I notice in the Natchez a peculiar use of comparisons. That mode of adding light and colour to an idea which consists in suggesting analogies, has always been the delight of poets; but Chateaubriand (whose analogies, by the way, are often singularly far fetched and unfortunate) occasionally, in a morbid endeavour to be original, seeks his effects in a suggestion of dissimilarities; I remember an instance: he has been describing with minute and gratuitously sickening detail a mangled heap of dead and dying warriors after a ferocious encounter. "How different," he exclaims, but in more flowery terms, "is a haycock in a field with girls rolling down it!" Few will be disposed to contradict him. His exorbitant personal vanity which continues to peep through everywhere, and makes even his unbounded praise of his country seem an oblique tribute to himself, is droll and nauseating at the same time.
Took a stroll in the evening, and met an English baby! pink and delicate like a flower; with cape and cockade complete—a pretty sight.
Thick folds of rose and violet-coloured cloud hung along the horizon at sunset, and looked autumnal. I have left eternal summer behind me.
Friday, 27th.—Such a morning as the evening of yesterday foreboded; rather chilly and misty, and as near an approach to winter as Upper Egypt may be expected to afford. The sky was veiled on all sides with soft grey clouds, wrinkled and fretted like the grey sands when the sea has left them. It was a fitting background to the desolate tombs of Beni Hassan, which I visited an hour or two after sunrise. The range of hills on the face of which these tombs are excavated is not unlike Gebel Aboofada in its configuration, except that the strata with which it is scored are more level and regular. This monotony is, however, relieved by the sky-line, which is extremely fine. Along the foot of these hills runs a level strip of barren land, broken abruptly in its whole length by a steep bank which rises like a ruined wall from the plain below, and which is, when the Nile is exceptionally high, the bank of the river itself. Standing, as it now does, nearly a mile inland, and crested with two deserted villages, it has a grand but uncanny aspect. I had long been eager to see the tombs, which show what is considered by many to be the first rudiment of the Doric order. The similarity, more striking even than I expected, is so great that, taken with our knowledge of the early and frequent intercourse of the Greeks with Egypt and of the assimilating power of their genius, it certainly offers a strong prima facie presumption in favour of this view. It may be objected that the echinus, the conical form of the shaft and its entasis, all three inseparable features and especial beauties of the Greek order, are wanting here, though they are present in the earliest specimen of the style preserved in Greece, the temple of Corinth. This argument would deserve more consideration if it could be conceived that the order as seen at Corinth was a spontaneous conception, and not a development of some more elementary form which, whether native or imported at a remote period, has not been handed down to us. In point of fact, the chamfering of a simple stone pier into an octagon and then further to a polygon of sixteen, or more, sides (specimens of the two forms are seen side by side in two of the tombs of Beni Hassan) is so elementary an effort of architecture and one so obvious, that its independent and spontaneous adoption by two different nations would be matter for no surprise. On the other hand, it is to be remarked that these tombs and the early temple at Karnak already mentioned are the only instances of this style known in Africa—that not only are they isolated in themselves, but they form a step to no further developments—a link in no chain; that in character and conception they have nothing in common with any of the great monuments of Egypt, to which indeed they are antagonistic in feeling; that they stand side by side with other monuments of the same date (about 2000 B.C.?) of a developed and absolutely different type—a type certainly indigenous and based on the imitation of natural forms which is especially characteristic of Egyptian architecture; and lastly, that the tombs of Beni Hassan show certain dissonances, such as one might expect to find in the case of an unintelligent and unperceptive manipulation of a foreign style. In the face of these considerations, I find it difficult to resist a suspicion that the view generally received exactly reverses the truth of the case, and that these tombs are not indeed the prototypes of the Doric temple, but rather the results, themselves, of contact at some remote period between the Egyptians and that branch of the great Aryan family which, at long intervals, and in successive waves, covered the shores of the Egean Sea, and one of the latest offshoots of which poured down into Greece from the heights of Thessaly under the name of Dorians. I believe the earliest Egyptian record of the pressure of Greeks in this country goes no further back than 1500 B.C.; but a peaceful intercourse between the two races may have existed over a long period, without necessarily finding a place in public records.
The (quasi) Doric tombs are divided into a nave and aisles by two rows of piers, carrying an architrave and disposed at right angles to the portico, agreeably carrying out the likeness of a Greek temple. The circles which intersect the extremity of the other group of tombs are parallel to the portico, and have a deplorable effect, much heightened by the shape of the ceiling, which is that of a very flat pediment. The architrave follows the line of the roof, but at a still more open angle. It would be difficult to conceive anything more hideous. Nearly all the tombs are decorated with frescoes of a rude kind, but displaying frequently an amount of freedom unusual in Egyptian art.
Our guide was a splendid fellow, looking, in his flowing robes, like a figure from the "School of Athens" on the "Disputa." The longer I live, the more I am struck by the identity of Raphael's frescoes with the noblest aspects of Nature.
To Benisoëf in the evening. Passed some travellers; nothing looks so gay and pretty as a dahabieh with its colours flying and its sails spread.
Saturday, 28th.—Lovely morning once again. Reached Sakkara early, but found that the road to the Pyramids was obstructed by water, so moved on at once to Ghizeh, opposite to Old Cairo, where I shall remain till to-morrow morning; meanwhile I have sent on Hosseyn to secure a room at the inn, and to fetch the means of leaving a pleasant memory of me on board the Sheberkheyt.
I have stripped the walls of my cabin of the paintings I had hung round them, and they look desolate and like the coffin of my now past journey. A most enjoyable journey it has been, full of pleasant things to remember; full, too, I hope, of artistic profit and teaching. I have been indeed fortunate, for, as I now see more clearly than ever, in a dahabieh I could not have achieved a third of the journey, and in a passenger steamer I could not have done a stroke of work. Every study I take home I owe entirely to the viceroy's munificent kindness.
Sunday, 29th.—Left for Boulay, my destination—gave a parting sheep to the crew, distributed largesse, shook hands all round, and drove off to the hotel.