The Egyptologist

by Arthur Phillips

  Analysis: We must see past the myth to the historical facts. One specific day the war was clearly and unmistakably a lost cause. And in that time of palpable but still unconsummated doom, the king most certainly realised that he needed a tomb built in secret. I would hypothesise that he—no doubt travelling alone and incognito—scouted areas where he might make safe passage to the underworld, with whatever furnishings and baggage he could efficiently transport all by himself. And, though this is plainly speculation, it seems possible that the story on the wall should be read as the happy “miracle” of Atum-hadu stumbling one night onto an open tomb, built and rejected some years earlier for some other forgotten soul, or perhaps a tomb that had been plundered and left bare, perhaps storage caverns used by another dynasty’s architects or workmen, perhaps a hermitage occupied only by easily slaughtered hermits. There are several possibilities, but it seems quite likely that Atum-hadu, when he needed it most, found a suitable space that could be quickly converted to his needs, without the time, trouble, and risk [see essay on Tomb Paradox] of architects, workmen, or daylight operations. I can easily imagine Atum-hadu feeling that such a fortuitous discovery could only have been effected with the timely and loving assistance of a god-father.

  Journal: As soon as this chamber is completely transcribed into these notebooks, the hieroglyphs fully copied and translated, I will take the Earl of Carnarvon on a private tour, and the neat trick of changing horses in midstream will be gracefully and drily executed.

  The twelve pillars of the History Chamber support marvellous illustrations as well, covering each pillar nearly from floor to ceiling in a single, giant depiction of a discrete event, with a short explanatory text. Now, observe: if the pillars were executed by the same artist as the wall panels, he had clearly grown far more confident of his abilities and materials, as they are of an altogether grander dimension and mastery than the wall histories.

  PILLAR ONE, TEXT: THE BOY ATUM-HADU SETS HIS ENEMIES AGAINST EACH OTHER AND ESCAPES TO THE ARMY.

  Illustration: A soldier attacks a man and a woman while Atum-hadu (laughing? crying?) escapes to join the army of Djedneferre Dudimose.

  Saturday, 9 December, 1922

  J: Cats. P: nothing. B: closed.

  PILLAR TWO, TEXT: ATUM-HADU ENTERS THE COURT OFDJEDNEFERRE DUDIMOSE AND IS RECEIVED WARMLY.

  Illustration: Atum-hadu receives a particular form of tribute from the kneeling wife of Djedneferre Dudimose and other kneeling female members of the court while a long-lashed giraffe gazes on, masticating at the sight, and Atum-hadu himself looks skyward and watches acrobats fly, throwing each other high above the palace floor.

  PILLAR THREE, TEXT: ATUM’S WARRIOR DESTROYS THE KING’S ENEMIES.

  Illustration: Atum-hadu, in the form of a man-headed lion, tramples the enemies of Egypt, who fall in a hail of arrows. High above, Horus, Atum, Ra, Isis, Osiris, Seth, Montu, Hathor, and Ma’at look down with marked approval.

  PILLAR FOUR, TEXT: ATUM-HADU BECOMES KING AND POET BOTH.

  Illustration: Still standing on the bodies of the treacherous ministers of Djedneferre Dudimose, Atum-hadu instructs his court. He gently rests one hand on the head of the late king, and in his other he holds a sheet of papyrus. One can just make out the hieroglyphic writing on that papyrus in an extraordinary touch of uncommon verisimilitude and detail in Egyptian art. It is nothing less than Quatrain 1. The detail of the tiny black hieroglyphs on the tan sheet of papyrus must have taken the artist hours to perfect. Considering the conditions in which he was likely working (smoke, heat, hunger, poverty, approaching enemies), his accomplishment is nothing less than genius.

  J: C. P: still nothing.

  Sunday, 10 December, 1922

  J: Cats, bank, post. Nothing.

  PILLAR FIVE, TEXT: DAYS OF PEACE AND PLEASURE IN ATUM-HADU’S COURT.

  Illustration: This pillar is worth a moment’s analysis. It was probably only natural that Atum-hadu’s court was prey to nostalgic impulses, the mad desire to peer over one’s shoulder for a golden age. At a time of encroaching darkness and a pervasive sense of doom, such an instinct was probably stronger still. That said, it is clear that Atum-hadu (even as his scribes were engaged in the previous king’s nostalgic preservation project) was dedicated to making his era a golden age in itself and his court the centre of a reborn Egypt. His was a simultaneous anti-nostalgic project, particularly difficult in times of defeat and despair. But to this end, this pillar shows his court as he must have wished it to be recalled at its peak of glory. Musicians in tunics decorated with multi-coloured lozenges perform while a woman leads several dogs in a parade of tricks. Celebrants of the cult of Atum abound, in a vast array of mathematical combinations, from rows of solitary worshippers to complex pyramidal arrangements requiring multitudes. Men are tied down with symbolic chains woven of peacock feathers, and they are lashed by nude women and, at the centre of all this activity, the unmistakable king himself, nude, surrounded by adoring crowds of gentle, long-fingered beauties with sleepy eyes.

  PILLAR SIX, TEXT: THE FALSE FATHERS.

  Illustration: This curious pillar with its inexplicable title depicts a series of executions and tortures, all overseen by Atum-hadu, whose expression is one of stern necessity. A soldier is fed to a crocodile. A priest is skewered and roasted alive (see Wall Panel D). A young working man (attacked in Pillar One) is here pursued by a crowd of what appear to be armed children, while a donkey mounts the woman shown with him on Pillar One.

  J: Post, bank—nothing. Cats. Maggie is so funny! She knows

  which route I take now to bring her food, and she leads the Rameses to meet me there, so I need not approach the villa at all. She likes her fish, we learn tonight, a little Nile perch, while the toms stick to milk and scraps of meat. I would love to have the three of them across the river with me, but it would hardly be fair, to them or to the delicate work I am uncovering.

  Mr. Trilipush,

  It will interest you to know that, given the apparent magnitude of Mr. Carter and Lord Carnarvon’s find in the tomb of Tut-ankh-Amen, making it without question one of the great discoveries in all Egyptological history, Mr. Carter will need vast resources to complete the enormous task ahead of him: cataloguing, preserving, and removing the contents of this frankly “overstuffed” tomb. Given the tasks, which will certainly take Mr. Carter several years, the curator of the New York Metropolitan Museum has put at Mr. Carter’s disposal many of that institution’s resources currently dedicated to the Metropolitan’s own excavations. Specifically, Mr. Lythgoe has offered Mr. Carter the services of photographers, artists, skilled workmen, philologists, chemical and criminological experts, and others. As you can well imagine, this reduces greatly the likely productivity of Professor Winlock and the amount of surface area he can profitably examine in the Deir el Bahari area, at least for the present season and perhaps much of next season as well. And so, Professor Winlock has been kind enough to inform me that if the Antiquities Service wishes to issue temporary concessions for areas that are outside his current area of investigations, he would be willing in the interest of science to consider the temporary partitioning of his concession. Considering your previous interest, I would like to offer you the opportunity to resubmit an application. While the Antiquities Service reserves the right not to issue any new concessions, any project showing a likelihood of success and professional management will certainly be considered. With every good wish, please believe that I am your devoted and unwavering servant,

  Pierre Lacau, Director-General of

  the Antiquities Service

  Monday, 11 December, 1922

  Journal: Cats, bank, post: and there an overdue reward to my patience awaits me in my poste restante, honouring my time in the wilderness when none would support me! Lacau has offered me my concession at last.

  Slow down and savour these events! I raced to Carter’s site, without even cleaning off the traces of my days and nights in the field. The pain in my leg was excruciating as I set off
to find Lord Carnarvon. The tide has finally turned, but I turned back myself, returned to the tomb for a moment to mark this down, because in my hurry, I nearly forgot to take a copy of Desire and Deceit in Ancient Egypt. I have just now inscribed it, “To Lord Carnarvon, Egypt’s patron, knowledge’s financier, Atum-hadu’s Champion, Atum’s most creative right hand, from his admirer and dare I say partner, R. M. Trilipush, 11 December 1922.” Off again!

  I am wondering if Lacau is not part of a far-flung conspiracy to break my heart. I arrived at Carter’s site but found no trace of him or the Earl, no crowd of tourists, no pashas demanding unholy peeks at Tut. Instead the tomb was covered again. I asked one of the numerous native guards where his masters were. “His Lordship’s returned to England with Lady Evelyn. Mr. Carter has gone to Cairo to see them off.” Gone, My Lordship, gone to London on the big boat. I could hear Carter’s simpering relief, squiring Carnarvon away from me just as my opportunity ripened, then quickly rotted.

  Bank. Despite my rigid economies, I am nearly out of money. My backers have abandoned me. My rivals are determined to see me fail. Post: send Desire and Deceit and a detailed proposal to Carnarvon’s estate in England, but this will take far too long. Merely what I have discovered to date would win me a new backer, I am certain. Go home? Wed Margaret with nothing to show for my time here, with no job at home, and her still under the influence of Ferrell? And even if I could refresh her affections, we would live off of what? Sit and wait for Carnarvon’s word? Show him the History Chamber next season?

  Carter’s up in Cairo.

  Sleep indoors for the first time in eleven days. I left the Victrola 50 down at the tomb, unfortunately, as I would appreciate the help in falling asleep, and there is no gramophone here.

  Tuesday, 12 December, 1922

  J: After a fair breakfast, ferry back across to the east bank to the

  cats. PB: nothing and nothing. Ferry and hobble back across to Deir el Bahari. Rest often. I will finish my work, present my findings to Harvard when I return, have my job back. Or to a museum. Or a different university.

  PILLAR SEVEN, TEXT: A NEWLY REVEALED QUATRAIN IN CLASSIC ATUM-HADUAN STYLE IS WRITTEN AT THE BASE OF THE PILLAR:

  My Master of Largesse returns with empty hands,

  Pleads illness, war, bad luck, paresse; his antics spoil all my plans.

  I will take his daughter in front of him, sneer at his mingled shame and lust,

  Then, finished with her, I will cut out his lying tongue and drop it in the dust.

  Illustration: The Master of Largesse, corpulent and shifty-eyed, pleasures himself alone in a dark room before the figurines of the temple, while with his free hand he hides the king’s money. In a second scene nearer the ceiling, he speaks with a man we can safely presume to be the chief of the invading Hyksos.

  The obvious rage of the king, contrasted with the illustration of the quite alive, quite be-tongued Master of Largesse double-crossing the king, demonstrates Atum-hadu’s frustration: betrayed by his protector, he is unable to find and destroy him. The king blusters with weightless words.

  PILLAR EIGHT, TEXT: TWO MORE NEW QUATRAINS:

  He was satisfied with this one, asked for no more,

  But her betrayal proved she was a whore.

  He replaced her in his bed and state

  With not one woman but with eight.

  She’s a wretched crocodile who forsakes a king,

  And when she is punished he begins to sing.

  She hangs from the ceiling, and sad-eyed, betrayed men come from afar

  Daily to soothe themselves by viewing her weeping and her scars.

  Illustration: Most remarkable. A single figure portrait, the queen, larger than life, in three-quarters. Even millennia later her beauty is undeniable. The anger in the quatrains is belied by this effortless depiction of her grace and beauty, as if she were already a painful memory rather than a living presence. It is a painting of remembered love, or a wish for some other world where they could be together without pressures of state or battle. The second quatrain seems to be more fantasy than reality, as there is no mention on the wall panels of his queen being tortured and displayed for the emotional satisfaction of the kingdom’s rejected men.

  PILLAR NINE, TEXT: ATUM-HADU SPIES UPON HIS ENEMIES.

  Illustration: While the Hyksos general conspires with Atum-hadu’s Master of Largesse, Atum-hadu himself is shown in the Hyksos general’s camp, unrecognised, and in his tent, unrecognised, and finally in his home, lying in his bed, reading his most secret plans, unrecognised.

  PILLAR TEN, TEXTLESS.

  Illustration: Studies, perhaps, for Pillar Eight. She is shown in thirty different views, and sometimes only her head or hands. Her smile alone is attempted a dozen times. She is depicted asleep and awake, seated and striding, in a variety of costumes, with hounds at her feet, beautiful and beloved.

  J: CPB. Nothing. Back across to the west. The bed is really a

  welcome change. I wonder if I could house the cats here.

  Wednesday, 13 December, 1922

  J: CPB. Someone (Carter? Finneran? Ferrell?) has poisoned the

  bank tellers against me, and they stage a little drama, making much of my injury and issues of hygiene, grabbing at straws to carry out some unseen enemy’s illegal orders, barring me from further daily enquiries.

  PILLAR ELEVEN, TEXT: THE END APPROACHES.

  Illustration: Atum-hadu in distress, alone, seated on his throne, doubled over, clutching his belly. On the reverse (north) side, he is depicted with a literal crocodile gnawing at his insides. The Hyksos troops are shown massing in a hundred different directions. The dapper, smug Hyksos general stands ominously nearby and leers at the writhing Atum-hadu, perhaps with an implication that it is his magic causing the king’s torments?

  PILLAR TWELVE, TEXT: THE END OF DAYS.

  Illustration: It is night. Atum-hadu, dead, is carried over the shoulder of a single unidentifiable friend. The friend carries him towards the miraculous, glowing tomb, where Seth and the vultures await. Meanwhile, the Hyksos rape and burn and defecate as they storm the palace. They do not notice the escaping ally carrying the dead king.

  This is worth a word of analysis as, historically, it still remains to us to explain Atum-hadu’s solution to the Tomb Paradox. Certainly, Atum-hadu discovered this space, and decided to make it his tomb. Probably, he furnished it secretly on his own, perhaps over the space of a year or more. Finally, abandoned by his ministers, army, priests, Master, queen, he must have had still one single, trusted friend. This friend is anonymous, perhaps someone from boyhood, perhaps only recently met and taken into the royal confidence. It must have been someone with artistic skills and with no earthly ties. Let us hypothesise a court artist whose family was killed by the Hyksos and who, in his misery, accepted a strange commission from his lord and master: in exchange for (a) painting the walls of the king’s tomb (almost certainly while the king was still alive and dictating the images to the artist), and (b) assuring that the king was brought there secretly immediately upon his death the humble artist received—what? What would he value? Gold? A military-escorted escape route from the Hyksos? Some magical protection? We must continue to think.

  J: CP. I am growing accustomed to beds again, a forgotten respite

  after the smoke and must of the tomb.

  Thursday, 14 December, 1922

  J: Forced to be up and out in a hurry, end of soft beds for now.

  Have that terrible sensation of having forgotten something, but that is not uncommon and not always true. Calm down over a mint tea at my favourite ahwa.

  Post—nothing. Off to the cats, then.

  Margaret, today brings another cruelty that I cannot even begin to I cannot control my grief. I am mewling like a child, cannot bear to write it, cannot believe it.

  Friday, 15 December, 1922

  How would he recognise the moment when the end had come? Did he simply fight until he fell in battle? Or did he know before, feel it in
some specific loss, something he saw destroyed that became at that moment the symbol of everything certain to be destroyed later?

  Saturday, 16 December, 1922

  Work. Miserable bowels.

  Sunday, 17 December, 1922

  (FIG. G: THE FIRST SEVEN CHAMBERS,ENDING WITH THE SHRINE TO BASTET, 17 DEC., 1922)

  Bastet was, of course, the feline-headed goddess of ancient Egypt, and although there is no mention of her in the Admonitions, one entire chamber of Atum-hadu’s tomb is dedicated to her cult. The room is, like the rest of the tomb, brilliantly decorated from an historiographical standpoint, though less successfully from an art-critical view. In the centre of the room, a symbolic union with Bastet is indicated in the form of a mummified cat. The cat seems to have been preserved in the traditional manner, wrapped in linens (emblazoned with decorative motifs of sphinxes, vultures, and cobras, as well as hieroglyphs warning of Horus’s cardiovoric wrath against any tomb-robber wicked enough to disturb the shrine), and laid to rest directly on the tomb’s bare floor, a comment, perhaps, on Atum-hadu’s domination of the feline elements in traditional religion? A shortage of furniture in the hurried last moments, sealing in the king while Hyksos monkeys chattered in the middle distance?