UPPER EGYPT.
Calm—Mountains and Tombs—A Night Adventure in Ekhmin—Character
of the Boatmen—Fair Wind—Pilgrims—Egyptian Agriculture—Sugar
and Cotton—Grain—Sheep—Arrival at Kenneh—A Landscape—The Temple
of Dendera—First Impressions of Egyptian Art—Portrait of
Cleopatra—A Happy Meeting—We approach Thebes.
Our men were ready at the appointed time, and precisely twenty-four
hours after reaching the port of Siout we spread our sails for Kenneh,
and exchanged a parting salute with the boat of a New York physician,
which arrived some hours after us. The north wind, which had been blowing
freshly during the whole of our stay, failed us almost within sight of
the port, and was followed by three days of breathless calm, during which
time we made about twelve miles a day, by towing. My friend and I spent
half the time on shore, wandering inland through the fields and making
acquaintances in the villages. We found such tours highly interesting
and refreshing, but nevertheless always returned to our floating Castle
of Indolence, doubly delighted with its home-like cabin and lazy divans.
Many of the villages in this region are built among the mounds of ancient
cities, the names whereof are faithfully enumerated in the guide-book,
but as the cities themselves have wholly disappeared, we were spared the
necessity of seeking for their ruins.
On the third night after leaving Siout, we passed the village of Gow
el-Kebir, the ancient Antæopolis, whose beautiful temple has been
entirely destroyed during the last twenty-five years, partly washed
away by the Nile and partly pulled down to furnish materials for the
Pasha’s palace at Siout. Near this the famous battle between Hercules
and Antæus is reported to have taken place. The fable of Antæus drawing
strength from the earth appears quite natural, after one has seen the
fatness of the soil of Upper Egypt. We ran the gauntlet of Djebel Shekh
Hereedee, a mountain similar to Aboufayda in form, but much more lofty
and imposing. It has also its legend: A miraculous serpent, say the
Arabs, has lived for centuries in its caverns, and possesses the power
of healing diseases. All these mountains, on the eastern bank of the
Nile, are pierced with tombs, and the openings are sometimes so frequent
and so near to each other as to resemble a colonnade along the rocky
crests. They rarely contain inscriptions, and many of them were inhabited
by hermits and holy men, during the early ages of Christianity. At the
most accessible points the Egyptians have commenced limestone quarries,
and as they are more concerned in preserving piastres than tombs, their
venerable ancestors are dislodged without scruple. Whoever is interested
in Egyptian antiquities, should not postpone his visit longer. Not only
Turks, but Europeans are engaged in the work of demolition, and the very
antiquarians who profess the greatest enthusiasm for these monuments, are
ruthless Vandals towards them when they have the power.
We dashed past the mountain of Shekh Hereedee in gallant style, and the
same night, after dusk, reached Ekhmin, the ancient Panopolis. This
was one of the oldest cities in Egypt, and dedicated to the Phallic
worship, whose first symbol, the obelisk, has now a purely monumental
significance. A few remnants of this singular ancient faith appear to be
retained among the modern inhabitants of Ekhmin, but only in the grossest
superstitions, and without reference to the abstract creative principle
typified by the Phallic emblems. The early Egyptians surrounded with
mystery and honored with all religious solemnity what they regarded as
the highest human miracle wrought by the power of their gods, and in a
philosophical point of view, there is no branch of their complex faith
more interesting than this.
As we sat on the bank in the moonlight, quietly smoking our pipes, the
howling of a company of dervishes sounded from the town, whose walls are
a few hundred paces distant from the river. We inquired of the guard
whether a Frank dare visit them. He could not tell, but offered to
accompany me and try to procure an entrance. I took Achmet and two of our
sailors, donned a Bedouin capote, and set out in search of the dervishes.
The principal gate of the town was closed, and my men battered it vainly
with their clubs, to rouse the guard. We wandered for some time among the
mounds of Panopolis, stumbling over blocks of marble and granite, under
palms eighty feet high, standing clear and silvery in the moonlight. At
last, the clamor of the wolfish dogs we waked up on the road, brought
us one of the watchers outside of the walls, whom we requested to
admit us into the city. He replied that this could not be done. “But,”
said Achmet, “here is on Effendi who has just arrived, and must visit
the mollahs to-night; admit him and fear nothing.” The men thereupon
conducted us to another gate and threw a few pebbles against the window
above it. A woman’s voice replied, and presently the bolts were undrawn
and we entered. By this time the dervishes had ceased their howlings, and
every thing was as still as death. We walked for half an hour through the
deserted streets, visited the mosques and public buildings, and heard
no sound but our own steps. It was a strangely interesting promenade.
The Arabs, armed with clubs, carried a paper lantern, which flickered
redly on the arches and courts we passed through. My trusty Theban
walked by my side, and took all possible trouble to find the retreat of
the dervishes—but in vain. We passed out through the gate, which was
instantly locked behind us, and had barely reached our vessel, when the
unearthly song of the Moslem priests, louder and wilder than ever, came
to our ears.
The prejudice of the Mohammedans against the Christians is wearing
away with their familiarity with the Frank dress and their adoption of
Frankish vices. The Prophet’s injunction against wine is heeded by few
of his followers, or avoided by drinking _arakee_, a liquor distilled
from dates and often flavored with hemp. Their conscience is generally
satisfied with a pilgrimage to Mecca and the daily performance of the
prescribed prayers, though the latter is often neglected. All of my
sailors were very punctual in this respect, spreading their carpets
on the forward deck, and occupying an hour or two every day with
genuflexions, prostrations, and salutations toward Mecca, the direction
of which they never lost, notwithstanding the windings of the Nile. In
the cathedrals of Christian Europe I have often seen pantomimes quite as
unnecessary, performed with less apparent reverence. The people of Egypt
are fully as honest and well-disposed as the greater part of the Italian
peasantry. They sometimes deceive in small things, and are inclined to
take trifling advantages, but that is the natural result of living under
a government whose only rule is force, and which does not even hesitate
to use fraud. Their good humor is inexhaustible. A single friendly
word wins them, and even a little severity awakes no lasting feeling
of revenge. I should much rather trust myself alone among the Egyptian
Fellahs, than among the peasants of the Campagna, or the boors of
Carinthia. Notwithstanding our men had daily opportunities of plundering
us, we never missed a single article. We frequently went ashore with
our dragoman, leaving every thing in the cabin exposed, and especially
such articles as tobacco, shot, dates, &c., which would most tempt an
Arab, yet our confidence was never betrayed. We often heard complaints
from travellers in other boats, but I am satisfied that any one who will
enforce obedience at the start, and thereafter give none but just and
reasonable commands, need have no difficulty with his crew.
The next morning, the wind being light, we walked forward to El
Menschieh, a town about nine miles distant from Ekhmin. It was
market-day, and the bazaar was crowded with the countrymen, who had
brought their stock of grain, sugar-cane and vegetables. The men were
taller and more muscular than in Lower Egypt, and were evidently
descended from a more intelligent and energetic stock. They looked at us
curiously, but with a sort of friendly interest, and courteously made
way for us as we passed through the narrow bazaar. In the afternoon the
wind increased to a small gale, and bore us rapidly past Gebel Tookh to
the city of Girgeh, so named in Coptic times from the Christian saint,
George. Like Manfalout, it has been half washed away by the Nile, and two
lofty minarets were hanging on the brink of the slippery bank, awaiting
their turn to fall. About twelve miles from Girgeh, in the Libyan Desert,
are the ruins of Abydus, now covered by the sand, except the top of the
portico and roof of the temple-palace of Sesostris, and part of the
temple of Osiris. We held a council whether we should waste the favorable
wind or miss Abydus, and the testimony of Achmet, who had visited the
ruins, having been taken, we chose the latter alternative. By this time
Girgeh was nearly out of sight, and we comforted ourselves with the hope
of soon seeing Dendera.
The pilgrims to Mecca, by the Kenneh and Kosseir route, were on their
return, and we met a number of boats, crowded with them, on their way
to Cairo from the former place. Most of the boats carried the red flag,
with the star and crescent. On the morning after leaving Girgeh, we took
a long stroll through the fields of Farshoot, which is, after Siout,
the richest agricultural district of Upper Egypt. An excellent system
of irrigation, by means of canals, is kept up, and the result shows
what might be made of Egypt, were its great natural resources rightly
employed. The Nile offers a perpetual fountain of plenty and prosperity,
and its long valley, from Nubia to the sea, would become, in other hands,
the garden of the world. So rich and pregnant a soil I have never seen.
Here, side by side, flourish wheat, maize, cotton, sugar-cane, indigo,
hemp, rice, dourra, tobacco, olives, dates, oranges, and the vegetables
and fruits of nearly every climate. The wheat, which, in November, we
found young and green, would in March be ripe for the sickle, and the
people were cutting and threshing fields of dourra, which they had
planted towards the end of summer. Except where the broad meadows are
first reclaimed from the rank, tufted grass which has taken possession
of them, the wheat is sowed upon the ground, and then ploughed in by a
sort of crooked wooden beam, shod with iron, and drawn by two camels or
buffaloes. I saw no instance in which the soil was manured. The yearly
deposit made by the bountiful river seems to be sufficient. The natives,
it is true, possess immense numbers of pigeons, and every village is
adorned with towers, rising above the mud huts like the pylons of
temples, and inhabited by these birds. The manure collected from them is
said to be used, but probably only in the culture of melons, cucumbers,
and other like vegetables with which the gardens are stocked.
The fields of sugar-cane about Farshoot were the richest I saw in Egypt.
Near the village, which is three miles from the Nile, there is a steam
sugar-refinery, established by Ibrahim Pasha, who seems to have devoted
much attention to the culture of cane, with a view to his own profit.
There are several of these manufactories along the Nile, and the most of
them were in full operation, as we passed. At Radamoon, between Minyeh
and Siout, there is a large manufactory, where the common coarse sugar
made in the Fellah villages is refined and sent to Cairo. We made use of
this sugar in our household, and found it to be of excellent quality,
though coarser than that of the American manufactories. The culture of
cotton has not been so successful. The large and handsome manufactory
built at Kenneh, is no longer in operation, and the fields which we saw
there, had a forlorn, neglected appearance. The plants grow luxuriantly,
and the cotton is of fine quality, but the pods are small and not very
abundant. About Siout, and in Middle and Lower Egypt, we saw many fields
of indigo, which is said to thrive well. Peas, beans and lentils are
cultivated to a great extent, and form an important item of the food of
the inhabitants. The only vegetables we could procure for our kitchen,
were onions, radishes, lettuce and spinage. The Arabs are very fond of
the tops of radishes, and eat them with as much relish as their donkeys.
One of the principal staples of Egypt is the dourra (_holcus sorghum_),
which resembles the _zea_ (maize) in many respects. In appearance, it
is very like broom-corn, but instead of the long, loose panicle of red
seeds, is topped by a compact cone of grains, smaller than those of
maize, but resembling them in form and taste. The stalks are from ten to
fifteen feet high, and the heads frequently contain as much substance as
two ears of maize. It is planted in close rows, and when ripe is cut by
the hand with a short sickle, after which the heads are taken off and
threshed separately. The grain is fed to horses, donkeys and fowls, and
in Upper Egypt is used almost universally for bread. It is of course
very imperfectly ground, and unbolted, and the bread is coarse and dark,
though nourishing. In the Middle and Southern States of America this
grain would thrive well and might be introduced with advantage.
The plains of coarse, wiry grass (_halfeh_), which in many points on the
Nile show plainly the neglect of the inhabitants, who by a year’s labor
might convert them into blooming fields, are devoted to the pasturage
of large herds of sheep, and goats, and sometimes droves of buffaloes.
The sheep are all black or dark-brown, and their bushy heads remind one
of terriers. The wool is rather coarse, and when roughly spun and woven
by the Arabs, in its natural color, forms the mantle, something like
a Spanish _poncho_, which is usually the Fellah’s only garment. The
mutton, almost the only meat to be found, is generally lean, and brings
a high price, considering the abundance of sheep. The flesh of buffaloes
is eaten by the Arabs, but is too tough, and has too rank a flavor,
for Christian stomachs. The goats are beautiful animals, with heads as
slender and delicate as those of gazelles. They have short, black horns,
curving downward—long, silky ears, and a peculiarly mild and friendly
expression of countenance. We had no difficulty in procuring milk in the
villages, and sometimes fresh butter, which was more agreeable to the
taste than the sight. The mode of churning is not calculated to excite
one’s appetite. The milk is tied up in a goat’s skin, and suspended by
a rope to the branch of a tree. One of the Arab housewives (who are all
astonishingly ugly and filthy) then stations herself on one side, and
propels it backward and forward till the process is completed. The cheese
of the country resembles a mixture of sand and slacked lime, and has an
abominable flavor.
Leaving Farshoot, we swept rapidly past Haou, the ancient _Diospolis
parva_, or Little Thebes, of which nothing is left but some heaps of
dirt, sculptured fragments, and the tomb of a certain Dionysius, son of
a certain Ptolemy. The course of the mountains, which follow the Nile,
is here nearly east and west, as the river makes a long curve to the
eastward on approaching Kenneh. The valley is inclosed within narrower
bounds, and the Arabian Mountains on the north, shooting out into bold
promontories from the main chain, sometimes rise from the water’s edge
in bluffs many hundred feet in height. The good wind, which had so
befriended us for three days, followed us all night, and when we awoke
on the morning of December 4th, our vessel lay at anchor in the port of
Kenneh, having beaten by four hours the boat of our American friend,
which was reputed to be one of the swiftest on the river.
Kenneh, which lies about a mile east of the river, is celebrated for the
manufacture of porous water-jars, and is an inferior mart of trade with
Persia and India, by means of Kosseir, on the Red Sea, one hundred and
twenty miles distant. The town is large, but mean in aspect, and does
not offer a single object of interest. It lies in the centre of a broad
plain. We rode through the bazaars, which were tolerably well stocked and
crowded with _hadji_, or pilgrims of Mecca. My friend, who wished to make
a flag of the Saxe-Coburg colors, for his return voyage, tried in vain
to procure a piece of green cotton cloth. Every other color was to be
had but green, which, as the sacred hue, worn only by the descendants of
Mohammed, was nowhere to be found. He was finally obliged to buy a piece
of white stuff and have it specially dyed. It came back the same evening,
precisely the color of the Shereef of Mecca’s turban.
On the western bank of the Nile, opposite Kenneh, is the site of the city
of Tentyra, famed for its temple of Athor. It is now called Dendera,
from the modern Arab village. After breakfast, we shipped ourselves and
our donkeys across the Nile, and rode off in high excitement, to make
our first acquaintance with Egyptian temples. The path led through a
palm grove, which in richness and beauty rivalled those of the Mexican
_tierra caliente_. The lofty shafts of the date and the vaulted foliage
of the doum-palm, blended in the most picturesque groupage, contrasted
with the lace-like texture of the flowering mimosa, and the cloudy
boughs of a kind of gray cypress. The turf under the trees was soft and
green, and between the slim trunks we looked over the plain, to the
Libyan Mountains—a long train of rosy lights and violet shadows. Out of
this lovely wood we passed between magnificent fields of dourra and the
castor-oil bean, fifteen feet in height, to a dyke which crossed the
meadows to Dendera. The leagues of rank grass on our right rolled away to
the Desert in shining billows, and the fresh west-wind wrapped us in a
bath of intoxicating odors. In the midst of this green and peaceful plain
rose the earthy mounds of Tentyra, and the portico of the temple, almost
buried beneath them, stood like a beacon, marking the boundary of the
Desert.
We galloped our little animals along the dyke, over heaps of dirt and
broken bricks, among which a number of Arabs were burrowing for nitrous
earth, and dismounted at a small pylon, which stands two or three hundred
paces in front of the temple. The huge jambs of sandstone, covered
with sharply cut hieroglyphics and figures of the Egyptian gods, and
surmounted by a single block, bearing the mysterious winged globe and
serpent, detained us but a moment, and we hurried down what was once
the dromos of the temple, now represented by a double wall of unburnt
bricks. The portico, more than a hundred feet in length, and supported by
six columns, united by screens of masonry, no stone of which, or of the
columns themselves, is unsculptured, is massive and imposing, but struck
me as being too depressed to produce a very grand effect. What was my
astonishment, on arriving at the entrance, to find that I had approached
the temple on a level with half its height, and that the pavement of the
portico was as far below as the scrolls of its cornice were above me.
The six columns I had seen covered three other rows, of six each, all
adorned with the most elaborate sculpture and exhibiting traces of the
brilliant coloring which they once possessed. The entire temple, which
is in an excellent state of preservation, except where the hand of the
Coptic Christian has defaced its sculptures, was cleaned out by order of
Mohammed Ali, and as all its chambers, as well as the roof of enormous
sandstone blocks, are entire, it is considered one of the most complete
relics of Egyptian art.
I find my pen at fault, when I attempt to describe the impression
produced by the splendid portico. The twenty-four columns, each of
which is sixty feet in height, and eight feet in diameter, crowded
upon a surface of one hundred feet by seventy, are oppressive in their
grandeur. The dim light, admitted through the half closed front, which
faces the north, spreads a mysterious gloom around these mighty shafts,
crowned with the fourfold visage of Athor, still rebuking the impious
hands that have marred her solemn beauty. On the walls, between columns
of hieroglyphics, and the cartouches of the Cæsars and the Ptolemies,
appear the principal Egyptian deities—the rigid Osiris, the stately Isis
and the hawk-headed Orus. Around the bases of the columns spring the
leaves of the sacred lotus, and the dark-blue ceiling is spangled with
stars, between the wings of the divine emblem. The sculptures are all
in raised relief, and there is no stone in the temple without them. I
cannot explain to myself the unusual emotion I felt while contemplating
this wonderful combination of a simple and sublime architectural style
with the utmost elaboration of ornament. My blood pulsed fast and warm on
my first view of the Roman Forum, but in Dendera I was so saddened and
oppressed, that I scarcely dared speak for fear of betraying an unmanly
weakness. My friend walked silently between the columns, with a face
as rigidly sad as if he had just looked on the coffin of his nearest
relative. Though such a mood was more painful than agreeable, it required
some effort to leave the place, and after a stay of two hours, we still
lingered in the portico and walked through the inner halls, under the
spell of a fascination which we had hardly power to break.
The portico opens into a hall, supported by six beautiful columns, of
smaller proportions, and lighted by a square aperture in the solid roof.
On either side are chambers connected with dim and lofty passages, and
beyond is the sanctuary and various other apartments, which receive no
light from without. We examined their sculptures by the aid of torches,
and our Arab attendants kindled large fires of dry corn stalks, which
cast a strong red light on the walls. The temple is devoted to Athor, the
Egyptian Venus, and her image is everywhere seen, receiving the homage
of her worshippers. Even the dark stair case, leading to the roof—up
which we climbed over heaps of sand and rubbish—is decorated throughout
with processions of symbolical figures. The drawing has little of that
grotesque stiffness which I expected to find in Egyptian sculptures,
and the execution is so admirable in its gradations of light and shade,
as to resemble, at a little distance, a monochromatic painting. The
antiquarians view these remains with little interest, as they date from
the comparatively recent era of the Ptolemies, at which time sculpture
and architecture were on the decline. We, who had seen nothing else of
the kind, were charmed with the grace and elegance of this sumptuous mode
of decoration. Part of the temple was built by Cleopatra, whose portrait,
with that of her son Cæsarion, may still be seen on the exterior wall.
The face of the colossal figure has been nearly destroyed, but there is a
smaller one, whose soft, voluptuous outline is still sufficient evidence
of the justness of her renown. The profile is exquisitely beautiful. The
forehead and nose approach the Greek standard, but the mouth is more
roundly and delicately curved, and the chin and cheek are fuller. Were
such an outline made plastic, were the blank face colored with a pale
olive hue, through which should blush a faint rosy tinge, lighted with
bold black eyes and irradiated with the lightning of a passionate nature,
it would even now “move the mighty hearts of captains and of kings.”
Around the temple and over the mounds of the ancient city are scattered
the ruins of an Arab village which the inhabitants suddenly deserted,
without any apparent reason, two or three years previous to our visit.
Behind it, stretches the yellow sand of the Desert. The silence and
aspect of desertion harmonize well with the spirit of the place, which
would be much disturbed were one beset, as is usual in the Arab towns,
by a gang of naked beggars and barking wolf-dogs. Besides the temple,
there are also the remains of a chapel of Isis, with a pylon, erected by
Augustus Cæsar, and a small temple, nearly whelmed in the sand, supposed
to be one of the _mammeisi_, or lying-in houses of the goddess Athor, who
was honored in this form, on account of having given birth to the third
member of the divine Triad.
At sunset, we rode back from Dendera and set sail for Thebes. In the
evening, as we were sweeping along by moonlight, with a full wind, a
large _dahabiyeh_ came floating down the stream. Achmet, who was on
the look-out, saw the American flag, and we hailed her. My delight was
unbounded, to hear in reply the voice of my friend, Mr. Degen, of New
York, who, with his lady and two American and English gentlemen, were
returning from a voyage to Assouan. Both boats instantly made for the
shore, and for the first time since leaving Germany I had the pleasure
of seeing familiar faces. For the space of three hours I forgot Thebes
and the north wind, but towards midnight we exchanged a parting salute of
four guns and shook out the broad sails of the Cleopatra, who leaned her
cheek to the waves and shot off like a sea-gull. I am sure she must have
looked beautiful to my friends, as they stood on deck in the moonlight.