Deep Purple: Dyeing Egyptian Textiles

Daniel Soliman

The oldest preserved textiles from Egypt, woven in linen, date back to around 2900 BCE. Because it is difficult to dye linen, the Egyptians preferred their linen clothing bright white and sometimes translucent. Colours were used sparsely to decorate clothes, mostly with black, blue, red, yellow and green dyes. Influenced by Greek and Roman traditions, Egyptian weavers adopted new weaving techniques and decorative motifs from ca. the fourth century BCE and onwards. They began to weave woollen decorations into linen garments. The woollen threads were dyed, and fabrics became more colourful.

In imperial Rome, the colour purple had a special significance in clothing. It was restricted by law to the social elite and it indicated particular ranks. Only senators could wear tunics decorated with broad vertical bands of purple wool, while members of the equestrian class were allowed to wear narrow purple bands. The exclusivity of the colour, also known as Tyrian purple, was connected with the highly expensive production process of this imperial dye. The colour was obtained from the secretion of a species of sea snails – Murex brandaris– that lives in the eastern Mediterranean Sea. Several thousands of sea snails were required to create just one gram of pure dye!

It is, therefore, not surprising that textile workers turned to cheaper alternatives for purple dye. So did the Egyptians, who had taken a fancy to textiles with purple decorations. In Roman Egypt, the colour was not strictly worn by the elite: garments of men, women and children alike could be decorated with purple wool. The colour remained popular during the Byzantine Period and the Medieval Period. But how to obtain affordable purple dye…

Detail of a large textile with rectangular, tapestry woven decoration in purple wool (forth–fifth century CE). © National Museum of Antiquities, Leiden, AES 158

The ancient Mediterranean textile industry developed several solutions. Some are written down in a codex from Egypt, dating to the late third–early fourth century CE. The codex, now in Leiden, consists of ten papyrus sheets folded double that were originally bound together in a book. The pages are inscribed in Greek using black ink. The Greek is teeming with bad spelling and grammatical errors, which may indicate that it is a poor copy of another manuscript. The codex is a collection of short recipes, the majority of which deal with the preparation of metal alloys and the purification of metals, and the creation of imitation gold or silver for the manufacture of jewellery. Five recipes on pages 12–14 deal with procedures to create purple dye without sea snails.

Page 13 of the Leiden codex (late third–early fourth century CE). © National Museum of Antiquities, Leiden, AMS 66

One method reads as follows:

Grind lime with water and let it stand overnight. After having decanted it, place the wool in the liquid for one day. Remove it and dry it, having sprinkled the alkanet with some vinegar. Boil it and throw the wool in it, and it will emerge dyed in purple. 

The recipe makes use of the alkanet plant, whose dark red roots were used to create dye. Another procedure in the codex combines alkanet with the bark of a pomegranate tree:

Grind some walnuts with some alkanet of good quality. Having done so, place them in strong vinegar. Grind again. Add some pomegranate bark to the mixture. Lay aside for three days, and after this, submerge the wool in it and it will be dyed once cold. […]

Page 14 of the Leiden codex (late third–early fourth century CE). © National Museum of Antiquities, Leiden, AMS 66

Because several recipes deal with the “manufacture” of gold and silver, earlier scholars who studied the codex had interpreted the text as an alchemistic treatise. The inclusion of recipes dealing with dyes clearly show that these texts are, in fact, instructions for craftsmen working in the metal industry and textile industry. This goes to show that, in the year 400, imitation materials were just as common as they are today. 

Technical Details 
Provenance: Probably from a tomb in Thebes.
Date: Late 3rd–early 4th century CE.
Language: Greek.
Collection: National Museum of Antiquities, Leiden, The Netherlands (AMS 66; also known as cat. I 397)
Designation: Papyrus Leiden X (=Papyrus Leyden X or Papyrus Leidensis X).
Select Bibliography: Adriano Caffaro & Giuseppe Falanga (2004) Il papiro di Leida. Un document di tecnica artistica e artigianele del IV secolo d. C., (Salerno); Robert Halleux (1981) Papyrus de Leyden, papyrus de Stockholm, fragments de recettes. Texte éstabli et traduction (Paris); William B. Jensen & Earle Radcliffe Caley (2008) The Leyden and Stockholm Papyri. Greco-Egyptian Chemical Documents From the Early 4th Century AD. An English Translation with Brief Notes. Edited, with a New General Introduction, A Note on techniques and a Materials Index (Cincinnati), pp. 6–9, 17–46; Conrad Leemans (1985) Papyri graeci Musei antiquarii publici Lugduni-Batavi, vol. II (Leiden), pp. 204–209; Vera Trost (1991) Gold- und Silbertinten. Technologische Untersuchungen zur abendländischen Chrysographie und Argyrographie von der Spätantike bis zum hohen Mittelalter (Wiesbaden), pp. 58–102.

Caring for Cows in Ancient Egypt

Jennifer Cromwell

Tomb scenes and models show how important cattle were in ancient Egypt. From birthing to butchery, we see the experiences and uses of cattle. Not only did they provide food (for the living and the dead, as well as the gods) and leather, they were also essential for agriculture. We see them depicted in a range of activities, including ploughing and threshing wheat (e.g., the tomb of Menna, Theban Tomb 69). One aspect of life that we don’t see in these scenes is what happens when animals get sick: tombs show healthy animals, fulfilling their duties without catching and succumbing to disease.

Model of Cow Giving Birth, ca. 2030-1640 BCE. (c) Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto (MK.160)

Evidence for the treatment of sick animals is rare, but one papyrus demonstrates that the ancient Egyptians did have a knowledge of various conditions and treatments. Our most important source comes from the Middle Kingdom town of Kahun (or Lahun/Illahun): the Kahun Veterinary Papyrus. Kahun has yielded the largest body of papyri from the Middle Kingdom (ca. 2025–1700 BCE), which were discovered between 1889 and 1899. One group concerns the cult of pharaoh Senwosret II and was found in a rubbish mound north of the Valley Temple of his pyramid complex. The Veterinary Papyrus is part of a second, miscellaneous group of texts found across Kahun during the work of Flinders Petrie in 1889 and now in the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology. 

The Veterinary Papyrus is badly damaged and incomplete. Small fragments show that various animals were dealt with in the text, e.g., one piece that concerns the disease of some bird. The largest surviving section deals with cattle, preserving three case studies, the most complete of which is entitled “Eye examination of a bull with an airborne disease”:

If I see a bull with an airborne disease, its eyes running, its tears heavy, the roots of its teeth reddened, and its neck taut, it should be read as follows:

It should be lain on its side, and sprinkled with fresh (or cool) water

And its eyes should be rubbed, along with its flanks and all its limbs

With khenesh-plants or shu-plants, and fumigated by (?)

It is saved from damp … to be kept away from water

It is rubbed with khenesh parts of qadet-plants.

Then you should cut it at its nostrils and its tail and say of it:

It is under treatment – it will die from it or it will live from it.

If it does not recover, and is heavy under your fingers and its eyes are blocked

You should wrap its eyes with fine linen, heated at a fire, for the bleariness.

(translation from Collier and Quirke 2004, 55)
Kahun Veterinary Papyrus (c) Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology (UC32036)

Based on the thick discharge from the eyes, the reddened gums, and swollen neck, the symptoms suggest that the bovine in question was suffering from an infection resulting in fever. After forcing the animal onto its side, the main course of treatment was to lower its temperature, cooling it with water and rubbing its body with several plants. Unfortunately, the identities of the plants named aren’t known, but they must have had cooling properties. To further help reduce its temperature, bloodletting is prescribed, which was a common treatment for fever in the ancient world. Finally, if its condition still has not improved, a heated piece of linen is to be placed over the eyes. 

Who was responsible for administering these treatments? No word for vet is known from ancient Egypt. It is possible that doctors (Egyptian swnw) may also have fulfilled this role, applying their medical knowledge to the animal world, but there is no conclusive evidence to support this possibility. For herders and farmers, their wealth of experience, gained by spending all their days with their animals, may have been enough to recognise common illnesses and carry out such treatments, without the need for consulting specialists. 

Regardless of who carried out the treatments, not only is it clear that ancient Egyptians cared for the health of their livestock, such knowledge was also important enough to be written down.

Ploughing Model, Dynasty 12 (ca. 1981–1885 BCE) (c) Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (inv. 36.5)

Technical Details 
Provenance: Kahun/Lahun, Egypt.
Date: Late Middle Kingdom (late 12th/13thdynasty); ca. 1850–1700 BCE.
Language: Middle Egyptian (cursive hieroglyphs).
Collection: Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology (UC32036). 
Designation: Kahun Veterinary Papyrus.
Bibliography: Francis Ll. Griffith (1897), The Petrie Papyri: Hieratic Papyri from Kahun and Gurob, principally of the Middle Kingdom (London) [available online here]; Mark Collier and Stephen Quirke (2004) The UCL Lahun Papyri: Religious, Literary, Legal, Mathematical and Medical (Oxford); Sian Lewis and Lloyd Llewellyn-Jones (2017) The Culture of Animals in Antiquity: A Sourcebook with Commentary (London); Connie Lord (2016), “One and the Same? An investigation into the connection between veterinary and medical practice in ancient Egypt,” in Campbell Price et al. (eds) Mummies, Magic, and Medicine in Ancient Egypt: Multidisciplinary Essays for Rosalie David (Manchester), pp. 140–154.

A Brief Account of Marriage

Jennifer Cromwell

Marriage in Egyptian villages was a pretty informal affair. Few legal documents were written concerning marriage, and few texts discuss particulars – unless something goes wrong. The most important aspect of marriage was cohabitation. Early periods of Egyptian history refer to the entering and leaving of houses, while Coptic texts typically refer to spouses ‘sitting’ together.
A particularly unusual document concerning marriage survives from western Thebes, dated probably to the 7th century (it has a date of year 10, which is in reference to a 15-year tax cycle, but no information that allows it to be dated more firmly). It’s not unusual because it mentions marriage, but because of its nature and sheer brevity.

Shenetom, the fisherman, the son of Pcale in Pashme. He divorced (=cast out) his wife, Tegoshe. He married (=took) Teret, the daughter of Comes of Pare. Moreover, he gave his daughter to her son. Indiction year 10.

P.Mon.Epiph. 270
pMonEpiph 270.jpg
P.Mon.Epiph. 270 (c) Metropolitan Museum of Art (14.1.510)

The text is clear, recording the divorce and marriage of the fisherman Shenetom, together with the betrothal of his unnamed daughter to the unnamed son of his new wife, Teret. No further details are provided, so why was this note written? It is not a marriage contract, it doesn’t concern a dowry, and it’s not a letter asking for relationship advice. Can we learn anything else about Shenetom’s motives for writing it?
This note is written on the back of another letter, penned by somebody else. That original letter (which has not been properly published) concerns a man and woman. Despite how well-preserved the writing is, only half of the letter survives and so we only get hints about its original nature. A woman is mentioned going to Djeme, the village built within Medinet Habu, the mortuary temple of Rameses III, and there is mention of ‘his house’, a monastery, and a statement that the writer ‘will not hide him’ (or ‘it’). Are the two texts connected?

 

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Unpublished letter on the other side of P.Mon.Epiph. 270 (c) Metropolitan Museum of Art (14.1.510)

The papyrus was found at a hermitage in Thebes, now referred to by the name of its most famous occupant, the monk Apa Epiphanius. Epiphanius – and other senior and well-known monks across Thebes – were often called upon to sort out a range of issues among villagers in the region (including marriage problems and paternity issues). Could the original letter, perhaps issued by Epiphanius himself, have been sent out to discover an issue between a couple? If so, could Shenetom’s note, written on the back of the original letter after it had been torn in half, be the response to the original enquiry? Perhaps Shenetom – originally from north of Thebes (Pashme, in the nome of Coptos) – is the unknown man in the original letter, and the woman his original wife, Tegoshe. In reply to the monk’s letter, Shenetom makes the current situation with his new wife clear. But why mention his children as well? It’s possible that the children were also mentioned in the first letter, in the section that is now lost. This marriage would serve practical concerns, strengthening property ties, for example, even if the situation seems odd to a modern reader.
While we can’t get firm answers to all the questions that this small note throws up, this example shows that looking at more than just a single text in isolation can help bring us closer to reality – and also highlights how much potential even short notes hold!

Technical Details
Provenance: ‘Monastery’ of Apa Epiphanius (Theban Tomb 103).
Date: 7th century (?) CE.
Language: Coptic (Sahidic dialect).
Collection: Metropolitan Museum of Art (inv. 14.1.510).
Designation: P.Mon.Epiph. 270 (according to the Checklist of Editions).
Bibliography: N/A

 

Kittens for Bastet

Jennifer Cromwell and Luigi Prada

 Detail of a relief Bastet – Kom Ombo.jpg
Relief of Bastet, Kom Ombo

On 20th April, either 202 or 178 BCE, an embalmer named Onnophris wrote to Machatas, an official (epistates) in the village of Tanis in the Fayum semi-oasis, concerning kittens he had donated to the cat-goddess Bastet (also known by her Greek name of Boubastis), or at least had intended to donate!

“Since some kittens were born in my house and their mother did not attend to them, I went to the temple of Bastet and asked the dancers [i.e., priests] to come and to carry them back to the temple of Bastet. After they did not arrive, but went elsewhere, it happened that the kittens, while they were being weaned by me with milk at home, were snatched by a tomcat and carried down out of the house into the street. I rushed down and called for help to those who were present and heard. Thus, we stood about and with difficulty removed one kitten, those who had joined to help including Phasis, the village scribe, to whom I gave an official testimony of all that had happened.” (Based on the translation by R. W. Daniel)

The tomcat killed some of the kittens – even though this is not explicitly stated (perhaps intentionally so, out of religious propriety regarding such an unholy happening), the loss of sacred animals is why Onnophris sounds so panicky in this petition.

Onnophris then collected the surviving kitten and took it to the temple of Bastet, handing it over to some of its priests – the same people who had neglected to collect the kittens from his house before the incident took place. To protect himself from future accusations that he acted improperly in this situation, he asked the village scribe Phasis – an eyewitness to the tomcat’s attack – to write down Onnophris’ account of events. Additionally, as an added level of protection, Onnophris also had this plea written:

“So that I am not later denounced in an unseemly way, certain persons having acted maliciously, I beg and request you that, having subscribed regarding each of these statements … [text lost].”

But why did Onnophris have to go to such lengths?

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P.Köln XV 594 (c) Cologne Papyrus Collection (inv. 21358)

The reason lies in the importance that animal cults had in ancient Egypt, especially in the later phases of the country’s history, including the Ptolemaic and Roman Periods. Overall, animals could play a twofold role in Egyptian religion: some were actual divine animals, physical incarnations on earth of a deity; others, instead, were sacred only in that they were associated with a deity in a ritual fashion. The best example of a proper divine animal is the Apis bull worshipped in the ancient capital of Memphis: honoured even by Alexander the Great on the occasion of his Memphite visit, the Apis was reborn and had to be identified each generation into another bull – almost like a bovine counterpart to the Dalai Lama – and his cult thrived for centuries on end.

As for the other kind of animal cults, its premise lay in the fact that many deities of the Egyptian pantheon had animal associations. Their zoomorphic appearance, and their representation in Egyptian art as animals or as animal-headed humans, is what comes first to mind: think of the god Horus, with his falcon head, or of the aforementioned Bastet, often pictured as a cat, or a cat-headed woman. It is thus no surprise that Egyptian deities could also be worshipped by ritually dedicating animals to them. This applies both to living animals, as in the case of the kittens that Onnophris planned to present to the local temple of Bastet, but it was also true with dead (often, ritually euthanised) animals, whose mummified remains were dedicated in their thousands by pious visitors as ex-votos and buried in sometimes huge catacombs, which archaeologists are still exploring to this day.

Tuna el-Gebel catacombs.jpg
Catacombs at Tuna el-Gebel (the necropolis of Hermopolis), where thousands of mummified ibises and baboons have been found

Once dedicated, these animals were the sacred property of the relevant deity. It is thus understandable why Onnophris sounds so worried in his petition, fearing not so much the goddess’ punishment – as the kittens were killed through no direct fault of his – but rather legal problems. Indeed, the special status of sacred animals was sanctioned in a number of Egyptian texts: legal texts from this time discuss the abuse of sacred animals and the resulting penalties, and people are warned against hurting them in wisdom texts too, compositions that contained moral instructions as to how a rightful person ought to behave. Thus, the demotic papyrus P. Ashmolean Dem. 1984.77 verso, from approximately the 2nd century CE, says:

“Do not beat any (sacred) animals with a stick, stone, or any (piece of) wood. Be careful with regard to the animals which are sacred.” (Translation by R. Jasnow)

pAshm 1984-77.png
P.Ashmolean Dem. 1984.77 (c) Ashmolean Museum, Oxford

And even Herodotus, the Greek writer who visited Egypt in the mid-5th century BCE, makes the following remark, in Histories 2.65.5:

“Whoever kills one of these creatures intentionally is punished with death; if he kills accidentally, he pays whatever penalty the priests appoint. Whoever kills an ibis or a hawk, intentionally or not, must die for it.” (translationby A. D. Godley)

Indeed, the cult of animals was one of the aspects of ancient Egyptian religion that most struck the imagination of contemporary classical writers, for better or for worse. As an egregious example of the latter, the poet Juvenal, active in the late 1st and early 2nd century CE, thus began his Fifteenth Satire:

“Who knows not (…) what monsters demented Egypt worships? One district adores the crocodile, another venerates the ibis that gorges itself with snakes. In the place where (…) ancient hundred-gated Thebes lies in ruins, men worship the glittering golden image of the long-tailed ape. In one part cats are worshipped, in another a river fish, in another whole townships venerate a dog; none adore [the goddess] Diana, but it is an impious outrage to crunch leeks and onions with the teeth. What a holy race to have such divinities springing up in their gardens! No animal that grows wool may appear upon the dinner-table (…) but it is lawful to feed on the flesh of man!” (translation by G. G. Ramsey)

Perhaps as a poetic licence, Juvenal lets his imagination – and his invective against Egyptian cults – run amuck, ridiculing Egyptian beliefs to the point of even making up accusation of vegetable-worship and cannibalism!

In the context of millennia of history of Egyptian religion, the misadventure of Onnophris and of his kittens in the small village of Tanis is perhaps a minor incident – yet, it powerfully and colourfully conveys the worries, hopes, and beliefs of a whole civilisation.

Technical Details (Greek text)
Provenance: Near Tanis in the Fayum; Egypt
Date: 20th April 202 or 178 BCE
Language: Greek
Collection: Cologne, Papyrus Collection (inv. 21358)
Designation: P.Köln XV 594 (according to the Checklist of Editions)
Bibliography: Robert W. Daniel (2017), “594: Petition concerning Kittens” in P.Köln XV, pp. 1–11.

Technical Details (Demotic text)
Provenance: Thebes (probably), Egypt
Date: Late 2nd century – early 3rd century CE
Language: Demotic
Collection: Ashmolean Museum, Oxford (P. Ashm. 1984.77)
Designation: P. Ashmolean Dem. 1984.77 verso
Bibliography: RichardJasnow, “A Demotic Wisdom Papyrus in the Ashmolean Museum (P. Ashm. 1984.77 Verso)”, in Enchoria 18 (1991), pp. 43–54, pls. 9–11.

BM Cat mummy case (EA25298).jpg
Cat mummy case, Ptolemaic period (c) British Museum, EA25298

 

 

Facing the Dead? Framing Mummy Panels from Hawara

Campbell Price

Among the most popular objects in many museum archaeology displays, the lifelike mummy panel portraits from Graeco-Roman Egypt hold a special place in the history of representing the human face. Manchester Museum’s first international touring exhibition, ‘Golden Mummies of Egypt’, offers a chance to re-examine the museum’s important collection of 10 mummy panel paintings as part of The Getty’s APPEAR project, and to consider how these objects were viewed in ancient – as well as modern – times.

A glint of light in these ancient eyes is a key element of their seductiveness; a sparkle of life not present in Pharaonic representations. Undoubtedly, a glimmer of recognition is prompted in the human brain – inviting you to wonder if you might know this person.  These painted images apparently give a face to the voices of contemporary papyri; they actively invite speculation about their identities.

Most of the portrait panel mummies are not identified by name; a primary concern in Pharaonic times which is less clearly marked in Graeco-Roman Period Egypt. The accounts of Classical commentators, along with some archaeological evidence, suggests the initial installation of mummies wasin (funerary) chapels, where regular visits and rituals might occur; final deposition was made in groups. As part of an active, living tradition of ritual,perhaps it was felt that most mummies did not require individual written identification.

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Mummy Portrait (c) Manchester Museum, inv. 11306

The subject in the above paintingis shown in a typical three-quarter view, as if turning to look at us. The anonymous man in this painting has curly hair and a beard. Hairstyles may suggest a particular Emperor’s reign, although precise dating is notoriously difficult with the panel paintings. Here,suggestions range from around the time of Marcus Aurelius (161–180 CE) and Commodus (180–192 CE). The man bears a sword belt (balteus), which may imply something of his status –  although the families of all those depicted were no doubt wealthy – or an actual association with the military.

Although the technique of encaustic painting (pigment mixed with hot wax) was foreign to Egypt, the tradition of representing the deceased was not. Pharaonic representations are not ‘true to life’ in any simple way. ‘Lifelike’ sculptures placed in temples apparently show elites with the details of a real face; yet, the aim of these objects was to attract attention in scared spaces crowded with sculpture, and need not reflect anything of a person’s actual appearance.

Looking at the mummy panel paintings – saturated as we are by modern photographic reproduction and the prevalence of glazed and mirrored surfaces – we expect them to reflect a truth about ancient people as they really were. Yet, just because these are plausiblefaces does not imply that these are true, mimetic portraits in the modern sense. We desperately want them to be – that is why facial reconstruction techniques are so popular in museums and in the popular media. This modern conceit has been used as a means of testing the ‘accuracy’ of panel paintings, yet this practice has a sinister background in ‘race’ science. British archaeologist Flinders Petrie, whose Egyptian workmen found many of the panels attached to mummies at the Fayum site of Hawara (hence the common designation ‘Fayum Portrait’), was a keen believer in eugenics and regularly kept the skulls of portrait mummies to compare the two.

But, to me, these (re)constructions are subjective and contingent – they are mirages, fantasises that privilege ‘science’ and view it as a ‘magic wand’ to gain insights into ancient life. The fact that some portraits, such as this one, much resemble others – like portraits now at Eton College and sold recently at Sothebys – does not imply the existence of a group of similar-looking people, but rather indicate the production of panels that depend more on each other (or a stock type) than they refer back to the appearance of real people. Whether the panels were painted during life or posthumously is a major point of scholarly debate. The latter seems more likely to me. Regardless, they fulfilled a very ancient function by giving the deceased a visage with which to face eternity.

Too Classical for Egyptologists and too Egyptian for Classicists, the portraits have been a scholarly bone of contention for some time – yet have been a major attraction for popular audiences since Flinders Petrie exhibited those he was permitted to export in Summer 1888 at the Egyptian Hall in London, where artists like Lawrence Alma-Tadema drew inspiration for their works.                            

Alma-Tadema detail.jpg
Alma-Tadema detail from ‘Love’s Jewelled Fetter’ (1895)

There’s decent circumstantial evidence that the show was seen by Oscar Wilde – his novella The Picture of Dorian Grayappeared three years later. Such has been the impact of these haunting images on popular culture. Yet, despite repeated attempts to characterise their individual backgrounds – in terms of age, ‘race’, status – these faces resist categorisation; their inscrutability only adds to their allure.

**Addendum 22/10/21: This blog post has subsequently appeared (by permission of the author) in Shemu: The Egyptian Society of South Africa’s Quarterly Newsletter 25/4 (October 2021).

Technical Details
Provenance: Hawara(?), Egypt
Date: Second half of second century CE
Technique: Encaustic pigment on lime(?)wood panel
Collection: Manchester Museum, inv. 11306, University of Manchester, UK. From the collection of Max Emil Robinow (1845-1900), a German émigré who settled in Manchester in the 1870s and travelled in Egypt in 1896. This piece likely derived from Flinders Petrie’s purchasing of antiquities in the Fayum region. Its rounded top suggests that it most probably comes from the site of Hawara, where Petrie worked for three seasons. Robinow was likely introduced to Petrie through a major sponsor of his excavations, the Manchester cotton magnate Jesse Haworth.
Bibliography: Barbara Borg, Mumienporträts: Chronologie und kultureller Kontext(Mainz: Philipp von Zabern., 1996), pp. 16, 80, 156–7; Campbell Price, 2020. Golden Mummies of Egypt. Interpreting Identities from the Graeco-Roman Period (Nomad Exhibitions/Manchester Museum, 2020), pp. 160-195.

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Max Emil Robinow

 

Law and the Art of Bookroll Maintenance

Mark de Kreij

In 133 CE Herakleides-Valerius, inhabitant of Antinoupolis, which had only recently been founded, put his signature to a brief document renouncing his father Herakleides’ inheritance. He came to his decision because his father had become embroiled in a protracted dispute over the state of the public archives of the Fayum. By this time, the case had dragged on for half a century, affecting two generations of multiple families, and it provides us a rare glimpse into the practical affairs of maintaining papyrus bookrolls in Roman Egypt.

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British Library Papyrus 1885 (c) British Library Board

It is the summer of 107, and Herakleides arrives in Tebtynis to take up his new position as keeper of the Fayum archives. He is to share his public office with another citizen, Patron, but the actual day-to-day care will remain in the hands of veteran clerk Leonides. Whereas the public office rotates on a 3-year cycle, there is much more continuity in the underlying bureaucracy. Leonides tells Herakleides that he has stepped into quite the mess: the archives have been in a poor state and deteriorating for years. In a later report, the impartial inspector Isidorus describes the situation in the following terms:

“The documents shown to me by the clerk Leonides (…) were in some cases deprived of their beginning, or damaged, or moth-eaten (…). Since the books have been hastily moved from one place to another repeatedly, lying on top of each other and unattached (…). Some were eaten away at the top because of the dry heat (…) and since they are being handled daily, and their material is brittle, it happened that some were destroyed in parts, others were without beginnings, and some had even fallen apart.”

At every change of keepers, the state of the archive was assessed, and it was at such a transition that the first documented complaint was made, almost forty years earlier in 71 CE. By the time Leonides became head clerk, the archives had apparently been handed on in ever-deteriorating condition without anyone wanting to take responsibility for the repair and reconstruction of the damaged documents. The keepers who were in charge before Herakleides had moreover decided that not they, but the clerk Leonides was responsible for the state of the archive. At some point the strategus Apollonius (a high official) decreed:

“Already before I have ordered you and I enjoin you [Leonides] now to take over the documents in their present state.”

Leonides, however, claims that in the end his employers, the public officials, must bear the responsibility. As a result, upon the arrival of Herakleides and Patron, Leonides refuses to accept any damaged rolls from the preceding keepers without the presence and permission of the new keepers. Understanding his precarious situation, Herakleides likewise refuses to take responsibility for the transfer. Leonides’ heirs later maintained

“that their father was appointed as salaried clerk to the keepers and might not be held responsible for the transfer. That, however, all the rolls were transferred except those missing the beginning or damaged or worm-eaten (…) but that the taking over was done at the risk of the responsible persons.”

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British Library Papyrus 1880 (c) The British Library Board

The stress of the situation is enough to drive Patron over the edge, and his son Euangelos has to replace him for the final year of his tenure.

By now, the heirs of multiple sets of keepers have become burdened with stacks of old, crumbling documents that no-one is willing to take over from them. Their complaints to the strategus and prefect (governor of Egypt) are heard—in fact five successive prefects get involved! But somehow no-one manages to break the impasse until in 114-115 the prefect Rutilius Lupus puts his foot down and forces Leonides to accept all the rolls, damaged or no, from the families of the earlier keepers. The cost of repair is to be borne in part by Leonides, insofar as he accepted rolls without the knowledge of the current keepers, and in part by Herakleides and Euangelos.

Herakleides drags his feet, as evidenced by a hefty fine he pays to the dioikesis (state administration) in summer of 114, but to no avail. In the following months he too passes away, and his son Herakleides-Valerius has to pay a further fine. In the end the heirs concede, paying the required sum to Leonides for the repairs of the rolls.

Skip to 124: Leonides has also died, and the new head clerk finds a situation that still has not changed and appeals to the prefect. The judgment is that the heirs of Leonides are responsible for paying the repairs, but they can in turn privately sue the heirs of Patron and Herakleides if they deem the keepers to have been responsible. As a security, the prefect seizes both parties’ properties, in order to guarantee that they will now finally undertake the necessary work.

And a good thing that was too: around 6 months later 1 talent is raised through sale of property, most probably that of the heirs of Herakleides, since Euangelos, Patron’s heir, is penniless, and this finally paid for the necessary repairs and transfer… Or did it? Almost a decade later, Herakleides-Valerius writes:

“I cede the half due to me in the whole heritage of my aforesaid father in order not to be worried about the penalties.”

But that, finally, is the last we hear of the case in this family’s archive.

This ‘showpiece of bureaucratic tenacity and bureaucratic ineffectiveness’, in the words of Peter Parsons, not only documents an intriguing court case, but incidentally also contains the fullest surviving account of the practicalities of archive maintenance. The same climate that preserved the papyri to be read by scholars in the twentieth century took its toll on documents in the poorly maintained archive. We learn that documents are particularly vulnerable at their beginnings and endings, and that this is one of the reasons to create rolls consisting of documents pasted together (referred to in Greek as tomoi sunkollesimoi). Also, we hear of the possibility to reconstruct broken and damaged documents by consulting and copying master copies kept in Alexandria. No less interesting are the terms used to describe both the damage (including ‘missing its beginning’, ‘missing its ending’, and ‘eaten away at the top’) and the repairs (‘paste together’ and ‘repair’), which are otherwise rarely attested in documents or literature. A new, full discussion of the documents’ importance for these issues, together with a survey of the relevant papyrological evidence for ancient bookroll maintenance, is now available by Mark De Kreij, Daniela Colomo, and Andrew Lui 2020 (for the open access article, see the link in the bibliography below).

Technical Details
Provenance: Egypt, Tebtynis
Date: 114-133 CE
Language: Greek
Collection: London, British Library Pap. 1885, 1980, and 1888 
Designation: P.Fam.Tebt. 15, 17 (= P.Coles 20), and 24 (according to the Checklist of Editions)
Bibliography: Bernhard A. van Groningen, A Family Archive from Tebtunis (Pap.Lugd.Bat. VI)(Leiden: E. J. Brill 1950), pp. 46-62, 64-65, and 85-108; Mark de Kreij, Daniela Colomo, and Andrew Lui, ‘Shoring Up Sappho. P.Oxy. 2288 and Ancient Reinforcements of Bookrolls’ in Mnemosyne(2020), available in open access here; Peter Parsons, ‘P.Coles 20. The End of the Archives Case’ in Guido Bastianini, Nikolaos Gonis, and Simona Russo (eds), Charisterion per Revel A. Coles (P.Coles) (Florence 2015), pp. 96-102.

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British Library Papyrus 1888 (c) British Library Board

Spell to Attract a Woman

Jennifer Cromwell

“For a woman’s love: a really effective charm.
You should write these things on a tin sheet.”

So begins the text of a Coptic magical spell from the 6th/7th century. The things that should be written on the tin sheet are magical signs, drawn on the papyrus for reference and to be copied out when needed. These signs are the first of three parts of this spell, intended to gain a woman’s love. The second part is the burial of several items at the woman’s door.

“Offering: one wild plant, foam from a completely black horse’s mouth, and a bat. You should bury it at the woman’s door, and you will see its power quickly.”

The wild plant in question is the Greek aspartos, but this could be a variant spelling of asphaltos, bitumen – a sticky black substance that would fit in colour terms with the other two ingredients needed, foam from a black horse’s mouth and a bat.
The final stage is the recitation of the spell itself. This incantation includes the invocation of a magical being, Bersebour (=Beelzebub), the King of Demons (the ‘you’ in the translation). Even demons could be called upon for their beneficial powers, as available spirits rather than as evil entities.

“I adjure you by all your holy names, your offerings, your amulets, the thrones upon which you sit, your garments that clothe you, your completed stelae, [and your] places in which you dwell. I adjure you by all these things, for a heartfelt love, a pang, and a heartfelt madness of NN. Quickly! I adjure the great power of Bersebour, the King of Demons […] health […] understanding. I adjure you by all of these things. Do not let her eat or [drink or …] or sit until she becomes like these black dogs, who are crazy for their pups, and like a drop of water, suspended from a jar, like a snake coiled [for the] soul of XX, until she comes to so-and-so. Quickly! […]”

But who is this spell intended for, which woman is the target, and who wants to receive the “heartfelt madness” of her love? Rather than being written for a specific individual, this spell can be used by and for anybody. The spell does not insert names but placeholders that can be substituted by actual names as and when required. Where in the translation NN is written, this is the name of the target of the spell, while XX is for the person casting the spell.
Whether or not the spell was used and was as effective as its opening line claims we do not know. But the desire to attract the attention and love of another is a part of the human condition that transcends the centuries.

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The front of the papyrus, which includes the symbols to be drawn on the tin sheet; the text continues for a couple of lines on the other side (c) Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, P.CtYBR inv. 1791

Technical Details
Provenance: Unknown; Egypt
Date: 6th/7th century CE
Language: Coptic (Sahidic dialect)
Collection: Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University, New Haven (P.CtYBR inv. 1791)
Designation: P.CtYBR inv. 1791
Bibliography: T. C. Peterson (1964) A Collection of Papyri: Egyptian, Greek, Coptic, Arabic (New York: H. P. Kraus), pp. 38–39; S. Emmel in M. W. Meyer and R. Smith (1994) Ancient Christian Magic. Coptic Texts of Ritual Power (Princeton: Princeton University Press), pp. 158–159 [#74] and 353–355.

The Powers of Hell: A Deadly Curse from Medieval Egypt

Korshi Dosoo

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Leiden, National Museum of Antiquities F 1965/8.5
Images courtesy of the National Museum of Antiquities, Leiden

Somewhere in Upper Egypt, around the tenth century CE, someone wanted to destroy a man named Haron. They took a pair of rib bones from a large animal, perhaps a cow or a camel, still wet with gristle, and they wrote a curse three times, on both sides of one rib, and one side of the other:

Koukhos, Trokhos, Aphōnos, Pesphokops and Plemos and Ouliat: these are the six Powers of Death, they who bring every soul out of every body, it is they who bring every sickness upon man, it is they who will go to Haron the son of Tkouikira …

I call, I adjure you, oh dead one, by the way that you took, and the places of fear to which they took you  and the places of fear that you saw, and the river of fire which cast wave upon wave … so that in the moment I place this bone under you, you shall bring all your suffering down upon Haron the son of Tkouikira, yea, quickly, quickly! Go, go! Quickly, quickly!

We don’t know what Haron did to deserve this curse, but we have some idea how it was carried out. At night, Haron’s enemy probably hired a ritual specialist, a ‘magician’, to recite a spoken invocation, while writing the curse in red ink, meant to resemble blood, before burying it in a tomb. This type of ritual – known in Greek as a katadesmos (“binding-down”), or in Latin as a defixio (“fastening”) – is first attested in Greek Sicily, over one and a half millennia earlier in the 6th century BCE, but spread throughout the Graeco-Roman world, from Britain to Iran and from Germany to Egypt.

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A view of the western mountain of Asyut, the site of the First Intermediate Period tomb where the third curse was found. Photo © The Asyut Project

The rib from which this version of the text is taken is held in the National Museum of Antiquities, Leiden in the Netherlands, which bought it from a Dutch dealer. This dealer had purchased it in turn from the family of the famous Egyptian antiquities merchant Maurice Nahman. But, while we know who the curse was directed against, where it is from isn’t so certain. The two texts on ribs, both owned by Nahman, were published by the Copticist James Drescher, who was told by Nahman’s son, Robert, that they came from Akhmim, although he doesn’t seem to have trusted this claim. A clearer idea of its origin appeared in winter 2004-2005, when a German-Egyptian excavation team in Asyut found another bone, written by the same scribe with the same text, in a tomb from the First Intermediate Period, belonging to a local magnate named Iti-Ibi who lived over three millennia earlier, ca. 2060 BCE. The name of the victim of this curse is missing, but it was found in a burial shaft untouched since antiquity. There were three other shafts in the tomb which had been looted in the 19th century, so it’s possible the Leiden bone came from one of these.

Christopher Faraone, who has done much work on earlier curses in Greek and Latin, has noted that they tend to fall into a small range of categories: some are against legal opponents, and aim to stop them from speaking or succeeding in court; some are against rival businessmen; others are against sportsmen, used by rivals or punters to fix competitions; others still are against those who had wronged the user in some way, often by stealing something from them. Curses in Coptic rarely tell us the reasons they were created, but it’s likely that they arise from similar circumstances – people who felt that their financial, social or emotional wellbeing was threatened might try to fight back using curses, even though such practices were both illegal and condemned by the Christian Church; those using them could be excommunicated, or even executed, depending on who caught them. This might be part of the reason why Haron’s enemy never says who they are, or why they are attacking him.

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A rare depiction of one of the ‘Powers of Death’, here called a dekanos (“decan”) removing a soul from its body. Source: Photo taken by Arthur S. Hunt of a mural of a church in Tebtunis in the Fayum. Crum MSS 24.67

While the older curses are sometimes very narrowly targeted – they might ask for legal opponents to be tongue-tied, or chariots to crash – this one attempts to totally destroy Haron. The opening part names six ‘Powers of Death’, asking them to bring his soul out of his body. These beings are known from many literary texts produced by Christians in Egypt and around the Mediterranean from the second century onwards; they accompany the Angel of Death, and violently separate soul from body in the final moment. A rare depiction of this event from a church in the Fayum shows us their monstrous form – animal headed beings in black armour – pulling a soul in the form of a little human figure out of its body with their teeth.

Once his soul has been taken out of his body, the curse calls upon the spirit of the dead person in whose tomb it is buried. It describes the dead person as being in Hell – having being taken by the Powers of Death upon the terrible path to the afterlife, to the ‘places of fear’ where the evil dead are tortured, past the river of fire which burned the wicked but not the just. This ‘geography’ of the Afterlife, like the description of the Powers of Death, comes from the same literary texts written by Late Antique Christians to expand upon or clarify things which are mentioned, but not fully described, in the Bible. Among these was Hell, in Greek hadēs, Coptic amente.

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The entrance to the tomb of Iti-Ibi in Asyut, as seen during Napoleon Bonaparte’s expedition to Egypt in the late 18thcentury; the facade was destroyed by stone quarrying in the course of the 19thcentury. Source: Commission des sciences et arts d’Egypte, Description de l’Égypte: Antiquités, volume IV, Paris: C.L.F. Pankoucke, 1822, plate 48

Older Greek curses often relied upon the person in whose tomb they were buried belonging to the category of the restless dead – people whose violent or early deaths resulted in their souls being susceptible to manipulation by magic. By contrast, this curse relies on the dead person with which it is buried being in Hell. But how could someone know whether a particular dead person belonged to the category of wicked or righteous? The answer, again clear from literary texts, is that Christian Egyptians believed that their ancestors, whom they called “pagans” (hellênes, literally “Greeks”), were condemned to Hell for worshipping ‘idols’ and animals. It is for this reason that the curse found in Asyut, and likely the two others, were buried in a First Intermediate Period tomb; for the Christian descendants of the ancient people of that town, the Pharaonic tombs and the bodies inside them could serve as a resource in their attempts to triumph in social conflicts through the practice of cursing.

Technical Details
Provenance: Upper Egypt (Akhmim or Asyut)
Date: 10th or 11thcentury CE
Language: Coptic
Collection: Leiden, National Museum of Antiquities F 1965/8.5The second bone once owned by Robert Nahman is Os. Mil. Vogl. inv. 1, held in the Istituto di Papirologia dell’Università degli Studi in Milan. The third bone, found in Asyut is Asyut Tomb III S05/46, belonging to the Supreme Council of Antiquities, Egypt, currently held in a warehouse in Shutb, Egypt.
Designation: Leiden F 1965/8.5 / Nahman Bone B
Bibliography: James Drescher (1948), “A Coptic Malediction”, Annales du service des antiquités de l‘Égypte 48, 267–276; Christopher A. Faraone (1991), “The Agonistic Context of Early Greek Binding Spells”, in Magika Hiera: Ancient Greek Magic and Religion, edited by Christopher A. Faraone and Dirk Obbink (New York: Oxford University Press), 3–32; John G. Gager (ed.) (2005), Curse Tablets and Binding Spells from the Ancient World(New York: Oxford University Press); Jochem Kahl (2007), Ancient Asyut. The First Synthesis after 300 Years of Research (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag); Jochem Kahl (2016), “Magical Bone”, in Asyut, Tomb III: Objects, edited by  Jochem Kahl et al. (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag), 332–337; Sergio Pernigotti (1995), “La magia copta: i testi”, in Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt II 18.5, edited by W. Hasse and H. Temporini (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter), 3721–3722 [nos. 25–26]; Maarten Raven (2012), Egyptian Magic. The Quest for Thoth’s Book of Secrets (Cairo: American University of Cairo Press), 173–174; Robert Ritner in Marvin W. Meyer and Richard Smith (1999), Ancient Christian Magic: Coptic Texts of Ritual Power (Princeton: Princeton University Press), 204–206 [no. 98].

A Stingy Boss and a Lack of Beer

Jennifer Cromwell

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The village of Deir el-Medina – view from Google Earth (at the right is the later temple of Hathor)

Deir el-Medina in western Thebes was home to a community of skilled workers, who were responsible for constructing and decorating the royal tombs of the period, in the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens. One draftsman from the village, Prehotep, perhaps after a particularly hard shift, just wanted to relax with a beer. However, with no beer in his house, he wrote to his boss, the scribe Qenhirkhopeshef, to try to convince him to invite him for a drink. Prehotep accuses Qenhirkhopeshef of never wanting to socialise with him, only asking for him when there was work to be done, treating him like a donkey – the main working animal of the village (see more about donkeys in this story).

“The draftsman Prehotep communicates to his superior, the scribe of the Place of Truth Qenhirkhopeshef, in life, prosperity, health!

What’s the meaning of this negative attitude that you are adopting toward me? I’m like a donkey to you. If there is work, bring the donkey! And if there is fodder, bring the ox! If there is beer, you never ask for me. Only if there is work (to be done), will you ask for me.

Upon my head, if I am a man who is bad in (his) behaviour with beer, don’t ask for me. It is good for you to take notice in the Estate of Amon-Re, King of the Gods, life, prosperity, health.

P.S. I am a man who is lacking beer in his house. I am seeking to fill my stomach by my writing to you.” (translation by Edward Wente)

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Transcription of O.DeM 303 by Jaroslav Černý

Maybe Prehotep could not hold his drink – though, ancient beer was pretty low in alcohol and so it would have taken a lot of beer to make him drunk and disorderly. But, maybe the problem was his pushy boss.

Qenhirkhopeshef is the best-known scribe of the community, referred to here by the term ‘Place of Truth’ (set ma’at), which encompasses both the village and the Theban necropolis. In addition to his official work as village scribe, we have a glimpse into his interests thanks to the survival of his library, which he left to his young wife Naunakht. This library included the only known dreambook from the period (P.Chester Beatty III, in the British Museum: BM EA 10683), on the back of which Qenhirkhopeshef wrote a draft letter and a portion of the account of the victory of Ramesses II over the Hittites at Kadesh. Another text in the collection is a charm, probably folded and worn as an amulet, against a demon shekek. But what of his professional life and Prehotep’s strong words?

Prehotep makes it clear that Qenhirkhopeshef used him for his own purposes, putting him to work most likely on the building of the scribe’s own tomb. And this is not the only example of Qenhirkhopeshef enjoying this perk. In an attendance sheet dated to year 40 of the reign of Rameses II (ca. 1,239 BCE), the workman Anuy is noted as being absent because he was busy “fetching stone for Qenhirkhopeshef” – and several further ostraca record similar situations. Other texts from the village paint the scribe in a particularly bad light: he is accused of taking bribes in a papyrus now in the British Museum (“Papyrus Salt 124”, BM EA 10055) and in an ostracon written by one Rahotep. In the latter, Rahotep provides services (hair shaving) and goods (fabric and yarn) so that Qenhirkheopeshef will conceal his misdeeds.

In this light, Prehotep’s accusation has a ring of truth, even if he was using the scribe’s negative reputation for his own ends. Sometimes, you just want to join your co-workers for a drink, and if your boss can provide the beer, then even better!

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Brewing (at the right) together with baking and butchery, in a Middle Kingdom model from Beni Hasan now in the World Museum, Liverpool (55.82.7)

Technical Details
Provenance: Deir el-Medina, Egypt
Date: Mid-Dynasty 19 (ca. 1,250 BCE)
Language: Ancient Egyptian (Late Egyptian)
Collection: Institut français d’archéologie orientale, Cairo ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎(O.IFAO 800)
Designation: O.DeM‎303 (see the Deir el-Medina database for more details)
Bibliography: Jaroslav Černý (1939), Catalogue des ostraca hiératiques non littéraires de Deir el Médineh. Vol. 4 (Nos 242 à 339) (Cairo), p. 16 + pl. 18; Jaroslav Černý (1973), A Community of Workmen at Thebes in the Ramesside Period (Cairo), p. 337; Kenneth A. Kitchen (1982), Pharaoh Triumphant: The Life and Times of Ramesses II, King of Egypt (Warminster), p. 194; Edward F.‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎Wente (1990), Letters from Ancient Egypt (Atlanta), p. 149 [no. 204]

Death Declarations: The Bureaucracy of Death in Roman Egypt

Jennifer Cromwell

In year 7 of the reign of Emperor Claudius, a widow Tapapeis daughter of Pasis submitted a declaration of the death of her husband Abeis son of Horos. In accordance with Roman law, she acts with a male guardian, her relative Adrastos.

“To the royal secretary Hermaios from Tapapeis, daughter of Pasis, acting with her relative Adrastos, son of Diogenes, as her guardian. My husband Abeis, son of Horos, paying the poll tax at the village of Philadelphia, died in the month Epeiph of the current seventh year of Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus Imperator. I therefore request that his name be entered among those who have died. 

Tapapeis, about 45 years old, with a scar on the right foot.

Adrastos, about 50 years old, with a scar on the 3rd finger of the right hand.

I, the aforesaid Tapapeis, acting with the aforesaid Adrastos as my guardian, swear by Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus Imperator that … everything said above is true. If I swear truly, may it be well with me; if I swear falsely, the reverse…”

Translation from the University of Michigan APIS website with minor modifications

This translation is actually a composite of two papyri: the original version of the declaration, which was sent to the royal secretary Hermaios (=SB XIV 11586) and the copy of the declaration that was probably sent to the village secretary at Philadelphia (=SB XIV 11587). The reason for this is because neither the original nor the copy survives in full: the original preserves only the beginning, while the copy has the bulk of the text, missing only the very beginning and very end.

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Death Declaration. Left: the original (Michigan inv. 795). Right: the copy (Michigan inv. 853) (c) University of Michigan Library

But, why did Tapapeis need to report her husband’s death in the first place, let alone have the declaration written in two copies? The key to understanding why lies in the reference to Abeis as a taxpayer. During the period of Roman ruler in Egypt, a census declaration took place every 14 years, and the names of all taxpayers were subsequently collected into a separate tax list. To keep these records up to date, and to make sure that families didn’t remain liable for the taxes of the deceased, declarations such as these were issued to the state authorities. Part of this bureaucratic process meant that duplicates of the originals were also entered into local offices – hence the two copies of this declaration. And copying wasn’t confined to declarations, the census returns themselves were copied multiple times and sent to different offices. Also as part of this administrative process, Tapapeis and Adrastos are described – their ages are given and identifying features are noted, in this case small scars that each bear, to make sure that they are who they claim to be.

As a widow, Tapapeis’ quality of life became dependent on the rest of her family. But, the indications are that if she survived to the age of 55 (and so an old woman in Roman terms), her life would not have been easy. Nine years after this declaration, in 56 CE, Abeis’ son Horos appears in a list of delinquent taxpayers (P.Corn. 24) and the year later is named in a list of missing persons, of tax fugitives (P.Ryl.IV 595). While we don’t know anything else about this family and their daily life, the paperwork produced and stored by Roman bureaucrats provides brief snapshots of some of their experiences, especially regarding two of the constants in life: death and taxes.

Technical Details
Provenance: Philadelphia (Fayyum), Egypt
Date: 28 June(?) 47 CE
Language: Greek
Collection: University of Michigan, P.Mich.inv. 795 and P.Mich.inv. 853
Designation: SB XIV 11586 and 11587 (according to the Checklist of Editions)
Bibliography: Herbert C. Youtie, “P. Mich. Inv. 795 and 853: Notification of Death,” Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 22 (1976), pp. 56–59; Jane Rowlandson (ed.), Women and Society in Greek and Roman Egypt: A Sourcebook (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 342–343 (#269).

Further Reading
Walter Scheidel, “The Death Declarations of Roman Egypt: A Re-appraisal,” Bulletin of the American Society of Papyrologists 36 (1999), pp. 53–70