The Plain of Thebes.
Many miles from the renowned city, we could distinguish in every
direction its vast remains, lying about in confused heaps. Rounding a
bend in the river, a wide plain extends from either bank, sweeping back
to a range of mountains, which lock it in on every side. It is
cultivated to the water’s edge, and groups of date-trees rise amidst
waving sugar-canes, or encircle the fields of golden corn, that stretch
far back, covering with verdure the fragments of one of the noblest
capitals of the ancient world.
Geologists have displayed to us the changes which the crust of the earth
has undergone from a period long anterior to any history, sacred or
profane; and have made known its strange inhabitants, during these
remote times. On the surface, there are wonders quite as marvellous as
those beneath it, in the various strata which have been created by the
convulsions of Time, wherein are fossils, apparently as extravagant in
their proportions, as any that figure in Palæontology. Thebes stands
prominent among the wonders of the buried Past—the most stupendous of
the Saurians of history—colossal in its proportions, extraordinary in
its character, and totally distinct in all its features from the cities
of the Present. The fossils of Natural History, however different as
organized beings from the fossils to which I am alluding, possess much
similarity with them. To carry the simile further, Egypt may be looked
upon as the old red sand-stone of history, abounding in traces of a
remote age, and a different state of being. It is impossible to express
the sensations which the modern traveller, with his modern sympathies
and associations, experiences on being, for the first time, brought
under the influence of a long-buried century. In gazing upon Thebes, he
looks back upon the world some thousands of years. There is nothing,
either in art or in nature, in the observation of which he is so
completely detached from himself and his era.
It was Sunday, and an atmosphere of silence and repose spread from one
ridge of mountains to the other, as if the Sabbath here extended even to
nature. The sun, as we advanced up the river, had risen slowly over the
heights, breaking the mist into silvery fleeces, and steeping the lofty
peaks in the most radiant tints. We saw the temples in the distance,
looming through the haze, like cities of refuge; and it seemed as if
they would never come nearer. A breath of wind filled our sail,
propelling the bark for a few moments, and inspiring us with new hope;
but soon we were again becalmed, and slowly and with difficulty made any
progress. The telescope passed from hand to hand; and as we looked more
narrowly, the confused mass took shape and order, and we gazed with
wonder over the acres of ruin, which bear the proud name of Karnac, to
the summit of Medeenah Haboo, under whose picturesque crags lie the
tombs of the kings.
On reaching the anchorage by the famous sycamores, we were obliged to
wait two hours for ‘The Eagle,’ which had been left far in our wake; and
we spent the interval in making arrangements for an excursion on shore.
At length she came up, but took the wrong side of the river; and it was
not till after considerable further delay that our party united, and
were all safely landed. We were then quickly in the saddle, and after
passing through several fields of corn and sugar-cane, emerged on an
expanse of bare stony land, full of holes; doubtless once smooth as a
lawn, and tracked with the fairest avenues of the city. It now verges on
the desert, near which is the small temple of Gournou—an interesting
ruin, but from its humble dimensions, scarcely noticed by the traveller.
After strolling through it, we spurred forward with increased
impatience, and a short ride brought us to the Memnonium.
The astonishment and awe which the first view of this stupendous fabric
inspires can scarcely be conceived. We glanced from one pillar to
another, on every side of the vast area, till we became perfectly
bewildered, and felt inclined to doubt that we were contemplating a work
of man. The grandeur and magnitude of the structure, wrought out in the
minutest details, revealed the hand of those reckless builders who
thought to raise “a city and a tower whose top should reach unto the
heavens;” beholding what they achieved, one hardly wonders at what they
designed. They have, indeed, made themselves “a name upon the earth,”
which the storms of thirty centuries have failed to obliterate. The
enormous pile, surviving the fall of thrones, and the extinction of
races, still rears its countless columns, erect as cedars, and
immoveable as rocks. Unincumbered by the heaps of fragments which entomb
the fair proportions of other ancient works of art, it stands up in
massive nakedness, invulnerable to the attacks of weather or the
encroachments of time.
The propylon, which is almost perfect, is covered with masterly
sculpture, depicting a triumph of Rameses, who, is represented by a
gigantic figure, at least thirty feet high. His hand grasps a club, with
which he is in the act of smiting a number of comparatively pigmy
captives, whose stature does not exceed six feet, and whom he holds up
by their hair. His queen Amnure looks on with admiration, strangely
blended with queenly dignity and repose. The effect of the whole is
singularly grand.
The propylon is exactly opposite the temple of Karnac, on the other side
of the river; and an avenue of sphinxes, leads from each edifice to the
water’s edge, but whether they were connected by a bridge or a ferry, no
fragment remains to declare. From the propylon we passed to a large
chamber, enclosed by peculiarly light and graceful columns, the capitals
of which, still in their prime, are ornamented with rich paintings, in
red, green, and other bright colours, as fresh as though they were of
yesterday’s creation. Close by is a prodigious block of grey granite,
which, on nearer inspection, proved to be a portion of the celebrated
statue of Memnon. Its dimensions may be conceived from our knowledge of
its weight, which has been computed at 887 tons. It was hewn in one
piece out of the rocks of Assouan; but how it could have been removed to
this place, a distance of so many miles, is one of the mysteries of
ancient science. The monster idol was represented sitting on his throne,
his hands resting on his knees, and his face and posture impressed with
majestic repose. Every morning, if we are to believe the testimony of
certain chronicles, he greeted with a melodious welcome the rising sun,
and at night lamented his setting, giving utterance to a sound full of
melancholy sadness. Age followed age—the boundaries of nations were
changed—empires past away—still this Colossus was firmly seated on a
throne that appeared likely to last out the world. At length, it was
overthrown by Cambyses, the Eastern Attila, and only the upper part of
the statue now remains. This, however, sufficiently attests its once
colossal proportions, and it seems likely to outlast many a modern
monument.[2]
The temple of Memnon, though in a state of exquisite preservation, was
much larger than its present appearance suggests. Two only of its nine
chambers now exist. A centre circle of columns, which marks another
precinct, is still standing, and the earth is strewn with the fragments
of the massive roof, gleaming with stars on a ground of deep blue.
The sun was sinking behind the hills, before we could tear ourselves
away, to finish, if possible, in one day our hurried inspection of the
left bank of the river. Galloping along the stony ground between the
Memnonium and Medeenah Haboo, we passed by the Sphinxes—which the
receding waters prevented us from approaching very close.
We gazed in wonder down the line, mutilated and deranged thought it was,
remarking the solemn and majestic features, bearing the impress of their
mystic character; and even where the face was broken, we could trace the
same expression of thoughtfulness and sorrow. In strange contrast with
these wondrous ruins, hundreds of paddy-birds, the loveliest birds of
Egypt, were stalking about, displaying their brilliant plumage in all
its beauty, and hovering round the fallen temple like the birds which
Jupiter called from Memnon’s funeral pile, when it flamed on the plains
of Troy.
We soon reached Medeenah Haboo, which is almost buried by the modern
buildings that surround it. After scrambling over heaps of crude bricks
and mud walls, we at last gained entrance to one of the largest and most
interesting of the Egyptian monuments. It consists of the usual propylon
and several chambers beyond, one of which is more than one hundred and
twenty feet square.
This spacious area was once encompassed by two rows of pillars,
measuring in circumference almost as much as in height; many of them
still stand erect. In the midst are the remains of an early Christian
church, the unpretending dimensions of which contrast strongly with the
vastness and solemn grandeur of the surrounding structures. But the
church is characteristic of the faith that was taught within its walls:
that had its origin in simplicity, modesty and humility. It was left for
later times to make the worship greater than the God, and the temple a
grand accessory in establishing the deification of the priest.
While strolling through the chambers, some Arabs, with a great show of
secrecy (the sale of ancient reliques being prohibited by the
Government), offered us a number of rings, scarabæi, and other
antiquarian treasures, which, however, our dragoman, Daireh, pronounced
to be “no original, all home manufacture,” and there was no denying that
they wore a very Brummagem look. We procured some, however, of a less
questionable character, among which was a mummy hand—the hand of a young
girl, looking painfully perfect, though dug up, we learnt, only a few
days previously from its tomb of three thousand years. What if it were
the hand of a Pharoah’s daughter—perhaps a sister of Thermeuthis, who
looked on when the favoured child, the future lawgiver of Judah, was
rescued from his ark on the Nile! It may, in its day, have a crowd of
suitors, and power to interpose between life and death; now—none so poor
to do it reverence!
We left the temple just in time to see the sun sink behind the hills,
leaving his last beams on their craggy points, and casting a gleam of
light far beyond, on the hoary walls of Karnac and Luxor. In a few
minutes more, the Union-Jack, which floated proudly over our boats, was
hauled down, and the shadows of evening began to creep over the plain.
We had no time to lose, and therefore started at once for the anchorage.
On our way, we were overtaken by two Bedouins, mounted on camels, which
bore them quickly past. As we were now shortly to adopt the same mode of
transit, when we should commence the passage of the desert, our eyes
followed them, as they rode on, with the greatest interest; but their
forms gradually grew more and more shadowy, and, before long, were lost
in darkness.