THEBES—THE WESTERN BANK.
Arrival at Thebes—Ground-Plan of the Remains—We Cross
to the Western Bank—Guides—The Temple of Goorneh—Valley
of the Kings’ Tombs—Belzoni’s Tomb—The Races of
Men—Vandalism of Antiquarians—Bruce’s Tomb—Memnon—The
Grandfather of Sesostris—The Head of Amunoph—The Colossi
of the Plain—Memnonian Music—The Statue of Remeses—The
Memnonium—Beauty of Egyptian Art—More Scrambles among the
Tombs—The Bats of the Assasseef—Medeenet Abou—Sculptured
Histories—The Great Court of the Temple—We return to Luxor.
On the following evening, about nine o’clock, as my friend and I were
taking our customary evening pipe in the cabin, our vessel suddenly
stopped. The wind was still blowing, and I called to Achmet to know
what was the matter. “We have reached Luxor,” answered the Theban. We
dropped the shebooks, dashed out, up the bank, and saw, facing us in
the brilliant moonlight, the grand colonnade of the temple, the solid
wedges of the pylon, and the brother-obelisk of that which stands in the
Place de la Concorde, in Paris. The wide plain of Thebes stretched away
on either hand, and the beautiful outlines of the three mountain ranges
which inclose it, rose in the distance against the stars. We looked on
the landscape a few moments, in silence. “Come,” said my friend, at
length, “this is enough for to-night. Let us not be too hasty to exhaust
what is in store for us.” So we returned to our cabin, closed the blinds,
and arranged our plans for best seeing, and best enjoying the wonders of
the great Diospolis.
Before commencing my recital, let me attempt to give an outline of the
typography of Thebes. The course of the Nile is here nearly north,
dividing the site of the ancient city into two almost equal parts. On
approaching it from Kenneh, the mountain of Goorneh, which abuts on the
river, marks the commencement of the western division. This mountain,
a range of naked limestone crags, terminating in a pyramidal peak,
gradually recedes to the distance of three miles from the Nile, which
it again approaches further south. Nearly the whole of the curve, which
might be called the western wall of the city, is pierced with tombs,
among which are those of the queens, and the grand priestly vaults of
the Assasseef. The Valley of the Kings’ Tombs lies deep in the heart of
the range seven or eight miles from the river. After passing the corner
of the mountain, the first ruin on the western bank is that of the
temple-palace of Goorneh. More than a mile further, at the base of the
mountain, is the Memnonium, or temple of Remeses the Great, between which
and the Nile the two Memnonian colossi are seated on the plain. Nearly
two miles to the south of this is the great temple of Medeenet Abou, and
the fragments of other edifices are met with, still further beyond. On
the eastern bank, nearly opposite Goorneh, stands the temple of Karnak,
about half a mile from the river. Eight miles eastward, at the foot of
the Arabian Mountains, is the small temple of Medamot, which, however,
does not appear to have been included in the limits of Thebes. Luxor is
directly on the bank of the Nile, a mile and a half south of Karnak, and
the plain extends several miles beyond it, before Beaching the isolated
range, whose three conical peaks are the landmarks of Thebes to voyagers
on the river.
These distances convey an idea of the extent of the ancient city, but
fail to represent the grand proportions of the landscape, so well fitted,
in its simple and majestic outlines, to inclose the most wonderful
structures the world has ever seen. The green expanse of the plain; the
airy coloring of the mountains; the mild, solemn blue of the cloudless
Egyptian sky;—these are a part of Thebes, and inseparable from the
remembrance of its ruins.
At sunrise we crossed to the western bank and moored our boat opposite
Goorneh. It is advisable to commence with the Tombs, and close the
inspection of that side with Medeenet Abou, reserving Karnak, the
grandest of all, for the last. The most unimportant objects in Thebes are
full of interest when seen first, whereas Karnak, once seen, fills one’s
thoughts to the exclusion of every thing else. There are Arab guides for
each bank, who are quite familiar with all the principal points, and who
have a quiet and unobtrusive way of directing the traveller, which I
should be glad to see introduced into England and Italy. Our guide, old
Achmet Gourgàr, was a tall, lean gray-beard, who wore a white turban and
long brown robe, and was most conscientious in his endeavors to satisfy
us; We found several horses on the bank, ready saddled, and choosing two
of the most promising, set off on a stirring gallop for the temple of
Goorneh and the Valley of the Kings’ Tombs, leaving Achmet to follow with
our breakfast, and the Arab boys with their water bottles.
The temple of Goorneh was built for the worship of Amun, the Theban
Jupiter, by Osirei and his son, Remeses the Great, the supposed
Sesostris, nearly fourteen hundred years before the Christian era. It is
small, compared with the other ruins, but interesting from its rude and
massive style, a remnant of the early period of Egyptian architecture.
The two pylons in front of it are shattered down, and the dromos of
sphinxes has entirely disappeared. The portico is supported by a single
row of ten columns, which neither resemble each other, nor are separated
by equal spaces. What is most singular, is the fact that notwithstanding
this disproportion, which is also observable in the doorways, the general
effect is harmonious. We tried to fathom the secret of this, and found
no other explanation than in the lowness of the building, and the rough
granite blocks of which it is built. One seeks no proportion in a natural
temple of rock, or a cirque of Druid stones. All that the eye requires is
rude strength, with a certain approach to order. The effect produced by
this temple is of a similar character, barring its historical interest.
Its dimensions are too small to be imposing, and I found, after passing
it several times, that I valued it more as a feature in the landscape,
than for its own sake.
The sand and pebbles clattered under the hoofs of our horses, as we
galloped up the gorge of _Biban el Molook_, the “Gates of the Kings.”
The sides are perpendicular cliffs of yellow rock, which increased in
height, the further we advanced, and at last terminated in a sort of
basin, shut in by precipices several hundred feet in height and broken
into fantastic turrets, gables and pinnacles. The bottom is filled with
huge heaps of sand and broken stones, left from the excavation of the
tombs in the solid rock. There are twenty-one tombs in this valley, more
than half of which are of great extent and richly adorned with paintings
and sculptures. Some have been filled with sand or otherwise injured by
the occasional rains which visit this region, while a few are too small
and plain to need visiting. Sir Gardner Wilkinson has numbered them all
in red chalk at the entrances, which is very convenient to those who use
his work on Egypt as a guide. I visited ten of the principal tombs, to
the great delight of the old guide, who complained that travellers are
frequently satisfied with four or five. The general arrangement is the
same in all, but they differ greatly in extent and in the character of
their decoration.
The first we entered was the celebrated tomb of Remeses I., discovered
by Belzoni. From the narrow entrance, a precipitous staircase, the walls
of which are covered with columns of hieroglyphics, descends to a depth
of forty feet, where it strikes a horizontal passage leading to an
oblong chamber, in which was formerly a deep pit, which Belzoni filled.
This pit protected the entrance to the royal chamber, which was also
carefully walled up. In the grace and freedom of the drawings, and the
richness of their coloring, this tomb surpasses all others. The subjects
represented are the victories of the monarch, while in the sepulchral
chamber he is received into the presence of the gods. The limestone rock
is covered with a fine coating of plaster, on which the figures were
first drawn with red chalk, and afterwards carefully finished in colors.
The reds, yellows, greens and blues are very brilliant, but seem to have
been employed at random, the gods having faces sometimes of one color,
sometimes of another. In the furthest chamber, which was left unfinished,
the subjects are only sketched in red chalk. Some of them have the loose
and uncertain lines of a pupil’s hand, over which one sees the bold and
rapid corrections of the master. Many of the figures are remarkable
for their strength and freedom of outline. I was greatly interested in
a procession of men, representing the different nations of the earth.
The physical peculiarities of the Persian, the Jew and the Ethiopian
are therein as distinctly marked as at the present day. The blacks are
perfect counterparts of those I saw daily upon the Nile, and the noses
of the Jews seem newly painted from originals in New York. So little
diversity in the distinguishing features of the race, after the lapse of
more than three thousand years, is a strong argument in favor of the new
ethnological theory of the separate origin of different races. Whatever
objections may be urged against this theory, the fact that the races have
not materially changed since the earliest historic times, is established
by these Egyptian records, and we must either place the first appearance
of Man upon the earth many thousands of years in advance of Bishop
Usher’s chronology, or adopt the conclusion of Morton and Agassiz.
The burial-vault, where Belzoni found the alabaster sarcophagus of the
monarch, is a noble hall, thirty feet long by nearly twenty in breadth
and height, with four massive pillars forming a corridor on one side. In
addition to the light of our torches, the Arabs kindled a large bonfire
in the centre, which brought out in strong relief the sepulchral figures
on the ceiling, painted in white on a ground of dark indigo hue. The
pillars and walls of the vault glowed with the vivid variety of their
colors, and the general effect was unspeakably rich and gorgeous. This
tomb has already fallen a prey to worse plunderers than the Medes and
Persians. Belzoni carried off the sarcophagus, Champollion cut away the
splendid jambs and architrave of the entrance to the lower chambers, and
Lepsius has finished by splitting the pillars and appropriating their
beautiful paintings for the Museum at Berlin. At one spot, where the
latter has totally ruined a fine doorway, some indignant Frenchman has
written in red chalk: “_Meurtre commis par Lepsius_.” In all the tombs
of Thebes, wherever you see the most flagrant and shameless spoliations,
the guide says, “Lepsius.” Who can blame the Arabs for wantonly defacing
these precious monuments, when such an example is set them by the vanity
of European antiquarians?
Bruce’s Tomb, which extends for four hundred and twenty feet into the
rock, is larger than Belzoni’s, but not so fresh and brilliant. The
main entrance slopes with a very gradual descent, and has on each side
a number of small chambers and niches, apparently for mummies. The
illustrations in these chambers are somewhat defaced, but very curious,
on account of the light which they throw upon the domestic life of
the Ancient Egyptians. They represent the slaughtering of oxen, the
preparation of fowls for the table, the kneading and baking of bread
and cakes, as well as the implements and utensils of the kitchen. In
other places the field laborers are employed in leading the water of
the Nile into canals, cutting dourra, threshing and carrying the grain
into magazines. One room is filled with furniture, and the row of chairs
around the base of the walls would not be out of place in the most
elegant modern drawing-room. The Illustrated Catalogue of the London
Exhibition contains few richer and more graceful patterns. In a chamber
nearer the royal vault, two old, blind minstrels are seen, playing the
harp in the presence of the King, whence this is sometimes called the
Harper’s Tomb. The pillars of the grand hall, like those of all the
other tombs we visited, represent the monarch, after death, received
into the presence of the gods—stately figures, with a calm and serious
aspect, and lips, which, like those of the Sphinx, seemed closed upon
some awful mystery. The absurdity of the coloring does not destroy this
effect, and a blue-faced Isis, whose hard, black eyeball stares from a
brilliant white socket, is not less impressive than the same figure, cut
in sandstone or granite.
The delicacy and precision of the hieroglyphics, sculptured in intaglio,
filled me with astonishment. In the tomb of Amunoph III., which I
visited the next day, they resembled the ciphers engraved upon seals
in their exquisite sharpness and regularity. Only the principal tombs,
however, are thus beautified. In others the figures are either simply
painted, or apparently sunken in the plaster, while it was yet fresh, by
prepared patterns. The latter method accounts for the exact resemblance
of long processions of figures, which would otherwise require a most
marvellous skill on the part of the artist. In some unfinished chambers
I detected plainly the traces of these patterns, where the outlines of
the figures were blunt and the grain of the plaster bent, and not cut.
The family likeness in the faces of the monarchs is also too striking,
unfortunately, for us to accept them all as faithful portraits. They are
all apparently of the same age, and their attributes do not materially
differ. This was probably a flattery on the part of the artists, or the
effect of a royal vanity, which required to be portrayed in the freshness
of youth and the full vigor of body and mind. The first faces I learned
to recognize were those of Remeses II., the supposed Sesostris, and
Amunoph III.
The tomb of Memnon, as it was called by the Romans, is the most elegant
of all, in its proportions, and is as symmetrical as a Grecian temple. On
the walls of the entrance are several inscriptions of Greek tourists, who
visited it in the era of the Ptolemies, and spent their time in carving
their names, like Americans nowadays. The huge granite sarcophagus in
which the monarch’s mummy was deposited, is broken, as are those of the
other tombs, with a single exception. This is the tomb of Osirei I., the
grandfather of Sesostris, and the oldest in the valley. I visited it by
crawling through a hole barely large enough to admit my body, after which
I slid on my back down a passage nearly choked with sand, to another
hole, opening into the burial chamber. Here no impious hand had defaced
the walls, but the figures were as perfect and the coloring as brilliant
as when first executed. In the centre stood an immense sarcophagus, of a
single block of red granite, and the massive lid, which had been thrown
off, lay beside it. The dust in the bottom gave out that peculiar mummy
odor perceptible in all the tombs, and in fact long after one has left
them, for the clothes become saturated with it. The guide, delighted with
having dragged me into that chamber, buried deep in the dumb heart of
the mountain, said not a word, and from the awful stillness of the place
and the phantasmagoric gleam of the wonderful figures on the walls, I
could have imagined myself a neophyte, on the threshold of the Osirian
mysteries.
We rode to the Western Valley, a still deeper and wider glen, containing
tombs of the kings of the foreign dynasty of Atin-Re. We entered the two
principal ones, but found the paintings rude and insignificant. There
are many lateral passages and chambers and in some places deep pits,
along the edge of which we were obliged to crawl. In the last tomb a
very long and steep staircase descends into the rock. As we were groping
after the guide, I called to my friend to take care, as there was but a
single step, after making a slip. The words were scarcely out of my mouth
before I felt a tremendous thump, followed by a number of smaller ones,
and found myself sitting in a heap of sand, at the bottom, some twenty or
thirty feet below. Fortunately, I came off with but a few slight bruises.
Returning to the temple of Goorneh, we took a path over the plain,
through fields of wheat, lupins and lentils, to the two colossi, which
we had already seen from a distance. These immense sitting figures,
fifty-three feet above the plain, which has buried their pedestals,
overlook the site of vanished Thebes and assert the grandeur of which
they and Karnak are the most striking remains. They were erected by
Amunoph III., and though the faces are totally disfigured, the full,
round, beautiful proportions of the colossal arms, shoulders and thighs
do not belie the marvellous sweetness of the features which we still see
in his tomb. Except the head of Antinous, I know of no ancient portrait
so beautiful as Amunoph. The long and luxuriant hair, flowing in a
hundred ringlets, the soft grace of the forehead, the mild serenity of
the eye, the fine thin lines of the nostrils and the feminine tenderness
of the full lips, triumph over the cramped rigidity of Egyptian
sculpture, and charm you with the lightness and harmony of Greek art. In
looking on that head, I cannot help thinking that the subject overpowered
the artist, and led him to the threshold of a truer art. Amunoph, or
Memnon, was a poet in soul, and it was meet that his statue should salute
the rising sun with a sound like that of a harp-string.
Modern research has wholly annihilated this beautiful fable. Memnon now
sounds at all hours of the day, and at the command of all travellers who
pay an Arab five piastres to climb into his lap. We engaged a vender
of modern scarabei, who threw off his garments, hooked his fingers and
toes into the cracks of the polished granite, and soon hailed us with
“Salaam!” from the knee of the statue. There is a certain stone on
Memnon’s lap, which, when sharply struck, gives out a clear metallic
ring. Behind it is a small square aperture, invisible from below, where
one of the priests no doubt stationed himself to perform the daily
miracle. Our Arab rapped on the arms and body of the statue, which had
the usual dead sound of stone, and rendered the musical ring of the
sun-smitten block more striking. An avenue of sphinxes once led from
the colossi to a grand temple, the foundations of which we found about
a quarter of a mile distant. On the way are the fragments of two other
colossi, one of black granite. The enormous substructions of the temple
and the pedestals of its columns have been sufficiently excavated to show
what a superb edifice has been lost to the world. A crowd of troublesome
Arabs, thrusting upon our attention newly baken cinerary urns, newly
roasted antique wheat, and images of all kinds fresh from the maker’s
hand, disturbed our quiet examination of the ruins, and in order to
escape their importunities, we rode to the Memnonium.
This edifice, the temple-palace of Remeses the Great, is supposed to
be the Memnonium, described by Strabo. It is built on a gentle rise of
land at the foot of the mountain, and looks eastward to the Nile and
Luxor. The grand stone pylon which stands at the entrance of its former
avenue of sphinxes has been half levelled by the fury of the Persian
conquerors, and the colossal granite statue of Remeses, in the first
court of the temple, now lies in enormous fragments around its pedestal.
Mere dimensions give no idea of this immense mass, the weight of which,
when entire, was nearly nine hundred tons. How poor and trifling appear
the modern statues which we call colossal, when measured with this, one
of whose toes is a yard in length; and how futile the appliances of
modern art, when directed to its transportation for a distance of one
hundred and fifty miles! The architrave at each end of the court was
upheld by four caryatides, thirty feet in height. Though much defaced,
they are still standing, but are dwarfed by the mighty limbs of Remeses.
It is difficult to account for the means by which the colossus was
broken. There are no marks of any instruments which could have forced
such a mass asunder, and the only plausible conjecture I have heard is,
that the stone must have been subjected to an intense heat and afterwards
to the action of water. The statue, in its sitting position, must have
been nearly sixty feet in height, and is the largest in the world, though
not so high as the rock-hewn monoliths of Aboo-Simbel. The Turks and
Arabs have cut several mill-stones out of its head, without any apparent
diminution of its size.
The Memnonium differs from the other temples of Egypt in being almost
faultless in its symmetry, even when measured by the strictest rules of
art. I know of nothing so exquisite as the central colonnade of its grand
hall—a double row of pillars, forty-five feet in height and twenty-three
in circumference, crowned with capitals resembling the bell-shaped
blossoms of the lotus. One must see them to comprehend how this simple
form, whose expression is all sweetness and tenderness in the flower,
softens and beautifies the solid majesty of the shaft. In spite of their
colossal proportions, there is nothing massive or heavy in their aspect.
The cup of the capital curves gently outward from the abacus on which
the architrave rests, and seems the natural blossom of the columnar
stem. On either side of this perfect colonnade are four rows of Osiride
pillars, of smaller size, yet the variety of their form and proportions
only enhances the harmony of the whole. This is one of those enigmas in
architecture which puzzle one on his first acquaintance with Egyptian
temples, and which he is often forced blindly to accept as new laws of
art, because his feeling tells him they are true, and his reason cannot
satisfactorily demonstrate that they are false.
We waited till the yellow rays of sunset fell on the capitals of the
Memnonium, and they seemed, like the lotus flowers to exhale a vapory
light, before we rode home. All night we wandered in dreams through
kingly vaults, with starry ceilings and illuminated walls; but on looking
out of our windows at dawn, we saw the red saddle-cloths of our horses
against the dark background of the palm grove, as they came down to the
boat. No second nap was possible, after such a sight, and many minutes
had not elapsed before we were tasting the cool morning air in the
delight of a race up and down the shore. Our old guide, however, was on
his donkey betimes, and called us off to our duty. We passed Goorneh, and
ascended the eastern face of the mountain to the tombs of the priests and
private citizens of Thebes. For miles along the mountain side, one sees
nothing but heaps of sand and rubbish, with here and there an Arab hut,
built against the face of a tomb, whose chambers serve as pigeon-houses,
and stalls for asses. The earth is filled with fragments of mummies, and
the bandages in which they were wrapped; for even the sanctity of death
itself, is here neither respected by the Arabs nor the Europeans whom
they imitate. I cannot conceive the passion which some travellers have,
of carrying away withered hands and fleshless legs, and disfiguring the
abodes of the dead with their insignificant names. I should as soon think
of carving my initials on the back of a live Arab, as on these venerable
monuments.
The first tomb we entered almost cured us of the desire to visit another.
It was that called the Assasseef, built by a wealthy priest, and it is
the largest in Thebes. Its outer court measures one hundred and three by
seventy-six feet, and its passages extend between eight and nine hundred
feet into the mountain. We groped our way between walls as black as ink,
through long, labyrinthine suites of chambers, breathing a deathlike and
oppressive odor. The stairways seemed to lead into the bowels of the
earth, and on either hand yawned pits of uncertain depth. As we advanced,
the ghostly vaults rumbled with a sound like thunder, and hundreds of
noisome bats, scared by the light, dashed against the walls and dropped
at our feet. We endured this for a little while, but on reaching the
entrance to some darker and deeper mystery, were so surrounded by the
animals, who struck their filthy wings against our faces, that not for
ten kings’ tombs would we have gone a step further. My friend was on the
point of vowing never to set his foot in another tomb, but I persuaded
him to wait until we had seen that of Amunoph. I followed the guide,
who enticed me by flattering promises into a great many snake-like
holes, and when he was tired with crawling in the dust, sent one of our
water-carriers in advance, who dragged me in and out by the heels.
The temple of Medeenet Abou is almost concealed by the ruins of a Coptic
village, among which it stands, and by which it is partially buried.
The outer court, pylon and main hall of the smaller temple rise above
the mounds and overlook the plain of Thebes, but scarcely satisfy the
expectation of the traveller, as he approaches. You first enter an
inclosure surrounded by a low stone wall, and standing in advance of the
pylon. The rear wall, facing the entrance, contains two single pillars,
with bell-shaped capitals, which rise above it and stand like guards
before the doorway of the pylon. Here was another enigma for us. Who
among modern architects would dare to plant two single pillars before
a pyramidal gateway of solid masonry, and then inclose them in a plain
wall, rising to half their height? Yet here the symmetry of the shafts
is not injured by the wall in which they stand, nor oppressed by the
ponderous bulk of the pylon. On the contrary, the light columns and
spreading capitals, like a tuft of wild roses hanging from the crevice of
a rock, brighten the rude strength of the masses of stone with a gleam of
singular loveliness. What would otherwise only impress you by its size,
now endears itself to you by its beauty. Is this the effect of chance, or
the result of a finer art than that which flourishes in our day? I will
not pretend to determine, but I must confess that Egypt, in whose ruins I
had expected to find only a sort of barbaric grandeur, has given me a new
insight into that vital Beauty which is the soul of true Art.
We devoted little time to the ruined court and sanctuaries which follow
the pylon, and to the lodges of the main temple standing beside them
like watch-towers, three stories in height. The majestic pylon of the
great temple of Remeses III. rose behind them, out of heaps of pottery
and unburnt bricks, and the colossal figure of the monarch in his car,
borne by two horses into the midst of the routed enemy, attracted us from
a distance. We followed the exterior wall of the temple, for its whole
length of more than six hundred feet, reading the sculptured history of
his conquests. The entire outer wall of the temple presents a series of
gigantic cartoons, cut in the blocks of sandstone, of which it is built.
Remeses is always the central figure, distinguished from subjects and
foes no less by his superior stature than by the royal emblems which
accompany him. Here we see heralds sounding the trumpet in advance of
his car, while his troops pass in review before him; there, with a lion
walking by his side, he sets out on his work of conquest. His soldiers
storm a town, and we see them climbing the wall with ladders, while a
desperate hand-to-hand conflict is going on below. In another place, he
has alighted from his chariot and stands with his foot on the neck of a
slaughtered king. Again, his vessels attack a hostile navy on the sea.
One of the foreign craft becomes entangled and is capsized, yet while
his spearmen hurl their weapons among the dismayed enemy, the sailors
rescue those who are struggling in the flood. After we have passed
through these strange and stirring pictures, we find the monarch reposing
on his throne, while his soldiers deposit before him the hands of the
slaughtered, and his scribes present to him lists of their numbers, and
his generals lead to him long processions of fettered captives. Again, he
is represented as offering a group of subject kings to Amun, the Theban
Jupiter, who says to him: “Go, my cherished and chosen, make war on
foreign nations, besiege their forts and carry off their people to live
as captives.” On the front wall, he holds in his grasp the hands of a
dozen monarchs, while with the other hand he raises his sword to destroy
them. Their faces express the very extreme of grief and misery, but he is
cold and calm as Fate itself.
We slid down the piles of sand and entered by a side-door into the grand
hall of the temple. Here, as at Dendera, a surprise awaited us. We stood
on the pavement of a magnificent court, about one hundred and thirty feet
square, around which ran a colonnade of pillars, eight feet square and
forty feet high. On the western side is an inner row of circular columns,
twenty-four feet in circumference, with capitals representing the papyrus
blossom. The entire court, with its walls, pillars and doorways, is
covered with splendid sculptures and traces of paint, and the ceiling
is blue as the noonday sky, and studded with stars. Against each of the
square columns facing the court once stood a colossal caryatid, upholding
the architrave of another colonnade of granite shafts, nearly all of
which have been thrown from their bases and lie shivered on the pavement.
This court opens towards the pylon into another of similar dimensions,
but buried almost to the capitals of its columns in heaps of rubbish. The
character of the temple is totally different from that of every other
in Egypt. Its height is small in proportion to its great extent, and it
therefore loses the airy lightness of the Memnonium and the impressive
grandeur of Dendera. Its expression is that of a massive magnificence,
if I may use such a doubtful compound: no single epithet suffices to
describe it.
With Medeenet Abou finished our survey of the western division of
Thebes—two long days of such experience as the contemplation of a
lifetime cannot exhaust. At sunset we took advantage of the wind, parted
from our grooms and water-carriers, who wished to accompany me to
Khartoum, and crossed the Nile to Luxor.