To the Pyramids it is a drive of about five miles. When we reached them it was too hot for most of us to attempt climbing; yet several of our party did so, and came back delighted with the view they had thus gained over all the country round. I need not describe the appearance of the Great Pyramid, standing as it does on the edge of the Libyan desert—an enormous pile of stones, up which it would be impossible to climb were it not for the help of the guides, who are remarkably skilful in aiding the traveller in the perilous ascent and the far more perilous descent, and at the same time remarkably pressing for backsheesh. There is no evidence to show that the Pyramids were built for astronomical purposes, and the theory that the Great Pyramid was built as a standard of measurement is equally worthless. Outwardly, they seem nothing but a pile of big stones, broad at the base, tapering at the top. A French savant has asserted that the stones of the three Pyramids would make a wall round the frontier of France. The Pyramid of Cheops was built b.c. 3733. Its four sides measure in length about 755 feet at the base; its height is now 451 feet, but it is said to have been originally about 481 feet.
Of late, as I have shown, the trip to the Pyramids cannot well be easier or more agreeable. In 1868 Sir Stafford Northcote thus describes his experiences: ‘We observed nothing particular till we reached the Nile, when the scene of crossing in the ferry-boats afforded us unmixed satisfaction. The usual amount of noise in the streets at Cairo was as silence to the noise at the waterside. Hosts of donkeys were being pushed, pulled, beaten, or shouted at, and eventually lifted into the boats, and then shoved off with loads
Sir Stafford adds that he admired the Sphinx, which is, in some respects, more interesting than the Pyramids themselves. Now there is to be a tramway to the Pyramids. But I fear the nuisance of the Arab guides shouting and pushing will remain a nuisance still.
As I sit under what little shade I can find on the burning sand, I am badgered to death by the dealers in imitation antiques and the donkey boys. The white donkeys of Egypt are beautiful animals, and sometimes fetch a hundred pounds. I have seen a gentleman whose donkey cost him that sum. The value of the common donkey to be met with in the streets of Cairo is about seven pounds. The finest donkeys in the world come from Cyprus. The next best are those to be had at Syene, in Egypt. I could tell much of the artfulness of the donkey-boys. One of my companions was very stout, and did not think it right to gallop, on account of his weight. ‘Me too fat,’ said he to the donkey-boy. ‘No,’ replied the latter—‘not too fat; you fine man.’ Again, one of the ladies of our party was enjoying a ride, when the boy plaintively remarked: ‘Fine lady—fine donkey—poor donkey-boy!’ And the boy secured a little extra backsheesh. I could fill a chapter with the smart sayings of the donkey-boys. So far as I can make out, there is no need for the donkey-boy to travel to Ireland to kiss the Blarney-Stone. Alas for him, I was deaf to all his flattery, and plunged on in the burning sand till I stood in the presence of the world-renowned Sphinx.
At first I was disappointed in the Sphinx, but, like Niagara, the more you look, the more you admire. Poets and literary men have told us how it stands in the desert, and has stood for centuries, overlooking the eternal sands as nations and dynasties come and go. In reality its position is by no means elevated, and you don’t see it till you are actually before it. And yet one can in time realize something of that fine passage in ‘Eothen,’ written half a century ago, which tells how this unworldly Sphinx has looked down on ancient kings of Ethiopian and Egyptian origin, upon Greek and Roman, upon Arab and Ottoman conquerors, upon Napoleon, dreaming of an Eastern empire, upon battle and pestilence, and how it will remain watching when Islam will wither away, and the Englishman will plant a firm foot on the banks of the Nile. Originally it was crowned with a helmet; the stone cap was only discovered as lately as 1896. Mr. John Cook runs a four-horse coach to the Pyramids and back during the season, and thus, at the foot of the Sphinx, the present and the past meet and mingle. The age of the Sphinx is unknown. All that is certain is that it was the work of one of the kings of the ancient empire. A stele discovered of the time of Thothmes, b.c. 1533, records that one day, during an after-dinner sleep, Hermachis appeared to Thothmes IV., and promised to bestow upon him the crown of Egypt if he would dig his image the Sphinx out of the sand. Another inscription recently discovered shows that the Sphinx existed in the time of Cheops. The Sphinx is here hewn out of the solid rock, but pieces of stone have been added when necessary. The body is about 150 feet long, the paws are 50 feet long, the head is 30 feet long, the face is 14 feet wide, and from the top of the head to the base of the monument the distance is about 70 feet. Originally there were probably ornaments on the head, the whole of which was covered with a limestone covering, and the face was coloured red. Of these decorations scarcely any traces now remain, though they were visible towards the end of the last century. The condition in which the monument now appears is due to the savage destruction of its features by the Mohammedan rulers of Egypt, some of whom caused it to be used for a target. Around this imposing relic of antiquity a number of legends and superstitions have clustered in all ages. A little to the south-east of the Sphinx stands the large granite and limestone temple excavated by M. Marriette in 1853.
And now I have done with the East, and my face is turned towards Marseilles. I am once more on board the Midnight Sun, the quiet and repose of which are infinitely refreshing after the tumult and bustle of Egypt. Long, long will I remember the gorgeous East—its heat, its confusion, its noise, its undying charm. To enjoy Cairo, you must go and stop there a winter. My fellow-passengers seem to have been lavish in their expenditure. One gentleman alone of our party expended as much as £60 in the purchase of carpets and gold-embroidered cloths, and for the ladies the bazaars seem to have had peculiar charms. I am sure Dr. Lunn deserves the hearty thanks of all our party for organizing what has proved to be such a gratifying time. His brother and his secretary, Mr. Wight, have done all in their power to make us comfortable. There was no hitch in any of the arrangements. Carriages and hotels were all of the very best, and the cost of the whole trip was really remarkably small. The ordinary traveller, making the trip on his own account, must have had to pay a great deal more, and experienced an amount of trouble and fatigue, and consequent loss of temper, of which we passengers by the Midnight Sun have had no conception.
The Doctor calls his tours educational ones, and provides us with lectures. I did not much profit by the lectures, my hearing being, alas! rather defective; yet we all of us got a good deal of education during the course of our visit—the education which comes to all of us from the use of our eyes and ears, and the gift, or, rather, exercise, of common-sense.
I ought to mention that there is a very good hotel on your right just as you get to the Pyramids; many gentlemen I met were staying there, and spoke well of it. Some years since a gentleman suffering from consumption built a house, and went to live there in the hope that the pure air of the desert would restore him to health. It did not. As is the case with so many consumptive people, the remedy was deferred too long. Many are those who have gone to the desert to recover, but fade away and die, to the sorrow of those who loved them, simply because they have deferred the remedy too long. On the decease of the builder of the house, it was greatly enlarged, and is now known as the Mena House Hotel. Mena is the name of one of the most ancient Egyptian kings. All round it stretches the desert right away to the great Sahara, and there Byron might have realized his dream—which, happily, he never realized, nor ever, perhaps, wished to—of the desert being his dwelling-place, with some fair spirit for his minister,