Passing on from the portico to the hall of assembly, we enter a region of still dimmer twilight, beyond which all is dark. In the side-chambers, where the heat is intense and the atmosphere stifling, we can see only by the help of lighted candles. These rooms are about twenty feet in length; separate, like prison cells; and perfectly dark. The sculptures which cover their walls are, however, as numerous as those in the outer halls, and indicate in each instance the purpose for which the room was designed. Thus in the laboratories we find bas-reliefs of flasks and vases and figures carrying perfume bottles of the familiar aryballos form; in the tribute chambers, offerings of lotus lilies, wheat sheaves, maize, grapes and pomegranates. In the oratories of Isis, Amen, and Sekhet, representations of these divinities enthroned, and receiving the homage of the king; while in the treasury, both king and queen appear laden with precious gifts of caskets, necklaces, pectoral ornaments, sistrums, and the like. It would seem that the image-breakers had no time to spare for these dark cells; for here the faces and figures are unmutilated, and in some places even the original coloring remains in excellent preservation. The complexion of the goddesses, for instance, is painted of a light buff; the king’s skin is dark-red; that of Amen, blue. Isis wears a rich robe of the well-known Indian pine-pattern; Sekhet figures in a many colored garment curiously diapered; Amen is clad in red and green chain armor. The skirts of the goddesses are inconceivably scant; but they are rich in jewelry, and their head-dresses, necklaces, and bracelets are full of minute and interesting detail. In one of the four oratories dedicated to Sekhet, the king is depicted in the act of offering a pectoral ornament of so rich and elegant a design that, had there been time and daylight to spare, the writer would fain have copied it.
In the center room at the extreme end of the temple, exactly opposite the main entrance, lies the oratory of Hathor. This dark chamber, into which no ray of daylight has ever penetrated, contains the sacred niche, the holy of holies, in which was kept the great golden sistrum of the goddess. The king alone was privileged to take out that mysterious emblem. Having done so, he inclosed it in a costly shrine, covered it with a thick veil, and placed it in one of the sacred boats of which we find elaborate representations sculptured on the walls of the hall in which they were kept. These boats, which were constructed of cedar wood, gold, and silver, were intended to be hoisted on wrought poles, and so carried in procession on the shoulders of the priests. The niche is still there—a mere hole in the hall, some three feet square and about eight feet from the ground.
Thus, candle in hand, we make the circuit of these outer chambers. In each doorway, besides the place cut out for the bolt, we find a circular hole drilled above and a quadrant-shaped hollow below, where once upon a time the pivot of the door turned in its socket. The paved floors, torn up by treasure-seekers, are full of treacherous holes and blocks of broken stone. The ceilings are very lofty. In the corridors a dim twilight reigns; but all is pitch-dark beyond these gloomy thresholds. Hurrying along by the light of a few flaring candles, one cannot but feel oppressed by the strangeness and awfulness of the place. We speak with bated breath, and even our chattering Arabs for once are silent. The very air tastes as if it had been imprisoned here for centuries.
Finally, we take the staircase on the northern side of the temple, in order to go up to the roof. Nothing that we have yet seen surprises and delights us so much, I think, as this staircase.
We have hitherto been tracing in their order all the preparations for a great religious ceremony. We have seen the king enter the temple; undergo the symbolical purification; receive the twofold crown; and say his prayers to each divinity in turn. We have followed him into the laboratories, the oratories, and the holy of holies. All that he has yet done, however, is preliminary. The procession is yet to come, and here we have it. Here, sculptured on the walls of this dark staircase, the crowning ceremony of Egyptian worship is brought before our eyes in all its details. Here, one by one, we have the standard-bearers, the hierophants with the offerings, the priests, the whole long, wonderful procession, with the king marching at its head. Fresh and uninjured, as if they had but just left the hand of the sculptor, these figures—each in his habit as he lived, each with his foot upon the step—mount with us as we mount, and go beside us all the way. Their attitudes are so natural, their forms so roundly cut, that one could almost fancy them in motion as the lights flicker by. Surely there must be some one weird night in the year when they step out from their places and take up the next verse of their chanted hymn, and, to the sound of instruments long mute and songs long silent, pace the moonlit roof in ghostly order!
The sun is already down and the crimson light has faded, when at length we emerge upon that vast terrace. The roofing-stones are gigantic. Striding to and fro over some of the biggest, our idle man finds several that measure seven paces in length by four in breadth. In yonder distant corner, like a little stone lodge in a vast court-yard, stands a small temple supported on Hathor-headed columns; while at the eastern end, forming a second and loftier stage, rises the roof of the portico.
Meanwhile, the after-glow is fading. The mountains are yet clothed in an atmosphere of tender half-light; but mysterious shadows are fast creeping over the plain, and the mounds of the ancient city lie at our feet, confused and tumbled, like the waves of a dark sea. How high it is here—how lonely—how silent! Hark that thin, plaintive cry! It is the wail of a night-wandering jackal. See how dark it is yonder, in the direction of the river! Quick, quick! We have lingered too long. We must be gone at once; for we are already benighted.
We ought to have gone down by way of the opposite staircase (which is lined with sculptures of the descending procession) and out through the temple; but there is no time to do anything but scramble down by a breach in the wall at a point where the mounds yet lie heaped against the south side of the building. And now the dusk steals on so rapidly that before we reach the bottom we can hardly see where to tread. The huge side wall of the portico seems to tower above us to the very heavens. We catch a glimpse of two colossal figures, one lion-headed and the other headless, sitting outside with their backs to the temple. Then, making with all speed for the open plain, we clamber over scattered blocks and among shapeless mounds. Presently night overtakes us. The mountains disappear; the temple is blotted out; and we have only the faint starlight to guide us. We stumble on, however, keeping all close together; firing a gun every now and then, in the hope of being heard by those in the boats; and as thoroughly and undeniably lost as the babes in the wood.
At last, just as some are beginning to knock up, and all to despair, Talhamy fires his last cartridge. An answering shot replies from near by; a wandering light appears in the distance; and presently a whole bevy of dancing lanterns and friendly brown faces come gleaming out from among a plantation of sugar-canes to welcome and guide us home. Dear, sturdy, faithful little Reïs Hassan, honest Khalîfeh, laughing Salame, gentle Mehemet Ali, and Mûsa, “black but comely”—they were all there. What a shaking of hands there was—what a gleaming of white teeth—what a shower of mutually unintelligible congratulations! For my own part, I may say with truth that I never was much more rejoiced at a meeting in my life.