But somehow I do not like antiquities which are taken out of a piece of pink paper, and I refused it. A German who had been for many years in the country came along and snapped it up. Later on he informed me that he had paid only one and a half dollars for it, and that it was worth £4 or £5. For a long time he held forth upon its beauties and its wonderful cutting, declaring that he had not seen so fine a specimen for years. I had another good look at it, and saw plainly enough that it was an imitation, so I left him to enjoy his purchase.
It must be clearly understood that the majority of the vendors of scarabs are far better judges of their value than any ordinary collector, and therefore a man, even though he be only an old and dirty individual, would be most unlikely to sell for a dollar and a half a scarab which was worth £4 or £5; and the natives usually take their finds first of all to dealers, who would certainly not let a good scarab pass them.
European makers have now entered the arena, and are competing with the natives as makers of antiquities, but so far the latter have had the best of it. The group of scarabs numbered 1 to 5, [Plate VIII], are either German or Italian work. They are very good indeed, perhaps too good. I had to pay 18s. for those specimens, nor could Ibrahim get them for me any cheaper. But I have always felt that I was done.
Some weeks after the man from whom these were purchased came again with some more. I was busy and Ibrahim was away, so the matter was placed in the hands of his son, who was instructed to obtain some for my collection if possible. Later he handed me four, and on looking them over, I saw to my astonishment that one was real. I asked how this had happened.
“Yes,” replied the youngster, “when I had picked out these four the man objected, and said that one was real. I looked at it with my father’s glass, and then offered to bet him a sovereign that it was not. He then said that he did not know that I understood scarabs so well, and let me have the four for 8s.” Later Ibrahim examined the scarab. “Yes,” he said, “the scarab is genuine, and bears the name of Khonsu. It is worth at least £2. My son has done well. Now we are even, for the man charged too much for the other five; but my son must never offer to bet again, as he might lose my money.”
Once, when in a great hurry, I was stopped by a young lady, who produced what looked like a damaged scarab, on which she asked my opinion. The light was very bad, and I had no time to spare, so I gave but a glance at the thing. She told me that she had found it at Abou Roash Pyramid. I wanted to be polite, and said that I thought it was a real scarab, but that it had by some chance been in the fire. She thanked me, and I hurried away. At dinner that night she told the story to a large and appreciative table, and handed the specimen round for the guests to see. She had made the thing with a penknife out of a piece of soft rock, and had coloured it with paint. I must admit that, when seen in a good light, the work was very rough, and that I ought not to have been taken in; but let any one who thinks himself wiser be placed under similar circumstances and see what happens. I have found, too, that the female sex is very apt to lay traps for the unwary male, whenever he affects, rightly or wrongly, to possess a superior knowledge upon any subject.
Mr. Weigall, the author of “Life and Times of Akhnaton,” told me that one day a lady showed him a scarab which she said she had bought from a little boy, who told her that he had stolen it from Weigall’s excavations. She finished up her story by saying, “And I am sure it must be true, for he had such an honest little face.”
Here is another scarab story. A friend was once in the Khan Khaleel bazaar in Cairo, and was approached by a young man in native dress who offered for sale a handful of scarabs. My friend, who is an expert and very well known, was considerably astonished at the man’s impudence, for they were the common green scarabs made in great quantities at the present day to sell to the native women, and these are now being exported even as far as the Sudan. After a few pointed remarks, it seemed that the man was acting in good faith. He was very much taken aback by my friend’s ridicule, and immediately ran off to a native who was dressed in European clothes and seated outside a shop about fifty paces away. A violent quarrel was started, the end of which my friend did not wait to see, but it was quite clear that the scarabs had been sold by the shopkeeper under some sort of guarantee that they were genuine antiquities.
In some cases scarabs are brought straight from the manufactory and placed upon the market. In other cases they are buried in dung-heaps to give them the odour of antiquity, then taken out, oiled and rubbed with dirt, which makes them look old and worn. Then the man will carry them about with him for a considerable time, and eventually they are ready to be offered to the unwary collector. To my own personal knowledge, experienced dealers in antiquities are being taken in frequently by these modern forgeries.