FOUR EGYPTIAN BOOKS.* SLOWLY but surely the students and antiquarians
are lifting the veil that once hid Ancient Egypt, and behind which, till lately, we saw the shadowy and monstrous figures of gods and men moving as in the mysterious and majestic pageant of a dream. The past generation found in the history of Egypt, its religion and its life, something inhuman, nay, almost terrific, and the world shuddered at the half. revelation of the race which at its beginning built the Pyramids, and in the end infected the hard Roman world with the mysteries of Isis. But this feeling, half of repulsion, half of fascination, which mystery always breeds, is now almost gone, and the world is beginning to realise that before long it will know more about Egypt and the life led by its people for three thousand years, than it does about any other ancient race and country. Thanks tc the diligence of the Egyptologists, and the perfection attained by the people of the Nile Valley in the arts of perpetuation, we can realise the life of the men and women who are now mummies, with an accuracy which is photographic. Tarn to M. Maspero's admirable work, a book in which every statement of importance as to the social life of Egypt is supported by a contemporary picture, and you can trace the old Egyptian from the cradle to the mummy case, from the linen that wrapped the child to the natron- steeped swaddling.clothes of the corpse. We see him in his habit as he lived and as he died. We know by the models in the tomb how he built his house and baked his bread, how he rowed his boat and kept his accounts, how he quarried his stone and managed his waterworks. In spite of the happy acci- dent of Pompeii and Herculaneum, and of the uninterrupted tradition of the classics, we could far more certainly reproduce the details of Egyptian life than those of Greece or Rome. Ask the Egyptologist what an ancient Nile boat was like and he will tell you with absolute certainty. He can show you not only a hundred pictures and models, but the thing itself
(1-) Histoire Ancient* des Psuples &Orient Clasetgue: Les Origins& Egypt. et Chetah. Par G. MaspOro. Paris : Hachette et Cie. 1895.—The Dawn of Civilisation. Bort and Chaidea. By G. Mustier°. Edited by A. H Sayce. Translated by M. L. McClure. London : S P.O.K. 1594—(t) The Egyptian Book of the Dead. Edited, with Introduction. fr.c , by Charles H. S. Davis, M.D., Ph.D. London : G. Putnam's Sons. 1894 —(3.) The House of the Hidden Pisces: a Clue to the Creed of Early Etnipt from Egyptian Sources. By W. M. Adams. London John Murray. 1895.—(4.) Egyptian Tales. Translated from the Papyri. First Series, 11Tth to X.Ilth Dynasty. Edited by W. M. Flinders Petrie. London : Methuen and Co. 1895.
still intact. Inquire as to the true form of the trireme, and you will find yourself in a furious and unsettled controversy. Space, however, will not allow us to do more than set up a finger-post to M. Maspero's able and beautiful book. We will only note that it is so well up to date, that it contains an account of the splendid discovery of ancient jewellery made last spring at Dashur,—a discovery, it may be mentioned, largely supplemented during the last few weeks. Unfortunately, the delightful regiments of brown and black toy soldiers from a General's or King's tomb, now in the first room of the Gizeh Museum, were not discovered in time to be commented on. It is a pity, for their reproduction would have added yet one more charm to the book. It remains to be said that readers who do not care to follow M. Maspero in the original, will find him, in translation, in the publication of the Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge, whose title stands at the foot of this article. The interest of the trans- lation is increased by a preface from the pen of Professor Sayce. It should be added that in M. Maspero's book is included an account of ancient OhaIdea.
M. Maspero's account of the history, life, and religion of the ancient Egyptians, is well supplemented by Dr. Davis's translation of "The Book of the Dead." It is in this book, the sacred book of the Egyptians, that we can best obtain an insight into the genius of the religion of the men into whose mummy cases it was inserted. Apparently, the book was a sort of collection of sacred poems and prayers. In form it is the soul's guide to the underworld, its vade-mecum on the long journey and throughout the trials and dangers which awaited it after its separation from the body, and before it could obtain its freedom and reconciliation with the god- head. It is impossible to read "The Book of the Dead" even in the most superficial way and not be struck with the high ethical conceptions of the ancient Egyptians. Take for example the soul's plea on its trial before Osiris. "I have not privily done evil to my neighbours. I have not afflicted any nor caused any to weep. I have not told lies. I have not done any wicked thing. I have not done what is hateful to the gods. I have not calumniated the slave to his master. I have not been idle. I have not stolen. I have not com- mitted adultery. I have not committed murder," and so on. It must not be supposed, however, that "The Book of the Dead" contains much that is as simple as this. The greater part of it is to the plain man a mass of hopeless mysticism. It can be translated but not made intelligible, so alien are its moods of thought and emotion to our moods, so difficult is it to get en rapport with its spirit. What would be the effect of its mystic wanderings upon a cultivated Hindoo adept is an interesting question. Would it not be possible to get a learned Brahmin to comment on it from the point of view of the Hindoo mystic ? There are plenty of natives of India who could read the translation. It would have been a portent if "The Book of the Dead " had not led to the forma- tion of wild and whimsical theories among Englishmen, for the mystically inclined Western out-Herods Herod in the borderland between thought and insensate emotion. Up till now, however, the men of mystery have made the Great Pyramid and its passages and chambers their happy hunting- ground. At last has arisen a writer who combines "The Book of the Dead" and that "wild enormity of ancient magnanimity" which stands in the desert at Gizeh in one wild nightmare of symbolism, Freemasonry, and eso- teric religion. In "The House of the Hidden Places," Mr. Adams seeks to show that the passages and chambers of the Great Pyramid are a stone transcript of the progress of the soul as described in the Sacred Book of the Egyptians. That is a possible theory, we readily admit. Is not the Escurial built on the plan of the gridiron on -which suffered the saint to whom the palace tomb and temple is dedicated ? The notion is by no means one to be killed at sight. But what shall be said of its working out ? Mr. Adams's pages contain the wildest dance of mysticism imaginable. Freemasonry, Britiah Inches, Odin, the Sacred Angle, the Grand Orient, and Heaven knows what else beside, join the revels, and play such antics as would most certainly have made Ha and Tam and their fellows weep. We freely confess to not having mastered Mr. Adams's book. We neglected this the first duty of the reviewer, as a simple act of self-preservation. To read it is one thing. To force oneself to understand is more than any editor would dare to ask his
employe. That way madness lies. One would want to be like the camel in Mr. Kipling's poem, "a devil and an ostrich and an orphan child in one," to digest Mr. Adams's work. We dismiss it, not as Dr. Johnson said, with "frigid equanimity," but with a shudder and an uneasy look over our shoulder to see whether the Pyramid Inch is not coming behind.
We have mentioned several interpretations of the Egyptian spirit, but the best of all remains behind. If you want to
know a people, read its novels. This is as true of old Egypt as of new England. In his Egyptian Tales, translated from the papyri, Mr. Flinders Petrie gives us a glimpse into
the life of ancient Egypt of the most fascinating kind. The stories in his book are primitive and unformed, but they show us the men at work in the fields, the King in his palace, the Court ladies taking their pleasure on the Nile. "The story's heart still beats against its aide" is what we say as we read. We can only quote from one, and that not the most curious. We choose it, however, because it seems to show what we had doubted before,—namely, that the Egyptians had the literary sense in the Western acceptation of the term. The King was ill and wearied. His Vizier advised him to take a day off, and go into the country or up the river. He took the advice, and started in his boat, rowed by the girl slaves of his harem. One of them had a jewel knocked out of her hair by the butt of the oar. This made her stop rowing, and put the whole of her side out of stroke. It is a petty incident, but see how charmingly it is told :—
" And they rowed down the stream and up the stream, and the heart of his majesty was glad with the sight of their rowing. But one of them at the steering struck her hair, and her jewel of new malachite fell into the water. And she ceased her song, and rowed not ; and her companions ceased, and rowed not. And his majesty said, 'Row you not further ?' And they replied, Our little steerer here stays and rows not.' His majesty then said to her, Wherefore rowest thou not ?' She replied, 'It is for my jewel of new malachite which is fallen in the water.' And he said to her, Row on, for behold I will replace it.' And she answered, 'But I want my own piece busk in its setting.' And his majesty said, ' Haste, bring me the chief reciter Zazamankh,' and they brought him. And his majesty said, Zazamankh, my brother, I have done as thou sayedst, and the heart of his majesty is refreshed with the sight of their rowing. But now a jewel of new malachite of one of the little ones is fallen in the water, and saihdeaceasaensdaIndsaridowths hneort,,a, Isndrhashreefohreasrnswpoeisltt :nen nronwt aonfd hire
answered to me, "It is for my jewel of new malachite which is fallen in the water." I replied to her, "Row on, for behold I will replace it"; and she answered to me, "But I want my own piece again back in its setting."" Readers will be glad to hear that the little steerer got back her jewel by the aid of a magician. That is good ; but the
true magician was the artist who made the little steerer immortal in his tale, and threw upon his words a charm which
five thousand years has been powerless to obliterate.
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