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Forming and Performing Material Egypt.
Archaeological knowledge production and presentation
Paolo Del Vesco
Marie Curie Research Fellow
UCL – Institute of Archaeology and Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology
Forming a material Orient
The colonial impact of the West manifested itself in a number of different asymmetrical relationships
generally based on domination and/or exploitation attitudes (Dommelen 1997: 306). It expressed itself
as "oppression of peasants" or as "manipulation or management of native societies for imperial
purposes" (Said 1989: 207). The history of the development of archaeology and anthropology is tightly
intertwined with colonialism. The archaeological rediscovery of ancient Middle Eastern civilizations, in
particular, coincided, from the mid-19th century, with the process of colonial appropriation of the
Ottoman Empire (Liverani 2005: 223). Archaeological campaigns and ethnographical missions were
often used to facilitate the political control and economic exploitation of the territory, just as the
gradual European intrusion was presented as a moral imperative under the "civilizing mission" label.
The supposed primitive and static cast of native cultures was seen as sufficient justification to assert
colonial control. The topos of the “ignorant native” who doesn’t manifest any care or interest for
historical monuments and artefacts is almost obsessively repeated in the letters, accounts, travelogues
or reports of Western “explorers” and adduced to endorse the foreigners’ right to the removal of the
antiquities.
In fact, the Middle Eastern ancient civilizations were also considered "roots" of Western culture and
religion, and therefore had to be appropriated, rather than destroyed, by the Europeans. For over two
centuries the Middle East has been a resource both for ancient materials, enriching major Western
collections, and for historical antecedents (Steele 2005: 44), and has itself remained disciplinarily
excluded from the recovery of its own Past. This impressive endeavour of cultural appropriation
resolved, around the mid-19th century, in an international scramble between France, Britain, Germany
and the Ottoman Empire (Bahrani 2011). Interestingly enough, sometimes the intervention of a
government in matters relating excavations or antiquities acquisitions was not the product of coherent
and centralized politics but needed to be repeatedly stimulated by the archaeologists themselves, as it
is evident from a letter addressed by Henry Layard, the famous explorer of many Iraqi sites, to the
British ambassador Canning:
The history of this remarkable country is a blank in the history of the world, and yet its connection with
that of the Jews, the continued mention of the Assyrian Kings in the inspired writings, and the
prominent part they played in the remotest periods, render it of the highest interest (…) When a second
opportunity occurs [after the French discovery of Khorsabad], such as that furnished by Nimroud, it
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would indeed be a matter of deep regret if the English Government declined to undertake a work which
would place additional materials in the hands of the learned of Europe
(quoted in Malley 2011: 109, except inset in square brackets)
Sometimes, a new ambassador was even openly hostile to the archaeological expeditions sponsored
by his own country. This is the case with Sir Henry Elliot in 1877 that, in the archaeological account
“Asshur and the Land of Nimrod” by the Anglo-Iraqi archaeologist Hormudz Rassam, is said to have
“treated the mission with indifference, and allowed this public duty to be conducted as if the trustees of
the British Museum were traders seeming to enrich themselves by plundering the poor Turk” (quoted in
Bahrani 2011: 146).
This process of cultural appropriation didn’t entail only the physical removal of the antiquities and the
building of tangible representations of a material Orient, it expressed itself also with a tight control
over the narratives and the knowledge production processes (Bahrani 2011: 149) and an almost
complete excision of any competing or alternative discourse.
In Egypt, during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, this “scramble for the past” staged the rivalry
and the strategic alliance between two principal actors: England, after the 1882 military occupation
the nation in charge of the government of the country, and France, the traditional holder of a
monopoly on cultural matters. The delicate balance between the two powers often required attentive
diplomatic efforts: the Director of the Antiquities Service, which remained a prerogative of the French
scholars, represented of course a key position in deciding the destiny of the contest (Gady 2006), as he
was in charge of the issue of the excavation permits and the division of the finds at the end of every
season. Often the British archaeologists lamented the weakness of the Government members in
promoting more favourable conditions or the appointment of British inspectors of antiquities, by
exercising pressure on the French directorship. The situation was apparently very difficult even for a
Consul-General like Sir Evelyn Baring:
I have instructions, issued at my own suggestion, which enable me to move in the matter, but I must
choose my own time and manner of moving. Just at present (…) the moment is not opportune (…) I
cannot risk raising a serious diplomatic incident over this matter, interesting and important though it
be. (…) I think I can eventually insure the appointment of a European Inspector. There is not the least
chance of his being a Frenchman, but I cannot yet say positively that he will be an Englishman.
(Letter of Baring to General Brackenbury, Cairo 4 April1890)
In this context, the well-known and rather controversial British Egyptologist, Wallis Budge even
decided to act independently in order to evade the control of the exported antiquities by the French
Director, but his manoeuvre caused great embarrass and almost resulted in a diplomatic incident:
It will require a good deal of careful steering to prevent a small, but at the same time disagreeable row
with the French. I particularly want, if I can, to prevent it becoming an Anglo-French question (…) it will
be very awkward if just at this moment it comes out that the British Museum is endeavouring to
smuggle objects of art out of Egypt. I dare say others have done the same, both private individuals and,
may be, the Louvre. Indeed, the main reason why the monuments get mutilated is because people
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(notably some of those who have recently been writing to the newspapers) offer absurd prices for
them. But the fact that others have done it is a very poor answer for me to give.
(Letter of Baring to Currie, Cairo 9 November 1890)
Other nations later entered the competition for the appropriation of Egypt’s past and for some time
the American scholars took the lead of the Egyptological studies. In 1919 Breasted very proudly states:
“It is very gratifying to find that far and away the best work done in Egypt is being done by three
American expeditions here, Reisner, Lythgoe and Fisher, that is Boston (Harvard), New York and
Philadelphia” (Larson 2010: 107).
And still in 1953, when the British empire was imploding, Mortimer Wheeler, speaking at the Royal
Archaeological Institute, revivifies the scramble phantom, interestingly avoiding any reference to the
modern names of the “explored” countries or to the modern inhabitants of those regions, exactly as
during the 19th century appropriation of Mesopotamia:
Looking back over the past century or more, we may truthfully affirm that, with one or two exceptions,
all the major archaeological discoveries have been substantially British. To our independent effort the
cuneiform script surrendered, even though we admit an able foreign competitor. We tracked the
minotaur to his Cretan layer. To the tale of the world’s civilizations we added the Indus Valley.
Elsewhere, again and again we have been inter primos, notably in the land of the Tigris and the
Euphrates, and again in that of the Hittites.
(Wheeler 1953: 89)
Commodified Artefacts
At the beginning of the systematic and more scientific archaeological exploration of Egypt stands the
convergence of the foundation of the Egypt Exploration Fund, the hiring of Flinders Petrie as the
archaeologist of the organization, and the British military occupation of the country. The law in force in
Egypt at this time, since a decree of Mohammed Ali of 1835, validated by a further decree in 1880,
included a complete ban on the exportation of antiquities. Of course this law had never been able to
completely arrest the flux of antikas sold by official or improvised dealers to tourists or rich collectors.
And a few grotesque accounts of how the controls of the police were escaped give an idea of the
diffusion of the phenomenon. Marianne Blocklehurst, a travel acquaintance of the novelist, and future
founder of the EEF, Amelia Edwards, wrote in a private appendix to her diary a memorandum entitled
“How we got our mummy”. The excitement for the forbidden activity was one of the main element of
the adventurous experience: “we liked the idea of smuggling on a large scale under the nose of the
Pasha’s guards who, as excavations were going on nearby, were pretty thick on the ground and on the
alert” (quoted in Forrest 2011: 6).
In the original plan of Amelia Edwards the aim of the EEF was to support research, exploration and
excavation of sites in the Delta which were supposedly concealing “the documents of a lost period of
Biblical history”. The main objective was, then, to cast light on a series of problematic aspects of that
history, and in full respect of the antiquity law, did not entail the exportation of any find. Anyway, the
lure of material Egypt was too strong to be ignored. Samuel Birch, well-known Egyptologist and keeper
of the Oriental Department of the British Museum, refused to subscribe the foundation of the EEF
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exactly because no acquisitions of antiquities were envisaged at the beginning (Drower 1982: 14). It is
the sole responsibility of Gaston Maspero, but we have to remember within the frame of the British
occupation of the country, if very soon the rules were changed, foreign missions were allowed to
excavate in Egypt and the principle of the division of the finds between Antiquity Service and excavator
was consequently established.
Side by side with the beginning of a more “scientific” exploration of the country and the creation of a
new material category, the “archaeological artefact”, a new phase in the formation and representation
of material Egypt was ushered in: excavated finds became commodities exploited at both ends of their
trajectory. In England they constituted the base of the funding system of the excavations and in Egypt
they were used as integration of the low incomes of the Antiquity Service. The finds represented the
means to continue the archaeological exploration and even, for instance, to pay for the structural
works needed by the Cairo museum.
In 1886, in fact, Maspero writes in a letter to his wife about the antiquities he was about to sell to Luigi
Palma di Cesnola in order to cover the expenses of building works: “En attendant le travail marche sur
le fonds du Musée, et j’espere qu’avec dix mille francs il sera terminé dans deux ou trois mois. (…) La
commande de momies que Cesnola m’a faite couvrira heureusement une partie des frais” (David 2003:
176-177). And then again a month later: “J’ai obtenu aussi l’autorisation de vendre pour environ 30
000 francs d’antiquités à Cesnola” (David 2003: 216). These antiquities a few years later came to be
the core Egyptian collection of the newly opened Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
The system of the distribution of finds in exchange for sponsorships grew so deep-rooted that in a
1919 private letter to the family, the American Egyptologist Henry Breasted wrote about Petrie: “He
has become a mere digger after museum pieces and stuff to satisfy his subscribers.” (Larson 2010:
107). And in 1926 a brief note in a newspaper announced:
Excavating in Egypt. Unsatisfactory conditions.
Cairo, Wednesday
Mr Flinders Petrie is abandoning his excavations in Egypt, in favour of a site of the earliest civilisation,
in Southern Palestine. He says the Egyptian Government is taking everything but is not paying the cost
of excavation which terms are impossible, whereas every assistance is being given to archaeologists in
Palestine
(Recorder, Friday 9 July 1926)
Without division of finds, the costs of the archaeological activity of Petrie in Egypt are simply no longer
covered. He will move to Palestine and start a new phase of explorations there.
Methods and aims
As we have seen the formation of an Egyptian archaeology and of the great part of today’s collections
has been based on the attitude towards the materials retrieved by the excavations in Egypt. The
tireless archaeological activity of Flinders Petrie in the country between 1880 and 1926 certainly
contributed to this formation in a substantial way.
It is clear today that very little in the practice of archaeology is expression of a scientifically objective
and detached approach. The archaeological fieldwork, as any other human experience, is mostly the
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product of the historical and social contexts in which the archaeologist lives. It is “a culturally specific
approach to understanding and interpreting the past” (Thorpe 2012: 33). Even the Material Culture of
a civilization is not as objective as it may seem: it is actually formed, re-shaped and re-signified by the
archaeologist through the same activity of excavating it, writing about it or displaying it.
As archaeologists and anthropologists we are arch-appropriators of material cultures. The objects we
collect from ethnographic contexts, the artefacts we find in the earth, are no longer a part of the
material culture to which they belonged. (…) they become part of our material culture, our systems of
cultural significance. Their functions, affordances, associations, symbolic meanings (…) are reconfigured accordingly.
(Edgeworth 2007: 92)
From this perspective, I argue, an analysis of Petrie’s approach to fieldwork might then help to
illuminate not just the development of archaeology in Egypt as a professional practice and an
authoritative discipline, but even the conceptual formation of a material Egypt, as it is often still
perceived today.
Apart from the published works, archival sources are extremely useful in evaluating Petrie’s
archaeological practice. The pocket-diaries (not to be confused with the notebooks which contain the
proper archaeological records) in particular let us follow all the daily activities of the archaeologist on
fieldwork in Egypt or in London as they unroll during every year. All the phases of the fieldwork are
recorded, from the initial recognition of a site, to the opening of trenches or the number and
positioning of the workers in different areas of a site, and sometimes also the volume of earth moved.
From the entries it’s also possible to quantify with precision the time employed in the surveying of a
site or a temple structure and the days spent in the writing of an excavation report (he often recorded
also the number of pages he was writing every day, and in one case also that 15pp of written text
equalled to just 5pp of printed text). The town remains in the Eastern Delta site of Tell Nebesheh (Tell
Fara’un – Imet) were entirely surveyed in a week and it then took one day to plot the detailed plans of
small clusters of houses, drawn separately on various pages of the notebooks, within the general map
of the town. It is clear from the pocket-diaries that Petrie had a very pragmatic approach to the work,
and the whole process of retrieval and recording of the archaeological evidence was constantly
adapted to the context and the contingency. This is also reflected in his “manual” (Petrie 1904), which
more than a statement of principles and methods is a presentation of cases from his empirical
experience (see also Petrie 1900: 15-16).
From the pocket-diaries is also clear that the excavation was more a sampling activity (closer to the
concept of test trenching) than a thorough and systematic investigation of the site: the work was
started in the most “promising” spots and then moved accordingly when the results were not
satisfying or the continuation of the excavation was impossible. This corresponds very well with the
overall approach of Petrie to the archaeological evidence and his propensity for a “selective record”, as
opposed to the “total record” (the collection and documentation of the entire material culture of a
site) wished for by Pitt-Rivers (Lucas 2012: 47; Carver 1989 and 1990). The selective approach is clearly
presented by Petrie as a necessity:
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In recording, the first difficulty is to know what to record. To state every fact about everything found
would be useless, as no one could wade through the mass of statements. (…) It is absolute necessary to
know how much is already known before setting about recording more.
(Petrie 1904: 49)
Petrie’s attitude towards the excavation and the recording of the archaeological evidence is stressed
even more in the central role which the notion of corpus (Petrie 1904: 122-126) plays in his concept of
“systematic archaeology”. A complete collection of material types arranged in a chronological
sequence is all archaeology needs.
All his archaeological work seems actually to resolve in a sampling activity finalized to the collection of
representative groups of objects, filling the gaps in our knowledge of the material past. Most of the
historical reasoning and interpretation is done at the trowel’s edge, as Hodder would say, and the
corpus then offers the perfect chronological anchoring. The centrality of the artefact in Petrie’s
archaeology is strikingly evident if we compare his “manual” with the “method” of an Italian
archaeologist active during the same years, Giacomo Boni (1901). Where the latter details how to cut
and document sections, clean and follow strata and use the stratigraphic sequence of the layers to
date their content, Petrie’s focuses on the retrieval of the artefacts, on the way to save them from “the
ignorance, the carelessness, and the dishonesty” of the workers, on the construction of a typological
sequence, on their packing or on their storage and display in a museum.
Even if in his autobiography he states: “I was already in archaeology by nature” (Petrie 1931: 8), his
early archaeological experiences were actually more connected to antiquarianism (collection of coins)
and topography (survey of stone monuments), and these two aspects will inform all his future activity.
As he himself puts it in the manual: “The two objects of excavation are (I) to obtain plans and
topographical information, and (2) to obtain portable antiquities”. This antiquarian obsession for the
objects is clearly connected on one side to the still dominant interest of this epoch for evolutionary
classifications and typological sequences (Lucas 2010) and on the other with the system of sponsoringthrough-finds described above which was the only way to guarantee the continuation of excavations.
No wonder then that the same central place was given to the artefacts also in the publication of the
results (the archaeological reports or memoirs), in the newspapers or in the annual exhibitions of finds
organized by Petrie in London after every excavation season.
Presenting Material Egypt
Petrie was very good at publicising the results of the excavations or the opening of the exhibitions he
was organizing every year in London. Raising the interest of the general public increased the chances
to find new sponsors and collect funds for the researches or the publications. Petrie was perfectly
aware that without sponsorships he would have to stop excavating. At the end of a very satisfying
collaboration and friendship he had with two of his main sponsors during the period of break with the
EEF, Kennard and Haworth, he heartily thanked them in the introduction of one of his reports,
acknowledging that without them no one of the great results and discoveries of the previous nine
years would have been possible (Petrie 1897: 2). At the beginning of his work in Egypt, Amelia Edwards
or Cecil Smith were reporting his results from the pages of the newspapers, usually using the
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“journals” (bulletin-letters on the results) that Petrie was sending home. But after short he took also
the publicising activity in his hands and contributed regularly to the Times, the Academy or the
Illustrated London News, also to advertise his exhibitions of finds.
During the 19th century the central event of the gatherings of the archaeological societies was
represented not by the delivery of the speeches but by the organized visits to the sites, as these trips
were paralleled the experimental demonstrations performed at the meetings of the scientific
organizations (Lucas 2012: 247). The equivalent of the field trips, for the Egyptian archaeology, was the
exhibition of the excavation finds, where the antiquities played the role of the evidence supporting the
statements and the historical reconstruction published in the newspapers or in the small catalogues
accompanying the shows. Great care was put in the preparation of the exhibitions, and from the pages
of the pocket-diaries we realize the great amount of time spent every year unpacking, sorting,
mending and arranging the objects. A small catalogue was also produced and then sold (at 6 pence) to
the visitors. On it the sponsors could write their wish-lists for consideration during the phase of
allotment of the finds after the closing of the exhibition, while Petrie advertised the coming excavation
season (“the work will be continued with a larger staff next year on ground which is quite as promising
as that already worked.”, Ex.Cat. 1914), or other initiatives: “The Journal of the British School has been
started since last exhibition, beginning this year. It contains articles of general interest and a large
amount of illustrations. The subscription to “Ancient Egypt” is 7s. yearly for four quarterly parts sent
post free.” (Ex.Cat. 1914). Petrie was also very careful in considering the taste of the public and
evaluating possible economic losses: “The produce from Meydum [1891] was not of sufficient public
interest to warrant having rooms in London. Each of the town exhibitions cost me sixty to eighty
pounds for rent and door-keeping, and I had to recoup that by shilling entrances-if I could do so.”
(Petrie 1931: 132-133).
Besides the great dispersion of the finds in a myriad of collections and the split of funerary
assemblages or fragments of a single decoration, sometimes the antiquities went also completely lost:
“During the packing of the things after the [1902] exhibition, there was a mysterious disappearance of
all the worked flints, a piece of painted pottery with kudu figures, and other things. None of these
reached the places to which they were allotted (Petrie 1931: 188-189).
Lost in Collection
The materiality of ancient Egypt has been disassembled, dismembered, dispersed and then rematerialized in completely different forms and in thousands of different places. During this process a
lot of data or associations have gone lost. But the worse loss has been that of the human dimension of
this materiality: the original bound of the Egyptian people and their lives with their own Past.
Through conscious or unconscious acts of excision the Egyptian workforce, which was and is the
founding element of any archaeology, has been deleted from the accounts of the discoveries (Quirke
2010). The people living around or within the archaeological sites, have been progressively removed,
at the beginning of the 20th century, from the archaeological reports and from the interest of the
Egyptologists. On one side in name of an increasing objectivity of the discipline, on the other because
of the progressive detachment of Egyptology and Anthropology in Egypt (Del Vesco, in prep), the
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professionalization of the field and the shift of Egyptology towards the linguistic and philological
studies.
Today we find ourselves confronting the conservation and management problems caused by a huge,
multi-faceted and almost threatening material legacy deriving from a long tradition of archaeological
exploitation of Egypt. I think the biggest mistake would be to focus again our attention exclusively on
the objects and their informative potential. We need to throw the human component back in the
equation, almost as a reactive agent, and be open to unexpected outcomes. Reconnecting objects with
people, ancient with modern and material with living Egypt, should be our priority.
A possible strategy to facilitate this re-connection might be the introduction in the fieldwork
conducted in Egypt of the principles and methods of what is today known as Community or
Collaborative Archaeology, starting from the integration of seminars on its practices and results in the
programs of the current field-schools and within the existing collaborations between European and
Egyptian universities. The challenge of giving the local communities a primary role in developing and
disseminating archaeological knowledge is of the outmost importance if we really want to move
towards a decolonised Egyptology. The enriching potential of the inclusion of local perspectives and
interpretative contributions has been clearly demonstrated by projects involving American and
Australian First Peoples, and local communities in Turkey (Hodder 2002: 176-177). As Franklin (1997:
44) put it: "as academics we often think about how our scholarship can enrich the lives of others.
Seldom do we consider how our own lives, including our research, could benefit from knowledge and
experiences of non-archaeologists".
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