To speak of Faraonsfinge is to speak of a particular artifact, or perhaps a class of artifacts: small-to-medium Egyptian or Egyptianizing sphinx statues that made their way to Scandinavia during the Golden Age of antiquities collecting. The most famous bearer of this name is a dark gray granodiorite sphinx, barely 35 centimeters long, now resting in a glass case at the Medelhavsmuseet (Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities) in Stockholm. Its provenance is both well-documented and deeply mysterious — a contradiction that suits any true sphinx. At first glance, the Faraonsfinge is unassuming. It lacks the weathered grandeur of its Giza cousin. Instead, it offers intimacy: you can hold it in two hands. The body is that of a crouching lion, muscles hinted at but softened by millennia of handling and wind. The paws extend forward, claws barely etched. The tail curls along the right flank, ending in a small fracture. The head is human — or rather, divine. The face, though abraded, shows the traditional nemes headdress with a rearing cobra ( uraeus ) at the brow. The chin once held a divine beard, now broken off. The eyes are wide, almond-shaped, and eerily calm.
But the RTF data remains contested. Some epigraphers argue the signs are later forgeries, added by 19th-century dealers to increase value. The debate continues, unresolved — and perhaps appropriately so. A sphinx without a riddle is merely a statue. Why would Hatshepsut — or any pharaoh — commission a sphinx barely larger than a loaf of bread? Scale matters. Colossal sphinxes lined processional ways, guarding temple gates. They were for public awe. Small sphinxes, however, served a different purpose: they were temple furniture or tomb equipment . The Faraonsfinge likely sat in a shrine niche, receiving daily offerings of incense and bread. Or it was placed in a tomb as a shaum — a protective being that would magically animate in the underworld to ward off the serpent Apep.
In 1874, the von Rosen collection was donated to the Swedish state. The sphinx traveled by steamship from Norrköping to Stockholm, then by horse-drawn cart to the National Museum. For decades, it was mislabeled as a Roman copy of an Egyptian original — because no one believed a genuine Middle Kingdom sphinx could be so small, so perfect, so far from the Nile. In 1923, British Egyptologist Margaret Murray visited Stockholm and examined the Faraonsfinge. She noted something strange: the base showed signs of recarving. The sphinx, she argued, had originally borne a cartouche of a female pharaoh — possibly Hatshepsut or Sobekneferu — that was later chiseled away and replaced with anonymous royal epithets. Why erase a queen’s name? Murray speculated: political damnatio memoriae , religious reform (Akhenaten’s Atenist revolution?), or simply a later king’s usurpation. faraonsfinge
The inscription — or rather, the lack of one — adds to the riddle. Most Egyptian sphinxes bear cartouches naming a specific pharaoh: Hatshepsut, Thutmose III, Amenhotep III, Ramesses II. This one has no name. Only a faint, nearly invisible line of hieroglyphs on the base, too damaged to read fully. The readable fragments include nsw (king) and jt (father), but no royal name. Some scholars have proposed the Middle Kingdom (c. 1900 BCE) based on stylistic parallels; others argue for the Late Period (c. 600 BCE) due to the archaizing features. How did a small Egyptian sphinx end up in Stockholm? The story begins not in Egypt, but in Italy — specifically, in the villa of a Swedish consul in Naples during the 1820s. At that time, Naples was a hub for antiquities dealers feeding the Grand Tour appetite of Northern European aristocrats. Egyptian artifacts, many excavated illegally from the Fayum or Memphis, passed through Naples on their way to Paris, London, and Copenhagen.
Modern imaging in 2015 using reflectance transformation photography (RTF) revealed ghostly traces of the original cartouche. The signs appear to read: Maat-ka-re — the throne name of Hatshepsut (1479–1458 BCE). If confirmed, the Faraonsfinge would be one of the few surviving three-dimensional portraits of Hatshepsut as a sphinx. Only a handful exist: the famous red granite sphinx at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and a broken quartzite example in Cairo. This Stockholm sphinx, granodiorite and palm-sized, would be the third. To speak of Faraonsfinge is to speak of
What makes this sphinx distinct is not its size but its material: granodiorite , a stone harder than the limestone of Giza, sourced from the quarries of Aswan. This choice was deliberate. In ancient Egypt, granodiorite was reserved for statues meant to last for eternity — for gods, kings, and temple guardians. The Faraonsfinge was never a monument for the public square. It was a private, potent object, perhaps placed in a temple treasury or a royal tomb’s antechamber.
Unknown — but not silent. Stand there long enough, and you might hear it: not a voice, but a presence. The weight of four thousand years pressing into the palm of your imagination. The riddle, still unsolved. End of write-up. At first glance, the Faraonsfinge is unassuming
The Faraonsfinge was purchased in 1827 by Count Gustaf Fredrik von Rosen, a Swedish diplomat and amateur Egyptologist. Von Rosen kept a Wunderkammer — a cabinet of curiosities — at his manor in Östergötland. The sphinx sat among Etruscan urns, Roman glass, and fossilized sea lilies. Von Rosen called it ”Egyptiska lejonet med människohuvud” — the Egyptian lion with the human head. But later, his younger brother, a poet, gave it the more evocative name Faraonsfinge , which stuck.