Did you also know her cousin Stele?
There was a time when visitors to the British Museum were “permitted” to touch the stone.
It was surrounded by reds velour ropes on stanchions that really did nothing to protect it. But after all, it’s a volcanic rock that scores a 6 on Moh’s scale of hardness, same as feldspar but not so hard as quartz, so you could rub on it with a bare hand from now until the sun goes supernova and not leave a mark.
There was nothing physically preventing you touching it but there was uniformed museum guard/matron who stood in the background to keep a lid on things. Whenever someone touched the stone — which happened every few minutes — she would discretely walk up behind them and whisper, “Please don’t touch the stone,” with no further reprisal.
It reminded me of that scene in the movie Zulu when Colour Sergeant Bourne says (in a very paternal tone), “Mr. Witt, sir? Be quiet now, will you? There’s a good gentleman.”
It was as if you had permission to touch the stone, but only once.
How veddy British.
In that same period you also could touch the Stone of Scone ... if no one was watching. It was in the seat of the coronation throne, on the high altar in Westminster Abbey. And if you went in during the tourist off-season, chances were good you could find a moment when there was no one else in the room and cop a feel. For that matter you could even sit on the throne.
But the English gave the Stone (which Edward the Long Shanks had captured in 1296 as spoils of war) back to the Scots in 1996. Now it’s imprisoned in a plexiglass case in Edinburgh Castle.
And the plexiglass monster also devoured the Rosetta Stone in 2004.