FROM the middle of January till the beginning of March not a day went by but some parties of visitors passed through Der el-Bahri to see Hatshepsu’s temple. They usually went to the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings first, and then crossing over the mountain which separated us from that valley, we would see them defiling1 down the steep incline which leads to Cook’s rest-house. After lunch the guide would rush them through Hatshepsu’s shrine2, and then start them off to see the tombs of Sheykh Abd-el-Gurna; the Ramesseum would then be visited, and with hardly a pause for breath every one would remount their donkeys or get into their litters to be rushed off to Medinet Habu. The Valley of the Tombs of the Queens might then be visited, and a long ride, with a short halt at the Colossi of Memnon, would take them to the Nile, to be crossed after sunset, before the Luxor hotels could be reached.
I have no doubt that most of these good people were thankful when so fatiguing3 a day was well over, and vowed4 that no power on earth would ever induce them to go through it again. A week would barely suffice to get more than a cursory5 glance of all the195 sights which are crowded into this one long day. The following day is usually devoted6 to ‘doing’ the Luxor temple, and being rushed through the ruins of Karnak. These people who do their sights at such a giddy speed usually take part in a tour up the Nile organised by some travelling agency. A few well-advised ones remain at Luxor till the steam dahabieh, which has taken them so far, picks them up on its return trip from Assuan. This gives them time to see at their ease that which the ill-advised ones had merely been rushed through.
It was amusing, after some months of solitude7, to see my fellow-creatures again, but before the tourist season was over I longed to get back to the usual quietude of our valley. The trippers would arrive in batches8 of from one to two hundred, and add to this an equal number of donkeys and their drivers—Der el-Bahri on those occasions became a veritable pandemonium9. Fortunately they generally swept down on us at about the same hour of the day—in time to lunch at the rest-house opposite my hut; by three o’clock they were driven off, by the guide in charge of the party, to see the Ramesseum. I had to rearrange my day and feed when they fed, and take a ‘siesta’ until the temple was empty once more. Until the tripper season we were almost flyless, being sufficiently10 far in the desert to be away from that pest. The donkeys and the débris of the picnickers brought the usual swarms11 of flies with them, and work in any of the temples was as bad in that respect as in the bazaars12 at Cairo.
196 The smaller parties who dropped on us unawares were most to be feared. I might be making some studies in one of the tombs, which are airless enough at the best of times, and be suddenly aware that a party was approaching by hearing, ‘Dis way, ladies and shentlemens, to de Tomb of Rekmaré.’ There would be no help for it but to pack up my traps and be off. If I returned after the crowd had been rushed off somewhere else, the air would be unbreathable, both from the numbers who had been there, and from the extinguished tapers13 or magnesium14 wire.
By the end of March I, and possibly some artist friend, would again reign15 supreme16 at Der el-Bahri. It is a hot valley, for it is shut off from the northerly breezes, and the cliffs throw back the rays of the sun. By rearranging our days we managed to avoid the worst of the heat. We breakfasted at daybreak, and we took our midday meal about eleven, and from twelve till four we would sleep in some recess17 where the sun’s rays had never penetrated18. After that, and a cold bath and some tea, we could get to work till sundown. The hut became unbearable19 in April, for it had no double roof. The coolest spot I could find for the midday rest was in the Ptolemaic sanctuary20 in Hatshepsu’s temple. This is cut deep into the overhanging cliffs, and in the hot season would be some twenty degrees cooler than my hut. I put an Arab bed in here, and by lying with my head to the entrance, there was just light enough to be able to read myself to sleep.
There was no fear of trippers now, and the few visitors who remained on in Luxor would only arrive197 before or after the heat of the day. On first entering my temporary boudoir nothing would be visible on the dark walls; but on getting accustomed to the dim light, rows of gods and goddesses would appear. The hawk-headed Homs, jackal-laced Anubis, and the unspeakable Min of Koptos were all here; also the rounded forms of Euergetes’s Queen, and Maat, the goddess of truth. The tiger-headed Sekhmet, Bellona’s prototype, and Sobk with his crocodile snout made a foil to the rounded features of Hathor and Isis.
A squeaky sound somewhere above would make me aware that I was not the only living tenant21 of this sanctuary. Bats have long since discovered that it is fairly cool here in summer, and not too cold in winter. A noise like gentle taps from a hammer would draw my eyes to a wide crack in the wall, and around two shiny little beads22 I would make out the form of a large lizard23. The little beads would stare at me for some time, and if I just moved my head they would disappear into the depths of the wall. The bats like myself only used this place as a shelter from the heat, and would venture out towards night to find a living; but what could this lizard (a gecko, I believe, it is called) find here to subsist24 on? Flies kept away from this dark sanctuary, and except the water I had in my water-bottle no moisture finds its way here.
The guards occasionally shot a snake, but all I have seen in this temple appeared to be harmless ones; anyhow, none ever shared my resting-place with me. It was different in the enclosure of the Ramesseum, which is nearer the moisture of the cultivated land. I was198 returning from my work there one evening, and passed close to a large cobra. It was curled round a stone which was partly hid in the scrub growing near the pylon25. I had no stick with me, or I might have been able to kill it. It was the first I had ever seen, except in captivity26, and I was very interested in comparing it with its numerous presentments in every temple in Egypt. To kill it, with as little risk as possible of its killing27 me, became my chief wish when I had watched it for some time, and reflected what a danger this beautiful creature was to the numbers of people who roam about the temple. When I picked up a good-sized stone, it shifted its place and disappeared in the scrub.
I came to the spot on the following evening with Mr. Howard Carter and a shot-gun; we also brought some milk in a pan, and placed it near where I had seen the cobra. We waited till dark in the hopes of our bait attracting it, but I am sorry to say we saw it no more.
Professor Flinders Petrie told me that he had killed several with his walking-stick. They are easily destroyed; but if one merely wounds the creature with a blow, it may strike its fangs28 into one before a second blow can be dealt. We told the guardians29 of the temple, and they promised to try to shoot it. I never heard of their having done so, and I have a suspicion that the prospect30 of a gratuity31 from a snake-charmer may have prevented them. Whether this cobra has since hearkened to the voice of the charmers, charming never so wisely, and is now occasionally pulled out of a sack to perform on the pavement in front of Shepheard’s hotel, I cannot say. I have never seen as large199 a specimen32 in Cairo, and I expect they are taken when they are young.
As this is an art practised now as in pharaonic times, it may be of interest to hear what Canon Tristram says about it in The Natural History of the Bible: ‘The art of serpent charming, referred to in Ps. lviii. 4 and Jas. iii. 7, is of immense antiquity33, and is practised not only in Africa but in India. In the latter country it is exercised on another species of cobra (naja tripudians) very like the haje. The resources of the charmers appear to be very simple—the shrill34 notes of a flute35, which are the only kind of tones which the serpent, with its very imperfect sense of sound, is capable of distinctly following: and, above all, coolness and courage, combined with gentleness in handling the animal, so as not to irritate it. The charmers are not impostors; for though they may sometimes remove the fangs, it is a well-attested fact that they generally allow them to remain, and they will operate on the animals when just caught as willingly as on individuals which have long been in their possession; but they are very reluctant to make experiments on any other species than the cobra. When a cobra has been discovered in a hole, the charmer plays at the mouth until the serpent, attracted by the sound, comes out, when it is suddenly seized by the tail, and held at arm’s length. Thus suspended, it is unable to turn itself so as to bite, and, when it has become exhausted36 by its own efforts, it is put into a basket, the lid of which is raised while the music is playing, but, at each attempt of the serpent to dart37 out, the lid is shut down upon it, until it learns to stand quietly on its tail, swaying to and fro200 to the music, and ceases to attempt to escape. If it shows more restlessness than ordinary, the fangs are extracted as a precaution. Instances are not uncommon38 in which, with all their care, the jugglers’ lives are sacrificed in the exhibition.’
We were surprised one evening by a much more alarming creature than a cobra, and that was a raving39 madman. My friend Erskine Nicol was staying with me, and we had asked Howard Carter to dine with us. When the latter arrived within sight of our hut, he was accompanied by a native who farmed a large part of the land between the fringe of the desert and the Nile. The man appeared very excited about something, and Carter was doing his best to pacify40 him. As they got nearer, we heard him accusing some one who had cut down a tree belonging to him, and he kept pointing to our hut, and saying that the culprit lived there. Nicol then approached the man, and asked what the excitement was about, and after some conversation he called out to me not to let the man in as he was out of his mind. It was dusk at the time, and my cook had lighted the lamp and set the table; we had a lot of inflammable material about, as I and my assistant were packing a large number of casts to send off to America. A madman amongst our casts was about the last thing we wanted, besides the danger of his upsetting the petroleum41 lamp.
The man of a sudden dodged42 away from my two friends and made a dash for the hut. I was just in time to close the door, and my assistant and I had to lean against it to prevent the madman from bursting it in. It was a frail43 double door and could not long201 resist the onslaughts of our unwelcome visitor. I managed to reach a crowbar, and, by sticking one end in the floor and jamming the other under one of the transoms, it made a powerful buttress44. Finding that that half of the door resisted his efforts too stubbornly, the man threw himself on his back and kicked his foot through a panel and forced his leg well inside. ‘Hold on a bit longer,’ called out my friends outside, ‘we have sent for the temple guards and some rope.’ I had to dislodge that leg or we should have had the whole man in through the broken panel. A severe bastinado on the sole of the foot finally made the man withdraw it. He then butted45 the door with his head and, making several rushes, threw the weight of his body against it. Another panel had just given in when the guards arrived.
My two friends then closed with the man and called on us to come out, and we also threw ourselves on to the poor fellow. The guards handed us a bit of rope, but would not touch the man, not through physical fear so much as apprehension46 of making an enemy of one who from his wealth was a power in the village. With his turban we pinioned47 his arms, and we tied his ankles together with the rope, and then sat on his body till his relations had been sent for. We did our best not to hurt the unfortunate man; but as he was powerfully built, it was all we could do to master him.
When his relations arrived he was sufficiently exhausted to allow of his being lifted on to a donkey and taken away into the darkness.
That same evening we had several of his relatives202 round, as well as the Omdeh of the village, and they all implored48 us not to let the authorities in Luxor know about it. They would keep him locked up till he was safe to be at large; whereas, if he were taken to the Mamúr, he would be sent to the madhouse at Keneh, and there, according to these villagers, he would be treated with the utmost cruelty. Now the right person to report him was the Omdeh of the village, and we reminded him of this, and told him that if any one was harmed by this madman we should report the Omdeh for having neglected his duty. The latter promised to take all responsibility, and said that we could rest assured that the man would never come near my hut again.
For a couple of days we had peace, for the poor madman had probably not recovered from his exhaustion49. After that time we saw him rushing about the neighbourhood with half the village-folk after him. We called on the Omdeh to tell him that he must inform the authorities at Luxor, or we should do it ourselves, and he promised that he would send a messenger that very day. I did not expect him to keep his promise, and decided50 to write to the Mamúr the next day to report on the madman as well as on the Omdeh for neglect of duty. This time, however, the latter did not lie, and we heard that some mounted police and a litter had arrived and had taken the man off.
An important official and his secretary rode over to my hut on the following day and gave us a good example of Egyptian red-tapism: age, place of birth, nationality, profession, etc., of all the witnesses had to be taken down by the secretary; each one in turn203 down to the cook and our messenger had to give their testimony51. ‘Did the man call you names, and if so how many?’ was one of the questions put to me; as if it mattered what a madman said, for the poor man had been pronounced insane by the doctor that very morning. It is also difficult to see how our ages and places of birth bore on the subject, unless one had the mind of an Egyptian and that of an official as well.
We heard that the patient had gone out of his mind once before some years previously52, and that he had now been sent to the lunatic asylum53 at Keneh. Madness must either be quickly cured there or else the rumours—that baksheesh (if in sufficient quantity) can get a patient out—must be true, for in less than three weeks the man was in our neighbourhood again. He was, however, carefully watched by his relatives, and we had no further visits from him.
To give some idea of the dread54 the fellaheen have of hospitals (unless they go as out-patients), as well as of lunatic asylums55, I will repeat what one of these peasants maintained takes place in the latter. He declared that those of unsound mind were hung by their heels from the ceiling, over a charcoal56 brazier, and then holes were bored in their heads to let out a valuable juice for which the doctors got a large price. ‘A piastre a drop,’ said one; ‘No, three piastres a drop,’ declared another. It would be curious to trace the origin of such an absurd statement. In some of the out-of-the-way places, I am, however, sorry to hear that some native doctors are not above extracting baksheesh from their patients.
204 I heard this from an Englishman and his wife, whose words I cannot doubt. A man whom they employed as gardener in Upper Egypt, where they were living, had to go to a hospital owing to some accident to his leg. The doctor who attended him said he could cure the leg, but might possibly have to amputate it. He then asked the patient what he earned and what his relatives were worth, and on being told, suggested that a certain sum would be necessary to save the leg. The poor gardener could not pay this, and, after the usual bargaining, the sum agreed on was obtained from the patient’s people, and the man soon left the hospital with both his legs. Of course, had the doctor’s villainous behaviour been reported to high quarters he would have been summarily dealt with. Let us hope that he has been found out since.
Any one seeing the poor hovels many of the fellaheen dwell in would be surprised at the attachment57 they have for their homes. During my second winter at Thebes we had a poor Nile, and a large portion of the land near us had not had its usual share of inundation58; besides this, the Egyptian Exploration Fund having started their work elsewhere, the three hundred men and boys it had been employing for some years past had not this work to do. It was therefore a singularly bad year for the people of Gurna. Work at the Assuan dam was being paid at three times the rate these men got while the excavations59 were on, and now a great many were stranded60 with no means of a livelihood61. It was useless to try and persuade any to apply at Assuan for work, the idea of going more than a hundred miles to better their205 circumstances was abhorrent62 to them. It was pitiable to see the number of men who applied63 for the little work I could give them in connection with the reproduction of the bas-reliefs.
Towards the end of the season the view of the Ramesseum was being spoilt by a great bank of earth that was being raised round it as an encircling wall. I was sorry to see this, as it ruined the effect of the temple from a distance; but I had some consolation64 in the fact that it gave employment to a number of the villagers. Let us hope that a similar amount of work in pulling it down again may be reserved for the next bad Nile.
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1
defiling
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| v.玷污( defile的现在分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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batches
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| 一批( batch的名词复数 )； 一炉； （食物、药物等的）一批生产的量； 成批作业 | |
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pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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bazaars
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| （东方国家的）市场( bazaar的名词复数 )； 义卖； 义卖市场； （出售花哨商品等的）小商品市场 | |
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tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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magnesium
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| n.镁 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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subsist
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| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
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pylon
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| n.高压电线架，桥塔 | |
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captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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gratuity
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| n.赏钱，小费 | |
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specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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39
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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40
pacify
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| vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒)；抚慰 | |
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41
petroleum
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| n.原油，石油 | |
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42
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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43
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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44
buttress
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| n.支撑物；v.支持 | |
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45
butted
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| 对接的 | |
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46
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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47
pinioned
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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50
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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51
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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52
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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53
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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54
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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55
asylums
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| n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 )；庇护；政治避难；精神病院 | |
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56
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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57
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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58
inundation
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| n.the act or fact of overflowing | |
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59
excavations
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| n.挖掘( excavation的名词复数 )；开凿；开凿的洞穴（或山路等）；（发掘出来的）古迹 | |
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60
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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61
livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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62
abhorrent
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| adj.可恶的，可恨的，讨厌的 | |
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63
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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64
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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