Why New York Has A 3,000-Year-Old Egyptian Obelisk

Did you know that Manhattan is home to an ancient Egyptian obelisk? That's right, yet many people have no idea that rising subtly inside Central Park is Cleopatra's Needle, carved more than 3,000 years ago, long before New York City ever existed. In fact, this monument was carved long before Cleopatra herself was ever born. This 70-foot stone story is anything but usual, as it once stood beneath the Egyptian sun, was later taken to the Mediterranean where it was overlooked, before ultimately crossing the Atlantic to reach the center of an American city. But the mystery doesn't end there, as London also hosts a nearly identical obelisk made for the same pharaoh and from the same quarry. So what's going on here? Why do both New York and London have ancient Egyptian obelisks, and why are they named after a queen who had nothing to do with their creation? Well, the answer to those questions might shock you, so stay tuned to find out as we uncover the story of the separated Cleopatra Needles. I'm your host Ryan Socash, and you're watching It's History. We begin our story over 3,000 years ago, around 1475 BCE, when Egypt was already an established and highly organized civilization. For context, art forms such as writing or monumental stonework were deeply intertwined with state and religion, with one general concept found on both sides of that equation, the expression of power and permanence. Hence, at the ancient city of Heliopolis near the Temple of the Sun, ruler Thutmose III commissioned a pair of towering obelisks carved from red granite quarried from the south. These monuments were raised by skilled laborers working under his direction and were designed to catch the sunlight so that they may symbolically connect the pharaoh with the gods. Though obelisks were not objects of worship themselves, they were rather a form of public declarations, which is why the surfaces of the obelisks were covered in holographics praising the ruler as the victorious and favored son of the god Ra. Then, decades later, another powerful pharaoh, Ramesses II, added his own inscriptions to their sites, which was a common practice in ancient Egypt. For this way, rather than erasing the past, later rulers layered their own achievements onto existing monuments, turning the obelisks into a historical record of sorts. And if we zoom out to a generational view, this made sense since each additional achievement reinforced continuity, new power built directly on the legacy of the old. With that in mind, by the first century BCE, Egypt had fallen under Roman influence and the obelisks' role began to change. For example, during the reign of Cleopatra VII, they were still standing, already ancient relics in her own time. But then, after her defeat and death, Egypt was absorbed into the wider Roman Empire under Caesar. And as it turns out, Roman engineers were fascinated by Egyptian monuments to the point that they were actually eager to In short, they ordered the obelisks moved to Alexandria, where they were re-erected near the city's harbor. And so, long before they were associated with Cleopatra's name, the obelisks had already lived several lifetimes. Egyptian symbols turned to Roman trophies, standing watch as empires changed around them. By the 19th century, the obelisks had been standing in Alexandria for nearly 2,000 years, long after the Roman Empire itself had vanished. Plus, at this point, Egypt itself was no longer ruled by pharaohs or emperors, but by the Ottomans, backed by a monarchy struggling under massive debt. And while Britain exerted growing financial influence over the region, it had not yet formally taken control of the country. Still, Egypt's eager to strengthen ties with Western powers, and ancient monuments had become a type of diplomatic currency. To the point that, in the 1870s, Egypt's government actually offered the Alexandrian obelisks to other countries as gestures of goodwill. And of course, the two countries I have in mind here were the US and the UK. Now, the stone itself was free, but the real challenge was moving it. Even so, the US accepted this gracious gesture, and began making arrangements for logistics, which would be no easy task. The burden fell to a private benefactor, William Henry Vanderbilt, who agreed to finance the operation at a cost exceeding $100,000. And it should be noted that Vanderbilt didn't act out of charity alone. Actually, he believed that the and serve as a symbol of the city's growing importance on a world stage. Removing the obelisk was an engineering feat in its own right. Weighing nearly 200 tons, it was carefully lowered from a pedestal using a complex system of timber frameworks, iron supports, and buoys. Then, once horizontal, it was transferred onto a specially modified steamship, packed inside the vessel's rather than placed on the deck above. From there, the journey across the Atlantic was slow, but deliberate. Remember, the crew had real ancient treasure on board. Then, when the obelisk reached New York Harbor, it still had one final obstacle to overcome. It needed to cross the land. From the Hudson River, the stone was moved across the city on a type of temporary railway system built specifically for the task. It inched its way through Manhattan's streets and into Central Park, where it was raised upright once again in the year of 1881, and this was done using hydraulic jacks and scaffolding. Since then, it's been standing behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and it's kind of a funny contrast, as this monument is older than the city that grew up around it. So with that being said, what about its twin over in England? Well, London's obelisk followed a far more dangerous path. Although Britain had been granted its diplomatic gift decades earlier, the cost of transportation delayed its removal until the 1870s. At that point, engineers designed a cigar-shaped iron vessel to carry the stone, which was a bold and experimental solution powered by steam. Then, when the ship set sail in 1877, it encountered a violent storm. In fact, the storm was so bad that several crew members were lost, and the vessel was nearly abandoned at sea. Fortunately, however, it arrived months later, battered but intact, and ultimately was erected along the Thames on the Victoria Embankment. And so it was. Two ancient stones, carved for a sun god, had now crossed oceans as gifts. So that part we understand, but we still have to investigate why everyone calls them the separated Cleopatra nymphs. By the late 19th century, Cleopatra VII had become one of the most recognizable figures of ancient Egypt in the Western imagination. This perception was shaped by Roman writers, Renaissance drama, and the Victorian fascination with the ancient world. And I need to emphasize that her fame was so powerful that monuments already over a thousand years old were casually linked to her name. And not to oversimplify here, but for the most part, that's how the obelisks came to be known as Cleopatra's Needle. There's really no academic way to say this. The association was cultural, and the name stuck, meaning history took a backseat to mythology. However, in Manhattan, the obelisk became more than just a relic. From the moment it was raised in Central Park, it became a landmark that people gathered around, sometimes deliberately, and sometimes by accident. This artifact stood through concerts, protests, and crowded summers, absorbing the rhythm of American city life in ways that the builder of this monument would have never imagined. Even so, today it's easy to pass by without noticing, yet it remains one of the oldest objects in the city, standing among joggers, tourists, and trees. Finally, we need to mention that over the decades, there have actually been periodic calls to return the obelisks to Egypt. As I'm sure many of you have noticed, this was part of a broader conversation about cultural heritage, though these discussions never led to formal negotiations, in part because the monument was presented as a diplomatic gift in the 19th century, and as far as we know, across most cultures at least, it's impolite to return a gift. The formal ownership rests with the City of New York, while stewardship and preservation are handled by the Central Park Conservancy, whose task is less about display, more about the monument's survival. Which brings us to the irony that it wasn't time in the desert to pose the greatest threat to the stone, rather it was time in a modern city. Things like air pollution, acid rain, and freeze-thaw cycles have slowly worn away the granite, softening the edges and damaging some of the writing. What's more, traces of biological growth now cling to the surface, and details that were once sharply cut have actually begun to fade. Preserving an outdoor monument built for a very different environment has become an ongoing challenge, a challenge that requires constant monitoring and restoration, and fortunately measures have been taken. At the base of the obelisk sits four bronze crabs. Added in the 19th century, they stabilize weak points in the stone and echo ancient Roman engineering methods used to support obelisks during erection. Nearby, a plaque offers a translation of the inscription above, words carved by the royal order more than 3,000 years ago, and they're still legible to those who stop and look closely. And it's those inscriptions, perhaps more than anything else, that is part of the obelisk's lasting value, especially since Egyptian hieroglyphics are among the earliest written systems in human history. And in this case, they tell the story of We'll leave it there for today, but I thank you all for watching, and as always, this is Ryan Sopash, signing off.