At Esné is another of the great post-Pharaohnic temples of Upper Egypt. What has been disinterred here belongs also to the Roman period. The list of inscribed names includes Tiberius, Germanicus, Vespasian, Trajan, Adrian, Antoninus, and Decius. The last is of the date 250 A.D., and is the latest instance yet found of the name of a Roman emperor on an Egyptian temple, inscribed in hieroglyphics. Here, too, has been found the shield of Tuthmosis III. We may infer, therefore, that the work of the Roman period now standing was placed, as at Dendera, upon the site of a temple erected by this great Pharaoh of the eighteenth dynasty. Perhaps, as the excavations here have not yet extended beyond what may be regarded as merely the front of the temple, some of the older structure may hereafter be brought to light from beneath the still undisturbed mounds behind.
These three temples of Edfou, Dendera, and Esné, to which some others in Upper Egypt may be added, are of great value historically. They enable us to understand what was the condition of Egyptian art, and, to some extent, in what condition the Egyptians themselves were in the Greek, and in the Roman period. From the time of Menes to the time of Decius we see that they possessed the same language, the same arts, the same style of art, the same method of writing, the same mythology, and the same social arrangements. The mind is almost overwhelmed at the contemplation of such stability in human affairs. With this vast tract of time, spread over four thousand years, we are acquainted historically. Of the period that preceded it we have no monuments, and know nothing historically. What we know, however, of the historical period enables us to infer with confidence that the period which preceded it, and in which all this knowledge, all these arts, and these aptitudes were acquired, this mythology constructed, and this social organization, possessing so much vitality and permanence, grew into form, and established itself, could not possibly have been a short period.
The antiquity of the sites of Dendera and Esné, and perhaps also of Edfou, must have contributed largely towards the eventual preservation of their temples. When a temple had for some thousands of years been standing on the same site, the surrounding city necessarily rose very much above it. This rise would be more rapid in Upper Egypt than in the Delta from merely natural causes, for the yearly deposit of soil is far greater in that part of the valley which first receives the then heavily mud-charged waters of the inundation. When, therefore, these cities were overthrown or deserted, the deep depressions, in which the temples stood, were soon filled from the rubbish of the closely surrounding mounds; and the temples, thus buried, were preserved. Both at Dendera and Esné the very roofs are below the level of the mounds, and nothing can be seen till excavations have been made, in which the temples are found complete. It was almost the same at Edfou also.
Wherever, too, the temples were constructed not of limestone, but of sandstone, there was, in the comparative uselessness of their material, another cause at work in favour of their preservation. Probably, however, that which most effectually of all contributed to this result was the circumstance that from the time when these temples were built, that is to say, throughout the Greek, Roman, and Saracenic periods, the upper country has never been prosperous, or made the seat of government. That has always established itself in the Delta. It has been a consequence of this that in Upper Egypt, that is in the district to which our attention has been just directed, there has been little or no occasion for building: it was not, therefore, worth while to pull down these temples at the time they were standing clear, or to disinter them after they had been buried in the rubbish heaps of the cities in which they had stood, for the sake of the building materials they might have supplied.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE RATIONALE OF THE MONUMENTS.
Jamque opus exegi, quod non Jovis ira, nec ignes,
Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas;
... nomenque erit indelebile nostrum.—Ovid.
It was for us a piece of great good fortune that the mighty Pharaohs of old Egypt felt to an heroic, almost sublime, degree the narrow, selfish, oriental desire to perpetuate their names, and the memory of their greatness. Of course, this was connected very closely with the traditional, primitive idea that great kings were not as other men. They were of the materials of which gods had been made. Were they not, indeed, already objects of worship to their subjects? Were they not already received into the family of the gods? It is to these feelings that we are indebted for the possession of one of the earliest—and not least interesting—chapters in the records of our race. We have at this day precisely what, four or five thousand years ago, they deliberately contrived means for our having; and we have it all written in a fashion which indicates, through the very characters used, much of the artistic peculiarities, and even of the moral condition, and of the daily life, of those who inscribed it. There is nothing in the history of mankind which combines such magnitude, such far-reaching design, and such wise provision of means for the purpose in view, crowned, as time has shown, with such complete success. Some circumstances and accidents, such as the climate of the country, the materials with which they had to work, and the point the arts they had to employ had then reached, happily conspired to aid them; but this does not deprive them of the credit of having turned everything they used to the best account with the utmost skill, and the most long-sighted sagacity.