Thousands of Tourists Make the Egyptian Trip Since Howard Carter Discovered the Tomb of King Tut Ankh-Amon. Scene of the Carnarvon Expedition. Riches of the Tombs.
BY GIDEON A. LYON
Photographs by the Author.
It would be interesting,” said a fellow traveler to me at our hotel in Cairo on the evening of our arrival at the Egyptian capital, “to know how many thousands of tourists have been drawn to Egypt since 1922 as a result of the discovery of the tomb of King Tut Ankh-Amon by Howard Carter. It would be even more interesting to know how great a treasure has been brought to this country through tourist expenditures here in consequence of the finding of that tomb and its rich contents.”
That thought recurred to me a few mornings later when I stood in front of the tomb of Tut Ankh-Amon and saw Howard Carter descend the steps leading down to the entrance. The tomb was closed to visitors, for Mr. Carter was engaged in superintending the removal of the remaining treasures. So all I got of King Tut’s last resting place was this glimpse of the back of the man who restored him to fame. Yet it was with a lively sense of the service Mr. Carter has rendered to Egypt that I saw him go down into the depths to carry on the work begun by him eight years ago.
Unquestionably many thousands of people have been attracted to Egypt by the discovery of this tomb. And practically all of them make the journey up to Luxor and across the Nile to the west bank and through the rocky defiles of the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings to the scene of the work of the Carnarvon expedition. They have, with few exceptions, seen nothing of the tomb itself. But they have had the satisfaction of glimpsing the forbidding area chosen by the monarchs of many centuries ago for the reposal of their mummies and the riches of their burial equipment.
It is indeed a hideous region, utterly devoid of vegetation, a twisting road—now made into an excellent, smooth highway by the Egyptian government to facilitate visitation—winding around between craggy hills, blinding white in the glare of the sun. On the way to the place where King Tut Ankh-Amon’s tomb was found, which is the end of the modem road, many signs appear of earlier efforts to locate tombs, rectangular shallow pits dug into the loose rock and gravel at the base of the cliffs. There are many scores of these “trial pits,” which have yielded no results.
In the immediate neighborhood of the Tut tomb are several others, discovered long ago, some of them of great importance in the revelation of ancient history and religious precepts in the form of the paintings and carvings of the interior. For example, that of Ramses IX is just around the comer, as it were, from that of King Tut, a splendid example of the mortuary provisions of ancient Egypt. It is a veritable picture gallery, its long passages and numerous chambers being covered with paintings, the study, of which has greatly enriched the modem knowledge of the customs and the liturgical history of Egypt’s golden era.
None of the tombs save that of King Tut Ankh-Amon contain today the mummies that once reposed in them. Many years past some of these pitiful bodies of the monarchs were taken out and put on exhibition in museums. Others have been destroyed by vandals and ghouls of long ago in search of treasure. The mummy of Tut Ankh-Amon, however, almost the least of the rulers of old Egypt in point of years and of significance, remains in place, though eventually it may be removed.
Save for the new road, Biban el-Muluk—which literally means “Tombs of the Kings”—is as it was before the Carnarvon expedition entered the area and sought the tomb of Tut. Yet thousands now make the journey over it where a few years ago only a few scientists entered the valley. It takes only about three-quarters of an hour to reach the tombs from one’s hotel in Luxor, first by crossing the Nile in a small boat and then by motor car. I would not be thought to suggest that the trip is not worth while when I say as far as King Tut’s tomb is concerned the visitor might as well remain in Luxor. The trip is decidedly worth while. It is a thrilling penetration into a place which was chosen because it was thought to be secret and secluded. It is worth while looking upon even the barred entrance to reflect upon the words of the discoverer when he descended the first flight of newly uncovered steps, poked his head through an opening that had just been made in the curtain wall, turned on an electric flashlight, and exclaimed “Wonderful things!”
But the fact stands that for many years Biban el-Muluk was open to visitors, with as rich a treasure to display as today, and few people visited it because it had not become celebrated. It took the spectacular finding of the tomb of Tut to draw the crowds. And they have been flocking to Egypt and up the Nile and across the Theban plain and up the rocky road to the valley ever since. The total of their tribute to Egypt in these few years must today be a very large sum.
It was the imagination of Howard Carter and the co-operative enterprise of Lord Carnarvon that induced this tide of travel. The Egyptian government apparently did not at first appreciate the effect of this discovery. Today, however, there is no illusion at Cairo on the score of the value of the find in terms of increased public and private revenues.
As I stood in the hot sunshine of the small space in front of the tomb of Ramses III and its neighbors, looking about to note the utter barrenness of the scene, I wondered whether some day a hotel company may not secure, for a large consideration, the right to erect an inn on the heights overlooking the tombs. It would, of course, be an unspeakable outrage thus to turn the valley into a business enterprise. But down at Gizeh a hotel has been erected on the very flank of the Pyramid of Cheops. It is not strikingly in evidence, to be sure, but it is a business establishment, nevertheless, and the Pyramid is a tomb, and the conjunction is somewhat incongruous. Just so is an advertising sign plastered on a native house a few rods from the Sphinx.
It would be a mistake to intrude business of this sort into the desolation of Biban el-Muluk. A mistake from the tourist’s point of view, in truth. For much of the interest in the trip to the tombs themselves arises from the journey there, the passage across the river plain, with a glimpse of the Colossi of Memnon, the entrance into the first hilly area, with a view of the home of Howard Carter lately erected on a height to the north, a distant vision of the colonnades of the great temple of Deir el-Bahri, built by Queen Hatshepsut, sister, wife and co-regent of Thutmosis III. A sense of wonders to be revealed pervades the newcomer. His arrival on the ground is an achievement in which he takes pride, albeit he has been transported the entire distance. His ultimate vision of the tombs brings a sense of discovery. To be housed on the hillside, with all modem conveniences, would be a shocking anachronism. One feels grateful that the home of Mr. Carter has been erected at a considerable distance, where it does not obtrude upon the picture of ancient Egypt at rest.
There is really no reason for any save the scientific investigator or the student of Egyptian history to remain for more than an hour in the valley. One could go into half a dozen tombs at the cost of much energy and be no wiser or more thrilled than by two of them. For, except to the expert, these burial places are very much alike.
One gets an odd sensation on emerging from a tomb in Biban el-Muluk into the brilliant sunlight. The scene, save for the wooden barrier at the entrance where the official permit of visitation is examined, and that which guards the approach to the tomb of Tut Ankh-Amon, and perhaps the smooth surface of the new road, is precisely the same as in 1200 B.C., more than 30 centuries ago, when some of these tombs were excavated and decorated and their royal inmates were placed within them and sealed. It is doubtful whether there is any change in the contour of the hills. The sun shines with the same intense whiteness that it did then. One can with a little force of imagination picture the scene of the interment as the procession for the dead monarch wound its way up the valley and the mummied body was taken down to its last resting place.
There are many other treasures on the west bank of the Nile opposite Luxor than the tombs in Biban el-Muluk. There are the tombs of the queens, some of them very beautiful in decorations. There are temples liberally without number, for many remain to be excavated from the crumbled detritus of the hills that have scaled away somewhat in the course of time. The many signs of futile exploratory operations, marked by the rectangular shallow pits here and there on the hillsides, do not signify the exhaustion of the possibilities. Numerous expeditions are at work, German, American, English, French, Swedish and Egyptian.
It is a moot question whether such magnificent ruins as the Ramesseum should ever be “restored.” It is indeed a question whether such restoration would be possible. This broken relic of the mortuary temple built by Ramses II on the lower flank of the sloping ground below the hills is one of the glories of Thebes. Its neighbors, the so-called Colossi of Memnon, about half a mile distant, appear to guard it, although they were actually erected as guardians of the mortuary temple of Amenophls III, of whom they were duplicate portraits. The Ramesseum is one of the most utterly wrecked of the Theban structures, yet enough remains to Indicate It as a gloriously beautiful structure when it was erected by Ramses II, who was one of Egypt’s greatest builder kings. A few pillars remain standing, and the outlines of the vast edifice may be traced by the ruins of the walls. The colossus of Ramses lies in immense fragments, having been broken, the guide declares, by Cambyses when he led his unsuccessful expedition against the oases of the Libyan Desert in about 525 B.C. Measurement of these fragments indicates that the effigy was about 60 feet in height and weighed about 1,000 tons.
Then there is the Medinet Habu, the temple of Ramses III, which lies about half a mile to the southwest of the Ramesseum. It consists virtually of two structures, both of them in a fair state of preservation, with a wealth of wall carvings and some sculptures. Just south and in front of the temple proper is a small temple, which preceded the larger one in point of time. It was in the upper portion of a gate pavilion of this outer, older temple that Georges Mikhail spread our lunch on the day of our visit.
As we drove back to the Nile from the Medinet Habu we called on the Colossi. They stand alone and aloof out in the plain. Cultivated fields surround them. The temple of which they were originally the guardian figures has long since crumbled into dust, with practically no remaining trace. No road appears to lead to the giants, which have mystified many generations of visitors and which were long famed for their vocal performance upon the rising of the sun—or rather one of them, for only the northward statue gave forth its sonorous note when the sun shone upon it.
As we approached the Colossi not a person was visible. Yet I remarked to my son that it was an even bet that by the time we reached the scene there would be several would-be sellers of souvenirs, such as had besieged us at every stop save at Biban el-Muluk, which is too distant for them. Sure enough, as our motor car halted half a dozen came running, springing up apparently from nowhere. Even a camel rider joined the party. I found him useful for a photographic pose, for which he demanded much more than the liberal baksheesh I bestowed, vociferous in his clamor until silenced by a word from Georges. Later I suspected that he is a professional photographic model.
The faces of the Colossi are almost totally destroyed. But they rise in their majesty none the less imposing and significant. Even the defacements due to the vandalism of visitors are interesting. Roman names of historic note are to be deciphered on the legs. One of these is Septimius Severus, to whom is attributed the loss of the voice of the northern statue when he undertook the restoration of the upper portions of the figures, with a view, one legend relates, to propitiate the goddess Eos, whose anger was manifest when the morning sound was not omitted. Whatever happened, some time in the period of the Roman occupation of Egypt the “Memnon” ceased to cry in greeting to rising sun, according to the lore of the land.
Today they stand, these giants, facing the Nile, whose waters in olden times annually rose to surround them. Today the Nile is harnessed at Assuan and no longer does the annual inundation flood such immense areas of the plain as formerly were covered with the soil depositing current. Mutely they watch, with their disfigured faces turned toward the sun, as the streams of tourists pour over the Nile banks and in their ebb and flow leave a golden deposit, greatly increased since Howard Carter found the tomb of Tut.
The Evening Star, Washington, DC, March 8, 1931