thrown back, head erect, and smiling face, the statue seems to step
forth to lead the double from its dark lodging where it lies embalmed,
to those glowing plains where he dwelt in freedom during his earthly
life: another moment, crossing the threshold, he must descend the few
steps leading into the public hall. On festivals and days of offering,
when the priest and family presented the banquet with the customary
rites, this great painted figure, in the act of advancing, and seen
by the light of flickering torches or smoking lamps, might well appear
endued with life. It was as if the dead ancestor himself stepped out of
the wall and mysteriously stood before his descendants to claim their
homage. The inscription on the lintel repeats once more the name and
rank of the dead. Faithful portraits of him and of other members of his
family figure in the bas-reliefs on the door-posts.

[Illustration: 010.jpg STELE IN THE FORM OF A DOOR]

The little scene at the far end represents him seated tranquilly at
table, with the details of the feast carefully recorded at his side,
from the first moment when water is brought to him for ablution, to that
when, all culinary skill being exhausted, he has but to return to his
dwelling, in a state of beatified satisfaction. The stele represented to
the visitor the door leading to the private apartments of the deceased;
the fact of its being walled up for ever showing that no living mortal
might cross its threshold. The inscription which covered its surface was
not a mere epitaph informing future generations who it was that reposed
beneath. It perpetuated the name and genealogy of the deceased, and
gave him a civil status, without which he could not have preserved his
personality in the world beyond; the nameless dead, like a living man
without a name, was reckoned as non-existing. Nor was this the only use
of the stele; the pictures and prayers inscribed upon it acted as so