H. Willems, Historical and Archaeological Aspects of Egyptian Funerary Culture

Historical and Archaeological Aspects of Egyptian Funerary Culture
Culture and History of the

Ancient Near East
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VOLUME 73
The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/chan

Historical and Archaeological
Aspects of Egyptian
Funerary Culture
Religious Ideas and Ritual Practice in
Middle Kingdom Elite Cemeteries
By
Harco Willems
LEIDEN | BOSTON
Original Title: Les textes des sarcophages et la démocratie ©2008 Librairie Cybele, Paris France.
Published with permission of Librairie Cybele.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Willems, Harco.
[Textes des sarcophages et la démocratie. English]
Historical and archaeological aspects of Egyptian funerary culture : religious ideas and ritual practice in
Middle Kingdom elite cemeteries / by Harco Willems.
pages cm. — (Culture and history of the ancient Near East, ISSN 1566-2055 ; volume 73)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-90-04-27498-3 (hardback : acid-free paper) — ISBN 978-90-04-27499-0 (e-book)
1. Coffin texts. 2. Egypt—Antiquities. 3. Egypt—History—Middle Kingdom, ca. 2180–ca. 1551 B.C.
4. Egypt—Religious life and customs. 5. Funeral rites and ceremonies, Ancient—Egypt. 6. Cemeteries—
Egypt—History—To 1500. 7. Tombs—Social aspects—Egypt—History—To 1500. 8. Elite (Social
sciences)—Egypt—History—To 1500. 9. Democratization—Egypt—History—To 1500. I. Title.
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Contents
Preface vii
Note to the Reader x
Introduction 1
1 Nomarchal Culture: Political, Administrative, Social, and Religious

Aspects 4
The Origin of the Nomes 5
The Nomes during the Fifth Dynasty 23
Nome Administration under the Sixth Dynasty 28
Regional Administration during the First Intermediate Period and the
Middle Kingdom 33
The Nomarch Title in Egyptian and in Egyptology 53
2 A Middle Kingdom Nomarchal Cemetery: Dayr al-Barshā 59

The 2006 Excavations in Zone 10 73
The Early Middle Kingdom Nomarchal Cemetery in Zone 2 76
1. The Evidence of the Shaft Types 77
2. The Debate on the Date of the Nehri Graffiti (once more) 79
3. The Ahanakht I Tomb Group 87
The Ritual Landscape of Dayr al-Barshā 98
3 The Coffin Texts and Democracy 124

The Roots of the ‘Democratic Hypothesis’ 125
Transformations of the Funerary Equipment during the First Intermediate
Period and the Middle Kingdom 135
A Demographic Perspective on the Coffin Texts 140
Quantification of the Decorated Coffins from Dayr al-Barshā 146
Quantification of the Decorated Coffins from Banī Ḥasan 154
Quantification of the Decorated Coffins from Asyūṭ 156
The Uneven Distribution of the Coffin Texts 158
The Geographic Distribution of the Coffin Texts 165
Saqqāra and Abū Ṣīr 168
Thebes and al-Lisht 172
Middle Egypt 176
The Coffin Texts and Funerary Religion in Nomarchal Key Sites 177
vi contents
A Hypothesis on the Meaning of the Coffin Texts 182

The Letters to the Dead 184
Coffin Texts Spells 131–146 185
Coffin Texts Spell 149 186
Coffin Texts Spells 30–41 187
Coffin Texts Spell 312 190
A First Conclusion 192
The Case of Heqata 193
The Case of the Coffins of the Mid-Twelfth Dynasty 195
Conclusion 199
Family Life in the Middle Kingdom 201
The Coffin Texts and the Nomarchs’ Courts 206
Owners of ‘Text Coffins’ and Users of Coffin Texts 211
The ‘Bottom-up’ Proliferation of Funerary Customs 219
Conclusion: The Rise and Fall of the Coffin Texts 225
Concordance to the Sigla of Coffin Texts Manuscripts and Middle

Kingdom Coffins 230
Bibliography 316
Plates 351
Index 365
Preface
The present volume is a translated and thoroughly reworked version of a book I pub-
lished in 2008 under the title Les Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie. Éléments
d’une histoire culturelle du Moyen Empire égyptien. This earlier edition was based on
four lectures I presented in May 2006 at the invitation by Christiane Zivie-Coche at the
École Pratique des Hautes Études, Section des Sciences religieuses in Paris. I take this
occasion once more to thank her for her hospitality.
For several years before my temporary appointment at the ÉPHE, I had already been
pondering the idea to write a book on the Middle Kingdom nomarchs, but I had never
really found the time to embark in earnest on this project. The need to organize my
thoughts for the lecture series was therefore a useful preliminary step towards this
planned volume. During my stay in Paris, Christiane moreover asked me to publish my
lectures as a monograph to be published by Cybèle. This proved to be a breakthrough,
for, based on the French text I already had prepared for my lectures, I was able to write
within a year the book that I had had in mind for so long. My gratitude to Christiane
Zivie-Coche is therefore great, and this not only in a professional sense. I cherish the
recollection of the cups of coffee we drank before my weekly lectures in Le Sorbon, and
of the wonderful meals we had in Christiane’s apartment or in some Parisian restau-
rants. The conversations we had during these encounters were not only most enter-
taining, but also helped me to develop some ideas that were still only in an embryonic
state. Thus, the pages devoted to the “demography of the Coffin Texts,” which are
essential to this book, really derive from some ideas casually advanced by Christiane.
This volume has a long history, bringing together an assemblage of several initially
quite unconnected ideas I developed since the late 1980s. The first chapter has its
roots in a lecture I delivered in a course series entitled “Samfund og historie,” which
I taught in 1995 during a guest professorship I held at the Carsten Niebuhr Institute of
the University of Copenhagen. The second chapter presents some of the recent results
(2002–2012) of the excavations I direct in the Dayr al-Barshā region.1
The central hypothesis presented in the third chapter was publicly presented for
the first time during the conference “Textes des Pyramides et Textes des Sarcophages,”
which Bernard Mathieu organized between 24 and 26 September 2001 at the IFAO in
1 I have to express my gratitude for the financial support of the Bijzonder Onderzoeksfonds
of the University of Leuven and the Fonds voor Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek―Vlaanderen.
Other research was funded by subvention by the Nationale Bank van België (2006), a federal
project funded by the Belgian Science Policy (BELSPO), a Marie-Curie Fellowship sponsored
by the EU, and private sponsorship. I also have to thank the many team members who, over
the years, have participated in the field work in Middle Egypt.
viii preface
Cairo.2 A very preliminary version of the main lines of the argument presented below
was first published in the article “Het nomarchaat als politieke, sociale en religieuze
factor in de Egyptische provincie,” Phoenix 46.2 (2000), p. 72–104.
Soon after the publication of the French edition of this book, several authors used
or commented upon the ideas I propounded there. Here I have to mention in particu-
lar an article by Mark Smith and another by Harold Hays.3 Both agree with the pres-
ent author that the idea of a so-called “democratization of the Afterlife” is entirely
unfounded. However, there is a difference of approach between the account I wrote in
2008 and theirs. My study was intended as a criticism of the old theory that the Coffin
Texts were degenerated Pyramid Texts that developed after the Old Kingdom, and that
this development amounted to a popularization of these ancient royal texts. Therefore,
my account focused on the assessment of post-Old Kingdom evidence. Hays and
Smith, however, argue that Old Kingdom evidence exists demonstrating that private
persons already used texts akin to the Pyramid Texts at that time.
I accept their accounts (partially in the case of Smith) as valuable additions to the
debate, but contra Smith, I fail to see any fundamental contradiction between the two
approaches. Rather, both address parts of a wider, related issue.
I had already reacted to Smith’s somewhat exaggerated account in a still unpub-
lished article when Thomas Schneider provided me with some corrections and addi-
tions to my account of the role of Hermann Kees in the formulation and dissemination
of the “democratic hypothesis.” Later, when we met for the first time during a confer-
ence in Basel, Schneider kindly proposed to me to have my book published in English
in the CHAN series. I am most grateful for this offer, not only because this helps to
disseminate my ideas among a non-French-speaking audience, but also because it
gave me an early opportunity to reconsider my thoughts in the light of recent develop-
ments in Egyptology.
In all, the bibliography has increased by about 30%, mainly on the basis of the most
recent literature. I have personally translated the text into English. Having to do so is
(after some grudges at the beginning) something I am grateful for. A translator would
have been obliged to adhere as closely as possible to my original text. However, in the
present case, the translator being identical to the author, a less respectful attitude
could be observed with regard to the original text. Many parts were in fact completely
rewritten. This has in several cases led to fresh insights, in other cases to the reinforce-
ment (and, occasionally, rejection) of my earlier ideas. However, on the whole, I believe
that my earlier account, enriched by novel insights, still stands.
2 For reasons of time, I was unable to publish my lecture in the congress proceedings.
3 Smith, s.v. Democratization of the Afterlife, in: UEE; Hays, in: Old Kingdom, New Perspectives,
p. 115–130.
preface ix
The work on the translation took almost as much time as writing the original ver-
sion had. This time investment would not have been possible without the support of
the Gutenberg Forschungskolleg of the Johannes-Gutenberg-Universität Mainz, which
generously funded a research fellowship on my behalf from April 2012 until March
2013. I express my sincere gratitude to Tanja Pommerening and Ulli Verhoeven for sup-
porting the application for this fellowship, besides for their friendship during my stay
in Mainz.
I am grateful to Thomas Schneider for accepting my translated book in the CHAN
series. My English was corrected by Troy L. Sagrillo, whom I thank for not only for his
usual thoroughness, but also for the suggestions he made to help improve the content
of my text. I also express my thanks to Marleen De Meyer and Wouter Claes for their
help with some illustrations.
The previous version of this book was dedicated to the late Jac. J. Janssen. Certainly
my exposure as a student to his (then) unorthodox Egyptological interests have greatly
contributed to who I am now as a scholar. The present, reworked version I dedicate to
the late Samīr Anīs, whom I am proud to call a friend. Without his staunch support as
a General Director of Antiquities in Middle Egypt, some of the results reported upon in
this volume could not have been attained. I greatly miss him.
Mainz, 7 November 2012

Note to the Reader
The Egyptian title ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ is of some importance for the argument set forth in this book.
Translating it is unfortunately not a simple matter. Literally, the word seems to mean
“one whose position is prominent” (lit. “one prominent of position”), which, apart from
sounding awkward, would not convey to the readership that this is a rank title. It is true
that several authors understand it as a functional title meaning something like “mayor”,
but as will be shown below, this is in most cases not correct, and certainly not if the
word is used in isolation. Other frequent translations, like “prince” or “count” are better
suited to render a rank title, but they also imply the incorrect notion that ḥꜢ.ṯy-Ꜥ implies
hereditary status. In this book, a new translation is proposed: “Lord.” In its traditional
sense this also indicates a form of hereditary nobility, but today it can in Britain also be
used for “life peers,” i.e. persons upon whom a noble rank is conferred for the duration
of their life only, with no implication of heredity. This seems to suit the term ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ
well. I am grateful to David Aston for discussing this aspect with me.
Introduction
Reading the vast number of studies—spanning more than a century—that are

devoted to Egyptian nomarchs, it soon becomes clear that these officials have
been mostly, and understandably, looked upon from an administrative and
political perspective. There can be no doubt that we are facing a category of high
regional officials who exerted a crucial influence during the period between
the late Fifth Dynasty and the later Twelfth Dynasty. Additionally, scholarship
has duly noted that many of them were also holders of religious offices, for
instance as directors of priesthoods of local temples. Although their autobiog-
raphies occasionally refer to this, information on these undoubtedly important
tasks remains hazy, however. In most cases, the texts only inform us of the fact
that a nomarch (for instance) carried the title of ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr, “overseer
of priests,” without offering any supplementary information concerning the
specifics of this occupation. Although, like the earlier studies, this book will
mainly address the administrative aspect of their position in Egyptian soci-
ety, it nonetheless seems possible, if all available information is considered,
to circumscribe in more detail what their religious activities were. In order to
achieve this aim, however, it would be an error to consider the ritual and theo-
logical aspects from the outset.
Religions do not function in a void. The individuals that produced our reli-
gious source material were not only developing religious ideas, they also were
the members of a society that, like any other, pursued economic and political
aims. In modern western society, these domains are essentially kept separate,
although in recent years trends in the opposite direction are unfortunately
only too manifest. In any case, such segregation has never played a role in
ancient Egyptian culture. In fact, all available sources―even those usually
labeled as “historical texts” by Egyptologists―originate from the thoroughly
religious context of funerary architecture. It is important not to lose sight of
this crucial fact.
Although it is difficult to define generally applicable characteristics to reli-
gion, there can be no doubt that religions often offer an ideological basis to the
existing social structure. This was certainly the case in ancient Egypt, where
the king himself was supposed to play a divine role―or rather several divine
roles simultaneously. Many Egyptologists have dealt with such topics, study-
ing, for example, the ways in which pharaoh’s divinity was expressed. However,
the issue could also be approached from the opposite direction, by first stud-
ying the social structure (in the case of the present book, primarily that of the
© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��4 | doi 10.1163/9789004274990_002

2 Introduction
Upper Egyptian provinces), with a view to clarifying to what extent this struc-
ture might correspond to that of myths, or to ritual scenarios.
The first chapter deals with the historical, social, political, administrative,
and of course religious roles of the nomarchs. Most of the pertinent documen-
tation originates from the nomarchal cemeteries. Even a superficial overview
of the available information on these immediately reveals a bias both in the
documentation itself, and in the questions that Egyptologists have been inter-
ested in. For instance, with regard to the well-known site of Banī Ḥasan,1 it was
the monumental sepulchres of the nomarchs themselves that have attracted
most attention. Thus there are numerous studies that attempt to historically
situate these people. Of course this is a very relevant issue, but the tombs of the
governors occupy only a part of the site. Almost one thousand tombs, belong-
ing to the retinues of the governors and other inhabitants of the communities
that they governed, were discovered over a century ago by Garstang at Banī
Ḥasan, to name but this example. Unfortunately, in many cases he destroyed,
rather than documented, the archaeological contexts of these hundreds
of burials. Moreover, the objects that were discovered have been dispersed
across the globe. S. Orel’s attempt to reconstruct these contexts is certainly
of importance, but only gives a very approximate idea of the original find
circumstances.2 This implies that our information on the organization of the
site―an organization that must somehow reflect the social organization of
this nomarchal community―remains restricted.
The case of Banī Ḥasan is unfortunately no exception. The kind of excava-
tions undertaken in the early twentieth century at Dayr al-Barshā, Mīr, Asyūṭ,
Dayr al-Jabrāwī, Qāw al-Kabīr, or, more recently, at al-Hawāwīsh, all had the
aim to collect “art” or to document decorated and inscribed tombs. For several
of these sites, which have not attracted much attention since the early twenti-
eth century, no ground plan even exists.
The second chapter will be devoted to the nomarchal cemetery of Dayr
al-Barshā, where the KU Leuven team has been active since 2002. It will
address the question of whether the organization of the site (i.e., the spatial
distribution of different tomb types and assemblages of tomb equipment) can
offer new insights in the degree to which funerary customs were shared by all
the population. On this basis it will be possible to advance some hypotheses on
how funerary culture manifested itself in different social strata. Building upon
1 Arabic geographical names in this volume are transcribed according to the system of the
International Journal of Middle East Studies.
2 Orel, Chronology and Social Stratification.
Introduction 3
the detailed knowledge of this particular case, it will be attempted to generate

a more informed picture of how nomarch cemeteries in general functioned.
In this regard, the significance of the funerary texts on Middle Kingdom
coffins, the so-called “Coffin Texts,” are generally considered as testimony of
what has been referred to as the “democratisation” (or “demotisation”) of royal
funerary beliefs at, and after, the end of the Old Kingdom. This “democratised”
religion is sometimes considered as a major feature of the religion of the First
Intermediate Period and of the Middle Kingdom in general. The third chap-
ter will investigate the origins of this idea, and will offer a critique of its basic
arguments. In this chapter an attempt will be made to define more closely who
were the “users” of these texts, and why, and under which conditions, they
used them. It is likely now possible to demonstrate that the Coffin Texts do not
reflect the religious discourse in Egypt generally, but that it rather concerns the
religion of only a small (although admittedly influential) segment of society. It
may also be possible to show that the specific concerns of this social stratum
can be recognized in the content of the Coffin Texts.
chapter 1
Nomarchal Culture: Political, Administrative,

Social, and Religious Aspects
“Wer und was ist überhaupt ein ‘Nomarch’?”1
The title “nomarch” goes back to the Graeco-Roman period. Literally trans-
lated, it means “leader of a nome (or province),” but that is not in keeping
with the real role of such officials within the province. In the early Ptolemaic
period, the nomarch shared power with the stratègos (i.e., the military com-
mander of the nome), an official that, as of the reign of Ptolemy III, also
held civil responsibilities, while the nomarch title referred to an official of
secondary rank.2 Although the Graeco-Roman nomarchs thus were not pro-
vincial governors in the full sense of the word, the term is generally used by
Egyptologists as a designation for the most high-ranking administrators of
a province.
Defined this way, the term “nomarch” is accordingly an Egyptological inven-
tion. However, even among Egyptologists, not everyone attributes the same
meaning to this word. Moreover it is important to clarify from the outset what
we know concerning what a nome and what a nomarch were. These concepts
are unfortunately less easy to circumscribe than one might expect. On top
of this, we shall see that the “real” nomarchs, i.e., those officials whose titles
explicitly qualify them as provincial governors (i.e., the ḥr.y.w-tp ꜤꜢ n nome),3
were members of a broader social stratum, which also included officials who,
1 D. Franke, BiOr 62 (2005), col. 466.

2 For the provincial administration in the Graeco-Roman period, see Bowman, Egypt after the
Pharaohs, p. 56–88; Hölbl, Geschichte des Ptolemäerreiches, p. 59 and passim. As regards
the age of the earliest Ptolemies, the situation is not very well understood (information
kindly provided by my colleague Willy Clarysse).
3 See for example the following remark by K. Baer: “it is only the ḥrj tp ꜤꜢ who seems in all cases
to be an official heading the administration of a nome; only this title should therefore be
translated ‘nomarch’ ” (Rank and Title, p. 281). See also Moreno Garcia, in: Des Néferkarê aux
Montouhotep, p. 220. In a recent publication, Moreno Garcia has downplayed the impor-
tance of the title, suggesting that ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ only indicates the informal power wielded by
certain local potentates, and that it is not really a title (in: Ancient Egyptian Administration,
p. 139–146). However, apart from vaguely circumstantial indications, he offers not a shred of
evidence in support of this new hypothesis. The fact that the sudden introduction of this title
in the later Old Kingdom coincides with numerous other administrative reforms discussed

Nomarchal Culture 5
despite the fact that they did not bear the nomarch title, played very similar
roles in their communities. Therefore one should distinguish between the
“nomarchs” in the narrow sense of the word, and the more encompassing mode
of social organization that B. Kemp has referred to as the “Nomarchy.”4 It is this
latter nomarchal culture, rather than the nomarchs in the narrow sense of the
word, that I intend to study here. Yet even if one wishes to study the problem
of the nomarchy in this broader sense, it is impossible to penetrate very deeply
unless the concept of nome (and nomarch) can be defined more precisely.
The Origin of the Nomes
In soubassement inscriptions of temples of the late and Graeco-Roman periods,

one frequently encounters lists of nomes (fig. 1).5 They usually take the form of
processions of men or women, personifying the nome indicated by the symbol
on their head.6 The basis of these nome symbols is usually a sign depicting a
"
group of square agricultural fields separated by small dykes ( ), of a type still
widespread in Egypt today.7 This hieroglyph denotes “district,” and in the case
of the nomes, it supports a symbol characterizing a specific region. For exam-
ple, the fifteenth Upper Egyptian nome, with the nome capital al-Ashmūnayn
and the cemetery Dayr al-Barshā, was the “Hare nome.” The symbol of the hare
is carried by one of the nome embodiments depicted in fig. 1.
The nome lists encountered in late temples present a fossilized and tradi-
tional image of regional units which, in most cases, had little to do with the
administrative districts of the day.8 However, these lists have more ancient
by Martinet (L’administration provinciale II, p. 232–235) does not leave a shadow of doubt
that it constituted an important systemic change.
4 Kemp, CAJ 5 (1995), p. 38.
5 The documentation on these nome lists is conveniently compiled in Beinlich, Studien zu
den “geographischen Inschriften,” p. 1–19.
6 Each of the nomes and their names is discussed in Helck, Die altägyptischen Gaue; for an
easily surveyable list of nome symbols, see W. Helck, s.v. “Gauzeichen,” LÄ II, col. 423–424.
7 Schenkel, Bewässerungsrevolution, p. 28. The common idea that the grid represents canals
(still found, for instance, in Martinet, Nomarque, p. 8; Eadem, L’administration provinciale
II, p. 38), is incorrect, because the lines would then be rendered in blue. Instead, in coloured
hieroglyphs, the colour is invariably black.
8 See the remarks by Yoyotte, Orientalia 35 (1966), p. 46. Several authors show they are the
victims of Egyptological jargon, stating, for example, that the nomoi of the Graeco-Roman
period were “the established geographic divisions from time immemorial” (Bowman, op. cit.,
p. 58–59). The confusion may be due to the fact that even Helck, one of the greatest s pecialists
6 chapter 1
Figure 1 Part of the geographical procession of Kawm Umbū showing the personifications of
the fourteenth (right) and fifteenth (left) nomes of Upper Egypt (de Morgan e.a.,
Kom Ombos II.3, no. 891).
ancestors. One of the most beautiful examples can be found on the Chapelle
blanche of Senwosret I at Karnak (fig. 2). Here, the nomes are designated not
by personifications, but only by their names. The list provides details about
the surface of the nomes, the level reached by the annual Nile flood,9 and the
in this domain, offers an incoherent account of the issue. On the one hand he maintains that
the “nomes” (Egyptian: spꜢ.t) had disappeared in the Middle Kingdom, being replaced by
other regional units (“towns” and other districts like the w.w and the ḳꜤḥ.w, and, finally, the
nomoi of the Graeco-Roman period, which, moreover, could be extended, reduced, fused, or
abolished). On the other hand, he describes all these rather varied units (with the exception of
the “towns”) as “Gaue,” the word generally used in German for “nomes”: see Helck, s.v. “Gaue,”
in: LÄ II, col. 385–408; this gives a condensed overview of the book Die altägyptischen Gaue by
the same author. In the present study, the term nomos will be used to designate the provinces
of the Graeco-Roman period, while the word “nome” stands for Egyptian spꜢ.t.
9 Or perhaps rather the level at which the dykes were opened so as to let the floodwater into
the irrigation basins. For the occasion of opening the dykes (called sèmasia in the Graeco-
Roman period), see Seidlmayer, Historische und moderne Nilstände, p. 93–103. This level is
not indicated for every province, but for Elephantine, Per-Hapy (at the apex of the Delta),
and Tall al-Balamūn at the northern end of the Delta.
Nomarchal Culture
Figure 2 Part of the list of the Upper Egyptian nomes on the White Chapel of Senwosret I at Karnak (after Lacau and Chevrier, Une chapelle de Sésostris
Ier à Karnak, pl. 3).
7
8 chapter 1
length of the reference cubit preserved in the main temple of each nome.
This suggests, at least for this period, that there were close links between civil
administration and the temple.10
An even more ancient example is the procession of ladies impersonating the
royal domains (ḥw.w.t)11 of pharaoh Snofru depicted in relief on the columns
of that king’s valley temple (fig. 3).12 The domains are evidently presented in
regional clusters, each of which is preceded by the name of a nome. This is the
earliest list of nomes that has come down to us, but even earlier references to
isolated nomes are known.
According to a hypothesis formulated long ago by K. Sethe, the nome sym-
bols had, in the predynastic period, designated independent political units,
which were absorbed in the emergent state in the course of the unification
process. In the historical period, these polities would have survived in the form
of the nomes, the latter thus being the rudiments of the prehistoric chiefdoms.13
Archaeological data currently available suggest that this account is unlikely to
10 Admittedly, the picture about this relationship is complicated by the consideration that
the nome lists on the Chapelle blanche may not reflect the current situation in Egypt, but
may have been based on earlier (Old Kingdom) sources; Seidlmayer, loc. cit.
11 In the absence of a better alternative I will continue to use the translation “domain” for
the Egyptian word ḥw.t. Moreno Garcia suggested in his interesting monograph Ḥwt
et le milieu rural that the ḥw.w.t were royal institutions established all over the country.
The central building would have been a tower-like palace, which formed the nucleus of
a regional administrative unit managing not only the production, but also the storage
and distribution of products, and also controlling settlements subordinate to the ḥw.t.
Moreover, the ḥw.w.t would have functioned as fortresses. They were directly subordinate
to the Crown and were certainly not private property, as has often been suggested. I
accept these conclusions, but despite his criticism, I find the translation “royal domain”
very appropriate for such an institution.
12 Fakhry, The Monuments of Sneferu at Dahshur II.1, p. 17–58. Recent excavations by the
DAI have not only revealed more remains of the domain procession, but also suggest
that a second group of domains linked to nomes were also depicted there, at a different
scale (Alexanian, Blaschta, Kahlbacher, Nerlich, Seidlmayer, http://www.dainst.
org/sites/default/files/media/abteilungen/kairo/projekte/asae_autumn2010spring2011_
for_web.pdf?ft=all). These excavations also show that the causeway continues beyond
the temple into the floodplain. Although it has been plausibly suggested that the temple
discovered by Fakhry is therefore unlikely to be a valley temple (Oppenheim, in: Structure
and Significance, p. 458, n. 18), intensive research has revealed no trace of the “real” valley
temple near the “harbour basin” that was recently discovered.
13 Sethe, Urgeschichte und älteste Religion, § 38–68. The idea was already rejected by
Helck, Verwaltung, p. 194.
Nomarchal Culture 9
Figure 3 Part of the procession of royal domains depicted in the ‘valley temple’ of king Snofru
at Dahshūr. The two ladies at the right represent the last of the three royal domains
in the Hare nome (15). Between the ladies 2 and 3 appears the symbol for the Oryx
nome (16), followed by two of the five domains of that nome (Fakhry, The
Monuments of Sneferu at Dahshur II, fig. 15).
be correct.14 Today, the nomes are usually considered rather as an aspect of

early pharaonic history than as a survival from the predynastic era.
One of the few scholars still arguing for an early emergence of the nomes
is J. Kahl, who believes that certain inscriptions dating to as early as “dynasty
zero” would contain nome symbols.15 A slightly more cautious stand is taken
by E.-M. Engel, who has suggested that a monogram showing a scorpion on
top of a " -sign, inscribed in ink on a cylinder vase from Abydos tomb U-j, is
similar to the later nome signs. To her, these early texts may not yet contain
14 For a good account of the predynastic regional polities, see Kemp, Ancient Egypt. Anatomy
of a Civilization2, p. 73–92; 98–99.
15 J. Kahl, CdE 78, No. 155–156 (2003), p. 124–130.
10 chapter 1
r eferences to nomes in the true sense of the word, but to territorial units of a
type ancestral to them.16 In my view, Kahl’s idea is definitely not supported by
the evidence, as none of the pertinent signs corresponds to any of the nome
signs known from the pharaonic era. Engel’s idea is less easy to counter, but
in this case as well, we will see that the evidence is simply too slender to say
anything definite about the issue.17
W. Helck has suggested that the nomes were originally administrative dis-
tricts subordinate to the royal domains established throughout the country.18
For him, this evolution would have taken place during the first two dynasties,
and probably not before the second. In one of his later publications, he has
even suggested that the nomes only appeared under king Djoser, during whose
reign jars inscribed with mentions of nomes were deposited in the under-
ground corridors under his step pyramid.19 According to him, the creation of
the nomes resulted from the urge to meet the requirements of the great pyra-
mid construction projects, which started around this time. E. Martin-Pardey
on the whole accepts this reasoning, but she adds that great building projects
(although on a less vast scale) were already carried out during the first two
dynasties. In her view, it is therefore likely that the nomes would have appeared
already then.20
This is certainly likely. Some ink inscriptions found on stone vessels under
the Djoser pyramid mention officials responsible for (parts of?) the Oryx
nome. Helck dated these texts to the same period as the building under which
they were found: the third dynasty. However, I. Regulski has shown that these
inscribed vessels belong to a larger group dating in its entirety to the reign of
Khasekhemwy, the last ruler of the second dynasty.21 Another seal impression
16 Engel, MDAIK 62 (2006), p. 159, cat. 19. The earlier French edition of this book was
already in the proof stage when her article appeared. Although I included a reference
to it, this had to be very brief in order not to alter the layout significantly. As a result, my
account was not really adequate. For the present edition, this part has been thoroughly
revised.
17 Note that the nome signs belong to the hieroglyphic writing system, but that the vase
“inscriptions” from the U-j tomb discussed by Engel have been plausibly argued not to
be hieroglyphic, but to belong to another, non-textual, early notation system (Regulski,
in: Egypt at its Origins 2, p. 985–1009).
18 Helck, Beamtentiteln, p. 78–80; Idem, s.v. “Gaue,” LÄ II, col. 385.
19 Helck, SAK I (1974), p. 218.
20 Martin-Pardey, Provinzialverwaltung, p. 14–40, followed by Wilkinson, Early Dynastic
Egypt, p. 142, who later remarks that he considers a date of introduction of the nomes in
the second dynasty the most likely option.
21 Regulski, in: Egypt at its Origins 1, p. 949–970.
Nomarchal Culture 11
mentioning a nome, and belonging to the same reign, was known already a long
time,22 and Engel has recently compiled more evidence antedating the third
dynasty.23 Almost all of this material dates again to the reign of Khasekhemwy.
I am somewhat skeptical about some of Engel’s identifications, but she has
convinced me that the evidence proves the existence of the Upper Egyptian
nomes 9 and 16, and the Lower Egyptian nomes 2, 3, 6 and 16,24 while the
Lower Egyptian nome 3 and the Upper Egyptian nome 8 are definitely attested
in texts from the reign of Djoser.25 According to her some sources predate the
reign of Khasekhemwy. Her number 16 was found in the tomb of Peribsen, but
whether it really mentions the first Lower Egyptian nome remains to be seen.
Her number 17, dated with certainty to the reign of king Den of the first dynasty,
would mention “eastern” and “western nomes.” This reading is not impossible,
but in view of the fact that hieroglyphic writing at the time was still in an emer-
gent stage, it is difficult to accept it without supportive evidence.26 Recently,
a seal impression dating to the reign of Ninetjer and certainly mentioning the
eighth Upper Egyptian nome was found.27 Thus, quite a collection of nome
symbols can be traced back with certainty to the late second dynasty, but for
some nomes, earlier indications exist.
This brief introduction shows that the nome symbols are of great antiquity.
However, it is equally certain that their meaning has not remained equally
resistant to change as their shape. In the Late Period, the traditional nomes
only played a role in the religious topography of Egypt. Previously they had
designated administrative units, but Egyptologists do not agree on the date
when other types of administrative districts replaced the nomes. It seems clear
that they were real administrative units towards the end of the Old Kingdom,
but the origins of that system are less easy to discern. The first source that
presents the nomes in a network spanning all of Egypt is Snofru’s list of domains
already mentioned. As shown in fig. 3, this source operates on the basis of two
different kinds of regional units at the same time: a system of royal domains
and a system of nomes. This happens in such a way that one nome usually
corresponds to a group of domains, and this possibly means that the domains
22 See Kaplony, IÄF III, fig. 781. Regulski has drawn my attention to a still unpublished seal
impression from Abydos showing a nome standard supporting a bull of the same date.
23 Engel, MDAIK 62 (2006), p. 151–161. Cf. also Engel, in: Ancient Egyptian Administration,
p. 31 and p. 40.
24 Engel’s numbers 6, 11 (Upper Egypt), 1, 2, 3 (Lower Egypt).
25 Her numbers 13 and 14.
26 The same reservation is held by Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 67.
27 Regulski, Kahl, MDAIK 66 (2010), p. 232–233.
12 chapter 1
lay within the pertinent nome. The same situation seems to prevail in the
fourth dynasty ostracon Leiden J 426, which mentions a number of domains
of the tenth nome of Upper Egypt.28 Also, the Snofru list already arranges the
nomes in the later canonic order. This renders unlikely Helck’s idea that
the nomes were subordinated to the domains.
For most authors the existence of nomes establishes a definite link with a
provincial administrative system. Helck, for instance, writes
The most ancient mention of a nome and its administration occurs on a

sherd from the step pyramid, where a “leader of the nome of the
gazelle” . . . is mentioned. Hence, under Djoser there existed a nome divi-
sion and thus a nome administration.29
The fact that this text includes a sign that would later on designate a province
is accordingly interpreted as an indication
1) that it already had the same significance under the third dynasty as it had
later, and
2) that concurrently all Egyptian regions were organized according to the
same model.
Both hypotheses are obviously possible, but the documentation available

in Helck’s day did not afford any certainty in this regard, as it was based on
information concerning one nome only. We have seen that the information
recently compiled by Engel provides a new basis for discussion, as she proves
that there were several nomes across Egypt at least as early as the late second
dynasty. From this evidence she draws the same conclusion as Helck did, that
is, the entire territory of Egypt was subdivided into nomes.
However, since the documentation leaves room for speculation about the
exact date when the nomes were introduced, it is rather difficult to assess
28 Goedicke, JEA 54 (1968), p. 24–26 and pl. V.1. Administrative papyri recently discovered
by P. Tallet in harbours on the Red Sea coast suggest that, by the time of Khufu, nomes
played a part in the administration (personal communication), but the structure of that
administration is still unclear.
29 Helck, Beamtentiteln, p. 78: “Die älteste Erwähnung eines Gaues und seiner Verwaltung ist
auf einer Scherbe aus der Stufenpyramide, auf der ein “Leiter des Gazellengaues . . . erwähnt
wird. Unter Zoser bestand also eine Gaueinteilung und damit eine Gauverwaltung”. The
same reasoning has been widespread. It is still found, for instance, in Martinet, Nomarque,
p. 8 and passim. In her more recent L’administration provinciale II, p. 334–340 she offers a
different account, with which I am fundamentally in agreement.
the politico-historical (?) reasons as to why they were created. Even though it
cannot be doubted that nomes existed during the second and third dynasties,
their significance from an administrative point of view seems quite uncertain
to me. And although Engel’s account has increased the likelihood that there
was a network of nomes spanning all of Egypt as of the late second dynasty, the
evidence is still too sparing to be acceptable as conclusive evidence.
Such evidence is only forthcoming in Snofru’s list of domains and nomes,
because here we find consecutive series of nomes spanning the whole country
(the only missing parts being due to damage to the walls on which the list had
once been inscribed). Yet, even here, there is nothing to prove that the nomes
functioned as provinces, i.e., as territorial subdivisions of the state being cre-
ated for administrative purposes, and headed by a governor. It seems equally
possible that the domains were grouped together in regional clusters referred
to by a symbol that might have been chosen because—for reasons no longer
known—it already played a certain part in local culture. But it remains pos-
sible that the rest of the region, i.e. the area outside the domains, was gov-
erned by other “administrative” systems that have not left behind tangible
archaeological or written traces of their existence. Other explanations are also
conceivable. Thus, Pardey has recently suggested that the nomes, being asso-
ciated with symbols that have some likelihood of being religious in origin, were
initially regional units focused on religious centres.30 From this perspective,
one might envisage the emergence of religious regional entities that, in the
course of time, were transformed into administrative units. On the basis of
currently available information, it is not clear when this transformation would
have started, and when it would have reached its completion. It is also possible
to imagine that the nomes always retained a religious aspect even after their
conversion into “provinces.” This would, for instance, explain why the later
nomarchs frequently combine civil tasks with responsibilities in local temples.
But, in fairness, all these options belong to the realm of speculation, and there
is therefore little point in pursuing this line of reasoning.
It is true that many early Old Kingdom texts mention all kinds of officials
linked to nomes, such as the Ꜥḏ.w-mr, the ḥḳꜢ.w ḥw.t-ꜤꜢ.t, the sšm.w-tꜢ and the
ḥḳꜢ.w spꜢ.t. This has often been interpreted as direct evidence for the existence
of “nomarchs.”31 However, as will appear below, it is hard to prove that any
30 Pardey, s.v. “Provincial administration,” in: The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt I,
p. 17. Cf. also Eyre, in: B. Menu (ed.), Égypte pharaonique, p. 22–28.
31 See, for example, Martin-Pardey, Provinzialverwaltung, p. 43–63, who interprets at
least the titles Ꜥḏ-mr, sšm-tꜢ, and ḥḳꜢ (+ nome designation) as nomarch titles. But her
interpretations insufficiently take into account the hesitations of K. Baer, who pointed
14 chapter 1
of these titles designated an official with overall responsibility for provincial

administration.
The reason why it is so difficult to grasp the principles underlying the admin-
istration in these early times is that texts offering unambiguous and relevant
information hardly exist. Undoubtedly the various regional entities were man-
aged by local chiefs, but it is not certain at all that these persons were already
completely integrated in what Kemp32 has called “formal culture,” i.e., the offi-
cial culture that adopted hieroglyphic writing and a typically “pharaonic” mate-
rial culture.33 In the early Old Kingdom, namely during the third and fourth
dynasties, very few provincial tombs seem in fact to have been built according
to the principles of “formal” architecture developed in the Memphite region.
These are the known examples:
1. Mastabas of the third34 and early fourth dynasties35 at al-Kāb.

2. A fourth dynasty tomb at al-Jabalayn. Nothing is known about the tomb
itself or about the identity of its owner, but the presence there of a
wooden box containing the “archive” of the Jabalayn papyri shows that
the tomb owner must have been an official integrated in a network of
officials who had at least partly embraced “formal” culture.36
Recently, a mastaba dating in all probability to the fourth dynasty was
also discovered at the site.37 Moreover, in al-Jabalayn there also existed a
temple dedicated to Hathor, of which the earliest remains date back to
the third dynasty, or perhaps even to the second. The reliefs of the temple
are executed in the “official” residence style.38
out that various titles of regional officials of this period might reflect less encompassing
responsibilities than those of a provincial governor (Rank and Title, p. 274–285). Even
though his suggestion does not specifically concern the titles Ꜥḏ-mr and ḥḳꜢ (+ nome
designation), it might well be valid here as well.
32 Kemp, Ancient Egypt. Anatomy of a Civilization2, p. 111–160.
33 For the same reasoning, see Moreno Garcia, RdE 56 (2005), p. 98; Idem, in: Des Néferkarê
aux Montouhotep, p. 219–220.
34 Huyge, EA 22 (Spring 2003), p. 29–31.
35 Quibell, El Kab, p. 3. Several texts found in the tombs published here mention king
Snofru.
36 Posener-Kriéger, I papiri di Gebelein, p. 13; for the texts on the box itself, see Posener-
Kriéger, in: Hommages Leclant I, p. 315–326.
37 Bergamini, ASAE 79 (2005), p. 34–36. This mastaba is closely comparable to those
discovered at al-Ṭārif.
38 Curto, Aegyptus 33 (1953), p. 105–124; Smith, HESPOK, p. 137; Smith, Art and
Architecture2, p. 256, n. 45; Wilkinson, Early Dynastic Egypt, p. 311–312.
3. Early fourth dynasty mastabas at al-Ṭārif (Thebes).39 The names and titles
of the deceased are unknown. Not far from here, on the hill to the north of
the Valley of the Kings, there also existed a temple dating possibly to the
Early Dynastic Period.40 However, in a reanalysis of the available evidence,
Bußmann now dates this structure to the eleventh dynasty.41
4. Mastabas at Abydos that can be dated to the third–fourth dynasties
(although the only inscribed object, a cylinder seal, refers to king Sahure
of the fifth dynasty). The names and titles of the deceased are not known.42
5. Mastabas at Bayt Khallāf.43 The tombs have yielded a mass of inscribed
material, most of it in the form of seal impressions dated to the reigns of
Djoser and Sanakht. Today, the hypothesis that the largest mastaba
belonged to Djoser himself is no longer accepted. The tombs more
likely belong to members of a very high, local elite, of which it unfortu-
nately remains impossible to determine the nature.44 It is not clear
whether the titles found in the sealings, and which include both sacerdo-
tal titles and others that may be purely administrative, refer to the tomb
owners.
6. Third and fourth dynasty mastabas at Najʿ al-Dayr. The names and titles
of the tomb owners are unknown. One tomb contained an object
inscribed with the name of Snofru.45
7. Third and fourth dynasty mastabas at al-Raqaqna. The names and titles
of the deceased are unknown.46 Several of the tombs are very large. Only
few objects bear inscriptions, but these include a graffito mentioning
king Snofru and a seal impression with the name of Khafre.
8. A mastaba was recently discovered by the author’s research team at Dayr
Abū Ḥinnis. In type it resembles fourth dynasty mastabas, but it occurs in
a cemetery area with smaller tombs of the third Dynasty. This tomb is still
unpublished.
39 Arnold, Gräber des Alten und Mittleren Reiches in El-Tarif, p. 11–18; Ginter, Kozłowski,
Pawlikowski, Słiwa, Kammerer-Grothaus, Frühe Keramik und Kleinfunde aus El-Târif,
p. 59–99.
40 At the site which, on a proposal by Vörös, is often referred to by the completely
inappropriate name “Thoth Hill”; see Vörös, Pudleiner, MDAIK 53 (1997), p. 283–287;
Vörös, Temple on the Pyramid of Thebes, p. 55–64.
41 Busmann, Die Provinztempel Ägyptens, p. 75–76.
42 Peet, Loat, The Cemeteries of Abydos III, p. 8–22.
43 Garstang, Mahâsna and Beit Khallâf, p. 8–27.
44 See Wilkinson, Early Dynastic Egypt, p. 97; 324; 357.
45 Reisner, Provincial Cemetery, p. 186–190.
46 Garstang, The Third Egyptian Dynasty, p. 31–60.
16 chapter 1
9. The cemetery of Nuwayrāt (pl. 1). This site is located about 10 km to the
south of Zawīyat al-Mayyitīn, which is well known because of the minia-
ture step pyramid that was erected there in the third dynasty (but prob-
ably before the reign of king Huni, who reigned at the end of the
dynasty).47 The cemetery of Nuwayrāt contains a large number of rock
tombs, but the site has hardly been studied thus far. Garstang attributed
it to the third and fourth dynasties.48 This dating was contested by
D. Kessler, who instead proposed a date in the fifth and sixth dynasties,49
probably primarily on the basis of the consideration that the custom of
burying the provincial elite in rock tombs is generally assumed to have
started then. However, early results of a survey carried out there by the
Leuven University mission to Dayr al-Barshā has shown that the ceramics
47 Piacentini, Zawiet el-Mayetin; for the pyramid, see p. 37–43. The pyramid of Zawīyat
al-Mayyitīn is usually considered to be part of the group of miniature pyramids built
by Huni across Egypt. However, G. Dreyer and W. Kaiser already long ago expressed
doubts, because the pyramid of Zawīyat al-Mayyitīn is provided with a limestone casing,
as a result of which the pyramid is also larger than the other pyramids attributed to Huni
(Dreyer, Kaiser, MDAIK 36 [1980], p. 50–54). According to Piacentini, the dimension
of all pyramids might well have been the same if they originally had a casing, but she is
hardly able to provide any supportive arguments for the hypothesis that they had such
a casing. Moreover, during recent excavations carried out by the Supreme Council for
Antiquities, it has become clear that there exists a chamber below the pyramid core
(personal observation made in 2006 and 2011; note that a hypothetical drawing of
this pyramid made by J.-P. Lauer already features a chamber [Histoire monumentale
des pyramides I, fig. 62]). Since this feature is apparently absent in all other miniature
pyramids, the one under discussion clearly occupies a place apart. This renders likely
that it dates to a period different from the Huni pyramids. It could be earlier, or like
the miniature pyramid at al-Sayla, it could be of a later date, during the reign of Snofru.
However, since the pyramid at Zawīyat al-Mayyitīn differs typologically from the one at
al-Sayla (see the list of Dreyer, Kaiser, loc. cit.), the former option seems more likely. The
consequence would be that it dates to the reign of Djoser, of Sekhemkhet, or of Sanakht
(for the position of Sanakht in the late third dynasty, but before Huni, see Seidlmayer,
in: Haus und Palast, p. 198–200, n. 14; Ćwiek, in: Chronology and Archaeology in Ancient
Egypt [The Third Millennium B.C., p. 87–103; this includes a refutation of a recent proposal
to date Sanakht to the beginning of the third dynasty by Incordino, Chronological
Problems of the IIIrd Egyptian Dynasty; similar criticism in Pätznick, in: Et in Ægpto et ad
Ægyptum, p. 566, n. 20). Ćwiek’s argumentation for dating all the miniature pyramids to
the reign of Snofru cannot be accepted, as the argumentation for dissociating the “name-
stone” mentioning Huni from the Elephantine pyramid sounds somewhat forced.
48 Garstang, Burial Customs, p. 14–16. His plan suggests that some tombs might be even
earlier.
49 Kessler, Historische Topographie, p. 190–199, and particularly p. 197.
from the tombs dates homogeneously to the third and early fourth
dynasties.50 Nuwayrāt can thus be considered the earliest known rock
tomb cemetery in Egypt. Several of these rock tombs have false doors,
and one has remains of painted decoration in “formal” style. Unfortunately
the names and titles of the people buried here are completely unknown.
In the case of the two last cemeteries, the discussed tombs lie high up the hill
slopes, overlooking vast cemeteries with roughly made, small rock circle tombs,
which obviously belonged to less prominent strata of the society. This offers an
interesting insight in the social hierarchy of the buried populations: the rock
tombs and mastabas in the nine cemeteries just passed in review undoubt-
edly belonged to local elites, who during life must have had “administrative”
responsibilities of some sort. Unfortunately, we in most cases have no texts
informing us about their social position. One could consider the possibility
that they were charged with the administration of the nome, but this is not at
all certain. It is in any case striking that almost all these cemeteries are located
at places different from the later nomarch cemeteries. Also, where information
on the profession of the tomb owners is available, there is no clear link with
nome administration. The following cases can be noted.
The owner of one of the tombs at al-Kāb bore the titles ı̓r.y-ı̓ḫ.t-nsw.t and
ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr (“overseer of priests”), another was ı̓r.y-ı̓ḫ.t nsw.t and sḥḏ ḥm.w-
nṯr (“inspector of priests”).51 Nothing in these titles suggests these men were
nomarchs.52 They clearly derived their status from their role in a local temple.
The al-Jabalayn papyri frequently refer to an official entitled ḥḳꜢ “chief,”53
and to the “son of a chief” (sꜢ ḥḳꜢ). According to the editor of these documents,
the title ḥḳꜢ here is undoubtedly an abbreviation of ḥḳꜢ nı̓w.t “chief of a town/
50 De Meyer, Vereecken, Vanthuyne, Hendrickx, Op de Beeck, Willems, in: Under the

Potter’s Tree. Studies Bourriau, p. 679–702.
51 Quibell, El Kab, p. 3–4; pl. XVIII.
52 See also Moreno Garcia, in: Séhel entre Égypte et Nubie, p. 9–10. According to Martinet
(L’administration provinciale II, p. 356–365, these officials are not nomarchs, but itinerant
officials linked to the Residence. Unfortunately, her account is somewhat confused;
evidence as to their being officials linked directly to the residence seems to depend only
on the literal translation of her reading of the title (as rḫ nsw.t “acquaintance of the king”).
53 I have hesitated about how to translate this term into English. The verb ḥḳꜢ denotes
leadership, and the noun derived from it can refer to leaders at different hierarchical
levels. Thus it can refer to the king, to heads of tribes, or to persons of a relatively high
administrative position. I wish to avoid the impression that, by translating the word with
“chief,” there is necessarily an implication of tribalism.
18 chapter 1
village,” the latter being understood to be a royal domain.54 She argues that all
these documents concern the domain (pr ḏ.t) mentioned in papyrus IV, recto
C. This interpretation is possible, but two other alternatives likewise merit
being considered, based on the content of the archive itself:
1) P. al-Jabalayn I recto D refers to the construction (?) of a “temple of

Snofru” (ḥw.t-nṯr n.t Snfrw),55 which could, according to Posener-
Kriéger, be either a chapel for Snofru at al-Muʿallā, or his domain Ḥw.t-
Snfrw, of which the ancient name survives in that of the modern village
of Aṣfūn al-Mataʿna.56 I wonder, however, if it may not refer rather to an
enlargement of the temple of al-Jabalayn itself, where there is archaeo-
logical evidence of royal interest already under the third, or even the sec-
ond, dynasty (see n. 38). An inscription in the tomb of Metjen shows that
he bore the title ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t-nṯr n.t Snfrw “chief of the temple of king
Snofru.”57 The papyrus al-Jabalayn I refers to a religious institution of the
same class as the one directed by Metjen, who claims to have been its ḥḳꜢ.
It could well be that the ḥḳꜢ mentioned in the al-Jabalayn papyrus was a
colleague of Metjen.
2) A passage on the recto of papyrus al-Jabalayn III mentions deliveries to
the ḥḳꜢ just beside others to the ḥw.t ꜤꜢ.t,58 the latter term designating,
according to Moreno Garcia
a kind of palace59 directing vast agricultural Crown institutions compris-

ing domains, settlements, cattle and workmen; institutions that were
established in regions that were poorly organized from an administrative
point of view or which had great agricultural potential, in places where
the Crown had an interest in affirming its presence and in developing
local resources.
54 Posener-Kriéger, RdE 27 (1975), p. 219: “responsable d’un vill(ag)e (c.à d. domaine)”.

Her interpretation has been accepted by Moreno Garcia (Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 95;
113), although his interpretation of what a domain was differs significantly from that of
Posener-Kriéger.
55 Posener-Kriéger, I papiri di Gebelein, pl. 3.
56 Op. cit., p. 14.
57 Urk. I, p. 7,3.
58 Posener-Kriéger, I papiri di Gebelein, pl. 20.
59 With this, he means a royal palace.
According to him, several villages could be dependent from a ḥw.t ꜤꜢ.t.60

The managers of such institutions bore the title of ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t ꜤꜢ.t. Even though
this title was still rare in southern Egypt at the beginning of the Old Kingdom,
it would not be surprising if the director of a ḥw.t ꜤꜢ.t would have been referred
to in his community by the short designation ḥḳꜢ.
It is not easy to choose between the hypotheses I have just proposed, but for
our discussion the consequences remain the same. According to my first point
of view, the ḥḳꜢ was an official in charge of a local temple erected for the cult of
the king, according to the other, he was in charge of a domain. The two villages
of Ἰnr.ty and ἸꜤr.w, of which the al-Jabalayn papyri provide the accounts, could
have been subordinate either to the first, or to the second of the two institu-
tions. Moreover, inscriptions in the tomb of Seshemnefer I show that the two
hypotheses may not even be contradictory.61 They inform us that Seshemnefer
not only held the position of priest in Ἰnr.ty, but also that he partly financed his
own funerary cult on the basis of income from a domain (pr ḏ.t) called ἸꜤr.w.
The exact functioning of such domains is not easy to grasp. It is often thought
that they were private property, but according to the interpretation of Moreno
Garcia they in reality depended on the royal administration, which asserted
its presence in the countryside mainly through the royal domains (ḥw.t).62 It
is accordingly not impossible that there was a ḥw.t-domain in the region, from
which the village of ἸꜤr.w depended. It is also known that a royal domain (ḥw.t)
could include a cult place for the king,63 which may have been referred to as a
ḥw.t-nṯr n.t Snfrw. The official entitled ḥḳꜢ n ḥw.t-nṯr n.t Snfrw might well have
this background.
This demonstrates the presence, in the al-Jabalayn region, of officials closely
attached to either the royal court, or to the local cult of the king, or function-
ing as managers of domains of the pr-ḏ.t type (the ḥḳꜢ.w nı̓w.t). No matter how
the evidence is read, these persons were clearly integrated in the developing
national elite culture, which was able to read and write. Nevertheless, there is
not a shred of evidence to indicate the presence of a provincial governor in this
60 Moreno Garcia, ZÄS 125 (1998), p. 45–55; for the citation, see p. 55 (“une sorte de palais
qui dirigeait de vastes exploitations agricoles de la couronne, comprenant des domaines,
des localités, du bétail et des travailleurs; exploitations qui étaient fondées dans des
régions peu organisées du point de vue administratif ou qui avaient un grand potentiel
agricole, là où la couronne avait intérêt à affirmer sa présence et à développer les
ressources locales”). It should be noted that one type of personnel attached to a ḥw.t-ꜤꜢ.t,
the ḥm.w nsw.t, frequently appears in the papyri from al-Jabalayn.
61 Kanawati, Tombs at Giza I, pl. 45 (ἸꜤr.w); pl. 50 (Ἰnr.ty).
62 Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 222–229.
63 See Seidlmayer, in: Haus und Palast, p. 195–214.
20 chapter 1
region. And the same holds true of all other cemeteries under discussion. At sites
like Nuwayrāt, there are even strong arguments against viewing the owners of
the elite rock tombs as provincial governors; there are simply too many tombs
of this kind, and in the study referred to in n. 50, it is argued that it is rather
more likely that the population reflects the presence of a royal domain (ḥw.t).
I have noted before that nomes first become really manifest in the sources
in the later second dynasty, but also that evidence for this period is somewhat
patchy. Although it cannot be ruled out that a country-wide network of nomes
existed from the outset, this cannot be definitively proven from the sources. It
remains possible that nomes were initially unevenly spread across the country.
The information on the Oryx nome is in this regard rather interesting. It is not
only one of the nomes mentioned from the reign of Khasekhemwy onwards,
it is also, with eight references,64 by far the most commonly attested nome
designation; the few other nomes that are mentioned at all in these early texts
are attested only once or twice. This could be due merely to the coincidence
of preservation. However, a sign of perhaps exceptional royal interest in this
nome might be that this is the only region in Middle Egypt where a miniature
pyramid has been found (see n. 47). A second indication might be the vast
cemetery of Nuwayrāt in the same nome. This is certainly the largest early Old
Kingdom elite cemetery known from Egypt outside the Memphite region, and
one that “announces,” as it were, the emergence of the provincial rock tomb
cemeteries of the later Old Kingdom. Finally, the number of royal domains is,
according to the nome list of Snofru, nowhere in Upper Egypt as high as in this
nome, where there were five.65
Although I am unable to explain the situation in this region, it seems evi-
dent that the Oryx nome enjoyed an extraordinary prestige, which might
be the reason why it appears so often in the texts from the Djoser complex
in Saqqāra. These inscriptions testify to the existence of two different kinds
of regional administrator: a sšm-tꜢ of the Oryx nome and a ḥḳꜢ of the Oryx
nome (see n. 64). This suggests either that there was a hierarchical depend-
ency chain between these officials, or a system wherein different officials had
responsibilities for different segments of the regional administration.66 We
64 Firth, Quibell, Step Pyramid I, p. 137; II, pl. 106 (5–6); PD V, pl. 28 (4–5), all in functional
titles. The name of the nome also appears in a number of other vase inscriptions
discovered under the Djoser pyramid, but not within the framework of an administrative
title (PD V, pl. 28).
65 See the list provided by Kanawati, Governmental Reforms, p. 9, fig. 3.
66 Considering the uncertainty as to the nature of the administrative regime, I would
advise to designate neither of these officials as ‘nomarchs’ (a nomenclature used e.g.
shall see that the latter model was probably in force under the fifth dynasty.
In any case, it is still quite uncertain whether the other regions were already
administered in the same way.
That the spread of the nomes across Egypt initially may have been patchy
also finds some support in the spread of the miniature pyramids already
discussed. Seven of these monuments are currently known, and based on
architectural similarities, at least the five southernmost ones seem to be the
result of one building project, probably dating to the reign of king Huni.
The spatial distribution of these monuments suggests that each belonged to
a nome.67 According to Seidlmayer’s convincing interpretation, the archaeo
logical context surrounding the pyramid at Elephantine suggests that it was
part of a royal domain (ḥw.t).68 The domain list of Snofru indicates that in most
nomes there were several domains at the same time (two, three, four, or, in the
case of the Oryx nome, even five). It seems likely that, within such regional
clusters of domains, the ones provided with a pyramid may have been consid-
ered of greater importance than the other domains. One is tempted to ask the
question whether such hierarchical groupings of domains may not have been
the origin of the nome system as presented in the Snofru list.
I have dwelled long on these issues because detailed analysis reveals that,
even where regional elites are clearly in evidence, there is no indication that it
might concern (an elite surrounding) a governor of a nome. On the contrary,
indications for the existence of such officials are completely absent, whereas
there is clear proof that some of the regional elites were linked to a divine or
perhaps royal cult place,69 or to the system of royal domains. When the first
large, decorated, provincial rock tombs emerge in Middle Egypt later in the
fourth and early fifth dynasties, the extensive title lists of the owners suggest
by Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 230 Martinet, Nomarque, p. 112–113). The
reason is that both different titles cannot mean “nomarch” at one and the same time,
and that, if, for instance, a sšm tꜢ MꜢ-ḥḏ is admissible as a nomarch, ḥḳꜢ MꜢ-ḥḏ should
be something different. This means that the addition of the nome symbol to a title does
not automatically imply this is a nomarch title. Moreno Garcia’s account about the
issue is non-committal: although he considers both kinds of officials as “governors”, he
seems to deliberately avoid using the term “nomarch” in his account (in: Ancient Egyptian
Administration, p. 88; 91).
67 Seidlmayer, in: Haus und Palast, p. 209–210.
68 Seidlmayer, op. cit., p. 205–214, with references to the pertinent literature on this and the
other miniature pyramids.
69 The Hathor temple in al-Jabalayn was of course dedicated to a goddess, but considering
the close ties between Hathor and royalty, a royal element is likely to have been in force
here as well.
22 chapter 1
that the same situation still prevailed. This is the case for the owners of the
Fraser tombs at Ṭiḥna al-Jabal, who span the latter half of the fourth dynasty
and the beginning of the fifth,70 for Ia–Ib, who owned a monumental tomb
dated to the reign of Neferefre in Dayr al-Barshā,71 and for the earliest tombs at
al-Ḥammamīya.72
Some fourth dynasty officials holding administrative responsibilities in the
nomes of Upper and Lower Egypt seem not to belong to the classes of admin-
istrators just discussed, and some authors hold that these persons were a kind
of nomarch. This is specifically the case for the owners of three tombs of the
early fourth dynasty: Metjen, Netjeraperef and Pehernefer. In all these cases,
however, this concerns Residence officials who carried out specific missions in
various regions of Egypt, all of which are designated with nome symbols. In my
view, we are here not yet facing a category of governors, as such officials might
be expected to be more or less permanently resident in a nome, whereas these
three men only performed tasks of limited duration in the nomes.73 Possibly,
their responsibilities were linked to the management of specific projects there.
As far as I can see, there is not a shred of evidence to prove that this model
would have been used universally across Egypt to steer the daily administrative
affairs in the nomes.74 Perhaps these three officials represent rather special
70 For the interpretation of the texts from these tombs see Willems, in: GS Franke. It should
be noted here that the tomb of Khenu-kai, probably dating to the latter half of the fourth
dynasty, includes a list of the northernmost nomes of Upper Egypt, however without a
preserved context (Fraser, ASAE 3 [1902], p. 75–76).
71 De Meyer, RdÉ 62 (2011), p. 57–71.
72 See now Martinet, L’dministration provinciale II, p. 541–550, who, with little justification,
refers to the owners of these tombs as “nomarchs”.
73 For a more complete overview of such itinerant administrators, see Martinet,
L’administration provinciale II, p. 118–119. On p. 220–222, she discusses these officials as
an early form of nome administrators (in Eadem, Nomarque, p. 116–123, she still calls
them “nomarchs”). Although they were clearly officials, and definitely worked in areas
designated as nomes, it is not certain whether it is justified to call them nomarchs,
however, as the kind of administrative power wielded by them is far from clear. An
interesting case of a permanently resident local administrator is that of Khufu-ankh at
Elephantine, who can probably be dated to the mid-fourth dynasty. He held the titles of
“overseer of Elephantine,” sšm-tꜢ, ı̓r.y-ı̓ḫ.t nsw.t, and ı̓r.y-ı̓ḫ.t pr ꜤꜢ. Here we are, according
to Seidlmayer, not facing a nomarch, but an overseer of a town. Note that in the same
period and region, another (branch of the) elite responsible for the Satet temple is
likewise in evidence (Seidlmayer, in: Texte und Denkmäler des ägyptischen Alten Reiches,
p. 295–308; especially p. 296–299).
74 Moreno Garcia has recently developed the hypothesis that the activities of Metjen and
Pehernefer might be related to “the very active policy of establishing ḥwwt and ḥwwt ꜤꜢt in
cases. I have to admit that this hypothesis remains to be proven, but this is also
the case for the hypothesis that regards Metjen, Netjeraperef, and Pehernefer as
typical representatives of the provincial administration of the fourth dynasty.75
In view of these uncertainties, it seems most prudent for the time being to
accept that the principles of regional administration are largely beyond our
grasp for this early period. Consequently, the hypothesis that the nomes con-
stituted the basic administrative units throughout the country remains highly
doubtful, even though they are by now frequently mentioned in the texts.
Although it must be admitted that they played a part in the administration, it
is equally difficult for the fourth dynasty as for the preceding period to discern
what kind of administration we are talking about.
The Nomes during the Fifth Dynasty
Profound changes occurred in Egypt in the course of the fifth dynasty. Until
then, the highest officials of the central administration had been important
members of the royal family. By the reign of Niuserre, these seem to have been
increasingly replaced by non-royals, who were professional administrators.76
Moreover, the funerary inscriptions from this period, which are far more
numerous than ever before, show that these officials held long series of titles
arranged in coherent series, called “title strings” by K. Baer. These are generally
understood as reflecting a policy of administrative professionalization.77
During the fifth dynasty, the number of officials (or perhaps rather, the
information concerning them) increases considerably. Their tombs remain
concentrated largely in the Memphite region, but one also notices growing
numbers of monumental tombs of high regional administrators outside the
Egypt,” which was pursued according to this author by Snofru (Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le
milieu rural, p. 156).
75 Idea defended, for example, by Kanawati, Governmental Reforms, p. 1–2; Martinet,
Nomarque, p. 8–9 and passim; Eadem, L’administration provinciale II, p. 220–223; 257–
262. This author does argue for itinerant provincial administrators as being the rule in this
period, but she does not produce evidence against the likely possibility that there were
also local heads (perhaps of an informal kind) that played a role in the administrative
framework of the country.
76 Baer, Rank and Title, p. 296, 299–300, and passim; Strudwick, Administration, p. 337
and passim.
77 Although certain points of the system as proposed by Baer have been justly criticized
(Strudwick, Administration, p. 4–5), the general drift of his argument is not affected by
this criticism.
24 chapter 1
Residence. This evolution can be explained at least partly by a tendency of

permanently stationing regional administrators in places far away from the
Residence. However, one should not rule out the complementary hypothesis
that the regional elites, who may have existed since time immemorial, increas-
ingly embraced the “formal” Residence culture, of which the inscribed and
decorated tombs—constituting the mainstay of the evidence—are a manifes-
tation. An important implication of this hypothesis is that the visibility of the
regional administrators in the documentation might reflect not only the imple-
mentation of changes in administrative structure, but also a formalization of
the material culture, with which the already-existing local elites increasingly
surrounded themselves.78
However it may be, in the course of the fifth dynasty one notes a large num-
ber of persons charged with regional administrative tasks, and frequently
they utilize nome symbols in their titles. This is often understood as an indi-
cation supporting the existence of nomarchs, and thus of nomes functioning
as provinces.79 For instance, the tomb of Khu-nes in Zawīyat al-Mayyitīn con-
tains the title string ı̓r.y-ı̓ḫ.t nsw.t MꜢ-ḥḏ, sšm-tꜢ, ı̓m.y-r wp.t, which was inter-
preted by Moreno Garcia as a designation of a nomarch.80 Studying the texts
from this perspective, however, it is not easy to decide which titles character-
ize a “nomarch,” for the strings of titles that Egyptologists have linked to the
nomarchy are not only very numerous, but also extremely unsystematic. It
concerns titles like Ꜥḏ-mr (+ nome designation), ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t-ꜤꜢ.t, sšm-tꜢ (+ nome
designation),81 ı̓r.y-ı̓ḫ.t nsw.t (+ nome designation), ı̓m.y-r wp.t, ı̓m.y-r swnw,
78 For a comparable reasoning, see also Moreno Garcia, RdE 56 (2005), p. 95–128
(particularly 109); Idem, in: Des Néferkarê aux Montouhotep, p. 215–228; Idem, in: Séhel
entre Égypte et Nubie, p. 19–22; Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 637.
79 Recently, for instance, Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 238–239; Martinet,
Nomarque, p. 143–176; Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 220–231.
80 Moreno Garcia, ZÄS 125 (1998), p. 47. See also, for instance, Fischer, Dendera, p. 9–12;
Martin-Pardey, Provinzialverwaltung, p. 43–63; 78–108; Martinet, loc. cit.
81 According to Moreno Garcia, “une sorte de nomarque”: Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 234.
Note, however, that S.J. Seidlmayer remarks concerning one office holder with this
title that it is unlikely to concern a nomarch (“Es wäre natürlich übertrieben, hier von
einer frühen ‘Dynastie’ von Gauverwaltern zu sprechen”), and that this is more likely a
town administrator: in: Texte und Denkmäler des ägyptischen Alten Reiches, p. 298. In
another text, a sšm-tꜢ spꜢ.wt šmꜤ.w “sšm-tꜢ of the nomes of Upper Egypt” is mentioned
(Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek ÆIN 896a; see Jørgensen, Egypt I, p. 48–49).
This official is not responsible for one nome, but for a whole series of them, so that the
translation “nomarch” is inappropriate. Martinet now accepts that Ꜥḏ-mr and sšm-tꜢ
do not designate nomarchs (L’administration provinciale II, p. 632). Still, somewhat
ı̓m.y-r nı̓w.wt mꜢw.t, and many others. Understanding these titles is a complex
matter. On the one hand, some were used only in certain parts of the coun-
try, but not in others.82 On the other, certain titles that have been interpreted
as nomarch titles probably have a different background. This is the case for
the hḳꜢ ḥw.t ꜤꜢ.t, who directed an institution coordinating the royal domains.83
Other titles attested for provincial administrators designate kinds of tasks that
may be not exclusively of a regional kind. Here one should mention the title
ı̓m.y-r wp.t, which means “overseer of a mission,” and which may be borne not
only by “project managers” charged with a task in the provinces, but also with
other kinds of tasks.84 Considering that the title strings found in the e xamples
incongruously, she considers as a nomarch a sšm-tꜢ whose title is associated with a nome
symbol—if this person also wields other territorial titles and/or if he is buried in the
nome (p. 226–228).
82 Ꜥḏ-mr in the Delta, sšm-tꜢ in Upper Egypt. Note that, according to Moreno Garcia, in:
Moreno Garcia (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration, p. 106, the title Ꜥḏ-mr was “in no
way related to territorial administration.”
83 Martin-Pardey, Provinzialverwaltung, p. 54–57; Moreno Garcia, ZÄS 125 (1998), p. 45 ff.;
Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 39; p. 234.
84 I can see no reason why some attestations of this title should be translated differently,
viz. as “overseer of the division” or “Vorsteher der Teilung,” as was suggested for some
examples of the title (Fischer, Dendera, p. 221–223; Valloggia, Messagers, p. 33; Martin-
Pardey, SAK 11 [1984], p. 231–251; now also Martinet, L’administration provinciale II,
p. 378–379). The reasons why the same title, when linked to offerings (ı̓m.y-r wp.t ḥtp-nṯr)
should contain a word wp.t different from wp.t “mission,” “charge,” as was proposed by
H. G. Fischer, escape me. Likewise, I do not understand why the title “overseer of (a)
mission(s)” would be insufficiently specific to designate an official working in a provincial
context, as was suggested by Martin-Pardey. Moreover, according to her the translation
“overseer of (a) mission(s)” would be inadequate, for this would imply that these officials
would be sent on missions to nomes, and accordingly that the administrative network
of nomes would not yet be operational (p. 235–236). This argumentation is far from
compelling, and moreover it takes for granted that the nomarchal administrative system
was fully established, which remains to be proved. Major premises of Martin-Pardey’s
reasoning are accordingly of restricted value.
Numerous other authors hold that the title ı̓m.y-r wp.t followed by a nome designation
(Fischer, Dendera, p. 9; Martin-Pardey, Provinzialverwaltung, p. 66; Kanawati,
Governmental Reforms, p. 2; Martin-Pardey, SAK 11 [1984], p. 231–251; now also similarly
Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 222; 227–228), was the most important title
of a nomarch. From this perspective it is hard to understand why it seems not to have
been accorded to the new official class of the ḥr.y.w-tp ꜤꜢ “nomarchs” created during the
great administrative reform of the early sixth dynasty (Moreno Garcia, RdE 56 [2005],
p. 116). Moreover, if this was not the nomarch title proper, but only the most important of
a nomarch’s titles, which other title meant “nomarch”? In this discussion one deplores the
26 chapter 1
are rather unstable, it seems clear that the way they were accorded to a degree
differed from one case to another.85 This implies that they were linked to
different responsibilities which could be covered in combination by a single
individual, but which did not have to be. It is therefore justifiable to say that
these officials were administratively active in nomes, but not yet that they
were nomarchs, even though, in cases where one individual bore numerous
different titles at the same time, the difference with a later nomarch would
be minimal.86
In order to understand the background of this system of regional admin-
istration, it is useful to consider the ideas N. Strudwick formulated on the
development of the central administration. He shows that during the fifth
dynasty five “directorates” or “ministries” emerged, which were directed
respectively by an “overseer of scribes of the king’s documents” (ı̓m.y-r sš.w
Ꜥ-nsw.t), an “overseer of the six great mansions” (i.e. minister of justice; ı̓m.y-r
ḥw.t-wr.t 6), an “overseer of works of the king” (ı̓m.y-r kꜢ.wt nsw.t),87 an “over-
seer of the two treasuries” (ı̓m.y-r pr.wy-ḥḏ), and an “overseer of the two grana-
ries” (ı̓m.y-r šnw.ty). According to Strudwick, all of these titles could be borne
by the vizier (tꜢy.ty zꜢb ṯꜢ.ty), but most are attested also with other persons. The
ministry of justice is the only one to be specifically reserved to the vizier.
The officials directing the other institutions were not necessarily viziers, yet it
can be shown that they bore equally lofty rank titles as the vizier. In this period,
very vague way the terms “provincial official” and “nomarch” are used. Clearly a nomarch
is a provincial official, but a provincial official is not necessarily a nomarch! Since many
authors do not clearly make this distinction in their discussion, it is hard to follow which
administrative level is being discussed.
85 The list published by Kanawati (Governmental Reforms, p. 2–4) clearly shows the
variability of the title strings. In his more recent publications, Moreno Garcia seems
to have changed his earlier position (see n. 80) in our direction, placing “la création
du système des nomarques vers la fin de la Ve et le début de la VIe dynastie” (RdE 56
[2005], p. 106–107; Idem, in: Des Néferkarê aux Montouhotep, p. 220; Idem, in: Séhel entre
Égypte et Nubie, p. 20). See now also Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 220–
231, who designates several fifth dynasty administrators as nomarchs, however without
giving any clear criteria that would allow one to decide which officials are nomarchs and
which are not.
86 Moreno Garcia now follows more or less the same reasoning in: Ancient Egyptian
Administration, p. 111; 120.
87 In a recent study, Krejči also discusses this title (Ä&L 10 [2000], p. 67–75; particularly
p. 71). He attributes a less prominent place in the hierarchy to this office than
Strudwick. However, since Krejči does not enter into a discussion of the dynamics
of the administrative system, discussing the fifth and sixth dynasty attestations as a
homogeneous block, I prefer to follow Strudwick.
one therefore notices the existence of a system of five more or less independ-
ent directorates, the vizier being apparently only a primus inter pares among
their directors. In many cases, the vizier was in charge only of the directorate
of Justice; in others, he bore one or more of the other director’s titles besides,
or perhaps even all at the same time.88 Only in the latter case, he really stood
at the apex of the national administration. This process strongly reminds one
of the one we have proposed for the provincial level. In certain conditions, an
individual might succeed in accumulating so many local titles that his power
in reality approached that of a “governor,”89 but in other cases, several top offi-
cials were active simultaneously, and there is no proof that that the one was
necessarily subordinated to another.
It is striking that the central administration displays an equally fragmented
picture as the provincial one. There is no vizier with overall responsibility,
nor is there a governor responsible for the administration of the nome in its
entirety. I do not think that this analogy can be due to coincidence. It seems
possible that the administrative subdivisions apparent at the central level
may have been in fact the cause of fragmentation at the provincial level. This
has been visualized in figure 4. Tentatively: this figure does not pretend to be
exact in detail, but only offers a possible general model that might explain
why responsibilities were so severely fragmented both at the central and
the regional level. It shows a situation in which officials sent on mission to the
nomes, or stationed there on a permanent basis, were all directly subordinate
to one of the directorates of the central administration. At the regional level,
this leads to an administrative segmentation that corresponds exactly to the
one that is apparent in the autobiographical texts inscribed in the tombs of
the regional administrators.90
88 Strudwick, Administration, p. 337–346 and passim.

89 This is an anachronistic way of putting things, of course, because real governors (i.e.
nomarchs) did not yet exist.
90 As a hypothesis, one might, for instance, envisage that a title like ı̓m.y-r wp.t, “overseer
of (a) mission(s),” was borne by a person sent, for example, by the directorate of “works of
the king” for a specific project. Thus, one can read in the autobiography of Nekhebu
that this directorate directed the excavation of a canal in the Delta. Similarly, the
directorate of the granaries might have been responsible of agricultural establishments.
Fig. 4 is certainly too simple, because it is likely that the royal palace also had its own
administrative network in the nomes. In this context, titles like ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t-ꜤꜢ.t and ı̓m.y-r swnw
might be considered (see Moreno Garcia, zäs 124 [1997], p. 116–130). Recent efforts by
other scholars also work from the assumption that the central administration directly
intervened into local affairs, and the model proposed here could well explain some of
the workings of this involvement (Moreno Garcia, in: Ancient Egyptian Administration,
28 chapter 1
Figure 4 Simplified scheme of the structure of the central and regional administrations
during the fifth dynasty.
Nome Administration under the Sixth Dynasty
Towards the end of the Old Kingdom, and perhaps as early as the reign of
Djedkare-Isesi, one can perceive the emergence of a new structure in the cen-
tral administration, a process that reached its completion during the sixth
dynasty.91 The five directorates continued to exist, but the vizier obtained
overall responsibility of the “ministry” of Justice and the “ministry” of royal
documents, while the leaders of the other “ministries” lost their highest
rank titles. Thus, all departments were from now on clearly subordinated
to the vizier.
It seems important that—simultaneous with this transformation of the
central administration—a new official appeared on the provincial scene:
the nomarch, in Egyptian designated as ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n NOME “overseer of a nome.”92
p. 107–121; Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 637–638 and passim). Although

Martinet accepts the general drift of my argument as set forth in the French edition
of this book, she surprisingly nevertheless sticks to the anachronistic use of the term
“nomarch” for some fifth dynasty provincial officials. It has not become clear to me which
criteria define for her which categories of officials deserve this designation.
91 Strudwick, Administration, p. 337–346 and passim; Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le milieu
rural, p. 242–248; Martinet, Nomarque, p. 177–232; Eadem, L’administration provinciale
II, p. 232–256 and passim.
92 According to Baer, this change manifested itself already in the late fifth dynasty (Rank
and Title, p. 274–284), but his most ancient examples, Isi of Idfū and Unas-ankh of
Thebes, are nowadays often dated to the early sixth dynasty, or, in the case of the latter,
In most cases, the region for which the governor is responsible is designated
by the nome symbol.93 The new title clearly expresses that a single official
now directed this regional unit. Therefore, there can be no doubt that towards
the beginning of the sixth dynasty, the nome was an administrative district
functioning like a province. The title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME suggests that the
nomarch assumed overall responsibility for it. Thus, just like the vizier had
obtained overall authority over all departments of the central administration,
the nomarch had full powers in his nome. At both levels, governance was now
organized on the basis of a top-down structure.94 Moreover, there were high
officials functioning as intermediaries between the central administration and
the nome governors: the “provincial viziers” and the “overseers of Upper Egypt
(ı̓m.y.w-r ŠmꜤ.w).95 For this reason I think it is justified to draw up the organi-
zation scheme of fig. 5.
even later in the sixth dynasty (Kanawati, Governmental Reforms, p. 132–147). For the
probably groundless assumption that ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ was not a formal title, see n. 3.
93 In the southernmost nomes, the title always takes the form ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t, without
making explicit the name of the nome. For this reason, the title will be referred to on the
following pages as ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME.
94 This system is apparently not attested everywhere in Upper Egypt. No nomarchs are
textually attested for the northernmost nomes (17–22) of this part of Egypt. It is usually
argued that, because of their proximity to Memphis, these nomes were directly supervised
by Memphite officials (Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 242–248). However,
a different explanation seems necessary, because this area is generally almost void of
archaeological remains, at least before the second half of the New Kingdom: except in
Tarkhān and al-Jirzā, no major sites dating to the Predynastic and Early Dynastic periods
are known. With rare exceptions, the sources from the Old Kingdom are restricted to the
cemetery of al-Sharūna. The region is similarly empty under the First Intermediate Period
and Middle Kingdom, except in Iḥnāsiya/Sidmant al-Jabal and Kawm al-Khalwa, in the
Second Intermediate Period, and in the early New Kingdom (except Madīnat al-Ghurāb).
This paucity of evidence corresponds to another phenomenon: the fact that this “empty
zone” during long periods in the Predynastic and First Intermediate Period and part of the
Middle Kingdom constituted a transitional zone between more northerly and southerly
areas with very different archaeological assemblages (Seidlmayer, Gräberfelder p. 394).
The most natural explanation for this enduring state of affairs to me seems to be that the
region was much less densely occupied than other parts of Egypt. Under such conditions,
the economic position of the local elites that must nevertheless have existed, are likely
to have been much less comfortable than in other parts of Egypt. The relative scarcity of
decorated and inscribed tombs here may be a consequence of their modest economic
means rather than to testify to a complete absence of an administrative class.
95 In Egyptology, there is widespread agreement that the “provincial viziersˮ were usually
nomarchs who, besides this, functioned as a second vizier beside the one residing at the
Capital. Recently, however, E. Martinet showed that only three of the viziers buried in
30 chapter 1
As in the case of fig. 4, it should be realized that the purpose of this scheme
is merely to present the principles of this system of organization in an eas-
ily comprehensible way; it should not be considered as a completely accurate
and detailed account of the system. Moreover, the administrative network
dependent on the royal palace has not been integrated in it. Also, Moreno
Garcia has recently shown that in the case of the 9th nome of Upper Egypt,
the real situation was far more complex than the description I have just given.96
Two branches of one family were here responsible for different aspects of the
administration. One branch, which had the local temple as its power basis,
provided the nomarch as well, while the other depended directly from some of
the departments of the central administration. The background of this division
of tasks is not entirely clear, but Moreno Garcia’s explanation is that in this
system, the nomarchs should be controlled by the representatives of the other
branch of the family. Similarly complex systems can now be demonstrated in
the 15th Upper Egyptian nome, where different cemeteries serviced different
parts of the elite, the members of which may, or may not, have belonged to
the province also bore the nomarch title. This suggests that there is no systemic correlation
between the “provincial vizier” and the nomarchy. She goes on to argue that, normally,
all viziers resided in Memphis, and that the post might have been occupied for only a
brief period of time, after which office holders with a provincial background returned
to their home nomes, where they were buried. Additionally, the Overseers of Upper
Egypt would have been officials responsible for carrying out in the nomes the policies
that had been decided by the vizier (L’administration provinciale II, p. 65–142). However,
in most cases her reasoning seems to rest on the assumption that persons attached to
the central administration (both viziers and officials of lower status) were necessarily
stationed at the Capital. In many of the cases she studies, however, this is far from proven.
Here, the five central directorates are important, for it is remarkable that viziers buried
in the province (op. cit., p. 124 ff.) never claim to have been the leaders of the Ministry of
Justice (a position that, as Philip-Stéphan has stressed, is typically a vizier’s title [Dire le
droit en Égypte, p. 55–56; see also Strudwick, Administration, p. 176 ff.]). This point is not
addressed by Martinet (op. cit., p. 161–163). Moreover, after his title string, including the
title of vizier, Djaw remarks: “I did this in Abydos in the Thinite nome” (Urk. I, p. 188);
the remarks put forward by Martinet, op. cit. 133–134 in no way suggest that Djaw was
not a vizier residing in the 8th Upper Egyptian nome. She also points out that in the 14th
Upper Egyptian nome, the viziers buried there show themselves in their tombs as being
surrounded by an unusually high number of officials linked to central state agencies,
which suggests to her that those in power in that part of Egypt held administrative
responsibilities exceeding the nome itself. The traditional hypothesis that these people
were provincial viziers to me seems to explain the evidence better.
96 RdE 56 (2005), p. 105–118; see also Idem, Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 242–248; 256–257;
Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 514–530.
Figure 5 Simplified scheme of the structure of the central and regional administration in
Egypt during the sixth dynasty.
the same family. I subscribe to the view that family ties between such groups
are inherently likely, yet it is less clear whether kinship was the primary fac-
tor explaining the social network. Conceivably, marital links were established
rather for strategic reasons between groups that were primarily organized on
a local basis.
The case of the 9th Upper Egyptian nome may not be unique. In fact, many
other nomarchs bore not only the title of ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME, but towards
the end of the Old Kingdom also that of “overseer of priests” (ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr)
of the local temple. According to Moreno Garcia the temple was, in fact, the
power basis of the members of the local elite who during the sixth dynasty
transformed into nomarchs. In his view, the importance of the regional cults
was so great that the kings based their regional policy from the early Old
Kingdom on alliances with local priesthoods.97
To me, this point seems doubtful as a general explanation. Moreno
Garcia’s analysis does not explain why the divine cults were, in the early Old
Kingdom, concentrated in temples of small scale and built according to irregu-
lar patterns that must represent local folk traditions.98 This situation is hard to
explain if one assumes that these temples stood under direct royal patronage.99
97 Moreno Garcia, RdE 56 (2005), p. 95–128; Idem, in: Séhel entre Égypte et Nubie, p. 5–22.
98 I am referring to the temples in “preformal style” defined by Kemp; for a re-analysis of
these temples, see Busmann, Die Provinztempel Ägyptens.
99 See Moreno Garcia, RdE 56 (2005), p. 96–97. Note that Busmann draws a much more
multi-faceted picture of the “preformal” temples than Kemp did; he i.a. shows that
32 chapter 1
A revealing example, which seems very clear to me despite Moreno Garcia’s

reservations, is the case of Elephantine. Royal attention to the Satet temple
and the king’s own cult were, during the third dynasty, of a totally different
order of magnitude, and royal interest only becomes manifest during the sixth
dynasty.100 Both in this case, and in those of the early temples at al-Madamūd,
Abydos, and Tall Ibrāhīm ʿAwaḍ, one can definitely find evidence of royal inter-
est, but barely prior to the sixth dynasty.
Moreno Garcia has dealt with the same issue with a slightly different, and,
I think, more likely approach in an earlier publication.101 He demonstrated that
in certain nomes (the third, fifth, and ninth of Upper Egypt), the local temples
played a very prominent role from the start of the Old Kingdom, and that their
presence seems to have prevented the implementation of certain administra-
tive innovations that commonly occurred elsewhere. In such a situation, the
position of the local elites must have rested from very early on the temples.
However, it is much more difficult to perceive how and why the other tem-
ples reached the influential position that is so manifest from the documen-
tation of the late Old Kingdom.102 Whatever the explanation might be, it is
certain that the local temples had achieved prominence by the end of the fifth
dynasty, and not only in religious matters, but also on an economic level. Late
Old Kingdom texts concerning personnel and landed property of the temples
leaves no room for doubt in this regard. The heads of the temples accordingly
had come to play a decisive role within their communities, a role they often
combined with that of a nomarch.103 The link between the supervision of a
not all temples considered as such by Kemp represented folk culture. The temple of
Hierakonpolis seems to be a royal cult place (for this, see also McNamara, in: Egypt at Its
Origins 2, p. 901–936).
100 Seidlmayer, in: Haus und Palast, p. 207. See also Kemp, CAJ 5 (1995), p. 46–50; Busmann,
in: Archäologie und Ritual, p. 25–36.
101 Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 252–265.
102 We have just seen that, in the early Old Kingdom, there were important elites in various
regions: Elephantine, al-Kāb, al-Jabalayn, Thebes, Zawīyat al-Mayyitīn. But it seems clear
that these were linked to the royal cult rather than to the cults of local divinities.
103 Moreno Garcia has underscored that in certain nomes where there is no evidence
for the presence of a ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME, the installation of a nomarch might have
been blocked by the local priesthoods (in: Séhel entre Égypte et Nubie, p. 20). Although
the line of causality he suggests remains in the realm of speculation, the hypothesis is
not impossible. In any case the documentation suggests that a) a degree of variability
continued to exist between different nomes; and b) that the roles of nomarch and
overseer of priests were to an extent of the same order in the local social network. For the
nome and of a local temple may be of great relevance for advancing under-
standing of the “Nomarchy” in the Middle Kingdom.
During the sixth dynasty, provincial rule was organized along these lines.
I have no intention to discuss here the conditions which may have led to the
“fall” of the Old Kingdom,104 but it is clear that a ruling class was present at
the beginning of the First Intermediate Period to fill the administrative void
left when royal power evaporated.
Under the sometimes chaotic conditions of this period, the administrative
system of the Old Kingdom lost its coherence. Some nomes, particularly in the
south, seem to have disintegrated; others continued to exist, but with more
autonomy than before; and yet others managed to conquer neighboring nomes.
Without going into the details here, it seems that tendencies towards fragmen-
tation were manifest particularly in the southernmost nomes of the country,
whereas the situation in Middle Egypt was apparently much less chaotic.105
Regional Administration during the First Intermediate Period and

the Middle Kingdom
After the First Intermediate Period, the state of Egypt was reunited by the
Theban king Mentuhotep II, inaugurating the Middle Kingdom. The reappear-
ance of the nomarch title in the sources of this period might create the impres-
sion either of an administrative continuity, or of a kind of restoration of the
Old Kingdom administrative system. One might in any case be led to believe
that the provincial administration of this period worked on the basis of a mon-
olithic system that would have existed throughout Egypt, with a subdivision of
the country in nomes.
But this perspective would be certainly too simple. Most Egyptologists work
on the basis of the model developed by W. Helck.106 He supposed that the
system of regional administration of the Middle Kingdom was more or less
identical with not that of the Old Kingdom, but of the New Kingdom, during
increasing importance of the title of “overseer of priests” in the title strings of nomarchs,
see also Martinet, L’administration provinciale, p. 236–238; 287.
104 For a sobering evaluation of the various theories, see Römer, GM 230 (2011), S. 83–101.
105 I have discussed this topic in somewhat greater detail in Phoenix 46.2 (2000), p. 76–78.
106 Helck, Verwaltung, p. 207–211. For a critical reevaluation of his theory, see p. 34–58
below. A more extensive critique of his theory is published in H. Willems, “Nomarchs and
Local Potentates: the Provincial Administration in the Middle Kingdom,” in: J. C. Moreno
Garcia (ed.), Ancient Egyptian Administration, p. 360–381.
34 chapter 1
which regional leaders were no longer the nomarchs, but rather the mayors of
large towns. They bore titles like ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n Ḏr.ty “mayor of al-Ṭūd,” a title which
contains the name of a town but does not refer to a nome.107 This situation
induced Helck to think that the nome was no longer an administrative unit;
this role would by now have been taken over by the larger provincial towns.
Within the framework of this administrative structure, the mayors were respon-
sible both for the towns themselves and for the surrounding agricultural zones.
To Helck’s credit, it must be admitted that several Middle Kingdom inscrip-
tions describe such a state of affairs. For instance, Ḥammamāt graffito 87, dated
to the reign of Senwosret I, concerns a quarrying expedition mobilized by the
mayor of Idfū (ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n ḎbꜢ) and other southern Egyptian mayors. No mention
is made of any nome.108 Accordingly, it cannot be doubted that mayors existed
during the Middle Kingdom.109
It is however equally certain that rather a large amount of officials contin-
ued to bear the title of nomarch; thus, several regional leaders from Asyūṭ, Mīr,
Dayr al-Barshā, and Banī Ḥasan. Helck acknowledges the existence of this
evidence, but he nevertheless believes that the persistence of ancient titles
does not reflect an administrative reality, but only a “snobbish” desire of cer-
tain nomarchs, inducing them to adopt titles that were impressive, but did not
conform to current administrative reality.110
Accordingly it can be said that Helck replaced one monolithic theory
(“the Egyptian provinces were administered by nomarchs”) by another (“pro-
vincial Egypt was administered by mayors”). Since the appearance of Helck’s
book, the latter hypothesis has been accepted by numerous Egyptologists.
107 For a list of these office holders during the Middle Kingdom, see Fischer, Dendera, p. 71,
n. 289; Gauthier, ASAE 26 (1926), p. 273; Czerny, Ä&L 11 (2001), p. 23–25; and, for the
Nubian fortresses, Moreno Garcia, in: Séhel entre Égypte et Nubie, p. 165–166. Pardey
has recently opted for translating this new kind of title also as “nomarch” (s.v. ‘Provincial
Administration’, in: The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt, p. 18–19). Although
arguments could be adduced in favour of this rendering (viz. that the nomoi of the
Graeco-Roman period were also designated by the name of their capitals), her account
obscures the real differences between the two administrative conceptions, which Helck
has defined.
108 Hamm. no. 87. For a recent recapitulation of the question of the mayors, see Franke, Das
Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 10–12.
109 But the stelae discussed below in n. 129 show that the situation was probably more
complex than Helck thought.
110 Helck, Verwaltung, p. 209–210: in cases where the mayor directed towns with a nomarchal
past, “legten sie sich noch den Titel eines ‘Großen Oberhauptes’ bei, der aber nur eine
historisierende Bezeichnung darstellt und kein Amts- oder Rangtitel.”
In 1987, L. Gestermann published a new study of the issue.111 Her very

systematic collection of data makes it easy to verify for which nomes there
exist mentions of nomarchs (ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME), and when they were in
office. She also advances an interpretation, which on the one hand reproduces
various elements of Helck’s account, particularly on the growing impor-
tance of towns after the end of the Old Kingdom, but which, on the other
hand, adduces new points of view. For example, she demonstrates that, dur-
ing the First Intermediate Period, the administrative system prevailing in the
Heracleopolitan region (ninth–tenth dynasties) differed significantly from
the one in the Theban realm (eleventh dynasty). In the former, in Middle
Egypt, the nomarchal system of the Old Kingdom survived, while the Theban
kings established a new régime in which there was no place for the nomarchs,
and where the leaders of towns assumed an increasingly determining role.
There was accordingly a great difference between the two parts of the country.112
The disappearance of nomarchal rule in southern Egypt can probably be
explained as a reaction to the grave problems witnessed by this part of Egypt
directly after the end of the Old Kingdom. The inscriptions of Ankhtifi of
al-Muʿallā show on the one hand that there was tendency of certain nomarchs
to enlarge their territory. Ankhtifi himself was nomarch of the third Upper
Egyptian nome, but he apparently also took charge of the second and the
first nomes. His texts describe a similar alliance of the fourth and fifth Upper
Egyptian nomes, which opposed him.113 At the same time, a nomarch called
Ab-ihu administered the sixth, seventh, and eighth nomes of Upper Egypt,
while Inheretnakht commanded the eighth and ninth nomes.114
111 Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel.

112 Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 135–144; see also Willems, Chests of Life, p. 60;
Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 11.
113 Vandier, Moʿalla, inscriptions 2 and 6.
114 For Ab-ihu, see Fischer, Dendera, p. 195. For the two coffin boards of Inheretnakht,
see Goedicke, in: Gold of Praise, p. 149–152. He dates this person to the early Middle
Kingdom, however offering only a single argument: the occurrence of the epithet mꜢꜤ
ḫrw after the name of the coffin owner. In fact, however, this epithet is known at least
since the late First Intermediate Period (see Schenkel, FmäS, p. 76, referring to TPPI §
23). A range of other arguments suggests that the coffin of Inheretnakht is far older than
Goedicke suggested: 1) the content of the offering formula; 2) the occurrence of the
title ı̓m.y-r šmꜤ.w “overseer of Upper Egypt,” for which Goedicke is able to produce only
examples dating to the late Old Kingdom and the beginning of the First Intermediate
Period. Later examples are known, but these almost always include the addition m tꜢ r-ḏr=f
(Brovarski, ZÄS 140 [2013], p. 106–108); 3) the sequence of epithets of Osiris; 4) the
very fact that Inheretnakht was a nomarch directing more than one nome, a situation
36 chapter 1
The texts also reveal a tendency in the opposite direction, leading to regional
disintegration. For example, while Ankhtifi refers to the fourth and fifth nomes
as units, his texts reveal that the “general of Armant,” who lived in a town
belonging to the fourth Upper Egyptian nome, took an independent stand,
entering into an military alliance with Ankhtifi.115 The situation in the region
is further complicated by the existence of a nomarch called Ini, whose coffin
was found at al-Jabalayn, a town which otherwise seems never to have been
the seat of a nomarch.116 In the fifth nome, the fragmentation is also very evi-
dent, for numerous villages (al-Khuzām, Naqāda, Qifṭ [Coptos]) had their own
chiefs whose titles suggest an extraordinary degree of independence.117 The
image of the First Intermediate Period as a period of political problems, wars,
and famines, has been construed largely on the basis of the autobiographies of
these local chiefs.118 In fact, the geographical spread of the texts describing this
for which no securely dated Middle Kingdom analogies are known; and the implication
that he would have been a nomarch (ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ) functioning in southern Egypt in the
Theban territory―a case for which no certain analogies are known from the early Middle
Kingdom. For all these reasons it seems clear that Inheretnakht lived at the latest in the
early First Intermediate Period.
115 Vandier, Moʿalla, inscription 6.
116 For the coffin (Turin 13.268), see Brovarski, in: Studies Hughes, p. 31–37. According to
Brovarski, Ἰnı̓ was an abbreviation of the name Ἰnı̓-ı̓t=f, which was borne by numerous
kings of the eleventh dynasty and their predecessors, who still were nomarchs of the
fourth Upper Egyptian nome. He believes that the owner of the Turin coffin was one
of these Theban nomarchs, and that the decision to be buried in al-Jabalayn reflects a
displacement of the Theban nomarchal court to the border with Ankhtifi’s realm. This
is possible, but the fact that Ini bears another title of strictly local import as “overseer
of priests in the temple of Sobek, lord of Sumenu” suggests he was rather an official
responsible for the region of al-Jabalayn. If this is correct, his nomarch title must have
had a greatly decreased value, as one occasionally encounters with other titles (like
“overseer of Upper Egypt,” a title borne by leaders of almost every town in the Coptite
region). Zitman has recently suggested a date under the reign of Mentuhotep II for Ini
(The Cemetery of Assiut I, p. 96). This rests on a comparison of the pottery found with the
coffin of Ini with pottery from Qurna. However, in fact, all the ceramic types to which he
refers are attested from a very early date in the First Intermediate Period (Seidlmayer,
Gräberfelder, p. 395). Moreover, if Zitman would be right, Ini would have been the only
known nomarch functioning within the realm of the eleventh dynasty kings.
117 Fischer, Coptite Nome; Mostafa, ASAE 70 (1984–1985), p. 419–429; Idem, ASAE 71 (1987),
p. 170–184; Gilbert, JEA 90 (2004), p. 73–79: the leaders of each of these villages claims
to be an “overseer of Upper Egypt.”
118 Moreno Garcia (in: Séhel entre Égypte et Nubie, p. 13–14) uses the same material to argue
that the regional administration can in general (i.e. already in the Old Kingdom) not be
understood as being based on a rigorous subdivision into nomes. Although I agree with
kind of difficulties suggests that the crisis did not affect all of Egypt in quite
the same way, and that it concentrated in the southern part of the country.
There are no indications that the same situation prevailed in the same meas-
ure of gravity in Middle Egypt. The Theban policy, which led to the eradica-
tion of the nomarchy in southern Egypt, is therefore understandable, and
explains the appearance of a new type of official, of which two examples are
known. The first is a man called Hetepi, whose tomb stela was found at al-Kāb.
Hetepi, who lived during the reign of king Antef II Wahibre, writes:
The humble servant (i.e. Hetepi) pronounced his (i.e. the king’s) word
within the seven southernmost nomes as well as (in) Abydos in the
Thinite nome, while there was no-one (else) who pronounced his word in
the third, second and first Upper Egyptian nomes.119
Thus, Hetepi seems to have been the chief administrator in the whole region
between Aswān and Abydos. Although the nomes are still described as an
existing reality, the nomarchs (ḥr.y.w-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t) are not mentioned. Hetepi
had a particular responsibility for the three southernmost nomes. It seems sig-
nificant that this region coincides exactly with Ankhtifi’s territory before the
Theban conquest.
Just after the end of the First Intermediate Period, another official called
Henenu declares in his autobiography that he levied taxes in the region of the
eighth, ninth, and tenth Upper Egyptian nomes.120 Although being slightly
later than the period we are currently concerned with, it is quite possible that
Henenu is referring to the same administrative system, operating on the basis
of supraregional administrators.
The disappearance of the nomarchs in southern Egypt coincides with the
emergence of the large cemetery of al-Ṭārif, in western Thebes. Here one finds
not only the vast tombs of the Theban kings of the First Intermediate Period,
but also hundreds of other large tombs.121 In the rest of the Theban territory,
the general drift of this argumentation, it seems to misrepresent the specific conditions
prevailing at the beginning of the First Intermediate Period, which are generalized also
for the situation before. The regional fragmentation of the First Intermediate Period can
certainly not be considered exemplary for the diversified structure current under the
Old Kingdom.
119 Gabra, MDAIK 32 (1976), p. 48, fig. 2, lines 4–5.
120 Hayes, JEA 35 (1949), pl. IV and p. 46, n. d.
121 Arnold, Gräber des Alten und Mittleren Reiches in el-Tarif.
38 chapter 1
elite cemeteries disappear almost entirely.122 This, and the creation of a new
type of supraregional administrator, seem to reflect a centralist policy of the
Theban kings, which left no place for the nomarchs.
The Theban policy can thus be explained as a reaction to the events at the
beginning of the First Intermediate Period, a period when the administrators
of the southernmost nomes had played an active part in the developing polit-
ical and economic crisis. For the Heracleopolitan kings, who were apparently
not confronted by similar problems in Middle Egypt (and perhaps in more
northerly parts of the country), there may have been no reason to abolish
the nomarchy.
According to L. Gestermann, there are no indications for the existence of
nomarchs in Middle and northern Egypt directly after the Thebans had taken
power there, and this suggested to her that the Thebans also abolished the
nomarchs in this part of the country immediately after the reunification of
the country.123 We shall see later that this interpretation poses certain prob-
lems, but it must be admitted that the process as described would make sense.
The evident success in the former Theban territory might have induced the
Theban kings to impose a similar regime in the regions that they had just been
able to add to their kingdom.
However, this interpretation is not compelling. Even in Germany after
the Second World War, where the Allies pursued a fierce policy of dena-
zification, many responsible posts continued to be occupied by former
National Socialists. It seems unlikely that in Egypt after the reunification—a
period that was undoubtedly less politicized and less conflictual than that
in post-war Germany—the primary aim of the Thebans would have been
to replace those who had been charged with administrative tasks under the
Heracleopolitan kingdom.124
Nonetheless, this would be exactly what happened according to
Gestermann. She attempts to demonstrate that the nomarchs, who had dis-
appeared in southern Egypt before the reunification of Egypt, also lost their
positions in the north. However, less than twenty years after, towards the end
of the eleventh dynasty, the nomarchs would have reappeared, as is shown by
their tombs in the cemeteries of Middle Egypt.
122 For an interpretation of the situation in al-Jabalayn, see for instance the author’s remarks
in his review of Morenz, Die Zeit der Regionen, to appear in OLZ.
123 Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 138–139; 142–143.
124 In fact, the Thebans often engaged functionaries who state explicitly in their
autobiographies to have started their careers under the Heracleopolitans. (For the
pertinent literature, see Jaroš-Deckert, Das Grab des Jnj-jtj.f, p. 128, n. 794.)
Reading Gestermann’s doctoral thesis hence suggests the following

evolution:
1) End of the Old Kingdom: monolithic administrative system; Egypt is sub-

divided into nomes governed by nomarchs and overseers of priests, the
two functions being sometimes held by the same persons.
2) First Intermediate Period: emergence of different systems of rule in the
Theban and Heracleopolitan regions; disappearance of the nomarchs in
the Theban region, continuity of the nomarchal system in the
Heracleopolitan region.
3) Reunification of Egypt under Mentuhotep II: again a monolithic system;
the “Theban model” is introduced throughout Egypt. The nomarchs dis-
appear everywhere. Towns become the most important regional units.
4) End of the eleventh dynasty and twelfth dynasty: new monolithic system;
reestablishment of the nomarchs, but the role of the towns does not
decrease. In the Oryx nome, for instance, the nomarchs coexist with the
mayors of large towns; they are, in fact, members of the same family.
D. Franke worked on the basis of the same approach, suggesting that the
nomarchs appointed under Amenemhat I and Senwosret I would have
been appointed as “new men who before had not occupied positions of
power in their home towns.”125
Since the appearance of Gestermann’s publication, the issue has never again
been the object of a systematic analysis,126 but to me it seems that her hypoth-
esis, as well as those of Helck and Pardey, suffer from several weaknesses. For
each of these authors, the nomes and towns are incompatible administrative
entities, a stand that needs to be reconsidered. Certainly the nomarchs had
always possessed residences in provincial capitals, and if, in a certain case, an
official describes himself as a “nomarch,” this can therefore hardly mean that
he was not in charge of the nome capital.127 Stated differently, the fact that the
125 Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 12: “neue Männer, die bisher über keine
Machtstellung in ihrer Heimatstadt verfügten.”
126 In her recent Nomarque, Favry defines the roles and responsibilities of the nomarchs of
the reign of Senwosret I, based on a compilation of phrases in their autobiographies, but
she does not really offer a historical study of the issue.
127 For Moret, the connection between a nomarch and the nome capital was in fact quite
evident (in: Recueil des études égyptologiques dédiées à la mémoire de J.-F. Champollion,
p. 339).
40 chapter 1
texts increasingly frequently mention towns, is not itself an argument proving

the marginalization of the nomarchs or the nome.
Moreover, it seems that each of these scholars is driven by an urge to present
the Egyptian administration as a rigorously organized system, in which every
region was organized in exactly the same way. During the First Intermediate
Period, when the country was in a state of fragmentation, this coherent con-
ception would have temporarily broken down, but a similarly integrated sys-
tem would have reappeared soon after the beginning of the Middle Kingdom.
In order to understand what really happened, we will reassess the sources
on which Gestermann’s hypothesis rests. What matters most for us are the
transformations that occurred directly after Mentuhotep II established power
over the whole of Egypt, and during the rest of the Middle Kingdom. To get a
clearer picture, we will study the information concerning each province for
which evidence is available.
During the eleventh dynasty immediately after the reunification by
Mentuhotep II, Gestermann finds no evidence for even a single nomarch in
the entire country. The nomarchs of Asyūṭ, the staunchest supporters of the
Heracleopolitan kings, would have disappeared immediately, and not one
administrator entitled ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ appears in the documentation from the rest
of Egypt. Yet she has to admit that several texts continue to mention nomes
as administrative entities. It concerns a number of cases similar to that of
Henenu, which we have already referred to, concerning men carrying out tasks
in regions designated by nome symbols. Gestermann explains this phenom-
enon as follows:
At least in part, references to nomes to designate areas where officials

were active, might go back to the title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ (n) + nome, which
remained in use during the Heracleopolitan period, and to the adherence
to this form of organization, which can be deduced from this.128
This suggests that in the First Intermediate Period the nomes were a
Heracleopolitan phenomenon. But we have just studied the case of Hetepi; he
was a Theban official who was engaged in the administration of a whole series
of nomes, none of which seem to have been individually led by a nomarch.
Stela Cairo CG 20543,10 ff., dated to the end of the First Intermediate Period,
128 Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 139: “Zumindest teilweise dürfte die Nennung
von Gauen zur Bezeichnung des Tätigkeitsbereiches auch auf den im Norden des Landes
während der Herakleopolitenzeit noch gebräuchlichen Titel ḥrj-tp ꜤꜢ (nj) + Gau und dem
daraus zu erschließenden Festhalten an dieser Organisationsform zurückgehen.”
seems to describe a process of reorganization in the ten southernmost nomes

of Egypt, a process in which directors of royal domains (ḥw.t) are involved, but
no nomarchs.129 Finally, one might also refer to the list of nomes that existed
in the temple of Mentuhotep II at al-Jabalayn.130 Around the end of the First
129 For the stela, see Petrie, Dendereh, pl. XV. Stela Leiden V3 is also of interest, because,
still under the reign of Senwosret I, it describes the case of an “overseer of fields” (ı̓m.y-r
Ꜣḥ.wt) in the “Head of the South and in Abydos.” The text specifies exactly which zone
within this area stood under his responsibility: the region between the sixth and the ninth
Upper Egyptian nomes. The fact that the owner of the stela traces back the origin of the
office within his family to the reign of the Theban king Antef II Wahkare, suggests that
the territorial subdivision had remained unchanged between the late First Intermediate
Period and the early twelfth dynasty (Boeser, Beschrijving I, pl. II). Although no nomarch
is known for this region, lower ranking officials like the owner of the stela apparently
could still describe the area for which they were responsible in terms of nomes. Moreno
Garcia has recently shown that the term spꜢ.t “nome” became increasingly common
at the beginning of the Middle Kingdom. According to him this should be explained as
reflecting “a new way of organizing space after the upheavals of the First Intermediate
Period” (Moreno Garcia, Ḥwt et le milieu rural, p. 148).
Here it is useful to briefly discuss an alleged nomarch from this period that should be
skipped from the list. It concerns the general Ip, whose tomb in al-Ṣaff would, according
to H. G. Fischer, contain the titles of a nomarch of the twentieth and twenty-first nomes
of Upper Egypt (Fischer, The Tomb of Ip; for the dating, see p. 29–32). His interpretation
would imply that Ip belonged to the Theban administration that had just been instated
in the former Heracleopolitan realm. This hypothesis is highly unlikely. Firstly, it strikes
one as unusual that this alleged nomarch of the twentieth and twenty-first nomes was
buried in al-Ṣaff, which, as Fischer acknowledges, lay in the twenty-second nome (p. 29).
Fischer also remarks that the name of the alleged nomes is written in an unusual way,
lacking the normal sign of the arm, as well as the adjectives “upper” and “lower” that
normally distinguish the two nomes (p. 25). Moreover, Ip’s “nomarch title,” read by
Fischer as ı̓m.y-r NꜤr.t, does not conform to the model of ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n NOME. I know of no
other example of the model envisaged by Fischer. Moreover, the rank titles borne by Ip
(ḫtm.ty-bı̓.ty smḥr-wꜤ.ty) are very modest for a nomarch. Finally taking into consideration
that Ip himself obviously considers his title of general the most significant, it is hardly
likely that he would have been a nomarch.
In fact, the word read by Fischer as the name of the nome would have been written
in a very unusual way. I propose to replace the reading Î– R æ" in Fischer’s publication by
ÎRR æ" ı̓m.y-r w “overseer of a district.” Some other bearers of this title also bore the title
string ḫtm.ty-bı̓.ty smḥr wꜤ.ty sḏm sḏm.t wꜤı̓.w ı̓m.y-r Sn-tA also borne by Ip (see Willems,
JEA 76 [1990], p. 31, n. d; Daoud, Corpus of Inscriptions, p. 72, who incorrectly reads the
title as ı̓m.y-r ḫrp.w).
130 This list includes mostly Lower Egyptian nomes (Fiore Marochetti, in: Des Néferhotep
aux Montouhotep, p. 147–148; fig. 2–8; Eadem, The Reliefs of the Chapel of Nebhepetra
Mentuhotep at Gebelein, p. 62–66), but fragment Turin 7003/81 refers apparently to the
42 chapter 1
Intermediate Period, the nomes were apparently still considered to be admin-

istrative units, even in the Theban realm. By consequence, what happened is
not the abolition of the nomes, but (in the Theban region) the abolition of the
administrative class of the nomarchs.
Gestermann underscores that the nomarchs disappeared in the former
Heracleopolitan territory immediately after this had been subdued by the
Thebans, but that this class of officials reappeared towards the end of the elev-
enth dynasty.
The next chapter will show that this development certainly did not occur in
the Hare nome, where an uninterrupted line of nomarchs is in evidence.
In the other nomes, the situation is less clear. For Asyūṭ it is traditionally
assumed that the line of nomarchs breaks off with the reunification of the coun-
try. In this particular case, it would certainly be understandable if the Thebans
would have wanted to suppress them, as they had been the staunchest sup-
porters of the Heracleopolitans, and had strongly opposed the Thebans. Also, it
is often stated that the famous group of the Asyūṭ tombs V (Khety I), III (It-ib),
and IV (Khety II) of the late First Intermediate Period were not followed by
others until the enormous tomb of Djefaihapy I was built during the reign of
Senwosret I. However, M. Zitman offers a very detailed overview of the mate-
rial, based on a mass of hitherto unpublished material. This overview clearly
eleventh Upper Egyptian nome. According to the former study by Fiore Marochetti,
the edifice would date to the early part of the reign of Mentuhotep II, because of the
“early” artistic style and because his name would appear there in the first of the three
forms that this king adopted in the course of his long reign. One has to admit that the
reunification occasioned great changes in art style, among other things because artisans
from Memphis now moved to Thebes, where they introduced the classical Egyptian art
canon. However, the local style continued to exist for a long time alongside the classical
Memphite style, so that this is not a strong dating criterion (cf. the remarks by Jaroš-
Deckert, Das Grab des Jnj-jtj.f, p. 135–136). Moreover, the royal protocol does not
appear at al-Jabalayn in its first, but in its second, form, a fact that Fiore Marochetti
acknowledges in her second publication, although it remains somewhat unclear in her
later account whether the decoration is pre- or post-reunification. However, the presence
of a nome list including the Lower Egyptian nomes suggests that the reunification had
already been accomplished, a conclusion also drawn by other authors (Gestermann,
Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 46, also referring to other literature; L. Morenz, Die Zeit der
Regionen im Spiegel der Gebelein-Region. Kulturgeschichtliche Re-Konstruktionen [PdÄ 27:
Leiden, Boston, 2010], p. 197–199). In fact, there is now very strong evidence supporting
this interpretation. The second form of the protocol of Mentuhotep II was introduced
at some point after year 14, because an inscription from that year still features the first
form. However, it now seems certain that the reunification of Egypt predates year 13
(Gestermann, ZÄS 135 [2008], p. 1–15).
demonstrates that a large number of vast tombs that were hitherto not consid-
ered in this debate must date either to the First Intermediate Period, or to the
end of the eleventh dynasty, or later.131 In his reconstruction, there is no need
to suppose there was a gap in the tradition of monumental tombs coinciding
with the post-reunification period.
Recent research at the site undertaken by J. Kahl, M. Khadragy, and
U. Verhoeven has enabled a detailed on-site inspection of these tombs,
and has moreover led to the discovery in 2005 of a further one.132 This is
tomb N13.1, and it belonged to an overseer of priests and general called It-ib-
iqer. From the inscriptions in his tomb, it is clear that he was the son of a man
called Khety, and the father of a Mesehti or Mesehti-iqer. Intensive research has
made it well-nigh certain that Khety is identical with the like-named owner of
tomb IV. Also, it is highly likely that It-ib-iqer’s son Mesehti(-iqer) is none other
than the Mesehti, whose tomb produced the famous tomb models rendering
two military platoons, and two of the most lavishly inscribed Middle Kingdom
coffins known (S1C, S2C). On this basis, an uninterrupted sequence of five suc-
cessive local rulers is now in evidence: Khety I, It-ib, Khety II, It-ib-iqer, and
Mesehti. Although, unlike Khety II, It-ib-iqer and Mesehti do not bear the title
ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ, it is clear that the same family remained in charge.133 They do boast
the title of an overseer of priests, however, which is also very frequently borne
by nomarchs.
Since Khety II mentions king Merikare in his autobiography, he is usually
regarded as the last First Intermediate Period nomarch, while Schenkel’s date
of Mesehti’s coffins in the late eleventh dynasty has gained wide acceptance.134
This implies that there was no interruption in the nomarch line after the reuni-
fication, even though it must be admitted that It-ib-iqer and Mesehti do not
131 Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut I.

132 Kahl, el-Khadragy, Verhoeven, SAK 33 (2005), p. 159–167; Kahl, el-Khadragy,
Verhoeven, SAK 34 (2006), p. 241–247; Kahl, El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, SAK 36
(2007), p. 81–103; Kahl, El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, SAK 37 (2008), p. 199–218; Kahl,
El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, El-Khatib, Kitagawa, SAK 38 (2009), p. 113–130;
Kahl, El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, Prell, Eichner, Beckh, SAK 39 (2010), p. 191–
210; Kahl, El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, Abdelrahiem, Ahmed, Kitagawa, Prell,
Rzeuska, SAK 40 (2011), p. 181–209; Kahl, Ancient Asyut.
133 el-Khadragy, in: Seven Seasons at Asyut, p. 33–37, with references to earlier literature.
134 Schenkel, FmäS, 117–118; Kahl, Ancient Asyut, p. 82–83; Zitman, The Necropolis of
Asyut I, p. 157–161; although my formulation there is incorrect, I also intended to follow
Schenkel in Chests of Life, p. 102–103.
44 chapter 1
bear the nomarch title.135 The large size of their tombs in my view leaves little
135 This discussion is based on the account of El-Khadragy, SAK 36 (2007), p. 105–135; Idem,
in: Seven Seasons at Asyut, p. 31–46, but for one significant difference. El-Khadragy
argues that It-ib-iqer, and probably Mesehti also, were in office before the overthrow of the
Heracleopolitan kings. This is based on the fact that the former of the two was a general
and had his tomb decorated with a scene of marching troops, while the latter owned
funerary models depicting troops. The idea that this can be used as a dating criterion is
based on the assumption that “military scenes reflect historical events” (SAK 36 [2007],
p. 119). Of course tomb scenes can in principle depict things that are historical, but it is
less easy to prove in specific examples, firstly that this is really the case, and secondly
how the historical material was processed iconographically there. Also, we should not
be overly confident that the little we know about ancient Egyptian history covers all
the major historical events. Many episodes may escape our attention, simply for lack of
pertinent evidence. Moreover, the troops in the Asyūṭ tombs are not depicted fighting,
but marching; that a war is intended is therefore not evident. Far more telling military
tomb scenes are known from the later eleventh and early twelfth dynasty tombs at Banī
Ḥasan, where attacks on towns are shown. Even here, it has been doubted whether a
historical event from the time of the tomb owners is depicted in all cases, because exactly
the same scene is duplicated several times at the site. By way of conclusion, if the military
scenes in Asyūṭ are at all historical, they might depict an episode we have no knowledge
of, or reflect real events (like military parades) that, while being illustrative of a martial
frame of mind, may not be significant for historical reconstructions of events (for this
approach, see Seidlmayer, in: Militärgeschichte des pharaonischen Ägypten, p. 151–157).
Another problematic point with el-Khadragy’s reasoning is that in order to sustain
his idea, he has to compress the tenures of Khety II, It-ib-iqer, and Mesehti into the final
phase of the war between Thebes and Heracleopolis, which he situates between years
14 and 39 of Mentuhotep II. In order to accommodate these rulers into this period, he
argues that all three were in office for a short period of time, because their tombs were
unfinished, or because of evidence that a successor took charge of building the tomb of
his predecessor. Two problems should be envisaged here. Firstly, while it is clear that an
official’s early death might occur before his tomb was finished, it does not follow that
it can be deduced from a tomb’s unfinished state that its owner died at a young age, or
unexpectedly. Other explanations could be that probably not all individuals accorded the
same degree of priority to finishing their tombs, and the fact that the cases here discussed
date from unsettled times is a further point to take into account.
What complicates the issue further is that it is now known that the reunification
took place not after year 14, but before year 13 (Gestermann, ZÄS 135 [2008], p. 1–15),
so that all three officials, each of whom at least succeeded in excavating (and partly
decorating) really vast tombs, should be fitted into about twelve years. Moreover,
following el-Khadragy’s reasoning, the so-called “northern soldiers tomb,” which clearly
also belonged to a nomarch-like official, should also be fitted into this period, as it also
contains depictions of marching troops. This tomb, however, el-Khadragy tentatively
dates to the later reign of Mentuhotep II, but after the reunification (in: Seven Seasons
room for doubt that they were very high-ranking officials of a status compara-
ble with a nomarch. Some of the other large tombs at Asyūṭ may also have to
be fitted in somewhere between Mentuhotep II and Senwosret I.136
At Banī Ḥasan, the situation is somewhat less clear, due to the fact that sev-
eral nomarchs cannot be dated individually. The plan (fig. 6) shows a row of
rather large tombs, of which eight contain inscriptions indicating that their
owners were nomarchs. Tomb 14 belongs to the nomarch Khnumhotep I, who
states in his tomb that he was appointed during the reign of Amenemhat I. It
is generally admitted that the owners of tombs 29, 33, and 27, who also were
nomarchs, preceded Khnumhotep I in the office, and it is likely that the own-
ers of tombs 15 and 17, Baqet III and Khety, did so as well.137
The last point has been criticized by Gestermann, who maintains that
Baqet III and Khety succeeded Khnumhotep I.138 But as Hölzl has aptly
pointed out, this is hardly likely, as the tomb of Khnumhotep (14) seems to
have been cut out in a small corner that had been left open after the construc-
tion of Baqet’s tomb (15). Hölzl has also adduced architectural arguments in
support of the hypothesis that the tomb of Baqet III antedates not only the
tomb of Khnumhotep I, but also that of Khety (tomb 17).139
The fact remains that the dating of the individual tombs is problem-
atic. However, even Gestermann’s minimal position presupposes that the
nomarch Baqet I (tomb 29) was already in office during the eleventh dynasty.
If one accepts that the very large tombs 15 and 17 predate that of Khnumhotep I,
it is almost certain that the interval between the reunification of Egypt and
the end of the eleventh dynasty can easily be filled, and this would imply that
the sequence of nomarchs here was continuous, similarly to the situation in
Dayr al-Barshā and Asyūṭ. One should also consider the fact―accepted by
Gestermann―that several of the large anepigraphic tombs at Banī Ḥasan
at Asyut, p. 39). This means that he does not regard the presence of military scenes an
unequivocal dating criterion in all cases. Since this is his only argument for attributing
an early date to It-ib-iqer and Mesehti, the whole reasoning rests on a very weak basis.
Zitman’s much more thoroughly argued conventional date for Mesehti in the late
eleventh Dynasty (The Necropolis of Assiut I, p. 157–161) is definitely to be preferred.
136 See the reconstructions by Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut I, p. 36–37, or J. Kahl, Ancient
Asyut, p. 58–97.
137 For an overview of the issue, see Willems, JEOL 28 (1983–1984), p. 92.
138 Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 180–189; it should be noted that Gestermann could not yet
take into account the study mentioned in the preceding note.
139 Hölzl, in: Sesto congresso internazionale di egittologia II, p. 279–283.
46
Figure 6 Plan of the central part of the Banī Ḥasan cemetery, indicating the location of the nomarchal tombs at the top.
The small dots indicate the location of the smaller tombs on the slopes below the nomarchal tombs (after
Willems, Chests of Life, plan 1).
chapter 1
may also have belonged to nomarchs.140 Therefore it seems to me that the tem-
porary fall of the Banī Ḥasan nomarchs, argued for by Gestermann, is not
very likely.141
The certain cases of Asyūṭ and Dayr al-Barshā, and the likely one of Banī
Ḥasan, suggests that in Middle Egypt nomarchal rule was not interrupted by
the fall of the Heracleopolitans. It is not impossible that similar conditions
prevailed in the other nomes of Middle Egypt. This might for instance well
hold true for the governors of the seventeenth Upper Egyptian nome, whose
tombs at Ṭiḥna al-Jabal are so severely damaged that hardly anything can be
said about the history of the officials.
During the twelfth dynasty, the existence of nomarchs is clearly in evidence
in Middle Egypt. In the south of the former Heracleopolitan realm, at Akhmīm,
there is only one reference to a nomarch, called Antef, and datable to the reign
of Amenemhat I.142 In the eleventh nome, at Dayr Rīfa, there are two.143 The
twelfth nome was ruled by a very influential family, whose enormous tombs at
Qāw al-Kabīr are among the largest of the period, although they do not con-
tain examples of the title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ.144 For the time being, we will not concern
ourselves with these people, therefore. In the enormous cemetery of Asyūṭ,
there are only two individuals designating themselves as nomarchs (ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ):
the famous Djefaihapy I, dated to the reign of Senwosret I,145 and Djefaihapi II,
who, according to Zitman, would date to the same period.146 Several owners of
140 Here it is necessary to call to mind the still unpublished fragment of a stela from
Dandara, which mentions a <ḥr.y>-tp ꜤꜢ n MꜢ-ḥḏ “nomarch of the Oryx nome.” Its dating
is unfortunately not certain. The stela belonged to a man called Rediwikhnum, who,
according to some, was a descendant of the owner of the famous stela Cairo CG 20543
(see n. 129). On the basis of this hypothesis, the second Rediwikhnum should have lived
under Mentuhotep II (and in fact it seems less likely that a tomb owner in Dendara
would refer to a nomarch from the Heracleopolitan region before the reunification)
(Gomaà, Erste Zwischenzeit, p. 116; 152–153; Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 171).
Confirmation of this dating would afford independent proof of the existence of nomarchs
at Banī Ḥasan in this period.
141 This conclusion is implicitly accepted also by Pardey, s.v. “Provincial Administration,” in:
The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt I, p. 18, and Rabehl, Amenemhet, p. 11–17.
142 Stela Cairo CG 20024. For the dating of this document, see Franke, Personendaten,
p. 112 (132).
143 Tombs I and VII at Dayr Rīfa: see Montet, Kêmi 6 (1936), p. 138–143; 156–163.
144 For these persons, see Grajetzki, GM 156 (1997), p. 55–62.
145 Montet, Kêmi 3 (1930–1935), p. 45–86. For the bibliography, see Zitman, The Necropolis
of Assiut I, p. 32–34.
146 Tomb II at Assiūṭ (or no. 013.1 in the numbering of the Asyūṭ project); see for the
inscriptions Griffith, Siût and Dêr Rîfeh, pl. 10; Montet, Kêmi 3 (1930–1935), p. 86–89;
48 chapter 1
other large tombs at Asyūṭ claim ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr “overseer of priests” as their
most important title, which is also borne by many nomarchs. Considering the
state of preservation of the tombs, and their still poor state of publication, it
is possible that several high officials buried here also had the nomarch title,
even if that cannot always be demonstrated. In Mīr, the major cemetery of the
fourteenth Upper Egyptian nome, there is a group of tombs of the overseers of
priests of Hathor, of whom one, dated to the reign of Senwosret I, designates
himself explicitly as a nomarch.147 At Dayr al-Barshā and Banī Ḥasan there are
about ten nomarchs, who are so well known that it is not necessary to high-
light them in detail.148 The autobiography of Khnumhotep II at Banī Ḥasan
also refers to his maternal grandfather, who would have been nomarch of the
seventeenth nome.149 Understanding of the tombs of the highest elite of this
nome has been considerably clarified by the recent Japanese excavations at
Ṭiḥna al-Jabal, which have shown that the Roman temple cut into the rock
promontory at Ṭiḥna is, in fact, a vast, reused Middle Kingdom tomb. Beside
it there are several others. In one of the tombs, remains of what must have
been a fairly impressive set of burial equipment was found, but unfortunately
there are no texts to inform us about the names and titles of the men bur-
ied here.150 Further north, in the Fayyūm, the team of the University of Pisa
has discovered two very large rock tombs at Kawm al-Khalwa. Unfortunately,
these badly preserved tombs have not yet been published, but on the basis of
preliminary articles it can be concluded that the owner Wadj was not only a
ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr / ı̓m.y-r ḥw.t-nṯr, but also π∏t
ḥr.y-tp Sḫ.t. The latter
title looks like a variant of the title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME, the geographical
term Sḫ.t “field,” undoubtedly referring to the Fayyūm.151 Finally, a false door
Becker, in: Seven Seasons at Asyut, p. 69–90 (the title is mentioned on p. 83). For
the dating, see Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut, p. 32–33. His arguments for the proposed
dating are not sufficiently solid to rule out a later date.
147 It concerns Ukhhotep son of Senbi; see Meir II, pl. XII. Although the other officials buried
at the same cemetery do not display this title, the cemetery seems to belong to a single
family of administrators. It is clear that all, including those who do not bear the title
ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ, belong to the same social stratum. For the history of the family, see Willems,
Chests of Life, p. 82–87.
148 For overviews of the pertinent sources, see Willems, JEOL 28 (1983–1984), p. 81–86; 92;
102; Idem, Chests of Life, p. 62–68; Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 173–189;
Favry, Nomarque, p. 309–314.
149 If that is what the title “ḥḳꜢ of the Anubis nome” means (Beni Hasan I, pl. XXVI, 123).
150 Akoris, p. 27–33. For a plan of the zone of the tombs, see p. 44.
151 See Bresciani, EVO 20–21 (1997–1998), p. 11; 14; 17–18 (pilaster 4, faces B and D); 31, fig. 7).
The title ḥr.y-tp Sḫ.t is discussed by Bresciani, EVO 4 (1981), p. 9 and n. e.
found at Heliopolis, and probably datable to the end of the eleventh dynasty
or the very early twelfth dynasty, mentions a nomarch of the thirteenth nome
of Lower Egypt.152
It goes without saying that our documentation is very incomplete, but none-
theless it cannot be denied that nomarchs were not an exception in Middle
Egypt, and, based on the last document, the same might hold true for the
Delta, where the kind of cemeteries we are interested in are hardly preserved.
For southern Egypt, i.e. the former Theban realm, the situation is completely
different. From this region Gestermann only lists three nomarchs,153 to which
Favry has added a fourth.154 It is necessary to study this list in detail.
A stela in the Petrie Museum in UC London mentions a man called
Mentuhotep, who would have been a nomarch of the fourth Upper Egyptian
nome.155 The arguments why this should be the case are not quite clear.
Gestermann and Favry156 attribute this interpretation to a study by
O. Berlev,157 but on verification it appears that that he stated nothing of the
kind. Also, the stela does not designate Mentuhotep as a nomarch, his only
titles being ı̓r.y-pꜤ.t ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr. Moreover, his autobiography makes
clear that he made his career in the town of Armant, a city, which as far as is
known, was never a nome capital.158
The case of Wepwawetaa, who, according to Favry, was a nomarch, raises
similar questions. Her interpretation is based on line 12 of stela Leiden V4,
which she translates as: “I am the son of a dignitary, an important (person) of
the Thinite nome.”159 Although this rendering is possible, one could equally
well translate “I am the son of a great dignitary of the Thinite nome.” In either
case, the text certainly refers to an important man in the Thinite nome, but
that does not necessarily imply it concerns a nomarch.
152 Publication: Simpson, JARCE 38 (2001), p. 12, fig. 1; p. 14; 18; see also Franke, Das Heiligtum
des Heqaib, p. 13, n. 26. I express my gratitude to the late Detlef Franke for supplying me
with the reference to Simpson’s article.
153 Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 172–173; this was accepted by Müller-
Wollermann, DE 13 (1989), p. 112.
154 Favry, Nomarque, p. 72–75.
155 Stela UCL 148333; see Goedicke, JEA 48 (1962), p. 25–35); Stewart, Egyptian Stelae II,
p. 20; pl. 18. The most recent study of this document is Beylage, in: Ägypten‒Münster,
p. 17–32.
156 Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 172; Favry, Nomarque, p. 71–72.
157 Berlev, BiOr 38 (1981), col. 318–319.
158 Franke thinks Mentuhotep was a mayor of Armant: Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 13;
Idem, BiOr 62 (2005), col. 464.
159 Favry, op. cit., p. 72–75 (citation from p. 75). For the text, see Boeser, Beschrijving I, pl. IV.
50 chapter 1
A statue that is now kept in the Cairo Museum (CG 404) depicts a man called
Horhotep, who is entitled ı̓r.y-pꜤ.t ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ẖr.y-ḥb.t ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n
Nḫn. Without the slightest doubt, we are facing a person who designates him-
self as a nomarch. Unfortunately, the historical context is unclear.160 Although
probably postdating the reign of Amenemhat I,161 the exact date of the statue
is unknown, and, unlike the situation in Middle Egypt, no monumental Middle
Kingdom tombs are known from Hierakonpolis. If, as seems likely, Horhotep
really dates to the twelfth dynasty, the evidence suggests he did not descend
from an ancient line of nomarchs, as this kind of officials seems to have been
abolished during the First Intermediate Period in southern Egypt. We would
accordingly be facing the case of an individual appointed as nomarch in the
course of the twelfth dynasty.
There remains the important case of Sarenput I, the great chief of the first
Upper Egyptian nome, who obtained his post during the reign of Senwosret I.
The family in charge of Aswān is very well documented on the basis of their
tombs and of the texts in the Heqaib chapel on Elephantine,162 but the title
of nomarch is not encountered there prior to the tenure of Sarenput I. He,
however, includes the nomarch title twice in the inscriptions in his huge tomb
in Qubbat al-Hawāʾ.163 Later, the same title is encountered also on a statue
of Sarenput II (reign of Senwosret II), which stood in the Heqaib chapel at
Elephantine.164
The appearance of this title in the Aswān region during Sarenput I’s tenure
is unlikely to be due to a coincidence. In his age, the Egyptian colonization
of Nubia gained pace, of which the clearest archaeological manifestation is
the construction of the Nubian fortresses. Aswān, Egypt’s southernmost town,
must in this period have been of prime importance, not only as a staging post
for military activity, but also for fortress builders and for the workmen exploit-
ing the Nubian gold mines, to which the access roads were controlled by the
fortresses. Sarenput’s autobiography leaves no room for doubt that under these
very special circumstances close relations were established between him and
160 Borchardt, Statuen und Stauetten II, p. 17 and pl. 66; see also Franke, op. cit., p. 13, n. 26.
161 Based on the occurrence of the writing for ı̓m.y-r, of which only one earlier example
is known (J.P. Allen, “Some Theban Officials of the Early Middle Kingdom,” in: P. Der
Manuelian [ed.], Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson I [Boston, 1996], p. 5–6, n. 14).
162 For a detailed discussion, see Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 207–210.
163 Urk. VII, p. 6,5 and 17. In Urk. VII, p. 2,11 and in stela 10, X+13 (Habachi, The Sanctuary of
Heqaib I, p. 38; II, pl. 25), he compares himself to other “chiefs of nomes” (ḥḳꜢ.w spꜢ.t) For
Sarenput’s title strings, see also Franke, op. cit., p. 215.
164 Habachi, The Sanctuary of Heqaib I, p. 42, fig. 4 and II, pl. 37b.
the king. This explains why the king dispatched servants and hundreds of
builders for the construction of nomarch’s monumental tomb. A passage
of the autobiography in this tomb shows Sarenput’s self-confidence in an
exceptional way:
The deities who stand behind Elephantine establish for me His Majesty
in his position as a monarch, and fashion the king for me again, again,
that he may repeat millions of sed-festivals for me.165
Sarenput I seems to formulate his text with an arrogance almost unparalleled

in the Egyptian documentation, since the monarch seems to be reduced to
a creature whose only reason for existence seems to be the well-being of his
governor in the first Upper Egyptian nome. The rest of the autobiography also
draws the image of an official without compare. Even if we accept that the
inscription is overstating things, the fact that such a publicly accessible text
could at all be written, suggests that Sarenput’s status exceeded traditional
boundaries, and here the context of the economic and military enterprises in
Nubia are likely to have played a part. Therefore, it is probably not a coinci-
dence that precisely Sarenput was invested with the nomarchy, and that the
title reappears in the same family under his successor Sarenput II.166
The administrative system thus displays a tendency towards variation:
while the nomarchs at Asyūṭ, Dayr al-Barshā, and Banī Ḥasan were members
of a lineage of governors, of whom at least several demonstrably bore the title
ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n NOME, the case of Sarenput I bears witness of a more dynamic sys-
tem, because he did not originate from a nomarch family, but was appointed to
this rank. The same phenomenon can probably also be observed in an exam-
ple from Middle Egypt, at Mīr,167 and might explain the appearance of solitary
nomarchs like Horhotep of Hierakonpolis, or Antef of Akhmīm, whom I have
just mentioned. While I thus accept that it was probably possible to appoint
nomarchs throughout Egypt, a quantitative comparison between Middle Egypt
and the southernmost nomes has clearly shown that they were much rarer in
the south than in the north. This difference can hardly be without significance.
165 Urk. VII, p. 4, 3–6. See the commentary by Franke, op. cit., p. 24, who translates the
passages as a series of wish-clauses.
166 In its main lines, this account follows the analysis of D. Franke, op. cit., 8–27. However,
I believe that he goes too far when he remarks that Sarenput I was a “parvenu,” none
of whose ancestors had borne official titles. For a different interpretation, see Willems,
Heqata, p. 18–20.
167 Willems, Chests of Life, p. 85–87.
52 chapter 1
Thus, it seems clear that provincial administration was not at all a mon-
olithic system applicable everywhere in the same way. Rather, I think it is
possible to recognize two principles that were partly counter-effective: tradi-
tionalism and dynamism.
Traditionalism: We have examined Gestermann’s idea, according to which
the Theban administrative system would have been instated across Egypt for
some twenty years, leading to the temporary abolishment of the nomarchs in
the north. Subsequently, and again across Egypt, the subdivision into nomes
would have been reintroduced. Our analysis has shown that this perception of
things misrepresents the evidence. Firstly, the nomarchs can be shown not to
have disappeared before the late twelfth dynasty. They uninterruptedly con-
tinued to exert their function in at least parts of Middle Egypt, and, perhaps,
the Delta, which would correspond to the former Heracleopolitan realm. But
in the south, one recognizes only very few nomarchs, and there is no evidence
for the existence of lines of nomarchs in this region. It thus seems that the
reunification of the country under Mentuhotep II hardly led to a systemic
change in the administrative structure of the two parts of the country. In the
south, no nomarchs existed before the reunification, and this state of affairs
was largely maintained after the Theban victory. In the north, the provinces
had been directed by the nomarchs prior to this event, and this situation also
endured after. Thus it seems that even after the establishment of the Middle
Kingdom, different administrative traditions can be discerned in the two parts
of the country. There are no grounds to posit a monolithic system in the two
halves of Egypt.
Dynamism: although I am convinced that the administrative system
continued to differ in north and south, the distinction should be nuanced
somewhat, for even within these areas, nothing proves the existence of a mon-
olithic system. For various regions, there is no information whatsoever on the
kinds of administrators who functioned there, and in the fourteenth nome of
Upper Egypt, it is uncertain that nomarchs were present before the reign
of Amenemhat I.168 We have also just seen that the nomarch Sarenput I was
instated during the reign of Senwosret I, and in this isolated case it seems that
a nomarch was appointed in a region where officials of that kind had never
existed before―never, because even during the Old Kingdom, when nomarchs
are often supposed to have been present everywhere in Upper Egypt, this evi-
dently was not the case in the first nome.169 Accordingly, it has to be admitted

169 Several Egyptologists have defended the hypothesis that an ink inscription on a bowl
discovered on the Qubbat al-Hawāʾ by E. Edel features the title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t. However,
that special circumstances may have led to the appointment, or abolishment,

of nomarchs. It remains clear, however, that real lines of nomarchs existed dur-
ing the Middle Kingdom in different parts of Middle Egypt.
The Nomarch Title in Egyptian and in Egyptology
Our investigation of the nomarch problem has thus far concentrated almost
entirely on the ḥr.y.w-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME, “great chiefs of a nome,” following
K. Baer’s remark that only they were real nomarchs.170 However, it is perhaps
not realistic to suppose that there was always a direct link between the literal
meaning of official titles and the nature of the tasks effectively carried out.
It might be useful to make comparison with the system of provincial admin-
istration currently in force in the Netherlands. Each province is here led by
a governor with the title Commissaris van de Koning (“Commissioner of the
King”). There is one exception to this rule: the official in charge of the prov-
ince of Limburg, who has exactly the same responsibilities as his colleagues
in the other provinces, can, for historical reasons, also be called “Governor
[Gouverneur] of Limburg.”171 If, in a modern and thoroughly bureaucratic
country such as the Netherlands, the same type of official can be referred to
by different titles, would it not be likely that the administrative terminology in
Egypt would have been even less homogeneous?
Very recently, S. Quirke has published a small monograph under the title
Titles and Bureaux in Ancient Egypt, in which he makes a number of very sig-
nificant remarks. He, with good reason, emphasizes that Egyptology has had
a tendency to consider administrative titles as manifestations of a strictly
formalized hierarchy. For him, however, it is likely that the real hierarchy to a
large extent escapes us, because it is dominated by informal relationships, like
those of kinship or status.172 It is in this scientifically almost invisible domain
that the real power games were played, camouflaged by titles, which confer an
according to a recent reevaluation by M. Müller, Edel’s transcription of the hieratic text

is incorrect (GM 194 [2003], p. 51–57).
170 See p. 4, n. 3.
171 This second title is mainly (but not exclusively) used by the provincial population. I am
grateful to Troy Sagrillo for informing me that this is “because the former Duchy of Limburg
was part of Belgium (where Gouverneur is used for the same role) until it was split in 1839
following the Treaty of London and became part of the German Confederation until 1867,
after which it was made a full part of the Netherlands.”
172 Quirke, Titles and Bureaux, p. 4–5.
54 chapter 1
impression of formalism and impartiality. According to Quirke, the situation

is further complicated by the fact that scholars, in their desire to understand
“the system,” perceive structures that the Egyptians might themselves not
have recognized.
A total acceptance of this point of view would imply that official titles
would be near insignificant, and would not reflect the distribution of power in
the administration. It is evident that this position173 would be far too extreme.
Considering the amount of fundamental studies devoted to administrative
titles by Quirke himself, it is clear that he does not mean to say that titles
are devoid of meaning. What I think he does intend to say is that we have to
accept the Egyptian administration as a dynamic system that combines formal
and informal elements. This implies that study of the titles does not inform us
completely of what was occurring in the world of the administrators.
For example, in the later Old Kingdom many ḥr.y.w-tp ꜤꜢ are known, but
this title did not occur in the region of Aswān. There the highest officials, like
Harkhuf or Heqaib, were designated as “expedition leaders.” Their tombs dis-
play a monumentality paralleled in other provinces only by those of the pro-
vincial governors, and the tonality of their tomb autobiographies creates the
impression that these people belong to the same social stratum.174 Considering
the complete absence of the title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t in the Aswān region, is it not
likely that the responsibilities of the expedition leaders at Elephantine were
similar to those of officials elsewhere designated as ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ, although with
the additional task of organizing expeditions to Nubia? In the same fashion,
is it not reasonable to suppose that the ḥḳꜢ.w wḥꜢ.t “chiefs of the oasis,” who
resided in Balāṭ in the Dākhla Oasis, fulfilled more or less the same tasks as the
nomarchs, apart from their evident responsibility for caravans?
In these two cases, the conclusion I have proposed seems likely due to the
fact that no other high provincial officials were around. A case that is slightly
more difficult to assess is that of the ı̓m.y.w-r ḥm.w-nṯr “overseers of priests.”
173 Which comes close to the ideas formulated by Moreno Garcia on the title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n
NOME; see n. 3.
174 The hypothesis that the nomarchs of the 1st Upper Egyptian nome resided at Kawm
Umbū goes, as Franke has pointed out, without proof (Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 11).
For the rather complex array of Old Kingdom titles in the 1st Upper Egyptian nome, which
includes, beside that of ı̓m.y-r Ꜥ.w “expedition leader”, also the titles ı̓m.y-r šmꜤ.w and for
instance ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n nzw.t, see Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 542–555. The
first part of the latter title resembles the nomarch title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t, but it is generally
assumed not to have the same meaning Martinet, loc cit.; Edel, Seyfried, Vieler, Die
Felsgräbernekropole von Qubbet el-Hawa bei Assuan I/2, p. 1348–1349 and the literature
there cited.
During the Old Kingdom, it seems possible that they occasionally had a func-
tion distinct from that of the nomarch, because in some regions the two
functions were borne by different people. However, it is generally agreed that
this role division is not generally applicable, as towards the end of the Old
Kingdom and increasingly during the First Intermediate Period, several “great
chiefs of a nome” were simultaneously “overseers of priests.” By then it was
apparently not uncommon for a nomarch to direct the civil and religious insti-
tutions in the nome at one and the same time. There are even indications that
at the end of the Old Kingdom the temples in some cases constituted the basis
of power of the nomarchs.175
After the First Intermediate Period, at least some nomes in Middle Egypt were
directed by a ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ,176 but in other, and sometimes very important nomes,
such as at Asyūṭ, this title is far less common, or even absent. Nevertheless, the
enormous tombs in these cemeteries leave no room for doubt that their own-
ers were the most influential officials within their provinces. Was the position
of these overseers of priests very different from those of other officials else-
where, who were explicitly qualified as “nomarch” (ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ)?177
Only two types of information allow us to gain an impression of the social
position of these officials. The first is their very heterogeneous official style,
which may vary from one province to another. A major fact can neverthe-
less be observed: the title of “mayor,” which, based on Helck’s theory, one
would expect to be widespread, is rather exceptional until the later twelfth
dynasty, except at Banī Ḥasan, but even at that site, there are also texts refer-
ring to “real” nomarchs (ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ).178
Secondly, no cemeteries of “mayors” are known that can compare to those
often referred to as “nomarchal.” In my view, this situation leaves no room for
175 See p. 31–33. Martinet rightly points out that the combination of the two functions was
not yet widespread in the late Old Kingdom, but became systematic under the eighth
dynasty (L’administration provinciale II, p. 645; 653; 655).
176 These people were frequently at the same time overseers of priests.
177 To add to the complexities, is it certain that all “overseers of priests” had the same powers?
In the Old Kingdom a difference in importance can be observed among the various
temples, and this is reflected in the political role of the office holders. The same situation
may well have obtained in the Middle Kingdom. For an “overseer of priests” who may not
have been a nomarch, see the case of Mentuhotep of Armant, discussed above (p. 49,
n. 155).
178 Several cases are known of persons entitled ḥꜢ.ty Ꜥ n MnꜤ.t-Ḫwı̓=f-wı̓ “mayor of Menat-Khufu.”
It seems as though for several of these people, this title was carried in an intermediate phase
of a career leading to the nomarchy; see the tabulation in Gestermann, Kontinuität und
Wandel, p. 187.
56 chapter 1
doubt that the class of the mayors existed, but that it concerns a still restricted
group of persons of a social rank rather different from that of the nomarchs. If
these latter possessed funerary monuments of a vast scale, and of a type that is
unknown elsewhere, the same cannot be said of the “mayors.”179
This way of viewing things runs counter to the opinion of many Egyptologists.
In a recent study, for instance, W. Grajetzki describes the owners of the great
tombs at Qāw al-Kabīr as “mayors” (ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ).180 The widely attested title string
ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr has also been interpreted as a designation of officials
combining the office of “mayor” with that of “overseer of priests.”181 This style
is very common at Asyūṭ182 and at Qāw al-Kabīr. The title ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ combined
with ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr or ı̓m.y-r ḥw.t-nṯr also appears in the monumental tombs
recently found at Kawm al-Khalwa (Fayyūm).
At Qāw al-Kabīr, Asyūṭ, and Kawm al-Khalwa183 we would thus have a social
group distinct from that of the nomarchs of Dayr al-Barshā and Banī Ḥasan. It
would concern sites containing the tombs of mayors who were also overseers
of priests.
I think this interpretation is based on a terminological confusion. I accept
Helck’s proposal that “mayors” entitled ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n NAME OF TOWN existed dur-
ing the Middle Kingdom. However, this does not imply in any way that the title
ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ also had the connotation of “mayor” in other constructions, like ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ
ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr.184 I think it is more in keeping with the evidence to assume
179 I have shown at greater length elsewhere that the mayors were effectively subordinate to
the regional nomarch (Willems, in: Ancient Egyptian Administration).
180 Grajetzki, GM 156 (1997), p. 55–62.
181 For instance Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 11, n. 21, with references to other
literature.
182 See the list of principal tomb owners in Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut I, p. 38–43,
where it will be seen that the title ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ also appears independently. For a “new” ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ at
Asyūṭ, see Becker, GM 210 (2006), p. 8.
183 In case the title ḥr.y-tp Sḫ.t is taken as a variant of the title ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME, as was
suggested above (n. 151), the tombs of Kawm al-Khalwa should be skipped from this list.
184 Helck, Verwaltung, p. 208–210. The cited pages of this work have exerted an enormous
influence, but they fail to convince me. Helck describes a situation where one perceives,
on the one hand, the appearance of a ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n MnꜤ.t-Ḫwı̓=f-wı̓, “mayor of Menat-Khufu”
at Banī Ḥasan, and, on the other, of the solitary title ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ being placed directly in front
of the name of an administrator. The position of this title immediately preceding the
name would be sufficient to prove that it concerns, not a rank title, but a functional
title, and that this functional title could only designate a mayor. This approach leads to
the recognition in the sources of a vast amount of mayors, since many members of the
elite are designated in their tombs as ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ N. However, the principle that a title placed
directly in front of a name must designate a profession, has never appealed to me.
that such persons were functionally the heads of temple priesthoods, and that,
like other high officials, they therefore acquired the rank title ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ “Lord”.185
In other cases, where the title ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ is followed by a name, this could imply an
abbreviation of any title string containing the element ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ. This implies that
the title could in principle refer to a mayor, but does not necessarily always
do so.186 Moreover, the combination of the titles ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ and ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr is
rather normal in the title strings of nomarchs.
It remains possible that there was a functional difference between local
rulers called “nomarch” (i.e. ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ) and “overseer of priests.” In the
rather frequent cases where nomarchs were simultaneously also overseers
of priests, it is conceivable that their range of tasks was more diverse than
in others, where an official was “only” a ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr However, we
have just seen that an approach based on literal translations of titles may
lead to simplifications. The dimensions of the tombs at Qubbat al-Hawāʾ,
Qāw al-Kabīr, Asyūṭ, Mīr, Dayr al-Barshā, Banī Ḥasan, Ṭiḥna al-Jabal, and
Kawm al-Khalwa is unparalleled in the rest of Upper Egypt, suggesting that
the tomb owners represent in a very real sense one social stratum, which
seems to have been different from that of the mayors. It seems likely that
the size of their tombs reflects their important position during life. All these
I have discussed a particularly problematic case in Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 100–102. In the

case of the title ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ, the situation is exceptionally delicate, because it is often used
in a honorific sense (see the remarks by Fischer, Dendera, p. 71–72), and was used as
a polite term of address (as in the Story of the Shipwrecked Sailor, line 2). While it is
conceivable to assume (with Helck) that the polyvalent term ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ may have been
used as an abbreviation for e.g. ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n TOWN, it is not clear why this particular use
should be suspected wherever an owner of a large tomb for instance calls himself ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ
ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr; rather, as in the Old Kingdom, the term ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ is here a rank title. We
will therefore only speak of a mayor in cases where the term ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ is followed by the
name of a town. See in more detail: Willems, in: Ancient Egyptian Administration.
185 My interpretation opposes that of, for instance, Quirke, who writes, “following regular
Middle Kingdom practice, the post of temple manager was held by the leading official of
the main settlement (ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ) to form a composite position ḥꜢty-Ꜥ ı̓my-r ḥwt-nṯr/ḥmw-nṯr”
(Administration, p. 161).
186 For the variability of functions exerted by people entitled ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ, see Czerny, Ä&L 11
(2001), p. 23–25. One example still exists where the living environment of a ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r
ḥm.w-nṯr can be perceived: the governorial palace of Tall Basṭā (see van Siclen, in: Haus
und Palast im alten Ägypten, p. 239–246; Idem, in: Akten des IV. int. Ägyptologenkongresses
IV, p. 187–194. From these publications, it does not become sufficiently clear that possibly
only a part of this vast palace has been unearthed). The house of the mayors of WꜢh-sw.t
at Abydos is considerably smaller, suggesting that the mayors operated at a different level
from (at least some of) the ḥꜢ.ty.w-Ꜥ ı̓m.y.w-r ḥm.w-nṯr).
58 chapter 1
considerations converge in suggesting that we are facing a group that may

have been heterogeneous from the perspective of titles, but homogeneous
in social status. Moreover, the geographical distribution shows that these
regional overlords were active in particular in Middle Egypt.
In the next chapters, I will discuss these officials, not as administrators, but
as members of a social class, as the representatives of what I will call, on the
suggestion of B. Kemp, the “Nomarchy.”
chapter 2
A Middle Kingdom Nomarchal Cemetery:

Dayr al-Barshā
The main centres of the Nomarchy of the Middle Kingdom are well known. It
concerns the sites of Qāw al-Kabīr, Dayr Rīfa, Asyūṭ, Mīr, Dayr al-Barshā, Banī
Ḥasan, Ṭiḥnā al-Jabal, and outside Middle Egypt, Qubbat al-Hawā and Kawm
al-Khalwa in the Fayyūm (fig. 7). Many of these sites were intensively studied
between the 1890s and the early 1930s, but after this, archaeologists lost inter-
est in them for several decades.
Before 1930, these sites were studied mainly for two reasons.
In the first place, many of the monumental tombs contain decoration of the
highest quality. This not only consists of wall scenes, but also of long autobio-
graphical inscriptions, many of which had already attracted attention early in
the nineteenth century, and which have since become the major sources of evi-
dence concerning the history of the Middle Kingdom. Recording these tombs
rapidly developed into a top priority after the publication of the inscriptions
in the tombs of Asyūṭ and Dayr Rīfa, which was produced by F. Ll. Griffith in
1889.1 Soon after, additional missions, primarily from Great Britain, undertook
the epigraphic documentation of the other sites.2
During the same period, archaeological excavations also began at these cem-
eteries. These operations, of which some (like Schiaparelli’s at Asyūṭ and
Qāw al-Kabīr [1905–1913]) were undertaken at a massive scale, are remarkable
in several regards. On the one hand, the objects found number in the thousands,
and many are of the greatest interest. On the other, Schiaparelli apparently
hardly bothered to take notes during his excavations, or to publish his findings.
The first volume of the final publication of a small part of the material—the
tomb of Henib at Qāw al-Kabīr—only appeared in 2003.3 The remainder is to a
1 Griffith, Siût and Dêr Rîfeh. These texts were recopied by Montet (Kêmi 3 [1930–1935],
p. 138–163; Kêmi 6 [1936], p. 138–163) and are currently being republished by the Asyūṭ proj
ect (see below).
2 Beni Hasan I–IV (1893); El Bersheh I–II (1895); Meir I–VI (1915–1951); Petrie, Antaeopolis; for
the autobiographies in the tombs in the Qubbat al-Hawā, the editio princeps is Gardiner,
ZÄS 45 (1908), p. 123–140; see also Müller, Felsengräber. The most important of these
inscriptions were republished in Urk. VII. See also the commentaries by Edel, Beiträge.
3 Ciampini, La sepoltura di Henib.

60 chapter 2
Figure 7 The major nomarchal cemeteries and associated sites from the Middle Kingdom.
A Middle Kingdom Nomarchal Cemetery 61
large extent unpublished even today. One cannot fail to be amazed by this lack
of serious interest on the part of the excavator, but what happened in these
cases does not differ substantially from what happened during other excava-
tions. Only the excavations of Chassinat and Palanque at Asyūṭ,4 Garstang
at Banī Ḥasan,5 and Petrie and Brunton in the Qāw al-Kabīr region,6 were
rapidly published, although even here, essential elements of the documenta-
tion are often lacking, such as site plans, detailed descriptions of the archae-
ological contexts, or find lists. Only Brunton’s publications enable the reader
to gain an impression of the variety and extent of the find material. In other
cases, one often encounters only articles that offer very general overviews of the
work. Thus, the reports of A. Kamal and J. Clédat on the excavations at Mīr
only rarely make clear where the authors had worked, and they offer only a very
incoherent overview (in the form of lists) of coffin panels and other selected
objects.7 The excavations undertaken in 1915 at Dayr al-Barshā by G. A. Reisner
remained entirely unpublished, but in his favour it should be pointed out that
he at least produced an extensive and fairly accurate field documentation,
which is now kept at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston.8 And when A. Kamal
had excavated half a year at Dayr al-Barshā, supported by funding from a certain
Mr. Antonini, the owner of the sugar factory at Mallawī, only one object was
considered worthy of publication, an offering table made of calcite alabaster,
which Antonini later presented to the Louvre.9 There exists no known pub-
lished or unpublished information on these important excavations.
4 Chassinat, Palanque, Fouilles d’Assiout.

5 Garstang, Burial Customs.
6 Brunton, Qau and Badari I–III; Petrie, Antaeopolis.
7 Clédat, BIFAO 1 (1901), p. 21–24; BIFAO 2 (1902), p. 41–43; Kamal, ASAE 11 (1911), p. 7–39;
ASAE 12 (1912), p. 97–127; ASAE 14 (1914), p. 45–87; ASAE 15 (1915), p. 246–258. Apparently
Clédat envisaged a more complete publication of his excavation, for it was announced on
the wrapper of Gauthier and Jéquier, Mémoire sur les fouilles de Licht. I am informed that
the personal notes of Clédat have meanwhile been relocated in the Louvre by Catharina
Vogt. She also traced records of excavations that H. Carter carried out at the site over many
years, and of which nothing was thus far known. For a more detailed overview of the work at
Mīr, see Willems, Chests of Life, p. 82–83.
8 For these excavations and a detailed account of some of the objects found, see Terrace,
Egyptian Paintings of the Middle Kingdom and The Secrets of Tomb 10A. Egypt 2000 BC.
9 I express my gratitude to Christophe Barbotin and Geneviève Pierrat for providing me
with information on this object (Louvre D72). For the publication, see Kamal, ASAE 3 (1902),
p. 276–277. For a more complete overview on the excavation history of Dayr al-Barshā, see
Willems, De Meyer, Depraetere, Peeters, Hendrickx, Herbich, Klemm, Klemm, Op de
Beeck, Depauw, MDAIK 60 (2004), p. 235–243.
62 chapter 2
This overview does not have the intention of being complete, but it offers a
representative impression of the quality of the available documentation con-
cerning the excavations at these sites. Following work undertaken in the Qāw
al-Kabīr region by Brunton and Petrie, large-scale archaeological research at
the nomarchal cemeteries ceased for a long time. Therefore all Egyptologists
who desired to carry out research on nomarchal culture had to base their inter-
pretations on documentation that was very old, incomplete, and highly biased.
This is manifest, for instance, in W. Grajetzki’s recent book on the Middle
Kingdom,10 whose assessment of the problem of the nomarchs and their social
context is almost entirely based on these old publications. Considering the
state of the documentation it could not have been otherwise, but it is clear
that on this basis it is nearly impossible to develop new approaches.11
For this reason, it is urgent that work at these sites is reopened. In 2002, I
have therefore launched a project of this kind in the Dayr al-Barshā region.12
Since then, a German–Egyptian mission directed by J. Kahl, A. al-Khadrajī,
and U. Verhoeven has begun a similar archaeological and epigraphic under-
taking at Asyūṭ.13
This chapter will present some results of the excavations undertaken since
2002 at Dayr al-Barshā. The aim is neither to offer a complete survey of the
results achieved, nor to present the most remarkable objects. My primary
intention is to take the site of Dayr al-Barshā as a point of departure for an
analytical study of Middle Kingdom nomarchal culture. Of course this will
entail a reappraisal of the types of sources that have always elicited most atten-
10 Grajetzki, The Middle Kingdom in Egypt.

11 An exception are the studies of Seidlmayer, who attempts to interpret the old
publications on the basis of a profound knowledge of the different types of archaeological
material, which these works often present in a highly inadequate form.
12 For up-to-date information on this project, with bibliography, see the website http://
www.dayralbarsha.com. This research is being carried out with the financial support
of the Bijzonder Onderzoeksfonds of KU Leuven and of FWO Vlaanderen. I gratefully
acknowledge the generous support of the successive secretaries-general of the SCA
and the current Minister of State of Antiquities Affairs (Dr. Jāb-Allāh ʿAlī Jāb-Allāh, Dr.
Zāhī Ḥawwās, Dr. Muṣṭafā Amīn, Mr. Muḥammad Ibrahīm). I also mention the pleasant
collaboration with the late Mr. Samīr Anīs, Mr ʿĀdil Ḥasan, Mr Yahyā Zakārīyā (the
successive General Directors of Antiquities in Middle Egypt).
13 Kahl, el-Khadragy, Verhoeven, SAK 33 (2005), p. 159–167; Kahl, el-Khadragy,
Verhoeven, SAK 34 (2006), p. 241–247; Kahl, El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, SAK 36
(2007), p. 81–103; Kahl, El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, SAK 37 (2008), p. 199–218; Kahl,
El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, El-Khatib, Kitagawa, SAK 38 (2009), p. 113–130;
Kahl, El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, Prell, Eichner, Beckh, SAK 39 (2010), p. 191–210; Kahl,
El-Khadragy, Verhoeven, Abdelrahiem, Ahmed, Kitagawa, Prell, Rzeuska, SAK 40
(2011), p. 181–209; Kahl, Ancient Asyut; Seven Seasons at Asyut.
tion, such as autobiographical inscriptions and the Coffin Texts. However, it is

important that these are not isolated from their social, historical, archaeologi-
cal, and religious contexts.
If I mention the religious aspect last, this is for good reason. Egyptological
libraries contain innumerable studies on gods, temples, and theology. Every
Egyptologist is also well aware that these aspects are of key importance in the
Coffin Texts, which are frequently found inscribed on the insides of Middle
Kingdom coffins.14 The publication of this material covers no less than 3412
pages of hieroglyphic text, of which more than half has been found at Dayr
al-Barshā. The vast amount of documentation itself implies that we are facing a
corpus of the highest importance for understanding Middle Kingdom religion.
However, although I hope to develop new insights for understanding Egyptian
religion, I will only sparingly refer to passages in the Coffin Texts themselves.
For the purposes of this study, I am interested not so much in the details of the
religious content of the texts, but rather in the functioning of funerary religion
in nomarchal culture. I want to determine in particular who utilized the ceme-
tery of Dayr al-Barshā, how it was used, and why. It will appear that such a con-
textual approach, based on information concerning one specific site, will lead
to a reconsideration of the idea that the Coffin Texts are the primary source for
understanding the Egyptian funerary religion of the Middle Kingdom.
It is obvious that my decision to base the analysis on the specific case of
Dayr al-Barshā is due to the fact that my field research is focused on this site.
However, the site was not selected haphazardly. In the preceding chapter Dayr
al-Barshā has been shown to be one of the most important nomarch cemeter-
ies. Nevertheless, large parts of it had never been investigated before the start
of our project, and in this regard it differs markedly from equally important
sites like Banī Ḥasan, where almost a thousand tombs were already emptied a
century ago by Garstang. The importance of a site like Asyūṭ might possibly
be even greater, but this site also has been repeatedly excavated. Moreover, the
archaeological zone of Asyūṭ is on one hand vast, but on the other cut off from
its settlement context by modern construction at the foot of the desert margin
and by the sprawl of the modern city.
The site of Dayr al-Barshā has not escaped damage due to expanding set-
tlement zones, asphalt roads, and land reclamation projects either, yet the
surrounding landscape is still to a large extent accessible to study. This offers
possibilities for investigations that not only concern the archaeological
remains, but also the ancient environment. Hence, our project envisages study
of the spatial distribution of the various cemeteries and their position within
14 Published between 1935 and 2006 by the University of Chicago in the eight volumes of
the CT.
64 chapter 2
the landscape. In this way we hope to be able to trace indications concern-

ing the functioning of the site in its entirety. This includes as much as p ossible
the relationship with the community from which the buried populations
derived. Dayr al-Barshā was the main cemetery of the town of Khemenu (now
designated by an etymological derivation of this name, al-Ashmūnayn). This
was the capital of the nome of the Hare (the 15th Upper Egyptian nome), so
that the nomarchs and their retinues undoubtedly lived in this city.
Dayr al-Barshā is also a key site for the history of the Middle Kingdom. The
nomarchs of the Hare Nome have left behind numerous “autobiographical”
inscriptions in their tombs, which contain statements about events they
deemed important enough to be recorded for eternity. Moreover, the same offi-
cials (or their staffs) have left behind numerous graffiti in the calcite alabaster
quarries at Hatnub (fig. 7).15 The two groups of sources are complementary,
and enable us to follow events in this part of Egypt in far greater detail than in
most other nomes.
The Dayr al-Barshā region is located about 280 kilometres south of mod-
ern Cairo, on the eastern bank of the Nile (figs. 8–9). As noted before, the
site was the chief necropolis of the town of al-Ashmūnayn, the cult cen-
tre of the god Thoth, during the Middle Kingdom. While this capital was
located in the centre of the floodplain, and on the west of the Nile, the
cemetery lay on the opposite side of the river.
The east bank is a region that has remained very isolated until the construc-
tion of a bridge just south of Mallawī, which was opened in the spring of 2011.
At approximately five kilometres to the south of Dayr al-Barshā, the margin
of the Eastern Desert almost touches the Nile at a place marked by the (now
ruined) tomb of the Muslim saint al-Shaykh Saʿīd, nearly cutting off southward
traffic to Amarna. Further downstream, to the north of the modern village of
Dayr Abū Ḥinnis, the Wādī ʿIbādā has accumulated an expanse of sandy wadi
deposits that stretches as far as the Nile. Yet further north, just south of the
village of al-Shaykh Tīmay, the steep slopes of the Eastern Desert again nearly
touch the river. These natural barriers have always led to a situation where the
villages on the Eastern Nile bank could only be reached by ferry from the west.
From a geomorphological point of view, the area between al-Shaykh Saʿīd
and Dayr Abū Ḥinnis can be subdivided in three parallel zones. The eastern
Nile bank consists of an alluvial zone which today reaches a maximum width
of about two kilometres (white zone on the plan in fig. 8). Further east there
is a relatively flat desert strip consisting of deposits of sand and marl. This
zone is indicated in light grey on the plan, and it occupies the foreground on
15 For the publication of these important graffiti, see Anthes, Hatnub.

Figure 8 Plan of the northern part of the Hare nome, with the provincial capital
al-Ashmūnayn on the west bank and the cemetery of Dayr al-Barshā on the east
bank. Plan drawn by Helen Peeters.
66 chapter 2
Figure 9 Plan of the archaeological site of Dayr al-Barshā, with indication of the different
archaeological zones (plan drawn by Helen Peeters).
pl. 2. Yet further east the front of the Eastern Desert rises up steeply, although
directly to the east of Dayr al-Barshā it is cut through by the impressive gorge
of the Wādī al-Nakhla (pl. 2). The KU Leuven mission has as its aim to under-
stand the human occupation throughout this entire zone. The concession area
therefore comprises not only the site of Dayr al-Barshā proper, but in fact the
whole stretch between Dayr Abū Ḥinnis in the north and al-Shaykh Saʿīd in
the south. Moreover, geomorphological survey work is also being carried out
on the west bank.
Until the start of the KU Leuven mission in 2002, research at Dayr al-Barshā
had concentrated almost entirely on the nomarchal tombs high up the north
slope of the Wādī al-Nakhla, in an area we designate as zone 2 (pl. 3). Fig. 9
shows that this famous area covers only a very small part of the site. Our plan
(fig. 10) reveals that zone 2 comprises a large amount of tombs. Already during
the seventeenth century, and then again during the nineteenth, this area was
frequently visited by travelers interested to see the well-known tomb of the
nomarch Djehutihotep (indicated on the plan with the number 17L21/1).16 This
sepulchre particularly attracted attention because of the well-known scene
(pl. 4) showing how the colossal statue depicting the governor was t ransported
16 For the numbering system used by the project, see Peeters, Willems, in: Willems, et al.,
MDAIK 60 (2004), p. 249–250.
17 L30/1
(Djehutinakht V)
17 L21/1 (Djehutihotep)
17 L22/1 (Amenemhat)
C - shaft 17 L12/1 (Nehri I)
17 L04/1A
17 K85/1 (Ahanakht I)
17 K74/1
(Djehutinakht)
17 K93/2 (Duahor)
17 K74/2
17 K74/3 17 K77/1
(Iha) (Nehri II)
B - shaft
Figure 10 Plan of zone 2. For our discussion, the most important tombs are those of Ahanakht I
(17K85/1), Djehutinakht, Khnumnakht, and Iha (17K74/1-3), Ahanakht II (?) (17K84/1),
Nehri I (17L12/1), Djehutihotep (17L21/1), and Djehutinakht VI. Plan Peter Dils.
from the calcite alabaster quarries at Hatnub to a location discussed below. The
relief is truly remarkable, being one of the very rare known depictions showing
how the ancient Egyptians were able to transport large blocks of stone.17 In
addition to Djehutihotep, several other nomarchs built their tomb complexes
in zone 2, even though this fact was, until the late 1880s, barely known to the
Egyptological world.
During this period these tombs fell victim to large scale vandalism, and it
may have been the case that information concerning these events induced
P. E. Newberry to record what remained of the decoration of all the tombs
at Dayr al-Barshā. His campaign took place between November 1891 and
March 1892, and its publication, which appeared in 1895, remains the principal
source on the site.18
17 For the other example, see Daressy, ASAE 11 (1911), p. 257–268 (depiction on p. 263).
18 El Bersheh I–II.
68 chapter 2
The essential objective of this campaign was the production of epigraphic

drawings, which Newberry realized with the assistance of M. Blackden and
the young H. Carter. Considering the duration of the campaign, and the fact
that the mission consisted of only four people, who moreover were not on the
best of terms,19 the result is remarkable, producing not only an exemplary pres-
entation of the texts and decoration of the tombs (within the constraints of
what was then possible), but also leading to the discovery of the Hatnub quar-
ries. A first account of the major texts from that site appeared in El Bersheh II.
The fourth member of Newberry’s team, G. Willoughby Fraser, seems to
have been mostly engaged in survey work and excavations, the latter of which
he seems to have undertaken somewhat independently from Newberry.
This much is suggested from the fact that the two men were hardly on speak-
ing terms by the time the mission was half over, and that objects sent to the
Egyptian Museum are recorded in that museum’s Journal d’Entrée as coming
from Fraser’s excavations. There is some likelihood that Fraser financed his
own activities at the site in this fashion, just as he is known to have done at
other sites in Middle Egypt.
The Leuven mission at Dayr al-Barshā has produced impressive evidence
showing that Fraser kept a keen eye on loose relief blocks then lying about
at the site. After the team had recorded them, he used a stone saw to cut off
the nicest parts. Many of these pieces ended up in the British Museum. But
he doesn’t seem to have handled the saw very expertly; in many places, our
team has found relief fragments known from Newberry’s publication that had
clearly broken while they were sawn off. Such material, and other relief frag-
ments Fraser was not interested in, he buried in deposits, whence they have
meanwhile been retrieved.20 Apart from this, however, the British team seems
hardly to have carried out excavations.
This changed around the turn of the last century. In 1899–1902, G. Daressy21
and A. Kamal22 conducted large-scale excavations, an activity taken over in
1915 by the American G. A. Reisner (see n. 8). These archaeologists discovered,
among other things, the coffins, for which the site has for good reason become
renowned. Not only do they contain vast amounts of Coffin Texts, they are
also adorned with object friezes, beautifully coloured ornamental hieroglyphs,
and other decoration of the highest quality. (See the publications cited in n. 8
for good colour photographs of some of the more significant examples.) After
1915, no new excavations were organized here for a long time.
19 See James, CRIPEL 13 (1991), p. 79–84.

20 Willems, Egyptian Archaeology 31 (Autumn 2007), p. 18–19.
21 Daressy, ASAE 1 (1900), p. 17–43.
22 Kamal, ASAE 2 (1901), p. 14–43; 206–222; ASAE 3 (1902), p. 276–282.
Although the excavations in the monumental nomarch tombs in zone 2 have

attracted most attention, Daressy, Kamal, and Reisner also worked in the plain
below the high desert plateau, in what we call zones 8 and 9 (see fig. 9). Daressy
hardly published any notes on his work there, although he at least gives some
indications as to the kind of tombs he saw there. According to him, there were no
preserved remains of superstructures, but underground there were deep vertical
tomb shafts, some of which were lined with mud brick. As noted before, Kamal
worked in the plain a long time, but hardly anything was published on this, while
Reisner never published a word about his excavations in this area. Therefore,
one might say that zones 8 and 9 hitherto were virtually terra incognita.
In the 1990s, the Egyptian Antiquities Organization has carried out an
excavation in zone 11 (fig. 9), an area today called al-Ṭūd, which revealed
the existence of a cemetery in this area as well. The spatial organization of the
cemeteries suggests the existence of an uninterrupted cemetery zone between
zones 9 and 11, although most of this burial ground is today covered by the
modern village and the modern cemetery. In fact, our workmen occasionally
mention the find of archaeological remains when new tombs are dug in the
modern cemetery. In April 2006, one of them showed us an almost intact
ceramic jar dating to the early Middle Kingdom, which he had noticed lying
beside a freshly dug burial pit. The find spot of this object is directly north of
the dig house, on the southern edge of the modern cemetery.
It is therefore clear that that the western limit of zone 9 in fig. 9 merely
reflects the recent spatial organization of the site, and not archaeological real-
ity. As a matter of fact, the ancient cemetery surfaces again further west, in
the modern village square (zone 10; [fig. 9]). This sector has fortunately not
yet been made inaccessible by recent construction. In the late 1960s, the vil-
lage council decided to build a school at this place, but soon remains of tombs
emerged. Between 1969 and 1973, a series of excavations was carried out
here by Maḥmūd Ḥamza and Usīrīs Ghubriyāl, who worked for the Egyptian
Antiquities Organization. Since then the area has been officially recognized as
antiquities land, and therefore enjoys a degree of protection from interference.
Unfortunately, the Egyptian excavations have remained almost unknown.
For the first excavation (1969), the only report available is the following one,
quoted in its entirety:
The archaeological survey work in the Dayr al-Barshā region, at Mallawī,

in the governorate of Asyūṭ, has led to the discovery of tombs dating back
to the Graeco-Roman era. Even a Middle Kingdom tomb has also been
brought to light. In fact, 27 tombs have been discovered which date back
to the period of the Graeco-Roman decadence. These tombs occur at dif-
ferent ground levels, between one and three metres. Each tomb consists
70 chapter 2
Figure 11 Reconstruction of the chronology of the nomarchs of the Hare nome (after Willems,
JEOL 28 [1983–1984], p. 80–102; Idem, Chests of Life, p. 71).
of a single burial chamber, with the length of a corpse. One shaft is con-
nected to a burial chamber and contains ornaments.23
Later, during the 1971–1972 season, the excavations were reported upon as
follows:
Inspector Usīrīs Ghubriyāl has pursued his investigations at the site of

Dayr al-Barshā. Tombs dating back to different periods have been exca-
vated. The most important one is that of a man called Khuu, where blocks
23 Citation borrowed by Leclant (Orientalia 40 [1971], p. 234) from the Journal d’Égypte of
17 July 1970:
“Les travaux de prospection archéologique dans la région de Deir el-Borsha, à Mallawi,
dans le gouvernorat d’Assiout, ont mené à la découverte de tombes remontant à la fin
de l’époque gréco-romaine. Même une tombe du Moyen Empire a été également mise
au jour. En effet, 27 tombes ont été découvertes remontant à l’époque de la décadence
gréco-romaine. Ces tombes se trouvent à des niveaux différents du sol, entre un mètre et
trois mètres. Chaque tombe se compose d’une seule chambre funéraire, de la longueur du
cadavre. Un puits est relié à la chambre funéraire et contient des pièces d’ornement.”
decorated with painted reliefs have been found. One of the tombs was
topped by a mastaba. The Graeco-Roman burials, which had all been
robbed, yielded only some pottery.24
Excavations by the Egyptian authorities have been resumed in the village

square (zone 10) fairly recently,25 but it proved impossible to reopen the tombs
discovered more than thirty years earlier by Usīrīs Ghubriyāl due to a rise in
the level of the groundwater of about three metres, probably caused by inten-
sified irrigation following the closure of the Aswān High Dam. The tombs dis-
covered in the 1960–1970s are therefore difficult to reach now. According to
persons who remember seeing the interiors of these tombs, their walls were
covered by a rather interesting decoration, an impression confirmed by some
tracings produced by Usīrīs Ghubriyāl, of which I have some copies.26
Visible testimony of the interest of these tombs is also provided by the exist-
ence of a number of large blocks left behind in the village square by our pre-
decessors, and which were still lying in the area until recently. They include
two large false doors, each of which weighs over two tonnes, and of which
one—now almost illegible—belonged to a vizier named Khuu.27 In 2005, the
mission removed these threatened blocks to the dig house for safekeeping.
Summing up the preceding discussion, and adding some information that is
less crucial to the present study, it can be stated that the site of Dayr al-Barshā
not only comprises the well-known nomarch cemetery in zone 2, but several
other ones, which can chronologically be broadly pinpointed as follows:
24 Leclant, Orientalia 42 (1973), p. 405: “L’inspecteur Osiris Ghobrial a poursuivi ses

recherches sur le site d’El-Bersha. Des tombes remontant à différentes époques ont été
exhumées. La plus importante est celle d’un nommé Khouou, où l’on a ramassé des blocs
ornés de reliefs peints. Un des puits était surmonté d’un mastaba. Les sépultures gréco-
romaines, toutes pillées, n’ont livrés que quelques poteries.” We now know a great deal more
about these excavations. Due to the kindness of the late Samīr Anīs, we now have one of the
reports by Usīrīs Ghubriyāl, and Marleen De Meyer has documented all the find material
produced by the Egyptian missions to the extent that it is now kept at the SCA storeroom
at al-Ashmūnayn. It has recently been decided that the mission will publish the material
together with Maḥmūd Ḥamza, who also has significant amounts of documentation.
25 Excavations by inspector Ḥilmī Ḥussayn Sulaymān, whom we thank for information on
his work. A publication of the material found by him is in preparation.
26 I express my gratitude to Edward Brovarski for having provided me with these copies in 1990.
27 Fortunately, this source was published by Bakry, RSO 46 (1971), p. 7–8 and pl. V. I owe this
reference to Marleen De Meyer. The fact that this source has remained entirely unnoticed
in discussions about the history of Dayr al-Barshā might be due to the fact that Bakry
published it in an article with the misleading title “Recent Discoveries in the Nile Delta.”
72 chapter 2
Third dynasty Zone 8, northeast; contact area of zones 9

and 7.28
Fifth dynasty Zone 4;29 zone 8.30
Late Old Kingdom Zone 2;31 Zones 4 and 7;32
First Intermediate Period Zone 4;33 zone 7;34 zone 9 (?);35 zone 10.36
Middle Kingdom Zones 1;37 2, 4,38 8,39 9,40 10 (?),41 11(?)42
Second Intermediate Period and early Zones 2,43 4,44 945
New Kingdom
Late Period/Graeco-Roman Period Zone 4,46 9b,47 10,48 1149
28 The evidence, concerning simply made rock circle tombs, was discovered in zone 8 by
Stan Hendrickx (2002); the material is currently being excavated by Bart Vanthuyne.
29 Monumental tomb of Ia-ib dated to the reign of Neferefre (De Meyer, RdE 62 [2011],
p. 57–71; De Meyer, in: Old Kingdom, New Perspectives, p. 43–45).
30 Tomb of Nyankhnemti (De Meyer, in: Old Kingdom, New Perspectives, p. 45–46).
31 Still unpublished burials found by the author in and near the Djehutihotep tomb complex.
32 De Meyer, Old Kingdom Rock Tombs in Dayr al-Barshā, p. 119–598.
34 Tomb of Henu; see De Meyer, Old Kingdom Rock Tombs in Dayr al-Barshā, p. 599–655.
35 Based on the pottery, many tombs here should be dated to the late First Intermediate
Period or the early Middle Kingdom; there is mounting evidence that an early Middle
Kingdom date might be preferable.
37 Willems, MDAIK 60 (2004), p. 255–256.
38 De Meyer, Old Kingdom Rock Tombs in Dayr al-Barshā, p. 178–332; De Meyer, in: Willems,
et al., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 394–398.
39 Extensive Middle Kingdom cemetery; information on this is available in Reisner’s dia-
ries; new information was obtained during geomagnetic surveys carried out by our mis-
sion in 2002 and 2012, and during (still unpublished) excavations in 2006.
40 Peeters, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 60 (2004), p. 266–269; Idem, in: Willems, et al.,
MDAIK 62 (2006), p. 328–337; Idem, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 401–408.
41 See n. 33.
42 Excavations were carried out in this area in 1995 by Muḥammad Khallāf of the Mallawī
inspectorate. From unpublished photographs of the finds, it can be deduced that many
burials excavated here date to approximately the Late Period. However, a geomagnetic
scan made in March 2012 by Tomasz Herbich’s team shows streets of group tombs here,
of which the architecture strongly resembles the non-hierarchical group tombs of the
early Middle Kingdom. I have seen photos of some of Muḥammad Khallāf’s finds here,
which suggest Late Period reuse, as is likewise apparent in the village square (zone 10).
Future research will have to confirm this, however.
43 The pottery from this area still needs to be thoroughly analyzed, but Reisner found a Tall
al-Yahūdīya vessel here, and we frequently encounter pattern-burnished sherds of the
kind also found in zone 4. See also Op de Beeck, JEA 92 (2006), p. 135.
For the present study, it is most important to note that the cemeteries were
greatly expanded during the Middle Kingdom.50 This implies that the buried
population must have vastly increased in quantity as compared to the preced-
ing period. In what follows, we will attempt to understand when, why, and how
this development came about.51
The 2006 Excavations in Zone 10
One of the least known parts of the site is the saḥla, i.e. the village square in the
centre of Dayr al-Barshā (zone 10). This has incited us in 2006 to reopen one
of the tomb shafts excavated in the early 1970s by Usīrīs Ghubriyāl. This work
was very difficult.52 Before the beginning of our work, the area had a very irreg-
ular surface caused both by the old and recent excavations undertaken by the
Supreme Council for Antiquities (and its predecessor, the Egyptian Antiquities
Organization). The craters visible in pl. 5 are the result of these undertakings.
Moreover, this is the only open space in the village centre, and it has over the
44 Bourriau, De Meyer, Op de Beeck, Vereecken, Ä&L 15 (2005), p. 101–129.

45 Peeters, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 62 (2006), p. 332–334.
47 Unpublished find results from 2005.
48 Late Period pot burials found in the First Intermediate Period and early Middle Kingdom
tombs by the inspector Ḥilmī Ḥussayn Sulaymān.
49 See n. 42.
50 Although First Intermediate Period tombs probably also occur in four cemeteries, the
evidence from zone 4 is less than expected, and is restricted thus far in zone 7 to the tomb
of Henu, with the likelihood that similar burials occurred in a small number of other
tombs where the last nomarch of the First Intermediate Period, Djehutinakht son of Teti,
inscribed restoration texts (De Meyer, in: Genealogie, p. 125–136). All Middle Kingdom
cemeteries are, however, very large (except the one in zone 1, with only two shafts).
51 The cause is not necessarily due to demographic factors (population growth), since
a cemetery is also known to have existed in al-Ashmūnayn (Spencer, Ashmunein III,
p. 51–71); it was therefore possible to “choose” among different cemeteries. The underlying
motivation of this choice is not yet clear, but at any rate there is no need to think that the
buried population in the Dayr al-Barshā cemeteries represents the complete population
of al-Ashmūnayn. Note also that Spencer dates the ceramics found in the cemetery in
the town to the First Intermediate Period, but these are very similar to the ceramics found
in zone 9, which we date to the First Intermediate Period and early Middle Kingdom
(perhaps with an emphasis on the latter; see below).
52 What follows summarizes the results of the fieldwork undertaken jointly by Stan
Hendrickx, Marleen De Meyer, and the author. A complete publication also including
the finds now stored in al-Ashmūnayn is in preparation.
74 chapter 2
years come to be used as a garbage disposal area. As a result, the pits exca-
vated decades ago have become filled with waste of all kinds. The groundwater
table has moreover risen significantly, so that the shaft fill presented itself as
a disgusting “soup.” Nevertheless we have been able to re-empty the shaft of
tomb 05P63/1, which leads to a burial chamber entirely built of limestone, and
which was found to be closed by the original closing slabs, which had evidently
been put back in position by our predecessors.
Evidently, the walls of the tomb, having been submerged for decades, were
completely covered by algae, so that they presented themselves upon discov-
ery as a shiny brown surface on which no decoration was visible. Thanks to the
efforts of our conservator, Laurence Blondaux, the remains of wall paintings
gradually emerged again. After complete cleaning, the room turned out to be
carefully built from very regular limestone blocks. The chamber also has a lime-
stone floor and roof (pl. 6). The chamber measures 2.80 metres in length and
has a height of 1.50 metres, with a large canopic niche at the back. In the floor
of the niche we discovered a closing slab still sealed with mortar. Although the
chamber had already been completely emptied by our predecessors, we found
pieces of gold leaf under the closing slab, which once probably covered a now
completely perished wooden object.
The wall decoration has not survived in a good condition (pl. 6). All colours
have faded, except, to an extent, red and black. The rear wall still retains an
object frieze, of which the main elements may still be recognized: a spouted
vessel, three hes-vases, a standard (perhaps supporting an ibis), a headrest, and
several tables laden with objects.
On the western wall, the upper register still contains recognizable traces
of an offering formula, and, below that, in the southern half, a procession of
offering bearers proceeding to the north. The skin of these men is painted in
the brick-red colour that the Egyptian art canon reserves for rendering per-
sons of male sex. This is interesting because further to the north the procession
continues with depictions of male and female offering bearers, all of whom
are depicted as having black skin. It is clear, therefore, that the procession is
composed partly of Egyptians and partly of negroes.
Only the northern half of the eastern wall seems to have been decorated.
Here may be observed a second procession of offering bearers. Among the first
of these, one man seems to be wearing a black costume, with what resem-
bles an animal tail hanging down between his legs. This might be a sem-priest.
This wall also comprises a false door. Finally, the doorjambs are decorated with
depictions of vases.
The tomb seems to have belonged to a lady called Djehutinakht. Her name
also appears on one of the limestone blocks removed two years earlier from
the village centre, and which is now stored in the dig house. This very fragile
and flaky block presents the same writing of the epithet ı̓mꜢḫ.t followed by the
name Djehutinakht; in both, the beginning of the name is written by the sign
depicting a triangular loaf of bread (u). This makes it likely that we not only
have the underground burial apartment of this lady, but also a block that once
formed part of the decorated tomb chapel.
This block still retains parts of a traditional autobiography. The beginning
of the lines has disappeared, but the repetitive nature of the formulae with
which the block is inscribed enable to approximately determine the length
of this wall. Although the content of the autobiographical text is restricted to
uninformative stock phrases, it is not without interest, as autobiographies are
very exceptional in tombs of women. Moreover, in the present case, the texts
must have been inscribed in a rather significant monument.
The special status of this woman is underscored by her title ı̓r.yt-pꜤ.t mꜢw.t
“new hereditary princess.” The title ı̓r.y pꜤ.t, of which we here encounter the
feminine form, was the highest rank title in Egypt.53 The exceptional adjective
that Djehutinakht has added to her title implies that she did not bear the title
simply because she had been born into a family where it was hereditary, but
because it had been conferred upon her by the king as a “new” favour.
Unfortunately, we do not know anything else about this, undoubtedly
remarkable, lady. Nonetheless, the rather mixed ceramics found in this tomb,
which we have analyzed, contains material of the late First Intermediate Period
or of the early Middle Kingdom. The style of the paintings likewise suggests
that a date in the course of the First Intermediate Period is the most likely.
Moreover, the stela of the vizier Khuu lay at a short distance from the tomb
of the lady Djehutinakht, and eyewitness accounts suggest that his decorated
tomb is located in the pit immediately beside. Now his false door contains
title strings that fit between those of the First Intermediate Period and that of
Djehutinakht son of Teti, the last nomarch of the First Intermediate Period.
This suggests that Khuu at least should be dated in the later phase of that era.
Another indication is provided by a block found somewhere in zone 10 by Ḥilmī
Ḥussayn Sulaymān, which must have belonged to a monumental tomb there.
The little that remains of this block shows that it carried a restoration inscrip-
tion. Restoration inscriptions in private tombs are very uncommon, but a whole
series was carved on behalf of the nomarch Djehutinakht son of Teti in Dayr
al-Barshā and al-Shaykh Saʿīd, and another bore the name of the nomarch Iha.54
Without being able to offer decisive proof, it seems likely that the block under
53 Grajetzki, Die höchsten Beamten, passim.

54 For these texts, see De Meyer, in: Genealogie, p. 125–136.
76 chapter 2
discussion was inscribed for one of these nomarchs as well, suggesting that one
of the monumental tombs in the area was restored late in the First Intermediate
Period. Since no Old Kingdom pottery has been found in zone 10, chances are
that the restored tomb dated to the early First Intermediate Period. All of this
might be taken as circumstantial evidence for likewise dating the tomb of the
lady Djehutinakht to the late First Intermediate Period.
We hope to be able in the coming years to pursue the excavations in this
area, but already now it is clear that this cemetery is of the highest importance.
Judging from the pottery found on the surface, the cemetery use probably dates
to the First Intermediate Period and the beginning of the Middle Kingdom. For
the moment, the best-known monuments are that of a lady of the highest rank
(Djehutinakht), a tomb of similar type that has not yet been opened, belonging
to the vizier Khuu, and another stone burial chamber further east. Although
these tombs are not visible on the surface, eyewitness accounts of men who
participated in the excavations of Maḥmūd Ḥamza and Usīrīs Ghubriyāl, and
in more recent SCA excavations, in this sector indicate that the tombs were laid
out in a row, suggesting contemporaneity.
The Hatnub graffiti inform us about a whole series of nomarchs of the Hare
Nome, dating back to the First Intermediate Period, about whom hardly any-
thing is so far known.55 It seems likely that these persons were buried here,
in the modern village centre of Dayr al-Barshā. The fact that at least one of
them (Khuu) bore the titles of a vizier, a title thus far completely lacking in the
documentation from the First Intermediate Period, suggests that this family
of nomarchs had a great, although hitherto unsuspected importance for the
Heracleopolitan kings.56
The Early Middle Kingdom Nomarchal Cemetery in Zone 2
We will now move to zone 2, high up the northern slope of the Wādī al-Nakhla,
where the tombs of the nomarchs of the Middle Kingdom are located
(fig. 9–10). A global account of this cemetery as a whole will not be offered,
but rather some features that will allow us to understand the evolution of
55 See Brovarski, in: Studies Dunham, p. 22–23; De Meyer, in: Genealogie, p. 125–136.
56 Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel, p. 147–153. The date of the false door of Khuu is
treated in detail in De Meyer, Old Kingdom Rock Tombs in Dayr al-Barshā, p. 100–108.
E. Brovarski, ZÄS 140 (2013), p. 103, dates this false door to the 8th dynasty, however
without commenting on the dating evidence presented in (the earlier French version of)
this chapter.
this rock cemetery, and the circumstances under which it was established,
will be discussed. The focus will be upon the earliest Middle Kingdom tombs
that were built here, which provide background information on the profound
changes that took place in the region immediately after the end of the First
Intermediate Period.
1 The Evidence of the Shaft Types

A good starting point is offered by a study of the tomb shafts in the cemetery,
because they display a typological variation that might suggest a chronological
development, and, potentially, an uninterrupted use of the plateau from the
late Old Kingdom onwards. Without being able to prove this, I in fact made
such a suggestion in the epilogue to the French edition of this book. Subsequent
research, however, makes it possible to obtain a much better understanding of
the tomb variety. For this, it is essential to compare the various kinds of tomb
shafts on the plateau.
A-shafts
Most tomb shafts here are very large, with lengths sometimes reaching about
3.5 metres, and widths of over a metre, and sometimes approaching 2 metres.
The depth of these large shafts varies between some 6 metres and 46 metres.57
A shared feature of all these shafts is that they have a series of paired hand/
footholds near one of the corners where adjoining shaft walls meet (e.g. the
corner of the western and the northern wall). Usually these shafts lead to a
burial chamber in the south, although occasionally there are additional burial
chambers elsewhere. The large size of these shafts in most cases probably cor-
responded to the size of the coffins to be placed inside.58
B-shafts
Several rectangular shafts in zone 2 are considerably smaller than the A-shafts.
In length and width, they roughly correspond to a human body (+ a small cof-
fin), and most are only shallow. These shafts were cut through the soft and
homogeneous limestone of the geological stratum in which the nomarchal
tombs were also carved (the stratigraphic sequence of limestone depositions
called “cycle 12” in the study of the geological stratigraphy). Immediately below,
57 This is the depth indicated for the largest of the two tomb shafts in zone 1 by its excavator,
G. Daressy (ASAE 1 [1900], p. 18–22; see also Willems, MDAIK 60 [2004], p. 255–256).
Another shaft, in zone 2, currently is 33 m deep.
58 Compare, for instance, the remarks by Willems, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 65 (2009),
p. 392.
78 chapter 2
there is cycle 11, of which the top layer is made up of very hard, ball-shaped,
silicified limestone boulders.59 This layer was cut through, then the burial
chambers were cut almost immediately below the boulders, usually to the
south (and occasionally to the north). In these narrow shafts, the climb holds
were carved in the centre of the long sidewalls.
C-shafts
These shafts have a square outline, with sides barely surpassing a width of
one metre. The climbing hand/footholds occur in two of the four sides, and
face one another. Many of these shafts have turned out to be unfinished, but
wherever they were finished, they reached significant depths of sometimes
over 6 metres.60
The C-shafts have thus far only been found in the immediate surroundings
of the tomb of Djehutihotep. In form they resemble Old Kingdom shafts such
as are found across the site, and a date in this general period is also suggested
by the find of a sherd of an Old Kingdom bread mould in shaft 17L20/1B and
another Old Kingdom sherd found near the mouth of this shaft, in the fore-
court of Djehutihotep’s tomb. Moreover, the underground burial apartment of
Djehutihotep actually destroyed the top part of the shaft just mentioned.61 All
of this suggests that the C shafts predate the A-shafts, the former dating to the
late Old Kingdom or slightly later,62 and the latter to the Middle Kingdom.
The chronological position of the B-shafts poses greater problems, as all have
been emptied in the past, so that no datable find material can now be attrib-
uted to any of them. Because of the evident typological differences with both
the A- and the C-shafts, it could be argued that the B-shafts form the connec-
tion between the Old Kingdom C-shafts and the Middle Kingdom A-shafts.
Such a reading of the evidence would suggest an uninterrupted use of zone 2
from the Old until the Middle Kingdom.
59 For the description of these cycles, see D. Klemm, R. Klemm, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK
60 (2004), p. 271–272.
60 Thus the only published case: Willems, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 387–390.
61 Loc. cit.
62 Note that Kamal discovered the coffin of a man called Shemsi that had been deposited
secondarily in a robbed Middle Kingdom shaft (Kamal, ASAE 2 (1901), p. 38). This coffin
(Cairo CG 28098; B26C in the list at the end of this book) is of type I, as many Middle
Kingdom coffins in zone 2, but its offering formulae are very different. They resemble the
offering formulae on a group of coffins from Asyūṭ that Zitman has dated to the early
First Intermediate Period (The Necropolis of Assiut, p. 125–140 [with reference to coffin
B8]). It is possible, though uncertain, that this coffin was taken from an early shaft in
zone 2.
However, most B-shafts occur in front of the façades of Middle Kingdom

nomarchal tombs, and always to the east of their main entrance.63 This sug-
gests that the B-shafts are part of funerary complexes centered on the major
tombs with A-shafts in zone 2, and that their owners, judging by the far smaller
size of their tomb shafts, most likely occupied a lower station in life. It is tempt-
ing to compare this situation with the one surrounding the late Old Kingdom
elite tombs on the Qubbat al-Hawā’, which had smaller tombs belonging to
funerary priests in the forecourt.64 This implies that there is no longer an argu-
ment to assume an uninterrupted use of zone 2. After the Old Kingdom/early
First Intermediate Period tombs, the earliest sepulchre for which dating evi-
dence exists is the tomb of the nomarch Ahanakht I (17K85/1).
2 The Debate on the Date of the Nehri Graffiti (once more)

This brings us to the much-debated question of the historical position of the
early Middle Kingdom nomarchs, which can be studied on the basis of
the tomb inscriptions from Dayr al-Barshā65 and the quarry inscriptions from
Hatnub.66 Based on these combined sources, we are well-informed about the
pedigree of this nomarchal family, on the essential elements of which there
seems to be only minor disagreement (fig. 11).67 There has been considerable
controversy, however, about the absolute chronology of the nomarchs. In the
last twenty-five years, the debate seemed to have come to a conclusion, but in
recent years it has flared up again. In order to justify the position taken in this
book, the issue must therefore be addressed once more.
The chronological reconstruction of the nomarchs has always hinged on the
information concerning the governor Nehri I (plate 7). The Hatnub graffiti dat-
ing to his period of office offer extensive descriptions of a situation of political
and social unrest. These accounts are rather unclear as to the details, at least
to a non-contemporary audience. One theme is that the Hare nome was suffer-
ing from famine. The texts moreover evoke warlike conditions, during which
al-Ashmūnayn had to defend itself against attacks from different quarters, in
which troops composed of Nubians and Bedouin were involved. At a certain
point, pressure on the town even induced the nomarchal family to evacuate
63 A separate publication on this issue is in preparation.

64 For an overview see Seyfried, in: Grab und Totenkult im alten Ägypten, p. 41–59; for
the full publication of the evidence from this site, see now Edel, Seyfried, Vieler, Die
Felsgräbernekropole von Qubbet el-Hawa bei Assuan I–IV.
65 Essentially published in Bersheh I–II.
66 See Anthes, Hatnub, Gr. 10–32.
67 For this, see Willems, JEOL 28 (1983–1984), p. 80–102; Idem, Chests of Life, p. 68–71.
80 chapter 2
the population to an apparently more easily defendable or safer region desig-

nated as “Shedyt-Sha”; perhaps this indicates the deep, moor-like area on the
western fringe of the floodplain. The political factors that led to the problems
are not clearly specified, but references to a “period of the great fear for the
royal palace” indicate that the monarch was involved in one way or another.
Also, unclear statements to the effect that the king and Nehri communicated
with each other suggest that the two men were allies.68
Many of the texts of the time of the nomarchs Ahanakht I, Nehri I, and
Djehutinakht IV (and perhaps one other) are dated, but none of them men-
tions a royal name. In the editio princeps of some of the graffiti, F. Ll. Griffith
remarked that the texts are in fact “specifically dated in years of their own
nomarchship,”69 a view later taken over by Rudolf Anthes and subsequent
authors, including myself.70 The fact that these nomarchs were able to date
by their own regnal years would fit to other features in the texts, suggesting
they had arrogated a claim to almost royal status. A later example of the same
practice is invariably referred to in this context: the double date in the tomb of
Ameny at Banī Ḥasan, which correlates year 43 of king Senwosret I with “reg-
nal year 25 in the Oryx nome.”71
Taken together, the combined references to a famine, civil war, and inde-
pendence of regional rulers seemed to Anthes to support a date in the First
Intermediate Period. He assumed that the texts refer to conditions in Egypt
in the period just preceding the reunification of Egypt by Mentuhotep II. The
nomarchs of the Hare nome would have supported the kings of Heracleopolis,
and the battles described would have taken place when the Theban king
marched north.
This point of view was generally adhered to by Egyptologists until 1962,
when W. Schenkel re-dated the Nehri-texts to the latter part of the reign of
Amenemhat I.72 His research was innovative in not basing itself on the impres-
sion that the texts describe a situation that fits well to commonly shared ideas
about the conditions in the First Intermediate Period, but on verifiable dating
criteria. These were mostly of an epigraphic or philological nature: the forms
of certain hieroglyphs, or the uses of certain expressions in the Hatnub texts or
in tomb inscriptions, were compared to similar cases in explicitly dated texts.
68 An overview of the major early interpretations is offered by E. Blumenthal, AOF 4 (1976),

p. 35–36.
69 Bersheh II, p. 5.
70 Anthes, ZÄS 59 (1924), p. 100; Anthes, Hatnub, p. 86, etc.
71 Beni Hasan I, pl. VIII.
72 Schenkel, FmäS, p. 84–95.
Although subsequent interpretations of the texts have varied, this approach

has been adopted by most later authors.
In the late 1970s and early 1980s, such criteria were deployed by
E. Blumenthal and E. Brovarski,73 who, however, differed from Schenkel
in favouring a dating similar to the one already advocated by Anthes.
Accordingly, the war described by Nehri I was again argued to have taken
place in the late First Intermediate Period.
A reanalysis of the material was undertaken in 1984 by myself, based for the
first time on analysis conducted on site of the original texts (in which the form
of the hieroglyphs often turned out to differ from what the publications sug-
gest) and on an encompassing analysis of the evolution of the Dayr al-Barshā
coffins.74 This evidence induced me to date Nehri l earlier than Schenkel
had suggested, but later than the other authors had done, that is, in the later
years of the XIth dynasty or the beginning of the XIIth. This also implied that
Ahanakht I, one of Nehri’s predecessors, must have been in office during the
reign of Mentuhotep II, and probably after the reunification.
For a long time this interpretation was almost universally accepted.75 The
interpretation, moreover, received support from some new considerations.
Firstly, I noted the very close similarities in execution between texts inscribed in
the Asyūṭ tombs just before the reunification and the texts of Ahanakht I and his
father Djehutinakht son of Teti.76 This suggests that a common Heracleopolitan
art style had developed immediately before the reunification. It is likely that
this style remained current for a while in the post-reunification years: the new
Theban king Mentuhotep II did not suppress it, but stimulated it, encourag-
ing artists trained in the Heracleopolitan tradition to work in Thebes on his
own monuments. The same artistic style occurring in Ahanakht’s tomb might
therefore well have been applied after the reunification.77
Furthermore, there is the fact that tombs from the time of Ahanakht I con-
tained pottery of a type otherwise almost exclusively found in Dandara, at least
in contexts predating the reunification of Egypt (pl. 8A–B). This find seems
to imply that Ahanakht lived at a time when an exchange of commodities
73 Blumenthal, AOF 4 (1976), p. 35–62; Brovarski, in: Studies Dunham, p. 14–30.

74 Willems, JEOL 28 (1983–1984), p. 80–102.
75 For an overview of the pertinent literature, see Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 84, n. 11; add
Gestermann, ZÄS 135 (2008), p. 1–16.
76 Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 86–87.
77 As a result of this, the considerations of Brovarski, in: Studies Luft, p. 28 (who considers
the style as a phenomenon specifically linked to the Heracleopolitan period) lose much
of their attraction.
82 chapter 2
between Dandara and Dayr al-Barshā was easy. This supports the proposed
date of Ahankht I after the reunification.78
In 2008 a significant new study was published by L. Gestermann. Different
from all her predecessors, she argued against the assumption that the Dayr
al-Barshā nomarchs dated texts by their own regnal years.79 According to her,
there is no reason to assume this was the case, because it is in general not
unusual for royal names to be left out in dates, if these were considered self-
evident by the scribe. Her reasoning has far-reaching consequences. In the first
place, the regnal years until then attributed to nomarchs had often been used
to determine minimal durations of tenure for each ruler, but the new reading
of the evidence implied that nothing whatsoever is known about this issue.
Secondly, since the dates would now refer to royal reign lengths, the Hatnub
graffiti had to tally with known information about the duration of kings’ reigns.
Here the reference to a year 30 in Hatnub Gr. 11 was the most important,
because it could only refer to the long reign of Mentuhotep II. The fact that
this graffito was probably written under Ahanakht I (or an immediate succes-
sor) had important implications. Firstly, the year 13 referred to in Gr. 12, also
written under the nomarchship of Ahanakht I, would prove that the suzerainty
of Mentuhotep II was accepted in the former Heracleopolitan realm already
that early. This shows that the common assumption that the reunification fell
between his years 14–39 has to be reconsidered. Secondly, Ahanakht I was suc-
ceeded by two of his sons before Nehri I came to power. This, according to
Gestermann, would imply that the years 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8 mentioned in the
Nehri graffiti must be those of Amenemhat I.80
78 Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 87; Op de Beeck, Peeters, Willems, in: Handbook of

Pottery of the Egyptian Middle Kingdom II, p. 252–253. This material corresponds to the
conical beakers discussed by A. Seiler in Schiestl, Seiler, Handbook to Pottery of
the Egyptian Middle Kingdom I, p. 132–135, but the Dayr al-Barshā material is not paid
attention to there. This book, dedicated to the Middle Kingdom material, indicates that
pottery of this type was then attested in Elephantine, al-Muʿalla, al-Ṭūd, Western Thebes,
Dandara, Abydos, Banī Ḥasan, and Sidmant al-Jabal. This distribution suggests that this
type of pottery remained predominantly a southern Egyptian feature even in the Middle
Kingdom. Note that Seiler’s study does not take into consideration the occurrence of the
material prior to the reign of Mentuhotep II, and that her distribution chart therefore in
no way invalidates the chronological development sketched in the main text.
79 Gestermann, ZÄS 135 (2008), p. 1–16.
80 The general reasoning seems correct to me, but one could also argue that these years
belong to the reign of Mentuhotep III, who is known to have reigned 12 years. However,
whereas texts from the time of Amenemhat I refer to political and social upheaval, nothing
Brovarski attempted to refute my dating of the Hatnub graffiti in an article

published in 2010,81 and a year later wrote a contribution in which he also
tried to counter Gestermann’s suggestions.82 These two publications thus
essentially bring us back to a variant of the interpretation already advocated
ninety years ago by Anthes: the Nehri texts describe conditions during the
reunification process. Unfortunately, Brovarski hardly produced fresh argu-
ments (although he does clarify some points I had misunderstood in my earlier
criticism of his work). Therefore I see no reason to repeat what I wrote then.
However, it is useful to give a brief statement of what I consider to be funda-
mental methodological flaws in Brovarski’s approach.
Generally speaking, he deploys three kinds of arguments: 1) dating based on
epigraphic and phraseological criteria; 2) dating based on the assumption that
the dates in the Hatnub graffiti refer to tenures of nomarchs, not to reigns of
kings; and 3) generation counting.
1) In my 1984 article I already expressed doubts about the way Brovarski uses
epigraphic and phraseological details as dating criteria. Using comparison
of specific sign forms, spellings of words, and expressions with comparanda
from elsewhere is, of course, a viable approach, and in many cases, it is the
only option we have. But we should not be overly confident in the reliability
of the method.
As a matter of principle, I would contend that only very common signs,
words or expressions are admissible as evidence. A good example is the var-
iation in the scroll sign È (without rope ends, with one rope end, or with
two rope ends), which occurs in almost every text. Secondly, the chronological
range of the feature should be demonstrated by referring to comparative mate-
rial that is itself well-dated. Even with the ubiquitous scroll-sign, matters are not
very straightforward, of course, because there is no reason to expect that the
time range of the well-dated examples corresponds exactly to the real period
of use. Rather, the time range of the relevant, well-dated attestations should
be considered as a core period. It is well-nigh certain that some of the undated
cases are earlier (or later), but the likelihood of this being the case decreases in
proportion to the suggested chronological distance from the core period. As is
well known, in the case of the scroll sign examples with one or two rope ends
of the kind is known for the reign of Mentuhotep III. For this reason Gestermann’s
suggestion has the greater likelihood.
81 Brovarski, in: Egyptian Culture and Society. Studies in Honour of Naguib Kanawati I,
p. 31–85.
82 Brovarski, in: From Illahun to Djeme. Papers Presented in Honour of Ulrich Luft, p. 25–30.
84 chapter 2
suddenly become common in texts dated to the reign of Amenemhat I or later.

However, cases with one or two rope ends already occur in tombs dated to the
time of Ahanakht I, which are certainly some decades earlier based on gen-
erally accepted genealogical evidence.83 A few earlier cases even dating back
to the late Old Kingdom are referred to by Brovarski.84 He also cites quite a
few other examples he considers to date to the First Intermediate Period, but
here the dating is mostly based on circumstantial evidence, and it is therefore
less solid.85 Moreover, not all of his references may be equally acceptable for
comparison. Hieroglyphs are in essence depictions of real objects or elements
in the environment, and in making these drawings, all artists are likely to have
worked according to a blend of learned, i.e. traditional elements and personal
idiosyncracies, which latter may have been highly inconsistent. In scrolls, the
knot with which the string was tied in reality must of course always have had
two ends, although these might have been either long or short, and in the latter
case they may more often than not have been made invisible when a clay seal
was applied. Before the Middle Kingdom, the ends were usually not drawn, but
it should not strike one as remarkable if an artist sometimes chose to add these
unusual details, or to depict constantly different versions (as in Hatnub Gr. X).
As dating criteria, such cases are of doubtful value. Matters are different where
we witness a systematic shift to a new tradition in rendering the sign; here
there is a greater likelihood that a change in format amounts to a valid dating
criterion. In the case of the one- and two-end scroll signs from the time of
Djehutinakht I and Ahanakht I we clearly witness such a systematic change.
When this change occurred in terms of absolute chronology is impossible to
say with certainty; the closer one gets to the XIIth Dynasty, the less unlikely it
is, and therefore I continue to prefer my somewhat later date to Brovarski’s,
but the case is really rather vague.
It is important that this disappointing conclusion has to be drawn even for
the ubiquitous scroll sign. Almost all of Brovarski’s other “dating criteria” are
known from only a handful of cases.86 Discerning trends, however, is only real-
83 This I showed for the cases with one rope end in JEOL 28 (1983–1984), p. 86–87; an
example with two rope ends and mentioning the name of Ahanakht I is shown in pl. 9. In
one example dated to the time of Djehutinakht I, son of Teti, a scroll with one (or two?)
rope ends may also occur; but this part of the sign is exactly at the edge of a break, and
thus less easy to accept with confidence (De Meyer, Old Kingdom Rock Tombs at Dayr
al-Barshā, pl. XXVI). This case would be slightly older than the tenure of Ahanakht I.
84 Cases from the VIth dynasty in Mīr (see Brovarski, in: Studies Kanawati I, p. 53).
85 Moreover, the case he cites from the tomb of Sobk-nefer at al-Hajārisa seems to be
incorrect, judging from the clear photograph in Kanawati, El-Hagarsa, pl. 6 and 26.
86 Brovarski, in: Studies Kanawati, p. 38–41 (and particularly p. 40–41).
istic if there is a critical mass of data. Where the amount of data is itself near
insignificant, conclusions about trends can never be more than that. Thus, I
can understand Brovarski’s argumentation, but, as in 1984, I would not credit
it with any significant weight.
In other cases, it is not the number of attestations that poses problems,
but inconsistencies in Brovarski’s reasoning. Thus, he repeatedly argues that
spellings of words attested in the Nehri and Ahanakht graffiti are not attested
after the beginning of the XIIth dynasty. This is then used as an argument for
dating the inscribed objects to the First Intermediate Period or XIth dynasty.87
This at first sight sounds reasonable enough, but there are several snags here.
In the first place, Brovarski subsequently uses this conclusion in support of
a dating in the First Intermediate Period, apparently disregarding the several
decades separating this period from the XIIth dynasty. Secondly, when he is dis-
cussing XIIth dynasty references, these may well have been written at a fairly
d
advanced date in the dynasty. The writing C < w for the toponym Djedu (Busiris)
is a case in point. It is true that the earliest XIIth dynasty instances he refers to
d
feature the different orthography Cw < , but these occur in inscriptions of the
nomarchs Djehutinakht VI and Amenemhat, which Brovarski himself dates
to the reign of king Senwosret I (and possibly Amenemhat II).88 What his evi-
dence shows is, at best, that the Nehri graffiti antedate the reign of Senwosret I,
which would be an irrelevant point, as no one has ever argued otherwise.
It would be perfectly in keeping with Brovarski’s evidence if Nehri’s rule
would be placed in the reign of Amenemhat I.
What I attempted to show in 1984 is that the dating criteria deployed by
Brovarski are insufficient evidence to rule out a date in the late XIth or early
XIIth dynasty for Nehri I. In this regard, nothing has changed.
2) The assumption that the rnp.t-sp dates in the Hatnub graffiti refer to the
tenure of nomarchs was first stated by Griffith and Anthes, but was never
really argued. Nevertheless, the case of non-royals using a royal dating system
for their own years of rule is so unusual that it can only be accepted if there
is unequivocal evidence. After over a century of debate, Gestermann’s arti-
cle was the first to point out this weak spot, and I see no way to counter her
argument. In fact, although Brovarski rejects Gestermann’s conclusion, even
he does not really address this particular point. The only pertinent remark he
makes concerns the double date at Banī Ḥasan, which correlates a royal reg-
nal year of Senwosret I to another regnal year in the Oryx nome (see n. 71).
Concerning this source, Brovarski remarks, “the inscription provides clear
87 Brovarski, in: Studies Kanawati, p. 38–39.

88 Brovarski, in: Studies Kanawati, p. 38.
86 chapter 2
testimony that the procedure of dating by nomarchs’ years was still in practice
as late as Year 43 of Senwosret I.”89 The use of the word “still” in this citation
is remarkable, as it implies the presupposition that the cited text stood in a
longer tradition; for this, however, the only evidence comes from the Hatnub
graffiti, which Gestermann argues are royal dates. Thus, Brovarski’s reason-
ing on this issue is perfectly circular.
3) The argument of generation counting used by Brovarski is partly linked
to the unsubstantiated idea that the Hatnub dates refer to tenures of gover-
nors, not of kings. The fact that some of these dates point to tenures lasting
as much as 20 or 30 years suggested to him that such durations would be nor-
mal. This then leads to a discussion of how long a generation should be. The
point of departure is the assumption that nomarchs lived “normal life spans.”
This then leads to an estimation of what an average span of rule might have
been. Based on an analysis of the nomarchs of Banī Ḥasan, this is argued to be
around 22.6 years.90
It should be stressed that average life spans are statistical abstractions, and
the same holds true for average durations of office. Such averages can be used
for all kinds of reasoning. In the case of life spans, for instance, calculating aver-
age life expectancy in a population. Such statistics cannot, however, be used in
an inverse sense to estimate the length of individual life spans or tenures, and
most certainly this is inadmissible as historical data.91 This is true in general,
but in the politically unstable period we are here discussing, all kinds of other
factors might affect the duration of a governor’s office: premature replacement
by another person, illness, or early death. Since we simply do not know enough
about the lives of the individuals concerned, Brovarski’s generation counts
remain an intellectual game of which the relevance for the historical sequence
are impossible to assess.
89 Brovarski, in: Studies Luft, p. 25–26 (italics mine).

90 Brovarski, in: Studies Luft, p. 29–30. Note that in his account, the distinction between
“generation” and “tenure” is not always very clear; of course the notions refer to very
different things. Note that Brovarski does not specify what a “normal” life span might be.
91 In any case, the statistics should be based on a data set of significant size, something
that can hardly be said about the test group used by Brovarski: five or six nomarchs in
Banī Ḥasan in about 113 years. Note that this list includes both nomarchs and one mayor,
so that different categories of officials are here lumped together to calculate an average
length of tenure for nomarchs. The basis of inference for the similarly privileged group
of the New Kingdom royals has an average life span of 35 years (Nunn, Ancient Egyptian
Medicine, p. 22); under these conditions, and average duration of tenure of 22.5 years is
highly unrealistic.
Since Brovarski moreover does not address the latest arguments in the
debate (n. 76–78), and since his early date generates an unnecessary and
unconvincing gap in the tradition of coffin decoration in Dayr al-Barshā,92
I will disregard his account in the following discussion. For me, Ahanakht I
remains a ruler who was in office in the early years after the Theban conquest,
and Nehri remains a late XIth or early XIIth dynasty nomarch. This does not
mean nothing has changed in my perspective. Since the rnp.t-sp dates can no
longer be taken to refer to “regnal years” of governors, and since “generation
counting” affords no useful alternative, no argument remains on which to base
an assessment regarding the length of tenure of individual nomarchs. Also,
as a consequence of Gestermann’s article, it is now clear that the date of the
reunification must predate year 13 of Mentuhotep II. Therefore, the appoint-
ment of Ahanakht I as a nomarch must be pushed back in time as well, and
in terms of absolute chronology, this reduces the difference between my own
position and Brovarski’s. This has no influence, however, on the historical
interpretation of the facts.
3 The Ahanakht I Tomb Group

Ahanakht I owned the earliest inscribed tomb in zone 2, and perhaps the ear-
liest Middle Kingdom tomb there generally (17K85/1; see fig. 10; pl. 10). From a
historical perspective, it is important to connect the known genealogical data
pertaining to Ahanakht to some of the latest archaeological findings.
In an inscription on the façade of his tomb, Ahanakht I makes clear that
he was the son of a man called Djehutinakht.93 Undoubtedly, this was a very
significant figure. Whether or not he was himself a nomarch cannot be proven
with certainty, but some indications strongly point in this direction. In the first
place, one of the two sons succeeding Ahanakht I as a nomarch was also called
Djehutinakht (IV), and the same name was borne by several earlier and later
nomarchs. This suggests that we are concerned with one family line of local
rulers. Perhaps the latest of the earlier Djehutinakhts to have been nomarch
was “Djehutinakht (I), whom (the lady) Teti bore.” There is no unequivocal
evidence that this Djehutinakht was Ahanakht’s father, but Brovarski sug-
gested this because of some similarities in the phraseology of inscriptions
belonging to the two men.94 Additional arguments were later produced by
92 This problem was discussed at length in Willems, JEOL 28 (1983–1984), p. 93–94.

93 Bersheh II, pl. XIII,3.
94 Brovarski, in: Studies Dunham, p. 22.
88 chapter 2
M. De Meyer.95 On comparing the title strings of the pre- and early Middle
Kingdom nomarchs of the Hare nome, she noted that Djehutinakht son of Teti
occupies an intermediate position between Ahanakht I and the earlier gover-
nors. To this may be added that the execution of the restoration inscriptions
left behind by Djehutinakht (I), son of Teti, is so closely similar to those found
in tombs of Ahanakht’s time that they seem to have been made by the same
person, or at least workshop.96 Moreover, the same style is found in the late
First Intermediate Period tombs in Asyūṭ. This offers a strong indication that
Djehutinakht (I), son of Teti, must have been the immediate predecessor of
Ahanakht I, supporting Brovarski’s suggestion that Ahanakht’s father might
have been a nomarch.
In the rear chamber of the tomb chapel of Ahanakht I, the lower part of
two false doors are preserved, and they indicate the names of two men,
Ahanakht I and Djehutinakht.97 Brovarski suggested that this Djehutinakht
was perhaps Ahanakht’s like-named father (Djehutinakht I). I have elsewhere
suggested that the false door might rather have belonged to Djehutinakht IV.
Assuming that the scarcity of texts from his time was likely reflective of a brief
tenure, I suggested he had had no time to build a tomb of his own, and that he
was therefore buried in his father’s tomb.98 Both dating options are possible,
but the argument I used in support of my proposal is of course far from com-
pelling. Based on the results of the 2012 excavations in one of the shafts in the
tomb of Ahanakht I, I am now more inclined to accept Brovarski’s suggestion.
The presence of a false door for a Djehutinakht in this tomb suggests that
this man had a funerary cult there, and thus, probably, that he was buried in
one of the four shafts of the tomb. One of these is likely to have contained the
two coffins of Ahanakht I, which are now in Philadelphia.99 During his 1915
excavations, Reisner excavated the four shafts again, but this did not produce
any evidence that is relevant to the present discussion.
In the western shaft in the first room of the Ahanakht chapel, however,
Reisner stopped work after one day as it was considered evident that the tomb
95 De Meyer, in: Genealogie, p. 125–136; De Meyer, Old Kingdom Rock Tombs in Dayr
al-Barshā, p. 85–116.
97 Bersheh II, p. 35; see also the more accurate rendering in Brovarski, in: Studies Dunham,
p. 16–17, fig. 8.
98 Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 84–85; Willems, Les Textes des Sarcophages et la
démocratie, p. 90.
99 Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 21–22. While it is possible in principle that these coffins
belonged to Ahanakht II, this publication adduces evidence that Ahanakht I is the more
likely candidate.
had been entered recently.100 In March and April 2012, my team therefore reex-
cavated this shaft. It soon turned out that Reisner had been right in conclud-
ing that the shaft had been recently entered, but nevertheless an appreciable
amount of material remained in situ in the burial chamber. This included parts
of a decorated coffin of the same type as that of Ahanakht I, and inscribed with
the name of a man named Djehutinakht, who may have died when he was
between 30 and 40 years of age.101 The coffin is in a very bad state of preserva-
tion, and seems to have been rather poorly made. Many bad places in the wood
had been repaired with small pieces of wood that had been cut to the required
form. Some decoration remains, and this displays a rather clumsy execution,
which is otherwise uncharacteristic for Dayr al-Barshā. On the interior front
side, one finds the usual representation of a false door, an offering table, and
a series of offering bearers. However, the offering table scene is extremely nar-
row, and seems to be oddly squeezed in between the other decoration. The
offering bearers also are poorly rendered. Is this evidence that this coffin bears
testimony to a very early stage in the development of the Middle Kingdom dec-
oration of coffins? In that case, there is some likelihood that Ahanakht I (re-)
buried his father in his imposing tomb once it had been finished.
Other interesting new evidence concerns the subsidiary tombs connected
to that of Ahanakht I himself. It has been known since Newberry’s day that
three small tombs located immediately in front of Ahanakht’s sepulchre, and
belonging to men named Djehutinakht, Khnumnaht, and Iha (tombs 17K74/1–3;
fig. 10), are from the same period. This is evident from the tomb inscriptions,
which accord pride of place, not to the tomb owners themselves, but to the
nomarch Ahanakht, for whom they had worked. This is done in the following
way. In inscribed tombs, the doorjambs and lintels, and the tops of the walls,
are usually lined by inscriptions of ornamental size dedicated to the tomb
owners. Such inscriptions occur here as well, but beside them (and, in
100 Information based on Reisner’s diary.

101 For the sex and age determination I express my gratitude to Sarah Kindschuh and Lana
Williams. Only a few of the bones found in the shaft were found in an articulated position,
and almost all occurred in the backfill of the tomb shaft. They included an almost complete
set of the bones of a woman, and only a few of a man. It is therefore not certain that the
man was really the owner of the tomb. Arguments in favour of this are that his lower jaw
was found immediately within the coffin remains and that the person mentioned in the
texts was male. The fact that the overwhelming majority of the bones belongs to a female,
however, points in the other direction. Other cases are known of coffins inscribed for a
man containing the bones of a woman. If the man was the person buried in this tomb, his
age at death suggests at any rate that he can hardly have been in office for 25 years, the
duration of tenure that Brovarski took as the basis for his chronological calculations.
90 chapter 2
the case of horizontal inscriptions, above them) additional texts are added in
honour of Ahanakht I.102 When I published these tombs in 2007, I was still under
the impression that, of the small tombs found in this general area, only these
three could be firmly dated to the time of Ahanakht I.103 Since then, however, a
number of loose relief blocks could be joined, and they originate from a further
tomb in which the ornamental texts mention both the owner and Ahanakht I.
Although the blocks cannot be fitted directly to surviving in situ architectural
remains, the exceptional name of the tomb owner, Duahor, is also found in the
remaining decoration of tomb 17K93/1, some 17 m west of the Ahanakht tomb
(see fig. 10). This shows that the subsidiary tombs of Ahanakht’s time cover a
far larger surface than I had hitherto thought. Therefore, it is now likely that
the small, still unexcavated tombs west of tombs 17K47/1–3 and tomb 17K85/1
(Ahanakht I) may all date to the tenure of Ahanakht I. No other nomarch tomb
at Dayr al-Barshā can be linked with tombs spread out over such a distance.
The size of the group of subsidiary tombs is perhaps an indication that
Ahanakht I had a relatively long tenure. Immediately to the west of his
tomb there lies an almost completely destroyed, and still unpublished, tomb
(17K84/1). Its façade preserves part of an inscription also mentioning the titles
of a nomarch. One might be tempted to assume that, as in other tombs in this
area, this text might present a further case of the name of Ahanakht I being
added to the tombs of one of his contemporaries. This, however, is hardly
likely, since the remaining bits of relief decoration in this tomb are far less
well executed than the other tombs from the time of Ahanakht I, which were
clearly all executed by another group of artisans. The remains of the ceiling of
this tomb bear stars, a phenomenon found at this site in some other nomar-
chal tombs, but never in funerary chapels of persons of a more lowly station.
Additionally, the tomb includes a very exceptional relief scene, showing the
carving of a djed-pillar, for which I only know one parallel, in a nomarchal
tomb in Asyūṭ.104 As I have suggested elsewhere, there are indications that
this tomb belonged to Ahanakht II, a son of Ahanakht I.105
If this interpretation is correct, we can see that the small and poorly built tomb
of Ahanakht II was erected amidst the group of tombs associated with the
tomb owner’s father. The location of the tomb of the second son of Ahanakht I,
Djehutinakht IV, remains a mystery. One option is that he was the owner of
102 Bersheh II, p. 38–46; see now Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 30–33; 36; 43–44; 63–65;
pl. VII–XXIII; XXVI–XLI; XLV–XLVIII; LI–LIV.
104 El-Khadragy, SAK 36 (2007), p. 105–13, fig. 10 and pl. 4.
105 Willems, GM 110 (1989), p. 79–81.
Reisner’s famous tomb 10 A (our number 17L04/1), the contents of which are
now in Boston.106 He may also be the owner of the now completely destroyed
tomb directly east of the tomb of Ahanakht I, which was of the same model,
but slightly larger, although it was never decorated (fig. 10).107
It is of considerable interest that no less than three funerary autobiogra-
phies are preserved in the Ahanakht I tomb group. Until recently, only that in
the tomb of Iha (tomb 17K47/3) had been analyzed with some intensity, while
that of Ahanakht received less attention, and that of Djehutinakht (17K47/1)
remained unpublished. Since the three tombs are contemporary, their auto-
biographies must describe contemporary events from different perspectives.
Such a diversified socio-political perspective is exceptional, therefore the
entire complex warrants a closer look.
We will begin with the tomb of Djehutinakht (17K47/1). This consists of
a rectangular funerary chapel accessible from the south. Almost the entire
floor is taken up by the burial shaft, which gives access to the burial chamber
(fig. 12). This tomb had already been described by Newberry. According to
him, it contained a long autobiographical inscription that was so badly dam-
aged it did not merit a full publication. His book only includes the offering
formulae and a partial, and very mediocre, copy of the autobiographical text
on the western wall.108 When I visited the monument for the first time in 1988,
I was therefore rather surprised to find a well-preserved tomb, and that almost
every hieroglyph of the autobiography was still at least partly legible (pl. 11–12).
The inscription is surmounted by a long offering formula dedicated to
the nomarch Ahanakht I. Below are columns of hieroglyphs surrounding
Djehutinakht’s false door, which contain a long autobiographical inscription,
as well as two offering formulae. The few lines to the left of the false door
only consist of laudatory phrases of little intrinsic interest; Djehutinakht is
described as a man of exemplary character, as is usual in texts of this kind. The
text is nevertheless of importance because it utilizes phrases of which the only
real parallels are found in another text from the Hermopolitan region: Hatnub
graffito 12.109 This was written by a man also called Djehutinakht, and, since it
mentions the nomarch Ahanakht, was evidently contemporaneous with the
106 For this tomb, see now De Meyer, Dils, JEA 98 (2012), p. 55–72.
107 Following the second interpretation, the tomb of Ahanakht I would be “bracketed”
between those of his two sons. This sounds attractive, but it is of course not a decisive
argument.
108 Bersheh II, p. 43–46.
109 Anthes, Hatnub, p. 28–31.
92 chapter 2
Figure 12 Cross-section through tomb 17K74/1 looking west (drawing Martin Hense).
nomarch. One wonders if the two Djehutinakhts may have been identical. The
inscription is dated to a year 13, probably of Mentuhotep II.110
To the right of the false door, the autobiographical stock phrases at first
continue. Djehutinakht claims to have been a man of confidence, who knew
everything, and who even asserts “there is nothing I did not do.” But starting
from line 12, the text becomes both more interesting, as well as more difficult.
In column 13,111 Djehutinakht describes himself as a being “with rending claws”
(nšd Ꜥn.wt), an expression that is used in Graeco-Roman temple inscriptions
to describe falcon deities.112 It is remarkable that an epithet used in these late
religious inscriptions for gods refers in our text to an ordinary man. For the rest
of the column, I have mooted different interpretations. Although none of these
110 See p. 82 above.

111 For the following interpretation, see Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 43, n. W–X.
112 Wb. II, p. 342, 13–14.
really convinces me, the best option may be that the tomb owner is designated
as “one of whom the ‘eyeline’ is clearly visible on the eyebrow” (ı̓-sḥꜢı̓ drf r ı̓nḥ).
Pushing speculation a little further, one might think of a metaphor comparing
a man to a falcon, with sharp claws and clearly marked eyebrows, such as are
characteristic for falcons in Egyptian iconography. With regard to the mean-
ing of this formulation, one may consider the possibility that Djehutinakht
boasts of having acted violently in a ritual in which “falcon-men” participated;
such rituals are actually attested in some Coffin Text utterances.113 Although
I have to admit that all of this is quite uncertain, the hypothesis receives some
support from the fact that rituals for defeating enemies also figure prom-
inently in the autobiographies of Ahanakht I and Iha, in the same group of
tombs.114 Other Middle Kingdom texts may provide background information
on how such episodes should be understood. For instance, many stelae from
Abydos describe the participation of their owners in annual Osirian rituals.
The most important element of these festivities seems to have been a great
procession, during which the processional barque of Osiris was carried from
his temple at Abydos to the god’s tomb in the desert. On the route to the des-
tination, ritual fights were staged between two groups of participants, one
protecting the barque of Osiris, and the other playing the role of the allies of
Seth. The latter group attempted to bring the Osirian procession to a halt, and
therefore had to be defeated so that Osiris could proceed.115 It is certain that
similar rituals were celebrated elsewhere, and perhaps Djehutinakht means to
say in his autobiography that he participated in such mock-fights, combating
the enemies of the local god.
The next columns are extremely interesting. First, Djehutinakht claims that
he “knew the hours of the night in all its periods,” but also “the opening days
of the akhet-season, which lead to the opening days of the peret-season and
the openings days of the shemu-season.” The first statement clearly means that
Djehutinakht was capable of determining the time during the night, for which
he must have used a diagonal star clock similar to those often depicted on
113 Bı̓k rmṯ.y; see for instance Coffin Texts spell 149 (CT II, 226b–253g [149]). According to
227b, this text “for becoming a human falcon” should be recited by a ritualist dressed as
a priest.
114 Bersheh II, pl. XIII,8; XXI,2 (top). For the latter passage, see also Willems, Dayr al-Barshā
I, pl. LIV,2.
115 The most informative source concerning this ritual is a passage in stela of Iikhernofret
(Berlin 1204, 17–21; see Schäfer, Mysterien des Osiris, p. 20–32, and the plate at the end
of the book). On the Osirian procession in general, see now Effland, Budka, Effland,
MDAIK 66 (2010), p. 19–91.
94 chapter 2
Middle Kingdom coffins.116 As I have shown elsewhere, Djehutinakht explains

in the second phrase that he was able to adjust his “clock” when its tabulation
of stars no longer conformed to astronomical reality.117
The Egyptians did not use clocks in everyday life in the way we do. The only
context where knowing the exact time mattered was in rituals like the hourly
vigil (Stundenwachen) or the hour ritual (Stundenritual), which were governed
by a strict periodization. For instance, in the Stundenwachen, the composi-
tion of the team of priests changed every hour.118 Djehutinakht’s role as an
“astronomer” accordingly must imply that he had the task to determine the
time in support of the priests.
In the remainder of the text, Djehutinakht describes numerous other respon-
sibilities. We can discern two categories of activities, both of which fit within
the framework of provincial administration. Firstly, we encounter a series of
functional titles linking Djehutinakht with a variety of missions. All have the
implication that he worked in the desert. He was ḥr.y-tp ḫꜢs.wt “commander
of the desert”; ı̓m.y-r nw.w “commander of hunters”; ı̓m.y-r mḏꜢy.w “overseer of
Medja-people”; and ı̓m.y-r kꜢ.t m wꜤr.t tn “overseer of works in this cemetery.”
The latter title suggests that it was likely Djehutinakht himself who bore the
responsibility for constructing the tomb group we are currently discussing.
One might add that all these tasks—and even that of “astronomer,” although
this likewise served to facilitate the performance of religious rituals—were of
a practical nature.
This is also the case with Djehutinakht’s other activities, although here he
mentions no real titles, except one. This is the title ı̓r.y šsp.t, which accord-
ing to Quirke does not designate a very high-ranking person, but rather
a clerk charged with the distribution of rations to workmen working for var-
ious bureaux within the administration.119 In fact, Djehutinakht mentions
various bureaux which he provisioned: a brick department, a meat depart-
ment, and a date department. All seem to have been part of a provincial šnꜤ,
a production and storage facility.
For the rest he mentions the types of personnel subordinate to him: garden-
ers, kitchen staff, washermen, and even persons “attached to the press, who
produced ‘summer scent,’ ” the latter being undoubtedly perfumers.
116 See Neugebauer and Parker, Egyptian Astronomical Texts I.

117 Willems, in: Timelines I, p. 437–445; Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 45, n. aa–ac.
118 For the Graeco-Roman version of this ritual, see Junker, Stundenwachen; Pries, Die
Stundenwachen im Osiriskult. For the Stundenwachen in the Middle Kingdom, see
Willems, Heqata, p. 382–384.
119 Quirke, RdE 37 (1985), p. 119.
It therefore seems that our Djehutinakht bore hardly any important titles,
being primarily charged with provisioning various categories of workmen.
Even the titles he does mention support the notion that he was not an official
of high rank, for in such a case he would not have had to invent titles that are
as exceptional as they sound ridiculous, like “overseer of millions, hundreds of
thousands, tens of thousands, thousands, hundreds, and dozens of pastries.”120
The other autobiographies, i.e. those of Ahanakht I and Iha, are no less
interesting, but they have been known since 1895, and I will therefore deal with
them in less detail.
The tomb of Iha (17K74/3) lies next to that of Djehutinakht, and has a sim-
ilar layout. The entire eastern wall is taken up by an offering scene that offers
little out of the ordinary. However, the western and northern walls, of which
the latter is rendered in pl. 13, are inscribed with a long autobiography.121 The
text describes a man very different from Djehutinakht. The latter seems almost
to have worked with his hand, and in any case he performed tasks of a very
practical nature. By contrast, Iha seems to have been more of an intellectual.
On the western wall, he explains, for instance, that he was a teacher of the
children of the king. On the northern wall, we moreover read that he was in
charge of the House of Life, i.e. the scriptorium, probably of the temple of
Thoth in al-Ashmūnayn. We will see later that this casts an interesting light
on the developments in funerary culture in this region. Iha also participated in
the ritual of defeating the enemy, in which Djehutinakht, as I have suggested,
may have participated with his “rending claws.” Iha was further responsible for
musicians, perhaps in the local temple, and was in charge of the ı̓p.t nsw.t, the
private apartments of the king.
Beside these autobiographies of subordinate officials, that of Ahanakht I
himself offers an account of the regional administration that was obviously
written from a completely different perspective. This text, which was written
on the façade of his tomb, has hitherto only been dealt with three times, and
has hardly been exploited as a historical source,122 yet it is very instructive.
120 This account summarizes the more extensive study of the text in Willems, Dayr al-Barshā
I, p. 42–58; 88–100.
121 This text was published in Bersheh II, pl. XXI, and has often been commented upon since.
A reedition, which includes several corrections, has recently appeared in Willems, Dayr
al-Barshā I, p. 61–81.
122 The autobiography of Ahanakht I was published in Bersheh II, pl. XIII, and was
commented upon by Brovarski, in: Studies Dunham, p. 16–21; and Willems, in: Zij
schreven geschiedenis, p. 57–70. The following account largely follows my discussion in
Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 83–113.
96 chapter 2
To the west of the entrance gate, Ahanakht first describes his role, not as a
nomarch, but as an overseer of priests in the temple of Thoth. He was respon-
sible for the daily temple cult, of which he offers one of the earliest descrip-
tions. Next, he declares that he was a vizier. In this capacity, he established the
boundary stelae separating the nomes of Upper and Lower Egypt. Later on, he
explains that he was the chairman of a council of nomarchs. In this capacity,
he claims to have acted energetically in a troubled period, which, however, he
does not link to a royal name. He refers to hard days, and apparently even prob-
lems of a military nature, but in these circumstances, he was apparently also
able to find a solution.
Finally, as a nomarch, he was in charge of the land registry cadaster and
was responsible for the exploitation of the quarries at Hatnub. Thanks to
inscriptions from these quarries, we can verify the correctness of these state-
ments. They contain an account of a mission of six hundred workmen that
Ahanakht I had sent to Hatnub to provide building material for the Thoth tem-
ple in al-Ashmūnayn.123 This confirms a statement in Ahanakht’s tomb auto-
biography to the effect that he built a new sanctuary for the temple of Thoth,
which he inscribed in his own name. He also directed the performance of the
ritual of defeating the enemy also mentioned in the tomb of Iha, and on this
occasion he shared out the meat of a bull among the population.
At first sight, the autobiographies of Djehutinakht, Iha, and Ahanakht do not

seem to present a coherent account. However, if we take into consideration
that these inscriptions describe the lives of three men living in the same period,
and that all belonged to Ahanakht’s court, it stands to reason that they must
have known each other well, and that they describe different aspects of one
historical context: the period just after the Thebans had managed to wrest con-
trol over what had until then been the Heracleopolitan kingdom. Ahanakht,
Iha and Djehutinakht had their roots in the latter, but the political upheavals
that were no doubt brought about by the reunification does not seem to have
gravely affected their social position. On the contrary, one has the impression
that the situation for them evolved in a very positive way.
Djehutinakht seems to have been a factotum who occupied himself with the
daily affairs of certain institutions in the nome. In his autobiography the dis-
tribution of rations to various workshops and bureaux seems to have made up
the most important aspect of his activities. Moreover, he organized operations
in the desert, where he procured limestone, and he built tombs.
123 Hatnub, Gr. 12–13.

The intellectual Iha may have been attached to the local Thoth temple,
where he directed the scriptorium and the musicians/dancers, and partici-
pated in the performance of rituals. It was undoubtedly due to his qualifica-
tions as a scribe that he was appointed teacher at the school of the royal court,
where he gave instruction to princes—and, based on the likely date of the this
group of tombs, it seems that this brought him in contact with the princes at
the Theban royal court. This important member of the nomarchal court in the
Hare nome must consequently have spent a lot of time in Thebes, and, even
though the text does not say so explicitly, he may also have functioned as a liai-
son between the national residence and the nomarchal bureau of Ahanakht I.
Ahanakht I himself combined, as was frequently the case, the offices of
nomarch and overseer of priests in the local temple. Until recently, another
of his titles has hardly attracted any attention, but it certainly cannot have
been less important than the others I have mentioned: the office of vizier.
The few Egyptologists who have at all commented on this title have usually
assumed it concerned an honorary vizierate. However, if one attentively reads
the texts in the tomb of Ahanakht, it appears that he claims to have played a
significant role in the political arena of his day. The texts feature several ref-
erences to his interventions in Upper and Lower Egypt, the implication being
that his power extended far beyond provincial borders.
This context also explains a remarkable element of the decoration of his
tomb chapel. This structure consists of two rooms. Although these are now
badly damaged, one can still recognize that the depiction of a column was
carved in each corner of either room. The one in the southeastern corner of the
northern chamber is still completely intact, and it depicts a papyrus column
(pl. 14A). None of the columns in the southern room is complete, but the cap-
ital of the southeastern one is still recognizable as a lotiform column (pl. 14B).
A fragment of a second lotus column was found during the excavations in 2012.
There can therefore be no doubt that the northern chamber of this chapel was
adorned with the heraldic plant of Lower Egypt, and the southern one with the
heraldic plant of Upper Egypt.124 As far as I know, there exists no parallel for
this in other private tombs, so that this motif must have a special significance.
It is most easily explained by the fact that Ahanakht, in his capacity of vizier,
exerted influence in both halves of the country that had just been reunited.
By using the heraldic plants in the decoration of his tomb, he may have given
expression to his pride in being able not only to maintain the nomarchal line,
but also that the new king entrusted him with a central position in the admin-
istrative network of Egypt as a whole.
124 See already Bersheh II, p. 8–9.

98 chapter 2
We know that around the same time a vizier resided also in Thebes, for
from this place two office holders with this title are known: Bebi and Dagi. I
assume that Ahanakht I was a secondary vizier functioning beside them, with
the main task of coordinating the provincial administration in the northern
part of Egypt.125 If one follows this line of thought, one also begins to perceive
how the Thebans succeeded in integrating the former Heracleopolitan realm
in their state.
The Ritual Landscape of Dayr al-Barshā
This historical interpretation also helps to improve the global understanding of

the site of Dayr al-Barshā. As far as is currently known, no one before Ahanakht
I ever had the idea of building a large, decorated tomb in zone 2, although
some far smaller ones of the late Old Kingdom or early First Intermediate
Period are now known to have existed there (linked to the “B shafts”). The First
Intermediate Period local elite seems to have been buried in the plain, in zone
10. From this perspective, Ahanakht’s decision to build his tomb at a nearly
virgin, but impressive location might be understood as a conscious break with
the local tradition. Undoubtedly this policy must have had as a major aim to
express, by all possible means, the status of the ruling line at al-Ashmūnayn.
A new archaeological element must now be briefly described. In 2002, at
the beginning of our excavations, T. Herbich undertook a geomagnetic survey
of zones 8 and 9. The work in zone 9 in particular produced very significant
results. The western part of zone 9 includes a triangular elevation consisting
of deposits washed out of the Wādī al-Nakhla and accumulated in front of the
wadi mouth. Such elevations occur throughout Egypt in front of wadi mouths,
and since they offer some protection against occasional flash floods, they
were, and still are, very suitable for building habitations and cemeteries. This
also explains the name jazīra “island,” by which the elevation in Dayr al-Barshā
zone 9 is locally referred to. The triangular area in the western part of zone 9 is
one of the few parts of the elevation that is not overbuilt by modern structures.
125 Allen has even suggested that Ahanakht I held the vizierate in Egypt as a whole, and
that he was the predecessor of Dagi and Bebi (in: The Theban Necropolis. Past, Present
and Future, p. 14–29). This seems less likely, for he would then have been the highest
administrator in a country where the government was for the rest entirely Theban. All
these other office holders were buried in Thebes. The model I am suggesting here may
well be a conscious return to the institution of the provincial vizier that existed in the
latter part of the Old Kingdom (see fig. 5).
In this area there are numerous tombs, the existence of which was already
apparent before the start of our work due to the large crater-like pits that were
left behind by our predecessors. Between these craters, there is a longitudinal
area which is much more smooth. The geomagnetic survey has revealed the
existence here of a clearly visible magnetic anomaly (pl. 15).126
During excavations undertaken in 2002 and 2006 we have been able to show
that this anomaly corresponds to a layer of alluvial clay, a material that can only
have been deposited here by human intervention. Undoubtedly the anomaly
corresponds to an ancient mud road crosscutting the cemetery roughly from
east to west. By pouring water over the surface of the road, it would become
slippery, making it easy to drag coffin sledges over it to the tombs. The 2006
excavations even revealed the presence of thin grooves in the road surface,
which must have been left behind during such operations.
The geomagnetic plan also revealed the presence of several straight lines,
which, on excavation, turned out to correspond to circular walls surrounding
funerary complexes. We have not yet been able to excavate all of these com-
plexes, but the orientation of the walls is tale-telling: all are clearly orientated
to the mud road (see fig. 13).
It should be pointed out that the spatial relationship between these tombs
and the road must reflect the social structure of the buried population. The
condition of the desert surface makes clear that most of the earlier excavations
took place to the south of the road, and at only a short distance from it. As
has been observed by C. Peeters, the excavator of zone 9, early 20th century
excavators must have been attracted to this area because important mud brick
structures were still visible at the surface at that time. In fact, even today one
notices open burial shafts here (fig. 13). These are comparatively large and are
often provided by walls of considerable thickness. It can be deduced from this
that their owners were relatively affluent.
At a greater distance from the road, and particularly to its north, Peeters
has discovered (parts of) at least five walled funerary complexes containing
a number of tomb shafts, of which some were rather large, but others were
of smaller sizes (fig. 14). However, in this area even the largest shafts are much
smaller than those found immediately alongside the mud road. It seems clear
that there was a direct relationship between the social status of the principal
owners of these tomb complexes and the distance between the tombs and the
road. It is also important to note that the only fragments of a coffin inscribed
126 Peeters, Herbich, Archaeologia Polona 41 (2003), p. 245–247; Herbich, Peeters,

Archaeological Prospection 13 (2006), p. 14–19.
100 chapter 2
Emergency
Excavation
Modern Modern Canal
Coptic
Cementary
Wadi Bed
Complex
10O13
Tomb 10N55
0 50 100M Middle Kingdom road

N Excavated Surface
Tomb Shaft
Figure 13 Plan of the jazīra in the western part of zone 9 (drawing Helen Peeters).
Figure 14 Northern part of zone 9a showing the walled tomb complexes 10O13, 10O22, 10O25,
and small pats of two others.
with Coffin Texts that we have found in zone 9 derive from a very large tomb
situated immediately alongside the road.127
The existence of a road presupposes a necessity of traffic circulation.
Therefore it is important to know what was the starting point of the road, and
where it led. It is not difficult to find an answer to these questions. The east-
ward projection of the trajectory of the road leads to a point at the foot of
the northern slope of the Wādī al-Nakhla, exactly at the place where the steep
track to the tombs in zones 1, 2 and 4 begins (see fig. 15). It is important to note
that this is not a recent tourist path. In the central part of the ascent, remains
still exist of an artificially-made road, which may date to the New Kingdom
use of the quarries on the north slope. Underneath it, however, a mud layer
is visible, that may belong to the extension of the Middle Kingdom mud road
that runs through zone 9. In any case, the surface of the slope is such that the
ancient path up the hill can impossibly have followed a different track. Clearly,
the destination of the mud road in the plain was therefore zone 2, where the
Middle Kingdom nomarch tombs are located.
The projection of the road in the other direction leads almost straight to
the town of al-Ashmūnayn, the population of which was partly buried in Dayr
al-Barshā. Whenever a person was buried in Dayr al-Barshā, and whenever
mortuary festivities were celebrated in the cemetery, the participants in the
celebrations had to follow a road tract that more or less followed the road we
discovered. Also it seems clear that the road was created specifically for such
occasions. A consequence of this hypothesis is that the nomarchal tombs con-
stituted the point of orientation for these processions, even though it is not
certain that everyone was allowed to follow the road to its end.
A further important element of the landscape is the Nile. Being situated
between al-Ashmūnayn and the Dayr al-Barshā desert plateau, its presence
forced the participants to cross the Nile by ferry. This in its turn implies that
harbours existed on the western and eastern Nile bank. After having traversed
the river, the festivities would commence on the eastern quay. Thence the
population would walk towards the cemetery, probably following the road
that passed by the larger tombs in the plain. A majority of the crowd would
probably turn left or right here to reach the more modest family tombs that
occupied positions farther removed from the road. But even those who did not
ascend the hill for visiting the nomarch tombs must have been strongly aware
127 For the excavations in this zone, see Peeters, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 60 (2004),
p. 266–269; Peeters, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 62 (2006), p. 328–337; Peeters, in:
Willems, et al., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 401–408; Willems, Peeters, Verstraeten, ZÄS 132
(2005), p. 181–185.
102 chapter 2
Figure 15 Projection of the mud road across the jazīra towards the east (showing the connec-
tion to the path leading to the area with the nomarchal tombs in zone 2). The
westward projection is orientated straight to the town of al-Ashmūnayn. After
Willems, Peeters, Verstraeten, ZÄS 132 (2005), p. 183, fig. 3.
of these visually dominant sepulchres. The ritual landscape has undoubtedly

been used for a considerable length of time, but for us it is important in the
first place to determine when (and perhaps why) it was created.
It could be argued that the road was laid out at the moment when the first
large tombs were built at the site. This moment can be dated with some accu-
racy because an exactly dated tomb lies immediately beside the ascending
path. This tomb, which is today largely destroyed, belonged to a certain Ia-ib.
We have already discussed the royal decree nominating him to a more exalted
position, which was issued by king Neferefre of the Vth Dynasty, and which is
inscribed on the façade of Ia-ib’s tomb.128 However, the hypothesis that the
road belongs to this period is not without problems. As noted before, many
tombs in the plain surrounded this road. We have excavated several dozens
of these, and almost all contained ceramic remains representing a homo-
geneous assemblage dating to the end of the First Intermediate Period and
128 De Meyer, RdE 62 [2011], p. 57–71.

the beginning of the Middle Kingdom, with very few later exceptions.129 In
zone 10, i.e. the continuation of the cemetery of zone 9 in the village square,
we have found material dating to the Late Period and the Coptic period,
which we need not consider here, and ceramics dating to the late First
Intermediate Period and Early Middle Kingdom. Old Kingdom material, how-
ever, is again completely absent, so that it is unlikely that the road can be linked
to elite tombs of that period.130
It also seems unlikely that the road led to First Intermediate Period nomarch
tombs. As we have seen, these probably were not located in zone 2, but in the
village centre.
The large nomarch tombs only appear in zone 2 during the tenure of
Ahanakht I. The enormous size of the wooden coffins buried there may well
have led to the construction of a transport slipway made of clay. This suggests
that the road may have emerged in this period. The ceramics found along the
road support this suggestion very well.131 From this perspective, the construc-
tion of the road can be regarded as an element of a program of adaptation
of the spatial organization of the site, of which the creation of the nomarch
cemetery in zone 2 constitutes the essential element.
If one accepts this hypothesis, several parallel developments can be noted.
On one hand, the administrative and political role of Ahanakht I, who was
not only nomarch and overseer of priests of the local temple, but also vizier,
acquired a leading position, not only in the Hare nome, but across the country.
This status must have had its effects on his social position, and the creation of
a vast ritual landscape encompassing the entire site of Dayr al-Barshā may be
indicative of this. This landscape facilitated funerary and mortuary celebra-
tions on an enormous scale, including processions in which a large part of the
population of al-Ashmūnayn must have participated. These events reached
129 S. Vereecken, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 422–428.

130 This statement is based not only on our own excavations here in 2006, which were
not particularly rewarding in this regard, but also on study of the material found here
by Maḥmūd Ḥamza and Usīrīs Ghubriāl now stored in the antiquities storeroom at
al-Ashmūnayn. This research is being undertaken by Marleen De Meyer and Stefanie
Vereecken.
131 See Op de Beeck, Peeters, Willems, in: Schiestl, Seiler (eds.), Handbook of Middle
Kingdom Pottery, p. 243–244; During a survey carried out in 2002, some pottery found
in zone 9 was attributed to the Old Kingdom (Op de Beeck, Hendrickx, CCE 9 [2011],
p. 312–314), but this was all surface material, and nothing comparable has been found
during our extensive excavations in the region. Therefore the spread of the Old Kingdom
material is likely to be due to bioturbation.
104 chapter 2
their climax when the processions reached the nomarch tombs in zone 2,
which began to be built in this period.132
It is known that zone 2 continued to be used as a cemetery into the reign
of Senwosret III, and that the monuments then built there were beautifully
decorated.133 One of these belonged to Djehutinakht VI. This tomb has col-
lapsed completely, but significant parts of the decoration still exist. One day
I hope to be able to undertake a restoration program here, but this will not be
possible before the excavations in the area in front of the tomb have been com-
pleted. The tomb of the nomarch Amenemhat is in even worse condition, but
it has been possible to reconstruct it (see fig. 16).134 These tombs roughly cover
the latter part of the reign of Senwosret I and the early reign of Amenemhat II.135
Of the other large tombs, that of the nomarch Djehutihotep (17L21/1; fig. 16)
is the most famous. Excavations inside this tomb and its forecourt began in
2002 and are still continuing.136 To date we have already found several thou-
sands of fragments of the decoration of this tomb. The most tantalizing ones
derive from an autobiographical text. The text included references to a king,
Memphis, and Heliopolis, and also seems to mention a conflict. Unfortunately
the odd 150 fragments rarely join, and no coherent sense can be made from
132 Based on the excavations of the last ten years, it is becoming increasingly clear that the
large Middle Kingdom cemetery in the plain probably had an only limited time depth.
The assemblage found in the tombs of zones 9 and 10 almost in its entirety covers the
early Middle Kingdom only. The material culture found in the tomb of Djehutinakht,
possibly the father of Ahanakht I, which we excavated in 2012, provides a range of objects
that have very close counterparts in many of these tombs, and the similarity is sometimes
so close as to suggest that certain objects were made in the same workshop. The vast
assemblage found in Reisner tomb 10A also has several objects of this kind (particularly
calcite alabaster dummy vessels), but others are already less clearly in evidence there (for
this assemblage, see The Secrets of Tomb 10A). Although some tombs in the plain are later,
they are small in number. This suggests that the vast desert plane cemetery was in use
only for a relatively brief period of time of perhaps several decades. It is tempting to relate
this to the probably increased importance of al-Ashmūnayn as an administrative center
after the reunification of Egypt.
133 In roughly this period, some apparently high-ranking provincial officials working under
the nomarchs also had large, rock-cut tombs either in front of the nomarch tombs in zone 2,
or at a lower level, in zone 4 (the former have always been known; for the latter, see
De Meyer, in: Willems, et al., MDAIK 65 [2009], p. 396).
134 Willems, in preparation 1.
135 Willems, JEOL 28 (1983–1984), p. 83–86.
136 Willems, MDAIK 60 (2004), p. 250–255; Verrept, Willems, in: Willems, MDAIK 62
(2006), p. 308–321; Willems, MDAIK 65(2009), p. 381–393.
Figure 16 Reconstruction of the tomb of Djehutihotep (17L21/1) on the left, and of the façade of
the tomb of Amenemhat (17L22/1) on the right. Drawing Martin Hense.
them. It can only be hoped that it will be possible one day to reconstruct not
only this text, but also other destroyed parts of the tomb.
The best-known feature of this tomb is the famous scene depicting the
colossal statue of Djehutihotep being transported from the quarry at Hatnub
to its final destination (pl. 4). Since this is almost the only source informing us
on how the Egyptians managed to transport large and heavy stone blocks, the
scene has often been studied as a source of information on Egyptian building
technology. On the other hand, the question of where and why the statue was
erected in the first place has until recently hardly been addressed.
The scene is found on the western wall of the tomb chapel. Today important
elements have unfortunately disappeared. The most serious loss concerns a
large, rectangular surface behind the back of the statue, where, until the late
1880s, there existed a historical inscription. Fortunately several Egyptologists
recorded copies of it before its disappearance. Moreover, a photograph taken
just before the destruction of the text by major Hanbury Brown was recently
106 chapter 2
published.137 Accordingly, fairly comprehensive documentation of this text

exists. It relates how the statue, which is said to have been almost seven metres
tall, was dragged from the Hatnub quarries, and that great technical difficulties
had to be overcome before it reached its destination. On arriving there, it was
awaited by an excited crowd, which is depicted in the topmost register of the
scene, accompanied by the following text:
[The entire town is in] festive mood, and its heart is rejoicing. Its elderly
people have rejuvenated, its youngsters are vigorous, its children are
shouting, their hearts being in the sovereign’s favor while building his138
monument.139
Further down, one sees four companies of men, totaling 172 persons, who are
dragging the sledge carrying the statue.
The text does not explicitly identify the site where the statue was erected.
Newberry thought it was set up in al-Ashmūnayn, a point of view that was,
until recently, generally accepted. In a recent article, the problem has been
discussed again, and this has led to rather different conclusions.140
The first indication concerning the emplacement can be drawn from the
text accompanying the lowermost pulling team. Each of these teams is said to
belong to a specific part of the Hare nome. The lowermost register concerns
the team from the eastern part of the nome. According to the text written over
their heads, they are chanting:
Our master has journeyed to (the settlement of) Tjerty. The god Nemty
rejoices on his account. His ancestors are in festive mood, their heart
being in joy, rejoicing over [his] beautiful monuments.141
It is not entirely clear who the “master” mentioned in the text is. It could
concern the statue, but also Djehutihotep, who is shown in the scene walk-
ing behind the statue. For the present discussion this uncertainty is of little
importance, for both interpretations imply that the journey has ended at a
town or village called Tjerty. There has been some debate over where Tjerty
was located, but at any rate it does not concern al-Ashmūnayn (called H̱ mnw
137 Davies, in: Studies James, p. 29–35.

138 I.e. Djehutihotep.
139 Bersheh I, pl. XV, upper register.
140 For what follows, see Willems, Peeters, Verstraeten, ZÄS 132 (2005), p. 173–189.
141 Bersheh I, pl. XV, lowermost register.
in Egyptian). The fact that the destination is mentioned in the chant of the
eastern team suggests that Tjerty was located on the eastern side of the Nile. In
any case, no element in the detailed description of the transport of the statue
refers to al-Ashmūnayn, and nothing suggests that the statue crossed the Nile
by ship. On the contrary, a passage in the main text informs us that the pulling
teams were “accompanied” by supply ships. This remark lends support to the
idea that the statue was dragged parallel to the river. This makes it more than
likely that the destination of the statue must have been located on the eastern
bank of the Nile. I have recently been able to add decisive evidence in this
debate: etymological study of the name of Tjerty proves that it was located
in Dayr al-Barshā, since a part of that modern village is today called al-Ṭūd, a
name that can be shown to go back to Tjerty.142
The scene not only depicts the transport of the statue, but also, in the far
right of the register, the destination (see fig. 17). This part of the scene shows
the gate of a chapel surrounded by men and women performing ritual activi-
ties. Above the lintel of the chapel gate the name of the structure is indicated
as “The love of Djehutihotep in the Hare nome is enduring.”143 It thus seems
clear that the context for which the statue was intended was a cult place for
the nomarch.
Finally, the text claims that Djehutihotep was the first local governor to have
the idea to build a personal cult place with a statue of such dimensions. He writes:
The Lords (ḥꜢ.ty.w-Ꜥ) who exercised their function in the past, and the
provincial rulers (sꜢb.w Ꜥḏ.w mr) who exercised their function . . . [. . . . .]
inside this town, and who established these (?) altars (?) on the river, they
did not contemplate these things I have done, (i.e.) my making for myself
of a lower [ka-house (?)], it having been established for eternity after this
tomb of mine had gone to rest from its work of eternity.144
The end of this passage suggests that Djehutihotep finished the construction
of his tomb before the second edifice was built, the designation of which has
142 Willems, ZÄS 140 (2013), p. 188–192.

143 Bersheh I, pl. XII. The cultic activity displayed in the scene and in the accompanying text
(“Presenting the best of Djehutihotep’s offering table that his districts that are in the Hare
nome bring to this statue of the Lord Djehutihotep, possessor of veneration”) leave no
room for doubt that it concerns a chapel, and not the palace of the governor. For the latter
suggestion, see Kemp, Ancient Egypt. Anatomy of a Civilization2, p. 340–341.
144 Bersheh I, pl. XIV, 10–12. For the justification of this translation, see Willems, Peeters,
Verstraeten, ZÄS 132 (2005), p. 174–175.
108 chapter 2
Figure 17 The destination of the statue of Djehutihotep (after Newberry, El Bersheh I,

pl. XI et XVI).
unfortunately disappeared. There is no reason to doubt, however, that the text

concerns the chapel where the cult statue was erected. It is therefore possible
that the destroyed word was ḥw.t-kꜢ, “ka-house,” a term that often designates
cult places of local potentates.145 In any case, the adjective “lower” presupposes
that the structure was located at a lower level than the tomb that Djehutihotep
had just finished. The text also suggests a connection between the tomb and
the chapel.
Djehutihotep compares the latter building to the “altars” that his prede-
cessors had built on the bank of the Nile. Apparently Djehutihotep’s chapel
was not an isolated structure, but was part of a group of similar buildings,
which were however of smaller dimensions. This chapel quarter lay on the
riverbank.
145 The question of what a “ka house” was will be returned to below.
Today, the eastern Nile bank is located at approximately two kilometres

west of the village centre of Dayr al-Barshā, but the research carried out by
our team in the floodplain suggests it is quite possible that the Nile bed lay
much closer to the village during the Middle Kingdom. The 2007 campaign has
even produced clear evidence that one branch passed only a short distance to
the west of the modern village centre; in another branch located somewhat
further west, New Kingdom ceramics were found.146 All these indications ren-
der likely that the harbour where the funerary processions disembarked on
the east bank was located to the west of the modern village square, and quite
far to the east of the modern Nile. Djehutihotep’s inscription suggests that it
was here, at the beginning of the road to the cemetery, that the quarter with
mortuary chapels of the governors was located, of which that of Djehutihotep,
built late in the XIIth dynasty, was the most impressive. It is tempting to com-
pare this situation with the nearly contemporary situation at Biahmū in the
Fayyūm depression. According to D. Arnold’s reconstruction, the beginning
of the road connecting the bank of Lake Moeris with the town of Madīnat
Fayyūm/Crocodilopolis, with its important Sobek temple, was flanked by two
seated statues of king Amenemhat III, which were of a type and size compara-
ble to the one described by Djehutihotep (fig. 18).147
All these considerations suggest that processions staged in the ritual land-
scape at Dayr al-Barshā took place on a circuit of which the starting and end
points were entirely dedicated to the cult of the line of regional governors,
probably during the entire period between the tenures of Ahanakht I (late XIth
dynasty) and Djehutihotep (late XIIth Dynasty): the governors’ chapels close
to the quay, and their tomb chapels high up the slope of the Eastern Desert. It
seems evident that the road connecting these extremities must have facilitated
ceremonies in which cult of the governors was no less important.148
The case of Dayr al-Barshā was certainly not unique. At Qāw al-Kabīr, the
nomarch tomb complexes included architecturally very impressive roads link-
ing the tombs to the valley. Even today, they recall the causeways of royal pyr-
amid complexes both in form and size (fig. 19). The same situation occurs in
the case of some Middle Kingdom tombs at the Qubbat al-Hawāʾ, of which
146 The physical geographical study of the floodplain is carried out by Gert Verstraeten
and his team.
147 Arnold, Die Tempel Ägyptens, p. 188.
148 It may be more than coincidental that the creation of the ritual landscape of Dayr al-Barshā
seems to have been chronologically close to the establishment of the processional axis
between Karnak and Dayr al-Baḥrī by Mentuhotep II, which was integrated with the
funerary cult of rulers (although the rulers were in this case monarchs, not nomarchs).
110 chapter 2
Figure 18 Reconstruction of the beginning of the processional road at Biahmū (after Arnold,
Die Tempel Ägyptens, p. 188).
one belonged to Sarenput I. At Thebes the tombs of the highest early Middle
Kingdom officials at Dayr al-Baḥrī and the ʿAsāsīf had longitudinal courtyards
in front of the tomb entrances. It is likely that a chapel marked the entrance at
the lower end of these courtyards. At Banī Ḥasan lines of stones on the surface
mark the outline of causeways descending from the tombs into the valley. At
Asyūṭ, no traces are visible on the surface of such roads, but an inscription in
the enormous tomb of Djefaihapi I, a contemporary of Senwosret I, refers to a
statue of the governor m rd ẖr<.y> n ı̓s=f “at the lower staircase of his tomb.”149
The tomb was apparently provided with a “staircase”150 descending into the
149 Siut I,308 (Griffith, Siûṭ and Dêr Rîfeh, pl. 8 = Montet, Kêmi 3 [1930–1935], p. 64).
150 Note that “staircase” is an imperfect rendering of the Egyptian term; it can also refer to
paths ascending slopes into the desert (see Wegner, The Mortuary Temple of Senwosret III
Figure 19 Reconstruction of the tombs at Qāw al-Kabīr (after Steckeweh, Die Fürstengräber
von Qâw).
112 chapter 2
Nile valley, and a cult statue stood at its lower end. Even though no other infor-
mation is available about this particular statue, it is known that nomarchs at
Asyūṭ sometimes really possessed statues of colossal size, even though the sin-
gle preserved instance, which is now in the Louvre, is made of wood instead
of stone and is of much smaller size than that of Djehutihotep.151 The Louvre
statue stood in one of the rock tombs at the site, but I would not be astonished
if the statue at the foot of the “staircase” leading to the vast tomb of Djefaihapi
would have been of larger scale.152 The situation at Dayr al-Barshā may have
been less exceptional than might be thought.
What happened in such a ritual landscape? Texts inform us only partly on

this score. An inscription in the tomb of It-ib at Asyūṭ contains the following
remark:
I have arrived here153 while my son was on my throne, . . . after he had

begun to rule as a child of one cubit. My town is overjoyed about him, as
it remembers my (own) goodness, for, as regards every sꜤḥ154 who will do
what is good for the people, and who will surpass the deeds of the one
who conceived him [. . . . . . (he is)] glorified in the necropolis while his
son endures in the house of his father, his good remembrance being in
at Abydos, p. 15, with references). On the processional roads at Abydos, see now Effland,
Budka, Effland, MDAIK 66 (2010), p. 78–85.
151 Delange, Statues égyptiennes, p. 76. The owner of this statue is called Djefaihapi, and
thus this colossal statue might conceivably have belonged to Djefaihapi I. If not, it must
have belonged to a namesake of his buried in the same neighbourhood. In the latter
case, the statue must have stood in one of the much smaller tombs surrounding that
of Djefaihapi I, suggesting that it may not have been very exceptional for high-ranking
Egyptians to possess a colossal statue.
152 According to a visitor’s inscription recently discovered at Asyūṭ, a “temple of Djefaihapi”
still existed at the site during the New Kingdom. It is unknown where this structure stood,
but it could have been in the Nile valley (see Kahl, GM 211 [2006], p. 27). In a recent
publication, it was argued that the statue was erected at the foot of the hill, below the
tomb of Djefaihapi I (el-Khadragy, GM 212 [2007], p. 42; 54). The same article moreover
suggests that a cult statue of colossal dimensions stood inside the tomb (p. 43, n. 18; p. 57,
fig. 2). The author bases this hypothesis on a remark by Griffith (Siûṭ and Dêr Rîfeh, p. 9),
but this is so unclear that it can hardly be considered sufficient to deduce the existence of
a monumental statue from it.
153 I.e. in the tomb.
154 A designation of the blessed deceased.
his town, and he being glorified when his statue is carried on the shoul-
ders of the servants of his household.155
In the autobiographies of nomarchs, such accounts are found more often.156

We can deduce from them that the governors claim to have been good admin-
istrators, who enjoyed a great popularity within the communities they were
in charge of. This is certainly presented as a personal quality, but great stress
is also put upon the continuity of the nomarchal lineage: the son pursues the
beneficial policy of his father, and the two are glorified in public while their
statues are carried through the streets of the town, probably on the occasion
of religious festivities.
Several Old Kingdom tombs contain reliefs showing such occasions. For
example, a scene in the tomb of Pepi-ankh Heni-kem at Mīr depicts a pro-
cession of offering bearers, of whom one is shown holding a portable shrine
containing the statue of the governor and a spouted ḳbḥ-vase (see fig. 20).157
The same type of shrine is shown in the tomb of Nekhebu at Giza.158 In other
cases the same model is encountered, but without the statue.159 In most cases
the scenes are oriented towards the interior of the tombs where they occur,
suggesting that the shrines were carried from the outside to the inside of the
tombs. This would fit the context of a procession to the tombs.
Similar objects have recently been discovered on Elephantine, and here the
archaeological context considerably clarifies the circumstances in which
the statues of high dignitaries were carried in procession. In this settlement, the
cult of “saint” Heqaib was of major importance. Pepinakht, with the “beautiful
name” of Heqaib, had lived towards the end of the VIth dynasty, during which
period he led expeditions into Nubia. Undoubtedly, he was also the leading
official in the southernmost nome of Upper Egypt, even though the inscrip-
tions in his tomb in the Qubbat al-Hawāʾ do not explicitly state as much.160
Already during the Old Kingdom, and perhaps even while he was still alive,
a small chapel dedicated to him was founded in the governor’s palace on the
155 Siut III, 13–15 (Griffith, Siûṭ and Dêr Rîfeh, pl. 11 = P. Montet, Kêmi 3 [1930–1935], p. 92).
For the analysis, see Willems, Phoenix 46 (2000), p. 99–100.
156 See the sources compiled by Dorn, in: Des Néferkarê aux Montouhotep, p. 134–135; Dorn,
Funde, p. 41–54; 58–65.
157 Meir V, pl. XXVI.
158 Smith, HESPOK, p. 209, fig. 80.
159 See the sources listed by Dorn, op. cit., p. 132–133.
160 This assumption is based on the considerations on p. 54. For his tomb inscriptions, see
Urk. I, p. 131–135.
114 chapter 2
Figure 20 Offering bearer holding a portable shrine containing the statue of the governor and
a spouted ḳbḥ-vase (after Meir V, pl. XXVI).
island. In this particular case, the cult of the governor gradually took on the addi-
tional aspect of a cult for a local saint, the sꜤḥ Heqaib. In the course of the First
Intermediate Period, it gradually became so important that king Antef II built
a new and larger cult place at short distance from the original chapel. Over
the years, the latter evolved into a storage place for the cult equipment used
during the processions staged in the honour of Heqaib (and his successors).161
(In what follows, this will be referred to as “the sacristy.”)
161 For the development of the Heqaib chapels, see von Pilgrim, in: Timelines I, p. 403–418. For
information that cultic practices in the older sanctuary at Elephantine already began
During the Middle Kingdom, the new chapel was enlarged several times,
being transformed into a cult centre, not only for Heqaib, but also for all suc-
cessive governors, at least starting with Sarenput I.162 The archaeological con-
text shows that the cult not only took place within the confines of the chapel,
but also outside it. On leaving the chapel, the Middle Kingdom visitor would
find himself on what was then the widest street in the entire settlement. The
complete absence of waste between the successive street levels moreover indi-
cates that it was regularly cleaned.163 These features indicate that the road
must have played a very special role, and that it differed in this regard from
most other streets in the town.
The earlier Heqaib chapel, which by the Middle Kingdom had been con-
verted into a sacristy, turned out on discovery to be in a remarkable state of
preservation. The find includes portable shrines of the same kind as those
depicted on tomb walls, which we have just discussed; fragments of some
others were discovered. The shrines contained no statues, but only ḳbḥ-vases.
However, statues were also discovered in the same context.164
Some of the shrines were inscribed with the names of the highest officials
of the town. In the Old Kingdom levels, one of the shrines is inscribed with
the name of Heqaib, as might be expected, but another bears the name of an
official named Sebekhotep.165 A shrine found in the Middle Kingdom levels is
inscribed with the names both of Heqaib and a man called Sabni, the latter
being perhaps Heqaib’s son. These findings reveal that the Heqaib chapel also
facilitated the cult of later rulers of Elephantine. Moreover, the last shrine not
only seems to place the cult of these later governors within the context of the
Heqaib cult, it also makes clear that, apart from Heqaib, at least one other Old
Kingdom governor was still the beneficiary of rituals celebrated here. In view
of the fragmentary archaeological record, it is likely that shrines of many, and
perhaps all of Heqaib’s successors once existed. This renders likely that the
cult in the chapel started off as a as a personal shrine for Heqaib only, but that
his successors chose to associate their own personal cult to that of their illus-
trious predecessor. One is therefore tempted to assume that a whole series of
in the mid-sixth dynasty, and that the cult of Heqaib soon gained the upper hand here,
see Dorn, Funde, p. 11.
162 For the interpretation of this more recent version of the chapel, see Franke, Das Heiligtum
des Heqaib.
163 Von Pilgrim, Elephantine XVIII, p. 124–126; 219–220.
164 For a detailed discussion of the portable shrines, see Dorn, op. cit., p. 129–143.
165 Von Pilgrim, in: Timelines I, p. 403–418; see also Dorn, Funde, p. 16.
116 chapter 2
governors’ shrines was carried in procession. Perhaps the statue of the

ruling governor was the first (or last) of the series.
To understand the processions it is important to consider the topography
of Elephantine. The first Heqaib shrine (i.e., the later sacristy) concentrated
around a niche in the western part of the wall surrounding the governor’s pal-
ace. Just south of the chapel, a door led from the palace onto the street outside.
In face of the palace, a street led straight to the southwestern town gate (see
fig. 21). The construction of the second Heqaib shrine necessitated an adapta-
tion of the ritual circuit. The wide road in front of the chapel led to the south,
and probably at some point joined the road from the earlier Heqaib sanctu-
ary. As was pointed out by von Pilgrim, this connection must have served to
bring the portable shrines from the sacristy to the later Heqaib shrine.166 For
the rest, the ritual scenario may have remained largely the same.
In interpreting this scenario, the destination of the processions is of course
vital. Understanding the early phases of these is complicated by the complex
and thick stratigraphy on the island, as a result of which evidence for some
periods is very patchy. Recent study by S. J. Seidlmayer has however drawn
attention to the fact that a group of large (and almost monumental) graffiti
in the southern part of Elephantine, which date to the early Old Kingdom,
include funerary scenes, and suggest a connection to funerary or mortuary
processions leading out of the town through the southwestern gate.167 In the
early Old Kingdom, the eastern and western parts of the island were still sep-
arated by a natural depression, which was flooded during the annual inunda-
tion. In this period, the town of Elephantine lay on the “eastern island.” Later
in the Old Kingdom, a necropolis lay on the western island, close to the min-
iature pyramid of King Huni discussed in the first chapter. Seidlmayer argues
that the early Old Kingdom cemetery lies on the western island too, although
somewhat further to the south, in an area that is archaeologically inaccessible
because later strata now cover it. His argument cannot of course be proven,
but it sounds convincing, and it implies that the early Old Kingdom graffiti
on the eastern island and the corresponding tombs on the western island lay
opposite one another on both sides of the depression. This reading convinces
me, but I would like to add that the road leading from the early Heqaib chapel
to the southwestern town gate is likely to have been connected to the path
discussed by Seidlmayer.
During the First Intermediate Period a dam was built to connect the two
sides of the depression, and it may be no coincidence that the dyke lies right
166 For all preceding issues, see von Pilgrim, in: Timelines I, p. 403–418.
167 Seidlmayer, in: Texte und Denkmäler des ägyptischen Alten Reiches, p. 295–306.
Figure 21 The southeastern part of the town of Elephantine in the Middle Kingdom. The dotted
areas indicate the trajectory of processional routes. In the southeast, there existed a
governorial palace in the Old Kingdom, and the ‘sacristy’ used in the Middle
Kingdom was located in its western circular wall. The processional road connected
with the Middle Kingdom version of the Heqaib sanctuary joins the road deriving
from the sacristy near where the southwestern town gate had been located since the
early Old Kingdom. After von Pilgrim, in: Timelines I, p. 404, Abb. 1.
in front of the southwestern town gate.168 It must have facilitated easy access
from the area of the governor’s palace (and the earlier Heqaib chapel) to this
later cemetery.
By this time, however, the elite of Elephantine was no longer buried on the
Western island, but across the Nile in the Qubbat al-Hawāʾ, while the o rdinary
168 See Ziermann, MDAIK 51 (1995), p. 138–140 and fig. 1; for a more recent analysis, see
Seidlmayer, Historische und moderne Nilstände, p. 81–82.
118 chapter 2
population of the town had its tombs near the Huni pyramid.169 There is
no positive evidence that funerary processions visited this latter cemetery,
although this stands to reason (and the dyke just mentioned may have been
built for this purpose). In any case, the doorjamb of the tomb of Heqaib at the
Qubbat al-Hawāʾ contains a scene showing how a portable shrine is carried
to the tomb.170 On this basis the following scenario for the late Old Kingdom
can be reconstructed. The participants in the procession gather close to the
governor’s palace, while the portable shrines are collected in the chapel built
in the circular wall around the palace. Then the procession leaves the town
through the southwestern gate, descending to the southern part of the island,
following the path that had already been used for this purpose since the early
Old Kingdom. From here the commoners probably crossed over to the west-
ern island, while more highly-placed families embarked on ships, crossing
to the west bank of the Nile to reach the tomb of Heqaib and others at the
Qubbat al-Hawāʾ.
The construction of the new Heqaib chapel led to a slight adaptation of the
trajectory. A wide processional road was made leading south from the chapel,
joining the old course near the southwestern town gate. For the rest, the trajec-
tory is likely to have remained unchanged.
The situation at Elephantine resembles that at Balāṭ in certain respects.
Close to this modern village, the mission of the French Institute in Cairo (IFAO)
has discovered the large town of ʿAyn ʿAsīl and, west of this, at Qilāʿ al-Dabba,
the cemetery belonging to this settlement. Both date to the late Old Kingdom
and early First Intermediate Period. The southern part of the town is already
well documented (see fig. 22). It includes the palace of the local governor.
Further west there are the remains of four ka chapels destined for the cult of
the governors, and a fifth was discovered south of the palace.171 Very recently,
a sixth one was discovered in the southeastern part of the palatial compound.172
169 Seidlmayer, in: Social Aspects of Funerary Culture, p. 205–252; Seidlmayer, ‘Vom Sterben
der kleinen Leute. Tod und Bestattung in der sozialen Grundschicht am Ende des Alten
Reiches,’ in: H. Guksch, E. Hofmann, M. Bommas (eds.), Grab und Totenkult im alten
Ägypten (München, 2003); for the elite tombs on the Qubbat al-Hawāʾ, see Seyfried, in:
Grab und Totenkult im alten Ägypten (München, 2003), p. 41–59; Edel, Seyfried, Vieler,
Die Felsgräbernekropole von Qubbet el-Hawa bei Assuan.
170 Dorn, op. cit., p. 132.
171 For the chapels of the governors at ʿAyn ʿAsīl, see Soukiassian, Wuttmann, Pantalacci,
Balat VI.
172 Soukiassian (ed.), Balat XI, p. 5–24. This study shows that ka chapels at this site
occasionally took the form of double chapels, apparently with one sanctuary for the
current governor and another for his father.
Figure 22 Plan of the southern part of the town of ‘Ayn Asīl (after Soukiassian [ed.], Balat XI,
p. 13, fig. 1).
120 chapter 2
As at Elephantine, the Old Kingdom palace thus included cult facilities for the
governors. The presence of offering tables for deceased governors found within
the lodgings of the governorial family shows that these people celebrated the
mortuary cult of their relatives within the privacy of their living quarters,
and this fact alone suggests that the chapels served a more public cultic pur-
pose. This conclusion is borne out by a second parallelism to the situation at
Elephantine: the chapels occupy a prominent position within the street layout
of the town. The widest road in the city connects the governor’s palace to the
western town gate. Four of the six chapels flank this road on the north and
the south. Their position thus facilitates gatherings of considerable numbers of
people in front of the palace and the governors’ chapels. Moreover, leaving the
town gate and walking straight on to the west leads one in an almost straight
line to the cemetery at Qilāʿ al-Dabba. The spatial layout is accordingly emi-
nently suited to facilitate ritual processions leading from the governor’s pal-
ace to the necropolis, just as we have seen at Elephantine.173 The two chapels
located in the southern part of the town are not directly linked to the western
town gate, but both lie in the immediate vicinity of a very large town square.
This would allow for far larger groups of people than the wide road near the
earlier chapels built further to the north.174
The ritual landscape at Dayr al-Barshā is not comparable in all regards to
the situation in Balāṭ or Elephantine, but then there is of course no reason
to expect that the model underlying the cult of the governors did not allow any
variation.175 In any case, similarities are also evident. At Dayr al-Barshā, as at
the other sited discussed, the cult is organized on a trajectory connecting the
ka chapels of the governors and their tomb chapels.
173 The fact that the ka chapels of the governors have almost the same structure (with a
tripartite sanctuary at the back) as the funerary chapels of mastabas II and V at Qilāʿ
al-Dabba moreover suggests a link between the cult practices at the two locations.
174 Soukiassian (ed.), Balat XI, p. 13, fig. 1, “cour” beside the “sanctuaire de Médou-néfer” and
the “sanctuaires sud-est.”
175 As has already been remarked by Kemp, CAJ 5 (1995), p. 45–46. In some cases, tombs of
queens or other high-ranking persons were transformed into personal cult places (e.g.,
the case of Isi at Idfū; see now also the case of the deceased queens of Pepi I (see Berger-
el-Naggar, Labrousse, BSFE 164 [2005], p. 18–22). In other cases, personal cult places
were located in temples, as was the case, for instance, for the administrators of Coptos in
the VIIIth dynasty, or for Djefaihapi I in the temple of Wepwawet at Asyūṭ. It should be
noted that a text recently discovered at Asyūṭ refers to a “temple” of Djefaihapi, which
suggests that there was a cult place for this governor that was independent from the one
in the temple of Wepwawet (see Kahl, GM 211 [2006], p. 27). The chapel of Djehutihotep
at Dayr al-Barshā may have been of such grandeur as to recall that of a “temple” likewise.
Unfortunately, information on the specific occasions when religious

festivities were celebrated in such landscapes is not particularly abundant.
At Balāṭ and Dayr al-Barshā, no pertinent information at all is forthcoming. At
Elephantine, however, the texts show that the most important celebrations
of the year took place during the Sokar festival, at least during the Middle
Kingdom.176 This festival originated at Memphis, where the feast included
processional rituals that began in the town, followed by a procession around
the city walls, and a subsequent journey to the necropolis in the desert. The
conditions at Elephantine were very different; for instance, it would have
been impossible to walk in procession around the town. However, for the
rest, the situation there accords well with the scenario of the Sokar festival.177
In both cases, we are facing a ritual trajectory connecting the personal cult
places of local potentates with the cemetery of the town. The situation of
al-Ashmūnayn–Dayr al-Barshā seems to be of the same nature.178
At Elephantine, the Sokar festival in the Middle Kingdom marked the occa-
sion for the processions. It is important to note, however, that Sokar himself
does not play a very marked role in religious texts from the Aswān region.
As Franke has shown, the texts from Elephantine mention the possibility of
“seeing the perfection of Sokar” as the most essential element of the festival.179
Other texts speak of “seeing the sꜤḥ Heqaib on the morning of the Sokar
festival.”180 It seems that the participants saw a degree of similarity between
the sacred deceased Heqaib and the god Sokar. It is no less remarkable that the
other governors, i.e. Heqaib’s successors, also, and within the same ritual con-
text, received a personal cult. The distinction between the cult of a local gov-
ernor, of “saint” Heqaib, and of a deity like Sokar is accordingly not very sharp.
B. Kemp has drawn attention to the fact that a comparison of the size of, on
the one hand, the divine temples of the Old and Middle Kingdoms, and, on the
other, the chapels for the personal cult of the governors of the same period
(i.e., mostly their tomb chapels), show that the former were much smaller
176 Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 128–131.

177 This scenario has been studied by Franke, loc. cit., with bibliographical references;
Graindorge-Hereil, Le dieu Sokar.
178 I stress that this does not necessarily imply that the Sokar festival was also the occasion
of the festivities at Balāṭ or Dayr al-Barshā. At those sites, other, but similarly organized
festivals may have been celebrated. For a study of the occasions of this kind of processions,
see Dorn, Funde, p. 72–74.
179 Habachi, The Sanctuary of Heqaib I, p. 92 and II, pl. 158–159 (no. 67).
180 Habachi, op. cit., I, p. 76 and II, pl. 126–128 (no. 49); I, p. 88–89 and II, pl. 144–146 (no. 61).
122 chapter 2
than the latter.181 Moreover, facilities for a personal cult could be established
in divine temples. This was the case, for example, for the cult of Djefaihapi at
Asyūṭ. For Kemp indications of this kind suggest that the cult of human indi-
viduals who, during life, had played a key role in their community, occupied a
more prominent position than the divine cult. The relationship between the
patron and his clients, rather than a theological theory, constituted the matrix
on which religious thinking was patterned. In this climate, it becomes easier to
understand the role of the “saints” (sꜤḥ.w), who are in reality dead persons who
have acquired a special position in the collective memory of the community in
which they once lived. Kemp refers in this connection to the letters to the dead,
where the living address dead people rather than deities.
An interesting variant, to which Kemp does not refer, is offered by Papyrus
Berlin 10482. This document resembles a letter to the dead, since, as in other
representatives of the genre, the writer requests the intercession of a dead
ancestor (in this case in order to facilitate the birth of children). However, dif-
ferent from most letters to the dead, the deceased is not asked himself to take
the essential steps to acquiesce in the request, but only to exert his influence
to the gods.182 By focusing on the one hand on the dead, and on the other on
the gods, this document thus testifies to the parallel existence of two forms of
religion, between which one senses no tension, but rather which seem to have
mutually reinforced one another.
In the case of the cult of the governor, we are clearly facing a religious
practice, but this is a practice in which human beings of high rank occupy
a particular place in the religious awareness of the population. Franke has
coined the expression “venerated dead patron” for their religious role.183 Even
though this scholar has clearly shown that even the “noble” (sꜤḥ) Heqaib never
fully attained the role of a “god,” it is clear that the distinction remains hard
to define.184
I believe that Franke’s and Kemp’s remarks, which have hardly been taken
into consideration in the debate on the role and function of the Coffin Texts,
are of crucial importance. In the next chapter, I will attempt to follow this line
of thought. However, this issue cannot be reasonably discussed without first
confronting some points of view which are so deeply rooted in Egyptological
181 Kemp, CAJ 5 (1995), p. 41–50.

182 Jürgens, GM 116 (1990), p. 61–63.
183 Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 140: “verehrten toten Patron.”
184 Franke, op. cit., p. 131–142. The same problem of definition obtains for “saint” Isi of Idfū.
Even though this is quite clearly a human being, the term nṯr “god” is occasionally used to
designate this “dead patron.”
thinking that they have almost acquired the status of well-established “facts.”
In particular, I need to address the Egyptological myth of the “democratiza-
tion of funerary texts.” Although this concept seems in recent years to have
lost some of its attraction, being replaced by the euphemism “demotization,”
the underlying presuppositions have generally remained the same. To me, this
model seems to be as erroneous as it has been influential. The next chapter
will therefore trace the origins of this expression to lay bare the considerations
underlying this concept. The “deconstruction” will reveal that the theory of the
“democratization of funerary texts” completely misrepresents the context in
which the Coffin Texts functioned.
chapter 3
The Coffin Texts and Democracy
The origin of the term ‘democratization’ in Egyptological parlance goes back

to the beginning of the twentieth century, when it was introduced within the
broader framework of the study of the political history of the end of the Old
Kingdom and of the First Intermediate Period. The expression has always
astonished me, for although even today, it continues to have wide currency in
studies of this period,1 it is quite evident that neither the late Old Kingdom,
nor the First Intermediate Period, nor the Middle Kingdom, were in any sense
democratic. In ancient Egypt, there never was an administrative system in
which those in charge were controlled by the population. I should of course
add that, when Egyptologists utilize the term ‘democratization,’ they never
envisage such a political system. What they call ‘democratization’ is rather a
socio-cultural trend of proliferation: privileges that had been reserved origi-
nally for the king come within the reach of increasingly large segments of the
population, in the end being adopted even by the lowermost social strata.
The dissemination of the Coffin Texts is often understood from this perspec-
tive. The idea is that, originally, the Pyramid Texts were strictly reserved for
usage by the king, but that, in the form of the Coffin Texts, such texts were
‘usurped’ by the whole population. Several Egyptologists have recently opted
for the somewhat weaker term ‘demotization’ to designate the phenomenon.2
According to a line of Egyptological thinking introduced in the early twenti-
eth century, but still largely current today, this change took place roughly con-
comitantly with the collapse of the Old Kingdom, and particularly during the
1 To my knowledge, the word appears for the first time in its ‘Egyptological’ sense in a study
written by Moret and published in 1922 (in: Recueil dʼétudes égyptologiques dédiées à la
mémoire de J.-F. Champollion, p. 331–360). Some other examples: Bonnet, RÄRG, p. 347;
Morenz, Ägyptische Religion, p. 58–59; Podeman Sørensen, in: The Religion of the Ancient
Egyptians, p. 109–125; Assmann, Tod und Jenseits, p. 503; Ikram, Dodson, The Mummy in
Ancient Egypt, p. 17; Richards, Society and Death, p. 8–9; Wasmuth, BiOr 63 [2006], col. 68;
Labrousse, in: Ancient Memphis, p. 308; Allen, in: The Old Kingdom Art and Archaeology,
p. 9–17.
2 For example Assmann, Maʿat, p. 114; 118; 119. Others do not even use a term for the phenom-
enon, but implicitly subscribe to the theory (e.g. Borghouts, Book of the Dead [39], p. 57:
“. . . the Coffin Texts, which are for general use . . .”).

the coffin texts and democracy 125
First Intermediate Period.3 The theory is currently somewhat less fashionable,4

and those who continue to use the term democratization often place it between
quotation marks. Yet the ‘democratic hypothesis’ remains essentially undis-
puted in mainstream Egyptology, witness, for example, the following remark
by J. Assmann on the “demo(cra)tization of the image of the king at the end of
the Old Kingdom and later”:5
Only with the theoretical and potential extension of this highly exclusive6
destiny in the hereafter to all Egyptians, the royal netherworld also
expanded into an Elysiac netherworldly space. By consequence, the dis-
tinction between the world of death and Elysium lost its political sense
(the Elysium for the king, the world of death for the people).7
The Roots of the ‘Democratic Hypothesis’
I am inclined to situate the ‘prelude’ to the ‘democratic hypothesis’ in 1909,

when A. H. Gardiner published his seminal edition of Papyrus Leiden 344
recto: the poem of Ipuwer.8 This document, dated to the nineteenth dynasty,
is written in Middle Egyptian and transmits one of the best-known examples
of Egyptian literary laments. In this text, Ipuwer describes a torn society. The
traditional social hierarchy has broken down, peasants and servants usurping
the position of those who used to be their masters. In these troubled times, the
administration no longer functions. Laws are disregarded. No one pursues his
3 Fundamentally Moret, loc. cit.; Kees, Totenglauben, p. 160–229; Vandier, Religion, p. 86–87;
Morenz, loc. cit.; see still, for example, Meeks, Favard-Meeks, Daily Life of the Egyptian
Gods, p. 5.
4 See, e.g., the remarks by Quirke, Ancient Egyptian Religion, p. 155–158; Mathieu, in: Dʼun
monde à lʼautre, p. 256–257.
5 “. . . die Demo(kra)tisierung dieses Königsbildes mit und nach dem Ende des Alten Reichs.”
6 I.e. ‘royal’ (H.W.).
7 Emphasis mine. “Erst mit der Ausweitung dieses hochexklusiven Jenseitsschicksals auf
theoretisch und potentiell alle Ägypter weitete sich auch das königliche Jenseits zu einem
elysischen Jenseitsraum. Damit verlor die Unterscheidung zwischen Todeswelt und Elysium
ihren politischen Sinn (dem König das Elysium, den Menschen die Todeswelt);” Assmann,
Tod und Jenseits, p. 503.
8 Gardiner, Admonitions. For a new edition of this text, with numerous corrections, see
Enmarch, The Dialogue of Ipuwer.
126 chapter 3
proper task, which leads to famine. In these conditions, violence pervades the
country.
The text is relatively clear in its descriptions, but it offers no decisive indica-
tions to determine which historical era it evokes. As usual, Gardiner expressed
himself cautiously:
The view that our Leiden papyrus contains allusions to the Hyksos
has the better support from the historical standpoint, but philological
and other considerations seem rather to point to the seventh to tenth
dynasties as those which have provided the background of events. It is
doubtless wisest to leave the question open for the present.9
Unfortunately, the closing remark has hardly been heeded.10 After 1909,
Egyptology almost invariably accepted the idea that the text describes con-
ditions in the First Intermediate Period.11 In 1964, however, J. Van Seters
adduced strong evidence against the traditional dating, and, based on a mass
of philological and historical indications within the text, proposed a date in
the late thirteenth dynasty.12 This later dating nowadays has many adherents,
and according to one author, the text may even have been written in the eight-
eenth dynasty.13 Moreover, the historicity of the text is no longer considered
certain.14 Due to all these uncertainties, the text is worthless as a source on the
First Intermediate Period.
However, in the early twentieth century it was still almost generally
accepted that the text reflects the social upheavals of the First Intermediate
9 Gardiner, Admonitions, p. 18.

10 In fact, Gardiner himself, at the end of his book (p. 111), expresses a preference for
accepting the idea that the Admonitions present an account of life under the First
Intermediate Period.
11 This opinion is still frequently found, e.g. Assmann, Maʿat, S. 57; Hassan, in: The
Archaeology and Art of Ancient Egypt. Essays in Honor of David B. O’Connor I, p. 357–377;
Dubiel, Amulette, Siegel und Perlen, p. 183; Morenz, Die Zeit der Regionen, p. 48–52 and
passim.
12 Van Seters, JEA 50 (1964), p. 13–23; the same author recently re-stated his arguments
at the symposium ʻDating Egyptian Literary Texts. Göttingen, 9th–12th June 2010,ʼ
(information kindly provided by Ursula Verhoeven). His paper will published in the
proceedings, to appear in Lingua Aegyptia. Studia Monographica.
13 Gnirs, in: Jn.t ḏr.w. Festschrift für Friedrich Junge, p. 210–211.
14 See Enmarch, EA 28 (2006), p. 35; Idem, A World Upturned, p. 18–24; Burkard, Thissen,
Einführung, p. 127–133; Quirke, Egyptian Literature, p. 140.
Period. This is an important element in understanding the climate in which the

‘democratic hypothesis’ was launched just after the First World War.15
In this period, Europe was shaken by a profound social and cultural trans-
formation. At the end of the war, the Ancien Régime had disappeared in Russia,
Austria, Germany, and Turkey, being replaced by democratic or communist
political systems. In Russia, where the Tsar had been dethroned and killed,
power had been taken over by the Mensheviks, and then by the Bolsheviks,
and, until the early 1920s, the country suffered from a devastating civil war.
After the abdication of the Kaiser, Germany also was in dire straits, with a
Weimar government, which was as weak as it was democratic, and which had
to face aggressive revolutionary and counter-revolutionary movements. In
April 1919, Munich was even temporarily controlled by a workers’ committee
inspired by the Russian soviets, a state of affairs that was only brought to an
end after bloody combats. The situation was not as serious everywhere, but it
is clear that such events must have dominated the public debate at the time.
Considering that all scholars are children of their time, it should be expected
that the social and political discourse of their time must have had a pro-
found impact on their scholarly thinking as well, even though this must often
have been the case only unconsciously. I believe that the study of the First
Intermediate Period can retrospectively be understood from this perspective.
That distant era, too, witnessed grave social and political changes, with the
Old Kingdom monarchy collapsing, being replaced by an alternative that was
soon baptized as ‘democratic.’ And, in fact, the sweeping changes described
in the poem of Ipuwer are not dissimilar to the situation in parts of Europe at
the time. In the way some Egyptologists used the term ‘democratization,’ one
can to an extent still sense the emotions of the academic elites in the face of
the unleashed popular masses.
Following up on the groundwork laid immediately before the First World
War by A. H. Gardiner and J. H. Breasted, the ‘democratic hypothesis’ really
took off with an article which A. Moret published in 192216 on ‘the assump-
tion of religious and political rights by the Egyptian plebs under the Middle
15 J. Breasted already propounded very similar ideas just before the First World War
(Development of Religion and Thought in Ancient Egypt, p. 256–257, 272). Although one
does not yet find the noun ‘democratization’ in his work, he does use the verb ‘democratize’
to describe the proliferation of the Coffin Texts. See further below.
16 Moret, in: Recueil d’études égyptologiques dédiées à la mémoire de J.-F. Champollion,
p. 331–360: “lʼaccession de la plèbe égyptienne aux droits religieux et politiques sous
le Moyen Empire.”
128 chapter 3
Kingdom.’17 Moret, who was at the time a curator at the Musée Guimet,
directeur d’études at the École Pratique des Hautes Études, and lecturer at
the Sorbonne,18 writes in an academic and neutral tone, which avoids direct
comparison with the political situation of the day. But when he discusses the
transformations that moved Egypt between the end of the Old Kingdom and
the Middle Kingdom, a period when royal decorum had become accessible to
“every man, whether he was king, workman or artisan” (p. 331), he nonetheless
uses terms like “proletarians, workmen and artisans,” “political and social rev-
olution” (p. 342; 345), and “plebs” (p. 344). Egypt had fallen “into the hands of
revolutionaries” (p. 345), and royal privileges had become the “common prop-
erty of all classes of the population” (p. 349). “The disclosure of religious and
magic secrets brought to an end the monopoly of the privileged classes,
and announced a social regime” (p. 347).19 According to Moret
17 M. Smith has recently taken issue with my account in the French edition of this work (s.v.
Democratization of the Afterlife, in: UEE, S. 2). In his view it is incorrect to understand
the ‘democratic hypothesis’ as ‘a reaction to the upheavals of the First World War and its
aftermath,’ since it would already have emerged ‘much earlier.’ By this, he means 1912,
the year when Breasted published the work just cited. Quite apart from the question
of whether it is justified to call 1912 ‘much earlier,’ I should add that I always placed the
origins of the hypothesis with Gardiner’s publication of the poem of Ipuwer in 1909, i.e.
well-before the First World War. While it is true that I failed to refer in that connection to
Breasted, this is quite immaterial. The date when the word ‘democratization’ was first
used in this connection is of course not the issue (and moreover, Breasted did not use it:
see Hays, in: Old Kingdom, New Perspectives, p. 116). My concern was (and is) to describe
the intellectual climate in which the debate really took off, and there is no reason to doubt
that the situation after the First World War was a catalyst here. The controversy between
conservative and socialist/communist politicians was itself of course not something
that only began after the war, but the war certainly intensified it. For us, the situation
in Germany is particularly relevant, since H. Kees, the most significant theoretic in this
debate, was German, and also because he was deeply involved in contemporary politics.
People such as him were appalled that the German government, then for the first time
under a socialist leadership, capitulated for the allies. This soon led to the Dolchstoßlegende
(for the situation in Germany, see for instance Haffner, Der Verrat; Ullrich, Die nervöse
Großmacht 1871–1918, p. 557–571). For me, the First World War is accordingly not the
trigger of the ‘democratic hypothesis,’ but only of its cultural-pessimistic variant, which
has been immensely influential in Egyptology.
18 A year after the publication of his article, he also was appointed professor at the Collège
de France (Dawson, Uphill, Bierbrier, WWW 3, p. 295).
19 “La divulgation des secrets religieux et magiques faisait tomber le monopole des classes
privilégiées, et annonçait un régime social.”
this proves that even the royal administration had become secularized;
were not all secrets20 divulged? Functions are often semi-hereditary, and
can be passed on as property of a family or workshop. . . . The plebs exerts
political rights by providing strong contingents of officials. Such were the
results of the revolution as they can be discerned from the documenta-
tion presently known. The monarchal socialism assured the plebeians
some rights that a democratic regime has given them elsewhere (p. 357).21
But finally, “Egypt was not sufficiently developed to attain a democratic regime
following up on the social revolution” (p. 348).22 One has the impression that
the wave of ‘democratization’ that swept over Europe was perceived with a
certain empathy by Moret. Here his French roots may not be without signifi-
cance: institutionally, the French revolution of 1789 had—ultimately—led to a
successful democratic regime.
German Egyptologists living and working in the post-war years were expe-
riencing revolutionary conditions that were affecting their lives much more
directly, and negatively, and in some cases there is unequivocal evidence that
everyday realities provided an interpretative scheme for the poem of Ipuwer
and the First Intermediate Period. Thus, M. Pieper writes in 1928:
Around 2500 B.C., the Old Kingdom state collapsed, and this as a result
of a great catastrophe, which reminds one of recent events. . . . “A
20 He is speaking here of the possibility for a large part of the population to dispose of religious
texts, and in the course of the article it becomes clear that he understands this as referring
to the proliferation of formerly royal funerary texts among the population. Moret was
not the first to offer this account of the process; this occurs in Sethe, Pyramidentexte
I, IX–X (as was observed by Hays, in: Old Kingdom, New Perspectives, p. 117). Probably,
Sethe’s account of the development of funerary texts, published in 1908, and Gardiner’s
analysis of the Admonitions (1909) should not be regarded as independent; both scholars
knew each other well and closely worked together at the time for the Wörterbuch project.
Both the publication of the Pyramid Texts and of the Poem of Ipuwer are spinoff of this
project (see Wb. I, p. VII–VIII).
21 “Cela prouve que l’administration royale a été, elle aussi, sécularisée; tous les secrets,
n’étaient-ils pas divulgués? Les emplois sont souvent quasi héréditaires, et peuvent être
légués comme un bien de famille, ou un atelier. . . . La plèbe exerce ces droits politiques en
fournissant un fort contingent de fonctionnaires. Tels ont été les résultats de la révolution
discernables avec les documents actuellement connus. Le socialisme monarchique assure
aux plébéiens une partie des droits que le régime démocratique leur a donné ailleurs.”
22 “L’Egypte n’était pas assez évoluée pour aboutir au régime démocratique à la suite de la
révolution sociale.”
130 chapter 3
Bolshevik revolution in ancient Egypt,” this is the first, astounding impres-

sion. It looks as though everything was turned upside down, just like in
the last years.23
But the most important scholar working on this issue was undoubtedly
H. Kees, whose studies of provincial administration and funerary religion are
well known.24 Kees had a much less benevolent attitude to revolutionary ten-
dencies than Moret, as can be easily perceived in his publications.25 To under-
stand his point of view, it is necessary to discuss his personality to an extent.
In June 1945, G. Steindorff, a Jewish Egyptologist who had left Germany in
the late 1930s, wrote a report to J. Wilson, the director of the Oriental Institute
of the University of Chicago, concerning the political antecedents of German
Egyptologists. According to Steindorff, some of them should be excluded
from German academic life in the post-war era. This notice contains interest-
ing portrayals of some key scholars. On Kees, Steindorff writes:
I accuse
[...]
3. Dr Hermann Kees, professor of Egyptology, University of Göttingen, a
member of an old Saxon land-owning family, a militarist and Junker. He
was an army officer in the First World War, and fought later by all means
in his power, openly and secretly, the Weimar Republic. He is anti-demo-
cratic from the bottom of his soul. A conservative, he at first opposed
Hitlerism, but afterwards became a Nazi. Though I do not know whether
23 Pieper, Die ägyptische Literatur, p. 22.25: “Ungefähr um 2500 v.Chr. ist der Staat des
Alten Reiches zugrunde gegangen, und zwar durch eine große Katastrophe, die an die
Ereignisse der letzten Zeit gemahnt. (. . .) “Eine bolschewistische Revolution im Alten
Ägypten,” das ist der erste verblüffende Eindruck. Es sieht so aus, als würde das unterste
zu oberst gekehrt, ganz wie in den letzten Jahren.” This reference was kindly supplied
to me by T. Schneider in a letter written in reaction to the French edition of this book.
Schneider referred to this passage, and some similar ones dating back to the 1920s, in
two publications: Schneider, in: Menschenbilder—Bildermenschen, p. 242–243; Idem,
in: Historiographie in der Antike, p. 183–197.
24 Kees, Provinzialkunst (1921); Idem, Totenglauben (1926 and 1956); Idem, Provinzial-
verwaltung (1932–1933).
25 Following two presentations, where I developed the main lines of the following discussion,
I have had discussions with K. Goebs and W. Hovestreydt; I express my gratitude to
them for some relevant information, which has induced me to rethink my text.
he actually joined the party, I would not trust him, even if he should say
that he became Nazi only by compulsion.26
This document draws a vivid picture of one of the main early proponents of
the ‘democratic hypothesis.’ I will not insist here on the Nazi element evoked
by the letter,27 but it is important to stress the elitist, antidemocratic, and
authoritarian roots attributed to Kees. With this background in mind, Kees’
26 This letter, which is kept in the archives of the Oriental Institute in Chicago, has been
published on 25 October 1993 on the ANE discussion list: see http://oi.chicago.edu/OI/
ANE/ANE-DIGEST/V01/v01.n021. For an interpretation, see Raue, in: Ägyptologen und
Ägyptologien, p. 345–376. In fact, it is now certain that Kees was a member of the NSDAP.
Until 1933, he was the chairman of the section Göttingen of the Deutschnationale Front,
a party founded just after the First World War under the name of Deutschnationale
Volkspartei to defend the political and economic interests of the elites of former imperial
Germany. The party collaborated increasingly closely with the Nazis, and in 1933 joined
the German government, thus facilitating Hitler’s nomination as Reichskanzler. In June
1933, the party was forced to merge into the NSDAP (see for the general historical context:
Kershaw, Hitler I, p. 416–420 and Tollmien, Nationalsozialismus, p. 99–105; for Kees’ role
in this period, see p. 104–105. I thank W. Hovestreydt for the references he provided to
the ANE discussion list and Tollmien’s book). T. Schneider has adduced a considerable
amount of new evidence on the role of Kees under the Third Reich (Schneider, Journal
of Egyptian History 5 [2012], p. 168–175). He shows that Kees joined the NSDAP in 1937
(membership number 4887982). Although his membership is accordingly beyond doubt,
it is nevertheless remarkable that, after the merger of the Deutschnationale Front with the
NSDAP in 1933, it still took four years before Kees effectively joined the party. However,
already in 1933 (and perhaps before the elections of that year that brought Hitler to
power), he joined the SA, in which he played a very active role.
27 It should be noted, nonetheless, that Kees lost his professorship at Göttingen after the war,
being later offered a guest professorship at ʿAyn Shams University by Aḥmad Badāwī, who
had Nazi sympathies (see Behlmer, Horn, Moers, Ägyptologie in Göttingen; Schneider,
Journal of Egyptian History 5 [2012], p. 174–175). It is also known that Kees in 1933
signed a petition drawn by forty-eight professors, inciting the authorities of Göttingen
University to dismiss the Jewish professors. In this connection one episode of Kees’ life,
to which none of the publications cited above pay attention, merits to be recounted.
In the 1920s and 1930s, Kees rented an apartment in Friedländerweg 57 in Göttingen.
Another University professor, the Jewish mathematician Emmy Noether lived from
1922–1932 in an apartment in the same house (see http://www.goest.de/noether.htm). In
this period, the mathematician Otto Neugebauer studied mathematics with Noether
and Egyptian with Kees and Sethe, and this combined study led to an MA-thesis on Die
Grundlagen der ägyptischen Bruchrechnung (Swerdlow, Proceedings of the American
Philosophical Society 137 [1993], p. 139–165; Waldo Dunnington, National Mathematics
Magazine 11, No. 1 [1936], p. 14–16). Undoubtedly, Noether and Kees must have known
each other well. This is an interesting personal detail, because Noether was one of the
first professors to be dismissed as a result of the petition co-signed by Kees.
132 chapter 3
writings on the transformations that led to the collapse of the Old Kingdom
appear in a different light.
The clearest and most condensed account he published on this issue can be
found in the first half of the chapter on the Heracleopolitan Period in his book
Totenglauben und Jenseitsvorstellungen der alten Ägypter, a chapter under the
tale-telling title “Zeichen der Zeit” [“Signs of the Time”], and which in some
ways reminds one of the Egyptian pessimistic literature. The first edition of
this book appeared in 1926. Kees argued that the egotism of the nomarchs—
i.e., people of non-royal blood—led to an erosion of royal power. In a period
when the royal court was no longer able to care for the country, and to ini-
tiate pyramid-building projects, the non-educated people would have turned
to magic, a term used by Kees with little sympathy. According to him, empty
words had replaced the ability to act. Ordinary people more and more began
to usurp royal privileges, like the use of the Pyramid Texts, however without
grasping the significance of these difficult texts. The popular masses simply
gathered as many of these texts as possible, but without really understanding
them. “The character of this period is uncertain and greedy: people want to
possess, regardless of whether or not this is appropriate. Compared to the aris-
tocratic doctrine of the pyramid era, this period is accordingly characterized
by vulgarity.”28
This would explain why the Coffin Texts, the degenerate successors of the
Pyramid Texts, were written on coffin sides without any apparent logic. Kees
comments on this phenomenon by referring to the restricted intellectual
capacities of the common people. One indication of the lack of comprehen-
sion would be that scribes now began to add titles and explanatory postscripts
to the spells. During the Old Kingdom, according to Kees a more enlightened
period when funerary texts were written by priests who knew their job, this had
not yet been necessary, but the ignorants who copied the Coffin Texts needed
such an intellectual support. In this period of cultural and moral decline, one
likewise notes the emergence of disgusting topics in religious texts. Thus, the
excrement spells, in which the deceased is offered faeces to eat and urine to
drink, are explained as reflecting the gross sensitivities of commoners.29
28 Kees, Totenglauben2, p. 161: “Der Charakter dieser Zeit ist unsicher und begehrlich:
man will besitzen, gleichgültig ob es paßt oder nicht. Der aristokratischen Lehre der
Pyramidenzeit gegenüber hat also diese Zeit ein durchaus vulgäres Gebaren.” Note that,
in the 1926 edition of this book, “vulgäres Gebaren” was still formulated differently as
“proletarisches Gebaren” (p. 236).
29 Rather more subtle approaches to this topic are also possible; see von Lieven, SAK 40
(2011), p. 287–300, with references to further literature.
Before continuing, I wish to stress that I have not tried to draw a caricature of
Kees’ account. The preceding paragraphs provide a rather accurate summary
of the content of pages 160–161 in the 1956 issue of the book.30 In the image of
the uneducated masses, one easily recognizes the concerns of a member of the
old German nobility, who lived at a time when the Kaiser disappeared in a
revolutionary climate.
Although Kees may have been the most extreme representative of this per-
ception of the First Intermediate Period, he certainly was not the only one.
Moreover, he was one of the most reputed Egyptologists of his day, and justly
so. This explains the almost general acceptance of this hypothesis. Although
the most radical elements of Kees’ account were soon dropped by his col-
leagues, many Egyptologists continued to regard the First Intermediate Period
as resulting from a desire on the part of the provincial administrators, who
were of non-royal descent, to increase their personal power. The emergence of
more or less independent provinces continues to be envisaged as the starting
point of a social climate allowing the dissemination of originally royal privi-
leges among the people. That the ‘democratization’ of the Pyramid Texts in the
form of the Coffin Texts is an element of this evolution, is an approach that still
has many adherents.
Here, however, a formidable problem must be faced. In 1962, W. Schenkel

was the first to formulate the point of view that the Coffin Texts only appeared
at the beginning of the Middle Kingdom.31 Fifty years later, one must admit
that older attestations of the Coffin Texts do exist; for example, one late Old
Kingdom case found at Balāṭ can be mentioned.32 However, these examples
remain exceptional. On the whole, Schenkel’s position has been confirmed,
30 This corresponds to pages 234–236 in the first edition of 1926.

31 Schenkel, FmäS, p. 116–123; see also Schenkel, in: Göttinger Totenbuchstudien, p. 26–36.
32 See Valloggia, Balat I, p. 74–78 and pl. LXII. For the few other early cases, see Willems,
Chests of Life, p. 244–247; Jürgens, Grundlinien einer Überlieferungsgeschichte der
altägyptischen Sargtexte, p. 69–73; L. Gestermann, in: Bickel, Mathieu (eds.), Dʼun
monde à lʼautre, S. 209–211; M. Smith, s.v. Democratization of the Afterlife, in: UEE (http://
repositories.cdlib.org/nelc/1147,%20version%201%20June%202009), p. 2–3. Zitman’s
study on Asyūṭ suggests that the Coffin Texts from this site also span the Middle Kingdom
only (The Necropolis of Assiut). My hesitant dating for coffin G1Be (Chests of Life, p. 247) to
the late First Intermediate Period, against which Jürgens has expressed doubts (op. cit.,
S. 72), now finds confirmation in the archaeological context (Seidlmayer, Gräberfelder,
p. 365). The date of the newly discovered tomb of Re-Heryshefnakht at Saqqāra, which is
inscribed with Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts, is still hard to judge. Berger-el-Naggar,
BSFE 164 (2005), p. 14–28 dates it to the early Middle Kingdom, but during a conversation
on 11 June 2006, she told me she now thinks that a date in the First Intermediate Period
134 chapter 3
and there are only few authors who persist in dating the mass of the Coffin
Texts sources to the First Intermediate Period.33 This observation has the evi-
dent implication that the entire hypothesis of a democratization of the funer-
ary texts at the end of the Old Kingdom must be reviewed.34
Recent research has moreover revealed that the arrangement of the Coffin
Texts (and Pyramid Texts) on the walls of Middle Kingdom coffins was gov-
erned by rather subtle considerations.35 After almost thirty years of research
of these texts, I am convinced that the cunning with which they have been
composed and spatially arranged is comparable to the principles of decoration
in Graeco-Roman temples. Following the principle of a ‘grammaire du temple,’
formulated by Ph. Derchain, I would not hesitate to speak of a ‘grammaire
du sarcophage’ for the Middle Kingdom coffins.36 This having been stated, it
is clear that Kees’ contempt for the intellectual capacities of the persons dec-
orating Middle Kingdom coffins cannot be taken seriously. Moreover, it has
meanwhile become clear that some texts that Kees still considered typical
for the Coffin Texts are already attested in Old Kingdom royal pyramids. It is
becoming more and more difficult to perceive a fundamental intellectual dif-
ference between the Pyramid Texts and the Coffin Texts.37
is more likely. However, Labrousse favours a twelfth dynasty date (in: Ancient Memphis,
p. 306).
33 Here, the word “date” refers to the moment when the texts were inscribed on private
coffins. There is no reason to doubt that several of these texts were composed well before
this point in time. This is the case for the Pyramid Texts that appear on these coffins, which
have recently been published in CT VIII. According to P. Vernus, it is difficult to correlate
the Coffin Texts to one particular phase in the development of the Egyptian language.
In his view, the strongest affinities exist with the language of the First Intermediate
Period, but the Coffin Texts would still have been in a constant process of formulation or
adaptation during the Middle Kingdom (in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 170–172).
34 It is clear that I am here disregarding the dating proposals by G. Lapp, who does believe
that many coffins with Coffin Texts date to the First Intermediate Period (Typologie). This
is because Lapp merely posits his dating proposals, but does not provide arguments for
his dating criteria (for detailed criticism, see Willems, BiOr LIV, No. 1/2 [januari–april
1997], p. 112–122).
35 Willems, Heqata; Idem, in: Studies te Velde, p. 343–372. For coffins S1–2C, see now
Arquier, Le double sarcophage de Mésehti.
36 Note that the term ‘grammaire du temple’ does not refer to the grammar of the texts, but
concerns the ways meaning is suggested and conveyed by the artful disposition of texts
and images in space (see Derchain, CdE 37, No. 74 [1962], p. 31–35).
37 Cf. Baines, in: D’un monde à l’autre, p. 30–31; Mathieu, in: Dʼun monde à lʼautre,
p. 247–263.
To conclude, the appearance of the Coffin Texts on coffins of non-royals is

certainly not the consequence of the cultural climate at the beginning of the
First Intermediate Period, because hardly any coffins were then inscribed with
these texts. On the contrary, it concerns texts that are firmly rooted in Middle
Kingdom culture, even though several of them were clearly composed earlier.
This having been said, the question must be asked to what extent it is still legit-
imate to consider them as reflecting a ‘democratization’ in the Egyptological
sense of the word.
Transformations of the Funerary Equipment during the First

Intermediate Period and the Middle Kingdom
Before addressing this question, it is useful to take a glance at the transfor-

mations of the funerary assemblage as a whole, and not just at the textual
evidence. This material has recently been studied by S. J. Seidlmayer,38 who
recognizes a clear development in the nature of sets of funerary equipment.
According to him, most tombs until the late Old Kingdom hardly contained
any objects of a specifically funerary nature. The deceased was buried accom-
panied by a selection of objects of the same kind as those (s)he had used dur-
ing life. In many cases it is clear that these pieces had been effectively used
before being placed in the tomb. And even where this was not the case, it often
concerns types of artefacts also known from daily life contexts. Evocations of
daily life conditions are even manifest in the way the corpse was deposited.
The deceased is placed in the tomb in the attitude of a sleeping person: death
is considered a form of sleeping. The presence of utilitarian objects also sug-
gests that life in the netherworld was considered to be a prolongation of the
way of life on earth. However, this idea does not imply a continuation of an
individual’s condition of life (for example, that a person who had on earth
been a carpenter, would live on in the netherworld as a carpenter, too). Rather,
objects tended to be selected that alluded to aspects of the life of the elite.
Even though the funerary equipment thus reflects the aspiration to live the
life of lady or a gentleman after death, it remains the case that the world of
the dead was patterned on the world of the living. This is also the impression
generated by the letters to the dead of this period.39
38 For what follows, see Seidlmayer, Gräberfelder, p. 426–429; Idem, in: Social Aspects of
Funerary Culture, p. 205–252.
39 See Donnat, La peur du mort I, p. 298–307. This overall study of the letters to the dead has
unfortunately not yet been published.
136 chapter 3
Already early in the Old Kingdom, this type of funerary equipment began to
be replaced by another in the tombs of the elite. A new symbolism appeared.
This can be seen in the first place in the practice of mummification. A mummy
in no way conforms to any state of the human body during life on earth. Its
form is completely different, for instance, from that of a sleeper. A mummy is
primarily a ritual ‘object’. In the funerary equipment, a comparable concep-
tual shift can be noted. Besides utilitarian objects (which continue to appear),
one notices the presence of objects for which a practical use is inconceivable,
and which can therefore only have had a ritual or symbolical function. Among
other things, one here thinks of funerary models and mummy masks.
Finally, the habit of orientating the corpse no longer to the settlement where
the deceased had lived, or to the local course of the Nile, but instead along
astronomical axes of orientation, suggests the emergence of funerary ideas in
which the Afterlife is not considered to be a continuation of life on earth, but
as a celestial mode of existence, which is distinct from the environment where
the deceased had lived. This tendency manifested itself first in royal burials
of the early Old Kingdom, gradually spread out among the elite, and finally
reached the average Egyptian. In the beginning of the Middle Kingdom, the
great majority of the burials were orientated north-south, with the face to
the east, and symbolic objects are found in the tombs of the elite as well as in
those of the rest of the population.
From what precedes it is clear that funerary ideas of a royal, or at least an
elite, origin had proliferated. Following the Egyptological tradition, one might
be tempted to designate the process as a ‘democratization’ of funerary culture.
It should be emphasized, however, that the Coffin Texts play no part what-
soever in Seidlmayer’s account. This is easy to understand, as these texts
were hardly ever used in the late Old Kingdom and First Intermediate Period
tombs that were his primary concern. They only appear on the scene (and then
immediately in great numbers) at the moment when royal power over a uni-
fied country is reestablished, an evolution that is very hard to explain based
on the premise of the ‘democratic hypothesis.’ One can only conclude that it
is naïve to explain the emergence of the Coffin Texts directly as a result of the
social upheavals of the First Intermediate Period.
Before pursuing our investigation of these texts, we will turn for the last time
to the composition of the funerary equipment. It is evident that these objects
were deposited in the tomb with some ritual display. Numerous tomb scenes
in fact show how the pertinent objects are being carried to the tomb during
the funeral. This collection of objects, which was designated in Egyptian as
ḳrs.t.t or ḏbꜢ.w.t.t, appears with the same name and with the same composition
in the object friezes painted on the interior walls of early Middle Kingdom
coffins (see fig. 23). The characteristic elements are the headrest, the mirror,
(A)
the coffin texts and democracy
(B)
Figure 23 A. Scene showing a procession of men carrying funerary equipment ( from beginning to end: two broad collars, two bracelets, a head band, an unclear
object, a counterpoise for a broad collar, sticks and staves, kilts, a head rest, sandals, and other items. After Beni Hasan II, pl. VII); B. Object frieze on the
137
back side of the early Middle Kingdom sarcophagus T2C (after LD II, pl. 147B).
138 chapter 3
the wsḫ-collars and their counterpoises, the bracelets, collars of small round
and oval beads, bows and arrows, sticks and staves, and the sandals. They are
brought to the tomb in this order, and are depicted on the coffins in the same
sequence; objects associated with the head, for instance, are shown near this
part of the body.40 In several tombs of this period, actual objects that must
have been presented during the ḏbꜢ.w.t.t ritual have been found.41 All these
pieces are either artefacts that might really be used, or models representing
objects used on earth. They do not include objects with a royal background, so
that we might speak of a ‘ritual of offering private objects.’
During the course of the Middle Kingdom, the object friezes gradually began
to include increasing amounts of items with a royal background. The origin of
these objects is again clear, for a closely similar selection is rendered in the
offering texts on the northern wall of the burial chambers of Old Kingdom
pyramids, the best preserved example being that of queen Neith.42 As the
accompanying Pyramid Texts spells explicitly show, these royal insignia were
presented to the deceased during a ‘royal object ritual.’ The fact that the best
preserved case is found in the tomb of a sixth dynasty queen shows that by
the late Old Kingdom at least the royal wives already had access to this type of
ritual. The presence of these items in the framework of the Middle Kingdom
object friezes suggests that in this period, private people had also begun to
take an interest in this equipment. On the basis of the presence of these object
friezes, I have for a long time assumed that the tombs of non-royals frequently
included such objects in this period. However, it has recently been shown that
this hypothesis should be reconsidered. The real objects (or at least three-di-
mensional models thereof) are attested only very rarely in Middle Kingdom
private tombs.43 Based on an analysis of eight sites, Op de Beeck was able only
to refer to the funerary equipment of Nakht from Asyūṭ,44 and, outside of this
group of material, to the late Middle Kingdom tombs of the lady Senebtisi at
al-Lisht and of the members of the royal family buried at Dahshūr.45 To this
40 For a more detailed analysis, see Willems, Chests of Life, p. 200–209.

41 See, for example, the funerary inventory of the tomb of Gemeniemhat at Saqqara (e.g.
Jørgensen, Egypt I, p. 148–149).
42 Jéquier, Neith et Apouit, pl. VIII and XII. For this analysis, see Willems, Chests of Life,
p. 205–208 and 221–228.
43 Op de Beeck, A Functional Analysis of Egyptian Burial Equipment, p. 663.
44 Chassinat, Palanque, Fouilles d’Assiout, p. 110–111.
45 Mace, Winlock, Senebtisi, p. 76–103 and pl. XXVII-XXXII; now dated to the middle of
the reign of Amenemhat III: Miniaci, Rishi Coffins, p. 8, with literature; De Morgan,
Dahchour I, p. 96; 100 (king Hor); 109–114 (queen Nubhotep); Dahchour II, p. 45–46 and
fig. 105 (princess Ita); p. 60 (princess Khnumyt); p. 97 and fig. 141 (king Senwosret III).
small collection, further examples can be added, but they remain very excep-
tional. Mesehty, the owner of one of the large early Middle Kingdom tombs
at Asyūṭ, seems to have had a similar collection of items.46 At Dayr al-Barshā,
the coffin of Neferi, the majordomo of the nomarch Djehutihotep, contained
a wide selection of models of the same pieces.47 Scant remains of a similar set
of offerings have been found in the tomb of Geheset recently discovered at
Thebes.48
The material from al-Lisht and Dahshūr originates from the tombs of a king
and his immediate entourage, and dates entirely to the late Middle Kingdom.
One cannot rule out the possibility that the funerary customs in this group
may have differed from those of other Egyptians. Moreover, these sets date in
majority to a more recent period than that concerning us here, a point that
holds true likewise of the Geheset burial. Therefore, for the purposes of the
present study, we can only retain three ‘three-dimensional’ examples showing
that a ‘royal object ritual’ had been celebrated for a private individual in the
Middle Kingdom.49
Our material evidence is undoubtedly biased. The chances of preservation
of a coffin plank decorated with a whole series of objects are probably higher
than of an intact assemblage of objects. Therefore, significant losses of the
latter must be reckoned with. Moreover, by far not all coffins include object
friezes depicting items of the royal object ritual. Only some dozens of cases
are known to me. Nevertheless, the quantitative difference between the two
groups (depictions versus three-dimensional renderings of the royal object
ritual) are striking. It seems that the royal object ritual was less regularly effec-
tively performed for private individuals than it was depicted on their coffins.
The case reminds one of the high frequency of references to embalming rituals
in the Coffin Texts, which contrasts markedly with the very rare occurrence of
actually embalmed bodies in private tombs of the same period.50
46 Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut II, p. 210.

47 Daressy, ASAE 1 (1900), p. 42, fig. 1.
48 Für die Ewigkeit geschaffen, p. 87.
49 One might consider adding the sticks found in the tomb of Gemeniemhat at Saqqāra
(Hassan, Stöcke und Stäbe, p. 78–80 and fig. 21). Most of these objects, with the exception
of the pḏ-ꜤḥꜤ, cannot, however, be linked with certainty to the royal object ritual.
Recently, I have noticed similar material in the Cairo Museum, but I have not yet
been able to determine whether it is supplementary to the objects discussed above:
group 1: Temporary register nos. 3/11/25/1–3; 6–7; 9; 12–16; 18; 20–21; 23; 25; group 2: nos.
15/11/25/1–3; 5; 7–8; 11–12; 15–16; group 3: nos. 7/11/25/1; 3–4; 6; 8; 12; 15; 19.
50 See below, p. 141, n. 52.
140 chapter 3
The indications we have on the performance of a royal object ritual are

interesting from a sociological point of view. In the case of Mesehty, it con-
cerns the burial of an overseer of priests from Asyūṭ, a title often designating
the highest-ranking official in a community. In the case of Asyūṭ, these persons
have been argued in chapter 1 to be of nomarchal rank. In the case of Nakht
and Neferi, we are not concerned with ‘nomarchs,’ but with administrators act-
ing at a level immediately below that of the local governors. It is accordingly
in this social spectrum that we can expect to find evidence for rituals of royal
inspiration being performed for private individuals. Meanwhile, even at this
level, remaining evidence is very slender.
The much greater quantity of Coffin Texts sources might suggest that their
diffusion was much greater. In fact, modern Egyptology seems to consider
these texts as the expression of Middle Kingdom funerary religion in general.
Before this point of view can be accepted, it should however first be demon-
strated that the Coffin Texts were accessible to at least a major part of the pop-
ulation, and secondly, that they are attested indiscriminately across Egypt. The
next pages will be devoted to the analysis of this issue.
A Demographic Perspective on the Coffin Texts
Egyptology, like every discipline occupied with a distant past, is condemned to

produce generalizations on the basis of a documentation of which the repre-
sentativeness can hardly be assessed. In this way, conclusions have been drawn
that might have sounded rather astonishing for an Egyptian. Mummification is
a good example. In many publications it is confidently asserted that the preser-
vation of the body after death was generally considered to be of capital impor-
tance by the ancient Egyptians. If this condition would not be fulfilled, the ba
would lose its basis, and the deceased would suffer dying the ‘second death.’
For this reason the Egyptians would have embalmed their dead. This point of
view is widespread,51 but it is not unproblematic, as it fails to explain why the
great majority of the ancient Egyptians were not mummified, at least before
51 See, for example, Spencer, Death in Ancient Egypt, p. 29–30, who speaks of an “Egyptian
belief in a continued existence in which survival depended upon the preservation of the
body in a recognizable form. This belief was to become the driving force behind much of
Egyptian funerary practice”; or Ikram, Dodson, The Mummy in Ancient Egypt, p. 108; who
write: “the Egyptians believed that the intact body was necessary for the afterlife.”
the Late Period.52 Should we really accept the idea that the great majority
of the Egyptian population had no hope to live on after death? I certainly do
not believe this.
The widespread idea that the Coffin Texts formulate the main lines of
Egyptian funerary religion of the First Intermediate Period and Middle
Kingdom might well be equally problematic, as it tacitly implies that these
texts give expression to ideas cherished by all Egyptians, including the lower-
most social strata. If the textual content was really equally applicable for all,
one would expect that excavations would have produced coffins inscribed with
Coffin Texts throughout Egypt, and that the owners of these coffins would have
belonged to all social strata.53
52 For the period concerning us, the presence of canopic vases, canopic boxes, and canopic
niches illustrates the degree to which mummification was practiced. At Dayr al-Barshā,
our mission has found such evidence only in the case of the First Intermediate Period
tomb of the lady Djehutinakht (zone 10; see p. 72–74), in a few tombs in zone 2 (in 2006,
we here even found a broken canopic vase still containing a liver, and in 2012 the remains
of a canopic box), and in one tomb in the plain. Earlier, several canopic boxes and canopic
containers were found, but in small numbers. However, such objects do not accompany
the great majority of the burials, even those that are intact, and the bodies often show
no trace of having been embalmed. The case of Dayr al-Barshā is certainly not unique,
as is shown, for instance, by Zitman’s analysis of the cemetery of Asyūṭ, where most
corpses apparently had not been mummified (The Necropolis of Assiut, passim). Even
the (exceptional) presence of canopic vases does not prove that a dead person had been
mummified, for in many cases these objects had not been used (e.g. Bareš, ZÄS 118 [1991],
p. 95); and frequently they could not even be used, since many canopic vases are solid
dummy containers (Seidlmayer, Gräberfelder, p. 427). A comparable case is the burial
of the lady Hetep, whose tomb was discovered by Engelbach at Riqqa (Engelbach,
Riqqeh and Memphis VI, p. 28 and pl. XXVI). The mortal remains of Hetep had not been
embalmed, but she nonetheless possessed a type IVaa coffin, a coffin type of which the
sides are adorned with ornamental text columns. J. Assmann’s study of the inscription
on the lid of the sarcophagus of Merenptah has shown that this decoration model serves
to perpetuate the situation in the embalming place (MDAIK 28,2 [1973], p. 130; for the
meaning of type IV decoration, see also Willems, Chests of Life, p. 136–159). Hetep’s
funerary equipment thus confirms that the idea of mummification was considered
valuable, but that Hetep had nevertheless not been embalmed in reality. To sum up, in
most cases, Middle Kingdom Egyptians were not mummified, and even in the rare cases
where burials include objects linked to mummification, these objects often had not
been, or could not be used. This suggests that mummification was probably considered
profitable, but not at all essential for the afterlife.
53 It could also be argued that poorer Egyptians might not have coffins inscribed with Coffin
Texts, but used these texts in other ways. Later on we will see that there is no evidence
142 chapter 3
Archaeology has in fact shown that having a coffin was by no means excep-
tional during the First Intermediate Period and Middle Kingdom. Unfortunately,
the publications are usually reticent concerning undecorated coffins. For this
reason, it is certain that the documentation must be very incomplete particu-
larly as regards the poorer burials. It moreover cannot be ruled out that the
customs differed from one site to another. At Dayr al-Barshā, even the poorest
tombs usually contained a coffin, and the situation might be similar at many
other sites.54 Yet, Hogarth’s excavations at Asyūṭ, a site very similar to Dayr
al‑Barshā, has led to the discovery of numerous tombs without coffins.55 This is
all the more remarkable considering that no other cemetery of the period has
yielded as many coffins as Asyūṭ.
In any case coffins are no rarity. Unfortunately, most were made of local
wood of a poor quality. The chances of preservation of such material are slen-
der even in desert conditions, as at Dayr al-Barshā, where coffins are often
reduced almost to powder. But experience has taught me that even in such
cases, careful cleaning permits at least to recover the remains of the plaster
with which these coffins were covered. At this site, these remains show that
these coffins were never decorated, or at best painted yellow or red. As a rule,
ornamentation is completely absent.
Usually, Egyptologists only take an interest in decorated coffins. One should
realize, however, that, based on the preceding considerations, the very pres-
ence of these is an indication that we are dealing with an exceptional kind of
object. They are often made of wood of a good quality. It often concerns cedar
wood, which must have been imported from the Levant, and was therefore
very expensive. The great majority of the population would not have been in a
position to purchase such an object. What is more, among the decorated cof-
fins, only a minority is inscribed with Coffin Texts. It is evident that the almost
exclusive interest of Egyptologists for this minority distorts both the docu-
mentary basis and the interpretation. The chances of a coffin being published
depend largely on the presence of decoration, and particularly of texts. This
having been said, to find a deceased being buried in a coffin inscribed with
Coffin Texts is itself indicative of a social position of some importance. The
problem is how to determine more exactly what were the chances for an
Egyptian to acquire one or more coffins inscribed with Coffin Texts, or to have
a decorated coffin without such texts.
for the existence of such alternatives, and that there are even strong indications against
them.
54 Op de Beeck, A Functional Analysis of Egyptian Burial Equipment, p. 587.
55 Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut, passim.
In order to draw viable conclusions, it would be necessary to compare

the number of owners of such coffins with the total amount of dead people.
Evidently, this is impossible, but it does seem feasible to propose the order of
magnitude one might reckon with.
A first variable that should be determined is the overall size of the Egyptian
population in the Middle Kingdom. Egyptologists concerned with such demo-
graphic issues have usually been interested in the Ramesside era or the Late
and Graeco-Roman Periods. Even for these relatively well documented peri-
ods, the available information is unfortunately far from clear.
According to the recent study by J. Kraus, the evolution of the population
size between the Saite Period and the first century of the Christian era shows
the following development:
525 B.C. 7 million inhabitants

A.D. 75 8 million inhabitants
This evolution, including the enormous drop in population size between 525
and 282 B.C., would be compatible with current demographic models.56 It
should however be pointed out that Kraus’ calculations depend in no small
measure on the remarks of some Classical authors, like Diodorus Siculus,
the reliability of whom cannot be verified. Entirely different quantifications
have recently been proposed based on documents from the Fayyūm, which
provide an impression of the population density in this region. On this basis,
W. Clarysse and D. Thompson have calculated that the Egyptian population
in the early 3rd century B.C. reached merely 1.5 million inhabitants.57
For the New Kingdom, Schaedel reckoned with between eight and nine
million people, a number that is still occasionally used, but which Kraus has
shown to be highly doubtful.58 Baer has estimated a population of about
4.5 million people.59 J.J. Janssen accepts a quantity for this period oscillating
between 4.5 and 7 million people.60 Intuitively, all these estimations seem very
56 Kraus, Demographie, p. 57–64.

57 Clarysse, Thompson, Counting the People II, p. 100–102; for a well-considered reappraisal
of demographic estimates for this period, see now Müller, in: Cities and Urbanism in
Ancient Egypt, p. 221–223, who, however, does not produce new estimates.
58 Kraus, Demographie, p. 116–117.
59 Baer, JARCE 1 (1962), p. 43–44.
60 Janssen, SAK 3 (1975), p. 136.
144 chapter 3
high to me. The more penetrating discussion of the issue by K. Butzer arrives
at an average of 3 million people for the New Kingdom,61 an estimate that has
recently been accepted with reservations by B. Kemp62 and Kraus.63
For the Middle Kingdom I can only refer to Butzer’s study, who calculates
a population size between 1.5 and 2 million people.64 But our coffin documen-
tation derives almost exclusively from Upper Egypt. For this region, Butzer
proposed a population size of 1.1 million people.65
For the Old Kingdom, Hassan has suggested a rate of 1.2 million (and 2.1 for
the New Kingdom and 3.2 for the Graeco Roman Period; he gives no figure
for the Middle Kingdom).66 His methods have however been criticized,67 and
his conclusions play no significant part in the debate.
For the pharaonic period, the figures proposed by Butzer are generally
taken as the best point of departure, even though with some misgivings. Thus,
J. Kraus expresses doubts concerning his estimates, which he qualifies as
“relatively low.”68 Recently, B. Kemp likewise suggested that, based on archae-
ological indications, Butzer’s figures are likely to be too low. He ponders
“should we double it?”69 At the moment, however, no indications are available
that might indicate which correction of the figure might be realistic. We will
base ourselves on Butzer’s figures, in full awareness that these may have to be
raised significantly. For what follows, it is however important to realize that
each increase of the size of the population will only strengthen the conclu-
sions that will be drawn below.
61 Butzer, Early Hydraulic Civilization, p. 82–98; see in particular fig. 13, p. 85.
62 Kemp, Ancient Egypt. Anatomy of a Civilization2, p. 29–30.
63 Kraus, Demographie, p. 115: “Zum einen fehlen Daten zu Verteilung und Größe, die über
das von Karl Butzer zusammengestellte Material hinasugehen;” on p. 233–234 he works
cautiously on the basis of Butzer’s estimates.
64 Referring to the same study, Kemp estimates a population size of between 1 and 1.5
million people: Trigger, Kemp, Lloyd, Ancient Egypt, p. 103. This must be an error.
Unfortunately, Kraus’ study does not comment on Butzer’s estimate for this period.
65 Butzer, op. cit., p. 84.
66 Hassan, in: The Archaeology of Africa, p. 551–569.
67 Forstner-Müller, in: Cities and Urbanism in Ancient Egypt, p. 120.
68 Kraus, op. cit., p. 233: “relativ niedrige [. . .] Bevölkerungszahlen.”
69 Ancient Egypt. Anatomy of a Civilization2, p. 406, n. 7. In fact, Butzer himself writes that
“none of the numerical data are to be taken literally” (Early Hydraulic Civilization, p. 76).
Note that his figures are partly based on the carrying capacity of inhabited space, in
which he simply uses the modern surface of the size of the floodplain as a basis for his
calculations. Whether or not this is correct should however first be shown.
Apart from the total population size, one has to know the average life
expectancy, because on this basis it will be possible to calculate the amount of
deaths occurring per annum. On this point, information is also very sparse. The
well-documented situation at Tall al-Dabʿa during the Second Intermediate
Period might provide an indication. The Austrian mission directed by Bietak
has been able to determine that there and then, men on average reached an
age of 34.4 years, and women of 29.7 years, or a global average of 32 years.70
This life expectancy is slightly higher than the upper limit of 30 years calcu-
lated by Hopkins for the Roman period based on demographic models, and
by Kraus for ancient Egypt in general.71 It also corresponds more or less to the
estimate of J. Nunn, who concludes that the average duration of life was about
35 years for members of the New Kingdom royal family, but certainly less for
the general population.72 Consequently, if it is assumed that the average of
32 years for Tall al-Dabʿa is applicable to Egypt generally, it can be deduced
that the annual mortality rate in Upper Egypt (with 1.1 million inhabitants)
amounted to about 34,375.
Other estimations, however, operate on the basis of much lower average life
expectancies. For the Predynastic cemetery N7000 at Najʿ al-Dayr, Mortensen
has estimated a mean duration of life of 28.41 years.73 For the excavated pop-
ulation at Aswān, which dates in great majority to the period of our interest,
Rösing’s results imply an estimate of 25.82 years.74 The average life expec-
tancy (at birth) calculated by Bagnall and Frier for the Roman period is even
lower: 22.5 years for women and at least 25 years for men.75 This is confirmed
70 Pharaonen und Fremde, p. 53; Winkler, Wilfing, Tell el-Dabʿa VI, p. 139. These and
the following calculations give the average life expectancy at birth, which means that the
average includes infants. The mortality rate for this group must have been very high, and
has a significant influence on the calculated average.
71 Hopkins, Comparative Studies in Society and History 22 (1980), p. 318–320; Kraus,
Demographie, p. 236.
72 Nunn, Ancient Egyptian Medicine, p. 22. I express my gratitude to Emiel Kuijper for
providing me with this reference. That the New Kingdom high elite also had a (much)
higher life expectancy was recently also argued by Antoine (GM 225 [2010], p. 9–13).
73 Mortensen, Ä&L 2 (1991), p. 28. For some other cemeteries of the same period, Masali
and Chiarelli have attained a similar estimation of 30 years (Journal of Human Evolution
1 [1972], p. 161–169).
74 Rösing, Qubbet el-Hawa⁠ʾ und Elephantine, p. 112, tab. 18, column e, at the age of 0 years,
and p. 115. A comparable figure can be calculated for a late Middle Kingdom tomb recently
discovered at Thebes (see Graefe, Die Doppelgrabanlage “M,” p. 64, fig. 1).
75 Bagnall, Frier, The Demography of Roman Egypt, p. 100. Tosha Dupras, an anthropologist
who has been studying the anthropological material of the Roman cemetery at Ismant
146 chapter 3
by analysis of the Roman population of Aswān.76 In a recent demographic

analysis of the population data provided by the Papyrus Wilbour, it was argued
that the same mortality rates apply there.77 With a calculation based on an
average of about 25 years, mortality would rise to about 44,000 individuals
annually. Following this hypothesis, the tendencies that we think can be rec-
ognized as regards the popularity of the Coffin Texts would be even clearer. We
will cautiously base our calculations primarily on the lower figure of 34,375
deceased per year.
We must also estimate the amount of decorated/inscribed coffins that orig-
inally existed. Clearly the cases that still exist do not represent this total. Many
tombs have been robbed, and in many cases several times. At first sight, it
might therefore seem impossible to arrive at a credible quantification. But this
point of view seems too negative.
Quantification of the Decorated Coffins from Dayr al-Barshā

At Dayr al-Barshā, coffins that are either decorated, or decorated and inscribed
with Coffin Texts, are almost completely absent from the cemeteries in the
plain (zones 8–10) and in zones 4 and 7, but they occur with great frequency
in zones 1 and 2, where the nomarchal tombs exist (see fig. 10). This can be
broken down as follows.
Zone 7 contains almost exclusively Old Kingdom rock tombs. Some of these
in the late First Intermediate Period received a restoration inscription by the
nomarch Djehutinakht (I) son of Teti. It seems that this restoration entailed
the addition of a fresh tomb and the reinstatement of the funerary cult in con-
nection with the new burial; this cult may also have served the original tomb
owner. In one of these tombs, the intact coffin B1Ash (owner: Henu) was found,
which is decorated, but, as is normal considering its early date, bears no Coffin
Texts. It is possible that the other ‘restored’ tombs in zones 4 and 7, of which 5
are known, once had similar burials. The intact burial of Henu provides indi-
cations as to the social rank of the persons involved: it concerns a director of a
domain (hḳꜢ ḥw.t), probably a high-ranking official directly working under the
nomarch.
In zone 8, G. A. Reisner in 1915 excavated a vast, mud brick tomb complex
with three very large shafts (13N90/1). In one of these, he found remains of a
al-Kharāb (Dākhla Oasis) for years, informs me that to her impression, this estimate must
be too low.
76 von Pilgrim, Colman, Müller, Novacek, de Pontbriand, Schultz, MDAIK 66 (2010),
p. 213.
77 Antoine, GM 225 (2010), p. 5–14.
coffin inscribed with hieratic Coffin Texts (B1X).78 Zone 8 also contains a large
number of smaller tombs, several of which we excavated. In one of these, a
fragment was found of a decorated coffin without Coffin Texts (coffin fragment
B6B from shaft 12P07/1).
In zone 9, where the Dayr al-Barshā project excavated several dozens of bur-
ials, only one of the largest and best-built tombs (10N85/1) produced splinters
of a decorated coffin with Coffin Texts (B7B).79 A burial in tomb complex 10O13
(fig. 14) also produced fragments of a decorated coffin, but not of Coffin Texts
(B8B). The wood of this coffin had disintegrated into dust, but it had been
at least partly covered with veneer of a more resistant and probably more
expensive kind of wood. The remains of decoration were found on this veneer.
Since only parts of the two udjat eyes were found, it is possible that the deco-
ration only consisted of an eye panel, but it is likewise possible that the coffin
was entirely decorated.80 In quality, this example clearly represents the lower
end of the scale, and this is significant, as it occurred in one of the two largest
shafts in complex 10O13, which was also one of the three best-built ones. The
other two large shafts, which were of the same scale, produced no comparable
evidence, nor did other shafts of comparable scale in zone 9. Probably working
in the same area in 1901, Kamal excavated thirty shafts (and/or in zone 8),
where he found remains of one early Middle Kingdom decorated coffin with-
out Coffin Texts (B2X).81
None of the dozens of other tombs we have excavated in zones 8 and 9 con-
tained decorated coffins. In zone 10, where the water table is high, conditions
of preservation will never permit relevant conclusions to be drawn, and no
excavations have thus far taken place in zone 11. The general impression is,
however, clear: decorated coffins were of the utmost rarity in the cemetery in
the plain. The two examples where coffins bore Coffin Texts (B7B, B1X) derive
from tombs that are exceptionally large and well-built.
In zone 4, fragments of a late twelfth dynasty coffin inscribed with Coffin
Texts (B9B) were found in tomb 16L25/1C, but not in any of the others excavated
here. Judging from the remains of funerary equipment and from the size and
78 Information drawn from Reisner’s unpublished diary. The diary makes clear that he
excavated numerous other tombs in this general area, but none of these apparently
produced tomb content that was considered sufficiently interesting to be recorded in
detail. The same holds true for the excavations of Daressy and Kamal in the plain.
79 Peeters, in: Willems, e.a., MDAIK 60 (2004), p. 266–269.
80 Peeters, in: Willems, e.a., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 402 on shaft 10O13/1B.
81 Coffin of Neferdjeba (B2X; see ASAE 2 [1901], p. 207). In the earlier edition of this work,
I had erroneously included this source among those from zone 2.
148 chapter 3
execution of the tomb, the owner must have been of very high rank.82 Possibly,
the tomb equipment of the scribe of the royal document Djehutihotep, which
according to Kamal was found on the northern slope of the Wādī Nakhla,
also came from zone 4 (although it is not impossible that Kamal’s imprecise
description may refer to zone 2).83 This burial included two coffins inscribed
with Coffin Texts and a third decorated coffin without such texts, all belonging
to the scribe of the royal document (sš Ꜥ nsw.t) Djehutihotep.84
The seventy-three other decorated coffins and other Coffin Texts sources I
know of probably all85 derive from zones 1 and 2. However, one of these is prob-
ably a re-used late Old Kingdom coffin (B26C), which should be removed from
the statistics; thus, seventy-two sources remain. Several of these are not coffins:
there are five canopic boxes (B5Bo, B2C, B11C, B18C, B19C),86 two inscribed ceil-
ings of tomb chapels (B1B, B2B), and one burial chamber with walls inscribed
with Coffin Texts (B3B). These sources moreover include eleven decorated cof-
fins without Coffin Texts found in zone 2.87 Thus, of these seventy-two sources,
sixty-four are coffins. Not a single undecorated coffin is reported from here.
This result contrasts sharply with the cemeteries in the plain, where, as we
have seen, decorated coffins (with and without Coffin Texts) were very excep-
tional. Also, of the sixty-four coffins, fifty-four bear Coffin Texts. It is clear that,
at Dayr al-Barshā, Coffin Texts were almost entirely restricted to zones 1 and 2.
In zone 1 there exist only two tomb shafts, of which the smaller one con-
tained the two coffins of the lady Sathedjhetep (coffins B3C, B4C), while
82 De Meyer, in: Willems, e.a., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 396.

83 Kamal, ASAE 3 (1902), p. 277.
84 Coffins B5C, B7C and B8C respectively. See Willems, Chests of Life, p. 77–78, where
mention is further made of a ‘coffin sledge’ inscribed with Coffin Texts also belonging
to Djehutihotep (B3P). This ‘sledge’ turns out to have been a funerary bed that was once
mounted inside one of the coffins (probably the inner coffin B5C). See for the funerary
bed and what is known about the find conditions, Rigault, Delange, RdÉ 60 (2009),
p. 63–137.
85 It must be admitted that a small number of decorated coffins of unknown provenance
within the site exist, but all these coffins resemble the provenanced ones from zones 2
so closely that they most likely originate from there. For an overview of the provenance
of most coffins, see Willems, Chests of Life, p. 68–78. The unprovenanced cases are
discussed on p. 78–81.
86 Only canopic boxes inscribed with Coffin Texts are listed here. Fragments of another one
were found in 2012 in shaft 17K85/1B; two others derive from shaft 17L12/1B (MFA 21.420;
15–5–811).
87 See the coffin lists published in Lesko, Index, p. 7; Willems, Chests of Life, p. 20–21, p. 35;
Lapp, Typologie, p. 274–279. Other coffin fragments discovered by Reisner have not yet
been published (see Long, De Meyer, Willems, in preparation).
Daressy found wooden coffin planks inscribed in hieratic in the other (B4X).88
In view of the use of hieratic, there can be no doubt that these planks bear
Coffin Texts. Unfortunately, they have not been published, and their present
whereabouts are unknown. In any case, the two individuals buried in zone 1
both possessed decorated coffins with Coffin Texts.
The quantification of the relevant tombs in zone 2 is a more complex mat-
ter. A first point, which was not yet sufficiently considered in the first edition of
this book,89 is the fact that three different shaft types can be discerned in the
area, with type A representing the large rectangular Middle Kingdom shafts,
type B representing small Middle Kingdom shafts, and type C narrow, square
Old Kingdom shafts (see p. 77–78). This differentiation is highly relevant,
since Old Kingdom tombs must of course be left out of consideration in the
following quantification of Middle Kingdom decorated and inscribed coffins.90
The second point is that none of the Middle Kingdom coffins with decora-
tion and/or Coffin Texts is known to derive from a B-shaft. I have meanwhile
inspected some of these shafts, but this has not resulted in the find of any dec-
orated coffin remains. In fact, it is unlikely that such remains will ever emerge,
since coffins with a known provenance from zone 2 and carrying decoration
and/or Coffin Texts are all too large to fit into a B-shaft. This means that B and
C-shafts are unlikely to have contained the kinds of coffins we are here inter-
ested in. To determine how many shafts may have contained relevant coffin
material, one should thus subtract the amount of B- and C-shafts from the
total amount of shafts in zone 2, although we will soon see that there is a com-
plication regarding the larger B-shafts.
Of the C-shafts, five are currently known (of which two are unfinished,
and can never have been used).91 At least six B-shafts are known, almost all of
88 Willems, Chests of Life, p. 74 (a correction to this in Willems, MDAIK 60 [2004], p. 255);

Daressy, ASAE 1 (1900), p. 18–22.
89 The relevance of the typological difference to be discussed now only became apparent
while the book was already in press, and it was briefly referred to in the epilogue.
90 Although substantial remains of coffins were found here that probably belong to the
original tomb equipment, these do not include any traces of Coffin Texts. Some of these
coffin remains show decoration (and one might add that Kamal (ASAE 2 [1901], p. 33)
found a complete, decorated coffin of late Old Kingdom or early First Intermediate Period
date somewhere in the western part of zone 2; CG 28098 (B26C); for the date of this
coffin, see Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut I, p. 125–131, with comparative material). But
this material is obviously irrelevant to a quantification of Middle Kingdom decorated and
inscribed coffins.
91 The unfinished shafts are 1) a pit in the forecourt of the tomb of Djehutihotep and 2) a
very shallow one in the forecourt of the adjoining tomb of Amenemhat; the latter is now
150 chapter 3
which are located in the southeastern corners of the forecourts of the nomar-
chal tomb complexes to which they belong. However, besides these, there are
several shafts that share most typological characteristics of the B-shafts,92 but
that are larger, in length and width sometimes being almost as large as the
A-shafts. These shafts are badly investigated, and it cannot be ruled out that
large, decorated coffins occurred in some of them. To remain on the cautious
side, we will assume that only the six smallest B-shafts cannot have held dec-
orated coffins or coffins with Coffin Texts, but that decorated coffins (with or
without Coffin Texts) occurred in all the others. Probably, however, the result-
ing quantification of the number of relevant shafts will be too high.
A further point to consider is that the amount of relevant shafts can only be
determined with certainty in the eastern part of zone 2, and not in the west-
ern part. This has to do with the excavation history of the area. The earliest
excavators worked all over zone 2, but apparently only randomly dug pits in
the hope of finding tombs. Reisner, however, worked in a much more system-
atic fashion. He began his excavations in front of the tomb of Nehri II, in the
eastern part of zone 2, and worked westward from there as far as the tomb
of Djehutihotep (17L21/1). In this whole eastern area, with an E-W length of
about 105 m. and a N-S width of about 40 m (= 4200 m2), overlying debris
was cleared away as completely as possible, in most places exposing bedrock.
The only exception is the area immediately to the east of tomb 17K85/1 of
Ahanakht I, where a completely collapsed tomb exists. Besides the single open
shaft belonging to this sepulchre, three others are certain to exist here.93 For
the rest, it is almost certain that no additional shafts will be found in this part
covered by our temporary excavation dump and has not yet been mapped. 3) is shaft
17L20/1B [see Willems, e.a., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 384–388]. 4–5) occur in the tomb that
Fraser called tomb ‘K.’ In the epilogue of the French edition of this book I mentioned the
discovery here of three shafts (p. 234–235), but still unpublished excavations undertaken
in 2008 have revealed that one of the three is only a dummy shaft with a depth of about
15 cm, for which reason it is disregarded here.
92 These features are: climbing holes in the middle of both of the long shaft sides; entrance
to the burial chamber immediately below the horizon of crystalline limestone boulders
in the matrix of the limestone below zone 2.
93 Before the stabilization of tomb 17K85/1 in 2008–2009, Peter Dils very thoroughly
investigated and mapped the surroundings of this building. He could ascertain that the
tomb east of 17K85/1 had the same two-chamber model as 17K85/1 itself, and he could
determine shafts in the eastern half of each of these chambers. Since both shafts lie
off-axis, and the western half of the tomb is inaccessible due to the presence of debris
and collapsed rocks, it is as good as certain that two additional shafts must exist here.
Unfortunately, these are completely inaccessible due to safety reasons.
of the site. In the area further west, five shafts are currently visible (includ-
ing those of the nomarch Djehutinakht VI), but more may be hidden below
the debris overlying this area. This western part has a surface area of about
1500 m2.
In total, the existence of fifty-eight shafts in zone 2 is now certain. Fifty-
three of these lie in the eastern part. Since this has a surface of 4200 m2, this
means that about 1.26 tombs exist here per 100 m2, but this includes the B- and
C-shafts. Subtracting six small B-shafts and 5 C-shafts, forty-two shafts remain
in the eastern part that one may suspect to have contained decorated Middle
Kingdom coffins; this implies that on average one potentially relevant shaft
occurs per 100 m2. If the same tomb density prevails in the western part, the
overall amount of A-shafts in that area is likely to be around fifteen (of which
five are already known).
The total number of potentially relevant Middle Kingdom shafts in zone 2 is
accordingly likely to have been in the order of magnitude of 42 + 15 = 57.
Most of the Middle Kingdom tomb shafts in this area (A-shafts and large
B-shafts) are very large, often attaining a N-S length of 3 m, a width of about 1.5
m, and depths varying between six and many dozens of metres. Undoubtedly,
we are therefore facing a cemetery of the high elite. In the case of the tomb
of Djehutihotep (17L20/1A),94 of the five shafts in front of his tomb belonging
to his retainers,95 and of the neighbouring nomarch tombs of Djehutinakht
VI (17L30/1: B2B; B15C; B22C) and Amenemhat (17L22/1: B9–10C; canopic box
B11C),96 each individual certainly possessed at least one decorated coffin, of
which all except one were inscribed with Coffin Texts.97 Further east, in the
tomb of Nehri I, the only shaft that we have been able to investigate (17L12/1A)
has led to the discovery of small fragments of one or more decorated coffins
carrying Coffin Texts. Similar, but better-preserved ones were found there ear-
lier by Reisner (B11Bo).98 In the adjoining shaft B, the remains of a woman’s
canopic box and possibly her coffin (B12Bo) were found, while the two rear
94 Of whom coffin fragments were probably found by the Belgian mission; see Verrept, in:
Willems, e.a., MDAIK 62 (2006), p. 309 (B10B).
95 Coffins B1C, B16–17C; B1–5L; B1–2P; B11B; canopic boxes B2C and B18C. See Willems,
Chests of Life, p. 75–77 (group D).
97 There exists a large shaft immediately beside the burial shaft of Djehutihotep himself,
which has apparently never been cleared (17L20/1). Considering its position, it is possibly
part of the Djehutihotep tomb complex, and might belong to his wife, but this is unknown.
Its size suggests that the tomb must have contained a very large coffin, and even though
no part of this has been found it is unlikely not to have been decorated.
98 See Long, De Meyer, Willems, in preparation.
152 chapter 3
shafts C and D contained coffin B6C (with Coffin Texts).99 The shafts also con-
tained coffins B23C, B25C, B3X, and the re-used Old Kingdom coffin B26C.100
In the central part of the cemetery, no clear evidence is forthcoming,101 but fur-
ther east one arrives at the famous tomb Reisner 10 (= 17L04/1). This tomb was
owned by the nomarch Djehutinakht IV (or V) and his like-named wife. The
man Djehutinakht had two coffins, his wife had three, and all were decorated
and inscribed with Coffin Texts. The woman also had an inscribed canopic box
(B1–5Bo; B8Bo). Other coffins were found in a shaft in the entrance courtyard
(or first chamber) of the tomb chapel (B6–7Bo).102 The adjoining tomb 17K84/1
(perhaps belonging to Ahanakht II and containing two large shafts) has not
yet been excavated and 17L05/1 has not produced any pertinent evidence.
However, tomb 17K85/1 of Ahanakht I has in all probability produced the two
coffins of this nomarch, which are currently at Philadelphia (B1–2Ph), and in
spring 2012 I discovered the remains of coffin B4B in shaft 17K85/1B, perhaps
belonging to the nomarch Djehutinakht (I) son of Teti (see p. 88–89). All these
coffins are decorated and bear Coffin Texts. The other shafts in this tomb were
excavated by Reisner. His diary mentions the find of coffin fragments here,
but it is not clear whether any of them were decorated. The same holds true for
the small tombs 17K74/1–3, which lie in front of the tomb of Ahanakht I.103 As
regards the tombs further east, the available information is exceedingly sparse,
being restricted to part of a coffin panel inscribed with Coffin Texts that was
found in the tomb of Nehri II (17K77/1: B5B).104 Finally, a very large shaft at the
western end of zone 2 (16L18/1) is known to have contained three decorated
coffins, however without Coffin Texts.105
99 Our excavations have not yet been published. For the find circumstances of coffin B6C,
which had been initially made for a man called Ahanakht, then adapted for another
called Kay, and finally for a lady Djehutinakht, see Kamal, ASAE 2 (1901), p. 35–36. Kamal
noted that B6C was contained in another coffin, about which he offers no details. Long,
De Meyer, Willems, in preparation, will adduce evidence that this is coffin B10Bo (also
decorated and with CT).
100 Long, Dating the Tomb of Governor Nehri I, p. 29–67.
101 Note that the tombs in this area do not have A-shafts, but B-shafts, even though some of
these are large representatives of that type.
102 Coffins B1–8Bo; for the contents of this tomb, see Terrace, Egyptian Paintings of the
Middle Kingdom; The Secrets of Tomb 10A. Egypt 2000 BC.
103 For the finds in these tombs, see Willems, Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 28; 62 (7).
104 Unpublished; found by the joint mission of Leiden University, the University of
Philadelphia, and the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, in 1990.
105 Coffins B14C, B6L, and B1Lei; see Daressy, ASAE 1 (1900), p. 25; van Wijngaarden, OMRO
24 (1943), p. 14; pl. III; Newberry, PSBA 36 (1914), p. 36. In Kamal’s plan, the pertinent
Even though our information remains lacunose, the previous overview ren-
ders likely that every Middle Kingdom nomarch possessed decorated coffins
inscribed with Coffin Texts, that this also held true for many members of the
nomarchs’ retinue, and that probably all coffin owners buried in A-shafts had
at least a decorated coffin. However, it seems far less certain that the same held
true for the large B-shafts.
It should moreover be stressed that several persons owned more than one
decorated coffin or objects inscribed with Coffin Texts. Thus, the nomarch
Djehutinakht VI not only had two decorated coffins with Coffin Texts (B15C;
B22C), but also a burial chamber inscribed with Coffin Texts (B3B), and a tomb
chapel of which the ceiling also bore such texts (B2B). Many similar cases
could be cited.
Now we have to do some arithmetic. Fifty-eight sources inscribed with Coffin
Texts are known from zone 2, but these belong to only twenty-nine owners.106
Besides this, there are eleven owners who we know possessed a decorated cof-
fin (in one case, two), but for whom no Coffin Texts are on record. In one case
it concerns an Old Kingdom coffin that we shall not use in our statistics; thus
the number amounts to ten. In this collection of material, 74.4% of the owners
accordingly possessed funerary equipment inscribed with Coffins Texts, while
the other 25.6% had only a decorated coffin. Secondly, of the forty-four known
C-shafts and large B-shafts, information about tomb contents is forthcoming
for twenty shafts, that is, for 45.5%. This figure is so high that it seems justi-
fied to assume that the data concerning the twenty documented shafts can be
extrapolated to all shafts. The interesting point is that in every C-shaft where
information on the coffin(s) is available, it concerns decorated coffins (with or
without Coffin Texts).107
In all, the known material can be argued to have belonged to thirty-nine
individuals, of whom we can ascertain in twenty-nine cases that they pos-
sessed one or more objects inscribed with Coffin Texts. For the other ten, only
a decorated coffin is known. Working on the basis of the assumption that this
shaft, numbered 17, is located almost in front of the tomb of Djehutinakht VI (ASAE
2 [1901], p. 15; see also Willems, Chests of Life, p. 69), but it should be noted that the
location and size indication of all shafts in this area are quite inaccurate. It is not unlikely
that the coffins derive from one of two other shafts that still today are standing open.
106 This figure includes coffins of which the provenance within Dayr al-Barshā is not really
assured, but which because of their style, preservation and quality must derive from zone
2 (for a discussion of the origin of most pieces, see Willems, Chests of Life, p. 68–81).
107 This in no case concerns a large B-shaft, so that it could be argued that the persons buried
in such shafts did not benefit from Coffin Texts. By assuming that Coffin Texts occurred
here, as well, our estimates may well be too high.
154 chapter 3
distribution is statistically significant, one may estimate that 25.6% of the

deceased in A-shafts and large B-shafts had had a decorated coffin without
Coffin Texts, whereas the remaining 74.4% of this population had one or more
funerary objects inscribed with Coffin Texts.
A last important element is the question of how many deceased could be
buried in one tomb shaft. In many cases, a shaft only leads to one burial cham-
ber, and many of these are simply too small to accommodate more than one
burial. Even where that would have been possible, as in the case of the tomb of
Djehutinakht (I?) excavated in the spring of 2012, this had evidently not been
the case. However, there are also cases where more than one burial occurs in
one shaft, or where a shaft led to more than one burial chamber. Here one also
has to consider that of the burial chambers that were built, not all must have
been effectively used. We will work on the assumption of an average of two
burials per A-shaft or large B-shaft. As we have calculated above, it may here
concern about fifty-seven shafts, corresponding to 114 deceased.108 Of these
114 dead persons, about 74.4% possessed a decorated coffin bearing Coffin
Texts, i.e. eighty-five persons. Including the exceptional indications for the
occurrence of Coffin Texts in the rest of the cemetery (two in zones 8 and 9
together, perhaps two in zone 4, two in zone 1) we arrive at a total of ninety-
one individuals. The estimation for zones 1 and 2 can be considered fairly accu-
rate. It also seems certain that Coffin Texts were very exceptional outside of
zones 1 and 2, but a larger margin of error must be allowed here. It would seem
highly unlikely, however, that the total amount of owners of Coffin Texts sur-
passed one hundred and ten. Since we know thirty-five of these individuals
(twenty-nine from zone 2, two from zone 1, perhaps two from zone 4, and one
from zones 8 and 9 each), we have access to over 30% of the original material,
even though often in a very fragmentary state.
Quantification of the Decorated Coffins from Banī Ḥasan

The site of Banī Ḥasan is another interesting case. Even though very little of
this material is adequately published, and the majority of the coffins were in
a very poor state of preservation when they were found, precious informa-
tion is available. In the years 1902–1904, Garstang excavated 888 tombs. His
publication includes a find list arranged per tomb, although this is clearly not
free from error. Additionally, his descriptions are sometimes vague, so that the
108 In the French edition of this book, I still worked from the assumption that two burials
can generally be assigned to any shaft in zone 2, and that all shafts date to the Middle
Kingdom. Therefore I worked on the basis of an assumed amount of sixty-eight shafts and
at most 130 buried persons (p. 159).
number of 133 (fragments of) coffins can only be taken as a rough indication
of an order of magnitude.109
The majority of the tombs contained only one burial, but there are also
some where more inhumations were found. Supposing that the 888 tombs
contained the burials of a thousand people, the reported coffin remains would
amount to about 13.3 % of the original quantity. Since we are only interested in
orders of magnitude, we will operate on the basis of the round figure of 15%.110
Even though Garstang’s list is imprecise, it seems as though the excavator
tried to keep an accurate record when the coffins found were inscribed and/or
decorated. In all, it concerns eighty-seven examples, or about 65% of the one
hundred and thirty-three coffins. If this figure also corresponds to 15% of the
original amount, we may reckon with an original amount of six hundred and
fifty decorated coffins.
Among the material excavated by Garstang, fourteen coffins only are
reported to have been decorated on the inside, and this probably carries the
implication that they also bore Coffin Texts. On the assumption that this fig-
ure likewise represents 15% of the original amount, the original total amount
would be in the range of a hundred.
It should be stressed that, based on Garstang’s published photographs, as
well as the records and finds I have been able to study in Liverpool in 1984, the
coffins from Banī Ḥasan make a rather poor impression as compared to Dayr
al-Barshā, and they are on the whole also much smaller. Moreover, on reading
Garstang’s account, it is striking that he continually refers to the same small
group of coffins with interior decoration. If he had found more of those, one
would have expected he would have referred to them at least occasionally. Also,
it should be stressed that our calculation operates on the basis of the assump-
tion that all deceased were buried in a coffin. While this was apparently really
the case at Dayr al-Barshā, it certainly was not at Asyūṭ, and therefore it cannot
be taken for granted that coffins were considered indispensable at Banī Ḥasan.
Therefore, it is not certain that a decorated coffin (or even a coffin) occurred in
every tomb. In this case, the above estimations may be far too high.
109 Garstang, Burial Customs, p. 211–244. For example, when he states that a burial chamber
included “fragments of wooden coffins,” it is not quite clear whether or not he had definite
reasons to assume there was more than one coffin. This problem is quite frequent in the
list, and the indicated figure may therefore be too high.
110 In view of the figure of 30% in Dayr al-Barshā, this does not seem to be an overly optimistic
assumption.
156 chapter 3
Quantification of the Decorated Coffins from Asyūṭ

As a last case study, we will investigate the situation at Asyūṭ. In his edition of
the Coffin Texts, de Buck made use of only twenty-seven sources. My study
of Middle Kingdom coffins (Chests of Life) did not focus on material from
Asyūṭ, because the typological development of coffins from there differs mark-
edly from the regular patterns encountered in the rest of Egypt, but my list
nonetheless raised the figure to seventy-eight coffins, while Lapp refers in his
Typologie to eighty-eight. It should be stressed that most of the ‘new’ coffins
were already known in de Buck’s day, but that they do not bear Coffin Texts.
Moreover, it has always been clear that even the more recent lists must be very
incomplete, because new Asyūṭ coffins appear on the art market or in private
collections almost every year; a remarkable observation, since the Asyūṭ ceme-
tery has been a military site for decades. Zitman’s recent study has established
a list of 292 inscribed sources.111 Moreover, he refers to the existence of an
additional group of ninety-three coffins (including nine coffin models), which
are kept at the Egyptian Museum in Turin, but which he has not been able to
study.112 This raises the amount to 394 instances, at least if all these additional
cases derive from different coffins. However, several of these date back to the
Old Kingdom or First Intermediate Period. Moreover, his list includes some
canopic boxes, anthropomorphic coffins, coffins from neighbouring sites, and
coffins of which the attribution to Asyūṭ is uncertain. In what follows, I there-
fore work on the basis of a slightly modified list of 273 coffins, to which figure
should be added the ninety-three undocumented coffins from Turin which
definitely exist, but on which I have no information; a total, therefore, of 366
coffins. All of these are decorated coffins.113 Clearly, Asyūṭ must be considered
as the richest known source of Middle Kingdom coffins. Two questions, how-
ever, have to be addressed here.
In the first place, an important question is how many of these coffins were
decorated with Coffin Texts. Before discussing this issue, a preliminary remark
has to be made.
111 See the source list in Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut, p. 105–152. The recent study by
Hannig operates on the basis of more than two hundred coffins (Zur Paläographie der
Särge aus Assiut, p. VII).
112 For these sources, see Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut, p. 152.
113 It should be noted that the preliminary reports of the Egyptian-German team working in
Asyūṭ occasionally refer to the find of coffin fragments. This figure may change on a yearly
basis, and it has not been taken into consideration yet, since it would first be necessary to
see whether some of the fragments found might belong to the same coffins as fragments
already found.
At most sites, two large groups of decorated coffins can be defined:
1) Coffins with exterior decoration, but without decoration on the inside.

The pertinent examples usually carry only a small amount of texts. These
appear in wide bands of ornamental hieroglyphs consisting of offering
formulae and other stereotyped texts. Although these are inscribed on
coffins, Egyptologists do not designate these texts as Coffin Texts.
2) Coffins with both exterior and interior decoration. The Coffin Texts usu-
ally are among the chief elements of the interior decoration of these cof-
fins. Even though coffins with interior decoration, but without Coffin
Texts are known, this is not very common.
At Asyūṭ, coffins of the first group differ significantly from what one is accus-
tomed to from other sites. The ornamental offering formulae themselves are
often composed in an entirely different way, but besides this, one also notes the
occurrence of religious formulae for which parallels are known from among
the Coffin Texts on coffins from other sites. It concerns the Coffin Texts spells
30, 31, 32, 345, and 609. In other cases, (parts of) these spells are combined
with offering formulae. In these cases, the distinction between ornamental
texts and Coffin Texts is therefore blurred. This increased amount of ornamen-
tal texts in Asyūṭ is due to the fact that coffins from here in the course of the
twelfth dynasty often display a doubling or even tripling of the number of
ornamental text bands. It would be possible to include these coffins among the
sources with Coffin Texts. However, it seems more in keeping with the layout of
these coffins to say that in the case of Asyūṭ we are facing a different tradition
in the formulation of the ornamental texts: these may consist not only of the
habitual offering formulae, but also of a very small selection of texts found
elsewhere in Egypt among the Coffin Texts. For the rest, even in coffins that are
elaborately decorated on the outside, the text program remains restricted and
relatively invariable. For all these reasons, the coffins including spells 30–32,
345 and 609 among their ornamental texts are here considered to be part of
group 1. From this perspective, we accordingly define a Coffin Text as a text
written in small hieroglyphic signs or in hieratic on the inside of a coffin, and
not as the large, ornamental hieroglyphs on the outside.
Zitman’s list contains 273 rectangular Middle Kingdom coffins from Asyūṭ.
Fifty-nine of these are decorated both on the outside and the inside, and of
these, at most fifty-two carry Coffin Texts, i.e. at most 19%. Unfortunately, this
material is mostly inaccessible for study, so that I have not been able to ver-
ify whether these fifty-two really bear Coffin Texts. This is certain in twenty-
nine cases, in the twenty-three other cases, I have not been able to verify the
situation. Moreover, a large part of the available source material is in such a
158 chapter 3
fragmentary state that it seems quite possible that sources that have received
separate numbers actually belong to a single coffin. This would of course
reduce the amount of sources. However, in order not to introduce a correction
factor of which the correctness remains impossible to verify, we simply work
on the basis of the assumption that, at Asyūṭ, 19% of the sources contain Coffin
Texts. If one includes the ninety-three inaccessible coffins at Turin, one arrives
at a total of 366 decorated coffins. If one accepts that, here, too, 19% of the
coffins are inscribed with Coffin Texts, one arrives at a total of seventy coffins
in this category.
It is even more difficult to determine how these figures compare to the total
amount of coffins originally buried at Asyūṭ. If one assumes that, as at Dayr
al-Barshā, about 30% of the original material remains (even if in a fragmen-
tary state), the total for Asyūṭ would amount to 1221 coffins (based on the pre-
served total of 363 coffins). Of these, 230 coffins (= 19%) would have been
inscribed with Coffin Texts. On the other hand, based on the assumption that
only 15% of the sources are (fragmentarily) preserved, as at Banī Ḥasan, the
original amount would have been about 2420 coffins, of which 460 (= 19%)
bore Coffin Texts. Of course the two estimates are artificial, because both are
based on projection from other, neighbouring sites, and not from indications
from Asyūṭ proper. However, the two parallel sites at least render likely that
quite an appreciable amount of coffins is likely to have at least partly survived.
Yet, in order to avoid the risk of underestimating the original number of
coffins, I will from now on assume that, for the Upper Egyptian sites across the
board, a meagre 5% of the coffins have been at least partly preserved. Based
on the evidence from Dayr al-Barshā (with a score of ≈30%) and Banī Ḥasan
(≈15%), I hope the reader will agree that this quantification is not too optimistic.
The Uneven Distribution of the Coffin Texts

In fig. 24 I have tabulated the quantities of Middle Kingdom coffins and their
owners from across Egypt. I have not taken into consideration the exceptional
cases where an owner possessed an anthropomorphic coffin, as these never
include Coffin Texts, but only the rectangular coffins with decoration or with
decoration and Coffin Texts.114 Also, I have generally omitted a tomb, a canopic
box, or another object inscribed with Coffin Texts or Pyramid Texts. I have only
included such information in a very few cases, viz. when no other objects with
these texts are known for an individual. For instance, the list does not include
funerary masks in the calculation. However, at Mīr, such masks are in some
114 Note that Pyramid Texts are often included among the Coffin Texts, and occasionally
a coffin is entirely inscribed with Pyramid Texts. In the calculations that follow, ‘coffin
with Coffin Texts’ stands for ‘coffin with Coffin Texts and/or Pyramid Texts.’
cases all that remains of the funerary equipment of a person. If such a mask
was inscribed with Coffin Texts, it is at least clear that the person in question
had access to this kind of material. Since our study has the intention of clarify-
ing the degree to which Egyptians were able to make use of these texts, I have
taken such cases in consideration. The following tabulation is based on a com-
parison of the coffin list I have published in Chests of Life with the one of Lapp;
for Asyūṭ I have based myself entirely in Zitman’s list.115 The numbers for Banī
Ḥasan are based on Garstang’s find list. Over the years, numerous additional
sources, have come to my attention, and this information has also been used
in the tabulation.
I stress that the appendix at the end of this book, which lists much of the
same material, was not the basis of the compilation below. For instance, it
includes Coffin Text sources like decorated tomb chapels, canopic boxes, and
funerary masks, that are generally (but, as explained above, not completely)
absent here. Moreover, as explained in the introduction to the appendix, this
list for a variety of reasons includes material pre- or postdating the period
this book is concerned with.
Figure 24 quantifies the relevant data per site, and distinguishes deco-
rated coffins with Coffin Texts (column 2) from decorated coffins without
Sites Coffins with Number of Decorated Number Total Total amount

Coffin Texts coffin coffins without of coffin amount of of coffin
owners Coffin Texts owners coffins owners
Aswān 1 1 1 1 2 2
al-Jabalayn 3 2 9 9 12 11
Thebes 26 23 27 17 53 37116
Dandara117 1? 1? 1? 1?
(Continued)
115 Willems, Chests of Life, p. 19–40; Lapp, Typologie, p. 272–313; Zitman, The Necropolis of
Assiut, p. 105–152.
116 Not forty individuals, for several persons simultaneously possessed a coffin adorned with
Coffin Texts and a decorated one without Coffin Texts. In the Theban group, I have not
included the two coffins (decorated, with Coffin Texts) of the lady Gehset. One of these
seems in fact to have been made during the period interesting us, but it was apparently
not used, and apparently became part of Gehset’s burial set in the thirteenth dynasty.
Therefore it should not play a part in our quantification of coffins, which spans the period
until Senwosret III/Amenemhat III.
117 D1C, the only Coffin Text source from Dandara, probably antedates the Middle Kingdom,
hence the question mark.
160 chapter 3
figure 24 (Continued)
Sites Coffins with Number of Decorated Number Total Total amount

Coffin Texts coffin coffins without of coffin amount of of coffin
owners Coffin Texts owners coffins owners
Farshūt 1 1 1 1
Abydos 3 3 5 5 8 8
Najʿ al-Dayr 4 3 3 3 7 6
Akhmīm Not included118
Qāw al-Kabīr 2 2 2 2 4 4
Dayr Rīfa 3 3 8 7 11 10
Asyūṭ 29 (+ 23 ?) 24 (+ 23 ?) 221 219 250 (+23 ?) 243 (+23?)
Mīr 71 64 61 59 132 122
Dayr al-Barshā 58 29 11 10 69 39
Banī Ḥasan 14 9 73 72 87 81
Iḥnāsīya 2 2 — — 2 2
al-Madīna
Sidmant 7 5 8 7 15 12
al-Jabal
al-Ḥarāja 2 2 9 9 11 11
Hawwāra 1 1 1 1
Riqqa 1 1 12 12 13 13
al-Lisht 10 10 8 7 18 17
Mazghūna 1 1 1 1
Dahshūr Not included119
Saqqāra 36 28 26 26 62 54
Abū Ṣīr 4 3 11 11 15 14
Kawm al-Ḥisn 1 1 1 1
Qaṭṭa 1 1 1 1
Provenance 10 9 3 3 13 12
unknown
Total 289 (+ 23?) 226 (+ 23?) 501 483 813 727
Figure 24 Quantification of the decorated coffins without Coffin Texts, of the decorated with Coffin Texts,
and of the coffin owners.
118 See p. 166.

119 See p. 166.
Coffin Texts (column 4). Frequently, one person owns more than one coffin.
Therefore the total number of coffins from a site is usually different from the
number of owners. Columns 3 and 5 provide the quantifications for respec-
tively decorated coffins with and without Coffin Texts. Column 6 provides the
total number of coffins per site, and column 7 the total number of owners.
Note that the latter are not always simply an addition of the figures in columns
3 and 5, since it happens that one individual possessed both coffins with and
without Coffin Texts.
The number of 813120 coffins corroborates the impression that we are facing
an enormous mass of material. Moreover, there still are the ninety-three Asyūṭ
coffins from Turin, about which no information is available. This raises the toll
to 906. Finally, if we operate on the assumption that only 5% of the coffins are
(even if often fragmentarily) preserved, the quantities must be multiplied by
twenty. In figure 25, register 2, ‘base total,’ renders the totals of fig. 24. Register
3 offers the same quantification, but includes the supplementary coffins from
Asyūṭ. It is here assumed that, within this group, the same ratio of coffins with
Coffin Texts (19%) and without Coffin Texts (81%) prevails. Because the cal-
culation is here partly based on a statistical projection, and not on a simple
count, this figure is designated as ‘base estimate’. Register 4 provides the esti-
mated ‘original total amount’ based on the assumption that only 5% of the
sources are preserved.
But are these latter quantities really as vast as they may seem? The coffins
were produced between the beginning of the Middle Kingdom under the
reign of Mentuhotep II (c. 2050 B.C.) and the later twelfth dynasty. It is gen-
erally assumed that this category of material disappears under the reign of
Senwosret III (1870–1831) or, at the latest, the early reign of Amenemhat III
(1831–1786 B.C.).121 We should therefore count with a duration of about 225
years during which these coffins were produced. The next table (fig. 26)
120 The number of coffins for Asyūṭ includes the remark “(+ 23?)”. The question mark
does not mean that the existence of these coffins is in doubt. Rather it indicates the
uncertainty concerning twenty-three coffins from this site that are reported to carry
interior decoration. It is however uncertain whether this interior decoration includes
Coffin Texts. It is likely that many of these coffins are listed in the wrong column, and this
uncertainty is reflected in the question mark. Every coffin that should be skipped here,
should move to the column with decorated coffins without Coffin Texts, and therefore the
grand total remains 813.
121 Using the dates of the Oxford History of Ancient Egypt, p. 480. By attributing 39 years
to Senwosret III, I simply follow the chronology of this work, without any intention of
pronouncing a verdict on the difficult issue of possible coregencies of this ruler with his
predecessor and successor, and a possible reign length of only 19 years.
162 chapter 3
Coffins Number Decorated Number Total Total amount

with of coffin coffins of coffin amount of coffin
Coffin owners without owners of coffins owners
Texts Coffin Texts
Base total 312 249 501 483 813 727

Base estimate 330 267 576 558 906 820
Original total 6,600 5,340 11,520 11,160 18,120 16,400
Amount
Figure 25 Estimate of the original amount of decorated coffins (with and without Coffin Texts)
and of the number of coffin owners.
Coffins with Number Decorated Number Total Total amount

Coffin Texts of coffin coffins of coffin amount of coffin
owners without owners of coffins owners
Coffin Texts
Original total 6,600 5,340 11,520 11,160 18,120 16,400

amount
Original 29.3 23.73 51.2 49.6 80.53 72.88
annual
amount
Figure 26 Estimated annual quantity of decorated coffins and their owners.
reduces the total estimate of the amount of original coffins and of their owners
to an annual average for this period of 225 years.
It is also necessary to compare this result with the total mortality during
the Middle Kingdom. The next table (fig. 27) offers a comparison between
this figure and the annual amount of dead persons that were provided with a
decorated coffin, either with or without Coffin Texts. The coffin evidence for
both groups derives almost in its entirety from Upper Egypt, since hardly a
single decorated coffin from the Delta has survived. Therefore we will compare
the annual amount of deceased possessing either a decorated coffin or a dec-
orated coffin with Coffin Texts with the annual mortality rate for Upper Egypt
(see p. 145–146). This relationship will be expressed in absolute numbers and
in percentages.
Number of owners Number of owners Total amount of

of one (or more) of one (or more) owners of one or
decorated coffins decorated coffins more decorated
inscribed with without Coffin Texts coffins
Coffin Texts
Annual quantity 23.73 49.6 72.88
Annual mortality rate in

Upper Egypt 34,375 34,375 34,375
Percentage of the
population having one 0.069 % 0.144 % 0.21 %
or more decorated
coffins122
Figure 27 Estimate of the proportion of the total population owning decorated coffins (with or
without Coffin Texts).
The table clearly shows that possessing a decorated coffin was very exceptional
for an Egyptian.123 The owner of a coffin inscribed with Coffin Texts belonged
to a still smaller segment of the population.124 Following the hypothesis that
only 5% of the coffins have left behind a trace, only one Egyptian per 1450
owned such a coffin. One might of course accuse me that my point of depar-
ture is much too pessimistic, and that originally, the amount of coffins was
much larger than I have here assumed. This would imply that the chances of
preservation were much worse than the 5% that we have taken as the basis
of our calculations. One should note, however, that this figure is already three
to six times as low as the site estimates would suggest (Dayr al-Barshā, with
122 The total in column 4 is not simply the addition of the figures in columns 2 and 3, for a
person could possess both decorated coffins with and without Coffin Texts.
123 This was accepted by Gestermann in her review of the French edition of this book (BiOr
66 [2009], col. 604). However, she seems not to have noticed the difference between %
and ‰, which latter figure implies that sources with Coffin Texts were ten times as rare
as she apparently believed.
124 If one would accept a low average life expectancy of about 25 years (see p. 144–146), one
arrives at much higher average annual mortality rate of 44,000 persons per year. On this
basis, a mere 0.054 % of the population would have possessed a coffin inscribed with
Coffin Texts.
164 chapter 3
a suggested preservation rate of 30%; Banī Ḥasan, with a much more tenta-
tively suggested preservation rate of 15%). However, even if one would assume
(as far as I can see, without any argumentative basis) that only 1% of the original
coffins has left behind recognizable traces, it remains that only 0.345 % of the
population possessed a coffin with Coffin Texts, or one person per three
hundred.125 But since I do not see any material basis for such an assumption,
even this position seems totally unfounded to me.
Independent verification is fortunately possible for the site of Dayr al-Bar-
shā, where the amount of persons that may have had access to Coffin Texts is
relatively easy to assess. The pertinent sources are at this site almost entirely
concentrated in zones 1 and 2, and we have been able to estimate the total
amount of persons who were buried here. Our rather optimistic estimate
arrived at a 110 persons at most for the Middle Kingdom. As we have seen,
the relevant period encompasses about 225 years. This implies that about 0.5
dead persons per year (or one per two years) was provided with one or more
coffin(s) inscribed with Coffin Texts.
Of course it is unlikely that Dayr al-Barshā was the only burial site in the
region, but no other site in the former Hare nome has produced even the slight-
est trace of decorated Middle Kingdom coffins (with or without Coffin Texts).
It is unlikely that many of these ever existed, since in Dayr al-Barshā itself, such
coffins only appear in the larger, monumental tombs. If Coffin Texts sources
should exist outside this site, one would expect them to occur in similarly large
tomb complexes. These would certainly have left behind recognizable traces,
but, apart from a handful of fairly simple rock-cut tombs near al-Shaykh ʿIbāda,
these do not exist anywhere in the Hare nome.126 This suggests that the annual
production rate of Coffin Texts sources must be assessed at a provincial scale.
Butzer’s demographic study affords population estimates for the various
nomes during the New Kingdom. For the Hare Nome, to which he attributes a
surface of 650 km2, he calculates an average population density of 123 per km2.
125 It should be recalled that we are basing ourselves here on Butzer’s calculations for the
total population, which were qualified as very low by Kemp and Kraus. If we would follow
these latter authors in arguing for a larger population size, the relative amount of owners
of Coffin Texts per capita would have to be lowered significantly.
126 One decorated First Intermediate Period coffin which was found here is now in Brussels
(SI1Br), whilst another is in London (SI1L). I do not consider it unlikely that more of
the Shaykh ʿIbāda rock tombs once contained decorated coffins. That Coffin Texts
also occurred there is less likely, but even if they would have existed, the amount of
tombs is such that the figure would not change significantly (Rosati, in: Antinoupolis I,
p. 589–507).
On this basis one arrives at a population size of 79,950 persons for the nome.127
After correcting this figure for the Middle Kingdom, when Butzer assumes a
population size of 69% of the New Kingdom figure,128 the nome would have
had about 55,000 inhabitants. Assuming an average life expectancy of thirty-
two years, this implies an annual mortality rate in this province of about one
thousand seven hundred and nineteen persons, and of these, only 0.5 was pro-
vided with tomb equipment bearing Coffin Texts. This brings us to a rate of only
0.029% (stated differently: one individual per 3,450 possessed Coffin Texts).129
It is quite obvious that this calculation is not exact, but it does provide inde-
pendent confirmation of a very general order that our first calculation, which
arrived at a ratio of 0.068%, is unlikely to be too pessimistic. This conclusion
imposes itself even more if it is realized 1) that Dayr al-Barshā is among the
richest sources for Coffin Texts in Egypt generally; 2) that the quantification
of the original amount of sources is nowhere in Egypt as clear as here; and 3)
that there is not a shred of evidence that sites with a similar material culture
existed anywhere else in the Hare nome.
From these considerations, it can be concluded that the widespread idea
that the Coffin Texts were ‘in principle’ accessible to all Egyptians completely
misrepresents the situation. Having access to Coffin Texts was about as excep-
tional to the Middle Kingdom Egyptian as it would be today to possess a Rolls
Royce. The Egyptological use of the terms ‘democratization’, ‘demotization’,
and even ‘proliferation’ are simply inappropriate to describe the spread of the
Coffin Texts.130
The Geographic Distribution of the Coffin Texts
Social position is not necessarily the only determining factor for understand-
ing who owned these texts. If this would have been the case, one would expect
that Coffin Texts, however rare they may be, would have been found across
Egypt. A glance at fig. 24 reveals, however, that this is not the case.
127 Butzer, Early Hydraulic Civilization, p. 74, table 3.

128 This quantification is based on his population estimates for Egypt as a whole in the
Middle Kingdom (2,000,000) and the New Kingdom (2,900,000).
129 Based on an average life expectancy of 25 years, one arrives at 2,200 dead per year, of
whom 0.5 had Coffin Texts (or: one per 4,400). This corresponds to 0.022%.
130 This conclusion (and particularly the use of the term ‘Rolls Royce’) as drawn in the French
edition of this book, has been severely criticized by M. Smith (Smith, s.v. Democratization
of the Afterlife, in: UEE). We will address his arguments further below.
166 chapter 3
At first sight, the list may seem to confirm that Coffin Texts are present
everywhere in the country. It is true that the Delta is largely a blank spot, but
considering the conditions of preservation in this part of the country, this is
not astonishing. For the rest, the entire extent of Upper Egypt, from Aswān to
Memphis, is represented. The least that can be said on this basis is that access
to the Coffin Texts was possible in principle in all parts of Egypt. Nevertheless,
the list also shows that the chances of having a funerary object inscribed with
these texts were not the same everywhere.
The list does not take into consideration the chronological evolution of
the coffins. Also, some groups have been entirely left aside. The coffins from
Akhmīm have been omitted since they date to the First Intermediate Period,
prior to the Unification of the country. They are thus not relevant to our analy-
sis of the spread of Coffin Texts and decorated coffins in the Middle Kingdom. It
may be useful to point out that Coffin Texts are not in evidence in this material.
The relatively large group of coffins from Dahshūr has also been left aside,
because they date mostly to the late twelfth and early thirteenth dynasties, i.e.
after the period concerning us. Moreover, almost all their owners are members
of the royal family, and most represent types that are specific to late Middle
Kingdom courtiers. In this study, which focuses on the funerary culture of
non-royals, this material was therefore excluded.131
Further, it should be noted that only a part of the inscribed monuments
from al-Lisht conforms to the tradition of the high Middle Kingdom. In several
cases, we are facing unique burial chambers of the late twelfth or even thir-
teenth dynasty, which are decorated, in a style characteristic for al-Lisht, with
Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts. The coffins of Sesenebenef (L1–2Li) date to the
late twelfth or thirteenth dynasty and are decorated in a fashion for which no
131 The Japanese mission to Dahshūr has recently discovered decorated private coffins
without Coffin Texts (Da11–13X). The typology of two of them, of types IVaa and IVba,
would associate them most closely to the second half of the twelfth dynasty (Willems,
Chests of Life, p. 159–161), but the excavators date the objects to the thirteenth dynasty. In
fact, the funerary mask of Senu, with its feathered motif (Waseda University Expedition
1966–2006, no. 248–249) may support such a date, even though the issue cannot be
considered really settled (Miniaci, Rishi Coffins, p. 136–138). The vaulted lids in any case
militate for a date not before the late twelfth dynasty. Robert Schiestl informs me that
the associated ceramics likewise supports a date in the thirteenth dynasty (for these finds,
see now also Baba, Yoshimura, EA 37 [Autumn 2010], p. 9–12) These indications suggest
that we have to do with coffins still decorated according to the classical later twelfth
dynasty model after the period we are interested in this book. I would propose a date at
the very end of the twelfth dynasty or shortly after.
parallels are known.132 These sources differ in many respects from the national
development of private coffin decoration. If they are left aside, the Lisht mate-
rial is reduced to twelve sources of which ten are inscribed with Coffin Texts. It
is remarkable that al-Lisht, the residence cemetery, is relatively poor in sources
bearing such texts.
In the material, three quantitatively important groups clearly stand out. The
first is that of the Memphite region, with about forty sources with Coffin Texts
originating predominantly from cemeteries in Abū Ṣīr and around the pyramid
of Teti in Saqqāra. The second consists of material from Middle Egypt, between
Qāw al-Kabīr and Banī Ḥasan, with several hundred examples. Finally, a few
dozens of sources originate from Thebes.
It is probably significant that so many sources have been found at these sites,
while only very few are known from others. For instance, a very large ceme-
tery existed at Abydos, and the conditions of preservation there are equally
favourable as, for instance, at Asyūṭ. Nonetheless, at Abydos we have encoun-
tered only three sources inscribed with Coffin Texts. This is rather amazing, for
the Abydene Osiris cult played a very central role in Middle Kingdom funer-
ary religion. Considering how often religious concepts of Abydene origin are
alluded to in the Coffin Texts, one might have expected that the site would
have afforded an impressive amount of sources. Yet the fact that funerary con-
texts from Abydos and dated to the high Middle Kingdom only rarely include
these texts cannot be denied.133
It can be concluded that these texts could appear everywhere, but that the
need to have access to them was apparently not felt equally strongly from one
site to another. Therefore it is interesting to know more about the persons that
were particularly eager to have them.
132 For the details, see Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 1–15, particularly p. 2
(type IV Var.) and p. 14–15. Miniaci now dates these coffins to the middle of the reign
of Amenemhat III (Rishi Coffins, p. 19) A detailed study of coffins L1–2Li by the present
author is in preparation.
133 W. Grajetzki has recently published a small new group of coffins inscribed with funerary
texts from Abydos. However, all this material dates to the late Middle Kingdom and the
Second Intermediate Period, and it differs typologically from the coffins we are here
dealing with (Grajetzki, SAK 34 [2006], p. 205–216; Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor,
passim).
168 chapter 3
Saqqāra and Abū Ṣīr

In the case of the coffins from Saqqāra, the situation is clear. There can be no
doubt that the great majority date to the early Middle Kingdom, ranging from
the late eleventh dynasty to the early part of the reign of Senwosret I. Later
examples are known, but they are far more exceptional.
These coffins include many texts that are already attested in the royal pyra-
mids of the Old Kingdom. Others were included by de Buck among the Coffin
Texts, but in the case of the offering spells, which are very similar to those
attested in the Pyramid Texts, one may well ask whether they may simply be
‘Pyramid Texts’ of which the earliest known attestations happen to occur in
Middle Kingdom sources. However, it is equally clear that one also encounters
well-attested Coffin Texts spells, like spells 75 and 335. In fact, it is not unlikely
that the temple scriptoria at Heliopolis and in the Memphite region, where the
texts inscribed on the subterranean walls of the Old Kingdom royal pyramids
must have been composed, also kept documents of other types and kinds than
what is known today as the Pyramid Texts. At least part of those might have
lived on in the Middle Kingdom as ‘Coffin Texts.’
The overwhelming majority of these Middle Kingdom coffins originate from
the cemetery belonging to the pyramid town of Teti (Ḏd-s.wt-Ttı̓), where the
priesthood of the Heracleopolitan king Merikare apparently lived as well.
The latter’s pyramid was probably erected a short distance to the east of the
Teti pyramid.134 Many of the coffins concerned certainly belonged to mortuary
priests attached to these royal pyramid complexes.
According to H. Kees, these references to the mortuary cult of Merikare
suggest that this cemetery dates to the First Intermediate Period,135 and this
point of view is occasionally still encountered today.136 But Merikare reigned
towards the end of this period, and it seems hard to accept that all priests
attached to his cult (see fig. 28) were in office before the reunification of Egypt
by Mentuhotep II. For one of the officials concerned, called Gemniemhat, who
owned coffins Sq1–2X and was a priest of Teti and Merikare, a date in the early
twelfth dynasty has recently been argued J.P. Allen.137 This would imply that
the Thebans had not suppressed the mortuary cult of their former opponent
Merikare. That even Old Kingdom royal cults could survive well into the Middle
134 Malek, in: Hommages Leclant IV, p. 203–214.

135 For example Kees, Totenglauben, p. 167.
136 This reasoning is still followed, but without decisive additional arguments by Daoud,
Corpus of Inscriptions, passim; Knoblauch, in: Ancient Memphis, p. 271.
137 Allen, in: The Theban Necropolis. Past, Present and Future, p. 17.
Kingdom is also known from other cases. Even though I am not convinced that
Allen’s dating is correct, it seems impossible to date Gemniemhat any earlier
than the late eleventh dynasty, and therefore his tomb must date to a period
well after the reunification.138 By implication, the same might hold true for sev-
eral or all of the other coffin owners we are currently interested in. The owners
of the coffins inscribed with Coffin Texts from this cemetery are now often
attributed to an early Middle Kingdom date.139
138 This is not the right place for a detailed reanalysis of the issue, because this would involve
a very extensive discussion of the archaeology, art history, and political history of the
early Middle Kingdom. The currently accepted chronology is based on the conclusions of
an article in which Dorothea Arnold argued that an unfinished temple on the Theban
west bank, which had since its discovery always been dated to the reign of Mentuhotep
III, actually belonged to Amenemhat I. The consequence was that this king had not
moved to the new capital of Itji-tawy immediately after his coronation, but that his
residence remained in Thebes for a relatively long period of time. The temple was built
in this earlier part of his reign (MMJ 26 [1991], p. 5–48). Another consequence was that
the tomb of Meketre, which is orientated to the temple, also had to be redated from the
late eleventh to the early twelfth dynasty. This incited Allen to a complete reappraisal
of the dates of several Theban officials, many of whom were now assigned to a later
date than had theretofore been customary. Incidentally, this also led to a later dating of
the Heqanakht papyri (Allen, in: Studies in Honor of William Kelly Simpson I, p. 1–26).
Because of certain similarities between the find material in the tomb of Meketre and
Gemniemhat, the latter was also assigned a date in the reign of Amenemhat I (Allen, in:
The Theban Necropolis. Past, Present and Future, p. 17). The basis of this whole reasoning
is now widely accepted, and was recently claimed to have been “demonstrate(d)
conclusively” (Seiler, in: Handbook of Pottery of the Egyptian Middle Kingdom II, p. 303);
as a result, it plays a crucial role in current ideas about dating pottery around the turn of
the eleventh–twelfth dynasties. However, I have never been convinced by Do. Arnold’s
article, which forms the starting point of the new chronology. A detailed account must
be relegated to a separate study, but I can already refer to my preliminary remarks in
Heqata, p. 28, n. 53). I do accept, however, that Gemniemhat’s funerary models are
so similar to those of Meketre (compare Do. Arnold, in: Structure and Significance,
p. 54–55 and passim) that they cannot be dated far apart. They may even stem from the
same workshop. Even if I find a considerably earlier dating of Gemniemhat than Allen
proposed, entirely acceptable, his tomb must be dated well after the reunification, and
this is the crucial point here.
139 Seidlmayer, Gräberfelder, p. 384–385, argues for a pre-twelfth dynasty date, which would
allow for a late eleventh dynasty date. For at least part of the pertinent material, Dahms
now proposes a dating between the later years of Mentuhotep II and the early twelfth
dynasty (Särge des Karenen, p. 25–28).
170 chapter 3
Sources Teti cult Merikare cult Other titles
Sq4C mty n sꜢ sš nṯr ḥr.y-ḥb.t ı̓m.y-r ḥw.t-nṯr ẖr.y-ḥb.t ḥr.y-tp

ḥr.y-sštꜢ ẖr.y-ḥb.t wr ı̓m.y rnp.t
Sq8C ı̓m.y-r sš nṯr ı̓m.y-r ḥw.t-nṯr ẖr.y-ḥb.t wr ı̓m.y rnp.t
ḥw.t-nṯr ḥr.y-sštꜢ sḥ-nṯr
Sq10Sq sḥḏ n sꜢ sḏm sḏm.t wꜤı̓.w ı̓m.y-r wnty m sr.wt
ḫnt.y-š ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t-nsw.t ḫrp kꜢ.t ḫtm.ty bı̓.ty
smḥr wꜤ.ty ı̓r.y-ı̓ḫ.t nsw.t mꜢꜤ
Sq1–2X mty n sꜢ mty n sꜢ ḫtm.w-bı̓.ty smḥr-wꜤ.tyı̓m.y-r pr ı̓r.y ı̓ḫ.t
nsw.t mꜢꜤ ı̓m.y-r šnw.ty. The same person
was also ı̓m.y-r pr rḫ-nsw.t wꜤ.w.140
Sq15X mty n sꜢ
False door141 mty n sꜢ ḫnt.y-š ẖtm.w-bı̓.ty smḥr-wꜤ.ty nty m sr.wt rḫ-nsw.t
mꜢꜤ ẖr.y-tp nsw.t ḥḳꜢ-ḥw.t rḫ nsw.t mꜢꜤ ḫrp
kꜢ.t m ı̓mn.t.t ı̓Ꜣb.t.t
False door142 mty n sꜢ ı̓m.y-r mšꜤ
False door143 mty n sꜢ mty n sꜢ ẖtm.w-bı̓.ty smḥr wꜤ.ty sḏm sḏm.t wꜤı̓.w sš
ḫnt.y-š sꜢb ı̓m.y-r w ı̓m.y-r šn-tꜢ nb sꜢb ı̓r.y-Nḫn
rḫ-nsw.t sḥḏ sš.w n ḥw.t-wr
False door144 sš pr-ḥḏ sš Ꜥpr.w n nfr.w ı̓m.y-ḫt pr.wy-ḥḏ
False door145 mty n sꜢ
False door146 Incomplete title
mentioning Merikare’s
pyramid
Plaster147 Incomplete mention of
Merikare’s pyramid
Figure 28 Sources mentioning the pyramids of Teti and Merikare.
140 See his stela in Daoud, Corpus of Inscriptions, p. 59–61 et pl. XXIA.
141 Quibell, Saqqara 1905–1906, pl. XIII; Daoud, Corpus of Inscriptions, p. 66–69.
142 Quibell, Saqqara 1906–1906, pl. XII.
143 Quibell, Saqqara 1905–1906, pl. XV; Daoud, Corpus of Inscriptions, p. 71–73 and pl. XXV.
144 Quibell, Saqqara 1906–1907, pl. VI; Daoud, op. cit., p. 73–75.
145 Firth and Gunn, TPC I, p. 202 (50); Daoud, op. cit., p. 155.
146 Firth and Gunn, TPC I, p. 202 (51); Daoud, op. cit., p. 155.
147 Daoud, op. cit., p. 155 (impression of text in a piece of plaster and containing a fragmen-
tary reference to the pyramid cult of Merikare).
One is struck by the frequency of the element Gemni- (Gmı̓.n=ı̓) in the names
of persons from the Teti Pyramid Cemetery, as in the name Gemniemhat. It
has been shown that this element is the abbreviated name of the Old Kingdom
vizier Kagemni, whose tomb is located in the immediate vicinity of the Teti
pyramid, and whose cult apparently was so popular that parents gave their
children names that included the element Gemni-.148 Considering the purely
local character of the cult of Kagemni, it is justified to think that persons bear-
ing names like Gemniemhat originated from the pyramid town of Teti. This
suggests we are facing a local community that continued to exist around the
pyramids of Teti and Merikare after the Theban takeover in northern Egypt.149
That this was certainly an important community, is suggested by the fact that
Gemniemhat was an overseer of granaries and a majordomo, titles that at the
time were borne by members of the highest level of the state administration.150
The situation at Abū Ṣīr is comparable: the early Middle Kingdom coffins
were found there in a cemetery that was used by priests attached to the cult of
the fifth dynasty king Niuserre.151 The survival of Old Kingdom pyramid cults
into the Middle Kingdom is also attested in the case of the pyramids of Snofru
at and Dahshūr north (the Red Pyramid).152 Finally, it is known that the cult of
king Pepi I remained operational during the First Intermediate Period and per-
haps later. In 2005, A. Labrousse and C. Berger–el-Naggar discovered a new
pyramid in this king’s pyramid complex.153 It is a fairly small structure dated
to the Middle Kingdom or the late First Intermediate Period,154 and belonging,
not to a member of the royal family, but to a private person (Sq12Sq). His only
known title (ı̓m.y-r ḫtm.t) supports the idea that he belonged to the level of the
highest administrators at a national level.155 This, and the analogous situation
at Abū Ṣīr and around the pyramid of Teti, suggests that he may have been
148 See Daoud, Corpus of Inscriptions, p. 60, n. 637, with bibliographical references.
149 In a fashion quite comparable to the survival of the Heqaib cult at Elephantine.
150 For the position of this person (although perhaps not for his date), see Allen, in: The
Theban Necropolis. Past, Present and Future, p. 17.
151 Schäfer, Priestergräber. For the date of the coffins with Coffin Texts from this group, see
Willems, GM 150 (1996), 108–109, n. 56.
152 See Bussmann, MDAIK 60 (2004), p. 33.
153 Berger-el-Naggar, Labrousse, BSFE 164 (2005), p. 14–28.
154 Although the article speaks of a Middle Kingdom date, a late First Intermediate Period
date is now considered more likely by Catherine Berger–el-Naggar (personal
communication; 11 June, 2006). However, Labrousse still adheres to the Middle Kingdom
date (in: Ancient Memphis, p. 306–308).
155 On this title, see Vernus, in: Grund und Boden, p. 253–260.
172 chapter 3
attached to the mortuary cult of an Old Kingdom king, even though what is
known about his titles does not offer explicit support for this suggestion.156
A ritual papyrus inscribed with Pyramid Texts, and dated to the Middle
Kingdom, was found some years ago in the temple of the pyramid of Pepi I.157
This find proves that such texts were effectively in circulation in Middle
Kingdom ritual practice in Old Kingdom pyramid complexes.
The occurrence of Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts in cemeteries of com-
munities attached to such pyramids can be easily explained from the fact that
a rather high proportion of the population actively participated in the royal
cult, for which such texts were effectively used. The funerary priests occupied
a socially prominent position. It should not cause surprise if, in their aspiration
to benefit from a funerary cult appropriate for their rank, they could not resist
the temptation of adopting for their own use the religious texts they knew so
well as cultic practitioners.158
Thebes and al-Lisht

The Theban group dates in great majority to the same period, i.e. to the
period between the unification of Egypt under Mentuhotep II and the reign of
Amenemhat I. It is highly remarkable that the importance of the Coffin Texts
tradition decreases markedly as of the reign of the latter king. Of the twenty-
six coffins inscribed with Coffin Texts, only seven, belonging to six persons,
are more recent.159 It is not hard to find an explanation for this concentration
156 For the cults of Old Kingdom kings in the Middle Kingdom, see Malek, in: Abusir and
Saqqara in the Year 2000, p. 241–258. This author assumes that these cults were reinstated
after having been temporarily inactive during the First Intermediate Period. However, he
does not provide clear evidence against the possibility that these cults simply continued
to function uninterruptedly.
157 Berger–el-Naggar, in: D’un monde à l’autre, p. 85–90.
158 Taken in isolation, this reading of the evidence might be taken in support of the traditional
hypothesis that private persons ‘usurped’ texts that were not intended for non-royals. I do
not follow this line of thought, but think that the interpretation just advanced should be
read in tandem with a complementary explanation adduced on p. 225–229.
159 The twenty-six sources here referred to are: T1Bal, T1–4Be, T1–3C, T8C, T9C, T1Ch, T1Len,
T1–4L, T2NY, T3X, T4X, TT103, TT240, TT311, TT319. Of these, T1Bal, T1–3Be, T2–3L and
T1Len date to the later twelfth dynasty. I have omitted a number of sources because
they are later than the period interesting us here: the so-called ‘black coffins’, which
do not feature the classical style of Middle Kingdom coffin decoration, but a very new
typological development, and date to the thirteenth dynasty (T6–7C, T10–11C, T13C,
T5–8NY), the related canopic boxes T1–2Mos, T4NY, the thirteenth dynasty coffin of queen
Mentuhotep, which actually is an early Book of the Dead source (T5L, see Geisen, Die
Totentexte des verschollenen Sarges der Königing Mentuhotep), and the thirteenth dynasty
in the early Middle Kingdom, even though the phenomenon has not, as far as
I know, been given attention previously. The most intensive use of these texts
in Thebes coincides chronologically with the presence in the town of a royal
court. They emerge around the time when Mentuhotep II had established
himself as the sole ruler of Egypt, and they disappear around the time when
Amenemhat I moves the national capital to the new residence of Itj-tawy, near
modern al-Lisht. The rise and fall in popularity of the Coffin Texts at Thebes is
easily explained by assuming that the owners of decorated and inscribed cof-
fins and burial chambers directly belonged to the royal court. In fact, the list of
owners almost reads like the nomenclatura of the period. We encounter four
queens,160 one vizier,161 several ‘ministers,’162 a “general in the entire country,”163
and several persons with high rank titles, even though these do not inform us
clearly about what their functions were.164
In the Theban region, two distinct groups of coffins and burial chambers
can be discerned. On the one hand, there was a decorative style that had appar-
ently evolved locally, between Thebes and Aswān. These coffins were adorned
with a very specific type of object frieze, and were inscribed with a selection of
funerary texts, which include texts that are only attested in this region.165
On the other, it is clear that certain coffins and burial chambers in Thebes
were decorated according to models that were also known in the Teti Pyramid
Cemetery.166 This suggests either that the Thebans imported this model from
or Second Intermediate Period coffins T1–2War and T6X. Here one must also add the
coffins recently discovered by Daniel Polz in Dirāʿ Abū al-Najʿ (T1–2Lux). The pottery
dates this find to the first fifty years or so of the thirteenth dynasty. However, the outer
coffin seems to be typologically older, dating to a point in the latter half of the twelfth
dynasty. In the thirteenth dynasty, this coffin seems to have been given to a lady, for whom
a second coffin was made that apparently imitated the earlier coffin. The very complex
chronological situation of this find is dealt with in detail in Für die Ewigkeit geschaffen; see
in particular the summary on p. 122–125.
160 The owners of T3C, T8C, T3NY and TT319.
161 Dagi, the owner of tomb TT103 and coffin T2C.
162 BwꜢw the owner of coffin T9C, was a ḫtm.ty-bı̓.ty smḥr-wꜤ.ty ı̓m.y-r pr (m tꜢ r-ḏr=f ) ı̓m.y-r
šnw.ty ı̓m.y-r pr.wy-ḥḏ ı̓m.y-r ı̓p.t nb.t m šmꜤ.w tꜢ-mḥ.w; Snnw, the owner of T3X and TT313
was ı̓r.y-pꜤ.t [ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ] ḫtm.ty-bı̓.ty smḥr-wꜤ.ty ı̓m.y-r pr m tꜢ r-ḏr=f; H̠ ty (the owner of TT311),
Mr.w (the owner of TT240), and Mk.t-RꜤ (the owner of T2NY) were ‘directors of the
treasury’ (ı̓m.y-r ḫtm.t); for this title, see Vernus, in: Blut und Boden, p. 251–260.
163 The general Antef, the owner of T4X.
164 Horhotep, the owner of T1C, was a ḫtm.ty-bı̓.ty smḥr wꜤ.ty.
165 Willems, Heqata, p. 52–54.
166 Willems, Chests of Life, p. 106; Idem, Heqata, p. 24; 47–48.
174 chapter 3
the Memphite region after they had taken over power in northern Egypt, or
that a model common to both sites had imposed itself in this period.
As regards the particular issue of the use of these texts at Thebes, an impor-
tant fact must be considered. They were written for members of Egyptian court
and government circles, and their tombs were located in the immediate vicin-
ity of the royal tomb.
In the past, use of the Coffin Texts and Pyramid Texts by non-royals has
often been described as an aspect of a process in which private individuals
usurped royal prerogatives. At Thebes, I find it hard to accept this hypothesis,
for the tombs of these alleged usurpers were built immediately beside the
funerary temple of Mentuhotep II at Dayr al-Baḥrī. It seems clear that the king
would not have allowed such a usurpation if he would have been opposed to it;
it can hardly be doubted that Mentuhotep II would have had the power to pro-
hibit it if he had desired so. From this it can be concluded that the king had no
objection. Besides, it is also remarkable that neither he, nor, as far as is known,
any other Middle Kingdom king included such texts in his own tomb.167 Under
such conditions, it no longer makes sense to speak of a usurpation of royal pre-
rogatives. It would be closer to the truth to say that a model of funerary mate-
rial culture (the presence of inscribed funerary apartments), that had evolved
in the latter part of the Old Kingdom in royal pyramids, was now adopted by
the administrative elite of the country, while a new model of funerary culture
was being adopted by the king himself.168
167 Two coffins of Mentuhotep II are known. The first was found by H. Carter in the Bāb
al-Ḥusān tomb. Although this was found entirely intact, the coffin contained no corpse.
Obviously, this was a symbolic burial of the king. The coffin, of type I, contained no
decoration on the inside (and therefore no Coffin Texts): Carter, ASAE 2 (1901), p. 204.
A fragment that may have belonged to a decorated royal coffin inscribed on the outside
with the name of the king, but without interior decoration, was found in the royal tomb
by É. Naville and C. T. Currely (see Arnold, Der Tempel des Königs Mentuhotep III, p. 48
and pl. Ic; 61a). The coffin of king Hor, of the very late twelfth or early thirteenth dynasty,
contains an extremely small selection of Pyramid Texts on the outside (see de Morgan,
Dahchour I, p. 101–105 and pl. XXXVI. For the disputed date, see Aufrère, BIFAO 101
[2001], p. 1–41; Miniaci, Rishi Coffins, p. 15 [who was apparently unaware of Aufrère’s
earlier dating]). Not a single royal burial chamber of the Middle Kingdom can be shown
to have been inscribed with religious texts. Of course this does not mean that no funerary
texts were used for the king, but they may only have been deployed in the context of ritual
performances. Thus, according to a recent study, the Pyramid Texts of Senwosret-ankh at
al-Lisht were adapted from royal ritual papyri drafted for Senwosret I (Gundacker, SAK
39 [2010], p. 121–140).
168 The same point of view is already found with Quirke, Ancient Egyptian Religion,
p. 155–156.
When king Amenemhat I moved the governmental seat to the new capital at
Itj-tawy, his retinue had to move with him. This led to the creation of the new
royal cemetery at al‑Lisht. Several officials there still acquired coffins adorned
with Coffin Texts, but this habit was not pursued vigorously. Unfortunately, the
state of publication of the Lisht material renders a proper assessment difficult,
and the following remarks are therefore of a preliminary nature.
Some coffins are of a type that closely follows the tradition of the Upper
Egyptian provinces, and a few of these also have Coffin Texts and/or Pyramid
Texts.169 Coffins L12–13X seem to be inspired by the same tradition, but
already display a different kind of outer decoration.170 Other sources bear vast
amounts of Pyramid Texts. These include well-known monuments like the
inscribed burial chambers of Senwosret-ankh (S), Imhotep (L10X), and User
(L4NY).171 While these cases show an intimate familiarity with these religious
texts, their layout is completely different from the coffins we are primarily con-
cerned with. This is also the case in coffins like L1–2Li or L7–8C. The muti-
lated hieroglyphs on these sources moreover show that they belong to the very
end of the twelfth dynasty at the earliest; their decoration pattern sets them
apart from what we have come across in other parts of Egypt, and the text pro-
gramme stands closer to the redaction of the Book of the Dead than that of the
Coffin Texts.172 Numerous other sources carry no, or just a very few, religious
texts, and they again follow models developed at the very end of the twelfth
dynasty or later.173 Although Allen’s edition of the Pyramid Texts on Middle
Kingdom coffins lists no fewer than twenty-one sources with such material,
almost all sources differ significantly in decoration pattern.174 Although it is
169 Without CT/PT: L2X, L18X; with CT/PT: L3Li; L4Li, L1NY, L1X, L4X, and probably L5X and
L6X (see for these latter coffins Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 4 (Jp and By).
170 L12–13X: see Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 2–6; 15 (PW1A, PW1B).
171 For the major private tombs at al-Lisht, see now Arnold, Middle Kingdom Tomb
Architecture at Lisht.
172 The present author is preparing a detailed study of L1–2Li.
173 L10NY and L11NY are model coffins dating to the very end of the twelfth dynasty or to the
thirteenth dynasty (Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 31); L9NY and L3X belong to
the lady Senebtisi. She is datable to the very late twelfth dynasty or later. These late coffins
bear no Coffin Texts (Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 28–29). L15–16X, L1Mex, L6NY
and L15NY are not coffins and need not be considered here. L2–3NY are pieces of gold foil
with religious texts; the decoration scheme of the original documents cannot be verified
in these cases (see Willems, Chests of Life, p. 24).
174 J.P. Allen, who is preparing a publication of all this material, recognizes six “styles”.
“Styles” I and II consist of wooden coffins and stone sarcophagi according to the model
here studied. These sources cover the period ranging from the reign of Senwosret I to that
176 chapter 3
therefore clear that Pyramid Texts enjoyed some popularity at al‑Lisht, the way
the coffins and burial chambers were decorated suggests that a new pattern
was developed at this site.
Middle Egypt
The presence of Coffin Texts at Thebes and in the Memphite region accord-
ingly concentrates in the early part of the Middle Kingdom. Although the
custom did not completely extinguish at these sites, it was no longer the dom-
inant tradition. In Middle Egypt, developments follow an entirely different
course. Not only is this the area where the highest density of sources is found
(see columns 3, 5 and 6 in fig. 24), it is equally clear that the popularity of the
Coffin Texts does not diminish greatly after Senwosret I. Particularly between
Asyūṭ and Banī Ḥasan, the number of coffins inscribed with these texts
remains rather high. This popularity thus far has not been adequately consid-
ered in their interpretation. Yet we are facing a major phenomenon, as will
become clear.
A recent study by L. Gestermann has produced crucial new insights con-
cerning the problem of the dissemination of the Coffin Texts in this region.175
Her point of departure is the observation that the Theban court after the reuni-
fication of Egypt took over funerary text material that was in circulation in the
wider Memphite region. One might have expected that this policy would have
led to a direct transfer of the pertinent Memphite documents to Thebes, but
Gestermann argues for a different sequence of events.
She observes that the coffins from Dayr al-Barshā transmit a mass of texts
that is so vast, varied, and original that it seems certain that this region must
in the Middle Kingdom have had direct access to an exceptionally important
archive―more important, in fact, than anywhere else in Egypt. Moreover,
the Coffin Texts emerge here at about the same time as at Thebes or Saqqāra.
A variety of considerations bring her to the conclusion that major parts
of the Memphite religious archives were transferred, not to Thebes, but to
al‑Ashmūnayn/ Hermopolis. This town thus became a centre for the diffusion
of the Coffin Texts, first to the royal court in Thebes and to Dayr al-Barshā and
possibly Saqqāra, but soon also to other places in Middle Egypt.
Our own investigations, which were reported upon in the preceding chap-
ter, provide a historical framework that makes it easier to understand this
policy. We have seen that the Thebans had elevated the nomarch Ahanakht I
of Senwosret III (Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 13–14). These ten sources have
been taken into consideration in fig. 24–27.
175 Gestermann, in: D’un monde à l’autre, p. 201–217.
to the rank of provincial vizier, as a result of which he supervised nomarchal

regions that had recently become a part of the Theban kingdom. We have also
seen that at least one official buried in Dayr al-Barshā had a position at the royal
court in Thebes. This man was Iha, who, being a teacher of the Theban princes,
undoubtedly also played a role in the communication between Thebes and
the court of the nomarch/vizier at al-Ashmūnayn. What is significant in the
context of the present debate, is that Iha was moreover responsible for a House
of Life, and probably the one at al‑Ashmūnayn. He was an intellectual working
in a scriptorium176 probably attached to the temple of Thoth. If, against the
background clarified by Gestermann, we see how Iha occupied the position of
an intermediary between Thebes and the Hare nome exactly at the time when
the Coffin Texts emerge at both cities,177 it is tantalizing to suppose that he may
have been one of the persons that were personally involved in the diffusion of
the Coffin Texts. The fact that Ahanakht I and his family in this way also had
access to these extraordinary texts, might have been another privilege that the
Theban king conferred upon him.178
No matter how one may interpret these individual details, Gestermann’s
convincing hypothesis suggests that the Theban policy led to a considerable
rise in importance of the scriptorium in the Thoth temple of al-Ashmūnayn. It
constituted the point of departure for the appearance of Coffin Texts in Thebes
and Dayr al-Barshā, but slightly later also in other parts of Middle Egypt. One
may also ask whether the sudden popularity of these texts on coffins from
Saqqāra may be seen as a consequence of the activities of the Hermopolitan
scriptorium.
The Coffin Texts and Funerary Religion in Nomarchal Key Sites
The geographic distribution of the Coffin Texts seems highly significant to me.
In the first chapter I have attempted to show that, in the Middle Kingdom,
the ‘Nomarchy’ was primarily a regional phenomenon, which did not have the
same impact in all parts of Egypt. At the end of the Old Kingdom, it seems
176 A House of Life may have been a scriptorium, but it certainly included one, and it played
a major role in the composition of religious texts (Nordh, Aspects of Egyptian Curses and
Blessings, p. 107–186).
177 The earliest coffins from Dayr al-Barshā that include Coffin Texts have long been thought
to be those of Ahanakht I. Perhaps, as shown on p. 89. Ahanakht’s father Djehuinakht (I)
son of Teti also had them.
178 For other privileges, see p. 103 above.
178 chapter 3
that most regions were still ruled by a ‘nomarch,’ even though the explicit title
ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ is not in evidence everywhere. In the course of the First Intermediate
Period, nomarchs disappeared in the Theban region, but they persisted in
the part of the country under Heracleopolitan rule. Finally, under the Middle
Kingdom, the administrative framework presents itself as highly diversified.
Even though the picture is not clear everywhere, it is certain that lines of
nomarchs remained in position here and there. The most obvious examples
are the nomes where one finds the cemeteries of Qāw al-Kabīr, Asyūṭ, Dayr
al-Barshā, and Banī Ḥasan. In the region of Mīr, a new nomarchal position
seems to have been instated during the reign of Amenemhat I,179 so that
the entire region between Qāw and Banī Ḥasan was now directed by lines of
nomarchs. With the exception of Qāw,180 these are precisely the sites that have
produced the highest amounts of coffins inscribed with Coffin Texts. How
likely is it that this is due to coincidence?
In considering this question, another issue should also be considered:
the disappearance of the nomarchs. This phenomenon has been intensively
debated.
The nomarchs disappeared towards the end of the twelfth dynasty under cir-
cumstances that are still only dimly understood. According to E. Meyer, who
believed that nomarchs were in office everywhere in Middle Kingdom Egypt,
these powerful administrators had come to pose such a formidable threat to the
monarchy that Senwosret III dismissed them in a bold move to get a firmer grip
on the country.181 This hypothesis, which for a long time was widely accepted,
has in recent years come under serious criticism. It is now rather thought that
the disappearance of the nomarchs cannot be interpreted as the result of one
energetic intervention on the king’s part, but rather as the outcome of a slow
process that lasted several decades. D. Franke has attempted to show that the
‘nomarchs’ of the twelfth dynasty were the last representatives of a glorious
past, for whom there was no place any longer in the changed political climate
of the day. He believes that, whenever one of these last “living fossils” died,

180 At this site, the number of known Coffin Texts sources is low, but it should be noted that
the large excavated nomarch tombs here seem to have begun only under Amenemhat
II; for the chronology, see Grajetzki, GM 156 (1997), p. 55–65. Moreover, it is quite
unknown how much material was found there by early excavators like Schiaparelli. It
should be recalled that the 159 coffins he found at Asyūṭ, and which are now kept in
the Turin museum, were almost entirely unknown before the publication of the doctoral
dissertation of M. Zitman. There also exists material in other collections, see Ciampini,
La sepolture di Henib, p. 11.
181 Meyer, Geschichte des Altertums I2,2, p. 252–253 = I3,2, p. 276.
no one was interested in appointing a successor. This would explain why the
abolition of the Nomarchy was a gradual evolution encompassing major parts
of the reigns of Senwosret II, Senwosret III, and Amenemhat III.
In a study of the nomarchal family of the Oryx nome, Franke also describes,
based on information concerning one exemplary case, what happened to the
descendants of the last nomarchs. The son of Khnumhotep II of Banī Ḥasan,
who was himself also called Khnumhotep, was appointed to an important
position in the Residence, where his tomb, a vast and beautifully decorated
mastaba, was found by de Morgan.182 Thus, at least in this case, a represent-
ative of the provincial elite was not simply pushed aside, but appointed in a
still responsible position—but a position far removed from his power base in
Middle Egypt.
Even though I accept elements of Franke’s reasoning, I do not believe that
the Middle Kingdom nomarchs were in any sense “living fossils.” In Middle
Egypt, they remained a force to be reckoned with during most of the twelfth
dynasty. Also, the process of their disappearance should be reconsidered in
several points. According to the list drawn up by Franke, the last representa-
tives of the Nomarchy were the following persons:
• In the first nome of Upper Egypt, the ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr Heqaib, dated to
the reigns of Senwosret III/Amenemhat III;
• At Qāw al-Kabīr, the ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr Wahka II, dated to the reigns of
Senwosret III/Amenemhat III;
• At Asyūṭ, the ḥꜢ.ty.w-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr Djefaihapi III and IV (Amenemhat II/
Senwosret II);
• At Mīr, the ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr Ukhhotep IV (Senwosret III/Amenemhat
III);
• At Dayr al-Barshā, the ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n Wn.t Djehutihotep
(Senwosret III);
• At Banī Ḥasan, the ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr Khnumhotep II and his son
Khnumhotep III (Senwosret II/Senwosret III).
Recently developed insights show, however, that the dates suggested by

Franke can no longer be considered fully adequate. It is now known that at
Asyūṭ, a tomb exists of a ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ and ı̓dn.w Khety, which is datable to the reigns
182 Franke, in: Middle Kingdom Studies, p. 51–67. For reconstructions of this monument,
see Arnold, in: Timelines I, p. 37, fig. 1; Arnold, Oppenheim, ASAE 79 (2005), p. 27–28.
Further details of the tomb, and an analysis of the important historical inscriptions on its
walls, see now Allen, BSFE 173 (Mars 2009), p. 13–31.
180 chapter 3
of Senwosret III and/or Amenemhat III.183 Also, coffin B14C from Dayr al-
Barshā, belonging to a ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ called Djehutinakht, may be of importance. If this
man succeeded Djehutihotep in office, as E. Brovarski has suggested, his ten-
ure could have lasted into the reign of Amenemhat III.184 At Banī Ḥasan, the
dating proposed by Franke rests on the mention of year 6 of Senwosret II in
the tomb of Khnumhotep II.185 This date appears in the famous scene showing
the arrival of a bedouin caravan from the Eastern Desert, which brings galena.
These foreigners are ushered into the presence of the ruler by a scribe who
presents an official document to him. The heading of this papyrus contains
the date. It therefore seems likely that Khnumhotep II was effectively in office
during year 6, but the moment when he died cannot be determined on this
basis, and may have been significantly later. Moreover, it is admittedly true that
his successor Khnumhotep III never finished his monumental tomb, but the
parts that were inscribed nevertheless suggest he was a local governor for some
time.186 In view of the short duration of Senwosret II’s reign, it is quite likely
that there were still nomarchs in the Oryx nome under Senwosret III.
This information suggests that nomarch-like officials were in place consid-
erably longer than Franke deemed possible. At the sites where officials of this
class disappeared earliest according to his documentation, we have produced
evidence for a somewhat longer continuity, and as a result it is conceivable
that the abolishment or disappearance of nomarchal rule generally covered
the (later part of?) the reign of Senwosret III and the (early part of?) the reign
of Amenemhat III. Although we may still be faced by a process of a duration of
perhaps some decades, it remains a definite possibility that that it was driven
by a conscious policy on the part of Court. Based on the restricted evidence
available, however, I will not press this point. For us, it is far more interesting
that not one of these latest regional potentates is designated explicitly as a
nomarch (ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ). This could be an indication that the nomarchs were not
‘decommissioned’ directly, but that they had already lost some of their status
before the final showdown. With the exception of governor Wahka II at Qāw
al-Kabīr, the tombs of these latest governors are also smaller than those of
183 Magee, in: Proceedings of the Seventh International Congress of Egyptologists, p. 717–729;
for the dating, see Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut, p. 35; 37; 41.
184 Brovarski, in: Studies Dunham, p. 23 and n. 68; 25; 29. It has to be admitted that his
historical position is not as certain as Brovarski suggests (see Willems, Chests of Life,
p. 79).
185 Beni Hasan I, pl. XXXVIII.
186 Beni Hasan I, p. 7. The very high rank title ı̓r.y-pꜤ.t ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ can hardly be interpreted
otherwise at this site; see Ward, GM 71 (1984), p. 51–57.
their predecessors. It is also interesting to refer to a ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n Wn.t (“mayor of

al‑Ashmūnayn”) called Wepwawethetep. Different from all Middle Kingdom
governors of the Hare nome, this official bears the title of mayor, and there is
no obvious reason why one should consider him a nomarch. Typologically, the
scarab that documents his title can be dated to the time interval between
the reign of Senwosret II and the end of the dynasty.187 We might here be fac-
ing one of the successors of the nomarchs, who had a less exalted status. It is
perhaps no mere coincidence that no tomb of this person is known, whereas
the tombs of all Middle Kingdom nomarchs are easily located.
The results of the preceding discussion are unfortunately not very concrete,
but they suggest that three historical phases can be recognized. At the begin-
ning of the twelfth dynasty, the provincial overlords were still very strong in
Middle Egypt and some other regions, and this situation continued until into
the reign of Senwosret III, when several of them still bore the explicit title of
nomarch (ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ). During the reign of this king, and even after, one notices
that local rulers remain in place in the nomarchal boroughs, but the title
ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ disappears, and the tombs seem in many places to become smaller.
Late in the reign of Senwosret III and in the (early?) reign of Amenemhat III,
evidence for the continuity of the ancient lines of nomarchs is finally extin-
guished, even in Middle Egypt.
It may well be significant that, concomitantly with this process of diminish-
ing power, the Coffin Texts also disappear. Only very few coffins inscribed with
these texts can in fact be dated with certainty after the reign of Senwosret III.188
187 Martin, Egyptian Administrative and Private Name Seals, p. 36 (406); for the interpretation,
see Brovarski, loc. cit.
188 Recently, Grajetzki has drawn up a list of coffins inscribed with religious texts spanning
the period from the XIIIth until the XVIIth dynasties. According to his reading, this
evidence shows that “the tradition of placing religious texts on coffins never really
ceased” (SAK 34 [2006], p. 213–214). However, his list is only very brief, and to me rather
suggests an enormous decrease in interest for these texts. Even Grajetzki’s more recent
and quantitatively more substantial overview does not affect this overall picture, because
the texts that still do appear are far fewer in number and seem to favour a rather restricted
collection of spells (Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor; on the ‘Coffin Text’ tradition of
the Second Intermediate Period, see also Miniaci, Rishi Coffins, p. 18–19). Moreover, as
I hope to show elsewhere, the texts discussed by Grajetzki, even though being written
on coffins, derive from a fundamentally different theological framework than the Coffin
Texts that are at issue here.
182 chapter 3
A Hypothesis on the Meaning of the Coffin Texts
The evolution that we have described on the preceding pages suggests that the
Coffin Texts were at the beginning of the Middle Kingdom the funerary texts of
the highest national and regional elite, but apparently not of the king himself.189
Soon after, the members of the Egyptian elite apparently also began to lose
interest for them, except in the nomarchal courts, where they remained in cir-
culation for the governors, their relatives, and the highest provincial officials.
It seems as though, in this part of Egypt, these texts continued to be perceived
as attractive when this was no longer as strongly the case elsewhere. This sug-
gests that in this period, the Coffin Texts were the expression of the funerary
ideas, not of Middle Kingdom officialdom in general, but particularly of the
leading provincial circles in Middle Egypt. The question is, of course, why this
sociologically very specific group was attracted so strongly by funerary texts of
a kind that were no longer fashionable in the rest of Egypt. One cannot expect
to find direct answers to this question in the texts themselves, and the interpre-
tation I present below is therefore hypothetical. In any case, it stands to reason
that we are confronted by a complex issue, which cannot in all probability be
explained as the outcome of a single cause.
The presence of the House of Life at al-Ashmūnayn, where large archives
with funerary texts had been deposited at least since the early Middle Kingdom,
may well have played a significant part in the process.190 Here, in the centre of
the ‘nomarchal heartland’ in Middle Egypt, there accordingly existed an insti-
tution where these texts were studied, copied, and elaborated. Certainly this
cannot have been the only reason for the continuing popularity of these texts
in Middle Egypt, but it must have been a conditio sine qua non.
Additionally, the content of the texts must have been deemed important.
Therefore, they must contain features that, from a conceptual perspective,
were considered valuable. Unfortunately it is not easy to determine what
these features are. The texts are very numerous, extremely varied in content,
and quite difficult to understand. Even if one does not follow Kees’ apodictic
189 This concerns the habit of writing texts on the walls of coffins, sarcophagi, or burial
chambers. It does not mean that such texts could not be used for the king. In the case of
Senwosret I, there is strong evidence that a ritual papyrus used in his funerary cult was
inscribed with Pyramid Texts (see n. 167).
190 Gestermann’s hypothesis, which I follow, but which I have not discussed in detail
above (see p. 176), not only implies that texts of Memphite origin were transferred to
al-Ashmūnayn in the early Middle Kingdom, but also that others of local origin were in
circulation there.
verdict (“Bei der Beschriftung der Särge herrschte kein System”),191 it is a diffi-
cult task to detect the guiding principles of these formulae. But without clear
guidance as to what we should be looking for, our quest is like looking for a
needle in a haystack.
My point of departure will be quite different from that of Kees. Although
he continually tries to clarify the links between the complexities of the texts
and life in the real world—nature, astronomy, daily life—the way he organizes
his argument exposes his readership to a relentless barrage of barely compre-
hensible citations from text passages. One cannot but admire Kees’ profound
knowledge, but having read his Totenglauben, one is left with the—not entirely
unrealistic—impression that Egyptian religious thought boils down to a
Gordian knot of mythological associations. Recognizing an underlying struc-
ture is not made easy in this way.
In order to avoid this problem, I will not immediately address the most classic
texts with the richest array of mythological allusions and theological interpre-
tations. Instead, I will concentrate first on more down-to-earth aspects. Among
the Coffin Texts, there is a small collection of spells “without mythology,” and
a second, more numerous, group where mythological themes seem to be of
only secondary importance. What matters most in these texts seems to be the
relationship between the living and the dead. Moreover, they portray the world
where the dead are ‘living’ in rather mundane terms, and in this regard they
are quite different from the bulk of the Pyramid Texts and the Coffin Texts,
which situate the deceased in a celestial universe dominated by the sun, the
moon and the stars. The texts I will deal with first largely avoid such symbolic
complexities. Rather, the world of the dead here closely resembles the world
where they had lived, and there appear to be numerous connections between
the two spheres of existence.
Similarly mundane conceptions of the afterlife are encountered in the let-
ters to the dead, which we have already briefly referred to.192 Theology is nearly
completely absent here. Although these difficult texts pose numerous prob-
lems to the translator, these mostly concern the personal links between the
persons mentioned, or details of translation. By contrast, the general charac-
teristics of the world of the dead are relatively easy to grasp, and it is here that
our enquiry will start.
191 Kees, in: HdO Literatur, p. 61.

192 The basic publication on these texts is Gardiner, Sethe, Egyptian Letters to the Dead;
for more recent bibliographical references and for an interpretation of how the letters
to the dead were delivered to the addressees, see Willems, in: Social Aspects of Funerary
Culture, p. 337–355; 357–361. See also Donnat, La peur du Mort; Eadem, BIFAO 109
(2009), p. 61–93.
184 chapter 3
The Letters to the Dead

The letter-writers invariably express concerns about practical or emotional
problems they encounter in their daily environment. Common topics are the
wish to have (male) offspring, to be cured of an illness, or to overcome financial
or social mishap. As regards the latter category, one might think of cases where
the surviving relatives of the deceased are confronted with neighbours or rel-
atives intent on seizing family property. In their desperation, they request the
intervention of the deceased.
The letters are always dispatched by close relatives of the deceased, such
as a son or a spouse. Technically their message is delivered when these peo-
ple approach the deceased in the context of the offering ritual at the tomb.
After having established contact with him during this ceremony, the next
ritual episode has the aim of combating evil influences, which may either
harm the deceased directly, or affect him indirectly, by inflicting such suffering
on the surviving relatives that they are no longer able to present offerings to
their ancestor. This part of the ritual sets the stage for a direct address to the
deceased. Frequently, the letter to the dead is written on a bowl that has just
been used for presenting offerings. Thus, in a very pragmatic fashion, the idea
is apparently that the deceased spirit (Ꜣḫ), which comes to fetch the offerings,
cannot remain ignorant of the message written on the offering container.
The requests are usually equally pragmatic. Thus, in one late Old Kingdom
letter, the writers explain that another family is causing problems that may
jeopardize the continuity of the household. It is understood that an elder
member of that family, called Behesti, is himself already dead, and thus that
he is dwelling in the realm of the dead where the recipient of the letter also
resides. Therefore the latter person is implored: “Awaken your father Iii against
Behesti! . . . Raise yourself against them together with your ancestors, your
brethren, and your friends, so that you may combat Behesti and ʿAnʿankhy,
Aai’s son.”193 It is clear that both families are understood as lineages of which
some members live on earth, whereas others are dwelling in the netherworld.
When a problem arises, it is apparently possible to address one’s own dead rel-
atives, who can then talk to the dead relatives of the other family. Through the
intermediary of the dead, a family thus attempts to influence the behaviour of
another, with which the daily relationship has run aground.
The cited passage describes a netherworld that looks very much like the
world of the living. The dead live there with their relatives and friends, and
communicate with the members of other families, even though the letter
describes a situation where these contacts are less than cordial. The nether-
world resembles an Egyptian village.
193 The determinative shows that this man also is dead.

Contact with the dead is established during the offering ritual, a crucial
moment for them, because they are dependent on such occasions for receiving
their food. Frequently, the letters to the dead include barely disguised threats,
stating that, should the deceased fail to react positively to the letter, his rela-
tives might no longer be able to continue the offering cult. The living and the
dead accordingly live in a state of mutual dependence.
Coffin Texts Spells 131–146194

Several Coffin Texts spells reflect a perception of the netherworld that is
closely reminiscent to the descriptions in the letters to the dead. The group
of CT spells 131–146 offers a good example. The aim of these texts is to “unite a
man’s Ꜣb.t to him in the necropolis.”195 The term Ꜣb.t is often rendered as ‘fam-
ily,’ but in reality it denotes a social group of a somewhat different character:
a kind of domestic group. Therefore it can be concluded that the deceased
desires to be united to a kin-group that is a spatial unit; it is hard to understand
a domestic group otherwise. But is it not simply a household, for the wife, for
example, does not seem to belong to the Ꜣb.t of her husband. The group rather
seems to have been a social unit with a well-defined legal status, and which
kept the family property. The fact that the deceased wished to be united with
this group clearly suggests that this social, material, and legal aspect mattered
in the netherworld.
Moreover, these texts repeatedly evoke aspects of the afterlife that seem to
be patterned directly on life on earth. When the deceased arrives in the nether-
world, his relatives working in the fields cast their tools aside to welcome him.
Also, the deceased possesses a decree, which, according to spell 131, has been
issued by a king who is none other than Geb. This legal document stipulates
that the family members are released from the duty to work for Isis and other
deities.196 Undoubtedly this document serves to help the deceased to live lei-
surely as a gentleman or a lady of standing. As we have seen, the same aspira-
tion underlies certain parts of the funerary equipment, particularly in the late
Old Kingdom and in the First Intermediate Period.197
194 CT II, 151a–205e [131–146]; for the interpretation of these formulae, see Willems, in:
Studies Frandsen.
195 CT II, 180a [146].
196 CT II, 201b–204b [146]; 151a–152c [131]. The atmosphere in these texts recalls that in the
shabti spell (CT VI, 1a–2k [472] = BD spell 6).
197 See p. 135–149.
186 chapter 3
Coffin Texts Spell 149198

Another fairly common text referring to the Ꜣb.t is Coffin Texts spell 149. This
text as well contains only few mythological allusions. Although all attestations
of spell 149 have been found in funerary contexts, and identify the main protag-
onist in the text with the deceased, it is not certain that the text composition
was intended for a funerary use from the outset. It seems possible that slightly
differently formulated precursors were used in a ritual context. In any case, the
deceased should, according to the introduction, put on priest’s clothes before
the action, which is rather violent, starts.199
The spell has the purpose of letting a man defeat his enemies. The context
is juridical: the main protagonist confronts his opponents before a tribunal
(ḏꜢḏꜢ.t), because the latter has committed evil acts against the former. Both
the enemy himself and his Ꜣb.t are present; and on the basis of spells 131–146,
it seems likely that the Ꜣb.t of the deceased are also on the scene, even though
this is not explicitly stated. A counselor, moreover, accompanies the opponent,
but in the end the deceased achieves the legal victory. At this point, the text
takes a violent turn. The deceased, who has assumed the form of a “human
falcon,” tears his enemy to pieces in the presence of his relatives. Subsequently,
his house—in the netherworld or on earth?—is destroyed, and the surviving
relatives are suffering as well.
Accordingly the text features two families combating one another in the
netherworld under the leadership of, on the one hand, the deceased, and on
the other, his enemy. The role division in many regards recalls the one evoked
in the letter to the dead cited above, where a deceased ancestor is implored to
take action against another dead man, and where the outcome of this nether-
worldly conflict is understood to have consequences for relatives who are yet
alive. The letter of course does not specify what will happen to the enemies,
but it is clearly hoped that they will no longer be able to harm the letter writers.
In Coffin Texts spell 149, it is said that they are “chased away.”200
The events is this spell do not seem to be ‘mythological.’ However, miracu-
lous things do happen. The deceased transforms himself into a bird of prey to
attack his opponent. Moreover, as in spells 131–146, divinities figure in the back-
ground, even though their presence is not essential to understand the sequence
of events. For the tribunal is said to be that of Osiris Khentiamentiu, and this
198 CT II, 226b–253g [149]. For a good translation and interpretation of the text, see
Grieshammer, Jenseitsgericht, p. 131–148.
199 CT II, 226b–227b [149].
200 CT II, 245b [149].
god rejoices over the victory of the deceased.201 It seems as though the deceased
are active in a world where they interact with the gods, however without them-
selves claiming divine identities.
Coffin Texts Spells 30–41202

To survive, the deceased was dependent on offerings that should regularly be
provided by his family. Coffin Texts spells 30–41 constitute a liturgy recited
when the relatives deposited offerings in the tomb chapel during certain reli-
gious feasts celebrated in the necropolis. The text is recited by the son of a
dead father.
The son’s recitation profiles him as his father’s successor, who takes care of
the deceased. In Egyptian culture, the two were intimately linked: to be enti-
tled to assume the role of heir and successor, offspring had to carry out the
funeral―and undoubtedly also the ensuing funerary cult―of the father.203
The relationship between father and son is accordingly a kind of symbiosis
that persists after death, for the son cannot assume his social role of succes-
sor without showing an active interest in the fate of the deceased, while the
father is dependent on his son (and other relatives) for attaining a new life
after death. In the text group we are here concerned with, this symbiosis is
sometimes formulated particularly clearly. For instance, the son declares in his
ritual recitation:
You204 are here in this sacred land where you are as my speaker who is in
the tribunal of the god,205 whereas I am here in this land of the living as
your speaker who is in the tribunal of men, until I shall come to you.206
This passage contrasts a tribunal in the netherworld against a tribunal in this

world, the latter being apparently a court of justice where living people can
201 CT II, 233b; 246a [149]. Note that an Osirian tribunal active on earth seems to be hinted at
in the eighth dynasty Coptos decree R (Goedicke, KDAR, p. 220–221 [25]).
202 CT I, 82/83a-177h [30–41]. For the details of the following analysis, see Willems, in: Social
Aspects of Funerary Culture, p. 253–372.
203 In the New Kingdom, this obligation seems to have been proverbial, witness the following
passage in P. Cairo JdE 58092, recto 10–11: “‘It is to the one who buries that the property is
given,’ so it is said, viz. Pharaoh’s law” (Janssen, Pestman, JESHO 11 [1968], pl. 1; see also
O. Petrie, recto 7–verso 1; verso 4–7; Černý, Gardiner, HO I, pl. XXI. For other sources, see
Janssen, Pestman, op. cit., p. 168).
204 The dead father.
205 Is the god Osiris, as in spell 149?
206 CT I, 176d–g [40]; cf. CT I, 171j–172e [39]. This can be compared with CT VII, 112r [908].
188 chapter 3
lodge complaints against dead persons. It might be doubted whether such a

remarkable possibility really existed. However, Diodorus of Sicily I,92 writes
that before the funerary barge departs,
the law allows anyone who so desires to bring accusations against the
deceased. Therefore, should someone come forward to accuse him and
can prove he has lived an evil life, the judges declare this verdict to all
and deny the body customary burial. However, should it appear that the
prosecution was undertaken unjustly, the accuser is severely punished.
But when no accuser appears before the tribunal, or if one comes forward
but is found to have borne false witness, the kinfolk put away their
mourning and sing the praises of the dead man.
Diodorus also points out that a college of forty-two judges takes the legal deci-
sion. This establishes a clear link with the famous divine tribunal of Book of
the Dead chapter 125. Even though it remains difficult to imagine what such a
tribunal amounted to in reality, the above passage from Coffin Texts spell 40
might well allude to a similar practice, which, however, was not only performed
during the funeral, but also in the course of the mortuary cult, for which this
text was intended.207 It is thus understood that the dead father is able to sus-
tain his living son from the netherworld, while the son can do the same for his
father if legal action is undertaken against the latter on earth.
The social position of the son depends on his taking care for his dead father.
However, what is the father’s social position in the netherworld based upon?
According to Coffin Texts spells 30–41, the same criteria apply here that apply
to the son on earth. The dead, but resuscitated, father is conceived of as a son
who assumes responsibility for the treatment of the body of his dead father.
In the dialectics of these texts, this father is not an ordinary human being, but
Osiris. The personal relationships can be visualized as follows:208
207 Still in the twentieth century, Ahmad Fakhry witnessed rather similar funerals in the
oasis of Baḥrīya: “When they arrive at the tomb, they lower the bier to the ground, and one
of the men addresses the others: ‘What do you testify about the deceased?’ The answer is
always: ‘We testify that he (or she) was a good person.’ If, on a rare occasion someone in
the group accuses the deceased of theft, failure to repay a loan, or causing some sort of
harm to him, the relatives of the dead apologize or promise to pay. Only when everything
is settled, all has been forgiven, and all have repeated that the deceased was ‘good,’ the
group recites together a short prayer, takes the body out of the bier and places it in
the grave” (Fakhry, The Oases of Egypt II, p. 53–54).
208 Here, A → B means: “A performs rituals for B.” A vertical arrow indicates the transformation
of the deceased resulting from the ritual.
Living son (A) → dead father (B)

↓
Resuscitated father (B)
in the role of Horus → dead god Osiris (C)
In the ritual spells 30–37, the son (A) transforms his dead father (B) into a
divine son (Horus) who traverses the netherworld to reach the building where
his dead father Osiris (C) is waiting to be embalmed. In the course of the lit-
urgy, the son (A) speaks alternatingly to his father (B) to guide him through the
netherworld to his destination, to Osiris (C), announcing the arrival of B, and
to other deities to convince them to let his father pass.
The letters to the dead and Coffin Texts spells 131–146, 149, and 30–41 cer-
tainly refer to deities, but they do so only in passing, and the world they evoke
closely resembles the world of the living.209 The dead work there in the fields,
they live there among their relatives and friends, and when they quarrel, the
problems can be resolved by a law court. Moreover, both on earth and in
the netherworld, the social status of men depends upon the accomplishment
of their filial duties towards their dead father. There is nothing mythological in
this process.
But in the bottom line of the above scheme, a new element appears. Even
though the model is rooted in patterns of social interaction rather than in
mythology, it is nevertheless clear that the author of this textual composition
felt the need to attribute divine status to the deceased. Moreover, this status is
not expressed in abstract terms (“the deceased is a god”), but confers a divine
identity on him (“the deceased is Horus”).210 Similarly, the dead father of the
deceased is cast in the role of Osiris. I think that two factors, that may mutually
reinforce one another, may explain why divine identities are introduced in a
framework that for the rest is not mythological.
The first explanation is that the dead father (B) acquires his divine iden-
tity in a ritual context. He is on his way to a place of embalmment where his
own dead father (C) is lying. It is a well-known fact that access to such sacred
spaces was only possible for persons who were able to display their knowledge
of certain religious ‘secrets’ during a rite of passage. These secrets are related
to the ritual drama being performed inside. During earthly funerals, the priests
played divine roles like that of Anubis, Horus, Isis or Nephthys. In spells 30–41,
209 Some spells of the group 131–146 do admittedly include heavily mythological parts as well.
210 In fact, the author does not go as far as this. The dead father is not explicitly called “Horus”,
but “the rejuvenated god.” In the constellation where he appears throughout these texts, it
is evident that this refers to Horus.
190 chapter 3
this ritual context has been telescoped into the netherworld. There all ritual
actors are of necessity superhuman beings (deceased persons, gods). It is
therefore only natural that they elaborate an imagery where the actors are not
priests “playing” the role of Horus and other gods, but where they are these
gods.
The second is that the identification of the deceased with a god avoids cer-
tain existential problems. The underlying idea about the netherworld is that
the deceased attains the right to exist there by virtue of his engagement in the
performance of funerary rituals for his dead father. If these roles would not
have been ‘mythologized,’ the ensuing action pattern would be as follows:
Living son (A) → dead father (B)

↓
Resuscitated father (B) → dead father of B (C)
One may assume that C, B’s predecessor, was himself also a dead but resusci-
tated man. But in order to enable deceased B to play the filial role of succes-
sor, deceased C had to die again in the netherworld. The concept of a “second
death” does exist in Egyptian religion, but it has the connotation of a final and
irrevocable death, from which no salvation is possible. Following this model,
the afterlife for a dead person in position C would be of only very short dura-
tion: one generation at most (i.e. until the death of B). A more acceptable per-
spective was allowed by filling the slot of C, not by a human individual, but by
Osiris, the divine archetype of the dead. By this ploy, every deceased stayed
in position B, being considered Horus, son of Osiris. However, even though
this process leads to the attribution of mythological identities to humans,
the underlying role division does not conjure up a myth, but a funerary ritual
transposed to a divine level.
Coffin Texts Spell 312211

In spells 30–41, only dead persons receive a mythological identity. By contrast,
person A, who functions as an officiant in the ritual performed on earth, sim-
ply calls himself “son.” However, we have seen that it was not uncommon to
attribute divine roles also to those actively participating in rituals. Of course
these persons were not considered to be ‘gods,’ but the gods manifested them-
selves during the ritual performance in the form of these human beings.
A much later, but very clear, example occurs in the following passage from the
211 For a more extensive discussion of this text, see Willems, in: Social Aspects of Funerary
Culture, p. 370–372.
Papyrus Bremner-Rhind I,2–5, which concerns a ritual in which two priest-

esses play the roles of Isis and Nephthys:
Then two women of pure body shall be brought who have not yet been
opened,212 the hair of whose body has been removed and whose head is
adorned with a wig, [. . .], tambourines in their hands, their names being
inscribed on their arms, viz., Isis and Nephthys.213
In this rite, Isis and Nephthys are represented by two young women. In the
same way, Anubis could act in the form of an embalming priest, who, in
the Late Period, could signal this fact by wearing an Anubis mask.214 These
are only examples of a widespread and ancient custom. In the same way, the
deceased can assume the role of Osiris, and the sꜢ=f mr.y=f priest (= “the son
that he loves”) that of Horus. If one introduces these roles in the scheme of
Coffin Texts spells 30–41, one obtains the following model:
Living son = Horus (A) → dead father = Osiris (B)

↓
Resuscitated father (B)
in the role of Horus → dead god Osiris (C)
Spell 312 of the Coffin Texts renders this situation, and at the same time
addresses the evident problem that the roles of Osiris and Horus are played
twice, and by different persons. The text makes an attempt to differentiate
between these personalities without breaking the division of mythological
roles.
At the beginning of the text, the gods invite Horus (A) at the request of
Osiris (C) to visit the latter in the netherworld to embalm him.215 Horus replies
he has no intention of doing so; he is still living on earth, where he wishes to
“walk around and copulate among humans.”216 This formulation suggests that
212 In giving birth. Compare the Shabaka stone, col. 17a, which uses the expression wpı̓ ẖ.t
“the opener of the belly” as a designation for Horus as the (firstborn) son of Isis. The
text clearly alludes to his birth. It is not necessary to assume that this refers to Horus’
descendancy from Geb, as was suggested by el-Hawary (Wortschöpfung, p. 122).
213 Faulkner,The Papyrus Bremner-Rhind, p. 1.
214 For instance mask Hildesheim Pelizaeus-Museum 1585; see Seipel, Ägypten, p. 158–160
(125).
215 CT IV, 68b–70b [312].
216 CT IV, 72b [312].
192 chapter 3
he is still young and wants to continue his earthly existence so as to produce

offspring that can pursue the family line. The same concern is also of central
importance in Coffin Texts spells 38–41.
As a substitute, Horus (A) sends his “form” (ı̓r.w),217 i.e. a person that is not
identical to him, but that resembles him closely. I think that this is his father,
who is already dead (B). In what follows, this latter person traverses the nether-
world to Osiris, with the intention of embalming him. Several passages of this
difficult text are closely reminiscent to parts of spells 30–41.
A First Conclusion
The netherworld can be understood as a projection of the earthly social envi-
ronment. The dead were thought to interact according to certain role patterns
that were familiar from everyday life. But a surprisingly important aspect of life
after death is the degree to which it was dominated by ritual behaviour. Just
as was the case in rituals performed on earth, the ritual message is conveyed
to a large extent by deploying a vocabulary that is borrowed from mythology.
The deceased becomes a young god who in the netherworld embalms his dead
father, who is himself a god. Finally, a doubling of mythological roles is possi-
ble (and in fact common) when the living officiants on earth also enter into
a framework where the ritual discourse is expressed in mythological terms.
This stage, which was reached in Coffin Texts spell 312, leads to a situation
where no person is referred to as a human being, and where the action seems
to take place entirely in a mythological world. This is the model that prevails
in most Coffin Texts. At first sight, these texts accordingly present themselves
as accounts that have no connection whatsoever with life on earth. It is my
impression that we are here confronted by a deliberate disguise, which hides
the social relationships that determine daily life behind a supernatural veil.
In most texts, only this veil is spoken about. For us, who are not accustomed
to think according to ancient Egyptian social categories, this easily leads to a
misrepresentation of the mythological disguise by interpreting it as the heart
of the matter.
In what follows, we will deal with more extensive, and fundamental com-
positions from the corpus of the Coffin Texts, with the aim of disclosing what
I think are the central themes of these texts.
217 CT IV, 73f–74f [312].

The Case of Heqata

I have studied these issues most extensively in an analysis of the coffin of
Heqata (A1C).218 This coffin dates to the beginning of the Middle Kingdom and
was discovered at Aswān. In contains some forty Coffin Texts spells. The text
programme is thus rather extensive, and it includes several texts that were in
widespread use across Egypt, such as spells 75 and 398. This suggests that the
coffin must be rooted in representative theological currents. The importance
of this source also lies in the fact that it enables one to study an extensive text
collection as a coherent composition. Of course such a treatment could also
be undertaken for all other inscribed coffins, but the only case that has thus far
been submitted to such an enquiry is that of Heqata.219
In the texts of Heqata, the axis son/ritualist-dead father/beneficiary of the
ritual also occupies a central place. The deceased can in fact play both roles,
although of course not at the same time. On the one hand, he acquires a new
life because another person performs a ritual for him. On the other, he deserves
a prominent place in the netherworld, because he plays the part of a son who
embalms his dead father.
The discourse of the texts links these roles to mythological personalities.
As in the texts already analyzed, the model in which the ritualist is a Horus,
and the beneficiary an Osiris is common, but it is not the only possible option.
In the spells borrowed from the so-called ‘Shu book’ (here the spells 75, 77, 78
and 80) the dead father is Atum and the son/ritualist is Shu. This ritual prob-
ably had the aim to provide the breath of life to a dead father. From this back-
ground, it was more natural to mobilize Shu for the role of the son than Horus,
since Shu was the god of the air.
218 What follows is based on the conclusions of Willems, Heqata; see particularly p. 374–384.
219 The author is currently preparing a similar analysis of the coffins of Sesenebenef from
al-Lisht (L1–2Li). E. Meyer-Dietrich, Nechet und Nil, has made a similar attempt on the
basis of an analysis of coffin M5C. I must admit that I find her treatment of the texts
and their cultural contextualization insufficiently penetrating, and the methodological
approach of the Religionsökologie is too premature to take this study into account here.
I have similar problems with Meyer-Dietrich’s second study of a coffin (Senebi und
Selbst). In both cases, she applies a theory to a document instead of letting the document
tell its own story first. When the present book was nearly finished, I had an opportunity
to read B. Arquier’s dissertation on Le double sarcophage de Mésehti, as well as J. Dahms’
Die Särge des Karenen. Untersuchungen zu Pyramiden- und Sargtexten. Both offer a very
detailed analysis of a number of Middle Kingdom coffins, but these works appeared too
late to be incorporated in my text.
194 chapter 3
The theological background of the spells may therefore vary enormously,

but the underlying model in the coffin of Heqata operates on the basis of the
same structural modules. As it would be useless to repeat in detail what has
been demonstrated in detail elsewhere, I will limit myself here to the struc-
tural model that I developed in the concluding chapter of my study of the
coffin (see fig. 29).220
The son I beneficiary

(and the family) (Heqata)
Funerary procession

The son II beneficiary
(and the family) (Heqata)
Visit to tomb during
mortuary feasts
This world This world
Netherworld Netherworld
III
Goddess beneficiary (Heqata)
mummification rites
hourly vigil resuscitated deceased
becomes officiant
IV
actor (Heqata) beneficiary
mummification rites (dead father-
hourly vigil god)

Osiris orders that funerary rites be performed for the deceased
Figure 29 The ritual contexts represented in the decoration of the coffin of Heqata (after
Willems, Heqata, p. 386).
220 In this scheme, the arrows have the same meaning as in the preceding graphs. However,
here there also occurs a ↑. This indicates a line of communication between two deities.
The Roman numbers indicate the different kinds of rituals evoked.
All these texts are integrated in a model that understands life in the hereafter
as a cyclic phenomenon. When the deceased dies, he is embalmed. At the end
of this rather ‘technical’ procedure, he is ritually transformed from a dead body
into a being that has acquired a new life. Then, the deceased is transferred to
his tomb, the procession also being understood as an important ritual for the
resurrection of the deceased (phase I).
The funerary rituals are of course a one-time event, but the transformation
of the deceased that they achieve was regularly repeated during mortuary rit-
uals celebrated in the cemetery. As J. Assmann has shown, ‘glorification spells’
(sꜢḫ.w) were recited in accompaniment to the presentation of offerings, with
the aim of introducing the deceased into the divine world. This type of ritual
therefore reiterates the effects already achieved before during the mummifi-
cation ritual.221 These periodical rituals also have the aim of transforming the
deceased into a young god (phase II).
The two types of rituals thus have the same intention: the deceased, whom
one may, according to the dialectics of Egyptian theology, identify to various
different gods (like Osiris or Atum), is transformed into a young, reborn god
such as Horus or Shu.
According to the texts on the coffin of Heqata, these son-gods have only
one responsibility: the mummification of their dead father (phase IV).
Consequently, Osiris or Atum reach a new life. What makes the coffin of Heqata
highly original, is that the reinvigorated Osiris in phase V commands the gods to
give a new life to the deceased. Other texts on the coffin describe the execution
of funerary rituals for Heqata, who must, at this stage (phase III), have entered
into the role of a dead father-god (Osiris, Atum, . . .). But after these rituals,
he appears as a rejuvenated god, who can again play the role of son/ritualist
for Osiris.
Thus, Heqata is dependent for his survival on a decision by Osiris, which
leads to his transformation into a Horus. But for his own survival, Osiris is
equally dependent on the ritual activity of Horus, with whom Heqata identi-
fies himself in his coffin. Life after death thus has strong affinities to the social
bond between father and son in Egyptian society.222
The Case of the Coffins of the Mid-Twelfth Dynasty

The coffin of Heqata (A1C) is a somewhat peculiar case. Its decoration includes
several elements that only appear in a very small group of coffins (A1C, G1T,
T3C, and partly T3L and some much damaged examples that may not be wholly
221 Assmann, Totenliturgien I, p. 13–17 and 67–68.

222 See p. 192.
196 chapter 3
comparable). These sources date back to the early Middle Kingdom, an epoch
when the decoration of coffins differed greatly from one site to another. In
principle, it is therefore conceivable that the coffin of Heqata reflects a strictly
local tradition that may be not entirely representative. Therefore it is impor-
tant to know how things present themselves in other coffins. Unfortunately,
the study of even a single coffin takes years, and what we need is information,
not on one source, but on a significant number of cases, if we want to reach
firmer ground.
It would be particularly useful to have an analysis of the coffins produced
between the reigns of Senwosret I and III, because in this period, one can
observe a clear tendency to adorn coffins in accordance with a more or less
strict model. Certainly, the decorators of coffins even in this period had consid-
erable liberty as concerns the details, and in the choice of texts. Even though
the material base is vast, and has not yet been studied in detail, some general
lines nevertheless seem to be clear.223
On the outside, these coffins are not only decorated with a horizontal band
of ornamental texts at the top of the side and a pair of udjat eyes on the eastern
panel, as was the case in earlier coffins (type I). Below the text bands, one now
finds further text columns also inscribed in ornamental hieroglyphs (types IV
and V). The free space between the columns is often adorned with stylized
renderings of a palace façade (type VI).224 An overview of the different coffin
types is shown in fig. 30.
On the inside, a very important change concerns the introduction of an
object frieze on the western coffin side, as a result of which the deceased is
now surrounded on all sides by such a frieze. Thematically, the object friezes
also change, for they are hereafter almost entirely devoted to ritual implements
and elements of royal attire.225 In most examples, the lids of these coffins are
inscribed with Coffin Texts spell 335, and the bottoms with spell 397.226 These
spells are among the most widely attested ones of the entire corpus. In the for-
mer case, it concerns the original version of chapter 17 of the Book of the Dead,
in the other of chapter 99. Already during the Middle Kingdom, these spells
were frequently used, and in view of the fact that both often appear together
within a coherent decoration programme, there is no reason to doubt that we
are facing key sources for understanding the Coffin Texts.
223 See Willems, in: Studies te Velde, p. 343–372.

224 See Willems, Chests of Life, p. 136–164 for types IV–VI.
225 See p. 138.
226 Willems, Chests of Life, p. 200–228; 233; 235.
the coffin texts and democracy
197
Figure 30 Typology of the exterior decoration of Middle Kingdom coffins. The figure only includes the best-attested models (after Ikram,
Dodson, The Mummy in Ancient Egypt, p. 198).
198 chapter 3
Spell 397 evokes the familiar theme of the celestial ferry that the deceased
wishes to board for crossing the Winding Waterway in the netherworld. The
intended destination is located in the Field of Reeds, close to the eastern hori-
zon. This text, as well as its precursor that is already attested in the pyramid of
Ibi, makes clear that the corpse of Osiris lies there, and that the deceased, the
son of Osiris, intends to reattach his father’s head and to perform the ritual of
Opening the Mouth for him.227 On the basis of this very common text itself,
and of other Ferryman Spells, the conclusion is justified that we are facing a
popular theme.228
Coffin Texts spell 335 also raises the topic of the mummification of Osiris.
CT IV, 252/253c–272c [335] contains a description of the Place of Embalmment
and offers a list of seven divinities who, according to Ptolemaic texts, belong to
the staff involved in embalming Osiris and performing the hourly vigil.229
The other protagonist of the text is the sun god, who apart from “Re” is
referred to by a whole array of different names, like Min and Hor-nedj-it-ef.
The latter name230 in particular is worthy of note, as it means “Horus who pro-
tects his father.” This name evokes the pious deeds of Horus for his dead father
Osiris. The text makes clear that the sun god is on his way to Osiris, clearly with
the intention of bringing him back to life. After that, the solar god must leave
Osiris to reappear as the reborn sun, the “Appearing in the day(light)” to which
the title of the spell refers.231 This long and extremely complex text cannot
be dealt with in detail here, but it seems clear that it concerns a topic that we
are already familiar with: that of a divine son—not Horus or Shu, but the sun
god (only one of whose many names is Horus)—who joins his dead father for
embalming him.232
The rest of the decorative programme of these coffins fits this conclusion
admirably. For example, the vertical text bands on the outside of the coffins
represent a group of deities who participated in the rituals in the Place of
Embalmment.233 Furthermore, the royal attributes that appear in the object
friezes are often mentioned in texts describing embalming rituals. In fact,
227 CT V, 78c–81q [397]; Jéquier, La pyramide d’Aba, pl. XI,591–592. A closely similar text that
was recently published contains the same passage (Bickel, in: Dʼun monde à lʼautre, p. 99;
116, 22–23).
228 Willems, Heqata, p. 156–177 and particularly p. 173–177; Idem, in: Studies te Velde, p. 360.
229 Junker, Stundenwachen, p. 3–5 and passim; Pries, Stundenwachen, p. 326.
230 CT IV, 204/5c [335].
231 CT IV, 184/5a–186/7b [335].
232 For a more detailed analysis, see Willems, in: Studies te Velde, p. 359–364.
233 See p. 141, n. 52 above.
the sources frequently interpret mummification as the victory of the Osirian

deceased. When Seth murdered Osiris, the latter not only lost his life, but also
his function of king of Egypt. After his mummification, however, the harm
inflicted by the crimes of Seth was undone. As a sign of his victory, Osiris was
crowned again, but this time to become the ruler of the kingdom of the dead.
In mummification scenes, elements of royal dress are often depicted below
the mummification bed. The same objects are occasionally found in Middle
Kingdom tombs.234 The mummification process therefore serves to place the
deceased in the role of Osiris, the king of the netherworld. The palace façade
found on the outside of many Middle Kingdom coffins, by suggesting that the
deceased resides in a royal residence, enhances his royal profile.
However, the royal insignia not only establish a link with Osiris, but also
with the son/ritualist responsible for the funeral of his father Osiris. We have
seen that he had the right to succeed his father, and many texts concerning
mummification cast the son in the role of a king and successor, i.e. of Horus.235
A scene depicted in a number of Ramesside and later royal funerary sources
offers a graphic illustration of the royal aspect evoked by the hourly vigil. Here
we see how a king, in the role of Horus, brings to life Osiris on his mummi-
fication bed. Underneath the bed, numerous elements of the royal attire are
displayed, suggesting that Osiris is also being profiled as a king (fig. 31). The fact
that one Middle Kingdom coffin (X4C) is made according to the same model
as the Osirian bier in the scene, suggests that this iconography was already
known in the Middle Kingdom.
In retrospect, it must be concluded that the texts and iconography of the
coffins discussed in this section again accord a place of prime importance to
the embalming ritual, in which the roles of ritualist/son and beneficiary/dead
father are crucial. The dialectics underlying the decoration of the coffins does
not attribute only one of these roles to the coffin owner, but both. From one
perspective, he can therefore figure as an Osiris who acquires a new life thanks
to rituals perpetualised in the decoration of the coffin. In other contexts, he
appears as a son who is on his way to the embalming hall of Osiris. Although
the details differ, one can easily recognize the passive and active roles that
Heqata wants to play in the various phases of his destiny in the netherworld.
Conclusion
In every text, group of texts, coffin or coffin class that I have discussed, I think I
have been able to demonstrate the effects of a recurrent element: the emphasis
234 See p. 138–140.

235 For instance CT I, 251f [60].
200 chapter 3
Figure 31 Mummification scene from the tomb of Shoshenq III at Tanis (Montet, Chéchanq III,
pl. 30).
on family bonds, and especially on the connection between the son and his
dead father. Our sources underscore the importance of the rituals performed
by the former for the latter. Without this, the father had no chance of survival
in the netherworld, and the son would have no right to succeed him. We have
also seen that this role division seems to have been telescoped into the nether-
world, with the deceased often playing the role of a son embalming and resus-
citating his dead father.
I have concentrated here on aspects that seem essential to me, but this can-
not obscure the fact that the Coffin Texts at the same time evoke numerous
other issues. To an extent, the emphasis I have placed upon the father–son axis
as opposed to other principles may be a personal choice, and other special-
ists may well prefer to focus instead on other elements of the Coffin Texts (for
instance on the celestial aspects of life after death).236 It would be unrealistic
to deny that these complex texts lend themselves to various interpretations.
Nevertheless it seems obvious that the father–son axis occupied an important
place in the Coffin Texts, a conclusion that has already been drawn before on
the basis of other evidence.237 Moreover, the collection of texts that I have
236 There was considerable liberty in how theological concepts were expressed. Thus, the
study of Mesehti’s coffins by B. Arquier (see n. 219) shows that these sources display
a clear focus on the father–son axis, the role of the son being invested in the ba. Many
of these texts are at the same time strongly lunar in tone. In a study still in preparation,
I hope to demonstrate that a group of late Middle Kingdom coffins evokes a philosophy
that is in many regards rather different in the sense that they address the full solar cycle,
rather than only the nocturnal part of that cycle (as is often the case in other coffins).
237 See Assmann, in: Vaterbild, p. 12–49 and 155–162; Idem, Tod und Jenseits, p. 74–75.
studied, which amounts to about 650 pages in de Buck’s and Allen’s edition
of the Coffin Texts (or about 20% of their total volume) is so considerable that
the results obtained are likely to have a wider significance.238
Family Life in the Middle Kingdom
In many popularizing works on ancient Egypt, but surprisingly often also

in the scholarly literature, one can read that the scenes of ‘daily life’ depicted in
funerary chapels show that the ancient Egyptians thought that life in the neth-
erworld was simply a continuation of life on earth. This, however, is certainly
an exaggeration. Even where earthly life constituted the point of reference,
the deceased did not simply aspire to continue his or her former existence,
but rather to assume the position of a gentleman or a lady, even if his or her
life had been very different. As we have seen above,239 the funerary equipment
that developed between the late Old Kingdom and the early Middle Kingdom
suggests that the deceased did not live a duplicate of his earthly life, but
238 In the past, it has often been stated that the Pyramid Texts and the Coffin Texts represent
two entirely different text corpora. This point of view can no longer be accepted. In a
recent study, B. Mathieu has attempted to define the criteria that might differentiate
the two groups, but he arrived at the conclusion that to do so remains very difficult.
Rather, both groups seem to be rooted in a common collection of religious texts (in: Dʼun
monde à lʼautre, p. 247–262). During the colloquium where he presented this hypothesis,
the general sentiment was that the difference is illusory. Ten years later, I am no longer
completely convinced on this point. On the one hand, since the publication of CT VIII,
one can easily verify that the Pyramid Texts were certainly not uncommon on Middle
Kingdom coffins, and this suggests that PT and CT were to an extent interchangeable.
However, it is also clear that the coffins only include a relatively restricted selection of
the Pyramid Texts known from the Old Kingdom. On the other hand, the coffins include
several sources that are definitely rooted in a non-royal context, like CT spells 30–41 and
131–146 (even though these include occasional citations from the Pyramid Texts). While
it is hard to follow in detail which mechanisms may have propelled the transmission
of these texts, I have the impression that Middle Kingdom Coffin Texts include texts of
which some have a royal background, others a non-royal one. The former were certainly
not selected haphazardly, but probably rather because they concerned themes that were
particularly important to their users, like the link between father and son, or because they
derived from non-funerary temple liturgies that may have concerned topics that were
also easily applicable to the royal or private funerary cult. For a similar account based on
partly different evidence, see now Hays, in: Old Kingdom, New Perspectives, p. 118–126.
239 See p. 135–138.
202 chapter 3
entered into a scenario where only some of the more comfortable elements of
that life prevailed.
In the texts that we have just studied, a similar process of selection is appar-
ent. Even though Coffin Texts spells 131–146, for uniting a man with his Ꜣb.t
in the necropolis, have often been interpreted as meaning that the deceased
wanted to pursue his life as a family man, closer inspection reveals that the
Ꜣb.t was not the same as the Western, post-industrial family, but rather a group
of people entertaining a relationship of a primarily juridical and financial
nature. I cannot discuss this issue in depth here, but the fact that the wife of
the deceased did not form part of his Ꜣb.t, clearly indicates that these texts do
not envisage a continued family life in all its aspects.240 Moreover, even though
spells 131–146 are by no means rare, they constitute only a tiny minority of the
bulk of the Coffin Texts. The rest of the material primarily addresses only a sin-
gle element of the kinship system: the connection between a dead father and
his living son. Mutual relationships between, for instance, nephews and aunts,
or between children and their deceased mother, play no part whatsoever in the
discourse of the Coffin Texts.
Evidently, this does not reflect the realities of everyday life, but a conceptual
choice. Now this choice is not a characteristic of the Coffin Texts alone. In the
autobiographical texts and, for instance, the instruction literature, the father–
son axis likewise dominates the picture. Of course, one occasionally comes
across exceptions, where texts allow a glance into the realities of family life.
A good instance is provided by the autobiography of Horemkhauef. He writes:
I have nourished my brothers and sisters. I have not allowed that one (of
them) claimed the property of another, as a result of which everyone
opened the door for the other. I have taken care of the house (pr) of those
who have nourished me after they had been interred and had been
resuscitated.241
In this example, the common theme of the son taking responsibility for the
funerary cult of his dead father is again an issue, but a realistic detail absent
from the Coffin Texts is that he does the same for his mother. Also, the text
states that Horemkhauef keeps a close eye on his brothers and sisters. This
can hardly have been uncommon, but it is near impossible to find texts offer-
ing this kind of details in funerary autobiographies and in the instruction
240 See p. 185.

241 Stela New York MMA 35.7.55,11–13; see Hayes, JEA 33 [1947], p. 3–11. A comparable case
seems to be described on the stela of Merer in Cracow (Černý, JEA 47 [1961], p. 5–9).
literature.242 Even outside these literary genres, information of this kind is

hard to find.243
Only one aspect of the kinship system is very frequently alluded to in the
autobiographical literature: that of “the son” or more explicitly “the eldest son”
establishing a household. It is often made clear that it concerns his father’s for-
mer household, which he maintains and even expands. The fact that the two
possibilities—establishing a household or maintaining it—are both expressed
by the same Egyptian idiom (grg pr) sometimes makes it difficult to decide
which of the two is being alluded to. But references to a situation where the
eldest son continues his father’s household are in fact very frequent. In reality,
such cases must reflect the fact that the eldest son had continued to live with
his parents.
It is hardly likely that his brothers and sisters had done the same thing. The
texts just dealt with suggest that grown up (and probably married) brothers
and sisters all lived in their own houses. It is also known that Egyptian houses
are usually rather small, and did not contain many rooms.244 It is true that this
point of view rests to some extent on the assumption that Egyptian houses
were only one storey high, and that this idea has recently been nuanced with
good arguments at least for the New Kingdom.245
But what holds true for the New Kingdom not necessarily does so for the
Middle Kingdom;246 and even if multiple storey houses did exist, this does not
itself prove that married children continued to live with their parents after
marriage. In fact, as Franke has pointed out, allusions to households in Middle
Kingdom literary texts always concern nuclear families.247 Franke also argued
that these passages all concern peasant families. A group of three fragmen-
tary papyri now kept at the Turin museum, the famous stato civile, contains
242 A text describing similarly realistic elements is inscribed on stela Cairo JdE 46048,6, where
a man declares he has built houses for each of his children, all of which were comparable
to the one he possessed himself (Abdalla, JEA 79 [1993], p. 248–253; Franke, SAK 34
[2006], p. 167–172). Note that both this text and the one previously cited imply that
children were clearly supposed to found their own homestead.
243 A detailed list of the documentation on the household (pr) has been compiled by Franke,
AVMR, p. 257–276.
244 For the simplicity of Middle Kingdom house plans, see Bietak, in: Haus und Palast,
p. 24–43 (group A) and von Pilgrim, Elephantine XVIII, passim (for a summary, see
p. 217–218).
245 Spence, JEA 90 (2004), p. 123–152.
246 The arguments in favour of the existence of multiple storey houses for this period have
been critically evaluated by von Pilgrim, op. cit., p. 231–233.
247 Franke, AVMR, p. 275.
204 chapter 3
fragments of a household census inventory of Dayr al-Madīna at the end of

the twentieth dynasty. These documents for each household record which
male was responsible for it, and who lived in it. The exceptional cases where
a married child continued to live together with the parents are marked in red,
and according to R. Demarée, it probably concerns exceptional and temporary
situations.248 Sometimes, one also comes across examples where an elderly
person has apparently moved in with one of his or her children. For the Middle
Kingdom, comparable documents unfortunately do not exist at all, but three
lists concerning a single household in al-Lahūn seem to reflect a situation that
closely resembles that encountered in the stato civile.249
It thus seems that a regular household consisted of a nuclear family (par-
ents, children), occasionally supplemented with servants and other people.250
The impression that the children normally left the parental homestead
when they married, seems to find confirmation in autobiographical texts
where a person states to have come forth from the “rear chamber of the house
of the father.” According to Franke’s convincing interpretation, this part of the
house contained the private rooms where the family lived.251
248 See Valbelle, CRIPEL 7 (1985), p. 81–84 and Demarée, Valbelle, Les registres de
recensement, p. 29; 43–44; 56 and Demarée, personal communication. The remarks
in the second study replace the remarks by Krauss, Demographie, p. 100–101, who still
thought that the situation was much more varied.
249 These documents have been studied by Valbelle, CRIPEL 7 (1985), p. 75–87. This family
can be followed over a prolonged period. Even though this is not a nuclear family, one can
easily understand the dynamics of the group. 1) A man and his wife have a son and several
daughters. The daughters leave the household, probably upon marriage. 2) The man’s
mother joins the household, probably after the death of her husband. This is certainly
not the usual situation. 3) The son, upon marriage, stays in his parental homestead, but
at this point, his father is already dead. It is possible that this document reflects the ideal
often alluded to in the autobiographical literature of the eldest son staying in his parents’
household. But it is also possible that he decided not to establish a new household
because by staying where he was, he could more easily care for his widowed mother and
grandmother. It seems obvious that this document does not provide us with a regular
situation.
250 Several authors have expressed the view that the Egyptians rather lived in extended
families; see, for example, Janssen, GM 48 (1981), p. 62–65, with bibliographical references.
However, it is usually not easy to understand how the pertinent authors understand the
term ‘extended family’. Are they referring to a household (with the possible implication
that more than one nuclear family is living under the same roof), or to clusters of nuclear
family households located at close range? It is clear that the two alternatives do not reflect
the same kind of social structure.
251 Franke, AVMR, p. 266–267.
The plans of ordinary houses of the period do not contain any ‘rear cham-
bers,’ but the autobiographical texts by definition do not reflect the realities of
life of ordinary families. In large elite houses, however, one occasionally comes
across rooms for which the designation ‘rear chamber’ would be appropriate.
Plate 16, which depicts one of the great mansions in al-Lahūn, provides an
example of this.252
Several families and other individuals lived in this vast residence. At first
sight, this may suggest that the underlying social structure was completely dif-
ferent from the subdivision in nuclear family modules that we have argued to
be the norm in Egyptian society. However, on looking closer, it becomes clear
that this residence does not have a structure comparable, for instance, to that
of a European mansion house, which is one building in which the living quar-
ters of a large amount of people could be found. In al-Lahūn, the structure is
entirely different. The complex is surrounded by a wall, within which several
independent houses were built, many of which have more or less the same
structure (houses I, II, III, IV). The small living units V, VI, and VII have a dif-
ferent and simpler plan, probably because these were the rooms where the
servants were lodged. For the former group of dwellings, however, the same
general structure is encountered everywhere. The unit is entered through a
courtyard (H), followed by a transverse vestibule (V), an often columned recep-
tion hall (W), and one or two side rooms (N; S).
The central unit I is the largest of the four, and undoubtedly belonged to a
high-ranking official. One may assume that he used room W as a reception hall
and bureau, where he received visitors. For this reason, unit W was doubled,
room W1 being used as the official reception hall while room W2 and the lat-
eral room N2 may have been the family’s private quarters. I would suggest that
these latter constitute the “rear chambers” mentioned in the autobiographies.
It is here that were lodged the children who, upon marriage, left the parental
home to set up new family homes elsewhere.
House II deserves particular attention. It is the second-largest living unit
in the complex, possessing its own entrance courtyard and a reception hall
provided with a column. The people living here were undoubtedly among the
more important members of the complex. Moreover, one notes that the pri-
vate quarters of house I are directly connected to house II by a door (between
rooms 8 and 20). This arrangement is found nowhere else in the complex,
and suggests very close links between the inhabitants of house I and house II.
252 After Bietak, in: Haus und Palast, p. 32 and fig. 12.
206 chapter 3
Bietak explains the situation by supposing that house I was that of the father,
and house II that of the eldest son.253
This explanation is convincing. It carries with it an important social conse-
quence: one of the children, and most probably the eldest son, remains in the
domestic complex of his father, whereas the others leave the “rear chambers”
to establish new households elsewhere. When the eldest son marries, he moves
into house II; when his father dies, his family moves into house I. When the
moment has come, his own eldest son will establish himself with his family in
house II. I think this visualizes the concrete social context whence derives the
father–son axis that is such a prominent topic in the autobiographical texts,
the instruction literature, and the Coffin Texts.
As is the case with the texts, these residential complexes are characteristic
of the highest elite. I perceive a conceptual connection between the two obser-
vations: the Coffin Texts may well have been written for the leading occupants
of such domestic complexes, and the religious issues primarily addressed in
these texts probably reflect their most central social concerns. If this is correct,
we have a further argument to consider the Coffin Texts as elements of elite
culture, rather than of a ‘democratic’ culture.
The Coffin Texts and the Nomarchs’ Courts
On the preceding pages, it has been argued that the themes evoked by the
Coffin Texts admirably reflect the social concerns of the owners of the most
richly adorned and inscribed coffins. Yet a problem poses itself here. The
importance of legitimacy in filial succession and the execution of funerary/
mortuary rituals by the eldest son for his dead father is encountered not only
in autobiographies inscribed in tombs in nomarchal cemeteries, but all across
Egypt. This makes it hard to understand why the Coffin Texts gradually disap-
pear in the course of the twelfth dynasty, except in regions characterized by
nomarchal culture.
To be more precise, the structure of the houses just described clearly under-
scores the importance of the father–son axis, but these houses were found at
al-Lahūn; but in the cemeteries in the region, Coffin Texts admittedly occur,
but are hardly prominent. For a few years now it is known that closely similar
houses also existed at Abydos, in the community attached to the cenotaph/
253 Op. cit., p. 34.

tomb of Senwosret III.254 Yet, as I have noted above, sources inscribed with
Coffin Texts were hardly common at Abydos.
One must therefore accept that, to a certain degree, the elites across Egypt
shared a common intellectual climate, but that the provincial elites in particu-
lar continued to use the expression of these ideas in the form of the Coffin
Texts. What is the background of this difference?
Without being able to adduce final proof for my view, it seems to me that a dif-
ference can be observed between the social structure in the nomes in Middle
Egypt—and occasionally elsewhere—and that of the closer entourage of
the king.
Perhaps, nomarchs were not more influential or important than high offi-
cials living in places like al-Lisht, but yet there may well have been a difference
of perspective. At the Residence there were certainly very high officials. But
there were many of these, as a consequence of which each one of them may
have played a somewhat less marked role from the point of view of the popu-
lation. Moreover, at the Residence, even the highest officials were visibly of a
rank secondary to that of the king.
In provinces yet governed by nomarchs, the situation was quite different.
It may be the case that a provincial governor did not occupy a higher position
in the national organisation than a host of central government officials, but
for the population of the nome, he undoubtedly constituted the apex of the
locally visible hierarchical pyramid.
In this framework, it may be useful to discuss the spread of the institution of
the ḥw.t-kꜢ in the Old Kingdom. At the upper end of the scale, such “ka-houses”
were built for kings, who often possessed several in different parts of the coun-
try. These are vast, temple-like buildings built for the royal cult.255 In the course
of the Old Kingdom, high officials are also known to have had such cult places,
for instance just outside the palaces of the governors of the Dākhla Oasis or
of Elephantine. These cases have been studied on p. 113–123 above, where
the evidence showed that the practice probably continued into the Middle
Kingdom, the most patent case being that surrounding the colossal statue
254 Wegner, JARCE 35 (1998), p. 1–44; Idem, EA 17 (2000), p. 8–10; Idem, MDAIK 57 (2001),
p. 281–308.
255 An overview of the royal ka-houses can be found in Lange, ZÄS 133 (2006), p. 121–140.
It is possible that early versions of such royal cult places can be found in the royal
domains, where miniature pyramids were built (see e.g. Seidlmayer, in: Haus und Palast,
p. 195–214).
208 chapter 3
of Djehutihotep. The term “ka-house” can also refer to smaller private statue
shrines in divine temples, and occasionally even to tomb chapels.256 It is clear,
therefore, that the term covers a whole range of outwardly quite different
buildings, which, however, shared the function of being built for the personal
mortuary cult of a person (whether royal or private).
Thanks to Franke’s admirable study of the ka-house of Heqaib, it is known
that the cult celebrated in such sanctuaries in many regards resembles the
ancestor cult that lies at the basis of Egyptian funerary religion. It is probable
that in every Egyptian family mortuary rituals took the form of such a cult,
even though there were of course differences in the form they took in indi-
vidual cases. It is also known that the cult of ‘ancestors’ in Egypt could not
only envisage dead relatives, but also a range of other persons, like colleagues.257
From this perspective it is easy to understand that the cult of important mem-
bers of a community would have spread across larger groups. This must have
led to a type of veneration that might be called the ‘cult of the patron.’ In the
case of the nomarchs, we are facing the patrons of an entire region. The form
that their veneration could take clearly surpasses the normal limits of what
happened in tomb chapels. As the cases from Balāṭ, Elephantine, and Dayr
al-Barshā show, we are facing edifices that were conceived from the outset to
facilitate large-scale public celebrations. The governors, as the beneficiaries
of cult, almost resemble supernatural personalities—in the cases of Heqaib
of Elephantine, Isi of Idfū, or of the nomarchs at Asyūṭ the special status of sꜤḥ
was conferred upon them, and Isi is sometimes even referred to as nṯr “god.”258
The rules of conduct laid down in, for instance, the Maxims of Ptahhotep,
show that high-placed persons should be surrounded by a degree of respect
and veneration that makes one feel uncomfortable, but that in Egypt was
apparently not unusual. A famous passage in this text offers advice on
how to behave when one is invited to dinner by a patron. Even though the
text does not say that the master is a god, the maxim ends with a passage
that could almost be read as such; and it seems unlikely that this ambigu-
ity should be explained by assuming that the writer of the text expressed
himself clumsily:
256 Franke, Heqaib, p. 119–127.

257 See for example Fitzenreiter, GM 143 (1994), p. 51–71.
258 Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 136, n. 407.
In case a high official is at (his) meal,259 his conduct (sḫr) is as he likes.260

He will give to whomever is in his favour. It is the ka that extends his
hands.
A high official gives; no man can reach (the same). The meal is there-
fore under god’s conduct (sḫr). Only a fool will object against this!
(Ptahhotep 7,2–3).
Even though this is of course all rhetoric, the text clearly describes forms of
conduct reflecting acceptance of the fact that the master is elevated far above
his social environment. In fact, in two parallel clauses, his own conduct and
that of god are both described in closely analogous terms. In this climate, it is
perhaps less astonishing to see that rituals performed for a person of this rank
situate him on a divine level.
Not much is known about the liturgies used during the cult of the governor.
Only the chapel of Heqaib provides a certain amount of ritual formulae. For
example, one stela includes a version of Pyramid Texts spell 219.261 Parallels to
this text appear on several coffins inscribed with Coffin Texts.262 The same stela
also contains a formula concerning the offering table, which is also regularly
attested on Middle Kingdom coffins.263 Other monuments in the Heqaib sanc-
tuary include texts resembling Coffin Texts spells 222, 223 and 437,264 and para-
graphs 87, 25, 200, 598, 22, 33, 82–96, 108 ff., 213 and 214 of the Pyramid Texts.265
The latter collection derives from the cult chapel of the Middle Kingdom
nomarch Sarenput I. Another spell found there has no known parallel in the
Coffin Texts or Pyramid Texts, but is of the same genre. According to Franke’s
analysis, it concerns a glorification formula (sꜢḫ.w).266
259 ʼIr wr wnn=f ḥꜢ t, literally “in case a leading official should be behind bread”. The common
assumption that wnn=f is a circumstantial form (e.g. Borghouts, Egyptian I, § 98.d) is
rather unlikely, as this would be expressed by ı̓w=f in Middle Egyptian. Lacking parallels,
the interpretation of the grammatical form must remain conjectural, but I assume that
this is a variant of the construction ı̓r wnn followed by an adverbial clause (for this, see
Allen, The Heqanakht Papyri, p. 91 ff., where wnn is probably a prospective sḏm=f.
260 A free rendering of: “his condition is as his ka commands.”
261 Habachi, The Sanctuary of Heqaib I, p. 35; II, pl. 23b; see Franke, Das Heiligtum des
Heqaib, p. 223–235.
262 CT VIII, 158–191.
264 Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 241.
265 Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 219. A major part of these spells has parallels on
Middle Kingdom coffins (see CT VIII).
210 chapter 3
It is therefore justified to assume that the liturgies for the cult of the gov-
ernors deployed texts for which exact or close parallels can in many cases be
found inscribed on contemporary coffins, and which are typologically offering
spells and glorification formulae. Texts of the second category deploy a rhet-
oric technique in which the beneficiary of the cult is addressed by all kinds
of divine qualifications, or with phrases expressing the desire that he may be
integrated in the divine world.
Even though some of these texts are first attested in royal pyramids of the
Old Kingdom, it is certain that several of them were in no way inherently royal.
Undoubtedly for this reason, these texts are frequently encountered in later
ritual compositions.267 Of course it is possible (and even likely) that the Pyramid
Texts include material that was specifically composed for a royal beneficiary,
but this idea, which for many Egyptologists seems self-evident for the entire
corpus, in the final analysis remains impossible to prove. Moreover, the
Pyramid Texts used on private Middle Kingdom coffins only constitute a small
selection of the known Old Kingdom corpus. Purely hypothetically, one might
consider the possibility that this group belongs to a collection of texts that
was not intended specifically for royal use, but that was simply mobilized in a
ritual context to ‘glorify’ the beneficiary of the ritual (i.e. to transform him into
a divine being), regardless of whether he was a king, a deity, or a patron. This
hypothesis entails that the use of these texts in the cultic framework of the
ka-houses does not necessarily imply the usurpation of a royal privilege.
It is generally assumed that, even though the ka-houses had a very impor-
tant funerary aspect, they already began to function during the life of the ben-
eficiary, and this is by implication likely for nomarchal ka-houses.268 The scene
depicting the arrival of Djehutihotep’s colossal statue near his personal chapel
is a good example. It shows that at this moment, the chapel is already a func-
tioning structure, where offering rituals are performed; it is said that the best
pieces from upon the offering table should be presented (see fig. 17). Hatnub
graffito 24 provides a similarly revealing case. In lines 3 and 4, the main protag-
onist of this text (Kay, the son of Nehri I) is said to be “one about the approach
of whose cult statues both men and gods rejoiced on the day when they moved
267 See for example Assmann, Tod und Jenseits, p. 323; Mathieu, in: Dʼun monde à lʼautre,
p. 256–258.
268 For the idea that ka-houses already functioned during the beneficiary’s life, see e.g.
Franke, Das Heiligtum des Heqaib, p. 122–125, who cites several examples; Bolshakov,
AoF 18 (1991), p. 204–218, who maintains that the funerary cult in general already began
before a person’s death.
to the temple” (ḥꜤı̓.n rmṯ.w nṯr.w m ḫsf.w ẖnt.y.w=f hrw wḏꜢ=sn r ḥw.t-nṯr).269
The context of this passage makes clear that Kay alludes to a religious festiv-
ity during which he himself acted as priest. The text was written during his
life, and the passage above uses a perfect relative form to describe the joy of
“men and gods.” This shows clearly that Kay’s cult statues were already car-
ried in procession during his life, and therefore that a chapel in his honour
was already functioning. The same situation is implicit in other text passages,270
and in the archaeological context of the ka-houses in Balāṭ.271 The implica-
tion is that already during the life of high regional officials, personal cults were
instated which deployed religious texts that aimed at transforming the benefi-
ciary into a divine being.
Owners of ‘Text Coffins’ and Users of Coffin Texts
In a recent reaction to the French edition of this book, M. Smith takes issue
with the approach advocated here. Although he accepts that the ‘democratic
hypothesis’ is a phantom, he does not believe that the use of Coffin Texts and
Pyramid Texts was restricted to the elite. According to him, the fact that only
269 Anthes, Hatnub, p. 54.

270 E.g. Beni Hasan I, pl. XXV,83–84; see also the statue cult described in Coptos decree R
(eighth dynasty; Goedicke, KDAR, p. 214–225). According to this document, the ka-houses
of the vizier Idi are apparently already provided with estates for financing the cult when
king Demedjibtawy issues the decree. It is clear that Idi is alive at this moment. In Koptos
decree K, addressed to the vizier Shemai, it is implied that several ka-houses for him and
his wife are already in existence. The decree serves to appoint fifty-eight ka-priests in
these chapels (Goedicke, KDAR, p. 207–213; eighth dynasty).
271 In one of the ka-houses at Balāṭ, a royal decree issued by king Pepi II was found in which
the king declares he has allowed both the construction of a ka house for one of the local
governors and the mobilization of a priesthood for it. The text moreover points out that
the same policy had been followed for this governor’s predecessors, and this fact suggests
that what happened in this case followed a more widespread pattern (Soukiassian,
Wuttmann, Pantalacci, Balat VI, p. 310–314; p. 521). This idea is supported by the
find of a fragmentary decree of similar content in a neighbouring chapel (op. cit.,
p. 315). It is therefore likely that most, if not all governors at Balāṭ had a ka-house. One
of these governors was Medunefer. His chapel was damaged during a fire that raged
in the settlement, and was restored after that. This means that the Medunefer chapel
already existed before the fire. This is interesting, because the fire is known to have taken
place during Medunefer’s tenure (Soukiassian, Wuttmann, Schaad, BIFAO 90 [1990],
p. 355). Later, a successor of Medunefer created a new ka house for himself as well as
for Medunefer (Soukiassian [ed.], Balat XI, p. 5–24).
212 chapter 3
a tiny part of the population possessed coffins inscribed with such texts is
an irrelevant argument in attempting to determine the extent of the circle of
users, because it would be likely that the texts were also used in other forms.
Thus, he assumes that they would also be in circulation on papyri (a more
vulnerable material, which would have little chance to survive), or in the oral
circuit (which by definition does not leave behind any traces). Secondly, it
would according to him be possible that this was the case already in the Old
Kingdom, so that, effectively, there would be no change between the use pat-
tern in that period and in the Middle Kingdom. For that reason, establishing
a demography of the Coffin Texts “rather misses the point.” “Thus, as is true of
the Old Kingdom as well, we can only guess at what proportion of the Egyptian
population enjoyed the benefits of texts for the afterlife at the time when the
Coffin Texts were in use.”272
I fully agree with Smith that written compositions of the types encountered in
Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts were already in circulation in the Old Kingdom,
and not only for the royal funerary cult, but also for divine cults and the cults
of ‘patrons’. In the earlier edition of this book, which was not concerned with
this earlier material, I did not really go into the issue, although I did address
both the Medunefer shrine and the fact that the Pyramid Texts were not intrin-
sically royal, and would be used in private cult.273 The problem with these Old
Kingdom non-royal religious texts is that hardly a shred of them has survived
in recognizable form. However, it is nevertheless possible to gain an impres-
sion of some aspects of them. The scenario of the offering ritual as displayed
in Old and Middle Kingdom tomb decoration strictly follows the sequence of
the same ritual in the Pyramid Texts, where extensive recitations full of myth-
ological allusions are added.274 The same tomb scenes frequently depict lector
priests who are holding a papyrus and recite texts to accompany the ritual per-
formance. Frequently, the labels to these scenes make clear that the texts recited
are ‘glorification spells’ (sꜢḫ.w),275 a term that also designates a major part,
if not all, of the Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts. The idea of Smith and Hays276
that the offering cult in these early private tombs included very similar texts is
272 M. Smith, s.v. Democratization of the Afterlife, in: UEE (http://repositories.cdlib.org/

nelc/1147, version 1 June 2009), p. 9–10. An account that has many similarities to that of
Smith was recently published by Hays, in: Old Kingdom, New Perspectives, p. 115–130.
273 See also Willems, Heqata, p. 381, n. 59, concerning a dead person being buried as a priest,
with the evident intention of suggesting that this person knew religious texts.
274 Lapp, Opferformel, p. 153–194.
275 Lapp, Opferformel, p. 155–156.
276 In: Old Kingdom, New Perspectives, p. 123–130.
therefore attractive. But it is not entirely new, as essential elements of it were

already put forward by K. Sethe.277 The hypothesis also plays an important part
in J. Assmann’s studies on funerary liturgies.278
The evidence does not afford any direct clues, however, as to the size of the
text corpus in use in the private funerary and mortuary cult, or as to the group
of people using them. Smith apparently deems it possible that the corpus was
large, and widely used on papyri and orally.
Although it is impossible to prove that this is incorrect, it is striking that Smith
does not adduce any pertinent evidence. And there are strong indications that
his interpretation completely misrepresents the evidence.
Firstly, it is highly unlikely that ritual texts resembling the Pyramid Texts
or Coffin Texts were already widely in circulation for private use in the Old
Kingdom. Here I would refer in the first place to a group of texts in Old Kingdom
elite tombs, in which the deceased emphasizes the remarkable fact that he
knew such texts, and that they even were placed at his disposal by the king.279
Now tomb inscriptions of this kind are meant for display: they serve to profile
the tomb owner as a remarkable person. From this perspective it strikes one
as rhetorically incongruent if a high official would express his pride in having
known texts that were common knowledge. Statements like these only make
sense if it is assumed that access to these texts was not hierarchically neutral.
The likelihood of this can also be demonstrated in other ways.
Texts of the type we are dealing with seem to be rooted to a large extent in
ritual; Smith also works from this starting point. It is of course unknown what
the textual content was in individual cases, but archaeological remains never-
theless present clear hints, not only to the material aspect of the performances,
but to a certain extent also to the underlying conceptual world.
In the early Old Kingdom, corpses were usually buried in contracted posi-
tion, with the face being directed towards the nearby settlement or other local
features, such as the course of the Nile. In the course of the Old Kingdom, a
new custom emerges in royal burials and the surrounding ones of the high elite.
277 Sethe, Totenliteratur, p. 528–529, who, however, still assumes that the texts used in
private rituals originally differed fundamentally from the royal ones.
278 Assmann, Totenliturgien I, p. 13 ff.
279 An overview of the pertinent material is provided by Hays, in: Old Kingdom, New
Perspectives, p. 123–126. All these examples occur in tombs of high officials. A newly
discovered example from Tabbit al-Jaysh in Saqqāra significantly reads: “I know how to go
out into the day” (ı̓w<=ı̓> rḫ.kw prı̓.t m hrw), thus including a reference to a concept that
later became the title to CT spell 335 (= BD 17), and even of the Book of the Dead generally
(Midant-Reynes, Denoix, BIFAO 110 [2010], p. 343).
214 chapter 3
The body is now deposited in an extended position, the length-axis being strictly
oriented north–south, and the face looking east. Seidlmayer emphasizes that
the extended position does not have any antecedents in real life, contrary to the
earlier flexed attitude, which probably represents that of a sleeping person, or
perhaps of an unborn child in the womb. Therefore, the development testified to
in these elite tombs has the effect of transforming the body into a ‘ritual object’
of which the orientation suggests a connection with astronomical concepts
(for instance, the fact that the body ‘looks’ east may have served to establish
a connection with the rising sun). It is highly intriguing that neither the atti-
tude nor the orientation of the body are evenly distributed over the population.
Even in the First Intermediate Period and the early Middle Kingdom, these phe-
nomena are not generally encountered in non-elite burials. Seidlmayer argues
that this distribution, which clearly corresponds to a social gradient, strongly
suggests that religious knowledge was not evenly spread across the population.
He concludes from this: “we certainly have to imagine that the degree of profes-
sional involvement in the funeral (i.e. the collaboration of a priest) diminished
proportionally to the social position.280
Considerations of ‘price’ cannot have played any significant role in deciding
whether or not the corpse was orientated to the cardinal points. From this per-
spective, even for the poorest families there would be no bar to burying their
dead in the same way as had become customary among the rich. The fact that
for a long time they nevertheless did not take over this custom strongly suggests
that the elite adopted another form of ritual, which is likely to have been under-
pinned by other, or differently developed, religious conceptions. It seems more
than trivial that the segment of the population that mentions the “recitation of
many glorification spells (sꜢḫ.w)” in offering scenes in tombs coincides with the
group that practices an extended and astronomically oriented burial position.
In this group, one also encounters very extensive sets of funerary gifts. A
recent find in an Old Kingdom tomb from Abū Ṣīr shows that the items actually
deposited in the burial chamber could correspond closely to the content of the
offering list.281 Something similar has been observed in the nomarch burial of
Djehutinakht I (?), which I discovered in 2012 in Dayr al-Barshā. By contrast, it
has been noted that many simple burials in the Upper Egyptian provinces have
a standardized assemblage of funerary gifts only consisting of a cup and a bottle.
This shows that, among wide circles of the population, the offering ritual was
280 Seidlmayer, Gräberfelder, p. 412–427; citation from p. 423 (“Sicher muss man sich
vorstellen, dass das Ausmaß professioneller Beteiligung an der Bestattung (d.h. die
Mitwirkung eines Priesters) ebenso mit der sozialen Stellung abnahm).”
281 Ikram, in: The Old Kingdom Art and Archaeology, p. 167–173.
not practiced in the extended form that is rendered in the offering lists and the
Pyramid Texts, but in a form that is restricted to only two basic offerings.282
One reading of this state of affairs could be that the poor tombs only featured
an abridged offering ritual. Even if this is accepted, it is of course conceivable
that only the material part of the ritual was shortened, the texts recited being
similarly extensive as in the ‘complete’ ritual. Although this is possible, it does
imply that the participation of a competent priest was required. Since we have
seen that such a priest seems not even to have been involved when the body was
committed to the earth, this comes rather unexpectedly.
Conversely, it is also possible that the common format of the funerary offering
ritual consisted of a cup and a bottle only (a circumstance reflected in the offer-
ing determinative ),283 and that this was extended only in elite burials to the
complex ritual depicted in royal and elite tombs and rendered in the Pyramid
Texts. This interpretation seems more convincing to me, and it implies that the
glorifications recited in offering rituals were an elite phenomenon.
If this reading of the evidence is accepted, the consequence is that Old
Kingdom funerary texts were not as widespread as Smith claims, but that they
were rather accessible to only a small elite, just as is the case for the spread of the
Middle Kingdom Coffin Texts. Of course this does not necessarily imply there
was some sort of prohibition against the spread of these texts. Rather, the pen-
etration depth of these texts in the population seems to have been restricted by
other circumstances. These may have been purely practical, for instance when a
family was unable to raise the funds required for hiring a priest who could recite
these texts. They may also have been of a socio-cultural nature, for certain reli-
gious ideas may simply have been less widespread in certain segments of society
than in others.
It seems likely that borders between groups with different conventions may
have been only vague and flexible. Seidlmayer assumes that Egyptian funerary
culture should not be conceived of as being socially segmented, but that religious
innovations usually emerged in elite circles, to be taken over only later by the
rest of society. He moreover observes that in the late Old Kingdom and the First
Intermediate Period, this latter social segment displays a strong interest in sup-
plying the dead with emblematic elements of elite culture, even though many of
the pertinent objects stand out by their less than mediocre quality.284 One has
to await the late First Intermediate Period and the early Middle Kingdom to find
282 S.J. Seidlmayer, in: Social Aspects of Funerary Culture, p. 205–252.

283 Op. cit., p. 244, Abb. 18.
284 Op. cit., p. 231–240.
216 chapter 3
these groups burying their dead in extended position, and with astronomical
orientation. Also, objects of a purely symbolic nature, like funerary masks and
funerary models, now begin to emerge here. In his view this means that the for-
mer funerary elite culture was by now beginning to be embraced by all.285
In reaction to this it should first be pointed out that this development admit-
tedly cannot be denied, but that the evidence mustered by Seidlmayer only
covers iconic elements of material culture (including the body), but none of
the highly sophisticated Coffin Texts and Pyramid Texts. It therefore seems pos-
sible that only selected items and behavioural patterns of elite funerary culture
were imitated, just as had been the case before (see p. 135–138). Conceivably, the
religious conceptions associated with these elements may also have been known
to a degree, but one can only speculate about the extent to which the masses of
the Egyptian population were informed about this. As will be shown below, this
segment of the population in any case also developed funerary customs that
seem to have an entirely different background. Therefore it cannot be ruled out
that this particular funerary culture was only enriched with iconic elements of
elite funerary culture. This does not necessarily entail the consequence that the
underlying theological and ritual background was understood in the same way.
Here, M. Smith again perceives the situation in an entirely different fashion. It
is true that he accepts that the ownership of a coffin inscribed with Coffin Texts
must be taken as an elite phenomenon, but we have seen that he deems it likely
that other segments of society deployed less costly solutions. Thus, many people
may (according to him) have possessed small papyri bearing Coffin Texts. For
other people, the texts might only have been recited. This gradient is certainly
conceivable, but then one would at least expect evidence for another cheap and
widespread solution, in which the texts were inscribed on pots or potsherds.
If Smith were to be right, one would expect that the latter, cheaper vari-
ety would have survived in far greater masses than the expensive coffins. Now
papyri, inscribed pottery, and ostraca are in fact attested, but their frequency is
negligible. Smith explains this by the vulnerability of the material. This is to an
extent true for papyrus, but certainly not for inscribed pots and ostraca.
It is worthwhile to look more closely into the known evidence. The fact that
many papyri have effectively been found in Middle Kingdom tombs at first sight
suggests that Smith may be right. Closer inspection reveals, however, that this is
not the case. The following cases are known:
285 Seidlmayer, Gräberfelder, p. 426–427.

1) The Heqanakhte Papyri;286

2) The Jabalayn Papyri;287
3) The Reisner Papyri288
4) The Ramesseum Papyri289
5) Letters to the dead from Saqqāra and Najʿ al-Dayr290
6) Papyri Berlin 10480–10482291
7) P. Gol.292
8) The Gardiner Papyri293
9) Papyrus Weill294
Group 1 only proves that papyri preserve well in desert tombs, but it does not
really concern us here, because it does not consist of funerary gifts. Groups 2
and 3 were found in undisturbed burial chambers, but they are administrative
documents, not religious papyri. Group 4 was also found in a burial chamber,
and partly includes religious documents. However, the religious texts are not of a
funerary nature. Rather, the tomb owner, a religious practitioner, had used these
documents during his life.295 The reason why groups 2, 3 and 4 were deposited
in tombs may be that all had been personal property of the deceased. They are
irrelevant to our question.
The letters to the dead of group 5 are religious texts, and they are funerary,
but they derive from the ancestor cult. In form and content they diverge almost
entirely from Pyramid and Coffin Texts. This is not the case for papyrus Berlin
10482, the only published document of group 6. This document certainly
includes material that belongs to the corpus of the Coffin Texts. Moreover, the
286 Allen, The Heqanakht Papyri.

287 Posener-Kriéger, I papiri di Gebelein. Of course, these do not derive from the period
interesting us here. The example just shows how well papyrus can survive in tombs.
288 Simpson, Papyrus Reisner I; Idem, Papyrus Reisner II; Idem, Papyrus Reisner III; Idem,
Papyrus Reisner IV.
289 Gardiner, The Ramesseum Papyri.
290 Simpson, JEA 52 (1966), S. 39–52; Idem, JEA 56 (1970), S. 58–64. Here one might also refer
to the Cairo Text on Linen (Gardiner, Sethe, Egyptian Letters to the Dead, pl. I).
291 P. Berlin 10482 was published by Grapow, Über einen ägyptischen Papyrus aus dem frühen
Mittleren Reich.
292 Unpublished papyrus; see Borghouts, in: Akten des vierten Internationalen Ägyptolo-
genkongresses München 1985 III, p. 131–139.
293 Three papyri of unknown origin inscribed with ‘Coffin Texts’; all were completely included
in de Buck’s edition of the Coffin Texts.
294 Unpublished papyrus in the Louvre.
295 Ritner, The Mechanics of Ancient Egyptian Magical Practice, p. 231.
218 chapter 3
papyrus probably derives from a tomb in Asyūṭ.296 Jürgens’ thorough analysis

has, however, shown that Papyrus Berlin 10482 is in fact a kind of letter to the
dead, so that the offering liturgies written down on the papyrus are likely to have
been effectively used in the funerary cult at the tomb.297 In this regard the docu-
ment differs fundamentally from other Coffin Texts sources, which were part of
the funerary equipment. The origin of P. Gol., of which only photos are known,
is not clear. The document has no parallels in Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts,
although it to some extent resembles early books of the netherworld like the
Book of Two Ways. It remains unclear, however, whether it was meant as funer-
ary equipment.
Although de Buck published the Gardiner papyri (group 8) as Coffin Texts
manuscripts, most of the spells they contain have no parallels elsewhere. The
few other spells (i.e. those that do have parallels on other Coffin Texts sources)
are almost without exception extremely rare. No tomb owners are referred to in
the texts, and the find context of the documents is unknown. Therefore there
is no certainty that these documents were part of the equipment of a tomb.
Several authors in fact assume that the papyri are rather ‘Vorlagen’.298 The same
explanation is likely for the unpublished Papyrus Weill. This document admit-
tedly contains Coffin Texts, but it designates the deceased only as mn pn “so and
so.” This designation is used in ‘Vorlagen’ as a neutral designation of the owner
that has to be replaced by the real name in case the text is copied on behalf of
a specific individual. This at least allows us to decide that the text was intended
to be used for specific human individuals. It is not certain, however, that the
intended copies should be deposited in tombs as tomb equipment. They could
also be liturgical texts effectively used in the funerary cult in the tomb chapel, or
in private cult chapel in a temple.
This overview shows that Coffin Texts or similar written compositions are
occasionally attested on papyrus, but that not a single source can be shown to
have certainly been part of the funerary equipment. Even if groups 6–9 would be
accepted as evidence, their number would be vanishingly small as compared to
296 On account of the rare name of the papyrus owner, Zitman suggests (The Necropolis of
Assiut I, p. 165) that the document derives from tomb 48 of the unpublished excavations
of Hogarth in Asyūt. The same name has recently been found in a scene in tomb N.13.1
at Asyūṭ (el-Khadragy, SAK 36 [2007], p. 110).
297 Jürgens, GM 116 (1990), p. 52. In fact, the papyrus states unequivocally that the scroll was
a ḥby.t, i.e. a ritual scroll. The papyri are currently being prepared for publication by Ilona
Regulski. She informs me that one of the other papyri may also contain a letter to the
dead.
298 Gestermann, in: Egyptology at the Dawn of the Twenty-first Century I, p. 202–209.
the hundreds of inscribed coffins. It is unrealistic to assume that such material

was once widely used, but that all sources simply perished. No one would expect
that great quantities of funerary papyri would survive completely unscathed,
but Smith’s hypothesis would only be credible if at least patches of Coffin Text
papyri would be attested by the hundreds.299 Quod non.
The situation is similar as regards ostraca and inscribed pots. With the excep-
tion of the pots from the Qubbat al-Hawāʾ, which are mostly inscribed with
terms for offerings, one again overwhelmingly finds letters to the dead and
legal documents.300 Only two vessels from al‑Ḥarāja, dating to the late Middle
Kingdom, contain a few offering spells that somewhat resemble the Coffin
Texts.301 Remarkably, the quantity of this ‘cheapest’ group of texts is even smaller
than that of the papyri.
The evidential basis in no way supports Smith’s hypothesis. Coffins inscribed
with Coffin Texts do not represent the proverbial tip of an iceberg, which hides
vast quantities of cheaper varieties on papyrus (and pottery). It is far more real-
istic to assume that their spread on coffins accurately reflects the way these texts
were sociologically embedded.
The ‘Bottom-up’ Proliferation of Funerary Customs
In Egyptological parlance, the concept of ‘democratization’ is always used in

the sense of a proliferation of religious concepts from the higher to the lower
social strata (‘top-down’): customs of royal origin gradually spread themselves
among the population. We have seen that there are fundamental problems
with this assumption. In any case the sociological penetration depth of the
Pyramid and Coffin Texts has never been very deep. Therefore it must be
assumed that tombs situated below this threshold must reflect a funerary cul-
ture that is different in some essential regards. This problem will be addressed
in the present section.
The Coffin Texts are not a phenomenon that can be studied in isolation.
A tomb owner who possessed a decorated coffin inscribed with Coffin Texts is
299 I know from personal experience that papyrus preserves remarkably well in the higher
parts of the Dayr al-Barshā cemetery. The small fragments that we have found, however,
only contain demotic, Coptic, or Arabic texts.
300 For the letters to the dead, see the overview in Willems, in: Social Aspects of Funerary
Culture, p. 345–350. For the inscribed pots from the Qubbat al-Hawāʾ, siehe Edel, Die
Felsengräber der Qubbet el Hawa bei Assuan II.1; Seidlmayer, GM 208 (2006), p. 95–103.
301 Engelbach, Harageh, pl. 79.
220 chapter 3
usually buried as an astronomically orientated ‘mummy.’302 (S)he often also

possessed a funerary mask, funerary models (e.g. model bakeries, barques, and
servant figures), sticks, staves, weaponry, and a range of offering containers.303 It
is important to note that funerary contexts including ‘text coffins’ almost always
display this pattern, but that similar assemblages are frequently also associated
with simpler coffins without Coffin Texts. In a cemetery like Banī Ḥasan, for
instance, almost all tombs are equipped in this way, but only about a dozen of
the one hundred coffins found here display Coffin Texts.304 The Coffin Texts are
therefore associated with the upper range of the tombs with this kind of burial
assemblage.
In the study just referred to (n. 303), J. Bourriau has established that such
assemblages began to lose popularity from relatively early in the twelfth dynasty
onwards. However, in Middle Egypt the tradition was more persistent, just
like the tradition of the Coffin Texts. Here, a major reform in funerary culture
takes place only around the reign of Senwosret III, the period when the Coffin
Texts disappear as well. As we have seen above, the latter phenomenon was prob-
ably directly linked to the disappearance of nomarchal culture in this period
(see p. 171–181).
According to Bourriau, a new assemblage now comes to the fore. Some cof-
fins still betray a familiarity with the decorative tradition of the earlier Middle
Kingdom, but the decoration is from now on applied increasingly clumsily. New
coffin types, like the Theban ‘black coffins’, are still inscribed with religious texts,
but these only appear on the outside, and in significantly reduced quantity and
quality. The same observation can be made as regards other late Middle Kingdom
and Second Intermediate Period coffins.305 Funerary models disappear, being
replaced by new kinds of objects. For instance, shabtis (which had sporadically
occurred from the late eleventh dynasty onwards) are now attested in increas-
ing numbers, and they are occasionally inscribed with the shabti spell. Other
new categories are the so-called magic ivories, statuettes of naked women, and a
rather heterogeneous set of faience figurines.306
302 With this, I am referring to the form of the buried corpse, not necessarily to the kind of
body treatment.
303 Bourriau, in: Middle Kingdom Studies, p. 5–10; Hassan, Stöcke und Stäbe.
304 Here it should pointed out that the smaller tombs at this site can by no means be taken
as sources of information on the common people of the nome. Already in the lower ranks
buried in this cemetery, we are confronted with a class of officials of some importance
(Seidlmayer, in: Essays O’Connor II, p. 351–368).
305 For an overview of the material, see Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor.
306 Bourriau, op. cit., p. 10–16; for a list of tombs, see p. 16–20. See also the overview in
Miniaci, Rishi Coffins, p. 1–4.
Bourriau observes that many of these object categories are not purely funer-
ary in nature. For instance, it is known that magic ivories were also used in set-
tlement contexts, where they were used for the magical protection of pregnant
women, young mothers, and babies. She believes that their appearance in tombs
may reflect a funerary reinterpretation of these objects, now serving to facilitate
the rebirth of the deceased. Similarly, she speculates that the faience figurines
(which she explains as ‘magical’) might render some of the protagonists that
used to figure in the Coffin Texts. Following this reading of the evidence, the
form of the funerary equipment would have undergone a change, but the under-
lying ideas would have remained unchanged.307 At least for the figurines (hip-
popotami, mice, jumping cats, wrestlers, model cucumbers, etc.) this seems to
me to be completely out of the question. What is shown here (including even a
mother mouse and two baby mice!)308 has no parallels in the Coffin Texts. Many
of them are beautifully made and they may have represented a considerable
value, but were they more than visually attractive gadgets that the deceased had
had in their houses before they died? How else should one explain the mother
mouse? Similar considerations may explain the often beautiful cosmetic boxes
or game boards found in these tombs.
The idea that objects rooted in everyday magic were given a new funerary
function seems equally tenuous to me. If this were the case for the magic ivo-
ries, one would expect that these objects would have been produced specifically
for the tomb, in which case they would have to have been undamaged at the
moment of burial. However, many of these objects show clear traces of intensive
use. Therefore it is certain that their primary function was in domestic magic.
Perhaps they were placed inside the tomb because they had played a role when
the deceased was still a child or a young mother, being used in magical practices
intended to protect him or her against life-threatening dangers. Indirectly this
may have contributed to the hope that the object might retain its magic power
after the beneficiary’s death. But even if this was the case, this is clearly not an
essentially funerary theology. Rather, things that had been precious during life
accompanied the deceased into the netherworld.
Undoubtedly, funerary assemblages also included objects that were made
specifically for the tomb. Shabtis constitute an important category. They only
make sense in the funerary realm. But their aim is rather down-to-earth. On
the one hand they serve as a duplicate of the body of the deceased, on the
other, the shabti spell, with which they are sometimes inscribed, serves to dis-
charge the deceased of the duty to work physically in the hereafter. This text
(CT spell 472, corresponding to the more widely known Book of the chapter 6)
307 Bourriau, op. cit., p. 15.

308 Kemp, Merrillees, Minoan Pottery in Second Millennium Egypt, 1980, pl. 22.
222 chapter 3
is not only rather short, it is also concerned with rather pedestrian matters. No
theology is involved.
The few decorated late Middle Kingdom and Second Intermediate Period cof-
fins mostly seem to mechanically reproduce traditional elements. The tendency
is definitely towards increasing simplification of the decoration. Interior deco-
ration ceases almost completely,309 and the exterior decoration, if at all present,
usually is little more than a mediocre reproduction of elements of the decorative
pattern of the earlier Middle Kingdom. This tendency cannot only be observed
on coffins of private persons (like Cairo CG 28108). The outer coffin L9NY of
the lady Senebtisi from al-Lisht (late twelfth or early thirteenth dynasty) was
admittedly of a high quality and made of precious wood and gold leaf, but it
was almost undecorated, and the religious texts are restricted to a single line on
the lid.310 Even the beautiful coffin of king Hor includes only few texts, and no
decoration whatsoever.311 The importance of Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts was
clearly strongly marginalized, something one would not expect considering the
social position of the persons involved.
The tomb list appended to Bourriau’s article only includes the richly
endowed tombs of the later Middle Kingdom. However, she also refers to a series
of cemeteries where poorer tombs occur (Diospolis Parva, Qāw 7000, al-Kāb,
Dayr Rīfa), and others are also known like the ones in Mirgissa,312 or the one in
Dirāʾ Abū al-Najʿ.313 Studying the evidence from these sites, the following obser-
vations can be made over and again:
1. The tombs are only rarely provided with a cult place;

2. Many of the tombs were not intended for a single individual or a small
group of persons. Rather, the corpses in many cases seem to have been
heaped together;
309 The exceptions are the coffins of the Sesenebenef from al-Lisht (L1–2Li), the coffins
of the lady Gehset recently discovered at Dirāʾ Abū al-Najʿ (T1–2Lux) and a few others
with a very restricted amount of ‘Coffin Texts’ repertoire, which, moreover, does not
correspond to the earlier repertoire. Sesenebenef’s coffins were made for a lector priest,
whose professional background may have led him to order a coffin of his own design; it
is a unique case. Gehset’s coffins consist of what was probably a twelfth dynasty coffin
that was reused in the thirteenth dynasty; at that time the second coffin was made, which
partly simply imitates the earlier case (see n. 159).
310 Mace, Winlock, Senebtisi, pl. XVII. For the date, see Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor,
p. 28–29, with an overview of the pertinent literature.
311 de Morgan, Fouilles à Dahchour. Mars-juin 1894, pl. XXXVI.
312 Vercoutter, Mirgissa II.
313 Seiler, Tradition und Wandel.
3. The coffins are often badly made. Even those of better workmanship
often display a marked decrease in quality as compared to older deco-
rated (and inscribed) coffins;314
4. With the exception of coffins and shabtis, objects with a purely funerary
symbolic background are almost completely lacking;
5. Frequently, objects are placed in the tombs which seem to be devoid of
religious meaning, and which may well have been selected because they
had been cherished during life by the deceased.
6. Occasionally, objects are included that had probably been used during
the deceased’s life in magical practice (and particularly in birth magic);
7. Some offering containers are common. Sometimes this material consists
of ceramics used in daily life;315
8. Occasionally, shabtis are included.
Overall, such assemblages almost look ‘profane,’316 and this even holds true for
one of the few intrinsically funerary objects, the shabti, which serves to avoid
the prospect of having to work in the fields. Compared to tombs of the earlier
Middle Kingdom, the entire spectrum of funerary culture is strikingly untheo-
logical. It is particularly noteworthy that this even seems to be the case in court
314 Miniaci has recently adduced evidence suggesting that elements of the mostly late
Second Intermediate Period rishi coffins reproduce elements reflecting themes known
from the Middle Kingdom Coffin Texts (Rishi Coffins, p. 23–45). While much of his
account is convincing, a) these are royal and high elite tombs; and b) the degree to which
the earlier concepts are rendered is very restricted, and the execution always poor.
315 Seiler, op. cit., p. 52–77; 161.
316 Unfortunately, Egyptology has hitherto largely ignored the religious background of
the fundamental changes in funerary culture in the late Middle Kingdom and Second
Intermediate Period. Only A. Seiler has extensively addressed the issue. According to
her, the late Middle Kingdom assemblage in Thebes effectively only reflects an interest in
“materielle Versorgtheit” (i.e.: food offerings). This would have changed towards the end
of the Second Intermediate Period, when new types of ceramic objects were used, that
were meant for the magical protection of the deceased (Tradition und Wandel, p. 186–187).
Although this distribution of religious foci can be recognized in her material, it should
be stressed that this evidence is very restricted, merely consisting of the pottery from a
handful of tombs (far more material from the same area is discussed by Miniaci, Rishi
Coffins). Thus, non-ceramic objects that Seiler would undoubtedly have called ‘magical’
were already included in tombs in the Theban area itself in the late Middle Kingdom. As
an example of this, I refer here to the magic ivory from tomb 25 in the Asāsīf, dating to the
late twelfth or early thirteenth dynasty (Carter, Carnarvon, Five Years’ Explorations at
Thebes, p. 54 ff.; see also Bourriau, op. cit., p. 19–20).
224 chapter 3
circles (e.g. Senebtisi, king Hor), even though their burials still do contain a
somewhat larger variety of objects rooted in traditional funerary theology.
Bourriau has called attention to the fact that many of the late Middle
Kingdom provincial cemeteries just discussed have a location different from the
earlier nomarch cemeteries. Often, they already existed long before, and were
used by the lower social strata. In these cemeteries, it is hard to make a sharp
distinction between earlier and later Middle Kingdom burials.317 Unfortunately,
such sites have not attracted the attention they deserve, and many are badly
documented.
The tombs excavated by Brunton in the Qāw-Matmar region are an excep-
tion. Here, one can even follow developments over an extended period, starting
in the late Old Kingdom. In a recent publication, U. Dubiel reinvestigated the
tombs from this period, focusing on the amulets, seals and beads found there.
With reference to burials from the late Old Kingdom and early First Intermediate
Period, she showed that major parts of this tomb equipment are predominantly
associated with women and children. She also showed that many of the items
concerned are connected with the magical protection of pregnant women,
mothers, and children.318
To conclude: Although the borders were probably always blurred, it seems
justified to discern between an elite culture and a popular culture in funerary
customs. The latter must always have been the most common variety, but it is
far more difficult to define, since Egyptian archaeology has always focused on
elite tombs, which―with little justification―have come to be regarded as the
normal case.
Popular funerary culture was of course not unreligious, but it operated rela-
tively independently of theological discourse. The funerary gifts here are mostly
offering containers, status symbols, and magical items intended to offer protec-
tion against medical hazards (particularly in the realm of pregnancy and child
care). The aim of supplying the dead with such objects was probably on the
one hand material provisioning, and on the other to provide the deceased with
objects that had been precious to him or her during life. At the same time, it
cannot be ruled out that the magical objects were hoped to continue to provide
the same kind of protection in the netherworld that they had done during life.
317 Bourriau, op. cit., p. 11. To her evidence one might add three cemeteries in Abydos,
Ḥarāja, and Riqqa that were studied by J. Richards (Society and Death in Ancient Egypt),
or the cemetery of Isnā (D. Downes, The Excavations at Esna 1905–1906 [Warminster,
1974]; see also B.J. Kemps review of Downes’ book in JEA 64 [1978], p. 165–168 and Op de
Beeck, A Functional Analysis of Egyptian Burial Equipment, p. 333–355).
318 Dubiel, Amulette, Siegel und Perlen, p. 67–78; 112–117.
This is certainly not unlikely, but it does not justify the conclusion that they had
become funerary objects.
Objects with a similar background (although of a different form) are already
in evidence in the late Old Kingdom. It is conceivable that the magical items that
come increasingly to the fore in the later Middle Kingdom have the same roots.
U. Dubiel has suggested that both represent the same tradition.319
It seems likely that elite funerary culture at least in part built upon this basis.320
Here, however, funerary and mortuary ritual is increasingly taken over by pro-
fessional priests, who place the performance in a theological perspective by
reciting liturgies. In the royal tomb, such texts were then for the first time also
recorded in monumental form as the Pyramid Texts. We have seen that this
does not imply that only kings could benefit from such texts. Members of the
high elite also could, although the habit of inscribing their tombs, and more fre-
quently coffins, with them, only became widespread much later.
Conclusion: The Rise and Fall of the Coffin Texts
The time when texts of the kind now known as the Coffin Texts were first writ-
ten down cannot be defined with certainty. The first known coffin on which
they occur belonged to the governor Medunefer, who lived in the reign of phar-
aoh Pepi II, i.e. in the late Old Kingdom.321 But indirect evidence shows that
texts that were probably very similar were used in the cults of private persons
(and of course kings) earlier.322 The evidence that we have discussed suggests
that the offering ritual was the performative context of these recitations, which
were called sꜢḫ, a causative formation literally meaning “to transform into an
Ꜣḫ-spirit.” Such spirits are transcendental beings. Gods are often described as
being a spirit, and by converting a human being through ritual into the same
category, (s)he to an extent became divine also. Similar recitations were proba-
bly used for cult statues of gods. Stated differently, all these texts may at least in
319 Op. cit., p. 218.

320 This also renders likely that items representing popular culture may turn up in elite
burials. Thus, a twelfth dynasty burial in zone 2 in Dayr al-Barshā included a statuette
probably depicting a woman on a birth brick, a faience hippopotamus, and a faience
hedgehog (information drawn from the unpublished MA thesis of my student G. Long
[Dating the tomb of Governor Nehri I, p. 87; 91]).
321 Valloggia, Balat I, p. 74–78, pl. 62–63.
322 See p. 212–216.
226 chapter 3
part derive from a broad reservoir of liturgical material, that is not necessarily
intrinsically funerary in nature.
In the recent literature, a strong case has repeatedly been made for the
hypothesis that Pyramid Texts are not specifically royal, and that the user cir-
cle of these texts was in reality much wider. This debate was long overdue, but
in stressing there was no prohibition against the use of Pyramid Texts by non-
royals, it has perhaps been assumed too hastily that the text collections used
by the latter and by the king were essentially the same. This is possible, but
before the advent of the Coffin Texts we simply have no way of telling how many
texts were used in Old Kingdom private cults. I am not going to argue that non-
royals had only few at their disposal. Yet if an Old Kingdom tomb biography
states that a person had access to ritual texts, we still do not know how many
he disposed of. Since, as we have seen, access to these texts required the
involvement of professional priests, and that a price tag was attached to this,
it is inherently likely that the amount of texts available to a person may in part
have depended on his financial position, and by implication on social rank.
A few coffins inscribed, like that of the earlier Medunefer, with religious
texts, can be dated to the First Intermediate Period,323 but the custom only
really established itself in funerary tradition in the early Middle Kingdom.
At that moment, the creation of the new state leads to the emergence of a
national elite about which we are informed mainly through their tombs. At
this point, the royal funerary complexes are no longer adorned with Pyramid
Texts or other funerary inscriptions, even though they remained in use in the
pyramid cult.324 But a very similar collection, the Coffin Texts, now emerges
massively on the walls of private tombs and coffins to give expression to the
religious aspirations of the highest elite, which also adopts a selection of texts
already known from the Old Kingdom pyramids.
From now on we can see how many texts a deceased possessed, at least as
part of his tomb equipment, and the quantity is in many cases vast. An impor-
tant but underrated aspect of the documents is that parallel texts admittedly
exist, but that the selection differs from coffin to coffin. This suggests that the
composition was in each case individually developed, and this probably by a
scribe well-versed in writing religious texts. Most likely the scribes were theo-
logically trained, and were attached to a temple scriptorium (in Egyptian called
the ‘House of Life’). Also, the handwriting can differ widely, but on the whole
seems to be consistent at individual sites. This suggests that there were Houses
323 See p. 133, n. 32.

324 See p. 174, n. 167.
of Life in different parts of Egypt, but the most important one was undoubt-
edly the one attached to the temple of Thoth in al‑Ashmūnayn.
In a later tradition widely in evidence in the Book of the Dead, this temple
was considered as a repository of very ancient religious papyri. Perhaps the
temple, which was after all dedicated to the god of writing and wisdom,
already had this reputation in the early Middle Kingdom. In any case, soon
after Mentuhotep II had succeeded in reuniting Egypt, large collections of
religious texts seem to have been transferred here from the Memphite region.
Soon after, Coffin Texts emerge in large quantities on coffins and tombs of cour-
tiers in Thebes, in Dayr al‑Barshā (where the regional nomarchs were b uried,
who were also in charge of the Thoth temple of al-Ashmūnayn), and also in
Saqqāra; and in due course, al-Ashmūnayn may also have supplied scriptoria
elsewhere in Egypt with Vorlagen.325 In chapter 2 we have argued, based on the
groundwork laid by L. Gestermann, that this was part of a government policy.
It therefore stands to reason that the sudden and widespread occurrence of
Coffin Texts in the funerary complexes of the highest non-royal elite cannot
have happened without royal consent. Although one can only speculate about
what motivated the creation of this new funerary culture, it tastes even like a
deliberate manoeuvre: perhaps, as had been the case earlier according to some
Old Kingdom texts, the king effectively awarded his most important officials
with such texts.
I hypothesize that the ka-houses played an important part in the emergence
of the Coffin Texts. We have seen that the first person known to have had Coffin
Texts was Medunefer, a sixth dynasty governor of the Dākhla Oasis. In this case,
we happen to know not only the tomb where he was buried, but also the town
where he lived, and here, several governors (including Medunefer himself)
possessed a ka-house.326 We have also seen that this cult already began during
Medunefer’s life, and the same was undoubtedly the case with the owners of
other ka-houses.
There are indications that at least one member of the Theban high elite in
the early Middle Kingdom also had a ka-house. This person was Antef, son of
Myt, who lived during the reign of Mentuhotep III. On one of his funerary ste-
lae, he mentions having a “temple of this sꜤḥ” (r-pr n sꜤḥ pn), where ka-priests
325 This would explain why text critical study of many Coffin Texts spells reveals that text
versions from Dayr al-Barshā play a prominent role in the tradition (Gestermann, in:
D’un monde à l’autre, p. 201–203).
326 See p. 118–120. It is now known that, besides the ka-house Medunefer built for himself,
one of his successors built a second structure dedicated to him close by (Soukiassian
[ed.], Balat XI, p. 9–12).
228 chapter 3
worked for him.327 Since Antef son of Myt certainly was not the highest official
of his time, other high-ranking Thebans may well also have had such a cult
place. As we have seen above, similar chapels dedicated to the nomarchs prob-
ably existed in Dayr al-Barshā, and others are textually attested in other parts
of Egypt also. In these cases, the term ka-house refers to independent, tem-
ple-like structures, but there were also ka- houses that were placed in temples.328
In yet other cases, even tomb chapels could be called called “ka-house.”329
In many ways, the most interesting example of this category of cult places
is the Heqaib sanctuary at Elephantine, because it also provides us with the
liturgical texts that were probably used there. The selection includes variants
of sꜢḫ.w-spells from the Pyramid Texts and Coffin Texts spells.330 Although this
is the only case where such texts were inscribed on stelae and shrine walls, it is
likely that sꜢḫ.w liturgies were recited in the uninscribed ka-houses as well. This
is an important point. Recitations of this kind served to transform the human
beneficiary into a divine being, and since it is known that ka-houses already
began functioning when the beneficiaries were still alive, these persons must
repeatedly have been present when this happened. Thus, the assimilation of a
dead person to a god, which is commonplace both in the Pyramid Texts and
the Coffin Texts, had antecedents in real life. This may have contributed to a
desire to continue to benefit from the same or similar texts after death.
The cult of the governor seems to have been particularly persistent in
Middle Egypt. One even has the impression that its importance grew in the
course of the twelfth dynasty. Here one only has to think of Djehutihotep’s cult
chapel, which included a massive statue, and the colossal tombs at Asyūṭ and
Qāw al-Kabīr. This phenomenon may have contributed to the persistence of
the Coffin Texts in this part of Egypt.
The ka-houses can therefore be interpreted as places where religious
texts were mobilized for the private cult of high-placed officials. Although I
believe that they were instrumental in the development of the Coffin Texts,
this does not imply that every deceased whose coffin bore Coffin Texts also
327 TPPI § 33, 12–13.

328 In the Old Kingdom, such ka-houses are for instance referred to in Koptos decree R.
Although the term ka-house is not used here, the private cult places of Djefaihapi I in one
of the temples of Asyūṭ, which are extensively discussed in the famous contracts in his
tomb, are evidently of the same kind.
329 For the Old Kingdom, e.g. Goedicke, PRAR, p. 174–175, n. 3; pl. XIIa; for the Middle
Kingdom, e.g. the tomb chapel of Hetep in Saqqāra (Firth, Gunn, Teti Pyramid Cemeteries
I, p. 275).
330 See p. 209.
had a ka-house. Rather, these chapels may have played an important role in
the emergence of the custom to inscribe coffins with liturgies. But once this
had happened, the custom may have developed its own dynamics. Other, less
highly placed members of the elite may also have desired to have Coffin Texts,
and this may have led to a wider dissemination of these texts. Yet, as our demo-
graphic study has revealed, the number of people who effectively succeeded
in acquiring Coffin Texts always remained extremely restricted. Therefore, the
idea that the Coffin Texts reflect a ‘democratization’ of the afterlife must be
considered a phantom.
At the end of the Middle Kingdom, the nomarch courts disappear, and the
Coffin Texts with them. It is true that a small amount of sources of late Middle
Kingdom date exist, some of which de Buck included in his edition of the
Coffin Texts. Certainly these are coffins inscribed with funerary texts, but their
study reveals a completely different religious world, which has more in com-
mon with the Book of the Dead.331 And the pertinent sources are only small in
number.
With the disappearance of the elite funerary culture that took shape in the
second half of the twelfth dynasty, popular funerary culture filled the void.
Surely the elite continued to deposit well-made, expensive objects in tombs,
but hardly any of them give expression to the complex religious ideas that
prevailed earlier. In this new era, the funerary assemblage seems to focus on
simpler matters: the material means to survive, objects the deceased had cher-
ished in life, and magical equipment (s)he had benefited from when still alive.
331 A separate study of this extremely interesting material is being prepared by the author.
Concordance to the Sigla of Coffin Texts
Manuscripts and Middle Kingdom Coffins
In connection with chapter 3, the need to quantify coffin production at dif-

ferent sites necessitated me to compile evidence scattered over many differ-
ent publications. While I carried out this research, it gradually began to dawn
upon me how active scholars have been in this domain over the past decades,
but also how different their methods of documentation and referencing are.
A major problem is that numerous scholars have developed their own ref-
erence systems, often leading to one source being designated by different
numbers, or, conversely, one code being used in the publications to refer to
a range of different coffins. Occasionally one author in one publication even
uses two codes for one and the same source. The continuous need of checking
and cross-checking references gave me the idea that it would be useful to pro-
vide an overview with a consistent encoding system to refer to all sources that
might be relevant to, in the broad sense, the study of “Middle Kingdom” coffins.
I have thought it useful in the table below to present an overview of the var-
ious sigla that have been used. Also, I will propose a running series of unique
codes for published and unpublished coffins, in the hope that confusion can
be reduced to a tolerable minimum. Before presenting the table, a word of
explanation is in order.
When A. de Buck stood before the task of documenting the sources of the
Coffin Texts, he developed a format for encoding the sources. Basically, all CT
sources received a code made up of two elements:
a) an alphabetic code referring to the place of origin of the source, like “S”
for Asyūṭ [i.e., Siut] or “BH” for Banī Ḥasan, was placed at the head of the
coffin designation; and
b) an alphanumeric code was placed after this designation, indicating the
present location of the source. These latter codes are almost always com-
posed of a number plus a location code. Thus, “C” means Cairo, or “P”
Paris, and the number preceding this indicates which specific source kept
at this place is meant. Accordingly, “S6P” refers to a coffin from Asyūṭ,
and from the coffins from that site now in Paris, this is the sixth.
Although this system is used for almost all Coffin Texts sources, de Buck occa-
sionally used sigla of a different type. For instance, some tombs at Thebes
with burial chambers inscribed with Coffin Texts (and/or Pyramid Texts) are

Concordance to the Sigla of Coffin Texts Manuscripts 231
referred to by their Theban Tomb number (e.g. TT311); one source is desig-
nated MC105 (for “Mentuhotep Cemetery 105”); and one coffin now in the
Hermitage received the code “H.”
A. de Buck compiled a very extensive list of sources encoded by sigla; an
easily surveyable overview is presented in Lesko, Index. These sigla appear in
the leftmost column in the table below. In using this list, it should be borne
in mind that is was de Buck’s aim to produce a synoptic edition of all texts
that were considered “Coffin Texts.” Although these usually occur on coffins,
this is by no means the only place where they appear. Other possible media are
(stone) sarcophagi, walls of burial chambers, canopic boxes, funerary masks,
papyri, stelae, and others. Therefore, his list also includes objects of these
classes.
In 1988 I published Chests of Life, a book of which the purpose was not to
study the Coffin Texts as such, but to develop, for the first time, a typology that
would allow scholars to determine the origin and date of individual coffins. For
this study, the problem of how to designate coffins immediately posed itself.
Since the book as originally conceived aimed to present an overview of the
typological development of coffins decorated on both the outside and inside
(i.e. coffins provided with Coffin Texts and object friezes), it was self-evident
to adopt the already existing system of designations introduced by de Buck.
In the course of the work, however, it proved almost impossible to develop
consistent typologies covering the entire insides and outsides of this group of
coffins. It appeared that a clearer picture emerged by treating the outsides and
the insides separately, and in analyzing the outer decoration of the coffins, it
obviously became necessary also to study coffins that were only decorated on
that side. At the moment this decision was taken, I already had at my disposal
the core of what would become my “list 1,” which provides an overview of cof-
fins decorated both on the inside and on the outside. I decided to keep this list
in the form it already had, and to add “list 2”, for coffins only decorated on the
outside. In order to distinguish coffins of the two groups, a new type of siglum
was developed for this second list, in which the “present location code” was
dropped. Thus, the coffins in list 2 were designated by sigla only consisting of
an indication of the find place followed by a running number. This led to sigla
like S1 (“Asyūṭ 1”). In comparing, for instance, this code with S1P, it would be
immediately clear that the latter is decorated inside (and outside), whereas the
former is only decorated on the outside. My reference system is provided in
the second column of the table below.1
1 Almost all these codes were listed in my Chests of Life, p. 19–40. However, in the appendix
to Les Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie, p. 229–232, I added a few additional sources,
232 Concordance to the Sigla
The conception of list 2 constitutes probably the most criticized feature of

Chests of Life, and in hindsight, I can only subscribe to this criticism. One prob-
lem of my approach is that, for part of the material, information on the present
location is immediately visible, whereas this is not provided for another part of
the documentation, for which such data are of course no less relevant.
Another point is that I used the list compiled by de Buck as though it were
intended to present coffins decorated both on the inside and the outside.
However, as pointed out above, this was not de Buck’s intention at all. He
rather wanted to list Coffin Texts sources. Not only do these texts appear on
documents other than coffins, in a relatively small number of cases Coffin Texts
also appear on coffins only decorated on the outside. Therefore, the distinction
between the two lists became somewhat blurred. I have much regretted that
I have not incorporated all data into one list, and one aim of this appendix is
to remedy this mistake. This means that all coffins (whether decorated on the
inside or not) will receive a siglum of the S1P-type.
Other scholars have been struggling with the same problem. In his Typologie,
G. Lapp devised one type of siglum for all coffins (and burial chambers and
sarcophagi) that he studied (third column in table below). In principle his
system is elegant: for each site, all sources are listed, based on an alphabetic
arrangement of the owners. Moreover, where one owner had, for instance, an
inner and an outer coffin, they received the same base number, but were dis-
tinguished by “a” or “b.” Thus, the inner and the outer coffins of Nakht from
Asyūṭ, which de Buck had numbered S1P and S2P, in Lapp’s book received the
numbers S46a and S46b.
Although this system is undeniably efficient, it has one great drawback.
Almost all scholars interested in Middle Kingdom coffins are deeply familiar
with de Buck’s edition of the Coffin Texts. Therefore, they know the codes S1P
and S2P, but they will always need to consult Lapp’s index to find out what his
numbers mean. It is probably for this reason that most other scholars have
adhered to a version of de Buck’s numbering system. This was, for instance,
done by Allen, Zitman, Hannig, and Grajetzki. Nevertheless, each of these
systems presents problems of their own.
Allen for the first time presented his sigla in a paper that provides a pre-
liminary overview of his research on the coffins excavated early in the twenti-
eth century by the Metropolitan Museum of Art at al-Lisht.2 For these sources
he developed a new encoding system, which he did not really explain, but
in some cases proposing new sigla. Wherever this is the case, I have indicated this in the
footnotes to the list below.
2 Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 1–15.
which apparently consists of an abbreviation of the owner’s name (e.g. MH

for Mentuhotep) followed, whenever that person had more than one relevant
object, by a number and sometimes a letter code. Thus, the sarcophagus of the
vizier Mentuhotep, discovered in 1988 at al-Lisht, received the code MH1A. In
the process, some coffins that already had a de Buck number received a new
designation. For instance, coffin L3Li now became N1A (the N referring to the
personal name Nakht). Later, Allen published the eighth volume of the Coffin
Texts, dedicated to sources inscribed with text compositions already known
from the Old Kingdom royal pyramids.3 Here, Allen partly used the same
encoding system as in his earlier article, but with the addition of the letter L for
al-Lisht. Thus, MH1A now became L-MH1A. Several points are confusing with
Allen’s sigla. In the first place, two different codes are used for the coffins from
al-Lisht. Secondly, these sigla are only used for coffins from this site, whereas,
otherwise, Allen adheres to the encoding system devised by de Buck. Thirdly,
whereas Allen initially gave a new code to all sources from al-Lisht, he later
decided to retain de Buck’s sigla for some Lisht coffins, assigning new codes to
the others. Thus, the coffin that de Buck had called L1NY was initially referred
to by Allen as KH1, but later again as L1NY.
Allen’s codes can be found in the fourth register in the table below. Because
Allen at different points in time used different sigla for the same coffin, I have
separated these alternatives by a slash (thus, PW1A/L-PW1A or SN1A/L2Li).
There is no need to argue that this system, with its separate sigla for (some)
coffins from one site that were, moreover, changed over time, and its adher-
ence for all other coffins to de Buck’s sigla, needlessly complicates matters.
I would propose to follow the more straightforward course of using one sys-
tem consistently for all coffins, and that this system should be the one already
introduced by de Buck.4
A last point to note as regards Allen’s reference system is that he, although
generally adhering to de Buck’s sigla, occasionally changes a coffin designa-
tion slightly. This is the case for two coffins that de Buck encoded as “Sid1X”
and “Sid2X,” “Sid” referring to the site of Sidmant al-Jabal, and “X” indicating
that de Buck did not know where these coffins had ended up. It is mean-
while known that they are in the collection of the Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek in
Copenhagen, and for this reason, Allen changed to codes to “Sed1Cop” and
3 CT VIII.
4 In his recent dissertation (Transmission of the Pyramid Texts, p. xxvii–xxx), A. Morales
largely accepts Allen’s sigla, but occasionally he also introduces slightly different sigla of his
own. Thus, the inscribed burial chamber of Senwosretankh at al-Lisht, which was designated
by de Buck as S, and as L5a by Lapp, is called “Sen.” by him.
“Sed2Cop.” For similar reasons, Zitman changed the siglum “S4P” to “S1Dij”,
because this coffin is no longer in the Louvre, but in Dijon.
It is clear that both authors are driven by a desire to use correct references.
In fact it is important that scholars should be able to keep track of changes in
whereabouts of source material. However, sigla are not the most obvious place
to provide this kind of information. Coffin Texts specialists know the desig-
nations S4P, Sid1X, and Sid2X, but would need all the time to check under
which designation they can find for instance S1Dij in the Coffin Texts volumes.
Moreover, rebaptizing S4P to S1Dij implies that the code S4P now becomes an
empty number. It is not farfetched to assume that, should the Louvre acquire
a new coffin from Asyūṭ, some scholars might opt to designate this source by
the ‘vacant’ siglum S4P. To avoid such complications I suggest to change exist-
ing sigla as little as possible, and particularly to avoid this at all costs in the
case of sources appearing in the core publication by de Buck. Information on
(changes in) the present location can be provided in lists such as are provided
below.
Both R. Hannig5 and M. Zitman6 compiled extensive lists, mostly con-
cerning coffins from Asyūṭ (columns 5 and 6 in the list below). The impor-
tance of both works is that they significantly expand the number of known
sources from this site. Both authors follow de Buck’s system of encoding cof-
fins, regardless of whether they are decorated only on the outside, or both on
the outside and the inside. Despite the value of these compilations, they raise
problems, as well. Firstly, Zitman’s book is inconsistent in using de Buck-type
sigla for sources from Asyūṭ, but Lapp’s differently structured sigla for mate-
rial from all other sites. Moreover, although both Zitman and Hannig use the
same system of referencing, the sigla they created usually refer to the same
coffin by a different code.
Apart from these major publications, W. Grajetzki has in several publica-
tions also introduced new sigla, mostly for late Middle Kingdom and Second
Intermediate Period coffins. The most complete overview of these can be
found in Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor. References to this smaller list have
been incorporated in column 7.
In column 8 of the concordance, I have indicated the class of object con-
cerned: (inner, middle, and outer) coffins; model coffins, inscribed burial
chambers, canopic boxes, tomb chapels, funerary beds, funerary masks, natron
chests, papyri, statues, stelae, and walls.
5 Hannig, Zur Paläographie.

6 Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut.
The ninth column, headed by the caption “Identification,” has the aim of
identifying the source in question. In most cases this is a museum number,
but where such information is not available, a brief bibliographic note has
been added.7 This does not have the aim of being complete, but only to make
it possible to recognize which source is being referred to. In the case of objects
with a museum number, such bibliographic data are provided occasionally in
footnotes. This was done only where I thought such a note might be useful to
avoid confusion, or where more recent literature exists that is not yet provided
in earlier overviews. For more complete bibliographic references, the reader
will, however, always have to consult the lists published earlier by myself, Lapp,
Hannig, and Zitman, and Grajetzki. I have occasionally also added refer-
ences to recent publications not yet provided by earlier siglum lists.
In the rightmost column I will make proposals for sigla to be used from now
on. Here I have followed the following guidelines:
1. The sigla should for all coffins follow the format “code for place of
origin”-“code for current location” such as was devised by de Buck
(S1P-format).
2. In using the sigla, consistency should be striven for. This is particularly
urgent in the case of the sigla introduced by de Buck because of their
very widespread use in the literature. Changing these well-known desig-
nations would only lead to confusion. For this reason, even the cases
where de Buck himself was inconsistent in the format used, will simply
be accepted. The de Buck sigla are therefore the most important, but
generally speaking, seniority of lists will play an important part in deter-
mining which siglum to use, because of the relatively greater chance that
older sigla may have been picked up in the literature. However, all codes
from Willems’ list 2 have been converted to the de Buck format.
3. I have not followed this course in a few cases where de Buck used a
wrong indication for the place of origin of coffins. This indication is of
such importance for analysis regional differences that we have here
introduced new codes, however providing a cross-reference at the place
where the earlier code occurs in the list.
4. For the Asyūṭ material, Zitman’s sigla have as a rule been accepted,
except in the case of X-coffins, i.e. the coffins of which the present where-
abouts are unknown. This is because, for unclear reasons, Zitman chose
to split source S1X into two, designated as S1X and S2X. As a result, all
7 For reaseons of brevity, the bibliographic references in the table are of the type “author’s
name” “year of appearance.”
subsequent X-sources are one number off as compared to the lists drawn
up by Willems and Hannig.
5. In a few cases, scholars have somewhat changed codes, particularly in
the indications of the present locations. Here, I have usually preferred the
older (and usually shorter) versions (e.g. “Mi” instead of “Min” for “Minia”).
6. In a few cases, authors have defined new codes that inadvertently over-
lapped with a code that is already in use. Both Hannig and Zitman intro-
duced the present location code “Tor” for Turin, apparently not realizing
that “Tor” was already in use for Toronto, and that de Buck had used the
code “T” for Turin. Since the coffins G1T and G2T are frequently referred
to in the literature, I have chosen to leave the code for this museum
unchanged, as well as that for Toronto. Therefore, all “Tor”-codes refer-
ring to Turin have been changed into “T”-codes. Similarly, the code “Ham”
is used indiscriminately for Hamm and Hamburg. For the latter place, I
will use “Ham”, for the former, “Hamm”. Hannig’s ‘present location code’
“Y,” which he uses for coffins owned by anonymous art collectors, is con-
fusing as “Y” was already in use for Yale. These codes have been changed
into “X” for “location unknown.”
7. A large number of sources now in Turin have not (yet) received a siglum.
These sources are listed in Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut, p. 152. As the
author remarks, many of these numbers could in fact belong to coffins
already covered by the sigla S51Tor-S69Tor. Therefore, assigning new
numbers in this case would probably lead to the creation of “ghost cof-
fins.” These documents have therefore not yet received a siglum.
8. I have not included all sources listed by Lapp, Typologie, p. 270–313. Very
many of those date back to the Old Kingdom, and are decorated burial
chambers that are only marginally relevant to the research presented
here, or to Coffin Texts studies. Royal funerary monuments also have gen-
erally been disregarded except where they are typologically directly com-
parable to funerary monuments of private persons (like in the case of the
dummy coffin of Mentuhotep II found in the Bāb al-Husān). Similarly,
undecorated coffins and anthropomorphic Middle Kingdom coffins have
been left out.
9. On the other hand, Coffin Texts sources that are not coffins have been
retained if they were already present in the list drawn by de Buck.
Examples are inscribed burial chambers and tomb chapels, funerary
masks, canopic boxes, and papyri. Also, although sources predating the
emergence of the Coffin Texts (predominantly in the Middle Kingdom)
have as a rule been left out, a few sources that bear similar texts have
been kept. Also, it is impossible to clearly define an end date for the Coffin
Texts. De Buck assigned sigla to several sources that date to the late
Middle Kingdom, and that, to different extents, fall outside the tradition
dealt with in this book. However, since these sources have well-known
de Buck-sigla, I have chosen to leave them in the list. Recently, Grajetzki
published documentation on a whole series of late Middle Kingdom and
Second Intermediate Period sources, many of which bear a limited selec-
tion of religious texts. I have chosen to incorporate this evidence as well,
except where the material seemed clearly to date to the late Second
Intermediate Period and early New Kingdom.
Accordingly, the list below includes more material than is relevant for this
book, but it was thought that this might serve scholars interested in Coffin
Texts and related material. It is important to note, however, that the quantifi-
cations in chapter 3 were not arrived at by simply counting the sources in the
list, but by taking a close look at the sources compiled to see which material
was relevant from the perspective of the questions dealt with.
De Buck Willems Lapp Allen Hannig Zitman
Aswān
A1A
A2A
A3A
A4A
A5A
A1C A1C A1
Abū Ṣīr (Abusir)

Ab110 Ab2
Ab611 Ab1
Ab212 Ab5
Ab513 Ab9
Ab1C14
Ab315 Ab8
AB1Le AB1Le Ab6a Ab1Le
AB2Le AB2Le Ab6b Ab2Le
Ab417 Ab4
Ab1X Ab10
Ab2X Ab3
Ab3X
Ab718
Abydos
Aby1Ph Aby1Ph Aby4
Aby1 Aby2
8 http://egyptology.blogspot.be/2012/02/discovery-of-20-mummies-and-wooden.html.
9 Designated as A1X by Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 3; 53. However, this coffin was
seen by M. Zitman in the Cairo Museum.
10 Schäfer, Priestergräber, p. 21–24.
Grajetzki Class Identification Proposed siglum
Chapel Habachi 1985 no. 1 A1A

Statue Habachi 1985 no. 27 A3A
Statue Habachi 1985 no. 70 A5A
Coffin Coffin discovered by a team of the A6A
University of Jaen (2012)8
Coffin CJ 36418 A1C
Coffin Willems 1997, 356–357, n. 479 A2C
A1X Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 53–54 (A2X) A1X
Coffin Berlin 16.200 Ab1Be

Coffin Berlin 18305 Ab2Be
Coffin Bonn Ab1Bonn
Coffin Bremen Übersee Mus. B.937 Ab1Bre
Coffin Bareš 1991, 89–94 Ab1C
Coffin Hamburg MfV C.3711 Ab1Ham
Outer coffin Leipzig Inv. 4 AB1Le
Inner coffin Leizpig Inv. 3 AB2Le
Middle coffin Liverpool Museum 55.82.114 Ab1Liv16
Coffin München ÄS 1031 Ab1Mün
Coffin Schäfer 1908, 90 Ab1X
Coffin Schäfer 1908, 107–109 Ab2X
Coffin Schäfer 1908, 99 Ab3X
Coffin Bareš 1991, 95 Ab4X
Coffin Phil. Un. Mus. E12505A–G AbyPh

Aby119 Sarcophagus Brussels MRAH E5277 Aby1Br
(Continued)
14 Willems, Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie, p. 232, n. 232.

16 Bourriau, Pharaohs and Mortals, p. 93–94 (74).
19 Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 40.
(Continued)
Aby220
Aby327
Aby428
Aby529
Akhmīm
Akh1030
Ach27*31
Akh1 Ach15
Akh2 Ach5
Akh3 Ach23
Akh4 Ach10
Akh5 Ach17
Akh6 Ach3
Akh7 Ach6
Akh8 Ach16
20 Willems, Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie, p. 231 (n. 214); Stewart, Egyptian
Stelae II, 20 (85); pl. 13.1. The number Aby2 also appears in Grajetzki, GM 166 (1998),
p. 32. In Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 3; 42, the same siglum is given to what is
here called coffin Aby1X.
21 Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 3; 13–14.
22 Grajetzki, SAK 34 (2006), p. 205–216. Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 3 designates
this coffin as Aby7.
23 Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 3; 42: Aby2; in Grajetzki, GM 166 (1998), p. 32, the
same siglum is given to the coffin here designated as Aby1L.
Aby2 Sarcophagus London UC16590 Aby1L

Aby6 Middle coffin Liverpool 55.82.11421 Aby1Liv
Aby7 Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. 195222 Aby1Ox
Aby2 Coffin Peet, Loat 1913, 6 (X3); 123, Aby1X
pl. XIII.423
Aby3 Coffin Peet, Loat 1913, 62 Aby2X
(Z2a, 122–123)24
Aby5 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 6–825 Aby3X
Aby8 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 1126 Aby4X
Coffin Peet 1914, 58; fig. 27 Aby5X
Aby4 Coffin Peet 1914, 60 (C66), fig. 28; Aby6X
pl. XIV,15
Coffin Peet 1914, pl. XIII.5 Aby7X
Coffin Berlin Akh1Be

Coffin Berlin 10989 Akh2Be
Coffin CG 28011 Akh1C
Coffin CG 28019 Akh8c
(Continued)
24 Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 3; 43.

25 Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 3 and 6–8.
27 Willems, Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie, p. 231 (n. 214).
28 Willems, Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie, p. 231, n. 214. Same number in
Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 3.
30 ÄIB I, 134.
31 ÄIB I, p. 134.
(Continued)
Ach1
Ach2
Ach4
Ach8
Ach9
Ach11
Ach12
Ach13
Ach14
Ach20
Ach21
Ach22
Ach26
Akh932 Ach25
Ach7
Ach18
Ach19
Ach24
Ammar
Am1
Am2
Am3
Antinoöpolis
An1
al-ʿAtamnā
At1
At2
Dayr al-Barshā (Bersheh)
B1B
32 Brovarski, in: Mélanges Mokhtar I, p. 128; pl. VII.


Coffin Leiden F1933/4.1 Akh1Lei
Coffin Moscow Pushkin 5308, 5311,2 Akh1Mos
Coffin Moscow Pushkin Mus. I.1a 5336-7 Akh2Mos
Coffin Moscow Pushkin Mus. I.1a 5304-7 Akh3Mos
Coffin Oxford Ashm. 1911.477 Akh1Ox
à KA1X
à KA2X
à KA3X
à SI1L
Coffin Kamal 1915, 188 At1X

Coffin Kamal 1915, 187–189 At2X
Coffin Coffin from tomb 16H50/1A B1Ash

(Henu)33
Chapel Tomb of Nehri II: Bersheh II, pl. 19 B1B
(Continued)
33 Coffin of Henu, now stored in SCA storeroom in al-Ashmūnayn; published in De Meyer,

Old Kingdom Rock Tombs, 631–642; pl. 240–250; XXIX–XXX.
(Continued)
B2B
B1Be B1Be B18

B2Be B2Be B11
B3Be
B1Bo B1Bo B22a B1Bo
B2Bo B2Bo B22b B2Bo
B3Bo B3Bo B23b B3Bo
B4Bo B4Bo B23c B4Bo
B5Bo B5Bo
B6Bo B6Bo B13a B6Bo
34 Unpublished; discovered in 2012.

37 Unpublished; discovered in 2002; Peeters, in: Willems, e.a., MDAIK 60 (2004), p. 266–269.
38 Unpublished; discovered in 2003: Peeters, in: Willems, e.a., MDAIK 62 (2006), p. 335.
Chapel Tomb of Djehutinakht VI: Bersheh B2B

II, pl. VI
Burial chamber Tomb of Djehutinakht VI: Kamal, B3B
1901, 209
Coffin Coffin from shaft 17K85/1B B4B34
Coffin Coffin frag. from tomb 17K77/135 B5B
Coffin Coffin fragment from tomb B6B
12P07/136
Coffin Coffin fragments from tomb B7B
10N85/137
10O13/1C38
16L25/1C39
17L20/140
16L19/141
Coffin Berlin 14385 B1Be
Coffin Berlin 20360 B2Be
Coffin Probably non-existent42 B3Be
Outer coffin MFA 20.1822–27 B1Bo
Inner coffin MFA 21.962–63 B2Bo
Middle coffin MFA 21.964–65 B3Bo
Inner coffin MFA 21.966–67 B4Bo
Canopic box MFA 21.421–22 B5Bo
Outer coffin MFA 21.810–11 + 21.968 B6Bo
(Continued)
39 Unpublished; discovered in 2004: De Meyer, in: Willems, e.a., MDAIK 65 (2009), p. 396.
40 Unpublished; discovered in 2003: Verrept, in: Willems, e.a., MDAIK 62 (2006), p. 309.
Fragments of coffin of Djehutihotep.
41 Unpublished; discovered in 2005. Parts of the coffin of a woman decorated on the outside.
42 Willems, Chests of Life, p. 20.
(Continued)
B7Bo B7Bo B13b

B8Bo B23a
B7 B5
B1C B1C B16

B2C B2C
B3C B3C B14b
B4C B4C B14a B4C
B5C B5C B29b
B6C B6C B24 B6C
B7C B7C B29a*
B8C B31
B9C B9C B1b B9C
B10C B10C B1a B10C
B11C B11C
B12C B12C B2b
B13C B13C B2a
B14C B14C B27 B14C
B15C B15C B25b
B16C B16C B6a B16C
B17C B17C B6b B17C
B18C B18C
B19C B19C B19C
B20C B20C B32
B21C B*3
B22C B25a
B1 B8
B2 B9
B3 B30
B8 B20
Inner coffin MFA 21.969a,b B7Bo

Outer coffin Lost. Photographs in MMA. B8Bo
Coffin Boston MFA 15-5-532 B9Bo
Outer coffin Long 2012, 31 + ND: outer coffin of B10Bo
Kay; fragments in MMA
Coffin Long 2012, 35–39: numerous frags B11Bo
from shaft A. MMA
Coffin Long 2012, 39–59: frags from shaft B12Bo
B prob. belonging to woman MMA
Outer coffin CG 28083 B1C
Canopic box CG 4977 B2C
Inner coffin CG 28085 B3C
Inner coffin CJ 37566 B5C
Outer coffin CJ 37567 B7C
? CJ 37568 B8C
Middle coffin CG 28091 B9C
Canopic box B11C
Coffin CG 28099 B14C
Middle coffin CG 28123 B15C
Coffin C temp. 28/4/28/1 B20C
(Continued)
(Continued)
B1L B1L B21b

B2L B2L B21a
B3L B3L B19b
B4L B4L B19a
B5L B5L B17
B5 B12
B644 B10
B4 X14
B1P B1P B15a B1P
B2P B2P B15b
B3P46
B4P
B1Ph B4
B2Ph
B9 B7
B*33
B1Y B1Y B28
B2Y
B3Y
B4Y
B5Y
B6Y
Balāṭ
Ba1X
43 To be published by H. Willems.
44 Seipel, Ägypten I, p. 96 (62).
45 van Wijngaarden, omro 24 (1943), p. 11–14.
46 Rigault, Delange, RdÉ 60 (2009), p. 63–137.
Coffin Hildesheim43 B1Hil

Inner coffin BM 30840 B1L
Outer coffin BM 30839 B2L
Outer coffin BM 30841 B4L
Coffin London BM 34259 B6L
Coffin London BM 35285 B7L
Coffin RMO Leiden45 B1Lei
Outer coffin Louvre E10779A B1P
Inner coffin Louvre E10779b B2P
Coffin Louvre AF 9170. Belongs to B5C B3P
Coffin Louvre B4P
Coffin Philadelphia E 16218A–B B1Ph
Coffin Philadelphia E 16217A–B B2Ph
Coffin Fragment from tomb 13N90/1 B1X47
Coffin Kamal 1901, 207 B2X
Coffin Long 2012, Fragments of coffin B3X
of Sathedjehetep: Kamal 1901, 34
Coffin Daressy 1900, 18–22 B4X
Coffin 48 B5X
Coffin Yale 1950.645 B1Y
Coffin49 Valloggia 1986, 74–78, pl. 62–63 Ba1X

(Continued)
47 Found during Reisner’s excavations in 1915. The only record is a sketch drawing of part of
a coffin inscribed with Coffin Texts from Reisner’s diary.
48 According to Lapp, the de Buck siglum is “X4”, but this siglum was not assigned. Lapp has
this information from the “Gard. Mss photos” (p. 278–279).
49 Actually imprint of text on coffin board on mummy shroud.
(Continued)
Banī Ḥasan
BH15
BH1Br50 BH1Br BH4 BH1Br
BH1C BH1C BH6b BH1C
BH2C BH2C BH6a
BH3C BH3C BH5a BH3C
BH4C BH4C BH10 BH4C
BH5C BH5C BH12a BH5C
BH6C BH6C BH5b BH6C
BH1651
BH16
BH9 BH7
BH1752
BH1L BH17b
BH2L BH17a
BH11
BH1Liv BH18
BH2Liv
BH1
BH2 BH3
BH3
BH4
BH5
BH6
BH7
BH14 BH8
BH1Ox BH1Ox BH9a BH1Ox
BH2Ox BH2Ox BH9b BH2Ox
50 Seipel, Ägypten, p. 94–95 (60).

Coffin Boston MFA Acc. No. 04.2058 BH1Bo

Coffin Brussels MRAH E 5037 BH1Br
Inner coffin CJ 37564a BH1C
Outer coffin CJ 37564b BH2C
Outer coffin CJ 37563b BH3C
Coffin CJ 37565 BH4C
Outer coffin CJ 37569 BH5C
Inner coffin CJ 37563a BH6C
Coffin Dog coffin Cambridge Fitzw. Mus. BH1Cam
E.47.1902
Coffin Cambridge Ftzw. Mus. E 71.1903 BH2Cam
Coffin Garstang 1907, fig. 188; Fitzw. Mus. BH3Cam
Coffin Freiburg Mus. f. Völkerkunde Inv. BH1Fre
Ae20
Inner coffin BM 41572 BH1L
Outer coffin BM 41571 BH2L
Coffin London BM 32051 BH3L
Coffin Merseyside county Mus. 55.82.113 BH1Liv
Coffin Univ. Liv. E 515 BH2Liv
Coffin Liverpool Univ. E577 BH3Liv
Coffin Liverpool Univ. BH4Liv
Coffin Liverpool Univ. E 589 BH5Liv
Canopic box Liverpool Univ. E 592 BH6Liv
Coffin Liverpool Univ. E 813b BH7Liv
Coffin Liverpool Univ. E 8139a BH8Liv
Coffin Liverpool Univ. E592 BH9Liv
Coffin Merseyside County Mus. 55.82.112 BH10Liv
Outer coffin Ashm. E3906 BH1Ox
Inner coffin Ashm. E3907 BH2Ox
(Continued)
51 Willems, Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie, p. 231, n. 225; A. Tooley, jea 74 (1988),
p. 207–211.
52 Willems, Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie, p. 231, n. 225 (unpublished).
(Continued)
BH3Ox BH3Ox BH13

BH14
BH15
BH1853
BH1W BH1W
BH8 BH2
BH10
BH11
BH12
BH13
BH1
BH12b
BH19
Statue
C405 C405
Stela
C20520 C20520
Coffin Cairo CG
C28067 C28067
Dandara
D1C D1C D2
D1D D3
Dahshūr
Da1C Da1C Da14
Da2C Da2C55 Da8
Da3C Da3C56 Da15
Da4C Da4C57 Da1
Da1X58 Da13
53 Willems, Textes des Sarcophages et la démocratie, p. 231, n. 225; T. Callaghan, bace 8

(1997), p. 19–32.
54 According to Lapp, Särge, p. 281.
Outer coffin Ashm. E3908 BH3Ox

Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. E. 4252 BH4Ox
Coffin Oxford Askm. Mus. E. 4251 BH5Ox
Coffin Sydney Macquary MU1771 BH1Sy
Coffin Würzburg lost BH1W
Coffin Garstang 1907, 166; 189, fig. 169 BH1X
Coffin Garstang 1907, 174–176; 181; fig. 189 BH2X
Coffin Garstang 1907, 189 BH3X
Coffin Garstang 1907, 189–190 BH4X
Coffin Garstang 1907, 190 BH5X
Coffin Garstang 1907, 56; fig. 41–43; BH6X
Garstang photo B470
Inner coffin Garstang photos B229, 233. BH7X
Coffin Garstang 1907, 181, fig. 188. = BH7? BH8X
Statue CG 405 C405
Stela CG 20520 C20520
Coffin CG 28067 M58C
Sarcophagus CG 28117 D1C

Burial chamber Chicago OIM54 D1Chic
Da1C Inner coffin CG 28101 Da1C

Da2C Coffin CG 28104 Da2C
Da3C Inner coffin CG 28105 Da3C
Da4C Coffin CG 28106 Da4C
Da1X Coffin De Morgan 1895, p. 35–36, fig. 73. Da1X
(Continued)

(Continued)
Da2X Da2X59 Da5b

Da3X Da3X60 Da10
Da4x Da4x61 Da6
Da5X62 Da18
Da6X63 Da4
Da7X Da12
Da8X
Da7
Da17
Farshūt
F1 X10
al-Jabalayn (Gebelein)
G1Be G1Be G7
G765 G8
G866 G5
G967 G3
T11C G268 T*38
T12C G169 T*39
G3 G1
G4 G6
G5 G9
G6 = Me1C Mo1

62 Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 227–28.
64 See now Brovarski, E., in: Ancient Egyptian and Mediterranean studies, p. 37–69.
Da2X Inner coffin de Morgan 1903, 46–48; fig. 105 Da2X

Da3X Inner coffin De Morgan 1903, 57–58 Da3X
Da4X Inner coffin de Morgan 1903, 73–74 Da4x
Da5X Coffin De Morgan 1903, 70, fig. 116–117 Da5X
Da6X Coffin de Morgan 1903, 70; fig. 113–115 Da6X
Burial chamber De Morgan 1903, 77–85 Da7X
? Da8X
Coffin de Morgan 1895, 56; fig. 122 Da9X
Sarcophagus De Morgan 1895, 56, fig. 123 Da10X
Da1 Coffin Baba, Yoshimura 2010, 9–10 Da11X
(Senu); Grajetzki 2010, 6–8 (DA1)
Coffin Baba, Yoshimura 2010, 10–12 DA12X
(Sebekhat)
Coffin Baba, Yoshimura 2010, 10–12 Da13X
(Senetites)
Coffin Boston MFA 03.136164 F1Bo
Coffin Berlin 13772 G1Be

G2 Coffin CG 28032 G1C
G1 Coffin CG 28031 G2C
Coffin CG 28033 G3C
Coffin CG 28114 G4C
Coffin CG 28115 G5C
Coffin CG 28116 Me1C
(Continued)
65 Steindorff 1901, 19–21.

66 Steindorff 1901, 21–22.
67 Steindorff 1901, 22–24.
(Continued)
G1T G1T G4b

G2T G2T G4a
G1070 G2
G1171
Hermitage coffin
H = X1Len H = X1Len X*7
Iḥnāsiya al-Madīna (Herakleopolis Magna)
H1H H1
H2H H2
al-Harāja (Harageh)
Ha1Ha Ha5
Ha2Ha Ha2
Ha1X Ha11
Ha2X Ha12
Ha172 Ha9
Ha2 Ha1
Ha3 Ha8
Ha4 Ha3
Ha5 Ha4
Ha6 Ha7
Ha7 Ha6
Hawwāra
Haw2
Hiw/Diospolis Parva
70 Brovarski, in: Studies Hughes, p. 31–41.

71 Catalogue Eternal Egypt. Catalogue Wennefer. Egyptian Antiquities, no place, no date.
Inner coffin Turin 15.774 G1T

Outer coffin Destroyed G2T
Coffin Torino Suppl. 13.268 G3T
Coffin Private collection G1X
Coffin Hermitage 769 H = X1Len
Burial chamber Roccati 1974, 161–197 H1H

Burial chamber Roccati 1974, 161–197 H2H
Burial chamber Engelbach 1923, 20–22; pl. 6; 68 Ha1Ha

Burial chamber Op. cit., 22–23; pl. 6; 67 Ha2Ha
Op. cit., 25; pl. 77 (1) Ha3Ha
Coffin Op. cit., 25; pl. 66 Ha1X
Coffin Op. cit., 24; pl. 69 Ha2X
Ha1 Coffin Op. cit., 23–24; pl. 70 Ha3X
Coffin Op. cit., 24; pl. 65 (1); 77 (2) Ha4X
Ha3 Coffin Op. cit., 24, pl. 65 (2) Ha5X
Coffin Op. cit., 25; pl. 65 (3) Ha6X
Ha8 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 38 Ha10X
Ha9 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 39 Ha11X
Haw1 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 21–22 Haw1X

Haw2 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 33–37 Haw2X
Maz173 Coffin Petrie 1912, pl. 37. Haw3X
Hu1 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 4; 15 Hiw1X

(Continued)

(Continued)
Qāw al-Kabīr
X3
Qau3
Ḳ1T Ḳ1T
Qau4
Qau1
Ḳ1X
Ḳ1
Ḳ2
Qau2
Kawm Fakhrī
KF1KF
KF2KF
KF3KF
Kafr ʿAmmār
KA1X Am2
KA2X Am1
Am3
Kawm al-Ḥisn
KH1KH KH1KH KH1
al-Lisht
74 Il senso dell’arte, p. 206.

75 Petrie, Antaeopolis, pl. 8, 9 (19).
76 Labelled K4T by Morales, Transmission of the Pyramid Texts, p. xxviii and passim.
Hu3 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 4; 17–18 Hiw3X

Coffin Bologna, Mus. Civ. Arch. Inv. KS Ḳ1Bol

1958.74
Sarcophagus London, Petrie Museum.75 Ḳ1L
Coffin Turin 431076 Ḳ1T
Burial chamber Turin CGT 700177 Ḳ2T
Coffin Turin CGT 10201–1020278 Ḳ3T
Sarcophagus Turin Suppl. 426479 Ḳ4T
Coffin Steckeweh 1936, 48 (8) Ḳ1X
Coffin Schmidt 1919, fig. 463–465 Ḳ2X
Coffin Lilyquist 1979, fig. 146 Ḳ3X
Sarcophagus Petrie 1930, pl. 9 (7) Ḳ4X
Burial chamber Lilyquist 1974, 27–30 (1) KF1KF

Coffin Petrie, Mackay 1915, 15 (226); 31; KA1X

pl. 15
Coffin Petrie, Mackay 1915, p. 31–32; pl. 26 KA2X
Coffin Petrie, Mackay 1915, 28 (535); pl. 14 KA3X
Burial chamber Silverman 1988 KH1KH
(Continued)
77 Ciampini, La sepoltura di Henib, p. 33–53.

78 Ciampini, La sepoltura di Henib, p. 54–58.
79 Steckeweh, Fürstengräber, p. 48 (6); pl. 16.
(Continued)
L1Li L1Li80 L7a SN1A/L1Li
L2Li L2Li81 L7b SN1A/L2Li
L3Li L3Li L2a L3Li/N1A
MH1A/
L-MH1A82
L-JMH183
L1NY L1NY L4 KH1/ L1NY

L2NY
L3NY
L4NY L-Wsr1
L5NY
L6NY
L284 L185
L3 L3
L586 L6b
L687 L-BnrA
L788 L-WN1A
L8
L-D189
L-S1B90
L-Snb291

82 Arnold, Middle Kingdom Tomb Architecture at Lisht, p. 49–50; pl. 68, 70–71, 85–92.
83 Allen, ct VIII, IX and passim; Arnold, Middle Kingdom Tomb Architecture at Lisht, p. 37;
pl. 51–52; 60.
84 Hayes, Scepter I, fig. 19.
85 Lapp attributes the wrong museum number to this coffin: 14.3.64A-B. This is the number
of L12NY.
L1Li Outer coffin Gauthier, Jéquier 1902, 76; L1Li

pl. 16–20.
L2Li Inner coffin Gauthier, Jéquier 1902, 77, L2Li
pl. 21–26.
Outer coffin Gauthier, Jéquier 1902, 83, L3Li
fig. 101–102; pl. 27–28
Sarcophagus Allen 2006, IX and passim L4Li
Burial chamber Arnold 2008, Allen, 37; L5Li

pl. 51–52; 60.
Coffin MMA 32.1.133 L1NY
Coffin MMA L2NY
Coffin MMA L3NY
Burial chamber MMA 33.1.173 L4NY
Coffin MMA L5NY
Wall of MMA L6NY
undefined
object
Coffin MMA L8NY
Inner coffin MMA L9NY
L6 Middle coffin MMA 11.151.763 L10NY
L7 Model coffin MMA 14.3.69A-B L11NY
L11 Coffin MMA unaccessioned L13NY
Inner coffin MMA 08.200.45 L14NY
Funerary mask MMA 15.3.152 L15NY
(Continued)
86 Mace, Winlock, Senebtisi, p. 26–32; pl. 17–19; Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 28–29.
87 P. Dorman, in: Arnold, Senwosret I, p. 147–149; Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 31.
88 P. Dorman, in: Arnold, Senwosret I, p. 147–149; Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 31.
89 Allen, ct VIII, IX and passim; Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 31.
90 Allen, ct VIII, IX and passim.
(Continued)
L-SS1B92
L1X ZNW1
L1 L2b
L493 L6a
A1/L-A194
Jp95
By96
ZJ197
X2898
L-HM
L-KhPM2
L-Nnj1
PW1A/
L-PW1A99
L-PW1B
L-SS1A
L-SS1C
L-X13
NJ1
Mīr (Meir)
M. Ann. M. Ann. M32
M1Ann M1Ann

94 Arnold, Pyramid Complex, p. 54; pl. 66–67; Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts,
p. 3–14.
95 Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 4.
Wall of unde- Mexico Museo Nacional de L1Mex

fined object Antropologia; formerly MMA
09.180.2654
Coffin L1X
Coffin Gauthier, Jéquier 1902, 85, fig. L2X
103–105
L4 Outer coffin Mace, Winlock 1916, 23–27 L3X
Coffin Allen 2006, IX and passim L4X
Coffin ? L5X
Coffin ? L6X
L9 Coffin ? L7X
L10 Coffin ? L8X
Canopic box Allen 2006, IX and passim L13X

Wall of unde- Allen 2006, IX and passim L14X
fined object
Wall of unde- Allen 2006, IX and passim L15X
fined object
Coffin Allen 1996, 4 L17X
Sarcophagus Arnold 2008, 48; pl. 72 L18X
Coffin Kamal 1912, 122–127 = Kamal 1914, M. Ann.

48–54
Funerary mask Kamal 1912, 116 M1Ann
(Continued)
96 Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 4

97 Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 6; Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 31.
98 Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 6; Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 31.
99 Allen, in: The World of the Coffin Texts, p. 4–14.
(Continued)
M2Ann M2Ann
M3Ann M3Ann
M4Ann
M5Ann
M33
M1Be M*50
M1C M1C M21 M1C
M2C M2C M39 M2C
M3C M3C M11
M4C M4C M46
M5C M5C M20 M5C
M6C M6C M44
M7C M7C M6a M7C
M8C M8C M6b
M9C M9C
M10C M10C
M11C M11C
M12C M12C
M13C M13C M19
M14C M14C
M15C
M16C M16C
M18C M18C M18C
M19C M19C
M20C M20C
M21C M21C
M22C M22C
M23C M23C
M24C M24C
M25C M25C M25C
M26C M26C
M27C
M28C M28C M8 M28C
M29C
M30C M30C
Funerary mask Kamal 1912, 115 M2Ann

Coffin Kamal 1912, 118 M3Ann
Coffin Kamal 1911, 7–8 M4Ann
Coffin Kamal 1911, 8 M5Ann
Coffin Basel (private collection) M1Bas
Coffin Berlin 70/71 M1Be
Inner coffin CJ 42949 M1C
Coffin CJ 42947 M2C
Coffin CJ 42825 M3C
Coffin CJ 42950 M4C
Coffin CJ 42826 M5C
Coffin CJ 42827 M6C
Outer coffin CG 28037 M7C
Middle coffin CG 28038 M8C
Coffin CG 28043 M9C
Funerary mask CG 28073 M16C
Coffin CJ 43004 M21C
Coffin CJ 42828 M22C
Coffin CG 28078 + 28079r M25C
Coffin CG 28079a–q M26C
Coffin De Buck photos Leiden M29C
(Continued)
(Continued)
M31C M31C
M32C
M33C
M34C M34C
M35C M35C
M36C M36C
M37C M37C M49 M37C
M38C M38C
M39C M39C
M40C M40C
M41C M41C
M42C M42C M6c
M43C M43C
M44C M44C
M45C M45C
M46C M46C
M47C M47C
M48C M48C
M49C M49C
M50C M50C
M51C
M52C M52C
M53C M53C
M54C M54C
M55C M55C
M56C M56C
M57C M57C M57C
C28067 M52 M9 M58C
M47
M48
M49 M27
M50 M58
M51 M17
M55
M53

Funerary mask CJ 42953 M35C
Funerary mask CJ 42834 M36C
Inner coffin CG 28039 M42C
Coffin Cairo, number unknown M57C
Model coffin CG 4847 M59C
Model coffin CG 4850 M60C
(Continued)
(Continued)
M54
M15100 M38
M1Lei X1
M1NY M1NY M12 M1NY
M2NY M2NY M25a
M3NY101
M1102 M40
M56 M25b
M19103 M3
M1Tor M55
M1War
M2War
M3War
M4War
M5War
M6War
M7War
M8War
M9War
M10War
M11War
M12War
M13War
M2 M41
M3
M4 M2
M5
M6 M18
M7 M53
100 Kamal 1914, 56–57.

101 Kamal, asae 12 (1912), p. 106–107

Coffin Edinburgh 1979.203eA M1Ed
Coffin Leiden F1966/2.1 M1Lei
Coffin MMA 12.182.132 A-B M1NY
M2NY Outer coffin MMA 12.183.11A M2NY
Canopic box MMA 12.183.14 M3NY
Coffin MMA 12.182.131 M4NY
Coffin MMA 12.183.11B-C M5NY
Coffin MMA 11.150.39AB M6NY
Coffin Lands of the Bible Arch. M1Tor
Foundation no. 3
Coffin Warsaw 139937 M1War
Coffin Lapp 1985, 10–12 (C) M1X
Coffin Kamal 1911, 8 M2X
Coffin Kamal 1911, 8–9 M3X
(Continued)
102 Designated as “can.box Hepi-Ankhtify” in Morales, Transmission of the Pyramid Texts.

103 Hayes, Royal Sarcophagi, fig. 16
(Continued)
M8 M10
M9 M42
M10 M45
M11 M43
M12 M57
M13 M54
M14 M37
M16 M47
M17 M48
M18 M5
M46
M20 M34b
M21 M34a
M22
M23
M24
M25
M26
M27
M28
M29
M30
M31
M32
M33
M34
M35
M36
M37
M38
M39–43
M44

Coffin Lapp 1985, 14–15 (E) M12X
Coffin Lapp 1985, 12–13 (D) M16X
Coffin Clédat 1902, 43 (17) M17X
M20 Coffin Kamal 1914, 75–77104 M18X
Coffin Clédat 1902, 41 (5); [Rosenstiehl M24X
(ed.)], L’Égypte en Périgord
Coffin Clédat 1902, 42 (9.1) M28X
Coffin Clédat 1902, 42 (12–14) M37X
(Continued)
104 Labelled Khakheperreseneb by Morales, Transmission of the Pyramid Texts.

(Continued)
M45
Mentuhotep Cemetery
MC 105 MC 105 T30
Mazghūna
Maz1105
al-Muʿallā
Me1C Me1C = G6 Mo1
Mirgissa
Masrā
Mes1X Ma1
Najʿ al-Dayr (Naga ed-Deir)
NeD1Bo
NeD2Bo
NeD1Brk
NeD 3107 X16
NeD2108
NeD1 ND1
NeD1X
Papyri
P. Berl. P. Berl.
P. Gard. II P. Gard. II
P. Gard. III P. Gard. III
P. Gard. IV P. Gard. IV
P. Golén.
P. Weill
al-Qaṭṭa
Q1Q Q1Q

106 Vercoutter, Mirgissa II, p. 189, fig. 78.
Inner Coffin CJ 51875 MC 105
Coffin Petrie 1912, 35, pl. 37 Maz1X
Coffin CG 28116 Me1C
Mi1 Coffin University of Lille Mi1Lil106
Coffin Kamal 1911, 6 Mes1X
Coffin MFA (unaccessioned) NeD1Bo

Natron chest MFA (unpublished) NeD2Bo
Coffin Berkeley LMA 6–16016 (unpub.) NeD1Brk
Coffin CJ 45967 NeD1C
Coffin Melbourne Inv. No. X83758 NeD1Me
Coffin St. Louis, Missouri University NeD1StL
Museum no. 61.69109
Coffin Unpublished NeD1X
Papyrus P. Berlin Papyrussammlung 10482 P. Berl.

Papyrus P. Berlin Papyrussammlung 10481 P. Berl.2
Papyrus P. Berlin Papyrussammlung 10480 P. Berl. 3
Papyrus P. BM 10676 P. Gard. II
Papyrus P. OI 14059–87 P. Gard. III
Papyrus P. Louvre E14703 P. Gard. IV
Papyrus P. Pushkin Museum P. Golén.
Papyrus P. Louvre P. Weill
Burial chamber Chassinat, Gauthier, Piéron 1906 Q1Q

(Continued)
107 Kamal, asae 37 (1937), p. 125–127.

108 Hope, Abr Nahrain 22 (1983–1984), p. 7–28.
109 Fischer, jaos 76 (1956), p. 99–110.
(Continued)
al-Riqqa
R1X R1X R1 R1X
R2X R3
R1 R2
R2
R3
R4
R5
R6
R7
R8
R9
R10
R11
Dayr Rīfa (Deir Rifeh)
Ri1Bas
Ri1L
Ri1 Rif1 Rif1Man
Ri2 Rif2 Rif2Man
Ri1X
Ri3
Ri4
Ri5 Rif4
Ri6
Ri7
Ri8 Rif3
Tomb of Senwosretankh at al-Lisht
S S L5a
110 To be published by Luc Delvaux and the author. From same context as R2X. It was men-
tioned in Engelbach 1915, 23.
Coffin veneer Bruxelles mrah 4496 (Sawadjet)110 R1Br

Coffin Engelbach 1915, 8 (16); 22, 23 (60) R1X
pl. 24–26
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 24–25; 29, pl. 23 R2X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 28, pl. 26 R3X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 28 R4X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 29 (Antef) R5X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 29 (Waretset) R6X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 29 (Nehri) R7X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 29 (Kheperkare) R8X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 29 (?) R9X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 29–30 R10X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 30 R11X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 29 (Ankhy) R12X
Coffin Engelbach 1915, 29 (Wadjethotep) R13X
Coffin Lapp 1985, 15–16; pl. 32–33 Ri1Bas

Coffin UCL 38046 Ri1L
Coffin Manchester Ri1Man
Coffin Manchester Ri2Man
Funerary mask Petrie 1907, 12–13; pl. 11 Ri1X
Coffin Petrie 1907, 12 (331) Ri2X
Coffin Petrie 1907, 12–13 (334) Ri5X
Coffin Petrie 1907, 13 Ri6X
Coffin Petrie 1907, 13, pl. 9 Ri7X
Burial chamber Hayes 1937111 S

(Continued)
111 Designated as “Sen” by Morales, Transmission of the Pyramid Texts.

(Continued)
Asyūṭ
S1Am112 à
S2113 S40 S1Atl S1Atl
S1Bir
S59 S1Br
S53 S2Br S2Bru
S82 S1Bre S1Bre114
S1C S1C S36b S1C S1C S1C
S2C S2C S36a S2C S2C S2C
S3C S3C S4 S3C S3C
S4C S4C S60 S4C S4C
S5C S5C S71 S5C S5C S5C
S6C S6C S63 S6C S6C
S7C S74 S7C S7C
S8C S37 S8C S8C
S9C S9C S70 S9C S9C
S10C S10C S18 S10C S10C S10C
S11C S11C S68 S11C S11C
S12C S12C S17 S12C S12C
S13C S13C S43 S13C S13C
S14C S14C S85 S14C S14C S14C
S15C S81 S15C S15C
S16C S16C S47b S16C S16C
S17C S17C S47a S17C S17C
S18C S18C S65 S18C S18C
S19C S19C S19C S19C
S20C S20C S20C S20C
S21C S21C S21C S21C
S22C115 S2 S22C S22C
S23C S23C
112 Van den Bercken, van Haarlem, Eeuwig Egypte, p. 64.

113 Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut II, p. 123.
Coffin X1Am
Coffin Emory EUMAA 1921.2 S1Atl
Coffin Birmingham City Museum and S1Bir
Art Gallery 1973A1348
Coffin Brussels MRAH E 3036 S1Br
Coffin Brussels MRAH E 3035 S2Br
Coffin Bremen, Übersee Museum B3892 S1Bre
Inner coffin CG 28118 S1C
Outer coffin CG 28119 S2C
Coffin CJ 36444 S3C
Coffin CJ 36445 S4C
Coffin CJ 45064 S5C
Coffin CJ 36320 S6C
Coffin C temp. 21/11/16/24 S7C
Coffin CJ 36446 S8C
Coffin CJ 44979 S9C
Coffin CJ 44980 S10C
Coffin CG 28130 S13C
Inner coffin CJ 36318 S16C
Outer coffin CJ 36317 S17C
Coffin Cairo S22C
Coffin Cairo temp. 16/2/29/3 S23C
(Continued)
114 Roeder, Frauensarg.

115 Lefebvre, asae 12 (1912), p. 90–92.
(Continued)
S33 S24C S24C

S83 S25C = S25C
S21Chass
S50 S26C = S26C
S9Chass
S27C
S28C
S29C
S11 S19Chass S30C
S31C
S32C
S33C
S1Cam S1Cam116
S2Cam S2Cam117
S1Chass S1Chass S45 S1Chass S1Chass
S2Chass S2Chass S34 S2Chass S2Chass
S3 S1Ch S1Chic
S44 S6Chass S2Chic
S3Chic
S3118
S1Dij
S1Ham S1Ham119
S4120 S1Hei S1Hei

S1Jos
S1Hil S1Hil121
S2Hil S2Hil122
S52 S6L S1L
116 Bourriau, Pharaohs and Mortals, p. 84 (66).

117 Bourriau, Pharaohs and Mortals, p. 87–88 (67).
118 Chassinat, Palanque, Fouilles d’Assiout, p. 123–124.
119 Graefe, Sat-Sobek, p. 11–22.

Coffin Cairo (number unknown) S25C
Coffin Cairo (number unknown) S26C

Coffin Cairo 17/10/17/3 S29C
Coffin Cairo temp. 14/7/31/2, now Cairo S31C
University Museum 446
Coffin Fitzw. Mus. E.W. 82 S1Cam
Coffin Fitzw. Mus. E.W. 66a–66b S2Cam
Coffin Chassinat, Palanque 1911, 35–46 S1Chass
Coffin Chassinat, Palanque 1911, 114–122 S2Chass
Coffin Chicago Field Mus. 91068 S1Ch
Coffin Chicago OI 11459 S3Ch
à S4P
Coffin Hamm Städtisches Gustav- S1Hamm
Lübke-Museum 15017
Coffin Heidelberg Inv. 914. S1Hei
Coffin San José Rosicrucian Mus. RC S1Jos
2822 + Brooklyn no number
Coffin Hildesheim inv. Nr. 5999 S1Hil
Coffin Hildesheim inv. Nr. 6000 S2Hil
Coffin London BM 29576-5 S1L
(Continued)
120 Feucht, Vom Nil zum Neckar, p. 50–51.

121 Suche nach Unsterblichkeit, p. 58–61.
122 Suche nach Unsterblichkeit, p. 94–96.
(Continued)
S8L S2L
S42 S3L S3L
S61 S4L S4L
S56 S5L S5L
S21 S1L S6L
S7L S7L
S*41 S2L S8L
S9L S9L
S10L; S26L S10L
S11L S11L
S12L S12L
S13L S13L
S14L S14L
S15L
S16L; S36L S16L
(47597); S48L
(47603); S54L
(47604); S57L
(46664)
S17L S17L
S18L
S27L? S19L
S23L; S33L S20L

(46663)
S19L S21L
S22L
S35L (47605) S23L123
123 Seipel, Ägypten I, p. 95 (61).

Coffin London BM 29575-4 S2L

Coffin London BM 46630–541 S3L
Coffin London BM 46648–569 + S10L
46656–577
46645–563
Coffin London BM 46664–585, 47603– S16L
611, 47596–604, 47604–612,
47597–605

Coffin London BM 46640–551–555, S19L
46640–551, 46640–552, 46640–
555, 46640–553, 46640–554
Coffin London BM 46641–556 and S20L
558, 47594–602, 46641–557,
46663–584
Coffin London BM 46644–561 and 562, S23L
47605–613
(Continued)
(Continued)
S20L; S24L S24L
S15L S25L
S38L S26L
S27L
S29L S28L
S29L
S32L S30L
S46L S31L
S47L S32L
S43L S33L
S34L
S35L
S37L S36L
S37L
S44L S38L
S40L; S41L S39L
(47587); S51L
(47586)
S50L S40L
S22L; S39L S41L
(46662)
S49L S42L
S30L S43L
S52L S44L
S45L
S53L S46L
S31L S47L
S28L S48L
S25L S49L
S60L S50L
S61L S51L
S62L S52L
Coffin London BM 46646–565, S24L

46646–566
47583–591
47587–595, 47588–596

Coffin London BM 47584–592, 47585– S41L
593, 47607–621, 46662–583.
Coffin London BM 47607–616, 47607–617, S49L
47607–619, 47607–620, 46649–570
Coffin London BM 46661–582, 47607–618 S50L
Coffin London BM 47606–615, 47606–614 S51L
(Continued)
(Continued)
S53L
S54L124
S55L
S56C
S57C
S58L
S59L
S60L
S61L
S62L
S63L
S64L
S65L
S66L
S67L
S68L
S69L
S70L
S71L
S72L
S73L
S74L125
S18L126
S34L127
S42L128
S45L129
S64L130
124 Several of the BM fragments without a number must correspond to Hannig’s sigla S18L,
S55L, S56L, S58L, S59L, S63L, but it is not clear as to which. Only detailed study of the
original fragments could show whether this is the case or not.
125 Lüscher, Kanopenkästen, p. 51–52; pl. 12.

47608–624
Coffin London BM no number S54L
Coffin London BM no number S56C
Coffin London BM no number S57C
Canopic box London BM 46638–549 S74L
Coffin London BM 46581 S76L
(Continued)
126 Hannig, Zur Paläographie, p. 586; p. 636–637.

127 Hannig, Zur Paläographie, p. 586; p. 670.
129 Hannig, Zur Paläographie, p. 587; p. 689.
(Continued)
S86131 S24Chass = S1Ly

S1Ly
S2Ly
S3Ly
S4Ly
S1Mal S6 S1Mal S1Mal
S2Mal S57 S2Mal S2Mal
S3Mal M*26135 S3Mal S?3Mal
S4Mal S4Mal
S1Mi136 S26 S1Mi S1Min
S5142 S72 S7Mi S7Min
S90143 S8Mi S8Min
S1144 S9Mi S9Min
S12145 S10Mi S10min
S13146 S11Mi S11Min
X1147 S39 S1Mon S1Mon
S1Mü
131 Chassinat, Palanque, Assiout, 221–223.

132 Chassinat, Palanque, Assiout, 174–176; Réserves de pharaon, p. 24.
135 According to Lapp (Typologie, p. 289) “Typologisch Meir zugeordnet.”
136 Gauthier, Lefèbvre, asae 23 (1923), p. 2–4.
Coffin Lyon, Musée des Beaux-Arts S1Ly

1972–111
1972–112
1972–113
1972–114
Coffin Mallawi 566 S1Mal
Coffin Minia 272 = M7 S1Mi
Coffin Minia 273 S2Mi
Coffin Minia 635 = Minia M3 S9Mi
Coffin Montserrat, Museo del Oriente S1Mon
Biblico 620.01
Coffin München S1Mü
(Continued)

143 Kamal, ASAE 37 (1937), p. 125–126.
144 Kamal, ASAE 34 (1934), p. 49–51 (I).
145 Kamal, ASAE 34 (1934), p. 51 (II).
146 Kamal, ASAE 34 (1934), p. 53 (III).
147 Ogdon, Baquès Estape, Aegyptus Antiquus 2 (1977), p. 1–31.
(Continued)
S1 M*28 X1Mü
S19149 S7Chass S1Nan
S1NY
S2NY
S3NY
S4NY
S1NY150
S3 M*36151 X1NY152
S1P S1P S46a S1P S1P
S2P S2P S46b S2P S2P
S3P S3P S54 S3P S3P
S4P S4P S15 S4P S1Dij
S5P S5P S77 S5P S5P

S6P S6P S27 S6P S6P
S8153 S48 S1PS S1PS
S1S S1S
S1Stoc
S1Ta154 S58 S1Tan S1Tan


148 Lapp, Typologie, p. 289, Hannig, Zur Paläographie, p. 783, and Zitman, The Necropolis of
Assiut, p. 151 attribute this coffin typologically to Mīr. However, Wildung, who was
responsible for the purchase of the coffin, states it came from Asyūṭ (which is, in fact,
where almost all Middle Kingdom coffins on the art market came from during the past
decades): Wildung, Staatliche Sammlung, p. 164. Moreover, several coffins known to
come from Asyūṭ are of this type. The Munich coffin (of which a good photograph can be
found on http://www.leben-in-luxor.de/luxor_lexikon_museen_smaek4.html) looks
closely similar, for instance, to coffin S1Mal, with a reported origin from Asyūṭ. In view of
the owner’s name Iti-ib, its origin from Asyūṭ can hardly be doubted.
150 Hannig, Zur Paläographie, p. 783–785.
Coffin München ÄS 6055; unpub.148 S2Mü

Coffin Nantes, Musée Dorée D 961.2.134 S1Nan
Statue MMA 10.176.59 S1NY
Coffin Brooklyn Inv. 1995.112 S5NY
S3 Coffin MMA 15.2.2 S6NY
Outer coffin Louvre 11981 S1P
Inner coffin Louvre 11936 S2P
Coffin Louvre 12036 S3P
Coffin Louvre 12032; now Dijon, Musée S4P
des Beaux-Arts 116
Coffin Louvre E 12031 + 12039 S5P
Coffin Louvre 12035 S6P
Coffin Port Said 21 S1PS
Burial chamber S1S
Coffin Stockholm Medelhavsmuseet S1Stoc
MM10233
Coffin Tanta 549 S1Ta
Coffin Tanta 550 = Tanta 717 = Tanta S2Ta
555156
Coffin Tanta 551 = Tanta 713 = Tanta 3784 S3Ta
(Continued)
151 According to Lapp, Typologie, p. 291 this coffin should be linked to Mīr for typological
reasons.
152 See also Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 54.
153 Gauthier, Lefèbvre, ASAE 23 (1923), p. 31–32.
156 Hannig, Zur Paläographie, p. 808–809 visited the Port Said museum where several of the
“Tanta coffins” now are, still with their Tanta numbers. He points out that this coffin is
often erroneously referred to as Tanta 550, but that the old number in fact was 555.
(Continued)

S6162 S73 S8Tan S8Tan

S7163 S66 S9Tan
S84164 S1Tor S1Tor
S2Tor S2Tor
S3Tor S3Tor
S11Tor S4Tor
S5Tor S5Tor
S6Tor S6Tor
S7Tor S7Tor
S35 S8Tor S8Tor
S9Tor S9Tor
S10Tor S10Tor
S4Tor S11Tor
S12Tor S12Tor
S13Tor S13Tor
S14Tor
S15Tor
S16Tor
S17Tor
S15Tor S18Tor
S16Tor S19Tor
S18Tor S20Tor
S17Tor S21Tor
S19Tor S22Tor
S20Tor S23Tor
S21Tor S24Tor

Coffin Tanta 553 = Tanta 715 S5Ta

Coffin Tanta 766 = Tanta 771 = Tanta 903 = S7Ta
Tanta 3892
Coffin Tanta 556 = Tanta 719 S9Ta
Coffin Turin S. 8877 S1T
Coffin Turin S. 8912 + 8922 S7T
Coffin Turin S. 8925 + 8933 + 8939 S14T
Coffin Turin S. 8941 + another S17T
Coffin Turin S.14391 S20T
Coffin Turin S.14393 S22T
(Continued)

163 Hannig, Zur Paläographie, p. 835–837. Now in Ismaʿīlīya.
164 Donadoni Roveri, Ancient Egyptian Civilization. Daily Life, p. 84 (pl. 101–102).
(Continued)
S22Tor S25Tor
S26Tor
S27Tor
S28Tor
S29Tor
S30Tor
S31Tor
S32Tor
S33Tor
S34Tor
S35Tor
S36Tor
S37Tor
S38Tor
S39Tor
S40Tor
S41Tor
S42Tor
S43Tor
S44Tor
S45Tor
S46Tor
S47Tor
S48Tor
S49Tor
S50Tor
S51Tor
S52Tor
S53Tor
S54Tor
S55Tor
S56Tor
S57Tor
S58Tor
S59Tor

Coffin Turin S. 14486 and another S42T
Coffin Turin S. no number S51T
(Continued)
(Continued)
S60Tor
S61Tor
S62Tor
S63Tor
S64Tor
S65Tor
S66Tor
S67Tor
S68Tor
S69Tor
S1Tü S1Tü S7 S1Tü S1Tü
S2Tü S2Tü
S1Vien
S1War165 X5War X5War
S2War S1War S1War
S1X S1X S51 S1X S1X + S2X
S2X S2X S3X
S3X S3X S4X
S4X S4X S5X
S5X S5X S6X
S6X S6X S7X
S7X S7X S8X
S8X X4 S8Y S?20X
S9X S55 S9X S10X
S10X S78a S10X S12X
S11X S78b S11X S13X
S12X S67 S12X S14X
S13X S79 S13X S15X
S45X
165 This is indicated as the likely place of origin supplied to me by the late Dr E. Dabrowska-
Smektała, who wrote a dissertation about these coffins (Middle Kingdom Coffins and
their Fragments from the National Museum of Antiquities in Warsaw, no. 7). However, the
place of origin is indicated with a question mark.

Coffin Tübingen Inv. Nr. 6 S1Tü
Coffin S2Tü
Coffin Unpub. S1Wien
Coffin Warsaw 142138 S1War
Coffin Warsaw 142140 S2War
Coffin ASAE 26, 161–169 S1X166
Coffin ASAE 26, 169 S2X
Coffin SAK 13, 135–147 S8X
Coffin ASAE 16, 70–73 S9X
Coffin Zitman 2010, 151167 S14X
(Continued)
166 For unclear reasons labelled HAS1X by Morales, Transmission of the Pyramid Texts,
p. xxviii.
167 Formerly Cairo temp. 17/10/17/5.
(Continued)
S46X
S3Y168 S16X
S17X
S18X
S8169 S19X
S30170 S10Chass S21X
S29 S11Chass S22X
S64171 S12Chass S23X
S69 S13Chass S24X
S80 S14Chass S25X
S87 S15Chass S26X
S76 S18Chass S27X
S88 S20Chass S28X
S20 S2Chass S29X
S49 S23Chass S30X
S31X
S32X
S33X
S34X
S35X
S36X
S37X
S1Y172 S38X
S39X
S40X
S41X
S42X
S43X
S44X
S9X
S8 S5Chass
168 Hannig, Zur Paläographie, p. 908–909; the identification of the two numbers is not fully
certain.
169 Chassinat, Palanque, Assiout, p. 21–22.

Coffin Chassinat, Palanque 1911, 21–22. S45X
(Continued)

(Continued)
S2Y
S4Y
S5Y
S6Y
S7Y
S8Y
al-Shaykh ʿIbāda
An1
Sidmant al-Jabal (Sedment)
Sid1Cam Sid1Cam Sid1 Sed1Cam
Sid1Sid Sid1Sid Sid8
Sid1Sun Sid10
Sid2X Sid2X Sid6a Sed1Cop
SiD3X SiD3X Sid6b Sed2Cop
Sid1 Sid9
Sid2 Sid7
Sid3 Sid5
Sid4 Sid3a
Sid5 Sid3b
Sid6 Sid2
Sid7
Saqqāra
Sq1Be Sq1Be Sq7
Sq2Be Sq2Be Sq2Be
Sq3Be Sq3Be Sq74 Sq3Be
Coffin Hannig 2006, 906–907 S46X

Coffin Hannig 2006, 919 S51X
Coffin Bruxelles MRAH E 785173 SI1Br

Coffin Mél. Masp. 930; Louvre SI1P
Coffin Cambridge Sid1Cam

Outer coffin Petrie 1924, 5–6; 11–12; pl. 18–19b Sid1Sid
Coffin Abdel Fattah, Bickel 2000, 3–10. Sid2Sid
Outer coffin Abdel Fattah, Bickel 2000, 10–13. Sid3Sid
Inner coffin Abdel Fattah, Bickel 2000, 13–17. Sid4Sid
Coffin Petrie 1924, 15, 23, pl. 21 (20–21) Sid1Sun
Outer coffin Copenhagen, Ny Carlsb. Sid2X
Glyptothek 1585
Inner coffin Copenhagen Ny Carlsb. SiD3X
Glyptothek 1586
Coffin Petrie 1924, 5; pl. 27
(Hawemsekhtu)
Coffin Petrie 1924, 5; pl. 27 (Henty)
Coffin Petrie 1924, 5, pl. 27 (?)
Coffin Petrie 1924, 5, pl. 23
Coffin Petrie 1924, 13, 23
Inner coffin Berlin 10184 Sq1Be

Outer coffin Berlin 10185 Sq2Be
Coffin Berlin 10185 (sic!) + 10616 Sq3Be
(Continued)
173 Calament, La révélation d’Antinoé, p. 51.

(Continued)
Sq4Be
Sq13174 Sq*8175
Sq14176 X15177
Sq15178 Sq113
Sq16179
Sq17180 Sq4
Sq1C Sq1C Sq83 Sq1C
Sq2C Sq2C Sq76 Sq2C
Sq3C Sq3C Sq58 Sq3C
Sq4C Sq4C Sq77 Sq4C
Sq5C Sq5C Sq98b Sq5C
Sq6C Sq6C Sq98a Sq6C
Sq7C Sq7C Sq67 Sq7C
Sq8C Sq9a or b
Sq9C Sq9C Sq15b Sq9C
Sq11C Sq11C Sq33b
Sq13C Sq13C Ab7 Sq13C
Sq1Ch Sq1Ch Sq11* Sq1Ch
Sq38
Sq1Sq Sq1Sq Sq94a Sq1Sq
174 ÄIB, p. 130–132.

175 Note Lapp, p. 299: “Typologisch Saqqara zugeordnet.”
176 ÄIB, p. 133.
177 There is perhaps some confusion here, as Lapp gives the museum number 7796 to this
coffin, which is, however, that of the previous coffin.
178 ÄIB, p. 134.
179 ÄIB, p. 134.
180 ÄIB, p. 135.
181 See now Dahms, Särge des Karenen.
Coffin Berlin 13101 Sq4Be

Coffin Berlin Sq6Be
Coffin Berlin Sq8Be
Coffin CG 28034 Sq1C
Inner coffin CJ 39014 Sq3C
Inner coffin CJ 39052 Sq4C
Inner coffin CJ 39054a Sq5C181
Outer coffin CJ 39054b Sq6C182
Coffin CJ 39053 or 35059 Sq8C183
Coffin C temp. 8/1/30/1 Sq9C
Outer coffin C temp. 18/1/27/3 Sq10C
Inner coffin C temp. 11/11/20/8 Sq11C
Outer coffin C temp. 18/1/27/2 Sq12C
Coffin C temp. 8/1/30/2 Sq13C
Coffin Chicago OI 12072 Sq1Ch
Coffin Neuchâtel Mus. Eg. 336–7 Sq1Neu
Burial JEA 67, 23 Sq1Sq
chamber/Coffin
(Continued)
182 See now Dahms, Särge des Karenen.

183 In Chests of Life, p. 30, I indicated that Sq8C = coffin Cairo JdE 39053. I however indi-
cated some doubts as to the correlation of the JdE number and de Buck’s CT siglum.
Lapp (Typologie, p. 298–299) suggests that the coffin is actually Cairo JdE 39059. This is
based upon a small text passage noted by H.G. Fischer ( jarce 3 [1964], p. 27, n. 18)
on coffin Cairo JdE 39059 which exactly matches the spelling of a functional title of the
coffin owner of Sq8C (based on the photos of the Oriental Institute Chicago Coffin Texts
project). In this case JdE 39053 might be identical with another coffin discovered in
Saqqara by Quibell. Without comparison of the photographs with the original coffins in
Cairo, no certainty can be reached on this issue.
(Continued)
Sq2Sq Sq2Sq Sq80a–b
Sq3Sq Sq3Sq Sq91b

Sq4Sq Sq4Sq Sq13
Sq5Sq Sq5Sq Sq3b
Sq6Sq Sq6Sq Sq5
Sq7Sq Sq7Sq Sq12
Sq8Sq Sq8Sq
Sq9Sq
Sq10Sq Sq2
Sq11Sq
Sq1X Sq1X Sq100a Sq1X

Sq2X Sq2X Sq100b Sq1Cop
Sq7X Sq7X Sq41
Sq8X Sq105
Sq9X Sq91a
Sq10X Sq3a
Sq11X Sq6
Sq12X Sq39
Sq13X Sq68
Sq14X Sq81
Sq15X Sq106
Sq16X Sq104
Sq17X Sq71
Sq18X Sq18
Sq19X185
184 Designated as Reherishefnekht by Morales, Transmission of the Pyramid Texts.

Burial JEA 67, 23 Sq2Sq

chamber/Coffin
Inner coffin TPC, 246–253 Sq3Sq
Coffin TPC, 239–245 Sq4Sq
Inner coffin TPC, 232–236 Sq5Sq
Coffin TPC, 237–239 Sq6Sq
Coffin PM III2, 570 Sq7Sq
Coffin Sq8Sq
Coffin Quibell, Exc. Saqq. 1906–1907, 7–8 Sq9Sq
Burial chamber Quibell, Exc. Saqq. 1905–1906, 4; Sq10Sq
27; pl. 22
Burial chamber TPC, 2, 61–64 Sq11Sq
Burial chamber Berger-el-Naggar, Labrousse 2005, Sq12Sq
28184
Outer coffin TPC, 227–230. Sq1X
Inner coffin Ny Carslberg Glyptothek 1615 Sq2X
Coffin TPC, 262–265. Sq7X
Burial chamber Quibell, Exc. Saqq. 1906–1907; Sq8X
19–20; pl 30
Outer coffin TPC, 253 Sq9X
Coffin TPC, 231–232 Sq10X
Coffin Quibell, Exc. Saqq. 1905–1906, Sq11X
7–8; 27
Coffin TPC, 41–42; 245–246 Sq12X
Coffin TPC, 39–41; 253–256 Sq13X
Coffin TPC, 57; 259–260 Sq14X
Coffin TPC, 47; 257; 269 Sq15X
Coffin TPC, 56–57; 259 Sq16X
Sarcophagus TPC, 2; 61–64; 279 Sq17X
Burial chamber TPC, 2, 64–65; 224–225 Sq18X
Sq19X Coffin TPC, 59 (41) Sq19X
(Continued)

(Continued)
Sq20X Sq25
Sq21X Sq49
Sq22X
Sq23X186
Sq1
Sq2
Sq3
Sq4 Sq55
Sq5
Sq6 Sq69
Sq7 Sq75
Sq8 Sq82
Sq9 Sq84
Sq10 Sq101
Sq11 Sq102
Sq12 Sq108
Sq10*
Sq94b
Thebes
T1Bal T20
T1Be T1Be T11a T1Be
T2Be T2Be T11b T2Be
T3Be T3Be T28 T3Be
T4Be T4Be T8 T4Be
T20188 T11c
T17189 T1

187 Hays, in: FS Demarée, p. 95–97.
Coffin ASAE 35, 150–152 Sq20X

Coffin ASAE 38, 510 Sq21X
Outer coffin Quibell, Exc. Saqq. 1906–1907, Sq22X
16–17
Coffin Egyptian Archaeology 6 (1995), 29 Sq23X
Coffin Munro 1983, 102 Sq24X
Coffin Quibell 1908, 6–7 Sq25X
Coffin Firth, Gunn 1926, 260 (17) Sq26X
Coffin Firth, Gunn 1926, 265 (22.1) Sq27X
Coffin Firth, Gunn 1926, 256–257 Sq29X
Coffin Firth, Gunn 1926, 258 Sq30X
Coffin Firth, Gunn 1926, 266 Sq31X
Coffin Firth, Gunn 1926, 265–266 (22.2) Sq32X
Coffin Firth, Gunn 1926, 258–259 Sq35X
Coffin Gunn Mss XIV.58–60 Sq36X
Sarcophagus Gunn notebook 17 Sq37X
Sq23X Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 23 Sq39X
Sq18 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 4; 23 Sq40X
Inscribed wall Amsterdam APM 8539 + T1Am

fragment APM 9248-4187
Coffin Baltimore 62.5 T1Bal
T1Be Outer coffin Berlin, No. 9 T1Be
Middle coffin Berlin, No. 10 T2Be
T3Be Coffin Berlin, No. 45 T3Be
Sarcophagus Berlin, No. 1154–55 T4Be
Coffin Berlin 11 T5Be
Coffin Brussels MRAH E. 2617A–C T1Br
(Continued)
188 Steindorff, Grabfunde des Mittleren Reichs I, 10–13; 31.

189 Limme, CdE 60 (1985), p. 147–151. This is the coffin of a dog.
(Continued)
T31
T1C T1C T24A–b T1C
T2C T2C T34 T2C

T3C T3C190 T2b
T6C191 T6C T25
T7C192 T7C T18 T7C
T8C T8C T5b T8C
T9C T9C T12 T9C
T10C193 T10C T36
T11C G2 T*38
T12C G1 T*39
T13C194 T13C T22 T13C
T7 T35
T8 T5a
T13 T32c
T1Ch
T9
T27195
T1L T1L T*4 T1L
T2L T2L T13
T3L T3L T29
T4L T4L196
T5L T5L
T18197 T7
T1Len
190 Decoration published by Willems, Heqata, pl. 46–51.

Model coffin Boston MFA 37.550 T1Bo

Burial chamber CG 28023 T1C
/Coffin
Sarcophagus CG 28024 T2C
Inner coffin CJ 47355 T3C
T6C Coffin CG 28028 T6C
Coffin CG 28026 T8C
Coffin CG 28027 T9C
Coffin CG 28032 G1C
Coffin CG 28031 G2C
Coffin CG 28022 T14C
Coffin CG 28025 T15C
Coffin CJ 49892 T16C
Coffin Chicago Nat. Hist. Mus. A.105215 T1Ch
Coffin Chicago T2Ch
Coffin Chicago OI 17332 T3Ch
Outer coffin BM 6654 T1L
Coffin BM 6655 T2L
Coffin BM 29570 T3L
T4L Coffin BM 10553 T4L
Outer coffin BM 29997 (formerly 6656) T5L
Coffin London BM 12270 T6L
Coffin Hermitage 769 T1Len
T1Lux Coffin Polz 2007 (Ameny)198 T1Lux
T2Lux Coffin Polz 2007 (Geheset) T2Lux
(Continued)
195 PM I2, p. 657.

197 Andrews, Egyptian Mummies, p. 42, fig. 43.
(Continued)
T1Mos
T2Mos
T1NY T1NY T17199 T1NY
T2NY200 T16
T3NY T21
T4NY
T5NY201
T6NY202 T9
T7NY203
T8NY204
T9NY
T21205 T10
T22206
T23207
T27
T28
T29
T30
T32
T1War T6
T2War209
T1X
T2X T3
T3X T23
T4X
T5X
199 Peck, The Connoisseur 175, No. 706 (December 1970), p. 267.
200 Arnold, mmj 26 (1991), p. 38–40.
203 Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 51
Canopic box Moscow I 1a 5358 T1Mos

Canopic box Moscow I 1a 5359 T2Mos
Coffin Formerly MMA 27.3.73, now T1NY
Detroit I A 65.394
Coffin MMA 20.3.101–122 T2NY
Sarcophagus MMA 07.230.1 T3NY
Canopic box MMA 32.3.4.27 T4NY
T5NY Coffin MMA 32.3.429 T5NY
Coffin MMA T9NY
Coffin Brooklyn 52.127 T10NY
Coffin MMA T11NY
Model coffin MMA 25.3.240 T12NY
T1War Coffin Warsaw 142152; now in Prague T1War
(Naprstek Museum P1424)208
T2War Canopic box Warsaw 142147 T2War
Coffin PM I2, p. 620 T1X
Funerary bed MDAIK 20, 55; 60 T4X
Coffin PM I2, 652 T5X
(Continued)
205 James, Corpus I, no. 85.

206 Hayes, Scepter I, 162; 312–313
207 Hayes, Scepter I, p. 327, fig. 215.
(Continued)
T6X
T1
T2
T3210
T4
T5
T6
T10
T11
T12 X*13
T14
T15 T14
T16
T19 T33
T24
T25
T26
al-Ṭūd (Tôd)
Tôd1C Tôd1C
Theban Tombs
TT103
TT240 TT240 T15 TT240
TT311 T26
TT319 TT319 T19a TT319
Tanis (Ṣān al-Ḥajar)
Ta1
210 Grajetzki, The Coffin of Zemathor, p. 51 (T3).

Coffin DeM (1929), 104 (3) T6X

Coffin Carter, Carnarvon 1912, 52 (5) T7X
T3 Coffin Carter, Carnarvon 1912, 54–55 T9X
Coffin Carter, Carnarvon 1912, 67, 79 (50) T10X
Coffin Carter, Carnarvon 1912, 67, 80 (52) T11X
Coffin Winlock 1920, 31–32 T13X
Coffin model Winlock 1922, 34–35 T14X
Coffin Schmidt 1919, fig. 333–334 T15X
Model coffin Naville 1907, 50, pl. 11 (10) T16X
Coffin Carter 1901, 203–205 T17X
Coffin Arnold 1981, 48, pl. 61 T18X
Sarcophagus Arnold 1974, 54 T19X
Coffin Gardiner 1917, 30–31 T20X
Coffin Naville 1907, 50 (Henhenet) T21X
Model coffin Naville 1907, 49, pl. 11 (9) T22X
Coffin Allen 2002, 3–4, fig. 2–3 T23X
T33 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 5; 45–46 T24X
T34 Model coffin Grajetzki 2010, 5; 48–49 T25X
T39 Model coffin Grajetzki 2010, 5; 49–50 T26X
T40 Model coffin Grajetzki 2010, 5; 50 T27X
T35 Coffin Grajetzki 2010, 5; 51 T28X
Tomb chapel CJ 25618 = CG 20762 Tôd1C
Burial chamber Davies 1913, 37–38 TT103

Burial chamber PM I2, 330–331 TT240
Sarcophagus Montet 1947, 81–83, pl. 47

(Continued)
(Continued)
Origin unknown
X1Bas M*30
X2Bas M*22 X2Y
X3Bas
S1Am212 S1Am X1Am
X2213
X3C X3C
X2215 X17
X8
X9216
X5217
X1Hil
X1Len = H X1Len = H X*7
X1Mos
X1Mü
X1P
X3 X11
X12
X1War
211 Thus Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut II, p. 121.

212 Van den Bercken, van Haarlem, Eeuwig Egypte, p. 64.
213 Il senso dell’arte, p. 207–209.
214 Willems, in: Studies te Velde, p. 358–359 and fig. 7.
215 Kamal, asae 37 (1937), p. 127–128.
Coffin Lapp 1985, 5–7 X1Bas

Coffin Lapp 1985, 7–10. Now in Bonn211 X2Bas
Coffin Lapp 1985, 16 X3Bas
Chapel Lapp 1994 X4Bas
Coffin Amsterdam X1Am
APM 9236 + 9237
Coffin Bologna, Museo Civico X1Bol
Archeologico Inv. KS 1959
Coffin De Buck photos X3C
Coffin Cairo temp. 19/11/27/4214 X4C
Coffin Cairo temp. No. 12/10/37/1 X5C
Coffin CG 28113 X6C
Coffin Cairo temp. 9/2/38/1 X7C
Coffin Firenze 1704 (2181) X1Fir
Coffin X1Hil
Coffin X1Len = H
Coffin Moscow I 1a 5333 X1Mos
Coffin à S1M
Coffin Louvre E. 17109 X1P
Statue shrine Louvre E 25485218 X2P
Coffin Museum Parma219 X1Par
Coffin Toronto, Royal Ontario X1Tor
Museum220
Coffin Warsaw 47708 X1War
(Continued)
216 Kamal, asae 38 (1938), p. 29–34.

217 Schiaparelli, Museo archeologico di Firenze, 438–440.
218 Borghouts, in: FS Westendorf II, p. 703–716.
219 Botti, I cimeli egizi, p. 63–66; pl. XVII–XVIII.
220 Egyptian Mummies, p. 8.
(Continued)
X2War
X3War
X4War
X1X
X1221 S39 S1Mon S1Mon
Y1C Y1C Y1C
Y2C Y2C B*26
221 Ogdon, Baquès Estape, Aegyptus Antiquus 2 (1977), p. 1–31.


Coffin Zitman 2010, 151 X1X
à S1Mon
Coffin CJ 45237 Y1C
Coffin CG 28111 Y2C
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Plates
∵
Plate 1 Part of the early Old Kingdom cemetery at al-Nuwayrāt (photograph Harco Willems).
Plate 2 View from the northwest towards the Wādī Nakhla. North (i.e. left) of the wadi, the
photograph clearly shows the tombs in zone 4. The nomarchal tombs of the Middle
Kingdom are located higher up in zone 2. In the foreground, the excavations of the
Middle Kingdom cemetery of the early Middle Kingdom in zone 9 are shown
(situation in 2003). Photograph Marleen De Meyer.
Plate 3 View of zone 2 taken from the top of southern slope of the Wādī Nakhla. Photograph
Harco Willems.
Plate 4 The scene showing the transport of the colossal statue of Djehutihotep (photo Bruno
Vandermeulen).
Plate 5 View of the village square of Dayr al-Barshā (al-saḥlā; zone 10) (photo Harco
Willems).
Plate 6 View of the interior of the tomb of the lady Dje[hutinakht], taken from the entrance
in the north. Photo Marleen De Meyer.
Plate 7 The tomb of Nehri I (17L12/1). Photo Harco Willems.
A
B
Plate 8 A: miniature cup found in tomb 17K74/1 and datable to the time of Ahanakht I;
B: cup of the same type discovered by G. A. Reisner on the tomb of Ahanakht I
(Boston MFA 15-4-106)
(courtesy Museum of Fine Arts Boston).
Plate 9 Wall fragment with incised relief including a scroll-sign with two rope ends. The
fragment was found lying in the tomb of Djehutihotep (used as a storeroom by
the SCA) in 2002, and so has no recorded provenance. However, the relief style
unmistakably points to the tomb of Ahanakht I, and remains of the name
Ahanakht in fact remain in the seond register.
Plate 10 Relief on the northern door jamb between the southern and northern rooms in the
tomb chapel of Ahanakht I (photo Harco Willems).
Plate 11 General view of the western wall of tomb 17K74/1 (photo Bruno Vandermeulen).
Plate 12 Detail of the autobiography on the western wall of tomb 17K74/1.
Plate 13 Rear wall of the tomb of Iha (17K74/3) (photo Bruno Vandermeulen).
A
B
Plate 14 A: The capital of the column depicted in the southeastern corner of the northern
room of the funerary chapel of Ahanakht I. B: The capital of the column in the
southeastern corner of the southern room of the funerary chapel of Ahanakht I.
Photos Harco Willems.
Plate 15 Geomagnetic scan of the jazīra in the western part of zone 9.
Plate 16 Plan of one of the great mansions in al-Lahūn (after Bietak, in: Haus und Palast,
p. 32, fig. 12).
Index
Modern Authors Blaschta, D. 8, n. 12

Blondaux, L. 74
Abdalla, A. 203, n. 242 Blumenthal, E. 80, n. 68; 81, n. 73
Abdelrahiem, M. 43, n. 132; 61, n. 13 Boeser, P.A.A. 41, n. 129; 49, n. 150
Ahmed, F. 43, n. 132; 61, n. 13 Bolshakov, A. 210, n. 268
Alexanian, N. 8, n. 12 Bonnet, H. 125, n. 1
Allen, J.P. 50, n. 161; 98, n. 125; 125, n. 1; Borchardt, L. 50, n. 160
167, n. 132; 168, n. 137; 169; 171, n. 150; Borghouts, J.F. 125, n. 2; 209, n. 259; 217,
175, n. 169–170; 175–176; 201; 209, n. 292
n. 259; 217, n. 286; 232–233 Bourriau, J. 73, n. 44; 220, n. 303; 220–222;
Anīs, S. 71, n. 24 223, n. 316; 224
Anthes, R. 79, n. 66; 80; 83; 85; 91, n. 109; Bowman, A.K. 4, n. 2; 5, n. 8
211, n. 269 Breasted, J.H. 127, n. 15; 127–128
Antoine, J.-C. 145, n. 72; 146, n. 77 Bresciani, E. 48, n. 151
Antonini 61 Brovarski, E. 35, n. 114; 36, n. 116; 71, n. 26;
Arnold, D. 15; 37, n. 121; 109; 174, n. 167; 76, n. 56; 81, n. 73; 81, n. 77; 83–88; 95,
175, n. 171; 179, n. 182 n. 122; 180–181
Arnold, Do. 169, n. 138 Brown, Major Hanbury 105
Arquier, B. 134, n. 35; 193, n. 219; 200, Brunton, G. 61; 62; 224
n. 236 de Buck, A. 156; 168; 201; 218; 229;
Assmann, J. 124, n. 1–2; 125; 126, n. 11; 230–232; 234–235; 237
141, n. 52; 195, n. 221; 200, n. 237; 210, Budka, J. 93, n. 115; 112, n. 150
n. 267; 213, n. 278 Burkard, G. 126, n. 14
Aufrère, S. 174, n. 167 Bußmann, R. 15; 31, n. 98–99; 32, n. 100;
171, n. 152
Baba, M. 166, n. 131 Butzer, K. 144; 164, n. 125; 165, n. 127
Baer, K. 4, n. 3; 13, n. 31; 23, n. 76–77; 28,
n. 92; 53; 143, n. 59 Carter, H. 61, n. 7; 68; 174, n. 167; 223,
Bagnall, R. 145, n. 75 n. 316
Baines, J. 134, n. 37 Černý, J. 187, n. 203; 202, n. 241
Bakry, H.S. 71, n. 27 Chassinat, É. 61; 138
Bareš, L. 141, n. 52 Chiarelli, B. 145, n. 73
Becker, M. 48, n. 146 Ciampini, E.M. 59, n. 3; 178, n. 180
Beckh, T. 43, n. 132; 61, n. 13 Clarysse, W. 143
Behlmer, H. 131, n. 27 Clédat, J. 61
Beinlich, H. 5, n. 5 Colman, R. 146, n. 76
Bergamini, G. 14, n. 37 Currely, C.T. 174, n. 167
Berger el-Naggar, B. 120, n. 175; 133, n. 32; Curto, S. 14, n. 38
171, n. 153–154; 172, n. 157 Čwiek, A. 16, n. 47
Berlev, O. 49, n. 157 Czerny, E. 34, n. 107; 57, n. 186
Beylage, P. 49, n. 155
Bickel, S. 198, n. 227 Dabrowksa-Smektała, E. 294, n. 165
Bierbrier, M. 128, n. 18 Dahms, J. 169, n. 139; 193, n. 219
Bietak, M. 145; 203, n. 244; 205, n. 252; 206 Daoud, K.A. 41, n. 129; 168, n. 136; 170,
Blackden, M. 68 n. 140–141; 170, n. 143–147; 171, n. 148
366 index
Daressy, G. 67, n. 17; 68, n. 21; 69; 77, n. 57; Forstner-Müller, I. 144, n. 67
139, n. 47; 147, n. 78; 149; 152, n. 105 Franke, D. 4; 34, n. 108; 35, n. 112; 39,
Davies, W.V. 106, n. 137 n. 125; 47, n. 142; 49, n. 152; 49, n. 158;
Dawson, W.R. 128, n. 18 50, n. 160; 50, n. 162–164; 51, n. 165–166;
Delanche, E. 112, n. 151; 148, n. 84 54, n. 174; 56, n. 181; 115, n. 162; 121,
Delvaux, L. 272, n. 110 n. 177; 122, n. 183–184; 178–180;
Demarée, R.J. 203 203–204; 208–210
De Meyer, M. 17, n. 50; 22, n. 71; 61, n. 9; Fraser, G.W. 22, n. 70; 68; 150, n. 91
71, n. 24; 71, n. 27; 72, n. 29; 72, n. 32–34; Frier, B.W. 145, n. 75
72, n. 36; 72, n. 38; 73, n. 44; 73, n. 46; 73,
n. 50; 73, n. 52; 75; 76, n. 56; 84; 88; 91, Gabra, G. 37, n. 119
n. 106; 102, n. 128; 103, n. 130; 104, Gardiner, A.H. 59, n. 2; 125, n. 8; 126–128;
n. 133; 148, n. 82; 148, n. 87; 151, n. 98 129, n. 20; 183, n. 192; 187, n. 203; 217,
Denoix, S. 213, n. 279 n. 289; 217, n. 290
Depauw, M. 61, n. 9 Garstang, J. 2; 15, n. 43; 15, n. 46; 16; 61; 63;
Depraetere, D. 61, n. 9 154–155; 159
Derchain, Ph. 134 Gauthier, H. 34, n. 107
Dils, P. 91, n. 106 Gestermann, L. 35; 38–40; 42; 44, n. 135;
Dodson, A. 125, n. 1; 140, n. 51 45, n. 138; 47, n. 140; 48, n. 148; 49; 52;
Donnat, S. 135, n. 39; 183, n. 192 55, n. 178; 76, n. 56; 81, n. 75; 82–83;
Dorn, A. 113; 115, n. 164; 118, n. 170; 121, 85–87; 133, n. 32; 163, n. 123; 176,
n. 178 n. 175; 177; 182, 190; 218, n. 298; 227,
Downes, D. 224, n. 317 n. 325
Dreyer, G. 16, n. 47 Ghubriāl, U. 69–71; 73; 76; 103, n. 130
Dubiel, U. 126, n. 11; 224, n. 318; 225, Gilbert, G. 36, n. 117
n. 319 Ginter, B. 15, n. 39
Dupras, T. 145, n. 75 Gnirs, A. 126, n. 13
Goebs, K. 130, n. 25
Edel, E. 52, n. 169; 54, n. 174; 59, n. 2; 79, Goedicke, H. 12, n. 28; 35, n. 114; 187,
n. 64; 118, n. 169; 219, n. 300 n. 201; 211, n. 270; 228, n. 329
Effland, A. 93, n. 115; 112, n. 150 Gomaà, F. 47, n. 140
Effland, U. 93, n. 115; 112, n. 150 Graefe, E. 145, n. 74
Engel, E.-M. 9; 10, n. 16; 11; 12 Graindorge-Héreil, E. 121, n. 177
Engelbach, R. 141, n. 52; 219, n. 301 Grajetzki, W. 47, n. 144; 56, n. 180; 62,
Enmarch, R. 125, n. 8; 126, n. 14 n. 10; 75, n. 53; 167, n. 133; 175, n. 173;
Eichner, I. 43, n. 132; 61, n. 13 178, n. 180; 181; 220, n. 305; 222, n. 310;
Eyre, Chr. 13, n. 30 232; 234–235; 237
Grapow, H. 217, n. 291
Fakhry, A. 8, n. 12; 188, n. 207 Grieshammer, R. 186, n. 198
Faulkner, R.O. 191, n. 213 Griffith, F. Ll. 47, n. 146; 59, n. 1; 80; 85;
Favry, N. 39, n. 126; 48, n. 148; 49 110, n. 149; 112, n. 152; 113, n. 155
Fiore Marochetti, E. 41, n. 130 Gundacker, R. 174, n. 167
Firth, C.M. 20, n. 64; 170, n. 145–146; 228, Gunn, b. 228, n. 329
n. 329
Fischer, H.G. 24, n. 80; 25, n. 84; 34, n. 107; Habachi, L. 50, n. 163–164; 121,
35, n. 114; 36, n. 116; 41, n. 129; 57, n. 179–180; 209, n. 261
n. 184; 301, n. 183 Haffner, S. 128, n. 17
Fitzenreiter, M. 208, n. 257 Ḥamzā, M. 69; 76; 103, n. 130
index 367
Hannig, R. 156, n. 111; 232; 234–236; 288, 121–122, n. 181; 144; 164, n. 125; 221,
n. 148 n. 308; 224, n. 317
Hassan, A. 139, n. 49 Kessler, D. 16
Hassan, F. 126, n. 11; 144, n. 66 Al-Khadragy, M. 43; 44, n. 135; 62; 90; 112,
el-Hawari, A. 191, n. 212, n. 272 n. 152; 218, n. 296
Hayes, W.C. 37, n. 120; 202, n. 241 Khallāf, M. 72, n. 42
Hays, H. 129, n. 20; 201, n. 238; 211–213 El-Khatib, A. 43, n. 132; 62, n. 13
Helck, W. 5, n. 6; 5, n. 8; 8, n. 13; 10; 12; Kitagawa, C. 43, n. 132; 62, n. 13
33–35; 39; 55–56 Klemm, D. 61, n. 9; 78, n. 59
Hendrickx, S. 17, n. 50; 61, n. 9; 72, n. 28; Klemm, R. 61, n. 9; 78, n. 59
73, n. 52; 103, n. 131 Knoblauch, Chr. 168, n. 136
Herbich, T. 61, n. 9; 72, n. 42; 98; 99, n. 126 Kozłowski, J. 15, n. 39
Ḥilmī, Ḥ. 71, n. 25; 73, n. 48; 75 Kraus, J. 143–145; 164, n. 125; 204, n. 248
Hölbl, G. 4, n. 2 Krejči, J. 26, n. 87
Hölzl, Chr. 45, n. 139
Hogarth, J. 142 Labrousse, A. 120, n. 175; 125, n. 1; 134,
Hopkins, K. 145, n. 71 n. 32; 171, n. 153–154
Horn, J. 131, n. 27 Lange, E. 207, n. 255
Hovestreydt, W. 130, n. 25; 131, n. 26 Lapp, G. 148, n. 87; 156; 159; 212,
Huyge, D. 14, n. 34 n. 274–275; 232; 234–236; 288, n. 148;
300, n. 177; 301, n. 183
Ikram, S. 125, n. 1; 140, n. 51; 214, n. 281 Lauer, J.-Ph. 16, n. 47
Incordino, I. 16, n. 47 Leclant, J. 70, n. 23; 71, n. 24
Lesko, L.H. 148, n. 87; 231
James, T.G.H. 68, n. 19 von Lieven, A. 132, n. 29
Janssen, J.J. 143, n. 60; 187, n. 203; 204, Loat, W.L.S. 15, n. 42
n. 250 Long, G. 148, n. 87; 151; 152; 225, n. 320
Jaroš-Deckert, B. 38, n. 124; 42, n. 130
Jéquier, G. 138, n. 42 Mace, A.C. 138, n. 45; 222, n. 310
Jørgensen, M. 138, n. 41 Magee, D. 180, n. 183
Jürgens, P. 122, n. 182; 133, n. 32; 218, Málek, J. 168, n. 134; 172, n. 156
n. 297 Martin, G.T. 181, n. 187
Junker, H. 94, n. 118; 198, n. 229 Martin-Pardey, E. 10; 13; 24, n. 80; 25,
n. 83–84. See also Pardey, E.
Kahl, J. 9, n. 15; 10; 43; 45, n. 136; 62; 112, Martinet, É. 4, n. 3; 5, n. 7; 11, n. 26; 12,
n. 152; 120; n. 175 n. 29; 17, n. 52; 21, n. 66; 22, n. 72–73; 23,
Kahlbacher, A. 8, n. 12 n. 75; 24, n. 78–81; 25, n. 83–84; 26, n. 85;
Kaiser, W. 16, n. 47 28, n. 90; 28, n. 91; 29, n. 94; 29, n. 95; 30,
Kamal, A. 61; 68, n. 22; 69; 78, n. 62; 147; n. 96; 33, n. 103; 54, n. 174; 55, n. 175
148; 149, n. 90; 152–153, n. 105 Masali, M. 145, n. 73
Kammerer-Grothaus, H. 15, n. 39 Mathieu, B. 125, n. 4; 134, n. 37; 201,
Kanawati, N. 19, n. 61; 20, n. 65; 23, n. 75; n. 238; 210, n. 267
25, n. 84; 26, n. 85; 29, n. 92; 84, n. 85 McNamara, L. 32, n. 99
Kaplony, P. 11, n. 22 Meeks, D. 125, n. 3
Kees, H. 126, n. 3; 128, n. 17; 130–133; 134; Merrillees, R.S. 221, n. 308
168, n. 135; 182–183 Meyer, E. 178, n. 181
Kemp, B. 5; 9, n. 14; 14; 31, n. 98–99; 32, Meyer-Dietrich, E. 193, n. 219
n. 100; 58; 107, n. 143; 120, n. 175; Midant-Reynes, B. 213, n. 279
368 index
Miniaci, G. 138, n. 45; 166, n. 131; 167, 103, n. 131; 106, n. 140; 107, n. 144; 147,
n. 132; 174, n. 167; 181, n. 188; 220, n. 79–80
n. 306; 223, n. 314; 223, n. 316 Pestman, P.W. 187, n. 203
Moers, G. 131, n. 27 Petrie, W.M.F. 41, n. 129; 59, n. 2; 61–62
Montet, P. 47, n. 143; 47, n. 145–146; 59, Philip-Stéphan, A. 30, n. 95
n. 1; 111, n. 149; 113, n. 155 Piacentini, P. 16, n. 47
Morales, A. 234, n. 4 Pieper, M. 129–130
Moreno Garcia, J.-C. 4, n. 3; 14, n. 33; 17, von Pilgrim, C. 114, n. 161; 115, n. 163;
n. 52; 18, n. 54; 19, n. 60 and 62; 21, n. 66; 115, n. 165; 116, n. 166; 146, n. 76; 203,
22, n. 74; 24, n. 78–81; 25, n. 83–84; 26, n. 244; 203, n. 246
n. 85–86; 27, n. 90; 28, n. 91; 29, n. 94; 30; Podeman-Sørensen, J. 125, n. 1
31, n. 97; 31, n. 99; 32; 34, n. 107; 36, Polz, D. 173, n. 159
n. 118; 41, n. 129; 54, n. 173 de Pontbriand, A. 146, n. 76
Morenz, L. 38, n. 122; 42, n. 130; 126, n. 11 Posener-Kriéger, P. 14, n. 36; 18, n. 54–55;
Morenz, S. 125, 3 18, n. 58; 217, n. 287
Moret, A. 39, n. 127; 124, n. 1; 127, n. 16; Prell, S. 43, n. 132; 61, n. 13
128–129 Pries, A. 94, n. 118; 198, n. 229
de Morgan, J. 138, n. 45; 179; 222, n. 311 Pudleiner, R. 15, n. 40
Mortensen, B. 145, n. 73
Mostafa, M.F. 36, n. 117 Quibell, J.E. 14, n. 35; 20, n. 64; 170,
Müller, H.W. 59, n. 2 n. 141–144
Müller, M. 53, n. 169 Quirke, S. 53–54; 57, n. 185; 94, n. 119;
Müller, W. 143, n. 57; 146, n. 76 125, n. 4; 126, n. 14; 174, n. 168
Müller-Wollermann, R. 49, n. 153
Rabehl, S.M. 47, n. 141
Naville, É. 174, n. 167 Raue, D. 131, n. 26
Nerlich, A. 8, n. 12 Regulski, I. 10; 218, n. 297
Neugebauer, O. 94, n. 116 Reisner, G.A. 15; 68–69; 72, n. 39; 72, n. 43;
Newberry, P.E. 67, n. 18; 68; 89; 91; 106; 88–89; 91; 104; 146; 150–152
152, n. 105 Richards, J. 124, n. 1; 224, n. 317
Nordh, K. 177, n. 176 Rigault, P. 148, n. 84
Novacek, J. 146, n. 76 Ritner, R. 217, n. 295
Nunn, J.F. 86, n. 91; 145, n. 72 Römer, M. 33, n. 104
Rösing, F.W. 145, n. 74
Op de Beeck, A. 17, n. 50; 61, n. 9; 72, n. 43; Rosati, G. 164, n. 126
73, n. 44; 82, n. 78; 103, n. 131; 138; 142, Rzeuska, T. 43, n. 132
n. 54; 224, n. 317
Oppenheim, A. 8, n. 12; 179, n. 182 Schaad, D. 211, n. 271
Orel, S. 2 Schäfer, H. 93, n. 115; 171, n. 151
Schenkel, W. 5, n. 7; 35, n. 114; 43, n. 134;
Palanque, Ch. 61; 138, n. 44 80, n. 72; 81; 133
Pantalacci, L. 118, n. 171; 211, n. 271 Schiaparelli, E. 59; 178, n. 180
Pardey, E. 34, n. 107; 39; 47, n. 141 Schiestl, R. 166, n. 131
Parker, R.A. 94, n. 116 Schneider, T. 130, n. 23; 131, n. 26
Pätznick, J.-P. 16, n. 47 Schultz, M. 146, n. 76
Pawlikowski, M. 15, n. 39 Seidlmayer, S.J. 6, n. 9; 8, n. 12; 16, n. 47; 19,
Peet, T.E. 15, n. 42 n. 63; 21, n. 67–68; 22, n. 73; 24, n. 81; 29,
Peeters, Chr. 61, n. 9; 66, n. 16; 72, n. 40; 73, n. 94; 32, n. 100; 36, n. 116; 44, n. 135; 62,
n. 45; 82, n. 78; 99, n. 126; 101, n. 127; n. 11; 116–118; 132, n. 32; 135–136; 141,
index 369
n. 52; 169, n. 139; 207, n. 255; 214, n. 280; Verstraeten, G. 101, n. 127; 106, n. 140;
215, n. 282–284; 216, n. 285; 219, n. 300; 107, n. 144; 109, n. 146
220, n. 304 Vieler, G. 54, n. 174; 79, n. 64; 118, n. 169
Seiler, A. 82, n. 78; 169, n. 138; 222, n. 313; Vogt, C. 61, n. 7
213, n. 315–316
Seipel, W. 191, n. 214 Waldo Dunnington, G. 131, n. 27
Van Seters, J. 126 Ward, W.A. 180, n. 186
Sethe, K. 8; 129, n. 20; 183, n. 192; 213, Wasmuth; M. 125, n. 1
n. 277; 217, n. 290 Wegner, J. 110–111, n. 150; 207, n. 254
Seyfried, K.J. 54, n. 174; 79, n. 64; 118, van Wijngaarden, W.D. 152, n. 105
n. 169 Wildung, D. 288, n. 148
Simpson, W.K. 49, n. 152; 217, n. 288; 217, Wilfing, H. 145, n. 70
n. 290 Wilkinson, T. 10, n. 20; 14, n. 38; 15, n. 44
Słiwa, J. 15, n. 39 Willems, H. 17, n. 50; 22, n. 70; 33, n. 106;
Smith, M. 128, n. 17; 133, n. 32; 165, n. 130; 35, n. 112; 38, n. 122; 41, n. 129; 43,
211–219 n. 134; 45, n. 137; 48, n. 147–148; 51,
Smith, W.S. 14, n. 38 n. 166–167; 52, n. 168; 57, n. 184; 61, n. 7;
Soukiassian, G. 118, n. 171–172; 119, fig. 61, n. 9; 66, n. 16; 68, n. 20; 70, fig. 11; 72,
22; 120, n. 174; 211, n. 271; 227, n. 326 n. 31; 72, n. 37; 73, n. 45; 73, n. 52; 77,
Spence, K. 203, n. 245 n. 57–58; 78, n. 60–61; 81–84; 88, n. 96;
Spencer, J. 73, n. 51; 140, n. 51 88, n. 98–99; 90, n. 102–103; 90, n. 105;
Steindorff, G. 130–131 92, n. 111; 93, n. 114; 94, n. 117–118; 95,
Stewart, H.M. 49, n. 155 n. 120–122; 101, n. 127; 103, n. 131; 104,
Strudwick, N. 23, n. 76–77; 26–28; 30, n. 134–136; 106, n. 140; 107, n. 142; 107,
n. 95 n. 143; 113, n. 155; 133, n. 32; 134, n. 35;
Swerdlov, N.M. 131, n. 27 138, n. 40; 138, n. 42; 141, n. 52; 148,
n. 84–85; 148, n. 87; 149; 151, n. 95–96;
Tallet, P. 12, n. 28 151, n. 98; 152, n. 103; 152–153, n. 105;
Terrace, E.L.B. 61, n. 8; 152, n. 102 156; 159; 166, n. 131; 171, n. 151; 173,
Thissen, H.-J. 126, n. 14 n. 165–166; 175, n. 173; 180, n. 184; 183,
Thompson, D. 143 n. 192; 185, n. 194; 187, n. 202; 193,
Tollmien, C. 131, n. 26 n. 218; 196, n. 223–226; 198, n. 228; 212,
n. 273; 219, n. 300; 231–232; 235; 272,
Ullrich, V. 128, n. 17 n. 110
Uphill, E. 128, n. 18 Winkler, E.-M. 145, n. 70
Winlock, H.E. 138, n. 45
Valbelle, D. 204, n. 248–249 Wuttmann, M. 118, n. 171; 211, n. 271
Valloggia, M. 25, n. 84; 133, n. 32; 225,
n. 321 Yoshimura, S. 166, n. 131
Vandier, J. 35, n. 113; 36, n. 115; 126, n. 3 Yoyotte, J. 5, n. 8
Van Siclen, C. 57, n. 186
Vanthuyne, B. 17, n. 50; 72, n. 28 Ziermann, M. 117
Vercoutter, J. 222, n. 312 Zitman, M. 36, n. 116; 42; 43, n. 131;
Vereecken, S. 17, n. 50; 73, n. 44; 103, 43, n. 134; 45, n. 135–136; 47–48,
n. 129–130 n. 145–146; 78, n. 62; 133, n. 32; 139,
Verhoeven, U. 43; 61 n. 46; 141, n. 52; 142, n. 55; 149, n. 90;
Vernus, P. 134, n. 33; 171, n. 155; 173, 156, n. 111–112; 157; 159; 178; 180,
n. 162 n. 183; 218, n. 296; 232; 234–236; 288,
Verrept, B. 104, n. 136; 151, n. 94 n. 148
370 index
Royal Names Shoshenq III 200

Snofru 8; 15; 16, n. 47; 18; 20; 21; 171
Amenemhat I 45; 47; 50; 52; 80; 82; 84–85;
169, n. 138; 172–173; 175; 178 Teti 167; 171
Amenemhat II 85; 179
Amenemhat III 109; 161; 167, n. 132;
179–181 Names of Private Persons
Antef II Wahankh 37; 41, n. 129; 114
Ab-ihu (Ꜥb-ı̓ḥ.w) 35, n. 114
Demedjibtawy 211, n. 270 Ahanakht I (ꜤḥꜢ-nḫt) 79–82; 84; 87–98;
Den 11 103–104; 109; 150; 176–177
Djedkare-Isesi 28 Ahanakht II (ꜤḥꜢ-nḫt) 90; 152
Djoser 10–11; 15; 16, n. 47 Amenemhat (ʼImn-m-ḥꜢ.t) 85; 104; 149,
n. 91
Hor 174, n. 167; 222, n. 311; 224 Ameny (ʼImn.y) 80
Huni 16, n. 47; 21; 116–117 Anankhy (Ꜥn-Ꜥnḫ.y) 184
Ankhtifi (Ꜥnḫ.ty=fy) 35–37
Ibi 198 Antef (ʼInı̓-ı̓t=f ) 47; 51; 173, n. 163
Antef, son of Myt (ʼInı̓-ı̓t=f ) 227
Khafre 15
Khasekhemwy 10–11; 20 Baqet I (BꜢḳ.ty) 45
Khufu 12 Baqet III (BꜢḳ.ty) 45
Bebi (Bbı̓) 98
Mentuhotep II 33; 40; 41; 42, n. 130; 44, Behesti (BḤs.ty) 184
n. 135; 45; 52; 80–82; 92; 161; 168; Buau (BwꜢw) 173, n. 162
172–174; 227
Mentuhotep III 82, n. 80; 169, n. 138; 227 Dagi (DꜢgı̓) 98; 173, n. 161
Merenptah 141, n. 52 Djaw (ḎꜤw) 30, n. 95
Merikare 43; 168; 170, fig. 28; 171 Djefaihapy I (ḎfꜢ=ı̓-ḤꜤpy) 42; 47; 110; 112,
n. 151–152; 120, n. 175; 122; 214; 228,
Neferefre 22; 72, n. 29; 102 n. 328
Neith (queen) 138 Djefaihapy II (ḎfꜢ=ı̓-ḤꜤpy) 47
Ninetjer 11 Djefaihapy III (ḎfꜢ=ı̓-ḤꜤpy) 179
Niuserre 23; 171 Djefaihapy IV (ḎfꜢ=ı̓-ḤꜤpy) 179
Djehutinakht (♀)(Ḏḥwty-nḫt) 74–76; 141
Pepi I 120, n. 175; 172 Djehutinakht (I), son of Teti (Ḏḥwty-nḫt msı̓.n
Pepi II 211, n. 271; 225 Ttı̓) 73, n. 50; 75; 81; 84, n. 83; 84;
Peribsen 11 87–88; 104, n. 132; 146; 152; 154
Ptolemy III 4 Djehutinakht IV (Ḏḥwty-nḫt) 80; 87; 90–91;
152
Sahure 15 Djehutinakht V (Ḏḥwty-nḫt) 152
Sanakht 15; 16, n. 47 Djehutinakht VI (Ḏḥwty-nḫt) 85; 104; 151;
Sekhemkhet 16, n. 47 152–153, n. 105; 153
Senwosret I 6; 34; 41, n. 129; 42; 45; 47; 48; Djehutinakht (ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ; Ḏḥwty-nḫt) 180
50; 52; 80; 85–86; 110; 168; 175–176; 196 Djehutinakht (Ḏḥwty-nḫt) 89; 91–96
Senwosret II 50; 179–181 Djehutihotep (nomarch; Ḏḥwty-ḥtp) 66–67;
Senwosret III 104; 138, n. 45; 161; 176, 72, n. 31; 78; 104–109; 120, n. 175; 139;
n. 174; 178–181; 196; 207; 220 149, n. 91; 151; 179; 207; 210; 228
index 371
Djehutihotep (scribe; Ḏḥwty-ḥtp) 148 Medu-nefer (Mdw-nfr) 211, n. 271, 212;

Duahor (DwꜢ-Ḥr) 90 225–226; 227, n. 326
Mentuhotep (Mnṯw-ḥtp) 49
Geheset (Gḥs.t) 139; 222, n. 309 Mentuhotep (♀; queen) (Mnṯw-ḥtp) 172,
Gemniemhat (Gmı̓.n=ı̓-m-ḥꜢ.t) 138, n. 41; n. 159
139, n. 49; 168–169; 171 Merer (Mrr) 202, n. 241
Meru (Mr.w) 173, n. 162
Harkhuf (Ḥr-ḫwı̓=f ) 54 Mesehti (Msḥ.ty) 43; 44, n. 135; 139–140;
Henu (Ḥnw) 72, n. 34; 73, n. 50; 146; 243, 200, n. 236
n. 33 Mesehti-iqer (Msḥ.ty-ı̓ḳr) 43
Henenu (Ḥnnw) 37; 40 Meketre (Mk.ty-RꜤ) 169, n. 138; 173, n. 162
Henib (Ḥn-ı̓b) 59 Metjen (Mṯn) 18; 22–23
Heqaib (ḤḳꜢ-ı̓b) 54; 113–115; 118; 121;
179; 208 Nakht (Nḫt) 138; 140
Heqanakht (ḤḳꜢ-nḫt) 169, n. 138 Neferdjeba (Nfr-ḏbꜢ) 147, n. 81
Heqata (ḥḳꜢ-t) 193–195 Neferi (Nfr.y) 139; 140
Hetep (Ḥtp) 141, n. 52; 228, n. 329 Nehri I (Nḥrı̓) 79–87; 151; 210
Hetepi (Ḥtpı̓) 37; 40 Nehri II (Nḥrı̓) 150; 152
Horemkhauef (Ḥr-m-ḫꜤ.w=f ) 202 Nekhebu (Nḫb.w) 27, n. 90; 113
Horhotep (Ḥr-ḥtp) 50–51; 173, n. 164 Netjeraperef (Nṯr-Ꜥpr=f ) 22–23
Nyankhnemty (N.y-Ꜥnḫ-Nm.ty) 72, n. 30
Ia-ib (ʼIꜤı̓-ı̓b) 22; 72, n. 29; 102
Idi (ʼIdı̓) 211, n. 270 Pehernefer (Pḥ-r-nfr) 22–23
Iikhernofret (ʼIı̓-ẖr-nfr.t) 93, n. 115 Pepi-ankh Heni-kem (Ppy-Ꜥnḫ ḥny-km) 113
Ip (ʼIp) 41, n. 129 Pepinakht (Ppy-nḫt) 113, n. 159
Inheretnakht (ʼInı̓-ḥrı̓.t-nḫt) 35, n. 114
Ini (ʼInı̓) 36 Rediwikhnum (Rdı̓-wı̓-H̱ nmw) 47, n. 140
Iha (ʼIḥꜢ) (nomarch) 75 Reherishefnakht (RꜤ-Ḥr.y-š=f-nḫt) 133, n. 32
Iha (ʼIḥꜢ) 89; 91; 93; 95–97; 177
Isi (ʼIsı̓) 28, n. 92; 120, n. 175; 122, n. 184; Sabni (SꜢbnı̓) 115
208 Sarenput I (SꜢ-rnp.wt) 50–52; 110; 115; 209
Ita (princess; ʼItꜢ) 138, n. 45 Sarenput II (SꜢ-rnp.wt) 50–51
It-ib (ʼIt-ı̓b) 42–43; 112; 288, n. 148 Sebekhotep (Sbk-ḥtp) 115
It-ib-iqer (ʼIt-ı̓b-ı̓ḳr) 43; 44, n. 135 Senbi (Snbı̓) 48, n. 147
Senebtisi (Snb.ty=sy) 138; 175, n. 173; 222;
Kagemni (KꜢ=ı̓ gmı̓.n=ʼI) 171 224
Kay (KꜤy) 210–211 Senenu (Snnw) 173, n. 162
Khety (H̱ ty) 45; 173, n. 162; 179 Senu (Snw) 166, n. 131
Khety I (H̱ ty) 42–43 Sesenebenef (Ssnb.n=f ) 166; 193, n. 219;
Khety II (H̱ ty) 42–43 222, n. 309
Khnumyt (princess; H̱ nm.yt) 138, n. 45 Seshemnefer I (Sšm-nfr) 19
Khnumnakht (H̱ nmw-nḫt) 89 Shemai (ŠmꜢı̓) 211, n. 270
Khnumhotep I (H̱ nmw-ḥtp) 45 Shemsi (Šmsı̓) 78, n. 62
Khnumhotep II (H̱ nmw-ḥtp) 48; 179–180 Sobknefer (Sbk-nfr) 84, n. 85
Khnumhotep III (H̱ nmw-ḥtp) 179–180
Khu-nes (Ḫwı̓-ns) 24 Ukh-hotep son of Senbi (Wḫ-ḥtp) 48, n. 147
Khuu (Ḫww) 70–71; 75–76 Ukh-hotep IV (Wḫ-ḥtp) 179
Khufu-ankh (Ḫwı̓=f-wı̓-Ꜥnḫ) 22, n. 73 Unas-Ankh (Wnı̓s-Ꜥnḫ) 28, n. 92
372 index
Wadj (WꜢḏ) 48 Banī Ḥasan tomb 15 45

Wahka II (WꜢḥ-kꜢ) 179–180 Banī Ḥasan tomb 17 45
Wepwawetaa (Wpı̓-wꜢ.wt-ꜤꜢ) 49 Banī Ḥasan tomb 27 45
Wepwawethetep (Wpı̓-wꜢ.wt-http) 181 Banī Ḥasan tomb 29 45
Banī Ḥasan tomb 33 45
Bayt Khallāf 15
Thematic Index Bead 224
Bedouin 79; 180
Abū Ṣīr 160; 167; 168–172; 214 Biahmū 109–100
Abydos 15; 30, n. 95; 32; 37; 57, n. 186; 82, Birth brick 225, n. 320
n. 78; 93; 160; 167; 206–207; 224, n. 317 Bolsheviks 127; 130
Abydos tomb U-j 9; 10 Book of the Dead 172, n. 159; 175; 227; 228
Admonitions 125 Book of Two Ways 218
Akh (Ꜣḫ) 184; 225 Boundary stelae 96
Akhmīm 47; 160; 166 Bows and arrows 137, fig. 23; 138
Amulet 224 Bracelets 137, fig. 23; 138;
Anubis 189; 191 Bread mould 78
Armant 36; 49 Brick department 94
al-ʿAṣāṣīf 110 Burial chambers 230
Aṣfūn al-Mataʿnā 18 Burial chamber Cairo CG 28023 306–307
al-Ashmūnayn 5; 64; 73, n. 51; 79; 95–96; Burial chamber Chicago OIM 252–253
101; 103; 106–107; 121; 176–177; 182; 227 Burial chamber L1Mex 175, n. 173
Astronomer 94 Burial chamber L4NY 175
Aswān 50; 54; 121; 145–146; 159; 193 Burial chamber L6NY 175, n. 173
Asyūṭ 34; 40; 42; 44, n. 135; 45; 47–48; 51; Burial chamber L10X 175
55; 56; 57; 59; 61–63; 78, n. 62; 81; 88; 90; Burial chamber L15X 175, n. 173
110; 112; 120, n. 175; 122; 133, n. 32; 138; Burial chamber L16X 175, n. 173
139; 140; 141; 142; 155; 156–161; 167; Burial chamber New York, MMA 33.1.173
176; 178–179; 208; 218; 228; 234; 288, 260–261
n. 148 Burial chamber S 175
Asyūṭ tomb N.13.1 43; 218, n. 296 Burial chamber Sq12Sq 171
Asyūṭ tomb II = O.13.1 47, n. 146 Burial chamber T1C 173, n. 164
Asyūṭ tomb III 42; 112 Burial chamber Turin CGT 7001 258–259
Asyūṭ tomb IV 42; 43
Asyūṭ tomb V 42 Cadaster 96
Atum 193; 195 Canopic box 141, n. 52; 231
ʿAyn Asīl 118–119 Canopic box B5Bo 148; 152
Canopic box B2C 148; 151
Ba 140; 200, n. 236 Canopic box B11C 148; 151
Bāb al-Ḥusān tomb 174, n. 167 Canopic box B18C 148; 151
Badāwī, A. 131, n. 27 Canopic box B19C 148
Balāṭ 54; 118; 121; 133, n. 32; 207–208; Canopic Box Boston MFA 21.421–22
211 244–245
Banī Ḥasan 2; 34; 44, n. 135; 45–48; 51; 55; Canopic box Cairo CG 4740 246–247
56; 57; 59; 61; 63; 82, n. 78; 85; 86; 110; Canopic Cairo CG 4977 246–247
154–155; 159; 160; 167; 176; 178–180; 220 Canopic box Cairo CG 4980 246–247
Banī Ḥasan tomb 2 80 Canopic box Cairo number unknown
Banī Ḥasan tomb 14 45 246–247
index 373
Canopic box Moscow, Pushkin Museum I 1a Coffin B22C 151; 153

5358 308–309 Coffin B23C 152
Canopic box Moscow, Pushkin Museum I 1a Coffin B25C 152
5359 308–309 Coffin B26C 78; 148; 149, n. 90; 152
Canopic box New York MMA 32.3.4.27 Coffin B1L 151, n. 95
308–309 Coffin B2L 151, n. 95
Canopic box T1Mos 172, n. 159 Coffin B3L 151, n. 95
Canopic box T2Mos 172, n. 159 Coffin B4L 151, n. 95
Canopic box T4NY 172, n. 159 Coffin B5L 151, n. 95
Canopic box Warsaw 142147 308–309 Coffin B6L 152, n. 105
Canopic niche 74 Coffin B1Lei 152, n. 105
Canopic vase 141, n. 52 Coffin B1Ph 152
Chapelle blanche 6; 7, fig. 2 Coffin B2Ph 152
Coffin 36, n. 116; 63; 68; 77; 87; 89; 99; 103; Coffin B1X 146–147
141, n. 52; 142; 146–177; 195–199; Coffin B2X 147
219–220; 222 Coffin B3X 152
Coffin A1C 193–195 Coffin B4X 149
Coffin Amsterdam Allard Pierson Museum Coffin Baltimore 62.5 304–305
APM 9236 + APM 9237 312–313 Coffin Berkeley LMA 6-16016 272–273
Coffin B1Ash 146 Coffin Berlin 240–241
Coffin B4B 152 Coffin Berlin 300–301 (2 items)
Coffin B5B 152 Coffin Berlin No. 9 304–305
Coffin B9B 147 Coffin Berlin 70/71 264–265
Coffin B1Bo 152 Coffin Berlin 7796 300–301 and n. 177
Coffin B2Bo 152 Coffin Berlin 10183 300–301
Coffin B6Bo 152 Coffin Berlin 10185 (sic !) + 10616 298–299
Coffin B3C 148–149 Coffin Berlin 13773 254–255
Coffin B1C 151, n. 95 Coffin Berlin 13774 254–255
Coffin B4C 148–149 Coffin Berlin 13775 254–255
Coffin B6C 152 Coffin Berlin 16.200 238–239
Coffin B9C 151 Coffin Birmingham City Museum and Art
Coffin B10C 151 Gallery 276–277
Coffin B14C 152, n. 105; 180 Coffin Bologna Mus. Civ. Arch. Inv. KS
Coffin B15C 151; 153 1958 258–259
Coffin B16C 151, n. 95 Coffin Bologna Mus. Civ. Arch. Inv. KS
Coffin B17C 151, n. 95 1959 312–313
374 index
Coffin Bonn 238–239; 312–313 Coffin Cairo CG 28020 242–243

Coffin Boston MFA, no number 246–247 Coffin Cairo CG 28021 242–243
Coffin Boston MFA, unaccessioned Coffin Cairo CG 28022 306–307
272–273 Coffin Cairo CG 28025 306–307
Coffin Boston MFA Acc. No. 04.2058 Coffin Cairo CG 28026 306–307
250–251 Coffin Cairo CG 28027 306–307
Coffin Boston MFA 03.1361 254–255 Coffin Cairo CG 28028 306–307
Coffin Boston MFA 15-5-532 246–247 Coffin Cairo CG 28029 306–307
Coffin Boston MFA 20.1822–27 244–245 Coffin Cairo CG 28030 306–307
Coffin Boston MFA 21.962–63 244–245 Coffin Cairo CG 28031 246–247; 306–307
Coffin Boston MFA 21.964–65 244–245 Coffin Cairo CG 28032 246–247; 306–307
Coffin Boston MFA 21.966–67 244–245 Coffin Cairo CG 28033 246–247
Coffin Boston MFA 21.969a,b 246–247 Coffin Cairo CG 28034 300–301
Coffin Boston MFA 21.810–11 + 21.968 Coffin Cairo CG 28035 300–301
244–245 Coffin Cairo CG 28036 300–301
Coffin Bremen Übersee Mus. B3892 Coffin Cairo CG 28037 264–265
238–239 Coffin Cairo CG 28038 264–265
Coffin Bremen Übersee Mus. B.937 Coffin Cairo CG 28039 266–267
238–239 Coffin Cairo CG 28040 264–265
Coffin Brooklyn 52.127 308–309 Coffin Cairo CG 28041 266–267
Coffin Brooklyn Inv. 1995.112 288–289 Coffin Cairo CG 28042 264–265
Coffin Brussels MRAH E785 298–299 Coffin Cairo CG 28043 264–265
Coffin Brussels MRAH E2617A–C 276–277 Coffin Cairo CG 28044 264–265
Coffin Cairo 276–277 Coffin Cairo CG 28049 266–267
Coffin Cairo (number unknown) 278–279 Coffin Cairo CG 28050 266–267
(2 coffins) Coffin Cairo CG 28051 266–267
Coffin Cairo CG 28001 242–243 Coffin Cairo CG 28052 266–267
Coffin Cairo CG 28016 240–241 Coffin Cairo CG 28067 252–253; 266–267
index 375
Coffin Cairo CG 28071 266–267 Coffin Cairo JdE 36446 276–277

Coffin Cairo CG 28072 266–267 Coffin Cairo JdE 37563a 250–251
Coffin Cairo CG 28074 266–267 Coffin Cairo JdE 37563b 250–251
Coffin Cairo CG 28078 + 28079r 264–265 Coffin Cairo JdE 37569 250–251
Coffin Cairo CG 28079a–q 264–265 Coffin Cairo JdE 37566 246–247
Coffin Cairo CG 28085 246–247 Coffin Cairo JdE 39053 300–301 and
Coffin Cairo CG 28086 246–247 n. 183
Coffin Cairo CG 28089 246–247 Coffin Cairo JdE 39059 300–301 and n. 183
Coffin Cairo CG 28123 246–247 Coffin Cairo temp. 1/10/14/9 278–279
Coffin Cairo JdE 31584 278–279 Coffin Cairo temp. 11/11/20/8 300–301
376 index
Coffin Cairo temp. 17/10/17/1 278–279 Coffin Hamburg MfV C.3711 238–239
Coffin Cairo temp. 17/10/17/3 278–279 Coffin Hamm Städtisches Gustav-Lübke-
Coffin Cairo temp. 18/1/27/2 300–301 Museum 15017 278–279
Coffin Cairo temp. 18/1/27/3 300–301 Coffin Heidelberg Universitätssammlung Inv.
Coffin Cairo temp. 19/11/27/4 312–313 914 278–279
Coffin Cairo temp. 21/11/16/21 278–279 Coffin Hildesheim 248–249
Coffin Cairo temp. 21/11/16/24 276–277 Coffin Hildesheim, Römer-Pelizaeus-Museum
Coffin Cairo temp. 21/11/16/27 278–279 Inv. Nr. 5999 278–279
Coffin Cairo temp. 21/11/16/28 278–279 Coffin Hildesheim, Römer-Pelizaeus-Museum
Coffin Cairo temp. 28/4/28/1 246–247 Inv. Nr. 6000 278–279
Coffin Cairo University Museum 446 279 Coffin L7C 175
Coffin Cambridge 298–299 Coffin L8C 175
Coffin Cambridge Fitzw. Mus. 250–251 Coffin L1Li 166; 175; 193, n. 219; 222,
Coffin Cambridge Fitzw. Mus. E.47.1902 n. 309
250–251 Coffin L2Li 166; 175; 193, n. 219; 222,
Coffin Cambridge Fitzw. Mus. E.71.1903 n. 309
250–251 Coffin L3Li 175, n. 169
Coffin Cambridge Fitzw. Mus. E.W. 66a–66b Coffin L4Li 175, n. 169
278–279 Coffin L1NY 175, n. 169
Coffin Cambridge Fitzw. Mus. E.W. 82 Coffin L2NY 175, n. 173
278–279 Coffin L3NY 175, n. 173
Coffin Chicago 306–307 Coffin L9NY 175, n. 169; 222
Coffin Chicago Field Mus. 91068 278–279 Coffin L10NY 175, n. 173
Coffin Chicago Field Mus. 881917 278–279 Coffin L11NY 175, n. 173
Coffin Chicago Nat. Hist. Mus. A.105215 Coffin L1X 175, n. 169
306–307 Coffin L2X 175, n. 169
Coffin Chicago OI 11459 278–279 Coffin L3X 175, n. 173
Coffin Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek Coffin L6X 175, n. 169
1585 298–299 Coffin L12X 175, n. 170
Coffin Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek Coffin L13X 175, n. 170
1586 298–299 Coffin L18X 175, n. 169
Coffin Copenhagen, Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek Coffin Leiden 248–249
1615 302–303 Coffin Leiden F1933/4.1 242–243
Coffin Da11X 166, n. 131 Coffin Leiden F 1966/2.1 268–269
Coffin Da12X 166, n. 131 Coffin Leipzig Inv. 4 238–239
Coffin Da13X 166, n. 131 Coffin Lille University 272–273
Coffin Detroit I A 65.394 308–309 Coffin Liverpool Museum 55.82.112
Coffin Edinburgh 1979.203eA 268–269 250–251
Coffin Emory Museum EUMAA 1921.2 Coffin Liverpool Museum 55.82.113
276–277 250–251
Coffin Firenze 1704 (2181) 312–313 Coffin Liverpool Museum 55.82.114
Coffin Freiburg Mus. f. Völkerkunde Inv. Ae20 238–239
250–251 Coffin Liverpool 55.82.114 240–241
Coffin G1Be 133, n. 32 Coffin Liverpool University 250–251
Coffin G1T 195 Coffin Liverpool University E.515 250–251
Coffin H 231 Coffin Liverpool University E.577 250–251
index 377
Coffin Liverpool University E.589 250–251 Coffin London BM 46642–559 280–281

Coffin Liverpool University E.592 250–251 Coffin London BM 46643–560 280–281
Coffin Liverpool University E.813b Coffin London BM 46644–561 + 562
250–251 280–281
Coffin Liverpool University E.8139a Coffin London BM 46644–562 280–281
250–251 Coffin London BM 46645–563 280–281
Coffin London BM no number 284–285 Coffin London BM 46645–564 + 46645–563
(21 items) 280–281
Coffin London BM 6654 306–307 Coffin London BM 46646–565 + 46646–566
Coffin London BM 6655 306–307 282–283
Coffin London BM 10553 306–307 Coffin London BM 46647–567 280–281
Coffin London BM 29997 306–307 280–281
Coffin London BM 29575–4 280–281 Coffin London BM 46650–571 282–283
Coffin London BM 46629–540 280–281 282–283
Coffin London BM 46632–543 280–281 Coffin London BM 46664–585 + 47603–611 +
Coffin London BM 46633–544 280–281 47596–604 + 47604–612 + 47597–605
Coffin London BM 46634–545 280–281 280–281
Coffin London BM 46637–548 280–281 Coffin London BM 46667–588 + 47583–591
Coffin London BM 46638–549 284–285 282–283
Coffin London BM 46640–551–555 + Coffin London BM 47581–589 282–283
46640–551 + 46640–552 + 46640–555 + Coffin London BM 47582–590 282–283
46640–553 + 46640–554 280–281 Coffin London BM 47583–591 282–283
Coffin London BM 46640–553 280–281 47607–621 + 46662–583 282–283
Coffin London BM 46641–556 + 558 + 47588–596 282–283
47594–602 + 46641–557 + 46663–584 Coffin London BM 47587–595 282–283
280–281 Coffin London BM 47588–596 282–283
378 index
Coffin London BM 47591–599 282–283 Coffin Mallawī Museum 569 286–287

Coffin London BM 47592–600 282–283 Coffin MC105 231
Coffin London BM 47593–601 282–283 Coffin Manchester 274–275
Coffin London BM 47595–603 282–283 Coffin Melbourne Inv. No. X83758 272–273
Coffin London BM 47596–604 280–281 Coffin Minia Museum 272 286–287
Coffin London BM 47602 284–285 Coffin Minia Museum 278 286–287
Coffin London BM 47606–614 + 47606–615 Coffin Minia Museum 637 286–287
282–283 Coffin Montserrat, Museo del Oriente Biblico
Coffin London BM 47606–615 282–283 620.01 286–287
Coffin London BM 47607–616 + 47607–617 + Coffin Moscow Pushkin 5308, 5311,2
47607–619 + 47607–620 + 46649–570 242–243
282–283 Coffin Moscow Pushkin Mus. I.1a 5333
Coffin London BM 47607–617 282–283 312–313
Coffin London BM 47607–618 282–283 Coffin Moscow Pushkin Mus. I.1a 5336–7
Coffin London BM 47607–619 282–283 242–243
Coffin London BM 47607–620 282–283 Coffin Moscow Pushkin Mus. I.1a 5304–7
Coffin London BM 47607–621 282–283 242–243
Coffin London BM 47607–622 282–283 Coffin München 286–287
Coffin London BM 47608–623 + 47608–624 Coffin München ÄS 1031 238–239
284–285 Coffin München ÄS 6055 288–289
Coffin London BM 47643 284–285 Coffin Nantes, Musée Dorée D 961.2.134
Coffin London BM 47651 284–285 288–289
Coffin London BM 55315 248–249 Coffin Neuchâtel Mus. Eg. 336–7 300–301
Coffin London Petrie Museum 258–259 Coffin New York MMA 260–261
Coffin London UC16590 240–241 (6 different coffins thus designated are
Coffin London UCL 38046 274–275 mentioned); 308–309 (2 items)
Coffin Luxor Museum (Ameny) 306–307 Coffin New York MMA 08.200.45 260–261
Coffin Luxor Museum (Geheset) 306–307 Coffin New York MMA 10.176.57 288–289
Coffin Lyon Musée des Beaux-Arts 1972–111 Coffin New York MMA 10.176.58 288–289
286–287 Coffin New York MMA 10.176.59 288–289
286–287 Coffin New York MMA 11.150.39AB
Coffin Lyon Musée des Beaux-Arts 1972–113 260–261
286–287 Coffin New York MMA 11.151.763 260–261
286–287 Coffin New York MMA 12.182.132A–B
Coffin M5C 193, n. 219 268–269
Coffin Mallawī Museum 566 286–287 Coffin New York MMA 12.183.11A 268–269
Coffin Mallawī Museum 567 286–287 Coffin New York MMA 12.183.11B–C
Coffin Mallawī Museum 568 286–287 268–269
index 379
Coffin New York MMA 12.183.14 268–269 Coffin Saint Petersburg Hermitage 769
Coffin New York MMA 14.3.61 260–261 256–257; 306–307
Coffin New York MMA 14.3.64A–B 260, Coffin San José Rosicrucian Mus. RC 2822 +
n. 85; 260–261 Brooklyn no number 278–279
Coffin New York MMA 15.2.2 288–289 Coffin SI1Br 164
Coffin New York MMA Coffin SI1L 164
20.3.101–122 308–309 Coffin Stockholm Medelhavsmuseet
Coffin New York MMA 27.3.73 308–309 MM10233 288–289
Coffin New York MMA 32.1.133 260–261 Coffin Sydney Macquary MU1771 252–253
Coffin New York MMA 32.3.428 308–309 Coffin Sq4C 170, fig. 28
Coffin New York MMA 32.3.429 308–309 Coffin Sq8C 170, fig. 28
Coffin New York MMA 32.3.430 308–309 Coffin Sq10Sq 170, fig. 28
Coffin New York MMA 32.3.431 308–309 Coffin Sq1X 168; 170
Coffin New York MMA Coffin Sq2X 168; 170
unaccessioned 260–261 Coffin Sq15X 170, fig. 28
Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. 1911.477 Coffin T1Bal 172, n. 159
242–243 Coffin T1Be 172, n. 159
Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. 1952 240–241 Coffin T2Be 172, n. 159
Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. E. 3906 250–251 Coffin T3Be 172, n. 159
Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. E. 3907 250–251 Coffin T4Be 172, n. 159
Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. E. 3908 252–253 Coffin T1C 172, n. 159
Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. E. 4251 252–253 Coffin T2C 137; 172, n. 159; 173, n. 161
Coffin Oxford Ashm. Mus. E. 4252 252–253 Coffin T3C 172, n. 159; 173, n. 160; 195
Coffin Paris Louvre 248–249 Coffin T6C 172, n. 159
Coffin Paris Louvre E10779A 248–249 Coffin T7C 172, n. 159
Coffin Paris Louvre E10779b 248–249 Coffin T8C 172, n. 159; 173, n. 160
Coffin Paris Louvre E12031 + 12039 288–289 Coffin T9C 172, n. 159; 173, n. 162
Coffin Paris Louvre 11936 288–289 Coffin T10C 172, n. 159
Coffin Paris Louvre 12035 288–289 Coffin T1Ch 172, n. 159
Coffin Paris Louvre 12036 288–289 Coffin T1L 172, n. 159
Coffin Paris Louvre E17109 312–313 Coffin T2L 172, n. 159
Coffin Parma Museum 312–313 Coffin T3L 172, n. 159; 195
Coffin Philadelphia. Un. Mus. E12505A–G Coffin T4L 172, n. 159
238–239 Coffin T5L 172, n. 159
Coffin Philadelphia Un. Mus. E16217A–B Coffin T1Len 172, n. 159
248–249 Coffin T1Lux 173, n. 159; 222, n. 309
Coffin Philadelphia Un. Mus. E16218A–B Coffin T2Lux 173, n. 159; 222, n. 309
248-249 Coffin T2NY 172, n. 159; 173, n. 162
Coffin Port Said 21 288–289 Coffin T3NY 173, n. 160
Coffin Prague Naprstek Museum P1424 Coffin T5NY 172, n. 159
308–309 Coffin T6NY 172, n. 159
Coffin S1C 43 Coffin T7NY 172, n. 159
Coffin S2C 43 Coffin T8NY 172, n. 159
Coffin S1Mal 288, n. 148 Coffin T1War 173, n. 159
Coffin St. Louis, Missouri University Museum Coffin T2War 173, n. 159
No. 61.69 272–273 Coffin T3X 172, n. 159; 173, n. 162
380 index
Coffin T4X 172, n. 159; 173, n. 163 Coffin Turin S. 14385 290–291
Coffin T6X 173, n. 159 Coffin Turin S. 14391 290–291
Coffin Tanta 549 288–289 Coffin Turin S. 14393 290–291
Coffin Tanta 550 = Tanta 555 = Tanta 717 Coffin Turin S. 14426 290–291
288–289 Coffin Turin S. 14457 290–291
288–289 Coffin Turin S. 14462 292–293
288–289 Coffin Turin S. 14465 292–293
Coffin Tanta 553 = Tanta 715 290–291 Coffin Turin S. 14468 292–293
290–291 Coffin Turin S. 14470 292–293
Coffin Tanta 556 = Tanta 719 290–291 Coffin Turin S. 14471 292–293
Coffin Tanta 557 = Tanta 556 = Tanta 718 Coffin Turin S. 14472 + 14478 292–293
290–291 Coffin Turin S. 14473 292–293
Coffin Tanta 766 = Tanta 771 = Tanta 903 = Coffin Turin S. 14474 + 14481 292–293
Tanta 3892 290–291 Coffin Turin S. 14475 292–293
Coffin Toronto Land of the Bible Arch. Coffin Turin S. 14476 292–293
Foundation no. 3 268–269 Coffin Turin S. 14477 292–293
Coffin Toronto, Royal Ontario Museum Coffin Turin S. 14479 292–293
312–313 Coffin Turin S. 14480 292–293
Coffin Tübingen Inv. Nr. 6 294–295 Coffin Turin S. 14482 292–293
Coffin Turin 4310 258–259 Coffin Turin S. 14483 292–293
Coffin Turin 15.774 256–257 Coffin Turin S. 14484 292–293
Coffin Turin CGT 10201–10202 Coffin Turin S. 14485 292–293
258–259 Coffin Turin S. 14486 + another 292–293
Coffin Turin S. no number 292–293 Coffin Turin S. 14487 292–293
(9 items); 294–295 (10 items) Coffin Turin S. 14490 292–293
Coffin Turin S. 8655 290–291 Coffin Turin S. 14493 292–293
Coffin Turin S. 8875 290–291 Coffin Warsaw 139937 268–269
Coffin Turin S. 8912 + 8922 290–291 Coffin Warsaw 142114 268–269
Coffin Turin S. 8924 + 8927 290–291 Coffin Warsaw 142143 268–269
Coffin Turin S. 8925 + 8933 + 8939 290–291 Coffin Warsaw 142144 268–269
Coffin Turin S. 8941 + another 290–291 Coffin Warsaw 142150 268–269
Coffin Turin S. 13.268 256–257 Coffin Warsaw 142152 308–309
index 381
Coffin Warsaw 142155 268–269 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17K74/3 67, fig. 10;
Coffin Warsaw 142157 268–269 89–91; 95; 152
Coffin Warsaw 47708 312–313 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17K77/1 67, fig. 10;
Coffin Wien 294–295 152
Coffin Würzburg (lost) 252–253 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17K84/1 67, fig. 10;
Coffin X4C 199 90; 152
Coffin Yale 1937.5904 248–249 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17K85/1 67, fig. 10;
Coffin Yale 1937.5905 248–249 79; 87; 90; 148, n. 86; 150; 152
Coffin Yale 1937.5906 248–249 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17K93/1 67, fig. 10; 90
Coffin Yale 1937.5907 248–249 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L04/1 67, fig. 10;
Coffin Yale 1937.5908 248–249 91; 152
Coffin Yale 1950.645 248–249 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L05/1 152
Coffin sigla 230–315 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L12/1A 151
Coffin Texts 63; 68; 93; 101; 122–123; Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L12/1B 148, n. 86;
124–229 151
Collar (wsḫ) 137, fig. 23; 138; Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L12/1C 152
Colossal statue 105; 109; 110; 112; 207; Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L12/1D 152
210; 228 Dayr al-Barshā tomb shaft 17L20/1 78; 151
Cosmetic box 221 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L21/1 66; 67, fig.
Council of nomarchs 96 10; 104–105; 150, n. 91
Counterpoises 138; 137, fig. 23 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L22/1 67, fig. 10;
105, fig. 16; 151
Dahshūr 138–139; 160; 166; 171 Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17L30/1 151
Daily temple cult 96 Dayr al-Barshā tomb chapel ceiling
Dākhla Oasis 54; 207; 227 B1B 148
Dandara 47; 81–82; 159 Dayr al-Barshā tomb chapel ceiling
Date department 94 B2B 148; 151; 153
Dayr Abū Ḥinnis 15; 64; 66 Dayr al-Barshā zone 1 146; 148–149; 164
Dayr al-Baḥrī 109, n. 148; 174 Dayr al-Barshā zone 2 76–98; 101;
Dayr al-Barshā 5; 22; 34; 45; 47–48; 51; 56; 103–104; 146–148; 164; 225, n. 320
57; 59–123; 139; 141, n. 52; 142; Dayr al-Barshā zone 4 146–148
146–154; 159; 160; 164–165; 176–179; Dayr al-Barshā zone 7 146
208; 214; 227–228 Dayr al-Barshā zone 8 98; 146–147
Dayr al-Barshā burial chamber B3B Dayr al-Barshā zone 9 98; 100, fig. 13–14;
148; 153 101; 103–104; 146–147
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 05P63/1 74 Dayr al-Barshā zone 10 73–76; 98;
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 10N85/1 147 103–104; 146–147
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 10O13 100; 147 Dayr al-Barshā zone 11 147
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 10O22 100 Dayr al-Madīna 204
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 10O25 100 Dayr Rīfa 47; 59; 160; 222
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 12P07/1 147 Dayr Rīfa tomb I 47, n. 143
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 13N90/1 146 Dayr Rīfa tomb VII 47, n. 143
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 16L18/1 152 “democratization of funerary texts” 123;
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 16L25/1C 147 125–229; 211; 219; 229
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17K74/1 67, fig. 10; Demography 73, n. 51; 86; 140–146; 212;
89–92; 152 229
Dayr al-Barshā tomb 17K74/2 67, fig. 10; “demotization” 123, 125; 165
89–90; 152 Deutschnationale Front 131, n. 26
382 index
Deutschnationale Volkspartei 131, n. 26 al-Ḥarāja 160; 219; 224, n. 317

Diagonal star clock 93–94 Harbour 101; 109
Diodorus Siculus 143 Hare nome See Nome 15 of Upper Egypt
Diospolis Parva 222 Hathor 14; 21; 48
Dirāʿ Abū al-Najʿ 173, n. 159; 222, n. 309 Hatnub 64; 67–68; 76; 79–87; 96; 105–106
Djed-pillar (carving of-) 90 Hawwāra 160
Djoser pyramid 10; 20, n. 64 Head rest 136; 137, fig. 23
“Dolchstoßlegende” 128, n. 17 Heliopolis 49; 104; 168
Domestic group (Ꜣb.t) 185 Heqaib sanctuary 50; 113–117; 171, n. 149;
208–209; 228
Early Dynastic 29, n. 94 Heqanakht Papyri 169, n. 138; 217
Elephantine 6, n. 9; 21; 22, n. 73; 32; 50–51; Heraldic plants of Upper and Lower
82, n. 78; 113; 115–118; 120; 121; 171, Egypt 97
n. 148; 207–208; 228 Hierakonpolis 50
Excrement spells 132 Hor-nedj-it-ef 198
Expedition leaders 54 Hitler, A. 131, n. 26
Extended family 204, n. 250; 205 Horus 189; 191; 193; 198–199
House of Life 95; 177; 182; 226–227
“falcon men” 93; 186 Husband 185
Family 201–206
Famine 79 Idfū 28, n. 92; 120, n. 175; 122, n. 184
Farshūt 160 Iḥnāsīya al-Madīna 29, n. 94; 160
Fayyūm 48; 143 Instruction literature 202
Ferryman spells 198 Ipuwer 125, n. 8; 127; 129
Field of Reeds 198 Isis 189; 191
Figurines (faience) 220–221 Ismant al-Kharāb 145–146, n. 75
‘formal culture’ 14; 17; 24 Isnā 224, n. 317
Fraser tombs 22 Itj-tawy 173; 175
Funerary equipment 135–140; 201;
217–218 al-Jabalayn 14; 18; 21; 32, n. 102; 36; 41; 159
Funerary models 136; 216; 219 al-Jabalayn papyri 14; 18–19; 217
Functional title 56, n. 184 al-Jirzā 29, n. 94
Game board 221 Ka chapel 118; 120; 207–208; 210–211;

Gardeners 94 227–229
Gardiner Papyri 217–218 al-Kāb 14; 17; 32, n. 102; 37; 222
Geb 185; 191, n. 212 Kaiser 127; 133
Geomagnetics 98–99 Karnak 109, n. 149
Giza 113 Kawm al-Ḥisn 160
“glorification spells” 195; 209–210; 212; Kawm al-Khalwā 29, n. 94; 48; 56; 57; 59
214; 225; 228 Kawm Umbū 54, n. 174
Göttingen 131, n. 27 Khemenu 64
Graffiti 116 al-Khuzām 36
“grammaire du temple” 134, n. 36 Kinship 31; 203
al-Hajārisa 84, n. 85 al-Lahūn 204–206

al-Ḥammamīya 22 Lake Moeris 109
index 383
Letters to the dead 122; 135; 183–186; 217; Mortuary priest 79

218, n. 297; 219 al-Muʿallā 18; 35; 82, n. 78
Life expectancy 86; 145; 165 Mummification 136; 140; 195; 199
al-Lisht 139; 160; 166–167; 172–173; 175; Mummification bed 199
222, n. 309; 232–233 Mummy mask 136; 216; 219; 231
Literary laments 125 Mummy mask L15NY 175, n. 173
Mummy mask Cairo CG 28073 264–265
al-Madamūd 32 Mummy mask Cairo JdE 42834 266–267
Madīnat al-Fayyūm 109 Mummy mask Cairo JdE 42953 266–267
Madīnat al-Ghurāb 29, n. 94 Mummy mask New York MMA 15.3.152
Magic ivory 220–221; 223, n. 316 260–261
Mask (ritual) 191, n. 214 Munich (Freistaat) 127
Mastaba 14; 15; 17; 179 Mutilated hieroglyphs 175
Matmar 224
Mayor 34; 55–56; 181 Najʿ al-Dayr 15; 145; 160; 217
Mazghūna 160 Naqāda 36
Meat department 94 Natron chest MFA 272–273
Memphite art style 42, n. 130 Nehri graffiti 79–87
Memphite region 167 Nemty 106
Menshviks 127 Nephthys 189; 191
Min 198 Netherworld a projection of earthly life
Miniature step pyramid 16; 20; 21; 118; 135
207, n. 255 Nile beds, ancient 109
Mīr 34; 48; 51; 57; 60; 113; 158; 160; Nile flood 6, n. 9; 116
178–179; 288, n. 148 Neugebauer, O. 131, n. 27
Mirgissa 222 Noether, E. 131, n. 27
Mirror 136 Nomarch 1; 4–58; 103; 177–180; 206–211;
Model coffin Boston MFA 37.550 228–229
306–307 Nomarchy 5; 58; 177; 220
Model coffin Cairo CG 4847 266–267 Nome 5; 9–13; 19–20
Model Coffin Cairo CG 4850 266–267 Nome 2 of Lower Egypt 11
Model coffin New York MMA 14.3.69A–B Nome 3 of Lower Egypt 11
260–261 Nome 6 of Lower Egypt 11
Model coffin New York MMA 22.3.12 Nome 13 of Lower Egypt 49
308–309 Nome 16 of Lower Egypt 11
Model coffin New York MMA 25.3.240 Nome 1 of Upper Egypt 35; 37; 54, n. 174;
308–309 179
Model coffin New York MMA 25.3.241 Nome 2 of Upper Egypt 35; 37
308–309 Nome 3 of Upper Egypt 32; 35; 37
Model coffin New York MMA 25.3.243 Nome 4 of Upper Egypt 35–36; 49
308–309 Nome 5 of Upper Egypt 32; 35–36
Model coffin New York MMA 25.3.244 Nome 6 of Upper Egypt 35; 41, n. 129
308–309 Nome 7 of Upper Egypt 35; 41, n. 129
Model coffin New York MMA 32.3.426 Nome 8 of Upper Egypt 11; 30, n. 95; 35;
308–309 37; 41, n. 129; 49
Moon 200, n. 236 Nome 9 of Upper Egypt 11; 30–32; 35; 37;
Mortality rate 162 41, n. 129
384 index
Nome 10 of Upper Egypt 12; 37 Pottery 81; 103; 109; 169; 173, n. 159; 223,
Nome 11 of Upper Egypt 42, n. 130; 47 n. 316
Nome 12 of Upper Egypt 47 Predynastic 29, n. 94
Nome 14 of Upper Egypt 30, n. 95; 48; 52 Provincial viziers 29–30
Nome 15 of Upper Egypt 5; 30–31; 42; 64; Ptahhotep, Maxims of 208
79; 103; 164; 181 Pyramid of Ibi 198
Nome 16 of Upper Egypt 10; 16; 20; 39; 80; Pyramid of Merikare 168
86; 179–180 Pyramid of Pepi I 172
Nome 17 of Upper Egypt 47–48 Pyramid of Teti 167; 168; 171
Nome 20 of Upper Egypt 41, n. 129 Pyramid Texts 125; 132–134; 138; 158; 166;
Nome 21 of Upper Egypt 41, n. 129 168; 172; 174; 176; 183; 201, n. 238; 210;
Nome 22 of Upper Egypt 41, n. 129 211–212; 215; 217–219; 222; 225–226;
Nome list 5; 11; 13; 20; 21; 41; 42, n. 130 228; 230; 233
Nomos 6, n. 8; 34, n. 107
NSDAP 131, n. 26 Qaṭṭa 160
Nubia 50–51; 54; 113 Qāw al-Kabīr 47; 56; 57; 59; 62; 109;
Nubians 74; 79 111, fig. 19; 160; 167; 178–180; 222; 224;
Nuclear family 203–205 228
al-Nuwayrāt 16; 20 Qift 36; 120, n. 175
Qilāʿ al-Dabba 118; 120
Object frieze 74; 136; 138; 196; 231 Qubbat al-Hawāʾ 50; 57; 59; 79; 109; 113;
Offering formula 74; 91; 157 117–118; 219
Offering ritual 184–185; 212; 214
Opening of the Mouth ritual 198 Ramesseum Papyri 217
Orientation of corpse 136 Rank title 56
Ornamental hieroglyphs 157; 196 al-Raqaqna 15
Oryx nome see nome 16 of Upper Egypt Re 198
Osiris 188–191; 193; 195; 198–199 Regnal years of private persons 80; 83; 85;
Osiris cult 167 87
Osiris Khontamentiu 186 Reisner Papyri 217
Osiris mysteries 93 Restoration inscriptions 75; 146
Overseers of Upper Egypt 29–30 Riqqa 141, n. 52; 160; 224, n. 317
Rishi 223, n. 314
Palace façade 196; 199 Ritual fights 93; 95–96
Papyri 216–219; 231 Ritual landscape 98–123
Papyri Berlin 10480–10482 217; 272–273 Rock circle tombs 17
Papyrus Chicago Oriental Institute Museum Royal domain 8; 11; 18–21; 41; 146
14059–87 272–273 Royal object ritual 138; 139; 196
Papyrus London BM 10676 272–273 Russia 127
Papyrus Moscow Pushkin Museum
272–273 Sacristy 114–115
Papyrus Paris Louvre 272–273 al-Ṣaff 41, n. 129
Papyrus Paris Louvre E14703 272–273 Sandals 138
Papyrus Weill 217–218 Saqqāra 139, n. 49; 160; 167; 168–172; 176;
Papyrus Wilbour 146 217; 227
Perfumers 94 Sarcophagus 231
Per-Hapy 6, n. 9 Sarcophagus Berlin No. 1154–55 304–305
Population size 143–144 Sarcophagus Cairo CG 28024 306–307
Portable shrine 113; 115–116; 118 Sarcophagus Cairo CG 28117 252–253
index 385
Sarcophagus New York MMA 07.230.1 Thinite nome see nome 8 of Upper
308–309 Egypt
Sarcophagus D1C 159, n. 117 Thoth 64; 95–97; 177; 227
Sarcophagus T1C 173, n. 164 “Thoth Hill” 15, n. 40
Sarcophagus Turin Suppl. 4264 258–259 Ṭiḥna al-Jabal 22; 47–48; 57; 59
al-Sayla 16, n. 47 Title abbreviations 57
Satet temple 32 Title strings 23; 25, n. 84; 88
Scarab 181 Tomb chapel Cairo CG 20762 = Cairo JdE
Scriptoria 168; 177 25618 310–311
Seal 224 Tomb shaft types 77–79; 149
Seal impressions 15 Towns 34–35; 38–39
“Second death” 140; 190 Traditional autobiography 75; 95; 202;
Sem-priest 74 204–206; 226
Seth 93; 199 Tribunal 186
Shabti 220–221; 223 TT103 172, n. 159; 173, n. 161
al-Sharūna 29, n. 94 TT240 172, n. 159; 173, n. 162
al-Shaykh ʿIbāda 164 TT311 172, n. 159; 173, n. 162; 231
al-Shaykh Saʿīd 64; 66 TT313 173, n. 162
al-Shaykh Tīmay 64 TT319 172, n. 159; 173, n. 160
Shu 193 al-Ṭūd (in Dayr al-Barshā) 69
Shu-book 193 al-Ṭūd (near Luxor) 82, n. 78
Sidmant al-Jabal 29, n. 94; 82, n. 78; 160 Tzar 127
Sleep (a form of death) 135; 214
Sobek 36, n. 116; 109 Unification of Egypt 38–39; 42, n. 130; 43;
Sokar 121 44, n. 135; 52; 80; 82; 87; 166; 168;
Sokar festival 121 173–174; 176; 227
Soviets 127
Stato civile 203–204 Valley temple of Snofru at Dahshūr 8 and
Statue Cairo CG 405 252–253 fig.3
Statue shrine Paris Louvre E25485 312–313 Vizier 26–27; 29–30; 71; 96–98; 103; 177;
Staves 138; 139, fig. 23; 219 211, n. 270
Stelae 231
Sticks 138; 139, fig. 23; 219 Wādī ʿIbāda 64
Stratègos 4 Wādī Nakhla 66; 98; 101
Stundenritual 94 Walls of tomb chambers 231
Stundenwachen 94; 198–199 Wall Amsterdam Allard Pierson Museum
Sumenu 36, n. 116 APM 8539 + APM 9248–4 304–305
Wall Mexico Museo Nacional de Antropologia
Tabbit al-Jaysh 213 262–263
Tall al-Balamūn 6, n. 9 Wall New York MMA 09.180.2654
Tall al-Dabʿa 145 262–263
Tall al-Yahūdīya vases 72, n. 43 Washermen 94
Tall Baṣṭā 57, n. 186 Weapons 219
Tall Ibrahīm Awad 32 Wepwawet 120, n. 175
Al-Ṭārif 14, n. 37; 15; 37 Wife 185; 202
Tarkhān 29, n. 94 Winding Waterway 198
Teti Pyramid Cemetery 168–172; 173
Thebes 28, n. 92; 32, n. 102; 37; 82, n. 78; 110; Zawīyat al-Mayyitīn 16 and n. 47; 24; 32,
139; 159; 167; 172–176; 223, n. 316; 227 n. 102
386 index
Ancient Sources CT III 207c–j [222] 209

CT III, 208a–210d [223] 209
Asyūṭ tomb I, line 308 110, n. 149 CT IV, 68a–86w [312] 190–192
Asyūṭ tomb III, line 13–15 112; 113, CT IV, 68b–70b [312] 191, n. 215
n. 155 CT IV, 70b [312] 191, n. 216
CT IV, 73f–74f [312] 192, n. 217
Beni Hasan I, pl. XXV,83–84 211, n. 270 CT IV, 184/185a–326n [335] 168; 196
Beni Hasan I, pl. XXVI,123 48, n. 149 CT IV, 184/185a–186/187b [335] 198,
Beni Hasan I, pl. XXXVIII 180, n. 185 n. 231
Bersheh I, pl. XII 107, n. 143 CT IV, 204/5c [335] 198, n. 230
Bersheh I, pl. XIV, 10–12 107, n. 144 CT IV, 252/253c–272c [335] 198
Bersheh I, pl. XV, upper register 106, n. 139 CT IV, 369a–376g [345] 157
Bersheh I, pl. XV, lowermost register 106, CT V, 75a–119 [397] 196; 198
n. 141 CT V, 78c–81q [397] 198, n. 227
Book of the Dead chapter 6 221 CT V, 120a–164 [398] 193
Book of the Dead chapter 17 196 CT V, 289c–e [437] 209
Book of the Dead chapter 99 196 CT VI, 1a–2k [472] 185, n. 196; 221
Book of the Dead chapter 125 188 CT VI, 222a–223k [609] 157
CT VII, 112r [908] 187, n. 206
Coptos decree K 211, n. 270
Coptos Decree R 186, n. 201; 211, n. 270; Diodorus Siculus I,92 188
228, n. 328 Djehutinakht autobiography, line 13 92
CT I, 82/83a–94c [30] 157
CT I, 82/83a–157d [30–37] 189 Hamm. No. 87 34
CT I, 82/83a–177h [30–41] 187; 188; 189; Hatnub Gr. X 84
191; 192; 201, n. 238 Hatnub Gr. 11 82
CT I, 96/97a–100b [31] 157 Hatnub Gr. 12 91
CT I, 100/101c–111b [32] 157 Hatnub Gr. 24, 3–4 210
CT I, 157e–177h [38–41] 192
CT I, 171j–172e [39] 187, n. 206 Kanawati, Tombs at Giza I, pl. 45 19, n. 61
CT I, 176d–g [40] 187, n. 206; 188 Kanawati, Tombs at Giza I, pl. 50 19, n. 61
CT I, 251f [60] 199, n. 235
CT I, 314/315a–405e [75] 168; 193 Meir II, pl. XII 48, n. 147
CT II, 18a–h [77] 193 Meir V, pl. XXVI 113, n. 157; 114, fig. 20
CT II, 19a–23c [78] 193
CT II, 27d–43h [80] 193 Ostracon Leiden J 426 12
CT II, 151a–205e [131–146] 185–186; 189; Ostracon Petrie, rt. 7-vs. 4–7 187, n. 203
201, n. 238; 202
CT II, 151a–152c [131] 185, n. 196 P. Berlin 10480 217
CT II, 180a [146] 185, n. 195 P. Berlin 10481 217
CT II, 201b–204b [146] 185, n. 196 P. Berlin 10482 122; 217–218
CT II, 226b–253g [149] 93, n. 113; P. Bremner-Rhind I,2–5 191
186–187; 189 P. Cairo JdE 58092, rt. 10–11 187, n. 203
CT II, 226b–227b [149] 186, n. 199 P. Gol. 217–218
CT II, 227b [149] 93, n. 113 P. al-Jabalayn I, rt D 18
CT II, 233b [149] 186, n. 201 P. al-Jabalayn III 18
CT II, 245b [149] 186, n. 200 P. al-Jabalayn IV, rt C 18
CT II, 246a [149] 186, n. 201 P. Leiden I.344 125
index 387
Ptahhotep 7,2–3 209 Egyptian Terms

Pyramid of Ibi col. 591–592 198, n. 227
PT utt. 219 209 Ꜣb.t “domestic group” 185–186; 202
PT § 22 209 ʼIp.t-nsw.t “the private apartments of the
PT § 25 209 king” 95
PT § 33 209 ʼIm.y-r Ꜣḥ.wt “overseer of fields” 41, n. 129
PT § 82–96 209 ʼIm.y-r ı̓p.t nb.t m ŠmꜤ.w TꜢ-mḥ.w “Overseer of
PT § 87 209 all that is accounted in Upper and Lower
PT § 200 209 Egypt” 173, n. 162
PT § 213–214 209 ʼIm.y-r Ꜥ.w “overseer of foreigners” 54, n. 174
PT § 598 209 ʼIm.y-r w “overseer of a district” 170, fig. 28
ʼIm.y-r wp.t “overseer of missions” 24–26,
Relief Turin 7003/81 41, 130 n. 84; 27, n. 90
ʼIm.y-r wp.t ḥtp-nṯr “overseer of missions of
Shabaka stone col. 17a 191, n. 212 the divine offering” 25, n. 84
Statue Cairo CG 404 50 ʼIm.y-r nı̓w.wt mꜢw.t “overseer of new
Stela Berlin 1202, 17–21 93, n. 115 cities” 25
Stela Cairo 20024 47, n. 142 ʼIm.y-r pr “steward” 170, fig. 28
Stela Cairo 20520 252–253 ʼIm.y-r pr m tꜢ r-ḏr=f “steward of the entire
Stela Cairo CG 20543,10 ff. 40; 47, n. 140 country” 173, n. 162
Stela Cairo JdE 46048,6 203, n. 242 ʼIm.y-r pr.wy-ḥḏ “overseer of the Two
Stela Heqaib sanctuary 10,x+13 50, Treasuries” 26; 173, n. 162
n. 163 ʼIm.y-r mšꜤ “general” 170, fig. 28
Stela Heqaib sanctuary 49 121, n. 180 ʼIm.y-r mḏꜢy.w “overseer of Medja
Stela Heqaib sanctuary 61 121, n. 180 people” 94
Stela Heqaib sanbctuary 67 121, n. 179 ʼIm.y-r NꜤr.t “overseer of the Naret
Stela Leiden V3 41, n. 129 nome” 41, n. 129
Stela Leiden V4,12 49 ʼIm.y-r nw.w “overseer of hunters” 94
Stela London BM 99 [1203] (TPPI § 23) 35, ʼIm.y-r ḥw.t-wr.t 6 “overseer of the six great
n. 114 mansions” 26
Stela London BM 134 [1164] (TPPI § 33, ʼIm.y-r ḥw.t-nṯr “overseer of the temple” 48;
12–13) 228, n. 327 170, fig. 28
Stela London UCL 148333 49, n. 155 ʼIm.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr “overseer of priests” 17; 31;
Stela New York MMA Acc. No. 26.3.217 37, 48; 49; 50; 54–57
n. 120 ʼIm.y-r ḫtm.t “overseer of the Treasury” 171;
Stela New York MMA Acc. No. 173, n. 162
35.7.55,11–13 202 ʼIm.y-r swnw “overseer of the fortress”
Stela of Hetepi (MDAIK 32 [1976], p. 48, fig. 24; 27
2, 4–5) 37 ʼIm.y-r sš.w Ꜥ-nsw.t “overseer of scribes of the
document of the king” 26
Turin 13.268 (coffin) 36, n. 116 ʼIm.y-r ŠmꜤ.w “overseer of Upper Egypt” 29;
35, n. 114; 54, n. 174
Urk. I, p. 7,3 18, n. 57 ʼIm.y-r šn-tꜢ nb “overseer of all vegetation”
Urk. I, p. 131–135 113, n. 160 41, n. 129; 170, fig. 28
Urk. I, p. 188 30, n. 95 ʼIm.y-r-šnw.ty “overseer of the Two
Urk. VII, p. 2,11 50, n. 163 Granaries” 26; 170, fig. 28; 173, n. 162
Urk. VII, p. 4,3–6 51, n. 165 ʼIm.y-r kꜢ.wt m wꜤr.t tn “overseer of works in
Urk. VII, p. 6,5 50, n. 163 this cemetery” 94
388 index
ʼIm.y-r kꜢ.wt-nsw.t “overseer of works of the ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n Wn.t “mayor of al-Ashmūnayn” 181
king” 26 ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n MnꜤ.t-Ḫwı̓=f-wı̓ “mayor of Menat-
ʼIr.y-ı̓ḫ.t pr-ꜤꜢ “responsible for the affairs of the Khufu” 55, n. 178; 56, n. 184
Per-aa” 22, n. 73 ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ n ḎbꜢ “mayor of Idfū” 34
ʼIr.y-ı̓ḫ.t nsw.t “responsible for the affairs of ḥw.t “(royal) domain” 8, n. 11; 22, n. 74; 41
the king” 17; 24 ḥw.t-ꜤꜢ.t “great domain” 18–19; 22, n. 74
ʼIr.y-ı̓ḫ.t nsw.t mꜢꜤ “veritable responsible for ḥw.t-nṯr n.t Snfrw “temple of Snofru” 18–19
the affairs of the king” 170, fig. 28 ḥw.t Snfrw “domain of Snofru” 18
ı̓r.y ı̓ḫ.t nsw.t MꜢ-ḥḏ “responsible for the affairs ḥw.t-kꜢ “ka chapel”, “ka house” 108;
of the king <in> the Oryx nome” 24 207–208
ı̓r.y-pꜤ.t “hereditary prince” 49; 50; 173, ḥby.t “festival scroll” 218, n. 297
n. 162; 180, n. 186 ḥr.y-sštꜢ “person in charge of the mystery”
ı̓r.yt-pꜤ.t mꜢw.t “veritable hereditary 170, fig. 28
princess” 75 ḥr.y-sštꜢ sḥ-nṯr “person in charge of the
ı̓r.y Nḫn “responsible for mystery of the divine booth” 170, fig. 28
Hierakonpolis” 170, fig. 28 ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n nsw.t “great overlord of the
ı̓r.y-šsp.t “guard of the Ssp.t-building” 94 king” 54, n. 174
ı̓r.w “form” 192 ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n Wn.t “nomarch of the Hare
ı̓-sḥꜢı̓ drf r ı̓nḥ “one whose eyeline is clearly nome” 179
visible on the eyebrow” 93 ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n spꜢ.t/NOME “nomarch” 4, n. 3;
ı̓dn.w “substitute” 179 25, n. 84; 28; 29; 31–32; 35; 40; 41, n. 129;
Ꜥḏ-mr title of uncertain translation 13; 14, 43; 47–48; 51; 53–57; 178; 180–181
n. 31; 24, n. 81; 25, n. 82; 107 ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n MꜢ-ḥḏ “nomarch od the Oryx
W “district” 6, n. 8; 41, n. 129 nome” 47, n. 140
Wpı̓ ẖ.t “to open the belly” 191, n. 212 ḥr.y-tp ꜤꜢ n Nḫn “nomarch of the 3rd Upper
Bı̓k rmṯ.y “human falcon” 93 Egyptian nome” 50
Pr “house” 202–203 ḥr.y-tp ḫꜢs.wt “commander of the desert” 94
Pr ḏ.t “estate” 19 ḥr.y-tp Sḫ.t “overlord of the Fayyūm” 48; 56,
pḏ-ꜤḥꜤ objet depicted in the object n. 183
frieze 139, n. 49 ḥḳꜢ “chief” 17–19; 20
Rd “staircase”, “terrace” 110–111, n. 150 ḥḳꜢ ʼInpw “director of the Anubis nome” 48,
M tꜢ r ḏr=f “in the whole country” 35, n. 114 n. 149
mꜢꜤ ḫrw “true of voice” 35, n. 114 ḥḳꜢ WḥꜢ.t “director of the Oasis” 54
mn pn “so and so” 218 ḥḳꜢ MꜢ-ḥḏ “director of the Oryx nome” 21,
mty n sꜢ.w “controller of a phyle” 170, fig. 28 n. 66
nšd Ꜥn.wt “with rending claws” 92 ḥḳꜢ nı̓w.t “director of a town” 17; 19
nty m sr.wt “member of the magistracy” ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t director of a domain” 146; 170,
170, fig. 28 fig. 28
Rḫ nsw.t “king’s acquaintance” 17, n. 52 ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t-ꜤꜢ.t “director of a great domain” 13;
Rḫ-nsw.t mꜢꜤ “veritable king’s acquaintance” 19; 24–25; 27
170, fig. 28 ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t-nsw.t “director of the king’s
ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ “lord” X; 48; 49; 50; 56–57; 107; 173, estate” 170, fig. 28
n. 162; 179; 180 ḥḳꜢ ḥw.t-nṯr n.t Snfrw “director of the temple
ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥw.t-nṯr “lord, overseer of of Snofru” 18–19
priests” 56 ḥḳꜢ spꜢ.t “director of a district” 13; 14, n. 31;
ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ ı̓m.y-r ḥm.w-nṯr “lord, overseer of 20
priests” 56–57; 179 ẖnt.y-š 170, fig. 28
ḥꜢ.ty-Ꜥ NAME OF TOWN “mayor” 56–57 ẖrp kꜢ.t “inspector of works” 170, fig. 28
index 389
ẖtm.ty-bı̓.ty smḥr wꜤ.ty “sealbearer of the king tꜢy.ty zꜢb ṯꜢ.ty “vizier” 26
of Lower Egypt, unique courtier” 41, ḏꜢḏꜢ.t “tribunal” 186
n. 129; 170, fig. 28; 173, n. 162; 173, ḏbꜢ.w.t.t “funerary equipment” 136; 138
n. 162; 173, n. 164
ẖr.y-ḥb.t “lector priest” 50; 170, fig. 28
ẖr.y-ḥb.t wr ı̓m.y rnp.t “great lector priest who Egyptian Toponyms
is in his year” 170, fig. 28
ẖr.y-ḥb.t ḥr.y-tp “supreme lector priest” 170, ʼIꜤr.w Iaru, village in the region of
fig. 28 al-Jabalayn 19
ẖr.y-tp nsw.t “assistant of the king” 170, fig. ʼInr.ty al-Jabalayn 19
28 ʼIṯı̓-tꜢ.wy Itji-tawy, town in the neighbourhood
sꜢ ḥḳꜢ “son of a nomarch” 17 of modern al-Lisht 169, n. 138
sꜢ=f mr.y=f “the son that he loves” WꜢḥ-s.wt Wah-sut, settlement in the Abydene
(priest) 191 region 57, n. 186
sꜢb “magistrate” 107; 170, fig. 28 MnꜤ.t-Ḫwı̓=f-wı̓ Menat Khufu; settlement near
sꜢḫ “glorification spell” 195; 225; 228 Banī Ḥasan 55, n. 178
sꜤḥ “nobleman” (said only of a deceased” Nḫn Hierakonpolis 50
112, n. 154; 114; 121–122; 208; 227 Ḫmnw al-Ashmūnayn 64
spꜢ.t “nome, district” 41, n. 129 Swmnw Sumenu; settlement near al-Jaba-
sḥḏ n sꜢ.w “head of a phyle” 170, fig. 28 layn 36, n. 116
sḥḏ ḥm.w-nṯr “head of priests” 17 Sḫ.t “Fayyūm”? 48
sḥḏ sš.w n ḥw.t-wr “head of scribes of the Šdy.t-SꜢ moor-like region near
temple” 170, fig. 28 al-Ashmūnayn 80
sš “scribe” 170, fig. 28 Ṯr.ty modern Dayr al-Barshā 106–107
sš Ꜥ nsw.t “scribe of the royal document” 148 ḎbꜢ Idfū 34
sš Ꜥpr.w n nfr.w ı̓m.y-ḫt pr.wy-ḥḏ “scribe of the Ḏd-s.wt-Tty 168
gangs of recruits who is under the charge
of the Two Treasuries” 170, fig. 28
sš pr-ḥḏ “scribe of the Treasury” 170, fig. 28 Hieroglyphic Signs
sš nṯr “scribe of the god” 170, fig. 28
sšm-tꜢ 13; 20; 22, n. 73; 24, n. 81; 25, n. 82
215
sšm-tꜢ MꜢ-ḥḏ “sšm-tꜢ of the Oryx nome” 21,
n. 66 50, n. 161
sšm-tꜢ spꜢ.wt ŠmꜤ.w “sšm-tꜢ of the nomes of ÎR–æ" 41, n. 129
Upper Egypt” 24, n. 81 ÎRRæ"
sḏm sḏm.t wꜤı̓.w “who hears what should be 41, n. 129
heard in solitude” 41, n. 129; 170, fig. 28
šnꜤ “production and storage facility” 94
"d 5
Gmı̓.n=ı̓; name of saint 171

C <w 85
Grg pr “to establish/maintain a Cwd< 85
household” 203
ḳꜤḥ regional administrative unit 6, n. 8
u 75
ḳrs.t.t ‘funerary equipment’ 136 È 83–84

H. Willems, Historical and Archaeological Aspects of Egyptian Funerary Culture

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Historical and Archaeological Aspects of Egyptian Funerary Culture

Culture and History of the

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/chan

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Copyright 2014 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

1 Nomarchal Culture: Political, Administrative, Social, and Religious

2 A Middle Kingdom Nomarchal Cemetery: Dayr al-Barshā 59

3 The Coffin Texts and Democracy 124

A Hypothesis on the Meaning of the Coffin Texts 182

Concordance to the Sigla of Coffin Texts Manuscripts and Middle

Mainz, 7 November 2012

Reading the vast number of studies—spanning more than a century—that are

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi 10.1163/9789004274990_002

the detailed knowledge of this particular case, it will be attempted to generate

Nomarchal Culture: Political, Administrative,

“Wer und was ist überhaupt ein ‘Nomarch’?”1

1 D. Franke, BiOr 62 (2005), col. 466.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi 10.1163/9789004274990_003

The Origin of the Nomes

In soubassement inscriptions of temples of the late and Graeco-Roman periods,

be correct.14 Today, the nomes are usually considered rather as an aspect of

The most ancient mention of a nome and its administration occurs on a

Both hypotheses are obviously possible, but the documentation available

of these titles designated an official with overall responsibility for provincial

1. Mastabas of the third34 and early fourth dynasties35 at al-Kāb.

50 De Meyer, Vereecken, Vanthuyne, Hendrickx, Op de Beeck, Willems, in: Under the

1) P. al-Jabalayn I recto D refers to the construction (?) of a “temple of

a kind of palace59 directing vast agricultural Crown institutions compris-

54 Posener-Kriéger, RdE 27 (1975), p. 219: “responsable d’un vill(ag)e (c.à d. domaine)”.

According to him, several villages could be dependent from a ḥw.t ꜤꜢ.t.60

The Nomes during the Fifth Dynasty

Residence. This evolution can be explained at least partly by a tendency of

88 Strudwick, Administration, p. 337–346 and passim.

Nome Administration under the Sixth Dynasty

p. 107–121; Martinet, L’administration provinciale II, p. 637–638 and passim). Although

A revealing example, which seems very clear to me despite Moreno Garcia’s

Regional Administration during the First Intermediate Period and

In 1987, L. Gestermann published a new study of the issue.111 Her very

111 Gestermann, Kontinuität und Wandel.

Reading Gestermann’s doctoral thesis hence suggests the following

1) End of the Old Kingdom: monolithic administrative system; Egypt is sub-

texts increasingly frequently mention towns, is not itself an argument proving

At least in part, references to nomes to designate areas where officials

seems to describe a process of reorganization in the ten southernmost nomes

Intermediate Period, the nomes were apparently still considered to be admin-

131 Zitman, The Necropolis of Assiut I.

Sarenput I seems to formulate his text with an arrogance almost unparalleled

168 Willems, Chests of Life, p. 82–87.

that special circumstances may have led to the appointment, or abolishment,

The Nomarch Title in Egyptian and in Egyptology

according to a recent reevaluation by M. Müller, Edel’s transcription of the hieratic text

impression of formalism and impartiality. According to Quirke, the situation

I have discussed a particularly problematic case in Dayr al-Barshā I, p. 100–102. In the

considerations converge in suggesting that we are facing a group that may

A Middle Kingdom Nomarchal Cemetery:

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���4 | doi 10.1163/9789004274990_004

4 Chassinat, Palanque, Fouilles d’Assiout.

10 Grajetzki, The Middle Kingdom in Egypt.

tion, such as autobiographical inscriptions and the Coffin Texts. However, it is

the landscape. In this way we hope to be able to trace indications concern-

15 For the publication of these important graffiti, see Anthes, Hatnub.

The essential objective of this campaign was the production of epigraphic

19 See James, CRIPEL 13 (1991), p. 79–84.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��4 | doi 10.1163/9789004274990_002

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��4 | doi 10.1163/9789004274990_003

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��4 | doi 10.1163/9789004274990_004

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ��4 | doi 10.1163/9789004274990_005