In the evening was visited by Mustafa Aga, H.B.M. Consular Agent, one of his sons, the Turkish Governor (Hassan Effendi), and the local doctor. Mustafa is a very courteous old gentleman, with half a nose, and much respected by all who know him; I observed that Saïd, his son, would not smoke in his father's presence, in accordance with an Arab custom, which did not much remind me of the manner in which "the gov'nor" is treated in England.
On Thursday morning, 22nd, I started to see the tombs of the kings, leaving the eastern bank and Karnak for my return. It was a lovely morning, and I crossed the Nile before the air had had time to get thoroughly heated. On the other side I found horses, kindly lent me by Mustafa (whose son accompanied me), and donkeys for the rest of the party. There were a good many of us, and we made a very absurd-looking procession—en tête, a couple of fine brawny Arabs, one of whom has been the guide to these ruins since Champollion; then Saïd and I on our horses—mine a good-looking chestnut, caparisoned with scarlet finery; behind us, on their respective donkeys, the captain in full uniform holding a large umbrella over his head, Hosseyn in his Arab dress, the French cook in his official white jacket and cap, the Italian waiter with a large handkerchief over his head, and the engineer; further behind, lesser menials and the hamper. I forgot the Turkish Cawass in uniform and armed to the teeth. Hovering round, brandishing water-bottles, was a swarm of Arab boys and girls, in sizes, and of various qualities of chocolate; they were dressed in the most fantastically tattered remnants of dark brown shirts that I ever saw; there was one little monkey of a dull ebony colour turned up with pale blue, whose form was revealed rather than covered by a few incoherent brown shreds of garment, and who was inexpressibly droll from the way in which he cocked his little head demurely on one side with a half-consciousness of insufficient drapery.
The ride to the tombs, which takes about an hour, and the latter half of which lies through an arid valley, is very striking from the form and colour of the mountains. Nothing announces that one is approaching the city of the dead, and it is not till you stand before them that you become aware of the plain square openings which lead down to these magnificent last resting-places of the kings. It was a right royal idea this, of the old rulers of Egypt, to plunge these shafts into the bowels of the rock, and give themselves a mountain for a tombstone over the palace which was their grave. The design of these houses of the dead is simple and apparently always much the same: a long corridor, sometimes with lateral galleries, sometimes with recesses or small chambers on each side, leads downwards by a not very rapid incline to a great hall, in the centre of which is the sarcophagus which contained the mummy of the king in its magnificent case; these cases have of course been all removed. All these lateral chambers were also originally filled with mummies—those, I believe, of the relations of the sovereign. The walls of these subterranean palaces and the ceilings are adorned throughout with coloured hieroglyphs and flat sculptured "graven images" representing mostly sacred and mystical scenes, but often, also, illustrating the different trades and crafts practised by the Egyptians. These paintings are of high interest from an ethnographic point of view—Poynter would have a fit over them. In the innermost places scores of bats dart about in intense alarm. The effect of the scanty light from the candles on these painted walls and on the dark bony forms of the Arabs is extremely fine—what your literary tourist would call "worthy of the pencil of Rembrandt."
After lunching in a shady spot we took an anything but shady ride to the temple-palace of Koorneh, and from thence to the Memnonium. Both are very interesting, but the latter by far the finest; there is about it a breadth and a vastness, together with much elegance and variety, that are very impressive. Nothing that I have seen is comparable to the monuments of Egypt, for the expression of gigantic thoughts and limitless command of material and labour; withal there is about them something stolid and oppressive that is unsatisfactory; and as I looked at these vast ruins, vivid memories of Athens and its Acropolis invaded me, and the Parthenon in all its serene splendour rose before my mind; mighty, too, in its measured sobriety, stately in the noble rhythm of its forms; infinitely precious in the added glory of its sculptures; lovable as a living thing; and then more, perhaps, than ever before, I felt what a divine breath informed that marvellous Attic people, and what an ineffaceable debt of gratitude is due to them from us, blind fumblers in their footsteps.
I was less struck than I had expected to be by the two colossal statues, of one of which it was poetically fabled by the ancients that a mysterious clang rose from it as the first rays of the rising sun smote its forehead. The myth is more striking than the statues, though their size and isolation give them something impressive. I had expected them, too, I don't know why, to be in a desert, and they are in a field. How infinitely grander is the great Sphinx, with its strange, far-gazing, haunting eyes, fixed, for ever, on the East, as if expecting the dawn of a day that never comes; immovable, unchanging, without shadow of sorrow, or light of gladness, whilst the gladness of men has turned to sorrow and their thoughts to ashes before them, through three times a thousand years! Century by century the desert has been gathering and growing round it—the feet are buried, the body, the breast are hidden. How soon will the sealing sands give rest at last to those steadfast, expectant eyes?
In the evening Hosseyn had a great "fantasia" and fulfilled his vow—and spent all his money. He killed his sheep and roasted it, bought some rice and boiled it, some flour and had it made into bread; then mixing the whole, he distributed it in six very large trays; three were put before the crew, one he had placed on the wayside for all comers (and they all came); the other two were sent to the nearest mosque for the same purpose, and with similar results; then, being unable to read himself, he paid five men to recite from the Koran at night, in the mosque, and invited thereto the captain, Mustafa Aga, and his son and several others; he, the while, sitting outside and offering coffee to whoever passed by. When it was all over he came to me radiant: "El Hamdul illah," he said, throwing up his hands, "this is good! I am happy, everybody to be satisfied! this is rich day! El Hamdul illah! my money is all gone! why shall I mind? I spend it for God! brabs something good happen for me, el Hamdul illah!" His delight at the performance of his vow and his absolute faith were the prettiest thing one could see. Talking of faith, I am much struck by the dignified simplicity with which Mahometans practise the observances of their religion; praying at the appointed times without concealment, wherever they happen to be, and as a matter of course.
Friday, 23rd.—Started early and coaled, first at Erment and then again at Esne, after which, being stopped by the night and shallow water, we anchored off a bank nowhere in particular. Heavens, what a hot day! this is indeed "the fire that quickens Nilus' slime," but has a vastly different effect on me. Sketching will be quite out of the question unless it gets rapidly cooler.
At Esne I was visited by the chief magistrate, and by the governor of the province; the former a jolly old bonhomme who offered me snuff, the other a very refined old gentleman with most charming manners. Both were Turks; and as they spoke no Christian tongue our conversation was carried on entirely through a dragoman; I was, however, pleased to find that I recognised several words that I learnt last year at Constantinople; I was glad, too, to hear again that fine vigorous language, the sound of which is extremely agreeable to me. Eastern manners are certainly very pleasing, and the frequent salutations, which consist in laying the hand first on the breast and then on the forehead, making at the same time a slight inclination, are graceful without servility. When an Egyptian wishes to express great respect he first lowers his hands to the level of his knees, exactly as in the days of Herodotus.
Talking of Herodotus, here is a first-rate subject for Gérôme suggested by that author; it is ethnographical and ghastly. The scene is laid in the establishment of an ancient Egyptian embalmer and undertaker, fitted up with all the implements and appliances of the trade; in the background, but not so far as to exclude detail, groups of assistants should be shown busied over a number of corpses and illustrating all the different stages of preparation, embalsamation, swathing, &c. &c. In the centre a bereaved family have brought their lamented relative, and are selecting, from specimens submitted to them by the master undertaker, a style of treatment suited to their taste and means, and expressive of their particular shade of grief. A large assortment of mummy-cases would form appropriate accessories and give great scope for the display of knowledge and the use of a fine brush. It seems to me that so pleasing a mixture of corpses and archæology, impartially treated by that polite and accomplished hand, could not fail to create considerable sensation.
Took a stroll through Esne whilst the ship was coaling. The darker tints of skin are beginning to preponderate more and more; mummy colour is in the ascendant here, together with a fine Brunswick black. The men, I observe, spin in this country. The children are quite fascinating; they have nothing on but a little tuft of hair on the top of their shaven heads; those dazzling little teeth of theirs are wonderful to see, and funny—like a handful of rice in a coal-scuttle. Fine sunset again; the hills, ranged in an amphitheatre from east to west, showed a most wonderful gradation from extreme dark on one side to glowing light on the other. I make the profound reflection that no two sunsets are alike; this remark, however, does not extend to descriptions of sunsets—verb. sap.