There is something extremely pleasant in the general regularity with
which the picture of Egypt unfolds itself on either hand like a double
panorama as you descend the Nile. When moving in the opposite direction,
against the perpetual current, you are sometimes compelled to creep
slowly on, tugged by a tight-strained rope at the rate of seven or eight
miles a day; whilst anon a wind rises unexpectedly, and carries you with
bewildering speed through forty or fifty miles of scenery. But the masts
being taken down, and the sails folded for the rest of the voyage, and
the oars put out, you begin to calculate with tolerable certainty on the
rate of progress; for though violent contrary winds do frequently blow
during part of a day, it is almost always possible to make up for lost
time in the hours that neighbour on sunset before and after.
Well-seasoned Nile-travellers confirm our experience; and as we had
rowed and floated within a calculated time from Assouan to Ombos, and
from Ombos to Silsilis, so did we proceed to Edfou, and to the stations
beyond, with few exceptions of obstinately adverse weather.
True, some portions of the view are missed during the hours of
night-travelling; but these have most probably been seen during the
ascent. Besides, though the scenery of the Nile is certainly not
monotonous enough to weary the eye, yet there is a general sameness in
its details, a want of those bold, original features which in other
countries stamp the character of particular localities. Two parallel
lines of mountains ever within sight of each other, now advancing
towards the river through a sea of verdure in promontories, always
nearly with the same level outline, now receding in semicircular sweeps;
a narrow flat plain, loaded with crops and palm-groves, and intersected
by canals and dikes, sometimes equally divided by a tortuous stream of
vast breadth, but sometimes thrown, as it were, all to one side, east or
west; occasionally a long line of precipices descending sheer into the
very water; once only a regular defile with rocks on either hand;
islands in the river, sandbanks, broad, winding reaches--such, in a few
words, is a description of Egypt. It is the variety of colour produced
by that mighty painter, the sun, that gives all the beauty to the
landscape; and of this it is almost impossible to convey an idea. The
chaste loveliness of the dawn, the majestic splendour of noon, and the
marvellous glories of the sunset-hour--the thousand hues that glow and
tremble, and melt and mingle around through all the scenes of this great
drama of light--words have not yet been invented to describe.
And then the night! Who can sit down and recall and count over the
impressions which fly like a troop of fairies over the thrilling senses
at that mystic hour, when the skirts of retiring day have ceased to
flutter above the western hills, and the moon casts down her pale,
melancholy glances on the silent scene, and the stars--our guardian
angels, according to some--seem to stoop nearer and nearer to the earth
as slumber deepens, as if to press golden kisses upon the eyelids of
those whom they watch and love! In all countries these hours are
beautiful; but in Egypt--let those who doubt come and witness all that
we beheld, and which is indescribable, on the evening that we left the
neighbourhood of Silsilis on our way to Edfou--on that calm, placid
river, over which brooded a silence interrupted only by the alternate
songs of the crews of the two boats as they leisurely pulled with the
current.
It was late in the afternoon of next day when we reached the
landing-place; but we immediately set out to see the ruin, if ruin it
can be called, for it is almost in perfect preservation. After
traversing a broad extent of ground covered with rank grass and prickly
plants, we came to the customary palm-grove, and then entered what
romancers would probably call the 'good city' of Edfou. It is a
considerable collection of huts, principally constructed of mud,
clustering amidst mounds of rubbish at the base of the temple. The lofty
propylæa, above a hundred feet high, I believe, were of course seen from
afar off, both during our walk and in ascending and descending the
river. As is the case in nearly all other Egyptian buildings, the effect
at a distance is anything but picturesque. From want of objects of
comparison, the impression of great size is not produced; and nothing
can be meaner in outline than two towers like truncated pyramids,
pierced with small, square windows at irregular intervals. On a nearer
approach, however, the surface-ornament begins to appear; and the
central doorway, overhung by a rich and painted cornice, presents itself
in its really grand proportions, but crushed, as it were, by the vast
size of the twin towers, which now seem magnified into mountains. At
Edfou the effect of this surprise is partly injured by the
circumstances: first, the accumulation of huts through which you
approach; and second, that of mounds of dirt which have risen nearly to
the height of the doorway. However, when you come to the summit of these
mounds, almost on a level with the lintel, and look down between the
enormous jambs into a kind of valley formed by the great court, with its
wonderful portico and belt of columns, it is difficult to conceive a
more imposing scene.
The walls on all sides were covered with gigantic figures, quite
wonderful to behold in their serene ugliness; but awakening no more
human sympathy than the singular figures we saw on the Chinese-patterned
plate stuck over the doorway in Nubia. The exaggeration that is usually
indulged in with reference to Egyptian art is such, that if we were to
attempt to describe these sculptured ornaments according to our own
impressions, we should run the risk of being accused of caricature. We
do not mean on this temple only, but on all the temples of Egypt. Now
and then a face of beautiful expression, though still with heavy
features, is met with; but in general both countenance and figure are
flat, out of proportion, and stiff in drawing, whilst the highest effort
of colouring consists of one uniform layer, without tints or gradation.
Perhaps amidst the many thousand subjects found in tombs and temples
between Philoe and Cairo, one or two may be treated with nearly as much
skill as was exhibited by the Italian painters before the time of
Cimabue--except that scarcely an attempt even is made at grouping or
composition. Nor must it be supposed that the Egyptian school was in
course of development. They seem to have arrived at the highest
excellence of which their intellect was capable. Their outlines, though
in general excessively mean, are very firmly drawn; and they represent
details with a laborious ingenuity worthy of the Chinese. Some
enthusiastic antiquarians describe with great animation the scenes of
public and domestic life which occur in such profusion; and, book in
hand, we have admired and wondered at--not the genius of the artists,
but that of their historians. How, in fact, do the Egyptians really
proceed? They want to represent a hunt, for example: so they sketch a
man with his legs extended like compasses, armed with a huge bow, from
which he is in the act of discharging a monstrous arrow. Then close by
they draw, without any attempt at perspective, a square enclosure, in
which they set down higgledy-piggledy a variety of animals, some of them
sufficiently like nature to allow their species to be guessed at. In one
corner, perhaps, is a sprig of something intended for a tree, and
intimating that all this is supposed to take place in a wood. This
hieroglyphical or algebraical method of 'taking off' the occurrences of
human life is applied with almost unvarying uniformity. Such was high
art among the Egyptians; whom it is now the fashion to cry up at the
expense of those impertinent Grecians, who presumed to arrive at
excellence, almost at perfection, in so many departments.
However, the vast size of the figures on the front of the propylæa of
Edfou does certainly, in spite of their awkwardness, produce an imposing
effect, especially at the time we first beheld them, when the gray
twilight had descended upon the earth, and night was already thickening
beneath the heavy portico. We walked, or rather slid, down into the
great court. It was surrounded with massive columns loaded with
ornament, and looked grave in the extreme, in spite of the heaps of
rubbish that encumbered it, and enabled us to ascend to the summit of
the colonnade at one corner. The architecture of the Egyptians was
certainly sublime. Their style anticipated and surpassed the Gothic in
majesty, though certainly not in beauty. Their massive walls, Cyclopean
columns, dim porticos, gloomy chambers, produce even now all the
terrific impressions they could have desired. Perhaps the crumbling
ruins which encumber the roof, the wretched remains of Christian
buildings once erected on this temple as on a rock for security, rather
heighten than diminish its effect. We walked round a vast wall still in
perfect preservation, which encircles the windowless parallelogram
formed by the temple, and reaches about half its height, leaving a
narrow court like a moat all round; and we felt that these religious
edifices had been fortresses likewise, and that temporal as well as
spiritual terrors had of yore surrounded them. When shall we be able to
wring forth the secret of that ancient time? When will its history cease
to be a myth, its kings become real personages, its civilisation
something better than a romance? As yet, nothing has been discovered
except a string of disjointed facts, which scholars arrange each after
his own fashion, and which no more resemble any other known series of
human actions than the accidental combination of the kaleidoscope does
this living and breathing world. We want a key, and a key has not been
found. So men go stumbling on through the inextricable labyrinth, and
exhaust more ingenuity in vain speculations than would suffice to bring
a variety of modern sciences to perfection.
It was perfectly safe to indulge in these thoughts, because even if any
mighty antiquary had been at hand, he would have been obliged to confess
that although some truth may have been brought to light, it is
impossible to put one's finger upon it. For almost all men who have
studied Egyptian antiquities differ entirely in their conclusions--all
arrange dynasties in a different manner, and find more mistakes than
discoveries in their predecessors. Well, thought we, let us leave them
to their researches: if they do not find the pot of gold, they may
cultivate the ground. For our part, we will hasten on to where yon pale
gleam of yellow light is pouring between the propylæa and the body of
the temple over the court-yard upon an enormous mountain of rubbish. It
was the moon that had risen--not to enlighten the scene, but to render
it more dim and mysterious, more full of strange shadows and illusions.
On such occasions it is difficult even for the least imaginative to
check a thought of what that pale, thoughtful-looking orb, which has
watched the changing aspects of this scene for so many thousand years,
could tell if it had a tongue! We gazed inquiringly at it; but as it
rose higher and higher, and poured down more light on all objects
around, it seemed to smile at our inquisitiveness, and to bid us turn
less eager glances towards the dust and rubbish of old times, where
perchance we may find a precious stone, perchance a bit of broken
glass--but bend our eyes more steadfastly to the future, the centuries
unborn, the inevitable, though not yet created infinite.
Edfou is situated at a little distance inland on the western bank of the
Nile. As usual, the land in the neighbourhood of the river is high in
comparison with that which is beyond--that is to say, there is a
continual descending slope to the edge of the desert, where at this time
of year there is, as it were, a succession of large ponds,
water-channels, and marshes. It is impossible to reach the desert except
by a long, elevated, tortuous dike, which begins near the town and
terminates near the foot of a spur of the Libyan chain, some three or
four miles distant. By the aid of the telescope we could distinguish in
the niches of the rock a variety of dark spots resembling the entrances
of grottos; and, hearing that others had made the same observation,
though without undertaking the fatigue of a visit, we determined to set
out next morning, and combine a little sporting with antiquity-hunting.
Though the sun was not very high, it was sufficiently warm when we
started, and we had good reason for anticipating a broiling ride. At
this point there is not an atom of shade, not the semblance of a tree
between the river and the stony desert. All the palm-groves cluster
round the town of Edfou and the villages north and south. We were soon
upon the dusty dike, which, as we proceeded, seemed to lift us higher
and higher above the level plain, half bright-green, half sheeted with
water, that lay in death-like repose, and reflected the sun's rays like
a burnished mirror. It soon appeared that our anticipations of good
sport were not to be disappointed: on all sides, as far as the eye could
reach, as well as near at hand in the pools at the base of the _gisr_ or
dike, appeared innumerable birds, principally aquatic. Large flocks of
paddy-birds, often called the white ibis, speckled the green of the
fields; enormous pelicans stood hanging their enormous beaks, as if in
drowsy contemplation, over distant pools; storks and herons, single, or
arranged, as it were, in military array, accompanied them; and
prodigious masses of white birds glittered in the sun on the verge of
the marshy plain. Then the water was alive with cormorants, geese,
ducks, divers, teal, coot, that swam about in amazing numbers, or,
startled at the slightest noise, flew generally at a cautious distance
overhead. Birds of prey were of course likewise numerous--hawks, kites,
vultures; and whole flights of large, black crows went by now and then,
cawing vociferously. We could see also prodigious numbers of the
_ghatta_ or red-legged partridge flying northward or settling on the
edge of the desert. It seemed as though a grand parliament of the
feathered creation were about to be held.
When we reached the desert we found a small Coptic convent standing
amidst the ruins of a much larger one near the head of the _gisr_. We
visited it in the course of the morning, and were civilly received and
conducted over the establishment. However, there was nothing particular
to see. The grottos we found to be of no interest whatever, being only a
few feet deep, and containing neither sculptures nor inscriptions. At
the base of the rocks were some oblong mouths of wells, but they were
nearly filled with sand, so that, in an antiquarian point of view, we
had reason to be disappointed. We passed some time on the plain, covered
with _halfeh_, a kind of coarse grass, to the north of the convent;
succeeded in getting some partridges to add to our water-fowl; and
returned in the afternoon with a donkey-load of game to the boat.
On the opposite side of the river there is some good ground for
hare-shooting. We had been there before with success, and determined on
a second visit. The scenery presented a curious contrast to that on the
west bank--no dikes, no ponds, no marshy fields. The country extends
from the bank in a high level plain, principally overgrown with
halfeh-grass, to the desert. Formerly there was scarcely any
cultivation; all was abandoned to unprofitable thickets, that grew wild
down to the river's margin. Now a good deal of _dhourra_ is grown; and
in January we saw the bright green blades of wheat coming up amongst the
stubble. The castor-oil plant has been introduced, but as yet the
unprofitable silk-tree and the wild bushes are far more common.
The change that has taken place is attributed to the fact, that a
Frenchman, in the service of the pacha, has discovered coal-mines in the
vicinity; and this is farther confirmed by the name bestowed on the
mountains--Gebel et Fahm (Mountains of Coal.) But none of the valuable
mineral has as yet made its appearance, and sceptics pretend that none
ever will. We saw four or five large black heaps at a distance, and
thought they might be the produce of the neighbourhood; but on drawing
nigh they turned out to be charcoal manufactured in the desert, and
brought down for sale by the Bedouins. There is a village of Ababde
beneath the desert hills on the extreme verge of the plain; and the new
cultivation seems entirely due to its inhabitants.
It was late in the evening when we this time came to the hare-ground;
but we expected to take advantage of puss, as we had done once before,
by moonlight. As we beat about among the bushes, myriads of drowsy
sparrows, that had settled to rest on the boughs, rushed up with a
tremendous noise, but sank down again almost instantaneously, to be once
more disturbed. We started a few hares, but they glided away like
shadows in the twilight, and we got no shots. Next morning we again
tried our fortune; but it would appear as if the wary things had held a
council of war, and decamped with bag and baggage. We found the sparrows
lively and twittering, as though their night's rest had not been
disturbed; hundreds of doves cooed securely on the boughs; and half a
dozen mighty storks flew off from the midst of a dew-bespangled copse.
But though we turned out the crews of two boats in default of dogs, not
a hare shewed its ears; and we gave up the search disappointed. It is
remarked by old travellers on the Nile, that these animals constantly
shift their quarters; not, indeed, in the course of a night, as we
perhaps gratuitously supposed, but from season to season.