An Artist in Egypt

by Walter Tyndale

The guards occasionally shot a snake, but all I have seen in this temple appeared to be harmless ones; anyhow, none ever shared my resting-place with me. It was different in the enclosure of the Ramesseum, which is nearer the moisture of the cultivated land. I was returning from my work there one evening, and passed close to a large cobra. It was curled round a stone which was partly hid in the scrub growing near the pylon. I had no stick with me, or I might have been able to kill it. It was the first I had ever seen, except in captivity, and I was very interested in comparing it with its numerous presentments in every temple in Egypt. To kill it, with as little risk as possible of its killing me, became my chief wish when I had watched it for some time, and reflected what a danger this beautiful creature was to the numbers of people who roam about the temple. When I picked up a good-sized stone, it shifted its place and disappeared in the scrub.

I came to the spot on the following evening with Mr. Howard Carter and a shot-gun; we also brought some milk in a pan, and placed it near where I had seen the cobra. We waited till dark in the hopes of our bait attracting it, but I am sorry to say we saw it no more.

Professor Flinders Petrie told me that he had killed several with his walking-stick. They are easily destroyed; but if one merely wounds the creature with a blow, it may strike its fangs into one before a second blow can be dealt. We told the guardians of the temple, and they promised to try to shoot it. I never heard of their having done so, and I have a suspicion that the prospect of a gratuity from a snake-charmer may have prevented them. Whether this cobra has since hearkened to the voice of the charmers, charming never so wisely, and is now occasionally pulled out of a sack to perform on the pavement in front of Shepheard’s hotel, I cannot say. I have never seen as large a specimen in Cairo, and I expect they are taken when they are young.

As this is an art practised now as in pharaonic times, it may be of interest to hear what Canon Tristram says about it in The Natural History of the Bible: ‘The art of serpent charming, referred to in Ps. lviii. 4 and Jas. iii. 7, is of immense antiquity, and is practised not only in Africa but in India. In the latter country it is exercised on another species of cobra (naja tripudians) very like the haje. The resources of the charmers appear to be very simple—the shrill notes of a flute, which are the only kind of tones which the serpent, with its very imperfect sense of sound, is capable of distinctly following: and, above all, coolness and courage, combined with gentleness in handling the animal, so as not to irritate it. The charmers are not impostors; for though they may sometimes remove the fangs, it is a well-attested fact that they generally allow them to remain, and they will operate on the animals when just caught as willingly as on individuals which have long been in their possession; but they are very reluctant to make experiments on any other species than the cobra. When a cobra has been discovered in a hole, the charmer plays at the mouth until the serpent, attracted by the sound, comes out, when it is suddenly seized by the tail, and held at arm’s length. Thus suspended, it is unable to turn itself so as to bite, and, when it has become exhausted by its own efforts, it is put into a basket, the lid of which is raised while the music is playing, but, at each attempt of the serpent to dart out, the lid is shut down upon it, until it learns to stand quietly on its tail, swaying to and fro to the music, and ceases to attempt to escape. If it shows more restlessness than ordinary, the fangs are extracted as a precaution. Instances are not uncommon in which, with all their care, the jugglers’ lives are sacrificed in the exhibition.’

We were surprised one evening by a much more alarming creature than a cobra, and that was a raving madman. My friend Erskine Nicol was staying with me, and we had asked Howard Carter to dine with us. When the latter arrived within sight of our hut, he was accompanied by a native who farmed a large part of the land between the fringe of the desert and the Nile. The man appeared very excited about something, and Carter was doing his best to pacify him. As they got nearer, we heard him accusing some one who had cut down a tree belonging to him, and he kept pointing to our hut, and saying that the culprit lived there. Nicol then approached the man, and asked what the excitement was about, and after some conversation he called out to me not to let the man in as he was out of his mind. It was dusk at the time, and my cook had lighted the lamp and set the table; we had a lot of inflammable material about, as I and my assistant were packing a large number of casts to send off to America. A madman amongst our casts was about the last thing we wanted, besides the danger of his upsetting the petroleum lamp.

The man of a sudden dodged away from my two friends and made a dash for the hut. I was just in time to close the door, and my assistant and I had to lean against it to prevent the madman from bursting it in. It was a frail double door and could not long resist the onslaughts of our unwelcome visitor. I managed to reach a crowbar, and, by sticking one end in the floor and jamming the other under one of the transoms, it made a powerful buttress. Finding that that half of the door resisted his efforts too stubbornly, the man threw himself on his back and kicked his foot through a panel and forced his leg well inside. ‘Hold on a bit longer,’ called out my friends outside, ‘we have sent for the temple guards and some rope.’ I had to dislodge that leg or we should have had the whole man in through the broken panel. A severe bastinado on the sole of the foot finally made the man withdraw it. He then butted the door with his head and, making several rushes, threw the weight of his body against it. Another panel had just given in when the guards arrived.

My two friends then closed with the man and called on us to come out, and we also threw ourselves on to the poor fellow. The guards handed us a bit of rope, but would not touch the man, not through physical fear so much as apprehension of making an enemy of one who from his wealth was a power in the village. With his turban we pinioned his arms, and we tied his ankles together with the rope, and then sat on his body till his relations had been sent for. We did our best not to hurt the unfortunate man; but as he was powerfully built, it was all we could do to master him.

When his relations arrived he was sufficiently exhausted to allow of his being lifted on to a donkey and taken away into the darkness.

That same evening we had several of his relatives round, as well as the Omdeh of the village, and they all implored us not to let the authorities in Luxor know about it. They would keep him locked up till he was safe to be at large; whereas, if he were taken to the Mamúr, he would be sent to the madhouse at Keneh, and there, according to these villagers, he would be treated with the utmost cruelty. Now the right person to report him was the Omdeh of the village, and we reminded him of this, and told him that if any one was harmed by this madman we should report the Omdeh for having neglected his duty. The latter promised to take all responsibility, and said that we could rest assured that the man would never come near my hut again.

For a couple of days we had peace, for the poor madman had probably not recovered from his exhaustion. After that time we saw him rushing about the neighbourhood with half the village-folk after him. We called on the Omdeh to tell him that he must inform the authorities at Luxor, or we should do it ourselves, and he promised that he would send a messenger that very day. I did not expect him to keep his promise, and decided to write to the Mamúr the next day to report on the madman as well as on the Omdeh for neglect of duty. This time, however, the latter did not lie, and we heard that some mounted police and a litter had arrived and had taken the man off.