1 Introduction

Among the topics of research on Egyptian ritual and funerary literature, that of corpora transmission offers a series of data which in recent years have become strong points for outlining a cultural process that fully reflects ancient writing patterns. The existence of collections developed over time, sometimes on a genealogical basis, has been the focus of textual criticism, which has highlighted some characteristic facts; among these is the textualisation, a process that determines the dissemination of a given model through master-copies; these may provide models from which to draw directly, or they may also be reworked through processes that operate actively on the text. These processes are characteristic of an archaising tendency that developed in Egypt from the 8th century BCE onwards: as early as the 25th Dynasty, Ramesside models were drawn on heavily, but it was then the Saitic period (26th Dynasty) that brought about an archaism which became characteristic of the period (der Manuelian 1994: 387–389).

However, studies on the Saitic archaising phenomenon have had a specific focus on royal inscriptions, leaving aside funerary and, in general, religious literature: “The religious literature was considered to bear too long, continuous and involved a tradition for analysis in terms of specifically Saite archaizing elements” (der Manuelian 1994: 387). This statement may certainly be valid in general, but upon closer analysis, the documentation offers some insights for a study that addresses groups of texts, which enjoyed an archaising flowering in the last years of Egyptian autonomy (4th century BCE).

2 ‘Fragments’ of Royal Compositions from the New Kingdom to Late Reception

The spread of religious collections of royal origin in the late tradition is part of that archaising phenomenon that reflects an attitude of Egyptian culture in the 1st millennium towards its past. The first steps in the reception of these materials are precocious: already the royal necropolis of Tanis (9th century BCE) bears witness to the revival of funerary corpora from the Ramesside period (Roulin 1998), but the transmission of texts continued over time to find a new growth during the 4th century, at the same time as the new archaising trend of the 30th Dynasty (de Meuleneare 1982a: 451; 1982b: 452; in general, on the phenomenon of archaism: Brunner 1975).

In this context, New Kingdom royal compositions once again become a living matter, well represented by the papyrus collections from the Theban area (Niwinski 1989; Sadek 1985). These Theban collections do not comprise the whole royal repertoire that must have begun to circulate as early as the New Kingdom: an emblematic case in point is the papyrus of Khai, dated to the New Kingdom, in which a series of solar hymns appears alongside a redaction of the Book of the Dead; among these solar texts is also the morning section of the Solar Royal Liturgy, which would become part of the reception of fragments of classical collections in the 30th Dynasty (Shorter 1938: 66–67).

This tradition of royal compositions is thus a complex reception phenomenon, involving not only the more traditional cosmographical-funerary corpora (the so-called Netherworld Books or ‘Unterweltsbücher’), but also liturgical compositions for the celebration of the solar cult. It will therefore be useful to see in this reception a phenomenon that is not only cultural, but also social: the users of these collections are in fact linked, directly or indirectly, with the temple context and its culture. We can then interpret the revival of New Kingdom royal compositions as part of a broader phenomenon, in which is reflected the affirmation of a priestly class that had been able to celebrate its status in the temple since the end of the New Kingdom (Kruchten 1989; for the priest’s ritual access to the temple, see also Alliot 1949–1954: 142–145, 184–195). The appropriation of those characteristics that make the sovereign the perfect cultic operator also belongs to this social process (Ciampini 2021).

From a historical perspective, the reception of these royal collections in the Late Period represents an aspect of that cultural sedimentation which constitutes a fundamental element in the last phase of Egyptian civilisation. Indeed, the transmission of these texts may represent an excellent example of that procedure of reception of ancient texts that has been known for a long time: the Old Kingdom Pyramid Texts had already been the subject of reception in the Middle Kingdom, with phenomena of revision and interpretation that bear evidence to an open recension (offene Überlieferung) of the text (Allen 2006). In the case of the Amduat, the earliest of the royal ‘Unterweltsbücher’, the transmission of the text must also contend with versions that had corrupted sections as early as the New Kingdom; the same can also be said, perhaps more incisively, for the Solar Royal Liturgy (the so-called Sonnenpriester), which in the 30th Dynasty version presents important restorations, albeit with various errors, especially in the section on evening worship (see below).

The importance of these late versions of older royal compositions lies above all in the reworking interventions that characterise them. The royal texts are in fact not simply copied, but rather reworked in order to ideally return complete and correct versions; in the case of the royal funerary collections, the interventions carried out on the ancient version can be recognised primarily in the textualisation patterns, represented by the presence of titles or names of textual collections. This complex work on the text is becoming a specific research topic, which recognises in the process of textualisation the most evident outcome of a reflection on the ancient model; as noted above, this operation has a long history behind it, which finds in the reception of the Pyramid Texts in the Middle Kingdom tradition a significant moment of transition (Ciampini & Iannarilli, forthcoming). In the late material, the New Kingdom royal funerary tradition becomes a malleable material, shaped by the redactors who give it a new configuration. The fluidity of these materials, perfectly consistent with the concept of the open recension of the text, results in the creation of different decorative patterns, in which the royal funerary compositions (especially Amduat, Litany of Re, Book of the Gates, Book of the Caverns) are organised to create different decorative models (the typologies I–IV of Manassa 2007: I, 4–6).

If fluidity is already a characteristic feature of royal funerary compositions in the New Kingdom (see e.g. the different redactions of the Amduat of the 18th–20th Dynasties: Hornung 1987–1994: I, x–xvi), the late versions offer numerous insights into the reception of these texts. They become, in accordance with the ancient model, a matter of initiatic knowledge; at the same time, however, they are also seen as the concrete evidence of a culture of the written text that becomes a fundamental core of Egyptian culture in its last centuries. It is precisely the Amduat that represents a model of text transmission that had already been characterised in the New Kingdom by two distinct versions (Langfassung and Kurzfassung); in the earliest version of Thutmosi III, this dual redaction is also supplemented by the list of deities in the antechamber of the tomb (see below). This organisation of the composition testifies to the librarian connotation, already well defined in the earliest tradition, characterised by a cursive redaction that repeats the papyrus model on the walls of the burial chamber. Later versions, starting with Tutankhamun, are instead written in an epigraphic style that will be preserved until the end of the New Kingdom.

The formal attention of the earliest version to the book model probably represents the diplomatic reproduction of those master-copies kept in the temple libraries; collections of a liturgical character, such as the text of the Royal Solar Liturgy or the Litany of Re, must also have been kept in the same libraries. The solar material becomes a distinctive element of kingship, but its diffusion in the libraries, especially the Theban ones, must have fostered the flourishing of parts of these collections in papyrus production after the New Kingdom (from the 10th century BCE), well attested precisely in the Theban necropolis. In these manuscripts, the editorial work combines the royal texts with the Book of the Dead tradition (Niwinski 1989), giving rise to a new phase of use of these texts, attested in the tombs of high Theban officials of the 25th–26th Dynasties, buried in the necropolis of Asasif: in these monuments, the value of the ancient compositions, felt to be evidence of a past to be handed down, begins to be delineated.

The resumption of this complex royal tradition occurs in the 30th Dynasty (4th century BCE), with a series of sources mostly coming from northern Egypt; these are mainly stone sarcophagi, but we can also mention a tomb in Middle Egypt, whose decorative programme includes parts of royal texts. The analysis of these sources makes it possible to recognise the method adopted by the redactors of the texts, who operate according to some criteria that can be summarised as follows:

1. Integration and correction of the ancient text, often already corrupted in master-copies.

2. Interpretation of the ancient text, often integrated with other materials.

3. Textualisation with the addition of titles and colophons.

In the following examples, an attempt will be made to outline these criteria of intervention, a concrete sign of the application of a philological method to an ancient heritage of a different nature but characterised by its royal origin. We are thus faced with a cultural attitude that preludes the temple tradition of the late period.

3 The Solar Royal Liturgy (‘Sonnenpriester’) in a Memphite Version from the 4th Century BCE

One of the most representative texts of the royal tradition was identified through a careful study of New Kingdom sources by Jan Assmann (1970). In addition to the ancient materials, mostly attested in temples of western Thebes, the German scholar had also recognised the spread of the composition in a group of private funerary monuments from the 25th–26th Dynasties (8th–6th centuries BCE), to which is added the only occurrence in a cultic building in Karnak. All these sources have returned fragmentary and, in some cases, even corrupted versions of the text, so much to suggest the existence of a tradition already compromised in the New Kingdom. A similar phenomenon can be recognised in those sections of the Amduat, the main cosmographical composition of the Netherworld Books, integrated and corrected in the versions of a group of sarcophagi from the 30th Dynasty (see below).

The last version of this fundamental liturgical text, which gives us the composition in its wholeness, dates to the 30th Dynasty or the early Ptolemaic period: on the jambs of the entrance to the tomb of the Memphite official Pasherientaisu, the morning section (east pillar) and the night section (west pillar) are thus displayed. This arrangement also respects a topographical criterion, linked to the solar course. The morning phase, with the worship of the sun at dawn (dwȝ), is placed on the left pillar (ỉȝby), associated with the East (ỉȝbt); the evening phase, with the act of ‘calming’/‘setting’ the sun god (sḥtp), is placed on the right pillar (ỉmny/wmny), associated with the West (ỉmnt). As noted by the monument’s editor (Betrò 1990), the text presents several adaptations that attempt to restore a complete and coherent version, albeit with some uncertainties that depend on several factors (from the redactor’s misunderstanding of certain passages to the corruption of the model). The technicism of these interventions determines not only the interpretation of the passage, but also a reworking whose aim is to attribute to the deceased those knowledges that in the original version are exclusive to the pharaoh.

Careful analysis of the editor of the late text allows us to recognise a series of active interventions by the redactor, who renders a version that sometimes diverges from the New Kingdom model; we can thus point out some specific interventions that testify to this editorial work.

A (morning version, east pillar)

B (evening version, west pillar)

These few examples are enough to define the criteria followed in the redaction of the late text; these are technical interventions that operate on specific passages, sometimes to improve their meaning, sometimes to integrate less correct passages. In one case, however, the intervention is not dictated by editorial requirements, but rather by the need to define the position of the deceased in the scenario of the solar liturgy. In the section describing the king’s function in the cosmos, the late version makes an intervention that seems to stand out from other private sources; compared here are the version of the king Amenhotep III in the temple of Luqsor (18th Dynasty: Am.III), the Theban papyrus of Khai, BM 9953b (20th Dynasty: p.BM), the version of the Theban official Petamenofi in his tomb at Asasif (25th–26th Dynasties: TT33) and the version in the Memphite tomb of the 30th Dynasty (BN2) (Betrò 1990: 46–47).

The translations run as follows:

‘Re has placed the Osiris (var. Am.III: the king) N. on the land of the living’ (Am.III, TT33).

‘The Osiris N. is on the land of the living’ (p.BM).

‘Re has placed the Osiris N. at the head of the land of the living’ (BN2).

Already the editor of the text notes how the phraseology of the passage, which opens a section that can be read as the dogmatic proclamation of the Egyptian royal function, gives the Memphite official a position of pre-eminence (ḥr-tp tȝ n ʿnḫw: ‘at the head of the land of the living’), compared to the other private versions (p.BM, TT33: tp tȝ n ʿnḫw: ‘on the land of the living’). The version tp tȝ n ʿnḫw also appears in the version of Amenhotep III, the reference model for the late versions; in this royal version, however, it is the presence of the title nsw, ‘king’, that indicates the position of the sovereign, evoked in BN2 by the compound preposition ḥr-tp, which may also be associated with the absence of the funerary title wsỉr. All this seems to highlight the initiatic (and only secondarily funerary) nature of the text.

The circulation of this text in the private sphere does not seem to end with the 30th Dynasty version: references to the initiatic content (the knowledge of the names, forms, and journey of the sun god) returns in a passage of an erotic magic text in Greek (Betrò 2004; 1st century AD). The meaning of this initiatic knowledge, originally the exclusive prerogative of the king and his more restricted entourage, is taken up by the Greek text, which again shifts the focus of the knowledge from the funerary context, proper to the late versions (from the 25th to the 30th Dynasty), to the cultic context (for this distinction: Betrò 1990: 103). What in the 30th Dynasty version is a complete treatise, becomes in the Greek version another fragment of knowledge that draws on an ancient and complex tradition preserved within the temple. This focus on ancient royal models does not end with the solar liturgy, as demonstrated by the case of Amenemhat III (12th Dynasty), transformed into a supreme primordial divine figure, transposed within Hellenistic intellectual groups (Buzi 2021).

4 Fragments of Funerary Corpora in the Tomb of Petosiris at Tuna el-Jebel

The complex decorative programme of the tomb of Petosiris at Tuna el-Jebel includes—along with an extraordinary textual heritage, the characteristics of which have already been highlighted by the monument’s editor (Lefebvre 1923–1924)—also some brief excerpts from the first hour of the Amduat, consisting of three tables with groups of divine beings that in the New Kingdom version accompany the transit of Re’s bark over the western horizon: the first group consists of nine baboons (Lefebvre 1923–1924: I, 173; II, 46: inscr. 71), the second by personifications of the twelve hours of the night (Lefebvre 1923–1924: I, 174; II, 47: inscr. 73) and the third by twelve uraei (Lefebvre 1923–1924: I, 175; II, 48 inscr. 75). The panels decorate the back wall of the chapel and are accompanied by three hymns (Lefebvre 1923–1924: inscriptions 70, 72 and 74), representing original elaborations from ancient models; the epigraphy of the hymns is characterised by considerable formal care, which, however, is not matched by an equally accurate version of the often corrupted text (Lefebvre 1923–1924: I, 172). The organisation of this material offers several aspects of interest in delineating the characteristics of the tradition of royal funerary compositions in the Late Period. In the three hymns, the phraseology is partly borrowed from the Book of the Dead (see below), and they are addressed to groups, here identified with definitions that in two cases echo the entitlements of the figures (inscriptions 71.a, 73.a, 75.a).

First Group (baboons)

Hymn nṯrw ỉpn ỉmw-ḫt wsỉr ỉr sȝ.f (Lefebvre 1923–1924: inscr. 70, 2–3).

Entitlement nṯrw ḥsyw n rʿ ʿḳ.f m dȝt (Lefebvre 1923–1924: inscr. 71.a).

Second Group (Personifications of the Hours of the Night)

Hymn nṯrw(t) ỉp(t)n sšm(wt) nṯr ʿȝ (Lefebvre 1923–1924: inscr. 72, 2).

Entitlement nṯrw(t) sšmyw(t) nṯr ʿȝ (Lefebvre 1923–1924: inscr. 73.a).

Third group (uraei)

Hymn nṯrw(t) ỉp(t)n sḥḏ(wt) kkw m dȝt (Lefebvre 1923–1924: inscr. 74, 2–3).

Entitlement nṯrw(t) sḥḏyw(t) kkw m dȝt (Lefebvre 1923–1924: inscr. 75.a).

If in the second and third groups of beings we can recognise a substantial correspondence between the invocation that opens the hymn and the entitlement of the divine figures, in the first case the editor has made an autonomous choice, associating the figures, defined in the ancient text as “those who sing for Re when he enters Dat”, with the figure of Osiris, whose followers they are said to be (ỉmw-ḫt). By contrast, the other two groups are presented congruently, respectively the “Goddesses accompanying the Great God” and the uraei “illuminating the darkness in Dat”. This freedom in the drafting of the text may depend on various factors, not least the corruption of the model; uncertainty already characterises the New Kingdom version, which shows for instance the omission of the name of one of the uraei, or the replacement of the missing name with the indication gm wš, ‘found destroyed’ (Hornung 1987–1994: I, 145 n. 103).

The original interpretation of the three divine groups of the Amduat is, however, confirmed by the hymns addressed to them by the deceased: the nature of these beings thus becomes functional to the construction of the individual’s path of survival. As already noted by the editor, the phraseology here draws on models from the Book of the Dead, selected in such a way as to best define modes of access that address both the temple context and the otherworldly. To the baboons “who sing for Re when he enters the Dat” (inscr. 71.a), and who are said to be “those who follow Osiris and provide protection for him” (inscr. 70: 2–3), a hymn is addressed that draws on the Negative Confession of chapter 125 of the Book of the Dead.

As long as I was on earth, there was no evil against me, there was no man who testified against me. The hearts of the gods rejoiced at this, appreciating (it). I did not take away the rations from the sanctuaries, I did not act hostilely against this land because the Maat was with me and will not be separated from me for eternity. As a reward to you for what I have done on earth, may my voice be made righteous against my enemies, may my ba be transfigured, may I be made divine, and may my body be preserved while my mummy is in the necropolis. Let me enter and leave the cemetery and may I not be driven out of the hall of the Two Maat (Inscr. 70: 4–8).

Access to the Netherworld is commensurate with respect for the Maat, confirming principles already expressed in the Book of the Dead. At the same time, the hymn can be placed side by side with other texts from the tomb that focus on respect for the Maat both in earthly life and in the afterlife after the judgement of the dead (Lichtheim 1992: 96–98). A passage quoted in Lichtheim’s work offers an interpretative key for the association between the precepts of the Maat, mentioned in the hymn, and the figures of the baboons borrowed from the solar scenario of the Amduat, when it is said “Thoth as baboon upon the balance will reckon each man for his deeds on earth” (Lichteim 1992: 97, text 98 = Inscr. 81: 21).

Access to the divine context, proper to the Netherworld, is taken up in the second hymn, corrupted in some passages, but clear enough in outlining access to the “Temple of the Net”, the sanctuary of Thoth at Hermopolis.

May I see him (= Thoth) in his true aspect there, may I manifest myself and may he remain hidden from me^? for I am pure. Grant that I may hasten into the Temple of the Net together with the great priests, while I am pure and there is no evil near me! Come, may strong ones say to him: may you cause me to join his followers (Inscr. 72: 4–7).

The proclamation of the Maat in the first hymn corresponds here to another form of access to the divine, which is contextualised in the temple of Hermopolis; the link between the two texts is confirmed by the position of the individual, who proclaims here in a priestly type of access akin to the spirit of the time. The goddesses who personify the hours of the night may also represent the temporal scansion of the acts that constitute an essential liturgical scheme for defining the relationship with the divine. In the temple, however, we must also recognise the seat of that initiatic knowledge that we have seen proclaimed in the Solar Royal Liturgy, and whose subject matter is the pathways of the god in the Dat, as stated in the last hymn, addressed to the uraei.

May you drive out the darkness from me, may you open for me the secret in the Dat and set me on the path of the god’s followers, the path on which the honoured ones proceed; may you burn all my enemies, for ever and ever, and drive away all evil from me, for I am an excellent mummy, without sin, proceeding on the path of his god, Thoth, and doing what his sovereign Nehemetauai desires, at all times (Inscr. 74, 3–8).

In the last hymn, addressed to the twelve uraei, the Netherworld context and the Hermopolitan temple context are bound together: the road of Dat is the road of the god Thoth, and is consistent with the concept of Maat stated in different ways in the two previous texts. The overlap between Thoth’s temple at Hermopolis and the Netherworld landscape represents a significant aspect of the reworking of the funerary tradition in these texts: in order to delineate the new landscape, the redactor has tied together the royal funerary tradition of the Amduat with a widely used temple-like phraseology. The result is a correspondence between the temple of Thoth at Hermopolis (the “Temple of the Net”, mentioned in the second hymn) and a space of regeneration, corresponding to the Afterlife.

The originality of the redaction of these texts in Petosiris tomb could, however, also recall echoes from much further afield: the ‘road of Thoth’ in fact appears in a section of the Book of the Two Ways, a Middle Kingdom composition of Hermopolitan origin in which this deity plays a prominent role, associated with the journey of the solar bark. Indeed, a section of this ancient composition corresponds with what is stated in the Petosiris texts: those who enter the temple of Thoth in Hermopolis can access the netherworldly path and be part of the following of the god Re (Backes 2005: 88–93). Thus, the correspondence between Thoth’s space and the ‘house of Maat’ (pr mȝʿt) becomes fundamental to the path of the deceased, who by following this path accesses rebirth in the east (Backes 2005: 355–357).

5 ‘Fragments’ of Royal ‘Unterweltsbücher’ on Late Sarcophagi

Roughly contemporary with the tomb of Petosiris is a large group of monumental stone sarcophagi, dated to the 30th Dynasty; among these is also the last known royal sarcophagus, that of Nectanebo II (Manassa 2007: I, 194). These materials draw heavily on a textual heritage that represents a fundamental semantic model for the last centuries of Egyptian civilization.¹ The set of sources is an example of the archaising trend that originated in the 8th century BCE and that now significantly affects a very specific group of compositions; the revival of the ‘Unterweltsbücher’ should therefore be seen as part of a broader phenomenon, appropriating texts and compositions that in the New Kingdom had been the exclusive prerogative of the king. When we analyse the decoration of these sarcophagi, therefore, we must not forget that the content of the collections constitutes the subject matter of that cultic knowledge of the king, described in the Solar Royal Liturgy; it is therefore important to relate the various royal textual typologies (cultic vs. funerary), in order to delineate a common line of development, which can recognise an underlying unity of the different traditions. The basic consistency of the materials used in these sarcophagi (predominantly ‘Unterweltsbücher’) can facilitate the study of the ways in which ancient texts are taken up and adapted to the new reality; the analysis allows us to recognise specific patterns of reworking, which certainly depend on the state of preservation of the originals, but which can also provide indications of the late interpretation of the royal collections. In this perspective, the role attributed to libraries as centres of collection of a heritage that has developed over time is fundamental: here, texts are not only copied, but also subjected to constant work of adaptation and reworking, a sign of processes linked to the priestly school that is increasingly becoming the holder of the past and the identity models of culture. The use of a textual heritage on papyrus, typical of libraries and already fundamental to the earliest redactions of the Amduat, may have facilitated not only copying work, but also and above all the integration of the corrupt parts, thus laying the foundations for those rigorous philological interventions that would characterise the revival of ancient religious texts in the 30th Dynasty. Finally, a factor extrinsic to the texts, namely their context, should not be overlooked either: some of the sarcophagi referred to in this section come from the area of Memphis, and it is likely that at least part of the reworking of those texts (both funerary and cultic) that had been typical of the New Kingdom Theban tradition took place there. Given these premises, an investigation that intends to delineate the role of these traditions in the culture of the time, also in relation to the subject of fragmentary cultural and textual heritages, must ask itself two fundamental questions:

• How are ‘Unterweltsbücher’ perceived in the broader phenomenon of recovering the ancient textual heritage?

• What are the characteristics of the new versions in relation to the ancient, and above all, what are the indicators of a philological work in which a conception of the ancient language is reflected?

These issues call for an approach capable of highlighting the nature of the tradition of the New Kingdom texts as material for a reflection not only on the texts, but also on a language no longer in use; the classical language, no longer spoken but a strong sign of cultural identity, contributes to the development of this philological technicality that marks the last centuries of pharaonic antiquity. This skill is not only turned towards the models of the past, but also towards the contingency of a country where more and more foreign languages, such as Greek, are circulating.

The adoption of ancient compositions determines interventions that have a considerable weight in the rendering of texts on sarcophagus; according to the above-mentioned model, the main indicators of this intervention are the adoption of new titles, a concrete sign of the process of textualisation proper to book editions, and the integrations on texts that were already corrupted in antiquity.

An example of such interventions is the colophon of the compositions on the sarcophagus of Tjaihorpata (Cairo, CG 29306).

Regnal year 15, month 3 of ȝḫt-season under the Majesty of the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Son of Re Nectanebo, Beloved of Onuris, Son of Re, living forever!

The copy of the ‘Book of the Hidden Chamber’ by (…)² Horentabat, owner of honorability, to protect the Osiris (…) Tjaiherpata, owner of honorability, so that his corpse might become divine in the necropolis, and he might make any manifestation that his heart desires forever and ever!

The mysterious crypts of the West (ḳrrwt štȝt nt ỉmnt), over which this Great God (= sun god) passes in his bark, in the hauling him by the Gods who are in the Dat; might the Osiris (…) Tjaihorpata, owner of honorability (…) pass over them.

These things are done according to the model in the hidden chamber of the Dat, in order to learn them in their names, and his feet shall not be repelled in front of the mysterious portals (Manassa 2007: I, 283–284; II, pl. 192).

This colophon explicitly mentions a “copy of the description of the hidden space” (spẖr sš n ʿt ỉmnt), which seems to apply not only to the sections of the Amduat on the sarcophagus, but to the whole series of ‘Unterweltsbücher’ selected for this redaction; probably, the expression sš n ʿt ỉmnt was by then accepted as a title for the entire royal funerary collections, and not just the Amduat, as it had been in the New Kingdom (Manassa 2007: II, 283 and n. 15).

The colophon of the text also mentions the commissioner of the texts, Tjaihorpata’s son Horentaba, who is thus presented as the ritualist for his father’s burial, following the divine model represented by Osiris and Horus. The late redaction follows a pattern of textualisation already known in the New Kingdom, as evidenced by the collection of compositions written on the shroud of Thutmosis III and dedicated by his son and successor Amenhotep II (Munro 1994: II, Taf. 32, 1). At the same time, it has been noted that the personalisation of the text can be linked to the scene in the lower register of the wall, taken from the Book of Gates, in which Horus destroys the enemies of his father Osiris (Manassa 2007: I, 283–284).

The second section of the colophon is devoted to the content of the Amduat text: the regions, the roads and the divine actors that make possible the nocturnal journey of the underground space, identified with the term ḳrrtw, ‘crypts’. The section closes with a textual note: the ‘model’, sšm, was strictly followed by the editors of the text on the sarcophagus, in order to provide the deceased with all the knowledge necessary to participate in the eternal periplus of the sun god.

On the sarcophagus of Tjaihorpata we also find another introductory text, which, like the one just analysed, is intended to provide the meaning of a second composition, the Litany of Re.

The names of the gods, who receive Re in the Dat; may they receive the Osiris (…) Tjaihorpata, pleased in life, in their arms; may his manifestations be like those within his (= Re) bark. May they open for the Osiris (…) Tjaihorpata the doors of Igeret, so that he might pass their crypts, so that he might enter the portals of the West, having travelled on the mysterious roads, having passed by the Gods, and having traversed the perfect road of Rosetau.

May he enter in the West with Re in his bark, may he adore the Crypt-Dweller (ḳrrty) of the Dat, may he rise with him in the eastern horizon like the Lord of the cyclic time (Manassa 2007: I, 287; II, pl. 212).

The initial section takes up the theme of the roads beyond the world, similar to the one we read in the previous colophon (see above); the “gods who welcome Re in the Dat” can be identified with those figures of the first hour of the night of the Amduat, thus confirming the reworking of the different compositions that are now perceived as a coherent and homogeneous whole. The final part summarises the meaning of the Great Litany, with the access to the West and the worship of a figure called ḳrrty, ‘Dweller of the crypt’, who identifies the sun god (Hornung 1975–1976: I, 85; II, 121, note 209; the reading ḳrrty seems preferable to the plural ḳrrtw, ‘cavern-dwellers’, in Manassa 2007: I, 287). After the adoration, the dead may rise in the east with the regenerated god, celebrated as the one who incessantly repeats this process of rebirth (nb nḥḥ, ‘lord of cyclic time’).

Thus, the approach of the redactors of these ancient materials is to organise the texts in such a way as to normalise them into a coherent redaction. The work done in the libraries using new criteria is an interesting exercise that aims to organise organically a wealth of knowledge that was originally a royal competence. Here again, it is remarkable how coherent is the catalographic way of handing down cosmographical knowledge according to that pattern established in the New Kingdom; this pattern is clearly estabilshed in the 18th Dynasty, as confirmed by the list of gods inhabiting the underworld, reproduced in the antechamber of the tomb of Thutmosis III (Bucher 1932: pls. 14–22). The intervention of actualising and normalising the text becomes particularly effective in those points that were already corrupted in ancient times, a sign of an editorial work on the subject that is much older than the earliest versions in our possession. In this sense, an example of reinterpretation and rearrangement of the text can be recognised in the late sarcophagi versions of the first and second hours of the night.

An example of integration to the text can be found in the introduction to the first hour of the Amduat: after an initial section corresponding to the New Kingdom version, there is an addition, common to three sarcophagi, a sign of a normalisation of the text from which the three sources drew (here, the Tjaihepimu version, Berlin 49).

The Osiris (…) Tjaihepimu (…) justified knows these images like the Great God; his plot of land is in this field with the Gods who are following this Great God.

He knows the names of the Gods who open for the Great Ba,

he knows the names of the Goddesses who conduct the Great God,

he knows the names of the Gods who praise Re,

he knows the names of the Gods who brighten the darkness.

May [you] brighten ⟨for⟩ him the dark road,

because he knows the names of those who adore,

he knows the names of those who make music for Re

when he enters Urnes (Manassa 2007: I, 84–85; II, pls. 56–57).

Here, too, we find a kind of compendium of the solar netherworld landscape, reworked in an original form; its presence, with minimal variants, on three sarcophagi may testify to the textualisation of a generic phraseology relating to the netherworld context. Particularly noteworthy seems to be the correspondence of the divine groups that open this original section of text with the three Amduat scenes in the tomb of Petosiris (see above).

A similar intervention can be recognised at the beginning of the second hour of the night, which again on the sarcophagus of Tjaihepimu takes up a phraseology specific to this early part of the Amduat.

The Osiris (…) Tjaihepimu (…) justified, knows these words that the Gods speak to this Great God. He knows the Gods who are in this field and the Great God gives to them a plot of land: it is effective for him on earth!

The Osiris (…) Tjaihep(imu) (…), justified, can breathe, his corpse remains in its place in the Great Bark, so that he might give orders to the Gods of the Dat, so that he might adore this Great God, so that his time might endure, so that his years might be stable, just as Re endures in the Great Bark (Manassa 2007: I, 91; II, pls. 66–67).

The introductory text presents significant variants in the three sources edited by Manassa’s study, a significant fact when compared with the introduction to the first hour: the presence of significant variants testifies to an editorial work that is still not normalised, allowing the redactors to operate with greater freedom of interpretation. Examples of this type, between normalised and other open versions, are numerous on these sarcophagi groups. A revision work on this huge textual heritage could make a decisive contribution to the reconstruction of the formative processes of the late tradition of ancient materials (see, for example, the interventions in the second hour of the night in the sarcophagus of Tjaihorpata and Nectanebo II: Manassa 2007: II, 212–224). A critical passage is constituted by the middle register of the second hour, the late version of which presents notable additions; the intervention is substantiated by means of different solutions, from a cut of the corrupted sections of the text, as in the case of Nectanebo, to a version that attempts to follow and cleanse the ancient redaction. On the whole, it is a careful operation, aimed at restoring a model that is congruent with the content of the text; in some passages, moreover, the accuracy is combined with a personalisation of the text, well documented by the sarcophagus of Nectanebo II, where the endnote includes this comment:

The Osiris, the king (…) Setepenre-Senedjemibinheret, Son of Re, truly effective spirit of Osiris, Nectanebo, calls to the gods who are in the following of Re. He gives them the orders of this gods, after Re passes over them (Manassa 2007: I, 217; II, pl. 179B).

This brief note is probably the result of a reinterpretation of the content of the hour, which insists on the theme of the spirit useful to Osiris, attributed to the deities who populate a section of the hour, and with whom the king is identified.

Also important in the reconstruction of the ancient tradition are those texts related to the content of royal compositions, but belonging to a different genre, such as the cosmogonic. This is the case of an annotation added to the eighth hour of the Amduat, not included in the New Kingdom version, here in the Djedhor sarcophagus version (Louvre D9).

The Osiris (…) Djedhor (…) has received the solar crown, so that he might rise as Re-Harakhti; he is Tatenen, bull of the bulls, great of sexual pleasure, who created the Ogdoad in his hands; he has repeated the births as Atum, he is Re, who manifests as Ptah (Manassa 2007: I, 158; II, pl. 148).

It is evident here how the short text is the fruit of a careful work of retrieval of a tradition that finds its full manifestation in the Ramesside period: on the one hand, the references to some invocations of the Great Litany of Kings, and on the other, the reference to Atum, Re and Ptah may recall the doctrine of the cosmic deity, well known in the 19th–20th Dynasties (Manassa 2007: I, 158–159, n. a and b).

In some cases, the reinterpretation work leads to the creation of new compositions that use parts of older texts, such as in the case of the litany to the Ba of the sun god on the sarcophagus of Tjaihorpata.

1. Invocation to you, United Ba; may your ba feast, how happy is your face, the One within the Dat, the Osiris (…) Tjaihorpata (…) Son of Re, appeared as Atum. He is the doorkeeper of Osiris, and he (= Ra in the Dat) makes him (= Osiris) to receive the nms-headcloth in the Dat. May the ba of Re be high in the West, may his corpse be strong in the Dat for the Ba of Re and (for) the United Ba who is in the sarcophagus.

2. Osiris rests in Re, and vice-versa; the Osiris (…) Tjaihorpata, owner of honour, manifests as Re, and vice-versa.

3. Oh, United who manifests as Re, and vice-versa: the Osiris (…) Tjaihorpata, justified, is the Ba of Re, and vice-versa, he manifests as Khepri (Manassa 2007: I, 392–393; II, pl. 282A).

The phraseology of the first part of the text (I) takes up the Seventh Litany of Re, followed by an insert that takes up the Third Litany on the union of Re and Osiris (II) and finally parts of the Eighth Litany (III). This way of working on ancient texts also leads to interesting phenomena of intertextuality that see parts of royal funerary compositions combined with texts of a different nature, such as the solar texts, akin to the Royal Liturgy, on the lid of the sarcophagus of Tjaihorpata. The two liturgical texts are combined here with the scene of the two solar barks, taken from the composition known as Awekening of Osiris (Roberson 2013).

(Morning Hymn)

Osiris (…) Tjaihorpata, owner of honour, adores Re when he rises on the eastern horizon of the sky. He says: Oh Re, lord of rays when you rise on the eastern horizon, I have come before you, I rejoice at the sight your disk […] my flesh lives at the sight your perfection (= you), and I will be (one of) your praised

(Evening Hymn)

Osiris (…) Tjaihorpata (…) adores Re when he sets in the western horizon. He says: Greetings to you, may you come as Atum who manifests as creator of the Ennead; may you give to me the pleasant with of the north, may the West be open, Great god who brightens the Two Lands until (his) setting (in) the western mountain: I am one of the honoured by Osiris in peace (Manassa 2007: I, 394; II, pl. 283).

This last example represents a particularly interesting model of reception of ancient compositions: the scene of the two barks facing each other becomes a divine icon, worshipped by the two figures of the dead who recite the two hymns to the sun. Formally based on the ancient model, the scene emphasises the icon of the two boats, to which two hymns are addressed, relating to the sun worship in the morning phase (= bark of the day) and in the evening phase (= bark of the night).

6 Conclusion

The materials exhibited here can be said to represent a culture that elaborates its past in terms of language and identity models. Alongside the essential themes of these royal compositions, such as the knowledge of deities and the roads of the sun god, we find data that more concretely give us a sense of a technical intervention in the text. This intervention extends knowledge not only to the sacred matter, the subjects of these texts, but also to their language. Thus, we recognise an essential theme in this complex textual tradition, the revival of which in the 30th Dynasty gives us a sense of the relationship with a language whose use has now disappeared, but is still capable of shaping late Egyptian culture.

In the development of this tradition, a significant role is played by the text supports themselves: indeed, the central role that stone sarcophagi played in the dissemination of these traditions of ancient royal origin cannot be overlooked. Indeed, the consistency in the type of medium is evident, and must have been a significant element in the use of funerary corpora.³ This group of sources ends a tradition that spread during the New Kingdom, and which had known in the Third Intermediate Period (10th–8th century BCE) two major channels of transmission: funerary papyri and wooden coffins (papyri: Sadek 1985; Niwinski 1989; coffins: Niwinski 1988). In these sources, the Netherworld Books are integrated with other texts, often readaptations from more established traditions, such as the Book of the Dead. Although consistent in date and context of provenance (Theban), papyri and coffins show two different patterns: papyri are directly dependent on New Kingdom versions of the Netherworld Books, as evidenced by the strong dependence of these manuscripts on the Amduat version in the tomb of Amenhotep III. The coeval Theban coffins, on the other hand, show a decoration based on images that evoke the content of larger texts, some of which coincide with those of the papyri.

We can consider, for example, the decoration of the outer coffin of Butehamon (Turin Museum CGT 10102 = Cat. 2237: Niwinski 2004: 28–40), which offers a compendium of different traditions, re-proposed in the style typical of the period. The prominence of the iconic component follows a well-known pattern (Hornung 2000) and draws mainly from the tradition of the Book of the Dead. On both sides of the coffin, however, the case bears a row of deities that recall vignettes from the funerary corpus, together with others that borrow from the Litany of Re (Niwinski 2004: 34–35; 37–39). The figures, almost all without names, evoke the content of the relevant invocations with their presence, thus giving the iconic component a decisive weight over the textual one. This modus operandi reflects the function of the coffin, a compendium of both figurative and textual materials, aimed at the rebirth of the deceased through pregnant images accompanied by short texts: in the case of the coffin of Butehamon, it may be noted that the most extensive texts are in fact short prayers and invocations, not directly referable to the funerary corpora, but rather an expression of a religious phenomenology known in the New Kingdom (Niwinski 2004: 131–141). Taken as a whole, the Third Intermediate Period tradition on papyrus and coffin is an exemplary case study of open recension of different materials, normalised in a unified context.

The design of the sarcophagi of the 30th Dynasty differs markedly from the tradition of those of the Third Intermediate Period: as recognised by critics, the collections of scenes and texts are borrowed from predominantly royal models, but organised in an original way: the layout of the scenes and related texts responds to a criterion that allows the entire sarcophagus to be read as an icon of the cosmos (Manassa 2007: I, 464–468). This concept was compared with the earliest model of the wooden coffins of the Middle Kingdom (20–19 BCE), on whose walls the corpus of the Coffin Texts is inscribed. In this way, although using a different material from the Middle Kingdom tradition, the great sarcophagi of the 30th Dynasty take up its function as a representation of the cosmos. In doing so, the late sarcophagi connect to an ancient tradition, probably consciously taken up by scribal workshops and scholars of ancient texts; at the same time, however, the selection of sources used also recalls the conception of the New Kingdom royal tomb, which is itself a representation of the cosmos as the setting of the diurnal and nocturnal journey of the sun. The medium is thus functional to the nature of the texts, and becomes an equally important element in defining the space in which the deceased is placed, waiting to follow that journey of regeneration that is already proclaimed in the tradition of Coffin Texts.

The reconstruction of the written text, especially in those parts that must have had corrupted sections already in the ancient sources (see the evening version of the Solar Royal Liturgy or the first two hours of the Amduat), in a language that has now disappeared, becomes part of a model of recovery of the past that is a distinctive mark for the legitimisation of late culture. We may recall here the phenomenon of pseudo-epigraphic literature, represented by the Bentresh Stele (Broze 1989) or the Famine Stele (Barguet 1953). This approach to the past also becomes something more akin to the work of copying and transmitting text, in which the ancient source is mentioned as a sign of authority: this ancient source may provide information useful for the (re)foundation of a cult, as in the case of Haremakhet/Horun at Giza in the Saitic period (Stele of the Daughter of Cheops; Zivie-Coche 1991: 218–246).

Even more significant is the case of the general layout of the sanctuary of Hathor at Dendera, the tradition of which is recorded in detail in an inscription in the crypts of the temple: the text claims that the plan of the building had been established by Thutmosis III, who in turn had taken it from an older text, dated to the reign of Cheops; another inscription again attributes to Thutmosis III the discovery of the plan on a leather roll, dated to the period before the birth of the Egyptian state (the time of the ‘Followers of Horo’, šmsw ḥr) and discovered in a chest of the royal palace at Memphis, dated to the reign of Pepi II (Allam 1963: 43–44). The reference to the model written on a ‘leather roll’ (wbḫ n ḫʿr) is an interesting technical indicator of the tradition of these temple models: it is in fact a particular writing support, and the Dendera passage may recall the Berlin Leather Roll with its copy of a foundation text dated to the reign of Sesostris I (12th Dynasty; de Buck 1938).

The antiquity of the Dendera model goes back into prehistory, and it is this antiquity that ensures the effectiveness of the temple built in Ptolemaic times. This ideal reconstruction of tradition gives us the cultural interpretation of a recovery that attributes a founding value to the past; the theme will also become a literary topos, well represented by the episode of the Demotic tale with the search for a book written by Thoth himself (Setne I, Roman period; Lichtheim 1980: 127–138). Thus the past becomes a source to be preserved and passed on; the examples we have seen of interventions on ancient royal texts belong to this cultural model, and can also be linked to what is said in the colophon of the Memphite Theology, a cosmogonic composition written in the epigraphic version in our possession at the time of King Shabaqo (25th Dynasty, 7th century), and copied from an older damaged papyrus original. Here the recovery of the text becomes essential for its effectiveness, as explicitly stated in the colophon of the epigraphic version.

Copy of this text ex novo by his Majesty in the temple of his father Ptah south of his wall; his Majesty had found it as it had been made by the ancients, and it (= the text) was a thing worm-eaten and could no longer be understood from beginning to end. The text was then rewritten again, more perfect than its original (el-Hawary 2010: 116).

The final statement, which picks up on a theme close to royal ideology, which sees the king make every action perfect, even with respect to an ancient and prestigious model, may also evoke a more concrete operation: that of the technical intervention on the corrupted original, which is recomposed so to obtain a new version, complete and correct. Thus, we would be faced with a situation similar to what we have seen with certain passages of the Solar Royal Liturgy, or with the corrupted parts of the Amduat, corrected in the late sarcophagi. The transition from the papyrus to the stone can also be interpreted as a way of making eternal a text whose preservation was dependent on the fragility of a light support: in other words, we would have another way of preserving that past, made possible by the stone support, which is immutable and eternal.

Thus, the weight of the ancient model permeates the reconstruction of these new versions of the royal corpora (whether cultic or funerary); the interventions of the late copyists comprise textual technicalities consisting of corrections and additions. Some of these technicalities are now accepted and acquired by the libraries where these materials were copied and studied. It may be useful to note, in these concluding notes, that the reception of ancient materials reworks not only the text, but also those scenes that now become significant icons: this is the case of the three Amduat scenes in the tomb of Petosiris, or the scene of the two solar barks on the sarcophagus of Tjaihorpata. In both late sources, representations taken from ancient compositions become divine icons, worshipped by the deceased who appear while invoking the same images with texts that represent original elaborations on the ancient model.

In this way, the individual affirms his competence regarding an ancient heritage capable of transmitting initiatic knowledge, expressed in both texts and icons: the role of that system of text and representation identified in the Egyptian vocabulary as sšm, loosely translated as ‘representation’, and through which the richness of the most ancient speculation was able to reach even the last centuries of Egyptian civilisation, is thus confirmed.