LIBRARY OF CONGRESS QQDlS7727b7 ±flT"^-73t^ Class. Book. PRESENTED BY A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE Caihd. A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE Oyr-^ BY ,V^ AMELIA ^Bf EDWARDS AUTHOR OF ' UNTRODDEN PEAKS AND UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS," " LORD BRACKENBURY,' " BARBARA'S HISTORY," ETC. ILLUSTRATED ' It flows through old hush'd Egypt and its sands, Like some grave, mighty thought, threading a dream." — LEIGH HUNT BOSTON JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY PUBLISHERS CONTENTS. FAOB CHAPTER I. —Cairo AND THE Great Pyramid ... 13 Arrival at Cairo. — Shepheard's Hotel. — The Moskee. — The Khan Khaleel. — The Bazaars. — Dahabeeyahs. — Ghizeh. — The Pyramids. CHAPTER II. —Cairo and the Mecca Pilgrimage . . 29 The Mosque of Sultan Hassan. — Moslems at prayer. — Mosque of Mehemet Ali. — View from the Platform. — De- parture of the Caravan for Mecca. — The Bdb en-Nasr. — The Procession. — The Mahmal. — Howling Dervishes. — The Mosque of 'Amr. — The Shubra Road. CHAPTER III. — Cairo to Bedreshayn 45 Departure for the Nile Voyage. — Farewell to Cairo. — Turra. — The Philse and crew. — The Dahabeeyah and the Nile sailor. — Native music. — Bedreshayn. CHAPTER IV. — Sakkarah and Memphis 56 The Palms of Memphis. — Three groups of Pyramids. — The M. B.'s and their groom. — Relic-hunting. — The Pyra- mid of Ouenephes. — The Serapeum. — A royal raid. — The Tomb of Ti. — The Fallen Colossus. — Memphis. CHAPTER V. — Bedreshayn to Minieh 76 The rule of the Nile. — The Shaduf. — Beni Suef . — Thieves by night. — The Chief of the Guards. — A sand- storm. — "Holy Sheykh Cotton." — The Convent of the Pulley. —A Copt. — The Shadow of the World. — Minieh. — A native market. — Prices of provisions. — The Dom palm. — Fortune-telling. — Ophthalmia. CHAPTER VI. — Minieh to Siut 94 Christmas Day. — The Party completed. — Christmas Din- ner on the Nile. — A Fantasia. — Noah's Ark. — Birds of Egypt. — Gebel Abufayda. — Unknown Stelae. — Impris- oned. — The Scarab-beetle. — Manfalut. — Sitit. — Red and black pottery. — Ancient tombs. — View over the plain. — Biblical lesrend. viii CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER VII. — Si^T TO Denderah Ill An "Experienced Surgeon." — Passing scenery. — Girgeh. — Sheykh Selim. — Kasr es Syad. — Forced labour. — Temple of Denderah. — Cleopatra. — Benighted. CHAPTER VIII. — Thebes and Karnak 134 Luxor. — Donkey-boys. — Topography of Ancient Thebes. — Pylons of Luxor. — Poem of Pentaur. — The solitary Obe- lisk. — Interior of the Temple of Luxor. — Polite postmaster. — Ride to Karnak. — Great Temple of Karnak. — The Hypo- style Hall. — A world of ruins. CHAPTER IX. — Thebes to AsstrAN . .- 154 A storm on the Nile. — Erment. — A gentlemanly Bey. — Esneh. — A buried Temple. — A long day's sketching. — Salame the chivalrous. — Remarkable Coin. — Antichi. — The Fellah. — The pylons of Edfu. — An exciting race. — The Philfe wins by a length. CHAPTER X. — Assu AN AND Elephantine 171 Assuan. — Strange wares for sale. — Madame Nubia. — Castor oil. — The black Governor. — An enormous blunder. — Tannhauser in Egypt. — Elephantine. — Inscribed ^jot- sherds. — Bazaar of Assuan. — The Camel. — A ride in the Desert. — The Obelisk of the Quarry. — A death in the town. CHAPTER XL — The Cataract and the Desert ... 189 Scenery of the Cataract. — The Sheykh of the Cataract. — Vexatious delays.: — The Paintei''s vocabulary. — Mahatta. — Ancient bed of the Nile. — Abyssinian Caravan. CHAPTER XII. — PmL^ 201 Pharaoh's Bed. — The Temples. — Champollion's discov- ery. — The Painted Columns. — Coptic Philae. — Philge and Desaix. — Chamber of Osiris. — Inscribed Rock. — View from the roof of the Temple. CHAPTER XIIL — Pmi.^ TO KOROSKO 225 Nubian scenery. — A sand-slope. — Missing Yusef. — Trad- ing by the way. — Panoramic views. — Volcanic cones. — Dakkeh. — Korosko. — Letters from home. CHAPTER XIV. — KOROSKO TO Abou SiMBEL 234 • El-'Id el-Kebir. — Stalking wild ducks. — Temple of Amada. — Fine art of the Thothmes. — Derr. — A native funeral. — Temple of Derr. — The " fair " families. — The Sakkieh. — Arrival at Abou Simbel by moonliglit. CONTENTS. IX PAGE CHAPTER XV.— Rameses the Great 250 Youth of Rameses the Great. — Ti'eaty with the Kheta . — His wives. — His great works. — The Captivity. — Pithom and Rameses. — Kauiser and Keniamon. — The Birth of Moses. — Tomb of Osymandias. — Character of Rameses the Great. CHAPTER XVI.— Abou Simbel 270 The Colossi. — Portraits of Rameses the Great. — Tlie Great Sand-drift. — The smaller Temples. — ' ' Rameses and Nef er- tari." — The Great Temple. — A monster tableau. — Alone in the Great Temple. — Trail of a crocodile. — Cleaning the Colossus. — The sufferings of the sketcher. CHAPTER XVn.— The Second Cataract 296 Volcanic mountains. — Kalat Adda. — Gebel esh-Shems. — The first crocodile. — Dull scenery. — Wady Halfeh — The Rock of Abusir. — The Second Cataract. — The great view. — Crocodile-slaying. — Excavating a tumulus. — Comforts of home on the Nile. CHAPTER XVm. — Discoveries at Abou Simbel ... 308 Society at Abou Simbel. — The Painter discovei's a rock-cut chamber. — Sunday employment. — Reinforcement of na- tives. — Excavation. — The Sheykh. — Discovery of human remains. — Discovery of pylon and staircase. — Decorations of Painted Chamber. — Inscriptions. CHAPTER XIX. — Back through Nubia ...... 336 Temples ad infinitum. — Tosko. — Crocodiles. — Derr and Amada again. — Wady Sabooah. — Haughty beauty. — A nameless city. — A river of sand. — Undiscovered Temple. — Maharrakeh. — Dakkeh. — Fortress of Kobban. — Gerf Hossayn. — Dendoor. — Bay t-el- Welly. — The Karnak of Nubia. — Silco of the Ethiopians. — Tafah. — Dabod. — Baby-shooting. — A dilemma. — Justice in Egypt. — The last of Philie. CHAPTER XX. — SiLSiLis and Edfu 369 Shooting the Cataract. — Kom Ombo. — Quarries of Silsilis. — Edfu the most perfect of Egyptian Temples. — View from the pylons. — Sand columns. CHAPTER XXI. —Thebes 386 Luxor again. — Imitation "Anteekahs." — Digging for Mum- mies. — Tombs of Thebes. — The Ramesseum. — The granite Colossus. — Medinet Habu. — The Pavilion of Rameses HI. — The Great Chronicle. — An Arab story-teller. — Gournah. — Bab-el-Moluk. — The shadowless Valley of Death. — The Tombs of the Kings. — Stolen goods. — The French House. : — An Arab dinner and fantasia. — The Coptic Church at Luxor. — A Coptic service. — A Coptic Bishop. X CONTENTS. PAGK CHAPTER XXn. — Abybos and Cairo 437 Last weeks on the Nile. — Spring in Egypt. — Ninety-nine in the shade. — Samata. — Unbroken donkeys. — The Plain of Abydos. — Harvest-time. — A Biblical idyll. — Arabat the Buried. — Mena. — Origin of the Egyptian People. — Tem- ple of Seti. — New Tablet of Abydos. — Abydos and Teni. — Kom-es-Sultan. — Visit to a native Aga. — The Hareem. — Condition of women in Egypt. — Back at Cairo. — " In the name of the Prophet, Cakes ! " — The M61id-en-Nebee. — A human causeway. — The Boulak Museum. — Prince Ra-hotep and Princess Nef er-t. — Early drive to Ghizeh. — Ascent of the Great Pyramid. — The Sphinx. — The view from the Top. — The end. APPENDIX. PAGB I. A. M'Callum, Esq., to the Editor of the Times .... 461 II. The Egyptian Pantheon 461 III. The Religious Belief of the Egyptians 463 IV. Egyptian Chronology 466 V. Contemporary Chronology of Egypt, Mesopotamia, and Babylon 468 LIST OF PHOTOGEAVURE ILLUSTEATIONS. PAGE 1. Cairo Frontispiece 2. Mosque op Mehemet Ali 28 3. A Dahabeetah 44 4. Ruins of Memphis . . ' 73 5. Sugar Cane Sellers op Bedreshayn 89 6. SitT 110 7. Denderah 128 8. Thebes . 154 9. AssuAN * .... 172 10. Elephantine 186 11. The First Cataract 200 12. Phil^ 224 13. Temple op Dakkeh 230 14. Statue op Rameses the Great 264 15. Wady Halpa 296 16. The Second Cataract 304 17. Great Temple at Abou Simbel 330 18. Temple op Amada 336 19. SiLsiLis 368 20. Temple op Osiris 408 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE The Secret of the Sphinx 11 Cairo Donkey 16 Tunis Market, Cairo 19 Carpet Bazaar, Cairo 21 Native Cangias 54 Head op Ti .69 MitrIhIneh 75 The Shadup . 80 •' Holy Sheykh Cotton " 84 Market Boat Minieh 92 Gebel Abupayda 98 Riverside Tombs near SiCt 103 SifJT .105 GrlRGEH 115 Kasr es Syad 117 Denderah 121 Cleopatra 124 Sheykh SeLim 133 Colonnade op Horemheb . . 135 Temple op Luxor , . . . 139 Hypostyle Hall, Karnak 149 Temple op Esneh 159 Native Boat, Assuan 170 Camel at Assuan 188 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 3 PAGE Soudan Traders at Maiiatta 195 Pharaoh's Bed. Phil^ 199 Grand Colonnade, Phil.e 203 Painted Columns, portico op large temple, Phil^ . . . 209 Early Christian Shrine, Phil^ 211 Shrines of Osiris. — 1, 2, and 3 219, 230 Resurrection of Osiris 221 Inscribed Monolithic Rock, Phil^ 223 Temple of Dakkeh, Nubia 231 Nubian Jewelry 233 Temple op Derr, Nubia 242 Sakkieh, or Water Wheel 246 Cartouches op Rameses the Great 251 Outlines prom Bas-Reliep at Bayt-el- Welly . . . 271, 272 Profile op Rameses II 273 Great Rock-cut Temple, Abou Simbel, Nubia 275 Smaller Temple, Abou Simbel, Nubia 279 Cleaning the Colossus 293 Wady Halpeh 300 The Rock op Abusir 307 Entrance op Speos 313 Excavated Speos . 319 Pattern op Cornice, Speos 321 Standard op Horus Aroeris 322 Rameses II., of Speos 323 Sculptured Inscriptions, South Wall Speos 325 Hieratic Inscription, North Wall Speos 329 Temple op Amada 338 Temple of Wady Sabooah 341 Temple op Gerf Hossayn, Nubia 351 4 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAOE Temple of Dendoor 352 Sculptures at Bayt-el-Welly 354 Temple op Kalabsheh, Nubia 355 Ruined Temple at Tafah, Nubia 358 Temple of Dabod 361 Ruined Coptic Convent near Phil^e 363 Phil^ from the South 367 Nubian Woman and Child 368 Temple of Komb Ombo, Upper Egypt 373 Ta-ur-t (Silsilis) 375 The Lovely Arab Maiden 385 Digging for Mummies 389 OsiRiDE Court and Fallen Colossus, Ramessum, Thebes . 395 Palace Entrance— Medinet Habu 401 Sculptured Vases at Medinet Habu 403 OsiRiDE Court, Medinet Habu 407 Columns op Amenhotep III. (Luxor) 425 Sakkieh at SitT 450 "In the Name of the Prophet— Cakes !" 451 Statues of Prince Ra-hotep and Princess Nefer-t . . . 454 Sphinx and Pyramids 458 Broken Sistrum 460 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. First published in 1877, this book has been out of print for several years. I have therefore very gladly revised it for a new and cheaper edition. In so revising it, I have corrected some of the historical notes by the light of later discoveries ; but I have left the narrative untouched. Of the political changes which have come over the land of Egypt since that narrative was written, I have taken no note ; and because I in no sense offer myself as a guide to others, I say nothing of the altered conditions under which most Nile travellers now perform the trip. All these things will be more satisfactorily, and more practically, learned from the pages of Baedeker and Murray. AMELIA B. EDWAEDS. Westbuky-on-Trym, October 1888. PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. " Un voyage en Egypte, c'est una partie d'anes at une promenade en bateau entremelees de ruines." — Ampere. Ampere has put Egypt in an epigram. " A donkey-ride and a boating-trip interspersed with ruins " does, in fact, sum up in a single line the whole experience of the Nile traveller. Apropos of these three things — the donkeys, the boat, and the ruins — it may be said that a good English saddle and a comfortable dahabeeyah add very considerably to the pleasure of the journey ; and that the more one knows about the past history of the country, the more one enjoys the ruins. 5 6 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. Of the comparative merits of wooden boats, iron boats, and steamers, I am not qualified to speak. We, however, saw one iron daliabeeyah aground upon a sandbank, where, as we afterwards learned, it remained for three weeks. We also saw the wrecks of three steamers between Cairo and the First Cataract. It certainly seemed to us that the old- fashioned wooden dahabeeyah — flat-bottomed, drawing little water, light in hand, and easily poled off when stuck — was the one vessel best constructed for the navigation of the Nile. Other considerations, as time and cost, are, of course, involved in this question. The choice between dahabeeyah and steamer is like the choice between travelling with post- horses and travelling by rail. The one is expensive, leisurely, delightful ; the other is cheap, swift, and comparatively com- fortless. Those who are content to snatch but a glimpse of the Nile will doubtless prefer the steamer. I may add that the whole cost of the Philae — food, dragoman's wages, boat- hire, cataract, everything included except wine — was about £10 per day. With regard to temperature, we found it cool — even cold, sometimes — in December and January ; mild in February ; very warm in March and April. The climate of Nubia is simply perfect. It never rains ; and once past the limit of the tropic, there is no morning or evening chill upon the air. Yet even in Nubia, and especially along the forty miles which divide Abou Simbel from Wady Halfeh, it is cold when the wind blows strongly from the north. ^ Touching the title of this book, it may be objected that the distance from the port of Alexandria to the Second Cata- ract falls short of a thousand miles. It is, in fact, calculated at 964^ miles. But from the Rock of Abusir, five miles above Wady Halfeh, the traveller looks over an extent of country far exceeding the thirty or thirty-five miles neces- sary to make up the full tale of a thousand. We distinctly saw from this point the summits of mountains which lie about 145 miles to the southward of Wady Halfeh, and which look down upon the Third Cataract. Perhaps I ought to say something in answer to the repeated inquiries of those who looked for the publication of this volume a year ago. I can, however, only reply that the 1 For the benefit of any who desire more exact information, I may add that a table of average temperatures, carefully registered day by day and week by week, is to be found at the end of Mr. H. Villiers Stuart's " Nile Gleanings." [Note to Second Edition.] PREFACE TO THE FIBST EDITION. 7 Writer, instead of giving one year, has given two years to the work. To write rapidly about Egypt is impossible. The subject grows with the book, and with the knowledge one acquires by the way. It is, moreover, a subject beset with such obstacles as must impede even the swiftest pen ; and to that swiftest pen I lay no claim. Moreover the writer, who seeks to be accurate, has frequently to go for his facts, if not actually to original sources (which would be the texts themselves), at all events to translations and commentaries locked up in costly folios, or dispersed far and wide among the pages of scientific journals and the transactions of learned societies. A date, a name, a passing reference, may cost hours of seeking. To revise so large a number of illustra- tions, and to design tailpieces from jottings taken here and there in that pocket sketch-book which is the sketcher's constant companion, has also consumed no small amount of time. This by way of apology. More pleasant is it to remember labor lightened than to consider time spent ; and I have yet to thank the friends who have spared no pains to help this book on its way. To S. Birch, Esq., LL.D., etc. etc., so justly styled " the Parent in this country of a sound school of Egyptian philology," who besides translating the hieratic and hieroglyphic inscrip- tions contained in chapter xviii., has also, with infinite kindness, seen the whole of that chapter through the press ; to Reginald Stuart Poole, Esq. ; to Professor R. Owen, C.B., etc. etc. ; to Sir G. W. Cox, I desire to offer my hearty and grateful acknowledgments. It is surely not least among the glories of learning, that those who adorn it most and work hardest should ever be readiest to share the stores of their knowledge. I am anxious also to express my cordial thanks to Mr. G. Pearson, under whose superintendence the Avhole of the illus- trations have been engraved. To say that his patience and courtesy have been inexhaustible, and that he has spared neither time nor cost in the preparation of the blocks, is but a dry statement of facts, and conveys no idea of the kind of labour involved. Where engravings of this kind are exe- cuted, not from drawings made at first-hand upon the wood, but from water-colour drawings which have not only to be reduced in size, but to be, as it were, translated into black and white, the difficulty of the work is largely increased. In order to meet this difficulty and to ensure accuracy, Mr. Pearson has not only called in the services of accomplished 8 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. draughtsmen, but in many instances has even photographed the subjects direct upon the wood. Of the engraver's work — which speaks for itself — I will only say that I do not know in what way it could be bettered. It seems to me that some of these blocks may stand for examples of the far- thest point to which the art of engraving upon wood has yet been carried. The principal illustrations have all been drawn upon the wood by Mr. Percival Skelton ; and no one so fully as my- self can appreciate how much the subjects owe to the deli- cacy of his pencil, and to the artistic feelings with which he has interpreted the original drawings. Of. the fascination of Egyptian travel, of the charm of the JSTile, of the unexpected and surpassing beauty of the desert, of the ruins which are the wonder of the world, I have said enough elsewhere. I must, however, add that I brought home with me an impression that things and people are much less changed in Eygpt than we of the present day are wont to suppose. I believe that the physique and life of the modern Fellah is almost identical with the physique and life of that ancient Egyptian laborer whom we know so well in the wall paintings of the tombs. Square in the shoulders, slight but strong in the limbs, full-lipped, brown-skinned, we see him wearing the same loin-cloth, plying the same shaduf, ploughing with the same plough, preparing the same food in the same way, and eating it with his fingers from the same bowl, as did his forefathers of six thousand years ago. The household life and social ways of even the provincial gentry are little changed. Water is poured on one's hands before going to dinner from just such a ewer and into just such a basin as we see pictured in the festival-scenes at Thebes. Though the lotus-blossom is missing, a bouquet is still given to each guest when he takes his place at table. The head of the sheep killed for the banquet is still given to the poor. Those who are helped to meat or drink touch the head and breast in acknowledgment, as of old. The musicians still sit at the lower end of the hall ; the singers yet clap their hands in time to their own voices ; the dancing-girls still dance, and the buffoon in his high cap still performs his uncouth antics, for the entertainment of the guests. Water is brought to table in jars of the same shape manufactured at the same town, as in the days of Cheops and Chephren ; and the mouths of the bottles are filled in precisely the same way with fresh leaves and flowers. The cucumber stuffed PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 9 with minced-meat was a favorite dish in those times of old ; and I can testify to its excellence in 1874. Little boys iu Nubia yet wear the side-lock that graced the head of Rame- ses in his youth ; and little girls may be seen in a garment closely resembling the girdle worn by young princesses of the time of Thothmes the First. A Sheykh still walks with a long staff ; a Nubian belle still plaits her tresses in scores of little tails ; and the pleasure-boat of the modern Governor or Mudir, as well as the dahabeeyah hired by the European traveller, reproduces in all essential features the painted gal- leys represented in tlie tombs of the kings. hi these and in a hundred other instances, all of which came under my personal observation and have their place in the following pages, it seemed to me that any obscurity which yet hangs over the problem of life and thought in ancient Egypt originates most probably with ourselves. Our own habits of life and thought are so complex that they shut us off from the simplicity of that early world. So it was with the problem of hieroglyphic writing. The thing was so obvious that no one could find it out. As long as the world persisted iu believing that every hieroglyph was an abstruse symbol, and every hieroglyphic inscription a pro- found philosophical rebus, the mystery of Egyptian literature remained insoluble. Then at last came Champollion's famous letter to Dacier, showing that the hieroglyphic signs were mainly alphabetic and syllabic, and that the lan- guage they spelt was only Coptic after all. If there were not thousands who still conceive that the sun and moon were created, and are kept going, for no other purpose than to lighten the darkness of our little planet ; if only the other day a grave gentleman had not written a per- fectly serious essay to show that the world is a flat plain, one would scarcely believe that there could still be people who doubt that ancient Egyptian is now read and translated as fluently as ancient Greek. Yet an Englishman whom I met in Egypt — an Englishman who had long been resident in Cairo, and who was well acquainted with the great Egyp- tologists who are attached to the service of the Khedive — assured me of his profound disbelief in the discovery of ChampoUion. " In my opinion," said he, " not one of these gentlemen can read a line of hieroglyphics." As I then knew nothing of Egyptian, I could say nothing to controvert this speech. Since that time, however, and while writing this book, I have been led on step by step to 10 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. the study of hieroglyphic writing, and I now know that Egyptian can be read, for the simple reason that I find my- self able to read an Egyptian sentence. My testimony may not be of much value ; but I give it for the little that it is worth. The study of Egyptian literature has advanced of late years with rapid strides. Papyri are found less frequently than they were some thirty or forty years ago; but the translation of those contained in the museums of Europe goes on now more diligently than at any former time. Reli- gious books, variants of the Ritual, moral essays, maxims, private letters, hymns, epic poems, historical chronicles, ac- counts, deeds of sale, medical, magical, and astronomical treatises, geographical records, travels, and even romances and tales, are brought to light, photographed, facsimiled in chromo-lithography, printed in hieroglyphic type, and trans- lated in forms suited both to the learned and to the general reader. Not all this literature is written, however, on papyrus. The greater proportion of it is carved in stone. Some is painted on wood, written on linen, leather, potsherds, and other substances. So the old mystery of Egypt, which was her literature, has vanished. The key to the hieroglyphs is the master-key that opens every door. Each year that now passes over our heads sees some old problem solved. Each day brings some long-buried truth to light. Some thirteen years ago,^ a distinguished American artist painted a very beautiful picture called The Secret of the Sphinx. In its widest sense, the Secret of the Sphinx Avould mean, I suppose, the whole uninterpreted and undiscovered past of Egypt. In its narrower sense, the Secret of the Sphinx was, till quite lately, the hidden significance of the human-headed lion which is one of the typical subjects of Egyptian Art. Thirteen years is a short time to look back upon ; yet great things have been done in Egypt, and in Egyptology, since then. Edfli, with its extraordinary wealth of inscrip- tions, has been laid bare. The whole contents of the Boulak Museum have been recovered from the darkness of the tombs. The very mystery of the Sphinx has been disclosed ; and even within the last eighteen months, M. Chabas an- nounces that he has discovered the date of the pyramid of 1 These dates, it is to be remembered, refer to the year 1877, when the first edition of this book was published. [Note to Second Edition.] PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 11 Mycerinus ; so for the first time establishing the chronology of ancient Egypt upon an ascertained foundation. Thus the work goes on ; students in their libraries, excavators under Egyptian skies, toiling along different paths towards a com- mon goal. The picture means more to-day than it meant thirteen years ago — means more, even, than the artist in- tended. The Sphinx has no secret now, save for the igno- rant. Each must interpret for himself The Secret of The Sphinx. In the picture, we see a brown, half-naked, toil-worn Fellah laying his ear to the stone lips of a colossal Sphinx, buried to the neck in sand. Some instinct of the old Egyptian blood tells him that the creature is G-od-like. He is con- scious of a great mystery lying far back in the past. He has, perhaps, a dim, confused notion that the Big Head knows it all, whatever it may be. He has never heard of the morn- ing-song of Memnon ; but he fancies, somehow, that those 12 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. closed lips might speak if questioned. Fellah and Sphinx are alone together in the desert. It is night, and the stars are shining. Has he chosen the right hour ? What does he seek to know ? What does he hope to hear ? Mr. Vedder has permitted me to enrich this book with an engraving from his picture. It tells its own tale ; or rather it tells as much of its own tale as the artist chooses. AMELIA B. EDWARDS. Westbury-on-Tbtm, Gloucestebshire, Bee. 1877. ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. CHAPTER I. CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. It is the traveller's lot to dine at many table-d'hotes in the course of many wanderings ; but it seldom befalls him to make one of a more miscellaneous gathering than that which overfills the great dining-room at Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo during the beginning and height of the regular Egyptian season. Here assemble daily some two to three hundred persons of all ranks, nationalities, and pursuits ; half of whom are Anglo-Indians homeward or outward bound, European residents, or visitors established in Cairo for the winter. The other half, it may be taken for granted, are going up the Nile. So composite and incongruous is this body of Nile-goers, young and old, well-dressed and ill- dressed, learned and unlearned, that the new-comer's first impulse is to inquire from what motives so many persons of dissimilar tastes and training can be led to embark upon an expedition which is, to say the least of it, very tedious, very costly, and of an altogether exceptional interest. His curiosity, however, is soon gratified. Before two days are over, he knows everybody's name and eveiybody's busi- ness ; distinguishes at first sight between a Cook's tourist and an independent traveller ; and has discovered that nine- tenths of those whom he is likely to meet up the river are English or American. The rest will be mostly German, with a sprinkling of Belgian and French. So far en bloc ; but the details are more heterogeneous still. Here are invalids in search of health; artists in search of subjects ;_ sportsmen keen upon crocodiles ; statesman out for a holi- day ; special correspondents alert for gossip ; collectors on 13 14 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. the scent of papyri and mummies ; men of science with only scientific ends in view ; and the usual surplus of idlers who travel for the mere love of travel, or the satisfaction of a purposeless curiosity. Now in a place like Shepheard's, where every fresh arrival has the honor of contributing, for at least a few minutes, to the general entertainment, the first appearance of L. and the Writer, tired, dusty, and considerably sunburnt, may well have given rise to some of the comments in usual circulation at those crowded tables. People asked each other, most likely, where these two wandering Englishwomen had come from ; wliy they had not dressed for dinner ; what brought them to Eg3rpt; and if they also were going up the Nile — to which questions it would have been easy to give satisfactory answers. We came from Alexandria, having had a rough passage from Brindisi followed by forty-eight hours of quarantine. We had not dressed for dinner because, having driven on from the station in advance of dragoman and luggage, we were but just in time to take seats with the rest. We intended, of course, to go up the Nile ; and had any one ventured to inquire in so many words Avhat brought us to Egypt, we should have replied : — " Stress of weather." For in simple truth we had drifted hither by accident, with no excuse of health, or business, or any serious object whatever ; and had just taken refuge in Egypt as one might turn aside into the Burlington Arcade or the Passage des Panoramas — to get out of the rain. And with good reason. Having left home early in Sep- tember for a few weeks' sketching in central France, we had been pursued by the wettest of wet weather. Washed out of the hill-country, we fared no better in the plains. At Nismes, it poured for a month without stopping. Debating at last whether it were better to take our wet umbrellas back at once to England, or push on farther still in search of sun- shine, the talk fell upon Algiers — Malta — Cairo ; and Cairo carried it. Never was distant expedition entered upon with less premeditation. The thing was no sooner decided than we were gone. Nice, Genoa, Bologna, Ancona flitted by, as in a dream ; and Bedreddin Hassan when he awoke at the gates of Damascus was scarcely more surprised than the writer of these pages, when she found herself on board the Simla, and steaming out of the port of Brindisi. Here, then, without definite plans, outfit, or any kind of CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 15 Oriental experience, behold us arrived in Cairo on the 29th of November 1873, literally, and most prosaically, in search of fine weather. But what had memory to do with rains on land, or storms at sea, or the impatient hours of quarantine, or anything dis- mal or disagreeable, when one awoke at sunrise to see those grey-green palms outside the window solemnly bowing their plumed heads towards each other, against a rose-coloured dawn ? It was dark last night, and I had no idea that my room overlooked an enchanted garden, far-reaching and soli- tary, peopled with stately giants beneath whose tufted crowns hung rich clusters of maroon and amber dates. It was a still, warm morning. Grave grey and black crows flew heavily from tree to tree, or perched, cawing meditatively, upon the topmost branches. Yonder, between the pillared stems, rose the minaret of a very distant mosque ; and here where the garden was bounded by a high wall and a window- less house, I saw a veiled lady walking on the terraced roof in the midst of a cloud of pigeons. Nothing could be more simple than the scene and its accessories ; nothing, at the same time, more Eastern, strange, and unreal. But in order thoroughly to enjoy an overwhelming, inef- faceable first impression of Oriental out-of-doors life, one should begin in Cairo with a day in the native bazaars; neither buying, nor sketching, nor seeking information, but just taking in scene after scene, with its manifold combina- tions of light and shade, colour, costume, and architectural detail. Every shop-front, every street corner, every turbaned group is a ready-made picture. The old Turk who sets up his cake-stall in the recess of a sculptured doorway ; the donkey-boy with his gaily caparisoned ass, waiting for cus- tomers ; the beggar asleep on the steps of the mosque ; the veiled woman filling her water jar at the public fountain — they all look as if they had been put there expressly to be painted. Nor is the background less picturesque than the figures. The houses are high and narrow. The upper stories project ; and from these again jut windows of delicate turned lattice- work in old brown wood, like big bird-cages. The street is roofed in overhead with long rafters and pieces of matting, through which a dusty sunbeam straggles here and there, casting patches of light upon the moving crowd. The unpaved thoroughfare — a mere narrow lane, full of ruts and watered profusely twice or thrice a day — is lined with little 16 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. wooden shop-fronts, like open cabinets full of shelves, where the merchants sit cross-legged in the midst of their goods, looking out at the passers-by and smoking in silence. Mean- while, the crowd ebbs and flows unceasingly — a noisy, CAIKO DONKEY. changing, restless, parti-coloured tide, half European, half Oriental, on foot, on horseback, and in carriages. Here are Syrian dragomans in baggy trousers and braided jackets ; barefooted Egyptian fellaheen in ragged blue shirts and felt skull-caps ; Greeks in absurdly stiff white tunics, like walk- ing penwipers ; Persians with high mitre-like caps of dark woven stviff ; swarthy Bedouins in flowing garments, creamy- white with chocolate stripes a foot wide, and head-shawl of the same bound about the brow with a fillet of twisted camel's hair ; Englishmen in palm-leaf hats and knicker- bockers, dangling their long legs across almost invisible donkeys ; native women of the poorer class, in black veils that leave only the eyes uncovered, and long trailing gar- ments of dark blue and black striped cotton ; dervishes in patchwork coats, their matted hair streaming from under fantastic head-dresses ; blue-black Abyssinians with incred- CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 17 ibly slender, bowed legs, like attenuated ebony balustrades ; Armenian priests, looking exactly like Portia as the Doctor, in long black gowns and high square caps ; majestic ghosts of Algerine Arabs, all in Avhite ; mounted Janissaries with jingling sabres and gold-embroidered jackets ; merchants, beggars, soldiers, boatmen, labourers, workmen, in every variety of costume, and of every shade of complexion from fair to dark, from tawny to copper-colour, from deepest bronze to bluest black. Now a water-carrier goes by, bending under the weight of his newly replenished goatskin, the legs of which being tied up, the neck fitted with a brass cock, and the hair left on, looks horribly bloated and life-like. Now comes a sweet- meat-vendor with a tray of that gummy compound known to English children as " Lumps of Delight ; " and now an Egyp- tian lady on a large grey donkey led by a servant with a showy sabre at his side. The lady wears a rose-coloured silk dress and white veil, besides a black silk outer garment, which, being cloak, hood, and veil all in one, fills out with the wind as she rides, like a balloon. She sits astride ; her naked feet, in their violet velvet slippers, just resting on the stirrups. She takes care to display a plump brown arm laden with massive gold bracelets, and, to judge by the way in which she uses a pair of liquid black eyes, would not be sorry to let her face be seen also. Nor is the steed less well dressed than his mistress. His close-shaven legs and hind- quarters are painted in blue and white zigzags picked out with bands of pale yellow ; his high-pommelled saddle is re- splendent with velvet and embroidery ; and his headgear is all tags, tassels, and fringes. Such a donkey as this is worth from sixty to a hundred pounds sterling. Next passes an open barouche full of laughing Englishwomen ; or a grave provincial sheykh all in black, riding a handsome bay Arab, demi-sang ; or an Egyptian gentleman in European dress and Turkish fez, driven by an English groom in an English phae- ton. Before him, wand in hand, bare-legged, eager-eyed, in Greek skull-cap and gorgeous gold-embroidered waistcoat and fluttering white tunic, flies a native Sais, or running foot- man. No person of position drives in Cairo without one or two of these attendants. The Sai's (strong, light, and beauti- ful, like John of Bologna's Mercury) are said to die young. The pace kills them. Next passes a lemonade-seller, with his tin jar in one hand, and his decanter and brass cups in the other ; or an itinerant slipper- vendor with a bunch of red 18 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. and yellow morocco shoes dangling at the end of a long pole, or a London-built miniature brougham containing two ladies in transparent Turkish veils, preceded by a Nubian outrider in semi-military livery ; or, perhaps, a train of camels, ill- tempered and supercilious, craning their scrannel necks above the crowd, and laden with canvas bales scrawled over with Arabic addresses. But the Egyptian, Arab, and Turkish merchants, whether mingling in the general tide or sitting on their counters, are the most picturesque personages in all this busy scene. They wear ample turbans, for the most part white ; long vests of striped Syrian silk reaching to the feet; and an outer robe of braided cloth or cashmere. The vest is confined round the waist by a rich sash ; and the outer robe, or gibbeh, is generally of some beautiful degraded color, such as maize, mulberry, olive, peach, sea-green, salmon-pink, sienna-brown, and the like. That these stately beings should vulgarly buy and sell, instead of reposing all their lives on luxurious divans and being waited upon by beautiful Circassians, seems altogether contrary to tlie eternal fitness of things. Here, for instance, is a Grand Vizier in a gorgeous white and amber satin vest, who condescends to retail pipe-bowls, — dull red clay pipe- bowls of all sizes and prices. He sells nothing else, and has not only a pile of them on the counter, but a binful at the back of his shop. They are made at Siout in Upper Egypt, and may be bought at the Algerine shops in London almost as cheaply as in Cairo. Another majestic Pasha deals in brass and copper vessels, drinking-cups, basins, ewers, trays, incense-burners, chafing-dishes, and the like ; some of which are exquisitely engraved with Arabesque patterns or sen- tences from the poets. A third sells silk from the looms of Lebanon, and gold and silver tissues from Damascus. Others, again, sell old arms, old porcelain, old embroideries, second- hand prayer-carpets, and quaint little stools and cabinets of ebony inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Here, too, the tobacco- merchant sits behind a huge cake of Latakia as big as his own body ; and the sponge-merchant smokes his long chibouk in % bower of sponges. Most amusing of all, however, are those bazaars in which each trade occupies its separate quarter. You pass through an old stone gateway or down a narrow turning, and find your- self amid a colony of saddlers stitching, hammering, punch- ing, riveting. You walk up one alley and down another, between shop-fronts hung round with tasselled head-gear and CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 19 TUNIS MARKET, CAIUU. 20 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. hump-backed saddles of all qualities and colours. Here are ladies' saddles, military saddles, donkey-saddles, and saddles for great officers of state ; saddles covered with red leather, with crimson and violet velvet, with maroon, and grey, and purple cloth ; saddles embroidered with gold and silver, studded with brass-headed nails, or trimmed with braid. Another turn or two, and you are in the slipper bazaar, walking down avenues of red and yellow morocco slippers ; the former of home manufacture, the latter from Tunis. Here are slippers with pointed toes, turned-up toes, and toes as round and flat as horse-shoes ; walking slippers with thick soles, and soft yellow slippers to be worn as inside socks, which have no soles at all. These absurd little scarlet blu- chers with tassels are for little boys ; the brown morocco shoes are for grooms ; the velvet slippers embroidered with gold and beads and seed-pearls are for wealthy hareems, and are sold at prices varying from five shillings to five pounds the pair. The carpet bazaar is of considerable extent, and consists of a network of alleys and counter-alleys opening off to the. right of the Muski, which is the Regent Street of Cairo. The houses in most of these alleys are rich in antique lattice- windows and Saracenic doorways. One little square is tapes- tried all round with Persian and Syrian rugs, Damascus saddle-bags, and Turkish prayer-carpets'. The merchants sit and smoke in the midst of their goods ; and up in one corner an old " Kahwagee," or coffee-seller, plies his humble trade. He has set up his little stove and hanging-shelf beside the doorway of a dilapidated Khan, the walls of which are faced with Arabesque panellings in old carved stone. It is one of the most picturesque " bits " in Cairo. The striped carpets of Tunis ; the dim grey and blue, or grey and red fabrics of Algiers ; the shaggy rugs of Laodicea and Smyrna ; the rich blues and greens and subdued reds of Turkey ; and the won- derfully varied, harmonious patterns of Persia, have each their local habitation in the neighbouring alleys. One is never tired of traversing these half-lighted avenues all aglow with gorgeous color and peopled with figures that come and go like the actors in some Christmas piece of Oriental pageantry. In the Khan Khaleel, the place of the gold and silver smiths' bazaar, there is found, on the contrary, scarcely any display of goods for sale. The alleys are so narrow in this part that two persons can with difficulty walk in them abreast ; and the shops, tinier than ever, are mere cupboards CAIRO AND THE GEE AT PYRAMID. 21 with about three feet of frontage. The back of each cup- board is fitted with tiers of little drawers and pigeon-holes, and in front is a kind of matted stone step, called a mastabah, which serves for seat and counter. The customer sits on the CARPET BAZAAE, CAIRO. edge of the mastabah ; the merchant squats, cross-legged, inside. In this position he can, without rising, take out drawer after drawer ; and thus the space between the two becomes piled with gold and silver ornaments. These differ from each other only in the metal, the patterns being identi- cal ; and they are sold by weight, witli a due margin for 22 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. profit. In dealing with strangers who do not understand the Egyptian system of weights, silver articles are commonly weighed against rupees or five-franc pieces, and gold articles against napoleons or sovereigns. Tlie ornaments made in Cairo consist chiefly of chains and earrings, anklets, bangles, necklaces strung with coins or tusk-shaped pendants, amulet- cases of filigree or repousse work, and penannular bracelets of rude execution, but rich and ancient designs. As for the merchants, their civility and patience are inexhaustible. One may turn over their whole stock, try on all their brace- lets, go away again and again without buying, and yet be always welcomed and dismissed with smiles. L. and the Writer spent many an hour practising Arabic in the Khan Khaleel, without, it is to be feared, a corresponding degree of benefit to the merchants. There are many other special bazaars in Cairo, as the Sweet- meat Bazaar ; the Hardware Bazaar ; the Tobacco Bazaar ; the Sword-mounters' and Coppersmiths' Bazaars ; the Moorish Bazaar, where fez caps, burnouses, and Barbary goods are sold ; and some extensive bazaars for the sale of English and French muslins, and Manchester cotton goods ; but these last are, for the most part, of inferior interest. Among certain fabrics manufactured in England expressly for the Eastern market, we observed a most hideous printed muslin repre- senting small black devils capering over a yellow ground, and we learned that it was much in favor for children's dresses. But the bazaars, however picturesque, are far from being the only sights of Cairo. There are mosques in plenty ; grand old Saracenic gates ; ancient Coptic churches ; the museum of Egyptian antiquities ; and, within driving dis- tance, the tombs of the Caliphs, Heliopolis, the Pyramids, and the Sphinx. To remember in what order the present travellers saw these things would now be impossible ; for they lived in a dream, and were at first too bewildered to catalogue tlieir impressions very methodically. Some places they were for the present obliged to dismiss with only a pass- ing glance ; others had to be Avholly deferred till their return to Cairo. In the meanwhile, our first business was to look at daha- beeyahs ; and the looking at dahabeeyahs compelled us con- stantly to turn our steps and our thoughts in the direction of Boulak — a desolate place by the river, where some two or three hundred Nile-boats lay moored for hire. Now, most CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 23 persons know something of the miseries of honse-liunting; but only those who have experienced them know liow much keener are the miseries of dahabeeyah-hunting. It is more bewildering and more fatiguing, and is beset by its own special and peculiar difficulties. The boats, in the first place, are built on the same plan, which is not the case with houses ; and except as they run bigger or smaller, cleaner or dirtier, are as like each other as twin oysters. The same may be said of their captains, with the same differences ; for to a person who has been only a few days in Egypt, one black or copper-coloured man is exactly like every other black or cop- per-coloured man. Then each Reis, or captain, displays the certificates given to him by former travellers ; and these certificates, being apparently in active circulation, have a mysterious way of turning up again and again on board different boats and in the hands of different claimants. Nor is this all. Dahabeeyahs are given to changing their places, which houses do not do ; so that the boat which lay 3^ester- day alongside the eastern bank may be over at the western bank to-day, or hidden in the midst of a dozen others half a mile lower down the river. All this is very perplexing ; yet it is as nothing compared with the state of confusion one gets into when attempting to weigh the advantages or dis- advantages of boats with six cabins and boats with eight ; boats provided with canteen, and boats without ; boats that can pass the cataract, and boats that can't ; boats that are only twice as dear as they ought to be, and boats with that defect five or six times multiplied. Their names, again, — Ghazal, Sarawa, Fostat, Dongola, — unlike any names one has ever heard before, afford as yet no kind of help to the memory. Neither do the names of their captains ; for they are all Mohammeds or Hassans. Neither do their prices; for they vary from day to day, according to the state of the market as shown by the returns of arrivals at the principal hotels. Add to all this the fact that no Reis speaks anything but Ara- bic, and that every word of inquiry or negotiation has to be filtered, more or less inaccurately, through a dragoman, and then perhaps those who have not yet tried this variety of the pleasures of the chase may be able to form some notion of the weary, hopeless, puzzling work which lies before the da- habeeyah hunter in Cairo. Thus it came to pass that, for the first ten days or so, some three or four hours had to be devoted every morning to the 24 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. business of the boats ; at the end of which time we were no nearer a conclusion than at first. The small boats were too small for either comfort or safety, especially in what Nile- travellers call " a big wind." The medium-sized boats (which lie under the suspicion of being used in summer for the transport of cargo) were for the most part of doubtful cleanli- ness. The largest boats, which alone seemed unexception- able, contained from eight to ten cabins, besides two saloons, and were obviously too large for a party consisting of only L., the Writer, and a maid. And all were exorbitantly dear. Encompassed by these manifold difficulties ; listening now to this and now to that person's opinion ; deliberating, hag- gling, comparing, hesitating, we vibrated daily between Boulak and Cairo, and led a miserable life. Meanwhile, how- ever, we met some former acquaintances ; made some new ones ; and when not too tired or down-hearted, saw what we could of the sights of Cairo — which helped a little to soften the asperities of our lot. One of our first excursions was, of course, to the Pyramids, which lie within an hour and a half's easy drive from the hotel door. We started immediately after an early luncheon, followed an excellent road all the way, and Avere back in time for dinner at half-past six. But it must be understood that we did not go to see the Pyramids. We went only to look at them. Later on (having meanwhile been up the Nile and back, and gone through months of training), we came again, not only with due leisure, but also with some practical un- derstanding of the manifold phases through which the arts and architecture of Egypt had passed since those far-off days of Cheops and Chephren. Then, only, we can be said to have seen the Pyramids ; and till we arrived at that stage of our pilgrimage, it will be well to defer everything like a detailed account of them or their surroundings. Of this first brief visit, enough therefore a brief record. The first glimpse that most travellers now get of the Pyra- mids is from the window of the railway carriage as they come from Alexandria; audit is not impressive. It does not take one's breath away, for instance, like a first sight of the Alps from the high level of the Neufchatel line, or the out- line of the Acropolis at Athens, as one first recognises it from the sea. The well-known triangular forms look small and shadowy, and are too familiar to be in any way startling. And the same, I think, is true of every distant view of them, — that is, of every view which is too distant to afford tha CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 25 means of scaling them against other objects. It is only in approaching them, and observing how they grow with every foot of the road, that one begins to feel they are not so familiar after all. .But when at last the edge of the desert is reached, and the long sand-slope climbed, and the rocky platform gained, and the Great Pyramid in all its unexpected bulk and ma- jesty towers close above one's head, the effect is as sudden as it is overwhelming. It shuts out the sky and the hori- zon. It shuts out all the other Pyramids. It shuts out everything but tlie sense of awe and wonder. Now, too, one discovers that it was with the forms of the Pyramids, and only their forms, that one had been ac- quainted all these years past. Of their surface, their colour, their relative position, their number (to say nothing of their size), one had hitherto entertained no kind of definite idea. The most careful study of plans and measurements, the clearest photographs, the most elaborate descriptions, had done little or nothing, after all, to make one know the place beforehand. This undulating table-land of sand and rock, pitted with open graves and cumbered with mounds of shapeless masonry, is wholly unlike the desert of - our dreams. The Pyramids of Cheops and Chephren are bigger than we had expected; the Pyramid of Mycerinus is smaller. Here, too, are nine Pyramids, instead of three. They are all entered in the plans and mentioned in the guide-books; but, somehow, one is unprepared to find them there, and can- not help looking upon them as intruders. These six extra Pyramids are small and greatly dilapidated. One, indeed, is little more than a big cairn. Even the Great Pyramid puzzles us with an unexpected sense of unlikeness. We all know, and have known from childhood, that it was stripped of its outer blocks some five hundred years ago to build Arab mosques and palaces ; but the rugged, rock-like aspect of that giant staircase takes us by surprise, nevertheless. Nor does it look like a partial ruin, either. It looks as if it had been left unfinished, and as if the workmen might be coming back to-morrow morn- iiig- The colour again is a surprise. Few persons can be aware beforehand of the rich tawny hue that Egyptian limestone assumes after ages of exposure to the blaze of an Egyptian sky. Seen in certain lights, the Pyramids look like piles of massy gold. 26 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. Having but one hour and forty minutes to spend on the spot, we resolutely refused on this first occasion to be shown anything, or told anything, or to be taken anywhere, — except, indeed, for a few minutes to the brink of the sand- hollow in which the Sphinx lies couchant. We wished to give our whole attention, and all the short time at our dis- posal, to the Great Pyramid only. To gain some impression of the outer aspect and size of this enormous structure, — to steady our minds to something like an understanding of its age, — was enough, and more than enough, for so brief a visit. For it is no easy task to realize, however imperfectly, the duration of six or seven thousand years ; and the Great Pyra- mid, which is supposed to have been some four thousand two hundred and odd years old at the time of the birth of Christ, is now in its seventh millennary. Standing there close against the base of it; touching it; measuring her own height against one of its lowest blocks ; looking up all the stages of that vast, receding, rugged wall, which leads up- ward like an Alpine buttress and seems almost to touch the sky, the Writer suddenly became aware that these remote dates had never presented themselves to her mind until this moment as anything but abstract numerals. Now, for the first time, they resolved themselves into something concrete, definite, real. They were no longer figures, but years with their changes of season, their high and low Niles, their seed- times and harvests. The consciousness of that moment will never, perhaps, quite wear away. It was as if one had been snatched up for an instant to some vast height overlooking the plains of Time, and had seen the centuries mapped out beneath one's feet. To appreciate the size of the Great Pyramid is less diffi- cult than to apprehend its age. No one who has walked the length of one side, climbed to the top, and learned the di- mensions from Murray, can fail to form a tolerably clear idea of its mere bulk. The measurements given by Sir Gard- ner Wilkinson are as follows: — length of each side, 732 feet ; perpendicular height, 480 feet 9 inches ; area 535,824 square feet.-^ That is to say, it stands 115 feet 9 inches 1 Since the first edition of this hook was issued, the publication of Mr. W. M. Flinders Petrie's standard work, entitled The Pyramids and Temples of Gizeh, has for the first time placed a thoroughly accurate and scientific description of the Great Pyramid at the disposal of stiadents. Calculating from the rock-cut sockets at the four corners, and from the CAIRO AND THE GREAT PYRAMID. 27 higher than the cross on the top of Sfc. Paul's, and about 20 feet lower than Box Hill in Surrey; and if transported bodily to London, it would a little more than cover the whole area of Lincoln's Inn Fields. These are sufficiently matter-of-fact statements, and sufficiently intelligible; but, like most calculations of the kind, they diminish rather than do justice to the dignity of the subject. More impressive by far than the weightiest array of fig- ures or the most striking comparisons, was the shadow cast by the Great Pyramid as the sun went down. That mighty Shadow, sharp and distinct, stretched across the stony plat- form of the desert and over full three-quarters of a mile of the green plain below. It divided the sunlight where it fell, just as its great original divided the sunlight in the upper air; and it darkened the space it covered, like an eclipse. It was not without a thrill of something approaching to awe that one remembered how this self-same Shadow had gone on registering, not only the height of the most stupendous gnomon ever set up by human hands, but the slow passage, day by day, of more than sixty centuries of the world's history. It was still lengthening over the landscape as we went down the long sand-slope and regained the carriage. Some six or eight Arabs in fluttering white garments ran on ahead to bid us a last good-bye. That we should have driven over from Cairo only to sit quietly down and look at the Great Pyramid had filled them with unfeigned astonishment. With such energy and despatch as the modern traveller true level of the pavement, Mr. Petrie finds that the square of the origi- nal base of the structure, in inches, is of these dimensions : — Length. Difference from Mean. Azimuth. Difference from Mean. N" E S w 9069-4 9067-7 9069-5 9068-6 + -6 -1-1 -f- -7 — -2 - 3' 20" -3' 57" - 3' 41" - 3' 54" + 23" -14" -1- 2" -11" Mean 9068-8 •65 — 3' 43" 12" For the height, Mr. Petrie, after duly weighing all data, such as the thickness of the three casing-stones yet in situ, and the presumed thick- ness of those which formerly faced tlie upper courses of the masonry, gives from liis observations of the mean angle of the Pyramid, a height from base to apex of 5776-0 ± 7-0 inches. See The Pyramids and Temples of Gizeh, chap. vi. pp. 37 to 43. [Note to the Second Edition.] 28 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. uses, we might have been to the top, and seen the temple of the Sphinx, and done two or three of the principal tombs in the time. "You come again!" said they. '' Good Arab show you everything. You see nothing this time ! " So, promising to return ere long, we drove away ; well content, nevertheless, with the way in which our time had been spent. The Pyramid Bedouins have been plentifully abused by travellers and guide-books, but we found no reason to com- plain of them now or afterwards. They neither crowded round us, nor followed us, nor importuned us in any way. They are naturally vivacious and very talkative ; yet the gentle fellows were dumb as mutes when they found we wished for silence. And they were satisfied with a very moderate bakhshish at parting. As a fitting sequel to this excursion, we went, I think next day, to see the mosque of Sultan Hassan, which is one of those mediaeval structures said to have been built with the casing-stones of the Great Pyramid. C} MnsguE or Mehe,met All CAIliO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 29 CHAPTEE II. CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. The mosque of Sultan Hassan, confessedly the most beau- tiful in Cairo, is also perhaps the most beautiful in the Mos- lem world. It was built at just that happy moment when Arabian art in Egypt, having ceased merely to appropriate or imitate, had at length evolved an original architectural style out of the heterogeneous elements of Roman and early Christian edifices. The mosques of a few centuries earlier (as, for instance, that of Tulun, which marks the first depart- ure from the old Byzantine model) consisted of little more than a courtyard with colonnades leading to a hall supported on a forest of pillars. A little more than a century later, and the national style had already experienced the begin- nings of that prolonged eclipse which finally resulted iu the bastard Neo-Byzantine Renaissance represented by the mosque of Meheraet Ali. But the mosque of Sultan Hassan, built ninety-seven years before the taking of Constantinople, may justly be regarded as the highest point reached by Sar- acenic art in Egypt after it had used uyj the Greek and Roman material of Memphis, and before its newborn origi- nality became modified by influences from beyond the Bos- pliorus. Its pre-eminence is due neither to the greatness of its dimensions nor to the splendour of its materials. It is neither so large as the great mosque at Damascus, nor so rich in costly marbles as Saint Sophia in Constantinople ; but in design, proportion, and a certain lofty grace impossi- ble to describe, it surpasses these, and every other mosque, whether original or adapted, with which the writer is ac- quainted. The whole structure is purely national. Every line and curve in it, and every inch of detail, is in the best style of the best period of the Arabian school. And above all, it was designed expressly for its present purpose. The two famous mosques of Damascus and Constantinople having, on the contrary, been Christian churches, betray evidences of adap- 30 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. tation. In Saint Sophia, the space once occupied by the ligure of the Redeemer may be distinctly traced in the mosaic-work of the apse, filled in with gold tesserae of later date ; while the magnificent gates of the great mosque at Damascus are decorated, among other Christian emblems, with the sacramental chalice. But the mosque of Sultan Hassan, built by En Nasir Hassan in the high and palmy days of the Memlook rule, is marred by no discrepancies. For a mosque it was designed, and a mosque it remains. Too soon it will be only a beautiful ruin. A number of small streets having lately been demolished in this quarter, the approach to the mosque lies across a desolate open space littered with debris, but destined to be laid out as a public square. With this desirable end in view, some half dozen workmen were lazily loading as many camels with rubble, which is the Arab way of carting rubbish. If they persevere, and the Minister of Public Works continues to pay their wages with due punctuality, the ground will perhaps get cleared in eight or ten years' time. Driving up with some difficulty to the foot of the great steps, which were crowded with idlers smoking and sleeping, we observed a long and apparently fast-widening fissure reaching nearly from top to bottom of the main wall of the building, close against the minaret. It looked like just such a rent as might be caused by a shock of earthquake, and, being still new to the East, we wondered the Govern- ment had not set to work to mend it. We had yet to learn that nothing is ever mended in Cairo. Here, as in Constan- tinople, new buildings spring up apace, but the old, no matter how venerable, are allowed to moulder away, inch by inch, till nothing remains but a heap of ruins. Going up the steps and through a lofty hall, up some more steps and along a gloomy corridor, we came to the great court, before entering which, however, we had to take off our boots and put on slippers brought for the purpose. The first sight of this court is an architectural surprise. It is like nothing one has seen before, and its beauty equals its novelty. Imagine an immense mai-ble quadrangle, open to the sky and enclosed within lofty walls, with, at each side, a vast recess framed in by a single arch. The quadrangle is more than 100 feet square, and the walls are more than 100 feet high. Each recess forms a spacious hall for rest and prayer, and are all matted; but that at the eastern end is wider and considerably deeper than the other three, and CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 31 the noble aroh that encloses it like the proscenium of a splendid stage, measures, according to Fergusson, 69 feet 5 inches in the span. It looks much larger. This prin- cipal hall, the floor of which is raised one step at the upper end, measures 90 feet in depth and 90 in height. The dais is covered with prayer-rugs, and contains the holy niche and the pulpit of the preacher. We observed that those who came up here came only to pray. Having prayed, they either went away or turned aside into one of the other re- cesses to rest. There was a charming fountain in the court, with a dome-roof as light and fragile-looking as a big bubble, at which each worshipper performed his ablutions on coming in. This done, he left his slippers on the matting and trod the carpeted dais barefoot. This was the first time we had seen Moslems at prayer, and we could not but be impressed by their profound and unaffected devotion. Some lay prostrate, their foreheads touching the ground ; others were kneeling ; others bowing in the prescribed attitudes of prayer. So absorbed were they, that not even our unhallowed presence seemed to disturb them. We did not then know that the pious Moslem is as devout out of the mosque as in it ; or that it is his habit to pray when the appointed hours come round, no matter where he may be, or how occupied. We soon became so familiar, however, with this obvious trait of Mohammedan life, that it seemed quite a matter of course that the camel-driver should dismount and lay his forehead in the dust by the roadside ; or the merchant spread his prayer-carpet on the narrow mastabah of his little shop in the public bazaar ; or the boatman prostrate himself with his face to the east, as the sun went down behind the hills of the Libyan desert. While we were admiring the spring of the roof and the intricate Arabesque decorations of the pulpit, a custode came up with a big key and invited us to visit the tomb of the founder. So we followed him into an enormous vaulted hall a hundred feet square, in the centre of which stood a plain, railed-off tomb, with an empty iron-bound coffer at the foot. We afterwards learned that for five hundred years — that is to say, ever since the death and burial of Sultan Hassan — this coffer had contained a fine copy of the Koran, traditionally said to have been written by Sultan Hassan's own hand ; but that the Khedive, who is collecting choice and antique Arabic MSS., had only the other day sent an order for its removal. 32 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. Nothing can be bolder or more elegant than the propor- tions of this noble sepulchral hall, the walls of which are covered with tracery in low relief incrusted with discs and tesserae of turquoise-coloured porcelain ; while high up, in order to lead off the vaulting of the roof, the corners are rounded by means of recessed clusters of exquisite Arabesque woodwork, like pendent stalactites. But the tesserae are fast falling out, and most of their places are vacant ; and the beautiful woodwork hangs in fragments, tattered and cob- webbed, like time-worn banners which the lirst touch of a brush would bring down. Going back again from the tomb to the courtyard, we everywhere observed traces of the same dilapidation. The fountain, once a miracle of Saracenic ornament, was fast going to destruction. The rich marbles of its basement were cracked and discoloured, its stuccoed cupola was flaking off piecemeal, its enamels were dropping out, its lace-like wood- tracery shredding away by inches. Presently a tiny brown and golden bird perched with pretty confidence on the brink of the basin, and having splashed, and drunk, and preened its feathers like a true believer at his ablutions, flew up to the top of the cupola and sang deli- ciously. All else was profoundly still. Large spaces of light and shadow divided the quadrangle. The sky showed over- head as a square opening of burning solid blue; while here and there, reclining, praying, or quietly occupied, a number of turbaned figiires were picturesquely scattered over the matted floors of the open halls around. Yonder sat a tailor cross-legged, making a waistcoat ; near him, stretclied on his face at full length, sprawled a basket-maker with his half- woven basket and bundle of rushes beside him ; and here, close against the main entrance, lay a blind man and his dog ; the master asleep, the dog keeping watch. It was, as I have said, our first mosque, and I Avell remember the surprise with which we saw that tailor sewing on his buttons, and the sleepers lying about in the shade. We did not then know that a Mohammedan mosque is as much a place of rest and refuge as of prayer ; or that the houseless Arab may take shelter there by night or day as freely as the birds may build their nests in the cornice, or as the blind man's dog may share the cool shade with his sleeping master. From the mosque of this Memlook sovereign it is but a few minutes' uphill drive to the mosque of Mehemet Ali, by whose orders the last of that royal race were massacred just CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 33 sixty-four years ago.^ This mosque, built within the pre- cincts of the citadel on a spur of the Mokattam Hills over- looking the city, is the most conspicuous object in Cairo. Its Attenuated minarets and clustered domes show from every point of view for miles around, and remain longer in sight, as one leaves, or returns to, Cairo, tiian any other landmark. It is a spacious, costly, gaudy, commonplace building, with nothing really beautiful about it, except the great marble courtyard and fountain. The inside, which is entirely built of Oriental alabaster, is carpeted with magnificent Turkey carpets and hung with innumerable cut-glass chandeliers, so that it looks like a huge vulgar drawing-room from which the furniture has been cleared out for dancing. The view from the outer platform is, however, magnificent. We saw it on a hazy day, and could not therefore distinguish the point of the Delta, which ought to have been visible on the north ; but we could plainly see as far southward as the Pyramids of Sakkarah, and trace the windings of the Nile for many miles across the plain. The Pyramids of Ghizeh, on their dais of desert rock about twelve miles oif, looked, as they always do look from a distance, small and unimpressive ; but the great alluvial valley dotted over with mud villages and intersected by canals and tracts of palm forest ; the shin- ing river specked with sails ; and the wonderful city, all flat roofs, cupolas, and minarets, spread out like an intricate model at one's feet, were full of interest and absorbed our whole attention. Looking down upon it from this elevation, it is as easy to believe that Cairo contains four hundred mosques, as it is to stand on the brow of the Pincio and believe in the three hundred and sixty-five churches of modern Rome. As we came away, they showed us the place in which the Menilook nobles, four hundred and seventy^ in number, were shot down like mad dogs in a trap, that fatal first of March A.D. 1811. We saw the upper gate which was shut behind them as they came out from the presence of the Pasha, and the lower gate which was shut before them to prevent their egress. The walls of the narrow roadway in which the 1 Now, seventy-seven years ago ; the first Edition of this book having been published thirteen years ago. [Note to Second Edition.] 2 One only is said to have escaped — a certain Emin Bey, who leaped his horse over a gap in the wall, alighted safely in the piazza below, and galloped away into the desert. The place of this famous leap continued to be shown for many years, but there are no gaps in the wall now, the citadel being the only place in Cairo which is kept in thorough repair. 34 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. slaughter was done are said to be pitted with bullet-marks ; but we would not look for them. I have already said that I do not very distinctly remember the order of our sight-seeing in Cairo, for the reason that we saw some places before we went up the river, some after we came back, and some (as for instance the Museum at Bou- lak) both before and after, and indeed as often as possible. But I am at least quite certain that we witnessed a perform- ance of howling dervishes, and the departure of the caravan for Mecca, before starting. Of all the things that people do by way of pleasure, the pursuit of a procession is surely one of the most wearisome. They generally go a long way to see it ; they wait a weary time ; it is always late ; and when at length it does come, it is over in a few minutes. The present pageant fulfilled all these conditions in a superlative degree. We breakfasted uncomfortably early, started soon after half-past seven, and had taken up our position outside the Bab en-Nasr, on the way to the desert, by half-past eight. Here we sat for nearly three hours, exposed to clouds of dust and a burning sun, with nothing to do but to watch the crowd and wait patiently. All Shepheard's Hotel was there, and every stranger in Cairo ; and we all had smart open carriages drawn by miserable screws and driven by bare-legged Arabs. These Arabs, by the way, are excellent whips, and the screws get along wonderfully ; but it seems odd at first, and not a little humiliating, to be whirled along behind a coachman whose only livery consists of a rag of dirty white turban, a scant tunic just reaching to his knees, and the top boots with which Nature has provided him. Here, outside the walls, the crowd increased momentarily. The place was like a fair with provision-stalls, swings, story- tellers, serpent-charmers, cake-sellers, sweetmeat sellers, sellers of sherbet, water, lemonade, sugared nuts, fresh dates, hard-boiled eggs, oranges, and sliced water-melon. Veiled, women carrying little bronze Cupids of children astride upon the right shoulder, swarthy Egyptians, coal- black Abyssinians, Arabs and Nubians of every shade from golden-brown to chocolate, fellahs, dervishes, donkey-boys, street urchins, and beggars with every imaginable deformity, came and went; squeezed themselves in and out among the carriages ; lined the road on each side of the great towered gateway ; swarmed on the top of every wall ; and filled the air with laughter, a Babel of dialects, and those odours of Araby CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 35 that are inseparable from an Eastern crowd. A harmless, unsavoury, good-humoured, inoffensive, throng, one glance at which was enough to put to flight all one's preconceived notions about Oriental gravity of demeanour ! For the truth is that gravity is by no means an Oriental characteristic. Take a Mohammedan at his devotions, and he is a model of religious abstraction; bargain with him for a carpet, and he is as impenetrable as a judge ; but see him in his hours of relaxation, or on the occasion of a public holiday, and he is as garrulous and full of laughter as a big child. Like a child, too, he loves noise and movement for the mere sake of noise and movement, and looks upon swings and fire- works as the height of human felicity. Now swings and fireworks are Arabic for bread and circuses, and our pleb's passion for them is insatiable. He not only indulges in them upon every occasion of public rejoicing, but calls in their aid to celebrate the most solemn festivals of his religion. It so happened that we afterwards came in the way of several Mohammedan festivals both in Egypt and Syria, and we in- variably found the swings at work all day and the fireworks going off every evening. To-day, the swings outside the Bab en-Nasr were never idle. Here were creaking Russian swings hung with little painted chariots for the children ; and plain rope swings, some of them as high as Haman's gallows, for the men. Eor my own part, I know no sight much more comic and incon- gruous than the serene enjoyment with which a bearded, turbaned, middle-aged Egyptian squats upon his heels on the tiny wooden seat of one of these enormous swings, and, hold- ing on to the side-ropes for dear life, goes careering up forty feet high into the air at every turn. At a little before midday, when the heat and glare were becoming intolerable, the swings suddenly ceased going, the crowd surged in the direction of the gate, and a distant drumming announced the approach of the procession. First came a string of baggage camels laden with tent-furniture ; then some two hundred pilgrims on foot, chanting passages from the Koran ; then a regiment of Egyptian infantry, the men in a coarse white linen uniform consisting of coat, baggy trousers and gaiters, with cross-belts and cartouche- boxes of plain black leather, and the red fez, or tarboosh, on the head. Next after these came more pilgrims, followed by a body of dervishes carrying green banners embroidered with Arabic sentences in white and yellow ; then a native cavalry 36 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. regiment headed by a general and four colonels in magnifi- cent gold embroidery and preceded by an excellent military band ; then another band and a second regiment of infan- try ; then more colonels, followed by a regiment of lancers mounted on capital grey horses and carrying lances topped with small red and green pennants. After these had gone by there was a long stoppage, and then, with endless breaks and interruptions, came a straggling irregular crowd of pilgrims, chiefly of the fellah class, beating small darabukkehs, or na- tive drums. Those about us estimated their number at two thousand. And now, their guttural chorus audible long be- fore they arrived in sight, ca.me the howling dervishes — a ragged, wild-looking, ru£B.anly set. rolling their heads from side to side, and keeping up a hoarse incessant cry of "Allah I Allah ! Allah ! " Of these there may have been a couple of hundred. The sheykhs of the principal orders of dervishes came next in order, superbly dressed in robes of brilliant colours embroidered with gold, a^id mounted on magnificent Arabs. Finest of all, in a green turban and scarlet mantle, rode the Sheykh of the Hasaneyn, who is a descendant of the Prophet ; but the most important, the Sheykh el Bekree, who is a sort of Egyptian Archbishop of Canterbury and head of all the dervishes, came last, riding a white Arab with gold-embroidered housings. He was a placid-looking old man, and wore a violet robe and an enormous red and green turban. This very reverend personage was closely followed by the chief of the carpet-makers' guild — a handsome man sitting sidewise on a camel. Then happened another break in the procession — an eager pause — a gathering murmur. And then, riding a gaunt dromedary at a rapid trot, his fat sides shaking, and his head rolling in a stupid drunken way at every step, ap- peared a bloated, half-naked Silenus, with long fuzzy black locks and a triple chin, and no other clothing than a pair of short white drawers and red slippers. A shiver of delight ran through the crowd at sight of this holy man — the fa- mous Sheykh of the Camel (Sheykh el-Gemel), the "great, good Priest " — the idol of the people. We afterwards learned that this was his twentieth pilgrimage, and that he was supposed to fast, roll his head, and wear nothing but this pair of loose drawers, all the way to and from Mecca. But the crowning excitement was yet to come, and the rapture with which the crowd had greeted the Sheykh el- CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 37 Gemel was as nothing compared with their ecstasy when the Mahmal, preceded by another group of mounted officers and borne by a gigantic camel, was seen coming through tlie gateway. The women held up their children; the men swarmed up the scaffoldings of the swings and behind the carriages. They screamed ; they shouted ; they waved hand- kerchiefs and turbans ; they were beside themselves with excitement. Meanwhile the camel, as if conscious of the dignity of his position and the splendour of his trappings, came on slowly and ponderously with his nose in the air, and passed close before our horses' heads. We could not possi- bly have had a better view of the Mahmal ; which is nothing but a sort of cage, or pagoda, of gilded tracery very richly decorated. In the days of the Memlooks, the Mahmal rep- resented the litter of the Sultan, and Avent empty like a royal carriage at a public funeral ; ^ but we were told that it now carried the tribute-carpet sent annually by the carpet- makers of Cairo to the tomb of the Prophet. This closed the procession. As the camel passed, the crowd surged in, and everything like order was at an end. The carriages all made at once for the Gate, so meeting the full tide of the outpouring crowd and causing unimaginable confusion. Some stuck in the sand half-way — our own among the number ; and all got into an inextricable block in the narrow part just inside the gate. Hereupon the drivers abused each other, and the crowd got impatient, and some Europeans got pelted. Coming back, we met two or three more regiments. The men, both horse and foot, seemed fair average specimens, and creditably disciplined. They rode better than they marched, which was to be expected. The uniform is the same for cavalry and infantry throughout the service ; the only differ- ence being that the former wear short black riding boots, and 1 " It is related tliat the Sultan Ez-Zahir Beybars, King of Egypt, was the first who sent a Mahmal with the caravan of pilgrims to Mecca, in the year of the Flight 670 (a.d. 1272) or 675; but this custom, it is generally said, had its origin a few years before his accession to the throne. Sheger- ed-Durr, a beautiful Turkish female slave, who became tlie favorite wife of the Sultan Es-Saleh Negm-ed-Deen, and on the death of his son (with whom terminated the dynasty of the house of the Eiyoob) caused herself to be acknowledged as Queen of Egypt, performed the pilgrimage in a mag- nificent ' hodag,' or covered litter, borne byacamel; and for several suc- cessive years her empty ' hddag ' was sent with the caravan, merely for the sake of state. Hence, succeeding princes of Egypt sent with each year's cara,van of pilgrims a kind of ' hddag ' (which received the name of Mah- mal) as an emblem of royalty."— T/ie Modern Egyptians, by E. W. Lane, chap. xxiv. London, 1800. 38 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. the latter, Zouave gaiters of white linen. They are officered up to a certain point by Egyptians ; but the commanding officers and the staff (among whom are enough colonels and generals to form an ordinary regiment) are chiefly Europeans and Americans. It had seemed, while the procession was passing, that the proportion of pilgrims was absurdly small when compared with the display of military ; but this, which is called the departure of the caravan, is in truth only the procession of the sacred carpet from Cairo to the camp outside the walls ; and the troops are present merely as part of the pageant. The true departure takes place two days later. The pilgrims then muster in great numbers ; but the soldiery is reduced to a small escort. It was said that seven thousand souls went out this year from Cairo and its neighbourhood. The procession took place on Thursday the 21st day of the Mohammedan month of Showwal, which was our 11th of December. The next day, Eriday, being the Mohammedan Sabbath, we went to the Convent of the Howling Dervishes, which lies beyond the walls in a quiet nook between the river-side and the part known as Old Cairo. We arrived a little after two, and passing through a court- yard shaded by a great sycamore, were ushered into a large, square, whitewashed hall with a dome-roof and a neatly matted floor. The place in its arrangements resembled none of the mosques that we had yet seen. There was, indeed, nothing to arrange — no pulpit, no holy niche, no lamps, no prayer-carpets ; nothing but a row of cane-bottomed chairs at one end, some of which were alread}' occupied by certain of our fellow-guests at Shepheard's Hotel. A party of some forty or fifty wild-looking dervishes were squatting in a cir- cle at the opposite side of the hall, their outer kuftans and queer pyramidal hats lying in a heap close by. Being accommodated with chairs among the other specta- tors, we waited for whatever might happen. More dervishes and more English dropped in from time to time. The new dervishes took off their caps and sat down among the rest, laughing and talking together at their ease. The English sat in a row, shy, uncomfortable, and silent ; wondering whether they ought to behave as if they were in church, and mortally ashamed of their feet. Eor we had all been obliged to take off or cover our boots before going in, and those who had forgotten to bring slippers had their feet tied up in pocket-handkerchiefs. CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 39 A long time went by thus. At last, when the number of dervishes had increased to about seventy, and every one was tired of waiting, eight musicians came in — two trumpets, two lutes, a cocoa-nut fiddle, a tambourine, and two drums. Then the dervishes, some of whom were old and white-haired and some mere boys, formed themselves into a great circle, shoulder to shoulder ; the band struck up a plaintive, dis- cordant air; and a grave middle-aged man, placing himself in the centre of the ring, and inclining his head at each repetition, began to recite the name of Allah. Softly at first, and one by one, tlie dervishes took up the chant : — " Allah ! Allah ! Allah ! " Their heads and their voices rose and fell in unison. The dome above gave back a hollow echo. There was something strange and solemn in the ceremony. Presently, however, the trumpets brayed louder — the voices grew hoarser — the heads bowed lower — the name of Allah rang out faster and faster, fiercer and fiercer. The leader, himself cool and collected, began sensibly accelerat- ing the time of the chorus ; and it became evident that the performers were possessed by a growing frenzy. Soon the whole circle was madly rocking to and fro ; the voices rose to a hoarse scream ; and only the trumpets were audible above the din. Now and then a dervish would spring up convulsively some three or four feet above the heads of the others ; but for the most part they stood rooted firmly to one spot — now bowing their heads almost to their feet — now flinging themselves so violently back, that we, standing behind, could see their faces foreshortened upside down ; and this with such incredible rapidity, that their long hair had scarcely time either to rise or fall, but reniained as if suspended in mid-air. Still the frenzy mounted ; still the pace quickened. Some shrieked — some groaned — some, unable to support themselves any longer, were held up in their places by the bystanders. All were mad for the time being. Our own heads seemed to be going round at last ; and more than one of the ladies present looked longingly to- wards the door. It was, in truth, a horrible sight, and needed only darkness and torchlight to be quite diabolical. At length, just as the fury was at its height and the very building seemed to be rocking to and fro above our heads, one poor wretch staggered out of the circle and fell writhing and shrieking close against our feet. At the same moment, the leader clapped his hands ; the performers, panting and 40 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. exhausted, dropped into a sitting posture ; and tlie first zikr, as it is called, came abruptly to an end. Some few, how- ever, could not stop immediately, but kept on swaying and muttering to themselves ; while the one in the ht, having ceased to shriek, lay out stiff and straight, apparently in a state of coma. There was a murmur of relief and a simultaneous rising among the spectators. It was announced that another zikr, with a reinforcement of fresh dervishes, would soon begin ; but the Europeans had had enough of it, and few remained for the second performance. Going out, we paused beside the poor fellow on the floor, and asked if nothing could be done for him. " He is struck by Mohammed," said gravely an Egyptian official who was standing by. At that moment, the leader came over, knelt down beside him, touched him lightly on the head and breast, and whis- pered something in his ear. The man was then quite rigid, and white as death. We waited, however, and after a few more minutes saw him struggle back into a dazed, half-con- scious state, when he was helped to his feet and led away by his friends. The courtyard as we came out was full of dervishes sitting on cane benches in the shade, and sipping coffee. The green leaves rustled overhead, with glimpses of intensely blue sky between ; and brilliant patches of sunshine flickered down upon groups of wild-looking, half-savage figures in parti- coloured garments. It was one of those ready-made sub- jects that the sketcher passes by with a sigh, but which live in his memory for ever. Erom hence, being within a few minutes' drive of Old Cairo, we went on as far as the Mosque of ' Amr — an unin- teresting ruin standing alone among the rubbish-mounds of the first Mohammedan capital of Egypt. It is constructed on the plan of a single quadrangle 225 feet square, sur- rounded by a covered colonnade one range of pillars in depth on the west (which is the side of the entrance) ; four on the north ; three on the south ; and six on the east, which is the place of prayer, and contains three holy niches and the pul- pit. The columns, 245 in number, have been brought from earlier Eoman and Byzantine buildings. They are of various ]narbles and have all kinds of capitals. Some being origi- nally too short, have been stilted on disproportionately high bases ; and in one instance the necessary height has been CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 41 obtained by adding a second capital on the top of the first. We observed one column of that rare black and white speckled marble of which there is a specimen in the pulpit of St. Mark's in Venice ; and one of the holy niches contains some fragments of Byzantine mosaics. But the whole building seems to have been put together in a barbarous way, and Avould appear to owe its present state of dilapida- tion more to bad workmanshij) than to time. Many of the pillars, especially on the western side, are fallen and broken ; the octagonal fountain in the centre is a roofless ruin ; and the little minaret at the S. E. corner is no longer safe. Apart, however, from its poverty of design and detail, the Mosque of 'Amr is interesting as a point of departure in the history of Saracenic architecture. It was built by 'Amr Ebn el-' As, the Arab conqueror of Egypt, in the twenty-first year of the Hegira (a.d. 642), just ten years after the death of - Mohammed ; and it is the earliest Saracenic edifice in Egypt. We were glad, therefore, to have seen it for this reason, if for no other. But it is a barren, dreary place ; and the glare reflected from all sides of the quadrangle was so intense that we Avere thankful to get away again into the narrow streets beside the river. Here we presently fell in with a wedding procession con- sisting of a crowd of men, a band, and some three or four hired carriages full of veiled women, one of whom was pointed out as the bride. The bridegroom walked in the midst of the men, who seemed to be teasing him, drumming round him, and opposing his progress ; while high above the laughter, the shouting, the jingle of tambourines and the thrumming of darabukkehs, was heard the shrill squeal of some instrument that sounded exactly like a bagpipe. It was a brilliant afternoon, and we ended our day's work, I remember, with a drive on the Shubra road and a glance at the gardens of the Khedive's summer palace. The Shubra road is the Champs Elysees of Cairo, and is thronged every day from four to half-past six. Here little sheds of roadside cafes alternate with smart modern villas ; ragged fellaheen on jaded donkeys trot side by side Avith elegant attaches on high-stepping Arabs ; while tourists in hired carriages, Jew bankers in unexceptionable phaetons, veiled hareems in London-built broughams, Italian shopkeepers in preposter- ously fashionable toilettes, grave sheykhs on magnificent Cairo asses, officers in frogged and braided frocks, and English girls in tall hats and close-fitting habits followed by the inevitable 42 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. little solemn-looking English groom, pass and repass, prenecle and follow each other, in one changing, restless, heterogeneous stream, the like of which is to be seen in no other capital in the world. The sons of the Khedive drive here daily, always in separate carriages and preceded by four Saises and four guards. They are of all ages and sizes, from the Hereditary Prince, a pale, gentlemanly-looking young man of four or five and twenty, down to one tiny, imperious atom of about six, Avho is dressed like a little man, and is constantly leaning out of his carriage-window and shrilly abusing his coachman.^ Apart, however, from those who frequent it, the Shubra road is a really line drive, broad, level, raised some six or eight feet above the cultivated plain, closely planted on both sides with acacias and sycamore fig-trees, and reaching straight away for four miles out of Cairo, counting from the railway terminus to the Summer Palace. The carriage-way is about as wide as the road across Hyde Park which connects Bays- water with Kensington ; and towards the Shubra end, it runs close beside the Nile. Many of the sycamores are of great size and quite patriarchal girth. Their branches meet over- head nearly all the w^y, weaving a delicious shade and making a cool green tunnel of the long perspective. We did not stay long in the Khedive's gardens, for it was already getting late when we reached the gates; but we went far enough to see that they were tolerably well kept, not over formal, and laid out with a view to masses of foliage, shady paths, and spaces of turf inlaid with flower-beds, alter the style of the famous Sarntheim and Moser gardens at Botzen in the Tyrol. Here are Sont trees {Acacia Nilotica) of unusual size, powdered all over with little feathery tufts of yellow blossom ; orange and lemon trees in abundance ; heaps of little green limes ; bananas bearing heavy pendent bunches of ripe fruit ; winding thickets of pomegranates, oleanders, and salvias ; and great beds, and banks, and trel- lised walks of roses. Among these, however, I observed none of the rarer varieties. As for the Pointsettia, it grows in Egypt to a height of twenty feet, and bears blossoms of such size and colour as we in England can form no idea of. We saw large trees of it both here and at Alexandria that seemed as if bending beneath a mantle of crimson stars, some of which cannot have measured less than twenty-two inches in diameter. 1 The Hereditary Prince, it need scarcely be said, is the present Khedive, Tewfik Paslia. [Note to Second Edition.] CAIRO AND THE MECCA PILGRIMAGE. 43 A large Italian fountain in a rococo style is the great sight of the place. We caught a glimpse of it through the trees, and surprised the gardener who was showing us over by de- clining to inspect it more nearly. He could not understand why we preferred to give our time to the shrubs and flower- beds. Driving back presently towards Cairo with a big handful of roses apiece, we saw the sun going down in an aureole of fleecy pink and golden clouds, the Nile flowing by like a stream of liquid light, and a little fleet of sailing boats going up to Boulak before a puff of north wind that had sprung up as the sun neared the horizon. That puff of north wind, those glid- ing sails, had a keen interest for us now, and touched us nearly ; because — I have delayed this momentous revelation till tlie last moment — because we were to start to-morrow! And this is why I have been able, in tlie midst of so much tliat was new and bewildering, to remember quite circum- stantially the dates, and all the events connected with these last two days. They were to be our last two days in Cairo ; and to-morrow morning, Saturday the 13th of December, we were to go on board a certain dahabeeyah now lying off the iron bridge at Boulak, therein to begin that strange aquatic life to which we had been looking forward with so many hopes and fears, and towards which we liad been steering through so many preliminary difficulties. But the difficulties were all over now, and everything was settled ; though not in the way we had at first intended. For, in place of a small boat, Ave had secured one of the largest on the river ; and instead of going alone, we had decided to throw in our lot with that of three other travellers. One of these three was already known to the Writer. The other two, friends of the first, were on their way out from Europe, and were not expected in Cairo for another week. We knew nothing of them but their names. Meanwhile L. and the Writer, assuming sole possession of the dahabeeyah, were about to start ten days in advance ; it being their intention to push on as far as Rlioda (the ultimate point then reached by the Nile railway), and there to await the arrival of the rest of the party. Now Rhoda (more correctly Roda) is just one hundred and eighty miles south of Cairo ; and we calculated upon seeing the Sakkarah pyramids, the Turra quarries, the tombs of Beni Hassan, and the famous grotto of the Colossus on the Sledge, before our fellow- travellers should be due. 44 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. "■ It depends on the wind, you know," said our dragoman, with a higubrious smile. We knew that it depended on the wind ; but what then ? In Egypt, the wind is supposed always to blow from the north at this time of the year, and we had ten good days at our disposal. The observation was clearly irrelevant. .-'Vl. ADahabee-vah CAIRO TO BEDBESHAYN. 45 CHAPTER III. CAIRO TO BEDBESHAYN. A RAPID raid into some of the nearest shops, for things remembered at the last moment — a breathless gathering up of innumerable parcels — a few hurried farewells on the steps of the hotel — and away we rattle as fast as a pair of rawboned greys can carry us. For this morning every moment is of value. We are already late ; we expect visit- ors to luncheon on board at midday ; and we are to weigh anchor at two p.m. Hence our anxiety to reach Boulak before the bridge is opened, that we may drive across to the western bank against which our dahabeeyah lies moored. Hence also our mortification when we arrive just in time to see the bridge swing apart, and the first tall mast glide through. Presently, however, when those on the look-out have observed our signals of distress, a smart-looking sandal, or jolly-boat, decked with gay rugs and cushions, manned by five smiling Arabs, and flying a bright little new Union Jack, comes swiftly threading her way in and out among the lum- bering barges now crowding through the bridge. In a few more minutes, we are afloat. For this is our sandal, and these are five of our crew ; and of the three dahabeeyahs moored over yonder in the shade of the palms, the biggest by far, and the trimmest, is our dear, memorable " Philae." Close behind the Philee lies the " Bagstones," — a neat little dahabeeyah in the occupation of two English ladies who chanced to cross with us in the " Simla" from Brindisi, and of whom we have seen so much ever since that we regard them by this time as quite old friends in a strange land. I will call them the M. B.'s. The other boat, lying off a few yards ahead, carries the tricolor, and is chartered by a party of French gentlemen. All three are to sail to-day. And now we are on board, and have shaken hands with the captain, and are as busy as bees ; for there are cabins to put in order, flowers to arrange, and a hundred little things 46 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. to be seen to before the guests arrive. It is wonderful, how- ever, what a few books and roses, an open piano, and a sketch or two will do. In a few minutes the comfortless hired look has vanished, and long enough before the first comers are announced, the Philse wears an aspect as cosy and home-like as if she had been occupied for a month. As for the luncheon, it certainly surprised the givers of the entertainment quite as much as it must have surprised their guests. Being, no doubt, a pre-arranged display of pro- fessional pride on the part of dragoman and cook, it was more like an excessive Christmas dinner than a modest mid- day meal. We sat through it unflinchingly, however, for about an hour and three quarters, when a startling discharge of firearms sent us all running upon deck, and created a wholesome diversion in our favour. It was the French boat signalling her departure, shaking out her big sail, and going off triumphantly. I fear that we of the Bagstones and Philae — being mere mortals and Englishwomen — could not help feeling just a little spiteful when we found the tricolor had started first ; but then it was a consolation to know that the Frenchmen were going only to Assuan. Such is the esprit dn Nil. The people in dahabeeyahs despise Cook's tourists ; those who are bound for the Second Cataract look down with lofty com- passion upon those whose ambition extends only to the First ; and travellers who engage their boat by the month hold their heads a trifle higher than those who contract for the trip. We, who were going as far as we liked and for as long as we liked, could afford to be magnanimous. So we forgave the Frenchmen, went down again to the saloon, and had coffee and music. It was nearly three o'clock when our Cairo visitors wished us bon voyage and good-bye. Then the M. B.'s, Avho, with their nepliew, had been of the party, went back to their own boat; and both captains prepared to sail at a given signal. For the M. B.'s had entered into a solemn convention to start with us, moor with us, and keep with us, if practicable, all the way up the river. It is pleasant now to remember that this sociable compact instead of falling through as such compacts are wont to do, M^as quite literally carried out as far Aboo Simbel ; that is to say, during a period of seven weeks' hard going, and for a distance of upwards of eight hundred miles. At last all is ready. The awning that has all day roofed in the upper deck is taken down ; the captain stands at the CAIRO TO BEDRESHAYN. 47 head of the steps ; the steersman is at the hehn ; the drago- man has loaded his musket. Is the Bagstones ready ? We wave a handkerchief of inquiry — the signal is answered — the mooring ropes are loosened — the sailors pole the boat off from the bank — bang go the guns, six from the Philse, and six from the Bagstones, and away we go, our huge sail tilling as it takes the wind ! Happy are the Nile travellers who start thus with a fair breeze on a brilliant afternoon. The good boat cleaves her way swiftly and steadily. Water-side palaces and gardens glide by, and are left behind. The domes and minarets of Cairo drop quickly out of sight. The mosque of the citadel, and the ruined fort that looks down upon it from the moun- tain ridge above, diminish in the distance. The Pyramids stand up sharp and clear. We sit on the high upper deck, which is furnished with lounge-chairs, tables, and foreign rugs, like a drawing-room in the open air, and enjoy the prospect at our ease. The valley is wide here and the banks are flat, showing a steep verge of crumbling alluvial mud next the river. Long belts of palm groves, tracts of young corn only an inch or two above the surface, and clusters of mud huts relieved now and then by a little whitewashed cupola or a stumpy minaret, succeed each other on both sides of the river, while the hori- zon is bounded to right and left by long ranges of yellow limestone mountains, in the folds of which sleep inexpressi. bly tender shadows of pale violet and blue. Thus the miles glide away, and by and by we approach Turra — a large, new-looking mud village, and the first of any extent that we have yet seen. Some of the houses are whitewashed ; a few have glass windows, and many seem to be unfinished. A space of white, stony, glaring plain sepa- rates the village from the quarried mountains beyond, the flanks of which show all gashed and hewn away. One great cliff seems to have been cut sheer off for a distance of per- haps half a mile. Where the cuttings are fresh, the lime- stone comes out dazzling white, and the long slopes of debris heaped against the foot of the cliffs glisten like snow-drifts in the sun. Yet the outer surface of the mountains is orange-tawny, like the Pyramids. As for the piles of rough- hewn blocks that lie ranged along the bank ready for trans- port, they look like salt rather than stone. Here lies moored a whole fleet of cargo boats, laden and lading ; and along the tramway that extends from the river-side to the quarries, we see long trains of mule-carts coming and going. 48 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. For all the new buildings in Cairo, the Khedive's palaces, the public offices, the smart modern villas, the glaring new streets, the theatres, and foot-pavements, and cafes, all come from these mountains — just as the Pyramids did, more than six thousand years ago. There are hieroglyphed tablets and sculptured gi-ottoes to be seen in the most ancient part of the quarries, if one were inclined to stop for them at this early stage of the journey ; and Champollion tells of two magnifi- cent outlines done in red ink upon the living rock by some master-hand of Pharaonic times, the cutting of which was never even begun. A substantial new barrack and an espla- nade planted with sycamore figs bring the straggling village to an end. And now, as the afternoon wanes, we draw near to a dense, wide-spreading forest of stately date-palms on the western bank, knowing that beyond them, though unseen, lie the mounds of Memphis and all the wonders of Sakkarah. Then the sun goes down behind the Libyan hills ; and the palms stand out black and bronzed against a golden sky ; and the Pyramids, left far behind, look grey and ghostly in the distance. Presently, when it is quite dusk and the stars are out, we moor for the night at Bedreshayn, which is the nearest point for visiting Sakkarah. There is a railway station here, and also a considerable village, both lying back about half a mile from the river ; and the distance from Cairo, which is reck- oned at fifteen miles by the line, is probably about eighteen by water. Such was our first day on the ISTile. And perhaps, before going farther on our way, I ought to describe the Philae, and introduce Reis Hassan and his crew. A dahabeeyah, at the first glance, is more like a civic or an Oxford University barge, than anything in the shape of a boat Avith which we in England are familiar. It is shallow and flat-bottomed, and is adapted for either sailing or row- ing. It carries two masts ; a big one near the prow, and a smaller one at the stern. The cabins are on deck, and oc- cupy the after-part of the vessel ; and the roof of the cabins forms the raised deck, or open-air drawing-room already mentioned. This upper deck is reached from the lower deck by two little flights of steps, and is the exclusive territory of the passengers. The lower deck is the territory of the crew. A dahabeeyah is, in fact, not very unlike the Noah's Ark of our childhood, with this difference — the habitable CAIRO TO BEDBESHAYN. 49 part, instead of occupying the middle of the vessel, is all at one end, top-heavy and many-windowed ; while the fore-deck is not more than six feet above the level of the water. The hold, however, is under the lower deck, and so counterbal- ances the weight at the other end. Not to multiply compar- isons unnecessarily, I may say that a large dahabeeyah reminds one of old pictures of the Bucentaur ; especially when the men are at their oars. The kitchen — which is a mere shed like a Dutch oven in shape, and contains only a cliarcoal stove and a row of stew- pans — stands between the big mast and the prow, removed as far as possible from the passengers' cabins. In this posi- tion the cook is protected from a favourable wind by his shed ; but in the case of a contrary wind he is screened by an awning. How, under even the most favourable circum- stances, these men can serve up the elaborate dinners which are the pride of a Nile cook's heart, is sufficiently wonder- ful ; but how they achieve the same results when wind- storms and sand-storms are blowing, and every breath is laden with the tine grit of the desert, is little short of mirac- ulous. Thus far, all dahabeeyahs are alike. The cabin arrange- ments differ, however, according to the size of the boat ; and it ]nust be remembered that in describing the Philse, I de- scribe a dahabeeyah of the largest build — her total length from stem to stern being just one hundred feet, and the width of her upper deck at the broadest part little short of twenty. Our floor being on a somewhat lower level than the men's deck, we went down three steps to the entrance door, on each side of which was an external cupboard, one serving as a store-room and the other as a pantry. This door led into a passage out of which opened four sleeping-cabins, two on each side. These cabins measured about eight feet in length by four and a half in width, and contained a bed, a chair, a fixed washing-stand, a looking-glass against the wall, a shelf, a row of hooks, and under each bed two large drawers for clothes. At the end of this little passage another door opened into the dining saloon — a spacious, cheerful room, some twenty-three or twenty-four feet long, situate in the widest part of the boat, and lighted by four windows on each side and a skylight. The panelled walls and ceiling were painted in white picked out with gold ; a cushioned divan covered with a smart woolen reps ran along each side ; 50 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. and a gay Brussels carpet adorned the floor. The dining- table stood in the centre of the room ; and there was ample space for a piano, two little bookcases, and several chairs. The window-curtains and portieres were of the same reps as the divan, the prevailing colours being scarlet and orange. Add a couple of mirrors in gilt frames ; a vase of flowers on the table (for we were rarely without flowers of some sort, even in Nubia, where our daily bouquet had to be made with a few bean blossoms and castor-oil berries) ; plenty of books ; the gentlemen's guns and sticks in one corner ; and the hats of all the party hanging in the spaces between the windows ; and it will be easy to realize the homely, habitable look of our general sitting-room. Another door and passage opening from the upper end of the saloon led to three more sleeping-rooms, two of which were single and one double; a bath-room; a tiny back stair- case leading to the upper deck ; and the stern cabin saloon. This last, following the form of tlie stern, was semicircular, lighted by eight windows, and surrounded by a divan. Under this, as under the saloon divans, there ran a row of deep drawers, which, being fairly divided, held our clothes, wine, and books. The entire length of the dahabeeyah being exactly one hundred feet, I take the cabin part to have oc- cupied about fifty-six or fifty-seven feet (that is to say, about six or seven feet over the exact half), and the lower deck to have measured the remaining forty-three feet. But these dimensions, being given from memory, are approximate. For the crew there was no sleeping accommodation what- ever, unless they chose to creep into the hold among the lug- gage and packing-cases. But this they never did. They just rolled themselves up at night, heads and all, in rough brown blankets, and lay about the lower deck like dogs. The Beis, or captain, the steersman, and twelve sailors, the dragoman, head cook, assistant cook, two waiters, and the boy who cooked for the crew, completed our equipment. Beis Hassan — short, stern-looking, authoritative — was a Cairo Arab. The dragoman, Elias Talhamy, was a Syrian of Beyrout. The two waiters, Michael and Habib, and the head cook (a wizened old cordon hleu named Hassan Bedawee) were also Syrians. The steersman and five of the sailors were from Thebes ; four belonged to a place near Philae ; one came from a village opposite Kom Ombo ; one from Cairo, and two were Nubians from Assuan. They were of all shades, from yellowish bronze to a hue not far removed from black ; and CAIRO TO BEDRESHAYN. 51 though, at the first mention of it, nothing more incongruous can well be imagined than a sailor in petticoats and a turban, yet these men in their loose blue gowns, bare feet, and white muslin turbans, looked not only picturesque, but dressed ex- actly as they should be. They were for the most part fine young men, slender but powerful, square in the shoulders, like the ancient Egyptian statues, with the same slight legs and long fiat feet. More docile, active, good-tempered, friendly fellows never pulled an oar. Simple and trustful as children, frugal as anchorites, they worked cheerfully from sunrise to sunset, sometimes towing the dahabeeyah on a rope all day long, like barge-horses ; sometimes punting for hours, which is the liardest work of all ; yet always singing at their task, always smiling when spoken to, and made as happy as princes with a handful of coarse Egyptian tobacco, or a bundle of fresh sugar-canes bought for a few pence by the river-side. We soon came to know them all by name — Me- hemet Ali, Salame, Khalifeh, Riskali, Hassan, Musa, and so on ; and as none of us ever went on shore without one or two of them to act as guards and attendants, and as the poor fel- lows were constantly getting bruised hands or feet, and com- ing to the upper deck to be doctored, a feeling of genuine friendliness was speedily established between us. The ordinary pay of a Nile sailor is two pounds a month, with an additional allowance of about three and sixpence a month for flour. Bread is their staple food, and they make it themselves at certain places along the river where there are large public ovens for the purpose. This bread, which is cut up in slices and dried in the sun, is as brown as ginger- bread and as hard as biscuit. They eat it soaked in hot water, flavoured with oil, pepper, and salt, and stirred in with boiled lentils till the whole becomes of the colour, flavour and consistence of thick pea-soup. Except on grand occasions, such as Christmas Day or the anniversary of the Flight of the Prophet, when the passengers treat them to a sheep, this mess of bread and lentils, with a little coffee twice a day, and now and then a handful of dates, constitutes their only food throughout the journey. The Nile season is the Nile sailors' harvest-time. When the warm weather sets in and the travellers migrate with the swallows, these poor fellows disperse in all directions ; some to seek a living as porters in Cairo ; others to their homes in Middle and Upper Egypt, where, for about fourpence a day, they take hire as laborers, or work at Shaduf irrigation till h2 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. the Nile again overspreads the land. The Shaduf work is hard, and a man has to keep on for nine hours out of every twenty-four; but he prefers it, for the most part, to employ- ment in the government sugar-factories, where the wages average at about the rame rate, but are paid in bread, which, being doled out by unscrupulous inferiors, is too often of light weight and bad quality. The sailors who succeed in getting a berth on board a cargo-boat for the summer are the most fortunate. Our captain, pilot, and crew were all Mohammedans. The cook and his assistant were Syrian Mohammedans. The dragoman and waiters were Christians of the Syrian Latin church. Only one out of the fifteen natives could write or read ; and that one was a sailor named Egendi, who acted as a sort of second mate. He used sometimes to write letters for the others, holding a scrap of tumbled paper across the palm of his left hand, and scrawling rude Arabic characters with a reed-pen of his own making. This Egendi, though perhaps the least interesting of the crew, was a man of many accom- plishments — ■ an excellent comic actor, a bit of a shoemaker, and a first-rate barber. More than once, when we happened to be stationed far from any village, he shaved his messmates all round, and turned them out with heads as smooth as bil- liard balls. There are, of course, good and bad Mohammedans as there are good and bad churchmen of every denomination ; and we had both sorts on board. Some of the men were very devout, never failing to perform their ablutions and say their prayers at sunrise and sunset. Others never dreamed of doing so. Some would not touch wine — had never tasted it in their lives, and Avould have suffered any extremity rather than break the law of their Prophet. Others had a nice taste in clarets, and a delicate appreciation of the respective merits of rum or whisky punch. It is, howevei", only fair to add that we never gave them these things except on special occa- sions, as on Christmas Day, or when they had been wading in the river, or in some other way undergoing extra fatigue in our service. Nor do I believe there was a man on board who would have spent a para of his scanty earnings on any drink stronger than coffee. Coffee and tobacco are, indeed, the only luxuries in which the Egyptian peasant indulges ; and our poor fellows were never more grateful than when we distributed among them a few pounds of cheap native to- bacco. This abominable mixture sells in the bazaars at six- CAIRO TO BEDRESIIAYN. 53 pence the pound, the plant from which it is gathered being raised from inferior seed in a soil chemically unsuitable, be- cause wholly devoid of potash. Also it is systematically spoiled in the growing. Instead of being nipped off when green and dried in the shade, the leaves are allowed to wither on the stalk before they are gathered. The result is a kind of rank hay without strength or flavour, which is smoked by only the very poorest class, and carefully avoided by all who can afford to buy Turkish or Syrian tobacco. Twice a day, after their midday and evening meals, our sailors were wont to sit in a circle and solemnly smoke a cer- tain big pipe of the kind known as a hubble-bubble. This liubble-bubble (which was of most primitive make and con- sisted of a cocoa-nut and two sugar-canes) was common prop- erty ; and, being filled by the captain, went round from hand to hand, from mouth to mouth, while it lasted. They smoked cigarettes at other times, and seldom went on shore without a tobacco-pouch and a tiny book of ciga- rette-papers. Pancy a bare-legged Arab making cigarettes ! 'No Frenchman, however, could twist them up more deftly, or smoke them with a better grace. A Nile sailor's service expires with the season, so that he is generally a landsman for about half the year ; but the cap- tain's apointment is permanent. He is expected to live in Cairo, and is responsible for his dahabeeyah during the sum- mer months, while it lies up at Boulak. Reis Hassan had a wife and a comfortable little home on the outskirts of Old Cairo, and was looked upon as a well-to-do personage among his fellows. He received four pounds a month all the year round from the owner of the Philse — a magnificent broad- shouldered Arab of about six foot nine, with a delightful smile, the manners of a gentleman, and the rapacity of a Shylock. Our men treated us to a concert that first night, as we lay moored under the bank near Bedreshayn. Being told that it Avas customary to provide musical instruments, we had given them leave to buy a tar and darabukkeh before starting. The tar, or tambourine, was pretty enough, being made of rosewood inlaid with mother-of-pearl ; but a more barbarous affair than the darabukkeh was surely never constructed. This primitive drum is about a foot and a half in length, fun- nel-shaped, moulded of sun-dried clay like the kullehs, and covered over at the top with strained parchment. It is held 54 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. under the left arm and played like a tom-tom with the fingers of the right hand ; and it weighs about four pounds. We would willingly have added a double pipe or a cocoa-nut fid- dle ^ to the strength of the band, but none of our men could play them. The tar and darabukkeh, however, answered the purpose well enough, and were perhaps better suited to their strange singing than more tuneful instruments. We had just finished dinner when they began. First came a prolonged wail that swelled, and sank, and swelled again, and at last died away. This was the principal singer leading off with the keynote. The next followed suit on the third of NATIVE CANGIAS. the key ; and finally all united in one long, shrill descending cry, like a yawn, or a howl, or a combination of both. This, twice repeated, preluded their performance and worked them up, apparently, to the necessary pitch of musical enthusiasm. The primo tenore then led off in a quavering roulade, at the end of which he slid into a melancholy chant to which the rest sang chorus. At the close of each verse they yawned and howled again ; while the singer, carried away by his emotions, broke out every now and then into a repetition of the same amazing and utterly indescribable vocal wriggle with which he had begun. Whenever he did this, the rest held their breath in respectful admiration, and uttered an approving " Ah ! " — which is here the customary expression of applause. 1 Arabic — Kemengeh. CAIRO TO BEDRESHATN. 65 We thought their music horrible that first night, I remem- ber; though we ended, as I believe most travellers do, by lik- ing it. We, however, paid them the compliment of going upon deck and listening to their performance. As a night- scene, nothing could be more picturesque than this group of turbaned Arabs sitting in a circle, cross-legged, with a lantern in the midst. The singer quavered ; the musicians thrummed; the rest softly clapped their hands to time, and waited their turn to chime in with the chorus. Meanwhile the lantern lit up their swarthy faces and their glittering teeth. The great mast towered up into the darkness. The river gleamed below. The stars shone overhead. We felt we were indeed strangers in a strange land. 56 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. CHAPTER IV. SAKKARAH AND MEMPHIS. Having arrived at Bed.resha_yu after dark and there moored for the night, we were roused early next morning by the furi- ous squabbling and chattering of some fifty or sixty men and boys who, witli a score or two of little rough-coated, depressed- looking donkeys, were assembled on the high bank above. Seen thus against the sky, their tattered garments fluttering in the wind, their brown arms and legs in frantic movement, they looked like a troop of mad monkeys let loose. Every moment the uproar grew shriller. Every moment more men, more boys, more donkeys, appeared upon the scene. It was as if some new Cadmus had been sowing boys and donkeys broad-cast, and they had all come up at once for our benefit. Then it appeared that Talhamy, knowing how eight don- keys would be Avanted for our united forces, had sent up to the village for twenty-five, intending, with perhaps more wisdom than justice, to select the best and dismiss the others. The result was overwhelming. Misled by the mag- nitude of the order and concluding that Cook's party had arrived, every man, bo}^, and donkey in Bedreshayn and the neighbouring village of Mitrahineh had turned out in hot haste and rushed down to the river ; so that by the time breakfast was over there were steeds enough in readiness for all the English in Cairo. I pass over the tumult that ensued when our party at last mounted the eight likeliest beasts and rode away, leaving the indignant multitude to. disperse at leisure. And now our way lies over a dusty flat, across the railway line, past the long straggling village, and through the famous plantations known as the Palms of Memphis. There is a crowd of patient-looking fellaheen at the little whitewashed station, waiting for the train, and the usual rabble of clamor- ous water, bread, and fruit sellers. Bedreshayn, though a collection of mere mud hovels, looks pretty, nestling in the midst of stately date-palms. Square pigeon-towers, embedded SAKKABAII AND MEMPHIS. 57 round the top with layers of wide-mouthed pots and stuck with rows of leafless acacia-boughs like ragged banner-poles, stand up at intervals among the huts. The pigeons go in and out of the pots, or sit preening their feathers on the branches. The dogs dash out and bark madly at us, as we go by. The little brown children pursue us with cries of ''Bakhshish!" The potter, laying out rows of soft, grey, freshly-moulded clay bowls and kullehs^ to bake in the sun, stops open- mouthed, and stares as if he had never seen a European till this moment. His young wife snatches up her baby and pulls her veil more closely over her face, fearing the evil eye. The village being left behind, we ride on through one long palm grove after another ; now skirting the borders of a large sheet of tranquil back-water ; now catching a glimpse of the far-off pyramids of Grhizeh, now passing between the huge irregular mounds of crumbled clay which mark the site of Memphis. Next beyond these we come out upon a high embanked road some twenty feet above the plain, which here spreads out like a wide lake and spends its last dark-brown alluvial wave against the yellow rocks which define the edge of the desert. High on this barren plateau, seen for the first time in one unbroken panoramic line, there stands a solemn company of pyramids ; those of Sakkarah straight before us, those of Dahshur to the left, those of Abusir to the right, and the great Pyramids of Ghizeh always in the remotest distance. It might be thought there would be some monotony in such a scene, and but little beauty. On the contrary, however, there is beauty of a most subtle and exquisite kind — tran- scendent beauty of colour, and atmosphere, and sentiment ; and no monotony either in the landscape or in the forms of the pyramids. One of these which we are now approaching is built in a succession of platforms gradually decreasing towards the top. Another down yonder at Dahshur curves outward at the angles, half dome, half pyramid, like the roof of the Palais de Justice in Paris. No two are of precisely the same size, or built at precisely the same angle ; and each cluster differs somehow in the grouping. Then again the colouring! — colouring not to be matched with any pigments yet invented. The Libyan rocks, like rusty gold — the paler hue of the driven sand-slopes — the iThe sjoolah, or kuUeh, is a porous water-jar of sun-dried Nile mud. These jars are made of all sizes and in a variety of remarkably graceful forms, and cost from about one farthing to twopence apiece. 58 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. warm maize of the nearer Pyramids which, seen from this distance, takes a tender tint of rose, like the red bloom on an apricot — the delicate tone of these objects against the sky — the infinite gradation of that sky, soft and pearly towards the horizon, blue and burning towards the zenith — the opal- escent shadows, pale blue and violet, and greenish-grey, that nestle in the hollows of the rock and the curves of the sand- drifts — all this is beautiful in a way impossible to describe, and alas ! impossible to copy. Nor does the lake-like plain with its palm-groves and corn-flats form too tame a fore- ground. It is exactly what is wanted to relieve that glowing distance. And now, as we follow the zig-zag of the road, the new pyramids grow gradually larger ; tlie sun mounts higher ; the heat increases. We meet a train of camels, buffaloes, shaggy brown sheep, men, women, and children of all ages. The camels are laden with bedding, rugs, mats, and crates of poultry, and carry, besides, two women with babies and one very old man. The younger men drive the tired beasts. The rest follow behind. The dust rises after them in a cloud. It is evidently the migration of a family of three, if not four generations. One cannot help being struck by the patriarchal simplicity of the incident. Just thus, with flocks and herds and all his clan, went Abraham into the land of Canaan close upon four thousand years ago ; and one at least of these Sakkarah pyramids was even then the oldest build- ing in the world. It is a touching and picturesque procession — much more picturesque than ours, and much more numerous ; notwith- standing that our united forces, including donkey-boys, por- ters, and miscellaneous hangers-on, number nearer thirty than twenty persons. For there are the M. B.s and their nephew, and L. and the Writer, and L.'s maid, and Talhamy, all on donkeys ; and then there are the owners of the don- keys, also on donkeys ; and then every donkey has a boy ; and every boy has a donkey ; and every donkey-boy's donkey has an inferior boy in attendance. Our style of dress, too, however convenient, is not exactly in harmony with the sur- rounding scenery ; and one cannot but feel, as these, draped and dusty pilgrims pass us on the road, that we cut a sorry figure with our hideous palm-leaf hats, green veils, and white umbrellas. But the most amazing and incongruous personage in our whole procession is unquestionably George. Now George is SAKKArAH and MEMPHIS. 59 an English north-country groom whom the M. B.s have brought out from the wilds of Lancashire, partly because he is a good shot and may be useful to " Master Alfred " after birds and crocodiles ; and partly from a well-founded belief in his general abilities. And George, who is a fellow of in- finite jest and infinite resource, takes to Eastern life as a duckling to the water. He picks up Arabic as if it were his mother tongue. He skins birds like a practised taxidermist. He can even wash and iron on occasion. He is, in short, groom, footman, housemaid, laundry-maid, stroke oar, game- keeper, and general factotum all in one. And besides all this, he is gifted with a comic gravity of countenance that no surprises and no disasters can upset for a moment. To see this worthy anachronism cantering along in his groom's coat and gaiters, livery-buttons, spotted neckcloth, tall hat, and all the rest of it ; his long legs dangling within an inch of the ground on either side of the most diminutive of don- keys ; his double-barrelled fowling-piece under his arm, and that imperturbable look in his face, one would have sworn that he and Egypt were friends of old, and that he had been brought up on pyramids from his earliest childhood. It is a long and shelterless ride from the palms to the desert; but we come to the end of it at last, mounting just such another sand-slope as that which leads up from the Ghizeh road to the foot of the Great Pyramid. The edge of the plateau here rises abruptly from the plain in one long range of low perpendicular cliffs pierced with dark mouths of rock-cut sepulchres, while the sand-slope by which we are climbing pours down through a breach in the rock, as an Alpine snow-drift flows through a mountain gap from the ice-level above. And now, having dismounted through compassion for our unfortunate little donkeys, the first thing we observe is the curious mixture of debris underfoot. At Ghizeh one treads only sand and pebbles ; but here at Sakkarah the whole plateau is thickly strewn with scraps of broken pottery, limestone, marble, and alabaster ; flakes of green and blue glaze ; bleached bones ; shreds of yellow linen ; and lumps of some odd-looking dark brown substance, like dried-up sponge. Presently some one picks up a little noseless head of one of the common blue-ware funereal statuettes, and immediately we all fall to work, grubbing for treasure — a pure waste of precious time ; for though the sand is full of debris, it has been sifted so often and so carefully by the 60 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. Arabs that it no longer contains anything worth looking for- Meanwhile, one finds a fragment of iridescent glass • — an- other, a morsel of shattered vase — a third, an opaque bead of some kind of yellow paste. And then, with a shock which the present writer, at all events, will not soon forget, we suddenly discover that these scattered bones are human — that those linen shreds are shreds of cerement cloths — that yonder odd-looking brown lumps are rent fragments of what once was living flesh ! And now for the first time we real- ize that every inch of this ground on which we are standing, and all these hillocks and hollows and pits in the sand, are violated graves. " Ce n'est que le premier pas que coute," We soon became quite hardened to such sights, and learned to rummage among dusty sepulchres with no more compunction than would have befitted a gang of professional body-snatchers. These are experiences upon which one looks back afterwards with wonder, and something like remorse; but so infectious is the universal callousness, and so overmastering is the passion for relic-hunting, that I do not doubt we should again do the same things under the same circumstances. Most Egyptian travellers, if questioned, would have to make a similar confession. Shocked at first, they denounce with liorror the whole system of sepulchral excavation, legal as well as predatory ; acquiring, however, a taste for scarabs and funerary statuettes, they soon begin to buy with eager- ness the spoils of the dead ; finally they forget all their former scruples, and ask no better fortune than to discover and confiscate a tomb for themselves. Notwithstanding that I had first seen the Pyramids of Ghizeh, the size of the Sakkarah group — especially of the Pyramid in platforms — took me by surprise. They are all smaller than the Pyramids of Khufu and Khafra, and would no doubt look sufficiently insignificant if seen with them in close juxtaposition ; but taken by themselves they are quite vast enough for grandeur. As for the Pyramid in platforms (which is the largest at Sakkarah, and next largest to the Pyramid of Khafra) its position is so fine, its architectural style so exceptional, its age so immense, that one altogether loses sight of these questions of relative magnitude. If Egyptologists are right in ascribing the royal title hiero- glyphed on the inner door of this pyramid to Ouenephes, the fourth king of the First Dynasty, then it is the most ancient building in the world. It had been standing from five to SAKKARAR AND MEMPHIS. 61 seven hundred years when King Khufu began his Great Pyramid at Ghlzeh. It was over two thousand years old when Abraham was born. It is now about six thousand eight hundred years old according to Manetho and Mariette, or about four thousand eight hundred according to the com- putation of Bunsen. One's imagination recoils upon the brink of such a gulf of time. The door of this pyramid was carried off, with other pre- cious spoils, by Lepsius, and is now in the museum at Eer- lin. The evidence that identifies the inscription is tolerably direct. According to Manetho, an Egyptian historian who wrote in Greek and lived in the reign of Ptolemy Philadel- phus, King Ouenephes built for himself a pyramid at a place called Kokhome. Now a tablet discovered in the Serapeum by Mariette gives the name of Ka-kem to the necropolis of Sakkarah ; and as the pyramid in stages is not only the largest on this platform, but is also the only one in which a royal cartouche has been found, the conclusion seems obvious. When a building has already stood five or six thousand years in a climate where mosses and lichens, and all those natural signs of age to which we are accustomed in Europe are unknown, it is not to be supposed that a few centuries more or less can tell upon its outward appearance ; yet to my thinking the pyramid of Ouenephes looks older than those of Ghtzeh. If this be only fancy, it gives one, at all events, the impression of belonging structurally to a ruder architect- ural period. The idea of a monument composed of dimin- ishing platforms is in its nature more primitive than that of a smooth four-sided pyramid. We remarked that the masonry on one side — I think on the side facing eastwards — was in a much more perfect condition than on either of the others. Wilkinson describes the interior as " a hollow dome sup- ported here and there by wooden rafters," and states that the sepulchral chamber was lined with blue porcelain tiles. ^ We would have liked to go inside, but this is no longer pos- sible, the entrance being blocked by a recent fall of masonry. Making up now for lost time, we rode on as far as the house built in 1850 for Mariette's accommodation during the excavation of the Serapeum — a labour which extended over a period of more than four years. 1 Some of these tiles are to be seen in the Egyptian department of the British Museum. They are not blue, but of a bluish green. For a view of the sepulchral chamber, see Maspero's Arche'ologie Eqyptienne, Fig. 230, p. 266. [Note to the Second Edition.] 62 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. The Serapeum, it need hardly be said, is the famous and long-lost sepulchral temple of the sacred bulls. These bulls (honoured by the Egyptians as successive incarnations of Osiris) inhabited the temple of Apis at Memphis while they lived ; and, being mummied after death, were buried in cata- combs prepared for them in the desert. In 1850, Mariette, travelling in the interests of the French Government, dis- covered both the temple and the catacombs, being, accord- ing to his own narrative, indebted for the clue to a certain passage in Strabo, which describes the Temple of Serapis as being situate in a district where the sand was so drifted by the wind that the approach to it was in danger of being over- whelmed ; while the sphinxes on either side of the great avenue were already more or less buried, some having only their heads above the surface, " If Strabo had not written this passage," says Mariette, "it is probable that the Serapeum would still be lost under the sands of the necropolis of Sak- karah. One day, however (in 1850), being attracted to Sak- karah by my Egyptological studies, I perceived the head of a sphinx showing above the surface. It evidently occupied its original position. Close by lay a libation-table on which was engraved a hieroglyphic inscription to Apis-Osiris. Then that passage in Strabo came to my memory, and I knew that be- neath my feet lay the avenue leading to the long and vainly sought Serapeum. Without saying a word to any one, I got some workmen together and we began excavating. The be- ginning was difficult ; but soon the lions, the peacocks, the Greek statues of the Dromos, the inscribed tablets of the Temple of Kectanebo ^ rose up from the sands. Thus was the Serapeum discovered." The house — a slight, one-story building on a space of rocky platform — looks down upon a sandy hollow which now presents much the same appearance that it must have presented when Mariette was first reminded of the fortunate passage in Strabo. One or two heads of sphinxes peep up here and there in a ghastly way above the sand, and mark the line of the great avenue. The upper half of a boy riding on a peacock, apparently of rude execution, is also visible. The rest is already as completely overwhelmed as if it had never been uncovered. One can scarcely believe that only twenty years ago, the whole place was entirely cleared at so 1 Nectanebo I and Nectanebo II were tbe last native Pbaraohs of ancient Egypt, and flourished between b.c. 378 and b.c. 340. An earlier temple must have preceded the Serapeum built by Nectanebo I. SAEKARAH AND MEMPHIS. 63 vast an expenditure of time and labour. The work, as I have already mentioned, took four years to complete. This avenue alone was six hundred feet in length and bordered by an army of sphinxes, one hundred and forty-one of which were found in situ. As the excavation neared the end of the avenue, the causeway, which followed a gradual descent between massive walls, lay seventy feet below the surface. The labour was immense, and the difficulties were innumer- able. The ground had to be contested inch by inch. " In certain places," says Mariette, " the sand was fluid, so to speak, and baffled us like water continually driven back and seeking to regain its level." ^ If, however, the toil was great, so also was the reward. A main avenue terminated by a semicircular platform, around which stood statues of famous Greek philosophers and poets ; a second avenue at right angles to the first ; the remains of the great Teinple of the Serapeum ; three smaller temples ; and three distinct groups of Apis catacombs, were brought to light. A descending passage opening from a chamber in the great Temple led to the catacombs — vast labyrinths of vaults and passages hewn out of the solid rock on which the Temples were built. These three groups of ex- cavations represent three epochs of Egyptian history. The first and most ancient series consists of isolated vaults dating from the X Vlllth to the XXIInd dynasty ; that is to say, from about B.C. 1703 to b.c. 980. The second group, which dates from the reign of Sheshonk I (XXIInd dynasty, b.c. 980) to that of Tirhakah, the last king of the XXVth dynasty, is more systematically planned, and consists of one long tun- nel bordered on each side by a row of funereal chambers. The third belongs to the Greek period, beginning with Psam- metichus I (XXVIth dynasty, b.c. 665) and ending with the latest Ptolemies. Of these, the first are again choked with sand ; the second are considered unsafe ; and the third only is accessible to travellers. After a short but toilsome walk, and some delay outside a prison-like door at the bottom of a steep descent, we were admitted by the guardian — a gaunt old Arab with a lantern in his hand. It was not an inviting looking place within. The outer daylight fell upon a rough step or two, beyond which all was dark. We went in. A hot, heavy atmosphere 1 For an excellent and exact account of the Serapeum and the monu- ments there discovered, see M. Arthur Rhone's L'Egypte en Petites Jour- n^es, of which a new edition is now in the press. [Note to Second Edition.] 64 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. met lis on the threshold ; the door fell to with a dull clang, the echoes of which went wandering away as if into the cen- tral recesses of the earth ; the Arab chattered and gesticu- lated. He was telling us that we were now in the great ves- tibule, and that it measured ever so many feet in this and that direction ; but we could see nothing — neither the vaulted roof overhead, nor the walls on any side, nor even the ground beneath our feet. It was like the darkness of infinite space. A lighted candle was then given to each person, and the Arab led the way. He went dreadfully fast, and it seemed at every step as if one were on the brink of some frightful chasm. Gradually, however, our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and we found that we had passed out of the ves- tibule into the first great corridor. All was vague, mysteri- ous, shadowy. A dim perspective loomed out of the dark- ness. The lights twinkled and flitted, like wandering sparks of stars. The Arab held Ids lantern to the walls here and there, and showed us some votive tablets inscribed with rec- ords of pious visits paid by devout Egyptians to the sacred tombs. Of these they found five hundred when the cata- combs were first opened ; but Mariette sent nearly all to the Louvre. A few steps farther, and we came to the tombs — a suc- cession of great vaulted chambers hewn out at irregular dis- tances along both sides of the central corridor, and sunk some six or eight feet below the surface. In the middle of each chamber stood an enormous sarcophagus of polished granite. The Arab, flitting on ahead like a black ghost, paused a moment before each cavernous opening, flashed the light of his lantern on the sarcophagus, and sped away again, leaving us to follow as we could. So we went on, going every moment deeper into the solid rock, and farther from the open air and the sunshine. Thinking it would be cold underground, we had brought warm wraps in plenty ; but the heat, on the contrary, was intense, and the atmosphere stifling. We had not calculated on the dryness of the place, nor had we remembered that ordinary mines and tunnels are cold because they are damp. But here for incalculable ages — for thousands of years prob- ably before the Nile had even cut its path through the rocks of Silsilis — a cloudless African sun had been pouring its daily floods of light and heat upon the dewless desert over- head. The place might well be unendurable. It was like a SAKE A BAH AND MEMPHIS. 65 great oven stored with the slowly accumulated heat of cycles so remote, and so many, that the earliest periods of Egyptian history seem, when compared with them, to belong to yester- day. Having gone on thus for a distance of nearly two hundred yards, we came to a chamber containing the first hiero- glyphed sarcophagus we had yet seen ; all the rest being polished, but plain. Here the Arab paused; and finding access provided by means of a flight of wooden steps, we went down into the chamber, walked round the sarcophagus, peeped inside by the help of a ladder, and examined the hieroglyphs with which it is covered. Enormous as they look from above, one can form no idea of the bulk of these huge monolithic masses except from the level on which they stand. This sarcophagus, which dates from the reign of Amasis, of the XXVIth dynasty, measured fourteen feet in le'iigth by eleven in height, and consisted of a single block of highly-wrought black granite. Four persons might sit in it round a small card-table, and play a rubber comfortably. From this point the corridor branches off for another two hundred yards or so, leading always to more chambers and more sarcophagi, of which last there are altogether twenty- four. Three only are inscribed ; none measure less than from thirteen to fourteen feet in length ; and all are empty. The lids in every instance have been pushed back a little way, and some are fractured ; but the spoilers have been unable wholly to remove them. According to Mariette, the place was pillaged by the early Christians, who, besides carrying off whatever they could find in the way of gold and jewels, seem to have destroyed the mummies of the bulls, and razed the great Temple nearly to the ground. Fortu- nately, however, they either overlooked, or left as worthless, some hundreds of exquisite bronzes and the five hundred votive tables before mentioned, which, as they record not only the name and rank of the visitor, but also, with few exceptions, the name and year of the reigning Pharaoh, afford invaluable historical data, and are likely to do more than any previously discovered documents towards clearing up disputed points of Egyptian chronology. It is a curious fact that one out of the three inscribed sar- cophagi should bear the oval of Cambyses — - that Cambyses of whom it is related that, having desired the priests of Memphis to bring before him the God Apis, he drew his dagger in a transport of rage and contempt, and stabbed the 66 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. animal in the thigh. According to Plutarch, he slew the beast and cast out its body to the dogs ; according to Herod- otus, " Apis lay some time pining in the temple, but at last died of his wound, and the priests buried him secretly ; " but according to one of these precious Serapeum tablets the wounded bull did not die till the fourth year of the reign of Darius. So wonderfully does modern discovery correct and illustrate tradition. And now comes the sequel to this ancient story in the shape of an anecdote related by M. About, who tells how Mariette, being recalled suddenly to Paris some months after the opening of the Serapeum, found himself without the means of carrying away all his newly excavated antiquities, and so buried fourteen cases in the desert, there to await his return. One of these cases contained an Apis mummy which had escaped discovery by the early Christians ; and this mummy was that of the identical Apis stabbed by Cambyses. That the creature had actually survived his wound Avas proved by the condition of one of the thigh-bones, which showed unmistakable signs of both injury and healing. Nor does the story end here. Mariette being gone, and having taken with him all that was most portable among his treasures, there came to Memphis one whom M. About indicates as "a, young and august stranger" travelling in Egypt for his pleasure. The Arabs, tempted perhaps by a princely bakhshish, revealed the secret of the hidden cases ; whereupon the Archduke swept off the whole fourteen, despatched them to Alexandria, and immediately shipped them for Trieste.-' "Quant au coiipable," says M. About who professes to have had the story direct from Mariette, " il a iini si tragiquement dans un autre hemisphere que, tout bien pese, je renonce a publier son nom." But through so transparent a disguise it is not difficult to identify the unfor- tunate hero of this curious anecdote. Tlie sarcophagus in which the Apis was found remains in the vaults of the Serapeum ; but we did not see it. Having come more than two hundred yards already, and being by this time well-nigh suffocated, we did not care to put two hundred yards more between ourselves and the light of day. So we turned back at the half distance — having, however, first burned a pan of magnesian powder, which flared up 1 These objects, known as "The Miramar Collection," anql catalogued by Pi-ofessoi- Reinisch, are now removed to Vienna. [Note to Second Edition.] SAKKARAH AND MEMPHIS. 67 wildly for a few seconds ; lit the huge gallery and all its cavernous recesses and the wondering faces of the Arabs ; and then went out with a plunge, leaving the darkness denser than before. From hence, across a farther space of sand, we went in all the blaze of noon to the tomb of one Ti, a priest and com- moner of the Fifth Dynasty, who married with a lady named Neferhotep-s, the granddaughter of a Pharaoh, and here built himself a magnificent tomb in the desert. Of the facade of this tomb, which must originally have looked like a little temple, only two large pillars remain. Next comes a square courtyard surrounded by a roofless col- onnade, from one corner of which a covered passage leads to two chambers. In the centre of the courtyard yawns an open pit some twenty-five feet in depth, with a shattered sarcopha- gus just visible in the gloom of the vault below. All here is limestone — walls, pillars, pavements, even the excavated debris with which the pit had been filled in when the vault was closed for ever. The quality of this limestone is close and tine like marble, and so white that, although the walls and columns of the courtyard are covered with sculptures of most exquisite execution and of the greatest interest, the reflected light is so intolerable, that we find it impossible to examine them with the interest they deserve. In the passage, however, where there is shade, and in the large chamber, where it is so dark that we can see only by the help of lighted candles, we find a succession of bas-reliefs so numerous and so closely packed that it would take half a day to see them properly. Ranged in horizontal parallel lines about a foot and a half in depth, these extraordinary pictures, row above row, cover every inch of wall-space from floor to ceiling. The relief is singularly low. I should doubt if it anywhere exceeds a quarter of an inch. The sur- face, which is covered with a thin film of very fine cement, has a quality and polish like ivory. The figures measure an average height of about twelve inches, and all are coloured. Here, as in an open book, we have the biography of Ti. His whole life, his pleasures, his business, his domestic relations, are brought before us with just that faithful sim- plicity which makes the charm of Montaigne and Pepys. A child might read the pictured chronicles which illuminate these walls, and take as keen a pleasure in them as the wisest of archaeologists. Ti was a wealthy man, and his wealth was of the agri- 68 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. cultural sort. He owned flocks and lierds and vassals in plenty. He kept many kinds of birds and beasts — geese, ducks, pigeons, cranes, oxen, goats, asses, antelopes, and gazelles. He was fond of fishing and fowling, and used sometimes to go after crocodiles and hippopotamuses, which came down as low as Memphis in his time. He was a kind husband too, and a good father, and loved to share his pleas- ures with his family. Here we see him sitting in state with his wife and children, while professional singers and dancers perform before them. Yonder they walk out together and look on while the farm-servants are at work, and watch the coming in of the boats that bring home the produce of Ti's more distant lands. Here the geese are being driven home ; the cows are crossing a ford ; the oxen are ploughing ; the sower is scattering his seed ; the reaper plies his sickle ; the oxen tread the grain ; the corn is stored in the granary. There are evidently no independent tradesfolk in these early days of the world. Ti has his own artificers on his own estate, and all his goods and chattels are home-made. Here the carpenters are fashioning new furniture for the house ; the shipwrights are busy on new boats ; the potters mould pots ; tlie metal-workers smelt ingots of red gold. It is plain to see that Ti lived like a king within his own boundaries. He makes an imposing figure, too, in all these scenes, and, being represented about eight times as large as his servants, sits and stands a giant among pigmies. His wife (we must not forget that she was of the blood royal) is as big as himself ; and the children are depicted about half the size of their parents. Curiously enough, Egyptian art never outgrew this early naivete. The great man remained a big man to the last days of the Ptolemies, and the fellah was always a dwarf. 1 Apart from these and one or two other mannerisms, noth- ing can be more natural than the drawing, or more spirited than the action, of all these men and animals. The most lA more exhaustive study of tlie funerary texts has of late revolu- tionised our interpretation of these, and similar sepulchral tableaux. The scenes they represent are not, as was supposed wlien this book was first written, mere episodes in the daily life of the deceased; but are links in the elaborate story of his burial and his ghostly existence after death. The corn is sown, reaped, and gathered in order tliat it may be ground and made into funerary cakes ; the oxen, goats, gazelles, geese, and other live stock are destined for sacrificial offerings; the pots, and furniture, and household goods are for burying with the mummy in his tomb; and it is his " Ka," or ghostly double, tliat takes part in these various scenes, and not the living man. [Note to Second Edition.] SAKKARAH AND MEMPHIS. 69 difficult and transitory movements are expressed with masterly- certitude. The donkey kicks up his heels and brays — the crocodile plunges — the wild duck rises on the wing ; and the fleeting action is caught in each instance with a truthful- ness that no Landseer could distance. The forms, which have none of the conventional stiffness of later Egyptian work, are modelled roundly and boldly, yet finished with exquisite precision and delicacy. The colouring, however, is purely decorative ; and being laid on in single tints, with no attempt at gradation or shading, conceals rather than enhances the beauty of the sculptures. These, indeed, are best seen where the colour is entirely rubbed off. The tints are yet quite brilliant in parts of the larger chamber ; but in the passage and courtyard, which have been excavated only a few years and are with difficulty kept clear from day to day, there is not a vestige of colour left. This is the work of the sand — that patient labourer whose office it is not only to preserve but to destroy. The sand secretes and preserves the work of the sculptor, but it effaces the work of the painter. In sheltered places where it accumulates pas- sively like a snow-drift, it brings away only the surface- detail, leaving the under colours rubbed and dim. But nothing, as I had occasion constantly to remark in the course of the journey, removes colour so effectually as sand which is exposed to the shifting action of the wind. This tomb, as we have seen, consists of a portico, a court- yard, two chambers, and a sepulchral vault ; but it also contains a secret passage of the kind known as a ''serdab." These " serdabs," which are constructed in the thickness of the walls and have no entrances, seem to be peculiar to t tombs of the Ancient Empire (i. e. the period of the Pyramid Kings) ; and they contain statues of the deceased of all sizes, in wood, limestone, and granite. Twenty statues of Ti were here found immured in the serdab of his tomb, all broken save one — a spirited figure in limestone, standing about seven feet high, and now in the museum at Boulak. This statue represents a fine young „ . , . , , . '- , . . T "^ T ° HEAD OF TI. man m a wiaite tunic, and is evidently a portrait. The features are regular ; the expression is good- natured ; the whole tournure of the head is more Greek than Egyptian. The flesh is painted of a yellowish brick tint, and the figure stands in the usual hieratic attitude, with the left 70 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. leg advanced, the hands clenched, and the arms straightened close to the sides. One seems to know Ti so well after see- ing the wonderful pictures in his tomb, that this charming statue interests one like the portrait of a familiar friend. ^ How pleasant it was, after being suffocated in the Serapeum and broiled in the tomb of Ti, to return to Mariette's de- serted house, and eat our luncheon on the cool stone terrace that looks northward over the desert ! Some wooden tables and benches are hospitably left here for the accommodation of travellers, and fresh water in ice-cold kullehs is provided by the old Arab guardian. The yards and offices at the back are full of broken statues and fragments of inscriptions in red and black granite. Two sphinxes from the famous avenue adorn the terrace, and look down upon their half- buried companions in the sand-hollow below. The yellow desert, barren and undulating, with a line of purple peaks on the horizon, reaches away into the far distance. To the right, under a jutting ridge of rocky plateau not two hundred yards from the house, yawns an open-mouthed black-looking cavern shored up with heavy beams and approached by a slope of debris. This is the forced entrance to the earlier vaults of the Serapeum, in one of which was found a mummy described by Mariette as that of an Apis, but pronounced by Brugsch to be the body of Prince Kha-em-uas, governor of Memphis and the favourite son of Rameses the Great. This remarkable mummy, which looked as much like a bull as a man, was found covered with jewels and gold chains and precious amulets engraved with the name of Kha-em-uas, and had on its face a golden mask ; all which treasures are now to be seen in the Louvre. If it was the mummy of an Apis, then the jewels with which it was adorned were prob- ably the offering of the prince at that time ruling in Mem- phis. If, on the contrary, it was the mummy of a man, then, in order to be buried in a place of peculiar sanctity, he probably usurped one of the vaults prepared for the god. The question is a curious one, and remains unsolved to this day ; but it could no doubt be settled at a glance by Professor Owen.^ 1 These statues were not mere portrait-statues; Lut were designed as bodily habitations for the incorporeal ghost, or " Ka," which it was sup- posed needed a body, food, and drink, and must perish everlastingly if not duly supplied with these necessaries. Hence the whole system of burying food-offerings, furniture, stuffs, etc, in ancient Egyptian sepulchres. [Note to Second Edition.] 2 The actual tomb of Prince Kha-em-uas has been found at Memphis by M. Maspero, within the last three or four years. [Note to Second Edition.] SAKKABAH AND MEMPHIS. 71 Far more stai-uling, however, than the discovery of either Apis or jewels, was a sight beheld by Mariette on first enter- ing that long-closed sepulchral chambei'. The mine being sprung and the opening cleared, he went in alone ; and there, on the thin layer of sand that covered the floor, he found the footprints of the workmen who, 3700 years ^ before, had laid that shapeless mummy in its tomb and closed the doors upon it, as they believed, for ever. And now — for the afternoon is already waning fast — the donkeys are brought round, and we are told that it is time to move on. We have the site of Memphis and the famous prostrate colossus yet to see, and the long road lies all before us. So back we ride across the desolate sands ; and with a last, long, wistful glance at the pyramid m platforms, go down the territory of the dead into the land of the living. There is a Avonderful fascination about this pyramid. One is never weary of looking at it — of repeating to one's self that it is indeed the oldest building on the face of the whole earth. The king who erected it came to the throne, accord- ing to Manetho, about eighty years after the death of Mena, the founder of the Egyptian monarchy. All we have of him is his pyramid; all we know of him is his name. And these belong, as it were, to the infancy of the human race. In dealing with Egyptian dates, one is apt to think lightly of periods that count only by centuries ; but it is a habit of mind which leads to error, and it should be combated. The present writer found it useful to be constantly comparing relative chronological eras ; as, for instance, in realizing the immense antiquity of the Sakkarah pyramid, it is some help to remember that from the time when it was built by King Ouenephes to the time when King Khufu erected the great Pyramid of Ghizeh, there probably lies a space of years equivalent to that which, in the history of England, extends from the date of the Conquest to the accession of George the Second.^ And yet Khufu himself — the Cheops of the Greek historians — is but a shadowy figure hovering upon the threshold of Egyptian history. 1 The date is Mariette's. 2 There was no worship of Apis in the days of King Ouenephes, nor, indeed, until the reign of Kaiechos, more than one hundred and twenty- years after this time. Bixt at some subsequent period of the Ancient Em- pire, his pyramid was appropriated by the priests of Memphis for the mum- mies of til e Sacred Bulls. This, of course, was done before any of the known Apis-catacombs were excavated. There are doubtless many more of these catacombs yet undiscovered, nothing prior to the XVIIIth Dynasty having yet been found. 72 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. And now the desert is left behind, and we are nearing the palms that lead to Memphis. We have of course been dip- ping into Herodotus — every one takes Herodotus up the Nile — and our heads are full of the ancient glories of this famous city. We know that Men a turned the course of the river in order to build it on the very spot, and that all the most illustrious Pharaohs adorned it with temples, palaces, pylons, and precious sculptures. We had read of the great Temple of Ptah that Kameses the Great enriched with colossi of himself ; and of the sanctuary where Apis lived in state, taking his exercise in a pillared courtyard where every column was a statue ; and of the artificial lake, and the sacred groves, and the obelisks, and all the wonders of a city which even in its later days was one of the most populous in Egypt. Thinking over these things by the way, we agree that it is well to have left Memphis till the last. We shall appre- ciate it the better for having first seen that other city on the edge of the desert to which, for nearly six thousand years, all Memphis was quietly migrating, generation after genera- tion. We know now how poor folk laboured, and how great gentlemen amused themselves, in those early days when there were hundreds of country gentlemen like Ti, with town- houses at Memphis and villas by the Nile. From the Sera- peum, too, buried and ruined as it is, one cannot but come away with a profound impression of the splendour and power of a religion which could command for its myths such faith, such homage, and such public works. And now we are once more in the midst of the palm-woods, threading our way among the same mounds that we passed in the morning. Presently those in front strike away from the beaten road across a grassy flat to the right ; and the next moment we are all gathered round the brink of a muddy pool in the midst of which lies a shapeless block of blackened and corroded limestone. This, it seems, is the famous pros- trate colossus of Kameses the Great, which belongs to the British nation, but which the British Government is too economical to remove.-' So here it lies, face downward ; drowned once a year by the Nile ; visible only when the pools left by the inundation have evaporated, and all the muddy hollows are dried up. It is one of two which stood at the entrance to the great Temple of Ptah ; and by those 1 This colossus is now raised upon a brick pedestal. [Note to Second Edition.] RuiNS--MF,MPHrS . SAKKARAH AND MEMPHIS. 73 wlio liave gone down into the hollow and seen it from below in the dry season, it is reported of as a noble and very- beautiful specimen of one of the best periods of Egyptian art. Where, however, is the companion colossus ? Where is the Temple itself ? Where are the pylons, the obelisks, the avenues of sphinxes ? Where, in short, is Memphis ? The dragoman shrugs his shoulders and points to the bar- ren mounds among the palms. They look like gigantic dust-heaps, and stand from thirty to forty feet above the plain. Nothing grows upon them, save here and there a tuft of stunted palm ; and their sub- stance seems to consist chiefly of crumbled brick, broken potsherds, and fragments of limestone. Some few traces of brick foundations and an occasional block or two of shaped stone are to be seen in places low down against the foot of one or two of the mounds ; but one looks in vain for any sign which might indicate the outline of a boundary wall, or the position of a great public building. And is this all ? No — not quite all. There are some mud-huts yonder, iu among the trees ; and in front of one of these we find a number of sculptured fragments — battered sphinxes, torsos without legs, sitting figures without heads — in green, black, and red granite. Ranged in an irregular semicircle on the sward, they seem to sit in forlorn conclave, half solemn, half ludicrous, with the goats browsing round, and the little Arab children hiding behind them. Near this, in another pool, lies another red granite colossus — not the fellow to that which we saw first, but a smaller one — also face downwards. And this is all that remains of Memphis, eldest of cities — a few huge rubbish-heaps, a dozen or so of broken statues, and a name ! One looks round, and tries in vain to realise the lost splendours of the place. Where is the Memphis that King Mena came from Thinis to found — the Memphis of Ouenephes, and Khufu, and Khafra, and all the early kings who built their pyramid-tombs in the adjacent desert ? Where is the Memphis of Herodotus, of Strabo, of 'Abd-el- Latif ? Where are those stately ruins which, even in the middle ages, extended over a space estimated at " half a day's journey in every direction " ? One can hardly believe that a great city ever flourished on this spot, or understand how it should have been effaced so utterly. Yet here it stood — 74 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. here where the grass is green, and the palms are growing, and the Arabs build their hovels on the verge of the inunda- tion. The great colossus marks the site of the main entrance to the Temple of Ptah. It lies where it fell, and no man has moved it. That tranquil sheet of palm-fringed back- water, beyond which we see the village of Mitrahineh and catch a distant glimpse of the pyramids of Ghizeh, occupies the basin of a vast artificial lake excavated by Mena. The very name of Memphis survives in the dialect of the fellah, who calls the place of the mounds Tell Monf ^ — just as Sak- karah fossilises the name of Sokari, one of the special denom- inations of the Memphite Osiris. No capital in the world dates so far back as this, or kept its place in history so long. Founded four thousand years before our era, it beheld the rise and fall of thirty-one dynas- ties ; it survived the rule of the Persian, the Greek, and the Roman ; it was, even in its decadence, second only to Alex- andria in population and extent ; and it continued to be in- habited up to the time of the Arab invasion. It then became the quarry from Avhich Postat (Old Cairo) was built ; and as the new city rose on the eastern bank, the people of Memphis quickly abandoned their ancient capital to desolation and decay. Still a vast field of ruins remained. Abd-el-Latif, writing at the commencement of the thirteenth century, speaks with enthusiasm of the colossal statues and lions, the enoi-mous pedestals, the archways formed of only three stones, the bas- reliefs and other wonders that were yet to be seen upon the spot. Marco Polo, if his wandering tastes had led him to the Nile, might have found some of the palaces and temples of Memphis still standing ; and Sandys, who in a.b. 1610 went at least as far south of Cairo as Kafr el lyat, says that " up the River for twenty miles space there was nothing but ruines." Since then, however, the very "ruines "have van- ished; the palms have had time to grow; and modern Cairo has doubtless absorbed all the building material that remained from the middle ages. Memphis is a place to read about, and think about, and remember ; but it is a disappointing thing to see. To miss it, however, would be to miss the first link in the whole chain of monumental history which unites the Egypt of 1 Tell : Arabic for Mound. Many of these mounds preserve the ancient nanies of the cities they entomb ; as Tell Basta (Bubastis) ; Kom Ombo (Ombos) ; etc. etc. Tell and Kdm are synonymous terms. SAKKARAH AND MEMPHIS. 75 antiquity with the world of to-day. Those melancholy mounds and that heron-haunted lake must be seen, if only that they may take their due place in the picture-gallery of one's memory. It had been a long day's work, but it came to an end at last; and as we trotted our donkeys back towards the river, a gorgeous sunset was crimsoning the palms and pigeon- towers of Bedreshayn. Everything seemed now to be at rest. A buffalo, contemplatively chewing the cud, lay close against the path and looked at us without moving. The children and pigeons were gone to bed. The pots had baked in the sun and been taken in long since. A tiny column of smoke went up here and there from amid the clustered huts ; MITEAHINEH. but there was scarcely a moving creature to be seen. Pres- ently we passed a tall, beautiful fellah woman standing grandly by the wayside, with her veil thrown back and falling in long folds to her feet. She smiled, put out her hand, and mur- mured "Bakhshish ! " Her lingers were covered with rings, and her arms with silver braclets. She begged because to beg is honourable, and customary, and a matter of inveterate habit ; but she evidently neither expected nor needed the bakhshish she condescended to ask for. A few moments more and the sunset has faded, the village is left behind, the last half-mile of plain is trotted over. And now — hungry, thirsty, dusty, worn out with new knowledge, new impressions, new ideas — we are once more at home and at rest. 76 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. CHAPTER V. BEDKESHAYN TO MINIEH. It is the rule of the Nile to hurry up the river as fast as possible, leaving the ruins to be seen as the boat comes back with the current ; but this, like many another canon, is by no means of universal application. The traveller who starts late in the season has, indeed, no other course open to him. He must press on with speed to the end of his journey, if he would get back again at low Nile without being irretrieva- bly stuck on a sand-bank till the next inundation floats him off again. But for those who desire not only to see the monuments, but to follow, however superficially, the course of Egyptian history as it is handed down through Egyptian art, it is above all things necessary to start early and to see many things by the way. For the history of ancient Egypt goes against the stream. The earliest monuments lie between Cairo and Siout, while the latest temples to the old gods are chiefly found in Nu- bia. Those travellers, therefore, who hurry blindly forward with or without a wind, now sailing, now tracking, now punting, passing this place by night, and that by day, and never resting till they have gained the farthest point of their journey, begin at the wrong end and see all their sights in precisely inverse order. Memphis and Sakkarah and the tombs of Beni Hassan should undoubtedly be visited on the way up. So should El Kab and Tell el Amarna, and the oldest parts of Karnak and Luxor. It it not necessary to delay long at any of these places. They may be seen cursorily on the way up, and be more carefully studied on the way down ; but they should be seen as they come, no matter at what trifling cost of present delay, and despite any amount of ignorant opposition. Eor in this way only is it possible to trace the progression and retrogression of the arts from the pyramid-builders to the Csesars ; or to understand at the time, and on the spot, in what order that vast and BEDRESHATN TO MINIEII. 77 august processiou of dynasties swept across the stage of l-jistory. Por ourselves, as will presently be seen, it happened that we could carry only a part of this programme into effect ; but that part, happily, was the most important. We never ceased to congratulate ourselves on having made acquaintance with the Pyramids of Ghizeh and Sakkarah before seeing the tombs of the kings at Thebes ; and I feel that it is impossible to overestimate the advantage of studying the sculptures of the tomb of Ti before one's taste is brought into contact with the debased style of Denderah and Esneh. We began the Great Book, in short, as it always should be begun — at its first page; thereby acquiring just that necessary insight without which many an after-chapter must have lost more than half its interest. If I seem to insist upon this point, it is because things contrary to custom need a certain amount of insistance, and are sure to be met by opposition. No dragoman, for exam- ple, could be made to understand the importance of historical sequence in a matter of this kind ; especially in the case of a contract trip. To him, Khufu, Rameses, and the Ptolemies are one. As for the monuments, they are all ancient Egyp- tian, and one is just as odd and unintelligible as another. He cannot quite understand why travellers come so far and spend so much money to look at them ; but he sets it down to a habit of harmless cui-iosity — by which he profits. The truth is, however, that the mere sight-seeing of the Nile demands some little reading and organising, if only to be enjoyed. We cannot all be profoundly learned ; but we can at least do our best to understand what we see — to get rid of obstacles — to put the right thing in the right place. For the land of Egypt is, as I have said, a Great Book — not very easy reading, perhaps, under any circumstances ; but at all events quite difficult enough already without the added puzzlement of being read backwards. And now our next point along the river, as well as our next link in the chain of early monuments, was Beni Hassan, with its famous rock-cut tombs of the Xllth dynasty ; and Beni Hassan was still more than a hundred and forty-five miles distant. We ought to have gone on again directly — to have weighed anchor and made a few miles that very evening on returning to the boats ; but we insisted on a second day in the same place. This, too, with the favourable wind still blowing. It was against all rule and precedent. 78 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. The captain shook his head, the dragoman remonstrated, in vain. " You will come to learn the value of a wind, when you have been longer on the Nile," said the latter, with that air of melancholy resignation which he always assumed when not allowed to have his own way. He was an indolent good- tempered man, spoke English fairly well, and was perfectly manageable ; but that air of resignation came to be aggravat- ing in time. The M. B.'s being of the same mind, however, we had our second day, and spent it at Memphis. We ought to have crossed over to Turra, and have seen the great quarries from which the casing-stones of the Pyramids came, and all the liner limestone with which the temples and palaces of Mem- phis were built. But the whole mountain-side seemed as if glowing at a white heat on the opposite side of the river, and Ave said we would put off Turra till our return. So we went our own way ; and Alfred shot pigeons ; and the Writer sketched Mitrahineh, and tlie palms, and the sacred lake of Mena; and the rest grubbed among the mounds for treasure, finding many curious fragments of glass and pottery, and part of an engraved bronze Apis ; and we had a green, tran- quil, lovely day, barren of incident, but very pleasant to remember. The good wind continued to blow all that night ; but fell at sunrise, precisely when we were about to start. The river now stretched away before us, smooth as glass, and there was nothing for it, said E-eis Hassan, but tracking. We had heard of tracking often enough since coming to Egypt, but without having any definite idea of the process. Coming on deck, however, before breakfast, we found nine of our poor fellows harnessed to a rope like barge-horses, towing the huge boat against the current. Seven of the M. B.'s crew, similarly harnessed, followed at a few yards' distance. The two ropes met and crossed and dipped into the water together. Already our last night's mooring-place was out of sight, and the Pj'ramid of Ouenephes stood up amid its lesser brethren on the edge of the desert, as if bidding us good-bye. But the sight of the trackers jarred, somehow, with the placid beauty of the picture. We got used to it, as one gets used to everything, in time ; but it looked like slaves' work, and shocked our English notions disagreeably. That morning, still tracking, we pass the Pyramids of Dahshur. A dilapidated brick pyramid standing in the BEDRESHAYN TO MINIEH. 79 midst of them looks like an aiguille of black rock thrusting itself up through the limestone bed of the desert. Palms line the bank and intercept the view ; but we catch flitting glimpses here and there, looking out especially for that dome-like pyramid which we observed the other day from Sakkarah. iSeen in the full sunlight, it looks larger and whiter, and more than ever like the roof of the old Palais de Justice far away in Paris. Thus the morning passes. We sit on deck writing letters ; reading; watching the sunny river-side pictures that glide by at a foot's pace and are so long in sight. Palm-groves, sand-banks, patches of fuzzy-headed dura^ and fields of some yellow-flowering herb, succeed each other, A boy plods along the bank, leading a camel. They go slowly ; but they soon leave us behind. A native boat meets us, floating down side-wise with the current. A girl comes to the water's edge with a great empty jar on her head, and waits to fill it till the trackers have gone by. The pigeon-towers of a mud- village peep above a clump of lebbek trees, a quarter of a mile inland. Here a solitary brown man, with only a felt skull-cap on his head and a slip of scanty tunic fastened about his loins, works a shaduf,^ stooping and rising, stoop- ing and rising, with the regularity of a pendulum. It is the same machine which we shall see by and by depicted in the tombs at Thebes ; and the man is so evidently an ancient Egyptian, that we find ourselves wondering how he escaped being mummified four or five thousand years ago. 1 Sorghum vulgare. 2 The Shaduf lias been so well described by the Rev. F. B. Zincke, that I cannot do better than quote him verbatim: — "Mechanically, the Sha- doof is an application of the lever. In no machine which the wit of man, aided by the accumulation of science, has since invented, is the result produced so great in proportion to the degree of power employed. The lever of the Shadoof is a long stout pole poised on a prop. The pole is at light angles to the river. A large lump of clay from the spot is apiiended to the inland end. To the river end is suspended a goat-skin bucket. This is the whole apparatus. The man who is working it stands on the edge of the river. Before him is a hole full of water fed from the passing stream. When working the machine, he takes hold of the cord by which the empty bucket is suspended, and bending down, by the mere weight of his shoulders dips it in the water. His effort to rise gives the bucket full of water an upward cant, ■which, with the aid of the equipoising lump of clay at the other end of the pole, lifts it to a trough into which, as it tilts on one side, it empties its contents. What he has done has raised the water six or seven feet above the level of the river. But if the river has subsided twelve or fourteen feet, it will require another Shadoof to be worked in the trough into which tlie water of the first has been brought. If the river has sunk still more, a third will be required before it can be lifted to the top of the bank, so as to enable it to flow off to the fields that require irrigation." — Egypt of the Pharaohs and the Khedive, p. 445 et aeq. 80 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. By and by, a little breeze springs up. The men drop the rope and jump on board — the big sail is set — the breeze freshens — and away we go again, as merrily as the day we THE SUADUF. left Cairo. Towards sunset we see a strange object, like a giant obelisk broken off half-way, standing up on the western bank against an orange-gold sky. This is the Pyramid of Meydum, commonly called the False Pyramid. It looks quite near the bank ; but this is an effect of powerful light and shadoAV, for it lies back at least four miles from the river. That night, having sailed on till past nine o'clock, we moor about a mile from Beni Suef, and learn with some surprise than a man must be despatched to the governor of the town for guards. Not that anything ever happened to anybody at Beni Suef, says Talhamy ; but that the place is supposed not to have a first-rate reputation. If Ave have guards, we at all events make the governor responsible for BEBRESHAYN TO MINIER. 81 our safety and the safety of our possessions. So tlie guards are sent for ; and being posted on the bank, snore loudly all night long, just outside our windows. Meanwhile the wind shifts round to the south, and next morning it blows full in our faces. The men, however, track up to Beni Suef to a point where the buildings come down to the water's edge and the towing-path ceases ; and there we lay-to for a while among a fleet of filthy native boats, close to the landing-place. The approach to Beni Suef is rather pretty. The Khedive has an Italian-looking villa here, which peeps up white and dazzling from the midst of a thickly -wooded park. The town lies back a little from the river. A few coffee-houses and a kind of promenade face the landing-place ; and a mosque built to the verge of the bank stands out picturesquely against the bend of the river. And now it is our object to turn that corner, so as to get into a better position for starting when the wind drops. The current here runs deep and strong, so that we have both wind and water dead against us. Half our men clamber round the corner like cats, carrying the rope with them; the rest keep the dahabeeyah oft" the bank with punting poles. The rope strains — a pole breaks — we struggle forward a few feet, and can get no farther. Then the men rest awhile ; try again ; and are again defeated. So the fight goes on. The promenade and the windows of the mosque become gradually crowded with lookers-on. Some three or four cloaked and bearded men have chairs brought, and sit gravely smoking their chibouques on the bank above, enjoying the entertainment. Meanwhile the water-carriers come and go, filling their goat-skins at the landing-place ; donkeys and camels are brought down to drink ; girls in dark blue gowns and coarse black veils come with huge water-jars laid side- wise upon their heads, and, having filled and replaced them upright, walk away with stately steps, as if each ponderous vessel were a crown. So the day passes. Driven back again and again, but still resolute, our sailors, by dint of sheer doggedness, get us round the bad corner at last. The Bagstones follows suit a little later ; and Ave both moor about a quarter of a mile above the town. Then follows a night of adventures. Again our guards sleep profoundly ; but the bad characters of Beni Suef are very wide awake. One gentleman, actuated no doubt by the friendliest motives, pays a midnight visit to the 82 ONJS THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. Bagstones ; but being detected, chased, and fired at, escapes by jumping overboard. Our turn comes about two hours later, when the Writer, happening to be awake, hears a man swim softly round the Philae. To strike a light and frighten everybody into sudden activity is the work of a moment. The whole boat is instantly in an uproar. Lanterns are lighted on deck ; a patrol of sailors is set ; Talhamy loads his gun ; and the thief slips away in the dark, like a fish. The guards, of course, slept sweetly through it all. Hon- est fellows ! They were paid a shilling a night to do it, and they had nothing on their minds. Having lodged a formal complaint next morning against the inhabitants of the town, we received a visit from a sal- low personage clad in a long black robe and a voluminous white turban. This was the Chief of the Guards. He smoked a great many pipes ; drank numerous cups of coffee ; listened to all we had to say ; looked wise ; and finally suggested that the number of our guards should be doubled. I ventured to object that if they slept unanimously, forty would not be of much more use than four. Whereupon he rose, drew himself to his full height, touched his beard, and said with a magnificent melodramatic air: — "If they sleep, they shall be bastinadoed till they die ! " And now our good luck seemed to have deserted us. Por three days and nights the adverse wind continued to blow with such force that the men could not even track against it. Moored under that dreary bank, we saw our ten days' start melting away, and could only make the best of our mis- fortunes. Happily the long island close by, and the banks on both sides of the river, were populous with sand-grouse ; so Alfred went out daily with his faithful George and his unerring gun, and brought home game in abundance, while we took long walks, sketched boats and camels, and chaffered with native women for silver torques and bracelets. These torques (in Arabic Tok) are tubular but massive, penannular, about as thick as one's little finger, and finished with a hook at one end and a twisted loop at the other. The girls would sometimes put their veils aside and make a show of bargain- ing ; but more frequently, after standing for a moment with great wondering black velvety eyes staring shyly into ours, they would take fright like a troop of startled deer, and vanish with shrill cries, half of laughter, half of terror. At Beni Suef we encountered our first sand-storm. It came down the river about noon, showing like a yellow fog on the BEDBESHAYN TO MlNlEn. 83 horizon, and rolling rapidly before the wind. It tore the river into angry waves, and blotted out the landscajDe as it came. The distant hills disappeared first ; then the palms beyond the island ; then the boats close by. Another second, and the air was full of sand. The whole surface of the plain seemed in motion. The banks rippled. The yellow dust poured down through every rift and cleft in hundreds of tiny cataracts. But it was a sight not to be looked upon with impunity. Hair, eyes mouth, ears, were instantly filled, and we were driven to take refuge in the saloon. Here, although every window and door had been shut before the storm came, the sand found its way in clouds. Books, papers, carpets, were covered with it ; and it settled again as fast as it was cleared away. This lasted just one hour, and was followed by a burst of heavy rain ; after which the sky cleared and we had a lovely afternoon. From this time forth, we saw no more rain in Egypt. At length, on the morning of the fourth day after our first appearance at Beni Suef and the seventh since leaving Cairo, the Avind veered round again to the north, and we once more got under way. It was delightful to see the big sail again towering up overhead, and to hear the swish of the water under the cabin windows ; but we were still one hundred and nine miles from Rhoda, and we knew that nothing but an extraordinary run of luck could possibly get us there by the twenty-third of the month, with time to see Beni Hassan on the way. Meanwhile, however, we make fair progress, moor- ing at sunset when the wind falls, about three miles north of Bibbeh. JSText day, by help of the same light breeze which again springs up a little after dawn, we go at a good pace between flat banks fringed here and there with palms, and studded with villages more or less picturesque. There is not much to see, and yet one never wants for amusement. Now we pass an island of sand-bank covered with snow-white paddy-birds, which rise tumultuously at our approach. Next comes Bibbeh perched high along the edge of the precipitous bank, its odd-looking Coptic Convent roofed all over with little mud domes, like a cluster of earth-bubbles. By and by we pass a deserted sugar-factory, with shattered windows and a huge, gaunt, blackened chimney, worthy of Birming- ham or Sheflield. And now we catch a glimpse of the rail- way, and hear the last scream of a departing engine. At night, we moor within sight of the factory chimneys and hydraulic tubes of Magagha, and next day get on nearly to Golosaneh, which is the last station-town before Minieh. 84 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. It is now only too clear that we must give up all thought of pushing on to Beni Hassan before the rest of the party shall come on board. We have reached the evening of our ninth day ; we are still forty-eight miles from Rhoda ; and another adverse wind might again delay us indefinitely on the way. All risks taken into account, we decide to put off our meeting till the twenty -fourth, and transfer the appointment to Minieh ; thus giving ourselves time to track all the way in case of need. So an Arabic telegram is concocted, and our fleetest runner starts off with it to Golosaneh before the office closes for the night. The breeze, however, does not fail, but comes back next morning with the dawn. Having passed Golosaneh, we come to a wide reach in the river, at which point we are honoured by a visit from a Moslem Santon of peculiar sanctity, named ''Holy Sheykh Cotton." Now Holy Sheykh Cotton, who is a well-fed, healthy-looking young man of about thirty, makes his first appearance swimming, with his garments twisted into a huge turban on the top of his head, and only his chin above water. Having made his toilet in the small boat, he presents himself on deck, and receives an enthusiastic wel- come. Reis Hassan hugs him — the pilot kisses him — the sailors come up one by one, bringing little tributes of tobacco and piastres which he ac- cepts with the air of a Pope receiv- ing Peter's Pence. All dripping as he is, and smiling like an affable Triton, he next proceeds to touch the tiller, the ropes, and the ends of the yards, " in order," says Talhamy, " to make them holy ; " and then, with some kind of final charm or muttered incantation, he plunges into the river again, and swims off to repeat the same per- formance on board the Bagstones. From this moment the prosperity of our voyage is assured. The captain goes about with a smile on his stern face, and the crew look as happy as if we had given them a guinea. For nothing can go wrong with a dahabeeyah that has been " made holy " by Holy Sheykh Cotton. We are certain now to have favourable winds — to pass the Cataract without ac- cident — to come back in health and safety, as we set out. 'HOLY SHEYKH COTTON. BEDRESHATN TO MINIEH. 85 But what, it may be asked, has Holy Sheykh Cotton done to make his blessing so efficacious ? He gets money in plenty ; he fasts no oftener than other Mohammedans ; he has two wives ; he never does a stroke of work ; and he looks the picture of sleek prosperity. Yet he is a saint of the first water ; and when he dies, miracles will be performed at his tomb, and his eldest son will succeed him in the business. We had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with a good many saints in the course of our Eastern travels ; but I do not know that we ever found they had done anything to merit the position. One very horrible old man named Sheykh Saleem has, it is true, been sitting on a dirt heap near Far- shut, unclothed, unwashed, unshaven, for the last half-century or more, never even lifting his hand to his mouth to feed himself ; but Sheykh Cotton had gone to no such pious lengths, and was not even dirty. We are by this time drawing towards a range of yellow cliffs that have long been visible on the horizon, and which figure in the maps as Gebel et Tayr. The Arabian desert has been closing up on the eastern bank for some time past, and now rolls on in undulating drifts to the water's edge. Yellow boulders crop out here and there above the mounded sand, which looks as if it might cover many a forgotten temple. Presently the clay bank is gone, and a low barrier of limestone rock, black and shiny next the water-line, has taken its place. And now, a long way ahead, where the river bends and the level cliffs lead on into the far distance, a little brown speck is pointed out as the Convent of the Pulley. Perched on the brink of the precipice, it looks no bigger than an ant-heap. We had heard much of the fine view to be seen from the platform on which this Convent is built, and it had originally entered into our programme as a place to be visited on the way. But Minieh has to be gained now at all costs ; so this project has to be abandoned with a sigh. And now the rocky barrier rises higher, quarried here and there in dazzling gaps of snow-white cuttings. And now the Convent shows clearer ; and the cliffs become loftier ; and the bend in the river is reached ; and a long perspective of flat-topped precipice stretches away into the dim distance. It is a day of saints and swimmers. As the dahabeeyah approaches, a brown poll is seen bobbing up and doAvn in the water a few hundred yards ahead. Then one, two, three bronze figures dash down a steep ravine below the Convent 86 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. walls, and plunge into the river — a shrill chorus of voices, growing momentarily more audible, is borne upon the wind — and in a few minutes the boat is beset by a shoal of mendi- cant monks vociferating with all tlieir might "Ana Christian ya Hawadji ! — Ana Christian ya Hawadji! '^ (I am a Christian, oh traveller !) As these are only Coptic monks and not Moslem santons, the sailors, half in rough play, half in earnest, drive them off with punting poles ; and only one shivering, streaming object, wrapped in a borrowed blanket, is allowed to come on board. He is a fine shapely man, aged about forty, with splendid eyes and teeth, a well-formed head, a skin the colour of a copper beech-leaf, and a face expressive of such ignorance, timidity, and half-savage watch- fulness as makes one's heart ache. And this is a Copt ; a descendant of the true Egyptian stock ; one of those whose remote ancestors exchanged the wor- ship of the old gods for Christianity under the rule of Theo- dosius some fifteen hundred years ago, and whose blood is supposed to be purer of Mohammedan intermixture than any in Egypt. Remembering these things, it is imjjossible to look at him without a feeling of profound interest. It may be only fancy, yet I think I see in him a different type to that of the Arab — a something, however slight, which recalls the sculp- tured figures in the tomb of Ti. But while we are thinking about his magnificent pedigree, our poor Copt's teeth are chattering piteously. So we give him a shilling or two for the sake of all he represents in the history of the world ; and with these, and the donation of an empty bottle, he swims away contented, crying again and again: — "Ketther-khdyrak Sittdt! Ketther-khdyrak keteer ! " (" Thank you, ladies ! thank you much ! ") And now the Convent with its clustered domes is passed and left behind. The rock here is of the same rich tawny hue as at Turra, and the horizontal strata of which it is com- posed have evidently been deposited by water. That the Nile must at some remote time have flowed here in an immensely higher level seems also probable ; for the whole face of the range is honeycombed and water-worn for miles in succession. Seeing how these fantastic forms — arched, and clustered, and pendent — resemble the recessed orna- mentation of Saracenic buildings, I could not help wondering whether some early Arab architect might not once upon a time have taken a hint from some such rocks as these. Thus the day wanes, and the level cliffs keep with us all BEDRESHAYN TO MINIEH. 87 the way — now breaking into little lateral valleys and culs- de-sac in which nestle clusters of tiny huts and green patches of lupin; now plunging sheer down into the river; now receding inland and leaving space for a belt of cultivated soil and a fringe of feathery palms. By and by comes the sun- set, when every cast shadow in the recesses of the cliffs turns to pure violet ; and the face of the rock glows with a ruddier gold ; and the palms on the Avestern bank stand up in solid bronze against a crimson horizon. Then the sun dips, and instantly the whole range of cliffs turns to a dead, greenish grey, while the sky above and behind them is as suddenly suffused with pink. When this effect has lasted for some- thing like eight minutes, a vast arch of deep blue shade, about as large in diameter as a rainbow, creeps slowly up the eastern horizon, and remains distinctly visible as long as the pink flush against which it is defined yet lingers in the sky. Finally the flush fades out ; the blue becomes uniform ; the stars begin to show ; and only a broad glow in the west marks which way the sun went down. About a quarter of an hour later comes the after-glow, when for a few minutes the sky is filled with a soft, magical light, and the twilight gloom lies warm upon the landscape. When this goes, it is night ; but still one long beam of light streams up in the tracks of the sun, and remains visible for more than two hours after the darkness has closed in. Such is the sunset we see this evening as we approach Minieh ; and siich is the sunset we are destined to see with scarcely a shade of difference at the same hour and under precisely the same conditions for many a month to come. It is very beautiful, very tranquil, full of wonderful light and most subtle gradations of tone, and attended by certain phenomena of which I shall have more to say presently ; but it lacks the variety and gorgeousness of our northern skies. Nor, given the dry atmosphere of Egypt, can it be otherwise. Those who go up the Nile expecting, as I did, to see magni- ficent Turneresque pageants of purple, and flame-colour, and gold, will be disappointed as I was. For your Turneresque pageant cannot be achieved without such accessories of cloud and vapour as in Nubia are wholly unknown, and in Egypt are of the rarest occurrence. Once, and only once, in the course of an unusually protracted sojourn on the river, had we the good fortune to witness a grand display of the kind ; and then we had been nearly three months in the daha- beeyah. 88 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. Meanwhile, however, we never weary of these stainless skies, but find in them, evening after evening, fresh depths of beaiity and repose. As for that strange transfer of colour from the mountains to the sky, we had repeatedly observed it while travelling in the Dolomites the year before, and had always found it take place, as now, at the moment of the sun's first disappearance. But what of this mighty after- shadow, climbing half the heavens and bringing night with it ? Can it be the rising Shadow of the World projected on the one horizon as the sun sinks on the other ? I leave the problem for wiser travellers to solve. We have not science enough amongst us to account for it. That same evening, just as the twilight came on, we saw another wonder — the new moon on the first night of her first quarter ; a perfect orb, dusky, distinct, and outlined all round with a thread of light no thicker than a hair. Noth- ing could be more brilliant than this tiny rim of flashing silver; while every detail of the softly glowing globe within its compass was clearly visible. Tycho with its vast crater showed like a volcano on a raised map; and near the edge of the moon's surface, where the light and shadow met, keen sparkles of mountain-summits catching the light and relieved against the dusk, were to be seen by the naked eye. Two or three evenings later, however, when the silver ring was changed to a broad crescent, the unilluminated part was as it were extinguished, and could no longer be discerned even by help of a glass. The wind having failed as usual at sunset, the crew set to work with a will and punted the rest of the way, so bringing us to Minieh about nine that night. Next morning we found ourselves moored close under the Khedive's summer palace — so close that one could have tossed a pebble against the lattice windows of his Highness's hareem. A fat gate-keeper sat outside in the sun, smoking his morning chibouque and gossiping with the passers-by. A narrow promenade scantily planted with sycamore figs ran between the palace and the river. A steamer or two, and a crowd of native boats, lay moored under the bank ; and yonder, at the farther end of the promenade, a minaret and a cluster of whitewashed houses showed which way one must turn in going to the town. It chanced to be market-day ; so we saw Minieh under its best aspect, than which nothing could well be more squalid, dreary, and depressing. It was like a town dropped unex- StiBAH Cawe Sellers -Bedreshaym IlEDRESHAYN TO MINIEH. 89 pectedly into the midst of a ploughed field ; the streets being mere trodden lanes of mud dust, and the houses a succession of windowless mud prisons with their backs to the thorough- fare. The Bazaar, which consists of two or three lanes a little wider than the rest, is roofed over here and there with rotting palm-rafters and bits of tattered matting ; while the market is held in a space of waste ground outside the town. The former, with its little cupboard-like shops in which the merchants sit cross-legged like shabby old idols in shabby old shrines — the ill-furnished shelves — the familiar Man- chester goods — the gaudy native stuffs — tlie old red saddles and faded rugs hanging up for sale — the smart Greek stores where Bass's ale, claret, cura^oa, Cyprus, Vermouth, cheese, pickles, sardines, Worcester sauce, blacking, biscuits, pre- served meats, candles, cigars, matches, sugar, salt, station- ery, fireworks, jams, and patent medicines can all be bought at one fell swoop — the native cook's shop exhaling savoury perfumes of Kebabs and lentil soup, and presided over by an Abyssinian Soyer blacker than the blackest historical per- sonage ever was painted — the surging, elbowing, clamorous crowd — the donkeys, the camels, the street-cries, the chatter, the dust, the flies, the fleas, and the dogs, all put us in mind of the poorer quarters of Cairo. In the market, it is even worse. Here are hundreds of country folk sitting on the ground behind their baskets of fruits and vegetables. Some have eggs, butter, and buffalo-cream for sale, while others sell sugar-canes, limes, cabbages, tobacco, barley, dried lentils, split beans, maize, wheat, and dura. The women go to and fro with bouquets of live poultry. The chickens scream ; the sellers rave ; the buyers bargain at the top of their voices ; the dust flies in clouds ; the sun pours down floods of light and heat ; you can scarcely hear yourself speak ; and the crowd is as dense as that other crowd which at this very moment, on this very Christmas Eve, is circulating among the alleys of Leadenhall Market. The things were very cheap. A hundred eggs cost about fourteen-pence in English money ; chickens sold for five- pence each ; pigeons from twopence to twopence-halfpenny ; and fine live geese for two shillings a head. The turkeys, however, which were large and excellent, were priced as high as three-and-sixpence ; being about half as much as one pays in Middle and Tipper Egypt for a lamb. A good sheep may be bought for sixteen shillings or a pound. The M. B.'s, who had no dragoman and did their own marketing, were 90 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. very busy here, laying in store of fresh provision, bargaining fluently in Arabic, and escorted by a bodyguard of sailors. A solitary dom palm, the northernmost of its race and the first specimen one meets with on the Mle, grows in a garden adjoining this market-place : but we could scarcely see it for the blinding dust. Now, a dom palm is just the sort of tree that De Wint should have painted — odd, angular, with long forked stems, each of which terminates in a shock-headed crown of stiff finger-like fronds shading heavy clusters of big shiny nuts about the size of Jerusalein artichokes. It is, I suppose, the only nut in the world of which one throws away the kernel and eats the shell ; but the kernel is as hard as marble, while the shell is fibrous, and tasts like stale ginger- bread. The dom palm must bifurcate, for bifurcation is the law of its being ; but I could never discover whether there was any fixed limit to the number of stems into which it might subdivide. At the same time, I do not remember to have seen any with less than two heads or more than six. Coming back through the town, we were accosted by a withered one-eyed hag like a reanimated mummy, who offered to tell us our fortunes. Before her lay a dirty rag of handkerchief full of shells, pebbles, and chips of broken glass and pottery. Squatting toad-like under a sunny bit of wall, the lower part of her face closely veiled, her skinny arms covered with blue and green glass bracelets and her fingers with misshapen silver rings, she hung over these treasures ; shook, mixed, and interrogated them with all the fervour of divination ; and delivered a string of the prophe- cies usually forthcoming on these occasions. " You have a friend far away, and your friend is thinking of you. There is good fortune in store for you ; and money coming to you ; and pleasant news on the way. You will soon receive letters in which there will be something to vex you, but more to make you glad. Within thirty days you will unexpectedly meet one whom you dearly love," etc. etc. etc. It was just the old familiar story retold in Arabic, without even such variations as might have been expected from the lips of an old fellaha born and bred in a provincial town of Middle Egypt. It may be that ophthalmia especially prevailed in this part of the country, or that being brought unexpectedly into the midst of a large crowd, one observed the people more narrowly, but I certainly never saw so many one-eyed human BEDEESRAYN TO MINIEH. 91 beings as that morning at Minieh. There must have been present in the streets and market-place from ten to twelve thousand natives of all ages, and I believe it is no exaggera- tion to say that at least every twentieth person, down to little toddling children of three and four years of age, was blind of an eye. Not being a particularly well-favoured race, this defect added the last touch of repulsiveness to faces already sullen, ignorant, and unfriendly. A more unprepos- sessing population I would never wish to see — the men half stealthy, half insolent ; the women bold and fierce ; the children filthy, sickly, stunted, and stolid. Nothing in provincial Egypt is so painful to witness as the neglected condition of very young children. Those belonging to even the better class are for the most part shabbily clothed and of more than doubtful cleanliness ; while the offspring of the very poor are simply encrusted with dirt and sores, and swarming with vermin. It is at first hard to believe that the parents of these unfortunate babies err, not from cruelty, but through sheer ignorance and superstition. Yet so it is ; and the time when these people can be brought to compre- hend the most elementary principles of sanitary reform is yet far distant. To wash your children is injurious to health ; therefore the mothers suffer them to fall into a state of per- sonal uncleanliness which is alone enough to engender dis- ease. To brush away the flies that beset their eyes is impious ; hence ophthalmia and various kinds of blindness. I have seen infants lying in their mothers' arms with six or eight flies in each eye. I have seen the little helpless hands put down reprovingly, if they approached the seat of annoy- ance. I have seen children of four and live years old with the surface of one or both eyes eaten awaj^ ; and others with a large fleshy lump growing out where the pupil had been destroyed. Taking these things into account, the wonder is, after all, not that three children should die in Egypt out of every five — not that each twentieth person in certain dis- tricts should be blind, or partially blind ; but that so many as forty per cent of the whole infant population should actu- ally live to grow up, and that ninety-five per cent should enjoy the blessing of sight. For my own part, I had not been many weeks on the Nile before I began systematically to avoid going about the native towns whenever it was ])racticable to do so. That I may so have lost an opportunity of now and then seeing more of the street-life of the people is very probable ; but such outside glimpses are of little real 92 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. value, and I at all events escaped the sight of much poverty, sickness, and squalor. The condition of the inhabitants is not worse, perhaps, in an Egyptian Beled ^ than in many an Irish village ; but the condition of the children is so distress- ing that one would willingly go any number of miles out of the way rather than witness their suffering without the power to alleviate it.^ If the population in and about Minieli are personally unattractive, their appearance at all events matches their reputation, which is as bad as that of their neighbours. Of MARKET BOAT MINIEH. the manners and customs of Beni Suef we had already some experience ; while public opinion charges Minieh, Rhoda, -and most of the towns and villages north of Siut, with the like marauding propensities. As for the villages at the foot of Beni Hassan, they have been mere dens of thieves for many generations ; and though razed to the ground some years ago 1 Beled — village. 2 Miss Whately, whose evidence on this subject is peenliarly valuable, states tliat the majority of native children die off at, ov under, two years of age {Amonci the Huts, p. 29); while M. About, who enjoyed unusual oppor- tunities of inquiring into facts connected with the population and resources of the country, says that the nation loses three children out of every five. " L'ignorance publique, I'oubli des premiers elements d'hygiene, la mau- vaise alimentation, I'absence presque totale des soins medicaux, tarissent la nation dans sa source. Un peuple qui perd regulierement trois enfants sur cinq ue saurait croitre sans miracle." — Le Fellah, p. 165. BEDRESHAYN TO MINIEH. 93 by way of punishment, are now rebuilt, and in as bad odour as ever. It is necessary, therefore, in all this part of the river, not only to hire guards at night, but, when the boat is moored, to keep a sharp look-out against thieves by day. In Upper Egypt it is very different. There the natives are good-looking, good-natured, gentle, and kindly ; and though clever enough at manufacturing and selling modern antiqui- ties, are not otherwise dishonest. That same evening — (it was Christmas Eve) — nearly two hours earlier than their train was supposed to be due, the rest of our party arrived at Minieh. 94 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. CHAPTER VI. MINIEH TO SIUT. It is Christinas Day. The M. B.'s are coining to dinner ; the cooks are up to their eyes in entrees ; tlie crew are treated to a sheep in lionour of the occasion ; the new-comers are unpacking; and we are all gradually settling down into our respective places. Now, the new-comers consist of four persons : — a Painter, a Happy Couple, and a maid. The Painter has already been up the Nile three times, and brings a fund of experience into the council. He knows all about sandbanks, and winds, and mooring-places ; is acquainted with most of the native governors and consuls along the river ; and is great on the subject of wliat to eat, drink, and avoid. The stern-cabin is given to him for a studio, and contains frames, canvases, drawing-paper, and easels enough to start a provincial school of art. He is going to paint a big picture rt Aboo-Simbel. The Happy Couple, it is unne- cessary to say, are on their wedding tour. In point of fact, they have not yet been married a month. The bridegroom is what the world chooses to call an idle man ; that is to say, he has scholarship, delicate health, and leisure. The bride, for convenience, shall be called the Little Lady. Of people who are struggling through that helpless phase of human life called the honeymoon, it is not fair to say more than that they are both young enough to make the situation interesting. Meanwhile the deck must be cleared of the new luggage that has come on board, and the day passes in a confusion of unpacking, arranging, and putting away. Such running to and fro as there is down below ; such turning-out of boxes and knocking-up of temporary shelves ; such talking, and laughing, and hammering! Nor is the bustle confined to downstairs. Talhamy and the waiters are just as busy above, adorning the upper deck with palm-branches and hanging the boat all round with rows of coloured lanterns. One can hardly believe, however, that it is Christmas Day — that there are fires blazing at home in every room ; that the MINIEH TO SIUT. 95 chiirch-tield, perhaps, is white with snow ; and that the familiar bells are ringing merrily across the frosty air. Here at midday it is already too hot on deck without the awning, and when we moor towards sunset near a river-side village in a grove of palms, the cooler air of evening is delicious. There is novelty in even such a commonplace matter as dining out, on the Nile. You go and return in your felucca, as if it were a carriage ; and your entertainers summon you by firing a dinner-gun, instead of sounding a gong. Wise people who respect the feelings of their cooks fire a dressing- gun as well ; for watches soon differ in a hopeless way for want of the church-clock to set them by, and it is always possible that host and guest may be an hour or two apart in their reckoning. The customary guns having therefore been fired, and the party assembled, we sat down to one of cook Bedawee's prodigious banquets. Not, however, till the plum-pudding, blazing demoniacally, appeared upon the scene, did any of us succeed in believing that it was really Christmas Day. Nothing could be prettier or gayer than the spectacle that awaited us when we rose from table. A hundred and fifty coloured lanterns outlined the boat from end to end, sparkled up the masts, and cast broken reflections in the moving cur- rent. The upper-deck, hung with flags and partly closed in with awnings, looked like a bower of palms. The stars and the crescent moon shone overhead. Dim outlines of trees and headlands, and a vague perspective of gleaming river, were visible in the distance ; while a light gleamed now and then in the direction of the village, or a dusky figure flitted along the bank. Meanwhile, there was a sound of revelry by night; for our sailors had invited the Bagstones' crew to unlimited coffee and tobacco, and had quite a large party on the lower deck. They drammed, they sang, they danced, they dressed up, improvised a comic scene, and kept their audience in a roar. Eeis Hassan did the honours. George, Talhamy, and the maids sat apart at the second table and sipped their coffee genteelly. We looked on and applauded. At ten o'clock a pan of magnesium powder was burned, and our Fantasia ended with a blaze of light, like a pantomime. In Egypt, by the way, any entertainment which is en- livened by music, dancing, or fireworks is called a Fan- tas'a. 96 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. And DOW, sometimes sailing, sometimes tracking, some- times punting, we go on day by day, making what speed we can. Things do not, of course, always fall out exactly as one would have them. The wind too often fails when we most need it, and gets up when there is something to be seen on shore. Thus, after a whole morning of tracking, we reach Beni Hassan at the moment when a good breeze has suddenly mied our sails for the first time in forty -eight hours ; and so, yielding to counsels which we afterwards deplored, we pass on with many a longing look at the terraced doorways pierced along the cliffs. At Rhoda, in the same way, we touch for only a few minutes to post and inquire for letters, and put off till our return the inland excursion to Dayr el Nakhl, where is to be seen the famous painting of the Colos- sus on the Sledge. But sights deferred are fated sometimes to remain unseen, as we found by and by to our exceeding loss and regret. Meanwhile, the skies are always cloudless, the days warm, the evenings exquisite. We of course live very much in the open air. When there is no wind, we land and take long walks by the river-side. When on board, we sketch, write letters, read Champollion, Bunsen, and Sir Gardner Wilkin- son ; and work hard at Egyptian dynasties. The sparrows and water-wagtails perch familiarly on the awnings and hop about the deck ; the cocks and hens chatter, the geese cackle, the turkeys gobble in their coops close by ; and our sacriticial sheep, leading a solitary life in the felucca, comes baaing in the rear. Sometimes we have as many as a hundred chickens on board (to say nothing of pigeons and rabbits) and two or even three sheep in the felucca. The poultry yard is railed off, however, at the extreme end of the stern, so that the creatures are well away from the drawing-room ; and Avhen we moor at a suitable place, they are let out for a few hours to peck about the banks and enjoy their liberty. L. and the Little Lady feed these hapless prisoners with breakfast- scraps every morning, to the profound amusement of the steersman, who, unable to conceive any other motive, ima- gines they are fatting them for table. Such is our Noah's Ark life, pleasant, peaceful, and patri- archal. Even on days when there is little to see and nothing to do, it is never dull. Trifling incidents which have for us the excitement of novelty ai-e continually occurring. Other dahabeeyahs, their flags and occupants, are a constant source of interest. Meeting at mooring-places for the night, we now MINIEH TO SIUT. 97 and then exchange visits. Passing each other by day, we dip ensigns, fire sahites, and punctiliously observe the laws of maritime etiquette. Sometimes a Cook's Excursion-steamer hurries by, crowded with tourists ; or a government tug tow- ing three or four great barges closely packed with wretched- looking, half-naked fellaheen bound for forced labor on some new railway or canal. Occasionally we pass a dahabeeyah sticking fast upon a sandbank ; and sometimes we stick on one ourselves. Then the men fly to their punting poles, or jump into the river like water-dogs, and, grunting in melan- choly cadence, shove the boat of£ with their shoulders. The birds, too, are new, and we are always looking out for them. Perhaps we see a top-heavy pelican balancing his huge yellow bill over the edge of the stream, and fishing for his dinner — or a flight of wild geese trailing across tlie sky towards sunset — or a select society of vultures perched all in a row upon a ledge of rock, and solemn as the bench of bishops. Then there are the herons who stand on one leg and doze in the sun ; the strutting hoopoes with their legend- ary top-knots ; the blue and green bee-eaters hovering over the uncut dura. The pied kingfisher, black and white like a magpie, sits fearlessly under the bank and never stirs, though the tow-rope swings close above his head and the dahabeeyah glides within a few feet of the shore. The paddy-birds whiten the sandbanks by hundreds, and rise in a cloud at our approach. The sacred hawk, circling overhead, utters the same sweet, piercing, melancholy note that the Pharaohs listened to of old. The scenery is for the most part of the ordinary Nile pat- tern ; and for many a mile we see the same things over and over again : — the level bank shelving down steeply to the river; the strip of cultivated soil, green with maize or tawny with dura ; the frequent mud-village and palm-grove ; the deserted sugar-factory with its ungainly chimney and shat- tered windows ; the water-wheel slowly revolving with its necklace of pots ; the shaduf worked by two brown athletes ; the file of laden camels ; the desert, all sand-hills and sand- plains, with its background of mountains ; the long reach, and the gleaming sail ahead. Sometimes, however, as at Kom. Ahmar, we skirt the ancient brick mounds of some forgotten city, with fragments of arched foundations, and even of walls and doorways, reaching down to the water's edge ; or, sailing close under ranges of huge perpendicular cliffs, as at Gebel Abufayda, startle the cormorants from their haunts, and peer 98 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP TUE NILE. as we pass into the dim recesses of many a rock-cut tomb excavated just above the level of the inundation. This Gebel Abufayda has a bad name for sudden winds ; especially at the beginning and end of the range, where the Nile bends abruptly and the valley opens out at right angles GKBEL ABUFAYDA. to the river. It is line to see lleis Hassan, as we approach one of the worst of these bad bits — a point where two steep ravines divided by a bold headland command the passage like a pair of grim cannon, and rake it with blasts from the North- Eastern desert. Here tlie current, flowing deep and strong, is met by the wind and runs high in crested waves. Our little captain, kicking off his shoes, himself springs up the rigging and there stands silent and watchful. The sailors, ready to shift our mainsail at the word of command, cling some to the shoghool ^ and some to the end of the yard ; the boat tears on before the wind ; the great bluff looms u]) darker and nearer. Then comes a breathless moment. Then a sharp, sudden word from the little man in the main rigging; a yell and a whoop from the sailors ; a slow, heavy lurch of the flapping sail; and the corner is turned in safety. The cliffs here are very fine ; much loftier and less uniform than at Gebel et Tayr ; rent into strange forms, as of sphinxes, cheesewrings, towers, and bastions ; honeycombed with long ranges of rock-cut tombs ; and undermined by water-washed 1 Arabic — shor/hool : a rope by which the mainsail is regulated. MINIEH TO SIUT. 99 caverns in which lurk a few lingering crocodiles. If at Gebel et Tayr the rock is worn into semblances of Arabesque orna- mentation, here it looks as if inscribed all over with myste- rious records in characters not unlike the Hebrew. Records they are, too, of prehistoric days — chronicles of his own deeds carved by the great God Nile himself, the Hapimu of ancient time — but the language in which they are written has never been spoken by man. As for the rock-cut tombs of Gebel Abufayda, they must number many hundreds. For nearly twelve miles, the range runs parallel to the river, and throughout that distance the face of the cliffs is pierced with innumerable doorways. Some are small and square, twenty or thirty together, like rows of port-holes. Others are isolated. Some are cut so high up that they must have been approached from above ; others again come close upon the level of the river. Some of the doorways are faced to represent jambs and architraves ; some, excavated laterally, appear to consist of a series of chambers, and are lit from without by small windows cut in the rock. One is approached by a flight of rough steps lead- ing up from the water's edge ; and another, hewn high in the face of the cliff, just within the mouth of a little ravine, shows a simple but imposing facade supported by four de- tached pillars. No modern travellers seem to visit these tombs ; while those of the old school, as Wilkinson, Cham- pollion, etc., dismiss them with a few observations. Yet, with the single exception of the mountains behind Thebes, there is not, I believe, any one spot in Egypt which contains such a multitude of sepulchral excavations. Many look, indeed, as if they might belong to the same interesting and early epoch as those of Beni Hassan. I may here mention that about half-way, or rather less than half-way, along the whole length of the range, I observed two large hieroglyphed stelae incised upon the face of a projecting mass of boldly rounded cliff at a height of perliaps a hundred and fifty feet above the river. These stelae, apparently royal ovals, and sculptured as usual side by side, may have meas- ured from twelve to fifteen feet in height ; but in the absence of any near object by which to scale them, I could form but a rough guess as to their actual dimensions. The boat was just then going so fast, that to sketch or take notes of the hieroglyphs was impossible. Before I could adjust my glass they were already in the rear ; and by the time I had called the rest of the party together, they were no longer distin- guishable. 100 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. Coming back several montlis later, I looked for them again, but without success ; for the intense midday sun was then pouring full upon the rocks, to the absolute obliteration of everything like shallow detail. While watching vainly, however, for the stelae, I was compensated by the unexpected sight of a colossal bas-relief high up on the northward face of a cliif standing, so to say, at the corner of one of those little recesses or culs-de-sac which here and there break the uni- formity of the range. The sculptural relief of this large subject was apparently very low ; but, owing to the angle at which it met the light, one figure, wliich could not have measured less than eighteen or twenty feet in height, was distinctly visible. I immediately drew L.'s attention to the spot ; and she not only discerned the figure without the help of a glass, but believed like myself that she could see traces of a second. As neither the stelae nor the bas-relief would seem to have been observed by previous travellers, I may add for the guidance of others that the round and tower-like rock upon which the former are sculptured lies about a mile to the southward of the Sheykh's tomb and palm-tree (a strikingly picturesque bit which no one can fail to notice), and a little beyond some very large excavations near the water's edge ; Avhile the bas-relief is to be found at a short distance below the Coptic convent and cemetery. Having for nearly twelve miles skirted the base of Gebel Abufayda — by far the finest panoramic stretch of rock scenery on this side of the second cataract — the ISTile takes an abrupt bend to the eastward, and thence flows through many miles of cultivated flat. On coming to this sudden elbow, the wind which had hitherto been carrying us along at a pace but little inferior to that of a steamer, now struck us full on the beam, and drove the boat to shore with such violence that all the steersman could do was just to run the Philae's nose into the bank, and steer clear of some ten or twelve native cangias that had been driven in before us. The Bag- stones rushed in next ; and presently a large iron-built dahabeeyah, having come gallantly along under the cliffs with all sail set, was seen to make a vain struggle at the fatal cor- ner, and then plunge headlong at the bank, like King Agib's ship upon the Loadstone Mountain. Imprisoned here all the afternoon, we exchanged visits of condolence with our neighbours in misfortune ; had our ears nearly cut to pieces by the driving sand ; and failed signally MINIEH TO SIUT. 101 in the endeavour to take a walk on shore. Still the fury of the storm went on increasing. The wind howled ; the river raced in turbid waves ; the sand drove in clouds ; and the face of the sky was darkened as if by a London fog. Mean- while, one boat after another was hurled to shore, and before night-fall we numbered a fleet of some twenty odd craft, native and foreign. It took the united strength of both crews all next day to warp the Fhilaa and Bagstones across the river by means of a rope and an anchor ; an expedient that deserves special men- tion, not for its amazing novelty or ingenuity, but because our men declared it to be inpracticable. Their fathers, they said, had never done it. Their fathers' fathers had never done it. Therefore it was impossible. Being impossible, why should they attempt it ? They did attempt it, however, and, much to their astonish- ment, they succeeded. It was, I think, towards the afternoon of this second day, when strolling by the margin of the river, that we first made the acquaintance of tliat renowned insect, the Egyptian beetle. He was a very tine specimen of his race, nearly half an inch long in the back, as black and shiny as a scarab cut in jet, and busily engaged in the preparation of a large rissole of mud, which he presently began laboriously propelling up the bank. We stood and watched him for some time, half in admiration, half in pity. His rissole was at least four times bigger than himself, and to roll it up that steep incline to a point beyond the level of next summer's inundation was a labour of Hercules for so small a creature. One longed to play tlie part of the Deus ex muchina, and carry it up the bank for him ; but that would have been a denouement beyond his power of appreciation. We all know the old story of how this beetle lays its eggs by the river's brink ; encloses them in a ball of moist clay ; rolls the ball to a safe place on the edge of the desert ; buries it in the sand ; and when his time comes, dies content, having provided for the safety of his successors. Hence his mythic fame ; hence all the quaint symbolism that by degrees attached itself to his little person, and ended by investing him with a special sacredness which has often been mistaken for actual worship. Standing by thus, watching the move- ments of the creature, its untiring energy, its extraordinary muscular strength, its business-like devotion to the matter in hand, one sees how subtle alesson the old Egyptian moralists 102 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. had presented to them for contemplation, and with how fine a combination of wisdom and poetry they regarded this little black scarab not only as an emblem of the creative and pre- serving power, but perhaps also of the immortality of the soul. As a type, no insect has ever had so much greatness thrust upon him. He became a hieroglyph, and stood for a word signifying botli To Be and To Transform. His portrait was multiplied a million-fold ; sculptured over the portals of temples ; fitted to the shoulders of a God ; engraved on gems ; moulded in pottery ; painted on sarcophagi and the walls of tombs ; worn by the living and buried with the dead. Every traveller on the Nile brings away a handful of the smaller scarabs, genuine or otherwise. Some may not par- ticularly care to possess them ; yet none can help buying them, if only because other people do so, or to get rid of a troublesome dealer, or to give to friends at home. I doubt, however, if even the most enthusiastic scarab-fanciers really feel in all its force the symbolism attaching to these little gems, or appreciate the exquisite naturalness of their execu- tion, till they have seen the living beetle at its work. In Nubia, where the strip of cultivable land is generally but a few feet in breadth, the scarab's task is comparatively light, and the breed multiplies freely. But in Eg3^pt he has often a wide plain to traverse with his burden, and is there- fore scarce in proportion to the difficulty with which he main- tains the struggle for existence. The scarab race in Egypt would seem indeed to have diminished very considerably since the days of the Pharaohs, and the time is not perhaps far distant when the naturalist will look in vain for speci- mens on this side of the first cataract. As far as my own experience goes, I can only say that I saw scores of these beetles during the Nubian part of the journey ; but that to the best of my recollection this was the only occasion upon which I observed one iu Egypt. The Nile makes four or five more great bends between Gebel Abufayda and Siut; passing Manfalut by the way, which town lies some distance back from the shore. All things taken into consideration — the fitful wind that came and went continually ; the tremendous zigzags of the river ; the dead calm which befell us when only eight miles from Siut ; and the long day of tracking that followed, Avith the town in sight the whole way — we thought ourselves fortunate to get in by the evening of the third day after the storm. These last eight miles are, however, for open, placid beauty, as lovely in MINIEH TO SIUT. 103 their way as anything north of Thebes. The valley is here very Avide and fertile ; the town, with its multitudinous min- arets, appears first on one side and then on the other, accord- ing to the windings of the river ; the distant pinky mountains look almost as transparent as the air or the sunshine ; while the banks unfold an endless succession of charming little subjects, every one of which looks as if it asked to be sketched as we pass. A shaduf and a clump of palms — a triad of shaggy black buffaloes, up to their shoulders in the river, and dozing as they stand — a wide-spreading sycamore fig, in the shade of which lie a man and camel asleep — a fallen palm uprooted by the last inundation, with its fibrous KIVKK-SIUE TOJIBS NEAR SIUT. roots yet clinging to the bank and its crest in the water — a group of sheykhs' tombs with glistening white cupolas relieved against a background of dark foliage — an old dis- used water-wheel lying up sidewise against the bank like a huge teetotum, and garlanded with wild tendrils of a gourd — such are a few out of many bits by the way, Avhich, if they offer nothing very new, at all events present the old material under fresh aspects, and in combination Avith a distance of such ethereal light and shade, and such opalescent tenderness of tone, that it looks more like an air-drawn mirage than a piece of the Avorld we live in. Like a mirage, too, that fairy town of Siut seemed ahvays to hover at the same unattainable distance, and after hours of tracking to be no nearer than at first. Sometimes, indeed, following the long reaches of the river, we appeared to be leaving it behind ; and although, as I have said, we had eight 104 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. miles of hard worK to get to it, I doubt whether it was ever more than three miles distant as the bird flies. It was late in the afternoon, however, when we turned the last corner; and the sun was already setting when the boat reached the village of Hamra, which is the mooring-place for Siut — Siut itself, with clustered cupolas and arrowy minarets, lying back in the plain, at the foot of a great mountain pierced with tombs. Now, it was in the bond that our crew were to be allowed twenty-four hours for making and baking bread at Siut, Esneh, and Assuan. No sooner, therefore, was the dahabee- yah moored than Reis Hassan and the steersman started away at full speed on two little donkeys, to buy flour; while Mehemet Ali, one of our most active and intelligent sailors, rushed off to hire the oven. For here, as at Esneh and Assuan, there are large flour-stores and public bakehouses for the use of sailors on the river, who make and bake their bread in large lots ; cut it into slices ; dry it in the sun ; and preserve it in the form of rusks for months together. Thus prepared, it takes the place of ship-biscuit ; and it is so far superior to ship-biscuit that it neither moulds nor breeds the maggot, but remains good and wholesome to the last crumb. Siut, frequently written Asyoot, is the capital of Middle Egypt, and has the best bazaars of any town up the Nile. Its red and black pottery is famous throughout the country ; and its pipe-bowls (supposed to be the best in the East), being largely exported to Cairo, find their way not only to all parts of the Levant, but to every Algerine and Japanese shop in London and Paris. No lover of peasant pottery will yet have forgotten the Egyptian stalls in the Ceramic Gal- lery of the International Exhibition of 1871. All those quaint red vases and lustrous black tazzas, all those exqui- site little coffee services, those crocodile paper-weights, those barrel-shaped and bird-shaped bottles, came from Siut. There is a whole street of such pottery here in the toAvn. Your dahabeeyah is scarcely made fast before a dealer comes on board and ranges his brittle wares along the deck. Others display their goods upon the bank. But the best things are only to be had in the bazaars ; and not even in Cairo is it possible to find Siut ware so choice in color, form, and design as that which the two or three best dealers bring out, wrapped in soft paper, when a European customer ap- pears in the market. Besides the street of pottery, there is a street of red MINIEH TO SIUT. 105 106 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. shoes ; another of native and foreign stuffs ; and the usual ran of saddlers' shops, kebab-stalls, and Greek stores for the sale of everything in heaven or earth from third-rate cognac to patent wax vestas. The houses are of plastered mud or sun-dried bricks, as at Minieh. Tlie thoroughfares are dusty, narrow, unpaved and crowded, as at Minieh. Tlie people are one-eyed, dirty, and unfragrant, as at Minieh. The children's eyes are full of flies and their heads are covered with sores, as at Minieh. In short, it is Minieh over again on a larger scale ; differing only in respect of its inhabitants, who, instead of being sullen, thievish, and unfriendly, are too familiar to be pleasant, and the most unappeasable beggars out of Ireland. So our mirage turns to sordid reality, and Siut, which from afar off looked like the capital of Dreamland, resolves itself into a big mud town as ugly and ordinary as its fellows. Even the min- arets, so elegant from a distance, betray for the most part but rougli masonry and clumsy ornamentation when closely looked into. A lofty embanked road planted with fine sycamore-figs leads from Hamra to Siut ; and another embanked road leads from Siut to the mountain of tombs. Of the ancient Egyptian city no vestige remains, the modern town being built upon the mounds of tlie earlier settlement ; but the City of the Dead — so much of it, at least, as was excavated in the living rock — survives, as at Memphis, to commemo- rate the departed splendor of the place. We took donkeys next day to the edge of the desert, and went up to the sepulchres on foot. The mountain, which looked a delicate salmon pink when seen from afar, now showed bleached and arid and streaked with ochreous yel- low. Layer above layer, in beds of strongly marked strati- fication, it towered overhead; tier above tier, the tombs yawned, open-mouthed, along the face of the precipice. I picked up a fragment of the rock, and found it light, porous, and full of little cells, like pumice. The slopes were strewn with such stones, as well as with fragments of mummy, shreds of mummy-cloth, and human bones all whitening and withering in the sun. The first tomb we came to was the so-called Stabl Antar — a magnificent but cruelly mutilated excavation, consist- ing of a grand entrance, a vaulted corridor, a great hall, two side-chambers, and a sanctuary. The ceiling of the corridor, now smoke-blackened and defaced, has been richly deco- MINIEH TO SIUT. 107 rated with intricate patterns in light green, white, and buff, upon a ground of dark bluish-green stucco. The wall to the right on entering is covered with a long hieroglyphic in- scription. In the sanctuary, vague traces of seated figures, male and female, with lotus blossoms in their hands, are dimly visible. Two colossal warriors incised in outline upon the levelled rock — the one very perfect, the other hacked almost out of recognition — stand on each side of the huge portal. A circular hole in the threshold marks the spot where the great door once worked upon its pivot; and a deep pit, now partially filled in with rubbish, leads from the centre of the hall to some long-rifled vault deep down in the heart of the mountain. Wilful destruction has been at work on every side. The wall-sculptures are chipped and defaced — the massive pillars that once supported the superincum- bent rock have been quarried away — the interior is heaped high with debris. Enough is left, however, to attest the antique stateliness of the tomb ; and the hieroglyphic in- scription remains almost intact to tell its age and history. This inscription (erroneously entered in Murray's Guide as uncopied, but interpreted by Brugsch, who published extracts from it as far back as 1862) shows the excavation to have been made for one Hepoukefa, or Haptefa, nomarch of the Lycopolite Nome, and Chief Priest of the jackal god of Siut.^ It is also famous among scientific students for cer- tain passages which contain important information regard- ing the intercalary days of the Egyptian kalendar.^ We observed that the full-length figures on the jambs of the doorway appeared to have been incised, filled in with stucco, and then coloured. The stucco had for the most part fallen out, though enough remained to show the style of the work.^ From this tomb to the next we crept by way of a passage, tunnelled in the mountain, and emerged into a spacious, quadrangular grotto, even more dilapidated than the first. 1 The known inscriptions in the tomb of Haptefa have recently been recopied, and another long inscription, not previously transcribed, has been copied and translated, by Mr. F. Llewellyn Griffith, acting for the Egypt Exploration Fund. Mr. Griffith has for the first time fixed the date of this famous tomb, whicli was made during the reign of Usertesen I, of the Xllth dynasty. [Note to Second Edition.] 2 See Eecueil des Monuments Egyptiens, Brugsch. Part I. PlancLe xi. Published 1862. 3 Some famous tombs of very early date, enriched with the same kind of inlaid decoration, are to be seen at Meydum, near the base of the Mey- dfim Pyramid. 108 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. It had been originally supported by square pillars left stand- ing in the substance of the rock ; but, like the pillars in the tomb of Hepoukefa, they had been hewn away in the middle and looked like stalactite columns in process of formation. For the rest, two half-filled pits, a broken sarcophagus, and a few painted hieroglyphs upon a space of stuccoed wall, were all that remained. One would have liked to see the sepulchre in which Ampere, the brilliant and eager disciple of Champollion, deciphered the ancient name of Siut ; but since he does not specify the cartouche by which it could be identified, one might wander about the mountain for a week without being able to find it. Having first described the Stabl Antar, he says : — "In another grotto I found twice over the name of the city written in hieroglyphic characters, Ci-ou-t. This name forms part of an inscription which also contains an ancient royal cartouche ; so proving that the present name of the city dates back to Pharaonic times." ^ Here, then, we trace a double process of preservation. This town, which in the ancient Egyptian was written Ssout, became Lycopolis under the Greeks ; continued to be called Lycopolis throughout the period of Roman rule in Egypt ; reverted to its old historic name under the Copts of the middle ages, Avho wrote it Sioout; and survives in the Asyoot of the Arab fellah. Nor is this by any means a solitary instance. Khemmis in the same way became Panopolis, reverted to the Coptic Chmin, and to this day as Ekhmim perpetuates the legend of its first foundation. As with these fragments of the old tongue, so with tlie race. Sub- dued again and again by invading hordes ; intermixed for centuries together with Phoenician, Persian, Greek, Roman, and Arab blood, it fuses these heterogeneous elements in one common mould, reverts persistently to the early type, and remains Egyptian to the last. So strange is the tyranny of natural forces. The sun and soil of Egypt demand one special breed of men, and will tolerate no other. Foreign residents cannot rear children in the country. In the isth- mus of Suez, which is considered the healthiest part of Egypt, an alien population of twenty thousand persons failed in the course of ten years to rear one infant born upon the soil. Children of an alien father and an Egyptian mother will die 1 Voyage en Egypte et en Nvbie, by J. J. Ampere. The cartouche may perhaps be that of Rakameri, mentioned by Brugsch : Histoire d'Egypte, chap, vi., first edition. MINIEII TO SIUT. 109 off in the same way in early infancy, unless brought up in simple native fashion. And. it is affirmed of the descendants of mixed marriages, that after the third generation the foreign blood seems to be eliminated, while the traits of the race are restored in their original purity. These are but a few instances of the startling conservatism of Egypt, — a conservatism which interested me particularly, and to which I shall frequently have occasion to return. Each Nome, or province, of ancient Egypt had its sacred animal ; and Siut was called L3T.opolis by the Greeks ^ be- cause the wolf (now almost extinct in the land) was there held in the same kind of reverence as the eat at Bubastis, the crocodile at Ombos, and the lion at Leontopolis. Mum- my-wolves are, or used to be, found in the smaller tombs about the mountain, as well as mummy jackals; Anubis, the jackal-headed god, being the presiding deity of the district. A mummied jackal from this place, curiously wrapped in striped bandages, is to be seen in the First Egyptian Room at the British Museum. But the view from the mountain above Siut is finer than Its tombs and more ancient than its mummies. Seen from within the great doorway of the second grotto, it looks like a framed picture. For the foreground, we have a dazzling slope of limestone debris ; in the middle distance, a wide plain clothed with the delicious tender green of very young corn ; farther away yet, the cupolas and minarets of Siut rising from the midst of a belt of palm-groves ; beyond these again, the molten gold of the great river glittering away, coil after coil, into the far distance ; and all along the horizon, the everlasting boundary of the desert. Large pools of placid water left by the last inundation lie here and there, like lakes amid the green. A group of brown men are wad- ing yonder with their nets. A funeral comes along the em- banked road — the bier carried at a rapid pace on men's shoulders, and covered with a red shawl ; the women taking up handfuls of dust and scattering it upon their heads as they walk. We can see the dust flying, and hear their shrill Avail borne upon the breathless air. The cemetery towards which they are going lies round to the left, at the foot of the mountain — a wilderness of little white cupolas, with here and there a tree. Broad spaces of shade sleep under the spreading sycamores by the road-side ; a hawk circles over- 1 The Greeks translated the sacred names of Egyptian places; the Copts adopted the civil names. 110 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. head ; and Siut, bathed in the splendour of the morning sun, looks as fairy-like as ever. Lepsius is reported to have said that the view from this hill-side was the finest in Egypt. But Egypt is a long country, and questions of precedence are delicate matters to deal with. It is, however, a very beautiful view ; though most travellers who know the scenery about Thebes and the approach to Assuan would hesitate, I should fancy, to give the preference to a landscape from which the iiearer moun- tains are excluded by the position of the spectator. The tombs here, as in many other parts of Egypt, are said to have been largely appropriated by early Christian ancho- rites during the reigns of the later Roman emperors ; and to these recluses may perhaps be ascribed the legend that makes Lycopolis the abode of Joseph and Mary during the years of their sojourn in Egypt. It is, of course, but a legend, and wholly improbable. If the Holy Family ever journeyed into Egypt at all, which certain Biblical critics now hold to be doubtful, they probably rested from their wanderings at some town not very far from the eastern border — as Tanis, or Pithom, or Bubastis. Siut would, at all events, lie at least 250 miles to the southward of any point to which they might reasonably be supposed to have penetrated. Still, one would like to believe a story that laid the scene of Our Lord's childhood in the midst of this beautiful and glowing Egyptian pastoral. With what profound and touch- ing interest it Avould invest the place ! With what different eyes we should look down upon a landscape which must have been dear and familiar to Him in all its details, and which, from the nature of the ground, must have remained almost unchanged from His day to ours ! The mountain with its tombs, the green corn-flats, the Nile and the desert, looked then as they look now. It is only the Moslem minarets that are new. It is only the pylons and sanctuaries of the ancient worship that have passed away. Hdad Tn SiuT. SIUT TO BEN DEBAR. Ill CHAPTER VII. SIUT TO DENDERAH. We started from Siut with a couple of tons of new brown bread on board, which, being cut into slices and laid to dry in the sun, was speedily converted into rusks and stored away in two huge lockers on the upper deck. The sparrows and water-wagtails had a good time while the drying went on ; but no one seemed to grudge the toll they levied. We often had a " big wind " now ; though it seldom began to blow before ten or eleven a.m. , and generally fell at sun- set. Now and then, when it chanced to keep up, and the river was known to be free from shallows, we went on sail- ing through the night ; but this seldom happened, and when it did happen, it made sleep impossible — so that nothing but the certainty of doing a great many miles between bed- time and breakfast could induce us to put up with it. We had now been long enough afloat to find out that we had almost always one man on the sick list, and were there- fore habitually short of a hand for the navigation of the boat. There never were such fellows for knocking themselves to pieces as our sailors. They were always bruising their feet, wounding their hands, getting sunstrokes, and whiltlows, and sprains, and disabling themselves in some way. L., with her little medicine chest and her roll of lint and bandages, soon had a small but steady practice, and might have been seen about the lower deck most mornings after breakfast, repair- ing these damaged Alls and Hassans. It was well for them that we carried ''an experienced surgeon," for they were entirely helpless and despondent when hurt, and ignorant of the commonest remedies. ISTor is this helplessness confirmed to natives of the sailor and fellah class. The provincial pro- prietors and officials are to the full as ignorant, not only of the uses of such simple things as poultices or wet compresses, but of the most elementary laws of health. Doctors there are none south of Cairo ; and such is the general mistrust of Stat>^ medicine, that when, as in the case of any widely spread 112 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. epidemic, a medical officer is sent up the river by order of the Government, half the people are said to conceal their sick, while the other half reject the remedies prescribed for them. Their trust in the skill of the passing European is, on the other hand, unbounded. Appeals for advice and medi- cine were constantly being made to us by both rich and poor; and there was something very pathetic in the simple faith with which they accepted any little help we were able to give them. Meanwhile L.'s medical reputation, being con- firmed by a few simple cures, rose high among the crew. They called her the Hakim Sitt (the Doctor-lady) ; obeyed her directions and swallowed her medicines as reverently as if she were the College of Surgeons personified ; and showed their gratitude in all kinds of pretty, child-like ways — sing- ing her favorite Arab song as they ran beside her donkey — searching for sculptured fragments whenever there were ruins to be visited — and constantly bringing her little gifts of pebbles and wild flowers. Above Siut, the picturesqueness of the river is confined for the most part to the eastern bank. We have almost always a near range of mountains on the Arabian side, and a more dis- tant chain on the Libyan horizon. Gebel Sheykh el Raaineh succeeds to Gebel Abufayda, and is followed in close succes- sion by the cliffs of Gow, of Gebel Sheykh el Hereedee, of Gebel Ayserat and Gebel Tukh — all alike rigid in strongly marked beds of level limestone strata ; flat-topped and even, like lines of giant ramparts ; and more or less pierced with orifices which we know to be tombs, but which look like loopholes from a distance. Flying before the Avind with both sails set, we see the rapid panorama unfold itself day after day, mile after mile, hour after hour. Villages, palm-groves, rock-cut sepulchres, flit past and are left behind. To-day we enter the region of the dom palm. To-morrow we pass the map-drawn limit of the crocodile. The cliffs advance, recede, open awa}^ into desolate-looking valleys, and show faint traces of paths lead- ing to excavated tombs on distant heights. The headland that looked shadowy in the distance a couple of hours ago, is reached and passed. The cargo-boat on which we have been gaining all the morning is outstripped and dwindling in the rear. Now we pass a bold bluff sheltering a sheykh's tomb and a solitary dom palm — now an ancient quarry from which the stone has been cut out in smooth masses, leaving great halls, and corridors, and stages in the mountain side. SIUT TO DENDEEAH. 113 At Gow/ the scene of an insurrection headed by a crazy der- vish some ten years ago, we see, in place of a large and popu- lous village, only a tract of fertile corn-ground, a few ruined huts, and a group of decapitated palms. We are now skirt- ing Gebel Sheykli el Hereedee ; here bordered by a rich mar- gin of cultivated flat ; yonder leaving space for scarce a strip of roadway between the precipice and the river. Then comes Raaineh, a large village of square mud towers, lofty and bat- tlemented, with string-courses of pots for the pigeons — and later on, Girgeh, once the capital town of Middle Egypt, whera Ave put in for half an hour to post and inquire for letters. Here the Nile is fast eating away the bank and carrying the town by storm. A ruined mosque with pointed arches, roofless cloisters, and a leaning column that must surely have come to the ground by this time, stands just above the landing-place. A hundred years ago, it lay a qua 'ter of a mile from the river ; ten .years ago it was yet perfect ; after a few more inundations it will be swept away. Till that time comes, however, it helps to make Girgeh one of the most picturesque towns in Egypt. At Farshut we see the sugar-works in active operation — • smoke pouring from the tall chimneys ; steam issuing from the traps in the basement ; cargo-boats unlading fresh sugar- cane against the bank ; heavily burdened Arabs transporting it to the factory ; bullock-trucks laden with cane-leaf for firing. A little higher up, at Sahil Bajura on the opposite side of the river, we find the bank strewn for full a quarter of a mile with sugar-cane en masse. Hundreds of camels are either arriving laden with it, or going back for more — dozens of cargo-boats are drawn up to receive it — swarms of brown fellalieen are stacking it on board for unshipment again at Farshut. The c imels snort and growl ; the men shout ; the overseers in blue- 1 According to the account given in her letters by Lady Duff Gordon, this dervish, who had acquired a reputation for unusual sanctity by repeat- ing the name of Allah oOOO times every niglit for three years, believed that he had by these means rendered himself invulnerable; and so, proclaiming himself the appointed Slayer of Antichrist, he stirred up a revolt among the villages bordering Gebel Sheykh Hereedee, instigated an attack on an English dahabeeyah, and brought down upon himself and all that country- side the swift and summary vengeance of the Government. Steamers with troops commanded by Fadl Pasha were despatclied up the river; rebels were shot; villages sacked ; crops and cattle confiscated. The women and children of the place were then distributed among the neighbouring ham- lets ; and Gow, which was as large a village as Luxor, ceased to exist. The dervish's fate remained uncertain. He was shot, according to some; and by others it was said that he had escaped into the desert under the pro- tection of a tribe of Bedouins. 114 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. fringed robes and white turbans, stalk to and fro, and keep the work going. The mountains here recede so far as to be almost out of sight, and a plain rich in sugar-cane and date- palms widens out between them and the river. And now the banks are lovely with an unwonted wealth of verdure. The young corn clothes the plain like a carpet, while the yellow-tasselled mimosa, the feathery tamarisk, the dom and date palm, and the spreading sycamore-fig, border the towing-path like garden trees beside a garden walk. Farther on still, when all this greenery is left behind and the banks have again become flat and bare, we see to our exceeding surprise what seems to be a very large grizzled ape perched on the top of a dust-heap on the western bank. The creature is evidently quite tame, and sits on his haunches in just that chilly, melancholy posture that the chimpanzee is wont to assume in his cage at the Zoological Gardens. Some six or eight Arabs, one of whom has dismounted from his camel for the purpose, are standing round and staring at him, much as the British public stands and stares at the specimen in the Regent's Park. Meanwhile a strange excitement breaks out among our crew. They crowd to the side ; they shout; they gesticulate ; the captain salaams ; the steersman waves his hand ; all eyes are turned towards the shore. '' Do you see Sheykh Selim ? " cries Talhamy breathlessly, rushing up from below. " There he is ! Look at him ! That is Sheykh Selim ! " And so we find out that it is not a monkey but a man — and not only a man, but a saint. Holiest of the holy, dirtiest of the dirty, white-pated, white-bearded, withered, bent, and knotted up, is the renowned Sheykh Selim — he who, naked and unwashed, has sat on that same spot every day through summer heat and winter cold for the last fifty years; never providing himself with food or water ; never even lifting his hand to his mouth ; depending on charity not only for his food but for his feeding ! He is not nice to look at, even by this dim light, and at this distance ; but the sailors think him quite beautiful, and call aloud to him for his blessing as we go by. " It is not by our own will that we sail past, father ! " they cry. " Fain would we kiss thy hand ; but the wind blows and the merkeb (boat) goes and we have no power to stay ! " But Sheykh Selim neither lifts his head nor shows any sign of hearing, and in a few minutes the mound on which he sits is left behind in the grloamin.c:. SIUT TO DENDEBAH. Ill 116 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. At How, Avhere the new town is partly built on the mounds of the old (Diospolis Parva), we next morning saw the natives transporting small boat-loads of ancient brick- rubbish to the opposite side of the river, for the purpose of manuring those fields from which the early dura crop had just been gathered in. Thus, curiously enough, the mud left by some inundation of two or three thousand years ago comes at last to the use from which it was then diverted, and is found to be more fertilising than the new deposit. At Kasr es Syad, a little farther on, we came to one of the well- known '' bad bits " — a place where the bed of the river is full of sunken rocks, and sailing is impossible. Here the men were half the day punting the dahabeeyah over the dan- gerous part, while we grubbed among the mounds of what was once the ancient city of Chenoboscion. These remains, which cover a large superficial area and consist entirely of crude brick foundations, are very interesting, and in good preservation. We traced the ground-plans of several houses ; followed the passages by which they were separated ; and observed many small arches which seemed built on too small a scale for doors or windows, but for which it was difficult to account in any other way. Brambles and Aveeds were growing in these deserted enclosures ; while rubbish- heaps, excavated pits, and piles of broken pottery divided the ruins and made the work of exploration difficult. We looked in vain for the dilapidated quay and sculptured blocks mentioned in Wilkinson's General Vieto of Egypt ; but if the foundation stones of the new sugar-factory close against the mooring-place could speak, they would no doubt explain the mystery. We saw nothing, indeed, to show that Chenobos- cion had contained any stone structures whatever, save the broken shaft of one small granite column. The village of Kasr es Syad consists of a cluster of mud huts and a sugar factory ; but the factory was idle that day, and the village seemed half deserted. The view here is par- ticularly fine. About a couple of miles to the southward, the mountains, in magnificent procession, came down again at right angles to the river, and thence reach away in long ranges of precipitous headlands. The plain, terminating abruptly against the foot of this gigantic barrier, opens back eastward to the remotest horizon — an undulating sea of glistening sand, bordered by a chaotic middle distance of mounded ruins. Nearest of all, a narrow foreground of cul- tivated soil, green with young crops and watered by frequent SIIJT TO DENBEBAH. Hi" sMdufs, extends along the river-side to the foot of the moun- tains. A sheykh's tomb shaded by a single dom palm is con- spicuous on the bank ; while far away, planted amid the solitary sands, we see a large Coptic convent with many cupolas ; a cemetery full of Christian graves ; and a little oasis of date palms indicating the presence of a spring. The chief interest of this scene, however, centres in the ruins ; and these — looked upon from a little distance, black- ened, desolate, half-buried obscured every now and then, when the wind swept over them, by swirling clouds of dust — reminded us of the villages we had seen not two years before, half-overwhelmed and yet smoking in the midst of a lava-torrent below Vesuvius. KASR ES SYAD. We now have the full moon again, making night more beautiful than day. Sitting on deck for hours after the sun had gone down, when the boat glided gently on with half- filled sail and the force of the wind was spent, we used to wonder if in all the world there was another climate in which the effect of moonlight was so magical. To say that every object far or near was visible as distinctly as by day, yet more tenderly, is to say nothing. It was not only form that was defined ; it Avas not only light and shadow that were vivid — it was colour that was present. Colour neither deadened nor changed ; but softened, glowing, spiritualised. The amber sheen of the sand-island in the middle of the river, the sober green of the palm-grove, the Little Lady's turquoise-coloured hood, were clear to the sight and relatively true in tone. The oranges showed through the bars of the crate like nuggets of pure gold. L's crimson shawl glowed with a warmer dye than it ever wore by day. The moun- 118 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. tains were flushed as if in the light of sunset. Of all the natural phenomena that we beheld in the course of the journey, I remember none that surprised us more than this. We could scarcely believe at first that it was not some effect of afterglow, or some miraculous aurora of the East. But the sun had nothing to do with that flush upon tlie mountains. The glow was in the stone, and the moonlight but revealed the local colour. For some days before they came in sight, we had been eagerly looking for the Theban hills ; and now, after a night of rapid sailing, we woke one morning to find the sun rising on the wrong side of the boat, the favourable wind dead against us, and a picturesque chain of broken peaks upon our starboard bow. By these signs we knew that we must have come to the great bend in the river between How and Keneh, and that these new mountains, so much more varied in form than those of Middle Egypt, must be the mountains behind Denderah. Tliey seemed to lie upon the eastern bank, but that was an illusion which the map disproved, and which lasted only till the great corner was fairly turned. To turn tliat corner, however, in the teeth of wind and current, was no easy task, and cost us two long days of hard tracking. At a point about ten miles below Denderah, we saw some thousands of fellaheen at work amid clouds of sand upon the embankments of a new canal. They swarmed over the mounds like ants, and the continuous murmur of their voices came to us across the river like the humming of innumerable bees. Others, following the path along the bank, were pour- ing towards the spot in an unbroken stream. The Nile must here be nearly half a mile in breadth ; but the engineers in European dress, and the overseers with long sticks in their hands, were plainly distinguishable by the help of a glass. The tents in which these officials were camping out during the progress of the work gleamed white among the palms by the river-side. Such scenes must have been common enough in the old days when a conquering Pharaoh, returning from Libya or the land of Kush, set his captives to raise a dyke, or excavate a lake, or quarry a mountain. The Israelites building the massive walls of Pithom and Raineses with bricks of their own making, must have presented exactly such a spectacle. That we were witnessing a case of forced labour, could not be doubted. Those thousands yonder had most certainly been drafted off in gangs from hundreds of distant villages, SitjT TO DENDEEAH, 119 and were but little better off, for the time being, than the captives of the ancient Empire. In all cases of forced labour under the present regime, however, it seems that the labourer is paid, though very insufficiently, for his unwilling toil; and that his captivity only lasts so long as the work for which he has been pressed remains in progress. In some cases the term of service is limited to three or four months, at the end of which time the men are supposed to be returned in barges towed by Government steam-tugs. It too often happens, nevertheless, that the poor souls are left to get back how they can ; and thus many a husband and father either perishes by the way, or is driven to take service in some vil- lage far from home. Meanwhile his wife and children, be- ing scantily supported by the Sheykh el Beled, fall into a condition of semi-serfdom ; and his little patch of ground, left unfilled through seed-time and harvest, passes after the next inundation into the hands of a stranger. But there is another side to this question of forced labour. Water must be had in Egypt, no matter at what cost. If the land is not sufficiently irrigated, the crops fail and the nation starves. Now, the frequent construction of canals has from immemorial time been reckoned among the first duties of an Egyptian ruler ; but it is a duty which cannot be performed without the willing or unwilling co-operation of several thousand workmen. Those who are best acquainted with the character and temper of the fellah maintain the hopelessness of looking to him for voluntary labour of this description. Frugal, patient, easily contented as he is, no promise of wages, however high, would tempt him from his native village. What to him are the needs of a district six or seven hundred miles away ? His own shaduf is enough for his own patch, and so long as he can raise his three little crops a year, neither he nor his family will starve. How, then, are these necessary public works to be carried out, unless by means of the corvee ? M. About has put an ingenious summary of this " other-side " argument into the mouth of his ideal fellah. " It is not the Emperor," says Ahmed to the Frenchman, " who causes the rain to descend upon your lands; it is the west wind — and the benefit thus conferred upon you exacts no penalty of manual labour. But in Egypt, where the rain from heaven falls scarcely three times ii the year, it is the prince who supplies its place to us by distributing the waters of the Nile. This can only be done by the work of men's hands ; and it is therefore to 120 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. the interest of all that the hands of all should be at his disposal." We regarded it, I think, as an especial piece of good for- tune, when we found ourselves becalmed next day within three or four miles of Denderah. Abydos comes first in order ac- cording to the map ; but then the Temples lie seven or eight miles from the river, and as we happened just thereabouts to be making some ten miles an hour, we put off the excursion till our return. Here, however, the ruins lay comparatively near at hand, and in such a position that we could approach them from below and rejoin our dahabeeyah a few miles higher up the river. So, leaving E-eis Hassan to track against the current, we landed at the first convenient point, and finding neither donkeys nor guides at hand, took an escort of three or four sailors, and set off on foot. The way was long, the day was hot, and we had only the map to go by. Having climbed the steep bank and skirted an extensive palm-grove, we found ourselves in a country without paths or roads of any kind. The soil, squared off as usual like a gigantic chess-board, was traversed by hun- dreds of tiny water-channels, between which we had to steer our course as best we could. Presently the last belt of palms was passed — the plain, green with young corn and level as a lake, widened out to the foot of the mountains — and the Temple, islanded in that sea of rippling emerald, rose up before us upon its platform of blackened mounds. It was still full two miles away ; but it looked enormous — showing from this distance as a massive, low-browed, sharply defined mass of dead-white masonry. The walls sloped in slightly towards the top ; and the facade appeared to be supported on eight square piers, with a large doorway in the centre. If sculptured ornament, or cornice, or pic- tured legend enriched those walls, we were too far off to dis- tinguish them. All looked strangely naked and solemn — more like a tomb than a temple. Nor was the surrounding scene less deathlike in its soli- tude. Not a tree, not a hut, not a living form broke the green monotony of the plain. Behind the Temple, but divided from it by a farther space of mounded ruins, rose the mountains — pinky, aerial, with sheeny sand-drifts heaped in the hollows of their bare buttresses, and spaces of soft blue shadow in their misty chasms. Where the range re- ceded, a long vista of glittering desert opened to the Libyan horizon. SIUT TO BENDERAE. 121 122 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. Then as we drew nearer, coming by and by to a raised causeway which apparently connected tlie mounds with some point down by the river, the details of the Temple gradually emerged into distinctness. We could now see the curve and nnder-shadow of the cornice ; and a small object in front of the fa9ade wliich looked at first sight like a monolithic altar, resolved itself into a massive gateway of the kind known as a single pylon. Nearer still, among some low outlying mounds, we came upon fragments of sculptured capitals and mutilated statues half-buried in rank grass — upon a series of stagnant nitre-tanks and deserted workshops — upon the telegraph poles and wires which here come striding along the edge of the desert and vanish southward with messages for Nubia and the Soudan. Egypt is the land of nitre. It is found wherever a crude- brick mound is disturbed or an antique stone structure de- molished. The Nile mud is strongly impregnated with it; and in Nubia we used to find it lying in thick talc-like flakes upon the surface of rocks far above the present level of the inundation. These tanks at Denderah had been sunk, we were told, Avhen the great Temple was excavated by Abba^ Pasha more than twenty years ago. The nitre then found was utilised out of hand ; washed and crystallised in the tanks ; and converted into gunpowder in the adjacent work- shops. The telegraph wires are more recent intruders, and the work of the Khedive ; but one longed to put them out of sight, to pulldown the gunpowder sheds, and to fill up the tanks with debris. For what had the arts of modern Avar- fare or the wonders of modern science to do with Hathor, the Lady of Beauty and the Western Shades, the Nurse of Horus, the Egyptian Aphrodite, to whom yonder mountain of wrought stone and all these wastes were sacred? We were by this time near enough to see that the square piers of the fa9ade were neither square nor piers, but huge round columns with human-headed capitals ; and that the walls, instead of being plain and tomb-like, were covered with an infinite multitude of sculptured figures. The pylon — rich with inscriptions and bas-reliefs, but disfigured by myriads of tiny wasps' nests, like clustered mud-bubbles — now towered high above our heads, and led to a walled avenue cut direct through the mounds, and sloping downwards to the main entrance of the Temple. Not, however, till we stood immediately under those ponderous columns, looking down upon the paved floor below SIUT TO BENBEltAlI. 123 and up to the huge cornice that projected overhead like the crest of an impending wave, did we realise the immense pro- portions of the building. Lofty as it looked from a distance, we now found that it was only the interior that had been excavated, and that not more than two-thirds of its actual height were visible above the mounds. The level of the avenue was, indeed, at its lowest part full twenty feet above that of the first great hall ; and we had still a steep tempo- rary staircase to go down before reaching the original pave- ment. The effect of the portico as one stands at the top of the staircase is one of overwhelming majesty. Its breadth, its lieight, the massiveness of its parts, exceed in grandeur all that one has been anticipating throughout the long two miles of approach. The immense girth of the columns, the huge screens which connect them, the ponderous cornice jutting overhead, confuse the imagination, and in the absence of given measurements •' appear, perhaps, even more enormous than they are. Looking up to the architrave, we see a kind of Egyptian Panathenaic procession of carven priests and warriors, some with standards and some with musical instru- ments. The winged globe, depicted upon a gigantic scale in the curve of the cornice, seems to hover above the central doorway. Hieroglyphs, emblems, strange forms of Kings and Gods, cover every foot of wall-space, frieze, and pillar. Nor does this wealth of surface-sculpture tend in any way to diminish the general effect of size. It would seem, on the contrary, as if complex decorations were in this instance the natural complement to simplicity of form. Every group, every inscription, appears to be necessary and in its place ; an essential part of the building it helps to adorn. Most of these details are as perfect as on the day when the last workman went his waj'', and the architect saw his design completed. Time has neither marred the surface of the stone nor blunted the work of the chisel. Such injury as they have sustained is from the hand of man ; and in no country has the hand of man achieved more and destroyed more than in Egypt. The Persians overthrew the master- pieces of the Pharaohs ; the Copts mutilated the temples of the Ptolemies and Caesars ; the Arabs stripped the pyramids 1 Sir G. Wilkinson states the total length of the Temple to be 93 paces, or 220 feet; and the width of the portico .50 paces. Murray gives no meas- urements; neither does Mariette Bey in his delightful little " Itineraire ; " neither does Fergusson, nor Champollion. nor any other writer to whose works I liave had access. 124 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. and carried Memphis away piecemeal. Here at Denderah we have an example of Graeco-Egyptian work and early Christian fanaticism. Begun by Ptolemy XI,^ and bearing upon its latest ovals the name and style of Nero, the present building was still comparatively new when, in a.d. 379, the an- cient religion was abol- ished by the edict of Theodosius. It Avas then the most gorgeous as well as the most recent of all those larger temples built during the prosperous for- eign rule of the last seven hundred years. It stood, surrounded by groves of palm and acacia, within the precincts of a vast enclo- sure, the walls of which, 1000 feet in length, 35 feet in height, and 15 feet thick, are still traceable. A dromos, now buried un- der twenty feet of debris, led from the pylon to tlie portico. Tlie pylon is there still, a partial ruin ; but the Temple, with its roof, its staircases, and its secret treasure-crypts, is in all essential respects as per- fect as on the day when its spleiulour was given over to the spoilers. One can easily imagine how these spoilers sacked and ravaged all before them ; how they desecrated the sacred places, 1 The names of Augustus, Caligula, Tiberius, Domitian, Claudius, and Nero are found in the royal ovals; the oldest being those of Ptolemy XI, the founder of the present edifice, which was, however, rebuilt upon the site of a succession of older buildings, of which the most ancient dated back as far as the reign of Kliufu, the builder of the Great Pyramid. This fact, and the still more interesting fact that the oldest structure of all was believed to belong to the inconceivably remote period oitheHorshesu, Cl.KOPATUA. SIUT TO BEN DERAIL 125 aiul cast down the statues of the Goddess, and divided the treasures of the sanctuary. They did not, it is true, commit such wholesale destruction as the Persian invaders of nine hundred years before; but they were merciless iconoclasts, and hacked away the face of every figure within easy reach both inside and outside the building. Among those wliicli escaped, however, is the famous exter- nal bas-relief of Cleopatra on tlie back of the Temple. This curious sculpture is now banked up with rubbish for its bet- ter preservation, and can no longer be seen by travellers. It was, however, admirably photograiihed some years ago by Signor Beati ; which photograph is faithfully reproduced in the annexed engraving. Cleopatra is here represented with a headdress combining the attributes of three goddesses ; namely the Vulture of Maut (the head of which is modelled in a masterly way), the horned disc of Hathor, and the throne of Isis. The falling mass below the headdress is intended to represent hair dressed according to tiie Egyptian fashion, in an infinite number of small plaits, each finished off with an ornamental tag. The women of Egypt and Nubia wear their hair so to this day, and un plait it, I am sorry to say, not oftener than once in every eight or ten weeks. The Nubian girls fasten each separate tail with a lump of Nile mud daubed over with yellow ochre ; but Queen Cleopatra's silken tresses were probably tipped with gilded wax or gum. It is difficult to know where decorative sculpture ends and portraiture begins in a work of this epoch. We cannot even be certain that a portrait was intended ; though the intro- duction of the royal oval in which the name of Cleopatra (Klaupatra) is spelt with its vowel sounds in full, would or " followei-s of Horus "{i.e. the petty chiefs, or princes, who ruled in Egypt before the foundation of the first monarcliy), is recorded in the following reniarkaLij inscription discovered by Mariette in one of the cryi)ts con- structed in the thickness of the walls of the present temple. Tlie first text relates to certain festivals to be celebrated in honour of Hathor, and states that all the ordained ceremonies had been performed by Kinsr Thothmes III (XVIIIth dynasty) " in memory of his mother, Hathor of Deiiderah. And they found the great fundamental rules of Denderah in ancient writing, written on goat-skin in the time of the Followers of Horns. This was found in the inside of a brick wall during the reign of KingPepi (Vlth dynasty)." In the same crypt, another and a more brief inscription runs thus: — "Great fundamental rule of Denderah. Resto- rations done by Thothmes III, according to what was found in ancient writing of the time of King Khufu." Heretipon Mariette remarks — " The temple of Denderah is not, then, one of the most modern in Egypt, except in so far as it was constructed by one of the later Lagidie. Its origin is literally lost ii\ the night of time." See DeiuUrali, Deacriptioji Geacralc, chaj). i. ])p. 55, 5t). 126 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. seem to point that ^ya_y. If it is a portrait, then large allovv'- ance must be made for conventional treatment. The fleshi- ness of the features and the intolerable simper are common to every head of the Ptolemaic period. The ear, too, is pat- tern work, and the drawing of the figure is ludicrous. Man- nerism apart, however, the face wants for neither individu- ality nor beauty. Cover the mouth, and you have an almost faultless profile. The chin and throat are also quite lovely ; while the whole face, suggestive of cruelty, subtlety, and voluptuousness, carries with it an indefinable impression not only of portraiture, but of likeness. It is not without something like a shock that one first sees the unsightly havoc wrought upon the Hathor-headed col- umns of the fa9ade at Denderah. The massive folds of head- gear are there ; the ears, erect and pointed like those of a heifer, are there ; but of the benignant face of the Goddess not a feature remains. Ampere, describing these columns in one of his earliest letters from Egypt, speaks of them as be- ing still " brilliant with colours that time had had no power to efface." Time, however, m\ist have been unusally busy during the thirty years that have gone by since then ; for though we presently found several instances of painted bas- reliefs in the small inner chambers, I do not remember to have observed any remains of colour (save here and there a faint trace of yellow ochre) on the external decorations. Without, all was sunshine and splendour ; within, all was silence and mystery. A heavy, death-like smell, as of long- imprisoned gases, met us on the threshold. By the half-light that strayed in through the portico, we could see vague out- lines of a forest of giant columns rising out of the gloom below and vanishing into the gloom above. Beyond these again appeared shadowy vistas of successive halls leading away into depths of impenetrable darkness. It required no great courage to go down those stairs and explore those depths with a party of fellow-travellers ; but it would have been a gruesome place to venture into alone. Seen from within, the portico shows as a vast hall, fifty feet in height and supported on twenty-four Hathor-headed columns. Six of these, being engaged in the screen, form part of the fa9ade, and are the same upon which we liave been looking from without. By degrees, as our eyes become used to the twilight, we see here and there a capital which still preserves the vague likeness of a gigantic female face ; while, dimly visible on every wall, pillar, and doorway, a SIUT TO DENDEHAR. 127 multitude of fantastic forms — hawk-headed, ibis-headed, oow-headed, mitred, phimed, holding aloft strange emblems, seated on thrones, performing mysterious rites — seem to emerge from their places, like things of life. Looking up to the ceiling, now smoke-blackened and defaced, we discover elaborate paintings of scarabaei, winged globes, and zodiacal emblems divided by borders of intricate Greek patterns, the iiravailing colours of which are verditer and chocolate. l>:inds of hieroglyphic inscriptions, of royal ovals, of Hatlior heads, of mitred hawks, of lion-lieaded chimeras, of divinities and kings in bas-relief, cover the shafts of the great columns from top to bottoui ; and even here, every accessible face, however small, has been laboriously mutilated. Bewildered at first sight of these profuse and mysterious decorations, we wander round and round; going on from the first hall to the second, from the second to the third; and plunging into deeper darkness at every step. We have been reading about these gods and emblems for weeks past — we have studied the plan of the Temple beforehand; yet now that we are actually here, our book knowledge goes for noth- ing, and we feel as hopelessly ignorant as if we had been suddenly landed in a new world. IS^ot till we have got over this first feeling of confusion — not till, resting awhile on the base of one of the columns, we again open out the plan of the building, do we begin to realise the purport of the sculptures by which we are surrounded. The ceremonial of Egyptian worship was essentially pro- cessional. Herein we have the central idea of every Temple, and the key to its construction. It was bound to contain store-chambers in which were kept vestments, instruments, divine emblems, and the like; laboratories for the prepara- tion of perfumes and unguents ; treasuries for the safe cus- tody of holy vessels and precious offerings ; chambers for the reception and purification of tribute in kind ; halls for the assembling and marshalling of priests and functionaries; and, for processional purposes, corridors, staircases, court- yards, cloisters, and vast enclosures planted with avenues of trees and surrounded by walls which hedged in with invio- lable secrecy the solemn rites of the priesthood. In this plan, it will be seen, there is no provision made for anything in the form of public worship ; but then an Egyptian Temple was not a place for public worship. It was a treasure-house, a sacristy, a royal oratory, a place of preparation, of consecration, of sacerdotal privacy. There, 128 ONE THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE. in costly shrines, dwelt the divine images. There they were robed and unrobed ; perfumed with incense ; visited and worshipped by the King. On certain great days of the kal- endar, as on tlie occasion of the festival of the new year, or the panegyrics of the local gods, these images were brought out, paraded along the corridors of the temple, carried round the roof, and borne with waving of banners, and chanting of hymns, and burning of incense, through the sacred groves of th'i enclosure. Probably none were admitted to these cere- monies save persons of royal or priestly birth. To the rest of the community, all that took place within those massy walls was envelo})ed in mjstery. It may be questioned, indeed, whether the great mass of the people had any kind of personal religion. They may not have been rigidly excluded from the temple-precincts, iDut they seem to have been al- lowed no participation in the worship of the Gods. If now and then, on high festival days, they beheld the sacred bark of the deity carried in procession round the temenos, or caught a glimpse of moving figures and glittering ensigns in the pillared dusk of the Hypostyle Hall, it was all they ever beheld of the solemn services of their church. The Temple of Denderah consists of a portico ; a hall of entrance ; a hall of assembly ; a third hall, which may be called the hall of the sacred boats ; one small ground floor chapel ; and upwards of twenty side chambers of various sizes, most of which are totally dark. Each one of these halls and chambers bears the sculptured record of its use. Hundreds of tableaux in bas-relief, thousands of elaborate hieroglyphic inscriptions, cover every foot of available space on wall and ceiling and soffit, on doorway and column, and on the lining-slabs of passages and staircases. These pre- cious texts contain, amid much that is mystical and tedious, an extraordinary wealth of indirect history. Here we find programmes of ceremonial observances ; numberless legends of the Gods ; chronologies of Kings with their various titles ; registers of weights and measures ; catalogues of offerings : recipes for the preparation of oils and essences ; records of repairs and restorations done to the Temple ; geographical lists of cities and provinces ; inventories of treasure, and the like. The hall of assembly contains a kalendar of fes- tivals, and sets forth with studied precision the rites to be performed on each recurring anniversary. On the ceiling of the portico we find an astronomical zodiac ; on the walls of a small temple on the roof, the whole history of the resur- JEIIDERAH. SIUT TO BENDER AH. 129 rectiou of Osiris, together with the order of prayer for the twelve hours of the uight, and a kalendar of the festivals of Osiris in all the principal cities of Upper and Lower Egypt. Seventy years ago, these inscriptions were the puzzle and de- spair of the learned ; but since modern science has plucked out the heart of its mystery, the whole Temple lies before us an open volume filled to overflowing with strange and quaint and heterogeneous matter — a Talmud in sculptured stone. ^ Given such help as Mariette's handbook affords, one can trace out most of these curious things, and identify the uses of every hall and chamber thi'oughout tlie building. The King, in the double character of Pharaoh and high priest, is the hero of every sculptured scene. Wearing sometimes the truncated crown of Lower Egypt, sometimes the helmet-crown of Upper Egypt, and sometimes the pschent, which is a combination of both, he figures in every tableau and heads every procession. Beginning with the sculptures of the por- tico, we see him arrive, preceded by his five royal standards. He wears his long robe; his sandals are on his feet; he carries his staff in his hand. Two goddesses receive him at the door and conduct him into the presence of Thoth, the ibis-headed, and Horus, the hawk-headed, who pour upon him a double stream of the waters of life. Thus purified, he is crowned by the Goddesses of Upper and Lower Egypt, and by them consigned to the local deities of Thebes and Heli- opolis, who usher him into the supreme presence of Hathor. He then presents various offerings and recites certain prayers ; whereupon the goddess promises him length of da3's, ever- lasting renown, and other good things. We next see him, always with the same smile and always in the same attitude, doing homage to Osiris, to Horus and other divinities. He presents them witli flowers, wine, bread, incense; while they in return promise him life, joy, abundant harvests, victory, and the love of his people. These pretty speeches — chefs- tV amove of diplomatic style and models of elegant flattery — are repeated over and over again in scores of hieroglypliic groups. Mariette, however, sees in them something more than the language of tlie court grafted upon the language of the hierarchy ; he detects the language of the schools, and dis- covers in the utterances here ascribed to the King and the 1 See Mariette's Dendirah, which contains the whole of these multi- tudinous inscriptions in IGfi plates; also a selection of some of the most interesting in Brussch and Ddmichen's ^ec!