High above the Libyan bank on the sloping verge of the desert, stands, half-drowned in sand, the little temple of Amada. Seeing it from the opposite side while duck-hunting in the morning, I had taken it for one of the many stone shelters erected by Mohammed Ali for the accommodation of cattle levied annually in the Soudan. It proved, however, to be a temple, small but massive; built with squared blocks of sandstone; and dating back to the very old times of the Usurtesens and Thothmes. It consists of a portico, a transverse atrium, and three small chambers. The pillars of the portico are mere square piers. The rooms are small and low. The roof, constructed of oblong blocks, is flat from end to end. As an architectural structure it is in fact but a few degrees removed from Stonehenge.
A shed without, this little temple is, however, a cameo within. Nowhere, save in the tomb of Ti, had we seen bas-reliefs so delicately modeled, so rich in color. Here, as elsewhere, the walls are covered with groups of kings and gods and hieroglyphic texts. The figures are slender and animated. The head-dresses, jewelry, and patterned robes are elaborately drawn and painted. Every head looks like a portrait; every hieroglyphic form is a study in miniature.
Apart from its exquisite finish, the wall-sculpture of Amada has, however, nothing in common with the wall-sculpture of the ancient empire. It belongs to the period of Egyptian renaissance; and, though inferior in power and naturalness to the work of the elder school, it marks just that moment of special development when the art of modeling in low relief had touched the highest level to which it ever again attained. That highest level belongs to the reigns of Thothmes II and Thothmes III; just as the perfect era in architecture belongs to the reigns of Seti I and Rameses II. It is for this reason that Amada is so precious. It registers an epoch in the history of the art, and gives us the best of that epoch in the hour of its zenith. The sculptor is here seen to be working within bounds already prescribed; yet within those bounds he still enjoys a certain liberty. His art, though largely conventionalized, is not yet stereotyped. His sense of beauty still finds expression. There is, in short, a grace and sweetness about the bas-relief designs of Amada for which one looks in vain to the storied walls of Karnak.
The chambers are half-choked with sand and we had to crawl into the sanctuary upon our hands and knees. A long inscription at the upper end records how Amenhotep II, returning from his first campaign against the Ruten, slew seven kings with his own hand; six of whom were gibbeted upon the ramparts of Thebes, while the body of the seventh was sent to Ethiopia by water and suspended on the outer wall of the city of Napata,[70] “in order that the negroes might behold the victories of the Pharaoh in all the lands of the world.”
In the darkest corner of the atrium we observed a curious tableau representing the king embraced by a goddess. He holds a short, straight sword in his right hand and the crux ansata in his left. On his head he wears the khepersh, or war-helmet; a kind of a blue miter studded with gold stars and ornamented with the royal asp. The goddess clasps him lovingly about the neck and bends her lips to his. The artist has given her the yellow complexion conventionally ascribed to women; but her saucy mouth and nez retroussé are distinctly European. Dressed in the fashion of the nineteenth century, she might have served Leech as a model for his girl of the period.
The sand has drifted so high at the back of the temple that one steps upon the roof as upon a terrace only just raised above the level of the desert. Soon that level will be equal; and if nothing is done to rescue it within the next generation or two, the whole building will become engulfed and its very site be forgotten.
The view from the roof, looking back toward Korosko and forward toward Derr, is one of the finest—perhaps quite the finest—in Nubia. The Nile curves grandly through the foreground. The palm-woods of Derr are green in the distance. The mountain region which we have just traversed ranges a vast crescent of multitudinous peaks, round two-thirds of the horizon. Ridge beyond ridge, chain beyond chain, flushing crimson in light and deepening through every tint of amethyst and purple in shadow, those innumerable summits fade into tenderest blue upon the horizon. As the sun sets they seem to glow; to become incandescent; to be touched with flame—as in the old time when every crater was a font of fire.
Struggling next morning through a maze of sand-banks, we reached Derr soon after breakfast. This town—the Nubian capital—lies a little lower than the level of the bank, so that only a few mud walls are visible from the river. Having learned by this time that a capital town is but a bigger village, containing perhaps a mosque and a market-place, we were not disappointed by the unimposing aspect of the Nubian metropolis.
Great, however, was our surprise when, instead of the usual clamorous crowd screaming, pushing, scrambling and bothering for backshîsh, we found the landing-place deserted. Two or three native boats lay up under the bank, empty. There was literally not a soul in sight. L—— and the little lady, eager to buy some of the basket-work for which the place is famous, looked blank. Talhamy, anxious to lay in a store of fresh eggs and vegetables, looked blanker.
We landed. Before us lay an open space, at the farther end of which, facing the river, stood the governor’s palace; the said palace being a magnified mud hut, with a frieze of baked bricks round the top and an imposing stone doorway. In this doorway, according to immemorial usage, the great man gives audience. We saw him—a mere youth, apparently—purring away at a long chibouque, in the midst of a little group of graybeard elders. They looked at us gravely, immovably; like smoking automata. One longed to go up and ask them if they were all transformed to black granite from the waists to the feet and if the inhabitants of Derr had been changed into blue stones.