Phylæ being above the cataracts, my steamer stopped at Assouan, and I went there by donkey as before; returning, I chartered a dahabieh to see the said cataracts, of which for some days I had heard so much; amongst other things, that a ship was wrecked there three weeks ago (I saw it stuck on its rock to-day). The cowardice of the people here, at least in this particular matter, is very funny; too naïf to inspire disgust: my captain, an old sailor, and the nicest old gentleman possible, told Hosseyn that nothing would induce him to go down them; I thought I observed a shade of respectful interest in his reception of me on my return from an exploit which most English women would consider good fun. I make no doubt that when the water is much lower, and your dahabieh shoots a good six or eight feet drop, and goes half into the water besides, considerable excitement may be got out of it; but now that the drop is not or does not look more than about a yard, and that the whole affair consists in a few plunges and shipping a little water, the emotion is very mild, and I own to considerable disappointment, though as far as it went it was pleasant. Nevertheless I did not for a moment regret coming if only on account of the amusement I got out of the sailors and pilots; the latter were men of years; the former, fine, jolly-looking lads as one could wish to see; but their demeanour throughout was infinitely droll; they rested their feet (according to custom here) on inclined planks, up which they ran three steps with their arms well forward to fetch the stroke, getting back into the sitting position as they pulled through the water (and wonderfully fine the action looks in a large crew all pulling well together); but the contortions in which they indulged, the gnashing and grinding of teeth, the throwing back of agonised heads, the frowns, the setting of jaws, the straining of veins, the rolling of eyes, the groans, and, absurdest of all, the coming down on one another's laps and the cutting of crabs, were ineffably grotesque, and would have convulsed me with laughter if I had not controlled myself manfully. Meanwhile the pilots were howling at one another and them with all the vehemence of a violent altercation, and for no discernible reason. When they were not shrieking at one another, the crew took up the usual Arab boatmen's chant (I know no better word); one man gives out a short sentence, or name, or form of prayer (not exceeding four syllables) in a quavering treble, and the rest then repeat it in chorus in a graver key—the effect is very original. As we got within sight of the big cataract and the stranded ship, Hosseyn loudly exhorted the crew to pray to the Prophet, and all the saints who have their shrines on the heights of Assouan, to see them safely through the danger; the invitation was loudly responded to, and everybody who had not an oar to pull held up his hands and prayed with great fervour—which was very pretty, and done with the dignified simplicity which always accompanies an Arab's devotions; but it was certainly disproportionate to the emergency. When we had danced up and down (or rather down and up) three or four times, I had the curiosity to look about for the sailor and waiter I had brought with me from the steamer; they were respectively green and yellow in their unfeigned terror. Then there was a nominal small cataract (the first one is called the great cataract), and indeed I believe there was a third little commotion; then Hosseyn, throwing up his arms, exclaimed, "El Hamdul illah!! finish!!" and it was, as he said, "finish." I am utterly ignorant of the mysteries of navigation, but one figure we executed between the cataracts and Assouan struck me as novel: it consisted in turning entirely round in a wide circle to take (as it were) a fresh start; this manœuvre we performed with much gravity and success two successive times. An elaborate salute from the guns of the dragoman and engineer, responded to with appropriate solemnity by Hosseyn, announced my return to my steamer—and, oh joy! my tub.
In the evening governor of course.
Monday, 2nd.—Resumed work; painted for a couple of hours—badly—in a high wind at an ugly study of a view I don't like. I consider it a sort of discipline. The wind to-day is tremendously high; the dahabiehs will come flying up now. I saw my friend the captain just now sitting on the bank in the midst of an interested circle having his fortune told. There is a blessing for them that wait. Hosseyn has caught a fish! two fishes, to-day! his glee is unlimited, he is radiant; when that boy is at the near end of his fishing rope, he is so absorbed I can't get him to attend to me or to answer a question. His brilliant piscatorial success is an opportune set-off against a chagrin the poor boy had this morning; he was taking a dip somewhere under the paddle-box, and lost, in putting away his clothes (he thinks by a black but improbable theft), a Koran with which he travels and to which he attributes much luck; he was greatly cut up, and after telling me how much he valued the book, proceeded to inform me that it contained a little piece of wood from Abyssinia with something written on it, "some, what you call, scription," which, when worn round the neck, infallibly cured the bite of the scorpion; seeing that this announcement did not impress me as much as he had expected, he asked me with some warmth how I supposed, pray, that the snake-charmers prevented the snakes from biting them if it was not by saying something out of the Bible.
Another sheep to-day; there was some hitch about the manner of the killing which caused a little excitement; his throat was not turned to the sun (or the East?) whilst he was being slaughtered; an important matter. I observe that Turkish officials are not expected to be able to write; my captain can, but I remarked that when his secretary, a poor, wizened little thing, whose nose and trousers are far too short, but whose mouth and ears offer ample compensation through their length, brought him to-day the ship's accounts, he stamped his signature at the foot of the page instead of writing it, although he happened to have a pen in his hand; I was giving him his English lesson. Talking of accounts, the Arabs have a curious way of singing or rather intoning their sums, rocking all the while backwards and forwards like so many Dervishes. I have seen a large house of business (at Sohag) where all the clerks were doing it at once; it was like a madhouse. Oh, Lombard Street, and oh, Mark Lane! what would you have felt at the sight?
Tuesday, 3rd.—My last day at Assouan. Finished my sketches, took leave of the governor, and had a final stroll about the streets of the town, which seemed to me unusually picturesque. I remark that I invariably like a place best the day I leave it; if I am sorry to go, my regret casts a halo over it; if I am glad, my gladness makes everything brighter. How picturesque the people are! their flowing, flying draperies are wonderfully grand. I hope I may carry away with me some general impressions, but the immense multitude and rapid succession of striking things drive individual memories fatally out of the field. Sketching figures is out of the question—the effects are all too fugitive. This was also the last day of the moolid, and high time too; I met in the morning, in a narrow street, a procession of sailors carrying a boat, which they were about to deposit in the tomb of the sheykh in whose honour the moolid is held, and whose name they were loudly invoking. In front, drums and flags, and cawasses firing guns; behind, in front, everywhere, a host of most paintable ragamuffins enjoying the fun; above, over the brown house-tops, dark blue figures of women huddled peering at the procession; over them a blue sky with a minaret standing against it, a palm tree; some doves—there was the picture, it was charming. The children as usual called out, "Baksheesh howaga;" the so-called begging of the people has been ludicrously exaggerated; in the first place, only the children ask for baksheesh (I mean, of course, without the pretext of a service rendered), and in the next, they treat the whole thing as an excellent joke, and evidently have seldom the slightest expectation that they are to get anything. When you approach a village, every child, from as far as it sees you, whether from a window, or a doorway, or half-way up a palm tree, or the middle of the road, holloas out lustily, "Baksheesh, baksheesh," generally with much laughter, and frequently with a universal scamper in every direction except towards you. What I call begging is that importunate whining that clings to you, and harasses you wherever you turn in the south of Italy or Spain, and with which this clamorous performance has nothing in common. I have remarked, with regard to grown-up Arabs, that though they wrangle vehemently with the dragoman on the subject of payment, they invariably show the master a pleasant and satisfied face. I speak, of course, only of my own experience. As strange a thing as a satisfied man is a barking fish; the fish that Hosseyn has caught of late—for Fortune is his handmaid now—all utter a sound which I can only describe as a faint bark; perhaps everybody knows that some fishes do this, but I did not, and my surprise was extreme. They are nasty-looking objects, all fins and teeth (a thick row of little bristle-like teeth). They are fat and shiny and most insipid eating.
Wednesday, 4th.—Started at six down stream; my face is turned towards bonny old England again, and I feel as if I had wings. At Kom Ombo (the first halt to-day) there are some ruins on a rock which crops up abruptly by the riverside in the midst of a flat country. The morning was divine, and the view from the temple, looking north, surpassingly lovely in colour. The form was nothing much; a vast sandy plain (tigered here and there with stripes of green), and in the distance a long low nest of mountain peaks; but the colour!—the gradation from the fawn-coloured glimmering sands in the foreground to the faint horizon with its hem of amethyst and sapphire was as enchanting a thing, in the sweet morning light, as I have ever seen. The temple is fine though heavy, and less delicate in detail than Phylæ. On the under surface of the architrave, between the columns, are some most curious and interesting unfinished decorations, on squares marked out in red, and showing (slight sketch) such as for instance a figure tried two ways on the same spot. The outlines are drawn out, in red also, with extraordinary firmness and freedom. Speaking of the squares, Gardiner Wilkinson—in his, I am told, most erudite, and, I am certain, most dry and heavy, guide-book—says that they were used (in the manner in which "squaring off" is practised in the present day) for the purpose of transferring a design. In this, however, he is obviously mistaken, because the squares are adapted not to the pictures but to the space to be decorated; the hieroglyphs and the figures being adapted to the squares, not the squares to them: that these squares, once made the basis of the decoration and fixing its proportions and distribution, may then have been used also for enlarging a small design, or even, instead of tracing, for transferring one of the same size, is probable enough; but that was not their original function. In corroboration of this view, compare the frets and ornaments painted on the back of the architrave of the Parthenon, which I have examined closely; they are painted in squares marked out with a sharp instrument, and determining the space to be decorated exactly as at Kom Ombo. The case is so entirely parallel as to suggest the idea that the Greeks learnt the practice in Egypt. The great temple of Edfou, where we stopped next, far surpasses anything I have yet seen in Egypt; not so much, perhaps, for any especial beauty of detail—although the sculptures are extremely fine—as for its general aspect, which is superb, and its wonderful state of preservation; many parts of it look as if they had been finished yesterday. The gigantic Propylæa, and the no less gigantic wall which encloses the whole of this fortress-temple, are almost entirely intact, and make it unlike any other ruin I know. The great court, a giant cloister into which one first enters, discloses the temple itself, blocked out in vast masses of light and gulfs of shade, and tunnelled through by a corridor which reaches to its extremest end; the absence of some portions of the roof, by letting the light play fantastically into the inner spaces, only adds to the mysterious grandeur of the effect. A broad, open peribolus runs round the temple, dividing it from the towering mur d'enceinte which encloses the whole building. The western part of the temple is as full of staircases, secret passages, and dark chambers as any Gothic castle. Every square inch of the whole immense fabric is covered with sculptures and hieroglyphs.
I forgot to say that I stopped between Kom Ombo and Edfou at the ancient quarries of Gebel Silsily, from which the material of the sandstone temples was mostly quarried. They are extremely striking, and have a grandeur of their own. It was curious to compare them mentally with the marble quarries of Pentelicus from which Ictinus carved the Parthenon and Pheidias the Fates.
In a tomb at El Kab are some most amusing and interesting sculptures (with the colour almost intact on them) representing the various occupations of Egyptian life, agricultural, &c. The reaping of the corn and durrah is pretty—a vintage and wine-treading pleased me vastly. Had they wine in this district?
Coming upon a magnificent view, stopped the steamer for the night; want to see it by sunrise. The absurd spurious importance my steamer confers on me in the eyes of the natives is too funny. At Edfou I found the whole place en émoi; horses handsomely caparisoned, a most polite governor, sheykhs, and a general profusion of salaams. It appears that the viceroy had the authorities in the different places telegraphed to be civil to me; and God knows they are. I was struck with the magnificence of the population here, the men at least; they are most stately fellows. I should like immensely to paint some of them, but for that there is no time; I can only hope that something will stick to me from this dazzling multitude of fine things. We are now again in the region of doves, whose presence in large numbers affects the architecture of the villages in a most curious manner. Every house has, or rather, is, a dovecot, the chief corps de bâtiment being a tower, or several towers, of which the whole upper part is exclusively affected to the doves. Their sides are inclined like the sides of the propylæa of the temples, with which they harmonise amazingly well; they are divided horizontally by bands of colour which have an excellent effect, recalling strongly the marked parallel strata of the mountains. (There is no more curious study than the concord which constantly manifests itself between national (and notably domestic) architecture, and the nature in the midst of which it grows up.) The construction of these towers is both peculiar and ingenious; they are built up entirely with earthen jars, sometimes placed topsy-turvy, but most often on their sides, and tier above tier like bottles in a cellar. The exterior is then filled in with mud, and the interior presents the appearance of a honeycomb, the cells being formed by the hollow jars; in these jars the doves have their abode. It is easy to see that by turning a few of the jars outwards a very simple but pretty decoration may be obtained; a crest is added at the top by placing jars upside down at certain intervals; the bands of colour are generally divided by a string-course of bricks something after this fashion, but with much variety; and each of these string-courses is garnished with a perfect hedge of branches and twigs projecting horizontally a yard or more, and forming resting places for thousands of doves. Many houses have two towers, and the wealthier people have towers of great size subdivided again into small turrets; but in all cases the height of these edifices is the same, or nearly so, so that the villages received from them a very monumental look. The large towers are divided after the manner shown in the sketch. The natives also make to themselves curious pillar cupboards of mud (about man high), which from a distance have the oddest appearance; they look like raised pies on pedestals.
Thursday, 5th.—Made a little sketch from the paddle-box before starting. Then to Esne to return the visit of my amiable friend, the governor; him of the flowers. There is a temple here; a heavy-looking portico of the Roman period, coarsely executed, but with a grand, cavernous look, buried as it is in the ground which rises all round it to half the height of the columns, so that you have to descend a considerable flight of steps to get at it. At Arnout, or at least within three miles of it, are a few fragments of the Cæsarium. The portraits of Cleopatra and Cæsarion (he is always seated on her lap), which occur here several times, would be of the greatest interest if they were not utterly conventional, and exactly like everybody else in every temple of the date. Got to Lougsor at sunset, and found no letters, no Sterlings, no Lady Duff Gordon. I trust the letters may still turn up before I go, for, if not, I shall probably lose them entirely, through my desire to get them a little earlier. In the evening dined with Mustafa Aga, and met there the American Consul-General, Mr. Hale, who had run up from Alexandria to show the Nile to a friend of his; both are agreeable men (Mr. Hale earned my warmest blessings by lending me a pile of English newspapers); there was also the Consul from Syoot with a friend of his. After dinner the dancing girls were asked in, and, presently, a buffoon who stripped to his waist and performed various antics; he was clever and a good mimic, but became terribly tedious after a short time. His performance was of the most Aristophanic coarseness. With the girls, of whom I had heard so much, I was decidedly disappointed; in the first place they were mostly ugly, one or two only were tolerably good-looking—et encore! Then they were clumsily built, and their dress was quite ludicrous: it consisted in a body fitting tight to the figure and four inches too long in the waist, tight sleeves, a petticoat, in shape exactly like a pen-wiper, and very full, loose trowsers (bags) down to the feet; the whole of printed calico. In front of their waists hung a sort of breloque, or chain, looped up at intervals in festoons, the object of which was to jingle as they moved, and to add to the effect of certain little brass castagnette cymbals which they held on the middle finger and thumb of either hand. A profusion of ornaments hung round their necks. Their dancing is very inferior to that of the Andalusian dancers of the same class, whose performance is full of a quaint grace and even dignity—inferior, too, to the Algerine dancing, to which that of the south of Spain more nearly approaches in character; it is monotonous in the extreme—very ugly for the most part, and remarkable only as a gymnastic feat; sleight of loins, so to speak. These are, however, no doubt, unfavourable specimens; I shall see the best of the kind in Keneh at the house of the Consul, who has come all the way here from that place to invite me thereto.