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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9392d47 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63737 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63737) diff --git a/old/63737-0.txt b/old/63737-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 257debd..0000000 --- a/old/63737-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4375 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Egypt and its Monuments, by Robert Hichens - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: Egypt and its Monuments - -Author: Robert Hichens - Jules Guérin - -Release Date: November 14, 2020 [EBook #63737] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Chuck Greif & The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EGYPT AND ITS MONUMENTS *** - - - - - EGYPT AND ITS MONUMENTS - - [Illustration: THE SPHINX] - - - - - EGYPT - AND ITS MONUMENTS - - BY - ROBERT HICHENS - - ILLUSTRATED BY - - JULES GUÉRIN - - AND WITH PHOTOGRAPHS - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - 1923 - - - Copyright, 1908, by - THE CENTURY CO. - - _Published October, 1908_ - - - _Printed in U. S. A._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - -I PAGE - -THE PYRAMIDS 5 - -II - -THE SPHINX 18 - -III - -SAKKARA 28 - -IV - -ABYDOS 37 - -V - -THE NILE 46 - -VI - -DENDERAH 52 - -VII - -KARNAK 66 - -VIII - -LUXOR 88 - -IX - -COLOSSI OF MEMNON 107 - -X - -MEDINET-ABU 120 - -XI - -THE RAMESSEUM 132 - -XII - -DEIR-EL-BAHARI 148 - -XIII - -THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS 166 - -XIV - -EDFU 174 - -XV - -KOM OMBOS 196 - -XVI - -PHILÆ 212 - -XVII - -“PHARAOH’S BED” 228 - -XVIII - -OLD CAIRO 252 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - -The Sphinx _Frontispiece_ -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -The Pyramids of Ghizeh 4 -From a Photograph. - -From the summit of the Great Pyramid 7 -From a Photograph. - -Looking down the main passage of the Great Pyramid 11 -From a Photograph. - -The Pyramids of Ghizeh 16 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -The Sphinx 20 -From a Photograph. - -The Sphinx and the Second Pyramid 25 -From a Photograph. - -The Step Pyramid of Sakkara 29 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Entrance to the Tomb of Thi 34 -From a Photograph. - -Temple of Seti I, Abydos 39 -From a Photograph. - -The Great Hall of Abydos 44 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Village on the site of Ancient Memphis 48 -From a Photograph. - -On the Roof of the Temple of Hathor, Denderah 53 -From a Photograph. - -The Temple of Hathor, Denderah 57 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Figures of Cleopatra and her son Cæsarion on the wall of the - Temple of Hathor 62 -From a Photograph. - -Interior, Temple of Khuns, Karnak 67 -From a Photograph. - -The Great Temple of Karnak 72 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -The Sacred Lotus in the Temple at Karnak 76 -From a Photograph. - -Entrance to Temple of Rameses III, Karnak 81 -From a Photograph. - -The Sacred Lake, Karnak 85 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -The Temple of Luxor from the easterly Pylon 90 -From a Photograph. - -The Court of Amenhotep III, Temple of Luxor 93 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -In the Temple of Luxor 97 -From a Photograph. - -Obelisk and Pylon, Luxor 102 -From a Photograph. - -The Great Colonnade, Temple of Luxor 105 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Near view of the Colossi of Memnon 109 -From a Photograph. - -The Colossi of Memnon 114 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -The Valley of the Tombs of the Kings 117 -From a Photograph. - -The Temple of Medinet-Abu 122 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Corner of Second Court, Temple of Rameses III, Medinet-Abu 125 -From a Photograph. - -The Ramesseum 129 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -“The Thinking Place of Rameses the Great.” Hall of Lotus Columns, - Ramesseum 133 -From a Photograph. - -The Plain of Thebes from the roof of the Ramesseum 137 -From a Photograph. - -Hall of Lotus Columns, Ramesseum 141 -From a Photograph. - -Pilasters and broken colossal statue of Rameses II 146 -From a Photograph. - -The Temple of Queen Hatasu, Deir-el-Bahari 149 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Recent excavations at Deir-el-Bahari 153 -From a Photograph. - -“The half-naked workmen toiling and sweating in the sun” 157 -From a Photograph. - -The Vache Hathor of Denderah 162 -From a Photograph. - -Painted tomb chamber of Prince Sen-nofer, Thebes 167 -From a Photograph. - -Temple of Esneh 171 -From a Photograph. - -Prayer in the Desert 175 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -The Temple of Edfu 180 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Pylon, Temple of Edfu 183 -From a Photograph. - -The Temple of Edfu from the top of the Pylon 190 -From a Photograph. - -The Court, Temple of Edfu 193 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Hypostyle Hall, Kôm Ombos 197 -From a Photograph. - -The Temple of Kôm Ombos 201 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Temple of Kôm Ombos. Screen wall of Hypostyle Hall 206 -From a Photograph. - -The Island of Elephantine, from Assuan 210 -From a Photograph. - -The Isle of Philæ before the construction of the dam 213 -From a Photograph. - -The Sacred Isle of Philæ 217 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -The Temple of Isis, Philæ 222 -From a Photograph. - -Nearly submerged columns, Isle of Philæ 225 -From a Photograph. - -Pharaoh’s Bed, before the construction of the dam 229 -From a Photograph. - -“Pharaoh’s Bed,” Island of Philæ 233 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -In “Pharaoh’s Bed,” Island of Philæ 238 -From a Photograph. - -Fore-court of the Temple of Isis and “Pharaoh’s Bed,” Philæ 241 -From a Photograph. - -Abu-Simbel 245 -Painted by Jules Guérin. - -Abu-Simbel, from the river 249 -From a Photograph. - - - - -EGYPT - -AND ITS MONUMENTS - -[Illustration: - -From a photograph by Bonfils of Beirut - -THE PYRAMIDS OF GHIZEH] - - - - -EGYPT AND ITS MONUMENTS - - - - -I - -THE PYRAMIDS - - -Why do you come to Egypt? Do you come to gain a dream, or to regain lost -dreams of old; to gild your life with the drowsy gold of romance, to -lose a creeping sorrow, to forget that too many of your hours are -sullen, gray, bereft? What do you wish of Egypt? - -The Sphinx will not ask you, will not care. The Pyramids, lifting their -unnumbered stones to the clear and wonderful skies, have held, still -hold, their secrets; but they do not seek for yours. The terrific -temples, the hot, mysterious tombs, odorous of the dead desires of men, -crouching in and under the immeasurable sands, will mock you with their -brooding silence, with their dim and somber repose. The brown children -of the Nile, the toilers who sing their antique songs by the shadoof -and the sakieh, the dragomans, the smiling goblin merchants, the -Bedouins who lead your camel into the pale recesses of the dunes--these -will not trouble themselves about your deep desires, your perhaps -yearning hunger of the heart and the imagination. - -Yet Egypt is not unresponsive. - -I came back to her with dread, after fourteen years of absence--years -filled for me with the rumors of her changes. And on the very day of my -arrival she calmly reassured me. She told me in her supremely magical -way that all was well with her. She taught me once more a lesson I had -not quite forgotten, but that I was glad to learn again--the lesson that -Egypt owes her most subtle, most inner beauty to Kheper, although she -owes her marvels to men; that when he created the sun which shines upon -her, he gave her the luster of her life, and that those who come to her -must be sun-worshipers if they would truly and intimately understand the -treasure of romance that lies heaped within her bosom. - -Thoth, says the old legend, traveled in the Boat of the Sun. If you -would love Egypt rightly, you, too, must be a traveler in that bark. You -must not fear to steep yourself in the mystery of gold, in the mystery -of heat, in the mystery of silence that seems softly showered out of the -sun. The sacred white lotus must be your emblem, and Horus, the -hawk-headed, merged in Ra, your special deity. Scarcely had I set foot -once - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1902, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE GREAT PYRAMID] - -more in Egypt before Thoth lifted me into the Boat of the Sun and -soothed my fears to sleep. - -I arrived in Cairo. I saw new and vast hotels; I saw crowded streets; -brilliant shops; English officials driving importantly in victorias, -surely to pay dreadful calls of ceremony; women in gigantic hats, with -Niagaras of veil, waving white gloves as they talked of--I guessed--the -latest Cairene scandal. I perceived on the right hand and on the left -waiters created in Switzerland, hall porters made in Germany, Levantine -touts, determined Jews holding false antiquities in their lean fingers, -an English Baptist minister, in a white helmet, drinking chocolate on a -terrace, with a guide-book in one fist, a ticket to visit monuments in -the other. I heard Scottish soldiers playing, “I’ll be in Scotland -before ye!” and something within me, a lurking hope, I suppose, seemed -to founder and collapse--but only for a moment. It was after four in the -afternoon. Soon day would be declining. And I seemed to remember that -the decline of day in Egypt had moved me long ago--moved me as few, rare -things have ever done. Within half an hour I was alone, far up the long -road--Ismail’s road--that leads from the suburbs of Cairo to the -Pyramids. And then Egypt took me like a child by the hand and reassured -me. - -It was the first week of November, high Nile had not subsided, and all -the land here, between the river and the sand where the Sphinx keeps -watch, was hidden beneath the vast and tranquil waters of what seemed a -tideless sea--a sea fringed with dense masses of date-palms, girdled in -the far distance by palm-trees that looked almost black, broken by low -and tiny islands on which palm-trees kept the white and the brown houses -in their feathery embrace. Above these isolated houses pigeons circled. -In the distance the lateen sails of boats glided, sometimes behind the -palms, coming into view, vanishing, mysteriously reappearing among their -narrow trunks. Here and there a living thing moved slowly, wading -homeward through this sea: a camel from the sands of Ghizeh, a buffalo, -two donkeys, followed by boys who held with brown hands their dark blue -skirts near their faces, a Bedouin leaning forward upon the neck of his -quickly stepping horse. At one moment I seemed to look upon the lagoons -of Venice, a watery vision full of a glassy calm. Then the palm-trees in -the water, and growing to its edge, the pale sands that, far as the eyes -could see, from Ghizeh to Sakkara and beyond, fringed it toward the -west, made me think of the Pacific, of palmy islands of a paradise where -men grow drowsy in well-being, and dream away the years. And then I -looked still farther, beyond the pallid line of the sands, and I saw a -Pyramid of gold, the wonder Khufu had built. As a golden wonder it -saluted me after all my years of absence. Later I was to see it gray as -gray sands, sulphur color in the afternoon from very near at hand, - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -LOOKING DOWN THE MAIN PASSAGE OF THE GREAT PYRAMID] - -black as a monument draped in funereal velvet for a mourning under the -stars at night, white as a monstrous marble tomb soon after dawn from -the sand-dunes between it and Sakkara. But as a golden thing it greeted -me, as a golden miracle I shall remember it. - -Slowly the sun went down. The second Pyramid seemed also made of gold. -Drowsily splendid it and its greater brother looked set on the golden -sands beneath the golden sky. And now the gold came traveling down from -the desert to the water, turning it surely to a wine like the wine of -gold that flowed down Midas’s throat; then, as the magic grew, to a -Pactolus, and at last to a great surface that resembled golden ice, -hard, glittering, unbroken by any ruffling wave. The islands rising from -this golden ice were jet black, the houses black, the palms and their -shadows that fell upon the marvel black. Black were the birds that flew -low from roof to roof, black the wading camels, black the meeting leaves -of the tall lebbek-trees that formed a tunnel from where I stood to Mena -House. And presently a huge black Pyramid lay supine on the gold, and -near it a shadowy brother seemed more humble than it, but scarcely less -mysterious. The gold deepened, glowed more fiercely. In the sky above -the Pyramids hung tiny cloud wreaths of rose red, delicate and airy as -the gossamers of Tunis. As I turned, far off in Cairo I saw the first -lights glittering across the fields of doura, silvery white, like -diamonds. But the silver did not call me. My imagination was held -captive by the gold. I was summoned by the gold, and I went on, under -the black lebbek-trees, on Ismail’s road, toward it. And I dwelt in it -many days. - -The wonders of Egypt man has made seem to increase in stature before the -spirits’ eyes as man learns to know them better, to tower up ever higher -till the imagination is almost stricken by their looming greatness. -Climb the great Pyramid, spend a day with Abou on its summit, come down, -penetrate into its recesses, stand in the king’s chamber, listen to the -silence there, feel it with your hands,--is it not tangible in this hot -fastness of incorruptible death?--creep, like the surreptitious midget -you feel yourself to be, up those long and steep inclines of polished -stone, watching the bloomy darkness of the narrow walls, the far-off -pinpoint of light borne by the Bedouin who guides you, hear the twitter -of the bats that have their dwelling in this monstrous gloom that man -has made to shelter the thing whose ambition could never be embalmed, -though that, of all its qualities, should have been given here, in the -land it dowered, a life perpetual. Now you know the great Pyramid. You -know that you can climb it, that you can enter it. You have seen it from -all sides, under all aspects. It is familiar to you. - -No, it can never be that. With its more wonderful comrade, the Sphinx, -it has the power peculiar, so it seems to me, to certain of the rock and -stone monuments - -[Illustration: THE PYRAMIDS OF GHIZEH] - -of Egypt, of holding itself ever aloof, almost like the soul of man -which can retreat at will, like the Bedouin retreating from you into the -blackness of the Pyramid, far up, or far down, where the pursuing -stranger, unaided, cannot follow. - - - - -II - -THE SPHINX - - -One day at sunset I saw a bird trying to play with the Sphinx--a bird -like a swallow, but with a ruddy brown on its breast, a gleam of blue -somewhere on its wings. When I came to the edge of the sand basin where -perhaps Khufu saw it lying nearly four thousand years before the birth -of Christ, the Sphinx and the bird were quite alone. The bird flew near -the Sphinx, whimsically turning this way and that, flying now low, now -high, but ever returning to the magnet which drew it, which held it, -from which it surely longed to extract some sign of recognition. It -twittered, it poised itself in the golden air, with its bright eyes -fixed upon those eyes of stone which gazed beyond it, beyond the land of -Egypt, beyond the world of men, beyond the center of the sun to the last -verges of eternity. And presently it alighted on the head of the Sphinx, -then on its ear, then on its breast; and over the breast it tripped -jerkily, with tiny, elastic steps, looking upward, its whole body -quivering apparently with a desire for comprehension--a desire for some -manifestation of friendship. Then suddenly it spread its wings - -[Illustration: THE SPHINX] - -and, straight as an arrow, it flew away over the sands and the waters -toward the doura-fields and Cairo. - -And the sunset waned, and the afterglow flamed and faded, and the clear, -soft African night fell. The pilgrims who day by day visit the Sphinx, -like the bird, had gone back to Cairo. They had come, as the bird had -come; as those who have conquered Egypt came; as the Greeks came, -Alexander of Macedon, and the Ptolemies; as the Romans came; as the -Mamelukes, the Turks, the French, the English came. - -They had come--and gone. - -And that enormous face, with the stains of stormy red still adhering to -its cheeks, grew dark as the darkness closed in, turned brown as a -fellah’s face, as the face of that fellah who whispered his secret in -the Sphinx’s ear, but learnt no secret in return; turned black almost as -a Nubian’s face. The night accentuated its appearance of terrible -repose, of superhuman indifference to whatever might befall. In the -night I seemed to hear the footsteps of the dead--of all the dead -warriors and the steeds they rode, defiling over the sand before the -unconquerable thing they perhaps thought that they had conquered. At -last the footsteps died away. There was a silence. Then, coming down -from the Great Pyramid, surely I heard the light patter of a donkey’s -feet. They went to the Sphinx and ceased. The silence was profound. And -I remembered the legend that Mary, Joseph, and the Holy Child once -halted here on their long journey, and that Mary laid the tired Christ -between the paws of the Sphinx to sleep. Yet even of the Christ the soul -within that body could take no heed at all. - -It is, I think, one of the most astounding facts in the history of man -that a man was able to contain within his mind, to conceive, the -conception of the Sphinx. That he could carry it out in the stone is -amazing. But how much more amazing it is that before there was the -Sphinx he was able to see it with his imagination! One may criticize the -Sphinx. One may say impertinent things that are true about it: that seen -from behind at a distance its head looks like an enormous mushroom -growing in the sand, that its cheeks are swelled inordinately, that its -thick-lipped mouth is legal, that from certain places it bears a -resemblance to a prize bulldog. All this does not matter at all. What -does matter is that into the conception and execution of the Sphinx has -been poured a supreme imaginative power. He who created it looked beyond -Egypt, beyond the life of man. He grasped the conception of Eternity, -and realized the nothingness of Time, and he rendered it in stone. - -I can imagine the most determined atheist looking at the Sphinx and, in -a flash, not merely believing, but feeling that he had before him proof -of the life of the soul beyond the grave, of the life of the soul of -Khufu beyond the tomb of his Pyramid. Always as you return to the -Sphinx you wonder at it more, you adore more strangely its repose, you -steep yourself more intimately in the aloof peace that seems to emanate -from it as light emanates from the sun. And as you look on it at last -perhaps you understand the infinite; you understand where is the bourne -to which the finite flows with all its greatness, as the great Nile -flows from beyond Victoria Nyanza to the sea. - -And as the wonder of the Sphinx takes possession of you gradually, so -gradually do you learn to feel the majesty of the Pyramids of Ghizeh. -Unlike the Step Pyramid of Sakkara, which, even when one is near it, -looks like a small mountain, part of the land on which it rests; the -Pyramids of Ghizeh look what they are--artificial excrescences, invented -and carried out by man, expressions of man’s greatness. Exquisite as -they are as features of the drowsy golden landscape at the setting of -the sun, I think they look most wonderful at night, when they are black -beneath the stars. On many nights I have sat in the sand at a distance -and looked at them, and always, and increasingly, they have stirred my -imagination. Their profound calm, their classical simplicity, are -greatly emphasized when no detail can be seen, when they are but black -shapes towering to the stars. They seem to aspire then like prayers -prayed by one who has said, “God does not need my prayers, but I need -them.” In their simplicity they suggest a crowd of thoughts, and of -desires. Guy de Maupassant has said that of all the arts architecture -is perhaps the most esthetic, the most mysterious, and the most -nourished by ideas. How true this is you feel as you look at the Great -Pyramid by night. It seems to breathe out mystery. The immense base -recalls to you the labyrinth within; the long descent from the tiny slit -that gives you entrance, your uncertain steps in its hot, eternal night, -your falls on the ice-like surfaces of its polished blocks of stone, the -crushing weight that seemed to lie on your heart as you stole -uncertainly on, summoned almost as by the desert; your sensation of -being forever imprisoned, taken and hidden by a monster from Egypt’s -wonderful light, as you stood in the central chamber, and realized the -stone ocean into whose depths, like some intrepid diver, you had dared -deliberately to come. And then your eyes travel up the slowly shrinking -walls till they reach the dark point which is the top. There you stood -with Abou, who spends half his life on the highest stone, hostages of -the sun, bathed in light and air that perhaps came to you from the Gold -Coast. And you saw men and camels like flies, and Cairo like a gray -blur, and the Mokattam hills almost as a higher ridge of the sands. The -mosque of Mohammed Ali was like a cup turned over. Far below slept the -dead in that graveyard of the Sphinx, with its pale stones, its sand, -its palm, its “Sycamores of the South,” once worshiped and regarded as -Hathor’s living body. And beyond them on one side - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -THE SPHINX AND THE SECOND PYRAMID] - -were the sleeping waters, with islands small, surely, as delicate -Egyptian hands, and on the other the great desert that stretches, so the -Bedouins say, on and on “for a march of a thousand days.” - -That base and that summit--what suggestion and what mystery in their -contrast! What sober, eternal beauty in the dark line which unites them, -now sharply, yet softly, defined against the night, which is purple as -the one garment of the fellah! That line leads the soul irresistibly -from earth to the stars. - - - - -III - -SAKKARA - - -It was the “Little Christmas” of the Egyptians as I rode to Sakkara, -after seeing a wonderful feat, the ascent and descent of the second -Pyramid in nineteen minutes by a young Bedouin called Mohammed Ali, who -very seriously informed me that the only Roumi who had ever reached the -top was an “American gentlemens” called Mark Twain, on his first visit -to Egypt. On his second visit, Ali said, Mr. Twain had a bad foot, and -declared he could not be bothered with the second Pyramid. He had been -up and down it once without a guide; he had disturbed the jackal which -lives near its summit, and which I saw running in the sunshine as Ali -drew near its lair, and he was satisfied to rest on his immortal -laurels. To the Bedouins of the Pyramids Mark Twain’s world-wide -celebrity is owing to one fact alone: he is the only Roumi who has -climbed the second Pyramid. That is why his name is known to every one. - -It was the “Little Christmas,” and from the villages in the plain the -Egyptians came pouring out to visit - -[Illustration: THE STEP PYRAMID OF SAKKARA] - -their dead in the desert cemeteries as I passed by to visit the dead in -the tombs far off on the horizon. Women, swathed in black, gathered in -groups and jumped monotonously up and down, to the accompaniment of -stained hands clapping, and strange and weary songs. Tiny children blew -furiously into tin trumpets, emitting sounds that were terribly -European. Men strode seriously by, or stood in knots among the graves, -talking vivaciously of the things of this life. As the sun rose higher -in the heavens, this visit to the dead became a carnival of the living. -Laughter and shrill cries of merriment betokened the resignation of the -mourners. The sand-dunes were black with running figures, racing, -leaping, chasing one another, rolling over and over in the warm and -golden grains. Some sat among the graves and ate. Some sang. Some -danced. I saw no one praying, after the sun was up. The Great Pyramid of -Ghizeh was transformed in this morning hour, and gleamed like a marble -mountain, or like the hill covered with salt at El-Outaya, in Algeria. -As we went on it sank down into the sands, until at last I could see -only a small section with its top, which looked almost as pointed as a -gigantic needle. Abou was there on the hot stones in the golden eye of -the sun--Abou who lives to respect his Pyramid, and to serve Turkish -coffee to those who are determined enough to climb it. Before me the -Step Pyramid rose, brown almost as bronze, out of the sands here -desolate and pallid. Soon I was in the house of Marriette, between the -little sphinxes. - -Near Cairo, although the desert is real desert, it does not give, to me, -at any rate, the immense impression of naked sterility, of almost -brassy, sunbaked fierceness, which often strikes one in the Sahara to -the south of Algeria, where at midday one sometimes has a feeling of -being lost upon a waste of metal, gleaming, angry, tigerish in color. -Here, in Egypt, both the people and the desert seem gentler, safer, more -amiable. Yet these tombs of Sakkara are hidden in a desolation of the -sands, peculiarly blanched and mournful; and as you wander from tomb to -tomb, descending and ascending, stealing through great galleries beneath -the sands, creeping through tubes of stone, crouching almost on hands -and knees in the sultry chambers of the dead, the awfulness of the -passing away of dynasties and of races comes, like a cloud, upon your -spirit. But this cloud lifts and floats from you in the cheerful tomb of -Thi, that royal councilor, that scribe and confidant, whose life must -have been passed in a round of serene activities, amid a sneering, -though doubtless admiring, population. - -Into this tomb of white, vivacious figures, gay almost, though never -wholly frivolous, for these men were full of purpose, full of an ardor -that seduces even where it seems grotesque, I took with me a child of -ten called Ali, from the village of Kafiah; and as I looked - -[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE TOMB OF THI] - -from him to the walls around us, rather than the passing away of the -races, I realized the persistence of type. For everywhere I saw the face -of little Ali, with every feature exactly reproduced. Here he was -bending over a sacrifice, leading a sacred bull, feeding geese from a -cup, roasting a chicken, pulling a boat, carpentering, polishing, -conducting a monkey for a walk, or merely sitting bolt upright and -sneering. There were lines of little Alis with their hands held to their -breasts, their faces in profile, their knees rigid, in the happy tomb of -Thi; but he glanced at them unheeding, did not recognize his ancestors. -And he did not care to penetrate into the tombs of Mera and -Meri-Ra-ankh, into the Serapeum and the Mestaba of Ptah-hotep. Perhaps -he was right. The Serapeum is grand in its vastness, with its long and -high galleries and its mighty vaults containing the huge granite -sarcophagi of the sacred bulls of Apis; Mera, red and white, welcomes -you from an elevated niche benignly; Ptah-hotep, priest of the fifth -dynasty, receives you, seated at a table that resembles a rake with -long, yellow teeth standing on its handle, and drinking stiffly a cup of -wine. You see upon the wall near by, with sympathy, a patient being -plied by a naked and evidently an unyielding physician with medicine -from a jar that might have been visited by Morgiana, a musician playing -upon an instrument like a huge and stringless harp. But it is the happy -tomb of Thi that lingers in your memory. In that tomb one sees -proclaimed with a marvelous ingenuity and expressiveness the joy and the -activity of life. Thi must have loved life; loved prayer and sacrifice, -loved sport and war, loved feasting and gaiety, labor of the hands and -of the head, loved the arts, the music of flute and harp, singing by the -lingering and plaintive voices which seem to express the essence of the -East, loved sweet odors, loved sweet women,--do we not see him sitting -to receive offerings with his wife beside him?--loved the clear nights -and the radiant days that in Egypt make glad the heart of man. He must -have loved the splendid gift of life, and used it completely. And so -little Ali did very right to make his sole obeisance at Thi’s delicious -tomb, from which death itself seems banished by the soft and embracing -radiance of the almost living walls. - -This delicate cheerfulness, a quite airy gaiety of life, is often -combined in Egypt, and most beautifully and happily combined, with -tremendous solidity, heavy impressiveness, a hugeness that is well-nigh -tragic; and it supplies a relief to eye, to mind, to soul, that is sweet -and refreshing as the trickle of a tarantella from a reed flute heard -under the shadows of a temple of Hercules. Life showers us with -contrasts. Art, which gives to us a second and a more withdrawn life, -opening to us a door through which we pass to our dreams, may well -imitate life in this. - - - - -IV - -ABYDOS - - -Through a long and golden noontide, and on into an afternoon whose -opulence of warmth and light it seemed could never wane, I sat alone, or -wandered gently quite alone, in the Temple of Seti I at Abydos. Here -again I was in a place of the dead. In Egypt one ever seeks the dead in -the sunshine, black vaults in the land of the gold. But here in Abydos I -was companioned by whiteness. The general effect of Seti’s mighty temple -is that it is a white temple when seen in full sunshine and beneath a -sky of blinding blue. In an arid place it stands, just beyond an -Egyptian village that is a maze of dust, of children, of animals, and -flies. The last blind houses of the village, brown as brown paper, -confront it on a mound, and as I came toward it a girl-child swathed in -purple, with ear-rings, and a twist of orange handkerchief above her -eyes, full of cloud and fire, leaned from a roof, sinuously as a young -snake, to watch me. On each side, descending, were white, ruined walls, -stretched out like defaced white arms of the temple to receive me. I -stood still for a moment and looked at the narrow, severely simple -doorway, at the twelve broken columns advanced on either side, white and -grayish white with their right angles, their once painted figures now -almost wholly colorless. - -Here lay the Osirians, those blessed dead of the land of Egypt, who -worshiped the Judge of the Dead, the Lord of the Underworld, and who -hoped for immortality through him--Osiris, husband of Isis, Osiris, -receiver of prayers, Osiris the sun who will not be conquered by night, -but eternally rises again, and so is the symbol of the resurrection of -the soul. It is said that Set, the power of Evil, tore the body of -Osiris into fourteen fragments and scattered them over the land. But -multitudes of worshipers of Osiris believed him buried near Abydos and, -like those who loved the sweet songs of Hafiz, they desired to be buried -near him whom they adored; and so this place became a place of the dead, -a place of many prayers, a white place of many longings. - -I was glad to be alone there. The guardian left me in perfect peace. I -happily forgot him. I sat down in the shadow of a column upon its mighty -projecting base. The sky was blinding blue. Great bees hummed, like -bourdons, through the silence, deepening the almost heavy calm. These -columns, architraves, doorways, how mighty, how grandly strong they -were! And yet soon I began to be aware that even here, where surely one -should read only the Book of the Dead, - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York. - -TEMPLE OF SETI I, ABYDOS] - -or bend down to the hot ground to listen if perchance one might hear the -dead themselves murmuring over the chapters of Beatification far down in -their hidden tombs, there was a lightness, a gentle gaiety of life, as -in the tomb of Thi. The effect of solidity was immense. These columns -bulged, almost like great fruits swollen out by their heady strength of -blood. They towered up in crowds. The heavy roof, broken in places most -mercifully to show squares and oblongs of that perfect, calling blue, -was like a frowning brow. And yet I was with grace, with gentleness, -with lightness, because in the place of the dead I was again with the -happy, living walls. Above me, on the roof, there was a gleam of palest -blue, like the blue I have sometimes seen at morning on the Ionian sea -just where it meets the shore. The double rows of gigantic columns -stretched away, tall almost as forest trees, to right of me and to left, -and were shut in by massive walls, strong as the walls of a fortress. -And on these columns, and on these walls, dead painters and gravers had -breathed the sweet breath of life. Here in the sun, for me alone, as it -seemed, a population followed their occupations. Men walked, and -kneeled, and stood, some white and clothed, some nude, some red as the -red man’s child that leaped beyond the sea. And here was the -lotus-flower held in reverent hands, not the rose-lotus, but the blossom -that typified the rising again of the sun, and that, worn as an amulet, -signified the gift of eternal youth. And here was hawk-faced Horus, and -here a priest offering sacrifice to a god, belief in whom has long since -passed away. A king revealed himself to me, adoring Ptah, “Father of the -beginnings,” who established upon earth, my figures thought, the -everlasting justice, and again at the knees of Amen burning incense in -his honor. Isis and Osiris stood together, and sacrifice was made before -their sacred bark. And Seti worshiped them, and Seshta, goddess of -learning, wrote in the book of eternity the name of the king. - -The great bees hummed, moving slowly in the golden air among the mighty -columns, passing slowly among these records of lives long over, but -which seemed still to be. And I looked at the lotus-flowers which the -little grotesque hands were holding, had been holding for how many -years--the flowers that typified the rising again of the sun and the -divine gift of eternal youth. And I thought of the bird and the Sphinx, -the thing that was whimsical wooing, the thing that was mighty. And I -gazed at the immense columns and at the light and little figures all -about me. Bird and Sphinx, delicate whimsicality, calm and terrific -power! In Egypt the dead men have combined them, and the combination has -an irresistible fascination, weaves a spell that entrances you in the -sunshine and beneath the blinding blue. At Abydos I knew it. And I loved -the columns that seemed blown out with - -[Illustration: THE GREAT HALL OF ABYDOS] - -exuberant strength, and I loved the delicate white walls that, like the -lotus-flower, give to the world a youth that seems eternal--a youth that -is never frivolous, but that is full of the divine, and yet pathetic, -animation of happy life. - -The great bees hummed more drowsily. I sat quite still in the sun. And -then presently, moved by some prompting instinct, I turned my head, and, -far off, through the narrow portal of the temple, I saw the girl-child -swathed in purple still lying, sinuously as a young snake, upon the -palm-wood roof above the brown earth wall to watch me with her eyes of -cloud and fire. - -And upon me, like cloud and fire--cloud of the tombs and the great -temple columns, fire of the brilliant life painted and engraved upon -them, there stole the spell of Egypt. - - - - -V - -THE NILE - - -I do not find in Egypt any more the strangeness that once amazed, and at -first almost bewildered me. Stranger far is Morocco, stranger the -country beyond Biskra, near Mogar, round Touggourt, even about El -Kantara. There I feel very far away, as a child feels distance from -dear, familiar things. I look to the horizon expectant of I know not -what magical occurrences, what mysteries. I am aware of the summons to -advance to marvelous lands, where marvelous things must happen. I am -taken by that sensation of almost trembling magic which came to me when -first I saw a mirage far out in the Sahara. But Egypt, though it -contains so many marvels, has no longer for me the marvelous atmosphere. -Its keynote is seductiveness. - -In Egypt one feels very safe. Smiling policemen in clothes of spotless -white--emblematic, surely, of their innocence!--seem to be everywhere, -standing calmly in the sun. Very gentle, very tender, although perhaps -not very true, are the Bedouin at the Pyramids. Up the Nile the -fellaheen smile as kindly as the policemen, - -[Illustration: - -From a photograph by Bonfils of Beirut - -VILLAGE ON THE SITE OF ANCIENT MEMPHIS] - -smile protectingly upon you, as if they would say, “Allah has placed us -here to take care of the confiding stranger.” No ferocious demands for -money fall upon my ears; only an occasional suggestion is subtly -conveyed to me that even the poor must live and that I am immensely -rich. An amiable, an almost enticing seductiveness seems emanating from -the fertile soil, shining in the golden air, gleaming softly in the -amber sands, dimpling in the brown, the mauve, the silver eddies of the -Nile. It steals upon one. It ripples over one. It laps one as if with -warm and scented waves. A sort of lustrous languor overtakes one. In -physical well-being one sinks down, and with wide eyes one gazes and -listens and enjoys, and thinks not of the morrow. - -The dahabiyeh--her very name, the _Loulia_, has a gentle, seductive, -cooing sound--drifts broadside to the current with furled sails, or -glides smoothly on before an amiable north wind with sails unfurled. -Upon the bloomy banks, rich brown in color, the brown men stoop, and -straighten themselves, and stoop again, and sing. The sun gleams on -their copper skins, which look polished and metallic. Crouched in his -net behind the drowsy oxen, the little boy circles the live-long day -with the sakieh. And the sakieh raises its wailing, wayward voice and -sings to the shadoof; and the shadoof sings to the sakieh; and the -lifted water falls and flows away into the green wilderness of doura -that, like a miniature forest, spreads on every hand to the low -mountains, which do not perturb the spirit, as do the iron mountains of -Algeria. And always the sun is shining, and the body is drinking in its -warmth, and the soul is drinking in its gold. And always the ears are -full of warm and drowsy and monotonous music. And always the eyes see -the lines of brown bodies, on the brown river-banks above the brown -waters, bending, straightening, bending, straightening, with an -exquisitely precise monotony. And always the _Loulia_ seems to be -drifting, so quietly she slips up, or down, the level waterway. - -And one drifts, too; one can but drift, happily, sleepily, forgetting -every care. From Abydos to Denderah one drifts, and from Denderah to -Karnak, to Luxor, to all the marvels on the western shore; and on to -Edfu, to Kom Ombos, to Assuan, and perhaps even into Nubia, to -Abu-Simbel and to Wadi-Halfa. Life on the Nile is a long dream, golden -and sweet as honey of Hymettus. For I let the “divine serpent,” who at -Philæ may be seen issuing from her charmed cavern, take me very quietly -to see the abodes of the dead, the halls of the vanished, upon her green -and sterile shores. I know nothing of the bustling, shrieking steamer -that defies her, churning into angry waves her waters for the -edification of those who would “do” Egypt and be gone before they know -her. - -If you are in a hurry, do not come to Egypt. To hurry in Egypt is as -wrong as to fall asleep in Wall Street, or to sit in the Greek Theater -at Taormina, reading “How to Make a Fortune with a Capital of Fifty -Pounds.” - - - - -VI - -DENDERAH - - -From Abydos, home of the cult of Osiris, judge of the dead, I came to -Denderah, the great temple of the “Lady of the Underworld,” as the -goddess Hathor was sometimes called, though she was usually worshiped as -the Egyptian Aphrodite, goddess of joy, goddess of love and loveliness. -It was early morning when I went ashore. The sun was above the eastern -hills, and a boy, clad in a rope of plaited grass, sent me half shyly -the greeting, “May your day be happy!” - -Youth is, perhaps, the most divine of all the gifts of the gods, as -those who wore the lotus-blossom amulet believed thousands of years ago, -and Denderah, appropriately, is a very young Egyptian temple, probably, -indeed, the youngest of all the temples on the Nile. Its -youthfulness--it is only about two thousand years of age--identifies it -happily with the happiness and beauty of its presiding deity, and as I -rode toward it on the canal-bank in the young freshness of the morning, -I thought of the goddess Safekh and of the sacred Persea-tree. When -Safekh inscribed upon a leaf of - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -ON THE ROOF OF THE TEMPLE OF HATHOR, DENDERAH] - -the Persea-tree the name of king or conqueror, he gained everlasting -life. Was it the life of youth? An everlasting life of middle age might -be a doubtful benefit. And then mentally I added, “unless one lived in -Egypt.” For here the years drop from one, and every golden hour brings -to one surely another drop of the wondrous essence that sets time at -defiance and charms sad thoughts away. - -Unlike White Abydos, White Denderah stands apart from habitations, in a -still solitude upon a blackened mound. From far off I saw the façade, -large, bare, and sober, rising, in a nakedness as complete as that of -Aphrodite rising from the wave, out of the plain of brown, alluvial soil -that was broken here and there by a sharp green of growing things. There -was something of sadness in the scene, and again I thought of Hathor as -the “Lady of the Underworld,” some deep-eyed being, with a pale brow, -hair like the night, and yearning, wistful hands stretched out in -supplication. There was a hush upon this place. The loud and vehement -cry of the shadoof-man died away. The sakieh droned in my ears no more -like distant Sicilian pipes playing at Natale. I felt a breath from the -desert. And, indeed, the desert was near--that realistic desert which -suggests to the traveler approaches to the sea, so that beyond each -pallid dune, as he draws near it, he half expects to hear the lapping of -the waves. Presently, when, having ascended that marvelous staircase of -the New Year, walking in procession with the priests upon its walls -toward the rays of Ra, I came out upon the temple roof, and looked upon -the desert--upon sheeny sands, almost like slopes of satin shining in -the sun, upon paler sands in the distance, holding an Arab _campo -santo_, in which rose the little creamy cupolas of a sheik’s tomb, -surrounded by a creamy wall, those little cupolas gave to me a feeling -of the real, the irresistible Africa such as I had not known since I had -been in Egypt; and I thought I heard in the distance the ceaseless hum -of praying and praising voices. - -“God hath rewarded the faithful with gardens through which flow -rivulets. They shall be forever therein, and that is the reward of the -virtuous.” - -The sensation of solemnity which overtook me as I approached the temple -deepened when I drew close to it, when I stood within it. In the first -hall, mighty, magnificent, full of enormous columns from which faces of -Hathor once looked to the four points of the compass, I found only one -face almost complete, saved from the fury of fanatics by the protection -of the goddess of chance, in whom the modern Egyptian so implicitly -believes. In shape it was a delicate oval. In the long eyes, about the -brow, the cheeks, there was a strained expression that suggested to me -more than a gravity--almost an anguish--of spirit. As I looked at it, I -thought of Eleanora Duse. Was this the ideal of joy - -[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF HATHOR. DENDERAH] - -in the time of the Ptolemies? Joy may be rapturous, or it may be serene; -but could it ever be like this? The pale, delicious blue that here and -there, in tiny sections, broke the almost haggard, grayish whiteness of -this first hall with the roof of black, like bits of an evening sky seen -through tiny window-slits in a somber room, suggested joy, was joy -summed up in color. But Hathor’s face was weariful and sad. - -From the gloom of the inner halls came a sound, loud, angry, menacing, -as I walked on, a sound of menace and an odor, heavy and deathlike. Only -in the first hall had those builders and decorators of two thousand -years ago been moved by their conception of the goddess to hail her, to -worship her, with the purity of white, with the sweet gaiety of -turquoise. Or so it seems to-day, when the passion of Christianity -against Hathor has spent itself and died. Now Christians come to seek -what Christian Copts destroyed; wander through the deserted courts, -desirous of looking upon the faces that have long since been hacked to -pieces. A more benign spirit informs our world, but, alas! Hathor has -been sacrificed to the devilries of old. And it is well, perhaps, that -her temple should be sad, like a place of silent waiting for the glories -that are gone. - -With every step my melancholy grew. Encompassed by gloomy odors, -assailed by the clamor of gigantic bats, which flew furiously among the -monstrous pillars near a roof ominous as a storm-cloud, my spirit was -haunted by the sad eyes of Hathor, which gaze forever from that column -in the first hall. Were they always like that? Once that face dwelt with -a crowd of other faces, looked upon a glory of worship. And all the -other faces have gone, and all the glory has passed. And, like so many -of the living, the goddess has paid for her splendors. The pendulum -swung, and where men adored, men hated her--her the goddess of love and -loveliness. And as the human face changes when terror and sorrow come, I -felt as if Hathor’s face of stone had changed upon its column, looking -toward the Nile, in obedience to the anguish in her heart; I felt as if -Denderah were a majestic house of grief. So I must always think of it, -dark, tragic, and superb. The Egyptians once believed that when death -came to a man, the soul of him, which they called the Ba, winged its way -to the gods, but that, moved by a sweet unselfishness, it returned -sometime to his tomb, to give comfort to the poor, deserted mummy. Upon -the lids of sarcophagi it is sometimes represented as a bird, flying -down to, or resting upon, the mummy. As I went onward in the darkness, -among the columns, over the blocks of stone that form the pavements, -seeing vaguely the sacred boats upon the walls, Horus and Thoth, the -king before Osiris; as I mounted and descended with the priests to roof -and floor, I longed, instead of the clamor of the bats, to hear the -light flutter of the soft wings of the Ba of Hathor, flying - -[Illustration: FIGURES OF CLEOPATRA AND HER SON CÆSARION ON THE WALL OF -THE TEMPLE OF HATHOR] - -from Paradise to this sad temple of the desert to bring her comfort in -the gloom. I thought of her as a poor woman, suffering as only women can -in loneliness. - -In the museum at Cairo there is the mummy of “the lady Amanit, priestess -of Hathor.” She lies there upon her back, with her thin body slightly -turned toward the left side, as if in an effort to change her position. -Her head is completely turned to the same side. Her mouth is wide open, -showing all the teeth. The tongue is lolling out. Upon the head the -thin, brown hair makes a line above the little ear, and is mingled at -the back of the head with false tresses. Round the neck is a mass of -ornaments, of amulets and beads. The right arm and hand lie along the -body. The expression of “the lady Amanit” is very strange, and very -subtle; for it combines horror--which implies activity--with a profound, -an impenetrable repose, far beyond the reach of all disturbance. In the -temple of Denderah I fancied the lady Amanit ministering sadly, even -terribly, to a lonely goddess, moving in fear through an eternal gloom, -dying at last there, overwhelmed by tasks too heavy for that tiny body, -the ultra-sensitive spirit that inhabited it. And now she sleeps--one -feels that, as one gazes at the mummy--very profoundly, though not yet -very calmly, the lady Amanit. But her goddess--still she wakes upon her -column. - -When I came out at last into the sunlight of the growing day, I circled -the temple, skirting its gigantic, corniced walls, from which at -intervals the heads and paws of resting lions protrude, to see another -woman whose fame for loveliness and seduction is almost as legendary as -Aphrodite’s. It is fitting enough that Cleopatra’s form should be graven -upon the temple of Hathor; fitting, also, that though I found her in the -presence of deities, and in the company of her son, Cæsarion, her face, -which is in profile, should have nothing of Hathor’s sad impressiveness. -This, no doubt, is not the real Cleopatra. Nevertheless, this face -suggests a certain self-complacent cruelty and sensuality essentially -human, and utterly detached from all divinity, whereas in the face of -the goddess there is a something remote, and even distantly -intellectual, which calls the imagination to “the fields beyond.” - -As I rode back toward the river, I saw again the boy clad in the rope of -plaited grass, and again he said, less shyly, “May your day be happy!” -It was a kindly wish. In the dawn I had felt it to be almost a prophecy. -But now I was haunted by the face of the goddess of Denderah, and I -remembered the legend of the lovely Laïs, who, when she began to age, -covered herself from the eyes of men with a veil, and went every day at -evening to look upon her statue, in which the genius of Praxiteles had -rendered permanent the beauty the woman could not keep. One evening, -hanging to the statue’s pedestal by a garland of red roses, the -sculptor found a mirror, upon the polished disk of which were traced -these words: - -“Laïs, O Goddess, consecrates to thee her mirror: no longer able to see -there what she was, she will not see there what she has become.” - -My Hathor of Denderah, the sad-eyed dweller on the column in the first -hall, had she a mirror, would surely hang it, as Laïs hung hers, at the -foot of the pedestal of the Egyptian Aphrodite; had she a veil, would -surely cover the face that, solitary among the cruel evidences of -Christian ferocity, silently says to the gloomy courts, to the shining -desert and the Nile: - -“Once I was worshiped, but I am worshiped no longer.” - - - - -VII - -KARNAK - - -Buildings have personalities. Some fascinate as beautiful women -fascinate; some charm as a child may charm, naïvely, simply, but -irresistibly. Some, like conquerors, men of blood and iron, without -bowels of mercy, pitiless and determined, strike awe to the soul, -mingled with the almost gasping admiration that power wakes in man. Some -bring a sense of heavenly peace to the heart. Some, like certain temples -of the Greeks, by their immense dignity, speak to the nature almost as -music speaks, and change anxiety to trust. Some tug at the hidden chords -of romance and rouse a trembling response. Some seem to be mingling -their tears with the tears of the dead; some their laughter with the -laughter of the living. The traveler, sailing up the Nile, holds -intercourse with many of these different personalities. He is sad, -perhaps, as I was with Denderah; dreams in the sun with Abydos; muses -with Luxor beneath the little, tapering minaret whence the call to -prayer drops down to be answered by the angelus bell; falls into a -reverie in - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1907, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -INTERIOR, TEMPLE OF KHUNS, KARNAK] - -the “thinking place” of Rameses II, near to the giant that was once the -mightiest of all Egyptian statues; eagerly wakes to the fascination of -record at Deir-el-Bahari; worships in Edfu; by Philæ is carried into a -realm of delicate magic, where engineers are not. Each prompts him to a -different mood; each wakes in his nature a different response. And at -Karnak what is he? What mood enfolds him there? Is he sad, thoughtful, -awed, or gay? - -An old lady, in a helmet and other things considered no doubt by her as -suited to Egypt rather than to herself, remarked in my hearing, with a -Scotch accent and an air of summing up, that Karnak was “very nice -indeed.” There she was wrong--Scotch and wrong. Karnak is not nice. No -temple that I have seen upon the banks of the Nile is nice. And Karnak -cannot be summed up in a phrase or in many phrases; cannot even be -adequately described in few or many words. - -Long ago I saw it lighted up with colored fires one night for the -khedive, its ravaged magnificence tinted with rose and livid green and -blue, its pylons glittering with artificial gold, its population of -statues, its obelisks, and columns, changing from things of dream to -things of day, from twilight marvels to shadowy specters, and from these -to hard and piercing realities at the cruel will of pigmies crouching by -its walls. Now, after many years, I saw it first quietly by moonlight -after watching the sunset from the summit of the great pylon. That was -a pageant worth more than the khedive’s. - -I was in the air; had something of the released feeling I have often -known upon the tower of Biskra, looking out toward evening to the Sahara -spaces. But here I was not confronted with an immensity of nature, but -with a gleaming river and an immensity of man. Beneath me was the native -village, in the heart of daylight dusty and unkempt, but now becoming -charged with velvety beauty, with the soft and heavy mystery that at -evening is born among great palm-trees. Along the path that led from it, -coming toward the avenue of sphinxes with ram’s-heads that watch forever -before the temple door, a great white camel stepped, its rider a tiny -child with a close, white cap upon his head. The child was singing to -the glory of the sunset, or was it to the glory of Amun, “the hidden -one,” once the local god of Thebes, to whom the grandest temple in the -world was dedicated? I listened to the childish, quavering voice, -twittering almost like a bird, and one word alone came up to me--the -word one hears in Egypt from all the lips that speak and sing: from the -Nubians round their fires at night, from the lithe boatmen of the lower -reaches of the Nile, from the Bedouins of the desert, and the donkey -boys of the villages, from the sheik who reads one’s future in water -spilt on a plate, and the Bisharin with buttered curls who runs to sell -one beads from his tent among the sand-dunes. - -[Illustration: THE GREAT TEMPLE OF KARNAK] - -“Allah!” the child was singing as he passed upon his way. - -Pigeons circled above their pretty towers. The bats came out, as if they -knew how precious is their black at evening against the ethereal lemon -color, the orange, and the red. The little obelisk beyond the last -sphinx on the left began to change, as in Egypt all things change at -sunset--pylon and dusty bush, colossus and baked earth hovel, sycamore, -and tamarisk, statue and trotting donkey. It looked like a mysterious -finger pointed in warning toward the sky. The Nile began to gleam. Upon -its steel and silver torches of amber flame were lighted. The Libyan -mountains became spectral beyond the tombs of the kings. The tiny, rough -cupolas that mark a grave close to the sphinxes, in daytime dingy and -poor, now seemed made of some splendid material worthy to roof the mummy -of a king. Far off a pool of the Nile, that from here looked like a -little palm-fringed lake, turned ruby red. The flags from the standards -of Luxor, among the minarets, flew out straight against a sky that was -pale as a primrose, almost cold in its amazing delicacy. - -I turned, and behind me the moon was risen. Already its silver rays fell -upon the ruins of Karnak; upon the thickets of lotus columns; upon -solitary gateways that now give entrance to no courts; upon the sacred -lake, with its reeds, where the black water-fowl were asleep; upon -sloping walls, shored up by enormous stanchions, like ribs of some -prehistoric leviathan; upon small chambers; upon fallen blocks of -masonry, fragments of architrave and pavement, of capital and cornice; -and upon the people of Karnak--those fascinating people who still cling -to their habitation in the ruins, faithful through misfortune, -affectionate with a steadfastness that defies the cruelty of time; upon -the little, lonely white Sphinx with the woman’s face and the -downward-sloping eyes full of sleepy seduction; upon Rameses II, with -the face of a kindly child, not of a king; upon the Sphinx, bereft of -its companion, which crouches before the kiosk of Taharga, the king of -Ethiopia; upon those two who stand together as if devoted, yet by their -attitudes seem to express characters diametrically opposed, gray men and -vivid, the one with folded arms calling to Peace, the other with arms -stretched down in a gesture of crude determination, summoning War, as if -from the under-world; upon the granite foot and ankle in the temple of -Rameses III, which in their perfection, like the headless Victory in -Paris, and the Niobide Chiaramonti in the Vatican, suggest a great -personality, compose a great personality that once met with is not to be -forgotten: upon these and their companions, who would not forsake the -halls and courts where once they dwelt with splendor, where now they -dwell with ruin that attracts the gaping world. The moon was risen, but -the west was still full of color and light. It faded. There was a -pause. - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -THE SACRED LOTUS IN THE TEMPLE AT KARNAK] - -Only a bar of dull red, holding a hint of brown, lay where the sun had -sunk. And minutes passed--minutes for me full of silent expectation, -while the moonlight grew a little stronger, a few more silver rays -slipped down upon the ruins. I turned toward the east. And then came -that curious crescendo of color and of light which, in Egypt, succeeds -the diminuendo of color and of light that is the prelude to the pause -before the afterglow. Everything seemed to be in subtle movement, -heaving as a breast heaves with the breath; swelling slightly, as if in -an effort to be more, to attract attention, to gain in significance. -Pale things became livid, holding apparently some under-brightness which -partly penetrated its envelop, but a brightness that was white and -almost frightful. Black things seemed to glow with blackness. The air -quivered. Its silence surely thrilled with sound--with sound that grew -ever louder. - -In the east I saw an effect. To the west I turned for the cause. The -sunset light was returning. Horus would not permit Tum to reign even for -a few brief moments, and Khuns, the sacred god of the moon, would be -witness of a conflict in that lovely western region of the ocean of the -sky where the bark of the sun had floated away beneath the mountain rim -upon the red-and-orange tides. The afterglow was like an exquisite -spasm, is always like an exquisite spasm, a beautiful, almost desperate -effort ending in the quiet darkness of defeat. And through that -spasmodic effort a world lived for some minutes with a life that seemed -unreal, startling, magical. Color returned to the sky--color ethereal, -trembling as if it knew it ought not to return. Yet it stayed for a -while and even glowed, though it looked always strangely purified, and -full of a crystal coldness. The birds that flew against it were no -longer birds, but dark, moving ornaments, devised surely by a supreme -artist to heighten here and there the beauty of the sky. Everything that -moved against the afterglow--man, woman, child, camel and donkey, dog -and goat, languishing buffalo, and plunging horse--became at once an -ornament, invented, I fancied, by a genius to emphasize, by relieving -it, the color in which the sky was drowned. And Khuns watched serenely, -as if he knew the end. And almost suddenly the miraculous effort failed. -Things again revealed their truth, whether commonplace or not. That pool -of the Nile was no more a red jewel set in a feathery pattern of strange -design, but only water fading from my sight beyond a group of palms. And -that below me was only a camel going homeward, and that a child leading -a bronze-colored sheep with a curly coat, and that a dusty flat-roofed -hovel, not the fairy home of jinn, or the abode of some magician working -marvels with the sun-rays he had gathered in his net. The air was no -longer thrilling with music. The breast that had heaved with a divine -breath was still as the breast of a corpse. - -And Khuns reigned quietly over the plains of Karnak. - -Karnak has no distinctive personality. Built under many kings its ruins -are as complex as were probably once its completed temples, with their -shrines, their towers, their courts, their hypostyle halls. As I looked -down that evening in the moonlight I saw, softened and made more -touching than in daytime, those alluring complexities, brought by the -night and Khuns into a unity that was both tender and superb. Masses of -masonry lay jumbled in shadow and in silver; gigantic walls cast sharply -defined gloom; obelisks pointed significantly to the sky, seeming, as -they always do, to be murmuring a message; huge doorways stood up like -giants unafraid of their loneliness and yet pathetic in it; here was a -watching statue, there one that seemed to sleep, seen from afar. Yonder -Queen Hatshepsu, who wrought wonders at Deir-el-Bahari, and who is more -familiar perhaps as Hatasu, had left her traces, and nearer, to the -right, Rameses III had made a temple, surely for the birds, so fond they -are of it, so pertinaciously they haunt it. Rameses II, mutilated and -immense, stood on guard before the terrific hall of Seti I; and between -him and my platform in the air rose the solitary lotus column that -prepares you for the wonder of Seti’s hall, which otherwise might almost -overwhelm you--unless you are a Scotch lady in a helmet. And Khuns had -his temple here by the Sphinx of the twelfth Rameses, and Ptah, who -created “the sun egg and the moon egg,” and who was said--only said, -alas!--to have established on earth the “everlasting justice,” had his, -and still their stones receive the silver moon-rays and wake the wonder -of men. Thothmes III, Thothmes I, Shishak, who smote the kneeling -prisoners and vanquished Jeroboam, Medamut and Mut, Amenhotep I, and -Amenhotep II--all have left their records or been celebrated at Karnak. -Purposely I mingled them in my mind--did not attempt to put them in -their proper order, or even to disentangle gods and goddesses from -conquerors and kings. In the warm and seductive night Khuns whispered to -me: “As long ago at Bekhten I exorcized the demon from the suffering -Princess, so now I exorcize from these ruins all spirits but my own. -To-night these ruins shall suggest nothing but majesty, tranquillity, -and beauty. Their records are for Ra, and must be studied by his rays. -In mine they shall speak not to the intellect, but only to the emotions -and the soul.” - -And presently I went down, and yielding a complete and happy obedience -to Khuns, I wandered alone through the stupendous vestiges of past eras, -dead ambitions, vanished glory, and long-outworn belief, and I ignored -eras, ambitions, glory, and belief, and thought only of form, and -height, of the miracle of blackness against silver, and of the pathos of -statues whose ever-open eyes at night, when one is near them, - -[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO TEMPLE OF RAMESES III, KARNAK] - -suggest the working of some evil spell, perpetual watchfulness, combined -with eternal inactivity, the unslumbering mind caged in the body that is -paralyzed. - -There is a temple at Karnak that I love, and I scarcely know why I care -for it so much. It is on the right of the solitary lotus column before -you come to the terrific hall of Seti. Some people pass it by, having -but little time, and being hypnotized, it seems, by the more astounding -ruin that lies beyond it. And perhaps it would be well, on a first -visit, to enter it last; to let its influence be the final one to rest -upon your spirit. This is the temple of Rameses III, a brown place of -calm and retirement, an ineffable place of peace. Yes, though the birds -love it and fill it often with their voices, it is a sanctuary of peace. -Upon the floor the soft sand lies, placing silence beneath your -footsteps. The pale brown of walls and columns, almost yellow in the -sunshine, is delicate and soothing, and inclines the heart to calm. -Delicious, suggestive of a beautiful tapestry, rich and ornate, yet -always quiet, are the brown reliefs upon the stone. What are they? Does -it matter? They soften the walls, make them more personal, more tender. -That surely is their mission. This temple holds for me a spell. As soon -as I enter it, I feel the touch of the lotus, as if an invisible and -kindly hand swept a blossom lightly across my face and downward to my -heart. This courtyard, these small chambers beyond it, that last doorway -framing a lovely darkness, soothe me even more than the terra-cotta -hermitages of the Certosa of Pavia. And all the statues here are calm -with an irrevocable calmness, faithful through passing years with a very -sober faithfulness to the temple they adorn. In no other place, one -feels it, could they be thus at peace, with hands crossed forever upon -their breasts which are torn by no anxieties, thrilled by no joys. As -one stands among them, or, sitting on the base of a column in the -chamber that lies beyond them, looks on them from a little distance, -their attitude is like a summons to men to contend no more, to be still, -to enter into rest. - -Come to this temple when you leave the hall of Seti. There you are in a -place of triumph. Scarlet, some say, is the color of a great note -sounded on a bugle. This hall is like a bugle-call of the past, -thrilling even now down all the ages with a triumph that is surely -greater than any other triumph. It suggests blaze--blaze of scarlet, -blaze of bugle, blaze of glory, blaze of life and time, of ambition and -achievement. In these columns, in the putting up of them, dead men -sought to climb to sun and stars, limitless in desire, limitless in -industry, limitless in will. And at the tops of the columns blooms the -lotus, the symbol of rising. What a triumph in stone this hall was once, -what a triumph in stone its ruin is to-day! Perhaps, among temples, it -is the most wondrous thing in all Egypt, as it was no doubt the most -wondrous temple in the world; - -[Illustration: THE SACRED LAKE, KARNAK] - -among temples, I say, for the Sphinx is of all the marvels of Egypt by -far the most marvelous. The grandeur of this hall almost moves one to -tears, like the marching past of conquerors, stirs the heart with -leaping thrills at the capacities of men. Through the thicket of -columns, tall as forest trees, the intense blue of the African sky -stares down, and their great shadows lie along the warm and sunlit -ground. Listen! There are voices chanting. Men are working here--working -as men worked how many thousands of years ago. But these are calling -upon the Mohammedan’s god as they slowly drag to the appointed places -the mighty blocks of stone. And it is to-day a Frenchman who oversees -them. - - “Help! Help! Allah give us help! - Help! Help! Allah give us help!” - -The dust flies up about their naked feet. Triumph and work; work -succeeded by the triumph all can see. I like to hear the workmen’s -voices within the hall of Seti. I like to see the dust stirred by their -tramping feet. - -And then I like to go once more to the little temple, to enter through -its defaced gateway, to stand alone in its silence between the rows of -statues with their arms folded upon their quiet breasts, to gaze into -the tender darkness beyond,--the darkness that looks consecrated,--to -feel that peace is more wonderful than triumph, that the end of things -is peace. - -Triumph and deathless peace, the bugle-call and silence--these are the -notes of Karnak. - - - - -VIII - -LUXOR - - -Upon the wall of the great court of Amenhotep III in the temple of Luxor -there is a delicious dancing procession in honor of Rameses II. It is -very funny and very happy; full of the joy of life--a sort of radiant -cake-walk of old Egyptian days. How supple are these dancers! They seem -to have no bones. One after another they come in line upon the mighty -wall, and each one bends backward to the knees of the one who follows. -As I stood and looked at them for the first time, almost I heard the -twitter of flutes, the rustic wail of the African hautboy, the -monotonous boom of the derabukkeh, cries of a far-off gaiety such as one -often hears from the Nile by night. But these cries came down the long -avenues of the centuries; this gaiety was distant in the vasty halls of -the long-dead years. Never can I think of Luxor without thinking of -those happy dancers, without thinking of the life that goes in the sun -on dancing feet. - -There are a few places in the world that one associates with happiness, -that one remembers always with a smile, a little thrill at the heart -that whispers, “There - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -THE TEMPLE OF LUXOR FROM THE EASTERLY PYLON] - -joy is.” Of these few places Luxor is one--Luxor the home of sunshine, -the suave abode of light, of warmth, of the sweet days of gold and -sheeny, golden sunsets, of silver, shimmering nights through which the -songs of the boatmen of the Nile go floating to the courts and the tombs -of Thebes. The roses bloom in Luxor under the mighty palms. Always -surely beneath the palms there are the roses. And the lateen-sails come -up the Nile, looking like white-winged promises of future golden days. -And at dawn one wakes with hope and hears the songs of the dawn; and at -noon one dreams of the happiness to come; and at sunset one is swept -away on the gold into the heart of the golden world; and at night one -looks at the stars, and each star is a twinkling hope. Soft are the airs -of Luxor; there is no harshness in the wind that stirs the leaves of the -palms. And the land is steeped in light. From Luxor one goes with -regret. One returns to it with joy on dancing feet. - -One day I sat in the temple, in the huge court with the great double row -of columns that stands on the banks of the Nile and looks so splendid -from it. The pale brown of the stone became almost yellow in the -sunshine. From the river, hidden from me, stole up the songs of the -boatmen. Nearer at hand I heard pigeons cooing, cooing in the sun, as if -almost too glad, and seeking to manifest their gladness. Behind me, -through the columns, peeped some houses of the village: the white home -of Ibrahim Ayyad, the perfect dragoman, grandson of Mustapha Aga, who -entertained me years ago, and whose house stood actually within the -precincts of the temple; houses of other fortunate dwellers in Luxor -whose names I do not know. For the village of Luxor crowds boldly about -the temple, and the children play in the dust almost at the foot of -obelisks and statues. High on a brown hump of earth a buffalo stood -alone, languishing serenely in the sun, gazing at me through the columns -with light eyes that were full of a sort of folly of contentment. Some -goats tripped by, brown against the brown stone--the dark brown earth of -the native houses. Intimate life was here, striking the note of the -coziness of Luxor. Here was none of the sadness and the majesty of -Denderah. Grand are the ruins of Luxor, noble is the line of columns -that boldly fronts the Nile; but Time has given them naked to the air -and to the sun, to children and to animals. Instead of bats, the pigeons -fly about them. There is no dreadful darkness in their sanctuaries. -Before them the life of the river, behind them the life of the village -flows and stirs. Upon them looks down the Minaret of Abu Haggag; and as -I sat in the sunshine, the warmth of which began to lessen, I saw upon -its lofty circular balcony the figure of the muezzin. He leaned over, -bending toward the temple and the statues of Rameses II and the happy -dancers on the wall. He opened his lips and cried to them: - -[Illustration: THE COURT OF AMENHOTEP III, TEMPLE OF LUXOR] - -“God is great. God is great.... I bear witness that there is no god but -God.... I bear witness that Mohammed is the Apostle of God.... Come to -prayer! Come to prayer!... God is great. God is great. There is no god -but God.” - -He circled round the minaret. He cried to the Nile. He cried to the -Colossi sitting in their plain, and to the yellow precipices of the -mountains of Libya. He cried to Egypt: - -“Come to prayer! Come to prayer! There is no god but God. There is no -god but God.” - -The days of the gods were dead, and their ruined temple echoed with the -proclamation of the one God of the Moslem world. “Come to prayer! Come -to prayer!” The sun began to sink. - - Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me. - -The voice of the muezzin died away. There was a silence; and then, as if -in answer to the cry from the minaret, I heard the chime of the angelus -bell from the Catholic church of Luxor. - - Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark. - -I sat very still. The light was fading; all the yellow was fading, too, -from the columns and the temple walls. I stayed till it was dark; and -with the dark the old gods seemed to resume their interrupted sway. And -surely they, too, called to prayer. For do not these ruins of old Egypt, -like the muezzin upon the minaret, like the angelus bell in the church -tower, call one to prayer in the night? So wonderful are they under -stars and moon that they stir the fleshly and the worldly desires that -lie like drifted leaves about the reverence and the aspiration that are -the hidden core of the heart. And it is released from its burden; and it -awakes and prays. - -Amun-Ra, Mut, and Khuns, the king of the gods, his wife, mother of gods, -and the moon god, were the Theban triad to whom the holy buildings of -Thebes on the two banks of the Nile were dedicated; and this temple of -Luxor, the “House of Amun in the Southern Apt,” was built fifteen -hundred years before Christ by Amenhotep III. Rameses II, that vehement -builder, added to it immensely. One walks among his traces when one -walks in Luxor. And here, as at Denderah, Christians have let loose the -fury that should have had no place in their religion. Churches for their -worship they made in different parts of the temple, and when they were -not praying, they broke in pieces statues, defaced bas-reliefs, and -smashed up shrines with a vigor quite as great as that displayed in -preservation by Christians of to-day. Now time has called a truce. Safe -are the statues that are left. And day by day two great religions, -almost as if in happy brotherly love, send forth their summons by the -temple walls. And just beyond those walls, upon the hill, there is a -Coptic church. Peace reigns in happy Luxor. The lion lies - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -IN THE TEMPLE OF LUXOR] - -down with the lamb, and the child, if it will, may harmlessly put its -hand into the cockatrice’s den. - -Perhaps because it is so surrounded, so haunted by life and familiar -things, because the pigeons fly about it, the buffalo stares into it, -the goats stir up the dust beside its columns, the twittering voices of -women make a music near its courts, many people pay little heed to this -great temple, gain but a small impression from it. It decorates the bank -of the Nile. You can see it from the dahabiyehs. For many that is -enough. Yet the temple is a noble one, and, for me, it gains a definite -attraction all its own from the busy life about it, the cheerful hum and -stir. And if you want fully to realize its dignity, you can always visit -it by night. Then the cries from the village are hushed. The houses show -no lights. Only the voices from the Nile steal up to the obelisk of -Rameses, to the pylon from which the flags of Thebes once flew on festal -days, to the shrine of Alexander the Great, with its vultures and its -stars, and to the red granite statues of Rameses and his wives. - -These last are as expressive and of course more definite than my -dancers. They are full of character. They seem to breathe out the -essence of a vanished domesticity. Colossal are the statues of the king, -solid, powerful, and tremendous, boldly facing the world with the calm -of one who was thought, and possibly thought himself, to be not much -less than a deity. And upon each pedestal, shrinking delicately back, -was once a little wife. Some little wives are left. They are delicious -in their modesty. Each stands away from the king, shyly, respectfully. -Each is so small as to be below his down-stretched arm. Each, with a -surely furtive gesture, reaches out her right hand, and attains the -swelling calf of her noble husband’s leg. Plump are their little faces, -but not bad-looking. One cannot pity the king. Nor does one pity them. -For these were not “Les désenchantées,” the restless, sad-hearted women -of an Eastern world that knows too much. Their longings surely cannot -have been very great. Their world was probably bounded by the calf of -Rameses’s leg. That was “the far horizon” of the little plump-faced -wives. - -The happy dancers and the humble wives, they always come before me with -the temple of Luxor--joy and discretion side by side. And with them, to -my ears, the two voices seem to come, muezzin and angelus bell, mingling -not in war, but peace. When I think of this temple, I think of its joy -and peace far less than of its majesty. - -And yet it is majestic. Look at it, as I have often done, toward sunset -from the western bank of the Nile, or climb the mound beyond its -northern end, where stands the grand entrance, and you realize at once -its nobility and solemn splendor. From the _Loulia’s_ deck it was a -procession of great columns; that was all. - -[Illustration: - -From a photograph by James S. Lee - -OBELISK AND PYLON, LUXOR] - -But the decorative effect of these columns, soaring above the river and -its vivid life, is fine. - -By day all is turmoil on the river-bank. Barges are unloading, steamers -are arriving, and throngs of donkey-boys and dragomans go down in haste -to meet them. Servants run to and fro on errands from the many -dahabiyehs. Bathers leap into the brown waters. The native craft pass by -with their enormous sails outspread to catch the wind, bearing serried -mobs of men, and black-robed women, and laughing, singing children. The -boatmen of the hotels sing monotonously as they lounge in the big, white -boats waiting for travelers to Medinet-Abu, to the Ramesseum, to Kurna, -and the tombs. And just above them rise the long lines of columns, -ancient, tranquil, and remote--infinitely remote, for all their -nearness, casting down upon the sunlit gaiety the long shadow of the -past. - -From the edge of the mound where stands the native village the effect of -the temple is much less decorative, but its detailed grandeur can be -better grasped from there; for from there one sees the great towers of -the propylon, two rows of mighty columns, the red granite Obelisk of -Rameses the Great, and the black granite statues of the king. On the -right of the entrance a giant stands, on the left one is seated, and a -little farther away a third emerges from the ground, which reaches to -its mighty breast. - -And there the children play perpetually. And there the Egyptians sing -their serenades, making the pipes wail and striking the derabukkeh; and -there the women gossip and twitter like the birds. And the buffalo comes -to take his sun-bath; and the goats and the curly, brown sheep pass in -sprightly and calm processions. The obelisk there, like its brother in -Paris, presides over a cheerfulness of life; but it is a life that seems -akin to it, not alien from it. And the king watches the simplicity of -this keen existence of Egypt of to-day far up the Nile with a calm that -one does not fear may be broken by unsympathetic outrage, or by any -vision of too perpetual foreign life. For the tourists each year are but -an episode in Upper Egypt. Still the shadoof-man sings his ancient song, -violent and pathetic, bold as the burning sun-rays. Still the fellaheen -plow with the camel yoked with the ox. Still the women are covered with -protective amulets and hold their black draperies in their mouths. The -intimate life of the Nile remains the same. And that life obelisk and -king have known for how many, many years! - -And so I love to think of this intimacy of life about the temple of the -happy dancers and the humble little wives, and it seems to me to strike -the keynote of the golden coziness of Luxor. - -[Illustration: THE GREAT COLONNADE, TEMPLE OF LUXOR] - - - - -IX - -COLOSSI OF MEMNON - - -Nevertheless, sometimes one likes to escape from the thing one loves, -and there are hours when the gay voices of Luxor fatigue the ears, when -one desires a great calm. Then there are silent voices that summon one -across the river, when the dawn is breaking over the hills of the -Arabian desert, or when the sun is declining toward the Libyan -mountains--voices issuing from lips of stone, from the twilight of -sanctuaries, from the depths of rock-hewn tombs. - -The peace of the plain of Thebes in the early morning is very rare and -very exquisite. It is not the peace of the desert, but rather, perhaps, -the peace of the prairie--an atmosphere tender, delicately thrilling, -softly bright, hopeful in its gleaming calm. Often and often have I left -the _Loulia_ very early, moored against the long sand islet that faces -Luxor when the Nile has not subsided, I have rowed across the quiet -water that divided me from the western bank, and, with a happy heart, I -have entered into the lovely peace of the great spaces that stretch from -the Colossi of Memnon to the Nile, to the mountains, southward toward -Armant, northward to Kerekten, to Danfik, to Gueziret-Meteira. Think of -the color of young clover, of young barley, of young wheat; think of the -timbre of the reed flute’s voice, thin, clear, and frail with the -frailty of dewdrops; think of the torrents of spring rushing through the -veins of a great, wide land, and growing almost still at last on their -journey. Spring, you will say, perhaps, and high Nile not yet subsided! -But Egypt is the favored land of a spring that is already alert at the -end of November, and in December is pushing forth its green. The Nile -has sunk away from the feet of the Colossi that it has bathed through -many days. It has freed the plain to the fellaheen, though still it -keeps my island in its clasp. And Hapi, or Kam-wra, the “Great -Extender,” and Ra, have made this wonderful spring to bloom on the dark -earth before the Christian’s Christmas. - -What a pastoral it is, this plain of Thebes, in the dawn of day! Think -of the reed flute, I have said, not because you will hear it, as you -ride toward the mountains, but because its voice would be utterly in -place here, in this arcady of Egypt, playing no tarantella, but one of -those songs, half bird-like, and half sadly, mysteriously human, which -come from the soul of the East. Instead of it, you may catch distant -cries from the bank of the river, where the shadoof-man toils, lifting -ever the water and his voice, the one to - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -NEAR VIEW OF THE COLOSSI OF MEMNON] - -earth, the other, it seems, to sky; and the creaking lay of the -water-wheel, which pervades Upper Egypt like an atmosphere, and which, -though perhaps at first it irritates, at last seems to you the sound of -the soul of the river, of the sunshine, and the soil. - -Much of the land looks painted. So flat is it, so young are the growing -crops, that they are like a coating of green paint spread over a mighty -canvas. But the doura rises higher than the heads of the naked children -who stand among it to watch you canter past. And in the far distance you -see dim groups of trees--sycamores and acacias, tamarisks and palms. -Beyond them is the very heart of this “land of sand and ruins and gold”: -Medinet-Abu, the Ramesseum, Deir-el-Medinet, Kurna, Deir-el-Bahari, the -tombs of the kings, the tombs of the queens and of the princes. In the -strip of bare land at the foot of those hard, and yet poetic, mountains, -have been dug up treasures the fame of which has gone to the ends of the -world. But this plain, where the fellaheen are stooping to the soil, and -the women are carrying the water-jars, and the children are playing in -the doura, and the oxen and the camels are working with plows that look -like relics of far-off days, is the possession of the two great -presiding beings whom you see from an enormous distance, the Colossi of -Memnon. Amenhotep III put them where they are. So we are told. But in -this early morning it is not possible to think of them as being brought -to any place. Seated, the one beside the other, facing the Nile and the -home of the rising sun, their immense aspect of patience suggests will, -calmly, steadily exercised, suggests choice; that, for some reason, as -yet unknown, they chose to come to this plain, that they choose solemnly -to remain there, waiting, while the harvests grow and are gathered about -their feet, while the Nile rises and subsides, while the years and the -generations come, like the harvests, and are stored away in the -granaries of the past. Their calm broods over this plain, gives to it a -personal atmosphere which sets it quite apart from every other flat -space of the world. There is no place that I know on the earth which has -the peculiar, bright, ineffable calm of the plain of these Colossi. It -takes you into its breast, and you lie there in the growing sunshine -almost as if you were a child laid in the lap of one of them. That -legend of the singing at dawn of the “vocal Memnon,” how could it have -arisen? How could such calmness sing, such patience ever find a voice? -Unlike the Sphinx, which becomes ever more impressive as you draw near -to it, and is most impressive when you sit almost at its feet, the -Colossi lose in personality as you approach them and can see how they -have been defaced. - -From afar one feels their minds, their strange, unearthly temperaments -commanding this pastoral. When you are beside them, this feeling -disappears. Their features are gone, and though in their attitudes there -is - -[Illustration: THE COLOSSI OF MEMNON] - -power, and there is something that wakens awe, they are more wonderful -as a far-off feature of the plain. They gain in grandeur from the night, -in strangeness from the moonrise, perhaps specially when the Nile comes -to their feet. More than three thousand years old, they look less -eternal than the Sphinx. Like them, the Sphinx is waiting, but with a -greater purpose. The Sphinx reduces man really to nothingness. The -Colossi leave him some remnants of individuality. One can conceive of -Strabo and Ælius Gallus, of Hadrian and Sabina, of others who came over -the sunlit land to hear the unearthly song in the dawn, being of -some--not much, but still of some--importance here. Before the Sphinx no -one is important. But in the distance of the plain the Colossi shed a -real magic of calm and solemn personality, and subtly seem to mingle -their spirit with the flat, green world, so wide, so still, so fecund, -and so peaceful; with the soft airs that are surely scented with an -eternal springtime, and with the light that the morning rains down on -wheat and clover, on Indian corn and barley, and on brown men laboring, -who, perhaps, from the patience of the Colossi in repose have drawn a -patience in labor that has in it something not less sublime. - -From the Colossi one goes onward toward the trees and the mountains, and -very soon one comes to the edge of that strange and fascinating strip of -barren land which is strewn with temples and honeycombed with tombs. -The sun burns down on it. The heat seems thrown back upon it by the wall -of tawny mountains that bounds it on the west. It is dusty, it is arid; -it is haunted by swarms of flies, by the guardians of the ruins, and by -men and boys trying to sell enormous scarabs and necklaces and amulets, -made yesterday, and the day before, in the manufactory of Kurna. From -many points it looks not unlike a strangely prolonged rubbish-heap in -which busy giants have been digging with huge spades, making mounds and -pits, caverns and trenches, piling up here a monstrous heap of stones, -casting down there a mighty statue. But how it fascinates! Of course one -knows what it means. One knows that on this strip of land Naville dug -out at Deir-el-Bahari the temple of Mentu-hotep, and discovered later, -in her shrine, Hathor, the cow-goddess, with the lotus-plants streaming -from her sacred forehead to her feet; that long before him Mariette here -brought to the light at Drah-abu’l-Neggah the treasures of kings of the -twelfth and thirteenth dynasties; that at the foot of those -tiger-colored precipices, Theodore M. Davis, the American, found the -sepulcher of Queen Hatshepsu, the Queen Elizabeth of the old Egyptian -world, and, later, the tomb of Yuaa and Thuaa, the parents of Queen -Thiy, containing mummycases covered with gold, jars of oil and wine, -gold, silver, and alabaster boxes, a bed decorated with gilded ivory, a -chair with gilded plaster reliefs, chairs of state, and - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -THE VALLEY OF THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS] - -a chariot; that here Maspero, Victor Loret, Brugsch Bey, and other -patient workers gave to the world tombs that had been hidden and unknown -for centuries; that there to the north is the temple of Kurna, and over -there the Ramesseum; that those rows of little pillars close under the -mountain, and looking strangely modern, are the pillars of Hatshepsu’s -temple, which bears upon its walls the pictures of the expedition to the -historic land of Punt; that the kings were buried there, and there the -queens and the princes of the vanished dynasties; that beyond to the -west is the temple of Deir-el-Medinet with its judgment of the dead; -that here by the native village is Medinet-Abu. One knows that, and so -the imagination is awake, ready to paint the lily and to gild the beaten -gold. But even if one did not know, I think one would be fascinated. -This turmoil of sunbaked earth and rock, gray, yellow, pink, orange, and -red, awakens the curiosity, summons the love of the strange, suggests -that it holds secrets to charm the souls of men. - - - - -X - -MEDINET-ABU - - -At the entrance to the temple of Medinet-Abu, near the small groups of -palms and the few brown houses, often have I turned and looked back -across the plain before entering through the first beautiful doorway, to -see the patient backs and right sides of the colossi, the far-off, -dreamy mountains beyond Karnak and the Nile. And again, when I have -entered and walked a little distance, I have looked back at the almost -magical picture framed in the doorway; at the bottom of the picture a -layer of brown earth, then a strip of sharp green,--the cultivated -ground,--then a blur of pale yellow, then a darkness of trees, and just -the hint of a hill far, very far away. And always, in looking, I have -thought of the “Sposalizio” of Raphael in the Brera at Milan, of the -tiny dream of blue country framed by his temple doorway beyond the -Virgin and Saint Joseph. The doorways of the temples of Egypt are very -noble, and nowhere have I been more struck by their nobility than in -Medinet-Abu. Set in huge walls of massive masonry, which rise slightly -above them on each side, - -[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF MEDINET-ABU] - -with a projecting cornice, in their simplicity they look extraordinarily -classical, in their sobriety mysterious, and in their great solidity -quite wonderfully elegant. And they always suggest to me that they are -giving access to courts and chambers which still, even in our times, are -dedicated to secret cults--to the cults of Isis, of Hathor, and of -Osiris. - -Close to the right of the front of Medinet-Abu there are trees covered -with yellow flowers; beyond are fields of doura. Behind the temple is a -sterility which makes one think of metal. A great calm enfolds this -place. The buildings are of the same color as the colossi. When I speak -of the buildings, I include the great temple, the pavilion of Rameses -III, and the little temple, which together may be said to form -Medinet-Abu. Whereas the temple of Luxor seems to open its arms to life, -and the great fascination of the Ramesseum comes partly from its -invasion by every traveling air and happy sun-ray, its openness and -freedom, Medinet-Abu impresses by its colossal air of secrecy, by its -fortress-like seclusion. Its walls are immensely thick, and are covered -with figures the same color as the walls, some of them very tall. Thick -set, massive, heavy, almost warlike it is. Two seated statues within, -statues with animals’ faces, steel-colored, or perhaps a little darker -than that, look like savage warders ready to repel intrusion. - -Passing between them, delicately as Agag, one enters an open space with -ruins, upon the right of which is a low, small temple, gray in hue, and -covered with inscriptions, which looks almost bowed under its tremendous -weight of years. From this dignified, though tiny, veteran there comes a -perpetual sound of birds. The birds in Egypt have no reverence for age. -Never have I seen them more restless, more gay, or more impertinent, -than in the immemorial ruins of this ancient land. Beyond is an enormous -portal, on the lofty ceiling of which still linger traces of faded red -and blue, which gives access to a great hall with rows of mighty -columns, those on the left hand round, those on the right square, and -almost terribly massive. There is in these no grace, as in the giant -lotus columns of Karnak. Prodigious, heavy, barbaric, they are like a -hymn in stone to strength. There is something brutal in their aspect, -which again makes one think of war, of assaults repelled, hordes beaten -back like waves by a sea-wall. And still another great hall, with more -gigantic columns, lies in the sun beyond, and a doorway through which -seems to stare fiercely the edge of a hard and fiery mountain. Although -one is roofed by the sky, there is something oppressive here; an -imprisoned feeling comes over one. I could never be fond of Medinet-Abu, -as I am fond of Luxor, of parts of Karnak, of the whole of delicious, -poetical Philæ. The big pylons, with their great walls sloping inward, -sand-colored, and glowing with very pale yellow in the sun, the - -[Illustration: - -From a photograph by James S. Lee - -CORNER OF SECOND COURT, TEMPLE OF RAMESES III, MEDINET-ABU] - -resistant walls, the brutal columns, the huge and almost savage scale of -everything, always remind me of the violence in men, and also--I -scarcely know why--make me think of the North, of sullen Northern -castles by the sea, in places where skies are gray, and the white of -foam and snow is married in angry nights. - -And yet in Medinet-Abu there reigns a splendid calm--a calm that -sometimes seems massive, resistant, as the columns and the walls. Peace -is certainly inclosed by the stones that call up thoughts of war, as if, -perhaps, their purpose had been achieved many centuries ago, and they -were quit of enemies forever. Rameses III is connected with Medinet-Abu. -He was one of the greatest of the Egyptian kings, and has been called -the “last of the great sovereigns of Egypt.” He ruled for thirty-one -years, and when, after a first visit to Medinet-Abu, I looked into his -records, I was interested to find that his conquests and his wars had “a -character essentially defensive.” This defensive spirit is incarnated in -the stones of these ruins. One reads in them something of the soul of -this king who lived twelve hundred years before Christ, and who desired -“in remembrance of his Syrian victories” to give to his memorial temple -an outward military aspect. I noticed a military aspect at once inside -this temple; but if you circle the buildings outside it is more -unmistakable. For the east front has a battlemented wall, and the -battlements are shield-shaped. This fortress, or migdol, a name which -the ancient Egyptians borrowed from the nomadic tribes of Syria, is -called the “Pavilion of Rameses III,” and his principal battles are -represented upon its walls. The monarch does not hesitate to speak of -himself in terms of praise, suggesting that he was like the God Mentu, -who was the Egyptian war god, and whose cult at Thebes was at one period -more important even than was the cult of Amun, and also plainly hinting -that he was a brave fellow. “I, Rameses the King,” he murmurs, “behaved -as a hero who knows his worth.” If hieroglyphs are to be trusted, -various Egyptian kings of ancient times seem to have had some vague -suspicion of their own value, and the walls of Medinet-Abu are, to speak -sincerely, one mighty boast. In his later years the king lived in peace -and luxury, surrounded by a vicious and intriguing court haunted by -magicians, hags, and mystery-mongers. Dealers in magic may still be -found on the other side of the river, in happy Luxor. I made the -acquaintance of two when I was there, one of whom offered for a couple -of pounds to provide me with a preservative against all such dangers as -beset the traveler in wild places. In order to prove its efficacy he -asked me to come to his house by night, bringing a dog and my revolver -with me. He would hang the charm about the dog’s neck, and I was then to -put six shots into the animal’s body. He positively assured me that the -dog would be uninjured. I half-promised - -[Illustration: THE RAMESSEUM] - -to come, and, when night began to fall, looked vaguely about for a dog. -At last I found one, but it howled so dismally, when I asked Ibrahim -Ayyad to take possession of it for experimental purposes, that I weakly -gave up the project, and left the magician clamoring for his hundred and -ninety-five piasters. - -Its warlike aspect gives a special personality to Medinet-Abu. The -shield-shaped battlements; the court-yards, with their brutal columns, -narrowing as they recede toward the mountains; the heavy gateways, with -superimposed chambers; the towers; quadrangular bastion to protect, -inclined basement to resist the attacks of sappers and cause projectiles -to rebound--all these things contribute to this very definite effect. - -I have heard travelers on the Nile speak piteously of the confusion -wakened in their minds by a hurried survey of many temples, statues, -monuments, and tombs. But if one stays long enough this confusion fades -happily away, and one differentiates between the antique personalities -of ancient Egypt almost as easily as one differentiates between the -personalities of one’s familiar friends. Among these personalities -Medinet-Abu is the warrior, standing like Mentu, with the solar disk, -and the two plumes erect above his head of a hawk, firmly planted at the -foot of the Theban mountains, ready to repel all enemies, to beat back -all assaults, strong and determined, powerful and brutally serene. - - - - -XI - -THE RAMESSEUM - - -“This, my lord, is the thinking place of Rameses the Great.” - -So said Ibrahim Ayyad to me one morning--Ibrahim who is almost as -prolific in the abrupt creation of peers as if he were a democratic -government. - -I looked about me. We stood in a ruined hall with columns, architraves -covered with inscriptions, segments of flat roof. Here and there traces -of painting, dull-red, pale, ethereal blue,--the “love-color” of Egypt, -as the Egyptians often call it,--still adhered to the stone. This hall, -dignified, grand, but happy, was open on all sides to the sun and air. -From it I could see tamarisk and acacia-trees, and far-off shadowy -mountains beyond the eastern verge of the Nile. And the trees were still -as carven things in an atmosphere that was a miracle of clearness and of -purity. Behind me, and near, the hard Libyan mountains gleamed in the -sun. Somewhere a boy was singing; and suddenly his singing died away. -And I thought of the “Lay of the Harper” which is inscribed upon the - -[Illustration: “THE THINKING PLACE OF RAMESES THE GREAT,” HALL OF LOTUS -COLUMNS, RAMESSEUM] - -tombs of Thebes--those tombs under those gleaming mountains: - - For no one carries away his goods with him; - Yea, no one returns again who has gone thither. - -It took the place of the song that had died as I thought of the great -king’s glory; that he had been here, and had long since passed away. - -“The thinking place of Rameses the Great!” - -“Suttinly.” - -“You must leave me alone here, Ibrahim.” - -I watched his gold-colored robe vanish into the gold of the sun through -the copper color of the columns. And I was quite alone in the “thinking -place” of Rameses. It was a brilliant day, the sky dark sapphire blue, -without even the specter of a cloud, or any airy, vaporous veil; the -heat already intense in the full sunshine, but delicious, if one slid -into a shadow. I slid into a shadow, and sat down on a warm block of -stone. And the silence flowed upon me--the silence of the Ramesseum. - -Was _Horbehutet_, the winged disk, with crowned _uraei_, ever set up -above this temple’s principal door to keep it from destruction? I do not -know. But, if he was, he failed perfectly to fulfil his mission. And I -am glad he failed. I am glad of the ruin that is here, glad that walls -have crumbled or been overthrown, that columns have been cast down, and -ceilings torn off from the pillars that supported them, letting in the -sky. I would have nothing different in the thinking place of Rameses. - -Like a cloud, a great golden cloud, a glory impending that will not, -cannot, be dissolved into the ether, he loomed over the Egypt that is -dead, he looms over the Egypt of to-day. Everywhere you meet his traces, -everywhere you hear his name. You say to a tall young Egyptian: “How big -you are growing, Hassan!” - -He answers, “Come back next year, my gentleman, and I shall be like -Rameses the Great.” - -Or you ask of the boatman who rows you, “How can you pull all day -against the current of the Nile?” And he smiles, and lifting his brown -arm, he says to you: “Look! I am as strong as Rameses the Great.” - -This familiar fame comes down through some three thousand, two hundred, -and twenty years. Carved upon limestone and granite, now it seems -engraven also on every Egyptian heart that beats not only with the -movement of shadoof, or is not buried in the black soil fertilized by -Hapi. Thus can inordinate vanity prolong the true triumph of genius, and -impress its own view of itself upon the minds of millions. This Rameses -is believed to be the Pharaoh who oppressed the children of Israel. - -As I sat in the Ramesseum that morning, I recalled his face--the face of -an artist and a dreamer rather - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -THE PLAIN OF THEBES FROM THE ROOF OF THE RAMESSEUM] - -than that of a warrior and oppressor; Asiatic, handsome, not -insensitive, not cruel, but subtle, aristocratic, and refined. I could -imagine it bending above the little serpents of the sistrum as they -lifted their melodious voices to bid Typhon depart, or watching the -dancing women’s rhythmic movements, or smiling half kindly, half with -irony, upon the lovelorn maiden who made her plaint: - - “What is sweet to the mouth, to me is as the gall of birds; - Thy breath alone can comfort my heart.” - -And I could imagine it looking profoundly grave, not sad, among the -columns with their opening lotus flowers. For it is the hall of the -lotus columns that Ibrahim calls the thinking place of the king. - -There is something both lovely and touching to me in the lotus columns -of Egypt, in the tall masses of stone opening out into flowers near the -sun. Near the sun! Yes; only that obvious falsehood will convey to those -who have not seen them the effect of some of the hypostyle halls, the -columns of which seem literally soaring to the sky. And flowers of -stone, you will say, rudely carved and rugged! That does not matter. -There was poetry in the minds that conceived them, in the thought that -directed the hands which shaped them and placed them where they are. In -Egypt perpetually one feels how the ancient Egyptians loved the _Nymphæa -Lotus_, which is the white lotus, and the _Nymphæa cærulæa_, the lotus -that is blue. Did they not place Horus in its cup, and upon the head of -Nefer-Tum, the nature god, who represented in their mythology the heat -of the rising sun, and who seems to have been credited with power to -grant life in the world to come, set it as a sort of regal ornament? To -Seti I, when he returned in glory from his triumphs over the Syrians, -were given bouquets of lotus blossoms by the great officers of his -household. The tiny column of green feldspar ending in the lotus -typified eternal youth, even as the carnelian buckle typified the blood -of Isis, which washed away all sin. Kohl pots were fashioned in the form -of the lotus, cartouches sprang from it, wine flowed from cups shaped -like it. The lotus was part of the very life of Egypt, as the rose, the -American beauty rose, is part of our social life of to-day. And here, in -the Ramesseum, I found campaniform, or lotus-flower capitals on the -columns--here where Rameses once perhaps dreamed of his Syrian -campaigns, or of that famous combat when, “like Baal in his fury,” he -fought single-handed against the host of the Hittites massed in two -thousand, five hundred chariots to overthrow him. - -The Ramesseum is a temple not of winds, but of soft and kindly airs. -There comes Zephyrus, whispering love to Flora incarnate in the Lotus. -To every sunbeam, to every little breeze, the ruins stretch out arms. -They adore the deep-blue sky, the shining, - -[Illustration: HALL OF LOTUS COLUMNS, RAMESSEUM] - -sifted sand, untrammeled nature, all that whispers, “Freedom.” - -So I felt that day when Ibrahim left me, so I feel always when I sit in -the Ramesseum, that exultant victim of Time’s here not sacrilegious -hand. - -All strong souls cry out secretly for liberty as for a sacred necessity -of life. Liberty seems to drench the Ramesseum. And all strong souls -must exult there. The sun has taken it as a beloved possession. No massy -walls keep him out. No shield-shaped battlements rear themselves up -against the outer world as at Medinet-Abu. No huge pylons cast down upon -the ground their forms in darkness. The stone glows with the sun, seems -almost to have a soul glowing with the sense, the sun-ray sense, of -freedom. The heart leaps up in the Ramesseum not frivolously, but with a -strange, sudden knowledge of the depths of passionate joy there are in -life and in bountiful, glorious nature. Instead of the strength of a -prison, one feels the ecstasy of space; instead of the safety of -inclosure, the rapture of naked publicity. But the public to whom this -place of the great king is consigned is a public of Theban hills; of the -sunbeams striking from them over the wide world toward the east; of -light airs, of drifting sand grains, of singing birds, and of -butterflies with pure white wings. If you have ever ridden an Arab -horse, mounted in the heart of an oasis, to the verge of the great -desert, you will remember the bound, thrilling with fiery animation, -which he gives when he sets his feet on the sand beyond the last tall -date-palms. A bound like that the soul gives when you sit in the -Ramesseum, and see the crowding sunbeams, the far-off groves of -palm-trees, and the drowsy mountains, like shadows, that sleep beyond -the Nile. And you look up, perhaps, as I looked that morning, and upon a -lotus column near you, relieved, you perceive the figure of a young man -singing. - -A young man singing! Let him be the tutelary god of this place, whoever -he be, whether only some humble, happy slave, or the “superintendent of -song and of the recreation of the king.” Rather even than Amun-Ra let -him be the god. For there is something nobly joyous in this -architecture, a dignity that sings. - -It has been said, but not established, that Rameses the Great was buried -in the Ramesseum, and when first I entered it the “Lay of the Harper” -came to my mind, with the sadness that attends the passing away of glory -into the shades of death. But an optimism almost as determined as -Emerson’s was quickly bred in me there. I could not be sad, though I -could be happily thoughtful, in the light of the Ramesseum. And even -when I left the thinking place, and, coming down the central aisle, saw -in the immersing sunshine of the Osiride Court the fallen colossus of -the king, I was not struck to sadness. - -Imagine the greatest figure in the world,--such a figure - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -PILASTERS AND BROKEN COLOSSAL STATUE OF RAMESES II] - -as this Rameses was in his day,--with all might, all glory, all climbing -power, all vigor, tenacity of purpose, and granite strength of will -concentrated within it, struck suddenly down, and falling backward in a -collapse of which the thunder might shake the vitals of the earth, and -you have this prostrate colossus. Even now one seems to hear it fall, to -feel the warm soil trembling beneath one’s feet as one approaches it. A -row of statues of enormous size, with arms crossed as if in resignation, -glowing in the sun, in color not gold or amber, but a delicate, desert -yellow, watch near it like servants of the dead. On a slightly lower -level than theirs it lies, and a little nearer the Nile. Only the upper -half of the figure is left, but its size is really terrific. This -colossus was fifty-seven feet high. It weighed eight hundred tons. Eight -hundred tons of syenite went to its making, and across the shoulders its -breadth is, or was, over twenty-two feet. But one does not think of -measurements as one looks upon it. It is stupendous. That is obvious and -that is enough. Nor does one think of its finish, of its beautiful, rich -color, of any of its details. One thinks of it as a tremendous personage -laid low, as the mightiest of the mighty fallen. One thinks of it as the -dead Rameses whose glory still looms over Egypt like a golden cloud that -will not disperse. One thinks of it as the soul that commanded, and, lo! -there rose up above the sands, at the foot of the hills of Thebes, the -exultant Ramesseum. - - - - -XII - -DEIR-EL-BAHARI - - -Place for Queen Hatshepsu! Surely she comes to a sound of flutes, a -merry noise of thin, bright music, backed by a clashing of barbaric -cymbals, along the corridors of the past; this queen who is shown upon -Egyptian walls dressed as a man, who is said to have worn a beard, and -who sent to the land of Punt the famous expedition which covered her -with glory and brought gold to the god Amun. To me most feminine she -seemed when I saw her temple at Deir-el-Bahari, with its brightness and -its suavity; its pretty shallowness and sunshine; its white, and blue, -and yellow, and red, and green and orange; all very trim and fanciful, -all very smart and delicate; full of finesse and laughter, and breathing -out to me of the twentieth century the coquetry of a woman in 1500 B.C. -After the terrific masculinity of Medinet-Abu, after the great freedom -of the Ramesseum, and the grandeur of its colossus, the manhood of all -the ages concentrated in granite, the temple at Deir-el-Bahari came upon -me like a delicate woman, perfumed and arranged, clothed in a - -[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF QUEEN HATASU DEIR-EL-BAHARI] - -creation of white and blue and orange, standing--ever so -knowingly--against a background of orange and pink, of red and of -brown-red, a smiling coquette of the mountain, a gay and sweet -enchantress who knew her pretty powers and meant to exercise them. - -Hatshepsu with a beard! Never will I believe it. Or if she ever seemed -to wear one, I will swear it was only the tattooed ornament with which -all the lovely women of the Fayum decorate their chins to-day, throwing -into relief the smiling, soft lips, the delicate noses, the liquid eyes, -and leading one from it step by step to the beauties it precedes. - -Mr. Wallis Budge says in his book on the antiquities of Egypt: “It would -be unjust to the memory of a great man and a loyal servant of Hatshepsu, -if we omitted to mention the name of Senmut, the architect and overseer -of works at Deir-el-Bahari.” By all means let Senmut be mentioned, and -then let him be utterly forgotten. A radiant queen reigns here--a queen -of fantasy and splendor, and of that divine shallowness--refined -frivolity literally cut into the mountain--which is the note of -Deir-el-Bahari. And what a clever background! Oh, Hatshepsu knew what -she was doing when she built her temple here. It was not the solemn -Senmut (he wore a beard, I’m sure) who chose that background, if I know -anything of women. - -Long before I visited Deir-el-Bahari I had looked at it from afar. My -eyes had been drawn to it merely from its situation right underneath the -mountains. I had asked: “What do those little pillars mean? And are -those little doors?” I had promised myself to go there, as one promises -oneself a _bonne bouche_ to finish a happy banquet. And I had realized -the subtlety, essentially feminine, that had placed a temple there. And -Mentu-Hotep’s temple, perhaps you say, was it not there before the -queen’s? Then he must have possessed a subtlety purely feminine, or have -been advised by one of his wives in his building operations, or by some -favorite female slave. Blundering, unsubtle man would probably think -that the best way to attract and to fix attention on any object was to -make it much bigger than things near and around it, to set up a giant -among dwarfs. - -Not so Queen Hatshepsu. More artful in her generation, she set her long -but little temple against the precipices of Libya. And what is the -result? Simply that whenever one looks toward them one says, “What are -those little pillars?” Or if one is more instructed, one thinks about -Queen Hatshepsu. The precipices are as nothing. A woman’s wile has -blotted them out. - -And yet how grand they are! I have called them tiger-colored precipices. -And they suggest tawny wild beasts, fierce, bred in a land that is the -prey of the sun. Every shade of orange and yellow glows and grows pale -on their bosses, in their clefts. They shoot out - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -RECENT EXCAVATIONS AT DEIR-EL-BAHARI] - -turrets of rock that blaze like flames in the day. They show great -teeth, like the tiger when any one draws near. And, like the tiger, they -seem perpetually informed by a spirit that is angry. Blake wrote of the -tiger: - - Tiger, tiger, burning bright - In the forests of the night. - -These tiger-precipices of Libya are burning things, avid like beasts of -prey. But the restored apricot-colored pillars are not afraid of their -impending fury--fury of a beast baffled by a tricky little woman, almost -it seems to me; and still less afraid are the white pillars, and the -brilliant paintings that decorate the walls within. - -As many people in the sad but lovely islands off the coast of Scotland -believe in “doubles,” as the old classic writers believed in man’s -“genius,” so the ancient Egyptians believed in his “Ka,” or separate -entity, a sort of spiritual other self, to be propitiated and ministered -to, presented with gifts, and served with energy and ardor. On this -temple of Deir-el-Bahari is the scene of the birth of Hatshepsu, and -there are two babies, the princess and her Ka. For this imagined Ka, -when a great queen, long after, she built this temple, or chapel, that -offerings might be made there on certain appointed days. Fortunate Ka of -Hatshepsu to have had so cheerful a dwelling! Liveliness pervades -Deir-el-Bahari. I remember, when I was on my first visit to Egypt, -lunching at Thebes with Monsieur Naville and Mr. Hogarth, and afterward -going with them to watch the digging away of the masses of sand and -rubbish which concealed this gracious building. I remember the songs of -the half-naked workmen toiling and sweating in the sun. And I remember -seeing a white temple wall come up into the light with all the painted -figures surely dancing with joy upon it. And they are surely dancing -still. - -Here you may see, brilliant as yesterday’s picture anywhere, -fascinatingly decorative trees growing bravely in little pots, red -people offering incense which is piled up in mounds like mountains; -Ptah-Seket, Osiris receiving a royal gift of wine, the queen in the -company of various divinities, and the terrible ordeal of the cows. The -cows are being weighed in scales. There are three of them. One is a -philosopher, and reposes with an air that says, “Even this last -indignity of being weighed against my will cannot perturb my soaring -spirit.” But the other two, sitting up, look as apprehensive as old -ladies in a rocking express, expectant of an accident. The vividness of -the colors in this temple is quite wonderful. And much of its great -attraction comes rather from its position, and from them, than -essentially from itself. At Deir-el-Bahari, what the long shell -contains--its happy murmur of life--is more fascinating than the shell. -There, instead of being uplifted or overawed by form, we are rejoiced -by - -[Illustration: “THE HALF-NAKED WORKMEN TOILING AND SWEATING IN THE -SUN”] - -color, by the high vivacity of arrested movement, by the story that -color and movement tell. And over all there is the bright, blue, painted -sky, studded, almost distractedly studded, with a plethora of the yellow -stars the Egyptians made like starfish. - -The restored apricot-colored columns outside look unhappily suburban -when you are near them. The white columns with their architraves are -more pleasant to the eyes. The niches full of bright hues, the arched -chapels, the small, white steps leading upward to shallow sanctuaries, -the small black foxes facing each other on little yellow -pedestals--attract one like the details and amusing ornaments of a -clever woman’s boudoir. Through this most characteristic temple one -roves in a gaily attentive mood, feeling all the time Hatshepsu’s -fascination. - -You may see her, if you will, a little lady on the wall, with a face -decidedly sensual--a long, straight nose, thick lips, an expression -rather determined than agreeable. Her mother looks as Semitic as a Jew -moneylender in Brick Lane, London. Her husband, Thothmes II, has a weak -and poor-spirited countenance. Decidedly an accomplished performer on -the second violin. The mother wears on her head a snake, no doubt a -cobra-di-capello, the symbol of her sovereignty. Thothmes is clad in a -loin-cloth. And a god, with a sleepy expression and a very fishlike -head, appears in this group of personages to offer the key of life. -Another painting of the queen shows her on her knees drinking milk from -the sacred cow, with an intent and greedy figure, and an extraordinarily -sensual and expressive face. That she was well guarded is surely proved -by a brave display of her soldiers--red men on a white wall. Full of -life and gaiety, all in a row they come, holding weapons, and, -apparently, branches, and advancing with a gait of triumph that tells of -“spacious days.” And at their head is an officer, who looks back, much -like a modern drill sergeant, to see how his men are marching. - -In the southern shrine of the temple, cut in the rock as is the northern -shrine, once more I found traces of the “Lady of the Under-world.” For -this shrine was dedicated to Hathor, though the whole temple was sacred -to the Theban god Amun. Upon a column were the remains of the goddess’s -face, with a broad brow and long, large eyes. Some fanatic had hacked -away the mouth. - -The tomb of Hatshepsu was found by Mr. Theodore M. Davis, and the famous -_Vache_ of Deir-el-Bahari by Monsieur Naville as lately as 1905. It -stands in the museum at Cairo, but forever it will be connected in the -minds of men with the tiger-colored precipices and the Colonnades of -Thebes. Behind the ruins of the temple of Mentu-Hotep III, in a chapel -of painted rock, the Vache-Hathor was found. - -It is not easy to convey by any description the - -[Illustration: THE VACHE HATHOR OF DENDERAH] - -impression this marvelous statue makes. Many of us love our dogs, our -horses, some of us adore our cats; but which of us can think, without a -smile, of worshiping a cow? Yet the cow was the Egyptian Aphrodite’s -sacred animal. Under the form of a cow she was often represented. And in -the statue she is presented to us as a limestone cow. And positively -this cow is to be worshiped. - -She is shown in the act apparently of stepping gravely forward out of a -small arched shrine, the walls of which are decorated with brilliant -paintings. Her color is red and yellowish red, and is covered with -blotches of very dark green, which look almost black. Only one or two -are of a bluish color. Her height is moderate. I stand about five foot -nine, and I found that on her pedestal the line of her back was about -level with my chest. The lower part of the body, much of which is -concealed by the under block of limestone, is white, tinged with yellow. -The tail is red. Above the head, open and closed lotus flowers form a -head-dress, with the lunar disk and two feathers. And the long lotus -stalks flow down on each side of the neck toward the ground. At the back -of this head-dress are a scarab and a cartouche. The goddess is -advancing solemnly and gently. A wonderful calm, a matchless, serene -dignity enfold her. - -In the body of this cow one is able, indeed one is almost obliged, to -feel the soul of a goddess. The incredible is accomplished. The dead -Egyptian makes the ironic, the skeptical modern world feel deity in a -limestone cow. How is it done? I know not; but it is done. Genius can do -nearly anything, it seems. Under the chin of the cow there is a standing -statue of the King Mentu-Hotep, and beneath her the king kneels as a -boy. Wonderfully expressive and solemnly refined is the cow’s face, -which is of a dark color, like the color of almost black earth--earth -fertilized by the Nile. Dignified, dominating, almost but just not -stern, strongly intelligent, and, through its beautiful intelligence, -entirely sympathetic (“to understand all, is to pardon all”), this face, -once thoroughly seen, completely noticed, can never be forgotten. This -is one of the most beautiful statues in the world. - -When I was at Deir-el-Bahari I thought of it and wished that it still -stood there near the Colonnades of Thebes under the tiger-colored -precipices. And then I thought of Hatshepsu. Surely she could not brook -a rival to-day near the temple which she made--a rival long lost and -long forgotten. Is not her influence still there upon the terraced -platforms, among the apricot and the white columns, near the paintings -of the land of Punt? Did it not whisper to the antiquaries, even to the -soldiers from Cairo, who guarded the Vache-Hathor in the night, to make -haste to take her away far from the hills of Thebes, and from the Nile’s -long southern reaches, that the great queen might once more reign -alone? They obeyed. Hatshepsu was appeased. And, like a delicate woman, -perfumed and arranged, clothed in a creation of white and blue and -orange, standing ever so knowingly against a background of orange and -pink, of red and of brown-red, she rules at Deir-el-Bahari. - - - - -XIII - -THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS - - -On the way to the tombs of the kings I went to the temple of Kurna, that -lonely cenotaph, with its sand-colored, massive façade, its heaps of -fallen stone, its wide and ruined doorway, its thick, almost rough, -columns recalling Medinet-Abu. There is not very much to see, but from -there one has a fine view of other temples--of the Ramesseum, looking -superb, like a grand skeleton; of Medinet-Abu, distant, very pale gold -in the morning sunlight; of little Deir-al-Medinet, the pretty child of -the Ptolemies, with the heads of the seven Hathors. And from Kurna the -Colossi are exceptionally grand and exceptionally personal, so personal -that one imagines one sees the expressions of the faces that they no -longer possess. - -Even if you do not go into the tombs,--but you will go,--you must ride -to the tombs of the kings; and you must, if you care for the finesse of -impressions, ride on a blazing day and toward the hour of noon. Then the -ravine is itself, like the great act that demonstrates a temperament. It -is the narrow home of fire, - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -PAINTED TOMB CHAMBER OF PRINCE SEN-NOFER, THEBES] - -hemmed in by brilliant colors, nearly all--perhaps quite all--of which -could be found in a glowing furnace. Every shade of yellow is -there,--lemon yellow, sulphur yellow, the yellow of amber, the yellow of -orange with its tendency toward red, the yellow of gold, sand color, sun -color. Cannot all these yellows be found in a fire? And there are -reds--pink of the carnation, pink of the coral, red of the little rose -that grows in certain places of sands, red of the bright flame’s heart. -And all these colors are mingled in complete sterility. And all are -fused into a fierce brotherhood by the sun. And like a flood, they seem -flowing to the red and the yellow mountains, like a flood that is -flowing to its sea. You are taken by them toward the mountains, on and -on, till the world is closing in, and you know the way must come to an -end. And it comes to an end--in a tomb. - -You go to a door in the rock, and a guardian lets you in, and wants to -follow you in. Prevent him if you can. Pay him. Go in alone. For this is -the tomb of Amenhotep II; and he himself is here, far down, at rest -under the mountain, this king who lived and reigned more than fourteen -hundred years before the birth of Christ. The ravine-valley leads to -him, and you should go to him alone. He lies in the heart of the living -rock, in the dull heat of the earth’s bowels, which is like no other -heat. You descend by stairs and corridors, you pass over a well by a -bridge, you pass through a naked chamber; and the king is not there. -And you go on down another staircase, and along another corridor, and -you come into a pillared chamber, with paintings on its walls, and on -its pillars, paintings of the king in the presence of the gods of the -under-world, under stars in a soft blue sky. And below you, shut in on -the farther side by the solid mountain in whose breast you have all this -time been walking, there is a crypt. And you turn away from the bright -paintings, and down there you see the king. - -Many years ago in London I went to the private view of the Royal Academy -at Burlington House. I went in the afternoon when the galleries were -crowded with politicians and artists, with dealers, gossips, quidnuncs, -and _flâneurs_; with authors, fashionable lawyers, and doctors; with men -and women of the world; with young dandies and actresses _en vogue_. A -roar of voices went up to the roof. Every one was talking, smiling, -laughing, commenting, and criticizing. It was a little picture of the -very worldly world that loves the things of to-day and the chime of the -passing hours. And suddenly some people near me were silent, and some -turned their heads to stare with a strangely fixed attention. And I saw -coming toward me an emaciated figure, rather bent, much drawn together, -walking slowly on legs like sticks. It was clad in black, with a gleam -of color. Above it was a face so intensely thin that it was like the -face of death. And in this face shone - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -TEMPLE OF ESNEH] - -two eyes that seemed full of--the other world. And, like a breath from -the other world passing, this man went by me and was hidden from me by -the throng. It was Cardinal Manning in the last days of his life. - -The face of this king is like his, but it has an even deeper pathos as -it looks upward to the rock. And the king’s silence bids you be silent, -and his immobility bids you be still. And his sad, and unutterable -resignation sifts awe, as by the desert wind the sand is sifted into the -temples, into the temple of your heart. And you feel the touch of time, -but the touch of eternity, too. And as, in that rock-hewn sanctuary, you -whisper “Pax vobiscum,” you say it for all the world. - - - - -XIV - -EDFU - - -Prayer pervades the East. Far off across the sands, when one is -traveling in the desert, one sees thin minarets rising toward the sky. A -desert city is there. It signals its presence by this mute appeal to -Allah. And where there are no minarets,--in the great wastes of the -dunes, in the eternal silence, the lifelessness that is not broken even -by any lonely, wandering bird,--the camels are stopped at the appointed -hours, the poor, and often ragged, robes are laid down, the brown -pilgrims prostrate themselves in prayer. And the rich man spreads his -carpet, and prays. And the half-naked nomad spreads nothing; but he -prays, too. The East is full of lust, and full of money-getting, and -full of bartering, and full of violence; but it is full of worship--of -worship that disdains concealment, that recks not of ridicule or -comment, that believes too utterly to care if others disbelieve. There -are in the East many men who do not pray. They do not laugh at the man -who does, like the unpraying Christian. There is nothing ludicrous - -[Illustration: PRAYER IN THE DESERT] - -to them in prayer. In Egypt your Nubian sailor prays in the stern of -your dahabiyeh; and your Egyptian boatman prays by the rudder of your -boat; and your black donkey-boy prays behind a red rock in the sand; and -your camel-man prays when you are resting in the noontide, watching the -far-off, quivering mirage, lost in some wayward dream. - -And must you not pray, too, when you enter certain temples where once -strange gods were worshiped in whom no man now believes? - -There is one temple on the Nile which seems to embrace in its arms all -the worship of the past; to be full of prayers and solemn praises; to be -the holder, the noble keeper, of the sacred longings, of the unearthly -desires and aspirations, of the dead. It is the temple of Edfu. From all -the other temples it stands apart. It is the temple of the inward flame, -of the secret soul of man; of that mystery within us that is exquisitely -sensitive, and exquisitely alive; that has longings it cannot tell, and -sorrows it dare not whisper, and loves it can only love. - -To Horus it was dedicated,--hawk-headed Horus,--the son of Isis and -Osiris, who was crowned with many crowns, who was the young Apollo of -the old Egyptian world. But though I know this, I am never able to -associate Edfu with Horus, that child wearing the side-lock,--when he is -not hawk-headed in his solar aspect,--that boy with his finger in his -mouth, that youth who fought against Set, murderer of his father. - -Edfu, in its solemn beauty, in its perfection of form, seems to me to -pass into a region altogether beyond identification with the worship of -any special deity, with particular attributes, perhaps with particular -limitations; one who can be graven upon walls, and upon architraves and -pillars painted in brilliant colors; one who can personally pursue a -criminal, like some policeman in the street; even one who can rise upon -the world in the visible glory of the sun. To me, Edfu must always -represent the world-worship of “the Hidden One”; not Amun, god of the -dead, fused with Ra, with Amsu, or with Khnum: but that other “Hidden -One,” who is God of the happy hunting-ground of savages, with whom the -Buddhist strives to merge his strange serenity of soul; who is adored in -the “Holy Places” by the Moslem, and lifted mystically above the heads -of kneeling Catholics in cathedrals dim with incense, and merrily -praised with the banjo and the trumpet in the streets of black English -cities; who is asked for children by longing women, and for new dolls by -lisping babes; whom the atheist denies in the day, and fears in the -darkness of night; who is on the lips alike of priest and blasphemer, -and in the soul of all human life. - -Edfu is the temple of “the Hidden One.” It is not pagan; it is not -Christian: it is a place in which to worship according to the dictates -of your heart. - -[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF EDFU] - -Edfu stands alone, not near any other temple, on the bank of the Nile -between Luxor and Assuan. It is not very far from El-Kab, once the -capital of Upper Egypt and it is about two thousand years old. The -building of it took over one hundred and eighty years, and it is the -most perfectly preserved temple to-day of all the antique world. It is -huge and it is splendid. It has towers one hundred and twelve feet high, -a propylon two hundred and fifty-two feet broad, and walls four hundred -and fifty feet long. Begun in the reign of Ptolemy III, it was completed -only fifty-seven years before the birth of Christ. - -You know these facts about it, and you forget them, or at least you do -not think of them. What does all that matter when you are alone in Edfu? -Let the antiquarian go with his anxious nose almost touching the stone; -let the Egyptologist peer through his glasses at hieroglyphs and puzzle -out the meaning of cartouches: but let us wander at ease, and worship, -and regard the exquisite form, and drink in the mystical spirit, of this -very wonderful temple. - -Do you care about form? Here you will find it in absolute perfection. -Edfu is the consecration of form. In proportion it is supreme above all -other Egyptian temples. Its beauty of form is like a music. Its design -affects one like the chiseled loveliness of a perfect sonnet. While the -world lasts, no architect can arise to create a building more -satisfying, more calm with the calm of faultlessness, more serene with -a just serenity. Or so it seems to me. I think of the most lovely -buildings I know in Europe--of the Alhambra at Granada, of the Cappella -Palatina in the palace at Palermo. And Edfu I place with them--Edfu -utterly different from them, more different, perhaps, even than they are -from each other, but akin to them, as all great beauty is mysteriously -akin. I have spent morning after morning in the Alhambra, and many and -many an hour in the Cappella Palatina; and never have I been weary of -either, or longed to go away. And this same sweet desire to stay came -over me in Edfu. The _Loulia_ was tied up by the high bank of the Nile. -The sailors were glad to rest. There was no steamer sounding its hideous -siren to call me to its crowded deck. So I yielded to my desire, and for -long I stayed in Edfu. And when at last I left it I said to myself, -“This is a supreme thing,” and I knew that within me had suddenly -developed the curious passion for buildings that some people never feel, -and that others feel ever growing and growing. - -Yes, Edfu is supreme. No alteration could improve it. Any change made in -it, however slight, could only be harmful to it. Pure and perfect is its -design--broad propylon, great open courtyard with pillared galleries, -halls, chambers, sanctuary. Its dignity and its sobriety are matchless. -I know they must be, because they touched me so strangely, with a kind -of reticent - -[Illustration: PYLON, TEMPLE OF EDFU] - -enchantment, and I am not by nature enamoured of sobriety, of reticence -and calm, but am inclined to delight in almost violent force, in -brilliance, and, especially, in combinations of color. In the Alhambra -one finds both force and fairylike lightness, delicious proportions, -delicate fantasy, a spell as of subtle magicians; in the Cappella -Palatina a jeweled splendor, combined with a small perfection of form -which simply captivates the whole spirit and leads it to adoration. In -Edfu you are face to face with hugeness and with grandeur; but soon you -are scarcely aware of either--in the sense, at least, that connects -these qualities with a certain overwhelming, almost striking down, of -the spirit and the faculties. What you are aware of is your own immense -and beautiful calm of utter satisfaction--a calm which has quietly -inundated you, like a waveless tide of the sea. How rare it is to feel -this absolute satisfaction, this praising serenity! The critical spirit -goes, like a bird from an opened window. The excited, laudatory, voluble -spirit goes. And this splendid calm is left. If you stay here, you, as -this temple has been, will be molded into a beautiful sobriety. From the -top of the pylon you have received this still and glorious impression -from the matchless design of the whole building, which you see best from -there. When you descend the shallow staircase, when you stand in the -great court, when you go into the shadowy halls, then it is that the -utter satisfaction within you deepens. Then it is that you feel the -need to worship in this place created for worship. - -The ancient Egyptians made most of their temples in conformity with a -single type. The sanctuary was the heart, the core, of each temple--the -sanctuary surrounded by the chambers in which were laid up the precious -objects connected with ceremonies and sacrifices. Leading to this core -of the temple, which was sometimes called “the divine house,” were -various halls the roofs of which were supported by columns--those -hypostyle halls which one sees perpetually in Egypt. Before the first of -these halls was a courtyard surrounded by a colonnade. In the courtyard -the priests of the temple assembled. The people were allowed to enter -the colonnade. A gateway with towers gave entrance to the courtyard. If -one visits many of the Egyptian temples, one soon becomes aware of the -subtlety, combined with a sort of high simplicity, and sense of mystery -and poetry, of these builders of the past. As a great writer leads one -on, with a concealed but beautiful art, from the first words of his -story to the last--the last words to which all the other words are -ministering servants; as the great musician--Wagner in his -“Meistersinger,” for instance,--leads one from the first notes of his -score to those final notes which magnificently reveal to the listeners -the real meaning of those first notes, and of all the notes which -followed them: so the Egyptian builders lead the spirit gently, -mysteriously forward from the gateway between the towers to the distant -house divine. When one enters the outer court, one feels the far-off -sanctuary. Almost unconsciously one is aware that for that sanctuary all -the rest of the temple was created; that to that sanctuary everything -tends. And in spirit one is drawn softly onward to that very holy place. -Slowly, perhaps, the body moves from courtyard to hypostyle hall, and -from one hall to another. Hieroglyphs are examined, cartouches puzzled -out, paintings of processions, or bas-reliefs of pastimes and of -sacrifices, looked at with care and interest; but all the time one has -the sense of waiting, of a want unsatisfied. And only when one at last -reaches the sanctuary is one perfectly at rest. For then the spirit -feels: “This is the meaning of it all.” - -One of the means which the Egyptian architects used to create this sense -of approach is very simple, but perfectly effective. It consists only in -making each hall on a very slightly higher level than the one preceding -it, and the sanctuary, which is narrow and mysteriously dark, on the -highest level of all. Each time one takes an upward step, or walks up a -little incline of stone, the body seems to convey to the soul a deeper -message of reverence and awe. In no other temple is this sense of -approach to the heart of a thing so acute as it is when one walks in -Edfu. In no other temple, when the sanctuary is reached, has one such a -strong consciousness of being indeed within a sacred heart. - -The color of Edfu is a pale and delicate brown, warm in the strong -sunshine, but seldom glowing. Its first doorway is extraordinarily high, -and is narrow, but very deep, with a roof showing traces of that -delicious, clear blue-green which is like a thin cry of joy rising up in -the solemn temples of Egypt. A small Sphinx keeps watch on the right, -just where the guardian stands; this guardian, the gift of the past, -squat, even fat, with a very perfect face of a determined and handsome -man. In the court, upon a pedestal, stands a big bird, and near it is -another bird, or rather half of a bird, leaning forward, and much -defaced. And in this great courtyard there are swarms of living birds -twittering in the sunshine. Through the doorway between the towers one -sees a glimpse of a native village with the cupolas of a mosque. - -I stood and looked at the cupolas for a moment. Then I turned, and -forgot for a time the life of the world without--that men, perhaps, were -praying beneath those cupolas, or praising the Moslem’s God. For when I -turned, I felt, as I have said, as if all the worship of the world must -be concentrated here. Standing far down the open court, in the full -sunshine, I could see into the first hypostyle hall, but beyond only a -darkness--a darkness which led me on, in which the further chambers of -the house divine were hidden. As I went on slowly, the perfection of the -plan of the dead architects was gradually revealed to - -[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF EDFU FROM THE TOP OF THE PYLON] - -me, when the darkness gave up its secrets; when I saw not clearly, but -dimly, the long way between the columns, the noble columns themselves, -the gradual, slight upward slope,--graduated by genius; there is no -other word,--which led to the sanctuary, seen at last as a little -darkness, in which all the mystery of worship, and of the silent desires -of men, was surely concentrated, and kept by the stone forever. Even the -succession of the darknesses, like shadows growing deeper and deeper, -seemed planned by some great artist in the management of light, and so -of shadow effects. The perfection of form is in Edfu, impossible to -describe, impossible not to feel. The tremendous effect it has--an -effect upon the soul--is created by a combination of shapes, of -proportions, of different levels, of different heights, by consummate -graduation. And these shapes, proportions, different levels, and -heights, are seen in dimness. Not that jeweled dimness one loves in -Gothic cathedrals, but the heavy dimness of windowless, mighty chambers -lighted only by a rebuked daylight ever trying to steal in. One is -captured by no ornament, seduced by no lovely colors. Better than any -ornament, greater than any radiant glory of color, is this massive -austerity. It is like the ultimate in an art. Everything has been tried, -every strangeness, _bizarrerie_, absurdity, every wild scheme of hues, -every preposterous subject--to take an extreme instance, a camel, -wearing a top-hat, and lighted up by fireworks, which I saw recently in -a picture-gallery of Munich. And at the end a genius paints a portrait -of a wrinkled old woman’s face, and the world regards and worships. Or -all discords have been flung together pell-mell, resolution of them has -been deferred perpetually, perhaps even denied altogether, chord of B -major has been struck with C major, works have closed upon the leading -note or the dominant seventh, symphonies have been composed to be played -in the dark, or to be accompanied by a magic-lantern’s efforts, operas -been produced which are merely carnage and a row,--and at the end a -genius writes a little song, and the world gives the tribute of its -breathless silence and its tears. And it knows that though other things -may be done, better things can never be done. For no perfection can -exceed any other perfection. - -And so in Edfu I feel that this untinted austerity is perfect; that -whatever may be done in architecture during future ages of the world, -Edfu, while it lasts, will remain a thing supreme--supreme in form and, -because of this supremacy, supreme in the spell which it casts upon the -soul. - -The sanctuary is just a small, beautifully proportioned, inmost chamber, -with a black roof, containing a sort of altar of granite, and a great -polished granite shrine which no doubt once contained the god Horus. I -am glad he is not there now. How far more impressive it is to stand in -an empty sanctuary, in the - -[Illustration: THE COURT, TEMPLE OF EDFU] - -house divine of “the Hidden One,” whom the nations of the earth worship, -whether they spread their robes on the sand and turn their faces to -Mecca, or beat the tambourine and sing “glory-hymns” of salvation, or -flagellate themselves in the night before the patron saint of the -Passionists, or only gaze at the snow-white plume that floats from the -snows of Etna under the rose of dawn, and feel the soul behind Nature. -Among the temples of Egypt, Edfu is the house divine of “the Hidden -One,” the perfect temple of worship. - - - - -XV - -KOM OMBOS - - -Some people talk of the “sameness” of the Nile; and there is a lovely -sameness of golden light, of delicious air, of people, and of scenery. -For Egypt is, after all, mainly a great river with strips on each side -of cultivated land, flat, green, not very varied. River, green plains, -yellow plains, pink, brown, steel-gray, or pale-yellow mountains, wail -of shadoof, wail of sakieh. Yes, I suppose there is a sameness, a sort -of golden monotony, in this land pervaded with light and pervaded with -sound. Always there is light around you, and you are bathing in it, and -nearly always, if you are living, as I was, on the water, there is a -multitude of mingling sounds floating, floating to your ears. As there -are two lines of green land, two lines of mountains, following the -course of the Nile; so are there two lines of voices that cease their -calling and their singing only as you draw near to Nubia. For then, with -the green land, they fade away, these miles upon miles of calling and -singing brown men; and amber and ruddy sands creep downward to the Nile. -And the air seems subtly changing, and the light perhaps - -[Illustration: - -From a photograph by James S Lee - -HYPOSTYLE HALL, KÔM OMBOS] - -growing a little harder. And you are aware of other regions unlike those -you are leaving, more African, more savage, less suave, less like a -dreaming. And especially the silence makes a great impression on you. -But before you enter this silence, between the amber and ruddy walls -that will lead you on to Nubia, and to the land of the crocodile, you -have a visit to pay. For here, high up on a terrace, looking over a -great bend of the river, is Kom Ombos. And Kom Ombos is the temple of -the crocodile god. - -Sebek was one of the oldest and one of the most evil of the Egyptian -gods. In the Fayum he was worshiped, as well as at Kom Ombos, and there, -in the holy lake of his temple, were numbers of holy crocodiles, which -Strabo tells us were decorated with jewels like pretty women. He did not -get on with the other gods, and was sometimes confused with Set, who -personified natural darkness, and who also was worshiped by the people -about Kom Ombos. - -I have spoken of the golden sameness of the Nile, but this sameness is -broken by the variety of the temples. Here you have a striking instance -of this variety. Edfu, only forty miles from Kom Ombos, the next temple -which you visit, is the most perfect temple in Egypt. Kom Ombos one of -the most imperfect. Edfu is a divine house of “the Hidden One,” full of -a sacred atmosphere. Kom Ombos is the house of crocodiles. In ancient -days the inhabitants of Edfu abhorred, above everything, crocodiles and -their worshipers. And here at Kom Ombos the crocodile was adored. You -are in a different atmosphere. - -As soon as you land, you are greeted with crocodiles, though fortunately -not by them. A heap of their black mummies is shown to you reposing in a -sort of tomb or shrine open at one end to the air. By these mummies the -new note is loudly struck. The crocodiles have carried you in an instant -from that which is pervadingly general to that which is narrowly -particular; from the purely noble, which seems to belong to all time, to -the entirely barbaric, which belongs only to times outworn. It is -difficult to feel as if one had anything in common with men who -seriously worshiped crocodiles, had priests to feed them, and decorated -their scaly necks with jewels. - -Yet the crocodile god had a noble temple at Kom Ombos, a temple which -dates from the times of the Ptolemies, though there was a temple in -earlier days which has now disappeared. Its situation is splendid. It -stands high above the Nile, and close to the river, on a terrace which -has recently been constructed to save it from the encroachments of the -water. And it looks down upon a view which is exquisite in the clear -light of early morning. On the right, and far off, is a delicious pink -bareness of distant flats and hills. Opposite there is a flood of -verdure and of trees going to mountains, a spit of sand where is an -inlet of the river, - -[Illustration: THE TEMPLE OF KÔM OMBOS] - -with a crowd of native boats, perhaps waiting for a wind. On the left is -the big bend of the Nile, singularly beautiful, almost voluptuous in -form, and girdled with a radiant green of crops, with palm-trees, and -again the distant hills. Sebek was well advised to have his temples here -and in the glorious Fayum, that land flowing with milk and honey, where -the air is full of the voices of the flocks and herds, and alive with -the wild pigeons; where the sweet sugar-cane towers up in fairy forests, -the beloved home of the jackal; where the green corn waves to the -horizon, and the runlets of water make a maze of silver threads carrying -life and its happy murmur through all the vast oasis. - -At the guardian’s gate by which you go in there sits not a watch dog, -nor yet a crocodile, but a watch cat, small, but very determined, and -very attentive to its duties, and neatly carved in stone. You try to -look like a crocodile-worshiper. It is deceived, and lets you pass. And -you are alone with the growing morning and Kom Ombos. - -I was never taken, caught up into an atmosphere, in Kom Ombos. I -examined it with interest, but I did not feel a spell. Its grandeur is -great, but it did not affect me as did the grandeur of Karnak. Its -nobility cannot be questioned, but I did not stilly rejoice in it, as in -the nobility of Luxor, or the free splendor of the Ramesseum. - -The oldest thing at Kom Ombos is a gateway of sandstone placed there by -Thothmes III as a tribute to Sebek. The great temple is of a warm-brown -color, a very rich and particularly beautiful brown, that soothes and -almost comforts the eyes that have been for many days boldly assaulted -by the sun. Upon the terrace platform above the river you face a low and -ruined wall, on which there are some lively reliefs, beyond which is a -large, open court containing a quantity of stunted, once big columns -standing on big bases. Immediately before you the temple towers up, very -gigantic, very majestic, with a stone pavement, walls on which still -remain some traces of paintings, and really grand columns, enormous in -size and in good formation. There are fine architraves, and some bits of -roofing, but the greater part is open to the air. Through a doorway is a -second hall containing columns much less noble, and beyond this one -walks in ruin, among crumbled or partly destroyed chambers, broken -statues, become mere slabs of granite and fallen blocks of stone. At the -end is a wall, with a pavement bordering it, and a row of chambers that -look like monkish cells, closed by small doors. At Kom Ombos there are -two sanctuaries, one dedicated to Sebek, the other to Heru-ur, or -Haroëris, a form of Horus in Egyptian called “the Elder,” which was -worshiped with Sebek here by the admirers of crocodiles. Each of them -contains a pedestal of granite upon which once rested a sacred bark -bearing an image of the deity. - -[Illustration: TEMPLE OF KOM OMBOS. SCREEN WALL OF HYPOSTYLE HALL] - -There are some fine reliefs scattered through these mighty ruins, -showing Sebek with the head of a crocodile, Heru-ur with the head of a -hawk so characteristic of Horus, and one strange animal which has no -fewer than four heads, apparently meant for the heads of lions. One -relief which I specially noticed for its life, its charming vivacity, -and its almost amusing fidelity to details unchanged to-day, depicts a -number of ducks in full flight near a mass of lotus flowers. I -remembered it one day in the Fayum, so intimately associated with Sebek, -when I rode twenty miles out from camp on a dromedary to the end of the -great lake of Kurun, where the sand wastes of the Libyan desert stretch -to the pale and waveless waters which, that day, looked curiously -desolate and even sinister under a low, gray sky. Beyond the wiry -tamarisk bushes, which grow far out from the shore, thousands upon -thousands of wild duck were floating as far as the eyes could see. We -took a strange native boat, manned by two half-naked fishermen, and were -rowed with big, broadbladed oars out upon the silent flood that the -silent desert surrounded. But the duck were too wary ever to let us get -within range of them. As we drew gently near, they rose in black -throngs, and skimmed low into the distance of the wintry landscape, -trailing their legs behind them, like the duck on the wall of Kom Ombos. -There was no duck for dinner in camp that night, and the cook was -inconsolable. But I had seen a relief come to life, and surmounted my -disappointment. - -Kom Ombos and Edfu, the two houses of the lovers and haters of -crocodiles, or at least of the lovers and the haters of their worship, I -shall always think of them together, because I drifted on the _Loulia_ -from one to the other, and saw no interesting temple between them, and -because their personalities are as opposed as were, centuries ago, the -tenets of those who adored within them. The Egyptians of old were -devoted to the hunting of crocodiles, which once abounded in the reaches -of the Nile between Assuan and Luxor, and also much lower down. But I -believe that no reliefs, or paintings, of this sport are to be found -upon the walls of the temples and the tombs. The fear of Sebek, perhaps, -prevailed even over the dwellers about the temple of Edfu. Yet how could -fear of any crocodile god infect the souls of those who were privileged -to worship in such a temple, or even reverently to stand under the -colonnade within the court? As well, perhaps, one might ask how men -could be inspired to raise such a perfect building to a deity with the -face of a hawk? But Horus was not the god of crocodiles, but a god of -the sun. And his power to inspire men must have been vast; for the -greatest conception in stone in Egypt, and, I suppose, in the whole -world, the Sphinx, as De Rougé proved by an inscription at Edfu, was a -representation of Horus transformed to - -[Illustration: THE ISLAND OF ELEPHANTINE, FROM ASSOUAN] - -conquer Typhon. The Sphinx and Edfu! For such marvels we ought to bless -the hawk-headed god. And if we forget the hawk, which one meets so -perpetually upon the walls of tombs and temples, and identify Horus -rather with the Greek Apollo, the yellow-haired god of the sun, driving -“westerly all day in his flaming chariot,” and shooting his golden -arrows at the happy world beneath, we can be at peace with those dead -Egyptians. For every pilgrim who goes to Edfu to-day is surely a -worshiper of the solar aspect of Horus. As long as the world lasts there -will be sun-worshipers. Every brown man upon the Nile is one, and every -good American who crosses the ocean and comes at last into the somber -wonder of Edfu, and I was one upon the deck of the _Loulia_. - -And we all worship as yet in the dark, as in the exquisite dark, like -faith, of the Holy of Holies of Horus. - - - - -XVI - -PHILÆ - - -As I drew slowly nearer and nearer to the home of “the great -Enchantress,” or, as Isis was also called in bygone days, “the Lady of -Philæ,” the land began to change in character, to be full of a new and -barbaric meaning. In recent years I have paid many visits to northern -Africa, but only to Tunisia and Algeria, countries that are -wilder-looking, and much wilder-seeming, than Egypt. Now, as I -approached Assuan, I seemed at last to be also approaching the real, the -intense Africa that I had known in the Sahara, the enigmatic siren, -savage and strange and wonderful, whom the typical Ouled Näil, crowned -with gold, and tufted with ostrich plumes, painted with kohl, tattooed, -and perfumed, hung with golden coins and amulets, and framed in plaits -of coarse, false hair, represents indifferently to the eyes of the -traveling stranger. For at last I saw the sands that I love creeping -down to the banks of the Nile. And they brought with them that wonderful -air which belongs only to them--the air that dwells among the dunes in -the solitary places, that is like the cool touch of Liberty upon the -face of a - -[Illustration: THE ISLE OF PHILÆ BEFORE THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DAM] - -man, that makes the brown child of the nomad as lithe, tireless, and -fierce-spirited as a young panther, and sets flames in the eyes of the -Arab horse, and gives speed of the wind to the Sloughi. The true lover -of the desert can never rid his soul of its passion for the sands, and -now my heart leaped as I stole into their pure embraces, as I saw to -right and left amber curves and sheeny recesses, shining ridges and -bloomy clefts. The clean delicacy of those sands that, in long and -glowing hills, stretched out from Nubia to meet me, who could ever -describe them? Who could ever describe their soft and enticing shapes, -their exquisite gradations of color, the little shadows in their -hollows, the fiery beauty of their crests, the patterns the cool winds -make upon them? It is an enchanted _royaume_ of the sands through which -one approaches Isis. - -Isis and engineers! We English people have effected that curious -introduction, and we greatly pride ourselves upon it. We have presented -Sir William Garstin, and Mr. John Blue, and Mr. Fitz Maurice, and other -clever, hard-working men to the fabled Lady of Philæ, and they have -given her a gift: a dam two thousand yards in length, upon which -tourists go smiling on trolleys. Isis has her expensive tribute,--it -cost about a million and a half pounds,--and no doubt she ought to be -gratified. - -Yet I think Isis mourns on altered Philæ, as she mourns with her sister, -Nepthys, at the heads of so many mummies of Osirians upon the walls of -Egyptian tombs. And though the fellaheen very rightly rejoice, there are -some unpractical sentimentalists who form a company about her, and make -their plaint with hers--their plaint for the peace that is gone, for the -lost calm, the departed poetry, that once hung, like a delicious, like -an inimitable, atmosphere, about the palms of the “Holy Island.” - -I confess that I dreaded to revisit Philæ. I had sweet memories of the -island that had been with me for many years--memories of still mornings -under the palm-trees, watching the gliding waters of the river, or -gazing across them to the long sweep of the empty sands; memories of -drowsy, golden noons, when the bright world seemed softly sleeping, and -the almost daffodil-colored temple dreamed under the quivering canopy of -blue; memories of evenings when a benediction from the lifted hands of -Romance surely fell upon the temple and the island and the river; -memories of moonlit nights, when the spirits of the old gods to whom the -temples were reared surely held converse with the spirits of the desert, -with Mirage and her pale and evading sisters of the great spaces, under -the brilliant stars. I was afraid, because I could not believe the -asseverations of certain practical persons, full of the hard and almost -angry desire of “Progress,” that no harm had been done by the creation -of the reservoir, but that, on the contrary, it had benefited the -temple. - -[Illustration: THE SACRED ISLE OF PHILÆ] - -The action of the water upon the stone, they said with vehement voices, -instead of loosening it and causing it to crumble untimely away, had -tended to harden and consolidate it. Here I should like to lie, but I -resist the temptation. Monsieur Naville has stated that possibly the -English engineers have helped to prolong the lives of the buildings of -Philæ, and Monsieur Maspero has declared that “the state of the temple -of Philæ becomes continually more satisfactory.” So be it! Longevity has -been, by a happy chance, secured. But what of beauty? What of the beauty -of the past, and what of the schemes for the future? Is Philæ even to be -left as it is, or are the waters of the Nile to be artificially raised -still higher, until Philæ ceases to be? Soon, no doubt, an answer will -be given. - -Meanwhile, instead of the little island that I knew, and thought a -little paradise breathing out enchantment in the midst of titanic -sterility, I found a something diseased. Philæ now, when out of the -water, as it was all the time when I was last in Egypt, looks like a -thing stricken with some creeping malady--one of those maladies which -begin in the lower members of a body, and work their way gradually but -inexorably upward to the trunk, until they attain the heart. - -I came to it by the desert, and descended to Shellal--Shellal with its -railway-station, its workmen’s buildings, its tents, its dozens of -screens to protect the hewers of stone from the burning rays of the sun, -its bustle of people, of overseers, engineers, and workmen, Egyptian, -Nubian, Italian, and Greek. The silence I had known was gone, though the -desert lay all around--the great sands, the great masses of granite that -look as if patiently waiting to be fashioned into obelisks, and -sarcophagi, and statues. But away there across the bend of the river, -dominating the ugly rummage of this intrusive beehive of human bees, -sheer grace overcoming strength both of nature and human nature, rose -the fabled “Pharaoh’s Bed”; gracious, tender, from Shellal most -delicately perfect, and glowing with pale gold against the grim -background of the hills on the western shore. It seemed to plead for -mercy, like something feminine threatened with outrage, to protest -through its mere beauty, as a woman might protest by an attitude, -against further desecration. - -And in the distance the Nile roared through the many gates of the dam, -making answer to the protest. - -What irony was in this scene! In the old days of Egypt Philæ was sacred -ground, was the Nile-protected home of sacerdotal mysteries, was a -veritable Mecca to the believers in Osiris, to which it was forbidden -even to draw near without permission. The ancient Egyptians swore -solemnly “By him who sleeps in Philæ.” Now they sometimes swear angrily -at him who wakes in, or at least by, Philæ, and keeps them steadily -going at their appointed tasks. And instead of it being forbidden to -draw near to a sacred spot, needy men from - -[Illustration: - -From a photograph by James S. Lee - -THE TEMPLE OF ISIS, PHILÆ] - -foreign countries flock thither in eager crowds, not to worship in -beauty, but to earn a living wage. - -And “Pharaoh’s Bed” looks out over the water and seems to wonder what -will be the end. - -I was glad to escape from Shellal, pursued by the shriek of an engine -announcing its departure from the station, glad to be on the quiet -water, to put it between me and that crowd of busy workers. Before me I -saw a vast lake, not unlovely, where once the Nile flowed swiftly, far -off a gray smudge--the very damnable dam. All around me was a grim and -cruel world of rocks, and of hills that look almost like heaps of -rubbish, some of them gray, some of them in color so dark that they -resemble the lava torrents petrified near Catania, or the “black -country” in England through which one rushes on one’s way to the North. -Just here and there, sweetly almost as the pink blossoms of the wild -oleander, which I have seen from Sicilian seas lifting their heads from -the crevices of sea rocks, the amber and rosy sands of Nubia smiled down -over grit stone and granite. - -The setting of Philæ is severe. Even in bright sunshine it has an iron -look. On a gray or stormy day it would be forbidding or even terrible. -In the old winters and springs one loved Philæ the more because of the -contrast of its setting with its own lyrical beauty, its curious -tenderness of charm--a charm in which the isle itself was mingled with -its buildings. But now, and before my boat had touched the quay, I saw -that the island must be ignored--if possible. - -The water with which it is entirely covered during a great part of the -year seems to have cast a blight upon it. The very few palms have a -drooping and tragic air. The ground has a gangrened appearance, and much -of it shows a crawling mass of unwholesome-looking plants, which seem -crouching down as if ashamed of their brutal exposure by the receded -river, and of harsh and yellow-green grass, unattractive to the eyes. As -I stepped on shore I felt as if I were stepping on disease. But at least -there were the buildings undisturbed by any outrage. Again I turned -toward “Pharaoh’s Bed,” toward the temple standing apart from it, which -already I had seen from the desert, near Shellal, gleaming with its -gracious sand-yellow, lifting its series of straight lines of masonry -above the river and the rocks, looking, from a distance, very simple, -with a simplicity like that of clear water, but as enticing as the light -on the first real day of spring. - -I went first to “Pharaoh’s Bed.” - -Imagine a woman with a perfectly lovely face, with features as -exquisitely proportioned as those, say, of Praxiteles’s statue of the -Cnidian Aphrodite, for which King Nicomedes was willing to remit the -entire national debt of Cnidus, and with a warmly white rose-leaf -complexion--one of those complexions one sometimes sees in Italian -women, colorless, yet suggestive almost of glow, - -[Illustration: NEARLY SUBMERGED COLUMNS, ISLE OF PHILÆ] - -of purity, with the flame of passion behind it. Imagine that woman -attacked by a malady which leaves her features exactly as they were, but -which changes the color of her face--from the throat upward to just -beneath the nose--from the warm white to a mottled, grayish hue. Imagine -the line that would seem to be traced between the two complexions--the -mottled gray below the warm white still glowing above. Imagine this, and -you have “Pharaoh’s Bed” and the temple of Philæ as they are to-day. - - - - -XVII - -“PHARAOH’S BED” - - -“Pharaoh’s Bed,” which stands alone close to the Nile on the eastern -side of the island, is not one of those rugged, majestic buildings, full -of grandeur and splendor, which can bear, can “carry off,” as it were, a -cruelly imposed ugliness without being affected as a whole. It is, on -the contrary, a small, almost an airy, and a femininely perfect thing, -in which a singular loveliness of form was combined with a singular -loveliness of color. The spell it threw over you was not so much a spell -woven of details as a spell woven of divine uniformity. To put it in -very practical language, “Pharaoh’s Bed” was “all of a piece.” The form -was married to the color. The color seemed to melt into the form. It was -indeed a bed in which the soul that worships beauty could rest happily -entranced. Nothing jarred. Antiquaries say that apparently this building -was left unfinished. That may be so. But for all that it was one of the -most finished things in Egypt, essentially a thing to inspire within one -the “perfect calm that is Greek.” The blighting touch of the Nile, which -has changed the beautiful pale yellow of the stone of - -[Illustration: PHARAOH’S BED, BEFORE THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DAM] - -the lower part of the building to a hideous and dreary gray,--which made -me think of a steel knife on which liquid has been spilt and allowed to -run,--has destroyed the uniformity, the balance, the faultless melody -lifted up by form and color. And so it is with the temple. It is as it -were cut in two by the intrusion into it of this hideous, mottled -complexion left by the receded water. Everywhere one sees disease on -walls and columns, almost blotting out bas-reliefs, giving to their -active figures a morbid, a sickly look. The effect is specially -distressing in the open court that precedes the temple dedicated to the -Lady of Philæ. In this court, which is at the southern end of the -island, the Nile at certain seasons is now forced to rise very nearly as -high as the capitals of many of the columns. The consequence of this is -that here the disease seems making rapid strides. One feels it is -drawing near to the heart, and that the poor, doomed invalid may -collapse at any moment. - -Yes, there is much to make one sad at Philæ. But how much of pure beauty -there is left--of beauty that mutely protests against any further -outrage! - -As there is something epic in the grandeur of the Lotus Hall at Karnak, -so there is something lyrical in the soft charm of the Philæ temple. -Certain things or places, certain things in certain places, always -suggest to my mind certain people in whose genius I take delight--who -have won me, and moved me by their art. Whenever I go to Philæ, the name -of Shelley comes to me. I scarcely could tell why. I have no special -reason to connect Shelley with Philæ. But when I see that almost airy -loveliness of stone, so simply elegant, so, somehow, spring-like in its -pale-colored beauty, its happy, daffodil charm, with its touch of the -Greek,--the sensitive hand from Attica stretched out over Nubia,--I -always think of Shelley. I think of Shelley the youth who dived down -into the pool so deep that it seemed he was lost forever to the sun. I -think of Shelley the poet, full of a lyric ecstasy, who was himself like -an embodied - - Longing for something afar - From the sphere of our sorrow. - -Lyrical Philæ is like a temple of dreams, and of all poets Shelley might -have dreamed the dream, and have told it to the world in a song. - -For all its solidity, there are a strange lightness and grace in the -temple of Philæ; there is an elegance you will not find in the other -temples of Egypt. But it is an elegance quite undefiled by weakness, by -any sentimentality. (Even a building, like a love-lorn maid, can be -sentimental.) Edward Fitzgerald once defined taste as the feminine of -genius. Taste prevails in Philæ, a certain delicious femininity that -seduces the eyes and the heart of man. Shall we call it the spirit of -Isis? - -I have heard a clever critic and antiquarian declare that he is not very -fond of Philæ; that he feels a - -[Illustration: “PHARAOH’S BED,” ISLAND OF PHILÆ] - -certain “spuriousness” in the temple due to the mingling of Greek with -Egyptian influences. He may be right. I am no antiquarian, and, as a -mere lover of beauty, I do not feel this “spuriousness.” I can see -neither two quarreling strengths nor any weakness caused by division. I -suppose I see only the beauty, as I might see only the beauty of a woman -bred of a handsome father and mother of different races, and who, not -typical of either, combined in her features and figure distinguishing -merits of both. It is true that there is a particular pleasure which is -roused in us only by the absolutely typical--the completely thoroughbred -person or thing. It may be a pleasure not caused by beauty, and it may -be very keen, nevertheless. When it is combined with the joy roused in -us by all beauty, it is a very pure emotion of exceptional delight. -Philæ does not, perhaps, give this emotion. But it certainly has a -lovableness that attaches the heart in a quite singular degree. The -Philæ-lover is the most faithful of lovers. The hold of his mistress -upon him, once it has been felt, is never relaxed. And in his affection -for Philæ there is, I think, nearly always a rainbow strain of romance. - -When we love anything, we love to be able to say of the object of our -devotion, “There is nothing like it.” Now, in all Egypt, and I suppose -in all the world, there is nothing just like Philæ. There are temples, -yes; but where else is there a bouquet of gracious buildings such as -these gathered in such a holder as this tiny, raft-like isle? And where -else are just such delicate and, as I have said, light and almost -feminine elegance and charm set in the midst of such severe sterility? -Once, beyond Philæ, the Great Cataract roared down from the wastes of -Nubia into the green fertility of Upper Egypt. It roars no longer. But -still the masses of the rocks, and still the amber and the yellow sands, -and still the iron-colored hills, keep guard round Philæ. And still, -despite the vulgar desecration that has turned Shellal into a workmen’s -suburb and dowered it with a railway-station, there is mystery in Philæ, -and the sense of isolation that only an island gives. Even now one can -forget in Philæ--forget, after a while, and in certain parts of its -buildings, the presence of the gray disease; forget the threatening of -the altruists, who desire to benefit humanity by clearing as much beauty -out of humanity’s abiding-place as possible; forget the fact of the -railway, except when the shriek of the engine floats over the water to -one’s ears; forget economic problems, and the destruction that their -solving brings upon the silent world of things whose “use,” denied, -unrecognized, or laughed at, to man is in their holy beauty, whose -mission lies not upon the broad highways where tramps the hungry body, -but upon the secret, shadowy byways where glides the hungry soul. - -Yes, one can forget even now in the hall of the - -[Illustration: - -From a photograph by James S. Lee - -IN “PHARAOH’S BED,” ISLAND OF PHILÆ] - -temple of Isis, where the capricious graces of form are linked with the -capricious graces of color, where, like old and delicious music in the -golden strings of a harp, dwells a something--what is it? A murmur, or a -perfume, or a breathing?--of old and vanished years when forsakened gods -were worshiped. And one can forget in the chapel of Hathor, on whose -wall little Horus is born, and in the gray hounds’ chapel beside it. One -can forget, for one walks in beauty. - -Lovely are the doorways in Philæ; enticing are the shallow steps that -lead one onward and upward; gracious the yellow towers that seem to -smile a quiet welcome. And there is one chamber that is simply a place -of magic--the hall of the painted portico, the delicious hall of the -flowers. - -It is this chamber which always makes me think of Philæ as a lovely -temple of dreams, this silent, retired chamber, where some fabled -princess might well have been touched to a long, long sleep of -enchantment, and lain for years upon years among the magical -flowers--the lotus, and the palm, and the papyrus. - -In my youth it made upon me an indelible impression. Through intervening -years, filled with many new impressions, many wanderings, many visions -of beauty in other lands, that retired, painted chamber had not faded -from my mind--or shall I say from my heart? There had seemed to me -within it something that was ineffable, as in a lyric of Shelley’s there -is something that is ineffable, or in certain pictures of Boecklin, -such as “The Villa by the Sea.” And when at last, almost afraid and -hesitating, I came into it once more, I found in it again the strange -spell of old enchantment. - -It seems as if this chamber had been imagined by a poet, who had set it -in the center of the temple of his dream. It is such a spontaneous -chamber that one can scarcely imagine it more than a day and a night in -the building. Yet in detail it is lovely; it is finished and strangely -mighty; it is a lyric in stone, the most poetical chamber, perhaps, in -the whole of Egypt. For Philæ I count in Egypt, though really it is in -Nubia. - -One who has not seen Philæ may perhaps wonder how a tall chamber of -solid stone, containing heavy and soaring columns, can be like a lyric -of Shelley’s, can be exquisitely spontaneous, and yet hold a something -of mystery that makes one tread softly in it, and fear to disturb within -it some lovely sleeper of Nubia, some Princess of the Nile. He must -continue to wonder. To describe this chamber calmly, as I might, for -instance, describe the temple of Derr, would be simply to destroy it. -For things ineffable cannot be fully explained, or not be fully felt by -those the twilight of whose dreams is fitted to mingle with their -twilight. They who are meant to love with ardor _se passionnent pour la -passion_. And they who are meant to take and to keep the spirit of a -dream, whether it be hidden in a poem, or held in the cup of a flower, -or enfolded in - -[Illustration: - -From a photograph by James S. Lee - -FORE-COURT OF THE TEMPLE OF ISIS AND “PHARAOH’S BED.” PHILÆ] - -arms of stone, will surely never miss it, even though they can hear -roaring loudly above its elfin voice the cry of directed waters rushing -down to Upper Egypt. - -How can one disentangle from their tapestry web the different threads of -a spell? And even if one could, if one could hold them up, and explain, -“The cause of the spell is that this comes in contact with this, and -that this, which I show you, blends with, fades into, this,” how could -it advantage any one? Nothing would be made clearer, nothing be really -explained. The ineffable is, and must ever remain, something remote and -mysterious. - -And so one may say many things of this painted chamber of Philæ, and yet -never convey, perhaps never really know, the innermost cause of its -charm. In it there is obvious beauty of form, and a seizing beauty of -color, beauty of sunlight and shadow, of antique association. This -turquoise blue is enchanting, and Isis was worshiped here. What has the -one to do with the other? Nothing; and yet how much! For is not each of -these facts a thread in the tapestry web of the spell? The eyes see the -rapture of this very perfect blue. The imagination hears, as if very far -off, the solemn chanting of priests, and smells the smoke of strange -perfumes, and sees the long, aquiline nose and the thin, haughty lips of -the goddess. And the color becomes strange to the eyes, as well as very -lovely, because, perhaps, it was there--it almost certainly was -there--when from Constantinople went forth the decree that all Egypt -should be Christian; when the priests of the sacred brotherhood of Isis -were driven from their temple. - -Isis nursing Horus gave way to the Virgin and the child. But the cycles -spin away down “the ringing grooves of change.” From Egypt has passed -away that decreed Christianity. Now from the minaret the muezzin cries, -and in palm-shaded villages I hear the loud hymns of earnest pilgrims -starting on the journey to Mecca. And ever this painted chamber shelters -its mystery of poetry, its mystery of charm. And still its marvelous -colors are fresh as in the far-off pagan days, and the opening -lotus-flowers, and the closed lotus-buds, and the palm and the papyrus, -are on the perfect columns. And their intrinsic loveliness, and their -freshness, and their age, and the mysteries they have looked on--all -these facts are part of the spell that governs us to-day. In Edfu one is -inclosed in a wonderful austerity. And one can only worship. In Philæ -one is wrapped in a radiance of color. And one can only dream. For there -is coral pink, and there a wonderful green, “like the green light that -lingers in the west,” and there is a blue as deep as the blue of a -tropical sea; and there are green-blue and lustrous, ardent red. And the -odd fantasy in the coloring, is not that like the fantasy in the temple -of a dream? For those who painted these capitals for the greater glory - -[Illustration: ABU-SIMBEL] - -of Isis did not fear to depart from nature, and to their patient worship -a blue palm perhaps seemed a rarely sacred thing. And that palm is part -of the spell, and the reliefs upon the walls, and even the Coptic -crosses that are cut into the stone. - -But, at the end, one can only say that this place is indescribable, and -not because it is complex or terrifically grand, like Karnak. Go to it -on a sunlit morning, or stand in it in late afternoon, and perhaps you -will feel that it “suggests” you, that it carries you away, out of -familiar regions into a land of dreams, where among hidden ways the soul -is lost in magic. Yes, you are gone. - -To the right--for one, alas! cannot live in a dream forever--is a lovely -doorway through which one sees the river. Facing it is another doorway, -showing a fragment of the poor, vivisected island, some ruined walls, -and still another doorway in which, again, is framed the Nile. Many -people have cut their names upon the walls of Philæ. Once, as I sat -alone there, I felt strongly attracted to look upward to a wall, as if -some personality, enshrined within the stone, were watching me, or -calling. I looked, and saw written “Balzac.” - -Philæ is the last temple that one visits before he gives himself to the -wildness of the solitudes of Nubia. It stands at the very frontier. As -one goes up the Nile, it is like a smiling adieu from the Egypt one is -leaving. As one comes down, it is like a smiling welcome. In its -delicate charm I feel something of the charm of the Egyptian character. -There are moments, indeed, when I identify Egypt with Philæ. For in -Philæ one must dream; and on the Nile, too, one must dream. And always -the dream is happy, and shot through with radiant light--light that is -as radiant as the colors in Philæ’s temple. The pylons of Ptolemy smile -at you as you go up or come down the river. And the people of Egypt -smile as they enter into your dream. A suavity, too, is theirs. I think -of them often as artists, who know their parts in the dream-play, who -know exactly their function, and how to fulfil it rightly. They sing, -while you are dreaming, but it is an under-song, like the murmur of an -Eastern river far off from any sea. It never disturbs, this music, but -it helps you in your dream. And they are softly gay. And in their eyes -there is often the gleam of sunshine, for they are the children--but not -grown men--of the sun. That, indeed, is one of the many strange things -in Egypt--the youthfulness of its age, the childlikeness of its almost -terrible antiquity. One goes there to look at the oldest things in the -world and to feel perpetually young--young as Philæ is young, as a lyric -of Shelley’s is young, as all of our day-dreams are young, as the people -of Egypt are young. - -Oh, that Egypt could be kept as it is, even as it is now; that Philæ -could be preserved even as it is now! - -[Illustration: - -From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York - -ABU-SIMBEL FROM THE RIVER] - -The spoilers are there, those blithe modern spirits, so frightfully -clever and capable, so industrious, so determined, so unsparing of -themselves and--of others! Already they are at work “benefiting Egypt.” -Tall chimneys begin to vomit smoke along the Nile. A damnable tram-line -for little trolleys leads one toward the wonderful Colossi of Memnon. -Close to Kom Ombos some soul imbued with romance has had the inspiration -to set up--a factory. And Philæ--is it to go? - -Is beauty, then, of no value in the world? Is it always to be the prey -of modern progress? Is nothing to be considered sacred; nothing to be -left untouched, unsmirched by the grimy fingers of improvement? I -suppose nothing. - -Then let those who still care to dream go now to Philæ’s painted chamber -by the long reaches of the Nile; go on, if they will, to the giant forms -of Abu-Simbel among the Nubian sands. And perhaps they will think with -me, that in some dreams there is a value greater than the value that is -entered in any bank-book, and they will say, with me, however uselessly: - -“Leave to the world some dreams, some places in which to dream; for if -it needs dams to make the grain grow in the stretches of land that were -barren, and railways, and tram-lines, and factory chimneys that vomit -black smoke in the face of the sun, surely it needs also painted -chambers of Philæ and the silence that comes down from Isis.” - - - - -XVIII - -OLD CAIRO - - -By old Cairo I do not mean only “le vieux Caire” of the guide-book, the -little, desolate village containing the famous Coptic church of Abu -Sergius, in the crypt of which the Virgin Mary and Christ are said to -have stayed when they fled to the land of Egypt to escape the fury of -King Herod; but the Cairo that is not new, that is not dedicated wholly -to officialdom and tourists, that, in the midst of changes and the -advance of civilization,--civilization that does so much harm as well as -so much good, that showers benefits with one hand and defaces beauty -with the other,--preserves its immemorial calm or immemorial tumult; -that stands aloof, as stands aloof ever the Eastern from the Western -man, even in the midst of what seems, perhaps, like intimacy; Eastern to -the soul, though the fantasies, the passions, the vulgarities, the -brilliant ineptitudes of the West, beat about it like waves about some -unyielding wall of the sea. - -When I went back to Egypt, after a lapse of many years, I fled at once -from Cairo, and upon the long reaches of the Nile, in the great spaces -of the Libyan Desert, in the luxuriant palm-groves of the Fayyum, among -the tamarisk-bushes and on the pale waters of Kurun, I forgot the -changes which, in my brief glimpse of the city and its environs, had -moved me to despondency. But one cannot live in the solitudes forever. -And at last from Madi-nat-al-Fayyum, with the first pilgrims starting -for Mecca, I returned to the great city, determined to seek in it once -more for the fascinations it used to hold, and perhaps still held in the -hidden ways where modern feet, nearly always in a hurry, had seldom time -to penetrate. - -A mist hung over the land. Out of it, with a sort of stern energy, there -came to my ears loud hymns sung by the pilgrim voices--hymns in which, -mingled with the enthusiasm of devotees en route for the holiest shrine -of their faith, there seemed to sound the resolution of men strung up to -confront the fatigues and the dangers of a great journey through a wild -and unknown country. Those hymns led my feet to the venerable mosques of -Cairo, the city of mosques, guided me on my lesser pilgrimage among the -cupolas and the colonnades, where grave men dream in the silence near -marble fountains, or bend muttering their prayers beneath domes that are -dimmed by the ruthless fingers of Time. In the buildings consecrated to -prayer and to meditation I first sought for the magic that stills lurks -in the teeming bosom of Cairo. - -Long ago I had sought it elsewhere, in the brilliant bazaars by day, -and by night in the winding alleys, where the dark-eyed Jews looked -stealthily forth from the low-browed doorways; where the Circassian -girls promenade, gleaming with golden coins and barbaric jewels; where -the air is alive with music that is feverish and antique, and in -strangely lighted interiors one sees forms clad in brilliant draperies, -or severely draped in the simplest pale-blue garments, moving in languid -dances, fluttering painted fingers, bending, swaying, dropping down, -like the forms that people a dream. - -In the bazaars is the passion for gain, in the alleys of music and light -is the passion for pleasure, in the mosques is the passion for prayer -that connects the souls of men with the unseen but strongly felt world. -Each of these passions is old, each of these passions in the heart of -Islam is fierce. On my return to Cairo I sought for the hidden fire that -is magic in the dusky places of prayer. - -A mist lay over the city as I stood in a narrow byway, and gazed up at a -heavy lattice, of which the decayed and blackened wood seemed on guard -before some tragic or weary secret. Before me was the entrance to the -mosque of Ibn-Tulun, older than any mosque in Cairo save only the mosque -of Amru. It is approached by a flight of steps, on each side of which -stand old, impenetrable houses. Above my head, strung across from one -house to the other, were many little red and yellow flags ornamented -with gold lozenges. These were to bear witness that in a couple of -days’ time, from the great open place beneath the citadel of Cairo, the -Sacred Carpet was to set out on its long journey to Mecca. My guide -struck on a door and uttered a fierce cry. A small shutter in the -blackened lattice was opened, and a young girl, with kohl-tinted -eyelids, and a brilliant yellow handkerchief tied over her coarse, black -hair, leaned out, held a short parley, and vanished, drawing the shutter -to behind her. The mist crept up about the tawdry flags, a heavy door -creaked, whined on its hinges, and from the house of the girl there came -an old, fat man bearing a mighty key. In a moment I was free of the -mosque of Ibn-Tulun. - -I ascended the steps, passed through a doorway, and found myself on a -piece of waste ground, flanked on the right by an old, mysterious wall, -and on the left by the long wall of the mosque, from which close to me -rose a gray, unornamented minaret, full of the plain dignity of -unpretending age. Upon its summit was perched a large and weary-looking -bird with draggled feathers, which remained so still that it seemed to -be a sad ornament set there above the city, and watching it forever with -eyes that could not see. At right angles, touching the mosque, was such -a house as one can see only in the East--fantastically old, -fantastically decayed, bleared, discolored, filthy, melancholy, showing -hideous windows like windows in the slum of a town set above coal-pits -in a colliery district, a degraded house, and yet a house which roused -the imagination and drove it to its work. In this building once dwelt -the High Priest of the mosque. This dwelling, the ancient wall, the gray -minaret with its motionless bird, the lamentable waste ground at my -feet, prepared me rightly to appreciate the bit of old Cairo I had come -to see. - -People who are bored by Gothic churches would not love the mosque of -Ibn-Tulun. No longer is it used for worship. It contains no praying -life. Abandoned, bare, and devoid of all lovely ornament, it stands like -some hoary patriarch, naked and calm, waiting its destined end without -impatience and without fear. It is a fatalistic mosque, and is -impressive, like a fatalistic man. The great court of it, three hundred -feet square, with pointed arches supported by piers, double, and on the -side looking toward Mecca quintuple arcades, has a great dignity of -somber simplicity. Not grace, not a light elegance or soaring beauty, -but massiveness and heavy strength are the distinguishing features of -this mosque. Even the octagonal basin and its protecting cupola that -stand in the middle of the court lack the charm that belongs to so many -of the fountains of Cairo. There are two minarets, the minaret of the -bird, and a larger one, approached by a big stairway up which, so my -dragoman told me, a Sultan whose name I have forgotten loved to ride his -favorite horse. Upon the summit of this minaret I stood for a long time, -looking down over the city. - -Gray it was that morning, almost as London is gray; but the sounds that -came up softly to my ears out of the mist were not the sounds of London. -Those many minarets, almost like columns of fog rising above the -cupolas, spoke to me of the East even upon this sad and sunless morning. -Once from where I was standing at the time appointed went forth the call -to prayer, and in the barren court beneath me there were crowds of -ardent worshipers. Stern men paced upon the huge terrace just at my feet -fingering their beads, and under that heavy cupola were made the long -ablutions of the faithful. But now no man comes to this old place, no -murmur to God disturbs the heavy silence. And the silence, and the -emptiness, and the grayness under the long arcades, all seem to make a -tremulous proclamation; all seem to whisper, “I am very old, I am -useless, I cumber the earth.” Even the mosque of Amru, which stands also -on ground that looks gone to waste, near dingy and squat houses built -with gray bricks, seems less old than this mosque of Ibn-Tulun. For its -long façade is striped with white and apricot, and there are -lebbek-trees growing in its court near the two columns between which if -you can pass you are assured of heaven. But the mosque of Ibn-Tulun, -seen upon a sad day, makes a powerful impression, and from the summit of -its minaret you are summoned by the many minarets of Cairo to make the -pilgrimage of the mosques, to pass from the “broken arches” of these -Saracenic cloisters to the “Blue Mosque,” the “Red Mosque,” the mosques -of Mohammed Ali, of Sultan Hassan, of Kait Bey, of El-Azhar, and so on -to the Coptic church that is the silent center of “old Cairo.” It is -said that there are over four hundred mosques in Cairo. As I looked down -from the minaret of Ibn-Tulun, they called me through the mist that -blotted completely out all the surrounding country, as if it would -concentrate my attention upon the places of prayer during these holy -days when the pilgrims were crowding in to depart with the Holy Carpet. -And I went down by the staircase of the horse, and in the mist I made my -pilgrimage. - -As every one who visits Rome goes to St. Peter’s, so every one who -visits Cairo goes to the mosque of Mohammed Ali in the citadel, a -gorgeous building in a magnificent situation, the interior of which -always makes me think of court functions, and of the pomp of life, -rather than of prayer and self-denial. More attractive to me is the -“Blue Mosque,” to which I returned again and again, enticed almost as by -the fascination of the living blue of a summer sky. - -This mosque, which is the mosque of Ibrahim Aga, but which is familiarly -known to its lovers as the “Blue Mosque,” lies to the left of a -ramshackle street, and from the outside does not look specially -inviting. Even when I passed through its door, and stood in the court -beyond, at first I felt not its charm. All looked old and rough, unkempt -and in confusion. The red and white stripes of the walls and the arches -of the arcade, the mean little place for ablution,--a pipe and a row of -brass taps,--led the mind from a Neapolitan ice to a second-rate school, -and for a moment I thought of abruptly retiring and seeking more -splendid precincts. And then I looked across the court to the arcade -that lay beyond, and I saw the exquisite “love color” of the marvelous -tiles that gives this mosque its name. - -The huge pillars of this arcade are striped and ugly, but between them -shone, with an ineffable luster, a wall of purple and blue, of purple -and blue so strong and yet so delicate that it held the eyes and drew -the body forward. If ever color calls, it calls in the blue mosque of -Ibrahim Aga. And when I had crossed the court, when I stood beside the -pulpit, with its delicious, wooden folding-doors, and studied the tiles -of which this wonderful wall is composed, I found them as lovely near as -they are lovely far off. From a distance they resemble a nature effect, -are almost like a bit of Southern sea or of sky, a fragment of gleaming -Mediterranean seen through the pillars of a loggia, or of Sicilian blue -watching over Etna in the long summer days. When one is close to them, -they are a miracle of art. The background of them is a milky white upon -which is an elaborate pattern of purple and blue, generally conventional -and representative of no known object, but occasionally showing tall -trees somewhat resembling cypresses. But it is impossible in words -adequately to describe the effect of these tiles, and of the tiles that -line to the very roof the tomb-house on the right of the court. They are -like a cry of ecstasy going up in this otherwise not very beautiful -mosque; they make it unforgetable, they draw you back to it again and -yet again. On the darkest day of winter they set something of summer -there. In the saddest moment they proclaim the fact that there is joy in -the world, that there was joy in the hearts of creative artists years -upon years ago. If you are ever in Cairo, and sink into depression, go -to the “Blue Mosque” and see if it does not have upon you an uplifting -moral effect. And then, if you like, go on from it to the Gamia El -Movayad, sometimes called El Ahmar, “The Red,” where you will find -greater glories, though no greater fascination; for the tiles hold their -own among all the wonders of Cairo. - -Outside the “Red Mosque,” by its imposing and lofty wall, there is -always an assemblage of people, for prayers go up in this mosque, -ablutions are made there, and the floor of the arcade is often covered -with men studying the Koran, calmly meditating, or prostrating -themselves in prayer. And so there is a great coming and going up the -outside stairs and through the wonderful doorway: beggars crouch under -the wall of the terrace; the sellers of cakes, of syrups and lemon -water, and of the big and luscious watermelons that are so popular in -Cairo, display their wares beneath awnings of orange-colored sackcloth, -or in the full glare of the sun, and, their prayers comfortably -completed or perhaps not yet begun, the worshipers stand to gossip, or -sit to smoke their pipes, before going on their way into the city or the -mosque. There are noise and perpetual movement here. Stand for a while -to gain an impression from them before you mount the steps and pass into -the spacious peace beyond. - -Orientals must surely revel in contrasts. There is no tumult like the -tumult in certain of their marketplaces. There is no peace like the -peace in certain of their mosques. Even without the slippers carefully -tied over your boots you would walk softly, gingerly, in the mosque of -El Movayad, the mosque of the columns and the garden. For once within -the door you have taken wings and flown from the city, you are in a -haven where the most delicious calm seems floating like an atmosphere. -Through a lofty colonnade you come into the mosque, and find yourself -beneath a magnificently ornamental wooden roof, the general effect of -which is of deep brown and gold, though there are deftly introduced many -touches of very fine red and strong, luminous blue. The walls are -covered with gold and superb marbles, and there are many quotations from -the Koran in Arab lettering heavy with gold. The great doors are of -chiseled bronze and of wood. In the distance is a sultan’s tomb, -surmounted by a high and beautiful cupola, and pierced with windows of -jeweled glass. But the attraction of this place of prayer comes less -from its magnificence, from the shining of its gold, and the gleaming of -its many-colored marbles, than from its spaciousness, its airiness, its -still seclusion, and its garden. Mohammedans love fountains and shady -places, as can surely love them only those who carry in their minds a -remembrance of the desert. They love to have flowers blowing beside them -while they pray. And within the immensely high and crenelated walls of -this mosque long ago they set a fountain of pure-white marble, covered -it with a shelter of limestone, and planted trees and flowers about it. -There beneath palms and tall eucalyptus-trees even on this misty day of -the winter, roses were blooming, pinks scented the air, and great red -flowers, that looked like emblems of passion, stared upward almost -fiercely, as if searching for the sun. As I stood there among the -worshipers in the wide colonnade, near the exquisitely carved pulpit in -the shadow of which an old man who looked like Abraham was swaying to -and fro and whispering his prayers, I thought of Omar Khayyam and how he -would have loved this garden. But instead of water from the white marble -fountain, he would have desired a cup of wine to drink beneath the -boughs of the sheltering trees. And he could not have joined without -doubt or fear in the fervent devotions of the undoubting men, who came -here to steep their wills in the great will that flowed about them like -the ocean about little islets of the sea. - -From the “Red Mosque” I went to the great mosque of El-Azhar, to the -wonderful mosque of Sultan Hassan, which unfortunately was being -repaired and could not be properly seen, though the examination of the -old portal covered with silver, gold, and brass, the general color -effect of which is a delicious dull green, repaid me for my visit, and -to the exquisitely graceful tomb-mosque of Kait Bey, which is beyond the -city walls. But though I visited these, and many other mosques and -tombs, including the tombs of the Khalifas, and the extremely smart -modern tombs of the family of the present Khedive of Egypt, no building -dedicated to worship, or to the cult of the dead, left a more lasting -impression upon my mind than the Coptic church of Abu Sergius, or Abu -Sargah, which stands in the desolate and strangely antique quarter -called “Old Cairo.” Old indeed it seems, almost terribly old. Silent and -desolate is it, untouched by the vivid life of the rich and prosperous -Egypt of to-day, a place of sad dreams, a place of ghosts, a place of -living specters. I went to it alone. Any companion, however dreary, -would have tarnished the perfection of the impression old Cairo and its -Coptic church can give to the lonely traveler. - -I descended to a gigantic door of palmwood which was set in an old brick -arch. This door upon the outside was sheeted with iron. When it opened, -I left behind me the world I knew, the world that belongs to us of -to-day, with its animation, its impetus, its flashing changes, its -sweeping hurry and “go.” I stepped at once into, surely, some moldering -century long hidden in the dark womb of the forgotten past. The door of -palmwood closed, and I found myself in a sort of deserted town, of -narrow, empty streets, beetling archways, tall houses built of gray -bricks, which looked as if they had turned gradually gray, as hair does -on an aged head. Very, very tall were these houses. They all appeared -horribly, almost indecently, old. As I stood and stared at them, I -remembered a story of a Russian friend of mine, a landed proprietor, on -whose country estate dwelt a peasant woman who lived to be over a -hundred. Each year, when he came from Petersburg, this old woman arrived -to salute him. At last she was a hundred and four, and, when he left his -estate for the winter, she bade him good-by forever. For ever! But, lo! -the next year there she still was--one hundred and five years old, -deeply ashamed and full of apologies for being still alive. “I cannot -help it,” she said. “I ought no longer to be here, but it seems I do not -know anything. I do not know even how to die!” The gray, tall houses of -old Cairo do not know how to die. So there they stand, showing their -haggard façades, which are broken by protruding, worm-eaten, wooden -lattices not unlike the shaggy, protuberant eyebrows which sometimes -sprout above bleared eyes that have seen too much. No one looked out -from these lattices. Was there, could there be, any life behind them? -Did they conceal harems of centenarian women with wrinkled faces, and -corrugated necks and hands? Here and there drooped down a string -terminating in a lamp covered with minute dust, that wavered in the -wintry wind which stole tremulously between the houses. And the houses -seemed to be leaning forward, as if they were fain to touch each other -and leave no place for the wind, as if they would blot out the exiguous -alleys, so that no life should ever venture to stir through them again. -Did the eyes of the Virgin Mary, did the baby eyes of the Christ child, -ever gaze upon these buildings? One could almost believe it. One could -almost believe that already these buildings were there when, fleeing -from the wrath of Herod, Mother and Child sought the shelter of the -crypt of Abu Sargah. - -I went on, walking with precaution, and presently I saw a man. He was -sitting collapsed beneath an archway, and he looked older than the -world. He was clad in what seemed like a sort of cataract of -multicolored rags. An enormous white beard flowed down over his shrunken -breast. His face was a mass of yellow wrinkles. His eyes were closed. -His yellow fingers were twined about a wooden staff. Above his head was -drawn a patched hood. Was he alive or dead? I could not tell, and I -passed him on tiptoe. And going always with precaution between the tall, -gray houses and beneath the lowering arches, I came at last to the -Coptic church. - -Near it, in the street, were several Copts, large, fat, yellow-skinned, -apparently sleeping, in attitudes that made them look like bundles. I -woke one up, and asked to see the church. He stared, changed slowly from -a bundle to a standing man, went away and presently, returning with a -key and a pale, intelligent-looking youth, admitted me into one of the -strangest buildings it was ever my lot to enter. - -The average Coptic church is far less fascinating than the average -mosque, but the church of Abu Sargah is like no other church that I -visited in Egypt. Its aspect of hoary age makes it strangely, almost -thrillingly impressive. Now and then, in going about the world, one -comes across a human being, like the white-bearded man beneath the arch, -who might be a thousand years old, two thousand, anything, whose -appearance suggests that he or she, perhaps, was of the company which -was driven out of Eden, but that the expulsion was not recorded. And now -and then one happens upon a building that creates the same impression. -Such a building is this church. It is known and recorded that more than -a thousand years ago it had a patriarch whose name was Shenuti; but it -is supposed to have been built long before that time, and parts of it -look as if they had been set up at the very beginning of things. The -walls are dingy and whitewashed. The wooden roof is peaked, with many -cross-beams. High up on the walls are several small square lattices of -wood. The floor is of discolored stone. Everywhere one sees wood -wrought into lattices, crumbling carpets that look almost as frail and -brittle and fatigued as wrappings of mummies, and worn-out matting that -would surely become as the dust if one set his feet hard upon it. The -structure of the building is basilican, and it contains some strange -carvings of the Last Supper, the Nativity, and St. Demetrius. Around the -nave there are monolithic columns of white marble, and one column of the -red and shining granite that is found in such quantities at Assuan. -There are three altars in three chapels facing toward the East. Coptic -monks and nuns are renowned for their austerity of life, and their -almost fierce zeal in fasting and in prayer, and in Coptic churches the -services are sometimes so long that the worshipers, who are almost -perpetually standing, use crutches for their support. In their churches -there always seems to me to be a cold and austere atmosphere, far -different from the atmosphere of the mosques or of any Roman Catholic -church. It sometimes rather repels me, and generally makes me feel -either dull or sad. But in this immensely old church of Abu Sargah the -atmosphere of melancholy aids the imagination. - -In Coptic churches there is generally a great deal of woodwork made into -lattices, and into the screens which mark the divisions, usually four, -but occasionally five, which each church contains, and which are set -apart for the altar, for the priests, singers, and ministrants, for the -male portion of the congregation, and for the women, who sit by -themselves. These divisions, so different from the wide spaciousness and -airiness of the mosques, where only pillars and columns partly break up -the perspective, give to Coptic buildings an air of secrecy and of -mystery, which, however, is often rather repellent than alluring. In the -high wooden lattices there are narrow doors, and in the division which -contains the altar the door is concealed by a curtain embroidered with a -large cross. The Mohammedans who created the mosques showed marvelous -taste. Copts are often lacking in taste, as they have proved here and -there in Abu Sargah. Above one curious and unlatticed screen, near to a -matted dais, droops a hideous banner, red, purple, and yellow, with a -white cross. Peeping in, through an oblong aperture, one see a sort of -minute circus, in the form of a half-moon, containing a table with an -ugly red-and-white striped cloth. There the Eucharist, which must be -preceded by confession, is celebrated. The pulpit is of rosewood, inlaid -with ivory and ebony, and in what is called the “haikal-screen” there -are some fine specimens of carved ebony. - -As I wandered about over the tattered carpets and the crumbling matting, -under the peaked roof, as I looked up at the flat-roofed galleries, or -examined the sculptures and ivory mosaics that, bleared by the passing -of centuries, seemed to be fading away under my very eyes, as upon every -side I was confronted by the hoary wooden lattices in which the dust -found a home and rested undisturbed, and as I thought of the narrow -alleys of gray and silent dwellings through which I had come to this -strange and melancholy “Temple of the Father,” I seemed to feel upon my -breast the weight of the years that had passed since pious hands erected -this home of prayer in which now no one was praying. But I had yet to -receive another and a deeper impression of solemnity and heavy silence. -By a staircase I descended to the crypt, which lies beneath the choir of -the church, and there, surrounded by columns of venerable marble, beside -an altar, I stood on the very spot where, according to tradition, the -Virgin Mary soothed the Christ child to sleep in the dark night. And, as -I stood there, I felt that the tradition was a true one, and that there -indeed had stayed the wondrous Child and the Holy Mother long, how long, -ago. - -The pale, intelligent Coptic youth, who had followed me everywhere, and -who now stood like a statue gazing upon me with his lustrous eyes, -murmured in English, “This very good place; this most interestin’ place -in Cairo.” - -Certainly it is a place one can never forget. For it holds in its dusty -arms--what? Something impalpable, something ineffable, something strange -as death, spectral, cold, yet exciting, something that seems to creep -into it out of the distant past and to whisper: “I am here. I am not -utterly dead. Still I have a voice and can murmur to you, eyes and can -regard you, a soul and can, if only for a moment, be your companion in -this sad, yet sacred, place.” - -Contrast is the salt, the pepper, too, of life, and one of the great -joys of travel is that at will one can command contrast. From silence -one can plunge into noise, from stillness one can hasten to movement, -from the strangeness and the wonder of the antique past one can step -into the brilliance, the gaiety, the vivid animation of the present. -From Babylon one can go to Bulak; and on to Bab Zouweleh, with its -crying children, its veiled women, its cake-sellers, its fruiterers, its -turbaned Ethiopians, its black Nubians, and almost fair Egyptians; one -can visit the bazaars, or on a market morning spend an hour at -Shareh-el-Gamaleyeh, watching the disdainful camels pass, soft-footed, -along the shadowy streets, and the flat-nosed African negroes, with -their almost purple-black skins, their bulging eyes, in which yellow -lights are caught, and their huge hands with turned-back thumbs, count -their gains, or yell their disappointment over a bargain from which they -have come out not victors, but vanquished. If in Cairo there are -melancholy, and silence, and antiquity, in Cairo may be found also -places of intense animation, of almost frantic bustle, of uproar that -cries to heaven. To Bulak still come the high-prowed boats of the Nile, -with striped sails bellying before a fair wind, to unload their -merchandise. From the Delta they bring thousands of panniers of fruit, -and from Upper Egypt and from Nubia all manner of strange and precious -things which are absorbed into the great bazaars of the city, and are -sold to many a traveler at prices which, to put it mildly, bring to the -sellers a good return. For in Egypt if one leaves his heart, he leaves -also not seldom his skin. The goblin men of the great goblin market of -Cairo take all, and remain unsatisfied and calling for more. I said, in -a former chapter, that no fierce demands for money fell upon my ears. -But I confess, when I said it, that I had forgotten certain bazaars of -Cairo. - -But what matters it? He who has drunk Nile water must return. The golden -country calls him; the mosques with their marble columns, their blue -tiles, their stern-faced worshipers; the narrow streets with their tall -houses, their latticed windows, their peeping eyes looking down on the -life that flows beneath and can never be truly tasted; the Pyramids with -their bases in the sand and their pointed summits somewhere near the -stars; the Sphinx with its face that is like the enigma of human life; -the great river that flows by the tombs and the temples; the great -desert that girdles it with a golden girdle. - -Egypt calls--even across the space of the world; and across the space of -the world he who knows it is ready to come, obedient to its summons, -because in thrall to the eternal fascination of the “land of sand, and -ruins, and gold”; the land of the charmèd serpent, the land of the -afterglow, that may fade away from the sky above the mountains of Libya, -but that fades never from the memory of one who has seen it from the -base of some great column, or the top of some mighty pylon; the land -that has a spell--wonderful, beautiful Egypt. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EGYPT AND ITS MONUMENTS *** - -***** This file should be named 63737-0.txt or 63737-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/7/3/63737/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/63737-0.zip b/old/63737-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 90d7af7..0000000 --- a/old/63737-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/63737-h.zip b/old/63737-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f1b47b9..0000000 --- a/old/63737-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/63737-h/63737-h.htm b/old/63737-h/63737-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 3a8129f..0000000 --- a/old/63737-h/63737-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5043 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" -"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> - <head> <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> -<title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Egypt And Its Monuments, by Robert Hichens. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - -body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.caption {font-weight:normal;} -.caption p{font-size:85%;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -p.cpsml {font-size:60%;margin-left:30%;} - -.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} - -.figcenter {margin:3% auto 3% auto;clear:both; -text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - @media handheld, print - {.figcenter - {page-break-before: avoid;} - } - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-weight:normal;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - img {border:none;} - -.letra {font-size:250%;float:left;margin-top:-1%;} - @media print, handheld - { .letra - {font-size:250%;padding:0%;} - } - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - -.nonvis {display:inline;} - @media print, handheld - {.nonvis - {display: none;} - } - - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } - -.rt {text-align:right;} - -small {font-size: 70%;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - -table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - -th {padding-top:1em;padding-bottom:.5em;} - -td.tsml {font-size:80%;padding-left:2em;padding-bottom:1em;} - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -</style> - </head> -<body> -<pre style='margin-bottom:6em;'>The Project Gutenberg EBook of Egypt and its Monuments, by Robert Hichens - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: Egypt and its Monuments - -Author: Robert Hichens - Jules Guérin - -Release Date: November 14, 2020 [EBook #63737] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Chuck Greif & The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EGYPT AND ITS MONUMENTS *** -</pre><hr class="full" /> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="[Image of -the book's cover unavailable.]" height="550" /></a> -</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border: 2px black solid;margin:auto auto;max-width:50%; -padding:1%;"> -<tr><td> - -<p class="c"><a href="#CONTENTS">Contents.</a></p> -<p class="c"><a href="#LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">List of Illustrations</a><br /> <span class="nonvis">(In certain versions of this etext [in certain browsers] -clicking on the image will bring up a larger version.)</span></p> - -<p class="c">(etext transcriber's note)</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i">{i}</a></span> </p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii">{ii}</a></span> </p> - -<h1>EGYPT AND ITS MONUMENTS</h1> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_001" id="ill_001"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_frontis.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE SPHINX</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii">{iii}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<a href="images/i_title.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_title.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -</div> - -<h1> -E G Y P T<br /><small> -AND ITS MONUMENTS</small></h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -ROBERT HICHENS<br /> -<br /><small> -ILLUSTRATED BY</small><br /> -<br /> -JULES GUÉRIN<br /> -<br /> -<small>AND WITH PHOTOGRAPHS</small><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -NEW YORK<br /> -THE CENTURY CO.<br /> -1923<br /></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv">{iv}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c"> -Copyright, 1908, by<br /> -<span class="smcap">The Century Co.</span><br /> -——<br /> -<i>Published October, 1908</i><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<i>Printed in U. S. A.</i><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v">{v}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#I">I</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#I">THE PYRAMIDS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_5">5</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#II">II</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#II">THE SPHINX</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_18">18</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#III">III</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#III">SAKKARA</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_28">28</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#IV">IV</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#IV">ABYDOS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_37">37</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#V">V</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#V">THE NILE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_46">46</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#VI">VI</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#VI">DENDERAH</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_52">52</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#VII">VII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#VII">KARNAK</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_66">66</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#VIII">VIII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#VIII">LUXOR</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_88">88</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#IX">IX</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#IX">COLOSSI OF MEMNON</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_107">107</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#X">X</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#X">MEDINET-ABU</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_120">120</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#XI">XI</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span> -<a href="#XI">THE RAMESSEUM</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_132">132</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#XII">XII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#XII">DEIR-EL-BAHARI</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_148">148</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#XIII">XIII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#XIII">THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_166">166</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#XIV">XIV</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#XIV">EDFU</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_174">174</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#XV">XV</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#XV">KOM OMBOS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_196">196</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#XVI">XVI</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#XVII">PHILÆ</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_212">212</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#XVII">XVII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="2"><a href="#XVII">“PHARAOH’S BED”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_228">228</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2"><a href="#XVIII">XVIII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#XVIII">OLD CAIRO</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_252">252</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span> -<a href="#ill_001">The Sphinx</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#ill_001"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_002">The Pyramids of Ghizeh</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_4">4</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_003">From the summit of the Great Pyramid</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_004">Looking down the main passage of the Great Pyramid</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_11">11</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_005">The Pyramids of Ghizeh</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_16">16</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_006">The Sphinx</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_20">20</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_007">The Sphinx and the Second Pyramid</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_25">25</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_008">The Step Pyramid of Sakkara</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_29">29</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_009">Entrance to the Tomb of Thi</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_34">34</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_010">Temple of Seti I, Abydos</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_011">The Great Hall of Abydos</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_44">44</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_012">Village on the site of Ancient Memphis</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_48">48</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_013">On the Roof of the Temple of Hathor, Denderah</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_53">53</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_014">The Temple of Hathor, Denderah</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_57">57</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_015">Figures of Cleopatra and her son Cæsarion on the wall of the Temple of Hathor</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_62">62</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_016">Interior, Temple of Khuns, Karnak</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_67">67</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_017">The Great Temple of Karnak</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_72">72</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_018">The Sacred Lotus in the Temple at Karnak</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_76">76</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_019">Entrance to Temple of Rameses III, Karnak</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_81">81</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_020">The Sacred Lake, Karnak</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_85">85</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_021">The Temple of Luxor from the easterly Pylon</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_90">90</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_022">The Court of Amenhotep III, Temple of Luxor</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_93">93</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_023">In the Temple of Luxor</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_97">97</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_024">Obelisk and Pylon, Luxor</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_102">102</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_025">The Great Colonnade, Temple of Luxor</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_105">105</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_026">Near view of the Colossi of Memnon</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_109">109</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_027">The Colossi of Memnon</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_114">114</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_028">The Valley of the Tombs of the Kings</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_117">117</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_029">The Temple of Medinet-Abu</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_122">122</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_030">Corner of Second Court, Temple of Rameses III, Medinet-Abu</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_125">125</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_031">The Ramesseum</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_129">129</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span><a href="#ill_032"> -“The Thinking Place of Rameses the Great.” Hall of Lotus Columns, Ramesseum</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_133">133</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_033">The Plain of Thebes from the roof of the Ramesseum</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_137">137</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_034">Hall of Lotus Columns, Ramesseum</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_141">141</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_035">Pilasters and broken colossal statue of Rameses II</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_146">146</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_036">The Temple of Queen Hatasu, Deir-el-Bahari</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_149">149</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_037">Recent excavations at Deir-el-Bahari</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_153">153</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_038">“The half-naked workmen toiling and sweating in the sun”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_157">157</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_039">The Vache Hathor of Denderah</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_162">162</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_040">Painted tomb chamber of Prince Sen-nofer, Thebes</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_167">167</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_041">Temple of Esneh</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_171">171</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_042">Prayer in the Desert</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_175">175</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_043">The Temple of Edfu</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_180">180</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_044">Pylon, Temple of Edfu</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_183">183</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_045">The Temple of Edfu from the top of the Pylon</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_190">190</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_046">The Court, Temple of Edfu</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_193">193</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_047">Hypostyle Hall, Kôm Ombos</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_197">197</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_048">The Temple of Kôm Ombos</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_201">201</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x">{x}</a></span><a href="#ill_049"> -Temple of Kôm Ombos. Screen wall of Hypostyle Hall</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_206">206</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_050">The Island of Elephantine, from Assuan</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_210">210</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_051">The Isle of Philæ before the construction of the dam</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_213">213</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_052">The Sacred Isle of Philæ</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_217">217</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_053">The Temple of Isis, Philæ</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_222">222</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_054">Nearly submerged columns, Isle of Philæ</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_225">225</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_055">Pharaoh’s Bed, before the construction of the dam</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_229">229</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_056">“Pharaoh’s Bed,” Island of Philæ</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_233">233</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_057">In “Pharaoh’s Bed,” Island of Philæ</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_238">238</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_058">Fore-court of the Temple of Isis and “Pharaoh’s Bed,” Philæ</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_241">241</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_059">Abu-Simbel</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_245">245</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">Painted by Jules Guérin.</td></tr> - -<tr><td><a href="#ill_060">Abu-Simbel, from the river</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_249">249</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="tsml">From a Photograph.</td></tr> - -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></p> - -<p class="c">E G Y P T<br /><br /> -AND ITS MONUMENTS</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_002" id="ill_002"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_004_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_004_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by Bonfils of Beirut<br /> -</p> - -<p>THE PYRAMIDS OF GHIZEH</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span></p> - -<h1>EGYPT AND ITS<br /> MONUMENTS</h1> - -<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I<br /><br /> -THE PYRAMIDS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HY do you come to Egypt? Do you come to gain a dream, or to regain lost -dreams of old; to gild your life with the drowsy gold of romance, to -lose a creeping sorrow, to forget that too many of your hours are -sullen, gray, bereft? What do you wish of Egypt?</p> - -<p>The Sphinx will not ask you, will not care. The Pyramids, lifting their -unnumbered stones to the clear and wonderful skies, have held, still -hold, their secrets; but they do not seek for yours. The terrific -temples, the hot, mysterious tombs, odorous of the dead desires of men, -crouching in and under the immeasurable sands, will mock you with their -brooding silence, with their dim and somber repose. The brown children -of the Nile, the toilers who sing their antique songs by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> shadoof -and the sakieh, the dragomans, the smiling goblin merchants, the -Bedouins who lead your camel into the pale recesses of the dunes—these -will not trouble themselves about your deep desires, your perhaps -yearning hunger of the heart and the imagination.</p> - -<p>Yet Egypt is not unresponsive.</p> - -<p>I came back to her with dread, after fourteen years of absence—years -filled for me with the rumors of her changes. And on the very day of my -arrival she calmly reassured me. She told me in her supremely magical -way that all was well with her. She taught me once more a lesson I had -not quite forgotten, but that I was glad to learn again—the lesson that -Egypt owes her most subtle, most inner beauty to Kheper, although she -owes her marvels to men; that when he created the sun which shines upon -her, he gave her the luster of her life, and that those who come to her -must be sun-worshipers if they would truly and intimately understand the -treasure of romance that lies heaped within her bosom.</p> - -<p>Thoth, says the old legend, traveled in the Boat of the Sun. If you -would love Egypt rightly, you, too, must be a traveler in that bark. You -must not fear to steep yourself in the mystery of gold, in the mystery -of heat, in the mystery of silence that seems softly showered out of the -sun. The sacred white lotus must be your emblem, and Horus, the -hawk-headed, merged in Ra, your special deity. Scarcely had I set foot -once<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_003" id="ill_003"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_007_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_007_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1902, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE GREAT PYRAMID</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">more in Egypt before Thoth lifted me into the Boat of the Sun and -soothed my fears to sleep.</p> - -<p>I arrived in Cairo. I saw new and vast hotels; I saw crowded streets; -brilliant shops; English officials driving importantly in victorias, -surely to pay dreadful calls of ceremony; women in gigantic hats, with -Niagaras of veil, waving white gloves as they talked of—I guessed—the -latest Cairene scandal. I perceived on the right hand and on the left -waiters created in Switzerland, hall porters made in Germany, Levantine -touts, determined Jews holding false antiquities in their lean fingers, -an English Baptist minister, in a white helmet, drinking chocolate on a -terrace, with a guide-book in one fist, a ticket to visit monuments in -the other. I heard Scottish soldiers playing, “I’ll be in Scotland -before ye!” and something within me, a lurking hope, I suppose, seemed -to founder and collapse—but only for a moment. It was after four in the -afternoon. Soon day would be declining. And I seemed to remember that -the decline of day in Egypt had moved me long ago—moved me as few, rare -things have ever done. Within half an hour I was alone, far up the long -road—Ismail’s road—that leads from the suburbs of Cairo to the -Pyramids. And then Egypt took me like a child by the hand and reassured -me.</p> - -<p>It was the first week of November, high Nile had not subsided, and all -the land here, between the river and the sand where the Sphinx keeps -watch, was hidden<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> beneath the vast and tranquil waters of what seemed a -tideless sea—a sea fringed with dense masses of date-palms, girdled in -the far distance by palm-trees that looked almost black, broken by low -and tiny islands on which palm-trees kept the white and the brown houses -in their feathery embrace. Above these isolated houses pigeons circled. -In the distance the lateen sails of boats glided, sometimes behind the -palms, coming into view, vanishing, mysteriously reappearing among their -narrow trunks. Here and there a living thing moved slowly, wading -homeward through this sea: a camel from the sands of Ghizeh, a buffalo, -two donkeys, followed by boys who held with brown hands their dark blue -skirts near their faces, a Bedouin leaning forward upon the neck of his -quickly stepping horse. At one moment I seemed to look upon the lagoons -of Venice, a watery vision full of a glassy calm. Then the palm-trees in -the water, and growing to its edge, the pale sands that, far as the eyes -could see, from Ghizeh to Sakkara and beyond, fringed it toward the -west, made me think of the Pacific, of palmy islands of a paradise where -men grow drowsy in well-being, and dream away the years. And then I -looked still farther, beyond the pallid line of the sands, and I saw a -Pyramid of gold, the wonder Khufu had built. As a golden wonder it -saluted me after all my years of absence. Later I was to see it gray as -gray sands, sulphur color in the afternoon from very near at hand,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_004" id="ill_004"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_011_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_011_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>LOOKING DOWN THE MAIN PASSAGE OF THE GREAT PYRAMID</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">black as a monument draped in funereal velvet for a mourning under the -stars at night, white as a monstrous marble tomb soon after dawn from -the sand-dunes between it and Sakkara. But as a golden thing it greeted -me, as a golden miracle I shall remember it.</p> - -<p>Slowly the sun went down. The second Pyramid seemed also made of gold. -Drowsily splendid it and its greater brother looked set on the golden -sands beneath the golden sky. And now the gold came traveling down from -the desert to the water, turning it surely to a wine like the wine of -gold that flowed down Midas’s throat; then, as the magic grew, to a -Pactolus, and at last to a great surface that resembled golden ice, -hard, glittering, unbroken by any ruffling wave. The islands rising from -this golden ice were jet black, the houses black, the palms and their -shadows that fell upon the marvel black. Black were the birds that flew -low from roof to roof, black the wading camels, black the meeting leaves -of the tall lebbek-trees that formed a tunnel from where I stood to Mena -House. And presently a huge black Pyramid lay supine on the gold, and -near it a shadowy brother seemed more humble than it, but scarcely less -mysterious. The gold deepened, glowed more fiercely. In the sky above -the Pyramids hung tiny cloud wreaths of rose red, delicate and airy as -the gossamers of Tunis. As I turned, far off in Cairo I saw the first -lights glittering across the fields of doura, silvery white, like -diamonds. But the silver did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> call me. My imagination was held -captive by the gold. I was summoned by the gold, and I went on, under -the black lebbek-trees, on Ismail’s road, toward it. And I dwelt in it -many days.</p> - -<p>The wonders of Egypt man has made seem to increase in stature before the -spirits’ eyes as man learns to know them better, to tower up ever higher -till the imagination is almost stricken by their looming greatness. -Climb the great Pyramid, spend a day with Abou on its summit, come down, -penetrate into its recesses, stand in the king’s chamber, listen to the -silence there, feel it with your hands,—is it not tangible in this hot -fastness of incorruptible death?—creep, like the surreptitious midget -you feel yourself to be, up those long and steep inclines of polished -stone, watching the bloomy darkness of the narrow walls, the far-off -pinpoint of light borne by the Bedouin who guides you, hear the twitter -of the bats that have their dwelling in this monstrous gloom that man -has made to shelter the thing whose ambition could never be embalmed, -though that, of all its qualities, should have been given here, in the -land it dowered, a life perpetual. Now you know the great Pyramid. You -know that you can climb it, that you can enter it. You have seen it from -all sides, under all aspects. It is familiar to you.</p> - -<p>No, it can never be that. With its more wonderful comrade, the Sphinx, -it has the power peculiar, so it seems to me, to certain of the rock and -stone monuments</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_005" id="ill_005"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_016_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_016_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE PYRAMIDS OF GHIZEH</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">of Egypt, of holding itself ever aloof, almost like the soul of man -which can retreat at will, like the Bedouin retreating from you into the -blackness of the Pyramid, far up, or far down, where the pursuing -stranger, unaided, cannot follow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II<br /><br /> -THE SPHINX</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>NE day at sunset I saw a bird trying to play with the Sphinx—a bird -like a swallow, but with a ruddy brown on its breast, a gleam of blue -somewhere on its wings. When I came to the edge of the sand basin where -perhaps Khufu saw it lying nearly four thousand years before the birth -of Christ, the Sphinx and the bird were quite alone. The bird flew near -the Sphinx, whimsically turning this way and that, flying now low, now -high, but ever returning to the magnet which drew it, which held it, -from which it surely longed to extract some sign of recognition. It -twittered, it poised itself in the golden air, with its bright eyes -fixed upon those eyes of stone which gazed beyond it, beyond the land of -Egypt, beyond the world of men, beyond the center of the sun to the last -verges of eternity. And presently it alighted on the head of the Sphinx, -then on its ear, then on its breast; and over the breast it tripped -jerkily, with tiny, elastic steps, looking upward, its whole body -quivering apparently with a desire for comprehension—a desire for some -manifestation of friendship. Then suddenly it spread its wings</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_006" id="ill_006"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_020_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_020_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE SPHINX</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">and, straight as an arrow, it flew away over the sands and the waters -toward the doura-fields and Cairo.</p> - -<p>And the sunset waned, and the afterglow flamed and faded, and the clear, -soft African night fell. The pilgrims who day by day visit the Sphinx, -like the bird, had gone back to Cairo. They had come, as the bird had -come; as those who have conquered Egypt came; as the Greeks came, -Alexander of Macedon, and the Ptolemies; as the Romans came; as the -Mamelukes, the Turks, the French, the English came.</p> - -<p>They had come—and gone.</p> - -<p>And that enormous face, with the stains of stormy red still adhering to -its cheeks, grew dark as the darkness closed in, turned brown as a -fellah’s face, as the face of that fellah who whispered his secret in -the Sphinx’s ear, but learnt no secret in return; turned black almost as -a Nubian’s face. The night accentuated its appearance of terrible -repose, of superhuman indifference to whatever might befall. In the -night I seemed to hear the footsteps of the dead—of all the dead -warriors and the steeds they rode, defiling over the sand before the -unconquerable thing they perhaps thought that they had conquered. At -last the footsteps died away. There was a silence. Then, coming down -from the Great Pyramid, surely I heard the light patter of a donkey’s -feet. They went to the Sphinx and ceased. The silence was profound. And -I remembered the legend that Mary, Joseph, and the Holy Child once<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> -halted here on their long journey, and that Mary laid the tired Christ -between the paws of the Sphinx to sleep. Yet even of the Christ the soul -within that body could take no heed at all.</p> - -<p>It is, I think, one of the most astounding facts in the history of man -that a man was able to contain within his mind, to conceive, the -conception of the Sphinx. That he could carry it out in the stone is -amazing. But how much more amazing it is that before there was the -Sphinx he was able to see it with his imagination! One may criticize the -Sphinx. One may say impertinent things that are true about it: that seen -from behind at a distance its head looks like an enormous mushroom -growing in the sand, that its cheeks are swelled inordinately, that its -thick-lipped mouth is legal, that from certain places it bears a -resemblance to a prize bulldog. All this does not matter at all. What -does matter is that into the conception and execution of the Sphinx has -been poured a supreme imaginative power. He who created it looked beyond -Egypt, beyond the life of man. He grasped the conception of Eternity, -and realized the nothingness of Time, and he rendered it in stone.</p> - -<p>I can imagine the most determined atheist looking at the Sphinx and, in -a flash, not merely believing, but feeling that he had before him proof -of the life of the soul beyond the grave, of the life of the soul of -Khufu beyond the tomb of his Pyramid. Always as you re<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span>turn to the -Sphinx you wonder at it more, you adore more strangely its repose, you -steep yourself more intimately in the aloof peace that seems to emanate -from it as light emanates from the sun. And as you look on it at last -perhaps you understand the infinite; you understand where is the bourne -to which the finite flows with all its greatness, as the great Nile -flows from beyond Victoria Nyanza to the sea.</p> - -<p>And as the wonder of the Sphinx takes possession of you gradually, so -gradually do you learn to feel the majesty of the Pyramids of Ghizeh. -Unlike the Step Pyramid of Sakkara, which, even when one is near it, -looks like a small mountain, part of the land on which it rests; the -Pyramids of Ghizeh look what they are—artificial excrescences, invented -and carried out by man, expressions of man’s greatness. Exquisite as -they are as features of the drowsy golden landscape at the setting of -the sun, I think they look most wonderful at night, when they are black -beneath the stars. On many nights I have sat in the sand at a distance -and looked at them, and always, and increasingly, they have stirred my -imagination. Their profound calm, their classical simplicity, are -greatly emphasized when no detail can be seen, when they are but black -shapes towering to the stars. They seem to aspire then like prayers -prayed by one who has said, “God does not need my prayers, but I need -them.” In their simplicity they suggest a crowd of thoughts, and of -desires. Guy de Maupassant<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> has said that of all the arts architecture -is perhaps the most esthetic, the most mysterious, and the most -nourished by ideas. How true this is you feel as you look at the Great -Pyramid by night. It seems to breathe out mystery. The immense base -recalls to you the labyrinth within; the long descent from the tiny slit -that gives you entrance, your uncertain steps in its hot, eternal night, -your falls on the ice-like surfaces of its polished blocks of stone, the -crushing weight that seemed to lie on your heart as you stole -uncertainly on, summoned almost as by the desert; your sensation of -being forever imprisoned, taken and hidden by a monster from Egypt’s -wonderful light, as you stood in the central chamber, and realized the -stone ocean into whose depths, like some intrepid diver, you had dared -deliberately to come. And then your eyes travel up the slowly shrinking -walls till they reach the dark point which is the top. There you stood -with Abou, who spends half his life on the highest stone, hostages of -the sun, bathed in light and air that perhaps came to you from the Gold -Coast. And you saw men and camels like flies, and Cairo like a gray -blur, and the Mokattam hills almost as a higher ridge of the sands. The -mosque of Mohammed Ali was like a cup turned over. Far below slept the -dead in that graveyard of the Sphinx, with its pale stones, its sand, -its palm, its “Sycamores of the South,” once worshiped and regarded as -Hathor’s living body. And beyond them on one side<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_007" id="ill_007"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_025_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_025_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>THE SPHINX AND THE SECOND PYRAMID</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">were the sleeping waters, with islands small, surely, as delicate -Egyptian hands, and on the other the great desert that stretches, so the -Bedouins say, on and on “for a march of a thousand days.”</p> - -<p>That base and that summit—what suggestion and what mystery in their -contrast! What sober, eternal beauty in the dark line which unites them, -now sharply, yet softly, defined against the night, which is purple as -the one garment of the fellah! That line leads the soul irresistibly -from earth to the stars.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III<br /><br /> -SAKKARA</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was the “Little Christmas” of the Egyptians as I rode to Sakkara, -after seeing a wonderful feat, the ascent and descent of the second -Pyramid in nineteen minutes by a young Bedouin called Mohammed Ali, who -very seriously informed me that the only Roumi who had ever reached the -top was an “American gentlemens” called Mark Twain, on his first visit -to Egypt. On his second visit, Ali said, Mr. Twain had a bad foot, and -declared he could not be bothered with the second Pyramid. He had been -up and down it once without a guide; he had disturbed the jackal which -lives near its summit, and which I saw running in the sunshine as Ali -drew near its lair, and he was satisfied to rest on his immortal -laurels. To the Bedouins of the Pyramids Mark Twain’s world-wide -celebrity is owing to one fact alone: he is the only Roumi who has -climbed the second Pyramid. That is why his name is known to every one.</p> - -<p>It was the “Little Christmas,” and from the villages in the plain the -Egyptians came pouring out to visit<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_008" id="ill_008"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_029_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_029_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE STEP PYRAMID OF SAKKARA</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">their dead in the desert cemeteries as I passed by to visit the dead in -the tombs far off on the horizon. Women, swathed in black, gathered in -groups and jumped monotonously up and down, to the accompaniment of -stained hands clapping, and strange and weary songs. Tiny children blew -furiously into tin trumpets, emitting sounds that were terribly -European. Men strode seriously by, or stood in knots among the graves, -talking vivaciously of the things of this life. As the sun rose higher -in the heavens, this visit to the dead became a carnival of the living. -Laughter and shrill cries of merriment betokened the resignation of the -mourners. The sand-dunes were black with running figures, racing, -leaping, chasing one another, rolling over and over in the warm and -golden grains. Some sat among the graves and ate. Some sang. Some -danced. I saw no one praying, after the sun was up. The Great Pyramid of -Ghizeh was transformed in this morning hour, and gleamed like a marble -mountain, or like the hill covered with salt at El-Outaya, in Algeria. -As we went on it sank down into the sands, until at last I could see -only a small section with its top, which looked almost as pointed as a -gigantic needle. Abou was there on the hot stones in the golden eye of -the sun—Abou who lives to respect his Pyramid, and to serve Turkish -coffee to those who are determined enough to climb it. Before me the -Step Pyramid rose, brown almost as bronze, out of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> sands here -desolate and pallid. Soon I was in the house of Marriette, between the -little sphinxes.</p> - -<p>Near Cairo, although the desert is real desert, it does not give, to me, -at any rate, the immense impression of naked sterility, of almost -brassy, sunbaked fierceness, which often strikes one in the Sahara to -the south of Algeria, where at midday one sometimes has a feeling of -being lost upon a waste of metal, gleaming, angry, tigerish in color. -Here, in Egypt, both the people and the desert seem gentler, safer, more -amiable. Yet these tombs of Sakkara are hidden in a desolation of the -sands, peculiarly blanched and mournful; and as you wander from tomb to -tomb, descending and ascending, stealing through great galleries beneath -the sands, creeping through tubes of stone, crouching almost on hands -and knees in the sultry chambers of the dead, the awfulness of the -passing away of dynasties and of races comes, like a cloud, upon your -spirit. But this cloud lifts and floats from you in the cheerful tomb of -Thi, that royal councilor, that scribe and confidant, whose life must -have been passed in a round of serene activities, amid a sneering, -though doubtless admiring, population.</p> - -<p>Into this tomb of white, vivacious figures, gay almost, though never -wholly frivolous, for these men were full of purpose, full of an ardor -that seduces even where it seems grotesque, I took with me a child of -ten called Ali, from the village of Kafiah; and as I looked</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_009" id="ill_009"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_034_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_034_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>ENTRANCE TO THE TOMB OF THI</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">from him to the walls around us, rather than the passing away of the -races, I realized the persistence of type. For everywhere I saw the face -of little Ali, with every feature exactly reproduced. Here he was -bending over a sacrifice, leading a sacred bull, feeding geese from a -cup, roasting a chicken, pulling a boat, carpentering, polishing, -conducting a monkey for a walk, or merely sitting bolt upright and -sneering. There were lines of little Alis with their hands held to their -breasts, their faces in profile, their knees rigid, in the happy tomb of -Thi; but he glanced at them unheeding, did not recognize his ancestors. -And he did not care to penetrate into the tombs of Mera and -Meri-Ra-ankh, into the Serapeum and the Mestaba of Ptah-hotep. Perhaps -he was right. The Serapeum is grand in its vastness, with its long and -high galleries and its mighty vaults containing the huge granite -sarcophagi of the sacred bulls of Apis; Mera, red and white, welcomes -you from an elevated niche benignly; Ptah-hotep, priest of the fifth -dynasty, receives you, seated at a table that resembles a rake with -long, yellow teeth standing on its handle, and drinking stiffly a cup of -wine. You see upon the wall near by, with sympathy, a patient being -plied by a naked and evidently an unyielding physician with medicine -from a jar that might have been visited by Morgiana, a musician playing -upon an instrument like a huge and stringless harp. But it is the happy -tomb of Thi that lingers in your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span> memory. In that tomb one sees -proclaimed with a marvelous ingenuity and expressiveness the joy and the -activity of life. Thi must have loved life; loved prayer and sacrifice, -loved sport and war, loved feasting and gaiety, labor of the hands and -of the head, loved the arts, the music of flute and harp, singing by the -lingering and plaintive voices which seem to express the essence of the -East, loved sweet odors, loved sweet women,—do we not see him sitting -to receive offerings with his wife beside him?—loved the clear nights -and the radiant days that in Egypt make glad the heart of man. He must -have loved the splendid gift of life, and used it completely. And so -little Ali did very right to make his sole obeisance at Thi’s delicious -tomb, from which death itself seems banished by the soft and embracing -radiance of the almost living walls.</p> - -<p>This delicate cheerfulness, a quite airy gaiety of life, is often -combined in Egypt, and most beautifully and happily combined, with -tremendous solidity, heavy impressiveness, a hugeness that is well-nigh -tragic; and it supplies a relief to eye, to mind, to soul, that is sweet -and refreshing as the trickle of a tarantella from a reed flute heard -under the shadows of a temple of Hercules. Life showers us with -contrasts. Art, which gives to us a second and a more withdrawn life, -opening to us a door through which we pass to our dreams, may well -imitate life in this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV<br /><br /> -ABYDOS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HROUGH a long and golden noontide, and on into an afternoon whose -opulence of warmth and light it seemed could never wane, I sat alone, or -wandered gently quite alone, in the Temple of Seti I at Abydos. Here -again I was in a place of the dead. In Egypt one ever seeks the dead in -the sunshine, black vaults in the land of the gold. But here in Abydos I -was companioned by whiteness. The general effect of Seti’s mighty temple -is that it is a white temple when seen in full sunshine and beneath a -sky of blinding blue. In an arid place it stands, just beyond an -Egyptian village that is a maze of dust, of children, of animals, and -flies. The last blind houses of the village, brown as brown paper, -confront it on a mound, and as I came toward it a girl-child swathed in -purple, with ear-rings, and a twist of orange handkerchief above her -eyes, full of cloud and fire, leaned from a roof, sinuously as a young -snake, to watch me. On each side, descending, were white, ruined walls, -stretched out like defaced white arms of the temple to receive me. I -stood still for a moment and looked at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> the narrow, severely simple -doorway, at the twelve broken columns advanced on either side, white and -grayish white with their right angles, their once painted figures now -almost wholly colorless.</p> - -<p>Here lay the Osirians, those blessed dead of the land of Egypt, who -worshiped the Judge of the Dead, the Lord of the Underworld, and who -hoped for immortality through him—Osiris, husband of Isis, Osiris, -receiver of prayers, Osiris the sun who will not be conquered by night, -but eternally rises again, and so is the symbol of the resurrection of -the soul. It is said that Set, the power of Evil, tore the body of -Osiris into fourteen fragments and scattered them over the land. But -multitudes of worshipers of Osiris believed him buried near Abydos and, -like those who loved the sweet songs of Hafiz, they desired to be buried -near him whom they adored; and so this place became a place of the dead, -a place of many prayers, a white place of many longings.</p> - -<p>I was glad to be alone there. The guardian left me in perfect peace. I -happily forgot him. I sat down in the shadow of a column upon its mighty -projecting base. The sky was blinding blue. Great bees hummed, like -bourdons, through the silence, deepening the almost heavy calm. These -columns, architraves, doorways, how mighty, how grandly strong they -were! And yet soon I began to be aware that even here, where surely one -should read only the Book of the Dead,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_010" id="ill_010"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_039_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_039_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York.<br /> -</p> - -<p>TEMPLE OF SETI I, ABYDOS</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">or bend down to the hot ground to listen if perchance one might hear the -dead themselves murmuring over the chapters of Beatification far down in -their hidden tombs, there was a lightness, a gentle gaiety of life, as -in the tomb of Thi. The effect of solidity was immense. These columns -bulged, almost like great fruits swollen out by their heady strength of -blood. They towered up in crowds. The heavy roof, broken in places most -mercifully to show squares and oblongs of that perfect, calling blue, -was like a frowning brow. And yet I was with grace, with gentleness, -with lightness, because in the place of the dead I was again with the -happy, living walls. Above me, on the roof, there was a gleam of palest -blue, like the blue I have sometimes seen at morning on the Ionian sea -just where it meets the shore. The double rows of gigantic columns -stretched away, tall almost as forest trees, to right of me and to left, -and were shut in by massive walls, strong as the walls of a fortress. -And on these columns, and on these walls, dead painters and gravers had -breathed the sweet breath of life. Here in the sun, for me alone, as it -seemed, a population followed their occupations. Men walked, and -kneeled, and stood, some white and clothed, some nude, some red as the -red man’s child that leaped beyond the sea. And here was the -lotus-flower held in reverent hands, not the rose-lotus, but the blossom -that typified the rising again of the sun, and that, worn as an amulet, -signified<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> the gift of eternal youth. And here was hawk-faced Horus, and -here a priest offering sacrifice to a god, belief in whom has long since -passed away. A king revealed himself to me, adoring Ptah, “Father of the -beginnings,” who established upon earth, my figures thought, the -everlasting justice, and again at the knees of Amen burning incense in -his honor. Isis and Osiris stood together, and sacrifice was made before -their sacred bark. And Seti worshiped them, and Seshta, goddess of -learning, wrote in the book of eternity the name of the king.</p> - -<p>The great bees hummed, moving slowly in the golden air among the mighty -columns, passing slowly among these records of lives long over, but -which seemed still to be. And I looked at the lotus-flowers which the -little grotesque hands were holding, had been holding for how many -years—the flowers that typified the rising again of the sun and the -divine gift of eternal youth. And I thought of the bird and the Sphinx, -the thing that was whimsical wooing, the thing that was mighty. And I -gazed at the immense columns and at the light and little figures all -about me. Bird and Sphinx, delicate whimsicality, calm and terrific -power! In Egypt the dead men have combined them, and the combination has -an irresistible fascination, weaves a spell that entrances you in the -sunshine and beneath the blinding blue. At Abydos I knew it. And I loved -the columns that seemed blown out with</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_011" id="ill_011"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_044_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_044_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE GREAT HALL OF ABYDOS</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">exuberant strength, and I loved the delicate white walls that, like the -lotus-flower, give to the world a youth that seems eternal—a youth that -is never frivolous, but that is full of the divine, and yet pathetic, -animation of happy life.</p> - -<p>The great bees hummed more drowsily. I sat quite still in the sun. And -then presently, moved by some prompting instinct, I turned my head, and, -far off, through the narrow portal of the temple, I saw the girl-child -swathed in purple still lying, sinuously as a young snake, upon the -palm-wood roof above the brown earth wall to watch me with her eyes of -cloud and fire.</p> - -<p>And upon me, like cloud and fire—cloud of the tombs and the great -temple columns, fire of the brilliant life painted and engraved upon -them, there stole the spell of Egypt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V<br /><br /> -THE NILE</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> DO not find in Egypt any more the strangeness that once amazed, and at -first almost bewildered me. Stranger far is Morocco, stranger the -country beyond Biskra, near Mogar, round Touggourt, even about El -Kantara. There I feel very far away, as a child feels distance from -dear, familiar things. I look to the horizon expectant of I know not -what magical occurrences, what mysteries. I am aware of the summons to -advance to marvelous lands, where marvelous things must happen. I am -taken by that sensation of almost trembling magic which came to me when -first I saw a mirage far out in the Sahara. But Egypt, though it -contains so many marvels, has no longer for me the marvelous atmosphere. -Its keynote is seductiveness.</p> - -<p>In Egypt one feels very safe. Smiling policemen in clothes of spotless -white—emblematic, surely, of their innocence!—seem to be everywhere, -standing calmly in the sun. Very gentle, very tender, although perhaps -not very true, are the Bedouin at the Pyramids. Up the Nile the -fellaheen smile as kindly as the policemen,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_012" id="ill_012"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_048_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_048_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by Bonfils of Beirut<br /> -</p> - -<p>VILLAGE ON THE SITE OF ANCIENT MEMPHIS</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">smile protectingly upon you, as if they would say, “Allah has placed us -here to take care of the confiding stranger.” No ferocious demands for -money fall upon my ears; only an occasional suggestion is subtly -conveyed to me that even the poor must live and that I am immensely -rich. An amiable, an almost enticing seductiveness seems emanating from -the fertile soil, shining in the golden air, gleaming softly in the -amber sands, dimpling in the brown, the mauve, the silver eddies of the -Nile. It steals upon one. It ripples over one. It laps one as if with -warm and scented waves. A sort of lustrous languor overtakes one. In -physical well-being one sinks down, and with wide eyes one gazes and -listens and enjoys, and thinks not of the morrow.</p> - -<p>The dahabiyeh—her very name, the <i>Loulia</i>, has a gentle, seductive, -cooing sound—drifts broadside to the current with furled sails, or -glides smoothly on before an amiable north wind with sails unfurled. -Upon the bloomy banks, rich brown in color, the brown men stoop, and -straighten themselves, and stoop again, and sing. The sun gleams on -their copper skins, which look polished and metallic. Crouched in his -net behind the drowsy oxen, the little boy circles the live-long day -with the sakieh. And the sakieh raises its wailing, wayward voice and -sings to the shadoof; and the shadoof sings to the sakieh; and the -lifted water falls and flows away into the green wilderness of doura<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span> -that, like a miniature forest, spreads on every hand to the low -mountains, which do not perturb the spirit, as do the iron mountains of -Algeria. And always the sun is shining, and the body is drinking in its -warmth, and the soul is drinking in its gold. And always the ears are -full of warm and drowsy and monotonous music. And always the eyes see -the lines of brown bodies, on the brown river-banks above the brown -waters, bending, straightening, bending, straightening, with an -exquisitely precise monotony. And always the <i>Loulia</i> seems to be -drifting, so quietly she slips up, or down, the level waterway.</p> - -<p>And one drifts, too; one can but drift, happily, sleepily, forgetting -every care. From Abydos to Denderah one drifts, and from Denderah to -Karnak, to Luxor, to all the marvels on the western shore; and on to -Edfu, to Kom Ombos, to Assuan, and perhaps even into Nubia, to -Abu-Simbel and to Wadi-Halfa. Life on the Nile is a long dream, golden -and sweet as honey of Hymettus. For I let the “divine serpent,” who at -Philæ may be seen issuing from her charmed cavern, take me very quietly -to see the abodes of the dead, the halls of the vanished, upon her green -and sterile shores. I know nothing of the bustling, shrieking steamer -that defies her, churning into angry waves her waters for the -edification of those who would “do” Egypt and be gone before they know -her.</p> - -<p>If you are in a hurry, do not come to Egypt. To<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> hurry in Egypt is as -wrong as to fall asleep in Wall Street, or to sit in the Greek Theater -at Taormina, reading “How to Make a Fortune with a Capital of Fifty -Pounds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI<br /><br /> -DENDERAH</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>ROM Abydos, home of the cult of Osiris, judge of the dead, I came to -Denderah, the great temple of the “Lady of the Underworld,” as the -goddess Hathor was sometimes called, though she was usually worshiped as -the Egyptian Aphrodite, goddess of joy, goddess of love and loveliness. -It was early morning when I went ashore. The sun was above the eastern -hills, and a boy, clad in a rope of plaited grass, sent me half shyly -the greeting, “May your day be happy!”</p> - -<p>Youth is, perhaps, the most divine of all the gifts of the gods, as -those who wore the lotus-blossom amulet believed thousands of years ago, -and Denderah, appropriately, is a very young Egyptian temple, probably, -indeed, the youngest of all the temples on the Nile. Its -youthfulness—it is only about two thousand years of age—identifies it -happily with the happiness and beauty of its presiding deity, and as I -rode toward it on the canal-bank in the young freshness of the morning, -I thought of the goddess Safekh and of the sacred Persea-tree. When -Safekh inscribed upon a leaf of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_013" id="ill_013"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_053_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_053_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>ON THE ROOF OF THE TEMPLE OF HATHOR, DENDERAH</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">the Persea-tree the name of king or conqueror, he gained everlasting -life. Was it the life of youth? An everlasting life of middle age might -be a doubtful benefit. And then mentally I added, “unless one lived in -Egypt.” For here the years drop from one, and every golden hour brings -to one surely another drop of the wondrous essence that sets time at -defiance and charms sad thoughts away.</p> - -<p>Unlike White Abydos, White Denderah stands apart from habitations, in a -still solitude upon a blackened mound. From far off I saw the façade, -large, bare, and sober, rising, in a nakedness as complete as that of -Aphrodite rising from the wave, out of the plain of brown, alluvial soil -that was broken here and there by a sharp green of growing things. There -was something of sadness in the scene, and again I thought of Hathor as -the “Lady of the Underworld,” some deep-eyed being, with a pale brow, -hair like the night, and yearning, wistful hands stretched out in -supplication. There was a hush upon this place. The loud and vehement -cry of the shadoof-man died away. The sakieh droned in my ears no more -like distant Sicilian pipes playing at Natale. I felt a breath from the -desert. And, indeed, the desert was near—that realistic desert which -suggests to the traveler approaches to the sea, so that beyond each -pallid dune, as he draws near it, he half expects to hear the lapping of -the waves. Presently, when, having ascended that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> marvelous staircase of -the New Year, walking in procession with the priests upon its walls -toward the rays of Ra, I came out upon the temple roof, and looked upon -the desert—upon sheeny sands, almost like slopes of satin shining in -the sun, upon paler sands in the distance, holding an Arab <i>campo -santo</i>, in which rose the little creamy cupolas of a sheik’s tomb, -surrounded by a creamy wall, those little cupolas gave to me a feeling -of the real, the irresistible Africa such as I had not known since I had -been in Egypt; and I thought I heard in the distance the ceaseless hum -of praying and praising voices.</p> - -<p>“God hath rewarded the faithful with gardens through which flow -rivulets. They shall be forever therein, and that is the reward of the -virtuous.”</p> - -<p>The sensation of solemnity which overtook me as I approached the temple -deepened when I drew close to it, when I stood within it. In the first -hall, mighty, magnificent, full of enormous columns from which faces of -Hathor once looked to the four points of the compass, I found only one -face almost complete, saved from the fury of fanatics by the protection -of the goddess of chance, in whom the modern Egyptian so implicitly -believes. In shape it was a delicate oval. In the long eyes, about the -brow, the cheeks, there was a strained expression that suggested to me -more than a gravity—almost an anguish—of spirit. As I looked at it, I -thought of Eleanora Duse. Was this the ideal of joy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_014" id="ill_014"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_057_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_057_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE TEMPLE OF HATHOR. DENDERAH</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">in the time of the Ptolemies? Joy may be rapturous, or it may be serene; -but could it ever be like this? The pale, delicious blue that here and -there, in tiny sections, broke the almost haggard, grayish whiteness of -this first hall with the roof of black, like bits of an evening sky seen -through tiny window-slits in a somber room, suggested joy, was joy -summed up in color. But Hathor’s face was weariful and sad.</p> - -<p>From the gloom of the inner halls came a sound, loud, angry, menacing, -as I walked on, a sound of menace and an odor, heavy and deathlike. Only -in the first hall had those builders and decorators of two thousand -years ago been moved by their conception of the goddess to hail her, to -worship her, with the purity of white, with the sweet gaiety of -turquoise. Or so it seems to-day, when the passion of Christianity -against Hathor has spent itself and died. Now Christians come to seek -what Christian Copts destroyed; wander through the deserted courts, -desirous of looking upon the faces that have long since been hacked to -pieces. A more benign spirit informs our world, but, alas! Hathor has -been sacrificed to the devilries of old. And it is well, perhaps, that -her temple should be sad, like a place of silent waiting for the glories -that are gone.</p> - -<p>With every step my melancholy grew. Encompassed by gloomy odors, -assailed by the clamor of gigantic bats, which flew furiously among the -monstrous pillars near a roof ominous as a storm-cloud, my spirit was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> -haunted by the sad eyes of Hathor, which gaze forever from that column -in the first hall. Were they always like that? Once that face dwelt with -a crowd of other faces, looked upon a glory of worship. And all the -other faces have gone, and all the glory has passed. And, like so many -of the living, the goddess has paid for her splendors. The pendulum -swung, and where men adored, men hated her—her the goddess of love and -loveliness. And as the human face changes when terror and sorrow come, I -felt as if Hathor’s face of stone had changed upon its column, looking -toward the Nile, in obedience to the anguish in her heart; I felt as if -Denderah were a majestic house of grief. So I must always think of it, -dark, tragic, and superb. The Egyptians once believed that when death -came to a man, the soul of him, which they called the Ba, winged its way -to the gods, but that, moved by a sweet unselfishness, it returned -sometime to his tomb, to give comfort to the poor, deserted mummy. Upon -the lids of sarcophagi it is sometimes represented as a bird, flying -down to, or resting upon, the mummy. As I went onward in the darkness, -among the columns, over the blocks of stone that form the pavements, -seeing vaguely the sacred boats upon the walls, Horus and Thoth, the -king before Osiris; as I mounted and descended with the priests to roof -and floor, I longed, instead of the clamor of the bats, to hear the -light flutter of the soft wings of the Ba of Hathor, flying</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_015" id="ill_015"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_062_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_062_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>FIGURES OF CLEOPATRA AND HER SON CÆSARION ON THE WALL OF -THE TEMPLE OF HATHOR</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">from Paradise to this sad temple of the desert to bring her comfort in -the gloom. I thought of her as a poor woman, suffering as only women can -in loneliness.</p> - -<p>In the museum at Cairo there is the mummy of “the lady Amanit, priestess -of Hathor.” She lies there upon her back, with her thin body slightly -turned toward the left side, as if in an effort to change her position. -Her head is completely turned to the same side. Her mouth is wide open, -showing all the teeth. The tongue is lolling out. Upon the head the -thin, brown hair makes a line above the little ear, and is mingled at -the back of the head with false tresses. Round the neck is a mass of -ornaments, of amulets and beads. The right arm and hand lie along the -body. The expression of “the lady Amanit” is very strange, and very -subtle; for it combines horror—which implies activity—with a profound, -an impenetrable repose, far beyond the reach of all disturbance. In the -temple of Denderah I fancied the lady Amanit ministering sadly, even -terribly, to a lonely goddess, moving in fear through an eternal gloom, -dying at last there, overwhelmed by tasks too heavy for that tiny body, -the ultra-sensitive spirit that inhabited it. And now she sleeps—one -feels that, as one gazes at the mummy—very profoundly, though not yet -very calmly, the lady Amanit. But her goddess—still she wakes upon her -column.</p> - -<p>When I came out at last into the sunlight of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> growing day, I circled -the temple, skirting its gigantic, corniced walls, from which at -intervals the heads and paws of resting lions protrude, to see another -woman whose fame for loveliness and seduction is almost as legendary as -Aphrodite’s. It is fitting enough that Cleopatra’s form should be graven -upon the temple of Hathor; fitting, also, that though I found her in the -presence of deities, and in the company of her son, Cæsarion, her face, -which is in profile, should have nothing of Hathor’s sad impressiveness. -This, no doubt, is not the real Cleopatra. Nevertheless, this face -suggests a certain self-complacent cruelty and sensuality essentially -human, and utterly detached from all divinity, whereas in the face of -the goddess there is a something remote, and even distantly -intellectual, which calls the imagination to “the fields beyond.”</p> - -<p>As I rode back toward the river, I saw again the boy clad in the rope of -plaited grass, and again he said, less shyly, “May your day be happy!” -It was a kindly wish. In the dawn I had felt it to be almost a prophecy. -But now I was haunted by the face of the goddess of Denderah, and I -remembered the legend of the lovely Laïs, who, when she began to age, -covered herself from the eyes of men with a veil, and went every day at -evening to look upon her statue, in which the genius of Praxiteles had -rendered permanent the beauty the woman could not keep. One evening, -hanging to the statue’s pedestal by a garland of red roses, the -sculptor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> found a mirror, upon the polished disk of which were traced -these words:</p> - -<p>“Laïs, O Goddess, consecrates to thee her mirror: no longer able to see -there what she was, she will not see there what she has become.”</p> - -<p>My Hathor of Denderah, the sad-eyed dweller on the column in the first -hall, had she a mirror, would surely hang it, as Laïs hung hers, at the -foot of the pedestal of the Egyptian Aphrodite; had she a veil, would -surely cover the face that, solitary among the cruel evidences of -Christian ferocity, silently says to the gloomy courts, to the shining -desert and the Nile:</p> - -<p>“Once I was worshiped, but I am worshiped no longer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII<br /><br /> -KARNAK</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">B</span>UILDINGS have personalities. Some fascinate as beautiful women -fascinate; some charm as a child may charm, naïvely, simply, but -irresistibly. Some, like conquerors, men of blood and iron, without -bowels of mercy, pitiless and determined, strike awe to the soul, -mingled with the almost gasping admiration that power wakes in man. Some -bring a sense of heavenly peace to the heart. Some, like certain temples -of the Greeks, by their immense dignity, speak to the nature almost as -music speaks, and change anxiety to trust. Some tug at the hidden chords -of romance and rouse a trembling response. Some seem to be mingling -their tears with the tears of the dead; some their laughter with the -laughter of the living. The traveler, sailing up the Nile, holds -intercourse with many of these different personalities. He is sad, -perhaps, as I was with Denderah; dreams in the sun with Abydos; muses -with Luxor beneath the little, tapering minaret whence the call to -prayer drops down to be answered by the angelus bell; falls into a -reverie in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_016" id="ill_016"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_067_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_067_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1907, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>INTERIOR, TEMPLE OF KHUNS, KARNAK</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">the “thinking place” of Rameses II, near to the giant that was once the -mightiest of all Egyptian statues; eagerly wakes to the fascination of -record at Deir-el-Bahari; worships in Edfu; by Philæ is carried into a -realm of delicate magic, where engineers are not. Each prompts him to a -different mood; each wakes in his nature a different response. And at -Karnak what is he? What mood enfolds him there? Is he sad, thoughtful, -awed, or gay?</p> - -<p>An old lady, in a helmet and other things considered no doubt by her as -suited to Egypt rather than to herself, remarked in my hearing, with a -Scotch accent and an air of summing up, that Karnak was “very nice -indeed.” There she was wrong—Scotch and wrong. Karnak is not nice. No -temple that I have seen upon the banks of the Nile is nice. And Karnak -cannot be summed up in a phrase or in many phrases; cannot even be -adequately described in few or many words.</p> - -<p>Long ago I saw it lighted up with colored fires one night for the -khedive, its ravaged magnificence tinted with rose and livid green and -blue, its pylons glittering with artificial gold, its population of -statues, its obelisks, and columns, changing from things of dream to -things of day, from twilight marvels to shadowy specters, and from these -to hard and piercing realities at the cruel will of pigmies crouching by -its walls. Now, after many years, I saw it first quietly by moonlight -after watching the sunset from the summit of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> great pylon. That was -a pageant worth more than the khedive’s.</p> - -<p>I was in the air; had something of the released feeling I have often -known upon the tower of Biskra, looking out toward evening to the Sahara -spaces. But here I was not confronted with an immensity of nature, but -with a gleaming river and an immensity of man. Beneath me was the native -village, in the heart of daylight dusty and unkempt, but now becoming -charged with velvety beauty, with the soft and heavy mystery that at -evening is born among great palm-trees. Along the path that led from it, -coming toward the avenue of sphinxes with ram’s-heads that watch forever -before the temple door, a great white camel stepped, its rider a tiny -child with a close, white cap upon his head. The child was singing to -the glory of the sunset, or was it to the glory of Amun, “the hidden -one,” once the local god of Thebes, to whom the grandest temple in the -world was dedicated? I listened to the childish, quavering voice, -twittering almost like a bird, and one word alone came up to me—the -word one hears in Egypt from all the lips that speak and sing: from the -Nubians round their fires at night, from the lithe boatmen of the lower -reaches of the Nile, from the Bedouins of the desert, and the donkey -boys of the villages, from the sheik who reads one’s future in water -spilt on a plate, and the Bisharin with buttered curls who runs to sell -one beads from his tent among the sand-dunes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_017" id="ill_017"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_072_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_072_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE GREAT TEMPLE OF KARNAK</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Allah!” the child was singing as he passed upon his way.</p> - -<p>Pigeons circled above their pretty towers. The bats came out, as if they -knew how precious is their black at evening against the ethereal lemon -color, the orange, and the red. The little obelisk beyond the last -sphinx on the left began to change, as in Egypt all things change at -sunset—pylon and dusty bush, colossus and baked earth hovel, sycamore, -and tamarisk, statue and trotting donkey. It looked like a mysterious -finger pointed in warning toward the sky. The Nile began to gleam. Upon -its steel and silver torches of amber flame were lighted. The Libyan -mountains became spectral beyond the tombs of the kings. The tiny, rough -cupolas that mark a grave close to the sphinxes, in daytime dingy and -poor, now seemed made of some splendid material worthy to roof the mummy -of a king. Far off a pool of the Nile, that from here looked like a -little palm-fringed lake, turned ruby red. The flags from the standards -of Luxor, among the minarets, flew out straight against a sky that was -pale as a primrose, almost cold in its amazing delicacy.</p> - -<p>I turned, and behind me the moon was risen. Already its silver rays fell -upon the ruins of Karnak; upon the thickets of lotus columns; upon -solitary gateways that now give entrance to no courts; upon the sacred -lake, with its reeds, where the black water-fowl were asleep; upon -sloping walls, shored up by enor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span>mous stanchions, like ribs of some -prehistoric leviathan; upon small chambers; upon fallen blocks of -masonry, fragments of architrave and pavement, of capital and cornice; -and upon the people of Karnak—those fascinating people who still cling -to their habitation in the ruins, faithful through misfortune, -affectionate with a steadfastness that defies the cruelty of time; upon -the little, lonely white Sphinx with the woman’s face and the -downward-sloping eyes full of sleepy seduction; upon Rameses II, with -the face of a kindly child, not of a king; upon the Sphinx, bereft of -its companion, which crouches before the kiosk of Taharga, the king of -Ethiopia; upon those two who stand together as if devoted, yet by their -attitudes seem to express characters diametrically opposed, gray men and -vivid, the one with folded arms calling to Peace, the other with arms -stretched down in a gesture of crude determination, summoning War, as if -from the under-world; upon the granite foot and ankle in the temple of -Rameses III, which in their perfection, like the headless Victory in -Paris, and the Niobide Chiaramonti in the Vatican, suggest a great -personality, compose a great personality that once met with is not to be -forgotten: upon these and their companions, who would not forsake the -halls and courts where once they dwelt with splendor, where now they -dwell with ruin that attracts the gaping world. The moon was risen, but -the west was still full of color and light. It faded. There was a -pause.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_018" id="ill_018"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_076_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_076_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>THE SACRED LOTUS IN THE TEMPLE AT KARNAK</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<p>Only a bar of dull red, holding a hint of brown, lay where the sun had -sunk. And minutes passed—minutes for me full of silent expectation, -while the moonlight grew a little stronger, a few more silver rays -slipped down upon the ruins. I turned toward the east. And then came -that curious crescendo of color and of light which, in Egypt, succeeds -the diminuendo of color and of light that is the prelude to the pause -before the afterglow. Everything seemed to be in subtle movement, -heaving as a breast heaves with the breath; swelling slightly, as if in -an effort to be more, to attract attention, to gain in significance. -Pale things became livid, holding apparently some under-brightness which -partly penetrated its envelop, but a brightness that was white and -almost frightful. Black things seemed to glow with blackness. The air -quivered. Its silence surely thrilled with sound—with sound that grew -ever louder.</p> - -<p>In the east I saw an effect. To the west I turned for the cause. The -sunset light was returning. Horus would not permit Tum to reign even for -a few brief moments, and Khuns, the sacred god of the moon, would be -witness of a conflict in that lovely western region of the ocean of the -sky where the bark of the sun had floated away beneath the mountain rim -upon the red-and-orange tides. The afterglow was like an exquisite -spasm, is always like an exquisite spasm, a beautiful, almost desperate -effort ending in the quiet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> darkness of defeat. And through that -spasmodic effort a world lived for some minutes with a life that seemed -unreal, startling, magical. Color returned to the sky—color ethereal, -trembling as if it knew it ought not to return. Yet it stayed for a -while and even glowed, though it looked always strangely purified, and -full of a crystal coldness. The birds that flew against it were no -longer birds, but dark, moving ornaments, devised surely by a supreme -artist to heighten here and there the beauty of the sky. Everything that -moved against the afterglow—man, woman, child, camel and donkey, dog -and goat, languishing buffalo, and plunging horse—became at once an -ornament, invented, I fancied, by a genius to emphasize, by relieving -it, the color in which the sky was drowned. And Khuns watched serenely, -as if he knew the end. And almost suddenly the miraculous effort failed. -Things again revealed their truth, whether commonplace or not. That pool -of the Nile was no more a red jewel set in a feathery pattern of strange -design, but only water fading from my sight beyond a group of palms. And -that below me was only a camel going homeward, and that a child leading -a bronze-colored sheep with a curly coat, and that a dusty flat-roofed -hovel, not the fairy home of jinn, or the abode of some magician working -marvels with the sun-rays he had gathered in his net. The air was no -longer thrilling with music. The breast that had heaved with a divine -breath was still as the breast of a corpse.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span></p> - -<p>And Khuns reigned quietly over the plains of Karnak.</p> - -<p>Karnak has no distinctive personality. Built under many kings its ruins -are as complex as were probably once its completed temples, with their -shrines, their towers, their courts, their hypostyle halls. As I looked -down that evening in the moonlight I saw, softened and made more -touching than in daytime, those alluring complexities, brought by the -night and Khuns into a unity that was both tender and superb. Masses of -masonry lay jumbled in shadow and in silver; gigantic walls cast sharply -defined gloom; obelisks pointed significantly to the sky, seeming, as -they always do, to be murmuring a message; huge doorways stood up like -giants unafraid of their loneliness and yet pathetic in it; here was a -watching statue, there one that seemed to sleep, seen from afar. Yonder -Queen Hatshepsu, who wrought wonders at Deir-el-Bahari, and who is more -familiar perhaps as Hatasu, had left her traces, and nearer, to the -right, Rameses III had made a temple, surely for the birds, so fond they -are of it, so pertinaciously they haunt it. Rameses II, mutilated and -immense, stood on guard before the terrific hall of Seti I; and between -him and my platform in the air rose the solitary lotus column that -prepares you for the wonder of Seti’s hall, which otherwise might almost -overwhelm you—unless you are a Scotch lady in a helmet. And Khuns had -his temple here by the Sphinx<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> of the twelfth Rameses, and Ptah, who -created “the sun egg and the moon egg,” and who was said—only said, -alas!—to have established on earth the “everlasting justice,” had his, -and still their stones receive the silver moon-rays and wake the wonder -of men. Thothmes III, Thothmes I, Shishak, who smote the kneeling -prisoners and vanquished Jeroboam, Medamut and Mut, Amenhotep I, and -Amenhotep II—all have left their records or been celebrated at Karnak. -Purposely I mingled them in my mind—did not attempt to put them in -their proper order, or even to disentangle gods and goddesses from -conquerors and kings. In the warm and seductive night Khuns whispered to -me: “As long ago at Bekhten I exorcized the demon from the suffering -Princess, so now I exorcize from these ruins all spirits but my own. -To-night these ruins shall suggest nothing but majesty, tranquillity, -and beauty. Their records are for Ra, and must be studied by his rays. -In mine they shall speak not to the intellect, but only to the emotions -and the soul.”</p> - -<p>And presently I went down, and yielding a complete and happy obedience -to Khuns, I wandered alone through the stupendous vestiges of past eras, -dead ambitions, vanished glory, and long-outworn belief, and I ignored -eras, ambitions, glory, and belief, and thought only of form, and -height, of the miracle of blackness against silver, and of the pathos of -statues whose ever-open eyes at night, when one is near them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_019" id="ill_019"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_081_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_081_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>ENTRANCE TO TEMPLE OF RAMESES III, KARNAK</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">suggest the working of some evil spell, perpetual watchfulness, combined -with eternal inactivity, the unslumbering mind caged in the body that is -paralyzed.</p> - -<p>There is a temple at Karnak that I love, and I scarcely know why I care -for it so much. It is on the right of the solitary lotus column before -you come to the terrific hall of Seti. Some people pass it by, having -but little time, and being hypnotized, it seems, by the more astounding -ruin that lies beyond it. And perhaps it would be well, on a first -visit, to enter it last; to let its influence be the final one to rest -upon your spirit. This is the temple of Rameses III, a brown place of -calm and retirement, an ineffable place of peace. Yes, though the birds -love it and fill it often with their voices, it is a sanctuary of peace. -Upon the floor the soft sand lies, placing silence beneath your -footsteps. The pale brown of walls and columns, almost yellow in the -sunshine, is delicate and soothing, and inclines the heart to calm. -Delicious, suggestive of a beautiful tapestry, rich and ornate, yet -always quiet, are the brown reliefs upon the stone. What are they? Does -it matter? They soften the walls, make them more personal, more tender. -That surely is their mission. This temple holds for me a spell. As soon -as I enter it, I feel the touch of the lotus, as if an invisible and -kindly hand swept a blossom lightly across my face and downward to my -heart. This courtyard, these small chambers beyond it, that last doorway -framing a lovely darkness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> soothe me even more than the terra-cotta -hermitages of the Certosa of Pavia. And all the statues here are calm -with an irrevocable calmness, faithful through passing years with a very -sober faithfulness to the temple they adorn. In no other place, one -feels it, could they be thus at peace, with hands crossed forever upon -their breasts which are torn by no anxieties, thrilled by no joys. As -one stands among them, or, sitting on the base of a column in the -chamber that lies beyond them, looks on them from a little distance, -their attitude is like a summons to men to contend no more, to be still, -to enter into rest.</p> - -<p>Come to this temple when you leave the hall of Seti. There you are in a -place of triumph. Scarlet, some say, is the color of a great note -sounded on a bugle. This hall is like a bugle-call of the past, -thrilling even now down all the ages with a triumph that is surely -greater than any other triumph. It suggests blaze—blaze of scarlet, -blaze of bugle, blaze of glory, blaze of life and time, of ambition and -achievement. In these columns, in the putting up of them, dead men -sought to climb to sun and stars, limitless in desire, limitless in -industry, limitless in will. And at the tops of the columns blooms the -lotus, the symbol of rising. What a triumph in stone this hall was once, -what a triumph in stone its ruin is to-day! Perhaps, among temples, it -is the most wondrous thing in all Egypt, as it was no doubt the most -wondrous temple in the world;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_020" id="ill_020"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_085_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_085_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE SACRED LAKE, KARNAK</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">among temples, I say, for the Sphinx is of all the marvels of Egypt by -far the most marvelous. The grandeur of this hall almost moves one to -tears, like the marching past of conquerors, stirs the heart with -leaping thrills at the capacities of men. Through the thicket of -columns, tall as forest trees, the intense blue of the African sky -stares down, and their great shadows lie along the warm and sunlit -ground. Listen! There are voices chanting. Men are working here—working -as men worked how many thousands of years ago. But these are calling -upon the Mohammedan’s god as they slowly drag to the appointed places -the mighty blocks of stone. And it is to-day a Frenchman who oversees -them.</p> - -<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"> -“Help! Help! Allah give us help!<br /> - Help! Help! Allah give us help!”<br /> -</div></div> - -<p>The dust flies up about their naked feet. Triumph and work; work -succeeded by the triumph all can see. I like to hear the workmen’s -voices within the hall of Seti. I like to see the dust stirred by their -tramping feet.</p> - -<p>And then I like to go once more to the little temple, to enter through -its defaced gateway, to stand alone in its silence between the rows of -statues with their arms folded upon their quiet breasts, to gaze into -the tender darkness beyond,—the darkness that looks consecrated,—to -feel that peace is more wonderful than triumph, that the end of things -is peace.</p> - -<p>Triumph and deathless peace, the bugle-call and silence—these are the -notes of Karnak.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII<br /><br /> -LUXOR</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">U</span>PON the wall of the great court of Amenhotep III in the temple of Luxor -there is a delicious dancing procession in honor of Rameses II. It is -very funny and very happy; full of the joy of life—a sort of radiant -cake-walk of old Egyptian days. How supple are these dancers! They seem -to have no bones. One after another they come in line upon the mighty -wall, and each one bends backward to the knees of the one who follows. -As I stood and looked at them for the first time, almost I heard the -twitter of flutes, the rustic wail of the African hautboy, the -monotonous boom of the derabukkeh, cries of a far-off gaiety such as one -often hears from the Nile by night. But these cries came down the long -avenues of the centuries; this gaiety was distant in the vasty halls of -the long-dead years. Never can I think of Luxor without thinking of -those happy dancers, without thinking of the life that goes in the sun -on dancing feet.</p> - -<p>There are a few places in the world that one associates with happiness, -that one remembers always with a smile, a little thrill at the heart -that whispers, “There</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_021" id="ill_021"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_090_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_090_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>THE TEMPLE OF LUXOR FROM THE EASTERLY PYLON</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">joy is.” Of these few places Luxor is one—Luxor the home of sunshine, -the suave abode of light, of warmth, of the sweet days of gold and -sheeny, golden sunsets, of silver, shimmering nights through which the -songs of the boatmen of the Nile go floating to the courts and the tombs -of Thebes. The roses bloom in Luxor under the mighty palms. Always -surely beneath the palms there are the roses. And the lateen-sails come -up the Nile, looking like white-winged promises of future golden days. -And at dawn one wakes with hope and hears the songs of the dawn; and at -noon one dreams of the happiness to come; and at sunset one is swept -away on the gold into the heart of the golden world; and at night one -looks at the stars, and each star is a twinkling hope. Soft are the airs -of Luxor; there is no harshness in the wind that stirs the leaves of the -palms. And the land is steeped in light. From Luxor one goes with -regret. One returns to it with joy on dancing feet.</p> - -<p>One day I sat in the temple, in the huge court with the great double row -of columns that stands on the banks of the Nile and looks so splendid -from it. The pale brown of the stone became almost yellow in the -sunshine. From the river, hidden from me, stole up the songs of the -boatmen. Nearer at hand I heard pigeons cooing, cooing in the sun, as if -almost too glad, and seeking to manifest their gladness. Behind me, -through the columns, peeped some houses of the vil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span>lage: the white home -of Ibrahim Ayyad, the perfect dragoman, grandson of Mustapha Aga, who -entertained me years ago, and whose house stood actually within the -precincts of the temple; houses of other fortunate dwellers in Luxor -whose names I do not know. For the village of Luxor crowds boldly about -the temple, and the children play in the dust almost at the foot of -obelisks and statues. High on a brown hump of earth a buffalo stood -alone, languishing serenely in the sun, gazing at me through the columns -with light eyes that were full of a sort of folly of contentment. Some -goats tripped by, brown against the brown stone—the dark brown earth of -the native houses. Intimate life was here, striking the note of the -coziness of Luxor. Here was none of the sadness and the majesty of -Denderah. Grand are the ruins of Luxor, noble is the line of columns -that boldly fronts the Nile; but Time has given them naked to the air -and to the sun, to children and to animals. Instead of bats, the pigeons -fly about them. There is no dreadful darkness in their sanctuaries. -Before them the life of the river, behind them the life of the village -flows and stirs. Upon them looks down the Minaret of Abu Haggag; and as -I sat in the sunshine, the warmth of which began to lessen, I saw upon -its lofty circular balcony the figure of the muezzin. He leaned over, -bending toward the temple and the statues of Rameses II and the happy -dancers on the wall. He opened his lips and cried to them:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_022" id="ill_022"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_093_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_093_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE COURT OF AMENHOTEP III, TEMPLE OF LUXOR</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span> </p> - -<p>“God is great. God is great.... I bear witness that there is no god but -God.... I bear witness that Mohammed is the Apostle of God.... Come to -prayer! Come to prayer!... God is great. God is great. There is no god -but God.”</p> - -<p>He circled round the minaret. He cried to the Nile. He cried to the -Colossi sitting in their plain, and to the yellow precipices of the -mountains of Libya. He cried to Egypt:</p> - -<p>“Come to prayer! Come to prayer! There is no god but God. There is no -god but God.”</p> - -<p>The days of the gods were dead, and their ruined temple echoed with the -proclamation of the one God of the Moslem world. “Come to prayer! Come -to prayer!” The sun began to sink.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>The voice of the muezzin died away. There was a silence; and then, as if -in answer to the cry from the minaret, I heard the chime of the angelus -bell from the Catholic church of Luxor.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>I sat very still. The light was fading; all the yellow was fading, too, -from the columns and the temple walls. I stayed till it was dark; and -with the dark the old gods seemed to resume their interrupted sway. And -surely they, too, called to prayer. For do not these ruins of old Egypt, -like the muezzin upon the minaret,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> like the angelus bell in the church -tower, call one to prayer in the night? So wonderful are they under -stars and moon that they stir the fleshly and the worldly desires that -lie like drifted leaves about the reverence and the aspiration that are -the hidden core of the heart. And it is released from its burden; and it -awakes and prays.</p> - -<p>Amun-Ra, Mut, and Khuns, the king of the gods, his wife, mother of gods, -and the moon god, were the Theban triad to whom the holy buildings of -Thebes on the two banks of the Nile were dedicated; and this temple of -Luxor, the “House of Amun in the Southern Apt,” was built fifteen -hundred years before Christ by Amenhotep III. Rameses II, that vehement -builder, added to it immensely. One walks among his traces when one -walks in Luxor. And here, as at Denderah, Christians have let loose the -fury that should have had no place in their religion. Churches for their -worship they made in different parts of the temple, and when they were -not praying, they broke in pieces statues, defaced bas-reliefs, and -smashed up shrines with a vigor quite as great as that displayed in -preservation by Christians of to-day. Now time has called a truce. Safe -are the statues that are left. And day by day two great religions, -almost as if in happy brotherly love, send forth their summons by the -temple walls. And just beyond those walls, upon the hill, there is a -Coptic church. Peace reigns in happy Luxor. The lion lies<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_023" id="ill_023"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_097_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_097_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>IN THE TEMPLE OF LUXOR</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">down with the lamb, and the child, if it will, may harmlessly put its -hand into the cockatrice’s den.</p> - -<p>Perhaps because it is so surrounded, so haunted by life and familiar -things, because the pigeons fly about it, the buffalo stares into it, -the goats stir up the dust beside its columns, the twittering voices of -women make a music near its courts, many people pay little heed to this -great temple, gain but a small impression from it. It decorates the bank -of the Nile. You can see it from the dahabiyehs. For many that is -enough. Yet the temple is a noble one, and, for me, it gains a definite -attraction all its own from the busy life about it, the cheerful hum and -stir. And if you want fully to realize its dignity, you can always visit -it by night. Then the cries from the village are hushed. The houses show -no lights. Only the voices from the Nile steal up to the obelisk of -Rameses, to the pylon from which the flags of Thebes once flew on festal -days, to the shrine of Alexander the Great, with its vultures and its -stars, and to the red granite statues of Rameses and his wives.</p> - -<p>These last are as expressive and of course more definite than my -dancers. They are full of character. They seem to breathe out the -essence of a vanished domesticity. Colossal are the statues of the king, -solid, powerful, and tremendous, boldly facing the world with the calm -of one who was thought, and possibly thought himself, to be not much -less than a deity. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> upon each pedestal, shrinking delicately back, -was once a little wife. Some little wives are left. They are delicious -in their modesty. Each stands away from the king, shyly, respectfully. -Each is so small as to be below his down-stretched arm. Each, with a -surely furtive gesture, reaches out her right hand, and attains the -swelling calf of her noble husband’s leg. Plump are their little faces, -but not bad-looking. One cannot pity the king. Nor does one pity them. -For these were not “Les désenchantées,” the restless, sad-hearted women -of an Eastern world that knows too much. Their longings surely cannot -have been very great. Their world was probably bounded by the calf of -Rameses’s leg. That was “the far horizon” of the little plump-faced -wives.</p> - -<p>The happy dancers and the humble wives, they always come before me with -the temple of Luxor—joy and discretion side by side. And with them, to -my ears, the two voices seem to come, muezzin and angelus bell, mingling -not in war, but peace. When I think of this temple, I think of its joy -and peace far less than of its majesty.</p> - -<p>And yet it is majestic. Look at it, as I have often done, toward sunset -from the western bank of the Nile, or climb the mound beyond its -northern end, where stands the grand entrance, and you realize at once -its nobility and solemn splendor. From the <i>Loulia’s</i> deck it was a -procession of great columns; that was all.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_024" id="ill_024"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_102_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_102_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by James S. Lee<br /> -</p> - -<p>OBELISK AND PYLON, LUXOR</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span></p> - -<p>But the decorative effect of these columns, soaring above the river and -its vivid life, is fine.</p> - -<p>By day all is turmoil on the river-bank. Barges are unloading, steamers -are arriving, and throngs of donkey-boys and dragomans go down in haste -to meet them. Servants run to and fro on errands from the many -dahabiyehs. Bathers leap into the brown waters. The native craft pass by -with their enormous sails outspread to catch the wind, bearing serried -mobs of men, and black-robed women, and laughing, singing children. The -boatmen of the hotels sing monotonously as they lounge in the big, white -boats waiting for travelers to Medinet-Abu, to the Ramesseum, to Kurna, -and the tombs. And just above them rise the long lines of columns, -ancient, tranquil, and remote—infinitely remote, for all their -nearness, casting down upon the sunlit gaiety the long shadow of the -past.</p> - -<p>From the edge of the mound where stands the native village the effect of -the temple is much less decorative, but its detailed grandeur can be -better grasped from there; for from there one sees the great towers of -the propylon, two rows of mighty columns, the red granite Obelisk of -Rameses the Great, and the black granite statues of the king. On the -right of the entrance a giant stands, on the left one is seated, and a -little farther away a third emerges from the ground, which reaches to -its mighty breast.</p> - -<p>And there the children play perpetually. And there<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> the Egyptians sing -their serenades, making the pipes wail and striking the derabukkeh; and -there the women gossip and twitter like the birds. And the buffalo comes -to take his sun-bath; and the goats and the curly, brown sheep pass in -sprightly and calm processions. The obelisk there, like its brother in -Paris, presides over a cheerfulness of life; but it is a life that seems -akin to it, not alien from it. And the king watches the simplicity of -this keen existence of Egypt of to-day far up the Nile with a calm that -one does not fear may be broken by unsympathetic outrage, or by any -vision of too perpetual foreign life. For the tourists each year are but -an episode in Upper Egypt. Still the shadoof-man sings his ancient song, -violent and pathetic, bold as the burning sun-rays. Still the fellaheen -plow with the camel yoked with the ox. Still the women are covered with -protective amulets and hold their black draperies in their mouths. The -intimate life of the Nile remains the same. And that life obelisk and -king have known for how many, many years!</p> - -<p>And so I love to think of this intimacy of life about the temple of the -happy dancers and the humble little wives, and it seems to me to strike -the keynote of the golden coziness of Luxor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_025" id="ill_025"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_105_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_105_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE GREAT COLONNADE, TEMPLE OF LUXOR</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX<br /><br /> -COLOSSI OF MEMNON</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">N</span>EVERTHELESS, sometimes one likes to escape from the thing one loves, -and there are hours when the gay voices of Luxor fatigue the ears, when -one desires a great calm. Then there are silent voices that summon one -across the river, when the dawn is breaking over the hills of the -Arabian desert, or when the sun is declining toward the Libyan -mountains—voices issuing from lips of stone, from the twilight of -sanctuaries, from the depths of rock-hewn tombs.</p> - -<p>The peace of the plain of Thebes in the early morning is very rare and -very exquisite. It is not the peace of the desert, but rather, perhaps, -the peace of the prairie—an atmosphere tender, delicately thrilling, -softly bright, hopeful in its gleaming calm. Often and often have I left -the <i>Loulia</i> very early, moored against the long sand islet that faces -Luxor when the Nile has not subsided, I have rowed across the quiet -water that divided me from the western bank, and, with a happy heart, I -have entered into the lovely peace of the great spaces that stretch from -the Colossi of Memnon to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> Nile, to the mountains, southward toward -Armant, northward to Kerekten, to Danfik, to Gueziret-Meteira. Think of -the color of young clover, of young barley, of young wheat; think of the -timbre of the reed flute’s voice, thin, clear, and frail with the -frailty of dewdrops; think of the torrents of spring rushing through the -veins of a great, wide land, and growing almost still at last on their -journey. Spring, you will say, perhaps, and high Nile not yet subsided! -But Egypt is the favored land of a spring that is already alert at the -end of November, and in December is pushing forth its green. The Nile -has sunk away from the feet of the Colossi that it has bathed through -many days. It has freed the plain to the fellaheen, though still it -keeps my island in its clasp. And Hapi, or Kam-wra, the “Great -Extender,” and Ra, have made this wonderful spring to bloom on the dark -earth before the Christian’s Christmas.</p> - -<p>What a pastoral it is, this plain of Thebes, in the dawn of day! Think -of the reed flute, I have said, not because you will hear it, as you -ride toward the mountains, but because its voice would be utterly in -place here, in this arcady of Egypt, playing no tarantella, but one of -those songs, half bird-like, and half sadly, mysteriously human, which -come from the soul of the East. Instead of it, you may catch distant -cries from the bank of the river, where the shadoof-man toils, lifting -ever the water and his voice, the one to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_026" id="ill_026"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_109_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_109_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>NEAR VIEW OF THE COLOSSI OF MEMNON</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">earth, the other, it seems, to sky; and the creaking lay of the -water-wheel, which pervades Upper Egypt like an atmosphere, and which, -though perhaps at first it irritates, at last seems to you the sound of -the soul of the river, of the sunshine, and the soil.</p> - -<p>Much of the land looks painted. So flat is it, so young are the growing -crops, that they are like a coating of green paint spread over a mighty -canvas. But the doura rises higher than the heads of the naked children -who stand among it to watch you canter past. And in the far distance you -see dim groups of trees—sycamores and acacias, tamarisks and palms. -Beyond them is the very heart of this “land of sand and ruins and gold”: -Medinet-Abu, the Ramesseum, Deir-el-Medinet, Kurna, Deir-el-Bahari, the -tombs of the kings, the tombs of the queens and of the princes. In the -strip of bare land at the foot of those hard, and yet poetic, mountains, -have been dug up treasures the fame of which has gone to the ends of the -world. But this plain, where the fellaheen are stooping to the soil, and -the women are carrying the water-jars, and the children are playing in -the doura, and the oxen and the camels are working with plows that look -like relics of far-off days, is the possession of the two great -presiding beings whom you see from an enormous distance, the Colossi of -Memnon. Amenhotep III put them where they are. So we are told. But in -this early morning it is not possible to think of them as being brought -to any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> place. Seated, the one beside the other, facing the Nile and the -home of the rising sun, their immense aspect of patience suggests will, -calmly, steadily exercised, suggests choice; that, for some reason, as -yet unknown, they chose to come to this plain, that they choose solemnly -to remain there, waiting, while the harvests grow and are gathered about -their feet, while the Nile rises and subsides, while the years and the -generations come, like the harvests, and are stored away in the -granaries of the past. Their calm broods over this plain, gives to it a -personal atmosphere which sets it quite apart from every other flat -space of the world. There is no place that I know on the earth which has -the peculiar, bright, ineffable calm of the plain of these Colossi. It -takes you into its breast, and you lie there in the growing sunshine -almost as if you were a child laid in the lap of one of them. That -legend of the singing at dawn of the “vocal Memnon,” how could it have -arisen? How could such calmness sing, such patience ever find a voice? -Unlike the Sphinx, which becomes ever more impressive as you draw near -to it, and is most impressive when you sit almost at its feet, the -Colossi lose in personality as you approach them and can see how they -have been defaced.</p> - -<p>From afar one feels their minds, their strange, unearthly temperaments -commanding this pastoral. When you are beside them, this feeling -disappears. Their features are gone, and though in their attitudes there -is</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_027" id="ill_027"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_114_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_114_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE COLOSSI OF MEMNON</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">power, and there is something that wakens awe, they are more wonderful -as a far-off feature of the plain. They gain in grandeur from the night, -in strangeness from the moonrise, perhaps specially when the Nile comes -to their feet. More than three thousand years old, they look less -eternal than the Sphinx. Like them, the Sphinx is waiting, but with a -greater purpose. The Sphinx reduces man really to nothingness. The -Colossi leave him some remnants of individuality. One can conceive of -Strabo and Ælius Gallus, of Hadrian and Sabina, of others who came over -the sunlit land to hear the unearthly song in the dawn, being of -some—not much, but still of some—importance here. Before the Sphinx no -one is important. But in the distance of the plain the Colossi shed a -real magic of calm and solemn personality, and subtly seem to mingle -their spirit with the flat, green world, so wide, so still, so fecund, -and so peaceful; with the soft airs that are surely scented with an -eternal springtime, and with the light that the morning rains down on -wheat and clover, on Indian corn and barley, and on brown men laboring, -who, perhaps, from the patience of the Colossi in repose have drawn a -patience in labor that has in it something not less sublime.</p> - -<p>From the Colossi one goes onward toward the trees and the mountains, and -very soon one comes to the edge of that strange and fascinating strip of -barren land which is strewn with temples and honeycombed with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> tombs. -The sun burns down on it. The heat seems thrown back upon it by the wall -of tawny mountains that bounds it on the west. It is dusty, it is arid; -it is haunted by swarms of flies, by the guardians of the ruins, and by -men and boys trying to sell enormous scarabs and necklaces and amulets, -made yesterday, and the day before, in the manufactory of Kurna. From -many points it looks not unlike a strangely prolonged rubbish-heap in -which busy giants have been digging with huge spades, making mounds and -pits, caverns and trenches, piling up here a monstrous heap of stones, -casting down there a mighty statue. But how it fascinates! Of course one -knows what it means. One knows that on this strip of land Naville dug -out at Deir-el-Bahari the temple of Mentu-hotep, and discovered later, -in her shrine, Hathor, the cow-goddess, with the lotus-plants streaming -from her sacred forehead to her feet; that long before him Mariette here -brought to the light at Drah-abu’l-Neggah the treasures of kings of the -twelfth and thirteenth dynasties; that at the foot of those -tiger-colored precipices, Theodore M. Davis, the American, found the -sepulcher of Queen Hatshepsu, the Queen Elizabeth of the old Egyptian -world, and, later, the tomb of Yuaa and Thuaa, the parents of Queen -Thiy, containing mummycases covered with gold, jars of oil and wine, -gold, silver, and alabaster boxes, a bed decorated with gilded ivory, a -chair with gilded plaster reliefs, chairs of state, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_028" id="ill_028"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_117_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_117_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>THE VALLEY OF THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">a chariot; that here Maspero, Victor Loret, Brugsch Bey, and other -patient workers gave to the world tombs that had been hidden and unknown -for centuries; that there to the north is the temple of Kurna, and over -there the Ramesseum; that those rows of little pillars close under the -mountain, and looking strangely modern, are the pillars of Hatshepsu’s -temple, which bears upon its walls the pictures of the expedition to the -historic land of Punt; that the kings were buried there, and there the -queens and the princes of the vanished dynasties; that beyond to the -west is the temple of Deir-el-Medinet with its judgment of the dead; -that here by the native village is Medinet-Abu. One knows that, and so -the imagination is awake, ready to paint the lily and to gild the beaten -gold. But even if one did not know, I think one would be fascinated. -This turmoil of sunbaked earth and rock, gray, yellow, pink, orange, and -red, awakens the curiosity, summons the love of the strange, suggests -that it holds secrets to charm the souls of men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X<br /><br /> -MEDINET-ABU</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>T the entrance to the temple of Medinet-Abu, near the small groups of -palms and the few brown houses, often have I turned and looked back -across the plain before entering through the first beautiful doorway, to -see the patient backs and right sides of the colossi, the far-off, -dreamy mountains beyond Karnak and the Nile. And again, when I have -entered and walked a little distance, I have looked back at the almost -magical picture framed in the doorway; at the bottom of the picture a -layer of brown earth, then a strip of sharp green,—the cultivated -ground,—then a blur of pale yellow, then a darkness of trees, and just -the hint of a hill far, very far away. And always, in looking, I have -thought of the “Sposalizio” of Raphael in the Brera at Milan, of the -tiny dream of blue country framed by his temple doorway beyond the -Virgin and Saint Joseph. The doorways of the temples of Egypt are very -noble, and nowhere have I been more struck by their nobility than in -Medinet-Abu. Set in huge walls of massive masonry, which rise slightly -above them on each side,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_029" id="ill_029"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_122_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_122_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE TEMPLE OF MEDINET-ABU</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">with a projecting cornice, in their simplicity they look extraordinarily -classical, in their sobriety mysterious, and in their great solidity -quite wonderfully elegant. And they always suggest to me that they are -giving access to courts and chambers which still, even in our times, are -dedicated to secret cults—to the cults of Isis, of Hathor, and of -Osiris.</p> - -<p>Close to the right of the front of Medinet-Abu there are trees covered -with yellow flowers; beyond are fields of doura. Behind the temple is a -sterility which makes one think of metal. A great calm enfolds this -place. The buildings are of the same color as the colossi. When I speak -of the buildings, I include the great temple, the pavilion of Rameses -III, and the little temple, which together may be said to form -Medinet-Abu. Whereas the temple of Luxor seems to open its arms to life, -and the great fascination of the Ramesseum comes partly from its -invasion by every traveling air and happy sun-ray, its openness and -freedom, Medinet-Abu impresses by its colossal air of secrecy, by its -fortress-like seclusion. Its walls are immensely thick, and are covered -with figures the same color as the walls, some of them very tall. Thick -set, massive, heavy, almost warlike it is. Two seated statues within, -statues with animals’ faces, steel-colored, or perhaps a little darker -than that, look like savage warders ready to repel intrusion.</p> - -<p>Passing between them, delicately as Agag, one enters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> an open space with -ruins, upon the right of which is a low, small temple, gray in hue, and -covered with inscriptions, which looks almost bowed under its tremendous -weight of years. From this dignified, though tiny, veteran there comes a -perpetual sound of birds. The birds in Egypt have no reverence for age. -Never have I seen them more restless, more gay, or more impertinent, -than in the immemorial ruins of this ancient land. Beyond is an enormous -portal, on the lofty ceiling of which still linger traces of faded red -and blue, which gives access to a great hall with rows of mighty -columns, those on the left hand round, those on the right square, and -almost terribly massive. There is in these no grace, as in the giant -lotus columns of Karnak. Prodigious, heavy, barbaric, they are like a -hymn in stone to strength. There is something brutal in their aspect, -which again makes one think of war, of assaults repelled, hordes beaten -back like waves by a sea-wall. And still another great hall, with more -gigantic columns, lies in the sun beyond, and a doorway through which -seems to stare fiercely the edge of a hard and fiery mountain. Although -one is roofed by the sky, there is something oppressive here; an -imprisoned feeling comes over one. I could never be fond of Medinet-Abu, -as I am fond of Luxor, of parts of Karnak, of the whole of delicious, -poetical Philæ. The big pylons, with their great walls sloping inward, -sand-colored, and glowing with very pale yellow in the sun, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_030" id="ill_030"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_125_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_125_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by James S. Lee<br /> -</p> - -<p>CORNER OF SECOND COURT, TEMPLE OF RAMESES III, MEDINET-ABU</p> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by James S. Lee<br /> -</p> - -<p>CORNER OF SECOND COURT, TEMPLE OF RAMESES III, MEDINET-ABU</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">resistant walls, the brutal columns, the huge and almost savage scale of -everything, always remind me of the violence in men, and also—I -scarcely know why—make me think of the North, of sullen Northern -castles by the sea, in places where skies are gray, and the white of -foam and snow is married in angry nights.</p> - -<p>And yet in Medinet-Abu there reigns a splendid calm—a calm that -sometimes seems massive, resistant, as the columns and the walls. Peace -is certainly inclosed by the stones that call up thoughts of war, as if, -perhaps, their purpose had been achieved many centuries ago, and they -were quit of enemies forever. Rameses III is connected with Medinet-Abu. -He was one of the greatest of the Egyptian kings, and has been called -the “last of the great sovereigns of Egypt.” He ruled for thirty-one -years, and when, after a first visit to Medinet-Abu, I looked into his -records, I was interested to find that his conquests and his wars had “a -character essentially defensive.” This defensive spirit is incarnated in -the stones of these ruins. One reads in them something of the soul of -this king who lived twelve hundred years before Christ, and who desired -“in remembrance of his Syrian victories” to give to his memorial temple -an outward military aspect. I noticed a military aspect at once inside -this temple; but if you circle the buildings outside it is more -unmistakable. For the east front has a battlemented wall, and the -battlements are shield-shaped. This<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> fortress, or migdol, a name which -the ancient Egyptians borrowed from the nomadic tribes of Syria, is -called the “Pavilion of Rameses III,” and his principal battles are -represented upon its walls. The monarch does not hesitate to speak of -himself in terms of praise, suggesting that he was like the God Mentu, -who was the Egyptian war god, and whose cult at Thebes was at one period -more important even than was the cult of Amun, and also plainly hinting -that he was a brave fellow. “I, Rameses the King,” he murmurs, “behaved -as a hero who knows his worth.” If hieroglyphs are to be trusted, -various Egyptian kings of ancient times seem to have had some vague -suspicion of their own value, and the walls of Medinet-Abu are, to speak -sincerely, one mighty boast. In his later years the king lived in peace -and luxury, surrounded by a vicious and intriguing court haunted by -magicians, hags, and mystery-mongers. Dealers in magic may still be -found on the other side of the river, in happy Luxor. I made the -acquaintance of two when I was there, one of whom offered for a couple -of pounds to provide me with a preservative against all such dangers as -beset the traveler in wild places. In order to prove its efficacy he -asked me to come to his house by night, bringing a dog and my revolver -with me. He would hang the charm about the dog’s neck, and I was then to -put six shots into the animal’s body. He positively assured me that the -dog would be uninjured. I half-promised<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_031" id="ill_031"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_129_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_129_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE RAMESSEUM</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">to come, and, when night began to fall, looked vaguely about for a dog. -At last I found one, but it howled so dismally, when I asked Ibrahim -Ayyad to take possession of it for experimental purposes, that I weakly -gave up the project, and left the magician clamoring for his hundred and -ninety-five piasters.</p> - -<p>Its warlike aspect gives a special personality to Medinet-Abu. The -shield-shaped battlements; the court-yards, with their brutal columns, -narrowing as they recede toward the mountains; the heavy gateways, with -superimposed chambers; the towers; quadrangular bastion to protect, -inclined basement to resist the attacks of sappers and cause projectiles -to rebound—all these things contribute to this very definite effect.</p> - -<p>I have heard travelers on the Nile speak piteously of the confusion -wakened in their minds by a hurried survey of many temples, statues, -monuments, and tombs. But if one stays long enough this confusion fades -happily away, and one differentiates between the antique personalities -of ancient Egypt almost as easily as one differentiates between the -personalities of one’s familiar friends. Among these personalities -Medinet-Abu is the warrior, standing like Mentu, with the solar disk, -and the two plumes erect above his head of a hawk, firmly planted at the -foot of the Theban mountains, ready to repel all enemies, to beat back -all assaults, strong and determined, powerful and brutally serene.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI<br /><br /> -THE RAMESSEUM</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“T</span>HIS, my lord, is the thinking place of Rameses the Great.”</p> - -<p>So said Ibrahim Ayyad to me one morning—Ibrahim who is almost as -prolific in the abrupt creation of peers as if he were a democratic -government.</p> - -<p>I looked about me. We stood in a ruined hall with columns, architraves -covered with inscriptions, segments of flat roof. Here and there traces -of painting, dull-red, pale, ethereal blue,—the “love-color” of Egypt, -as the Egyptians often call it,—still adhered to the stone. This hall, -dignified, grand, but happy, was open on all sides to the sun and air. -From it I could see tamarisk and acacia-trees, and far-off shadowy -mountains beyond the eastern verge of the Nile. And the trees were still -as carven things in an atmosphere that was a miracle of clearness and of -purity. Behind me, and near, the hard Libyan mountains gleamed in the -sun. Somewhere a boy was singing; and suddenly his singing died away. -And I thought of the “Lay of the Harper” which is inscribed upon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_032" id="ill_032"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_133_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_133_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>“THE THINKING PLACE OF RAMESES THE GREAT,” HALL OF LOTUS -COLUMNS, RAMESSEUM</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">tombs of Thebes—those tombs under those gleaming mountains:</p> - -<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"> -For no one carries away his goods with him;<br /> -Yea, no one returns again who has gone thither.<br /> -</div></div> - -<p>It took the place of the song that had died as I thought of the great -king’s glory; that he had been here, and had long since passed away.</p> - -<p>“The thinking place of Rameses the Great!”</p> - -<p>“Suttinly.”</p> - -<p>“You must leave me alone here, Ibrahim.”</p> - -<p>I watched his gold-colored robe vanish into the gold of the sun through -the copper color of the columns. And I was quite alone in the “thinking -place” of Rameses. It was a brilliant day, the sky dark sapphire blue, -without even the specter of a cloud, or any airy, vaporous veil; the -heat already intense in the full sunshine, but delicious, if one slid -into a shadow. I slid into a shadow, and sat down on a warm block of -stone. And the silence flowed upon me—the silence of the Ramesseum.</p> - -<p>Was <i>Horbehutet</i>, the winged disk, with crowned <i>uraei</i>, ever set up -above this temple’s principal door to keep it from destruction? I do not -know. But, if he was, he failed perfectly to fulfil his mission. And I -am glad he failed. I am glad of the ruin that is here, glad that walls -have crumbled or been overthrown, that columns have been cast down, and -ceilings torn off<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> from the pillars that supported them, letting in the -sky. I would have nothing different in the thinking place of Rameses.</p> - -<p>Like a cloud, a great golden cloud, a glory impending that will not, -cannot, be dissolved into the ether, he loomed over the Egypt that is -dead, he looms over the Egypt of to-day. Everywhere you meet his traces, -everywhere you hear his name. You say to a tall young Egyptian: “How big -you are growing, Hassan!”</p> - -<p>He answers, “Come back next year, my gentleman, and I shall be like -Rameses the Great.”</p> - -<p>Or you ask of the boatman who rows you, “How can you pull all day -against the current of the Nile?” And he smiles, and lifting his brown -arm, he says to you: “Look! I am as strong as Rameses the Great.”</p> - -<p>This familiar fame comes down through some three thousand, two hundred, -and twenty years. Carved upon limestone and granite, now it seems -engraven also on every Egyptian heart that beats not only with the -movement of shadoof, or is not buried in the black soil fertilized by -Hapi. Thus can inordinate vanity prolong the true triumph of genius, and -impress its own view of itself upon the minds of millions. This Rameses -is believed to be the Pharaoh who oppressed the children of Israel.</p> - -<p>As I sat in the Ramesseum that morning, I recalled his face—the face of -an artist and a dreamer rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_033" id="ill_033"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_137_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_137_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>THE PLAIN OF THEBES FROM THE ROOF OF THE RAMESSEUM</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">than that of a warrior and oppressor; Asiatic, handsome, not -insensitive, not cruel, but subtle, aristocratic, and refined. I could -imagine it bending above the little serpents of the sistrum as they -lifted their melodious voices to bid Typhon depart, or watching the -dancing women’s rhythmic movements, or smiling half kindly, half with -irony, upon the lovelorn maiden who made her plaint:</p> - -<div class="poetry"><div class="poem"> -“What is sweet to the mouth, to me is as the gall of birds;<br /> - Thy breath alone can comfort my heart.”<br /> -</div></div> - -<p>And I could imagine it looking profoundly grave, not sad, among the -columns with their opening lotus flowers. For it is the hall of the -lotus columns that Ibrahim calls the thinking place of the king.</p> - -<p>There is something both lovely and touching to me in the lotus columns -of Egypt, in the tall masses of stone opening out into flowers near the -sun. Near the sun! Yes; only that obvious falsehood will convey to those -who have not seen them the effect of some of the hypostyle halls, the -columns of which seem literally soaring to the sky. And flowers of -stone, you will say, rudely carved and rugged! That does not matter. -There was poetry in the minds that conceived them, in the thought that -directed the hands which shaped them and placed them where they are. In -Egypt perpetually one feels how the ancient Egyptians loved the <i>Nymphæa -Lotus</i>, which is the white lotus, and the <i>Nymphæa<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> cærulæa</i>, the lotus -that is blue. Did they not place Horus in its cup, and upon the head of -Nefer-Tum, the nature god, who represented in their mythology the heat -of the rising sun, and who seems to have been credited with power to -grant life in the world to come, set it as a sort of regal ornament? To -Seti I, when he returned in glory from his triumphs over the Syrians, -were given bouquets of lotus blossoms by the great officers of his -household. The tiny column of green feldspar ending in the lotus -typified eternal youth, even as the carnelian buckle typified the blood -of Isis, which washed away all sin. Kohl pots were fashioned in the form -of the lotus, cartouches sprang from it, wine flowed from cups shaped -like it. The lotus was part of the very life of Egypt, as the rose, the -American beauty rose, is part of our social life of to-day. And here, in -the Ramesseum, I found campaniform, or lotus-flower capitals on the -columns—here where Rameses once perhaps dreamed of his Syrian -campaigns, or of that famous combat when, “like Baal in his fury,” he -fought single-handed against the host of the Hittites massed in two -thousand, five hundred chariots to overthrow him.</p> - -<p>The Ramesseum is a temple not of winds, but of soft and kindly airs. -There comes Zephyrus, whispering love to Flora incarnate in the Lotus. -To every sunbeam, to every little breeze, the ruins stretch out arms. -They adore the deep-blue sky, the shining,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_034" id="ill_034"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_141_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_141_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>HALL OF LOTUS COLUMNS, RAMESSEUM</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">sifted sand, untrammeled nature, all that whispers, “Freedom.”</p> - -<p>So I felt that day when Ibrahim left me, so I feel always when I sit in -the Ramesseum, that exultant victim of Time’s here not sacrilegious -hand.</p> - -<p>All strong souls cry out secretly for liberty as for a sacred necessity -of life. Liberty seems to drench the Ramesseum. And all strong souls -must exult there. The sun has taken it as a beloved possession. No massy -walls keep him out. No shield-shaped battlements rear themselves up -against the outer world as at Medinet-Abu. No huge pylons cast down upon -the ground their forms in darkness. The stone glows with the sun, seems -almost to have a soul glowing with the sense, the sun-ray sense, of -freedom. The heart leaps up in the Ramesseum not frivolously, but with a -strange, sudden knowledge of the depths of passionate joy there are in -life and in bountiful, glorious nature. Instead of the strength of a -prison, one feels the ecstasy of space; instead of the safety of -inclosure, the rapture of naked publicity. But the public to whom this -place of the great king is consigned is a public of Theban hills; of the -sunbeams striking from them over the wide world toward the east; of -light airs, of drifting sand grains, of singing birds, and of -butterflies with pure white wings. If you have ever ridden an Arab -horse, mounted in the heart of an oasis, to the verge of the great -desert, you will remember the bound, thrilling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> with fiery animation, -which he gives when he sets his feet on the sand beyond the last tall -date-palms. A bound like that the soul gives when you sit in the -Ramesseum, and see the crowding sunbeams, the far-off groves of -palm-trees, and the drowsy mountains, like shadows, that sleep beyond -the Nile. And you look up, perhaps, as I looked that morning, and upon a -lotus column near you, relieved, you perceive the figure of a young man -singing.</p> - -<p>A young man singing! Let him be the tutelary god of this place, whoever -he be, whether only some humble, happy slave, or the “superintendent of -song and of the recreation of the king.” Rather even than Amun-Ra let -him be the god. For there is something nobly joyous in this -architecture, a dignity that sings.</p> - -<p>It has been said, but not established, that Rameses the Great was buried -in the Ramesseum, and when first I entered it the “Lay of the Harper” -came to my mind, with the sadness that attends the passing away of glory -into the shades of death. But an optimism almost as determined as -Emerson’s was quickly bred in me there. I could not be sad, though I -could be happily thoughtful, in the light of the Ramesseum. And even -when I left the thinking place, and, coming down the central aisle, saw -in the immersing sunshine of the Osiride Court the fallen colossus of -the king, I was not struck to sadness.</p> - -<p>Imagine the greatest figure in the world,—such a figure</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_035" id="ill_035"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_146_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_146_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>PILASTERS AND BROKEN COLOSSAL STATUE OF RAMESES II</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">as this Rameses was in his day,—with all might, all glory, all climbing -power, all vigor, tenacity of purpose, and granite strength of will -concentrated within it, struck suddenly down, and falling backward in a -collapse of which the thunder might shake the vitals of the earth, and -you have this prostrate colossus. Even now one seems to hear it fall, to -feel the warm soil trembling beneath one’s feet as one approaches it. A -row of statues of enormous size, with arms crossed as if in resignation, -glowing in the sun, in color not gold or amber, but a delicate, desert -yellow, watch near it like servants of the dead. On a slightly lower -level than theirs it lies, and a little nearer the Nile. Only the upper -half of the figure is left, but its size is really terrific. This -colossus was fifty-seven feet high. It weighed eight hundred tons. Eight -hundred tons of syenite went to its making, and across the shoulders its -breadth is, or was, over twenty-two feet. But one does not think of -measurements as one looks upon it. It is stupendous. That is obvious and -that is enough. Nor does one think of its finish, of its beautiful, rich -color, of any of its details. One thinks of it as a tremendous personage -laid low, as the mightiest of the mighty fallen. One thinks of it as the -dead Rameses whose glory still looms over Egypt like a golden cloud that -will not disperse. One thinks of it as the soul that commanded, and, lo! -there rose up above the sands, at the foot of the hills of Thebes, the -exultant Ramesseum.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII<br /><br /> -DEIR-EL-BAHARI</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">P</span>LACE for Queen Hatshepsu! Surely she comes to a sound of flutes, a -merry noise of thin, bright music, backed by a clashing of barbaric -cymbals, along the corridors of the past; this queen who is shown upon -Egyptian walls dressed as a man, who is said to have worn a beard, and -who sent to the land of Punt the famous expedition which covered her -with glory and brought gold to the god Amun. To me most feminine she -seemed when I saw her temple at Deir-el-Bahari, with its brightness and -its suavity; its pretty shallowness and sunshine; its white, and blue, -and yellow, and red, and green and orange; all very trim and fanciful, -all very smart and delicate; full of finesse and laughter, and breathing -out to me of the twentieth century the coquetry of a woman in 1500 <small>B.C.</small> -After the terrific masculinity of Medinet-Abu, after the great freedom -of the Ramesseum, and the grandeur of its colossus, the manhood of all -the ages concentrated in granite, the temple at Deir-el-Bahari came upon -me like a delicate woman, perfumed and arranged, clothed in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_036" id="ill_036"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_149_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_149_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE TEMPLE OF QUEEN HATASU DEIR-EL-BAHARI</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">creation of white and blue and orange, standing—ever so -knowingly—against a background of orange and pink, of red and of -brown-red, a smiling coquette of the mountain, a gay and sweet -enchantress who knew her pretty powers and meant to exercise them.</p> - -<p>Hatshepsu with a beard! Never will I believe it. Or if she ever seemed -to wear one, I will swear it was only the tattooed ornament with which -all the lovely women of the Fayum decorate their chins to-day, throwing -into relief the smiling, soft lips, the delicate noses, the liquid eyes, -and leading one from it step by step to the beauties it precedes.</p> - -<p>Mr. Wallis Budge says in his book on the antiquities of Egypt: “It would -be unjust to the memory of a great man and a loyal servant of Hatshepsu, -if we omitted to mention the name of Senmut, the architect and overseer -of works at Deir-el-Bahari.” By all means let Senmut be mentioned, and -then let him be utterly forgotten. A radiant queen reigns here—a queen -of fantasy and splendor, and of that divine shallowness—refined -frivolity literally cut into the mountain—which is the note of -Deir-el-Bahari. And what a clever background! Oh, Hatshepsu knew what -she was doing when she built her temple here. It was not the solemn -Senmut (he wore a beard, I’m sure) who chose that background, if I know -anything of women.</p> - -<p>Long before I visited Deir-el-Bahari I had looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> at it from afar. My -eyes had been drawn to it merely from its situation right underneath the -mountains. I had asked: “What do those little pillars mean? And are -those little doors?” I had promised myself to go there, as one promises -oneself a <i>bonne bouche</i> to finish a happy banquet. And I had realized -the subtlety, essentially feminine, that had placed a temple there. And -Mentu-Hotep’s temple, perhaps you say, was it not there before the -queen’s? Then he must have possessed a subtlety purely feminine, or have -been advised by one of his wives in his building operations, or by some -favorite female slave. Blundering, unsubtle man would probably think -that the best way to attract and to fix attention on any object was to -make it much bigger than things near and around it, to set up a giant -among dwarfs.</p> - -<p>Not so Queen Hatshepsu. More artful in her generation, she set her long -but little temple against the precipices of Libya. And what is the -result? Simply that whenever one looks toward them one says, “What are -those little pillars?” Or if one is more instructed, one thinks about -Queen Hatshepsu. The precipices are as nothing. A woman’s wile has -blotted them out.</p> - -<p>And yet how grand they are! I have called them tiger-colored precipices. -And they suggest tawny wild beasts, fierce, bred in a land that is the -prey of the sun. Every shade of orange and yellow glows and grows pale -on their bosses, in their clefts. They shoot out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_037" id="ill_037"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_153_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_153_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>RECENT EXCAVATIONS AT DEIR-EL-BAHARI</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">turrets of rock that blaze like flames in the day. They show great -teeth, like the tiger when any one draws near. And, like the tiger, they -seem perpetually informed by a spirit that is angry. Blake wrote of the -tiger:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tiger, tiger, burning bright<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the forests of the night.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">These tiger-precipices of Libya are burning things, avid like beasts of -prey. But the restored apricot-colored pillars are not afraid of their -impending fury—fury of a beast baffled by a tricky little woman, almost -it seems to me; and still less afraid are the white pillars, and the -brilliant paintings that decorate the walls within.</p> - -<p>As many people in the sad but lovely islands off the coast of Scotland -believe in “doubles,” as the old classic writers believed in man’s -“genius,” so the ancient Egyptians believed in his “Ka,” or separate -entity, a sort of spiritual other self, to be propitiated and ministered -to, presented with gifts, and served with energy and ardor. On this -temple of Deir-el-Bahari is the scene of the birth of Hatshepsu, and -there are two babies, the princess and her Ka. For this imagined Ka, -when a great queen, long after, she built this temple, or chapel, that -offerings might be made there on certain appointed days. Fortunate Ka of -Hatshepsu to have had so cheerful a dwelling! Liveliness pervades -Deir-el-Bahari. I remember, when I was on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> my first visit to Egypt, -lunching at Thebes with Monsieur Naville and Mr. Hogarth, and afterward -going with them to watch the digging away of the masses of sand and -rubbish which concealed this gracious building. I remember the songs of -the half-naked workmen toiling and sweating in the sun. And I remember -seeing a white temple wall come up into the light with all the painted -figures surely dancing with joy upon it. And they are surely dancing -still.</p> - -<p>Here you may see, brilliant as yesterday’s picture anywhere, -fascinatingly decorative trees growing bravely in little pots, red -people offering incense which is piled up in mounds like mountains; -Ptah-Seket, Osiris receiving a royal gift of wine, the queen in the -company of various divinities, and the terrible ordeal of the cows. The -cows are being weighed in scales. There are three of them. One is a -philosopher, and reposes with an air that says, “Even this last -indignity of being weighed against my will cannot perturb my soaring -spirit.” But the other two, sitting up, look as apprehensive as old -ladies in a rocking express, expectant of an accident. The vividness of -the colors in this temple is quite wonderful. And much of its great -attraction comes rather from its position, and from them, than -essentially from itself. At Deir-el-Bahari, what the long shell -contains—its happy murmur of life—is more fascinating than the shell. -There, instead of being uplifted or overawed by form, we are rejoiced -by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_038" id="ill_038"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_157_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_157_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>“THE HALF-NAKED WORKMEN TOILING AND SWEATING IN THE -SUN”</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">color, by the high vivacity of arrested movement, by the story that -color and movement tell. And over all there is the bright, blue, painted -sky, studded, almost distractedly studded, with a plethora of the yellow -stars the Egyptians made like starfish.</p> - -<p>The restored apricot-colored columns outside look unhappily suburban -when you are near them. The white columns with their architraves are -more pleasant to the eyes. The niches full of bright hues, the arched -chapels, the small, white steps leading upward to shallow sanctuaries, -the small black foxes facing each other on little yellow -pedestals—attract one like the details and amusing ornaments of a -clever woman’s boudoir. Through this most characteristic temple one -roves in a gaily attentive mood, feeling all the time Hatshepsu’s -fascination.</p> - -<p>You may see her, if you will, a little lady on the wall, with a face -decidedly sensual—a long, straight nose, thick lips, an expression -rather determined than agreeable. Her mother looks as Semitic as a Jew -moneylender in Brick Lane, London. Her husband, Thothmes II, has a weak -and poor-spirited countenance. Decidedly an accomplished performer on -the second violin. The mother wears on her head a snake, no doubt a -cobra-di-capello, the symbol of her sovereignty. Thothmes is clad in a -loin-cloth. And a god, with a sleepy expression and a very fishlike -head, appears in this group of personages to offer the key of life. -Another paint<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span>ing of the queen shows her on her knees drinking milk from -the sacred cow, with an intent and greedy figure, and an extraordinarily -sensual and expressive face. That she was well guarded is surely proved -by a brave display of her soldiers—red men on a white wall. Full of -life and gaiety, all in a row they come, holding weapons, and, -apparently, branches, and advancing with a gait of triumph that tells of -“spacious days.” And at their head is an officer, who looks back, much -like a modern drill sergeant, to see how his men are marching.</p> - -<p>In the southern shrine of the temple, cut in the rock as is the northern -shrine, once more I found traces of the “Lady of the Under-world.” For -this shrine was dedicated to Hathor, though the whole temple was sacred -to the Theban god Amun. Upon a column were the remains of the goddess’s -face, with a broad brow and long, large eyes. Some fanatic had hacked -away the mouth.</p> - -<p>The tomb of Hatshepsu was found by Mr. Theodore M. Davis, and the famous -<i>Vache</i> of Deir-el-Bahari by Monsieur Naville as lately as 1905. It -stands in the museum at Cairo, but forever it will be connected in the -minds of men with the tiger-colored precipices and the Colonnades of -Thebes. Behind the ruins of the temple of Mentu-Hotep III, in a chapel -of painted rock, the Vache-Hathor was found.</p> - -<p>It is not easy to convey by any description the</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_039" id="ill_039"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_162_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_162_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE VACHE HATHOR OF DENDERAH</p><p>THE VACHE HATHOR OF DENDERAH</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">impression this marvelous statue makes. Many of us love our dogs, our -horses, some of us adore our cats; but which of us can think, without a -smile, of worshiping a cow? Yet the cow was the Egyptian Aphrodite’s -sacred animal. Under the form of a cow she was often represented. And in -the statue she is presented to us as a limestone cow. And positively -this cow is to be worshiped.</p> - -<p>She is shown in the act apparently of stepping gravely forward out of a -small arched shrine, the walls of which are decorated with brilliant -paintings. Her color is red and yellowish red, and is covered with -blotches of very dark green, which look almost black. Only one or two -are of a bluish color. Her height is moderate. I stand about five foot -nine, and I found that on her pedestal the line of her back was about -level with my chest. The lower part of the body, much of which is -concealed by the under block of limestone, is white, tinged with yellow. -The tail is red. Above the head, open and closed lotus flowers form a -head-dress, with the lunar disk and two feathers. And the long lotus -stalks flow down on each side of the neck toward the ground. At the back -of this head-dress are a scarab and a cartouche. The goddess is -advancing solemnly and gently. A wonderful calm, a matchless, serene -dignity enfold her.</p> - -<p>In the body of this cow one is able, indeed one is almost obliged, to -feel the soul of a goddess. The in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span>credible is accomplished. The dead -Egyptian makes the ironic, the skeptical modern world feel deity in a -limestone cow. How is it done? I know not; but it is done. Genius can do -nearly anything, it seems. Under the chin of the cow there is a standing -statue of the King Mentu-Hotep, and beneath her the king kneels as a -boy. Wonderfully expressive and solemnly refined is the cow’s face, -which is of a dark color, like the color of almost black earth—earth -fertilized by the Nile. Dignified, dominating, almost but just not -stern, strongly intelligent, and, through its beautiful intelligence, -entirely sympathetic (“to understand all, is to pardon all”), this face, -once thoroughly seen, completely noticed, can never be forgotten. This -is one of the most beautiful statues in the world.</p> - -<p>When I was at Deir-el-Bahari I thought of it and wished that it still -stood there near the Colonnades of Thebes under the tiger-colored -precipices. And then I thought of Hatshepsu. Surely she could not brook -a rival to-day near the temple which she made—a rival long lost and -long forgotten. Is not her influence still there upon the terraced -platforms, among the apricot and the white columns, near the paintings -of the land of Punt? Did it not whisper to the antiquaries, even to the -soldiers from Cairo, who guarded the Vache-Hathor in the night, to make -haste to take her away far from the hills of Thebes, and from the Nile’s -long southern reaches, that the great queen might once<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> more reign -alone? They obeyed. Hatshepsu was appeased. And, like a delicate woman, -perfumed and arranged, clothed in a creation of white and blue and -orange, standing ever so knowingly against a background of orange and -pink, of red and of brown-red, she rules at Deir-el-Bahari.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII<br /><br /> -THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>N the way to the tombs of the kings I went to the temple of Kurna, that -lonely cenotaph, with its sand-colored, massive façade, its heaps of -fallen stone, its wide and ruined doorway, its thick, almost rough, -columns recalling Medinet-Abu. There is not very much to see, but from -there one has a fine view of other temples—of the Ramesseum, looking -superb, like a grand skeleton; of Medinet-Abu, distant, very pale gold -in the morning sunlight; of little Deir-al-Medinet, the pretty child of -the Ptolemies, with the heads of the seven Hathors. And from Kurna the -Colossi are exceptionally grand and exceptionally personal, so personal -that one imagines one sees the expressions of the faces that they no -longer possess.</p> - -<p>Even if you do not go into the tombs,—but you will go,—you must ride -to the tombs of the kings; and you must, if you care for the finesse of -impressions, ride on a blazing day and toward the hour of noon. Then the -ravine is itself, like the great act that demonstrates a temperament. It -is the narrow home of fire,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_040" id="ill_040"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_167_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_167_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>PAINTED TOMB CHAMBER OF PRINCE SEN-NOFER, THEBES</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">hemmed in by brilliant colors, nearly all—perhaps quite all—of which -could be found in a glowing furnace. Every shade of yellow is -there,—lemon yellow, sulphur yellow, the yellow of amber, the yellow of -orange with its tendency toward red, the yellow of gold, sand color, sun -color. Cannot all these yellows be found in a fire? And there are -reds—pink of the carnation, pink of the coral, red of the little rose -that grows in certain places of sands, red of the bright flame’s heart. -And all these colors are mingled in complete sterility. And all are -fused into a fierce brotherhood by the sun. And like a flood, they seem -flowing to the red and the yellow mountains, like a flood that is -flowing to its sea. You are taken by them toward the mountains, on and -on, till the world is closing in, and you know the way must come to an -end. And it comes to an end—in a tomb.</p> - -<p>You go to a door in the rock, and a guardian lets you in, and wants to -follow you in. Prevent him if you can. Pay him. Go in alone. For this is -the tomb of Amenhotep II; and he himself is here, far down, at rest -under the mountain, this king who lived and reigned more than fourteen -hundred years before the birth of Christ. The ravine-valley leads to -him, and you should go to him alone. He lies in the heart of the living -rock, in the dull heat of the earth’s bowels, which is like no other -heat. You descend by stairs and corridors, you pass over a well by a -bridge, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> pass through a naked chamber; and the king is not there. -And you go on down another staircase, and along another corridor, and -you come into a pillared chamber, with paintings on its walls, and on -its pillars, paintings of the king in the presence of the gods of the -under-world, under stars in a soft blue sky. And below you, shut in on -the farther side by the solid mountain in whose breast you have all this -time been walking, there is a crypt. And you turn away from the bright -paintings, and down there you see the king.</p> - -<p>Many years ago in London I went to the private view of the Royal Academy -at Burlington House. I went in the afternoon when the galleries were -crowded with politicians and artists, with dealers, gossips, quidnuncs, -and <i>flâneurs</i>; with authors, fashionable lawyers, and doctors; with men -and women of the world; with young dandies and actresses <i>en vogue</i>. A -roar of voices went up to the roof. Every one was talking, smiling, -laughing, commenting, and criticizing. It was a little picture of the -very worldly world that loves the things of to-day and the chime of the -passing hours. And suddenly some people near me were silent, and some -turned their heads to stare with a strangely fixed attention. And I saw -coming toward me an emaciated figure, rather bent, much drawn together, -walking slowly on legs like sticks. It was clad in black, with a gleam -of color. Above it was a face so intensely thin that it was like the -face of death. And in this face shone<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_041" id="ill_041"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_171_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_171_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1908, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>TEMPLE OF ESNEH</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">two eyes that seemed full of—the other world. And, like a breath from -the other world passing, this man went by me and was hidden from me by -the throng. It was Cardinal Manning in the last days of his life.</p> - -<p>The face of this king is like his, but it has an even deeper pathos as -it looks upward to the rock. And the king’s silence bids you be silent, -and his immobility bids you be still. And his sad, and unutterable -resignation sifts awe, as by the desert wind the sand is sifted into the -temples, into the temple of your heart. And you feel the touch of time, -but the touch of eternity, too. And as, in that rock-hewn sanctuary, you -whisper “Pax vobiscum,” you say it for all the world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV<br /><br /> -EDFU</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">P</span>RAYER pervades the East. Far off across the sands, when one is -traveling in the desert, one sees thin minarets rising toward the sky. A -desert city is there. It signals its presence by this mute appeal to -Allah. And where there are no minarets,—in the great wastes of the -dunes, in the eternal silence, the lifelessness that is not broken even -by any lonely, wandering bird,—the camels are stopped at the appointed -hours, the poor, and often ragged, robes are laid down, the brown -pilgrims prostrate themselves in prayer. And the rich man spreads his -carpet, and prays. And the half-naked nomad spreads nothing; but he -prays, too. The East is full of lust, and full of money-getting, and -full of bartering, and full of violence; but it is full of worship—of -worship that disdains concealment, that recks not of ridicule or -comment, that believes too utterly to care if others disbelieve. There -are in the East many men who do not pray. They do not laugh at the man -who does, like the unpraying Christian. There is nothing ludicrous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_042" id="ill_042"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_175_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_175_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>PRAYER IN THE DESERT</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">to them in prayer. In Egypt your Nubian sailor prays in the stern of -your dahabiyeh; and your Egyptian boatman prays by the rudder of your -boat; and your black donkey-boy prays behind a red rock in the sand; and -your camel-man prays when you are resting in the noontide, watching the -far-off, quivering mirage, lost in some wayward dream.</p> - -<p>And must you not pray, too, when you enter certain temples where once -strange gods were worshiped in whom no man now believes?</p> - -<p>There is one temple on the Nile which seems to embrace in its arms all -the worship of the past; to be full of prayers and solemn praises; to be -the holder, the noble keeper, of the sacred longings, of the unearthly -desires and aspirations, of the dead. It is the temple of Edfu. From all -the other temples it stands apart. It is the temple of the inward flame, -of the secret soul of man; of that mystery within us that is exquisitely -sensitive, and exquisitely alive; that has longings it cannot tell, and -sorrows it dare not whisper, and loves it can only love.</p> - -<p>To Horus it was dedicated,—hawk-headed Horus,—the son of Isis and -Osiris, who was crowned with many crowns, who was the young Apollo of -the old Egyptian world. But though I know this, I am never able to -associate Edfu with Horus, that child wearing the side-lock,—when he is -not hawk-headed in his solar aspect,—that boy with his finger in his -mouth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> that youth who fought against Set, murderer of his father.</p> - -<p>Edfu, in its solemn beauty, in its perfection of form, seems to me to -pass into a region altogether beyond identification with the worship of -any special deity, with particular attributes, perhaps with particular -limitations; one who can be graven upon walls, and upon architraves and -pillars painted in brilliant colors; one who can personally pursue a -criminal, like some policeman in the street; even one who can rise upon -the world in the visible glory of the sun. To me, Edfu must always -represent the world-worship of “the Hidden One”; not Amun, god of the -dead, fused with Ra, with Amsu, or with Khnum: but that other “Hidden -One,” who is God of the happy hunting-ground of savages, with whom the -Buddhist strives to merge his strange serenity of soul; who is adored in -the “Holy Places” by the Moslem, and lifted mystically above the heads -of kneeling Catholics in cathedrals dim with incense, and merrily -praised with the banjo and the trumpet in the streets of black English -cities; who is asked for children by longing women, and for new dolls by -lisping babes; whom the atheist denies in the day, and fears in the -darkness of night; who is on the lips alike of priest and blasphemer, -and in the soul of all human life.</p> - -<p>Edfu is the temple of “the Hidden One.” It is not pagan; it is not -Christian: it is a place in which to worship according to the dictates -of your heart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_043" id="ill_043"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_180_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_180_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE TEMPLE OF EDFU</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span></p> - -<p>Edfu stands alone, not near any other temple, on the bank of the Nile -between Luxor and Assuan. It is not very far from El-Kab, once the -capital of Upper Egypt and it is about two thousand years old. The -building of it took over one hundred and eighty years, and it is the -most perfectly preserved temple to-day of all the antique world. It is -huge and it is splendid. It has towers one hundred and twelve feet high, -a propylon two hundred and fifty-two feet broad, and walls four hundred -and fifty feet long. Begun in the reign of Ptolemy III, it was completed -only fifty-seven years before the birth of Christ.</p> - -<p>You know these facts about it, and you forget them, or at least you do -not think of them. What does all that matter when you are alone in Edfu? -Let the antiquarian go with his anxious nose almost touching the stone; -let the Egyptologist peer through his glasses at hieroglyphs and puzzle -out the meaning of cartouches: but let us wander at ease, and worship, -and regard the exquisite form, and drink in the mystical spirit, of this -very wonderful temple.</p> - -<p>Do you care about form? Here you will find it in absolute perfection. -Edfu is the consecration of form. In proportion it is supreme above all -other Egyptian temples. Its beauty of form is like a music. Its design -affects one like the chiseled loveliness of a perfect sonnet. While the -world lasts, no architect can arise to create a building more -satisfying, more calm with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> calm of faultlessness, more serene with -a just serenity. Or so it seems to me. I think of the most lovely -buildings I know in Europe—of the Alhambra at Granada, of the Cappella -Palatina in the palace at Palermo. And Edfu I place with them—Edfu -utterly different from them, more different, perhaps, even than they are -from each other, but akin to them, as all great beauty is mysteriously -akin. I have spent morning after morning in the Alhambra, and many and -many an hour in the Cappella Palatina; and never have I been weary of -either, or longed to go away. And this same sweet desire to stay came -over me in Edfu. The <i>Loulia</i> was tied up by the high bank of the Nile. -The sailors were glad to rest. There was no steamer sounding its hideous -siren to call me to its crowded deck. So I yielded to my desire, and for -long I stayed in Edfu. And when at last I left it I said to myself, -“This is a supreme thing,” and I knew that within me had suddenly -developed the curious passion for buildings that some people never feel, -and that others feel ever growing and growing.</p> - -<p>Yes, Edfu is supreme. No alteration could improve it. Any change made in -it, however slight, could only be harmful to it. Pure and perfect is its -design—broad propylon, great open courtyard with pillared galleries, -halls, chambers, sanctuary. Its dignity and its sobriety are matchless. -I know they must be, because they touched me so strangely, with a kind -of reticent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_044" id="ill_044"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_183_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_183_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>PYLON, TEMPLE OF EDFU</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">enchantment, and I am not by nature enamoured of sobriety, of reticence -and calm, but am inclined to delight in almost violent force, in -brilliance, and, especially, in combinations of color. In the Alhambra -one finds both force and fairylike lightness, delicious proportions, -delicate fantasy, a spell as of subtle magicians; in the Cappella -Palatina a jeweled splendor, combined with a small perfection of form -which simply captivates the whole spirit and leads it to adoration. In -Edfu you are face to face with hugeness and with grandeur; but soon you -are scarcely aware of either—in the sense, at least, that connects -these qualities with a certain overwhelming, almost striking down, of -the spirit and the faculties. What you are aware of is your own immense -and beautiful calm of utter satisfaction—a calm which has quietly -inundated you, like a waveless tide of the sea. How rare it is to feel -this absolute satisfaction, this praising serenity! The critical spirit -goes, like a bird from an opened window. The excited, laudatory, voluble -spirit goes. And this splendid calm is left. If you stay here, you, as -this temple has been, will be molded into a beautiful sobriety. From the -top of the pylon you have received this still and glorious impression -from the matchless design of the whole building, which you see best from -there. When you descend the shallow staircase, when you stand in the -great court, when you go into the shadowy halls, then it is that the -utter satisfaction within you deepens.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span> Then it is that you feel the -need to worship in this place created for worship.</p> - -<p>The ancient Egyptians made most of their temples in conformity with a -single type. The sanctuary was the heart, the core, of each temple—the -sanctuary surrounded by the chambers in which were laid up the precious -objects connected with ceremonies and sacrifices. Leading to this core -of the temple, which was sometimes called “the divine house,” were -various halls the roofs of which were supported by columns—those -hypostyle halls which one sees perpetually in Egypt. Before the first of -these halls was a courtyard surrounded by a colonnade. In the courtyard -the priests of the temple assembled. The people were allowed to enter -the colonnade. A gateway with towers gave entrance to the courtyard. If -one visits many of the Egyptian temples, one soon becomes aware of the -subtlety, combined with a sort of high simplicity, and sense of mystery -and poetry, of these builders of the past. As a great writer leads one -on, with a concealed but beautiful art, from the first words of his -story to the last—the last words to which all the other words are -ministering servants; as the great musician—Wagner in his -“Meistersinger,” for instance,—leads one from the first notes of his -score to those final notes which magnificently reveal to the listeners -the real meaning of those first notes, and of all the notes which -followed them: so the Egyptian builders lead the spirit gently,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> -mysteriously forward from the gateway between the towers to the distant -house divine. When one enters the outer court, one feels the far-off -sanctuary. Almost unconsciously one is aware that for that sanctuary all -the rest of the temple was created; that to that sanctuary everything -tends. And in spirit one is drawn softly onward to that very holy place. -Slowly, perhaps, the body moves from courtyard to hypostyle hall, and -from one hall to another. Hieroglyphs are examined, cartouches puzzled -out, paintings of processions, or bas-reliefs of pastimes and of -sacrifices, looked at with care and interest; but all the time one has -the sense of waiting, of a want unsatisfied. And only when one at last -reaches the sanctuary is one perfectly at rest. For then the spirit -feels: “This is the meaning of it all.”</p> - -<p>One of the means which the Egyptian architects used to create this sense -of approach is very simple, but perfectly effective. It consists only in -making each hall on a very slightly higher level than the one preceding -it, and the sanctuary, which is narrow and mysteriously dark, on the -highest level of all. Each time one takes an upward step, or walks up a -little incline of stone, the body seems to convey to the soul a deeper -message of reverence and awe. In no other temple is this sense of -approach to the heart of a thing so acute as it is when one walks in -Edfu. In no other temple, when the sanctuary is reached, has one such a -strong consciousness of being indeed within a sacred heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span></p> - -<p>The color of Edfu is a pale and delicate brown, warm in the strong -sunshine, but seldom glowing. Its first doorway is extraordinarily high, -and is narrow, but very deep, with a roof showing traces of that -delicious, clear blue-green which is like a thin cry of joy rising up in -the solemn temples of Egypt. A small Sphinx keeps watch on the right, -just where the guardian stands; this guardian, the gift of the past, -squat, even fat, with a very perfect face of a determined and handsome -man. In the court, upon a pedestal, stands a big bird, and near it is -another bird, or rather half of a bird, leaning forward, and much -defaced. And in this great courtyard there are swarms of living birds -twittering in the sunshine. Through the doorway between the towers one -sees a glimpse of a native village with the cupolas of a mosque.</p> - -<p>I stood and looked at the cupolas for a moment. Then I turned, and -forgot for a time the life of the world without—that men, perhaps, were -praying beneath those cupolas, or praising the Moslem’s God. For when I -turned, I felt, as I have said, as if all the worship of the world must -be concentrated here. Standing far down the open court, in the full -sunshine, I could see into the first hypostyle hall, but beyond only a -darkness—a darkness which led me on, in which the further chambers of -the house divine were hidden. As I went on slowly, the perfection of the -plan of the dead architects was gradually revealed to</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_045" id="ill_045"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_190_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_190_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE TEMPLE OF EDFU FROM THE TOP OF THE PYLON</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">me, when the darkness gave up its secrets; when I saw not clearly, but -dimly, the long way between the columns, the noble columns themselves, -the gradual, slight upward slope,—graduated by genius; there is no -other word,—which led to the sanctuary, seen at last as a little -darkness, in which all the mystery of worship, and of the silent desires -of men, was surely concentrated, and kept by the stone forever. Even the -succession of the darknesses, like shadows growing deeper and deeper, -seemed planned by some great artist in the management of light, and so -of shadow effects. The perfection of form is in Edfu, impossible to -describe, impossible not to feel. The tremendous effect it has—an -effect upon the soul—is created by a combination of shapes, of -proportions, of different levels, of different heights, by consummate -graduation. And these shapes, proportions, different levels, and -heights, are seen in dimness. Not that jeweled dimness one loves in -Gothic cathedrals, but the heavy dimness of windowless, mighty chambers -lighted only by a rebuked daylight ever trying to steal in. One is -captured by no ornament, seduced by no lovely colors. Better than any -ornament, greater than any radiant glory of color, is this massive -austerity. It is like the ultimate in an art. Everything has been tried, -every strangeness, <i>bizarrerie</i>, absurdity, every wild scheme of hues, -every preposterous subject—to take an extreme instance, a camel, -wearing a top-hat, and lighted up by fireworks,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> which I saw recently in -a picture-gallery of Munich. And at the end a genius paints a portrait -of a wrinkled old woman’s face, and the world regards and worships. Or -all discords have been flung together pell-mell, resolution of them has -been deferred perpetually, perhaps even denied altogether, chord of B -major has been struck with C major, works have closed upon the leading -note or the dominant seventh, symphonies have been composed to be played -in the dark, or to be accompanied by a magic-lantern’s efforts, operas -been produced which are merely carnage and a row,—and at the end a -genius writes a little song, and the world gives the tribute of its -breathless silence and its tears. And it knows that though other things -may be done, better things can never be done. For no perfection can -exceed any other perfection.</p> - -<p>And so in Edfu I feel that this untinted austerity is perfect; that -whatever may be done in architecture during future ages of the world, -Edfu, while it lasts, will remain a thing supreme—supreme in form and, -because of this supremacy, supreme in the spell which it casts upon the -soul.</p> - -<p>The sanctuary is just a small, beautifully proportioned, inmost chamber, -with a black roof, containing a sort of altar of granite, and a great -polished granite shrine which no doubt once contained the god Horus. I -am glad he is not there now. How far more impressive it is to stand in -an empty sanctuary, in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_046" id="ill_046"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_193_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_193_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE COURT, TEMPLE OF EDFU</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">house divine of “the Hidden One,” whom the nations of the earth worship, -whether they spread their robes on the sand and turn their faces to -Mecca, or beat the tambourine and sing “glory-hymns” of salvation, or -flagellate themselves in the night before the patron saint of the -Passionists, or only gaze at the snow-white plume that floats from the -snows of Etna under the rose of dawn, and feel the soul behind Nature. -Among the temples of Egypt, Edfu is the house divine of “the Hidden -One,” the perfect temple of worship.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV<br /><br /> -KOM OMBOS</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">S</span>OME people talk of the “sameness” of the Nile; and there is a lovely -sameness of golden light, of delicious air, of people, and of scenery. -For Egypt is, after all, mainly a great river with strips on each side -of cultivated land, flat, green, not very varied. River, green plains, -yellow plains, pink, brown, steel-gray, or pale-yellow mountains, wail -of shadoof, wail of sakieh. Yes, I suppose there is a sameness, a sort -of golden monotony, in this land pervaded with light and pervaded with -sound. Always there is light around you, and you are bathing in it, and -nearly always, if you are living, as I was, on the water, there is a -multitude of mingling sounds floating, floating to your ears. As there -are two lines of green land, two lines of mountains, following the -course of the Nile; so are there two lines of voices that cease their -calling and their singing only as you draw near to Nubia. For then, with -the green land, they fade away, these miles upon miles of calling and -singing brown men; and amber and ruddy sands creep downward to the Nile. -And the air seems subtly changing, and the light perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_047" id="ill_047"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_197_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_197_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by James S Lee<br /> -</p> - -<p>HYPOSTYLE HALL, KÔM OMBOS</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">growing a little harder. And you are aware of other regions unlike those -you are leaving, more African, more savage, less suave, less like a -dreaming. And especially the silence makes a great impression on you. -But before you enter this silence, between the amber and ruddy walls -that will lead you on to Nubia, and to the land of the crocodile, you -have a visit to pay. For here, high up on a terrace, looking over a -great bend of the river, is Kom Ombos. And Kom Ombos is the temple of -the crocodile god.</p> - -<p>Sebek was one of the oldest and one of the most evil of the Egyptian -gods. In the Fayum he was worshiped, as well as at Kom Ombos, and there, -in the holy lake of his temple, were numbers of holy crocodiles, which -Strabo tells us were decorated with jewels like pretty women. He did not -get on with the other gods, and was sometimes confused with Set, who -personified natural darkness, and who also was worshiped by the people -about Kom Ombos.</p> - -<p>I have spoken of the golden sameness of the Nile, but this sameness is -broken by the variety of the temples. Here you have a striking instance -of this variety. Edfu, only forty miles from Kom Ombos, the next temple -which you visit, is the most perfect temple in Egypt. Kom Ombos one of -the most imperfect. Edfu is a divine house of “the Hidden One,” full of -a sacred atmosphere. Kom Ombos is the house of crocodiles. In ancient -days the inhabitants of Edfu<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> abhorred, above everything, crocodiles and -their worshipers. And here at Kom Ombos the crocodile was adored. You -are in a different atmosphere.</p> - -<p>As soon as you land, you are greeted with crocodiles, though fortunately -not by them. A heap of their black mummies is shown to you reposing in a -sort of tomb or shrine open at one end to the air. By these mummies the -new note is loudly struck. The crocodiles have carried you in an instant -from that which is pervadingly general to that which is narrowly -particular; from the purely noble, which seems to belong to all time, to -the entirely barbaric, which belongs only to times outworn. It is -difficult to feel as if one had anything in common with men who -seriously worshiped crocodiles, had priests to feed them, and decorated -their scaly necks with jewels.</p> - -<p>Yet the crocodile god had a noble temple at Kom Ombos, a temple which -dates from the times of the Ptolemies, though there was a temple in -earlier days which has now disappeared. Its situation is splendid. It -stands high above the Nile, and close to the river, on a terrace which -has recently been constructed to save it from the encroachments of the -water. And it looks down upon a view which is exquisite in the clear -light of early morning. On the right, and far off, is a delicious pink -bareness of distant flats and hills. Opposite there is a flood of -verdure and of trees going to mountains, a spit of sand where is an -inlet of the river,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_048" id="ill_048"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_201_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_201_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE TEMPLE OF KÔM OMBOS</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">with a crowd of native boats, perhaps waiting for a wind. On the left is -the big bend of the Nile, singularly beautiful, almost voluptuous in -form, and girdled with a radiant green of crops, with palm-trees, and -again the distant hills. Sebek was well advised to have his temples here -and in the glorious Fayum, that land flowing with milk and honey, where -the air is full of the voices of the flocks and herds, and alive with -the wild pigeons; where the sweet sugar-cane towers up in fairy forests, -the beloved home of the jackal; where the green corn waves to the -horizon, and the runlets of water make a maze of silver threads carrying -life and its happy murmur through all the vast oasis.</p> - -<p>At the guardian’s gate by which you go in there sits not a watch dog, -nor yet a crocodile, but a watch cat, small, but very determined, and -very attentive to its duties, and neatly carved in stone. You try to -look like a crocodile-worshiper. It is deceived, and lets you pass. And -you are alone with the growing morning and Kom Ombos.</p> - -<p>I was never taken, caught up into an atmosphere, in Kom Ombos. I -examined it with interest, but I did not feel a spell. Its grandeur is -great, but it did not affect me as did the grandeur of Karnak. Its -nobility cannot be questioned, but I did not stilly rejoice in it, as in -the nobility of Luxor, or the free splendor of the Ramesseum.</p> - -<p>The oldest thing at Kom Ombos is a gateway of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span> sandstone placed there by -Thothmes III as a tribute to Sebek. The great temple is of a warm-brown -color, a very rich and particularly beautiful brown, that soothes and -almost comforts the eyes that have been for many days boldly assaulted -by the sun. Upon the terrace platform above the river you face a low and -ruined wall, on which there are some lively reliefs, beyond which is a -large, open court containing a quantity of stunted, once big columns -standing on big bases. Immediately before you the temple towers up, very -gigantic, very majestic, with a stone pavement, walls on which still -remain some traces of paintings, and really grand columns, enormous in -size and in good formation. There are fine architraves, and some bits of -roofing, but the greater part is open to the air. Through a doorway is a -second hall containing columns much less noble, and beyond this one -walks in ruin, among crumbled or partly destroyed chambers, broken -statues, become mere slabs of granite and fallen blocks of stone. At the -end is a wall, with a pavement bordering it, and a row of chambers that -look like monkish cells, closed by small doors. At Kom Ombos there are -two sanctuaries, one dedicated to Sebek, the other to Heru-ur, or -Haroëris, a form of Horus in Egyptian called “the Elder,” which was -worshiped with Sebek here by the admirers of crocodiles. Each of them -contains a pedestal of granite upon which once rested a sacred bark -bearing an image of the deity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_049" id="ill_049"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_206_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_206_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>TEMPLE OF KOM OMBOS. SCREEN WALL OF HYPOSTYLE HALL</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span></p> - -<p>There are some fine reliefs scattered through these mighty ruins, -showing Sebek with the head of a crocodile, Heru-ur with the head of a -hawk so characteristic of Horus, and one strange animal which has no -fewer than four heads, apparently meant for the heads of lions. One -relief which I specially noticed for its life, its charming vivacity, -and its almost amusing fidelity to details unchanged to-day, depicts a -number of ducks in full flight near a mass of lotus flowers. I -remembered it one day in the Fayum, so intimately associated with Sebek, -when I rode twenty miles out from camp on a dromedary to the end of the -great lake of Kurun, where the sand wastes of the Libyan desert stretch -to the pale and waveless waters which, that day, looked curiously -desolate and even sinister under a low, gray sky. Beyond the wiry -tamarisk bushes, which grow far out from the shore, thousands upon -thousands of wild duck were floating as far as the eyes could see. We -took a strange native boat, manned by two half-naked fishermen, and were -rowed with big, broadbladed oars out upon the silent flood that the -silent desert surrounded. But the duck were too wary ever to let us get -within range of them. As we drew gently near, they rose in black -throngs, and skimmed low into the distance of the wintry landscape, -trailing their legs behind them, like the duck on the wall of Kom Ombos. -There was no duck for dinner in camp that night, and the cook was -inconsolable. But I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> seen a relief come to life, and surmounted my -disappointment.</p> - -<p>Kom Ombos and Edfu, the two houses of the lovers and haters of -crocodiles, or at least of the lovers and the haters of their worship, I -shall always think of them together, because I drifted on the <i>Loulia</i> -from one to the other, and saw no interesting temple between them, and -because their personalities are as opposed as were, centuries ago, the -tenets of those who adored within them. The Egyptians of old were -devoted to the hunting of crocodiles, which once abounded in the reaches -of the Nile between Assuan and Luxor, and also much lower down. But I -believe that no reliefs, or paintings, of this sport are to be found -upon the walls of the temples and the tombs. The fear of Sebek, perhaps, -prevailed even over the dwellers about the temple of Edfu. Yet how could -fear of any crocodile god infect the souls of those who were privileged -to worship in such a temple, or even reverently to stand under the -colonnade within the court? As well, perhaps, one might ask how men -could be inspired to raise such a perfect building to a deity with the -face of a hawk? But Horus was not the god of crocodiles, but a god of -the sun. And his power to inspire men must have been vast; for the -greatest conception in stone in Egypt, and, I suppose, in the whole -world, the Sphinx, as De Rougé proved by an inscription at Edfu, was a -representation of Horus transformed to</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_050" id="ill_050"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_210_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_210_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE ISLAND OF ELEPHANTINE, FROM ASSOUAN</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">conquer Typhon. The Sphinx and Edfu! For such marvels we ought to bless -the hawk-headed god. And if we forget the hawk, which one meets so -perpetually upon the walls of tombs and temples, and identify Horus -rather with the Greek Apollo, the yellow-haired god of the sun, driving -“westerly all day in his flaming chariot,” and shooting his golden -arrows at the happy world beneath, we can be at peace with those dead -Egyptians. For every pilgrim who goes to Edfu to-day is surely a -worshiper of the solar aspect of Horus. As long as the world lasts there -will be sun-worshipers. Every brown man upon the Nile is one, and every -good American who crosses the ocean and comes at last into the somber -wonder of Edfu, and I was one upon the deck of the <i>Loulia</i>.</p> - -<p>And we all worship as yet in the dark, as in the exquisite dark, like -faith, of the Holy of Holies of Horus.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI<br /><br /> -PHILÆ</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>S I drew slowly nearer and nearer to the home of “the great -Enchantress,” or, as Isis was also called in bygone days, “the Lady of -Philæ,” the land began to change in character, to be full of a new and -barbaric meaning. In recent years I have paid many visits to northern -Africa, but only to Tunisia and Algeria, countries that are -wilder-looking, and much wilder-seeming, than Egypt. Now, as I -approached Assuan, I seemed at last to be also approaching the real, the -intense Africa that I had known in the Sahara, the enigmatic siren, -savage and strange and wonderful, whom the typical Ouled Näil, crowned -with gold, and tufted with ostrich plumes, painted with kohl, tattooed, -and perfumed, hung with golden coins and amulets, and framed in plaits -of coarse, false hair, represents indifferently to the eyes of the -traveling stranger. For at last I saw the sands that I love creeping -down to the banks of the Nile. And they brought with them that wonderful -air which belongs only to them—the air that dwells among the dunes in -the solitary places, that is like the cool touch of Liberty upon the -face of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_051" id="ill_051"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_213_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_213_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE ISLE OF PHILÆ BEFORE THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DAM</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">man, that makes the brown child of the nomad as lithe, tireless, and -fierce-spirited as a young panther, and sets flames in the eyes of the -Arab horse, and gives speed of the wind to the Sloughi. The true lover -of the desert can never rid his soul of its passion for the sands, and -now my heart leaped as I stole into their pure embraces, as I saw to -right and left amber curves and sheeny recesses, shining ridges and -bloomy clefts. The clean delicacy of those sands that, in long and -glowing hills, stretched out from Nubia to meet me, who could ever -describe them? Who could ever describe their soft and enticing shapes, -their exquisite gradations of color, the little shadows in their -hollows, the fiery beauty of their crests, the patterns the cool winds -make upon them? It is an enchanted <i>royaume</i> of the sands through which -one approaches Isis.</p> - -<p>Isis and engineers! We English people have effected that curious -introduction, and we greatly pride ourselves upon it. We have presented -Sir William Garstin, and Mr. John Blue, and Mr. Fitz Maurice, and other -clever, hard-working men to the fabled Lady of Philæ, and they have -given her a gift: a dam two thousand yards in length, upon which -tourists go smiling on trolleys. Isis has her expensive tribute,—it -cost about a million and a half pounds,—and no doubt she ought to be -gratified.</p> - -<p>Yet I think Isis mourns on altered Philæ, as she mourns with her sister, -Nepthys, at the heads of so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> many mummies of Osirians upon the walls of -Egyptian tombs. And though the fellaheen very rightly rejoice, there are -some unpractical sentimentalists who form a company about her, and make -their plaint with hers—their plaint for the peace that is gone, for the -lost calm, the departed poetry, that once hung, like a delicious, like -an inimitable, atmosphere, about the palms of the “Holy Island.”</p> - -<p>I confess that I dreaded to revisit Philæ. I had sweet memories of the -island that had been with me for many years—memories of still mornings -under the palm-trees, watching the gliding waters of the river, or -gazing across them to the long sweep of the empty sands; memories of -drowsy, golden noons, when the bright world seemed softly sleeping, and -the almost daffodil-colored temple dreamed under the quivering canopy of -blue; memories of evenings when a benediction from the lifted hands of -Romance surely fell upon the temple and the island and the river; -memories of moonlit nights, when the spirits of the old gods to whom the -temples were reared surely held converse with the spirits of the desert, -with Mirage and her pale and evading sisters of the great spaces, under -the brilliant stars. I was afraid, because I could not believe the -asseverations of certain practical persons, full of the hard and almost -angry desire of “Progress,” that no harm had been done by the creation -of the reservoir, but that, on the contrary, it had benefited the -temple.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_052" id="ill_052"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_217_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_217_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>THE SACRED ISLE OF PHILÆ</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> </p> - -<p>The action of the water upon the stone, they said with vehement voices, -instead of loosening it and causing it to crumble untimely away, had -tended to harden and consolidate it. Here I should like to lie, but I -resist the temptation. Monsieur Naville has stated that possibly the -English engineers have helped to prolong the lives of the buildings of -Philæ, and Monsieur Maspero has declared that “the state of the temple -of Philæ becomes continually more satisfactory.” So be it! Longevity has -been, by a happy chance, secured. But what of beauty? What of the beauty -of the past, and what of the schemes for the future? Is Philæ even to be -left as it is, or are the waters of the Nile to be artificially raised -still higher, until Philæ ceases to be? Soon, no doubt, an answer will -be given.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, instead of the little island that I knew, and thought a -little paradise breathing out enchantment in the midst of titanic -sterility, I found a something diseased. Philæ now, when out of the -water, as it was all the time when I was last in Egypt, looks like a -thing stricken with some creeping malady—one of those maladies which -begin in the lower members of a body, and work their way gradually but -inexorably upward to the trunk, until they attain the heart.</p> - -<p>I came to it by the desert, and descended to Shellal—Shellal with its -railway-station, its workmen’s buildings, its tents, its dozens of -screens to protect the hewers of stone from the burning rays of the sun, -its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> bustle of people, of overseers, engineers, and workmen, Egyptian, -Nubian, Italian, and Greek. The silence I had known was gone, though the -desert lay all around—the great sands, the great masses of granite that -look as if patiently waiting to be fashioned into obelisks, and -sarcophagi, and statues. But away there across the bend of the river, -dominating the ugly rummage of this intrusive beehive of human bees, -sheer grace overcoming strength both of nature and human nature, rose -the fabled “Pharaoh’s Bed”; gracious, tender, from Shellal most -delicately perfect, and glowing with pale gold against the grim -background of the hills on the western shore. It seemed to plead for -mercy, like something feminine threatened with outrage, to protest -through its mere beauty, as a woman might protest by an attitude, -against further desecration.</p> - -<p>And in the distance the Nile roared through the many gates of the dam, -making answer to the protest.</p> - -<p>What irony was in this scene! In the old days of Egypt Philæ was sacred -ground, was the Nile-protected home of sacerdotal mysteries, was a -veritable Mecca to the believers in Osiris, to which it was forbidden -even to draw near without permission. The ancient Egyptians swore -solemnly “By him who sleeps in Philæ.” Now they sometimes swear angrily -at him who wakes in, or at least by, Philæ, and keeps them steadily -going at their appointed tasks. And instead of it being forbidden to -draw near to a sacred spot, needy men from</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_053" id="ill_053"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_222_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_222_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by James S. Lee<br /> -</p> - -<p>THE TEMPLE OF ISIS, PHILÆ</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">foreign countries flock thither in eager crowds, not to worship in -beauty, but to earn a living wage.</p> - -<p>And “Pharaoh’s Bed” looks out over the water and seems to wonder what -will be the end.</p> - -<p>I was glad to escape from Shellal, pursued by the shriek of an engine -announcing its departure from the station, glad to be on the quiet -water, to put it between me and that crowd of busy workers. Before me I -saw a vast lake, not unlovely, where once the Nile flowed swiftly, far -off a gray smudge—the very damnable dam. All around me was a grim and -cruel world of rocks, and of hills that look almost like heaps of -rubbish, some of them gray, some of them in color so dark that they -resemble the lava torrents petrified near Catania, or the “black -country” in England through which one rushes on one’s way to the North. -Just here and there, sweetly almost as the pink blossoms of the wild -oleander, which I have seen from Sicilian seas lifting their heads from -the crevices of sea rocks, the amber and rosy sands of Nubia smiled down -over grit stone and granite.</p> - -<p>The setting of Philæ is severe. Even in bright sunshine it has an iron -look. On a gray or stormy day it would be forbidding or even terrible. -In the old winters and springs one loved Philæ the more because of the -contrast of its setting with its own lyrical beauty, its curious -tenderness of charm—a charm in which the isle itself was mingled with -its buildings. But now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> and before my boat had touched the quay, I saw -that the island must be ignored—if possible.</p> - -<p>The water with which it is entirely covered during a great part of the -year seems to have cast a blight upon it. The very few palms have a -drooping and tragic air. The ground has a gangrened appearance, and much -of it shows a crawling mass of unwholesome-looking plants, which seem -crouching down as if ashamed of their brutal exposure by the receded -river, and of harsh and yellow-green grass, unattractive to the eyes. As -I stepped on shore I felt as if I were stepping on disease. But at least -there were the buildings undisturbed by any outrage. Again I turned -toward “Pharaoh’s Bed,” toward the temple standing apart from it, which -already I had seen from the desert, near Shellal, gleaming with its -gracious sand-yellow, lifting its series of straight lines of masonry -above the river and the rocks, looking, from a distance, very simple, -with a simplicity like that of clear water, but as enticing as the light -on the first real day of spring.</p> - -<p>I went first to “Pharaoh’s Bed.”</p> - -<p>Imagine a woman with a perfectly lovely face, with features as -exquisitely proportioned as those, say, of Praxiteles’s statue of the -Cnidian Aphrodite, for which King Nicomedes was willing to remit the -entire national debt of Cnidus, and with a warmly white rose-leaf -complexion—one of those complexions one sometimes sees in Italian -women, colorless, yet suggestive almost of glow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_054" id="ill_054"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_225_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_225_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>NEARLY SUBMERGED COLUMNS, ISLE OF PHILÆ</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">of purity, with the flame of passion behind it. Imagine that woman -attacked by a malady which leaves her features exactly as they were, but -which changes the color of her face—from the throat upward to just -beneath the nose—from the warm white to a mottled, grayish hue. Imagine -the line that would seem to be traced between the two complexions—the -mottled gray below the warm white still glowing above. Imagine this, and -you have “Pharaoh’s Bed” and the temple of Philæ as they are to-day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII<br /><br /> -“PHARAOH’S BED”</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“P</span>HARAOH’s Bed,” which stands alone close to the Nile on the eastern -side of the island, is not one of those rugged, majestic buildings, full -of grandeur and splendor, which can bear, can “carry off,” as it were, a -cruelly imposed ugliness without being affected as a whole. It is, on -the contrary, a small, almost an airy, and a femininely perfect thing, -in which a singular loveliness of form was combined with a singular -loveliness of color. The spell it threw over you was not so much a spell -woven of details as a spell woven of divine uniformity. To put it in -very practical language, “Pharaoh’s Bed” was “all of a piece.” The form -was married to the color. The color seemed to melt into the form. It was -indeed a bed in which the soul that worships beauty could rest happily -entranced. Nothing jarred. Antiquaries say that apparently this building -was left unfinished. That may be so. But for all that it was one of the -most finished things in Egypt, essentially a thing to inspire within one -the “perfect calm that is Greek.” The blighting touch of the Nile, which -has changed the beautiful pale yellow of the stone of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_055" id="ill_055"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_229_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_229_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>PHARAOH’S BED, BEFORE THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE DAM</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">the lower part of the building to a hideous and dreary gray,—which made -me think of a steel knife on which liquid has been spilt and allowed to -run,—has destroyed the uniformity, the balance, the faultless melody -lifted up by form and color. And so it is with the temple. It is as it -were cut in two by the intrusion into it of this hideous, mottled -complexion left by the receded water. Everywhere one sees disease on -walls and columns, almost blotting out bas-reliefs, giving to their -active figures a morbid, a sickly look. The effect is specially -distressing in the open court that precedes the temple dedicated to the -Lady of Philæ. In this court, which is at the southern end of the -island, the Nile at certain seasons is now forced to rise very nearly as -high as the capitals of many of the columns. The consequence of this is -that here the disease seems making rapid strides. One feels it is -drawing near to the heart, and that the poor, doomed invalid may -collapse at any moment.</p> - -<p>Yes, there is much to make one sad at Philæ. But how much of pure beauty -there is left—of beauty that mutely protests against any further -outrage!</p> - -<p>As there is something epic in the grandeur of the Lotus Hall at Karnak, -so there is something lyrical in the soft charm of the Philæ temple. -Certain things or places, certain things in certain places, always -suggest to my mind certain people in whose genius I take delight—who -have won me, and moved me by their art. Whenever I go to Philæ, the name -of Shelley comes to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span> me. I scarcely could tell why. I have no special -reason to connect Shelley with Philæ. But when I see that almost airy -loveliness of stone, so simply elegant, so, somehow, spring-like in its -pale-colored beauty, its happy, daffodil charm, with its touch of the -Greek,—the sensitive hand from Attica stretched out over Nubia,—I -always think of Shelley. I think of Shelley the youth who dived down -into the pool so deep that it seemed he was lost forever to the sun. I -think of Shelley the poet, full of a lyric ecstasy, who was himself like -an embodied</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Longing for something afar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the sphere of our sorrow.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Lyrical Philæ is like a temple of dreams, and of all poets Shelley might -have dreamed the dream, and have told it to the world in a song.</p> - -<p>For all its solidity, there are a strange lightness and grace in the -temple of Philæ; there is an elegance you will not find in the other -temples of Egypt. But it is an elegance quite undefiled by weakness, by -any sentimentality. (Even a building, like a love-lorn maid, can be -sentimental.) Edward Fitzgerald once defined taste as the feminine of -genius. Taste prevails in Philæ, a certain delicious femininity that -seduces the eyes and the heart of man. Shall we call it the spirit of -Isis?</p> - -<p>I have heard a clever critic and antiquarian declare that he is not very -fond of Philæ; that he feels a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_056" id="ill_056"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_233_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_233_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>“PHARAOH’S BED,” ISLAND OF PHILÆ</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">certain “spuriousness” in the temple due to the mingling of Greek with -Egyptian influences. He may be right. I am no antiquarian, and, as a -mere lover of beauty, I do not feel this “spuriousness.” I can see -neither two quarreling strengths nor any weakness caused by division. I -suppose I see only the beauty, as I might see only the beauty of a woman -bred of a handsome father and mother of different races, and who, not -typical of either, combined in her features and figure distinguishing -merits of both. It is true that there is a particular pleasure which is -roused in us only by the absolutely typical—the completely thoroughbred -person or thing. It may be a pleasure not caused by beauty, and it may -be very keen, nevertheless. When it is combined with the joy roused in -us by all beauty, it is a very pure emotion of exceptional delight. -Philæ does not, perhaps, give this emotion. But it certainly has a -lovableness that attaches the heart in a quite singular degree. The -Philæ-lover is the most faithful of lovers. The hold of his mistress -upon him, once it has been felt, is never relaxed. And in his affection -for Philæ there is, I think, nearly always a rainbow strain of romance.</p> - -<p>When we love anything, we love to be able to say of the object of our -devotion, “There is nothing like it.” Now, in all Egypt, and I suppose -in all the world, there is nothing just like Philæ. There are temples, -yes; but where else is there a bouquet of gracious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span> buildings such as -these gathered in such a holder as this tiny, raft-like isle? And where -else are just such delicate and, as I have said, light and almost -feminine elegance and charm set in the midst of such severe sterility? -Once, beyond Philæ, the Great Cataract roared down from the wastes of -Nubia into the green fertility of Upper Egypt. It roars no longer. But -still the masses of the rocks, and still the amber and the yellow sands, -and still the iron-colored hills, keep guard round Philæ. And still, -despite the vulgar desecration that has turned Shellal into a workmen’s -suburb and dowered it with a railway-station, there is mystery in Philæ, -and the sense of isolation that only an island gives. Even now one can -forget in Philæ—forget, after a while, and in certain parts of its -buildings, the presence of the gray disease; forget the threatening of -the altruists, who desire to benefit humanity by clearing as much beauty -out of humanity’s abiding-place as possible; forget the fact of the -railway, except when the shriek of the engine floats over the water to -one’s ears; forget economic problems, and the destruction that their -solving brings upon the silent world of things whose “use,” denied, -unrecognized, or laughed at, to man is in their holy beauty, whose -mission lies not upon the broad highways where tramps the hungry body, -but upon the secret, shadowy byways where glides the hungry soul.</p> - -<p>Yes, one can forget even now in the hall of the</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_057" id="ill_057"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_238_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_238_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by James S. Lee<br /> -</p> - -<p>IN “PHARAOH’S BED,” ISLAND OF PHILÆ</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">temple of Isis, where the capricious graces of form are linked with the -capricious graces of color, where, like old and delicious music in the -golden strings of a harp, dwells a something—what is it? A murmur, or a -perfume, or a breathing?—of old and vanished years when forsakened gods -were worshiped. And one can forget in the chapel of Hathor, on whose -wall little Horus is born, and in the gray hounds’ chapel beside it. One -can forget, for one walks in beauty.</p> - -<p>Lovely are the doorways in Philæ; enticing are the shallow steps that -lead one onward and upward; gracious the yellow towers that seem to -smile a quiet welcome. And there is one chamber that is simply a place -of magic—the hall of the painted portico, the delicious hall of the -flowers.</p> - -<p>It is this chamber which always makes me think of Philæ as a lovely -temple of dreams, this silent, retired chamber, where some fabled -princess might well have been touched to a long, long sleep of -enchantment, and lain for years upon years among the magical -flowers—the lotus, and the palm, and the papyrus.</p> - -<p>In my youth it made upon me an indelible impression. Through intervening -years, filled with many new impressions, many wanderings, many visions -of beauty in other lands, that retired, painted chamber had not faded -from my mind—or shall I say from my heart? There had seemed to me -within it something that was ineffable, as in a lyric of Shelley’s there -is something<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> that is ineffable, or in certain pictures of Boecklin, -such as “The Villa by the Sea.” And when at last, almost afraid and -hesitating, I came into it once more, I found in it again the strange -spell of old enchantment.</p> - -<p>It seems as if this chamber had been imagined by a poet, who had set it -in the center of the temple of his dream. It is such a spontaneous -chamber that one can scarcely imagine it more than a day and a night in -the building. Yet in detail it is lovely; it is finished and strangely -mighty; it is a lyric in stone, the most poetical chamber, perhaps, in -the whole of Egypt. For Philæ I count in Egypt, though really it is in -Nubia.</p> - -<p>One who has not seen Philæ may perhaps wonder how a tall chamber of -solid stone, containing heavy and soaring columns, can be like a lyric -of Shelley’s, can be exquisitely spontaneous, and yet hold a something -of mystery that makes one tread softly in it, and fear to disturb within -it some lovely sleeper of Nubia, some Princess of the Nile. He must -continue to wonder. To describe this chamber calmly, as I might, for -instance, describe the temple of Derr, would be simply to destroy it. -For things ineffable cannot be fully explained, or not be fully felt by -those the twilight of whose dreams is fitted to mingle with their -twilight. They who are meant to love with ardor <i>se passionnent pour la -passion</i>. And they who are meant to take and to keep the spirit of a -dream, whether it be hidden in a poem, or held in the cup of a flower, -or enfolded in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_058" id="ill_058"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_241_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_241_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From a photograph by James S. Lee<br /> -</p> - -<p>FORE-COURT OF THE TEMPLE OF ISIS AND “PHARAOH’S BED.” PHILÆ</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">arms of stone, will surely never miss it, even though they can hear -roaring loudly above its elfin voice the cry of directed waters rushing -down to Upper Egypt.</p> - -<p>How can one disentangle from their tapestry web the different threads of -a spell? And even if one could, if one could hold them up, and explain, -“The cause of the spell is that this comes in contact with this, and -that this, which I show you, blends with, fades into, this,” how could -it advantage any one? Nothing would be made clearer, nothing be really -explained. The ineffable is, and must ever remain, something remote and -mysterious.</p> - -<p>And so one may say many things of this painted chamber of Philæ, and yet -never convey, perhaps never really know, the innermost cause of its -charm. In it there is obvious beauty of form, and a seizing beauty of -color, beauty of sunlight and shadow, of antique association. This -turquoise blue is enchanting, and Isis was worshiped here. What has the -one to do with the other? Nothing; and yet how much! For is not each of -these facts a thread in the tapestry web of the spell? The eyes see the -rapture of this very perfect blue. The imagination hears, as if very far -off, the solemn chanting of priests, and smells the smoke of strange -perfumes, and sees the long, aquiline nose and the thin, haughty lips of -the goddess. And the color becomes strange to the eyes, as well as very -lovely, because, perhaps, it was there—it almost certainly was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> -there—when from Constantinople went forth the decree that all Egypt -should be Christian; when the priests of the sacred brotherhood of Isis -were driven from their temple.</p> - -<p>Isis nursing Horus gave way to the Virgin and the child. But the cycles -spin away down “the ringing grooves of change.” From Egypt has passed -away that decreed Christianity. Now from the minaret the muezzin cries, -and in palm-shaded villages I hear the loud hymns of earnest pilgrims -starting on the journey to Mecca. And ever this painted chamber shelters -its mystery of poetry, its mystery of charm. And still its marvelous -colors are fresh as in the far-off pagan days, and the opening -lotus-flowers, and the closed lotus-buds, and the palm and the papyrus, -are on the perfect columns. And their intrinsic loveliness, and their -freshness, and their age, and the mysteries they have looked on—all -these facts are part of the spell that governs us to-day. In Edfu one is -inclosed in a wonderful austerity. And one can only worship. In Philæ -one is wrapped in a radiance of color. And one can only dream. For there -is coral pink, and there a wonderful green, “like the green light that -lingers in the west,” and there is a blue as deep as the blue of a -tropical sea; and there are green-blue and lustrous, ardent red. And the -odd fantasy in the coloring, is not that like the fantasy in the temple -of a dream? For those who painted these capitals for the greater glory<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_059" id="ill_059"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_245_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_245_fp.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>ABU-SIMBEL</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind">of Isis did not fear to depart from nature, and to their patient worship -a blue palm perhaps seemed a rarely sacred thing. And that palm is part -of the spell, and the reliefs upon the walls, and even the Coptic -crosses that are cut into the stone.</p> - -<p>But, at the end, one can only say that this place is indescribable, and -not because it is complex or terrifically grand, like Karnak. Go to it -on a sunlit morning, or stand in it in late afternoon, and perhaps you -will feel that it “suggests” you, that it carries you away, out of -familiar regions into a land of dreams, where among hidden ways the soul -is lost in magic. Yes, you are gone.</p> - -<p>To the right—for one, alas! cannot live in a dream forever—is a lovely -doorway through which one sees the river. Facing it is another doorway, -showing a fragment of the poor, vivisected island, some ruined walls, -and still another doorway in which, again, is framed the Nile. Many -people have cut their names upon the walls of Philæ. Once, as I sat -alone there, I felt strongly attracted to look upward to a wall, as if -some personality, enshrined within the stone, were watching me, or -calling. I looked, and saw written “Balzac.”</p> - -<p>Philæ is the last temple that one visits before he gives himself to the -wildness of the solitudes of Nubia. It stands at the very frontier. As -one goes up the Nile, it is like a smiling adieu from the Egypt<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span> one is -leaving. As one comes down, it is like a smiling welcome. In its -delicate charm I feel something of the charm of the Egyptian character. -There are moments, indeed, when I identify Egypt with Philæ. For in -Philæ one must dream; and on the Nile, too, one must dream. And always -the dream is happy, and shot through with radiant light—light that is -as radiant as the colors in Philæ’s temple. The pylons of Ptolemy smile -at you as you go up or come down the river. And the people of Egypt -smile as they enter into your dream. A suavity, too, is theirs. I think -of them often as artists, who know their parts in the dream-play, who -know exactly their function, and how to fulfil it rightly. They sing, -while you are dreaming, but it is an under-song, like the murmur of an -Eastern river far off from any sea. It never disturbs, this music, but -it helps you in your dream. And they are softly gay. And in their eyes -there is often the gleam of sunshine, for they are the children—but not -grown men—of the sun. That, indeed, is one of the many strange things -in Egypt—the youthfulness of its age, the childlikeness of its almost -terrible antiquity. One goes there to look at the oldest things in the -world and to feel perpetually young—young as Philæ is young, as a lyric -of Shelley’s is young, as all of our day-dreams are young, as the people -of Egypt are young.</p> - -<p>Oh, that Egypt could be kept as it is, even as it is now; that Philæ -could be preserved even as it is now!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><br /> -<p><a name="ill_060" id="ill_060"></a></p> -<a href="images/i_249_fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_249_fp.jpg" width="600" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p class="cpsml">From stereograph, copyright, 1904, by Underwood & Underwood, New York<br /> -</p> - -<p>ABU-SIMBEL FROM THE RIVER</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span> </p> - -<p>The spoilers are there, those blithe modern spirits, so frightfully -clever and capable, so industrious, so determined, so unsparing of -themselves and—of others! Already they are at work “benefiting Egypt.” -Tall chimneys begin to vomit smoke along the Nile. A damnable tram-line -for little trolleys leads one toward the wonderful Colossi of Memnon. -Close to Kom Ombos some soul imbued with romance has had the inspiration -to set up—a factory. And Philæ—is it to go?</p> - -<p>Is beauty, then, of no value in the world? Is it always to be the prey -of modern progress? Is nothing to be considered sacred; nothing to be -left untouched, unsmirched by the grimy fingers of improvement? I -suppose nothing.</p> - -<p>Then let those who still care to dream go now to Philæ’s painted chamber -by the long reaches of the Nile; go on, if they will, to the giant forms -of Abu-Simbel among the Nubian sands. And perhaps they will think with -me, that in some dreams there is a value greater than the value that is -entered in any bank-book, and they will say, with me, however uselessly:</p> - -<p>“Leave to the world some dreams, some places in which to dream; for if -it needs dams to make the grain grow in the stretches of land that were -barren, and railways, and tram-lines, and factory chimneys that vomit -black smoke in the face of the sun, surely it needs also painted -chambers of Philæ and the silence that comes down from Isis.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII<br /><br /> -OLD CAIRO</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">B</span>Y old Cairo I do not mean only “le vieux Caire” of the guide-book, the -little, desolate village containing the famous Coptic church of Abu -Sergius, in the crypt of which the Virgin Mary and Christ are said to -have stayed when they fled to the land of Egypt to escape the fury of -King Herod; but the Cairo that is not new, that is not dedicated wholly -to officialdom and tourists, that, in the midst of changes and the -advance of civilization,—civilization that does so much harm as well as -so much good, that showers benefits with one hand and defaces beauty -with the other,—preserves its immemorial calm or immemorial tumult; -that stands aloof, as stands aloof ever the Eastern from the Western -man, even in the midst of what seems, perhaps, like intimacy; Eastern to -the soul, though the fantasies, the passions, the vulgarities, the -brilliant ineptitudes of the West, beat about it like waves about some -unyielding wall of the sea.</p> - -<p>When I went back to Egypt, after a lapse of many years, I fled at once -from Cairo, and upon the long reaches of the Nile, in the great spaces -of the Libyan<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span> Desert, in the luxuriant palm-groves of the Fayyum, among -the tamarisk-bushes and on the pale waters of Kurun, I forgot the -changes which, in my brief glimpse of the city and its environs, had -moved me to despondency. But one cannot live in the solitudes forever. -And at last from Madi-nat-al-Fayyum, with the first pilgrims starting -for Mecca, I returned to the great city, determined to seek in it once -more for the fascinations it used to hold, and perhaps still held in the -hidden ways where modern feet, nearly always in a hurry, had seldom time -to penetrate.</p> - -<p>A mist hung over the land. Out of it, with a sort of stern energy, there -came to my ears loud hymns sung by the pilgrim voices—hymns in which, -mingled with the enthusiasm of devotees en route for the holiest shrine -of their faith, there seemed to sound the resolution of men strung up to -confront the fatigues and the dangers of a great journey through a wild -and unknown country. Those hymns led my feet to the venerable mosques of -Cairo, the city of mosques, guided me on my lesser pilgrimage among the -cupolas and the colonnades, where grave men dream in the silence near -marble fountains, or bend muttering their prayers beneath domes that are -dimmed by the ruthless fingers of Time. In the buildings consecrated to -prayer and to meditation I first sought for the magic that stills lurks -in the teeming bosom of Cairo.</p> - -<p>Long ago I had sought it elsewhere, in the brilliant<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span> bazaars by day, -and by night in the winding alleys, where the dark-eyed Jews looked -stealthily forth from the low-browed doorways; where the Circassian -girls promenade, gleaming with golden coins and barbaric jewels; where -the air is alive with music that is feverish and antique, and in -strangely lighted interiors one sees forms clad in brilliant draperies, -or severely draped in the simplest pale-blue garments, moving in languid -dances, fluttering painted fingers, bending, swaying, dropping down, -like the forms that people a dream.</p> - -<p>In the bazaars is the passion for gain, in the alleys of music and light -is the passion for pleasure, in the mosques is the passion for prayer -that connects the souls of men with the unseen but strongly felt world. -Each of these passions is old, each of these passions in the heart of -Islam is fierce. On my return to Cairo I sought for the hidden fire that -is magic in the dusky places of prayer.</p> - -<p>A mist lay over the city as I stood in a narrow byway, and gazed up at a -heavy lattice, of which the decayed and blackened wood seemed on guard -before some tragic or weary secret. Before me was the entrance to the -mosque of Ibn-Tulun, older than any mosque in Cairo save only the mosque -of Amru. It is approached by a flight of steps, on each side of which -stand old, impenetrable houses. Above my head, strung across from one -house to the other, were many little red and yellow flags ornamented -with gold lozenges. These<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span> were to bear witness that in a couple of -days’ time, from the great open place beneath the citadel of Cairo, the -Sacred Carpet was to set out on its long journey to Mecca. My guide -struck on a door and uttered a fierce cry. A small shutter in the -blackened lattice was opened, and a young girl, with kohl-tinted -eyelids, and a brilliant yellow handkerchief tied over her coarse, black -hair, leaned out, held a short parley, and vanished, drawing the shutter -to behind her. The mist crept up about the tawdry flags, a heavy door -creaked, whined on its hinges, and from the house of the girl there came -an old, fat man bearing a mighty key. In a moment I was free of the -mosque of Ibn-Tulun.</p> - -<p>I ascended the steps, passed through a doorway, and found myself on a -piece of waste ground, flanked on the right by an old, mysterious wall, -and on the left by the long wall of the mosque, from which close to me -rose a gray, unornamented minaret, full of the plain dignity of -unpretending age. Upon its summit was perched a large and weary-looking -bird with draggled feathers, which remained so still that it seemed to -be a sad ornament set there above the city, and watching it forever with -eyes that could not see. At right angles, touching the mosque, was such -a house as one can see only in the East—fantastically old, -fantastically decayed, bleared, discolored, filthy, melancholy, showing -hideous windows like windows in the slum of a town set above coal-pits -in a colliery district, a degraded house, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span> yet a house which roused -the imagination and drove it to its work. In this building once dwelt -the High Priest of the mosque. This dwelling, the ancient wall, the gray -minaret with its motionless bird, the lamentable waste ground at my -feet, prepared me rightly to appreciate the bit of old Cairo I had come -to see.</p> - -<p>People who are bored by Gothic churches would not love the mosque of -Ibn-Tulun. No longer is it used for worship. It contains no praying -life. Abandoned, bare, and devoid of all lovely ornament, it stands like -some hoary patriarch, naked and calm, waiting its destined end without -impatience and without fear. It is a fatalistic mosque, and is -impressive, like a fatalistic man. The great court of it, three hundred -feet square, with pointed arches supported by piers, double, and on the -side looking toward Mecca quintuple arcades, has a great dignity of -somber simplicity. Not grace, not a light elegance or soaring beauty, -but massiveness and heavy strength are the distinguishing features of -this mosque. Even the octagonal basin and its protecting cupola that -stand in the middle of the court lack the charm that belongs to so many -of the fountains of Cairo. There are two minarets, the minaret of the -bird, and a larger one, approached by a big stairway up which, so my -dragoman told me, a Sultan whose name I have forgotten loved to ride his -favorite horse. Upon the summit of this minaret I stood for a long time, -looking down over the city.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span></p> - -<p>Gray it was that morning, almost as London is gray; but the sounds that -came up softly to my ears out of the mist were not the sounds of London. -Those many minarets, almost like columns of fog rising above the -cupolas, spoke to me of the East even upon this sad and sunless morning. -Once from where I was standing at the time appointed went forth the call -to prayer, and in the barren court beneath me there were crowds of -ardent worshipers. Stern men paced upon the huge terrace just at my feet -fingering their beads, and under that heavy cupola were made the long -ablutions of the faithful. But now no man comes to this old place, no -murmur to God disturbs the heavy silence. And the silence, and the -emptiness, and the grayness under the long arcades, all seem to make a -tremulous proclamation; all seem to whisper, “I am very old, I am -useless, I cumber the earth.” Even the mosque of Amru, which stands also -on ground that looks gone to waste, near dingy and squat houses built -with gray bricks, seems less old than this mosque of Ibn-Tulun. For its -long façade is striped with white and apricot, and there are -lebbek-trees growing in its court near the two columns between which if -you can pass you are assured of heaven. But the mosque of Ibn-Tulun, -seen upon a sad day, makes a powerful impression, and from the summit of -its minaret you are summoned by the many minarets of Cairo to make the -pilgrimage of the mosques, to pass from the “broken arches” of these -Saracenic cloisters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span> to the “Blue Mosque,” the “Red Mosque,” the mosques -of Mohammed Ali, of Sultan Hassan, of Kait Bey, of El-Azhar, and so on -to the Coptic church that is the silent center of “old Cairo.” It is -said that there are over four hundred mosques in Cairo. As I looked down -from the minaret of Ibn-Tulun, they called me through the mist that -blotted completely out all the surrounding country, as if it would -concentrate my attention upon the places of prayer during these holy -days when the pilgrims were crowding in to depart with the Holy Carpet. -And I went down by the staircase of the horse, and in the mist I made my -pilgrimage.</p> - -<p>As every one who visits Rome goes to St. Peter’s, so every one who -visits Cairo goes to the mosque of Mohammed Ali in the citadel, a -gorgeous building in a magnificent situation, the interior of which -always makes me think of court functions, and of the pomp of life, -rather than of prayer and self-denial. More attractive to me is the -“Blue Mosque,” to which I returned again and again, enticed almost as by -the fascination of the living blue of a summer sky.</p> - -<p>This mosque, which is the mosque of Ibrahim Aga, but which is familiarly -known to its lovers as the “Blue Mosque,” lies to the left of a -ramshackle street, and from the outside does not look specially -inviting. Even when I passed through its door, and stood in the court -beyond, at first I felt not its charm. All looked old and rough, unkempt -and in confusion. The red and white<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span> stripes of the walls and the arches -of the arcade, the mean little place for ablution,—a pipe and a row of -brass taps,—led the mind from a Neapolitan ice to a second-rate school, -and for a moment I thought of abruptly retiring and seeking more -splendid precincts. And then I looked across the court to the arcade -that lay beyond, and I saw the exquisite “love color” of the marvelous -tiles that gives this mosque its name.</p> - -<p>The huge pillars of this arcade are striped and ugly, but between them -shone, with an ineffable luster, a wall of purple and blue, of purple -and blue so strong and yet so delicate that it held the eyes and drew -the body forward. If ever color calls, it calls in the blue mosque of -Ibrahim Aga. And when I had crossed the court, when I stood beside the -pulpit, with its delicious, wooden folding-doors, and studied the tiles -of which this wonderful wall is composed, I found them as lovely near as -they are lovely far off. From a distance they resemble a nature effect, -are almost like a bit of Southern sea or of sky, a fragment of gleaming -Mediterranean seen through the pillars of a loggia, or of Sicilian blue -watching over Etna in the long summer days. When one is close to them, -they are a miracle of art. The background of them is a milky white upon -which is an elaborate pattern of purple and blue, generally conventional -and representative of no known object, but occasionally showing tall -trees somewhat resembling cypresses. But it is impossible in words -adequately to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span> describe the effect of these tiles, and of the tiles that -line to the very roof the tomb-house on the right of the court. They are -like a cry of ecstasy going up in this otherwise not very beautiful -mosque; they make it unforgetable, they draw you back to it again and -yet again. On the darkest day of winter they set something of summer -there. In the saddest moment they proclaim the fact that there is joy in -the world, that there was joy in the hearts of creative artists years -upon years ago. If you are ever in Cairo, and sink into depression, go -to the “Blue Mosque” and see if it does not have upon you an uplifting -moral effect. And then, if you like, go on from it to the Gamia El -Movayad, sometimes called El Ahmar, “The Red,” where you will find -greater glories, though no greater fascination; for the tiles hold their -own among all the wonders of Cairo.</p> - -<p>Outside the “Red Mosque,” by its imposing and lofty wall, there is -always an assemblage of people, for prayers go up in this mosque, -ablutions are made there, and the floor of the arcade is often covered -with men studying the Koran, calmly meditating, or prostrating -themselves in prayer. And so there is a great coming and going up the -outside stairs and through the wonderful doorway: beggars crouch under -the wall of the terrace; the sellers of cakes, of syrups and lemon -water, and of the big and luscious watermelons that are so popular in -Cairo, display their wares beneath awnings of orange-colored sackcloth, -or in the full glare of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> sun, and, their prayers comfortably -completed or perhaps not yet begun, the worshipers stand to gossip, or -sit to smoke their pipes, before going on their way into the city or the -mosque. There are noise and perpetual movement here. Stand for a while -to gain an impression from them before you mount the steps and pass into -the spacious peace beyond.</p> - -<p>Orientals must surely revel in contrasts. There is no tumult like the -tumult in certain of their marketplaces. There is no peace like the -peace in certain of their mosques. Even without the slippers carefully -tied over your boots you would walk softly, gingerly, in the mosque of -El Movayad, the mosque of the columns and the garden. For once within -the door you have taken wings and flown from the city, you are in a -haven where the most delicious calm seems floating like an atmosphere. -Through a lofty colonnade you come into the mosque, and find yourself -beneath a magnificently ornamental wooden roof, the general effect of -which is of deep brown and gold, though there are deftly introduced many -touches of very fine red and strong, luminous blue. The walls are -covered with gold and superb marbles, and there are many quotations from -the Koran in Arab lettering heavy with gold. The great doors are of -chiseled bronze and of wood. In the distance is a sultan’s tomb, -surmounted by a high and beautiful cupola, and pierced with windows of -jeweled glass. But the attraction of this place of prayer<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span> comes less -from its magnificence, from the shining of its gold, and the gleaming of -its many-colored marbles, than from its spaciousness, its airiness, its -still seclusion, and its garden. Mohammedans love fountains and shady -places, as can surely love them only those who carry in their minds a -remembrance of the desert. They love to have flowers blowing beside them -while they pray. And within the immensely high and crenelated walls of -this mosque long ago they set a fountain of pure-white marble, covered -it with a shelter of limestone, and planted trees and flowers about it. -There beneath palms and tall eucalyptus-trees even on this misty day of -the winter, roses were blooming, pinks scented the air, and great red -flowers, that looked like emblems of passion, stared upward almost -fiercely, as if searching for the sun. As I stood there among the -worshipers in the wide colonnade, near the exquisitely carved pulpit in -the shadow of which an old man who looked like Abraham was swaying to -and fro and whispering his prayers, I thought of Omar Khayyam and how he -would have loved this garden. But instead of water from the white marble -fountain, he would have desired a cup of wine to drink beneath the -boughs of the sheltering trees. And he could not have joined without -doubt or fear in the fervent devotions of the undoubting men, who came -here to steep their wills in the great will that flowed about them like -the ocean about little islets of the sea.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span></p> - -<p>From the “Red Mosque” I went to the great mosque of El-Azhar, to the -wonderful mosque of Sultan Hassan, which unfortunately was being -repaired and could not be properly seen, though the examination of the -old portal covered with silver, gold, and brass, the general color -effect of which is a delicious dull green, repaid me for my visit, and -to the exquisitely graceful tomb-mosque of Kait Bey, which is beyond the -city walls. But though I visited these, and many other mosques and -tombs, including the tombs of the Khalifas, and the extremely smart -modern tombs of the family of the present Khedive of Egypt, no building -dedicated to worship, or to the cult of the dead, left a more lasting -impression upon my mind than the Coptic church of Abu Sergius, or Abu -Sargah, which stands in the desolate and strangely antique quarter -called “Old Cairo.” Old indeed it seems, almost terribly old. Silent and -desolate is it, untouched by the vivid life of the rich and prosperous -Egypt of to-day, a place of sad dreams, a place of ghosts, a place of -living specters. I went to it alone. Any companion, however dreary, -would have tarnished the perfection of the impression old Cairo and its -Coptic church can give to the lonely traveler.</p> - -<p>I descended to a gigantic door of palmwood which was set in an old brick -arch. This door upon the outside was sheeted with iron. When it opened, -I left behind me the world I knew, the world that belongs to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span> us of -to-day, with its animation, its impetus, its flashing changes, its -sweeping hurry and “go.” I stepped at once into, surely, some moldering -century long hidden in the dark womb of the forgotten past. The door of -palmwood closed, and I found myself in a sort of deserted town, of -narrow, empty streets, beetling archways, tall houses built of gray -bricks, which looked as if they had turned gradually gray, as hair does -on an aged head. Very, very tall were these houses. They all appeared -horribly, almost indecently, old. As I stood and stared at them, I -remembered a story of a Russian friend of mine, a landed proprietor, on -whose country estate dwelt a peasant woman who lived to be over a -hundred. Each year, when he came from Petersburg, this old woman arrived -to salute him. At last she was a hundred and four, and, when he left his -estate for the winter, she bade him good-by forever. For ever! But, lo! -the next year there she still was—one hundred and five years old, -deeply ashamed and full of apologies for being still alive. “I cannot -help it,” she said. “I ought no longer to be here, but it seems I do not -know anything. I do not know even how to die!” The gray, tall houses of -old Cairo do not know how to die. So there they stand, showing their -haggard façades, which are broken by protruding, worm-eaten, wooden -lattices not unlike the shaggy, protuberant eyebrows which sometimes -sprout above bleared eyes that have seen too much. No one looked out -from these lattices. Was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span> there, could there be, any life behind them? -Did they conceal harems of centenarian women with wrinkled faces, and -corrugated necks and hands? Here and there drooped down a string -terminating in a lamp covered with minute dust, that wavered in the -wintry wind which stole tremulously between the houses. And the houses -seemed to be leaning forward, as if they were fain to touch each other -and leave no place for the wind, as if they would blot out the exiguous -alleys, so that no life should ever venture to stir through them again. -Did the eyes of the Virgin Mary, did the baby eyes of the Christ child, -ever gaze upon these buildings? One could almost believe it. One could -almost believe that already these buildings were there when, fleeing -from the wrath of Herod, Mother and Child sought the shelter of the -crypt of Abu Sargah.</p> - -<p>I went on, walking with precaution, and presently I saw a man. He was -sitting collapsed beneath an archway, and he looked older than the -world. He was clad in what seemed like a sort of cataract of -multicolored rags. An enormous white beard flowed down over his shrunken -breast. His face was a mass of yellow wrinkles. His eyes were closed. -His yellow fingers were twined about a wooden staff. Above his head was -drawn a patched hood. Was he alive or dead? I could not tell, and I -passed him on tiptoe. And going always with precaution between the tall, -gray houses and beneath the lowering arches, I came at last to the -Coptic church.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span></p> - -<p>Near it, in the street, were several Copts, large, fat, yellow-skinned, -apparently sleeping, in attitudes that made them look like bundles. I -woke one up, and asked to see the church. He stared, changed slowly from -a bundle to a standing man, went away and presently, returning with a -key and a pale, intelligent-looking youth, admitted me into one of the -strangest buildings it was ever my lot to enter.</p> - -<p>The average Coptic church is far less fascinating than the average -mosque, but the church of Abu Sargah is like no other church that I -visited in Egypt. Its aspect of hoary age makes it strangely, almost -thrillingly impressive. Now and then, in going about the world, one -comes across a human being, like the white-bearded man beneath the arch, -who might be a thousand years old, two thousand, anything, whose -appearance suggests that he or she, perhaps, was of the company which -was driven out of Eden, but that the expulsion was not recorded. And now -and then one happens upon a building that creates the same impression. -Such a building is this church. It is known and recorded that more than -a thousand years ago it had a patriarch whose name was Shenuti; but it -is supposed to have been built long before that time, and parts of it -look as if they had been set up at the very beginning of things. The -walls are dingy and whitewashed. The wooden roof is peaked, with many -cross-beams. High up on the walls are several small square lattices of -wood. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span> floor is of discolored stone. Everywhere one sees wood -wrought into lattices, crumbling carpets that look almost as frail and -brittle and fatigued as wrappings of mummies, and worn-out matting that -would surely become as the dust if one set his feet hard upon it. The -structure of the building is basilican, and it contains some strange -carvings of the Last Supper, the Nativity, and St. Demetrius. Around the -nave there are monolithic columns of white marble, and one column of the -red and shining granite that is found in such quantities at Assuan. -There are three altars in three chapels facing toward the East. Coptic -monks and nuns are renowned for their austerity of life, and their -almost fierce zeal in fasting and in prayer, and in Coptic churches the -services are sometimes so long that the worshipers, who are almost -perpetually standing, use crutches for their support. In their churches -there always seems to me to be a cold and austere atmosphere, far -different from the atmosphere of the mosques or of any Roman Catholic -church. It sometimes rather repels me, and generally makes me feel -either dull or sad. But in this immensely old church of Abu Sargah the -atmosphere of melancholy aids the imagination.</p> - -<p>In Coptic churches there is generally a great deal of woodwork made into -lattices, and into the screens which mark the divisions, usually four, -but occasionally five, which each church contains, and which are set -apart for the altar, for the priests, singers, and ministrants, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span> the -male portion of the congregation, and for the women, who sit by -themselves. These divisions, so different from the wide spaciousness and -airiness of the mosques, where only pillars and columns partly break up -the perspective, give to Coptic buildings an air of secrecy and of -mystery, which, however, is often rather repellent than alluring. In the -high wooden lattices there are narrow doors, and in the division which -contains the altar the door is concealed by a curtain embroidered with a -large cross. The Mohammedans who created the mosques showed marvelous -taste. Copts are often lacking in taste, as they have proved here and -there in Abu Sargah. Above one curious and unlatticed screen, near to a -matted dais, droops a hideous banner, red, purple, and yellow, with a -white cross. Peeping in, through an oblong aperture, one see a sort of -minute circus, in the form of a half-moon, containing a table with an -ugly red-and-white striped cloth. There the Eucharist, which must be -preceded by confession, is celebrated. The pulpit is of rosewood, inlaid -with ivory and ebony, and in what is called the “haikal-screen” there -are some fine specimens of carved ebony.</p> - -<p>As I wandered about over the tattered carpets and the crumbling matting, -under the peaked roof, as I looked up at the flat-roofed galleries, or -examined the sculptures and ivory mosaics that, bleared by the passing -of centuries, seemed to be fading away under my very eyes, as upon every -side I was confronted by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span> hoary wooden lattices in which the dust -found a home and rested undisturbed, and as I thought of the narrow -alleys of gray and silent dwellings through which I had come to this -strange and melancholy “Temple of the Father,” I seemed to feel upon my -breast the weight of the years that had passed since pious hands erected -this home of prayer in which now no one was praying. But I had yet to -receive another and a deeper impression of solemnity and heavy silence. -By a staircase I descended to the crypt, which lies beneath the choir of -the church, and there, surrounded by columns of venerable marble, beside -an altar, I stood on the very spot where, according to tradition, the -Virgin Mary soothed the Christ child to sleep in the dark night. And, as -I stood there, I felt that the tradition was a true one, and that there -indeed had stayed the wondrous Child and the Holy Mother long, how long, -ago.</p> - -<p>The pale, intelligent Coptic youth, who had followed me everywhere, and -who now stood like a statue gazing upon me with his lustrous eyes, -murmured in English, “This very good place; this most interestin’ place -in Cairo.”</p> - -<p>Certainly it is a place one can never forget. For it holds in its dusty -arms—what? Something impalpable, something ineffable, something strange -as death, spectral, cold, yet exciting, something that seems to creep -into it out of the distant past and to whisper: “I am here. I am not -utterly dead. Still I have a voice and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span> can murmur to you, eyes and can -regard you, a soul and can, if only for a moment, be your companion in -this sad, yet sacred, place.”</p> - -<p>Contrast is the salt, the pepper, too, of life, and one of the great -joys of travel is that at will one can command contrast. From silence -one can plunge into noise, from stillness one can hasten to movement, -from the strangeness and the wonder of the antique past one can step -into the brilliance, the gaiety, the vivid animation of the present. -From Babylon one can go to Bulak; and on to Bab Zouweleh, with its -crying children, its veiled women, its cake-sellers, its fruiterers, its -turbaned Ethiopians, its black Nubians, and almost fair Egyptians; one -can visit the bazaars, or on a market morning spend an hour at -Shareh-el-Gamaleyeh, watching the disdainful camels pass, soft-footed, -along the shadowy streets, and the flat-nosed African negroes, with -their almost purple-black skins, their bulging eyes, in which yellow -lights are caught, and their huge hands with turned-back thumbs, count -their gains, or yell their disappointment over a bargain from which they -have come out not victors, but vanquished. If in Cairo there are -melancholy, and silence, and antiquity, in Cairo may be found also -places of intense animation, of almost frantic bustle, of uproar that -cries to heaven. To Bulak still come the high-prowed boats of the Nile, -with striped sails bellying before a fair wind, to unload their -merchandise. From the Delta they bring thousands of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span> panniers of fruit, -and from Upper Egypt and from Nubia all manner of strange and precious -things which are absorbed into the great bazaars of the city, and are -sold to many a traveler at prices which, to put it mildly, bring to the -sellers a good return. For in Egypt if one leaves his heart, he leaves -also not seldom his skin. The goblin men of the great goblin market of -Cairo take all, and remain unsatisfied and calling for more. I said, in -a former chapter, that no fierce demands for money fell upon my ears. -But I confess, when I said it, that I had forgotten certain bazaars of -Cairo.</p> - -<p>But what matters it? He who has drunk Nile water must return. The golden -country calls him; the mosques with their marble columns, their blue -tiles, their stern-faced worshipers; the narrow streets with their tall -houses, their latticed windows, their peeping eyes looking down on the -life that flows beneath and can never be truly tasted; the Pyramids with -their bases in the sand and their pointed summits somewhere near the -stars; the Sphinx with its face that is like the enigma of human life; -the great river that flows by the tombs and the temples; the great -desert that girdles it with a golden girdle.</p> - -<p>Egypt calls—even across the space of the world; and across the space of -the world he who knows it is ready to come, obedient to its summons, -because in thrall to the eternal fascination of the “land of sand, and -ruins, and gold”; the land of the charmèd serpent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span> the land of the -afterglow, that may fade away from the sky above the mountains of Libya, -but that fades never from the memory of one who has seen it from the -base of some great column, or the top of some mighty pylon; the land -that has a spell—wonderful, beautiful Egypt.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<pre style='margin-top:6em'> -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EGYPT AND ITS MONUMENTS *** - -This file should be named 63737-h.htm or 63737-h.zip - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/7/3/63737/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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