Egypt of the Pharaohs and of the Khedivé

by F. Barham Zincke

There is some interest in the comparison contained in the following figures. The Great Pyramid was originally 480 feet high. In consequence of the sacrilegious removal of its outer courses by the Caliphs to provide materials for the construction of the Mosk of Hassan, and other buildings at Cairo, its height has been reduced twenty feet, that is to 460 feet. It stands at the northern extremity of the valley of Egypt. The First Cataract is at the other, or southern extremity. These two extreme points of the valley are separated by a distance, following the windings of the river, of 580 miles. Throughout this distance the river falls on an average five inches a mile. This gives an uniformly rapid stream. To ascend this distance in a steamboat, such as are used on the Nile, requires seven days of continuous work; no time having been allowed for stoppages, except of course during the night. I need hardly say that the voyage is never accomplished in so short a time. But supposing a week has been spent in the ascent of the river, when, at the end of it, you land at the Cataract, you are at very little more than half the height you had reached when you were standing, at the beginning of the week, on the top of the Pyramid. So it would be supposing the Pyramid stood on the level of the river-bank, instead of standing, as it does, on a spur of the limestone ridge that overlooks the valley. To think, when you are entering Nubia, that a building in the neighbourhood of Cairo, so many hundred miles away, is still towering nearly 240 feet above your head, and that it has been there from an antiquity so remote that, in comparison with it, the most ancient monuments of Europe are affairs of yesterday, an antiquity that is separated from our own day by more than 5,000 years, makes one feel that those old Egyptians understood very well what they were about, when they undertook to set for themselves a mark upon the world, which should stand as long as the world endured. Judging from what we still see of the casing at the top of the Second Pyramid, we feel certain that, if the destroying hand of man had not stripped off its polished outer casing from the Great Pyramid, the modern traveller would behold it precisely as it was seen fifty centuries ago, when the architect reported to Cheops the completion of the work.

I have been speaking of the relation, in respect of height, of the Great Pyramid to the Cataract of Philæ only; it may, however, be noticed, for the sake of enabling the fireside traveller to picture more readily to his mind the peculiarity of the hypsometrical features of this unique country, that this Pyramid looks down, and always from a relatively greater height, on every part of the cultivated soil of the whole land of Egypt.

CHAPTER IX.
THE WOODEN STATUE IN THE BOULAK MUSEUM.

Vivi vultus.—Virgil.

In the museum of Egyptian antiquities at Boulak, the harbour of Cairo, is a wooden statue of an old Egyptian. It was found in a tomb at Sakkara, and belongs to one of the early dynasties of the old primæval monarchy. It is absolutely untarnished by the thousands of years it had been reposing in that tomb. There is no stain of time upon it. To say that it is worth its weight in gold is saying nothing: for its value is not commensurable with gold. It is history itself to those who care to interpret such history. The face is neither of the oval, nor of the round type, but as it were, of an intermediate form; the features and their expression are just such as might be seen in Pall Mall, or in a modern drawing-room, with the difference that there is over them the composed cast of thought of the wisdom of old Egypt. As you look at the statue intently—you cannot do otherwise—the soul returns to it. The man is reflected from the wood as he might have been from a mirror.

He is not a genius. His mind is not full of that light which gives insight. He cannot communicate to others unusual powers of seeing and feeling. He cannot send an electric shock through the minds and hearts of a generation. He is no prophet whose lips have been touched with fire, no poet whose words are creations, no master of philosophical construction, no natural leader of men.

And this piece of wood tells you distinctly not only what manner of man he was not, but also exactly what manner of man he was. How this Egyptian of very early days thought, and felt, and lived, are all there. He was accustomed to command. He was a man of great culture. His culture had refined him. He was conscious of, and valued his refinement. He was benevolent on conviction and principle. It would have been unrefined to have been otherwise. He was somewhat scornful. He was very accurate in his knowledge, his ideas, and statements. Very precise in his way of thinking, and in all that he did. He shrunk from doing a wrong, or from using an ill-placed word, as he would have from a soiled hand. He was as clean and neat in his thoughts as in his habits. He was as obstinate as all the mules in Spain. Had there been any other party in those days, he would have belonged to the party of order; and, if things had gone so far, he would not have shrunk from standing by his principles; but he would not unnecessarily have paraded them. If he had been called upon to die for his principles, he would have died with dignity, and with no sign of the thoughts within. In his philosophy nothing so became firmness of mind as composure of manner.

His servants respected him. They had never known him do a wrong thing; and they had known him do considerate things. But they did not like him. They could not tell why, but it was because they could not understand him. He was an aristocrat. He cultivated and valued the advantages his position had given him; and was dissatisfied with those whom circumstances had forbidden should ever be like himself. He saw that this feeling was inconsequential, but he saw no escape from it, and this vexed his preciseness and accuracy; and he combated the disturbing thought with greater benevolence and greater accuracy, and became more precise where preciseness was possible. He was fond of art, of his books, and of his garden. He was not unsocial, still, in a sense, nature attracted him more than man; and he preferred the wisdom of the ancients to that of the moderns.

Such was this Egyptian of between five and six thousand years ago. He was the creation of a high civilization. He could have been understood only by men as civilized as himself. That he was understood is plain, from this piece of wood having been endowed with such a soul.