So rapidly was I hurried along by my unseen conductress, full of wonder at
the speed with which she ventured through these labyrinths, that I had but
little time to reflect upon the strangeness of the adventure to which I
had committed myself. My knowledge of the character of the priests, as
well as the fearful rumours that had reached me, of the fate that often
attended unbelievers in their hands, waked a momentary suspicion of
treachery in my mind. But, when I recalled the face of my guide, as I had
seen it in the chapel, with that divine look, the very memory of which
brought purity into the heart, this suspicion all vanished, and I felt
shame at having harboured it but an instant.
In the mean while, our course continued uninterrupted, through windings
more capriciously intricate than any that I had yet passed, and whose
darkness seemed never to have been disturbed by a single glimmer. My
conductress still continued at some distance before me, and the clue, to
which I clung as if it were the thread of Destiny herself, was still kept,
by her speed, at full stretch between us. At length, suddenly stopping,
she said, in a breathless whisper, “Seat thyself here,” and, at the same
moment, led me by the hand to a sort of low car, in which I lost not a
moment in placing myself, as desired, while the maiden, as promptly, took
her seat by my side.
A sudden click, like the touching of a spring, was then heard, and the
car,—which, as I had felt in entering it, leaned half‐way over a steep
descent,—on being loosed from its station, shot down, almost
perpendicularly, into the darkness, with a rapidity which, at first,
nearly deprived me of breath. The wheels slid smoothly and noiselessly in
grooves, and the impetus, which the car acquired in descending, was
sufficient, I perceived, to carry it up an eminence that succeeded,—from
the summit of which it again rushed down another declivity, even still
more long and precipitous than the former. In this manner we proceeded, by
alternate falls and rises, till, at length, from the last and steepest
elevation, the car descended upon a level of deep sand, where, after
running for a few yards, it by degrees lost its motion and stopped.
Here, the maiden alighting, again placed the riband in my hands,—and again
I followed her, though with more slowness and difficulty than before, as
our way led up a flight of damp and time‐worn steps, whose ascent seemed
to the weary and insecure foot interminable. Perceiving with what languor
my guide now advanced, I was on the point of making an effort to assist
her progress, when the creak of an opening door above, and a faint gleam
of light which, at the same moment, shone upon her figure, apprised me
that we were arrived within reach of sunshine.
Joyfully I followed through this opening, and, by the dim light, could
discern, that we were now in the sanctuary of a vast, ruined
temple,—having entered by a passage under the lofty pedestal, upon which
an image of the idol of the place once stood. The first movement of the
maiden, after replacing the portal under the pedestal, was, without even a
look towards me, to cast herself down on her knees, with her hands clasped
and uplifted, as if for the purpose of thanksgiving or prayer. But she was
unable to sustain herself in this position;—her strength could hold out no
longer. Overcome by agitation and fatigue, she sunk senseless upon the
pavement.
Bewildered as I was, myself, by the events of the night, I stood for some
minutes looking upon her in a state of helplessness and alarm. But,
reminded, by my own feverish sensations, of the reviving effects of the
air, I raised her gently in my arms, and crossing the corridor that
surrounded the sanctuary, found my way to the outer vestibule of the
temple. Here, shading her eyes from the sun, I placed her, reclining, upon
the steps, where the cool wind, then blowing freshly from the north, might
play, with free draught, between the pillars over her brow.
It was, indeed,—I now saw, with certainty,—the same beautiful and
mysterious girl, who had been the cause of my descent into that
subterranean world, and who now, under such strange and unaccountable
circumstances, was my guide back again to the realms of day. I looked
round, to discover where we were, and beheld such a scene of grandeur,
as—could my eyes have wandered to any other object from the pale form
reclining at my side—might well have won them to dwell on its splendid
beauties.
I was now standing, I found, on the small island in the centre of Lake
Mœris; and that sanctuary, where we had emerged from darkness, formed part
of the ruins of a temple, which (as I have since learned) was, in the
grander days of Memphis, a place of pilgrimage for worshippers from all
parts of Egypt. The fair Lake, itself, out of whose waters once rose
pavilions, palaces, and even lofty pyramids, was still, though divested of
many of these wonders, a scene of interest and splendour such as the whole
world could not equal. While the shores still sparkled with mansions and
temples, that bore testimony to the luxury of a living race, the voice of
the Past, speaking out of unnumbered ruins, whose summits, here and there,
rose blackly above the wave, told of times long fled and generations long
swept away, before whose giant remains all the glory of the present stood
humbled. Over the southern bank of the Lake hung the dark relics of the
Labyrinth;—its twelve Royal Palaces, like the mansions of the Zodiac,—its
thundering portals and constellated halls, having left nothing behind but
a few frowning ruins, which, contrasted with the soft groves of olive and
acacia around them, seemed to rebuke the luxuriant smiles of nature, and
threw a melancholy grandeur over the whole scene.
The effects of the air, in re‐animating the young Priestess, were less
speedy than I had expected;—her eyes were still closed, and she remained
pale and insensible. Alarmed, I now rested her head (which had been, for
some time, supported by my arm,) against the base of a column, with my
cloak for its pillow, while I hastened to procure some water from the
Lake. The temple stood high, and the descent to the shore was precipitous.
But, my Epicurean habits having but little impaired my activity, I soon
descended, with the lightness of a desert deer, to the bottom. Here,
plucking from a lofty bean‐tree, whose flowers stood, shining like gold,
above the water, one of those large hollowed leaves that serve as cups for
the Hebes of the Nile, I filled it from the Lake, and hurried back with
the cool draught to the temple. It was not without some difficulty and
delay that I succeeded, in bearing my rustic chalice steadily up the
steep; more than once did an unlucky slip waste its contents, and as often
did I impatiently return to refill it.
During this time, the young maiden was fast recovering her animation and
consciousness; and, at the moment when I appeared above the edge of the
steep, was just rising from the steps, with her hand pressed to her
forehead, as if confusedly recalling the recollection of what had
occurred. No sooner did she observe me, than a short cry of alarm broke
from her lips. Looking anxiously round, as though she sought for
protection, and half audibly uttering the words, “Where is he?” she made
an effort, as I approached, to retreat into the temple.
Already, however, I was by her side, and taking her hand gently, as she
turned away, “Whom dost thou seek, fair Priestess?” I asked,—for the first
time breaking through the silence she had enjoined, and in a tone that
might have re‐assured the most timid spirit. But my words had no effect in
calming her apprehension. Trembling, and with her eyes still averted
towards the Temple, she continued in a voice of suppressed alarm,—“Where
_can_ he be?—that venerable Athenian, that philosopher, who——”
“Here, here,” I exclaimed, anxiously interrupting her,—“behold him still
by thy side—the same, the very same who saw thee steal from under the
lighted Veils of the Sanctuary, whom thou hast guided by a clue through
those labyrinths below, and who now but waits his command from those lips,
to devote himself through life and death to thy service.” As I spoke these
words, she turned slowly round, and looking timidly in my face, while her
own burned with blushes, said, in a tone of doubt and wonder, “Thou!” and
hid her eyes in her hands.
I knew not how to interpret a reception so unexpected. That some mistake
or disappointment had occurred was evident; but so inexplicable did the
whole adventure appear, that it was in vain to think of unravelling any
part of it. Weak and agitated, she now tottered to the steps of the
temple, and there seating herself, with her forehead against the cold
marble, seemed for some moments absorbed in the most anxious
thought,—while silent and watchful I waited her decision, with a prophetic
feeling, however, that my destiny would be henceforth linked with hers.
The inward struggle by which she was agitated, though violent, was not of
long continuance. Starting suddenly from her seat, with a look of terror
towards the temple, as if the fear of immediate pursuit had alone decided
her, she pointed eagerly towards the East, and exclaimed, “To the Nile,
without delay!”—clasping her hands, when she had spoken, with the most
suppliant fervour, as if to soften the abruptness of the mandate she had
given, and appealing to me with a look that would have taught Stoics
tenderness.
I lost no time in obeying the welcome command. While a thousand wild hopes
and wishes crowded upon my fancy, at the prospect which a voyage, under
such auspices, presented, I descended rapidly to the shore, and hailing
one of the numerous boats that ply upon the Lake for hire, arranged
speedily for a passage down the canal to the Nile. Having learned, too,
from the boatmen, a more easy path up the rock, I hastened back to the
Temple for my fair charge; and without a word, a look, that could alarm,
even by its kindness, or disturb that innocent confidence which she now
placed in me, led her down by the winding path to the boat.
Every thing looked smiling around us as we embarked. The morning was now
in its first freshness, and the path of the breeze might be traced over
the Lake, wakening up its waters from their sleep of the night. The gay,
golden‐winged birds that haunt these shores, were, in every direction,
skimming along the lake; while, with a graver consciousness of beauty, the
swan and the pelican were seen dressing their white plumage in the mirror
of its wave. To add to the animation of the scene, a sweet tinkling of
musical instruments came, at intervals, on the breeze, from boats at a
distance, employed thus early in pursuing the fish of these waters, that
suffer themselves to be decoyed into the nets by music.
The vessel which I selected for our voyage was one of those small
pleasure‐boats or yachts,—so much in use among the luxurious navigators of
the Nile,—in the centre of which rises a pavilion of cedar or cypress
wood, gilded gorgeously, without, with religious emblems, and fitted up,
within, for all the purposes of feasting and repose. To the door of this
pavilion I now led my companion, and, after a few words of
kindness—tempered with as much respectful reserve as the deep tenderness
which I felt would admit of—left her in solitude to court that restoring
rest, which the agitation of her spirits but too much required.
For myself, though repose was hardly less necessary to me, the ferment in
which my thoughts had been kept seemed to render it hopeless. Throwing
myself upon the deck, under an awning which the sailors had raised for me,
I continued, for some hours, in a sort of vague day‐dream,—sometimes
passing in review the scenes of that subterranean drama, and sometimes,
with my eyes fixed in drowsy vacancy, receiving passively the impressions
of the bright scenery through which we passed.
The banks of the canal were then luxuriantly wooded. Under the tufts of
the light and towering palm were seen the orange and the citron,
interlacing their boughs; while, here and there, huge tamarisks thickened
the shade, and, at the very edge of the bank, the willow of Babylon stood
bending its graceful branches into the water. Occasionally, out of the
depth of these groves, there shone a small temple or pleasure‐
house;—while, now and then, an opening in their line of foliage allowed
the eye to wander over extensive fields, all covered with beds of those
pale, sweet roses, for which this district of Egypt is so celebrated.
The activity of the morning hour was visible every where. Flights of doves
and lapwings were fluttering among the leaves, and the white heron, which
had roosted all night in some date‐tree, now stood sunning its wings upon
the green bank, or floated, like living silver, over the flood. The
flowers, too, both of land and water, looked freshly awakened;—and, most
of all, the superb lotus, which had risen with the sun from the wave, and
was now holding up her chalice for a full draught of his light.
Such were the scenes that now passed before my eyes, and mingled with the
reveries that floated through my mind, as our boat, with its high,
capacious sail, swept over the flood. Though the occurrences of the last
few days appeared to me one series of wonders, yet by far the most
miraculous wonder of all was, that she, whose first look had sent wild‐
fire into my heart,—whom I had thought of ever since with a restlessness
of passion, that would have dared any thing on earth to obtain its
object,—was now sleeping sacredly in that small pavilion, while guarding
her, even from myself, I lay calmly at its threshold.
Meanwhile, the sun had reached his meridian. The busy hum of the morning
had died gradually away, and all around was sleeping in the hot stillness
of noon. The Nile‐goose, folding her splendid wings, was lying motionless
on the shadow of the sycamores in the water. Even the nimble lizards upon
the bank seemed to move more languidly, as the light fell upon their gold
and azure hues. Overcome as I was with watching, and weary with thought,
it was not long before I yielded to the becalming influence of the hour.
Looking fixedly at the pavilion,—as if once more to assure my senses, that
I was not already in a dream, but that the young Egyptian was really
there,—I felt my eyes close as I looked, and in a few minutes sunk into a
profound sleep.