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Heritage Matters
Public Particip ation in Archaeology

Heritage Matters
ISSN 1756–4832
Series Editors
Peter G. Stone
Peter Davis
Chris Whitehead
Heritage Matters is a series of edited and single-authored volumes which addresses the whole
range of issues that confront the cultural heritage sector as we face the global challenges of the
twenty-first century. The series follows the ethos of the I nternational Centre for C ultural and
Heritage Studies (ICCHS) at N ewcastle U niversity, where these issues are seen as part of an
integrated whole, including both cultural and natural agendas, and thus encompasses challenges
faced by all types of museums, art galleries, heritage sites and the organisations and individuals
that work with, and are affected by them.
Previously published titles are listed at the back of this book

Public Participation in Archaeology
Edited by
Suzie Thomas and Joanne Lea
THE BOYDELL PRESS

© Contributors 2014
All rights reserved. E xcept as permitted under current legislation
no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system,
published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast,
transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means,
without the prior permission of the copyright owner
First published 2014
The Boydell Press, Woodbridge
ISBN 978–1–84383–897–5
The Boydell Press is an imprint of Boydell & B rewer Ltd
PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK
and of Boydell & B rewer I nc.
668 Mt Hope A venue, R ochester, NY 14620–2731, USA
website: www.boydellandbrewer.com
The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy
of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book,
and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is,
or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
A CIP record for this book is available
from the B ritish Library
This publication is printed on acid-free paper

This book is dedicated to the memory of Aino N issinaho (24 September 1956 – 28
November 2013) who sadly passed away shortly before the book went into publication.
She made a significant contribution to the development of community heritage in
Finland through her involvement with the ‘Adopt a Monument’ programme, among
other things, and we are grateful for her contribution to this volume.

Contents
List of I llustrations ix
Acknowledgments xiii
List of A bbreviations xiv
Preface xvii
Introduction 1
Joanne Lea and Suzie Thomas
Public Participation in Archaeology:
International Models
1 From ‘Telling’ to ‘Consulting’: A Perspective on Museums and Modes of Public 11
Engagement
Theano Moussouri
2 Making Archaeological Heritage A ccessible in G reat Britain: E nter Community 23
Archaeology
Suzie Thomas
3 Public and Community Archaeology – an I rish Perspective 35
Thomas Kador
4 The Scope and Potential for Community Archaeology in the N etherlands 49
Sophie Lampe
5 Public Archaeology as a R eflexive Practice: An Argentine Case Study in the 61
Pampean R egion
Natalia Mazzia, Virginia Salerno and Alejandra Pupio
Public Participation in Archaeology
Through Education
6 Accessing Archaeology in the School System: Powerful Partnerships – a Case Study 73
of the Challenges and R ewards for Archaeologists, Teachers and Students (Canada)
Cathy MacDonald
7 Hook ’em When They’re Young: U sing Enquiry-B ased Learning Workshops 81
in Archaeology
Jolene Debert
8 Archaeology as C ulturally R elevant Science E ducation: The Poplar Forest Slave Cabin 89
Michael Brody, Jeanne M Moe, Joëlle Clark and Crystal B Alegria

9 Heritage E ducation in Jordanian Schools: For Knowledge or Profit? 105
Arwa Badran
Public Participation in Archaeology
Through T ourism
10 Politics, Archaeology and E ducation: Ancient Merv, Turkmenistan 119
Mike Corbishley and Gaigysyz Jorayev
11 Situating Public Archaeology in C rooked Tree, Belize 129
Alicia Ebbitt McGill
12 Access to Archaeological Heritage in Mexico: I ts Impact on Public Participation 139
in Archaeology
Lilia L Lizama Aranda and Blanca A Camargo
Public Participation in Archaeology
Through Site Management and Conservation
13 ‘They are hiding it … Why do they hide it? From whom, and for whom?’ 149
Community Heritage at Work in the Post-Colonial Context of Jordan
Shatha Abu-Khafajah
14 Site Management in Turkey 161
Dinç Saraç
15 Adopt a Monument: Social Meaning from Community Archaeology 175
†Aino Nissinaho and Tuija-Liisa Soininen
16 Public Archaeology in Canada 183
Joanne Lea
List of Contributors 195
Index 201

Illustrations
COVER IMAGES
(Top) Pupils learning about Greek alphabets at the Northern Theatre in Jerash/Jerash Pilot
Study as part of the second phase of the UNESCO project.
© UNESCO/Arwa Badran
(Middle) Participants at the historic graveyard-recording workshop at Kilmanman graveyard,
Clonaslee, Co Laois.
Courtesy of John Tierney
(Bottom) A teacher with pupils at Ancient Merv; a style of education previously unheard of
in Turkmenistan.
Ancient Merv Project, UCL/Dominic Powlesland (photographer)
FIGURES
2.1. A Community Archaeology Training Placement, participating in survey work with 28
a Scotland’s Rural Past group.
Image courtesy of the Council for British Archaeology
2.2. A Community Archaeology Training Placement with the University of Salford, 28
helping a volunteer on site.
Image courtesy of the Council for British Archaeology
3.1. The ‘Digging the Monto’ exhibition, dealing with poverty and working-class life 43
in Dublin’s infamous tenements around 1913.
Courtesy of the LAB, Dublin City Council
3.2. Participants at the historic graveyard-recording workshop at Kilmanman graveyard, 43
Clonaslee, Co Laois.
Courtesy of John Tierney
4.1. Dutch museums increasingly integrate films into their displays, allowing people to 50
experience archaeology.
© E S Lampe
5.1. Location of the Buenos Aires province cities where the Grupo de Arqueología en 62
las Pampas (GAP) works.
Natalia Mazzia, Virginia Salerno and Alejandra Pupio
8.1. Students use archaeological inquiry skills (observation, inference and classification) 92
to investigate how modern people live in their space.
Joëlle Clark
8.2. Students use authentic archaeological data to investigate how people lived at a 93
historic slave cabin at Thomas Jefferson’s Plantation, Poplar Forest.
Joëlle Clark

x Illustrations
8.3. O 97
Joëlle Clark
8.4. Inference Examples. 97
Joëlle Clark
8.5. Classification Examples. 97
Joëlle Clark
8.6. Context Examples. 98
Joëlle Clark
8.7. Pre-test Responses. 98
Joëlle Clark
8.8. Control Group Responses. 99
Joëlle Clark
8.9. Post-test Responses. 99
Joëlle Clark
9.1. Teachers’ expectations of learning outcomes when teaching pupils about the 111
archaeological heritage.
Arwa Badran
9.2. Pupils learning about Greek alphabets at the Northern Theatre in Jerash/Jerash 113
Pilot Study as part of the second phase of the UNESCO project.
© UNESCO/Arwa Badran
10.1. A teacher with pupils at Ancient Merv; a style of education previously unheard of 123
in Turkmenistan.
Ancient Merv Project, UCL/Dominic Powlesland (photographer)
10.2. Open day at Ancient Merv. UCL volunteers lead visits to sites where people are 125
allowed to handle finds.
Ancient Merv Project, UCL/Sjoerd van der Linde (photographer)
13.1. Al-Nweijeez Roman Mausoleum as it appears from the car park. 155
Shatha Abu-Khafajah
13.2. The site of the Suwaifyyeh Mosaic, as it appears from the nearby road. 156
Shatha Abu-Khafajah
14.1. The site of Xanthos, featuring the Roman agora and the Lycian pillar tombs, 1998. 169
Dinç Saraç
15.1. The old border fence of the town of Tampere is one of the adopted sites. 176
Aino Nissinaho/Pirkanmaa Provincial Museum
15.2. Meeting of adopters and museum staff at an adopted burial cairn. 178
Aino Nissinaho/Pirkanmaa Provincial Museum
TABLES
1.1. Forms (areas) of public engagement and related communication and learning 14
theories, and research methodology approaches.

Illustrations xi
Theano Moussouri
1.2. The five dimensions of public engagement in STEM and associated milestones. 15
Theano Moussouri
3.1. Historical and archaeological societies in Ireland. 40
Thomas Kador
8.1. Professional Development Workshops. 94
Joëlle Clark
8.2. Workshop Usefulness. 94
Joëlle Clark
8.3. Response to: ‘Science means questioning, explaining, and testing’. 95
Joëlle Clark
8.4. Response to: ‘I like science/I am good at science’. 96
Joëlle Clark
8.5. Response to: ‘Do you think science is fun?’ 96
Joëlle Clark
9.1. List of primary schools that were included in the sample for teachers’ interviews. 108
Arwa Badran
12.1. Visits to archaeological sites in Mexico (managed by INAH). 141
Based on data from DataTur, 2013
16.1. Characteristics of 53 stakeholders who participated in the study. 185
Joanne Lea
16.2. Characteristics of the 117 public archaeology programme participants who 186
completed survey questionnaires as part of the study.
Joanne Lea
16.3. Areas of convergence among stakeholders, CAA focus group members, teachers, 187
public archaeology programme participants and case study participants.
Joanne Lea
16.4. Areas of divergence among stakeholders, teachers, public archaeology programme 188
participants and case study participants.
Joanne Lea
The editors, contributors and publisher are grateful to all the institutions and persons listed for
permission to reproduce the materials in which they hold copyright. Every effort has been made
to trace the copyright holders; apologies are offered for any omission, and the publishers will be
pleased to add any necessary acknowledgment in subsequent editions.

Acknowledgments
This volume grew from a session organised by the editors at the Sixth World Archaeological
Congress in Dublin, Ireland, in 2008. We therefore wish to acknowledge WAC for providing the
forum in which discussions towards this work began. Additional contributions and useful discus-
sion were gleaned from the Annual Meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists in The
Hague, Netherlands, in 2010 in a session organised by Suzie Thomas and Phil Richardson (from
Archaeology Scotland). Thanks are extended to the EAA and to Phil, for providing a specifically
European context for exploring the themes discussed in this volume.
Prior to the inspiration provided by the World Archaeological Congress, however, was that
provided by the International Centre for Cultural and Heritage Studies (ICCHS) at Newcastle University. We owe a debt of gratitude to ICCHS, which provided a foundation for the editors and several contributors to this volume. We also wish to acknowledge with appreciation the guidance of Peter Stone, who has provided the Preface for this volume.
Finally, the editors wish to thank all the contributors to this volume, whose insights, research
and experience have provided a truly global analysis and discussion of public participation in archaeology.
Suzie Thomas and Joanne Lea

Abbreviations
ACRSC Archaeology as Culturally Relevant Science Curricula (USA)
ARPA Archaeological Resources Protection Act (USA)
AWN Vereniging van Vrijwilligers in de Archeologie (Netherlands)
BAS Belize Audubon Society
BEC Belize Estate Produce Company
CAA Canadian Archaeological Association
CABP Community Archaeology Bursaries Project (UK)
CAISE Center for Advancement of Informal Science Education (USA)
CATPs Community Archaeology Training Placements (UK)
CBA Council for British Archaeology
CDP Conservation Development Plan (Turkey)
CEEBL Centre for Excellence in Enquiry-Based Learning (UK)
CETL Centre for Excellence in Teaching and Learning (UK)
CHAP Chau Hiix Archaeological Project (Belize)
CLASP Community Landscape and Archaeology Survey Project (UK)
CMC Canadian Museum of Civilization
CRDI Curriculum Review Development and Implementation (Canada)
CTCDR Culture and Tourism Conservation and Development Regions (Turkey)
DCDSB Durham Catholic District School Board (Canada)
DMAS Defence Military Archaeology Society (UK)
DOAJ Directory of Open Access Journals (Mexico)
EAA European Association of Archaeologists
EBL enquiry-based learning
EdD Doctorate in Education
EH English Heritage
FOAH Friends of Archaeology and Heritage Society (Jordan)
GAP Grupo de Arqueología en las Pampas (Argentina)
GEAR Gloucester Emergency Accommodation Resource
GLO generative learning object
HER Historic Environment Record (UK)
HLF Heritage Lottery Fund (UK)
ICCHS International Centre for Cultural and Heritage Studies
ICCROM International Centre for the Study of the Preservation and Restoration of
Cultural Property
ICOMOS International Council on Monuments and Sites
IMS Image Management System
INAH National Institute of Anthropology and History (Mexico)
ISFA Instituto Superior de Formación Artística (Argentina)
KS Key Stage (UK)
MCT Ministry of Culture and Tourism (Turkey)
MoE Ministry of Education (Jordan)

MoTA Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities (Jordan)
NGO Non-governmental organisation
NIAF Northern Ireland Archaeological Forum
OA Open Access
OASIS Online AccesS to the Index of archaeological investigationS (UK)
Open DOAR Open Directory of Open Access Repositories (Mexico)
OSI Open Society Institute
PE Public Engagement
PEA Public Engagement in Archaeology
PES Public Engagement with Science
PhD Doctor of Philosophy
RCAHMS Royal Commission for the Ancient and Historic Monuments of Scotland
RCAHMW Royal Commission for the Ancient and Historic Monuments of Wales
ROAR Registry of Open Access Repositories (Mexico)
RSC Revised Statutes of Canada
SAA Society for American Archaeology
SEPA Special Environment Protection Area (Turkey)
STEM Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics
TRCA Toronto and Region Conservation Authority
TST 2023 Tourism Strategy of Turkey 2023
UCL University College London
UNAM Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico
UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization
WAC World Archaeological Congress
WHL World Heritage List (UNESCO)
WLU Wilfrid Laurier University
YAC Young Archaeologists’ Club (UK)

Preface
Peter Stone
Many years ago a young boy noticed a small, scrappy piece of paper on the school notice-
board, asking for volunteers to help excavate a R oman villa being threatened by a new road.
He dismissed the plea, sure (despite never having studied them) in the knowledge that we knew
enough about the R omans; safe within his fascination of 17th century E ngland and utterly
incredulous that anyone might consider giving time on a Saturday afternoon to anything other
than rugby. Some years later a recent graduate, fresh from studying modern history at university
and just about to embark on a career teaching history, was walking, with his girlfriend, along a
street in York called Coppergate. They noticed a long roadside hoarding, upon which was a sign
encouraging passers-by to pay to visit the archaeological excavations hidden behind. ‘Pay?!’ they
commented … and walked on.
The young teacher was soon confronted by class upon class of pupils who did not share
his total and unquestioning fascination with history. The curriculum demanded that he teach
periods totally new to him including prehistory and ancient civilisations; all utterly captivating
… to him … but surprisingly – impossibly? – not to the children. As he struggled to interest
them he began to read around how we knew about these distant periods and came into contact,
really for the first time, with archaeology. He went back to the hoarding and not only paid to
go inside but offered to volunteer over the school holiday. He, and the children, were hooked as
together they explored how we know about the past and how its study can illuminate the present.
Long before Time Team graced our TV screens, he learnt that, far from being a new activity,
public archaeology was at least two and a half thousand years old and that Princess E nnigaldi
of Babylon had created a museum to house the finds from her father King N abonidus’ excava-
tions, and that people have been thinking about and sharing their interpretations of the past for
millennia.
Perhaps the problem for much of that time was that the interpretation was done by (and
even perhaps for) experts, to the exclusion of the rest of the population – unless they wanted
to visit a museum and be fed information, in a one-way exchange, about the past. This book
questions that inherent academic exclusivity and probes for and searches out a variety of exam-
ples of individuals and communities being included in the search for, and interpretation of, the
past – their pasts. N o longer is the white, usually male, scientifically trained expert the font of all
knowledge; they are but one (certainly frequently key) player in the understanding and use of
the past. B ut the following pages reveal that if they open their minds to others with an interest
in, and frequently deep knowledge of, the past it can only enhance our understanding of the
past. We study the past, to understand the present, to create the future. That is too important a
task to be left entirely to experts and the contributions that local individuals and communities
can make is immeasurable. If only I had understood that when standing reading that notice all
those years ago …

Introduction
Joanne Lea and Suzie Thomas
Public participation in archaeology has been an ongoing facet of humanity’s interaction with
its past, rather than a recent discovery. I t has included a range of activity, from millennia of
grave robbing, translating in the present time to criminal looting and trafficking of antiquities
(Brodie et al 2000), through to the foundation of learned antiquarian societies that organ-
ised excavation outings for members and spectators at the mounds, barrows and tells of their
choosing (R enfrew and B ahn 2004, 31). I t was the 20th-century development of archaeology
as an academic pursuit and profession, as more than a hobby, which imposed a divide between
public participation and the archaeological past (B ray 2003, 41; Daniel 1975, 152; Smith 2004,
41). Under the establishment of heritage legislation, archaeological research and the accompa-
nying finds and artefacts became subject to regulation relating to ownership, but also to stew-
ardship on behalf of the public (E nglish Heritage 2006, 1; Jameson 1994, 16; Murtagh 1997,
147; Zaslowsky and Watkins 1994, 106; and see Carman 2005 for a wider debate of ownership
and cultural property).
By the latter part of the 20th century, it had been acknowledged that there was an inherent
contradiction in acting on behalf of the public by keeping the public from direct participation
with its archaeological heritage. Rather, heritage management was seen to need to include educa-
tion, outreach and participation components, guided by the ethics of inclusion (Corbishley and
Stone 1994, 389; C reamer 1990, 137; Flood 1989, 2; Jameson 1993, 2; McManamon 1991, 122;
Rees 1999, 14). The realisation of this need has given rise to a refocusing on public participation
in archaeology under the banners of ‘public archaeology’ (McG imsey 1972; Merriman 2004),
‘archaeology education’ (Smardz and Smith 2000), ‘community archaeology’ (Moser et al 2002;
Pope and Mills 2004) and even ‘tourism’ (Boniface and Fowler 1993). Along with the refocusing
came expressed goals such as empowerment (Skeates 2000, 98) and stewardship of the past
(Southport G roup 2011, 10). A theoretical underpinning for these goals was established through
critical theory (Leone 1981; Shackel 2000), and also through reflexive, multi-vocal ‘interpretive’
archaeologies (Hodder 2001, 5; Leone and Potter 2003, 1; Shanks and Hodder 1995, 20; Shanks
and Tilley 1992, 60; Stone and Planel 1999, 1). Feminist (Conkey and Tringham 1995; G ero and
Conkey 1991; Spector 1993) and post-colonial theory (Quayson 2000; Young 2001) also offered
lenses through which public participation in archaeology came into theoretical focus.
Because the discussions surrounding this aspect of archaeology are relatively recent, the termi-
nology used is still being negotiated. Public archaeology, archaeology education and community
archaeology are sometimes used interchangeably, with grey areas between their boundaries of
definition (see Thomas, Chapter 2), sometimes vigorously defended as separate entities (see Pope
and Mills 2004) and sometimes seen as mere semantics which need to be adapted to meet local
needs (see Lampe, Chapter 4). The ‘public’ of public participation is also a contested term. The

2 Public Participation in Archaeology
sweeping ‘general public’ (Dromgoole 2002, 114) or ‘the community’ (Pearce 1990, 183) has been
broken down into a catalogue that included ‘local interests, government groups, academics, tour-
ists, collectors, foundations’ (B rodie and Tubb 2002, 38–9). This volume embraces the multiple
aspects of ‘the public’ – including professional and academic archaeologists – that gave rise to the
use of the term ‘publics’ in this regard (McManamon 1991, 121; Merriman 2004, 8–9).
At the onset of the 21st century, Smardz and Smith (2000, 33) stated that archaeologists
had been undertaking work with the publics largely ‘on faith’, without data regarding the actual
impact of that work. Therefore, after several decades of public, educational and community
participation in archaeology, this volume examines what the impacts of that participation have
been from a global perspective. Has there been inclusion, empowerment and stewardship? Where
is the public in public participation (a question posed by Moussouri in Chapter 1)? The volume
presents case studies to look at various publics interacting with the archaeological past in a
variety of formats and venues. Further, it offers evaluative studies that analyse whether public
participation has been effective in actualising its goals within a global financial environment that
is increasingly challenging.
Organisation of the Book
The organisation of the volume reflects the venues for public participation in archaeology. The
first section examines overarching models through time and for public participation in a variety
of national settings. I n particular, Moussouri offers an overview of the history and philosophy of
public participation in archaeology with case studies to illustrate her analysis, in Chapter 1. From
this Introduction, the milieux for public participation in the UK (Thomas, Chapter 2), I reland
(Kador, Chapter 3), the N etherlands (Lampe, Chapter 4) and Argentina (Mazzia et al, Chapter
5) are discussed with reference to the definitions and publics, or communities, in each national
or (in the case of Mazzia et al) regional setting.
The second section explores public participation in archaeology through education program-
ming in Canada (MacDonald, Chapter 6), in the UK (Debert, Chapter 7), in the USA (B rody
et al, Chapter 8) and in Jordan (B adran, Chapter 9). Various facets of education programming
are noted. MacDonald, for instance, outlines examples of direct participation in excavation and
artefact analysis in partnership between archaeologists and educators. We also find in this section
an evaluative perspective on the efficacy of educational programming. Debert (Chapter 7) writes
about her artefact analysis work to enhance critical thinking skills both as a hands-on activity and
as virtual exercises. Meanwhile, B adran (Chapter 9) evaluates the use of archaeological sites and
text resources by educators, and offers additional resources in response to her analyses. B rody et
al (Chapter 8) also introduces critical thinking programming about archaeological sites and data
to students, and then assesses its impact. Both their and Debert’s chapters advocate the use of
such programming to meet learning and social needs for participants.
Notable in the case of both Jordan for B adran’s analysis, and of Turkmenistan (Corbishley
and Jorayev, Chapter 10), linking thus to the third section of the book, is the emphasis placed
by educators and other stakeholders on the significance of tourism in relation to archaeological
heritage. Corbishley and Jorayev (Chapter 10) present work undertaken in the former Soviet
state of Turkmenistan, particularly at the archaeological site of Merv. McG ill’s work in B elize,
stressing the importance of community ownership of and partnership with heritage tourism, is
presented in Chapter 11. Lizama Aranda and Camargo (Chapter 12) outline interactions between

Introduction 3
various publics and archaeological resources in Mexico, largely coordinated and influenced by the
National I nstitute of Anthropology and History.
Finally, in the fourth section, the relationship between public participation in archaeology and
site management and conservation is detailed. A bu-Khafajah’s work in Jordan, particularly at the
site of Jerash (Chapter 13), provides us with valuable qualitative data from her numerous inter-
views with local people, creating an insight into local perceptions and attitudes towards archaeo-
logical heritage. Saraç’s work in Turkey (Chapter 14), in a different approach, focuses primarily
on recent legislative changes and their impact on heritage management and policy. N issinaho
and Soininen’s work in Finland (Chapter 15) again looks at conservation and management of
archaeological sites, but principally through the A dopt a Monument scheme in the Pirkanmaa
(Tampere) region, which works at more of a grass-roots level, uniting sites that need to be cared
for with willing groups of people within the local community. Lea, in Chapter 16, provides an
evaluation of public participation in archaeology in Canada, outlining important statistics and
case studies, and serves as a cautionary tale to inform practice going forward.
Related Debates
While this volume encapsulates current practices in public, community and educational archae-
ology and archaeological heritage management, and evaluates the effects of these practices from
the points of views of a diverse range of both researchers and practitioners, there are also related
issues raised for consideration.
Public participation in archaeology presumes a theoretical and practical reference to inclusion,
openness and access, much as is reflected in the O pen Access (OA) movement itself in academia.
Indeed, Lizama Aranda and Camargo (Chapter 12) refer directly to the influence of this move-
ment as a facet of public participation in archaeology in Mexico, and as a means to address the
quandary of grey literature. The analogous questions of ‘Who owns the past?’ (Trigger 1988)
and ‘Who has the right to read research?’ (Willinsky 2006, xiii) both point to areas of conflict
among parties with rights and responsibilities related to archaeological heritage. To allow the
results of (in this instance, archaeological) research to become accessible in the public domain,
OA advocates the removal of barriers such as physical, language, censorship and connectivity (ie
digital access) (Suber 2007, 185). At the same time, there is a concern that, without a control
mechanism, public access can become a commons for which no-one is responsible and which
therefore is tragically open to ruin or, conversely, becomes subject only to elite use by those with
knowledge of the means of access (Hess and O strom 2007, 11; Mukherjee 2010, 127), not to
mention the exclusion of those who, for financial reasons, lack the requisite technology.
In England and Scotland, the issue of access to grey literature is addressed at least partially
through the existence of the G rey Literature Library, which is provided by the Archaeology
Data Service (http://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archives/view/greylit) and which, at the time
of writing, contains in its archives some 18,144 reports available for access at no charge. However,
the extent to which this resource is known and utilised outside of the paid archaeological sector
is still open to debate. Another initiative that originated in the UK but took on a global reach
is the Day of Archaeology, which occurred for the first time in 2011 and encouraged archaeolo-
gists to blog about their day of work (in the first instance on or around 29 July 2011). I t was
intended as a means of capturing what archaeologists do in a ‘typical’ day and communicating
this to the wider population through the purpose-developed blog (http://www.dayofarchaeology.

4 Public Participation in Archaeology
com/). While it has been acknowledged that this project has not gone entirely to plan (notably
that the majority of people viewing the blog entries have been fellow archaeologists, rather than
a wider public) (Richardson 2012), the project is nonetheless an imaginative venture, and time
will tell in the coming years whether it can be more successful in raising awareness outside of
the archaeological sector.
In archaeology, the balance between making research and debates accessible and protecting
sites from destruction hinges on proprietorship and stewardship through the control of access
(Ferris 2003, 172). These double-edged swords of public participation in archaeology appear in
this volume in the form of discussions of such issues as the rights of indigenous and descendant
populations to their tangible heritage (McG ill, Chapter 11; Lizama Aranda and Camargo, Chapter
12). This is in contrast with asking current populations to value and protect the archaeological
heritage of previous cultures, unrelated to their own (A bu-Khafajah, Chapter 13; Lampe, Chapter
4; Mazzia et al, Chapter 5). Also, by using public participation in archaeology to address social
needs (B rody et al, Chapter 8; Debert, Chapter 7), archaeology can be seen to bring the needs of
different groups into conflict, such as balancing local and national interests in tourism (B adran,
Chapter 9; Corbishley and Jorayev, Chapter 10; McG ill, Chapter 11). Participation in archae-
ology on a global level also increases the potential for contention when international standards,
such as for publication or World Heritage Site designation, place demand on local and national
resources (Lizama Aranda and Camargo, Chapter 12; Saraç, Chapter 14). The principle of O pen
Access is seen to be based in the free exchange of information without price barrier (Suber
2007, 185). However, as applied to public participation in archaeology, where proprietorship
has been seen to be an issue of stewardship, finances remain problematic. While government
legislation has imposed the removal of barriers to physical access in some countries (Coy 2002,
4), the unwillingness of governments to pursue funding for access to archaeological heritage is an
acknowledged, ongoing barrier for public participation in archaeology (Kador, Chapter 3; Lea,
Chapter 16; Thomas, Chapter 2).
In the early decades of the 21st century, we see the world experiencing a significant and
almost ubiquitous financial downturn. Archaeology, like all sectors, is feeling the effects of this.
Several of the chapters acknowledge this issue directly (eg Lea, Chapter 16; Thomas, Chapter 2
and Kador, Chapter 3), and it is likely that the role of the volunteer in particular, where this is
permitted by legislation and practice, will continue to grow in significance. A t the same time,
evaluation of the impact of opportunities to engage in archaeology for all different publics and
communities continues to be generated within projects. Sometimes this occurs as a requirement
of funders (as is the case with many projects funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund in the UK),
as part of the growing corpus of scholarly research into public participation, or simply because
practitioners actually want to evaluate, and learn from, their activities.
We are now at a stage where we can talk in both general and specific terms about patterns
of practice, as well as interrogate the remaining barriers to participation. Furthermore, public
participation in archaeology can be found in every continent on the globe, illustrated to a large
extent by the diversity of places covered by the chapters in this volume. A t the same time, it
becomes clear that the way in which participation takes place, and the potentials identified for
further development, often borrowing from our international colleagues, demonstrates that we
are by no means arriving at a conclusive stage in the development of participation opportunities
and models. The global financial situation mentioned above, and its likely impact on the heritage
sector, have yet to run their course. I n many ways, then, this book represents a snapshot of

s Introductions 5
wher
e we are in the early 2010s, while hopefully also serving as an impetus to all those involved
in public or community archaeology, as volunteers or as practitioners or as both, to continue to
reflect on and record their practices, and to contribute to the growing global debate.
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Introduction 7
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Public Participation in Archaeology:
International Models

1
From ‘Telling’ to ‘Consulting’: A Perspective on
Museums and Modes of Public E ngagement
Theano Moussouri
Introduction
‘C
ommunication’, ‘education’, ‘learning’, ‘outreach’, ‘participation’ and ‘engagement’ are all
terms that have been used when referring to the public–archaeology interface. The termi-
nology issue reflects both the diversity of understandings of the public engagement field and
of the approaches that exist. This, in turn, reflects the diverse theoretical backgrounds of the
researchers and ‘practitioners’ who work in this field, the remit of whom is to develop and under-
stand the relationship between the public and the content, methods, processes and practices
used to study the past through archaeology. Despite the differences, a common thread in all of
the definitions and approaches to participation/engagement in archaeology seems to be the role
that the public is perceived to be playing and the nature and role of the disciplinary knowledge.
By presenting the different public engagement frameworks commonly used, this chapter aims
to make explicit the goals of different public engagement (PE) activities for different audiences
with the view to help public engagement in archaeology (PEA) researchers and practitioners
identify, utilise and study the elements that lead to good quality engagement. Combining theo-
retical perspectives and research conducted in the areas of science communication, informal
learning and museum communication, the chapter proposes a new framework which links
PE activities with their underlying communication and learning approaches and aligns them
with appropriate methodological frameworks. Specifically, this chapter: (1) presents and defines
the terms associated with the public participation/engagement field; (2) discusses the different
approaches and models of public participation movement, using examples from different fields;
(3) shows their link to particular communication, learning and (participant) research approaches;
and (4) discusses tested research frameworks and proposes new ones.
The Terminology Issue
The terms used to describe the relationships between museums and their visitors have been shaped
by how museums have viewed themselves and their perceived role in society. This relationship
has often been framed in terms of how museums understand the way in which knowledge is
produced, acquired and communicated and, more recently, by a shift towards a consideration
of wider societal issues. The use of terms to describe this relationship and their nuanced defini-
tions reflect this shift. Hence, the term ‘education’ – originally used to describe provision for
organised educational groups such as schools and then expanded to refer to a wide range of work
with and provision for different museum visitors – was abandoned in favour of ‘learning’. This

12 Public Participation in Archaeology
shift in terminology was driven by different ways of conceptualising museum education work
(Hooper-G reenhill 1999a and 1999b) but also, more importantly, by empirical visitor research
(Falk and Dierking 2000; Moussouri 2007; E llenbogen 2002; Borun et al 1997). I t also comes
to mark a shift of focus from the museum/institution agenda (an emphasis on teaching) to the
visitor agenda (an emphasis on how people make meaning and learn). These developments were
further facilitated by the use of theoretically-informed and evidence-based understandings of
the cultural, social and political context within which museums and other cultural organisa-
tions operate, and which, by the early 2000s, led to the acknowledgment that museums play a
social role and can contribute to democratising societies (Sandell 2012; Simon 2010; Hein 2012;
Hooper-G reenhill 2007).
By the 1980s, the role of the museum as a communicator had also been acknowledged
(Lumley 1988; Hodge and D’Souza 1979) and museum ‘communication’ was a term used to
include the museum’s role as a source of information for its many publics. An emphasis on the
active role of museum visitors helped establish a link between communication, interpretation
and learning, since the way people interpret (visual and textual) information, and how they
learn from it, has an impact on how information is communicated. The terms ‘participation’ and
‘engagement’ are relatively new. They are often used interchangeably, although some researchers
do make a distinction between them (Durant 1995; Bonney et al 2009; Delli Caprini et al 2004).
This distinction is based on the role of the publics and whether the activity involves genuine
co-creation of knowledge and engagement in deliberation and dialogue, which tend to be associ-
ated with engagement activities. I n some literature, the term ‘participation’ is used to describe
any type of public involvement. However, a distinction is then made in the approach, scope and
methods used: taking a ‘social movement perspective’, where community development activities/
actions are initiated by people themselves, or a ‘project-based or institutional perspective’, where
the goals are predetermined and imposed externally (Tufte and Mefalopulos 2009, 4 and 6–7).
The following section will attempt to trace the origins of the public engagement field, while
paying close attention to its links to corresponding communication, learning and research
approaches employed.
From ‘Telling’ to ‘Consulting’: the Fuzzy Boundaries of PE Activities
The social movements of the 1960s and 1970s, with their emphasis on ‘change from below’, have
had a significant impact on Western societies in general, and on academic disciplines in partic-
ular. In the archaeology field, for example, the shift to public or community archaeology was
driven by an emphasis in ‘post processual’ archaeology and external pressures, such as the indig-
enous rights movements, that led to debates and the development of post-colonial archaeology
and ethical guidelines for research with indigenous communities (Simpson and Williams 2008;
Tully 2007). These debates opened up the question of how we decide on what counts as archaeo-
logical, historical or scientific knowledge and, hence, what the direction and focus of research in
those disciplinary areas should be. How we answer these questions has policy implications that
can affect people’s lives on many different levels: the way people perceive themselves and form
their identities, and their quality of life and well-being, both individually and as communities.
Questions about knowledge, and the directions of research, can also be affected by complex
issues that are politically and emotionally charged. Different people and groups have different
levels of understanding of the issues, which are influenced by their values and access to/use of

5 From ‘Telling’ to ‘Consulting’5 13
information. M
ore sociologically informed approaches have shown that publics are more than
capable of being involved in scientific decision-making (Irwin and Wynne 1996). For example,
one thing we know from the Public Understanding of Science (PUS) movement is that infor-
mation alone is not sufficient to change how people approach an issue (Bauer et al 2007). The
call for engaging people in decisions that affect their lives is part of a larger shift in modern
Western societies, and is based on philosophical and democratic arguments about how deci-
sions are made in post-industrialised democratic societies, and aims to redress existing power or
hierarchical structures (Klüver 1995; Samuel 1994; Public Agenda 2008; Carcasson 2009). The
Science for All Expert Group (2010) has identified some additional external factors that have led
to public engagement, including the loss of authority of ‘the experts’; ‘the change in the nature
of knowledge production; improved communications; and questions of democracy’ (Science
for All Expert Group 2010, 5). These developments have led to a call to create specialist–public
interactions that are ‘mutually informing or symmetrical’ (Davies et al 2008, 339), and where
different types of knowledge are equally valued.
In the archaeology field, in particular, these issues can be addressed by paying closer attention
to the link between archaeology and learning, and between archaeology and communication.
To date, some work has been done by researchers and practitioners in the public/community
archaeology field, the remit of which is the development and study of both institution-led public
engagement activities and community-initiated activities (Simpson and Williams 2008; Dhanjal
2009). Yet most of the projects that are funded and published are institution-led and run by
archaeologists, and PE activities are used as a means to achieving certain results/benefits. This
approach inevitably emphasises sharing information or skills associated with the practice of
archaeology rather than designing projects based on an understanding of how people learn and
why they might be interested in being involved in those projects in the first place. As a result,
a large number of community archaeology projects are led by intuition and personal experience
of ‘what works’ rather than by a more strategic impetus to further knowledge and practice; to
help practitioners translate evidence into specific applications; and to view PE as an end in itself
with the long-term goal of empowering communities (see also Brody et al, Chapter 8; and in
particular Mazzia et al, Chapter 5; McGill, Chapter 11; and Lea, Chapter 16, this volume).
As the field develops and matures, these issues will need to be addressed. Sharing knowledge
and joining efforts with public engagement practitioners in other disciplines may provide some
interesting insights into the wide range of publics, their motivation for participating in PE activi-
ties, and possible benefits/impacts from participation. For example, research conducted on public
engagement with science (PES) has helped to document the characteristics of PES activities that
lead to different types of engagement for different publics, and the role of the physical and social
context. This has made it possible to link forms of PE with their underlying communication and
learning approach but, even more importantly, to the realisation that those links are far from
clear-cut. Emerging evidence demonstrates that, often, both views are held by scientists and the
design of PES projects could support or even combine one-way communication with PE models
based on dialogue and knowledge co-creation (Lewenstein 2011). These findings call for more
research, as well as a complete rethink of how we approach and think about PE activities across
institutional and social settings.
Looking at the forms of public engagement described in PE frameworks presented in Table
1.1, one can see the approach to learning, communication and research adopted in each case.
The conceptual approaches to PE show the different goals that can be expected to be achieved in

14 Public Participation in Archaeology
each case and can be used both to map existing activities against forms of PEA and their goals,
and to develop new ones.
Table 1.1: Forms (areas) of public engagement and related communication
and learning theories, and research methodology approaches
Forms/areas of PEDefinition/approach
‘Telling’Intervention, institution-led initiatives; one-way (transmission) communication
model (Hooper-G reenhill 1999c); didactic and behaviourist learning approaches
(Hein 1998); emphasis on quantitative research approaches, with dominant
methods being observations and pre-determined questionnaires
‘Sharing’ Intervention, institution-led initiatives; emphasis on information; ‘empowering’
the audience to make the ‘right decisions’; circular model of communication
with feedback loop (Hooper-G reenhill 1999c); discovery learning approach (Hein
1998); use of both quantitative and qualitative research approaches, but there are
‘wrong’ and ‘right’ answers
‘Involving’Improving quality and impact of activities by involving the ‘public’ in developing,
running and evaluating them; cultural model of communication (Hooper-
Greenhill 1999c); progressive education approaches (such as constructivism)
(Hein 1998); participatory research approaches such as action research and
constructivist evaluation
‘Consulting’Increasing public ownership through a deliberative process; participatory/
dialogic communication with an emphasis on structural and social change;
deliberative theory (Carcasson 2009); critical pedagogy (Hooper-G reenhill 1999b;
Lindauer 2007); participatory approaches to research, developmental evaluation,
democratic/deliberative evaluation (Howe and Ashcraft 2005)
The forms or areas of PE presented in the left column in Table 1.1 are underpinned by communi-
cation models that have shaped the interaction of institutions with their publics for over 60 years.
In the context of these frameworks, ‘telling’ refers to the ‘transmission’ model of communication
– as developed by Lasswell (1948) – (often referred to as ‘deficit models’ in the science commu-
nication literature), while ‘consulting’/’knowledge co-creation’ refers to the ‘dialogic’ model of
communication (also known as ‘engagement’ model) (Lewenstein 2011). More recent thinking
and research in PES (McCallie et al 2009; Lewenstein 2011) has demonstrated that this is not
an ‘either-or’ relationship and that one-way communication – what has been referred to as the
‘deficit’ model, because it assumes a knowledge deficit in the public – can be appropriate for
specific settings, projects and audiences. Instead, researchers and practitioners in the PES field
have called for different approaches to be treated as part of a continuum. To address this, we
need to develop a better understanding of the different goals of public engagement for its many
audiences/stakeholders and the elements that lead to good quality engagement (Dillon 2011). To
do this effectively, we need to understand what each approach entails, and what its ethos and
guiding principles are. This includes both institution-driven and community-driven approaches
to developing and engaging in PE activities that take place across settings and using different
media of communication.
These elements were taken into account by the Center for Advancement of Informal Science
Education (CAISE) I nquiry G roup (McCallie et al 2009, 43–5), which developed five dimen-
sions of public engagement in Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics (STEM),

From ‘Telling’ to ‘Consulting’ 15
based on the meta-analysis of 14 case studies, with milestones for those dimensions that can be
placed on a linear continuum (see Table 1.2).
Table 1.2: The five dimensions of public engagement in STEM and associated milestones
Dimensions of public engagement Milestones
Goals of the activity Described as a narrative
Element included in the experienceDescribed as a narrative
How publics participate - Watching, listening, and viewing lectures, media, and
exhibits.
- Asking questions of STEM experts and participating in
interactive inquiry learning in programmes and exhibits.
- Sharing views and knowledge with other participants and
with STEM experts.
- Deliberating with each other and engaging in group problem-
solving.
Producing recommendations or reports.
How scientists participate - Serving as advisors and providing input to the project.
- Actively presenting their expertise to the public.
- Working to become skilled and informed communicators.
- Welcoming and valuing participants’ input and direction.
- Acting on participant input and direction.
Content focus of the activity - Understanding the natural and human-made world.
- The nature of the scientific process or enterprise.
- The societal and environmental impacts and implications of
science and technology.
- Personal, community and societal values related to
applications of science and technology.
- Institutional priority or public policy change related to
science and technology.
Although the focus is on STEM, the work of the CAISE I nquiry G roup has wider applications
and could be useful for thinking about PE activities in archaeology or other disciplines, with
necessary adaptations. The variety of strategies that can be seen in Table 1.2, which are based on
the analysis of the 14 case studies chosen, have characteristics that range from being closer to the
one-way communication or ‘deficit’ model (such as ‘pop-up’ science café presentations or phone-
in ‘ask-the-expert’ radio shows) to being more dialogic in approach (such as community action
science, where issues of public concern such as water quality are the factors instigating scientific
research). O ne of the key contributions of this framework is that it helps highlight the role that
both ‘experts’ and ‘publics’ play. This is particularly evident when looking at the more dialogic
end of the spectrum since, in order to make these types of activities work, all stakeholders need to
interact, be open to learning from each other and negotiate meaning. I t also raises the question:
who is the ‘public’ of PE activities? People who participate in PE activities represent different
groups (in terms of gender, age, social, cultural, religious, economic and political values), with
very different perspectives, prior knowledge and experience and cultural references. I n some cases
the target audience could even be ‘experts’. This calls for the use of a term other than a generic
and homogenous ‘public’, one that can communicate a more nuanced understanding of who
participates in PEA activities.

16 Public Participation in Archaeology
Where is the ‘Public’ in Public Participation/Engagement with Archaeology?
The different approaches to PE and frameworks presented in the previous section highlights some
of the complexities of this field as well as the challenges and opportunities that studying it opens
up. This is a huge task that calls for the expertise of researchers and practitioners from different
disciplines, including sociology, anthropology, museum and cultural studies, and psychology.
One area that needs to be prioritised is research with PEA’s various publics/participants across
all the settings where they might come into contact with archaeology. This may include families
watching an archaeology programme on TV or using other archaeology-rich resources; senior
citizen enthusiasts organising guided tours at archaeology sites; or adults visiting museum exhi-
bitions.
A review of published studies with participants demonstrates how little evidence is collected
in a systematic way and used to make decisions about the type and nature of PE activities to be
developed. As has been pointed out before, the literature in this area is very limited (Hooper-
Greenhill and Moussouri 2000; Simpson and Williams 2008). A small number of books and
articles have been published, some of which involved data collections with participants or poten-
tial participants (Merriman 1991; Simpson 2009; Smith 2006; Dhanjal 2009), while some others
seem to use self or expert appraisal approaches (Simpson and Williams 2008). This makes one
wonder: where is the ‘public’ in public archaeology? I t is also worth noting that much of this
type of research is not published. Yet, this kind of information is vital for the advancement and
professionalisation of the field within archaeology. Decisions about PE activities and resources
need to be based on evidence – rather than intuition and experience – to help generate a body
of PE theory to analyse critically practice which can be used to train the next generation of
professionals.
Case Studies
I will now present two different approaches to undertaking research with participants of museum-
based PE activities that are based on studies I have carried out and which are published here for
the first time. The aim is to bring together a number of the elements discussed above and show
how to choose a research approach that is compatible with the communication and learning
approach of the PE activity, its audience, its setting(s) and the medium or media used. There is
no one-size-fits-all or ‘better’ approach. The choice of a research/evaluation methodology and
methods depends on a number of factors, the main ones being what the research questions are
and what the underlying theory is. Another goal for this presentation is to show examples of
activities and the type of engagement they are capable of generating, when studied systematically.
Both projects involved interaction with archaeological material/resources and/or concepts,
and their target audience was school pupils and their teachers. They are also examples of PE
activities that can connect pupils, teachers, the curriculum and informal learning environments
(either on- or off-line). The first study was carried out on behalf of the Museum of London, while
the second was for the N ational Maritime Museum, also located in London.

From ‘Telling’ to ‘Consulting’ 17
Case Study 1
‘Londinium’
1
is an interactive game on the Museum of London’s ‘Learning O nline’ site, which
works in conjunction with the ‘Digging up the Romans’ site (which is text-heavy and less user-
friendly).
2
Both sites target Key Stage 2 (KS2) (pupils aged seven to nine). ‘Londinium’ was
designed to be used by pupils in class, as part of a lesson or on their own. The overall aim of
the game was to encourage pupils to explore life in Roman London through archaeology. A
close examination of the project brief and discussions with the project staff made it clear that
the underlying learning approach was constructivism, and the communication approach was
predominantly one-way or monologic, owing to the one-way communication provided by the
website’s design. The evaluation methodology employed was developed to accommodate the
theoretical framework, which values prior knowledge, motivation and active meaning-making,
situated in a particular physical and social context. Hence, an overall qualitative methodology
was adopted, using a mixture of methods and data sources: (1) focused observations of pupils’ and
teachers’ use of the game in a classroom environment; (2) focus group discussions with pupils;
(3) participant observations combined with interviews with individual pupils; and (4) in-depth
interviews with teachers. Two groups of KS2 pupils (33 in total) and their teachers from two
different schools participated in this study.
The study highlighted a number of issues related to the use of the game in a classroom
setting which led to different modes of engagement with the game. Specifically, pupils who used
computer terminals in pairs seemed to interact more with each other than with their teacher,
while pupils who used interactive whiteboards interacted a lot more with their teacher. Further-
more, the latter group seemed to be quite interested in finding out more about the objects –
with their teacher’s encouragement and guidance – as compared to pupils who used computers.
Two-thirds of the pupils commented positively on the learning-while-having-fun aspect of the
activity; both modes of engagement rated very highly in terms of interest and enjoyment. I nter-
estingly, the vast majority of pupils were able to identify which objects R omans could buy/had
and which objects native B ritons had before the R omans arrived. Also, the teachers reported
benefitting from the use of the website in that it helped them reassess their teaching approach.
They also added that the type of activities and amount of resources available on the website
allow for different teaching strategies and offer different learning experiences to pupils. I t can be
used as an introduction to the subject; as a way to teach with objects; to do follow-up activities;
to give pupils the opportunity to work in larger or smaller groups; and to use technology to
facilitate learning.
Although both modes of engagement were effective in terms of getting students to engage
with and identify objects, they generated very different group dynamics and interactions. The
impact the latter could have on pupil learning, and their contribution to the overall learning
ecology
3
of the pupils is not clear (and it was not the focus of this study) but it would be
an extremely interesting question to explore further. This shows how an understanding of the
approaches to communication and learning (as shown in Table 1.1, above) used in combination
1 The game can be found online at: http://www.museumoflondon.org.uk/R esources/microsites/londinium/
index.html [14 O ctober 2013]
2 See http://www.museumoflondon.org.uk/learning/features_facts/digging/ [9 September 2013]
3 Defined as ‘a set of contexts made up of configurations of activities, materials, resources and relations generated
in physical or virtual spaces, which provide opportunities for learning’ (B arron 2004, 6).

184 Public Participation in Archaeology
with the CAISE dimensions of PE framework (as seen in Table 1.2) can be used not only to
identify different modes of engagement and assess their effectiveness against specific outcomes,
but also to ask new research questions that can lead to a more complex understanding of how
pupils and their teachers engage with digital archaeological resources.
Case Study 2
The second case study examines a handheld resource developed to be used by KS3 and KS4
pupils (aged 11–14 and 14–16 respectively) in the Atlantic Worlds exhibition at the National Mari-
time Museum. The overall aim of this project – part of the ‘Understanding Slavery Initiative’ –
‘was to promote the effective teaching and learning of the transatlantic slave trade in schools and
communities by supporting teachers, educators and young people to examine this history and
its legacies through museum collections, via a series of curriculum-linked resources’ (National
Maritime Museum 2008). On a practical level, the aim was to enable pupils to complete a task
through using a mobile phone to record their own views on the collection. All pupil-generated
data were saved on a website which could be accessed, edited and shared back in the classroom.
Through staff consultation and a close examination of the project brief and other related
materials, it became clear that this project used social constructivism as its learning theory and
two-way (dialogic) communication approach, with an emphasis on interpersonal methods.
Museum curators were involved in synchronous communication, through providing feedback to
pupils and teachers on the website. A qualitative research methodology was chosen that focused
on learning through participation in groups, a key element of socio-cultural learning. A three-
phase approach was developed, with different methods used in each phase. Phase One focused
on pre-visit preparation at school and involved (1) participant observation in the classroom; and
(2) in-depth interviews with teachers. Phase Two took place at the Museum during the field
trip and involved (1) accompanied visits with small groups of pupils and their chaperones; and
(2) audio recordings of small groups of pupils and their chaperones. During Phase Three (post-
visit) we carried out (1) focused observations of follow-up work in the classroom; (2) focus group
discussion with pupils; and (3) in-depth interviews with teachers. Thirty-two KS3 pupils and
their teachers from two different schools participated in this study.
Perhaps one of the most interesting aspects of this study was the role of mobile phones in
connecting pupils to learning, both in the classroom and in the Museum. There was consider-
able interaction among pupil groups, between pupils and adults, and physical interaction with
different resources, material and tools throughout. Both the teachers/chaperones and the hand-
held resource played a key role in initiating and sustaining the creation, exchange and sharing
of information among pupils.
Another factor generating particular types of engagement was that there was a good match
between pupils’ expectations for the visit, and the key messages and content of the visit. This
seemed to contribute to pupils’ engagement with objects and the handheld resource. Pupils took
turns at using the phone in the exhibition and strategised as to what would be the most effec-
tive use of the handheld device in order to complete their task. They also engaged in discussions
about which objects/resources to select in order to answer their questions. This team approach
to problem-solving and research continued at school, where pupils created presentations by
breaking the task into smaller parts, with each team member taking responsibility for one part,
while remaining in close communication with the rest of the team throughout this task.

From ‘Telling’ to ‘Consulting’ 19
Both of these studies suggest that, when assessing the effectiveness of different modes of PEA
activities, one needs to take into account not just the content and the medium used to communi-
cate it but also the physical and social settings in which these activities take place; in other words
the learning ecology that characterises the school and the virtual environments (in case study 1), and
the museum, school, virtual and mobile environments (in case study 2). Different contexts include
a certain configuration of activities/resources, tools/media, relationships and the interactions that
emerge from them. I n case study 1, for example, the use of the Museum’s website computer termi-
nals led to a form of engagement that was facilitated through a predominately pupil-to-pupil and
pupil-to-computer mode of interaction, while the use of the same resource on a whiteboard led
to a deeper engagement with the digital archeological objects, through teacher facilitation. In
case study 2 – where the mode of engagement was facilitated through museum staff, teachers
and mobile phones – pupil learning was distributed over several settings and across a range of
resources. This discussion highlights how one can use elements identified by the CAISE I nquiry
Group study (McCallie et al 2009) to show exactly how they can interact and produce distinct
modes of engagement in each case study (see also Debert, Chapter 7, and McG ill, Chapter 11).
What is the Future of Public Engagement in Archaeology?
This chapter has traced the origins of PE and its theoretical and philosophical underpinnings.
It has shown that there are different modes of PE, and has used different frameworks to present
and demonstrate how these modes link to particular communication, learning and research
approaches. Throughout the chapter, the aim has been to show that different approaches produce
different types of engagement, all of which are legitimate and could be appropriate when used in
specific contexts and for particular audiences. For example, I have used two empirical studies to
discuss two very different approaches that can lead to different forms of pupil engagement with
archaeological material. Although the approach adopted in the first case study was clearly less
participatory than that adopted by the second, both created opportunities for effective engage-
ment. Looking at the archaeological PE literature, it is clear that professionals call for the use
of more participatory approaches, and I share their aspirations and concerns insofar as this is a
call for redressing the balance. I also understand the challenges involved in adopting a genuine
participatory approach to project development and research in the current climate of account-
ability and a project-driven culture of tight deadlines and rigid organisation structures, where
outputs and outcomes need to be defined in advance.
I believe that the response to this challenge lies in conducting more research with participants
in order to develop an evidence-base of the effectiveness of participatory approaches – not just
for advocacy reasons but also to demonstrate how it can be used more widely. Each PE activity
and study can contribute to a bigger, more holistic picture of the range of PE activities across
various settings. To achieve this it is important to develop a broad and flexible research agenda
that could incorporate a variety of frameworks for doing PE research. We also need to be aware
of different research and evaluation approaches and methodologies that can best answer our ques-
tions and help to build a more complex picture of PE and its value. The frameworks presented
in this chapter provide some suggestions for how this can be achieved more strategically.
4
4 See Bell et al 2009 for a similar effort in the informal science learning field.

20 Public Participation in Archaeology
The issue of knowledge management and dissemination will also need to be addressed. As
research studies and findings will start accumulating, a system will be needed for managing and
sharing knowledge with archaeological researchers, practitioners and students in the PE field
and beyond. This will help to develop theories that can describe, and also improve, PE practice.
The field needs PE-specific theory that takes into account the nature and diversity of settings,
media and modes of engagement in order to illustrate better its remit and significance for people.
In fact, we could aim even higher by joining forces and collaborating with PE professionals in
other social and historical sciences or the humanities. Such collaborations may make it possible
to evaluate whether different settings that present different disciplinary content afford different
types of engagement.
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2
Making Archaeological Heritage A ccessible in G reat
Britain: E nter Community Archaeology
Suzie T homas
Introduction
T
his chapter provides an overview of the way in which archaeology has been presented, inter-
preted and made available to the wider public in G reat Britain – E ngland, Scotland and
Wales – over the past few years.
1
The chapter begins by examining briefly the phenomenon of
‘community archaeology’ in G reat Britain; a term which in recent decades has, arguably, become
synonymous with public participation in British archaeological heritage. What this means in the
British context is explored below. Some examples are given of participation, both community-led
and organisation-initiated; recent changes to the landscape of archaeology in G reat Britain are
presented, and the challenges as well as opportunities that lie ahead are discussed.
‘Community Archaeology’: What Does This Mean Exactly?
Community archaeology seems first to have emerged as a term in the 1970s with the pioneering
work of Peter Liddle, still actively supporting community archaeology in Leicestershire since that
time and widely regarded as a key founder of community archaeology as a movement. There are
parallels in its evolution to be found with discussions of the related term ‘public archaeology’
initiated in the USA, also in the 1970s (McG imsey 1972); this term is still popular and, as noted
elsewhere, is even the namesake for an international journal (Smith and Waterton 2009, 16).
The actual definition of ‘community archaeology’ has been at times problematic to capture.
Such definitions as do exist are fairly broad. Corbishley (2011, 104) offers that: ‘community
archaeology is the term most often used to describe any outreach aspect of an archaeological
project but it can mean a number of different types of project and involve a range of “publics”’.
Kiddey and Schofield (2011, 5) acknowledged the scope and potential of archaeology for engage-
ment in their analysis of their pilot project in B ristol with members of the city’s homeless commu-
nity: ‘Archaeology … provides a range of opportunities for public participation and engagement,
not only with the archaeological process but also with intellectual content’. As their innovative
project and others (discussed later in this chapter) show, community archaeology is about social,
as well as archaeological, outcomes.
Even PhD theses on community archaeology have struggled to unpack the definition fully,
sometimes focusing on one particular aspect of the term, such as the connotations of ‘commu-
1 Kador covers N orthern I reland in relationship to the R epublic of I reland in Chapter 3.

24 Public Participation in Archaeology
nity’ but not ‘archaeology’ (eg Simpson 2010, 1). I n his PhD thesis, I sherwood (2009, 235) has
also noted that, certainly within the UK and almost as a shorthand reference by many, ‘the
community archaeology project is now widely seen to stand for “community archaeology” in
general’. The Council for B ritish Archaeology (CBA)’s own research on community archaeology,
with which the author was heavily involved, deliberately opted to avoid any rigid definitions or
criteria for what ‘community archaeology’ might entail, in order not to exclude any potential
examples or case studies from the scope of the research (Thomas 2010, 8).
Groups and Societies
One clear point to emerge from the CBA ’s research was the range of voluntary groups involved
in archaeology (for example, ‘traditional’ archaeological and historical societies, through to
more recently formed self-identified ‘community archaeology groups’), that could potentially
be defined as facets of community archaeology. However, more often than not, such groups
exist through a structure employing potential barriers such as paid membership and the implied
social capital barriers that may intimidate the ‘uninitiated’ from becoming further involved.
This aside, the voluntary sector in archaeology, of which voluntary groups might be viewed
as a major component, is considerable in its size. The CBA ’s community archaeology research
revealed that there were upward of 2030 different voluntary groups engaging with archaeology
in different ways, representing at least 215,000 individuals (Thomas 2010, 5). This showed an
increase from the mid-1980s, when a comparable survey estimated that there were 100,000 indi-
viduals getting involved with archaeological activity in this way (B ritish Archaeological N ews
1987, 29). Continued monitoring and recording by the author and other CBA colleagues of
groups ‘discovered’ even since the research was published shows that there are at least 200 more
groups than recorded in the report. This is not to suggest that this group or society membership
involvement or, perhaps more accurately, interest in archaeology always translates to participation
in archaeological activities. For example, respondent groups to the CBA’s most recent survey,
carried out in 2009, indicated that ‘the most popular activity, which was carried out by 91% or
462 of the groups, was having a talk or lecture. This was followed by trips to sites, museums or
similar, taking a table at a history fair or similar, and recording through photography’ (Thomas
2010, 24).
Some voluntary groups even carry out their own ‘community archaeology’ projects, putting
on events and activities to engage with non-members. For example, the Thornbury Museum
Archaeology G roup in G loucestershire (a voluntary group itself), as its contribution to the 2012
Festival of Archaeology,
2
offered opportunities to visit their current project, thereby ‘making the
excavations open to the public’ (Festival of Archaeology 2012). This is not an unusual activity
for a voluntary group; the Community Landscape and Archaeology Survey Project (CLASP)
in Northamptonshire regularly offer open days around their projects (Young 2011, pers comm;
CLASP 2012).
Another interesting finding to emerge about the 504 voluntary groups that responded to
the questionnaire survey that formed part of the CBA ’s research was the average age of group
2 For more about the Festival of Archaeology, coordinated across the UK annually by the CBA, visit: www.
archaeologyfestival.org.uk. Archaeology Scotland coordinates a comparable event at Scotland-wide level, called
Scottish Archaeology Month: www.scottisharchaeologymonth.com.

Making Archaeological Heritage Accessible 25
members, which came out at 55 (Thomas 2010, 23). This was despite a potential skew by the
response to the survey of a number of Young Archaeologists’ Club (YAC) B ranches, which enjoy
a membership aged between 8 and 16 years. The fact that membership of archaeology-related
groups is typically older reflects the time that older people, likely to be in retirement and without
young children, have to devote to a pursuit such as archaeology, and echoes the recent research
in Australia to analyse the drivers of older volunteers in museums, given the significance and
prominence of their role (Deery et al 2011).
Models for Participation: Some Examples
Not all of those with an interest in archaeology will necessarily be members of, or even want to
join, a local group or society. N ational organisations such as the N ational Trust, E nglish Heritage
and Historic Scotland enjoy extensive paid memberships, and advantages to the member are
free entry to properties in the stewardship of these organisations, as well as subscription to
member magazines and newsletters. I n addition, membership to archaeological charities such as
the CBA and Archaeology Scotland are open to anyone regardless of their level of engagement
in archaeology, and include, in their membership packages, publications and access to special
events. However, this means that while some members will also be active in archaeology, either
voluntarily or professionally, many more may be content to receive magazines and other forms of
dissemination, with limited desire or ability to get involved beyond that. N otably too, research
into the impact of heritage and archaeology presented on television suggests that heritage repre-
sents a ‘significant niche programming strand’, and also that many from less advantaged back-
grounds rely primarily on television programmes for information about the past, in apparent
contrast to the type of demographic more likely to visit museums and heritage sites (Piccini
2007, 8). E ven within the memberships of groups and societies, research suggests that ‘hands-on’
activities do not necessarily involve all, or even the majority, of members (especially given the
older age of many), as mentioned above (Thomas 2010, 24).
In addition to those who are not physically active in archaeological pursuits for whatever
reason (while undoubtedly maintaining an interest in the subject), there are countless more
individuals who do actively engage. I t is unclear precisely how many volunteers are currently
involved in archaeological activities, for example in museums, heritage sites and at archaeological
field projects. However, research into volunteering in museums in Scotland alone indicated that
there were certainly upward of 2515 volunteers (B aird and G reenaway 2009, 3) – with the caveat
that this was across all museum activities and not those connected to archaeological heritage.
Furthermore, some of the larger scale ‘community archaeology’ projects of recent years in G reat
Britain and elsewhere have actively encouraged a diverse range of people to participate as volun-
teers, whether at a one-off session or as a longer term commitment. Dig Greater Manchester for
example, a G reater Manchester-wide programme of community excavations and other activi-
ties initiated in 2012, provides specific days where trenches are open to day visitors to have a
go, as well as providing longer term opportunities to enrol as a volunteer (Centre for A pplied
Archaeology 2012).
Initiatives such as Dig G reater Manchester, and its precursor Dig Manchester (see digman-
chester.co.uk), can be described as ‘top-down’; developed by archaeological professionals and/
or decision-makers, although they are intended to encourage community engagement and
increase participation. Isherwood (2009, 176) notes that Dig Manchester ‘was induced not out

26 Public Participation in Archaeology
of community assertiveness but out of professional opportunism’. This is not necessarily a criti-
cism and in some cases the initial drive may well need to come from experienced heritage profes-
sionals, especially if the intended audience has limited experience of archaeology or is unlikely
to develop a project themselves. O ther projects following this model in recent years include the
2005–2006 community archaeology excavation at Shoreditch in London, which was developed
and directed by staff from the Museum of London (Simpson 2010, 43). The 2006–2011 excava-
tion of Hungate in York, while essentially a developer-funded project ahead of new construc-
tion, had ‘community, public, outreach and education programmes’ built into it from the outset
(Connelly 2011, 35). I t is likely that more archaeological organisations and consultants will look
to community archaeology as a means of securing funding (for example through project-related
grants such as the Heritage Lottery Fund (HLF)), as other sources of income diminish. The risk
with such projects is that they are designed and delivered following little or no consultation with
the communities for whom they are intended. This can lead to problematic outcomes and even,
in extreme circumstances, what effectively forms an abuse of the term ‘community archaeology’
by prioritising needs for the organisation to generate income and hence protect jobs (in itself an
understandable motivation), at the expense of effective, sympathetic and unhindered community
engagement. The point here is that community archaeology projects carried out as ‘top-down’
ventures must demonstrate due consideration for their intended communities, however these
‘communities’ are defined or identified.
These examples differ from so-called ‘bottom-up’ models, where the initiative, drive and
project design is said to have come from the community itself (often an established archaeo-
logical society). This does not necessarily preclude professional archaeologists, since specialist
guidance may still be sought, and some groups, such as Wilmslow Community Archaeology
in Cheshire, may include qualified archaeologists from the local community in its member-
ship (Thomas 2010, 8). Another seemingly ‘top-down’ initiative across Scotland, called Scot-
land’s R ural Past, which ran from 2006–2011 (SRP 2012), actively stimulated new groups and
societies to form within local communities, in many cases setting their own research agendas
and defining their own training needs. I n reality the definitions of ‘top-down’ and ‘bottom-
up’ are in many ways artificial, although still commonly used (and hence illustrated here). As
Belford (2011, 52) has reminded us, community archaeology is influenced by different interest
groups (both paid and unpaid), and ultimately sits somewhere between the two ends of the
spectrum.
Initiatives to Support Community Archaeology
However community archaeology may operate – whether continuing work led by an established
voluntary society, a finite project with a newly formed group, an archaeological organisation’s
outreach project, or through other means – there is almost always some level of engagement with
the paid archaeological sector, for example for advice or in order to record research outputs. I t
was in part due to findings by the CBA (notably Thomas 2010, 44) regarding training needs
within the paid sector itself, and due to lateral thinking from CBA staff such as Cherida Plumb –
at that time Head of Development and responsible for funding applications – that the Commu-
nity Archaeology B ursaries Project (CABP) started in 2011 (see http://new.archaeologyuk.org/
community-archaeology-bursaries-project). The project’s key aim was to equip individuals within
the paid archaeological sector with the skills necessary to facilitate, encourage and support public

Making Archaeological Heritage Accessible 27
participation. The CABP was developed through funding secured from the HLF,
3
probably the
most significant funding stream available for community heritage projects in the UK, drawing its
financing from N ational Lottery ticket sale revenue. I n addition to the recommendations of the
CBA’s community archaeology report, the HLF had itself identified the potential for emerging
skills gaps within heritage more broadly, and in 2009 announced the creation of a new (at that
point) one-off funding stream named ‘Skills for the Future’ (HLF 2009). This recognised the
need to invest in vocational learning opportunities within the heritage sector. The Skills for the
Future grant awarded to the CBA to manage the CABP, which also attracted so-called ‘match-
funding’ from E nglish Heritage and Cadw (for E ngland and Wales respectively) and some addi-
tional support indirectly from Historic Scotland, was one of the largest grants to be awarded
under the scheme.
From 2011 to 2014, some 51 year-long funded training opportunities will have been provided
for individuals wishing to develop a career in community archaeology. I n May 2012, it was
announced that the CBA had been awarded a further 24 traineeships to complement the 27
allocated in the original grant. The additional 24 placements make provision for a particular
focus on working with young people, following research by the CBA identifying skills gaps
within paid archaeology concerning this specific type of engagement (CBA 2012). Community
Archaeology Training Placements (CATPs) granted under this scheme have been awarded to a
range of existing archaeological practitioners at risk of leaving the profession, recent entrants into
archaeology (for example recent graduates and trainees) and those wishing to enter paid archae-
ology following extensive voluntary experience. The CATPs are located within organisations
across the UK recognised by the CBA as excellent learning environments for trainee community
archaeologists, exhibiting good practice and proven experience in facilitating and supporting
community-based initiatives in archaeology. Each CATP experience is unique, with hosts ranging
from local authorities through to museum services; the R oyal Commission for the Ancient and
Historic Monuments of Scotland and of Wales respectively (RCAHMS and RCAHMW; see Fig
2.1); charitable trusts; and universities such as the U niversity of Salford (Fig 2.2).
The CABP is not necessarily ‘community archaeology’ in the sense of a distinct set of ‘projects’
working with specific communities (although each of the placements engaged/engages with the
communities specific to the projects undertaken by their respective host organisations). However,
it is important to note the CABP as a UK-wide
4
initiative designed to support greater engage-
ment between paid archaeologists and those interacting with archaeological heritage on a volun-
tary basis.
Many projects inevitably attract a specific participant demographic. This is often due to pre-
existing interest (a participant may already be a member of a local group or society, for example),
or the person’s background and lifestyle may mean they are able to afford opportunities and have
the inclination to take part in an activity such as archaeology. Waterton and Smith (2011, 15),
for example, observe in the B ritish context that ‘the sorts of projects that dominate the [heritage]
sector best apply to the white middle classes’. However, it is important to note that initiatives
and projects that may qualify as community archaeology are also increasingly working with more
3 www.hlf.org.uk/aboutus/Pages/A boutU s.aspx [2 July 2012]
4 At the time of writing, all CATPs have been based in E ngland, Scotland and Wales, although there is scope
for CATPs to be hosted by organisations in Northern I reland too, should applications to host a CATP be
received from appropriate candidate host organisations based in N orthern I reland.

28 Public Participation in Archaeology
Fig 2.1. Amy Gillespie (left), 2011–12 Community Archaeology Training Placement with
RCAHMS, participating in survey work with a Scotland’s R ural Past group.
Fig 2.2. Kirsty Whittall (left), 2011–12 Community Archaeology Training Placement with
the University of Salford, helping a volunteer on site.

Making Archaeological Heritage Accessible 29
diverse audiences, with findings emerging that such activity brings benefits to more than just
the archaeology.
As mentioned earlier in this chapter, Kiddey and Schofield have reported on innovative
community archaeology engaging with homeless communities, incidentally complementing
Kiddey’s current PhD research into archaeologically mapping and recording homeless heritage
(Kiddey and Schofield 2011, 22). This work has nonetheless been groundbreaking in B ristol and,
more recently, York, where in 2012 an exhibition was curated of fieldwork that had involved both
homeless archaeologists and students from the U niversity of York (see http://arcifact.webs.com).
Archaeology that engages with the often-forgotten and extremely complex homeless ‘community’
has been carried out elsewhere as well, such as in a partnership between G loucester E mergency
Accommodation R esource (GEAR) and G loucester City Council’s Heritage Services, which went
a long way to dispel myths that homeless people are unlikely to take an interest in physical activi-
ties such as excavation (Ainsworth 2009, 26). That said, such work is still relatively unusual, but
interest in the projects from other heritage professionals and organisations (Kiddey and Schofield
2011, 20) suggests that lessons learnt may yet be rolled out further.
In another very recently developed example, archaeologists have been working with the newly
formed Defence Military Archaeology Society (DMAS; see www.dmasuk.org), which came
together ‘to utilize both the technical and social aspects of field archaeology in the rehabilitation
and skill development of soldiers injured in the conflict in Afghanistan’ (DMAS n.d.). This group
is involved with O peration N ightingale, an innovative and potentially groundbreaking initia-
tive. A ctivities take place across E ngland and Wales, including ‘Project Florence’, a contributive
project working with soldiers’ families, led by Wessex Archaeology (one of the largest archaeo-
logical organisations in the UK) with funding from the HLF (Wessex Archaeology 2012). While
the project is still in its infancy, early indications are that the benefits to the health, well-being
and confidence of participating soldiers are palpable, with the teamwork aspect of archaeological
fieldwork proving particularly significant.
In fact, a key finding of much community archaeology (where it has been practised or deliv-
ered in a sensitive and appropriate manner) is the significance of well-being benefits gained
from participation. These can range from personal enrichment (from learning new skills and
new information about a local area) through to increasing social capital (many people join
archaeological groups in order to make new friends, as much as anything else), and of course the
health benefits of physical activity and mental stimulation. R ecent research at U niversity College
London (UCL) has indicated the potential for heritage engagement in contributing to increased
well-being. ‘Heritage in Hospitals: E xploring the potential of museum object handling as an
enrichment activity for patients’ introduced hospital patients to objects from the UCL Museums
and Collections and in all cases recorded ‘significant increases in positive emotion, decreases in
negative emotion, and enhanced wellness and happiness’ (UCL 2012). Again, such research is
not in isolation, but is relatively new in the context of heritage (the Wildlife Trusts, for example,
have responded to similar research about outdoor activity contributing to physical and mental
well-being; Wiltshire Wildlife Trust 2012).
One of the homeless archaeologists that worked with Kiddey and Schofield in B ristol, Punk
Paul, noted the significance of their project: ‘Hopefully constructing an insightful view on things
and implementing change in society, making order of our modern lives, seeing us as no different
from the E gyptians or the R omans’ (in Kiddey and Schofield 2011, 21). This perhaps draws paral-
lels with the remarks of many of the patients involved in the ‘Heritage in Hospitals’ project, who

30 Public Participation in Archaeology
reported feeling comfort from contemplating the antiquity of many of the museum objects, and
hence some sense of continuity (Chatterjee 2011). The positive benefits of engaging in archaeo-
logical activities, as with other subjects and activities, deserve further research and measurement
and should be drawn to the attention of decision-makers more strongly, especially given the
worrying cuts currently facing archaeological services in the UK and elsewhere.
Challenges for A ccessible Archaeology in Great Britain
A number of the chapters in this volume address the implications of the current economic
climate in relation to archaeology, with cuts to services and resources for paid archaeological work
and research being seen both at local and global levels. The situation in the UK is little different,
with significant reductions, in very recent times in particular, to national and local government-
funded archaeological services. These cuts impact on the archaeological discipline as a whole but,
disappointingly, education, outreach and public engagement elements of archaeological resource
provision particularly seem to have suffered.
English Heritage is the non-governmental organisation for E ngland with responsibility for
the National Monuments R ecord as well as direct stewardship of over 400 sites open to the
public (E nglish Heritage 2012). I n 2010, it was announced that as a result of cuts across the
whole organisation equating to 32% of the budget, EH’s outreach department would close in its
entirety (A tkinson 2010). This dramatic loss, brought on by necessary budgetary cuts, has also
affected archaeology within local authorities, particularly in E ngland. Faced with no choice but
to cut budgets across local government services, archaeology and heritage seem to be among the
easier targets for decision-makers looking to make savings. G loucester City Council’s Heritage
Services, despite notable and innovative community work (see above), was an early victim of
local authority closures. I n the case of Merseyside in N orth West E ngland, the entire Merseyside
Archaeological A dvisory Service closed on 31 March 2011 (Merseyside Historic E nvironment
Record 2011), rather scandalously closing with it access to the Merseyside Historic E nvironment
Record (HER).
5
Moving forward, the outlook for public participation in archaeology is not all bad, however.
In 2010, HLF announced a £25 million increase in its annual budget until 2018, due to an
increase in lottery ticket sales (HLF 2010). This perhaps reflects an increased tendency among
the general public to buy lottery tickets in lean financial times, but also represents a positive
development for community archaeology, much of which is funded through projects utilising
HLF grants. I n addition, the current coalition government in the UK has a particular focus on a
concept it has called the ‘B ig Society’, which essentially points to increased community involve-
ment in local issues and in voluntary action: ‘The Big Society is about helping people to come
5 HERs hold information on archaeological sites, historic buildings and other historic environment features,
most commonly at county level. Most HERs are open for users to visit and consult records and maps. Many
can be consulted online, while others provide information on request. HERs are continually updated by
local authority archaeologists, archaeological contractors and from the results of any other archaeological
research, provided that this is passed on to the HER Officer or equivalent. HERs are also updated using
online dissemination via OASIS (O nline A ccesS to the I ndex of archaeological investigationS). O nline access
to HERs is constantly being improved and at present E ngland’s HERs can be accessed via Heritage G ateway
(www.heritagegateway.org.uk), while HERs for Wales can be accessed via Archwilio (www.archwilio.org.uk)
or the Historic Wales Portal (http://jura.rcahms.gov.uk/NMW/start.jsp).

Making Archaeological Heritage Accessible 31
together to improve their own lives. I t’s about putting more power in people’s hands – a massive
transfer of power from Whitehall to local communities’ (Cabinet Office 2012).
While there is some, perhaps understandable, scepticism regarding the B ig Society agenda
and its long-term sustainability, as has been shown above community archaeology does have the
potential, if carried out sensitively, to make genuine improvements to people’s lives. I ndications
also are that areas of the voluntary sector that engage with archaeology are increasing rather than
decreasing, and with many archaeological services eroding due to budget cuts, the role of the
volunteer may become even more significant in coming years.
Conclusions
The nature of community archaeology in G reat Britain, and indeed elsewhere, is varied. Despite
attempts, even here, to unpack the potential definitions, it remains a term that can be applied
to a wide range of scenarios. What is clear is that it is unlikely to disappear any time soon and
voluntary action in archaeology is now, as it has always been in G reat Britain (Fry 2007, 21),
a vital and vast component of the wider archaeological community. A particularly interesting
aspect of engagement with archaeology, known to practitioners and participants for a long time
but which has recently attracted increased attention from researchers, is the contribution that
participation in archaeology can potentially make to well-being.
Many issues still surround community archaeology as it is practised in current times, with
justified concern about future support for community groups wishing to engage in archaeology
in light of such dramatic cuts to local and national archaeological provision. Some of these
problems fall outside the scope of this chapter, which can only provide an overview of B ritish
community archaeology within the constraints of an edited volume. Issues for further considera-
tion include, for example, where groups will access the training and support needed to carry out
archaeological investigations that record the maximum of data and avoid unnecessary damage
to heritage assets, if there are fewer paid archaeologists available. Also, we need to consider what
the long-term prognosis might be for the archiving and storage requirements that inevitably
emerge from any archaeological interventions. However, on a positive note, growing interest in
community archaeology as an aspect of the discipline worthy of academic examination,
6
as well
as the undeniable scale of voluntary action in heritage generally, suggest that our understanding
(and even appreciation of) community and voluntary endeavours is likely only to increase.
Bibliography and References
Ainsworth, A, 2009 G loucester’s itinerant diggers [online], Past Horizons 8, 26–7, available from: http://
en.calameo.com/read/0000627291767a39589d5 [1 July 2012]
Atkinson, R, 2010 E nglish Heritage to close outreach department, Museums Journal [online], 16 N ovember,
available from: http://www.museumsassociation.org/museums-journal/news/17112010-english-heritage-
outreach [2 July 2012]
6 In 2010, for example, B ishop G rosseteste U niversity commenced teaching of the first dedicated Masters degree
in the UK focused specifically on community archaeology.

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m'assurèrent qu'il n'avait jamais traité personne avec cette
distinction: aussi ces caresses furent-elles ma récompense. Il ajouta
qu'il voulait réparer toutes les injustices que j'avais essuyées, et me
renvoyer dans ma patrie comblé d'honneur et de grâces; il donna
même sur-le-champ quelques ordres qui devaient faire cesser mes
plaintes. «J'enverrai, me dit-il, un magnifique présent au roi
d'Angleterre, et je l'accompagnerai d'une lettre où je lui rendrai
témoignage de vos bons services; mais je souhaiterais de savoir quel
présent lui sera le plus agréable.» Je répondis qu'il me conviendrait
mal de lui demander un présent; que ce n'était pas l'usage de mon
pays, et que l'honneur du roi mon maître en serait blessé, mais que,
de quelque présent qu'il me fît l'honneur de me charger, je l'assurais
que, de la part d'un monarque qui était également aimé et respecté
en Angleterre, il y serait reçu avec beaucoup de joie: ces excuses ne
purent le persuader. Il s'imagina que je prenais sa demande pour
une raillerie; et, jurant par sa tête qu'il me chargerait d'un présent, il
me pressa de lui nommer quelque chose qui méritât d'être envoyé si
loin. Je me vis forcé de répondre qu'autant que j'étais capable d'en
juger, les grands tapis de Perse seraient un présent convenable,
parce que le roi mon maître n'en attendait pas d'une grande valeur.
Il me dit qu'il en ferait préparer de diverses fabriques et de toutes
sortes de grandeurs, et qu'il y joindrait ce qu'il jugerait de plus
propre à prouver son estime pour le roi d'Angleterre. On avait
apporté devant lui plusieurs pièces de gibier: il me donna la moitié
d'un daim, en me disant qu'il l'avait tué de sa propre main, et qu'il
destinait l'autre moitié pour ses femmes. En effet, cette autre moitié
fut coupée sur-le-champ en plusieurs pièces de quatre livres
chacune. Au même instant, son troisième fils et deux femmes
vinrent du sérail; et prenant ces morceaux de viande entre leurs
mains, les emportèrent eux-mêmes comme des mendians auxquels
on aurait fait une aumône.
«Si des affronts pouvaient être réparés par des paroles, je devais
être satisfait de cette audience. Mais je crus devoir continuer de me
plaindre, dans la crainte qu'il n'eût fait toutes ces avances que pour
mettre mon caractère à l'épreuve. Il parut surpris de me voir revenir

au sujet de mes peines. Il me demanda si je n'étais pas content de
lui; et lorsque j'eus répondu que sa faveur pouvait aisément
remédier aux injustices qu'on m'avait faites dans ses états, il promit
encore que j'aurais à me louer de l'avenir. Cependant ce qu'il ajouta
me fit juger que ma fermeté lui déplaisait. «Je n'ai qu'une question à
vous faire, me dit-il; quand je songe aux présens que vous m'avez
envoyés depuis deux ans, je me suis étonné plusieurs fois que, le roi
votre maître vous ayant revêtu de la qualité d'ambassadeur, ils aient
été fort inférieurs en qualité comme en nombre à ceux d'un simple
marchand qui était ici avant vous, et qui s'est heureusement servi
des siens pour gagner l'affection de tout le monde. Je vous
reconnais pour ambassadeur. Votre procédé sent l'homme de
condition. Cependant je ne puis comprendre qu'on vous entretienne
à ma cour avec si peu d'éclat.» Je voulais répondre à ce reproche. Il
m'interrompit. «Je sais, reprit-il, que ce n'est pas votre faute ni celle
de votre prince; et je veux vous faire voir que je fais plus cas de
vous que de ceux qui vous ont envoyé. Lorsque vous retournerez en
Angleterre, je vous accorderai des honneurs et des récompenses; et,
sans égard pour les présens que vous m'avez apportés, je vous en
donnerai un pour votre maître. Mais je vous charge d'une
commission dont je ne veux pas me fier aux marchands. C'est de me
faire faire dans votre pays un carquois pour des flèches, un étui pour
mon arc, dont je vous ferai donner le modèle, un coussin à ma
manière pour dormir dessus, une paire de brodequins de la plus
riche broderie d'Angleterre, et une cotte de mailles pour mon usage.
Je sais qu'on travaille mieux chez vous qu'en aucun lieu du monde.
Si vous me faites ce présent, vous savez que je suis un puissant
prince, et vous ne perdrez rien à vous être chargé de cette
commission.» Je l'assurai que j'exécuterais fidèlement ses ordres. Il
chargea aussitôt Azaph-Khan de m'envoyer les modèles. Ensuite il
me demanda s'il me restait du vin de raisin. Je lui répondis que j'en
avais encore une petite provision. «Eh bien! me dit-il, envoyez-le-moi
ce soir. J'en goûterai; et si je le trouve bon, j'en boirai beaucoup.»
Ainsi, dans cette audience qui passa pour une faveur extraordinaire,
Rhoé se vit dépouillé de ses caisses et de son vin, sans emporter

d'autres fruits de ses libéralités que des promesses. Il faut convenir
qu'il n'y a guère de spectacle plus vil et plus dégoûtant que celui
d'un monarque des Indes faisant ainsi l'inventaire des caisses d'un
étranger pour s'approprier sous divers prétextes, ou pour demander
bassement ce qu'elles contiennent. Il semble que les princes d'Asie
regardent comme une des marques de leur dignité le privilége de
recevoir. Les princes d'Europe ont des idées plus justes de la
grandeur. Ils ne se croient faits que pour donner; et c'est une faveur
très-distinguée de leur part quand ils veulent bien recevoir.
Rhoé assure qu'avec beaucoup de recherches il ne trouva point dans
le pays un seul prosélyte qui méritât le nom de chrétien, et qu'à la
réserve d'un petit nombre de misérables qui étaient entretenus par
la charité des jésuites, il y en avait même très-peu qui fissent
profession du christianisme. Il ajoute que les jésuites, connaissant la
mauvaise foi de cette nation, se lassaient d'une dépense inutile. Tel
était, suivant son témoignage, le véritable état du christianisme dans
l'Indoustan.
«Il n'y avait pas long-temps que l'église et la maison des jésuites
avaient été brûlées. Le crucifix était échappé aux flammes, et sa
conservation fut publiée comme un miracle. Pour moi, qui aurais
béni tout accident dont on aurait tiré quelque avantage pour la
propagation de l'Évangile, je gardai le silence. Le père Corsi me dit
de bonne foi qu'il croyait cet événement fort naturel; mais que les
mahométans mêmes l'ayant fait passer sans sa participation pour un
miracle, il n'était pas fâché qu'ils en eussent conçu cette opinion.
«L'empereur, fort ardent pour toutes les nouveautés, appela le
missionnaire, et lui fit diverses questions. Enfin, venant au sujet de
sa curiosité: «Vous ne me parlez pas, lui dit-il, des grands miracles
que vous avez faits au nom de votre prophète. Si vous voulez jeter
son image dans le feu en ma présence, et qu'elle ne brûle pas, je me
ferai chrétien.» Le père Corsi répondit que cette expérience blessait
la raison, et que le ciel n'était pas obligé de faire des miracles
chaque fois que les hommes en demandaient; que c'était le tenter,

et que le choix des occasions n'appartenait qu'à lui: mais qu'il offrait
d'entrer lui-même dans le feu pour preuve de la vérité de la foi.
L'empereur n'accepta point cette offre. Cependant tous les
courtisans firent beaucoup de bruit; et, demandant que la vérité de
notre religion fût éprouvée par cette voie, ils ajoutèrent que, si le
crucifix brûlait, le père Corsi serait obligé d'embrasser le
mahométisme. Sultan Coroné apporta l'exemple de plusieurs
miracles qui s'étaient faits dans des occasions moins importantes
que celle de la conversion d'un si grand monarque, et conclut que, si
les chrétiens refusaient cette expérience, il ne se croyait pas obligé
de s'en rapporter à leurs discours.»
Un charlatan de Bengale offrit à l'empereur un grand singe qu'il
donnait pour un animal divin. On a fait remarquer effectivement
dans d'autres relations que plusieurs sectes des Indes attribuent
quelque divinité à ces animaux. Comme il était question de vérifier
cette qualité par des preuves, l'empereur tira d'un de ses doigts un
anneau, et le fit cacher dans les vêtemens d'un de ses pages. Le
singe, qui ne l'avait pas vu cacher, l'alla prendre dans le lieu où il
était. L'empereur ne s'en rapportant point à cette expérience, fit
écrire sur douze billets différens les noms de douze législateurs, tels
que de Moïse, de Jésus-Christ, de Mahomet, d'Aly, etc., et les ayant
mêlés dans un vase, il demanda au singe quel était celui qui avait
publié la véritable loi. Le singe mit sa main dans le vase, et tira le
nom du législateur des chrétiens. L'empereur, fort étonné,
soupçonna le maître du singe de savoir lire les caractères persans, et
d'avoir dressé l'animal à faire cette distinction. Il prit la peine d'écrire
les mêmes noms de sa propre main, avec les chiffres qu'il employait
pour donner des ordres secrets à ses ministres. Le singe ne s'y
trompa point; il prit une seconde fois le nom de Jésus-Christ et le
baisa. Un des principaux officiers de la cour dit à l'empereur qu'il y
avait nécessairement quelque supercherie, et lui demanda la
permission de mêler les billets, avec offre de se livrer à toutes sortes
de supplices, si le singe ne manquait pas son rôle. Il écrivit encore
une fois les douze noms; mais il n'en mit que onze dans le vase, et
retint l'autre dans sa main. Le singe les toucha tous l'un après l'autre

sans en vouloir prendre aucun. L'empereur, véritablement surpris,
s'efforça de lui en faire prendre un. Mais l'animal se mit en furie, et
fit entendre par divers signes que le nom du vrai législateur n'était
pas dans le vase. L'empereur lui demanda où il était donc. Il courut
vers l'officier, et lui prit la main dans laquelle était le nom qu'on lui
demandait. Rhoé ajoute: quelque interprétation qu'on veuille donner
à cette singerie, le fait est certain.
CHAPITRE VIII.
Voyage de Tavernier dans l'Indoustan.
Tavernier parcourut d'abord plusieurs contrées de l'Europe. Mais ces
courses n'appartenant point à notre plan, nous le transporterons
tout de suite dans l'Indoustan, en partant de Surate pour Agra.
Des deux routes de Surate à Agra, l'une est par Brampour et par
Seronghe; l'autre par Amedabad. Tavernier, s'étant déterminé pour
la première, passa par Balor et Kerkoa, et vint à Navapoura.
Navapoura est un gros bourg rempli de tisserands, quoique le riz
fasse le principal commerce du canton. Il y passe une rivière qui
rend son territoire excellent. Tout le riz qui croît dans cette contrée
est plus petit de la moitié que le riz ordinaire, et devient en cuisant
d'une blancheur admirable; ce qui le fait estimer particulièrement.
On lui trouve aussi l'odeur du musc, et tous les grands de l'Inde n'en
mangent point d'autre. En Perse même, un sac de ce riz passe pour
un présent fort agréable.
De Navapoura, on compte quatre-vingt-quinze cosses jusqu'à
Brampour. C'est une grande ville ruinée, dont la plupart des maisons
sont couvertes de chaume. On voit encore au milieu de la place un

grand château qui sert de logement au gouverneur. Le
gouvernement de cette province est si considérable, qu'il est
toujours le partage d'un fils ou d'un oncle de l'empereur. Aureng-
Zeb, qui régnait alors, avait commandé long-temps à Brampour
pendant le règne de son père. Le commerce est florissant à
Brampour. Il se fait dans la ville et la province une prodigieuse
quantité de toiles fort claires, qui se transportent en Perse, en
Turquie, en Moscovie, en Pologne, en Arabie, au grand Caire, et dans
d'autres lieux. Des unes, qui sont teintes de diverses couleurs à
fleurs courantes, on fait des voiles et des écharpes pour les femmes,
des couvertures de lit et des mouchoirs. D'autres sont toutes
blanches, avec une raie d'or ou d'argent qui borde la pièce et les
deux bouts depuis la largeur d'un pouce jusqu'à douze ou quinze.
Cette bordure n'est qu'un tissu d'or ou d'argent et de soie, avec des
fleurs dont la beauté est égale des deux côtés. Si celles qu'on porte
en Pologne, où le commerce en est considérable, n'avaient aux deux
bouts trois ou quatre pouces au moins d'or ou d'argent, ou si cet or
et cet argent devenaient noirs en passant les mers de Surate à
Ormuz, et de Trébizonde à Mangalia, ou dans d'autres ports de la
mer Noire, on ne pourrait s'en défaire qu'avec beaucoup de peine.
D'autres toiles sont par bandes, moitié coton, moitié d'or et d'argent,
et cette espèce porte le nom d'ornis. Il s'en trouve depuis quinze
jusqu'à vingt aunes, dont le prix est quelquefois de cent et de cent
cinquante roupies; mais les moindres ne sont pas au-dessous de dix
ou douze. En un mot, les Indes n'ont pas de province où le coton se
trouve avec plus d'abondance qu'à Brampour.
Tavernier avertit que, dans tous les lieux dont le nom se termine par
séra, on doit se représenter un grand enclos de murs ou de haies,
dans lequel sont disposées en cercle cinquante ou soixante huttes
couvertes de chaume. C'est une sorte d'hôtellerie fort inférieure aux
caravansérails persans, où se trouvent quelques hommes et
quelques femmes qui vendent de la farine, du riz, du beurre et des
herbages, et qui prennent soin de faire cuire le pain et le riz des
voyageurs. Ils nettoient les huttes, que chacun a la liberté de choisir;
ils y mettent un petit lit de sangle, sur lequel on étend le matelas

dont on doit être fourni lorsqu'on n'est point assez riche pour se
faire accompagner d'une tente. S'il se trouve quelque mahométan
parmi les voyageurs, il va chercher dans le bourg ou le village du
mouton et des poules, qu'il distribue volontiers à ceux qui lui en
rendent le prix.
Seronghe lui parut une grande ville, dont les habitans sont banians,
et la plupart artisans de père en fils, ce qui les porte à bâtir des
maisons de pierre et de brique. Il s'y fait un grand commerce de
chites, sorte de toiles peintes, dont le bas peuple de Turquie et de
Perse aime à se vêtir, et qui sert dans d'autres pays pour des
couvertures de lit et des nappes à manger. On en fait dans d'autres
lieux que Seronghe, mais de couleurs moins vives et plus sujettes à
se ternir dans l'eau; tandis que celles de Seronghe deviennent plus
belles chaque fois qu'on les lave. La rivière qui passe dans cette ville
donne cette vivacité aux teintures. Pendant la saison des pluies, qui
durent quatre mois, les ouvriers impriment leurs toiles suivant le
modèle qu'ils reçoivent des marchands étrangers; et lorsque les
pluies cessent, ils se hâtent de laver les toiles dans la rivière, parce
que plus elle est trouble, plus les couleurs sont vives et résistent au
temps. On fait aussi à Seronghe une sorte de gazes ou de toiles si
fines, qu'étant sur le corps, elles laissent voir la chair à nu. Le
transport n'en est pas permis aux marchands. Le gouverneur les
prend toutes pour le sérail impérial et pour les principaux seigneurs
de la cour. Les sultanes et les dames mogoles s'en font des chemises
et des robes, que l'empereur et les grands se plaisent à leur voir
porter dans les grandes chaleurs.
En passant à Baroche, il accepta un logement chez les Anglais, qui
ont un fort beau comptoir dans cette ville. Quelques charlatans
indiens ayant offert d'amuser l'assemblée par des tours de leur
profession, il eut la curiosité de les voir. Pour premier spectacle, ils
firent allumer un grand feu, dans lequel ils firent rougir des chaînes,
dont ils se lièrent le corps à nu sans en ressentir aucun mal. Ensuite
prenant un petit morceau de bois qu'ils plantèrent en terre, ils
demandèrent quel fruit on souhaitait d'en voir sortir. On leur dit

qu'on souhaitait des mangues. Alors un des charlatans, s'étant
couvert d'un linceul, s'accroupit cinq ou six fois contre terre.
Tavernier, qui voulait le suivre dans cette opération, prit une place
d'où ses regards pouvaient pénétrer par une ouverture du linceul; et
ce qu'il raconte ici semble demander beaucoup de confiance au
témoignage de ses yeux.
«J'aperçus, dit-il, que cet homme, se coupant la chair sous les
aisselles avec un rasoir, frottait de son sang le morceau de bois.
Chaque fois qu'il se relevait le bois croissait à vue d'œil; et la
troisième, il en sortit des branches avec des bourgeons. La
quatrième fois, l'arbre fut couvert de feuilles. La cinquième, on y vit
des fleurs. Un ministre anglais, qui était présent, avait protesté
d'abord qu'il ne pouvait consentir que des chrétiens assistassent à ce
spectacle: mais lorsque, d'un morceau de bois sec, il eut vu que ces
gens-là faisaient venir, en moins d'une demi-heure, un arbre de
quatre ou cinq pieds de haut, avec des feuilles et des fleurs comme
au printemps, il se mit en devoir de l'aller rompre, et dit hautement
qu'il ne donnerait jamais la communion à ceux qui demeureraient
plus long-temps à voir de pareilles choses: ce qui obligea les Anglais
de congédier les charlatans, après leur avoir donné la valeur de dix
ou douze écus, dont ils parurent fort satisfaits.» Il faut avouer qu'il
n'y a point de tour de Comus qui approche de celui-là.
Dans le petit voyage qu'il fit à Cambaye, en se détournant de cinq
ou six cosses, il n'observa rien dont Mandelslo n'eût fait la
description; mais, à son retour, il passa par un village qui n'est qu'à
trois cosses de cette ville, où l'on voit une pagode célèbre par les
offrandes de la plupart des courtisanes de l'Inde. Elle est remplie de
nudités, entre lesquelles on découvre particulièrement une grande
figure que Tavernier prit pour un Apollon, dans un état fort indécent.
Les vieilles courtisanes qui ont amassé une somme d'argent dans
leur jeunesse en achètent de petites esclaves qu'elles forment à tous
les exercices de leur profession, et ces petites filles, que leurs
maîtresses mènent à la pagode dès l'âge de onze ou douze ans,
regardent comme un bonheur d'être offertes à l'idole. Cet infâme

temple est à six cosses de Chid-Abad, où Mandelslo visita un des
plus beaux jardins du grand mogol.
À l'occasion de la rivière d'Amedabad, qui est sans pont, et que les
paysans passent à la nage, après s'être lié entre l'estomac et le
ventre une peau de bouc qu'ils remplissent de vent, il remarque que,
pour faire passer leurs enfans, ils les mettent dans des pots de terre
dont l'embouchure est haute de quatre doigts, et qu'ils poussent
devant eux. Pendant qu'il était dans cette ville, un paysan et sa
femme passaient un jour avec un enfant de deux ans, qu'ils avaient
mis dans un de ces pots, d'où il ne lui sortait que la tête. Vers le
milieu de la rivière, ils trouvèrent un petit banc de sable, sur lequel
était un gros arbre que les flots y avaient jeté. Ils poussèrent le pot
dans cet endroit pour y prendre un peu de repos. Comme ils
approchaient du pied de l'arbre, dont le tronc s'élevait un peu au-
dessus de l'eau, un serpent qui sortit d'entre les racines sauta dans
le pot. Le père et la mère, fort effrayés, abandonnèrent le pot, qui
fut emporté par le courant de l'eau tandis qu'ils demeurèrent à demi
morts au pied de l'arbre. Deux lieues plus bas, un banian et sa
femme, avec leur enfant, se lavaient, suivant l'usage du pays, avant
d'aller prendre leur nourriture. Ils virent de loin ce pot sur l'eau, et la
moitié d'une tête qui paraissait hors de l'embouchure. Le banian se
hâte d'aller au secours, et pousse le pot à la rive. Aussitôt la mère,
suivie de son enfant, s'approche pour aider l'autre à sortir. Alors le
serpent, qui n'avait fait aucun mal au premier, sort du pot, se jette
sur l'enfant du banian, se lie autour de son corps par divers replis, le
pique et lui jette son venin qui lui cause une prompte mort. Deux
paysans superstitieux se persuadèrent facilement qu'une aventure si
extraordinaire était arrivée par une secrète disposition du ciel, qui
leur ôtait leur enfant pour leur en donner un autre. Mais le bruit de
cet événement s'étant répandu, les parens du dernier, qui en furent
informés, redemandèrent leur enfant; et leurs prétentions devinrent
le sujet d'un différend fort vif. L'affaire fut portée devant l'empereur,
qui ordonna que l'enfant fût restitué à son père.

Tavernier confirme ce qu'on a lu dans Mandelslo, de la multitude de
singes qu'on rencontre sur la route, et du danger qu'il y a toujours à
les irriter. Un Anglais, qui en tua un d'un coup d'arquebuse, faillit
d'être étranglé par soixante de ces animaux qui descendirent du
sommet des arbres, et dont il ne fut délivré que par le secours qu'il
reçut d'un grand nombre de valets. En passant à Chitpour, assez
bonne ville, qui tire son nom du commerce de ces toiles peintes
qu'on nomme chites, Tavernier vit dans une grande place quatre ou
cinq lions qu'on amenait pour les apprivoiser. La méthode des
Indiens lui parut curieuse. On attache les lions par les pieds de
derrière, de douze en douze pas l'un de l'autre, à un gros pieu bien
affermi. Ils ont au cou une corde dont le maître tient le bout à la
main. Les pieux sont plantés sur une même ligne; et sur une autre
parallèle éloignée d'environ vingt pas on tend encore une corde de la
longueur de l'espace qui est occupé par les lions. Les deux cordes
qui tiennent chacun de ces animaux attachés par les pieds de
derrière leur laissent la liberté de s'élancer jusqu'à la corde parallèle
qui sert de rempart à des hommes qui sont placés au-delà pour les
irriter par quelques pierres ou quelques petits morceaux de bois
qu'ils leur jettent. Une partie du peuple accourt à ce spectacle.
Lorsque le lion provoqué s'est élancé vers la corde, il est ramené au
pieu par celle que le maître tient à la main. C'est ainsi qu'il
s'apprivoise insensiblement; et Tavernier fut témoin de cet exercice à
Chitpour, sans sortir de son carrosse.
Le jour suivant lui offrit un autre amusement dans la rencontre d'une
bande de fakirs ou de dervis mahométans. Il en compta cinquante-
sept, dont le chef ou le supérieur avait été grand écuyer de
l'empereur Djehan-Ghir, et s'était dégoûté de la cour à l'occasion de
la mort de son petit-fils, qui avait été étranglé par l'ordre de ce
monarque. Quatre autres fakirs, qui tenaient le premier rang après le
supérieur, avaient occupé des emplois considérables à la même cour.
L'habillement de ces cinq chefs consistait en trois ou quatre aunes
de toile couleur orangée, dont ils se faisaient comme des ceintures
avec le bout passé entre les jambes et relevé par-derrière jusqu'au
dos pour mettre la pudeur à couvert, et sur les épaules une peau de

tigre attachée sous le menton. Devant eux on menait en main huit
beaux chevaux, dont trois avaient des brides d'or et des selles
couvertes aussi de lames d'argent, avec une peau de léopard sur
chacune. L'habit du reste des dervis était une simple corde qui leur
servait de ceinture, sans autre voile pour l'honnêteté qu'un petit
morceau d'étoffe. Leurs cheveux étaient liés en tresse autour de la
tête, et formaient une espèce de turban. Ils étaient tous armés la
plupart d'arcs et de flèches, quelques-uns de mousquets, et d'autres
de demi-piques avec une sorte d'arme inconnue en Europe, qui est,
suivant la description de Tavernier, un cercle de fer tranchant, de la
forme d'un plat dont on aurait ôté le fond; ils s'en passent huit ou
dix autour du cou comme une fraise; et les tirant lorsqu'ils veulent
s'en servir, ils les jettent avec tant de force, comme nous ferions
voler une assiette, qu'ils coupent un homme presqu'en deux par le
milieu du corps. Chaque dervis avait aussi une espèce de cor de
chasse dont ils sonnent en arrivant dans quelque lieu, avec un autre
instrument de fer à peu près de la forme d'une truelle. C'est avec cet
instrument, que les Indiens portent ordinairement dans leurs
voyages, qu'ils raclent et nettoient la terre dans les lieux où ils
veulent s'arrêter, et qu'après avoir ramassé la poussière en
monceau, ils s'en servent comme de matelas pour être couchés plus
mollement. Trois des mêmes dervis étaient armés de longues épées,
qu'ils avaient achetées apparemment des Anglais ou des Portugais.
Leur bagage était composé de quatre coffres remplis de livres arabes
ou persans, et de quelques ustensiles de cuisine. Dix ou douze
bœufs qui faisaient l'arrière-garde servaient à porter ceux qui étaient
incommodés de la marche.
Lorsque cette religieuse troupe fut arrivée dans le lieu où Tavernier
s'était arrêté avec cinquante personnes de son escorte et de ses
domestiques, le supérieur, qui le vit si bien accompagné, demanda
qui était cet aga, et le fit prier ensuite de lui céder son poste, parce
qu'il lui paraissait commode pour y camper avec les dervis. Tavernier,
informé du rang des cinq chefs, se disposa de bonne grâce à leur
faire cette civilité. Aussitôt la place fut arrosée de quantité d'eau et
soigneusement raclée. Comme on était en hiver, et que le froid était

assez piquant, on alluma deux feux pour les cinq principaux dervis,
qui se placèrent au milieu, avec la facilité de pouvoir se chauffer
devant et derrière. Dès le même soir ils reçurent dans leur camp la
visite du gouverneur d'une ville voisine, qui leur fit apporter du riz et
d'autres rafraîchissemens. Leur usage pendant leurs courses est
d'envoyer quelques-uns d'entre eux à la quête dans les habitations
voisines, et les vivres qu'ils obtiennent se distribuent avec égalité
dans toute la troupe. Chacun fait cuire son riz; ce qu'ils ont de trop
est donné aux pauvres, et jamais ils ne se réservent rien pour le
lendemain.
Tavernier arrive enfin à la ville impériale d'Agra; elle est à 27 degrés
31 minutes de latitude nord, dans un terroir sablonneux, qui l'expose
pendant l'été à d'excessives chaleurs. C'est la plus grande ville des
Indes, et la résidence ordinaire des empereurs mogols; les maisons
des grands y sont belles et bien bâties; mais celles des particuliers,
comme dans toutes les autres villes des Indes, n'ont rien d'agréable;
elles sont écartées les unes des autres, et cachées par la hauteur
des murailles, dans la crainte qu'on n'y puisse apercevoir les
femmes; ce qui rend toutes ces villes beaucoup moins riantes que
celles de l'Europe.
Du côté de la ville, on trouve une autre place devant le palais; la
première porte, qui n'a rien de magnifique, est gardée par quelques
soldats. Lorsque les grandes chaleurs d'Agra forcent l'empereur de
transporter sa cour à Delhy, ou lorsqu'il se met en campagne avec
son armée, il donne la garde de son trésor au plus fidèle de ses
omhras, qui ne s'éloigne pas nuit et jour de cette porte, où il a son
logement. Ce fut dans une de ces absences du monarque que
Tavernier obtint la permission de voir le palais. Toute la cour étant
partie pour Delhy, le gouvernement du palais d'Agra fut confié à un
seigneur qui aimait les Européens. Vélant, chef du comptoir
hollandais, l'alla saluer, et lui offrit en épiceries, en cabinets du
Japon, et en beaux draps de Hollande, un présent d'environ six mille
écus. Tavernier, qui était présent, eut occasion d'admirer la
générosité mogole. Ce seigneur reçut le compliment avec politesse;

mais, se trouvant offensé du présent, il obligea les Hollandais de le
remporter, en leur disant que, par considération et par amitié pour
les Franguis, il prendrait seulement une petite canne, de six qu'ils lui
offraient. C'était une de ces cannes du Japon qui croissent par petits
nœuds; encore fallut-il ôter l'or dont on l'avait enrichie, parce qu'il ne
la voulut recevoir que nue. Après les complimens, il demanda au
directeur hollandais ce qu'il pouvait faire pour l'obliger; et Vélant
l'ayant prié de permettre que, dans l'absence de la cour, il pût voir
avec Tavernier l'intérieur du palais, cette grâce leur fut accordée: on
leur donna six hommes pour les conduire.
La première porte, qui sert de logement au gouverneur, conduit à
une voûte longue et obscure, après laquelle on entre dans une
grande cour environnée de portiques comme la place Royale de
Paris. La galerie qui est en face est plus large et plus haute que les
autres; elle est soutenue de trois rangs de colonnes. Sous celles qui
règnent des trois autres côtés de la cour, et qui sont plus étroites et
plus basses, on a ménagé plusieurs petites chambres pour les
soldats de la garde. Au milieu de la grande galerie on voit une niche
pratiquée dans le mur, où l'empereur se rend par un petit escalier
dérobé, et lorsqu'il y est assis, on ne le découvre que jusqu'à la
poitrine, à peu près comme un buste. Il n'a point alors de gardes
autour de lui, parce qu'il n'a rien à redouter, et que de tous les côtés
cette place est inaccessible. Dans les grandes chaleurs, il a
seulement près de sa personne un eunuque, ou même un de ses
enfans pour l'éventer. Les grands de la cour se tiennent dans la
galerie qui est au-dessous de cette niche.
Au fond de la cour, à main gauche, on trouve un second portail qui
donne entrée dans une grande cour, environnée de galeries comme
la première, sous lesquelles on voit aussi de petites chambres pour
quelques officiers du palais. De cette seconde cour on passe dans
une troisième, qui contient l'appartement impérial. Schah-Djehan
avait entrepris de couvrir d'argent toute la voûte d'une grande
galerie qui est à main droite. Il avait choisi pour l'exécution de cette
magnifique entreprise un Français de Bordeaux qui se nommait

Augustin; mais, ayant besoin d'un ministre intelligent pour quelques
affaires qu'il avait à Goa, il y envoya cet artiste; et les Portugais, qui
lui reconnurent assez d'esprit pour le trouver redoutable,
l'empoisonnèrent à Cochin. La galerie est demeurée peinte de
feuillage d'or et d'azur; tout le bas est revêtu de tapis. On y voit des
portes qui donnent entrée dans plusieurs chambres carrées, mais
fort petites. Tavernier se contenta d'en faire ouvrir deux, parce qu'on
l'assura que toutes les autres leur ressemblaient. Les autres côtés de
la cour sont ouverts, et n'ont qu'une simple muraille à hauteur
d'appui; du côté qui regarde la rivière, on trouve un divan ou un
belvédère en saillie, où l'empereur vient s'asseoir pour se donner le
plaisir de voir ses brigantins ou le combat des bêtes farouches; une
galerie lui sert de vestibule, et le dessein de Schah-Djehan était de
la revêtir d'une treille de rubis et d'émeraudes, qui devaient
représenter au naturel les raisins verts et ceux qui commencent à
rougir; mais ce dessein, qui a fait beaucoup de bruit dans le monde,
et qui demandait plus de richesses que l'Indoustan n'en peut fournir,
est demeuré imparfait; on ne voit que deux ou trois ceps d'or avec
leurs feuilles, qui, comme tout le reste, devaient être émaillés de
leurs couleurs naturelles et chargés d'émeraudes, de rubis et de
grenats qui font les grappes. Au milieu de la cour, on admire une
grande cuve d'eau, d'une seule pierre grisâtre, de quarante pieds de
diamètre, avec des degrés dedans et dehors, pratiqués dans la
même pierre pour monter et descendre.
Il paraît que la curiosité de Tavernier ne put pas aller plus loin; ce
qui s'accorde avec le témoignage des autres voyageurs, qui parlent
des appartemens de l'empereur comme d'un lieu impénétrable. Il
passe aux sépultures d'Agra, et des lieux voisins dont il vante la
beauté. Les eunuques du palais ont presque tous l'ambition de se
faire bâtir un magnifique tombeau; lorsqu'ils ont amassé beaucoup
de biens, la plupart souhaiteraient d'aller à la Mecque pour y porter
de riches présens; mais le grand-mogol, qui ne voit pas sortir
volontiers l'argent de ses états, leur accorde rarement cette
permission; et leurs richesses leur devenant inutiles, ils en
consacrent la plus grande partie à ces édifices pour laisser quelque

mémoire de leur nom. Entre tous les tombeaux d'Agra, on distingue
particulièrement celui de l'impératrice, femme de Schah-Djehan. Ce
monarque le fit élever près du Tasimakan, grand bazar où se
rassemblent tous les étrangers, dans la seule vue de lui attirer plus
d'admirateurs. Ce bazar, ou ce marché, est entouré de six grandes
cours, bordées de portiques sous lesquels on voit des boutiques et
des chambres, où il se fait un prodigieux commerce de toiles. Le
tombeau de l'impératrice est au levant de la ville, le long de la
rivière, dans un grand espace fermé de murailles sur lesquelles on a
fait régner une petite galerie; cet espace est une sorte de jardin en
compartimens, comme le parterre des nôtres, avec cette différence
qu'au lieu de sable c'est du marbre blanc et noir: on y entre par un
grand portail. À gauche, on découvre une belle galerie qui regarde la
Mecque, avec trois ou quatre niches, où le mufti se rend à des
heures réglées pour y faire la prière. Un peu au-delà du milieu de
l'espace, on voit trois grandes plates-formes, d'où l'on annonce ces
heures. Au-dessus s'élève un dôme qui n'a guère moins d'éclat que
celui du Val-de-Grâce; le dedans et le dehors sont également revêtus
de marbre blanc: c'est sous ce dôme qu'on a placé le tombeau,
quoique le corps de l'impératrice ait été déposé sous une voûte qui
est au-dessous de la première plate-forme. Les mêmes cérémonies
qui se font dans ce lieu souterrain s'observent sous le dôme autour
du tombeau; c'est-à-dire que de temps en temps on y change les
tapis, les chandeliers et les autres ornemens. On y trouve toujours
aussi quelques molahs en prière. Tavernier vit commencer et finir ce
grand ouvrage, auquel il assure qu'on employa vingt-deux ans, et le
travail continuel de vingt mille hommes. On prétend, dit-il, que les
seuls échafaudages ont coûté plus que l'ouvrage entier, parce que,
manquant de bois, on était contraint de les faire de brique, comme
les cintres de toutes les voûtes; ce qui demandait un travail et des
frais immenses. Schah-Djehan avait commencé à se bâtir un
tombeau de l'autre côté de la rivière: mais la guerre qu'il eut avec
ses enfans interrompit ce dessein, et l'heureux Aureng-Zeb, son
successeur, ne se fit pas un devoir de l'achever. Deux mille hommes,
sous le commandement d'un eunuque, veillent sans cesse à la garde
du mausolée de l'impératrice et du tasimakan.

Les tombeaux des eunuques n'ont qu'une seule plate-forme, avec
quatre petites chambres aux quatre coins. À la distance d'une lieue
des murs d'Agra, on visite la sépulture de l'empereur Akbar. En
arrivant du côté de Delhy, on rencontre, près d'un grand bazar, un
jardin qui est celui de Djehan-Ghir, père de Schah-Djehan. Le dessus
du portail offre une peinture de son tombeau, qui est couvert d'un
grand voile noir, avec plusieurs flambeaux de cire blanche, et la
figure de deux jésuites aux deux bouts. On est étonné que Schah-
Djehan, contre l'usage du mahométisme qui défend les images, ait
souffert cette représentation. Tavernier la regarde comme un
monument de reconnaissance pour quelques leçons de
mathématiques que ce prince et son père avaient reçues des
jésuites. Il ajoute que dans une autre occasion Schah-Djehan n'eut
pas pour eux la même indulgence. Un jour qu'il était allé voir un
Arménien nommé Corgia, qu'il aimait beaucoup, et qui était tombé
malade, les jésuites, dont la maison était voisine, firent
malheureusement sonner leur cloche. Ce bruit, qui pouvait
incommoder l'Arménien, irrita tellement l'empereur, que dans sa
colère il ordonna que la cloche fût enlevée, et pendue au cou de son
éléphant. Quelques jours après, revoyant cet animal avec un fardeau
qui était capable de lui nuire, il fit porter cette cloche à la place du
katoual, où elle est demeurée depuis. Corgia passait pour excellent
poëte. Il avait été élevé avec Schah-Djehan, qui prit du goût pour
son esprit, et qui le comblait de richesses et d'honneurs; mais ni les
promesses ni les menaces n'avaient pu lui faire embrasser la religion
de Mahomet.
Tavernier décrit la route d'Agra à Delhy, sans expliquer à quelle
occasion ni dans quel temps il fit ce voyage; il compte soixante-huit
cosses entre ces deux villes. Delhy est une grande ville, située sur le
Djemna, qui coule du nord au sud, et qui, prenant ensuite son cours
du couchant au levant, après avoir passé par Agra et Kadiove, va se
perdre dans le Gange. Schah-Djehan, rebuté des chaleurs d'Agra, fit
bâtir près de Delhy une nouvelle ville, à laquelle il donna le nom de
Djehanabad, qui signifie ville de Djehan: le climat y est plus
tempéré. Mais depuis cette fondation, Delhy est tombée presqu'en

ruine, et n'a que des pauvres pour habitans, à l'exception de trois ou
quatre seigneurs, qui, lorsque la cour est à Djehanabad, s'y
établissent dans de grands enclos, où ils font dresser leurs tentes.
Un jésuite qui suivait la cour d'Aureng-Zeb prenait aussi son
logement à Delhy.
Djehanabad, que le peuple, par corruption, nomme aujourd'hui
Djenabab, est devenue une fort grande ville, et n'est séparée de
l'autre que par une simple muraille. Toutes ses maisons sont bâties
au milieu de grands enclos; on entre du côté de Delhy par une
longue et large rue, bordée de voûtes, dont le dessus est une plate-
forme, et qui sert de retraite aux marchands; cette rue se termine à
la grande place où est le palais de l'empereur. Dans une autre, fort
droite et fort large, qui vient se rendre à la même place, vers une
autre porte du palais, on ne trouve que de gros marchands qui n'ont
point de boutique extérieure.
Le palais impérial n'a pas moins d'une demi-lieue de circuit; les
murailles sont de belle pierre de taille, avec des créneaux et des
tours; les fossés sont pleins d'eau, et revêtus de la même pierre; le
grand portail du palais n'a rien de magnifique, non plus que la
première cour, où les seigneurs peuvent entrer sur leurs éléphans;
mais après cette cour on trouve une sorte de rue ou de grand
passage, dont les deux côtés sont bordés de beaux portiques, sous
lesquels une partie de la garde à cheval se retire dans plusieurs
petites chambres. Ils sont élevés d'environ deux pieds; et les
chevaux, qui sont attachés au-dehors à des anneaux de fer, ont leurs
mangeoires sur les bords. Dans quelques endroits on voit de grandes
portes qui conduisent à divers appartemens. Ce passage est divisé
par un canal plein d'eau qui laisse un beau chemin des deux côtés,
et qui forme de petits bassins à d'égales distances; il mène jusqu'à
l'entrée d'une grande cour où les omhras font la garde en personne:
cette cour est environnée de logemens assez bas, et les chevaux
sont attachés devant chaque porte. De la seconde on passe dans
une troisième par un grand portail, à côté duquel on voit une petite
salle élevée de deux ou trois pieds, où l'on prend les vestes dont

l'empereur honore ses sujets ou les étrangers. Un peu plus loin, sous
le même portail, est le lieu où se tiennent les tambours, les
trompettes et les hautbois qui se font entendre quelques momens
avant que l'empereur se montre au public et lorsqu'il est prêt à se
retirer. Au fond de cette troisième cour, on découvre le divan ou la
salle d'audience, qui est élevée de quatre pieds au-dessus du rez-de-
chaussée, et tout-à-fait ouverte de trois côtés; trente-deux colonnes
de marbre, d'environ quatre pieds en carré, avec leurs piédestaux et
leurs moulures, soutiennent la voûte. Schah-Djehan s'était proposé
d'enrichir cette salle des plus beaux ouvrages mosaïques, dans le
goût de la chapelle de Florence; mais, après en avoir fait faire l'essai
sur deux ou trois colonnes, il désespéra de pouvoir trouver assez de
pierres précieuses pour un si grand dessein; et n'étant pas moins
rebuté par la dépense, il se détermina pour une peinture en fleurs.
C'est au milieu de cette salle, et près du bord qui regarde la cour, en
forme de théâtre, qu'on dresse le trône où l'empereur donne
audience et dispense la justice: c'est un petit lit, de la grandeur de
nos lits de camp, avec ses quatre colonnes, un ciel, un dossier, un
traversin et la courte-pointe. Toutes ces pièces sont couvertes de
diamans; mais lorsque l'empereur s'y vient asseoir, on étend sur le lit
une couverture de brocart d'or, ou de quelque riche étoffe piquée. Il
y monte par trois petites marches de deux pieds de long. À l'un des
côtés on élève un parasol sur un bâton de la longueur d'une demi-
pique, et l'on attache à chaque colonne du lit une des armes de
l'empereur; c'est-à-dire sa rondache, son sabre, son arc, son
carquois et ses flèches.
Dans la cour, au-dessous du trône, on a ménagé une place de vingt
pieds en carré, entourée de balustres, qui sont couverts tantôt de
lames d'argent, et tantôt de lames d'or. Les quatre coins de ce
parquet sont la place des secrétaires d'état, qui font aussi la fonction
d'avocats dans les causes civiles et criminelles. Le tour de la
balustrade est occupé par les seigneurs et par les musiciens; car,
pendant le divan même, on ne cesse pas d'entendre une musique
fort douce, dont le bruit n'est pas capable d'apporter de

l'interruption aux affaires les plus sérieuses. L'empereur, assis sur un
trône, a près de lui quelqu'un des premiers seigneurs, ou ses seuls
enfans. Entre onze heures et midi, le premier ministre d'état vient lui
faire l'exposition de tout ce qui s'est passé dans la chambre où il
préside, qui est à l'entrée de la première cour; et lorsque son rapport
est fini, l'empereur se lève; mais pendant que ce monarque est sur
le trône, il n'est permis à personne de sortir du palais. Tavernier fait
valoir l'honneur qu'on lui fit de l'exempter de cette loi.
Vers le milieu de la cour, on trouve un petit canal large d'environ six
pouces, où pendant que le roi est sur son trône, tous ceux qui
viennent à l'audience doivent s'arrêter; il ne leur est pas permis
d'avancer plus loin sans être appelés; et les ambassadeurs mêmes
ne sont pas exempts de cette loi. Lorsqu'un ambassadeur est venu
jusqu'au canal, l'introducteur crie, vers le divan où l'empereur est
assis, que le ministre de telle puissance souhaite de parler à sa
majesté: alors un secrétaire d'état en avertit l'empereur, qui feint
souvent de ne pas l'entendre; mais, quelques momens après, il lève
les yeux, et les jetant sur l'ambassadeur, il donne ordre au même
secrétaire de lui faire signe qu'il peut s'approcher.
De la salle du divan on passe à gauche sur une terrasse d'où l'on
découvre la rivière, et sur laquelle donne la porte d'une petite
chambre, d'où l'empereur passe au sérail. À la gauche de cette
même cour, on voit une petite mosquée fort bien bâtie, dont le dôme
est couvert de plomb si parfaitement doré, qu'on le croirait d'or
massif. C'est dans cette chapelle que l'empereur fait chaque jour sa
prière, excepté le vendredi, qu'il doit se rendre à la grande mosquée.
On tend ce jour-là autour des degrés un gros rets de cinq ou six
pieds de haut, dans la crainte que les éléphans n'en approchent, et
par respect pour la mosquée même. Cet édifice, que Tavernier
trouva très-beau, est assis sur une grande plate-forme plus élevée
que les maisons de la ville, et l'on y monte par divers escaliers.
Le côté droit de la cour du trône est occupé par des portiques qui
forment une longue galerie, élevée d'environ un pied et demi au-

dessus du rez-de-chaussée. Plusieurs portes qui règnent le long de
ces portiques donnent entrée dans les écuries impériales, qui sont
toujours remplies de très-beaux chevaux. Tavernier assure que le
moindre a coûté trois mille écus, et que le prix de quelques-uns va
jusqu'à dix mille. Au-devant de chaque porte on suspend une natte
de bambou, qui se fend aussi menu que l'osier; mais, au lieu que
nos petites tresses d'osier se lient avec l'osier même, celles du
bambou sont liées avec de la soie torse qui représente des fleurs; et
ce travail, qui est fort délicat, demande beaucoup de patience: l'effet
de ces nattes est d'empêcher que les chevaux ne soient tourmentés
des mouches; chacun a d'ailleurs deux palefreniers, dont l'un ne
s'occupe qu'à l'éventer. Devant les portiques, comme devant les
portes des écuries, on met aussi des nattes, qui se lèvent et qui se
baissent suivant le besoin; et le bas de la galerie est couvert de fort
beaux tapis qu'on retire le soir, pour faire dans le même lieu la litière
des chevaux: elle ne se fait que de leur fiente, qu'on écrase un peu
après l'avoir fait sécher au soleil. Les chevaux qui passent aux Indes,
de Perse ou d'Arabie, ou du pays des Ousbeks, trouvent un grand
changement dans leur nourriture. Dans l'Indoustan comme dans le
reste des Indes, on ne connaît ni le foin ni l'avoine. Chaque cheval
reçoit le matin, pour sa portion, deux ou trois pelotes composées de
farine de froment et de beurre, de la grosseur de nos pains d'un sou.
Ce n'est pas sans peine qu'on les accoutume à cette nourriture, et
souvent on a besoin de quatre à cinq mois pour leur en faire prendre
le goût: le palefrenier leur tient la langue d'une main, et de l'autre il
leur fourre la pelote dans le gosier. Dans la saison des cannes à
sucre ou du millet, on leur en donne à midi; le soir, une heure ou
deux avant le coucher de soleil, ils ont une mesure de pois chiches,
écrasés entre deux pierres et trempés dans de l'eau.
Tavernier partit d'Agra le 25 novembre 1665, pour visiter quelques
villes de l'empire, avec Bernier, auquel il donne le titre de médecin
de l'empereur. Le 1
er
. décembre, ils rencontrèrent cent quarante
charrettes, tirées chacune par six bœufs, et chacune portant
cinquante mille roupies: c'était le revenu de la province de Bengale,
qui, toutes charges payées, et la bourse du gouverneur remplie,

montait à cinq millions cinq cent mille roupies. Près de la petite ville
de Djianabad, ils virent un rhinocéros qui mangeait des cannes de
millet. Il les recevait de la main d'un petit garçon de neuf ou dix ans;
et Tavernier en ayant pris quelques-unes, cet animal s'approcha de
lui pour les recevoir aussi de la sienne.
Les deux voyageurs arrivèrent à Alemkhand. À deux cosses de ce
bourg on rencontre le fameux fleuve du Gange. Bernier parut fort
surpris qu'il ne fût pas plus large que la Seine devant le Louvre. Il y
a même si peu d'eau depuis le mois de mars jusqu'au mois de juin
ou de juillet, c'est-à-dire, jusqu'à la saison des pluies, qu'il est
impossible aux bateaux de remonter. En arrivant sur ses bords, les
deux Français burent un verre de vin dans lequel ils mirent de l'eau
de ce fleuve, qui leur causa quelques tranchées. Leurs valets, qui la
burent seule, en furent beaucoup plus tourmentés. Aussi les
Hollandais, qui ont des comptoirs sur les rives du Gange, ne boivent-
ils jamais de cette eau sans l'avoir fait bouillir. L'habitude la rend si
saine pour les habitans du pays, que l'empereur même et toute la
cour n'en boivent point d'autre. On voit continuellement un grand
nombre de chameaux sur lesquels on vient charger de l'eau du
Gange.
Allahabad, où l'on arrive à neuf cosses d'Alemkhand, est une grande
ville bâtie sur une pointe de terre où se joignent le Gange et la
Djemna. Le château, qui est de pierres de taille, et ceint d'un double
fossé, sert de palais au gouverneur. C'était alors un des plus grands
seigneurs de l'empire: sa mauvaise santé l'obligeait d'entretenir
plusieurs médecins indiens et persans, entre lesquels était Claude
Maillé, Français, né à Bourges, et qui exerçait tout à la fois la
médecine et la chirurgie. Le premier de ses médecins persans jeta
un jour sa femme du haut d'une terrasse en bas, dans un transport
de jalousie; elle ne se rompit heureusement que deux ou trois côtes:
ses parens demandèrent justice au gouverneur, qui fit venir le
médecin, et qui le congédia. Il n'était qu'à deux ou trois journées de
la ville, lorsque le gouverneur, se trouvant plus mal, l'envoya
rappeler. Alors ce furieux poignarda sa femme et quatre enfans qu'il

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Public Participation In Archaeology Suzie Thomas Joanne Lea

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