Friday, 20th.—Started at seven on horseback to see Abydos, and had a delightful morning. The weather was fresh and clear, and the canter of six or seven miles across a fine open plain to the foot of the mountains where the ruins lie was most enjoyable. The temples, very strikingly situated on a slope which sweeps down from a grand amphitheatre of bastion-like rocks, have a great advantage over all those that I have yet seen, viz. that their sculptures have almost entirely escaped mutilation, and are in admirable preservation. This is the more fortunate, that they are of a very fine period, and most delicate in workmanship; the type of the faces has considerable beauty and refinement. The colours, notably in the more recently excavated temple of Osiris, are often extremely well preserved, and I am confirmed in my conjecture, that they must have been much less beautiful in their freshness than now that time has toned and tuned them. In the larger temple are some very beautiful wagon-head vaults cut in the thickness of two layers of stone, the upper ones laid on end to get more thickness of material. They are charmingly decorated with cartouches and stars on a blue ground, and divided by a band of hieroglyphs running like a ridge-rib along the head of the vault. The stars on Egyptian ceilings are always pentagonal, and placed very near together. At the temple I was joined by the obligato governor, a puffy Turk with a tight, shiny face that had a look of having been stung all over by a wasp; he was heavy and stupid, and I left him in the hands of Hosseyn, galloping ahead myself with the mounted cawass, a very picturesque Arnout on a very good horse. N.B.—Never come to the East again without an English saddle; the back-board of a Turkish saddle is in the long run an intolerable nuisance, as are also, though in a less degree, the shovel-stirrups in which one's feet are imprisoned. In the afternoon reached Sohag, a sail, or rather a steam, of three or four hours, in time for a most pleasant evening's walk.
Saturday, 21st.—Got to Syoot in the afternoon, and was very glad to catch Lady Duff Gordon on her way up the river. Was received with great hospitality by the American and Spanish consuls, wealthy Copts of this town who kindly put their carriages at my disposal and, better still, their donkeys—splendid Arabian donkeys, looking, in their trappings, like cardinals' mules. Nothing is more pleasant than the swift amble of a good donkey from the Hejaz. Dined in the evening with Mr. Wonista, the consul for Spain, quite "à la Franca" with knives and forks and the whole thing. A curious house, and the rooms small but of enormous height, so that they looked as if they had been set on end by mistake. The walls were bare whitewash, but the furniture was of the most gorgeous brocade, as were also the curtains; there was a European carpet all over the floor and as many candles on the walls (in glass bells) as in a café chantant. I met there a Scotch clergyman belonging to the American Mission (Episcopalian) which is very active in Egypt. After dinner the singer from Lady Duff Gordon's boat was sent for, and in a short time arrived with some of the crew who acted as chorus; it is this chorus, I find, that gives the approving murmur after each strophe. He sang well, but his performance of course lost three-fourths of its charm by not being heard in its proper place and surroundings. I remember once in the Sabine hills hearing unexpectedly at a distance, in the silent dimness of night, the droning song of a piffera; nothing could be more strangely pathetic than this voice rising in the utter silence from out of the heart of the valley below—yet those same sounds heard close in the broad daylight would have seemed uncouth and strident. Arab singing has a similar quality, and is equally dependent on time and place for its full effect. Whilst the performance was at its height, and the minstrel was tuning his note to the most ambitious fioriture, I heard in the room overhead some European part-singing of a melancholy order, and was informed that the Scotch minister had been invited by a few proselytes to retire upstairs "to worship and explain an obscure passage in the Gospel." On the invitation of the master of the house, I went up and joined the congregation, who thought it right to favour me with another psalm. The clergyman then read in Arabic, and expounded in the same language a chapter from the Bible, and I must say did it (I speak of his manner only, for Koran and Bible Arabic is so different from the current idiom, here at all events, that I did not understand four words in the whole sermon) in a very simple and impressive way. He had, too, an admirable accent. He tells me that in spite of vehement opposition from the Coptic prelates he finds a good deal of sympathy amongst the people.
Sunday, 22nd.—Lovely day. Strolled about with a gun. This place is full of "sparrows of paradise," a little bird of an exquisite golden green. Since I was here last, the aspect of the country has changed very much and for the better. Where I saw, a few weeks back, nothing but pools and mud, is now a vast expanse of clover and grass of an intense green, sunny and brilliant to a wonderful degree. The plain looks like one immense jewel, and contrasts deliciously with the tawny sand-rock which walls it in on the west, behind the gleaming white domes of the cemetery. Dined with the other consul in the evening. Same sort of house, but much larger. No Scotch clergyman this time, but an Anglo-Arab who teaches in the Coptic school, and, embracing Coptic views, inveighs bitterly against the converts to Protestantism. At sunset, to my agreeable surprise, the Sterlings turned up, musique en tête, the singer in the bows quavering a jubilant strain, and the vessel magnificent with fresh paint.
Monday, 23rd.—Killed a sheep. Sketched. Had the consuls and the Scotch missionary to dine with me. The latter brought me some newspapers, which I read greedily.
Tuesday, 24th.—Sketched. At last an evening to myself!—these festive gatherings are an ineffable bore, if the truth were told.
Wednesday, 25th.—Completed my sketches with one exception—a study of my beautiful grey (hechtgrau) donkey. Unless I make a study at Sakkara, which is just possible, this will be the end of my work on the Nile. In twenty-two skies which I have painted there is not a vestige of a cloud, such has been the divinely serene weather I have had all along. This evening, indeed, faint, shining flakes of vapour were drawn across the sky, breaking and tempering the last rays of the sun; but by a curious piece of luck they did not appear till I was just giving the last touches to my day's work. Saw a beautiful and original effect at sunset. Just as the sun was about to sink behind the hills, a dahabieh drifted past with its sails spread, and reaching up into the region where the light was still golden, whilst the face of the water was darkened, and the long, low banks were already shadowy and grey, the burning sail was reflected in the night of the river, and looked astonishingly beautiful. It was like the mellow splendour of the rising moon.
I delight in seeing the sailors climbing the tall, oblique yards of the Nile boats. Sometimes five or six of them perch on one yard at the same time, looking at a distance like great birds.
Thursday, 26th.—Finished my donkey and started; as I get further north, the weather is much cooler—the mornings and evenings are quite fresh, though not so cold but that I can sketch in the shade an hour after sunrise in summer clothes. The natives, however, seem to take a severe view of the temperature, and leave nothing unmuffled but their mouths, with which they occasionally blow their fingers in the most approved winter fashion. Was more struck than before with Gebel Aboofada—the infinite and strongly marked strata of which it is made up writhe and heave in a very grand and fantastic manner. Some of the Egyptian mountains are ruled like a copy book from head to foot, and are very monotonous.
At the foot of Aboofada, I saw, for an instant, my first and last crocodile; a small one. They are very seldom seen from a steamer below the cataracts, as the noise frightens away the few there are. I had looked forward to getting a shot at one, and was a good deal disappointed at finding none up the river. It is curious how rapidly time lends its perspective to the past. Every now and then a boat from the cataracts laden with dates comes floating down the river, and the melancholy chant of the Nubian sailors, as they strain at the oars, already falls on my ear as a sudden memory of an almost distant past—not a month old.
Arrived at Roda this evening. I have been reading, amongst other things, a book everybody else read thirty years ago, "Les Natchez," and am greatly disappointed with it. I am especially struck with the extraordinary contrast between the masterful sobriety and simplicity of the style, and the far-fetched affectation of the ideas which are, more often than not, distorted, tawdry and inflated, sometimes disgusting and not seldom maudlin in the extreme. This singular discrepancy between form and matter is especially French, and may frequently be traced in the works of their painters and sculptors. No living people has so sensitive a perception of form or so artistic an epiderm, but an ineradicable self-consciousness develops in them a theatrical attitude of mind which too often betrays itself in their artistic and literary conceptions. It is the absolute consent between conception and execution which constitutes one of the chief sources of delight in the art of the Greeks, to whom they are fond, too rashly, of comparing themselves.[41]