To one, who extracted such sweets from every moment on land, a sea‐voyage,
however smooth and favourable, appeared the least agreeable mode of losing
time that could be devised. Often did my imagination, in passing some isle
of those seas, people it with fair forms and kind hearts, to whom most
willingly, if I might, would I have paused to pay homage. But the wind
blew direct towards the land of Mystery; and, still more, I heard a voice
within me, whispering for ever “On.”
As we approached the coast of Egypt, our course became less prosperous;
and we had a specimen of the benevolence of the divinities of the Nile, in
the shape of a storm, or rather whirlwind, which had nearly sunk our
vessel, and which, the Egyptians on board said, was the work of their God,
Typhon. After a day and night of danger, during which we were driven out
of our course to the eastward, some benigner influence prevailed above;
and, at length, as the morning freshly broke, we saw the beautiful city of
Alexandria rising from the sea, with its Palace of Kings, its portico of
four hundred columns, and the fair Pillar of Pillars, towering up to
heaven in the midst.
After passing in review this splendid vision, we shot rapidly round the
Rock of Pharos, and, in a few minutes, found ourselves in the harbour of
Eunostus. The sun had risen, but the light on the Great Tower of the Rock
was still burning; and there was a languor in the first waking movements
of that voluptuous city—whose houses and temples lay shining in silence
round the harbour—that sufficiently attested the festivities of the
preceding night.
We were soon landed on the quay; and, as I walked, through a line of
palaces and shrines, up the street which leads from the sea to the Gate of
Canopus, fresh as I was from the contemplation of my own lovely Athens, I
felt a glow of admiration at the scene around me, which its novelty, even
more than its magnificence, inspired. Nor were the luxuries and delights,
which such a city promised, among the least of the considerations on which
my fancy, at that moment, dwelt. On the contrary, every thing around
seemed prophetic of future pleasure. The very forms of the architecture,
to my Epicurean imagination, appeared to call up images of living grace;
and even the dim seclusion of the temples and groves spoke only of tender
mysteries to my mind. As the whole bright scene grew animated around me, I
felt that though Egypt might not enable me to lengthen life, she could
teach the next best art,—that of multiplying its enjoyments.
The population of Alexandria, at this period, consisted of the most motley
miscellany of nations, religions, and sects, that had ever been brought
together in one city. Beside the school of the Grecian Platonist was seen
the oratory of the cabalistic Jew; while the church of the Christian
stood, undisturbed, over the crypts of the Egyptian Hierophant. Here, the
adorer of Fire, from the east, laughed at the superstition of the
worshipper of cats, from the west. Here Christianity, too, unluckily, had
learned to emulate the vagaries of Paganism; and while, on one side, her
Ophite professor was seen kneeling down gravely before his serpent, on the
other, a Nicosian was, as gravely, contending that there was no chance of
salvation out of the pale of the Greek alphabet. Still worse, the
uncharitableness of Christian schism was already distinguishing itself
with equal vigour; and I heard of nothing, on my arrival, but the rancour
and hate, with which the Greek and Latin churchmen persecuted each other,
because, forsooth, the one fasted on the seventh day of the week, and the
others fasted upon the fourth and sixth!
To none of those religions or sects, however, except for purposes of
ridicule, did I pay much attention. I was now in the most luxurious city
of the universe, and gave way, without reserve, to the seductions that
surrounded me. My reputation, as a philosopher and a man of pleasure, had
preceded me; and Alexandria, the second Athens of the world, welcomed me
as her own. My celebrity, indeed, was as a talisman, that opened hearts
and doors at my approach. The usual noviciate of acquaintance was
dispensed with in my favour, and not only intimacies, but loves and
friendships, ripened in my path, as rapidly as vegetation springs up where
the Nile has flowed. The dark beauty of the Egyptian women had a novelty
in my eyes that enhanced its other charms; and that hue of the sun on
their rounded cheeks was but an earnest of the ardour he had kindled in
their hearts—
Th’ imbrowning of the fruit, that tells
How rich within the soul of sweetness dwells.
Some weeks rolled on in such perpetual and ever‐changing pleasures, that
even the melancholy voice in my heart, though it still spoke, was but
seldom listened to, and soon died away in the sound of the siren songs
that surrounded me. At length, however, as the novelty of these scenes
wore off, the same gloomy bodings began to mingle with all my joys; and an
incident that occurred, during one of my gayest revels, conduced still
more to deepen their gloom.
The celebration of the annual festival of Serapis took place during my
stay, and I was, more than once, induced to mingle with the gay
multitudes, that crowded to his shrine at Canopus on the occasion. Day and
night, while this festival lasted, the canal, which led from Alexandria to
Canopus, was covered with boats full of pilgrims of both sexes, all
hastening to avail themselves of this pious licence, which lent the zest
of a religious sanction to pleasure, and gave a holiday to the passions of
earth, in honour of heaven.
I was returning, one lovely night, to Alexandria. The north wind, that
welcome visitor, freshened the air, while the banks, on either side, sent
forth, from groves of orange and henna, the most delicious odours. As I
had left all the crowd behind me at Canopus, there was not a boat to be
seen on the canal but my own; and I was just yielding to the thoughts
which solitude at such an hour inspires, when my reveries were broken by
the sound of some female voices, coming, mingled with laughter and
screams, from the garden of a pavilion, that stood, brilliantly
illuminated, upon the bank of the canal.
On rowing nearer, I perceived that both the mirth and the alarm had been
caused by the efforts of some playful girls to reach a hedge of jasmin
which grew near the water, and in bending towards which they had nearly
fallen into the stream. Hastening to proffer my assistance, I soon
recognised the voice of one of my fair Alexandrian friends, and, springing
on the bank, was surrounded by the whole group, who insisted on my joining
their party in the pavilion, and flinging the tendrils of jasmin, which
they had just plucked, around me, led me, no unwilling captive, to the
banquet‐room.
I found here an assemblage of the very flower of Alexandrian society. The
unexpectedness of the meeting gave it an additional zest on both sides;
and seldom had I felt more enlivened myself, or contributed more
successfully to circulate life among others.
Among the company were some Greek women, who, according to the fashion of
their country, wore veils; but, as usual, rather to set off than conceal
their beauty, some gleams of which were continually escaping from under
the cloud. There was, however, one female, who particularly attracted my
attention, on whose head was a chaplet of dark‐coloured flowers, and who
sat veiled and silent during the whole of the banquet. She took no share,
I observed, in what was passing around: the viands and the wine went by
her untouched, nor did a word that was spoken seem addressed to her ear.
This abstraction from a scene so sparkling with gaiety, though apparently
unnoticed by any one but myself, struck me as mysterious and strange. I
inquired of my fair neighbour the cause of it, but she looked grave and
was silent.
In the mean time, the lyre and the cup went round; and a young maid from
Athens, as if inspired by the presence of her countryman, took her lute,
and sung to it some of the songs of Greece, with a feeling that bore me
back to the banks of the Ilissus, and, even in the bosom of present
pleasure, drew a sigh from my heart for that which had passed away. It was
daybreak ere our delighted party rose, and unwillingly re‐embarked to
return to the city.
Scarcely were we afloat, when it was discovered that the lute of the young
Athenian had been left behind; and, with my heart still full of its sweet
sounds, I most readily sprung on shore to seek it. I hastened to the
banquet‐room, which was now dim and solitary, except that—there, to my
astonishment, still sat that silent figure, which had awakened my
curiosity so strongly during the night. A vague feeling of awe came over
me, as I now slowly approached it. There was no motion, no sound of
breathing in that form;—not a leaf of the dark chaplet on its brow
stirred. By the light of a dying lamp which stood before the figure, I
raised, with a hesitating hand, the veil, and saw—what my fancy had
already anticipated—that the shape underneath was lifeless, was a
skeleton! Startled and shocked, I hurried back with the lute to the boat,
and was almost as silent as that shape for the remainder of the voyage.
This custom among the Egyptians of placing a mummy, or skeleton, at the
banquet‐table, had been for some time disused, except at particular
ceremonies; and, even on such occasions, it had been the practice of the
luxurious Alexandrians to disguise this memorial of mortality in the
manner just described. But to me, who was wholly unprepared for such a
spectacle, it gave a shock from which my imagination did not speedily
recover. This silent and ghastly witness of mirth seemed to embody, as it
were, the shadow in my own heart. The features of the grave were now
stamped on the idea that haunted me, and this picture of what I _was to
be_ mingled itself with the sunniest aspect of what I _was_.
The memory of the dream now recurred to me more livelily than ever. The
bright assuring smile of that venerable Spirit, and his words, “Go to the
shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eternal life thou
seekest,” were for ever before my mind. But as yet, alas, I had done
nothing towards realising this splendid promise. Alexandria was not
Egypt;—the very soil on which it stood was not in existence, when Thebes
and Memphis already counted ages of glory.
“It is beneath the Pyramids of Memphis,” I exclaimed, “or in the mystic
Halls of the Labyrinth, that I must seek those holy arcana of science, of
which the antediluvian world has made Egypt its heir, and among
which—blest thought!—the key to eternal life may lie.”
Having formed my determination, I took leave of my many Alexandrian
friends, and departed for Memphis.