It was by the canal through which we now sailed, that, in the more
prosperous days of Memphis, the commerce of Upper Egypt and Nubia was
transported to her magnificent Lake, and from thence, having paid tribute
to the queen of cities, was poured out again, through the Nile, into the
ocean. The course of this canal to the river was not direct, but ascending
in a south‐easterly direction towards the Saïd; and in calms, or with
adverse winds, the passage was tedious. But as the breeze was now blowing
freshly from the north, there was every prospect of our reaching the river
before night‐fall. Rapidly, too, as our galley swept along the flood, its
motion was so smooth as to be hardly felt; and the quiet gurgle of the
waters underneath, and the drowsy song of the boatman at the prow, alone
disturbed the deep silence that prevailed.
The sun, indeed, had nearly sunk behind the Libyan hills, before the
sleep, in which these sounds lulled me, was broken; and the first object,
on which my eyes rested, in waking, was that fair young Priestess,—seated
under a porch by which the door of the pavilion was shaded, and bending
intently over a small volume that lay unrolled on her lap.
Her face was but half turned towards me, and as, once or twice, she raised
her eyes to the warm sky, whose light fell, softened through the trellis,
over her cheek, I found every feeling of reverence, with which she had
inspired me in the chapel, return. There was even a purer and holier charm
around her countenance, thus seen by the natural light of day, than in
those dim and unhallowed regions below. She could now, too, look direct to
the glorious sky, and that heaven and her eyes, so worthy of each other,
met.
After contemplating her for a few moments, with little less than
adoration, I rose gently from my resting‐place, and approached the
pavilion. But the mere movement had startled her from her devotion, and,
blushing and confused, she covered the volume with the folds of her robe.
In the art of winning upon female confidence, I had long been schooled;
and, now that to the lessons of gallantry the inspiration of love was
added, my ambition to please and to interest could hardly, it may be
supposed, fail of success. I soon found, however, how much less fluent is
the heart than the fancy, and how very distinct are the operations of
making love and feeling it. In the few words of greeting now exchanged
between us, it was evident that the gay, the enterprising Epicurean was
little less embarrassed than the secluded Priestess;—and, after one or two
ineffectual efforts to bring our voices acquainted with each other, the
eyes of both turned bashfully away, and we relapsed into silence.
From this situation—the result of timidity on one side, and of a feeling
altogether new, on the other—we were, at length, after an interval of
estrangement, relieved, by the boatmen announcing that the Nile was in
sight. The countenance of the young Egyptian brightened at this
intelligence; and the smile with which I congratulated her on the speed of
our voyage was answered by another, so full of gratitude, that already an
instinctive sympathy seemed established between us.
We were now on the point of entering that sacred river, of whose sweet
waters the exile drinks in his dreams,—for a draught of whose flood the
daughters of the Ptolemies, when wedded to foreign kings, sighed in the
midst of their splendour. As our boat, with slackened sail, glided into
the current, an enquiry from the boatmen, whether they should anchor for
the night in the Nile, first reminded me of the ignorance, in which I
still remained, with respect to either the motive or destination of our
voyage. Embarrassed by their question I directed my eyes towards the
Priestess, whom I saw waiting for my answer with a look of anxiety, which
this silent reference to her wishes at once dispelled. Eagerly unfolding
the volume with which I had seen her occupied, she took from its folds a
small leaf of papyrus, on which there appeared to be some faint lines of
drawing, and after thoughtfully looking upon it, herself, for a moment,
placed it, with an agitated hand, in mine.
In the mean time, the boatmen had taken in their sail, and the yacht drove
slowly down the river with the current, while, by a light which had been
kindled at sunset on the deck, I stood examining the leaf that the
Priestess had given me,—her dark eyes fixed anxiously on my countenance
all the while. The lines traced upon the papyrus were so faint as to be
almost invisible, and I was for some time at a loss to divine their
import. At length, I could perceive that they were the outlines, or
map—traced slightly and unsteadily with a Memphian reed—of a part of that
mountainous ridge by which Upper Egypt is bounded to the east, together
with the names, or rather emblems, of the chief towns in the
neighbourhood.
It was thither, I could not doubt, that the young Priestess wished to
pursue her course. Without a moment’s delay, therefore, I gave orders to
the boatmen to set our yacht before the wind and ascend the current. My
command was promptly obeyed: the white sail again rose into the region of
the breeze, and the satisfaction that beamed in every feature of the fair
Egyptian showed that the quickness with which I had obeyed her wishes was
not unfelt by her. The moon had now risen; and though the current was
against us, the Etesian wind of the season blew strongly up the river, and
we were soon floating before it, through the rich plains and groves of the
Saïd.
The love, with which this simple girl had inspired me, was—possibly from
the mystic scenes and situations in which I had seen her—not unmingled
with a tinge of superstitious awe, under the influence of which I felt the
buoyancy of my spirit checked. The few words that had passed between us on
the subject of our route had somewhat loosened this spell; and what I
wanted of vivacity and confidence was more than made up by the tone of
deep sensibility which love had awakened in their place.
We had not proceeded far before the glittering of lights at a distance,
and the shooting up of fireworks, at intervals, into the air, apprised us
that we were approaching one of those night‐fairs, or marts, which it is
the custom, at this season, to hold upon the Nile. To me the scene was
familiar; but to my young companion it was evidently a new world; and the
mixture of alarm and delight with which she gazed, from under her veil,
upon the busy scene into which we now sailed, gave an air of innocence to
her beauty, which still more heightened its every charm.
It was one of the widest parts of the river; and the whole surface, from
one bank to the other, was covered with boats. Along the banks of a green
island, in the middle of the stream, lay anchored the galleys of the
principal traders,—large floating bazaars, bearing each the name of its
owner, emblazoned in letters of flame, upon the stern. Over their decks
were spread out, in gay confusion, the products of the loom and needle of
Egypt,—rich carpets of Memphis, and those variegated veils, for which the
female embroiderers of the Nile are so celebrated, and to which the name
of Cleopatra lends a traditional value. In each of the other galleys was
exhibited some branch of Egyptian workmanship,—vases of the fragrant
porcelain of On,—cups of that frail crystal, whose hues change like those
of the pigeon’s plumage,—enamelled amulets graven with the head of Anubis,
and necklaces and bracelets of the black beans of Abyssinia.
While Commerce thus displayed her luxuries in one quarter, in every other
direction Pleasure, multiplied into her thousand shapes, swarmed over the
waters. Nor was the festivity confined to the river only. All along the
banks of the island and on the shores, lighted up mansions were seen
through the trees, from which sounds of music and merriment came. In some
of the boats were bands of minstrels, who, from time to time, answered
each other, like echoes, across the wave; and the notes of the lyre, the
flageolet, and the sweet lotus‐wood flute, were heard, in the pauses of
revelry, dying along the waters.
Meanwhile, from other boats stationed in the least lighted places, the
workers of fire sent forth their wonders into the air. Bursting out from
time to time, as if in the very exuberance of joy, these sallies of flame
seemed to reach the sky, and there breaking into a shower of sparkles,
shed such a splendour round, as brightened even the white Arabian
hills,—making them shine like the brow of Mount Atlas at night, when the
fire from his own bosom is playing around its snows.
The opportunity which this luxurious mart afforded us, of providing
ourselves with other and less remarkable habiliments than those in which
we had escaped from that nether world, was too seasonable not to be gladly
taken advantage of by both. For myself, the strange mystic garb that I
wore was sufficiently concealed by my Grecian mantle, which I had luckily
thrown round me on the night of my watch. But the thin veil of my
companion was a far less efficient disguise. She had, indeed, flung away
the golden beetles from her hair; but the sacred robe of her order was
still too visible, and the stars of the bandelet shone brightly through
her veil.
Most gladly, therefore, did she avail herself of this opportunity of a
change; and, as she took from a casket—which, with the volume I had seen
her reading, appeared to be her only treasure—a small jewel, to exchange
for the simple garments she had chosen, there fell out, at the same time,
the very cross of silver, which I had seen her kiss, as may be remembered,
in the monumental chapel, and which was afterwards pressed to my own lips.
This link (for such it appeared to my imagination) between us, now revived
in my heart all the burning feelings of that moment;—and, had I not
abruptly turned away, my agitation would, but too plainly, have betrayed
itself.
The object, for which we had delayed in this gay scene, being
accomplished, the sail was again spread, and we proceeded on our course up
the river. The sounds and the lights we left behind died gradually away,
and we now floated along in moonlight and silence once more. Sweet dews,
worthy of being called “the tears of Isis,” fell through the air, and
every plant and flower sent its fragrance to meet them. The wind, just
strong enough to bear us smoothly against the current, scarcely stirred
the shadow of the tamarisks on the water. As the inhabitants from all
quarters were collected at the night‐fair, the Nile was more than usually
still and solitary. Such a silence, indeed, prevailed, that, as we glided
near the shore, we could hear the rustling of the acacias, as the
chameleons ran up their stems. It was, altogether, a night such as only
the clime of Egypt can boast, when every thing lies lulled in that sort of
bright tranquillity, which, we may imagine, shines over the sleep of those
happy spirits, who are supposed to rest in the Valley of the Moon, on
their way to heaven.
By such a light, and at such an hour, seated, side by side, on the deck of
that bark, did we pursue our course up the lonely Nile—each a mystery to
the other—our thoughts, our objects, our very names a secret;—separated,
too, till now, by destinies so different, the one, a gay voluptuary of the
Garden of Athens, the other, a secluded Priestess of the Temples of
Memphis;—and the only relation yet established between us being that
dangerous one of love, passionate love, on one side, and the most feminine
and confiding dependence on the other.
The passing adventure of the night‐fair had not only dispelled still more
our mutual reserve, but had supplied us with a subject on which we could
converse without embarrassment. From this topic I took care to lead on,
without interruption, to others,—fearful lest our former silence should
return, and the music of her voice again be lost to me. It was, indeed,
only by thus indirectly unburdening my heart that I was enabled to refrain
from the full utterance of all I thought and felt; and the restless
rapidity with which I flew from subject to subject was but an effort to
escape from the only one in which my heart was interested.
“How bright and happy,” said I,—pointing up to Sothis, the fair Star of
the Waters, which was just then sparkling brilliantly over our heads,—“How
bright and happy this world ought to be, if—as your Egyptian sages
assert—yon pure and beautiful luminary was its birth‐star!” Then, still
leaning back, and letting my eyes wander over the firmament, as if seeking
to disengage them from the fascination which they dreaded—“To the study (I
said), for ages, of skies like this, may the pensive and mystic character
of your nation be traced. That mixture of pride and melancholy which
naturally arises, at the sight of those eternal lights shining out of
darkness;—that sublime, but saddened, anticipation of a Future, which
comes over the soul in the silence of such an hour, when, though Death
seems to reign in the repose of earth, there are those beacons of
Immortality burning in the sky—”
Pausing, as I uttered the word “immortality,” with a sigh to think how
little my heart echoed to my lips, I looked in the face of the maiden, and
saw that it had lighted up, as I spoke, into a glow of holy animation,
such as Faith alone gives—such as Hope herself wears, when she is dreaming
of heaven. Touched by the contrast, and gazing upon her with mournful
tenderness, I found my arms half opened, to clasp her to my heart, while
the words died away inaudibly upon my lips,—“thou, too, beautiful maiden!
must thou, too, die for ever?”
My self‐command, I felt, had nearly deserted me. Rising abruptly from my
seat, I walked to the middle of the deck, and stood, for some moments,
unconsciously gazing upon one of those fires, which,—as is the custom of
all who travel by night upon the Nile,—our boatmen had just kindled, to
scare away the crocodiles from the vessel. But it was in vain that I
endeavoured to compose my spirit. Every effort I made but more deeply
convinced me, that, till the mystery which hung round that maiden should
be solved—till the secret, with which my own bosom laboured, should be
disclosed—it was fruitless to attempt even a semblance of tranquillity.
My resolution was therefore taken;—to lay open, at least, my own heart, as
far as such a revelation might be risked, without startling the timid
innocence of my companion. Thus resolved, I returned, with more composure,
to my seat by her side, and taking from my bosom the small mirror which
she had dropped in the Temple, and which I had ever since worn suspended
round my neck, with a trembling hand presented it to her view. The boatmen
had just kindled one of their night‐fires near us, and its light, as she
leaned forward towards the mirror, fell on her face.
The quick blush of surprise with which she recognised it to be hers, and
her look of bashful, yet eager, inquiry, in raising her eyes to mine, were
appeals to which I was not, of course, slow in answering. Beginning with
the first moment when I saw her in the Temple, and passing hastily, but
with words that burned as they went, over the impression which she had
then left upon my heart and fancy, I proceeded to describe the particulars
of my descent into the pyramid—my surprise and adoration at the door of
the chapel—my encounter with the Trials of Initiation, so mysteriously
prepared for me, and all the various visionary wonders I had witnessed in
that region, till the moment when I had seen her stealing from under the
Veils to approach me.
Though, in detailing these events, I had said but little of the feelings
they had awakened in me,—though my lips had sent back many a sentence,
unuttered, there was still enough that could neither be subdued or
disguised, and which, like that light from under the veils of her own
Isis, glowed through every word that I spoke. When I told of the scene in
the chapel,—of the silent interview which I had witnessed between the dead
and the living,—the maiden leaned down her head and wept, as from a heart
full of tears. It seemed a pleasure to her, however, to listen; and, when
she looked at me again, there was an earnest and affectionate cordiality
in her eyes, as if the knowledge of my having been present at that
mournful scene had opened a new source of sympathy and intelligence
between us. So neighbouring are the fountains of Love and of Sorrow, and
so imperceptibly do they often mingle their streams.
Little, indeed, as I was guided by art or design, in my manner and conduct
to this innocent girl, not all the most experienced gallantry of the
Garden could have dictated a policy half so seductive as that which my new
master, Love, now taught me. The ardour which, shown at once, and without
reserve, might have startled a heart so little prepared for it, thus
checked and softened by the timidity of real love, won its way without
alarm, and, when most diffident of success, most triumphed. Like one whose
sleep is gradually broken by music, the maiden’s heart was awakened
without being disturbed. She followed the charm, unconscious whither it
led, nor was aware of the flame she had lighted in another’s bosom, till
she perceived the reflection of it glimmering in her own.
Impatient as I was to appeal to her generosity and sympathy, for a similar
proof of confidence to that which I had just given, the night was now too
far advanced for me to impose such a task upon her. After exchanging a few
words, in which, though little was said, there was a tone and manner that
spoke far more than language, we took a lingering leave of each other for
the night, with every prospect of still being together in our dreams.