THE ROCK TEMPLES OF ABOU-SIMBEL.
Wadi Halfa—A Boat for Assouan—We Embark on the Nile
Again—An Egyptian Dream—The Temples of Abou-Simbel—The
Smaller Temple—The Colossi of Remeses II.—Vulgarity of
Travellers—Entering the Great Temple—My Impressions—Character
of Abou-Simbel—The Smaller Chambers—The Races of Men—Remeses
and the Captive Kings—Departure.
Wadi Halfa is an ordinary Arab village, and noted only for being the
head of navigation on the Nubian Nile. There were six or seven boats in
port, some of them loaded with gum and ready to start for Assouan. They
were all _nekkers_, or trading boats, built of heavy wood, and not to
be moved down stream against a strong head-wind. I therefore engaged
the ferry-boat in which I had crossed—a light, open boat, manned by
two Nubian boys. The raïs made a frame of sticks near the stern, and
covered it with palm-mats, to serve as a cabin. The open hold was turned
into a kitchen, and taken possession of by my two men. There was barely
room enough for all of us and our baggage, and a fat sheep I bought, as
provision for the voyage, but as I proposed being gloriously lazy, to
make up for the foregone toils, I needed no more.
The morning after my arrival at Wadi Halfa all was ready. A few children
came down to greet me with the hateful word “backsheesh,” which I had not
heard for three months and hoped never to hear again; but a few Arabic
exclamations soon put them to flight. We shoved away from the beach,
followed by the cries of a dozen lazy sailors, who also wanted backsheesh
for saying “_salaam_” at parting. I stretched myself out on my bed, on
deck, and lay looking on the receding shore, where my camel-men and
camels (Abou-Sin still among them) were encamped. Abou-Sin’s head was
turned towards the river, as if looking for his master, for the hapless
creature certainly thought I should go over to mount him on the morrow.
Alas, my brave old dromedary! we shall never again play friendly tricks
upon each other. Raïs Ramadan took his station at the helm, and the boys
plied their oars actively, so that we soon lost sight of Wadi Halfa. All
the afternoon we glided slowly down the stream between rich palm-groves
and grain-fields. The appearance of thrift and fertility, which the
country presented, was most agreeable after the waste fields of Dongola,
and the unproductive rocks and sands of the intermediate districts.
The mountains behind were lower and rounder in their outlines, and the
landscapes softer and richer than any I had seen since leaving beautiful
Dar Shygheea. By sunset we had made such good progress, that there was
every hope of reaching Abou-Simbel in the morning.
There was no wind during the night, and the boys worked bravely. About
two hours after midnight I was awakened from a deep sleep by the shock
of the boat striking the shore. I opened my eyes and saw, as I lay,
without moving my head, a huge wall of rock before me, against which
six enormous statues leaned as they looked from deep niches cut in its
front. Their solemn faces were touched by the moon, which shone full
on the cliff, and only their feet were wrapped in shadow. The lines of
deep-cut hieroglyphics over the portal of this rocky temple were also
filled with shadow and painted legibly on the gray, moonlit rock. Below
them yawned the door—a square of complete darkness. A little to the left,
over a long drift of sand that sloped from the summit of the cliff nearly
to the water’s edge, peered the mitred head of a statue of still more
colossal proportions. I gazed on this broad, dim, and wonderful picture
for a moment, so awed by its majesty that I did not ask myself where nor
what it was. This is some grand Egyptian dream, was my first thought, and
I closed my eyes for a few seconds, to see whether it would vanish. But
it stood fast and silent as ever, and I knew it to be Abou-Simbel. My
servants all slept, and the raïs and boys noiselessly moored the boat to
the shore, and then lay down and slept also. Still I lay, and the great
statues looked solemnly down upon me, and the moon painted their kingly
nomens and banners with yet darker distinctness on the gray rock. The
river made no sound below, the long grass stirred not a blade at the foot
of the crags, and the slopes of sand were white and dumb as snow. I lay
in too deep a repose for thought, and was not then conscious how grateful
was such a silence in Nature, while the moon held up that picture before
me. It might have been two minutes or twenty, before the current slowly
swung the stern of the boat around, and the picture as slowly shifted
from my view, leaving instead the Southern Cross in its shrine of stars.
In the morning, I found that we lay at the foot of the smaller temple.
I quietly waited for my cup of coffee, for the morning reality was
infinitely less grand than my vision of the night. I then climbed to
the door and entered. The interior is not large nor imposing, after
one has seen the temples of Egypt. The exterior, however, is on such
a colossal scale, that, notwithstanding the want of proportion in the
different statues, the effect is very striking. The largest ones are
about thirty-five feet high, and not identical, as are those of the great
temple. One, who stands with one leg advanced, while he holds a sword
with the handle pressed against his breast, is executed with much more
spirit than is usually met with in statues of this period. The sculptures
of the interior are interesting, and being of the time of Remeses the
Great, whose history they illustrate, are executed with much skill and
labor. The head of the goddess Athor, on the face of the columns in the
hall, is much less beautiful than that of the same goddess at Dendera. It
is, in fact, almost broad and distorted enough to represent the genius
Typhon.
The front of the great temple is not parallel to that of the other, nor
does it face the river, which here flows in a north-east course. The
line of the cliff is broken between the two, so that the figures of the
great Remeses, seated on each side of the door, look to the east, the
direction of the line of the face being nearly north. Through the gap in
front, the sands have poured down from the Desert behind, almost wholly
filling up the space between the two cliffs; and though since the temple
was first opened, in 1817, it has been cleared nearly to the base more
than once, the rapid accumulation of sand has again almost closed the
entrance. The southern colossus is only buried about half way to the
knee, but of the two northern ones there is little else to be seen except
the heads. Obscured as is the effect of this grand front, it is still
without parallel in the world. I had not thought it possible that in
statues of such enormous magnitude there could be such singular beauty
of expression. The face of Remeses, the same in each, is undoubtedly a
portrait, as it resembles the faces of the statues in the interior and
those of the King in other places. Besides, there is an individuality in
some of the features which is too marked to represent any general type of
the Egyptian head. The fullness of the drooping eyelid, which yet does
not cover the large, oblong Egyptian eye; the nose, at first slightly
inclining to the aquiline, but curving to the round, broad nostrils; the
generous breadth of the calm lips, and the placid, serene expression of
the face, are worthy of the conqueror of Africa and the builder of Karnak
and Medeenet Abou.
The statue next the door, on the southern side, has been shivered to
the throne on which it is seated, and the fragments are not to be seen,
except a few which lie upon the knees. The ridiculous vanity of tourists
has not even spared these sublime monuments, and they are covered
wherever a hand can reach, with the names of noble and ignoble snobs.
The enthusiastic antiquaries who cleared away the sands have recorded
the fact in modest inscriptions, near the door, where they do not offend
the eye; and one readily pardons the liberty the writers have taken.
But there are two Germans (whose names I will not mention, since it
would help give them the very notoriety they covet), who have carved
their names in letters a foot long, on the thigh of one of the statues,
and afterwards filled them with black paint. I should like to see them
subjected to a merciless bastinado, on the same part of their own
bodies. Certainly, to have one of the statues seated on their breasts as
a nightmare, every night of their lives, would not be too much punishment
for such a desecration.
The great doorway of the temple is so choked up with sand that I was
obliged to creep in on my knees. The sun by this time had risen exactly
to the only point where it can illumine the interior, and the rays,
taking a more yellow hue from the rock and sand on which they fell,
shone down the long drift between the double row of colossal statues,
and lighted up the entrance to the second hall of the temple. I sat
down in the sand, awed and half frightened by the singular appearance
of the place. The sunshine, falling obliquely on the sands, struck a
dim reflection against the sculptured roof and even lighted up the
farthest recesses of the grand hall sufficiently to show its imposing
dimensions. Eight square pillars—four on either side of the central
aisle—seem to uphold the roof, and on their inner sides, facing each
other, are eight statues of the King. The features of all are preserved,
and have something of the grace and serenity, though not the majesty of
the great statues outside. They look into each other’s eyes, with an
eternal question on their fixed countenances, but none can give answer.
There was something so stern and strange in these eight faces, that I
felt a shudder of fear creep over me. The strong arms are all crossed
on their breasts, and the hands hold various sacred and regal symbols,
conspicuous among which is something resembling a flail, which one sees
often in Egyptian sculpture. I thought of a marvellous story I once read,
in which a genie, armed with a brazen flail, stands at the entrance of an
enchanted castle, crushing with the stroke of his terrible weapon all
who come to seek the treasure within. For a moment the childish faith
in the supernatural was as strong as ever, and I looked at the gloomy
entrance beyond, wishing to enter, but fearing the stony flails of the
terrible Remesi on either hand. The faces were once partially colored,
and the black eyeball, still remaining on the blank eye of stone, gives
them an expression of stupor, of death-in-life, which accounted to me for
the nervous shock I experienced on entering.
There is nothing in Egypt which can be likened to the great temple of
Abou-Simbel. Karnak is grander, but its grandeur is human. This belongs
rather to the superhuman fancies of the East—the halls of the Afrites—or
to the realm of the dethroned Titans, of early Greek mythology. This
impression is not diminished, on passing the second hall and corridor,
and entering the adytum, or sacred chamber of the temple. There the
granite altar yet stands in the centre, before the undestroyed figures of
the gods, who, seated side by side, calmly await the offerings of their
worshippers. The peculiar individuality of each deity is strikingly shown
in these large statues, and their attitude is much less constrained than
in the sitting statues in the tombs of Thebes. These look as if they
_could_ rise, if they would. The walls are covered with sculptures of
them and of the contemplar deities, in the grand, bold style of the age
of Remeses. Some visitors had left a supply of dry palm branches near
the entrance, and of these I made torches, which blazed and crackled
fiercely, flaring with a rich red light on the sculptured and painted
walls. There was sufficient to enable me to examine all the smaller
chambers, of which there are eight or nine, cut laterally into the rock,
without any attempt at symmetry of form, or regularity of arrangement.
Several of them have seats running around three sides, exactly like the
divans in modern Egyptian houses. They were probably designed for the
apartments of the priests or servants connected with the temple.
The sculptures on the walls of the grand hall are, after those of
Medeenet Abou, and on the exterior wall of Karnak, the most interesting I
have seen in Egypt. On the end wall, on either side of the entrance, is
a colossal bas-relief, representing Remeses slaying a group of captive
kings, whom he holds by the hair of their heads. There are ten or twelve
in each group, and the features, though they are not colored, exhibit
the same distinction of race as I had previously remarked in Belzoni’s
tomb, at Thebes. There is the Negro, the Persian, the Jew, and one
other form of countenance which I could not make out—all imploring with
uplifted hands the mercy of the conqueror. On the southern wall, the
distinction between the Negro and the Egyptian is made still more obvious
by the coloring of the figures. In fact, I see no reason whatever to
doubt that the peculiar characteristics of the different races of men
were as strongly marked in the days of Remeses as at present. This is an
interesting fact in discussing the question of the unity of origin of
the race. Admitting the different races of men to have had originally
one origin, the date of the first appearance of Man on the earth, must
have been nearer fifty thousand than five thousand years ago. If climate,
customs, and the like have been the only agents in producing that variety
of race, which we find so strongly marked nearly four thousand years ago,
surely those agents must have been at work for a vastly longer period
than that usually accepted as the age of Man. We are older than we know;
but our beginning, like our end, is darkness and mystery.
The sculptures on the side walls of the temple represent the wars of
Remeses, who, as at Medeenet Abou, stands in a chariot which two horses
at full speed whirl into the ranks of the enemy. The king discharges his
arrows against them, and directly in front of him a charioteer, mortally
wounded, is hurled from his overthrown chariot. The groups are chiselled
with great spirit and boldness; the figures of the king and his horses
are full of life. Towering over all, as well by his superior proportions
as by the majesty and courage of his attitude, Remeses stands erect
and motionless amid the shock and jar and riot of battle. There is no
exultation in his face; only the inflexible calmness of Destiny.
I spent some time contemplating these grand and remarkable memorials of
the greatest age of Egypt, and left with my feeling for Egyptian art even
stronger than before. I watched the giant figures of the portico, as the
swift current carried my boat down stream, reluctant to lose sight of
their majestic features. But the yellow of the cliff turned to purple,
and at last other crags passed before it.