Friday, 6th.—Went to the palace and temples of Medinet Haboo, with which I was delighted beyond my expectation. What pleased me most, and was an entire surprise to me, was a bit of purely secular architecture—the remains of a royal residence, with its towers flanking the great entrance, its windows of various shapes, balconies, semicircular crenelations, outer wall; in fact, identically such a building as one sees occasionally in Egyptian sculptures, and, curiously enough, as if it were a portrait of it, on the walls of the very temple to which this palace leads. The temple, too (the large one), interested me extremely from the wonderful preservation of the coloured decoration in parts of it; one really gathers an excellent idea of the original effect, and a most brilliant and magnificent (though barbarous) effect it must have been. The columns in the great hall here are of what, for want of a better word, I shall call the "ninepin" pattern; and I think on the whole I prefer it to the bell-capped pattern; because, besides its character and massive strength, there is no suggestion in it (as in the other) of the Doric order, with which comparison is obviously dangerous. As far as I can observe, there is no trace of colour on any of the propylæa, but the pylon is always richly decorated and highly coloured. This decorative importance given to the door must have had a very striking effect, and reminds me of the same peculiarity in the dwellings of Upper Egypt.
Visited a private tomb near Medinet Haboo, which is full of the most curious paintings, many of them in excellent preservation, and representing every sort of domestic and professional occupation. They are very superior in execution and character to those of El Kab. In the evening had a dinner on board: Mr. Hale and friend, Mustafa Aga and the Syoot Consuls (one of whom does not speak a word of anything but Arabic). I had also invited Mustafa's younger son, but find that he may not sit down with his father. (He accompanied me this morning, and insisted on lunching with the servants; on the other hand, my servant is addressed as Hosseyn Effendi, if you please! and conversed with as a gentleman. Service appears to be looked upon in an entirely patriarchal light.) The entertainment went off successfully, and Ottilio, the Italian waiter, covered himself with glory by his excellent waiting. After dinner Mr. Hale received a telegram to the effect that General Grant had been elected President of the United States, with Mr. Colfax as Vice. He was in great excitement and delight; we had a recrudescence of champagne, and gave the new President three cheers in British fashion. The news had come in three days from Washington to Thebes! it is marvellous.
Saturday, 7th.—Went to Karnak. Wilkinson advises the traveller to see this group of temples last; and wisely, for it is indeed the crowning glory of all, and must satisfy, if it does not surpass, the most sanguine expectations. The vast unfinished propylæa of the large temple prepare one by their colossal dimensions for the gigantic grandeur of the great central hall, in which one is at a loss what most to admire—the originality of the general design, combining, as it does in a surprising degree, freedom and variety with the gravest simplicity—the massive and reposeful breadth of the forms or the exquisite subtlety of the colour. The latter has of course gained very much from the blending hand of time, and is now of a most delightful mellowness, but, judging from the better preserved portions, it must have been at all times of singular beauty. It seems strange at first that a decoration consisting entirely of small blots of vivid colour on a white ground, like butterflies on a wall, can have a large architectural effect; but, in fact, the repetition over large surfaces of wall and column restores, through its monotony, the balance of breadth. The design of this hall is very curious: the great central nave, flanked on each side by two aisles of the same height as itself, but of less breadth (diminishing, roughly, in a proportion of 10, 7, 5), runs, as in a Gothic cathedral, perpendicular to the main entrance; beyond the second aisle, however, on either side, the lintels or architraves which connect the columns run at right angles to the nave; the effect of this arrangement must have been peculiar and striking. (Too little remains now, except the columns, to enable one to form a distinct idea.) The central nave, with the aisles immediately adjoining, rises in a clerestory thirty or forty feet above the rest of the building, and was lighted by massive square windows filled with slabs of stone (sketch), perforated vertically, and of a severe and very fine (sketch) effect. These windows fill the space between the entablature of the lateral columns and of the roof of the clerestory, and must be some twenty to twenty-five feet high. I find it difficult to reconcile my eye to the far-fetched "asymetria" in the arrangement of the columns, the lesser ones standing in no definite relationship, on the plan, to the two central rows, neither immediately behind them nor half-way between them. How differently the Greeks managed these things! The inner row of columns at the east and west ends of the Parthenon differs also in size, height, and level from the outer row, and also stands back; but it is only one row at each end; so that variety and play of form are obtained without a repeated jar on the eye; and an otherwise uniform rectangular plan is not gratuitously distorted. In a very ancient temple beyond and behind that of the great hall are some curious polygonal columns that have a very Doric look about them, though they are very rude and undeveloped.
The walls of Karnak are of course defaced and disfigured by the usual amount of inscriptions; one commemorative tablet, however, like a similar one at Phylæ, inspires a different feeling. Both are memorials of the French Campaign in Egypt; the one at Phylæ, dated "an VIII. de la République Française," alludes with simple dignity to the victorious march of the French army to the first cataract, giving the names of the generals who were fighting "sous les ordres de Bonaparte"; the other, under the same date, is a simple scientific memorandum giving the latitude and longitude of the chief towns on the Nile. It is impossible to read the first of these inscriptions without emotion: how remote from us, already, seems that stern, invincible French Republic, tracing its proud name with an undoubting finger here in the grave-dust of an empire that stood more centuries than this young giant completed years! How thickly, already, does the dust lie now on the grave of this thing of yesterday!
In writing about Phylæ, I forgot to notice the henna tree, which grows in great quantities round the skirts of the temple, and has a delicious scent. In this wilderness of granite and most unsavoury haunt of bats, its perfume wafted unexpectedly on the air is infinitely delightful.
Sunday, 8th.—Sketched.
Monday, 9th.—Ditto. In the evening went out to shoot, but could not get near the pelicans and crows—they see you half a mile off. Returning, against stream, Hosseyn, anxious to be useful, took a punting pole and rowed away with an air of conviction which was worthy of the fly on the coach-wheel in the fable.
The heat, though still considerable (greater than with us at midsummer), has diminished within the last few days, and does not inconvenience me as much as it did in sketching. Towards evening, soft autumnal veils of mist rise from the smooth, swift river, and shroud everything in their mysterious folds; to-night the effect was especially striking; a pale golden sun hung in a pale golden mist, tempered so that one could look at it undazzled, and so shorn of its fires that the eastern bank, instead of burning orange, showed only a faint violet flush over its dark-brown ridges. On a dahabieh alongside me an Arab is singing endless strophes of some poem of love and war, accompanied by the thud and jingle of a tambourine; the melody, a wandering, nasal strain, full of turns and runs and triplets, appears to be entirely improvised, and is full of character and melancholy. At the end of each strophe I hear a prolonged, deep groan of approval uttered in a chorus by the audience, rising in pitch after a particularly happy effort of the rhapsodist, whose song begins again and again in mournful gusts like the song of the wind. It is dark; I only hear—don't see—the singer and his listeners.
Tuesday, 10th.—Sketched. A frequent companion in my work is my friend, little Fatma, a sweet, small child of about five, with a bright face and two rows of the whitest teeth ever seen. She squats down snugly by my side, sometimes looking at the picture, sometimes at the painter, most often at the paint-box, at which she twiddles silently; sometimes she pensively draws a pattern with a little brown finger on my dusty boots. I remember at Rhodes, last year, a knot of little girls used to watch me sketching in the Street of the Knights; but the little Turks were not so nice as Fatma, the little Arab; some used to giggle, and some used to frown at the Djiaour; but one very chatty young lady of about six with the manners and graces of sixteen would exclaim in a little fluty voice, "Mash Allah! Mash Allah! beautiful indeed! nobody here can write like you!" (Turk., if my memory helps me: Guzel! guzel! Bir khimse burda senci zhibi yazamas!) I had a visit on board the other day from Mustafa Aga's youngest son, bonny and rosy as an apple. He wore a flowing robe of linen, à ramages, buttoned summarily and once for all at the neck, but entirely open from the neck downwards; over this an enormous embroidered jacket with anticipatory sleeves turned up at the wrists, and on, or rather about, his feet, a pair of his papa's shoes; he was irresistibly funny and pretty; an amorino, dressed up as the Dog Toby. He was very chatty; not so his playfellow, "Genani," the son of Abdallah, the servant of Mustafa, a putto by Raphael modelled in chocolate; a wild, black-eyed, trembling, romping, dusty, stark-naked little imp (I used to call him Afreet), and the finest child I ever saw. The nearest approach to social intercourse I could get out of him was a sudden plunge at a proffered cake; after which he would dart off with affected dismay, and frown at me through an ill-suppressed grin from behind the nearest place of safety.
Wednesday, 11th.—Got on with my sketches. Have begun two or three rough small studies of heads. Hate sketching heads rapidly; it is unavoidably and odiously free and easy, and nearly all that is worth escapes. But I have no time for more, and, I suppose, the sketches will be useful. One man, with a face like a camel, whom I drew in profile, was annoyed (though in a general way complimentary) at seeing only one eye in the picture. This struck me as quaint; for he was blind of the other; he had not been defrauded of much. My delight, in the evening, is to watch the processions of women and girls coming down to the Nile to fetch water. The brown figures, clad in brown, coming, in long rows, along the brown bank in all the glow and glory of sunset, look very grand; very grand, too, returning up the steep bank, along the violet sky, with their long, flowing folds and the full pitchers now erect on their heads (when empty they carry them horizontally). They are neither handsome individually nor particularly well made, but their movements are good, and the repetition of the same "motive" many times in succession makes the whole scene impressive and stately. There is no more fruitful source of effect in Nature or Art than iteration.