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diff --git a/3407-0.txt b/3407-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7cfbdff --- /dev/null +++ b/3407-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3781 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spell of Egypt, by Robert Hichens + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Spell of Egypt + +Author: Robert Hichens + +Release Date: April 6, 2006 [EBook #3407] +Last Updated: September 24, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPELL OF EGYPT *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + + + + + +THE SPELL OF EGYPT + +by Robert Hichens + + + PREPARER’S NOTE + + This text was prepared from a 1911 edition, published by The + Century Co., New York. + + + +CONTENTS + + THE PYRAMIDS + THE SPHINX + SAKKARA + ABYDOS + THE NILE + DENDERAH + KARNAK + LUXOR + COLOSSI OF MEMNON + MEDINET-ABU + THE RAMESSEUM + DEIR-EL-BAHARI + THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS + EDFU + KOM OMBOS + PHILAE + “PHARAOH’S BED” + OLD CAIRO + + + + + +I + +THE PYRAMIDS + +Why do you come to Egypt? Do you come to gain a dream, or to regain lost +dreams of old; to gild your life with the drowsy gold of romance, +to lose a creeping sorrow, to forget that too many of your hours are +sullen, grey, bereft? What do you wish of Egypt? + +The Sphinx will not ask you, will not care. The Pyramids, lifting their +unnumbered stones to the clear and wonderful skies, have held, still +hold, their secrets; but they do not seek for yours. The terrific +temples, the hot, mysterious tombs, odorous of the dead desires of men, +crouching in and under the immeasurable sands, will muck you with their +brooding silence, with their dim and sombre repose. The brown children +of the Nile, the toilers who sing their antique songs by the shadoof and +the sakieh, the dragomans, the smiling goblin merchants, the Bedouins +who lead your camel into the pale recesses of the dunes--these will not +trouble themselves about your deep desires, your perhaps yearning hunger +of the heart and the imagination. + +Yet Egypt is not unresponsive. + +I came back to her with dread, after fourteen years of absence--years +filled for me with the rumors of her changes. And on the very day of my +arrival she calmly reassured me. She told me in her supremely magical +way that all was well with her. She taught me once more a lesson I had +not quite forgotten, but that I was glad to learn again--the lesson that +Egypt owes her most subtle, most inner beauty to Kheper, although she +owes her marvels to men; that when he created the sun which shines upon +her, he gave her the lustre of her life, and that those who come to her +must be sun-worshippers if they would truly and intimately understand +the treasure or romance that lies heaped within her bosom. + +Thoth, says the old legend, travelled in the Boat of the Sun. If you +would love Egypt rightly, you, too, must be a traveller in that bark. +You must not fear to steep yourself in the mystery of gold, in the +mystery of heat, in the mystery of silence that seems softly showered +out of the sun. The sacred white lotus must be your emblem, and Horus, +the hawk-headed, merged in Ra, your special deity. Scarcely had I set +foot once more in Egypt before Thoth lifted me into the Boat of the sun +and soothed my fears to sleep. + +I arrived in Cairo. I saw new and vast hotels; I saw crowded streets; +brilliant shops; English officials driving importantly in victorias, +surely to pay dreadful calls of ceremony; women in gigantic hats, with +Niagaras of veil, waving white gloves as they talked of--I guess--the +latest Cairene scandal. I perceived on the right hand and on the left +waiters created in Switzerland, hall porters made in Germany, Levantine +touts, determined Jews holding false antiquities in their lean fingers, +an English Baptist minister, in a white helmet, drinking chocolate on a +terrace, with a guide-book in one fist, a ticket to visit monuments +in the other. I heard Scottish soldiers playing, “I’ll be in Scotland +before ye!” and something within me, a lurking hope, I suppose, seemed +to founder and collapse--but only for a moment. It was after four in the +afternoon. Soon day would be declining. And I seemed to remember that +the decline of day in Egypt had moved me long ago--moved me as few, rare +things have ever done. Within half an hour I was alone, far up the +long road--Ismail’s road--that leads from the suburbs of Cairo to the +Pyramids. And then Egypt took me like a child by the hand and reassured +me. + +It was the first week of November, high Nile had not subsided, and all +the land here, between the river and the sand where the Sphinx keeps +watch, was hidden beneath the vast and tranquil waters of what seemed a +tideless sea--a sea fringed with dense masses of date-palms, girdled in +the far distance by palm-trees that kept the white and the brown houses +in their feathery embrace. Above these isolated houses pigeons circled. +In the distance the lateen sails of boats glided, sometimes behind the +palms, coming into view, vanishing and mysteriously reappearing among +their narrow trunks. Here and there a living thing moved slowly, wading +homeward through this sea: a camel from the sands of Ghizeh, a buffalo, +two donkeys, followed by boys who held with brown hands their dark blue +skirts near their faces, a Bedouin leaning forward upon the neck of his +quickly stepping horse. At one moment I seemed to look upon the lagoons +of Venice, a watery vision full of a glassy calm. Then the palm-trees in +the water, and growing to its edge, the pale sands that, far as the +eyes could see, from Ghizeh to Sakkara and beyond, fringed it toward +the west, made me think of the Pacific, of palmy islands, of a paradise +where men grow drowsy in well-being, and dream away the years. And +then I looked farther, beyond the pallid line of the sands, and I saw +a Pyramid of gold, the wonder Khufu had built. As a golden wonder it +saluted me after all my years of absence. Later I was to see it grey as +grey sands, sulphur color in the afternoon from very near at hand, black +as a monument draped in funereal velvet for a mourning under the stars +at night, white as a monstrous marble tomb soon after dawn from the +sand-dunes between it and Sakkara. But as a golden thing it greeted me, +as a golden miracle I shall remember it. + +Slowly the sun went down. The second Pyramid seemed also made of gold. +Drowsily splendid it and its greater brother looked set on the golden +sands beneath the golden sky. And now the gold came traveling down from +the desert to the water, turning it surely to a wine like the wine of +gold that flowed down Midas’s throat; then, as the magic grew, to a +Pactolus, and at last to a great surface that resembled golden ice, +hard, glittering, unbroken by any ruffling wave. The islands rising from +this golden ice were jet black, the houses black, the palms and their +shadows that fell upon the marvel black. Black were the birds that flew +low from roof to roof, black the wading camels, black the meeting leaves +of the tall lebbek-trees that formed a tunnel from where I stood to Mena +House. And presently a huge black Pyramid lay supine on the gold, and +near it a shadowy brother seemed more humble than it, but scarcely less +mysterious. The gold deepened, glowed more fiercely. In the sky above +the Pyramids hung tiny cloud wreaths of rose red, delicate and airy as +the gossamers of Tunis. As I turned, far off in Cairo I saw the first +lights glittering across the fields of doura, silvery white, like +diamonds. But the silver did not call me. My imagination was held +captive by the gold. I was summoned by the gold, and I went on, under +the black lebbek-trees, on Ismail’s road, toward it. And I dwelt in it +many days. + +The wonders of Egypt man has made seem to increase in stature before the +spirits’ eyes as man learns to know them better, to tower up ever higher +till the imagination is almost stricken by their looming greatness. +Climb the great Pyramid, spend a day with Abou on its summit, come down, +penetrate into its recesses, stand in the king’s chamber, listen to the +silence there, feel it with your hands--is it not tangible in this hot +fastness of incorruptible death?--creep, like the surreptitious midget +you feel yourself to be, up those long and steep inclines of polished +stone, watching the gloomy darkness of the narrow walls, the far-off +pinpoint of light borne by the Bedouin who guides you, hear the twitter +of the bats that have their dwelling in this monstrous gloom that man +has made to shelter the thing whose ambition could never be embalmed, +though that, of all qualities, should have been given here, in the land +it dowered, a life perpetual. Now you know the Great Pyramid. You know +that you can climb it, that you can enter it. You have seen it from all +sides, under all aspects. It is familiar to you. + +No, it can never be that. With its more wonderful comrade, the Sphinx, +it has the power peculiar, so it seems to me, to certain of the rock and +stone monuments of Egypt, of holding itself ever aloof, almost like the +soul of man which can retreat at will, like the Bedouin retreating from +you into the blackness of the Pyramid, far up, or far down, where the +pursuing stranger, unaided, cannot follow. + + + + +II + +THE SPHINX + +One day at sunset I saw a bird trying to play with the Sphinx--a bird +like a swallow, but with a ruddy brown on its breast, a gleam of blue +somewhere on its wings. When I came to the edge of the sand basin where +perhaps Khufu saw it lying nearly four thousand years before the birth +of Christ, the Sphinx and the bird were quite alone. The bird flew near +the Sphinx, whimsically turning this way and that, flying now low, now +high, but ever returning to the magnet which drew it, which held it, +from which it surely longed to extract some sign of recognition. It +twittered, it posed itself in the golden air, with its bright eyes +fixed upon those eyes of stone which gazed beyond it, beyond the land of +Egypt, beyond the world of men, beyond the centre of the sun to the last +verges of eternity. And presently it alighted on the head of the Sphinx, +then on its ear, then on its breast; and over the breast it tripped +jerkily, with tiny, elastic steps, looking upward, its whole body +quivering apparently with a desire for comprehension--a desire for some +manifestation of friendship. Then suddenly it spread its wings, and, +straight as an arrow, it flew away over the sands and the waters toward +the doura-fields and Cairo. + +And the sunset waned, and the afterglow flamed and faded, and the clear, +soft African night fell. The pilgrims who day by day visit the Sphinx, +like the bird, had gone back to Cairo. They had come, as the bird +had come; as those who have conquered Egypt came; as the Greeks came, +Alexander of Macedon, and the Ptolemies; as the Romans came; as the +Mamelukes, the Turks, the French, the English came. + +They had come--and gone. + +And that enormous face, with the stains of stormy red still adhering +to its cheeks, grew dark as the darkness closed in, turned brown as a +fellah’s face, as the face of that fellah who whispered his secret in +the sphinx’s ear, but learnt no secret in return; turned black almost +as a Nubian’s face. The night accentuated its appearance of terrible +repose, of super-human indifference to whatever might befall. In the +night I seemed to hear the footsteps of the dead--of all the dead +warriors and the steeds they rode, defiling over the sand before the +unconquerable thing they perhaps thought that they had conquered. At +last the footsteps died away. There was a silence. Then, coming down +from the Great Pyramid, surely I heard the light patter of a donkey’s +feet. They went to the Sphinx and ceased. The silence was profound. +And I remembered the legend that Mary, Joseph, and the Holy Child once +halted here on their long journey, and that Mary laid the tired Christ +between the paws of the Sphinx to sleep. Yet even of the Christ the soul +within that body could take no heed at all. + +It is, I think, one of the most astounding facts in the history of +man that a man was able to contain within his mind, to conceive, the +conception of the Sphinx. That he could carry it out in the stone is +amazing. But how much more amazing it is that before there was the +Sphinx he was able to see it with his imagination! One may criticize the +Sphinx. One may say impertinent things that are true about it: that +seen from behind at a distance its head looks like an enormous mushroom +growing in the sand, that its cheeks are swelled inordinately, that +its thick-lipped mouth is legal, that from certain places it bears a +resemblance to a prize bull-dog. All this does not matter at all. What +does matter is that into the conception and execution of the Sphinx has +been poured a supreme imaginative power. He who created it looked beyond +Egypt, beyond the life of man. He grasped the conception of Eternity, +and realized the nothingness of Time, and he rendered it in stone. + +I can imagine the most determined atheist looking at the Sphinx and, in +a flash, not merely believing, but feeling that he had before him proof +of the life of the soul beyond the grave, of the life of the soul of +Khufu beyond the tomb of his Pyramid. Always as you return to the Sphinx +you wonder at it more, you adore more strangely its repose, you steep +yourself more intimately in the aloof peace that seems to emanate from +it as light emanates from the sun. And as you look on it at last perhaps +you understand the infinite; you understand where is the bourne to which +the finite flows with all its greatness, as the great Nile flows from +beyond Victoria Nyanza to the sea. + +And as the wonder of the Sphinx takes possession of you gradually, so +gradually do you learn to feel the majesty of the Pyramids of Ghizeh. +Unlike the Step Pyramid of Sakkara, which, even when one is near it, +looks like a small mountain, part of the land on which it rests, the +Pyramids of Ghizeh look what they are--artificial excrescences, invented +and carried out by man, expressions of man’s greatness. Exquisite as +they are as features of the drowsy golden landscape at the setting of +the sun, I think they look most wonderful at night, when they are black +beneath the stars. On many nights I have sat in the sand at a distance +and looked at them, and always, and increasingly, they have stirred +my imagination. Their profound calm, their classical simplicity, are +greatly emphasized when no detail can be seen, when they are but black +shapes towering to the stars. They seem to aspire then like prayers +prayed by one who has said, “God does not need any prayers, but I need +them.” In their simplicity they suggest a crowd of thoughts and of +desires. Guy de Maupassant has said that of all the arts architecture is +perhaps the most aesthetic, the most mysterious, and the most nourished +by ideas. How true this is you feel as you look at the Great Pyramid by +night. It seems to breathe out mystery. The immense base recalls to you +the labyrinth within; the long descent from the tiny slit that gives you +entrance, your uncertain steps in its hot, eternal night, your falls +on the ice-like surfaces of its polished blocks of stone, the crushing +weight that seemed to lie on your heart as you stole uncertainly on, +summoned almost as by the desert; your sensation of being for ever +imprisoned, taken and hidden by a monster from Egypt’s wonderful light, +as you stood in the central chamber, and realized the stone ocean into +whose depths, like some intrepid diver, you had dared deliberately to +come. And then your eyes travel up the slowly shrinking walls till they +reach the dark point which is the top. There you stood with Abou, who +spends half his life on the highest stone, hostages of the sun, bathed +in light and air that perhaps came to you from the Gold Coast. And +you saw men and camels like flies, and Cairo like a grey blur, and the +Mokattam hills almost as a higher ridge of the sands. The mosque of +Mohammed Ali was like a cup turned over. Far below slept the dead in +that graveyard of the Sphinx, with its pale stones, its sand, its palm, +its “Sycamores of the South,” once worshipped and regarded as Hathor’s +living body. And beyond them on one side were the sleeping waters, with +islands small, surely, as delicate Egyptian hands, and on the other the +great desert that stretches, so the Bedouins say, on and on “for a march +of a thousand days.” + +That base and that summit--what suggestion and what mystery in their +contrast! What sober, eternal beauty in the dark line which unites them, +now sharply, yet softly, defined against the night, which is purple as +the one garment of the fellah! That line leads the soul irresistibly +from earth to the stars. + + + + +III + +SAKKARA + +It was the “Little Christmas” of the Egyptians as I rode to Sakkara, +after seeing a wonderful feat, the ascent and descent of the second +Pyramid in nineteen minutes by a young Bedouin called Mohammed Ali who +very seriously informed me that the only Roumi who had ever reached the +top was an “American gentlemens” called Mark Twain, on his first visit +to Egypt. On his second visit, Ali said, Mr. Twain had a bad foot, and +declared he could not be bothered with the second Pyramid. He had been +up and down without a guide; he had disturbed the jackal which lives +near its summit, and which I saw running in the sunshine as Ali drew +near its lair, and he was satisfied to rest on his immortal laurels. To +the Bedouins of the Pyramids Mark Twain’s world-wide celebrity is owing +to one fact alone: he is the only Roumi who has climbed the second +Pyramid. That is why his name is known to every one. + +It was the “Little Christmas,” and from the villages in the plain the +Egyptians came pouring out to visit their dead in the desert cemeteries +as I passed by to visit the dead in the tombs far off on the horizon. +Women, swathed in black, gathered in groups and jumped monotonously up +and down, to the accompaniment of stained hands clapping, and strange +and weary songs. Tiny children blew furiously into tin trumpets, +emitting sounds that were terribly European. Men strode seriously by, +or stood in knots among the graves, talking vivaciously of the things of +this life. As the sun rose higher in the heavens, this visit to the dead +became a carnival of the living. Laughter and shrill cries of merriment +betokened the resignation of the mourners. The sand-dunes were black +with running figures, racing, leaping, chasing one another, rolling over +and over in the warm and golden grains. Some sat among the graves and +ate. Some sang. Some danced. I saw no one praying, after the sun was up. +The Great Pyramid of Ghizeh was transformed in this morning hour, and +gleamed like a marble mountain, or like the hill covered with salt at +El-Outaya, in Algeria. As we went on it sank down into the sands, until +at last I could see only a small section with its top, which looked +almost as pointed as a gigantic needle. Abou was there on the hot stones +in the golden eye of the sun--Abou who lives to respect his Pyramid, and +to serve Turkish coffee to those who are determined enough to climb +it. Before me the Step Pyramid rose, brown almost as bronze, out of the +sands here desolate and pallid. Soon I was in the house of Marriette, +between the little sphinxes. + +Near Cairo, although the desert is real desert, it does not give, to +me, at any rate, the immense impression of naked sterility, of almost +brassy, sun-baked fierceness, which often strikes one in the Sahara to +the south of Algeria, where at midday one sometimes has a feeling of +being lost upon a waste of metal, gleaming, angry, tigerish in color. +Here, in Egypt, both the people and the desert seem gentler, safer, more +amiable. Yet these tombs of Sakkara are hidden in a desolation of the +sands, peculiarly blanched and mournful; and as you wander from tomb to +tomb, descending and ascending, stealing through great galleries beneath +the sands, creeping through tubes of stone, crouching almost on hands +and knees in the sultry chambers of the dead, the awfulness of the +passing away of dynasties and of race comes, like a cloud, upon your +spirit. But this cloud lifts and floats from you in the cheerful tomb of +Thi, that royal councillor, that scribe and confidant, whose life must +have been passed in a round of serene activities, amid a sneering, +though doubtless admiring, population. + +Into this tomb of white, vivacious figures, gay almost, though never +wholly frivolous--for these men were full of purpose, full of an ardor +that seduces even where it seems grotesque--I took with me a child of +ten called Ali, from the village of Kafiah; and as I looked from him +to the walls around us, rather than the passing away of the races, +I realized the persistence of type. For everywhere I saw the face of +little Ali, with every feature exactly reproduced. Here he was bending +over a sacrifice, leading a sacred bull, feeding geese from a cup, +roasting a chicken, pulling a boat, carpentering, polishing, conducting +a monkey for a walk, or merely sitting bolt upright and sneering. There +were lines of little Alis with their hands held to their breasts, their +faces in profile, their knees rigid, in the happy tomb of Thi; but he +glanced at them unheeding, did not recognize his ancestors. And he did +not care to penetrate into the tombs of Mera and Meri-Ra-ankh, into +the Serapeum and the Mestaba of Ptah-hotep. Perhaps he was right. The +Serapeum is grand in its vastness, with its long and high galleries and +its mighty vaults containing the huge granite sarcophagi of the sacred +bulls of Apis; Mera, red and white, welcomes you from an elevated niche +benignly; Ptah-hotep, priest of the fifth dynasty, receives you, seated +at a table that resembles a rake with long, yellow teeth standing on its +handle, and drinking stiffly a cup of wine. You see upon the wall near +by, with sympathy, a patient being plied by a naked and evidently an +unyielding physician with medicine from a jar that might have been +visited by Morgiana, a musician playing upon an instrument like a huge +and stringless harp. But it is the happy tomb of Thi that lingers +in your memory. In that tomb one sees proclaimed with a marvellous +ingenuity and expressiveness the joy and the activity of life. Thi must +have loved life; loved prayer and sacrifice, loved sport and war, loved +feasting and gaiety, labor of the hands and of the head, loved the arts, +the music of flute and harp, singing by the lingering and plaintive +voices which seem to express the essence of the east, loved sweet odors, +loved sweet women--do we not see him sitting to receive offerings with +his wife beside him?--loved the clear nights and the radiant days that +in Egypt make glad the heart of man. He must have loved the splendid +gift of life, and used it completely. And so little Ali had very right +to make his sole obeisance at Thi’s delicious tomb, from which death +itself seems banished by the soft and embracing radiance of the almost +living walls. + +This delicate cheerfulness, a quite airy gaiety of life, is often +combined in Egypt, and most beautifully and happily combined, with +tremendous solidity, heavy impressiveness, a hugeness that is well-nigh +tragic; and it supplies a relief to eye, to mind, to soul, that is sweet +and refreshing as the trickle of a tarantella from a reed flute +heard under the shadows of a temple of Hercules. Life showers us with +contrasts. Art, which gives to us a second and a more withdrawn life, +opening to us a door through which we pass to our dreams, may well +imitate life in this. + + + + +IV + +ABYDOS + +Through a long and golden noontide, and on into an afternoon whose +opulence of warmth and light it seemed could never wane, I sat alone, +or wandered gently quite alone, in the Temple of Seti I. at Abydos. Here +again I was in a place of the dead. In Egypt one ever seeks the dead in +the sunshine, black vaults in the land of the gold. But here in Abydos I +was accompanied by whiteness. The general effect of Seti’s mighty temple +is that it is a white temple when seen in full sunshine and beneath +a sky of blinding blue. In an arid place it stands, just beyond an +Egyptian village that is a maze of dust, of children, of animals, and +flies. The last blind houses of the village, brown as brown paper, +confront it on a mound, and as I came toward it a girl-child swathed +in purple with ear-rings, and a twist of orange handkerchief above her +eyes, full of cloud and fire, leaned from a roof, sinuously as a young +snake, to watch me. On each side, descending, were white, ruined walls, +stretched out like defaced white arms of the temple to receive me. +I stood still for a moment and looked at the narrow, severely simple +doorway, at the twelve broken columns advanced on either side, white and +greyish white with their right angles, their once painted figures now +almost wholly colorless. + +Here lay the Osirians, those blessed dead of the land of Egypt, who +worshipped the Judge of the Dead, the Lord of the Underworld, and who +hoped for immortality through him--Osiris, husband of Isis, Osiris, +receiver of prayers. Osiris the sun who will not be conquered by night, +but eternally rises again, and so is the symbol of the resurrection +of the soul. It is said that Set, the power of Evil, tore the body of +Osiris into fourteen fragments and scattered them over the land. But +multitudes of worshippers of Osiris believed him buried near Abydos and, +like those who loved the sweet songs of Hafiz, they desired to be buried +near him whom they adored; and so this place became a place of the dead, +a place of many prayers, a white place of many longings. + +I was glad to be alone there. The guardian left me in perfect peace. I +happily forgot him. I sat down in the shadow of a column upon its mighty +projecting base. The sky was blinding blue. Great bees hummed, like +bourdons, through the silence, deepening the almost heavy calm. These +columns, architraves, doorways, how mighty, how grandly strong they +were! And yet soon I began to be aware that even here, where surely one +should read only the Book of the Dead, or bend down to the hot ground +to listen if perchance one might hear the dead themselves murmuring over +the chapters of Beatification far down in their hidden tombs, there was +a likeness, a gentle gaiety of life, as in the tomb of Thi. The effect +of solidity was immense. These columns bulged, almost like great fruits +swollen out by their heady strength of blood. They towered up in crowds. +The heavy roof, broken in places most mercifully to show squares and +oblongs of that perfect, calling blue, was like a frowning brow. And yet +I was with grace, with gentleness, with lightness, because in the place +of the dead I was again with the happy, living walls. Above me, on the +roof, there was a gleam of palest blue, like the blue I have sometimes +seen at morning on the Ionian sea just where it meets the shore. The +double rows of gigantic columns stretched away, tall almost as forest +trees, to right of me and to left, and were shut in by massive walls, +strong as the walls of a fortress. And on these columns, and on these +walls, dead painters and gravers had breathed the sweet breath of life. +Here in the sun, for me alone, as it seemed, a population followed their +occupations. Men walked, and kneeled, and stood, some white and clothed, +some nude, some red as the red man’s child that leaped beyond the +sea. And here was the lotus-flower held in reverent hands, not the +rose-lotus, but the blossom that typified the rising again of the sun, +and that, worn as an amulet, signified the gift of eternal youth. And +here was hawk-faced Horus, and here a priest offering sacrifice to a +god, belief in whom has long since passed away. A king revealed himself +to me, adoring Ptah, “Father of the beginnings,” who established upon +earth, my figures thought, the everlasting justice, and again at the +knees of Amen burning incense in his honor. Isis and Osiris stood +together, and sacrifice was made before their sacred bark. And Seti +worshipped them, and Seshta, goddess of learning, wrote in the book of +eternity the name of the king. + +The great bees hummed, moving slowly in the golden air among the mighty +columns, passing slowly among these records of lives long over, but +which seemed still to be. And I looked at the lotus-flowers which the +little grotesque hands were holding, had been holding for how many +years--the flowers that typified the rising again of the sun and the +divine gift of eternal youth. And I thought of the bird and the Sphinx, +the thing that was whimsical wooing the thing that was mighty. And I +gazed at the immense columns and at the light and little figures all +about me. Bird and Sphinx, delicate whimsicality, calm and terrific +power! In Egypt the dead men have combined them, and the combination has +an irresistible fascination, weaves a spell that entrances you in the +sunshine and beneath the blinding blue. At Abydos I knew it. And I loved +the columns that seemed blown out with exuberant strength, and I loved +the delicate white walls that, like the lotus-flower, give to the world +a youth that seems eternal--a youth that is never frivolous, but that is +full of the divine, and yet pathetic, animation of happy life. + +The great bees hummed more drowsily. I sat quite still in the sun. And +then presently, moved by some prompting instinct, I turned my head, and, +far off, through the narrow portal of the temple, I saw the girl-child +swathed in purple still lying, sinuously as a young snake, upon the +palm-wood roof above the brown earth wall to watch me with her eyes of +cloud and fire. + +And upon me, like cloud and fire--cloud of the tombs and the great +temple columns, fire of the brilliant life painted and engraved upon +them--there stole the spell of Egypt. + + + + +V + +THE NILE + +I do not find in Egypt any more the strangeness that once amazed, and +at first almost bewildered me. Stranger by far is Morocco, stranger +the country beyond Biskra, near Mogar, round Touggourt, even about El +Kantara. There I feel very far away, as a child feels distance from +dear, familiar things. I look to the horizon expectant of I know not +what magical occurrences, what mysteries. I am aware of the summons to +advance to marvellous lands, where marvellous things must happen. I am +taken by that sensation of almost trembling magic which came to me +when first I saw a mirage far out in the Sahara. But Egypt, though +it contains so many marvels, has no longer for me the marvellous +atmosphere. Its keynote is seductiveness. + +In Egypt one feels very safe. Smiling policemen in clothes of spotless +white--emblematic, surely, of their innocence!--seem to be everywhere, +standing calmly in the sun. Very gentle, very tender, although perhaps +not very true, are the Bedouins at the Pyramids. Up the Nile the +fellaheen smile as kindly as the policemen, smile protectingly upon +you, as if they would say, “Allah has placed us here to take care of the +confiding stranger.” No ferocious demands for money fall upon my ears; +only an occasional suggestion is subtly conveyed to me that even the +poor must live and that I am immensely rich. An amiable, an almost +enticing seductiveness seems emanating from the fertile soil, shining +in the golden air, gleaming softly in the amber sands, dimpling in the +brown, the mauve, the silver eddies of the Nile. It steals upon one. It +ripples over one. It laps one as if with warm and scented waves. A sort +of lustrous languor overtakes one. In physical well-being one sinks +down, and with wide eyes one gazes and listens and enjoys, and thinks +not of the morrow. + +The dahabiyeh--her very name, the _Loulia_, has a gentle, seductive, +cooing sound--drifts broadside to the current with furled sails, or +glides smoothly on before an amiable north wind with sails unfurled. +Upon the bloomy banks, rich brown in color, the brown men stoop and +straighten themselves, and stoop again, and sing. The sun gleams on +their copper skins, which look polished and metallic. Crouched in his +net behind the drowsy oxen, the little boy circles the livelong day with +the sakieh. And the sakieh raises its wailing, wayward voice and sings +to the shadoof; and the shadoof sings to the sakieh; and the lifted +water falls and flows away into the green wilderness of doura that, like +a miniature forest, spreads on every hand to the low mountains, which do +not perturb the spirit, as do the iron mountains of Algeria. And always +the sun is shining, and the body is drinking in its warmth, and the soul +is drinking in its gold. And always the ears are full of warm and drowsy +and monotonous music. And always the eyes see the lines of brown bodies, +on the brown river-banks above the brown waters, bending, straightening, +bending, straightening, with an exquisitely precise monotony. And always +the _Loulia_ seems to be drifting, so quietly she slips up, or down, the +level waterway. + +And one drifts, too; one can but drift, happily, sleepily, forgetting +every care. From Abydos to Denderah one drifts, and from Denderah to +Karnak, to Luxor, to all the marvels on the western shore; and on +to Edfu, to Kom Ombos, to Assuan, and perhaps even into Nubia, to +Abu-Simbel, and to Wadi-Halfa. Life on the Nile is a long dream, golden +and sweet as honey of Hymettus. For I let the “divine serpent,” who at +Philae may be seen issuing from her charmed cavern, take me very quietly +to see the abodes of the dead, the halls of the vanished, upon her green +and sterile shores. I know nothing of the bustling, shrieking +steamer that defies her, churning into angry waves her waters for the +edification of those who would “do” Egypt and be gone before they know +her. + +If you are in a hurry, do not come to Egypt. To hurry in Egypt is as +wrong as to fall asleep in Wall street, or to sit in the Greek Theatre +at Taormina, reading “How to Make a Fortune with a Capital of Fifty +Pounds.” + + + + +VI + +DENDERAH + +From Abydos, home of the cult of Osiris, Judge of the Dead, I came +to Denderah, the great temple of the “Lady of the Underworld,” as the +goddess Hathor was sometimes called, though she was usually worshipped +as the Egyptian Aphrodite, goddess of joy, goddess of love and +loveliness. It was early morning when I went ashore. The sun was above +the eastern hills, and a boy, clad in a rope of plaited grass, sent me +half shyly the greeting, “May your day be happy!” + +Youth is, perhaps, the most divine of all the gifts of the gods, as +those who wore the lotus-blossom amulet believed thousands of years ago, +and Denderah, appropriately, is a very young Egyptian temple, +probably, indeed, the youngest of all the temples on the Nile. Its +youthfulness--it is only about two thousand years of age--identifies it +happily with the happiness and beauty of its presiding deity, and as I +rode toward it on the canal-bank in the young freshness of the morning, +I thought of the goddess Safekh and of the sacred Persea-tree. When +Safekh inscribed upon a leaf of the Persea-tree the name of king or +conqueror, he gained everlasting life. Was it the life of youth? An +everlasting life of middle age might be a doubtful benefit. And then +mentally I added, “unless one lived in Egypt.” For here the years drop +from one, and every golden hour brings to one surely another drop of +the wondrous essence that sets time at defiance and charms sad thoughts +away. + +Unlike White Abydos, White Denderah stands apart from habitations, in +a still solitude upon a blackened mound. From far off I saw the façade, +large, bare, and sober, rising, in a nakedness as complete as that of +Aphrodite rising from the wave, out of the plain of brown, alluvial soil +that was broken here and there by a sharp green of growing things. There +was something of sadness in the scene, and again I thought of Hathor as +the “Lady of the Underworld,” some deep-eyed being, with a pale brow, +hair like the night, and yearning, wistful hands stretched out in +supplication. There was a hush upon this place. The loud and vehement +cry of the shadoof-man died away. The sakieh droned in my ears no more +like distant Sicilian pipes playing at Natale. I felt a breath from the +desert. And, indeed, the desert was near--that realistic desert which +suggests to the traveller approaches to the sea, so that beyond each +pallid dune, as he draws near it, he half expects to hear the lapping of +the waves. Presently, when, having ascended that marvellous staircase +of the New Year, walking in procession with the priests upon its walls +toward the rays of Ra, I came out upon the temple roof, and looked upon +the desert--upon sheeny sands, almost like slopes of satin shining +in the sun, upon paler sands in the distance, holding an Arab _campo +santo_, in which rose the little creamy cupolas of a sheikh’s tomb, +surrounded by a creamy wall, those little cupolas gave to me a feeling +of the real, the irresistible Africa such as I had not known since I had +been in Egypt; and I thought I heard in the distance the ceaseless hum +of praying and praising voices. + +“God hath rewarded the faithful with gardens through which flow +rivulets. They shall be for ever therein, and that is the reward of the +virtuous.” + +The sensation of solemnity which overtook me as I approached the temple +deepened when I drew close to it, when I stood within it. In the first +hall, mighty, magnificent, full of enormous columns from which faces of +Hathor once looked to the four points of the compass, I found only one +face almost complete, saved from the fury of fanatics by the protection +of the goddess of chance, in whom the modern Egyptian so implicitly +believes. In shape it was a delicate oval. In the long eyes, about the +brow, the cheeks, there was a strained expression that suggested to me +more than a gravity--almost an anguish--of spirit. As I looked at it, I +thought of Eleanora Duse. Was this the ideal of joy in the time of the +Ptolemies? Joy may be rapturous, or it may be serene; but could it ever +be like this? The pale, delicious blue that here and there, in tiny +sections, broke the almost haggard, greyish whiteness of this first hall +with the roof of black, like bits of an evening sky seen through tiny +window-slits in a sombre room, suggested joy, was joy summed up in +color. But Hathor’s face was weariful and sad. + +From the gloom of the inner halls came a sound, loud, angry, menacing, +as I walked on, a sound of menace and an odor, heavy and deathlike. +Only in the first hall had those builders and decorators of two thousand +years ago been moved by their conception of the goddess to hail her, +to worship her, with the purity of white, with the sweet gaiety of +turquoise. Or so it seems to-day, when the passion of Christianity +against Hathor has spent itself and died. Now Christians come to seek +what Christian Copts destroyed; wander through the deserted courts, +desirous of looking upon the faces that have long since been hacked to +pieces. A more benign spirit informs our world, but, alas! Hathor has +been sacrificed to deviltries of old. And it is well, perhaps, that her +temple should be sad, like a place of silent waiting for the glories +that are gone. + +With every step my melancholy grew. Encompassed by gloomy odors, +assailed by the clamour of gigantic bats, which flew furiously among the +monstrous pillars near a roof ominous as a storm-cloud, my spirit was +haunted by the sad eyes of Hathor, which gaze for ever from that column +in the first hall. Were they always like that? Once that face dwelt with +a crowd of worship. And all the other faces have gone, and all the glory +has passed. And, like so many of the living, the goddess has paid for +her splendors. The pendulum swung, and where men adored, men hated +her--her the goddess of love and loveliness. And as the human face +changes when terror and sorrow come, I felt as if Hathor’s face of stone +had changed upon its column, looking toward the Nile, in obedience to +the anguish in her heart; I felt as if Denderah were a majestic house +of grief. So I must always think of it, dark, tragic, and superb. The +Egyptians once believed that when death came to a man, the soul of him, +which they called the Ba, winged its way to the gods, but that, moved +by a sweet unselfishness, it returned sometimes to his tomb, to give +comfort to the poor, deserted mummy. Upon the lids of sarcophagi it is +sometimes represented as a bird, flying down to, or resting upon, the +mummy. As I went onward in the darkness, among the columns, over the +blocks of stone that form the pavements, seeing vaguely the sacred boats +upon the walls, Horus and Thoth, the king before Osiris; as I mounted +and descended with the priests to roof and floor, I longed, instead of +the clamour of the bats, to hear the light flutter of the soft wings of +the Ba of Hathor, flying from Paradise to this sad temple of the desert +to bring her comfort in the gloom. I thought of her as a poor woman, +suffering as only women can in loneliness. + +In the museum of Cairo there is the mummy of “the lady Amanit, priestess +of Hathor.” She lies there upon her back, with her thin body slightly +turned toward the left side, as if in an effort to change her position. +Her head is completely turned to the same side. Her mouth is wide open, +showing all the teeth. The tongue is lolling out. Upon the head the +thin, brown hair makes a line above the little ear, and is mingled at +the back of the head with false tresses. Round the neck is a mass of +ornaments, of amulets and beads. The right arm and hand lie along the +body. The expression of “the lady Amanit” is very strange, and very +subtle; for it combines horror--which implies activity--with a profound, +an impenetrable repose, far beyond the reach of all disturbance. In the +temple of Denderah I fancied the lady Amanit ministering sadly, even +terribly, to a lonely goddess, moving in fear through an eternal gloom, +dying at last there, overwhelmed by tasks too heavy for that tiny body, +the ultra-sensitive spirit that inhabited it. And now she sleeps--one +feels that, as one gazes at the mummy--very profoundly, though not yet +very calmly, the lady Amanit. But her goddess--still she wakes upon her +column. + +When I came out at last into the sunlight of the growing day, I circled +the temple, skirting its gigantic, corniced walls, from which at +intervals the heads and paws of resting lions protrude, to see another +woman whose fame for loveliness and seduction is almost as legendary as +Aphrodite’s. It is fitting enough that Cleopatra’s form should be graven +upon the temple of Hathor; fitting, also, that though I found her in the +presence of deities, and in the company of her son, Caesarion, her face, +which is in profile, should have nothing of Hathor’s sad impressiveness. +This, no doubt, is not the real Cleopatra. Nevertheless, this face +suggests a certain self-complacent cruelty and sensuality essentially +human, and utterly detached from all divinity, whereas in the face +of the goddess there is a something remote, and even distantly +intellectual, which calls the imagination to “the fields beyond.” + +As I rode back toward the river, I saw again the boy clad in the rope of +plaited grass, and again he said, less shyly, “May your day be happy!” + It was a kindly wish. In the dawn I had felt it to be almost a prophecy. +But now I was haunted by the face of the goddess of Denderah, and I +remembered the legend of the lovely Lais, who, when she began to age, +covered herself from the eyes of men with a veil, and went every day at +evening to look upon her statue, in which the genius of Praxiteles had +rendered permanent the beauty the woman could not keep. One evening, +hanging to the statue’s pedestal by a garland of red roses, the sculptor +found a mirror, upon the polished disk of which were traced these words: + +“Lais, O Goddess, consecrates to thee her mirror: no longer able to see +there what she was, she will not see there what she has become.” + +My Hathor of Denderah, the sad-eyed dweller on the column in the first +hall, had she a mirror, would surely hang it, as Lais hung hers, at the +foot of the pedestal of the Egyptian Aphrodite; had she a veil, would +surely cover the face that, solitary among the cruel evidences of +Christian ferocity, silently says to the gloomy courts, to the shining +desert and the Nile: + +“Once I was worshipped, but I am worshipped no longer.” + + + + +VII + +KARNAK + +Buildings have personalities. Some fascinate as beautiful women +fascinate; some charm as a child may charm, naively, simply, but +irresistibly. Some, like conquerors, men of blood and iron, without +bowels of mercy, pitiless and determined, strike awe to the soul, +mingled with the almost gasping admiration that power wakes in man. Some +bring a sense of heavenly peace to the heart. Some, like certain temples +of the Greeks, by their immense dignity, speak to the nature almost as +music speaks, and change anxiety to trust. Some tug at the hidden chords +of romance and rouse a trembling response. Some seem to be mingling +their tears with the tears of the dead; some their laughter with the +laughter of the living. The traveller, sailing up the Nile, holds +intercourse with many of these different personalities. He is sad, +perhaps, as I was with Denderah; dreams in the sun with Abydos; muses +with Luxor beneath the little tapering minaret whence the call to prayer +drops down to be answered by the angelus bell; falls into a reverie in +the “thinking place” of Rameses II., near to the giant that was once the +mightiest of all Egyptian statues; eagerly wakes to the fascination of +record at Deir-el-Bahari; worships in Edfu; by Philae is carried into a +realm of delicate magic, where engineers are not. Each prompts him to +a different mood, each wakes in his nature a different response. And at +Karnak what is he? What mood enfolds him there? Is he sad, thoughtful, +awed, or gay? + +An old lady in a helmet, and other things considered no doubt by her as +suited to Egypt rather than to herself, remarked in my hearing, with +a Scotch accent and an air of summing up, that Karnak was “very nice +indeed.” There she was wrong--Scotch and wrong. Karnak is not nice. No +temple that I have seen upon the banks of the Nile is nice. And Karnak +cannot be summed up in a phrase or in many phrases; cannot even be +adequately described in few or many words. + +Long ago I saw it lighted up with colored fires one night for the +Khedive, its ravaged magnificence tinted with rose and livid green and +blue, its pylons glittering with artificial gold, its population of +statues, its obelisks, and columns, changing from things of dreams to +things of day, from twilight marvels to shadowy specters, and from these +to hard and piercing realities at the cruel will of pigmies crouching +by its walls. Now, after many years, I saw it first quietly by moonlight +after watching the sunset from the summit of the great pylon. That was a +pageant worth more than the Khedive’s. + +I was in the air; had something of the released feeling I have often +known upon the tower of Biskra, looking out toward evening to the Sahara +spaces. But here I was not confronted with an immensity of nature, but +with a gleaming river and an immensity of man. Beneath me was the native +village, in the heart of daylight dusty and unkempt, but now becoming +charged with velvety beauty, with the soft and heavy mystery that at +evening is born among great palm-trees. Along the path that led from +it, coming toward the avenue of sphinxes with ram’s-heads that watch for +ever before the temple door, a great white camel stepped, its rider a +tiny child with a close, white cap upon his head. The child was singing +to the glory of the sunset, or was it to the glory of Amun, “the hidden +one,” once the local god of Thebes, to whom the grandest temple in +the world was dedicated? I listen to the childish, quavering voice, +twittering almost like a bird, and one word alone came up to me--the +word one hears in Egypt from all the lips that speak and sing: from the +Nubians round their fires at night, from the little boatmen of the lower +reaches of the Nile, from the Bedouins of the desert, and the donkey +boys of the villages, from the sheikh who reads one’s future in water +spilt on a plate, and the Bisharin with buttered curls who runs to sell +one beads from his tent among the sand-dunes. + +“Allah!” the child was singing as he passed upon his way. + +Pigeons circled above their pretty towers. The bats came out, as if they +knew how precious is their black at evening against the ethereal lemon +color, the orange and the red. The little obelisk beyond the last +sphinx on the left began to change, as in Egypt all things change at +sunset--pylon and dusty bush, colossus and baked earth hovel, sycamore, +and tamarisk, statue and trotting donkey. It looked like a mysterious +finger pointed in warning toward the sky. The Nile began to gleam. Upon +its steel and silver torches of amber flame were lighted. The Libyan +mountains became spectral beyond the tombs of the kings. The tiny, rough +cupolas that mark a grave close to the sphinxes, in daytime dingy and +poor, now seemed made of some splendid material worthy to roof the mummy +of a king. Far off a pool of the Nile, that from here looked like a +little palm-fringed lake, turned ruby-red. The flags from the standard +of Luxor, among the minarets, flew out straight against a sky that was +pale as a primrose almost cold in its amazing delicacy. + +I turned, and behind me the moon was risen. Already its silver rays +fell upon the ruins of Karnak; upon the thickets of lotus columns; upon +solitary gateways that now give entrance to no courts; upon the sacred +lake, with its reeds, where the black water-fowl were asleep; upon +sloping walls, shored up by enormous stanchions, like ribs of some +prehistoric leviathan; upon small chambers; upon fallen blocks of +masonry, fragments of architrave and pavement, of capital and cornice; +and upon the people of Karnak--those fascinating people who still +cling to their habitation in the ruins, faithful through misfortune, +affectionate with a steadfastness that defies the cruelty of Time; +upon the little, lonely white sphinx with the woman’s face and the +downward-sloping eyes full of sleepy seduction; upon Rameses II., with +the face of a kindly child, not of a king; upon the Sphinx, bereft of +its companion, which crouches before the kiosk of Taharga, the King of +Ethiopia; upon those two who stand together as if devoted, yet by their +attitudes seem to express characters diametrically opposed, grey men and +vivid, the one with folded arms calling to Peace, the other with arms +stretched down in a gesture of crude determination, summoning War, as +if from the underworld; upon the granite foot and ankle in the temple +of Rameses III., which in their perfection, like the headless Victory +in Paris, and the Niobide Chiaramonti in the Vatican, suggest a great +personality that once met with is not to be forgotten: upon these and +their companions, who would not forsake the halls and courts where once +they dwelt with splendor, where now they dwell with ruin that attracts +the gaping world. The moon was risen, but the west was still full of +color and light. It faded. There was a pause. Only a bar of dull +red, holding a hint of brown, by where the sun had sunk. And minutes +passed--minutes for me full of silent expectation, while the moonlight +grew a little stronger, a few more silver rays slipped down upon the +ruins. I turned toward the east. And then came that curious crescendo of +color and of light which, in Egypt, succeeds the diminuendo of color +and of light that is the prelude to the pause before the afterglow. +Everything seemed to be in subtle movement, heaving as a breast heaves +with the breath; swelling slightly, as if in an effort to be more, to +attract attention, to gain in significance. Pale things became livid, +holding apparently some under-brightness which partly penetrated its +envelope, but a brightness that was white and almost frightful. Black +things seemed to glow with blackness. The air quivered. Its silence +surely thrilled with sound--with sound that grew ever louder. + +In the east I saw an effect. To the west I turned for the cause. The +sunset light was returning. Horus would not permit Tum to reign even +for a few brief moments, and Khuns, the sacred god of the moon, would be +witness of a conflict in that lovely western region of the ocean of the +sky where the bark of the sun had floated away beneath the mountain +rim upon the red-and-orange tides. The afterglow was like an exquisite +spasm, is always like an exquisite spasm, a beautiful, almost desperate +effort ending in the quiet darkness of defeat. And through that +spasmodic effort a world lived for some minutes with a life that seemed +unreal, startling, magical. Color returned to the sky--color ethereal, +trembling as if it knew it ought not to return. Yet it stayed for a +while and even glowed, though it looked always strangely purified, +and full of a crystal coldness. The birds that flew against it were no +longer birds, but dark, moving ornaments, devised surely by a supreme +artist to heighten here and there the beauty of the sky. Everything that +moved against the afterglow--man, woman, child, camel and donkey, dog +and goat, languishing buffalo, and plunging horse--became at once an +ornament, invented, I fancied, by a genius to emphasize, by relieving +it, the color in which the sky was drowned. And Khuns watched serenely, +as if he knew the end. And almost suddenly the miraculous effort failed. +Things again revealed their truth, whether commonplace or not. That pool +of the Nile was no more a red jewel set in a feathery pattern of strange +design, but only water fading from my sight beyond a group of palms. And +that below me was only a camel going homeward, and that a child leading +a bronze-colored sheep with a curly coat, and that a dusty, flat-roofed +hovel, not the fairy home of jinn, or the abode of some magician working +marvels with the sun-rays he had gathered in his net. The air was no +longer thrilling with music. The breast that had heaved with a divine +breath was still as the breast of a corpse. + +And Khuns reigned quietly over the plains of Karnak. + +Karnak has no distinctive personality. Built under many kings, its ruins +are as complex as were probably once its completed temples, with their +shrines, their towers, their courts, their hypo-style halls. As I +looked down that evening in the moonlight I saw, softened and made more +touching than in day-time, those alluring complexities, brought by the +night and Khuns into a unity that was both tender and superb. Masses of +masonry lay jumbled in shadow and in silver; gigantic walls cast sharply +defined gloom; obelisks pointed significantly to the sky, seeming, as +they always do, to be murmuring a message; huge doorways stood up like +giants unafraid of their loneliness and yet pathetic in it; here was a +watching statue, there one that seemed to sleep, seen from afar. Yonder +Queen Hatshepsu, who wrought wonders at Deir-el-Bahari, and who is more +familiar perhaps as Hatasu, had left there traces, and nearer, to the +right, Rameses III. had made a temple, surely for the birds, so fond +they are of it, so pertinaciously they haunt it. Rameses II., mutilated +and immense, stood on guard before the terrific hall of Seti I.; and +between him and my platform in the air rose the solitary lotus column +that prepares you for the wonder of Seti’s hall, which otherwise might +almost overwhelm you--unless you are a Scotch lady in a helmet. And +Khuns had his temple here by the Sphinx of the twelfth Rameses, and +Ptah, who created “the sun egg and the moon egg,” and who was said--only +said, alas!--to have established on earth the “everlasting justice,” had +his, and still their stones receive the silver moon-rays and wake +the wonder of men. Thothmes III., Thothmes I., Shishak, who smote the +kneeling prisoners and vanquished Jeroboam, Medamut and Mut, Amenhotep +I., and Amenhotep II.--all have left their records or been celebrated at +Karnak. Purposely I mingled them in my mind--did not attempt to put them +in their proper order, or even to disentangle gods and goddesses from +conquerors and kings. In the warm and seductive night Khuns whispered +to me: “As long ago at Bekhten I exorcised the demon from the suffering +Princess, so now I exorcise from these ruins all spirits but my own. +To-night these ruins shall suggest nothing but majesty, tranquillity, +and beauty. Their records are for Ra, and must be studied by his rays. +In mine they shall speak not to the intellectual, but only to the +emotions and the soul.” + +And presently I went down, and yielding a complete and happy obedience +to Khuns, I wandered along through the stupendous vestiges of past eras, +dead ambitions, vanished glory, and long-outworn belief, and I ignored +eras, ambitions, glory, and belief, and thought only of form, and +height, of the miracle of blackness against silver, and of the pathos +of statues whose ever-open eyes at night, when one is near them, suggest +the working of some evil spell, perpetual watchfulness, combined with +eternal inactivity, the unslumbering mind caged in the body that is +paralysed. + +There is a temple at Karnak that I love, and I scarcely know why I care +for it so much. It is on the right of the solitary lotus column before +you come to the terrific hall of Seti. Some people pass it by, having +but little time, and being hypnotized, it seems, by the more astounding +ruin that lies beyond it. And perhaps it would be well, on a first +visit, to enter it last; to let its influence be the final one to rest +upon your spirit. This is the temple of Rameses III., a brown place of +calm and retirement, an ineffable place of peace. Yes, though the birds +love it and fill it often with their voices, it is a sanctuary of +peace. Upon the floor the soft sand lies, placing silence beneath your +footsteps. The pale brown of walls and columns, almost yellow in the +sunshine, is delicate and soothing, and inclines the heart to calm. +Delicious, suggestive of a beautiful tapestry, rich and ornate, yet +always quiet, are the brown reliefs upon the stone. What are they? Does +it matter? They soften the walls, make them more personal, more tender. +That surely is their mission. This temple holds for me a spell. As soon +as I enter it, I feel the touch of the lotus, as if an invisible and +kindly hand swept a blossom lightly across my face and downward to my +heart. This courtyard, these small chambers beyond it, that last doorway +framing a lovely darkness, soothe me even more than the terra-cotta +hermitages of the Certosa of Pavia. And all the statues here are calm +with an irrevocable calmness, faithful through passing years with a +very sober faithfulness to the temple they adorn. In no other place, one +feels it, could they be thus at peace, with hands crossed for ever upon +their breasts, which are torn by no anxieties, thrilled by no joys. As +one stands among them or sitting on the base of a column in the chamber +that lies beyond them, looks on them from a little distance, their +attitude is like a summons to men to contend no more, to be still, to +enter into rest. + +Come to this temple when you leave the hall of Seti. There you are in +a place of triumph. Scarlet, some say, is the color of a great note +sounded on a bugle. This hall is like a bugle-call of the past, +thrilling even now down all the ages with a triumph that is surely +greater than any other triumphs. It suggests blaze--blaze of scarlet, +blaze of bugle, blaze of glory, blaze of life and time, of ambition +and achievement. In these columns, in the putting up of them, dead men +sought to climb to sun and stars, limitless in desire, limitless in +industry, limitless in will. And at the tops of the columns blooms the +lotus, the symbol of rising. What a triumph in stone this hall was once, +what a triumph in stone its ruin is to-day! Perhaps, among temples, it +is the most wondrous thing in all Egypt, as it was, no doubt, the most +wondrous temple in the world; among temples I say, for the Sphinx is +of all the marvels of Egypt by far the most marvellous. The grandeur +of this hall almost moves one to tears, like the marching past of +conquerors, stirs the heart with leaping thrills at the capacities of +men. Through the thicket of columns, tall as forest trees, the intense +blue of the African sky stares down, and their great shadows lie along +the warm and sunlit ground. Listen! There are voices chanting. Men are +working here--working as men worked how many thousands of years ago. But +these are calling upon the Mohammedan’s god as they slowly drag to +the appointed places the mighty blocks of stone. And it is to-day a +Frenchman who oversees them. + + “Help! Help! Allah give us help! + Help! Help! Allah give us help!” + +The dust flies up about their naked feet. Triumph and work; work +succeeded by the triumph all can see. I like to hear the workmen’s +voices within the hall of Seti. I like to see the dust stirred by their +tramping feet. + +And then I like to go once more to the little temple, to enter through +its defaced gateway, to stand alone in its silence between the rows of +statues with their arms folded upon their quiet breasts, to gaze into +the tender darkness beyond--the darkness that looks consecrated--to feel +that peace is more wonderful than triumph, that the end of things is +peace. + +Triumph and deathless peace, the bugle-call and silence--these are the +notes of Karnak. + + + + +VIII + +LUXOR + +Upon the wall of the great court of Amenhotep III. in the temple of +Luxor there is a delicious dancing procession in honor of Rameses II. It +is very funny and very happy; full of the joy of life--a sort of radiant +cake-walk of old Egyptian days. How supple are these dancers! They seem +to have no bones. One after another they come in line upon the mighty +wall, and each one bends backward to the knees of the one who follows. +As I stood and looked at them for the first time, almost I heard +the twitter of flutes, the rustic wail of the African hautboy, the +monotonous boom of the derabukkeh, cries of a far-off gaiety such as one +often hears from the Nile by night. But these cries came down the long +avenues of the centuries; this gaiety was distant in the vasty halls +of the long-dead years. Never can I think of Luxor without thinking of +those happy dancers, without thinking of the life that goes in the sun +on dancing feet. + +There are a few places in the world that one associates with happiness, +that one remembers always with a smile, a little thrill at the heart +that whispers “There joy is.” Of these few places Luxor is one--Luxor +the home of sunshine, the suave abode of light, of warmth, of the sweet +days of gold and sheeny, golden sunsets, of silver, shimmering nights +through which the songs of the boatmen of the Nile go floating to the +courts and the tombs of Thebes. The roses bloom in Luxor under the +mighty palms. Always surely beneath the palms there are the roses. And +the lateen-sails come up the Nile, looking like white-winged promises of +future golden days. And at dawn one wakes with hope and hears the songs +of the dawn; and at noon one dreams of the happiness to come; and at +sunset one is swept away on the gold into the heart of the golden world; +and at night one looks at the stars, and each star is a twinkling hope. +Soft are the airs of Luxor; there is no harshness in the wind that stirs +the leaves of the palms. And the land is steeped in light. From Luxor +one goes with regret. One returns to it with joy on dancing feet. + +One day I sat in the temple, in the huge court with the great double row +of columns that stands on the banks of the Nile and looks so splendid +from it. The pale brown of the stone became almost yellow in the +sunshine. From the river, hidden from me stole up the songs of the +boatmen. Nearer at hand I heard pigeons cooing, cooing in the sun, as +if almost too glad, and seeking to manifest their gladness. Behind me, +through the columns, peeped some houses of the village: the white home +of Ibrahim Ayyad, the perfect dragoman, grandson of Mustapha Aga, who +entertained me years ago, and whose house stood actually within the +precincts of the temple; houses of other fortunate dwellers in Luxor +whose names I do not know. For the village of Luxor crowds boldly about +the temple, and the children play in the dust almost at the foot of +the obelisks and statues. High on a brown hump of earth a buffalo stood +alone, languishing serenely in the sun, gazing at me through the columns +with light eyes that were full of a sort of folly of contentment. Some +goats tripped by, brown against the brown stone--the dark brown earth of +the native houses. Intimate life was here, striking the note of coziness +of Luxor. Here was none of the sadness and the majesty of Denderah. +Grand are the ruins of Luxor, noble is the line of columns that boldly +fronts the Nile, but Time has given them naked to the air and to the +sun, to children and to animals. Instead of bats, the pigeons fly about +them. There is no dreadful darkness in their sanctuaries. Before them +the life of the river, behind them the life of the village flows and +stirs. Upon them looks down the Minaret of Abu Haggag; and as I sat in +the sunshine, the warmth of which began to lessen, I saw upon its lofty +circular balcony the figure of the muezzin. He leaned over, bending +toward the temple and the statues of Rameses II. and the happy dancers +on the wall. He opened his lips and cried to them: + +“God is great. God is great . . . I bear witness that there is no god +but God. . . . I bear witness that Mohammed is the Apostle of God. . . . +Come to prayer! Come to prayer! . . . God is great. God is great. There +is no god but God.” + +He circled round the minaret. He cried to the Nile. He cried to the +Colossi sitting in their plain, and to the yellow precipices of the +mountains of Libya. He cried to Egypt: + +“Come to prayer! Come to prayer! There is no god but God. There is no +god but God.” + +The days of the gods were dead, and their ruined temple echoed with the +proclamation of the one god of the Moslem world. “Come to prayer! Come +to prayer!” The sun began to sink. + +“Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me.” + +The voice of the muezzin died away. There was a silence; and then, as if +in answer to the cry from the minaret, I heard the chime of the angelus +bell from the Catholic church of Luxor. + +“Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark.” + +I sat very still. The light was fading; all the yellow was fading, too, +from the columns and the temple walls. I stayed till it was dark; and +with the dark the old gods seemed to resume their interrupted sway. And +surely they, too, called to prayer. For do not these ruins of old Egypt, +like the muezzin upon the minaret, like the angelus bell in the church +tower, call one to prayer in the night? So wonderful are they under +stars and moon that they stir the fleshly and the worldly desires that +lie like drifted leaves about the reverence and the aspiration that are +the hidden core of the heart. And it is released from its burden; and it +awakes and prays. + +Amun-Ra, Mut, and Khuns, the king of the gods, his wife, mother of gods, +and the moon god, were the Theban triad to whom the holy buildings of +Thebes on the two banks of the Nile were dedicated; and this temple +of Luxor, the “House of Amun in the Southern Apt,” was built fifteen +hundred years before Christ by Amenhotep III. Rameses II., that vehement +builder, added to it immensely. One walks among his traces when one +walks in Luxor. And here, as at Denderah, Christians have let loose the +fury that should have had no place in their religion. Churches for their +worship they made in different parts of the temple, and when they were +not praying, they broke in pieces statues, defaced bas-reliefs, and +smashed up shrines with a vigor quite as great as that displayed in +preservation by Christians of to-day. Now time has called a truce. +Safe are the statues that are left. And day by day two great religions, +almost as if in happy brotherly love, send forth their summons by the +temple walls. And just beyond those walls, upon the hill, there is a +Coptic church. Peace reigns in happy Luxor. The lion lies down with the +lamb, and the child, if it will, may harmlessly put its hand into the +cockatrice’s den. + +Perhaps because it is so surrounded, so haunted by life and familiar +things, because the pigeons fly about it, the buffalo stares into it, +the goats stir up the dust beside its columns, the twittering voices of +women make a music near its courts, many people pay little heed to this +great temple, gain but a small impression from it. It decorates the +bank of the Nile. You can see it from the dahabiyehs. For many that is +enough. Yet the temple is a noble one, and, for me, it gains a definite +attraction all its own from the busy life about it, the cheerful hum and +stir. And if you want fully to realize its dignity, you can always visit +it by night. Then the cries from the village are hushed. The houses +show no lights. Only the voices from the Nile steal up to the obelisk of +Rameses, to the pylon from which the flags of Thebes once flew on festal +days, to the shrine of Alexander the Great, with its vultures and its +stars, and to the red granite statues of Rameses and his wives. + +These last are as expressive as and of course more definite than my +dancers. They are full of character. They seem to breathe out the +essence of a vanished domesticity. Colossal are the statues of the king, +solid, powerful, and tremendous, boldly facing the world with the calm +of one who was thought, and possibly thought himself, to be not much +less than a deity. And upon each pedestal, shrinking delicately back, +was once a little wife. Some little wives are left. They are delicious +in their modesty. Each stands away from the king, shyly, respectfully. +Each is so small as to be below his down-stretched arm. Each, with a +surely furtive gesture, reaches out her right hand, and attains the +swelling calf of her noble husband’s leg. Plump are their little faces, +but not bad-looking. One cannot pity the king. Nor does one pity them. +For these were not “Les desenchantees,” the restless, sad-hearted women +of an Eastern world that knows too much. Their longings surely cannot +have been very great. Their world was probably bounded by the calf of +Rameses’s leg. That was “the far horizon” of the little plump-faced +wives. + +The happy dancers and the humble wives, they always come before me with +the temple of Luxor--joy and discretion side by side. And with them, to +my ears, the two voices seem to come, muezzin and angelus bell, mingling +not in war, but peace. When I think of this temple, I think of its joy +and peace far less than of its majesty. + +And yet it is majestic. Look at it, as I have often done, toward +sunset from the western bank of the Nile, or climb the mound beyond its +northern end, where stands the grand entrance, and you realize at once +its nobility and solemn splendor. From the _Loulia’s_ deck it was a +procession of great columns; that was all. But the decorative effect of +these columns, soaring above the river and its vivid life, is fine. + +By day all is turmoil on the river-bank. Barges are unloading, steamers +are arriving, and throngs of donkey-boys and dragomans go down in +haste to meet them. Servants run to and fro on errands from the many +dahabiyehs. Bathers leap into the brown waters. The native craft pass by +with their enormous sails outspread to catch the wind, bearing serried +mobs of men, and black-robed women, and laughing, singing children. The +boatmen of the hotels sing monotonously as they lounge in the big, white +boats waiting for travellers to Medinet-Abu, to the Ramesseum, to Kurna, +and the tombs. And just above them rise the long lines of columns, +ancient, tranquil, and remote--infinitely remote, for all their +nearness, casting down upon the sunlit gaiety the long shadow of the +past. + +From the edge of the mound where stands the native village the effect +of the temple is much less decorative, but its detailed grandeur can be +better grasped from there; for from there one sees the great towers of +the propylon, two rows of mighty columns, the red granite Obelisk of +Rameses the great, and the black granite statues of the king. On the +right of the entrance a giant stands, on the left one is seated, and a +little farther away a third emerges from the ground, which reaches to +its mighty breast. + +And there the children play perpetually. And there the Egyptians sing +their serenades, making the pipes wail and striking the derabukkeh; and +there the women gossip and twitter like the birds. And the buffalo comes +to take his sun-bath; and the goats and the curly, brown sheep pass in +sprightly and calm processions. The obelisk there, like its brother in +Paris, presides over a cheerfulness of life; but it is a life that seems +akin to it, not alien from it. And the king watches the simplicity of +this keen existence of Egypt of to-day far up the Nile with a calm that +one does not fear may be broken by unsympathetic outrage, or by any +vision of too perpetual foreign life. For the tourists each year are but +an episode in Upper Egypt. Still the shadoof-man sings his ancient song, +violent and pathetic, bold as the burning sun-rays. Still the fellaheen +plough with the camel yoked with the ox. Still the women are covered +with protective amulets and hold their black draperies in their mouths. +The intimate life of the Nile remains the same. And that life obelisk +and king have known for how many, many years! + +And so I love to think of this intimacy of life about the temple of the +happy dancers and the humble little wives, and it seems to me to strike +the keynote of the golden coziness of Luxor. + + + + +IX + +COLOSSI OF MEMNON + +Nevertheless, sometimes one likes to escape from the thing one loves, +and there are hours when the gay voices of Luxor fatigue the ears, when +one desires a great calm. Then there are silent voices that summon +one across the river, when the dawn is breaking over the hills of +the Arabian desert, or when the sun is declining toward the Libyan +mountains--voices issuing from lips of stone, from the twilight of +sanctuaries, from the depths of rock-hewn tombs. + +The peace of the plain of Thebes in the early morning is very rare and +very exquisite. It is not the peace of the desert, but rather, perhaps, +the peace of the prairie--an atmosphere tender, delicately thrilling, +softly bright, hopeful in its gleaming calm. Often and often have I left +the _Loulia_ very early moored against the long sand islet that faces +Luxor when the Nile has not subsided, I have rowed across the quiet +water that divided me from the western bank, and, with a happy heart, I +have entered into the lovely peace of the great spaces that stretch from +the Colossi of Memnon to the Nile, to the mountains, southward toward +Armant, northward to Kerekten, to Danfik, to Gueziret-Meteira. Think of +the color of young clover, of young barley, of young wheat; think of +the timbre of the reed flute’s voice, thin, clear, and frail with the +frailty of dewdrops; think of the torrents of spring rushing through the +veins of a great, wide land, and growing almost still at last on their +journey. Spring, you will say, perhaps, and high Nile not yet subsided! +But Egypt is the favored land of a spring that is already alert at the +end of November, and in December is pushing forth its green. The Nile +has sunk away from the feet of the Colossi that it has bathed through +many days. It has freed the plain to the fellaheen, though still +it keeps my island in its clasp. And Hapi, or Kam-wra, the “Great +Extender,” and Ra, have made this wonderful spring to bloom on the dark +earth before the Christian’s Christmas. + +What a pastoral it is, this plain of Thebes, in the dawn of day! Think +of the reed flute, I have said, not because you will hear it, as you +ride toward the mountains, but because its voice would be utterly in +place here, in this arcady of Egypt, playing no tarantella, but one of +those songs, half bird-like, and half sadly, mysteriously human, which +come from the soul of the East. Instead of it, you may catch distant +cries from the bank of the river, where the shadoof-man toils, lifting +ever the water and his voice, the one to earth, the other, it seems, to +sky; and the creaking lay of the water-wheel, which pervades Upper Egypt +like an atmosphere, and which, though perhaps at first it irritates, at +last seems to you the sound of the soul of the river, of the sunshine, +and the soil. + +Much of the land looks painted. So flat is it, so young are the growing +crops, that they are like a coating of green paint spread over a mighty +canvas. But the doura rises higher than the heads of the naked children +who stand among it to watch you canter past. And in the far distance +you see dim groups of trees--sycamores and acacias, tamarisks and palms. +Beyond them is the very heart of this “land of sand and ruins and gold”; +Medinet-Abu, the Ramesseum, Deir-el Medinet, Kurna, Deir-el-Bahari, the +tombs of the kings, the tombs of the queens and of the princes. In the +strip of bare land at the foot of those hard, and yet poetic mountains, +have been dug up treasures the fame of which has gone to the ends of the +world. But this plain, where the fellaheen are stooping to the soil, and +the women are carrying the water-jars, and the children are playing in +the doura, and the oxen and the camels are working with ploughs that +look like relics of far-off days, is the possession of the two great +presiding beings whom you see from an enormous distance, the Colossi of +Memnon. Amenhotep III. put them where they are. So we are told. But in +this early morning it is not possible to think of them as being brought +to any place. Seated, the one beside the other, facing the Nile and the +home of the rising sun, their immense aspect of patience suggests will, +calmly, steadily exercised, suggests choice; that, for some reason, as +yet unknown, they chose to come to this plain, that they choose solemnly +to remain there, waiting, while the harvests grow and are gathered about +their feet, while the Nile rises and subsides, while the years and +the generations come, like the harvests, and are stored away in the +granaries of the past. Their calm broods over this plain, gives to it +a personal atmosphere which sets it quite apart from every other flat +space of the world. There is no place that I know on the earth which has +the peculiar, bright, ineffable calm of the plain of these Colossi. It +takes you into its breast, and you lie there in the growing sunshine +almost as if you were a child laid in the lap of one of them. That +legend of the singing at dawn of the “vocal Memnon,” how could it have +arisen? How could such calmness sing, such patience ever find a voice? +Unlike the Sphinx, which becomes ever more impressive as you draw near +to it, and is most impressive when you sit almost at its feet, the +Colossi lose in personality as you approach them and can see how they +have been defaced. + +From afar one feels their minds, their strange, unearthly temperaments +commanding this pastoral. When you are beside them, this feeling +disappears. Their features are gone, and though in their attitudes +there is power, and there is something that awakens awe, they are more +wonderful as a far-off feature of the plain. They gain in grandeur from +the night in strangeness from the moonrise, perhaps specially when the +Nile comes to their feet. More than three thousand years old, they look +less eternal than the Sphinx. Like them, the Sphinx is waiting, but with +a greater purpose. The Sphinx reduces man really to nothingness. The +Colossi leave him some remnants of individuality. One can conceive of +Strabo and AElius Gallus, of Hadrian and Sabina, of others who came +over the sunlit land to hear the unearthly song in the dawn, being of +some--not much, but still of some--importance here. Before the Sphinx +no one is important. But in the distance of the plain the Colossi shed +a real magic of calm and solemn personality, and subtly seem to mingle +their spirit with the flat, green world, so wide, so still, so fecund, +and so peaceful; with the soft airs that are surely scented with an +eternal springtime, and with the light that the morning rains down on +wheat and clover, on Indian corn and barley, and on brown men laboring, +who, perhaps, from the patience of the Colossi in repose have drawn a +patience in labor that has in it something not less sublime. + +From the Colossi one goes onward toward the trees and the mountains, and +very soon one comes to the edge of that strange and fascinating strip of +barren land which is strewn with temples and honeycombed with tombs. The +sun burns down on it. The heat seems thrown back upon it by the wall of +tawny mountains that bounds it on the west. It is dusty, it is arid; it +is haunted by swarms of flies, by the guardians of the ruins, and by men +and boys trying to sell enormous scarabs and necklaces and amulets, made +yesterday, and the day before, in the manufactory of Kurna. From many +points it looks not unlike a strangely prolonged rubbish-heap in which +busy giants have been digging with huge spades, making mounds and pits, +caverns and trenches, piling up here a monstrous heap of stones, casting +down there a mighty statue. But how it fascinates! Of curse one knows +what it means. One knows that on this strip of land Naville dug out at +Deir-el-Bahari the temple of Mentu-hotep, and discovered later, in her +shrine, Hathor, the cow-goddess, with the lotus-plants streaming from +her sacred forehead to her feet; that long before him Mariette here +brought to the light at Drah-abu’l-Neggah the treasures of kings of +the twelfth and thirteenth dynasties; that at the foot of those +tiger-colored precipices Theodore M. Davis the American found the +sepulcher of Queen Hatshepsu, the Queen Elizabeth of the old Egyptian +world, and, later, the tomb of Yuaa and Thuaa, the parents of Queen +Thiy, containing mummy-cases covered with gold, jars of oil and wine, +gold, silver, and alabaster boxes, a bed decorated with gilded ivory a +chair with gilded plaster reliefs, chairs of state, and a chariot; that +here Maspero, Victor Loret, Brugsch Bey, and other patient workers gave +to the world tombs that had been hidden and unknown for centuries; that +there to the north is the temple of Kurna, and over there the Ramesseum; +that those rows of little pillars close under the mountain, and looking +strangely modern, are the pillars of Hatshepsu’s temple, which bears +upon its walls the pictures of the expedition to the historic land of +Punt; that the kings were buried there, and there the queens and the +princes of the vanished dynasties; that beyond to the west is the temple +of Deir-el-Medinet with its judgment of the dead; that here by the +native village is Medinet-Abu. One knows that, and so the imagination is +awake, ready to paint the lily and to gild the beaten gold. But even +if one did not know, I think one would be fascinated. This turmoil of +sun-baked earth and rock, grey, yellow, pink, orange, and red, awakens +the curiosity, summons the love of the strange, suggests that it holds +secrets to charm the souls of men. + + + + +X + +MEDINET-ABU + +At the entrance to the temple of Medinet-Abu, near the small groups +of palms and the few brown houses, often have I turned and looked back +across the plain before entering through the first beautiful doorway, +to see the patient backs and right sides of the Colossi, the far-off, +dreamy mountains beyond Karnak and the Nile. And again, when I have +entered and walked a little distance, I have looked back at the almost +magical picture framed in the doorway; at the bottom of the picture +a layer of brown earth, then a strip of sharp green--the cultivated +ground--then a blur of pale yellow, then a darkness of trees, and just +the hint of a hill far, very far away. And always, in looking, I have +thought of the “Sposalizio” of Raphael in the Brera at Milan, of the +tiny dream of blue country framed by the temple doorway beyond the +Virgin and Saint Joseph. The doorways of the temples of Egypt are very +noble, and nowhere have I been more struck by their nobility than in +Medinet-Abu. Set in huge walls of massive masonry, which rise slightly +above them on each side, with a projecting cornice, in their simplicity +they look extraordinarily classical, in their sobriety mysterious, +and in their great solidity quite wonderfully elegant. And they always +suggest to me that they are giving access to courts and chambers which +still, even in our times, are dedicated to secret cults--to the cults of +Isis, of Hathor, and of Osiris. + +Close to the right of the front of Medinet-Abu there are trees covered +with yellow flowers; beyond are fields of doura. Behind the temple is +a sterility which makes one think of metal. A great calm enfolds the +place. The buildings are of the same color as the Colossi. When I speak +of the buildings, I include the great temple, the pavilion of Rameses +III., and the little temple, which together may be said to form +Medinet-Abu. Whereas the temple of Luxor seems to open its arms to +life, and the great fascination of the Ramesseum comes partly from its +invasion by every traveling air and happy sun-ray, its openness and +freedom, Medinet-Abu impresses by its colossal air of secrecy, by its +fortress-like seclusion. Its walls are immensely thick, and are covered +with figures the same color as the walls, some of them very tall. +Thick-set, massive, heavy, almost warlike it is. Two seated statues +within, statues with animals’ faces, steel-colored, or perhaps a little +darker than that, look like savage warders ready to repel intrusion. + +Passing between them, delicately as Agag, one enters an open space with +ruins, upon the right of which is a low, small temple, grey in hue, and +covered with inscriptions, which looks almost bowed under its tremendous +weight of years. From this dignified, though tiny, veteran there comes a +perpetual sound of birds. The birds in Egypt have no reverence for age. +Never have I seen them more restless, more gay, or more impertinent, +than in the immemorial ruins of the ancient land. Beyond is an enormous +portal, on the lofty ceiling of which still linger traces of faded +red and blue, which gives access to a great hall with rows of mighty +columns, those on the left hand round, those on the right square, and +almost terribly massive. There is in these no grace, as in the giant +lotus columns of Karnak. Prodigious, heavy, barbaric, they are like a +hymn in stone to Strength. There is something brutal in their aspect, +which again makes one think of war, of assaults repelled, hordes beaten +back like waves by a sea-wall. And still another great hall, with more +gigantic columns, lies in the sun beyond, and a doorway through which +seems to stare fiercely the edge of a hard and fiery mountain. Although +one is roofed by the sky, there is something oppressive here; an +imprisoned feeling comes over one. I could never be fond of Medinet-Abu, +as I am fond of Luxor, of parts of Karnak, of the whole of delicious, +poetical Philae. The big pylons, with their great walls sloping +inward, sand-colored, and glowing with very pale yellow in the sun, the +resistant walls, the brutal columns, the huge and almost savage scale +of everything, always remind me of the violence in men, and also--I +scarcely know why--make me think of the North, of sullen Northern +castles by the sea, in places where skies are grey, and the white of +foam and snow is married in angry nights. + +And yet in Medinet-Abu there reigns a splendid calm--a calm that +sometimes seems massive, resistant, as the columns and the walls. Peace +is certainly inclosed by the stones that call up thoughts of war, as if, +perhaps, their purpose had been achieved many centuries ago, and +they were quit of enemies for ever. Rameses III. is connected with +Medinet-Abu. He was one of the greatest of the Egyptian kings, and has +been called the “last of the great sovereigns of Egypt.” He ruled for +thirty-one years, and when, after a first visit to Medinet-Abu, I looked +into his records, I was interested to find that his conquests and his +wars had “a character essentially defensive.” This defensive spirit is +incarnated in the stones of these ruins. One reads in them something of +the soul of this king who lived twelve hundred years before Christ, and +who desired, “in remembrance of his Syrian victories,” to give to his +memorial temple an outward military aspect. I noticed a military aspect +at once inside this temple; but if you circle the buildings outside it +is more unmistakable. For the east front has a battlemented wall, and +the battlements are shield-shaped. This fortress, or migdol, a name +which the ancient Egyptians borrowed from the nomadic tribes of Syria, +is called the “Pavilion of Rameses III.,” and his principal battles are +represented upon its walls. The monarch does not hesitate to speak of +himself in terms of praise, suggesting that he was like the God Mentu, +who was the Egyptian war god, and whose cult at Thebes was at one period +more important even than was the cult of Amun, and also plainly hinting +that he was a brave fellow. “I, Rameses the King,” he murmurs, “behaved +as a hero who knows his worth.” If hieroglyphs are to be trusted, +various Egyptian kings of ancient times seem to have had some vague +suspicion of their own value, and the walls of Medinet-Abu are, to speak +sincerely, one mighty boast. In his later years the king lived in peace +and luxury, surrounded by a vicious and intriguing Court, haunted by +magicians, hags, and mystery-mongers. Dealers in magic may still +be found on the other side of the river, in happy Luxor. I made the +acquaintance of two when I was there, one of whom offered for a couple +of pounds to provide me with a preservative against all such dangers as +beset the traveller in wild places. In order to prove its efficacy he +asked me to come to his house by night, bringing a dog and my revolver +with me. He would hang the charm about the dog’s neck, and I was then to +put six shots into the animal’s body. He positively assured me that the +dog would be uninjured. I half-promised to come and, when night began to +fall, looked vaguely about for a dog. At last I found one, but it howled +so dismally when I asked Ibrahim Ayyad to take possession of it for +experimental purposes, that I weakly gave up the project, and left the +magician clamoring for his hundred and ninety-five piastres. + +Its warlike aspect gives a special personality to Medinet-Abu. The +shield-shaped battlements; the courtyards, with their brutal columns, +narrowing as they recede towards the mountains; the heavy gateways, +with superimposed chambers; the towers; quadrangular bastion to protect, +inclined basement to resist the attacks of sappers and cause projectiles +to rebound--all these things contribute to this very definite effect. + +I have heard travelers on the Nile speak piteously of the confusion +wakened in their minds by a hurried survey of many temples, statues, +monuments, and tombs. But if one stays long enough this confusion fades +happily away, and one differentiates between the antique personalities +of Ancient Egypt almost as easily as one differentiates between the +personalities of one’s familiar friends. Among these personalities +Medinet-Abu is the warrior, standing like Mentu, with the solar disk, +and the two plumes erect above his head of a hawk, firmly planted at the +foot of the Theban mountains, ready to repel all enemies, to beat back +all assaults, strong and determined, powerful and brutally serene. + + + + +XI + +THE RAMESSEUM + +“This, my lord, is the thinking-place of Rameses the Great.” + +So said Ibrahim Ayyad to me one morning--Ibrahim, who is almost as +prolific in the abrupt creation of peers as if he were a democratic +government. + +I looked about me. We stood in a ruined hall with columns, architraves +covered with inscriptions, segments of flat roof. Here and there traces +of painting, dull-red, pale, ethereal blue--the “love-color” of Egypt, +as the Egyptians often call it--still adhered to the stone. This hall, +dignified, grand, but happy, was open on all sides to the sun and air. +From it I could see tamarisk- and acacia-trees, and far-off shadowy +mountains beyond the eastern verge of the Nile. And the trees were still +as carven things in an atmosphere that was a miracle of clearness and +of purity. Behind me, and near, the hard Libyan mountains gleamed in the +sun. Somewhere a boy was singing; and suddenly his singing died away. +And I thought of the “Lay of the Harper” which is inscribed upon the +tombs of Thebes--those tombs under those gleaming mountains: + + “For no one carries away his goods with him; + Yea, no one returns again who has gone thither.” + +It took the place of the song that had died as I thought of the great +king’s glory; that he had been here, and had long since passed away. + +“The thinking-place of Rameses the Great!” + +“Suttinly.” + +“You must leave me alone here, Ibrahim.” + +I watched his gold-colored robe vanish into the gold of the sun +through the copper color of the columns. And I was quite alone in +the “thinking-place” of Rameses. It was a brilliant day, the sky +dark sapphire blue, without even the spectre of a cloud, or any airy, +vaporous veil; the heat already intense in the full sunshine, but +delicious if one slid into a shadow. I slid into a shadow, and sat down +on a warm block of stone. And the silence flowed upon me--the silence of +the Ramesseum. + +Was _Horbehutet_, the winged disk, with crowned _uroei_, ever set up +above this temple’s principal door to keep it from destruction? I do not +know. But, if he was, he failed perfectly to fulfil his mission. And I +am glad he failed. I am glad of the ruin that is here, glad that walls +have crumbled or been overthrown, that columns have been cast down, and +ceilings torn off from the pillars that supported them, letting in the +sky. I would have nothing different in the thinking-place of Rameses. + +Like a cloud, a great golden cloud, a glory impending that will not, +cannot, be dissolved into the ether, he loomed over the Egypt that is +dead, he looms over the Egypt of to-day. Everywhere you meet his traces, +everywhere you hear his name. You say to a tall young Egyptian: “How big +you are growing, Hassan!” + +He answers, “Come back next year, my gentleman, and I shall be like +Rameses the Great.” + +Or you ask of the boatman who rows you, “How can you pull all day +against the current of the Nile?” And he smiles, and lifting his brown +arm, he says to you: “Look! I am strong as Rameses the great.” + +This familiar fame comes down through some twenty years. Carved upon +limestone and granite, now it seems engraven also on every Egyptian +heart that beats not only with the movement of shadoof, or is not buried +in the black soil fertilized by Hapi. Thus can inordinate vanity prolong +the true triumph of genius, and impress its own view of itself upon +the minds of millions. This Rameses is believed to be the Pharaoh who +oppressed the children of Israel. + +As I sat in the Ramesseum that morning, I recalled his face--the face +of an artist and a dreamer rather than that of a warrior and oppressor; +Asiatic, handsome, not insensitive, not cruel, but subtle, aristocratic, +and refined. I could imagine it bending above the little serpents of the +sistrum as they lifted their melodious voices to bid Typhon depart, or +watching the dancing women’s rhythmic movements, or smiling half kindly, +half with irony, upon the lovelorn maiden who made her plaint: + + “What is sweet to the mouth, to me is as the gall of birds; + Thy breath alone can comfort my heart.” + +And I could imagine it looking profoundly grave, not sad, among the +columns with their opening lotus flowers. For it is the hall of lotus +columns that Ibrahim calls the thinking-place of the king. + +There is something both lovely and touching to me in the lotus columns +of Egypt, in the tall masses of stone opening out into flowers near the +sun. Near the sun! Yes; only that obvious falsehood will convey to those +who have not seen them the effect of some of the hypostyle halls, the +columns of which seem literally soaring to the sky. And flowers of +stone, you will say, rudely carved and rugged! That does not matter. +There was poetry in the minds that conceived them, in the thought that +directed the hands which shaped them and placed them where they are. +In Egypt perpetually one feels how the ancient Egyptians loved +the _Nymphaea lotus_, which is the white lotus, and the _Nymphaea +coeruloea_, the lotus that is blue. Did they not place Horus in its cup, +and upon the head of Nefer-Tum, the nature god, who represented in +their mythology the heat of the rising sun, and who seems to have been +credited with power to grant life in the world to come, set it as a +sort of regal ornament? To Seti I., when he returned in glory from his +triumphs over the Syrians, were given bouquets of lotus-blossoms by +the great officers of his household. The tiny column of green feldspar +ending in the lotus typified eternal youth, even as the carnelian buckle +typified the blood of Isis, which washed away all sin. Kohl pots were +fashioned in the form of the lotus, cartouches sprang from it, wine +flowed from cups shaped like it. The lotus was part of the very life of +Egypt, as the rose, the American Beauty rose, is part of our social +life of to-day. And here, in the Ramesseum, I found campaniform, or +lotus-flower capitals on the columns--here where Rameses once perhaps +dreamed of his Syrian campaigns, or of that famous combat when, “like +Baal in his fury,” he fought single-handed against the host of the +Hittites massed in two thousand, five hundred chariots to overthrow him. + +The Ramesseum is a temple not of winds, but of soft and kindly airs. +There comes Zephyrus, whispering love to Flora incarnate in the Lotus. +To every sunbeam, to every little breeze, the ruins stretch out arms. +They adore the deep-blue sky, the shining, sifted sand, untrammeled +nature, all that whispers, “Freedom.” + +So I felt that day when Ibrahim left me, so I feel always when I sit +in the Ramesseum, that exultant victim of Time’s here not sacrilegious +hand. + +All strong souls cry out secretly for liberty as for a sacred necessity +of life. Liberty seems to drench the Ramesseum. And all strong souls +must exult there. The sun has taken it as a beloved possession. No massy +walls keep him out. No shield-shaped battlements rear themselves up +against the outer world as at Medinet-Abu. No huge pylons cast down upon +the ground their forms in darkness. The stone glows with the sun, seems +almost to have a soul glowing with the sense, the sun-ray sense, of +freedom. The heart leaps up in the Ramesseum, not frivolously, but with +a strange, sudden knowledge of the depths of passionate joy there are +in life and in bountiful, glorious nature. Instead of the strength of +a prison one feels the ecstasy of space; instead of the safety of +inclosure, the rapture of naked publicity. But the public to whom this +place of the great king is consigned is a public of Theban hills; of +the sunbeams striking from them over the wide world toward the east; +of light airs, of drifting sand grains, of singing birds, and of +butterflies with pure white wings. If you have ever ridden an Arab +horse, mounted in the heart of an oasis, to the verge of the great +desert, you will remember the bound, thrilling with fiery animation, +which he gives when he sets his feet on the sand beyond the last +tall date-palms. A bound like that the soul gives when you sit in +the Ramesseum, and see the crowding sunbeams, the far-off groves of +palm-trees, and the drowsy mountains, like shadows, that sleep beyond +the Nile. And you look up, perhaps, as I looked that morning, and upon a +lotus column near you, relieved, you perceive the figure of a young man +singing. + +A young man singing! Let him be the tutelary god of this place, whoever +he be, whether only some humble, happy slave, or the “superintendent of +song and of the recreation of the king.” Rather even than Amun-Ra +let him be the god. For there is something nobly joyous in this +architecture, a dignity that sings. + +It has been said, but not established, that Rameses the Great was buried +in the Ramesseum, and when first I entered it the “Lay of the Harper” + came to my mind, with the sadness that attends the passing away of +glory into the shades of death. But an optimism almost as determined +as Emerson’s was quickly bred in me there. I could not be sad, though +I could be happily thoughtful, in the light of the Ramesseum. And even +when I left the thinking-place, and, coming down the central aisle, saw +in the immersing sunshine of the Osiride Court the fallen colossus of +the king, I was not struck to sadness. + +Imagine the greatest figure in the world--such a figure as this Rameses +was in his day--with all might, all glory, all climbing power, all +vigor, tenacity of purpose, and granite strength of will concentrated +within it, struck suddenly down, and falling backward in a collapse of +which the thunder might shake the vitals of the earth, and you have this +prostrate colossus. Even now one seems to hear it fall, to feel the warm +soil trembling beneath one’s feet as one approaches it. A row of statues +of enormous size, with arms crossed as if in resignation, glowing in the +sun, in color not gold or amber, but a delicate, desert yellow, watch +near it like servants of the dead. On a slightly lower level than there +it lies, and a little nearer the Nile. Only the upper half of the figure +is left, but its size is really terrific. This colossus was fifty-seven +feet high. It weighed eight hundred tons. Eight hundred tons of syenite +went to its making, and across the shoulders its breadth is, or was, +over twenty-two feet. But one does not think of measurements as one +looks upon it. It is stupendous. That is obvious and that is enough. Nor +does one think of its finish, of its beautiful, rich color, of any of +its details. One thinks of it as a tremendous personage laid low, as +the mightiest of the mighty fallen. One thinks of it as the dead Rameses +whose glory still looms over Egypt like a golden cloud that will not +disperse. One thinks of it as the soul that commanded, and lo! there +rose up above the sands, at the foot of the hills of Thebes, the +exultant Ramesseum. + + + + +XII + +DEIR-EL-BAHARI + +Place for Queen Hatshepsu! Surely she comes to a sound of flutes, a +merry noise of thin, bright music, backed by a clashing of barbaric +cymbals, along the corridors of the past; this queen who is shown upon +Egyptian walls dressed as a man, who is said to have worn a beard, and +who sent to the land of Punt the famous expedition which covered her +with glory and brought gold to the god Amun. To me most feminine she +seemed when I saw her temple at Deir-el-Bahari, with its brightness and +its suavity; its pretty shallowness and sunshine; its white, and blue, +and yellow, and red, and green and orange; all very trim and fanciful, +all very smart and delicate; full of finesse and laughter, and breathing +out to me of the twentieth century the coquetry of a woman in 1500 B.C. +After the terrific masculinity of Medinet-Abu, after the great freedom +of the Ramesseum, and the grandeur of its colossus, the manhood of all +the ages concentrated in granite, the temple at Deir-el-Bahari came upon +me like a delicate woman, perfumed and arranged, clothed in a creation +of white and blue and orange, standing--ever so knowingly--against +a background of orange and pink, of red and of brown-red, a smiling +coquette of the mountain, a gay and sweet enchantress who knew her +pretty powers and meant to exercise them. + +Hatshepsu with a beard! Never will I believe it. Or if she ever seemed +to wear one, I will swear it was only the tattooed ornament with which +all the lovely women of the Fayum decorate their chins to-day, throwing +into relief the smiling, soft lips, the delicate noses, the liquid eyes, +and leading one from it step by step to the beauties it precedes. + +Mr. Wallis Budge says in his book on the antiquities of Egypt: “It would +be unjust to the memory of a great man and a loyal servant of Hatshepsu, +if we omitted to mention the name of Senmut, the architect and overseer +of works at Deir-el-Bahari.” By all means let Senmut be mentioned, and +then let him be utterly forgotten. A radiant queen reigns here--a +queen of fantasy and splendor, and of that divine shallowness--refined +frivolity literally cut into the mountain--which is the note of +Deir-el-Bahari. And what a clever background! Oh, Hatshepsu knew what +she was doing when she built her temple here. It was not the solemn +Senmut (he wore a beard, I’m sure) who chose that background, if I know +anything of women. + +Long before I visited Deir-el-Bahari I had looked at it from afar. My +eyes had been drawn to it merely from its situation right underneath +the mountains. I had asked: “What do those little pillars mean? And are +those little doors?” I had promised myself to go there, as one promises +oneself a _bonne bouche_ to finish a happy banquet. And I had realized +the subtlety, essentially feminine, that had placed a temple there. +And Menu-Hotep’s temple, perhaps you say, was it not there before the +queen’s? Then he must have possessed a subtlety purely feminine, or have +been advised by one of his wives in his building operations, or by some +favorite female slave. Blundering, unsubtle man would probably think +that the best way to attract and to fix attention on any object was to +make it much bigger than things near and around it, to set up a giant +among dwarfs. + +Not so Queen Hatshepsu. More artful in her generation, she set her +long but little temple against the precipices of Libya. And what is the +result? Simply that whenever one looks toward them one says, “What are +those little pillars?” Or if one is more instructed, one thinks about +Queen Hatshepsu. The precipices are as nothing. A woman’s wile has +blotted them out. + +And yet how grand they are! I have called them tiger-colored precipices. +And they suggest tawny wild beasts, fierce, bred in a land that is the +prey of the sun. Every shade of orange and yellow glows and grows pale +on their bosses, in their clefts. They shoot out turrets of rock that +blaze like flames in the day. They show great teeth, like the tiger when +any one draws near. And, like the tiger, they seem perpetually informed +by a spirit that is angry. Blake wrote of the tiger: + + “Tiger, tiger, burning bright + In the forests of the night.” + +These tiger-precipices of Libya are burning things, avid like beasts of +prey. But the restored apricot-colored pillars are not afraid of their +impending fury--fury of a beast baffled by a tricky little woman, almost +it seems to me; and still less afraid are the white pillars, and the +brilliant paintings that decorate the walls within. + +As many people in the sad but lovely islands off the coast of Scotland +believe in “doubles,” as the old classic writers believed in man’s +“genius,” so the ancient Egyptian believed in his “Ka,” or separate +entity, a sort of spiritual other self, to be propitiated and ministered +to, presented with gifts, and served with energy and ardor. On this +temple of Deir-el-Bahari is the scene of the birth of Hatshepsu, and +there are two babies, the princess and her Ka. For this imagined Ka, +when a great queen, long after, she built this temple, or chapel, that +offerings might be made there on certain appointed days. Fortunate Ka +of Hatshepsu to have had so cheerful a dwelling! Liveliness pervades +Deir-el-Bahari. I remember, when I was on my first visit to Egypt, +lunching at Thebes with Monsieur Naville and Mr. Hogarth, and afterward +going with them to watch the digging away of the masses of sand and +rubbish which concealed this gracious building. I remember the songs of +the half-naked workmen toiling and sweating in the sun, and I remember +seeing a white temple wall come up into the light with all the painted +figures surely dancing with joy upon it. And they are surely dancing +still. + +Here you may see, brilliant as yesterday’s picture anywhere, +fascinatingly decorative trees growing bravely in little pots, red +people offering incense which is piled up on mounds like mountains, +Ptah-Seket, Osiris receiving a royal gift of wine, the queen in the +company of various divinities, and the terrible ordeal of the cows. +The cows are being weighed in scales. There are three of them. One is +a philosopher, and reposes with an air that says, “Even this last +indignity of being weighed against my will cannot perturb my soaring +spirit.” But the other two sitting up, look as apprehensive as old +ladies in a rocking express, expectant of an accident. The vividness +of the colors in this temple is quite wonderful. And much of its +great attraction comes rather from its position, and from them, +than essentially from itself. At Deir-el-Bahari, what the long shell +contains--its happy murmur of life--is more fascinating than the shell. +There, instead of being uplifted or overawed by form, we are rejoiced +by color, by the high vivacity of arrested movement, by the story that +color and movement tell. And over all there is the bright, blue, painted +sky, studded, almost distractedly studded, with a plethora of the yellow +stars the Egyptians made like starfish. + +The restored apricot-colored columns outside look unhappily suburban +when you are near them. The white columns with their architraves are +more pleasant to the eyes. The niches full of bright hues, the arched +chapels, the small white steps leading upward to shallow +sanctuaries, the small black foxes facing each other on little yellow +pedestals--attract one like the details and amusing ornaments of a +clever woman’s boudoir. Through this most characteristic temple one +roves in a gaily attentive mood, feeling all the time Hatshepsu’s +fascination. + +You may see her, if you will, a little lady on the wall, with a face +decidedly sensual--a long, straight nose, thick lips, an expression +rather determined than agreeable. Her mother looks as Semitic as a Jew +moneylender in Brick Lane, London. Her husband, Thothmes II., has a weak +and poor-spirited countenance--decidedly an accomplished performer on +the second violin. The mother wears on her head a snake, no doubt a +cobra-di-capello, the symbol of her sovereignty. Thothmes is clad in +a loin-cloth. And a god, with a sleepy expression and a very fish-like +head, appears in this group of personages to offer the key of life. +Another painting of the queen shows her on her knees drinking milk from +the sacred cow, with an intent and greedy figure, and an extraordinarily +sensual and expressive face. That she was well guarded is surely proved +by a brave display of her soldiers--red men on a white wall. Full +of life and gaiety all in a row they come, holding weapons, and, +apparently, branches, and advancing with a gait of triumph that tells of +“spacious days.” And at their head is an officer, who looks back, much +like a modern drill sergeant, to see how his men are marching. + +In the southern shrine of the temple, cut in the rock as is the northern +shrine, once more I found traces of the “Lady of the Under-World.” For +this shrine was dedicated to Hathor, though the whole temple was sacred +to the Theban god Amun. Upon a column were the remains of the goddess’s +face, with a broad brow and long, large eyes. Some fanatic had hacked +away the mouth. + +The tomb of Hatshepsu was found by Mr. Theodore M. Davis, and the famous +_Vache_ of Deir-el-Bahari by Monsieur Naville as lately as 1905. It +stands in the museum at Cairo, but for ever it will be connected in the +minds of men with the tiger-colored precipices and the Colonnades of +Thebes. Behind the ruins of the temple of Mentu-Hotep III., in a chapel +of painted rock, the Vache-Hathor was found. + +It is not easy to convey by any description the impression this +marvellous statue makes. Many of us love our dogs, our horses, some +of us adore our cats; but which of us can think, without a smile, of +worshipping a cow? Yet the cow was the Egyptian Aphrodite’s sacred +animal. Under the form of a cow she was often represented. And in the +statue she is presented to us as a limestone cow. And positively this +cow is to be worshipped. + +She is shown in the act apparently of stepping gravely forward out of +a small arched shrine, the walls of which are decorated with brilliant +paintings. Her color is red and yellowish red, and is covered with dark +blotches of a very dark green, which look almost black. Only one or two +are of a bluish color. Her height is moderate. I stand about five foot +nine, and I found that on her pedestal the line of her back was about +level with my chest. The lower part of the body, much of which is +concealed by the under block of limestone, is white, tinged with yellow. +The tail is red. Above the head, open and closed lotus-flowers form +a head-dress, with the lunar disk and two feathers. And the long +lotus-stalks flow down on each side of the neck toward the ground. At +the back of this head-dress are a scarab and a cartouche. The goddess +is advancing solemnly and gently. A wonderful calm, a matchless, serene +dignity, enfold her. + +In the body of this cow one is able, indeed one is almost obliged, to +feel the soul of a goddess. The incredible is accomplished. The dead +Egyptian makes the ironic, the skeptical modern world feel deity in a +limestone cow. How is it done? I know not; but it is done. Genius can +do nearly everything, it seems. Under the chin of the cow there is a +standing statue of the King Mentu-Hotep, and beneath her the king kneels +as a boy. Wonderfully expressive and solemnly refined is the cow’s face, +which is of dark color, like the color of almost black earth--earth +fertilized by the Nile. Dignified, dominating, almost but just not +stern, strongly intelligent, and, through its beautiful intelligence, +entirely sympathetic (“to understand all, is to pardon all”), this face, +once thoroughly seen, completely noticed, can never be forgotten. This +is one of the most beautiful statues in the world. + +When I was at Deir-el-Bahari I thought of it and wished that it still +stood there near the Colonnades of Thebes under the tiger-colored +precipices. And then I thought of Hatshepsu. Surely she would not brook +a rival to-day near the temple which she made--a rival long lost and +long forgotten. Is not her influence still there upon the terraced +platforms, among the apricot and the white columns, near the paintings +of the land of Punt? Did it not whisper to the antiquaries, even to the +soldiers from Cairo, who guarded the Vache-Hathor in the night, to make +haste to take her away far from the hills of Thebes and from the Nile’s +long southern reaches, that the great queen might once more reign +alone? They obeyed. Hatshepsu was appeased. And, like a delicate woman, +perfumed and arranged, clothed in a creation of white and blue and +orange, standing ever so knowingly against a background of orange and +pink, of red and of brown-red, she rules at Deir-el-Bahari. + + + + +XIII + +THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS + +On the way to the tombs of the kings I went to the temple of Kurna, +that lonely cenotaph, with its sand-colored massive façade, its heaps +of fallen stone, its wide and ruined doorway, its thick, almost rough, +columns recalling Medinet-Abu. There is not very much to see, but from +there one has a fine view of other temples--of the Ramesseum, looking +superb, like a grand skeleton; of Medinet-Abu, distant, very pale gold +in the morning sunlight; of little Deir-al-Medinet, the pretty child of +the Ptolemies, with the heads of the seven Hathors. And from Kurna the +Colossi are exceptionally grand and exceptionally personal, so personal +that one imagines one sees the expressions of the faces that they no +longer possess. + +Even if you do not go into the tombs--but you will go--you must ride +to the tombs of the kings; and you must, if you care for the finesse of +impressions, ride on a blazing day and toward the hour of noon. Then the +ravine is itself, like the great act that demonstrates a temperament. +It is the narrow home of fire, hemmed in by brilliant colors, nearly +all--perhaps quite all--of which could be found in a glowing furnace. +Every shade of yellow is there--lemon yellow, sulphur yellow, the yellow +of amber, the yellow of orange with its tendency toward red, the yellow +of gold, sand color, sun color. Cannot all these yellows be found in a +fire? And there are the reds--pink of the carnation, pink of the coral, +red of the little rose that grows in certain places of sands, red of +the bright flame’s heart. And all these colors are mingled in complete +sterility. And all are fused into a fierce brotherhood by the sun. and +like a flood, they seem flowing to the red and the yellow mountains, +like a flood that is flowing to its sea. You are taken by them toward +the mountains, on and on, till the world is closing in, and you know the +way must come to an end. And it comes to an end--in a tomb. + +You go to a door in the rock, and a guardian lets you in, and wants to +follow you in. Prevent him if you can. Pay him. Go in alone. For this +is the tomb of Amenhotep II.; and he himself is here, far down, at rest +under the mountain, this king who lived and reigned more than fourteen +hundred years before the birth of Christ. The ravine-valley leads to +him, and you should go to him alone. He lies in the heart of the living +rock, in the dull heat of the earth’s bowels, which is like no other +heat. You descend by stairs and corridors, you pass over a well by a +bridge, you pass through a naked chamber; and the king is not there. And +you go on down another staircase, and along another corridor, and you +come into a pillared chamber, with paintings on its walls, and on +its pillars, paintings of the king in the presence of the gods of the +underworld, under stars in a soft blue sky. And below you, shut in on +the farther side by the solid mountain in whose breast you have all this +time been walking, there is a crypt. And you turn away from the bright +paintings, and down there you see the king. + +Many years ago in London I went to the private view of the Royal Academy +at Burlington House. I went in the afternoon, when the galleries were +crowded with politicians and artists, with dealers, gossips, quidnuncs, +and _flaneurs_; with authors, fashionable lawyers, and doctors; with men +and women of the world; with young dandies and actresses _en vogue_. +A roar of voices went up to the roof. Every one was talking, smiling, +laughing, commenting, and criticizing. It was a little picture of the +very worldly world that loves the things of to-day and the chime of the +passing hours. And suddenly some people near me were silent, and some +turned their heads to stare with a strangely fixed attention. And I saw +coming toward me an emaciated figure, rather bent, much drawn together, +walking slowly on legs like sticks. It was clad in black, with a gleam +of color. Above it was a face so intensely thin that it was like the +face of death. And in this face shone two eyes that seemed full of--the +other world. And, like a breath from the other world passing, this man +went by me and was hidden from me by the throng. It was Cardinal Manning +in the last days of his life. + +The face of the king is like his, but it has an even deeper pathos as it +looks upward to the rock. And the king’s silence bids you be silent, +and his immobility bids you be still. And his sad, and unutterable +resignation sifts awe, as by the desert wind the sand is sifted into the +temples, into the temple of your heart. And you feel the touch of time, +but the touch of eternity, too. And as, in that rock-hewn sanctuary, you +whisper “_Pax vobiscum_,” you say it for all the world. + + + + +XIV + +EDFU + +Prayer pervades the East. Far off across the sands, when one is +traveling in the desert, one sees thin minarets rising toward the sky. +A desert city is there. It signals its presence by this mute appeal +to Allah. And where there are no minarets--in the great wastes of the +dunes, in the eternal silence, the lifelessness that is not broken even +by any lonely, wandering bird--the camels are stopped at the appointed +hours, the poor, and often ragged, robes are laid down, the brown +pilgrims prostrate themselves in prayer. And the rich man spreads his +carpet, and prays. And the half-naked nomad spreads nothing; but he +prays, too. The East is full of lust and full of money-getting, and +full of bartering, and full of violence; but it is full of worship--of +worship that disdains concealment, that recks not of ridicule or +comment, that believes too utterly to care if others disbelieve. There +are in the East many men who do not pray. They do not laugh at the man +who does, like the unpraying Christian. There is nothing ludicrous to +them in prayer. In Egypt your Nubian sailor prays in the stern of your +dahabiyeh; and your Egyptian boatman prays by the rudder of your boat; +and your black donkey-boy prays behind a red rock in the sand; and +your camel-man prays when you are resting in the noontide, watching the +far-off quivering mirage, lost in some wayward dream. + +And must you not pray, too, when you enter certain temples where once +strange gods were worshipped in whom no man now believes? + +There is one temple on the Nile which seems to embrace in its arms all +the worship of the past; to be full of prayers and solemn praises; to be +the holder, the noble keeper, of the sacred longings, of the unearthly +desires and aspirations, of the dead. It is the temple of Edfu. From all +the other temples it stands apart. It is the temple of inward flame, of +the secret soul of man; of that mystery within us that is exquisitely +sensitive, and exquisitely alive; that has longings it cannot tell, and +sorrows it dare not whisper, and loves it can only love. + +To Horus it was dedicated--hawk-headed Horus--the son of Isis and +Osiris, who was crowned with many crowns, who was the young Apollo +of the old Egyptian world. But though I know this, I am never able to +associate Edfu with Horus, that child wearing the side-lock--when he +is not hawk-headed in his solar aspect--that boy with his finger in his +mouth, that youth who fought against Set, murderer of his father. + +Edfu, in its solemn beauty, in its perfection of form, seems to me to +pass into a region altogether beyond identification with the worship of +any special deity, with particular attributes, perhaps with particular +limitations; one who can be graven upon walls, and upon architraves and +pillars painted in brilliant colors; one who can personally pursue a +criminal, like some policeman in the street; even one who can rise +upon the world in the visible glory of the sun. To me, Edfu must always +represent the world-worship of “the Hidden One”; not Amun, god of the +dead, fused with Ra, with Amsu, or with Khnum: but that other “Hidden +One,” who is God of the happy hunting-ground of savages, with whom the +Buddhist strives to merge his strange serenity of soul; who is adored in +the “Holy Places” by the Moslem, and lifted mystically above the heads +of kneeling Catholics in cathedrals dim with incense, and merrily +praised with the banjo and the trumpet in the streets of black English +cities; who is asked for children by longing women, and for new dolls +by lisping babes; whom the atheist denies in the day, and fears in the +darkness of night; who is on the lips alike of priest and blasphemer, +and in the soul of all human life. + +Edfu stands alone, not near any other temple. It is not pagan; it is not +Christian: it is a place in which to worship according to the dictates +of your heart. + +Edfu stands alone on the bank of the Nile between Luxor and Assuan. It +is not very far from El-Kab, once the capital of Upper Egypt, and it is +about two thousand years old. The building of it took over one hundred +and eighty years, and it is the most perfectly preserved temple to-day +of all the antique world. It is huge and it is splendid. It has towers +one hundred and twelve feet high, a propylon two hundred and fifty-two +feet broad, and walls four hundred and fifty feet long. Begun in the +reign of Ptolemy III., it was completed only fifty-seven years before +the birth of Christ. + +You know these facts about it, and you forget them, or at least you do +not think of them. What does it all matter when you are alone in Edfu? +Let the antiquarian go with his anxious nose almost touching the stone; +let the Egyptologist peer through his glasses at hieroglyphs and puzzle +out the meaning of cartouches: but let us wander at ease, and worship +and regard the exquisite form, and drink in the mystical spirit, of this +very wonderful temple. + +Do you care about form? Here you will find it in absolute perfection. +Edfu is the consecration of form. In proportion it is supreme above +all other Egyptian temples. Its beauty of form is like the chiselled +loveliness of a perfect sonnet. While the world lasts, no architect can +arise to create a building more satisfying, more calm with the calm of +faultlessness, more serene with a just serenity. Or so it seems to me. I +think of the most lovely buildings I know in Europe--of the Alhambra at +Granada, of the Cappella Palatina in the palace at Palermo. And Edfu +I place with them--Edfu utterly different from them, more different, +perhaps, even than they are from each other, but akin to them, as all +great beauty is mysteriously akin. I have spent morning after morning +in the Alhambra, and many and many an hour in the Cappella Palatina; and +never have I been weary of either, or longed to go away. And this same +sweet desire to stay came over me in Edfu. The _Loulia_ was tied up by +the high bank of the Nile. The sailors were glad to rest. There was no +steamer sounding its hideous siren to call me to its crowded deck. So I +yielded to my desire, and for long I stayed in Edfu. And when at last +I left it I said to myself, “This is a supreme thing,” and I knew that +within me had suddenly developed the curious passion for buildings that +some people never feel, and that others feel ever growing and growing. + +Yes, Edfu is supreme. No alteration could improve it. Any change made in +it, however slight, could only be harmful to it. Pure and perfect is its +design--broad propylon, great open courtyard with pillared galleries, +halls, chambers, sanctuary. Its dignity and its sobriety are matchless. +I know they must be, because they touched me so strangely, with a kind +of reticent enchantment, and I am not by nature enamored of sobriety, of +reticence and calm, but am inclined to delight in almost violent +force, in brilliance, and, especially, in combinations of color. In +the Alhambra one finds both force and fairylike lightness, delicious +proportions, delicate fantasy, a spell as of subtle magicians; in the +Cappella Palatina, a jeweled splendor, combined with a small perfection +of form which simply captivates the whole spirit and leads it to +adoration. In Edfu you are face to face with hugeness and with grandeur; +but soon you are scarcely aware of either--in the sense, at least, that +connects these qualities with a certain overwhelming, almost striking +down, of the spirit and the faculties. What you are aware of is your +own immense and beautiful calm of utter satisfaction--a calm which has +quietly inundated you, like a waveless tide of the sea. How rare it is +to feel this absolute satisfaction, this praising serenity! The critical +spirit goes, like a bird from an opened window. The excited, laudatory, +voluble spirit goes. And this splendid calm is left. If you stay here, +you, as this temple has been, will be molded into a beautiful sobriety. +From the top of the pylon you have received this still and glorious +impression from the matchless design of the whole building, which you +see best from there. When you descend the shallow staircase, when you +stand in the great court, when you go into the shadowy halls, then it is +that the utter satisfaction within you deepens. Then it is that you feel +the need to worship in this place created for worship. + +The ancient Egyptians made most of their temples in conformity with +a single type. The sanctuary was at the heart, the core, of each +temple--the sanctuary surrounded by the chambers in which were laid up +the precious objects connected with ceremonies and sacrifices. Leading +to this core of the temple, which was sometimes called “the divine +house,” were various halls the roofs of which were supported by +columns--those hypostyle halls which one sees perpetually in Egypt. +Before the first of these halls was a courtyard surrounded by a +colonnade. In the courtyard the priests of the temple assembled. The +people were allowed to enter the colonnade. A gateway with towers gave +entrance to the courtyard. If one visits many of the Egyptian temples, +one soon becomes aware of the subtlety, combined with a sort of high +simplicity and sense of mystery and poetry, of these builders of the +past. As a great writer leads one on, with a concealed but beautiful +art, from the first words to which all the other words are ministering +servants; as the great musician--Wagner in his “Meistersinger,” for +instance--leads one from the first notes of his score to those final +notes which magnificently reveal to the listeners the real meaning +of those first notes, and of all the notes which follow them: so the +Egyptian builders lead the spirit gently, mysteriously forward from the +gateway between the towers to the distant house divine. When one enters +the outer court, one feels the far-off sanctuary. Almost unconsciously +one is aware that for that sanctuary all the rest of the temple was +created; that to that sanctuary everything tends. And in spirit one is +drawn softly onward to that very holy place. Slowly, perhaps, the body +moves from courtyard to hypostyle hall, and from one hall to another. +Hieroglyphs are examined, cartouches puzzled out, paintings of +processions, or bas-reliefs of pastimes and of sacrifices, looked at +with care and interest; but all the time one has the sense of waiting, +of a want unsatisfied. And only when one at last reaches the sanctuary +is one perfectly at rest. For then the spirit feels: “This is the +meaning of it all.” + +One of the means which the Egyptian architects used to create this sense +of approach is very simple, but perfectly effective. It consisted +only in making each hall on a very slightly higher level than the one +preceding it, and the sanctuary, which is narrow and mysteriously dark +on the highest level of all. Each time one takes an upward step, or +walks up a little incline of stone, the body seems to convey to the soul +a deeper message of reverence and awe. In no other temple is this sense +of approach to the heart of a thing so acute as it is when one walks in +Edfu. In no other temple, when the sanctuary is reached, has one such a +strong consciousness of being indeed within a sacred heart. + +The color of Edfu is a pale and delicate brown, warm in the strong +sunshine, but seldom glowing. Its first doorway is extraordinarily +high, and is narrow, but very deep, with a roof showing traces of that +delicious clear blue-green which is like a thin cry of joy rising up in +the solemn temples of Egypt. A small sphinx keeps watch on the right, +just where the guardian stands; this guardian, the gift of the past, +squat, even fat, with a very perfect face of a determined and handsome +man. In the court, upon a pedestal, stands a big bird, and near it is +another bird, or rather half of a bird, leaning forward, and very much +defaced. And in this great courtyard there are swarms of living birds, +twittering in the sunshine. Through the doorway between the towers one +sees a glimpse of a native village with the cupolas of a mosque. + +I stood and looked at the cupolas for a moment. Then I turned, and +forgot for a time the life of the world without--that men, perhaps, were +praying beneath those cupolas, or praising the Moslem’s God. For when I +turned, I felt, as I have said, as if all the worship of the world must +be concentrated here. Standing far down the open court, in the full +sunshine, I could see into the first hypostyle hall, but beyond only a +darkness--a darkness which led me on, in which the further chambers of +the house divine were hidden. As I went on slowly, the perfection of +the plan of the dead architects was gradually revealed to me, when the +darkness gave up its secrets; when I saw not clearly, but dimly, the +long way between the columns, the noble columns themselves, the gradual, +slight upward slope--graduated by genius; there is no other word--which +led to the sanctuary, seen at last as a little darkness, in which all +the mystery of worship, and of the silent desires of men, was surely +concentrated, and kept by the stone for ever. Even the succession of the +darknesses, like shadows growing deeper and deeper, seemed planned by +some great artist in the management of light, and so of shadow effects. +The perfection of form is in Edfu, impossible to describe, impossible +not to feel. The tremendous effect it has--an effect upon the soul--is +created by a combination of shapes, of proportions, of different levels, +of different heights, by consummate graduation. And these shapes, +proportions, different levels, and heights, are seen in dimness. Not +that jewelled dimness one loves in Gothic cathedrals, but the heavy +dimness of windowless, mighty chambers lighted only by a rebuked +daylight ever trying to steal in. One is captured by no ornament, +seduced by no lovely colors. Better than any ornament, greater than +any radiant glory of color, is this massive austerity. It is like +the ultimate in an art. Everything has been tried, every strangeness +_bizarrerie_, absurdity, every wild scheme of hues, every preposterous +subject--to take an extreme instance, a camel, wearing a top-hat, and +lighted up by fire-works, which I saw recently in a picture-gallery +of Munich. And at the end a genius paints a portrait of a wrinkled old +woman’s face, and the world regards and worships. Or all discords have +been flung together pell-mell, resolution of them has been deferred +perpetually, perhaps even denied altogether, chord of B major has been +struck with C major, works have closed upon the leading note or the +dominant seventh, symphonies have been composed to be played in the +dark, or to be accompanied by a magic-lantern’s efforts, operas been +produced which are merely carnage and a row--and at the end a genius +writes a little song, and the world gives the tribute of its breathless +silence and its tears. And it knows that though other things may be +done, better things can never be done. For no perfection can exceed any +other perfection. + +And so in Edfu I feel that this untinted austerity is perfect; that +whatever may be done in architecture during future ages of the world, +Edfu, while it lasts, will remain a thing supreme--supreme in form and, +because of this supremacy, supreme in the spell which it casts upon the +soul. + +The sanctuary is just a small, beautifully proportioned, inmost chamber, +with a black roof, containing a sort of altar of granite, and a great +polished granite shrine which no doubt once contained the god Horus. I +am glad he is not there now. How far more impressive it is to stand in +an empty sanctuary in the house divine of “the Hidden One,” whom the +nations of the world worship, whether they spread their robes on the +sand and turn their faces to Mecca, or beat the tambourine and sing +“glory hymns” of salvation, or flagellate themselves in the night before +the patron saint of the Passionists, or only gaze at the snow-white +plume that floats from the snows of Etna under the rose of dawn, and +feel the soul behind Nature. Among the temples of Egypt, Edfu is the +house divine of “the Hidden One,” the perfect temple of worship. + + + + +XV + +KOM OMBOS + +Some people talk of the “sameness” of the Nile; and there is a lovely +sameness of golden light, of delicious air, of people, and of scenery. +For Egypt is, after all, mainly a great river with strips on each side +of cultivated land, flat, green, not very varied. River, green plains, +yellow plains, pink, brown, steel-grey, or pale-yellow mountains, wail +of shadoof, wail of sakieh. Yes, I suppose there is a sameness, a sort +of golden monotony, in this land pervaded with light and pervaded with +sound. Always there is light around you, and you are bathing in it, and +nearly always, if you are living, as I was, on the water, there is a +multitude of mingling sounds floating, floating to your ears. As there +are two lines of green land, two lines of mountains, following the +course of the Nile; so are there two lines of voices that cease their +calling and their singing only as you draw near to Nubia. For then, with +the green land, they fade away, these miles upon miles of calling and +singing brown men; and amber and ruddy sands creep downward to the +Nile. And the air seems subtly changing, and the light perhaps growing +a little harder. And you are aware of other regions unlike those you are +leaving, more African, more savage, less suave, less like a dreaming. +And especially the silence makes a great impression on you. But before +you enter this silence, between the amber and ruddy walls that will lead +you on to Nubia, and to the land of the crocodile, you have a visit to +pay. For here, high up on a terrace, looking over a great bend of the +river is Kom Ombos. And Kom Ombos is the temple of the crocodile god. + +Sebek was one of the oldest and one of the most evil of the Egyptian +gods. In the Fayum he was worshipped, as well as at Kom Ombos, and +there, in the holy lake of his temple, were numbers of holy crocodiles, +which Strabo tells us were decorated with jewels like pretty women. He +did not get on with the other gods, and was sometimes confused with Set, +who personified natural darkness, and who also was worshipped by the +people about Kom Ombos. + +I have spoken of the golden sameness of the Nile, but this sameness is +broken by the variety of the temples. Here you have a striking instance +of this variety. Edfu, only forty miles from Kom Ombos, the next temple +which you visit, is the most perfect temple in Egypt. Kom Ombos is one +of the most imperfect. Edfu is a divine house of “the Hidden One,” full +of a sacred atmosphere. Kom Ombos is the house of crocodiles. In ancient +days the inhabitants of Edfu abhorred, above everything, crocodiles and +their worshippers. And here at Kom Ombos the crocodile was adored. You +are in a different atmosphere. + +As soon as you land, you are greeted with crocodiles, though fortunately +not by them. A heap of their black mummies is shown to you reposing in a +sort of tomb or shrine open at one end to the air. By these mummies the +new note is loudly struck. The crocodiles have carried you in an +instant from that which is pervadingly general to that which is narrowly +particular; from the purely noble, which seems to belong to all time, +to the entirely barbaric, which belongs only to times outworn. It +is difficult to feel as if one had anything in common with men who +seriously worshipped crocodiles, had priests to feed them, and decorated +their scaly necks with jewels. + +Yet the crocodile god had a noble temple at Kom Ombos, a temple which +dates from the times of the Ptolemies, though there was a temple in +earlier days which has now disappeared. Its situation is splendid. It +stands high above the Nile, and close to the river, on a terrace which +has recently been constructed to save it from the encroachments of the +water. And it looks down upon a view which is exquisite in the clear +light of early morning. On the right, and far off, is a delicious +pink bareness of distant flats and hills. Opposite there is a flood +of verdure and of trees going to mountains, a spit of sand where is an +inlet of the river, with a crowd of native boats, perhaps waiting for +a wind. On the left is the big bend of the Nile, singularly beautiful, +almost voluptuous in form, and girdled with a radiant green of crops, +with palm-trees, and again the distant hills. Sebek was well advised to +have his temples here and in the glorious Fayum, that land flowing with +milk and honey, where the air is full of the voices of the flocks and +herds, and alive with the wild pigeons; where the sweet sugar-cane +towers up in fairy forests, the beloved home of the jackal; where the +green corn waves to the horizon, and the runlets of water make a maze of +silver threads carrying life and its happy murmur through all the vast +oasis. + +At the guardian’s gate by which you go in there sits not a watch dog, +nor yet a crocodile, but a watch cat, small, but very determined, and +very attentive to its duties, and neatly carved in stone. You try to +look like a crocodile-worshipper. It is deceived, and lets you pass. And +you are alone with the growing morning and Kom Ombos. + +I was never taken, caught up into an atmosphere, in Kom Ombos. I +examined it with interest, but I did not feel a spell. Its grandeur +is great, but it did not affect me as did the grandeur of Karnak. Its +nobility cannot be questioned, but I did not stilly rejoice in it, as in +the nobility of Luxor, or the free splendor of the Ramesseum. + +The oldest thing at Kom Ombos is a gateway of sandstone placed there by +Thothmes III. as a tribute to Sebek. The great temple is of a warm-brown +color, a very rich and particularly beautiful brown, that soothes and +almost comforts the eyes that have been for many days boldly assaulted +by the sun. Upon the terrace platform above the river you face a low and +ruined wall, on which there are some lively reliefs, beyond which is +a large, open court containing a quantity of stunted, once big columns +standing on big bases. Immediately before you the temple towers up, very +gigantic, very majestic, with a stone pavement, walls on which still +remain some traces of paintings, and really grand columns, enormous in +size and in good formation. There are fine architraves, and some bits of +roofing, but the greater part is open to the air. Through a doorway is +a second hall containing columns much less noble, and beyond this one +walks in ruin, among crumbled or partly destroyed chambers, broken +statues, become mere slabs of granite and fallen blocks of stone. At the +end is a wall, with a pavement bordering it, and a row of chambers that +look like monkish cells, closed by small doors. At Kom Ombos there +are two sanctuaries, one dedicated to Sebek, the other to Heru-ur, or +Haroeris, a form of Horus in Egyptian called “the Elder,” which was +worshipped with Sebek here by the admirers of crocodiles. Each of them +contains a pedestal of granite upon which once rested a sacred bark +bearing an image of the deity. + +There are some fine reliefs scattered through these mighty ruins, +showing Sebek with the head of a crocodile, Heru-ur with the head of +a hawk so characteristic of Horus, and one strange animal which has +no fewer than four heads, apparently meant for the heads of lions. One +relief which I specially noticed for its life, its charming vivacity, +and its almost amusing fidelity to details unchanged to-day, depicts +a number of ducks in full flight near a mass of lotus-flowers. I +remembered it one day in the Fayum, so intimately associated with Sebek, +when I rode twenty miles out from camp on a dromedary to the end of the +great lake of Kurun, where the sand wastes of the Libyan desert stretch +to the pale and waveless waters which, that day, looked curiously +desolate and even sinister under a low, grey sky. Beyond the wiry +tamarisk-bushes, which grow far out from the shore, thousands upon +thousands of wild duck were floating as far as the eyes could see. We +took a strange native boat, manned by two half-naked fishermen, and were +rowed with big, broad-bladed oars out upon the silent flood that the +silent desert surrounded. But the duck were too wary ever to let us +get within range of them. As we drew gently near, they rose in black +throngs, and skimmed low into the distance of the wintry landscape, +trailing their legs behind them, like the duck on the wall of Kom +Ombos. There was no duck for dinner in camp that night, and the cook was +inconsolable. But I had seen a relief come to life, and surmounted my +disappointment. + +Kom Ombos and Edfu, the two houses of the lovers and haters of +crocodiles, or at least of the lovers and the haters of their worship, +I shall always think of them together, because I drifted on the _Loulia_ +from one to the other, and saw no interesting temple between them and +because their personalities are as opposed as were, centuries ago, +the tenets of those who adored within them. The Egyptians of old were +devoted to the hunting of crocodiles, which once abounded in the reaches +of the Nile between Assuan and Luxor, and also much lower down. But I +believe that no reliefs, or paintings, of this sport are to be found +upon the walls of the temples and the tombs. The fear of Sebek, perhaps, +prevailed even over the dwellers about the temple of Edfu. Yet how could +fear of any crocodile god infect the souls of those who were privileged +to worship in such a temple, or even reverently to stand under the +colonnade within the door? As well, perhaps, one might ask how men could +be inspired to raise such a perfect building to a deity with the face of +a hawk? But Horus was not the god of crocodiles, but a god of the sun. +And his power to inspire men must have been vast; for the greatest +concentration in stone in Egypt, and, I suppose, in the whole world, +the Sphinx, as De Rouge proved by an inscription at Edfu, was a +representation of Horus transformed to conquer Typhon. The Sphinx and +Edfu! For such marvels we ought to bless the hawk-headed god. And if we +forget the hawk, which one meets so perpetually upon the walls of +tombs and temples, and identify Horus rather with the Greek Apollo, the +yellow-haired god of the sun, driving “westerly all day in his flaming +chariot,” and shooting his golden arrows at the happy world beneath, we +can be at peace with those dead Egyptians. For every pilgrim who goes to +Edfu to-day is surely a worshipper of the solar aspect of Horus. As long +as the world lasts there will be sun-worshippers. Every brown man upon +the Nile is one, and every good American who crosses the ocean and comes +at last into the sombre wonder of Edfu, and I was one upon the deck of +the _Loulia_. + +And we all worship as yet in the dark, as in the exquisite dark, like +faith, of the Holy of Holies of Horus. + + + + +XVI + +PHILAE + +As I drew slowly nearer and nearer to the home of “the great +Enchantress,” or, as Isis was also called in bygone days, “the Lady of +Philae,” the land began to change in character, to be full of a new and +barbaric meaning. In recent years I have paid many visits to northern +Africa, but only to Tunisia and Algeria, countries that are wilder +looking, and much wilder seeming than Egypt. Now, as I approached +Assuan, I seemed at last to be also approaching the real, the intense +Africa that I had known in the Sahara, the enigmatic siren, savage and +strange and wonderful, whom the typical Ouled Nail, crowned with +gold, and tufted with ostrich plumes, painted with kohl, tattooed, and +perfumed, hung with golden coins and amulets, and framed in plaits +of coarse, false hair, represents indifferently to the eyes of the +travelling stranger. For at last I saw the sands that I love creeping +down to the banks of the Nile. And they brought with them that wonderful +air which belongs only to them--the air that dwells among the dunes in +the solitary places, that is like the cool touch of Liberty upon +the face of a man, that makes the brown child of the nomad as lithe, +tireless, and fierce-spirited as a young panther, and sets flame in the +eyes of the Arab horse, and gives speed of the wind to the Sloughi. The +true lover of the desert can never rid his soul of its passion for the +sands, and now my heart leaped as I stole into their pure embraces, as +I saw to right and left amber curves and sheeny recesses, shining ridges +and bloomy clefts. The clean delicacy of those sands that, in long +and glowing hills, stretched out from Nubia to meet me, who could ever +describe them? Who could ever describe their soft and enticing shapes, +their exquisite gradations of color, the little shadows in their +hollows, the fiery beauty of their crests, the patterns the cool winds +make upon them? It is an enchanted _royaume_ of the sands through which +one approaches Isis. + +Isis and engineers! We English people have effected that curious +introduction, and we greatly pride ourselves upon it. We have presented +Sir William Garstin, and Mr. John Blue, and Mr. Fitz Maurice, and other +clever, hard-working men to the fabled Lady of Philae, and they have +given her a gift: a dam two thousand yards in length, upon which +tourists go smiling on trolleys. Isis has her expensive tribute--it +cost about a million and a half pounds--and no doubt she ought to be +gratified. + +Yet I think Isis mourns on altered Philae, as she mourns with her +sister, Nepthys, at the heads of so many mummies of Osirians upon the +walls of Egyptian tombs. And though the fellaheen very rightly rejoice, +there are some unpractical sentimentalists who form a company about +her, and make their plaint with hers--their plaint for the peace that +is gone, for the lost calm, the departed poetry, that once hung, like a +delicious, like an inimitable, atmosphere, about the palms of the “Holy +Island.” + +I confess that I dreaded to revisit Philae. I had sweet memories of the +island that had been with me for many years--memories of still mornings +under the palm-trees, watching the gliding waters of the river, or +gazing across them to the long sweep of the empty sands; memories of +drowsy, golden noons, when the bright world seemed softly sleeping, and +the almost daffodil-colored temple dreamed under the quivering canopy of +blue; memories of evenings when a benediction from the lifted hands +of Romance surely fell upon the temple and the island and the river; +memories of moonlit nights, when the spirits of the old gods to whom the +temples were reared surely held converse with the spirits of the desert, +with Mirage and her pale and evading sisters of the great spaces, under +the brilliant stars. I was afraid, because I could not believe the +asservations of certain practical persons, full of the hard and almost +angry desire of “Progress,” that no harm had been done by the creation +of the reservoir, but that, on the contrary, it had benefited the +temple. The action of the water upon the stone, they said with vehement +voices, instead of loosening it and causing it to crumble untimely away, +had tended to harden and consolidate it. Here I should like to lie, but +I resist the temptation. Monsieur Naville has stated that possibly the +English engineers have helped to prolong the lives of the buildings of +Philae, and Monsieur Maspero has declared that “the state of the temple +of Philae becomes continually more satisfactory.” So be it! Longevity +has been, by a happy chance, secured. But what of beauty? What of the +beauty of the past, and what of the schemes for the future? Is +Philae even to be left as it is, or are the waters of the Nile to be +artificially raised still higher, until Philae ceases to be? Soon, no +doubt, an answer will be given. + +Meanwhile, instead of the little island that I knew, and thought a +little paradise breathing out enchantment in the midst of titanic +sterility, I found a something diseased. Philae now, when out of the +water, as it was all the time when I was last in Egypt, looks like a +thing stricken with some creeping malady--one of those maladies which +begin in the lower members of a body, and work their way gradually but +inexorably upward to the trunk, until they attain the heart. + +I came to it by the desert, and descended to Shellal--Shellal with +its railway-station, its workmen’s buildings, its tents, its dozens of +screens to protect the hewers of stone from the burning rays of the sun, +its bustle of people, of overseers, engineers, and workmen, Egyptian, +Nubian, Italian, and Greek. The silence I had known was gone, though the +desert lay all around--the great sands, the great masses of granite +that look as if patiently waiting to be fashioned into obelisks, and +sarcophagi, and statues. But away there across the bend of the river, +dominating the ugly rummage of this intrusive beehive of human bees, +sheer grace overcoming strength both of nature and human nature, +rose the fabled “Pharaoh’s Bed”; gracious, tender, from Shellal +most delicately perfect, and glowing with pale gold against the grim +background of the hills on the western shore. It seemed to plead for +mercy, like something feminine threatened with outrage, to protest +through its mere beauty, as a woman might protest by an attitude, +against further desecration. + +And in the distance the Nile roared through the many gates of the dam, +making answer to the protest. + +What irony was in this scene! In the old days of Egypt Philae was sacred +ground, was the Nile-protected home of sacerdotal mysteries, was a +veritable Mecca to the believers in Osiris, to which it was forbidden +even to draw near without permission. The ancient Egyptians swore +solemnly “By him who sleeps in Philae.” Now they sometimes swear angrily +at him who wakes in, or at least by, Philae, and keeps them steadily +going at their appointed tasks. And instead of it being forbidden to +draw near to a sacred spot, needy men from foreign countries flock +thither in eager crowds, not to worship in beauty, but to earn a living +wage. + +And “Pharaoh’s Bed” looks out over the water and seems to wonder what +will be the end. + +I was glad to escape from Shellal, pursued by the shriek of an engine +announcing its departure from the station, glad to be on the quiet +water, to put it between me and that crowd of busy workers. Before me I +saw a vast lake, not unlovely, where once the Nile flowed swiftly, far +off a grey smudge--the very damnable dam. All around me was a grim +and cruel world of rocks, and of hills that look almost like heaps of +rubbish, some of them grey, some of them in color so dark that they +resemble the lava torrents petrified near Catania, or the “Black +Country” in England through which one rushes on one’s way to the north. +Just here and there, sweetly almost as the pink blossoms of the wild +oleander, which I have seen from Sicilian seas lifting their heads from +the crevices of sea rocks, the amber and rosy sands of Nubia smiled down +over grit, stone, and granite. + +The setting of Philae is severe. Even in bright sunshine it has an iron +look. On a grey or stormy day it would be forbidding or even terrible. +In the old winters and springs one loved Philae the more because of +the contrast of its setting with its own lyrical beauty, its curious +tenderness of charm--a charm in which the isle itself was mingled with +its buildings. But now, and before my boat had touched the quay, I saw +that the island must be ignored--if possible. + +The water with which it is entirely covered during a great part of the +year seems to have cast a blight upon it. The very few palms have a +drooping and tragic air. The ground has a gangrened appearance, and much +of it shows a crawling mass of unwholesome-looking plants, which seem +crouching down as if ashamed of their brutal exposure by the receded +river, and of harsh and yellow-green grass, unattractive to the eyes. As +I stepped on shore I felt as if I were stepping on disease. But at least +there were the buildings undisturbed by any outrage. Again I turned +toward “Pharaoh’s Bed,” toward the temple standing apart from it, which +already I had seen from the desert, near Shellal, gleaming with its +gracious sand-yellow, lifting its series of straight lines of masonry +above the river and the rocks, looking, from a distance, very simple, +with a simplicity like that of clear water, but as enticing as the light +on the first real day of spring. + +I went first to “Pharaoh’s Bed.” + +Imagine a woman with a perfectly lovely face, with features as +exquisitely proportioned as those, say, of Praxiteles’s statue of the +Cnidian Aphrodite, for which King Nicomedes was willing to remit the +entire national debt of Cnidus, and with a warmly white rose-leaf +complexion--one of those complexions one sometimes sees in Italian +women, colorless, yet suggestive almost of glow, of purity, with the +flame of passion behind it. Imagine that woman attacked by a malady +which leaves her features exactly as they were, but which changes the +color of her face--from the throat upward to just beneath the nose--from +the warm white to a mottled, greyish hue. Imagine the line that would +seem to be traced between the two complexions--the mottled grey +below the warm white still glowing above. Imagine this, and you have +“Pharaoh’s Bed” and the temple of Philae as they are to-day. + + + + +XVII + +“PHARAOH’S BED” + +“Pharaoh’s Bed,” which stands alone close to the Nile on the eastern +side of the island, is not one of those rugged, majestic buildings, full +of grandeur and splendor, which can bear, can “carry off,” as it were, +a cruelly imposed ugliness without being affected as a whole. It is, on +the contrary, a small, almost an airy, and a femininely perfect thing, +in which a singular loveliness of form was combined with a singular +loveliness of color. The spell it threw over you was not so much a spell +woven of details as a spell woven of divine uniformity. To put it in +very practical language, “Pharaoh’s Bed” was “all of a piece.” The form +was married to the color. The color seemed to melt into the form. It was +indeed a bed in which the soul that worships beauty could rest happily +entranced. Nothing jarred. Antiquaries say that apparently this building +was left unfinished. That may be so. But for all that it was one of the +most finished things in Egypt, essentially a thing to inspire within one +the “perfect calm that is Greek.” The blighting touch of the Nile, which +has changed the beautiful pale yellow of the stone of the lower part +of the building to a hideous and dreary grey--which made me think of +a steel knife on which liquid has been spilt and allowed to run--has +destroyed the uniformity, the balance, the faultless melody lifted up by +form and color. And so it is with the temple. It is, as it were, cut in +two by the intrusion into it of this hideous, mottled complexion left by +the receded water. Everywhere one sees disease on the walls and columns, +almost blotting out bas-reliefs, giving to their active figures a +morbid, a sickly look. The effect is specially distressing in the open +court that precedes the temple dedicated to the Lady of Philae. In this +court, which is at the southern end of the island, the Nile at certain +seasons is now forced to rise very nearly as high as the capitals of +many of the columns. The consequence of this is that here the disease +seems making rapid strides. One feels it is drawing near to the heart, +and that the poor, doomed invalid may collapse at any moment. + +Yes, there is much to make one sad at Philae. But how much of pure +beauty there is left--of beauty that merely protests against any further +outrage! + +As there is something epic in the grandeur of the Lotus Hall at Karnak, +so there is something lyrical in the soft charm of the Philae temple. +Certain things or places, certain things in certain places, always +suggest to my mind certain people in whose genius I take delight--who +have won me, and moved me by their art. Whenever I go to Philae, the +name of Shelley comes to me. I scarcely could tell why. I have no +special reason to connect Shelley with Philae. But when I see that +almost airy loveliness of stone, so simply elegant, so, somehow, +spring-like in its pale-colored beauty, its happy, daffodil charm, with +its touch of the Greek--the sensitive hand from Attica stretched out +over Nubia--I always think of Shelley. I think of Shelley the youth who +dived down into the pool so deep that it seemed he was lost for ever to +the sun. I think of Shelley the poet, full of a lyric ecstasy, who was +himself like an embodied + + “Longing for something afar + From the sphere of our sorrow.” + +Lyrical Philae is like a temple of dreams, and of all poets Shelley +might have dreamed the dream and have told it to the world in a song. + +For all its solidity, there are a strange lightness and grace in the +temple of Philae; there is an elegance you will not find in the other +temples of Egypt. But it is an elegance quite undefiled by weakness, +by any sentimentality. (Even a building, like a love-lorn maid, can be +sentimental.) Edward FitzGerald once defined taste as the feminine of +genius. Taste prevails in Philae, a certain delicious femininity that +seduces the eyes and the heart of man. Shall we call it the spirit of +Isis? + +I have heard a clever critic and antiquarian declare that he is not very +fond of Philae; that he feels a certain “spuriousness” in the temple due +to the mingling of Greek with Egyptian influences. He may be right. I +am no antiquarian, and, as a mere lover of beauty, I do not feel this +“spuriousness.” I can see neither two quarrelling strengths nor any +weakness caused by division. I suppose I see only the beauty, as I might +see only the beauty of a women bred of a handsome father and mother +of different races, and who, not typical of either, combined in her +features and figure distinguishing merits of both. It is true that there +is a particular pleasure which is roused in us only by the absolutely +typical--the completely thoroughbred person or thing. It may be a +pleasure not caused by beauty, and it may be very keen, nevertheless. +When it is combined with the joy roused in us by all beauty, it is a +very pure emotion of exceptional delight. Philae does not, perhaps, give +this emotion. But it certainly has a lovableness that attaches the heart +in a quite singular degree. The Philae-lover is the most faithful of +lovers. The hold of his mistress upon him, once it has been felt, is +never relaxed. And in his affection for Philae there is, I think, nearly +always a rainbow strain of romance. + +When we love anything, we love to be able to say of the object of our +devotion, “There is nothing like it.” Now, in all Egypt, and I suppose +in all the world there is nothing just like Philae. There are temples, +yes; but where else is there a bouquet of gracious buildings such as +these gathered in such a holder as this tiny, raft-like isle? And +where else are just such delicate and, as I have said, light and almost +feminine elegance and charm set in the midst of such severe sterility? +Once, beyond Philae, the great Cataract roared down from the wastes of +Nubia into the green fertility of Upper Egypt. It roars no longer. But +still the masses of the rocks, and still the amber and the yellow sands, +and still the iron-colored hills, keep guard round Philae. And still, +despite the vulgar desecration that has turned Shellal into a workmen’s +suburb and dowered it with a railway-station, there is a mystery in +Philae, and the sense of isolation that only an island gives. Even now +one can forget in Philae--forget, after a while, and in certain parts of +its buildings, the presence of the grey disease; forget the threatening +of the altruists, who desire to benefit humanity by clearing as much +beauty out of humanity’s abiding-place as possible; forget the fact of +the railway, except when the shriek of the engine floats over the water +to one’s ears; forget economic problems, and the destruction that their +solving brings upon the silent world of things whose “use,” denied, +unrecognized, or laughed at, to man is in their holy beauty, whose +mission lies not upon the broad highways where tramps the hungry body, +but upon the secret, shadowy byways where glides the hungry soul. + +Yes, one can forget even now in the hall of the temple of Isis, where +the capricious graces of color, where, like old and delicious music in +the golden strings of a harp, dwells a something--what is it? A murmur, +or a perfume, or a breathing?--of old and vanished years when forsaken +gods were worshipped. And one can forget in the chapel of Hathor, on +whose wall little Horus is born, and in the grey hounds’ chapel beside +it. One can forget, for one walks in beauty. + +Lovely are the doorways in Philae, enticing are the shallow steps that +lead one onward and upward; gracious the yellow towers that seem to +smile a quiet welcome. And there is one chamber that is simply a place +of magic--the hall of the flowers. + +It is this chamber which always makes me think of Philae as a lovely +temple of dreams, this silent, retired chamber, where some fabled +princess might well have been touched to a long, long sleep of +enchantment, and lain for years upon years among the magical +flowers--the lotus, and the palm, and the papyrus. + +In my youth it made upon me an indelible impression. Through intervening +years, filled with many new impressions, many wanderings, many visions +of beauty in other lands, that retired, painted chamber had not faded +from my mind--or shall I say from my heart? There had seemed to me +within it something that was ineffable, as in a lyric of Shelley’s there +is something that is ineffable, or in certain pictures of Boecklin, +such as “The Villa by the Sea.” And when at last, almost afraid and +hesitating, I came into it once more, I found in it again the strange +spell of old enchantment. + +It seems as if this chamber had been imagined by a poet, who had set +it in the centre of the temple of his dreams. It is such a spontaneous +chamber that one can scarcely imagine it more than a day and a night in +the building. Yet in detail it is lovely; it is finished and strangely +mighty; it is a lyric in stone, the most poetical chamber, perhaps, in +the whole of Egypt. For Philae I count in Egypt, though really it is in +Nubia. + +One who has not seen Philae may perhaps wonder how a tall chamber of +solid stone, containing heavy and soaring columns, can be like a lyric +of Shelley’s, can be exquisitely spontaneous, and yet hold a something +of mystery that makes one tread softly in it, and fear to disturb within +it some lovely sleeper of Nubia, some Princess of the Nile. He must +continue to wonder. To describe this chamber calmly, as I might, for +instance, describe the temple of Derr, would be simply to destroy it. +For things ineffable cannot be fully explained, or not be fully felt +by those the twilight of whose dreams is fitted to mingle with their +twilight. They who are meant to love with ardor _se passionnent pour +la passion_. And they who are meant to take and to keep the spirit of a +dream, whether it be hidden in a poem, or held in the cup of a flower, +or enfolded in arms of stone, will surely never miss it, even though +they can hear roaring loudly above its elfin voice the cry of directed +waters rushing down to Upper Egypt. + +How can one disentangle from their tapestry web the different threads of +a spell? And even if one could, if one could hold them up, and explain, +“The cause of the spell is that this comes in contact with this, and +that this, which I show you, blends with, fades into, this,” how could +it advantage any one? Nothing could be made clearer, nothing be really +explained. The ineffable is, and must ever remain, something remote and +mysterious. + +And so one may say many things of this painted chamber of Philae, and +yet never convey, perhaps never really know, the innermost cause of its +charm. In it there is obvious beauty of form, and a seizing beauty +of color, beauty of sunlight and shadow, of antique association. This +turquoise blue is enchanting, and Isis was worshipped here. What has the +one to do with the other? Nothing; and yet how much! For is not each of +these facts a thread in the tapestry web of the spell? The eyes see the +rapture of this very perfect blue. The imagination hears, as if very +far off, the solemn chanting of priests and smells the smoke of strange +perfumes, and sees the long, aquiline nose and the thin, haughty lips of +the goddess. And the color becomes strange to the eyes as well as +very lovely, because, perhaps, it was there--it almost certainly was +there--when from Constantinople went forth the decree that all Egypt +should be Christian; when the priests of the sacred brotherhood of Isis +were driven from their temple. + +Isis nursing Horus gave way to the Virgin and the Child. But the cycles +spin away down “the ringing grooves of change.” From Egypt has passed +away that decreed Christianity. Now from the minaret the muezzin cries, +and in palm-shaded villages I hear the loud hymns of earnest pilgrims +starting on the journey to Mecca. And ever this painted chamber shelters +its mystery of poetry, its mystery of charm. And still its marvellous +colors are fresh as in the far-off pagan days, and the opening +lotus-flowers, and the closed lotus-buds, and the palm and the papyrus, +are on the perfect columns. And their intrinsic loveliness, and their +freshness, and their age, and the mysteries they have looked on--all +these facts are part of the spell that governs us to-day. In Edfu one is +enclosed in a wonderful austerity. And one can only worship. In Philae +one is wrapped in a radiance of color and one can only dream. For there +is coral-pink, and there a wonderful green, “like the green light that +lingers in the west,” and there is a blue as deep as the blue of a +tropical sea; and there are green-blue and lustrous, ardent red. And the +odd fantasy in the coloring, is not that like the fantasy in the temple +of a dream? For those who painted these capitals for the greater glory +of Isis did not fear to depart from nature, and to their patient worship +a blue palm perhaps seemed a rarely sacred thing. And that palm is part +of the spell, and the reliefs upon the walls and even the Coptic crosses +that are cut into the stone. + +But at the end, one can only say that this place is indescribable, and +not because it is complex or terrifically grand, like Karnak. Go to it +on a sunlit morning, or stand in it in late afternoon, and perhaps you +will feel that it “suggests” you, and that it carries you away, out of +familiar regions into a land of dreams, where among hidden ways the soul +is lost in magic. Yes, you are gone. + +To the right--for one, alas! cannot live in a dream for ever--is a +lovely doorway through which one sees the river. Facing it is another +doorway, showing a fragment of the poor, vivisected island, some ruined +walls, and still another doorway in which, again, is framed the Nile. +Many people have cut their names upon the walls of Philae. Once, as I +sat alone there, I felt strongly attracted to look upward to a wall, as +if some personality, enshrined within the stone, were watching me, or +calling. I looked, and saw written “Balzac.” + +Philae is the last temple that one visits before he gives himself to the +wildness of the solitudes of Nubia. It stands at the very frontier. As +one goes up the Nile, it is like a smiling adieu from the Egypt one +is leaving. As one comes down, it is like a smiling welcome. In its +delicate charm I feel something of the charm of the Egyptian character. +There are moments, indeed, when I identify Egypt with Philae. For in +Philae one must dream; and on the Nile, too, one must dream. And always +the dream is happy, and shot through with radiant light--light that is +as radiant as the colors in Philae’s temple. The pylons of Ptolemy smile +at you as you go up or come down the river. And the people of Egypt +smile as they enter into your dream. A suavity, too, is theirs. I think +of them often as artists, who know their parts in the dream-play, who +know exactly their function, and how to fulfil it rightly. They sing, +while you are dreaming, but it is an under-song, like the murmur of an +Eastern river far off from any sea. It never disturbs, this music, but +it helps you in your dream. And they are softly gay. And in their eyes +there is often the gleam of sunshine, for they are the children--but not +grown men--of the sun. That, indeed, is one of the many strange things +in Egypt--the youthfulness of its age, the childlikeness of its almost +terrible antiquity. One goes there to look at the oldest things in the +world and to feel perpetually young--young as Philae is young, as a +lyric of Shelley’s is young, as all of our day-dreams are young, as the +people of Egypt are young. + +Oh, that Egypt could be kept as it is, even as it is now; that Philae +could be preserved even as it is now! The spoilers are there, +those blithe modern spirits, so frightfully clever and capable, so +industrious, so determined, so unsparing of themselves and--of others! +Already they are at work “benefiting Egypt.” Tall chimneys begin to +vomit smoke along the Nile. A damnable tram-line for little trolleys +leads one toward the wonderful colossi of Memnon. Close to Kom Ombos +some soul imbued with romance has had the inspiration to set up--a +factory! And Philae--is it to go? + +Is beauty then of no value in the world? Is it always to be the prey of +modern progress? Is nothing to be considered sacred; nothing to be left +untouched, unsmirched by the grimy fingers of improvement? I suppose +nothing. + +Then let those who still care to dream go now to Philae’s painted +chamber by the long reaches of the Nile; go on, if they will, to the +giant forms of Abu-Simbel among the Nubian sands. And perhaps they will +think with me, that in some dreams there is a value greater than the +value that is entered in any bank-book, and they will say, with me, +however uselessly: + +“Leave to the world some dreams, some places in which to dream; for if +it needs dams to make the grain grow in the stretches of land that were +barren, and railways and tram-lines, and factory chimneys that vomit +black smoke in the face of the sun, surely it needs also painted +chambers of Philae and the silence that comes down from Isis.” + + + + +XVIII + +OLD CAIRO + +By Old Cairo I do not mean only _le vieux Caire_ of the guide-book, +the little, desolate village containing the famous Coptic church of Abu +Sergius, in the crypt of which the Virgin Mary and Christ are said to +have stayed when they fled to the land of Egypt to escape the fury of +King Herod; but the Cairo that is not new, that is not dedicated wholly +to officialdom and tourists, that, in the midst of changes and the +advance of civilisation--civilisation that does so much harm as well +as so much good, that showers benefits with one hand and defaces beauty +with the other--preserves its immemorial calm or immemorial turmult; +that stands aloof, as stands aloof ever the Eastern from the Western +man, even in the midst of what seems, perhaps, like intimacy; Eastern +to the soul, though the fantasies, the passions, the vulgarities, the +brilliant ineptitudes of the West beat about it like waves about some +unyielding wall of the sea. + +When I went back to Egypt, after a lapse of many years, I fled at once +from Cairo, and upon the long reaches of the Nile, in the great spaces +of the Libyan Desert, in the luxuriant palm-grooves of the Fayyum, +among the tamarisk-bushes and on the pale waters of Kurun, I forgot the +changes which, in my brief glimpse of the city and its environs, had +moved me to despondency. But one cannot live in the solitudes for ever. +And at last from Madi-nat-al-Fayyum, with the first pilgrims starting +for Mecca, I returned to the great city, determined to seek in it once +more for the fascinations it used to hold, and perhaps still held in the +hidden ways where modern feet, nearly always in a hurry, had seldom time +to penetrate. + +A mist hung over the land. Out of it, with a sort of stern energy, there +came to my ears loud hymns sung by the pilgrim voices--hymns in which, +mingled with the enthusiasm of devotees en route for the holiest shrine +of their faith, there seemed to sound the resolution of men strung up to +confront the fatigues and the dangers of a great journey through a wild +and unknown country. Those hymns led my feet to the venerable mosques of +Cairo, the city of mosques, guided me on my lesser pilgrimage among the +cupolas and the colonnades, where grave men dream in the silence near +marble fountains, or bend muttering their prayers beneath domes that are +dimmed by the ruthless fingers of Time. In the buildings consecrated to +prayer and to meditation I first sought for the magic that still lurks +in the teeming bosom of Cairo. + +Long as I had sought it elsewhere, in the brilliant bazaars by day, +and by night in the winding alleys, where the dark-eyed Jews looked +stealthily forth from the low-browed doorways; where the Circassian +girls promenade, gleaming with golden coins and barbaric jewels; +where the air is alive with music that is feverish and antique, and in +strangely lighted interiors one sees forms clad in brilliant draperies, +or severely draped in the simplest pale-blue garments, moving in languid +dances, fluttering painted figures, bending, swaying, dropping down, +like the forms that people a dream. + +In the bazaars is the passion for gain, in the alleys of music and light +is the passion for pleasure, in the mosques is the passion for prayer +that connects the souls of men with the unseen but strongly felt world. +Each of these passions is old, each of these passions in the heart of +Islam is fierce. On my return to Cairo I sought for the hidden fire that +is magic in the dusky places of prayer. + +A mist lay over the city as I stood in a narrow byway, and gazed up at +a heavy lattice, of which the decayed and blackened wood seemed on guard +before some tragic or weary secret. Before me was the entrance to the +mosque of Ibn-Tulun, older than any mosque in Cairo save only the mosque +of Amru. It is approached by a flight of steps, on each side of which +stand old, impenetrable houses. Above my head, strung across from one +house to the other, were many little red and yellow flags ornamented +with gold lozenges. These were to bear witness that in a couple of days’ +time, from the great open place beneath the citadel of Cairo, the Sacred +Carpet was to set out on its long journey to Mecca. My guide struck on a +door and uttered a fierce cry. A small shutter in the blackened lattice +was opened, and a young girl, with kohl-tinted eyelids, and a brilliant +yellow handkerchief tied over her coarse black hair, leaned out, held a +short parley, and vanished, drawing the shutter to behind her. The +mist crept about the tawdry flags, a heavy door creaked, whined on +its hinges, and from the house of the girl there came an old, fat man +bearing a mighty key. In a moment I was free of the mosque of Ibn-Tulun. + +I ascended the steps, passed through a doorway, and found myself on a +piece of waste ground, flanked on the right by an old, mysterious wall, +and on the left by the long wall of the mosque, from which close to +me rose a grey, unornamented minaret, full of the plain dignity of +unpretending age. Upon its summit was perched a large and weary-looking +bird with draggled feathers, which remained so still that it seemed to +be a sad ornament set there above the city, and watching it for ever +with eyes that could not see. At right angles, touching the mosque, +was such a house as one can see only in the East--fantastically old, +fantastically decayed, bleared, discolored, filthy, melancholy, showing +hideous windows, like windows in the slum of a town set above coal-pits +in a colliery district, a degraded house, and yet a house which roused +the imagination and drove it to its work. In this building once dwelt +the High Priest of the mosque. This dwelling, the ancient wall, the +grey minaret with its motionless bird, the lamentable waste ground at my +feet, prepared me rightly to appreciate the bit of old Cairo I had come +to see. + +People who are bored by Gothic churches would not love the mosque of +Ibn-Tulun. No longer is it used for worship. It contains no praying +life. Abandoned, bare, and devoid of all lovely ornament, it stands like +some hoary patriarch, naked and calm, waiting its destined end +without impatience and without fear. It is a fatalistic mosque, and is +impressive, like a fatalistic man. The great court of it, three hundred +feet square, with pointed arches supported by piers, double, and on +the side looking toward Mecca quintuple arcades, has a great dignity of +sombre simplicity. Not grace, not a light elegance of soaring beauty, +but massiveness and heavy strength are distinguishing features of this +mosque. Even the octagonal basin and its protecting cupola that stands +in the middle of the court lack the charm that belongs to so many of the +fountains of Cairo. There are two minarets, the minaret of the bird, and +a larger one, approached by a big stairway up which, so my dragoman +told me, a Sultan whose name I have forgotten loved to ride his favorite +horse. Upon the summit of this minaret I stood for a long time, looking +down over the city. + +Grey it was that morning, almost as London is grey; but the sounds that +came up softly to my ears out of the mist were not the sounds of +London. Those many minarets, almost like columns of fog rising above the +cupolas, spoke to me of the East even upon this sad and sunless morning. +Once from where I was standing at the time appointed went forth the +call to prayer, and in the barren court beneath me there were crowds +of ardent worshippers. Stern men paced upon the huge terrace just at my +feet fingering their heads, and under that heavy cupola were made the +long ablutions of the faithful. But now no man comes to this old place, +no murmur to God disturbs the heavy silence. And the silence, and the +emptiness, and the greyness under the long arcades, all seem to make +a tremulous proclamation; all seem to whisper, “I am very old, I am +useless, I cumber the earth.” Even the mosque of Amru, which stands also +on ground that looks gone to waste, near dingy and squat houses built +with grey bricks, seems less old than this mosque of Ibn-Tulun. For +its long façade is striped with white and apricot, and there are +lebbek-trees growing in its court near the two columns between which +if you can pass you are assured of heaven. But the mosque of Ibn-Tulun, +seen upon a sad day, makes a powerful impression, and from the summit of +its minaret you are summoned by the many minarets of Cairo to make the +pilgrimage of the mosques, to pass from the “broken arches” of these +Saracenic cloisters to the “Blue Mosque,” the “Red Mosque,” the mosques +of Mohammed Ali, of Sultan Hassan, of Kait Bey, of El-Azhar, and so on +to the Coptic church that is the silent centre of “old Cairo.” It is +said that there are over four hundred mosques in Cairo. As I looked +down from the minaret of Ibn-Tulun, they called me through the mist +that blotted completely out all the surrounding country, as if it would +concentrate my attention upon the places of prayer during these holy +days when the pilgrims were crowding in to depart with the Holy Carpet. +And I went down by the staircase of the house, and in the mist I made my +pilgrimage. + +As every one who visits Rome goes to St. Peter’s, so every one who +visits Cairo goes to the mosque of Mohammed Ali in the citadel, a +gorgeous building in a magnificent situation, the interior of which +always makes me think of Court functions, and of the pomp of life, +rather than of prayer and self-denial. More attractive to me is the +“Blue Mosque,” to which I returned again and again, enticed almost as by +the fascination of the living blue of a summer day. + +This mosque, which is the mosque of Ibrahim Aga, but which is familiarly +known to its lovers as the “Blue Mosque,” lies to the left of a +ramshackle street, and from the outside does not look specially +inviting. Even when I passed through its door, and stood in the court +beyond, at first I felt not its charm. All looked old and rough, unkempt +and in confusion. The red and white stripes of the walls and the arches +of the arcade, the mean little place for ablution--a pipe and a row of +brass taps--led the mind from a Neapolitan ice to a second-rate school, +and for a moment I thought of abruptly retiring and seeking more +splendid precincts. And then I looked across the court to the arcade +that lay beyond, and I saw the exquisite “love-color” of the marvellous +tiles that gives this mosque its name. + +The huge pillars of this arcade are striped and ugly, but between them +shone, with an ineffable lustre, a wall of purple and blue, of purple +and blue so strong and yet so delicate that it held the eyes and drew +the body forward. If ever color calls, it calls in the blue mosque of +Ibrahim Aga. And when I had crossed the court, when I stood beside the +pulpit, with its delicious, wooden folding-doors, and studied the tiles +of which this wonderful wall is composed, I found them as lovely near as +they are lovely far off. From a distance they resemble a Nature effect, +are almost like a bit of Southern sea or of sky, a fragment of gleaming +Mediterranean seen through the pillars of a loggia, or of Sicilian blue +watching over Etna in the long summer days. When one is close to them, +they are a miracle of art. The background of them is a milky white upon +which is an elaborate pattern of purple and blue, generally conventional +and representative of no known object, but occasionally showing tall +trees somewhat resembling cypresses. But it is impossible in words +adequately to describe the effect of these tiles, and of the tiles that +line to the very roof the tomb-house on the right of the court. They +are like a cry of ecstasy going up in this otherwise not very beautiful +mosque; they make it unforgettable, they draw you back to it again and +yet again. On the darkest day of winter they set something of summer +there. In the saddest moment they proclaim the fact that there is joy +in the world, that there was joy in the hearts of creative artists years +upon years ago. If you are ever in Cairo, and sink into depression, go +to the “Blue Mosque” and see if it does not have upon you an uplifting +moral effect. And then, if you like go on from it to the Gamia El +Movayad, sometimes called El Ahmar, “The Red,” where you will find +greater glories, though no greater fascination; for the tiles hold their +own among all the wonders of Cairo. + +Outside the “Red Mosque,” by its imposing and lofty wall, there is +always an assemblage of people, for prayers go up in this mosque, +ablutions are made there, and the floor of the arcade is often +covered with men studying the Koran, calmly meditating, or prostrating +themselves in prayer. And so there is a great coming and going up the +outside stairs and through the wonderful doorway: beggars crouch +under the wall of the terrace; the sellers of cakes, of syrups and +lemon-water, and of the big and luscious watermelons that are so +popular in Cairo, display their wares beneath awnings of orange-colored +sackcloth, or in the full glare of the sun, and, their prayers +comfortably completed or perhaps not yet begun, the worshippers stand to +gossip, or sit to smoke their pipes, before going on their way into the +city or the mosque. There are noise and perpetual movement here. Stand +for a while to gain an impression from them before you mount the steps +and pass into the spacious peace beyond. + +Orientals must surely revel in contrasts. There is no tumult like the +tumult in certain of their market-places. There is no peace like the +peace in certain of their mosques. Even without the slippers carefully +tied over your boots you would walk softly, gingerly, in the mosque of +El Movayad, the mosque of the columns and the garden. For once within +the door you have taken wings and flown from the city, you are in a +haven where the most delicious calm seems floating like an atmosphere. +Through a lofty colonnade you come into the mosque, and find yourself +beneath a magnificently ornamental wooden roof, the general effect of +which is of deep brown and gold, though there are deftly introduced +many touches of very fine red and strong, luminous blue. The walls are +covered with gold and superb marbles, and there are many quotations +from the Koran in Arab lettering heavy with gold. The great doors are +of chiseled bronze and of wood. In the distance is a sultan’s tomb, +surmounted by a high and beautiful cupola, and pierced with windows of +jeweled glass. But the attraction of this place of prayer comes less +from its magnificence, from the shining of its gold, and the gleaming of +its many-colored marbles, than from its spaciousness, its airiness, its +still seclusion, and its garden. Mohammedans love fountains and shady +places, as can surely love them only those who carry in their minds a +remembrance of the desert. They love to have flowers blowing beside them +while they pray. And with the immensely high and crenelated walls of +this mosque long ago they set a fountain of pure white marble, covered +it with a shelter of limestone, and planted trees and flowers about it. +There beneath palms and tall eucalyptus-trees even on this misty day of +the winter, roses were blooming, pinks scented the air, and great red +flowers, that looked like emblems of passion, stared upward almost +fiercely, as if searching for the sun. As I stood there among the +worshippers in the wide colonnade, near the exquisitely carved pulpit +in the shadow of which an old man who looked like Abraham was swaying to +and fro and whispering his prayers, I thought of Omar Khayyam and how he +would have loved this garden. But instead of water from the white marble +fountain, he would have desired a cup of wine to drink beneath the +boughs of the sheltering trees. And he could not have joined without +doubt or fear in the fervent devotions of the undoubting men, who came +here to steep their wills in the great will that flowed about them like +the ocean about little islets of the sea. + +From the “Red Mosque” I went to the great mosque of El-Azhar, to +the wonderful mosque of Sultan Hassan, which unfortunately was being +repaired and could not be properly seen, though the examination of +the old portal covered with silver, gold, and brass, the general +color-effect of which is a delicious dull green, repaid me for my visit, +and to the exquisitely graceful tomb-mosque of Kait Bey, which is beyond +the city walls. But though I visited these, and many other mosques and +tombs, including the tombs of the Khalifas, and the extremely smart +modern tombs of the family of the present Khedive of Egypt, no building +dedicated to worship, or to the cult of the dead, left a more lasting +impression upon my mind than the Coptic church of Abu Sergius, or Abu +Sargah, which stands in the desolate and strangely antique quarter +called “Old Cairo.” Old indeed it seems, almost terribly old. Silent and +desolate is it, untouched by the vivid life of the rich and prosperous +Egypt of to-day, a place of sad dreams, a place of ghosts, a place of +living spectres. I went to it alone. Any companion, however dreary, +would have tarnished the perfection of the impression Old Cairo and its +Coptic church can give to the lonely traveller. + +I descended to a gigantic door of palm-wood which was set in an old +brick arch. This door upon the outside was sheeted with iron. When it +opened, I left behind me the world I knew, the world that belongs to us +of to-day, with its animation, its impetus, its flashing changes, its +sweeping hurry and “go.” I stepped at once into, surely, some moldering +century long hidden in the dark womb of the forgotten past. The door +of palm-wood closed, and I found myself in a sort of deserted town, +of narrow, empty streets, beetling archways, tall houses built of grey +bricks, which looked as if they had turned gradually grey, as hair does +on an aged head. Very, very tall were these houses. They all appeared +horribly, almost indecently, old. As I stood and stared at them, I +remembered a story of a Russian friend of mine, a landed proprietor, +on whose country estate dwelt a peasant woman who lived to be over a +hundred. Each year when he came from Petersburg, this old woman arrived +to salute him. At last she was a hundred and four, and, when he left his +estate for the winter, she bade him good-bye for ever. For ever! But, +lo! the next year there she still was--one hundred and five years old, +deeply ashamed and full of apologies for being still alive. “I cannot +help it,” she said. “I ought no longer to be here, but it seems I do not +know anything. I do not know even how to die!” The grey, tall houses +of Old Cairo do not know how to die. So there they stand, showing their +haggard facades, which are broken by protruding, worm-eaten, wooden +lattices not unlike the shaggy, protuberant eyebrows which sometimes +sprout above bleared eyes that have seen too much. No one looked out +from these lattices. Was there, could there be, any life behind them? +Did they conceal harems of centenarian women with wrinkled faces, +and corrugated necks and hands? Here and there drooped down a string +terminating in a lamp covered with minute dust, that wavered in the +wintry wind which stole tremulously between the houses. And the houses +seemed to be leaning forward, as if they were fain to touch each other +and leave no place for the wind, as if they would blot out the exiguous +alleys so that no life should ever venture to stir through them again. +Did the eyes of the Virgin Mary, did the baby eyes of the Christ Child, +ever gaze upon these buildings? One could almost believe it. One could +almost believe that already these buildings were there when, fleeing +from the wrath of Herod, Mother and Child sought the shelter of the +crypt of Abu Sargah. + +I went on, walking with precaution, and presently I saw a man. He was +sitting collapsed beneath an archway, and he looked older than +the world. He was clad in what seemed like a sort of cataract of +multi-colored rags. An enormous white beard flowed down over his +shrunken breast. His face was a mass of yellow wrinkles. His eyes were +closed. His yellow fingers were twined about a wooden staff. Above his +head was drawn a patched hood. Was he alive or dead? I could not tell, +and I passed him on tiptoe. And going always with precaution between the +tall, grey houses and beneath the lowering arches, I came at last to the +Coptic church. + +Near it, in the street, were several Copts--large, fat, yellow-skinned, +apparently sleeping, in attitudes that made them look like bundles. I +woke one up, and asked to see the church. He stared, changed slowly from +a bundle to a standing man, went away and presently, returning with a +key and a pale, intelligent-looking youth, admitted me into one of the +strangest buildings it was ever my lot to enter. + +The average Coptic church is far less fascinating than the average +mosque, but the church of Abu Sargah is like no other church that I +visited in Egypt. Its aspect of hoary age makes it strangely, almost +thrillingly impressive. Now and then, in going about the world, one +comes across a human being, like the white-bearded man beneath the +arch, who might be a thousand years old, two thousand, anything, whose +appearance suggests that he or she, perhaps, was of the company which +was driven out of Eden, but that the expulsion was not recorded. And now +and then one happens upon a building that creates the same impression. +Such a building is this church. It is known and recorded that more than +a thousand years ago it had a patriarch whose name was Shenuti; but it +is supposed to have been built long before that time, and parts of it +look as if they had been set up at the very beginning of things. The +walls are dingy and whitewashed. The wooden roof is peaked, with many +cross-beams. High up on the walls are several small square lattices of +wood. The floor is of discolored stone. Everywhere one sees wood wrought +into lattices, crumbling carpets that look almost as frail and brittle +and fatigued as wrappings of mummies, and worn-out matting that +would surely become as the dust if one set his feet hard upon it. The +structure of the building is basilican, and it contains some strange +carvings of the Last Supper, the Nativity, and St. Demetrius. Around the +nave there are monolithic columns of white marble, and one column of +the red and shining granite that is found in such quantities at Assuan. +There are three altars in three chapels facing toward the East. Coptic +monks and nuns are renowned for their austerity of life, and their +almost fierce zeal in fasting and in prayer, and in Coptic churches +the services are sometimes so long that the worshippers, who are almost +perpetually standing, use crutches for their support. In their churches +there always seems to me to be a cold and austere atmosphere, far +different from the atmosphere of the mosques or of any Roman Catholic +church. It sometimes rather repels me, and generally make me feel +either dull or sad. But in this immensely old church of Abu Sargah the +atmosphere of melancholy aids the imagination. + +In Coptic churches there is generally a great deal of woodwork made into +lattices, and into the screens which mark the divisions, usually four, +but occasionally five, which each church contains, and, which are set +apart for the altar, for the priests, singers, and ministrants, for +the male portion of the congregation, and for the women, who sit by +themselves. These divisions, so different from the wide spaciousness and +airiness of the mosques, where only pillars and columns partly break +up the perspective, give to Coptic buildings an air of secrecy and of +mystery, which, however, is often rather repellent than alluring. In the +high wooden lattices there are narrow doors, and in the division which +contains the altar the door is concealed by a curtain embroidered with +a large cross. The Mohammedans who created the mosques showed marvellous +taste. Copts are often lacking in taste, as they have proved here and +there in Abu Sargah. Above one curious and unlatticed screen, near to +a matted dais, droops a hideous banner, red, purple, and yellow, with a +white cross. Peeping in, through an oblong aperture, one sees a sort of +minute circus, in the form of a half-moon, containing a table with an +ugly red-and-white striped cloth. There the Eucharist, which must be +preceded by confession, is celebrated. The pulpit is of rosewood, inlaid +with ivory and ebony, and in what is called the “haikal-screen” there +are some fine specimens of carved ebony. + +As I wandered about over the tattered carpets and the crumbling matting, +under the peaked roof, as I looked up at the flat-roofed galleries, or +examined the sculpture and ivory mosaics that, bleared by the passing +of centuries, seemed to be fading away under my very eyes, as upon every +side I was confronted by the hoary wooden lattices in which the dust +found a home and rested undisturbed, and as I thought of the narrow +alleys of grey and silent dwellings through which I had come to this +strange and melancholy “Temple of the Father,” I seemed to feel upon my +breast the weight of the years that had passed since pious hands erected +this home of prayer in which now no one was praying. But I had yet to +receive another and a deeper impression of solemnity and heavy silence. +By a staircase I descended to the crypt, which lies beneath the choir of +the church, and there, surrounded by columns of venerable marble, beside +an altar, I stood on the very spot where, according to tradition, the +Virgin Mary soothed the Christ Child to sleep in the dark night. And, as +I stood there, I felt that the tradition was a true one, and that there +indeed had stayed the wondrous Child and the Holy Mother long, how long +ago. + +The pale, intelligent Coptic youth, who had followed me everywhere, +and who now stood like a statue gazing upon me with his lustrous eyes, +murmured in English, “This is a very good place; this most interestin’ +place in Cairo.” + +Certainly it is a place one can never forget. For it holds in its dusty +arms--what? Something impalpable, something ineffable, something strange +as death, spectral, cold, yet exciting, something that seems to creep +into it out of the distant past and to whisper: “I am here. I am not +utterly dead. Still I have a voice and can murmur to you, eyes and can +regard you, a soul and can, if only for a moment, be your companion in +this sad, yet sacred, place.” + +Contrast is the salt, the pepper, too, of life, and one of the great +joys of travel is that at will one can command contrast. From silence +one can plunge into noise, from stillness one can hasten to movement, +from the strangeness and the wonder of the antique past one can step +into the brilliance, the gaiety, the vivid animation of the present. +From Babylon one can go to Bulak; and on to Bab Zouweleh, with its +crying children, its veiled women, its cake-sellers, its fruiterers, its +turbaned Ethiopians, its black Nubians, and almost fair Egyptians; +one can visit the bazaars, or on a market morning spend an hour at +Shareh-el-Gamaleyeh, watching the disdainful camels pass, soft-footed, +along the shadowy streets, and the flat-nosed African negroes, with +their almost purple-black skins, their bulging eyes, in which yellow +lights are caught, and their huge hands with turned-back thumbs, count +their gains, or yell their disappointment over a bargain from which +they have come out not victors, but vanquished. If in Cairo there are +melancholy, and silence, and antiquity, in Cairo may be found also +places of intense animation, of almost frantic bustle, of uproar that +cries to heaven. To Bulak still come the high-prowed boats of the +Nile, with striped sails bellying before a fair wind, to unload their +merchandise. From the Delta they bring thousands of panniers of fruit, +and from Upper Egypt and from Nubia all manner of strange and precious +things which are absorbed into the great bazaars of the city, and are +sold to many a traveller at prices which, to put it mildly, bring to the +sellers a good return. For in Egypt if one leave his heart, he leaves +also not seldom his skin. The goblin men of the great goblin market of +Cairo take all, and remain unsatisfied and calling for more. I said, in +a former chapter, that no fierce demands for money fell upon my ears. +But I confess, when I said it, that I had forgotten certain bazaars of +Cairo. + +But what matters it? He who has drunk Nile waters must return. The +golden country calls him; the mosques with their marble columns, their +blue tiles, their stern-faced worshippers; the narrow streets with their +tall houses, their latticed windows, their peeping eyes looking down on +the life that flows beneath and can never be truly tasted; the Pyramids +with their bases in the sand and their pointed summits somewhere near +the stars; the Sphinx with its face that is like the enigma of human +life; the great river that flows by the tombs and the temples; the great +desert that girdles it with a golden girdle. + +Egypt calls--even across the space of the world; and across the space +of the world he who knows it is ready to come, obedient to its summons, +because in thrall to the eternal fascination of the “land of sand, +and ruins, and gold”; the land of the charmed serpent, the land of the +afterglow, that may fade away from the sky above the mountains of Libya, +but that fades never from the memory of one who has seen it from the +base of some great column, or the top of some mighty pylon; the land +that has a spell--wonderful, beautiful Egypt. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spell of Egypt, by Robert Hichens + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPELL OF EGYPT *** + +***** This file should be named 3407-0.txt or 3407-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/0/3407/ + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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