The next morning we reached Kalabshee, and before sunrise I was standing on the long stone platform before the temple. The pylon of hewn sandstone rises grandly above the spacious portal, and from the exterior the building has a most imposing air. Its interior once, probably, did not diminish the impression thus given; but at present it is such an utter mass of ruin that the finest details are entirely lost. The temple is so covered with the enormous fragments of the roof and walls that it is a work of some difficulty to examine it; but it does not repay any laborious inspection. The outer wall which surrounds it has also been hurled down, and the whole place is a complete wreck. I know of no temple which has been subjected to such violence, unless it be that of Soleb in Dar El-Màhass.
Below the temple we passed the Bab (Gate) El-Kalabshee, where the river is hemmed in between enormous boulders of granite and porphyry. The morning was cold and dark, and had there been firs instead of palms, I could have believed myself on some flood among the hills of Norway. I urged on the boys, as I wished to reach Dabôd before dark, and as Ali, who was anxious to get back to Egypt, took a hand at the oar occasionally, our boat touched the high bank below the temple just after sunset. There is a little village near the place, and the reapers in the ripe wheat-fields behind it were closing their day’s labor. One old man, who had no doubt been a servant in Cairo, greeted me with “buona sera!” Achmet followed, to keep off the candidates for backsheesh, and I stood alone in the portico of the temple, just as the evening star began to twinkle in the fading amber and rose. Like Kalabshee, the temple is of the times of the Cæsars, and unfinished. There are three chambers, the interior walls of which are covered with sculptures, but little else is represented than the offerings to the gods. Indeed, none of the sculptures in the temples of the Cæsars have the historic interest of those of the Eighteenth Egyptian dynasty. The object of the later architects appears to have been merely to cover the walls, and consequently we find an endless repetition of the same subjects. The novice in Egyptian art might at first be deceived by the fresher appearance of the figures, their profusion and the neatness of their chiselling; but a little experience will satisfy him how truly superior were the ancient workmen, both in the design and execution of their historic sculptures. In Dabôd, I saw the last of the Nubian temples, in number nearly equal to those of Egypt, and after Thebes, quite equal to them in interest. No one who has not been beyond Assouan, can presume to say that he has a thorough idea of Egyptian art. And the Nile, the glorious river, is only half known by those who forsake him at Philæ.
After dark, we floated past the Shaymt-el-Wah, a powerful eddy or whirlpool in the stream, and in the night came to a small village within hearing of the Cataract. Here the raïs had his family, and stopped to see them. We lay there quietly the rest of the night, but with the first glimpse of light I was stirring, and called him to his duty. The dawn was deepening into a clear golden whiteness in the East, but a few large stars were sparkling overhead, as we approached Philæ. Its long colonnades of light sandstone glimmered in the shadows of the palms, between the dark masses of the mountains on either hand, and its tall pylons rose beyond, distinct against the sky. The little hamlets on the shores were still in the hush of sleep, and there was no sound to disturb the impression of that fairy picture. The pillars of the airy chapel of Athor are perfect in their lightness and grace, when seen thus from a boat coming down the river, with the palm-groves behind them and the island-quay below. We glided softly past that vision of silence and beauty, took the rapid between the gates of granite, and swept down to the village at the head of the Cataract. The sun had just risen, lighting up the fleet of trading boats at anchor, and the crowds of Arabs, Egyptians and Barabras on the beach. The two English dahabiyehs I had been chasing were rowed out for the descent of the Cataract, as I jumped ashore and finished my travels in Nubia.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
VOYAGE DOWN THE NILE.
Assouan—A Boat for Cairo—English Tourists—A Head-wind—Ophthalmia—Esneh—A Mummied Princess—Ali Effendi’s Stories—A Donkey Afrite—Arrival at Luxor—The Egyptian Autumn—A Day at Thebes—Songs of the Sailors—Ali leaves me—Ride to Dendera—Head-winds again—Visit to Tahtah—The House of Rufaā Bey.
I reached the Egyptian frontier on the morning of the sixteenth of March, having been forty days in making the journey from Khartoum. Immediately upon our arrival, I took a donkey and rode around the Cataract to Assouan, leaving Ali to take care of the baggage-camels. I went directly to the beach, where a crowd of vessels were moored, in expectation of the caravans of gum from the South. An Egyptian Bey, going to Khartoum in the train of Rustum Pasha, had arrived the day before in a small dahabiyeh, and the captain thereof immediately offered it to me for the return to Cairo. It was a neat and beautiful little vessel, with a clean cabin, couch, divan, and shady portico on deck. He asked twelve hundred piastres; I offered him nine hundred; we agreed on a thousand, and when my camels arrived there was a new refuge prepared for my household gods. I set Achmet to work at getting the necessary supplies, sent the raïs to bake bread for the voyage, and then went to see the jolly, flat-nosed Governor. He received me very cordially, and had a great deal to say of the unparalleled herd of travellers on the Nile during the winter. Ninety-six vessels and eleven steamboats had reached the harbor of Assouan, and of these the greater number were Americans. “Mashallah! your countrymen must be very rich,” said the Governor.
When I left the divan, the firing of guns announced the safe arrival of the English boats below the Cataract. Very soon I saw two burnt-faced, tarbooshed individuals, with eye-glasses in their eyes, strolling up the beach. For once I threw off the reserve which a traveller usually feels towards every one speaking his own language, and accosted them. They met my advances half-way, and before long my brain was in a ferment of French and English politics. Europe was still quiet then, but how unlike the quiet of the Orient! The Englishmen had plenty of news for me, but knew nothing of the news I most wanted—those of my own country. Had our positions been reversed, the result would have been different. They left at sunset for the return to Thebes, but I was detained until noon the next day, when I set off in company with the boat of Signor Drovetti, of Alexandria, who left Khartoum a few days after me. I had six men, but only two of them were good oarsmen.
In the morning, when I awoke, the broken pylon of Ombos tottered directly over the boat. I rushed on deck in time to catch another sight of the beautiful double portico, looking down from the drifted sands. The wind blew very strongly from the north, but in the afternoon we succeeded in reaching Djebel Silsileh, where the English boats were moored. We exchanged pistol salutes, and I ran up to the bank to visit some curious sculptured tablets and grottoes, which we did not see on the upward voyage. During the night the wind increased to such an extent that all the boats were obliged to lay to. The morning found our four dahabiyehs floating slowly down in company, crossing from side to side transversely, in order to make a little headway. After three or four hours, however, the wind grew so strong that they were driven up stream, and all ran to the lee of a high bank for shelter. There we lay nearly all day. The Englishmen went ashore and shot quails, but I lounged on my divan, unable to do any thing, for the change from the dry, hot desert air, to the damp Nile blasts, brought on an inflammation of the eyes, resembling ophthalmia. I was unable to read or write, and had no remedies except water, which I tried both warm and cold, with very little effect.
Towards evening the wind fell; after dark we passed the pylon of Edfoo, and at noon the next day reached Esneh. I went at once to the temple, so beautiful in my memory, yet still more beautiful when I saw it again. The boys who admitted me, lifted the lids of the large coffin and showed the royal mummies, which are there crumbling to pieces from the neglect of the Egyptian authorities, who dug them up at Goorneh. The coffins were of thick plank and still sound, the wood having become exceedingly dry and light. The mummies were all more or less mutilated, but the heads of some were well preserved. In form, they differ considerably from the Arab head of the present day, showing a better balance of the intellectual and moral faculties. On one of them the hair was still fresh and uncorrupted. It was of a fine, silky texture and a bright auburn color. The individual was a woman, with a very symmetrical head, and small, regular features. She may have been a beauty once, but nothing could be more hideous. I pulled off a small lock of hair, and took it with me as a curious relic. Esneh appeared much more beautiful to me than on my upward journey; possibly, by contrast with the mud-built houses of Soudân. I went to a coffee-shop and smoked a sheesheh, while the muezzin called down from the mosque in front: “God is great; there is no God but God; Mohammed is the Prophet of God.”