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diff --git a/3407-h/3407-h.htm b/3407-h/3407-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..79a99cd --- /dev/null +++ b/3407-h/3407-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4112 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Spell of Egypt, by Robert Hichens + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +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 + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE SPELL OF EGYPT + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Robert Hichens + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PREPARER’S NOTE + + This text was prepared from a 1911 edition, + published by The Century Co., New York. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II + </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> III </a><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> V </a><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII + </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII </a><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> X </a><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII + </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII </a><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV </a><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII + </a><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <h3> + THE PYRAMIDS + </h3> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Yet Egypt is not unresponsive. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <h3> + THE SPHINX + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + They had come—and gone. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <h3> + SAKKARA + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <h3> + ABYDOS + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <h3> + THE NILE + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The dahabiyeh—her very name, the <i>Loulia</i>, 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 <i>Loulia</i> seems to be drifting, so quietly she slips up, or down, + the level waterway. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <h3> + DENDERAH + </h3> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>campo santo</i>, 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Once I was worshipped, but I am worshipped no longer.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <h3> + KARNAK + </h3> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Allah!” the child was singing as he passed upon his way. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And Khuns reigned quietly over the plains of Karnak. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Help! Help! Allah give us help! + Help! Help! Allah give us help!” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Triumph and deathless peace, the bugle-call and silence—these are + the notes of Karnak. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <h3> + LUXOR + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Come to prayer! Come to prayer! There is no god but God. There is no god + but God.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Loulia’s</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <h3> + COLOSSI OF MEMNON + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Loulia</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <h3> + MEDINET-ABU + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <h3> + THE RAMESSEUM + </h3> + <p> + “This, my lord, is the thinking-place of Rameses the Great.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For no one carries away his goods with him; + Yea, no one returns again who has gone thither.” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The thinking-place of Rameses the Great!” + </p> + <p> + “Suttinly.” + </p> + <p> + “You must leave me alone here, Ibrahim.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Was <i>Horbehutet</i>, the winged disk, with crowned <i>uroei</i>, 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + He answers, “Come back next year, my gentleman, and I shall be like + Rameses the Great.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What is sweet to the mouth, to me is as the gall of birds; + Thy breath alone can comfort my heart.” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Nymphaea lotus</i>, which is + the white lotus, and the <i>Nymphaea coeruloea</i>, 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <h3> + DEIR-EL-BAHARI + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>bonne bouche</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Tiger, tiger, burning bright + In the forests of the night.” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The tomb of Hatshepsu was found by Mr. Theodore M. Davis, and the famous + <i>Vache</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>flaneurs</i>; with authors, fashionable lawyers, and doctors; with + men and women of the world; with young dandies and actresses <i>en vogue</i>. + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 “<i>Pax + vobiscum</i>,” you say it for all the world. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV + </h2> + <h3> + EDFU + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And must you not pray, too, when you enter certain temples where once + strange gods were worshipped in whom no man now believes? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Loulia</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>bizarrerie</i>, 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV + </h2> + <h3> + KOM OMBOS + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>Loulia</i> 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 <i>Loulia</i>. + </p> + <p> + And we all worship as yet in the dark, as in the exquisite dark, like + faith, of the Holy of Holies of Horus. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI + </h2> + <h3> + PHILAE + </h3> + <p> + 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 <i>royaume</i> of the sands through + which one approaches Isis. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And in the distance the Nile roared through the many gates of the dam, + making answer to the protest. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And “Pharaoh’s Bed” looks out over the water and seems to wonder what will + be the end. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I went first to “Pharaoh’s Bed.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII + </h2> + <h3> + “PHARAOH’S BED” + </h3> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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 + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Longing for something afar + From the sphere of our sorrow.” + </pre> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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 <i>se passionnent pour la passion</i>. 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + OLD CAIRO + </h3> + <p> + By Old Cairo I do not mean only <i>le vieux Caire</i> 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +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-h.htm or 3407-h.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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