But our boat is once more out upon the stream, and we are gazing upward, expecting each moment to see Cairo open to our view. Instead of the city however, came a hurricane, sweeping across from the western desert, and filling the air with a blood-red color and our eyes with sand. We took refuge under one of the high banks, and hugged the shore closely till it had passed. Again a little after sunset we gained the channel, and by the light of a dim moon glided onward towards the city. On our left soon appeared a mass of white houses, forming the Pasha’s summer palace of Shubra: it is surrounded by a garden forming a perfect fairy scene, and is connected with Cairo, three miles distant, by an avenue of noble trees. Of all this on the present occasion we got but an imperfect view; soon after several other large white edifices came in sight, and our imaginations, excited by the glimpses of splendor which we had caught, by the time, and the country, worked each into a scene of eastern enchantment, and we pictured in each of them fair captives from other countries, gazing through the lattice, and sighing for their distant native hills. The boat glided on, and presently our sympathies were interrupted by the glancing lights of the busy little town of Boulac, the port of Cairo. This city, as the reader is perhaps aware, is not situated on the river, but about a mile and a half from it on the west, and has at Boulac a landing-place and store-houses for all goods coming from the north; Old Cairo, a few miles higher up, answering a similar purpose for all vessels coming from up the river.
As it was too late to proceed to the city, we ran our boats across to the shore opposite Boulac, and made fast for the night near a summer palace and gardens. After tea we climbed the high bank over our boats to get once more a view of the Pyramids, now about eight miles distant on the west, but in the moonlight quite distinct.
There was something pleasing in being made to get our first impressions of this ancient region by moonlight. We were now amid the scenes of the earliest grandeur of Egypt. On one side of us, and but a few miles distant, had once stood the great city of Heliopolis; and on the other Memphis. Dim land of shadows and mystery, the pall of death hath been laid upon thee; but instead of concealing, it only makes thy features more solemn and more awful.
What a scene of life and bustle was once upon this now silent plain.
Ye buried ages, whose monuments stand yonder in the glimmering light, I have received the wizard’s spell, by which the entombed are brought to life once more; and lo, I spread it over you. Arise!
Ha, this is Memphis! And see how it stretches across, and covers all the plain. Towering aloft, is many a grave but magnificent temple; there stretches the deep shadowed and interminable colonade; here frowns the massive tower for defence; and there lies concealed the luxurious bower of the gay. Dwellings of the simple and the astute, the noble and the lowly serf stretch around, far as the eye can reach, and countless multitudes flock along thy streets; while here, closer to us, in the city of mummies, lie an equally countless number in the searments of the grave. City of many centuries and of stately grandeur, we yield thee the reverence—but what noise is that? the buzz of the multitude has suddenly changed, and now comes the sound of wailing on the ear; and mark, how it increases in intensity, and spreads; and now all the land is filled with woe. The cause—I have it now—their god Apis is dead. A white bull, fed solemnly and reverently in their temples, and to which all the land bowed down in worship, has suddenly expired, and the houses are all filled with alarm and woe.—And here comes a long procession, sweeping onward from one of the gates; these, too, are mourners, and they seem to be touched with even deeper grief. They are carrying a dozen singed cats to the place for solemn embalming, previous to interment, with sacred rites. These animals had been their peculiar household gods, and were kept in a sacred edifice, well fed and carefully tended; but the building took fire, on which the alarmed worshippers rushed into the flames, regardless of themselves, and desirous only of extricating their gods. But the bewildered animals in their fright escaped back to the fire, and numbers were burnt to death; and the procession is now carrying their bodies to be embalmed. And there is another procession passing onward along the streets; they carry in solemn state a dog, their god, now dead, and which they are transporting to the place for sacred washing, preparatory to its removal in state to the city of Busiris for interment. Here, from out the water gate, comes another crowd in the habiliments of woe, and with sounds of grief. They are transporting, perhaps, a great benefactor to their city, some one whose bounties have flowed largely upon the poor, for such the mourners seem to be? No—these are two companies, one carrying a dead shrew-mouse, and the other a dead hawk, to the place of sacred burial. But see, here comes a couple of hogs, hooted at and bewildered; and mark the alarm of the mourners as the animals become entangled among their ranks; and see how they rush to the river, and with their clothes on, plunge in to cleanse their souls from the pollution caused by the swinish contact.[2]
Ancient Memphis! our spell has been too potent, and wrought too effectually for the safety of our enthusiasm; and so we bid thee good night. Thou art well where thou art—laid low in the dust and almost forgotten.