Passing up the Nile to about latitude twenty-two degrees, on its west
side, nearly up to the second cataract, we come to the temples of Abou
Simbel. Reaching the bank of the river about midnight, the traveler we
have so often quoted tells us: “As I was awakened from a deep sleep by
the shock of the boat striking the shore, I saw 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
mitered 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. 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 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 furthest 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 marvelous 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 center, before the undestroyed figures
of the gods, who, seated side by side, calmly await the offerings of
their worshipers. 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 bass-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. 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 chiseled 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.”