Doubtless, many symbols developed as the tools of magico-religious practice because symbolism was particularly valuable in the quest to achieve the ‘transformation of state’ that underlies all religious activity, and by which humans commonly seek to control negative aspects of existence2. Thus, Egyptian religion frequently produced symbols in the course of harnessing potentially threatening powers for protective purposes. A basic example is seen in the wild dog or jackal that ravaged Egyptian cemeteries and which was transformed into a divine entity who protected rather  than disturbed the body of the deceased. This entity became a guardian of the entrance to the netherworld, and the symbol of its protection is seen in the form of the crouching jackal found in amulets from Predynastic times (the earliest known, of bone, was found in a Naqada II burial). This symbol remains in the iconography of later royal and private tombs, and in the modified form of the jackal-headed sphinxes set up in some later funerary temples. By the Old Kingdom, symbols associated with both divine and monarchical ideology are well established and we generally have much less difficulty in understanding their intended associations, though full interpretation may still be difficult in some cases. Even in the historical period, when many representational symbols are paralleled by textual glosses, referents and clues, there may still be a level of uncertainty in interpretation, as individual symbols may have several meanings—some of which may be apparently contradictory, as Erik Iversen noted a good number of years ago.3 Thus, Osiris is god both of the dead and of regenerate life, as well as a god of kingship past, and his symbols may carry any or all of these possible meanings in a given iconographic context. In many cases we are left wondering which of the multiple symbolic associations came first, and the answer often remains buried in the development of the mythology of a given deity. There has long been an accepted picture of symbols developing somewhat spontaneously in early Egyptian religion, particularly in the royal funerary cult, and later spreading through a process of ‘democratization’ (akin to that found in the progressively widening use of funerary texts) to lower levels of society. But it seems increasingly likely that in dynastic times many symbols were not developed in a random manner or in purely royal settings but, in many cases, by priests in specifically religious contexts. Thus, Jan Assmann has noted that many of the religious and symbolic innovations associated with the solar cult were likely developed by the Heliopolitan priesthood and subsequently utilized in both private and royal contexts as time progressed.4 We must also remember is that the use of symbolism in religious iconography was, of course, not unique to ancient Egypt, but is found in parallel situations in other cultures of the ancient Near East and the ancient world in general.5 In the later historical periods we have clear evidence of specific symbols—such as the corn-modius of Serapis—coming into being in the development of new cults and other religious contexts. These examples fit well with our understanding of the religious, or religiousrelated matrix, of most Egyptian symbolism and the process by which symbols were quickly disseminated into different cultural settings. 2  Wallace 1966, 107. 3  Iversen 1958, 11. 5  See, for example, Marinatos, 2010; Ragavan, 2013.

4  Assman 1995, 7 n. 32.

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Symbolism and religious iconography   835

The types and uses of symbols The Egyptian language appears to have had no single word that exactly parallels our own term ‘symbol’; the closest and most commonly found approximation is probably the word twt ‘image’, a fact that underscores the frequent visual basis of Egyptian symbolism. Although some sounds and other sensory perceptions seem to have held specific symbolic associations for the Egyptians,6 symbols based in visual perception were certainly primary. The relative importance of the different types of symbolic associations is approximated in Figure 40.1. This simple Venn diagram shows that visual association is by far the most important type of symbolic link, followed (in hypothetical proportions) by auditory and then other types of association. Visual symbols are not only the most commonly found, but also the most varied of all the types of symbolic associations. They may be static or dynamic in nature, with static symbols being defined not simply in terms of lack of movement, but as  being complete in themselves without reference to other iconographic elements. By contrast, dynamic symbols usually require association with some other element for their expression, though this is not always the case.7 Static symbols are more widely employed, yet they are of no greater importance than symbols employing dynamic aspects. There is also no perceivable difference in the religious, royal, and non-royal usage of static referents of visual symbolism such as size and colour, though dynamic symbols are much more common in religious and royal contexts owing to the nature of the motifs commonly depicted on the parietal surfaces of temples and tombs. Many of these aspects of visual symbolism could be combined in the employment of objects as symbols. Thus, actions and appearances might be complementary—as in the case of the reddish (solar symbolic) coloration and facial disk of the swallow (Hirundo rustica), which matched the bird’s habit of flying up from holes in the Nile’s bank at dawn and returning at dusk; or the speckled breast and lofty soaring of the falcon (Falco peregrinus), which could be seen as symbolic of the heavens themselves. Such coincidences of nature doubtless intensified the perceived ‘reality’ of many symbols in the natural world, and the Egyptians Figure 40.1  Types of symbolic associations.

Visual Associations

Other Associations

6  Wilkinson 2001, 330.

7  See, for example, Ogdon 1979.

Auditory Associations

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836   Richard Wilkinson

Figure 40.2  Multiple aspects of visual symbolism incorporated in a single representation from KV-21, the 18th Dynasty tomb of Ay. Photograph by author.

also utilized doubling or reduplication of symbolic aspects in their own creations. For example, Figure 40.2 shows a scene from the tomb of King Ay in which a goddess dispenses water (depicted in the hieroglyphs emanating from her hands) for the deceased king. This single representation, in its setting, incorporates almost all of the ten aspects of visual symbolism listed in Table 40.1.

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Symbolism and religious iconography   837

Table 40.1  Aspects of visual symbolism Symbolic Aspect Static Size Shape Colour Number Material Glyph Location Dynamic Alignment Gesture Action

2D Representation

3D Representation

Monument

x x x x x x

x x x x x x x

x x x x x x x

x x x

x x x

x

Thus, the conscious programmatic use of different types of visual symbolism—as in the carefully planned location, colour, size, and alignment of solar disks in royal tombs—was frequently employed to delineate symbolically significant spatial and temporal aspects of the cosmos. Another important distinction that must be made in the analysis of visual symbols and religious iconography is between primary or direct symbolism, and secondary or indirect symbolism. At the first level, objects hold significance through direct visual association and context such as the use of the djed pillar as a symbol of support, or paired with the knot (tjt) of Isis as a symbol of Osiris. At the secondary level, elements are represented more indirectly and often without clear context, such as the use of amulets in the form of a bunch of grapes, which through their shape and other aspects, were symbolic of the heart. This visual symbol could also be applied verbally, for example, in the Egyptian ‘Tale of Two Brothers’ the heart of the protagonist is directly described as ‘a bunch of grapes’ (j3rrt).8 Finally, it should also be remembered that at a functional level symbols, like parables, may be esoteric or exoteric: they may veil truths or reveal them. Although in most periods Egyptian symbolism commonly held the latter function, this factor can also be dependent upon context. It is clear that symbolism was part of a complex broader language by which the ancient Egyptians communicated religious or religiously associated concepts, both to undifferentiated audiences and to specific groups, a factor that is sometimes of importance in understanding aspects of religious iconography. While contexts frequently indicate symbols being aimed at elite audiences, it is equally clear that some symbols saw almost ubiquitous use and were doubtless understood by many who might otherwise have been unlettered or untutored in symbolic associations. The number of symbols of so many different types found in so many areas of Egyptian culture might tempt the outside observer to see ancient Egypt as a civilization obsessed with symbolism. Rather than imagining a culture filled with a myriad of arbitrarily occurring and unrelated symbols, however, we should realize that for the ancient Egyptians symbolism was part of the fabric of their world view. The world was, in one sense, a symbolic place, 8  Hollis 1990, 126.

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838   Richard Wilkinson so that in a meaningful context virtually any physical thing—its form, name or any of its other aspects—could potentially be viewed as being symbolic of some part of the greater reality of the unseen: the gods, and the divinely actuated cycle of life and death. This situation applied to natural and human-made phenomena. On the one hand, any part of the physical cosmos could be viewed as a symbol of a mythological reality: for example, the Milky Way might be seen as a symbol of the goddess Nut or of rebirth. On the other hand, a coffin or some other everyday object could be painted blue with golden stars so that it might likewise symbolize the heavens or the Milky Way (and thus Nut and rebirth). Yet, how pervasive this symbolic view actually was in Egyptian society is not clear. While we cannot posit it as being the constant view of the average person going about his or her daily life, certainly this symbolic world view appears in religious and non-religious contexts alike. The very frequency and range of its expression cannot indicate anything other than a widespread awareness of, and attention to, symbolic associations. The star Sirius, for example, was viewed as ‘dying’ in the western sky only to be ‘reborn’ on the eastern horizon after seventy days of absence. The fact that the prt spdt or ‘going forth of Sopdet’—the heliacal rising of the star Sirius—occurred around the time of the annual flood, and subsequent renewal of vegetation and crops, further tied the physical to the symbolic reality which cannot have been less than universally understood by ancient Egyptians. The ‘reality’, rather than the merely formal nature of such symbols, for the ancient Egyptians is clearly seen in their concerted efforts to destroy symbols associated with proscribed individuals9 or (in the Amarna Period) deities.

Symbolic landscapes and their inhabitants In addition to the veneration of topographical features and other aspects of physical landscapes,10 the conscious alignment of temples, tombs, and other structures with significant buildings, sites, or locations amply demonstrates the Egyptian conceptualization and awareness of symbolic landscapes in the physical world. Sun-temples of the Old Kingdom may have been oriented toward Heliopolis, and temples of many periods were oriented toward other temples and specific stars or constellations. Among the Theban private tombs of the New Kingdom, we find examples of constructed in line-of-sight of the memorial temples of the monarch in whose reign they were built. In addition, and, perhaps even more tellingly, tombs constructed on a line between the ruler’s memorial temple at the edge of the cultivation and the ruler’s tomb in the Valley of the Kings. Such alignments suggest the widespread perception of symbolic landscapes. Regardless of how frequently physical landscapes became symbolic, however, it is clear that for the ancient Egyptian the physical world was a reflection of an underlying reality that could be portrayed or indicated symbolically. As virtually anything in the physical world could be symbolic of an aspect of this underlying ‘reality’ of Egyptian religious belief, 9  For a detailed example of this see Wilkinson 2011. 10  See, for example, Kendal 1997, 166–70.

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Symbolism and religious iconography   839 so we find symbolism constantly being utilized in the representational and verbal descriptions of that symbolic realm. This deeper ‘reality’ was also complete with specific landscapes, such as those found, for example, in the various Egyptian funerary ‘books’ and portrayed both verbally in those texts and visually in their vignettes. While earlier studies of symbolism have tended to focus on individual symbolic artefacts or iconographic aspects, recent works have increasingly begun to deal with symbolic landscapes and their part in the symbolic cosmos.11 These newer studies have shown how extensively the designation of specific elements was carried out in descriptions of specific symbolic landscapes. One such recent study of the symbolism associated with the ferry-boat (mẖnt) boat that transports the deceased to the ‘Field of Offerings’ in the western side of the sky (Book of the Dead, Chapter 99) has shown that features of the broader landscape such as the wind, water, and river bank, and occupations associated with the vessel, as well as the nautical features of the celestial ferryboat itself, all have importance in a carefully unified symbolic landscape. These function as a symbolic microcosm, yet they are also part of the broader symbolic world of the afterlife.12 The same study has also shown that among the various elements of this microcosm, certain types of symbol tend to display primary or secondary associations—effectively stressing an issue raised earlier in the present article— and to have had specific locational significance. Therefore, the deities predominantly associated with the underworld are symbolically tied to specific parts of the boat beneath the deck line, while deities predominantly associated with the celestial sphere are associated with elements above the deck line. The inhabitants of the landscapes that make up the ‘symbolic cosmos’ are mainly deities and, in certain settings, the king or the deceased. One of the functions of religious iconography in Egyptian art is thought to provide egress for the king, his agents, or the blessed deceased through their images into landscapes of the divine sphere or afterlife. Not only do religious representations reflect basic ideas concerning an idealized view of the cosmos, but they also, in effect, create that cosmos or a magically functional image of it. From this perspective, the conscious distortion toward an idealized reality that is so commonly found in Egyptian art may be seen in the broader sense of the incorporation of imperfect humans into the perfect symbolic cosmos that unfailingly operates according to the stable and balanced principles of Maat. Even in depictions of the present world, symbolically oriented representations commonly create an idealized and functional landscape that provides not only the framework for the details of specific iconographic programs, but also a somewhat idealized world more in keeping with the symbolic cosmos. Throughout all these different kinds of settings in which they are depicted, deities are shown in canonical and largely invariable ways. Their attributes may vary, but usually only within an accepted and recognizable range. This may be seen in the careful representations of the syncretism of two or more deities in which each god maintains recognizable attributes or characteristics. Humans—including the king in even his semi-divine roles—are likewise depicted predictably through the use of extensive protocols that were usually rooted in aspects of iconographic symbolism such as size, position, gesture, and action. When viewed in context of the landscapes or settings in which they appear, these symbolic aspects take on a larger significance of organization and order.

11  See, for example, Roberson 2009, Griffis 2002.

12  Lippiello 2004, Chapters 2 and 4.

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Discussion: studies of Egyptian symbolism—challenges and future directions Although the formal study of Egyptian symbolism is a product of modern scholarship, ironically it might be said that the history of the interpretation of Egyptian symbols goes back at least as far as the Hieroglyphica of Horappolo (fourth century ad). This text claimed to provide an explanation of the symbolic meanings of the hieroglyphic signs based on their visual appearance but, through many of its fallacious interpretations, helped to delay the true understanding of the ancient script until well into the eighteenth century. The fullness of the irony in this situation is seen in the fact that while the inaccessible hieroglyphic script was viewed as symbolic, the representational evidence of Egyptian religious iconography— which is saturated with symbolism—was largely ignored till recent times. While there were seminal works that discussed the philosophical and psychological aspects of symbolism in its wider spheres of operation,13 there was no single work that opened the field of symbolism for modern Egyptological scholarship. Individual scholars began to comment on the symbolic nature of aspects of Egyptian art and artefacts in the course of their studies, and it became increasingly obvious that many of the physical remains of Egyptian culture—ranging from the smallest artefacts to the design and layout of whole tombs and temples—exhibited symbolic associations of some type. In 1943, Hermann Kees published an important study of colour symbolism in Egyptian religious texts, and from that time onward a number of scholars have discussed general aspects of Egyptian symbolism. For example, Siegfreid Schott (1953) and Rudolph Anthes (1967), and have examined a number of symbolic associations thematically: for instance, John Baines’s discussion of temple symbolism (1976); Philippe Derchain’s examination, in the same year, of the use of symbols in Egyptian private life; Marten Raven’s article, published in 1988, on various types of symbolic materials used in Egyptian art; or John Baines’s extensive 1985 analysis of the iconography and symbolism of fecundity figures.14 Nevertheless, the first general survey of different aspects of symbolism in Egyptian art did not appear until 1994.15 The basic, categorizing approach of this work, however, was limited from an analytical perspective, because of the frequent combination and overlapping of different types of symbols in actual use. Gaps also remain in our understanding of a number of fundamental areas of the subject. The origins of Egyptian symbolism are of particular importance, for example, but have received little study, as have the relationships between many aspects of verbal and visual symbolism. An example of this kind of potential interaction might be found in the symbolic use of the donkey in Egyptian dream interpretation as representing an official.16 This association is perhaps based on the fact that in the ancient Egyptian language the words for ‘donkey’ (ˁ3) and ‘great’ or ‘promotion’ (ˁ3) are nearly homophones; and although wild ­donkeys seem only to be utilized in representational contexts as symbols of inimical forces 13  Jung 1964, and see also Whitehead 1927. 14  See also Goff 1979 and Lurker 1968–71. 15  Wilkinson  1994. For a fuller survey of the development of the study of symbolism in Egyptian ­iconography, see Müller, 2015. 16  See, for example, Szpakowska 2003.

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Symbolism and religious iconography   841 of the desert regions, it may be that verbal associations could be found behind visually represented symbols in some settings. Thus, if advances are to be made toward a thorough understanding of Egyptian symbolism, future studies must continue to examine functional areas of symbolic expression—such as the symbolic landscapes discussed above—in order to recognize and effectively assess symbols in their original contexts and associations. While symbols are often easy to recognize in archaeological or cultural settings, they can be notoriously difficult to assess in terms of their meaning and purpose. This can be seen in trying to deduce the symbolic association of the owl with wisdom in Western culture, without knowledge of the bird’s association with the Greek goddess Athena, patron deity of wisdom. Several of the major difficulties in interpretation must therefore be dealt with systematically in the study of Egyptian symbols. Although it may seem axiomatic, we must always ask if it is clear that a given symbol was original with the Egyptians, or something that we ourselves have projected back into the culture because it ‘seems’ Egyptian. Even obviously genuine symbols may be used in ways that would seem symbolically ‘real’ but might be unintentional. For example, the side panels of the gilded chair of Hetepheres were adorned with papyrus clusters, a decorative device that placed the seated queen between the papyrus clumps as a potentially symbolic figure of the goddess Hathor in her aspect of the divine cow amid the papyrus. Attractive and likely as this interpretation may be, we cannot be sure that this was the intention of the artisans who crafted the chair, and it must ultimately be viewed as a possible symbolic association rather than a clear one. Equally fundamental, the symbols utilized in Egyptian art may exhibit different meanings at different times or, more problematically, different meanings in different contexts in the same period of time. The feather, for example, may be found as a symbol of air and the air-god Shu, or of the goddess Maat and the concepts of truth, order, and justice. In funerary contexts, however, feathers may be symbolic of the wings of certain protective goddesses, or of the bird-like ba or human soul. Plumes may also be related to the earth god Geb, who is often symbolized by a goose. Thus, in certain cases where context does not render a clear choice, the significance of a specific symbol may not be clear. The Egyptians themselves were certainly conscious of the ambiguity in their own symbolism, and even seem to have encouraged it. For example, at one point, the Book of the Dead (Chapter 17) states ‘I have put my twin plumes on my head’, and this enigmatic statement is explained as follows: ‘What is that? As for “his twin plumes on his head”, Isis and Nephthys went and put themselves on his head, being present as hawks . . . ’, while the same text gives other meanings such as ‘the twin plumes on his head are his eyes’, and ‘they are the two large stately cobras that are on the brow of . . . Atum’. Examples such as these demonstrate that there is often a ‘field’ or range of possible meanings for a given symbol, and while we may select a specific interpretation that seems most likely according to context, we must remember that alternative symbolic associations may also have been possible or equally involved. Conversely, we also find that different symbols were often used for the same symbolic referent. For example, the colours blue, red, and gold were used for the god Amun, and green, black, and white for Osiris. The reasons for this variation are understood, but in other cases the reasons underlying symbolic variation are not so clear. Despite the common understanding of the nearly ubiquitous red-brown and yellow-white gender colorations utilized in Egyptian art (for Egyptians, though not for other ethnic groups) as being rooted in ‘typical’ outdoor and indoor role differentiation, this dichotomy may not be fully understood. As Gay Robins has stated, the significance of the two colours may actually be

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842   Richard Wilkinson deeper, marking some as yet unknown but fundamental difference between men and women in the Egyptian world view17. The range of variation may also be much wider. For example, the falcon, swallow, baboon, beetle, bulti fish, lion, ram, and several other creatures were all used as symbols of the sun, but in many cases such as this, relatively little study has been completed on the reasons for the choice of given symbols in different settings. For all these reasons, contextual approaches that avoid, as much as possible, some of the inherent difficulties of interpretation associated with Egyptian symbolism, focusing instead on the broader setting and usage of symbols, now constitute a major thrust in the current study of Egyptian symbolism and religious iconography.18

Suggested reading Westendorf (1986) is a short but useful survey linked to some, but not all, of the related articles in this work. Wilkinson (1994) surveys the individual aspects of symbolism in Egyptian art. Wilkinson (2001) provides an overview of the major aspects of visual symbolism.

Bibliography Anthes, R. 1967. Altagyptische Mythologie, Symbolon und Symbolik, Grune Blatter, Mitteilungen und Aufsatze 23 no. 2: 1–20. Assmann, J. 1995. Egyptian Solar Religion in the New Kingdom: Re, Amun and the Crisis of Polytheism, tr. A. Alcock. London and New York: Kegan Paul International. Baines, J. 1976. Temple Symbolism, Royal Anthropological Institute News 15 no. 3: 10–15. Baines, J. 1985. Fecundity Figures: Egyptian Personification and the Iconology of a Genre. Warminster: Aris and Philips. Derchain, P. 1976. Symbols and Metaphors in Literature and Representations of Private Life, Royal Anthropological Institute News 15: 7–10. Goff, B. L. 1979. Symbols of Ancient Egypt in the Late Period: the Twenty-First Dynasty. The Hague, Paris, New York: Walter de Gruyter. [See also the review of this work in BiOr 39 (1982): 529–33.] Griffis, K. M. 2002. Traversing the Far-Land: Post Amarna through Early Ramesside Royal Tombs as Sacred Landscape in Ancient Egypt. M.A. Thesis, University of London. Hollis, S. T. 1990. The Ancient Egyptian ‘Tale of Two Brothers’. Norman and London: University of Oklahoma Press. Hornung, E. 1992. Idea into Image: Essays on Ancient Egyptian Thought, tr. by E. Bredeck. New York: Timken. Iversen, E. 1958. Papyrus Carlsberg No. VII: Fragments of a Hieroglyphic Dictionary. Copenhagen: E. Munksgaard. Jung, C. 1964. Man and his Symbols. New York: Doubleday. Kees, H. 1943. Farbensymbolik in ägyptischen religiösen Texten, Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften in Göttingen, phil.-hist.Klasse 11: 413–79. Kendall, T. 1997. Kings of the Sacred Mountain: Napata and the Kushite Twenty‑Fifth Dynasty of Egypt. In D.  Wildung (ed.), Sudan: Ancient Kingdoms of the Nile. New York and Paris: Rizzoli, 161–71. 17  Robins 2001, 293. 18  Something of the range of recent studies can be seen, for example, in Sousa 2011, Xekalaki 2011, and Yamamato 2015.

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Symbolism and religious iconography   843 Lippiello, L. 2004. Symbolic Perceptions of new Kingdom Watercraft: Building Boats from Gods. M.A. Thesis, Florida State University. Lurker, M. (ed.). 1968–71. Bibliographie zur Symbolik, Ikonographie und Mythologie. 4 vols. Baden-Baden: Werner Bies. Lurker, M. (ed.). 1964. Symbole der Alten Agypter. Weilheim: Barth. Marinatos, N. 2010. Minoan Kingship and the Solar Goddess. Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Müller, M. 2015. Iconography and Symbolism. In M. Hartwig (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Egyptian Art. Hoboken, New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons. Ogdon, J. R. 1979. Observations on a Ritual Gesture, after Some Old Kingdom Reliefs, JSSEA 10 no. 1: 71–6. Ragavan, D. (ed.). 2013. Heaven on Earth: Temples, Ritual, and Cosmic Symbolism in the Ancient World. Oriental Institute Seminars 9. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Raven, M.  J. 1988. Magical and Symbolic Aspects of Certain Materials in Ancient Egypt, Varia Aegyptiaca 4: 237–42. Roberson, J. 2009. The Early History of ‘New Kingdom’ Netherworld Iconography: a Late Middle Kingdom Apotropaic Wand Reconsidered. In D.P. Silverman et al. (eds), Archaism and Innovation: Studies in the Culture of Middle Kingdom Egypt. New Haven: Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, 427–45. Robins, G. 2001. Color Symbolism. In D.B. Redford (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, II, 291–4. Schott, S. 1953. Symbol und Zauber als Grundform altagyptischen Denkens, Studium Generale 6: 278–88. Sousa, R. (ed.). 2014. Body, Cosmos and Eternity: New Research Trends in the Iconography and Symbolism of Ancient Egyptian Coffins. Archaeopress Egyptology 3. Oxford: Archaeopress. Szpakowska, K. 2003. Behind Closed Eyes: Dreams and Nightmares in Ancient Egypt. Cardiff: Classical Press of Wales. Westendorf, W. 1986. Symbol, Symbolik, LÄ II: 122–8. Wallace, A. F. 1966. Religion: An Anthropological View. New York: Random House. Whitehead, A. N. 1927. Symbolism: Its Meaning and Effect. New York: Macmillan. Wilkinson, R. H. 1994. Symbol and Magic in Egyptian Art. London and New York: Thames and Hudson. Wilkinson, R.  H. 2001. Symbols. In D.B.  Redford (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, III, 329–35. Wilkinson, R. H. 2011. Controlled Damage: The Mechanics and Microhistory of the damnatio memoriae carried out in KV-23, the Tomb of Ay, Journal of Egyptian History 10: 129–47. Xekalaki, G. 2011. Symbolism in the Representation of Royal Children during the New Kingdom. BAR International Series 2314. Oxford: Archaeopress. Yamamoto, K. 2015. Iconography of the Sledge in Ancient Egyptian Funerary Art, Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar 19: 665–74.

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chapter 41

Theol ogy Alexandra von Lieven

Introduction When discussing Ancient Egyptian ‘theology’, it needs to be made clear from the outset that there was no ‘theology’ in any modern, for example Christian, sense of the word. Nevertheless, the Egyptians did have concepts about their gods, the cosmos and the relationship of all these to each other as well as to humanity. While these concepts did vary even from nome to nome to a certain degree and moreover evolved with time, there is still a remarkable coherence and continuity visible. Most important for the theological concepts was the mythology of the individual gods or whole groups, e.g. families of gods.1 However, there are also occasionally more abstract ideas expressed. While the following discussion will mainly focus on the theology of the state religion, Egyptian religion, as practised in the everyday life of the people, consisted of much more than that. Yet, these other aspects were by no means just a ‘religion of the poor’ (as posited by Gunn),2 but they were important to every level of society, from the poorest serf up to the king himself. Understood in this way, sources for Egyptian theology are in principle numerous, but unfortunately, conditions of preservation limit the scope considerably. The greatest problem in this respect is posed by the scarcity of preserved temple libraries and other settlement finds. Many text genres which are crucial for our knowledge about theological concepts in a more strict sense, as well as the ritual practices linked to them, are only to be found in such library contexts which are rarely preserved. The few known cases mostly date to the Late Period and Ptolemaic and Roman periods, for the simple reason that these are to be found in higher stratigraphic archaeological levels and above the ground water table. In addition, their respective settlements were later abandoned in the Christian era and therefore were not so intensely damaged by over-building. In evaluating the material, it is therefore vital to keep in mind that most preserved sources from the older periods stem from tomb contexts, which accounts for the sometimes seemingly heavy mortuary/funerary colouring of Egyptian religion. However, this is not due to any intrinsic character trait, but mainly to the chances of preservation which favoured tombs in dry, uninhabited desert areas over settlements in the arable regions close to the Nile. 1  Bickel, Chapter 39 in this volume.

2 Gunn 1916.

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Theology   845

Nome Monographs and Mythological Manuals The few preserved temple libraries give a good impression what sort of texts of theological importance can be expected. Of particular importance are mythological compendia, which can either be ‘Mythological Manuals’ dealing with the whole country, or a larger region nome by nome (like pBrooklyn 47.218.84 for at least the Delta3 or pFlorence PSI inv. I 72 apparently once for the whole of Egypt4), or ‘Nome Monographs’, which treat just one nome and its mythology and theological significance in greater detail. Examples for the latter would be pJumilhac5 or the Book of the Fayum.6 While such texts were usually written on papyrus and kept in the library for reference, they also served as sources for temple inscriptions at least in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods.7 On the other hand, such texts are, by their very nature, compilations of material of different sources and also different date of origin.8 A good example where also the source is preserved, is furnished by the slightly adapted quote from the ‘Fundamentals of the Course of the Stars’ in Papyrus Brooklyn 47.218.84.9 This accounts for the sometimes very obvious contradictions in content within a single document. The manuals give the mythology of the respective local gods, sometimes including aetiologies for festivals and ritual practices connected to them, and explanations for the priestly offices linked to these gods. Of particular interest is the so-called ‘Propaganda Text’ from pJumilhac,10 which includes an extended explanation of the positive and negative consequences of following the ritual prescriptions correctly or not. This text thus provides a major source for the Egyptian’s own view of the importance of their religion for the country’s spiritual and political wellbeing. The ‘Nome Monographs’ are moreover illustrated in some copies. That such texts were intensely studied by the priests is proven by the corrections and annotations in different later hands in pJumilhac and by the fact that the ‘Book of the Fayum’ was translated into Demotic and commented on in this younger stage of Egyptian language.11 All of these texts provide a sort of sacred geography. In fact, the link between real geographical features, mythology and cult topography is one of the most important ordering schemes of Egyptian theology.12

3  Meeks 2006, from Elephantine (not Heliopolis as proposed in the edition), Twenty-sixth Dynasty. 4  Osing and Rosati 1998, 129–88, pl. 17–21, from Tebtynis, Roman period, second century ad. 5  Vandier 1961 deals with the 17th/18th nome of Upper Egypt, where it is also likely from, fourth century bc. 6  Beinlich 1991, Beinlich 2013, Beinlich 2014, Beinlich 2017, all known copies to date are from the Roman period, first–second century ad. Those with known or at least likely provenance come from Tebtynis and Soknopaiu Nesos. 7 Gutbub 1973. 8  Clear indications from pJumilhac are treated by Quack 2008a, Lippert 2012, 221, 225. 9  Von Lieven 2007, 455–63. 10  Vandier 1961, 129–31, pl. XVII–XVIII, Derchain 1990, 25–8. 11 Beinlich 2017. 12 Quack 2008b.

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846   Alexandra von Lieven

Other priestly sciences Other priestly sciences linking theological speculations with phenomena of the real world could be termed Religious Astronomy, Religious Biology and so forth. They were expounded in different books, both specialized treatises as well as more general ones.13 The latter, known as onomastica, contain whole compendia of equations of astronomical, meteorological, mineralogical, botanical or zoological phenomena with one or several specific deities.14 From such texts it becomes apparent that in the Egyptian world-view, all of nature was saturated with the divine. This knowledge was also practically applied in many different contexts, for example in medicine. A good example for this is provided by Papyrus Brooklyn 47.218.48 + 8515 where snakes are described both in terms of their physical characteristics, as well as in religious terms. There, it is made clear that the knowledge of which deity manifests itself in which snake is vital for the appropriate treatment of its bite by enchantments.

Commentaries and discursive texts Handbooks did also exist for rituals. Although they mostly focussed on the processual aspects of a ritual, such as the seven books of the ‘Khoiak’ text from Dendara,16 there are also texts which do give more theological and mythological background information, for example Papyrus Salt 825.17 Unfortunately, only few ritual commentaries are preserved18 and even less are yet edited. It is likely that all such texts were originally used by the priests in the ‘elucidating of difficulties’. Explaining the meaning of the rituals performed was according to Edfou V 134, 5–9; 135, 1019 an important part of religious rites in festival contexts. Commentaries20 and other explanatory expositions21 are thus theological treasure troves. The former give short explanations of specific facts mentioned in a basic work, while the latter contain longer, self-standing reasonings about a wide variety of issues, including life and the order of the universe in general. Commentaries could be written on different genres of texts, from rituals to ‘Nome Monographs’, to medical or astronomical treatises. Commentarial glosses are already attested in some spells of the ‘Coffin Texts’ and the ‘Book of the Dead’, particularly the famous spell CT 335/BD 17.22 Into the second category of explanatory works belong also discursive texts, which are styled as a dialogue between different beings. The interlocutors can be either both deities, or at least one of them a human being. Examples for such discursive texts would be the Demotic ‘Myth of the Sun’s Eye’,23 the so-called ‘Book of Thot’ or ‘Ritual for Entering the Chamber of Darkness’,24 a dialogue between Pharaoh and Imhotep on the meaning of 13  Osing 1998. 14  Von Lieven 2004, Fischer-Elfert 2008. 15 Sauneron 1989. 16  Cauville 1997a, 26–50, pl. 3–5, 25–30, Cauville 1997b, 14–28, Cauville 1997c, 17–19. 17  Derchain 1965, Herbin 1988. 18  See the list in von Lieven 2007, 265. 19  Compare Egberts 1995, 1, note 2. 20  Von Lieven 2007, 263–73, Fischer-Elfert 2013a. 21 Quack 2019a. 22  Rössler-Köhler 1979, 325–40. 23  De Cenival 1988, Hoffmann and Quack 2007, 195–229. 24  Jasnow and Zauzich 2005, Jasnow and Zauzich 2014, Quack 2007a, Quack 2007b.

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Theology   847 the  temple decoration,25 or, somewhat similarly in its adaptation to underpin claims to property, the ‘Famine Stele’.26 For Papyrus Vienna D. 12006 recto, a similar setting has been claimed by the editor,27 but this is rather a divinatory manual giving numbered answers for a dice oracle.28 Similar esoteric ideas as those presented in these texts can also sometimes be found in application without any metatextual explanation, for example in the orthography of the Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts (see Chapter 58 in this volume). Profound religious interpretation of hieroglyphic writing itself also seems to have been a field considered in the training of temple scribes.29 All these texts are very interesting for the theological speculations attached to different gods, myths or symbols, but they are also notoriously difficult to understand. One reason for this is of course the state of preservation of the actual papyrus manuscripts, however, even when well preserved the contents are still puzzling to the modern reader. Apparently, these texts transmit esoteric knowledge of the priests, and to really understand and fully appreciate it, one would need to have enjoyed the intense training young priests underwent.30

Readership of theological texts Hymns, which can either be part of a ritual or stand by themselves, also contain theological statements about the god or goddess they extol. Even wisdom teachings from the Twentyfirst Dynasty onwards (Amenemope31 and later texts32), contain elements of theology. All of these text types were to be found in temple libraries, although hymns and wisdom literature were also often found in other contexts, including private memorial representation. As Osirian liturgical compositions were also adapted as private funerary texts in the Late Period and Ptolemaic and Roman periods,33 these texts were slightly more widespread. The commentarial literature, to the contrary, was certainly restricted to temple use. Even so, for the adapted Osirian compositions, it is important not to overlook that their owners, as far as can be checked, always held at least some priestly function. Thus, the authors and intended readership of theological texts proper were usually priests and functionaries of the highest ranks. The idea that priests had to study the more complex details of their own religion, as well as other scholarly subjects, can meanwhile be proven positively. The curriculum which sons of priests had to undertake before being finally initiated into a priestly office, is preserved in the ‘Book of the Temple’.34 It specifies for the pupils in its first term ‘all traditions of Upper and Lower Egypt and all specifics of the respective nome and all rites of the palace’. This, together with the knowledge on festival rituals and the ability of ‘Explaining the difficulties in all writings’ in the second term, constitutes the basic theological and ritualistic training of young priests. One can easily correlate this with all the text genres mentioned above. The third term was reserved for medicine, and the fourth for eclipse omina, ‘the writings of the 25  Quack 2004, 69. 26  Barguet 1953, Gasse and Rondot 2007, 336, 562–7. 27 Stadler 2004. 28  Quack 2005, 174–7, Naether 2010, 333–6. 29  Von Lieven 2010, Leitz 2012. 30  See below. 31 Laisney 2007. 32  Especially pInsinger and parallels, see Holwerda 1905, Hoffmann and Quack 2007, 239–73, 361–4. 33  Smith 2009, Kucharek 2010. 34 Quack 2002.

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848   Alexandra von Lieven embalming house’ (possibly including also the Osirian mysteries as the highest secret), and the specialist knowledge of the priest of Sekhmet and the scorpion charmer. Again, such texts were discovered in the preserved libraries. Good pupils were selected to succeed their fathers to the office and received, therefore, also a training in three different techniques of ritual singing. All this tallies well with the description of books to be known by heart by Egyptian priests, as described by Clement of Alexandria.35

Dating the sources One of the main methodological problems in dealing with ancient Egyptian theology, is the correct dating of the sources to accurately discern the historical development. As the Egyptians were both conservative as well as innovative, they kept ancient texts in their libraries and more or less faithfully recopied them over centuries, and in some cases even millennia.36 On the other hand, new texts propagating more modern ideas were also composed and deposited in the temple libraries, side by side with the ancient works of tradition. Moreover, compilatory handbooks heavily quoted from older sources, stringing them together with newer material, usually without even saying that they quote another text. This is in stark contrast to commentarial texts which sometimes explicitly cite the titles of quoted works as authorities.37 Therefore, it is often difficult to pinpoint the exact time when a certain theological concept was developed. A simple dating by apparent first attestation can be misleading, though. In the other direction, in evaluating the statements on Egyptian religion to be found in Greek and Roman writers like Herodotus or Plutarch, it is advisable to compare them with sources from the Late Period and the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, preferably those composed in Demotic language, not just with older material. The Greek and Latin authors are very valuable sources, but obviously primarily for the beliefs and practices of their respective times, not necessarily for the earlier epochs. Over the more than three millennia that the development of ancient Egyptian theology can be followed by the help of textual sources, it underwent a considerable amount of change. This can exemplarily be seen in the concept of deities and their standing in relation to humankind.

Historical development Because of a lack of written sources, it is very difficult to gain an idea about religious concepts during the Predynastic and Protodynastic Periods. Iconography, for example, the ithyphallic statues from Koptos,38 at least suggest the early development of some features that became a standard for the local gods later on. Also, the Apis-bull is first attested in the 35 Sauneron 19882, 146–7, for a detailed comparison between this description and the actual finds from the Tebtynis library see Osing 1999. 36  Cf. the famous study by Möller 1900 (on this particular papyrus now Backes 2016), for a general study of the question see von Lieven 2016. 37  Von Lieven 2007, 284–90. 38  Wilkinson 1999, 290.

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Theology   849 First Dynasty.39 The famous comb of Wadji,40 with the likely depiction of a solar boat crossing the sky as a pair of wings, is the most important source for early cosmology. In the Old Kingdom, especially in the ‘Pyramid Texts’,41 the gods and the king seem to be on a par. Sometimes, the king in the ‘Pyramid Texts’ even insults the gods. Normal humans, to the contrary, may not depict the gods in their tombs and do not mention them in texts unless as part of their titles and related information. The inscription of Rawer42 clearly shows the respect before the god-like power of the king, which could kill by mere touch. Not surprisingly, the king may also not be shown in private tombs even of the highest officials. While some of these elements survive into the Middle Kingdom, some major developments have already taken place, probably due to the political experiences of the First Intermediate Period. While it is still not possible to depict deities in private tombs, in writings such as the ‘Coffin Texts’,43 it is now admissible to at least speak of them. However, as the users of the ‘Coffin Texts’ are usually only very high-ranking officials, mostly nomarchs and their relatives, it is not really correct to speak of a ‘democratization’, as has often been done in the past.44 In the tomb of Senet, the mother of the vizier Antefiqer (TT 60),45 festival songs for Hathor are recorded. This tomb furthermore contained a depiction of the king, which however seems to have been destroyed on purpose when Antefiqer fell from royal grace. Because some parts of the Hathor songs were painted out, it is clear that their presence in a private tomb still was something special at the time. Unfortunately, it is not clear whether these elements were signs of a particular royal grace, which was taken back after some political change of favour, or whether, to the contrary the non-royal appropriation of restricted elements was the very act considered inadmissible, which then led to Antefiqer’s fall. From papyri and stelae, it is obvious that hymns to the gods similar to those known from the New Kingdom were already in existence, although they are not nearly as abundantly attested. ‘The Hymns to the Diadem’46 already exhibit a considerable tendency to syncretism. From the late Middle Kingdom onwards, deities can occasionally be depicted on private stelae. While hints to a special standing of Imhotep already can be detected shortly after his lifetime, the first definite cases of deified human beings are some nomarchs in the Middle Kingdom. One of the most prominent cases, though, Hekaib from Elephantine,47 had actually lived in the late Old Kingdom. The Second Intermediate Period with its Levantine rulers, the Hyksos, brought about some notable developments. Syncretism now also encompassed the foreign weather god Baal, who became identified with his Egyptian equivalent Seth.48 On the other hand, the Hyksos also adopted Egyptian throne names containing the element Ra. Although it is possible that they again identified the Egyptian solar god with a Levantine solar god, it still proves later Egyptian propaganda wrong in that the Hyksos would have ruled ‘without Ra’.49 Because of a lack of textual sources from the period it is difficult to ascertain what other new ideas were introduced with the Hyksos. 39  Wilkinson 1999, 281. 40  Roeder 1996, Wilkinson 1999, 74. 41  Sethe 1908–1922, Allen 2005. 42  Sethe 1933, 232. 43  De Buck 1935–1961, Allen 2006, Carrier 2004. 44  Willems 2008, 131–84, Willems 2014, 124–229. 45  Davies and Gardiner 1920, pl. XVI (king), XXVII, XXIX (hymns). 46  Erman 1911, Bommas 2013. 47 Habachi 1985. 48  Stadelmann 1967, 32–47. 49  Sethe 1927, 390,9, Burkhardt et al. 1984, 47.

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850   Alexandra von Lieven At any rate, in the New Kingdom, non-royal persons could make a wide use of religious texts, namely divine hymns and the ‘Book of the Dead’. The king himself also became much more accessible, as it was now perfectly admissible for high officials to depict the ruler in their tombs to show off their own closeness to him in life. The same accessibility is shared by the gods themselves, who are now regularly invoked in the so-called prayers of ‘personal piety’.50 However, in view of the rather standardized diction of such texts, it is questionable how ‘personal’ they can rightly be called. Rather, they seem to be a socially sanctioned way to confess some shortcomings and ask for forgiveness. This fits well with the fact that one such text is actually not addressed to a god but to king Tutankhamun.51 It is clear that this prayer was written during the king’s lifetime and should induce him to pardon a misdeed of the Nubian vice-roy Huy. The same accessibility can be seen in the practice of oracles, which became quite popular. Still, it is possible that some of these elements existed before the New Kingdom, but just became more widespread then. Within the New Kingdom itself, there is also a marked development between the earlier Eighteenth Dynasty with the end of that dynasty and the Ramesside period. The watershed comes of course with the Amarna period. For roughly twenty years, the traditional polytheistic religion with all its mythology was officially abandoned in favour of the sole god Aten. However, whether this move can really count as the first monotheism in history is debatable, as the existence of other gods was not explicitly denied, just ignored by the state-sponsored cult. In fact the general population, even in Amarna itself, did venerate other deities. Moreover, the sole god Aten was still part of a ‘triad’ like the traditional gods. Then, however, it was a triad not of three divine beings, but consisting of the god, the king and the queen. Immediate access to Aten was only possible for Akhenaten himself, while his courtiers had altars prominently showing him, and his wife Nefertiti, as mediators worshiping Aten. Thus, in many respects, Amarna was just a more radicalized continuation of tendencies visible already under at least Amenhotep III, if not earlier. Similarly, while the post-Amarna restauration took great pains to eliminate the memory of Akhenaten, theologically many elements from this period did survive and were integrated into the cult of the traditional gods. Moreover, in hymns there was always a tendency to henotheism, i.e. to focus on the god addressed as the highest and more or less only important power. In the Twenty-first Dynasty, again, a major development took place. In Thebes, the Amun priests took over political power and acted as kings, yet in theory, the god Amun-Ra himself was supposed to be the king. Thus, all decisions were taken by oracle.52 Although this was only a thinly veiled political strategy, the general theological development of the Third Intermediate Period also saw an increase in relevance of the gods, proportionately to the decrease of the importance and power of pharaoh as a central figure. This change is, for example, reflected in wisdom teachings. While in the older periods religion played no, or only a very minor part in this type of text, from the ‘Teaching of Amenemope’53 in the Twenty-first Dynasty, onwards up to the Late Period demotic teachings of Ankhsheshonqy54 and the great demotic wisdom book (commonly known under the name of its best-preserved source, pInsinger55), the role of god is ever increasing. The demotic texts were heavily copied in the Ptolemaic and Roman period, which demonstrates their relevance for theological thought of the time.

50  Luiselli 2011. 51  Rowe 1940, 47–50, pl. IX. 52 Römer 1994. 53 Laisney 2007. 54  Glanville 1955, Thissen 1984. 55  Holwerda 1905, Hoffmann and Quack 2007, 239–73, 361–4.

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Theology   851 Apart from this, the Late Period took great pains to collect the traditional religious knowledge and even to systematize it. A product of this tendency is, for example, the so-called ‘Saite Recension of the Book of the Dead’, which tried for the first time to establish a canonical template of content and order of spells.56 It is possible that some of the ‘Mythological Manuals’, etc. as mentioned above, which date in manuscripts from the Roman period, were compiled during this phase. However, the texts on the ‘White Chapel of Senusret I’ in Karnak57 demonstrate that such countrywide compilations of religious knowledge were not just a novelty of the Late Period, but are rather to be understood in their socio-political context when the unity of the whole of Egypt was supposed to be stressed, be that in the early Middle Kingdom or in the Late Period. In the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, Egyptian theologians were still collecting and studying traditional texts from their libraries, as well as composing new works which reflected the changed world of ideas of their time. Demotic texts from the temple libraries of Tebtynis and Soknopaiu Nesos in the Fayum contain, for example, mythological narratives about the military exploits of Osiris in the East,58 which clearly relate to both the Greek Alexander tradition, as well as the myths about Dionysos in India. This is also the period when Egyptian religious texts are translated into Greek, for example, the ‘Myth of the Sun’s Eye’.59 Moreover, it is likely that some of the preserved Greek texts on theological subjects60 were actually already composed by Egyptians in Greek. That Egyptians wrote such works is well attested for the likes of Manetho61 and Chaeremon,62 but unfortunately their works are lost to a large extent today. Still, the few preserved excerpts show the high quality of information. It is in this atmosphere that also the late Isis religion63 thrived, which however by far transcended Egypt in scope. While most prominent in Ptolemaic and Roman times, its first roots probably lie already in the Persian period.64

Conclusion As new sources, particularly in the form of papyri from temple libraries, get published for the first time, our view of Ancient Egyptian theology constantly advances. Re-evaluations of material already known for a long time also sometimes considerably change received opinions. The field of religion is therefore particularly prone to additions to the current status of knowledge, even though it has always been one of the core areas of interest within Egyptology.

Suggested reading For a general discussion see the classic studies Hornung  1971 (19833) and especially Assmann 1984 (19912), most recently Zivie-Coche and Dunand 2013.65 For shorter overviews, see Assmann 2004 and Quack 2004. 56 Quack 2009. 57  Lacau and Chevrier 1956, 214–50, Lacau and Chevrier 1969, pl. 3, 25, 26, 40–2. 58 Quack 20092, 26–8, Quack 2019b. 59  West 1969, Thissen 2011. 60  E.g. pOxy 465, Grenfell and Hunt 1903, 126–37, Quack 2010. 61 Waddell 1940. 62  Van der Horst 19872. 63  Bricault 2001, Bricault 2005. 64  Quack 2004, 70–4 with note 32. 65  Updated German translation of French version 20062, the English version 2004 is a translation of the French original from 1991.

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852   Alexandra von Lieven

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Theology   855 Quack, J.F. 2019a. Fragmente eines theologischen Traktats. In K. Ryholt (ed.), Demotic Literary Texts from Tebtunis and Beyond. The Carlsberg Papyri 11. Carsten Niebuhr Institute Publications 36. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 1–35. Quack, J.F. 2019b. Isis, Thot und Arian auf der Suche nach Osiris. In K. Ryholt (ed.), Demotic Literary Texts from Tebtunis and Beyond. The Carlsberg Papyri 11. Carsten Niebuhr Institute Publications 36. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 77–138. Roeder, H. 1996. ‘Auf den Flügeln des Thot’. Der Kamm des Königs Wadj und seine Motive, Themen und Interpretationen in den Pyramidentexten. In M. Schade-Busch (ed.), Wege öffnen. Festschrift für Rolf Gundlach zum 65. Geburtstag. Ägypten und Altes Testament 35. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 232–52. Rowe, A. 1940. Newly-identified Monuments in the Egyptian Museum Showing the Deification of the Dead Together with Brief Details of Similar Objects Elsewhere, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 40: 1–67, 291–9. Römer, M. 1994. Gottes- und Priesterherrschaft in Ägypten am Ende des Neuen Reiches. Ein religionsgeschichtliches Phänomen und seine sozialen Grundlagen. Ägypten und Altes Testament 21. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Rössler-Köhler, U. 1979. Kapitel 17 des altägyptischen Totenbuches. Göttinger Orient-Forschungen IV, 10. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Sauneron, S. 19882. Les Prêtres de l’ancienne Égypte. Paris: Édition Perséa. Sauneron, S. 1989. Un traité égyptien d’ophiologie. Bibliothèque générale 11. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Sethe, K. 1908–22. Die altaegyptischen Pyramidentexte I–IV. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrich. Sethe, K. 1927. Urkunden des ägyptischen Altertums IV, Urkunden der 18. Dynastie. 2. Band. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrich. Sethe, K. 1933. Urkunden des ägyptischen Altertums I, Urkunden des Alten Reiches. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrich. Smith, M. 2009. Traversing Eternity. Texts for the Afterlife from Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stadelmann, R. 1967. Syrisch-palästinensische Gottheiten in Ägypten. Probleme der Ägyptologie 5. ­Leiden: Brill. Stadler, M.A. 2004. Isis, das göttliche Kind und die Weltordnung. Neue religiöse Texte aus dem Fayum nach dem Papyrus Wien D. 12006 recto. Mitteilungen aus der Papyrussammlung der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek (Papyrus Erzherzog Rainer). Neue Serie XXVIII. Vienna: Brüder Hollinek. Thissen, H.-J. 1984. Die Lehre des Anchscheschonqy (P. BM 10508). Papyrologische Texte und Abhandlungen 32. Bonn: Dr. Rudolf Habelt. Thissen, H.-J. 2011 ‘Lost in Translation?’ ‘Von Übersetzungen und Übersetzern’. In H.-W.  FischerElfert and T.S.  Richter (eds), Literatur und Religion im Alten Ägypten. Ein Symposium zu Ehren von Elke Blumenthal. Abhandlungen der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften 81/5. Stuttgart/ Leipzig: S. Hirzel, 126–63. Vandier, J. 1961. Le papyrus Jumilhac. Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Waddell, W.G. 1940. Manetho (Loeb Classical Library 350). Cambridge (Mass.)/London: Harvard University Press. West, S. 1969. The Greek Version of the Legend of Tefnut, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 55: 161–83. Wilkinson, T.A.H. 1999. Early Dynastic Egypt. London/New York: Routledge. Willems, H. 2008. Les Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie. Éléments d’une histoire culturelle du Moyen Empire Égyptien. Paris: Éditions Cybèle. Willems, H. 2014. Historical and Archaeological Aspects of Egyptian Funerary Culture. Religious Ideas and Ritual Practice in Middle Kingdom Elite Cemeteries. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 73. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Zivie-Coche, Ch. and Dunand, F. 2013. Die Religionen des Alten Ägypten. Die Religionen der ­Menschheit 8. Stuttgart: W. Kohlhammer.

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chapter 42

Fu n er a ry beliefs a n d pr actice s Eltayeb Abbas

The study of funerary beliefs in ancient Egypt is one of the most prominent areas of research in Egyptology. The sources of evidence that we can use to understand death and funerary rituals come in the form of texts and images on tomb walls, coffins, and also papyri. Of course, archaeological evidence, particularly for elite burial practices, is one of the major corpora of data, but in this chapter the focus is confined to an analysis of the textual evidence. Scholarly works concerning ancient Egyptian funerary beliefs and practices first appeared in the writing of the classical authors such as Plutarch, Diodorus, and Herodotus.1

The Osiris myth Ancient Egyptian funerary beliefs and practices depended heavily on the myth of Osiris; his death and resurrection becoming a prototype to all those who wished to have an eternal life after death.2 This belief left its impact on almost every aspect of Egyptian ritual surrounding death and burial. The suggestion is that the deceased is Osiris, who has been killed and his body dismembered at death. The dead body is reassembled by the aid of funerary rituals that were performed from the moment of death until burial.3 The myth of Osiris was never recounted as a coherent parable, but as a source of reference for a great number of religious texts.4 Parts of different ritual texts relating to the death and resurrection of the god are recorded in the ‘Pyramid Texts’, ‘Coffin Texts’, and ‘Book of the Dead’. The only texts that provide a continuous narrative are those written in Greek by Diodorus and Plutarch, but the version of the myth narrated by these authors seems to have 1  For Plutarch, see Griffiths  1970; for Diodorus Siculus see Oldfather  1933, and for Herodotus see Waterfield 1998. 2  See Chapters 39, 40, and 41 in this volume for more references and discussion of theology, gods and myths, and religious iconography 3  Assmann 2005; Smith 2017. 4 Assmann 2005.

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Funerary beliefs and practices   857 strayed away from the original Egyptian form. The starting point of the myth seems to be absent, or has not been narrated, in any Egyptian texts.5 The dismemberment of the body of Osiris, the mummification of his corpse, and his justification in the tribunal of the gods became the model for all of the dead in ancient Egypt, although we lack this evidence outside of elite and royal contexts. The suggestion is that all Egyptians would face the same fate as Osiris from the moment of death until their justification in the hereafter.

Funerary rituals Immediately after death, the body of the deceased underwent a series of rituals performed by professional priests. These rituals were performed in a dramatic way, including actions taking place on the body of the deceased and accompanied by recitations, the aims of which were to mediate the passage of the deceased into the hereafter. Evidence relating to Egyptian funerary rituals from the Old Kingdom until the end of pharaonic history includes texts, iconography, and of course archaeological evidence of burial practices, although this is largely confined to that of the elite.6 Iconographic evidence is often well preserved in representations of the funeral service on the walls of the tombs of the elite, the sides of ­coffins, and also in the vignettes of the New Kingdom papyri ‘Book of the Dead’. Textual evidence providing information about funerary rituals is contained in the recitations accompanying these pictorial representations.7 Iconographic evidence of funerary rit­uals in elite burials usually occurs in the cultic and accessible areas of the tomb, clustered around the false door.8 Funerary rituals were also recorded in mortuary literature placed in the inaccessible ­burial chamber of the tomb.9 This literature is classified as sacerdotal texts recited by priests in relation to the cult of the dead.10 These texts are not always explicit about the ways in which a ritual was constructed, as they are not provided with vignettes, representations, or ceremonial directions.11 For this reason, reconstructing funerary rituals from mortuary ­literature is often speculative,12 and needs, as Eyre argues, ‘imaginative exercise’.13 These texts can also be described as episodic, and aim to elevate the deceased into an ꜣḫ (an exalted spirit) and mꜣꜥ-ḫrw (true of voice).14 There is a debate among scholars of Egyptology over the social differentiation of the funerary rituals and the democratization of the afterlife. Some argue that the beatified afterlife was only accessible to the royal class, especially during the Old Kingdom, because of the absence of the ‘Pyramid Texts’ in the private tombs of Old Kingdom high officials.15 Others 5  Assmann 2005: 23. 6  Hays 2010: 2; see Chapter 17 in this volume on funerary equipment and Chapter 20 in this volume on architecture for more discussion of the material culture associated with burial practices. 7  Assmann and Bommas 2002/Assmann et al. 2005, Eyre 2002, Hays and Schenk 2007; Hays 2010; Willems 1988/1996. 8 Hays 2010. 9  Assmann 1990; Assmann and Bommas 2002; Assmann et al. 2005/2008. 10  Hays 2009: 2. 11 Allen 1994. 12 Barta 1981. 13 Eyre 2002. 14  Assmann 2005; Hays 2010; Teeter 2011. 15  Allen 2006; Assmann and Bommas 2002; Breasted 1912/1933; Kees 1926; Moret 1922; Sethe 1931; Sorenon 1989: Smith 2009.

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858   Eltayeb Abbas argue that the beatified afterlife was also accessible for the elite, because the elite since the Old Kingdom sought to ascend to the ‘great god’, and had the knowledge to do so.16 Both the elite and kings appear to have had commonality in beliefs and practices of the mortuary service, even before the attestation of the ‘Pyramid Texts’. The only difference is the way that these ceremonies were represented. In the tombs of the elite, pictorial representations replaced the ritual texts in the rites of passage. There would have been great variation in the scale and complexity of funeral rituals performed for the dead, depending on the social and cultural context of the person for whom they were being performed.17 The most extensive representations of the funeral procession are found in the Old Kingdom Mastaba of Qar,18 the Middle Kingdom tomb of Pepiankh the Black,19 and the New Kingdom tombs of Ramose and Rekhmira.20

The ‘Night of the Vigil’ The mummified body of the deceased became the object of a set of rituals enacted on the night before burial, termed the ‘Night of the Vigil’.21 All the rituals performed on the body of the deceased until burial were enacted during this night in the form of recitations. The body of the deceased was placed on a bier and a priest in the form of a god entered and recited liturgies. The aim of these recitations was to mediate the passage of the deceased into the hereafter. Evidence of these rituals is attested from the Old Kingdom onwards, in the ‘Pyramid Texts’, the ‘Middle Kingdom Coffin Texts’, the New Kingdom ‘Book of the Dead’, and Late-Period funerary papyri.22 Seth continues to threaten the body of the deceased even in the place of embalming, and these night rituals are supposed to have warded off the threats of Seth. There was also a ritualized judgment of the dead that took place during the Night of the Vigil.23 Other rituals connected with journeys to the holy cities of Abydos and Sais, as well as processions to the embalming place and the tomb, were also enacted during this night.24

The procession to the tomb Actions that took place during the funeral procession are well described in the inscriptions on a New Kingdom stele in the tomb of Djehuty at Thebes.25 Another important pictorial 16 Hays  2010, Mathieu  2004, Nordh  1996; Silvermann  1996, Willems  2008,  1996; Baines and Lacovara 2002. 17 Teeter 2011. 18 Simpson 1976. 19 Kanawati 2014. 20  Davies 1941/1943; Altenmüller 1975: 745–65. 21  Junker 1910; Pries 2011; see Chapter 19 in this volume on physical anthropology and mummies for more discussion about treatment of the deceased from studies of the human remains 22  Assmann and Bommas 2002; Assmann et al. 2008; Smith 2005. 23  Willems 1996; Assmann and Bommas 2002 24  Abbas 2010; Barthelmess 1992; Geßler-Löhr 1991; Junker 1910; Assmann 2005; Pries 2011. 25  Assmann 2005: 301; Teeter 2011: 137.

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Funerary beliefs and practices   859 representation of the funeral procession is in the New Kingdom tomb of Rekhmira (TT  100; see Figure  42.1). These sources imply that after the end of the seventy days of embalming, the mummy of the deceased was released from the embalming workshop. The embalmed body was placed in a coffin or a set of coffins which were placed on a sledge drawn by cattle and accompanied by friends, relatives, and priests who threw libations of milk before the sledge, and burned incense. There was also another shrine containing the four canopic jars, which held the stomach, liver, lungs and intestines of the deceased. In addition, the grave goods are also depicted being brought to the tomb.26 The procession of the deceased to the tomb included a crossing of a body of water, which is described in New Kingdom private tombs, particularly in Ramesside tombs, as ‘the Great Ferry’. For instance, in tomb TT 133 the boat that carries the coffin is equated with the Great Ferry, which the deceased uses for the transition from the realm of death to the underworld.27 Thus, the crossing of a river was interpreted as a passage which was only granted for the righteous. The text in TT 133 reads: Fare across, Great Ferry of the West. Come! Fare in peace across to the West I gave bread to the hungry, water to the thirsty, and clothing to the naked.28

The boat that carries the body of the deceased was also equated with the neshmet-bark of Osiris, as in tomb TT 347. The statue of the deceased, as well as priests and mourners, are shown on the boat, while Isis and Nephthys are depicted at the foot and head of the deceased.29 Crossing to the West, as depicted in New Kingdom private tombs, might be described as a ceremonial or symbolic crossing; the process is envisaged as a transition or a passage (into a sphere of security and into the divine presence) that is only granted to the righteous. It is not a mere physical transfer of a corpse from one place to another, but rather a ritual procession.30

The ‘Opening of the Mouth’ ritual When the funeral procession reached the tomb, the ‘Opening of the Mouth’ ritual was performed on the mummy of the deceased. In this ritual, the mummy of the deceased was placed upright on a patch of clean sand facing towards the south. Evidence related to the ‘Opening of the Mouth’ ritual is found in sources dating from the Old Kingdom onwards, but the full pictorial representations of the ritual are found on the walls of New Kingdom elite tombs.31 In this ritual, the mummy of the deceased was treated as if it was a statue;32 a sacrifice was performed and the mouth was opened by an adze-shaped instrument (Figure 42.2). The aim of this ritual was to reanimate the mummy and to restore to the dead person his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, so that he/she could receive offerings and nourishment to sustain the kꜣ, to see, to hear and to smell. The main aim of the ritual was to enable the 26  Davies 1943: pl. 93; Hays 2010. 27  Barthelmess 1992: 19. 28  Barthelmess 1992: 19. 29  Barthelmess 1992: 19. 30 Assmann 2005. 31 Otto 1960. 32 Fischer-Elfert 1998.

Figure 42.1  The funeral procession in the tomb of Rekhmira TT 100. After Davies 1935, pl. XXIV.

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Funerary beliefs and practices   861

Figure 42.2  The Opening of the Mouth ritual in the tomb of Roy TT 225. Courtesy of the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities.

deceased to ‘speak to the Great Ennead in the House of the Noble which is in Heliopolis, that he takes the Wereret-crown thereby’,33 so that he could defend himself/herself in the judgment of the dead. Subsequently a second offering ritual and sꜣḫw rituals were performed. The mummy was then placed in the burial chamber, and the arrival of the mummy was described as the entrance of the god to his temple. The final stage in the ‘Opening of the Mouth’ ritual then included offering rituals.

The mortuary cult The rites that were recorded are clustered around the focal point of the tomb, the false door and the statue of the deceased, and are recorded in both word and image. They represent the actions and speeches that could be read out loud, and could in turn fulfil the same role as the actions performed during the enactment of the rituals. These rites are described as sꜣḫw (‘glorifications’), the aim of which was to mediate the passage of the deceased into the hereafter. These sꜣḫw rituals include not only standard offering lists as well as a variety of

33  Otto 1960: scenes 26 and 46.

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862   Eltayeb Abbas other offerings.34 The daily mortuary cult of the dead could also be enacted by placing a statue in the vicinity of a temple. The memorial temple of Hatshepsut and other temples such as those created for Mentuhotep II (Nebhepetra), Thutmosis III and Rameses III, were places where the ‘Opening of the Mouth’ and other rituals were carried out on the ­statues of the dead. Tombs were also opened on certain occasions, and offerings were presented to the dead on festival days.35

Discussion Egyptian funerary rituals survived in a mixture of texts inscribed on pyramid walls, coffins, papyri and also as vignettes drawn on papyrus and tomb walls. The most crucial difficulty in understanding these ritual texts, concerning death and burial in ancient Egypt, is that there is no one single coherent ritual book showing all the directions and stages of these rituals, or indeed explaining how, when and by whom they might be performed. To have a better understanding of the performance of such rituals, it is important to note that wording and content are not sufficient to form a clear picture of how they were carried out. The integration between the words and the actions within these rituals should be taken into account. It is hard to envisage a ritual performance without actions, since the rituals commonly involved participants in physical movement.36 The relationship between the written texts, the drawn vignettes, and the ritual actions is also highly complicated. For this reason, the relationship between the inscriptions and the iconographic representations should be considered. The representations of funerary practices on the tomb walls of the elite can enhance our understanding of the Egyptian ritual texts preserved in the ‘Pyramid Texts’, the ‘Coffin Texts’ and the ‘Book of the Dead’. They should not be separated from each other and should be approached as a unit, since they complement one other. Archaeology can also aid our understanding by clarifying the ways in which ancient Egyptian burial practices can be assessed through forms of material culture, such as tomb architecture, funerary equipment and human remains.37 Future research in Egyptian funerary practice should apply interdisciplinary approaches by integrating archaeological finds with textual evidence, which will greatly enhance our knowledge and understanding of the ancient Egyptian funerary rituals concerning death and burial.

Suggested reading The writings of modern scholars of Egyptology are usually confined to individual aspects of funerary beliefs and practices. Of these works the most fundamental is that of Herman Kees (1926), which is a philological collection of funerary material from the Old and Middle Kingdoms. The first published edition in 1926 is outdated and lacks many sources that had 34 Barta 1963. 35 Willems 2001. 37  See Chapters 17 and 19 in this volume.

36 Eyre 2002.

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Funerary beliefs and practices   863 not yet been made available at that time. The second edition of the book (Kees 1956) included the ‘Coffin Texts’, which began to be published in 1938. In Death as an Enemy, Jan Zandee (1977) did not deal with Egyptian funerary practices – his study was a lexical one confined to the image of death in ancient Egypt. Gretel Wirz’s Tod und Vergänglichkeit (Wirz 1982) deals only with literary sources from ancient Egypt, omitting the recitation and the ritual in the mortuary cult of the dead. A. J. Spencer’s Death in Ancient Egypt (Spencer 1982) treats death from the perspective of archaeology, omitting the role of texts and the spoken word. In Death and the Afterlife in Ancient Egypt, John Taylor (2001) concentrates on the material culture of the Egyptian Religion of death using material in which Egyptian mortuary belief is manifested with the aid of examples in the British Museum. Jan Assmann’s Tod und Jenseits im Alten Ägypten treats the different concepts of death in ancient Egypt using both textual and pictorial evidence (Assmann  2001); this work also focuses on the role of the spoken word during the performance of the ritual concerning the overcoming of death. The most recent study on Osiris and the Osirian afterlife is that of Mark Smith (2017), Following Osiris: Perspectives on the Osirian Afterlife from Four Millennia, in which he discusses the relationship between Osiris and the deceased. Representations of funeral services in Old Kingdom private tombs are discussed in an otherwise outdated article by Wilson  1944. For the distribution of the scenes and the sequence of the funeral procession in Theban Ramesside private tombs, see Barthelmess 1992. The Egyptian attitude towards death and its images is treated by Assmann 2005. The role of the spoken word in rituals concerning death and burial is discussed by Harco Willems (1988, 1996, 2001) and also by Assmann and Bommas 2002, and Assman et al. 2005 and 2008. The practical aspects of death, funerary belief, and mortuary practices are discussed in Teeter  2011. An overview of the funerary rituals using evidence from New Kingdom Private tombs can be found in Hays 2010.

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Funerary beliefs and practices   865 Hays, H. 2010. Funerary Rituals: Pharaonic Period. In W. Wendrich (ed.), UCLA Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Available from http://escholarship.org/uc/item/1r32g9zn Hoffmeier, J.K. 1981. The Possible Origins of the Tent of Purification in the Egyptian Funerary Cult. Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 9: 167–77. Ikram, S. 2015. Death and Burial in Ancient Egypt. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press. Junker, H. 1910. Die Stundenwachen in den Osirismysterien nach den Inschriften von Dendera, Edfu und Philae. Wien: In Kommission bei Alfred Hölder. Kanawati, N. 2014. The Cemetery of Meir. Vol. II. The Tomb of Pepiankh the Black. Australian Center for Archaeology Reports 34. Oxford: Aris and Phillips. Kees, H. 1926. Totenglauben und Jenseitsvorstellungen der alten Ägypter: Grundlagen und Entwicklung bis zum Ende desmittleren Reiches. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Kees, H. 1926. Totenglauben und Jenseitsvorstellungen der alten Ägypter: Grundlagen und Entwicklung bis zum Ende desmittleren Reiches. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Mathieu, B. 2004. La distinction entre Textes des Pyramides et Textes des Sarcophages est-elle légitime? In S. Bickel and B. Mathieu (eds), D’un monde à l’autre: Textes des pyramides & textes des sarcophages: Actes de la table ronde internationale, textes des pyramides versus textes des sarcophages, Ifao, 24–26 Septembre 2001. Bibliothèque d’étude 139. Cairo: IFAO, 247–62. Moret, A. 1922. L’accession de la plèbe égyptienne aux droits religieux et politiques sous le moyen empire. In Recueil d’études égyptologiques dédiées à la mémoire de Jean-François 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, Bibliothèque de l’École des hautes études. Sciences historiques et philologiques 234. Paris: E. Champion, 331–60. Nordh, K. 1996. Aspects of Ancient Egyptian Curses and Blessings: Conceptual Background and Transmission. Uppsala: Uppsala University. Oldfather, C.H. 1933. Diodorus of Sicily. London: Loeb Classical Library. Otto, E. 1960. Das ägyptische Mundöffnungsritual. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 3. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Pries, A.H. 2011. Die Stundenwachen im Osiriskult: eine Studie zur Tradition und späten Rezeption von Ritualen im Alten Ägypten. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Sethe, K. 1931. Die Totenliteratur der Alten Ägypter. Die Geschichte Einer Sitte. Berlin: Verlag der Akademie der Wissenschaften (In Kommission bei W. de Gruyter). Settgast, J. 1963. Untersuchungen zu altägyptischen Bestattungsdarstellungen. Abhandlungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo. Ägyptologische Reihe 3. Glückstadt: J.J. Augustin. Seyfried, K.J. 1987. Entwicklung in der Grabarchitektur des neuen Reiches al seine weitere Quelle für theologische Konzeptionen der Ramessidenzeit. In J. Assmann, G. Burkard, and W.V. Davies (eds), Problems and Priorities in Ancient Egyptian Archaeology: Colloquium celebrating the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Ägyptologisches Institut at the University of Heidelberg founding. London and New York: Kegan Paul International, 219–53. Silverman, D.P. 1996. Coffin Texts from Bersheh, Kom el Hisn, and Mendes. In H. Willems (ed.), The world of the Coffin Texts. Proceedings of the symposium held on the occasion of the 100th birthday of Adriaan de Buck, Leiden, December 17–19, 1992. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 129–41. Simpson, W.K. 1976. The Mastabas of Qar and Idu G7101 and 7102. Giza Mastaba 2. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Shore, A.F. 1992. ‘Human and Divine Mummification’. In A.B. Lloyd (ed.), Studies in Pharaonic Religion and Society in Honour of J. Gwyn Griffiths. London: The Egyptian Exploration Society, 226–35. Smith, G.E. 1906. A contribution to the study of mummification in Egypt, Mémoires de l’Institut égyptien 5/1: 3–53. Smith, M. 1987. The Mortuary Texts of Papyrus BM 10507: Catalogue of Demotic Papyri in the British Museum 3. London: British Museum Press. Smith, M. 2005. Papyrus Harkness (MMA 31.9.7). Oxford: Griffith Institute.

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866   Eltayeb Abbas Smith, M. 2006. Osiris NN or Osiris of NN? In B. Backes et al. (eds), Totenbuch-Forschungen: Gesammelte Beiträge des 2. Internationalen Totenbuch-Symposiums, Bonn, 25. bis 29. September 2005. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 325–37. Smith, M. 2009a. Democratization of the afterlife. In W.  Wendrich (ed.), UCLA Encyclopedia of Egypt­ology. Available from: https://escholarship.org/uc/item/70g428wj. Smith, M. 2009b. Traversing Eternity: Books for the Afterlife from the Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, M. 2017. Following Osiris: Perspectives on the Osirian Afterlife from Four Millennia. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sørensen, J. 1989. Divine Access: the So-Called Democratization of Egyptian Funerary Literature as a Socio-Cultural Process. In G. Englund (ed.), The Religion of the Ancient Egyptians: Cognitive Structures and Popular Expressions. Uppsala: University of Uppsala, 109–25. Spencer, A.J. 1982. Death in Ancient Egypt. New York: Harmondsworth; Penguin Books. Strudwick, N. 2005. Texts from the Pyramid Age. Writing from the Ancient World 16. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Taylor, J.H. 2001. Death and the Afterlife in Ancient Egypt. London: British Museum Press. Taylor, J.H. 2008 Osiris and the deceased. In W. Wendrich (ed.), UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology. Available at http://repositories.cdlib.org/nelc/uee/1136. Taylor, J.H. 2010. Journey through the Afterlife: Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead. London: British Museum Press. Teeter, E. 2011. Religion and Ritual in Ancient Egypt. Cambridge, New York, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press. Waterfield, R. 1998. Herodotus. The Histories. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Willems, H. 1988. Chests of Life. Leiden: Ex Oriente Lux. Willems, H. 1996. The Coffin of Heqata (Cairo JDE 36418): A Case Study of Egyptian Funerary Culture of Early Middle Kingdom. OLA 70. Leuven: Peeters. Willems, H. (ed.) 1996. The World of the Coffin Texts. Proceedings of the Symposium held on the Occasion of the 100th Birthday of Adriaan de Buck. Leiden, December 17–19, 1992. EU 9. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Willems, H. (ed.) 2001. Social Aspects of Funerary Culture in the Egyptian Old and Middle Kingdoms. Proceedings of the International Symposium held at Leiden University 6–7 June 1996. OLA 103. Leuven: Peeters. Willems, H. 2003. Gärten in thebanischen Grabanlagen. In S. Meyer (ed.), Egypt-Temple of the Whole World: Studies in Honour of Jan Assmann. Leiden: Brill, 421–39. Willems, H. (ed.) 2008. Les textes des sarcophages et la démocratie: éléments d’une historie culturelle du moyen empire égyptien. Paris: Cybéle. Wilson, J. 1944. Funeral Services of the Egyptian Old Kingdom. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 3: 201–18. Wirz, G. 1982. Tod und Vergänglichkeit: Ein Beitrag zur Geisteshaltung der Ägypter von Ptahhotep bis Antef. Kölner Forschungen zu Kunst und Altertum I. Sankt Augustin: Hans Richarz. Zandee, J. 1977. Death as an Enemy According to Ancient Egyptian Conceptions. New York: Arno Press.

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pa rt V I I I

SCRIPTS AND PH I L OL O GY

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chapter 43

Scr ipts Andréas Stauder

Representing language: general principles Writing differs from, while also overlapping with, non-linguistic marking systems such as identity marks of various sorts that are found alongside writing throughout Egyptian history.1 Like writing, non-linguistic marking systems are conventionalized modes of visual communication that make use of well-defined repertoires of signs and their combinations. Unlike writing, these ancient marking systems aimed at identifying limited sets of extralinguistic referents or persons; as a result, non-linguistic marking systems remained functionally specific and were often limited to specific communities of users. Writing, by contrast, targets language and can therefore, in principle, represent any linguistic message in a largely non-ambiguous, context-independent way. Writing expresses both less and more than language. It expresses less because it leaves suprasegmentals (prosodic features) and all embodied dimensions of linguistic interaction unrepresented. It simultaneously expresses more because it has an inherent visual dimension, as well as being an index of (pointer to) specific socially situated practices. Egyptian writing focused phonetic representation phonetic representation on consonantal phonemes to the detriment of vowels and syllable structure, thereby reflecting the morphological structure of the Egyptian language with its salient lexical root morphemes. Simultaneously, significations beyond the linguistic sequence could be conveyed through the styles of writing, the visual outlook of an inscribed field, and the pictoriality of the signs themselves, the last opening a whole domain of ludic or enigmatic practices of writing. In spite of notable structural differences and historical change, the various Egyptian scripts (hieroglyphs, hieratic, demotic) share the fact that they target both meaning and sound, that is, both the semantic and the phonetic articulations of language. They can therefore be described typologically as mixed, logo-phonographic systems, comparable for the general principle to various types of other notably pristine writing systems such as cuneiform, 1  On these, see Haring 2018; Budka et al. 2015; Andrássy et al. 2009; Haring and Kaper 2009. On the distinction, as well as overlaps, between writing and non-linguistic marking systems, Vernus 2016.

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870   Andréas Stauder Chinese and Sinitic, or Mesoamerican writing. General principles of Egyptian writing are illustrated below with hieroglyphic spellings from classical periods; major differences in other periods and types of writing are signaled subsequently.

Categories of signs When individual signs are considered, three basic categories are schematically distinguished.2 ‘Phonograms’ represent sound, but no meaning. ‘Logograms’ (word-signs) represent both linguistic meaning and sound (a word, as a linguistic sign, is itself a pairing of sound and meaning). ‘Determinatives’, or ‘classifiers’ as these are also described, represent meaning, but no sound in a direct manner. Determinatives/classifiers can be subdivided into specific determinatives/repeaters (associated with one word only) and general determinatives/ classifiers (with more general meaning). Logograms and determinatives/classifiers can be grouped together as ‘semograms’ or ‘semantograms’ (because they bear meaning). Under this definition, a logogram is a sem(ant)ogram that also carries sound. Depending on the contexts in which it is used, a sign can belong to one or the other of is a common phonogram in many words, but also a logogram the above categories, e.g. in ẖ.t ‘belly’; or a logogram in z(j) ‘man’ (Old Kingdom), but a general determinative/ classifier in a variety of other words and in personal names. The logographic use of a sign, generally for a value associated with its visual referent (the entity it depicts), is signaled by the ‘logographic stroke’, e.g. pr ‘house’. Conversely, so-called ‘phonetic complementation’ of the same sign often serves to signal that the ‘complemented’ sign stands for its phonetic value, e.g. pri ‘go out’ (pr−r-motion, with , r, pointing to the fact that the group , pr−r, is to be read phonetically.) Such ‘phonetic complements’ commonly have also a eugraphic function, filling the lower part of an ideal square or ‘quadrat’. A logogram can stand not only for one word, but also for various etymologically related words: in this case, a description as ‘radicogram’ (root-sign) is more appropriate.3 In other cases, a logogram can stand for various words that are semantically, but not etymologically, related: in this case, the sign may be described as a polyvalent logogram, or as an ideogram, e.g. in sḏm ‘hear’ (ear-m), jdi ‘be deaf ’ (j-d-ear) and msḏr ‘ear’ (ms−sḏr−r-ear). The boundaries between the three above categories can be blurred. While so-called ­‘triliterals’ are traditionally described as phonograms, there are only so many homophonous tri-literal roots in the language, often only one. Accordingly, triliterals are often best described as logograms or radicograms, conveying both meaning and sound. (A similar comment extends to some biliteral signs.) The boundary between logograms and ­determinatives/ classifiers is also blurred in the category of specific determinatives/repeaters: in the spelling of a word, these occupy the final position after the phonetic representation (like a determinative/classifier), yet they are uniquely associated with one word or root (like logograms or radicograms).

2  For further discussion, see Polis and Rosmorduc 2015; Schenkel 2003; 1984; and 1971; Goldwasser 2002. 3 Schenkel 2003.

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Scripts   871

The word level The majority of spellings include both phonetic and semantic information. This follows a characteristic ordering. The phonetic information tends to come first, followed by the semantic information; within the latter, specific semantic information (logograms, ­specific  determinatives/repeaters) tends to precede more generic semantic information (generic determinatives/classifiers), e.g. wḥʿw ‘fowler, fisherman’ (wḥʿ-ʿ-w—fowl_ and_fish—agentive_action—man). Exceptions to this generalization are, for example, spellings that consist of logograms that are complemented phonetically, e.g. sḏm ‘hear’ (ear-m). Only a few among the great many logically possible combinations of phonograms, logograms, and determinatives/classifiers are regularly attested for any given word (in any particular script, period, and type of written text). Mixed, phono-semantographic spellings such as in wʿr ‘flee’ (w-ʿ-r—leg—motion) are the more common ones. However, purely phonetic spellings, as well as purely logographic ones, are also found, mostly with basic vocabulary, culturally salient names, and common phrases. Examples of the former include common nouns and verbs (e.g. rn ‘name’; ḏd ‘say’), prepositions (e.g. m ‘in’, ḥ nʿ ‘with’), or divine names (e.g. ptḥ ‘Ptah’). Examples of the latter include common words (e.g. ḥ r ‘face,’ fem. njwt ‘town’; jri ‘do’), titles (ḥ m-nṯr ‘(funerary) priest’), epithets (nṯr-nfr ‘young god’), or phrases (rʿ nb ‘daily’). Idiosyncratic spellings are found in such words and names as jt ‘father,’ nsw ‘king,’ wsjr ‘Osiris.’ In spellings that combine phonetic and semantic information, the realization of the phonetic component is itself often prescribed: e.g. (pr-r-motion), rather than (p-r- motion), for pri ‘go out’; similarly, the phonetic part of nḥb ‘yoke’ was split into nḥ -b, contrasting with nḥm ‘take away,’ split into n-ḥm, never into *nḥ-m. Significantly, the repertoire of ­bi-consonantal phonograms (‘biliterals’) was never systematized into a complete set for representing all sequences of two consonants found in the language. With some phonetic sequences, moreover, whole groups of signs could be transferred from one word to other ones: for example, the group as in jb ‘kid’ recurs in the etymologically unrelated jbi ‘be thirsty’ or jb ‘think’ (but not in jb ‘heart,’ from which jb ‘think’ is derived); note that alone (without ) does not have the phonetic value jb. Accounting for their origin as determinatives in other words, such uses are traditionally—and incorrectly—described as ‘phonetic determinatives’. While a given spelling can always be broken down analytically into its component signs, every word at a given time is thus associated with a limited set of typical, historically determined spellings. This was even more strongly the case in cursive varieties, in which orthographic variation tends to be more limited. Egyptian writing thus has a strong logographic dimension at the word level itself, beyond the individual graphic forms that make up the written words. These conventionalized visual images associated with words—or ‘schematograms’4—represent the combined product of historical spellings, analogical pressure, and functional determinations (such as distinctiveness in representation). Significantly, a special subsystem of notation—described as ‘group writing’ or ‘syllabic 4  Schenkel 1971, 91. Note that schematography—logography at the word level—plays a crucial role in the historically based, ‘deep orthographies’ of the alphabetic scripts of languages such as English and French.

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872   Andréas Stauder orthography’—was used for names and words that lacked historically motivated spellings, notably loanwords, foreign names, or native words not previously committed to writing or re-committed to writing after a discontinuation.5

Determinatives/classifiers The category of signs described as determinatives or classifiers is a remarkable feature of Egyptian writing. While present in other complex writing systems (such as cuneiform,6 but not in Maya writing, for instance), the class of determinatives/classifiers is vastly more developed in Egyptian. Their functions, for which neither term can fully account, are multiple. In reading, the broad semantic information conveyed by determinative(s)/classifier(s) helps to prime a semantic class or field, which is narrowed down to a word through the incomplete representation of sound (the discontinuous root morpheme).7 Particularly with words inscribed in isolation, determinatives/classifiers can have a disambiguating function, between words of homophonous roots or between words derived from the same root.8 In continuous text, determinatives/classifiers are crucial in signaling word boundaries. This is because, as noted above, signs conveying (more general) semantic information effectively tend to stand at the end of the word.9 In relation to their pictoriality and iconicity, logograms and determinatives/classifiers can convey significations supplemental to linguistic meaning.10 They regularly express aspects of the cultural encyclopedia associated with words, and embedded in the graphic signs themselves. Variations in determinative/classifier selection for a given word can also be exploited pragmatically, pointing to significant contextual features. Determinatives are also described as a system of ‘classifiers’, by analogy with linguistic classifiers found in a variety of the world’s languages.11 In this tradition of research, which draws on prototype theory, cognitive linguistics, and cognitive metaphor theory, classifiers are analyzed as reflecting cognitive categories in knowledge organization. In very broad terms, the relations can be vertical, expressing the conceptual category to which a word belongs (‘taxonomic,’ or inclusive relation) or horizontal, expressing the conceptual category with which it is associated (‘schematic,’ or metonymic relation). While initially developed for noun classification, the approach now extends to verbal classification as well, with classification bearing notably on the participants in the event in various semantic roles. Variations in the classifier 5  Kilani 2020; Quack 2010a; Zeidler 1993; Schneider 1992: 360–402; Schenkel 1986. ­On the metatextual functions of the A2 and T14 classifiers occasionally marking a word as foreign, see Allon 2010. 6  Selz, Grinevald and Goldwasser 2017. 7  Note that words were arguably scanned as wholes, so that both channels of reading, the semantic and the phonetic, would have been simultaneously active. 8  In continuous text, this function would have been less crucial, as disambiguation was already powerfully effected through syntactic and semantic context. 9  Historically, it is significant that determinatives/classifiers become more common during the Old Kingdom at the time when continuous text itself (hence requirements of segmenting the continuous chain into words) become more widespread. Note also that the Meroitic word or phrase divider developed from the plural determinative/classifier. 10  See, e.g. Meeks 2007; McDonald 2007; Loprieno 2003; Van Esche 1997. 11  General presentations: Goldwasser and Grinevald 2012; Goldwasser 2002; Linke and Kammerzell 2012; Linke 2011. Case studies in the series GOF IV/38; Allon 2007.

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Scripts   873 s­ election for a given word are described as referent classification (pointing to the extralinguistic referent), in addition to the more common lexeme classification (pointing to the word in the lexicon).

Historical sketch Origins and early development A major step in the path leading to the emergence of Egyptian writing is demonstrated by the U-j inscriptions in a proto-royal burial (Abydos/Umm-el Qaab, c.3200 bc).12 The inscriptions on the tags display significant features of the visuality of writing (such as regimentation of forms, orientation, miniaturization and calibration of relative size). They do not, however, evidence representation of language, and are best interpreted as a non-linguistic marked system, used alongside other non-linguistic marking systems found in tomb U-j.13 The signs, which recur in contemporary visual culture, are highly exclusive, and probably powerful.14 Material aspects of the inscriptions suggest that the signs mark or brand, and thus contribute to the life histories of, the goods to which they were attached, in a context that can be reconstructed as ceremonial.15 Egyptian writing proper appears not long after the U-j inscriptions, by the late Dynasty 0 (c.3100 bc), at the same time as modes of pictorial representation coalesce into what has been variously described as ‘canonical tradition’, or ‘decorum’. Writing thus developed as a major component and vehicle of the simultaneously emerging Egyptian formal culture (see Chapter 28 in this volume). Early inscriptions consist of names and short phrases; they do not include predicative sentences, let alone continuous text, but are often associated with pictorial representations. These short inscriptions derive much of their significations from their relationship with the material object on which they are inscribed and the associated practices.16 While ceremonial functions and funerary contexts broadly understood remain central, the use of writing for administrative purposes is indirectly, but securely, documented by the First Dynasty (c.3000–2890 bc), and may have emerged slightly earlier. The use of papyrus (no later than the mid-First Dynasty) also represents an innovation, insofar as this is a material manufactured purely in order to support writing, with no other primary function. A remarkable feature of Egyptian writing is its early, rapid and thorough phoneticization. A near-complete set of mono-consonantal phonograms developed as early as the early/mid-First Dynasty, and a steadily growing set of biconsonantal phonograms appeared during the following period.17 The strong initial focus of Egyptian writing on names arguably played a role in the initial phoneticization of the script. 12  Dreyer et al. 1988. 13  Stauder forthcoming b, Vernus 2016. For earlier, more linguistically oriented interpretations, see e.g. Kahl 2003; 2001. On the rise of writing in a comparative perspective, see the studies in Houston 2004. 14  Darnell 2017; Baines 2010; 2004; Morenz 2004; Kemp 2000: 232–6; Dreyer et al. 1998: 173–7. 15  Wengrow 2008a, 2008b; for slightly later material, see also Vernus 2011. 16  E.g., Piquette 2018, for ceremonial tags of the First Dynasty. 17  Kahl 1994 (with a sign list and values); for a palaeographical study of early Egyptian writing, Regulski 2010.

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874   Andréas Stauder In ­addition, as writing developed a broader functional range, phoneticization permitted the representation of new words in the lexicon as these came to be committed to writing. By the Third and Fourth Dynasties (c.2686–2498 bc), a sizeable amount of early signs fell out of (regular) use, while new ones were introduced, for example in the category of men (Gardiner A), bearing witness to a systematization of writing after an initially more experimental phase. A principally linguistic model of the origins and early development of Egyptian writing would, however, be inappropriate. Egyptian writing was initially highly restricted in terms of its functions, the places in which it was deployed, and the number of people involved. Hieroglyphic writing, specifically, was a scarce resource, concentrated in very few places, and an object of competition among the elite. In early times, hieroglyphic writing was also made more visible in some places in society through its presence on seals where, however, it functioned more as a visual motif and an index of the central power and elite.18 During the third millennium bc, writing extended its ranges of uses, both ­ceremonial and utilitarian ones, and gradually disseminated across the country. Sentences are first notated by the late Second Dynasty (c.2750 bc) and continuous sequences of speech appear by the early Old Kingdom (c.2600 bc),19 while written genres diversified during the third and early second millennia bc. As in other cultures and places, early writing in Egypt only secondarily aligned on the sequence of speech. It created its own domains of use rather than reproducing those that existed in orality. Its significations were grounded in its restricted distribution and the resulting social indexicality, in its relation to the objects, places, and images to which it was attached, and in the social practices (ceremonial, funerary, or mundane) with which it was associated and which it contributed define or redefine.

Hieroglyphic writing Hierolgyphic writing presents a distinguished association with the lapidary sphere, and is characterized by its material and aesthetric investment, and its sacralizing function (see dicussion below). In terms of its structural history, hieroglyphic writing in the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2160 bc) is characterized by its numerous logograms, or specific semantograms, and its relative freedom in phonetic complementation.20 In the context of a regionalization of writing, inscriptions in the First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc) include new signs and sign forms that point to productive experimentation.21 Reflective of a broader and more centralized sociology of writing, Middle Kingdom writing sees a relative standardization of spellings. Except for common words and phrases, logographic spellings tend to be augmented by full phonetic notation of the root. Erstwhile logograms thereby increasingly functioned as determinatives/classifiers while specific semantograms tended to be replaced by generic ones, resulting in a reduction in the overall number of regularly used signs. Strategies for phonetic complementation also underwent regimentation, with a tendency to 18  Bussmann forthcoming. 19  Stauder-Porchet 2017: 9–33. 20  Edel 1955–64: §24–102; Schweitzer 2005; Collombert 2010. 21  E.g. Callender 2019; Morenz 1999.

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Scripts   875 complement only the final part of a sign: compare e.g. OK (s-ḏ-ear-m) → MK (ear-m), sḏm ‘hear’. Hieroglyphic spellings in the Ramesside period (c.1295–1069 bc) are influenced by contemporary hieratic spellings to various degrees, more strongly so in texts that are less bound by inherited traditions in genre, formulation, and language. Beginning in the Third Intermediate Period, various new sign values, including phonetic ones, develop, and in the Late Period some texts increasingly display spellings that break away from inherited conventions.22 For example, in the Naukratis Stele, from the time of Nectanebo II (360–343 bc), jb ‘heart’ is written with the received logographic spelling, (col. 5), also in a purely p ­ honetic one, (j-b, col. 3), and playfully, in the plural, as (through punning with jb ‘kid’, col. 7). The great number of creative spellings on this stela play with the reader’s expectations, as well as turning writing itself into a tribute to the deity.23 ‘Ptolemaic’ writing (a term that refers essentially to hieroglyphic writing found in Ptolemaic and early Roman temple inscriptions and to a lesser degree in contemporary stelae, see Chapter 58 in this volume) represents a further development of these tendencies, fully exploiting general principles that were inherent in the old sacred script.24 Contrasting with the more standardized nature of orthography in other and earlier varieties of Egyptian writing, Ptolemaic writing is characterized by a high degree of variability in spelling, as well as variation from temple to temple. Ptolemaic spellings often break away from inherited word-forms, and can be either fully logographic—with an erstwhile semantogram standing alone for the word—or strongly phonetic, in which case they tend to be based on monoconsonantal signs. New sign variants, sign combinations, and at times entirely new forms, are introduced.25 Additional values (for some signs as many as twenty, some regular, some occasional or even unique) are derived from the inherited values of signs (phonetic and semantic), their visual dimensions (shapes and visual referents), as well as through the exploitation of phonetic changes in language, and, further, via covert relations between signs such as formal similarities that obtained only at the level of their cursive equivalents.

Linear hieroglyphs While simplified forms of hieroglyphs are found from the inception of Egyptian writing itself,26 linear hieroglyphs (less correctly described as ‘cursive hieroglyphs’) are first 22  Schweitzer 2003; Jansen-Winkeln 1996: 9–31; Der Manuelian 1994: 61–100; Engsheden 2014. 23  Von Bomhard 2012: 90–92. 24  Introductions: Kurth 1983, 2007; Leitz 2009. Foundational studies: Sauneron 1982; Fairman 1945 and 1943. General sign lists: Daumas et al. 1988, Kurth 2007; Leitz 2009 (a concise list of most frequently encountered signs); for specific corpora, Meeks 2004; Cauville 2001. 25  Note that the traditional appreciation of a dramatic increase in numbers of signs in the Ptolemaic period (‘7,000’ as opposed to ‘700’ in classical periods) is an artifact of comparing modern fonts, the Montpellier (Daumas et al. 1988) and Gardiner (1957) sign lists, respectively. While the Montpellier font was devised for incorporating as many graphic variants as possible, the Gardiner font was aimed at giving only the main variants and signs. When compared according to more commensurate criteria, Ptolemaic (c. 2,000 signs in regular use) only slightly exceeds Old Kingdom writing (c. 1,500 signs), for instance (Collombert 2007). 26 Regulski 2009, 2010.

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876   Andréas Stauder ­ ocumented in early Fourth-Dynasty documentary texts, alongside hieratic (Pap. Jarf).27 d Linear hieroglyphs were used notably in funerary compositions on coffins and papyrus (Coffin Texts, the New Kingdom Book of the Dead, etc.),28 in ritual texts (e.g. the hymns to Sobek on Pap. Ramesseum VI), in Late-Period texts of sacerdotal knowledge (e.g. Pap. Jumilhac), and, from the New Kingdom onwards, to inscribe compositions such as the Amduat on the walls of tombs. Linear hieroglyphs are also found on the so-called Vorlagenostraka (preparatory ostraca) used as aids for inscribing tombs.29 Very occasionally, they could be used in administrative contexts, notably in the Old Kingdom, and rarely for literary texts (although not on papyrus). Unlike hieratic, linear hieroglyphs are deployed only in vertical columns, oriented both right-to-left and left-to-right, and include no ligatures or abbreviations.30 While the sign forms are linearized, they remain close to hieroglyphic ones, and show little palaeographic evolution over time. Linear hieroglyphs thus pertain to the hieroglyphic domain, contributing to sacralize the text they write down.31

Hieratic The bulk of ancient written production—in the spheres of administration, private business, literature, knowledge, and even some domains of ritual action32—was executed in cursive scripts: hieratic and later demotic (see below). Ancient scribes were trained in cursive varieties first, and only a minority was further introduced into the hieroglyphic script, which was associated with the more restricted domains of ideology and sacerdotal science. Differing from hieroglyphic writing, hieratic and demotic were only written from right to left. While hieratic (and to a lesser degree demotic) retained a significant amount of iconicity (notably in logograms and determinatives), these scripts lay outside the complex interaction with the pictorial sphere characteristic of hieroglyphs. Hieratic and demotic were generally drawn on perishable or disposable portable media (e.g. papyrus, writing boards and ostraca),33 but also include graffiti (‘secondary epigraphy’) on tomb and temple walls.34 Hieratic could also be incised on clay (only under special circumstances35) and on natural rock (‘lapidary hieratic’).36 Both hieratic and demotic were occasionally used on stelae (e.g. epigraphic hieratic for administrative documents monumentalized for exposition from Dynasties 21 to 26, c.1069–525 bc, with a peak in the Libyan period). Hieratic proper (as opposed to mere drawn forms of hieroglyphs, documented as early as Dynasty 0) emerged during the early third millennium bc. Consistent patterns for 27  Tallet 2017; Verhoeven 2015b: 33, 38. 28  Lucaralli 2020. 29  For the last, e.g. Lüscher 2013; further the studies by Lüscher, Haring, and Graefe in Verhoeven 2015a. 30 Allam 2007. 31  Vernus 1990: 41–5; see also the distribution of linear hieroglyphs and hieratic in the ‘Ramesseum library’ (Parkinson 2009: 146–60). 32  For the last, e.g. Donnat-Beauquier 2014. 33  On the materiality of hieratic writing, Verhoeven 2015b: 25–8; Eyre 2013: 22–54. 34  E.g. Ragazzoli 2017 and 2013; Navrátilová 2015. 35  In late Old Kingdom Balat, perhaps due to a shortage of papyrus in the oasis: see Pantalacci 2005. 36  Already documented in the Old Kingdom (Vandekerkhove and Müller-Wollerman 2001), lapidary hieratic peaked in the Middle Kingdom (Ali 2002; Gasse 2015).

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Scripts   877 a­ bbreviating signs, through emphasis on visually distinctive traits and diacritic features, are found from the Second Dynasty onwards,37 and ligatures (groupings of common sign combinations into a single hieratic sign form) develop in the Old Kingdom.38 Middle Kingdom hieratic witnessed more significant changes in sign forms and a transition from writing in columns to writing in lines. A difference between a book-script (or ‘uncial’) used for scientific, religious and literary texts, and a more cursive script used for administrative and business purposes became manifest in the later Middle Kingdom record, and then again in Ramesside times.39 In the Third Intermediate Period, Theban business hands became increasingly more cursive40 and ultimately evolved into ‘abnormal hieratic’ (see below). By contrast, the simultaneously developing ‘late hieratic’ is an uncial exclusively, and follows an independent development with calligraphic forms partly oriented on earlier models.41 In Roman times,42 hieratic was restricted to ritual, funerary, and sacerdotal texts—a situation strongly contrasting with its original scope, and reflected in its designation as ‘sacerdotal script’ (hieratica grammata) by Clement of Alexandria, in the second century ad.43 Based on extant palaeographies, the standard repertoire of hieratic is estimated at around 500–550 signs, less than hieroglyphs, due to notably fewer specific semantograms. The partly reduced distinctiveness of hieratic sign forms is compensated by less variability in spellings of individual words, strongly suggesting that reading was done on a word basis. In  Ramesside times, phonetic changes in the language had resulted in a loosening of phoneme-grapheme correspondences of individual signs; partly compensating for this, groups of signs are then transferred as such to other words, to indicate their pronunciation more accurately.44 Such different spelling traditions notwithstanding,45 individual hieratic signs largely stand in a one-to-one relation to hieroglyphic ones, and some signs specific to hieratic found their way back into hieroglyphs,46 as did some spellings. Moreover, the iconicity of hieratic signs was not lost, and could be exploited to express supplemental meanings, notably in the generally more calligraphic New Kingdom hieratic.47 Besides producing detailed palaeographies,48 current research on hieratic increasingly engages the material dimension of the script, its material supports and layout, brush usage, order of lines, ink dippings, and corrections.49 It addresses issues such as styles and ­individual hands, when possible, scribal practices more generally, and the place of writing in society.50 37 Regulski 2009. 38 For Old Kingdom hieratic, Goedicke  1988; Dobrev et al.  2011, and the ongoing ‘Old Hieratic Palaeography’ project (IFAO and Charles University, Prague). 39  Fischer-Elfert 2020; Wimmer 1995.   40  Gasse 1994: 237–44 and pls. 1–29; Vleeming 1993. 41 Verhoeven 2001. 42  On Roman-period hieratic, Quack 2015. 43  For designations of Egyptian scripts in the Classical tradition, Winand 2005; Depauw 1997: 19–21. 44  Junge 2008: ch. 1. 45  Modern hieroglyphic transcriptions of New Kingdom hieratic are a scholarly convention aimed at representing the hieratic original rather than at producing genuine hieroglyphic spellings: cf. Gardiner 1929; for Late hieratic, see Vleeming 1989. 46  See, e.g. Meeks 2007: 6–10; Kurth 1999. 47  Broze 1996, 129–56. 48  Gülden et al. 2018; Verhoeven 2015b: 48–54. The standard, but now outdated, work is Müller 1909–12; for reference to corpus and period palaographies, see above. 49  E.g. Parkinson 2009: 90–112; Allen 2002: 76–85, 193–242; Allen 2011: 9–18. 50  See the studies in Verhoeven 2015a; Ragazzoli 2019; and Polis 2020.  

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Abnormal hieratic and demotic Abnormal hieratic, which evolved from the increasingly more cursive southern business hands in the Third Intermediate Period, was used during the Twenty-fifth and Twenty-sixth Dynasties in Thebes, parts of Upper Egypt, and the oases for administration, letters, oracles, informal writings, and exceptionally for literary texts.51 Demotic52—sš n šʿt ‘the script of documents’—is first attested in the north under Psamtek I (595–589 bc), having probably evolved out of northern business hands.53 It spread to the south in the wake of the administrative reunification of the country under Saite rule, and wholly superseded abnormal hieratic by the reign of Ahmose II (570–526 bc). Initially restricted to documentary texts, demotic expanded to literary texts no later than the fourth century bc, and to funerary, religious, and sacerdotal texts in the first century bc. In early Roman times, demotic lost ground to Greek as the language of official legal and business affairs, and the demotic script is increasingly confined to sacerdotal milieus and personal piety. Like hieratic in the same period, Roman demotic is characterized by regionalization, with divergent local orthographic and palaeographic norms.54 While early demotic (dating to the Saite and Persian Periods) can still be related to hieratic models, albeit in a significantly more cursive form,55 Ptolemaic demotic follows an autonomous path of development. Sign forms undergo schematization according to recurrent patterns, resulting in a reduced number of visual forms, and many new ligatures are developed. As a result of these combined developments, the script undergoes a thorough restructuring, making any back-transcription into hieroglyphs an artificial exercise.56 The number of demotic signs has been estimated at around 350, not including hieratic special forms. These include mono-consonantal signs, a reduced set of determinatives/classifiers, and ‘historical groups’. ‘Historical groups’ incorporate erstwhile phonograms, logograms, and in part determinatives in units that cannot be split into discrete components anymore. They are used with words derived from one root (radicographically), but occasionally also as parts of other words. Historical groups are also used in a new type of phonetic complementation, at the beginning or end of a word to represent not only consonants but also vocalic features of that word. Other spellings, particularly with common words, are nonsegmentable altogether (e.g. rmṯ ‘man’). Roman demotic is characterized formally by more sharp-edged sign forms resulting from the adoption of the Greek stylus. In the sacerdotal sphere, productive interactions with contemporary hieratic (and even hieroglyphs) are manifest in the reintroduction of a  number of specific determinatives, often with explicit iconic overtones. A noteworthy development were ‘unetymological spellings’, consisting in the use of words or phrases in the spelling of other, homophonous words. Particularly frequent at Soknopaiou Nesos (Dime) but not limited to this site, unetymological spellings are found within ancient words 51 Current state of the art: Donker van Heel 2020, 2015; Vittmann 2015 major earlier studies: Malinine 1953/1983; Parker 1962; for a literary text, P. Queens, Fischer-Elfert 2013. 52  Quack et al. 2020; Johnson 2001; Depauw 1997. On the distinction between Demotic as a stage of language and Demotic as a script, with various cases of non-congruency between the two, Quack 2010d. 53  On the origins of Demotic, Vleeming 1981; El-Aguizy 1992. 54 Quack 2017b. 55  Pestman 1994, Vleeming 1992; El-Aguizy 1992; 1998. 56  The following is based on Quack 2014, 2010b. See, further, Vleeming 2013.

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Scripts   879 that had no fixed demotic spelling (for example in transcribing ancient rituals and in glosses to these), for expressing additional phonetic information, as well as to express supplemental meaning (often in divine names, epithets and other sacred matters).57 Unetymological spellings in demotic derive from the same sacerdotal milieus that produced Ptolemaic temple inscriptions; both are tokens of theological speculation in-and-through writing, as well as indices of in-group exclusivity.

Cultural contacts and influences Unlike cuneiform, which was adapted to notate a wide variety of unrelated languages across the ancient Near East, Egyptian writing remained strongly tied to Egyptian language and culture. Within Egypt, personal and geographical names of foreign origin were notated in Egyptian scripts from early times on, but continuous strings of speech in foreign languages were hardly ever committed to Egyptian writing in dynastic times.58 Rare exceptions consist notably in short magical spells, embedded in Egyptian texts, and for which sound counted arguably more than meaning.59 A singular case is an extended text in Aramaic language written in ‘alphabetic demotic’ with classifiers/determinatives (Pap. Amherst 63).60 Outside Egypt, Egyptian scripts were not adapted for notating other languages,61 but the high prestige of Egyptian scripts is shown by pseudo-hieroglyphs on amulets in the Levant; shorter royal inscriptions in Egyptian commissioned by the Middle Bronze Age local governors/ rulers of Byblos in Egyptian style; and longer inscriptions created for Napatan rulers around the mid-first millennium bc. Also indicative of such prestige, two other writing systems emerged through cultural contact with Egyptian scripts. The earliest Semitic consonantal script is documented in the early second millennium bc in the Western Desert near Thebes (Wadi el-Hôl) and, slightly later, in the Sinai (hence its traditional designation as ‘proto-sinaitic’).62 The script—from which all further consonantal and alphabetic scripts are historically derived—originated in the context of interactions of Semitic speaking groups with Egyptian expedition scribes, in a cultic context in the Sinai. From Egyptian scripts, early Semitic scripts inherited the focus on representing the consonantal root to the detriment of vowels.63 Sign forms were a­ rguably derived from both lapidary hieratic (in the Wadi el-Hôl inscriptions64) and hieroglyphs (in the Sinai). Values were acrophonically derived: e.g. the sign of a hand standing for k (< Northwest Semitic kp ‘palm’) rather than standing for its Egyptian values d or ḏrt. Further contact with the Semitic world is evinced by the ordering of phonemes as documented 57  Widmer  2014 and  2004, 672–83; Quack 2011; on ludic writings in Demotic, also Pestman  1973; Malinine 1967. 58  For other languages occasionally written down in pre-Greek times, in their own writing systems, Quack 2017a: 28–30 (Akkadian, Persian, Aramaic, Carian). 59  Quack 2010c. See also Steiner 2011 (disputed). 60  Vleeming and Wesselius 1985–90; references to the discussion: Quack 2010c: 319–20. 61  ‘Palestinian hieratic’ (Wimmer 2008), witnessing to Egyptian influence on Iron Age Levant, is limited to numerical signs. 62  Darnell et al. 2005 for the former; Morenz 2019 and 2011 for the latter.   63  Vernus 2015.  64  Darnell 2013: 6–7; contrary view: Goldwasser 2006.

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880   Andréas Stauder mostly in a series of late Egyptian sources, and now also in the early New Kingdom.65 This ordering is related to the contemporary South-Semitic H-L-Kh-M, and differs from the Northwest-Semitic A-B-Kh-D (from which the Western A-B-C-D is derived). In the middle Nile Valley, the Meroitic script is documented from the early second century bc onward and was used in a variety of utilitarian and ceremonial contexts until slightly after the demise of the Meroitic state in the fourth century ad, with one last royal inscription in the early fifth century ad.66 It notates a Northeast Sudanic language (included in the hypothetical Nilo-Saharan macro-phylum) entirely unrelated to Egyptian. The sign forms are adapted from demotic, but the system represents an autochthonous development. The latter is based on the devanagari principle, otherwise found in Indic scripts notably: a limited number of signs (24) stand for consonant–vowel sequences, the vowel being further specified by some additional vocalic sign whenever differing from/a/, e.g. qa for/qwa/, but qa + o for/qwo/. A more pictorial variety of the Meroitic script was secondarily developed in the late second century bc, with sign shapes drawn from hieroglyphic models but with values reproducing the ones found in the ordinary Meroitic script. Meroitic hieroglyphs were restricted to inscriptions associated with the ruling family. Its secondary derivation from the regular Meroitic script is also shown by its orientation, not facing the reader, unlike in primary hieroglyphic scripts.

Obsolescence The latest hieroglyphic temple inscriptions date to the mid-third century ad, and demotic was still in use for third-century ad mummy labels and magical texts. The latest known dated inscriptions are tokens of personal piety in graffiti from the far southern temple of Philae, which appears to have been an isolated hold-hout (hieroglyphs, ad 394; demotic, ad 452). Egyptian scripts had been superseded by Greek for most business purposes in early Roman times, leading to a situation in which native scripts were largely confined to local communities and the sacerdotal sphere. In the latter context, the high-points in complexity observed in both hieroglyphic and demotic spellings in Roman times point to a cultivated in-group exclusivity.67 The native scripts disappeared when their already restricted sociology fell below a critical mass of people necessary for sustaining the institution of writing. This was roughly concomitant with the discontinuation of state funding for ­temples.68 In his Hieroglyphica, written in Greek allegedly in the fifth century ad, Horapollo still demonstrates some knowledge of the semantic values and motivations of individual hieroglyphic signs, but interprets these exclusively in symbolic and allegorical terms.69 Such Late

65 Schneider 2018; Fischer-Elfert and Krebernik 2016; Haring 2015. On the ordering of signs in Demotic sources and the so-called bird alphabet, see Devauchelle 2014 and Quack 2003. 66  Rilly 2007: 231–358; Rilly and de Voogt 2012: 35–61; rise: Rilly 2010; obsolescence: Rilly 2008. 67 Stadler 2008. 68  For comparative perspectives on script obsolescence, Baines et al. 2008.  69 For text, see Thissen  2001; for discussions, see the studies in Fournet (ed) forthcoming, von Lieven 2010, Van de Walle and Vergote 1943; on (neo-)Platonic construals of Egyptian writing, Pries 2017.

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Scripts   881 Antique misconstruing of Egyptian writing, entirely ignoring its strong phonetic underpinnings, was to define Western reception70 until Champollion’s decipherment in 1822.71

Coptic Sporadic attempts to notate the Egyptian language in Greek letters only intially remained confined to mostly low prestige settings; usually described as ‘Greco-Egyptian’, they extended beyond proper names from the third century bc onwards.72 As useful devices in instructional contexts, supralinear glosses could be added to traditional formulae and old words in Roman times.73 While one glossing system was based on the demotic writing system (‘late syllabic group writing’), another one was based on Greek letters, complemented by demotic signs of  various derivations for those phonemes not present in the Greek language. The second system—described as ‘Old Coptic’—was extended to write whole texts during the first three centuries ad.74 In Old Coptic glosses and texts, the additional signs of demotic derivation are variable, and in part different ones, or different in shapes, from the ones later standardized in Coptic proper. Coptic writing was standardizing in the fourth century ad in scriptoria in which texts of the new traditions (Gnostic, Manichean, Christian) were translated, with the number of graphemes borrowed from demotic being generally fixed at six or seven.75 Coptic writing was subsequently extended to a variety of domains, including business matters, poetry and private graffiti.76 Reflecting its native roots, Coptic letter names have their origins in bird names by which they were memorized.77 As a result of the influence of the Coptic church, the Coptic script was subsequently adapted to Old Nubian, a Northeast-Sudanic (Nilo-Saharan) language spoken in southern Lower Nubia (eighth–fifteenth centuries ad).

Pictoriality and iconicity The hieroglyphic script comprises a majority of pictorial sign forms. Signs of writing, however, are visually distinct from pictorial representatioms on a number of levels defining a specific field of writing.78 Their size is adjusted (or calibrated) irrespective of the relative sizes of their visual referent:79 thus, as signs of writing, a giraffe ( ) and a beetle ( ) have the same size. Rather than following the logic of pictorial composition, signs of writing mirror 70  See, e.g., Iversen 1961; Morra and Bazzanella 2003; Winand 2013. 71  Parkinson 1999: 12–45. 72  On the prehistory of the Coptic alphabetic, Quack 2017a; Richter 2009: 411–15. 73  See also Dieleman 2005: 69–80; Osing 1998: 40–64. 74  Text types include prayers, horoscopes, and magical texts (Quack  2017a: 55–74; Satzinger  1991). A singular instance of a text in Traditional Egyptian written in Old Coptic letters is Pap. BM 10808, for which, see Osing 1976. 75 Kasser 1991. 76  For an overview, see Bosson and Aufrère 1999. 77  Quack  2017a: 74–5; Zauzich  2000. On the demotic ‘bird alphabet’, see above, in relation to the Halakham. 78  Vernus 2020. 79  Vernus 2001: 19–22.

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882   Andréas Stauder the linear sequence of speech.80 They are orientated to face the reader when having an animate referent, and disposed in visually harmonious ways in ideal rectangles within lines and columns known as ‘quadrats’. Iconicity is to be distinguished from pictoriality, and refers to the way in which the value of a sign is motivated in relation to its visual referent, the entity a sign depicts.81 Initial motivation must be distinguished from motivation (or lack of such) as perceived by subsequent users in different types and practices of writing, and by diverse users with various levels of expertise or interest in the script as such. The relation is said to be ‘iconic’ when some resemblance or  likeness, direct or indirect, is observed between visual referent and linguistic value. Beyond direct iconic representation, an indirect iconic relation is often involved, based on metaphor (the transfer of qualities based on perceived similarity or analogy: e.g.  in ḳnd ‘be furious’) or metonymy (the perceived contiguity or intimate associate: e.g. in ȝbd ‘month’). So-called triliteral phonograms, as well as some biliteral ones, are apparently rebus-based, but in effect mostly found in etymologically related words (see above, ‘radicograms’), thus sharing some common semantics.82 As a result, some indirect iconic relation, often metaphorical in nature, obtains: for example, in dšr ‘flamingo’ (direct representation), but also in dšr ‘red’ and dšr.t, ‘desert’ (literally, ‘the red one’). Not uncommonly, the iconic relation can also be internal to the writing system itself (‘differential iconicity’): for example, the onebarbed harpoon for wʿ ‘one’ as opposed to the two-barbed spear-head for sn ‘two’.83 Combinations of extant signs into new ones—composite hieroglyphs—display a general evolution from pictorially meaningful (e.g. for jni ‘bring’) or visually appropriate (e.g. , with the palm branched rooted on the soil by the bread sign) combinations in early times to pictorially less motivated ones from the First Intermediate Period onward (e.g. ).84 In all these cases, harmonious disposition of the component signs along various typically symmetrical patterns are observed, and the individual components of composite hieroglyphs retain their individual forms and values. While hieroglyphs are not uncommonly derived from other hieroglyphs,85 diacritic derivation—derivation through the addition of a formal mark that is not itself meaningful—is at best marginal (it is found only in hieratic, rarely feeding back into hieroglyphs). Keeping the visual integrity of the signs thus seems to have been a major concern, setting Egyptian hieroglyphic writing apart from other logo-phonetic traditions such as the cuneiform or Sinitic writing systems but bringing it close to notably Maya writing. In its living reality, the historically evolving repertoire of signs was intrinsically an open one.86 Since Egyptian writing represented not only the phonetic but also the semantic articulation of language, the number of signs was not bounded by the inventory of 80  Deviations occur notably with ‘honorific anteposition’ of signs referring to high-status entities, see Peust 2007. 81 Vernus forthcoming. 82  Vernus 2003; Schenkel 2003. 83 Stauder 2018b. 84 Fischer 1977b. 85  Lacau 1954: 54–76. 86 On the impossibility of giving a figure for the total number of hieroglyphic signs, see Collombert  2007. For the ongoing project ‘Paléographie hiéroglyphique’, see Meeks  2004: I–XXV; Meeks 2007, and the various monographs already published in the related IFAO series; in addition to these, see, e.g., Griffith  1898; Lacau  1954; Le Saout  1981; Fischer  1996: 177–236; der Manuelian  2003; Moje 2007; Regulski 2010; and Arnaudiès et al. 2015.

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Scripts   883 Egyptian phonemes or combinations thereof. Given the enduring pictoriality of signs throughout history, new signs, and combinations of extant signs into new ones, could always be introduced. Variants of signs embodied aspects of cultural knowledge or expressed some further level of contextual signification, and occasionally developed into structurally significant ones.

High-cultural dimensions Registers of writing in a di(/tri-)graphic culture At any given period in time, Egyptian writing existed in multiple varieties. The fundamental contrast is between hieroglyphs (including linear hieroglyphs) and hieratic (later also demotic). In each script, moreover, internal differentiations are observed, such as between more or less formal varieties of hieratic, or between realizations of hieroglyphs with more or less aesthetic, material, and/or semiotic investment. To these internally differentiated varieties of Egyptian scripts, values were attached, forming a complex, historically shifting, cultural code.87 In principled ways, to be played with by users, the varieties of the script correlated with material support and placement, visibility and circulation, type of text, and register of language.88 Along with its media, contents, and language, hieroglyphic writing in particular contributed to the process of sacralizing the texts that it was used for, inserting these enduringly into the ordered world.

A hieroglyphic tradition Hieroglyphic writing displays a productive integration with pictorial representations and was subject to complex rules of orientation in relation to architectural space and/or associated pictorial compositions.89 Particularly in earlier times, figures in pictorial scenes could function as determinatives/classifiers to words written in the captions to such scenes,90 and signs of writing could recur as elements of an associated visual composition in the same visual field. The pictoriality of signs can be enhanced through aesthetic investment, decalibration, or otherwise.91 The threshold between depiction and writing was explored from the earliest times, in ‘emblematic’ modes of composition of signs with animate referents acting upon other signs or representations.92 In later times, it was also teased out in

87 Emphasizing various dimensions of a complex problematic, von Lieven and Lippert 2016, Baines 2012; Parkinson 1999. 88 Vernus 1990. 89  Fischer 1986 and 1977a; Baines 1989; Vernus forthcoming. 90  Fischer 1986: 27–8; Schenkel 2011: 131–3. 91  For the second, e.g., van Esche 1997; on ground lines of signs in the Old Kingdom, Collombert 2015. 92 Baines 1989.

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884   Andréas Stauder inscriptions largely focused on full-figured animate signs.93 Moreover, hieroglyphic texts could themselves be laid out in such ways that made them themselves dimensional visual compositions as much as verbal ones.94 Hieroglyphic writing emerged in highly exclusive contexts and carried prestige in direct relation to its restricted nature (see above). Particularly in earlier times, when it was even more restricted than later on, hieroglyphic writing was indicative of the formal culture of which it was a part. Pseudo-hieroglyphs, already documented in the First Dynasty, demonstrate such prestige obliquely. The deeper understanding of hieroglyphs—mdw-nṯrw ‘the gods’ words’—belonged to the domain of restricted knowledge (štȝ, thus Irtysen, c.2000 bc, in a context with strong ritual overtones).95 Documented by manuscripts dating mostly to Roman times, the Demotic composition referred in Egyptology as the ‘Book of Thoth’ is an initiatory dialogue into the arcane nature of scribal art, described with much figurative language.96 Hieroglyphic signs carried power of their own and could be conceived of as places for divine indwelling.97 Mutilations of signs with animate referents in funerary texts were aimed at neutralizing their potentially dangerous power.98 Conversely, signs of writing could be ‘animated’ through the addition of arms and legs. Signs of writing could also be promoted to the status of protective or otherwise efficient emblems or symbols, as in the  case of the sign.99 Writing could be touched or incorporated for magical effect: for  example in the Late Period, water was poured over hieroglyphic inscriptions of Horus-stelae (cippi) and subsequently drunk by people wishing to be healed (see Chapter  53 in this volume). Egyptian hieroglyphic writing demonstrates an enduring pictorial commitment and is one of two major hieroglyphic traditions, alongside the Mesoamerican writing systems.100 Hieroglyphic scripts (Egyptian or Maya, to take the main Mesoamerican example) are ­characterized by their sustained pictoriality, by sign forms that are not reducible to stroke, line patterns or fonts, and by a tight integration with a broader aesthetic culture. Hieroglyphic writing represents language, but it is also an encyclopedically dense mode of visual communication, at once inviting and exclusionary. Hieroglyphic signs do not just stand for linguistic values: they are inviolable things in their own right, implying a particular ontology and a capacity for performance. Rather than effacing itself behind language, hieroglyphic writing is excessive in its visual and semantic expression and presence, and, at times, virtuosic in its making and interpretation. Although some of these properties are found in other types of scripts, hieroglyphic writing presents them to a concentrated degree. That the two major traditions of hieroglyphic writing should develop in two places, Egypt and Mesoamerica, in entire independence is of additional interest.

93  Klotz 2020 and see below.   94  Stauder-Porchet forthcoming a, b; Stauder forthcoming a.     95 Stauder 2018a. 96  Zauzich and Jasnow 2014, Quack 2007, Jasnow 2011. 97 Pries 2016. 98  Schenkel 2011: 133–52; Kammerzell 1986; Lacau 1913. 99  Baines 2004: 473–5, Fischer 1972; Vernus 2003, 213. 100  Houston and Stauder 2020. 

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Scripts   885

Ludic dimensions and enigmatic writing The many facets and visual dimensions of Egyptian signs of writing were explored ­further in a variety of practices described as ludic or ‘sportive’ writing, ‘visual poetry’, ‘cryptography’, or ‘enigmatic writing’, most prominently in hieroglyphs but extending to  hieratic and demotic as well (see above). In these practices, supplemental levels of meaning are expressed and writing is foregrounded as such, beyond its instrumental function of representing language.101 Ludic writing in its various forms also provides what amounts to an implicit meta-commentary on the ways in which expert native users viewed their writing. Enigmatic writing is an extension of the regular principles of Egyptian writing.102 In the delayed reading it induces, enigmatic writing amazes; it foregrounds the pictoriality and semiotic thickness of the signs as signs, over their representational function as mere vehicles of some linguistic value. As a display of scribal competence, enigmatic spellings, generally limited to a few signs, a word, or a phrase, are found notably on scribal palettes and on private monuments, primarily in the New Kingdom. On the latter, they entice the passerby and cause him to engage with the monument, and, ultimately, to recite an offering for its owner. In royal contexts, Ramesside monumental friezes consist of full sequences of highly pictorial signs, notably full-figured divine representations.103 Inscribed in places that are often highly visible, these ‘enigmatic texts’ could simultaneously both be read as textual inscriptions (sometimes accompanied by transcription into regular writing) and viewed as pictorial representations. Differing from the above, the sequences of enigmatic writing found in New Kingdom royal Netherworld books had their ultimate locus of inscription in sealed-off places. They achieve visual otherness both through breaking away from the ­traditional spelling of a word, and through the substitution of individual signs with other, less common and/or more highly pictorial ones following various phonetic, semantic or visual principles. Both types of royal enigmatic writing are interpreted as oblique expressions of contents that could not be conveyed directly, whereby writing itself, in its otherness, was instrumental in establishing an indicative continuity with the otherness of the contents pointed at. Highpoints of playfulness and graphic virtuosity are found in the sociologically restricted contexts of Ptolemaic temples.104 As texts with graded difficulty suggest, priests were also playing games with their peers.105 In some ‘bandeaux inscriptions’, a concentration on animate forms results in a visual otherness of writing that attracts attention to writing as such.106 Like in the Naukratis stela (see above), writing is made to celebrate the deity in its various aspect, as well as to serve to divine indwelling the signs themselves. In the litanies of the 101  Complementary perspectives: Morenz 2008; Darnell 2020; 2004. Note that the term ‘cryptography’ is a misnomer, because no key for decoding was required, and because such practices of writing were not intent on hiding contents. 102  See the studies in Klotz and Stauder 2020; for lists of enigmatic values: Roberson 2020; Manassa 2004; among previous studies not mentioned in the previous footnote, Manassa 2006; Werning 2008; Roberson 2013 and 2012: 65–99 (Netherworld books); Espinel 2014; and Klotz and Brown 2016 (enigmatic writing on private ­monuments). 103  Klotz 2020. 104  E.g. Klotz 2014, 2010; Richter 2016: 39–63; Gutbub 1953. 105 Klotz 2015. 106  E.g. Cauville 1990; 2002.

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886   Andréas Stauder Roman-period temple of Esna, recurrent divine names and epithets important to the local theology were subjected to ever more varied spellings, based on multiple, often simultaneous, associative levels: phonetic, visual and allegorical.107 Relations between signs were not ­perceived as historically or culturally contingent, but as phenomena that were given in the created and ordered world, and thus relevant for expressing and exploring contiguities between entities graphically denoted or evoked. Such complex resonances resulted in graphic texts that were substantially denser than any possible transcription of the same. This late sacerdotal ‘theology of writing’ (as it was termed by Sauneron) expressed the world polyphonically, and thus performatively recreated it as a multivalent system of signs, analogically reflected in hieroglyphic writing and the Egyptian language. Unetymological spellings found in Roman demotic texts partly embody similar sacerdotal speculations and playfulness (see above). Elucidations of individual signs, usually with reference to some mythical grounding, are given in the demotic Myth of the Sun’s Eye and in Pap. Carlsberg VII, a fragmentary treatise on hieroglyphic signs.108

Suggested reading On various aspects of the digraphic, or even multigraphic, nature of Egyptian written culture and writing as a cultural code, see von Lieven and Lippert 2016, Baines  2012, Parkinson  1999, Vernus  1990. On categories of signs, see Polis and Rosmorduc  2015, Schenkel  2003, Vernus  2003, and Goldwasser  2002. Standard hieroglyphic sign lists are Gardiner 19573, 438–548, and Borghouts 2010, II, 10–195. For introductions to hieroglyphic palaeography, see Meeks 2007; for Ptolemaic, see Kurth 1983; for hieratic, see Verhoeven 2015b and the studies in Verhoeven 2015a; and for demotic, see Johnson 2001 and Quack 2014. On the pictoriality of Egyptian writing and its integration with art, see Vernus 2003, Baines 1989, and Fischer 1986. On enigmatic and ludic writing, see the studies in Klotz and Stauder 2020, Morenz 2008, and Darnell 2004. For a dialogue with the other major tradition of ­hieroglyphic writing, Maya writing, see Houston and Stauder 2020.

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894   Andréas Stauder Schweitzer, S. 2003. Zur Herkunft der spätzeitlichen alphabetischen Schreibungen. In S. Bickel and A. Loprieno (eds), Basel Egyptology Prize: Junied Research in Egyptian History, Archaeology, and Philology. Basel: Schwabe, 371–86. Schweitzer, S. 2005. Schrift und Sprache der Vierten Dynastie. Menes 3. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Selz, G., C. Grinevald, and Orly Goldwasser. 2017. The Question of Sumerian “Determinatives”. Inventory, Classifier Analysis, and Comparison to Egyptian Classifiers from the Linguistic Perspective of Noun Classification, Lingua Aegyptia 25, 281–344. Stadler, M. 2008. On the demise of Egyptian writing: working with a problematic source basis. In J. Baines, J. Bennett, and S. Houston (eds), The Disappearance of Writing Systems: Perspectives on Literacy and Communication. London and Oakville: Equinox, 157–82. Stauder, A. 2018a. Staging Restricted Knowledge. The sculptor Irtysen’s self-presentation. In G. Miniaci, J.C. Moreno García, S. Quirke, and A. Stauder (eds), The Arts of Making in Ancient Egypt. Voices, images and objects of material producers 2000–1550 bc. Leiden: Sidestone, 239–71. Stauder, A. 2018b. On system-internal and differential iconicity in Egyptian hieroglyphic writing. In  J.-M. Klinkenberg and S. Polis (eds), (Essais en) Sémiotique de l’écriture. Signata 9: Annals of Semiotics. Liège: Presses universitaires de Liège, 365–90. Stauder, A. forthcoming a. For the Eye Only, Visual Aspects of the Text in Ancient Egypt. In I. Zsolnay (ed.), Seen Not Heard. Composition, Iconicity, and the Classifier Systems of Logosyllabic Scripts. Oriental Institute Seminars. Chicago, Oriental Institute. Stauder, A. forthcoming b. Early writing? Proto-writing? Not writing? The U-j inscriptions, 3200 bce. Stauder-Porchet, J. 2017. Les autobiographies de l’Ancien Empire égyptien. Étude sur la naissance d’un genre. OLA 255. Leuven/Paris/Walpole: Peeters. Stauder-Porchet, J. forthcoming a. Representing Ancient Egyptian Inscriptions of the Old Kingdom Digitally: Dynamic Visualizations of Poetic Form and Inscriptional Layout. In S. Vinson, R. Lucarelli, and J. Roberson (eds), Ancient Egypt – New Technologies. Harvard Egyptological Studies. Leiden/ Boston: Brill. Stauder-Porchet, J. forthcoming b. Inscriptional Layout in Continuous Texts of the Old Kingdom. Steiner, R. 2011. Early Northwest Semitic Serpent Spells in the Pyramid Texts. Harvard Semitic Studies 61. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Tallet, P. 2017. Les papyrus de la mer Rouge 1. Le journal de Merer (papyrus Jarf A et B). MIFAO 136. Cairo: IFAO. Thissen, H.-J. 2001. Das Niloten Horapollon Hieroglyphenbuch I. Text und Übersetzung. München and Leipzig: K.G.Saur. Vandekerckhove, H., and R. Müller-Wollermann. 2001. Elkab VI: Die Felsinschriften des Wadi Hilal. Turnhout: Musées royaux d’art et d’histoire. Van de Walle, B. and J. Vergote 1943. Traduction des Hieroglyphica d’Horapollon, Chronique d’Égypte 18/35: 39–89. Van Essche, É. 1997. La valeur ajoutée du signe déterminatif dans l’écriture figurative Ramesside, Revue d’Égyptologie 48: 201–17. Verhoeven, U. 2001. Untersuchungen zur späthieratischen Buchschrift. OLA 99. Leuven: Peeters. Verhoeven, U. 2015a (ed.). Ägyptologische ‘Binsen’-Weisheiten I–II. Neue Forschungen und Methoden der Hieratistik. Akten zweier Tagungen in Mainz im April 2011und März 2013. Abhandlungen der Geistes- und sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse Einzelveröffentlichung Nr. 14. Mainz: Akademie der Wissenschaften und Literature; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Verhoeven, U. 2015b. Stand und Aufgaben der Erforschung des Hieratischen und der Kursivhieroglyphen. In U. Verhoeven (ed.), Ägyptologische ‘Binsen’-Weisheiten I–II. Mainz: Akademie der Wissenschaften und Literature; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 23–64. Vernus, P. 1990. Les ‘espaces de l’écrit’ dans l’Égypte pharaonique, Bulletin de la Société Française d’Égyptologie 119: 35–56. Vernus, P. 2003. Idéogramme et phonogramme à l’épreuve de la figurativité. In L.  Morra and C. Bazzanella (eds), Philosophers and Hieroglyphs. Torino: Rosenberg and Sellier, 196–218.

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Scripts   895 Vernus, P. 2011. Naissance des hiéroglyphes et affirmation iconique du pouvoir: l’emblème du palais dans la genèse de l’écriture. In R. Viers (ed.), Les premières cités et l’apparition de l’écriture, premières écritures: actes du colloque Nice 26 septembre 2009. Arles: Actes Sud, 27–58. Vernus, P. 2015. Écriture hiéroglyphique égyptienne et écriture protosinaïtique : une typologie comparée, acrophonie ‘forte’ et acrophonie ‘faible’. In C. Rico and C. Attucci (eds), Origins of the Alphabet: Proceedings of the First Polis Interdisciplinary Conference. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 142–75. Vernus, P. 2016. La naissance de l’écriture dans l’Égypte pharaonique: une problématique revisitée, ArchéoNil 26: 105–34. Vernus, P. 2020. Form, Layout, and Specific Potentialities of the Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Script. In V. Davies and D. Laboury (eds), The Oxford Handbook of Egyptian Epigraphy and Palaeography. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 13–30. Vernus, P. forthcoming. Modelling the relationships between picture and signs of writing in pharaonic Egypt. In L. Morenz and A. Stauder (eds), Niltal und Zweistromland. Berlin: EBVerlag. Vittmann, G. 2015. Der Stand der Erforschung des Kursivhieratischen (und neue Texte). In U. Verhoeven (ed.), Ägyptologische ‘Binsen’—Weisheiten I–II. Mainz: Akademie der Wissenschaften und Literature; Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 371–82. Vleeming, S. 1981. La phase initiale du démotique ancient, Chronique d’Égypte 56: 31–48. Vleeming, S. 1989. Transcribing cursive late hieratic. In S. Schoske (ed.), Akten des IV. Internationalen Ägyptologenkongress München 1985. Hamburg: Buske, 211–18. Vleeming, S. 1992. The Gooseherds of Hou (Pap.Hou): a Dossier Relating to Various Agricultural Affairs from Provincial Egypt of the Early Fifth Century B.C. Studia Demotica 3. Leuven: Peeters. Vleeming, S. 1993. Papyrus Reinhardt. an Egyptian Land List from the Tenth Cent. B.C. Hieratische Papyri der Saatlichen Museen zu Berlin II. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Vleeming, S. (ed.). 2013. Aspects of Demotic Orthography. Acts of an international colloquium held in Trier, 8 November 2010. Studia Demotica 11. Leuven/Paris/Walpole: Peeters. Vleeming, S. and J. Wesselius (eds). 1985–90. Studies in Papyrus Amherst 63: Essays on the Aramaic texts in Aramaic-Demotic Papyrus Amherst 63. Amsterdam: Juda Palache Instituut. Von Bomhard, A.-S. 2012. The Decree of Sais. The Stelae of Thonis-Heracleion and Naukratis. Oxford Centre for Maritime Archaeology: Monograph 7. Oxford: School of Archaeology, University of Oxford. Von Lieven, A. 2010. Wie töricht war Horappolo? Zur Ausdeutung von Schriftzeichen im Alten Ägypten. In H. Knuf et al. (eds), Honi soit qui mal y pense: Studien sum pharaonischen, griechischrömischen und spätantiken Ägypten zu Ehren von Heinz-Josef Thissen. Leuven: Peeters, 567–74. Von Lieven, A., and S. Lippert. 2016. Egyptian (3000 bce to ca. 400 ce). In D. Bunčić, S. Lippert, and A. Rabus (eds), Biscriptality. A Sociolinguistic Typology. Heidelberg; Universitätsverlag, 256–76. Wengrow, D. 2008a. Limits of decipherment: object biographies and the invention of writing. In B. Midant-Reynes and Y. Tristant (eds), Egypt at its Origins 2. Proceedings of the International Conference ‘Origins of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’. Toulouse (France), 5th–8th September 2005. Leuven/Paris: Peeters, 1021–32. Wengrow, D. 2008b. Prehistories of Commodity Branding, Current Anthropology 49.1: 7–34. Werning, D. 2008. Aenigmatische Schreibungen in Unterweltsbüchern des Neuen Reiches: gesicherte Entsprechungen und Ersetzungsprinzipien. In C.  Peust (ed.), Miscellanea in honorem Wolfhart Westendorf. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie, 124–52. Widmer, G. 2004. Une invocation à la déesse (tablette démotique Louvre E 10382). In F. Hoffmann and H.  Thissen (eds), Res Severa Verum Gaudium. Festschrift für Karl-Theodor Zauzich zum 65. Geburtstag am 8. Juni 2004. Leuven/Paris/Dudley: Peeters, 651–86. Widmer, G. 2014. Words and writing in demotic ritual texts From Soknopaiou Nesos. In J. Quack (ed.), Ägyptische Rituale der grieschich-römischen Zeit. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 133–44. Wimmer, S. 1995. Hieratische Paläographie der nicht-literarischen Ostraka der 19. und 20. Dynastie. ÄAT 28. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Wimmer, S. 2008. Palästinisches Hieratisch: die Zahl- und Sonderzeichen in der althebräischen Schrift. ÄAT 75. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.

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896   Andréas Stauder Winand, J. 2005. Les auteurs classiques et les écritures égyptiennes; quelques questions de terminologie. In C. Cannuyer (ed.), La langue dans tous ses états. Michel Malaise in honorem. Bruxelles-Liège/ Louvain-la-Neuve: Société belge d’études orientales, 79–104. Winand, J. 2013. La réception des hiéroglyphes de l’Antiquité aux Temps modernes. L’Académie en poche 21. Bruxelles: Académie royale. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2000. Die Namen der koptischen Zusatzbuchstaben und die erste ägyptische ­Alphabetübung, Enchoria 26: 151–7. Zauzich, K.-Th. and R. Jasnow. 2014. Conversations in the House of Life. A New Translation of the Ancient Egyptian Book of Thoth. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Zeidler, J. 1993. A New Approach to the Late Egyptian ‘Syllabic Orthography’. In S. Curto, S. Donadoni, and B. Alberton (eds), Sesto Congresso Internazionale di Egittologia, Atti II. Turin: International Association of Egyptologists, 579–90.

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chapter 44

L ex icogr a ph y Julie Stauder-Porchet

The history of lexicography From the decipherment of hieroglyphs to the beginning of work on the Wörterbuch The development of the first lexicographic instruments followed almost directly on from the decipherment of hieroglyphs. A system of presenting lemmata that was adapted to the specificities of the Egyptian language and writing system was progressively put in place during the nineteenth century. At that time, it was a matter of determining the classification of lexemes, according to a number of different factors: (1) the order of graphemes, groups of signs or phonology; (2) the number of lemmatic entries, taking into account the graphic dimension of Egyptian writing (hieroglyphic, hieratic, and demotic); (3) the amount of grammatical information needed; (4) the degree of reference to the cultural encyclopaedia; and (5) the number of examples to use for each entry. The first lexicographic works developed from simple lexical lists (e.g. Stern  1875) to properly encyclopaedic works (e.g. Brugsh  1867–82). In that period of experimentation, the principles for arranging dictionaries were still multiple. In the posthumous edition of his brother’s dictionary, Jacques Joseph Champollion-Figeac used a classification by graphic sign because he believed that principle, adopted from Chinese dictionaries, was appropriate for a figurative writing system such as Egyptian. The lexical and grammatical cards of Champollion were thus divided according to 749 hieroglyphic signs.1 This system of classification made the work particularly difficult to consult for anyone who was not already familiar with the Egyptian lexicon, and it was therefore rejected after publication. In his demotic dictionary of 1830, Thomas Young adopted the classification system of Coptic scalae, grouping words by meaning.2 Such a system, already used in ancient Egyptian onomastica,3 is called ‘onomasiological’ (from Greek onoma 1 Champollion 1841. 2  Young 1830. For a recent dictionary using an onomastic classification, see Hanning 1999. For Coptic scalae, see Khouzam 2002. 3  Gardiner 1947. On ancient lexical lists, see Boisson et al. 1991.

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898   Julie Stauder-Porchet ‘name’). The principle of a phonetic classification of lemmatic entries was finally adopted in the second half of the nineteenth century. It proved complicated, however, to put in place a system of transcription and an order of classification.4 Agreement was first reached on a method of transcription into alphabetic characters, with twenty-one or twenty-four nonvocalic phonemes.5 The system was not intended to render the historical phonological reality of the language,6 but to permit an arrangement of words by their conventionally represented phonological form, so as to follow a semasiological principle (Greek sema ‘sign’). Samuel Birch’s Egyptian–English dictionary was one of the first to use the new system of transcription, and still follows the order of the Latin alphabet.7 The number of phonemes was finally fixed at twenty-five in 1875, with a systematic order based on phonological criteria.8 The end of the nineteenth century saw the appearance in Berlin of Heinrich Brugsch’s Egyptian-Demotic dictionary, in seven volumes.9 It was from this work that Adolf Erman imported the order of phonemes for the Wörterbuch (Wb), a cross between an alphabetic order and a systematic one. That system of transcription (traditionally called ‘transliteration’ in Egyptology), as well as the order adopted by the Wb, are still used in Egyptology, despite frequent attempts at revision.10

The Wörterbuch The Wörterbuch project was begun in Berlin in 1897 by Erman, aided by Hermann Grapow, as a compilation using all texts that were available at that time.11 Almost all Egyptologists of the time participated in collecting texts in museums and in Egypt.12 The project was expected to take eleven years to complete, but actually lasted for sixty-six. Besides the almost exhaustive collection of data, the new dictionary was designed to include not only translations but also information about the writings and meanings of the words, their dates of attestation, their semantic and grammatical characteristics, and ex­amples of usage throughout time. Demotic and Coptic data were included only sporadically. The textual material13 was entered on cards containing textual extracts of twenty-five to thirty words each. Each card was reproduced forty times. One card was used per attestation of a word, with the word underlined within the text passage. The cards were sorted according 4  Discussion in ZÄS in 1864–7, initiated by Brugsch 1864, followed by de Rougé 1866 and Lepsius 1866. For a summary of the discussion, see Schenkel 1988: 22–6. 5  Respectively, de Rougé 1866: 70; Lepsius 1866: 81. 6  On the necessarily conventional character of transcription, see de Rougé  1866: 69; Erman  1889 and 1896. 7  Birch 1867. The work, with 4500 entries, was published as a supplement to Bunsen’s encyclopaedia and had only a restricted distribution. The Berlin group, for example, never referred to it. Later, the index of Papyrus Ebers (Stern 1875) and those of the ZÄS from 1867–75 also follow the Latin alphabetic order. 8 Lepsius  1875. Cf. Schenkel  1988: 28–9. The system underwent a final modification with the ‘Semiticization’ of certain phonemes (e.g., 3 in place of a) and the replacement of Greek signs (e.g., ḫ instead of χ), cf. Erman 1889. 9 Brugsch 1867–82. 10 Schenkel 1988. 11 For a history of the Wb, see Erman and Grapow  1953, Reineke  1999a, Seidlmayer  2006, and Dils 2010. See also Wb I, v. 12  List of collaborators: Erman and Grapow 1953: 77–8. 13  List of texts: Erman and Grapow 1953: 35–8.

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Lexicography   899 to the newly established order of phonemes (see above), then by lemma, and finally by the different meanings of individual lexemes. At the same time, a synthesis of each word was entered in the dictionary journal.14 By 1918, the number of cards had reached 1,374,806. Work on the dictionary itself started in 1904. From 1906 to 1909, a team consisting of Erman, Herman Junker, Alan Gardiner, Günther Roeder, and Kurt Sethe worked directly on preparing the first manuscript. Known as the Vormanuskript, this consisted of 1,936 pages for only 789 lexical entries. Following a suggestion of Sethe, the examples were then extracted and reserved for a series of volumes to appear subsequently (the Belegstellen).15 Simultaneously, the final classification of the cards by meaning and usage was established.16 The grammatical and lexical commentaries that were initially planned, as well as the justifications for the translations, were abandoned. In 1921, just after Wallis Budge had independently published a dictionary of his own,17 Erman and Grapow published a preliminary volume that included only translations of the words, for Old, Middle and Late Egyptian, not the references to the texts nor spelling vari­ations.18 The five volumes of the Wb, autographed by Wolja Erichsen, appeared between 1926 and 1931. A German–Egyptian glossary was published in 1950 and 1961, and an inverse dictionary in the latter year.19 The volumes of examples and references, the Belegstellen, appeared between 1935 and 1953.20 The reception of the work at its publication was lukewarm.21 According to Gardiner, changes in approach during the project’s long lifespan (sixty-six years), as well as numerous compromises that affected the dictionary’s usefulness, made the work outdated even before its publication.22 He thought that it lacked some crucial information while including less useful elements, such as the hieroglyphic texts in the second volume of the Belegstellen. In Gardiner’s opinion, the whole idea of a global dictionary should have been abandoned. He also argued that if lexicographical works were to be genuinely useful, they needed to concentrate on phases of the language or on specific textual corpora. The last notion would prove to be particularly influential in the decades that followed. Despite these reservations, the Berlin dictionary remains an essential reference tool. It has also inspired numerous publications fundamental to the discipline: text editions,

14  For the Wb cards, see Burkhardt et al. 2000: 11–33. These principles of classification are the same as those of the digitalized cards on the TLA website: L for lemma, B for example, R for groups of meanings or usage of the lemma, and Z for the individual cards. 15  Erman and Grapow 1935–53. 16  For the relatively complex process of re-classifying all the cards, see Burkhardt 2000. 17 Budge 1920. 18  Erman and Grapow 1921. It was not noted that the material had only been re-verified up to the word sr. 19  For the inverse dictionary, the editors decided not to use hieroglyphs because of the numerous writings possible for many lemmas. The words are presented in transliteration and ordered by their final consonant. 20  Erman and Grapow 1926–63. 21  Gardiner 1947 and 1948; cf. Schenkel 1995, Borger 1999. 22  Gardiner (1947 and 1948) believed that the examples should not have been separated, or at least published immediately after each volume of the Wb (the Belegstellen began to appear only during the latter half of the 1930s), and that the project’s filing system effectively made any modification of the references impossible after it was established in the 1920s to 1930s. In contrast, the Chicago Akkadian Dictionary has not separated the examples from the lexical entries.

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900   Julie Stauder-Porchet palaeographies, and phase-specific dictionaries,23 and even exercised influence on the lexi­cog­raphy of other ancient Near Eastern languages.24

After the Wörterbuch Although it remains indispensable, the Wb is incomplete. Thanks to numerous new text editions, many new words are now attested.25 While the Wb contains about 16,000 lexical entries, current estimates put the total for Egyptian, insofar as it is attested, at some 24,000.26 Raymond Faulkner’s Concise Middle Egyptian Dictionary (1962) was principally intended for students and makes no pretension to completeness, since some categories of words were deliberately excluded (e.g. technical terms, medical vocabulary, zoonomy). It does, however, represent a valuable complement to the Wb for Middle Egyptian because the author undertook original lexicographical research in preparing it. In the 1970s, Dimitri Meeks undertook the publication of an Année Lexicographique, designed to complete the Berlin dictionary. It involved listing all the works published during the year in order to extract lexical information. The work thus offers an index of words coupled with occurrences and bibliographic references to actual studies of each word. The author gives a commentary and supplemental bibliographic information when his translation differs from that of the text’s translator. About eleven percent of the words in the first volume are not found in the Berlin dictionary. Meeks generally followed the order of the Wb, although he divided or regrouped certain entries. The project was aborted after three years due to lack of funds.27 Rainer Hannig’s Handwörterbuch (1995, 2006a) covers the period from 2800 to 950 bc but does not include references to texts, commentaries, or translations.28 This was followed immediately by a volume presenting the lexicon arranged onomastically (by groups of meanings: Hannig 1999) and a German–Egyptian dictionary (Hannig 2000). Subsequently, two volumes with references to the texts appeared; these were divided according to the major stages of Egyptian history (Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period: Hannig 2003; Middle Kingdom: Hannig 2006b). For a given word and meaning, the (considerable) references to texts are classified by geographic order, with an indication of the medium and type of script. The many criticisms that have followed the publication of these works primarily concern problems of lemmatization, translation,29 and the system used to classify the ex­amples.30 There are now numerous example of the kinds of specialized dictionaries for which Gardiner had called. They are principally of two kinds: those that focus on specific phases of the language and those that essentially deal with specific corpora. Only the most im­port­ant 23  To mention only a few: Sethe’s Urkunden, Möller’s Hieratic palaeography, and Erichsen’s Demotic dictionary (Erichsen 1954). 24 E.g., The Chicago Assyrian Dictionary (CAD, Oppenheim 1956–), see Roth 2010. 25  E.g., among innumerable other ones, Pantalacci 2005. 26  Meeks (2005, 32) counts 25,000 lemmata. Schenkel (1995, 198) estimates that a quarter of the words known in 1995 are missing from the Wb. The TLA today has about 24,000 lexical entries. 27 Meeks 1980–2. 28  A deficit for which he was often reproached in reviews (e.g. Quack 1997). 29  In particular, Meeks 2005. 30  E.g., Uljas 2004: cf. the response by Hannig (2004: ix).

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Lexicography   901 can be noted here. Besides the dictionaries of Faulkner and Hannig mentioned above, those dealing with specific linguistic phases include Joachim Kahl’s dictionary of Archaic Egyptian (2002–4, currently half completed) and Leonard and Barbara Lesko’s Late Egyptian dictionary (1982–9).31 Corpus dictionaries include those dealing with medical texts (von Deines and Grapow 1959, von Deines and Westendorf 1961), religious texts, e.g. the Pyramid Texts (Speleers 1934; Allen 1984, Appendix, for verbs), the Coffin Texts (van der Molen 2000; van der Plas 1998, a word index; and a concordance in preparation by Schenkel32), the Book of the Dead (Backes  2005, a word index for the late Book of the Dead), and Edfu Temple (Wilson 1997, not covering the whole temple). The lexicographies of demotic and Coptic are largely covered separately from the core of ancient Egyptian lexicographical studies. Demotic lexicography requires the philological competence of specialists who have direct access to a constantly growing body of material.33 Because of the palaeographic difficulties of the writing system, numerous readings are still debated. The glossary offered by Erichsen in the 1950s is augmented today by the Chicago Demotic Dictionary (CDD).34 The latter includes all the textual material published between 1955 and 1979, but texts published or republished since 1979 (as well as recent secondary literature) are also often cited. For Coptic lexicography, the alphabetic writing system permits an easier identification of the lemmata, as well as derived forms. The written varieties of Coptic reflect considerable geographic variation, bearing above all on the existence, form, and meaning of words in a given dialect.35 The Christian cultural encyclopaedia produced a distinctive textual corpus. Greek loan words (around two to five thousand in number), although for the most part plainly integrated into the language, are traditionally studied separately, in specialized dictionaries.36 There are also a series of Coptic etymo­logic­al dictionaries, which aim to identify the origin of Coptic words of native stock.37

Lexicography today Specificities of the lexicography of ancient Egyptian Research into Egyptian lexicography is conditioned by the nature of the written corpus, by cultural distance, and by the character of the writing system. The Egyptian lexicon is attested by an artefactual corpus which is discontinuous over time in relation to contents committed to writing, genres and registers. At any given time, the words and their meanings that are 31  More a record of different spelling of words than a dictionary. A true dictionary of Late Egyptian is still wanting. Several projects have been announced (Kitchen, Liverpool; Winand, Liège). In the meantime, Egyptology has recourse to indices of text publications complementing the Wb. 32  For the latter, see Schenkel 1981, 1982, 1996, and 2001. 33  For Demotic lexicography in general, see Vleeming 1987 and Tait 1987. 34  Erichsen 1954, Johnson 2001–; see Johnson 1978, 1999, and 2013. 35  To avoid the problems posed by vocalic alternation among the dialects, Crum (1939) did not consider the vowels in his classification. 36  Förster 2002; for the new the Database and Dictionary of Greek Loanwords in Coptic (DDGLC) project, see https://www.geschkult.fu-berlin.de/en/e/ddglc/index.html. 37  Vycichl 1983, Westendorf 1977, Černý 1976.

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902   Julie Stauder-Porchet attested constitute only a selection of what existed in the language. For the 3,000 years of pre-Coptic Egyptian history, some 25,000 lemmata are preserved in the total corpus, yet most of these lemmata are attested in fewer than ten occurrences.38 In the study of a given word, therefore, criteria of frequency or representativity can be invoked only with difficulty. The semantic fields of a great number of these words, moreover, are only partially represented and thus are incompletely understood. Consequently, it is sometimes difficult to establish whether any given meaning is primary or figurative. Beyond the realities of immediate perception (e.g. right/left39 or day/night) or pairs indicated by frequent collocation in the texts (e.g. earth/sky or maat/isfet), it is also often difficult to identify the structure of the lexicon in terms of opposites, autonyms, synonyms and hyperonyms.40 Thus, an Egyptian dictionary can never be more than a hybrid, neither a truly bilingual dictionary nor a truly monolingual one.41 An additional difficulty exists in the fact that the extra-linguistic cultural encyclopaedia of ancient Egypt is known only very incompletely. Unlike that of other languages, Egyptian lexicography therefore cannot rely on an external encyclopaedic knowledge in order to understand better the meaning of words and their usage. On the contrary, it has to contribute itself, laboriously, to the effort of reconstructing that cultural encyclopaedia, resulting in a hermeneutic back-and-forth between the words and the real material encyclopaedia. The nature of the artefactual corpus makes the enterprise even more difficult. The graphic system of Egyptian offers only an incomplete representation of the phonetic sequence of words. For a given graphic sequence, it can be difficult to determine whether one or more morphologically distinct words are involved. The formal dimension of lemma­tiza­tion is therefore not predetermined, unlike in other languages such as Coptic or Akkadian. The criterion of the determinative must be used with caution in lemmatization, since a single word can be followed by different determinatives according to the context in which it is used or the semantic traits of the word that the writer has decided to bring out. There is therefore a consequent risk of over-lemmatization.42 No general criteria exist to avoid these difficulties, and decisions on lemmatization remain ad hoc and empirical. The graphic system, however, particularly the logograms and determinatives, can also help the lexicographer’s work. When they are used with caution, the graphic differences that can affect the notation of an Egyptian word can reveal interesting details about the semantic categorization of a lexeme and its evolution over the course of its history of attestation.43 In a different tradition of study, determinatives, viewed as classifiers, are considered for the potential insights they offer into the extensional and intentional meanings of lexemes, and categorization.44 On occasions the graphic criterion can also help identify phenomena of lexicalization.45

38  Meeks, personal communication 2010. See also the statistics of the TLA. 39 Müller 2012. 40  Schenkel 1999: 43–4. 41  Meeks 1999: 572–3. 42  This problem should not be confused with that of ‘phantom’ words, which derive from errors in reading. There are numerous examples of such ‘phantoms’ in the dictionaries: for the Wb, see Schweitzer 2008 and 2009; for examples in Hannig 2003, see Meeks 2005: 235–61. 43  E.g. Meeks 2010a (on insects), Régen 2006–7 (on is ‘tomb’). 44  For a layout of this approach, e.g., Linke and Kammerzell 2012. 45  Vernus 2003a: 247–53, especially §§ 16–19.

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Lexicography   903

Current research Progress in Egyptian lexicography continues to rely on detailed empirical groundwork. Meanwhile, new directions are being explored. As has been the case ever since the development of Egyptology as a philological field, substantial lexicographical study is carried out in the context of commentary of texts that are being published and studied. Complementarily, dedicated studies of individual words including their graphic dimension seek to specify their meaning and uses by considering a variety of contexts, often over a diachronically broad range of attestations, so as to offset the sampling issues mentioned above at least partly.46 Lexicographic analyses of individual words or group of words in a semantic domain are also often made in the context of broader discussions of Egyptian culture and history, thereby contributing to the reconstruction of the Egyptian cultural encyclopaedia of which the lexicon is an expression.47 Lexicographical studies or discussions of lexical families or  isolated words published in main Egyptological journals are noted in the periodic Wortdiskussionen.48 The study of Egyptian roots seeks to identify words that are historically related, to clarify the meaning of subordinate roots, and to understand better the words based on these roots.49 This effort is notably confronted with the difficulty of distinguishing homophonous roots.50 The identification of Semitic cognates is complicated by significant phonological developments in Egyptian prehistory, so that many proposed cognates are not generally agreed upon.51 Comparison with non-Semitic Afroasiatic is even more difficult given the late attestation of most of these languages: a general Afroasiatic etymological dictionary of Egyptian is half-completed,52 while the phonological equations on which this is based remain disputed. The study of lexical change concerns the innovation of new words and their replacing older words, as well as semantic change of words. Both are complicated by sampling issues in the written record, with the data being more reliable with more common words or semantic fields only.53 The study of lexical imports in the historical era concerns the 46  E.g., Vernus 2014 (nftft ‘twitch’) and 2012 (gmj ‘find’); Quack 2012 (nms ‘wipe (clean)’). 47  E.g., the hierachy of living beings (Meeks 2012), animals (Vernus and Yoyotte 2005, Vernus 2006 for the ‘she-ass’), body parts (Nyord  2009; Lacau  1970; Piankoff  1930) the semantic field of rage (Köhler 2016), minerals (Harris 1961, Aufrère 1991), plants (Aufrère 1999–2005), oils and fats (Koura 1999) and cloths (Scheele 2005) in funerary contexts, boats (Dürring 1995) and nautical terms (Jones 1988), temple architecture (Spencer 1984), the term ḏsr ‘sacred’ (Hoffmeier 1985), or fiscal terminology (Warburton 1997). 48  Lapp and Lüscher 2007–, online as https://aegyptologie.philhist.unibas.ch/de/forschung/werkzeuge/ wortdiskussionen/ 49  E.g., Osing 1976 and Schenkel 1983 (on patterns of nominal derivation); Vernus 2009 and 2014 (on verbs derived by the prefix n-); Graefe 1971 (on words derived from the root bj3); Vernus 2003b (on the graphic criterion in identifying etymologically related words). 50  E.g., Vernus 2009 and 2012 (two different roots gm), and Ward 1975 (four roots b3). 51  E.g., with a discussion of different sets of lexical cognates in Semitic comparisons depending on different phonological reconstructions, Schneider 1997. 52 Takács 1999–. 53  E.g., Vernus 2003a (for processes of lexicalization leading to new words) or Grunert 2005 (examples of obsolescent words). In a bird’s eye perspective, a partial measure of lexical stability and change can be seen in a list of those words in Sinuhe that are still attested some two and a half millennia later in Coptic (Peust 1999, 301–6).

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904   Julie Stauder-Porchet identification of loan words and their source, the kinds of words (for example technical or ideologically laden vocabulary) that are borrowed in a particular historical and cultural context, and the degree of their formal and semantic integration into the target language.54 In studying words that display complex semantic variation, the intersection between the lexicon and grammar is increasingly considered. This concerns notably parts of speech from closed classes (particles, prepositions), but not exclusively (verbs).55 Semantic vari­ ation is analysed as a function of the diverse constructional environments in which the words occur and the modalities of semantic interaction between words in such environments. Relevant linguistic dimensions are notably argument structure or valency (i.e. questions concerning what expressions are required or optional with a verb, and how they affect the semantics of the verb or of the preposition in the prepositional phrase that follows the verb), and Aktionsart (the semantic structure of a verbal predicate including its arguments and adjuncts, as this interacts with conjugational tenses). To some extent, these approaches allow us to bypass the limitations inherent in the limited number of occurrences and the discontinuity of the corpus through working out regularities in relation to the more general grammatical semantics of constructions as these interact with individual words. Among recent linguistically oriented approaches, lexical semantics seek to go beyond individual words to study semantic fields and their organization.56 Cognitive approaches of the lexicon implement prototype theory and conceptual metaphor theory to apprehend lexical semantics in relation to categorization.57 Such approaches also have bearing on the distinction between primary and figurative meaning, as well as on what is universal and what is culturally specific in Egyptian. Adopted from linguistic typology (the study of crosslinguistic variation and recurrent patterns), semantic maps have been introduced as tools for representing semantic fields by graphs or networks of related meanings, over which the attested meanings of a series of semantically related words are plotted.58 While semantic maps remain entirely dependent on primary descriptive work, they are useful in representing polysemy and polyfunctionality, as well as assessing how the organization of the Egyptian lexicon both resembles and differs from other languages.

Writing a dictionary today: database vs. dictionary The past three decades have seen the start of new and ambitious lexicographic projects and textual databases. Hannig’s dictionaries were mentioned above. Meeks has defended, against Gardiner, the necessity of an historical dictionary in view of the limited number of each word’s occurrences,59 and is working toward producing one based on his files gathered

54  For lexical borrowing from non Semitic languages, Schneider et al. 2004; from Semitic languages, Meeks 1997, Hoch 1994, Quack 2005, and Winand 2017; from Greek into Coptic, Förster 2002, Grossman et al.  2017, and the DDGLC project (https://www.geschkult.fu-berlin.de/en/e/ddglc/index.html) from Arabic into Coptic, Richter 2017 and 2006. 55 Examples of the first are Oréal  2010 and Stauder-Porchet  2009; of the second, Winand  1999 and 2012; and Vernus 2012. 56  Compare notably the studies gathered in Grossman, Polis, and Winand 2012. 57  E.g., Nyord 2009 and 2012; Köhler 2016. 58  E.g., Grossman and Polis 2012 and Winand 2015. 59  Meeks 1999: 571.

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Lexicography   905 since the time of the Année lexicographique.60 Meanwhile, various textual databases are being constructed.61 The Berlin dictionary team first took as its priority the task of making accessible to the Egyptological community the immense amount of data collected for over a century in the files of the Wb, the Digitaler Zettelarchiv (DZA).62 In association with other German academies, it has begun to construct a general textual database based on the lexicon (Thesaurus Linguae Aegyptiae, TLA).63 This was established according to predefined lemmata, adapted from the Wb, so that the division of the lemmata, as well as their hierarchical distribution, generally follows that of the old dictionary. The textual database of the TLA is constantly growing as new texts are being integrated, while the functionalities of the TLA are being expanded to include statistical tools and graphic information. Other textual databases, such as Ramsès for Late Egyptian,64 should ultimately be linked up with the TLA. According to Reineke’s initial formulation, the publication of the digital textual database would make a new edition of the Wb superfluous: the empirical basis of the TLA will be more complete than that of the old dictionary and will contain, besides the words themselves and their translation, all of the contexts in which they are used.65 The database, comprising the totality of textual examples for a given lemma, would thus constitute a kind of ‘virtual dictionary’, each additional attestation of a word permitting a better understanding of its nuances of meaning. The Berlin team has decided to forego, for the time being at least, re-editing a diachronic dictionary on the model of the old dictionary.66 Wolfgang Schenkel, notably, has deplored this decision, observing that the collection of data such as that offered by the TLA, while necessary, cannot replace lexicographical research. He observed, moreover, that the meaning of numerous words is still far from established, and that the lemmatization of the lexicon as it currently exists is unsatisfactory.67

Suggested reading Basic Egyptian dictionaries and lexicographic resources are Erman and Grapow 1935–53, Faulkner  1962, Meeks 1977–9, and the TLA (http://aaew2.bbaw.de/tla/index.html); for Demotic, Erichsen  1954 and the CDD (Johnson  2001–); for Coptic, Crum  1939 complemented with Kasser 1964. For the history of Egyptian lexicography and of the Wörterbuch project, see Erman and Grapow 1953, Reineke 1999a, Seidlemayer 2006 and Dils 2010. For methodology in Egyptian lexicography, see Meeks 1999, Schenkel 1994 and 1995; for recent trends in lexical semantics, see the studies in Grossman, Polis, and Winand 2012. 60  A first fascicle of the dictionary under preparation has been made available as Meeks 2010b. 61  Grunert and Hafemann 1999, Hafemann 2003 and 2013. 62  When the Wb was published, in excess of 1.2 million examples had been collected; today there are over five million (Reineke 1999a). The DZA is accessible through the TLA (see next note); see also http:// aaew.bbaw.de/archive/das-digitalisierte-zettelarchiv/das-digitalisierte-zettelarchiv/ 63  Now online: http://aaew2.bbaw.de/tla/index.html. General presentation: Hafemann and Dils 2013. 64  Now partly online: http://ramses.ulg.ac.be/. 65 Reineke 1999b. 66  For this decision, see Reineke 1999b and in particular Hafeman 1993. 67  Schenkel 1994 and 1999.

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Lexicography   907 Gardiner, A. H. 1947. Ancient Egyptian Onomastica. 3 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gardiner, A. H. 1948. The first two pages of the Wörterbuch, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 34: 12–18. Graefe, E. 1971. Untersuchungen zur Wortfamilie bj3–. PhD: Universität Köln. Grossman, E. and S. Polis 2012. Navigating polyfunctionality in the lexicon. Semantic maps and Ancient Egyptian lexical semantics. In E. Grossman, S. Polis, and J. Winand (eds), Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. LingAeg SM 9. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag, 175–225. Grossman, E., S. Polis, and J. Winand (eds) 2012. Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. LingAeg SM 9. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag. Grossman, E., P. Dils, T. Richter, and W. Schenkel (eds) 2017. Greek Influences on Egyptian-Coptic: Contact-Induced Change in an Ancient African Language (DDGLC Working Papers 1). LingAeg SM 17. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag. Grunert, S. 2005. Kulturelle Vergeßlichkeit? Zu obsoleten Wörtern aus Texten des Alten Reiches. In S. Seidlmayer (ed.), Texte und Denkmäler des ägyptischen Alten Reiches. TLA 3. Berlin: Achet Verlag, 125–42. Grunert, S., and I. Hafemann (eds) 1999. Textcorpus und Wörterbuch: Aspekt zur ägyptischen Lexikographie. PÄ 14. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill. Hafemann, I. (ed.) 2003. Wege zu einem Digitalen Corpus Ägyptischer Texte: Akten der Tagung Datenbanken im Verbund (Berlin, 30 September–2. Oktober 1999). Thesaurus Lingua Aegyptia 2. Berlin: Achet Verlag. Hafemann, I. (ed.) 2013. Perspektiven einer corpusbasierten historischen Linguistik und Philologie. Inter­ nation­ ale Tagung des Akademienvorhabens „Altägyptisches Wörterbuch an der BerlinBrandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 12.–13. Dezember 2011. Thesaurus Lingua Aegyptia 4. Berlin: Achet Verlag. Hafemann, I. and P.  Dils 2013. Das Thesaurus Lingua Aegyptiae—Konzepte und Perspektiven. In  I.  Hafemann (ed.), Perspektiven einer corpusbasierten historischen Linguistik und Philologie. Inter­ ­ nation­ ale Tagung des Akademienvorhabens ‘Altägyptisches Wörterbuch’ an der BerlinBrandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 12.–13. Dezember 2011. Thesaurus Lingua ­Aegyptia 4. Berlin: Achet Verlag, 127–43. Hannig, R. 1995. Die Sprache der Pharaonen: Großes Handwörterbuch Ägyptisch-Deutsch (2800–950 v. Chr.). Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 64. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Hannig, R. 1999. Wortschatz der Pharaonen in Sachgruppen: Kulturhandbuch Agyptens. Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 72; Hannig-Lexica 2. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Hannig, R. 2000. Großes Handwörterbuch Deutsch-Ägyptisch: die Sprache der Pharaonen (2800–950 v. Chr.). Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 86; Hannig-Lexica 3. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Hannig, R. 2003. Ägyptisches Wörterbuch I: Altes Reich und Erste Zwischenzeit. Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 98. Hannig-Lexica 4. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Hannig, R. 2006a. Die Sprache der Pharaonen: Großes Handwörterbuch Ägyptisch-Deutsch (2800–950 v. Chr.). Marburger Edition. Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 64. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Hannig, R. 2006b. Ägyptisches Wörterbuch II: Mittleres Reich und zweite Zwischenzeit. Kulturgeschichte der antiken Welt 112. Hannig-Lexica 5. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Harris, J. R. 1961. Lexicographical Studies in Ancient Egyptian Minerals. VIO 54. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Hoch, J. E. 1994. Semitic Words in Egyptian Texts of the New Kingdom and Third Intermediate Period. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Hoffmeier, J. K. 1985. Sacred in the Vocabulary of Ancient Egypt: the Term ḏsr, with Special Reference to Dynasties I–XX. OBO 59. Fribourg: Université de Fribourg. Johnson, J. H. 1978. The Chicago Dictionary Project, Enchoria 8: 11–13. Johnson, J. H. 1999. The Chicago Demotic Dictionary Project. In S. Grunert and I. Hafemann (eds), Textcorpus und Wörterbuch. Aspekt zur ägyptischen Lexikographie. PÄ 14. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill, 243–57.

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908   Julie Stauder-Porchet Johnson, J.  H. (ed.) 2001. The Chicago Demotic Dictionary. http://oi.uchicago.edu/research/pubs/ catalog/cdd/. Johnson, J. H. 2013. The Chicago Demotic Dictionary, its History and its Future, The Oriental Institute News & Notes 216: 3–8. Jones, D. 1988. A Glossary of Ancient Egyptian Nautical Titles and Terms. London and New York: Kegan Paul. Kahl, J. 2002–4. Frühägyptisches Wörterbuch. Lieferung 1–3, ȝ-ẖ. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Kasser, R. 1964. Complements au dictionnaire copte de Crum. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Khouzam, A. F. 2002. La langue égyptienne au Moyen Age: le manuscrit copte 44 de Paris de la Bibiliothèque nationale de France. Paris: Harmattan. Köhler, I. 2016. Rage like an Egyptian: die Möglichkeiten eines kognitiv-semantischen Zugangs zum altägyptischen Wortschatz am Beispiel des Wortfelds [WUT]. SAK 18. Hamburg: Buske Verlag. Koura, B. 1999. Die ‘7-Heiligen Öle’ und andere Öl- und Fettnamen: eine lexikographische Untersuchung zu den Bezeichnungen von Ölen, Fetten und Salben bei den Alten Ägyptern von der Frühzeit bis zum Anfang der Ptolemäerzeit (von 3000 v. Chr–ca. 305 v. Chr.). Aegyptiaca Monasteriensia 2. Aachen: Shaker. Lacau, P. 1970. Les noms des parties du corps en égyptien et en sémitique. Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres. Paris: Klincksieck. Lapp, G. and B.  Lüscher B. 2007. Wortdiskussionen. https://aegyptologie.unibas.ch/werkzeuge/ wortdiskussionen/ Lepsius, C. R. 1866. Über die Umschrift der Hieroglyphen, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 4: 73–81. Lepsius, C. R. 1875. Vom internationalen Orientalisten-Congreß in London, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 13: 1–5. Lesko, L. H., and B. Lesko 1982–90. A Dictionary of Late Egyptian. 5 vols. Berkeley, Providence: BC Scribe. Linke, E.-S. and F.  Kammerzell 2012. Egyptian classifiers at the interface of lexical semantics and pragmatics. In E. Grossman, S. Polis, and J. Winand (eds), Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. LingAeg SM 9. Hamburg: Widmaier, 55–112. Meeks, D. 1980–2. Année Lexicographique: Egypte Ancienne, 1977–1979. 3 vols. Paris: Meeks. Meeks, D. 1997. Les emprunts égyptiens aux langues sémitiques durant le Nouvel Empire et la Troisième Période Intermédiaire: les aléas du comparatisme, Bibliotheca Orientalis 54: 31–61. Meeks, D. 1999. Dictionnaires et lexicographie de l’égyptien ancient : méthodes et résultats à propos d’une publication récente, Bibliotheca Orientalis 56: 569–94. Meeks, D. 2005. Review of Hannig 2003, Lingua Aegyptia 13: 231–63. Meeks, D. 2010a. De quelques ‘insectes’ égyptiens. Entre lexique et paléographie. In Z. Hawass, P. Der Manuelian, and R. B. Hussein (eds), Perspectives on Ancient Egypt. Studies in Honor of Edward Brovarski. SASAE 40. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 273–304. Meeks, D. 2010b. Dictionnaire égyptien ancien–français. Fasciule 1. ȝ–ȝbḏw. Montpellier. Available on academia.edu. Meeks, D. 2012. La hiérarchie des êtres vivants selon la conception égyptienne. In A. Gasse, F. Servajean, and C. Thiers (eds), Et in Ægypto et ad Ægyptum. Recueil d’études dédiées à Jean-Claude Grenier. Cahiers ‘Égypte Nilotique et Méditerranéenne’ 5/III. Montpellier: Équipe ‘Égypte Nilotique et Méditerranéenne’ de l’UMR 5140, ‘Archéologie des Sociétés Méditerranéennes’ (Cnrs – Université Paul Valéry – Montpellier III), 517–46. Müller, M. 2012. Spatial frames of reference in Egyptian. Diachronic evidence for Left/Right patterns. In E. Grossman, S. Polis, and J. Winand (eds), Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. LingAeg SM 9. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag, 347–78. van der Molen, R. 2000. A Hieroglyphic Dictionary of Egyptian Coffin Texts. PÄ 15. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill.

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Lexicography   909 Nyord, R. 2009. Breathing Flesh: Conceptions of the Body in the Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. CNI Publications 37. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Nyord, R. 2012. Prototype structure and conceptual metaphor. Cognitive approaches to lexical semantics in Ancient Egyptian. In E. Grossman, S. Polis, and J. Winand (eds), Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. LingAeg SM 9. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag, 141–74. Oppenheim, A. L. et al. (eds). 1956. The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Oréal, E. 2010. Les particules en égyptien ancien: de l’ancien égyptien à l’égyptien classique. BdE 152. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Osing, J. 1976. Die Nominalbildung des Ägyptischen. 2 vols. Mainz: Philipp von Zabern. Pantalacci, L. 2005. Nouveautés graphiques et lexicales dans le corpus des textes de Balat. In S. Seidlmayer (ed.), Texte und Denkmäler des ägyptischen Alten Reiches. TLA 3. Berlin: Achet Verlag, 275–86. Peust, C. 1999. Egyptian Phonology: An Introduction to the Phonology of a Dead Language. Monographien zur ägyptischen Sprache 2. Göttingen: Peust and Gutschmidt. Piankoff A. 1930. Le ‘cœur’ dans les textes égyptiens depuis l’Ancien jusqu’à la fin du Nouvel Empire. Paris: Paul Geuthner. van der Plas, D. 1998. Coffin Texts Word Index. Publication interuniversitaire de recherches égyptologiques informatisées 6. Utrecht, Paris: Center for Computer-Aided Egyptological Research. Quack, J. 1997. Review of Hannig 1995, Bibliotheca Orientalis 54: 328–34. Quack, J. 2005. Zu den vorarabischen semitischen Lehnw.rtern im Koptischen. In B. Burtea, J. Tropper, and H. Younansardaroud (eds), Studia Semitica et Semitohamitica, Festschrift für Rainer Voigt anlässlisch seines 60. Geburtstages am 17. Januar 2004. AOAT 317. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 307–38. Quack, J. 2012. To clothe or to wipe. On the semantics of the verb nms. In E. Grossman, S. Polis, and J. Winand (eds), Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. LingAeg SM 9. Hamburg: Widmaier, 379–86. Régen, I. 2006–7. Aux origines de la tombe js. Recherches paléographiques et lexicographiques. À propos des graphies de jz/js ‘tombe’, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Oriental 106: 245–314; 107: 171–200. Reineke, W. 1999a. Das Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Sprache: zur Geschichte eines grossen wissenschaftlichen Unternehmens der Berliner Akademie zwischen 1945 und 1992. In S.  Grunert and I.  Hafemann (eds), Textcorpus und Wörterbuch. Aspekt zur ägyptischen Lexikographie. PÄ 14. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill, 1–43. Reineke, W. 1999b. Auswahl der Prioritär zur Erfassenden Texte für die Berliner Datenbank. In S. Grunert and I. Hafemann (eds), Textcorpus und Wörterbuch. Aspekt zur ägyptischen Lexikographie. PÄ 14. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill, 73–88. Richter, T. S. 2006. Coptic: Arabic Loan-Words. In K. Versteegh (ed.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics I. Leiden: Brill, 495–501. Richter, T. S. 2017. Borrowing into Coptic, the Other Story: Arabic Words in Coptic Texts. In E. Grossman, P.  Dils, T.  Richter, and W.  Schenkel (eds), Greek Influences on Egyptian-Coptic: ContactInduced Change in an Ancient African Language (DDGLC Working Papers 1). LingAeg SM 17. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag, 513–33. Roth, M. 2010. How we wrote the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 69: 1–21. de Rougé, E. 1866. Note sur la transcription des hiéroglyphes à M. R. Lepsius. Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 4: 69–73. Scheele, K. 2005. Die Stofflisten des Alten Reiches. Lexikographie, Entwicklung und Gebrauch. Menes. Studien zur Kultur und Sprache der ägyptischen Frühzeit und des Alten Reiches. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Schenkel, W. 1981. Die Göttinger und Tübinger Konkordanz zu den altägyptischen Sargtexten. In G. Koch (ed.), Datenver­arbeitung in den Geisteswissenschaften, Kolloquiumsvorträge im Jahr 1981. GWDG-Bericht 21, Oktober 1981. Göttingen: Gesellschaft für wissenschaftliche Datenverarbeitung mbH Göttingen, 13–33.

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910   Julie Stauder-Porchet Schenkel, W. 1982. Eine Konkordanz zu den Altägyptischen Sargetexten. In J. Leclant (ed.), L’égyptologie en 1979: axes prioritaires de recherches. Paris: Éditions du CNRS, 45–53. Schenkel, W. 1983. Zur Rekonstruktion der deverbalen Nominalbildung des Ägyptischen. Göttinger Orientforschungen IV/13. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Schenkel, W. 1988. Erkunden zur Reihenfolge der Zeichen im ägyptologischen Transkriptionsalphabet, Chronique d’Egypte 125: 5–35. Schenkel, W. 1994. Wörterbuch vs. Textkorpus, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 121: 154–9. Schenkel, W. 1995. Die Lexikographie des Altägyptisch-Koptischen, Studi epigrafici e linguistici sul Vicino Oriente antico 12: 191–203. Schenkel, W. 1996. Eine Konkordanz zu den Sargtexten und die Graphien der 1. Person Singular. In H. Willems (ed.), The World of the Coffin Texts: Proceedings of the Symposium Held on the Occasion of the 100th Birthday of Adriaan de Buck, Leiden, December 17–19, 1992. Egyptologische Uitgaven 9. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 115–27. Schenkel, W. 1999. Textdatenbanken und/als Virtuelle Wörterbücher. In S. Grunert and I. Hafemann (eds), Textcorpus und Wörterbuch. Aspekt zur Ägyptische Lexikographie. PÄ 14. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill, 243–57. Schenkel, W. 2001. Konkordanz zu den altägyptischen Sargtexten: auf der Grundlage von Adriaan de Buck, The Egyptian Coffin Texts, vol. I (1)–III (2). Manuscript, Tübingen. Schneider, T. 1997. Beiträge zur sogenannten ‘Neueren Komparatistik’, Lingua Aegyptia 5: 189–­209. Schneider, T. et al. (eds) 2004. Das Ägyptische und die Sprachen Vorderasiens, Nordafrikas und der Ägäis: Akten des Basler Kolloquiums zum ägyptisch-nichtsemitischen Sprachkontakt, Basel 9.–11. Juli 2003. AOAT 310. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Schweitzer, S. 2008. Aus der Arbeit am Ägyptischen Wörterbuch: Einige Ghostwords 1, Göttinger Miszellen 219: 87–93. Schweitzer, S. 2009. Aus der Arbeit am Ägyptischen Wörterbuch: Einige Ghostwords 2, Göttinger Miszellen 222: 69–75. Seidlmayer, S. J. 2006. Das Ägyptische Wörterbuch an der Berliner Akademie. In B. Schipper (ed.), Ägyptologie als Wissenschaft. Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 169–92. Speelers, L. 1934. Traduction, index et vocabulaire des Textes des pyramides égyptiennes. 2 volumes. Brussels: Avenue Marie José, 159. Spencer, P. 1984. The Egyptian Temple: A Lexicographical Study. London: Kegan Paul. Stauder-Porchet, J. 2009. La préposition en égyptien de la première phase: approche sémantique. Basel: Schwabe. Stern, L. 1875. Index. In G. Ebers (ed.), Papyros Ebers: das hermetische Buch über die Arzneimittel der alten Ägypter in hieratischer Schrift. 2 vols. Leipzig: Engelmann. Tait, W. J. 1987. Approaches to demotic lexicography. In S.P. Vleeming (ed.), Aspects of Demotic Lexi­cog­raphy: Acts of the Second International Conference for Demotic Studies, Leiden, 19–21 September 1984. Studia Demotica 1. Leuven: Peeters, 95–108. Takács, G. 1999. Etymological Dictionary of Egyptian. Handbuch der Orientalistik. Erste Abteilung, 48. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill. Uljas, S. 2004. Review of Hannig 2003, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 90: 1–3. Vernus, P. 2003a. Lexique et grammaire en égyptien: lexicalisations en substantifs préassignés. In I. Hafemann (ed.), Wege zu einem Digitalen Corpus Ägyptischer Texte: Akten der Tagung ‘Datenbanken im Verbund’ (Berlin, 30 September–2. Oktober 1999). Thesaurus Lingua Aegyptia 2. Berlin: Achet Verlag, 237–76. Vernus, P. 2003b. Idéogramme et phonogramme à l’épreuve de la figurativité. In L.  Morra and C. Bazzanella (eds), Philosophers and Hieroglyphs. Turin: Rosenberg and Sellier, 196–218. Vernus, P. 2006. Noms d’animaux et distinction sexuelle: le cas de l’ânesse. In G. Moers (ed.), jn.t ḏr.w: Festschrift für Friedrich Junge II. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie, 693–8. Vernus, P. 2009. Le préformant n et la détransitivité. Lingua Aegyptia 17: 291–317.

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Lexicography   911 Vernus, P. 2012. Le verbe gm(j) : essai de sémantique lexicale. In E. Grossman, S. Polis and J. Winand (eds), Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. LingAeg SM 9. Hamburg: Widmaier, 387–438. Vernus, P. 2014. Élaboration littéraire et affectation archaïsante. Comment Sinuhé sait se mettre en avant en se mettant à l’écart. In H. Hays, F. Feder, and L. Morenz (eds), Interpretations of Sinuhe. Inspired by Two Passages (Proceedings of a Workshop Held at Leiden University, 27–29 November 2009). Egyptologische Uitgaven 27. Leiden: NINO, 189–214. Vernus, P. and J. Yoyotte. 2005. Le bestiaire des pharaons. Paris: Librairie Academique Perrin. Vleeming, S. P. (ed.). 1987. Aspects of Demotic Lexicography: Acts of the Second International Conference for Demotic Studies, Leiden, 19–21 September 1984. Leuven: Peeters. Vycichl, W. 1983. Dictionnaire étymologique de la langue copte. Leuven: Peeters. Warburton, D.A. 1997. State and Economy in Ancient Egypt: Fiscal Vocabulary of the New Kingdom. OBO 151. Fribourg: Université de Fribourg. Ward, W. 1975. The biconsonantal Root b3 and Remarks on Bilabial Interchange of Egyptian, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 102: 60–82. Westendorf, W. 1977. Koptisches Handwörterbuch, bearbeitet auf Grund des Koptischen Handwörterbuchs von Wilhelm Spiegelberg. Heidelberg: Winter. Westendorf, W. 1978. Review of Černý 1976, Bibliotheca Orientalis 35: 123–7. Wilson, P. 1997. A Ptolemaic Lexicon: A Lexicographical Study of the Texts in the Temple of Edfu. OLA 78. Leuven: Peeters. Winand, J. 1999. Un dictionnaire des verbes néo-égyptiens. In S.  Grunert and I.  Hafemann (eds), Textcorpus und Wörterbuch. Aspekt zur ägyptischen Lexikographie. PÄ 14. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill, 136–49. Winand, J. 2012. Le verbe et les variations d’actance. Les constructions réversibles (= Études valentielles, 2). In E. Grossman, S. Polis, and J. Winand (eds), Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. LingAeg SM 9. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag, 459–86. Winand, J. 2015. The Syntax-Semantics Interface in Earlier Egyptian: a Case Study in Verbs of Cognition. In J. Allen, M. Collier, and A. Stauder (eds), Coping with Obscurity. The Brown Workshop on Earlier Egyptian Grammar. Wilbour Studies in Egyptology and Assyriology. Atlanta: Lockwood, 109–40. Winand, J. 2017. Identifying Semitic Loanwords in Late Egyptian. In E. Grossman, P. Dils, T. Richter, and W. Schenkel (eds), Greek Influences on Egyptian-Coptic: Contact-Induced Change in an Ancient African Language (DDGLC Working Papers 1). LingAeg SM 17. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag, 418–511. Young, T. 1830. Rudiments of an Egyptian Dictionary in the Ancient Enchorial Character, Containing all the Words of Which the Sense Has Been Ascertained, Intended as an Appendix to Mr. Tattam’s Coptic Grammar. London: Arch.

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chapter 45

Gr a m m a r Sami Uljas

Introduction The history of grammar is history of analytic thinking on language. Grammatical thought presupposes, and is tantamount to, a conscious idea of language as an abstract entity that can be studied as a system. In the context of the Egyptian-Coptic language, this conception is usually seen as a relatively recent development. However, the history of the grammatical study of Egyptian does not begin from the decipherment of the hieroglyphic script or the earlier recovery of Coptic. Indeed, rather than being a wholly modern construct, Egyptian grammar has its predecessors among the ancient language users themselves. Before the Ptolemaic period (332–30 bc), evidence of any obviously ‘grammatical’ thinking among the Egyptians is notably sparse.1 There exist two inscribed limestone flakes (ostraca) of late New Kingdom date (c.1200 bc) on which apprentice scribes have written what may be said to be examples of morpho-syntactic paradigms.2 More evidence is forthcoming of the Egyptians’ understanding of the diachronic changes taking place in their language.3 It is interesting to speculate to what extent the specialists, who authored the numerous Late Period–Roman period texts in an idiom that had not been current for ­cen­tur­ies or millennia, actually approached their task from a ‘grammatical’ perspective.4 Whatever the case, their work demonstrates linguistic expertise of the highest order, and the same may be said of the many examples of earlier texts translated into later language as well as of exercises testing the scribe’s skills in between.5 1  See here Uljas 2013: 4; Borghouts 2001; Johnson 1994. 2 O.Petrie 28 (Gardiner  1947a: 4 n.2; Černý and Gardiner  1957: pl. 8 n.7r) and O.Cairo 25227 (Allam 1973: pl. 28). Cf. Venturini 2007: 1892–3. 3  See again Uljas 2013: 3–4. 4  Cf. der Manuelian 1994: xxxix; Kurth 2007: 454–5. 5  For the translated texts, see von Lieven 2007: 258–62 as well as Vernus 1996: 564. These include e.g. the Twenty-sixth–Twenty-seventh Dynasty  P.BM 69574 containing a text in both middle and early demotic Egyptian (Quack 1999) and the fourth-century bc P.BM 10252 with a translation of a religious text written in ‘traditional’ Middle Egyptian into developed Late Egyptian of perhaps the Twenty-fifth– Twenty-sixth Dynasties (Vernus 1990a). Later examples are e.g. the Roman-period P.Bibl. Nat. 149 with a demotic translation of the Book of the Dead Spell 125 (Stadler 2003: 30–5) and the second-century AD P.Carlsberg 180 and related fragments containing a hieratic text with demotic transcriptions and Old

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Grammar   913 Contrasting with this relatively meagre early evidence, grammatical material from the post-Pharaonic era is more abundant. This may attest to a new perception of language following the integration of Egypt into the Hellenistic world and the introduction of Greek grammatical thought.6 There are a number of Ptolemaic demotic examples of tabulated verbal paradigms and conjugations,7 as well as exercises of word- and phrase formation,8 and lexicographic studies such as dictionaries arranged according to the first consonant.9 From the Christian period, there are many exercises on Coptic verbal conjugations on papyri and ostraca, as well as Graeco-Coptic ‘typological’ works such as tables of Greek verbal conjugations with Coptic translations.10 Similarly, one finds abundant material on Greek grammar alone, beginning with examples of morphological paradigms from the first and second centuries ad onwards and later, including copies of the contemporary works of Greek grammarians.11

Coptic grammars The most developed early grammatical works date to the Islamic period. As Coptic was heading towards extinction in the thirteenth century ad, learned Copts began to write grammars of the language in Arabic.12 Known as muqaddimas, the primary purpose of these studies was to rescue Coptic ecclesiastical literature from becoming inaccessible to the faithful. The first and traditionally the most venerated muqaddima is that by John, the bishop of Sammanud (c.ad 1240).13 His work, like those of his successors, borrows its methodology and terminology from Arabic national grammar and has been justly admired, e.g. for its nominal morphology, which is all the more remarkable given that it shows virtually no influence of Greek grammatical works. Rather similar in style is e.g. the muqaddima Coptic glosses (Osing 1998), among others. Exercises between scripts/language stages can be found e.g. in the possibly Twenty-second-Dynasty P.BM 10298 containing similar sentences in both Middle and Late Egyptian (Caminos 1968). Some of the above-mentioned longer translations may also have served a didactic purpose. 6  Kaplony-Heckel 1974: 232; Eyre 1986: 119; but cf. Tassier 1992: 312–13. 7  See Gardiner 1947a: 4 n.2; Kaplony-Heckel 1974: 229–32 and Tassier 1992: 313. These include e.g. P.Berlin 13639 (Erichsen 1948), P.Carlsberg XIIv, fr. a–b (Volten 1953), O.Bodleian 683, P.Vienna 6464, and P.Strassburg 182 + 300r (Kaplony-Heckel  1974: 231, 244–6), O.Ashmolean 726 (Reich  1924), and O.Berlin 12.902 (Spiegelberg 1925a: 18–22). 8  E.g. O.Cairo s.n. (Hess 1897: 147–9); O.Strassburg 174 & 1617 (Spiegelberg 1925b, §29 Anm.), and O.Karnak LS 2 (Devauchelle 1984: 48–9, 53–5). 9  Quack (2003, 164–6) provides a summary of such sources; see also Kammerzell 2001: 125–31. It would appear that the concept of organized alphabet was devised around this time—cf. also Kahl 1991. An interesting, and apparently unique instance is also a first-century AD writing board MS Schøyen 189 (unpublished; see www.schoyencollection.com/papyri.htm #189) with a collection of verbs of motion ordered as synonyms. 10  See e.g. Hasitzka 1990: 220–1. 11  E.g. Cribiore 1996: 52–3, 263–9. 12  See Vycichl 1991a and Sidarus 2001 for summaries. 13  A Sahidic version of this work is published by Khouzam (2002: 98–127). A Bohairic one was edited and translated (badly) already by Kircher in 1643: 2–20.

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914   Sami Uljas of Ibn ad-Duhayri (c. ad 1270) with its systematic word-categories, whereas that by Ibn Butros ar-Rahib (c. ad 1260) has a more pedagogic tone.14 The last and most impressive of these early Coptic grammars is by Athanasius, the bishop of Qus (late thirteenth c­ entury ad).15 He too uses Arabic rather than Greek grammatical concepts adapted for the purpose, has developed phonological discussion, verbal and nominal morphology and c­ lassification, as well as notes on the still living dialects of Coptic (Sahidic and Bohairic). Besides the muqaddimas, there are also the so-called sullams, which are Coptic-Arabic dictionaries written by the Copts.16 The importance of these early indigenous grammatical works on Coptic to Egyptological linguistics is notable. After Coptic had died as a spoken language and the hieroglyphic script was forgotten, they provided the sole remaining avenue to the language available, and the first steps in resurrecting Egyptian and its grammar were taken in the realm of Coptic. The figure of the seventeenth-century Jesuit scholar Athanasius Kircher looms large in descriptions of the rediscovery of Egyptian, and it is true that his Prodromus coptus and Lingua aegyptiaca restituta did much to open up Coptic to western scholarly audience.17 However, other savants had already made good headway in Coptic grammatical analysis,18 and the first truly linguistically solid presentation of the (Bohairic) language is Guillaume Bonjour’s Elementa linguæ copticæ (completed in 1698),19 in which the mode of presentation is strikingly systematic and even modern. Bonjour’s tome is certainly superior to Raphael Tuki’s much better known Coptic grammar of 1778, for example, but the latter work at least already shows awareness of the dialectal divisions within the language (mostly Sahidic and Bohairic).20 This is something that characterizes Coptic grammars of the earlier half of the nineteenth century, such as those by Henry Tattam,21 Ippolito Rosellini,22 Amadeo Peyron,23 and Moritz Schwartze,24 in whose works also the methods and concepts of clas­sic­al grammar are increasingly apparent, particularly in the study of the verbal tenses.

Hieroglyphic Egyptian grammars: early progress In the domain of hieroglyphic Egyptian, time was not yet ripe for decipherment, let alone grammatical analysis. The problem—which originated in speculations by Hellenistic 14  See Mallon 1907: 230–58 for a translation of his introduction. 15 Bauer 1972. 16  Vycichl 1991b; Sidarus 1978. Of these the sullam of John of Sammanud is the earliest (a Sahidic version is edited by Khouzam 2002, 5–93). The ordering of the words in these works is at first according to the last letter and later by the first. In the anonymous fourteenth-century Book of Steps, the ordering of the words is partly grammatically based, starting from nouns, verbal forms, particles, and prepositions (Munier 1930: 67–249). 17 Kircher 1636, 1643. 18  See Miller 2004. 19  Bonjour’s work was never published, and remained so until the 2005 edition by Aufrère and Bosson. 20 Tuki 1778. 21 Tattam 1830. 22 Rosellini 1837. 23 Peyron 1841. 24 Schwarze 1850.

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Grammar   915 authors—was the presumption that hieroglyphs did not code phonemes but rather expressed whole concepts and words.25 Similarly, the relationship between hieroglyphic Egyptian and Coptic was not understood. All this was to hamper attempts to read hieroglyphs for cen­tur­ies, until Jean-François Champollion’s momentous rediscovery of the principles behind the script. The story of the decipherment has been often told and need not be repeated here.26 However, something must instead be said of Champollion’s grammatical method and ideas, best discernible in his posthumous Grammaire égyptienne.27 Champollion was not only the first scholar to fully realize that hieroglyphic writing—as well as hieratic and demotic— indeed mostly coded phonemes. He also established a solid methodology of reconstructing the basic grammatical œuvre of pre-Coptic Egyptian through systematic comparison with Coptic, resulting in an analysis of Egyptian not surpassed for some time.28 He was, however, still guided by the assumption that the differences between the Coptic and hieroglyphic writing systems were largely graphemic and not truly linguistic.29 This assumption was soon corrected by Richard Lepsius,30 which has been rightly argued to constitute the true beginning of modern Egyptological grammatical research.31 The rest of the nineteenth century before the 1880s saw major developments particularly in the fields of text-editing and lexicography. However, this was also an era of busy gram­ mat­ical study. Ippolito Rosellini re-iterated Champollion’s finds and emphasized their correctness,32 even if at this time the system was still under attack from rivals. One of these was Gustav Seyffarth, whose 1855 grammar is based on quite unfounded ideas on the character of the hieroglyphic script and the language as a whole, and deserves a mention only as an extreme example of how the study of Egyptian was still very much bound by Coptic.33 Heinrich Brugsch’s comprehensive Grammaire démotique34 is a work of an altogether different calibre, and the same holds for Samuel Birch’s hieroglyphic grammar and first phon­et­ic­al­ly organized dictionary.35 This is already quite a modern work, showing strong influence of classical grammatical theorizing, but the diachronic stages of the pre-Coptic language were still not differentiated, resulting in some unfortunate confusion particularly in what pertains to the verbal system, the central problem area of Egyptian grammar.36 More modest both in 25  Thus one may contrast e.g. Kircher’s systematic (albeit borrowed) approach to Coptic morphology with his wholly baseless symbolic ‘decipherments’ for various hieroglyphs. Fantasies of the sort were often anything but concise: e.g. John Valerian’s 1556 mammoth Hieroglyhica is a monument to such endeavours. 26  See e.g. Pope 1975: 60–84; Davies 1987: 47–56. 27 Champollion 1836. 28  As an example may be mentioned his fundamentally correct observations of pre-Coptic past and future verbal patterns derived from Coptic parallels (Champollion 1836: 406, 413). 29  The most famous example of this is his understanding of the role of possessive and actor-encoding suffix pronouns as prefixes (270, 391) simply written in a different position. 30  Lepsius 1837, particularly 72–4, where the issue referred to in the previous note is discussed. 31  Schenkel 1990: 18. 32 Rosellini 1825. 33  Indeed, Seyffarth treats the earlier language as if it was Coptic written with (nothing but) syllabic signs and assumes a similar morpho-syntax for both. A good example of this is his claim (Seyffarth 1855: 23, 25–6) that in Egyptian the tempora and modi of the verb are indicated by ‘Hülfszeitwörter’ and ‘particles’ but not differentiated in the verb itself—a view clearly based on observation of Coptic. Seyffarth bore a grudge against Champollion and argued bitterly with almost all Egyptologists of his day. 34 Brugsch 1855. 35 Birch 1867. 36  Of these may be noted Birch’s contention, not very different from that expressed by Seyffarth (see n. 33 above) that ‘the verb in Egyptian does not change its verbal root, it being conjugated by prefixes, affixes, and auxiliary, abstract or substantive verbs, accompanied by prepositions’ (Birch 1867: 654–5).

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916   Sami Uljas scope and, frankly, scientific quality are Brugsch’s Grammaire hieroglyphique37 and Peter Le Page Renouf ’s Elementary Grammar,38 both of which were intended for students and mix quite keen observations with fundamental errors and misunderstandings.39 Nevertheless, some of these works were definitely setting the scene for the ‘second revolution’ in Egyptian grammar (the ‘first’ being the decipherment of hieroglyphs), that was about to take place.

The ‘Berlin School’ The year 1889 has sometimes been dubbed the annus mirabilis of Egyptological gram­mat­ ical studies, when solid linguistic methods were fully adopted and diachronic differences came to be fully appreciated. However, this honour might equally aptly be assigned to year 1880, which saw the publication of Ludwig Stern’s Koptische Grammatik, a highly detailed work characterized by unique linguistic insight, and still one of the best Coptic grammars written. Simultaneously, the first edition of Adolf Erman’s Neuägyptische Grammatik laid the foundations for what was to be known as the ‘Berlin School’ of Egyptological linguistics. Erman’s study is characterized by a relatively ‘non-theoretical’ but strongly philological and standardized approach to questions such as morpho-syntax, as well as typically neogrammarian sensitivity to diachrony and synchrony—something apparent also in his later works. In 1889 two epoch-making works by Erman40 demonstrated the importance of comparative research with Semitic, and in 1892 a further study established the analysis of Egyptian from the vantage point of Semitic linguistics as one of the guiding principles of the Berlin circle of scholars. In Erman’s grammar of Earlier Egyptian41 the description of verbal morphology follows the Semitic model closely;42 in spite of its relatively modest scope, the book represents a major step forward in methodological rigour.43 Other members of the Berlin School made further advances. Georg Steindorff ’s Coptic grammar (the first edition of which appeared in 1894) is important for its exclusive focus on the Sahidic dialect as well as its diachronic perspective and advanced phonology.44 The Consequently, almost nothing is said about the differences of writing e.g. in the ‘indicative’ (sˍdm-f ) formation, which is taken to be a unit. 37 Brugsch 1872. 38  Le Page Renouf 1875. 39  For example, Brugsch shows great interest in verbal root-variations, (Brugsch 1872: 36–7) but does not follow these observations in the list of his thirty-two ‘tempora’, which contains many non-existent patterns (39–51). For Le Page Renouf, ‘The Egyptian verb . . . has no tenses, moods, voices, or conjugations’ (Le Page Renouf 1875: 47), but he presents some root-morphology nevertheless (Le Page Renouf 1875: 61–2). 40  On the so-called stative (‘pseudo-participle’) verb form related to West Semitic Perfect and on the language of Papyrus Westcar. 41 Erman 1894. 42  Erman 1894: §§148–60. 43  For instance, Erman’s grammar follows the subsequently standard assumption that in the study of verbal roots, variations visible in the consonants of some root-classes of the pre-Coptic Egyptian verb can be extended to others where they are not visible (so already Erman 1889b: 11n.2). This idea underlies much of the later theory of H-J. Polotsky (below). 44 Steindorff 1894.

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Grammar   917 scholarly output of Kurt Sethe, the other principal Berlin School figure, dwarfs the efforts of all earlier and subsequent Egyptologists. In grammatical studies he is best remembered for his monumental Das aegyptische Verbum, a systematization of the complete verbal morphosyntax from Old Egyptian to Coptic in three volumes.45 Although its Semitic-based organization of the data according to verbal aspect is now outdated, this work presents in full what is still the core system of Egyptian verbal morphology. Sethe’s Nominalsatz is a fundamental study on Egyptian non-verbal sentence types,46 whereas Wilhelm Spiegelberg’s Demotic grammar47 is still a standard introduction to this stage of the language. The Berlin School also set out to produce the definitive pre-Coptic Egyptian dictionary, which appeared belatedly between 1926 and 1961, and its members continued to edit and contribute to the first (and, for a long time, sole) journal devoted largely to Egyptian language studies, the Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde (1863–) originally founded by Brugsch.

British research into Egyptian grammar With Erman and his colleagues based in Germany, the study of Egyptian grammar con­ tinued to be taken forward also in Britain. From the 1920s onwards British Egyptological linguistics was dominated by the formidable person of Sir Alan Gardiner, whose Egyptian Grammar set the model for all subsequent grammars of Egyptian.48 Written with a keen eye for pedagogy and impeccable attention to detail, Gardiner’s work remains the basic tool on Middle Egyptian grammar to this day. Although full of novel insights on almost every topic, his treatment of the verbal system was nevertheless still very much embedded in the Berlin tradition e.g. in the way in which morphological variations in the verbal root were viewed as manifestations of aspectual differences.49 Somewhat different in tone was Battiscombe Gunn’s 1924 Studies in Egyptian Syntax, a major contribution on matters such as the negative system that, in spite of its title, focused equally on semantics and pragmatics.50 Nevertheless, rising interest in syntax and structural questions was soon to bring about yet another ‘revolution’ that would shake the very foundations of Egyptological linguistics.

45 Sethe 1899–1902. 46 Sethe 1916. 47 Spiegelberg 1925b. 48  Gardiner 1927. Gardiner is also the only Egyptologist to have written a notable work on general (and not just Egyptological) linguistics. His 1932 Theory of Speech and Language is remarkable in the way in which it anticipates the later Speech Act Theory. 49  Gardiner’s keeping to the tenets of his colleagues at Berlin is also clear from his views on the participial origin of the suffix-conjugation, which form the cornerstone of his theory on this part of the verbal system and is an extension of ideas advocated by Erman (1900: 30–4). 50 Gunn 1924.

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918   Sami Uljas

Polotsky and the ‘Standard Theory’ The process culminating in a complete overhaul of the analysis of Egyptian grammar had a seemingly inauspicious start in 1944, when a Jerusalem-based orientalist Hans-Jakob Polotsky published a short pamphlet on various Coptic syntactic phenomena. In reality, Polotsky’s work, the famous Études de syntaxe copte, proposed a radical re-interpretation of the important Coptic verbal patterns known as ‘second tenses’ and their pre-Coptic predecessors that over the next three decades was to grow into an entirely new theory of Egyptian as a linguistic system.51 Polotsky was initially struck by the regular occurrence in Coptic of second tenses in whquestions and other environments where the verbal segment was not the main information carrier, but where this honour apparently fell to some syntactically adverbial ‘emphatic’ element later in the sentence.52 He noted the formally identical guise of the second tenses and the so-called relative forms (forms used to express relative clauses) in Coptic and Late Egyptian-demotic. In Earlier Egyptian the formal similarity between relative and nonattributive verb forms hitherto seen as imperfective was also suggestive, but even more so was the ease with which the latter (and various other suffix-conjugation forms) could replace nouns, e.g. in complement positions. From this Polotsky not only concluded that second tenses must have existed at all stages of the language, but, more remarkably, he argued that the verb forms used in these constructions were actually ‘abstract relative forms’ or ‘that-forms’ that contrasted with their ‘concrete’ counterparts, which were found, for example, as noun attributes. Given the informatively ‘defective’ value of the ‘abstract relative forms’ in ‘emphatic’ environments, Polotsky analysed them as non-predicative and equivalent to the sentence ‘logical subject’, which was the only ‘subject’ with any grammatical and/ or communicative significance. The actual (‘logical’ cum ‘grammatical’) predicate was to be found in the adverbial segment, which actually accounted for its ‘emphatic’ character. This then meant that ‘emphatic’ second tenses were not verbal sentences at all, but ‘­complex adverbial sentences’, where the ‘abstract relative form’ substituted for a noun in a ‘simple’ adverbial sentence predicated on a following adverbial expression. Polotsky’s analysis received strong criticism from Gardiner,53 whose aspectual theory it challenged, and for some time moderate agnosticism was expressed in important new works such as Elmar Edel’s comprehensive Altägyptische Grammatik,54 still the sole grammar of Old Kingdom Egyptian, Walter Till’s Coptic grammar,55 and Wolfhart Westendorf ’s grammar of medical texts,56 which has the honour of being the first real Korpusgrammatik in Egyptology. Gradually, however, applications of Polotsky’s initial thesis began to appear,57 and the trickle grew into a flood of enthusiasm. Besides producing other ground-breaking 51  The story of Polotsky’s eureka with second tenses (and the process leading to it) has been often told (see e.g. Depuydt 1983: 25–34; Schenkel 1990: 145–8). Summaries of the ST ideas generally and/or on second tenses are neither lacking: nearly every work written on Egyptian between the late 1970s and the early 1990s contains at least some notes on its central principles. 52  This observation appears already in Polotsky 1937: 2. 53 Gardiner 1947b. 54 Edel 1955–64. 55  Till 1955 56 Westendorf 1962 57  For Late Egyptian, see e.g. Nims 1968; Wente 1969; Groll 1970: 141–56; Korostovtsev 1973: 271–88; Frandsen 1974: 153–70. For demotic, see e.g. Williams 1948; Parker 1955; Johnson 1976: 62–83.

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Grammar   919 works, such as the full systematization of Coptic verbal system,58 Polotsky continued to develop his analysis on second tenses and the Egyptian verb in a series of articles.59 The existence in Earlier Egyptian of a whole series of ‘that-forms’, encompassing all tenses (past/‘present’/future), was gradually established,60 and finally the idea was formalized by Polotsky himself into a hypothesis of them as finite nominal (or ‘substantival’) forms or transpositions, whose ‘adjectival’ counterparts were the ‘concrete’ relative forms.61 These types of ‘transpositions’ were to be found at all stages of Egyptian, but in Earlier Egyptian they were joined with a set of ‘adverbial’ forms.62 The argument was that, for example, the Middle Egyptian verbal system consisted of a set of transpositions of non-verbal parts of speech, and this idea came to form the cornerstone of the Polotskyan theory, termed (by some) as the ‘Standard Theory’63 (ST) of Egyptian. The 1970s and early 1980s were the golden age of the ST. Polotsky’s theory was almost universally accepted, and discordant voices (such as James Allen’s 1979 paper disputing the non-verbal interpretation of the ‘emphatic’ constructions) were rare. In the mid-1970s, Janet Johnson’s and Paul John Frandsen’s respective summaries of the demotic and Late Egyptian verbal systems integrated Polotsky’s theses in full,64 and various subdomains of Egyptian grammar such as Middle Egyptian negations, complementation, and coordination,65 as well as textual genres such as Middle Egyptian letters,66 Old and early Middle Egyptian narrative texts,67 etc. were also subjected to a Polotskyan analysis. Helmut Satzinger’s Neuägyptische Studien68 took a similar perspective to various Late Egyptian grammatical phenomena, but was primarily concerned with semantics, particularly the expression of tempus. Although abandoning certain central Polotskyan principles, Friedrich Junge’s study on the syntax of Middle Egyptian literary texts took Polotsky’s ideas to their logical conclusion and is another ST classic.69 The same can be said of Wolfgang Schenkel’s article announcing the death of ‘verbal sentence’ as a grammatical category in Egyptian, a language based solely on non-verbal sentence-patterning.70 Polotskyan influence was felt also in works not explicitly written within the ST framework, such as Allen’s thorough dissection of verbal morphology in Old Kingdom Pyramid Texts,71 Thomas Lambdin’s widely used introductory Sahidic Coptic grammar,72 and Antonio Loprieno’s study of the Egyptian and Semitic verbal systems.73 Loprieno was seeking a compromise between earlier aspectual theories and the Polotskyan analysis by interpreting them as descriptions of two dia­chron­ic­al­ly successive (albeit overlapping) stages of the language. Surprisingly, during its heyday the ST produced few comprehensive reference- or teaching grammars integrating the core ideas. An exception is the detailed grammar of the non-literary Late Egyptian textual ma­ter­ial from the town of Deir el-Medina by Sarah Groll, based on Jaroslav Černý’s notes.74 For classical Egyptian, one had to wait until 1987, when Schenkel published his first Tübinger Einführung, a teaching manual subsequently revised at regular intervals.75 58 Polotsky 1960. 59 Polotsky 1957, 1964, 1965, 1969. 60  In Polotsky 1944 (§29) the existence of future and past ‘abstract relative forms’ is still suggested only tentatively. 61 Polotsky 1976. 62 Polotsky 1965. 63  This label derives from a 1983 article by L. Depuydt. 64  Johnson 1976; Frandsen 1974. 65  Gilula 1970, 1971; Johnson 1980. 66 Johnson 1984. 67 Doret 1986. 68 Satzinger 1976. 69 Junge 1978. 70 Schenkel 1978. 71 Allen 1984. 72 Lambdin 1983. 73 Loprieno 1986a 74  Černý and Groll 1975. 75 Schenkel 1987.

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920   Sami Uljas As an overall characterization, works written in the ST tradition, or influenced by its ideas, share the belief that the study of syntax offered the best way to understand the inner workings of Egyptian. As such, they can perhaps be labelled ‘structuralist’, but most in fact took little notice of advances in contemporary structuralist (particularly generative) grammar. A partial exception is Junge’s study of the Middle Egyptian literary language mentioned above.76 John Callender’s Middle Egyptian grammar also adopted some generative principles, but without accepting Polotsky’s theory.77 Besides Leanna Gaskins’s rather tentative work on Middle Egyptian syntax,78 the first truly generative work on Egyptian grammar was to appear nearly twenty years later, when Chris Reintges published his study on Old Egyptian passives.79 By then, however, the Polotskyan age in Egyptian linguistics was already over.

Post-Polotsky developments: the gradual abandonment of Standard Theory The first international Congress on Egyptian Grammar was held at Helsingør, Denmark, in May 1986, when there were as yet few signs that the near-consensus over the Polotskyan theory was about to break.80 Many contributions (re-)focussed on verbal aspect, in a move towards more semantically based approach to Egyptian, but often in agreement with the ST. Increasing attention was also now paid to information structure, the study of which, in Egyptian grammar, had properly begun with Polotsky’s discussion of the ‘logical subject/ predicate’. For some participants, particularly Junge, this line of research was fully compatible with the core ideas of Polotsky. An extended version of Junge’s Helsingør paper appeared as a book in 1989.81 Although a similar case had been made for Coptic by Ariel ShishaHalevy,82 Junge’s study represented the fullest and most sophisticated attempt so far to combine Polotsky’s syntactic model of the Middle Egyptian verbal system with contemporary research on information structure. This meant, in particular, adopting modernized (functionalist) views on the old Prague School notions of theme and rheme as the central bi­part­ite division of language information structure and the concepts of ‘topic’ and ‘comment’ borrowed from American structuralism. For other scholars such as Joris Borghouts83 and Loprieno,84 the study of information structure seemed to suggest an alternative for the ‘transpositions’ model. However, the most direct challenge to the ‘Standard Theory’ was to come mainly from a new generation of researchers based in Britain and in central Europe outside Germany. Between 1990 and 1994, and immediately after the appearance of Polotsky’s final work on ‘transpositions’ in Coptic,85 Mark Collier published a number of articles systematically questioning the ST non-verbal analysis of the verbal system in general, and the idea of ‘adverbial verb forms’ in particular.86 Collier’s ‘(neo-)verbalist’ views were shared by s­ cholars 76 Junge 1978. 77 Callender 1975. 78 Gaskin 1978. 79 Reintges 1997. 80  The proceedings were published in Englund and Frandsen 1986. 81 Junge 1989. 82 Shisha-Halevy 1986. 83 Borghouts 1986. 84 Loprieno 1986b, 1988. 85 Polotsky 1987–90. 86 Collier 1990, 1991a, 1991b, 1992, 1994.

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Grammar   921 similarly sceptical of the Polotskyan theories such as Jean Winand, in whose analysis of Late Egyptian verbal morphology ST overtones were kept to the minimum,87 and Thomas Ritter, whose study on Eighteenth-Dynasty monumental texts acknowledged its debt to Polotsky’s ideas but did not follow them particularly religiously.88 Still in the early 1990s, Borghouts’s Middle Egyptian grammar abandoned ST principles en bloc.89 Loprieno’s Linguistic Introduction90 is not only the first serious (and quite belated) attempt to present Egyptological language research directly to a wider linguistic audience, but it also expressed serious reservations over the ST analysis. In 1991, the journal Lingua Aegyptia, was founded—this was a journal devoted exclusively to Egyptian linguistic research, and during the last five years of the twentieth century, contributions thereto were often characterized by a growing unease with (and abandonment of) Polotskyan precepts. Along with such studies as Vernus’s ‘autopsy’ of the Standard Theory,91 good examples of this trend in pedagogic works are Schenkel’s series of publications collectively known as the Tübinger Einführungen (see above), which, after 1997, have increasingly deviated from ST analysis, as well as François Neveu’s popular teaching grammar of Late Egyptian,92 Michel Malaise and Jean Winand’s extensive Middle Egyptian grammar,93 and Robert Simpson’s otherwise rather structurally oriented grammar of Ptolemaic demotic decrees.94 However, many other text books and reference works that sought to retain most of the ST analytic principles also appeared during this time.95 During the 1990s one can also discern a growing interest for detailed studies devoted to some specific sub-area of Egyptian grammar such as modality,96 negation,97 or phonology.98 Such works could be seen as harbingers of a new trend that was to gain increasing popularity shortly thereafter.

Recent developments In the new millennium, some studies, among others such notable works as Bentley Layton’s Sahidic Coptic grammar99 and Shisha-Halevy’s analysis of Bohairic Coptic,100 have con­ tinued to build on the Polotskyan tradition. Elsewhere, the abandonment of the Standard Theory has been more or less complete, and the last twenty or so years have rather been characterized by a growing integration of Egyptological grammatical research with general linguistics, a resulting fragmentation of views and analytic methods, and a re-orientation away from overarching theorizing. As for the first of these issues, researchers of all hues have been keen to make full use of contemporary linguistic theory and methodology in the study of Egyptian. This can be seen, for example, from the contributions to Lingua Aegyptia, the venerable Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, and other journals. The same trend is apparent also in the myriad of papers presented at a series of International Conferences on Egyptian Grammar, which began to be organized again in 2009 after a 87 Winand 1992. 88 Ritter 1995. 89 Borghouts 1993. 90 Loprieno 1995. 91 Vernus 1997. 92 Neveu 1996. 93  Malaise and Winand 1999. 94 Simpson 1996. 95  Including, for example, Grandet and Mathieu 1990–3; Jansen-Winkeln 1996; Junge 1996. 96 Vernus 1990b. 97 Loprieno 1991. 98 Peust 1999a. 99 Layton 2000. 100 Shisha-Halevy 2007.

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922   Sami Uljas fifteen-year hiatus, as well as in comparable events that have brought together not only Egyptologists but also general linguists of various theoretical persuasions.101 A perhaps inevitable consequence of all this activity has been a steadily growing diversity of analyses, with researchers drawing influences from cognitive, functionalist, structuralist, typological and comparative approaches. This may perhaps be seen as an intuitive counterreaction to the preceding age, when, as discussed above, a single theory was accepted and applied by nearly all students of Egyptian language.102 Related to this, and continuing the trend already discernible in the 1990s, rather than seeking to construct all-encompassing theoretical models for the language as a whole, many researchers have recently sought ways to improve understanding of one phenomenon or a small number of related phenomena therein. Andréas Stauder’s work on passives belongs under this heading,103 as do Julie Stauder-Porchet’s study on prepositions,104 Elsa Oréal’s exploration of particles,105 and Winand’s major discussion of tense and aspect in Egyptian,106 to name only some of the most extensive monographic works. Another new feature of the last few years has been the rise of grammatical study of specific Earlier Egyptian textual corpora. Whereas in Later Egyptian such works have not been uncommon in the past,107 in Earlier Egyptian Roberto Díaz Hernandez’s study on the First Intermediate Period and Twelfth-Dynasty commemorative and literary texts,108 Marc Brose’s grammar of Middle Kingdom documentary material,109 and Allen’s grammar of the Pyramid Texts of King Unas110 are novel in the proper sense of the word. Other studies have focussed on specific dialects, sociolects, and idiolects of Egyptian; here should be noted, for example, Carsten Peust’s grammar of a late Nubian ‘Napatan’ dialect of Egyptian111 and Deborah Sweeney’s study on the pragmatic aspects of late New Kingdom epistolary material.112 Meanwhile, in Coptic studies, researchers have shown increasing awareness of the internal diachrony of this last stage of the Egyptian language, writing studies on the grammaticalization and evolution of a wide variety of phenomena such as pronouns,113 conjugation patterns,114 and modal expressions.115 Thus far,

101  The proceedings of the 2009 Fourth International Conference in Basel were published by Müller and Uljas (2009); those of the Fifth (2016) in Berlin are currently in press. Other notable meetings, resulting in publications of important works on grammar and usually with a focus reaching beyond Egyptology, are, for example, the 2008 Leipzig conference on Egyptian from a typological perspective (proceedings in Haspelmath et al. 2014), the 2009 Liège workshop on lexical semantics (Grossman et al. 2012), the similar meeting again at Liège in 2011 on new trends in the study of syntax (Grossman et al. 2014), the 2013 colloquium on Earlier Egyptian grammar at Brown University (Allen et al. 2016), and the 2014 Liège workshop on possession in Egyptian-Coptic (proceedings in preparation). 102  In spite of its erstwhile near-dogmatic status, the ST model was and is little known outside Egyptology, nor was it applied to describe any other language besides Egyptian-Coptic. Even studies influenced by Polotskyan ideas (e.g. Rainey 1976 for Akkadian) shy away from the key Polotskyan ideas, particularly the theory of ‘transpositions’ and supra-verbal predication. 103 Stauder 2014. 104 Stauder-Porchet 2009. 105 Oréal 2011. 106 Winand 2006. 107 See, for example, Černý and Groll  1975 (Late Egyptian grammar), Simpson  1996 (analysis of Ptolemaic sacerdotal decrees), and Shisha-Halevy 1986 (study of Shenutean Coptic). 108  Díaz Hernandez 2013. 109 Brose 2014. 110  Allen 2017 is the first in a series of grammars eventually intended to treat each of the Old Kingdom Pyramid Texts versions in a separate work. 111 Peust 1999b. 112 Sweeney 2001. 113 Uljas 2009. 114 Grossman 2009. 115 Müller 2014.

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Grammar   923 no overarching major diachronic grammar of all Egyptian language history has appeared; Allen’s concise overview is the first step in this direction.116 Although its ‘revolutionary’ days are probably over, today Egyptian-Coptic linguistics is one of the most scientific of the various branches of Egyptology, and arguably has the most extensive contacts with other fields of humanities and social studies. This places considerable demands on researchers, who have to be Egyptologists, linguists and philologists all at once. The volume of published works on the subject is also constantly growing: for instance, nowadays not a year passes without the publication of at least one further Egyptian grammar (usually focusing on Middle Egyptian). This shows that, in spite of its seemingly specialist character, the study of Egyptian has a public appeal that is not merely reflective of esoteric fascination on strange ancient scripts. As a more concrete example, a guide to the basics of Middle Egyptian grammar by Collier and Bill Manley titled How to Read Egyptian Hieroglyphs was a surprise bestseller of 1998 and has since been translated into several languages. Given the unabated public interest, as well as the large numbers of students taking up the study of ancient Egypt in academic institutes each year, grammar is certain to maintain its traditional position as one of the central research areas within Egyptology.

Suggested reading Ancient Egyptian ideas on language are discussed in Johnson 1994, Borghouts 2001, and Uljas 2003. Schenkel 1990 provides a handy introduction to linguistic thinking within Egyptology, as well as an overview of the status quo at the beginning of the 1990s. Loprieno 1995 remains the standard work on amalgamating Egyptological and general linguistics. Allen has provided a concise history of grammatical theory in Egyptology from the Berlin School paradigm to the present day (Allen 2014: 455–62).

Bibliography Allam, S. 1973. Hieratische Ostraka und Papyri aus der Ramessidenzeit. Tübingen. Allen, J. 1979. Is the ‘Emphatic’ Sentence an Adverbial-Predicate Construction? Göttinger Miszellen 32: 7–15. Allen, J. 1984. The Inflection of the Verb in the Pyramid Texts. Bibliotheca Aegyptia II. Malibu. Allen, J. 2000. Middle Egyptian. An Introduction to the Language and Culture of Hieroglyphs. Cambridge. Allen, J. 2013. The Ancient Egyptian Language. An Historical Study. Cambridge. Allen, J. 2014. Middle Egyptian. An Introduction to the Language and Culture of Hieroglyphs. 3rd edition. Cambridge. Allen, J. 2017. A Grammar of the Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts, Volume 1: Unis. Languages of the Ancient Near East. Indiana. Allen, J., Collier, M. and Stauder, A. (eds) 2016. Coping with Obscurity. The Brown Workshop on E ­ arlier Egyptian Grammar. Wilbour Studies in Egyptology and Assyriology 3. Atlanta. Aufrere, S. and Bosson, N. 2005. Guillaume Bonjour: Elementa linguæ Copticæ. Grammaire inédite du XVIIe siècle. Cahiers d’Orientalisme 24. Geneva.

116 Allen 2013.

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924   Sami Uljas Bauer, G. 1972. Athanasius von Qus, Qiladat al-Tahrir fi ‘Ilm al-Tafsir: Eine koptische Grammatik in arabischer Sprache aus dem 13./14. Jahrhundert. Islamische Untersuchungen 17. Freiburg. Birch, S. 1867. Dictionary of Hieroglyphics/Hieroglyphic Grammar. In C. von Bunsen (ed.), Egypt’s Place in Universal History vol. 5. London, 334–716. Borghouts, J. 1986. Prominence Constructions and Pragmatic Functions. In G. Englund and P. Frandsen (eds), Crossroad. Chaos or the Beginning of a New Paradigm. Copenhagen, 45–70. Borghouts, J. 1993. Egyptisch. Een inleiding in taal en schrift van het Middenrijk. Mededelingen en Verhandelingen van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap ‘Ex Oriente Lux’ 30. Leuven. Borghouts, J. 2001. Indigenous Egyptian Grammar. In S. Auroux, K. Koerner, H.-J. Niederehe, and K. Versteegh (eds), History of the Language Sciences: An International Handbook on the Evolution of the Study of Language from the Beginnings to the Present. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 18, Berlin & New York: 5–14. Brose, M. 2014. Grammatik der dokumentarischen Texte des Mittleren Reiches. Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 13. Hamburg. Brugsch, H. 1855. Grammaire démotique contenant les principes généraux de la langue et de l’écriture populaires des anciens Égyptiens. Berlin. Brugsch, H. 1872. Grammaire hiéroglyphique contenant les principes généraux de la langue et de l’écriture sacrées des anciens Égyptiens. Leipzig. Callender, J. 1975. Middle Egyptian. Afroasiatic Dialects 2. Malibu. Caminos, R. 1968. A Fragmentary Hieratic School-Book in the British Museum (Pap. B.M. 10298), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 54: 114–20. Cassonet, P. 2000. Études de néo-égyptien: Les temps seconds i-sd ˍ m.f et i-iri.f sd ˍ m. Entre syntaxe et sémantique. Études et Mémoires d’Égyptologie 1. Paris. Černý, J. and Gardiner, A. 1957. Hieratic Ostraca, vol. 1. Oxford. Černý, J. and Groll, S. 1975. A Late Egyptian Grammar. Studia Pohl, Series Major 4. Rome. Champollion, J.-F. 1836. Grammaire égyptienne, ou les principes généraux de l’écriture sacrée égyptienne appliquée a la représentation de la langue parlée. Paris. Collier, M. 1990. The Circumstantial sd ˍ m(.f )/sd ˍ m.n(.f ) as Verbal Verb-Forms in Middle Egyptian, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 76: 73–85. Collier, M. 1991a. ‘Circumstantially Adverbial’? The Circumstantial sd ˍ m(=f )/sd ˍ m.n(=f ) Reconsidered. In S. Quirke (ed.), Middle Kingdom Studies. New Malden, 21–50. Collier, M. 1991b. The Relative Clause and the Verb in Middle Egyptian, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 77: 23–42. Collier, M. 1992. Predication and the Circumstantial sd ˍ m(=f )/sd ˍ m.n(=f ), Lingua Aegyptia 2: 17–65. Collier, M. 1994. Grounding, Cognition and Metaphor in the Grammar of Middle Egyptian. In J. ­Allen (ed.), Proceedings of the International Conference on Egyptian Grammar (Crossroads III), Yale, April 4–9, 1994. Lingua Aegyptia 4. Göttingen, 57–87. Collier, M. and Manley, B. 1998. How to Read Egyptian Hieroglyphs. A Step-by-step Guide to Teach Yourself. London. Cribiore, R. 1996. Writing, Teachers, and Students in Graeco-Roman Egypt. American Studies in Papyrology 36. Atlanta. Davies, W.V. 1987. Egyptian Hieroglyphs. London. Depuydt, L. 1983. The Standard Theory and the ‘Emphatic’ Forms in Classical (Middle) Egyptian: a Historical Survey, Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 14: 13–54. Der Manuelian, P. 1994. Living in the Past: Studies in Archaism of the Egyptian Twenty-Sixth Dynasty. Studies in Egyptology. London. Devauchelle, D. 1984. Remarques sur les méthodes d’enseignement du démotique (à propos d’ostraca du Centre Franco-Égyptien d’Étude des Temples de Karnak). In H.-J.  Thissen and K.T.  Zauzich (eds), Grammata Demotika: Festschrift für Erich Lüddeckens zum 15. Juni 1983. Würzburg, 47–59. Díaz Hernandez, R. 2013. Tradition und Innovation in der offiziellen Sprache des Mittleren Reiches. Ein strukturalistischer Vergleich der historisch-biographischen mit den literarischen Texten der 1. Zwischenzeit und der 12. Dynastie. Göttinger Orientforschungen IV/56. Göttingen.

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Grammar   925 Doret, É. 1986. The Narrative Verbal System of Old and Middle Egyptian. Cahiers d’Orientalisme 12. Geneva. Edel, E. 1955–64. Altägyptische Grammatik. Analecta Orientalia 34/9. Rome. Englund, G. and Frandsen, P. (eds) 1986. Crossroad. Chaos or the Beginning of a New Paradigm. ­Co­pen­hagen. Erichsen, W. 1948. Eine ägyptische Schulübung in demotischer Schrift. Det Kgl. Danske Videnskabernes Selskab, Historisk-filologiske Meddelelser 21.4. Copenhagen. Erman, A. 1880. Neuägyptische Grammatik. Leipzig. Erman, A. 1889a. Eine neue Art der ägyptischen Konjugation, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 27: 65–84. Erman, A. 1889b. Die Sprache des Papyrus Westcar. Eine Vorarbeit zur Grammatik der älteren aegyptischen Sprache. Göttingen. Erman, A. 1892. Das Verhältniss des Aegyptischen zu den semitischen Sprachen, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 46: 93–129. Erman, A. 1894. Ägyptische Grammatik: mit Schrifttafel, Litteratur, Lesestücken und Wörterverzeichnis. Porta Linguarum Orientalium 15. Berlin. Erman, A. 1900. Die Flexion des aegyptischen Verbums. Sitzungsberichte der Königlich-Preußischen bzw. Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin, philosophisch-historische Klasse, 317–53. Erman, A and Grapow, H. 1921–61 (eds), Wörterbuch der aegyptischen Sprache. Berlin. Eyre, C. 1986. Approaches to the Analysis of Egyptian Sentences: Syntax and Pragmatics. In G. Englund and P. Frandsen (eds), Crossroad. Chaos or the Beginning of a New Paradigm. Copenhagen, 119–43. Frandsen, P. 1974. An Outline of the Late Egyptian Verbal System. Copenhagen. Gardiner, A. 1927. Egyptian Grammar. Being an Introduction to the Study of Hieroglyphs. Oxford. Gardiner, A. 1932. The Theory of Speech and Language. Oxford. Gardiner, A. 1947a. Ancient Egyptian Onomastic. Oxford. Gardiner, A. 1947b. Review of Polotsky, H.-J. 1944. Études de syntaxe Copte. Cairo, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 33: 95–101. Gaskins, L. 1978. Notes on Middle Egyptian Syntax. Berkeley. Gilula, M. 1970. Review of Satzinger 1968, Die negativen Konstruktionen im Alt- und Mittelägyptischen, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 56: 205–14. Gilula, M. 1971. Coffin Texts Spell 148, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 57: 14–19. Grandet, P. and Mathieu, B. 1990. Cours d’égyptien hiéroglyphique. Paris. Groll, S. 1970. The Negative Verbal System of Late Egyptian. Oxford. Grossman, E. 2009. Periphrastic Perfects in the Coptic Dialects. A Case Study in Grammaticalisation. In M.  Müller and S.  Uljas (eds), Proceedings of the Fourth International Conference on Egyptian Grammar (Crossroads IV), Basel, March 19–22 2009. Lingua Aegyptia 17. Göttingen, 81–118. Grossman, E, Polis, S., and Winand, J. (eds) 2012. Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 9. Hamburg. Grossman, E., Polis, S., Stauder, A., and Winand, J. (eds) 2014. On Forms and Functions: Studies in Ancient Egyptian Grammar. Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 15. Hamburg. Gunn, B. 1924. Studies in Egyptian Syntax. Paris. Hasitzka, M. 1990. Neue Texte und Dokumentation zum koptisch-Unterricht. Mitteilungen aus der Papyrussammlung der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek, Neue Serie 18. Vienna. Haspelmath, M., Grossman, E., and Richter, S. (eds). 2014. Egyptian-Coptic Linguistics in Typological Perspective. Empirical Approaches to Language Typology 55. Berlin. Hess, J.-J. 1897. Demotika, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 35: 144–9. Jansen-Winkeln, K. 1996. Spätmittelägyptische Grammatik der Texte der 3. Zwischenzeit. Ägypten und Altes Testament 34. Wiesbaden. Johnson, J. 1976. The Demotic Verbal System. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations 38. Chicago. Johnson, J. 1980. NIMS in Middle Egyptian, Serapis 6: 69–73. Johnson, J. 1984. The Use of the Particle mk in Middle Kingdom Letters. In F. Junge (ed.), Studien zu Sprache und Religion Ägyptens zu Ehren von Wolfhart Westendorf überreicht von seinen Freunden und Schülern. Vol. 1: Sprache. Göttingen, 71–85.

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926   Sami Uljas Johnson, J. 1994. Ancient Egyptian Linguistics. In Lepschy, Giulio (ed.), History of Linguistics, vol. 1: The Eastern Traditions of Linguistics. London & New York, 63–76. Junge, F. 1978. Syntax der mittelägyptischen Literatursprache. Grundlagen einer Strukturtheorie. Mainz. Junge, F. 1989. ‘Emphasis’ and Sentential Meaning in Middle Egyptian. Göttinger Orientforschungen IV/20. Göttingen. Junge, F. 1996. Neuägyptisch. Einführung in die Grammatik. Wiesbaden. Kahl, J. 1991. Von h bis q: Indizien für eine ‘alphabetische’ Reihenfolge einkonsonantiger Lautwerte in spätzeitlicher Papyri, Göttinger Miszellen 122: 33–47. Kammerzell, F. 2001. Die Entstehung die Alphabetreihe. Zum ägyptischen Ursprung der semitischen und westlichen Schriften. In D. Borchers, F. Kammerzell, and S. Weniger (eds), Hieroglyphen, Alphabete, Schriftformen. Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 3. Göttingen, 117–58. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 1974. Schüler und Schulwesen in der ägyptischen Spätzeit, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 1: 227–46. Khouzam, F. 2002. La langue égyptienne au Moyen Âge. Le manuscrit Copte 44 de Paris del la Bibliothèque Nationale de France vol. 1. Paris. Kircher, A. 1636. Prodromus coptus sive aegyptiacus. Rome. Kircher, A. 1643 Lingua aegyptiaca restituta: Opus tripartitum, quo linguae coptae sive idiomatis ilius primaeui aegyptiorum pharaonici, vetustate temporum paene collapsi. Rome. Kurth, D. 2007. Einführung ins Ptolemäische: Eine Grammatik mit Zeichenliste und Übungsstücken. Vol. 1. Hützel. Korostovtsev, M. 1973. Grammaire du néo-égyptien. Moscow. Lambdin, T. 1983. Introduction to Sahidic Coptic. Macon. Layton, B. 2000. A Coptic Grammar. Porta Linguarum Orientalium: Wiesbaden. Le Page Renouf, P. 1875. An Elementary Grammar of the Ancient Egyptian Language in the Hieroglyphic Type. London. Lepsius, K. 1837. Lettre à M. le professeur H. Rossellini, membre de l’Institut de correspondence archéologique etc. etc. sur l’alphabet hiéroglyphique. Rome. von Lieven, A. 2007. The Carlsberg Papyri 8: Grundriss des Laufes der Sterne: Das sogenannte Nutbuch. CNI Publications 31. Copenhagen. Loprieno, A. 1986a. Das Verbalsystem im Ägyptischen und im Semitischen. Zur Grundlegung einer Aspekttheorie. Göttinger Orientforschungen IV/17. Wiesbaden. Loprieno, A. 1986b. Egyptian Grammar and Textual Features. In G. Englund and P. Frandsen (eds), Crossroad. Chaos or the Beginning of a New Paradigm. Copenhagen, 255–87. Loprieno, A. 1988. On the Typological Order of Constituents in Egyptian, Journal of Afroasiatic Languages 1: 26–57. Loprieno, A. 1991. Topics in Egyptian Negations. In D. Mendel and U. Claudi (eds), Ägypten im afroasiatischen Kontext. Aufsätze zur Archäologie, Geschichte und Sprache eines unbegrenzten Raumes. Gedenkschrift Peter Behrens. Afrikanistische Arbeitspapiere, special issue. Cologne, 213–35. Loprieno, A. 1995. Ancient Egyptian. A Linguistic Introduction. Cambridge. Malaise, M. and Winand, J. 1999. Grammaire raisonnée de l’égyptien classique. Ægyptiaca Leodiensia 6. Liège. Mallon, A. 1907. Une école de savants égyptiennes au Moyen Âge, Mélanges de la Faculté Orientalé Université Saint-Joseph Beyrouth 2: 213–64. Miller, P. 2004. Copts and Scholars: Athanasius Kircher in Peiresc’s Republic of Letter. In P. Findleu (ed.), Athanasius Kircher. The Last Man Who Knew Everything. New York & London, 133–48. Müller, M. 2014. Expressing Necessity in Sahidic Coptic. In E. Grossman, S.  Polis, A.  Stauder and J.  Winand (eds), 2014. On Forms and Functions: Studies in Ancient Egyptian Grammar. Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 15. Hamburg, 137–72. Müller, M. and Uljas, S. (eds). 2009. Proceedings of the Fourth International Conference on Egyptian Grammar (Crossroads IV), Basel, March 19–22 2009. Lingua Aegyptia 17. Göttingen. Munier, H. 1930. La scala copte 44 de la Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris 1: Transcription. Cairo: Bibliothèque d’Études Coptes.

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Grammar   927 Neveu, F. 1996. La langue de Ramsès. Grammaire du néo-égyptien. Paris. Nims, C. 1968. Second Tenses in Wenamūn, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 54: 161–4. Oréal, E. 2011. Les particules en égyptien ancien de l’ancien égyptien à l’égyptien classique. Bibliothèque d’Étude 152. Cairo. Osing, J. 1998. Hieratische Papyri aus Tebtunis I. CNI Publications 17; Carlsberg Papyri 2. Co­pen­hagen. Parker, R. 1955. The Function of the Imperfective sd ˍ m.f, Revue d’Égyptologie 10: 49–55. Peust, C. 1999a. Egyptian Phonology. An Introduction to the Phonology of a Dead Language. Monographien zur Ägyptischen Sprache 2. Göttingen. Peust, C. 1999b. Napatanische. Ein ägyptischer Dialekt aus dem Nubien des späten ersten vorchristlichen Jahrtausends: Texte, Glossar, Grammatik. Göttingen. Peyron, A. 1841. Grammatica linguae copticae. Turin. Polotsky, H.-J. 1937. Deux verbes auxiliaries méconnus de copte, Comptes Rendus du Groupe Linguistique d’Études Chamito-Semitiques 3: 1–3. Polotsky, H.-J. 1944. Études de syntaxe Copte. Cairo. Polotsky, H.-J. 1957. The ‘Emphatic’ sd ˍ m.n.f Form, Revue d’Égyptologie 11: 109–17. Polotsky, H.-J. 1960. The Coptic Conjugations System, Orientalia 29: 392–422. Polotsky, H.-J. 1964. Ägyptische Verbalformen und ihre Vokalisation, Orientalia 33: 267–85. Polotsky, H.-J. 1965. Egyptian Tenses, Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities II/5: 1–26. Polotsky, H.-J. 1969. Zur altägyptische Grammatik, Orientalia 38: 465–81. Polotsky, H.-J. 1976. Les transpositions du verbe en égyptien Classique, Israel Oriental Studies 6: 1–50. Polotsky, H.-J. 1987–90. Grundlagen des koptischen Satzbaus. American Studies in Papyrology: Decatur (GE) 28 & 29. Pope, M. 1975. The Story of Decipherment. From Egyptian Hieroglyphic to Linear B. London. Quack, J. 1999. A New Bilingual Fragment from the British Museum (Papyrus BM EA 69574), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 85: 153–64. Quack, J. 2003. Die spätägyptische Alphabetreihe und das ‘südsemitische’ Alphabet, Lingua Aegyptia 11: 163–84. Rainey, A. 1976. Enclitic -ma and the Logical Predicate in Old Babylonian, Israel Oriental Studies 6: 51–8. Reich, N. 1924. A Grammatical Exercise of an Egyptian schoolboy, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 10: 285–8. Reintges, C. 1997. Passive Voice in Older Egyptian, a Morpho-Syntactic Study. HIL Dissertations 28. The Hague. Reintges, C. 2004. Coptic Egyptian (Sahidic Dialect). A Learner’s Grammar. Afrikawissenschaftliche Lehrbücher 15. Cologne. Ritter, T. 1995. Das Verbalsystem der königlichen und privaten Inschriften XVIII. Dynastie bis einschließlich Amenophis III. Göttinger Orientforschungen IV/30. Wiesbaden. Rosellini, I. 1825. Il sistema geroglifico del Signor Cavaliere Champollion il Minore. Pisa. Rosellini, I. 1837. Elementa linguae aegyptiacae vulgo copticae. Rome. Satzinger, H. 1976. Neuägyptische Studien. Die Partikel ir. Das Tempussystem. Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes Beihefte 6. Vienna. Schenkel, W. 1978. Eine Syntax des klassischen Ägyptisch ohne Verbalsatz, Göttinger Miszellen 29: 105–17. Schenkel, W. 1987. Materialen zur Vorlesung. Einführung in die klassisch-ägyptische Sprache und Schrift, Wintersemester 1987/88. Tübingen. Schenkel, W. 1990. Einführung in die altägyptische Sprachwissenschaft. Orientalistische Einführungen: Darmstadt. Schwartze, M. 1850. Koptische Grammatik. Berlin. Sethe, K. 1899–1902. Das Aegyptische Verbum im Altaegyptischen, Neuaegyptischen und Koptischen, 3 vols. Leipzig. Sethe, K. 1916. Der Nominalsatz im Ägyptischen und Koptischen. Abhandlungen der philologischhistorischen Klasse der königl. sächsischen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften 3. Leipzig.

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928   Sami Uljas Seyffarth, G. 1855. Grammatica Aegyptia. Erste Einleitung zum Uebersetzen altägyptischer Literaturwerke nebst der Geschichte der Hieroglyphenschlüssels. Gotha. Shisha-Halevy, A. 1986. Coptic Grammatical Categories. Structural Studies in the Syntax of Shenoutean Sahidic. Analecta Orientalia 53. Rome. Shisha-Halevy, A. 2007. Topics in Coptic Syntax: Structural Studies in the Bohairic Dialect. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 160. Leuven. Sidarus, A. 1978. Coptic Lexicography in the Middle Ages. The Coptic-Arabic Scalae, In R. Wilson (ed.), The Future of Coptic Studies. Coptic Studies 1. Leiden, 125–42. Sidarus, A. 2001. Medieval Coptic Grammars in Arabic: The Coptic Muqaddimāt, Journal of Coptic Studies 3: 63–79. Simpson, R. 1996. Demotic Grammar in the Ptolemaic Sacerdotal Decrees. Oxford. Spiegelberg, W. 1912. Zwei Kalksteinplatten mit demotischen Texten, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 50: 32–6. Spiegelberg, W. 1925a. Demotica I. Sitzungsberichte der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, philosophisch-philologische und historische Klasse 6. Munich. Spiegelberg, W. 1925b. Demotische Grammatik. Heidelberg. Stadler, M. 2003. Der Totenpapyrus des Pa-Month (P.  Bibl. Nat. 149). Studien zum Altägyptischen Totenbuch 6. Wiesbaden. Stauder, A. 2014. The Earlier Egyptian Passive: Voice and Perspective. Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 14. Hamburg. Stauder-Porchet, J. 2009. La préposition en égyptien de la première phase. Approache sémantique. Aegyptiaca Helvetica 21. Basel. Steindorff, G. 1894. Koptische Grammatik mit Chrestomatie, Wörterverzeichnis und Literatur. Porta Linguarum Orientalium 14. Berlin. Stern, L. 1880. Koptische Grammatik. Leipzig. Sweeney, D. 2001. Correspondence and Dialogue. Pragmatic Factors in Late Ramesside Letter-Writing. Ägypten und Altes Testament 49. Wiesbaden. Tassier, E. 1992. Greek and Demotic School-Exercises. In J. Johnson (ed.), Life in a Multi-Cultural ­Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and Beyond. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilizations 51. Chicago, 311–15. Tattam, H. 1830. A Compendious Grammar of the Egyptian Language as Contained in the Coptic and Sahidic Dialects with Observations on the Bashmuric. London. Till, W. 1955. Koptische Grammatik (saïdischer Dialekt) mit Bibliographie, Lesestücken und Wörterverzeichnissen. Lehrbücher für das Studium der orientalischen Sprachen: Leipzig. Tuki, R. 1778. Rudimenta linguae coptae sive aegyptiacae ad usum collegii urbani de propaganda fide. Rome. Uljas, S. 2009. The Forms of the Coptic 2nd Person Feminine Singular Pronouns, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 136: 173–88. Uljas, S. 2013. Linguistic Consciousness. In Stauder-Porchet, Julie, Andréas Stauder & Willeke Wendrich (eds.), UCLA Encyclopaedia of Egyptology. Los Angeles: http://digital2.library.ucla.edu/ viewItem.do?ark=21198/zz002dn8xd. Valerian, J. 1556. Hieroglyphic.Sive de sacris aegyptiorum literis. Basel. Venturini, I. 2007. Le statut des exercices scolaires au Nouvel Empire: Balbutiements d’écoliers ou entraînements d’étudiants? In J.C. Goyon and C. Cardin (eds), Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Egyptologists, Grenoble, 6–12 September 2004. vol. 2. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 150. Leuven, 1885–96. Vernus, P. 1990a. Entre néo-égyptien et démotique: La langue utilisée dans la traduction du rituel de repousser l’agressif (Étude sur le diglossie I), Revue d’Égyptologie 41: 153–208. Vernus, P. 1990b. Future at Issue. Tense, Mood and Aspect in Middle Egyptian: Studies in Syntax and Semantics. Yale Egyptological Studies 4. New Haven. Vernus, P. 1996. Langue littéraire et diglossie. In A. Loprieno (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms. Probleme der Ägyptologie 10. Leiden and New York: 555–64.

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Grammar   929 Vernus, P. 1997. Les parties du discours en moyen égyptien. Autopsie d’une théorie. Cahiers de la Société 5. Geneva. Volten, A. 1953. An ‘Alphabetical’ Dictionary and Grammar in Demotic, Archiv Orientální 20: 496–508. Vycichl, W. 1991a. Muqaddimah. In A. Atiya (ed.), The Coptic Encyclopedia, vol. 8. New York, 166–9. Vycichl, W. 1991b. Sullam. In A. Atiya (ed.), The Coptic Encyclopedia. vol. 8. New York, 204–7. Wente, E. 1969. A Late Egyptian Emphatic Tense, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 28: 1–14. Westendorf, W. 1962. Grammatik der medizinischen Texte. Grundriss der Medizin der Alten Ägypter VIII. Berlin. Williams, R. 1948. On Certain Verbal Forms in Demotic, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 7: 223–35. Winand, J. 1992. Études de néo-‚egyptien 1. La morphologie verbale. Ægyptiaca Leodiensia 2. Liege. Winand, J. 2006. Temps et aspect en égyptien. Une approche sémantique. Probleme der Ägyptologie 25. Leiden/Boston.

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chapter 46

History of th e Egy pti a n l a nguage Andréas Stauder

Introduction: periodization of the language Ancient Egyptian, including Coptic, has the longest written documentation of any ­language, extending over more than four millennia.1 This is traditionally divided into the following stages:

• [Archaic Egyptian: fragmentarily attested, Dynasties 0–3, c.3050–2650 bc]2 • Old Egyptian (Old Kingdom, c.2650–2150 bc)3 • Middle Egyptian (First Intermediate Period through Amarna, c.2150–1350 bc)4 • Late Egyptian (Amarna through Third Intermediate Period, c.1350–650 bc)5 • Demotic (Late Period, c.650 bc–ad 300)6 • Coptic (the indigenous language of Late Antique and medieval Egypt, c.ad 300–1300)7

1  Surveys: Loprieno and Müller  2012, Loprieno  2001, Junge  1985,  1984. Monographic treatments: Allen 2012, Loprieno 1995. 2  For the lexicon, Kahl et al. 2002–; for phonology, Kammerzell 2005. 3  Edel 1955–1964 (the reference grammar, now outdated for verbal inflection); for the verb, Allen 1984 (Pyramid Texts), Stauder 2014 (in general), Stauder 2020 and Doret 1986 (both for autobiographies); for specific corpuses: Allen 2017 (pyramid of Unis), Schweitzer 2005 (Fourth Dynasty). 4  Malaise and Winand 1999, Borghouts 2010, Schenkel 2012, Allen 2014, Gardiner 1957; for documentary texts, Brose 2014. 5 Junge 20083, Neveu 1996, Erman 1933.2 6  Quack in prep., Simpson  1996, Johnson  1976, Spiegelberg  1925. Note the occasional mismatches between Demotic language and script: Demotic language written in the hieroglyphic or hieratic scripts and, conversely, Middle Egyptian or ‘égyptien de tradition’ (see below) written in the Demotic script; see Quack 2010a; 1995. 7 Layton 20113, Polotsky 1987–1990, Till 1961, 1931, Steindorff 1951; Müller in prep.

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History of the Egyptian language   931 The traditional subdivision is largely a product of an awareness of the historicity of the Egyptian language that emerged gradually among scholars from the later nineteenth century onwards.8 While entrenched in academic teaching practice, this subdivision is inherently problematic as it projects historical periodization onto linguistic history. It is indirectly relevant insofar as the major political and cultural discontinuities that it mirrors had effects on the types of texts and contents that were committed to writing at a given time; on the constitution of written standards of the language (including their possible geographical bases); on graphemics (the shifting conventions for representing language in writing); and thereby, more broadly, on aspects of how Egyptian-Coptic presents itself as a corpus language. Current research emphasizes the dialectics between linguistic change per se, as a series of continuous processes largely indifferent to such external determinations, and the partly discontinuous ways in which ancient Egyptian manifests itself in a written record. The latter is problematized in its artefactual nature and as reflecting the extra-linguistic determinations of successive episodes of ‘Verschriftlichung’ of which it is the product. Linguistically, the traditional division is substantiated by a relatively limited set of mainly formal (morphosyntactic) criteria, many to do with verbal morphology. A consideration of a higher number of more diverse criteria, and of the occasionally more elusive dimensions of semantic change, alters the picture.9 As description becomes more refined, increasing attention is paid to the considerable diachronies internal to traditionally defined language stages; this leads to distinctions such as between ‘Middle Egyptian I’ (First Intermediate Period–early Twelfth Dynasty) and ‘Middle Egyptian II’ (late Twelfth–Eighteenth Dynasty), between earlier and later Late Egyptian (late Eighteenth–Twentieth Dynasty and late Twentieth Dynasty–Third Intermediate Period, respectively), or between early, middle, and late Demotic.10 As a result, the boundaries between discrete stages as traditionally defined are also getting blurred.11 In addition, the often considerable variation observed in the written record at any given time is increasingly taken into consideration (see below). Variation is studied both as a defining dimension of written language in use in different cultural settings,12 and as providing the necessary basis for linguistic change itself; this results in a blurring of the traditional dichotomy between synchrony and diachrony. From the late New Kingdom to Roman times, the monumental, ritual, and funerary spheres witnessed a continued cultivation or even revival of (elements of) older linguistic ­varieties (mostly from Middle Egyptian, but also from Old and even Late Egyptian). This phenomenon—described as ‘égyptien de tradition’ (or, roughly, ‘Traditional Egyptian’)—is 8  Schenkel 1990: 7–10. 9  Lexical change would be highly relevant too in principle, but can hardly serve refined periodization in practice given the severely incomplete diachronic attestation of the lexicon in the record. 10  For major changes occuring during ‘Old Egyptian’, Stauder 2014 (passim); during ‘Middle Egyptian’, Vernus 1990a: 143–93, Stauder 2013c (passim); during ‘Late Egyptian’, Winand 1992: 13–17 (and passim), 2014b, 2016; during ‘Demotic’, Quack in prep. Coptic is traditionally described in mostly synchronic terms, but internal diachronies are revealed, e.g., when closer attention is paid to differences between ‘dialects’ as reflecting diverse stages in grammaticalization processes (Grossman 2009). 11  Transitions from Old to Middle Egyptian, Stauder 2014 (passim), Oréal 2010 (passim), Vernus 1996b; from Middle to Late Egyptian, Kruchten  1999, Kroeber  1970; from Late Egyptian to Demotic, Winand 2016: 252–4, 261–2, and 2014b: 260–2, 264–5; Quack forthcoming and 2001: 168–72, Vernus 1990b, and Shisha-Halevy 1989; from Demotic to Coptic, Quack forthcoming and 2006. 12  Introduction: Polis 2017a; pioneering influential studies are Junge 1985, 1984; further references below.

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932   Andréas Stauder embedded in textual practice, presents inherent features of hybridity, and is therefore not a historical stage of the language (see further below).13 The coexistence of ‘égyptien de tradition’ with contemporary written varieties (later Late Egyptian, Demotic) resulted in a situation of increasing written diglossia from the late New Kingdom and early Third Intermediate Period on.14 Based on typological criteria, finally, a higher-order grouping contrasts ‘Earlier Egyptian’, comprising Old and Middle Egyptian, with ‘Later Egyptian’, comprising Late Egyptian, Demotic and Coptic (see below).15

Elements of a cultural and social history Ancient Egyptian represents an autonomous branch in the Afroasiatic phylum, alongside the Semitic (for example Akkadian, Ge’ez, Arabic), Berber, Cushitic (for example Somali, Bedja), Chadic (for example Hausa), and perhaps Omotic groups.16 Afroasiatic is established as a genetic phylum based on a number of notably morphological isoglosses (common features; examples involving Egyptian are given below).17 Isoglosses between Egyptian and the Semitic group in particular are the most apparent but should not be taken to imply an Egyptian-Semitic subgrouping, or node, within Afroasiatic considering that the perspective is heavily biased by the early attestations of these two groups and the very uneven density of documentation and scholarship in the Afroasiatic phylum. At present, any nodes within Afroasiatic remain highly disputed and the phylum is best represented in terms of a ­coordinate branching of all five groups.18 Moreover, tree models must be integrated with models of spread forking with converging, models of language split with convergence areas, and substrate and adstrate influence. Given more hospitable climatic conditions and more mobile lifestyles in prehistoric times, the whole area, including the Eastern Sahara, must have been a zone of protracted contact over millennia. Rather than in principally cladistic 13  The label was coined by Vernus (e.g. 1996a, 1979) to capture the cultural status and hybrid character of the phenomenon. Terminologically less fitting are ‘Spätmittelägyptisch’ (Jansen-Winkeln 1996), which suggests that ‘égyptien de tradition’ is a continuation of Middle Egyptian, and ‘Neo-mittelägyptisch’ (Junge 1985), which evokes ‘Neo-Latin’ and could be taken to suggest that ‘égyptien de tradition’ is a restoration of Middle Egyptian as a cohesive whole. 14  Vernus 1996a. This situation of written diglossia is to be distinguished from the fact that the written language differed more or less strongly from the spoken language at all times, and also from the fact that written Egyptian itself displayed internal variation at all times. 15  Note the labelling: Earlier Egyptian (‘Älteres Ägyptisch’, ‘égyptien de la première phase’) ≠ Old Egyptian (‘Altägyptisch’) ≠ Ancient Egyptian (Egyptian as a whole). Similarly, Later Egyptian (‘Späteres Ägyptisch’, ‘égyptien de la deuxième phase’) ≠ Late Egyptian (‘Neuägyptisch’, ‘néo-égyptien’). 16  For surveys of the Afroasiatic language families, see Frajzyingier and Shay 2012. The relationship of Omotic to Afroasiatic remains debated, as does the nature of the Omotic grouping itself, as a genetic family or an areal pool: see, recently, Güldemann 2018: 330–40, 347–8. 17  Gragg 2019; Hayward 2000. 18  For a review of proposed subgroupings in Afroasiatic, see Peust 2012; for recent discussions of this issue, see the studies in Štubňová and Almansa Villatoro forthcoming. On the even more problematic question of a putative Afroasiatic ‘homeland’, see, for instance, Haggerty and Renfrew 2014: 315–18.

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History of the Egyptian language   933 terms, the coalescence of Egyptian, in a region at the crossroads of Northeast Africa and the Levant, should be viewed in relation to contact with languages from other Afroasiatic as well as non-Afroasiatic groups, many of which are now completely submerged. The development of Egyptian as a written language is a history of its various written standards, in relation to spheres of written performance (see Chapter 47 in this volume) and possibly reflecting diverse geographical and social varieties. The Egyptian language was first committed to writing in relation to state formation during the late fourth and early third millennia bc, ‘. . . a time when a number of languages was likely spoken over Egyptian ­territory.’ Underlying geographical variation of Egyptian itself has to be posited at all times, considering the geographical extension of Egypt, the effective porosity of borders to all sides, and the lack of homogenizing forces, such as mass literacy. Such variation, however, remains largely invisible in the written record as a result of the elite nature of the written language, the centralized political and cultural models of written culture and scribal education, and the continuity of the high-cultural written tradition. Only a few elements of possible dialectal variation in pre-Coptic Egyptian have been noted, either synchronically or in relation to apparent discontinuities between successive diachronic varieties.19 Such d ­ iscontinuities are plausibly interpreted as pointing to the contributions of different underlying geographical varieties to the standards that defined written Egyptian at various periods. The earliest Egyptian was likely the language of a small group that formed the elite, with southern origins, of the early supra-regional state in the early third millennium bc. The written language of the Old Kingdom was arguably the highly formalized outcome of a mixing of features of southern and northern origins, at a remove of any variety spoken locally. The relatively more widespread literacy in the Middle Kingdom (even though still restricted to the elite) and the increased importance of social groups such as the military in Ramesside times may have played a role in the definition of Middle Egyptian and Late Egyptian as we know it, ­respectively. In the context of a regionalization of written culture, elements of underlying regional variation become somewhat more visible in Demotic, then more fully so in Coptic. For some Coptic dialects, assigning precise locations in geographically defined speech communities remains difficult, also due to their possible nature as ‘scripto-lects’.20 Sahidic (originating in Middle Egypt) and Bohairic (originating in the North) achieved supra-regional status at various ­periods, the latter in relation to the influence of the Alexandrine Church. By definition, written standards imply a distance from spoken language. The latter is elusive throughout Egyptian history. Reported discourse of people of lowly condition are voiced by the elite that had them inscribed; they purport to evoke, rather than transcribe, whatever spoken language may have been like.21 Epistolary genres have their own standards, displaying only occasional lapses into what may be actual vernacular forms of the language.22 At a much later time, the generally low number of Greek loanwords in most Roman Demotic is revealing, particularly when contrasted with their significantly higher number in the less 19  Winand 2016; Gundacker 2017, 2010: 97–103; Allen 2004; and Peust 1999a: 34 (with references to previous observations beginning with Edgerton 1951). 20  Funk 1988; Kasser 1991. 21  Vernus 2010a (‘Reden und Rufe’); Winand 2017b (words of thieves in the Tomb Robberies papyri). 22  For the Middle Kingdom, see Brose 2014 and Allen 1994 (noting that Hekanakht makes a slight difference in register when addressing a superior and when dealing with private business matters); for Ramesside times, see Sweeney 2001; and for the different situation in Coptic, see Richter 2006.

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934   Andréas Stauder standardized language of the contemporary Narmuthis ostraca;23 similarly, Arabic loanwords were largely kept out from most Coptic texts even at a relatively late date.24 The formality of the pre-Coptic record reflects the high-cultural determinations of ­written performance specific to ancient Egypt. Egyptian was first committed to writing in very short inscriptions in ceremonial and funerary contexts, then extended to administrative functions. Continuous texts, mirroring the sequence of speech, developed only later from 2700 bc on;25 written genres diversified only gradually. In relation to the sacralizing function of inscriptions, written language in the lapidary sphere tends to show a remarkable stability of formulations from one monument to the next and across time. In the Old Kingdom, constructions of the verb differ partly in the Pyramid Texts and in tomb auto­ biographies, reflecting the different ritual functions of these types of texts.26 The refined and highly patterned language of Middle Egyptian literature is a product and index of a court-oriented elite society in which face-to-face interaction and verbal rhetoric were vital.27 Furthermore, it draws on constructions, formulations, and modes of patterning otherwise found in lapidary genres with which Middle Egyptian literature is intertextually allied.28 In a changed cultural and social setting, the language of Late Egyptian literature displays no similarly intensively productive linguistic connections with the inscriptional sphere, but significant internal variation in relation to time and genre, with teachings, for example, being typically more conservative linguistically.29 In the early Third Intermediate Period, the apparent linguistic proximity of The Misfortunes of Wenamun to the contemporary vernacular is only partial, and part of the fictionalizing framing strategies of the literary composition.30 Late Egyptian, more generally, displayed a complex continuum of written registers, defined in relation to types of texts, contents, supports, and contexts of written performance.31 Linguistic selections were thus made in relation to a cultural code, itself changing over time. At the close of the Second Intermediate Period (c.1550 bc) already, the highly composed language of the Kamose inscriptions accommodated a great many innovative expressions with an otherwise highly classical Middle Egyptian, indexing claims of both insertion into a tradition and novelty in terms of content and textual format.32 In Ramesside times (c.1295–1069 bc), texts and genres that ranked higher in decorum and/or were more strongly bound by past textual tradition tended to include higher amounts of Middle Egyptian expressions alongside generally more conservative spellings.33 In inscriptions and in literature notably, expressions deriving from various periods could be accommodated within a single textual composition, resulting in deliberate linguistic heterogeneity 23  Ray 1994; on the Narmuthis ostraca, see also Quack 2006. 24 Richter 2017. 25  Stauder-Porchet 2017: 9–33. 26  Stauder 2020, 2014: 114–16, Allen 1982; also, for ‘particles’, Oréal 2010 (passim). 27  Stauder 2013c; Collier 1996; Loprieno 1996. 28  Stauder 2013b and 2013c: 242–9. 29  Quack 1994: 29–50 (Teaching of Ani); Vernus 2013 (Teaching of Amenemope). 30 Winand 2011. 31  This has been described in the terms of been described in the terms of a ‘néo-égyptien partiel’, ‘néo-égyptien mixte’, and ‘néo-égyptien complet’ (Winand 1992: 10–30); see also Junge 1984 and 1985, in a broader historical perspective. 32  Stauder 2013c: 43–50. 33  Goldwasser 1999, 1990. A complex differentiation of registers is already observed in the Eighteenth Dynasty: for Amarna, Silvermann 1991; for early Thutmoside times, see Stauder 2013a and 2013c: 9–55, particularly 50–3, and 238–42.

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History of the Egyptian language   935 modulated in relation to similar parameters of decorum, phraseological embeddedness, and generic boundedness.34 Linguistic variation is also observed at the level of a scribal community, at Deir el-Medina, where an identifiable individual author (Amunnakht) also differentiated linguistic register according to context of written performance.35 Linguistic heterogeneity in what presents itself as one text could also result through layered textual history, and, more broadly, through the inclusion of formulations and textual materials deriving from various periods.36 The phenomenon becomes particularly manifest in the context of the written diglossia that emerged when the register continuum characteristic of Ramesside written production evolved, in the early first millennium bc, into a starker contrast between the monumental and religious spheres and the more mundane ones. In the former, ‘égyptien de tradition’ drew on past written tradition in ways that were both reproductive and genuinely productive37—and, thereby, on multiple linguistic models (mostly Middle Egyptian in various forms, but also Old and Late Egyptian)—so as to evoke a ‘primeval’ or ‘pristine’ language associated with tradition as a source of authority and with the ritually to be re-enacted ‘First Time’ (sp tpy).38 In ‘égyptien de tradition’ in its many actualizations, the morphosyntax of older varieties could be simplified; equally characteristic are various degrees of interference, as well as elements of intentional dissimilation, from contemporary varieties.39 In addition to continuously transmitted texts, excerpts from old texts were used on monuments,40 and compendia of what may be termed historical lexicography were compiled in sacerdotal contexts,41 the effects of such textual, hence linguistic, archaeology being visible for example in the lexical wealth of Ptolemaic temple inscriptions. In similar contexts, practices of intralingual translation, from Middle Egyptian into Demotic, are documented, with the implication that the situation of written diglossia was clearly recognized as such culturally.42 With the progress of Greek, the native idiom became gradually confined to the spheres of religion and private business in early Roman Egypt, then further to magical texts, mummy labels, and ‘personal piety’ in the third century ad. The advent of Coptic, in the fourth century ad, represents a ‘Neuverschriftlichung’ of the native language in relation to the translation of texts from the new Gnostic, Manichean, and Christian religions.43 More than in pharaonic times, the functional spheres of written performance remained restricted: Coptic was used in written form for religious literature of various sorts, and, discontinuously, for business matters, scientific texts, poetry, and in private graffiti, but not, as a rule,

34  For inscriptions, notably Paksi 2020 and 2016 (Ramesside royal inscriptions); Gillen 2015 (eulogistics vs. narrative parts in the Medinet Habu inscriptions),Vernus 1978 (Samut son of Kyky, with literarizing tendencies); for literature, see, e.g., Quack 2001: 168–72 (Wermai); Goldwasser 1990 (Satirical Letter). 35  Polis 2017a and 2017b. 36  E.g. for earlier times, in the Coffin Texts, see Vernus 1996b; in later times, in P. Jumilhac, see Quack 2008. 37 Vernus 2015, 2016, 2017. 38  For general introductions to this topic, see Vernus 1996, 2016 and Engsheden 2016. For specific studies, see Vernus 1979, 2015; Engsheden 2003; Depuydt 1999; Jansen-Winkeln 1996; der Manuelian 1994; and Lustman 1999. 39  See, for example, Engsheden 2003 and Vernus 1979. 40  Osing and Rosati 1998; Kahl 1999. 41 Osing 1998. 42  Cole 2015, von Lieven 2007: 258–73. 43  Richter 2009; for the writing system, see Quack 2017.

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936   Andréas Stauder for public administration or political display which remained the domains of Greek and, later, Arabic. The demise of Coptic was a protracted process, varying according to geographical areas and functional spheres of written and oral performance. An advanced stage of ongoing language shift to Arabic in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries ad is inferred from the discontinuation of new written production in Coptic and from intense philological activity which included the translation of Coptic written tradition into Arabic, and the redaction of lexico-grammatical sketches of the language in Arabic.44 In its Bohairic form, Coptic survives to the present day as the liturgical language of the Coptic Church. During much of pharaonic civilization, Egyptian carried an unrivalled prestige in Egypt and was strongly associated with Egyptian writing, and, beyond this, with high culture itself. While this did not preclude occasional extensive borrowing from other languages (see below), other languages spoken in Egypt by various foreign communities at various periods were hardly ever committed to writing before the Late Period.45 Generally speaking, languages spoken outside Egypt were also not written down, with the notable exceptions of short magical spells embedded in Egyptian texts46 and of Akkadian as the language of international diplomacy in the Late Bronze Age.47 Conversely, the Egyptian language was generally not used outside Egypt, except for display in short royal inscriptions by the Middle Bronze Age governors/rulers of Byblos and in more elaborate ones by Napatan rulers around the mid-first millennium bc.48 In both cases, this was part of a broader adoption of elements of Egyptian decorum indicative of prestige, and in the case of the Napatan rulers, it also arguably carried a claim of cultural continuity with the Twenty-fifth Dynasty that had ruled Egypt itself. The bulk of the linguistic heritage of Egyptian lies in loanwords in Egyptian Arabic and in native (pre-Arabic) toponymy.49 A few loanwords found their way into other languages, particularly those denoting items culturally associated with Egypt; for example ‘oasis’ < wḥȝ.t ‘cauldron, oasis’ (via Greek); ‘Susan’ < (ancient Hebrew) shoshanah ‘lily’ < zšn ‘lotus’; ‘Onofrio’ (an Italian proper name) < wn(n)-nfr (an epithet of Osiris); Meroitic ant (*/annata/) ‘priest’ < ḥm-nṯr.

Linguistic history: a selective presentation The Afroasiatic background Earlier Egyptian displays a series of lexical and morphological commonalities (‘isoglosses’) with other Afroasiatic languages.50 The identification of lexical isoglosses is made difficult by the time depth involved; by the considerable phonological development in Egyptian 44  For the latter, see, for example, Khouzam 2002. 45  Quack 2010b, 2017: 28–30. 46  Quack 2010b; see also Steiner 2011 (disputed). 47 Müller 2010. 48  For the latter, see Peust 1999b. 49  For the former, see Vittmann 1991; for the latter, see Peust 2010. 50  See the studies in Štubňová and Almansa Villatoro forthcoming, with further references.

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History of the Egyptian language   937 prehistory; and by the late attestation and unequal description of several branches of Afroasiatic. Even in the case of the Semitic domain, which is better documented, more thoroughly studied, and of early attestation, the partly different phonological reconstructions lead to a partly diverging set of cognates.51 Morphological isoglosses are more easily identified.52 Egyptian shares a general morphological type with Afroasiatic, by which a well-formed word results from the intersection, or ‘interfixation’, of two discontinuous morphemes, a lexical and a grammatical one, with or without additional affixes (‘root-and-pattern morphology’). Specific isoglosses in nominal morphology include: - the various series of personal pronouns, - the feminine ending -t and elements of plural formation, - elements of derivational morphology (the prefix m-; the nisba formation). For example lexical root morpheme: {s-ḏ-m} ‘hear’ inflectional morpheme: {CaCCá-f} → */saɟˈmaf/ ‘may he hear’ (sḏm=f) {Cá:CaC} → */ˈsaːɟam/ ‘hear’ (sḏm) {CaCíC-nv-f} → */saˈɟimnvf/ ‘he heard’ (sḏm.n=f) (etc.) Specific isoglosses in verbal morphology include: - the pseudoparticiple (cognate to, for example, the Akkadian or Berber stative, and the West-Semitic perfect), - the passive morpheme .t(w) (cognate to the Afroasiatic transitivity-reducing affix {t}), - and the derivational prefixes s- (causative) and n- (intransitive, detransitive, and with certain morphological functions). Major differences in the morphological inventory are: - the sḏm=f suffix conjugation, present only in Egyptian, - and, conversely, the lack of the Afroasiatic prefix conjugation (for example Semitic ya-qtul). On the last account, Egyptian could reflect an earlier, or, conversely, a more innovative, stage within Afroasiatic. Alternatively, Egyptian could also represent a separate development, in which case neither the Egyptian suffix conjugation nor the Afroasiatic prefix conjugation would project back to the proto-language, assuming there even ever was one. While the verbal isoglosses mentioned above make for a shared morphological inventory, the forms in individual branches of Afroasiatic can have a partly different functional profile or morphological status. For example, both the Egyptian ‘pseudoparticiple’ and the 51  See the partly diverging analyses in, for example, Allen 2012: 31–6; Schneider 1997; Loprieno 1995: 31–7; Schenkel 1993, 1990: 48–57; and further Gensler 2015. For an etymological dictionnary of Egyptian in Afroasiatic, see Takács 1999– (the work has received a mixed reception). 52  Stauder forthcoming a.

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938   Andréas Stauder ­ orphologically cognate Akkadian ‘stative’ can be described as resultatives (denoting a m state that results from some previous action). But the Egyptian form has also developed regular uses as a perfect with various low-transitivity events (for example (ỉw=ỉ) ỉỉ.kw meaning not only ‘I am here (having come)’, but also ‘I have come’ or even ‘I came’ in a narrative chain).53 Similarly, the morphemes {n}, {s} and {t} tend to be part of a productive ­derivational system at the crossroads of grammatical functions and lexical semantics in various Afroasiatic ­languages (developing into so-called stems in Semitic language). By contrast, the cognate morphemes in Egyptian are either fully inflectional (.t(w), coding the sole grammatical function of passive voice) or more fully derivational (n- and s-) with a diachronic tendency to reduced productivity and eventually lexicalization.54

Phonology During the course of its written history, Egyptian underwent major phonological changes that can only be hinted at here.55 Under the influence of a strong expiratory stress, unstressed vowels were reduced to shewa (/ə/).56 This resulted in a thorough renewal of the inventory of licensed syllable structures with the rise of complex syllables with initial or final consonant clusters in different positions in the word,57 for example, under loss of the pre-tonic vowel, #Cv$CVC$ > #CCVC$, */wiˈdaħ/(wdḥ) ‘fruit’ >/wdah/(ⲟⲩⲧⲁϩ).58 Long and short stressed vowels underwent a global shift beginning in the later second millennium bc: In the later second millennium bc - /uː/>/ɛː/ for example */ˈkhuːmat/(km.t) ‘Egypt’ > */khɛːmə/(cf. Coptic ⲕⲏⲙⲉ) - /u/,/i/>/ɛ/ for example */rin/(rn) ‘name’ > */rɛn/(cf. ALMF ⲣⲉⲛ) In the earlier first millennium bc - /aː/>/oː/ for example */ˈraːmac/(rmṯ) ‘man’ > */roːmə/(cf. ⲣⲱⲙⲉ) In Sahidic and Boharic, further, the outcomes of: - /ɛ/>/a/ for example */rɛn/(cf. ALMF ⲣⲉⲛ) > */ran/(SB ⲣⲁⲛ) -  /a/>/o/ for example */san/(sn) ‘brother’ (cf. ALMF ⲥⲁⲛ) > */son/(SB ⲥⲟⲛ) In the consonantal domain, the realization of various phonemes in earlier times remains disputed; so does the mode of articulation in various series, as a contrast of voice, of aspiration, or otherwise. Among major changes, the phoneme conventionally transcribed as ȝ evolved early from a liquid, possibly realized as a uvular trill (/ʀ/), to a glottal stop (/ʔ/). A general tendency from the second millennium bc onwards was for the place of articulation to move forward, velars and uvulars undergoing palatalization, palatals evolving into dentals. For example, illustrating the palatalization of the initial velar, as well as the change of ȝ 53  Stauder forthcoming a: §3.4; 2014: 109–19, 279–88. 54  Stauder forthcoming a: §3.2, §4; 2014: 212–22; see Vernus 2009 for n-. 55  For introductions to Egyptian historical phonology, see Peust 1999a; Loprieno 1995: 28–50; Kammerzell 1995, 2005; Schenkel 1990: 24–93; Allen 2020. 56 Fecht 1960. 57  Loprieno 1995: 39–40 and 48–50. ‘$’ for syllable boundary, ‘#’ for word boundary. 58  Unless otherwise mentioned, Coptic examples are from the Sahidic variety.

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History of the Egyptian language   939 from/ʀ/to/ʔ/and possibly zero, */ˈkhaʀmaw/kȝnw, kȝm (‘garden’, cf. Semitic krm) > LEg */khaʔm/>/kjoːm/(ⳓⲱⲙ). Various neutralizations occurred, for instance between pharyngeal/ħ/(ḥ) and glottal/h/(h), both >/h/(first millennium bc), and modes of articulation in different series underwent complex restructuring. In syllable-final and word-final positions, various ­phonemes were reduced to a glottal stop and ultimately to zero, for example mšʿi ‘walk’ */ˈmaʃʕaj/ > */ˈmoʔʃə/(with metathesis, ⲙⲟⲟϣⲉ), rmṯ ‘man’ */ˈraːmac/> */roːmə/(ⲣⲱⲙⲉ).

Nominal morphology and syntax The above phonetic changes resulted in an evolution, and partial restructuring, of the inherited patterns of synthetic nominal formation over time.59 In addition to these, new patterns of nominal derivation developed, involving prefixes that arose from erstwhile analytical constructions, for example ϫⲓⲟⲩⲉ ‘steal’ → ⲣⲉϥ-ϫⲓⲟⲩⲉ ‘thief ’ (with ⲣⲉϥ- */-ə/on the syllable structure of the word are often still felt in Coptic in the form of typically feminine nominal patterns, for example /ʃpɛːrə/‘wonder’ (ϣⲡⲏⲣⲉ) < */xapuːrat/or the like (ḫpr.t). While the article provided a new formal expression of gender and number, it did not develop, therefore, because there was any strong need for such formal renewal. Rather, the rise of the definite article ⲡ-/ⲧ-/ⲛ- out of the demonstrative pȝ/tȝ/nȝ (during the early and mid-second millennium bc) represents a cross-linguistically well paralleled development by which a deictic expression undergoes semantic weakening into an anaphoric one, beginning in Egyptian in the later Twelfth Dynasty.61 The later rise of an indefinite article (sg. ⲟⲩ- < wʿ ‘one’ and pl. ϩⲛ- < nhy n ‘some’), as well as the fact that the definite article should be innovated first, similarly find abundant cross-linguistic parallels. Related to this development is also the rise of a possessive article, superseding the earlier suffixed expressions of possession, for example MEg  pr=f ‘his house’ → LEg pȝy=f pr. In Late Egyptian, Demotic, and Coptic, the earlier suffixed construction became increasingly restricted to the expression of inalienable possession (such as body parts), in another development that finds good cross-linguistic parallels.62 In the expression of gender and number, of pronominal possession, and in nominal ­derivational patterns, nominal morphology thus displayed a general diachronic tendency for grammatical material to be increasingly agglutinated to the left of the lexical word. This does not represent an overarching drift,63 but resulted from a variety of developments, all following 59  For these earlier synthetic patterns, Schenkel 1983, Osing 1976, Fecht 1960. 60  In the above example, reanalysis is manifest in that ⲣⲉϥϫⲓⲟⲩⲉ can be preceded by the definite article (ⲡ-ⲣⲉϥϫⲓⲟⲩⲉ ‘the thief ’), while the source construction included a circumstantial clause (ỉw=f ḥr ỉṯȝ), possible only with an indefinite antecedent (*pȝ rmṯ ỉw=f ḥr ỉṯȝ would have been ungrammatical in Late Egyptian or Demotic). 61  Kröber 1970: 1–30; Zöller-Engelhardt 2016: 74–129. 62  Haspelmath 2015. 63  See already Schenkel 1966 for a critique of the notion of ‘conversion’ advocated by Hintze 1947, 1950.

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940   Andréas Stauder regular principles of linguistic change. For example, the rise of derivational prefixes (rather than new suffixes) is a consequence of renewal through grammaticalization and reanalysis in a language with head-dependent order, e.g. [rmṯ]head [ỉw=f ḥ r ỉṯȝ]dependent > ⲣⲉϥprefix-ϫⲓⲟⲩⲉ

Verbal morphology Through a series of developments that stretched over three millennia, the suffix conjugation was gradually—and ultimately wholly—superseded by other means of inflection. The process involved two main modes of renewal: the grammaticalization of new verbal patterns from situational predicate constructions (‘adverbial predicate constructions’), begun in the Old Kingdom, and the development of new patterns based on periphrasis by the auxiliary ỉri ‘do’, from the New Kingdom onwards; the latter process was complete only in Coptic. In Old Egyptian already, new verbal patterns—np ḥr sḏm and np r sḏm—had grammaticalized from situational predicate constructions. They did so initially to convey ­specific semantics, as marked expressions of progressive aspect (corresponding roughly to, English continuous tenses) and of objective necessity, respectively.64 These constructions subsequently weakened semantically into an unmarked unaccomplished (roughly, English simple present tense) and a future tense, respectively. As a result, they gradually superseded the former synthetic expressions of similar semantics during the (later) Middle Kingdom and early New Kingdom:65 np ḥr sḏm ‘he is hearing’ (progressive) > (MEg.II)–LEg ‘he hears’ (unaccomplished), superseding OEg–MEg.I–(MEg.II) n(p) sḏm=f OEg–MEg.I–(MEg.II) 

np r sḏm ‘he is bound to hear’ (objective necessity) > MEg.II ‘he will hear’ (future), superseding OEg–MEg.I ‘prospective’ sḏm=f (ỉrw=f) OEg–Meg.I 

After developing initially in the positive and active domains, these analytic patterns were subsequently, often much later, generalized to the passive domain,66 to negative polarity, and to relativization.67 For example sḏm.tw=f ‘he is heard’ nn sḏm=f ‘he will not heard’ OEg–MEg.II  sḏm ‘who hears’ OEg–MEg.II  OEg–MEg.II 

→  →  → 

 ỉw.tw ḥr sḏm=f nn ỉw=f r sḏm (MEg.II–)LEg  nty ḥr sḏm (MEg.II–)LEg LEg

64 For the former, see Collier  1994 and Vernus  1997; and for the latter, see Vernus  1990a: 5–7; Stauder 2014: 119–22; ‘np’ stands for ‘noun phrase’, be this a full noun or a pronominal subject. 65  For the former, see Vernus 1990a: 143–93; Winand 2006: 263–323; Stauder 2013c: 137–57; 2014: 227–30; and for the latter, see Stauder 2014: 231–3. 66 For np ḥr sḏm, see Stauder 2014: 360–5, 2013c: 382–405; for np r sḏm, see Stauder 2014: 356–60, 2013c, 364–82. 67  As elsewhere, the spread of the new constructions was gradual, along the following dimensions: (a) time reference: in the future before (henceforth: ‘>’) present > past; (b) voice: in the passive > active; (c) polarity: negative > positive; (d) syntax of co-reference: oblique constructions > direct ones.

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History of the Egyptian language   941 Periphrasis by means of ỉri ‘do’ is found occasionally already in early times, notably with imperatives. It spread as a regular feature of inflection in the Eighteenth Dynasty, first in the negative imperative,68 then in the morphological successors of Earlier Egyptian forms based on the long stem (ỉrr-),69 and further, through analogy, in Ramesside times.70 Further ỉrỉ-periphrased constructions emerged in Roman times. For example:  ỉrr=f (a specialized imperfective) > late D.18 ỉ.ỉr=f sḏm (the Later Egyptian focusing tense)

OEg–MEg

 n sḏm.n=f ‘he does not hear’ (>late D.18 bw sḏm=f) > D.19 bw ỉr=f sḏm

OEg–MEg

LEg–Rom.Dem

ḫr ḏ=f (an habitual present) > Rom.Dem ḫr ỉr=f sḏm

These analytic and periphrastic patterns in turn underwent phonological reduction and re-synthesis. For example: bn ỉw=f (r) sḏm > ⲛⲛⲉ=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ ‘he will not hear’ bw-ỉr=f sḏm > ⲙⲉ=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ ‘he (habitually) hears’ Rom.Dem ỉr=f sḏm > ⲁ=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ ‘he heard’ LEg

LEg 

These combined developments led to two major typological changes: (1) in morphology, a shift from a more fusional to a more agglutinative type, and (2) in word order, a shift from a Verb-Subject order to a Subject-Verb order. Regarding the first of these changes, Earlier Egyptian verbal morphology was broadly of a fusional type: it made use of a rich variety of stem alternations combined with affixation to express verbal categories. In Later Egyptian, by contrast, synthetic inflection was increasingly limited to the infinitive, the pseudoparticiple (or stative, itself developing into a non-finite form), and to participial forms of the verbs (with an increasingly reduced functional yield). Grammatical meaning, carried by various conjugational auxiliaries and prefixes, was thus increasingly isolated from the lexical meaning, carried by the infinitive and stative:71                             Earlier Egyptian                     Coptic ‘he did’ */ˈjarn˘f/(?) (ỉr.n=f) ⲁ=ϥ-ⲉⲓⲣⲉinf (< ỉr=f sḏminf) ‘he does’ */. . ./(?) (ỉr=f) ϥ-ⲉⲓⲣⲉinf (< ỉw=f ḥr sḏminf) ‘he will do’ */j˘ˈraːw˘f/(?), */j˘ˈraːj˘f/(?)   ⲉ=ϥ-ⲉ-ⲉⲓⲣⲉinf (< ỉw=f r sḏminf) (ỉr=f, ỉrw=f, ỉry=f) ‘may he do’ */j˘rˈjaf/(ỉr=f, ỉry=f) ⲙⲁⲣⲉ=ϥ-ⲉⲓⲣⲉinf (< mỉ ỉr=f sḏminf) ‘he does . . .’ */j˘ˈra:r˘f/(?) (ỉrr=f) ⲉ-ϥ-ⲉⲓⲣⲉinf (< ỉ.ỉr=f sḏminf) This led to a more agglutinative morphological type in Later Egyptian, in which grammatical functions tended to be distributed over discrete morphemes. For example 68  Vernus 2010a. 69  Stauder forthcoming b: §2.1; Kruchten 1999: 1–51. 70  Kruchten 2000; Winand 1992. 71  The phenomenon has been termed ‘Flexionsisolierung’: Polotsky 1987–90: 171.

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942   Andréas Stauder ⲉcirc-ⲁpast=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙhear (< LEg–Dem ỉwcirc sḏmhear.past=f), giving discrete expressions to the circumstantial function (ⲉ- < ỉw) and to past tense (ⲁ=), in contrast to OEg–MEg sḏm.n=f, an anterior tense that could be use in a circumstantial or main clause alike without morphological differentiation; An apparently reverse outcome is observed with negative constructions, with the rise of conjugational prefixes that combined the expression of negative polarity and tense-aspect in ways that are not segmentable anymore. Contrast:                                                            Earlier Egyptian            Coptic ‘he did not hear’ nneg sḏm=f                      ⲙⲡneg.past=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ ‘he does not hear (habitually)’ nneg sḏm.n=f                  ⲙⲉneg.habitual=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ ‘he will not hear’ nneg sḏm=f (n ỉrw=f )  ⲛⲛⲉneg.future=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ As a result of the above processes of formal renewal, the preferred unmarked word order in verbal clauses yielded gradually from a Verb-Subject one (henceforth: VS) to Subject-Verb (SV) one. The np ḥr/r sḏm patterns inherited their SV order from the subject-predicate order of the situational predicate constructions they grammaticalized from: ỉw=fsubject ỉmpredicate ‘he is there’ (subject-first order in situational predicate constructions)

thus,  npsubject [ḥr sḏm]predicate→ (. . .) ϥsubject -ⲥⲱⲧⲙverb            npsubject [r sḏm]predicate→  (. . .) ⲉ=ϥsubject-ⲉ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙverb

With the patterns that originated through ỉrỉ-periphrasis, SV order and prefixing morphology derived from the fact that ỉrỉ, hosting the subject, preceded the lexical verb in the infinitive, and thereby, ultimately, from the more general head-dependent order in Egyptian: ḥmhead-nṯrdependent ‘servant of the god, priest’ (general head-dependent order of Egyptian) thus, also, ỉrỉhead sḏminfinitive-dependent ‘do hearing’, yielding, for example, bwneg-ỉraux=f sḏminf → (. . .) reanalysed as ⲙⲉpref=ϥsubject-ⲥⲱⲧⲙverb LEg 

similarly, pȝuhead sḏminfinitive-dependent ‘do hearing in the (remote) past’, yielding: MEg  nneg pȝaux=f sḏminf ‘he has not heard (in the remote past)’ > LEg bwpw=f sḏm ‘he did not hear’ → (. . .) reanalysed as Dem bppref=fsubject sḏmverb (> ⲙⲡ=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ)

Order in individual clausal patterns and constructions thereby remained generally stable throughout Egyptian history. For example, the unaccomplished sḏm=f (VS) did not itself

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History of the Egyptian language   943 evolve into, but was replaced, gradually, by np ḥr sḏm during the first half of the second millennium bc (see above), the latter pattern yielding ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ (SV). Similarly, past tense sḏm.n=f (> LEg-Dem sḏm=f: VS) was superseded by ỉr=f sḏm during Roman times, the latter pattern, after reanalysis, yielding ⲁ=ϥ-ⲉⲓⲣⲉ (prefix-SV). The shift from a VS to a SV order was therefore the by-product of successive processes of grammaticalization over three millennia, in a language that happened to have subject-first situational predicate constructions and a general head-dependent order.

Functional domains The domain of tense and aspect72 witnessed complex changes both in terms of which semantic categories were expressed at any given time, and of the (often combined) levels of grammatical form through which these categories were expressed (conjugational tenses, adverbial expressions, auxiliaries), when they were. As far as conjugational tenses are concerned, a tendency towards a less prominent role of aspect is noticeable. During the course of Old and Middle Egyptian already, the inherently perfective sḏm(w)-passive increasingly gave way to passives marked by .t(w), an aspectually neutral marker.73 Beginning in the later Middle Kingdom, np ḥ r sḏm, initially restricted to progressive semantics, was gradually generalized to the whole domain of the relative present (see above). In Old and Middle Egyptian, the ỉrr=f presented a complex functional profile associating imperfective aspect with a lower assertive modality.74 In Late Egyptian, the form, now as ỉ.ỉr=f sḏm, has specialized in the expression of adverbial focus and become unmarked for tense and aspect.75 With participles, the Old and Middle Egyptian aspect-based contrast between unmarked (/‘­perfective’) ỉr(.t) and marked (‘distributive’ or ‘imperfective’) ỉrr(.t) gave way to an increasingly tense-based contrast between anterior and simultaneous relativizing constructions in Late Egyptian. The pseudoparticiple, which in earlier times could express a stative and also a perfect with some types of events, was restricted to the former value after the New Kingdom. In various constructions, absolute time (present, past, future), rather than relative time (simultaneity, anteriority, posteriority) was becoming an increasing point of reference in later Late Egyptian (from the later Twentieth Dynasty, c.1100 bc onwards).76 Major developments affected the domains of passive voice and transitivity.77 Old Egyptian had multiple types of inflectional passives (the sḏm(w)-passives, forms marked by the affix .t(w), and reduplicating forms) used in a variety of passive constructions with transitive and intransitive verbs, with and without expression of the agent. Beginning in the Old Kingdom already, the sḏm(w)-passive was gradually replaced by .t(w)-marked constructions in various environments. Beginning in the Twelfth Dynasty (c.1985–1773 bc), .t(w) was extended to subject-first constructions of the type np ḥr sḏm and np r sḏm, where, being inserted in the subject slot, it functioned as an impersonal subject pronoun. By the end of the New Kingdom and early Third Intermediate Period (roughly at the end of the second millennium bc), all inflectional passives were replaced by a construction in which a 3pl subject pronoun expressed non-specified reference. With regard to transitivity, Demotic and Coptic 72 Winand 2006. 73  Stauder 2014: particularly 26–31, 250–63, 297–318. 74  Uljas 2007: 349–59, and Borghouts 1988. 75  Stauder forthcoming b. 76 Winand 2014b. 77 Stauder 2014.

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944   Andréas Stauder saw the emergence of a large class of verbs that could be used regularly as transitives and intransitives alike, for example ⲙⲟⲩϩTR ‘fill’, ⲙⲟⲩϩINTR ‘become full’. In Earlier Egyptian, the mediate object construction (v m o) signalled incomplete affectation of, and/or focus on, the object;78 after a complex development, it became an obligatory object marker in Coptic ‘durative tenses’ (historically, broadly the np ḥr sḏm and related patterns) and a differential object marker with the ‘non-durative tenses’ (historically, broadly the ỉrỉ-periphrased tenses).79 Demotic and Coptic further witnessed the emergence of a whole set of phrasal verbs and of a series of lexical auxiliaries: for the former, for example ⲕⲱ ⲛⲁ= ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ‘forgive’, ⲕⲁ ⲧⲟⲟⲧ=reflexive pronoun ‘forgive, abandon’ (with ⲕⲱ < ḫȝʿ ‘lay down’); for the latter, for example ϯ-ϩⲁⲡ ‘judge’ (literally, ‘give judgement’). In the domains of clause combining, significant changes led to functional contrasts being increasingly conveyed by morphologically more overt strategies. In Earlier Egyptian, clause combining was largely asyndetic (morphologically unmarked), with referential cohesion, discourse particles,80 and intonational contour playing a major role in macro-syntactic organization; ỉw served to ground the clause it introduced, either with respect to the speech situation (‘contextual ỉw’) or with respect to a preceding segment of discourse (‘cotextual ỉw’).81 Given the latter function, well attested in the Old Kingdom already, ỉw would develop into (and specialize as) an overt marker of adverbial subordination by the early New Kingdom. Earlier Egyptian prepositions could introduce a variety of tenses, depending on semantics to be expressed (for example with the preposition r, r mr=f, r mr.w=f, r mrr=f, r mr.n=f, r mr.t=f). Later Egyptian lost this type of construction with most prepositions, or kept it only with one specific tense for a given erstwhile preposition, the combination grammaticalizing into a bound form (for example MEg-LEg  r sḏm.t=f > LEg  šȝʿ-(ỉ.)ỉr.t=f sḏm > ϣⲁⲛⲧ=ϥ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ ‘until he has heard’). An important overall result of the combined above developments was the emergence of a sharper contrast between main and subordinate clauses in Later Egyptian. In the domain of adverbial-phrase focusing, major changes are observed in the transition from Middle to Late Egyptian.82 In Earlier Egyptian, a reduced assertive modality of the verbal predicate was signalled by the absence of ỉw or the presence of ỉs in certain ­constructions, and was, furthermore, an effect of the aspectual profile of certain forms of the verb: the ỉrr=f as a specialized imperfective, and various forms used as default nonresultatives in the accomplished.83 In Late Egyptian, the morphological successor of the ỉrr=f, the ỉ.ỉr=f sḏm marks adverbial focusing, regardless of tense and aspect. Later Egyptian thus contrasts with earlier stages of the language in displaying dedicated adverbial focusing morphology on the verb.

Some further changes The above presentation has followed the traditional emphasis of Egyptological research on the verb. It should be stressed, however, that changes affected a great many other domains of the language as well, of which only a few illustrations can be given here. Among parts of 78  Winand 2015, Stauder 2014: 324–9. 79  Shisha-Halevy 1986: 105–28; Engsheden 2006. 80 Oréal 2010.   81  Vernus 1998: 194–7; Loprieno 2006. 82  Stauder forthcoming b.    83  Stauder 2015b, 2014: 235–43.

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History of the Egyptian language   945 speech, adjectives gradually reduced their autonomy in Demotic and Coptic. Although a few core adjectives survived as bound forms, the qualifying function was generally transferred to the a n b construction.84 In non-verbal patterns,85 the predication of quality (nfr sw) entered obsolescence during Late Egyptian, and similar semantics were conveyed by other strategies in Demotic and Coptic, including the nȝ-nfr=f form and the stative. In situational predicate constructions as well as the verbal np ḥr sḏm that had developed from these, wn grammaticalized as a mandatory introduction of indefinite subjects in later Late Egyptian.86 With noun-phrase focusing constructions, the ỉn/m-marked cleft ­constructions were lost after Late Egyptian; so-called ‘pseudo-cleft’ patterns were extended to wider functions, and eventually reanalysed structurally in Demotic and Coptic.87 While Earlier Egyptian had a rich variety of zero-subject constructions used with referents of low individuation,88 Later Egyptian lost these (compare, for example, earlier ḫpr.n ø ‘it happened’ with ⲁ=ⲥ-ϣⲱⲡⲉ, with an overt 3fsg subject). The verb-object (VO) order remained stable throughout history, as did, more generally, the head-dependent order (for example nouns before qualifying expressions). Overall, Coptic tended to display more flexible word order than earlier written forms of the language; one noticeable development was the increased use of right-dislocation. Change in the lexicon can only be hinted at here. Beyond innovation and obsolescence of individual lexemes, this included semantic change (for example OEg-MEg ʿm ‘swallow’ > LEg-. . . ʿm ‘learn, know’, by a change by which perception is construed as mental ingestion), as well as changes in the argument structure of verbs. Renewal involved various types of lexicalization (for example ḥ wn-r-ḥ r, lit. ‘strike to the face’, ‘fight’ > LEg ḥ nḥ ‘fear’)89 and extended to core vocabulary.90 Lexical borrowing is discussed below.

Earlier and Later Egyptian Based on broad typological criteria, Earlier Egyptian (Old and Middle Egyptian combined) is classically contrasted with Later Egyptian (Late Egyptian, Demotic, and Coptic).91 The former is characterized by a preference for fusional morphology, verb-subject order, and asyndetic embedding of dependent clauses. The latter, by contrast, is characterized by a preference for more agglutinative morphology, subject-verb order, and morphologically overt subordination. Evidently, neither Earlier nor Later Egyptian are pure types. For example, the SV patterns np ḥr/r sḏm are already present in Old Egyptian (outside the Pyramid Texts), if with a limited functional yield, while elements of the VS conjugation are still found in Roman Demotic (for example past tense sḏm=f alongside the new ỉr=f sḏm). In verbal morphology, Late Egyptian represents an analytic peak between the more fusional type of Old Egyptian and the more agglutinative type of Coptic, both being synthetic, if in different ways. 84  Shisha-Halevy 1986: 129–39. 85  For a detailed diachronic study of non-verbal patterns, Loprieno, Müller, and Uljas 2017. 86 Winand 1989. 87  Loprieno 1995: 133–7, with references to previous studies. 88  Vernus 2014 and Stauder 2014: 140–8, 192–200. 89 Vernus 2003. 90  Giving an impression (however partial) of lexical stability and change, see the list of words from Sinuhe that are still attested in Coptic (Peust 1999a: 301–6). 91  See, for example, Loprieno 2001, 1995; Kammerzell 1998: 81–98, Vernus 1988, Hintze 1947.

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946   Andréas Stauder Major changes, to be sure, occurred between Middle and Late Egyptian (for example the development of ỉrỉ-periphrased forms; new strategies for clause combining and adverbialphrase focusing; and the redefinition of the functions of ỉw). But several elements that would be typical of Late Egyptian were developing already in Middle Egyptian (for example the semantic generalization of np ḥr/r sḏm; the extension of .t(w) to constructions in which it functioned as an impersonal subject pronoun). Moreover, changes that are significant in the overall history of Egyptian unfolded already during Old Egyptian and earlier Middle Egyptian (for example the spread of .t(w)-marked passives over sḏm(w)-passives; the reduction of the suffix conjugation with the obsolescence of the Old Egyptian past tense sḏm=f and prospective ỉr(w)=f). Further major changes occurred only during later Late Egyptian (for example the semantic retraction of the pseudoparticiple to the stative function and its evolution into a non-finite form; an increasing tendency to express absolute, rather than relative, tense; the generalization of past tense sḏm=f to all types of events and its use in narrative chains). Other major changes became prominent only in Demotic and later (for example the generalization of the second-tense prefix through reanalysis of earlier focusing tenses; the transitivity alternations described above). When individual constructions are considered, a more continuous tableau of ongoing change thus emerges, complementary to the broad typological contrast between Earlier and Later Egyptian described above.

Mechanisms and factors of change Linguistic change happens in, and is a product of, the conditions of linguistic interaction.92 New expressions and variants of existing ones are constantly innovated by speakers, coexist with older ones, and are ultimately selected, or not, by the broader speech community. Synchronic variation is thereby a necessary component of ongoing change, and any statement that an expression A becomes B (‘A > B’, such as made above) must be read as schematizing. Given the generally high degree of formality of written standards in pre-Coptic times, the record remains opaque to most underlying synchronic variation that existed, and nonstandard constructions and constructions that did not catch on are only occasionally noticed.93 In favourable cases only, the gradual spread of new expressions across different written registers can be described.94 Linguistic performance is determined by the often conflicting demands of communication, such as  expressivity as opposed to automatization in production and processing. This dynamic results in recurring mechanisms of change, which often involve the interplay of

92  See, for example, Keller 1994 and Croft 2000. 93  For example, the future construction twỉ r sḏm in the late Second Intermediate Period and early New Kingdom (Stauder 2017: 152, n. 33, and Kroeber 1970: 93–8); LEg (r)-šȝʿ-m-ḏr-sḏm=f > Dem šʿ-tw sḏm=f ‘since/after he has heard’, documented only two dozen times over a millennium from Late Egyptian through Demotic (Collombert 2004). 94  For example, for the negative imperative, innovative m ỉr sḏm alongside older m sḏm, distributed according to written registers during the Eighteenth Dynasty (Vernus 2010a); the third person plural suffix pronoun =w gradually superseding =sn during the New Kingdom (in the Eighteenth Dynasty, Edel 1959; in the Ramesside period, Winand 1995); ỉrm ‘with’ gradually superseding ḥnʿ during the New Kingdom (Winand 2014a).

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History of the Egyptian language   947 conventionalized grammatical value and privileged pragmatic inference by the hearer.95 Among such mechanisms of change, ‘grammaticalization’, which has received substantial attention in recent times,96 refers to the recruitment of lexical or grammatical material for (new) grammatical functions and can be broadly defined as the development of tighter internal dependencies in a given constructional scheme. In the grammaticalizing construction, the recruited material undergoes semantic bleaching (including metaphorical generalization) and syntactic ­de-categorialization (such as from full lexical verb to auxiliary to conjugational morpheme), often followed by morpho-phonological reduction. In the process, selectional restrictions are also relaxed, leading to the generalization of the grammaticalizing construction for example to subject types and event types that were not licensed in the source construction. Other mechanisms of change include ‘reanalysis’, referring to the ­reinterpretation of the input by hearers, made manifest by its subsequent mapping out in new constructional environments.97 ‘Extension’ refers to the generalization of a construction to new environments, through semantic weakening and/or the relaxation of previously existing selectional restrictions.98 Its less common reverse, ‘retraction’, refers to the restriction of a construction to some only among the various environments or functions in which it had been previously used.99 The above types of changes often worked in conjunction. For example, the erstwhile syntactic causative based on rḏỉ ‘give, cause’ (rḏỉ + subjunctive sḏm=f) grammaticalized into a new morphological causative (the Coptic ⲧ-ⲟ causatives), superseding the earlier morphological causative (the s-causatives). This resulted in a syntactic reanalysis of the construction (here represented through re-bracketing), made manifest by the new forms’ full integration into regular Coptic transitivity alternations: rḏỉ [ȝḳ=f ] ‘to cause [that he/it perishes]’ (syntactic causative) → [ⲧⲁⲕⲟ]=ϥ ‘[destroy] him/it’ (morphological causative)

full integration into Coptic transitivity alternations: - ⲧⲁⲕⲉ-n ‘destroy n(oun)’ (< rḏỉ ȝḳ n); ⲧⲁⲕⲟ=p ‘destroy p(ronoun)’ (< rḏỉ ȝḳ=p) - and also (not to be traced back to the sourec construction): ⲧⲁⲕⲟ ⲛ-/ⲙⲙⲟ= (with the mediate object construction as used in some Coptic conjugational tenses, see above)—ⲧⲁⲕⲟ ‘destroy’, used without expressed object— ⲧⲁⲕⲟintr ‘get destroyed’—ⲧⲁⲕⲏⲩ(ⲧ) ‘to be destroyed’ (stative, with an ending that is analogically derived). 95  For example, in the case of the allative future (twỉ m nʿỉ (r) sḏm > ϯ-ⲛⲁ-ⲥⲱⲧⲙ), Grossman et al. 2014; in the spread of the passive marker .t(w) (as in sḏm.tw=f, etc.) to subject-first constructions (as in ỉw.tw ḥr sḏm), Stauder 2014: 388–95, and 2015: 478–91. 96  General introductions, e.g. Hopper and Traugott 20032 and Bybee et al. 1994; further, Lehmann 2004 and Haspelmath  2004. Well-studied instances of grammaticalization in Egyptian include np ḥr sḏm (Collier  1994 and Vernus  1997), the Later Egyptian allative future (Grossman et al.  2014), the Coptic periphrastic perfect (Grossman  2009), the conjunctive (Winand  1992: 457–65), (-)ḫr-based patterns (Vernus 1998: 198–200), or the bn . . . ỉwnȝ negation (Winand 1997); see also Müller 2016. 97  For example, for the rise of the Late Egyptian 3pl suffix pronoun =w from an erstwhile adverbializing ending, see Stauder 2015a: 522–7, and Edel 1959. 98  The former is illustrated, e.g., by the weakening of np ḥr sḏm into a general expression of relative present tense, beyond its original semantics as a marked progressive aspect (see above); the latter, e.g., by the rise of the allative future (Grossman et al. 2014). 99  Illustrated, e.g., by the semantic evolution of the pseudoparticiple beginning in later Late Egyptian, by which the form retains its original stative/resultative functions (also found in Akkadian and Berber) while loosing its dynamic uses as a perfect (which had been an Egyptian innovation).

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948   Andréas Stauder Such recurring mechanisms define constraints on possible, or even preferred, types of changes. They do not, however, predict when, and how fast, a particular change will take place, nor whether it will at all. Changes in one construction or functional domain can also be dependent on the broader intra-linguistic context in which they occur. For example, the development by the passive morpheme. t(w) of functions as an impersonal subject pronoun was made possible by the conjunction, at a certain moment in time, of a whole series of unrelated dimensions of favourable context.100 The renewal of verbal morphology through ỉrỉ may have been in part in response to the reduced distinctiveness of patterns of synthetic inflection, itself the result of a strong expiratory stress of Egyptian, yet the loss of endings could also happen for various reasons other than phonological ones. Thus, the gradual reduction of personal endings of the pseudoparticiple, during Late Egyptian, was a consequence of the reduced syntactic distribution of the form resulting in an increasing redundancy of the personal endings.101 Among factors of change, sociolinguistic dimensions remain generally elusive due to the nature of the written record. The effects of language contact are documented through extensive lexical borrowing at all times, varying as a function of intensity of contact and of the prestige of the donor language relative to Egyptian-Coptic at the time of borrowing.102 Technical or culturally specific vocabulary displayed a strong tendency to be borrowed in larger quantities, as well as earlier in case of prolonged contact, than core vocabulary. The word ssmt ‘horse’ was thus borrowed in the early New Kingdom along with the adoption of technical innovations in warfare;103 similarly, ⲯⲩⲭⲏ ‘soul’ (from Greek) displaced native ⲃⲁⲓ (< bȝ) in the new Greek-mediated cultural context of Christianity. While some loanwords were thoroughly integrated both semantically and morphologically into Egyptian, respectively Coptic, and thereby nativized, other ones, particularly those found in the Ramesside record, did not leave much trace in subsequent language history and are arguably better interpreted as instances of (learned) code-switching.104 A good illustration of lexical renewal through borrowing is ‘sea’ OEg wȝḏ-wr, LEg ym (from West-Semitic yam), ⲧ-ϩⲁⲗⲗⲁⲥⲁ (from Greek thalassa). As far as current evidence goes, however, language ­contact seems to have exercised little, if any, direct influence on grammar itself. In the realm of phonology, it has been argued that the sound shift/aː/>/oː/in the early first millennium bc was part of a broader areal phenomenon which included the ‘Canaanite Vowel Shift’.105

101  Winand 1992: 103–49. 100  Stauder 2014: 384–403, and 2015: 473–99, 517–21. 102  For loans from West Semitic languages, see Hoch  1994 (with critical review in Meeks  1997), Winand 2017a, and Quack 2005 (for the less studied post-Ramesside times); from various Libyan, African, and Indoeuropean languages, Schneider et al. 2004; from African languages specifically, el-Sayed 2011; from Greek, Clarysse 1987 (into Demotic), and Grossman et al. 2017 and Förster 2002 (into Coptic); from Arabic into Coptic, Richter 2017. 103  Vernus 2010b; in the same context, the word ḫpš, of native stock, was extended in its meaning, from ‘strong arm’ to ‘sickle-shaped sword’, the weapon itself having been introduced to Egypt during the Second Intermediate Period (Stauder 2013c: 399–401). That a native word was retained in this case was because it already carried significations in royal ideology, now extended to the new weapon. 104  For Late Egyptian, Winand 2017; Kammerzell 1998: 99–121; for degrees and strategies of integration into Coptic, Grossman et al. 2017. 105  Kammerzell 1998: 153–71.

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History of the Egyptian language   949

Suggested reading For overviews of Egyptian linguistic history, see Allen  2012 and Loprieno  1995. For ­examples of case-studies in describing and analysing linguistic change, see Stauder  2014: 349–409, 2015a: and Grossman et al. 2014; and for an introduction to linguistic variation and register in Egyptian at various periods, see Polis 2017. For ‘égyptien de tradition’, see Vernus 2016, 2017; and for Coptic, see Richter 2009.

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pa rt I X

T E X T UA L GE N R E S C U R R E N T P O SI T IONS A N D F U T U R E DI R E C T IONS

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chapter 47

Or a lit y a n d liter acy i n a ncien t Egy pt Jacqueline E. Jay

Introduction The notion of ‘orality and literacy’ first gained prominence with the publication of Walter J. Ong’s 1982 monograph, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. The first part of this book establishes the critical differences between fully oral, pre-literate societies and literate ones, identifying a number of key ‘psychodynamics of orality’. In the absence of writing, oral cultures use a variety of other strategies to enable the long-term preservation of knowledge (e.g., formulaic language, repetition, paratactic grammar). They also place a greater focus on the present moment and emphasize practical application over the abstract. The book’s second major claim is that ‘writing restructures consciousness’ (the title of chapter 4). The artificial and autonomous nature of a text produced in written form alienates it from the realm of oral speech (which is, in contrast, fully natural to humans), heightening consciousness and thereby making possible abstract and analytic thought.1 There are certainly aspects of Ong’s work that can be (and have been) called into question, particularly his characterization of the development of abstract thought as a Greek in­nov­ ation tied to the development of the alphabet.2 On the whole, however, the far-reaching influence of his work cannot be overstated. Its implications for our understanding of the complex relationship between orality and literacy in ancient Egypt are profound. To date, two of the most comprehensive Egyptological studies exploring these issues are  survey articles by Donald Redford and John Baines.3 Redford emphasizes the divide between orality and literacy, describing them as ‘ “two solitudes”, each proceeding according to its own light, but impinging from time to time upon the other in an interaction at once hostile yet accommodating’.4 He goes so far as to argue that the scribal tradition ‘set about actively to denigrate oral composition and transmission’. Certain texts clearly do give primacy to the written word. For example, there was a common trope by which kings justified religious rituals and theological texts by claiming reference to written works of the ancient 1  Ong 1982, especially p. 81. 2  See, for example, Thomas 1992: 18–19. 3  Redford 2000: 143–218; Baines 2007: 146–78. 4  Redford 2000: 145.

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960   Jacqueline E. Jay past. In the tomb of Kheruef, Amenhotep III’s sed-festival (royal jubilee) is described as something that his majesty did ‘on the model of ancient writings. Generations of people from the time of the forefathers, they have not made (such) celebrations of the jubilee’.5 Similarly, King Shabaqo (c.716–702 bc) of the Twenty-fifth Dynasty claimed that the Memphite Theology was re-copied after ‘his majesty found it to be what the ancestors had done, which was worm-eaten’.6 In general, the elite’s emphasis on its ability to produce and call upon written sources probably did help to legitimize its domination over an illiterate majority. As discussed in more detail below, however, it is also critical to acknowledge the existence of situations in which unwritten personal memory and the oral tradition were viewed as authoritative. In contrast to Redford, Baines stresses the complex interaction between orality and ­literacy in ancient Egypt.7 Even the most autonomous written tradition occurs (and must be understood) within a ‘living oral context’.8 Indeed, following Ong’s schema, ancient Egypt represents a literate culture ‘not far removed from primary orality’.9 As a result, the impact of surviving orality is evident in a wide range of practices (even elite ‘high culture’ ones). Written letters are given the form of an oral direct speech made by the sender to the recipient, with letter-writing formulae regularly invoking the verb ḏd (‘to say’).10 It was not until the third century ad that the verb ‘to say’ was replaced by the verb ‘to write’.11 Similarly oral terminology exists in the religious sphere. The ritual formula ḏd mdw (‘saying words’), the prt ḫrw invocation formula (a ‘sending forth of the voice’), and the common funerary ‘appeal to the living’ are all key examples.12 Longer religious texts possess elements that suggest a particularly complex blend of written and oral, visual and performative. The underworld books of the New Kingdom (c.1550–1069 bc), for example, mix pictorial illustration and written caption. Papyrus copies of these texts (all very large) may have been used for purposes of ritual display and consultation. Both text and image were also recorded on the walls of the royal tombs for eternal efficacy. At the same time, the nature of the underworld books as ‘secret knowledge’ suggests that their use was augmented with oral elements known only by the initiated.13 By such means the Egyptians were able to make use of the full range of communicative possibilities available to them: oral, written, and pictorial. While the scribe may at times seem to denigrate oral modes of communication, it must be emphasized that the methods of his own scribal education were heavily influenced by orality. Indeed, the nature of education in ancient Egypt must have been a critical factor contributing to the surviving influence of orality at even the highest levels of Egyptian society. The most basic kinds of educational texts (lists of specific words and verb forms) exist only from the New Kingdom onwards, surviving in relatively high numbers from the  Ptolemaic and Roman periods (c.332 bc–ad 395).14 However, given that we have no educational texts at all dating earlier than the Middle Kingdom (c.2055–1650 bc), it seems reasonable to assume that beginning primers in some form had existed since the invention of writing. Beginning students seem to have used such material in a group context, as 5  Eyre 2013: 289. For extensive discussion and a wide variety of examples, see Eyre 2013: 277–98. 6  Eyre 2013: 291. 7  An important early contribution along much the same lines is Brunner-Traut 1979. 8  Baines 2007: 170. 9  Ong 1982: 32. 10  Eyre 2013: 94–5. 11  Depauw 1994: 89. 12  For fuller discussion and bibliography, see Jay 2016: 10. 13  Baines 2007: 162–3. 14  Tassier 1992: 313.

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Orality and literacy in ancient Egypt   961 indicated by advice from the Instruction for Merykara: ‘Do not execute a man of whose abilities you are aware, one with whom you used to chant the writings.’15 This description suggests a schoolroom in which students copied out word lists and simple texts element by element with a teacher leading the group in the oral recitation of each word as it was written. The most advanced students worked more independently, producing copies of longer and more complex texts.16 Given that the phenomenon of ‘silent reading’ was less emphasized in ancient Egypt, they too would have read the text out loud as they copied it.17 For all literate individuals, this highly oral mode of reading and writing emphasizes just how embedded in orality ancient Egypt remained. Thus far, we have considered the relationship between orality and literacy in Egypt from an essentially synchronic perspective, without taking into account change over time. As the next section will show, the heavily oral nature of ancient Egypt throughout its history had a major impact upon the development of the major genres of written text.

Chronological developments When we consider the full chronological sweep of Egyptian history, it becomes clear that writing became increasingly important to (and embedded in) Egyptian society as time passed. The invention of writing itself was a gradual development. Precursors of writing appear in the late Predynastic, with current scholarship regarding as particularly significant the ivory and bone labels from Abydos tomb U-j (dating to roughly 3350 BC and recording location names and quantities of goods).18 Dynasties 0 and 1 (c.3200–2890 BC) witness the first translatable writings of royal names. Fully syntactic written texts did not appear until the Second Dynasty (c.2890–2686 BC).19 Similarly, there is no specific watershed moment marking the transition from ‘orality’ to ‘literacy’, but only a slow shift from one end of the spectrum to the other.20 For the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2160 bc), intersections between orality and literacy are particularly apparent in the Pyramid Texts. Some features of the Pyramid Text spells are best interpreted as traces of their oral ‘prehistory’. The majority of the corpus is ‘oral-poetic’ in style, displaying the kind of word order permutation and loose juxtaposition of ideas we expect of oral composition.21 There are also places where the Pyramid Texts mix dialects and older and newer forms of the language, features resulting from the slow accrual of oral material over time (a phenomenon also found in the Homeric epics). Critically, however, the spells do not reflect completely direct transcriptions from the oral tradition, for there 15  Simpson 2003: 157. See also McDowell 2000: 218. 16  McDowell 2000: 220–3 and 230. 17  Ragazzoli  2010: 160. To Ragazzoli, ‘For scribes, hands and mouths are the two human tools necessary for reading and writing . . . The hand is what holds the reed and the mouth is where the sounds of reading are produced and take place’. 18  MacArthur 2010: 115–21. See also Chapter 28 in this volume. 19  Baines 2007: 137–9. In contrast, Redford suggests that continuous text was already present in the First Dynasty. Redford 2000: 150, n. 19. 20  However, Baines sees the Middle Kingdom as an important turning point in this transition; see Baines 2007: 147. 21  Reintges 2011: 36.

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962   Jacqueline E. Jay are also key ways in which they have been modified to fit their current monumental context. In many cases, original first person pronouns (used by the king as active speaker) were changed to the third person, the king consequently becoming the addressee playing a passive role. Such pronoun changes were typically necessary when ‘individual’ rites, such as services recited by living individuals for Osiris, Re, and the dead, were adapted for use on behalf of the deceased. In these cases, the text owner was shifted from speaking officiant to beneficiary; that is, he was now addressed as Osiris, etc.22 With this shift, a new explicit reciter was not introduced, making the spell more suitable for a permanent monumental setting. Such modifications are typically assumed to have taken place as the spells were being reworked for carving on pyramid walls.23 A more logical timeframe, however, would seem to be the moment when a spell initially derived for use by a living individual was first adopted for funerary contexts—unless we assume a stand-in reciting for the deceased. This kind of transformation of text could also occur in the other direction, from ‘written’ to ‘oral’. A few Pyramid Texts (offering spells in particular) are laid out in the form of a table and thus likely were derived from older written offering lists.24 Although the Pyramid Text versions include verbs, Baines suggests that their precedents were completely non-syntactic tabular lists. The addition of verbs to the Pyramid Texts would have made them more ‘performable’, a process which Baines describes as a ‘strategy of adding a field to the table in order to activate it’.25 The development of the written tomb biography in the Fifth and Sixth Dynasties also has strong connections to the oral performative sphere. Full narrative text first appears in the early Fifth Dynasty in the tombs of Debehni, Niankhsakhmet, Washptah, and Rawer.26 These tombs do not present full life stories of their owners, but rather key moments that illustrate the favour they received from the king. Rawer, for example, has become famous in modern scholarship for the pardon he received from Neferirkara (c.2475–2455 bc) after the king’s sceptre blocked Rawer’s way.27 Baines suggests that these written narratives do not describe incidents that occurred spontaneously, but rather events that were carefully staged in advance as ceremonial occasions—in other words, performances.28 To Julie Stauder-Porchet, the fact that such scenes were inscribed explicitly at the behest of the king explains their use of the third person.29 These individual scenes formed the basis for the more comprehensive first-person ‘event’ biographies of the Sixth Dynasty, in which the tomb owner now appears as the true agent of his own life story. The appearance of written literary texts at the beginning of the Middle Kingdom provides another avenue by which to approach questions of orality and literacy. Scholars have long recognized the integral role played by oral performance in the dissemination of Egyptian literary texts. Richard Parkinson has even developed a ‘conjectural reconstruction’ of a performance of The Tale of Sinuhe and The Eloquent Peasant, giving this imagined

22  Hays 2012: 259; for the basic distinction between ‘individual’ and ‘collective’, see Hays 2012: 17–20. 23  Hays 2012: 259; Reintges 2011: 28. 24  In fact, Baines sees the offering lists in the mortuary temple of Sahura as the earliest attestation of the Pyramid Texts. Baines 2004: 21–2. 25  Baines 2004: 24–5 and 40. 26  Strudwick 2005: #200, #225, #235, #227. 27  Strudwick suggests that Rawer may have tripped over the sceptre. Strudwick 2005: 305. 28  Baines 1999: 21–4. 29  Stauder-Porchet 2017: 71–3; 164–5; 312–13.

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Orality and literacy in ancient Egypt   963 performance the setting of the palace of the mayor of Elephantine during the reign of Senusret II (c.1877–1870 bc).30 The Tale of Sinuhe and The Eloquent Peasant, along with The Shipwrecked Sailor, are ancient Egypt’s earliest fictional narratives (see Chapter 50 in this volume). In structure, the three tales are quite different, but each draws in a variety of ways from precedents both oral and written. Sinuhe is framed as a tomb biography, a written genre that itself invokes oral performance through its first-person presentation of a life story from beyond the grave. Embedded in the tale are copies of written letters said to be exchanged between Sinuhe and Senusret I, along with examples of the overtly oral genres of royal praise hymn and lament. Along the same lines, The Shipwrecked Sailor draws on the written genre of the official ex­ped­ition report and exhibits intertextualities with elite religious texts that would have been quite restricted in their circulation.31 In tone, however, it is more reminiscent of a folktale, a characteristic that it shares with the narrative of The Eloquent Peasant.32 In the case of The Eloquent Peasant, the narrative is a frame story interrupted by nine embedded petitions spoken by the peasant as a plea for justice. Despite this ostensibly ‘low culture’ oral origin, these petitions represent a highly stylized display of rhetoric.33 Sinuhe, The Shipwrecked Sailor, and The Eloquent Peasant petitions are all quite complex in their grammar.34 In contrast, the Eloquent Peasant frame story is simpler, being constructed predominately of independent main clauses. Such linguistic simplicity is also a key feature of tales ascribed to a ‘low tradition’ of Egyptian literature, first appearing in writing in the late Middle Kingdom.35 Members of this low tradition (best exemplified by Papyrus Westcar) are composed of loosely linked episodes, often overtly humorous, and thus stand in sharp contrast to the earlier tales of Sinuhe and The Shipwrecked Sailor, with their more serious tone and carefully integrated cyclical structure. The later Middle Egyptian tales are stylistically quite similar to one another and do not exhibit the kind of experimentation with different genres that is characteristic of their predecessors. As a result, this ‘low tradition’ would seem to represent a standardization of the written literary tradition as it developed, probably under the influence of contemporary oral storytelling practices. The later New Kingdom witnessed a further expansion of written literature, with the appearance of fairy-tale like stories (most notably The Doomed Prince and The Tale of Two Brothers) and love poetry. In all likelihood, both genres had their roots in the oral tradition. Their written forms are, however, complex in their language use, employing what is called ‘literary Late Egyptian’. This artificial form of the language mixes older Middle Egyptian constructions with newer Late Egyptian ones, and its origins are unknown. Was it a written construct of the scribal elite used exclusively for ‘high culture’ literary purposes, or did it develop in the oral tradition? Both possibilities are viable. Despite this uncertainty, it seems reasonable to assume that the appearance of the genres of fairy tale and love poetry in written form during the later New Kingdom was tied to broader trends of linguistic change. 30  Parkinson  2009: 20–68. For a basic overview of ancient Egyptian literary texts, see Chapter  50 in this volume. For a more extensive discussion of the relationship between written ancient Egyptian literature and the oral tradition, see Jay 2016. For translations of many of the texts discussed below, see Simpson 2003. 31  Enmarch 2011: 103–11; Baines 1990: 62–4. 32  Baines 1990: 57–65. 33  Parkinson 2012: 3–4. 34  They are characterized by ‘complex sequences of asyndetically joined clauses’. Stauder 2013: 118. 35  Parkinson 2002: 138–46.

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964   Jacqueline E. Jay Moreover, these phenomena were themselves impacted to some degree by the upheaval of the Amarna period.36 In the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, demotic became the language and script of Egyptian literary compositions. Again, it is impossible for us to know just how closely the language of the so-called ‘demotic tales’ (such as the Setne and Pedubast ‘cycles’; see Chapter 55 in this volume) reflected oral story-telling practices, but demotic was at least more closely congruent with contemporary spoken discourse than earlier phases of the language. The demotic tales tend to be highly episodic in structure, continuing a trend that began with the ‘low tradition’ of Middle Egyptian stories.37 In fact, a number of demotic tales give the impression of having been cobbled together from a variety of previously existing independent sources, some written and some oral.38 Across the corpus we find repeated the same basic formulaic phrases, stock characters, and scenes, elements that, I would argue, most likely had their origin in the oral tradition.39 When we shift our focus from literature to legal and business contracts, we find once again that oral performance remained the foundational principle throughout ancient Egyptian history.40 The most basic (and earliest) way to enact a transaction was to make an oral declaration before witnesses, and the oral element was retained even after the option arose to record the transaction in writing.41 Written documentation was first used only in the most unusual cases, when a future legal challenge was viewed as a distinct possibility.42 In such instances, the written text was drawn up to protect the interested parties and their descendants. In fact, Eyre argues that the very process of gathering the interested parties to draw up the document was functionally more important than any potential future use it might hold as a written record. A will ‘kept secret until death, or only made on the point of death, would be pointless: it would not hold water, and would not prevent challenge. The agreement of interested parties was necessary in advance, and could not be compelled or overridden by a document’.43 Moreover, in cases where written records were later consulted, the documentation clearly possessed severe limitations. In the Nineteenth-Dynasty land dispute of the family of Mose, for example, texts consulted were often inconclusive or contra­dict­ory and the living witness was relied upon as the ultimate authority.44 The identification of witnesses is a key component of the early Twenty-second-Dynasty ‘oracular property decree’ of Iuwelot, High Priest of Amun, in which he transferred a number of properties to his son, Khaemwase. In this decree, Iuwelot lists the people from whom he had purchased these properties as a way to prove his ownership; presumably he could not provide written documentation for 36  Baines see the written examples of love poetry from the later New Kingdom as a result of changes in decorum at that time. Baines 2007: 161. For a nuancing of Akhenaten’s role in the appearance of Late Egyptian as a written form of the language, see Junge 2001: 20–3. 37  A particularly notable exception is Setna I, which displays a highly intricate story-within-a-story structure with multiple conscious mirrorings between the different diagetic levels. Vinson 2017. 38  For discussion of the specific examples of Setna II and Mythus, see Jay 2016: 225–44; 250–5. 39  Jay 2016, especially chapters 3 and 4. 40  For a basic overview of ancient Egyptian socio-economic texts, see Chapter 51 in this volume. 41  Eyre 2013: 117–18. 42  Eyre 2013: 103–4. The earliest extant legal papyri date to the late Old Kingdom. Eyre discusses in detail an early example from a late-Sixth-Dynasty family archive from Gebelein. 43  Eyre 2013: 106. 44  Eyre 2013: 155–62, especially 162. This dispute was recorded in Mose’s tomb at Saqqara.

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Orality and literacy in ancient Egypt   965 these transactions because they had been confirmed orally.45 In fact, Brian Muhs sees the development of the oracular property decree as a reaction to the many disputes that had arisen in the New Kingdom as a result of the predominately verbal nature of property transfer at that time. As proof of legal acquisition, the oracular property decrees were themselves somewhat limited (in part because they were accessible only to the royal family and highest clergy). To Muhs, these limitations explain why oracular property decrees were replaced by notary contracts, which first appear in the Twenty-fifth Dynasty.46 The appearance of notary contracts is only one aspect of a broader shift toward a more fully independent use of written documentation. When legal and business transactions are  recorded in writing, it is important to identify the exact relationship between the written document and real-world action. According to Speech-Act theory as developed by J.L. Austin in his monograph How to Do Things with Words (1962), performative utterances are meant to have a specific, pragmatic ‘illocutionary’ force: they get things done. With the appearance of written documents tied to such practical ends, the key question becomes whether the written document itself qualifies as performative utterance, or simply serves as a record of a truly binding oral performance. In other words, can the text stand autonomously? In the case of Ramesside royal decrees and private legal documents, Arlette David concludes that such texts were not used autonomously.47 Eyre agrees, arguing that the shift from document as simple aide-memoire to document as written instrument guaranteeing transaction never fully occurred in ancient Egypt.48 However, in private legal documents from later Twentieth-Dynasty Deir el-Medina we begin to find new elements, like a curse in the Adoption Papyrus, that mark the beginnings of the movement toward the use of the written text as an autonomous performative instrument.49 This trend intensifies in the Late Period and Ptolemaic and Roman periods, as particularly evident through changes in the use of witnesses. In New Kingdom Deir el-Medina, the local council (qnbt), organized by the head village scribe, could be called upon both to make decisions and to serve as witness. The scribe (‘local witness par excellence’)50 wrote the text and recorded the names of all of the witnesses present. Post-Ramesside documents shift the focus from the council to the scribe; at the same time, individual witnesses began to write their own names. This new importance of the personal signature would have made the document itself a stronger witness at a future date if the original witness himself could not be called upon.51 In some particularly elaborate early cases, each witness recorded not just his name, but the full text of the contract as well.52 For the production of these documents, Baines imagines a ceremonial setting combining the oral and the written, with each witness speaking the words of the contract out loud as he copied them before the entire group.53 The act of writing itself clearly carried great symbolic weight in such circumstances. Notable in this respect are a number of elaborate marriage contracts of the Ptolemaic period characterized by text written in a large, archaizing hand, with large borders of blank pa­pyrus (the latter feature a kind of ‘conspicuous consumption’ of expensive papyrus).54 Moreover, 45  Muhs 2009: 268–9. 46  Muhs 2009: 272–5. 47  David 2006: 39–40; David 2010: 4–9. 48  Eyre 2013: 101. 49  David 2010: 263. 50  Eyre 2013: 113. 51  Eyre 2013: 115–19. 52  The Saite Oracle papyrus is a notable example. Baines 2007: 166. 53  Baines 2007: 163–6. 54  See, for example, several of the contracts published in Hughes and Jasnow 1997.

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966   Jacqueline E. Jay existing documentation was an integral component of all successive transactions. For example, land transfer documents (common in the Late Period and Ptolemaic and Roman times) contain formulae indicating that it was necessary for the seller to pass over all related older documents in order to guarantee the buyer’s property rights.55 This need to preserve old documents led to the phenomenon of family and professional archives that are now so useful to the modern scholar. It must also be stressed, however, that given the high levels of illiteracy even in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, fully oral transactions must have continued to take place. In other words, the creation of a written document never became a mandatory element of transactional processes. We do, however, find a sharp increase in the number of private business and judicial documents produced at Deir el-Medina; these first appear in the Nineteenth Dynasty and spike in the Twentieth. Once the use of writing for everyday purposes had been introduced to the villagers by the upper administration, the residents of Deir el-Medina seem to have seen its benefits and adopted it for their own purposes.56 Ben Haring sees some of the formulae used in this documentation as direct transcripts from oral practice (such as the oral deposition formulae ỉr ỉnk, ‘as for me’, and twỉ dỉ.t rḫ, ‘I inform’). Other formulae, however, are more abbreviated, and in these Haring identifies the development of written scribal conventions.57 He sees these abbreviated ‘scribal’ formulae as distinct from the narrative body of the text, usually occurring ‘as introductions or additions to narrative texts’.58 To Haring, the predominately narrative style of these documents is a mark of orality. As David notes, however, narrative is an essential component of the legal genre as a whole. Even in modern, fully literate contexts ‘a legal case is also a story, and depositions remain verbal presentations recorded by the competent authority’.59 New uses of writing in the private sphere continued to develop in the Late Period. The Twenty-fifth Dynasty witnessed the appearance of lease contracts recording in writing an annual agreement between the land-holder and the farmer being engaged to work the land. The agreements themselves were not particularly unusual, and so the practice of recording them in writing may have begun among the highly literate community of priests in Upper Egypt and spread from there into other segments of society.60 The advent of foreign rule in the Ptolemaic and Roman periods witnessed new developments in the use of documents as a means of governmental control, as evidenced, for ex­ample, in the appearance of individual tax receipts, a state bank, and auctions of tenure. This period also saw the legal establishment of professionalized, government-appointed notaries as the only individuals who could draw up demotic documents, along with the requirement that demotic contracts be registered in government offices.61 Various explanations for these changes can be proposed. Drawing upon the work of Walter Ong, one might take them as a mark of the influence of the more fully ‘literate’ Hellenistic and Roman worlds upon Egypt. However, it seems more reasonable to view them as practical devices mobilized by foreign powers to facilitate their control of a conquered territory.62 55  Eyre 2013: 166. See also the related documentation accompanying the wills of Wah and Naunakhte. Eyre 2013: 106–8; 264–5. 56  Haring 2003: 266. 57  Haring 2003: 260 and 262. 58  Haring 2003: 262. 59  David 2010: 7. 60  Eyre 2013: 188–9. 61  For a summary and bibliography of these developments, see Eyre 2013: 121; 199. 62  See also Eyre 2013: 354.

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Orality and literacy in ancient Egypt   967

Current debates While a great deal of recent scholarship has emphasized the continued influence of oral modes of behaviour throughout the Pharaonic period and beyond, there can be no doubt that the invention of writing was an integral component of the development of complex state-level society in ancient Egypt. The question remains, however, as to what extent the use of writing changed actual modes of thinking in ancient Egypt. As we have seen, Walter Ong’s theories focus on the cognitive change brought about by the Greek alphabet in particular, an emphasis that derives in large part from an article by Jack Goody and Ian Watt.63 Significantly for our purposes, Goody himself later argued that non-alphabetic writing systems also brought about cognitive change.64 This later work focuses on the activity of list-making made possible through writing, noting that the visual representation of material in a list possesses abstract qualities very different from the flow of oral discourse.65 Ultimately, Goody concludes that lists are ‘an example of the kind of decontextualization that writing promotes’, resulting in a ‘change in “capacity” ’ that ‘gives the mind a special kind of lever on “reality” ’.66 As evidence, he explores in detail early Mesopotamian and Egyptian lists (including the ‘onomastica’ of the late Middle Kingdom and Twentieth Dynasty). The kind of lex­ic­al list represented by the Egyptian onomastica requires the classification of the universe in particular ways, thereby impacting how individuals perceive the world around them. To Goody, such classifications change not only the worldview of the literate members of a society, but also of the illiterate and of children who have not yet been taught to read.67 In contrast, Baines argues that it is only in the modern age of widespread literacy that writing can be viewed as a catalyst for cognitive change. Instead, in pre-modern societies ‘Literacy is a response more than a stimulus. It may be a necessary precondition for some social and cognitive change, but it does not cause such change’.68 For Baines, these words obviously hold true for the specific case of ancient Egypt. Another major debate within Egyptology surrounds the degree to which the administrative structure of the country before the Ptolemaic and Roman periods depended upon writing and bureaucratic systems. The answer to this question in turn affects our understanding of the extent of state control in ancient Egypt. For the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, the successful collection of the various annual ‘poll’ or ‘capitation’ taxes (personal taxes levied at fixed rates), for example, clearly required relatively comprehensive census documents, which themselves speak to quite a high degree of state control.69 Debates arise, however, when we attempt to identify seemingly similar practices in more scantily documented earlier periods. To what extent can we extrapolate backward from the evidence of 63  Goody and Watt 1963: 304–45. Ong’s other major influence was Havelock 1963. 64  Goody 1977: 74–111. 65  Similarly, Ong argues that abstract, neutral lists separated from the human context are impossible for an oral society. Ong 1982: 42–3. 66  Goody 1977: 109. 67  Goody 1977: 109–10. 68  Baines 2007: 62. And even in Greece, Baines sees literacy as only one of many factors motivating cognitive change. Baines 2007: 60–2. 69  For the poll taxes of the early Ptolemaic period (particularly important being the yoke and salt taxes), see Muhs 2005: 29–60. For the poll tax established by Augustus (from which citizens of Alexandria were exempt), see Rathbone 1993: 86–99.

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968   Jacqueline E. Jay the Ptolemaic–Roman period? When publishing a series of household lists from Twentieth-Dynasty Deir el-Medina, for example, Robert Demarée and Dominique Valbelle take these documents as evidence of a systematic registration system of the central government.70 In contrast, Fredrik Hagen argues for a far more minimalist interpretation, viewing the same set of documents as a highly localized phenomenon motivated by the specialized nature of the site of Deir el-Medina.71 Eyre makes the same essential argument for the administrative structure of the Pharaonic period as a whole (see Chapter 36 in this volume), presenting a model of a diffuse and yet highly effective hierarchy of control in which specific local affairs of little concern to the central state were delegated to the local level, and typically conducted orally. Such was the case for the collection of taxes, for example; Eyre suggests that neither central land registers nor a formal national census existed.72 Land registers like the Wilbour Papyrus were instead working documents used by tax assessors.73 While such documents could be used as a starting point for the process of tax assessment, their acknowledged inaccuracies meant that they could not stand alone. Effective assessment also required regular personal interaction between agents of the central government and the local authorities. The resulting system was ‘rather ramshackle, with layers of competing interests . . . and necessarily depended on negotiation between collectors, local agents, and farmers’.74 These kinds of negotiations are illustrated by the Twentieth-Dynasty P. Valençay I, a letter in which the mayor of Elephantine complains of improper field and tax assessment to the chief taxing master.75 While ‘ramshackle’, the system of the Pharaonic period seems to have achieved a necessary balance. Significantly, attempts towards greater standardization and rationalization in the Ptolemaic period and beyond were often met with rebellion.76 Eyre’s analysis of the Duties of the Vizier (surviving in New Kingdom tomb copies, e.g. in the tomb of the vizier Rekhmira at Thebes) presents the same basic picture of highly personal (and largely oral) government activity. We find no evidence of a ‘paper-based office administration’ or a ‘defined structure of line management’ within the administration.77 Instead, the process of government was probably carried out on a face-to-face and largely ad hoc basis. The vizier himself was required to hear oral petitions and appeals, and he sent agents throughout the country to carry out his orders and attend to local concerns. Documents sent with such government envoys served to legitimize the authority of these officials, but did not replace their presence.78 As is so often the case, our current inability to conclusively resolve these debates concerning the nature of governmental activity in ancient Egypt stems largely from the patchy nature of the surviving documentary record. It is always problematic to draw conclusions based on the assumption of the existence of documentation that has not survived, and at the same time, new discoveries may well challenge conclusions based on the premise that such hypothetical documents never existed. Despite these difficulties, current scholarship’s growing awareness of the continuing influence of orality on ancient Egypt long after the 70  Demarée and Valbelle 2011. 71  Hagen 2016: 205–6. 72  Eyre 2013: 182–3; 232. 73 The editio princeps of the Wilbour Papyrus is Gardiner  1941 and 1948. For discussion, see Katary 1989. 74  Eyre 2013: 201. 75  Eyre 2013: 174–5. 76  Eyre 2013: 192–3; 197–9. 77  Eyre 2013: 77. 78  Importantly, Eyre’s model assumes a far more integrated administrative use of written and oral sources than does Redford’s. Compare, for example, Redford 2000: 172.

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Orality and literacy in ancient Egypt   969 invention of writing has without question produced a better-rounded picture of the society as a whole, and the relationship between orality and literacy must continue to be taken into consideration.

Suggested reading Ong 1982 is foundational to the study of orality and literacy. Redford 2000: 143–218 and Baines  2007: 146–78 are wide-ranging introductory surveys of the topic as it relates to ancient Egypt. Reintges 2011, Eyre 2013, and Jay 2016 provide focused studies of specific text genres. The literary analyses of Parkinson (especially 2002 and 2009) are deeply informed by the performative nature of ancient Egyptian literature. McDowell  2000 serves as an introduction to issues of scribal education.

Bibliography Austin, J.L. 1962. How to Do Things with Words. Oxford: Clarendon. Baines, J. 1990. Interpreting the story of the Shipwrecked Sailor, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 76: 55–72. Baines, J. 1999. Prehistories of Literature: Performance, Fiction, Myth. In G. Moers (ed.), Definitely Egyptian literature: proceedings of the symposium ‘Ancient Egyptian literature: history and forms’, Los Angeles, March 24–26, 1995. Göttingen: Lingua Aegyptia, 17–41. Baines, J. 2004. Modelling Sources, Processes, and Locations of Early Mortuary Texts. In S. Bickel and B. Mathieu (eds), D’un monde à l’autre: Textes des Pyramides et Textes des Sarcophages. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 15–41. Baines, J. 2007. Visual and written culture in ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brunner-Traut, E. 1979. Wechselbeziehungen zwischen schriftlicher und mündlicher Überlieferung im Alten Ägypten, Fabula: Zeitschrift für Erzählforschung 20: 34–46. David, A. 2006. Syntactic and Lexico-Semantic Aspects of the Legal Register in Ramesside Royal Decrees. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. David, A. 2010. The Legal Register of Ramesside Private Law Instruments. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Demarée, R. and D. Valbelle. 2011. Les registres de recensement du village de Deir el-Medineh (Le ‘Stato Civile’). Leuven: Peeters. Depauw, M. 1994. The Demotic Epistolary Formulae, Acta Demotica. Acts of the Fifth International Conference for Demotists = Egitto e Vicino Oriente 17: 87–94. Enmarch, R. 2011. Of Spice and Mine: The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor and Middle Kingdom Ex­ped­ition Inscriptions. In F.  Hagen et al. (eds), Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East: Literary and Linguistic Approaches. Leuven: Peeters, 97–121. Eyre, C. 2013. The Use of Documents in Pharaonic Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gardiner, A.H. 1941 and 1948. The Wilbour Papyrus. 3 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Goody, J. 1977. The Domestication of the Savage Mind. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goody J. and I. Watt. 1963. The Consequences of Literacy, Comparative Studies in Society and History 5: 304–45. Hagen, F. 2016. Review of Demarée, R. and Valbelle, D. Les registres de recensement du village de Deir el-Medineh (Le ‘Stato Civile’), JEA 102: 205–12. Haring, B. 2003. From Oral Practice to Written Record in Ramesside Deir El-Medina, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 46: 249–72. Havelock, E.A. 1963. Preface to Plato. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.

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970   Jacqueline E. Jay Hays, H. 2012. The Organization of the Pyramid Texts: Typology and Disposition. Leiden; Boston: Brill. Hughes, G.R. and R.  Jasnow 1997. Oriental Institute Hawara Papyri: Demotic and Greek texts from an Egyptian family archive in the Fayum (fourth to third century b.c.). Chicago: Oriental Institute. Jay, J. 2016. Orality and Literacy in the Demotic Tales. Leiden; Boston: Brill. Junge, F. 2001. Late Egyptian Grammar: An Introduction. Translated by D. Warburton. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Katary, S.L.D. 1989. Land Tenure in the Ramesside Period. London: Kegan Paul International. MacArthur, E. 2010. The Conception and Development of the Egyptian Writing System. In C. Woods (ed.), Visible Language: Inventions of Writing in the Ancient Middle East and Beyond. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 115–21. McDowell, A. 2000. Teachers and Students at Deir el-Medina. In R.J. Demarée and A. Egberts (eds), Deir el-Medina in the Third Millenium ad: A Tribute to Jac. J. Janssen. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 217–33. Muhs, B.P. 2005. Tax Receipts, Taxpayers, and Taxes in Early Ptolemaic Thebes. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Muhs, B.P. 2009. Oracular Property Decrees, in their Historical and Chronological Context. In G.P.F.  Broekman, R.J.  Demaree, and O.E.  Kaper (eds), The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties: Proceedings of a Conference at Leiden University, 25–27 October 2007. Leiden; Leuven: NINO; Peeters, 265–75. Ong, W.J. 1982. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London; New York: Methuen. Parkinson, R. 2002. Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt: A Dark Side to Perfection. London; New York: Continuum. Parkinson, R. 2009. Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry: Among Other Histories. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Parkinson, R. 2012. The Tale of the Eloquent Peasant: A Reader’s Commentary. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag. Ragazzoli, C. 2010. Weak Hands and Soft Mouths: Elements of a Scribal Identity in the New Kingdom, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 137: 157–70. Rathbone, D. 1993. Egypt, Augustus and Roman taxation, Cahiers du Centre Gustave Glotz 4: 81–112. Redford, D.B. 2000. Scribe and Speaker. In E. Ben Zvi and Floyd, M.H. (eds), Writings and Speech in Israelite and Ancient Near Eastern Prophecy. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 143–218. Reintges, C.H. 2011. The Oral-Compositional Form of Pyramid Text Discourse. In F. Hagen et al. (eds), Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East: Literary and Linguistic Approaches. Leuven: Peeters, 3–54. Stauder, A. 2013. Linguistic Dating of Middle Egyptian Literary Texts, ‘Dating EgyptianLiterary Texts’: Göttingen, 9–12 June 2010, Volume 2. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag. Stauder-Porchet, J. 2017. Les autobiographies de l’Ancien Empire égyptien: Étude sur la naissance d’un genre. Leuven: Peeters. Simpson, W.K. (ed.) 2003. The Literature of Ancient Egypt: An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, Stelae, Autobiographies, and Poetry. Third ed. New Haven: Yale University Press. Strudwick, N.C. 2005. Texts from the Pyramid Age. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Tassier, E. 1992. Greek and Demotic School-Exercises. In J.H. Johnson (ed.), Life in a Multi-Cultural Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and beyond. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 311–15. Thomas, R. 1992. Literacy and Orality in Ancient Greece. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vinson, S. 2017. The Craft of a Good Scribe: History, Narrative and Meaning in the First Tale of Setne Khaemwas. Leiden: Brill.

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chapter 48

Histor ica l texts Ronald J. Leprohon

Introduction: definitions and source material To investigate ancient Egyptian historical texts one must define what can be considered a historical text. In reconstructing a long-dead society from the bottom upwards, every item available is grist for the mill. The earliest records are pictorial but nevertheless build an understanding of history (see Chapter 28 in this volume). Palettes depicting the siege of a city or a hunt are commemorative records that demonstrate a conscious effort to document various events.1 From the late Predynastic and Early Dynastic Periods, ivory, bone, and wooden labels2 record the identity of the owner and the donor, as well as the content of a given recipient or storeroom. For Egyptian written records, the obvious place to begin is with royal annals and king lists.3 The annals give us the kings, dates, and battles of traditional ‘school-room’ history, while the king lists offer a genealogical, and sometimes chronological, framework for a narrative of a given period of Egyptian history. Royal accounts of military victories and building projects must also be considered, as well as the private inscriptions—usually biographical material—on commemorative and funerary stelae, statues, or in tomb chapels that corroborate and add information on royal activities. Such material is the obvious backbone for any writing of history and was, in fact, almost the only source material used by an earlier generation of scholars.4 Many of the events enumerated in these texts are of a cultic nature; this ritual commemoration was originally meant to assure the gods of the kings’ good deeds and intentions. What are records of historical events to the modern eye might have been, to ancient people, simply instruments of thanksgiving to a divinity or a promise of additional offerings. Although these texts can be used today to reconstruct Egyptian history, the ancient population 1  Davis 1992; Ciałowicz 2001; Hartwig 2008; Patch 2011; Kelder 2013. For archaeological work done in the greywacke quarries in the Wadi Hammamat, from which the material for such palettes originated, see Bloxam et al. 2014. 2  Dreyer 1998; Stauder 2010; Dreyer 2011;Wengrow 2011. 3 Redford 1986. 4  Hayes 1953: 29; Gardiner 1961: 393–6, 402–4; Edwards 1964: 3–11.

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972   Ronald J. Leprohon themselves may not have considered them as purely historical records in the modern sense of the word.5 Other documents, which could be labelled accidental recordings of historical events, contribute to the writing of Egyptian history. Legal texts help illuminate the position of women in pharaonic Egypt. One such example is the late Middle Kingdom will from Kahun in which the wife is said to inherit her husband’s goods and be able to dispose of them as she wishes, but only to the children whom she bore to him, in other words, presumably not to  the children of a newer husband (P.  Kahun  I.1).6 Legal texts can open a window into how ancient Egyptians themselves regarded a certain historical episode, such as the early Ramesside legal text of Mose, where Akhenaten is referred to as ‘the enemy of Akhetaten’ (pꜣ ḫrw n ꜣḫt-ἰtn).7 A seemingly innocuous letter such as the Sixth-Dynasty missive from an expedition leader (ἰmy-r mšꜤ) to a vizier, found at the Step Pyramid complex at Saqqara, reveals the social hierarchy of the various officials involved in building a pyramid complex in the Old Kingdom.8 The expedition leader complains of unnecessary delays to his work caused by bureaucratic inefficiency, and the fact that the letter was found torn in two may or may not be an accident of preservation. Administrative texts flesh out the role of the state in controlling the population (see Chapters 35 and 36 in this volume on the analysis and interpretation of administrative sources).9 Genealogies found in commoners’ autobiographies establish links between various individuals and families and at times provide a date for well-known historical episodes (see Chapter 38 in this volume on genealogies).10 Captions for pictorial representations are useful sources of information, such as the legends accompanying Seti I’s war scenes at Karnak,11 as well as those of Rameses II, celebrating his famous battle at Qadesh.12 Similarly, captions in scenes from private tombs are revealing, such as the short texts written over the representation of a tax collector from the tomb of the Eighteenth-Dynasty vizier Rekhmira at western Thebes, which disclose the source and nature of the royal revenues.13 The captions over field workers, such as in the EighteenthDynasty tomb chapel of Pahery at Elkab,14 elucidate the development of the language as  it changed from Middle to Late Egyptian: while the well-educated tomb owner is shown speaking good courtly Middle Egyptian, the labourers speak a more vernacular Late Egyptian.15 Simple graffiti are sometimes the only existing record of a military campaign: an example is a graffito (RIK 116) left at the site of Kumma in Lower Nubia by an

5 O’Connor 2002. 6  Parkinson 1991: 108–10. 7  Kitchen 1980 (KRI III): 433: 12; Kitchen 2000 (III): 311. 8  P. Cairo JE 49623; Gunn 1925; Gardiner 1927; Grdseloff 1948; Wente 1990: 42; Strudwick 2005: text no. 94, 177. 9  For a useful list of these, see Quirke 2001. 10  See, e.g., Bierbrier  1975; Leahy and Leahy  1986. For the so-called Priestly Annals of the Third Intermediate Period, see Ritner 1994 and 2009, passim. 11  Kitchen 1975 (KRI I): 13–15; Kitchen 1993 (I): 11–12; Gaballa 1976: 100–6. 12  Kitchen 1979 (KRI II): 129–33; Kitchen 1996 (II): 18–19; Gaballa 1976: 106–29 13  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 1129–39. 14  Naville and Tylor 1894: pl. 3. Part of the scene is conveniently illustrated in Shaw 2000: 224. 15  This same process could be used for propaganda purposes, e.g., the Carnarvon Tablet in which King Kamose is shown speaking a nobler language than his courtiers; see Spalinger  1978: 13, n. 4; Vernus 1995a: 161–2.

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Historical texts   973 official named Samontu in Amenemhat III’s year 9, which mentions destroying (ḫb) and killing (smꜣ) rebels (sbἰw).16 Although stories created for pure entertainment are beyond the scope of this chapter, they have also been used by scholars to interpret certain historical periods. Save for the literary text of the Teachings of Amenemhat,17 the Story of Sinuhe is still the only narrative that may allude to the assassination of Amenemhat I; it also contains a useful description, if surely idealized, of Middle Bronze Age Western Asia. The Misfortunes of Wenamun portrays the declining influence of Egypt in the Iron Age Levant. One must be careful with this ma­ter­ial, as it was not necessarily meant to be an accurate portrayal of events or people, but rather entertainment for an audience. Nevertheless, to overlook the stories because they belong to the literary genre would risk losing important sources of social history.18 In the following brief survey of the types of source material that can be considered as truly historical texts, first will come chronicles, that is, royal annals and king lists. The next category is royal narratives detailing the king’s exploits, be they military or architectural. Lastly come the private sources.

Chronicles Royal annals The earliest example of annals known, the material on the Palermo Stone19 is divided into horizontal registers, each of which is partitioned vertically by the hieroglyphic sign for ‘year’, indicating the regnal year of that king. The lower register is an indication of the height of the Nile for that year, a record which hints at the rising of the Nile as one of the earliest indicators of time used by the ancient Egyptians.20 The events recorded begin with mythical prehistoric rulers and then include the First to the Fifth Dynasties. The events are mostly of a religious nature, such as divine and royal festivals and the appearance (ḫꜤἰ) of the king at such, fashioning (msἰ)21 statues for various shrines and temples, or establishing estates for cultic purposes. Secular topics do appear, such as boat building, military campaigns, and trading expeditions. What is tantalizing about some of the events memorialized is that they can be compared to pictorial sources from the same reign. An obvious example is Sahura’s claim to have sent expeditions to the ‘terraces of turquoise’— presumably the Sinai—in search of copper, as well as to the land of Punt for various precious commodities,22 and the famous scene from Sahura’s funerary temple that shows bearded Asiatics sailing into Egypt, raising their arms to the king in a gesture of respect.23

16  Dunham and Janssen 1960: 164; and on graffiti in general, see Peden 2001. 17  Quirke 2004: 127–30. For a confirmation that the king did indeed die in the attack, see Foster 1981. 18  For a socio-economic examination of The Misfortunes of Wenamun, see Leprohon 2004. 19  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 235–49; Wilkinson 2000. 20  Verner 1976: 41–2. 21  Breasted’s (1906a) infelicitous ‘birth (of statue x)’, e.g. § 91 (‘Birth of Anubis’), § 115 (‘Birth of Seshat and Mefdet’), etc. 22  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 246:3–4; Strudwick 2005: 72. 23  Porter and Moss 1974: 328 (12); conveniently illustrated in Redford 1992: 52.

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974   Ronald J. Leprohon The Sixth-Dynasty annals on the so-called South Saqqara Stone24 are inscribed on the sarcophagus lid of Queen Ankh-en-es-Pepy, most probably Pepy II’s mother, found in the pyramid complex of Pepy II at Saqqara. The recto contains entries from the reigns of Kings Teti, the ephemeral Userkara, Pepy I, and Merenra, while the verso gave further records from Merenra’s reign and that of Pepy II. The fact that Userkara’s reign was incorporated is noteworthy, for it shows the records to be true annalistic entries that included all of the recent sovereigns, unlike other king lists, which enumerated their sovereigns selectively. Like the Palermo Stone, the entries on the South Saqqara annals consist mostly, but not exclusively, of cultic acts such as offerings of semi-precious stones, honey, birds, cattle, bread, and the like to a number of divinities, as well as the fashioning of statues in various shrines. The secular events mentioned comprise the return of expeditions, both commercial and military, with the latter assuring posterity that the foreigners had been properly subjugated. The long but fragmentary Annals of Amenemhat II25 document more varied events than the Palermo Stone or the South Saqqara Annals. The expected cultic acts include the establishment and distribution of various kinds of offerings, the mention of processions of divine and royal statues, as well as divine festivals. Noteworthy are mentions of a ritual called ‘handing over the house to its owner’ (rdit pr n nb.f, col. 4+x), which was part of the foundation ceremonies for an Egyptian temple.26 Also remarkable is a mention of a donation of a vessel made out of ‘Asiatic copper’ (sṯtἰ) to the god Montu at the site of Tod (col. 10 + x). This brings to mind the famous Tod Treasure, found underneath the Middle Kingdom temple at the site, which contained a great number of vessels that originated in Western Asia.27 The secular activities include an instance of royal rewards given to successful military commanders (cols. 25 – 7 + x), as well as a royal outing in the Fayum, where the king is said to have gone fowling (cols. 23 – 5 + x) and even brought back items ‘in accordance with the predictions (sry) made by His Majesty’ (col. 24 + x).28 The latter reminds us of the so-called Story of the Sporting King, a literary composition that describes the recreational activities of King Amenemhat II himself in that area.29 Military campaigns to both Nubia and Western Asia are mentioned, along with trading expeditions to Kush, the Sinai, and Lebanon. Carved on the walls of the King’s Festival Hall at Karnak, the Annals of Thutmose III30 recount his seventeen military campaigns in Western Asia over a period of twenty-one years, and his subsequent benefactions to Amun. The fact that these spoils of war are so highly detailed reveals much about the king’s motivation behind the writing of the annals, which was to acknowledge the god’s contribution to his victories. Thus, what are today considered highly useful historical texts were perhaps originally meant to be a reckoning of the quid pro quo between the gods and the king, in which the gods guaranteed victory and maintenance of order to the king in return for gifts in kind from the monarch. Although 24  Baud and Dobrev 1995; Baud and Dobrev 1997; Dobrev 2000; Strudwick 2005. 25  Farag 1980; Posener 1982; Altenmüller and Moussa 1991; Malek and Quirke 1992; Dantong 1999; Quirke 2002. The stone was found re-used in the pedestal of a colossal statue in Rameses II’s Ptah temple at Memphis, but it is possible that it originally came from Heliopolis (Quirke 1989: 587). 26  The various foundation ceremonies can be found in Montet 1964; this particular rite is Montet’s scene no. 10, pp. 97–9. 27  Bisson de la Roque 1937; Vandier 1937; Bisson de la Roque et al. 1953. 28  Quirke (1989: 587) suggests a Königsnovelle-type of passage here. 29  Caminos 1956: 22–39, pls. 8–16. 30  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 625–756; Porter and Moss 1972: 33–4; Redford 2003.

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Historical texts   975 most of the yearly entries are rather terse, the narrative for the first campaign describes the battle of Megiddo in highly detailed, vivid prose. The Annals tell us of consulting ‘day books’ (before composing the final narrative, clearly indicating a sense of record-keeping hrwyt) appropriate for proper chroniclers. Thutmose III’s Annals are perhaps the best example of this genre from ancient Egypt. Given its extensive narrative framework, another text that could be described as annalistic is a stela of Amenhotep II from Memphis, a duplicate of which comes from Karnak.31 The text recounts in great detail the king’s campaigns in Western Asia in his seventh and ninth years, suggesting that daybooks kept at the palace were consulted when writing the final version of the events.

King lists The original context of the Turin Canon, the quintessential king list from ancient Egypt,32 is difficult to determine since the text was written on the back of a discarded taxation roll. Compiled in the Ramesside period, it begins with a list of gods who reigned, followed by ‘transfigured spirits’ (ꜣḫw) and the Followers of Horus, who are often given fantastic reign lengths. The list of rulers begins with Menes and runs through the various periods of  Egyptian history, with the entries breaking off in the early New Kingdom. What is note­worthy in terms of historical chronicling is that the compiler(s?) of the Canon used headings and concluding formulas to group together the various periods and families— what modern historians call dynasties—demonstrating a clear awareness of intervals in their history. An example of the former is in column 4, lines 16–17, where the text mentions a long period of over 955 years starting from Menes to the end of the Eighth Dynasty. This is a reference to the period from the First Dynasty to the end of what we designate as the Old Kingdom and just before the so-called First Intermediate Period. As for dynasties, the Twelfth Dynasty is separated from its predecessors and successors by the following phrases: ‘[Kings of the] Residence of Itjtawy’, followed by the list of kings; and ‘Total (dmd ˍ ), kings of  the Residence [of Itjtawy], 8 (kings), totalling (lit. “making”) 213 years, 1 month, and 17  days’ (Turin Canon 6,3). These groupings often agree with Manetho’s own division of rulers into dynasties. Thutmose III’s Table of Kings,33 originally carved in a small room in the king’s Festival Hall (the reliefs are now in the Musée du Louvre), shows the pharaoh offering to sixty-two kings, seated before him in four registers on three walls. Thutmose III is said to be ‘performing the offering formula (ἰrt ḥtp-dἰ-nsw) for the kings of Upper and Lower Egypt’.34 The whole is therefore part of the well-attested cult of royal ancestors.35 This is a rather idiosyncratic list, which did not aim at completeness but rather at honouring kings who were attested at Karnak; thus, the list comprises selected kings from Dynasties 4, 5, 6, 11, 12, 13, and 17. 31  Sethe  1930 (Urk. IV): 1299–316; Porter and Moss  1972: 56 (Karnak); Porter and Moss  1981: 846 (Memphis); Der Manuelian 1987: 56–83. 32  P. Turin N. 1874, verso; Kitchen 1979(KRI II): 827–44; Kitchen 1996 (II): 540–50; Gardiner 1959. 33  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 608–10; Porter and Moss 1972: 42; Redford 1986: 29–34. For a recent publication of this text, see Delange 2015. 34  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 608:6. 35  Wegner 2001: 334.

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976   Ronald J. Leprohon Carved on the walls of Seti I’s memorial temple at Abydos36 is a list that shows the king and the crown prince Rameses offering to the cartouches of seventy-six kings in two rows of thirty-eight names each. Seti I is said to be ‘laying down offerings (wꜣḥ ḫt) for the kings of Upper and Lower Egypt’,37 while the young Rameses holds two rolls of papyrus and is said to be ‘reciting the praise’ (nis ḥḳnw)38 of the kings represented before them. Above each cartouche is the phrase ‘for/of King . . .’ (n nsw), thus continuing the captions associated with Seti I and Prince Rameses. Like Thutmose III’s list, this is another example of the veneration of royal ancestors. Once again, the list did not aim at completeness. It first comprises selected kings from Dynasties 1 through 8 then 11 and 12. The catalogue ends with the Eighteenth Dynasty (with the expected omissions of Hatshepsut and the Amarna rulers from Akhenaten to Ay), and the first two kings of the Nineteenth Dynasty, Rameses I and Seti I. The now-damaged king list from Rameses II’s own memorial temple at Abydos39 is similar to that of his father’s, including the n nsw formula before each cartouche. Below the list, a caption tells us that these offerings to the royal ancestors are ‘through the gift (lit. “giving”)’ (m dd) of Rameses II.40 The culmination of these king lists must surely be Manetho’s Aegyptiaca,41 written in the third century bc. Manetho divided his history into thirty ruling houses, or ‘dynasties’,42 and his entries usually take the following format: the number of the dynasty and the number of kings within it; the rulers’ place of origin; the particular kings and anecdotes about them; and the length of the dynasty. However, Manetho did not always seem to understand his sources, as he, for example, erred in insisting that his dynasties ruled consecutively; the Tenth and the Eleventh dynasties were certainly coeval, as were the Sixteenth and the Seventeenth. Given that his history goes well beyond the Ramesside period, Manetho’s Aegyptiaca shows that king lists must have been compiled long after that period, notwithstanding that the Turin Canon is the last surviving example of such lists.43 The annals and king lists show the Egyptians’ awareness of their past and the continuum of history. What is noteworthy is their clearly developed sense of periodization. Another example is part of the representation of the Min festival in Rameses II’s mortuary temple, where a series of statues of former kings are depicted;44 the Eighteenth Dynasty begins with Ahmose II,45 its founder, behind whom are Nebhepetra Mentuhotep and Menes, both kings associated with introducing new eras. 36  Kitchen 1975(KRI I): 177–9; Kitchen 1993 (I): 153–6; Porter and Moss 1991: 25 (229–30); Redford 1986: 18–20. 37  Kitchen 1975 (KRI I): 177: 8–10; Kitchen 1993 (I): 153. 38  Kitchen 1975 (KRI I): 177: 10; Kitchen 1993 (I): 153. 39  Kitchen 1979 (KRI II): 539–41; Kitchen 1996 (II): 348–9; Porter and Moss 1991: 35 (27); Redford 1986: 20–1. 40  Kitchen 1979 (KRI II): 539: 13–14; Kitchen 1996 (II): 348. From the reign of Rameses II comes a private king list, the so-called Table of Saqqara from the Memphite tomb chapel of Tjunuroy/Tjuloy (Kitchen 1980: 481–2; Kitchen 2000 (III): 340–2; Porter and Moss 1979: 666; Redford 1986: 21–4), whose catalog comprises nearly sixty kings, a short section of which is conveniently illustrated in Gardiner 1961: 49, fig. 8. 41  Waddell 1940; Kitchen 2001: 236; Redford 2001b. 42  For a discussion of this term, see Redford 1986: 234, n. 14. 43  Redford 1986: 203–30. 44  Kitchen 1983 (KRI V): 205; Kitchen 2008 (V): 172–3; Porter and Moss 1972: 434 (10); Redford 1986: 34–6; Kadish 2001: 108. 45  For the Roman numeral after the royal name Ahmose, see Leprohon 2013: 91, n. 67, 95–6, n. 12.

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Historical texts   977

Royal narratives Warfare If accounts of battle existed from Old Kingdom rulers, none has survived. Some scenes from the kings’ mortuary complexes can be said to be historical. An example of pictorial and inscriptional narrative is Sahura’s relief of Libyan prisoners at Abusir;46 the fact that this scene was borrowed by Pepy II for his own mortuary temple at Saqqara shows a willingness to, in effect, re-write history.47 From the First Intermediate Period comes a set of graffiti found in the Western Desert on the Qena bend of the Nile,48 which help elucidate the early skirmishes between the Thebans and the supporters of the northern kingdom of Heracleopolis. A reference from one of the latter to having ‘crossed this [de]sert]’ (d ˍ ꜣỉt [ḫꜣ]st tn)49 indicates the importance of the desert trade routes during the ongoing civil war, while a nearby graffito showing the name Intef written within a cartouche50 hints at a flanking manoeuvre on the part of the Thebans, who used the desert road to skirt the Coptite nome and attack the region of Abydos. To commemorate his conquest of Lower Nubia, Senusret III set up twin stelae in the fortresses of Semna and Uronarti in his 16th year,51 a straightforward statement of fact recording a military victory but also a shrewd reminder to the local population that no disruption to the newly established frontier of Egypt at the Second Cataract would be tolerated by the king. Discovered in the foundation of a fragmentary statue of Rameses II in the forecourt of the Karnak temple, and therefore presumably originally set up in a cultic context, Kamose’s victory stela52 recounts his battles with the Hyksos rulers in great detail. It is one of two stelae set up at Karnak recounting the king’s deeds; an additional, and slightly later in date, scribal copy of the stelae has been preserved on a wooden tablet.53 In the Eighteenth Dynasty, texts proclaiming the king’s victories or various achievements were regularly published; some of these were written in elaborate poetic style complete with quatrains and distichs, surely indicating the content was meant to be recited at a palace soirée. A good example of this is Thutmose III’s so-called Poetical Stela,54 in which the arrangement of the verses is actually carved in symmetrical fashion on the stone itself. At least two versions of the extensive narrative of Rameses II’s famous battle at Qadesh55 exist. One is the so-called Poem, mostly known from copies on papyrus but also from the king’s temples at Abydos, Karnak, Luxor, and Abu Simbel, as well as the Ramesseum. The other is the Bulletin, also carved on temple walls. Complete with a full narrative of the ebb and flow of the contest as well as dialogue between the king and his military commanders, 46  Porter and Moss 1974: 329 (14). 47  Porter and Moss 1978: 427 (18). On this common practice, see also Vernus 1995a: 158. 48  Darnell et al. 2002. 49  Darnell et al. 2002: 30–7. 50  Darnell et al. 2002: 38–46. 51  Stela Berlin 1157; Sethe 1928: 83–4; Parkinson 1991: 43–6. 52 Habachi 1972. 53 Gardiner 1916. 54  Stela CG 34010; Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 610–19; Lichtheim 1976: 35–9; Lalouette 1984: 101–4. 55  Kitchen 1979 (KRI II): 2–124; Kitchen 1996 (II): 2–18. For a bibliography, see Kitchen 1982: 249; for more recent studies, see Partridge 2002: 246–58; and Spalinger 2005: 209–34.

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978   Ronald J. Leprohon the account is lively and engaging. The complementary pictorial record of the battle on temple walls adds much to the report.56 Within the highly detailed list of donations given by Rameses III to his mortuary temple in Western Thebes found in the Great Harris Papyrus57 is a short narrative section describing the end of the Nineteenth Dynasty and the beginning of the Twentieth (P. Harris, 75: 2–5).58 Written in the genre of pessimistic literature known since the Middle Kingdom—in which a period of chaos is followed by eventual order when a new king arrives to set things right— the report details the actions taken by King Setnakht, the first king of the Twentieth Dynasty and Rameses III’s father, to restore order in Egypt under divine guidance (P.  Harris 75: 7–11).59 The account may owe much to Rameses III’s desire to justify his own ascendancy and not simply to chronicle his life and times. Rameses III’s great narratives of his battles against the Sea Peoples60 and the Libyans61 are also important historical sources. The Piy Stela62 narrates in great detail the conquest of Egypt by the Kushite king. The text begins with the king exhorting posterity to listen to the recitation of his great deeds. This is followed by a full narrative of a protracted military campaign. Along the way, the audience is treated to a historical account that includes humane touches describing various pro­tag­ on­ists, including the king’s own emotional outburst at seeing the mistreatment of the horses stabled in Hermopolis (lines 65–6).63

Building activities By the Middle Kingdom, a new genre of royal inscription is first attested, the Royal Audience (ḥ mst-nsw, lit. ‘a royal sitting’), in which the monarch delivers a speech to his court, announcing his intentions. An example from the Twelfth Dynasty has King Senusret I announcing his decision to rebuild the temple to Atum in Heliopolis.64 The existing text is written on a leather roll dated to the Eighteenth Dynasty—a fact that demonstrates how such texts were sometimes circulated long after their original publication. Later in the Middle Kingdom, King Neferhotep I65 is said to have presented himself before his courtiers, asking to consult the ‘primeval writings of Atum’ (sšw pꜣwt nt ỉtm, lines 2–3), which were kept in the ‘great inventory’ (sỉpty-wr, line 3);66 this was done to ensure that the statues of Osiris at Abydos be fashioned correctly. This request certainly shows the ancients’ own consciousness of their past and of their wish to consult it. The Eighteenth Dynasty offers a great number of accounts of royal building activities. These often begin with the so-called Dedication Formula ‘it is his monument for his father that he made’ (jrj.n.f m mnw.f n jt.f ),67 the word ‘father’ referring to the divine figure for whom the structure had been erected. Thutmose III described both his work at the eastern 56  For the disjunction between images and text in these reliefs, however, see Bryan 1996. 57  Erichsen 1933; Grandet 1994. 58  Erichsen 1933: 91. 59  Erichsen 1933: 91–2. 60  Kitchen 1983 (KRI V): 37–43; Kitchen 2008 (V): 32–6. 61  Kitchen 1983 (KRI V): 20–7, 58-66-71; Kitchen 2008 (V): 18–24, 47–52. 62  Grimal 1981. See also Jansen-Winkeln 2007b: 337–50; Gozzoli 2006: 54–67. 63  Grimal 1981: 68–9. 64  Pap. Berlin 3029; de Buck 1938; conveniently translated in Parkinson 1991: 40–3. 65  Helck 1983: 21–9; for a translation, see Simpson 2003: 339–44. 66  Helck 1983: 21. 67  Björkman 1971: 22–48; Taufik 1971; Castle 1993; Castle 1994.

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Historical texts   979 end of Karnak temple68 and his refurbishing of the Ptah temple to the north of the main Amun complex.69 The latter stela is noteworthy for it specifically tells future generations that the funds for the rebuilding came from the booty brought back from western Asia after the king’s first campaign of victory there (line 9)70 and also contains descriptions of the redistribution of offerings from the god back to the priests (lines 15–17, 20–1).71 From Karnak also come texts from the reign of Amenhotep II, who described his erection of columns between the fourth and fifth pylons.72 The great builder Amenhotep III recounted his many benefactions to Amun in his own texts, notably a great black granite stela that relates his projects at Karnak and Luxor, as well as his mortuary temple on the Theban west bank and even Nubia.73 The Nineteenth-Dynasty king Rameses II also lent his voice to such accounts.74 Additionally, kings reported their work on behalf of Osiris at Abydos, notably Thutmose I, who used the occasion of a royal sitting before his court to announce his wish to execute certain works at the sacred site. What follow are the courtiers’ expected acquiescence of the king’s wisdom, the royal reply back to them, and an enumeration of the sacred objects placed in the temple.75 Rameses II’s famous Inscription dédicatoire, an account of his completing Seti I’s previous efforts at the Osiris temple at Abydos,76 has long been used by modern historians to elucidate historical questions, such as the question of a coregency between Rameses II and his father, and has also been the subject of an in-depth analysis of the language and grammar used in the text.77

Private narratives Although few royal inscriptions from the Old Kingdom survive, there is a considerable amount of autobiographical material from the private tombs chapels of that period, which provide information of a historical nature.78 Some tomb owners, like Debehni, indicated that their tomb and its equipment came as direct gifts from the king,79 while Hetepherakhet proudly stated that they came from his very own property.80 Nekhebu asserted that he had 68  Stela CG 34012; Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 833–8; Breasted 1906b: § 599–608; Klug 2002: 121–8. 69  Stela CG 34013; Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 765–72; Breasted 1906b: § 609–22; Klug 2002: 137–46. For a recent study of this temple, see Biston-Moulin and Thiers 2016. 70  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 767: 3. 71  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 768: 11–769:2; 769: 15–17. 72  Breasted 1906b: § 803–6; Barguet 1962: 104, and references there. 73 CG 34025; Sethe  1930 (Urk. IV): 1646–57; Breasted  1906b: § 878–92; Lichtheim  1976: 43–8; Klug 2002: 393–407. 74  For some of Rameses II’s dedication texts from Karnak, see, e.g., Kitchen 1979(KRI II): 556–65, 582–4; Kitchen 1996 (II): 360–7, 379–383, etc. 75  Stela CG 34007; Sethe  1930 (Urk. IV): 95–103; Breasted  1906b: § 90–8; Lalouette  1984: 59–62; Klug 2002: 59–64. 76  Kitchen 1979(KRI II): 323–36; Kitchen 1996 (II): 162–74; see also Spalinger 2009 for a theological examination of the text. 77 Sweeney 1985. 78  Translations of some of these texts can be found in Breasted 1906a; Lichtheim 1976; Roccati 1982, and Strudwick 2005. For a recent study of autobiographies from this period, see Stauder-Porchet 2017. 79  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 18–21. 80  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 50.

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980   Ronald J. Leprohon treated his community in a proper manner,81 while Akhetmehu repeated the same claim on behalf of his workers.82 Washptah boasted of close contact with the king when he told posterity of his illness and the king’s subsequent concern for his well-being,83 while Rawer, who accidentally bumped the king’s staff during a formal procession, bragged of the same, even if this contact did not necessarily put him in a favourable light.84 Other texts, such those of Weni the Elder,85 Harkhuf,86 Pepynakht Heqaib,87 etc., are full narratives recounting the officials’ great deeds on behalf of the crown. An interesting case is that of the aforementioned Weni the Elder, whose tomb has been rediscovered at Abydos; the finding that he was the son of a Vizier has forced us to reconsider the veracity of his claim to be a self-made man.88 One set of documents which has come to light is the so-called Logbook of Merer.89 Discovered in a cave at the site of Wadi el-Jarf on the Red Sea coast and dated to Khufu’s 26th Regnal Year, some of the papyri detail the Supervisor (sḥ ˍd) Merer’s work as he fared back and forth between the construction site of the Great Pyramid at Giza and the limestone quarry of Tura on the east bank. From these we get a glimpse of the daily logistics of hauling stone—note that Merer seems to have been responsible only for the transport, not the quarrying of the stone—between two sites, including the occasional reference to being supplied with foodstuffs from a site in Heliopolis. During the First Intermediate Period, a time of declining central authority, a new genre of autobiographical writing appeared, in which the official wished to tell posterity how self-sufficient he had been and how helpful he had been to those around him.90 From the Middle Kingdom, much historical material is preserved on stelae left at the pilgrimage site of Abydos or in tomb chapels from sites such as Beni Hasan, Bersheh, Meir, and Aswan. The themes pursued in these biographies are faithful service to the king and beneficence to the local community, coupled with individual achievements and the official’s eloquence.91 Some texts recount military campaigns undertaken alongside the king, such as Khnumhotep I’s of Beni Hasan, who accompanied Amenemhat I on a military raid in Upper Egypt.92 Others related their exploits on the battle field in greater detail. Two famous soldiers from the Twelfth Dynasty93 are Nessumontu94 and Khuwy-Sobek,95 who campaigned in Nubia and Western Asia on behalf of Senusret I and III, respectively. The palace official Semti-sheri described his inspection tour throughout temples in Upper Egypt under Amenemhat II.96

81  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 217. 82  Edel 1953: 327–33. 83  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 40–5. 84  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 232. On Rawer’s incident, see Allen 1992. 85  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 98–110. 86  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 120–31. 87  Sethe 1933 (Urk. I): 131–5. 88  Richards 2002: 90–4; Bárta 2015: 10. 89  Tallet 2017. An English translation of the text itself (pp. 149–61 of the volume) has kindly been put on-line by the publishers. 90  E.g. the nomarch Ankhtifi, for which see Vandier 1950; Lichtheim 1973: 85–6; Lichtheim 1988: 24–6. 91  These texts have been discussed in Lichtheim 1988. 92  Sethe 1935 (Urk. VII): 12: 3–9. 93  For military titles in the Middle Kingdom, see Stefanović 2006. 94  Stela Louvre C 1; Sethe 1928: 81–2; Breasted 1906a: § 469–71; Obsomer 1995: 546–52. 95  Stela Manchester Museum 3306; Garstang 1900: pl. 5; Peet 1914; Sethe 1928: 82–3; Baines 1987. 96  Stela BM 574; British Museum 1912: 8–9; Breasted 1906a: § 607–13 (where he is called Khentemsemti; for the name, see Franke 1984: Dossier no. 597).

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Historical texts   981 A good number of texts have come down from the Eighteenth Dynasty which complement royal statements about wars and building activities or provide information on administrative duties. Military men such as Ahmose son of Ibana97 and Ahmose Pen Nekhbet98 detailed their participation in the wars of liberation in the early Eighteenth Dynasty. From the reign of Thutmose III, Amenemhab corroborated and amplified a number of statements found in the Annals,99 while Tjanuny specifically wrote that ‘it was me who set down (smn) the victories (pꜣ nḫtw) he [Pharaoh] won in every land, putting them down in writing in accordance with what had been done’.100 Building activities are echoed by men like Ineni, who supervised work at Karnak, erecting pylons and obelisks there;101 Ineni even spe­cif­i c­al­ly states that he supervised the making of tomb of Thutmose I ‘in solitude, without being seen or heard’,102 implying a certain amount of secrecy when opening the necropolis of the Valley of the Kings. Other master architects were Senenmut, Hatshepsut’s famous High steward, who, along with managing the affairs of Amun and tutoring the queen’s daughter, was responsible for the queen’s building projects at Thebes,103 and Menkheperrasoneb, who described his role in Thutmose III’s work at Karnak.104 Another renowned architect was Amenhotep son of Hapu, a Royal scribe and Chief of all the king’s works under Amenhotep III; the second title led him to be responsible for the carving and transportation of obelisks as well as statues, including the famous Colossi of Memnon before the king’s mortuary temple in western Thebes.105 Administrative affairs are also elucidated for us by men like the Vizier Rekhmire under Thutmose III and Amenhotep II; his tomb contains a number of highly important texts, including one that recounts the king’s appointment of the vizier, while another relates his duties.106 The Royal messenger Intef detailed his duties as inter­medi­ary between the king and his people as well as his role in maintaining palace etiquette.107 Two important texts from the Late Period, those of Udjahorresnet and Petosiris, must be added to this summary catalogue.108 The former, a Navy commander, inscribed a long autobiographical text on a statue, in which he described events from the Persian period, spe­cif­ic­al­ly the reign of King Cambyses, and narrated his own role in advising the new ruler about Egyptian customs.109 The tomb of Petosiris, the High priest of Thoth, at Tuna elGebel in Middle Egypt dates to the late fourth century bc; it is well known for its mixture of Egyptian art tinged with Greek influence but also for its vivid description of the Second Persian occupation and the ensuing destruction of buildings in Egypt.110 97  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 1–10; Breasted 1906b: § 1–3, 4–16, 38–9, 78–82; Lichtheim 1976: 12–15. 98  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 32–9; Breasted 1906b: § 17–25, 40–2, 83–5, 123–4. 99  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 889–919; Breasted 1906b: § 574–92. 100  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 1004:9–10; Breasted 1906b: § 392; Redford 2003: 123. 101  Sethe  1930 (Urk. IV): 53–75; Breasted  1906b: § 43–6, 99–108, 115, 118, 340, 343; Dziobek  1992; Borla 1995. 102  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 57:3–5. 103  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 407–12; Breasted 1906b: § 345, 368; Dorman 1988; Dorman 1991. 104  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 926–8; Breasted 1906b: § 772–6. 105  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 1822–3; Breasted 1906b: § 911–27; Varille 1968. 106  Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 1071–171; Breasted 1906b: § 663–759; van den Boorn 1988. 107  Stela Louvre C 26; Sethe 1930 (Urk. IV): 963–75; Breasted 1906b: § 763,771; Redford 2003: 176–81. 108  For studies on Late-Period biographies, see Otto 1954; and Heise 2007. 109  Vatican Museum 158 [113]; Lichtheim  1980: 36–41; Lloyd  1982; Menu  1995b; Gozzoli  2006: 187, n. 146. 110  Lefebvre 1924; Lichtheim 1980: 44–54; Menu 1994; 1995a; 1996.

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982   Ronald J. Leprohon

Future directions in the study of historical texts From Richard Lepsius’ incomparable colour plates111 to James Allen’s model re-publication of the Hekanakhte Letters,112 with its use of modern technology to help the readers see the papyrus as if it were actually before them, the publication of written material from ancient Egypt has come a long way. The continued publication of texts, especially those in museum storehouses,113 can provide valuable new material for historical studies. In this respect, the Corpus Antiquitatum Aegyptiacarum series has been a boon. Long may it flourish. The publication of papyri that have long been known but incompletely published114 and the ­re-publication of texts and scenes, also long known but improperly published by earlier scholars,115 are extremely important. Likewise, the publications of graffiti has significantly added to the corpus of material; such texts can lead to important insights into some historical periods, as the previously mentioned work in the Western Desert by Darnell has shown.116 Further examination of this material will potentially yield valuable historical information. The study of epithets used to designate kings and their actions and qualities must also continue, as these have been shown to demonstrate not only individual royal attributes but also the ideal qualities of the very institution of kingship.117 Private epithets are also highly informative, from the Sixth-Dynasty governors’ epithets from Dakhla Oasis, which subtly describe their relationship with the palace,118 to Middle Kingdom epithets that can illustrate various levels of access in courtly circles.119 Such work should continue to be done, as close study may give insights into the history of these periods. Lexicographical studies must also continue to be done, such as a study of the terminology for palace architecture,120 which will facilitate the interpretation of historical texts. Documents can also be examined for the way they adapted previous writings; it is clear that the Instructions of Ptahhotep influenced a number of authors of what would certainly be considered historical texts.121 Middle Kingdom stelae left at Abydos also show borrowings of certain passages from earlier stelae, using but also adapting their predecessors’ phrase­ology to tell their own stories.122 When analysing historical texts, care must be taken not to over-extend interpretation beyond what the texts themselves divulge. For example, it has been pointed out123 that the nomarch Khnumhotep II’s mention of King Amenemhat I’s re-organization of the nomes’ boundaries during the time of his grandfather Khnumhotep I124 might have been limited to the 16th Upper Egyptian nome and did not necessarily extend to the whole of the country. More work also needs to be done on placing texts within their own contexts; this could be a full analysis of a given tomb and the self-image the tomb-owner wished to convey to his community,

111 Lepsius 1849–59. 112 Allen 2002. 113  Patenaude and Shaw 2011. 114  E.g. Collier and Quirke 2002. 115  E.g. Kitchen 1975–90. 116  Darnell et al. 2002. 117  Lorton 2003: 4. 118 Pantalacci 1997. 119 Leprohon 1997. 120 Pagliari 2012. 121  Eyre 1990; Vernus 1995b. 122  Leprohon 2009; Vernus 2016. 123  Vandersleyen 1995: 48. 124  Sethe 1935 (Urk. VII): 27.

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Historical texts   983 such as the study of the tomb of Khnumhotep II at Beni Hasan.125 Such investigations can only further the understanding of the ancient texts and their original contexts. The detailed study of material from specific reigns can also help historians reconstruct the various periods of Egyptian history. Much work has been done, but many more im­port­ant reigns could still be investigated with great profit. Finally, to help broaden the perspective into the writing of ancient Egyptian history, Egyptologists must also keep publishing ancient written records, especially those from lesser known periods.126 As has been remarked,127 such translations would also be of bene­fit to scholars from different disciplines.

Suggested reading Kadish  2001 provides an overview of ancient Egyptian historiography. For the ancient Egyptians’ perspective on history and the types of texts used to record it, see Redford (1986), Vernus (1995a), Baud and Grimal (2003), Tait (2003), and Eyre (2013). For an introduction to autobiographies see Perdu (1995). Compendia such as Breasted’s Ancient Records of Egypt (1906) are useful for their historical breadth, but out-of-date translations and references lessen their value. Newer renderings are available in the works of Lichtheim (1973; 1976; 1980), Lalouette (1984), Wente (1990), and Simpson (2003). For Old Kingdom texts, the translations by Roccati (1982) and Strudwick (2005) are invaluable, as are those of Lichtheim (1988) and Parkinson (1991) for the Middle Kingdom. For the late Eighteenth Dynasty, the books of Cumming (1982;  1984a, b) and Davies (1992; 1994; 1995) offer a plethora of material, as do those of Moran (1992), Murnane (1995), and Rainey (2014) for the Amarna Period. The Ramesside-period texts have been rendered by Kitchen (1993–2014) and Frood (2007), while Davies (1997) and Peden (1994b) have offered texts from the Nineteenth and Twentieth Dynasties, re­spect­ive­ly. The texts from the Third Intermediate Period have been translated by Ritner (2009) while Eide et al. (1994) have offered the texts from the Kushite Period. Graffiti have been published from the Memphite necropolis (Navratilova 2015), Deir elBahri (Sabek 2016), the temple of Hibis in Kharga Oasis (Cruz-Uribe 2008), the temple of Philae (Cruz-Uribe 2016), the Eastern Desert (Rothe et al. 2008; Brown and Darnell 2013), and the southern Sinai (Tallet 2015). For royal epithets of the Old Kingdom, see Dobrev (1993); for the Middle Kingdom, see Blumenthal (1970) and Franke (1997); for the Eighteenth Dynasty, see Klug (2002); and for those of the Ramesside period and beyond, see Grimal (1986). Private epithets and phrases from the Old Kingdom have been investigated by Edel (1944) and Kloth (2002), while Doxey’s work (1998) on those of the Middle Kingdom will long remain that subject’s standard study in English; the present author has also shown (2001) that these help determine various officials’ curriculum vitae. Second Intermediate Period biographies have now been covered by Kubisch (2009). New Kingdom epithets have been studied extensively by Rickal (2005); Gnirs (1996) has examined the aggressive epithets held by military officers; Guksch (1994) 125  Kamrin 1999. 126  E.g. Daoud 2005; Jansen-Winkeln 2007a; 2007b; 2009; 2014. 127  Kadish 2001: 110–11.

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984   Ronald J. Leprohon has discussed officials’ self-presentation vis-à-vis the king and others; while Sweeney (2001) has tackled the formulas used in Ramesside correspondence. The Third Intermediate and Late Periods’ private epithets have been dealt with by Jansen-Winkeln (1985) and Otto (1954), respectively. For lexicography, see the work by Spencer (1984), Cauville (1995), Grothoff (1996), Stefanović (2009), and Biston-Moulin (2017) on the terminology of temple architecture and material. The studies by Lorton (1974), Spalinger (1982), and Galán (1995) on legal and ­military terminology can also be singled out as valuable examples of lexicographical studies. Examples of volumes on specific reigns include those of Kings Djoser (Baud  2002), Mentuhotep II (Postel  2004), Amememhat I (Berman  1985); Senusret I (Obsomer  1995; Gundlach  2008; Hirsch  2008); Senusret III (Delia  1980; Tallet  2005); Amenemhat III (Leprohon 1980); Ahmose (Vandersleyen 1971); Amenhotep I (Schmitz 1978); Hatshepsut (Ratié  1979; Roehrig et al.  2005); Thutmose II (Gabolde  2005); Thutmose III (Della Monica  1991; Cline and O’Connor  2006; and Maruéjol  2007); Amenhotep II (Der Manuelian 1987); Thutmose IV (Bryan 1991); Amenhotep III (O’Connor and Cline 1998; Kozloff  2012); Akhenaten (Redford  1984; Aldred  1988; Dodson  2014); Smenkhkhare (Habicht  2014); Ay (Schaden  1977); Horemheb (Hari  1965; Della Monica  2001); Seti I (Brand  2000); Rameses II (Kitchen  1982; Desroches-Noblecourt  1996); Merenptah (Iskander 2002); Rameses III (Grandet 1993; Cline and O’Connor 2012); and Rameses IV (Peden 1994a). The Second and Third Intermediate Periods have been studied extensively (Marée 2010; and Broekman et al. 2009, respectively), while the monuments of the Twentyfifth Dynasty have been covered by Leclant (1965) and Török (2008).

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chapter 49

‘Au tobiogr a phica l’ texts Denise Doxey

Introduction: the nature of Egyptian autobiographies In the study of ancient Egyptian literature, ‘autobiography’ refers to a type of text presented in the first person and found on tomb walls, funerary and votive stelae and statuary, and rock inscriptions left at the sites of mining, quarrying, and military expeditions. These texts span almost the entire history of ancient Egypt, from the Old Kingdom to the Roman era, and are among the most common and informative types of Egyptian non-royal inscription, providing primary source material that can elucidate aspects of ancient Egyptian history, society, and moral values. To some extent the term ‘autobiography’ is misleading when applied to ancient Egypt, because the narrators and protagonists of the inscriptions are unlikely to have composed the texts themselves. The repetitive nature of many claims, which clearly derive from established Egyptian concepts of justice and good behaviour, has led many scholars to note that the texts are not true but rather idealized autobiographies. Nevertheless, the inclusion in many autobiographies of specific details of events in which the officials participated indicates that, to a certain extent at least, the narrator played a role in determining content. The use of the term autobiography may therefore in fact be appropriate.1 The function of ancient Egyptian autobiographies was not to serve as a memoir of their subject, but rather to demonstrate his (the texts virtually all refer to men) adherence to the Egyptian concept of maat, or world order. By living in accordance with maat, a person gained the favour of the gods, the king, and his fellow officials, thus ensuring that he was worthy of both eternal existence in the afterlife and a mortuary cult that would be maintained in perpetuity by his descendants. Autobiographies were therefore intended both to satisfy the gods that the narrator had lived a meritorious life and to persuade the living to perpetuate his memory. 1  Lichtheim 1988: 2.

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‘Autobiographical’ texts   995 Egyptian autobiographies generally begin with a list of titles and laudatory epithets identifying the narrator.2 The remainder of the text is composed of a moral self-presentation, a career narrative or both. The self-presentation typically emphasizes the narrator’s skill, character, devotion to his family, kindness to others, and service to the king. These at­tri­butes appear to have been drawn from an established repertoire of positive character traits rather than from actual events. Nevertheless, they can often furnish valuable information about the moral and ethical standards of the ancient Egyptians. The career narrative highlights the official’s successful performance of the king’s wishes, his devotion to the gods, and his generous and skilful interaction with his peers and/or townspeople. It is in this portion of the autobiography that historical references to actual events are most likely to be found. In some cases, the function of the autobiography is made explicit by the inclusion of an ‘appeal to the living’ which asks those who may later read or listen to the account to make offerings or recite prayers. In other cases, where they were inscribed in inaccessible locations, a non-living audience is addressed.3 The use of autobiographies was limited to the non-royal elite. Kings, who were semidivine and had no need to justify their behaviour, never adopted the practice of inscribing autobiographies. As the one ultimately responsible for maintaining maat throughout Egypt, the king could claim credit for the worthy deeds of all his subjects, whose autobiographies therefore indirectly describe his success as well as their own, at least in times of a unified central state. During periods of decentralization, civil unrest or foreign conquest, officials often turned directly to the gods as the source of their achievements and hopes for the afterlife. Members of the lower echelons of Egyptian society, who could not afford their own monuments, obviously had no venue for autobiographies, but could hope to derive a measure of access to the mortuary cult by having their images and names included on the monuments of their superiors.4 Despite their restricted contexts, autobiographies influenced (and were influenced by) both royal inscriptions and literary works. A particularly close relationship existed between autobiographies and didactic or ‘wisdom’ literature (see Chapter 50 in this volume), which, like autobiography, is first attested in the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2160 bc). The similarity in phraseology and themes between the two genres indicates that the authors of both were drawing on similar source material, although scholars do not agree about which influenced the creation of the other, or whether a preceding oral tradition influenced both (see Chapter 47 in this volume).5 When royal historiography emerged during the early Eighteenth Dynasty, it borrowed features and patterns found previously in non-royal autobiographies.6 The format of royal texts of the New Kingdom (c.1550–1069 bc) therefore mirrors that of autobiographies, beginning with the royal titulary and epithets, and followed by a narrative of the event or action being highlighted. Andrea Gnirs has outlined four basic types of autobiography in ancient Egypt.7 The earliest, originating in the late Old Kingdom and reappearing in the New Kingdom, is the ‘historical autobiography’, an example of which is the inscription of Harkhuf.8 Texts in this category focus on the official’s achievements, through which he gains social standing and recognition 2  Doxey 1998: 1–3. 3  Von Lieven 2010: 54–69. 4  Leprohon 1978: 33–8. 5  Assmann  1983: 64–93; Lichtheim  1996: 279; Loprieno 1988: 1–21; Loprieno  1996: 404; Quirke 1990: 93. 6  Gnirs 2001: 187. 7  Gnirs 2001: 185–95. 8  Stauder-Porchet 2011: 282, 747–66.

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996   Denise Doxey from the king or a god. The ‘reflexive autobiography’, which also originated in the Old Kingdom and is exemplified by the biography of Hetepherakhet,9 stresses the official’s moral character and social responsibility. Reflexive autobiographies gave rise, during the New Kingdom, to ‘confessional autobiographies’, which credit the narrator’s success solely to the intervention of the king or a god. Such texts are particularly common in the Amarna and Ramesside periods. The ‘encomiastic autobiography’ popular in the Middle and early New Kingdoms, combines features of the historical and reflexive autobiography, stressing the character, deeds, and status of the official, but with a greater emphasis on self-reliance and less focus on the king. Examples include the biographies of Amenemhat and Khnumhotep II from Beni Hasan.

Autobiography in the Old Kingdom Autobiographies first appeared in tombs at the end of the Fourth Dynasty (c.2500 bc), developing out of the offering formulae of the earlier Old Kingdom.10 While the offering formulae sought provisions for the afterlife from the king or the gods, autobiographies now justified these offerings by asserting that the narrator had earned them in one of two primary ways: his loyal and effective service to the king and/or his virtuous moral character.11 The first historical autobiographies place an overwhelming emphasis on the tomb itself as well as on the king, who was credited with providing the tomb and its furnishings.12 Among the earliest autobiographies is the fragmentary autobiography of Debehni from his tomb at Giza,13 which consists entirely of an account of a visit by the Fourth-Dynasty ruler Menkaura (c.2532–2503 bc) to Giza, during which he assigns a crew of builders to construct a tomb for Debehni and allocates limestone for its furnishings. Another early autobiography, the fragmentary Fifth-Dynasty inscription from the tomb of the vizier Washptah from Abusir, recounts how king Neferirkara (c.2475–2455 bc) awarded a tomb to Washptah after he collapsed in the king’s presence during a royal visit to the necropolis.14 While these earliest autobiographies offer no specific reason for the king’s beneficence, Fifth-Dynasty officials were soon attributing it to their own good deeds. The autobiography of Hetepherakhet from Saqqara, for example, stresses that he built his tomb with his own resources, that he treated his workers generously and to their satisfaction, and that he used no forced labour.15 Other texts describe specific service to the king. The vizier Sennedjemib, whose actions earned a royal funerary endowment and a tomb at Giza, included verbatim transcriptions of two letters from Djedkara (c.2414–2375 bc), in which the king expresses his pleasure with Sennedjemib’s successful execution of royal building projects.16 As the Old Kingdom progressed, the reflexive autobiography with its moral self-presentation became increasingly important, and texts stress their narrators’ personal skills, generosity, 9  Stauder-Porchet 2017: 48–53. 10  Lichtheim 1988: 5. 11  Lichtheim 1988: 6. 12  Gnirs 2001: 186; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 75–94. 13  Sethe 1933: 18–21; Breasted 1988: 94–5; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 75–85. 14  Sethe 1933: 40–5; Breasted 1988: 111–13; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 48–53. 15  Breasted 1988: 251–3; Lichtheim 1988: 10–11; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 78–9. 16  Sethe 1933: 59–67; Breasted 1988: 121–5; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 145–58.

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‘Autobiographical’ texts   997 and concern for the needy.17 Generosity to the less fortunate was a subject already alluded to by Hetepherakhet, but by the Sixth Dynasty (c.2345–2181 bc) it is common for officials to claim to have given bread to the hungry, beer to the thirsty and clothing to the naked, and to have provided transportation for those without boats and burial for those without heirs. This motif would take on unprecedented significance during the First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc). Another popular subject is dedication to the family, with tomb owners noting that they are loved by their fathers and mothers, praised by their siblings, and dutiful in maintaining the tombs and cults of their parents and ancestors. The autobiography of the royal architect Nekhebu from his tomb at Giza, for example, states that he is ‘my father’s beloved, my mother’s favourite. I gave them no cause to punish me until they went to their tomb of the necropolis.’18 He then describes a career in service to his brother. The autobiography of Djaw from Deir el-Gebrawi not only declares his family’s love for him but goes on to describe how he built and furnished a common tomb for his father (also named Djaw) and himself ‘so that I might see this Djaw every day, so that I might be with him in one place’.19 By the Sixth Dynasty the self-presentation portion of autobiographies increasingly focused on the behaviour of the tomb owner, especially in provincial cemeteries, but service to the king continued to dominate the career narrative. The famous Sixth-Dynasty auto­ biog­raphy of Weni the Elder from his tomb at Abydos, for example, describes Weni’s service as a judge and later military leader under Pepy I (c.2321–2287 bc).20 After being chosen to preside over a sensitive case involving the palace, Weni was sent to quell a rebellion in the Near East, as a result of which the king provided the fine stone for key elements of his tomb. Another of the best-known autobiographies of the Old Kingdom, the Sixth-Dynasty inscription from the facade of the tomb of Harkhuf at Aswan, describes a pair of ex­ped­itions to Nubia, and in particular Harkhuf ’s procurement of a ‘dancing dwarf ’ for the royal palace.21 This event prompted the young king Pepy II (c.2278–2184 bc) to write a letter to Harkhuf, which his biography quotes verbatim.22

The First Intermediate Period During the First Intermediate Period, when royal power waned and local rulers gained influence and responsibility they had not enjoyed previously, the emphasis on local leaders as providers for their townsfolk took on unprecedented significance. Autobiographies now combined elements of historical and reflective autobiographies to emphasize the status, character and ability of the individual, and especially his responsible treatment of

17  Gnirs 2001: 186; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 169–267. 18  Lichtheim 1988: 13; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 245–53. 19  Sethe 1933: 145–7; Breasted 1988: 171–3; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 286–7. 20  Sethe  1933: 98–110; Breasted  1988: 134–5, 140–50; Lichtheim  1976: 18–22; Simpson  2003: 402–7; Collombert 2015: 145–57. 21  Sethe  1933: 120–31; Breasted  1988: 150–4, 159–61; Lichtheim  1976: 23–7; Simpson  2003: 407–13, Stauder-Porchet 2017: 282. 22  Stauder-Porchet 2017: 263–5.

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998   Denise Doxey sub­or­din­ates.23 While virtually no autobiographies remain from the northern capital of Herakleopolis, the rock-cut cemeteries of the semi-independent Middle Egyptian nomes are among the best-preserved and most significant historical sources for the period. Here, the focus of the autobiographies shifted from the king to the nomarchs, who credit the local gods as well as their own ingenuity for the survival and prosperity of their districts.24 The nomarch of Asyut, Tefibi, recounts his battles against southern Egypt on behalf of the Herakleopolitan rulers without reference to the king’s authority, instead crediting his success to the protection of the local god Wepwawet and to his own leadership.25 The most dramatic example of this phenomenon is the autobiography of Ankhtifi of Moalla,26 who credits Horus with bringing him to power in time to save his district from a rebellion. Calling himself a ‘champion who has no peer’, Ankhtifi describes himself in terms normally associated with kings. Referring to his army, he says ‘when it slams its tail like a crocodile, this whole land, south and north, stands trembling’.27 In emphasizing the success of local rulers in times of crisis, provincial tomb auto­biog­raph­ies often paint a picture of a bleak economy and a deteriorating social milieu in which the tomb owner claims responsibility for the very survival of his constituents. Many texts refer to famine. In the fragmentary autobiography from his tomb at Asyut, the nomarch Khety I takes credit for enabling his district to prosper during a drought by developing innovative irrigation projects, distributing cattle and barley, and creating a strong troop of archers and fleet of ships for defence.28 Ankhtifi of Moalla claims to have saved his nome from flooding and a civil war in which family members were killing one other. The unrest described in these texts closely resembles the lamentation literature of the Middle Kingdom (c.2055–1650 bc), such as The Prophecies of Neferty and The Admonitions of a Sage (aka Admonitions of Ipuwer; Papyrus Leiden 344). Scholars have debated whether both types of text reflect actual events or whether they draw on a series of literary metaphors for unrest and isfet, the opposite of maat. Due in part to the scarcity of contemporary royal source material, historians have relied heavily on autobiographies, with the result that they may have painted a bleaker picture of Egypt’s political condition than actually existed. In the southern capital of Thebes, autobiographies condensed onto upright rectangular stelae demonstrated a superb new literary style that would continue during the Middle Kingdom.29 Some tombs contained two or more stelae, dividing the career narrative and the exposition of moral character between complimentary monuments. Unlike contemporary provincial texts from Middle Egypt, both the career narrative and the self-presentation emphasized service to the Theban kings. One of the finest is the stele of Tjetji, overseer of the treasury during the reigns of Inyotef II and III.30 The inscription opens with the titulary of Inyotef II, followed by a self-presentation stressing Tjetji’s loyalty, obedience, and efficiency in carrying out the king’s wishes. The career narrative credits the king with promoting Tjetji and making him wealthy, after which it describes specific accomplishments such as the building of a boat for the city of Thebes. The inscription concludes with an elaborate 23  Gnirs 2001: 186; Stauder-Porchet 2017: 294–307. 24  Lichtheim 1988: 21–2. 25  Griffith 1889: 11–12; Breasted 1988: 180–3. 26  Vandier 1950: 161–85; Schenkel 1965: 45–7; Lichtheim 1973: 85–6; Lichtheim 1988: 24–6. 27  Lichtheim 1988: 26. 28  Griffith 1889, pl. 15; Lichtheim 1988: 28–9; Breasted 1988: 187–91. 29  Lichtheim 1988: 39. 30  Budge 1911: 49–50; Breased 1988: 201–3; Lichtheim 1973: 90–3; Lichtheim 1988: 46–9, Simpson 2003: 414–17.

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‘Autobiographical’ texts   999 offering prayer addressed to Osiris. This new focus on Osiris in the offering formula, the so-called ‘Abydos Formula’, would become a hallmark of Middle Kingdom autobiographies.31

The Middle Kingdom In the Middle Kingdom, autobiographies reached an unparalleled level of sophistication and literary competence. The emerging encomiastic autobiographies combined statements of renewed loyalty to the king with laudatory self-descriptions, often in the form of lengthy and carefully arranged lists of epithets emphasizing the social skills and good character of the official.32 Along with attributes that had long been popular in self-presentations, such as generosity and fairness, officials now claim to be intelligent, well spoken, diplomatic, efficient, and respected by their peers.33 The earliest Middle Kingdom autobiographies, dating to the latter part of the Eleventh Dynasty, continue to expand upon autobiographies from the Theban tombs of the First Intermediate Period. Intef son of Tjefi, who accompanied King Nebhepetra Mentuhotep II (c.2055–2004 bc) in the reunification of Egypt and was placed in control of the defeated city of Herakleopolis, introduces his autobiography with the royal titulary, following it with a self-description emphasizing his closeness to the king.34 In addition, he introduces themes that would become popular in the Twelfth Dynasty (c.1985–1773 bc), such as eloquence, humility, and foresight. Some of the most historically important autobiographies of the Eleventh Dynasty (c.2125–1985 bc) come from mining and quarrying sites such as the Wadi Hammamat. While inscriptions had been left here since the Early Dynastic Period (c.3000–2686 bc), they now began to include narrative autobiographies containing significant historical information. A distinctive feature of these expedition inscriptions is their emphasis on the authority of the expedition leaders, whose actions and character are likened to those of the king and even of gods.35 The autobiography of the steward Henu, who served under Mentuhotep II and III, recounts leading a sea-going voyage to Punt that would otherwise be unattested in surviving documents.36 The narrative includes logistical information regarding the planning and provisioning of the expedition, its journey through the desert and the successful procurement of myrrh and other gifts from ‘the god’s land’. During the last reign of the Eleventh Dynasty the vizier and later king Amenemhat left a series of four inscriptions at Wadi Hammamat, telling of his journey to procure stone for the king’s sarcophagus.37 As in the First Intermediate Period, the tombs of Middle Egypt provide some of the most eloquent autobiographies of the Middle Kingdom, most notably the inscriptions of Amenemhat and Khnumhotep II of Beni Hasan. Amenemhat’s autobiography opens with a series of three offering formulae followed by titles and honorific epithets, after which comes

31  Lichtheim 1988: 55–8. 32  Gnirs 2001: 186. 33  Doxey 1998: 152–80. 34  Schenkel 1965: 236–8; Lichtheim 1988: 49–51 35  Blumenthal 1977: 85–118; Doxey 1998: 222–4. 36  Couyat and Montet 1913: 81–4; Breasted 1988: 208–10; Lichtheim 1988: 52–4. 37  Breasted 1988: 211–16; Lichtheim 1973: 113–15.

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1000   Denise Doxey a narrative account of his activities on behalf of Senusret I (c.1956–1911 bc),38 including both military expeditions to Nubia and administrative duties such as tax collection. He concludes with a series of phrases focusing on his just and generous oversight of his nome and, borrowing a theme from his First Intermediate Period predecessors, his able response to a famine. Khnumhotep II, who served as overseer of the eastern deserts under Amenemhat II and Senusret II, left an even more impressive autobiography, furnishing unique evidence for early Middle Kingdom provincial administration.39 A large portion of the text is devoted to justifying Khnumhotep’s position in the Oryx nome by tracing his genealogy, describing a series of royal land grants to his family by successive kings, and noting his marriage to the local heiress. The text goes on to emphasize his loyalty both to the king and to his ancestors, the latter of whose tombs and monuments he restored after finding them in a state of ruin. As the worship of Osiris flourished in the Middle Kingdom, the god’s cult centre at Abydos became Egypt’s most prolific source of autobiographical texts. In addition to inscriptions from the tombs of local officials, autobiographies are now found on stelae and offering chapels set up at Abydos by both pilgrims and officials sent on royal missions.40 The poor quality of early excavation at the site has made the original locations of many auto­biog­raph­ies impossible to identify, although the work of William Kelly Simpson and others has improved the situation considerably.41 Autobiographies from the tombs of local priests and officials at Abydos centre on the offering formula, which becomes increasingly elaborate. Other common subjects include the construction of the tomb at the ‘terrace of the great god’, a site in the vicinity of Osiris’s temple where the mortuary cult of the deceased could benefit from direct association with the divine temple cult. The late-Eleventh-Dynasty chief priest Rudjahau, whose tomb, adjacent to the temple complex, contained a pair of stelae, commissioned an elaborate self-presentation that likens him to the gods in his performance of local rituals.42 In keeping with Rudjahau’s position as a local priest, the text makes no reference to the king, focusing instead on his standing in the town and his service to the gods. A later chief priest of the early Twelfth Dynasty, Wepwawetaa, also erected a pair of stelae in his tomb.43 One contains his eloquent self-presentation, stressing his generosity, diplomacy, and trustworthiness, while the other contains one of the most elaborate surviving offering formulas. The encomiastic autobiography was perfected on the stelae of officials who travelled to Abydos as pilgrims. These autobiographies (especially during the first half of the Twelfth Dynasty) show a distinctive tendency to emphasize the narrators’ skill, wisdom, and diplomatic conduct toward their fellow officials.44 Two of the finest autobiographies of this type date to the time of Senusret I. The large stele of the vizier Mentuhotep devotes one side to an autobiography composed almost entirely of an eloquent self-presentation summarizing the characteristics of the ideal vizier.45 It was evidently so highly regarded in antiquity that large segments were copied verbatim on a stele of the late Twelfth Dynasty and again on a stele of the early Eighteenth Dynasty. Senusret I’s chamberlain Intef son of 38  Newberry 1893: pls. 7–8; Breasted 1988: 250–3; Lichtheim 1988: 135–41; Simpson 2003: 418–20. 39  Newberry 1893: pls. 25–6; Breasted 1988: 279–89; Simpson 2003: 420–4. 40  Lichtheim 1988: 65. 41 Simpson 1974. 42  Budge 1911: 46–7; Schenkel 1965: 292–5; Lichtheim 1988: 71–2. 43  Simpson 1974: pl. 30; Lichtheim 1988: 75–80 44  Doxey 1998: 79, 211–13. 45  Lange and Schäfer 1908: 150–8; Breasted 1988: 255–7.

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‘Autobiographical’ texts   1001 Senet spread his autobiography over three stelae that must have adorned the walls of his offering chapel.46 The central panel focuses on Intef ’s career, performance, and prominence among his peers. A stele that formed one side of the chapel relates to his virtuous character and generosity. The autobiography on the third panel is particularly interesting. After a horizontal consecration text, the stele is divided into two rows of ten columns, each of which contains a balanced couplet introduced by the words ‘I am’ and focused on a particular character trait. Among the virtues for which Intef is lauded are patience, friendliness, generosity, accuracy and eloquence. Autobiographies of officials who came to Abydos on missions, such as Senusret I’s seal-bearer Mery, the master sculptor Shensetji and the steward Dediqu, combine narrative accounts reminiscent of expedition inscriptions, with prayers and offering formulae characteristic of Abydene chapels.47 Travelers returning from royal assignments elsewhere also took advantage of the opportunity to stop at Abydos and commission biographies recounting their fine character, their successful mission, and the construction of their votive chapels. One of the most important autobiographies inscribed during an official mission is the stele of Ikhernofret, overseer of the treasury under Senusret III.48 The text begins with an order from the king to restore monuments at Abydos and adorn the god’s image with gold from his Nubian conquests. After Ikhernofret successfully completed these projects, he played a leading role in the ‘Procession of Wepwawet’, the main festival of Osiris. His auto­biog­raphy is among very few sources of information about this festival during the Middle Kingdom.

The New Kingdom The early New Kingdom witnessed the re-emergence of the historical autobiography, as officers such as Ahmose son of Ibana and Ahmose-Pennekhbet of el-Kab recounted their participation in the expulsion of the Hyksos and the foreign military campaigns of the first rulers of the Eighteenth Dynasty. Autobiographies of this era sometimes include important historical details. The autobiography of Ahmose son of Ibana, for example, furnishes some of the best preserved evidence for military events of the early Eighteenth Dynasty.49 Ahmose describes his valour during the battle for Avaris, during which his killing of one Hyksos fighter and capture of another led the king to reward him with gold, spoils, and slaves. He then fought successfully in Nubia with both kings Ahmose and Amenhotep I, and later accompanied Thutmose I to suppress a rebellion in Nubia and to capture Nahrin in Syria. References to administrative duties also stress individual assertiveness, initiative, and determination, and like accounts of military service they provide primary source material regarding the building projects, trade, and domestic agendas of the early-Eighteenth-Dynasty kings.50 The autobiography from the Theban tomb of Ineni, the chief of all works in Karnak from the reign of Amenhotep I into the co-regency of Hatshepsut and Thutmose III, 46  Simpson 1974: pl. 12; Lichtheim 1988: 106–11. 47  Faulkner 1952: 3–5; Simpson 1974, pl. 15; Lichtheim 1988: 84–94. 48  Simpson 1974, pl. 1; Lichtheim 1973: 123–5; Lichtheim 1988: 98–100; Simpson 2003: 425–7. 49  Loret, 1910; Lichtheim 1973: 12–15. 50  Gnirs 2001: 187.

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1002   Denise Doxey ­ iscusses many of the most important building projects of the early New Kingdom, as well d as the deaths of three kings and the accession of Hatshepsut as Thutmose III’s regent and de-facto ruler of Egypt.51 Several other high officials from the time of the co-regency also describe their role in building activities, including the treasury overseer Tehuty, whose autobiography describes his participation in building activities in Karnak and Deir el-Bahri and in Hatshepsut’s famous expedition to Punt.52 While career narratives flourished in the early New Kingdom, the self-presentation did not disappear. The stele of the great royal herald Intef, dating to the reign of Thutmose III and probably from Abydos, includes a portrait of Intef ’s character worthy of the finest Middle Kingdom autobiographies.53 During the Amarna Period (c.1352–1336 bc), when the new religious doctrines of Akhenaten eliminated much of the traditional tomb decoration as well as the cult of Osiris, autobiographies underwent dramatic changes, giving rise to what would become the confessional autobiography of the later New Kingdom.54 The king became the central focus of the texts to a greater degree than ever before. It was only through loyalty and devotion to Akhenaten that an official could hope for a successful afterlife, and the king was now portrayed as the sole conduit of divine approval. Hymns to the king and the Aten dominate the inscriptions from the tombs of officials at Akhetaten (el-Amarna), and when brief self-presentations do occur, they emphasize royal favour exclusively. In tombs like that of Meryra I at el-Amarna, scenes of the official’s promotion and reward are not accompanied by autobiographical texts about the tomb owner, but rather by speeches of the king.55 Ironically, the result of the Amarna interlude seems to have been a vast increase in religious fervour directed toward Egypt’s traditional deities. Tombs and stelae of the later New Kingdom emphasize the gods as never before, and inscriptions stress personal piety and an intimate devotion to the gods. Now the gods, rather than the actions of the king or of the official himself, are the driving force behind eternal salvation. Ultimately, this trans­ form­ation left little room for autobiographies to advance, and they all but disappeared, occurring almost exclusively in reference to the religious activities of priests and temple personnel.56 Temples rather than tombs now became the principal venue for autobiographical texts, which were inscribed either on temple walls or on statues set up in temple complexes. Among the longest and best-preserved autobiographies of the Ramesside period is that of Roma-Roy, the high priest of Amun, inscribed at Karnak during the reign of Merneptah.57 Attributing his success to the favour of Amun, Mut, and Khonsu, he describes renovations to the temple, which he is said to have found in a state of disrepair.

Third Intermediate Period Autobiographies of the Third Intermediate Period, inscribed primarily on statuary erected by priests, returned to a high degree of sophistication and originality.58 Because the statues were believed to serve as intermediaries between the gods and the living, the texts address 51  Breasted 1988 vol. 2: 19–20, 40–4, 47–8, 142–243. 52  Breasted 1988 vol. 2: 153–8. 53  Breasted 1988 vol. 2: 295–300. 54 Gnirs 2001:187. 55  Davies 1903: pl. 6. 56  Gnirs 2001:187; Frood 2007: 35–117. 57  Breasted 1988 vol. 3: 264–70; Frood 2007: 54–9. 58  Gnirs 2001: 187.

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‘Autobiographical’ texts   1003 both the temple’s resident deity and the priests who would come to make offerings. The subject of personal piety was extended even beyond the limits of the Ramesside period, and the priests’ cultic activities, devotion to the gods, family values, and devout character are prominent themes. The best examples are carefully composed in a rhetorical style, made up of couplets of phrases in which age-old themes were combined into new patterns.59 Two statue inscriptions from Twenty-second-Dynasty Thebes, the autobiographies of Djedkhonsefankh and Nebnetjeru, illustrate the genre well.60 While the self-presentation continued to stress traits that had been honoured since the Old Kingdom, such as generosity, justice, and eloquence, new subjects include a strong focus on priestly duties, references to having lived a particularly long life, and an emphasis on providing for one’s descendants. Nebnetjeru’s autobiography also introduces a concept that would characterize later auto­biog­raph­ies, namely the importance of enjoying life on earth. Although offering formulae had always accompanied autobiographies, prayers and hymns now became increasingly long and elaborate, and were addressed to a variety of deities. Autobiographies also began to include prayers to the owner of the statue by survivors, clearly indicating that the ‘auto­biog­raph­ies’ were composed posthumously. The Kushite Twenty-fifth Dynasty (c.747–656 bc) and Saite Twenty-sixth Dynasty (c.664–525 bc) were characterized by a trend toward archaism in a range of artistic and literary works, and autobiographies were no exception. While Egypt began to witness what would become a series of foreign occupations, autobiographies continued in the style of the earlier Third Intermediate Period, and began to draw even more heavily on features of earl­ier autobiographies.61 Historical narratives are minimized in favour of the self-presentation, prayers, and hymns. Thus, the autobiography of one of the era’s most powerful men, the governor of Upper Egypt Mentuemhat from his monumental tomb at Thebes, restricts its historical narrative primarily to the restoration of temples and sanctuaries while devoting considerable space to prayers.62

The Late Period and Ptolemaic and Roman periods During the period from the Persian occupation to the Roman conquest, historical narratives are once again prominent features of autobiographies.63 While devotion to the gods remains the principal means of achieving immortality, officials once again refer to their service to kings, both native and foreign. The most important autobiography of the Persian period is found on a statue of the chief physician Udjahorresnet of Sais, who began his career under the native rulers Amasis and Psamtek III but went on to serve the Persian conqueror Cambyses, claiming to have lived at the royal palace and even to have composed the king’s titulary.64 By virtue of his close connection to the king, he was able to restore the sanctuary of Neith at Sais and inspire the Persian ruler to worship there and make offerings to the goddess’s cult. 59  Lichtheim 1980: 4, 13–14, 18. 60  Lichtheim 1980: 13–24. 62  Lichtheim 1980: 29–33. 63  Gnirs 2001: 188. 64  Lichtheim 1980: 36–41; Lloyd 1982: 166–80.

61  Gnirs 2001: 188.

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1004   Denise Doxey From the Late Period onwards, autobiographies place a greater emphasis on personal and family life, especially in family tombs such as the well-known tomb of Petosiris of Hermopolis.65 During the Ptolemaic period, this trend continued to expand, and auto­biog­raph­ies, often dedicated posthumously by family members, provide intimate details such as marriages, the birth of children, and even the circumstances of death. Probably influenced in part by Greek beliefs about the afterlife, autobiographies continued to emphasize the necessity of enjoying life while it lasted. The sarcophagus lid of Wennenefer from Saqqara, for example, refers to him as ‘a lover of drink, lord of the feast day’, and goes on to describe his drunken revelry with beautiful women during a Hathoric festival.66 In the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, death, especially when premature, is increasingly seen as a final and terrifying ordeal. The moving biography of the lady Taimhotep, inscribed by her husband, Psherenptah, during the reign of Cleopatra VII (51–30 bc), serves as a good example.67 Narrated in the first person, the text tells of events from her birth to her death at age 30, including the intervention of the deified Imhotep in enabling her to have a son after three daughters. The inscription concludes with a lamentation addressed to her husband, encouraging him to enjoy his life because death will ultimately seize everyone regardless of their virtuous character or their pleas, prayers, and offerings. By the time of the Roman conquest, the tomb, which Old Kingdom Egyptian had viewed as the reward for a good life, had become a place to be dreaded.

Suggested reading For an overview of Egyptian biographies, see Gnirs  1996 and  2001, Janssen  1946, and Lichtheim 1992. Images, illustrations and/or transcriptions of the texts can be found in Budge 1911, Couyat and Montet 1913, Griffith 1889, Lange and Schäfer 1902–25, Newberyry 1893, Sethe 1933 and Vandier 1950. Simpson 1974 provides images and commentary of the Middle Kingdom inscriptions from Abydos. For English translations of the texts, see Breasted 1988 (which is reprinted from a 1902–25 original and is therefore somewhat outdated), Lichtheim 1973–80, Lichtheim 1988, and Simpson et al. 2003.

Bibliography Assmann, J. 1983. Schrift, Tod und Identität: das Grab als Vorschule ber Literatur im alten Ägypten. In J. Assmann (ed.), Schrift und Gedächtnis. Munich: C.H. Beck, 64–93. Assmann, J. 1990. Ma’at. Gerechtigkeit und Unsterblichkeit im Alten Ägypten. Munich: C.H. Beck. Baines, J. 1999. Forerunners of Narrative Biographies. In A. Leahy and J. Tait (eds), Studies on Ancient Egypt in Honour of H. S. Smith. London: The Egypt Exploration Society, 23–37. Baines, J. 2004. Egyptian Elite Self-Presentation in the Context of Ptolemaic Rule. In W.V. Harris and G. Ruffini (eds), Ancient Alexandria between Egypt and Greece. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 33–61. Blumenthal, E. 1977. Die Textgattung Expeditionsbericht. In J.  Assmann et al. (eds), Fragen an die ­altägyptische Literatur: Studien zum Gedenken an Eberhard Otto. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 85–118. 65  Baines 2004: 45–9. 66  Lichtheim 1980: 54–7. 67  Lichtheim 1980: 65; Baines 2004: 56–9.

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‘Autobiographical’ texts   1005 Breasted, J.H. 1988. Ancient Records of Egypt (5 vols). London: Histories and Mysteries of Man. Budge, E.A.W. 1911. Hieroglyphic Texts from Egyptian Stelae, etc. in the British Museum vol. 1. London: British Museum. Collombert, P. 2015. Une nouvelle version de l’autobiographie d’Ouni. In R. Legros (ed.), Cinquante ans d’éternité: jubilé de la Mission archéologique française de Saqqâra. Mission archéologique de Saqqarah V. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 145–57. Couyat, J. and Montet, P. 1913. Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques et hiératiques du Ouâdi Hammamat. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Davies, N. 1903. The Rock Tombs of El-Amarna I. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Doxey, D. 1998. Egyptian Non-royal Epithets in the Middle Kingdom. Leiden: Brill. Faulkner, R.O. 1952. The Stela of the Master-Sculptor Shen, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 38: 3–5, pl. 1. Franke, D. 2007. The Good Shepherd Antef (Stela BM EA 1628), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 93: 149–74. Frood, E. 2007. Biographical Texts from Ramessid Egypt. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Gnirs, A. 1996. Die ägyptische Autobiographie. In A. Loprieno (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 191–241. Gnirs, A. 2001. Biographies. In D.B. Redford (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, Vol. 1: 184–9. Griffith, F.Ll. 1889. The Inscriptions of Siût and Dêr Rîfeh. London: Trübner & Co. Janssen, J.M.A. 1946. De traditioneele egyptische Autobiographie vóór het nieuwe Rijk. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Lloyd, A.B. 1982. The inscription of Udjahorresnet: a collaborator’s testament, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 68: 166–80. Lange, H.O. and Schäfer, H. 1902–25. Grab- und Denksteine des Mittleren Reiches. Catalogue Générale des Antiquités Égtptiennes du Musée du Caire. Berlin: Reichsdruckerei. Leprohon, R.J. 1978. The personnel of the Middle Kingdom funerary stelae, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 15: 33–8. Lichtheim, M. 1973. Ancient Egyptian Literature Vol. I: The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lichtheim, M. 1976. Ancient Egyptian Literature Vol. II: The New Kingdom. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lichtheim, M. 1980. Ancient Egyptian Literature Vol. III: The Late Period. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lichtheim, M. 1988. Ancient Egyptian Autobiographies Chiefly of the Middle Kingdom. Freibourg and Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz. Lichtheim, M. 1992. Maat in Egyptian Autobiographies and Related Studies. Freibourg and Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz. Lichtheim, M. 1996. Didactic Literature. In A. Loprieno (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 243–63. Lichtheim, M. 1997. Moral Values in Ancient Egypt. Freibourg and Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz. Loprieno, A. 1988. Topos und Mimesis: Zum Auslander inn der Agyptischen Literatur. Wiesbaden: ­Harrassowitz. Loprieno, A. 1996. Loyalistic Instructions. In A. Loprieno (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 403–15. Loret, V. 1910. L'Inscription d'Ahmès, fils d'Abana. Cairo: Institut français d'archéologie orientale. Newberry, P. E. 1893. Beni Hasan. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. Quirke, S. 1990. The Administration of Egypt in the Late Middle Kingdom: The Hieratic Documents. New Malden, Surrey: SIA Publishing. Richards, J. 2002. Text and Context in Late Old Kingdom Egypt: the Archaeology and Historiography of Weni the Elder, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 34: 75–102. Schenkel, W. 1965. Memphis, Herakleopolis, Theben. Die epigraphischen Zeugnisse der 7.–11. Dynastie Ägyptens. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.

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1006   Denise Doxey Sethe, K. 1933. Urkunden des alten Reiches. Urkunden des ägyptischen Altertums 1. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Simpson, W.K. 1974. The Terrace of the Great God at Abydos: The Offering Chapels of Dynasty 12 and 13. New Haven and Philadelphia: Publications of the Pennsylvania–Yale Expedition to Egypt. Simpson, W.K. (ed.) 2003. The Literature of Ancient Egypt: An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, Stelae, Autobiographies and Poetry. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Stauder-Porchet, J. 2011. Les autobiographies événementielles de la Ve dynastie: premier ensemble de textes continus en Égypte. In M. Bárta, F. Coppens, and J. Krejčí (eds), Abusir and Saqqara in the year 2010. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague, 747–66. Stauder-Porchet, J. 2017. Les autobiographies de l’Ancien Empire égyptien. Leuven, Paris, and Bristol, CT: Peeters. Van der Walle, B. 1975. Biographie. In W. Helck and E. Otto (eds), Lexikon der Ägyptologie. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, Vol. 1, 815–21. Vandier, J. 1950. Mo’alla: la tombe d’Ankhtifi et la tombe de Sebekhotep. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Von Lieven, A. 2010. Zur Funktion der ägyptischen Autobiographie, Die Welt des Orients 40: 54–69.

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chapter 50

Liter a ry texts Bill Manley

Introduction Under this heading we consider those texts generally glossed as literature, prior to the emergence of demotic as the principal cursive script in use. The phrase ‘generally glossed as literature’ must serve as the starting point because, as we shall see, the basis for distinguishing such texts from other categories of writing is based more on familiarity and past practice than on a clear definition. Likewise, though the chronological endpoint seems arbitrary, it has a practical reality. The Misfortunes of Wenamun is presumably the last literary text pertaining to the New Kingdom, being set in the reign of its last king, Rameses XI (c.1099–1069 bc). Although the specific dating of the sole manuscript on which the story appears1 is disputable there is no compelling reason to date the composition long after the eleventh century bc. Thereafter, other than a fragmentary hieratic manuscript which may contain a literary text from the fourth century bc,2 there is a stark gap between the last compositions of the New Kingdom and the principal demotic literary manuscripts, which date from the Ptolemaic era. In fact, this last observation is symptomatic of the patchy preservation of literary texts from the dynastic period. No such texts survive in manuscripts dated before the Middle Kingdom, and thereafter the entire literary corpus is founded on six principal ancient collections—two of the late Middle Kingdom, an Eighteenth-Dynasty group, two Ramesside collections and a later, enigmatic group from el-Hiba including The Misfortunes of Wenamun.3 All these came to light in the nineteenth century ad, and were purchased with no secure provenance or else found deposited in tombs. Accordingly, the number of well-preserved Middle Kingdom literary texts is no more than fourteen and the total, including even fragmentary texts, is little more than thirty. To these we can add perhaps half those numbers again as new compositions from the New Kingdom, at which time certain older literary texts were still being copied with relative frequency to judge from the numbers of surviving copies. So, Gardiner’s compilation of Late Egyptian stories4 adds eight new compositions of some substance, although only two are complete from start to finish. In addition to these, there are a handful of original compositions in other genres. So, to summarize, in total there are twenty or so 1  Papyrus Pushkin 120, see Golénischeff 1899 and Gardiner 1932: xi–xii. 2  Papyrus Brooklyn 47.218.135, see Jasnow 1992. 3  See Quirke 2004: 14–23. 4 Gardiner 1932.

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1008   Bill Manley substantially preserved literary texts, in manuscripts all dating from the mid- to late ­second millennium bc. Since the principal discoveries were made during the nineteenth century, and given the elevated status of ‘literature’ in educated western culture at that time, literary texts have played a more significant role in our modern accounts of language and writing in pharaonic Egypt than their small numbers might otherwise have warranted. The pre-eminent reputations of such early scholars as Adolf Erman and Sir Alan Gardiner rightly derive as much as from their pioneering work in producing what may be considered editiones principes as from their seminal contributions to the study of grammar and lexicography. Accordingly, there has been a reciprocal relationship between the study of grammar and literature since the formative period of modern Egyptology, and literary texts still form the basis of a course of study in Middle Egyptian and, to some extent, Late Egyptian. The literary corpus itself is principally made up of ‘instructions’ (or ‘wisdom literature’); accounts of fine speaking as a witness to truth; and narratives of travel abroad; as well as certain riffs on mythology or the conduct of kings and gods, if they are properly to be included. As such, literary texts seem to derive from the two principal aspects of Old and Middle Kingdom funerary texts, that is (1) the self-presentations or autobiographies in the tombs of officials, and (2) the monumental religious narratives, including the journeys to the afterlife (dwɜt) presented in the Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts. (Here we will not consider possible relationships or correspondences between pharaonic literature and the text traditions of other cultures: although such comparisons have produced interesting results, there has been no systematic thread of such research within the discipline of Egyptology in recent decades.) Whether or not we possess a representative selection of all the literature pharaonic Egypt had to offer is a different question, and to some extent imponderable. The appearance of fifty or more ‘poems’, mostly ‘love poems’, on rolls and ostraca from Deir el-Medina is a specific literary phenomenon, noted below. Nevertheless, despite the obvious assumption that the sparse manuscript collections we have are random survivals, archaeology since the nineteenth century has rarely brought new ‘titles’ to light and has notably failed to suggest that there are any new literary genres to be discovered.

Definition of ‘literature’ The central problem, of course, is that we cannot insist on an exclusive definition of Egyptian ‘literature’, whether the definition be based on formal criteria of content, language or writing media. First of all, the presumption that there is bound to be literature is not so clear-cut as we may assume in an age when the ubiquitous novel seems to be the very life-blood of culture. Indeed, the novel itself should be understood as a modern invention,5 so it is not helpful to assume that there must have been a culture of writing in ancient Egypt analogous to our own literature—doubtless rich in classics of its own kind. At a practical level, literary texts are written in hieratic using black or red ink, which is also true of various other categories of text. There are formal criteria which may help to distinguish certain texts as ‘literary’. These include occasional red ‘verse’ points, perhaps 5  For example, see Foucault 1966: 60.

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Literary texts   1009 to indicate rhythm, phrasing, cadences or simply subject changes (although poetry per se is clearly discernible in monuments predating the earliest literary manuscripts, so the discussion of poetry is a wider one in which literary texts play only a part). Some texts, particularly the ‘instructions’, have standard introductions which name the author, and many end with a standard colophon of the type ỉw.f -pw ḥ ꜣt.f r pḥ wy.fy mỉ gmyt m sš ‘so it ends, its start to its finish, as was found in writing’, then name the copyist. On the other hand, the same formulae may be used in copying texts not usually glossed as literature, such as onomastica (lists of related words). Two New Kingdom stories do begin with the phrase ỉr ntf ḫr.tw N, literally ‘about N it is said . . .’ , which may have the informal introductory quality of ‘once there was a man who’. In addition, certain transitional phrases have an undoubted storytelling quality, including ỉr m-ḫt hrw ḳ nw ḫr-sꜣ nn ‘now several days after this’ or wꜥ m nn hrw ḫpr ‘one of these days it happened’. Finally, more than once during the New Kingdom we find a storytelling sign-off ỉw.s -pw nfr m ḥ tp ‘so it ends, perfect and satisfying’. Additionally, some copyists seem to have compiled ‘books’ of related literary texts, examples of which include: Papyrus Prisse (Twelfth Dynasty), which retains the end of the text of The Instruction for Kaigemni and the complete text of The Instruction of Ptahhotep; Papyrus Sallier 26 (Nineteenth Dynasty), on which a copyist has written The Instruction of Amenemhat I, The Instruction of Khety and a Hymn to the Inundation; and Papyrus Harris 5007 (Ramesside), which is mostly inscribed with love poems on the recto and on the verso bears two ‘literary’ tales, The Capture of Joppa and The Doomed Prince. Even the copyist’s handwriting may chance to indicate something more than a utilitarian document, hence Gardiner felt compelled to note about The Tale of Two Brothers on Papyrus D’Orbiney8 that the copyist ‘Ennana wrote a beautifully clear uncial hand’.9 More recently, Stephen Quirke found that a detailed study of papyrus fragments ‘highlighted for me the material presence of the literary book as a distinctive object category, in formal features such as the handwriting style, spacing of signs and lines, and sometimes the combination of vertical and horizontal lines for segments of writing’.10 That said, New Kingdom copies of literary texts are written not just on papyrus rolls but on a wider range of media, including ostraca and plastered writing boards. Indeed, literary texts may be copied alongside other categories of texts and even canonical drawings (although literary texts themselves are never illustrated as such). Such ‘miscellanies’ are often explained as student practice, but we may note that there have been no certain discoveries of any of them in a professional environment. The Instruction of Merykara and another fragmentary text were copied out on the versos of some business accounts (Papyrus Hermitage 116 A + B)—perhaps simply because the rolls were convenient for the scribe concerned? As a consequence, ‘literature’ sometimes seems to be defined informally as any hieratic texts that are not obviously practical by comparison with the texts copied alongside them, such as letters, calendars of favourable days, lists of medical treatments, or onomastica. That said, we must note that pharaonic calendars, canonical drawings and onomastica are not simply utilitarian but are themselves expositions of the meaning of things—and so we should take care not to impose too narrow a definition of ‘practical’. To suggest that the adjective ‘literary’ requires a text to exist independently of a specific context of use presupposes some 6  Papyrus British Museum EA 10182. 8  Papyrus British Museum EA 10183. 10  Quirke 2004: 27.

7  Papyrus British Museum EA 10060. 9  Gardiner 1932: ix.

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1010   Bill Manley understanding of what the manuscript was intended for by its copyist and by whoever took it with them to the grave (who may or may not be the same person). In the absence of an exclusive definition, over the decades modern terms used to characterize the very same literary text may range from royal propaganda11 (which is a crude purpose, but a wholly practical one nonetheless) to belles lettres (which may suggest the sheer indulgence of language for its own sake). As a final note, of course, there are bound to be texts which test the limits of any definition of literature. Hence, some texts which suggest themselves as literature may have a practical use. For example, ‘Hymns’ (dwɜw) presumably do have a liturgical purpose but one particular Hymn to the Inundation appears in two of the six principal literary collections noted above, including the version on Papyrus Sallier 2, and in many other New Kingdom copies. In respect of this, we may note that the ‘story’ of The Struggle of Horus and Seth has purely mythological characters, as well as a narrative structure and fantastical symbolism akin to monumental temple scenes, and may therefore be an element from a festival performance.12 Similarly, perhaps, the surviving fragment of The Blinding of Truth by Falsehood has red ‘verse’ points but is written on a small roll of a size (10 cm high) more typical of official documents,13 while the text employs imagery analogous to that of The Litany of Ra and The Book of the Heavenly Cow, religious texts known from tombs in the Valley of the Kings. Some potential ‘literary texts’ turn out to be copies of monumental inscriptions, or at least are known to have monumental counterparts. Hence, a hymn on Papyrus Harris 500 identifies itself as the copy of an inscription in the tomb of an earlier king, while the socalled Loyalist Instruction is best attested in New Kingdom copies but part of the same text appears on a Middle Kingdom stele from Abydos.14 Also on Papyrus Harris 500, the extant fragment of The Capture of Joppa relates in unexpected detail an episode about drunken soldiers carousing with the enemy, but such unexpected detail also appears in episodes of the Qadesh narratives that decorate the temples of Rameses II. Indeed, a version of the Qadesh inscriptions copied in hieratic on Papyrus Sallier 315 is occasionally still referred to as The Poem of Pentaweret, after its copyist. Finally, a speech in Late Egyptian by king Kamose berating his courtiers, copied in hieratic on Carnarvon Tablet I16 along with the Instruction of Ptahhotep, bears the hallmarks of dynamic storytelling but has certainly been copied from a group of Seventeenth-Dynasty royal monuments at Karnak.17 A final difficulty is that of a ‘conceit’—an authentic literary text which purports to be something else. There is, for example, a letter from Ramesside Memphis,18 in which a man asks his dead wife to leave him alone; this is written in Late Egyptian on a sheet unusually large for a letter (36 cm high) and dated several centuries after any other known letter to the dead. So is it a chronological anomaly or something other than an authentic letter to the dead? Some have suggested that its language and rhetorical structure characterize it as a literary conceit.19 If not, then the letter perhaps demonstrates the linguistic and compositional skills that certain writers just happened to have, whether or not this man wished his work to be read by anyone other than his late wife. 11  Notably see Posener 1956, but see also Thériault 1993. 12 Verhoeven 1996. 13  Černý 1952: 15–17. 14  Cairo CG 20538, see Schipper 1998. 15  Papyrus British Museum EA 10181. 16  Cairo JE 41790. 17  Gardiner 1916: 96. 18  Papyrus Leiden 371, see Gardiner and Sethe 1928. 19  A suggestion dating back at least as far as Blok 1924.

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Literary texts   1011 Most prominently, the possibility of a conceit arises with regard to The Misfortunes of Wenamun, which has been taken to be the actual report of a foreign trip made by a priest from Karnak (and is therefore often styled The Report of Wenamun), essentially on the grounds that it is written using a scribal format otherwise associated with contemporary official communications.20 As noted above, formal grounds are usually a more secure basis for making such assessments than scholarly instinct about ‘what kind of text this is’. Nevertheless, the richness of the language and the emotional first-person narrative strongly suggest that Wenamun is a literary text—in this case, a fictional travel narrative.

‘Instructions’ Questions about the definition of literature in ancient Egypt notwithstanding, in the remainder of this chapter we can look at the main categories of literary texts, and consider which issues currently present the principal questions for research. The most secure literary category is that titled ‘instruction’ (sbꜣyt), in turn based on the funerary archetypes of selfpresentation and judgment, including an insistence on the absolute reality of truth as the basis for justice. This category is further distinguished because the texts typically have named authors, some of whom are recalled in statements of their later repute, the most famous being drawn from a Ramesside eulogy of writing:21 ‘Has there been one here like Hordedef? Is there another like Imhotep? None has come to us anything like Neferty nor Khety, the best of them. Need I tell you the names of Ptahemdhuty or Khakheperraseneb? Is there another like Ptahhotep or Kaires even?’ Literary texts attributed to five of these men happen to have survived and, because we could assign some anonymous fragments to others, this raises the possibility that there may be no other ‘instructions’ to be found—in other words, it is possible that we do possess a representative sample of what there once was. (Even the assumption that there must have been, for example, a lost Instruction of Imhotep is open to question because the reputed wisdom of these men may be based on matters other than their writing.) From the Middle Kingdom, the ‘instructions’ attributed to Ptahhotep, to Merykara and to Khety (the latter instruction often also known as The Satire of Trades) are essentially complete; from the New Kingdom, so too are the ‘instructions’ of Any and of Amenemopet, and The Instruction of a Man for his Son. Some survive in multiple copies, so The Instruction of Ptahhotep was still copied in the Ramesside era, more than half a millennium after it was copied on Papyrus Prisse and a thousand years after its putative author lived during the reign of Djedkara Isesi (c.2414–2375 bc). The Instruction of Khety survives in more than a hundred copies dating from the Eighteenth Dynasty until the eighth century bc. A question we may raise regarding ‘instructions’ is whether they may be better understood as philosophy per se, which again may challenge the definition of literature.22 For example, The Instruction of Ptahhotep draws conclusions about the human condition out of the words ‘listen’ (sd ˍ m), ‘learn’ (rḫ), and ‘be silent’ (gr), reminiscent of the anonymous English poem about the wise old owl—‘The less he spoke the more he heard. Why can’t we 20  Černý 1952: 21–2. 21  Papyrus British Museum EA 10684. 22  However, see Quack 2005.

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1012   Bill Manley all be like that wise old bird?’ Ptahhotep’s initial teachings suggest that argument is unreasonable because it does not establish facts, only the uneven relationship of those arguing: ‘If you meet someone looking for an argument, a colleague smarter than you, shake their hand and be polite. Though you do not agree with them, they will not be swayed by you.’23 Instead, he insists, the contemplation of meaning is the only way to learn the truth: ‘Whenever you are in charge, managing the circumstances of many others, seek the meaning for yourself in every event until your conduct becomes exemplary. Truth is important—ever relevant.’24 The Instruction of Ptahhotep is not a religious text, insofar as it is not concerned with religious worship nor the nature of divinity, but the author uses the presence of ‘God’ (nṯr) as the basis for explaining the facts of reality (ontology). For example, in his sixth teaching Ptahhotep explains that there is no point in causing fear nor in fearing anything because fear itself cannot bring anything about—because the only possible cause of being is ‘God’. Likewise, Ptahhotep’s commitment to the proposition that there is a consistent source of intention (ỉb), which is divine and therefore external to the human mind, is his basis for explaining the meaning of things (epistemology). This discussion seems especially pertinent to the two ‘instructions’ purportedly authored by kings: one, the father of a king Merykara during the First Intermediate Period (c.2030 bc), responsible for some unstated outrage; and the other, Amenemhat I (c.1985–1956 bc) of the Twelfth Dynasty, presented as the victim of an assassination (or assassination attempt) within his own entourage. They both read as personal testaments and, as such, the radical opposite of the inscriptions found in temples or royal tombs, which are essentially devoid of personal information. Both too are full of hard-earned instruction about understanding the characters of people and their treachery. However, they seem very different if considered as literary fiction—putting words into the mouths of kings long dead—and neither text is known from a manuscript earlier than the Eighteenth Dynasty. Do they collect the political philosophy of men who carried the heaviest burden of responsibility imaginable, akin to Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations to Himself, or are they fictional philosophizing about the meaning of failure even among kings?

‘Fine speaking’ Tales in which people use fine speaking (mdt nfrt) to bear witness to truth also raise questions about the meaning of treachery, and indeed the loss of life and hope. Of these, The Eloquent Peasant and The Prophecy of Neferty are essentially complete, the former surviving in four principal copies, the latter in only one. They resemble the ‘instructions’ in their emphasis on the proper conduct exemplified at the royal palace, and usually require the main character to stand up and testify before a higher authority. As such, the use of words to assess a man’s character against the gravity of truth obviously resembles the imagery of weighing the heart, illustrated in Speech 30B of the Book of the Dead.25 Despite its professed form, The Prophecy of Neferty finds that the basis for knowledge is understanding the past and, as Ptahhotep also suggests, recognizing the meaning of everything 23  Papyrus Prisse 5: 10–11. 24  Papyrus Prisse 6: 3–5. 25  Faulkner et al. 1994; Lüscher 2016.

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Literary texts   1013 that has already happened. At the crux of the story, a priest Neferty tells the Fourth-Dynasty king Sneferu (c.2613–2589 bc), ‘The fact is, a king of the south is going to come, whose name is Ameny. He is a son of a Nubian woman, a child of the palace.’26 In so doing, the ‘Old Kingdom’ protagonist Neferty is making a prophecy about the beginning of the Twelfth Dynasty and the reign of Amenemhat I which, of course, is a ‘future’ outcome already known to the audience of the text itself (notably Ameny’s name is written with the funerary epithet mꜣꜥ-ḫrw ‘true of voice’). However, the basis of his prophecy is actually the primeval past, and specifically the traditional first king of Egypt, Menes.27 Other texts in this category, including The Admonitions of Ipuwer (sometimes also called The Admonitions of a Sage) and The Lament of Khakheperraseneb, decry the apparent meaninglessness and uncertainty of the human condition—subjects dealt with in a most artful manner in The Dialogue between a Man and His Soul. In one passage of The Dialogue, capricious fate simply overwhelms a character named ‘Everyman’ (nd ˍ s), about whom we learn, ‘Everyman works his allotment. He loads the grain into a boat, takes his share away when the weekend comes.’28 Despite such honest, exemplary conduct, with no warning at all his wife and children are violently killed by a storm. The next episode illustrates how even ordinary life is lived on a knife-edge, using both a pun and a crude word for ‘urinate’ to sketch a scene all too familiar today: ‘Everyman asks for his dinner. His wife tells him he has to wait until supper. He goes out for a while on the piss. When he comes home, he is like someone else. Though his wife reasons with him, he will not listen to her. All he has achieved is pissing gossip for the telltales.’29 Such thoughts set up a poignant lament about how the burden of living weighs heavy on the ‘man’ of the title, for whom only death brings meaning to life: ‘Today death seems to me like a trodden-down path, like when a man from an expedition gets back to their (family) home. Today death seems to me like a clearing sky, like when a man realizes what he had not understood.’30

Biographies or travel narratives Finding meaning on the path to death is an aspect of the last principal category of literary text, based on the self-presentation of a tomb owner that was typically furnished as the basis for the offering cult at all periods of pharaonic history. From this inscriptional model, a  genre of pseudo-biography or travel narrative developed, often presented in the first person following the typical form of funerary self-presentations. Of these texts, The Tale of Sinuhe, The Shipwrecked Sailor and The Tale of Two Brothers are essentially complete, while The Misfortunes of Wenamun, though notably long, is badly damaged. However, Sinuhe holds a privileged place in modern scholarship because of the frequency with which it was copied. The text is preserved in over thirty more-or-less fragmentary manuscripts, mostly Ramesside ostraca from Deir el-Medina, but Middle Kingdom copies have been discovered at sites other than Thebes, including Haraga and Kahun (Lahun). As a result, The Tale of Sinuhe has become established as the canonical text in our modern description of both the 26  Papyrus Hermitage 1116B: 57–9. 28  Papyrus Berlin 3024: 69–71. 30  Papyrus Berlin 3024: 138–40.

27  See Pérez-Accino 2015: 1498. 29  Papyrus Berlin 3024: 80–5.

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1014   Bill Manley Middle Egyptian language and ancient Egyptian literature, and these travel narratives generally seem to correspond best to a modern notion of storytelling. Of course, what is less clear is why The Tale of Sinuhe was so important to ancient copyists: does the explanation lie in its exemplary use of language, its model of self-presentation or in some of its many themes, which may include displacement, faith, perseverance, capricious fate again, or even the ineffable quality that set ancient Egyptians apart from other people?

Use and context Which brings us to the central questions as matters stand: where do these literary texts come from, and what were they intended for? Current research is geared both to understanding the collection stories behind the manuscripts we have, and making sense of their relationship to the contexts in which they survived. Although many literary manuscripts were simply purchased, the known and secure provenances are tombs and, during the nineteenth century, ancient cemeteries were indeed the locations most liable to be scoured for saleable items. Among the six principal manuscript collections, the best understood provenance is that of a box of twenty-four or more papyrus rolls, including medical texts and official communications as well as copies of The Eloquent Peasant, The Tale of Sinuhe and other literary texts, discovered in a Twelfth-Dynasty tomb later buried beneath the Ramesseum (the royal mortuary temple of Rameses II at Luxor).31 Perhaps we may see this tomb as a convenient cache, after the manner apparently described in a letter from the Twentieth-Dynasty scribe Thutmose to his family in Deir el-Medina: ‘As for these documents—which were rained on in the house of the scribe, Horsheri, my forefather, and you brought them out and found that they had not been wiped, so I said to you I would wrap them up again, and you brought them down and we put them in the tomb of Amunnakht, my forefather—believe me, I am well aware of them.’32 On the other hand, we have little reason to suppose that pharaonic burials are often a source of items taken from ‘daily life’.33 The ‘Ramesseum box’ was surrounded by funerary artefacts as though it were part of the burial, not a cache. The example of funerary art applies here not just in terms of structures and themes but also in the context of use, because canonical art is found in tombs but not in homes nor in public buildings other than temples and palaces associated with temples.34 A formal relationship between funerary inscriptions and literary texts is not in doubt, nor is the fact that both employ narrative structures and specific images analogous to those of funerary art. To add to the examples given already, the eponymous Shipwrecked Sailor finds himself beached on ỉw pn n kꜣ ‘this spiritual island’, which may represent the funerary ‘field of rushes (sḫt iꜣrw),35 where he encounters a gigantic incarnation of the uraeus from the king’s crown. The eponymous protagonist in Sinuhe, driven by some anonymous external will travels far abroad against his own intention and prospers in life, but is unable to find contentment until he returns to his king’s palace to die. Both men, having seemingly lost their lives, find meaning and reward in returning to the 31  Quibell 1898: 3–4. The tomb’s present location is uncertain, see Downing and Parkinson 2016. 32  Papyrus British Museum EA 10326: 14r–1v. 33  Quirke 2004: 14. 34  Manley 2017: 259. 35  Baines 1990: 67.

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Literary texts   1015 king. The Doomed Prince and The Tale of Two Brothers have both been termed fairy tales because of their fantastical narratives, but they too are structured like monumental funerary art. The Tale of Two Brothers ends with a sequence of transformations that could easily be scenes taken from the walls of a New Kingdom tomb chapel. At the point where The Doomed Prince is broken off, the Prince’s wife has begun to rescue him from known threats to his life. The first of these is a snake which ‘his wife set about making into pieces with her axe’,36 a specific image recalling the seventh hour of the illustrated funerary composition, Amduat. In other words, for these travel narratives at least the problem is not so much identifying funerary imagery in literature as knowing when to stop.37 By contrast, the Stories from Khufu’s Court may seem bawdy and risible: in one story, an adulterous couple is devoured by a wax crocodile; in another, the disgruntled old king Sneferu, seeking his place of rest, is rowed round the marshes by the twenty ‘bustiest’ (bntt) women of his palace, who wear only fish-nets. Eventually the women refuse to go on, but a magician intervenes, folds over the lake (with the king still on it), and Sneferu finally attains ‘the perfect day’ he was after. In fact, the language and narrative structure of old Sneferu’s rowing emulate the language and narrative structure of Speech 110 of the Book of the Dead, well known in New Kingdom funerary art;38 while the narrative of all the stories taken together encapsulates the episodes of the weighing of the heart, noted above, before it ends with a prophecy of the termination of Khufu’s dynastic line. This last turn of events is not bawdy or funny in any sense, and we may wonder why would someone be buried with such peculiar tales? Is it simply because ‘he was proud of his knowledge of literature’?39 One suggested response to this question is the hypothesis of an alternative literary tradition, otherwise unknown to us but rooted, no doubt, in an oral tradition of storytelling.40 For example, in the Stories from Khufu’s Court, Richard Parkinson identifies a ‘low tradition’ indicated by the intrusion of the vernacular, and an episodic and repetitive structure.41 According to this hypothesis, the bawdy humour of Sneferu’s story brings us closer to a ‘folk’ tradition which embodies cultural themes commonly in use but usually only visible to us, modern readers, in the ‘high culture’ of funerary art or occasionally also in ‘high’ literature, like The Tale of Sinuhe or the ‘instructions’. An alternative response sees the funerary context as the heart of the matter. For example, Quirke notes that ancient literary manuscript collections first appear in the late Middle Kingdom at the moment when the so-called ‘Coffin Texts’ actually disappear from coffins.42 In other words, we may recognize the appearance of literary texts as a genuine funerary phenomenon, and thereby the relationship between the imagery of literary texts and funerary art becomes comprehensible. In a similar vein, recent new discoveries of the so-called Book of Kemyt have not only failed to confirm the status it once held as a ‘lost’ classic of Middle Kingdom literature, they seem to have established that it is a specific New Kingdom funerary phenomenon.43 Even the Ramesside poems from Deir el-Medina offer an analogy with funerary art, if only in terms of the exceptional: the principal non-canonical artworks of pharaonic Egypt—such anomalies as figured ostraca44 and the so-called ‘Satirical Papyrus’45—also derive from Deir el-Medina during the Ramesside period, and together 36  Papyrus British Museum EA 10060: 8/3–8/4. 37  See Manley 2017: 92–4. 38  Faulkner et al. 1994: 113–14. 39  Parkinson 2002: ix. See also Fischer-Elfert 1999. 40  In particular, see Parkinson 2009. 41  Parkinson 2002: 138–42. 42  Quirke 2004: 12. 43  See Galán 2007: 114–15. 44 Brunner-Traut 1979. 45  Papyrus British Museum EA 10016.

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1016   Bill Manley with the poems may be understood as phenomena specific to this community of funerary artists.46 Whereas the first response presumes that the literary texts we happen to know are explicable in terms of a literary culture largely unknown to us, the second response suggests they are a more specific and more restricted phenomenon than has hitherto been supposed.

A note on transcription Since literary texts are invariably written in hieratic, conventionally they are transcribed into hieroglyphs for publication. This has been received practice since the nineteenth century and allows the texts to be accessible to a hieroglyphically literate audience without requiring each reader to deal with the peculiarities of individual hieratic hands, or indeed several hands of different periods in those instances where multiple copies of a text exist. In the latter case, it also allows the variant texts to be laid out consistently using an interlinear format. However, the resultant hieroglyphic text is a modern convenience with subtle differences in  form from an authentic hieroglyphic text, such as when a group of determinatives is a sequence of cursory strokes in the original which must then be transcribed as individual hieroglyphs. This convenience is becoming increasingly intrusive because of the production of online and digital copies of texts using standard fonts, thereby removing the flexibility of hand-copying.47 This tendency favours the suggestion that an elementary reading knowledge of the hieratic script is more desirable than ever for a modern reader of literary texts, however credible and reliable the standard transcription of a given text may be.

Suggested reading Those learning Middle Egyptian will find useful introductory essays on this subject in Allen 2000. An invaluable summary of the main problems regarding both the definition and the collection of literary texts may be found in Quirke 2004, while full discussions and bibliographies are available in Loprieno 1996, Morenz 1996 and Parkinson 2002. For many decades, individual hieroglyphic transcriptions of literary texts were only available in smallrun publications, such as the Bibliotheca Ægyptiaca series published by the Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth in Brussels, but increasingly digital hieroglyphic versions are becoming available via the internet. Seminal translations of ‘Egyptian literature’ include the anthologies of Erman  1923 (available in an equally influential English translation by Aylward Blackman as Erman  1927) and Maspero  1911 (published in English as Maspero 1915). More recent translations of the Middle Kingdom compositions can be found in Parkinson  1997, Parkinson  2009 and again Quirke  2004. Two well regarded anthologies including the New Kingdom compositions but covering a wider range of texts than those considered here, notably including religious inscriptions and funerary self-presentations, are Lichtheim 1973–80 (three volumes) and Simpson 2003. Finally, for an interesting, but arguably moot, exercise in deconstructing the ‘poetic’ form of a literary text, see Foster 1993. 46  See also Manley 2014.

47  For an excellent example, see Nederhof 2015.

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Literary texts   1017

Bibliography Allen, J.P. 2000. Middle Egyptian. An Introduction to the Language and Culture of Hieroglyphs. 2nd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Baines, J.R. 1990. Interpreting Sinuhe, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 76: 55–72. Blok, H.P. 1924. Der hieratische Papyrus Leiden I 371, Analecta Orientalia 3: 109–35. Brunner-Traut, E. 1979. Egyptian Artists’ Sketches. Figured Ostraka from the Gayer-Anderson Collection in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Černý, J. 1952. Paper and Books in Ancient Egypt. London: H. K. Lewis and Co. Downing, M. and Parkinson, R.B. 2016. The Tomb of the Ramesseum Papyri in the Newberry Papers, The Griffith Institute Oxford, British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 23: 35–45. Erman, A. 1923. Die Literatur der Ägypter. Gedichte, Erzählungen und Lehrbücher aus dem 3. und 2. Jahrtausend v. Chr. Berlin: Thomas Haker GmbH. Erman, A. 1927. The Literature of the Ancient Egyptians. Poems, Narratives, and Manuals of Instruction, from the Third and Second Millennia BC. London: Methuen. Faulkner, R.O., Goelet, O., and Andrews, C. 1994. The Egyptian Book of the Dead, the Book of Going Forth by Day, Being The Papyrus of Ani. San Francisco: Chronicle Books. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 1999. Die Lehre eines Mannes für seinen Sohn. Eine Etappe auf dem ‘Gottesweg’ des loyalen und solidarischen Beamten der frühen 12. Dynastie. ÄA 60. Harrassowitz: Wiesbaden. Foster, J.L. 1993. Thought Couplets in The Tale of Sinuhe. Verse Text and Translation, with an Outline of Grammatical Forms and Clause Sequences and an Essay on the Tale as Literature. Münchener ägyptologische Untersuchungen 3. Frankfurt am Main: Verlag Peter Lang. Foucault, M. 1966. Les mots et les choses. Une archéologie des sciences humaines. Paris: Éditions ­Gallimard. Galán, J.M. 2007. An Apprentice’s Board from Dra Abu el-Naga, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 93: 95–116. Gardiner, A.H. 1916. The Defeat of the Hyksos by Kamōse: the Carnarvon Tablet, No. 1, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 3: 95–110. Gardiner, A.H. 1932. Late-Egyptian Stories. BAe 1. Brussels: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Gardiner, A.H. and Sethe, K. 1928. Egyptian Letters to the Dead, Mainly from the Old and Middle Kingdoms. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Golénischeff, W. 1899. Papyrus hiératique de la collection de W. Golénischeff contenant la description du voyage de l’Égyptien Ounou-Amon en Phénice, Recueil de travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes 21: 74–102. Jasnow, R. 1992. A Late Period Hieratic Wisdom Text (P. Brooklyn 47.218.135). SAOC 52. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Lichtheim, M. 1973–80. Ancient Egyptian Literature. 3 volumes. Berkley: University of California Press. Loprieno, A. 1996. Ancient Egyptian Literature. History and Forms. PÄ 10. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Lüscher, B. 2016. Die Mund- und Herzsprüche (Tb 21–30). Totenbuchtexte—Synoptische Textausgabe nach Quellen des Neuen Reiches 9. Basel: Orientverlag. Manley, W.P. 2014. A Very Bright Poet, a Long Time Ago: Considerations of Language, Meaning and the Mind during the Bronze Age. In A.M. Dodson, J.J. Johnston, and W. Monkhouse (eds), A Good Scribe and an Exceedingly Wise Man: Studies in honour of W.  J.  Tait. London: Golden House Publications, 199–212. Manley, W.P. 2017. Egyptian Art. London and New York: Thames and Hudson. Maspero, G. 1911. Les contes populaires de l’Égypte ancienne. 4th edn. Paris: Guilmoto. Maspero, G. 1915. Popular Stories of Ancient Egypt. London: H. Grevel and Co. Morenz, L. 1996. Beiträge zur ägyptischen Schriftlichkeitskultur im Mittleren Reich und in der Zweiten Zwischenzeit. ÄAT 29. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Nederhof, M.-J. 2015. The Shipwrecked Sailor. Available at: https://mjn.host.cs.st-andrews.ac.uk/ egyptian/texts/corpus/pdf/Shipwrecked.pdf

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1018   Bill Manley Parkinson, R.B. 1997. The Tale of Sinuhe and Other Ancient Egyptian Poems. Oxford: Oxford World’s Classics. Parkinson, R.B. 2002. Poetry and Culture in Middle Kingdom Egypt. A Dark Side to Perfection. London: Equinox Publishing. Parkinson, R.B. 2009. Reading Ancient Egyptian Poetry Among Other Histories. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Pérez-Accino, J.-R. 2015. Who is the Sage Talking about? Neferty and the Egyptian Sense of History. In P. Kousoulis and N. Lazaridis (eds), Proceedings of the Tenth International Congress of Egyptologists, University of the Aegean, Rhodes, 22–29 May 2008. Leuven: Peeters, 1495–502. Posener, G. 1956. Littérature et politique dans l’Égypte de la XIIe Dynastie. BEHE 307. Paris: Honoré Champion. Quack, J.F. 2005. Ein neuer Zugang zur Lehre des Ptahhotep, Die Welt des Orients 35: 7–21. Quibell, J.E. 1898. The Ramesseum. London: Egyptian Research Account. Quirke, S.J. 2004. Egyptian Literature 1800 BC. Questions and Readings. London: Golden House Publications. Schipper, B.U. 1998. Von der ‘Lehre des Sehetep-jb-Re’ zur ‘Loyalistischen Lehre’. Überlegungen zur  Überlieferungsgeschichte loyalistischer Aussagen, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 125: 161–79. Simpson, W.K. (ed.) 2003. The Literature of Ancient Egypt. An Anthology of Stories, Instructions, Stelae, Autobiographies, and Poetry. New Haven/London: Yale University Press. Thériault, C.A. 1993. The Instruction of Amenemhat as Propaganda, JARCE 30: 151–60. Verhoeven, U. 1996. Ein historischer ‘Sitz im Leben’ für die Erzählung von Horus und Seth des Papyrus Chester Beatty I. In M. Schade-Busch (ed.), Wege öffnen. Festschrift für Rolf Gundlach zum 65. Geburtstag. ÄAT 35. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 347–63.

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chapter 51

Socio -economic texts John Gee

Introduction As a miscellaneous, heterogeneous, and negatively defined category, the category of socio-economic texts encompasses a variety of different categories, such as legal (e.g. contracts, nuptial agreements, cessions), economic (e.g. accounts, tax receipts), and labelling (e.g. wine dockets). For the Pharaonic period, they are usually published as non-literary texts. The wider category includes such notable genres as accounts (rḫt), censuses (κατ’ οικιαν απογραφαι), cessions (sẖ n wy), contracts (sḥ n), decrees (wd ˍ ), documents (ꜥ), donations, epistolary agreements (šꜥt), inventories (snhꜣ), lists (ỉmy rn=f), nuptial agreements (sẖ n sꜥnḫ), offers to enter into an agreement (υπομνημα), property registrations (απογραφη), reports (wpwt), rosters (ꜥḥ ꜥw), rules of cult guilds (hp r mty nꜣ snt), sales (swnt, sẖ n d ˍ bꜣ ḥ d ˍ ), sealed documents (ḫtmt), tax receipts, temple oaths (ẖt pꜣ ꜥnḫ) and transfer deeds (in sẖ), written transaction (sẖ), verifications (επικρισις), and many others.1 Properly treated, socio-economic texts are an immensely informative category, even if the boundaries between them and other categories of texts can become blurred.

Script, language, and material In the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2160 bc), socio-economic texts can be found in both hieroglyphs and hieratic. In the Middle Kingdom (c.2055–1650 bc) and the New Kingdom (c.1550–1069 bc), they are usually in hieratic, although many royal decrees are in hieroglyphs. Beginning in the Third Intermediate Period (c.1069–664 bc), the business hands of the northern and southern parts of the country developed differently into two different scripts for socio-economic texts: the southern variant is called ‘abnormal hieratic’; the northern variant became ‘demotic’. During the Third Intermediate Period, there are also a number of socio-economic texts left in carved hieratic.2 After the reunification of Egypt under Psamtek I (c.664–610 bc), demotic became the official standard for socio-economic 1  Montevecchi 1998: 86–9, 177–233; Lippert 2012.

2 Meeks 1979.

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1020   John Gee texts until the reign of Tiberius (ad 14–37). During the Persian period, Aramaic vies with demotic as a language and script for socio-economic texts. After the conquest of Alexander both Greek and demotic are used for socio-economic texts. Sometime in the Roman period (30 bc–ad 395), demotic disappears from socio-economic texts,3 leaving the texts in Greek, or more rarely Latin. Once Roman rule ended, after the Muslim conquest, socio-economic documents were kept in Coptic until this was replaced by Arabic during the ninth century ad. Anomalous texts that do not conform to the general pattern are also known.4 At all time periods, the script in socio-economic texts tends to be more cursive than literary texts. This makes it easier to date documents palaeographically, and harder to read them. The materials used for socio-economic texts are tied to the status of the individual who owns them. Royal socio-economic texts used stone and papyrus, although clay is also attested in the Amarna correspondence. Private individuals used papyrus and potsherds, with rare use of stone, except for stone chips used as ostraca in Deir el-Medina because of its abundance as a by-product of their work.

Methodologies Socio-economic texts have been published according to (1) single documents, (2) archives (collections made in antiquity by a person or family), (3) dossiers (modern collection of all the texts associated with a particular individual), (4) findspot (documents from a single archaeological dig or location), (5) collection (documents now housed together in a museum or institution), (6) type (e.g. all marriage contracts, wills, receipts of particular taxes), or (7) content (e.g. all documents dealing with slaves). Each method of publication has its own advantages and disadvantages. Archives often provide the most information,5 as the documents are usually connected and one document may convey information that solves problems in another document or allows it to be seen in context. Dossiers serve as a substitute for archives. Publication according to document type allows a diachronic perspective and can help elucidate the formulae that characterize particular types of document. Publication by content allows careful examination of a specific subject.6 Publication according to collection, findspot, and individual documents is often a matter of convenience for the scholar publishing the text, and will sometimes have archives embedded in the larger publication. Publication of socio-economic texts should ideally cover the points listed below.7 The text should be identified by the collection that houses the text, and the inventory number(s). The excavation number, if appropriate, should also be included. Provenance of the text should be succinctly given if known. The circumstances of the find, when known, should also be included. The size, completeness or incompleteness, and condition of the document should be given. The contents of the texts on both sides should at least be mentioned, even 3  Lewis 1993 has been amply refuted by the material in Lippert and Schentuleit 2006a, 2006b, 2010. 4 Jasnow 1994. 5  Pestman 1995a: 91–2; Depauw 1997: 72; Vandorpe and Waebens 2009: 53–62, 81–90; Vandorpe et al. 2015: 15–19. 6  Depauw 1997: 74. 7  Depauw 1997: 69–72.

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Socio-economic texts   1021 if only one side is being published. It is also important to know if the document is a palimpsest and, if discernible, the nature of the previous document. For papyrus documents it is also useful to know how the script runs with respect to the papyrus fibres, the folding, rolling, or sealing of the document, whether the text is on the papyrological recto or verso, the length of the papyrus sheets and where the joins are. Pottery types of ostraca (i.e. shapes and fabrics) are almost never mentioned but could provide helpful information. The type of writing instrument employed can also be significant and where known should be included. The date of the document, to the extent knowable, should be given and the basis for dating the text if no exact date is given in the text. Along with the date, where the document is from should also be given. For family documents it is customary to reconstruct a family tree. Hieratic and demotic texts usually have palaeographical notes, particularly of unusual sign forms or spellings. A transcription of the text (if hieratic) or reproduction of the text (if hieroglyphic, Greek, or Coptic), along with a transliteration (for hieroglyphs, hieratic, and demotic) and translation should be given, with commentary supplied line by line. Hieratic and demotic texts often have a line-by-line commentary on the transliteration. A useful feature often omitted in publications is a general commentary, either in the introduction or conclusion, placing the text into a wider context, considering both genre and historical situ­ ation. Photographs, and often—for demotic texts—a facsimile, should also be included with the publication. Indices should also be included and ideally should cover the following phenomena: (1) rulers, (2) eponymous priests, (3) years, (4) months, (5) days, (6) personal names—sometimes witnesses and scribes are separated, (7) deities, (8) titles, occupations and epithets, (9) geography and topography, (10) religion, (11) measure, (12) numerals and fractions, (13) money, (14) taxes and dues, (15) abbreviations, (16) vocabulary, (17) foreign terms, (18) grammatical items, and (19) general subject index. The order of the indices varies among subdisciplines and most publications do not have all the indices.

Information available Different types of documents yield discrete types of information about Egyptian society. Accounts have been used to reconstruct the personnel,8 organization,9 ritual,10 and ­economics11 of religious institutions in the Old Kingdom. Middle Kingdom accounts have been used to show manpower needed for construction projects and calculations of completion rates,12 the layout of temples,13 and the organization of the royal court.14 They have also been used to analyse the salaries of farmers (0.2 to 0.8 ẖꜣr per month), and the daily caloric intake of ancient Egyptians (3,780 for men, 2,520 for women).15 Agricultural accounts detail the management of lands, and describe the measuring and inspection of lands.16 They can also provide information on preparations for various festivals.17 8  Posener-Kriéger 1976: 2:565–609; Posener-Kriéger et al. 2007. 9 Roth 1987, 1991. 10  Posener-Kriéger 1976: 2:535–63. 11  Posener-Kriéger 1976: 2:611–41; Posener-Kriéger et al. 2007. 12  Simpson 1963: 83–5; 1969: 13–16. 13  Simpson 1963: 52–85. 14  Quirke 1990: 9–121. 15  Allen 2002: 145–9. 16  Kaplony-Heckel 1994; Depauw 1997: 130. 17  de Cenival 1986; Donker van Heel 1995.

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1022   John Gee Business documents from single locations have been used to trace the careers of families of scribes,18 or assemble families of priests over generations.19 Where thousands of texts have come from a single location, it has been possible to compile prosopographies of entire towns.20 Census records from the New Kingdom indicate that the number of priests was significantly higher than might have been anticipated,21 an indication that part-time priests who had other occupations considered themselves to be priests. Census records from Ptolemaic times provide information on types of taxation and social privileges.22 They also provide a picture of the structure of society in various occupations: 24 per cent ethnic groups, 41 per cent agriculture, 6 per cent production, 6 per cent commerce, 3 per cent transport, 7 per cent administration, 10 per cent religion, 3 per cent health, education, and welfare.23 Census records from the Roman period have allowed a glimpse at family life and demographics, enabling us to have an idea of how many Egyptians lived in families of some sort (91 per cent), and of those who lived alone, most were older and ‘were probably most often the sole survivors of their families, living alone because they had been unable to marry or their marriages had ended’.24 This was true of both urban and rural areas, with the major difference being that rural families were more likely to contain extended families living together.25 We have also been able to determine average household size (2.75 people in Ptolemaic times,26 5 in Roman times),27 the age of marriage (12–30 for women, with 60 per cent married by age 20, 16–50 for men, with 50 per cent married by age 25),28 the average age difference between spouses (seven and one-half years),29 the prevalence of marriage (‘long-term stable marriages are ubiquitous’),30 the frequency of divorce (less than 5 per cent of marriages),31 il­legit­im­acy rates (3–5 per cent of births),32 re-marriage rates (men were more likely to remarry than women),33 and mortality rates: one-third of all females born would not live through their first year; over half would not reach the age of ten, and only a third would reach the age of thirty.34 Slightly under a third of all males born would die in the first year; about half would reach their coming of age at fourteen; and less than a third would reach the age of forty.35 Mummy labels,36 grave inscriptions, naming practices, and proverbs all corroborate this picture, and although drawn from the Roman period, it seems to be close to the situation in all periods. Daybooks provide information on the offices that kept them, border crossings, notaries,37 police stations,38 banks,39 dockyards.40 Decrees provide information on administration, taxation, and legal processes.41 Inventories

18  Wångstedt 1954: 11–14. 19  Quaegebeur 1974, 1994, 1997; Gee 2008, 2015. 20  Černý 1973; Jones and Whitehorne 1983. 21 Janssen 1992. 22  Depauw 1997: 130; Clarysse and Thompson 2006. 23  Clarysse and Thompson 2006: 2:194–201. 24  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 60, 67. 25  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 67. 26  Clarysse and Thompson 2006: 2:240, 246. 27  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 67–8. 28  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 113–16; Clarysse and Thompson 2006: 2:293–300. 29  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 118–19. 30  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 122. 31  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 123–5. 32  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 155. 33  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 126–7. 34  Bagnall and Frier 1994: 77. 35  Bagnell and Frier 1994: 100. 36  Spiegelberg 1901, 19–21. 37  de Cenival 1987; Martin 1992. 38 Kaplony-Heckel 1991. 39  Griffith 1909: 3:164–44, 292–6, 316. 40 Simpson 1965. 41  Goedicke 1967: 239–48.

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Socio-economic texts   1023 provide a list of equipment that a particular profession used.42 Land leases show how temple lands and lands for priestly endowments work (farmers leased the land in exchange for between one-fourth to one-half of the crop, with the usual rate being one-third).43 Enough land transfers from a single location allows one to map entire neighbourhoods.44 In some cases archaeologists have been able to use the mappings to discover and identify archaeological locations,45 and in other cases, socio-economic texts allow for the mapping of local geography.46 Legal texts of all sorts become the backbone of most chronological systems, as they are the most likely documents to contain dates. While, for the most part, they do not give the consecutive order of rulers, they are invaluable for determining the length of reigns.47 Dated documents have enabled the reconstruction of various reigns and have been particularly enlightening for the reigns of certain rebel leaders.48 Legal texts have also been used to examine how the bureaucracy functioned and was perceived.49 Lists provide information on prosopography, administration,50 and the price of fees for various priestly offices.51 Oracle texts have been used to show judicial procedures,52 ritual procedures,53 and the persistence of institutions,54 but they also provide information about crime, and the major decisions in an individual’s life.55 Ration lists show the rank of various officials, as shown by their pay. They also can serve as an indication of the identity of various foodstuffs.56 Rules of cult guilds have been used to show the rules, members and activities of priestly as­so­ci­ations.57 Sales and transfers have been useful in ascertaining various prices58 (demonstrating an increase in inflation before the collapse of the New Kingdom) and showing the relative economic power of the priests.59 Socio-economic texts have also been used to trace the lives of individuals,60 sometimes supplementing their autobiographical accounts, and trace the history of offices.61 Correlation of statistical analysis of lexical items in socio-economic documents and pottery archaeologically recovered from a site permit tentative identification of ancient Egyptian names for pottery vessels.62 Similar work with plant remains has been less rigorous and less conclusive.63 Tax receipts show fluctuations in tax rates, but there are often multiple theories to account for the variations,64 which the present evidence does not allow us to falsify. They have also been used to elucidate the mechanisms of support for temples.65 Temple oaths provide an index of crime as well as giving indications of civil and religious procedures.66 Several types of socio-economic texts (e.g. wd ˍ and šꜥt) are adopted into religious literature, taking what might be considered the most mundane of texts and transporting it to the divine realm.67 42 Jasnow 1994. 43  Hughes 1952: 3–5, 9–10, 18, 28–9, 51–2, 68–9, 74–5. 44  Depauw 2000: 18–55. 45  Kaiser et al. 1999: 142–5. 46  Quaegebeur 1975/76; Luft, 1998. 47  Pestman 1967; Wente and Van Siclen 1976; Bagnall and Worp 1982; Montevecchi 1998: 104–38. 48  Pestman 1995b; Chauveau 2004. 49 Johnson 1987. 50  Depauw 1997: 131. 51  Spiegelberg 1929. 52  McDowell 1990: 107–41. 53 Černý 1962. 54  Frankfurter 1998: 145–97. 55 Zauzich 2000. 56 Janssen 1997. 57  de Cenival 1972. 58 Janssen 1975. 59  Quaegebeur 1979; Johnson 1983. 60  Janssen 1982a, 1982b, 1982c; Keller 1984. 61 Depauw 1998. 62  Bourriau and Quirke 1998. 63 Germer 1998. 64 Vleeming 1992. 65 Kaplony-Heckel 2000. 66 Kaplony-Heckel 1959, 1963. 67  Faulkner 1973: 114 n. 1; Quaegebeur 1988, 1990; Kákosy 1992; Smith 2006.

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1024   John Gee

Controversies Nearly every type of document has its own controversy about its nature and role in society. For example, is a sẖ n sꜥnḫ a ‘maintenance contract’ or a ‘nuptial agreement’?68 Is an imyt-pr a ‘will’ or a ‘transfer-document’?69 Lack of adequately preserved information contributes to controversies about basic societal institutions. Was there private ownership of property in ancient Egypt?70 Did codified laws exist in Egypt before the Persian period? Did marriage exist?71 Because specialists in different languages tend to concentrate only on their particular language or time period, terminological borrowings go unrecognized or misattributed.72 Equally, restricted use of socio-economic documents can sometimes skew interpretation. For example, because legal documents were often kept in Greek during the Roman period, and demotic materials had not yet been published, it was once argued that socio-economic texts in demotic or Coptic practically vanish during Roman rule. This has caused some to argue that the Egyptians were illiterate in their own language during the Roman period.73 On the other hand, the prolific works of Shenoute and Besa and the flourishing translation movement during the second through fourth centuries ad, during which dozens of Greek texts were translated into Coptic,74 coupled with the documentation that demotic con­ tinued to be used until the middle of the fifth century ad , means that for at least three centuries, demotic and Coptic scripts were used side by side to record the same language. In some cases, the socio-economic documents give enough information to settle controversies. For example, it has often been asserted that pr-ꜥꜣ did not refer to the person of the king until the Nineteenth Dynasty,75 but careful study of the socio-economic texts show that it was sometimes used of the person of the king as far back as the Old Kingdom, even if it was generally used in this way in administrative contexts.76 In other cases, the difficulties of a problem have caused some to deny the efficacy of any solution to them.77 Simple doubting does not provide a constructive solution to a problem. In general, controversies have centred on smaller matters of interpretation, rarely addressing larger issues due in part to lack of evidence and lack of synthesis, although a few attempts at synthesis and overview have been made.78

Problems and prospects for future study Hundreds of books, thousands of articles, and tens of thousands of texts have been published, and yet only a fraction of the total material has been published, although the earlier time 68 Johnson 1994. 69  Logan 2000; Lippert 2012: 17, 41–2, 72–4. 70  Contrast Menu 2001a with Gardiner 1948: 2: 55, 75–84, 198. 71  Toivari 1998; Gee 2001, 2004a. 72  Compare Porten 1992; Ritner 2002; Botta 2009. 73  Bagnall 1993: 235–40. 74  Orlandi 1986: 53–70. 75  Gardiner 1957: 75. 76  Goelet 1989/90. 77  Quirke 1999, but see Coenen, 2001. 78  Bagnall 1993; Depauw 1997; Hoffmann 2000; Lippert 2012.

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Socio-economic texts   1025 periods are perhaps better published than the later ones. The most pressing need is for intelligent publication of material. Electronic publications have the advantage that they can be made searchable, which makes finding parallels and relevant information easier, so long as the material is searchable on a single database. They have the disadvantage that electronic publication has not always proven viable on a long term basis: thus, data can be corrupted, websites can go down or disappear, and some compressed storage systems (such as jpg and gif formats) lose data every time the records are worked on and saved again. Printed ma­ter­ ial is more durable, but it is bulky, expensive, and not always easily searchable. As the amount of available material grows, so does the problem of integrating and correlating the socio-economic material with other types of material. The correlation of different types of texts and material provides one of the more exciting developments in the study of socio-economic texts and also provides a check on the veracity of conclusions derived from the study of socio-economic texts alone. For example, individuals mentioned in stele and funerary papyri sometimes appear in socio-economic texts, which then are able to supply more specific dates for individuals, while the information in the funerary material provides information on individuals who otherwise might just be names in an economic text. At all time periods, data is geographically unevenly distributed, with more information coming from certain areas, and none from others. Much of the Twentieth-Dynasty material comes from one site, Deir el-Medineh. During the Third Intermediate Period, material from Thebes seems better attested than that from other locations. Persian period material is confined largely to Saqqara and Elephantine, although new material has been discovered in the oases. Ptolemaic period material is well represented at Thebes and the Fayum, but less well represented elsewhere. Roman-period material is well represented at Oxyrhynchus and the Fayum. Published Coptic material seems to cluster around certain monasteries,79 but most has not been published. The uneven distribution of texts presents particular problems, as one is uncertain how much material is peculiar to the site and how much is true of the larger populations. For example, literacy rates at Deir el-Medineh are routinely assumed to be higher than the general population and that the literacy skews the information at the site, but there is no way to prove the assumption one way or the other. Most socio-economic texts centre on local concerns: individual, family, town. Texts dealing with larger concerns, such as nome, national, and international issues are rarer. So most of the picture of society is built from the bottom up. Socio-economic documents are written in a general frame of reference that is lost and must be painstakingly reconstructed, but this reconstructed nature of the framework increases the chance for error, and the potential for misunderstanding is high. Generalizations based on just a few examples, or worse on one solitary example,80 are problematic but common. Also dangerous is the temptation to use the fallacy of negative proof, arguing that a lack of evidence is evidence of a lack.81 The extent to which material from one time period is applicable to another time period is a difficult problem. Continuity is generally assumed either because of lack of evidence or lack of study.82 The continuity of various institutions needs more careful study. Some institutions survive in spite of changes in government or political or religious philosophy.83 For example, the same terminology for marriage remains constant over a wide range of time 79  See, e.g., Clackson 2000. 80 Gee 2004a, 2010. 81 Gee 2001, 2010. 82  Gee 2004b: 56. 83  Gagos et al. 1992: 198; van den Berg-Onstwedder 1996.

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1026   John Gee from the Old Kingdom through to the Coptic period,84 through major changes of governments and religion, and yet—without any evidence—it is posited that a major shift in the understanding of marriage took place from one of non-existence to existence. A change in one social institution sometimes results in individuals manipulating the system to produce the same result.85 In other cases the discontinuity is complete. Mapping the historical continuities and discontinuities needs much further work, but such mapping is complicated because most socio-economic texts, especially the legal ones, document a change in status on the individual level. Related to the problem of continuity over time is the issue of continuity across various scripts. The specialization required to learn a script or language often has a side effect of myopia, causing one to ignore similar material—often from the same time period and location—that might be relevant. This has the effect of denying the cosmopolitan character that characterizes Egypt in most time periods. The documents themselves do not adequately address the issues in which we are interested; the ancient authors were interested in something else. In the end, it may have to be admitted that on many issues, the available evidence is inadequate to resolve the issue or decide between alternatives.

Suggested reading The secondary literature is too voluminous for an overview here. Only major text corpora of primary literature are covered here, and even these are incomplete. Donker van Heel (2012, 2014, 2016) provides readable popular biographies of individuals based on socio-economic texts, while Lippert (2012) provides an overview of legal texts and issues with an extensive list of legal texts. For the Old Kingdom, see Posener-Kriéger and de Cenival (1968), Posener-Kriéger (1976), and Posener-Kriéger et al. (2007). For the Middle Kingdom, see Simpson (1963, 1965, 1969, 1986) and Collier and Quirke (2004, 2006). For the New Kingdom, see Černý and Gardiner (1957). For Deir el-Medina, see Černý (1937a, 1937b, 1939, 1951, 1970), Sauneron (1959), López (1978–1984), Grandet (2000,  2003,  2006), and Demarée (2002). See also the following websites: http://dmd.wepwawet.nl, http://dem-online.gwi.uni-muenchen.de/, and http:// www.griffith.ox.ac.uk/gri/4hicheck.html. For the Third Intermediate Period, see the lists in Meeks (1979), Thissen (1980), and material scattered through Jansen-Winkeln (2007a, 2007b, 2009, 2014). For the Persian period, most of the published Aramaic texts may be found in Segal (1983), Porten and Yardeni (1986, 1989, 1993, 1999), and new material should be forthcoming, as the Elephantine papyri in Berlin and Brooklyn are published. For the Greco-Roman period, tens of thousands of documents are extant. A list of major editions can be found at http://library.duke.edu/ rubenstein/scriptorium/papyrus/texts/clist.html. Further lists of Demotic texts can be found in Zauzich (1968), Den Brinker et al. (2005) and Vleeming (2001, 2011, 2015). Other collections include Muhs (2005,  2011), Lippert and Schentuleit (2006a,  2006b,  2010), Kaplony-Heckel (2009), and Martin (2009). 84  Pestman 1961: 9–11; Gee 2001: 22–5.

85  Gagos et al. 1992.

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Socio-economic texts   1027 For Coptic material, see Crum (1893, 1902, 1921), Crum and Steindorff (1912), Crum and Bell (1922), Schiller (1932), Kahle (1954), Hasitzka (1993, 2004, 2006, 2012), Clackson (2000), and Brown (2009).

Bibliography Allen, J.P. 2002. The Heqanakht Papyri. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Bagnall, R.S. 1993. Egypt in Late Antiquity. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Bagnall, R.S. and Frier, B.W. 1994. The Demography of Roman Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bagnall, R.S. and Worp, K.A. 1982. Papyrus Documentation in the Period of Diocletian and Constantine, Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar 4: 25–33. van den Berg-Onstwedder, G. 1996. The use of demotic phrases from legal texts of the Ptolemaic period in Coptic legal texts, Bulletin de la Société d’Archéologie Copte 35: 101–16. Botta, A.F. 2009. The Aramaic and Egyptian Legal Traditions at Elephantine. London: T and T Clark. Bourriau, J. and Quirke, S. 1998. The Late Middle Kingdom Ceramic Repertoire in Words and Objects. In S. Quirke (ed.), Lahun Studies. Reigate, Surrey, England: SIA Publishing, 60–83. Brown, S.K. 2009. The Ostraca of the Coptic Museum in Old Cairo, Egypt. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. de Cenival, F. 1972. Les associations religieuses en Égypte. 2 volumes. BdE 46. Caire: IFAO. de Cenival, F. 1986. Comptes d’une association religieuse thébaine datant des années 29 à 33 du roi Amasis (P. démot. Louvre E 7840 bis), Revue d’Égyptologie 37: 13–29. de Cenival, F. 1987. Répertoire journalier d’un bureau de notaire de l’époque ptolémaïque en démotique (P. dém. Lille 120), Enchoria 15: 1–9. Černý, J. 1935. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el Médineh. [Tome I] (nos 1 à 113). DFIFAO 3. Cairo: IFAO. Černý, J. 1937a. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el Médineh. Tome II (nos 114 à 189). DFIFAO 4. Cairo: IFAO. Černý, J. 1937b. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el Médineh. Tome III (nos 190 à 241). DFIFAO 5. Cairo: IFAO. Černý, J. 1939. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el Médineh. Tome IV (nos 242 à 339). DFIFAO 6. Cairo: IFAO. Černý, J. 1951. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el Médineh. Tome V (nos 340 à 456). DFIFAO 7. Cairo: IFAO. Černý, J. 1962. Egyptian Oracles. In R.A. Parker (ed.), A Saite Oracle Papyrus from Thebes. Providence, Rhode Island: Brown University Press, 35–48. Černý, J. 1970. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el-Médinéh. [Tome VII] (nos 624–705). DFIFAO 14. Cairo: IFAO. Černý, J. 1973. A Community of Workmen at Thebes in the Ramesside Period. BdE 50. Cairo: IFAO. Černý, J. and Gardiner, A.H. 1957. Hieratic Ostraca, volume I. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Clarysse, W. and Thompson, D.J. 2006. Counting the People in Hellenistic Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chauveau, M. 2004. Inarôs, prince des reblles. In F. Hoffmann and H. J. Thissen (eds), Res Severa Verum Gaudium. Leuven: Peeters, 39–46. Clackson, S.J. 2000. Coptic and Greek Texts relating to the Hermopolite Monastery of Apa Apollo. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Collier, M. and Quirke, S. 2004. The UCL Lahun Papyri: Religious, Literary, Legal, Mathematical and Medical. BAR International Series 1209. Oxford: Archaeopress. Collier, M. and Quirke, S. 2006. The UCL Lahun Papyri: Accounts. BAR International Series 1471. Oxford: Archaeopress. Crum, W.E. 1893. Coptic Manuscripts Bought from the Fayyum. London: David Nutt.

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1028   John Gee Crum, W.E. 1902. Coptic Ostraca. London: EEF. Crum, W.E. 1921. Short Texts from Coptic Ostraca and Papyri. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Crum, W.E. and Bell, H.I. 1922. Wadi Sarga. Hauniae: Gyldendalska. Crum, W.E. and Steindorff, G. 1912. Koptische Rechtsurkunden des achten Jahrhunderts aus Djême (Theben). New York: A. Arthur Schiller. Demarée, R.J. 2002. Ramesside Ostraca. London: The British Museum Press. Depauw, M. 1997. A Companion to Demotic Studies. Papyrologica Bruxellensia 28. Brussels: FERE. Depauw, M. 1998. The Isonomos or In-wwy. In W. Clarysse, A. Schoors, and H. Willems (eds), Egyptian Religion: The Last Thousand Years. 2 volumes. Leuven: Peeters, Vol. 2, 1131–53. Depauw, M. 2000. The Archive of Teos and Thabis from Early Ptolemaic Thebes. Turnhout: Brepols. Den Brinker, A.A., Muhs, B.P., and Vleeming, S.P. 2005. A Berichtigungsliste of Demotic documents. 2 volumes. Studia Demotica 7. Leuven: Peeters. Donker van Heel, K. 1995. Abnormal Hieratic and Early Demotic Texts Collected by the Theban Choachytes in the Reign of Amasis. Papyri from the Louvre Eisenlohr Lot. Leiden, PhD dissertation. Donker van Heel, K. 2012. Djekhy & Son: Doing Business in Ancient Egypt. Cairo; New York, NY: The American University in Cairo Press. Donker van Heel, K. 2014. Mrs. Tsenhor: a Female Entrepreneur in Ancient Egypt. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press. Donker van Heel, K. 2016. Mrs. Naunakhte and Family: the Women of Ramesside Deir el-Medina. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press. Faulkner, R.O. 1973. The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. Volume 1 Spells 1–354. Warminster: Aris and Phillips. Frankfurter, D. 1998. Religion in Roman Egypt: Assimilation and Resistance. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Gagos, T., Koenen, L., and McNellen, B.E. 1992. A First Century Archive from Oxyrhynchos or Oxyrhinchite Loan Contracts and Egyptian Marriage. In J.H. Johnson (ed.), Life in a Multicultural Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and Beyond. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 181–205. Gardiner, A.H. 1948. The Wilbour Papyrus. 4 volumes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gardiner, A.H. 1957. Egyptian Grammar. 3rd. ed. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Gee, J. 2001. Notes on Egyptian Marriage: P.  BM 10416 Reconsidered, Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar 15: 17–25. Gee, J. 2004a. Trial Marriage in Ancient Egypt? P. Louvre E. 7846 Reconsidered. In F. Hoffmann and H.J. Thissen (eds), Res Severa Verum Gaudium. Leuven: Peeters, 223–31. Gee, J. 2004b. sA mi nn: A Temporary Conclusion, Göttinger Miszellen 202: 55–8. Gee, J. 2008. History of a Theban Priesthood. In A. Delattre and P. Heilporn (eds), «Et maintenant ce ne sont plus que des villages . . .» Thèbes et sa région aux époques hellénistique, romaine et byzantine. Bruxelles: Association Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth, 59–71. Gee, J. 2010. Egyptologists’ Fallacies: Fallacies Arising from Limited Evidence, Journal of Egyptian History 3:137–58. Gee, J. 2015. Horos Son of Osoroeris. In F. Haikal (ed.), Mélanges offerts à Ola el-Aguizy. Cairo: IFAO, 169–78. Germer, R. 1998. The Plant Material Found by Petrie at Lahun and Some Remarks on the Problems of Identifying Egyptian Plant Names. In S. Quirke (ed.), Lahun Studies. Reigate, Surrey, England: SIA Publishing, 84–91. Goedicke, H. 1967. Königliche Dokumente aus dem Alten Reich. ÄgAb 14. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Goelet, O. 1998/90. The Nature of the Term pr-ꜥꜣ during the Old Kingdom, Bulletin of the Egypto­logic­al Seminar 10: 77–90. Grandet, P. 1999. Le Papyrus Harris I. BdÉ 129. Cairo: IFAO. Grandet, P. 2000. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deîr el-Médînéh. Tome VIII: nos 706–830. DFIFAO 39. Cairo: IFAO. Grandet, P. 2003. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el-Médinéh. Tome IX: nos 831–1000. DFIFAO 41. Cairo: IFAO.

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Socio-economic texts   1029 Grandet, P. 2006. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deîr el-Médînéh. Tome X: nos 10001–10123. DFIFAO 46. Cairo: IFAO. Hasitzka, M.R.M. 1993. Koptisches Sammelbuch I. Vienna: Brüder Hollinek. Hasitzka, M.R.M. 2004. Koptisches Sammelbuch II. Vienna: Brüder Hollinek. Hasitzka, M.R.M. 2006. Koptisches Sammelbuch III. Munich: K. G. Saur. Hasitzka, M.R.M. 2012. Koptisches Sammelbuch IV. Berlin: de Gruyter. Hoffmann, F. 2000. Ägypten : Kultur und Lebenswelt in griechisch-römischer Zeit. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Hughes, G.R. 1952. Saite Demotic Land Leases. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Jansen-Winklen, K. 2007a. Inschriften der Spätzeit: Teil I: Die 21. Dynastie. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Jansen-Winklen, K. 2007b. Inschriften der Spätzeit: Teil II: Die 22.–24. Dynastie. Wiesbaden: ­Harrassowitz. Jansen-Winklen, K. 2009. Inschriften der Spätzeit: Teil III: Die 25. Dynastie. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Jansen-Winklen, K. 2014. Inschriften der Spätzeit: Teil IV: Die 26. Dynastie. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Janssen, J.J. 1961. Two Ancient Egyptian Ship’s Logs: Papyrus Leiden I 350 verso and Papyrus Turin 2008 + 2016. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Janssen, J.J. 1975. Commodity Prices from the Ramesside Period. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Janssen, J.J. 1982a. Two personalities. In R.J. Demarée and J.J. Janssen (eds), Gleanings from Deir el-Medîna. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 109–31. Janssen, J.J. 1982b. The Mission of the Scribe Pseiūr (O. Berlin 12654). In R.J. Demarée and J.J. Janssen (eds), Gleanings from Deir el-Medîna. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 133–47. Janssen, J.J. 1982c. A Draughtsman who Became Scribe of the Tomb: Harshīre, Son of Amennakhtĕ. In R.J. Demarée and J.J. Janssen (eds), Gleanings from Deir el-Medîna. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 149–53. Janssen, J.J. 1992. A New Kingdom Settlement: the Verso of Pap. BM 10068, Altorientalische Forschungen 19: 8–23. Janssen, J.J. 1997. The Daily Bread, Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar 13: 15–38. Jasnow, R. 1994. The Hieratic Wooden Tablet Varille. In David P. Silverman (ed.), For His Ka: Essays Offered in Memory of Klaus Baer. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 99–112. Johnson, J.H. 1983. The Role of the Egyptian Priesthood in Ptolemaic Egypt. In L.H.  Lesko (ed.), Egyptological Studies in Honor of Richard A. Parker. Hanover: Brown University Press, 70–84. Johnson, J.H. 1987. Ptolemaic Bureaucracy from an Egyptian Point of View. In M.  Gibson and R.D. Biggs (eds), The Organization of Power: Aspects of Bureaucracy in the Ancient Near East. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 123–31. Johnson, J.H. 1994. ‘Annuity Contacts’ and Marriage. In David P. Silverman (ed.), For His Ka: Essays Offered in Memory of Klaus Baer. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 113–32. Jones, B.W. and Whitehorne, J.E.G. 1983. Register of Oxyrhynchites 30 B.C.–A.D. 96. Chico, California: Scholars Press. Kahle, P.E. 1954. Bala’izah. 2 volumes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kaiser, W. et al. 1999. Stadt und Tempel von Elephantine 25./26./27. Grabungsbericht, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 55: 63–236, Tf. 14–34. Kákosy, L. 1992. Three Decrees of Gods from Theban Tomb 32, OLP 23: 311–32. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 1959. Acht demotische Prozesseide auf Ostraca, Orientalia Suecana 8: 43–68. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 1963. Die demotischen Tempeleide, 2 volumes. ÄgAb 6. Wiesbaden: Otto ­Harrassowitz. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 1991. Das Tagebuch der Polizeistation von Karanis. Ein Vorbericht, Enchoria 18: 191–2. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 1994. Demotische Verwaltungsakten aus Gebelein: Der große Berliner Papyrus 13608, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 121: 75–94. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 2000. Demotic Ostraca from Thebes: Percentages and Relations between Pharaoh and Temple, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 37: 75–80.

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1030   John Gee Kaplony-Heckel, U. 2009. Land und Leute am Nil nach demotischen Inschriften, Papyri und Ostraka: Gesammelte Schriften. 2 volumes. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Keller, C.A. 1984. How Many Draughtsmen Named Amenhotep? A Study of Some Deir el-Medina Painters, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 21: 119–29. Lewis, N. 1993. The Demise of the Demotic Document: When and Why, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 79: 276–81. Lippert, S.L. 2012. Einführung in die altägyptische Rechtsgeschichte. Berlin: LIT. Lippert, S.L. and Schentuleit M. 2006a. Ostraka. DDD 1. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Lippert, S.L. and Schentuleit M. 2006b. Quittungen. DDD 2. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Lippert, S.L. and Schentuleit, M. 2010. Urkunden. DDD 3. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Logan, T. 2000. The jmyt-pr Document: Form, Function, and Significance, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 37: 49–73. López, J. (ed.) 1978–1984. Ostraca ieratici, 4 volumes. Catalogo del Museo Egizio di Torino, serie seconda—collezioni 3 (1–4). Milano: Cisalpino-La Goliardica. Luft, U. 1998. The Ancient Town of el-Lâhûn. In S. Quirke (ed.), Lahun Studies. Reigate, Surrey, England: SIA Publishing, 1–41. Martin, C.J. 1992. Demotic Contracts as Evidence in a Court Case? In J.H. Johnson (ed.), Life in a Multicultural Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and Beyond. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 217–20. Martin, C.J. 2009. Demotic Papyri from the Memphite Necropolis (p. dem. Memphis) in the Collections of the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, the British Museum and the Hermitage Museum. 2 volumes. Turnhout: Brepols. McDowell, A.G. 1990. Jurisdiction in the Workmen’s Community of Deir el-Medîna. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nibije Oosten. Meeks, D. 1979. Les donations aux temples dans l’Égypte du Ier millénaire avant J.-C. In E. Lipinski (ed.), State and Temple Economy in the Ancient Near East. Leuven: Departement Oriëntalistiek. 2: 605–87. Menu, B.M. 2001a. Economy: an Overview. In D. Redford (ed.), The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1, 422–6. Montevecchi, O. 1998. La Papirologia. Milano: Vita e Pensiero. Muhs, B.P. 2005. Taxes, Taxpayers, and Tax Receipts in Early Ptolemaic Thebes—Demotic and Greek Ostraca from the Oriental Institute Museum, Chicago. OIP 126. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Muhs, B.P. 2011. Receipts, Scribes and Collectors in Early Ptolemaic Thebes (O.  Taxes 2). Studia Demotica 8. Leuven: Peeters. Orlandi, T. 1986. Coptic Literature. In B.A. Pearson and J.E. Goehring (eds), The Roots of Egyptian Christianity. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 51–81. Pestman, P.W. 1961. Marriage and Matrimonial Property in Ancient Egypt. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Pestman, P.W. 1967. Chronologie égyptienne d’après les textes démotiques (332 av. J.-C. – 453 ap. J.-C.). Leiden: E.J. Brill. Pestman, P.W. 1995a. A Family Archive which Changes History. In S.P.  Vleeming (ed.), HundredGated Thebes. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 91–100. Pestman, P.W. 1995b. Haronnophris and Chaonnophris: Two Indigenous Pharaohs in Ptolemaic Egypt (205–186 B.C.). In S.P. Vleeming (ed.), Hundred-Gated Thebes. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 101–37. Porten, B. 1992. Aramaic-Demotic Equivalents: Who is the Borrower and Who the Lender? In J.H. Johnson (ed.), Life in a Multicultural Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and Beyond. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 259–64. Porten, B. and Yardeni, A. 1986. Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt 1. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University. Porten, B. and Yardeni, A. 1989. Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt 2. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University. Porten, B. and Yardeni, A. 1993. Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt 3. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University.

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Socio-economic texts   1031 Porten, B, and Yardeni, A. 1999. Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt 4. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University. Posener-Kriéger, P. 1976. Les archives du temple funéraire de Néferirkarê-Kakaï (les papyrus d’Abousir). Traduction et commentaire. BdE 65. Caire: IFAO. Posener-Kriéger, P. and de Cenival J.L. 1968. Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum. Fifth Series. The Abu Sir Papyri. London: British Museum. Posener-Kriéger, P., Verner, M., and Vymazalova, H. 2007. Abusir X—The Pyramid Complex of Raneferef: The Papyrus Archive. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology. Quaegebeur, J. 1974. Prêtres et cultes thébains à la lumière de documents égyptiens et grecs, Bulletin de la Société Française d’Égyptologie 70–1: 37–55. Quaegebeur, J. 1975/76. Les appellations grecques des temples de Karnak, Orientalia Lovaniensa Periodica 6/7: 463–78. Quaegebeur, J. 1979. Documents égyptiens et rôle économique du clergé en Égypte hellénistique. In E. Lipinski (ed.), State and Temple Economy in the Ancient Near East. Leuven: Departement Oriëntalistiek, 2, 707–29. Quaegebeur, J. 1988. Lettres de Thot et Décrets pour Osiris. In J.  H.  Kamstra, H.  Milde, and K. Wagtendonk (eds), Funerary Symbols and Religion. Kampen: J. H. Kok, 105–26. Quaegebeur, J. 1990. P. Brux. Dem. E. 8258 une letter de recommendation pour l’au-delà. In S. IsraelitGroll (ed.), Studies in Egyptology Presented to Miriam Lichtheim. 2 volumes. Jerusalem: The Magnes Press, Vol. 2, 776–95. Quaegebeur, J. 1994. Le papyrus Denon à La Haye et une famille de prophètes de Min-Amon. In M. Minas and J. Zeidler (eds), Aspekte spätägyptischer Kultur. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern, 213–23. Quaegebeur, J. 1997. Books of Thoth Belonging to Owners of Portraits? On Dating Late Hieratic Funerary Papyri. In M.L. Bierbrier (ed.), Portraits and Masks: Burial Customs in Roman Egypt. London: British Museum, 72–7. Quirke, S. 1990. The Administration of Egypt in the Late Middle Kingdom. New Malden Surrey: SIA Publishing. Quirke, S. 1999. The Last Books of the Dead? In W.V. Davies (ed.), Studies in Egyptian Antiquities: A Tribute to T. G. H. James. London: British Museum, 83–98. Ritner, R.K. 2002. Third Intermediate Period Antecedents of Demotic Legal Terminology. In K.S.B. Ryholt (ed.), Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies. Copenhagen: The Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies, 343–59. Roth, A.M. 1987. The Organization and Functioning of the Royal Mortuary Cults of the Old Kingdom in Egypt. In M. Gibson and R.D. Biggs (eds), The Organization of Power: Aspects of Bureaucracy in the Ancient Near East. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 115–21. Roth, A.M. 1991. Egyptian Phyles in the Old Kingdom: The Evolution of a System of Social Organization. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Sauneron, S. 1959. Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el-Médineh. [Tome VI] (nos 550–623). DFIFAO 13. Caire: IFAO. Schiller, A.A. 1932. Ten Coptic Legal Texts. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Segal, J.B. 1983. Aramaic Texts from North Saqqâra. London: EES. Simpson, W.K. 1963. Papyrus Reisner I: Transcription and Commentary. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Simpson, W.K. 1965. Papyrus Reisner II: Transcription and Commentary. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Simpson, W.K. 1969. Papyrus Reisner III: Transcription and Commentary. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Simpson, W.K. 1986. Papyrus Reisner IV: Transcription and Commentary. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts. Smith, M. 2006. The Great Decree Issued to the Nome of the Silent Land, Revue d’Égyptologie 57: 217–32. Spiegelberg, W. 1901. Aegyptische und Griechische Eigennamen aus Mumienetiketten der römischen Kaiserzeit. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Thissen, H.-J. 1980. Chronologie der frühdemotischen Papyri, Enchoria 10: 105–25.

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1032   John Gee Toivari, J. 1998. Marriage at Deir el-Medina. In C.J. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists. Leuven: Peeters, 1157–63. Vandorpe, K., Clarysse, W., and Verreth, H. 2015. Graeco-Roman Archives from the Fayum. Leuven: Peeters. Vandorpe, K. and Waebens, S. 2009. Reconstructing Pathyris’ Archives: A Multicultural Community in Hellenistic Egypt. Brussel: Het Wetenschappelijk Comité Klassieke Studies van de Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie van België voor Wetenschappen en Kunsten. Vleeming, S.P. 1992. The Tithe of the Scribes (and) Representatives. In J.H. Johnson (ed.), Life in a Multicultural Society: Egypt from Cambyses to Constantine and Beyond. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 343–50. Vleeming, S.P. 2001. Some Coins of Artaxerxes and Other Short Texts in the Demotic Script Found on Various Objects Gathered from Many Publications. Studia Demotica 5. Leuven: Peeters. Vleeming, S.P. 2011. Demotic and Greek-Demotic Mummy Labels and Other Short Texts Gathered from Many Publications. Studia Demotica 9. Leuven: Peeters. Vleeming, S.P. 2015. Demotic Graffiti and Other Short Texts Gathered from Many Publications. Studia Demotica 12. Leuven: Peeters. Wångstedt, S.V. 1954. Ausgewählte demotische Ostraka. Uppsala: L. Norblads Bokhandel. Wente, E.F. and Van Siclen III, C.C. 1976. A Chronology of the New Kingdom. In Studies in Honor of George R. Hughes. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 217–61. Zauzich, K-Th. 1968. Die ägyptische Schreibertradition in Aufbau, Sprache und Schrift der demotischen Kaufverträge aus ptolemäischer Zeit. ÄA 19. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Zauzich, K-Th. 2000. Die demotischen Orakelfragen—eine Zwischenbilanz. In P.J.  Frandsen and K.  Ryholt (eds), A Miscellany of Demotic Texts and Studies. Copenhagen: The Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies, 1–25.

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chapter 52

M athem atica l texts Annette Imhausen

Introduction Egyptian mathematical texts are documents ‘that have been written for the purpose of communicating or recording a mathematical technique or aiding a mathematical procedure to be carried out’.1 Despite the reasonable assumption that (at least basic) mathematical training must have held a significant place within the education of a scribe, remarkably few mathematical texts are extant. This may be due to the specific geographic conditions in Egypt that favoured the preservation of texts from the funerary and ritual domains.2 Based on the script in which they are written, they fall into two groups: hieratic and demotic; these two sets of papyri share some formal characteristics, but they also show distinct features. Egyptian mathematics used a decimal number system without positional notation. Fractions were indicated as (series of) inverses and the special-status fraction 2/3.3 This aspect of the representation of fractions implied a high degree of technical sophistication whenever fractions appeared in calculations, which may have prompted the development of fraction tables.4 Apart from the small number of extant mathematical texts, the important role that mathematics held for the profession of Egyptian scribes also becomes apparent from other evidence, on the one hand numerous accounts, on the other hand direct or indirect references to mathematics in autobiographies or literary texts. For our knowledge of Egyptian mathematics, the mathematical texts provide the most detailed information on mathematical concepts and mathematical practices.

1  The definition given by Eleanor Robson for Mesopotamian mathematical texts (Robson 1999: 7) is equally valid for the Egyptian material. 2  Imhausen 2016: 15. 3  On the apparent general fractions in the demotic mathematical papyri see Fowler 1999: 258–62. 4  See Ritter 1995: 59; Imhausen and Ritter 2004: 72.

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1034   Annette Imhausen

Sources The hieratic texts5 are (in the order in which they were published) the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus (British Museum EA 10057 and 10,058),6 the Lahun mathematical fragments (Petrie Museum UC 32107A, 32114B, 32118B, 32134A+B, 32159-32,162),7 the fragments of the Berlin Mathematical Papyrus 6619,8 the Cairo wooden boards (Egyptian Museum, Cairo CG 25367 and 25,368),9 the mathematical leather roll (British Museum EA10250),10 the Moscow Mathematical Papyrus (E 4676),11 and finally two ostraca from the New Kingdom (c.1550–1069 bc): Ostracon Senmut 15312 and Ostracon Turin 57,170.13 The earliest texts originate from the Middle Kingdom (Moscow Papyrus and Lahun fragments), and the largest text is the Rhind Papyrus, which was copied from an earlier document during the Second Intermediate Period (c.1650–1550 bc). There are no mathematical papyri extant from the New Kingdom, despite the evidence from numerous accounts and literary texts that mathematics continued to be a central element of scribal abilities. A second corpus of mathematical texts originates from the Ptolemaic and Roman periods (332 bc–ad 395). Most of the demotic mathematical papyri (Papyrus Cairo JE 89127–30, 89,137-43, Papyrus BM EA10399, Papyrus BM EA10520, Papyrus BM EA10794, and Papyrus Carlsberg) were published in one volume by Richard Parker.14 Two others (Papyrus Griffith I E.7 and Papyrus Dem. Heidelberg 663) were published separately.15 The largest demotic mathematical text (Papyrus Cairo) is found on the reverse of the legal Codex Hermopolis.16 In addition to the papyri, there are numerous demotic mathematical ostraca.17

5  German translations and commentaries for all mathematical texts known by the first half of the twentieth century were provided in 1964 in the unpublished dissertation of Walter-Friedrich Reineke: Die mathematischen Texte der Alten Ägypter (Berlin). 6  First edition Eisenlohr 1877, which was superseded by Peet 1923a. This has remained the editio princeps. In addition there is Chace et al. 1927–9, which for the first time included black and white photographs of the papyrus. Robins and Shute 1987 provides colour photographs. 7  Not all of these fragments were included in the first publication (Griffith 1898), but they can now all be found with colour photographs in Collier and Quirke  2004: 71–96 and Collier and Quirke  2006: 288–9. 8  Schack-Schackenburg 1900 and 1902. 9  Publication Daressy 1901. For the first correct interpretation, see Peet 1923b, and for a recent analysis see Vymazalova 2002. 10 Glanville 1927. 11 Struve 1930. 12  Hayes 1942: 29–30, pl.XXIX. 13  López 1980; for a translation, see Imhausen 2003: 363. 14 Parker 1972. 15  Parker 1959 and Parker 1975. 16  The mathematical papyrus is included in Parker 1972: 13–53, while the legal text was first published in Mattha 1975, which was followed by another edition Donker van Heel (1990). A German translation can be found in Stadler (2004). For a recent study of the legal and the mathematical texts, see Jordan 2015. 17  There is no systematic collection of all demotic mathematical ostraca. Some references can be found in Ritter 2000: 134, n. 27.

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Mathematical texts   1035

Characteristics of Egyptian mathematical texts There are two (possibly three) types of Egyptian hieratic mathematical texts: table texts and problem texts (and model documents). Problem texts, which provide the most detailed information about Egyptian mathematical knowledge, are collections of mathematical procedures intended to solve a variety of problems, for example determining an unknown quantity from a given manipulation of that quantity and its result; calculating the areas of rectangles, triangles or circles; determining even or uneven distributions of rations among a group of men; computing the volume of granaries; reckoning the produce of various professions; and calculating the exchange of a quantity of bread/beer of a given quality into bread/beer of another quality. The procedures are written in a specific format using certain key phrases to introduce the various parts of a problem (title, data, procedure, solution, verification).18 The frequent usage of the sd ˍ m.ḫr.k (probably rendered best by the English form ‘you shall . . .’) and imperatives in these texts is also a formal characteristic of Egyptian mathematical texts that display the normative order of mathematical procedures. The sequence of mathematical operations shall be followed in order to obtain the answer to the problem that was specified initially. From a formal point of view, Egyptian mathematical procedures are therefore better rendered as algorithms than as algebraic equations. Table texts are reference tools that provide the solution of elementary mathematical (arithmetical) operations that were needed frequently and were cumbersome to carry out each time they occurred. The extant tables are either metrological conversions or tables for fraction reckoning. The best-known table is the so-called 2/n-table that provided solutions for the divisions of 2 by odd numbers.19 Multiplication tables are not known from ancient Egypt, because Egyptian mathematics developed an elegant scheme of carrying out multiplications and divisions in written form.20 These calculations can be found in the problem texts, either as a separate block at the end of the problem (for example Moscow Mathematical Papyrus, problems 4 and 14, and Rhind Mathematical Papyrus, problems 41, 43, and 50) or after the respective instruction (for example Rhind Mathematical Papyrus, problems 26, 30, 55, and 59). At the end of the collection of mathematical problems of the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus there are some ‘problems’ (numbered as 82, 82b, 83, and 84) that differ from the usual format of the mathematical problems, and which may be considered to be a transition between mathematical problems and a (model) documentation of accounting. Instead of ‘tp n . . .’ (‘method of . . .’) problems 82 and 84 begin with the word ‘ḥ tr’ (‘revenue’) followed by specifications of its kind. All of these problems deal with food for animals. The demotic mathematical papyri show the same basic structure as their hieratic predecessors. They, too, are collections of tables and mathematical problems followed by procedures for their solution. The demotic mathematical problems include division problems; calculations 18  For an analysis of the formal structure of Egyptian mathematical texts, see Imhausen 2014. 19  The table is extant for n = 3 to 101 at the beginning of the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus and for n = 3 to 21 in the Lahun fragment UC 32159. 20  For an explanation of Egyptian multiplications and divisions cf. Imhausen/Ritter 2004.

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1036   Annette Imhausen with fractions, extracting the square-root of a number, determining an unknown number from a given manipulation of that number and its result,21 calculations dealing with the relation between the area of various shapes (for example rectangle, isosceles trapezoid, circle) and their baselines or diameter, calculating the area of a square that is inscribed a given circle; calculations involving pyramids, determining the volume of cone-shaped masts, and the so-called pole-against-the-wall problems. Thus there is at least some continuity in terms of problem types between the hieratic and the demotic material. The significant changes can in some cases be shown to be of Mesopotamian origin, for example the emergence of the new problem-type of the so-called pole-against-the-wall problems.22 The latter problem typically takes the form of placement of a pole of a certain length (a) vertically against a wall, which is then moved into a slanted position, in which the pole’s top descends a certain distance (b) and its foot moves away from the wall the distance (c). Of the three lengths (a, b, c), two are indicated and the third is to be calculated. The demotic texts also include three multiplication tables. In some cases, the procedure to solve a certain mathematical problem has also changed. The hieratic procedure of calculating the area of a circle (for example Rhind Papyrus, problem 40) by subtracting one ninth of its diameter and squaring the remainder is replaced in the demotic mathematical texts by multiplying a quarter of the circumference by a third of the circumference, where the circumference is calculated as three times the diameter (cf. for example problem 32 from the Cairo Papyrus in Parker 1972).

Social and cultural setting Numerous texts created by ancient Egyptian officials from all periods indicate the prominent role that mathematical knowledge had in their work life. As early as the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2160 bc), biographies of high-ranking officials indicate a variety of tasks that required mathematical knowledge of some kind. The Sixth-Dynasty autobiography of Weni explicitly mentions the mathematical control over material and human resources as one of his achievements: ‘I counted everything that is countable for the residence in this Upper Egypt two times, and every service that is countable for the residence in this Upper Egypt two times.’23 Depictions in tombs of officials include scenes of the tomb owner inspecting the harvest, which implicitly indicates the ability of skilful handling of numbers, that is, quantities of goods, measured in a variety of metrological systems.24 During the First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc), the use of this mathematical knowledge in sustaining their local communities serves to legitimate the nomarchs (provincial governors) who manage the resources outside the previous system dominated by the king. Thus the stele of the official Merer states: ‘I gave a heap of white Upper Egyptian barley and a heap of ḫmỉ-barley, and measured out for every man according to his wish.’25 21  For the similarity of these problems to the earlier ꜥḥꜥ problems cf. Parker 1959: 276. 22  Parker  1972: 5–6. For this group of problems see also Melville  2004. On foreign influences in demotic mathematics see also Hoffmann 2000: 103–4 and 118–19. 23  Translation taken from Lichtheim 1973: 21. 24  On capacity units see Pommerening 2005. 25  Translation taken from Lichtheim 1973: 87.

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Mathematical texts   1037 The earliest mathematical texts, however, originate only from the Middle Kingdom (c.2055–1650 bc), the period that in several areas consolidated developments from the First Intermediate Period and in which central power by the Egyptian king was re-established. This re-establishing of central power seems to have resulted in a strict re-organization of the administration that was to serve the king. In this context the emergence of the mathematical texts seems plausible. It is assumed that these texts were used in teaching junior scribes. The content of the mathematical texts clearly indicates the social and cultural setting of mathematics as placed in administration (out of the approximately 100 problems, one quarter could be classified as problems that teach basic mathematical techniques, and well over one third are more advanced problems that are phrased with a practical setting in an administrative context). The small number of problems related to architecture may be due to the chances of preservation.26 The Middle Kingdom Reisner papyri clearly indicate that building projects involved mathematical calculation in a variety of aspects, for example not only the calculation of the amount of building materials, but also the control of labour that was needed for a building.27 Despite the absence of surviving mathematical texts from the New Kingdom, references to mathematical practices and even mathematical teaching in various literary texts, as well as numerous administrative documents, indicate that mathematics continued to be an important part of scribal education and professional life. Papyrus Anastasi V, 23,2–23,5 specifies that calculations should be carried out in silence.28 The satirical letter of Papyrus Anastasi I. includes a series of mathematical problems that complement those known from the mathematical papyri, albeit without indicating their solutions.29 Descriptions of scribes in the so-called Satire of Trades (sometimes also called the Instruction of Khety) include a variety of duties that have a mathematical foundation, for example assessing duties, supervising the distribution of rations, controlling deliveries to the granaries. In the Instruction of Amenemope, several maxims are concerned with correct measuring (chapters 5, 6, 16, 17).30 In addition, the metrological practice of weighing is used prominently in chapter 125 of the Book of the Dead. Mathematics is used in this context as a formal guarantee for justice.

Historiography and controversies With the discovery and publication of the Rhind Mathematical Papyrus, the belief that the earliest mathematical knowledge originated in Greece was refuted. However, because earlier modern mathematics was in some formal respects built on the model of Euclid’s Elements, Egyptian (and Mesopotamian) mathematics then came to be considered to be a pre-stage to the development of ‘our kind of ’ mathematics, which allegedly started with Euclid. It was common practice among historians of mathematics of the earlier twentieth century ad to 26  Cf. the contribution by Corinna Rossi in this volume. On mathematics and architecture cf. Rossi 2004. 27  On the mathematics of the Reisner Papyri see Rossi/Imhausen 2009. 28  Caminos 1954: 263. 29  Edition Fischer-Elfert 1986 and Fischer-Elfert 1992. An English translation of the complete text can be found in Wente 1990: 98–110. A translation of the mathematical problems is given in Imhausen 2007. 30  The most recent edition of the Instruction of Amenemope is Laisney 2007. For an English translation see Lichtheim 1976: 146–63.

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1038   Annette Imhausen use modern mathematical terminology to describe the mathematical content that they recognized in the Egyptian sources.31 Towards the end of the twentieth century, another method was proposed that enables a researcher to work with the procedural character of the problem texts and analyse its formal features appropriately.32 Although the mathematical contents of many problems have now been understood, some still remain the object of debate (for example problems 10 and 18 of the Moscow Mathematical Papyrus or problem 53/54 of the Rhind Papyrus).33 Likewise, the 2/n-table continues to be of interest to mathematicians.34

Suggested reading Ritter 2000 provides a succinct overview of Egyptian mathematics. For a study that focuses on the broader context of Egyptian mathematics see Imhausen (2018). A detailed description of Egyptian mathematics, from the invention of the number system through to the Roman period, can be found in Imhausen 2016. Rossi 2004 provides an analysis of the relation between mathematics and architecture. For a detailed study of capacity measures see Pommerening 2005. On working with Egyptian scientific writings (including mathematical texts) see generally Imhausen and Pommerening 2016.

Bibliography Abdulaziz, A.A. 2008. On the Egyptian Method of Decomposing 2/n into Fractions, Historia Mathematica 35/1: 1–18. Caminos, R.A. 1954. Late-Egyptian Miscellanies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chace, A.B., Manning, H.P., Archibald, R.C., and Bull, L. 1927/1929. The Rhind Mathematical Papyrus: British Museum 10057 and 10058. 2 vols. Oberlin [OH]: Mathematical Association of America. Collier, M. and Quirke, S. 2004. The UCL Lahun Papyri: Religious. Literary. Legal, Mathematical and Medical. Oxford: Archaeopress. Collier, M. and Quirke, S. 2006. The UCL Lahun Papyri: Accounts. Oxford: Archaeopress. Cooper, L. 2010. A New Interpretation of Problem 10 of the Moscow Mathematical Papyrus, Historia Mathematica 37: 11–27. Daressy, G. 1901. Ostraca, CGC nos. 25001–25385. Cairo: Institut français d'archéologie orientale. Donker van Heel, K. (ed.) 1990. The Legal Manual of Hermopolis (P. Mattha). Text and Translation. Uitgaven vanwege de Stichting ‘Het Leids Papyrologisch Instituut’ 11. Leiden: Papyrologisch Instituut. 31  For a brief and succinct description of history of mathematics as a discipline and its historical development see Stedall 2012. 32  The first one who proposed this approach for Babylonian mathematical problems was probably Knuth (1972). A method to analyse procedures as symbolic algorithms was first described (with a focus on the Mesopotamian problem texts) by Ritter 1995 (originally published in French in 1989)—see also Ritter 2004, Ritter 2010 and Ritter 2016. Imhausen 2003 used this method for an analysis of all hieratic mathematical problem texts. 33  On problem 10 of the Papyrus Moscow see Miatello (2013) and Cooper (2010) with references to earlier literature. 34  See for example Abdulaziz (2008) with references to earlier literature.

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Mathematical texts   1039 Eisenlohr, A. 1877. Ein mathematisches Handbuch der alten Ägypter (Papyrus Rhind des British Museum). 2 vols. Leipzig: J.C. Hinrichs. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 1986. Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I.: Übersetzung und Kommentar. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 44. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 1992. Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I: Textzusammenstellung. Kleine Ägyptische Texte. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Fowler, D. 1999. The Mathematics of Plato’s Academy. A New Reconstruction. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Glanville, S.R.K. 1927. The Mathematical Leather Roll in the British Museum, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 13: 232–9. Griffith, F.Ll. 1898. The Petrie Papyri: Hieratic Papyri from Kahun and Gurob (Principally of the Middle Kingdom). 2 vols. London: Bernard Quaritch. Hayes, W.C. 1942. Ostraka and Name Stones from the Tomb of Sen-Mut (No. 71) at Thebes. New York: Metropolitan Museum. Hoffmann, F. 2000. Ägypten. Kultur und Lebenswelt in griechisch-römischer Zeit. Eine Darstellung nach den demotischen Quellen. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Imhausen, A. 2003. Ägyptische Algorithmen. Eine Untersuchung zu den mittelägyptischen mathematischen Aufgabentexten. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 65. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Imhausen, A. 2007. Egyptian Mathematics. In V.J. Katz (ed.), The Mathematics of Egypt, Mesopotamia, China, India, and Islam. A Sourcebook. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 7–56. Imhausen, A. 2014. Normative Structures in Ancient Egyptian Mathematical Texts. In D. Bawanypeck and A. Imhausen (eds), Traditions of Written Knowledge in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. Alter Orient und Altes Testament 403. Münster: Ugarit, 153–87. Imhausen, A. 2016. Mathematics in Ancient Egypt. A Contextual History. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Imhausen, A. 2018. The Cultural Context of (Mathematical) Experts in Ancient Egypt. In A. Jones and L. Taub (eds), The Cambridge History of Science. Vol. 1: Ancient Science. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 101–19. Imhausen, A. and Pommerening, T. (eds) 2016. Translating Writings of Early Scholars in the ancient Near East, Egypt, Greece and Rome. Methodological Aspects with examples. Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 344. Berlin/Boston: de Gruyter. Imhausen, A. and Ritter, J. 2004. Mathematical Fragments: UC 32114B, UC 32118B, UC 32134A + B, UC 32159-UC32162. In M. Collier and S. Quirke (eds), The UCL Lahun Papyri: Religious. Literary. Legal, Mathematical and Medical. Oxford: Archaeopress, 71–96. Jordan, B. 2015. Die demotischen Wissenstexte (Recht und Mathematik) des pMattha. Tuna el-Gebel 5. Vaterstetten: Patrick Brose. Knuth, D. 1972. Ancient Babylonian Algorithms, Communications of the Association of Computing Machinery 15: 671–7. Laisney, V. 2007. L’Enseignement d’Amenemope. Studia Pohl 16. Rome: Pontifical Bible Institute. Lichtheim, M. 1973. Ancient Egyptian Literature. Volume I: The Old and Middle Kingdoms. Berkeley/ Los Angeles: University of California Press. Lichtheim, M. 1976. Ancient Egyptian Literature. Volume III: The New Kingdom. Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press. López, J. 1980. Ostraca Ieratici N. 57093–57319. Catalogo del Museo Egizio di Torino, Seria SecondaCollezioni, Vol. III, Fasciolo 2. Milan: Istituto Editoriale Cisalpino-La Goliardica. Mattha, G. 1975. The Demotic Legal Code of Hermopolis West (with preface, additional notes, and glossary by G.R. Hughes). Bibliothèque d’étude 45. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Melville, D.J. 2004. Poles and Walls in Mesopotamia and Egypt, Historia Mathematica 31: 148–62. Miatello, L. 2013. Problem 10 of the Moscow Mathematical Papyrus: Corrupted Part or Technicality? Göttinger Miszellen 237: 55–70. Peet, T.E. 1923a. The Rhind Mathematical Papyrus. British Museum 10057 and 10058. London: Hodder & Stoughton.

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1040   Annette Imhausen Peet, T.E. 1923b. Arithmetic in the Middle Kingdom, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 9: 91–5. Parker, R.A. 1959. A Demotic Mathematical Papyrus Fragment, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 18: 275–9. Parker, R.A. 1972. Demotic Mathematical Papyri. Brown Egyptological Studies VII. Providence, R.I.: Brown University Press and London: Lund Humphries. Parker, R.A. 1975. A Mathematical Exercise: P. Dem. Heidelberg 663, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 61: 189–96. Pommerening, T. 2005. Die altägyptischen Hohlmaße. Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur: Beihefte 10. Hamburg: Buske. Ritter, J. 1995. Measure for Measure: Mathematics in Egypt and Mesopotamia. In M.  Serres (ed.), A History of Scientific Thought. Elements of a History of Science. Oxford: Blackwell, 44–72. Ritter, J. 2000. Egyptian Mathematics. In H. Selin (ed.), Mathematics Across Cultures. The History of Non-Western Mathematics. Dordrecht/Boston/London: Kluwer, 115–36. Ritter, J. 2004. Reading Strasbourg 368: a Thrice-Told Tale. In K. Chemla (ed.), History of Science, History of Text. Boston Studies in the Philosophy of Science 238. Dordrecht: Springer, 177–200. Ritter, J. 2010. Translating Rational-Practice Texts. In A. Imhausen and T. Pommerening (eds), Writings of Early Scholars in the Ancient Near East, Egypt, Rome, and Greece. Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 286. Berlin: de Gruyter, 349–83. Ritter, J. 2016. Translating Babylonian Mathematical Problem Texts. In A. Imhausen and T. Pommerening (eds), Writings of Early Scholars in the Ancient Near East, Egypt, Greece and Rome. Methodological Aspects with Examples. Beiträge zur Altertumskunde 344. Berlin: de Gruyter, 75–123. Robins, G. and Shute, C. 1987. The Rhind Mathematical Papyrus. An Ancient Egyptian Text. London: British Museum. Rossi, C. 2004. Architecture and Mathematics in Ancient Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rossi, C. and Imhausen, A. 2009. Architecture and Mathematics in the Time of Sesostris I. Sections G, H, and I of Papyrus Reisner I. In S. Ikram and A. Dodson (eds), Beyond the Horizon: Studies in Egyptian Art, Archaeology, and History in Honour of Barry J. Kemp. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 440–55. Robson, E. 1999. Mesopotamian Mathematics, 2100–1600 bc. Technical Constants in Bureaucracy and Education. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Schack-Schackenburg, H. 1900. Der Berliner Papyrus 6619 (mit 1 Tafel), Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache 38: 135–40. Schack-Schackenburg, H. 1902. Das kleinere Fragment des Berliner Papyrus 6619, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache 40: 65–6. Stadler, M.A. 2004. Rechtskodex von Hermupolis. P. Kairo JE 89.127–30+89.137–43. In B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm (eds), Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments. Neue Folge 1: Texte zum Rechtsund Wirtschaftsleben. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 185–207. Stedall, J. 2012. The History of Mathematics: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Struve, W.W. 1930. Mathematischer Papyrus des Staatlichen Museums der Schönen Künste in Moskau. Quellen und Studien zur Geschichte der Mathematik, Astronomie und Physik, Abteilung  A. Vol. 1. Berlin: Springer. Vymazalova, H. 2002. The Wooden Tablets from Cairo: The Use of the Grain Unit ḥkɜt in Ancient Egypt, Archiv Orientalni 70: 27–42. Wente, E. 1990. Letters from Ancient Egypt. Writings from the Ancient World 1. Atlanta: Society of Biblfical Literature.

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chapter 53

Texts for h e a li ng a n d protection Rune Nyord

Introduction Texts for healing and protection form a relatively clearly delineated category of texts in the Pharaonic period. They are characterized by their concrete concern with securing the well­ being usually of a single person with very occasional exceptions, such as rituals for protect­ ing an entire house.1 This casuistic concreteness distinguishes this group of texts from many other ritual texts, while the concern with health and wellbeing provides a contrast with other ‘scientific’ texts. Some of the closest parallels in structure, contents, and vocabulary may be found in funerary texts, where the difference is mainly one of different domains. However, as recent work on funerary documents has increasingly questioned their exclu­ sive relevance for the dead,2 this neat distinction may become muddled in the years to come.

The Egyptological distinction between ‘magical’ and ‘medical’ texts The traditional Egyptological distinction between ‘medical’ and ‘magical’ texts is based mainly on an intuitive modern judgement of whether the methods employed might in prin­ ciple have been effective (including a wide range of internal or external bodily treatments) or not (employment of incantations and ‘symbolic’ uses of materials).3

1  Papyrus Ramesseum IX, 2,1 = Gardiner 1953: pl. 41. 2  von Lieven 2012; 2019. 3  For discussion, see Ritner 2001; Pinch 2006: 133–46. A recent example of a work building on this dichotomy is Győry 2011.

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1042   Rune Nyord As far as can be judged from the sources, no such distinction was recognized by the Egyptians. Both ‘approaches’ are often found combined in the same manuscript, or even in the same prescription,4 and the formal structure of the formularies is the same for prescriptions using either or both.5 Further, the material components and bodily treatment in healing practices is quite often based on the same kind of analogies and other conceptual connec­ tions typically ascribed to ‘magic’, blurring any putative distinctions even further.6 Nor does the idea that the Egyptians only resorted to ‘magic’ where they had no causal means at their disposal7 hold up to closer scrutiny.8 Certain differences can be found, depending on whether the main focus of a given for­ mula is on the material aspects or the incantation (see below), but there are no grounds for translating this into a difference between ‘rational’ and ‘irrational’ stances, or for that matter ‘medical’ and ‘magical’ techniques. For this reason, more methodologically reflexive recent approaches tend to avoid the distinction between ‘magical’ and ‘medical’ and its variants, opting instead for categories straddling the conventional divide such as ‘formularies for healing and protection’,9 ‘writings for good health’,10 or ‘heilkundliche Texte’.11 Such desig­ nations have the advantage over compound categories such as ‘medico-magical’12 or ‘magico-medical’13 that they steer entirely clear of the dichotomy, rather than just noting that it (is objectively relevant, but) was not made by the Egyptians. This practice makes very good sense from an emic perspective, but it is more problematic for etic perspectives such as that of the traditional history of medicine, which often tends to focus on what the Egyptians ‘knew’ or ‘had discovered’—i.e. where overlaps can be identi­ fied between modern and ancient frameworks, privileging the former as a ‘correct’ descrip­ tion.14 Such analyses have seemed to require a projection of modern distinctions onto the Egyptian sources to make them comparable to modern biomedical frameworks and tend in any case to be less interested in wider cultural and conceptual contexts. However, it is only in this specific perspective that the use of such traditional distinctions can be defended methodologically, and then only when used purely as analytical tools by the modern scholar (who tends in this case to be a medic rather than an Egyptologist).15 A further challenge in this approach is that whereas the ‘medical’ side is relatively well-defined, thanks to the con­ ceptual framework of modern biomedicine, ‘magic’ as an etic term is much more problematic,16 and the analysis of the side of Egyptian healing practices deemed ‘magical’ under such an etic perspective thus tends to be somewhat impoverished, working mainly in very general terms of placebo, etc.17 It is also worth noting that wider studies of the history 4  Pommerening 2016: 178. 5  Dieleman 2011: 91–7. 6  Leitz 2005; Pommerening 2016; 2017. 7  Recently e.g. Warburton 2016. 8  See, for example, Westendorf 1999: 528; Schneider 2000: 77–8. 9 Dieleman 2011. 10  Quirke 2015: 194–5; 2016. 11  Pommerening 2016: 178–9. 12  See, for example, Lucarelli 2017: 55. 13  See, for example, Waraksa 2009: 125–6. 14  See, for example, the presentation of the two dominating metaphors of the ‘embryonic form’ (etic) versus ‘strange object’ (emic) discussed by Karenberg & Leitz 2001: 911–12. For a recent example of a work drawing explicitly on the former of these approaches, see Stephan 2011. 15  The strict distinction between emic and etic perspectives in Pommerening 2016 may be regarded as an exemplary way to accommodate the modern point of view. 16  See, for example, Otto 2013 for a strong critique of Egyptological concepts of ‘magic’. 17  See, for example, Nunn 1996: 96–112; Pommerening 2016: 272–3.

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Texts for healing and protection   1043 of science and technology have largely managed to move beyond such projections by building on more nuanced etic frameworks such as actor-network theory (ANT),18 which however have not so far been utilized in the study of ancient Egyptian healing practices. On this basis it will be clear not only that the basic distinction between ‘medical’ and ‘magical’ is problematic, but that the individual categories themselves are also somewhat challenging. Thus the main argument for retaining this distinction is its conventional entrenchment. The categories are used in the following article only as designations of ­conventional Egyptological categories, in order to enable discussion of research history. They are thus neither intended to imply any such ancient Egyptian distinction, nor even argued to be useful modern categories.

Formal features of manuscripts The main source of texts for healing and protection is a group of manuscripts on papyrus and ostraca attested from the Middle Kingdom (c.2055–1650 bc) onwards. The formal features of the texts show certain diachronic changes during the Middle Kingdom, by the end of which a fixed format had stabilized.19 A group of early manuscripts (Lahun Veterinary Papyrus,20 Papyrus Ramesseum V,21 and Papyrus Ramesseum VII)22 follow the conventions of roughly contemporary liturgical manuscripts from the Ramesseum Papyri (see below)23 by being written in vertical lines of retrograde linear (or ‘cursive’) hieroglyphs with horizon­ tal titles above the main text, all separated with guidelines. This format was abandoned during the Middle Kingdom and replaced by texts written in hieratic, either preserving part of the format with guidelines and horizontal titles (e.g. Papyrus Turin 54,003),24 written in vertical lines without guidelines and with rubric titles embedded (e.g. Papyrus Ramesseum III–IV),25 or in horizontal lines with (e.g. Papyrus Ramesseum X–XII)26 or without margin lines (an early example being the Lahun Medical Papyrus).27 The latter format was retained for the rest of the Pharaonic period under discussion here.28 In terms of structure, texts for healing and protection tend to follow rather fixed ­templates.29 According to their structure and Egyptian designation, five different main cat­egor­ ies can be distinguished: ‘knowledge’ (rḫ), ‘practice’ (šsꜣw), ‘prognosis’ (sjꜣ), ‘remedy’ (pẖrt, less frequently zp), and ‘incantation’ (rꜣ or šnt).30 Compilations labelled ‘knowledge’ 18  See, for example, Latour 1996. 19  For organizational principles in papyrus manuscripts in general, see Parkinson and Quirke 1995: 38–48. 20  Collier and Quirke 2004: 54–7. 21  Photograph in Gardiner 1953: pls. 15–17; transcription in Grapow 1958. 22  Gardiner 1953, pls. 22–6. 23  Gardiner 1953: pls. 18–21 (Papyrus Ramesseum VI, hymns to Sobek, cf. Gardiner 1955); Gardiner 1955 (Papyrus Ramesseum E, funerary liturgy, cf. Diaz Hernández 2014); Sethe 1928 (Papyrus Ramesseum B, liturgy for Senusret I, cf. Geisen 2018). 24 Roccati 1970. 25  Gardiner 1953: pls. 7–14. 26  Gardiner 1953: pls. 53–5. 27  Collier and Quirke 2004: 58–64 and fold-out plate (UC 32057). 28  Dieleman 2011: 90–1. 29  Grapow 1955: 44–82; Dieleman 2011; Pommerening 2014. 30  Westendorf 1999: 81–96.

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1044   Rune Nyord (rḫ)  are systematic overviews of a particular area, notably the treatises in Papyrus Ebers which firstly concern the conduits in the human body (labelled ‘knowledge of the movement of the heart, knowledge of the heart’),31 and secondly deal with the uses of the ricinus plant (labelled ‘knowing what is done with the ricinus plant’).32 The casuistic texts that can be rendered ‘practice’ (šsꜣw)33 are formulated in the second person and follow a fixed structure of protases and apodoses of the kind ‘If you examine a man (showing particular symptoms), then you say (the identity of the illness), and then you (perform the necessary healing)’. ‘Prognoses’ (sjꜣ), can be seen as an abbreviated form of the pattern of the šsꜣw-texts where the focus is on the recognition of signs and symptoms rather than their treatment, e.g. a text for ‘distinguishing (sjꜣ) one who will become preg­ nant from one who will not become pregnant’.34 The last two categories are ‘remedies’ and ‘incantations’, which show some amount of overlap in their contents, since incantations can have material components and remedies can have accompanying spells. However, two overall formats can be discerned, depending on whether the main focus of the instruction is on the preparation of substances (typically labelled pẖrt, ‘remedy’ in the heading), or on the use of incantations (carrying such titles as rꜣ, ‘utterance’, šnt, ‘enchantment’, or md ˍ ꜣt, ‘book’).35 The different types of text are generally discernible from the outset, on the basis of the specific heading, which tends to have the format: [type] [purpose] [further specifi­ cations]. The [type] states the category of the prescription as exemplified above, while the [purpose] gives the intended effect expressed in the infinitive. The [further speci­ fications] usually provide at least an object of the infinitive, but can also be followed by add­ition­al details concerning the circumstances of use. Some or all of these details can be replaced by the word kt or ky (the gender depending on the omitted noun implicit in  the [type]), literally ‘another’, in cases where a prescription follows one or more texts of similar kind. It is not uncommon for the [type] to be omitted, leaving only the [purpose] and any [further specifications], but as Jacco Dieleman has shown, the overall category of a given prescription will usually be deducible from the structure of the text that follows.36 The prescription itself then follows the rather fixed format of one of the two general ­cat­egor­ies, proceeding with formulaic presentations of each section in order. In the first, substance-focused, category, the heading is followed first by a list of ingredients, and then by instructions for their preparation and use. At the end may be found an incantation to be recited. In the second, incantation-focused category, the incantation is given immediately after the heading, in turn followed by any directions for the further details of the ritual of which the incantation forms part, sometimes referring to materials involved and the instructions for their application. Thus, the two main types of prescription do not necessar­ ily differ in the details they give, or indeed the kinds of practices they prescribe (let alone their epistemological stance, as discussed above); instead, they tend to differ in the im­port­ance that they ascribe to each of the elements.

31  Papyrus Ebers 854–5 = Grapow 1958: 1–11. 32  Papyrus Ebers 251 = Grapow 1958: 529–30. 33  See the detailed discussion of this category of texts in Pommerening 2014 and Radestock 2015. 34  Papyrus Kahun 26 = Grapow 1958: 468. 35  See Dieleman 2011: 91–7. 36 Ibid.

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Texts for healing and protection   1045

Who were the users of the texts for healing and protection? Very few of the manuscripts containing texts for healing and protection have documented archaeological contexts that can inform us about their use and ownership.37 Two important exceptions are the late Middle Kingdom ‘Ramesseum Papyri’ and the Nineteenth-Dynasty papyri of Qenherkhepshef.38 The Ramesseum papyri were found in a box deposited in a Thirteenth-Dynasty tomb under the Ramesseum (the mortuary temple of Rameses II), along with various ritual implements including clappers, figurines and tusk wands.39 This assemblage has been taken to indicate that the owner of the tomb was a ritual expert of some kind, but Stephen Quirke has recently argued that ‘the quest for the professional owner turns out to be a misconcep­ tion from the starting point’, since grave goods in the Old and Middle Kingdom tend to be indicative of age, gender and social status, but not professional identity.40 In any case, the collection of papyri found in the box is much more varied than such an identification might lead one to expect, including texts dealing with temple or royal rituals and literary narra­ tives, apart from texts for healing and protection of the kind discussed here (see Chapter 50 in this volume). The Chester Beatty papyri (dating to the Ramesside period, c.1200 bc) were found depos­ ited in the courtyard of a tomb south of chapel 1166 at Deir el-Medina.41 Discovered along with a group of legal documents now at the French Institute in Cairo, the Chester Beatty papyri also make a heterogeneous collection, including once again literary manuscripts, a ritual manual, and a book of dream interpretations, in addition to manuscripts with healing instructions. A copy of a letter on the back of one of the manuscripts (Papyrus Chester Beatty 3) identifies the owner of the collection as ‘scribe of the tomb’ Qenherkhepshef,42 while other documents in the archive indicate that it was subsequently passed on to other people before finally being deposited. In this case, where we do have a title connected to the main owner of the collection, there seems to be no intrinsic connection between the ‘job’ of an administrative scribe and the wide range of interests that the collection of texts demonstrate. Complementing this generally somewhat negative picture from archaeology, the texts themselves in a few instances contain references to the kind of people envisaged as car­ rying out the practices.43 Thus, an often-cited passage from Papyrus Ebers refers to any ‘healer (swnw), pure one (wꜥb) of Sekhmet, or guardian (zꜣw)’44 as the categories of ­people envisaged as carrying out the examination described. Such titles are thus generally

37  For the ‘medical’ texts, see conveniently Westendorf 1999: 4–65, listing what is known about the provenience of each manuscript. 38  See the recent discussion in Quirke 2016. 39  The original excavation report is Quibell 1898, cf. the recent online catalogue by Parkinson 2011. 40  Quirke 2016: 186. 41  Posener 1978: vii–viii. 42  Gardiner 1935: 24–6 and pls. 11–12. 43  Westendorf 1999: 479–81. 44  Papyrus Ebers 854a = Grapow 1958: 1.

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1046   Rune Nyord seen as in­di­ca­tive of practitioners of remedies of the type prescribed in the texts,45 although the precise relationship to the texts under discussion here remains for the most part conjectural.46

Texts on other objects The main group of texts for healing and protection consists of the manuscripts discussed above, which can generally be assumed to have (at least potentially)47 served as instructions for actual practitioners. However, similar texts are also found on other objects, where they serve less as reference material to be consulted by an actual reader and more as a ritually efficacious measure in their own right. The two major object categories of this kind are (1) inscribed stelae and statues, and (2) textual amulets. Texts for healing and protection are found inscribed on the group of stelae known as cippi or, owing to the pictorial occurrence of this motif, ‘Horus-on-the-crocodiles-stelae’, and statues displaying similar imagery and texts.48 While in many cases, it would in prin­ ciple have been possible to read and recite at least some of the texts inscribed on such objects, there is good evidence that the main manner of activation of the texts was not by reading. Instead, water was poured over the monument, allowing it to absorb the efficacy of the inscriptions. By ingesting the water, the human user transferred their curative and pro­ tect­ive power to his or her own body.49 The texts inscribed on stelae and statues generally consist of incantations only, without prescriptions for material remedies. In some cases, such recitations are explicitly put into the mouth of the owner of the monument.50 This indicates that the substitution of an actual performance by the method described above was primarily apposite in the case of standalone incantations. The logic behind the internalization thus seems to be the underlying schema of knowledge, especially efficacious ritual knowledge, being located inside the belly, which is effected in this case by ingesting the charged liquids.51 If it is thus possible in principle that the texts on such stelae could have been read, the second type of objects to be discussed here leave no doubt that the text was meant to work in itself by its mere presence. Textual amulets are objects, usually of linen or papyrus, car­ rying incantations and protective designs and folded up to form an amulet to be worn on the body.52 Although they sometimes include the instruction for making the amulet itself in the text copied on to the object,53 it is unlikely that they were generally used for reference, and instead the incantation and images were intended to work on their own, simply by the 45  See, for example, Westendorf 1999: 472–9; Shaw 2013: 47–51. 46  For an example of a healer who seems to refer to his numerous healing texts, see Fischer-Elfert 2013. 47  It is difficult to distinguish such practical goals from the more abstract aim of collecting and pre­ serving knowledge, which has no doubt played a role as motivation for the sizeable collections of texts in the major manuscripts. 48  Kákosy 1999: 9–34. 49  See Ritner 1993: 106–7 with references. 50  See, for example, Florence 8708, where some of the spells are introduced with the words ‘Recitation (d ˍ d mdw) by’, followed by the titles and names of the owner of the statue (Kákosy 1999: 42). 51  See Nyord 2009: 355–417, 2012: 160–70. 52  Overview in Dieleman 2015. 53 Sauneron 1970.

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Texts for healing and protection   1047 act of wearing the amulet on which they were written and drawn, so that once again the efficacy of the textual practice substituted for the ritual recitation. The protective incantations written on such objects are generally similar to those found in non-amuletic manuscripts of the kind discussed above, and indeed formularies sometimes give instructions for the creation of similar amulets, showing close connections between the two uses of writing.54 One object that presumably had a much more practical purpose is a marl-clay cup from the fifth or fourth century bc bearing a brief list of ingredients.55 The inscription reads ‘cumin, set milk, honey’, together forming a remedy for cough also known from the Nineteenth-Dynasty Berlin Medical Papyrus.56 To all appearances, this inscription serves simply as an instruction for, or reminder of, the remedy to be prepared in the cup.

Texts for healing and protection as sources Texts for healing and protection can potentially inform a wide range of questions, includ­ ing, but not limited to, conceptions of physiology and pathology,57 conceptions and experi­ ences of gods, ‘demons’, and the dead,58 understandings and uses of materials,59 cultural notions of good health and wellbeing,60 and the conceptual mechanisms underlying healing practices.61 The research history of texts for healing and protection has been profoundly shaped by the distinction between the ‘medical’ and the ‘magical’ (as a classification of the texts them­ selves and/or aspects of their contents) discussed above. Thus, as far back as the nineteenth century ad,62 the traditional approach has been to decide from the outset whether the inquiry was to concern ‘medicine’ (in which case the perspective would be that of history of science), or ‘magic’ (in which case the conceptual framework would be a religious one). This dichotomy was strongly cemented by the Grundriß der Medizin der alten Ägypter, pub­ lished in 1954–73, with which the ‘medical’ texts received a set of fundamental philological tools accorded to few other types of Egyptian texts, including textual editions, detailed lexicographical work and concordances and detailed commentaries.63 The work was, how­ ever, exclusively focused on what the authors labelled ‘das uns medizinisch wesentliche Erscheinende’,64 and thus in some cases even excluded incantations used with remedies that 54  Dieleman  2015: 33–6; cf. Eschweiler  1994: 27–71 for instructions for the use of images more generally. 55 Poole 2001. 56  Papyrus Berlin 4,8 (47) = Grapow 1958: 289. 57  See, for example, Grapow 1954; Ritner 2006; Nyord 2017. 58  See, for example, Kousoulis 2007; Beck 2015, 2017; Lucarelli 2017; Nyord forthcoming. 59  See, for example, Leitz 2005; Campbell et al. 2010; Fukagawa 2011; Rouffet 2013; Dieleman 2015; Pommerening 2017. 60  See, for example, Schwann 1984; Manniche 1999; Gräzer 2009; Quirke 2015: 177–200. 61  See, for example, Podemann 1984; Ritner 1993; Schneider 2000; Borghouts 2002; Pommerening 2017; Nyord forthcoming. 62  See, for example, Erman 1885: 476–7. A recent example of the same basic stance illustrating its lon­ gevity may be found in Warburton 2016. 63  von Deines et al. 1954–1973. 64  von Deines et al. 1958: vi.

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1048   Rune Nyord had otherwise made it into their work based on ‘medical’ relevance. This means that to this day, anyone studying texts for healing and protection has resources at their disposal for the ‘medical’ texts that make it possible, for example, to find all word occurrences at a glance in the Grundriß lexical works,65 whereas an effort to include texts traditionally deemed ‘magical’ in the inquiry requires much more fundamental work. The result of this situation is that even recent studies that do not necessarily support the division into ‘magical’ and ‘medical’ often end up reproducing it, simply due to the convenience of restricting the study to the more easily accessible corpus.66 Apart from this overall delineation of the corpus of interest, choices in the Grundriß have served to shape subsequent research in other ways as well. Due to the aim of a synoptic edi­ tion, and one which groups individual remedies thematically, the Grundriß has in common with, for example, the main editions of funerary texts that it tends to obscure the often clearly deliberate structure of the contents of individual manuscripts.67

Current approaches and research priorities The publication of texts and other fundamental philological work remain important foci of the work on texts for healing and protection. This is true particularly of the ‘magical’ texts where important manuscripts are still being published,68 and much basic work on the ­lexicography and grammar of the texts remains to be done. Thanks to the seminal work ­presented by the Grundriß, this is much less of a concern with the ‘medical’ texts, but in this category as well important manuscripts are still being published, such as Papyrus Louvre E 32847,69 not to mention many manuscripts later than the period occupying us here. Given the recent focus on the two ‘types’ of texts as forming a single emic category, philological work reflecting this rethinking and exploring its implications is a great desideratum. One of the most prevalent approaches historically is that of approaching Egyptian texts from the point of view of modern medicine, attempting to identify the illnesses described and evaluating the efficacy of the treatments on the basis of the use of active ingredients. This purely etic approach continues to play a notable role.70 In the history of medicine more widely, the feasibility and usability of such ‘retrospective diagnoses’ has been a point of some controversy.71 It can additionally be problematic when retrospective diagnoses are in turn used to elucidate the meaning of unknown words and expressions in the texts, as 65  See von Deines and Grapow 1959; von Deines and Westendorf 1961–1962. 66  For example, the roles of the dead, equally prevalent in ‘magical’ texts, but often studied primarily on the basis of the ‘medical’ sources, e.g. Kousoulis 2007; Nyord Fc (although the latter includes also a number of considerations from texts traditionally categorized as ‘magical’). 67  As noted e.g. by Quack 2003: 7. 68  See, for example, Roccati 2011; Fischer-Elfert 2015. 69  See Bardinet 2018. Additional fragments of this manuscript in Copenhagen remain unpublished.  70 A number of recent examples of such approaches can be found for example in Cockitt and David 2010. 71  For a recent Egyptological perspective on this debate, see Radestock 2015: 17–118.

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Texts for healing and protection   1049 the boundaries between Egyptian categories are likely to differ significantly from ­modern ones.72 An indirect effect of such approaches has been that a rendering using modern medical terminology, as the most specialized and precise vocabulary available to the modern trans­ lator, has often seemed the most natural method of translation. However, this has been called into question in recent works, based on the embeddedness of such terminology in a modern medical framework, parts of which are thus projected, sometimes inadvertently, on the translation.73 As this already indicates, one of the most important current challenges in understanding the texts for healing and protection is the development of adequate conceptual frameworks as alternatives to the traditional reliance on modern medicine. On a fundamental level, this challenge parallels discussions in medical anthropology over the last decades.74 Here, the main approach has been to develop ways allowing the researcher to elucidate and under­ stand the significance of phenomena within the worldview of the people studied, which the modern medical point of view can at best do indirectly. A central challenge in this regard is that even the most fundamental categories used to delineate phenomena, e.g. ‘body’, ‘mind’, ‘medicine’, or ‘magic’ embody conceptual dichotomies that are not relevant within such an emic perspective, making it difficult even to delineate the area of interest without imposing modern categories. Recent approaches offer new ways to achieve such an emic perspective and avoid a sim­ plistic search for one-to-one correspondences between ancient and modern categories, while also working to overcome the challenges inherent in having only textual evidence for many of the practices and concepts involved. Building on earlier work noting the ‘associative’ nature of connections between illnesses and the ingredients used in their treatment, Tanja Pommerening has recently suggested a methodology that also includes the manufacturing process of remedies in such con­sid­er­ ations in conjunction with symbolic associations of ingredients.75 This approach involves an experimental aspect, as insights gained from ‘re-cooking’ the remedies according to the procedure prescribed in the texts are incorporated into the emic analysis. Pommerening shows as an example how the process of snwḫ, ‘incineration’ distils certain properties of an ingredient, which can then be transferred to the patient, whose illness is perceived as being caused by a lack of those very properties. A point of interest in this example is that from the etic viewpoint, the act of incineration would effectively ruin any active properties of the ingredients, making such treatments irrelevant at best. This clearly highlights the need for an emic understanding in such cases, and Pommerening correspondingly suggests that ‘[t]he ingredients can thus be read as symbols in semiotic structures’,76 working on the illness through principles of analogy and contrast. In a broadly compatible way, the present author has suggested an approach to the tech­nical vocabulary in healing texts where the use of terminology is regarded as a transfer of conceptual structure from the everyday experiential world to the hidden internal work­ ings of the human body.77 Drawing on theoretical ideas from conceptual metaphor theory, 72 Pommerening 2017. 73  See Radestock 2015; Imhausen and Pommerening 2016; Pommerening 2016; Nyord 2017. 74  Some central works are discussed in Nyord 2009: 41–4. 75 Pommerening 2017. 76  Pommerening 2017: 526. 77 Nyord 2017.

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1050   Rune Nyord history of medicine, and phenomenological philosophy, the framework makes it possible to analyse such terminology as though it were metaphorical without thereby claiming that the Egyptians did not actually commit to the models. This approach enables the exploration of the conceptual implications of such phenomena as heat (tꜣ) in the body, which tend to be referred to tersely and obliquely, but the underlying model of which can be deduced by analysing the conceptual patterns in which it occurs. Such approaches thus strive to approximate the perspective of the ancient user of the texts. They do so by incorporating the ways that ingredients would have been perceived before, during and after preparation of the remedies, as well as the ways in which concep­ tions of the body different from those of the modern observer will have played a role for the categorization and experience of illnesses and treatments. However, by focusing mainly on symbolic and cognitive aspects such as analogies and metaphors, it is clear that there are significant aspects of ancient experience that remain unexplained. Again, this desideratum is paralleled in recent discussions in social anthropology, as when Thomas Csordas calls for researchers to define culture ‘not only in terms of symbols, schemas, traits, rules, customs, texts, or communication, but equally in terms of sense, movement, intersubjectivity, spati­ ality, passion, desire, habit, evocation, and intuition’.78 Incorporating such perspectives into the study of an ancient society will always be a challenge, but it is possible to approach them by incorporating firstly the wider social context in which the illness and the healing prac­ tices are embedded, and secondly the way in which embodied experience interacts with the symbolic systems activated by the performance. The present author has presented an attempt in this direction in a study of the role of the ‘dead’ (mwtw) in pathogenesis, and the manner of treatment of the illnesses they cause.79 Various sources provide a richly textured image of the social setting in which dealings with the dead took place in ancient Egypt, and the paper considers this inter alia in relation to the implication of some of the texts for healing and protection that the identity of the haunt­ ing dead was both known and socially relevant, as opposed to the more general picture of a completely anonymous group of threatening spirits. Illnesses brought on by the dead fall into two main categories depending on whether the deceased is thought to inject fluids into the body of the patient or rather to attack the surface of the body directly. This distinction is shown in turn to correspond to two fundamental ways in which humans experience their own bodies, and the treatments can be seen to focus symbolically on the strengthening of the corresponding aspects. This relationship between patient experience, conceptual ­models, and healing practice can thus be analysed in terms of an ‘isomorphic correspond­ ence between the conceptual and phenomenological aspects of a ritual’.80 By combining the insights gained from such recent approaches, we can provide a robust framework for future studies, thus not only overcoming the traditional divide between the ‘magical’ and the ‘medical’ but also studying the texts as embedded within their experiential, social and con­ ceptual contexts. Finally, it is worth mentioning the potential of information technology for future studies of Egyptian texts for healing and protection. With their fixed structure and repetitious vocabulary, the texts should in principle lend themselves well to statistical analyses of vari­ ous kinds. While this direction of research is still in its infancy, recent examples include the 78  Csordas 2002: 3f, cf. the discussion in Nyord 2009: 41–4. 80  Nyord forthcoming.

79  Nyord forthcoming.

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Texts for healing and protection   1051 statistical analysis of ingredients in Papyrus Ebers81 and various types of cluster analysis on the texts of a selection of ‘magical’ incantations.82

Suggested reading A good, thorough introduction to (and general overview of) the ‘medical’ texts is found in Westendorf (1999: 4–79). The fundamental edition of the documents themselves was pub­ lished by Grapow (1958), but some of the included texts have benefitted from more recent re-editions (e.g. Leitz  1999) and some new texts have been published subsequently (e.g. Monnet Saleh 1970: 164, see Westendorf 1999: 49; Bardinet 2018). In relation to Grapow’s publication, the accompanying philological apparatus of the Grundriß (von Deines et al. 1954–73) is still indispensable, although parts of it, not least the text translations, are better supplemented by more recent works such as Bardinet (1995) and Westendorf (1999). For contemporary approaches to translations, see Radestock (2015) and Pommerening (2016). In comparison, the ‘magical’ texts are much less conveniently available, and many remain unpublished. An overview of this group of texts with its various subcategories can be found in Borghouts (1999: 155–68), while collections of important ‘magical’ texts are translated in Borghouts (1978; available in a recent reprint) and Fischer-Elfert (2005a). The formal char­ acteristics and relationship between texts focusing on material remedies and those focusing on incantations are discussed by Dieleman (2011: 88–97). Accessible introductions to, and exemplifications of, some of the new methodologies in approaching the texts can be found in Nyord (2017) and Pommerening (2017).

Bibliography Bardinet, T. 1995. Les papyrus médicaux de l’Égypte pharaonique. Paris: Fayard. Bardinet, T. 2018. Médicins et magiciens à la court du pharaon: Une étude du papyrus médical Louvre E 32847. Paris: Khéops. Beck, S. 2015. Sāmānu: ein vorderasiatischer Dämon in Ägypten. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag. Beck, S. 2017. Sāmānu as a Human Disease in Mesopotamia and Egypt. In G. Rosati and M. C. Guidotti (eds), Proceedings of the XI International Congress of Egyptologists, Florence Egyptian Museum, Florence, 23–30 August 2015. Oxford: Archeopress, 29–34. Borghouts, J.F. 1978. Ancient Egyptian Magical Texts. Leiden: Brill. Borghouts, J.F. 1999. Lexicographical Aspects of Magical Texts. In S. Grunert and I. Hafemann (eds), Textcorpus und Wörterbuch. Aspekte zur ägyptischen Lexicographie. Leiden: Brill, 149–77. Borghouts, J.F. 2002. Les textes magiques de l’Égypte ancienne: Théorie, mythes et thèmes. In Y.  Koenig (ed.), La magie en Égypte: À la recherché d’une definition. Paris: La documentation Française and Musée du Louvre, 17–39. Campbell, J.M., Campbell, J.R. and David, A.R. 2010. Do the Formulations of Ancient Egyptian Pre­ scriptions Stand up to Pharmaceutical Scrutiny? In J. Cockitt and A.R. David (eds), Pharmacy and Medicine in Ancient Egypt: Proceedings of the Conferences Held in Cairo (2007) and Manchester (2008). Oxford: Archaeopress, 15–19.

81 Fukagawa 2011.

82  Fischer-Elfert and Stegbauer 2009.

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1052   Rune Nyord Cockitt, J. and David, A.R. (eds) 2010. Pharmacy and Medicine in Ancient Egypt: Proceedings of the Conferences Held in Cairo (2007) and Manchester (2008). Oxford: Archaeopress. Collier, M. and Quirke, S. 2004. The UCL Lahun Papyri: Religious, Literary, Legal, Mathematical and Medical. Oxford: Archaeopress. Csordas, T. 2002. Body/Meaning/Healing. Houndmills: Palgrave MacMillan. von Deines, H. and Grapow, H. 1959. Wörterbuch der ägyptischen Drogennamen. Berlin: AkademieVerlag. von Deines, H. and Westendorf, W. 1961–2. Wörterbuch der medizinischen Texte. Berlin: AkademieVerlag. von Deines, H., Grapow, H., and Westendorf, W. 1954–73. Grundriß der Medizin der alten Ägypter. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. von Deines, H., Grapow, H., and Westendorf, W. 1958. Übersetzung der medizinischen Texte. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Diaz Hernández, R.A. 2014. Der Ramesseumspapyrus E: Ein Ritualbuch für Bestattungen aus dem Mittleren Reich. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie der Georg-August-Univ. Göttingen. Dieleman, J. 2010. Review of H.-W. Fischer-Elfert (ed.), Papyrus Ebers und die antike Heilkunde, Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions 10/1: 115–18. Dieleman, J. 2011. Scribal Practices in the Production of Magic Handbooks in Egypt. In G. Bohak, Y. Harari, and S. Shaked (eds), Continuity and Innovation in the Magical Tradition. Leiden: Brill, 85–118. Dieleman, J. 2015. The Materiality of Textual Amulets in Ancient Egypt. In D. Boschung and J.N. Brem­ mer (eds), The Materiality of Magic. Paderborn: Wilhelm Fink, 23–58. Erman, A. 1885. Aegypten und aegyptisches Leben im Altertum. Tübingen: H. Laupp’schen Buchhandlung. Eschweiler, P. 1994. Bildzauber im alten Ägypten: Die Verwendung von Bildern und Gegenständen im magischen Handlungen nach den Texten des Mittleren und Neuen Reiches. Freiburg and Göttingen: Universitätsverlag Freiburg and Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 2005. Altägyptische Zaubersprüche. Stuttgart: Reclam. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 2013. Stolz auf seine Fachbibliothek oder Die thaumaturgischen Hände des Dr. Nefer, Die Welt des Orients 43: 106–13. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 2015. Magika hieratika in Berlin, Hannover, Heidelberg und München. Berlin: de Gruyter. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. and Stegbauer, K. 2009. DigitalHeka: Digitalisierte Erfassung altägyptischer magischer Texte des Mittleren und Neuen Reiches und deren philologische Analyse als Vorarbeit zu einer Corpusgrammatik und Corpusstilistik. http://research.uni-leipzig.de/digiheka/index.html (accessed 11 December 2017). Fukagawa, S. 2011. Investigation into Dynamics of Ancient Egyptian Pharmacology: A Statistical Analysis of Papyrus Ebers and Cross-Cultural Medical Thinking. Oxford: Archaeopress. Gardiner, A.H. 1935. Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum: Chester Beatty Gift. London: British Museum. Gardiner, A.H. 1953. The Ramesseum Papyri. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Gardiner, A.H. 1955. A Unique Funerary Liturgy, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 41: 9–17. Geisen, C. 2018. A Commemorative Ritual for Senwosret I: P.BM EA 10610.1–5/P. Ramesseum B (Ramesseum Dramatic Papyrus). New Haven: Yale Egyptological Institute. Győry, H. 2011. Some Aspects of Magic in Ancient Egyptian Medicine. In P. Kousoulis (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Demonology: Studies on the Boundaries between the Demonic and the Divine in Egyptian Magic. Leuven–Paris–Walpole, MA: Peeters, 151–92. Grapow, H. 1954. Anatomie und Physiologie. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Grapow, H. 1955. Von den medizinischen Texten: Art, Inhalt, Sprache und Stil der medizinischen Einzeltexte sowie Überlieferung, Bestand und Analyse der medizinischen Papyri. Berlin: ­Akademie-Verlag. Grapow, H. 1958. Die medizinischen Texte in hieroglyphischer Umschreibung autographiert. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.

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Texts for healing and protection   1053 Gräzer, A. 2009. Hygiène et sécurité dans l’habitat égyptien d’époque pharaonique. In M.-F. Boussac, T. Fournet, and B. Redon (eds), Le bain collectif en Égypte. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 33–63. Imhausen, A. and Pommerening, T. 2016. Ein Methodenbuch zur Übersetzung von Wissenstexten: Gründe, Ziele, Wege und Ausblick. In A. Imhausen and T. Pommerening (eds), Translating Writings of Early Scholars in the Ancient Near East, Egypt, Greece and Rome: Methodological Aspects with Examples. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 1–13. Kákosy, L. 1999. Egyptian Healing Statues in Three Museums in Italy. Turin: Ministerio per i Beni e le Attività Culturali–Soprintendenza al Museo delle Antichità Egizie. Karenberg, A. and Leitz, C. 2001. Headache in Magical and Medical Papyri of Ancient Egypt, Cephalalgia 21: 911–16. Kousoulis, P. 2007. Dead Entities in Living Bodies: The Demonic Influence of the Dead in the Medical Texts. In J.C. Goyon and C. Gardin (eds), Proceedings of the Ninth International Congress of Egypt­ olo­gists. Leuven: Peeters, 1043–50. Latour, B. 1996. On Actor-Network Theory: A Few Clarifications Plus More than a Few Complica­ tions, Soziale Welt 47: 369–81. Leitz, C. 1999. Magical and Medical Papyri of the New Kingdom. London: British Museum Press. Leitz, C. 2005. Die Rolle von Religion und Naturbeobachtung bei der Auswahl der Drogen im Papyrus Ebers. In H.-W. Fischer-Elfert (ed.), Papyrus Ebers und die antike Heilkunde. Wiesbaden: Harras­ sowitz, 41–62. von Lieven, A. 2012. Book of the Dead, Book of the Living: BD Spells as Temple Texts, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 98: 249–67. von Lieven, A. 2019. How ‘Funerary’ were the Coffin Texts? In R. Nyord (ed.), Concepts in Middle Kingdom Funerary Culture: Proceedings of the Lady Wallis Budge Anniversary Symposium Held at Christ’s College, Cambridge, January 22 2016. Leiden: Brill, 100–16. Lucarelli, R. 2017. Illness as Divine Punishment: The Nature and Function of the Disease-Carrier Demons in the Ancient Egyptian Magical Texts. In S. Bhayro and C. Rider (eds), Demons and Illness from Antiquity to the Early-Modern Period. Leiden: Brill, 53–60. Manniche, L. 1999. Sacred Luxuries: Fragrance, Aromatherapy, and Cosmetics in Ancient Egypt. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Monnet Saleh, J. 1970. Les antiquités égyptiennes de Zagreb: Catalogue raisonné des antiquités égyptiennes conservées au Musée Archéologique de Zagreb en Yougoslavie. Paris and the Hague: Mouton. Nunn, J.F. 1996. Ancient Egyptian Medicine. London: British Museum Press. Nyord, R. 2009. Breathing Flesh: Conceptions of the Body in the Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts. Copen­ hagen: Museum Tusculanum. Nyord, R. 2012. Prototype Structures and Conceptual Metaphor: Cognitive Approaches to Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. In E. Grossman, S. Polis, and J. Winand (eds), Lexical Semantics in Ancient Egyptian. Hamburg: Widmaier, 141–74. Nyord, R. 2017. Analogy and Metaphor in Ancient Medicine and the Ancient Egyptian Conceptualisa­ tion of Heat in the Body. In J. Wee (ed.), The Comparable Body: Analogy and Metaphor in Ancient Mesopotamian, Egyptian, and Greco-Roman Medicine. Leiden: Brill, 12–42. Nyord, R. Forthcoming. Experiencing the Dead in Ancient Egyptian Healing Texts. In U.  Steinert (ed.), Systems of Classification in Premodern Medical Cultures: Sickness, Health and Local Epistemologies. London and New York: Routledge, 84–106. Otto, B.-C. 2013. Zauberhaftes Ägypten—Ägyptischer Zauber? Überlegungen zur Verwendung des Magiebegriffs in der Ägyptologie. In F. Jeserich (ed.), Ägypten—Kindheit—Tod: Gedenkschrift für Edmund Hermsen. Vienna–Cologne–Weimar: Böhlau, 39–70. Parkinson, R.B. 2011. The Ramesseum Papyri, Online Research Catalogue, British Museum, London: http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/publications/online_research_catalogues/rp/the_rames­ seum_papyri.aspx (accessed 4 December 2017). Parkinson, R.B. and Quirke, S. 1995. Papyrus. London: British Museum Press. Pinch, G. 2006. Magic in Ancient Egypt. 2nd edn. London: British Museum Press. Podemann Sørensen, J. 1984. The Argument in Ancient Egyptian Magical Formulae, Acta Orientalia 45: 5–19.

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1054   Rune Nyord Pommerening, T. 2014. Die šsꜣw-Lehrtexte der heilkundlichen Literatur des Alten Ägypten: Tradition und Textgeschichte. In D. Bawanypeck and A. Imhausen (eds), Traditions of Written Knowledge in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia: Proceedings of Two Workshops Held at Goethe-University, Frankfurt/Main in December 2011 and May 2012. Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 7–46. Pommerening, T. 2016. Heilkundliche Texte aus dem alten Ägypten: Vorschläge zur Kommentierung und Übersetzung. In A. Imhausen and T. Pommerening (eds), Translating Writings of Early Scholars in the Ancient Near East, Egypt, Greece and Rome: Methodological Aspects with Examples. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 175–279. Pommerening, T. 2017. Medical Re-Enactments: Ancient Egyptian Prescriptions from an Emic View­ point. In G. Rosati and M. C. Guidotti (eds), Proceedings of the XI International Congress of Egypt­ olo­gists, Florence Egyptian Museum, Florence, 23–30 August 2015. Oxford: Archeopress, 519–26. Poole, F. 2001. ‘Cumin, Set Milk, Honey’: An Ancient Egyptian Medicine Container (Naples 828), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 87: 175–80. Posener, G. 1978. Préface. In J. Černý and G. Posener (eds.), Papyrus hiératiques de Deir el-Medineh I. Cairo: Institut Francais d’Archéologie Orientale, v–viii. Quack, J.F. 2003. Methoden und Möglichkeiten der Erforschung der Medizin im Alten Ägypten, Medizinhistorisches Journal 38/1: 3–15. Quibell, J.E. 1898. The Ramesseum. London: Bernard Quaritch. Quirke, S. 2015. Exploring Religion in Ancient Egypt. Chichester: Wiley Blackwell. Quirke, S. 2016. Writings for Good Health in Social Context: Middle and New Kingdom Compari­ sons. In C.  Price, R.  Forshaw, A.  Chamberlain, and P.T.  Nicholson (eds), Mummies, Magic and Medicine in Ancient Egypt: Multidisciplinary Essays for Rosalie David. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 183–96. Radestock, S. 2015. Prinzipien der ägyptischen Medizin: Medizinische Lehrtexte der Papyri Ebers und Smith—Eine wissenschaftstheoretische Annäherung. Würzburg: Ergon. Ritner, R.K. 1993. The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Ritner, R.K. 2001. Magic in Medicine. In D.B. Redford (ed.), Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Oxford University Press, vol. II, 326–9. Ritner, R.K. 2006. The Cardiovascular System in Ancient Egyptian Thought, Journal of Near-Eastern Studies 65: 99–109. Roccati, A. 1970. Papiro ieratico N.  54003: Estratti magici e rituali del Primo Medio Regno. Turin: Edizioni d’Arte Fratelli Pozzo. Roccati, A. 2011. Magica Taurinensia: Il grande papiro magico di Torino e i suoi duplicate. Rome: Gregorian and Biblical Press. Rouffet, F. 2013. Les ingrédients dans les prescriptions médico-magiques égyptiennes, Égypte Afrique & Orient 71: 23–32. Sauneron, S. 1970. Le rhume d’Anynakhte (Pap. Deir el-Medineh 36), Kêmi 20: 7–18. Schneider, T. 2000. Die Waffe der Analogie: Altägyptische Magie als System. In K.  Gloy and M. Bachmann (eds), Das Analogiedenken: Vorstöße in ein neues Gebiet der Rationalitätstheorie. Freiburg and Munich: Alber, 37–85. Schwann, H. 1984. Der Beitrag der altägyptischen Medizin zur ärztlichen Ethik unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Sterbebetreuung, Altorientalische Forschungen 11: 3–9. Sethe, K. 1928. Dramatische Texte zu altaegyptischen Mysterienspielen. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Shaw, I. 2013. Ancient Egyptian Technology and Innovation: Transformations in Pharaonic Material Culture. London: Bloomsbury. Stephan, J. 2011. Die altägyptische Medizin und ihre Spuren in der abendländischen Medizingeschichte. Münster: LIT Verlag. Waraksa, E. 2009. Female Figurines from the Mut Precinct: Context and Ritual Function. Fribourg and Göttingen: Academic Press and Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Warburton, D.A. 2016. Egypt’s Role in the Origins of Science: An Essay in Aligning Conditions, ­Evidence and Interpretations, Journal of Ancient Egyptian Interconnections 9: 72–94. Westendorf, W. 1999. Handbuch der altägyptischen Medizin. Leiden–Boston–Cologne: Brill.

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chapter 54

L et ters Deborah Sweeney

Introduction Correspondence in ancient Egypt was excruciatingly slow from the point of view of current-day correspondents, who are used to sending e-mail in seconds.1 Letters travelled no faster than a messenger could travel. News of distant relatives and friends was rare, and took days to arrive. There was no postal service before the Ptolemaic period (c.332–30 bc); sending letters depended on finding a reliable messenger going to the right destination.2 Letters circulated mostly amongst the elite: ordinary workers rarely received or sent them.3 For many people, a letter was probably a special event. Literacy was limited in ancient Egypt. Some people could write their own correspondence; others probably asked literate friends or relatives for help, or paid a scribe, although this is difficult to verify except when scribes signed their own names to letters they wrote for others. Among the literate, there were probably different levels of expertise; thus, some people could write notes to colleagues but needed help with more formal documents.4

Definition of Letters Letters may be defined as written messages sent between two or more individuals who are absent from each another;5 they were usually sent across a distance, but might be left for the addressee in their absence. According to this definition, graffiti addressed to gods and ostraca with questions presented to a divine statue carried in procession were probably not 1  Many thanks to Mark Depauw and Tobias Hoffmann for their useful comments on a much earlier draft of this chapter, and to Eitan Grossman for recommending literature. 2  Depauw  2006: 81. For private persons, this often entailed sacrificing the work that an employee would otherwise perform. 3 Nonetheless, such letters exist: for instance, P Berlin 8523 is addressed to a tenant farmer (Wente 1990: 209) and P Cairo 58,054 to a soldier (Wente 1990: 115). Probably someone else read them to the addressee. 4  Cf. Allen 2002: 186. 5  Wagner 2003: 2; Depauw 2006: 4.

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1056   Deborah Sweeney letters, since the petitioner was in the god’s presence. However, from the Late Period (c.664–332 bc) onwards, priests brought petitions and written questions for the gods into the sanctuary and read them aloud to the god.6 These documents might be considered letters, although this definition is disputed, since they would have been transported over minimal distances.7 Secondly, letters are intended for specific addressees in a real-life situation.8 Although wisdom texts (also known as ‘instructions’, see Chapter 50 in this volume) were often presented as advice to a specific person, they were nevertheless intended for general distribution. However, real-life letters were sometimes recirculated to a wider public. Old Kingdom noblemen who were fortunate enough to receive a letter from the king had copies of them inscribed in their tomb chapels.9 Similarly, the viceroy of Nubia had a personal letter from Amenhotep II copied onto a stele.10 In such cases, the recipient wanted to advertise that the king had sent him a letter and had praised him or shown confidence in him. Letters often use specific epistolary formulae, such as an address including the sender’s and addressee’s names, blessings on the addressee, and a closing formula. Nonetheless, missives may omit any or all of these elements and still be considered letters.11

Purpose of Correspondence Sending a letter, instead of entrusting a spoken message to a messenger, had certain advantages: it kept the message relatively private and guarded it from becoming garbled in transmission.12 Since literacy was rare, and associated with the elite, sending a letter might also have been considered more prestigious.13 People tended to send letters to communicate news or make requests,14 rather than for the sheer pleasure of communicating. However, letters were also sent to give and obtain information about the correspondents’ well-being.15 Since communication was somewhat difficult, and travel sometimes dangerous,16 it was hard to know how relatives and friends were faring. Letters between distant correspondents often express concern for their welfare and safety.17 Ancient Egyptian letters were not necessarily private: they were often read aloud, and would be heard by bystanders. Many letters were plainly meant for circulation, since they include messages of goodwill and errands for third parties, such as the scribe Thutmose’s letters home in the late Twentieth Dynasty (c.1186–1069 bc).18 However, some letters were definitely intended to be secret, such as General Paiankh’s plot to murder two Medjai 6  Smith 2002: 368. 7  Depauw 2006: 302, 307 discusses this issue. 8  Sallaberger 1999: 2; Sweeney 2001: 3; Wagner 2003: 2. 9  Wente 1990: 18–21; Eichler 1991b. 10  Wente 1990: 27–8; Morschauser 1997. 11  Burkard  1999: 11;  2001: 12; Sweeney  2001: 17; Pantalacci  2008: 143. By contrast, Janssen (1991: 8) defines only communications with an address and greeting formulae as real letters. 12  Tobias Hoffmann, private communication. The ‘Teaching of Ptahhotep’ (maxim 8) stresses the importance of reporting messages accurately, which suggests that messengers were not always reliable. 13  Migahid 1987: 14; Baines 2001: 12. 14  E.g. Ferhadjian 2008: 60–1; Vandorpe 2008: 158–64. 15  Biedenkopf-Ziehner 1983: 5. 16  Kotsifou 2000: 62–3. 17  Baines 2001: 22. 18  E.g. Wente 1990: 178–81.

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Letters   1057 policemen,19 which he warned his correspondents not to reveal. Similarly, Thutmose urged his correspondents not to talk about a certain matter until he returned,20 and he and his son exchanged letters containing a certain stick,21 maybe to check whether their missives were being opened.

Writing Materials used for Letters Letters were normally written in ink on papyrus or ostraca (stone flakes or potsherds), but also occasionally on linen, pottery vessels, or wooden writing-boards coated in plaster. A late Sixth-Dynasty group of letters from the Dakhla Oasis, where papyrus was scarce, is inscribed on clay tablets.22 Official correspondence was normally written on papyrus, generally considered more prestigious.23 Ostraca were used for informal and local correspondence, since they were heavier and their contents could not be kept confidential. Papyrus was sometimes unavailable: sheets might be ‘recycled’ by washing off the original text and writing a new one. Letters were normally written on a single papyrus sheet (although more might be used), folded into a small packet24 with the addressee’s name, and often the sender’s, written on the outside,25 tied with a papyrus wisp or a string,26 and sealed.27 In the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, correspondents would loosen a vertical fibre from the pa­pyrus, wind it around the roll and seal it, allowing the addressee to know if the letter had been opened. In the Roman period, the sender drew a pattern or cross over the letter and string instead of the seal: if the string was opened, the pattern would be disturbed.28

Formats used for Letters In the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2160 bc)29 and early Middle Kingdom (c.2055–1650 bc), ­letters were normally written in columns, with the addressee’s name in a horizontal line above the text. From Amenemhet III (c.1831–1786 bc) onwards, letters were written in horizontal lines.30 Generally, letters open with a formula containing the correspondents’ names, often followed by blessings, enquiries after the addressee’s health, quotations from previous correspondence and replies to them, requests, questions and information for the addressee, and a final blessing or admonition to take note.31

19  Wente 1990: 183–4. 20  Wente 1990: 192. 21  Wente 1990: 192, 204. 22  Pantalacci 2008: 143. 23  Coptic correspondents frequently apologized for sending messages on ostraca when papyrus was unavailable. Biedenkopf-Ziehner 1983: 28–31. 24  Bakir 1970: 24–8; Parkinson and Quirke 1995: 42–3; Depauw 2006: 78–80. 25  Bakir 1970: 35–40; Depauw 2006: 113–27. 26  Parkinson and Quirke 1995: 42. 27  Bakir 1970: 28–9. 28  Vandorpe 2008: 172. 29 Eichler 1991b. 30  Parkinson and Quirke, 1995: 38–9. 31  For the New Kingdom, see Bakir 1970: 41–93 and Haring 2009. For demotic letters see Depauw 2006: 127–284. For Coptic letters see Biedenkopf-Ziehner 1983; Choat 2007; Richter 2008: 747, 761–4.

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1058   Deborah Sweeney The formulae used vary by period. For instance, in the Ramesside period (c.1295–1069 bc), the more important correspondent was always named first,32 and the address is often followed by the blessing ‘in life, prosperity, health!’. The Coptic formulae are based on Greek epistolary phrases and scriptural quotations,33 although Malcom Choat argues for some continuity from demotic.34 The correspondents’ relative status and closeness are also important factors. Letters to superiors tend to follow the blessing with phrases such as ‘this is a message to inform my lord’, and, where appropriate, enthusiastic descriptions of the sender’s progress with his work. Superiors tend to be addressed as ‘my lord’: this distance may be maintained by addressing them in the third person throughout. In the Old Kingdom, the third person might also refer to the sender, who described himself as bꜣk jm, sn.k jm (yours truly), whereas the recipient might be addressed as sš.k, ‘your scribe’, ḥ m.k, ‘your Majesty’, bꜣk sn.nw, ‘colleague’.35 Letters to superiors, and some friendly letters to equals or family members, normally include blessings after the address,36 whereas letters to subordinates and casual or angry letters to equals rarely include blessings. Letters between friends and family often mention that the sender is well, and express concern for the recipient and a desire to hear how they are.37 Letters on ostraca—except drafts and model letters—are normally simpler, omitting or abbreviating the blessings and formulae, and sometimes the correspondents’ names. Second person address and the topics discussed (everyday errands rather than wisdom teachings) nonetheless allow them to be identified as letters.

Chronological survey of letters The earliest letters known from ancient Egypt are missives from the Fifth-Dynasty ruler Djedkara Isesi (c.2414–2375 bc) to favoured courtiers, which were copied in their tombs,38 and contemporary letters and decrees from the funerary temple archives of NeferirkaraKakai (c.2475–2455 bc)39 and Raneferef (c.2448–2445 bc)40 at Abusir. The discovery of about sixty late Sixth-Dynasty letters from the governor’s palace at Balat in the Dakhla oasis has increased the number of Old Kingdom letters fivefold.41 Unusually for ancient Egypt, these letters were incised in cursive hieratic on clay tablets. They mostly record the circulation of messengers and goods.42 The archive of Hekanakhte,43 a landowner from central Egypt in the reign of Senusret I (c.1956–1911 bc),44 includes two long letters to his family, written while away in Thebes. Financial difficulties45 forced Hekanakhte to reduce his family’s income; he also warned them to stop ill-treating his wife. The archive also includes a family letter to a woman 32  Černý 1939: xxi. 33  Richter 2008: 747–8. 34  Choat 2010: 157 163. 35  Eichler 1991a: 25–6. 36  E.g. Depauw 2006: 175–97; Brose 2012: 35–6. 37  Depauw 2006: 197–208; Vandorpe 2008: 158. 38  Wente 1990: 18–20; Eichler 1991b. 39  Posener-Kriéger 1976: 471; Wente 1990: 55–6. Some fragmentary decrees might be slightly earlier (Posener-Kriéger 1976: 483). 40  Posener-Kriéger, Verner and Vymazalová 2006: 236. 41  Pantalacci 2008: 141. 42  Pantalacci 2008: 145–7. 43 Allen 2002. 44  Allen 2002: 130. 45  Allen 2002: 168.

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Letters   1059 running a small textile enterprise on Hekanakhte’s behalf and several accounts on which Hekanakhte based his calculations. By using enhanced digital photographs of one of these accounts, a palimpsest, James Allen discovered the original text, a hitherto unknown letter.46 Another major collection of Middle Kingdom letters comes from the town of Lahun, the community serving Senusret II’s funerary cult. The texts refer to a wide variety of topics relating to the royal funerary temple’s administration and to business and family matters of the town’s inhabitants.47 A group of dispatches from the fortress of Semna in Nubia under Amenemhet III (c.1831–1786 bc) provide detailed information on the movements of Nubians in the area.48 The recently published letters from the vizier’s office in Papyrus Ramesseum 18 demonstrate continued Egyptian contacts with the Nubian fortresses in the late Twelfth and early Thirteenth Dynasties.49 From the New Kingdom come several groups of letters, beginning with the correspondence of the official Ahmose, a contemporary of Queen Hatshepsut (c.1473–1458 bc).50 Several letters from the city of Akhetaten (el-Amarna) use vernacular language with characteristics of Late Egyptian;51 P Mond I and II also show a private individual invoking the Aten to bless his correspondents.52 Nine letters from Rameses II’s reign (c.1279–1213 bc), now in the Leiden Museum, belonged to the correspondence of the king’s children and their immediate circle.53 Several hundred letters on ostraca and papyri have been preserved from Deir el-Medîna, home to the workmen who built the royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens,54 including letters on a group of ostraca found near the German excavation house at Qurna.55 Correspondence between the village authorities and their superiors in Thebes and at the capital illustrates the tomb-building project’s organization and provisioning, while informal letters illuminate many aspects of social life at the village, from commercial transactions56 to accusations of adultery (O DeM 439) and complaints about idle delivery men (O DeM 328). The best-known letters from this community, now known as the Late Ramesside Letters, were written in the late Twentieth Dynasty by the village scribe Thutmose, who was co-opted by General Paiankh, ruler of Thebes, to furnish arms and supplies for his campaign in Nubia. Thutmose corresponded frequently with his worried family during his journeys,57 asking them to perform errands for him and to ask the gods to send him back safe, and they replied that they were doing so.58 A small group of letters from the Twenty-first Dynasty (c.1069–945 bc) deals with topics such as tracing fugitives, trade, and petitioning the local god.59 They are often attributed to el-Hiba, the border town between north and south at that period, but Matthias Müller

46  Allen 2002: xvi 14. 47  Luft 1992; Collier and Quirke 2002; Ferhadjian 2008. 48  Kraemer and Liszka 2016. 49  Liszka and Kraemer 2016: 184–186 195–6. 50  Wente 1990: 90–2. 51 Silverman 1991. 52  Wente 1990: 94–6; Bickel 2003: 40–1. 53  Wente 1990: 31–4. 54  The Deir el-Medina Database mentions a total of 566 letters. Some are unpublished. 55  Burkard 1998, published online by Günter Burkard and Stefan Wimmer at Deir el-Medina Online: https://dem-online.gwi.uni-muenchen.de. 56  Wente 1990: 153–65. 57  Wente 1990: 171–204; Janssen 1991: 11–27: Demarée 2006: 14–24, 26–8; Demarée 2008: 51–2. 58  Baines 2001: 15–16. 59  Wente 1990: 205–9. For a preliminary survey and discussion, see Müller 2009.

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1060   Deborah Sweeney argues that the texts come from the fort of el-Ahaiwah, opposite Girga and the beginning of the route to the Khargha and Dakhla oases.60 About 874 letters written in demotic have survived from the period between the sixth century bc and third century ad.61 Some letters were found in ancient rubbish-tips, such as the Late Period correspondence from the Serapeum at Saqqara;62 others were kept in personal archives.63 The decline of demotic as an everyday language during the first century ad meant that Egyptians had to resort to Greek for their correspondence until the rise of epistolary Coptic two centuries later.64 Thousands of letters in Greek and Latin are preserved from Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt, including both administrative and personal texts, such as the correspondence of the gar­ rison at Douch.65 Large family archives, such as that of Zenon, secretary of the overseer of the civil administration, are ideal sources not only for political, social, and economic history, but also for investigating individual letter-writing practices. For example, Raffaela Cribiore’s discussion of the women in the Apollonios archive reveals a great deal about the options open for women correspondents in the second century ad.66 After the third century ad, Egyptians corresponded both in Greek and Coptic.67 Over 3,300 published Coptic letters68 are known from the fourth to the eleventh centuries ad, peaking in the sixth to eight centuries;69 many more are unpublished. Many Coptic letters deal with buying, selling, and administration, but, as in the classical world, letters were also used for teaching and expostulation.70

Letters as source material Commentators tend to view letters as a source of ‘grassroots’ information about life in ancient Egypt.71 Letters do indeed reflect everyday concerns and experiences in an immediate way, but they are not quite a ‘slice of life’: letter-writing, like any other genre, has its conventions, and the correspondents usually have agendas, conscious or not. Letters may also be an important source of historical data; the heliacal rising of Sothis, a linchpin of Egyptian chronology, is known from a letter (P Berlin 10,012: 18–19). A letter from the Hyksos ruler Auserra Apepi (c.1555 bc) to the ruler of Kush, was preserved on a victory stele of his rival, the Upper Egyptian Seventeenth-Dynasty ruler Kamose, and provides unparalleled information about diplomatic relations between Nubia and the Hyksos at this period.72 The Amarna Letters, the foreign correspondence of Amenhotep III (c.1390–1352 bc) and his son Akhenaten (c.1352–1336 bc), do not fall within the scope of this article since the texts are written in Akkadian, but deserve mention here as a major source 60  Müller 2009: 260–1. 61  Including unpublished letters and 45 letters to the gods. Mark Depauw, personal communication. 62  Smith 2002: 371–2. 63  E.g. Thompson 1934. 64  Richter 2008: 741–2. Depauw 2006: 299 suggests that practically all literate persons in Egypt were bilingual at that point. 65 Wagner 1981. 66 Cribiore 2002. 67  Kohlbacher 1999: 44. 68  Richter 2008: 744. 69  Richter 2008: 745. 70  Biedenkopf-Ziehner 1983: 4; Schroeder 2006. 71  Demarée 2008: 48; for letters as a source for private religious practice see Luiselli 2011: 188–93. 72  Wente 1990: 26.

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Letters   1061 for Egypt’s international relations at that period (see Chapter 25 in this volume).73 Letters are also considered an important source for the Egyptian language, and have ­featured prominently in some Egyptian grammars.74

Women’s correspondence Various letters were sent to or by women; at Deir el-Medina, these letters make up about 14 per cent of the total.75 Mark Depauw has identified twenty demotic letters from or to women, a far smaller fraction of the demotic corpus.76 Roger Bagnall and Raffaella Cribiore estimate women’s letters from Ptolemaic Egypt at about 5.7 per cent of the total.77 It is not clear whether the women penned their letters personally.78 Bagnall and Cribiore note that dictated letters nonetheless reproduce the words the women chose to use.79 Even when women’s letters were written by third parties, they provide useful information on women’s gender role, since their content was considered appropriate for women to say. There seem to be no separate conventions for addressing women, or for women to write letters. Marc Brose argues that special greeting formulae were used to women,80 whereas Sophie Ferhadjian states that even between correspondents of different sexes initial greetings may be omitted.81 Maybe this difference derives from family relationships rather than gender: Brose bases his argument on two letters from the Hekanakhte corpus, addressed to the sender’s mother, whereas Ferhadjian argues from two letters from Lahun, probably not to family members. However, maybe the syntax and formulae of letters women sent in pharaonic times are less standardized,82 because they were generally not educated for bureaucratic office. Similarly, letters from women are sometimes written less elegantly;83 this might indicate that they wrote their own letters instead of employing a scribe.84

Letters to the dead and gods From the Old Kingdom to the Late Period, eighteen letters addressed to dead relatives are known,85 asking them to help the sender against adversaries both living and dead, solve

73  See for instance Bryce 2003; Goren, Finkelstein, and Na’aman 2004; Mynářová 2007; Rainey 2015. 74  Grossmann, in Richter 2008: 743 note 11. 75  Sweeney 1993: 523. 76  Depauw 2006: 104–6. 77  Bagnall and Cribiore 2008: 69. See Bagnall and Cribiore 2008: 89–96 for statistics for Greek letters. 78  Depauw 2006: 104–6. 79  Bagnall and Cribiore 2008: 37–8. 80  Brose 2012: 36–9. 81  Ferhadjian 2008: 59. 82  Sweeney 1998: 1116. For an example from Greek epistolography, see Bagnall 1999. 83  Quirke 1999: 227; Cribiore 2001: 92–3. 84  However, Bagnall and Cribiore 2008: 233 argue that palaeography is inconclusive: men with poor handwriting may have written these letters (Bagnall and Cribiore 2008: 216). 85  Miniaci 2016: 89–90. Donnat Beauquier 2014: 27–8 suggests nineteen.

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1062   Deborah Sweeney family problems, repel illness-causing spirits, or cease harassing the living.86 Often the sender reminds the deceased of their past kindnesses or appeals to their self-interest by pointing out that their family needs to stay healthy to sustain their mortuary cult. Sylvie Donnat argues that the Old Kingdom and Middle Kingdom letters were accompanied by a ritual libation and offering, reminding the deceased recipient of the mutual obligations between the living, who sustained the dead via funerary offerings, and the dead, who were supposed to help and protect their living benefactors, and whose status in the afterworld might be in doubt if they failed to do so.87 People also sent letters to gods,88 asking for redress against wrong and for healing,89 or promising gifts in return for help.90 Some New Kingdom examples exist (O CGC 25766, O Gardiner 310 and P Nevill), but from the Late Period onwards this genre becomes more common. About forty demotic examples are known, only half of them published.91

Model and literary letters During their professional training, scribes honed their epistolary skills by copying model letters.92 The Book of Kemyt (compendium), an important Middle Kingdom didactic text, was written partly in letter form.93 This text continued in use in the Ramesside period; Odgen Goelet suggests that at that point it was used for training in learning Middle Egyptian and writing funerary and religious texts.94 Various Ramesside model letters (termed the ‘Late Egyptian Miscellanies’ by Egyptologists)95 are preserved on papyri from the Memphite area. Model letters were found at Deir el-Medîna, although the Deir el-Medîna apprentices used examples suiting their own local concerns, such as requests to the authorities to send supplies and colours for the tomb-painters.96 Demotic model letters are rare,97 but show that letter-writing was still taught in schools. Letter-writing may have been taught on the periphery of formal education: it was certainly taught in chancery schools,98 and students were

86 E.g. O’Donoghue  1999; Verhoeven  2003; Donnat Beauquier  2014: 99–103; Gerstermann 2015. Verhoeven (2003: 47) remarks that the knowledge that someone had written to their dead relatives begging for help might exert public pressure on their adversaries or inspire others to intervene. 87  Donnat Beauquier 2014: 129 133 137. 88  Depauw 2006: 313 questions whether these are truly letters, since they were only brought a short distance. 89  Migahid 1987; Endreffy 2009. 90  Endreffy 2010: 49. 91  Endreffy 2010: 49. Mark Depauw (personal communication) gives a figure of 45 such letters. 92  Strictly speaking, as Depauw 2006: 4 remarks, model letters are not true letters since they were never sent. 93  Wente 1990: 15–16; Petersmark 2012. 94  Goelet 2013: 118–19. 95  Gardiner 1937; Caminos 1954. For a recent reassessment of these texts, which also contain hymns and literary texts, sometimes introduced with epistolary formulae, see Hagen 2006. Nonetheless, Hagen (2006: 95) views the letters as potentially for instruction. 96  E.g. O Toronto A 11. 97  Zauzich 2002; Depauw 2006: 316–17. 98  Cribiore 2001: 216–17.

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Letters   1063 encouraged to write letters home demonstrating what they had learnt.99 In Coptic schools, letter-writing was more frequently taught, and letters or parts of letters were copied.100 Works of fiction were also formulated as letters, such as Papyrus Anastasi I,101 in which a senior scribe replies to a disrespectful letter from a colleague, exposing his ignorance by a battery of rhetorical questions and representing him failing repeatedly at his duties. This text covered many subjects that scribes were required to know, such as building projects, distributing rations, and Levantine geography, and became a favourite didactic text for trainee scribes. A lesser-known fictional letter is the Tale of Woe from the early first millennium bc (Papyrus Pushkin 127).102 Its protagonist, the unlucky Wermai, recounts how he was banished, deprived of his property, wandered miserably from town to town, and eventually settled in the Great Oasis in wretched circumstances. Wermai describes how the local village headman and his henchmen bully, cheat, and oppress the villagers, to the point that the farmers desert their fields and refuse to work. He finishes his missive longing desperately for help. The Demotische Texte auf Krügen includes several short stories or narrative fragments presented in epistolary form, although Mark Depauw identifies them as scribal exercises by their handwriting and contents.103 There appears to be no precise Egyptian equivalent to the Western epistolary novel, which represents events unfolding and the ­protagonists’ characters via the various characters’ correspondence.

Problems in understanding letters Ancient letters pose various problems for modern interpreters. Firstly, like many ancient texts, letters may be fragmentary, partially erased, written in difficult handwriting, and so on. Secondly, it is often difficult to identify the correspondents, unless they were well-known individuals104 or belonged to a well-documented community like Lahun or Deir el-Medîna. Correspondents tend to refer elliptically to matters that they themselves understood but baffle the modern reader,105 but where letters can be connected with their social setting, each can illuminate the other.106 From the Late Period onwards, letters were often dated with a regnal year, month, and day,107 but the king’s name was rarely mentioned. Earlier letters, apart from royal decrees, were seldom dated.108 Therefore, Egyptologists tend to date letters using various features of their form and content, which usually work best in combination. Such features as the

99  Cribiore 2001: 116–19. 100  Cribiore 2001: 217 and n. 149; Richter 2008: 746–7. 101  Wente 1990: 98–110; Fischer-Elfert 1986; Schad 2006: Schneider 2008. 102  Caminos 1977: 3–4 argues for a date around 1000 bc; Quack 2001: 172 and also Schad 2006: 63 to the early Third Intermediate Period. 103  Spiegelberg 1912; Hoffmann 2000: 66–8; Depauw 2006: 314–15. 104  E.g. Trapani 1995. 105  Cruz-Uribe and Nims 1990; Burkard 1999, 2001; Richter 2008: 743. Literary letters, however, make many more references explicit for clarity’s sake. 106  E.g. Sweeney 1994. 107  Hoffmann 2000: 59–66; Depauw 2006: 86–7. 108  Sweeney 2001: 18.

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1064   Deborah Sweeney formulae109 and language used, as well as the type of script,110 can be useful general dating criteria. For some periods, more precise dating methods have been developed, such as the techniques used by Jean Winand in dating Ramesside texts by grammatical criteria.111 Stefan Wimmer has also suggested methods for dating the palaeography of Ramesside hieratic.112 Letters may also be dated by identifying the correspondents, or, more generally, by the type of names the correspondents bear. In 1987, Jac J. Janssen suggested that individual hands should be identified not by focussing on the more elaborate signs, but on the simplest ones, which each scribe formed more or less automatically.113 Hans Van den Berg and Koen Donker van Heel have identified individual hieratic hands from the Deir el-Medîna corpus,114 and Andreas Dorn identified criteria for attributing documents to the scribe Amennakht.115

New research possibilities Digital photography of ostraca and papyri makes it easier to produce facsimiles, and also makes the handwriting of faded texts much clearer.116 Earlier texts on palimpsest documents (that were hitherto illegible underneath the later texts) can now be read via digital photography, as Allen has demonstrated for Papyrus Purches,117 and new multispectral imaging techniques can retrieve completely unexpected texts.118 On-line publication of texts, such as Deir el Medine Online,119 and on-line archives such as the Deir el-Medîna Database120 and Trismegistos121 (demotic and Ptolemaic and Roman texts) allow feedback and suggestions for work in progress. Greater awareness of the letters’ archaeological contexts may yield interesting results. For instance, Gianluca Miniaci122 reinterprets the Qau bowl UC 16163 ‘letter to the dead’ via its archaeological context: it is addressed to the writer’s parents but buried in a tomb with one man, whom Miniaci identifies as the brother Sobekhotep mentioned in both letters. Sobekhotep is apparently failing to help the writer, who hopes to enlist his parents to pressurize Sobekhotep to aid him from the afterlife. 109  E.g. Goldwasser 1985; Depauw 1995. Coptic dialects can also indicate the sender’s location or origin, e.g. Blöbaum 1999: 254. 110  For an example from the First Intermediate Period, see Simpson  1981: 175; for a Late Period ex­ample, see Cruz-Uribe 1985: 129. For demotic in general see Depauw 2006: 89–90. 111 Winand 1995. 112  Wimmer 1995, applied in Burkard 1999: 200–1. Janssen 1997a disputed Wimmer’s findings, but, as Depauw (2006: 90, note 98) noted, Janssen himself used a similar approach in Janssen 1997b: 139–45. 113  Janssen 1987: 162. Within a single text, however, a scribe may write various signs and ligatures differently (Janssen 1987), so one must keep all these forms in mind. 114  Van den Berg and van Heel 2000. 115 Dorn 2015. 116  Van den Berg and van Heel 2000. They argue that digital facsimiles are particularly useful where it is difficult to photograph the material, and that such copies are relatively easy to correct or enhance. 117  Allen 2002: xvi 14, pl. 54. Similarly, infra-red photography allowed Liszka and Kraemer to read the deteriorating fragments of Papyrus Ramesseum 18 and even improve readings (Liszka and Kraemer 2016: 154). 118  Faigenbaum-Golovin et al. 2017. 119 https://dem-online.gwi.uni-muenchen.de. 120 https://dem-online.gwi.uni-muenchen.de. 121 https://dem-online.gwi.uni-muenchen.de. 122 Miniaci 2016.

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Letters   1065 Detailed palaeographical work may shed more light on a given correspondence: for example, Allen’s palaeographical research into the Hekanakhte letters revealed that letter no. 3, asking a high-ranking neighbour for a favour, was probably dictated, since the points where the writer stopped to take fresh ink on his pen almost always coincide with the beginnings of sentences and clauses, whereas letters 1 and 2 were probably written by Hekanakhte himself, since in at least a quarter of the cases the points where the writer filled his pen with fresh ink do not coincide with the beginnings of syntactic units.123 Allen suggests that Hekanakhte felt that he wrote well enough for his own family and employees, but was less confident about official correspondence and turned to a professional scribe.124 Research into the identification of individual hieratic hands125 could shed more light on correspondence from Deir el-Medina: this methodology could usefully be applied to other groups of letters. Current techniques of discourse analysis and pragmatics allow a fine-grained sociolinguistic analysis of ancient correspondence.126 Deborah Sweeney investigated the relationship between the use and phrasing of requests, questions and complaints and the relative status and closeness of the correspondents in the Late Ramesside Letters; subordinates rarely question their superiors,127 and complaints to superiors are cautiously worded.128 Arthur Verhoogt demonstrated the use of direct requests to subordinates, but circumlocutory requests to superiors in the late Ptolemaic archive of the village scribe Menches.129 Kim Ridealgh enhanced and developed this approach using politeness theory, stressing the importance of social status as a vital and non-negotiable factor in the choice of communicative strategies in the Late Ramesside Letters.130 She shows how the scribe Thutmose takes pains to enhance his superior’s reputation by presenting him positively to third parties, but also stresses their close working relationship,131 and demonstrates from Thutmose’s criticism of the work of his contemporary Nesamenemope that the latter was Thutmose’s subordinate, not his equal.132 Social network theory, applied to a group of letters, such as Diane and Eric Cline’s recent work on the Amarna letters,133 may indicate how tight-knit a group of correspondents were and identify the key figures amongst them. Finally, cross-cultural comparisons with letters from other ancient cultures allow us to pinpoint specifically Egyptian practices; for instance, the Old Babylonian letters analysed by Walther Sallaberger134 express emotion much more liberally than contemporary Egyptian letters do.

Suggested reading For an excellent anthology of translated Egyptian letters from the Old Kingdom to the Twenty-first Dynasty, see Wente (1990), and, for an anthology of women’s letters from 123  Allen 2002: 81–2. 124  Allen 2002: 186. 125  E.g. Van den Berg and van Heel 2000; Burkard 2013: 77–80; Dorn 2015. 126 Sallaberger  1999; Sweeney  2001; Depauw  2006: 260–84; Lauri  2009; Ridealgh  2011, 2103a, 2013b, 2016. 127  Sweeney 2001: 148. 128  Sweeney 2001: 237. 129  Verhoogt 1998: 70–1. 130  Ridealgh 2013b, especially 183, 202–3; Ridealgh 2016: 248–9; 263. 131  Ridealgh 2013b: 189–91. 132  Ridealgh 2013a: 31–6. 133  Cline and Cline 2015. 134 Sallaberger 1999.

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1066   Deborah Sweeney Ptolemaic, Roman, Coptic and Byzantine Egypt, see Bagnall and Cribiore (2008). The translation of the Heqanakht dossier in Allen (2002) is an outstanding example of the information which can be obtained by painstaking attention to detail paired with new technology and techniques. For a brief overview of Egyptian letters see Wente 1990: 1–12. For the demotic and Coptic phases of correspondence, see Depauw (2006; demotic) and Richter (2008; Coptic). For discussions of typical epistolographic phrases see Bakir (1970; Ramesside), Depauw (2006; demotic), Biedenkopf-Ziehner (1983; Coptic), Choat (2007, 2010; Coptic). Socio-linguistic analyses of the Late Ramesside Letters can be found in Sweeney (2001) and Ridealgh (2011, 2013a, 2013b, and 2016).

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Letters   1067 Černý, J. 1939. Late Ramesside Letters. Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca 9. Bruxelles: Édition de la Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth Choat, M. 2007. Epistolary Formulae in Early Coptic Letters. In N. Bosson and A. Boud’hors (eds), Actes du Huitième Congrès International d’Études Coptes: Paris, 28 juin – 3 juillet 2004 II. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 163. Leuven–Paris–Dudley, MA: Peeters, 667–78. Choat, M. 2010. Early Coptic Epistolography. In A. Papaconstantinou (ed.), The Multilingual Experience in Egypt, from the Ptolemies to the Abbasids. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 153–78. Cline, D. H. and Cline, E.H. 2015. Text Messages, Tablets, and Social Networks: The ‘Small World’ of the Amarna Letters. In J. Mynářová, P. Onderka, and P. Pavúk (eds), There and Back Again—The Crossroads II: Proceedings of an International Conference Held in Prague, September 15–18, 2014. Prague: Charles University in Prague, Faculty of Arts, 17–44. Collier, M. and Quirke, S. 2002. The UCL Lahun Papyri: Letters. British Archaeological Reports International Series 1083. Oxford: Archaeopress. Cribiore, R. 2001. Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt. Princeton–Oxford: Princeton University Press. Cribiore, R. 2002. The Women in the Apollonios Archive and their Use of Literacy. In H. Melaerts and L. Mooren (eds), Le rôle et le statut de la femme en Égypte hellénistique, romaine et byzantine: actes du colloque international, Bruxelles-Leuven, 27–29 Novembre 1997. Studia Hellenistica 37. Paris: Peeters, 149–66. Cruz-Uribe, E. 1985. A Saïte Request for Payment, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 71: 129–33. Cruz-Uribe, E. and Nims, C.F. 1990. Troubles with a Debt: An Egyptian Papyrus Document, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 49: 281–90. Demarée, R. J. 2006. The Bankes Late Ramesside Papyri. With Contributions by Bridget Leech and Patricia Usick. British Museum Research Publication 155. London: British Museum Press. Demarée, R. J. 2008. Letters and Archives from the New Kingdom Necropolis at Thebes. In L. Pantalacci (ed.), La lettre d’archive: Communication administrative et personelle dans l’Antiquité proche-orientale et égyptienne. Actes du colloque de l’université de Lyon 2, 9–10 juillet 2004. Topoi: Supplément 9/ Bibliothèque Générale 32. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, 43–52. Depauw, M. 1995. A Demotic Business Letter: O. Brux. E 354, Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 26: 39–49. Depauw, M. 2006. The Demotic Letter. A Study of Epistolographic Scribal Traditions against their Intraand Intercultural Background. Demotische Studien 14. Sommerhausen: Gisela Zauzich Verlag. Donnat Beauquier, S. 2014. Écrire à ses morts: enquête sur un usage rituel de l’écrit dans l’Égypte pharaonique. Grenoble: Jérôme Millon. Dorn, A. 2015. Diachrone Veränderungen der Handschrift des Nekropolenschreibers Amunnacht, Sohn des Ipui. In U. Verhoeven (ed.), Ägyptologische ‘Binsen’–Weisheiten I–II: Neue Forschungen und Methoden der Hieratistik. Akten zweier Tagungen in Mainz im April 2011 und März 2013. Akademie der Wissenschaft und der Literatur Abhandlungen der Geistes- und sozialwissenschaftlichen Klasse Einzelveröffentlichung 14. Mainz: Akademie der Wissenschaft und der Literatur–Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 175–218. Eichler, E. 1991a. Zwei Bemerkungen zu den hieratischen Briefen des Alten Reiches, Göttinger Miszellen 123: 21–6. Eichler, E. 1991b. Untersuchungen zu den Königsbriefen des Alten Reiches, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 18: 141–71. Endreffy, K. 2009. Reason for Despair: Notes on Some Demotic Letters to Thoth. In B.S. El-Sharkawy (ed.), The Horizon: Studies in Egyptology in Honour of M. A. Nur el-Din (10–12 April 2007) III. Cairo: Supreme Council of Antiquities, 241–51. Endreffy, K. 2010. Business with Gods: The Role of Bargaining in Demotic Letters to Gods and Graeco-Roman Judicial Prayers. In A. Hudecz and M. Petrik (eds), Commerce and Economy in Ancient Egypt: Proceedings of the Third International Congress for Young Egyptologists: 25–27 September 2009, Budapest. British Archaeological Reports International Series 2131. Oxford: Archaeopress, 49–54.

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1068   Deborah Sweeney Faigenbaum-Golovin, S. et al. 2017. Multispectral Imaging Reveals Biblical-Period Inscription Unnoticed for Half a Century, PLoS ONE 12,6: e0178400. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0178400. Ferhadjian, S. 2008. Lire les relations sociales à travers les lettres d’Illahun. In L.  Pantalacci (ed.), La lettre d’archive: communication administrative et personelle dans l’Antiquité proche-orientale et égyptienne. Actes du colloque de l’université de Lyon 2, 9–10 juillet 2004. Topoi: Supplément 9/ Bibliothèque Générale 32. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, 53–62. Fischer-Elfert, H.-W. 1986. Die satirische Streitschrift des Papyrus Anastasi I, Übersetzung und Kommentar. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 44. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Gardiner, A. H. 1937. Late-Egyptian Miscellanies. Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca 7. Brussels: Édition de la Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Gestermann, L. 2015. Briefe in das Jenseits—Zeugnisse altägyptischen Totenglaubens. In C. Elsas, H. Sternberg-el-Hotabi, and O. Witthuhn (eds), Bestattungsbräuche, Totenkult und Jenseitsvorstellungen im Alten Ägypten, Berlin: EB-Verlag, 101–27. Goelet Jr., O. 2013. Reflections on the Format and Paleography of the Kemyt: Implications for the Sitz im Leben of Middle Egyptian Literature in the Ramesside Period. In G. Moers et al. (eds), Dating Egyptian Literary Texts. Hamburg: Widmaier Verlag, 111–21. Goldwasser, O. 1985. A Late Egyptian Epistolary Formula as an Aid to Dating Ramesside Texts. In S.I. Groll (ed.), Pharaonic Egypt, The Bible and Christianity. Jerusalem: Magnes Press, Hebrew University, 50–6. Goren, Y., Finkelstein, I., and Na’aman, N. 2004. Inscribed in Clay: Provenance Study of the Amarna Tablets and Other Ancient Near Eastern Texts. Monograph Series of the Institute of Archaeology, Tel Aviv University 23. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Hagen, F. 2006. Literature, Transmission, and the Late Egyptian Miscellanies. In R.J. Dann (ed.), Current Research in Egyptology 2004: Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Symposium, University of Durham, January 2004. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 84–99. Haring, B. 2009. ‘In Life, Prosperity, Health!’: Introductory Formulae in Letters from the Theban Necropolis. In D. Kessler et al. (eds), Texte—Theben—Tonfragmente: Festschrift für Günter Burkard. Ägypten und Altes Testament 76. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 180–91. Hoffmann, F. 2000. Ägypten. Kultur und Lebenswelt in griechisch-römischer Zeit: Eine Darstellung nach den demotischen Quellen. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Janssen, Jac. J. 1987. On Style in Egyptian Handwriting, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 73: 161–7. Janssen, Jac. J. 1991. Late Ramesside Letters and Communications. Hieratic Papyri in the British Museum 6. London: British Museum Press. Janssen, Jac. J. 1997a. Review of Wimmer, S. 1995, Hieratische Paläographie der nicht-literarischen Ostraka der 19. und 20. Dynastie. Ägypten und Altes Testament 28. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, Bibliotheca Orientalia 54: 338–345. Janssen, Jac. J. 1997b. Village Varia. Ten Studies on the History and Administration of Deir el-Medina. Egyptologische Uitgaven 11. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Kohlbacher, M. 1999. Minor Texts for a History of Asceticism: Editions in Progress. In S. Emmel (ed.), Ägypten und Nubien in spätantiker und christlicher Zeit II: Schrifttum, Sprache und Gedankenwelt. Akten des 6. Internationalen Koptologenkongresses Münster, 20.–26. Juli 1996. Sprachen und Kulturen des christlichen Orients 6,2. Wiesbaden: Reichert, 144–54. Kotsifou, C. 2000. Papyrological Evidence of Travelling in Byzantine Egypt. In A.  Mcdonald and C. Riggs (eds), Current Research in Egyptology 2000. British Archaeological Reports International Series 909. Oxford: Archaeopress, 57–64. Kraemer, B. and Liszka, K. 2016. Evidence for Administration of the Nubian Fortresses in the Late Middle Kingdom: The Semna Dispatches, Journal of Egyptian History 9,1: 1–65. Lauri, C. B. 2009. Ein cognitiv-/pragmatischer Annäherungsversuch zu den altägyptischen Briefen. Unpublished doctoral thesis: University of Basel. Liszka, K. and Kraemer, B. 2016. Evidence for Administration of the Nubian Fortresses in the Late Middle Kingdom: P. Ramesseum 18, Journal of Egyptian History 9,2: 151–208. Luft, U. 1992. Das Archiv von Illahun: Briefe 1. Hieratische Papyri aus den Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin. Preußischer Kulturbesitz 1. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag.

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Letters   1069 Luiselli, M. M. 2011. Die Suche nach Gottesnähe. Untersuchungen zur Persönlichen Frömmigkeit in Ägypten von der Ersten Zwischenzeit bis zum Ende des Neuen Reiches. Ägypten und Altes Testament 73. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Migahid, A. el-G. 1987. Demotische Briefe an Götter von der Spät- bis zur Römerzeit: Ein Beiträg zur Kenntnis des religiösen Brauchtums im alten Ägypten. Würzburg: published by the author. Miniaci, G. 2016. Reuniting Philology and Archaeology: The ‘Emic’ and ‘Etic’ in the Letter of the Dead Qau Bowl UC16163 and its Context, Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 143: ­88–105. Morschauser, S. N. 1997. Approbation or Disapproval? The Conclusion of the Letter of Amenophis II to User-Satet, Viceroy of Kush (Urk. IV,1344.10–20), Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 24: 203–22. Müller, M. 2009. The ‘el-Hibeh’ Archive: Introduction and Preliminary Information. In G. P. F. Broekman, R. J.  Demarée, and O. E.  Kaper (eds), The Libyan Period in Egypt: Historical and Cultural Studies into the 21st–24th Dynasties: Proceedings of a Conference at Leiden University, 25–27 October 2007. Egyptologische Uitgaven 23. Leiden-Leuven: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten and Peeters Press, 251–64. Mynářová, J. 2007. Language of Amarna—Language of Diplomacy: Perspectives on the Amarna Letters. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. O’Donoghue, M. 1999. The ‘Letters to the Dead’ and Ancient Egyptian Religion, Bulletin of the Australian Center for Egyptology 10: 87–104. Pantalacci, L. 2008. Archivage et scribes dans l’oasis de Dakhla (Égypte) à la fin du IIIe milléniare. In L. Pantalacci (ed.), La lettre d’archive: communication administrative et personelle dans l’Antiquité proche-orientale et égyptienne. Actes du colloque de l’université de Lyon 2, 9–10 juillet 2004. Topoi: Supplément 9/Bibliothèque Générale 32. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, 141–53. Parkinson, R. and Quirke, S. 1995. Papyrus. London: British Museum Press. Petersmark, E. 2012. Die Kemit: Ostraca, Schreibtafel und ein Papyrus. Göttinger Miszellen Beihefte 12. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie, Universität Göttingen. Posener-Kriéger, P. 1976. Les archives du temple funéraire de Néferirkarê-Kakaï (Les papyrus d’Abousir). Traduction et commentaire. Bibliothèque d’Étude 65. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire. Posener-Kriéger, P., Verner, M., and Vymazalová, H. 2006. The Pyramid Complex of Raneferef: The Papyrus Archive. Abusir X. Prague: Czech Institute of Egyptology, Faculty of Arts, Charles University in Prague. Quack, J. 2001. Ein neuer Versuch zum Moskauer literarischen Brief, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 128: 167–81. Quirke, S. 1999. Women in Ancient Egypt: Temple Titles and Funerary Papyri. In A. Leahy and J. Tait (eds), Studies on Ancient Egypt in Honour of H. S.  Smith. Egypt Exploration Society Occasional Publications 13. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 227–35. Rainey, A. F. 2015. The El-Amarna Correspondence: a New Edition of the Cuneiform Letters from the Site of El-Amarna based on Collations of all Extant Tablets. Edited by Schniedewind, W. M. and Cochavi-Rainey, Z. Handbook of Oriental Studies, section 1: Ancient Near East 110. Leiden–Boston: Brill. Richter, T. S. 2008. Coptic Letters, Asiatische Studien/Études Asiatiques 62,3: 739–70. Ridealgh, K. 2011. Yes Dear! Spousal Dynamics in the Late Ramesside Letters. In M. Horn et al. (eds), Current Research in Egyptology 2010: Proceedings of the Eleventh Annual Symposium, Leiden University 2010. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 124–30. Ridealgh, K. 2013a. You Do Not Listen to me! Face-work and the Position of ‘Senior’ Scribe of the Necropolis? Journal of Ancient Civilizations 28: 22–40. Ridealgh, K. 2013b. Yes Sir! An Analysis of the Superior/Subordinate Relationship in the Late Ramesside Letters, Lingua Aegyptia 21: 181–206. Ridealgh, K. 2016. Polite like an Egyptian? Case Studies of Politeness in the Late Ramesside Letters, Journal of Politeness Research 12,2: 245–66.

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1070   Deborah Sweeney Sallaberger, W. 1999. ‘Wenn Du mein Bruder bist . . .’: Interaktion und Textgestaltung in altbabylonischen Alltagsbriefen. Cuneiform Monographs 16. Groningen: Styx Publications. Schad, B. 2006. Die Entdeckung des ‘Briefes’ als literarisches Ausdrucksmittel in der Ramessidenzeit. Antiquitates: Archäologische Forschungsergebnisse 34. Hamburg: Verlag Dr. Kovač. Schneider, T. 2008. Fremdwörter in der ägyptischen Militärsprache des Neuen Reiches und ein Bravourstück des Elitesoldaten (Papyrus Anastasi I 23, 2–7), Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities 35: 181–205. Schroeder, C. T. 2006. Prophecy and Porneia in Shenoute’s Letters: The Rhetoric of Sexuality in a Late Antique Egyptian Monastery, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 65,2: 81–97. Silverman, D. P. 1991. Texts from the Amarna Period and their Position in the Development of Ancient Egyptian, Lingua Aegyptia 1: 301–14. Simpson, W. K. 1981. The Memphite Epistolary Formula on a Jar Stand of the First Intermediate Period from Naga Ed-Deir. In W. K. Simpson and W. M. Davis (eds), Studies in Ancient Egypt, the Aegean, and the Sudan: Essays in Honor of Dows Dunham on the Occasion of his 90th Birthday, June 1 1980. Boston: Museum of Fine Arts, 173–9. Smith, H. S. 2002. The Saqqara Papyri: Oracle Questions, Pleas and Letters. In K. Ryholt (ed.), Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies, Copenhagen, 23–27 August 1999. Carsten Niehbuhr Institute Publications 27. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 367–75. Spiegelberg, W. 1912. Demotische Texte auf Krügen. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs. Sweeney, D. 1993. Women’s Correspondence from Deir el-Medineh. In G. M. Zaccone and T. R. di Nero (eds), Sesto Congresso Internazionale di Egittologia: Atti II. Turin: Tipografica Torinese, 523–9. Sweeney, D. 1994. Henuttawy’s Guilty Conscience (Gods and Grain in Late Ramesside Letter No. 37), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 80: 208–12. Sweeney, D. 1998. Women and Language in the Ramesside Period or Why Women don’t say Please. In C. J. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists, Cambridge, 3–9 September 1995. OrientaliaLovaniensia Analecta 82. Leiden: Brill, 1109–17. Sweeney, D. 2001. Correspondence and Dialogue: Pragmatic Factors in Late Ramesside Letter-Writing. Ägypten und Altes Testament 49. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Thompson, H. F. H. 1934. A Family Archive from Siut: From Papyri in the British Museum Including an Account of Trial Before the Laocritae in the Year B.C. 170. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Trapani, M. 1995. La carriera di Imeneminet, soprintendente ai lavori di Ramesse II, Bulletin de la Société d’Égyptologie, Genève 19: 49–68. Van Den Berg, H. and Van Heel, K.D. 2000. A Scribe’s Cache from the Valley of Queens? The Palaeography of Documents from Deir el-Medîna: Some Remarks. In R. J. Demarée and A. Egberts (eds), Deir el-Medina in the Third Millennium ad: A Tribute to Jac. J. Janssen. Egyptologische Uitgaven 14. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten, 9–49. Vandorpe, K. 2008. Archives and Letters in Greco-Roman Egypt. In L.  Pantalacci (ed.), La lettre d’archive: communication administrative et personelle dans l’Antiquité proche-orientale et égyptienne. Actes du colloque de l’université de Lyon 2, 9–10 juillet 2004. Topoi: Supplément 9/Bibliothèque Générale 32. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, 155–77. Verhoeven, U. 2003. Post ins Jenseits: Formular und Funktion altägyptischer Briefe an Tote. In A. Wagner (ed.), Bote und Brief: Sprachliche Systeme der Informationsübermittlung im Spannugsfeld von Mündlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit. Nordostrafrikanisch/Westasiatische Studien 4. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang GmBH, 31–51. Verhoogt, A. M. F. W. 1998. Menches, Kommogrammateus of Kerkeosiris: The Doings and Dealings of a Village Scribe in the Late Ptolemaic Period (120–110 B.C.). Papyrologica Lugduno-Batava 29. Leiden–New York–Köln: Brill. Wagner, A. 2003. Bote, Botenformel und Brief: einige sachliche und terminologische Klärungen. In A. Wagner (ed.), Bote und Brief: Sprachliche Systeme der Informationsübermittlung im Spannugsfeld von Mündlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit. Nordostrafrikanisch/Westasiatische Studien 4. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang GmBH, 1–10.

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Letters   1071 Wagner, G. 1981. Les ostraca grecs de Doush. In R. S. Bagnall et al. (eds), Proceedings of the Sixteenth International Congress of Papyrology, New York, 24–31 July 1980. American Studies in Papyrology 23. Ann Arbor, Michigan: Scholars Press, 463–8. Wente, E. F. 1990. Letters from Ancient Egypt. Society of Biblical Literature, Writings from the Ancient World Series 1. Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press. Wimmer, S. 1995. Hieratische Paläographie der nicht-literarischen Ostraka der 19. und 20. Dynastie. Ägypten und Altes Testament 28. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Winand, J. 1995. La grammaire au secours de la datation des textes, Revue d’Égyptologie 46: 187–202. Zauzich, K.-T. 2002. Demotische Musterbriefe. In K. Ryholt (ed.), Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies, Copenhagen, 23–27 August 1999. Carsten Niehbuhr Institute Publications 27. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 395–401.

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chapter 55

Demotic texts Richard Jasnow

Introduction: definition of demotic Demotic is generally defined as the stage of the Egyptian language and script used from about the seventh century bc to the fifth century ad.1 The term is associated with a style of cursive script characterized by extensive ligatures of signs. Demotic texts are found on papyri, ostraca, stelae, stone (as graffiti), and, less frequently, on other materials. Since the divisions between scripts and stages of the Egyptian language are not rigid, demoticists must also consider such related disciplines as Ptolemaic temple inscriptions,2 Third-Intermediate-Period texts,3 abnormal hieratic,4 Aramaic,5 and Coptic.6 Similarly, certain Late-Period hieratic compositions have been understood as being written essentially in demotic.7

Corpora and publications of museum holdings Demotic inscriptions appear on many types of smaller artefacts, such as votive offerings, the publications of which are often inaccessible; Sven Vleeming provides a reliable and convenient corpus of the numerous ‘short texts’ on miscellaneous objects.8 The Trismegistos website includes all published demotic texts: the user can thus easily track down the essential information for a given document or inscription. Catalogues or systematic publications of museum and university collection demotic holdings are naturally desirable;9 two 1  Johnson 1991. On the end of the demotic tradition, see Stadler 2008. 2  See, e.g., Quack 2001. 3 Ritner 2002. 4  Vleeming 1981; Donker van Heel 2012, 2014, 2015; Fischer-Elfert 2013. 5  Porten 2004; Steiner 2001; Holm forthcoming. 6  Richter 2002; Zauzich 2000a. 7 Shisha-Halevy 1989. 8 Vleeming 2001. 9  See, e.g., Kaplony-Heckel 2000; Martin 2002; Ritner 2004; Schentuleit and Vittmann 2009; Martin, K.  Donker van Heel, and F.  Hoogendijk 2011; Jasnow et al. 2016. Lippert (2008b) describes hitherto neglected, but potentially quite valuable cartonnage fragments from Oxyrynchus, preserved in Berkeley.

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Demotic texts   1073 noteworthy examples of such works are from the Brooklyn Museum10 and The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago.11 The websites of such institutions as the British Museum and Yale University offer scholars excellent images of their demotic holdings.

Documentary texts Demotic documents may come from the public sphere (i.e. government and temple) or from the private domain. Representative types are: bilingual or priestly decrees;12 administrative memoranda/lists/registers; cult-association regulations;13 letters;14 leases; legal or economic agreements; and surety documents. Demoticists often combine demotic with other Egyptological or Greek evidence in their publications on broader scholarly topics. Examples of scholars taking this approach include Günter Vittmann, on the interaction between foreigners and Egyptians in the first millennium bc;15 Joseph Manning, on land tenure in the Ptolemaic period;16 Janet Johnson, on the  role of women in society;17 Brian Muhs, on the ‘cult-associations’;18 and Friedhelm Hoffmann, on the general history and culture of the Ptolemaic and Roman periods.19 Classically trained historians such as Willy Clarysse20 and Dorothy Thompson21 profitably utilize demotic texts in their numerous publications on Ptolemaic Egypt;22 particularly important is their editing and research on census-texts.23 Documentary texts in Greek and demotic provide valuable evidence on such disparate subjects as agriculture/taxation,24 ethnicity,25 and religious architecture.26 There is a welcome trend towards including demotic with other specialties in global studies of specific localities, for example Akhmim/Panopolis,27 and equally praiseworthy is the increasing focus on examining demotic documents in context, as witnessed by recent symposia on individual sites (for example Tebtunis and Soknopaiou Nesos).28 Demotic material provides valuable insights into connections between the Nile Valley and the oases: Oxyrhynchus ostraca, for example, offer details on travel to the Bahariya oasis.29 Egyptian temples produced many other types of administrative documents30 in addition to the famous bilingual decrees.31 Excavations from sites such as Saqqara have recovered letters, ration lists, memoranda, which yield insights into temple and cult administration.32 10  Hughes et al. 2005. 11  Muhs 2005; see also Scalf and Jay 2014 (Oriental Institute Demotic Ostraca Online [O.I.D.O.O.] https://oi.uchicago.edu/research/projects/oidoo). 12  Pfeiffer 2004; Eldamaty 2005; Hoffmann et al. 2011; El-Masry et al. 2012. 13 Muhs 2003. 14  Depauw 2006; Depauw and Vandorpe 1997. 15 Vittmann 2003a. 16  Manning 2003b; Martin 2017. 17 Johnson 1998. 18 Muhs 2003. 19 Hoffmann 2000. 20 Clarysse 1998. 21 Thompson 1998. 22  See also Vandorpe et al. 2015. 23  Clarysse and Thompson 2006. 24 Monson 2012. 25 La’da 2002. 26 Lippert 2015. 27  Egberts et al. 2002. 28  Lippert and Schentuleit 2005. 29 Thissen  2013; see also the demotic and abnormal hieratic ostraca from Mut al-Kharab in Vittmann 2003b, 2017. 30  See, e.g., Kaplony-Heckel 2004; Schenutleit 2006 (Edfu). 31  See, e.g., Valbelle and Leclant 2000. 32  Davies 2002; Martin and Smith 2010a; Martin, H. Smith, and S. Davies 2010b.

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1074   Richard Jasnow From the Roman period, particularly from Soknopaiou Nesos/Dime there are extremely detailed texts pertaining to temples,33 including an extensive inventory.34 A particularly curious set of demotic texts are the so-called ‘name ostraca’ from Soknopaiou Nesos.35 Demotic texts are even capable of shedding light on the process of decoration of sacred shrines;36 a Tebtunis papyrus, for example, seems to preserve demotic annotations or measurements made for the benefit of the artists responsible for a temple relief or sculpture.37 Various kinds of quarry inscriptions and masons’ marks are also important sources of evidence.38 Demotic personal letters, generally composed by priests, are abundant and sometimes quite elaborate.39 There are impressive numbers of letters from such important localities as Elephantine;40 these offer to the interested student a wealth of linguistic phenomena and historical data. Petitions to government officials are well attested in demotic. Vittmann has reedited Papyrus Rylands 9, the most famous of such petitions, and a chief historical source for the Persian period.41 On-going excavations recover demotic texts that will certainly bring new insight into the structure of Late-Period government and society; Persian-period demotic ostraca, for instance, have been discovered at Ayn Manawir.42 There have appeared already substantial publications of ostraca and papyri from Dime,43 Elephantine,44 Qasr Ibrim,45 Hibis,46 and Dakhla;47 and more such editions are anticipated. Many important texts from Narmuthis, distinguished by their strange mixture of demotic and Greek, have also been published,48 while Michel Chauveau and Didier Devauchelle are preparing the editions of carbonized papyri from Tanis.49

Legal texts (codes/protocols) A particularly prominent demotic legal text is the Hermopolis Legal Code,50 which has appeared in several new translations,51 and is naturally often cited and discussed.52 Important contributions over the last twenty years include a juristic handbook published by Sandra Lippert;53 an overview of demotic law based on demotic texts, produced by Manning;54

33  Lippert and Schentuleit 2006b; see also Stadler 2012b. 34  Dousa et al. 2004. 35 Arlt 2013. 36 Vittmann 2002/2003. 37  Davoli and Devauchelle 2016. 38  Depauw 2008; Depauw 2009; Di Cerbo and Jasnow 2016. 39  Zauzich 2000b and 2002; Depauw and Vandorpe 1997; Wegner 2014; Schentuleit 2014. On demotic letters in general, see Depauw 2006. 40  See, e.g., Zauzich 1993. 41 Vittmann 1998b. 42  Chauveau 2003; Agut-Labordère and C. Newton 2013; Agut-Labordère and Chauveau 2015; AgutLabordère 2016. 43  Lippert and Schentulait 2006a. 44 Hoffmann 1999. 45 Ray 2005. 46 Kaplony-Heckel  2000. Kaplony-Heckel has been particularly active in publishing ostraca: Kaplony-Heckel 2004, 2009. 47 Hope 2002. 48  E.g. Gallo 1997; Menchetti 2005; Menchetti 2011; Zauzich 2016. 49  Chauveau and Devauchelle 1996. 50  Mattha and Hughes 1975. 51  See, e.g., Stadler 2004a. 52  See, e.g., Azzoni and Lippert 2000. 53 Lippert 2004. 54  Manning 2003a. For a useful recent anthology of demotic legal texts, see Keenan et al. 2014.

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Demotic texts   1075 and a sketch of Third-Intermediate-Period law by Jasnow.55 Lippert has also published a comprehensive introduction to the study of ancient Egyptian law.56 There are naturally numerous specialized discussions of individual points of Egyptian law.57 There are substantial court protocols in demotic, dealing with litigation concerning inheritance.58 The most famous is from the so-called ‘Family Archive of Siut’ (c.170 bc); such texts are among the most important sources for Late-Period Egyptian law.

Private legal texts There are many types of demotic documentary and legal texts;59 especially significant in the ‘private’ sphere are: sales contracts60; cessions; leases, marriage settlements,61 divorce docu­ments; oaths, but among the most common demotic documents are sale agreements and cessions.62 Researchers investigate formulae and types of contracts63 in order to ­clarify their evolution, identify local variations, and explicate interaction with other legal traditions. Collections of demotic texts pertaining to a specific family or individual provide unusual insight into the history, economy and society of Late-Period Egypt; such archives generally comprise sales, cessions, and leases. Several substantial archives have recently appeared; particularly noteworthy is the ‘Archive of Teos and Thabis from early Ptolemaic Thebes’,64 which revolves around the history of a house. The Hawara archive, which extends from the fourth century bc until well into the Ptolemaic period, also offers much information.65 In addition, Manning has re-edited the important Hauswaldt Papyri from Edfu.66 Such archives often contain both Greek and demotic texts, permitting analysis of interaction between the two traditions.67 The evidence for the institution of marriage is a long-standing problem in Egyptology, but several types of demotic texts pertain to economic aspects of marriage.68 Marriage docu­ments are sometimes bilingual, requiring collaboration between demoticists and Greek papyrologists.69 Many demotic documents concern land cultivation. Comprehensive studies, such as Felber’s work on land leases,70 elucidate the significance of these documents, which are generally published individually. They help to clarify the rather murky economic framework for agriculture in Late-Period Egypt.71 Demotic texts provide abundant material for the complicated tax system of the Ptolemaic and Roman periods.72 Close study of formulaic 55 Jasnow 2003a. 56 Lippert 2008a. 57  See, e.g., Ritner 2002. 58  Depauw 1997: 129. 59  See overview in Depauw 1997: 123–52. 60  The parties of such contracts are sometimes interesting in themselves—e.g. the contract between sculptors and the Bastet Temple at Tholthis, Clarysse and Luft 2012. 61  See, e.g., Clarysse and Vandorpe 2004. 62 Zauzich 1968. 63  See, e.g., Depauw 1999. 64 Depauw 2000. 65  Lüddeckens 1998; Hughes and Jasnow 1997; see also Pasek 2007; Uytterjoeven 2009. 66 Manning 1997. 67  See, e.g., Vandorpe 2002; Vandorpe and Waebens 2009; Vandorpe and Vleeming 2017. 68  See, e.g., Clarysse and Vandorpe 2004. 69  See, e.g., Lippert and Schentuleit 2003. 70 Felber 1997. 71 Monson 2012. 72  See, e.g., Muhs 2005; Muhs 2011.

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1076   Richard Jasnow tax receipts can produce valuable historical insights, as in the analysis of taxes during periods of rebellion in the Thebaid during the Ptolemaic period.73 Oaths play an important role in Egyptian law throughout history. There is a large corpus of demotic legal oaths,74 generally sworn before temple gates. The reasons behind swearing the oath, as well as the variations of formulation within the corpus, have naturally drawn the attention of scholars.

Literary and scholarly texts Demotic contributes profoundly to the study of Egyptian literature,75 and several excellent recent anthologies have made this material more accessible.76 While much has appeared, many literary papyri are in the process of being published or still await editors;77 the ma­ter­ial in the Papyrological Collection of the University of Copenhagen is particularly im­port­ant in this respect.78 Demotic literature still presents many challenges. John Tait sketches forms and genres (for example narratives, wisdom, satire, and hymns).79 Scholarship is divided on such fundamental questions as the interaction between Greek and Late-Period Egyptian literature,80 and its connections with earlier pharaonic traditions.81 While most demotic literary texts come from the later Ptolemaic and Roman periods, earlier com­pos­itions are now coming to light.82 Peter van Minnen has closely studied the archaeological provenance of both Greek and demotic literary texts in the Faiyum.83 Cycles of narrative texts revolving around specific figures are characteristic in demotic, and the most famous is the Setne Cycle.84 Both Setne I and Setne II still present problems in decipherment and interpretation,85 and the orality of the tales has been the subject of a recent study.86 Previously unknown texts from this cycle have been edited by Tait,87 with additional comments by Joachim Quack and Kim Ryholt.88 The Inaros/Petubastis Cycle is also prominent within the corpus of demotic narratives. These tales celebrate the military exploits of figures from the Third Intermediate Period. Hoffmann has re-edited several of these long stories,89 and Tait has also edited Copenhagen manuscripts paralleling the Petubastis texts published on the basis of Papyrus Spiegelberg.90 Ryholt examines the image and impact of Assyria in the Egyptian literary tradition.91 New publications deepen our understanding of the corpus of demotic narrative. Ryholt, for example, describes a series of tales, with sexual themes, revolving around priests from Heliopolis,92 and Ghislaine Widmer has discussed narratives based on the deeds of such 73 Vandorpe 2000. 74  See, e.g., Ritner 2004: 498–501. 75  Tait 1996; Jasnow 2003b; Hoffmann 2007; Quack 2016b. 76  Hoffmann and Quack 2007; Agut-Labordère and Chauveau 2011. See also Ryholt 2010b. 77 Jasnow 2002. 78  See, e.g., Ryholt 2012b. 79 Tait 1996. 80  Thissen 1999; Smith 2000a. 81 Vittmann 1998a. 82  See, e.g., Quack 2016a. 83  van Minnen 1998; see also Ryholt 2010b. 84  Ritner (2003a) has published both Setne I and Setne II; but for more recent publications of Setne I, see Goldbrunner 2006 and Vinson 2018. 85  Quack 1999; Jasnow 2001. 86 Jay 2016. 87  Tait 1991; Quack 2006/2007. 88  Quack and Ryholt 2000. 89  See, e.g., Hoffmann 1996. 90  Tait 2000; see also Ryholt 2014. 91 Ryholt 2004. 92  Ryholt 1999, 2005; see also the fascinating ‘Life of Imhotep’: Ryholt 2009.

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Demotic texts   1077 Middle Kingdom pharaohs as Senusret.93 Rana Serida has published a ‘castration story’ from Tebtunis,94 and even small fragments of previously unknown compositions enhance our appreciation for the corpus of demotic literature.95 Long published compositions still present problems of reading and interpretation.96 The Myth of the Sun’s Eye, for example, remains a supremely challenging literary text.97 The well-known, but still extremely fas­cin­ at­ing demotic Satire of the Harper continues to be the subject of discussion.98 The possible Egyptian background of the famous Greek Isis-aretalogies99 and the Alexander Romance100 also still draw the attention of demotic scholars. Demotic prophetic or apocalyptic literature is well attested. Heinz-Josef Thissen retranslates the so-called Lamb of Bocchoris,101 while Felber studies the obscure Demotic Chronicle, a valuable historical source for Egypt in the fourth century bc.102 Quack re-evaluates a difficult prayer to Isis from the Archive of Hor, hitherto understood as apocalyptic,103 and the same author has recently published fragments of a previously unknown prophetic com­pos­ition from Tebtunis.104 The two main examples of demotic ‘wisdom’, The Instruction of Onksheshonqy105 and Papyrus Insinger, are often quoted and discussed,106 but their date of composition remains problematic.107 Ryholt’s publication of a version of the frame story of Onkhsheshonqy dating several hundred years later than that of the main witness, Papyrus BM 10508108 raises significant questions about demotic manuscript tradition.109 Fragments containing the beginning of Papyrus Insinger have also now been published.110 Thus, even the sadly broken remains of hitherto unknown wisdom texts contribute to our knowledge of the corpus.111 Although written in hieratic, an onomasticon from Tebtunis also contains glosses in demotic.112 Again, the interaction between demotic and hieratic is worthy of careful study.113 Of great interest too is the Cairo onomasticon CG 31169, with its long list of placenames.114 Quack has characterized one demotic fragment as belonging to an ‘ethnographic’ text.115 Demotic material pertaining to the so-called ‘alphabet’ (in which birds or birdnames denote the sounds) has been published in recent years,116 and this fascinating subject certainly deserves closer scrutiny. Exciting advances have been made in the broad genre of scholarly compositions, such as mathematical117 and astronomical(-religious) texts.118 Similarly, scholars have paid attention to the important group of medical treatises. This is especially welcome since some of the most extensive published texts require re-editing before they can form the 93  Widmer 2002. See also Ryholt 2010a. 94 Serida 2016. 95  See, e.g., Tait 2008/2009; Ryholt 2017. 96  See, e.g., Quack 1999. 97  See, e.g., Widmer 1999; Lippert 2001; de Cenival 2002. 98 Smith 2000a. 99 Quack 2003. 100 Ryholt 2013. 101  Thissen 2002; see now Chauveau 2017. 102  Felber 2002; see now Quack 2016e. 103 Quack 2002c. 104 Quack 2002b. 105  See Ritner 2003b. 106  See, e.g., Stadler 2003b; Agut-Labordère 2009; Agut-Labordère 2011; Zauzich 2010/2011. 107 Quack 2002a. 108 Ryholt 2000. 109  See Rosmorduc 2016. 110  Houser Wegner 1998; Houser Wegner 2010; Zauzich 2010/2011. 111  Jasnow 2014; Zauzich forthcoming. The obscure text published in Quack 2017 may also be a type of wisdom composition. 112 Osing 1998. 113  See, e.g., the list of book titles in hieratic discussed in Ryholt 2006. 114  De Cenival 2012. 115 Quack 2010/2011. 116  Zauzich 2000a; Gaudard 2009; Devauchelle 2014; Jasnow 2011. 117 Jordan 2015. 118  Hoffmann and Jones 2006/2007; von Lieven 2007.

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1078   Richard Jasnow basis of ser­ious study.119 Quack has suggested that one very obscure text may even deal with animal husbandry.120

Religious texts Demotic religious and theological texts are extremely significant.121 Newly edited texts are making increasingly clear how abundant was the corpus of scholarly theological in demotic. Quack is preparing the extraordinary Book of the Temple for publication.122 The editio princeps of the Book of Thoth and a revised partial translation have appeared.123 Of great interest are Smith’s edition of a cosmological work (first half of the second century ad)124 and fragmentary papyrus texts recounting a rebellion against the sun god.125 Recently published are fragments of a demotic-hieratic translation and commentaries to the famous Book of Faiyum.126 There are also demotic ‘transcriptions’ of cultic or ritual texts such as the Ritual of Offering,127 and François Gaudard has edited an important Berlin demotic text associated with the Khoiak Festival.128 Widmer has presented an extensive composition preserved on papyri and dealing with the cults of Osiris and Horus at Soknopaiou Nesos.129 A Tebtunis text in Berkeley seems to focus on the conflict between Ra and Apophis.130 Demotic is rich in funerary and underworld literature,131 and Mark Smith in particular has contributed greatly to our knowledge of these kinds of works. Papyrus Harkness, for example, preserves detailed ritual texts recited for the benefit of a woman.132 Martin Stadler has published the demotic version of the Book of the Dead, perhaps the last exemplar of that composition.133 The demotic versions of the Book of Breathing are equally significant.134 Interesting demotic funerary texts also appear on coffins and shrouds.135 Considerable work has been done recently on mummy labels136 and mummy bandages.137 The editing of the important Artemis Liturgical Papyrus is an intriguing on-going project.138 In Tuna el-Gebel, pebbles inscribed in demotic with the names of deities (curiously arranged around the head of a mummy) have been published.139 Numerous demotic tombstone-inscriptions have also been discovered at Dendera.140 Demotic religious hymns, such as those to Sobek141 and to Raatawy,142 often offer interpretive challenges, due in part to unorthographic spellings of archaic words. Complex is the relationship between demotic and temple hieroglyphic versions of hymns.143 Particularly fascinating is a series of texts focused on the cult of Mut, which apparently document sacred 119 Hoffmann 2010. 120 Quack 2012. 121  See Stadler 2012c. 122  Quack 1998b; Quack 2016d. 123  Jasnow and Zauzich 2005; Jasnow and Zauzich 2014. 124 Smith 2002. 125 Smith 2000b. 126 Beinlich 2016. 127  Devauchelle and Widmer 2017. 128  Gaudard 2009; Gaudard 2012. 129 Widmer 2015. 130  Jasnow forthcoming. 131 Smith 2009. 132  Smith 2005. See also Smith 2010. 133  Stadler 2003a; see also Smith forthcoming. 134 Dieleman 2014b. 135  See, e.g., Smith 1998; Depauw 2002b; Riggs and Stadler 2003. 136  Arlt  2011; Vleeming  2011. See now the Oriental Institute Mummy Label Database (MLD) https://oi.uchicago.edu/research/projects/mummy-label-database-mld. 137 Kockelmann 2008b. 138 Dieleman 2015. 139  Minas-Nerpel 2012/2013. 140 Moje 2008. 141  Hoffmann 2002; Stadler 2012a. See also Widmer 2007. 142 Kockelmann 2003. 143  See, e.g., Quack 2001; Smith 1999.

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Demotic texts   1079 drunkenness and ritual sex.144 Quack has published a ‘festival song’, presumably performed during a procession, from Soknopaiou Nesos.145 The Serapeum yields significant demotic inscriptions connected with the Apis-cult,146 and North Saqqara generally is, of course, famously rich in such material.147 Similarly, demotic texts provide important evidence for the Bucheum148 and the ibis and falcon cults in Thebes.149 Oracular, omen, and dream texts are prominent in Late-Period Egypt; Stadler has edited an extensive oracular work,150 and the Tebtunis excavations have recovered many oracular questions.151 In addition, the present author has published a puzzling example of an omen.152 A particularly astonishing kind of omen text is the so-called Book of the Gecko, in which future events depend on the body-part on which a gecko falls.153 It has been suggested that a puzzling icosahedron, inscribed with twenty divine names, found at Dakhla Oasis, had an oracular function.154 John Ray has presented a fascinating dream text,155 and, more recently, Lugi Prada has been very active in researching the content, form, and language of dream-books.156 Demotic graffiti, common on temples and rock outcroppings at desert sites, also preserve significant historical and religious information.157

Magic Robert Ritner has contributed particularly valuable overviews on magic, utilizing demotic evidence,158 and Jacco Dieleman has investigated the use of the various scripts, bilingualism, priestly authorship, and textual transmission in the justly famous Papyrus Leiden I 384 and Papyrus London-Leiden,159 while Quack discusses the relationship of the demotic magical texts with their pharaonic antecedents.160 Not many new ‘magical’ texts in demotic have been published in recent years, but an ostracon from Narmuthis and Papyrus LondonLeiden formed the basis of an interesting article on astrology and astronomy by Dieleman,161 and a very curious curse directed towards a woman has been the subject of recent discussion.162 Among recently published ‘magical-mythological’ demotic texts may be mentioned a fair-sized fragment preserving a narrative dealing with Isis, Horus, and a scorpion, rem­in­is­cent of the Metternich Stela.163

144 Depauw and Smith  2004; Jasnow and Smith  2010/2011; Jasnow and Smith  2015; Jasnow and Zauzich 2017. 145 Quack 2014. 146  See, e.g., Devauchelle 2000 and 2004; Farid 1997. 147  Smith and Martin 2009; Ray 2011; Smith, Andrews, and Davies 2011. 148  Goldbrunner 2004. 149 Scalf 2015. 150  Stadler 2004a; see also Naether 2010. 151  Di Cerbo 2004. 152 Jasnow 1997. 153 Zauzich 2012. 154 Minas-Nerpel 2007. 155 Ray 1999. 156  Prada 2012; Prada 2014; Prada 2017; see also Quack 2016c. 157 See, for example, Jacquet-Gordon  2003; Darnell  2002; Cruz-Uribe  2001; Cruz-Uribe  2008; Pope  2008/2009; Cruz-Uribe and J.H.F.  Dijkstra 2012; Depauw  2014; Vleeming  2014; Vleeming  2015; Cruz-Uribe 2016. 158  Ritner 1993; Ritner 1995. See also Quack 2008. 159  Dieleman 2005. See also Dieleman 2006; Dieleman 2014a; Love 2016. 160  Quack 1998a. See also the lengthy study of the names of demons in the magical papyri, Quack 2004. 161  Dieleman 2003. See also Menchetti 2005; Winkler 2009; Winkler 2016. 162 Fischer-Elfert 2014. 163  Jasnow et al. 2016: 56–60; cf. Steiner 2001.

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1080   Richard Jasnow

Suggested reading Mark Depauw’s Companion to Demotic Studies (1997) is an excellent introduction to the subject, providing bibliography for many important earlier works not cited in this entry. The journal Enchoria contains an annual bibliography of demotic; the published proceedings of demotic conferences naturally also provide a clear reflection of current research trends.164 Demotic text editions are being increasingly incorporated into the standard papyro­logic­al and Egyptological reference volumes.165 The comprehensive lexicon of Egyptian divine epithets and names, for example, fortunately includes demotic sources.166 Trismegistos (http://www.trismegistos.org/), which describes itself as ‘an interdisciplinary portal of papyrological and epigraphical resources’, is a powerful tool for demoticists and indeed all those interested in Late-Period Egypt. A modern reference grammar is still lacking. The best introductory grammar is by Janet Johnson,167 whose work on the demotic verbal system remains fundamental.168 Each year brings new grammatical studies,169 but demotic still offers rich untapped material to the linguist. Palaeography is central for demoticists. While the practical use of a demotic palae­og­raphy is debatable, the development and variants of individual signs are indisputably worthy of research. Ola el-Aguizy has published a palaeography of demotic, based on papyri in the Egyptian Museum, Cairo.170 Sven Vleeming in particular has produced numerous significant studies of individual groups.171 The relationship between demotic and Late-Period hieratic is also important, and merits further investigation.172 Demotic lexical problems abound. Johnson (1976) has completed an on-line dictionary of demotic, which supplements the still basic Erichsen (1954). Egyptologists producing lexicographical reference tools now fortunately pay more attention to demotic than ­previously.173 Christiane Hoffmann has produced a valuable on-line ‘Wortlist’.174 The ‘Corrigenda’ to published demotic documents and inscriptions is a welcome aid, given the inherent problems of deciphering the script.175 Naturally, scholars frequently publish detailed studies of words presenting particular lexicographical problems.176 The Demotisches Namenbuch is an essential resource for Late-Period studies.177 Demotic names provide abundant evidence on Egyptian society and religion.178 The research of such scholars as Czaba La’da (who studies foreign ethnicities in Egypt)179 incorporates both Greek and demotic sources. The web-site for the Chicago Demotic Dictionary is: http://oi.uchicago.edu/OI/DEPT/ PUB/SRC/CDD/CDD.html. 164  See, e.g., Ryholt 2002; Depauw and Broux 2014. 165  See, e.g., Oates et al. 2001. 166 Leitz 2002. 167 Johnson 1991. 168 Johnson 1976. 169  See, e.g., Simpson 1996; Widmer 1999; Depauw 2002a, Depuydt 2002/3; Johnson 2017; Prada 2017. 170  El-Aguizy 1998; Vittmann 2000. 171  See, e.g., Vleeming 1991. 172  Verhoeven 2001: 26–9. 173  See, e.g., Wilson 1997. 174  Hoffmann 2013. See also Vittmann 2008–9. 175  den Brinker, Muhs, and Vleeming. 2005–13; Hartman and Vleeming 2013. 176  See, e.g., Hoffmann and Quack 2014. 177  Lüddeckens et al. 1980–2000. 178  See, e.g., Vittmann 1997/1998 and 2002. 179 La’da 2002.

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Demotic texts   1081

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1086   Richard Jasnow Jasnow, R. 2014. P. Vienna D 13766: a Fragmentary Demotic Wisdom Text. In S. Lippert and M. Stadler (eds), Gehilfe des Thot: Festschrift für Karl-Theodor Zauzich zu seinem 75. Geburtstag. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 55–60. Jasnow, R. Forthcoming. P.  Tebt. Frag. 14,433+14,434: A Demotic Theological Composition on the Conflict between Re and Apophis, Enchoria: Zeitschrift für Demotistik und Koptologie. Jasnow, R. 2002. Recent Trends and Advances in the Study of Late Period Egyptian Literature, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 39: 207–16. Jasnow, R. 2003b. ‘Response’ to John Baines, Research on Egyptian Literature: Background, Definitions, Prospects. In Z. Hawass (ed.), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-first Century: Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists: Cairo, 2000. Vol. 3. Cairo–New York: American University in Cairo Press, 33–7. Jasnow, R. 2003a. Third Intermediate Period. In R. Westbrook (ed.), A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law. Vol. 2. Handbuch der Orientalistik, erste Abteilung: Der Nahe und Mittlere Osten/Handbook of Oriental Studies, section 1: The Near and Middle East 72. Leiden: Brill, 777–818. Jasnow, R. and Smith, M. 2010/2011. ‘As for Those Who have Called me Evil, Mut will call them Evil’: Orgiastic Cultic Behavior and its Critics in Ancient Egypt (PSI Inv. [provv.] D 114a + PSI Inv. 3056 verso, Enchoria 32: 9–53. Jasnow, R. and Smith, M. 2015. New Fragments of the Demotic Mut Text in Copenhagen and Florence. In R. Jasnow and K. Cooney (eds), Joyful in Thebes: Egyptological Studies in Honor of ­Betsy M. Bryan. Material and Visual Culture of Ancient Egypt 1. Atlanta: Lockwood Press, 339–82. Jasnow, R. and Zauzich, K.-Th. 2005. The Ancient Egyptian Book of Thoth: A Demotic Discourse on Knowledge and Pendant to the Classical Hermetica. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Jasnow, R. and Zauzich, K.-Th. 2014. Conversations in the House of Life: a new Translation of the Ancient Egyptian Book of Thoth. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Jasnow, R. and Zauzich, K.-Th. 2017. Another Praise of the Goddess Ait (O.  Sommerhausen 1). In  R.  Jasnow and G.  Widmer (eds), Illuminating Osiris: Egyptological Studies in Honor of Mark Smith. Material and Visual Culture of Ancient Egypt 2. Atlanta: Lockwood Press, 155–62. Jasnow, R. et al. 2016. The Demotic and Hieratic Papyri in the Suzuki Collection of Tokai University. Atlanta: Lockwood Press. Jay, J. 2016. Orality and Literature in the Demotic Tales. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East 81. Leiden–Boston: Brill. Johnson, J. 1976. The Demotic Verbal System. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 38. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Johnson, J. 1991. Thus Wrote ‘Onchsheshonqy: An Introductory Grammar of Demotic. 2nd edition. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 45. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Johnson, J. 1998. Women, Wealth, and Work in Egyptian Society of the Ptolemaic Period. In W. Clarysse, A. Schoors, and H. Willems (eds), Egyptian Religion: The Last Thousand Years. Part II. Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Jan Quaegebeur. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 85. Leuven: Peeters, 1393–421. Johnson, J. 2017. Compound Nouns, Especially Abstracts, in Demotic. In R. Jasnow and G. Widmer (eds), Illuminating Osiris: Egyptological Studies in Honor of Mark Smith. Material and Visual Culture of Ancient Egypt 2. Atlanta: Lockwood Press, 155–62. Jordan, B. 2015. Die demotischen Wissenstexte (Recht und Mathematik) des pMattha. 2 vols. Tuna el-Gebel 5. Vaterstetten: Patrick Brose. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 2000. Die 28 demotischen Hibis-Ostraka in New York, Enchoria 26: 58–83. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 2004. Rund um die thebanischen Tempel (Demotische Ostraka zur PfründenWirtschaft). In F. Hoffmann and H.-J. Thissen (eds), Res Severa Verum Gaudium. Festschrift für Karl-Theodor Zauzich zum 65. Geburtstag am 8. Juni 2004. Studia Demotica 6. Leuven: Peeters, 283–37. Kaplony-Heckel, U. 2009. Land und Leute am Nil nach demotischen Inschriften, Papyri und Ostraka. Gesammelte Schriften. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 71. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag.

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Demotic texts   1087 Keenan, J., Manning, J. G., and Yiftach-Firanko, U. 2014. Law and Legal Practice in Egypt from Alexander to the Arab Conquest. A Selection of Papyrological Sources in Translation, with Introductions and Commentary. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kockelmann, H. 2003. A Roman Period Demotic Manual of Hymns to Rattawy and Other Deities (P. Ashm. 1984.76), Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 89: 217–29. Kockelmann, H. 2008a. Praising the Goddess. A Comparative and Annotated Re-Edition of Six Demotic Hymns and Praises Addressed to Isis. Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete, Beiheft 15. Berlin–New York: De Gruyter. Kockelmann, H. 2008b. Untersuchungen zu den späten Totenbuch-Handschriften auf Mumienbinden, 3 vols. Studien zum Altägyptischen Totenbuch 12. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. La’da, C. 2002. Foreign Ethnics in Hellenistic Egypt. Prosopographia Ptolemaica 10= Studia Hellenistica 38. Leuven: Peeters. Leitz, C. 2002. Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen. 8 vols. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 110–116. Leuven: Peeters. von Lieven, A. 2007. Grundriss des Laufes der Sterne. Das so-genannte Nutbuch. 2 vols. The Carlsberg 8= CNI Publications 31. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Lippert, S. L. 2001. Komplexe Wortspiele in der Demotischen Chronik und im Mythus vom Sonnenauge, Enchoria 27: 88–100. Lippert, S. L. 2004. Ein demotisches juristisches Lehrbuch: Untersuchungen zu Papyrus Berlin P 23757 rto. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 66. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Lippert, S. L. 2008a. Einführung in die altägyptische Rechtsgeschichte. Einführungen und Quellentexte zur Ägyptologie 5. Berlin: LIT Verlag. Lippert, S. L. 2008b. Like Phoenix from the Mummies: Demotic Documents from Oxyrhynchos in Cartonnages from Tebtunis. In S. L. Lippert and M. Schentuleit (eds), Graeco-Roman Fayum— Texts and Archaeology. Proceedings of the Third International Fayum Symposium, Freudenstadt, May 29–June 1, 2007. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 165–71. Lippert, S. L. 2015. Chapels, Chambers and Gateways: The Religious Architecture of Soknopaiou Nesos According to the Documentary Papyri. In M. Capasso and P. Davoli (eds), Soknopaios, the temple and worship: proceedings of the First Round Table of the Centro di Studi Papirologici of Universita del Salento, Lecce– October 9th 2013. Edaphos 1. Lecce: Pensa Multimedia, 155–65. Lippert, S. L. and Schentuleit, M. 2003. P.  Wien D 6950—eine unpublizierte Ehefrauenschrift aus römischer Zeit. In S.  Bickel and A.  Loprieno (eds), Basel Egyptology Prize 1: Junior Research in Egyptian History, Archaeology, and Philology. Aegyptiaca Helvetica 17. Basel: Schwabe & Co. AG Verlag, 327–42. Lippert, S. L. and Schentuleit, M. (eds). 2005. Tebtynis und Soknopaiu Nesos: Leben im römerzeitlichen Fajum. Akten des Internationalen Symposions vom 11. bis 13. Dezember 2003 in Sommerhausen bei Würzburg. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Lippert, S. L. and Schentuleit, M. 2006a. Demotische Dokumente aus Dime. Band I: Ostraka. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Lippert, S. L. and Schentuleit, M. 2006b. Demotische Dokumente aus Dime. Band II: Quittungen. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Lippert, S. L. and Schentuleit, M. 2010. Demotische Dokumente aus Dime. Band III. 2 vols. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Love, E. O. D. 2016. Code-Switching with the Gods: The Bilingual (Old Coptic-Greek) Spells of PGM IV (P. Bibliotheque Nationale Supplément Grec. 574) and their Linguistic, Religious, and Socio-Cultural Context in Late Roman Egypt. Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde—Beihefte 4. Berlin; Boston: De Gruyter. Lüddeckens, E. 1998. Demotische Urkunden aus Hawara: Umschrift, Übersetzung und Kommentar. 2 vols. Verzeichnis der orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland Supplementband 28. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Lüddeckens, E. et al. 1980–2000. Demotisches Namenbuch. Wiesbaden: Dr. Ludwig Reichert Verlag.

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1088   Richard Jasnow Manning, J. 1997. The Hauswaldt Papyri. A Third Century BC Family Dossier from Edfu. Demotische Studien 12. Sommerhausen: Gisela Zauzich Verlag. Manning, J. 2003a. Demotic Law. In R.  Westbrook (ed.), A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law. Handbook of Oriental Studies 72/2. Leiden: Brill, 819–62. Manning, J. 2003b. Land and Power in Ptolemaic Egypt. The Structure of Land Tenure. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Martin, C. 2002. From the Serapeum to the Rijksmuseum: The Publication of the Saqqara Demotic Papyri in Leiden. In K. Ryholt (ed.), Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies: Copenhagen, 23–7 August 1999. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 255–8. Martin, C. 2017. A Third-Century Demotic Land Lease (P. BM EA 10858). In R. Jasnow and G. Widmer (eds), Illuminating Osiris: Egyptological Studies in Honor of Mark Smith. Material and Visual Culture of Ancient Egypt 2. Atlanta: Lockwood Press. 247–58. Martin, C., Donker Van Heel, K., and Hoogendijk, F. A. J. 2011. Demotic Papyri from the Memphite Necropolis (P. Dem. Memphis) in the Collections of the National Museum of Antiquities in Leiden, the British Museum and the Hermitage Museum. 2 vols. Papers on Archaeology of the Leiden Museum of Antiquities, Egyptology 5. Turnhout: Brepols. Martin, C. and Smith, H.  S. 2010a. Demotic Letters from the Sacred Animal Necropolis, North Saqqara. In H. Knuf, C. Leitz, and D. Von Recklinghausen (eds), Honi soit qui mal y pense. Studien zum pharaonischen, griechisch-römischen und spätantiken Ägypten zu Ehren von Heinz-Josef Thissen. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 194. Leuven–Paris–Walpole, 86–97. Martin, C., Smith, H. S., and Davies, S. 2010b. Correspondence from the Necropolis: Two Demotic ­Letters from the Sacred Animal Necropolis, North Saqqara. In A.  Dodson, J. J.  Johnston, and W. Monkhouse (eds), A Good Scribe and an Exceedingly Wise Man: Studies in Honour of W. J. Tait. GHP Egyptology 21. London: Golden House, 213–28. Mattha, G. and Hughes, G. 1975. The Demotic Legal Code of Hermopolis West. Bibliothèque d’étude 45. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Menchetti, A. 2005. Ostraka demotici e bilingui da Narmuthis (ODN 100–188). Biblioteca di Studi Egittologici 5. Pisa: ETS. Menchetti, A. 2011. Testi e documenti amministrativi del tempio di Narmuthis. In P. Buzi, D. Picchi, and M. Zecchi (eds), Aegyptiaca et Coptica. Studi in onore di Sergio Pernigotti. BAR International Series 2264. Oxford: Archaeopress, 225–34. Minas-Nerpel, M. 2007. A Demotic Inscribed Icosahedron from Dakhleh Oasis, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 93: 137–48. Minas-Nerpel, M. 2012/2013. Pebbles Inscribed in Demotic from a Burial in the Tomb of Padikem at Tuna el-Gebel, Enchoria 33: 65–89. Minnen, P.  van. 1998. Boorish or Bookish? Literature in Egyptian Villages in the Fayum in the Graeco-Roman Period, The Journal of Juristic Papyrology 28: 99–184. Moje, J. 2008. Demotische Epigraphik aus Dandara: Die demotischen Grabstelen. Internet-Beiträge zur Ägyptologie und Sudanarchäologie 9. Berlin–London: Golden House Publications. Monson, A. P. 2012. Agriculture and Taxation in Early Ptolemaic Egypt: Demotic Land Surveys and Accounts (P. Agri). Papyrologische Texte und Abhandlungen 46. Bonn: Habelt. Muhs, B. 2003. Membership in Private Associations in Ptolemaic Tebtunis, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 44: 1–21. Muhs, B. 2005. Tax Receipts, Tax Payers and Taxes in Early Ptolemaic Thebes. Oriental Institute Publications 126. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Muhs, B. 2011. Receipts, Scribes and Collectors in Early Ptolemaic Thebes (O. Taxes 2). Studia Demotica 8. Leuven­–Paris–Walpole: Peeters. Naether, F. 2010. Die Sortes Astrampsychi: Problemlösungsstrategien durch Orakel im römischen Ägypten. Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 3. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Naether, F. 2015. Griechisch-ägyptische Magie nach den Papyri Graecae et Demoticae Magicae. In A.  Jördens (ed.), Ägyptische Magie und ihre Umwelt. Philippika 80. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 191–217.

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1090   Richard Jasnow Akten des Basler Kolloquiums um ägyptisch-nichtsemitischen Sprachkontakt Basel 9.–11. Juli 2003. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 427–507. Quack, J. F. 2006/7. Ein Setne-Fragment in Marburg (pMarburg Inv. 38), Enchoria 30: 71–74. Quack, J. F. 2008. Texte aus Ägypten: 4. demotische, magische und divinatorische Texte. In B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm (eds), Omina, Orakel, Rituale und Beschwörungen. Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, Neue Folge 4. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn, 331–84. Quack, J. F. 2010/11. Ein Fragment eines demotischen ethnographischen Textes (PSI Inv. D 88), Enchoria 32: 81–5. Quack, J. F. 2012. Papyrus Berlin P. 23817: Reste eines semidemotischen Traktats über Tierzucht? In V. M. Lepper (ed.), Forschung in der Papyrussammlung: Eine Festgabe für das Neue Museum. Ägyptische und Orientalische Papyri und Handschriften des Ägyptischen Museums und Papyrussammlung Berlin 1. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 329–35. Quack, J. F. 2014. Ein Festlied aus Soknopaiu Nesos. In S. Lippert and M. Stadler (eds), Gehilfe des Thot: Festschrift für Karl-Theodor Zauzich zu seinem 75. Geburtstag. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 89–94. Quack, J. F. 2015. Dämonen und andere höhere Wesen in der Magie als Feinde und Helfer. In A. Jördens (ed.), Ägyptische Magie und ihre Umwelt. Philippika 80. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 101–18. Quack, J. F. 2016a. Papyrus Heidelberg Dem. 679: ein frühdemotischer (sub)literarischer Text? In P. Collombert et al. (eds), Aere perennius: mélanges égyptologiques en l’honneur de Pascal Vernus. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 242. Leuven: Peeters, 593–610. Quack, J. F. 2016b. Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte III: die demotische und ­gräco-ägyptische Literatur. Third revised edition. Einführungen und Quellentexte zur Ägyptologie 3. Berlin and Münster. Quack, J. F. 2016c. Ein neues demotisches Traumbuch der Ptolemäerzeit (Papyrus Gießen D 102 rekto). In S. L. Lippert, M. Schentuleit, and M. A. Stadler (eds), Sapientia Felicitas: Festschrift für Günter Vittmann zum 29. Februar 2016. Cahiers ‘Égypte Nilotique et Méditerranéenne’ 14. Montpellier: Équipe ‘Égypte Nilotique et Méditerranéenne’, 489–505. Quack, J. F. 2016d. Translating the Realities of Cult: The Case of the Book of the Temple. In I. Rutherford (ed.), Greco-Egyptian interactions: literature, translation, and culture, 500 bce–300 ce. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 267–86. Quack, J. F. 2016e. The So-Called Demotic Chronicle. In K. Lawson Younger Jr. (ed.), The Context of Scripture. Volume 4: Supplements. Leiden–Boston: Brill, 27–32. Quack, J. F. 2017. Eine weise Stimme der Autorität (Papyrus Amherst Eg. XLIII.1 rt.): mit Anhängen über Abrechnungen (Papyrus Amherst Eg. XLIII.1 vs. und XLIII.2). In R. Jasnow and G. Widmer (eds), Illuminating Osiris: Egyptological Studies in Honor of Mark Smith. Material and Visual Culture of Ancient Egypt 2. Atlanta: Lockwood Press, 303–18. Quack, J. F. and Ryholt, K. 2000. Notes on the Setne Story P. Carlsberg 207. In P. Frandsen and K. Ryholt (eds), A Miscellany of Demotic Texts and Studies. The Carlsberg Papyri 3, CNI Publications 22. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 141–63. Ray, J. 2005. Demotic Papyri and Ostraca from Qasr Ibrim. Texts from Excavations 13. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Ray, J. 1999. Dreams Before a Wise Man: A Demotic Ostracon in the Nicholson Museum, University of Sydney (inv. R. 98). In A. Leahy and J. Tait (eds), Studies on Ancient Egypt in Honour of H. S. Smith. Occasional Publications 13. London: Egypt Exploration Society, 241–47. Ray, J. 2011. Texts from the Baboon and Falcon galleries. Demotic, Hieroglyphic and Greek Inscriptions from the Sacred Animal Necropolis, North Saqqara. Texts from Excavations 15. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Richter, T. S. 2002. Alte Isoglossen im Rechtswortschatz koptischer Urkunden, Lingua Aegyptia 10: 389–99. Riggs, C. and Stadler, M. A. 2003. A Roman Shroud and its Demotic Inscriptions in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 40: 69–87. Ritner, R. K. 1993. The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 54. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago.

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Demotic texts   1091 Ritner, R. K. 1995. Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire: The Demotic Spells and their Religious Context. In W.  Haase (ed.), Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt, Vol. II.18.5. Berlin–New York: De Gruyter, 3333–79. Ritner, R. K. 2002. Third Intermediate Period Antecedents of Demotic Legal Terminology. In K. Ryholt (ed.), Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies: Copenhagen, 23–7 August 1999. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 343–59. Ritner, R. K. 2003a. Setne I and II. In W. K. Simpson (ed.), The Literature of Ancient Egypt. New Haven: Yale University Press, 453–89. Ritner, R. K. 2003b. Onkhsheshonqy. In W.  K.  Simpson (ed.), The Literature of Ancient Egypt. New Haven: Yale University Press, 497–529. Ritner, R. K. 2004. A Selection of Demotic Ostraca in the Detroit Institute of Arts. In F. Hoffmann and H.-J. Thissen (eds), Res Severa Verum Gaudium. Festschrift für Karl-Theodor Zauzich zum 65. Geburtstag am 8. Juni 2004. Studia Demotica 6. Leuven: Peeters, 497–508. Rosmorduc, S. 2016. 145: Fragment de sagesse. In M.-P. Chaufray and S. Wackenier (eds), Papyrus de la Sorbonne (P. Sorb. IV No. 145–160). Papyrologica Parisina 4. Paris: PUPS, 25–8. Ryholt, K. 1999. The Story of Petese Son of Petetum and Seventy other Good and Bad Stories (P. Petese). The Carlsberg Papyri 4= CNI Publications 23. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Ryholt, K. 2000. A New Version of the Introduction to the Teachings of ‘Onch-Sheshonqy (P. Carlsberg 304 + PSI inv. D 5 + P. CtYBR 4512 + P. Berlin P 30489. In P. Frandsen and K. Ryholt (eds), A Miscellany of Demotic Texts and Studies. The Carlsberg Papyri 3= CNI Publications 22. Co­pen­hagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 113–40. Ryholt, K. 2002. Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies: Copenhagen, 23–7 August 1999. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Ryholt, K. 2004. The Assyrian Invasion of Egypt in Egyptian Literary Tradition: A Survey of the Source Material. In J. Dercksen (ed.), Assyria and Beyond: Studies Presented to Mogens Trolle Larsen. Leuven: Peeters, 483–510. Ryholt, K. 2005. The Petese Stories II (P. Petese II). The Carlsberg Papyri 6, CNI Publications 29. Co­pen­hagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Ryholt, K. 2006. A Hieratic List of Book Titles (P. Carslberg 325). In K. Ryholt (ed.), Hieratic Texts from the Collections. The Carlsberg Papyri 7= CNI Publication 30. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 151–5. Ryholt, K. 2009. The Life of Imhotep (P. Carlsberg 85). In G. Widmer and D. Devauchelle (eds), Actes du IXe congrès international des études démotiques, Paris, 31 aout– 3 septembre 2005. Bibliothèque d’étude 147. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 305–15. Ryholt, K. 2010a. A Sesostris Story in Demotic Egyptian and Demotic Literary Exercises (O. Leipzig UB 2217). In H. Knuf, C. Leitz, and D. Von Recklinghausen (eds), Honi soit qui mal y pense. Studien zum pharaonischen, griechisch-römischen und spätantiken Ägypten zu Ehren von Heinz-Josef Thissen. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 194. Leuven–Paris–Walpole: Peeters, 429–37. Ryholt, K. 2010b. Late Period Literature. In A.  Lloyd (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Egypt. Vol. 2. Chichester: Blackwell, 709–31. Ryholt, K. 2012a. A Demotic Narrative in Berlin and Brooklyn Concerning the Assyrian Invasion of Egypt (Pap. Berlin 15682 + Pap. Brooklyn 47.218.21-B. In V. M. Lepper (ed.), Forschung in der Papyrussammlung: Eine Festgabe für das Neue Museum. Ägyptische und Orientalische Papyri und Handschriften des Ägyptischen Museums und Papyrussammlung Berlin 1. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 337–53. Ryholt, K. 2012b. Narrative Literature from the Tebtunis Temple Library. CNI Publications 35. Co­pen­hagen: Museum Tusculanum Press. Ryholt, K. 2013. Imitatio Alexandri in Egyptian Literary Tradition. In T. Whitmarsh and S. Thomson (eds), The Romance between Greece and the East. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 59–78. Ryholt, K. 2014. A Fragment from the Beginning of Papyrus Spiegelberg (P. Carlsberg 565). In A. Dodson, J. J. Johnston, and W. Monkhouse (eds), A Good Scribe and an Exceedingly Wise Man: Studies in Honour of W. J. Tait. GHP Egyptology 21. London: Golden House Publications, 271–8.

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Demotic texts   1093 Smith, M. 2017. Transformation and Justification: A Unique Adaptation of Book of the Dead Spell 125 in P. Louvre E 3452. In R. K. Ritner (ed.), Essays for the Library of Seshat: Studies Presented to Janet H. Johnson on the Occasion of her 70th Birthday. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 70. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 363–80. Stadler M. A. 2003a. Der Totenpapyrus des Pa-Month (P. Bibl. Nat. 149). Studien zum altägyptischen Totenbuch 6. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Stadler M. A. 2003b. Zwei Bemerkungen zum Papyrus Insinger, Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 130: 186–96. Stadler M. A. 2004a. Isis, Das göttliche Kind und Die Weltordnung: Neue religiöse Texte aus dem Fayum nach dem Papyrus Wien D. 12006 Recto. Mitteilungen aus der Papyrussammlung der Österreichischen Nationalbibliothek, N. S. 23, Folge MPER 28. Vienna: Brüder Hollinek. Stadler, M. A. 2004b. Rechtskodex von Hermupolis (P. Kairo JE 89.127–30+89.137–43). In B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm (eds), Texte zum Rechts- und Wirtschaftsleben. Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, Neue Folge 1. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 185–207. Stadler, M. A. 2008. On the Demise of Egyptian Writing: Working with a Problematic Source Basis. In J. Baines, J. Bennet, and S. Houston (eds), The Disappearance of Writing Systems. Perspectives on Literacy and Communication. London–Oakville: Equinox, 157–81. Stadler, M. A. 2012a. Eine neue Quelle zur Theologie des Sobek aus Dime: Papyrus British Library 264 recto. In J. Hallof (ed.), Auf den Spuren des Sobek: Festschrift für Horst Beinlich zum 28. Dezember 2012. Studien zu den Ritualszenen altägyptischer Tempel 12. Dettelbach: Röll, 265–73. Stadler, M. A. 2012b. Demotica aus Dime: ein Überblick über die in Dime während der Kampagnen 2001–2009 gefundenen demotischen Texte. In M. Capasso and P. Davoli (eds), Soknopaiou Nesos Project 1 (2003–2009). Biblioteca degli ‘Studi di egittologia e di papirologia’ 9. Pisa: Fabrizio Serra Editore, 249–68. Stadler, M. A. 2012c. Einführung in die ägyptische Religion ptolemäisch-römischer Zeit nach den demotischen religiösen Texten. Einführungen und Quellentexte zur Ägyptologie 7. Berlin–Münster: LIT Verlag. Steiner, R. 2001. The Scorpion Spell from Wadi Hamammat: Another Aramaic Text in Demotic Script, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 60: 259–68. Tait, W. J. 1991. P. Carlsberg 207: Two Columns of a Setna-text. In P. Frandsen (ed.), Demotic Texts from the Collection. The Carlsberg Papyri 1= CNI Publications 15. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 19–46. Tait, W. J. 1996. Demotic Literature: Forms and Genres. In A. Loprieno (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Literature: History and Forms. Probleme der Ägyptologie 10. Leiden: Brill, 175–87. Tait, W. J. 2000. P. Carlsberg 433 and 434: Two Versions of the Text of P. Spiegelberg. In P. Frandsen and  K.  Ryholt (eds), A Miscellany of Demotic Texts and Studies. The Carlsberg Papyri 3= CNI Publications 22. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 59–82. Tait, W. J. 2008/2009. Pa-di-pep tells Pharaoh the Story of the Condemnation of Djed-her: Fragments of Demotic Narrative in the British Museum, Enchoria 31: 113–43. Thissen, H.-J. 1999. Homerischer Einfluss im Inaros-Petubastis-Zyklus, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 27: 369–87. Thissen, H.-J. 2002. Das Lamm des Bokchoris. In A. Blasius and B. Schipper (eds), Apokalyptik und Ägypten. Eine kritische Analyse der relevanten Texte aus dem griechisch-römischen Ägypten. Orientalia Lovenensia Analecta 107. Leuven–Paris: Sterling, 113–38. Thissen, H.-J. 2013. Donkeys and Water: Demotic Ostraca in Cologne as Evidence for Desert Travel between Oxyrhynchos and the Bahariya Oasis in the 2nd century BC. In F. Förster and H. Reimer (eds), Desert Road Archaeology in Egypt and Beyond. Cologne: Heinrich Barth Institut, 391–7. Thompson, D. J. 1998. Demeter in Graeco-Roman Egypt. In W. Clarysse, A. Schoors, and H. Willems (eds), Egyptian Religion: The Last Thousand Years. Part II. Studies Dedicated to the Memory of Jan Quaegebeur. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 84. Leuven: Peeters, 699–707. Uytterjoeven, I. 2009. Hawara in the Graeco-Roman Period. Life and Death in a Fayum Village. With an Appendix on the Pottery from Hawara by Silvie Marchand. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 174. Leuven–Paris–Walpole: Peeters.

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1094   Richard Jasnow Valbelle, D. and Leclant, J. 2000. Le Décret de Memphis. Colloque de la Fondation Singer-Polignax à l’occasion de la célébration du bicentenaire de la découverte de la Pierre de Rosette. Paris 1er juin 1999. Paris: Diffusion de Boccard. Vandorpe, K. 2000. Paying Taxes to the Theauroi of the Pathyrites in a Century of Rebellion (186–88 B. C.). In L. Mooren (ed.), Politics, Administration and Society in the Hellenistic and Roman World. Proceedings of the International Colloquium, Bertinoro 19–24 July 1997. Studia Hellenistica 36. Leuven: Peeters, 405–36. Vandorpe, K. 2002. The Bilingual Family Archive of Dryton, his wife Apollonia and their Daughter Senmouthis. Collectanea Hellenistica 4. Brussels: Peeters. Vandorpe, K. and Waebens, S. 2009. Reconstructing Pathyris’ archives. A multicultural community in Hellenistic Egypt. Collectanea Hellenistica 3. Brussels: Peeters. Vandorpe, K., Clarysse, W., and Verreth, H. 2015. Graeco-Roman Archives from the Fayum. Collectanea Hellenistica 6. Leuven–Paris–Bristol, CT: Peeters. Vandorpe, K. and Vleeming, S. 2017. The Erbstreit Papyri: a bilingual dossier from Pathyris of the second century BC. Studia Demotica 13. Leuven: Peeters. Verhoeven, U. 2001. Untersuchungen zur späthieratischen Buchschrift. Orientalia Lovaniensia ­Analecta 99. Leuven: Peeters. Vinson, S. 2018. The Craft of a Good Scribe: History, Narrative and Meaning in the First Tale of Setne Khamwas. Harvard Egyptological Studies 3. Leiden: Brill. Vittmann, G. 1997/1998. Between Grammar, Lexicography and Religion. Observations on Some Demotic Personal Names, Enchoria 24: 90–102. Vittmann, G. 1998a. Tradition und Neuerung in der demotischen Literatur, Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 125: 62–77. Vittmann, G. 1998b. Der demotische Papyrus Rylands 9. Ägypten und Altes Testament 38. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Vittmann, G. 2000. Review of El-Aguizy, A Palaeographical Study of Demotic Papyri. Enchoria 26: 189–92. Vittmann, G. 2002. Ägyptische Onomastik der Spätzeit im Spiegel der nordwestsemitischen und karischen Nebenüberlieferung. In M. Streck and S. Weninger (eds), Altorientalische und Semitische Onomastik. Alter Orient und Altes Testament: Veröffentlichungen zur Kultur und Geschichte des Alten Orients und das Alte Testament 296. Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 86–107. Vittmann, G. 2002/3. Ein Entwurf zur Dekoration eines Heiligtums in Soknopaiu Nesos (pWien D 10100), Enchoria 28: 106–36. Vittmann, G. 2003a. Ägypter und die Fremden im ersten vorchristlichen Jahrtausend. Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Vittmann, G. 2003b. Demotische und kursivhieratische Ostraka aus Mut al-Kharab. In R. S. Bagnall, P. Davoli, and C. A. Hope (eds), The Oasis Papers 6. Proceedings of the Sixth International Conference of the Dakhleh Oasis Project. Dakhleh Oasis Project Monograph 15. Oxford–Oakville: Oxbow Books, 19–31. Vittmann, G. 2008/9. Ein neues demotisches Hilfsmittel. Die ‘Datenbank demotischer Texte’, Enchoria 31: 144–52. Vittmann, G. 2017. Grain for Seth and his divine companions in Dakhleh (Ostracon Mut 21/4. In R. Jasnow And G. Widmer (eds), Illuminating Osiris: Egyptological Studies in Honor of Mark Smith. Material and Visual Culture of Ancient Egypt 2. Atlanta: Lockwood Press, 363–74. Vleeming, S. 1981. La phase initiale du démotique ancien, Chronique d’Égypte 56: 31–48. Vleeming, S. 1991. The Gooseherds of Hou (Pap. Hou). Studia Demotica 3. Leuven: Peeters. Vleeming, S. 2001. Some Coins of Artaxerxes and other Short Texts in the Demotic Script found on various Objects and gathered from many Publications. Studia Demotica 5. Leuven: Peeters. Vleeming, S. 2011. Demotic and Greek-Demotic Mummy-labels and Other Short Texts Gathered from Many Publications. 2 vols. Studia Demotica 9. Leuven: Peeters. Vleeming, S. 2014. A White Wall is a Fool’s Paper. In A. Dodson, J. J. Johnston, and W. Monkhouse (eds), A Good Scribe and an Exceedingly Wise Man: Studies in Honour of W. J. Tait. GHP Egyptology 21. London: Golden House Publications, 323–30.

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Demotic texts   1095 Vleeming, S. 2015. Demotic Graffiti and other short texts gathered from many publications (Short Texts III 1201–2350). Studia Demotica 12. Leuven–Paris–Bristol: Peeters. Wegner, W. 2014. Eine demotische Abrechnung und ein demotischer Brief aus Tebtynis (P. Hamburg D 45 und 46). In S. Lippert and M. A. Stadler (eds), Gehilfe des Thot: Festschrift für Karl-Theodor Zauzich zu seinem 75. Geburtstag. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 155–83. Widmer, G. 1999. Emphasizing and Non-emphasizing Second Tenses in the Myth of the Sun’s Eye, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 85: 165–88. Widmer, G. 2002. Pharaoh Maa-Re, Pharaoh Amenemhat and Sesostris: Three Figures from Egypt’s Past as Seen in Sources of the Graeco-Roman Period. In K. Ryholt (ed.), Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies: Copenhagen, 23–7 August 1999. Copenhagen: ­Museum Tusculanum Press, 377–93. Widmer, G. 2007. Sobek who Arises in the Primaeval Ocean (PBM EA 76638 and Pstrassbourg Dem. 31). In M. Capasso and P. Davoli (eds), New Archaeological and Papyrological Researches on the Fayyum. Proceedings of the International Meeting of Egyptology and Papyrology. Lecce, June 8th–10th 2005. Galatina. = Papyrologica Lupiensia 14. Bari: Congedo Editori, 345–54. Widmer, G. 2015. Réssurection d’Osiris–naissance d’Horus: les papyrus Berlin P. 6750 et Berlin P. 8765, témoignages de la persistance de la tradition sacerdotale dans le Fayoum à l’époque romaine. Ägyptische und Orientalische Papyri und Handschriften des Ägyptischen Museums und Papyrussammlung Berlin 3. Berlin–Boston: De Gruyter. Wilson, P. 1997. A Ptolemaic Lexikon. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 78. Leuven: Peeters. Winkler, A. 2009. On the Astrological Papyri from the Tebtunis Temple Library. In G. Widmer and D.  Devauchelle (eds), Actes du IXe congrès international des études démotiques, Paris, 31 aout– 3 septembre 2005. Bibliothèque d’étude 147. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 361–75. Winkler, A. 2016. Some Astrologers and their Handbooks in Demotic Egyptian. In J. Steele (ed.), The Circulation of Astronomical Knowledge in the Ancient World. Leiden: Brill, 245–86. Zauzich, K.-Th. 1968. Die ägyptische Schreibertradition in Aufbau, Sprache und Schrift der ­demotischen Kaufverträge aus ptolemäischer Zeit. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 19. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Zauzich, K.-Th. 1993. Papyri von der Insel Elephantine. Demotische Papyri aus den staatlichen Museen zu Berlin 3. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2000a. Die Namen der koptischen Zusatzbuchstaben und die erste ägyptische Alphabetübung, Enchoria 26:151–7. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2000b. P.  Carlsberg 21 und 22: Zwei Briefe von Bücherfreunden. In P.  Frandsen and  K.  Ryholt (eds), A Miscellany of Demotic Texts and Studies. The Carlsberg Papyri 3= CNI Publications 22. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 53–7. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2002. Demotische Musterbriefe. In K. Ryholt (ed.), Acts of the Seventh International Conference of Demotic Studies: Copenhagen, 23–7 August 1999. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 395–401. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2010/2011. Die Werke der Götter –ein Nachtrag zu P. Philadelphia E. 16335, Enchoria 32: 86–100. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2012. Das demotische ‘Buch des Geckos’ und die Palmomantik des Melampus. In V. M. Lepper (ed.), Forschung in der Papyrussammlung: Eine Festgabe für das Neue Museum. Ägyptische und Orientalische Papyri und Handschriften des Ägyptischen Museums und Papyrussammlung Berlin 1. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 355–73. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2016. Koinobitische Regeln in Narmuthis? Enchoria 34: 137–42. Zauzich, K.-Th. 2017. Eine neue demotische Lebenslehre (Pap. Berlin  P.  13605). In R.  Ritner (ed.), Essays for the Library of Seshat: Studies Presented to Janet H. Johnson on the Occasion of her 70th Birthday. Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization 70. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 441–52.

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chapter 56

Coptic texts Terry Wilfong

Introduction Texts in Coptic (the latest phase of the ancient Egyptian language, written with an alphabetic script) have a long and complex history, linked with the spread and dominance of Christianity in Egypt. Coptic texts include original writing in a variety of genres and styles, translations from other languages (mostly Greek) and also material known only from translations of lost Coptic originals into other languages. Coptic texts were written in a variety of regionally based dialects (for example Fayyumic, Akhmimic, Subakhmimic, Oxyrhynchite), dominated by Sahidic, the ‘classic’ literary dialect, and Bohairic, the ­primary dialect of later Coptic, which continues to be used for liturgical purposes to the present. Within Egyptology, Coptic texts are most often studied by scholars for linguistic ends, to understand the Coptic language itself and its relationship to earlier forms of Egyptian; Coptic texts have proven very important for the study of early Christianity in the Mediterranean world and are essential for the study of Egypt in the Late Antique and early Islamic periods. More recently, Egyptologists have begun to use Coptic texts for more general purposes, and they have begun to be profitable fields for the wider study of social and economic history. The use of Greek letters to write names and short passages in Egyptian is known from as early as the third–second centuries bc, but the consistent use of an alphabetic script (based on the Greek alphabet with supplementary Egyptian characters) is not well attested until the Roman period (first–second centuries ad). This alphabet was sometimes used to write glosses in demotic and hieratic texts as well as to render longer religious/magical texts. These are the earliest examples of what is known as Old Coptic, used for horoscopes, magic­al texts and prayers that were pagan in nature. Old Coptic did not have the regular script system, the extensive adopted Greek vocabulary or, perhaps most importantly, the Christian associations that characterize the slightly later form of Egyptian known as Coptic. Although ease of writing and full vocalization were important reasons for the transition from the complex demotic script to the simpler Coptic alphabetic one, the break with the earlier pagan associations of Egyptian writing was an important result of, and likely reason for, the ultimate transition to Coptic.

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Coptic texts   1097

Christian, Gnostic, Hermetic, and Manichaean texts Not surprisingly, the earliest texts in Coptic itself were works of Christian literature, and the Coptic Bible, translated from the Greek, was the earliest major work of literature in Coptic and remained the most important. The initial translation had taken place by the end of the third century ad, into the Sahidic dialect (although early manuscripts of biblical books are also known in Bohairic, Fayyumic, Oxyrhynchite, and the archaic P dialect). The books of the New Testament (especially the gospels) are the most commonly encountered in Coptic, although Psalms and Proverbs are also widely attested in early Coptic manuscripts. Coptic translations of the Bible are significant for understanding their sources: editions of the Septuagint and Greek New Testament frequently cite the Coptic versions in critical notes.1 The early Coptic translations of the Bible were significant for all Coptic literature to follow, in that they served as essential reference points for the grammar, orthography and vocabulary of Coptic. Moreover, individual biblical books are the best-attested works of literature in Coptic and were frequently quoted and referenced in other works. In spite of this ubiquity, a full scholarly edition of the Coptic Bible has so far proven elusive. Past tendencies simply to reprint late full manuscripts or compile ‘eclectic’ texts from a number of sources have more recently given way to intensive concentration on editions of good manuscripts of individual biblical books. Many significant Coptic biblical manuscripts are scattered in fragments all over the world; the ongoing efforts to identify and catalogue Coptic biblical manuscripts will prove essential for future research.2 Increasing scholarly attention is also being paid to citations and quotations of the Coptic Bible.3 Coptic was particularly rich in extra-biblical Christian literature—the Apocrypha and Pseudepigraphia that did not make the ‘final cut’ for inclusion in the canonical Bible, but still had some degree of authority—and the Coptic versions sometimes provide witnesses to otherwise unknown texts. Coptic versions of important compositions that relate to the Old Testament include The Wisdom of Solomon, and the Testaments of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Coptic literature was rich in apocryphal works relating to the New Testament, including the gospels of Thomas, Nicodemus, Bartholomew and Judas,4 the Epistula Apostolorum, the Protevangelium of James, and the Acts of Paul, Peter, John and Andrew. Apocalyptic works were especially popular among the Coptic-literate, including The Ascension of Isaiah and the Apocalypses of Sophonias, Paul, and Elijah, the last of which owed much to the Egyptian context of its composition.5 The Greek writings of early church fathers such as Clement of Alexandria and Hippolytus of Rome were available in Coptic and exerted influence on the writings that were to come. 1  Note Schmitz 2003, for example, for the importance of the Coptic text for understanding certain books of the Greek New Testament. 2  This project is being published as Schüssler 1995–. 3  See, for example, Lusier 1998. 4  For the recently discovered Gospel of Judas, see Kasser and Wurst 2007. 5 Frankfurter 1993.

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1098   Terry Wilfong The twentieth-century finds of fourth- and fifth-century ad codices at Nag Hammadi and Medinet Maadi revealed early Coptic literature that went well beyond the mainstream of early Christian thought. The thirteen Nag Hammadi codices contain works of Gnostic, Hermetic, and Christian influences, mostly Coptic translations of now-lost Greek originals, that range from the important early Christian Gospel of Thomas, to a portion of the Hermetic tractate Asclepius, works of different schools of Gnostic thought, and even a fragment of Plato’s Republic in Coptic.6 The eight Medinet Maadi codices contain a more limited selection of works—Manichaean homilies and psalms, and a long work known as the Kephalaia—that are crucial for understanding Manichaeism.7 Both the Nag Hammadi and Medinet Maadi codices represent early manuscripts of texts that are, in most cases, unattested elsewhere. Both finds posed unique challenges to researchers that were addressed by multi-national teams, who prepared facsimiles of the codices, editions, translations, commentaries, glossaries, and other aids that provide unique access to these important collections of texts. Manichaean texts have also been found in recent excavations at the site of Kellis in the Western Desert;8 these texts were found at a well-preserved town site, along with documentary texts and archaeological remains that provide unique insight into the world in which they were used. Many of the Gnostic, Manichaean, and Hermetic texts known in Coptic bear influences of pre-Christian Egyptian religious traditions and show the mixed religious traditions in Egypt during the early centuries of Christianity. The proximity of the Nag Hammadi find to major early Christian monasteries has occasioned much speculation as to the relationships of these codices to more orthodox Christian beliefs and establishments.9

Coptic works concerning monasticism The mainstream of early Coptic literature included many works concerning monasticism in Egypt, not surprising given the general prominence of monasticism in Egyptian Christianity. Early Egyptian writers on monasticism, such as Athanasius of Alexandria, reached a wider audience through use of Greek, but their works were also a source of inspiration within Egypt in Greek originals and Coptic translations. Major early writing on monasticism came from Pachomius and his followers, who developed monastic communities in southern Egypt in the fourth century ad. Pachomius’ best-known composition in modern times is his monastic rule, the first of its kind in Egypt and ultimately an important influence on early monasticism in Europe. Pachomius also wrote a number of instructions and a cryptic series of letters, most if not all of which were originally written in Coptic, and there is a considerable body of literature about Pachomius, along with homilies and other works by

6  Collected translations of these texts include Layton 1995 and Robinson 2000 (the latter with full Coptic text as well). Research on the Nag Hammadi texts is summarized in Turner and MacGuire 1997 and Robinson 2014. 7  Translations of portions of these texts and related works, along with full bibliography, to be found in Gardner and Lieu 2004. 8  Some of these texts are published in Gardner 1996, with associated texts and archaeological material published in the same series, ‘Dakhleh Oasis Project Monographs’. 9  See Wipsycka 2000 for discussion and references.

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Coptic texts   1099 his followers. The Pachomian corpus is the object of intense and increasingly sophisticated analysis by scholars.10 Pachomius’s contributions to Coptic literature are somewhat overshadowed by those of Shenoute, who effectively explored the use of Coptic as a vehicle for literary expression in the fourth and fifth centuries ad. Shenoute (c.ad 347–466) was head of the White Monastery (at Atripe, near modern Sohag), a populous monastery with separate men’s and women’s communities. The running of these communities and their interactions with the outside world formed the basis for Shenoute’s extraordinary literary output in Coptic, ultimately collected together in a series of ‘Canons’ (writings addressed to members of the monastery) and ‘Discourses’ (writings directed outside the monastery). Shenoute’s literary corpus has been reconstructed from the substantial but scattered remains of the library of the White Monastery, as well as from texts originating elsewhere.11 Shenoute was an extremely important figure to contemporary and later Christians in Egypt, but he is relatively unknown outside Egypt, presumably because he wrote in Coptic rather than Greek. Shenoute’s use of Coptic as a literary language was unprecedented; he was one of the first authors to make conscious use of literary form and style in Coptic; he also used an intricate set of scriptural citations and allusions, along with an array of metaphors drawn from the world around him. Shenoute’s writings both presented and shaped his interactions with both the monks under his charge and the non-monastic people of his region, and they are an important source for the social history of his time.12 The works by and about Shenoute have been scattered through various publications, but a collected, uniform edition is currently in preparation by an international team of scholars.13 The volume and quality of Shenoute’s literary work sometimes overshadows that of later writers in Coptic.14 Important authors of the fifth century include Paul of Tamma, Paphnute (author of a history of the monks of Upper Egypt), Makarius of Tkow, and Timotheus II. Earlier sixth-century authors include Theodosius of Alexandria and Damian, while Constantine of Siut and Rufus of Shotep were prominent in the later sixth–early seventh centuries.15 Pisentius of Coptos was an author of an early seventh-century homily on Onnophrios, but better known for the biographical accounts of his life by his followers. Pisentius is the only Coptic author for whom we also have substantial documentary evidence, comprising an extensive corpus of letters and documents from his stay in western Thebes.16 The Muslim conquest of Egypt of ad 639–42 is reflected in certain Coptic biographical and apocalyptic works, but seems to have had little immediate impact on the production of original literature in Coptic. Patriarch Benjamin I and his successor Agathon, along with Samuel and Isaac of Qalamun, John and Menas of Nikiou are among the writers known from the post-Conquest seventh century, when they wrote saint’s lives, homilies and histories. The seventh and eight centuries have been characterized as the ‘Period of the Cycles’, when scribes compiled collections of related works centering on events in the past. Writers continued to produce literature 10  The basic Pachomian corpus is translated, with comments and bibliography, in Veillieux 1981–2; for more recent work, see, for example, Goehring 1999; Joest 2014. 11  Emmel 2004 is essential. 12  See, for example, Krawiec 2002, López 2013. 13  A selection of Shenoute’s work is now available in Brakke and Crislip 2015, and see also Layton 2014. 14  Smith 1998 and Emmel 2007 provide useful surveys of Coptic literature. 15  For Rufus of Shotep, see now the study of Goehring 2012. 16  See van der Vliet 2002 for references and description of an ongoing project to publish this dossier of material.

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1100   Terry Wilfong in Coptic through the eighth and ninth centuries, and even later, but few can be securely attributed to individual authors after the early ninth century, when writers began to shift to the use of Arabic.

Saints, martyrs, and other religious figures Biographies of saints and other religious figures of the near or distant past formed an important part of Coptic literature. Some saints’ lives include details of contemporary political history: Isaac’s life of Samuel of Qalamun, for example, describes events relating to the Muslim conquest. Others are demonstrably ahistorical, such as Pambo’s life of Hilaria, a legendary female saint who disguised herself as a man and entered a monastery. In most biographies, the words and deeds of the subject are the main focus: a series of episodes that present edifying events, often ostensibly based on the eyewitness authority of the writer, in a progression towards a suitable deathbed scene. Although the biographical data presented often cannot be taken literally, the incidental details of these lives often provide a vivid picture of daily life, and sometimes even show the attitudes and perceptions in Late Antique Egypt towards Egypt’s pharaonic past.17 Collections of lives, either of related individuals or more encyclopaedic compilations (such as the Synaxary and the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria), were not uncommon in Coptic, but assumed greater importance in later Arabic Christian literature from Egypt. Martyrdom was a popular genre for both original compositions in Coptic and translations. Nearly all are set either during the persecutions of Christians in the third century ad.18 Coptic martyrdoms often followed a set format, whereby the Christian hero’s refusal to sacrifice to pagan gods leads to an escalating series of tortures, the death of the unyielding martyr, and usually a miraculous story involving the martyr’s remains.19 Many Coptic martyrdoms are attributed to persecution-era authors, but the majority seem to have been written long after the period in which they are set. Some martyrdoms appear to promote the cult of a local martyr as a pilgrimage site; similarities between certain accounts of different martyrs suggest that martyrdoms could be written to order, with local names and details inserted into a stock narrative. Martyrdoms in Coptic were popular with their original audiences, but are less so with scholars, in part because they often seem both gratuitously gruesome and excessively repetitive to modern readers. But this may be a misreading; there is much potential instead for seeing Coptic martyrdoms as a literature of excess, in which all possible permutations of torture and mutilation are explored as a means of transcending the limitations of the flesh. Application of modern literary-theoretical and social-historical methodologies to the Coptic martyrdoms can yield much of significance for study of social history, notions of fragmentation, and conceptions of the body in Late Antique Egypt.20

17  Behlmer 1996 gives a major overview of Egyptian survivals and revivals in Coptic literature. 18  Conversely, Christian persecutions of pagans are recounted in, e.g., the works of Shenoute and Paphnute. 19  For some typical Coptic martyrdoms, see Reymond and Barns 1974. 20 Wilfong 1998a.

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Coptic texts   1101

Historical writings Among the other literary genres in Coptic, there was some specifically historical writing, although most might be more precisely classified as collections of biographies, as with the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria. The seventh-century writer John of Nikiou wrote a world history in Coptic, similar to contemporary Byzantine Greek chronicles, but this work survives only in a late Ethiopic version of a lost Arabic translation of the lost Coptic ori­gin­al. Regional histories and surveys of churches and monasteries did not become common until well after the Muslim Conquest, and these were written in Arabic. A Coptic fragment from Deir el-Balaizah, preserving a chronology of the Ptolemies, suggests a more general interest in historiography among Coptic writers; historical ‘romances’ were not especially common in Coptic, but the few fragmentary examples (concerning Alexander the Great and Cambyses) are of great interest to scholars. All of these kinds of texts provide essential evidence as to the Late Antique understanding and use of Egypt’s past, although research is beginning to show that this past was, at least in part, filtered through the eyes of Classical and early Christian authors.21

Sermons, homilies, hymns, and poems Sermons and homilies on a wide variety of subjects formed a staple of religious services, and many such texts survive in Coptic. Such literature has not, on the whole, inspired a great amount of modern scholarship, although there is clearly much to be done—the reading aloud of these texts in church services gave them exposure and impact well beyond a literate audience. Hymns and liturgical texts were especially common in Coptic as an important part of worship among Christians in Egypt; they served (and continue to serve) the ritual needs of the Christian populations of Egypt. Coptic hymns structured around word-play and acrostics were common in Coptic; these formal structures offered authors the opportunity for verbal dexterity within a format of symbolic significance.22 Outside of formal hymns, rhymed and rhythmic poems on biblical or historical themes, intended for singing, are known from a number of manuscripts.23 Secular poetry in Coptic is unknown, but note the Greek poems on both Classical and Christian themes by the bilingual sixthcentury lawyer-poet Dioscorus of Aphrodite.24

‘Sub-literary’ genres A variety of non-documentary genres in Coptic are categorized as ‘sub-literary’ by scholars, although such a distinction would not necessarily have been clear to their original audience. 21  See Behlmer 1996 and Cameron 2007. 22  See the hymns published in Kuhn and Tait 1996. 23  Published in Junker 1908–11. 24  See MacCoull 1988 and Fournet 1999; in the former the author shows the importance of Dioscorus’s Coptic to his Greek poems.

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1102   Terry Wilfong Magical texts are well represented in Coptic, most of a practical nature—healing spells, curses, erotic magic, spells to obtain power and wealth, along with less specific rituals.25 Coptic magical texts often appealed to Christ and other Christian figures, but sometimes did so alongside invocations of pagan deities that reflect much earlier Egyptian traditions. Much Coptic magical literature survives either in the form of anthologies of spells or copies of individual spells that have been put to practical use in the form of the artefacts of magical practice. The boundaries between magic and medicine were not rigidly defined, and a number of magico-medical and medical works exist in Coptic; other ­genres related to magic include alchemical texts, oracular questions, and the so-called ‘farmer’s almanacs’.26 ‘Sub-literary’ texts also encompass scholastic texts, which tended to concentrate on language acquisition, but also include extensive mathematical works.27 It is sometimes difficult to separate out Coptic and Greek school texts, as the teaching of the two languages was closely connected and there seems to have been a high level of bilingualism in some periods among the Coptic literate.

Epigraphic texts Coptic epigraphic texts, such as monumental inscriptions, funerary epitaphs and graffiti, are often highly literary in form, or cite known literary works, even if they are not usually classified as literature. Formal carved or painted inscriptions on stone, wood or metal sometimes cite biblical verses or even quote longer compositions, occasionally with a complex underlying literary structure and elaborately formed script.28 Graffiti—inscriptions typically written in ink or scratched on natural stone formations or on worked stone structures—are much less formal in terms of structure and script. They are potentially among the most interesting of Coptic texts, in that they may provide relatively rare examples of unmediated expression by their writers, but they remain poorly published, studied and understood. At their simplest, Coptic graffiti consist of a personal name, often accompanied by a cross, to signify identity and presence. Longer graffiti can include pious wishes, prayers and, in some cases, more elaborate statements of historical importance, as seen, for example, in graffiti at pilgrimage sites. The contexts of graffiti are important— location, proximity to other graffiti or monuments, and position can all tell much about the circumstances of their inscription—and scholars are increasingly paying attention to these issues in the study of Coptic graffiti.29 25  Coptic magical texts are translated and discussed in Meyer and Smith  1994; note especially the discussion of Coptic material in the context of earlier Egyptian magic in Ritner  1993, and the recent publication of a Coptic magical book by Choat and Gardner (2013). 26  For the last, see Wilfong 1998b. 27  Relevant texts published in Hasitzka  1990 and Cribiore  1996, with essential discussion of issues relating to education in the latter. 28  The work of Maria Cramer (e.g. 1957) is still relevant for our wider understanding of the visual and spatial analysis of Coptic inscriptions. 29  Note, for example, Heurtel 2004 and Delattre 2003.

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Coptic texts   1103

Socio-economic texts Coptic documentary texts, the texts of everyday life among Coptic-speaking individuals, are important sources for economic and social history. Many thousands of documentary texts—letters, legal contracts, accounts, memoranda, lists, etc.—survive in Coptic, including substantial bodies of texts from archaeological sites and regions (for example Kellis, Bawit, Oxyrhynchus, Elephantine, Aphrodito, Deir el-Balaizah, western Thebes) along with individual texts from all over Egypt. Coptic documentary texts not only provide significant evidence for the everyday activities of Egyptians in the Late Antique and early Islamic ­periods, but also provide data and circumstantial detail for the social, economic, legal, religious and political histories of these times,30 as well as insights into the Coptic language, as it was used in daily life in a range of regional contexts.31 Coptic documentary texts were written in a world where Greek (and later Arabic) was the official governmental language and also often a preferred language for business and other activities. So the existence and widespread use of Coptic documentary texts attest to  survival of the indigenous Egyptian language, as well as to the adaptations and accommodations often necessary in an environment that was at least partly (and sometimes predominantly) bilingual.32 Coptic continued as a language of daily life in Egypt well after the Muslim conquest of ad 639–42; although Arabic papyri are known in significant number by the eighth century, the major transition within the Egyptian population at large to Arabic does not seem to have taken place until the tenth and eleventh centuries (thus paralleling, to some extent, conversions in the population to Islam). Documentary texts in Coptic more or less disappeared by the thirteenth century,33 although exceptional later documents in Coptic have survived.

Coptic papyrology Recent decades have seen great advances in the field of Coptic documentary texts, known as Coptic papyrology (even with regard to texts not written specifically on papyrus), and to a great extent this endeavour has been helped along by the study of comparable Greek documents from Egypt (Greek papyrology). Indeed, Greek papyrologists have led the way in terms of the development of resources and uses of technology. The incorporation of Coptic texts into the standard directory of Greek and Latin papyri34 and the standard reference for the chronology of Byzantine Egypt;35 the collection of documentary texts scattered in journal articles;36 the compilation of specialized lexical

30 See, for example, Bagnall  1996; Boud’hors  2004; Clackson  2000; Papaconstantinou  2001; Schmelz 2002; Suermann 2002; and Wilfong 2002, for examples of some of these approaches. 31  Note especially the recent study by Richter (2002), and the lexical data in Förster 2002. 32  See the articles in Papaconstantinou 2010. 33  See the later documents, for example, in T. S. Richter 2000, 2003. 34 Oates 2001. 35  Bagnall and Worp 2004. 36 Hasitzka 1995–2012.

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1104   Terry Wilfong aids;37 and the ongoing promise of a searchable database of documentary texts38—these are just a few of the advances made in recent years by Coptic papyrologists, often working on the models set by Greek papyrologists before them. Coptic papyrologists have begun to devote much interest to issues of archaeological context and also to the reassembly of related texts through provenance research,39 and much more work in these areas is likely to appear. Future priorities for Coptic papyrology will certainly be more interaction with Greek papyr­olo­gists and specialists in related areas;40 indeed, there is increasing recognition that these language-based divisions in the disciplines do not always accurately reflect divisions within the sources themselves. Growing interest in Arabic papyrology has done much to encourage the interaction of Coptic and Arabic papyrologists and promises much for the future study of post-Conquest Egypt.41

Coptic texts as artefacts In addition to the contents and history of Coptic texts, their physical nature as artefacts can be informative. The association of the Coptic language and Christianity, for example, paralleled a development that had a direct impact on Coptic literature—the introduction of the codex.42 The rise of the codex (a collection of individual sheets bound together into a book) and the decline of the scroll in Egypt had some connection with the dominance of  Christianity. Most Coptic literature originally appeared on papyrus, parchment or (after the Muslim Conquest) paper codices, although relatively few codices have survived intact to the present. Codices usually collected together a number of different works— sometimes related but sometimes rather disparate—and analysis of the relationships between works in a given codex can provide valuable clues as to how they were perceived by their original audience. Scrolls were still used for some Coptic magical texts, and single, unbound leaves were used for short literary texts or excerpts of longer works (again, often for magical purposes). Shorter Coptic literary works or excerpts were also copied out onto ostraca and writing boards, sometimes as school texts or again as magical amulets. The material of magical texts sometimes relates to their contents, as Coptic magical spells on bones attest: magical texts on papyrus or parchment frequently show signs of folds from magical practice. Documentary texts were typically written on sheets or leaves of papyrus, parchment and (in later times) paper, as well as on potsherd ostraca or stone chips, or, more rarely, writing boards and other media. Documentary codices were much less common than literary ones, but they do exist.43 The material used for a documentary text often attests to its relative importance or formality: more formal documents tended to be written on papyrus or parchment, while 37 Förster  2002 and Richter  2002, and note also the online Database and Dictionary of Greek Loanwords in Coptic at www.research.uni-leipzig.de/ddglc/index.html. 38 Delattre 2004. 39 Clackson 2004 40  Note the discussion in van Minnen 2004. 41  See Sijpesteijn and Sundelin 2004, Schubert and Sijpesteijn 2015. 42  The classic work is Roberts and Skeat 1983, but Bagnall 2009 provides a much more evidence-based and nuanced assessment. 43  A good example is Beinecke Library inv. 1804, published MacCoull 1986. Note also the example of a Greek documentary codex with Coptic words and names published in Bagnall et al. 2011.

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Coptic texts   1105 writers of letters on ostraca frequently apologize for not having used papyrus—an excuse so common as to be a standard part of Coptic letter formula.

Coptic texts in cultural context: the Monastery of Epiphanius Examination of Coptic texts through categories or materials, as above, has the disadvantage of isolating individual types and genres in an artificial way. Coptic texts of all kinds existed together as part of a larger literate discourse of their time (a discourse that also included Greek or Arabic texts depending on the period) and existed, moreover in a world of the largely non-literate as physical artefacts in the context of a wider material culture. To get an idea of how this wider system of Coptic texts worked, an examination of the seventh-century remains from the western Theban Monastery of Epiphanius is in­struct­ive.44 This monastery was built on and around a Middle Kingdom tomb in the west Theban hills near Deir el-Bahri. Excavation of the site by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 1912–14 yielded an extremely wide range and large number of texts in a secure archaeological context that were the object of an extraordinary piece of textual detective work undertaken by their original interpreter, Walter Crum, who reconstructed the wider literary universe of the monastery. The remains from the Monastery of Epiphanius provide an unparalleled view of the ways in which Coptic texts functioned in both religious and secular environments. Documentary texts—letters, financial records, lists, and legal documents—record the activities of the monks in the Epiphanius community; their interactions and transactions with the monks of other local monasteries (including the adjacent small Cyriacus community and the larger Monastery of Phoibammon in the nearby temple at Deir el-Bahri); and also their dealings with the inhabitants of nearby secular communities, most notably the town of Jeme at Medinet Habu. These texts, written on papyri and ostraca, refer incessantly to the material culture of the monastery, much of which has actually survived among the archaeological remains: the agricultural products bought and sold in the documents; the pottery in which things were kept (which, when broken, were the common medium for writing informal documents); fragments of tools and furniture enumerated in lists; and the clothing and matting woven by the monks both for their own use and as handicrafts to trade and sell for the benefit of the community. The artefacts themselves are sometimes inscribed (pottery with indications of ownership, seals and seal impressions with monograms, and liturgical objects with pious formulae), thus further multiplying the interaction of text and artefact. Medical and magical texts attest to their uses among a monastic population and beyond, with monks and priests serving as doctors and magical intermediaries for the secular population as well as each other. Graffiti in the nearby Theban mountains record the monks’ presence, work, and devotional activities, while more formal inscriptions recorded burials, pious wishes and, occasionally, 44  For what follows, Winlock and Crum 1926 is the basic reference; note also the relevant discussions in MacCoull  1998 and Wilfong  2002; the more general discussion in Choat and Giordia  2017 is also very useful.

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1106   Terry Wilfong dated events. The monks themselves lived within a literally inscribed world, with extracts from patristic authors surrounding them on the walls of the monastery itself, as they read and copied scholastic texts for learning and literary texts for spiritual enlightenment, edification, trade and benefit, many fragments of which survive. The wider literary culture of such communities is further attested by lists of books and catalogues of monastic and private libraries, which included portions of the Bible, patristic authors, saints’ lives, hymns, martyrdoms, and many other kinds of literature, while brief excerpts of biblical texts often served amuletic functions. Coptic predominates in these texts, but not exclusively: a significant number of Greek papyri and ostraca attest to some bilingualism among members of the community and to the learning of Greek at the monastery, while other languages appear in isolated instance, such as a Syriac graffito. All of these texts, of course, emanated from, circulated among, and were directed to a literate population that would have been a minority in Late Antique Egypt (if not as much of a minority as in the pharaonic period). But even illiterate and semi-literate people would have been implicated in the wider textual economy, through monks’ activities as scribes, writing and reading aloud documents for those entirely unable to do so as well as those who could only barely sign their name. The oral reading of biblical texts and sermons at churches in the area would have further brought the non-literate into the realm of literate discourse. In the parts of Egypt where Coptic was both spoken and written, everyone’s lives were affected by Coptic texts in some way or another, and scholars are increasingly trying to understand such texts in their wider contexts.

Suggested reading For all things Coptic, The Coptic Encyclopedia (Atiya 1991), which is now available in an updated, online edition (Claremont Colleges 2011–) at http://ccdl.libraries.claremont.edu/ collection.php?alias=cce, is an essential starting-point, while the Coptic Bibliography (Kammerer 1950) remains extremely useful for earlier publications. Current research on Coptic texts appears across a wide range of monographic series and journals, but convenient overviews of recent work can be found in the proceedings of the International Congress of Coptic Studies held every four years (most recently, Buzi and Camplani 2016) and the biennial Journée d’études coptes (Bouvarel-Boud’hors and Louis 2016). Coptic literature (including the Gnostic and Manichaean texts) is surveyed in Krause 1979, Orlandi 1986, Cannuyer 1990, Smith 1998 and Emmel 2007, while magical texts are surveyed in Meyer and Smith 1994, and school texts in Hasitzka 1990 and Cribiore 1996. Coptic documentary texts are now largely integrated into the online resources initially developed for Greek papyrologists: The Papyrological Navigator (www.papyri.info) and Trismegistos (www.trismegistos.org), and note the specialized database for Coptic documents at: http://dev.ulb.ac.be/philo/bad/copte/baseuk.php?page=accueiluk.php. Print resources for documentary texts include the American Society of Papyrologists’ Checklist of Editions (Oates  2001) and the biennial ‘Urkundenreferat’ in Archiv für Papyrusforschung, as well as the proceedings of the recent series of summer schools in Coptic papyrology (for example Boud’hors et al. 2014). Depuydt 1993 is a useful catalogue of a large collection of various kinds of Coptic manuscripts, useful both for contents and

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Coptic texts   1107 physical appearance. Finally, the fascinating essays on the Monastery of Epiphanius, in Winlock and Crum 1926, provide a still-unsurpassed examination of Coptic texts in their wider contexts.

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1108   Terry Wilfong Delattre, A. 2004. Une banque de données des texts coptes documentaries. In M.  Immerzeel and J. van der Vliet (eds), Coptic Studies on the Threshold of a New Millennium: Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Coptic Studies. Orientalia Lovanensia Analecta 133. Leuven: Peeters, I: 491–4. Depuydt, L. 1993. Catalogue of Coptic Manuscripts in the Pierpont Morgan Library. Corpus of ­Illuminated Manuscripts 4–5, Oriental Series 1. Leuven Peeters. Emmel, S. 2004. Shenoute’s Literary Corpus. Corpus scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium Subsidia 111–12. Louvain: Peeters. Emmel, S. 2007. Coptic Literature in the Byzantine and Early Islamic World. In R. S. Bagnall (ed.), Egypt in the Byzantine World, 300–700. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 83–102. Förster, H. 2002. Wörterbuch der griechischen Wörter in den koptischen dokumentarischen Texten. Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur 148. Berlin; New York: W. De Gruyter. Fournet, J.-L. 1999. Hellénisme dans l’Égypte du VIe siècle: La bibliothèque et l’oeuvre de Dioscore d’Aphrodité. Mémoires publiés par les membres de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 115. Cairo: IFAO. Frankfurter, D. T. 1993. Elijah in Upper Egypt: The Apocalypse of Elijah and Early Egyptian Chris­tian­ity. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Gardner, I. (ed.) 1996. Kellis Literary Texts I. Dakhleh Oasis Project Monograph 4. Oxford: Oxbow. Gardner, I. and Lieu, S. 2004. Manichaean Texts from the Roman Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Goehring, J. E. 1999. Ascetics, Society and the Desert: Studies in Early Egyptian Monasticism. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity. Harrisburg: Trinity. Goehring, J. E. 2012. Politics, Monasticism and Miracles in Sixth Century Egypt: A Critical Edition and Commentary of the Coptic Texts on Abraham of Farshut. Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum, 69. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Hasitzka, M. 1990. Neue Texte und Dokumentation zum Koptisch-Unterricht. Wien Hollinek. Hasitzka, M. 1995–2012. Koptisches Sammelbuch I–IV. Wien: Hollinek. Heurtel, C. 2004. Les inscriptions coptes et grecques du temple d’Hathor à Deir el-Médîna. Bibliothèque d’études coptes 16. Le Caire: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Immerzeel, M. and van der Vliet, J. 2004. Coptic Studies on the Threshold of a New Millennium: Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Coptic Studies. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 133:1–2. Leuven: Uitgeverij Peeters en Departement Oosterse Studies. Joest, C. 2014. Die Pachom-Briefe. Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalum, Subsidia 133. Leuven: Peeters. Junker, H. 1908–11. Koptische Poesie des 10. Jahrhunderts. Berlin: Carl Curtius. Kammerer, W. 1950. A Coptic Bibliography. University of Michigan General Library Publications 7. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Kasser, R. and Wurst, G. 2007. The Gospel of Judas, together with the Letter of Peter to Philip, James and a Book of Allogenes from Codex Tchacos: Critical Edition. Washington DC: National Geographic Society. Krause, M. 1979. Koptische Literatur. In W. Helck and W. Westendorf (eds), Lexikon der Ägyptologie. Wiesbaden Harrassowitz Verlag, 3: 649–728. Krawiec, R. 2002. Shenoute and the Women of the White Monastery: Egyptian Monasticism in Late Antiquity. New York: Oxford University Press. Kuhn, K. H. and Tait, W. J. 1996. Thirteen Coptic Acrostic Hymns from Manuscript M574 of the Pierpont Morgan Library. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Layton, B. 2014. The Canons of our Fathers: Monastic Rules of Shenoute. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Layton, B. 1995. The Gnostic Scriptures: A New Translation with Annotations and Introductions. Anchor Bible Reference Library. New York: Anchor Bible. López, A. G. 2013. Shenoute of Atripe and the Uses of Poverty: Rural Patronage, Religious Conflict and Monasticism in Late Antique Egypt. Transformation of the Classical Heritage 50. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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Coptic texts   1109 Luisier, P. 1998. Les citations vétéro-testamentaires dans les versions coptes des évangiles, Cahiers d’orientalisme 22. Geneva: Patrick Cramer. MacCoull, L. S. B. 1986. Coptic Documentary Papyri from the Beinecke Library (Yale University). Textes et documents 17. Cairo: Société d’archéologie copte. MacCoull, L. S. B. 2009. Coptic Legal Documents: Law as Vernacular Text and Experience in Late Antique Egypt. Arizona Studies in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance 32. Tempe, AZ: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies. MacCoull, L. S. B. 1988. Dioscorus of Aphrodito: His Work and His World. Transformation of the Classical Heritage 16. Berkeley: University of California Press. MacCoull, L. S. B. 1998. Prophethood, Texts and Artifacts: the Monastery of Epiphanius, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 39: 307–24. Meyer, M. and Smith, R. 1994. Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic Texts of Ritual Power. San Francisco: Harper San Francisco. Oates, J. F. (ed.) 2001. Checklist of Editions of Greek, Latin, demotic and Coptic Papyri, Ostraca and Tablets. 5th edn. Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists Supplements 9. n.p., American Society of Papyrologists; updated online version available at: Orlandi, T. 1986. Coptic Literature. In B. A.  Pearson and J. E.  Goehring, The Roots of Egyptian Chris­tian­ity. Studies in Antiquity and Christianity. Philadelphia: Fortress, 51–81. Papaconstantinou, A. 2001. Le culte des saints en Egypte: des Byzantins aux Abbassides: l’apport des inscriptions et des papyrus grècs et coptes, Monde byzantin. Paris: CNRS Editions. Papaconstantinou, Arietta (ed.) 2010. The Multilingual Experience in Egypt: From the Ptolemies to the Abbasids. Farnham: Ashgate. Reymond, E. A. E. and Barns, J. W. B. 1974. Four Martyrdoms from the Pierpont Morgan Library Coptic Codices. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Richter, S. G. and Wurst, G. 2003. Referat über die Editionen koptischer literarischer Text und Urkunden von 2000 bis 2002, Archiv für Papyrusforschung 49: 127–62 Richter, T. S. 2002. Rechtsemantik und forensische Rhetorik: Untersuchungen zu Wortschatz, Stil und Grammatik der Sprache koptischer Rechtsurkunden. Kanobos 3. Leipzig: H.  Wodtke und K. Stegbauer. Richter, T. S. 2000. Spätkoptische Rechtsurkunden neu bearbeitet (II): Die Rechtsurkunden des ­Teschlot-Archivs, Journal of Juristic Papyrology 30: 95–148. Richter, T. S. 2003. Spätkoptische Rechtsurkunden neu bearbeitet (III): P.Lond.Copt. I 487—arabische Pacht in koptischen Gewand, Journal of Juristic Papyrology 33: 213–30. Ritner, R. 1993. The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Practice. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Roberts, C. H. 1979. Manuscript, Society and Belief in Early Christian Egypt. The Schweich Lectures 1977. London: Oxford University Press for the British Academy. Roberts, C. H. and Skeat, T. C. 1983. The Birth of the Codex. London: Oxford University Press for the British Academy. Robinson, J. R. 2000. The Coptic Gnostic Library: A Complete Edition of the Nag Hammadi Codices. Leiden: Brill. Robinson, J. R. 2014 The Nag Hammadi Story. Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 86. Leiden: Brill. Schmelz, G. 2002. Kirchliche Amtsträger im spätantiken Ägypten. Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete Beiheften 13. Munich and Leipzig: K.G. Saur. Schmitz, F.-J. (ed.) 2003. Das Verhältnis der koptischen zur griechischen Überlieferung des Neuen Testaments: Dokumentation und Auswertung der Gesamtmaterialien beider Traditionen zum Jakobusbrief und den beiden Petrusbriefen. Arbeiten zur neutestamentlichen Textforschung 33. Berlin: de Gruyter. Schubert, A. T. and Sijpesteijn, P. 2015. Documents and the History of the Early Islamic World. Islamic History and Civilization: Studies and Texts 111. Leiden: Brill. Schüssler, K. 1995–. Biblia Coptica: Die koptischen Bibeltexte. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag.

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1110   Terry Wilfong Sijpesteijn, P. M. and Sundelin, L. 2004. Papyrology and the History of Early Islamic Egypt. Islamic History and Civilization 55. Leiden: Brill. Smith, M. 1998. Coptic Literature, 337–425. In A. Cameron and P. Garnsey (eds), Cambridge Ancient History XIII: The Late Empire, A.D. 337–425. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 720–35. Suermann, H. 2002. Koptische Texte zur arabischen Eroberung Ägyptens und der Umayyadenherrschaft, Journal of Coptic Studies 4: 167–86. Turner, J. D. and McGuire, A. 1997. The Nag Hammadi Library after Fifty Years: Proceedings of the 1995 Society of Biblical Literature Commemoration. Nag Hammadi and Manichaean Studies 44. Leiden: Brill. van der Vliet, J. 2002. Pisenthios de Coptos (569–632), moine, évêque et saint: autour d’une nouvelle édition de ses archives, Topoi suppléments 3: 61–72. van Minnen, P. 2004. Greek papyri and Coptic Studies, 1996–2000. In M. Immerzeel and J. van der Vliet (eds), Coptic Studies on the Threshold of a New Millennium: Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Coptic Studies. Orientalia Lovanensia Analecta 133. Leuven: Peeters, I: 423–46. Veillieux, A. 1981–2. Pachomian Koinonia. Cistercian Studies Series 46–8. Kalamazoo MI: Cistercian Publications. Wilfong, T. G. 1998a. Reading the Disjointed Body in Coptic: from Physical Modification to Textual Fragmentation. In D. Montserrat (ed.), Changing Bodies, Changing Meanings: Studies on the Human Body in Antiquity. London: Routledge, 116–36. Wilfong, T. G. 1998b. Agriculture among the Christian Population in Early Islamic Egypt: Theory and Practice, Proceedings of the British Academy 96: 217–35. Wilfong, T. G. 2002. Women of Jeme: Lives in a Coptic Town in Late Antique Egypt. New Texts from Ancient Cultures. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Winlock, H. E. and Crum, W. E. 1926. The Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes, Part I. Publications of the Metropolitan Museum of Art Egyptian Expedition 3. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Wipszycka, E. 2000. The Nag Hammadi library and the Monks: a Papyrologist’s Point of View, Journal of Juristic Papyrology 30: 179–91.

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chapter 57

Rock a rt, rock i nscr iptions, a n d gr a ffiti John Coleman Darnell

Introduction An important source for understanding the history and culture of pharaonic Egypt, rock art and rock inscriptions preserve some of the earliest art and writing of the ancient Egyptians, and the latest datable hieroglyphic text is itself a graffito at Philae. Although some are amongst the oldest artistic productions of Predynastic cultures, the Middle Kingdom is perhaps the golden age of Egyptian rock inscriptions. The floruit of rock inscriptions in Western Thebes— the most geographically expansive inscribed landscape of ancient Egypt—comes slightly later in the New Kingdom. The heyday of temple graffiti follows from the Third Intermediate Period through to the Roman era. Graffiti from Egypt divide into two categories: 1) rock inscriptions, for the most part carved on natural desert surfaces, but also forming the content of free-standing monuments set up within the desert landscape; 2) graffiti proper, added to the surfaces of existing monu­ ments. These include both carved and painted texts and depictions, and the Egyptians appear to have made no distinction between the media employed in making the inscriptions. Although the term graffito is not strictly proper as a reference to all of the techniques employed, and although the generally negative connotations of the word in the modern world are seldom consistent with the ancient motives, Egyptologists often employ the term graffito to refer to rock inscriptions of all types.1 Many rock inscriptions share both subject matter and lapidary style with otherwise free-standing monuments, especially those well attested at various quarrying sites, suggesting that the genre we term rock inscriptions was for the Egyptians not limited to either a natural surface or pre-existing monument as support. 1  Overviews in Navratilova  2015: 3–43; Peden  2001; Thissen  1976; contrast Vanderkerckhove and Müller-Wollermann 2001: 9–11.

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Predynastic rock art: Niloticizing the desert and imaging the cosmos The major sites of rock art from the Predynastic Period (c.5300–3000 bc) derive, with few exceptions, from Upper Egypt. The few recorded, probable Neolithic rock art sites in the western Negev and Sinai appear to be related to the rock art of the Levant and Arabia; some petroglyph sites in the northern portion of the Eastern Desert, and of questionable date (probably first millennium bc or later) likewise do not belong to the Upper Egyptian and Nubian traditions so well attested both along the Nile Valley and in the Eastern and Western Deserts.2 The earliest known rock art of Nilotic Upper Egypt is the late Palaeolithic art of the Kom Ombo-Aswan region, well in evidence in the primarily zoomorphic images at Qurta,3 followed considerably later by the depictions of apparent fish weirs at el-Hosh, perhaps as early as 5600 bc.4 Apparently equally unrelated to the later Predynastic through pharaonic and later rock art and inscriptional traditions is the rock art of the regions of Gebel Uweinat and the Gilf Kebir.5 Most of the early rock art surviving in Egypt belongs iconographically to the known Predynastic culture groups of Upper Egypt. Some rock art, however, may result from the importation into the Egyptian sphere of already developed rock art traditions from more distant regions, such as the elaborately abstract, Abkan-affiliated art of Bir Nakheila6 and Rayayna,7 and the handprints of Farafra8 and Rayayna.9 Many concentrations of early rock art occur in the Eastern and Western Deserts, most of the former associated with routes between the Nile Valley and the Red Sea,10 and the latter located near the Nile Valley and the western oases, and along the routes interconnecting those areas. Predynastic Egyptian inscriptions appear to have functioned as a means of creating space in what might otherwise have seemed a desert void; later inscriptions also created places and markers where no human landmarks may previously have existed.11 Within the proper geophysical context, rock art in Egypt, as elsewhere, may serve as a means of human engagement with the landscape, and impart to that landscape a proper expression of their worldview, essentially a socialization of the topography.12 Many of the early rock inscriptions are in the hinterland of urban centres and along desert routes, while a few rock 2  Huyge 2003: 60–1. 3  Dating to a minimum age of approximately 15,000 calendar years—Huyge et al. 2011, 2013. 4  Huyge 1998; Huyge et al. 1998. 5  Compare Förster and Kuper 2013. 6  Osing et al. 1982: 39–40 and pl. 9, nos. 47–8; for the Abkan see Hellström et al. 1970 (particularly corpus group X). 7  Darnell, D. 2002: 160–1. 8  Huyge 2003: 67–8; Barich 1999: 37–9. 9  Darnell, D. 2002: 161 and pls 90–1, 2009: 86–7. 10  Winkler 1938–9; Mark  1998: 81–7; Morrow and Morrow 2002; Wilkinson 2003; Rothe et al. 2008; Judd 2009; Lankester 2013. 11  A Middle Kingdom military dispatch from the fortress of Semna refers to what may be a rock inscription as a landmark for a patrol—Smither 1945: pl. 3a, l. 12. 12  See conveniently Bender  1993 and  1999; Chippindale and Taçon  2000; David and Wilson  2002; Chippindale and Nash 2004; Riemer and Förster 2013: 39–42.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1113 inscription sites also present clearly associated archaeological remains.13 The Predynastic Egyptians were adept at the use of graffiti, and occasionally produced groupings of inscriptions, sometimes involving large spatial areas. The movements through a rocky environment of mobile, cattle-herding groups14 appear to have led the early Egyptians to link areas through rock inscriptions, and to adjust and augment those inscriptions and groupings over time. By the Naqada II period (c.3500–3200 bc) rock artists were grouping images in such a way as to express more information than any of those images alone might impart. The great number of boat depictions15 alongside images of riverine animal life and human fishing and hunting activities appear to represent attempts to Niloticize the desert environment of rock art and inscription sites.16 Although the exact relationship is yet unclear, the development of visual symbols, and the use of such over space and time in elaborate rock inscription tableaux may well have set the stage for the development of writing in Egypt. Much of the surviving early Upper Egyptian religious symbolism takes the form of rock inscriptions and rock art, with zoomorphic petroglyphs predominating. By the time of the earliest Predynastic cultures, the bulk of Egyptian rock art is symbolic, not purely representational, related to the expression of religious imagery rather than to hunting magic or totemism.17 The imagery centres less on subsistence game animals and emphasizes rather elite hunting of ‘prestige’ game such as hippopotami and barbary sheep.18 Giraffes are also a common motif of Predynastic rock art, apparently representing a zoomorphic carrier of the sun.19 The giraffes and related serpopards probably ultimately become the wꜣs-sceptre symbol in Egypt;20 the symbolism of the giraffe appears to continue to develop in Nubia, particularly Kerma.21 The donkey also appears as an opponent of the solar rotation, and representations of asses frequently depict the equid with a stick-like protrusion parallel to the neck, perhaps as a means of controlling the chaotic force.22 By the middle Predynastic, solar images in rock art began to achieve self-propulsion in a solar boat, and the solar giraffes required human control. In order to tame the zoomorphic solar carriers, human figures sometimes appear—so the men who hold giraffes by ropes in a number of Predynastic representations,23 and those who restrain the serpopards on the later Narmer Palette (see also Chapter  28 in this volume for discussion of the latter).24 Earlier visual descriptions of the cosmic cycle become images of human intervention, and earlier hunting scenes develop into more clearly expressed depictions of the subjugation of chaos, not only in a terrestrial but in a cosmic sense as well. Mixed images combining the old animal carrier and the solar bark also appear in Upper Egyptian rock art.25 These suggest a solar deity in control of his or her own movements, although with reference to 13  Bietak and Engelmayer  1963; Darnell, J.C.  2002b; idem  2002c; idem  2009; Hendrickx, Riemer, Förster, and Darnell: 196–205; Förster 2015. 14  Kuper  2002; Wendorf and Schild  2002; Wendorf et al.  2001: 625–9, 631–2, 655–8, 671; Hassan (ed.) 2002: 11–26, 198–201, 209–23. 15  Engelmayer 1965; Wilkinson 2003: 134–61; Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 23–6, 2011; Lankester 2013. 16 Darnell 2009. 17  Huyge 1999 and 2002. 18  Compare Hendrickx et al. 2010. 19  Westendorf 1966a: 37 and 84–5; Huyge 2002: 199–200. 20  Westendorf 1966b: 207–8. 21  Bonnet 2000: 99 et passim. 22 Huyge 2009. 23  Compare Vahala and Cervicek 1999: nos. 24 and 25/A; Scharff 1929: 150–1 and pl. 14; Asselberghs 1961: pl. 17; Darnell, J.C. 2009: 89–90. 24  Asselberghs 1961: pl. 95. 25  Westendorf 1979; Vahala and Cervicek 1999: No. 334; Darnell, J.C. 2003b: 112.

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Figure 57.1  A portion (Group V) of the early ritual tableau of royal power in the Wadi of the Horus Qa’a, northwest of ancient Thebes.

the  human world. A number of later Predynastic depictions of boats in rock art show tow  ropes, and the often-schematic humans doing the towing, occasionally exhorted by overseers,26 perhaps representations of actual religious riverine processions. The concept of symbolic imagery, apparently evolved for the solar cycle, and perhaps first finding elaborate expression in rock art, found application to the human world and its political organization by the Naqada II period. On the painted Predynastic linen shroud from Gebelein (now in the Museo Egizio, Turin) and in the Painted Tomb (Tomb 100) at Hierakonpolis are early representations of a later much-repeated cycle of images associated with a royal ritual progression.27 Not surprisingly, similar tableaux—scenes of riverine processions, hunting, and associations of flotillas and animal groups—appear in rock art (see Figure 57.1).28 Human figures are in general less common in Upper Egyptian rock art than intimations of human society via zoomorphic symbols (canid in particular) or inanimate objects representing human activity.29 26  Basch and Gorbea 1968: 179 and 191; Váhala and Cervicek, 1999: no. 307/B; Darnell, J.C. 2003b: 113, 2009: 90–2, 2011: 1155–7. 27  Adams and Cialowicz 1997: 33–48; Williams and Logan 1987. 28  Compare Basch and Gorbea 1968: 35–6; Váhala and Cervicek 1999: nos. 221 and 287. 29  Darnell 2011: 1171–3, 2014: 122–3.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1115 Rock inscriptions as memorials of specific events appear by the beginning of Dynasty 0 (c.3200–3000 bc), rivalling the historical content of surviving sources from the Nile Valley.30 The ‘Scorpion tableau’ from Gebel Tjauti in the Theban Western Desert31 reveals the application of symbolic groups, derived from the animal cosmographs of the solar cycle, as annotations to a scene of human activity—military victory depicted in the proper cosmic and religious context. The Gebel Sheikh Suleiman inscription in Nubia32 is an important document for understanding the expansion of pharaonic hegemony over Lower Nubia. These early tableaux contain elements of historical events and the ritualization thereof, the celebration of the event in terms of its cosmic significance by means of incorporation within the royal jubilee imagery.33

Early Dynastic rock inscriptions: sealing the desert—ownership, hegemony, and the extension of ordered space The Predynastic Upper Egyptians’ groupings of signs to mimic and ensure the continuation of the cosmic cycle appear to have created a symbolic language that subsequently gave rise to expressions of human order and royal power. The inscriptions soon move from a participatory recreation of the cosmic cycle in order to ensure stability and continuity to equating and comparing the natural order with the now increasingly ordered human society. An early hieroglyphic inscription at el-Khawy (north of Elkab) reveals a precocious use of the nascent script to express the parallelism of cosmic and royal authority,34 and provides an important monument documenting the transition between zoomorphically dominated ritual imagery in Upper Egyptian rock art, and the dominating appearance of the king— and the royal name—as chief ritualist (see Figure 57.2). The Nag el-Hamdulab rock art cycle (northeast of Aswan) reveals an updating of the earlier ritual imagery, in which the early royal rituals linking hunting, domination of humans, and a riverine festival,35 appear alongside images of the king wearing the White Crown; an accompanying early hieroglyphic inscription appears to describe the Following of Horus (the entourage of the king) and taxation of an area—ritual, history, and economic reality combined.36 The use of the ‘serekh’ image (a view of a palace façade and a plan of the royal courtyard, symbolizing kingship) on desert routes appears already during Dynasty 0 as a means of incorporating a route and an area within the pharaonic realm.37 Serekhs at several significant desert posts and in Nubia attest to the hegemony of several First-Dynasty rulers

30 Cialowicz 2001. 31  Darnell 2002a: 10–19; Hendrickx and Friedman 2003. 32  Williams and Logan 1987: 282–5; Cialowicz 2001: 62–3; Somaglino and Tallet 2015; see also im­port­ ant images and text by Unhammer et al. n.d. 33  Hornung 1966; Serrano 2002. 34 Darnell 2017. 35  Williams and Logan 1987. 36  Hendrickx et al. 2012; Darnell 2015. 37  Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 19–22; Wilkinson 1995; Darnell 2011: 1181.

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Figure 57.2  Facsimile drawing of the early hieroglyphic inscription from el-Khawy.

(c.3000–2890 bc),38 and such serekh ‘sealings’ of the desert continue during the Second Dynasty (c.2890–2686 bc).39 The reign of the Horus Qa’a, last ruler of the First Dynasty, is—relatively speaking for this early period—well-attested in rock inscriptions at what were probably strategic route posts.40 An inscription of late-Herakleopolitan/mid-Eleventh Dynasty date (c.2090 bc) refers to the ‘annexation’ of a portion of the desert by use of the verb ḫtm (‘to seal’) a means of claiming ownership,41 and the rock artists and lapidary scribes of the Protodynastic and the Old Kingdom (c.2686–2160 bc) appear to have inscribed serekhs at distant sites as one means of literally staking the pharaonic realm’s claim to the deserts. Already during the early Old Kingdom, inscriptions in the later well-inscribed landscape of Sinai also assert Egyptian royal domination.42

The Old Kingdom: soldiers, miners, and priests With the advent of the high Old Kingdom—particularly during the Fourth Dynasty (c.2613–2494 bc) and later—more explicit rock inscriptions with more expansive textual elements appear. At the same time, the rock inscriptional memorials of ‘non-royal’ individuals

38  Winkler  1938, pl. 11; Zába  1974: 239–41; Váhala and Cervicek  1999: no. 149; and Darnell, J.C. 2003b: 112. 39  Ûaba 1974: 30–1. 40  Huyge 1984; Wilkinson 1999: 80–1; Ikram and Rossi 2004 (the apparent pock above the arm may be the q of Qaa’s name); Darnell, J. C. 2011. 41  Darnell, J. C. 2002a: 30–4. 42  Ibrahim and Tallet 2009; Tallet 2015.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1117 increase in frequency,43 especially in association with expeditions.44 Quarrying and military endeavours appear to account for the bulk of Old Kingdom rock inscriptions on the margins of the pharaonic realm. Quarry texts occur at such sites as Hatnub, Wadi Hammamat, Eastern Desert routes out of Edfu, and are particularly prominent in Sinai.45 Rock inscriptions in several areas (such as along the Edfu-Marsa Alam road) may relate both to quarrying expeditions and long distance travel. More specifically travel-related are inscriptions at several Western Desert sites46 and in the Wadi Sheikh Ali.47 Old Kingdom inscriptions at Deir el-Bahri48 may derive from early religious activity at the site, although this is unclear. Inscriptions at Aswan and in the Wadi Allaqi may relate to a number of enterprises, quarrying as well as military; those in the Wadi Hilal in the desert to the east of Elkab may relate to some extent to the route through the Wadi Hilal,49 but most importantly contain information on the temple and cult of the desert temple of Elkab (see below). Rock inscriptions from Nubia augment meagre historical information from other sources. Inscriptions of high Old Kingdom date from the Khor el-Aquiba, east of the Nile near Tomas, record military activity of considerable scope, one text mentioning an Egyptian force of 20,000, and another referring to 17,000 Nubian captives.50 The increasingly martial character of Nubian rock inscriptions provides further evidence for the changing nature of  Egypto-Nubian relations during the Sixth Dynasty (c.2345–2181 bc).51 Old Kingdom ex­ped­itions also left records of their visits to the oases of the Western Desert, and the region southwest of Dakhla Oasis preserves evidence of Old Kingdom and later activity on the route to Abu Ballas, Uweinat, and perhaps points beyond.52

The First Intermediate Period and the early Middle Kingdom: travellers, policemen, and foreigners—personality and history A number of monuments of the First Intermediate Period (c.2160–2055 bc) show affinities with rock inscriptions, including non-standard iconography and palaeography, and a general disregard for the usual rules of register and proportion. Some stelai of the period are essentially ‘free-standing rock inscriptions’.53 As with the Predynastic and Protodynastic Periods, rock inscriptions from this era fill gaps in the documentation available from the Nile Valley. During the period of instability and feuding nomarchs in Upper Egypt that followed the collapse of the Old Kingdom, the networks of desert roads focusing on the Thebaid were of considerable strategic importance. Inscriptions at Gebel Tjauti, a site in 43  Peden 2001: 4–13 (including expedition inscriptions). 44  Bell et al. 1984; Eichler 1993; Diego Espinel 2014. 45  Peden 2001: 6–10, 12–13. 46  Darnell 2002a: 26–9, 119; Kuhlmann 2002: 132–9; Förster 2015: 217–80. 47 Meyer 1983. 48 Rzepka 2003. 49  Vanderkerckhove and Müller-Wollermann 2001. 50  Lopez 1966: nos. 27 and 28; Lopez 1967; Basch and Gorbea 1968: 237–8; Eichler 1993: 112–13, 125. 51  Eichler 1993: 146–7. 52  Kuhlmann 2002; idem 2005; Riemer et al. 2005. 53  Compare Fischer 1964: pl. 33, no. 38.

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1118   John Coleman Darnell the network of roads through the Qena Bend, refer to conflict between a Herakleopolitan vassal in the Coptite nome and an unnamed enemy, apparently the growing power of the Theban Eleventh Dynasty.54 A relatively large number of graffiti in the quarry of Hatnub55 also provide considerable evidence for the political and social conditions in Egypt during the early Middle Kingdom,56 augmenting the otherwise meagre evidence for the internal turmoil that plagued the middle years of the reign of Amenemhat I (c.1985–1956 bc). From perhaps the same time, a number of rock inscriptions from Lower Nubia may refer to local dynasts who opposed Egyptian hegemony.57 The inscriptions of the Nubian soldier Tjehemau, just south of Aswan, provide evidence for events during the nascent Twelfth Dynasty from the point of view of a person at least initially on the fringes of pharaonic society.58 By the late Eleventh Dynasty, royal and private rock inscriptions were becoming more explicit, providing details of the composition, equipment, and route of travel of desert expeditions.59 The oases of the Western Desert, though not so well represented in the corpus of rock inscriptions as in Nubia and the Eastern Desert, due to the vagaries of geology and discovery, certainly begin to feature rock inscriptions by the end of the Old Kingdom. Rock inscriptions from Dakhla provide unique information on the administration of the oasis during the Middle Kingdom,60 and yield some information regarding the policing of the periphery of the oasis.61 An inscription from southwest of Dakhla—of late Old Kingdom or First Intermediate Period/early Middle Kingdom date—records an expedition to search for a group of oasis dwellers,62 and inscriptions from Bahariya may also relate to traffic through the oasis.63 On the desert routes of Egypt, the numbers of inscriptions increase dramatically, and at some sites the period between the late Old Kingdom and the late Middle Kingdom is the time of the greatest production of rock inscriptions. Along with archaeological material known from at least some of the actual routes,64 rock inscriptions may also demonstrate the use of particular routes during antiquity,65 and reveal the changes in titles of expedition members.66

The Middle Kingdom: expeditions and outposts Beginning already by the Old Kingdom,67 a clear lapidary hieratic developed during the Middle Kingdom. Recognizing that the cursive forms of normal hieratic are not always 54  Darnell, J. C. 2002a: 30–46; Mostafa 2014: 200–4. 55 Anthes 1928. 56  Willems 1983–4, 2007: 83–113. 57  Morkot 1999: 183–6. 58  Darnell, J. C. 2003a, 2004. 59  Schenkel 1965: 25–8, 222–5, 260–70; Seyfried 1981; note particularly the inscription of Henu in the Wadi Hammamat—Lichtheim 1988: 52–4. 60  Baud et al. 1999. 61  Kaper and Willems 2002. 62  Burkard 1997; Darnell 2002a: 73; Förster 2015: 269–76. 63  Castel and Talet 2001. 64  Darnell, J.C. 2002c: 107–8. 65  For the Darb et-Tawil compare the Old Kingdom inscription published by Minault-Gout 1985. 66  Rock inscriptions show that the use of naval titles in expeditions ceased during the early Twelfth Dynasty—Abd el-Raziq, Castel, Tallet, and Ghica 2002: 43. 67  Vandekerckhove and Müller-Wollermann 2001: 347–9.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1119 suited to carving, and at the same time cognisant of the time and skill required to produce proper hieroglyphic inscriptions, Egyptian scribes developed a hybrid script, blending hiero­glyph­ic, semi-cursive, and pure hieratic forms to create a group of signs better suited to carving than to writing with ink. The Egyptians employed this script in both rock inscriptions and on free-standing stelai,68 the largest percentage of such hybrid hieratic and hiero­glyph­ic rock inscriptions being of Middle Kingdom date.69 The Wadi el-Hudi texts also present interesting hybrids of stelai and rock inscriptions.70 This lapidary hieratic, which proliferates in the rock inscriptions of Middle Kingdom Nubia, appears to have been the product primarily of scribes on expeditions.71 A number of the Nubian rock inscriptions of the Middle Kingdom allow for the reconstruction of the course and order of various military expeditions,72 and indicate the former presence of archaeologically invisible or unrecognized outposts of probably temporary construction.73 In Sinai, at Rod el-Air and Serabit el-Khadim, rock inscriptions attest to the incredible ­vigour of Middle Kingdom activity.74 The inscriptions list members of the expedition, and occasionally provide rare mineralogical and climatological descriptions, such as in the stela of Horwerrê.75 A wealth of inscriptions from the Wadi Hammamat and the other routes between the Nile and the Red Sea coast attest to the extensive use of tracks in the Eastern Desert during the Middle Kingdom,76 and often preserve considerable information on the organization of the expeditions.77 The Gebel el-Asr quarry in the Western Desert provides excellent evidence for the mingling of lapidary hieratic and formal hieroglyphic monu­ments within dry-stone shrines, providing evidence for the organization of the expeditions, and revealing the creation of settings for interactions between these monuments and latter visitors.78 Foreign workmen and mercenaries accompanied Middle Kingdom expeditions, and inscriptions from Sinai record numbers of Asiatics—some bearing weapons for the Egyptians—as members of mining expeditions.79 An interaction of these Semitic-languagespeaking groups with Egyptian military and expedition scribes appears to have led to the invention of an alphabetic script attested in two inscriptions from the Wadi el-Hôl80 and in the more numerous proto-Sinaitic inscriptions at Serabit el-Khadim.81 Employing signs derived from lapidary hieratic Egyptian shapes, and assigning to this limited number of signs acrophonic phonetic values based on the Semitic-language names of the objects depicted, the melting pot of Egyptian expeditionary forces created the predecessor of modern alphabets during the Middle Kingdom.82 68  Compare the grave stelai in Reisner  1932, p. 161 fig. 59 and the accompanying photographs. 69  Ali 2002: 12–22. 70  Fakhry 1952; Sadek 1980–5. 71  For the military nature of Middle Kingdom Nubian inscriptions, see Gratien 2004. 72  Obsomer 1995: 237–306 73  Compare Zába 1974: no. 73, l. 6; Obsomer 1995: 247–8. 74  Peden 2001: 32–4; Seyfried 1981: 153–237; Gardiner et al. 1952, 1955. 75  Iversen 1984; Aufrère 1991; Kurth 1996. 76  Abd el-Raziq, Castel, Tallet, and Ghica  2002; Morrow and Morrow  2002; Seyfried  1981: 241–83; Peden 2001: 35–7; Goyon 1957; Couyat and Montet 1912–13. 77  Cf. Farout 1994; Darnell 2013. 78  Darnell and Manassa 2013. 79  Valbelle and Bonnet 1996: 34–5 and 147; Gardiner et al. 1952, 1955: 19 and 206. 80  Darnell, J.C. and Dobbs-Allsopp 2005 81  Sass 1988; Hamilton 2006. 82  Darnell, J.C. and Dobbs-Allsopp 2005.

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The New Kingdom: tourists, Nubia, the borders of the empire, and royal workmen at Thebes Rock inscriptions from the time of the Second Intermediate Period (c.1650–1500 bc) are relatively rare, with notable exceptions being an inscription of a Nubian viceroy at Arminna East,83 a literary text from the Wadi el-Hôl (see below), and expeditionary material from Gebel Zeit in the Eastern Desert.84 The variety of rock inscriptions decreases during the New Kingdom (c.1550–1069 bc), but particular genres are well attested at this time. The northern pyramid fields and Theban tombs contain ample evidence of tourism by New Kingdom travellers who left graffiti attesting to their appreciation of already ancient monu­ments.85 Relatively few rock inscriptions at quarries and mining regions date to the New Kingdom, although the exploitation of some of these regions, such as the mines at Sinai, may actually have increased during the same period.86 Nevertheless, inscriptions in southern Sinai reveal important details about New Kingdom expeditions, dispatched under a bipartite civil (royal) and military (local) command from a staging area near the mouth of the Wadi Tumilat—the ‘Frontier of Ra’.87 At least one inscription in a quarry region within Egypt reveals the potential of such texts to provide important historical data.88 The routes crossing the Qena Bend of the Nile attest to a similar shift in activities. Archaeological evidence from the caravanserais of Gebel Roma and Qarn el-Gir demonstrate a steady flow of traffic throughout the New Kingdom, including mounted patrols, lettercarriers, and massive grain shipments.89 The few New Kingdom inscriptions at the Wadi el-Hôl support the interpretation of activities attested in the archaeological record90—the name of a grain measurer and the title and image of a ‘chief of the scales of Amun’ augment the botanical remains of what appear to be shipments of grain to Karnak; the image of a mounted man and the signature of a ‘chief of the stable’ support the evidence from Twenty-first Dynasty stelai for the use of the road as a courier’s route. Unlike sites in the Eastern and Western Deserts, Nubia preserves a large number of New Kingdom inscriptions.91 One of the earliest memorials of the vice-regal Egyptian administration in Nubia is a formal graffito added to a wall of the temple of Semna.92 What appear to be the official boundary markers of the southernmost extent of the pharaonic realm are rock inscriptions of Thutmose I and Thutmose III at Kurgus, part of an ensemble of carved and painted rock inscriptions at Hagar el-Merwa.93 A tableau at Nag Kolorodna in Nubia94 apparently depicts a Nubian campaign and its result, an unlabelled version of scenes such as those appearing in the speos of Horemheb at Gebel Silsila and the Beit el-Wali temple of 83  Simpson 1963: fig. 27. 84  Régen and Soukiassian 2008. 85  Ragazzoli 2013; Navratilova 2015; Peden 2001: 58–71, 95–107, 118–23. 86  Peden 2001: 76–81; Tallet 2003: 470–3; Hikade 2001. 87 Tallet 2003. 88  Willems and Demarée 2009. 89  Darnell, J.C. 2002b: 138–9; for the use of horses along the roads, see also Darnell, J.C. 2002b: 132–5. 90  Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 155, 159–60; Cappers et al. 2007. 91  Peden 2001: 83–94, 110–17, 127–33. 92  Caminos 1998: pl. 19. 93 Davies 2017. 94  Basch and Gorbea 1968: 50–7.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1121 Rameses II.95 As with the desert serekhs of the Early Dynastic Period, the New Kingdom royal tableaux in Nubia extend and delineate the boundaries of pharaonic influence, and rock inscriptions provide important information—augmenting data from other sources— in elucidating the nature and development of the vice-regal administration.96 The New Kingdom private and royal inscriptions at Aswan and in Nubia, characterized by their ‘formal’ appearance, further blur the division between rock inscriptions and other com­ mem­ora­tive monuments, a trend that continues in the Third Intermediate Period. Perhaps the topographically largest single concentration of rock inscriptions from the pharaonic realm is in Western Thebes, most of these inscriptions being the work of the royal workmen of the New Kingdom, based in the closed artisan’s community of Deir el-Medina (see Chapter 14 in this volume).97 These inscriptions provide genealogical information augmenting other written documentation, and give some indication on the activities of the workmen, including work within the royal tombs themselves.98 By the time of the New Kingdom, the old lapidary hieratic of the Middle Kingdom had become much more cursive. Nevertheless, though often all but indistinguishable from inked hieratic, the palaeography of New Kingdom hieratic rock inscriptions of the Deir el-Medina workmen preserves lapidary peculiarities.99 Non-textual marks also appear in the graffiti corpus of New Kingdom Thebes,100 a practice with parallels already during the Old Kingdom.101 The inscriptions at Western Thebes are particularly important for the history of the late Twentieth Dynasty, and the early Twenty-first Dynasty. Certain of the inscriptions relate to the tomb robberies and the tomb clearances of the late New Kingdom, and are integral in the arguments surrounding the events surrounding the plundering of the royal tombs.102

The Third Intermediate Period: formal tableaux, temple annotations, and priestly families The post-Ramesside period sees the addition of a number of formal tableaux to earlier temples that mimic more official continuations of earlier decorative programs. These tableaux range themselves with earlier rock inscriptions through the use of lapidary hieratic signs forms, and by their positioning in areas in which other, lesser, graffiti are added.103 A series of graffiti on the ‘quay’ before the First Pylon of Karnak record the level of the Nile,104 and even an important record of Osorkon III’s response to the inundation of Luxor Temple outwardly takes the form of a small scale hieratic graffito.105 Pinudjem I, Osorkon I, and Osorkon III also added hieroglyphic inscriptions, some with elaborately carved scenes, to the façade of the Colonnade Hall and the back wall of the Ramesside Court in Luxor 95  Thiem 2000: vol. 1, pls 55–61 and vol. 2, pls 8–9; Epigraphic Survey 1967: pl. 9. 96  Compare Klotz and Brown 2016. 97  Peden 2001: 134–265 and references therein. 98  Compare Altenmüller 1984. 99 Ali 2002. 100  Fronczak and Rzepka 2009. 101  Darnell, J.C. 2004c: 349–56. 102 Jansen-Winkeln 1995. 103  Peden 2001: 266–74. 104  Peden 2001: 268–9. 105 Daressy 1896.

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1122   John Coleman Darnell Temple.106 The inscription of Pinudjem I even necessitated the partial erasure of earlier decoration.107 The continued additions to the façade of the Colonnade Hall suggest that the area immediately to the left of the entrance was the object of particular ‘popular’ worship and a place of votive inscriptional surcharging of the walls during the Third Intermediate Period and later.108 In Nubia and the quarry regions, rock inscriptions of definite Third Intermediate Period date are rare. The only lengthy historical text relating to the native Nubian rulers of this period is the large graffito of Queen Katimala, carved over erased New Kingdom decoration on the temple façade at Semna.109

The Late Period Hieroglyphic and hieratic graffiti declined in number during the Late Period, while demotic graffiti began to appear, the earliest securely dated of these being inscriptions near the Darb Rayayna road, dated to the reign of Darius I (c.522–486 bc) and probably left by a visitor from Kharga Oasis.110 Phoenician, Carian, and Greek soldiers left graffiti in their native languages at Abu Simbel during the Nubian campaign of the third regnal year of Psamtek II (c.592 bc).111 Phoenician and Aramaic graffiti also appear in a portion of the temple of Seti I at Abydos,112 and Aramaic inscriptions occur in the Wadi Hammamat.113 Greek graffiti ultimately appear throughout the monuments of Egypt, many being visitors’ inscriptions like those in the tombs of the Valley of the Kings,114 and others being proskynemata, inspired— like many of the Egyptian graffiti—by religious devotion.115 During the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, visitors came to identify the northern of the two colossal statues that stand at the entrance to the ruined mortuary temple of Amenhotep III in Western Thebes with Memnon, son of Aurora, and the statue attracted a number of graffiti, including poetry composed by the court poetess Balbilla during the visit of the emperor Hadrian.116 Demotic Egyptian graffiti—carved and written—appear at many sites. The quarries and desert roads continue to attract such inscriptions,117 and they proliferate at certain temples as well.118 The small Eighteenth-Dynasty temple at Medinet Habu, and its later annexes, contain a wealth of such inscriptions, a number of which take the form of documents other­ wise known from papyrus sources.119 Demotic graffiti from Philae and other temples to the south preserve important information regarding the final centuries of pagan cults in Aswan and Lower Nubia, and are valuable sources for understanding the interactions of Rome, 106  Epigraphic Survey 1998. 107  Epigraphic Survey 1998: pls. 199–200 and pp. 52–4. 108  Bell 1985: 270–1, 275, 1997: 135, 163–72. 109  Caminos 1998: 20–7; Darnell, J.C. 2006; Collombert 2003–8. 110  di Cerbo and Jasnow 1996. 111  Vittmann 2003: 61–2 and 260, n. 78. 112  Vittmann 2003: 62–5 and 260–1, nn. 81–8. 113  Vittmann 2003: 119. 114  Baillet 1926; Coppens 2016. 115 See inter alia Bernand 1969; Lajtar 2006. 116  Bernand and Bernand 1960. 117  Devauchelle and Wagner  1984; Jasnow  1984; Cruz-Uribe  1995; Preisigke and Spiegelberg  1915; Darnell, J.C. 2002a. 118  A list of demotic graffiti, albeit incomplete, appears in Farid 1995. 119  Thissen 1989; Edgerton 1937.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1123 Egypt, and Meroe in the Dodekaschoinos.120 At Philae are the latest datable hiero­glyph­ic121 and demotic122 texts, the latter approximately two centuries after the last securely dated demotic papyrus and ostracon.123 Coptic and Arabic rock inscriptions are beyond the scope of the present survey (but see Chapter 56 in this volume), as are the bulk of the non-Egyptian rock inscriptions. Such graffiti may themselves, however, record much of interest regarding Egyptian cults; for example, primarily Greek graffiti in the temple of Seti I at Abydos augment the evidence from Ammianus Marcellinus and Coptic sources regarding the oracle of the god Bes in that temple.124

Rock inscriptions, graffiti, and religion Although many may seem informal and the results of anything but official sponsorship and influence, a number of rock inscriptions and graffiti played definite roles in supporting the official social and religious order. Already during the Protodynastic Period, rock inscriptions record royal Jubilee tableaux, and reveal the interactions of royalty and divinity. The formal rock inscription tableau of Monthuhotep II in the Shatt er-Rigal may in fact provide evidence for the existence during the Eleventh Dynasty of the ‘Theban version’ of the doctrine of the divine birth of the king,125 well before the earliest explicit text referring to the same. Members of the priesthood left inscriptions at a wide variety of sites, some as members of expeditionary forces126 and others traveling as part of their religious duties.127 Textual and archaeological evidence for royal statues in the desert might have been a further facet of priestly presence at rock inscription sites.128 Inscriptions of Old Kingdom priests at the Wadi Hilal, although earlier than the surviving temples of the site, nevertheless indicate the earlier presence of temples at the site and provide information on the functioning and object of the cult.129 Priestly graffiti in temples provide information on the composition of particular cults, and on the manner in which members of the priesthood may have followed the divine procession.130 Middle Kingdom rock inscriptions also reference religious practices, for example a number of Theban graffiti of Middle Kingdom date relate to the early history of the Theban festival cycle.131 A graffito in KV6 (the tomb of the Rameses IX) represents a direct and apparently roughly contemporaneous interaction between a know­ledge­able visitor and the imagery and annotation of a portion of a netherworld book.132 Some rock inscriptions provide evidence for the functioning of otherwise poorly attested rituals.133 Several Middle Kingdom visitors to the Wadi el-Hôl vividly describe their visit 120  Depauw 1997: 171; Burkhardt 1985; Dijkstra 2008. 121  Griffith 1935–7: pl. 69 [no. 436], dated August 24, ad 394 on the basis of the accompanying demotic portion of the inscription. 122  Griffith 1935–7: pl. 55 (no. 365), dated December 11, ad 452; Hoffmann 2000: 240–2. 123  Depauw 1997: 25. 124  Frankfurter 1998: 128–9 and 170–1. 125  Winlock 1947: 58–76; Berlev 1981; Darnell, J.C. 2004a: 26–8. 126 Seyfried 1981. 127  Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 95, 102, 120. 128  Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 103–4. 129  Vandekerckhove and Müller-Wollermann 2001: 341–2; Darnell, J.C. 2004b: 154–5. 130 Jacquet-Gordon 2004. 131  Winlock 1947: 77–90; Peden 2001: 29–32. 132  Darnell, J.C. 2004c: 349–56. 133  Darnell, J.C. 2002c: 112–14.

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Figure 57.3  Wadi el-Hôl Rock Inscription No. 19, a ‘spending the day on holiday’ inscription of late Twelfth-Dynasty date, apparently recording activities in honor of the goddess Hathor, probably in conjunction with the return of the goddess.

as  wrš ẖr ˍdw pn ḥ r hrw nfr (‘spending the day beneath this mountain on holiday’; see Figure 57.3).134 In combination with other inscriptions depicting singers and the goddess in her bovine form,135 the ‘spending the day’ inscriptions provide evidence of Hathoric worship in the remote desert. A deposit of ostrich feathers with inscribed sandstone flake at the site of Hk64, a low Inselberg at the north-western desert edge of Hierakonpolis—itself preserving an interesting array of rock art and inscriptions—also suggests the veneration of the goddess Hathor, and provide tangible evidence for desert dwellers and Nubians bringing objects of cultic significance to trade or offer in Egypt.136 Other depictions of sporting activities, such as ritual combat and wrestling137 may also allude to festival events. Figures in festal garb and poses (holding flowers, etc.)138 also appear to relate to festival activities at rock inscription and graffiti sites. Some inscriptions are the products of specific festivals,139 and an inscription at Abu Sir links the royal cult with the worship of the goddess Sekhmet, ritual drunkenness, and the apotropaic effects of graffiti writing.140 Rock inscriptions of cultic significance may cluster at areas providing shade and something of a natural ‘shrine’, such as the Gebel Agg shrine near Tushka East in Nubia,141 the Paneia of the Koptos to Berenike route,142 and an unfinished Middle Kingdom tomb chapel 134  Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 129–38. 135  Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 93–4, 126–7. 136  Friedman et al. 1999; Friedman 1999. 137  Dunbar 1941: pl. 19 fig. 92; Váhala and Cervicek 1999: no. 459; compare Decker 1991. 138  Cf. Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 65–7; Váhala and Cervicek 1999:, no. 292. 139  Jéquier 1933: fig. 12. 140  Kitchen 1968–90: vol. 3, 437. 141  Simpson 1963: 36–44. 142 Colin 1998.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1125 overlooking Deir el-Bahri.143 Quarries possessed their own divinities,144 to whom a number of graffiti—especially demotic and Greek—address themselves.145 Many rock inscriptions on the island of Sehel appear to relate to pilgrimage to the striking locale overlooking the First Cataract, and contribute to a proper understanding of the local religious cults.146 Inscriptions of feet (vestigia) appear as rock inscriptions at desert sites,147 and are prom­ in­ent in temple graffiti,148 the outlines often containing the name of the carver, with perhaps filiation.149 Although some may have the appearance of footprints, or of feet seen from above, many depict unlaced sandals. The vestigia are pictorial versions of inscriptions that express the desire that the name of the carver remain in the presence of a deity.150 Probably under influence of this earlier Egyptian practice, votive feet become prominent in the Ptolemaic- and Roman-period cults of Isis and Serapis.151 Some vestigia are even depictions of naked feet, and combinations of feet and sandals.152 Other items of personal equipment sometimes appear in rock art,153 and these may also serve a similar function to that of the vestigia. A number of New Kingdom rock inscriptions record hymns and prayers, most addressed to Amun.154 Injunctions to personal piety also appear;155 a particularly fine votive inscription in sunk relief made by a man named Pahu exhorts visitors to worship the goddess Hathor properly (see Figure 57.4).156 The ỉr nfr ỉr nfr formula, like certain visitors’ graffiti, represents a standardized template for some New Kingdom religious graffiti.157 Some rock inscriptions also contain curses against those that would erase or damage the inscription.158 The permanent nature of rock inscriptions at times inspired funerary references, such as ḥ tp dỉ nswt formulae.159 Some rock inscriptions served apotropaic functions, even recording spells for magical protection, and the simple viewing or reading of texts may receive a promise of health and safety.160 A demotic inscription in the Wadi Hammamat records a magical spell for protection against scorpions, apparently for the benefit of travellers who might not have the appropriate text in copy or memory.161 Graffiti annotations to tombs, as invasive and distracting as they may seem to the modern viewer and epigrapher, nevertheless appear to have been both expected and even desired by tomb owners. A Saite-period inscription provides one of the most explicit statements surviving from ancient Egypt regarding visitor’s graffiti, and suggests that such texts were 143  Wente 1984; Hue-Arcé 2013. 144  Meeks 1991: 233–41. 145  Compare Preisigke and Spiegelberg 1915: pl. 22 (no. 306); De Morgan et al. 1894: 366 (b and c) and 369. 146  Gasse and Rondot 2004, 2007. 147  Váhala and Cervicek 1999: no. 45 et passim; Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 121; Kaper and Willems 2002: 85–8. 148  Compare Welsby and Anderson 2004: 169. 149 Jacquet-Gordon 2004. 150  Compare Thissen 1989: 197–8. 151  Darnell, J.C. 2003b: 112. 152  Basch and Gorbea 1968: 62–3, 66, 78, 100. 153  Such as archers’ wrist guards—Kaper and Willems 2002: 85 and 88; Darnell, J.C. 2003b: 114. 154  E.g. Spiegelberg 1921: nos. 904 and 914; Cerny 1956: nos. 1345 and 1394; Marciniak 1974; Klemm and Klemm 1993: 204. 155  E.g. Cerny™ 1956: no. 1396; Gardiner 1928. 156 Darnell 2014. 157  Marciniak 1968; Kitchen 1968–90: vol. 7, 166–7; on formulae in visitors’ graffiti see Navratilova 2015: 253–9. 158  Ûaba 1974: nos. 24, 56, 57, 58; Marciniak 1974: no. 51. 159  Marciniak 1981; Hintze and Reineke 1989: 37 et passim; Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 95. 160  Compare Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 103–4, and the references therein. 161  Vittmann 1984, 1989, and 2003: 118–19; the text contains Aramaic elements.

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Figure 57.4  At the rock shrine of the Eighteenth-Dynasty priest Pahu (Pahu Rock Inscription No. 22), the man depicts himself offering to the goddess in her bovid form, and adjures those who would worship her: ‘Behold the Gold, she who saves us in the hour of salvation. Wash your thoughts, when they are in the temple, and place incense upon the flame.’

anticipated, welcome, and efficacious to those who will find them later.162 Such texts appear to originate relatively early, and become more common beginning with the Eighteenth Dynasty.163 Many of the New Kingdom visitors’ inscriptions follow a standard literary formula—a visitor declares that he has come to see the place, has found it beautiful like heaven with rays shining in it; he then adds perhaps an offering prayer, perhaps also asking that heaven rain myrrh and incense upon the monument.164 What appear to be graffiti and dipinti in New Kingdom tomb shafts at Aniba165 may in fact represent the work of the tomb-cutters, being a form of visitor’s graffiti left by members of the actual burial party. Other graffiti, such as those within the pyramid of Senusret III, are perhaps the spontaneous products of unanticipated ‘visitors’.166

Monumentality, innovation, and intimacy Although rock inscriptions are often the product of anonymous artists and even semi-literate authors, they may reveal images and inscriptions of an unexpected, even unique character, 162 Kuhlmann 1973. 163  Peden 2001: 27, 58–69. 164  For the formula compare McDowell 1993: 29–30. 166  Arnold 2002: 42–3, pls. 21 and 23–7.

165  Steindorff 1937: 55–7, pls. 31–3.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1127 and evince an understanding of the traditional Egyptian interplay of image and text. Several Middle Kingdom inscriptions near the Second Cataract fortresses record Nile water levels,167 some writing the word rȝ, ‘level’, atop the upper horizontal border, which thereby becomes the mark of the actual water level, a blend of text and scene ­worthy of more grandiose monuments.168 An inscription may also be termed a wd ˍ ‘stele’,169 or a mnw-‘monument’,170 even if it does not have the shape or outline of a free-standing monument. The authors of rock inscriptions may also exploit the surfaces on which they carve, in­corp­or­at­ing natural rock shapes into the images. Cracks in the rock surface may also become part of the image, and tow-ropes of Predynastic vessels may enter into fissures in the rock, portals into another realm.171 Among the most remote of pharaonic rock inscriptions are: 1) a rock stele—approximately 1m high and 0.5m wide—depicting Rameses III offering to Hathor, with a dedicatory inscription of a pharaonic official below, high on a rock face overlooking the mining temple at Timna in the Arabah;172 2) an inscription of Rameses III near the oasis of Tayma, in the north-eastern portion of modern Saudi Arabia;173 and 3) an inscription of Menthuhotep II in the environs of Gebel Uweinat at the south-eastern corner of modern Egypt.174 Several rock inscriptions record texts of no small literary merit, and a few appear to be spontaneous literary productions. A hieratic inscription at the Wadi el-Hôl dating to the terminal Middle Kingdom/Second Intermediate Period contains a unique royal en­co­ mium.175 Other rock inscription authors chose to cite extensively from known literary works,176 and visitors graffiti often employ formulae present in religious and literary texts.177 Autobiographical inscriptions, such those in the Wadi Hammamat and at Hatnub, and the inscriptions of the soldier Tjehemau at Abisko, are so well-composed as to be considered ‘literary’. Interactions between expeditionary inscriptions and literary productions may have travelled in both directions.178 One of the most extraordinary pseudepigraphic literary productions takes the form of a rock inscription—the famous ‘Famine Stele’ on a large boulder atop Sehel Island, near Aswan.179 Graffiti appear at sites of activity, and provide evidence of the use of those sites, be they in the desert or major temples of the Nilotic world. Rather than being vandalistic productions best suited to abandoned structures,180 they develop and augment the surface and places where they appear.181 Graffiti in temples may have been overseen by members of the priesthood,182 and appear to reveal the areas of a temple in use at a particular period,183 both interacting with the structure and its functions at the time, and serving to augment and even alter the perception and function of a space.184

167  Hintze and Reineke 1989: 127–33, nos. 369–82A. 168  Hintze and Reineke 1989: 129–30, nos. 374–5. 169  Darnell, J.C. 2003a: 35. 170  Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 97–8. 171  Darnell, J.C. 2009: 91; idem 2011: 1155–6; compare Whitley 2000. 172 Ventura 1974. 173  Somaglino and Tallet 2011; Tallet 2012: 233–4; Sperveslage 2013: 234 and 239–40. 174  Förster 2015: 479–87. 175  Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 107–19. 176  Such as Sinuhe’s letter to Senusret I—Darnell, J.C. 2002a: 96–101. 177 Verhoeven 2013. 178  Cf. Enmarch 2011. 179  Simpson 2003: 386–91 and references therein; Grenier 2004. 180  So Cruz Uribe 2008: 218–24 and 226–30. 181  See the discussion in Darnell J.C. 2014: 79–81. 182  Lajtar 2006: 88. 183  Dijkstra 2008: 175–92. 184  Cf. Frood 2013.

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1128   John Coleman Darnell

Tools and techniques Apart from dipinti, rock inscriptions and graffiti were carved, many perhaps with flint tools.185 Those making the inscriptions may also have employed weapons or other tools, and metal workers are indeed attested at rock inscription sites.186 The techniques for making graffiti and rock inscriptions187 differed on the basis of the surfaces into which they were cut. In general, engraving appears in both limestone and sandstone, predominating in the former, softer stone; pecking is most common in sandstone and hard stones, although it also appears in limestone. Scraping and proper chiselling is perhaps most common in the schists and other stones of the Eastern Desert. Occasionally true sunk relief 188 and raised relief 189 appear at rock inscription sites, and reveal the apparently pervasive lack of boundary in the minds of the Egyptians between ‘formal’ and ‘informal’ epigraphic monuments. A single tableau or image may also combine multiple techniques.

Suggested reading An excellent introduction to the geographical range and general content of Egyptian rock inscriptions is Peden 2001, for the most part replacing the earlier overviews of Thissen 1976; Desroches-Noblecourt  1974; Habachi  1974; Goyon  1974; and Yoyotte  1960. An important site in the Gilf Kebir receives exemplary treatment, with bibliography and discussions of techniques of production, in Kuper et al. 2013. For visitors’ graffiti, and for a discussion of the phenomenon in general, Navratilova 2015 is important. An essay on defining the parameters of Egyptian graffiti appears in Cruz-Uribe  2008; an opposing view of some of those conclusions, stressing instead the transformative power of Egyptian graffiti and its ability to create and maintain spaces both sacred and profane appears in Darnell 2014. Much of the Predynastic material is referenced in Hendrickx 1995, and updates thereof by Hendrickx and Claes in Archéo-Nil. Winkler  1938–9 remains of importance for Upper Egyptian material. For bibliography and discussions of many of the Sinai inscriptions see Valbelle and Bonnet 1996 and Tallet 2012, 2015. For demotic graffiti see, as an introduction, the notes of Depauw 1997: 189 (s.v. ‘graffiti’) and Hoffmann 2000: 226–42, 294–6. The latest graffiti of antique Egypt receive attention with ample bibliography in Lajtar 2006 and Dijkstra 2008.

Bibliography Abd El-Raziq, M., Castel, G., Tallet, P., and Ghica, V. 2002. Les inscriptions d’Ayn Soukhna. Cairo: Institute français d’archéologie orientale. Adams, B. and Cialowicz, K. M. 1997. Protodynastic Egypt. Princes Risborough: Shire. 185  Vandekerckhove and Müller-Wollermann 2001: 347; Dunbar 1941: 22–5; Winlock 1947: 85. 186  Darnell, J. C. 2002a: 58; Darnell, J. C. and Darnell, D. 1998: 90 fig. 15. 187  Dunbar 1941: 19; Jacquet-Gordon 1981: 239–40. 188  e.g. Plate 2. 189  e.g. Vandekerckhove and Müller-Wollermann 2001: vol. 2, 130 [O 11], 131 [O 14, 15, 16], et passim.

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1130   John Coleman Darnell Colin, F. 1998. Les Paneia d’El-Buwayb et du Ouadi Minayh sur la piste de Bérénice à Coptos: inscriptions égyptiennes, Bibliothèque d’Études 98: 89–125. Collombert, P. 2003–2008. Par-delà bien et mal: l’inscription de la reine Katimala à Semna, Kush 19: 185–218. Coppens, F. 2016. Late Dynastic, Greco-Roman, and Christian Times: Post-New Kingdom Graffiti. In R. Wilkinson and K. Weeks (eds), The Oxford Handbook of the Valley of the Kings. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 469–80. Couyat, J. and Montet, P. 1912–1913. Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques et hiératiques du Ouadi Hammamat, 2 volumes. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Cruz-Uribe, E. 1995. Hibis Temple Project, Vol. 2: The Demotic Graffiti of Gebel Teir. San Antonio: Van SiclenVanSiclen Books. Cruz-Uribe, E. 2008. Hibis Temple Project, Vol. 3: The Graffiti from the Temple Precinct. San Antonio: Van Siclen Books. Curto, S., Maragioglio, V., and Rinaldi, C. 1987. Korosko-Kasr Ibrim: Incisioni Rupestri Nubiane. ­Milan: Istituto Editoriale Cisalpino-La Goliardica. Daressy, G. 1896. Une inondation à Thèbes sous le règne d’Osorkon II, Recueil de travaux relatifs à la philologie et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyriennes 18: 181–6. Darnell, D. 2002. Gravel of the Desert and Broken Pots in the Road: Ceramic Evidence from the Routes between the Nile and Kharga Oasis. In R. Friedman (ed.), Egypt and Nubia—Gifts of the Desert. London: The British Museum Press, 156–77. Darnell, J. C. 2013. A Bureaucratic Challenge? Archaeology and Administration in a Desert Environment (Second Millennium B.C.E.). In J. C. Moreno Garcia (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration, Handbuch der Orientalistik. Leiden and New York: Brill, 785–830. Darnell, J. C. 2015. The Early Hieroglyphic Annotation in the Nag el-Hamdulab Rock Art Tableaux, and the Following of Horus in the Northwest Hinterland of Aswan, Archéo-Nil 25: 19–43. Darnell, J. C. 2017. The Early Hieroglyphic Inscription at el-Khawy, Archéo-Nil 27: 49–64. Darnell, J. C. 2004c. The Enigmatic Netherworld Books of the Solar-Osirian Unity: Cryptographic Compositions in the Tombs of Tutankhamun, Ramesses VI and Ramesses IX. OBO 198. Fribourg and Göttingen: Academic Press and Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht. Darnell, J. C. 2018. Homo Pictus and Painted Men: Depictions and Intimations of Humans in the Rock Art of the Theban Western Desert. In D. Huyge (ed.), ‘Whatever Happened to the People?’ Humans and Anthropomorphs in the Rock Art of Northern Africa. Brussels: Royal Academy for Overseas Sciences, 397–418. Darnell, J. C. 2009. Iconographic Attraction, Iconographic Syntax, and Tableaux of Royal Ritual Power in the Pre- and Proto-Dynastic Rock Inscriptions of the Theban Western Desert, Archéo-Nil 19: 83–107. Darnell, J. C. 2006. The Inscription of Queen Katimala at Semna: Textual Evidence for the Origins of the Napatan State. Yale Egyptological Studies 7. New Haven: Yale Egyptological Seminar. Darnell, J. C. 2002c. The Narrow Doors of the Desert. In B. David and M. Wilson (eds)., Inscribed Landscapes. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 104–21. Darnell, J. C. 2002b. Opening the Narrow Doors of the Desert: Discoveries of the Theban Desert Road Survey. In R. Friedman (ed.), Egypt and Nubia—Gifts of the Desert. London: The British Museum Press, 132–55. Darnell, J. C. 2003b. Review of Vahala and Cervicek, Katalog der Feslbilder, Bibliotheca Orientalis 60: 109–15. Darnell, J. C. 2004b. Review of Vandekerckhove and Müller-Wollermann, Die Felsinschriften des Wadi Hilal, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 63: 152–5. Darnell, J. C. 2003a. The Rock Inscriptions of Tjehemau at Abisko, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 130: 31–48. Darnell, J. C. 2004a. The Route of Eleventh Dynasty Expansion into Nubia, an Interpretation Based on the Rock Inscriptions of Tjehemau at Abisko, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 131: 23–37.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1131 Darnell, J. C. 2002a. The Theban Desert Road Survey I: The Rock Inscriptions of Gebel Tjauti in the ­Theban Western Desert, Part 1, and the Rock Inscriptions of the Wadi el Hôl, Part 1. OIP 119. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Darnell, J. C. 2014. Theban Desert Road Survey II: The Rock Shrine of Pahu, Gebel Akhenaton, and Other Rock Inscriptions of the Western Hinterland of Qamûla, Yale Egyptological Publications 1. New Haven: Yale Egyptology. Darnell, J. C. 2011. The Wadi of the Horus Qa-a: a Tableau of Royal Ritual Power in the Theban Western Desert. In R. F. Friedman and P. N. Fiske (eds), Egypt at its Origins 3: Proceedings of the Third International Conference ‘Origin of the State. Predynastic and Early Dynastic Egypt’, London, 27th July-1st August 2008. OLA 205. Leuven, Paris, and Walpole MA: Peeters Publishers and Department of Oriental Studies, 1151–93. Darnell, J. C., and Darnell, D. 1998. Theban Desert Road Survey, The Oriental Institute 1997–1998 Annual Report, 77–92. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Darnell, J. C. et al. 2005. Two Early Alphabetic Inscriptions from the Wadi el-Hôl: New Evidence for the Origin of the Alphabet from the Western Desert of Egypt. Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research. Darnell, J. C. and Manassa, C. 2013. A Trusty Sealbearer on a Mission—the Monuments of Sabastet from the Gebel el-Asr Quarry. In R. Parkinson and H.-W. Fischer-Elfert (eds), Studies in Honor of Detlef Frank. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 55–92. David, B. and Wilson, M. (eds) 2002. Inscribed Landscapes, Marking and Making Place. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Davies, W. V. 2017. Nubia in the New Kingdom: The Egyptians at Kurgus. In N. Spencer, A. Stevens, and M. Binder (eds), Nubia in the New Kingdom: Lived Experience. Leuven: Peeters, 65–105. Decker, W. 1991. Ägyptischer Sport und Africa. In D.  Mendel and U.  Claudi (eds), Ägypten im Afro-Orientalischen Kontext. Köln: Institut für Afrikanistik, 95–108. De Morgan, J. et al. 1894. Les Carrieres de Ptolémaïs, MMAF 8/3. Paris: Leroux. Depauw, M. 1997. A Companion to Demotic Studies. Papyrologica Bruxellensia 28. Brussels: Fondation Égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Desroches-Noblecourt, C. 1974. La quête des graffiti, in Textes et langages de l’Égypte pharaonique. BdE 64/2, 151–83. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Devauchelle, D. and Wagner, G. 1984. Les graffites du Gebel Teir. Cairo: Institut francais d’archéologie orientale. Diego Espinel, A. 2014. Surveyors, Guides and Other Officials in the Egyptian and Nubian Deserts: Epigraphic and Historical Remarks on Some Old Kingdom Graffiti, Revue d’Égyptologie 65: 29–48. Dijkstra, J. H. F. 2008. Philae and the End of Ancient Egyptian Religion: A Regional Study of Religious Transformation (298–642 CE). OLA 173. Leuven: Peeters. Dunbar, J. H. 1941. The Rock-Pictures of Lower Nubia. Cairo: Government Press, Bulâq. Edgerton, W. F. 1937. Medinet Habu Graffiti Facsimilies. OIP 36. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Eichler, E. 1993. Untersuchungen zum Expeditionswesen des ägyptischen Alten Reiches. GOF IV/26. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Engelmayer, R. 1965. Die Felsgravierungen im Distrikt Sayala Nubien I: die Schiffsdarstellungen. Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Enmarch, R. 2011. Of Spice and Mine: The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor and Middle Kingdom ­Expedition Inscriptions. In F.  Hagen, J.  Johnston, W.  Monkhouse, K.  Piquette, J.  Tait, and M.  Worthington (eds), Narratives of Egypt and the Ancient Near East: Literary and Linguistic ­Approaches. OLA 189. Leuven, Paris, and Walpole MA: Peeters Publishers and Department of ­Oriental Studies, 97–121. The Epigraphic Survey 1967. The Beit el-Wali Temple of Ramesses II, OIP OINE 1. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. The Epigraphic Survey 1998. Reliefs and Inscriptions at Luxor Temple 2: The Façade, Portals, Upper Register Scenes, Columns, Marginalia, and Statuary in the Colonnade Hall. OIP 116. Chicago: Oriental Institute.

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1132   John Coleman Darnell Fakhry, A. 1952. The Inscriptions of the Amethyst Quarries at Wadi el Hudi. Cairo: Government Press. Farid, A. 1995. Fünf demotische Stelen aus Berlin, Chicago, Durham, London und Oxford, mit zwei demotischen Türinschriften aus Paris und einer Bibliographie der demotischen Inschriften. Berlin: Achet Verlag. Farout, D. 1994. La carrière du wḥ mw Ameny et l’organisation des expéditions au ouadi Hammamat au Moyen Empire, Bibliothèque d’Études 94: 143–72. Fischer, H. G. 1964. Inscriptions from the Coptite Nome, Dynasties VI–XI. Analecta Orientalia 40. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Fonczak, M. and Rzepka, S. 2009. ‘Funny Signs’ in Theban Rock Graffiti. In P. Andrássy, J. Budka, and F. Kammerzell (eds), Non-Textual Marking Systems, Writing and Pseudo Script from Prehistory to Modern Times. Lingua Aegyptia Studia Monographica 8. Göttingen: Seminar für Ägyptologie und Koptologie, 159–78. Förster, F. 2015. Der Abu-Ballas Weg: Eine pharaonische Karawanenroute durch dir Libysche Wüste. Africa Praehistorica 28. Cologne: Heinrich-Barth-Institute. Förster, F. and Kuper, R. 2013. Catching the Beasts—Myths and Messages in Rock Art. In R. Kuper et al. (eds), Wadi Sura—The Cave of Beasts: A Rock Art Site in the Gilf Kebir (SW-Egypt). Africa Praehistorica 26. Cologne: Heinich-Barth-Institut, 24–7. Frankfurter, D. 1998. Religion in Roman Egypt, Assimilation and Resistence. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Friedman, R. 1999. Pots, Pebbles and Petroglyphs Part II: 1996 Excavations at Hierakonpolis Locality HK64. In A. Leahy and J. Tait (eds), Studies on Ancient Egypt in Honour of H.S. Smith. London: The Egypt Exploration Society, 101–8. Friedman, R. et al. 1999. Preliminary Report on Field Work at Hierakonpolis: 1996-1998, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 36: 1–35. Frood, E. 2013. Egyptian Temple Graffiti and the Gods: Appropriation and Ritualization in Karnak and Luxor. In D. Ragavan (ed.), Heaven on Earth: Temples, Ritual, and Cosmic Symbolism in the Ancient World. Chicago: Oriental Institute, 285–318. Gardiner, A. H. 1928. The Graffito from the Tomb of Pere, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 14: 10–11. Gardiner, A. H. et al. 1952, 1955. The Inscriptions of Sinai. 2 volumes. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Gasse, A. and Rondot, V. 2007. Les inscriptions de Séhel. MIFAO 126. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Gasse, A. and Rondot, V. (eds) 2004. Séhel. Entre Égypte et Nubie, inscriptions rupestres et graffiti de  l’époque pharaonique. Orientalia Monspeliensia 14. Montpellier: Université Paul Valery, Montpellier III. Goyon, G. 1957. Nouvelles inscriptions rupestres du Wadi Hammamat. Paris: Adrien-Maisonneuve. Goyon, G. 1974. Les inscriptions des carriers et des mines. In Textes et langages de l’Égypte pharaonique. BdE 64/2. Cairo: Institut francais d’archéologie orientale, 193–205. Gratien, B. 2004. Les fonctionnaires des sites égyptiens de Nubie au Moyen Empire, correspondance entre inscriptions rupestres et documents sigillaires. In A. Gasse and V. Rondot (eds), Séhel entre Égypte et Nubie: Inscriptions rupestres et graffiti de l’époque pharaonique. Orientalia Monspeliensa 14. Montpellier: Université Paul Valery, 161–74. Grenier, J.-C. 2004. Autour de la stèle de la Famine, de sa datation réelle et de sa date fictive. In A. Gasse and V. Rondot (eds), Séhel entre Égypte et Nubie: Inscriptions rupestres et graffiti de l’époque pharaonique. Orientalia Monspeliensa 14. Montpellier: Université Paul Valery, 81–8. Griffith, F. L. 1935–1937. Catalogue of the Demotic Graffiti of the Dodecaschoenus. 2 volumes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Habachi, L. 1974. Graffiti in the Area of the First Cataract. In Textes et langages de l’Égypte pharaonique. BdE 64/2. Cairo: Institut francais d’archéologie orientale, 185–92. Hamilton, G. J. 2006. The Origins of the West Semitic Alphabet in Egyptian Scripts. Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America. Hassan, F. (ed.) 2002. Droughts, Food and Culture: Ecological Change and Food Security in Africa’s Later Prehistory. New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1133 Hellström, P. et al. 1970. The Rock Drawings. 2 volumes. Scandinavian Joint Expedition to Sudanese Nubia 1. Copenhagen: Scandinavian University Books. Hendrickx, S. 1995. Analytical Bibliography of the Prehistory and the Early Dynastic Period of Egypt and Northern Sudan. Leuven: University Press. Hendrickx, S., Darnell, J. C., and Gatto, M. 2012. The Earliest Representations of Royal Power in Egypt: The Rock Drawings of Nag el-Hamdulab (Aswan), Antiquity 86: 1–16. Hendrickx, S. and Friedman, R. 2003. Gebel Tjauti Rock Inscription 1 and the Relationship between Abydos and Hierakonopolis during the Early Naqada III Period, Göttinger Miszellen 196: 95–110. Hendrickx, S., Riemer, H., Förster, F., and Darnell, J. C. 2010. Late Predynastic/Early Dynastic Rock Art Scenes of Barbary Sheep Hunting from Egypt’s Western Desert. From Capturing Wild Animals to the ‘Women of the Acacia House’. In H. Riemer, F. Förster, M. Herb, and N. Pöllath (eds), Desert Animals in the Eastern Sahara: Status, Economic Significance and Cultural Reflection in Antiquity, Proceedings of an International ACACIA Workshop held at the University of Cologne, Germany, December 14–15, 2007. Colloquium Africanum 4. Cologne: Heinrich Barth Institut, 189–244. Hikade, T. 2001. Das Expeditionswesen im ägyptischen Neuen Reich, ein Beitrag zu Rohstoffversorgung und Aussenhandel. SAGA 21. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientvelag. Hintze, F. and Reineke, W. F. 1989. Felsinschriften aus dem sudanesischen Nubien. 2 volumes. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Hoffmann, F. 2000. Ägypen: Kultur und Lebenswelt in griechisch-römischer Zeit, eine Darstellung nach den demotischen Quellen. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Hornung, E. 1966. Geschichte als Fest. Darmstadt: Wissenschafliche Buchgesellscaft. Hue-Arcé, C. 2013. Les graffitis hiératiques de la tombe 504 de Deir el-Bahari revisités, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Oriental 113: 193–202. Huyge, D. 1999. Bearers of the Sun, Discovering Archaeology 1: 48–58. Huyge, D. 2002. Cosmology, Ideology, and Personal Religious Practice in Ancient Egyptian Rock Art. In R. Friedman (ed.), Egypt and Nubia—Gifts of the Desert. London: British Museum Press, 192–206. Huyge, D. 2009. Detecting Magic in Rock Art: the Case of the Ancient Egyptian ‘Malignant Ass’. In H. Riemer, F. Förster, M. Herb, and N. Pöllath (eds), Desert Animals in the Eastern Sahara: Status, Economic Significance and Cultural Reflection in Antiquity, Proceedings of an International ACACIA Workshop Held at the University of Cologne. Colloquium Africanum 4. Cologne: Heinrich-BarthInstitut, 293–304. Huyge, D. 2003. Grandeur in Confined Spaces: Current Rock Art Research in Egypt. In P. G. Bahn and A. Fossati (eds), Rock Art Studies News of the World 2: Developments in Rock Art Research 1995–1999. Oxford: Oxbow Books, 59–73. Huyge, D. 1984. Horus Qa-a in the Elkab Area, Upper Egypt, Orientalia Lovaniensa Periodica 15: 5–9. Huyge, D. 1998. ‘Where are the Fish?’: Piscatorial Representations in Central Saharan and Egyptian Rock Art, Rock Art Research 15: 135–9. Huyge, D. et al. 2011. First Evidence of Pleistocene Rock Art in North Africa: Securing the Age of the Qurta Petroglyphs (Egypt) through OSL Dating of their Sediment Cover, Antiquity 85 (330): 1184–93. Huyge, D. et al. 1998. Hilltops, Silts, and Petroglyphs: the Fish Hunters of El-Hosh (Upper Egypt), Bulletin des Musées Royaux d’art et d’Histoire 69: 97–113. Huyge, D. et al. 2013. Premiers témoignages d’un art rupestre pléstocène en Afrique du Nord: confirmation de l’âge des pétroglyphes de Qurta (Égypte) par datation OSL de leur couverture sédimentaire. In D. Huyge, F. Van Noten, and D. Swinne (eds), The Signs of Which Times? Chronological and Palaeoenvironmental Issues in the Rock Art of Northern Africa. Brussels: Royal Academy for Overseas Sciences, 257–68. Ibrahim, M. R. and Tallet, P. 2009. King Den in North-Sinai: The Earliest Monumental Rock Inscriptions of the Pharaonic Period, Archéo-Nil 19: 179–184. Ikram, S. and Rossi, C. 2004. An Early Dynastic serekh from the Kharga Oasis, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 90: 211–15

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1134   John Coleman Darnell Iversen, E. 1984. The Inscription Of Herwerre At Serabit-Al-Kadem. In F.  Junge (Ed.), Studien Zu Sprache Und Religion Ägyptens (Fs Westendorf). Vol. 1. Göttingen: Hubert And Co., 507–19. Jacquet-Gordon, H. 1981. Graffiti from the Region of Gerf Hussein, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 37: 227–40. Jacquet-Gordon, H. 2004. Temple of Khonsu, Volume 3: The Graffiti on the Khansu Temple Roof at Karnak. OIP 123. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Jansen-Winkeln, K. 1995. Die Plünderung der Königsgräber des Neuen Reiches, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 122: 62–78. Jasnow, R. 1984. Demotic Graffiti from Western Thebes. In H. J. Thissen and K.-Th. Zauzich (eds), Grammata Demotika. Würzburg: Gisela Zauzich Verlag, 87–105. Jéquier, G. 1933. Deux pyramides du moyen empire. Cairo: Institut francais d’archéologie orientale. Judd, T. 2009. Rock Art of the Eastern Desert of Egypt: Content, Comparisons, Dating and Significance. British Archaeological Reports International Series 2008. Oxford: Archaeopress. Kaper O. E. and Willems, H. 2002. Policing the Desert: Old Kingdom Activity around the Dakhleh Oasis. In R. Friedman (ed.), Egypt and Nubia—Gifts of the Desert. London: British Museum Press, 79–94. Kitchen, K. 1968–1990. Ramesside Inscriptions, Historical and Biographical. 8 volumes. Oxford: Blackwell. Klemm, R. and Klemm, D. D. 1993. Steine und Steinbrüche im Alten Ägypten. Berlin: Springer-Verlag. Klotz, D. and Brown, M. 2016. The Enigmatic Statuette of Djehutymose (MFA 24.743): Deputy of Wawat and Viceroy of Kush, Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 52: 269–302. Kuhlmann, K. P. 2005. Der ‘Wasserberg des Djedefre’ (Chufu 01/1). Ein Lagerplatz mit Expeditionsinschriften der 4. Dynastie im Raum der Oase Dachla, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 61: 243–89. Kuhlmann, K. P. 1973. Eine Beschreibung der Grabdekoration mit der Aufforderung zu kopieren und  zum Hinterlassen von Besucherinschriften aus saitischer Zeit, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 29: 205–13. Kuhlmann, K. P. 2002. The ‘Oasis Bypath’ or the Issue of Desert Trade in Pharaonic Times. In T. LenssenErz et al. (eds), Tides of the Desert—Gezeiten der Wüste. Cologne: Heinrich-Barth-Institute, 125–70. Kuper, R. 2002. Routes and Roots in Egypt’s Western Desert: The Early Holocene Resettlement of the Eastern Sahara. In R. Friedman (ed.), Egypt and Nubia—Gifts of the Desert. London: British Museum Press, 1–20. Kuper, R. et al. 2013. Wadi Sura—The Cave of Beasts: A Rock Art Site in the Gild Kebir (SW-Egypt). Africa Praehistorica 26, Cologne: Heinrich Barth Institut. Kurth, D. 1996. Der Erfolg des Harurre in Serabit el-Chadim (Inscr. Sinai, Nr. 90), Göttinger Miszellen 154: 57–63. Lajtar, A. 2006. Deir el-Bahari in the Hellenistic and Roman Periods: A Study of an Egyptian Temple Based on Greek Sources. Journal of Juristic Papyrology Supplement IV. Warsaw: Drukarnia Duo Studio. Lankester, F. 2013. Desert Boats: Predynastic and Pharaonic Era Rock-Art in Egypt’s Central Eastern Desert—Distribution, Dating and Interpretation. BAR International Series 254. Oxford: Archaeopress. Lichtheim, M. 1988. Ancient Egyptian Autobiographies chiefly of the Middle Kingdom. OBO 84. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. Lopez, J. 1967. Inscriptions de l’Ancien Empire à Khor el-Aquiba, Revue d’Égyptologie 19: 51–66. Lopez, J. 1966. Las Inscripciones Rupestres Faraonicas entre Korosko y Kasr Ibrim (Orilla Oriental del Nilo). Madrid: Ministerio de Asuntos Exteriores and Ministerio de Educacion Nacional. Marciniak, M. 1974. Les inscriptions hiératiques du temple de Thoutmosis III. Warsaw: PWN-Éditions scientifiques de Pologne. Marciniak, M. 1968. Quelques remarques sur la formule ir nfr, ir nfr, Études et Travaux 2: 25–31. Marciniak, M. 1981. Une inscription commémorative de Deir el-Bahari, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 37: 299–305. Mark, S. 1998. From Egypt to Mesopotamia, a Study of Predynastic Trade Routes. London: Chatham Publishing.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1135 Mcdowell, A. 1993. Hieratic Ostraca in the Hunterian Museum Glasgow. Oxford: Griffith Institute. Meeks, D. 1991. Oiseaux des carrieres et des cavernes. In U. Verhoeven and E. Graefe (eds), Religion und Philosophie im Alten Ägypten. OLA 39. Leuven: Peeters, 233–41. Meyer, M. 1983. Archaeological Survey of the Wadi Sheikh Ali, Göttinger Miszellen 64: 77–82. Minault-Gout, A. 1985. Une inscription rupestre de l’Oasis de Dakhla situé au débouché du Darb el-Tawil. In F. Geus and F. Thill (eds), Mélanges offerts à Jean Vercoutter. Paris: Éditions recherche sur les civilisations, 267–72. Morkot, R. 1999. Kingship and Kinship in the Empire of Kush. In S. Wenig (ed.), Studien zum antiken Sudan. Meroitica 15. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 179–229. Morrow, M. and Morrow, M. (eds) 2002. Desert RATS, Rock Art Topographical Survey in Egypt’s Eastern Desert. London: Bloomsbury Summer School, University College. Mostafa, M. F. 2014. The Mastaba of Ím|j at Nagª Kom el-Koffar, Qift, Vol. 1: Autobiographies and Related Scenes and Texts. Cairo: Ministry of Antiquities and Heritage. Navratilova, H. 2015. Visitors Graffiti of Dynasties 18 and 19 in Abusir and Northern Saqqara, with a Survey of the Graffiti at Giza, Southern Saqqara, Dahshur and Maidum. 2nd rev. edn. Wallasey: Abercromby Press. Obsomer, C. 1995. Sesostris Ier, Étude chronologique et historique du règne. Brussels: Connaissance de l’Égypte ancienne. Osing J. et al. 1982. Denkmäler der Oase Dachla aus dem Nachlass von Ahmed Fakhry. AV 28. Mainz am Rhein: Phillip von Zabern. Pantalacci, L. 1996. Une été à Serabit el-Khadim. Göttinger Miszellen 150: 87–91. Peden, A. J. 2001. The Graffiti of Pharaonic Egypt. PdÄ 17. Leiden: Brill. Preisigke, F. and Spiegelberg, W. 1915. Ägyptische und griechische Inschriften und Graffiti aus den Steinbrüchen der Gebel Silsile (Oberägypten). Strassburg: Trübner. Ragazzoli, C. 2013. The Social Creation of a Scribal place: The Visitors’ Inscriptions in the Tomb Attributed to Antefiqer (TT60) (with Newly Recorded Graffiti), Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 42: 269–323. Régen, I. and Soukiassian, G. 2008. Gebel el-Zeit, II. Le matériel inscrit. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Reisner, G. A. 1932. A Provincial Cemetery of the Pyramid Age, Naga-ed-Dêr Part III. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Riemer, H. and Förster, F. 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. Riemer, H. et al. 2005. Zwei pharaonische Wüstenstationen südwestlich von Dachla, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 61: 291–350. Rothe, R. D., Miller, W. K., and Rapp, G. 2008. Pharaonic Inscriptions from the Southern Eastern Desert of Egypt. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Rzepka, S. 2003. Old Kingdom graffiti in Deir el-Bahri. In N. Kloth, K. Martin, and E. Pardey (eds), Es werde niedergelegt als Schriftstück. Festschrift für Hartwig Altenmüller zum 65. Geburtstag. Bsak 9. Hamburg: Helmut Buske Verlag, 379–85. Sadek, A. I. 1980–5. The Amethyst Mining Inscriptions of Wadi el-Hudi. Warminster: Aris and Phillips Ltd. Sass, B. 1988. The Genesis of the Alphabet and Its Development in the Second Millennium B.C. ÄAT 13. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Scharff, A. 1929. Die Altertümer der Vor- und Frühzeit Ägyptens 1. Berlin: Verlag von Karl Curtius. Schenkel, W. 1965. Memphis-Herakleopolis-Theben. Die epigraphischen Zeugnisse der 7.-11. Dynastie Ägyptens. ÄA 12. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Serrano, A. J. 2002. Royal Festivals in the Late Predynastic Period and the First Dynasty. Oxford: Archaeopress. Seyfried, K.-J. 1981. Beiträge zu den Expeditionen des Mittleren Reiches in die Ost-Wüste. HÄB 15. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg.

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1136   John Coleman Darnell Simpson, W. K. 1963. Heka-Nefer and the Dynastic Material from Toshka and Arminna. New Haven: Peabody Museum. Simpson, W. K. (ed.) 2003. The Literature of Ancient Egypt. New Haven: Yale University Press. Smither, P. C. 1945. The Semnah Dispatches, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 31: 3–10. Somaglino, C. and Tallet, P. 2015. Gebel Sheikh Suleiman: A First Dynasty Relief after all . . . , ArchéoNil 25: 123–34. Somaglino, C. and Tallet, P. 2011. Une mystérieuse route sud-orientale sous le règne de Ramsès III, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Oriental 111: 361–9. Sperveslage, G. 2013. Ägyptische Einflüsse auf der Arabischen Halbinsel in vorislamischer Zeit am Beispiel der Oase von Tayma, Zeitschrift für Orient-Archäologie 6: 234–52. Spiegelberg, W. 1921. Ägyptische und andere Graffiti aus der thebanischen Nekropolis. 2 volumes. Heidelberg: C. Winters Universitätsbuchhandlung. Steindorff, G. 1937. Aniba 2. Glückstadt: J. J. Augustin. Tallet, P. 2003. Notes sur la zone minière du Sud-Sinaï au Nouvel Empire, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Oriental 103: 459–86. Tallet, P. 2012. La zone minière pharaonique du Sud-Sinaï—I: Catalogue complémentaire des inscriptions du Sinaï. MIFAO 130. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Tallet, P. 2015. La zone minière pharaonique du Sud-Sinaï—II: Les inscriptions pré- et protodynastiques du Ouadi ªAmeyra (CCIS nos 273–335). MIFAO 132. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie ­Orientale. Thiem, A.-C. 2000. Speos von Gebel es-Sisileh. ÄAT 47. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Thissen, H.-J. 1989. Die demotischen Graffiti von Medinet Habu. Sommerhausen: Gisela Zauzich Verlag. Thissen, H.-J. 1976. Graffiti. In W. Helck and W. Westendorf (eds), Lexikon der Ägyptologie 2. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, cols. 880–2. Unhammer, O., Reshetnikova, N., Kleinitz, C., and Williams, B. (no date). The Monument at Gebel Sheikh Suleiman. Online resources (text, plates, montage, and 3D model) at https://chicago. academia.edu/BruceWilliams. Vahala  F. and Cervicek, P. 1999. Katalog der Felsbilder aus der tschechoslowakischen Konzessio in Nubien. Prague: Universitas Carolina Pragensis. Valbelle, D. and Bonnet, C. 1996. Le sanctuaire d’Hathor, maîtresse de la turquoise. Sérabit el-Khadim au Moyen Empire. Lille: Picard. Vandekerckhove, H. and Müller-Wollermann, R. 2001. Die Felsinschriften des Wadi Hilâl. Elkab 6. Turnhout: Brepols. Ventura, R. 1974. An Egyptian Rock Stela in Timna, Tel Aviv 1: 60–3. Verhoeven, U. 2013. Literatur im Grab – der Sonderfall Assiut. In G. Moers et al. (eds), Dating Egyptian Literary Texts. Lingua Aegyptia–Studia Monographica 11. Hamburg: Widmaier, 139–58. Vittmann, G. 2003. Ägypten und die Fremden im ersten vorchristlichen Jahrtausend. Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Vittmann, G. 1984. Ein Zauberspruch gegen Skorpionen im Wadi Hammamat. In H.-J. Thissen and K.-Th. Zauzich (eds), Grammata Demotika. Würzburg: Gisela Zauzich Verlag, 245–56. Vittmann, G. 1989. Zum Verständnis des demotischen Zauberspruchs im Wadi Hammamat, Discussions in Egyptology 13: 73–8. Welsby, D. and Anderson, J. (eds) 2004. Sudan, Ancient Treasures. London: British Museum Press. Wendorf, F. and Schild, R. 2002b. Implications of Incipient Social Complexity in the Late Neolithic in the Egyptian Sahara. In R. Friedman (ed.), Egypt and Nubia, Gifts of the Desert. London: British Museum Press, 13–20. Wendorf, F. et al. 2001. Holocene settlement of the Egyptian Sahara 1, The Archaeology of Nabta Playa. New York: Kluwer Academic. Wente, E. F. 1984. Some Graffiti from the Reign of Hatshepsut, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 43: 47–54. Westendorf, W. 1966a. Altägyptische Darstellungen des Sonnenlaufes auf der abschüssigen Himmelsbahn. MÄS 10. Berlin: Akademie Verlag.

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Rock art, rock inscriptions, and graffiti   1137 Westendorf, W. 1979. Vom Sonnentier zum Sonnenboot. In M. Görg and E. Pusch (eds), Festschrift Elmar Edel. ÄAT 1. Bamberg: M. Görg, 432–5. Westendorf, W. 1966b. Wesen und Ursprung der Maat. In S. Lauffer (ed.), Festgabe für Dr. Walter Will. Cologne: Heymann, 204–6. Whitley, D. S. 2000. Finding Rain in the Desert: Landscape, Gender and Far Western North American Rock-Art. In C. Chippendale and P. S. C. Taçon (eds), The Archaeology of Rock-Art. Corrected edn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 11–26. Wilkinson, T. 1999. Early Dynastic Egypt. London: Routledge. Wilkinson, T. 2003. Genesis of the Pharaohs, Dramatic New Discoveries that Rewrite the Origins of Ancient Egypt. London: Thames and Hudson. Wilkinson, T. 1995. A New King in the Western Desert, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 81: 205–10. Willems, H. 1983–4. The Nomarchs of the Hare Nome and Early Middle Kingdom History, Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Genootschap ‘Ex Oriente Lux’ 28: 80–102. Willems, H. 2007. Dayr el-Barsha_, Vol. 1: The Rock Tombs of Djehutinakht (No. 17K74/1), Khnumnakht (No. 17K74/2), and Iha (No. 17K74/3), with an Essay on the History and Nature of Nomarchal Rule in the Early Middle Kingdom. OLA 155. Leuven, Paris, and Dudley MA: Peeters Publishers and Department of Oriental Studies. Willems, H. and Demarée, R. J. 2009. A Visitor’s Graffito in Dayr Abu Hinnis. Remarks on the Source of Limestone Used in the Construction of al-Amarna, Revue d’Égyptologie 60: 222–6. Williams, B. and Logan, T. 1987. The Metropolitan Museum Knife Handle and Aspects of Pharaonic Imagery before Narmer, Journal of Near Eastern Studies 46: 245–85. Winkler, H. A. 1938–9. Rock-Drawings of Southern Upper Egypt. 2 volumes. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Winlock, H. E. 1947. The Rise and Fall of the Middle Kingdom in Thebes. New York: The Macmillan Company. Yoyotte, J. 1960. Les pèlerinages dans l’Égypte ancienne. In J. Yoyotte (ed.), Sources Orientales 3: Les Pèlerinages. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 57–60. Zába, Z. 1974. The Rock Inscriptions of Lower Nubia. Prague: Universita Karlova.

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chapter 58

Ptol em a ic a n d Rom a n templ e texts Olaf E. Kaper

Introduction It is an intriguing paradox that some of the best-preserved monuments in Egypt that are  most frequently visited by modern-day travellers are among the least studied by Egyptologists. The temples of Philae, Kom Ombo, Edfu, Esna, and Dendera, to mention only some of the largest examples, feature prominently on the tourist itinerary; yet their inscriptions have only begun to be translated and studied. In recent years there has been a new surge of interest in the late temples, and Egyptology can be said to have begun catching up in this field. One of the problems that appears to have hampered the study of these inscriptions is their relatively late date. When Egypt became part of the Hellenistic world, the documents of everyday life were written either in demotic or Greek. As a consequence, Egyptological attention has concentrated upon the earlier periods, leaving the Greek and demotic sources to the separate field of papyrology. Only some nineteenth century scholars, most notably Heinrich Brugsch, managed to utilize the demotic sources as well as the late temple inscriptions in equal measure in their work. Until the standard editions of Edfu and Dendera had appeared in print (see below), it was common usage to disregard the Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts as corruptions of the earlier pharaonic religious traditions.1 This attitude goes back to Jean-François Champollion,2 but it has survived into modern times. There are still general studies on religious topics being written that completely disregard the abundant material from the later temples.3 Another obvious reason for their neglect is the writing system of these inscriptions. The texts have arguably been written in one of the most difficult forms of the hieroglyphic script. The iconic possibilities of the hieroglyphs, which were always inherently present in the script, 1  E.g. Breasted 1912. 2  Champollion-Figeac 1836: 2, n. 1; cf. Sauneron 1972: 46–56 on the early history of Ptolemaic studies. 3  E.g. Quirke 2001.

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Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts   1139 were increasingly utilized in the Late Period, especially now that the use of hieroglyphs had been freed from the constraints of practical considerations. The script was no longer in use in everyday situations, and it came to serve exclusively to record religious knowledge. The number of pictorial signs increased dramatically, which is a remarkable development when considering that in other scripts the tendency has usually been towards simplification. In the temple inscriptions from the time of Cleopatra VII (51–30 bc) in Dendera, a total of 2,000 different signs was employed.4 In other temples slightly different selections were made, and Sylvie Cauville has remarked that the temple scribes of Edfu wrote with a wider range of signs than at Dendera.5 Any of the regular temple inscriptions can be read, according to an estimate by Christian Leitz,6 with a basic sign list of some 1,500 signs. The total number of 7,000 signs that was developed in order to print Ptolemaic texts on the presses of the French archaeological institute in Cairo (IFAO) is highly misleading, as this list includes many variants and groupings of familiar signs. The complexity of the script has often deterred students from entering this field of study at all; yet, this is unwarranted. As H.W. Fairman pointed out in his seminal article of 1945: ‘The great majority of the temple inscriptions are written in a manner that is almost normal.’7 More recently, Serge Sauneron, and again Leitz, have again raised objections against overdramatizing the situation, because most of the texts involved should, in fact, be accessible to all students with a good reading ability in Middle Egyptian.8 A minority of the late temple inscriptions is written in what has been called ‘ornamental’, ‘sportive’, ‘enigmatic’, or ‘cryptographic’ writing. These different designations reflect an ambiguity in their purpose. It is a type of script that was specifically employed in the ­so-called bandeaux inscriptions; horizontal lines of text that run along the bottom or top of registers with offering scenes. In addition, it was sometimes used in writing familiar names of towns and gods. The signs in this form of the script emphasize their iconic contents as much as their sound values. Fairman has remarked that the key to reading these texts is to accept their logic and simplicity,9 but in fact they are never easy to read. The purpose of this particular type of script is difficult to ascertain. Even though these inscriptions are illegible at first sight, there is no question of a secret content, as their significance is often apparent from the immediate context of the inscriptions. Often, though not always, the solution to the reading is provided on the parallel wall. Moreover, the ornamental texts are sometimes completely hidden from view in inaccessible crypts or at five meters height.10 The purpose of the ornamental script must be sought in the pictorial value of the signs. Even though its use was more common in the Ptolemaic and Roman temples, it cannot be said that cryptographic writing is characteristic of this period, as it is known from all phases of the hieroglyphic script since the Middle Kingdom. In John Darnell’s study of New Kingdom cryptographic inscriptions, he remarks that ‘occasional “sportive” writings of a rebus or pseudo-enigmatic sort are scattered throughout all genres of texts from the New Kingdom’.11

4 Cauville 2001b. 5  Cauville 2001b: 2. 6  Leitz 2004: 10. 8  Sauneron 1972: 46; Leitz 2004: 9–16. 9  Fairman 1945: 131. 11  Darnell 2004: 18, n. 15.

7  Fairman 1945: 58. 10 Cauville 2002.

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1140   Olaf E. Kaper

State of publication of the temple inscriptions In 1972, Sauneron estimated that only some 70 per cent of the temple inscriptions had been published.12 The situation has improved greatly since then, although a large amount still remains to be done. At the same time, however, some temples were only first excavated as recently as 1972, as in the case of the temples of the Dakhla Oasis, those around Koptos, and the large temple of Athribis. In 1997, Dieter Kurth estimated that at least 12,000 pages would be required to print all Ptolemaic texts,13 which is 20 per cent more than the estimate given by Sauneron. A full publication of a temple’s inscriptions should, of course, include more than pages of text. Apart from the autographed or typographical transcriptions of all texts, a publication should also include translations and a photographic record as well as facsimile drawings of the entire relief decoration. Key plans should be added to indicate the relation of the scenes to the architecture. Temples that have been adequately published in this sense are the following:14 Aswan (temple of Isis), Dakka, Debod, Deir el-Bahri (the chapel of Imhotep and Amonhotep inside Hatshepsut’s temple), Deir el-Medina, Deir Shelwit, Dendur, Elkab (the rock temple of Hathor and Nekhbet), Kalabsha, Karnak (the gateways in front of the temples of Khons, Montu, and Mut), Luxor (the barque chapel), Medamud, and Musawwarat es-Sufra.15 Apart from these complete monuments, the minor remains of the following temples have been fully published: Biga, Elephantine (the temple of Khnum), Hermopolis (the pronaos of Philip Arrhidaeus),16 and blocks from a temple of Nehmet-away(?),17 Komir, Koptos (the southern temples), and Tebtunis.18 The temple of Horus at Edfu was fully published by Émile Chassinat in fourteen volumes of typographed inscriptions, line drawings and photographs, between 1897 and 1934. The transcriptions in the first two volumes contained many errors, and a corrected reprint was published by Cauville and Didier Devauchelle in six parts between 1984 and 1990, with the addition of some omitted inscriptions.19 Further corrections on the printed publication are being assembled by the Edfu Project directed by Kurth. This project, which envisages study­ ing all inscriptions of the Edfu temple, is also planning to supplement the insufficiently published line drawings of the reliefs.20 Several temples, or parts of temples, still remain only partly published. This is the case with the Ptolemaic remains within the temple complex at Karnak, notably the texts within the temple of Amon-Ra, among which are the gate in the second pylon and the separate 12  Sauneron 1972: 289 n. 2. 13  Kurth 1997: 153. 14  References to their publications are not included here, as they can easily be found elsewhere, e.g. in the bibliography in Leitz 2004: 2–5. I do not include temples that survive only in the form of loose blocks. 15  The latter is not included in the usual handbooks on Ptolemaic texts, but its inscriptions stand within the same tradition; cf. Hintze e.a. 1993. 16  Snape and Bailey 1988. 17 Snape 1989. 18 Rondot 2004. 19  Cauville and Devauchelle 1985. 20 Publication ongoing, but see, for example, Kurth et al.  1998–2014; Bartels  2009; Kurth and Waitkus 2010.

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Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts   1141 temples of Opet, Khons, and Ptah. The temple of Hathor at Dendera is still in the process of being published. The first edition by Auguste Mariette21 was replaced and improved upon by the edition started by Chassinat in 1934 and continued by François Daumas and later by Cauville. The only parts of this temple that remain largely unpublished are the entrance gateway and the gate of Horus. The architecture of the building has been studied by Zignani,22 and editions of the temple of Isis and the pronaos of the temple of Hathor have been produced by Cauville.23 Several ongoing projects may be mentioned: the temple of Behbeit el-Hagar is being studied by Christine Favard-Meeks; the publication of the El-Qal’a temple is ongoing by Laure Pantalacci and ClaudeTraunecker. At Qasr el-’Aguz, a new publication of the temple is being prepared by Traunecker and Volokhine.24 A new edition of the great temple at Kom Ombo was prepared by Adolphe Gutbub before his death, of which the first volume was published by Danielle Inconnu-Bocquillon.25 The temple at Shanhur, long neglected, is being published by Harco Willems, Filip Coppens, and Marleen de Meyer.26 The publication of the temple of Tod has been continued by Christophe Thiers.27 The large temple of Triphis at Athribis in Upper Egypt (also referred to as Wannina or Sheikh Hamad), partly excavated and published by Petrie, but more fully excavated in the late twentieth century by Yahya el-Masry;28 its publication has been taken on by Leitz.29 At Esna, the temple of Khnum and Neith was largely published by Sauneron in five volumes between 1963 and 1975.30 Only the outer decoration of the pronaos remained to be finalized, which has now been published by Jochen Hallof.31 The publication of the temples of Philae has remained incomplete and it has seen long delays. The interior decoration of the naos was first published in transcription by Georges Bénédite in 1893 and 1895,32 later supplemented by a full edition of the first pylon by Hermann Junker, of the mammisi (‘birth-house’—a chapel where the divine birth was celebrated) by Junker and Erich Winter, and the east colonnade by Holger Kockelmann and Winter.33 A large number of temples remain completely unpublished, or at the most they are the subject of incidental studies, as in the case of the temples of the Dakhla Oasis, which have only recently been excavated. The temple of Amon-nakht at Ain Birbiyeh, the temple of Amon-Re at Deir el-Hagar, and the mammisi of Tutu at Ismant el-Kharab (Kellis) are being prepared for publication by the present author. The temple of Ain Amur, between Dakhla and Kharga, is still waiting to be published, as are the temples of Nadura, Qasr Ghuweita, and Qasr Zayan in Kharga itself. The temple decoration of Dush, however, has been the topic of a PhD thesis and it will be published by Peter Dils. At Dendera, a large gateway belonging to a temple of Horus to the east of the temenos of Hathor and Isis remains entirely unpublished. The gateway of Augustus from Kalabsha, now in Berlin, is being prepared for publication by Ewa Laskowska-Kusztal. The bark chapel from the reign of Philip Arrhidaeus at Karnak is to be published by Traunecker, as are the decorated crypts inside the Opet temple, which he himself discovered. The blocks from a 21  Mariette 1870–5; cf. the index in Ryhiner 2002. 22  Aubourg and Zignani 2000; Zignani 2010. 23 Cauville 2009, 2011, 2013. 24  See Traunecker 2009. 25 Gutbub 1995. 26  Willems et al. 2003; Willems 2012. 27 Thiers 2003. 28  See, for example, el-Masry 2001. 29  Leitz et al. 2015. 30 Sauneron 1963–75. 31 Sauneron 2009. 32 Bénédite 1893–5. 33  Junker 1958; Junker and Winter 1965; Kockelmann and Winter 2016.

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1142   Olaf E. Kaper gateway of Tiberius at Medamud are to be published by Valbelle. The small temple of Medinet Habu is currently being copied by the Epigraphic Survey of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Finally, back at Karnak, the sanctuary of Alexander in the Akh-menu is to be published by the Centre Franco-Égyptien d’Étude des Temples de Karnak (CFEETK). The demolished mammisi of Armant has been published on the basis of all extant information from early scholars and photographers.34

The writing system, lexicography, grammar The first study of the Ptolemaic script was published by Junker in 1903, comprising only thirty-two pages. It was, however, based upon a much larger manuscript of 162 pages, which was never published in full. Forty years after that, two ground-breaking articles on the script appeared by Fairman based upon a study of the temple texts at Edfu,35 and forty years later, Kurth defined the rules of the derivation of signs more precisely.36 These rules cover the derivation of signs both in the ‘ordinary’ script and in ornamental or ‘cryptographic’ writings. On the latter, several important studies have been written, although a general overview is still lacking. The most complex examples of ‘cryptography’ are found at Esna, on which Sauneron has written a monograph.37 The decorative writing at Dendera was the topic of an article by Cauville that provided important insights.38 The influence of hieratic and demotic spellings on some of the writings in the temple of Edfu has been researched by Kurth.39 That this is not a specific feature of Ptolemaic writing was emphasized by Dimitri Meeks.40 The same is valid for the common occurrence of combinations of signs written through or against each other, which is a development already clearly in evidence during the Third Intermediate Period.41 The Ptolemaic script was ­traditional in every aspect, except perhaps for its application of the rules of the ‘grammaire du temple’, explained below. There are several sign lists available to assist in the reading of Ptolemaic inscriptions; the most elaborate of these was compiled by Daumas et al. under the title ‘Valeurs phonétiques’, also known as the Montpellier sign list.42 However, there have been major reservations expressed in relation to this list. Cauville commented on the numerous needless distinctions between shapes of signs in the list, which are in fact identical.43 Moreover, she claimed that the list also includes many wrong values, while leaving out some that are common. The inclusion of cryptographic values in the list is unwise, as it only adds another source of confusion for the student. Leitz has been particularly damning about the Montpellier sign list, which he declared to be ‘all but worthless’ (‘nahezu unbrauchbar’), and even ‘a disaster’, in which ‘more or less every second sound value is wrong’ (‘dürfte schätzungsweise jeder zweite Lautwert falsch sein’).44 This appraisal is harsh, but unfortunately not wide off the 34  Rutica 2015. 35  Fairman 1943 and Fairman 1945. 36  Kurth 1983, with an addition in Kurth 1988. 37  Sauneron 1982; cf. also the studies Leitz 2001b and Morenz 2002. 38 Cauville 2002. 39 Kurth 1999. 40  Meeks 2004: XIV. 41  Jansen-Winkeln 1996: §15. 42  Daumas et al. 1988–95. 43  Cauville 1998: 3. 44  Leitz 2004: 151.

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Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts   1143 mark. The list has been compiled without thorough editing, which would have reduced the number of signs and values considerably. Although there is much valuable material in the list for the critical scholar, it is quite unsuitable for students. It is not more than a first attempt at drawing together information from various sources, which should lead to a more reliable sign list to be compiled in the future. Sign values in the late temples were partly determined by location and context. It is therefore important that special lists be drawn up for a single temple or a single coherent group of texts. An important start of this work can be found in publications of sign lists by Cauville and Meeks. Cauville has compiled an overview of the 2,000 signs used in the Ptolemaic part of the temple of Dendera, with their sound values,45 and Meeks has studied the 641 different signs that are found on the architraves of the Esna pronaos, of which he discussed its epigraphic details, historical background and sound values.46 In the field of palaeography, a selective study was undertaken by Maria Derchain-Urtel, examining local variations in the shape of signs in the Roman period;47 and a statistical study was written by Hallof about the changes in the text columns (Randzeilen) between the Ptolemaic and Roman periods.48 A case study into the work division between sculptors and priestly scribes in the Osiris chapels at Dendera was carried out by Pantalacci.49 These studies are important first steps in a direction of research that should yield important results in the future. For the moment, the study of the palaeography of the signs in the late temples is still hampered by a lack of facsimile editions of the texts.

Lexicography The spellings of words may not always correspond to the form familiar from earlier periods. In part, they reflect a new, contemporary pronunciation, which has caused some weak consonants to disappear and some strong consonants to become confused (notably ỉ with ꜥ ; ḫ with š; ḳ with k and g; t with ˍt and d and dˍ  ). This may make the consultation of the dictionary more time-consuming. Moreover, similarly shaped signs are often interchangeable; sometimes as a result of confusion with cursive forms of the signs. There is now one specialized dictionary for the inscriptions at Edfu that was compiled by Penny Wilson.50 It is a selective dictionary, based on the lexicographic material collected by Aylward Blackman and H.W. Fairman, to which much information of various kinds has been added. It is far from comprehensive in its selection of words, and not every spelling or attestation is included, but on the whole, it is a useful tool. A critical assessment, with many additional notes on individual words, was written by Meeks.51 The standard dictionary of Erman and Grapow, the Berlin Wörterbuch, was compiled before the major temple publications were made. It incorporates published inscriptions of Dendera and Edfu, and unpublished inscriptions from Philae and the Theban temples.52 45  Cauville 2001a. 46 Meeks 2004. 47 Derchain-Urtel 1999. 48 Hallof 1987. 49  Pantalacci 1986. 50 Wilson 1997. 51 Meeks 1999. 52  Mariette 1870–5 for Dendera, diverse published inscriptions for Edfu, unpublished hand-copies by Junker from Philae, and Sethe’s copies of the Theban temple inscriptions.

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1144   Olaf E. Kaper These copies can be consulted in full on the internet.53 Some additional words from the Edfu texts have been collected by the Edfu Project.54 The indices on the available translations of texts from the temples of Deir el-Medina, Dendera and Edfu provide an invaluable additional resource where words can be looked up easily. For the volumes Edfou VII and VIII a full digital index and concordance was published.55 These indices do not, however, include the hieroglyphic forms of the words, which has so far only been included in a single publication: Cauville’s study of the Osiris chapels at Dendera.56 This volume paves the way for Ptolemaic lexicography. It is the most exhaustive word index imaginable, which includes all the spellings of individual words and their location within a single building unit. The large variation in spellings, which was always inherent in the system, became practically mandatory in the late temple texts. The bewildering result of this development is nevertheless likely to follow rules, which are as yet unknown to us. But it is only by compiling complete indices that we are ever likely to find out more.

Grammar The grammar of the late temple texts is a mix of past and contemporary language phases.57 Many texts in the late temples used an artificial grammar of an already dead language.58 For instance, the frequent triple writing of determinatives as indication of the plural was adopted from the script of the Old Kingdom. Quack has shown for the Khoiak texts in Dendera that the grammatical elements within some of these inscriptions can be analysed and a date for the different components can be established.59 The use of Pyramid Texts in the Ptolemaic and Roman temples was frequent,60 but at the same time new texts were also written in an artificial Middle Egyptian grammar. Other inscriptions may be written according to the grammatical rules of demotic, for which Quack has coined the phrase ‘monumental demotic’.61 This type of grammatical amalgam is encountered already in the Late-Period papyri, which Pascal Vernus has termed ‘Égyptien de tradition’.62 In spite of their diverse background, some common traits may be discerned in the spellings of endings (stative), or specific morphemes (articles, pronouns). Junker’s study from 1906 remained the only grammar written of this artificial language until Kurth’s grammar of 2007. It is clear that in the field of grammatical studies much remains to be done. One of the new developments in the language is the factor brought in by the text’s surroundings. Leitz has shown how, on the outer walls of the sanctuary at Dendera, the eastern side utilizes active verb constructions (ḥ r + inf.), while the western side has stative forms of the verb.63 This is an application of the rules of the ‘grammaire du temple’, which governed also many other aspects of the temple reliefs. It is an aspect that makes the writing of a traditional grammar of this phase of the language extremely complicated. A new

53 http://aaew.bbaw.de/dza/. 54  Budde and Kurth 1994. 55  As part of Kurth et al. 2004. 56  Cauville et al. 1997. 57  As was already noted in Junker 1906: 1–3. 58  Sauneron 1972: 152. 59 Quack 1998. 60  Cf. Graefe 1991. 61 Quack 1995. 62  Vernus 1982. 63  Leitz 2001a: 257.

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Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts   1145 r­ eference grammar of the late temple texts has been authored by Kurth, in three volumes. Cauville plans to prepare a study of the phraseology of the Dendera inscriptions.

Bibliographies, translations, and teaching tools The bibliography of Nadine Sauneron about the period 1939–54 covered four aspects: the editions of individual temples, script and grammar of the temple texts, lexical studies on words, and an index of citations of individual passages.64 Only the latter part, a most useful research tool, has been updated since. First by Jean Claude Grenier,65 and recently again by Leitz, who continues to provide updates of this volume on the website of the French Institute (IFAO) in Cairo.66 There are two major projects underway aimed at translating the temple inscriptions of Edfu and Dendera respectively. The Edfu project, initiated by Kurth in 1986, aims to provide a translation of that temple, and this research is still ongoing.67 A lexicographical index of volumes VII and VIII accompanies the second part, together with an analytical index of themes, such as mythological allusions or divine epithets, which provides an excellent research tool. A selection of translated texts from the entire temple was published as an anthology.68 At the same time, Kurth has warned against translating individual texts from the larger temples in isolation, because the spellings can often be misleading and yield their true meaning only after the full context within the temple has been studied.69 Cauville has started a systematic translation of the volumes of Dendera texts, the first publication of which appeared in 1998, and additional volumes have appeared at commendable speed since.70 Contrary to the Edfu project, she does not provide extensive commentary with these translations, but a full concordance is provided showing every word in its context within the volume. The translations are preceded by a brief overview of the decoration and its significance. Some other parts of the Dendera temple were translated sep­ar­ate­ly by Cauville, of which the Osiris chapels and the eastern temenos gateway should be mentioned in particular.71 Many other temples still await translation of their texts. Of the large temples of Philae and Kom Ombo, no adequate modern publication yet exists. Of the Esna temple texts, only those regarding the festivals were translated by Sauneron and the architraves were translated by Alexandra von Lieven.72 The Roman period temples have been translated, as have the Ptolemaic gateway at North Karnak and the temple of Opet;73 the edition of the Deir el-Medina temple contains an extensive word index with translated sentences, which is a reasonable substitute.74 64 N. Sauneron 1956. 65  Grenier 1979, updated for the volume VIII of Edfou in Kurth 1999: 3–20. 66  Leitz 2003; http://www.ifao.egnet.net/doc/PubEnLigne/Monographies. 67  See Kurth et al. 1998–2014; Bartels 2009; Kurth and Waitkus 2010. 68 Kurth 1998. 69  Kurth 1997: 156–7. 70 Cauville 1998; 1999a; 2000; 2001; 2004. 71 Cauville 1997; 1999b. 72  Sauneron 1962; von Lieven 2000. 73  Klotz 2012; Aufrère 2000; de Wit 1968. 74 Bourguet 2002.

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1146   Olaf E. Kaper Cauville has remarked on the lack of suitable teaching tools regarding the Ptolemaic script,75 as the principal studies on the script by Fairman as well as the Montpellier Sign List contain too many signs and values of only rare occurrence. That need has been answered by Leitz with the production of a specifically designed teaching tool,76 incorporating an anthology of late temple texts of various kinds and of various degrees of difficulty. In addition, the book has two sign lists, which have been compiled on the basis of ‘ordinary’ Ptolemaic texts, leaving out all decorative writings as well as the frequent groupings of signs, visual variants and phonetic misspellings. Together with the dictionary by Wilson, this book has greatly improved the teaching possibilities of the late temple texts for students familiar with the earlier Egyptian scripts.

Studies on content/interpretation In the large temples, the texts are of widely varying nature. There is no accurate overview as yet of the various genres present in them. For the temple of Edfu, a list of genres is included in Wilson’s dictionary,77 nearly all of which are religious in nature. For instance, there are countless ritual texts, as well as festival calendars, hymns, recipes for sacred oils, building inscriptions and instructions to the priests entering the temple. There are a few economical and geographical inscriptions, located at the base of walls. In the smaller temples, the range of texts is much more limited, although these smaller temples are nevertheless an essential part of the religious landscape, and various studies have started to show their importance. As is also known from geographical inscriptions on papyrus, the temples never functioned in isolation, but formed part of a network of temples and other religious installations throughout a region. The great temples were surrounded by a series of subsidiary shrines and temples where specific ceremonies took place or where other divinities were worshiped. Philippe Collombert has studied the region around Diospolis Parva;78 and this author has studied the religious landscape in the Dakhleh Oasis.79 The ‘grammaire du temple’ is a factor with which we are not familiar from our own literary tradition. The term was coined by Derchain,80 and it refers to the close relation between the texts and their location within the temple. The location of a text could determine the choice of words, spelling, iconographic variation in the signs and even the grammatical constructions employed in the text. A good summary of our current understanding has been written by Kurth.81 There was also a degree of local variation in the choice of signs between different temples, as between Edfu and Dendera, and between different rooms of the same temple.82 Several case studies have been written that attempt to define the local rules of temple grammar.83 The interdependence of the texts in relation to the building in which they appear may eventually influence our translation of the text, once we fully understand the rules involved. At this moment, we know only very little, but it has become clear that temple decoration 75  Cauville 1998: 3. 76 Leitz 2004. 77  Wilson 1997, xii–xiii. 78 Collombert 1995; 1997; 1998. 79 Kaper 1997. 80 Derchain 1962. 81  Kurth 1998, 52–64. 82  Cauville 2001a: 3; 2002: 125. 83  Most notably Leitz 2001a; Preys 2002a; Derchain and von Recklinghausen 2004.

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Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts   1147 was part of an intense intellectual effort that aimed to shape the sacred space of the temple. It is an exciting aspect of the later phases of Egyptian religion and literature. Many aspects of the late temples are derived from the past, and it may yet be possible to apply similar principles to temples of an earlier date. A stunning example of the traditional elements present in the temple texts was provided by Leitz, who managed to trace the contents of a calendrical list back to the Middle Kingdom.84 The study of the contents of the temple texts was enhanced by the publication of some important handbooks, including the Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen (LGG), which added an extremely useful tool for the study of names and titles of the gods.85 It includes all published texts from the late temples, as well as some unpublished texts, and some corrections upon defective publications. The thematic indices on the translated temple texts in Edfu VII and VIII opened up this body of material for study, and the same can be said of the concordances published with the translations of the Dendera volumes by Cauville. The iconographic study of the temple reliefs was undertaken in a systematic way for the first time by Eleni Vassilika,86 but this line of study has not been continued as yet. Some studies on iconographic details have appeared, on the topic of certain types of crowns,87 or specific depictions of gods,88 among others. Another aspect, which has not yet received proper attention, is the remains of colour on the walls of the late temples. In Dendera, for instance, some of the interior decoration has extensive remains of its original colouring preserved,89 which provides important information not rendered in the published line drawings or photographs of the reliefs. In the publication of the Esna astronomical ceiling the colour was omitted, which has led to the omission of important textual material from its publication, as was observed by von Lieven.90 The line drawings of the Deir el-Medina temple include renderings of the colour remains, but these are not identified.91 The publication of books from the temple library of Tebtunis has raised the exciting possibility of relating the contents of these books, with their complex mythological tales, to the contents of the temple reliefs and inscriptions. Some of these papyrus documents are immediately relevant to the temple decoration. One Tebtunis papyrus contains an ancient description of a temple’s decoration,92 and another text that is still being prepared for publication under the name Book of the Temple (‘Buch vom Tempel’), contains directives for temple decoration as well as texts that can be compared to certain inscriptions at Dendera.93 Derchain has suggested that the Fayum Book, another papyrus text, is directly related to the temple decoration in the Fayum.94 The temple texts should also be studied within the context of the other Ptolemaic and Roman epigraphic resources, such as priestly stelae (synodal decrees), funerary stelae, libation tables, obelisks etc., and this line of research has been particularly pursued by Derchain-Urtel and by Leitz.95 Ritual scenes form the largest component of the temple decoration. Kurth has described the basic rules governing their composition.96 A database of ritual scenes was compiled at Würzburg by Horst Beinlich, containing both epigraphic and iconographic information 84 Leitz 2002. 85 Leitz 2002–3. 86 Vassilika 1989. 87 Derchain-Urtel 1990; 1994. 88  Preys 2002b. 89  An example appears in Cauville 1990: 8. 90  Von Lieven 2000: 152–3, n. 443. 91 Bourguet 2002. 92 Vittmann 2002/3. 93  Quack 2000: 7–18, Quack 2016. 94  Derchain 1994; Beinlich 2013. 95  Derchain-Urtel 1989, 1999, 2002; Leitz 2014. 96  Kurth 1998: 39–52.

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1148   Olaf E. Kaper from some 10,000 scenes. This is an important research tool that will hopefully be ­updated and extended. The different types of offerings encountered in the scenes have been listed by Leitz.97 The ritual scenes are symbolical rather than factual descriptions of the rituals performed in the temple, yet they always had a ‘ritual affiliation’ as was rightly stressed by Arno Egberts.98 Careful study will allow this ritual reality to be reconstructed. The claim of foreign influence on the later temples was used since Champollion as an excuse to dismiss their information as less valuable for the study of Egyptian religion. Recently, there is a trend towards discounting all foreign influences upon the Egyptian religion of the later periods, as attempts to identify foreign influence in the texts have not been convincing. Derchain noted a reference to the battle between Achilles and Hector (Iliad 22: 395–404) in the Triumph of Horus inscriptions,99 but both Kurth and von Lieven have shed doubt on this.100 Von Lieven argues that the Horus myth shows no sign of being a contemporary composition, because its linguistic features betray no influence of contemporary traits. Other suggestions of Greek influence by Derchain are also not conclusive.101 The dearth of Hellenistic elements within the temple inscriptions may be related to a parallel situation in demotic literary texts upon papyrus, where analysis by Hoffmann has dismissed foreign influence as extremely unlikely.102 The study of Ptolemaic hieroglyphs as a script for literary texts has barely commenced. A first discussion of the literary merits of the temple texts was written by Derchain,103 and some matters of style have been discussed by Derchain-Urtel and Wilson.104 Derchain is also the author of several important studies on authorship of the Ptolemaic inscriptions.105

Conclusion It seems that Leitz has overstated his case by claiming that the Ptolemaic temple texts should not be regarded as a separate field of study (‘Ptolemaistik ist kein Spezialgebiet’).106 Even though there is no distinct break between the writing system of the late temples and that of earlier texts, the nature of the later material is sufficiently complex that each text warrants an intensive study. Especially the added architectural significance of the texts, with its rules of ‘temple grammar’, makes translating them more labour intensive. Apart from this, much basic documentation and study still needs to be undertaken. For example, a new bibli­og­ raphy on the temple texts needs to update the remainder of the work by Nadine Sauneron.107 Other major tasks lie in the field of the iconography of the temple reliefs, as well as in the study of the phraseology of the late temple texts. Recently there has been con­sid­er­able progress in the study of the late temple texts, and it has become easier, as a consequence, for more people to get involved in their study. 97  LGG I: XV–XVII; a bibliography relating to the various offerings is given in Leitz 2004: 6–7. 98  Egberts 1995, 389–91. 99  Derchain 1974: 15–19. 100  Kurth 1999: 71, n. 13; von Lieven 2000: 9, n. 6. 101  Derchain 1997: 10–16; 1998: 17–20. 102  Hoffmann 2000: 196–7. 103 Derchain 1996. 104  Derchain-Urtel 1978; Wilson 1997: xxv–xxix. 105  An overview of these is found in Leitz 2001a: 3 n. 11. 106  Leitz 2004: 16. 107  N. Sauneron 1956. This was already called for in Derchain 1972: 276.

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Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts   1149

Suggested reading Apart from Kurth 2007–2015, three recent monograph series are to be recommended on the topic of the late temple texts: Studien zu den Ritualszenen altägyptischer Tempel SERaT (Dettelbach: Röll, 2007–), Documents de Théologies Thébaines Tardives (Montpellier: Université Paul Valéry, 2009–), and Studien zur spätägyptischen Religion (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010–).

Bibliography Aubourg, E. and Zignani, P. 2000. Espaces, lumières et composition architecturale au temple d’Hathor à Dendara. Résultats préliminaires, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 100: 47–77. Aufrère, S. H. 2000. Le propylône d’Amon-Rê-Montou à Karnak-Nord. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Bartels, U. 2009. Die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu—Edfu: Die Darstellungen auf den Außenseiten der Umfassungsmauer und auf dem Pylonen. Abteilung II Dokumentationen, Band 1. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Beinlich, H. (ed.) 2013. 9. Ägyptologische Tempeltagung: Kultabbildung und Kultrealität. Hamburg, 27. September–1. Oktober 2011. Königtum, Staat und Gesellschaft früher Hochkulturen 3 (4); Akten der ägyptologischen Tempeltagungen. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Bénédite, G. 1893–5. Le temple de Philae, 2 vols Paris: Leroux. Bourguet, P. du 2002. Le temple de Deir al-Médîna. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Breasted, J. H. 1912. Development of Religion and Thought in Ancient Egypt. New York: Scribner’s Sons. Budde, D. and Kurth, D. 1994. Zum Vokabular der Bände Edfou V–VIII. In D.  Kurth (ed.), Edfu: Studien zu Vokabular, Ikonographie und Grammatik. Begleitheft 4. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1–24. Cauville, S. 1990. Le temple de Dendara, Guide archéologique. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Cauville, S. et al. 1997. Le temple de Dendara, Les chapelles osiriennes: index. Bibliothèque d’étude 119. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Cauville, S. 1998. Dendara I Traduction. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 81. Louvain: Peeters. Cauville, S. 1999a. Dendara II Traduction. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 88. Louvain: Peeters. Cauville, S. 1999b. Dendara. La porte d’Isis. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Cauville, S. 2000. Dendara III Traduction. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 95. Louvain: Peeters. Cauville, S. 2001a. Dendara IV Traduction. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 101. Louvain: Peeters. Cauville, S. 2001b. Dendara. Le fonds hiéroglyphique au temps de Cléopâtre. Paris: Cybèle. Cauville, S. 2002. Entre exigence décorative et significations multiples: les graphies suggestives du temple d’Hathor à Dendara, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 102: 91–135. Cauville, S. 2004. Dendara V-VI. Les cryptes du temple d’Hathor, Vol. I (Traduction), Vol. II (Index phraséologique). Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 131–2. Louvain: Peeters. Cauville, S. 2009. Dendara: le temple d’Isis. 2 volumes. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 178–9. Leuven: Peeters Cauville, S. 2011. Dendara XIII: traduction. Le pronaos du temple d’Hathor. 2 volumes. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 196. Leuven: Peeters. Cauville, S. 2013. Dendara—le pronaos du temple d’Hathor: analyse de la décoration. Photographs by Alain Lecler. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 221. Leuven; Paris; Walpole, MA: Peeters Cauville, S. and Devauchelle, D. 1985. Le temple d’Edfou XV. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale.

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1150   Olaf E. Kaper Champollion-Figeac, J. F. (ed.) 1836–41. Grammaire égyptienne, ou principes généraux de l’écriture sacrée égyptienne appliquée à la représentation de la langue parlée. 3 volumes; reprinted Paris: Firman Didot Frères, 1984. Collombert, Ph. 1995. Hout-sekhem et le septième nome de Haute Égypte I, Revue d’Égyptologie 46: 55–79. Collombert, Ph. 1997. Hout-sekhem et le septième nome de Haute Égypte II, Revue d’Égyptologie 48: 15–70. Collombert, Ph. 1998. The Gods of Hut-Sekhem and the Seventh Nome of Upper Egypt. In C. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the seventh International Congress of Egyptologists Cambridge, 3–9 September 1995. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 82. Leuven: Peeters, 289–94. Darnell, J. 2004. The Enigmatic Netherworld Books of the Solar-Osirian Unity. Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 198. Fribourg and Göttingen: Akademie Verlag. Daumas, Fr. et al. 1988–95. Valeurs phonétiques des signes hiéroglyphiques d’époque gréco-romaine. 4 volumes. Montpellier: Université Paul-Valéry. Derchain, Ph. 1962. Un manuel de géographie liturgique à Edfou, Chronique d’Égypte 37: 31–65. Derchain, Ph. 1972. Les temples secondaires des époques ptolémaïque et romaine. In Textes et languages de l’Égypte pharaonique. Bibliothèque d’étude 64. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 275–7. Derchain, Ph. 1974. Miettes §4. Homère à Edfou, Revue d’Égyptologie 26: 15–19. Derchain, Ph. 1994. Review of H. Beinlich, Das Buch vom Fayum, Bibliotheca Orientalis 51. col. 42–50. Derchain, Ph. 1996. Théologie et littérature. In A. Loprieno (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Literature. History and Forms. Probleme der Ägyptologie 10. Leiden et al.: Brill, 351–60. Derchain, Ph. 1997. Des usages de l’écriture. Réflexions d’un savant égyptien, Chronique d’Égypte 72: 10–16. Derchain, Ph. 1998. Le stoïcien de Kom Ombo, Bulletin de la Société d’Égyptologie de Genève 22: 17–20. Derchain, Ph. and Von Recklinghausen, D. 2004. La création: poème pariétal: la façade ptolémaïque du temple d’Esna: pour une poétique ptolémaïque. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique Reine Élisabeth. Derchain-Urtel, M.-Th. 1978. Esna: Schrift und ‘Spiel’, Göttinger Miszellen 27: 11–21. Derchain-Urtel, M.-Th. 1989. Priester im Tempel: die Rezeption der Theologie der Tempel von Edfu und Dendera in den Privatdokumenten aus ptolemäischer Zeit, Göttinger Orientforschungen 4.19. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Derchain-Urtel, M.-Th. 1990. Die Krone . . . und ihre Nebenformen. In D. Kurth (ed.), Die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu. Begleitheft 1. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1–18. Derchain-Urtel, M.-Th. 1994. Die hepetj -Krone in Edfu und ihre Varianten. In D. Kurth (ed.), Edfu: Studien zu Vokabular, Ikonographie und Grammatik. Begleitheft 4. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 25–71. Derchain-Urtel, M.-Th. 1999. Epigraphische Untersuchungen zur griechisch-römischen Zeit in Ägypten. Ägypten und Altes Testament 443. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Derchain-Urtel, M.-Th. 2002. Epigraphische Anmerkungen zu den Stelen aus Achmim. In A. Egberts et al. (eds), Perspectives on Panopolis: an Egyptian town from Alexander the Great to the Arab conquest. Papyrologica Lugduno-Batava 31. Leiden et al.: Brill, 83–93. Derchain-Urtel, M.-Th. 2002. Text- und Bildkongruenz: die Kronen der Götter als Objekte der Forschung. In H. Beinlich, J. Hallof, and C. von Pfeil (eds), 5. Ägyptologische Tempeltagung: Würzburg, 23.–26. September 1999. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 57–69. De Wit, C. 1968. Les inscriptions du temple d’Opet, à Karnak III. Traduction intégrale des textes rituels. Essai d’interprétation. Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca 13. Brussels: Fondation égyptologique reine Elisabeth. Egberts, A. 1995. In Quest of Meaning: a Study of the Ancient Egyptian Rites of Consecrating the MeretChests and Driving the Calves. Egyptologische Uitgaven 8. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Fairman, H. W. 1943. Notes on the Alphabetic Signs Employed in the Hieroglyphic Inscriptions of the Temple of Edfu, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 43: 193–310.

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Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts   1151 Fairman, H.  W. 1945. Introduction to the Study of Ptolemaic Signs and their Values, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 43: 51–138. Graefe, E. 1991. Über die Verarbeitung von Pyramidentexten in den späten Tempeln. In U. Verhoeven and E.  Graefe (eds), Religion und Philosophie im Alten Ägypten. Festgabe für Philippe Derchain zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 24. Juli 1991. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 39. Leuven: Peeters, 129–48. Grenier, J.-C. 1979. Temples ptolémaiques et romains. Répertoire bibliographique. Bibliothèque d’Étude 75. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Gutbub, A. 1995. Kôm Ombo I: les inscriptions du naos (sanctuaires, salle de l’ennéade, salle des offrandes, couloir mystérieux). Edited by Danielle Inconnu-Bocquillon. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Hallof, J. 1987. Beobachtungen zu den Randzeilen in den griechisch-römischen Tempeln Ägyptens, Altorientalische Forschungen, Berlin 14: 12–20. Hintze, F. et al. 1993. Musawwarat es Sufra. Der Löwentempel I. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Hoffmann, F. 2000. Ägypten. Kultur und Lebenswelt in griechisch-römischer Zeit. Eine Darstellung nach den demotischen Quellen. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Jansen-Winkeln, K. 1996. Spätmittelägyptische Grammatik der Texte der 3. Zwischenzeit. Ägypten und Altes Testament 34. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Junker, H. 1903. Über das Schriftsystem im Tempel der Hathor in Dendera. Berlin: August Schaefer. Junker, H. 1906. Grammatik der Denderatexte. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Junker, H. 1958. Der grosse Pylon des Tempels der Isis in Philae. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences Press. Junker, H. and Winter, E. 1965. Das Geburtshaus des Tempels der Isis in Philae. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences Press. Kaper, O. E. 1997. Temples and Gods in Roman Dakhleh: Studies in the Indigenous Cults of an Egyptian Oasis. Groningen: privately published. Klotz, David 2012. Caesar in the City of Amun: Egyptian temple construction and theology in Roman Thebes. Monographies Reine Élisabeth 15. Turnhout: Brepols. Kockelmann, H. and Winter, E. 2016. Philae III. Die Zweite Ostkolonnade des Tempels der Isis in Philae. Vienna: Austrian Academy of Sciences Press. Kurth, D. 1983. Die Lautwerte der Hieroglyphen in den Tempelinschriften der griechisch-römischen Zeit. Zur Systematik ihrer Herleitungsprinzipien, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte 69: 287–309. Kurth, D. 1988. Die Lautwerte: ein Nachtrag, Göttinger Miszellen 103: 45–9. Kurth, D. 1994. Edfu: ein ägyptischer Tempel gesehen mit den Augen der alten Ägypter. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Kurth, D. 1997. The Present State of Research into Graeco-Roman Temples. In S. Quirke (ed.), The Temple in Ancient Egypt: New Discoveries and Recent Research. London: British Museum Press, 152–8. Kurth, D. 1998. Treffpunkt der Götter. Inschriften aus dem Tempel des Horus von Edfu. 2nd edn. Zürich/ München: Artemis & Winkler Kurth, D. 1998. (with the assistance of A.  Behrmann, D.  Budde, A.  Effland, H.  Felber, E.  Pardey, S. Rüter, W. Waitkus, S. Woodhouse) Die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu. Abteilung I Übersetzungen; Band 1. Edfou VIII. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Kurth, D. 1999. Der Einfluss der Kursive auf die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu. In D. Kurth (ed.), Edfu: Bericht über drei Surveys; Materialien und Studien, Die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu, Begleitheft 5. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 69–85, 95–6. Kurth, D. 2004. The Temple of Edfu: A Guide by an Ancient Egyptian Priest. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Kurth, D. 2004. (with the assistance of A. Behrmann, D. Budde, A. Effland, H. Felber, J.-P. Graeff, S. Koepke, S. Martinssen-von Falck, E. Pardey, S. Rüter, and W. Waitkus) Die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu. Abteilung I Übersetzungen; Band 2. Edfou VII. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.

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1152   Olaf E. Kaper Kurth, D. 2007–2009–2015. Einführung ins Ptolemäische: Eine Grammatik mit Zeichenliste und Übungsstücken. 3 vols. Hützel: Backe. Kurth, D. 2014 (with the assistance of A. Behrmann, A. Block, R. Brech, D. Budde, A. Effland, M. von Falck, H. Felber, J.-P. Graeff, S. Koepke, S. Martinssen-von Falck, E. Pardey, St. Rüter, W. Waitkus, and S. Woodhouse) Die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu. Abteilung I Übersetzungen; Band 3. Edfou VI. Gladbeck: PeWe-Verlag. Kurth, D. and Waitkus, W. 2010. Die Inschriften des Tempels von Edfu—Neue Graffiti und Ritualszenen des Tempels von Edfu. Abteilung II Dokumentationen, Band 2. Gladbeck: PeWe-Verlag. Leitz, C. 2001a. Die Aussenwand des Sanktuars in Dendara. Untersuchungen zur Dekorationssystematik. Münchner Ägyptologische Studien 50. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. Leitz, C. 2001b. Die beiden kryptographischen Inschriften aus Esna mit den Widdern und Krokodilen, Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 29: 251–76. Leitz, C. 2002. Die Chronokratenliste von Edfu—ein Pantheon aus der zweiten Hälfte der 12. Dynastie, Revue d’Égyptologie 53: 137–56. Leitz, C. (ed.) 2002–3. Lexikon der ägyptischen Götter und Götterbezeichnungen. 8 volumes. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 110–16, 129. Louvain: Peeters. Leitz, C. (ed.) 2003. Kurzbibliographie zu den übersetzten Tempeltexten der griechisch-römischen Zeit. Bibliothèque d’Étude 136. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Leitz, C. 2004. Quellentexte zur ägyptischen Religion I: Die Tempelinschriften der griechisch-römischen Zeit. Münster: Lit. Leitz, C. 2014. Die Gaumonographien in Edfu und ihre Papyrusvarianten: ein überregionaler Kanon im spätzeitlichen Ägypten. Soubassementstudien 3. 2 vols. Studien zur spätägyptischen Religion 9. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Leitz, C., Mendel, D., and El-Bialy  M. 2015. Die Außenwände und westlichen Seitenkapellen des Tempels von Athribis. 2 volumes. Photographs by Stefan Baumann and Jan Tattko. [Cairo]: Ministry of Antiquities Press. Von Lieven, A. 2000. Der Himmel über Esna: Eine Fallstudie zur religiösen Astronomie in Ägypten. Ägyptologische Abhandlungen 64. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Mariette, A. 1870–5. Dendérah. Description générale du grand temple de cette ville. Planches I–IV. Paris: Hachette. El-Masry, Y. 2001. More Recent Excavations at Athribis in Upper Egypt, Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo 57: 205–18. Meeks, D. 1999. Dictionnaires et lexicographie de l’égyptien ancien, Bibliotheca Orientalis 56: 570–94. Meeks, D. 2004. Les architraves du temple d’Esna. Paléographie. Paléographie hiéroglyphique 1. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Morenz, L. 2002. Schrift-Mysterium: Gottes-Schau in der visuellen Poesie von Esna—insbesondere zu den omnipotenten Widder-Zeichen: zwischen Symbolik und Lesbarkeit. In J.  Assmann and M. Bommas (eds), Ägyptische Mysterien? Munich: Fink, 77–94. Pantalacci, L. 1986. Remarques sur les méthodes de travail des décorateurs tentyrites, Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 86 : 267–75. Preys, R. 2002a. Les complexes de la Demeure du Sistre et du Trône de Rê. Théologie et décoration dans le temple d’Hathor à Dendera. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 106. Leuven: Peeters. Preys, R. 2002b. Hathor au sceptre-ouas: images et textes au service de la théologie, Revue d’Égyptologie 53: 197–211. Quack, J. F. 1995. Monumental-demotisch. In L.  Gestermann and H.  Sternberg-El Hotabi (eds), Per aspera ad astra. Wolfgang Schenkel zum neunundfünfzigsten Geburtstag. Kassel: Gestermann, 107–21. Quack, J. F. 1998. Sprach- und redaktionsgeschichtliche Beobachtungen zum Choiak-Text von Dendera. In C. J. Eyre (ed.), Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 82. Leuven: Peeters, 921–30. Quack, J. F. 2000. Das Buch vom Tempel und verwandte Texte: ein Vorbericht, Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 2: 1–20.

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Ptolemaic and Roman temple texts   1153 Quack, J. F. 2016. Translating the Realities of Cult: the Case of the Book of the Temple. In I. Rutherford (ed.), Greco-Egyptian interactions: literature, translation, and culture, 500 BCE–300 CE. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 267–86. Quirke, S. 2001. The Cult of Ra: Sun-worship in Ancient Egypt. London: Thames & Hudson. Rondot, V. 2004. Tebtynis II: Le temple de Soknebtynis et son dromos. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Rutica, D. 2015. Kleopatras vergessener Tempel: Das Geburtshaus von Kleopatra VII. in Hermopolis, Eine Rekonstruktion der Dekoration. GM Occasional Studies 1. Göttingen: Georg-August-Universität. Ryhiner, M.-L. 2002. Table de concordance des textes du temple d’Hathor à Dendara. Paris: Cybèle. Sauneron, N. 1956. Temples ptolémaiques et romains d’Égypte. études et publications parues entre 1939 et 1954. Répertoire bibliographique, Bibliothèque d’Étude 14. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Sauneron, S. 1962. Esna V: Les fêtes religieuses d’Esna. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Sauneron, S. 1963–75. Le temple d’Esna. 5 vols. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Sauneron, S. 1968. Le temple d’Esna, Esna III. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Sauneron, S. 1972. L’écriture ptolémaïque, Textes et langages de l’Égypte pharaonique. Bibliothèque d’Étude 64. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, vol. 1, 45–56; La bibliographie des ­temples de l’époque ptolémaïque et romaine, vol. 3, 289–91. Sauneron, S. 1982. L’écriture figurative dans les textes d’Esna, Esna VIII. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Sauneron, S. 2009. Le temple d’Esna: nos 547–646. Textes édités par Jochen Hallof. Esna 7. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Snape, S. 1989. A Temple of Domitian at El-Ashmunein. BM Occasional Paper 68. London: British Museum. Snape, S. and Bailey, D. 1988. The Great Portico at Hermopolis Magna: Present State and Past Prospects. BM Occasional Paper 63. London: British Museum. Thiers, C. 2003. Tôd: les inscriptions du temple ptolemaîque et romain. II-III: relevé photographique. 2 volumes. Fouilles de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale 18 (3). Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale. Traunecker, Cl. 2009. Le temple de Qasr el-Agoûz dans la nécropole thébaine, ou Ptolémées et savants thébains, Bulletin de la Société Française d’Égyptologie 174: 29–69. Vassilika, E. 1989. Ptolemaic Philae. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 34. Leuven: Peeters. Vernus, P. 1982. Deux particularités de l’égyptien de tradition: nty ỉw + Present 1; wnn.f ḥr sḏm narratif. In L’Égyptologie en 1979. Axes prioritaires de recherches. Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, vol. 1, 81–9. Vittmann, G. 2002/3. Ein Entwurf zur Dekoration eines Heiligtums in Soknopaiu Nesos (pWien D 10100), Enchoria 28: 106–36. Willems, Harco 2012. Le projet épigraphique et archéologique dans le temple romain de Shanhūr. In L. Bavay, M.-C. Bruwier, W. Claes, and I. De Strooper (eds), Ceci n’est pas une pyramide . . . Un siècle de recherche archéologique belge en Égypte. Leuven; Paris: Peeters, 106–13. Willems, H., Coppens, F., and De Meyer, M. 2003. The Temple of Shanhûr I: the Sanctuary, the Wabet and the Gates of the Central Hall and the Great Vestibule (1–98). Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 124. Dudley, MA: Peeters. Wilson, P. 1997. A Ptolemaic Lexikon: A Lexicographical Study of the Texts in the Temple of Edfu. ­Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 78. Leuven: Peeters. Zignani, P. 2010. Le temple d’Hathor à Dendara: relevés et étude architecturale. 2 vols. Bibliothèque d’étude 146. Cairo: Institut français d’archéologie orientale.

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chapter 59

Gr eek a n d L ati n sou rces Ian S. Moyer

Introduction The decipherment of hieroglyphs liberated the study of Egyptian antiquity from dependence on the classical texts of earlier humanistic scholarship, allowing the new science of Egyptology to correct the inaccuracies, and sometimes wild distortions, inherited from Greek and Latin authors. These sources have not, however, been displaced entirely and continue to provide important material for Egyptological research, especially for the Late Period and Ptolemaic and Roman periods of Egyptian civilization. Roughly contemporary with the development of Egyptology, moreover, classicists and scholars in related fields formalized the study of Greek and Latin papyrology and epigraphy, adding to the traditional texts of classical scholarship a wealth of potential sources for Egyptology derived from Greek and Latin papyri, inscriptions, and related materials. In the case of papyrology, the accumulation of evidence was accelerated in the late nineteenth century by the archaeological exploration of Egypt, as systematic excavations for papyri were undertaken at Ptolemaic and Roman sites. Research on both the classical authors and the more recently discovered documents, however, has been pursued primarily within the field of classical studies. Continued study of the literary works has produced editions, commentaries, and translations as well as philological, literary and historical studies, while scholars versed in the technical disciplines of papyrology and epigraphy have published texts, organized corpora and other research tools, and pursued synthetic studies using the assembled materials. The separate development of Classical Studies and Egyptology in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the concomitant demands of technical and linguistic specialization, and in some cases disciplinary parochialism, have limited both the contribution of classical studies to the study of ancient Egypt, and Egyptology to the interpretation of Greek and Latin texts. Fortunately, differences in approach and interest that have hampered the full exploitation of Greek and Latin sources are being overcome by trends in the last two or three decades toward active collaboration and interdisciplinary research. Cooperation between scholars in the disciplines, and a growing number of individuals working to become familiar with the materials, methods, and problems on both sides of the divide have

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Greek and Latin sources   1155 created the conditions for a more sophisticated critical evaluation and use of classical authors and the integration of important evidence from Greek and Latin papyrology and epigraphy into the study of Egyptian history and civilization.

Literary sources Egypt made an impression on Greek literature from its Homeric beginnings with Achilles’ famous reference to the wealth of ‘hundred-gated Thebes’, and Odysseus’ account of Egyptian adventures in his Cretan tales.1 The second book of Herodotus’ Histories, however, stands more prominently at the head of Greek traditions on Egypt, setting out the lines that much of the subsequent literature would follow. As such, Herodotus’ work provides a salutary illustration of the problems and controversies involved in using classical authors as Egyptological sources. In the longest of his ethnographical digressions, Herodotus describes the physical landscape, customs, and history of Egypt, while developing themes that would become standards of the Greek literary fascination with this alien land: unusual fauna and flora, the paradoxical flooding of the Nile, the long history of Egyptian civilization, its primordial wisdom and its strange practices. Evaluations of Herodotus’ accuracy and debates over the nature of his sources have generated a substantial scholarly literature. While some have found confirmation of various details in the Egyptian evidence, others have pointed to Herodotus’ errors and omissions and such notorious chronological inaccuracies as his extremely late dating of the Old Kingdom pyramid builders to argue that he could never have visited Egypt or have obtained information from genuine Egyptian sources as he claims.2 The latter arguments, however, hold the ancient historian to anachronistic standards of historical research, and more fruitful approaches have attempted to interpret the text in relation to Herodotus’s Ionian intellectual background and cultural interests, as well as the historical milieu in which he gathered his information. Stimulated by the theories of Michel de Certeau and Edward Saïd (among others), some classical scholars have argued that Herodotus’ representations of Egypt can be understood as products of Greek fantasies and anxieties about a non-Greek other—fantasies that reflect Greek intellectual and cultural interests, and thus provide a distorted, Hellenocentric view of Egypt.3 Such views of Egypt in Herodotus are part of a wider ‘Egyptian mirage’ evident in other literature of the Greek classical period: the threatening sons of Aegyptus pursuing the Danaids in Aeschylus’ Suppliants, the Egyptian setting of Euripides’ Helen, Plato’s discussions of Egypt in the Phaedrus, the Timaeus and other dialogues, Isocrates’ idealizing portrait of the mythical Busiris.4 Studies in these Greek myths of Egypt are invaluable in analysing Herodotus and other sources, but at times run the risk of obscuring the genuine Greek encounter with 1 Homer Iliad 9.381–4; Odyssey 14.245–91, 17.415–44; see also Menelaus’ Proteus story: Odyssey 4.351–592. 2  See, for example, Fehling 1989: 77–84. 3  Hartog 1988 has been influential, though Hartog 1986 addresses Egypt more directly; see also Hartog 2001: 41–77. Vasunia 2001: 75–135 treats Herodotus on Egypt. These more recent, theoretically informed works were preceded by the comprehensive study of Froidefond 1971. 4  See Froidefond 1971; Vasunia 2001.

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1156   Ian S. Moyer Egyptian civilization that resulted from intensified trade and mercenary service in the Saïte period (see relevant parts of sections 5 and 6). Alan Lloyd’s Egyptological commentary on the second book of the Histories, on the other hand, has gathered much important evidence for what the Greek historian might have seen and heard in the latter half of the fifth century bc, allowing a more satisfactory interpretation of the text as shaped not only by Herodotus’ interests and motivations, but also by those of his Egyptian sources.5 Handled with a careful regard for their Greek and Egyptian contexts, sources such as Herodotus can provide some useful evidence for the study of Late-Period Egyptian civilization and its contacts with the wider Eastern Mediterranean world. No text from the classical period of Greek literature is as rich a source for Egyptology as Herodotus’ Histories, but brief references to Egypt in other authors such as Aristotle and Theophrastus, and in citations of lost works (e.g. fragments of Hecataeus of Miletus, Hellanicus of Lesbos, or Aristagoras of Miletus) attest a wider diffusion of Greek knowledge and interest in the subject.6 Alexander’s conquest and the establishment of the Ptolemaic dynasty changed fundamentally the conditions under which Greeks obtained knowledge of Egypt. Hellenistic writers on Egypt had, in principle, much more direct access to reliable information, and for the first time, Egyptians also wrote works in Greek on their own history and traditions. Evaluating the results, however, is far from straightforward owing to the fragmentary state of virtually every Hellenistic Greek literary source on Egypt. This is certainly true of Manetho’s Aegyptiaca, perhaps the most important Greek-language text for Egyptology. Manetho, an Egyptian priest, wrote his history of Egypt (among other lost works) at the early Ptolemaic court under Soter or Philadelphus, but the text has survived only in two epitomized versions included in chronographical works by the Christian authors Sextus Julius Africanus (c.ad 160/70–240) and Eusebius (ad 260–339), and in quotations by the Jewish historian Flavius Josephus (ad 37/8–c.100) in his polemical treatise Against Apion. The epitomes were, in turn, preserved by George Syncellus (c.ad 800) along with other spurious works attributed to Manetho.7 Sifting the remains of Manetho’s text from accumulations of textual corruption and interpolation is a delicate problem,8 but despite their complicated transmission the importance of these fragments relative to Greek authors such as Herodotus was recognized as early as the beginning of the seventeenth century by Joseph Scaliger. Manetho’s scheme of thirty dynasties still provides a basic outline for Egyptological 5  Lloyd 1975–88. See also Moyer 2002 and 2011: 42–83. 6  On the difficulties posed by fragmentary authors, see the discussion of Manetho and Hecataeus of Abdera below. Fragments of Greek historians on Egypt are collected in Jacoby FGrHist, esp. in Part IIIC: Geschichte von Städten und Völkern (Horographie und Ethnographie): Autoren über einzelne Länder: Nos. 608–65. Translations and commentaries may be found in BNJ and BNJ2. 7  The Eusebian epitome also survives in an Armenian translation (around the fifth century ad). Spurious works include the Old Chronicle and the Book of Sothis. 8  The fundamental study is that of Laqueur  1928. A brief outline of the transmission is given in Waddell 1940: xv–xx. See also Moyer 2011: 84–141. Names and numbers are, of course, especially susceptible to corruption (Helck 1956: 50–9, von Beckerath 1997: 37–8), and historical connections to Greek or Jewish traditions have come under suspicion as interpolations (on this debate, see Schäfer 1997a and discussion below). The fragments are preserved in Jacoby FGrHist: No. 609; for translation and commentary, see BNJ ‘Manetho (609)’. These include quotes from other works: a Sacred Book, an Epitome of Physical Doctrines, and works On Festivals, On Ancient Customs and Piety, and On the Making of Kyphi, as well as Criticisms of Herodotus.

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Greek and Latin sources   1157 chronology, even if today his Aegyptiaca cannot be considered a reliable independent source for historical or chronological details.9 The value of Manetho is not so much in the direct evidence he provides for Egyptian history, but rather as a source for Egyptian ways of preserving and representing the past, particularly in the author’s own historical and cultural milieu in early Ptolemaic Egypt.10 While the interest of Classicists has focused on the possible influences of Greek historiography on Manetho’s work, Egyptologists have examined his use of Egyptian records such as king-lists and annals for their historical data and as formal or generic models.11 Other authors of Egyptian origin also wrote on Egypt in the Ptolemaic period, undoubtedly using indigenous sources, but little more than their names survive.12 The novel conditions of Ptolemaic Egypt also spurred Greek writers to compose texts on Egyptian history and civilization, and in these the legacy of earlier Greek literature more clearly persists. Hecataeus of Abdera (c.360–290 bc), who visited Egypt under Ptolemy I Soter, most likely composed his Aegyptiaca before Manetho wrote his. As with Manetho, the fragmentary condition of the text requires caution. Hecataeus is generally considered to be the main source for Diodorus Siculus’ account of Egypt in his Library (1.10–98), a universal history completed c.30 bc. There are, however, clearly interpolations by Diodorus himself (who visited Egypt c.60–56 bc), and from other sources, e.g. geographical information from Agatharchides of Cnidus (c.215 to after 145 bc). Since Hecataeus is mentioned by name only once in Diodorus’ account of Egypt (1.46), it is difficult to determine where Hecataeus begins and ends, and there has been debate over the extent of Diodorus’ debt to Hecataeus.13 Nevertheless, if Diodorus did follow Hecataeus, the latter began his  Aegyptiaca with sections on theology and geography, before giving his version of an Egyptian history. He followed this with an account of Egyptian customs: first those pertaining to the king, and then other customs. This way of organizing the work owes much to Herodotus, as does his account of Egyptian history, which follows a Herodotean outline, despite some changes and improvements possibly based on Egyptian sources.14 His idealized portrait of Egyptian kings and their regimen is painted with Greek ethical and philosophical strokes, and his narratives of colonization missions originating in Egypt and populating Greece and other lands promoted the prestige of the Ptolemaic kingdom through a traditional Greek narrative pattern.15 On the other hand, some scholars have also proposed native Egyptian contributions to Hecataeus’ ideas of kingship and to his utopian ethnographies, ­suggesting that—not unlike Herodotus—his work on Egypt was a

9  See the assessment of von Beckerath 1997: 35–40. 10  Helck 1956: 1–3; Moyer 2011: 84–141. 11  Egyptian sources and models: Helck 1956; Redford 1986: 203–30; Moyer 2011: 84–141, Moyer 2013. Greater emphasis on Greek historiographic models: Fraser 1972: 505–10; Murray 1972; Dillery 1999, 2014. 12  E.g. Ptolemy of Mendes (FGrHist 611/BNJ ‘Ptolemy of Mendes (611)’), or perhaps Thrasyllos of Mendes (FGrHist 622/BNJ ‘Thrasyllos of Mendes (622)’). 13  FGrHist 264/BNJ ‘Hekataios (264)’. For an overview of the relationship between Diodorus and Hecataeus of Abdera, see Murray 1970: 144–50. Burton 1972: 1–34 outlines a more cautious approach and discusses the earlier literature on this question. Muntz 2011 has argued that there is, in fact, no evidence for the dependence of Diodorus on Hecataeus. 14 von Beckerath  1997: 34 includes a table comparing the chronologies of Diodorus Siculus and Herodotus. For a discussion of the improvements made by Hecataeus, see Burstein 1990. 15  On the idealizing portrait of pharaonic kingship, see Murray  1970; on Hecataeus’ colonization narrative, see Moyer 2011: 116–17.

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1158   Ian S. Moyer product of real interaction with Egyptian civilization as well as his own intellectual and cultural preoccupations.16 This interest in Egypt on the part of Hecataeus, as well as other less well preserved Greek authors of the Hellenistic period, was formerly contrasted with an apparent disregard for Egyptian culture in the world of Alexandrian literature.17 Several studies of Callimachus, Theocritus, and Apollonius of Rhodes, however, have argued that in some cases these authors constructed mythical and literary allusions that can sustain readings based on both Greek and Egyptian traditions. Though arguably of restricted use for Egyptology as such, these new approaches to Greek sources suggest potentially fruitful lines for exploring the intercultural dimensions of intellectual life in Ptolemaic Egypt.18 For the political and military history of the Ptolemaic kingdom, the contemporary Greek literary sources are fragmentary and uneven. The Greek historian Polybius (c.200–c.118 bc) though frequently hostile to Egypt provides the best narrative source, especially for the reigns of Philopator, Epiphanes, Philometor, and Euergetes II.19 Diodorus Siculus is also important for his continuous narrative of the earliest period down to the battle of Ipsus (books 18–20), for which he used the contemporary historian Hieronymus of Cardia. The fragmentary books 21–40 also record a number of events related to Ptolemaic Egypt.20 In the first century bc, as Roman domination of Egypt was secured, Latin sources emerged, including Caesar’s own account of the Alexandrian War. Octavian’s conflict with M. Antonius and Cleopatra VII occasioned hostile caricatures of Egypt and her queen in Augustan poetry,21 and the xenophobia would continue in authors such as the satirist Juvenal (ad 47–127), but a literary fascination with exotic Egypt, its natural marvels, ancient wisdom, and especially its religion developed alongside the continued production of Greek texts on these themes. After Diodorus Siculus, however, few surviving Greek or Latin authors treated the history of pharaonic Egypt. Of the available fragments, many were preserved because they were used in inter-ethnic and inter-religious debates over origins and antiquity between Egyptians, Jews and (somewhat later) Christians. Josephus, in his treatise Against Apion, criticizes tendentious versions of the Exodus narrative written by the firstcentury ad Egyptian authors Apion and Chaeremon. The immediate historical context of these hostile exchanges was the anti-Jewish violence in Alexandria of the late 30s and early 40s ad, and these texts, along with excerpts from Manetho and Hecataeus of Abdera, have been used as sources for exploring the origins of ancient anti-Semitism.22 Egyptological interpretations of this network of Exodus narratives have examined the use of traditional Egyptian discourses of the polluted foreigner, and possible memories of religious trauma

16  Murray 1970; Dillery 1998. 17 Fraser  1972: 496. For other Hellenistic sources, see, e.g., Jacoby FGrHist 273/BNJ ‘Alexandros Polyhistor (273)’, and others collected in FGrHist, part 3C, vol. 1: 608–65; Hopfner 1922–5 also collects fragmentary sources on Egyptian religion. See suggested reading. 18  See, for example, Selden  1998; Stephens  2003; Hunter  2003. Such approaches are not without criticism. See, e.g., the reviews of Stephens by Payne (2004) and Goldhill (2005). 19 Walbank 1979. 20  For a brief overview of these sources in their wider context see Walbank 1984: 1–10. 21  See, e.g., Virgil Aeneid 8.671–713, Horace Epode 9, Odes 1.37; Propertius Elegies 3.9. 22  Yoyotte 1963; Aziza 1987; Denis 1987; Schäfer 1997a, 1997b.

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Greek and Latin sources   1159 in  the Amarna period.23 As mentioned earlier, Christian chronographers preserved the chronological outline of Manetho, and fragments of other sources on Egyptian history,24 but aside from Jewish and Christian writers, few accounts of Egypt are preserved in the works of Greek and Roman historians of this period.25 A number of Roman-period Greek and Latin authors on geography and natural history provide sources on Egypt. Strabo (c.64 bc to after ad 21) in his universal Geography points out that the Roman and Parthian empires added to geographical knowledge in his day just as had Alexander’s conquests for Eratosthenes.26 This was certainly true for Strabo, an Asian Greek from Pontus, who accompanied his patron Aelius Gallus, the prefect of Egypt, to Syene (Aswan) and the frontiers of Ethiopia (c.26–4 bc), and stayed in Egypt until at least 20 bc, which allowed him to write much of his account of Egypt27 from direct knowledge rather than from earlier literature alone. Strabo’s survey, with its valuable descriptions of Egyptian sites, has received much less attention than other major Greek sources and only in the last generation or so have scholars undertaken systematic studies from an Egyptological perspective.28 While natural historians and scientific writers such as Pliny the Elder (ad 23/4–79), Dioscorides29 (first century ad) and Aelian (ad 165/70–230/5) do not provide lengthy, unified accounts of Egypt, they do include material related to the Egyptian natural world and physical landscape. The Nile, of course, continued to be a literary preoccupation.30 The Physiologus (second–fourth century ad?), an account of the wonderful properties and Christian allegorical interpretations of fifty animals, plants and stones, is of particular interest as Egyptian sources have been identified for some of the mythical material.31 The high degree of interest on the part of Greek and Latin authors in describing and interpreting Egyptian religion can be appreciated in the almost 800 pages of texts assembled in Theodor Hopfner’s Fontes Historiae Religionis Aegyptiacae.32 Though this interest began with Herodotus and earlier authors and continued among writers of the Hellenistic period, the greater part of the material was written under the Roman Empire and in Late Antiquity, and authors of these periods were responsible for preserving many fragments of earlier texts. Much of this interest was undoubtedly related to the diffusion throughout the  Roman Empire of Egyptian cults, such as depicted in the final book of Apuleius’ 23  While some scholars approach these questions in terms of literary or oral tradition and transmission (e.g. Redford 1986: 257–93), Jan Assmann 1997: 1–54 has directly engaged with the theories of Freud’s Moses and Monotheism. 24  Especially important is the chronicle of George Synkellos (Adler and Tuffin 2002). On the interests of later Christian writers in preserving Manetho, see, for example, Adler 1983. 25  For example, Tacitus 4.81–4 is primarily concerned with Serapis, and 5.3–4 gives a version of the Exodus narrative; Ammianus Marcellinus 22.15–16 contains a description of Egypt with many traditional elements on the occasion of Julian’s visit to Egypt. 26 Strabo Geography 1.2.1. 27  Geography 17.1.1–54. 28  Yoyotte et al. 1997, Knight 1998. The Geography of Ptolemy (fl. c.ad 146–70) also offers topographical information, even if his data and calculations of longitude and latitude were flawed. For toponyms from Greek and Latin authors and other sources see Calderini and Daris 1935–96 and Talbert 2000. 29 Marganne 1992. 30  This subject is treated in scientific and historical works, as one might expect (e.g. Pliny 5.10.51–9), but was also the subject of literary elaborations (e.g. Lucan Civil War 10.195–331 and Aelius Aristides Oration 26). 31 See LdÄ s.v. ‘Physiologus’ for an overview and bibliography. 32  Hopfner 1922–5. An English translation of sources by Ockinga and Plant is forthcoming.

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1160   Ian S. Moyer Metamorphoses.33 Plutarch of Chaeronea (c.ad 46–120) was directly acquainted with this form of Graeco-Egyptian religion, and addressed his treatise On Isis and Osiris to a priestess of Isis at Delphi. The work combines a philosophical exegesis of myth and ritual with the long-standing tradition of interpretatio Graeca, in which unfamiliar religious concepts were translated into Greek approximations.34 Though he overlaid his accounts of Egyptian religion with Platonic and Stoic allegorical interpretations, Plutarch drew on a wide range of literary sources, some of which preserved Egyptian traditions. Manetho’s writings on religion, for example, are among the texts he cites.35 Early Christian authors, such as Clement of Alexandria (c.ad 150–211/16), Origen (c.ad 184/5–c.254/5) and several others, had polemical reasons for discussing Egyptian religion, but in many cases they combined erudition with invective and thus provide evidence for Egyptian religion in the Ptolemaic and Roman world. The Greek philosophical use of Egyptian religious ideas continued among the Neoplatonists. The Egyptian origins of Plotinus (ad 205–269/70) have been much debated, but few direct references to Egypt are found in his work.36 His student Porphyry (ad 233–c.305), however, took up the philosophical discussion of Egyptian religion in several works, and like Plutarch, he sometimes used Egyptian sources such as Manetho and Chaeremon. Iamblichus (c.ad 245–c.325) attempted more systematically to integrate various ancient theologies, including what he understood as Egyptian thought, into Neoplatonic philosophy. His treatise On the Mysteries is a reply in the voice of Abammon, a fictitious Egyptian priest, to Porphyry’s critique of ritual in the Letter to Anebo. As with other literature, these texts must be evaluated with a careful eye toward the sources on which they drew, and understood as products of inter-cultural perceptions and interactions in their own historical contexts. In the latter regard especially, the picture is changing. Scholars examining the social and intellectual milieu of the Hermetica have reshaped the terms in which ‘Hellenization’ and Egyptian cultural identity are approached in the study of these texts, showing that the transformation of Egyptian religious tradition evident in these sources was not solely in the hands of Greeks and Romans.37 Research in this vein has revealed connections between Egyptian literature and the technical Hermetica (i.e. works on magic, astrology, alchemy), and demonstrated a continuity between the latter and the philosophical Hermetica, especially in the practice of theurgy. These connections suggest that the Hermetic mise en scène of learned Egyptian priests and divinities engaging in theosophical dialogue was more than Orientalist set-dressing.38 The historical counterpart of this imagined setting is found in the learned Theban magical library of the Anastasi collection (see below), and in transcultural figures like Chaeremon, the tutor of Nero who combined the roles of Egyptian priest and Stoic philosopher, and interpreted Egyptian

33  See the commentary of Griffiths 1975. Since Winkler 1985, caution has been the byword in using Apuleius as a straightforward source on religious experience. 34 See LdÄ s.v. ‘Interpretatio graeca’. 35  FGrHist 609 T3, F19–22 and BNJ ‘Manetho (609)’ for translation and commentary; on Plutarch’s sources, see Griffiths (1970). 36  On his origins, see the entry ‘Plotin’ in the Lexikon der Ägyptologie, with references; see also more recently, MacCoull 1999. Plotinus does discuss hieroglyphs at Enneads 5.8.6. 37  Mahé 1978-82; Fowden 1986; Frankfurter 1998, esp. 198–237. 38  Fowden  1986. It is important to note, on the other hand, that the context of the Book of Thoth (Jasnow and Zauzich 2005) has a striking lack of resemblance to the Greek and Latin Hermetica.

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Greek and Latin sources   1161 traditions for the wider Ptolemaic and Roman world.39 Like Manetho in the early Hellenistic period, Egyptian priests in the Roman world and Late Antiquity continued to contribute to the cultural dialogue that shaped Greek and Latin sources on Egypt, and even Horapollo, who had such a retrograde influence on the decipherment of hieroglyphs, can be seen in this light.40 Continued interdisciplinary research into such texts at the boundaries between Egypt and the Ptolemaic and Roman worlds will further demonstrate the merits of this approach in the interpretation of the Greek and Latin literary sources on Egypt.

Papyrology and epigraphy In the eighteenth century, visitors to Egypt created a trickle of epigraphical and papyrological knowledge from Greek and Latin documents. Travellers such as Richard Pococke recorded Greek and Latin inscriptions, including graffiti left by ancient visitors on the ‘colossos of Memnon’, and in 1788 the Charta Borgiana became the first Greek papyrus from Egypt to be published.41 The Napoleonic expedition (1798–1801) brought to light the famous trilingual inscription from Rosetta which spurred on Thomas Young and Jean François Champollion to the decipherment of Egyptian hieroglyphs, but it also opened Egypt up to more intensive epigraphical and papyrological research on Greek and Latin texts. Papyri formed part of the collections of Egyptian antiquities assembled in the nineteenth century, and epigraphers such as Jean Antoine Letronne began to examine Greek and Latin inscriptions in Egypt not only as aids to decipherment, but also as historical documents in their own right.42 After sensational discoveries of Greek literary texts in the early 1890s, targeted excavations recovered enormous quantities of papyri from Ptolemaic and Roman sites. In turn, the publication of these documents stimulated the production of scholarly aids, organizational enterprises and a large, complex scholarly literature. Though no comprehensive survey can adequately quantify the results of the effort to publish texts, the Trismegistos database includes over 50,000 Greek papyri and 20,000 Greek ostraca. Several times this number await publication, and more continue to be discovered through archaeological excavations. The proportion of Latin papyri and ostraca among the mass of documents from Egypt is small (around one per cent), owing to the continued predominance of Greek as an administrative language under the Roman empire.43 The organization of Greek and Latin inscriptions from Egypt has proceeded less systematically. In contrast to 39  For the fragments of Chaeremon’s works, see van der Horst 1984. 40  Note, for example, the priest-magician Pachrates (sources discussed in Dickie 2001: 212–13), and the obelisk translation of Hermapion (Ammianus Marcellinus 17.4). See the entry ‘Horapollo’ in the Lexikon der Ägyptologie; and for Chaeremon, see van der Horst 1984. 41  Pococke  1743–45; Schow  1788; for the early histories of papyrology and epigraphy in Egypt, see Turner 1968: 15–41 and Bernand 1977. 42  Letronne 1823, 1842–8 (the first corpus of Greek and Latin inscriptions from Egypt). 43  The subject of papyrology is understood broadly to include ostraca, wooden surfaces, wax tablets, and other related materials, and thousands more texts on these materials have been published. For earlier published estimates of the scale of materials, see Bagnall 1995: 22; Van Minnen 1995. For the chronological distribution, see also the Heidelberger Gesamtverzeichnis der griechischen Papyrusurkunden Ägyptens, reviewed by Bagnall 1998. For literary texts, see also the Leuven Database of Ancient Books.

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1162   Ian S. Moyer the centrality of Egypt for the development of papyrology, Greek and Latin inscriptions from Egypt were peripheral to the major nineteenth- and early twentieth-century efforts at epigraphical organization. Contemporary with the first corpus for Egypt produced by Letronne, August Boeckh’s Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum (CIG) vol. III included inscriptions from Egypt, and twenty years later, Theodor Mommsen’s Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum (CIL) vol. III assembled a small number of Latin inscriptions. These works were very quickly out of date,44 however, and Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorf ’s plan for the successor to the CIG, Inscriptiones Graecae (IG), did not include Egypt. The organization of a comprehensive corpus of Greek and Latin inscriptions from Egypt languished until the 1950s.45 The corpus currently being assembled is composed of a number of local and regional volumes in which the works of André and Étienne Bernand have been particularly prominent.46 The material collected so far provides a valuable body of evidence for literary and historical studies. The papyri have produced some spectacular finds of works otherwise lost to classical literature (e.g. the Constitution of the Athenians attributed to Aristotle, and Menander’s Dyskolos), but the vast majority, around 80–90 per cent, are government or private documents (e.g. contracts, loan documents, leases, receipts, wills, petitions, official requests and declarations, census returns, sureties).47 These along with public and private inscriptions (petitions, decrees, honorific inscriptions, epitaphs, dedications, graffiti, proskynemata, hymns, etc.) provide information on social, legal, economic and religious life in Egypt that is usually not available in texts composed as literary or historical works. The evidence is, of course, not without limitations and biases. Owing to conditions of preservation and recovery, the inscriptions and papyri are not distributed in an even or representative way.48 There are important spatial lacunae, notably in the Delta. Papyrus is especially sensitive to conditions of preservation, and finds are concentrated in relatively few places: generally in cemeteries, desert areas, or habitation zones that have dried up, have not been cultivated subsequently, and are not currently inhabited. Problems of temporal distribution are also important. Though the famous graffiti carved by Greek mercenaries on the colossal sculpture of Rameses II at Abu Simbel date the first epigraphical evidence back to the early sixth century bc, the bulk of the Greek and Latin papyri and inscriptions date to the period from Alexander to the Arab conquest. This should not, however, lead to assumptions of an internal coherence or uniformity for these sources. Certain documents are typical only of particular periods, especially given the changes in administrative practice from Ptolemaic to Roman rule.49 In each period, the social, legal, and economic factors which motivated or restricted documentation on papyrus as well as the ‘epigraphic habits’ behind inscriptions must be considered as part of the bias 44  CIL III (published 1873) cannot be used without the corrections and additions of the 1902 supplement, which has made consulting this volume rather cumbersome. 45 Bernand 1977. 46  See Bérard et al. 2000: 80–3 and the suggested reading below. The work of A. Bernand has in some cases attracted criticism: see, for example, Bingen 1990. A new corpus of Ptolemaic inscriptions is being developed at the Center for the Study of Ancient Documents at Oxford University. 47  The proportion is the estimate of Bagnall 1995: 14. This list of document types is not comprehensive. For overviews of document types, see Turner 1980: 127–48 and Montevecchi 1988: 177–233. 48  See Bagnall 1995: 12; on inscriptions, Wagner 1993. 49  See Bowman and Rathbone 1992; Bagnall 2011: 27–74.

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Greek and Latin sources   1163 inherent in the documents. To choose just one notorious example, the information derived from groups of epitaphs usually reflects commemorative practices more than straightforward demographic realities. For Egyptologists, of course, the languages of these documents present two main obstacles. In the first case, effective use of the material depends on familiarity with the philological practices of Greek and Latin papyrology and epigraphy, and with the languages themselves. On the other hand, the texts and the scholarship on them have often left the impression that  these materials are thoroughly embedded in the Ptolemaic, Roman or Byzantine administration and the corresponding (primarily Greek) immigrant or ‘Hellenized’ Egyptian milieux. These documents, therefore, are often connected to wider political, social, and cultural contexts whose histories lie for the most part outside of Egypt. Consequently, the continuities with Egyptian evidence and history have often been obscured. The first problem is one of technical proficiencies. The usefulness of Greek and Latin papyri and inscriptions, as with their Egyptian counterparts, depends on accurate decipherment and transcription, and in the case of damaged texts, sound restoration. Owing to the special difficulties created by palaeography, fragmentary texts, and linguistic irregularities, the reader of published papyri and inscriptions faces far more perils than the reader of a literary text edited on the basis of an ample manuscript tradition. This is not, however, an insurmountable obstacle to their use. While competence in the necessary languages and philological skills is the ideal, a familiarity with the methodology lying behind the notation used in an edited text can provide a more secure route into the documents for the non-specialist.50 Papyrologists and epigraphers have also aided the interpretation of documents by studying the texts in relation to each other, either as documents of the same type or subject (e.g. proskynema inscriptions or Roman military records on papyrus), or as related parts of the same family or public archive. In the latter case, related texts are often scattered across several collections through earlier sales of material from informal excavations. Careful philological work helps to connect the extreme singularity of the individual document to these archives and broader patterns in the corpus and thus reveal its interest and value for historical research. In more recent research, this has included efforts to overcome technical and historiographical isolation by relating Greek sources to Egyptian (especially demotic texts) and recognizing the connections and continuities between the respective fields of study to which they have conventionally been assigned. Beyond their initial value to the decipherment of hieroglyphs, the Ptolemaic trilingual decrees have long permitted scholars to compare the parallels and divergences in modes of expression between the Greek and Egyptian versions, and between decrees from different periods and places, thus providing insights into the ideological communication and negotiation between the indigenous priesthood and the Ptolemaic dynasty.51 The priestly decrees show formal similarities with Greek honorific decrees emanating from civic communities or associations, but also a concern with aligning Ptolemaic rule with traditions of pharaonic kingship.52 Scholars working with both Greek and Egyptian materials have detected mutual 50  See the handbooks and technical introductions in the suggested reading below. 51  See, e.g., Daumas 1952; Bingen 1989: 20–4; Koenen 1993; Valbelle and Leclant 2000. 52  Clarysse 2000; Moyer 2011. On the Canopus decree, see also Pfeiffer 2004. For the most recently discovered decree see El-Masry et al. 2012. The trilingual (Egyptian, Greek and Latin) decree of C.  Cornelius Gallus is an early Roman adaptation of this type of inscription. See Hoffmann, MinasNerpel and Pfeiffer 2009.

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1164   Ian S. Moyer connections and interactions in other areas. The Greek epigraphical genre of the proskynema, for example, is found only in Egypt beginning in the mid-second century bc, and is derived from a parallel demotic inscriptional practice which is intended to leave behind the name of the worshipper as a physical substitute at a sacred place.53 Even when the traditions are quite different, surprising connections between the Greek and Egyptian evidence can be made in order to form a more complete dossier of evidence. Jean Yoyotte discovered that the members of a prominent family at Edfu were leading double after-lives through separate Greek and Egyptian grave stelae. In the Greek funerary inscriptions, composed in elegiac couplets, these individuals bore Greek names and Greek titles, while in the hieroglyphic stelae they used Egyptian names and held traditional Egyptian priestly offices, testifying to the dual cultural and linguistic world in which they operated.54 The papyrological study of bilingual texts and archives has also revealed that in many cases documents previously thought to belong to separate ethnical or cultural spheres cannot be understood in isolation from one another, and only form a complete historical picture when treated together. ‘Bilingual’ scholars competent in both Greek and demotic have made a particularly important impact in this regard. A study of the agoranomoi in Pathyris, for example, has shown that though these notaries had Greek names in the Greek documents they wrote, they actually belonged to a family of Graeco-Egyptian soldiers who used their Egyptian names when writing in demotic.55 Bilingual archives of testaments and contracts belonging to Greek-Egyptian families, such as that of the Greek cavalry officer Dryton who married an Egyptian woman Apollonia/Senmonthis, allow comparative insights into the social, legal, and economic world of this mixed milieu, including the differing positions of women in the Greek and Egyptian legal systems.56 The importance of Greek materials for the study of late Egyptian civilization is not restricted to documentary texts. In addition to such Greek papyri as the Oracle of the Potter and the Dream of Nectanebo,57 which appear to be translations of Egyptian texts, considerable attention has focused on the Egyptian religious antecedents to the heterogeneous corpus of Greek magical papyri and on their relations to the corresponding demotic papyri. Especially important to this study has been the Theban magical library gathered in the mid-nineteenth century by Giovanni Anastasi. This corpus of ritual texts was mostly composed in Greek, but also included demotic and bilingual texts. The treatment of this material as a coherent archive was hindered by the first major collection of the Greek materials (PGM), which excluded demotic texts from the Anastasi collection, even when they appeared on the same papyrus, adjacent to or intermingled with Greek ones.58 Subsequent work, however, has treated the corpus as a whole, whether against the background of pharaonic tradition, or as an entrée into the sociolinguistic and intellectual milieu of the Roman-period composers.59 A generation of exhortations and efforts to study Greek documents together with Egyptian has been producing dividends in broader synthetic studies as well. Dorothy Thompson’s work on Ptolemaic Memphis is an exemplary use of both bodies of evidence

53 Geraci 1971. 54  Yoyotte 1969; Clarysse 1985: 62–4; É. Bernand 1969: 53–69, 175–82. 55  Pestman 1978; see also the discussion in Clarysse 1985: 60–2. 56 Vandorpe 2002. 57  Koenen 1968, 1984; Wilcken 1927: 369–74; Blasius and Schipper 2002. On Egyptian and GraecoEgyptian literature in Greek, see Moyer and Dieleman 2010: 440–6. 58 Preisendanz 1973–4. 59  Ritner 1995; Dieleman 2005.

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Greek and Latin sources   1165 to produce as balanced and complete a picture as possible of this complex city and region.60 The large corpus of Greek economic papyri from Ptolemaic Egypt—far more voluminous than for any previous period—was fundamental for the major economic studies of Michael Rostovtzeff and Claire Préaux, but more recent work has endeavoured to modify notions of a centralized ‘royal economy’ and correct the regional bias towards the Faiyum created by such major concentrations of Greek evidence as the Zenon archive, a large set of papyri found at Philadelphia and dating to the third century bc.61 By studying both Greek and demotic evidence for land tenure, for example, new challenges are being formulated to conventional models of the Ptolemaic state and its role in the economy, which suggest a greater degree of continuity with Egyptian antecedents than was posited previously.62 A pioneering study on demography using the Greek language census returns from Roman Egypt has produced results of broad interest for ancient history, and this work has been followed by an edition and study of both Greek and demotic census documents from Ptolemaic Egypt.63 These and other such ‘bilingual’ approaches to the wealth of documentary evidence from the Ptolemaic and Roman periods are successfully blurring the disciplinary dividing line between the Greek (and Latin) evidence and the Egyptian material, and thus modifying views and historiographical tendencies that have developed out of this division of labor.

Suggested reading There is no single systematic collection of all the references to Egypt in classical Greek literature, but a few thematic collections and studies are useful to the Egyptologist. Greek and Latin sources on Egyptian religion were collected by Hopfner 1922–5, though several of the texts have since been re-edited. For a translation of sources on religion see Plant and Ockinga 2013. Fragments of Greek historians on Egypt are collected in Jacoby FGrHist, especially in Part IIIC: Geschichte von Städten und Völkern (Horographie und Ethnographie): Autoren über einzelne Länder: Nos. 608–65. Translations and commentaries are available in BNJ. A number of studies have focused on images of Egypt in Greek and Latin literary texts. See, for example, Froidefond  1971, Vasunia  2001, Manolaraki  2013, and Leemreize  2016. For studies on the interactions between Greek and Egyptian literature, see Moyer and Dieleman  2010 and Rutherford  2016. There are commentaries available for some major authors: Lloyd 1975–88 on Herodotus, Histories 2; Burton 1972 on Diodorus Siculus, Library 1, and Yoyotte et al. 1997 on Strabo, Geography 17. For papyrology, there are a number of introductory works, among them Turner 1980 and Pestman 1994. Bagnall 1995 provides an excellent discussion of various methodological and historiographical problems in using papyri as historical sources. Important bibliographical resources include Oates et al., Checklist of Editions of Greek and Latin Papyri (available in an online version: http://papyri.info/docs/checklist), the Bibliographie Papyrologique, and 60  Thompson (2012). 61  On the Zenon archive, see Pestman and Clarysse (1981); Orrieux (1985); Clarysse and Vandorpe (1995). 62  Manning (2003). 63  Bagnall and Frier (1994); Clarysse and Thompson (2006).

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1166   Ian S. Moyer the  Berichtungsliste der griechischen Papyrusurkunden, which lists the corrections and reeditions of documentary papyri. In the last couple of decades, electronic resources for papyrology have flourished, for example: the Heidelberger Gesamtverzeichnis der griechischen Papyrusurkunden Ägyptens, the Leuven Database of Ancient Books, the Duke Database of Documentary Papyri, the APIS project, and Trismegistos. Recent efforts have been made to link these online resources and provide portals to multiple resources. See especially papyri. info and www.trismegistos.org. For the bibliography of Greek and Latin epigraphy in Egypt, see Bérard et al. 2000: 80–3, and the relevant sections of the Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum, Année Épigraphique, and Bulletin Épigraphique (published in Revue des Études Grecques). A collection of Greek and Latin inscriptions relating to Ptolemaic and Roman Egypt is available in Pfeiffer 2015. A new corpus of Ptolemaic Inscriptions is under development at the Centre for the Study of Ancient Documents at Oxford University. An online database of all Greek inscriptions is being developed under the auspices of the Packard Humanities Institute (http://epigraphy. packhum.org/), and this can be browsed or searched by regions. Though not devoted specifically to Egypt, several works provide general introductions to epigraphy: Woodhead 1981, Gordon 1983, Cook 1987, Keppie 1991, McLean 2002.

Abbreviations used in this chapter APIS

(Advanced Papyrological Information System), available at several sites, including http:// www.columbia.edu/cu/lweb/projects/digital/apis/ BNJ I. Worthington et al. (eds), Brill’s New Jacoby. Brill Reference Online. BNJ2 I. Worthington et al. (eds), Brill’s New Jacoby, Second Edition. Brill Reference Online. FGrHist F. Jacoby (1923–58), Fragmente der griechischen Historiker, Berlin: Weidmann. LdÄ W. Helck and E. Otto (1975–92), Lexikon der Ägypologie, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. CIG A.  Boeckh (1828–77), Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum, Rome [Reprint (1977), Subsidia Epigraphica, Hildesheim: Olms] CIL Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1863–), Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum, Berlin: de Gruyter. IG Berlin-Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften (1903–), Inscriptiones Graecae, Berlin: de Gruyter. PGM K.  Preisendanz and A.  Henrichs (1973–4), Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die Griechischen Zauberpapyri. 2nd ed. 2 vols. Stuttgart: Teubner.

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Greek and Latin sources   1169 Manning, J. G. 2003. Land and Power in Ptolemaic Egypt. The Structure of Land Tenure. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Manolaraki, E. 2013. Noscendi Nilum Cupido: Imagining Egypt from Lucan to Philostratus. Trends in Classics: Supplementary volumes 18. Berlin: De Gruyter. Marganne, M.-H. 1992. Les références à l’Égypte dans la Matière médicale de Dioscoride. In Serta Leodiensia Secunda. Mélanges publiés par les Classiques de liège à l’occasion du 175e anniversaire de l’Université. Liège: CIPL, 309–22. McLean, B. H. 2002. An Introduction to Greek Epigraphy of the Hellenistic and Roman Periods from Alexander the Great down to the Reign of Constantine (323 B.C.–A.D. 337). Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Montevecchi, O. 1988. La Papirologia. 2nd edn. Milan: Vita e Pensiero. Moyer, I. S. 2002. Herodotus and an Egyptian Mirage: the Genealogies of the Theban Priests, Journal of Hellenic Studies 122: 70–90. Moyer, I. S. 2011. Egypt and the Limits of Hellenism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Moyer, I. S. 2013. Berossos and Manetho. In J. Haubold, G.B. Lanfranchi, R. Rollinger, and J. Steele (eds), The World of Berossos: Proceedings of the 4th International Colloquium on ‘The Ancient Near East between Classical and Ancient Oriental Traditions’, Hatfield College, Durham 7th–9th July 2010. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 213–33. Moyer, I. S. and Dieleman, J. 2010. Egyptian Literature. In J. Clauss and M. Cuypers (eds), A Companion to Hellenistic Literature. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 429–47. Muntz, C. 2011. The Sources of Diodorus Siculus, Book 1, Classical Quarterly 61: 574–94. Murray, O. 1970. Hecataeus of Abdera and Pharaonic Kingship, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 56: 141–71. Murray, O. 1972. Herodotus and Hellenistic Culture, Classical Quarterly 22: 200–13. Orrieux, C. 1985. Zénon de Caunos, parépidèmos, et le destin grec. Centre de recherches d’histoire ancienne 64. Paris: Belles Lettres. Payne, M. 2004. Review of Stephens 2003, Classical Philology 99.3: 267–72. Pestman, P. W. 1978. L’agoranomie: un avant-poste de l’administration grecque enlevé par les Égyptiens? In V. M. Strocka and H. Maehler (eds), Das Ptolemäische Aegypten. Akten ded internationalen Symposions, September 1976 in Berlin. Mainz: von Zabern, 203–10. Pestman, P. W. 1994. The New Papyrological Primer. 2nd edn. Leiden: Brill. Pestman, P. W. and Clarysse, W. 1981. A Guide to the Zenon Archive (P.L.  Bat. 21). Papyrologica Lugdono-Batava 21. Leiden: Brill Pfeiffer, S. 2004. Das Dekret von Kanopos (238 v. Chr.): Kommentar und historische Auswertung eines dreisprachigen Synodaldekretes der ägyptischen Priester zu Ehren Ptolemaios’ III. und seiner Familie. Archiv für Papyrusforschung und verwandte Gebiete Beiheft 18. München: K. G. Saur. Pfeiffer, S. 2015. Griechische und Lateinische Inschriften zum Ptolemäerreich und zur Römischen Provinz Aegyptus. Einfuhrungen und Quellentexte zur Ägyptologie 9. Berlin: LIT. Plant, I. M. and Ockinga, B. 2013. Egyptian Religion. Greek and Latin Sources in Translation. London: Equinox. Pococke, R. 1743–5. A Description of the East and Some Other Countries. 2 volumes. London: printed for the author. Preisendanz, K. (ed. and trans.) 1973–4. Papyri Graecae Magicae. Die Griechischen Zauberpapyri. 2 volumes. 2nd edn, ed. by A. Henrichs. Stuttgart: Teubner. Redford, D. B. 1986. Pharaonic King-Lists, Annals, and Day-Books. Mississauga, Canada: Benben Publications. Ritner, R. K. 1995. Egyptian Magical Practice under the Roman Empire: the Demotic Spells and their Religious Context. In W. Haase and H. Temporini (eds), Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt II.18.5. Berlin: de Gruyter, 3333–79. Rutherford, I. (ed.) 2016. Graeco-Egyptian Interactions: Literature, Translation, and Culture 500 BC–AD 300. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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1170   Ian S. Moyer Schäfer, P. 1997a. Die Manetho-Fragmente bei Josephus und die Anfänge des antiken ‘Antisemitismus’. In G. W. Most (ed.), Collecting Fragments. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 186–206. Schäfer, P. 1997b. Judeophobia. Attitudes toward Jews in the Ancient World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Schow, N. I. 1788. Charta Papyracea graece scripta Musei Borgiani Velitris qua series incolarum Ptolemaidis Arsinoiticae in aggeribus et fossis operantium exhibetur. Rome: Fulgoni. Selden, D. 1998. Alibis, Classical Antiquity 17.2: 299–412. Stephens, S. A. 2003. Seeing Double. Intercultural Poetics in Ptolemaic Alexandria. Hellenistic Culture and Society 37. Berkeley: University of California Press. Talbert, R. J. A. (ed.) 2000. The Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Thompson, D. J. 2012. Memphis Under the Ptolemies. 2nd ed. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Turner, E. 1968. Greek Papyri: An Introduction. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Turner, E. G. 1980. Greek Papyri: An Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. van der Horst, P. W. 1984. Chaeremon. Egyptian Priest and Stoic Philosopher. The Fragments Collected and Translated with Explanatory Notes. Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’empire romain 101. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Valbelle, D. and Leclant, J. (eds) 2000. Le Décret de Memphis: colloque de la Fondation Singer-Polignac à l’occasion de la célébration du bicentenaire de la découverte de la Pierre de Rosette: Paris, 1er juin 1999. Paris: Fondation Singer-Polignac. Van Minnen, P. 1995. Writing in Egypt under Greek and Roman Rule, http://scriptorium.lib.duke.edu/ papyrus/texts/rule.html Vandorpe. K. 2002. The Bilingual Family Archive of Dryton, his Wife Apollonia and their Daughter Senmouthis (P.  Dryton) (with a contribution by P.  Bing on the ‘Alexandrian erotic fragment’ or ‘Mädchens Klage’). Collectanea hellenistica 4. Brussels: Comite Klassieke Studies, Subcomite Hellenisme, Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie van Belgie voor Wetenschappen en Kunsten. Vasunia, P. 2001. The Gift of the Nile. Hellenizing Egypt from Aeschylus to Alexander. Berkeley: University of California Press. von Beckerath, J. 1997. Chronologie des Pharaonischen Ägypten. Die Zeitbestimming der ägyptischen Geschichte von der Vorzeit bis 332 v. Chr. Münchner Ägyptologische Studien 46. Mainz: von Zabern. Waddell, W. G. 1940. Manetho: History of Egypt and Other Works. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wagner, G. 1993. L’épigraphie du village dans l’Égypte gréco-romaine. In A. Calbi, A. Donati, and G.  Poma (eds), L’epigrafia del villaggio. Epigrafia e Antichità 12. Faenza: Fratelli Lega Editori, 101–15. Walbank, F. W. 1979. Egypt in Polybius. In J. Ruffle, G. A. Gaballa, and K. A. Kitchen (eds), Glimpses of Ancient Egypt: Studies in Honour of H. W. Fairman. Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 180–9. Walbank, F. W. 1984. Sources for the Period. In F. W. Walbank (ed.), The Cambridge Ancient History. 2nd edn. Volume VII, Part I: The Hellenistic World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilcken, U. 1927. Urkunden der Ptolemäerzeit (Ältere Funde). Vol. 1, Papyri aus Unterägypten. Berlin: de Gruyter. Winkler, J. J. 1985. Auctor & Actor. A Narratological Reading of Apuleius’s Golden Ass. Berkeley: University of California Press. Woodhead, A. G. 1981. The Study of Greek Inscriptions. 2nd edition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Yoyotte, J. 1963. L’égypte ancienne et les origines de l’antijudaïsme, Revue de l’histoire des religions 163: 133–43. Yoyotte, J. 1969. Bakhtis: religion égyptien et culture grecque à Edfou. In P. Derchain (ed.), Religions en Égypte hellénistique et romaine, Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 127–41. Yoyotte, J., Charvet, P., and Gompertz, S. 1997. Strabon. Le voyage en Égypte. Un regard romain. Paris: NiL éditions.

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PA RT X

M USE OL O GY A N D C ONSE RVAT ION

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chapter 60

M useum col l ections Campbell Price

Introduction In many countries around the world, and within Egypt itself, museums are the principal means to interact with the physical remains of ancient Egypt. By their archaeological nature, such museum collections are partial, fragmentary, and idiosyncratic. Nevertheless, museums frequently attempt to present a coherent vision of a single ‘ancient Egypt’. Museums are also promoters, and subjects, of study in their own right. Examination of the development and role of the museum as an institution, the acquisition history of Egyptian collections and visitors’ experiences of, and responses to, objects are important contributions to modern Egyptology.

Acquisition and early collections Egyptian antiquities have been desired commodities since ancient times. Arguably, temples and tombs fulfilled some of the functions we might recognize of museums today1 because they contained monuments already considered ‘old’ by their ancient visitors, and therefore worthy of reverence, consultation and imitation. The imperial collections of Hadrian (r. ad 117–38) at his villa at Tivoli, near Rome, and of Diocletian (r. ad 284–305) at his palace in modern Split, in Croatia, demonstrate an early (non-Egyptian) interest in acquiring pharaonic remains because of their distinctively Egyptian qualities. From the Renaissance, relatively small numbers of antiquities entered Europe, consisting mainly of easily portable items destined to fill curiosity cabinets.2 Before the French occupation of 1798–1801 opened up the channels of communication between Egypt and Europe, acquisition of objects was limited by their physical accessibility and by aesthetic selections made by antiquarians.3 Mideighteenth-century displays in the newly opened British Museum were organized according to donor and illustrate Egyptology as a history of collecting rather than of Egypt itself.4 1  Kozloff 2008: 144–5. 3  Quirke 1997: 253–62.

2  Dewachter 1986: 181–206; Moser 2006: 11–32. 4  Moser 2006: 49.

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1174   Campbell Price Large-scale collecting of Egyptian antiquities by the West began during the early nineteenth century, and often had more to do with national pride than interest in ancient Egypt.5 The politics of acquisition are best illustrated by the handling of the Rosetta Stone: seized by the British after their defeat of the Egypt in 1801, it was displayed in the British Museum essentially as a trophy.6 The competitive surge in amassing collections was driven chiefly by a handful of European governments and accomplished by their representatives in Egypt. The activities of individual agents, as well as travellers who engaged in the early antiquities trade, are relatively well-attested in the documentary record.7 It is worth noting that despite the emphasis on archaeological ‘discovery’ in many museum displays, the formation of the majority of Western collections was made possible chiefly by the trade in largely unprovenanced antiquities.8 The acquisition by the British Museum of a colossal head of Rameses II, known as the ‘Younger Memnon’, played a particularly significant part in the invention of the ancient Egyptian ‘artefact’.9 The transportation of the head from the ‘Memnonium’ on the Theban west bank to London between 1816 and 1819 attracted much more curiosity than the identity or original purpose of the statue.10 It was a novelty that the piece was acquired for a young national museum and not a private collector. The sculpture’s journey paved the way for object gathering on a greater scale, and signalled a new status for pharaonic antiquities as unique pieces rather than as more-or-less interchangeable objects. Increasingly, approaches to cultural heritage—not limited to Egypt—have acknowledged the pervasive influence of colonial powers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the associated concepts of obligation and entitlement towards the countries they controlled.11 In the case of (ancient) Egypt, these attitudes arose from a perceived familiarity with pharaonic civilization.12 An underlying theme of this Orientalist discourse is the assumed moral mandate of Westerners to ‘save’ pharaonic antiquities from the modern inhabitants of Egypt. Concerned (Western) experts were contrasted with native Egyptians— depicted as (at best) ignorant bystanders or (at worst) destructive peasants13—whose real involvement in Egyptian archaeology has only recently been recognized in the literature.14 This tension is rarely acknowledged in museum displays.15 One of the earliest advocates of the transplantation of antiquities out of Egypt appears to have been the decipherer of hieroglyphs himself, Jean-François Champollion. By removing reliefs from the tomb of Seti I, he claimed to be ‘acting as a real lover of antiquity, since I shall be taking them away only to preserve and not to sell’.16 The complex debate that surrounds the issues of cultural ownership continues today in the competing claims regarding the repatriation to Egypt of some antiquities. This debate—particularly regarding certain iconic objects—is familiar to many museum-goers, having gained broad public recognition through the media.17 Early museum presentations exploited expectations of (ancient) Egypt as different, exotic, ‘the Other’18, often placing pharaonic culture in direct opposition to Western civilization. 5  Bierbrier 2003: 69–75. 6  Moser 2006: 65–73, 84–7. 7  E.g. Fiechter 1994; Ridley 1998; Manley and Rée 2001; Mayes 2006; Jeffreys 2010. 8  Hagan and Ryholt 2016. 9  Colla 2007: 24–66, esp. 27. 10 Garnett 2015. 11  Riggs 2010: 1137–41; Mitchell 1989. 12  Said 1978: 32. 13  Colla 2007: 12–16. 14 Quirke 2010. 15  Tully 2011: 137–52. 16  Quoted in Weeks 1998: 69. 17  Cuno 2008: 169, 171–2. 18  Said 1978; Riggs 2010: 1137–41.

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Museum collections   1175 In displays between 1759 and 1880 at the British Museum, the Egyptian collection—dominated and often characterized by its many large sculptures—was unfavourably contrasted with Classical antiquities in adjoining galleries. This inevitably led to pejorative assessments of Egyptian objects as ‘colossal monstrosities’ to some sensibilities, and meant that objects were not displayed or interpreted in their own terms.19 Yet, even in these early displays and despite restrictions placed on those who could enter the museum20, pharaonic Egypt gained a significant popularity with visitors.21

Museums and archaeological context Until the end of the nineteenth century, museums, more so than universities, provided institutional support for archaeology in Egypt. At the same time, the emerging discipline of Egyptology gave a voice to pharaonic objects that had previously been silent. Key to this shift was the decipherment of the hieroglyphic script in 1822, which began to provide historical information—often focused on royal names. As the readability of the script developed, texts enabled the date and function of many more objects in museums to be identified and discussed. Towards the end of the nineteenth century, archaeological discoveries supplied further chronological parameters for a previously disconnected array of objects. Excavations were, however, conducted with varying degrees of rigour and often resulted in finds being privileged over archaeological context. Auguste Mariette’s Serapeum excavations, which produced thousands of ‘museum worthy’ objects for display in the Louvre22, were undertaken for quick yield of material using techniques deplored by later excavators.23 Retaining—let alone recording—objects was a significant problem, as many later appeared on the art market without a known provenance.24 Thus, antiquities from Mariette’s digs were prone to end up on the market because he—unlike Flinders Petrie, for example— would not pay his workers bakhsheesh for finds.25 From the 1880s, objects from a known archaeological context most often entered museum collections through a system of finds distribution, conducted both within Egypt and upon the arrival of objects in the West. While some museums—such as several in the United States26—funded their own digs, many other institutions made more modest subscriptions to larger excavations. From the late nineteenth century, excavations—notably those undertaken by the Egypt Exploration Fund—were funded by subscribers from around the world, resulting in a world-wide distribution of the objects they discovered. An obvious effect was that material from a single (often well-recorded) context, such as mortuary assemblages from a single tomb, tended to be split up. Once back in London, for example, finds were displayed in annual exhibitions, at which they could be purchased by interested parties. The destinations of most pieces are recorded. Information on object distribution is often published at the back of excavation reports and in periodicals. Since 1902, for example, the Museums Journal contained accession notices of EEF/EES material, and an overview of new accessions (with provenances, where known) in British museums was given in the Journal of Egyptian Archaeology between 1974 and 1996.27 Despite a comparative wealth of 19  Moser 2006: 80–3. 20  Colla 2007: 7. 22  Reid 2003: 99–102; cf. Berman 2015: 21–47. 24  E.g. Berman 2015. 25  Reid 2003: 101. 27  Bourriau 1976: 145–8.

21  Moser 2006: 120–3. 23  E.g. Mond and Myers 1934: 9. 26  E.g. Thomas 1995: 49–75.

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1176   Campbell Price documentation, comprehensive study of the finds distribution system has only recently been undertaken.28 Some museums had an interest in acquiring particular types of material, as in the northern English town of Bolton, where the local cotton industry relied on imports from Egypt. This association helped to create a comprehensive collection of ancient textiles at Bolton Museum.29 However, the difficulty in tracing pieces is illustrated in a notice placed by John Garstang in The Times newspaper on 18 February 1904 advertising a large collection of pottery for sale. The identity of many buyers remains unknown, and thus the present whereabouts of the material they purchased is also unclear. Indeed, a serious attempt to locate and quantify provincial holdings of Egyptian antiquities has taken place only in the last thirty-five years. For example, the British Museum initiated an overview of institutions in the UK holding Egyptian material.30 Over 200 British collections are now known, holding a total of over 375,000 objects.31 Museum-held archives from excavations such as drawings, plans and site photographs, as well as correspondence and other documentation relating to acquisition, are vital to retrieving information about context and re-establishing links between groups of objects.32 Such material is especially rewarding for small regional collections, which thereby may be able to use an otherwise rather disparate group of Egyptian objects to tell stories of acquisition by local figures, of relevance and interest to regional audiences. Some museums continue to support excavations in Egypt. Unlike in earlier times, this is done without the expectation of recompense in the form of objects. Those museums with large Egyptian departments—especially national collections in, for example, Britain, France, and the Netherlands—have an active programme of fieldwork. As research institutions, a focus tends to be placed on sites from which these museums have significant material in order to contextualize collections they already hold.33

Museums in Egypt The process of establishing a national museum of antiquities in Egypt is illustrative of power relations involved in the presentation of Egyptian heritage. In 1835, placing the blame squarely with Europeans, the Egyptian ruler Mohammed Ali issued a decree banning the export of antiquities and ordering them to be collected for display in Cairo.34 This did not, however, prevent deals being struck and antiquities leaving the country in greater numbers than ever before. State-gifting was so common that this first national collection had to close in the 1850s when its remaining objects were given by the Khedive to an Austrian archduke.35 Only in 1983, under Law 117, were all antiquities formally declared property of the state. Despite more recent attempts to tighten controls, illicit procurement continues to supply demand for ancient Egyptian objects, with an unknown amount of material inaccessible to study due to the black market trade in antiquities. Frenchman Auguste Mariette was the driving force behind the reopening of an Egyptian Museum at Boulaq in 1863, where he claimed to have employed aesthetic arrangements of 28  E.g. Stevenson 2014, 2015. 29  Thomas 2007: 417–36. 30  Bierbrier 1981: 19–23. 31 Serpico 2006. 32  E.g. Picton and Pridden 2008; Stevenson 2015. 33  E.g. Schneider 1995: 12–17. 34  Reid 2003: 54–8. 35  Reid 2003: 102–3.

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Museum collections   1177 objects in an attempt to attract native Egyptians.36 The garden of the modern Egyptian Museum at Tahrir Square, opened in 1902, is dominated by Mariette’s pharaonic mausoleum, immortalizing him as the founder of the museum (and the Antiquities Service). Recent scholarship has, however, emphasized the role of native Egyptians such as Rifa’a Rafi al-Tahtawi (1801–73), Ali Mubarak (1823–93), Ahmed Kamal (1851–1923), and Marcus Simaika (1864–1944) in the formation and popularization of pharaonic (and Coptic) museum collections within Egypt.37 The Egyptian Museum in Cairo holds the largest number of pharaonic antiquities in the world. Beginning in 1858, objects were accessioned into the Journal d’Entrée, which now contains over 100,000 entries.38 Some items have ended up in other countries because, for  the earlier part of its history, the museum operated a sale room. Certain common objects, such as statues or coffins, were sold if it was deemed that the museum had a representative selection of them.39 At the turn of the twentieth century, Gaston Maspero40 implemented Ludwig Borchardt’s proposal for an international project to compile the Catalogue Général. Based on object type41, this system created another set of numbers and formed the basis for catalogue volumes that continue to be produced today. Including the separate designations for the Special and Temporary registers, some objects in Cairo have as many as four different numbers.42 In an attempt to make the artefacts to which these numbers refer as easily accessible as possible, an on-going project has been undertaken to create a digital database for the museum’s collections.43 Over time, there has been a move to establish a number of regional museums in Egypt, which aim to present objects closer to their geographical origin, but with items from central collections being redistributed around the country to fill in chronological gaps. This has the advantage of increasing the amount of material on display, although most organized tourist itineraries may not have time to visit these provincial collections. One complementary project that is underway aims to publish the highlights of collections held in Delta museums, but which are often inaccessible to the general public.44 Another way to consolidate fieldwork activities and present objects close to their find-spot is through the creation of a site museum. A good example is the mortuary temple of Merenptah, which opened as an openair museum in 2001.45 Although the foreign tourist market is the most lucrative in terms of entrance fees to museums in Egypt, there are a significant number of Egyptian museum visitors. Proportions depend on location and initiatives to appeal to different audiences.46 For example, at the Bibliotheca Alexandrina—a self-directed public institution opened in 2002 with a range of resources including museum collections—57 per cent of visitors in 2004–5 were local residents, compared with 16 per cent to the more traditionally tourist-oriented Luxor Museum in 2003–4.47 At the time of going to press a partial opening for the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization (NMEC) in Fustat took place in 2017 and the flagship Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM) at Giza is set to open in 2022.48

36  Reid 2003: 106–7, and fig. 20. 37 Reid 2003; 2015. 38  Bothmer 1974: 113–17. 39  Piacentini et al. 2013: 105–30. 40  Reid 2003: 196. 41  Abou-Ghazi 1988: 68–74; Trad 1984–5: 352–7. 42  Bothmer 1974: 111. 43  Kamrin 2007: 449–62. 44  Bakr and Brandl 2010. 45  Jaritz 2001: 20–4. 46  Doyon 2008: 1–37. 47  Doyon 2008: 10. 48  Cf. Elshahed 2015: 255–69.

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1178   Campbell Price

Display and authority Display of, and access to, Egyptian material in a modern museum is constrained by a number of factors, not least the physical space available. Permanent and temporary exhibition spaces allow for varying densities of object display. Some presentations reflect the relative popularity of certain object types within a collection, aiming to provide a clearer idea of what types of object are most commonly found or ‘picked up’49, so that the circumstances of acquisition are themselves the subject of display. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York has most of its collections on view50, while the British Museum balances its large proportion of material in storage with a wide-ranging lending programme both in partnership with smaller collections in the UK and abroad51, as well as a study collection accessible by appointment. Visible storage is a useful means of demonstrating that museums are not withholding ‘hidden treasures’ from public view—a concern expressed by some visitors.52 A related issue in the presentation of museum collections is that of authenticity. A preoccupation of some museum visitors lies in whether or not objects on display are genuine, especially human mummies.53 This question is significant because the unintentional display of fakes undermines the traditional claim made by museums to authenticity54 and represents a conspicuous ‘lapse of Egyptology’.55 A seminal study by Ludwig Borchardt in 1930, identifying 56 specific examples of forged antiquities in museums and private collections56, drew an immediately aggressive reaction from collectors, dealers and academics. More recently, however, there has been a greater willingness to engage with the question of forgery57, and to make fakes the subjects of display in themselves.58 Once identified as a fake, the dubiety of a piece may itself be challenged.59 This reflects potential shifts in the understanding of ‘typical’ or ‘genuine’ Egyptian material culture, and related decisions on how to display it.

Presenting ancient Egypt(s) The popular attraction of ancient Egypt in museums has only been explored within Egyptology relatively recently.60 Developments in the study of the modern reception of ancient Egypt have highlighted the mutual dependence of an authoritative, academic presentation of pharaonic Egypt (especially in museums) and the popularity of the subject.61 As Elliot Colla observes, ‘kitsch is the life-support system for the science of Egyptology’ (quoted in The New Yorker, 16 November 2009: 55). Within—and perhaps as a result of—this modern cultural milieu, museums are faced with—and can contribute to—the widespread misrepresentation of ancient Egypt. Before even entering the door, modern museum-goers may have expectations based on ‘info-tainment’, being familiar with a sensational presentation of Egypt in the media and in fiction, although the two are not always entirely separate. Significantly, each has the tendency to be suspicious of a supposedly authoritative (‘academic’) standpoint.62 49  ACCES 2007: 4. 50  Fazzini 1995: 38–9. 51  Kozloff 2008: 155. 52  ACCES 2007: 3–4. 53  Day 2006: 136–44. 54  Naguib 2007: 1–8; Meskell 2004: 179. 55  Hardwick 2011: 31. 56  Borchardt 1930: Appendix. 57  Fiechter 2005 (condensed English version: 2009); Hardwick 2011: 31–41. 58  Schocke and Wildung 1983; Jones 1990. 59  E.g. Bianchi 2001: 507–13. 60  E.g. Wildung 1995: 4–8. 61  E.g. Jeffreys 2003; MacDonald and Rice 2003. 62  Roth 1998: 220–2.

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Museum collections   1179 A major challenge for museum staff is to exploit interest in ancient Egypt while attempting to engage with misconceptions in order to correct them. This is no small task, given the limitations of in-gallery text panels or object labels. The British Museum’s iconic bronze Gayer-Anderson cat figure offers a case in point. Reproductions of it are popular, especially among animal-lovers. Yet the projected familiarity of a pet cat—typified by a best-selling postcard showing the ancient figure with a modern tabby63—seriously misrepresents the original purpose of such objects as temple dedications, glossing over the rather unsavoury reality of animals raised for slaughter and mummification to provide votive offerings.64 This interpretive problem is posed most acutely by the display of human remains. Whether they acknowledge it or not (few do), museums exploit the same curiosity that attracted spectators to the mummy ‘unrollings’ conducted by Thomas Pettigrew and others in the nineteenth century.65 A notice advertising such a performance at a lecture theatre in 1834 specified the museum as an alternative venue at which to see the mummy: Gentlemen who may be disappointed in witnessing the unrolling of the Mummy this day, will have an opportunity of viewing it in the Museum every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from 12 till 4 o’clock.66

Sources such as this emphasize the theatrical nature of both the performance, and— ultimately—the museum itself as a place at which to witness such a spectacle. Similarly, the presentation of Egypt in late-nineteenth-century World Fair exhibitions blurred the boundaries between museum and entertainment by including both mocked-up temples and Cairene streets as well as genuine antiquities on display.67 In this way the display of ancient Egyptian artefacts became inextricably linked with sensationalism68—something that modern museum displays and exhibitions often still seek to tap into. Debate surrounding the museum presentation of human remains has focussed particularly on the treatment of mummies, and has generated a huge literature. Mummies are objectified through a process of labelling, being on one hand sexualized and alluring69 yet repulsive and frightening at the same time.70 Policies vary from museum to museum, and modern display strategies reflect this ambivalence. For example, the 2000–1 Digging for Dreams exhibition gave visitors the choice, by covering cases containing human remains with removable textiles ‘to restore to the dead people some of the coverings that would have magically protected them’.71 Perhaps the most high-profile episode of the debate was Egyptian President Anwar Sadat’s decision in the early 1980s to remove the Egyptian Museum’s royal mummies from display for (Islamic) religious reasons, although many were later returned to public view. Controversy on the issue persists, as illustrated by the debate on whether or not to ‘cover up’ mummies in Manchester Museum in 2008.72 Museum staff often highlight the importance of climate-controlled environments in the preservation of mummified bodies as being in accord with what the ancients intended. By including ancient Egyptian offering spells and

63  Beard 1992: 508–15, and pl. 41; Meskell 2004: 179–82. 64  Spencer 2007: 27–39. 65  Moshenska 2014: 451–77. 66  Dawson 1934: 173. 67  Reid 2003: 128. 68  E.g. Sheppard 2012: 525–49. 69  Montserrat 1998: 162–97; Day 2006: 19–63. 70  Day 2006: 34–93. 71  Montserrat 2000: 25–6. 72  Exell 2016: 233–49.

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1180   Campbell Price encouraging visitors to speak aloud the deceased’s name (where it is known), a number of modern displays assert that they conform to explicitly stated Egyptian wishes for the afterlife.73

Interpretations Museums do not simply transmit knowledge, but actively create it.74 The very fact of being included in a museum display confers value on objects in differing ways.75 A desire to order groups of things in museum displays at first gave rise to taxonomies in which Egyptian objects were defined by their associations with other objects as much as by their presumed function.76 Chronological and thematic arrangements were a later development and are still often encountered today.77 A variety of factors are now acknowledged to affect how Egyptian objects are interpreted. To take one example, ancient Egypt is still rarely interpreted in an explicitly African context, despite the geographical reality of this setting.78 Through their physical presentation of objects, museum displays fashion and perpetuate ‘ancient Egypt’ as an abstract but rather attractive concept. Inevitably, due to the high rate of survival of material from temples and the tombs of the (relatively) wealthy, many displays subscribe to an idyllic presentation from an elite perspective. Pharaonic Egypt thus appears as a kind of utopia79: timeless, unchanging, favoured by the gods and ordered by the king and his effective officials. Convenient interpretational categories such as ‘scribe’ lend themselves to discrete, simplified displays—but may reflect the expectations of a modern ‘bureaucracy’ rather than ancient realities.80 Attempts to address the darker side to this idealized picture—for example, why were so many monuments damaged or reused if there was such a strong belief in the afterlife?81—are rare and may be unpalatable to some museum visitors. Ultimately, museum displays must elide the huge gaps in material evidence to present objects through the lens of ‘objective’ or ‘scientific’ archaeology. The call to include voices and opinions from outside academic Egyptology82 has been heeded by some museum displays that present alternative interpretations alongside traditional information formats. This approach is, however, not common. Central debates in academic Egyptology—such as, for example, regarding the status of ancient Egyptian ‘art’83—have not closely informed the presentation of museum objects. The tone of museum displays is often dictated by an institution’s method of object acquisition. While collections from well-recorded excavations allow individual objects to be contextualized within a range of Egyptian material culture, ‘art’ museums tend to display objects in isolation84, lending themselves to even more subjective interpretation. Bernard Bothmer, an art historian and curator based at the Brooklyn Museum between 1956 and 1982, was a major advocate of the aesthetic qualities of sculpture—particularly of the Late Period85—in part because this material had until then been unfavourably contrasted with contemporary Classical works.86 Commenting on written visitor responses to the 1973 Brooklyn exhibition 73  Compare the critique of Riggs 2014: esp. 201–7. 74  Moser 2006: 2. 75  Handler 1992: 21–8. 76  Moser 2006: 43–52; Riggs 2010: 1132–4. 77  Moser 2006: 180–3; Fazzini 1995: 38. 78  E.g. Ashton 2011: 105–14. 79  E.g. Naguib 1990: 81–9. 80 Pinarello 2015. 81  Baines and Lacovara 2002: 5–36. 83  E.g. Baines 2015: 1–21. 82  E.g. Roth 1998: 228; Tully 2011. 84  Kozloff 2008: 149–51. 85 Cody 2004. 86  Baines 2006: 1–2.

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Museum collections   1181 Akhenaten and Nefertiti, Bothmer was able to ‘note with pleasure how many people were able to accept Egyptian art as such without the trappings of habitat groups, funerary cult displays, mummies and the like which form the framework for the display of Egyptian art in so many museums’.87 Such an attitude has largely been superseded by the need to include these ‘trappings’ to attract and engage audiences of diverse ages and backgrounds, although some displays—notably the Egyptian sculpture in the Neues Museum, Berlin—remain focussed on the minimalistic, aesthetic presentation of Egyptian art.

Research Although a tension has been perceived between university Egyptologists and their museumbased colleagues88, many large museums remain significant research institutions in their own right. For the academic community, aside from the possibility of physical access, comprehensive publication of a museum’s holdings is the main priority for intellectual access to allow for interpretation. In addition to the collaborative organization of exhibitions of objects from several collections, and the production of an accompanying catalogue, a number of large museums independently publish their collections. Initially, such publications tended to privilege texts over the objects that carried them, as language and writing took precedence over artefact in displays.89 Thus, the British Museum’s Hieroglyphic Texts series, begun in the early twentieth century, prioritized publishing facsimiles of inscribed objects such as stelae.90 More recently, individual museums have attempted an integrative print publication of high-quality photographs of objects (ideally from several angles), discussion of style, and transcription and translation of their texts as, for example, in the sculpture collection in the Louvre.91 The Corpus Antiquitatum Aegyptiacarum project aimed to provide a standard layout for basic scientific publication of museum objects, based on a loose-leaf printed format.92 In practice, this has tended to result in publications of typological subsets within a single Egyptian collection, rather than making available a museum’s entire Egyptian holdings. A major advancement in access to museum collections has taken place through digitization, making collections available without the need of physical inspection (Zeigler 1995: 21–6). A relatively short-lived series called Egyptian Treasures in Europe presented highlights from European collections in CD format.93 This project has been superseded by on-line resources such as the Global Egyptian Museum (http://www.globalegyptianmuseum.org/), which provides detailed information on highlights of European and Egyptian collections, and searchable online catalogues of individual museums.

Engaging with visitors In order to gain an understanding of the reception of displays, museums increasingly listen to their users. A real attempt to record and take account of visitor feedback started in the 1970s94, 87  Bothmer 1977: 157. 88  Schulz 2003: 95. 89  Beard 1992: 521; Moser 2006: 181. 90 Scott-Moncrieff 1911. 91  Delange 1987; Barbotin 2007; Perdu 2012. 92  Eggebrecht and Schulz 1995: 27–9. 93  Van der Plas 2000–2. 94  Bothmer 1977: 151–61.

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1182   Campbell Price while there has been a more recent trend towards observing and inviting reactions directly.95 This reflexive approach has in turn led to more targeted ways of engaging with visitors. From an commercial perspective, museums conspicuously capitalize on interest in ancient Egypt. Thus, even in those museums which hold no Egyptian objects, pharaonic-inspired items are often found for sale in the gift shop. While the trend for the commodification of ancient Egypt has been acknowledged generally96, there is also an interest in addressing the contradictory—or complementary—relationship between scholarship and consumer marketing in the museum context.97 Some objects have iconic status and are symbols of the institutions that house them. Despite its lack of aesthetic appeal, the Rosetta Stone is a classic example of a museum object as a selling point. A 1999 exhibition at the British Museum entitled ‘Cracking Codes’98, on the relatively ‘dry’ topic of writing and the Stone’s decipherment, still attracted 145,000 people.99 The Rosetta Stone remains one of the BM’s top draws and features prominently in its branded merchandise; this exploits the fact that the Stone is synonymous with the decoding of a mysterious script and with the museum experience itself, thereby acting as the key to ‘understanding’ ancient Egypt.100 In recent times the Stone’s fame has been bolstered further by being at the centre of claims and counterclaims about the repatriation of pharaonic antiquities to Egypt.101 Modern museums aim to be inclusive, diversifying access to collections and demonstrating their usefulness within society. University collections offer a special case for community engagement because their appeal is now expected to go beyond the students for whom such museums were originally intended.102 Increasingly, an emphasis is placed on active outreach, engaging with the communities that surround museums. The scope of museum collections for this type of work relies on individual circumstances, varying greatly depending on available resources, the extent of Egyptian holdings, and their wider context within a museum’s collections. Small, portable objects are particularly apt to be used outside of the museum, being physically taken out to schools in order to complement curriculum activities on ancient Egypt in classroom settings. Sally-Ann Ashton, former Egyptology curator at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, has for several years been teaching Egyptology in prisons—illustrating one potentially proactive role of museums as agents of social change.103

Suggested Reading For the early history of Egyptian collections, and the political agendas involved in their formation, the complementary analyses of Reid 2003, 2015 and Colla 2007 are particularly useful. Doyon 2008 provides an informative study of museums in Egypt today. Christina Riggs (2010, 2014) has provided useful critique for the construction of ‘ancient Egypt’ in museums. A variety of Egyptian case studies appear in specialized, non-Egyptological 95  E.g. MacDonald 2003; Walker 2003: 101–9; MacDonald and Shaw 2004: 109–31; Exell 2013: 130–42. 96  Meskell 2004: esp. 177–219. 97  Schulz 2003: 95–9; Raven 2003; Zeigler 2003: 437–40. 98 Parkinson 1999. 99  Meskell 2004: 199. 100  Beard 1992: 517–27. 101  Cuno 2008: xii–xvi. 102  MacDonald and Shaw 2004: 109–31; Balbaligo 2005: 1–15. 103  Ashton 2011: 105–14.

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Museum collections   1183 publications (e.g. MacDonald and Shaw 2004), while a special issue of Museum International (no. 47, 1995), and more recently the Bulletin of the Egyptian Museum (2005–), cover several aspects of the museum presentation of ancient Egypt. The International Council if Museums (ICOM) committee for Egyptology—CIPEG—posts regular digital updates on Egyptological museum news.

Bibliography Abou-Ghazi, D. 1988. The Museum’s Guides and Catalogues, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Egypte 67: 59–74. ACCES 2007. Exposing Objects, Workshop Report of The Association of Curators for Collections from Egypt and Sudan (ACCES), accessible at: www.acces.org.uk Ashton, S. A. 2011. Curating Kemet. Fear of a Black Land? In K. Exell (ed.), Egypt in its African Context. Proceedings of the conference held at The Manchester Museum, University of Manchester, 2–4 October 2009. Oxford: Archaeopress, 105–14. Baines, J. 2006. Review of M. Cody (ed.) 2004. Egyptian Art. Selected Writings of Bernard V. Bothmer. Oxford: Oxford University Press. American Journal of Archaeology online publications: 1–3. Baines, J. 2015. What is Art? In  M.  Hartwig (ed.) A Companion to Ancient Egyptian Art. Oxford: Blackwell, 1–21. Baines, J. and Lacovara, P. 2002. Burial and the Dead in Ancient Egyptian Society: Respect, Formalism and Neglect, Journal of Social Archaeology 2: 5–36. Bakr, M. and Brandl, H., with F. Kalloniatis 2010. Egyptian Antiquities from Kufur Nigm and Bubastis. Berlin: Opaion. Balbaligo, Y. 2005. Bringing Egypt out of Academia: Outreach and Inclusion at the Petrie Museum. In R. Mairs and A. Stevenson (eds), Current Research in Egyptology 2005. Proceedings of the Sixth Annual Symposium. Oxford: Oxbow, 1–15. Barbotin, C. 2007. Les statues égyptiennes du nouvel empire: statues royales et divines. Paris: Khéops. Beard, M. 1992. Souvenirs of Culture: Deciphering (in) the Museum, Art History 15: 505–32. Berman, L. 2015. The Priest, the Prince and the Pasha. The Life and Afterlife of an Ancient Egyptian Sculpture. Boston: Museum of Fine Art. Bianchi, R. S. 2001. Original oder Fälschung? Professor Bernard V. Bothmer’s Dictum, Antike Welt 32: 507–13. Bierbrier, M. 1981. Local Collections in Great Britain, Göttinger Miszellen 51: 19–23. Bierbrier, M. 2003. Art and Antiquities for Government’s Sake. In D. Jeffreys (ed.), Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonapart: Imperialism, Colonialism and Modern Appropriations. London: UCL Press, 69–75. Borchardt, L. 1930. Ägyptische ‘Altertümer’, die ich für neuzeitlich halte, Zeitschrift für Ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde 65: pamphlet. Bothmer, B. V. 1974. Numbering Systems of the Cairo Museum. In Textes et langages de l’Égypte pharaonique: cent cinquante années de recherches, 1822–1972: hommage à Jean-François Champollion. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 111–22. Bothmer, B.V. 1977. Postscript. In E.F.  Wedge (ed.), Nefertiti Graffiti. Comments on an Exhibition. Brooklyn: Brooklyn Museum, 151–61. Bourriau, J. 1976. Egyptian Antiquities Acquired in 1974 by Museums in the United Kingdom, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 62: 145–52. Cody, M. E. (ed.) 2004. Egyptian Art. Selected Writings of Bernard  V.  Bothmer. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Colla, E. 2007. Conflicted Antiquities. Egyptology, Egyptomania, Egyptian Modernity. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Cuno, J. B. 2008. Who Owns Antiquity? Museums and the Battle over our Ancient Heritage. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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1184   Campbell Price Dawson, W. R. 1934. Pettigrew’s Demonstrations upon Mummies: a Chapter in the History of Egyptology, Journal of Egyptian Archaeology 20: 170–82. Day, J. 2006. The Mummy’s Curse. Mummymania in the English-speaking World. Oxford: Routledge. Delange, E. 1987. Catalogue des statues égyptiennes du Moyen Empire, 2060–1560 avant J.-C. Paris: Editions de la Reunion des Musées Nationaux. Dewachter, M. 1986. L’Egypte ancienne dans les ‘Cabinetz de raretez’ du Sud-Est de la France aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles. In G. Antoine (ed.), Hommages à François Daumas. Montpellier: Université de Montpellier, 181–206. Doyon, W. 2008. The Poetics of Egyptian Museum Practice, British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 10: 1–37. Eggebrecht, A. and Schulz, R. 1995. The Corpus Antiquitatum Aegyptiacarum, Museum International 47: 27–9. Elshahed, M. 2015. The Old and New Egyptian Museums. Between Imperialists, Nationalists and Tourists. In W.  Carruthers (ed.), Histories of Egyptology. Interdisciplinary Measures. London: Routledge, 255–69. Exell, K. 2013. Engaging with Egypt: Community Consultation and the Redevelopment of the Ancient Egypt Galleries at The Manchester Museum. In V. Golding and W. Modest (eds), Museums and Communities. London and New York: Bloomsbury, 130–42. Exell, K. 2016. Covering the Mummies at the Manchester Museum: a Discussion of Individual Agendas within the Human Remains Debate. In H.  Williams and M.  Giles (eds), Archaeologists and the Dead. Mortuary Archaeology in Contemporary Society. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 233–49. Fazzini, R. 1995. Presenting Egyptian objects: Concepts and Approaches, Museum International 47: 38–43. Fiechter, J-J. 1994. Les moisson des dieux. Paris: Julliard. Fiechter, J-J. 2005. Faux et faussaires en art égyptien. Turnhout: Brepols. Fiechter, J-J. 2009. Egyptian Fakes. Paris: Flammarion. Garnett, A. 2015. The Colossal Statue of Ramesses II. London: British Museum Press. Hagan, 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. Handler, R. 1992. On the Valuing of Museum Objects, Museum Anthropology 16(1): 21–8. Hardwick, T. 2011. Recent Developments in the Forgery of Ancient Egyptian Art: a Review Article, Imago Aegypti 3: 31–41. Jaritz, H. 2001. The Museum of the Mortuary Temple of Merenptah, Egyptian Archaeology 19: 20–4. Jeffreys, D. 2003. (ed.) Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonapart: Imperialism, Colonialism and Modern Appropriations. London: UCL Press. Jeffreys, D. 2010. The Survey of Memphis VII. The Hekekyan Papers and Other Sources for the Survey of Memphis. London: EES. Jones, M. (ed.) 1990. Fake? The Art of Deception. London: British Museum Press. Kamrin, J. 2007. Toward a New Database for the Egyptian Museum, Cairo. In Z.  Hawass and J. Richards (eds), The Archaeology and Art of Ancient Egypt. Essays in Honor of David B. O’Connor I. Cairo: SCA Press, 449–62. Kozloff, A. 2008. Ancient Egypt in Museums Today. In R.  Wilkinson (ed.), Egyptology Today. New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 144–62. Macdonald, S. 2003. Lost in Time and Space: Ancient Egypt in Museums. In S.  MacDonald and M. Rice (eds), Consuming Ancient Egypt. London: UCL Press, 87–99. Macdonald, S. and Rice, M. (eds) 2003. Consuming Ancient Egypt. London: UCL Press. Macdonald, S. and Shaw, C. 2004. Uncovering Ancient Egypt: the Petrie Museum and its Public. In N. Merriman (ed.), Public Archaeology. London and New York: Routledge, 109–31. Manley, D. and Rée, P. 2001. Henry Salt. Artist, Traveller, Diplomat, Egyptologist. London: Libri. Mayes, S. 2006. The Great Belzoni: The Circus Strongman who Discovered Egypt’s Treasures. London: Tauris. Meskell, L. 2004. Object Worlds in Ancient Egypt. Oxford: Berg.

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Museum collections   1185 Mitchell, T. 1989. Colonising Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mond, R. and Myers, O. H. 1934. The Bucheum. Vol.3. London: Egypt Exploration Society. Montserrat, D. 1998. Unidentified Human Remains: Mummies and the Erotics of Biography. In D. Montserrat (ed.), Changing Bodies, Changing Meanings. Studies on the Human Body in Antiquity. London and New York: Routledge, 162–97. Montserrat, D. 2000. Ancient Egypt. Digging for Dreams. Treasures from the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, University College London. Glasgow: Glasgow City Council. Moshenska, G. 2014. Unrolling Egyptian Mummies in Nineteenth-Century Britain. The British Journal for the History of Science, 47, 451–77. Moser, S. 2006. Wondrous Curiosities. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Naguib, S.-A. 1990. Egyptian Collections: Myth-Makers and Generators of Culture, Göttinger Miszellen 114: 81–90. Naguib, S.-A. 2007. The Shifting Values of Authenticity and Fakes, PalArch 2.1, 1–8. Parkinson, R. 1999. Cracking Codes: The Rosetta Stone and Decipherment. London: British Museum Press. Perdu, O. 2012. Les statues privées de la fin de l’Égypte pharaonique (1069 av. J.-C.–395 apr. J.-C.), I, Hommes. Paris: Louvre—Khéops. Piacentini, P. 2015. The Antiquities Path: from the Sale Room of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, through Dealers, to Private and Public Collections. A Work in Progress. In  P. Piacentini, C. ­Orsenigo, and S. Quirke (eds) 2013–14. Forming Material Egypt. Proceedings of the International Conference, London 20–21 May 2013, Milan: Pontremoli, 105–30. Picton, J. and Pridden, I. (eds) 2008. Unseen Images: Archive Photographs in the Petrie Museum. London: Golden House. Pinarello, M. 2015. An Archaeological Discussion of Writing Practice. Deconstruction of the Ancient Egyptian Scribe. London: Golden House. Quirke, S. 1997. Modern Mummies and Ancient Scarabs: the Egyptian Collection of Sir William ­Hamilton, Journal of the History of Collections 9 (2): 253–62. Quirke, S. 2010. Hidden Hands. Egyptian Workforces in Petrie’s Excavation Archives, 1880–1924. ­London: Duckworth. Raven, M. 2003. Response to R. Schulz. In Z. Hawass (ed.), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century. Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists; Cairo, 2000. III, Language, Conservation, Museology. Cairo: AUC Press, 105–6. Reid, D. M. 2003. Whose Pharaohs? Archaeology, Museums and Egyptian National Identity from ­Napoleon to World War I. London: University of California Press. Reid, D. M. 2015. Contesting Antiquity in Egypt. Archaeologies, Museums, and the Struggle for Identities from World War I to Nasser. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Ridley, R. T. 1998. Napoleon’s Proconsul in Egypt: The Life and Times of Bernardino Drovetti. London: Rubicon Press. Riggs, C. 2010. Ancient Egypt in the Museum: Concepts and Constructions. In A. Lloyd (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to Ancient Egypt II. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 1129–53. Riggs, C. 2014. Unwrapping Ancient Egypt. London: Bloomsbury. Roth, A. M. 1998. Ancient Egypt in America: Claiming the Riches. In L.  Meskell (ed.), Archaeology ­Under Fire. Nationalism, Politics and Heritage in the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East. ­London: Routledge, 217–29. Said, E. 1978. Orientalism. London: Penguin. Schneider, H. 1995. Museums and Fieldwork: Retrieving the Past, Museum International 47: 12–17. Schoske, S and Wildung, D. 1983. Falsche Faraonen. Zeitung zur Sonderaustellung 400 Jahre Fälschungsgeschichte. Munich: Die Sammlung. Schulz, R. 2003. Museology, Egyptology and Marketing Interests: A Contradiction? In Z.  Hawass (ed.), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century. Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists; Cairo, 2000. III, Language, Conservation, Museology. Cairo: AUC Press, 95–9.

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1186   Campbell Price Scott-Moncrieff, P. D. 1911. Hieroglyphic Texts from Egyptian Stelae, etc. in the British Museum. Pt 1. London: British Museum Press. Serpico, M. 2006. Past, Present and Future: An Overview of Ancient Egyptian and Sudanese Collections in the UK, ACCES report, accessible at: www.acces.org.uk Sheppard, K. L. 2012. Between Spectacle and Science: Margaret Murray and the Tomb of the Two Brothers, Science in Context 25, 525–49. Spencer, N. 2007. The Gayer-Anderson Cat. London: British Museum Press. Stevenson, A. 2014. Artefacts of Excavation. The British Collection and Distribution of Egyptian Finds to Museums, 1880–1915, Journal of the History of Collections 26.1: 89–102. Stevenson, A. 2015. Between the Field and the Museum: The Ongoing Project of Archaeological Context, Egyptian and Egyptological Documents Archives Libraries 4: 109–18. Thomas, A. 2007. The Barefoot Aristocrats and the Making of an Egyptian Collection. In T. Schneider and K. Szpakowska (eds), Egyptian Stories. A British Egyptological Tribute to Alan B. Lloyd on the Occasion of His Retirement. Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 417–36. Thomas, N. 1995. American Institutional Fieldwork in Egypt, 1899–1960. In N.  Thomas (ed.), The American Discovery of Ancient Egypt. Catalogue. Los Angeles County Museum of Art, 49–75. Trad, M. 1984–5. Journal d’Entrée et Catalogue général, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Egypte 70: 352–7. Tully, G. 2011. Re-presenting Ancient Egypt: Reengaging Communities through Collaborative Archaeological Methodologies for Museum Displays, Archaeological Review from Cambridge 26.2: 137–52. van der Plas, D. 2000–2. Egyptian Treasures in Europe 1–5. CDRom. Utrecht. Walker, J. 2003. Acquisitions at the British Museum, 1998. In S. MacDonald and M. Rice (eds), Consuming Ancient Egypt. London: UCL Press, 101–9. Weeks, K. 1998. The Lost Tomb. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Wildung, D. 1995. What Visitors Want to See, Museum International 47: 4–8. Ziegler, C. 1995. Computerising the Egyptian Collections in the Louvre, Museum International 47: 21–6. Ziegler, C. 2003. Marketing and Museums of Egyptology: the Louvre Museum example. In Z. Hawass (ed.), Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century. Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Egyptologists; Cairo, 2000. III, Language, Conservation, Museology. Cairo: AUC Press, 437–40.

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chapter 61

Egy pti a n m useums a n d stor ehouse s Maher A. Eissa and Ashraf el-Senussi

Introduction Ancient Egyptian objects are today scattered in many different museums inside Egypt and in many countries outside. Therefore, there are many displays and exhibitions in the production of ancient Egyptian archaeological knowledge.1 Egyptian museums are spaces for exhibiting artefacts that represent the long history of Egypt, and its civilization. These museums do not only bring back the attractiveness and magnificence of fascinating Egyptian antiquities through the ages, but also enable them to tell their myths as well as stories of Egyptian daily life in the best manner. This article will only deal with the Egyptological museum collections which are inside Egypt. The museum is generally seen as a non-profit, permanent institution in the service of society and its development, for the purposes of education, study and enjoyment.2 However, the Egyptian museums are responsible only for sharing knowledge of ancient Egypt.3 Therefore, their roles should be platforms for engagement and social inclusion for society and therefore their mission and role must be revised again in order to become the voice of society. Thus, the major challenge for curators of Egyptian museums is how to engage the Egyptian with their history and heritage, and how to demonstrate the usefulness of museum’s collection within the society, to be able to use museums for sustainable development of the Egyptian society.4 Since the earliest establishment of museums in Egypt during the nineteenth century ad, there are now more than 400 museums, of which approximately fifty are archaeological and historical museums placed under the Antiquities authorities (formerly the Supreme Council of Antiquities (SCA), and lately the Ministry of Antiquities (MoA)). Despite of this history and huge number of museums, there are no regular courses in ‘Museum Studies’ available for Egyptians to study the discipline in Egyptian universities. Therefore, there are many problems relating to the museums sector in Egypt, such as, a lack of museology experts, founding new museums without clear rationale, and of course moving objects from one museum to another without a logical reason.5 Egypt is a large country and it has 1  Moser 2006; Tully 2011, Monti & Keene 2013.    2  ICOM: 2007. 3 Hooper-Greenhill 995.   4 Meguid 2010.   5  Eissa and Saied 2013: 81–3.

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1188   Maher A. Eissa and Ashraf el-Senussi many archaeological and historical places, from Alexandria in the north to Aswan in the south, and from Al-Arish in the east to Marsa Matrouh in the west, however, most of its museums are centralized and located in Cairo, Luxor, and Alexandria (see Table 61.1).

The history of the Egyptian museums During the colonial legacy of archaeology in Egypt, Mohamed Ali issued his famous decree in 1835 to establish the Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte, mainly to stop the plunder of archaeological sites.6 Banning the export of ancient Egyptian Antiquities, especially by Europeans, the aim was to therefore arrange exhibitions of the collected artefacts owned by the government for display in Cairo.7 The Azbakiah garden in Cairo was the first site used as a storage place for these artefacts. The collection was later transferred to another building, located in the citadel.8 The creation of museums in Egypt during the nineteenth century was mainly for the preservation of Antiquities. The present Egyptian Museum in Tahrir, Cairo, was built during the reign of Khedive Abbass Helmi II in 1897 (Figure 61.1), and was opened on November 15, 1902.9 But the first Egyptian Museum was actually built in Boulaq (Cairo) in 1858 (Figure 61.2), and was reopened again in 1863 by Auguste Mariette.10 Then, the collection (Figure 61.3) was moved to the Giza Palace of Ismail Pasha (Figs. 61.4 and 61.5). The Egyptians who made a huge effort to establish the Egyptian museum and the antiquities service need to be remembered such as Rifa’a al-Tahtawi (1801–73), Ali Mumbarak (1823–93), and of course Ahmed Pasha Kamel (1851–1923), who was the first native Egyptian to study archaeology and work in the Egyptian museum.11 The Egyptian Museum in Tahrir (Figure  61.6), the Museum of Islamic Art, the Coptic Museum and the Greco-Roman Museum in Alexandria are the four major Egyptian museums that were established more than a century ago. These major museums are in Cairo and Alexandria. Obviously, the first museums of Egypt were clearly established and divided according to the history of Egypt reflecting a western prospective. Therefore, museums were dedicated to Ancient Egypt (Pharaonic), Greco-Roman, Coptic, and Islamic era including art. The main purpose of building museums was mainly to protect monuments and objects from local and international theft or looting, and also from flood or fire danger.12, 13 Subsequently, Egyptian authorities decided to establish more local and provincial museums in other cities in Egypt. After 1952, when Egypt became a Republic, the new Egyptian authorities started to turn several palaces of the family of Mohamed Ali—the ex-rulers of Egypt—into museums. Moreover, in the last few decades, Egypt started to build different specialized museums such as the Nubia Museum, Mummification Museum, etc. Currently, Egypt is establishing two more major museums: The National Museum of Egyptian Civilization (NMEC) at Fustat in Cairo, and the Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM) in Giza. These museums are the most prestigious and biggest national projects in Egypt. However, there are many problems facing these museums. 6  Only in 1983, issued the law 117, which is clearly mention that all Egyptian antiquities formally declared property of the Egypt state, and all artifacts have not been allowed to leave Egypt. 7 Reid 2002: 54–8.   8 Piacentini 2013.   9  Hawass 2002: xxviii–xxix. 10 Reid 2002: 106–7.   11 Saied 2002.   12  Saied 2002: 8–11. 13  See also Chapter 60 in this volume on ‘Museum Collections’.

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Table 61.1  List of the Egyptian archaeological and historical museums  

The Museum

The Situation

The Location

-

Abdeen Palace Museums Airport Museum Akhenaton Museum Alexandria National Museum Arish Museum Aswan Museum Elephantine Beni Suef Museum Citadel Prison Museum Coin Museum Coptic Museum Crocodile Museum Egyptian Museum in Tahrir, Cairo Egyptian Textile Museum Gayer-Anderson Museum Gohara Palace Museum Grand Egyptian Museum Greco-Roman Museum Helwan Corner Museum Hurghada Museum HurreyetRazna Museum Imhotep Museum Ismailia Museum Kafr El-Sheikh Museum Khufu Boat Museum Kom Ausheim Museum Library of Alexandria Museum14 Luxor Museum Malawi Museum Manial palace Museum MitRahina Museum Mosaic Museum Mummification Museum Museum of Islamic Art Museum of Islamic ceramics National Military Museum National Police Museum Nubia Museum Port Said Museum Rashid Museum Recovered Antiquities Museum Rommel Cave Museum Royal Carriages, Bulaq Royal Carriages, the Citadel Royal Jewelry Museum San El-Hagar Museum Sharkiya Museum Sharm El-Sheikh Museum Sohag National Museum Suez Museum Taba Museum Tanta Museum Wadi El-Gedid Museum

Opened Opened Closed Opened Closed Closed Closed Opened Opened Opened Opened Opened Opened Opened Closed Under Construction Closed Opened Under Construction Closed Opened Opened Under Construction Opened Opened Opened Opened Opened Opened Opened Under Construction Opened Opened Opened Opened Opened Opened Closed Opened Opened Opened Closed Closed Opened Opened Closed Under Construction Opened Opened Closed Opened Opened

Cairo Cairo Airport Mania/Upper Egypt Alexandria Arish/Sanai Aswan BeniSuef/Middle Egypt Cairo Cairo Cairo Aswan Cairo Cairo Cairo Cairo Cairo Alexandria Cairo Hurghada Zagazig Cairo Ismailia Kafr El-Sheikh Cairo Kom Ausheim/Fayoum Alexandria Luxor Malawi/Menyia Cairo Cairo Alexandria Luxor Cairo Zamalek/Cairo Cairo Cairo Aswan Port Said Rashid/Delta Cairo Marsa Matrouh Cairo Cairo Alexandria San El-Hagar/Delta Sharkiya/Delta Sharm El-Sheikh Sohag/Upper Egypt Suez/Delta Taba/Sainai Tanta/Delta Wadi El-Dedid/Upper Egypt

  This museum is under the authority of the Ministry of antiquities, but it is self-operated.

14

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Figure 61.1  Abbass Helmi laying the foundation stone of the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

Figure 61.2  Boulaq Museum. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

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Figure 61.3  Interior view of the Boulaq Museum. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

Categories of Egyptian museums It is very difficult to find only one classification for museums as there are many classifications used in Egypt, each one depending on different criteria such as the ownership (government, public museums or private museums), large central museums with storerooms,

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Figure 61.4  Giza Museum. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

or museums only for displaying objects. But in general, museums can be divided into three main types (1) Fine arts museums; (2) historical and heritage museums; and (3) science and natural history museums.15 The Ministry of Antiquities divides its  museums into (1) Archaeology Museums; (2) Historical Museums; (3) Site Museums; (4) Art Museums; and (5) Specialized Museums. However, it is sometimes very difficult to define some museums as any of these categories, for example, the Kom Ushim Museum, was built to be a site museum as it is located next to the Ptolemaic-period settlement of Karanis. Yet, it has many objects not related to this particular site, but rather to the Fayoum region in general. Therefore, it is more like a local or provincial museum. Scholars suggest that it is preferable to divide the Egyptian museums into six types:16 • The main museums: such as the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, the Greco-Roman Museum in Alexandria, the Coptic Museum and the Islamic Art Museum in Cairo. • Regional/local Museums: Port Said Museum, Ismailia Museum, Luxor Museum, etc. • Location Museums: museums of the properties of the Mohamed Ali Family, usually located in the historical palaces. • Archaeological Site Museums: such as Tell Basta, San El-Hagar museums, and others located within archaeological sites and designed to house monuments (and artefacts) which have been discovered there in situ. 15  Eissa & Saied 2016, 29.    16  Nur-El-Din 2005: 264–6.

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Figure 61.5  Interior view of the Giza Museum. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

• Specialized or single topic Museums: such as the Nubia Museum in Aswan, the Military Museum in Cairo, and the Maritime Museum in Alexandria. • Educational Museums: these exist at universities and educational institutes, and include the Cairo University museums.

The main Egyptian museums These museums usually have collections ranging across most of Ancient Egyptian history from Prehistory to the end of ancient Egyptian (pharaonic) history, as seen in the current Egyptian Museum in Cairo. Objects relating to Greco-Roman periods were collected for the Greco-Roman Museum in Alexandria. Then, they collected the objects relating to the Arabic and Islamic periods and art for the Museum of Islamic Art. Finally, all objects relating to Egyptian Christianity were collected for the Coptic Museum in Cairo. The two museums which are currently under construction, Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM) and

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Figure 61.6  The completion of work on the Egyptian Museum, Tahrir Square. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

National Museum of Egyptian Civilization (NMEC), can be added to this category. Here we will give a brief note on the main museums which have Egyptological collections: 1. Egyptian Museum in Tahrir: the first Egyptian Museum was originated in the middle to late nineteenth century ad and was built from a Western point of view. However, it was erected to present ancient Egypt as the indigenous culture of all Egyptian history (see Figures 61.7 and 61.8). The museum has 107 halls filled with objects dating from pre-history to the Greco-Roman period. The museum has the largest number of ancient Egyptian antiquities, it used to house approximately 160,000 pieces. Its official registers the Journal d’Entrée contains about one hundred thousand (100,000) entries.17 Generally, many objects were transferred from the Egyptian museum in Tahrir to other museums (new and local), and to storehouses. Some objects were sold overseas, because the museum had a sale room to sell some common objects, such as statues, coffins, etc.18 However, the Museum still has some important collections: on the ground floor there are statutes, inscriptions, coffins, false doors, etc. in a chronological display. While on the second-floor, objects are grouped according to tomb or category and include wooden models of daily life, statuettes of divinities and rare groups of Fayoum Portraits. Moreover, there are also many of the New Kingdom royal mummies (Saleh and Sourouzian  1987; Abou-Ghazi  1988). Among all Egyptian 17 Bothmer 1974:113–17.   18  Piacentini 2013: 105–30.

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Figure 61.7  Egyptian Museum during construction. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

museums and storehouses, the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir has been the centre point for moving objects. The storehouses in the basement of the Egyptian Museum used to house tens of thousands of artefacts from the great number of archaeological expeditions working in Egypt over the last century, along with confiscated or requisitioned antiquities.19 These objects were moved to Dahshur site storehouses. 2. Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM), is still under construction and is located in Giza near the Pyramids at the beginning of the Alexandria–Cairo desert road. The GEM should cover and display the history, culture and civilization of Ancient Egypt from Pre-history to the Greco-Roman period and is planned to contain around one hundred thousand (100,000) pieces. The GEM will house famous and important pieces, among them the Tutankhamun collection, the colossal statues of the Ramses II and the second boat of Khufu. Moreover, the Museum will have six huge galleries of thematic and chronological exhibit display. This Museum is trying to create a new version of the (Pharaonic) ancient Egyptian museum. It is located very close to the Giza pyramids, and should be linked to them as well. The vision of GEM is to be the major museum for ancient Egyptian history and civilization worldwide. Moreover, it will show Egypt’s interaction and cultural change in the past and present. The museum was supposed to be partly opened in 2018. But the opening was postponed to 2022. 3. National Museum of Egyptian Civilization (NMEC) is still under construction. The NMEC is the first museum of civilization from prehistory to the present day, taking a 19  Hawass 2002: ix–xii.

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Figure 61.8  Egyptian Museum during construction. © G. Garozzo & F. Zaffrani, Costruzione Museo Egiziano, (1897–1901).

multidisciplinary thematic approach in order to highlight Egypt’s tangible and intangible heritage. It is simply to give the story of what Egyptian culture means throughout the ages by displaying a full range of the richness and diversity of Egyptian civilization. Its exceptional collections will be drawn from the Egyptian National collections.20 This new museum is situated in Cairo near the archaeological site of Egypt’s first Islamic capital El-Fustat, and near to the Coptic quarter, also called Old Cairo. The collection of NMEC came namely from the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir, the Museum of Islamic Art, the Coptic Museum, archaeological missions and seizures, these objects being confiscated by the police at Egypt’s borders, as well as inside the country.21

Local and provincial museums Local and provincial museums are mostly located in the capital of the local province and usually have collections of antiquities that have been found in, or are related to, these provinces such as: 1. Nubia Museum: the museum displays the history of Nubia, which is located from Aswan in the north and to Sudan in the south. The Nubia museum is considered to be a very good example of a provincial museum. The objects are displayed chronologically 20 El-Moniem 2005.   21  Eissa 2014, 197.

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Egyptian museums and storehouses   1197 presenting the history and the civilization of Nubia from Pre-history to the present day through art and artefacts. Of exceptional interest are the life-size models showing the classic traditional Nubian customs. Moreover, the museum has a permanent exhibition documenting the international efforts (UNESCO), which were carried out during the construction of the Aswan dam, to rescue the ancient monuments of Nubia from the water of Lake Nasser. 2. Kom Ushim Museum: it is situated near the ruins of the Ptolemaic town of Karanis, the museum houses artefacts which show the daily lives and funerary practices of the ancient inhabitants of Fayoum. The most important of its collection are a group of examples of Fayoum mummy portraits and a group of artefacts discovered in the intact tombs at Hawara in 1974. 3. Ismalia Museum: this is one of the earliest local museums in Egypt established in 1932. Its collections cover almost the whole of ancient Egyptian history and has outstanding objects such as the large and beautifully preserved Roman floor mosaic dating to the third century bc. Its garden has a gallery for statuary and stelai. 4. Luxor Museum: the objects displayed in this museum were discovered in the area of ancient Thebes. Its collection has the spectacular group of statues found in 1989 hidden beneath the floor of the Luxor Temple. Moreover, it has very important statues of the kings of Egypt during the New Kingdom, and two royal mummies. 5. Malawi Museum: it houses a collection of artefacts from the nearby archaeological site of Tuna al-Gebel and Hermopolis. The most important objects of its collection are a number of animal mummies and statues relating to the worship of the God Thoth. It should be noted that the museum was looted during the chaos of the Egyptian revolution of 25th January 2011. Fortunately, most of the stolen objects were returned back safely and the museum reopened again in 2017.

Archaeological-site museums The main idea of these usually small museums is to show and display objects found in and around an important archaeological site that is situated nearby. Instead of keeping the finds in local antiquities storehouses, these museums are a very good way to present the fieldwork activities of the past and present excavation missions. Actually, this kind of museum clearly shows the relationship between excavations and museums22, such as the Imhotep Museum which is located in the Saqqara archaeological area. It was established in 2006 and designed to house the artefacts and monuments from the excavations at Saqqara. The museum displays reconstructed architectural elements from the Step Pyramid complex, and statues and other artefacts from the royal and elite tombs of Saqqara. Another good example, particularly of an open-air museum, is the Merenptah Museum which was opened in 2001 in the area of the mortuary temple of king Merenptah on the West Bank at Luxor.23

22  Stevenson 2015; Wendrich 2010.    23  Jaritz 2001: 20–4.

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Discussion: the problems of Egyptian museums Despite the fair number of museums and the vast heritage of Egyptian civilization, these museums are facing problems, for instance: - Most of the collections of local and provincial museums are often inaccessible to the general public, and even sometimes to specialists.24 - The renovation of museums takes a very long time, for example, the Greco-Roman Museum in Alexandria has been closed for renovation and development of its display. It was closed in 2005, supposedly for only two years, but it remains closed and seems as if it will not be re-opened in the near future. - Moving objects and collections from one museum to another one without a clear reason or evident need. And, of course, establishing several new museums without a clear and precise philosophy or policy as to the role and goal of these museums.25 - The lack of adequate training for curators to achieve museum goals.

Archaeological storehouses in Egypt In Egypt, there are many types of storehouses which are distributed around almost all archaeological sites and museums. The main purpose of all these storehouses is to preserve and store artefacts in good environmental conditions, and of course to protect them from theft or looting.26 Moreover, to be easily accessed by researchers to study collections stored in them. There are several types of archaeological storehouses which provide specific functions: 1. The storehouses of the museums: all the archaeological museums in Egypt are normally attached to a storehouse to preserve artefacts which are not on display, or are kept for study, such as the basement of the Egyptian Museum Store which is considered to be the largest among all the Egyptian museums. 2. The storehouses of the archaeological sites: there are a group of semi-central storehouses attached to each inspectorate in order to preserve artefacts found from Egyptian excavations carried out by Egyptian archaeological missions, such as the storehouse of Emery’s house at Saqqara. This kind of storehouse is totally secured, but the artefacts are mostly kept without reviewing for many years. Some of them, especially in Saqqara, were not opened for over seventy years. These kinds of storehouses were later replaced by the museum system storehouses, and to where all the registered objects were moved. Some of the storehouses connected with specific archaeological sites are still in use for studying un-registered objects. 24  Bakr & Brandl 2010.    25  Eissa & Saied 2013.    26  Hanna,  2013.

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Egyptian museums and storehouses   1199 3. The storehouses of excavations: or what are called the sub-Stores, are a type of storehouse where the artefacts revealed from a certain excavation are preserved. They are often associated with the excavator’s name, such as the storehouse of ‘Ahmed Fakhry’ at Giza, where he preserved lots of limestone blocks that he discovered in the mortuary temple of Sneferu at Dahshur. Normally, the excavator uses non-decorated rock tombs or a secured room in the administration building as a temporary storehouse. The problem with that kind of storehouse is that it has been neglected for a long time by the archaeologists, even the objects preserved were mostly not registered. Recently, most of this kind of storehouse’s registered objects were moved to the museums system storehouses. 4. Storehouses of foreign missions: these were established by each foreign mission in their excavation site to preserve the excavated objects and keep them for study. Recently, all the objects that have been studied and registered by the Ministry of Antiquities, are moved into new museum storehouses. However, some objects which are under study still remain in these storehouses and it should be noted that these kinds of storehouse are not completely safe. 5. Museum storehouses: these were established for the purpose of avoiding the problems that have occurred with other types of storehouse. Before establishing this kind of storehouse, the artefacts were stored in a non-appropriate environment and were not located in secure sites, as described above. Today, the total number of storehouses of antiquities in Egypt are 72, including 37 Museum storehouses; 17 sub-Storehouses; and 20 Storehouses of foreign missions. These storehouses are distributed in all governorates as follows. In the Delta: 11 Museum storehouses; 8 Storehouses of foreign missions; and sub- Storehouses. In Cairo and Giza: 7 Museum storehouses; 12 Storehouses of foreign missions; and 13 sub-Storehouses. In Upper Egypt: 6 Museum storehouses. In Middle Egypt: 11 Museum storehouses and 3 sub-Storehouses.

Discussion The idea of the establishment of museum storehouses began in the early twenty-first century, the first store was established in 2002. The aim of establishing this kind of storehouse is to preserve artefacts in an appropriate environment and safe place. Another aim is to make the objects available for the researcher, as before establishing the Museum storehouses artefacts were not completely accessible to study. Most objects were previously preserved in the sub-storehouses or site storehouses often for a long time, in some instances for seventy years or more. The design of the museum storehouse is now unified all over Egypt: the storehouse covers a total area of 4,200 square meters, the main building being 1,100 square meters, whilst the remaining 3,100 square meters (see Figure 61.9), consists of a surrounding wall with 4 guarding towers, a garden and an electric power unit (see Figure 61.10). The main building consists of: - the administration sector, which includes inspector’s and employers’ offices, restoration laboratory, photographic unit, security and monitors room and study rooms.

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Figure 61.9  Kom Usheim storehouse museum. © Ashraf el-Senussi.

- the store sector includes 8 storerooms each one provided with different scale shelves for the heavy objects and secured lockers for small objects, all the storerooms are provided with a fire and theft alarm system. Museum storehouses are secured through security belonging to both the archaeological department and the tourist and antiquities police. They are also monitored by surveillance cameras on all fences, control towers, and at the main entrance. Despite the technological progress, the appropriate building and environments for storing artefacts and the system of managing museum storehouses still needs improvement, such as: - sufficient training for the Egyptian archaeologist to comprehend the idea of a museum storehouse - establishing a digital database of the artefacts to facilitate the researchers - building more storehouses to preserve the objects discovered on a more regular basis, and to prevent the large accumulation of artefacts in the current storehouses Finally, we have to mention that the museum storehouses are usually addressed by the names of the pioneer and active Egyptian Archaeologists, to stand as a faithful memorial for them, such as the Kom Usheim storehouse named in memory of Ali Radwan (see Figure 61.11).

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Figure 61.10  The guard tower and the garden of Kom Usheim storehouse museum. © Ashraf el-Senussi.

Final word Since the Egyptian Revolution of 25 January 2011, there are many dramatically political and social changes occurring. However, the authority of the Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities and Museums did not change their policy and kept the old traditional system of operating, managing and promoting the museums, because of the lack of financial support. In the meantime, the young Egyptian curators, academic staff members, and others, figured out that the vital role of museums in Egypt is a commitment to society and to the surrounding communities. The main function of museums is collecting, preserving and entertainment, these are the tools to introduce Egyptians and others to their past cultural heritage. Therefore, curators and academic staff members took responsibility to create many initiatives to promote awareness of the Egyptian heritage in general, and museums in particular. Most of these initiatives are provided by non-governmental bodies. These NGOs believed that the museums should play a more substantial role in promoting the right knowledge of ancient Egyptian culture among Egyptians, through creating forums for debate and discussion about Egyptian history and museums and how to use these outcomes for sustainable development for the community.27 27 Magiud 2010.

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Figure 61.11  The Kom Usheim storehouse named after Ali Radwan. © Ashraf el-Senussi. The publisher and the author apologize for any errors or omissions in the above list. If contacted they will be pleased to rectify these at the earliest opportunity.

One example to be highlighted here is the Egyptian National Committee of International Council of Museums ‘ICOM Egypt’, which was established officially in 2014 and started to organize lectures, workshops, conferences, museum day events etc. for museum curators, graduated students, researchers and the public as well. One of the most fruitful outcomes of ICOM Egypt was publishing a new series of museum booklets called ‘Krasat Muthafia’, in 2016. The main aim of this publication is to raise awareness of the importance of museums for the Egyptian, and to spread the knowledge of Egyptian history and civilization. Moreover, ICOM Egypt offers ‘the Best award prices’ every year for the best ideas and events made by curators, to encourage them to get society to engage in the Museums’ activities (ICOM Egypt).28 The results of these initiatives include new units being established for heritage awareness in almost every museum. This idea was created by young curators and the main aim of these units is to show how to engage the museum with society. In addition to that, in the last few years several NGOs have been established focusing on Egyptian h ­ eritage, such as: the Arabic Center for Conservation & Artistic Works; the Association of Preserving the Egyptian Heritage; and Raquda Foundation for Art and Heritage. These initiatives and NGO activities are using TV, radio, press and of course the social media network to attract different members of the community and to involve them in museum programs. This has led to an increase of Egyptians visiting museums. One of the Egyptian museums attracting the most Egyptians visitors is now the Bibliotheca Alexandrina

28  ICOM 2007.

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Egyptian museums and storehouses   1203 Museum, which is a self-directed public institution. It should be noted here that more than 60 per cent of the visitors of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina museum are local residents.29 Another example is the Nubia Museum in Aswan, which is considered as one of the best museums in Egypt. The concept of the museum focuses on local Nubian traditions through time. Therefore, the museum attracts many local visitors. The important factors for attracting big numbers of visitors are the concept and the location of the museum, and of course recently these initiatives are appealing to different audiences. However, foreign tourists are still the most profitable audiences in the terms of income to museums in Egypt. Tourism has always been one of the most important civil industries. Since the revolution there is a large decrease in the numbers of tourists from Europe and the USA. However, importantly, there is an increase in visitors from Asia, especially Chinese, Indian, and Indonesians. In addition to Arabic tourists. Therefore NMEC, GEM and the pyramids will be the selling point of Egyptian tourism, as the Egyptian authority planned. The NMEC and GEM are government bodies, however, they will be run by a private administration to be able to work far from government routines. Moreover, the GEM and NMEC will have a board of trustees in order to maintain the museum properly and allow them to fulfil their mission more easily. Moreover, the head of the board of trustees of GEM will be the President of Egypt, and for NMEC it will be the Prime Minister. The Ministry of Antiquities and ICOM Egypt among other NGOs with collaboration with the Ministry of Tourism are planning very special programs and ideas to increase the number of museum visitors among tourists. Hence, ICOM Egypt, Bibliotheca Alexandrina and the Egyptian government have applied to host the general assembly conference of ICOM in 2022. This occasion will be a very good opportunity to promote Egyptian museums in general and GEM and NMEC in particular.30

Bibliography Abou-Ghazi, D. 1988. The Museum’s Guides and Catalogues, Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Egypte 67: 59–74. Bakr, M. and Brandl, H., with F. Kalloniatis 2010. Egyptian Antiquities from Kufur Nigm and Bubastis. Berlin: Opaion. Bierbrier, M. 2003. Art and Antiquities for Government’s Sake. In D. Jeffreys (ed.), Views of Ancient Egypt since Napoleon Bonapart: Imperialism, Colonialism and Modern Appropriations. London: UCL Press, 69–75. Bothmer, B. V. 1974. Numbering Systems of the Cairo Museum. In Textes et langages de l’Égypte pharaonique: cent cinquante années de recherches, 1822–1972 : hommage à Jean-François Champollion. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, 111–22. Doyon, W. 2008. The Poetics of Egyptian Museum Practice, British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 10: 1–37. Eissa Maher, A., 2014. A Letter or an Exercise? O. NMEC 107, Chronique d’Égypte 89, Fasc. 177: 197–201. Eissa Maher, A. and Saied, L. M. 2013. Museum Collections and Moving Objects in Egypt an A ­ pproach to Amend the Current Situation. In P.  Piacentini, C.  Orsenigo, S.  Quirke (eds), Forming Material Egypt. Proceedings of the International Conference, London 20–21 May 2013, Milan: Pontremoli, 81–94.

29  Doyon 2008:1–37. 30  We are very grateful to Mohamed Mustafa (the ex-director of GEM) for commenting on earlier drafts of this text.

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1204   Maher A. Eissa and Ashraf el-Senussi Eissa Maher, A. and Saied, L. M. 2016. Museum Collections and Collecting Policy in the Egyptian ­Museums. Alexandria: Bibliotheca Alexandrina. El-Moniem, A. 2005. The National Museum of Egyptian Civilization, Museum International 225–6: 24–30. Hanna, M. 2013. Looting Heritage: Losing Identity, Al Rawi 5: 22–5. Hawass  Z. 2002. Hidden Treasures of the Egyptian Museum: One Hundred Masterpieces from the ­Centennial Exhibition. Cairo–New York: American University in Cairo Press. Hooper-Greenhill, E. 1995. Museums and the Shaping of Knowledge. London: Routledge. ICOM 2007. The 22nd General assembly in Vienna. ICOM Egypt, http://network.icom.museum/icom-egypt/ Jaritz, H. 2001. The Museum of the Mortuary Temple of Merenptah, Egyptian Archaeology 19: 20–4. Kozloff, A. 2008. Ancient Egypt in Museums Today. In R.  Wilkinson (ed.), Egyptology Today. New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 144–62. Meguid, O. A. 2010. Museums, Culture and Sustainable Development. In S. Guzy, R. Hatoum, and S. Kamel (eds), From Imperial Museum to Communication Centre? On the New Role of Museums as Mediators Between Science and Non-Western Societies. Würzburg: Königshausen and Neumann. Monti, F. and Keene, S. 2013. Museums and Silent Objects: Designing Effective Exhibitions. Farnham: Ashgate. Moser, S. 2006. Wondrous Curiosities: Ancient Egypt at the British Museum. London and Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Nur-El-Din, M. A. 2005. MawaqaEl_TharwaEl-MatahefEl-Masryia[=TheEgyptianArchaeologicalSites and Museums], Cairo 2005 Piacentini, P. 2013. The Antiquities Path: from the Sale Room of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, through Dealers, to Private and Public Collections. A Work in Progress. In P.  Piacentini, C.  Orsenigo, S.  Quirke (eds), Forming Material Egypt. Proceedings of the International Conference, London 20–21 May 2013. Milan: Pontremoli, 105–30. Reeves, N. 2000. The Luxor Statue Cache. Ancient Egypt, The Great Discoveries, a Year-by-Year Chronicle. London: Thames and Hudson. Reid, D. M. 2002. Whose Pharaohs? Archaeology, Museums and Egyptian National Identity from Napoleon to World War I. London: University of California Press. Saied L. M. 2002. AṯharyanmenEl-ZamanElGameel[=TwoArchaeologists: FromtheBeautifulTime], Cairo. Saied, L. M. 2015. Some Remarks on the Ancient Egyptian Nostalgia, SHEDET 2: 54–61. Saleh, M. and Sourouzian, H. 1987. The Egyptian Museum, Cairo: Official Catalogue. Mainz: von Zabern. Stevenson, A. 2015. Egyptian Archaeology and the Museum, in Oxford Handbooks. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tully, G. 2011. Re-presenting Ancient Egypt: Reengaging Communities Through Collaborative Methodologies for Museum Display, Archaeological Review from Cambridge 26(2): 137–52. Wendrich, W. 2010. Egyptian Archaeology: From Text to Context. In W. Wendrich (ed.), Egyptian Archaeology. Oxford: Blackwell, 1–14. Wildung, D. 1995. What Visitors Want to See, Museum International 47: 4–8.

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chapter 62

Conservation i n Egy ptol ogica l m useum col l ections Deborah Schorsch

Introduction Virtually all physical matter, whether manipulated and transformed by human industry, or remaining untouched in nature, is subject to steady or periodic degradation; archaeological artefacts suffer from decay and erosion during burial, and are often even more physically vulnerable and chemically unstable after retrieval. Many Egyptian antiquities are appreciated for their beauty and as fascinating testimony of a sophisticated civilization, and often extensive measures are undertaken to assure their preservation. Still, more prosaic finds, even after they have been carefully examined and documented, must also be preserved, not only for future study using new techniques or in the light of new theories, but because they represent the efforts of human minds, hearts, and hands. Conservators are professionals dedicated to the physical preservation of cultural ­heri­tage.1 Most conservators employed in museums and other institutional Egyptological collections in North America and the United Kingdom have received specialized graduate level training, including courses in materials science, instrumental analysis, and the manufacture of cultural materials at an academic institution. The situation is similar in Europe, where university-based curricula have systematically replaced traditional craft-based training in restoration. Practical treatment experience obtained during supervised internships is common to these conservation-training programmes, and many practitioners, although they do not necessarily continue to do so throughout their professional careers, have worked on archaeological sites as excavator and/or conservator. In Egypt in recent years, conservation training has become university-based, but with less focus on internships as part of the curriculum. This lack of studio experience is being addressed in part by various international initiatives that coordinate workshops and field 1 Ward 1989.

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1206   Deborah Schorsch schools for museum and field conservators. The conservation-related needs of the Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM), currently under construction in Giza, has animated a new generation of Egyptian conservators already working at the on-site Conservation Centre, and the advent of digital publishing has made their activities more visible to the professional community outside of Egypt.2

General considerations The physical condition of any archaeological object is the consequence of many factors that vary in origin but act in concert, and can include the inherent qualities of the materials employed, burial conditions, previous treatments, and environmental conditions after retrieval.3 Conservation treatments in museums are usually undertaken to improve or achieve structural or chemical stability. The removal of post-retrieval accumulations of grime and dust to reveal original surface features, or restoration materials that are disfiguring or deceptive is also frequently undertaken, while applying new restorations for cosmetic purposes can often be regarded as elective. Preventive conservation is designed to moderate the effects of environmental and biological deterioration and thereby minimize future treatments. Preventive activities include the introduction of guidelines for safe handling, display, storage, and transport, and surveying collections for the purpose of establishing conservation priorities.4 Conservators also devote considerable time to the technical study of manufacture and materials of cultural artefacts, and to the development of new treatments, which includes testing and adapting commercial products for conservation applications. In carrying out technical investigations, studying deterioration processes, and designing new treatments, conservators often work closely with conservation scientists. Newly excavated finds are the focus of many archaeological conservators, and much conservation literature devoted to Egyptological subjects is concerned with field conservation or monument preservation. This article reflects, for the most part, the perspective of academically trained conservators caring for institutional collections, typically repositories of materials removed long ago from the ground, and, due to limitations of space, focuses on active and passive preservation practices rather than equally important technical research undertaken to elucidate manufacturing technologies and materials. In any case, a technical examination carried out before undertaking treatment is almost invariably the standard for professional conservation practice. Regardless of where they are employed or the nature of the materials they work with, responsible conservators are guided by the ethical and professional standards established by the International Institute for Conservation and other international or national governing bodies. The vast majority of ancient Egyptian artefacts are archaeological in origin, and whereas many have established proveniences, others entered collections with little or no documentation, usually as purchases or gifts. Egyptian antiquities are housed in many types of institutions, including museums of art, archaeology, anthropology, and natural history, as well 2  Morshed and Veldmeijer 2014–15; Derriks 2017. 4 Caple 2011.

3  Wang et al. 2009; Hatchfield 2015.

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Conservation in Egyptological museum collections   1207 as libraries, historical societies, historic houses, and universities. Egyptology is an old ­dis­cip­line and several European museums will soon enter their third century of existence, just as many younger institutions contain works assembled long ago by antiquarians active even before Napoleon’s Egyptian expedition of 1798, which marked the start of modern interest in ancient Egypt. As a result, one of the most serious problems faced by conservators is the deleterious effects of early and repeated interventions carried out in the field or subsequently in order to stabilize or restore the artefacts.5 Likewise, a conservator’s ability to characterize manufacturing procedures and materials may be severely challenged by treatments and restorations that have destroyed or obscured relevant evidence, and it cannot be overstated that proper documentation of treatments and scientific investigations is one of a conservator’s most serious responsibilities.6 A second, equally important factor related to the ongoing preservation of these objects, some of which were made five millennia ago, is their inherent fragility; even statuary of a hard stone such as granite may be lacking internal cohesion or have friable surfaces. Egyptological collections generally include a broad range of materials, and unlike re­posi­ tor­ies of other Old World archaeological artefacts, they preserve a profusion of organic materials—derived from living creatures and composed largely of the element carbon—that do not survive in most burial environments. Furthermore, the deliberate interment of many objects made from these organic products, including wooden and cartonnage coffins and mummy masks, textual and pictorial works on papyrus, wax figures and encaustic painting, foodstuffs, corn mummies, and floral wreaths, is inherent to Egyptian funerary culture. After surviving burial in Egypt’s arid environment, organic materials are severely desiccated, and often physically unstable due to the oxidation of cellulosic structures that make up wood and plant fibres. In addition, most organic materials have been damaged to some degree by insects during burial, although Egyptian antiquities are rarely the source of active infestations in collections. Vigilance in monitoring incoming vegetal products, including packing crates, food, and other non-art, and promptly treating works that are affected, help to assure the safety of existing holdings. The great variation in size of objects preserved in Egyptological collections, which may be a single bead or a small temple, also affects strategies designed to safely store and display them. Monumental works frequently require rigging and engineering expertise for their assembly and installation, and subsequent treatments are often lengthy and must be carried out under less than optimal conditions when transporting large works from a gallery or storage space to the laboratory is not feasible.7 Furthermore, many artefacts include in their makeup an assortment of materials and ‘units’, or are part of larger contextual groups; for example, wooden coffins typically were assembled from separate planks plus sundry wood scraps, usually with dowels of another species, and covered with linen and then a gesso ground. Gesso, a mixture of plaster and adhesive, was also used to create raised relief. Natural and synthetic inorganic pigments were applied with an organic binder, and both painted and unpainted surfaces may have been all or partially covered by varnish, resin, and other organic coatings, as well as precious-metal leaf and appliqués of faience, glass, or stone in imitation of beaded jewellery. A coffin may be one in a nested series, including a cartonnage mummy board or mask, and certainly would have contained a mummy—itself 5  Gänsicke et al. 2003; Röhl and Finneiser 2013. 7  Gänsicke et al. 2012; Lucker 2009.

6  Miller et al. 2000; Warda 2011.

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1208   Deborah Schorsch a composite of many materials—as well as associated burial goods, preserved, if no longer inside the coffin itself, in the collection. During past epochs the Nile Valley and adjacent deserts were entirely covered by sea­water, creating a highly saline burial environment. Furthermore, some of the artefacts derive from geological sources that are saturated with salt. Although Egypt is arid and has been for thousands of years, subsurface water is present and rising, and in some cases enclosed structures—tombs, temples, habitations—maintain environments that are relatively high in humidity. Soluble salts introduced by ground water can result in substantial damage during burial and are a cause of ongoing instability after the objects have been retrieved, particularly in collections where humidity is difficult to control. Environmental conditions, specifically temperature, relative humidity, light, vibration, and air quality, perhaps play the most decisive role in the preservation of cultural materials, and it is essential that artefacts in galleries and storage areas are regularly monitored, and that emergency procedures for system failures have been established. As a rule, cool en­vir­ on­ments, which slow the rate of deterioration processes, are preferable, while optimal relative humidity levels vary from material to material, with inorganic media generally requiring drier environments. Permanent and temporary exhibitions are rarely organized by media, necessitating the design of gallery spaces and vitrines that can accommodate a range of materials with differing environmental requirements. Maintaining low light levels is more critical for organic materials, although some pigments, independently of their organic media, are light sensitive8, while both airborne and particulate pollution, and vibration, caused by seismic activity, construction, or footfalls and knocking, can affect all materials.9 Egyptological collections are extremely popular with the general public and attract devoted amateur scholars. They often host huge numbers of visitors and sometimes require significant monetary resources and conservation staff time. Because they are so beloved, Egyptian antiquities are frequently requested for traveling exhibitions, which increases risk of physical damage and the difficulty of containing the works in climate-controlled en­vir­ on­ments. Furthermore, due to their size and weight, inherent fragility, and composite nature, many are difficult to pack or have complicated requirements for mounting. On the other hand, traveling exhibitions often serve as motivation and a source of funding for treating objects that might otherwise be neglected.

Deterioration processes of inorganic materials Metal objects Ancient Egyptian metal objects, for the most part, are made of gold, silver, and copper or copper alloys, including arsenical copper and bronze. All of these corrode in response to their environment as metal cations (positively charged ions) react with positively charged anions present in the soil, air, or water to produce massive corrosion products or tarnish layers. 8  Daniels and Leach 2004.

9  Smyth et al. 2016.

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Conservation in Egyptological museum collections   1209 It is, however, copper and copper alloys that require the most attention from conservators, with the major problem being ‘bronze disease’.10 A consequence of burial in a saline environment, bronze disease is a self-catalysing reaction that occurs when an unstable copper-chloride corrosion product, nantokite, is exposed to oxygen and moisture. It is more than just disfiguring: left untreated, bronze disease can result in the complete disintegration of an object. Early cleanings using chemical baths and electrochemical procedures designed to reveal surface features and to treat bronze disease often led to the non-selective removal of both stable and unstable c­ orrosion products, and left reactive chemicals on exposed surfaces and in cracks in the remnant core to cause further corrosion. Whereas several non-aggressive chemical treatments for bronze disease that are generally effective have since been developed, long-term success often depends on keeping the treated works in a dry environment, and even under controlled conditions chronic cases can flourish. Often metal exposed by harsh treatment was artificially patinated, painted, or waxed, or has tarnished, leaving the conservator to contend with surfaces that are unstable, disfiguring, or misleading.11 In fact, without resorting to destructive analysis, it is sometimes impossible to distinguish between ancient copper alloy artefacts that have been stripped and repatinated and those made in modern times with the intention to deceive.12 Fragile precious-metal antiquities frequently suffer mechanical damage during handling. In the past, archaeological silver that had been converted entirely to corrosion products during burial frequently was reduced electrolytically, while works with surviving metal cores routinely were overcleaned using mechanical methods. In both cases, resultant surfaces are ‘cold’, excessively polished or pitted, and lacking fine detail, and if not protected from the environment, are subject to rapid tarnishing. To facilitate reforming or reassembly, silver and gold, and occasionally cupreous (copper-containing), hammered-sheet objects were annealed or soldered, processes that can damage their visual integrity and destroy the possibility of a metallurgical examination useful for technical study.13

Ceramics, faience, and glass Ceramics and faience also suffer severely during burial in saline environments, although the nature of the problem encountered by conservators—the infiltration of soluble salts into the fabric of the artefact—is different than that generally posed by metals. As long as the salts remain in solution, such materials generally are stable, but changes in humidity during burial and after retrieval may lead to significant physical damage. When the en­vir­on­ment becomes drier, the water evaporates and the salts recrystallize. The crystal growth of the precipitated salts often causes the body to fracture and crumble. When salts still in solution are drawn to the surface they often recrystallize directly at the interface between surface and substrate, causing fracturing and delamination of semi-impermeable burnished or glazed surfaces. This destructive cycle continues during subsequent periods of elevated and diminished humidity as the salts deliquesce (liquify as they absorb moisture from the atmosphere) and recrystallize. The siliceous core of faience is sometimes poorly fused, and with the loss of glaze there is a corresponding loss of internal coherence, leading to further 10 Scott 2002. 13 Niemeyer 1997.

11  Scott 2002; Whyte et al. 2002.

12  Schorsch and Frantz 1997–8.

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1210   Deborah Schorsch crumbling and internal fracturing. Glazed stones are generally less porous than ceramics and faience but still suffer from loss of glaze through exfoliation. Unfired clay and unbaked mud inherently have little internal cohesion and are hydrophilic, making them particularly vulnerable to erosion and abrasion and to damage from soluble salts.14 Glass is one of the more stable materials used in ancient times, and due to burial conditions in Egypt, glass found there is often more well preserved than vitreous materials from other ancient contexts. Still, Egyptian glass (and faience glazes) are susceptible to de­lam­in­ ation and other forms of surface deterioration that diminish the lustre and other optical qualities associated with vitreous materials.15 Glass is a brittle material and conservators encounter much breakage, although more significant are the deleterious effects of old repairs and restorations with unstable and insoluble adhesives that also plague previously treated ceramics and faience.

Limestone and sandstone Limestone and sandstone present some of the most intractable problems to conservators of Egyptological collections. These sedimentary stones vary in quality according to conditions of their formation; just as some sandstones are poorly cemented and consequently quite fragile, poor-quality limestone may contain hydrophilic clay inclusions that swell when saturated, leading to fracture of the limestone matrix. Many stone artefacts have been weakened by erosion from wind and wind-borne sand. As noted earlier, both limestone and sandstone may contain salts from the time of their genesis, but they are even more affected by the saline environments in which they are deposited, resulting in damage ranging in severity from delamination of painted surfaces, to complete disintegration of the stone. Plaster used in the restoration of stone artefacts may also be a source of moisture and deleterious salts. Formerly, desalination by immersion or poulticing was routinely carried out on stone and ceramic materials, a measure that has generally been replaced by a more passive approach using environmental controls, especially for stone.16 Problems related to soluble salts, as well as the overall deteriorated condition of limestone, sandstone, and gra­ nite, are often exacerbated by the presence of brittle, discoloured, insoluble resins and waxes applied previously for consolidation and repair. Structural repairs of large, heavy sculptures and reliefs can be challenging, and earlier reconstructions using iron and mild steel dowels, which rust and expand causing the stone to splinter or shatter, often must be reversed. Plaster or stucco works, typically masks, with or without a linen structural component, also suffer from conditions related to soluble salts and the ill effects of earlier treatments.17

Ivory and bone Ivory and bone straddle the divide between organic and inorganic materials, although very little of the organic component survives in ancient specimens. In spite of this, ivory and bone are susceptible to changes in humidity that often lead to cracking and splitting and this 14 Rozeik 2009. 17  Seiler Leipe 2000.

15 Koob 2006.

16  Garland and Twilley 2010.

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Conservation in Egyptological museum collections   1211 can be intensified by the presence of adhesives and consolidants used in prior treatments. Ancient bone and ivory are sometimes disfigured by biological agents, or stained from exposure to fire, contamination from groundwater, or contact with metal during burial.

Deterioration processes of organic materials Wood The composite nature of the numerous wooden antiquities recovered in Egypt, described earlier, makes for complex conservation challenges. Many now suffer from the ill effects of early treatments, particularly old adhesives and consolidants that attract grime, or have aged poorly, causing staining and mechanical stresses. Due to insect and fungal damage and other forms of degradation, wooden objects often display severe structural instability and are easily affected by vibration. Paint layers sometimes survive without underlying wood to support them. To ensure their stability, fill materials that are lightweight and non-hygroscopic (e.g. they do not absorb moisture) are chosen so that neither the paint layers nor the wooden substrate fracture when shifts in environmental conditions cause dimensional changes. Pigments were applied with organic binders that have disintegrated over time, leaving friable paint layers. The consolidation of matte paint presents a great challenge as most adhesives saturate colours and add gloss, a problem encountered also on polychrome stone statuary and reliefs and on other painted artefacts.18

Linen, papyri, cartonnage, and mummies Linen, which is derived from the flax plant, is the fibre most frequently associated with ancient Egyptian textiles, although garments of sheep’s wool or goat hair were also worn. Degradation of fibres due to oxidation and the presence of salts leads to fragility, and due to their large size, even routine handling and mounting of Egyptian textiles can present ser­ ious difficulties. A problem faced by conservators working with shrouds and other painted textiles is that of securing friable pigment and ground layers while retaining the flexibility of the woven substrate.19 Some painted garments were previously trimmed and lined as if they were easel paintings, a practice that can produce a stable and even attractive display, but alters appearance and obscures context. Papyrus, a quintessentially Egyptian product made from the beaten pith of a sedge (Cyperus papyrus) that grew wild in marshlands, and may also have been cultivated in ancient times, served as the most common material used as a support for written texts. Papyrus is relatively durable, but like most organic materials it is weakened by oxidation and biological attack, and can be affected by soluble salts. Papyri are often found wrinkled, or intentionally rolled or folded, and once flattened—a process that can cause irreparable 18  Hansen et al. 1994.

19  Cruickshank et al. 1999.

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1212   Deborah Schorsch damage if not carried out as part of a conservation treatment—need protective mountings that allow easy shifting of fragments as texts are deciphered, interpreted, and pieced together. The replacement of old mounts, and mitigating the effects of chemically unstable adhesives and backings, including mechanical damage, are among the greatest conservation challenges.20 A material regularly used in Egypt and virtually unknown elsewhere in the ancient world is cartonnage, a papier mâché-like composite made from linen or papyrus in an adhesive binder, which once hardened was painted and gilded. In addition to the ­characteristic forms of deterioration suffered by its various constituents, cartonnage is subject to dimensional changes and will sag under its own weight when exposed to high humidity. This problem is encountered often with cartonnage cases that were built up directly around mummified remains and then later cut open to remove the body, a practice from the early days of Egyptology. Another old practice, that of extracting papyri strips from cartonnage so that their texts can be studied, is also destructive to the cases, though it may provide previously unknown texts.21 Mummies, both human and animal, are linen bundles, often loosely wrapped, containing bones, flesh, resins and other embalming materials, and sometimes amulets or jewellery. Furthermore, untreated human bodies placed directly in the sand often were naturally mummified. In addition to decay caused by biological attack, physical damage caused by tomb robbers and poor excavation processes, and embrittlement of the linen due to oxidation, mummies may suffer in display and hand­ling because of their size, weight, and semirigid structure. The organic preservatives used for mummification sometimes develop a milky surface known as bloom. In the past, and even as recently as 1981, human mummy bundles sometimes were unwrapped22, a practice now judged not only disrespectful, but recognized as irreparably destructive. In recent years, dialogue about the ethical issues surrounding the treatment of human remains has become more widespread, and conservators working with mummies generally recognize that, in addition to physical preservation, they must consider the ethical implications of intervention.23 Radiography and advanced imaging techniques allow the non-destructive study of path­ology and mummification practices, and help identify amulets or jewellery hidden in the wrappings. Some years ago, sealed anoxic (oxygen-free) vitrines (glass or Perspex display cases) that retard oxidation, ­originally developed for historical ­documents, were been adopted for the display and storage of royal mummies in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo.24 Anoxic environments have also been found useful for controlling infestations, and fumigation in museums is currently carried out by placing the objects affected in sealed en­vir­on­ments containing inert gases that kill insects, larvae, and eggs by suffocation.25 Works of all sizes can be treated, but most importantly, the gases cause no coincident damage to the artefacts and create no health hazards for those who treat or later ­handle them.

20  Leach and Tate 2000; British Museum Studies 2016. 21 Janis 1997. 23  Balachandran 2009; Bouvard and Penrhys Jones 2009; Fletcher et al. 2014. 24 Maekawa 1998. 25  Maekawa and Elert 2003.

22 Taylor 1995.

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Conservation in Egyptological museum collections   1213

Discussion: conservation challenges Surely all museum professionals as well as field archaeologists working with ancient a­ rtefacts would agree that the physical safety and continued preservation of collections are of the highest priority. However, in practice other considerations arise that can jeopardize this seemingly simple standard. Conservators cooperate with curators and ­directors, designers, and collection and facilities managers to balance conservation needs with institutional priorities, which understandably include making collections accessible to visitors through permanent, temporary, or traveling exhibitions. As noted previously, the maintenance of a proper environment during display, storage, and transport of cultural properties is the most crucial factor in their preservation. Organic materials are adversely affected by light, and it is the task of conservators to stipulate limitations on light levels or the length of time that a specific object can be safely exposed. Most museums forbid the use of flash photography by visitors. Although conservators may be responsible for establishing preventive conservation standards, they do not necessarily have the authority or expertise to assure that these measures are taken. Conservators and conservation scientists routinely specify and monitor light levels and relative humidity and work closely with engineers and facilities managers who design and manage ­climate-control systems. Although it is desirable that visitors view the collection unimpeded by physical barriers, works displayed in vitrines are better protected from damage including abrasion and soiling, as well as outright vandalism and theft. Vitrines also provide an important means of maintaining artefacts in a controlled environment different from the ambient museum environment. When stipulating that an artefact needs to be displayed in a vitrine, conservators will also specify suitable environmental conditions. A further responsibility of the conservator is to specify the materials that may come in contact with an artefact on display, in storage, or in transport.26 Some artefacts are made of materials that emit gases injurious to other media; for example, animal proteins in feathers and wool are a source of hydrogen sulphide, which causes silver to tarnish. Of still greater consequence are the possible effects of products used for the construction and interior decoration of a display case, storage cabinet, or packing crate, or as gallery furnishings, which must be tested to make sure they are safe. These include wood and other structural materials, gaskets, adhesives, textiles, and paints, all of which have the potential to degrade works of art, especially in sealed en­vir­on­ments. Preservation is also promoted by handling works only when wearing gloves, a practice undertaken primarily for the purpose of protecting them from dirt, grease, acids, and salts. Furthermore, residues of obsolete insecticides and some materials, such as benzotriazole, still used in conservation treatments, as well as several pigments and metals, are toxic or carcinogenic. Increasingly, professional installers and mount makers are embedded in conservation departments, but in many museums the mounts used for display, storage, and travel are still produced by technicians or art handlers under the supervision of curatorial or collection management departments. In such cases, input from conservators, who are 26  Hatchfield 2002; Tétreault 2003.

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1214   Deborah Schorsch skilled in evaluating structural weaknesses and other forms of instability, is crucial in designing appropriate mounts, as well as determining whether a work can safely travel, and in specifying conditions for packing and display off premises.27 A conservator’s ability to devise and carry out effective strategies for the preservation of any specific artefact is based not only on an understanding of modes of deterioration and familiarity with procedures and products used in treatments, but also on knowledge of ancient and historic technological processes and the physical properties of materials. Virtually all works require a visual examination using different degrees of magnification and different wavelengths of light, before treatment. Such examinations are often supplemented with instrumental procedures for imaging, such as radiography and computed tomography, and elemental or structural analysis, as well as consultation of pertinent technical literature.28 Unfortunately the fundamental importance of technical investigations in designing an appropriate treatment for each individual artefact, and for the natural advance of the field of conservation, is sometimes not given credence by museum curators and administrators, themselves pressured by exhibition deadlines and financial constraints. Furthermore, just as an archaeological excavation destroys primary sources of information in the pursuit of studying them, some treatments, even when essential for preservation, can destroy evidence of an object’s manufacture or subsequent history. Treatments that are merely cosmetic require even more consideration before they are undertaken. Although the aim of complete reversibility is sometimes unattainable, it is an issue that cannot be ignored, and in every case, the importance of documentation is paramount. Unless their holdings originate entirely from scientific excavations, Egyptological collections, like virtually all private or public collections, contain forgeries. In concert, conservators, conservation scientists, and curators evaluate works in their care, and those under consideration for acquisition, to determine whether or not, or the degree to which, they are authentic. Whereas curators generally rely on style, iconography, and inscriptions for evaluating the authenticity of undocumented works, conservators and conservation scientists consider different types of evidence.29 Physical condition is crucial, and equally important is the nature of the materials and manufacturing techniques employed, particularly in so far as they are, or are not, consistent with the proposed cultural context of the work in question. Regrettably, there are many gaps in our knowledge, and even when instrumental methods are used to gather evidence, there are possible sources of error. Whereas analytical data and observations may be accurate and valid, interpretation is subject to individual experience and knowledge of comparable works of undisputed authenticity, which themselves may have been altered in ways that lead to erroneous conclusions. Although this can be frustrating for curators who hope that ‘science’ can give them unambiguous answers, there is rarely a single feature that inexorably condemns a work, and decisions are based on weighing a body of evidence of varying consequence or clarity. Sometimes works are ‘authentic’, but so damaged or irrevocably altered that little of their original integrity—material, cultural, or aesthetic—survives. On the other hand, works prematurely condemned sometimes never recover their rightful reputation.

27  Garland et al. 2015. 28  Re et al. 2016; Yara et al. 2016. 29  Schorsch and Frantz 1997–8; Craddock 2009; Atherton-Woolham and McKnight 2014.

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Conservation in Egyptological museum collections   1215 It might be advisable to remove existing restorations, once identified, from authentic works, or add new ones. Whether a work should be restored and how new restorations should look requires ongoing discussion as the treatment progresses.30 The degree of res­tor­ation or reconstruction acceptable for cultural materials varies widely in actual practice according to context. Different types of institutions have different standards for restoration. For instance, in some collections the value placed on verity—presenting a work as it now is, as opposed to how it once was—may be paramount, but a similar work in a different collection may be used as a didactic tool or presented as an aesthetic statement. Even within a single museum, guidelines for historical, archaeological, and ethnographic artefacts are not uniform, just as different curators in the same curatorial department may have diverging aesthetic visions. To this day, in spite of international accords, national legislation, and the Egyptian Ministry of State for Antiquities’ vigilance, archaeological artefacts are illegally removed from Egypt through the efforts of international smuggling rings and then sold to unscrupulous or uninformed dealers, collectors, and institutions in Europe, North America, and Asia. Recent geo-political events in Egypt and surrounding regions has of course exacerbated this situation—see Chapter 11 in this volume on ‘Cultural Heritage Management’. In considering possible acquisitions on behalf of their institutions, conservators have an obligation to apply their specialized knowledge to recognize newly excavated artefacts and debunk false attributions intended to disguise illegal traffic.31 The field of conservation as a whole—and with the major contributions of Alfred Lucas, a pioneer in the restoration and technical study of Egyptian antiquities, the conservation of Egyptological materials specifically—has roots reaching into the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In terms of current practice, however, it is still a relatively new and rapidly evolving discipline, as technical investigations of works produce fresh insights into ma­ter­ ials, manufacture, and mechanisms of decay, and new methods and products for preservation are developed. In the past, skilled craftsmen were employed as restorers by individual curatorial departments and often work was contracted to outside practitioners. However, with the emergence of conservation as an academic discipline, the trend has been to create independent departments within museums, allowing conservators to adhere to established professional standards for collections care.32 For conservators of Egyptian antiquities, as for all conservators, the paramount concern is the preservation of the physical integrity of the works, along with the interpretation and preservation of evidence attesting to their manufacture and history. Conservators are committed to working collaboratively with a wide range of museum professionals—curators, scientists, administrators, registrars, art hand­ lers, and facilities managers—to protect the works in their joint custody, while making them available for public pleasure and scholarly inquiry.

Suggested Reading Although many significant articles focusing on deterioration, treatment, passive conservation, technical investigation, and historical trends in the conservation of Egyptian 30  Chataignère and Delange 2000. 32  Becker and Schorsch 2010.

31  Brodie and Tubb 2001.

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1216   Deborah Schorsch an­tiqui­ties have appeared for over a century, for the sake of brevity, publications referenced here are more or less limited to those published within the last 20 years. Important earlier literature can be located on conservation or Egyptological bibliographic websites (see online resources below) and in two conference proceedings: Watkins and Brown  1988 and also Brown et al.  1995. An equally useful, more recent publication in this informal series is Dawson et al. 2010. Recent interest in coffin technology and conservation has produced A.  Amenta and H. Guichard (eds) 2017 and publications of the Second Vatican Coffin Conference in 2017 and the Ancient Egyptian Coffins Conference (Cambridge UK) in 2016 are forthcoming. Helpful introductions to the scope of conservation in Egyptology are found in book chapters by Gänsicke, 2008 and 2015. Online resources Art and Archaeology Technical Abstracts (AATA) http://www.aata.getty.edu/NPS/ Bibliographic Database of the Conservation Information Network (BCIN) http://www. bcin.ca/English/home_english.html International Institute International Institute for Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works (IIC) https://www.iiconservation.org/ International Council of Museums–Committee for Conservation (ICOM–CC) http://www.icom-cc.org/ http://museumpests.net (pest management) Online Egyptological Bibliography http://0-oeb.griffith.ox.ac.uk.library.metmuseum.org/

Bibliography Amenta, A. and Guichard, H. (eds) 2017. Proceedings First Vatican Coffin Conference: 19–22 June 2013. 2 volumes. Vatican City: Edizioni Musei Vaticani. Atherton-Woolham, S. D. and McKnight, L. M. 1914. Post-Mortem Restorations in Ancient Egyptian Animal Mummies Using Imaging. Papers on Anthropology 23, 1: 9–17. Balachandran, S. 2009. Among the Dead and their Possessions: A Conservator’s Role in the Death, Life, and Afterlife of Human Remains and their Associated Objects, Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 48, 3 (Fall/Winter): 199–222. Becker, L. and Schorsch, D. 2010. The Practice of Objects Conservation in The Metropolitan Museum of Art (1870–1942). Metropolitan Museum Studies in Art, Science, and Technology 1, 11–37. Bouvard, J. T. and Penrhys Jones, M. 2009. Means, Materials and Ethics: The Conservation of Two Egyptian Mummies for Long-Term Display. In J. Ambers, C. Higgitt, L. Harrison, and D. Saunders (eds), Holding it all together: ancient and modern approaches to joining, repair and consolidation. London: Archetype, 2009, 166–72. British Museum Studies in Ancient Egypt and Sudan 23 (2016). Brodie, N. and Tubb, K. W. 2001. Illicit Antiquities: The Theft of Culture and the Extinction of Archaeology. New York: Routledge. Brown, C. E., Macalister, F., and Wright, M. M. (eds) 1995. Conservation in Ancient Egyptian Collections: Papers Given at a Conference Organised by the United Kingdom Institute for Conservation, Archaeology Section, and International Academic Projects, Held at London, 20–21 July 1995. London: Archetype. Caple, C. (ed.) 2011. Preventive Conservation in Museums. London; New York: Routledge.

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Conservation in Egyptological museum collections   1217 Chataignère, M. and Delange, E. 2000. La porteuse d’auge du Département des antiquités égyptiennes: une restauration casse-tête. Revue du Louvre et des musées du France 4: 84–9. Craddock, P. T. 2009. Scientific Investigation of Copies, Fakes and Forgeries. Oxford; Burlington, MA: Elsevier/Butterworth-Heinemann. Cruickshank, P., Pullan, M., and Potter, J. 1999. Recent Treatments of Painted Egyptian Shrouds: The Influence of Condition and Intended Role, The Conservator 23: 37–44. Daniels, D. and Leach, B. 2004. The Occurrence and Alteration of Realgar on Ancient Egyptian ­Papyri, Studies in Conservation 49: 73–84. Dawson, J., Rozeik, C., and Wright, M. M. (eds) 2010. Decorated Surfaces on Ancient Egyptian Objects: Technology, Deterioration and Conservation: Proceedings of a Conference Held in Cambridge, UK on 7–8 September 2007. London: Archetype. Derriks, C. (ed.) 2017. Collections at Risk: New Challenges in a New Environment. Proceedings of the  29th CIPEG Annual Meeting in Brussels, September 25–28, 2012, Royal Museum of Art and History, Brussels, Belgium. Material and Visual Culture of Ancient Egypt 4. Atlanta, GA: ­Lockwood Press. Fletcher, A., Antoine, D., and Hill, J. D. (eds) 2014. Regarding the Dead: Human Remains in the British Museum. London: British Museum. Gänsicke, S. 2008. Artifact Conservation and Egyptology. In R. H. Wilkinson (ed.), Egyptology Today. New York: Cambridge University Press, 163–85. Gänsicke, S. 2015. Conservation of Egyptian Objects: A Review of Current Practices in the Field and in the Museum. In M. K. Hartwig (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Egyptian Art. Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, 522–43. Gänsicke, S. et al. 2003. The Ancient Egyptian Collection at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Part 1: A Review of Treatments in the Field and their Consequences, and The Ancient Egyptian Collection at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Part 2: A Review of Former Treatments at the MFA and their Consequences, Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 42 (Summer): 167–92 and 193–236. Gänsicke, S. et al. 2012. New Mounting Systems Provide Mobility for Two Ancient Objects at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 51, 1 (Spring/ Summer): 27–45. Garland, K. M. and Twilley, J. 2010. The Scientific Examination and Re-Treatment of an Egyptian Limestone Relief from the Tomb of Ka-aper. In Objects Specialty Group Postprints. Objects Specialty Group 17. Washington, D.C.: American Institute for Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works, 113–32. Available at: http://resources.conservation-us.org/osg-postprints/postprints/v17/garland/ http://resources.conservation-us.org/osg-postprints/postprints/v17/garland/ Garland, K.M., Bernstein, J., and Rogers, J. 2015. Raising Meret-it-es: Examining and Conserving an Egyptian Anthropoid Coffin from 380–250 BCE, Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 54, 2 (May): 102–13. Hansen, E. F., Walston, S., and Bishop, M. H. 1994. Matte Paint: Its History and Technology, Analysis, Properties, and Conservation Treatment with Special Emphasis on Ethnographic Objects, A Bibliographic Supplement to Art and Archaeology Technical Abstracts, Volume 30, 1993. Marina del Rey, CA: Getty Conservation Institute. Hatchfield, P. B. 2002. Pollutants in the Museum Environment: Practical Strategies for Problem Solving, Exhibition and Storage. London: Archetype. Hatchfield, P. B. 2015. The ‘Bersha Procession’ in Context, Part II: Conservation History and Technical Study. In A. Oppenheim and O. Goelet (eds), The Art and Culture of Ancient Egypt: Studies in Honor of Dorothea Arnold. Bulletin of the Egyptological Seminar 19. New York: The Egyptological Seminar of New York, 311‒30. Janis, K. 1997. Die Bearbeitung eines ptolemäischen Mumienpektorales im Interessenkonflikt zwischen Papyrologie und Restaurator, Göttinger Miszellen 161: 87–95. Koob, S. P. 2006. Conservation and Care of Glass Objects. London: Archetype. Leach, B. and Tate, J. 2000. Papyrus. In P. T. Nicholson and I. Shaw (eds), Ancient Egyptian Materials and Technology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 227–53, esp. 239–50.

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1218   Deborah Schorsch Lucker, T. 2009. Erhaltenes Original und historische Konstruktion: die Neuaufstellung von ­Opferkammern und Tempelreliefs des Alten Reichs im Neuen Museum Berlin. In U.  Peltz and O. Zorn (eds), kulturGUTerhalten: Standards in der Restaurierungswissenschaft und Denkmalpflege. Mainz: von Zabern, 145–51. Maekawa, S. (ed.) 1998. Oxygen-Free Museum Cases. Los Angeles: The Getty Conservation Institute. Maekawa, S. and Elert, K. 2003. The Use of Oxygen-free Environments in the Control of Museum Insect Pests. Los Angles: The Getty Conservation Institute. Miller, E., Lee, N.  J., Uprichard, K., and Daniels, V. 2000. The Examination and Conservation of the Rosetta Stone at the British Museum. In A. Roy and P. Smith (eds), Tradition and Innovation, Advances in Conservation, Contributions to the Melbourne Congress, 10–14 October 2000. London: IIC, 128–32. Morshed, N.  el D. and Veldmeijer, A. J. 2014–15. Conserving, Reconstructing and Displaying ­Tutankhamun’s Sandals: The GEM-CC’s Procedure, Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch ­Genootschap Ex Oriente Lux 45: 93–107. Niemeyer, B. 1997. Early 20th-century Restorations and Modern Conservation Treatments on Archaeological Objects. In I. D. MacLeod, S. L. Pennec, and L. Robbiola (eds), Metal 95, actes de la conférence sur la conservation des métaux, Semur en Auxois, 25–28/Sept/1995. London: James & James, 190–5. Re, A. et al. 2016. The Importance of Tomography Studying Wooden Artefacts: A Comparison with Radiography in the Case of a Coffin Lid from Ancient Egypt, International Journal of Conservation Science 7, special issue 2: 936–44. Röhl, S. and Finneiser, K. 2013. Ein altägyptisches Vorratsfäß aus Abydos: Geschichte und ­Restaurierung, Restauro 119, no. 2 (March): 49–54. Rozeik, C. 2009. The Treatment of an Unbaked Mud Statue from Ancient Egypt, Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 48, no. 1 (Spring): 69–81. Schorsch, D. and Frantz, J. H. 1997–8. A Tale of Two Kitties, Metropolitan Museum Bulletin 55 (­Winter): 16–29. Scott, D. A. 2002. Copper and Bronze in Art: Corrosion, Colorants, Conservation. Los Angeles: Getty Publications, 122–34. Seiler Liepe, U. 2000. Eine Mumienmaske in Leipzig: Restaurierung der bemalten, gipsgetränkten Leinenumkleidung, Restauro 106, 8 (Nov.–Dec.): 594–7. Smyth, A. W. et al. 2016. Vibration Mitigation and Monitoring: A Case Study of Construction in a Museum, Journal of the American Institute for Conservation 55, no. 1 (Feb.): 32–55. Taylor, J. H. 1995. Unwrapping a Mummy: The Life, Death and Embalming of Horemkenesi. London: British Museum Press. Tétreault, J. 2003. Airborne Pollutants in Museums, Galleries, and Archives: Risk Assessment, Control Strategies, and Preservation Management. Ottawa: Canadian Conservation Institute. Wang, Q., Huang, H., and Shearman, F. 2009. Bronzes from the Sacred Animal Necropolis at Saqqara, Egypt: a Study of the Metals and Corrosion, British Museum Technical Research Bulletin 3: 73–82. Ward, P. 1989. The Nature of Conservation, A Race Against Time. Marina del Rey: The Getty Conservation Institute. Warda, J. (ed.) 2011. The AIC Guide to Digital Photography and Conservation Documentation. 2nd edn. Washington, D.C.: American Institute for Conservation of Historic and Artistic Works. Watkins, S. C. and Brown, C. E. (eds) 1988. Conservation of Ancient Egyptian Materials: Preprints of the Conference Organised by the United Kingdom Institute for Conservation, Archaeology Section, Held at Bristol, December 15–16th, 1988. London: Archetype. Whyte, A., Stock, S., and Murray, A. 2002. An Unusual Dark Patina on Egyptian Copper Alloy Objects in the Royal Ontario Museum. In P. B. Vandiver, M. Goodway, and J. L. Mass (eds), Material Issues in Art and Archaeology VI: Symposium Held November 26–30, 2001, Boston, MA, USA. Warrendale, PA: Materials Research Society, 269–80. Yara, I., Abdrabou, A., and Abdallah, M. 2016. A Non-Destructive Analytical Study and the Conservation Processes of Pharaoh Tutankhamun’s Painted Boat Model, International Journal of Conservation Science 7, 1: 15–28.

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Index

Note: Citations within tables are marked with t, citations within figures are marked with f, and ambiguous locations/sites are marked with (pl.)

A

abnormal hieratic  878–9 abolitionism 92 abscesses  410, 417 Abu Kir (pl.) 354 Abu Simbel (pl.)  22, 38, 40, 75, 167, 215, 234, 431, 432, 479, 480, 725, 735, 977, 1122, 1162 temple of Rameses II  480f Abu Ziyâr  677 abuse (military)  663 Abydos (proto-Egyptian kingdom)  600 acacia (Acacia nilotica)  108, 110, 135, 141 acids 1213 acoustic survey methods  205 acquisition early collections  1173–5 statutory 441–2 acrobats 381 acrophony  879, 1119 acrostics 1101 actor­network theory  1043, 1053 adhesives  1207, 1210–12 administration see also local administration; national administration of Roman Egypt  752–3 administrative-judicial councils  788 admixture 49 Admonitions of Ipuwer  800, 998, 1013 adultery  806, 1059 adulthood 815 advertising  1176, 1179 adze­shaped instruments  859 Aegean 540–51 Amarna 542–3 artefacts 546–7 background 540 chronology 540–3 contact routes  543–5 in Egypt  548–50 Egypt in the Aegean  547–8 future research  550–1 iconography 546–7 inscriptions 545–6 LH IIIA2  542–3

suggested reading  551 Tell el-Dab’a wall paintings  548–50 texts 545–6 Theban tomb scenes  550–1 Thera eruption  541–2 Uluburun 542–3 aeolian sands  116–17 AERA (Ancient Egypt Research Associates)  9, 27, 143, 159, 164, 202, 248, 253, 260, 261, 263, 264, 285 aerial photography  7, 173, 202, 205, 206, 212, 254, 437 aesthetics  62, 79, 90, 415, 436 Afghanistan 523 wars 209 Africa south of Egypt  473–87 background 473 beyond Meroe  485–6 names 473–5 Nile Valley south of Egypt  476–85 First Intermediate Period  477–8 Later Napatan period  482 Meroitic period  483–4 Middle Kingdom  478–9 Napata, emergence of  481–2 New Kingdom  479–81 prehistory 476–7 Second Intermediate Period  478–9 suggested reading  486–7 terminology 473–5 Afro-Americans 92 Afroasiatic background  936–8 Afrocentrism 92–4 afterworld 1062 Agatharchides of Cnidus  1157 agnosticism  43, 918 agrarian fertility  823 agriculture  100–2, 116, 120, 122–5, 128, 131, 136, 144, 146, 148–50, 207, 208, 297, 434, 497, 575, 576, 679, 775, 790, 792, 1022, 1073, 1075, 1088, 1110 A-group culture  118, 178, 331, 372, 475–6, 491, 492 Ahhotep I, Queen  659, 982, 1012 Ahmose Pennekhbet  1001 Ahmose, Queen (wife of Thutmose I)  658 Ahmose Sapir  658 Ahmose I (18th Dynasty)  814

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1220   Index Ahmose II (26th Dynasty)  725–7, 878, 976 Ahmose, son of Ibana (18th Dynasty)  651, 783, 981, 1001 tomb of  670f Ahmose-Nefertari, Queen  395, 658–9 ailments 410 airborne pollutants  1208, 1218 air-god (Shu)  841 Airport Museum (Cairo Airport)  1189 Åkerblad, J. D.  39 Akhenaten (1352–1336 B.C.) excavations  276f see also Amenhotep IV/Akenhaten Aksumite culture  486 Aktionsart 904 alabaster, Egyptian see travertine Alchemo-Paracelsism 85 alchemy  79, 83, 87, 1160 Alexander the Great  81, 744–5, 749, 754, 817, 1101 Alexandria Ptolemaic and Roman Periods  754–5 Alexandrianism  755, 757, 760 alienation (peasant/state)  16, 789 Alleaume thesis on irrigation critique of  102–5 allometric analysis  291, 292 alloys  371, 1028–9, 1218 alluvial wash  116–17 alluviation 106 alluvium  109, 114, 118, 318, 573, 575, 579 Amarna 542–3 axonometric reconstruction  296f excavations 276f glass furnace  275f plan of the Grid 12 area of the New Kingdom city 304f plan of the New Kingdom city  288f potter’s wheel  273f settlement archaeology  287–9 Amasis (24/26th Dynasty)  711, 725, 755, 1003 Amenemhat (patronymic name)  641, 813, 996 Amenemhat I (12th Dynasty)  375, 395, 436, 642–3, 658, 973, 980, 999, 1009, 1012–13, 1118 Amenemhat II (12th Dynasty)  358, 375, 392–3, 638, 643, 974, 980, 1000 Amenemhat III (12th Dynasty)  106, 112, 375, 382, 392, 428, 643–4, 984 Amenemhat IV (12th Dynasty)106,  375, 644 Amenemhat Senbef  647 Amenemhat-itj-tawy 642 Amenemnisu (21st Dynasty)  690–1, 710 Amenemope (21st Dynasty)  691, 710, 850, 1037 Amenemopet (vizier)  1011 Amenhotep (high priest of Amun)  670f Amenhotep (High Priest of Amun) before pharaoh Rameses IX at Karnak Temple  670f tomb of  662f Amenhotep I (18th Dynasty)  395, 464, 499, 658, 787, 802, 984, 1001

Amenhotep II (18th Dynasty)  359–60, 377, 381, 395, 550, 660, 975, 979, 981, 984, 1056 Amenhotep III (18th Dynasty)  21, 153f, 377, 386–7, 395–6, 418, 431, 435, 446–8, 450, 466, 500, 545–6, 657, 660–1, 671, 674–5, 802, 850, 979, 981, 984, 1060, 1122 Amenhotep III (18th Dynasty) Japanese Mission to the tomb of  153f Amenhotep IV/Akhenaten (18th Dynasty)  387, 395, 438, 661, 802 Amenhotep son of Hapu  450, 453, 981 Amenirdis I  375, 705 Amenmessu (19th Dynasty)  666–7 American perspectives  3–4 amethyst  171, 189, 191–3, 565, 641, 1132, 1135 Ammeris (24/26th Dynasty)  703, 711, 722 amphibians 151 amphora/amphorae  280, 317, 321, 327, 332, 481, 532, 538, 547, 557, 679, 755 oasis fabric  317f ribbed-neck Hellenistic/Roman  103 Amratian culture  574 amuletic practices  369, 374, 377–9, 384, 399, 460, 685, 686, 713–6, 1106 amulets  158, 367, 369–71, 377–8, 381, 383–4, 388–90, 398–400, 402, 406, 408, 409, 411, 413, 415, 460, 581, 685–6, 713–16, 834, 837, 879, 1046–7, 1052, 1104, 1212 seals 369–70 Amun-Ra (god)  380, 382, 395, 397, 432, 825, 827, 850 temple (Karnak)  201 Anatolia  209, 353, 514, 515, 560, 662, 741 anatomists 412 anatomy  50, 70, 77, 280, 305, 308, 412, 425, 439, 593, 616, 631, 634, 654, 679, 775, 792 ancient Egypt  367–9 Ancient Quarries and Mines Department (AQMD) private contractor’s loader  246f survey work of  219 team at sites in Wadi Subeira  245f ancient sources  34–5 animal gods  823 see also under individual animals animal proteins  1213 anoxic environments  1212 Antef decree see Inyotef VII anthracosis 418 anthropoid  26, 354, 361, 363, 364, 366, 453, 454, 819, 1217 anthropologists  17, 53, 55, 57, 58, 60, 123, 291, 413–15, 530–1 anthropomorphism  229, 606, 822, 1130 anti-Assyrian coalition  722 antibodies 419 anti-Jewish violence see anti-Semitism anti-Persian 730 antiquarianism  43, 85, 90, 155, 286, 1173, 1207 antisemitic 92 anti-Semitism  92, 1158 Antoninus Pius, Emperor  380

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Index   1221 Anubis (god)  346, 782, 824, 973 Apepi  383, 649 Apocalypses of Sophonias  1097 apocalyptic literature  1077, 1097, 1099 apocryphal text  1097 apologetics 83 apotropaic functions  379, 843, 1124, 1125 Apries (24/26th Dynasty)  711, 725–6 AQMD (Antiquities Ancient Quarries and Mines Department)  5, 7, 215, 219, 222, 236, 239, 244–7 Arabic language  3, 59, 101 Aramaic language  727–9, 735, 773, 879, 895, 1020, 1026, 1027, 1030, 1031, 1072, 1089, 1093, 1122, 1125 archaeobotanical evidence  131–2 archaeobotanists  9, 127–9, 132, 159 archaeobotany  125, 127, 132, 139, 144–50, 261, 1129 archaeology context 1175–6 in Egypt  753–6 evidence 503–5 landscapes, investigation of  6–8 practice and multi-disciplinarity  9–10 storehouses in Egypt  1198–9 site museums  1197 archaeozoology  10, 153, 156–62 remains  11, 153, 157–9, 162, 164, 576, 584 architecture in ancient Egypt  427–38 background 427–8 construction techniques  434–7 discovering 428–9 external shape  429–32 future research directions  437–8 internal space  429–32 landscape 429–32 materials 434–7 project to building, process of  433–4 suggested reading  438 Aristotle  85, 91, 1156, 1162 armies  38, 477, 483, 631, 668, 724 armoury  206, 280, 328 Arrhidaeus, Philip (Macedonian Dynasty)  1140–1 arrowheads 504 Arsinoe II (sister and wife of Ptolemy II)  746, 748 art  58–9, 746–7 Art and Archaeology Technical Abstracts (AATA) 1216 Artaxerxes II (27th Dynasty)  730 Artaxerxes III (Second Persian Period)  730 artefacts 1104–5 iconography 546–7 arteries 418 arteriosclerosis 418 artesian wells  208 artistic evidence  129–30 asceticism  82, 1068 Asiatics  12, 49, 500, 507, 516–9, 539, 610, 667, 724, 973, 1119

assassinate 669 assassination  621, 669, 973, 1012 Assenat (Amsterdam, 1670)  88f Assyria  481, 671, 707–9, 724, 741, 1076, 1091 Assyriology  49, 66, 68, 514, 892, 911, 923, 954, 955 astrology  83, 855, 1079, 1160 Åström, P.  316, 327, 542, 552 astronomy  432, 438, 439, 454, 690, 846, 1079 Aswan West Bank ancient quarry landscape  175f deep histories  174–8 First Cataract, epigraphic survey work  217–19 Gebel es Sawan  178f Gebel Gulab  178f grinding stone quarries  177f map 215f pottery 178f Athens (Greece)  25, 27, 28, 551–70, 682, 688, 703, 721, 727, 729 athleticism 660 Attic tragedy  91 Aurora Philosophorum 85 authority 1178 authorized heritage discourse (AHD)  4, 5, 232, 233, 239 autobiographical texts  994–1004 First Intermediate Period  997–9 Late Period  1003–4 Middle Kingdom  999–1001 nature of Egyptian  994–6 New Kingdom  1001–2 Old Kingdom  996–7 Ptolemaic Period  1003–4 Roman Period  1003–4 suggested reading  1004 Third Intermediate Period  1002–3 autopsy  413, 422, 424, 921 avian iconography  582f axonometric reconstruction  296 Amarna 296f Ay (18th Dynasty), tomb of visual symbolism  836f Azbakiah garden (Cairo)  1188

B

baboons  379, 380, 385, 432, 586, 890 baboon-shaped seals  382 New Kingdom mummy  154f Babylon (pl.)  264, 428, 551, 556, 566, 708, 724–6, 751 Babylonia  671, 708, 724 records  708, 721, 724–6, 735, 737, 1038–40, 1065 back design of scarabs  388–91 backings 1212 back-swamps  100, 104 back-transcription 878 bacteriology 414 Badarian culture  20, 109, 574, 576, 578, 579, 583, 585, 589, 590

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1222   Index bag-shaped tunics  343 Bahariya (pl.)  496, 500, 577, 1073, 1093, 1118 Bahr Yusef  103, 115, 117, 301 Bakenrenef (24th Dynasty)  397, 703, 706–7, 709, 711, 722, 804 Bakenrenef beloved of Herishef (23rd Dynasty)  704, 710 bakhsheesh 1175 baking 149 Bakt III, tomb of  152, 274f composite drawing of the tomb  339f balanites aegyptica (Egyptian plum)  108–10, 135, 141 Baltimore, Walters Art Museum back type scarabs  385f bottom designs (Second Intermediate Period)  394f figurative bottom design  396f private cylinder seal  372f royal cylinder seal  372f bandages  340, 341, 411, 413, 415, 692, 697, 703, 1078 banditry 788 banners 341 banning of exports  1176, 1188 barbarians 82 barbary sheep  1113, 1133 barefootedness 606 barges  115, 584 bark  383, 396, 459, 829, 1113, 1141 procession in sunk relief  459f barley  127, 131, 136, 503, 576, 998, 1036 hulled grains  136f Baroque Age  90, 468 Barque of Khufu  73, 75, 77, 469, 675, 706, 1140 barracks  143, 286, 291 bartering 337 bas-relief 457 basalt  167, 173, 178, 188, 190, 436, 458, 462 base notch  389 basilikos grammateus (royal scribe)  753 basiliphorous names  723–5 basin-irrigation  101, 102, 104 basketry  139, 145, 146, 150, 272, 282 bathrooms 430 baths  753, 757, 758, 1209 battles  383, 526, 606, 666, 706, 971, 977, 978, 998 Bayesian modelling  26, 533, 535, 590 beads  66, 70, 78, 340, 345, 379, 402, 503, 580 bead-making 302 bead-net  340, 351, 353 beaded garments  340, 345, 1207 beading  334, 346 beadwork  334, 345 beakers 576 beams (wooden)  339, 435 beans  137, 352, 548 beards  598, 599, 760, 973, 1179, 1181–83 beasts  585, 1132, 1134 beauty  350, 463, 467, 1205 bedding  139, 140

bedforms 117 bees  381, 392 beet (Beta vulgaris)  135, 137 beetles  24, 153, 381–6, 387, 394, 402, 404, 408, 842, 881 beetle-shaped artefacts  378, 384 Bekhen-mountain  166, 183, 184 bekhen-stone  178, 191, 193, 230 belief-systems 355 bell-shaped artefacts  379 belly of animals  829, 870, 1046 Beluchistan (pl.) 611 Beni Hasan, tombs of  152, 163, 273, 274, 278, 338, 352, 358, 404, 420, 464, 477, 630, 631, 635, 641, 651, 654, 659, 783, 791, 792, 980, 983, 989, 996, 999, 1005 potter’s wheel  273f, 274f Beni Suef Museum (Beni Suef)  1189 Berlin School  916–17 Bes/Bes-heads (deity)  380 Bible, the  3, 39, 44, 80, 81, 87, 89, 90, 269, 531, 721, 741, 743, 831, 1039, 1068, 1097, 1106, 1108 bibliographies 1145–6 Bildungsroman 91 bilingualism  1079, 1102, 1106 bioarchaeology  30, 421, 423 biography  57, 62, 451, 621, 651, 676, 962, 963, 985, 996, 997, 1004, 1185 literary texts  1013–14 biology  124, 250, 846 biomedicine 1042 biopsy 418 biotic landscape  109–10 Bir Kiseiba (pl.)  284, 311, 577 Bir Umm Fawakhir  171, 192 birds  151, 152, 154, 156, 163, 376, 381, 823, 974, 1077 Birket Qarun (Lake Moeris)  106, 108, 117, 123, 148 birth-houses 1141 births 1022 bishops  750, 913, 914, 1217 bitter-melon colocynth (Citrullus colocynthis) 137 bitumen  149, 410, 419, 423 bivalves 575 Biyahmu (pl.) 112 black pepper (Piper nigrum) 138 blackening marks  323 black-topped pottery/red ware  273, 280, 576 bladder tissue  417 blade fragments  504 blades 503 blankets 341 bleaching (linguistic)  947 bleeding 410 blessings  395, 865, 1056–8 blue-banded fabric  346, 348 blue-green materials  384 blue-painted jars  312 blue-striped textiles  346 boar’s-tusk helmet  545

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Index   1223 boat-building 781 boats  115, 130, 140, 282, 521, 568, 583, 584, 785, 843, 903, 997, 1114, 1134 bodyguards  500, 666 bondage, house of  92 Book of Kemyt (compendium)  1015, 1062, 1068 Book of the Geckos 1079 booklets, museum  6, 1202 book-scripts (uncial)  877 borders of the Empire  1120–21 Boston Museum of Fine Arts (BMFA)  340 botanical remains  9, 125, 132, 138, 142–6, 148–50, 291, 538, 846, 1120 botany  122, 149, 320 Botswana 101 bottom design  391–8 figurative/royal representations  396f Second Intermediate Period  394f Boulaq Museum  1176, 1188, 1190f, 1191f bovid form  1126 bovine form  581, 582, 592, 1124 see also cattle; cows iconography 582f Pahu rock inscription  1126f bowls  180, 323, 326, 332, 338, 538, 643 bracelets  180, 181f, 223, 706 braces (leather)  697 braidplains  111, 115 brailed sail technology  544 brailing system  545 bread mould  274, 323 breasts  66, 343, 752, 835 breechcloths 566 breweries  580, 608 brewing methods  149 bricklaying 435 bricks  147, 368, 434–40, 621–2, 704 bricolage 1083 British Museum British research into Egyptian grammar  917 display of mummies and funerary equipment (1875) 362f figurative stamp seals  373f geometric stamp seals  373f Bronze-Iron Age  557, 559, 562 Bronze Age Empire  526–9 brotherhood 495 brother-sister-marriage 801 bruises 410 brush usage  877 bucket flotation  132, 133 Tell el-Retaba, Wadi Tumilat  133f buckets  132, 258 budget constraints  260, 261 building activities  978–9 bulls  153, 354, 381, 500, 661 buprestid (jewel beetle)  384

bureaucracies  785, 788 bureaucracy  239–40, 246, 247, 336, 685, 779, 788, 789, 799, 1023, 1029, 1031, 1040, 1180 burnt-group material  300 bushy tamarisks (salt cedar)  108, 110, 116 Busiris (pl.)  709, 1155 king of  709 Busirite nome  780 butchering knife  606 butchery marks  158 butlers (royal)  772 Buto-Maadi culture  533, 575, 599–600 butter 410 button seals  378, 399, 408 buttons 405 Byzantine Empire  83, 120, 192, 193, 475, 583, 744, 750, 755, 1028, 1066–8, 1101, 1103, 1107–9, 1163, 1166

C

cadastral (fiscal) maps  201, 205, 210–2 cafes  241, 242, 244 Wadi Hammamat  241f Cailliaud, F.  339f Cairo Museum (Egypt) Gebel Tarif knife  522f unwrapping a mummy  412f calcification  108, 417, 418 calcium carbonate  111 Calderini, A.  1159, 1167 Callimachus 1158 cameras  216, 220, 1200 Cameron, M.  554, 557, 559, 562, 563, 1101, 1107, 1110 Canaan 520–5 Canaanites  527, 528, 531, 532, 680, 889 canal-digging 781 canalization 779 cannibalism 82 Cannuyer, C.  665, 676, 896, 1106, 1107 canopic equipment (jars/chests)  323, 354, 355, 357, 360, 361, 363–6, 411, 695, 754, 755, 859 Canopus  354, 752, 1163 Cappers, R. T. J.  127, 128, 137, 143–6, 148, 1120, 1129 Capponi, L.  751, 758 Capsian artefacts  503 Capture of Joppa  1009, 1010 caravans  477, 669 carbon  131, 541, 1207 Carchemish (pl.) 724 cardamom 138 Carnarvon, Earl of/Carnarvon Tablet  360, 676, 972, 987, 1010, 1017 carnelian  370, 386 carpentry 303 cartography 200–2 cartonnage(s)  341, 358, 361, 386, 687, 713, 1072, 1087, 1207, 1211–12 cartonnage-type coffins  687

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1224   Index cartouche  376, 377, 382, 393, 397, 627, 660, 687, 690, 705, 976 cartouche-shaped items  354, 368, 382 carving techniques  461–2 casuistic texts  1041, 1044 catfish  597, 600 Caton-Thompson, G.  106–8, 112, 116, 121, 167, 168, 188, 336, 350, 575, 589 cats  155, 156, 158, 160, 163, 379, 380, 422, 425, 586 cat mummies  155, 163, 164, 411, 414, 827, 1179, 1186 cattle  110, 139, 140, 153, 162, 164, 311, 367, 383, 496, 503, 586, 599, 626, 635, 770, 780, 783, 859, 974, 998 see also bovine form; cows bones 153f counts 609 herding 1113 tax 783 caulking 340 causeways 463 Cauville, S.  846, 852, 875, 885, 887, 984, 985, 1139–47, 1149 Cave of the Swimmers  584 cavo relievo (sunk relief)  458 Caylus, Baron de  36 ceilings  345, 1082 celery 127 celestial practices  446, 597, 829, 830, 839 celibacy 686 censuses 1019 ceramicists  271, 313, 314, 318, 322–5 ceramics 1209–10 cereals  130, 134, 136–8, 147 ceremonies  687, 858, 974, 1146 Chaeremon  851, 853, 1158, 1160, 1161, 1170 Chaeronea, Plutarch of  1160 chaff  132, 137, 139, 144, 150, 315, 341 chalk  117, 220–2 Champollion-Figeac, J.  897, 1138, 1150 channel-ways 101 charcoal  110, 133, 141, 146, 150, 183 chariotry 659 Charpentier, G.  131, 145 charring process  132 Chasseboeuf, Constantin-François  37 chemicals 1209 chemistry  326, 331, 348, 422 chemists 415 Chephren gneiss  168f chests  340, 347, 357, 361, 366, 411, 866 chickpea  127, 131 chiefdoms  476, 477 child-god  747, 822, 828 child-king 621 childhood 826 childlessness 803 China  3, 4, 6, 49, 55, 65–77, 1039 ancient Chinese works  65–9

current research trends  69–73 early Chinese tourists  65–9 Egyptology in  65–76 Egyptology as part of general ancient world history 66–7 first Chinese doctorate in Egyptology  66 founding of  65–9 history 65–9 IHAC, establishment of  68–9 international collaboration  75–6 past research influences  69–73 popularizing Egyptology  73–5 suggested reading  76 teaching and resourcing Egyptology  69 chiselling 1128 Christian texts  1097–8 Christianity 750–1 chromatography  348, 419, 422, 519 chronicles 973–6 chronology 540–3 developments 961–66 survey 1058–60 synchronization 519–20 circumpolar stars  432 citadel  725, 1188, 1189 citizenship 745 City of Gold British colonial period  242f museum inside an abandoned building  243f civil unrest  515, 530, 668, 669, 995, 998 clays  100, 281, 316, 331 Cleopatra VII  75, 82, 380, 744, 754, 1004, 1139, 1158 click-beetle-shaped pendants  384 climatological issues  672, 1119 clypeus  389, 390 coarseware 543 code-switching 948 coffin-ensembles 358 coffin-fittings 759 cognate disciplines and Egyptology  48–60 art 58–9 classification 50–3 cognition 58–9 identity 50–3 literary artefacts  56–8 object biographies  58–9 objects of Egyptology  53–4 performance, modes of  56–8 problematic birth  48–50 suggested reading  59–60 translation 50–3 writing ancient Egyptian history  54–6 cognition 58–9 Coin Museum (Cairo)  751, 1189 coins  751, 1032, 1094, 1189 colonialism  13, 62, 243, 263, 309, 1183, 1184, 1203 Colonna, F.  84f

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1225 colonnades  465, 469, 1121, 1122, 1131, 1141 colophon 1009 coloration  356, 363, 835, 841 Colossos of Memnon  36, 981, 1122, 1129, 1161, 1174 commentaries 846–7 commodification of ancient Egypt  1182 communities potential threats to  241–2 community-based heritage initiatives participation 237 projects 238 strategies  232, 236–9, 249 comparative archaeological approaches  52, 184–6 computed tomography (CT) scans  414, 1214, 1218 computerized statistical seriation  321 computer-model reconstructions  206 conceptual terms  795–6 condominium 484 cones  401, 523, 530, 538 cone-shaped masts  1036 confessional autobiographies  996, 1002 confessionalization 85 Congress on Egyptian Grammar (Denmark, 1986) 920 connoisseurship 59 connotation (linguistic)  52, 73, 374, 384, 386, 398 conscription  778, 786 conservation in Egyptological museum collections 1205–16 background 1205–6 challenges 1213–15 deterioration processes of inorganic materials 1208–11 bone 1210–11 ceramics 1209–10 faience 1209–10 glass 1209–10 ivory 1210–11 limestone 1210 metal objects  1208–9 deterioration processes of organic materials  1211–12 cartonnage 1211–12 linen 1211–12 deteries 1211–12 papyri 1211–12 wood 1211 general considerations  1206–8 suggested reading  1215–16 Constantine, Emperor (ad 306–337)  743, 746, 750, 888, 928, 970, 1027, 1028, 1030, 1032, 1099, 1167, 1169 Constantinople 817 construction techniques  434–7 contact routes  543–5 contamination  216, 419, 1211 content/interpretation studies  1146–8 control of individuals  786–7

conurbation 207 cooking 323 copper  165, 171, 174, 178, 192, 240, 276, 293, 294, 347, 371, 431, 460, 461, 476, 504, 514, 567, 592, 609, 973, 974, 1208, 1209, 1216 copper-chloride 1209 copper-containing 1209 copper-working 302 copper mines  294f Coptic grammars  913–14 Coptic-Arabic  914, 928 Coptic-literacy 1097 Coptic-speaking 1103 Coptic papyrology  1103–4 Coptic texts  1096–1107 as artefacts  1104–5 background 1096 Christian texts  1097–8 Coptic papyrology  1103–4 cultural context  1105–6 epigraphic texts  1102 Gnostic texts  1097–8 Hermetic texts  1097–8 historical writings  1101 homilies 1101 hymns 1101 Manichaean texts  1097–8 martyrs 1100 Monastery of Epiphanius  1105–6 monasticism and  1098–100 poems 1101 religious figures  1100 saints 1100 sermons 1101 socio-economic texts  1103 sub-literary genres  1101–1102 suggested reading  1106–7 Coptic writing  881 copy-books 550 Corcoran, L.  363, 365 core-drilling 298 coriander 138 coring (sediment)  7, 105, 206 Corinthian ‘transitional’ pottery  755 corn  752, 791, 1207 cornflower 127 corn-modius of Serapis  834 cornucopia (horn of plenty)  752 coronations  482, 483, 663, 678 Corpus Antiquitatum Aegyptiacarum  363, 364, 400, 443, 982, 1181, 1184 Corpus Hermeticum  84, 85, 94 Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum (CIG)  1162, 1166 corrosion  1208, 1209, 1218 corruption  235, 663 cosmetic items  415, 528, 580, 991, 1206, 1214 cosmetics  413, 415, 1053

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1226   Index cosmogony 827 cosmographs 1115 cosmology  497–501, 828–30 cosmopolitanism  672, 754 cosmotheism 821 costume  49, 598, 746–7 cough  410, 1047 Coulon, L.  442, 451, 452, 456, 721, 723, 733, 753, 758, 828, 831 court proceedings see also law; tribunals First Intermediate Period  799 Middle Kingdom  801 New Kingdom  804–5 Old Kingdom  799 Second Intermediate Period  801 Third Intermediate Period  804–5 courtyards  289, 301, 302, 430, 431, 483 cows 829 see also bovine form cow-goddess 582 cow-heads 606 cowroids 399 cowry shells  378 craft-based training  1205 craftsmanship  24, 314, 464, 552, 556, 561, 569 craftspeople  12, 772 craftswomen  24, 552, 561, 569 craftwork  13, 301, 303, 305 craniometric analysis  413 crépon (fabric)  343 criminals  367, 669, 801 criss-cross patterns  390 crocodiles  154, 155, 162, 379, 381, 393, 564, 565 crocodile-headed deities  393 Crocodilopolis 609 Crocodylus suchus  155, 158 cross-bedded sands  111 cross-border relations  12, 24 cross-chronological analysis  542 cross-craft 346 cross-cultural contact  10, 12, 14, 24, 58, 184, 291, 306, 444, 539, 551, 602, 610, 740, 741, 785, 808, 1052, 1065 debates in  10–15 cross-disciplinary relations  12, 24, 56, 121, 311, 511 cross-hatching  377, 381, 393 cross-lined pottery  581, 584 Crusades 36 Cruz-Uribe, E.  186, 188, 726, 728, 733, 983, 986, 1063, 1064, 1067, 1079, 1082, 1122, 1127–8, 1130 cryptograms 398 of Amun  395 cryptographic writing  374, 395, 401, 888, 889, 891, 1139, 1142 cryptography  395, 885, 887, 893, 1142 crypts  1139, 1141 Csordas, T.  1050, 1052 CT-scanning  28, 157, 414, 416–17, 682, 846, 854, 1006, 1094

monkey mummy  157f wrapped Ptolemaic mummy (c.285–30 bc) 417f cult association 1073 centres 749 cultivation 337–9 culture contacts and influences  879–80 context 1105–6 dynamics 828 heritage 4–6 see also cultural heritage management Libyan 15–18 social history, elements of  932–36 society and  15–18 cultural heritage management  232–48 Aswan: heritage protection  244–7 local dialogues  245–6 local livelihoods  244–7 mining 245–6 quarrying 245–6 sectional conflict  246–7 top-down bureaucracy and control  246–7 background 232–3 bureaucracy 239–40 community-based heritage initiatives: critique of  236–7 overview of  237–9 current situation in Egypt  233–6 issues 247–8 marginalization 239–40 suggested reading  248 ‘top down’ management  239–40 Wadi Hammamat (central): peopled landscape 240–4 communities and potential threats  241–2 economic benefits  242–4 educational benefits  242–4 history 242–4 touristic benefits  242–4 cumin  138, 1047, 1054 cuneiform tablets/texts  41, 56, 68, 520, 773, 869, 872, 879, 882, 991, 1069 curses  865, 1102, 1125 cushions  340, 341, 346 Cushitic 932 cut-to-shape clothing  343 Cycladic (Greek islands)  540, 541, 549, 557 cylinder seals  374–7, 403, 608 private 372f royal 372f sealing-surfaces 376–7 shape types  374–5 Cyperus  109, 110, 127, 130, 134, 137, 139, 1211 Cyprus  116, 315, 316, 330, 543, 555, 566, 568, 643, 726, 729 Cyrenaica  493, 495, 497, 503, 504, 509–11 Cyrene  497, 725–6

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1227 Cyriacus community  1105 cysts  412, 418

D

Dahshur Hor (13th Dynasty), tomb of  646f tomb of king Hor (13th Dynasty)  357f Danaids 1155 dancers 381 Daris, S.  1159, 1167 Darius I (27th Dynasty)  11, 727–8, 804, 1122 Darius II (27th Dynasty)  727 data 418–19 deriving from settlements  624–5 on monuments  622 sources 638–9 databases  227, 230, 258, 298, 318, 546, 904, 905 dictionaries vs  904–5 date palm grove Medinet el-Gurob, Faiyum  142f dating sources  848 day-books  617, 623, 718, 975, 991, 1022, 1169 De Morgan, J. J. M.  39, 53, 217, 357f De Mysteriis Aegyptiorum Hermeticism  83 dead, the  1061–2 deathbed scene  1100 debouching 118 debris  112, 256, 289, 302, 449, 503 decalibration 883 decapitation 606 decentralization  369, 506, 620, 995 decimal number system  1033 declarations  798, 800, 803, 1162 decomposition 136 decorum  346, 441, 732, 873, 935, 936, 964 decrees see royal decrees dedications  1162, 1179 defacement  441, 442, 727 Deir el-Bahari  390, 469, 632 Nebhepetra Mentuhotep I: mortuary temple  640f Deir el-Banat (Faiyum region, Egypt)  420f Deir el-Medina  289–90, 815 delamination  1209, 1210 Della Valle, P.  428, 439 Delta-head Barrage (pl.) 102 deltaic sands  117 democratization  834, 849, 857, 866 demographics  291, 295, 1022 and population estimates  291–2 demonic influence  751, 1052, 1053 demon-like forces  824 demons  716, 758, 825, 831, 1047, 1053, 1079 demotic texts  878–9, 1072–80 corpora 1072–3 definition of demotic  1072 demotic-hieratic translation  1078 documentary texts  1073–4 legal texts (codes/protocols)  1075–6

literary texts  1076–7 magic 1079 private legal texts  1075–6 publications of museum holdings  1072–3 religious texts  1078–9 scholarly texts  1076–8 suggested reading  1080 Demotische Texte auf Krügen  1063, 1070 Den (1st Dynasty)  376, 518, 811–12 dendrochronology  520, 541, 543, 551, 560 Deng Zhangying  72, 77 dental conditions  416, 417 depopulation  116, 576, 619, 779 depredations of the Hyksos  659 derelict gold mines  242 desalination 1210 Description de l’Égypte map  199f desertion from compulsory labour  801 Deshasha 343 desiccated remains  126, 130–2, 143, 144, 150, 1207 desiccation  112, 131, 335, 485 despotism  71, 77, 78 deterioration processes inorganic materials  1208–11 organic materials  1211–12 devolution of rule  507 diamond-shaped netting  340 diffusionist approach  50 digitization 1181 diglossia  746, 932, 935 digraphic Egyptian written culture  886 Diocletian (r.ad 284–305)  211, 1027, 1173 Diodorus Siculus  34, 46, 82, 409, 729, 754, 804, 856, 1157, 1158, 1165, 1168, 1169 dioiketes  752, 753 Diospolis Parva  264, 384, 394, 594, 708, 1146 dipinti (sketched/painted inscriptions)  1126, 1128 discoloration 158 discursive texts  846–7 disease  158, 350, 413, 415–22, 425, 825, 1051, 1209 disfigurement 1211 disguise 1100 dishes  321, 528 duck cosmetic  528f disks  378, 383, 661, 829, 835, 837 distributary river system  106, 208 ditches  132, 337, 338 divine statues  445–7 divorce see also law First Intermediate Period  797–8 Middle Kingdom  801 New Kingdom  802 Old Kingdom  797–8 Second Intermediate Period  801 Third Intermediate Period  802 Djehutyemhet (23rd Dynasty)  705–6, 710 DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid)  419 dockets  691–3, 1019

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1228   Index dockyards 1022 doctors  410, 415, 665, 1105 doctrine of revelation  87 doctrine of the divine right of the king  1123 documentary texts  1073–4 documentation methods  220–2 Dodekaschoinos  484, 1123, 1129 dogs  155, 161, 327, 361, 379, 381, 562, 586, 823, 834 dog-heads 820 dog-people 610 Dokki-Gel (pl.)  479, 480, 482 domestic artefacts see also settlement archaeology examining artefacts in original contexts  301–2 refuse disposal mechanisms  302–3 settlement archaeology and  283–306 urban context of  301–4 workshops 302–3 donkeys  140, 583, 599, 650, 767, 840, 1093, 1113 doorjamb  368, 458 downcutting of the Nile  102, 575 dragon  547, 565 drainage  101, 337 drains  101, 102, 104, 115, 208 drama  597, 683 draughtsmanship 49 Dravidian language  49 drawings 321–2 dream-books 1079 dreams  25, 554, 556, 843, 1090, 1179, 1185 dresses  340, 341, 343, 344, 345f, 350, 351 drift-sand 117 drill-core samples  105, 110, 111 drought 998 drought  592, 998, 1132 drowning 751 dry-sieving 110 dry-stone sites  178f, 294, 1119 Duan Fang  65 ducks  380, 382, 528 carved cosmetic dish  528f dumpy level  254 dunes  103, 116 dung  133, 139, 143, 147, 148, 382, 383, 402, 512 feeding 383 Dush temple  1141 dyes  334, 346, 348, 350 dynamite 252 Dynasties chronology of dynasties 21–26  709t Dynasty 21  690–4 Dynasty 22  694–9, 704–6 Dynasty 22A (Herakleopolitan/Theban Dynasty 23)  701–6 Dynasty 23  699–701, 704–6 Dynasty 24  703–6 Dynasty 26  703–4

E

Earlier Egyptian  945–6 Early Dynastic Bat emblem  582f Early Dynastic Period  596–615 background 596–8 Egyptianness versus otherness  598–600 events 609–12 genealogies 811–13 ideology 605–7 interpretative issues  614–15 media 605–7 media, development of  600–2 memories in later Egyptian history  614 names and individuals  612–13 Narmer, dual kingship of  605–7 national administration  767–8 politics 605–7 processes and structures  607–9 rock inscriptions  1115–16 sociology of knowledge  602–5 suggested reading  615 writing, functions and relevance of  602–5 Early Middle Kingdom  1117–18 earthquake (Pompeii, ad 62)  752 ebony  141, 375, 459, 546, 609 ecotone  109, 110 ecotourism 233 Edfu-Marsa Alam road  1117 edible plants  137–8 EES Survey of Memphis  205–6 egalitarian society  579 eggs  383, 500, 510, 512, 1212 eggshells 158 Egypt  497–501, 520–5, 548–50 Aegean 547–8 Egyptian-Hermetic tradition  87 Egyptian-Hittite relations  664, 665, 676 Egyptian-Libyan relations  502 Roman Empire  751–2 kingship, origins of  585–7 Limestone Plateau: changing contact patterns  577f military 299f Egyptian Mineral Resources Authority (EMRA) team at sites in Wadi Subeira  245f Egyptian Museum (Cairo) Ceremonial Palette of Narmer  604f during building  1195f, 1196f finishing work in  1194f foundation stone  1190f Khafre, statue of  168f Libyan Palette  599f Yuya and Tjuiu (18th Dynasty), tomb of  359f Egyptian National Committee of International Council of Museums (ICOM Egypt)  6, 1183, 1187, 1202, 1203 Egyptianization  479, 482, 491, 528, 534

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1229 Egyptianness versus otherness  598–600 Egyptian-style  11, 502, 504, 529, 745, 746 Egyptian-West Asian interaction  530 Egypto-Hellenistic cults  747 Egypto-Libyan relations  659, 661 Egyptology as part of general ancient world history 66–7 Egyptomania  3, 25, 45, 58, 61, 62, 80, 95, 96, 428, 1183 Egypto-Nubian relations  491, 1117 Egyptophilia 80 Egyptosophia 80 Eighteenth Dynasty  657–63 EI-Kharga Oasis (pl.) 234 el-Ahaiwah fort  1060 el-Alamein fortress  500 el-Amarna/Tell el-Amarna (pl.)  41, 149, 171, 280, 286, 287, 306–10, 329, 425, 439, 535, 559, 560, 567, 661, 682, 990, 1002, 1005, 1059, 1069 el-Amrah (pl.) 374 el-Khawy early hieroglyphic inscription  1116f el-Kurru (pl.)  481, 488, 489 elections  300, 681 electric power  1199 electrolytes 1209 electronic resources  1025, 1166 electronic theodolites  437 elephants  483, 586, 613 Elephantine Island Saddle quern (silicified sandstone)  176f Eleventh Dynasty  639–41 élite buildings  287 elliptical shapes  389, 390 elytron design  389, 390 embalming  341, 409, 412, 415, 422–5, 848, 858, 859, 1212, 1218 embankments  115, 436 embouchures 109 embroidery  345, 349, 353 enamel  158, 160, 419 encampments  10, 292–4, 305 encaustic painting  1207 enchantments 846 enclosures  291, 508, 585 encomiastic autobiographies  996, 999, 1000 endoscopy 417–18 English–Egyptian joint missions  224 enigmatic writing  885–7 enlightenment era  35–7, 43, 87, 94, 1106 entomologists  415, 419 entourage of the king  723, 1012, 1115 entrepreneurs 524 environment 495–7 environmental history  110–19 ephemeral settlements and encampments  292–5 Ephesus (pl.) 428

epidemiological studies  262, 415, 590 epigraph (bandage)  703 epigraphers  65, 216, 223, 1161, 1163 epigraphic research Aswan history of  216–17 history of  223 methods, overview of  216 texts 1102 epigraphy 1161–65 epilepsy 410 Epipalaeolithic era  127, 150, 229, 290, 575 epistemological studies  80, 931, 1044 epistemology 1012 epistolographic scribal tradition  1066, 1067, 1082 epistolography  1061, 1066, 1067 epistrategoi 753 Epistula Apostolorum 1097 equestrian appointment  748, 753 eroticism  347, 352, 1102, 1170 eruption (volcanic)  541, 542, 556, 558, 561, 564, 568, 569, 658, 675, 678, 683 eschatological concepts  827 ethics  59, 83, 250, 251, 421, 1216 Ethiopia  111, 114, 217, 293, 486, 515, 523, 725, 737, 1159 ethnicity 10–15 ethno-archaeological studies  277, 292 ethnoarchaeology  8, 25, 29, 307, 308, 331, 512 ethnobotany 125 ethno-cultural history  284 ethnographical approach  144, 1155 ethnography  25, 53, 147, 160, 425 ethnohistory 61 ethnology  262, 263, 531, 593 ethnonyms 668 etiquette 981 etymology  51, 598, 600 eucalypts 108 eulogistics 935 eulogy 1011 eunuchs  772, 775 Europe Eurocentrism  4, 34, 232, 251 European perspectives  3–4 European Union (EU)  5, 173, 238–9 European-Egyptian projects  41 evisceration method  415, 425 excavation see also see site survey and excavation methods methodology 255–9 statuary 441–2 exfoliation 1210 exhibition of ancient Egypt (China (2017))  74f expeditions 1118–19 experimental archaeology  272–7 expert-based perspectives  5, 239 expert-driven approach  235, 237, 238, 247

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1230   Index extradition 707 eyebrows 746 eyes  389, 390, 432, 493, 746, 841, 859

F

fabric classification systems  316–17 fabrics 314–16 Fabry, B.  263 face-to-face interaction  934, 968 facial lithic technology  575 facial reconstruction  417, 425, 448 facsimile drawing  1116f faience 1207 Fairman, H. W.  283, 284, 307, 404, 446, 452, 875, 888, 1139, 1142, 1143, 1146, 1150, 1151, 1170 fairy-tale stories  963 Faiyum depression 106–7 region (c.250 bc) 107f Fakhry, A.  66, 77, 171, 189, 780, 791, 1119, 1132, 1135 Falconer, S.  520, 530, 533, 538 falcons  380, 393, 397, 399, 593 falcon-headed sphinxes/scarabs  391, 393, 713 falcon-shaped Ra  383 Faltings, D.  323, 329, 330, 523, 524, 533 famines  114, 116, 629, 782 Fantone, F.  145 Fantusati, E.  633 Farafra oasis (pl.)  145–7, 305, 306, 496, 577, 666, 1129 Faras (pl.) 475 Fattovich, R.  262, 486, 488, 552, 568 Faulkner, R. O.  364, 365, 495, 510, 623, 633, 900–1, 905, 906, 1001, 1005, 1012, 1015, 1017, 1023, 1028 fauna of ancient Egypt  151–60 archaeozoology 157–8 background 151 current concerns  159 history of faunal studies  154–7 future work  159 methodologies 157–8 sources 151–4 suggested reading  159–60 Fauré, C.  422 Faure, P.  546, 557 fava bean (Vicia faba) 137 Favry, N.  641, 654, 782, 789, 791 Fay, B.  367, 379, 380, 402, 448, 453, 813, 818 Fayoum region  328, 685, 1189, 1192, 1194, 1197 Fayyumic dialect  1096, 1097 Fazzini, R. A.  368, 402, 659, 678, 688, 714, 1178, 1180, 1184 feasting  714, 1004 feathers  158, 374, 502, 841, 1124, 1213 Fecht, G.  41, 51, 57, 61, 614, 616, 938, 939, 950, 984 fecundity figures  840, 842 fenugreek (Trigonella foenum-graecum)  127, 138 fertility  137, 379, 382, 498, 686, 752, 822–4

fibre-plants 138 fiefdoms 621 fiefs 797 Fifth Dynasty  627–8 films  75, 92 fine speaking  1012–13 fine-sieving 143 fine-wares 543 Finnmap  206, 210 firedogs 323 fire-setting  180, 182, 183 firewood 411 First Cataract region rock inscriptions of  219–22 First Intermediate Period  619–31 see also Old Kingdom autobiographical texts  997–9 available textual data  623–4 data deriving from settlements  624–5 data on monuments  622 end of the Old Kingdom  628–30 historical outline  619–22 law 796–9 Nile Valley  477–8 rock art  1117–17 specific historical issues  625–8 Fifth Dynasty  627–8 Fourth Dynasty  626–7 length of the First Intermediate Period  630 Ninth Dynasty  630 periods and dating  625–6 ‘reunification’ 630–1 Sixth Dynasty  628 Tenth Dynasty  630 suggested reading  631 fishing  160, 340, 575, 576, 1113 flagstaffs 430 flakes  118, 912, 1057 flash photography  1213 flash-floods 242 Flavius Josephus (ad 37/8–c.100)  1156 flax  130, 138, 333, 336–8, 689, 1211 flax-processing 149 flood levels: Nile (c.4000 bc-ad 2000)  113f flooding  101, 116, 117, 686, 998, 1155 floodplains  100–18, 121, 131, 207–9, 211, 286, 306, 337, 575 free-draining and convex  100–1 floods  99–101, 107, 111–8, 120–2, 211, 682 flora of ancient Egypt  125–44 archaeobotanical evidence from settlement sites 131–2 artistic evidence  129–30 background 125 cereals 136–7 edible plants  137–8 fibre-plants 138

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1231 history of archaeobotany  125–9 legumes 139–40 objects placed in funerary contexts  130 oils 138 palms (trees)  140–2 reeds 139 research, current and future trends  142–3 sampling methods  132 sedges 139 species present in ancient Egypt  132–42 suggested reading  143–4 textual evidence  130–1 trees 140–2 wild grasses  139 wild/weed species  140 flotation  132, 133, 149, 150, 158 flotillas 1114 flowers  130, 144, 146, 341, 374, 382, 389, 390, 1124 fluvial sands  111, 117, 265 fodder  125, 133, 139, 140, 144, 145, 148 fold­out plate  1043 folktales 963 foods  136, 137, 150 foodstuff 980 foodstuffs  980, 1023, 1207 footstools  340, 346 footwear 145 foragers  145, 146, 148, 150 forceps 418 foreign materials, identification of  519 foreigners 1117–18 forgery  387, 444, 453, 1184 formal tableaux  1121–22 format 1057–8 forts  434, 478, 490, 527, 666, 742, 987 fossils 156 Fouquet, D.  412f Fourth Dynasty  626–7 fractures 410 Franco-British Treaty (1763)  37 free-draining  100, 101, 106, 107 freemasonry  87, 89, 92–4 freemen  784, 786, 787 free-standing monuments  430, 1111, 1117, 1119, 1127 free-threshing wheat  137 French–Egyptian project rock art  218 frescoes  559, 563, 567 frogs  379, 380 fruit-bearing trees  129 fruits  125, 128, 129, 132, 133, 141, 143, 144, 148 fugitives  782, 1059 full-desert areas  208 full-figured representations  380, 884, 885 full-sculpted human head  385 fumigation 1212 function of vessels  323 functional domains  943–5

functionalist approach  920, 922 funding (heritage/research)  5, 6, 115, 201, 210, 235, 236, 238–40, 348, 416, 782, 880, 1208 funerary beliefs and practices  856–63 Osiris Myth  856–7 funerary rituals  857–8 issues 862 mortuary cult  861–2 Night of the Vigil  858 opening of the mouth ritual  859–61 procession to the tomb  858–9 suggested reading  862–3 funerary data  672–4 funerary equipment  354–64 suggested reading  364 funerary rituals  857–8 fungal damage  1211 fungus 158 furnaces  274, 275 furnishings  508, 996, 1213 furniture  110, 133, 140, 141, 281, 340, 341, 363, 803, 1105

G

Gaius Cestius Epulo  82 game (animals)  152, 1113 game theory  152, 597, 1113 gardens  108, 129, 149, 428 Nebamun’s tomb (18th Dynasty)  129f Gardner, E. W.  106–8, 112, 116, 121, 167, 168, 188, 336, 350, 575, 589 garlands  125–7, 130, 146 garlic 137 garrisons  478, 526–8, 751, 773 gas chromatography  419, 519 gases  1212, 1213 Gash Delta (pl.)  475, 486, 488, 601 gaskets 1213 gauntlets 340 Gaza (pl.)  527, 530, 537, 538, 591 gazetteers 313 Ge Huipeng  71, 77 Gebel el-Asr  166–7, 173 Gebel es Sawan  178f Gebel Gulab  178f Gebel Qarn el-Gir  145, 1120, 1129 Gebel Silsila (pl.) 1120 Gebel Tarif knife  522f Gebel Uweinat see Jebel Uweinat Gemenefkhonsbak (23rd Dynasty)  701, 710 gem-like details  458 gems  380, 391, 401, 1083 gemstones  14, 165, 171, 174, 193, 460, 565 gender-oriented studies  23, 297 genealogies 809–18 assessment of  818 background 809–10 Early Dynastic Period  811–13

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1232   Index genealogies (cont.) Late Period  816–17 Middle Kingdom  813 modern research into Egyptian  811 New Kingdom  813–15 Deir el-Medina  815 Old Kingdom  811–13 Ptolemaic Period  817 Roman Period  817 suggested reading  818 Twentieth Dynasty  815–16 Twenty-First Dynasty  815–16 Twenty-Second Dynasty  815–16 genitive constructions (linguistics)936,  939 geoarchaeology  25, 110–21, 170, 191, 212, 213, 263, 265 environmental history of Giza  110–19 geoelectric surveys  205 geography 495–7 geologists  166, 170, 198, 241, 243 geology  39, 115, 121–3, 144, 170, 187, 190, 191, 242–4, 290, 318, 514, 1118 geometrical patterning  58, 371, 374, 377–9, 382, 392, 394, 429 geomorphology  103, 121, 254 geophysical surveys  26, 191, 206, 208, 211, 212, 298–300, 1112 German–Egyptian projects  218, 899, 900 Germany  68, 75, 162, 594, 917, 920, 1133 Ghanem, M. M.  233, 234, 238, 249, 699, 718 Ghiberti, L. ‘Gates of Paradies’  85 gift-giving 14 gilded objects  841, 1212 gilding 467 Gilf Kebir  477, 584, 1112, 1128, 1132, 1134 giraffes  582, 811, 889, 1113 Giza geological history  110–19 Giza Museum  1192f internal view  1192f Old Kingdom landscape  119f glass 1209–10 glass furnace  275f glasses 277 glassmaking  274, 275 melting 282 glaze  282, 688, 756, 1209, 1210 glosses (literary)  834, 846, 879, 881, 913, 1077, 1096 glossing system  881, 1179 glottal stops (linguistics)  938 gloves 1213 Gnostic texts  1097–8 gneiss see Chephren gneiss goats  139, 164, 496, 497, 586 herding 293 gods, mythology and cosmology  820–30 assessment of  830 background 820–1

cosmology 828–30 dead, the  1061–62 gods 822–5 animals, reflected in  823 multiple forms and names  823–5 myth 825–8 in cultural dynamics  828 Osirian myth complex  826–7 solar eye  827–8 universe, creation of the  827 sources 821–2 suggested reading  830 gold mines (derelict)  242f Google Earth  7, 104, 117, 173, 202, 206 goose 841 gospels  1097, 1098, 1108 GPS systems recording rock inscription locations  225f Graeco-Coptic topological works  913 Graeco-Egyptian relations  540, 1160, 1164, 1169 Graeco-Roman literature  84, 85, 117, 145, 330, 422, 453, 583, 757, 759, 924, 1032, 1067, 1081–83, 1087, 1088, 1093–5, 1107, 1151, 1167 graffiti/graffito see rock art; rock inscriptions grains  127, 131, 132, 136, 137, 315, 316 grammar 912–23 background 912–13 Berlin School  916–17 British research into Egyptian grammar  916 Coptic grammars  913–14 hieroglyphic Egyptian grammars: early progress 914–16 Polotsky and the ‘Standard Theory’ 918–20 post-Polotsky developments: gradual abandonment of Standard Theory  920–21 Ptolemaic temple texts  1142–5 recent developments  921–23 suggested reading  923 granaries  434, 635, 669, 783, 785, 1035, 1037 granites 165 granodiorite  166, 222 grants  783, 784, 1000 granulometry 111 grapes/grape vine (Vitis vinifera)  127, 134, 138, 145, 837 graphemics 930 grasses  134, 136, 139, 146 grass-savanna 109 gravel  219, 590, 676, 1130 graves  42, 45, 503, 611, 751 grazing  139, 496 grease 1213 Great Ferry of the West  859 Greco-Egyptian style  28, 740, 741, 745, 749, 755, 756, 881, 1090, 1153 Greece  34, 49, 52, 58, 63, 81, 428, 540, 544, 547, 553, 555, 559, 565, 739–41, 755, 967, 980, 1004, 1037, 1039, 1040, 1053, 1054, 1085, 1091, 1157, 1168

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1233 Greek-Egyptian families  1164 Greek-language text  1156 Greek-mediated culture  948 Greek sources  1154–66 Background 1154–5 epigraphy 1161–5 literary sources  1155–61 papyrology 1161–65 suggested reading  1165–6 greywacke chisels and rods  182f fragments 183f stone vessel rough outs  181f gridded patterns  435, 461, 462 grids  254, 258 grime  1206, 1211 grinding stone quarries  177f stone rough-outs  177f stones  149, 168, 175–8, 187, 192, 411 ground-based methods  205, 206 groundlines 463 groundmass 315 ground-penetrating radar  115 ground-plans 22 groundwater  109, 207, 755, 1211 groves  108, 142, 209, 637 Gulf of Sirte  497 Guo Zilin  71, 72, 76, 77 Gurob 297–301 map of ancient remains  299f gynaecology 412 gypsum quarries  168, 190

H

Haase, W.  758, 760, 1091, 1169 Habachi, L.  217, 229, 447, 453, 466, 469, 642, 654, 700, 714, 849, 853, 977, 988, 1128, 1132 Hadrian, Emperor (ad 117–38)  442, 751, 752, 1122, 1173 haematite (stone)  386 haemorrhages 410 Hafemann, I.  18, 26, 28, 489, 676–8, 905–7, 909–11, 950, 955, 1051, 1085 Hagar el-Merwa (pl.) 1120 Hagen, F.  189, 968–9, 1062, 1068, 1131 Haider, P. W.  543, 546, 558, 725, 735, 740 Haiguo Tuzhi (Atlas of Foreign Countries)  65, 78 Haikal, F.  400, 675, 735, 1028, 1092 hair  333, 502, 598, 1211 hair-dressers 769 hairstyles  413, 415, 598, 745–6 Hakor (29th Dynasty)  729–30 halfa grass  109, 139 Halfman, J. D.  114, 122 Halicarnassus Mausoleum  428 Halif Terrace  524 Hallof, J.  714, 1093, 1141, 1143, 1150, 1151, 1153

Hamites 494 hamitic language  49, 605 Hammam Project  5, 237, 249 Hammamiya (pl.) 392 hammered-sheet objects  1209 handicrafts  334, 1105 handmade pottery  293, 315 hand-pleated clothing  343 handprints 1112 hand-sewn garments  343 hand-turned wheel  273 handwriting  1009, 1061, 1063, 1064, 1068 hangings 345 Hankey, V.  316, 329, 541, 543, 548, 552, 558, 559, 569 Hannig, R.  73, 77, 368, 402, 900–2, 904, 907–10, 951 Haraga (pl.)  392, 1013 Harakhti (solar god)  824 Harari, Y.  1052, 1083 Harbottle, G.  318, 330 harbours  292, 755 harem-palace  298, 305 harems  297, 298, 310, 610, 668, 669, 682, 775, 805 hares  379, 381 Harimhab, king  678 Haring, B.  17, 26, 27, 669, 671, 673, 677, 678, 787, 789, 791, 869, 876, 888, 889, 966, 969, 1057, 1068, 1082 Harkhuf, inscription of  477, 499, 665, 786, 980, 995, 997 Harpocrates (god)  747, 751 harpoons  606, 882 Harpur, Y.  631, 633 Harrell, J.  168, 170, 171, 173, 178, 180, 186–8, 190, 193, 197, 204, 211, 222, 223, 228, 229, 240, 249, 280, 291, 419, 423, 439, 451 Harris-Cline, D.  542, 552, 556, 557, 560, 562, 563, 566, 569 Harsiese (high priest)  398, 709 HarSiese A (22nd Dynasty)  697–8, 702, 710 hartebeest 586 Hartung, U.  187, 205, 211, 316, 329, 367, 372, 375, 376, 402, 519, 524, 534, 536, 573, 574, 585, 587, 592, 597, 598, 611, 616, 716, 776, 888, 988 Hartwig, M.  451, 453, 627, 678, 713, 776, 793, 843, 971, 988, 1135, 1183, 1217 harvests  118, 141, 337 Harwa, tomb of  467, 470 Hasel, M.  527, 534 Hasitzka, M.  913, 925, 1027, 1029, 1102, 1103, 1106, 1108 Haspelmath, M.  922, 925, 937, 947, 950–2, 954, 956 Hassan, F. A.  112, 113, 122, 123, 132, 233, 236, 248–50, 254, 256, 262, 264, 291, 307, 470, 491, 574, 592, 624, 627, 633, 636, 793, 1111, 1132 Hathor (god)  108, 171, 188, 376, 380–2, 395, 450, 613, 686, 824, 829, 841, 849, 889, 893, 1124, 1125, 1127, 1140, 1141, 1151, 1152 rock inscription  1124f Hathor-heads 380 Hathor-symbol  392, 393 Hathoric festival  1004, 1124

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1234   Index Hatnefer (mother of Hatsheput)  347, 385 Hatnub travertine quarries  184–6, 189, 192, 193, 310, 631, 633, 1117, 1118, 1129 Hatoum, R.  1204 Hatshepsut Temple  390, 395, 398, 406, 464, 466, 485, 537, 550, 658–60, 675–8, 682, 712, 771, 802, 814, 862, 888, 976, 984, 992, 1001, 1002, 1059, 1136 Hatti (pl.) 671 Hattusas (pl.) 672 Hattusili III, king of the Hittites  665, 677 Haua Fteah (pl.)(Cyrenaica)  503, 509, 511 Hawara (pl.)  106, 148, 309, 330, 428, 435, 644, 653, 970, 1075, 1085, 1087, 1089, 1093, 1197 Hawass, Z.  60, 62, 63, 115, 122, 187, 264, 414–6, 424, 448, 453, 559, 564, 567, 615, 624, 635, 712, 793, 908, 955, 1085, 1086, 1184–6, 1188, 1195, 1204 hawks 841 hawk idols  446 Hayes, W. C.  361, 365, 462, 469, 500, 510, 642, 646, 647, 652, 654, 661, 679, 786, 791, 800, 801, 806, 971, 988, 1034, 1039 Hays, H.  627, 633, 857–9, 863–5, 911, 954, 962, 970 Hayward, R.  932, 951 head-dependent order  940, 942–3, 945 headdresses  345, 585, 684, 752 headwear 344 healing and protection, texts for  1041–51 background 1041 current approaches  1048–51 magical and medical texts, distinction between 1041–43 manuscripts, formal features of  1043–4 research priorities  1048–51 as sources  1047–8 suggested reading  1051 texts on other objects  1046–7 users 1045–6 Hebraic studies  87 Hebrew  81, 329, 453, 514, 532, 533, 721, 864, 936, 950, 987, 993, 1030, 1031, 1068 Heb-Sed festival  697, 703 Hecataeus  34, 82, 1156–8, 1167, 1169 Hecker, H.  156, 159, 163 hedgehogs  380, 382 Hedjkheperra, king  689, 695–6, 697, 700, 704 hegemony 1115–6 Heh (god)  381 Hein, I.  316, 328, 330, 332, 479, 489, 633–5, 664, 679 heirlooms  348, 546, 691 Heise, J.  721, 725, 735, 981, 988 Heit el-Ghurab, Giza plateau: Plan of the Old Kingdom settlement  285f Heizer, R. F.  272, 280 Heka (god)  825 Hekaib from Elephantine  849 Hekanakhte papyri (12th Dynasty)  347, 368, 800, 933, 982, 1058, 1059, 1061, 1065

Helck, W.  65, 281, 401, 403, 511, 517, 534, 599, 616, 619, 631, 633, 658, 663, 671, 672, 679, 766, 769–72, 774, 775, 789, 791, 798, 804, 806, 808, 811, 813, 818, 819, 863, 951, 978, 986, 988, 1006, 1108, 1136, 1156, 1157, 1166, 1168 Heldal, T.  168, 173–5, 182, 187–91, 193, 207, 211, 212, 222, 228, 230, 239, 244, 248–51, 306, 310, 311, 491 Helen (Euripides)  1155 Heliopolis (pl.)  62, 87, 334, 352, 432, 463, 603, 638, 660, 696, 718, 722–4, 726, 730, 731, 804, 827, 838, 845, 861, 974, 978, 980, 989, 1076 Heliopolitan priesthood  834 Hellanicus of Lesbos  1156 Hellenism  91, 739, 758, 893, 953, 1169 Hellenistic cults in Egypt  749–50 Hellenization  482, 758, 1160 Hellenocentricism 1155 Hellström, P.  1112, 1132 helmets  545, 567, 682 Helmi, A.  155, 163, 330, 551, 555, 567, 675, 1188, 1190 Helwan (pl.)  248, 352, 593, 611, 1189 Hemaka, tomb of  612 hemicrania 410 hemispherical cups  321 hemp 333 Henan Museum (Zhengzhu, China)  68 entrance 68f Hendrick, S.  573, 574, 576, 578, 580, 582, 584, 586, 588, 590, 592, 594 Hendrickx, S.  11, 19, 20, 25, 26, 30, 145, 229, 263, 280, 322, 323, 330, 384, 403, 477, 489, 521, 523, 525, 534, 573, 574, 578–81, 584–9, 591–5, 601, 616, 653, 768, 775, 986, 1113, 1115, 1128, 1133 henotheism  820, 850 Henput-Neshi (pl.) 783 Henu (steward)  999, 1118 Heptanomia 753 Heqanakht Papyri (2002, Allen)  886, 984, 1066 Hera, temple of  722 Heracleopolis, kingdom of  635, 737, 990 Herakleion Crete-Egypt exhibition catalogue 547 Herakleopolis town  501, 509, 621, 622, 630, 635, 636, 684, 698, 702, 704, 706–8, 710, 718, 723, 731, 782, 977, 998, 999, 1005 Herakleopolitan rulers  477, 487, 544, 622, 633, 698, 702, 704–6, 712, 729, 730, 986, 998, 1118 Herakleopolitans  639, 702 Heraklion (Thonis)  729 heralds 784 herbarium  121, 126, 127 Herbert, E. W.  191, 193, 308 Herbich, T.  26, 205, 211, 229, 254, 262, 263, 622, 633 herbs  48, 138, 496, 1135 herding  497, 576, 594 Herihor (21st Dynasty)  501, 670, 674, 690–4, 698, 710, 816

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1235 Herihor (army officer under Rameses XI)  501, 670, 674, 679, 690–4, 698, 710, 714–15, 719, 816, 819 Herishef (chief god of Herakleopolis)  704, 707, 710 heritage protection  244–7 Hermapion (text)  111 hermeneutics  82, 83, 887 texts 1097–8 hermeticism  79, 83, 85–7, 89, 93 Hermopolite kings  702, 704–6, 1027, 1107 Herod (Bible)  81 Herodotean 1157 Herodotus of Halicarnassus  81, 112, 709, 721, 1155 writings of  34, 45, 46, 79, 81, 91, 99, 154, 163, 212, 269, 281, 282, 333, 351, 409, 428, 440, 494, 506, 510, 512, 620, 721, 722, 724–8, 731, 735, 738, 739, 743, 755, 848, 856, 866, 1155–7, 1159, 1165, 1167–9 Hesira, tomb of  459 Hesunebef (slave)  815 hes-vases 323 Hetepdief (3rd Dynasty)  448 Hetepherakhet from Saqqara  979, 996, 997 Hetepheres, gilded chair of  841 Hetepsekhemwy (2nd Dynasty)  611, 613 Hezekiah of Judah  708 Hibis, temple of  728, 733, 738, 983, 986, 1074, 1082, 1130 Hierakonpolis 179f elite cemetery  586f hieratic 876–7 hieroglyphics decipherment of  897–8 Egyptian grammars, early progress  914–6 text 670f tradition 883–4 writing 874–5 Hieronymus of Cardia  1158 high-cultural dimensions  883–6 Hikade, T.  169, 190, 223, 229, 444, 453, 518, 521, 531, 534, 1120, 1133 Hilaria (saint)  1100 Hillat el-Arab (pl.)  481, 491 Hintze, F.  489, 939, 945, 951, 1125, 1127, 1133, 1140, 1151 Hippolytus of Rome  1097 hippopotamus  152, 379, 528, 592 hunt, Mereruka at Saqqara (c.2350 bc) 152f ivory duck cosmetic dish  528f Hisn el-Bab (pl.)(Aswan) 137 histochemical stains  418 histology 417–18 historical texts  971–84 chronicles 973–6 King lists  975–6 Royal annals  973–5 definitions 971–3 future directions in study of  982–3 private narratives  979–81

royal narratives  977–9 building activities  978–9 warfare 977–8 source material  971–3 suggested reading  983–4 writings 1101 historicism  57, 81 historicity  21, 52, 607, 629, 633, 665, 740, 931 historiography 1037–8 history of Egyptology  33–45 ancient sources  34–5 archaeobotany 125–9 art and objects, storylines of  89–90 context 33–4 cosmology 497–501 Egypt and Nubia  286–90 Egyptian 1188–91 Enlightenment sources  35–7 faunal studies  154–7 histories of Egyptology  42–4 lexicography 897–901 mapping Egypt  197–200 medieval sources  35–7 Napoleonic invasion  37–8 nineteenth Century (early-mid)  38–9 nineteenth Century (late)  39–40 pottery 312–14 Renaissance sources  35–7 researching procurement landscapes  166–71 suggested reading  45 twentieth century (early)  39–40 twentieth-century Egyptology  40–1 Wadi Hammamat  242–4 Hittite chariot Battle of Kadesh  665f Hittite empire  661–5, 668, 672, 814 Hittites  514, 662, 666, 676 Hittitology  68, 514 Hobbs, R.  229, 230, 575, 576, 578, 591 Hoch, W. J.  555, 904, 907, 948, 951 Hoffman, M. A.  121, 290, 302, 307, 532, 538, 539, 573, 578, 593, 616, 635 Hoffmann, F.  446, 454, 733, 807, 846, 847, 850, 853, 895, 1024, 1027–9, 1036, 1039, 1055, 1056, 1063, 1068, 1073, 1074, 1076–8, 1080, 1082–6, 1089, 1091, 1123, 1128, 1133, 1148, 1151, 1163, 1168 Hoffmeier, J.  254, 263, 531, 534, 865, 903, 907 Höflmayer, F.  520, 527, 528, 532, 535, 546, 559 Hofmann, T.  671, 677, 679, 797, 807 holistic mummy studies  414–16 Holland, T.  316, 330, 721, 731, 735 hollowing-out techniques  371 Holocene period  25, 106, 110, 111, 114, 115, 118, 122, 123, 144, 150, 265, 305, 309, 311, 575, 593–5, 1134, 1136 Hölscher, U.  466, 469, 497, 510, 698, 715 Holthoer, R.  273, 280, 315, 322, 323, 329, 330

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1236   Index Homer  85, 556, 559, 741, 1155 Homeric epic tradition  57, 961, 1155 Iliad and Odyssey  540 homilies  1098, 1099, 1101 hominids  165, 174 honey  327, 974, 1047, 1054 Hor (13th Dynasty)  357, 646, 1077, 1089 tomb at Dahshur  357f wooden statue, tomb at Dahshur  646f Horace 158 Horapollo  36, 84, 90, 854, 880, 894, 1161 Hieroglyphica (5th Century ad) 84 Horappolo  840, 895 Hordedef (author)  1011 Hordjedef (son of Khufu)  626 Horejs, B.  262, 328 Horemheb (18th Dynasty)  395, 438, 467, 481, 528, 542, 568, 662, 663, 665–7, 679–81, 786, 984, 986, 988, 1120 Hori (royal butler)  775, 816 horns  151, 393, 752, 829 horns-ears 581 Hornung, E.  19, 26, 28, 51, 62, 93, 94, 370, 378–80, 382–4, 386, 388, 391, 394, 395, 397–9, 403, 462, 467, 469, 542, 559, 592, 619, 631–3, 636, 637, 656, 657, 661, 679, 715, 734, 820, 828–32, 842, 851, 853, 1115, 1133 horoscopes  881, 1096 horsemanship 660 horses  140, 156, 481, 489, 708, 978, 1120 Horsheri (scribe)  1014 Horsnell, M. J. A.  610, 616 horticulture  129, 150 Horus  71, 230, 263, 360, 361, 376, 380, 381, 393, 398, 446, 451, 452, 476, 532, 538, 539, 597, 606–8, 610–3, 616, 635, 658, 659, 663, 665, 673, 681, 719, 748, 750, 780, 782, 824, 826, 827, 854, 889, 953, 975, 998, 1010, 1018, 1078, 1079, 1114–6, 1130, 1131, 1133, 1140, 1141, 1148, 1151 Horus of Hutnesu (god)  663 Horus Qa-a  1131, 1133 Horus-name  376, 597, 613, 640 Horus-of-the-Camp 718 Horus­on­the­crocodiles­stelae  1046 Horus-stelae 884 Horwerrê, stela of  1119 Houston, S. D.  60, 887, 889, 893, 894, 1093 Hu, cemetery of  264, 587, 594, 825 Hulin, L.  11–13, 493, 494, 496, 498, 500, 502–6, 508–10, 512, 543, 559 hulled barley (Hordeum vulgare)  127, 134, 136 grains 136f human mobility  10–15 human remains  419–21 human-headed items  354, 380, 606 humanism  36, 80, 84, 1154 human-plant relationships  127, 128, 143

human-shaped manifestations  376, 383 humidification process  343 humidity  1208–10, 1212, 1213 hunter-gatherers  191, 227, 308, 575, 576 Hurghada Museum  1189 Hurreyet Razna Museum (Zagazig)  1189 husbandry  144, 156, 158–60, 1078 hut circles  168 hutkaptah (temple)  207 huts 139 Huy, tomb of  368, 401, 662, 850 Huyge, D.  15, 27, 30, 217, 229, 580, 582–4, 593, 1112, 1113, 1116, 1130, 1133 hybridization 479 hydraulic management/empire theory  71, 120, 121, 306, 350, 779, 790 hydrogen 1213 hydrological investigations  114, 123, 198 hydrophilic clay  1210 hyenas  613, 669 hygrophytic species  108–10 Hyksos culture and rulers  649–50 Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (Colonna, Venetia, 1499) 84f hypoplasia  158, 160 hypostyle hall  75, 76, 438, 459, 664, 714, 800 hypotenuse 255

I

Ialysos (Rhodes)  724 Iamblichus (c.ad 245–325)  1160 Ibana (father of Ahmose)  651, 1101 ibexes  376, 380, 393, 399 Ibia (13th Dynasty)  647 Ibrahimiya Canal  102 ice core  541, 551, 558 Ichenu, king of  709 ICOMOS  232, 233, 235 iconems of power  20, 601 iconicity  872, 876, 877, 881–2, 894 iconography see also symbolism and religious iconography Aegean artefacts  546–7 iconographic evidence  501–2 Libyan 15–18 predynastic period  580–4, 582f iconology  596, 842 icons  369, 374, 376, 377, 379, 381, 382, 392–4, 397, 398, 610 icosahedron (shape)  1079, 1088 identity 50–3 ideograms  72, 376, 606 ideographic writing  376, 602, 613 ideological representation  517–19 ideology 605–7 idiolects 922 idioms  64, 750, 950

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1237 idios logos  752, 760 idolatry  79, 81, 87 idols 446 Idrisi (Arab geographer)  197 IHAC, establishment of  68–9 Ikhernofret, stele of  1101 IKONOS (internet resource)  173, 204 Ikram, S.  9, 10, 27, 30, 45, 149, 152, 153, 155, 157–60, 162–4, 235, 250, 275, 280, 341, 364, 365, 385, 386, 403, 409–11, 414, 416, 418, 419, 421, 423–5, 437–40, 488, 865, 1040, 1116, 1133 Iliad (Homer)  540, 1148, 1155 illnesses 1048–50 ill-treatment (domestic)  1058 Imagens Medicas Integradas (IMI)  417 image-oriented approach  615 imaging 416–17 the cosmos  1112–15 Imhausen, A.  23, 433, 440, 1033–40, 1049, 1053, 1054, 1085 immigration  11, 574, 575 Imperata cylindrica  134, 139 imperialism  62, 250, 263, 400, 479, 489, 490, 517, 526, 527, 529, 533, 535, 537, 538, 680, 987, 1183, 1184, 1203 Imperium Romanum  91 Imseti (deity)  361 Imukehek (tribe)  494 Inarôs, prince of rebels  727, 733, 736, 740, 1027, 1076, 1084 incantations  1041–44, 1046, 1047, 1051 incense  149, 446, 485, 538, 859, 1126 incineration 1049 India  3, 6, 49, 55, 198, 235, 483, 851, 1039 indigotin (dye)  334, 346 individualism 448 Indo-Germans 49 Indology 49 Indonesia  6, 1203 inductively coupled plasma mass spectrometry (ICP-MS)  318, 330 inedible food  133, 138 inequality  496, 589 infection  158, 413, 425 infidelity 802 infighting 663 inflation (economic)  669, 1023 infotainment 1178 infrared imagery/photography  291, 1064 in-group exclusivity  879, 880 inheritance  797, 802, 803, 807, 826, 1075 injunction (court)  796 injuries  416, 801, 805 injustice 235 ink  461, 877, 966, 1008, 1057, 1065, 1102, 1119 dippings 877 hieratic 1121 inscriptions 600

inlaid decoration  385, 404, 432, 466 innovation 1126–7 inscriptions 545–6 see also rock inscriptions chalk copies  221f coloured rock, Philae temple  218f G61 (Goyon 1957) Middle Kingdom  185f GPS recordings  225f Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarry  226f Wadi Subeira, North of Aswan city  220f insects  136, 151, 418, 419, 422, 902, 1207, 1212 Institute for History of Ancient Civilizations (IHAC)  4, 67–9, 73, 75, 76 Instruction for Kagemni, The  1009 intaglio (sealing-surface)  367 interbreeding 476 interchange 90–2 intercultural exchange  550, 1158, 1160 interdisciplinary work  14, 516–17 inter-distributary basins  106 inter-dynastic marriage  549 inter-ethnic conflict  506, 1158 interfixation 937 interlinear format  1016 intermarriage 815 internal space  429–32 international collaboration  75–6 International Conference of Egyptology  67f International Congress for Young Egyptologists (ICYE) 1 International Council of Museums-Committee for Conservation (ICOM–CC)  1216 internationalism 657 internet resources  93, 173, 204, 332, 676, 906, 1016, 1144 internships 1205 interpretatio graeca  81, 82, 1160, 1167 interregional marriage  669 inter-religious debate  1158 intersubjectivity 1050 intertextuality  57, 81, 598, 599, 934, 963 intestate inheritance  797 intestines (human)  859 intimacy 1126–7 intonation (linguistics)  944 intralingual translation  932 intransitive verbs  943 intra-site excavation  111, 254 intybus (chicory)  137 inventories  1019, 1022 Iny (22nd Dynasty)  700, 702, 704–5, 710 stele Louvre  705 Inyotef (11th Dynasty)  356, 622, 630, 639, 650, 999 Inyotef VII (17th Dynasty)  649 decree of  801, 806 Inyotef-iqer 478 Ionian culture  1155 Iouiya and Touiyu, The Tomb of (1907, T.M. Davis)  365

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1238   Index IPCF-CNR Institute (Italy)  348 Ipsus, battle of  1158 Ipuwer, Lamentations/Admonitions of  624, 800, 998, 1013 Iran  193, 308, 743 Iranian Kurdistan  520, 707 Iraq  515, 537, 539, 561, 718 wars 209 Irbastwedjanefu B (23rd Dynasty)  704 Irem region  481, 490, 663 iri-periphrasis 942 Irisu (Syrian)  667 iron  29, 53, 171, 219, 222, 532–4, 536, 739, 879, 973, 1210 oxide 219 irons 367 irrigation  101, 102, 104, 105, 110, 116, 120, 124, 198, 207, 211, 297, 779, 794, 998 Irtjet (polity)  477 Irtysen (c.2000 bc)  884, 894 Isaac (Old Testament)  1097 Isaac of Qalamun  1099–1100 Isaiah (Old Testament) The Ascension of Isaiah  1097 isfet  902, 998 Isi, king  627 Isis-Aphrodite 747 Isis-Demeter 747 Isis-Hera 749 Isisnofret (wife of Rameses II)  665, 802, 814 Iskander, N.  153, 163, 414, 416, 424, 984, 988 Islam  212, 488, 490, 491, 893, 953, 1039, 1103 Ismalia Museum  1197 Ismant el-Kharab (Kellis)  1085, 1141 Isocrates 1155 isoglosses (common features)  932, 936, 937 isomorphic correspondence  1050 isosceles triangles  255, 1036 isotope analysis  114, 157, 158, 419, 516, 567 Israel  85, 150, 212, 329, 400, 403, 404, 524, 534, 538, 539, 558, 589, 666, 680, 718, 741, 806, 832, 852, 854, 927, 989, 992 Israelites  81, 92, 331, 537, 970 Issos, battle of (332 bc) 744 Italy  46, 93, 145, 212, 424, 428, 439, 454, 555, 566, 568, 569, 752, 755, 1053 Itefib (father of Khety (II))  782 ithyphallic statues  446, 848 Itjtawy city  642, 647, 650, 975 Iuput I (22nd Dynasty)  691, 699, 702, 704, 710 Iuput II (23rd Dynasty)  688, 699, 706, 710 Iuwelot, decree of  964 Iversen, E.  51, 62, 80, 93, 95, 428, 439, 834, 842, 881, 886, 889, 1119, 1134 Ivorra, S.  128, 141, 148 ivory  158, 162, 163, 370, 375, 460, 462, 499, 527–8, 536, 590, 609, 961, 971, 1210–11

Hippopotamus 528f Iyenkhenemu (name)  612

J

jackals  613, 823, 834 jackal-headed sphinxes  834 Jacob (Old Testament)  81, 91, 1097 Jacoby FGrHist  1156, 1158, 1165, 1166 Jacquet-Gordon, H.  323, 330, 685, 704, 705, 715, 780, 781, 791, 1079, 1085, 1123, 1125, 1128, 1134 Jaffa 532 Jamblichus (ad 240/45–320/25)  83 Jambon, E.  442, 451, 452 Jansen-Winkeln, K.  450, 454, 487, 668–71, 679, 684, 685, 688, 690, 692–5, 702, 703, 705, 707, 712, 715, 720, 723–5, 735, 875, 890, 921, 925, 932, 935, 951, 978, 983, 984, 988, 1026, 1121, 1134, 1142, 1151 Japanese Missions  130, 153 Jaritz, H.  106, 107, 113, 122, 308, 1177, 1184, 1197, 1204 jars  111, 125, 127, 130, 138, 312, 323, 329, 354, 357, 360, 361, 364, 365, 368, 384, 516, 534, 536, 538, 539, 552, 559, 695, 859 Jasnow, R.  18, 732, 805, 807, 846, 853, 884, 890, 896, 965, 970, 1007, 1017, 1020, 1023, 1029, 1072, 1074–86, 1088–1090, 1092, 1094, 1122, 1129, 1134, 1160, 1168 jasper (gemstone)  384, 555 Jay, J. E.  17, 954, 960, 962, 966, 968, 969 Jebel Adda (Lower Nubia)  475 Jebel Akhdar (‘Green Mountain’)  497 Jebel Moya (pl.)  485, 487, 489 Jebel/Gebel Uweinat (pl.)  477, 640, 653, 1112, 1117, 1127 Jeffreys, D.  5, 7, 49, 53, 61, 62, 89, 95, 112, 117, 122, 197, 198, 200, 202, 204, 206, 208, 210, 212, 252–4, 256, 263, 271, 279, 280, 673, 679, 1174, 1178, 1183, 1184, 1203 Jehoiakim (king of Judah, 609–598 bc) 741 Jeme (Medinet Habu)  1105, 1110 Jéquier, G.  189, 229, 437, 439, 442, 453, 1124, 1134 Jerash (Jordan)  197, 211 Jericho (Jordan Valley)  316, 330, 393 Jerusalem  211, 212, 329, 330, 385–7, 389, 391, 395, 396, 400, 453, 534, 539, 557–9, 589, 708, 725, 864, 918, 950, 987, 993, 1030, 1031, 1068, 1083 Jesuit scholars  36, 914 jetstream 118 jewel beetle (Steraspis squamosa) 384 jewellery  340, 350, 371, 393, 400, 401–2, 408, 411, 460, 547, 548, 564, 1189, 1207, 1212 jewels 404 Jewish writings  83, 649, 727, 1156, 1159 Jews  745, 1158, 1170 John of Nikiou  1099, 1101 Joppa, Capture of  1009, 1110 Jordan (pl.)  186, 197, 238, 533 Joseph (Old Testament)  87 in the garden of Potiphar  88f

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1239 Josephson, J.  451, 454, 728, 730, 736, 745, 746, 758 Josephus, Flavius (ad 37/8–c.100)  35, 516, 1156, 1158, 1170 Josiah of Judah  724, 736, 739, 741 Journal of Ancient Civilizations (JAC)  69 Joyce, R.  56, 63 jubilee (royal)  387, 464, 500, 661, 668, 697, 955, 960, 1085, 1115, 1123 see also Heb-Sed Judah, Kingdom of  708, 724, 739, 741 Judas, Gospel of  1097, 1108 Judeo-Christian West  56 Judeophobia 1170 judicial system see court proceedings; tribunals Julian’s visit to Egypt  1159 Julius Africanus (c.ad 160/70–240)  35, 1156 Juncus (wetland plant)  109 Junge, F.  449, 454, 724, 736, 791, 792, 808, 878, 890, 910, 919–21, 925, 926, 930–2, 934, 951, 952, 964, 970, 1066, 1134 jungles 99–100 Junker, H.  858, 865, 899, 1101, 1108, 1142–45, 1151 Jupiter Capitolinus (Roman god)  750 jurisdiction, levels of  804 juristic papyrology  1074, 1088, 1109, 1110, 1134 Jurman, C.  19, 27, 306, 403, 482, 487, 489, 684, 687, 688, 691, 706, 707, 711, 712, 715, 716, 723, 726, 736 Justinian, Emperor  475 Juvenal (ad  47–127)  82, 83, 1158, 1168

K

Kaaper (5th Dynasty official)  449 Kadesh (pl.)  659, 663–5, 681, 683 Kadesh, Battle of Hittite chariot  665f Kadimala (Karimala), inscription of  481 Kafrel-Sheikh province  30 Kahl, J.  384, 403, 611, 613, 616, 630, 633, 634, 651, 654, 723, 726, 729, 736, 739, 782, 791, 873, 890, 900, 907, 912, 925, 929, 934, 951 Kahn, D.  400, 482, 487, 489, 520, 535, 701, 708, 709, 712, 716, 722, 724, 725, 727, 736 Kahun (pl.)  14, 126, 148, 287, 309, 392, 430, 541, 564, 653, 654, 786, 800, 801, 806, 813, 972, 1013, 1039, 1044 Kaigemni (pl.) 624 Kákosy, L.  451, 454, 1023, 1029, 1046, 1053 Kalabsha (pl.)  1140, 1141 Kamal, Ahmed (1851–1923)  1177 Kamares cave  541 Kambut (pl.)  503, 509 Kammerzell, F.  24, 724, 736, 872, 884, 885, 887, 890, 891, 902, 908, 913, 926, 930, 932, 933, 937, 938, 945, 948, 949, 951, 1132 Kamose, king (Upper Egyptian 17th Dynasty)  651, 658, 972, 988, 1010, 1060 inscriptions 934

Kanais inscription  934, 952 Kanawati, N.  420, 424, 620, 621, 628, 629, 631, 634, 775, 789, 791, 792, 798, 807, 858, 865 Kandake Amanitore  484 Kandake Shanakdakheto  484 Kantor, H.  516, 521, 535, 563 Kaper, O.  17, 22, 26, 27, 329, 366, 487, 509, 511, 674, 679, 711–3, 715–9, 723, 728, 736, 756, 758, 869, 889, 970, 985, 1069, 1082, 1118, 1125, 1134, 1138, 1146, 1151 Kaplony, P.  368, 369, 374–7, 399, 403, 518, 535, 608, 611, 612, 616 Kaplony-Heckel, U.  638, 654, 913, 926, 1021–23, 1026, 1029, 1030, 1072–4, 1086 Karanis (Ptolemaic-period settlement)  138, 1029, 1092, 1192, 1197 Kar-Banite, battle of  708 Kār-Bēl-Mātāti (Sais)  709 Karetsou, A.  12, 27, 547, 555, 557, 559, 560, 563, 565, 569 Karnak 112 Cachette  442, 451, 452, 688, 695, 730, 733, 811, 816 Great Hypostyle Hall  459f temple: Amenhotep and Rameses IX  670f Hypostyle Hall (2016)  75f Thutmose III  518f White Chapel  465f Kashta (25th Dynasty)  706, 711 Kashta, Tefnakht I  706, 711 Kassala, culture of  486 Kasser, R.  881, 890, 905, 908, 933, 951, 1097, 1108 Kasubi Tombs (Uganda)  237, 250 Katary, S. L. D.  102, 123, 671, 679, 766, 775, 968, 970 Katebet, mummy of  361 Katimala, queen  488, 1122, 1130 Kawa (pl.)  14, 29, 479, 481, 482, 492, 707 Kay (son of Nehery)  631 Kayemnofret, Offering Chapel of (fig)  126 Kea (pl.) 562 Keel, O.  367–71, 377, 379, 387–93, 395, 399, 403, 404 Kees, H.  792, 811, 819, 840, 842, 857, 862, 863, 865, 990 Keftiu people  350, 560, 562, 564, 566, 568, 681 Kehek (western desert group)  499 Kelany, A.  5, 7, 172, 176, 185–8, 190, 191, 193, 214, 216, 218–20, 222, 224, 226–30, 232, 234, 236, 238, 240, 242, 244, 246, 248–50, 280 Kellia (pl.) 207 Kellis (settlement site)  22, 128, 150, 1098, 1103, 1108, 1141 Kelsey Museum of Archaeology  138, 556, 558 Kenamun, tomb of  337 Kenherkhepeshef (scribe)  815 Kenting (survey company)  205 Kenya  122, 485 Keper (Meshwesh chief)  668 Kephalaia (Coptic codex)  1098

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1240   Index Kerma (pl.)  14, 160–2, 282, 394, 441, 442, 455, 456, 475–80, 482, 486, 488, 489, 650, 1111, 1129 Kerma-ware 479 kermes (organic dye)  334 Kessler, D.  102, 123, 404, 454, 730, 736, 792, 1068 Kestner-Museum (Hannover)  385, 391, 400, 423, 1052 Khaba (3rd Dynasty)  619 Khababash (mid-330s bc) 730 Khaemhat, tomb of  352 Khaemnun (workman)  815 Khaemwase (son of Iuwelot)  964 Khafra (4th Dynasty)  118, 212, 355, 371, 436, 448, 476, 620, 627 life-sized statue of  168f Khakaura Senusret  III see Senusret III Khakaura-maa-kheru (pl.) 287 Khakheperra Senusret  II see Senusret II Khamudi (15th Dynasty)  648 Khaneferra Sobekhotep see Sobekhotep IV Khansu temple  1134 khanto-fields 784 Kharga oasis  207, 208, 440, 496, 500, 503, 577, 590, 674, 676, 727, 728, 983, 1060, 1081, 1122, 1130, 1133, 1141 Khartoum region  475, 485, 486 Khasekhemra Neferhotep I see Neferhotep I Khasekhemwy fort  609, 611, 613, 615 Khasty (the foreigner)  610 khat (head cloth)  344, 345 Khayan sealings  655 Khedive Abbass Helmi II  1176, 1188 kheker-frieze 463 Khentkawes, queen (4th/5th Dynasty)  812 Khentkawes, town (Giza)  147, 260, 264, 284, 430, 624, 627 Kheperkara Senusret I see Senusret I Khepri (scarab-god)  383, 405, 890 Kheruef, tomb of  677, 960 Kheti I  633, 998, 1009, 1011, 1037 Instruction of  1009, 1011, 1037 tomb of  338, 339 composite drawing of the tomb  339f Kheti (II), son of Itefib  782 Khnum Temple  234, 484, 785, 1140, 1141 Khnumhotep I of Beni Hasan  639, 652, 980 Khnumhotep II of Beni Hasan  982, 983, 989, 996, 999, 1000 Khnumhotep III of Beni Hasan  339, 639, 652, 654, 791 composite drawing of the tomb  339f Khoiak texts/festival  846, 853, 1078, 1084, 1144 Khons, temple of  501, 1140, 1141 Khonsu temple  395, 693, 694, 713–5, 1002, 1085, 1134 Khor Abu Subeira (pl.) 584 Khor Adindan (pl.) 118 Khor el-Aquiba (pl.)  619, 634, 1117, 1134 Khouzam, A. F.  897, 908, 913, 914, 926, 936, 951

Khufu (pl.)  73, 75, 77, 115, 122, 130, 428, 429, 435, 440, 448, 453, 620, 623, 626, 1189, 1195 Khuwy-Sobek (soldier)  980 Khyan (Hyksos ruler)  546, 649 kilns  281, 299, 322, 330, 445 kilts  341, 343, 502, 566, 687–8 kin groups  12, 176, 183 king-lists  53, 483, 501, 520, 614, 617, 975–6, 991, 1157, 1169 kinship  16, 293, 424, 490, 495, 781, 785, 787, 819, 1135 kiosks  484, 780 Kircher, A.  36, 46, 85–7, 86f, 94, 95, 913–15, 926 knapping debris  278, 282, 503 kneeling  338, 387, 393, 394, 396, 448 knife-handles  601, 611 knives  29, 162, 371, 522, 537, 539, 585, 595, 606, 611, 825, 863, 1137 Knossos (Crete)  26, 540, 541, 545, 546, 557–9, 563, 567, 569, 675 knots  58, 335, 342 knowledge-sharing 182 Kobusiewicz, M.  123, 147, 306, 308, 574, 576, 578, 593 Koenig, W.  155, 163, 414, 424, 433, 439, 1051 Kôm el-Khilgan (pl.) 574 Kom Helul (Roman period)  277, 281 Kom Usheim storehouse museum  1192, 1197, 1200–2, 1200f named in memory of Ali Radwan  1202f guard tower and garden  1201f Komir temple  1140 Korca Basin (Albania)  122 Kordofan (pl.)  475, 485 Kore (Greek deity)  750 Kos (pl.) 544 kouroi figures  442 Kousoulis, P.  328, 552, 559, 560, 656, 676, 680, 724, 737, 738, 743, 1018, 1047, 1048, 1052, 1053 Kozloff, A.  24, 387, 404, 445–8, 454, 660, 675, 680, 984, 989, 1173, 1178, 1180, 1184, 1204 Krasat Muthafia (Arabic booklet)  6, 1201 Krauss, R.  26, 28, 559, 592, 632, 633, 636, 637, 656, 679, 690–2, 702, 715, 716, 734 Kruchten, J.-M.  663, 680, 786, 792, 802, 807, 931, 941, 951 Kubaniya South (pl.) 392 Kufur Nigm (pl.)  1183, 1203 Kuhlmann, K.-P.  726, 737, 1117, 1126, 1134 Kumma temple  488, 972 Kurdistan  520, 707 Kurgus (pl.)  658, 659, 677, 1120, 1131 Kurkur oasis  676, 677, 790 kurrat (leek)  137 Kurth, D.  853, 854, 875, 877, 886, 890, 912, 926, 953, 1119, 1134, 1140, 1142, 1144–52 Kushite kingship  397, 467, 468, 475, 479–82, 486, 489, 490, 492, 494, 501, 507, 684, 687, 707, 708, 716, 717, 721–3, 725, 842, 978, 983, 1003

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1241 Kushites  479, 497, 507, 714–6 kyky (inscribed name)  935, 955 Kyphi, making of  1156 Kythera (pl.) 544

L

La Venaria Reale (CCR)  348 Labyrinth at Hawara  428, 435, 438, 644, 653 Lacau, P.  464, 469, 603, 608, 612, 613, 617, 780, 792, 800, 807, 851, 853, 884, 890, 903, 908 Lachish (pl.)  393, 537, 708 Lacovara, P.  292, 298, 308, 322, 332, 351, 478, 488, 489, 673, 680, 858, 864, 1180, 1183 Lactantius (c.250–c.350)  83 Ladynin, I. A.  725, 730, 731, 737 Laffineur, R.  24, 28, 149, 547, 549, 551–3, 555, 556, 558, 560–3, 565–9 lagoons  100, 105–6, 503 Lahun (pl.)  106, 112, 146, 283, 286, 287, 301, 309, 329, 342, 352, 392, 435, 638, 643, 653, 764, 790, 818, 985, 1013, 1027, 1028, 1030, 1034, 1035, 1038, 1039, 1043, 1052, 1059, 1061, 1063, 1067 Lake Turkana (pl.)  114, 122 lake-hieroglyph 606 lakes  111, 122, 208, 829 Lalouette, C.  977, 979, 983, 989 Lamb of Bocchoris  1077 Lament of Khakheperraseneb  1011, 1013 lamentation literature  998, 1004 lamentations  21, 624 Lamentations of Ipuwer  624 lamps  418, 751, 755, 756 lances 748 land-grants 783 Landsat (internet resource)  173, 204 image of Cairo (1978)  204f landscape archaeology  171–2, 429–32 language 1019–1020 see also language, Egyptian; see also under individual language groups general principles of representation  870–74 language, Egyptian  930–47 cultural and social history, elements of  932–36 linguistic history, selective presentation of  936–46 Afroasiatic background  936–7 Earlier Egyptian  945–6 functional domains  943–5 further changes  944–5 Later Egyptian  945–6 nominal morphology  939–40 phonology 938–9 syntax 939–40 verbal morphology  940–43 mechanisms and factors of change  946–9 periodization of the language  930–2 suggested reading  949 lapidary form of hieratic  18, 460, 569, 878, 882, 933, 1111, 1116, 1118, 1119, 1121

lapis lazuli  370, 514, 523, 611, 615 Larsen, M. T.  61, 63, 405, 489, 531, 533, 537, 741, 1091 larvae 1212 laryngologists 414 laser analysis  111, 216, 229, 230 Laskowska-Kusztal, E.  1141 Late Palaeolithic period grinding stone rough-outs  177f Late Period (664–332 bc) 720–31 autobiographical texts  1003–4 background 720–1 future research directions  730–1 genealogies 816–17 national administration  772–3 rock art and graffiti  1122–3 suggested reading  731 Thirtieth Dynasty  728–30 Thirty-First Dynasty  728–30 Twenty-Eighth Dynasty  728–30 Twenty-Ninth Dynasty  728–30 Twenty-Seventh Dynasty  726–8 Twenty-Sixth Dynasty  721–6 Lathyrus  135, 140 Latin  80, 82–5, 91, 94, 131, 753, 756, 848, 898, 1020, 1060, 1089, 1103, 1109, 1154, 1155, 1157–63, 1165–9 sources 1154–66 background 1154–5 epigraphy 1161–5 literary sources  1155–61 papyrology 1161–5 suggested reading  1165–6 laundry workers  338, 343 law 795–805 see also court proceedings; divorce; legal documentation; legal transactions; marriage; property; punishment; royal decrees; tribunals; women’s rights background 795 conceptual terms  795–6 First Intermediate Period  796–9 Middle Kingdom  800–1 New Kingdom  801–5 Old Kingdom  796–9 Second Intermediate Period  800–1 suggested reading  805 Third Intermediate Period  801–5 lawyer-poets 1101 layers and levels (Schichten, Planum)  257 Leahy, T.  11, 187, 191, 262, 310, 364, 423, 450, 454, 489, 505–11, 685–9, 700–2, 706, 711, 712, 716, 720–6, 728, 730, 732, 734, 736–8, 740, 742, 816, 819, 972, 989, 1004, 1069, 1090, 1132 leases  800, 804, 1023, 1029, 1073, 1075, 1162 leather  158, 697, 800–2, 978, 986, 1034, 1039 leatherworking  302, 303 leaves  125, 130, 1104 Lebanon  141, 329, 400, 530, 533, 536, 974 products 708

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1242   Index Leclant, J.  36, 46, 161, 488, 540, 561, 854, 863, 910, 984, 989, 1073, 1094, 1163, 1167, 1170 lector priests  603 lecture theatre  75, 411, 1179 lectures  6, 66, 67, 75, 77, 593, 757, 864, 1109, 1201 Leeds Mummy414,  423 leek 137 legal documentation see also law First Intermediate Period  798–9 Middle Kingdom  800 New Kingdom  803–4 Old Kingdom  798–9 Second Intermediate Period  800 Third Intermediate Period  803–4 legal texts (codes/protocols)  1074–5 legal transactions see also law First Intermediate Period  798–9 Middle Kingdom  800 New Kingdom  803–4 Old Kingdom  798–9 Second Intermediate Period  800 Third Intermediate Period  803–4 legends 972 legislation  424, 800, 802, 1215 Legrain, G.  189, 229, 442, 443, 452, 454, 617, 733, 811, 819 legs  383, 389–91, 606, 688, 829, 884 legumes  135, 139–40, 147 Leiden Conference (2007)  696t Leitz, C.  383, 384, 404, 780, 792, 847, 853, 854, 875, 886, 890, 1042, 1047, 1051, 1053, 1080, 1087, 1088, 1091, 1092, 1139–42, 1144–9, 1152 Lembke, K.  745, 752, 756, 758, 759, 890, 951 lemmatization900,  902, 905 lentils (Lens culinaris) 137 lentoid seals  379 Leontopolis (pl.)  699, 706, 709, 710, 990 Leontopolite dynasty  699 Leprohon, R.  20, 555, 971–4, 976, 978, 980, 982, 984, 986, 988–90, 992, 995, 1005 leprosy 418 Lepsius, K. R.  38, 198, 200, 210, 212, 216, 217, 223, 230, 286, 356, 365, 502, 559, 637, 898, 908, 909, 915, 926, 982, 989 Lesbos (pl.) 1156 Lethieullier family  364 Letopolis (pl.) 749 letters 1055–66 background 1055 chronological survey  1058–60 to the dead  1061–2 definition 1055–6 format 1057–8 to gods  1061–2 literary 1062–3 model 1062–3 problems in understanding  1063–4

purpose 1056–7 research possibilities  1064–5 as source material  1060–1 suggested reading  1065–6 women’s correspondence  1061 writing materials  1057 lettuce (Lactuca sativa) 137 levee lineaments  115 Lévi-Strauss, C.  52, 62, 295, 303, 308 Levy, T. E.  121, 517, 524, 525, 530–7, 539, 592, 593, 597, 615 lexicography 897–905 current trends  901–5 current research  903–4 databases vs. dictionaries  904–5 specificities of lexicography of ancient Egypt 901–2 writing dictionaries today  904–5 history of  897–901 hieroglyphs, decipherment of  897–8 Ptolemaic temple texts  1142–4 suggested reading  905 Wörterbuch 898–901 origins of work on  897–8 post- 900–1 Li Xiaodong Karnak Temple (2016)  75f Libyans 493–509 archaeological evidence  503–5 background 493 cosmology 497–501 culture 495–7 Egyptian view of  497–501 environment 495–7 geography 495–7 history 497–501 iconographic evidence  501–2 issues 508–9 Libyan Palette  599f Libyan-Sea  666, 668 Libyan-style 505 Libyan tribes, Bates’ conjectural map of the homes of 499f Libyanization 687 Libyanness 508 material culture in the New Kingdom  503–5 names 493–5 represented in the tomb of Seti I  502f suggested reading  509 Third Intermediate Period in Egypt  505–8 licensing archaeological work  201 lift-irrigation agriculture  207 ligatures  876–8, 1064, 1072 Lighthouse of Alexandria  65, 75, 428 lighting system  437 lightweight materials  1211 lily 936

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1243 Lilyquist, C.  371, 404, 528, 529, 536, 547, 550, 561, 660, 680 limbs  411, 413 limestone  109, 115, 315, 322, 371, 432, 435, 436, 458, 464–7, 575, 577, 623, 912, 980, 996, 1128, 1137, 1198, 1210, 1217 Limmer-iššaku-Aššur (pl.)(Athribis) 709 limne (basins)  104 lineages  57, 495, 813 linear enamel hypoplasia (LEH)  160 linear hieroglyphs  875–6 line-by-line commentary  1021 line-drawings 296 linen  333–5, 341, 346–7, 1211–1 see also textiles production of  336–7 symbolism 346–7 uses of  340–5 linguistic history, selective presentation of  936–46 see also language linseed  138, 338 Linseele, V.  128, 150, 156, 159, 163, 164, 576, 591, 593, 595 lintels 754 linum usitatassimum (flax/linseed)  134, 138, 337 lions  379–81, 393, 399, 562 lion-cat 827 lion-shaped seals  382 lioness  827, 828 lioness-headed 446 lipids  425, 519 Lippert, S.  23, 767, 775, 795, 796, 798–800, 802–8, 845, 853, 854, 892, 1019, 1020, 1024, 1026, 1030, 1072–5, 1077, 1081–4, 1086, 1087, 1090, 1092, 1095 lips 746 liquefied mudbrick  111, 118, 1208 Lisbon Mummy Team  417 Lisht (pl.)  327, 358, 392, 394, 436, 464, 555, 642, 652 list-making 967 Liszka, K.  171, 191, 218, 222, 230, 1057, 1064, 1068 literacy in ancient Egypt  959–69 background 959–61 chronological developments  969–66 current debates  967–9 suggested reading  969 literary texts  1007–16 artefacts 56–8 background 1007–8 biographies 1013–14 context 1014–16 demotic texts  1076–8 fine speaking  1012–13 instructions 1011–12 letters 1063–4 literature, definition of  1008–11 sources 1155–61 suggested reading  1016 transcription, note on  1016

travel narratives  1013–14 use 1014–16 literature, definition of  1008–11 lithic studies  143, 282, 298, 575, 576 Lithospermum 135 litigation 1075 Little Ice Age  114, 123, 551, 558 liturgical texts  847, 936, 1010, 1043, 1078, 1083, 1096, 1101, 1105 liturgy  1043, 1052 livestock  25, 151, 158, 160 lizards 381 loanwords  872, 901, 909, 911, 933–4, 936, 948, 956, 1104 loaves of bread  127 local administration  778–90 assessment of  788–9 nome system  780–5 Middle Kingdom  782–3 New Kingdom  783–5 Old Kingdom  780–1 offices 785–8 provinces 780–5 research questions  778–9 settlement patterns  779 structures 785–8 control of individuals  786–7 local administration of law  788 local councils  787–8 village administration  787–8 suggested reading  789–90 local and provincial museums  1196–7 local councils  787–8 local dialogues  245–6 local Egyptian initiatives  184–6 local livelihoods  244–7 lockers (secured)  1199 locks and keys  368 Lod (pl.)  524, 539 lodges 87 Logan, T.  521, 539, 581, 595, 1024, 1030, 1114, 1115, 1137 Logbook of Merer  980 logograms  870–2, 874, 876, 878, 902 logographic stroke  870–1, 874, 875 logo-phonetic traditions  882 logo-phonographic systems  869 logos  80, 752, 759, 760 logs  110, 1029 Lohwasser, A.  391, 403, 404, 406, 481, 487, 489, 490, 711, 712, 717, 732 loincloths 343 Lolium  134, 139 Londesborough, Lord  411 Longhorn cattle  164 longitudinal channels  101, 104, 115 looms  336, 339–40, 352 loose-leaf printed format  364, 1181 looting  4, 209, 235, 300, 1188, 1198, 1203

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1244   Index Loprieno, A.  48, 50, 57, 60–3, 189, 440, 518, 536, 635, 828, 831, 872, 891–2, 894, 919–21, 923, 926, 928, 930, 934, 937–8, 944, 945, 949, 952, 955, 995, 1005, 1016, 1017, 1083, 1087, 1093, 1107, 1150 Lorton, D.  445, 446, 454, 679, 795, 796, 807, 831, 832, 864, 982, 984, 990 lot-and-locus system  258 lotus (species)  127, 130, 374, 381–2, 389, 390, 392, 558, 568, 734, 936 low-tech surveys  132, 254 low-transitivity events  937 low-tree savanna  116 low-water channels  100, 102, 104 Loyalist Instruction  1010 Lübeck (pl.) 354 Lucan (classical author)  1159, 1169 Lucas, A.  109, 166, 171, 178, 186, 191, 223, 230, 270–2, 276, 281, 305, 308, 314, 330, 334, 346, 352, 354, 409, 414, 424, 1215 Lucian (classical author)  83 ludic dimensions  885–6 ludic writing  869, 879, 885–6 Lukka (one of Sea Peoples)  668 lunar calendar  610, 635, 716 lung disease  418 lungs  410, 859 Lüscher, B.  363, 365, 876, 891, 903, 908, 1012, 1017 Luxor (pl.)  112, 154, 167, 215, 234, 238, 260–3, 265, 410, 431, 442, 452, 455, 469, 705, 713, 977, 979, 1014, 1121, 1129, 1131, 1132, 1140, 1177, 1188, 1189, 1192, 1197, 1204 luxury items  14, 529, 611 Lydia (pl.)  709, 721, 722

M

Maadian jars  111 mace  392, 611 Macedonian rule  81, 730, 745 mace-head  598, 599, 601, 780 macrobotanical evidence  109 macro-fossils 107 macro-remains  132, 150 Madeba (mosaic map)  197 magazines (storeroom)  209, 299, 325, 336, 434, 503, 613 magical and medical texts distinction between  1041–3 magical-mythological demotic texts  1079 magico-medical works  1102 magico-religious practice  834 magnetometry  205–6, 254, 299, 437 Maharraqa (pl.) 484 Mahasna (pl.)  573, 587 Mahasun (pl.) 685 malaria  418, 419 Malawi Museum (Menyia)  1189 malnutrition 158 mammisi (birth-house)  1141, 1142

manageable Delta  105–6 Manethonian  614, 691, 734 Manichaean texts  22, 1097–8, 1106, 1108–10 Manichaeism 1098 tradition  881, 936 manicurists 769 manners and customs  19, 30, 38, 40, 64, 281, 282, 825, 827 mansions  287, 430 manslaughter  801, 805 manufacturing  322–3, 444–5 manuscripts, formal features of  1043–4 mapping 197–210 see also topography ancient Egypt  515f ancient remains at the site of Gurob  299f Aswan 215f Bates’ conjectural map of the homes of the Libyan tribes 499f cartography, application to archaeological investigations 200–2 EES Survey of Memphis  205–6 GIS 226f GPS recordings  225f history of mapping Egypt  197–200 issues 209–10 mapmaking  197, 198, 205 natural environment  208–9 Nubia 474f remote sensing  202–5 problems and challenges of  206–7 Saqqara plateau  203f sites 234f suggested reading  210 Survey of Egypt map of central Memphis  200f topography 207–8 Wadi Hammamat  215f marginal-desert oasis area  208 maritime trade  14, 24, 208, 292, 340, 552, 557, 559, 562, 742, 855, 1193 Mariutiya Drain  115 marketing  439, 1182, 1185, 1186 marl­clay  1047 Marmarica (pl.)  495, 509–12 marriage see also intermarriage; law First Intermediate Period  797–8 Middle Kingdom  801 New Kingdom  802 Old Kingdom  797–8 Second Intermediate Period  801 Third Intermediate Period  802 marshes  104, 110 marshlands  104–5, 110, 1211 marshy areas  100, 139 martyrdoms  1100, 1106, 1109 Marxist approaches  639 Masaharta A  691–4 masculine activities  604, 605

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1245 masks (mummy)  361, 364, 386, 449, 1207, 1210 masonry  17, 187, 188, 435, 439 masons’ marks  483, 888, 1074, 1083 mastaba tombs  463, 466, 594, 632, 638, 768, 775, 865 masts 1036 materiality, concept of  57, 147, 149, 263, 444, 451, 454, 876, 1052 New Kingdom  503–5 Ptolemaic Period  746–7 materials architectural/construction 434–7 language/script 1019–20 statuary 444–5 technology and  269–79 maternity  823, 824 mathematical texts  1033–8 background 1033 characteristics of Egyptian  1035–6 controversies 1037–8 historiography 1037–8 social and cultural setting  1036–7 sources 1034 suggested reading  1038 mathematics  34, 62, 429, 438, 440, 454, 1033–40 mat-making  337, 338 mat-work 523 mausoleum  428, 1177 maxims  61, 446, 1037 Mayan culture  56 mayweed 127 meat  143, 158, 163, 424 media 605–7 development of  600–2 medicine  23, 79, 92, 138, 141, 148, 151, 155, 410, 412, 421, 425, 455, 826, 846, 847, 1042, 1047–54, 1102 Medinet el-Gurob, Faiyum: date palm grove  142f Medieval period  35, 46, 50, 55, 61, 62, 83, 94, 102, 112, 118, 123, 126, 127, 138, 145, 353, 492, 495, 767, 893, 928, 929, 953, 1109 sources 35–7 Memnonium 1174 memoranda  1073, 1103 memorials  730, 1115, 1116, 1120 memories in later Egyptian history  614 memory-work 56 Memphis 755–6 importance of  748–9 maps of site  199f, 200f menageries 151 Menas of Nikiou  1099 Mensa Isiaca (Bembine Table of Isis)  85 Mentuhotep (12th Dynasty Steward): tomb (Asasif at Thebes) 355f Mentuhotep I (11th Dynasty)  640f Mentuhotep II (11th Dynasty)  336, 367, 464, 477, 622, 625, 631, 639–41, 659, 769–70, 862, 984, 999 mercenaries  488, 510, 709, 1119, 1162

merchants 512 Mereruka (at Saqqara) (c.2350 bc) 152f meritocracy 781 Meroe  482, 485–6 Pyramid in the North Cemetery  484f Meroitic period  483–4 rule  14, 475, 483, 486–8, 490–2, 872, 880, 893, 936, 1089 Mesoamerica  3, 55, 307 writing system  884 Mesopotamia  3, 55, 60, 61, 67, 178, 191, 209, 307, 403, 514, 515, 520, 521, 523–6, 531, 533, 534, 537, 538, 574, 585, 594, 598, 602, 610, 611, 614, 650, 763, 773, 776, 993, 1039, 1040, 1051, 1054, 1134 style depictions  522f messengers  1056, 1058 metal  19, 182, 192, 276, 367, 371, 380, 444, 446, 460, 467, 504, 560, 570, 689, 769, 1102, 1128, 1208–9, 1211, 1218 metallurgy  444, 504 metallurgical analysis  22, 271, 504, 1209 metalworking 282 Metamorphoses (book)  82, 1160, 1168 metaphors  152, 842, 998, 1042, 1050, 1099 metaphysical concepts  383, 451 metathesis 939 meteorological phenomena  846 metonymy 882 metrology 312 metrological systems  51, 1035–7 Metropolitan Museum of Art (MOMA) New York 528f microfilms  985, 992 microfossils 318 micro-Fourier transformed infra-red spectrometry (micro-FTIR)  348, 1064 micromorphology 143 micron mesh  132 microscopy microscopes  132, 145, 425 techniques  128, 149, 318, 348, 418, 423–5 Microsoft Excel  259 microstratigraphy  111, 114 microtopography 117 Middle Kingdom  638–52 see also Second Intermediate Period autobiographical texts  999–1001 data sources  638–9 Eleventh Dynasty  639–41 future research directions  651–2 genealogies 813 Hyksos culture and rulers  649–50 law 800–1 national administration  769–71 Nile Valley south of Egypt  478–9 nome system  782–3 rock art and inscriptions  1118–19

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1246   Index Middle Kingdom (cont.) Second Intermediate Period: general issues  648 Senusret I  170f suggested reading  652 Theban Dynasties  650–1 Thirteenth Dynasty  645–7 Twelfth Dynasty  641–5 middle-class tombs  358 millets 100 mineral resources  165–86 Aswan West Bank, deep histories of  174–8 background 165–6 comparative archaeological approaches  184–6 history of researching procurement landscapes 166–71 landscape archaeology  171–2 local Egyptian initiatives  184–6 procurement landscapes, practical and theoretical analysis of  172–84 procurement sites, holistic study of  171–2 suggested reading  186 Wadi Hammamat, landscape of contact  178–84 mineralization 131 textiles 348 mineralogical phenomena  846, 1119 mineralogy 146 minerals  165, 171, 190–2, 222, 229, 240, 241, 318, 402, 608, 903, 906 miners  187, 244, 294, 305, 306, 1116–17 miniaturization 873 mining 245–6 regions 241f Ministry of Antiquities (MoA)  236, 241, 244, 246–8, 299, 300, 1187 Ministry of Housing map of Saqqara plateau  203f Minoan  297, 309, 328–30, 332, 406, 540, 541, 543, 545, 549–51, 553–69, 674, 843 émigrés 545 Minoans  350, 543, 556 missives 1056–8 Mit Rahina  200f mnemohistory  81, 93 Mo’alla (pl.)  464, 621, 637, 998, 1006 modality (linguistics)  921, 949 moisture  100, 118, 497, 1209–11 MoLAS (Museum of London Archaeological Services, UK) 142 monarchs  463, 720, 727 monarchy  63, 476, 521, 742, 992 monasteries  138, 750, 1025, 1098, 1101, 1105 Monastery of Epiphanius  1105–6 monasticism  1098–1100, 1107, 1108 mongooses 156 monkey  157, 162, 547, 556, 565 monkey mummy, CT-scanning of  157f monks  750, 1099, 1105, 1105, 1110

monographs  120, 144, 350, 360, 510, 562, 566, 568, 570, 589, 592, 595, 805, 845, 846, 882, 950, 1069, 1098, 1107 monotheism  56, 60, 79, 81, 83, 93, 661, 820, 821, 850, 1159, 1166 Mons Claudianus  128, 150, 192 monsoonal rains  100, 114, 118 monumentality 1126–7 morality 296 Mormonism  89, 94 morphology (linguistics)  131, 155, 321, 322, 912–16, 919, 921, 931, 936–7, 939–45, 948 mortality rates  1022 mortuary cult  861–2 mosaic  197, 212, 752, 1189, 1197 motherhood 826 mottos  395, 397, 398 mould (casting technique)  359, 371, 504 moulds (bread)  323, 330, 504 mryt-people 784 Mubarak, A. (1823–93)  300, 1177 mudbrick  25, 111, 118, 139, 307, 523 wall at Shunet el-Zebib, Abydos  523f multiculturalism  543, 743, 1028, 1030, 1032, 1094 multidisciplinary research  1–24 archaeological landscapes, investigation of  6–8 archaeological practice and  9–10 contexts 21–4 cultural heritage  4–6 culture: society and  15–18 American perspectives  3–4 cross-cultural contact: debates in  10–15 ethnicity, debates in  10–15 European perspectives  3–4 historical narratives, construction of  18–21 human mobility, debates in  10–15 iconography 15–18 problem-oriented approaches  21–4 science in Egyptology  8–9 society, culture and  15–18 texts, perspectives from  15–18 multigraphic Egyptian written culture  886 multinational project teams  180, 1098 multiple forms and names  823–5 multiple-model approach  517 multispectral imaging techniques  1064, 1068 multi-storey architecture  430 multivariate statistical analysis  318, 332 mummies  409–21, 1211–12 casing 359 early history of mummies  410–16 holistic mummy studies  414–16 mummy studies, birth of  413–14 unwrapping, era of  411–13 mummy studies, birth of  413–14 science and ancient remains  416–21 data 418–19

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1247 histology 417–18 human remains  419–21 imaging 416–17 palaeopathology 417–18 specialities 418–19 technologies 418–19 sources of information  409–10 suggested reading  421–2 young boy, Thebes (17th Dynasty)  410f muqaddima Coptic glosses  913–14 murals 567 murder  734, 801, 805, 826, 1056 Musawwarat es-Sufra (pl.)  483, 492, 1140, 1151 museology  62, 1185–7 Museu Nacional de Arqueologia of Lisboa  417 Ptolemaic mummy (c.285–30 bc) 417f museum collections  1173–83 see also conservation in Egyptological museum collections; museums and storehouses acquisition 1173–5 archaeological context  1175–6 authority 1178 background 1173 display 1178 early collections  1173–5 interpretations 1180–1 museums in Egypt  1176–7 presenting ancient Egypt(s)  1178–80 research 1181 storehouses 1199 suggested reading  1182–3 visitors, engagement with  1181–2 museums and storehouses  1187–1203 archaeological-site museums  1197 archaeological storehouses in Egypt  1198–9 museum storehouses  1199 storehouses of archaeological sites  1198 storehouses of excavations  1199 storehouses of foreign missions  1199 storehouses of museums  1198 background 1187–8 categories of Egyptian  1191–3 history of Egyptian  1188–91 issues 1199–1201 local and provincial museums  1196–7 main Egyptian museums  1193 museums in Egypt  1176–7 list of Egyptian and archaeological 1189t political and social changes  1201–3 problems of Egyptian  1198 mutilation (bodily)  727, 796, 804, 884, 1100 mutiny 725 Mycenae  540, 541, 545, 547, 556, 559, 565, 568 myrrh  999, 1126 myth 825–8 mythology  26, 72, 589, 821, 823, 825, 827, 829, 831, 834, 844, 845, 850, 1008

features  444, 446, 605, 820, 824–6, 828, 838, 845, 846, 851, 1010, 1145, 1147 manuals 845

N

Nag Hammadi (pl.)  103, 104, 1098, 1109, 1110 Nag Kolorodna (pl.)  1120, 1129 Naharina 387 names  473–5, 493–5, 612–13 nantokite (corrosion product)  1209 Napata emergence of  481–2 kingdom of  475, 479, 481, 482, 491, 842 Napatan-Meroitic Civilization  487, 491 Napatan-period 442 Napoleonic invasion  36–8, 46, 49, 89, 122, 252, 272, 354, 429, 796, 1161 Naqada-culture pottery  598 Narmer  584–5, 604–7, 610–11 dual kingship of  605–7 Narmer Palette (c.3000 bc (Dynasty 0))  604f Wadi Hammamat greywacke  179f Narmuthis (pl.)  934, 1074, 1079, 1088, 1095 national administration  763–74 background  763, 773 Early Dynastic Period  767–8 Late Period  772–3 Middle Kingdom  769–71 New Kingdom  771–2 Old Kingdom  768–9 sources and research  763–6 writing and archaeology  765–6 suggested reading  773–4 Third Intermediate Period  772–3 titles 766–7 nationalism  42, 250, 538, 1185 natural environment  208–9 naturalistic scarabs  386, 391 naturalists  151, 154–6 nature and history of Egyptology see history of Egyptology Naukratis 755 nautical archaeology  28, 565, 567, 839, 903, 908 Nebamun (18th Dynasty) tomb of: ornamental garden  129f Nebhepetra Mentuhotep I (11th Dynasty) mortuary temple at Deir el-Bahri  640f Nebtawyra Mentuhotep IV (11th Dynasty)  641 necklaces  340, 367, 374, 384, 385 Nectanebo I (30th Dynasty)  727, 729–30, 746 Nectanebo II (30th Dynasty)  730, 875 Nedjefyt (pl.) 782 Neferhotep I (13th Dynasty)  647, 978 Neferkara (21st Dynasty)  690 Neferkara P. . . (23rd Dynasty)  701, 710 Nefrusi region  785 Nehesy (14th Dynasty)  649

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1248   Index Neith (crown-goddess)  610 Nekau I (24/26th Dynasty)  711, 722–3 Nekau II (25/26th Dynasty)  711, 724–5 Nekauba (24/26th Dynasty)  704, 711 nemes headdress  345, 754 Neo-Latin 932 Neolithic sites  20, 30, 63, 121, 123, 128, 136, 147, 163, 172, 189, 194, 281, 311, 331, 336, 352, 485, 503, 544, 552, 576, 589, 593, 595, 598, 1112, 1136 Neoplatonic philosophy/writings  91, 1160 Nepherites I (29th Dynasty)  729 nesting of objects  58 nets  340, 376 neutralization (linguistic)  939 New Kingdom  657–75 autobiographical texts  1001–1002 borders 1120–21 genealogies 813–15 historical overview  657 historical sources  671–4 funerary data  672–3 settlement data  673–4 Eighteenth Dynasty  657–63 future research directions  674 grinding stone rough-outs  177f law 801–5 national administration  771–2 Nile Valley south of Egypt  479–81 Nineteenth Dynasty  663–7 nome system  783–5 suggested reading  674–5 Twentieth Dynasty  667–71 New Zealand  406 new-borns 579 ‘night of the vigil’  858 Nile Delta (c.4000–3000 bc) 105f Nile floods flood levels (c.4000 bc-ad 2000)  113f trends and oscillations  111–12 Nile Valley  99–120 aeolian sands  116–17 Alleaume thesis on irrigation, critique of  102–5 alluvial wash  116–17 annual Nile flood, fluctuations in the level of  112–15 biotic landscape  109–10 desert-edge ecotone  109 environmental history  110–19 exceptional desert flooding  117–19 Faiyum depression  106–7 floodplain, free-draining and convex  100–1 geoarchaeology 110–19 Giza 110–19 landscapes 99–120 manageable Delta  105–6 minor Nile branches near Giza pyramids  115 Nile floods, trends and oscillations  111–12 pharaonic irrigation  101–2 poor floods, challenge of  115–16

primeval Nile Valley as a marsh  99–100 south of Egypt  476–85 sub-Sharan analogues  100–1 suggested reading  120 trees, sacred and ornamental  108 woodland habitats on a free-draining floodplain 107–9 Nilo-Saharan language  881, 881 Nilo-Saharan macro-phylum  880 niloticizing the desert  1112–15 Nimaatra Amenemhat  III see Amenemhat III Nimlot D (23rd Dynasty)  705–6, 710 Nimlot E (23rd Dynasty)  710 Nineteenth Dynasty  663–7 Nineveh (pl.)  708, 709, 724 Ninth Dynasty  630 Noachian deluge  828 Noah’s Ark  85 Nobadia, kingdom of  475 nobility  781, 809 nomad burials  508, 509 nomadism  11, 292, 293, 310, 504, 509, 512, 577, 607 nomarchial 794 nomarchs  445, 464, 477, 621, 622, 633, 654, 656, 782, 791, 794, 849, 980, 982, 998, 1036, 1117, 1137 nomarchal system  656, 794, 1137 nome system  780–5 Middle Kingdom  782–3 monographs 845 New Kingdom  783–5 nome-style administration  780 nome-temple 780 nomes  108, 612, 621, 622, 629, 753, 780–2, 784, 786, 982, 998 Old Kingdom  780–1 nomenclature 131 nominal morphology  939–40 non-alphabetic writing  967 non-governmental organizations (NGOs)  6, 236, 1203 non-royal statues  448–51 Norway  187–91, 193, 211, 212, 228, 230, 248–51 notaries  966, 1022, 1164 notary contracts  965 Nubia 1120–21 map of  474f Nubian A-group man (4th millennium bc) 178f Nubian tribute, painted scene  662f Nubiocentric studies  487 Nubkaura Amenemhat II see Amenemhat II Nubkheperra Inyotef VII (17th Dynasty)  649 nurses/nursing  380, 812, 814, 951 Nut (goddess)  826, 829, 830, 838 nutrition  147, 149

O

oasis fabric  317f Oates, J.  1080, 1089, 1103, 1106, 1109, 1165 oaths  1019, 1023, 1075f, 1076

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1249 obelisks  65, 82, 85, 91, 165, 189, 280, 387, 428, 432, 439, 466, 469, 628, 659, 981, 1147 object biographies  58–9 object-oriented approach  54, 615 objects of Egyptology  53–4 placed in funerary contexts  130 obsidian tools  370, 371, 461, 523, 532 obsolescence (linguistic)880–81,  945, 946 obsolescent words  903 Occultism  87, 89 Oceania  55, 193 Ockinga, B.  444, 455, 659, 663, 681, 719, 1159, 1165, 1169 Odes 1158 Odysseus  1155, 1168 Odyssey (Homer)  540, 1155 Oedipus Aegyptiacus (Kircher, Rome, 1652)  46, 86f, 87, 95 Offering Chapel of Kayemnofret, Saqqara (5th Dynasty) scene 126f offering-bearers 781 offers to enter into an agreement (υπομνημα) 1019 oils  138, 419, 903, 1146 Okavango River (Botswana)  101 old excavations, material from  325–6 Old Kingdom  619–31 see also First Intermediate Period autobiographical texts  996–7 available textual data  623–4 data deriving from settlements  624–5 data on monuments  622 end of the Old Kingdom  628–30 genealogies 811–13 Giza landscape  119f historical outline  619–22 law 796–9 national administration  768–9 nome system  780–1 rock art and graffiti  1116–17 specific historical issues  625–8 Fifth Dynasty  627–8 Fourth Dynasty  626–7 length of the First Intermediate Period  630 Ninth Dynasty  630 periods and dating  625–6 ‘reunification’ 630–1 Sixth Dynasty  628 Tenth Dynasty  630 suggested reading  631 olives  108, 127, 128, 141, 146, 148, 156, 162, 496, 511, 542, 548, 559, 599 Olympia (pl.) 428 omega-shaped symbols  393 omens  1079, 1085 omina (eclipse)  847, 1090 Omotic branch  932 Onderka, P.  514, 532, 537, 736, 1067 one-barbed harpoon  882 one-cubit-long blocks (talatat)  436

one-directional contact  517 Ong, W. J.959,  960, 966, 967, 969, 970 onion 137 Onkhsheshonqy  1077, 1091 Onnophrios 1099 Onofrio (Italian proper name)  936 onoma (Greek)  897 onomastica  846, 897, 907, 967, 1009 ontology 1012 Onuris (deity)  395, 729 onx-beetle 384 open-air sites/museums  219, 430, 431, 1177, 1197 open-area excavation  254, 258 opening of the mouth ritual  859–61 tomb of Roy TT 225  861f Oppenheim, A. L.  652, 655, 899, 908, 1129, 1217 oppression  299, 730 optically stimulated luminescence (OSL)  114, 229, 1133 oracles  714, 734, 736, 806, 850, 878, 1027 oracular decrees  685, 713–7, 729, 804, 964, 965, 970, 1079, 1122 orality  17, 61, 900, 959–63, 965–71, 1076, 1086 ancient Egypt  959–69 background 959–61 chronological developments  961–66 current debates  967–9 suggested reading  969 oral-poetic style  961 Oration 1159 oratories 276 ordered space, extension of  1115–16 Ordnance Surveys  200 ore deposits  504, 512 Oréal, E.903,  909, 922, 927, 931, 934, 944, 952 Oren, E. D.  330, 517, 530, 531, 537, 538, 545, 564, 653, 655, 673, 681, 723, 739 Orientalism  42, 47, 61, 63, 1185 oriki (Yoruba)  57, 60 Orpheus 85 orthography  606, 689, 847, 872, 875, 895, 1097 Oryx nome  783, 1000 Oryza sativa (rice)  138 Osing, J.  495, 497, 511, 545, 546, 564, 686, 718, 780, 782, 793, 845, 846, 848, 854, 881, 891, 903, 909, 913, 927, 935, 939, 952, 984, 1077, 1089, 1112, 1135 Osirian  398, 826, 832, 847, 848, 863, 866, 1084 myth complex  826–7 Osiris heqa-djet, temple of  688 Osiris Myth  856–7 Osochor (21st Dynasty)  690–1, 710 Osorkon I (22nd Dynasty)  359, 694, 696–9, 710, 1121 Osorkon II (22nd Dynasty)  686–7, 694, 696–7, 699, 702, 710 Osorkon III (22nd Dynasty)  686, 688, 696–7, 699–702, 704–5, 710, 816, 1121 Osorkon IV (22/23rd Dynasty)  697–701, 707, 710 Osorkon the Elder (21st Dynasty)  501 Osorkon, Prince: Chronicle of  698, 702

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1250   Index osteoarthritis 417 osteology 261 osteological remains  143 ostracon  437, 667, 695, 727, 788, 802–4, 1034, 1066, 1079, 1090, 1094, 1123 ostriches  158, 500, 502–4, 510, 533, 586, 1124 otherness  11, 501, 598, 600, 885 otherworld 383 Ottoman Empire  37, 178, 198, 201, 439, 772, 775 outcroppings  178, 1079 outposts 1118–19 oval shape  372, 374, 378, 381, 390, 393, 746 ovarian tumours  412 overdress 340 over-lemmatization 902 over-life-size statues  442, 447 overlords  721, 727 ovoid shape  379, 390 owls  841, 1011 ownership 1115–16 oxidation  1211, 1212 oxtongue (Picris radicata) 127 oxygen 1209 oxygen-free environments  1212, 1218 Oxyrhynchite  1029, 1096, 1097 Oxyrhynchus (pl.)  749, 760, 853, 1025, 1073–4, 1103 Ozymandias (Shelley)  447

P

Pachomian  1099, 1110 Pachomius 1098–9 Pachrates (priest magician)  1161 Padinemty (23rd Dynasty)  706, 710, 716 pagan gods/cult  94, 746, 750, 760, 1096, 1100, 1102, 1122, 1167 pagans 1100 Pahu (18th-Dynasty priest) rock inscription  1126f Paiankh (Piankh)  670, 674, 693–4, 714, 816, 1059 Pakhet, temple of (Beni Hasan)  659 Pakruru (king of Per-Sopdu)  708, 709 palace-façades  376, 464, 534, 539, 611 palaeobotany 514 palaeoclimatic information  117, 118 palaeography  228, 229, 443, 877, 886–8, 900, 1061, 1064, 1070, 1080, 1117, 1121, 1143, 1163 Palaeolithic period  165, 174, 175, 176, 177f, 191f, 575, 1112 palaeopathology  414, 417–18, 425 palaeo-radiology 414 palatalization (linguistics)  938 paleochannels 254 paleofans 208 paleographic studies  674 paleontologists 54 Palermo Stone  610, 619, 625, 637, 973 Palestinian  389, 390, 393, 539, 561, 725, 879

Palestrina illustrations  197, 212, 752 palettes  580, 598–9, 604–7 small block quarry, Wadi Hammamat  181f palimpsest  1021, 1061, 1064 palmettos 394 palms (trees)  140–2, 599 palms  108, 129, 133, 135, 140, 433, 437 Pamiy (22nd Dynasty)  710 Panagiotakopulu, E.  305, 309 Panagiotopoulos, D.  79, 95, 550, 564, 660, 681 Panehesy  510, 669–70 Panopolis  1073, 1084, 1150 Pantalacci, L.  282, 332, 377, 405, 477, 491, 623, 625, 635, 636, 677, 773, 775, 785, 793, 876, 891, 900, 909, 982, 990, 1056–8, 1067–70, 1135, 1141, 1143, 1152 pantheon  85, 613, 672, 752, 824, 826, 827, 1089, 1152 panther-skin 606 Papaconstantinou, A.  1037, 1103, 1109 Papazian, H.  629, 631, 635 papyri 1211–12 papyrus-land  606, 607, 617 papyrus-people 611 papyrus-pith 340 papyrus-roll 603 papyrus-rolls 610 papyrology 1161–5 Papyrus Harkness  865, 1078, 1092 Papyrus Hermitage  1009, 1013 Papyrus Insinger  1077, 1081, 1085, 1093 Papyrus Jarf A et B  636, 876, 993 Papyrus Jumilhac  845 parables 837 Paracelsians  85, 87 Paramessu 663 parasites 417–18 Parcak, S.  173, 192, 204, 212, 253, 254, 261, 264, 291, 309 parchment 1104 partage (division) of finds  9 Parthian empire  1159 Pasenenmut (23rd Dynasty)  699, 710 Passalacqua, G.  355f pastoralists  10–11, 292, 476, 607 pataikoi 387 Pataikos 380 pathology  424, 1047 Pathyris  1032, 1094, 1164 patronage  289, 723, 775, 781, 782, 787, 788, 1108 patronymic naming  813 patterned 345–6 Paul of Tamma  1099 pavements 436 Paweraa (mayor)  784 peak-to-decline scheme  478 pearl-shaped protrusions  391 pear-shaped dung pellet  383 pedagogy 917 pedagogic works  914, 921

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1251 Pedubast I (22nd Dynasty)  685, 699–702, 704, 710 Pedubast II (23rd Dynasty)  700–1, 710 Pedubast III (23rd Dynasty)  700–1, 709–10, 727 Pedubast, king of Tanis  708–9 Peftjauawybast (23rd Dynasty)  704–6, 710 Peloponnese  541, 725 Pelusium  708, 709 pendant  90, 229, 384, 386, 568, 606, 696, 853, 1086, 1168 penises  599, 606 Pentaweret  669, 1010 Pepiankh  858, 865 Pepinakht 781 Pepy I (6th Dynasty)  370, 621, 627–8, 974, 997 Pepy II (6th Dynasty)  379, 621, 628–9, 974, 977, 997 Pepynakht Heqaib  980 Perdu, O.  451, 455, 720, 722, 723, 725, 730, 731, 739, 740, 983, 991, 1181, 1185 performance, modes of  56–8 performing the offering formula (ἰrt . . .)  975 Peribsen (2nd Dynasty)  611 periodization of language  930–2 periods and dating  625–6 periphrasis (linguistics)  940, 941 Perire, fields of (pl.) 666 Peristyle Court, Karnak  447 perjury 796 persecution-era authors  1100 persecutions 1100 Persian-period  731, 1074 personality and history  1117–18 Perunefer (port)  673, 675, 679 Petamenophis, tomb of  731 Petosiris, tomb of  468, 730, 736, 737, 981, 989, 1004 Petoubastes (Pedubast, 23rd Dynasty)  699 petroglyphs  216, 224, 229, 230, 1112–13, 1132, 1133 petrography  318, 329, 524, 537 petrologic analysis  316 Petubastis Cycle 1076 Peust, C.  605, 617, 882, 892, 895, 903, 909, 921, 922, 927, 932–3, 936, 938, 945, 952, 953 Peutinger map  197 Phaedrus 1155 phalluses  397, 502 phantoms 902 pharaonic irrigation  101–2 Philae temple coloured rock inscriptions  218f Philistines  545, 668, 680 Phillips, J.  14, 542, 544, 546, 548, 550, 552, 554, 556, 558, 560, 562, 564, 566, 568, 570 philology  7, 17, 33, 49, 252, 253, 440, 635, 689, 894, 1069, 1083, 1087, 1169 Philometor 1158 Philopator  748, 1158 Phoenicians  92, 399, 401, 708, 745, 1122 phonology  897, 909, 916, 921, 927, 930, 938–9, 949, 952

photographs  202, 256, 298, 318, 357, 1021, 1034, 1059, 1119, 1140, 1147, 1149, 1152, 1176, 1181, 1185 photography  7, 173, 202, 204–6, 210, 216, 254, 322, 437, 443, 451, 480, 730, 1064, 1213, 1218 Phragmites (reeds)  109, 110, 134, 139 phraseology  982, 995, 1145, 1148 physical anthropology  409–21 see also mummies physiognomy  107, 110 physiology 1047 Phythagoreic philosophy  85 phytoliths 131 physical anthropology  409–21 see also mummies Piacentini, P.  781, 793, 1176, 1185, 1188, 1194, 1203, 1204 Piankh see Paiankh Piankhy see Piy pick-and-choose testing  115 pictographs 72 pictoriality 881–3 pictorial-phonetic writing  602 pigments  271, 275–6, 314, 318, 346, 1207, 1208, 1211, 1213 pilgrimage  686, 980, 1100, 1102, 1125 pilgrims  749, 1000 Pimay  687, 697, 699 Pinedjem I (21st Dynasty)  690–4, 698, 710, 1121–2 Pinedjem II (21st Dynasty)  691 Piramesse  212, 306, 665, 672, 673 Piramesse-Qantir 205 Piy (25th Dynasty)  481, 482, 501, 507, 699, 702–7, 711, 722, 978 plagues of Egypt  81 plaster  359, 367, 449, 461, 556, 563, 567, 1057, 1207, 1210 plastic sheeting  222 Plato  46, 85, 969, 1039, 1098, 1155 philosophy of  82, 83, 85, 87, 91, 880, 1160 Pleistocene period  106, 111, 115, 122, 229, 1133 plums  108, 141 Plutarch  82, 83, 94, 95, 826, 848, 856, 864, 1160, 1168 pneumoconiosis  418, 419 Pococke, R.  36, 47, 154, 163, 198, 212, 1161, 1169 Podzorski, P. V.  371, 372, 406, 420, 425 poems 1101 poisons 410 pole-against-the-wall problems  1036 policemen 1057, 1117–18 politics 605–7 political change  1201–2 pollination 141 ‘polluted’ foreigners  1158 pollution  1208, 1217–18 Polotsky, J.  18, 28, 41, 675, 916, 918–22, 925, 927, 930, 941, 953, 1129 ‘Standard Theory’  918–20 abandonment of  921–2 Polyaenus 709 Polybius  1158, 1170 polychrome  346, 457, 462, 463, 466, 467, 1211 Polycrates of Samos  726

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1252   Index polytheism  79, 81, 83, 661, 820, 822, 831, 842, 850 pomegranate  127, 129, 141 Pomian, K.  20, 28, 601, 617 Pompeii (Italy)  752 painting 755 poor floods, challenge of  115–16 popularizing Egyptology  73–5 porticoes  430, 785 portraiture  449, 451, 455, 711, 739, 746 Posener-Kriéger, P.  328, 453, 623, 634–6, 764, 776, 786, 793, 1021, 1026, 1031, 1058, 1069 post-colonial  4, 42, 92, 233 post-Conquest Egypt  1099, 1104 Potiphar, garden of  88 Joseph in  88f potsherds  118, 286, 323, 601, 1020, 1057, 1104 potter’s wheel experiments with  273f illustration of  274f pottery 312–26 Aswan West Bank  178f background 312 context, consideration of  323–5 discarding ceramics from excavations  325 drawings 321–2 fabric classification systems  316–17 fabrics 314–16 fragment ascription  320f function of vessels  323 history 312–14 manufacture 322–3 old excavations, material from  325–6 quantitative analysis  319–20 scientific technologies (for ceramics, analysis of ancient) 317–18 strategies to tackle ceramics  323–5 suggested reading  326 typology 320–1 Vienna System  314–16 potting 278 poulticing 1210 poverty  234, 1108 powder  410, 461 Powell, C.  273f power-sharing 671 prayers  107, 850, 881, 995, 1001, 1003, 1004, 1096, 1102, 1125 predatory-settler 502 Predynastic period  573–88 background 573–4 cultures, origins of  574–8 early Egypt and the Near East, relationships between 584–5 Egyptian kingship, origins of  585–7 future research directions  588 iconography 580–4 predynastic cultures, origins of  574–8

rock art  1112–15 social structure  578–80 suggested reading  588 pre-Egyptological concepts  88–9 prehistory 476–7 influence of  290 pre-Islamic heritage  234, 238 pre-Kerma period  475, 489 presenting ancient Egypt(s)  1178–80 priesthood  484, 685, 693, 730, 748–9, 785, 801, 816, 834, 1028, 1029, 1123, 1127, 1163 priestly families  1121–2 priestly sciences  846 priest-magician 1161 priests 1116–17 primeval Nile Valley as a marsh  99–100 prison  786, 800, 801, 1189 prisoners  337, 367, 494, 500, 501, 537, 799, 977 prisons 1182 private legal texts  1075–6 private narratives  979–81 problematic birth  48–50 problem-oriented approaches  21–4 procession to the tomb  858–9 procurement landscapes  167f holistic study of  171–2 practical and theoretical analysis of  172–84 prodeltaic sediments  106 Prodromus coptus  914, 926 production of  336–7 professionalization of Egyptology  39 pronaos  1140, 1141, 1143, 1149 property see also law First Intermediate Period  797 Middle Kingdom  800 Old Kingdom  797 Second Intermediate Period  800 property registrations (απογραφη) 1019 prophecy  722, 729, 970, 998, 1012, 1013, 1015, 1070, 1089 prophetic literature  1077 prophets  89, 94, 705, 749 prosecution  669, 796 proskynema genre  1089, 1163, 1164, 1168 proskynemata  1122, 1162 proskynesis 382 prosopography  613, 721, 819, 1023 protases 1044 protection, texts for see healing and protection, texts for Protevangelium of James  1097 Proto-Berber language  600 proto-Christian monotheism  83 Protodynastic period  20, 58, 99, 376, 400, 403, 596, 597, 605, 608, 613–5, 848, 1116, 1117, 1123, 1128 proto-historiography  609, 614 proto-kingdoms 586

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1253 proto-language  49, 937 proto-royal burial  873 proto-Saite 26th Dynasty  704 proto-Sinaitic  879, 1119 proto-states 607 proto-writing  20, 894 proverbs  1022, 1097 provinces 780–5 proxemics 297 psalms  1097, 1098 Psammous (23rd Dynasty)  699, 701 Psammuthis (Upper Egyptian ruler?, 29th Dynasty)  729, 741 Psamtek I (26th Dynasty)  494, 711, 721–5, 729, 755, 878, 1019 Psamtek II (26th Dynasty)  711, 725, 728, 1122 Psamtek III (26th Dynasty)  711, 727, 1003 pseudo-biography 1013 pseudo-hieroglyphs  879, 884 pseudo-inscriptions  393, 394 pseudo-seals  369–70, 374–8, 380, 382, 384, 392, 398 see also seals Psherenptah (husband of Taimhotep)  1004 Psusennes I (21st Dynasty)  690–2, 710 Psusennes II (21st Dynasty)  22, 360, 686, 690–1, 696, 710 Psusennes III (21st Dynasty)  691 psychodynamics of orality  959 psychology  82, 298, 392, 833, 840 Ptah temple  200f, 207, 209, 382, 392, 397, 432, 613, 723, 734, 748, 749, 759, 817, 825, 827, 871, 974, 979, 984, 985, 1141 Ptahemdhuty 1011 Ptah-Hephaistos temple  756 Ptahhotep, Instructions of  296, 623, 866, 982, 993, 1009–12, 1018, 1056 Ptah-Sokar-Osiris (god)  362, 365, 397, 825 Ptolemaic Period  467, 744–57, 817, 1192 see also Ptolemaic temple texts; Roman Period archaeology in Egypt  753–6 Alexandria 754–5 Memphis 755–6 Naukratis 755 administration of Roman Egypt  752–3 autobiographical texts  1003–4 art 746–7 background 744–6 Christianity 750–1 Egypt’s place in the Roman Empire  751–2 future research directions  756 grinding stone rough-outs  177f Hellenistic cults in Egypt  749–50 material culture  746–7 Memphis, importance of  748–9 mummies 417f, 420f priesthood 748–9 religion 747–9

Roman cults in Egypt  749–50 suggested reading  756–7 temples 747–8 Ptolemaic temple texts  1138–49 assessment of  1148 background 1138–9 bibliographies 1145–6 content/interpretation studies  1146–8 grammar 1142–5 lexicography 1142–4 state of publication of temple inscriptions  1140–2 suggested reading  1149 teaching tools  1145–6 translations 1145–6 writing system  1142–3 Ptolemais (el-Menshiya)  753 Ptolemy I  34, 82, 749, 1155 Ptolemy II  35, 107, 483, 746 Ptolemy III  380, 483 Ptolemy IV  483, 748 Ptolemy V  755 Ptolemy VI  380 puberty 658 publications of museum holdings  1072–3 pulp 216 pulses  130, 133, 137, 143 pulverization of ancient ruins  434 pumice 461 Punic scarabs  399, 402 punishment  668, 796, 799, 801, 802, 804–5, 1053 see also law First Intermediate Period  799 Middle Kingdom  801 New Kingdom  804–5 Old Kingdom  799 Second Intermediate Period  801 Third Intermediate Period  804–5 Pusch, E.  205, 212, 254, 264, 271, 276, 277, 282, 331, 545, 566, 665, 672, 681, 1137 Pushkin Papyrus  1007, 1063, 1066 pylons  436, 438, 442, 465, 688, 696, 981, 1121, 1140, 1141, 1151 pyramids at Abusir  627 alignment of groups of  432 of Amenemhat I  436 architectural plans of  429, 431–2 at Dahshur  619, 627, 644 Fifth Dynasty  620, 628 Fourth Dynasty  626 Giza  75, 103, 115, 235, 428 GEM  1195, 1203 at Hawara  644 humanist scholarship  36 at Itjtawy  647 King Senusret III at Dahshur  644f at Lisht  642

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1254   Index pyramids (cont.) mathematical calculations  1036 Middle Kingdom  436, 638 North Cemetery, Meroe  484f Old Kingdom kings  397 orientation of  432 as places of concealment  91 Pyramid Texts  464 pyramidia of  432 rainfall 118 at Saqqara  812 Sixth Dynasty  622, 812 of Snefru  786 television programmes about  75 Third Dynasty  626 Pyramidographia (1646, Greaves)  36 pyrotechnological production  300 Pythagoras 85

Q

Qa’a (1st Dynasty ruler)  376, 603, 608, 611, 1114, 1116 Qadesh (battle of Rameses II)  972, 1010 narratives and inscriptions  972, 1010 publications  469, 681, 682 Qaihedjet Huni (3rd Dynasty)  619 Qalamun, Issac of  1099, 1100 Qalamun, Samuel of  1099, 1100 Qamûla, Western Hinterland of  590, 1131 qanat water storage systems  208 Qantir (Nile Delta)  208, 271, 276, 277, 545, 665, 681 Qantir-Piramesse  282, 566 Qar, Old Kingdom mastaba of  781, 858, 865 Qasr el-’Aguz  1141, 1153 Qasr el-Sagha  106, 122 Qasr Ghuweita  1141 Qasr Ibrim  128, 145, 148, 677, 1074, 1090 Qasr Zayan  1141 Qau bowl (Petrie Museum)  1064, 1069 Qau el-Kebir  392, 641 Qau region, cemeteries in  642 Qau, tombs of the nomarchs  464, 470, 641, 1069 Qau-Badari 394 Qaw el-Kebir  654 Qebehsenuef (falcon)  361 Qedua (el-Qedua)  735 Qemaw (son of Ameny)  813 Qena (Nile Valley)  241, 247, 977, 1118, 1120 Qena Bend  977, 1118, 1120 qenbet (official assembly)  767 Qenherkhepshef (19th Dynasty)  1045 Qift (Nile Valley)  247, 1135 Qing Dynasty (1644–1912)  65, 66, 72 qu’abs (Third Intermediate Period), small votive pots) 686 Quack, J. F.  22, 28, 83, 95, 597, 617, 686, 718, 720, 722, 726, 729, 740, 780, 793, 799, 808, 828, 832, 845–7, 850, 851, 853–5, 872, 877–81, 884, 886, 892, 893, 895, 900, 903, 904, 909, 913, 926, 930,

931, 934–6, 948, 953, 1011, 1018, 1048, 1054, 1063, 1069, 1072, 1076–1080, 1085, 1089, 1090, 1144, 1147, 1152 quadrants 256 quadrats  870, 882 quadriliterals 938 Quaegebeur, J.  722, 740, 749, 757, 759, 817, 819, 1022, 1023, 1031, 1086, 1092, 1093 quantitative analysis  319–20 quarries  5, 7, 17, 165–74, 176–8, 180, 182–94, 211, 212, 215, 218–20, 222–30, 234, 236, 239, 240, 244, 245, 249, 250, 293, 306, 435, 454, 476, 631, 641, 971, 1120, 1122, 1125, 1132 Aswan West Bank ancient landscape  175f Gebel el-Asr  166–7, 173 large block (Bekhen-mountain region)  183f Predynastic grinding stone  178f Predynastic to Early Dynastic pit  181f quarrying regions  241f quarryscapes  173, 174, 186–91, 193, 211, 212, 218, 222, 228, 230, 236, 238, 239, 248–51, 306 small block  181f Wadi Hammamat greywacke  170f quartz 315 quartzite  174, 436, 458, 466 quartzose 371 quasi-mythical status  50, 99 quasi-settlement 293 quatrains 977 quays  337, 713, 1121 Quban 664 querns 175–6 Quesna archaeological area  264 Queyrat, I.  156, 162 Quft (Nile Valley)  179, 222, 240, 241 Qufti archaeological workforce  264 Quickbird (internet resource)  173, 204 Quirke, S.  27, 43, 47, 62, 146, 188, 263, 283, 287, 301, 309, 329, 346, 352, 406, 439, 452, 512, 548, 566, 638, 642, 643, 647, 653–5, 675, 676, 681, 682, 764, 767, 770, 774, 776, 784, 786, 790, 791, 793, 813, 818, 821, 830–2, 894, 924, 972–4, 982, 985, 990, 991, 995, 1005, 1007, 1009, 1014–6, 1018, 1021, 1023, 1024, 1026–8, 1030, 1031, 1034, 1038, 1039, 1042, 1043, 1045, 1047, 1052–4, 1057, 1059, 1061, 1067, 1069, 1138, 1151, 1153, 1173, 1174, 1185, 1203, 1204 quivers 340 Qurna (German excavation house)  1059, 1066 Qurta  215, 229, 1112, 1133 Qus region  401, 403, 685, 914, 924 Quseir  128, 143, 150, 167, 179, 222, 234, 238, 250 Quseir-Nile Road  194 Qustul (‘A’-Group royal cemetery)  476, 492

R

Raatawy 1078 racism  92, 485

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1255 radar  115, 233, 254, 265, 299 radicograms  870, 882 radio 1202 radiocarbon  9, 19, 20, 26, 28, 30, 114, 335, 343, 348, 419, 520, 526, 533, 535, 538, 552–9, 562, 567, 570, 578, 590, 595 radiocarbon-dated  112, 334 radiography  414, 415, 423, 1212, 1214, 1218 mummy (18th Dynasty)  415f radiology  421–2, 424 Ra-Harakhty (god)  395, 397, 432, 661 raids 501 railway 198 rainfall  109, 111, 118, 208, 575 raised-relief  461, 463 Rameses, prince  976 Rameses I (19th Dynasty)  355, 663, 976 Rameses II (19th Dynasty)  112, 284, 289, 361, 381, 387, 395–6, 418, 432, 438, 447–8, 450, 459, 466, 479, 481, 494, 500, 503, 543, 664–6, 783, 802, 812, 814, 815, 816, 974, 976–7, 979, 984, 1010, 1014, 1045, 1059, 1121, 1162, 1174 Bark procession in sunk relief  459f battle reliefs in his Abydos temple  665f temple at Abu Simbel  480f Rameses III (20th Dynasty)  354, 466, 467, 496, 500, 501, 502, 506, 527, 668–9, 675, 787, 788, 805, 816, 862, 978, 984, 1010, 1014, 1127 Medinet Habu palace architectural panels  460f Rameses IV (20th Dynasty)  355, 669, 675, 984 plan of the tomb on Turin Papyrus (1885)  434f Rameses V (20th Dynasty)  413, 501 Rameses VI (20th Dynasty)  467, 501, 669 Rameses IX (20th Dynasty)  355, 467, 501, 669, 1123 Amenhotep before, depiction of  662f Rameses X (20th Dynasty)  361, 501, 669 Rameses XI (20th Dynasty)  501, 669–70, 690, 692–3, 694, 1007 ‘Rameses XII’ (20th Dynasty)  694 ram-headed artefacts  380, 382, 391, 397 ram’s heads  380, 397 Raneferef (5th Dynasty)  636, 1031, 1058, 1069 rape  43, 660, 796, 805 readership of theological texts  847–8 rebu (λιβυες) 494 reburial  325, 346 rebus principle  447, 600, 605, 1139 rebus-based 882 rebuses 602 re-carving  448, 468 reception of ancient Egypt  79–93, 441–2 Afrocentrism 92–3 diversity 90–2 future research approaches  93 historical development  81–8 history of art and objects, storylines of  89–90 interchange 90–2 pre-Egyptological concepts  88–9

scientific Egyptology, beginning of  88–9 scope and history of research  79–81 study of reception  90–2 suggested reading  93 topics 90–2 recolonization  482, 779 reconstructions  54, 122, 210, 278, 335, 340, 438, 549, 903, 937, 1210 recording methodology  255–9 record-keeping  257, 975 red ochre (earth)  334 re-dating  542, 549, 728 Redford, D.  53, 54, 63, 121, 223, 230, 516–8, 520, 521, 523, 526, 531, 538, 610, 617, 625, 636, 660, 682, 695, 699, 700, 706, 709, 712, 718, 724, 729, 741, 766, 776, 843, 890, 959–61, 969–71, 973–6, 981, 983–4, 988, 989, 991–3, 1005, 1030, 1054, 1157, 1159, 1169 reeds 139 refuse disposal mechanisms  302–3 regionalization of writing  874, 878, 933 registers of writing  883 Reisner, G. A.  40, 193, 253, 270, 282, 313, 331, 357, 363, 365, 366, 371, 406, 433, 440, 441, 449, 455, 475, 476, 478, 481, 482, 764, 770, 776, 1031, 1037, 1040, 1119, 1135 Rekhmira (TT100, 18th Dynasty)  287, 436, 445, 802, 858, 859, 968, 972 funeral procession  860f relief sculpture  457–68 background 457 carving techniques  461–2 historical development of  462–8 suggested reading  468 types of  457–60 religion religious figures  1100 religious iconography see symbolism and religious iconography religious texts  1078–9 rock art and graffiti  1123–6 Roman Period  747–9 remarriage  814–15, 1022 remote sensing  202–5 Renaissance period  35, 43, 46, 48, 50, 80, 84, 85, 90, 93, 94, 269, 428, 439, 482, 483, 653, 670, 711, 719, 720, 734, 820, 1109, 1173 artists 84f sources 35–7 rentiers (of knowledge)  605 repatriation  1174, 1182 reptiles  151, 155 requisitioned antiquities  1195 research 1181 current and future trends  142–3 possibilities 1064–5 priorities 1048–51 questions 778–9

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1256   Index resistivity surveys  7, 206, 254 resistivity-meter 205 restorations  416, 438, 664, 675, 1206, 1207, 1210, 1215, 1216, 1218 reunification 630–1 revolts  116, 708 revolution  3, 4, 67, 68, 94, 120, 148, 198, 209, 235, 275, 278, 349, 916, 917, 1197, 1201, 1203 rewrappings 692 rhinoceros  152, 613 ribbed-neck Hellenistic/Roman amphorae  103 rigging  545, 1207 right-angle triangles  255 right-dislocation 945 ring-names 374 rings  368, 377, 380, 381, 398, 402, 405, 408, 562, 1215 riots 116 riparian habitats  110 rituals  16, 331, 341, 346, 369, 378, 381, 409, 443, 446, 581, 687, 715, 736, 821, 826, 827, 846, 847, 856–8, 861–3, 865, 892, 959, 979, 1000, 1037, 1045, 1102, 1115, 1123, 1148 river-plants 139 rivers  100, 103, 104, 133 road-building 228 roads  115, 145, 165, 186, 193, 219, 220, 262, 289, 436, 437, 439, 485, 674, 788, 1117, 1118, 1120, 1122, 1129, 1135 robbery 764 rock art and graffiti  1111–28 see also rock inscriptions background 1111 borders of the Empire  1120–1 chalk copies  221f chronological seriation of  583f coloured inscriptions  218f copying using plastic sheets  221f early Dynastic rock inscriptions  1115–16 Early Middle Kingdom  1117–18 Elkab 583f expeditions 1118–19 First Intermediate Period  1117–18 foreigners 1117–18 formal tableaux  1121–2 hegemony 1115–16 imaging the cosmos  1112–15 innovation 1126–7 intimacy 1126–7 Late Period  1122–3 Middle Kingdom  1118–19 miners 1116–17 monumentality 1126–7 New Kingdom  1120–1 niloticizing the desert  1112–15 Nubia 1120–1 Old Kingdom  1116–17 ordered space, extension of  1115–16 outposts 1118–19 ownership 1115–16 personality and history  1117–18

policemen 1117–18 Predynastic rock art  1112–15 priestly families  1121–2 priests 1115–17 religion 1123–6 rock-drawings 1137 rock-pictures 1131 royal workmen at Thebes  1120–1 sealing the desert  1115–16 sites 246f soldiers 1116–17 suggested reading  1128 temple annotations  1121–2 Third Intermediate Period  1121–2 tools and techniques  1128 tourists 1120–1 travellers 1117–18 Wadi el-’Ayn  498f Wadi el-Hôl  1124f Wadi Subeira, North of Aswan city  220f rock inscriptions  214–28 see also rock art Aswan First Cataract  217–19 AQMD survey work  219 epigraphic survey work  217–19 recent fieldwork  217–19 background 214–15 Early Dynastic Period  1115–16 epigraphic research: Aswan history of  216–17 methods, overview of  216 First Cataract region: documentation methods  220–2 recording rock inscriptions  219–22 GPS recordings  225f issues 227–8 rock-carvings 498 rock-cut  214, 431, 433, 458, 461, 464, 508, 659, 664, 998 style and techniques  225f suggested reading  228 Wadi Hammamat (central)  222–7 English–Egyptian joint mission  224 epigraphic research, history of  223 methodology 224–7 problems and challenges  223–4 rocks  182, 188, 190–2, 217, 222 see also rock art and graffiti; rock inscriptions outcrops 178f shelters 293 tombs  431, 469 Rod el-Air (pl.) 1119 rodents 136 rolled-up documents  368 rollouts (of seals)  368, 371 rolls (papyrus)  976, 1008, 1009, 1014 Roman Period  183, 744–57, 817, 877, 886, 893, 912, 1025, 1125, 1159, 1164 see also Ptolemaic Period; Roman temple texts

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1257 archaeology in Egypt  753–6 Alexandria 754–5 Memphis 755–6 Naukratis 755 administration of Roman Egypt  752–3 art 746–7 autobiographical texts  1003–4 background 744–6 Christianity 750–1 Egypt’s place in the Roman Empire  751–2 future research directions  756 grinding stone rough-outs (early Roman period) 177f Hellenistic cults in Egypt  749–50 material culture  746–7 Memphis, importance of  748–9 priesthood 748–9 religion 747–9 Roman cults in Egypt  749–50 settlement, large block quarries  183f suggested reading  756–7 temples 747–8 Roman temple texts  1138–49 assessment of  1148 background 1138–9 bibliographies 1145–6 content/interpretation studies  1146–7 grammar 1142–5 lexicography 1142–3 state of publication of temple inscriptions  1140–2 suggested reading  1149 teaching tools  1145–6 translations 1145–6 writing system  1142–3 Romans  80, 90, 93, 137, 507, 752, 759, 1160 Roma-Roy (high priest of Amun)  1002 roofing  139, 140, 435 Rosicrucians 87 rosettes 522f rough-outs  177, 181, 184 Roy TT  225, tomb of Opening of the Mouth ritual  861f royal annals  973–5 royal decrees see also law First Intermediate Period  799 Old Kingdom  799 royal narratives  977–9 Royal Ontario Museum  387, 416, 418, 1218 royal statues  447–8 royal workmen at Thebes  1120–1 royal-name  392, 400 royalty  10, 39, 1123 rubbing workers  65 rubbish  288, 302, 303, 1060 rubble 115 Rudamun (23rd Dynasty)  699, 701, 704–5, 710 Rudjahau (11th-Dynasty priest)  1000 Rufus of Shotep  1099

S

Saad, S. K.  233, 234, 238, 249, 699, 718 Sabakon (Shabaka, 25th Dynasty)  706, 707 sacerdotal texts  447, 659, 857, 864, 876–9, 880, 886, 922, 928, 935, 954, 1092 sacralizing texts  883, 934 sacrifice (animal/human)  55, 581, 859, 1100 sacristy  606, 607 saddle quern (silicified sandstone) Elephantine Island  176f saddlebags 339 saddlecloths 341 Sadr, K.  292, 293, 310, 486, 491 safflower 138 Sagalassos  22, 27 Sahidic language  913, 914, 916, 919, 921, 926–8, 933, 938, 953, 954, 1096, 1097 Sahura  368, 962 royal names and titles  372f temple complex of  436, 463, 496, 499, 627, 628, 973, 977 Said, E. Orientalism  42, 120 sailing  485, 543, 552, 556, 973 saints 1100 Saite-period 1125 salvation  85, 864, 1002, 1126 Samontu, graffito of (12th Dynasty)  973 Samos  452, 722, 726, 733, 735 sampling  36, 115, 132, 142, 143, 159, 205, 256, 318, 319, 324, 326, 331, 349, 903 Sanam (pl.)  397, 481, 490 sanctuaries  729, 737, 752, 1003 sandals  606, 609, 1125, 1218 sandbanks 208 sand-filled circles  177f sandstone  165, 168, 174–6, 190, 222, 436, 458, 465, 466, 1124, 1128, 1210 Sankhkara Mentuhotep III (11th Dynasty)  641 Santorini eruption  541, 556, 558, 562, 568 saqiya well-shafts  103, 115 Saqqara plateau Ministry of Housing map  203f sarcophagi  22, 180, 223, 354, 358, 361, 364, 365, 458, 464, 726, 728 abandoned rough-out  184f Šarru-lū-dāri 708–9 satellite  7, 115, 173, 192, 202, 204–6, 208, 211, 212, 254, 262, 264, 291, 298, 299, 309, 437 photography 299f Sathathoriunet scarab  390 satire  82, 783, 1011, 1037, 1076, 1077 Satire of the Harper 1077 satyr (Greek)  756 savanna  116, 779 savants  37, 38, 46, 166, 216, 914, 926, 1153 scaffoldings 435–6 Scalf, F.  364, 366, 1073, 1079, 1092

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1258   Index scanning electron microscopy (SEM)  318, 348, 418, 423–5 scans  157, 413, 414, 416 scaraboids  28, 377–80, 406–8, 565, 682 scarabs 382–9 see also seals amulets and seals, identification of  388f back design of  388–91 back types  385f bottom design of  391–8 scarab-shaped items  368, 377, 383, 400, 405 scarab-topped items  387 terminology 387–8 use of  398–9 schematograms  875, 885 schematography 871 Schichten (layers)  257, 330, 616 schistosomiasis  418, 419 schist  178, 1128 scholarly texts  1076–8 Schulz, R.  20, 28, 367, 368, 370, 372, 374, 376, 378–82, 384–92, 394–400, 402, 404–8, 449, 451, 454, 455, 671, 682, 792, 1181, 1182, 1184, 1185 science and ancient remains  416–21 in Egyptology  8–9 scientific Egyptology, beginning of  88–9 scientific technologies  317–18 Scientology 89 scorpions  20, 376, 381, 597–601, 610, 848, 989, 1079, 1093, 1115, 1125 Scottish museum collections  206, 363, 365, 409 screes 109 script 1019–20 scripto-lects 933 scripts 869–86 high-cultural dimensions  883–6 enigmatic writing  885–6 hieroglyphic tradition  883–4 ludic dimensions  885–6 registers of writing in a di((/tri-)graphic culture 883 historical sketch  873–81 abnormal hieratic  878–9 Coptic writing  881 cultural contacts and influences  879–80 demotic 878–9 hieratic 876–7 hieroglyphic writing  874–5 linear hieroglyphs  875–6 obsolescence 880–1 origins and early development  873–4 iconicity 881–3 language representation, general principles of  869–72 classifiers 872–3 determinatives 872–3 signs, categories of  871 word level  871–2

pictoriality 881–3 suggested reading  886 scrolls  374, 377, 392, 393, 671, 800–2, 1104 scrub-land  100, 779 sculptors  445, 449, 456, 458, 461, 462, 464, 608, 745, 747, 1075, 1081, 1143 sculptures  442, 443, 445, 449, 451, 745, 756, 758, 759, 1175, 1210 scutellum 388 Scythian march on Egypt  724 seaborne trade  755 seal-bearers  1001, 1131 seal-devices  367–8, 370–4, 375, 377 sealers  368, 613, 766, 769 seal-impressions  287, 367–9, 375, 377, 381 sealing the desert  1115–16 sealing-surface  367, 368, 371, 372, 374, 375–8, 381, 382 seal-impressions of non-scarab stamp seals 381–2 seal-inscriptions  603, 609 seal-keepers 369 seals 367–99 see also cylinder seals; pseudo-seals; scarabs; stamp seals amulet seals  369–70 in ancient Egypt  367–9 seal-devices 370–4 seal-sign 374 seal-surface 378 suggested reading  399 seawater 1208 sebakh 287 sebakh-digging 434 sebasteia (imperial temples)  750 Sebennytos  709, 729 Sebichos (Shebitku/Shebitqo, 25th Dynasty)  706 Second Intermediate Period  638–52 data sources  638–9 Eleventh Dynasty  639–41 future research directions  651–2 Hyksos culture and rulers  649–50 law 800–1 Nile Valley south of Egypt  478–9 Second Intermediate Period: general issues  648 suggested reading  652 Theban Dynasties  650–1 Thirteenth Dynasty  645–7 Twelfth Dynasty  641–5 Second-Dynasty  580, 611 Secretum Secretorum  84 section recording  258–9 sectional conflict  246–7 sedentarization  496, 508 sedentary life  11, 284, 293, 305, 496, 497 sedentism  292, 306, 308, 594 sed-festival (royal jubilee)  435, 446, 464, 612, 635, 661, 668, 671, 960 sedge  134, 137, 139, 1211

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1259 sediment  7, 100, 103, 104, 106, 111, 114, 115, 117, 118, 206, 305, 1133 sedimentary stones  111, 1210 sedimentation 111 sedimentology 114 seeds  125, 127, 131–3, 136, 138, 139, 141, 144, 145, 338 seepage  104, 109 Seidlmayer, S.  21, 28, 56, 63, 104, 112, 113, 117, 120, 124, 191, 214, 217, 220, 222, 227, 228, 230, 250, 308, 321, 326, 332, 377–9, 391, 407, 624, 629–31, 636, 641, 656, 667, 682, 779, 782, 793, 851, 891, 898, 905, 907, 909, 910 seismic activity  1208 Sekemkara (23rd Dynasty)  710 selvedge textiles  346 selvedges 341 semantograms  870, 874–5 semasiological principles  898 semi-circular shapes  344, 381, 389, 390, 746 semi-elliptical shapes  389, 390 semi-nomads  11, 495, 505, 584 semi-nudity 347 semiophors  601, 603, 605, 607 semiotics  297, 894 Semites  49, 598 Semitic language  898, 917, 1119 Semna (pl.)  112, 394, 478, 488, 977, 987, 1059, 1068, 1112, 1120, 1122, 1129, 1130 semograms  606, 870 semographic signs  606 Semti-sheri (palace official)  980 Senbef (13th Dynasty)  647 Senebkay, king  650 Senebtisi, tomb of  358 Senegal  100, 110 Senenmut (Hatshepsut’s steward)  347, 360, 377, 771, 981, 986, 987 Senet, tomb of  849, 852, 864, 1001 Senmouthis  1094, 1164, 1170 Sennacherib 708 Sennedjem (19th Dynasty tomb worker)  337, 815 Sennedjemib (vizier)  996 Sennefer 368 Senusret I (12th Dynasty)  170f, 185f, 375, 392, 436–7, 442, 464, 478, 494, 638, 642–3, 658, 770, 780, 783, 851, 963, 978, 980, 984, 1000, 1058, 1127 inscriptions 185f raised relief scenes  465f Senusret II (12th Dynasty)  286, 342, 375, 386, 392, 643, 764, 963, 1000 Senusret III (12th Dynasty)  287, 367, 375, 382, 392, 437, 639, 643–4, 647, 650, 770, 783, 977, 984, 1001, 1126 pyramid complex  644f Septimius Severus  752 Serabit el-Khadim  167, 171, 187, 188, 431, 1119, 1134, 1135 Serapeum  38, 365, 442, 726, 727, 731, 749, 1060, 1079, 1088, 1175

Serapis (god)  745, 747, 749–52, 834, 925, 1125, 1159 serdab (chamber)  432, 449, 452 serekhs  1115, 1116, 1121 symbol  534, 601, 1115, 1116, 1133 serfs  767, 797, 800, 844 seriation (statistical)  259, 321, 332, 520, 526, 583 sermons 1101 serological tests  418 serpents  370, 392, 394, 894, 955 Serpico, M.  128, 138, 141, 149, 316, 332, 519, 524, 532, 538, 1176, 1186 serpopards 1113 servants  341, 381, 800, 804 Sesebi (pl.)  13, 29, 311, 479, 491 Sesonchis (22nd Dynasty)  694 Setau (viceroy of Nubia)  500 Setepen (21st Dynasty)  690, 691 Sethe, K.  41, 70, 78, 336, 353, 361, 363, 366, 623, 636, 658, 665, 682, 797, 799, 808, 820, 849, 855, 857, 865, 899–90, 917, 927, 972–5, 977, 979–82, 992, 996, 997, 1004, 1006, 1010, 1017, 1043, 1054, 1143 Sethianic rule  392 Sethnakht (20th Dynasty)  22, 360, 667, 816 Seti I  155, 354, 376, 438, 466–7, 481, 496, 500, 663–4, 666, 675, 692–3, 786, 976, 984, 1122–3, 1174 Libyans represented in the tomb of  502f Seti II  666–7, 814 Setju (pl.) 477 Setna I  964 Setna II  964 settlement archaeology  283–306 background 283–6 Egyptian and Nubian history  286–90 Amarna 287–9 Deir el-Medina  289–90 prehistory, influence of  290 Gurob Harem Palace Project case study  297–301 progress and debate  290–7 demographics and population estimates  291–2 ephemeral settlements and encampments  292–5 people and mud-brick buildings  295–7 settlement data  673–4 settlement patterns  779 suggested reading  305–6 tools and domestic artefacts, urban context of 301–4 examining artefacts in original contexts  301–2 refuse disposal mechanisms  302–3 workshops 302–3 sewing  338, 340 Sextus Julius Africanus  1156 Shabaqo/Shabaka (25th Dynasty)  387, 397, 481–2, 706–9, 711, 713, 960 Shabitqo/Shabataka (25th Dynasty)  489, 520, 688, 706, 707, 709, 711, 713, 716 burial of  481, 482, 706 Shabramant (pl.) 104

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1260   Index shabtis/ushabtis  73, 354, 356, 360, 361, 364, 366, 685, 686, 717 shaduf  115, 337 Shamain  702, 704 shamanistic 584 Shanhur temple  1141 shape types  374–5 non-scarab stamp seals  378–81 Sharkiya Museum (Sharkiya/Delta)  1189 Sharm el-Sheikh Museum  1189 shawls  343, 345f sheaths  502, 599 sheep  139, 162, 164, 496, 497, 503, 576, 586, 599, 1113, 1133, 1211 sheet-flooding 118 Sheikh Hamad  1141 Sheikh Suleiman  20, 28, 1115, 1136 Shekelesh (one of Sea Peoples)  668 Shenoute/Shenute  750, 928, 954, 1070, 1099, 1108 writings of  1024, 1099, 1100, 1107, 1108 Shensetji (sculptor)  1001 Shenutean Coptic  922 Shepenwepet I, Queen  705 Shepsesipet, tomb of Princess  361 Shepseskara, king (5th Dynasty)  118, 627, 637, 701, 703 Shepsesra Tefnakht (Stephinates, 26th Dynasty)  722 sherds  103, 300, 324, 325, 329, 541, 548, 563, 576, 696 breaks break  315, 318, 319, 321, 322, 324, 328, 548, 555, 585, 695, 696 Sheshat (goddess)  496 Sheshonq I (22nd Dynasty)  359–60, 397, 448, 684, 689–91, 694–9, 710 Sheshonq II (22nd Dynasty)  386, 689, 695–6, 697 Sheshonq IIa (22nd Dynasty)  360, 689, 695–9, 710 Sheshonq IIb (22nd Dynasty)  689, 695–6, 698–9, 710 Sheshonq IIc (22nd Dynasty)  689, 695, 698–9, 710 Sheshonq III (22nd Dynasty)  397, 685, 687, 689, 694–702, 704–5, 710 Sheshonq IV (22nd Dynasty)  689, 695–7, 699, 710 Sheshonq V (22nd Dynasty)  690, 695–7, 699, 701, 710 Sheshonq VI (22nd Dynasty)  695–6, 697, 699, 702, 704–5, 710 Sheshonq VIa (22nd Dynasty)  696, 697, 699, 704–5, 710 Sheshonq VII (22nd Dynasty)  696, 697 shield-shaped objects  372, 389 Shilkanni, king of Musri  707 Shilluk states  55 ship-cart models  545, 568 shipments of grain  1120 shipping  325, 551 ships  282, 411, 504, 551, 563, 567, 568, 677, 770, 776, 998 shipwreck  14, 24, 28, 543, 552, 553, 562, 565, 566, 569 Shipwrecked Sailor, Tale of the  189, 963, 969, 1013, 1014, 1017, 1131 Shishak (Bible)  689 short-reigning kings  646, 647 shrines  108, 341, 458, 662, 749, 750, 809, 821, 973, 974, 1074, 1119, 1146

shrine-shaped monuments  387 shrouds  341, 1078, 1211, 1217 shrubs  109, 116 Shunet el-Zebib (Abydos) mudbrick wall  523f Shuowen Jiezi (Analytical Dictionary of Characters) 73 Shuppiluliuma (Hittite king)  672 Shurafa (pl.)  334, 352 Siamun (21st Dynasty)  397, 690–1, 710 siblings (royal)  797, 802, 803, 810, 812, 814, 997 Sicard, C.  36 sickle blades  503 sickle-shaped swords  948 Sidon (pl.)  329, 725 sigillary items  367, 369, 375, 377, 378, 392, 398 signs, categories of  870 silicosis 418 silphium  504, 513 silts  100, 111, 1133 siltstone 178 silver  371, 380, 460, 643, 1208, 1209, 1213 Simpson, W. K.  451, 555, 557, 732, 776, 985, 1000 singers 1124 singing  848, 1101 single context recording  256–7 Sinitic writing  870, 882 Sinology 49 Sinuhe, tale/interpretations of  635, 654, 793, 903, 911, 945, 954, 962, 963, 973, 1013–15, 1017, 1018, 1127 Siptah (19th Dynasty)  413, 667, 682, 814 Sirius (star)  828, 838 sistrum  547, 752 player of Ptah  748 site survey and excavation methods  252–61 background 252–3 case study  260 excavation methodology  255–9 issues 259–61 layers and levels (Schichten, Planum)  257 lot-and-locus system  258 methodological issues  260–1 recording methodology  255–9 section recording  258–9 single context recording  256–7 stratigraphic matrix  259 stratigraphic units  256–7 suggested reading  261 survey methodology  253–5 training issues  260–1 work-step recording (Fundstellen)  257–8 Siwa (pl.)  496–7, 666, 726, 737 Sixth Dynasty  463, 628, 642, 787, 812, 972, 974, 982, 997, 1036, 1057, 1058 skeletons  316, 413, 436 skeuomorphs 346 skullcap 345 skulls  155, 345, 413

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1261 slabs  310, 435, 436, 593 slag 504 slaughter 1179 slavery  92, 797, 806 slaves  803, 1001, 1020 sledge  843, 859 sleeves 343 small-finds analysis  298, 299 smallpox 413 Smendes I (21st Dynasty)  690–4, 710 Smendes II (21st Dynasty)  691 Smenkhkara (18th Dynasty)  661, 662 Smithsonian Institution’s Museum of Natural History: monkey mummy  157f smuggling  428, 1215 snakes 522f, 599, 613, 747, 823, 830, 846, 1015 Sneferu (4th Dynasty)  436, 619, 627, 786, 787, 791, 1013, 1015, 1199 Soba East  475 Sobek (god)  749, 876 temple 609 Sobekemsaf II (17th Dynasty)  669 Sobekhotep  IV, Khaneferra (13th Dynasty)  647, 649, 650, 1064 Sobek-khu stele (official)  644, 645f Sobeknakht, tomb of  479, 651, 653 Sobekneferu (12th Dynasty)  375, 641, 643, 644 sobriquet  411, 814 social stratification  123, 158, 159, 331, 607, 608 social structure  578–80 socialization  786, 1112 society and culture  15–18 socio-economic texts  132, 312, 1013, 1019–27 background 1019 controversies 1024 future study, problems and prospects for  1024–6 information available  1021–4 language 1019–20 material 1019–20 methodologies 1020–1 script 1019–20 suggested reading  1026–7 sociolects 922 sociolinguistics  948, 1065–6, 1164 sociology  21, 24, 596, 602, 605, 874, 880 of knowledge  602–5 software packages  205, 216 Soknopaiou Nesos (pl.)  878, 895, 1073, 1074, 1078, 1079, 1081, 1087, 1093 solar adornments  660 solar eye  827–8 soldiers 1116–17 Somali language  932 Somalia 486 Somtutefnakht of Herakleopolis  723, 730, 737 Song Dynasty  65 songs  849, 1079 sorghum  100, 128, 134, 136, 139, 147, 149

sorrel 140 Sothic cycle  810 Sothis, Book of  1060, 1156 source material  151–4, 409–10, 763–6, 821–2, 971–73, 1034, 1047–8, 1060–1 South-Semitic language  880 sovereignty 657 space imaging  204 Spain  410, 454, 622 Sparta  721, 727 Spartan  729, 730 spearheads  29, 882 species present in ancient Egypt  132–42 range found in assemblages from settlements  134t sphinxes Alexandria 754 Avenue of Sphinxes  238 falcon-headed 393 jackal-headed 834 royal figure/motif  376, 396–9, 447 Sphinx, the ‘Great’  65, 75, 117, 620 sphinx-shaped seals  379 Tanis 448 spice  138, 189, 560, 969, 1131 plants 138 spirals  381, 382, 390, 392, 394, 566 spiral scrolls  374, 377, 393 spiral-patterned cloth  345 spleen 410 spoilheaps  115, 174, 177, 310 sporting activities  658, 974, 1124 spreadsheets  222, 224, 259 stamp seals  377–82, 408 amulets 377–82 figurative 373f geometric 373f sealing-surface and seal-impressions of non-scarab stamp seals  381–2 shape types of non-scarab stamp seals  378–81 terminology 378 standard-bearers 606 state of publication temple inscriptions  1140–42 statuary 441–51 acquisition 441–2 background 441 excavation of  441–2 manufacture of  444–5 materials 444–5 publication of  443–4 reception 441–2 statue base  545 statue forms  445–51 divine statues  445–7 non-royal statues  448–51 royal statues  447–8 study of  443–4 suggested reading  451

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1262   Index status 347 Steadman, S.  10, 29, 192, 249, 290, 291, 296, 297, 311, 776 steatite  370, 375, 402, 445, 452 Stele of Khasekhem  609 Stele of Sobek-khu  645f Stephinates (Tefnakht, 26th Dynasty)  704, 722 step-pyramid of Djoser at Saqqara  608 stewards  770, 773 stirrup  329, 559 stirrup-jars 543 stomach 859 stone circle plateau Umm es-Sawan, Northern Faiyum  169f stone quarries see also quarries Aswan West Bank  177f stone-inscribed annals  638 stonemasons  12, 24, 187, 306 stoneworking  176, 180, 186, 193, 282 storage 337 storehouses  4, 337, 982, 1191, 1193–203 see also museums and storehouses of archaeological sites  1198 in Egypt  1198–9 of excavations  1199 of foreign missions  1199 of museums  1198–9 Kom Usheim storehouse museum  1200f sub-storehouses 1198–9 storerooms  235, 326, 337, 971, 1191, 1199 storms 1013 stratigraphy  53, 121, 209, 256, 257, 261, 262, 542, 552, 553, 569, 570 stratigraphic analysis  8, 17, 25, 126, 252, 255–7, 259–61, 263, 325, 542, 549, 844 stratigraphic matrix  259 stratigraphic units  256–7 structuralism  55, 580, 920, 922 Strudwick, N.  19, 21, 29, 363, 366, 449, 455, 619–24, 626–33, 634, 636, 683, 686, 719, 765, 768, 769, 774, 776, 781, 786, 787, 793, 866, 962, 970, 972–4, 979, 983, 993 Suakin (pl.) 486 Subakhmimic dialect  1096 sub-literary genres  1101–1102 sub-Sharan analogues  100–1 Sudanese  100, 191, 330–2, 491, 1133, 1186 Sudanic language  880 suicide 805 sulphide 1213 Sumerian literature  56, 60, 68, 72, 514, 538, 605 sun-discs  383, 752 sun-gods  432, 613, 620, 827 sunk-relief 466 sun-temples  109, 627–8, 838 sun-worship  432, 1153 Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum 1166

surface-collecting samples  300 surgeons 412 surveillance cameras  1199 survey methodology  253–5 Survey of Egypt map of central Memphis  200f survival rates  292 sutures 389–91 swamps  99, 105, 779 Sweeney, D.  23, 922, 928, 933, 955, 979, 984, 993, 1055, 1056, 1058, 1060–66, 1068, 1070 swords  668, 948 sycamore  127, 129, 141 Syene (Aswan)  231, 1082, 1159 symbolism and religious iconography  833–42 associations, types of  835f challenges 840–2 future research directions  840–2 linens and textiles  346–7 origins of Egyptian symbolism  833–4 studies of Egyptian  840–2 symbolic landscapes and their inhabitants  838–9 suggested reading  842 types and uses of symbols  835–8 visual symbolism, multiple aspects of  836f synaxary 1100 Syncellus  35, 1156 syncretism  749, 824, 831, 839, 849 Synkellos, G.  1159, 1166 synodal decrees  1147 syntax 939–40 Syria  34, 116, 315, 316, 400, 514, 515, 530, 536, 537, 650, 655, 992, 993, 1001 graffito 1106 Syria-Palestine  563, 658, 665, 668, 669, 671, 748 Syro-Palestinian archaeology  514, 536, 542, 545, 549, 610, 658, 660, 671, 748

T

tabby weave  335, 339 taboo 780 Tabula Smaragdina  83, 85 Taharqa/Taharqo (25th Dynasty)  685–6, 706–11 Tahrir (pl.)  155, 1177, 1188–90, 1194–6 Taimhotep (lady)  1004 Takelot/Takeloth I (22nd Dynasty)  694, 696–9, 710, 816 Takelot/Takeloth II (22nd Dynasty)  685–6, 694, 697–8, 700, 702, 704, 710 Takelot/Takeloth III (22nd Dynasty)  688, 699–706, 710, 816 talatat blocks  345, 436, 481 tamarisks  108, 109, 116, 135, 141 Tanis (pl.)  22, 41, 360, 385, 386, 401, 407, 448, 501, 511, 688–92, 695–701, 704, 709, 710, 712, 713, 717, 722, 1074, 1081 Tanite  360, 689–92, 697, 701 tanks 132

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1263 Tanta Museum (Tanta/Delta)  1189 Tanutamani (25th Dynasty)  711 tapes  254, 255 tapestries 341 taphonomy  148, 158 Tarkhan dress/tunic  343, 344, 348, 351, 353, 384, 604, 611 illustration 344f tarmac  224, 240 Tasian culture  120, 576, 578, 589, 591 tattooing  367, 406, 407, 413, 415, 502 taxation  336, 349, 526, 527, 729, 752, 753, 759, 778, 781, 784, 786, 791, 970, 975, 1022, 1073, 1088, 1115 Tayma oasis (pl.)  1127, 1136 teaching resourcing Egyptology  69 tools 1145–6 technology  269–79, 418–19 background 269 ethno-archaeology 272–7 experimental archaeology  272–7 future in Egyptology  277–9 study of  269–72 suggested reading  279 tectonic depression  101 teeth  158, 240, 389–91, 417, 419 Tefnakht I (24/26th Dynasty)  711 Tefnakht II (24/26th Dynasty)  703–4, 711 telescopes 254 telescopic sequencing  430 television 75 Tell el-Dab’a  128, 159, 207–8, 252, 254, 257, 284, 287, 297, 316, 324, 390, 393–4, 542, 625, 648, 649, 651 wall paintings  548–50 Tell el-Far’ah (pl.) 393 Tell el-Fara’in-Buto (pl.)  598, 616 Tell el-Farkha (pl.)  128, 146 Tell el-Maskhuta (pl.) 259 Tell el-Retaba, Wadi Tumilat bucket flotation of archaeobotanical samples 133f Tell Kabri (pl.)  549, 563 temperatures  318, 323 temples 747–8 annotations 1121–22 building  479, 747 town 13 Tenth Dynasty  630 terminology  387–8, 473–5 termis bean (Lupinus albus) 137 terraces  503, 973 terracotta  747, 751, 755–7, 759–60 terrestrial life  432, 829, 1113 Terusha (one of Sea Peoples)  668 text-editing 915 textiles 333–50 background  333, 349

coloured 345–6 cultivation 337–9 current excavations  335–6 economic values  347 future for the past  347–9 linen 333–5 production of  336–7 symbolism 346–7 uses of  340–5 looms 339–40 patterned 345–6 processing 337–9 status 347 storage 337 suggested reading  349–50 texts see autobiographical texts; casuistic texts; Coptic texts; healing and protection, texts for; historical texts; literary texts; mathematical texts; socio-economic texts; theology thanksgiving, instruments of  971 theatrical performance  1179 Theban Dynasties  650–1 Theban tomb scenes  550–1 Amenhotep, tomb of  662f tomb TT11 at Dra Abul Naga, on the west bank at Thebes 410f theft  25, 209, 796, 801, 805, 1188, 1198, 1199, 1213, 1216 Thelema, religion of  89 Thematic Internet-Portal  93 theodicy  828, 831 theodolites  255, 437 theology 844–51 assessment of  851 background 844 commentaries 846–7 dating sources  848 discursive texts  846–7 historical development  848–51 mythological manuals  845 nome monographs  845 priestly sciences  846 readership of theological texts  847–8 suggested reading  851 theologians 851 theoretical models  517 theosophical dialogue  89, 1160 Thera volcanic eruption  541–2, 553, 555–64, 567, 569, 570, 658, 678, 683 thermal survey methods  205, 422 thermoluminescence (TL)  114, 318 theurgy, practice of  83, 1160 thin-walled vessels  319 Third Intermediate Period  684–712 autobiographical texts  1002–3 background 684–90 Dynasty 21  690–4 Dynasty 22  694–9, 704–6

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1264   Index Third Intermediate Period (cont.) Dynasty 22A (Herakleopolitan/Theban Dynasty 23) 701–6 Dynasty 23  699–701, 704–6 Dynasty 24  703–6 Dynasty 26  703–4 in Egypt  505–8 militarization of  685 national administration  772–3 rock art and graffiti  1121–22 suggested reading  711–12 Twenty-Fifth Dynasty  706–11 Third Dynasty  608, 642 Thirteenth Dynasty  19, 393, 638, 645–7, 1045 Thirtieth Dynasty  368, 386, 720, 728–30, 745, 746, 817 Thirty-First Dynasty  728–30 Thracians 745 threading techniques  340 throats  410, 499 throw-stick 599 Thutmose I (18th Dynasty)  658–9, 668, 783, 813, 979, 981, 1001, 1120 Thutmose II (18th Dynasty)  658–9, 802, 984 Thutmose III (18th Dynasty)  298, 359–60, 381, 387, 395–7, 448, 480, 518, 527, 545, 549–50, 658–60, 676, 771, 784, 814, 974–8, 981, 984, 1001–2, 1120 smiting heads of foreign captives, Karnak temple 518f Thutmose IV (18th Dynasty)  359, 387, 480, 660, 984 tilapia fishes  379 tiles 340 tillage 101 timber  130, 141, 435–6, 708 Timna temple  1127, 1136 tissues  413, 414, 417, 418, 424 tit-knot 385 title-hierarchies 788 titles 766–7 titulary  505, 661, 723, 726, 729, 769, 989, 995, 998, 999, 1003 Tivoli (pl.)  442, 752, 1173 Tjemeh-Libyans 668 Tjunuroy/Tjuloy, chapel of  976 Tod und Vergänglichkeit  863, 866 tombs building projects  1059 cutters 1126 models  355, 358 owners  337, 347, 982 paintings  564, 681, 1062 robberies 415f, 431, 776 scenes 99 tombstone-inscriptions 1078 worker  289, 337 tools domestic artefacts, urban context of  301–4 techniques and  1128

top-down management  2, 5, 12, 101, 102, 105, 239–40 bureaucracy and control  246–7 topics 90–2 topography  38, 62, 103, 104, 187, 191, 192, 197, 199, 201, 205, 207–9, 211, 213, 217, 262, 286, 298, 845, 855, 863, 1021, 1112 see also mapping toponymy  100, 103, 490, 598, 600, 936, 1159 topsoil 207 top-weighted spindle  338 torches 411 torsos  687, 688, 752 torture  53, 1100 totems/totemism  152, 1113 tourism  3, 6, 42, 45, 202, 233, 236, 249, 250, 1120, 1202, 1203 touristic benefits  242–4 tourist-oriented practice  1177 tourists 1120–1 tours  259, 260 towers  194, 1199, 1201 tow-ropes 1127 toxic waste  318, 1213 toys 151 tracings 65 training issues  260–1 transcendentalism 83 transcriptions  730, 877, 912, 961, 996, 1004, 1016, 1078, 1140 transcultural figures  1160 transfer-document 1024 transfigured spirits  975 transitivity  826, 829, 943, 946, 947 reducing 937 translation  50–3, 1145–6 transliteration  546, 898, 899, 1021 transmission electron microscopy (TEM)  418 transportation  14, 186, 187, 240, 981, 997, 1174 transport-driven arrangements  180 transverse dams  101, 102, 104, 116, 199, 346, 779 trapezoidal shape  389, 390, 1036 trauma  158, 417, 1158 travel narratives  1013–14 travellers 1117–18 travelogues 90 travel-related inscriptions  1117 travertine (Egyptian alabaster)  171, 184–6, 193, 310, 360, 436, 608, 612 trays 340 treachery 1012 treason 805 treasure  352, 655, 846, 974 hunting 287 treasury  723, 769, 770, 772, 784, 785, 998, 1001, 1002 treaties  514, 665 treatises  155, 313–14, 410, 821, 827, 846, 886, 1044, 1077, 1156, 1158, 1160

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1265 trees  100, 107–10, 129, 133, 135, 140–2, 514, 598, 599 see also dendrochronology; palms felling 785 sacred and ornamental  108 savanna 109 tree-ring dating  541, 562, 564 triads  395, 826, 850 triangles  242, 247, 255, 1035 triangular shapes  343, 389, 390 triangulation  198, 201, 205 tribes  140, 311, 473, 494, 495, 497, 499, 511, 663, 668 tribunals  669, 799, 801, 804, 857 see also court proceedings; law First Intermediate Period  799 Middle Kingdom  801 New Kingdom  804–5 Old Kingdom  799 Second Intermediate Period  801 Third Intermediate Period  804–5 tributaries  100, 208, 464, 485 tributes  539, 600, 603 trichinosis 418 Trifolieae tribe (legume)  135, 140 Trifolium sp.  135, 140 trilingualism  1161, 1163 tri-literal language  870 triliteral phonograms  882 trills (uvular, phonetic)  938 Trimithis city  756 trimming stones  175 tripartite cryptogram  395 Triphis temple  1141 Tripolitania (pl.) 493 triremes (ship)  724 triumvirate 787 troops  479, 500, 667–9, 709, 725, 751, 771, 782, 783 trophy-like images  91 troupe of Amun  686 tuberculosis  418, 425, 426 tumours (bodily)  412 Tuna el-Gebel (pl.)  103, 117, 159, 160, 981, 1039, 1078, 1086, 1088, 1197 Tundaba (pl.)  674, 677 tunics  335, 340, 343, 345, 346, 348, 350 Tunip-Fortin (pl.) 530 Turin Papyrus  178, 197, 434f Turkey  27, 144, 146, 186, 238, 643, 650, 668 turquoise  194, 293, 294, 431, 514, 609, 973, 1136 mines 294f turtlebacks  105, 208 turtles  379, 381 Tushka East (pl.)  189, 1124 tusks  545, 581, 592, 1045 Tutankhamun accession of  661–3, 814 cloaked statues  341, 342f GEM collection  1195 Nubian administration, interest in  662

pectorals with throne name  386 reign of  667 restorations carried out by  438, 664 religious texts citing  850 royal scarabs, production of  395 tomb of: assemblage of pottery  313 CT scans  414, 416 discovery by Howard Carter  40, 127, 334, 360 linen embroidery  340, 346 serological tests  418 shabtis, number of  360 work carried out  276 wardrobe of  353 Tuthmosid features  687 tutors  812, 981, 1160 Tutu (god)  756, 758, 1141 Twelfth Dynasty  19, 112, 390, 393, 639–46, 922, 1014, 1124 twentieth-century Egyptology  39–40 Twentieth Dynasty  667–71, 687, 774, 785, 815–16, 965, 968, 1014, 1025 Twenty-Eighth Dynasty  728–30 Twenty-Fifth Dynasty  706–11 Twenty-First Dynasty  815–16 Twenty-Ninth Dynasty  728–30 Twenty-Second Dynasty  815–16 renumbering of rulers  696t Twenty-Seventh Dynasty  726–8 Twenty-Sixth Dynasty  721–6 Twenty-Third Dynasty  699–701, 704–6 twigs 133 typology 320–1 tyranny  81, 620

U

Ucko, P. J.  3, 29, 47, 52, 53, 59, 63, 64, 90, 93, 94, 96, 100, 120, 172, 188, 189, 193, 290, 307, 309, 489, 521, 532, 793 Udjahorresnet, inscription of  727, 732, 738, 742, 981, 990, 1003, 1005 udjat-eyes  381, 392 Uganda  237, 250, 485 Ugarit (pl.)  327, 404, 515, 529, 537, 567, 667, 682, 711, 712, 717, 732, 952, 1039, 1054, 1094 Ugaritic studies  682 U-j tomb (Abydos)  523, 533, 536, 537, 585, 587, 588, 591, 600, 602, 607, 616, 766, 873, 888, 890, 894, 961, 987 UK Sites and Monuments Records  236 Ukma West (pl.) 394 ulcers 410 Uljas, S.  18, 900, 910, 912–26, 928, 943, 945, 952, 955 Ullmann, M.  454, 664, 683 ultrasound imaging  414 Uluburun shipwreck  14, 28, 542–3, 546, 555, 562, 565, 566 Umm el-Qaab I  534, 536, 616, 873

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1266   Index Umm el-Qaab II  534, 536, 616 Umm es-Sawan, northern Faiyum  168, 178 stone circle plateau  169f Unas, king (5th Dynasty)  376, 620, 627 uncial (book-script)  877, 1009 unclean practice  333 uncles 810 unclothed statues  341 uncollated art  228 under-blanket 341 underclothing 334 underground  383, 435, 823 underwater archaeology  754 underworld  356, 365, 383, 384, 829, 830, 839, 859, 960, 1078 un-Egyptian traits  12, 505 UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization)  5, 40, 201, 232, 233, 235, 236, 290, 313, 478, 479, 486, 487, 1197 unetymological spellings  878, 879, 886 ungodly teachings  87 unilateral declarations  798, 800, 803 Unas (5th Dynasty)  346, 376, 464, 620, 627, 922 unité stratigraphique (archaeological unit)  256 United Kingdom (UK)  43, 75, 1205 United Nations (UN) see UNESCO United States (US)  4, 39, 210, 236, 313, 410–11, 1203 United States Agency for International Development (USAID)  5, 235 Uniter of the Two Lands  622 Universal (Egyptian) Transverse Mercator (U/ETM) 199 universal education  73 universal geography  1159 universal history  86, 906, 924, 1157, 1166 universal order  607 universalism  50, 85 universe  821–30, 833, 846, 967, 1105 creation of the  827 university-based curricula  1205 university-educated practitioners  236 unlabelled scenes  1120 unlaced sandals  1125 unmapped desert regions  166 unmarked word order (linguistics)  942–4 unorthographic spellings  1078 unpainted surfaces  466, 1207 unrest (civil)  515, 530, 668, 669, 995, 998 unrolling of mummies  412, 423, 1179, 1185 untranslatable inscriptions  355 untreated human bodies  1212 unwrapping mummies  155, 334, 353, 356, 412f, 417, 426, 1218 era of  411–13 updraught kilns  274, 281 Uphill, E. P.  36, 38–41, 46, 284, 311, 412, 423, 673, 683, 810, 819

upland 497 upper-air 118 U-q tomb (Abydos)  587 uraei  382, 385 knots 394 uraeus 1014 urbanism  29, 148, 283, 284, 307, 309, 310, 489, 634, 655, 681, 792, 793 urbanization  283, 284, 286, 300, 305, 307, 602 urination 1013 Urkunden I  623, 786, 973, 979, 980 Urkunden IV  447, 661, 680, 783, 784, 786, 972, 974, 975, 977, 979, 981, 1069 Urkunden VII  783, 980, 982, 1069 Urkundenreferat (biennial publication)  1106 Uruk Period/World System  192, 515, 520–5, 531, 537, 539, 614, 763, 776 Useribra Senebkay, king (Second Intermediate Period) 650 Userkaf (5th Dynasty)  627, 628 Userkara, king (6th Dynasty)  621, 628, 974 Usermaatra (Rameses II prenomen)  695 u-shaped marks  182 Usick, P.  1067 Usimara Meryamun Sheshonq IV  695, 696, 697 Usimara Meryamun Sheshonq VI  696, 697 Usimara Setepenamun Pedubast Sibast/Siese Meryamun  700, 701 Usimara Setepenra/amun Sheshonq II  697 Usimara Setepenra/amun Sheshonq III  697 Usimara Osorkonu (Osorkon IV)  701 usurping restorations  664 utensils, household  803 utilitarian objects  14, 337, 495, 504, 528, 538, 580, 874, 880, 1009 UTM coordinates  205, 210 utopian ethnographies  1157 uvulars (linguistics)  938

V

Valbelle, D.  162, 171, 188, 194, 292, 311, 441, 442, 456, 480, 482, 488, 649, 652, 725, 738, 740, 764, 772, 777, 786, 794, 818, 854, 968, 969, 1073, 1094, 1119, 1128, 1136, 1142, 1163, 1167, 1170 valency (linguistics)  904 Valley of the Kings pet baboon mummy (c.1500–1000 bc) 154f tomb KV 31  415f vandalism  1127, 1213 Vandersleyen, C.  441, 449, 456, 468, 470, 545, 549, 550, 560, 567, 568, 658, 660, 663, 664, 683, 982, 984, 993 Vandier, J.  336, 353, 443, 445, 456, 464, 470, 526, 533, 621, 623, 629, 632, 637, 845, 855, 954, 974, 980, 993, 998, 1004, 1006, 1092 Vandorpe, K.  408, 760, 1020, 1032, 1056–8, 1070, 1073–6, 1082, 1094, 1164, 1165, 1167, 1170

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1267 vases  272, 280, 351, 553, 555, 557, 560–1, 568–9, 591, 608, 615, 617, 705 vassal states  11, 480, 514, 516, 526, 660, 671, 722, 771, 1118 Vatican City  310, 363, 364, 452, 732, 746, 981, 1216 vats 323 vaults 506 vd-pillar 384 vectors 104 vegetables  128–30, 133, 137, 148, 419 vegetal products  144, 393, 394, 1207 vegetation  101, 108, 109, 116, 117, 122, 124, 144, 145, 147, 148, 150, 838 velars (linguistics)  938 Venice (Italy)  262, 424, 615 Venn diagrams  835 ventilation 418 Venus 752 verbal morphology  940–3 verbalist views  920 Vercoutter, J.  162, 503, 512, 542–3, 545, 546, 568, 629, 637, 734, 1135 verifications (επικρισις) 1019 verity 1215 Vermeersch, P. M.  128, 150, 290, 311, 575, 576, 578, 595 vernacular forms of language  933, 972, 1015, 1059, 1109 Verner, M.  186, 194, 619, 620, 626–8, 636, 637, 812, 819, 888, 973, 993, 1031, 1058, 1069 Vernus, P.  507, 512, 602, 603, 618, 647, 656, 667–9, 708, 719, 784, 794, 873, 876, 881–4, 886, 887, 894, 895, 902–4, 910–12, 921, 928, 929, 931–5, 938, 940, 941, 944–9, 955, 956, 972, 977, 982, 983, 993, 1090, 1144, 1153 versos 1009 vertigo 410 vessels  14, 17, 24, 128, 167, 168, 181, 187, 223, 273, 312, 313, 316, 319–26, 329, 331, 340, 462, 503, 519, 541, 543, 547, 548, 550, 553, 561, 569, 580, 585, 600, 608, 610–2, 751, 755, 974, 1023, 1057, 1127 small block quarry  181f vestibule  713, 1153 vestiges  21, 99 vestigia (inscriptions of feet)  1125 vetches 140 veterinary practices  10, 158, 1043 vice-regal  479, 481, 1120, 1121 viceroy  401, 479, 500, 660, 662, 667, 669, 670, 677, 680, 683, 771, 850, 890, 1056, 1069, 1120, 1134 Viciae tribe  140 victims  607, 796, 1012 Victorian and Albert Museum (UK)  380 Victorian period  43 victories (military)  971, 974, 977, 981 procession 606 victual mummies  153 video tours  259 Vienna System  314–16

Vienna System of fabric classification  271, 313–16, 326 Viers, R.  895 vies (Aramaic)  1020 vigil 858 vignettes  383, 839, 857, 862 village administration  787–8 vine, grape (Vitis vinifera) 138 vineyards  138, 674 Vinson, S.  272, 282, 545, 568, 964, 970, 1076, 1085, 1094 viral infection  413 Virgil Aeneid (671–713)  1158 virtual dictionary  905 virtues 1001 virtuous character  996, 1001, 1004 viscera 411 visceral jars  354 visitors, engagement with  1181–2 visual symbolism  837t visuality of writing  873 vitreous materials  27, 276, 281, 309, 564, 1210 vitrines  1208, 1212, 1213 Vitruvius (Roman architect)  430, 440 Vittmann, G.  22, 29, 688, 712, 721, 723, 724, 726, 728, 731, 735, 740–2, 759, 797, 800, 801, 808, 878, 892, 895, 936, 956, 1072–4, 1076, 1080, 1082, 1083, 1090, 1092, 1094, 1122, 1125, 1136, 1147, 1153 viziers  632, 641, 658, 768, 769, 772 Vleeming, S.  18, 29, 453, 720, 740, 819, 877–9, 895, 901, 910, 911, 949, 1023, 1026, 1028, 1030, 1032, 1072, 1075, 1078–80, 1084, 1094, 1095 V-neck dress  343 vocalic features (linguistics)878,  880, 901 vocalization 1096 Vogelsang-Eastwood, G.  138, 146, 150, 275, 280, 323, 332–5, 338–40, 345–7, 349, 352, 353 volcanic eruption  541, 556 Volcano of Thera  561, 562 volitional beings, deities as  822 Volney, Comte de  37 voluntary workers  238 Vorlagenostraka (preparatory ostraca)  876, 891 Vormanuskript (1906–1909)  899 votive objects  153, 351, 442, 445, 446, 448, 686, 733, 994, 1001, 1072, 1092, 1122, 1125, 1179 v-shaped marks  388, 390 vultures  380, 823 Vycichl, W.  901, 911, 913, 914, 929 Vymazalová, H.  24, 627, 634, 636, 715, 888, 1031, 1034, 1040, 1058, 1069

W

Waddell, W. G.  35, 47, 649, 656, 720, 722, 742, 851, 855, 976, 993, 1156, 1170 Wadi el-’Ayn (western Libya) wadi cultivation  498f

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1268   Index Wadi el-Hôl rock inscription  1124f Wadi el-Hudi amethyst mines (pl.)  171, 189, 222, 230, 234, 244, 641, 1119 Wadi Hammamat greywacke quarries (central)  222–7 see also rock inscriptions Bekhen-mountain region  183f, 184f Bir Hammamat  181f, 182f cafes 241f derelict gold mine  242f English–Egyptian joint mission  224 epigraphic research, history of  223 greywacke 179f quarries 170f, 225f landscape of contact  178–84 map 215f methodology 224–7 peopled landscape  240–4 problems and challenges  223–4 Wadi Hilal (pl.)  894, 1117, 1123, 1130 Wadi Howar (pl.)  475, 477, 485, 489 Wadi Kubbaniya (pl.)  175, 176, 192, 194, 301, 311 Wadi Maghara (Sinai peninsula)  293–4 hilltop dry-stone settlement  294f Wadi of the Horus Qa’a (Thebes) early ritual tableau of royal power  1114f wadi-floor settlement  294 wadis  7, 108–11, 118, 224, 227, 497 Wadi Subeira/Wādi Abu Subeira (pl.)  191, 218, 220f, 222, 230 North of Aswan city  220f AQMD team  245f Wadjet (goddess)  380 wadjet-eyes 357 Wadji, comb of  849 wages of royal tomb artisans  668 Wah, tomb of  341, 353, 966 Wahibraemakhet, sarcophagus of  724 Wah-sut town (Abydos)  287, 311, 794 Wainwright, G.  182, 188, 503, 512, 601, 618, 740 walled settlements/cities  289, 483, 498, 507, 606 walling of huts  139 wall-inscription 639 Wallis Budge, Lady  356, 899, 1053 wall-paintings 557 Walters Art Museum, Baltimore  28, 370, 372, 380, 385, 386, 389–91, 394–7, 407, 682 wands (tusk)  1045 Wannina (temple)  1141 warfare  340, 508, 514, 658, 677, 707, 708, 948, 977–8, 990 warp threads  334, 339, 340, 343 warp-weave 341 Warren, P. M.  541, 542, 544, 546, 547, 549, 551, 561, 568, 569, 658, 683 warriors  545, 567, 682

Wasermaatra Heqawaset Rameses Merreramun (possible ‘Rameses XII’)  693 wash  111, 116–8 washes 318 washing 1057 Washptah, tomb of  962, 980, 996 Wasmuth, M. S.  11, 29, 727, 728, 743 Wasnetjerra Sheshonq (22nd Dynasty)  695, 696, 697, 710 was-sceptre symbol  1113 waste  133, 137, 143, 277, 302, 303, 307, 318, 324, 334, 341 wastewater 120 water-borne transport  115 watercourses  337, 786 watercraft 843 water-grasses 99 water-land  606, 607 water-lifting technology  115 water-lily (Nymphaea lotus L. and N. caerulea Savigny)  130, 341 water-logging 131 watermelon (Citrullus lanatus)  127, 137, 138 water-pots 606 water-ret process  338 waterscapes  120, 121 water-storage 208 watertables 109 waterways 829 watery areas  829 wattle-and-daub technique  434 wavelength  115, 1214 wavy-ledge handled jars  516 Wawat (pl.)  473, 477, 890, 1134 wax(es)  1015, 1161, 1207, 1209–10 Wazarat Al-Askan W’al-Ta’mir  210, 212 W-dunes 117 weaning 158 weapons  140, 141, 405, 504, 602, 990, 1119, 1128 weather god (Baal)  849 weathered surfaces  222 weave  335, 339, 340, 343, 347 weavers  335, 336, 418, 424 weaving  335–40, 343, 347, 350, 567, 824 wedging technique (block-splitting)  180, 182, 184f weed species  127, 135, 140, 144, 145 weft thread  334, 340 Wegner, J.  19, 29, 287, 311, 322, 332, 478, 491, 644, 647, 650, 653, 656, 785, 794, 955, 975, 989, 993, 1074, 1077, 1085, 1095 Wehat-Neshi (pl.) 783 weighing, practice of  324, 1012, 1015, 1037, 1214 weirs (fish)  1112 welfare  1022, 1056 wellbeing  370, 382, 687, 845, 980, 1041, 1047, 1056 wells  208, 226, 303, 477, 485, 512, 664 well-shafts 103

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1269 Welsby, D.  14, 29, 311, 475, 476, 478, 480–3, 487, 489, 490, 492, 677, 1125, 1136 Wenamun, Report/Story of  446, 693, 709, 714, 934, 956, 973, 989, 1007, 1011, 1013 Wen-djeba-en-djed 713 Wendorf, F.  162, 175, 192, 194, 254, 265, 284, 301, 311, 1113, 1136 Wendrich, W.  8, 20, 29, 30, 139, 150, 164, 187, 256, 261, 265, 272, 282, 292, 306, 308, 311, 495, 509, 512, 533, 576, 593, 595, 632, 635, 654, 719, 736, 737, 739, 740, 775, 807, 831, 865, 866, 887, 928, 950, 953, 956, 1197, 1204 Wengrow, D.  2, 3, 9, 26, 30, 48, 50, 52, 54–6, 58, 60, 62, 64, 178, 194, 498, 512, 517, 521, 522, 524–6, 531, 533, 539, 588, 590, 595, 766, 777, 873, 895, 971, 993 Weni (6th Dynasty)  23, 622, 636, 781, 793, 799, 980, 992, 997, 1005, 1036 Weni  790, 997 Wennenefer, sarcophagus lid of  1004 Wepwawet (god)  490, 673, 782, 824, 998, 1001, 1026 Wepwawetaa (12th-Dynasty priest)  1000 Wereret­crown  861 Weret II, queen  393 Weretiamtes, queen  799 Wermai (fictional character)  935, 1063 Weshesh (one of Sea Peoples)  668 West Valley (Thebes)  153f Westbrook, R.  517, 530, 532, 672, 676, 805, 807, 1086, 1088 Westcar Papyrus  620, 627, 633, 637, 916, 925, 963 Westendorf, W.  403, 808, 842, 843, 895, 901, 906, 911, 918, 925, 929, 951, 1042, 1043, 1045, 1046, 1048, 1051, 1052, 1054, 1108, 1113, 1134, 1136, 1137 Western Asia  514–31 background 514–16 background to the study of  516–20 Bronze Age Empire  526–9 Canaan 520–5 case studies  520–9 chronological synchronization  519–20 current influences  516–20 early state, rise of the  520–5 Egypt 520–5 foreign materials, identification and interpretation of 519 future research directions  529–30 ideological representation  517–19 interdisciplinary work  516–17 issues 525–6 maps 515f past influences  516–20 suggested reading  531 theoretical models  517 Uruk 520–5 Western-designed approaches to heritage curation 236

wet clay  367, 462 wetlands 109–10 Wetterstrom, W.  110, 123, 128, 140, 141, 144, 146, 148, 150, 263, 624, 634 wheat  127, 131, 136, 137, 479, 576, 669 Wheeler-Kenyon method  257 wheel-made objects  327, 332 wheels  28, 274, 282 wheel-turned pottery  315 whipping 796 whips 802 White Crown  582f whitewash 462 wickerwork architecture  376 Widan el-Faras basalt quarries (pl.)  167, 173, 188, 190 Widmer, G.  879, 895, 1076–8, 1080, 1081, 1083, 1086, 1088–92, 1094 widowhood 815 wigs 606 wig-cover (afnet)  345 Wikimedia Commons  515, 518, 522, 640 Wilbour Papyrus  102, 211, 453, 501, 510, 511, 764, 766, 774, 784, 791, 893, 911, 923, 954–6, 968, 969, 1028 wild grasses  139 wild/weed species  140 wildlife products  163 Wildung, D.  483, 484, 492, 574, 593, 842, 1178, 1185, 1186, 1204 Wilfong, T.  22, 392, 395, 408, 1096, 1098, 1100, 1102–6, 1108, 1110 Willems, H.  120, 124, 128, 147, 358, 362, 366, 380, 408, 590, 639–42, 651, 652, 656, 779, 780, 782, 789, 794, 849, 855, 857, 858, 862, 863, 865, 866, 910, 955, 1028, 1086, 1092, 1093, 1118, 1120, 1125, 1134, 1137, 1141, 1153 Willis, A. J.  127, 140, 150 willow (Salix subserrata)  108, 110, 127 Wimmer, S. J.  404, 454, 527, 539, 877, 879, 895, 1059, 1064, 1068, 1071 Winand, J.  877, 887, 889, 891, 896, 901, 904, 905, 907–9, 911, 921, 922, 925, 926, 929–31, 933, 934, 940, 941, 943–8, 950, 952, 956, 1053, 1064, 1071 wind-borne sand  1210 wine  128, 138, 145, 148, 321, 330, 340, 368, 536, 548, 552, 585, 611, 892, 1019 wineskins 892 wings  383, 386, 829, 841, 849 wing cases  390 winged scarabs  383–6, 391, 394, 398, 399 winnowed 130 winnowing  130, 341 winter solstice  432 Wisdom of Solomon (Old Testament)  1097 wisp (papyrus)  1057 Withania somnifera (withania nightshade)  127

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

1270   Index women woman’s gift  802 womanhood 295 womb (female)  829 women’s correspondence  1061 women’s rights see also law First Intermediate Period  797–8 Middle Kingdom  801 New Kingdom  802 Old Kingdom  797–8 Second Intermediate Period  801 Third Intermediate Period  802 woodcuts 197 wooden objects  125, 130, 141, 338, 339, 355, 359, 364, 366, 375, 403, 435, 444, 453, 459, 460, 463, 477, 479, 512, 646, 718, 971, 977, 1029, 1034, 1040, 1057, 1161, 1194, 1207, 1211, 1218 woodland habitats  107–9 woods  141, 150, 538, 970, 992 woodworking  281, 303 wool  333, 1211, 1213 wool-spinning 338 word-forms (schematograms)  875 word-play 1101 word-signs (logograms)  870 workmanship  370, 444 workshops 302–3 work-step recording (Fundstellen) 257–8 World Archaeological Congress (WAC)  232 World Geographical System (WGS)  199 Wörterbuch project (Berlin, 1897)  18, 26, 28, 41, 189, 229, 350, 403, 408, 616, 897–901, 905–11, 925, 950–2, 1051, 1052, 1085, 1108, 1143 Wortlist (online tool)  1080, 1085 wounds, traumatic  417 woven decoration/garments  335, 338, 340, 343, 345, 349–51, 353, 598, 1105, 1211 wrap-around dresses  343, 345f wraps of cloth  343 wreaths  126, 127, 1207 wrestlers 599 wrist guards  1125 writing ancient Egyptian history  54–6 and archaeology  765–6 boards  876, 1009, 1034, 1057, 1104 dictionaries 904–5 functions and relevance of  602–5 materials 1057 system 1142–3 Wus, funerary stele of  613 Wuttmann, M.  282, 332, 447, 456, 636, 785, 793

X

xenophobia  82, 91, 1158 Xerxes I (27th Dynasty)  727 Xerxes I (c.486–465 bc) 727

Xia Nai (1910–85)  66, 70, 72, 76, 78 x-ray diffraction (XRD)  348 x-ray fluorescence analysis (XRF)  318, 348 x-ray spectroscopy  348, 414, 424 x-rays  155, 413, 414, 416, 423–4 Xuantong (Emperor of Qing Dynasty)  66

Y

Yahya el-Masry  1141 Yale-British School Expeditions  211 Yam  477, 490, 653 king of  499 Yamani of Ashdod  707 yards  288, 289 yarn (cloth)  333, 335–6, 338 Yebu 990 yellow coffins  359, 362, 363 yellow-white gender coloration  841 Yinghuan Zhilue (Atlas of the World)  65, 78 Yoffee, N.  3, 30, 52, 55, 60, 64, 517, 524, 530, 531, 608, 618 yoke  343, 709, 871, 967 oxen 783 Yoruba oriki 57 Yoshiaki Shibata  62 Yoyotte, J.  387, 408, 446, 456, 482, 491, 494, 501, 506, 507, 509, 513, 685, 703, 705, 712, 715, 719, 722, 724–6, 729, 733–5, 737, 738, 740–3, 903, 911, 1081, 1128, 1137, 1158, 1159, 1164, 1165, 1170 Yuya and Tjuiu (18th Dynasty) tomb of  359, 418, 663, 813 illustration 359f

Z

Zagazig (pl.) 1189 Zakrzewski, S. R.  8, 10, 29, 30, 131–2, 148, 150, 253, 265, 307 Zamalek (pl.) 1189 Zannanza (Hittite prince)  661 Zauzich, K. T.  725, 733, 743, 807, 846, 853, 881, 884, 888, 895, 896, 924, 1023, 1026, 1032, 1062, 1071, 1072, 1074, 1075, 1077–9, 1082–4, 1086, 1089, 1091, 1092, 1095, 1160, 1168 Zawiyet el-Aryan  374, 626 Zawiyet Umm el-Rakham  500, 503–5, 509, 512, 543, 567, 673, 682 Zazoff, P.  399, 408 Zebed (toponym)  600 Zenon Archive  1060, 1165, 1169 zero-subject constructions  945 Zet (23rd Dynasty)  699, 718 zetatai (‘needs to be checked’)  699 zetema (‘problem’)  699 Zeus  81, 428, 749, 750 Zeus-Amun  726, 749 Zhengzhu 68 Zhou Gucheng  68, 69, 78 Zhou Yiliang  67

OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 10/10/20, SPi

Index   1271 Zhu Fan Zhi (The Annals of Some Foreign Countries)  65, 78 Zincirli victory stele  708 Zippori illustrations  197, 212 Zivie-Coche, C.  715, 720, 733, 743, 828, 830–2, 851, 855, 1081 Ziziphus spina-christi (Christ’s thorn)  108–10, 127, 135, 141 zodiac 748

zooarchaeology  155, 160, 164, 261, 324 zoolatry 87 zoological phenomena  846 zoological treatises  155 zoologists  151, 155, 160 zoomorphic symbols/imagery  379, 447, 1112–14 zoonomy 900 Z-twist (textiles)  336 Zulu (ethnic group)  291