LOWER NUBIA AND THE GREAT RESERVOIR
When the great dam at Aswân on the frontier between Upper Egypt and
Lower Nubia was built, the Nile valley for some eighty miles southwards
was turned into a vast reservoir. The natives were handsomely
compensated for the destruction of their houses and the submersion of
their land, and their villages were rebuilt on the hillsides at a higher
level. The reservoir is full each year from about January to June, while
during the remaining months of the year the river resumes its natural
level, and the people come down from their lofty dwelling-places to
cultivate their small fields, like Mr. and Mrs. Noah from Ararat. Now,
however, the dam, having proved so great a success, has been heightened;
and in recent years the level of the water in the reservoir has been so
increased that the country is flooded for well over a hundred miles.
Several ancient buildings and many cemeteries and other remains have
gone under the water; and for half the year the country is like a great
lake with temples for islands. In order to decide what steps had to be
taken to prevent any loss to Egyptology in this respect, the present
writer made an elaborate report for the Government in 1906-7; and as a
result of this a large sum of money--£60,000 or £70,000--was voted for
archæological works. Not only was every temple repaired, strengthened,
and thoroughly studied and photographed, but every single cemetery and
ancient site was exhaustively excavated. Thus, not a scrap of
information was lost to science, and every possible precaution was taken
to safeguard the interest of the antiquary.
It was early in the summer of 1912 that I paid my last visit to Lower
Nubia, on board a P.W.D. steamer; and I should like to record here some
unofficial impressions of this very interesting reach of the Nile.
Upon the first day of our journey we passed through the five great locks
of the dam which mount to the higher level like some huge Brobdingnagian
stairway, and steamed southwards over the wide stretch of the pent-up
waters, past groves of palm-trees standing deep in the flood, past the
rough points of submerged rocks which once formed the promontories of
the mainland, past slopes of golden sand which had formerly descended to
the edge of cultivated fields, but now slid straight into the water in
the manner of a perilous chute. It was our plan to push through to Abu
Simbel, which is some miles south of the area to be affected by the new
flood-level, and then to examine the main ancient sites on the way down.
At mid-morning we steamed through the magnificent Pass of Kalâbsheh,
where towering granite cliffs drop sheer into the water and rugged piles
of that splendid stone form islands in the river; and towards sunset we
passed the temple of Dakkeh, whose lofty pylons can be seen for many a
mile. About eight o’clock in the evening, when darkness had fallen and
the sky was massed over with stars, we halted near the temple of Wady
Sabu’a, and by the light of a lantern made our way to it over the soft
sand.
The work in this temple is poor. The edges of the blocks of stone with
which the walls are built are roughly trimmed, and the crevices are
filled with plaster to hide the reproach of their bad workmanship. One
wonders how much the dishonest contractor, or perhaps the Viceroy of
Rameses II., in whose reign it was built, obtained out of the
transaction; for, knowing modern Egypt and the tortuous ways of the
native architect, one has developed a sort of jocular misanthropy that
is not bounded by the years. The friend who was with me, and who is a
highly cultured barbarian, expressed unmitigated disapproval of the
entire place, and begged to be conducted back to the steamer with all
dispatch; but to me the ruin, although undoubtedly a monument of
slovenly work, has a rugged dignity. In the shifting light of the
lantern which caused the shadows, like flibbertigibbets, to perform the
most grotesque antics, and the decorated walls to stand out from them in
a kind of luminous animation, one felt that there was still something to
be learnt from it.
At dawn next day we steamed onwards, rounded the great bend of the Nile
between Korôsko and Derr, and halted during the morning at the foot of
the hill of Kasr Ibrîm upon which the commanding ruins of an ancient
fortress basks in the sunshine. One climbs up a winding path upon the
north side of the hill, and mounts under impregnable walls to the narrow
gateway, which it is almost surprising to find open. From inside this
doorway a staircase rises to the higher levels of the hill; and now the
ruined walls of the barracks cluster in close array before one, while
over to the right another and more elaborate doorway, flanked by massive
pylons, stands almost on the edge of the cliffs. These two doorways date
from about B.C. 25, when the Roman General Petronius placed a garrison
here after he had defeated the one-eyed Ethiopian queen, Kandake, and
her thirty thousand warriors and driven them into the Sudan. A few
hundred years later a Byzantine garrison erected a Christian church on
the hill-top a short way to the south; and threading one’s way through
the narrow streets between the deserted houses, this building suddenly
comes into view. The ruin has a peculiar charm. The masonry arches and
the well-built apse have, at the first glance, almost a Norman
appearance; and here, as it were, at the top of the world, the scene is
so foreign to Egypt that it holds all the charm of novelty to the
Egyptologist, tired, as to some extent he must be, of the temples beside
the Nile.
The cliffs on the west side of the ruins drop almost sheer to the river,
and from the top one may throw down stones which strike the green water
far out of earshot and only just within sight. Sitting here in the
morning sunshine, after our hot climb up the hill, a silent contentment
possessed us which no words of mine can attempt to express. The river,
the cultivation, and the desert were stretched out below us, all far
away, and inviting only a mild quizzical contemplation. From this
eminence we patronised Egypt, and smiled at all her petty troubles. What
a place, we both declared, in which to build a little house! We could
sit at the door all day long, smoking a pipe and musing upon the world’s
worries at this safe distance from them. On second thoughts, however,
my friend came to the conclusion that in a dreamer’s life of this kind a
very good piano would be necessary and a few reproductions of great
pictures. A small library, too, would be essential, and perhaps a few
congenial friends. I was about to discourse with some heat upon the
oppressiveness of culture and the intolerable demands it makes upon its
devotees, chaining them to cities and communities wherein alone its
rites may be practised, when I was checked by a glance at my watch; and
forthwith we descended the hill down to the steamer and its sun-baked
decks.
We reached Abu Simbel towards sunset, and at once went ashore. The
temple is cut out of a bluff of rock which overlooks the Nile a few
miles before the Sudan frontier is reached. It was dedicated to the
hawk-god Harmachis, one of the forms of the sun-god; and it was so
designed that the rays of the rising sun strike right at the temple,
illuminating the façade, and penetrating at certain times of the year
into the innermost sanctuary, where the statue of Rameses the Great
awaits it with the gods. The four enormous figures of Rameses which sit
in such solemnity at the entrance, as though to greet the sun, will be
familiar to the reader; and those who have had the good fortune to visit
this part of the world will remember that a great drift of sand had
swept down the hillside at the north of the temple and had threatened in
a few years to engulf it entirely. In 1909 this drift had pushed almost
to the doorway of the temple and had thus covered the feet of the two
colossi on that side of the façade. The terrace in front of the great
statues had here been hidden for thousands of years, and I suggested
that if the entire drift were removed some important discoveries might
be made. These hopes were fully realised when the work was undertaken in
1909-10 by the Department of Antiquities under the direction of Monsieur
Barsanti. When the drift had been attacked by some hundreds of men and
had been carted away in trucks to form a large and level platform in
front of the temple, the buried terrace was exposed and was found to be
ornamented with a series of statues: figures of the hawk, of the sun,
and of the king alternating at short intervals along its whole length.
These figures, sculptured in pale-coloured sandstone, now stand like
sentinels at the feet of the great deeper-toned colossi, and add very
considerably to the sense of size and majesty which these huge forms
inspire. At the north end of the terrace a small open chapel was
discovered, on the east side of which were two miniature pylons. In this
chapel stood a high altar, and upon this altar four sacred apes,
sculptured in stone, were found. They crouched with their hands raised
in adoration to the rising sun, which, as it topped the eastern hills,
would strike right upon their faces between the pylons. Before them
stood two small obelisks, symbols of the sun; and near by, upon another
altar, was a small shrine containing another ape and a small scarab
representing the re-creation of life at dawn.
The whole temple is built for the one hour of sunrise; and therefore the
next morning we went ashore once more before the sun had risen. Sitting
in front of the temple, facing the colossi, we watched the light
increase upon the stone, the colour of which grew ever more warm and
golden. It was as though the sandstone were illuminated from within,
like thin alabaster. The serene faces of the great statues became as
nearly godlike as any work of man can become. Their calm unmoved
greeting to the sun, so different from that of us men, who must needs
shade our eyes, being unable to look him in the face, had something
sublime about it not convincingly to be explained away, and not to be
diminished by the obvious fact that they were but masses of natural
rock. I am not convinced that the mountains are dead, nor can I tell
what gods of the western desert may not look out from this sacred hill
through the eyes which the old men of Egypt have here made for them.
Although I have seen this temple so many times, have watched the broken
fragments of these colossi pinned back into position with iron bars, and
have reckoned the tons of cement which have been shot into the cavities
and cracks in their interior, yet still the spell of their monstrous
dignity remains, they still seem to look to the eastern horizon with all
the expectancy of living nature, and still speak with the voice of the
winds of the dawn.
As the sun rose high and the first mystery of the daylight passed into a
less suggestive glare, we entered the inner halls of the temple, which
are excavated in the rock, and wandered from room to room. The light
here was strong enough at this time of day to illuminate the whole
interior, so that even the corners were not in darkness. Some of the
reliefs are extremely well executed, and there is one scene in
particular, upon the left wall, representing the Pharaoh in the act of
slaying a foreign soldier in battle, which is one of the great
masterpieces of Egyptian art, though I do not find it quoted in any of
the textbooks. At length we passed out into the sunlight once more,
and, after lingering a short while longer, the internal call for
breakfast induced us to return to the steamer. We weighed anchor at
once, and in a couple of hours or so reached the village of Toshkeh, on
our return journey down stream.
On this occasion we paid no more than a rapid visit to the ancient
cemeteries which lie a few hundred yards from the river at this point;
but when I was here in 1910, I went back some six miles into the western
desert to visit the field of the battle of Toshkeh, where on August 3,
1889, Sir Francis (now Lord) Grenfell defeated an army of Dervishes
under Wad er Nejumi. The Dervishes were invading Egypt along the desert
route, which avoids the twisting course of the Nile, and at this point
they were met by the opposing forces and practically annihilated. The
battlefield is most interesting; for many of the dead still lie upon the
ground where they fell, and in all directions the marks of the conflict
are apparent, even the tracks of the gun-carriages being still visible
passing across the firm surface of the sand. On a mound of rock, at the
foot of which one may see the neat squares and circles of pebbles
marking out the general’s quarters on the eventful day, there is a
monument under which the Egyptian soldiers who fell are buried; and a
commemorative inscription in marble proclaims to the unvisited and
silent desert around how these men “gave their lives for their country.”
I trust that I shall not appear cynical if I record here the impression
of surprise which one could not help feeling upon seeing these fine old
British sentiments applied to Egyptian soldiery. The Egyptian Tommy,
good fellow that he is, has not yet learnt to bother himself about
patriotism, though in isolated cases he is beginning to read newspapers
and to fill his head with sentiments to which it is difficult to put a
name. It was cruel fate that caused him to be conscribed for the army,
and something uncommonly like the black magic of an enemy that sent him
in the month of August to fight in Nubia. What the fuss was about hardly
concerned him; and, knowing the cheery, inconsequent _fellah_, it
requires a considerable stretch of the imagination to suppose that he
felt possessed of a country to defend or was prepared to give his life
for it.
Behind some rocks we came across the skeleton of a sniper, still clad in
a few rags of tattered blue. By his side were four used and three unused
cartridges; and a bullet-hole in his forehead explained the latter.
Under another skeleton the soft sand was caked into a solid lump, where
the blood had flowed from the fatal wound. A group of bodies in the open
plain marked the site of a last stand; and the bones of two jackals near
by suggested the scene of savage feasting and quarrelling which took
place under the moon for many nights after the slaughter. The battle was
fiercely contested, and under the blazing summer sun it must have been a
severe test of endurance to the Egyptian officers and men, most of whom
were used to the more temperate climate of the north of Egypt. One
portly officer told me that his tongue swelled in his mouth from thirst,
and after the battle it was a good six hours before he could swallow
more than a few drops of water at a time.
We spent the night at Derr, the capital of Lower Nubia, and early next
morning steamed down to the temple of Amada, which stands on the left
bank a few miles down stream.
Our next stop was at Korôsko, where the river bank is lined with the
ruins of the barracks of the British troops stationed there during the
troubled days of the ’eighties. We climbed up a hill behind these ruins,
on the summit of which a guard-house is erected, where a view is to be
obtained of the valley along which the road to the Sudan leads out. It
was along this road that General Gordon made his way to Khartûm in 1884.
In this valley one may still see the tracks of the carts and
gun-carriages of the ill-fated expedition which set out from here under
Hicks Pasha and was utterly annihilated in the desert. The tracks pass
down the valley and disappear amongst the hills; and even so the
expedition disappeared and was swallowed up. Some of the enemy, now good
servants of the Government, will tell you how false guides misled the
troops, and how they were shot down as they lay exhausted by thirst
within a mile of the wells. At the mouth of this valley there is the
cemetery, where some forty British officers and men lie buried. The
tombstones, badly engraved by the regimental sculptor, and almost all
bearing the one remembered text, “God is Love,” cut in shaky letters,
are inclined, as my friend put it, to give one the hump; and we walked
back in silence to the steamer, leaving our fellow-countrymen to the
complete stillness of this now deserted corner of the world, where, at
all events, they must sleep sound.
From Korôsko we steamed all day down to Kubbân and Dakkeh, some seventy
miles above Aswân. We spent the night at the latter place, and upon the
following day visited the temples of Gerf Husên and Dendur, halting in
the evening at Kalâbsheh, where the largest temple in Lower Nubia
stands. This building is now deeply flooded when the reservoir is full,
but it has been so thoroughly strengthened that there is no danger of it
falling. Then, next morning, we steamed through the pass, under the
granite cliffs, and halted at Tafeh, which lies on the west bank. The
pent-up river has here inundated many acres of cultivable ground, and
for a considerable distance we rowed in a small boat amidst palms and
acacias standing in the flood. A little temple erected on what now is an
island rises amidst the trees, and is reflected in the still water.
There can be no doubt that the making of the reservoir has here
converted mediocre scenery into a very paradise of beauty. The shadow of
the trees upon the Nile, the sunlight that penetrates through the trees
and illumines the grasses and plants below the surface, the granite
cliffs that come down to the river and form a dark background to the
clear water, combine to form a picture of extraordinary charm. The
temperature was over 110 in the shade; and my companion who was not used
to the climatic conditions of the upper country, said wistfully that he
expected to have a fit at any moment. We reached the top, however,
without accident; and here the view was sufficiently magnificent to
divert all thought from physical discomforts. Below us the Nile made its
way through the pass, bordered at the entrance by the vivid green of the
trees; and beside us the picturesque ruins of a Roman pavilion made the
scene work on the imagination as it did on the senses. “In this very
pavilion,” said I, “Juvenal may have sat to admire this self-same
prospect; for one of the garrisons under his command was to be found
here.” The thought set my friend quoting from the “Satires”; and, as the
perspiration ran like tears down his cheek, he had the hardihood to
recite those lines from the Fifteenth Satire: “That nature gave the
noble man a feeling heart she proves herself by giving him tears.” After
that we could but return to the steamer.
The temples of Kertassi and Dabôd were passed during the day, and at
about sunset we moored against the walls of the temple of Philæ, our
journey at an end and the railway-station of Shallal in sight. The
temples rose from the water which flooded them, for the most part, to a
depth of some ten feet or so; and from the deck of the steamer we could
step on to the roof of the Western Colonnade and could look down into
the green depths from which the columns rose. As the day was hot, it was
impossible to resist the inclination to bathe in this sacred area. We
had had our swim each day, of course, but here there was the prospect of
a bath which should recall the fairy dreams of our youth and set us in
mind of the forgotten tales of the palaces of the sea.
We dived into the water at a point where the roof of the colonnade was
in ruins and the flood lay silently beneath us, lapping around the long
rows of columns a few feet below their capitals; and, coming to the
surface in a shower of bubbles, we headed northwards, swimming along the
covered colonnade, all the gods of Egypt sculptured upon the wall on our
left, and on our right the columns between which the opposite colonnade
was seen, separated from us by a canal-like stretch of open water. These
two colonnades flank the great approach to the pylons of the Temple of
Isis; and when, therefore, we had reached their northern end, we turned
to our right out of the shadows and swam towards the great doorway in
the full radiance of the setting sun. Here I recollected that there
stood a high granite pedestal from which the statue of a seated lion had
fallen; and feeling our way carefully through the water, we found this
submerged pedestal and came to rest upon it. Deep below us lay the
overthrown lion, and down to it we were constrained to descend, rising
again with the blurred impression of a face that smiled hideously
through a green veil.
We then swam onwards, and, turning on our backs, floated silently
through the great doorway, the spread-winged vultures carved above us
and the Pharaoh offering to the gods on either side. Thus we passed into
the forecourt of the Temple of Isis, and were completely shut in by the
towering buildings. The water here was so silent and unruffled, the
reflections of the columns and walls were so clear, that the place
seemed to have been hidden to the world for centuries; and we had the
feeling that we were exploring for the first time the mysterious
sanctuaries of unknown gods. We seemed to be intruders into some secret
palace of the Nile, and we knew not what fairy adventure was before us.
Here was the silent green stretch of the water, in which our two heads
moved about like floating gourds; here were Hathor, and Isis, and many
another goddess, furtively peeping at us from just below the surface, so
that to satisfy ourselves we must needs sink under the flood and peer at
them thus; here were dark doorways leading to holy places wherein our
voices echoed as though someone were calling us; and here, too, were
graceful columns whose elaborate capitals shimmered in the ripples which
we made.
On our left was the temple known as the Birth House, where the
celebrations took place in commemoration of the birth of Horus amidst
the reeds and swamps of the Delta. Into this temple we floated, turned
upon our backs once more, passing from hall to hall. The seven Hathors
beat their tambourines to us in the sculptures upon the walls as though
to encourage us to enter the mystery of the sanctuary; and Taurt, the
hippopotamus goddess, imprisoned for ever in stone, looked down upon us
with envy as we moved so contentedly in her own element. The sanctuary
was almost dark, and there was a cavernous silence in it that was not a
little aweing. In the dim light we did obeisance to the figure of the
hawk Horus, who stood in a clump of sculptured reeds, just above the
surface of the flood; and, diving once more, we laid sudden hands on
that fair Isis who sat nursing her baby so tightly there under the
waters. The light of the sunset glowed in our eyes as we swam out of
these dark halls and turned again into the forecourt of Isis, making our
way towards the main temple. The drab-coloured sandstone of the ruins
became golden against the deep tone of the sky; and the water spreading
around us was made more green and mysterious by the contrast.
Looking down we could see the dim outlines of ruined walls traversing
the paved court, and broad stairs descending into the darkness.
Water-plants swayed beneath us, tangled themselves about the limbs of
the submerged gods, and sinuously crept over the royal decrees of the
Pharaohs. Beneath the water in this forecourt stands the great granite
inscription which relates how the Pharaoh Ptolemy VII. had given all the
country from Philæ southwards to the island of Derâr, near Dakkeh, to
the great Isis to be her possession for ever; and as we dived to look at
the drowned face of the goddess the fear of her wrath was not altogether
absent. The territory between these very points had been submerged and
given over to Nilus; and even here in her sanctuary the water-gods
whispered, and only the spirits of the river ascended the steps of her
altars.
The main temple, being built on a higher level, has no more than a foot
of water in its halls, and through this we waded over to the stairway
which ascends to the roof. A scramble over the top of the building
ensued, and from its heights we looked down upon the whole panorama of
the temples reflected in the lake of the reservoir like the palaces of a
dream. Eastwards rose that famous kiosk sometimes called “Pharaoh’s
Bed,” and somewhat nearer stood the little shrine of Hathor.
Southwestwards the huge pylons reared themselves against the sunset; and
northwards the top of the Roman gateway made a solitary point on the
face of the flood.
Seized with another impulse, we ran down the steps once more, splashed
through the halls of Isis, and slid into the water down the broad
stairway of the forecourt. Bearing off to our left, we swam down a
corridor, through a dark chamber, and so out into an open avenue leading
between ruined walls to the temple of Hathor. Along this we struck out,
the rows of gods gliding by us, and presently entered the temple, which
caught much of the last light of the day. Hathor being the Egyptian
Aphrodite, the walls of her shrine are covered with festive scenes. Half
submerged in the water, we could see in the open court a figure standing
beside some rushes,
[Illustration: The Nile at Philæ, looking North
The island of Philæ is seen in the middle of the picture. When the dam
at Aswân is closed the water rises here, flooding Philæ and the deserted
villages in the foreground]
playing a double pipe, other figures making music upon the harp, an ape
playing the guitar, the Pharaoh offering festal coronets, flowers, and
wine to the goddess of joy, and the little dancing god Bes leaping about
and beating a tambourine. The water was not silent here, for the evening
breeze ruffled the surface and sent the ripples whispering into the
sanctuary; and in answer to the mood of the place we splashed through
it, laughed at little Bes, and sat whistling a tune upon a fallen
column. Then, as the early stars came out, we dived through a small
side-door, submerged almost to the lintel, and, thus leaving the temple,
swam across open water towards the kiosk.
Looking beneath us as we went, we could sometimes discern the buildings
below, and could catch glimpses of strange shapes as we glided over the
altars of forsaken shrines and struck the bubbles down into the faces of
gods and Pharaohs. The half-seen ruins in the depths of the water took
hold of the imagination and suggested much to the mind that would have
been scorned in other circumstances. What spirits of the Nile dwelt in
these sunken chambers?--what cities of the river were approached through
these dusky halls? If only one could have breath to dive down through
that dark doorway below the water, down the wide stairs, and along the
passage ...! The reflections of the gathering stars suggested that there
were little lamps to light the way below; and presently, no doubt, we
should swim into the illumination of fairy palaces, and come suddenly
upon the enchanted maidens of the deep. They would take hold of us with
their cool hands, glide over us with their soft limbs, and entangle us
with their hair. The summons of their eyes would lead us onwards till
their cold lips touched ours; and thus down to fantastic depths they
would beguile us, through chambers of silver lit by a thousand stars, to
halls of gold illumined by many a sun. Their hands would hold our hands,
feel the muscles of our arms, and touch our faces; and ever they would
lead us onwards, till of a sudden we should stand blinded at the doorway
of that shining cavern wherein the old god Khnum dispensed the floods of
the Nile and ordered their going.
The darkening water was replete with suggestions of this kind as we swam
through it towards the kiosk. If only we could find the right doorway
amidst all these ruins below us; if only the ghostly shadows of the
water-plants, the pale forms of submerged altars, should be lit for a
moment by the passing of some luminous spirit, so that we might dive
below and follow ...! But as the fancy thus drifted we had crossed the
open space and had entered the shadow of the great kiosk, whose columns
towered above our heads against the last-left light of the sky, and were
reflected with the stars in the water beneath us. Seated here on a
sunken wall, my companion asked me whether I had called to mind
Shelley’s “Ode to the West Wind” as we swam from the temple; and
therewith he repeated those haunting lines which tell of one who
Saw in sleep old palaces and towers ...
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.
And as we swam back to the steamer at length, through the gate of
Philadelphus and down the colonnade, I felt that the whole experience
had given us a new point of view in regard to the reservoir. One did not
look forward only to the six months of each year when the water sinks
and Philæ is left once more high and dry: the portion of the year when
it is inundated also makes it appeal. Philæ clean and bare, as it must
have been in ancient days, was good to look upon; Philæ overgrown with
trees and grasses, as it was before the dam was built, was picturesque;
but Philæ floating in the water, as it now does for half the year, has
that indefinable charm of unreality which is the very essence of
beauty.