On this moonlight night in the year 528 B.C. a bark was crossing the almost currentless canopic mouth of the Nile. On the raised deck at the stern of this boat an Egyptian was sitting to guide the long pole-rudder, and the half naked boatmen within were singing as they rowed....
As Phanes uttered these words they landed at the garden wall, washed by the Nile.... The garden of Rhodopis was as full of sound, and scent and blossom as a night in fairy land. It was one labyrinth of acanthus shrubs, yellow mimosa, the snowy gueldres rose, jasmine and lilac, red roses and laburnums, overshadowed by tall palm-trees, acacias and balsam-trees. Large bats hovered softly on their delicate wings over the whole, and sounds of mirth and song echoed from the river.
This garden had been laid out by an Egyptian, and the builders of the Pyramids had already been celebrated for ages for their skill in horticulture. They well understood how to mark out neat flower-beds, plant groups of trees and shrubs in regular order, water the whole by aqueducts and fountains, arrange arbors and summer-houses, and even inclose the walks with artistically clipped hedges and breed gold-fish in stone basins....
At noon on the following day the same boat, which, the evening before, had carried the Athenian and the Spartan, stopped once more before Rhodopis' garden. The sun was shining so brightly, so warmly and genially in the dark blue Egyptian sky, the air was so pure and light, the beetles were humming so merrily, the boatmen singing so lustily and happily, the shores of the Nile bloomed in such gay, variegated beauty, and were so thickly peopled, the palm-trees, sycamores, bananas and acacias were so luxuriant in foliage and blossom, and over the whole landscape the rarest and most glorious gifts seemed to have been poured out with such divine munificence that a passerby must have pronounced it the very home of joy and gladness, a place from which sadness and sorrow had been forever banished.
—An Egyptian Princess.
Descriptions of Egypt. II.
The feast of Neith, called in Egyptian "the lamp-burning," was celebrated by a universal illumination, which began at the rising of the moon. The shores of the Nile looked like two long lines of fire. Every temple, house, and hut was ornamented with lamps, according to the means of its possessors. The porches of the country houses and the little towers on the larger buildings were all lighted up by brilliant flames, burning in pans of pitch and sending up clouds of smoke, in which the flags and pennons waved gently backward and forward. The palm-trees and sycamores were silvered by the moonlight and threw strange fantastic reflections onto the red waters of the Nile—red from the fiery glow of the houses on their shores. But, strong and glowing as was the light of the illumination, its rays had not power to reach the middle of the giant river where the boat was making its course and the pleasure party felt as if they were sailing in dark night between two brilliant days. Now and then a brightly lighted boat would come swiftly across the river and seem as it neared the shore to be cutting its way through a glowing stream of molten iron.
Lotus-blossoms, white as snow, lay on the surface of the river, rising and falling with the waves and looking like eyes in the water. Not a sound could be heard from either shore. The echoes were carried away by the north wind and the measured stroke of the oars and the monotonous song of the rowers were the only sounds that broke the stillness of this strange night—a night robbed of its darkness....
The pyramids lay on the left bank of the Nile, in the silver moonshine, massive and awful, as if bruising the earth beneath them with their weight; the giant graves of mighty rulers. They seemed examples of man's creative power and at the same time warnings of the vanity and mutability of earthly greatness. For where was Chufu[1] now—the king who had cemented that mountain of stone with the sweat of his subjects? Where was the long-lived Chafra[2] who had despised the gods, and, defiant in the consciousness of his own strength, was said to have closed the gates of the temples in order to make himself and his name immortal by building a tomb of superhuman dimensions? Their empty sarcophagi are, perhaps, tokens that the judges of the dead found them unworthy of rest in the grave, unworthy of the resurrection, whereas, the builder of the third and most beautiful pyramid, Menkera,[3] who contented himself with a smaller monument, and reopened the gates of the temples, was allowed to rest in peace in his coffin of blue basalt.
There they lay in the quiet night, these mighty pyramids, shone on by the bright stars, guarded by the watchmen of the desert—the gigantic sphinx—and overlooking the barren rocks of the Libyan stony mountains. At their feet slept the mummies of their faithful subjects....