FROM THEBES TO THE NUBIAN FRONTIER.
The Temple of Hermontis—Esneh and its Temple—The Governor—El
Kab by Torch-light—The Temple of Edfou—The Quarries of Djebel
Silsileh—Ombos—Approach to Nubia—Change in the Scenery and
Inhabitants—A Mirage—Arrival at Assouan.
Our journey from Thebes to Assouan occupied six days, including a halt
of twenty-four hours at Esneh. We left Luxor on the night of December
8th, but the westward curve of the Nile brought us in opposition with the
wind, and the next day at noon we had only reached Erment, the ancient
Hermontis, in sight of the three peaks of the Theban hills. We left
our men to tug the boat along shore, and wandered off to the mounds of
the old city, still graced with a small temple, or lying-in house of
the goddess Reto, who is here represented as giving birth to the god
Hor-pire. The sculptures in the dark chambers, now used as stalls for
asses, were evidently intended only for the priesthood of the temple, and
are not repeated, as are those of other temples, in the halls open to
the public. Notwithstanding the great license which the Egyptian faith
assumed, its symbols are, in general, scrupulously guarded from all low
and unworthy forms of representation.
The group of pillars in the outer court charmed us by the richness
and variety of their designs. No two capitals are of similar pattern,
while in their combinations of the papyrus, the lotus and the palm-leaf,
they harmonize one with another and as a whole. The abacus, between the
capital and the architrave, is so high as almost to resemble a second
shaft. In Karnak and the Memnonium it is narrow, and lifts the ponderous
beam just enough to prevent its oppressing the lightness of the capital.
I was so delighted with the pillars of Hermontis that I scarcely knew
whether to call this peculiarity a grace or a defect. I have never seen
it employed in modern architecture, and judge therefore that it has
either been condemned by our rules or that our architects have not the
skill and daring of the Egyptians.
We reached Esneh the same night, but were obliged to remain all the next
day in order to allow our sailors to bake their bread. We employed the
time in visiting the temple, the only remnant of the ancient Latopolis,
and the palace of Abbas Pasha, on the bank of the Nile. The portico
of the temple, half buried in rubbish, like that of Dendera, which it
resembles in design, is exceedingly beautiful. Each of its twenty-four
columns is crowned with a different capital, so chaste and elegant in
their execution that it is impossible to give any one the preference.
The designs are mostly copied from the doum-palm, the date-palm, and
the lotus, but the cane, the vine, and various water-plants are also
introduced. The building dates from the time of the Ptolemies, and its
sculptures are uninteresting. We devoted all our time to the study of
the capitals, a labyrinth of beauty, in which we were soon entangled.
The Governor of Esneh, Ali Effendi, a most friendly and agreeable Arab,
accompanied us through the temple, and pointed out all the fishes,
birds and crocodiles he could find. To him they were evidently the most
interesting things in it. He asked me how old the building was, and by
whom it had been erected. On leaving, we accepted his invitation to
partake of coffee and pipes. The visit took place in due form, with many
grave salutations, which we conscientiously imitated. Achmet had returned
to our boat, and my small stock of Arabic was soon exhausted, but we
managed to exchange all the necessary common-places.
The day of leaving Esneh, we reached El Kab, the ancient Eleuthyas, whose
rock-tombs are among the most curious in Egypt. We landed at twilight,
provided with candles, and made our way through fields of wiry _halfeh_
grass, and through a breach in the brick wall of the ancient town, to the
Arabian Desert. It was already dark, but our guide, armed with his long
spear, stalked vigorously forward, and brought us safely up the mountain
path to the entrances of the sepulchres. There are a large number of
these, but only two are worth visiting, on account of the light which
they throw on the social life of the Egyptians. The owner of the tomb
and his wife—a red man and a yellow woman—are here seen, receiving the
delighted guests. Seats are given them, and each is presented with an
aromatic flower, while the servants in the kitchen hasten to prepare
savory dishes. In other compartments, all the most minute processes of
agriculture are represented with wonderful fidelity. So little change
has taken place in three thousand years, that they would answer, with
scarcely a correction, as illustrations of the Fellah agriculture of
Modern Egypt.
The next morning we walked ahead to the temple of Edfou, shooting a few
brace of fat partridges by the way, and scaring two large jackals from
their lairs in the thick grass. The superb pylon of the temple rose above
the earthy mounds of Apollinopolis like a double-truncated pyramid. It
is in an entire state of preservation, with all its internal chambers,
passages and stairways. The exterior is sculptured with colossal
figures of the gods, thirty feet in height, and from the base of the
portal to the scroll-like cornice of the pylon, is more than a hundred
feet. Through the door we entered a large open court, surrounded by a
colonnade. The grand portico of the temple, buried nearly to the tops of
its pillars, faced us, and we could only judge, from the designs of the
capitals and the girth of the shaft, the imposing effect which it must
have produced on those who entered the court. The interior is totally
filled with rubbish, and a whole village of Arab huts stands on the roof.
A strong wind carried us, before sunset, to the quarries of Djebel
Silsileh, the “Mountain of the Chain,” where the Nile is compressed
between two rugged sandstone hills. The river is not more than three
hundred yards broad, and the approach to this rocky gateway, after
so many weeks of level alluvial plain, is very striking. Here are
the sandstone quarries whence the huge blocks were cut, to build the
temples and shape the colossi of Thebes. They lie on the eastern bank,
close to the river, and the ways down which the stones were slid to the
vessels that received them, are still to be seen. The stone is of a pale
reddish-brown color, and a very fine and clear grain. It appears to
have been divided into squares of the proper size, and cut from above
downward. The shape of many of the enormous blocks may be easily traced.
In one place the rock has been roughly hewn into a sort of temple,
supported by pillars thirty feet square, and with an entrance as grand
and rude as a work of the Titans.
In the morning we awoke in the shadow of Ombos, which stands on a hill
overlooking the Nile, into which its temple to Isis has fallen. Little
now remains of the great temple to Savak, the crocodile-headed god, the
deity of Ombos, but its double portico, supported by thirteen pillars,
buried nearly waist-deep in the sands. The aspect of these remains,
seated on the lonely promontory commanding the course of the river
and the harvest-land of the opposite shore, while the stealthy Desert
approaches it from behind, and year by year heaps the sand higher against
the shattered sanctuary, is sadly touching. We lingered and lingered
around its columns, loth to leave the ruined grace which a very few years
will obliterate. Two such foes as the Nile and the Desert make rapid
progress, where no human hand is interposed to stay them. As we sailed
away, a large crocodile, perhaps Savak himself, lay motionless on a
sand-bank with his long snout raised in the air.
We were two days in sailing from Ombos to Assouan owing to a dead calm,
the first in two weeks. The nights were very cool, and the mid-day
temperature not too warm for comfort. One morning my thermometer stood
at 40°; the Arabs complained bitterly of the cold, and, wrapped in their
woolen mantles, crawled about the deck as languidly as benumbed flies.
At noon the mercury did not often rise above 75° in the shade. As we
approach Nubia, the scenery of the river undergoes a complete change.
The rugged hills of black sandstone and granite usurp the place of
the fields, and leave but a narrow strip of cultivable land on either
side. The Arabs are darker and show the blood of the desert tribes in
their features. They are, however, exceedingly friendly. The day before
reaching Assouan, we walked ahead of our boat and were obliged to wait
two or three hours. We had a retinue of boys, who pummelled one another
as to which should pick up the pigeons we shot. The successful one came
bounding back with a face sparkling with delight, and kissed the bird
and touched it to his forehead as he gave it to us. As we were resting
under the palm-trees, my friend regretted that we had not brought our
shebooks along with us. One of the Arabs, guessing his wish from the
word “shebook,” instantly ran off and scoured the dourra-fields until
he found a laborer who owned a pipe. He brought the man back, with the
sickle in his hand and a corn-stalk pipe of very indifferent tobacco,
which he gravely presented to my friend. Before returning on board we saw
a wonderful mirage. Two small lakes of blue water, glittering in the sun,
lay spread in the yellow sands, apparently not more than a mile distant.
There was not the least sign of vapor in the air, and as we were quite
unacquainted with the appearance of the mirage, we decided that the lakes
were Nile-water, left from the inundation. I pointed to them and asked
the Arabs: “Is that water?” “No, no!” they all exclaimed: “that is no
water—that is a _bahr Shaytan_!” (a river of the Devil).
The white tomb of a Moslem saint, sparkling in the noon day sun, on the
summit of a hill overlooking the Nile, finally announced our arrival at
the Nubian frontier. We now beheld the palms of Assouan and the granite
cliffs beyond—which we had been so impatient to reach, a few hours
before—with regret, almost with dread. This was our point of separation.
My pathway was through those desolate hills, into the heart of Nubia,
into the Desert, and the strange countries beyond, where so few had
been before me. The vestibule was passed: Egypt lay behind me. The long
landscape of the Nile was but the dromos to that temple of African life,
whose adytum was still far in advance, deep in the fiery tropical silence
of Ethiopia. While my blood thrilled at the prospect, and the thirst of
adventure and discovery inspired me as the wind of the Desert inspires
the Arab charger, I could not part with indifference from the man who
had shared with me the first august impression, the sublime fascination
of Egypt. Nor was the prospect of a solitary voyage back to Cairo at
all cheering to him. Achmet would of course accompany me, and the cook,
Salame, who knew barely twenty words of French and Italian, must perforce
act as dragoman. My friend was therefore completely at the mercy of the
captain and crew, and saw nothing but annoyance and embarrassment before
him. I had much trust in Raïs Hassan’s honesty and good faith, and was
glad to learn, several months afterwards, that his conduct had confirmed
it.