Chapter IX: The Plain of Thebes

Many miles from the renowned city, we could distinguish in every direction its vast remains, lying about in confused heaps. Rounding a bend in the river, a wide plain extends from either bank, sweeping back to a range of mountains, which lock it in on every side. It is cultivated to the water’s edge, and groups of date-trees rise amidst waving sugar-canes, or encircle the fields of golden corn, that stretch far back, covering with verdure the fragments of one of the noblest capitals of the ancient world.

Geologists have displayed to us the changes which the crust of the earth has undergone from a period long anterior to any history, sacred or profane; and have made known its strange inhabitants, during these remote times. On the surface, there are wonders quite as marvellous as those beneath it, in the various strata which have been created by the convulsions of Time, wherein are fossils, apparently as extravagant in their proportions, as any that figure in Palæontology. Thebes stands prominent among the wonders of the buried Past—the most stupendous of the Saurians of history—colossal in its proportions, extraordinary in its character, and totally distinct in all its features from the cities of the Present. The fossils of Natural History, however different as organized beings from the fossils to which I am alluding, possess much similarity with them. To carry the simile further, Egypt may be looked upon as the old red sand-stone of history, abounding in traces of a remote age, and a different state of being. It is impossible to express the sensations which the modern traveller, with his modern sympathies and associations, experiences on being, for the first time, brought under the influence of a long-buried century. In gazing upon Thebes, he looks back upon the world some thousands of years. There is nothing, either in art or in nature, in the observation of which he is so completely detached from himself and his era.

It was Sunday, and an atmosphere of silence and repose spread from one ridge of mountains to the other, as if the Sabbath here extended even to nature. The sun, as we advanced up the river, had risen slowly over the heights, breaking the mist into silvery fleeces, and steeping the lofty peaks in the most radiant tints. We saw the temples in the distance, looming through the haze, like cities of refuge; and it seemed as if they would never come nearer. A breath of wind filled our sail, propelling the bark for a few moments, and inspiring us with new hope; but soon we were again becalmed, and slowly and with difficulty made any progress. The telescope passed from hand to hand; and as we looked more narrowly, the confused mass took shape and order, and we gazed with wonder over the acres of ruin, which bear the proud name of Karnac, to the summit of Medeenah Haboo, under whose picturesque crags lie the tombs of the kings.

On reaching the anchorage by the famous sycamores, we were obliged to wait two hours for ‘The Eagle,’ which had been left far in our wake; and we spent the interval in making arrangements for an excursion on shore. At length she came up, but took the wrong side of the river; and it was not till after considerable further delay that our party united, and were all safely landed. We were then quickly in the saddle, and after passing through several fields of corn and sugar-cane, emerged on an expanse of bare stony land, full of holes; doubtless once smooth as a lawn, and tracked with the fairest avenues of the city. It now verges on the desert, near which is the small temple of Gournou—an interesting ruin, but from its humble dimensions, scarcely noticed by the traveller. After strolling through it, we spurred forward with increased impatience, and a short ride brought us to the Memnonium.

The astonishment and awe which the first view of this stupendous fabric inspires can scarcely be conceived. We glanced from one pillar to another, on every side of the vast area, till we became perfectly bewildered, and felt inclined to doubt that we were contemplating a work of man. The grandeur and magnitude of the structure, wrought out in the minutest details, revealed the hand of those reckless builders who thought to raise “a city and a tower whose top should reach unto the heavens;” beholding what they achieved, one hardly wonders at what they designed. They have, indeed, made themselves “a name upon the earth,” which the storms of thirty centuries have failed to obliterate. The enormous pile, surviving the fall of thrones, and the extinction of races, still rears its countless columns, erect as cedars, and immoveable as rocks. Unincumbered by the heaps of fragments which entomb the fair proportions of other ancient works of art, it stands up in massive nakedness, invulnerable to the attacks of weather or the encroachments of time.

The propylon, which is almost perfect, is covered with masterly sculpture, depicting a triumph of Rameses, who, is represented by a gigantic figure, at least thirty feet high. His hand grasps a club, with which he is in the act of smiting a number of comparatively pigmy captives, whose stature does not exceed six feet, and whom he holds up by their hair. His queen Amnure looks on with admiration, strangely blended with queenly dignity and repose. The effect of the whole is singularly grand.

The propylon is exactly opposite the temple of Karnac, on the other side of the river; and an avenue of sphinxes, leads from each edifice to the water’s edge, but whether they were connected by a bridge or a ferry, no fragment remains to declare. From the propylon we passed to a large chamber, enclosed by peculiarly light and graceful columns, the capitals of which, still in their prime, are ornamented with rich paintings, in red, green, and other bright colours, as fresh as though they were of yesterday’s creation. Close by is a prodigious block of grey granite, which, on nearer inspection, proved to be a portion of the celebrated statue of Memnon. Its dimensions may be conceived from our knowledge of its weight, which has been computed at 887 tons. It was hewn in one piece out of the rocks of Assouan; but how it could have been removed to this place, a distance of so many miles, is one of the mysteries of ancient science. The monster idol was represented sitting on his throne, his hands resting on his knees, and his face and posture impressed with majestic repose. Every morning, if we are to believe the testimony of certain chronicles, he greeted with a melodious welcome the rising sun, and at night lamented his setting, giving utterance to a sound full of melancholy sadness. Age followed age—the boundaries of nations were changed—empires past away—still this Colossus was firmly seated on a throne that appeared likely to last out the world. At length, it was overthrown by Cambyses, the Eastern Attila, and only the upper part of the statue now remains. This, however, sufficiently attests its once colossal proportions, and it seems likely to outlast many a modern monument.[2]

The temple of Memnon, though in a state of exquisite preservation, was much larger than its present appearance suggests. Two only of its nine chambers now exist. A centre circle of columns, which marks another precinct, is still standing, and the earth is strewn with the fragments of the massive roof, gleaming with stars on a ground of deep blue.

The sun was sinking behind the hills, before we could tear ourselves away, to finish, if possible, in one day our hurried inspection of the left bank of the river. Galloping along the stony ground between the Memnonium and Medeenah Haboo, we passed by the Sphinxes—which the receding waters prevented us from approaching very close.

We gazed in wonder down the line, mutilated and deranged thought it was, remarking the solemn and majestic features, bearing the impress of their mystic character; and even where the face was broken, we could trace the same expression of thoughtfulness and sorrow. In strange contrast with these wondrous ruins, hundreds of paddy-birds, the loveliest birds of Egypt, were stalking about, displaying their brilliant plumage in all its beauty, and hovering round the fallen temple like the birds which Jupiter called from Memnon’s funeral pile, when it flamed on the plains of Troy.

We soon reached Medeenah Haboo, which is almost buried by the modern buildings that surround it. After scrambling over heaps of crude bricks and mud walls, we at last gained entrance to one of the largest and most interesting of the Egyptian monuments. It consists of the usual propylon and several chambers beyond, one of which is more than one hundred and twenty feet square.

This spacious area was once encompassed by two rows of pillars, measuring in circumference almost as much as in height; many of them still stand erect. In the midst are the remains of an early Christian church, the unpretending dimensions of which contrast strongly with the vastness and solemn grandeur of the surrounding structures. But the church is characteristic of the faith that was taught within its walls: that had its origin in simplicity, modesty and humility. It was left for later times to make the worship greater than the God, and the temple a grand accessory in establishing the deification of the priest.

While strolling through the chambers, some Arabs, with a great show of secrecy (the sale of ancient reliques being prohibited by the Government), offered us a number of rings, scarabæi, and other antiquarian treasures, which, however, our dragoman, Daireh, pronounced to be “no original, all home manufacture,” and there was no denying that they wore a very Brummagem look. We procured some, however, of a less questionable character, among which was a mummy hand—the hand of a young girl, looking painfully perfect, though dug up, we learnt, only a few days previously from its tomb of three thousand years. What if it were the hand of a Pharoah’s daughter—perhaps a sister of Thermeuthis, who looked on when the favoured child, the future lawgiver of Judah, was rescued from his ark on the Nile! It may, in its day, have a crowd of suitors, and power to interpose between life and death; now—none so poor to do it reverence!

We left the temple just in time to see the sun sink behind the hills, leaving his last beams on their craggy points, and casting a gleam of light far beyond, on the hoary walls of Karnac and Luxor. In a few minutes more, the Union-Jack, which floated proudly over our boats, was hauled down, and the shadows of evening began to creep over the plain. We had no time to lose, and therefore started at once for the anchorage.

On our way, we were overtaken by two Bedouins, mounted on camels, which bore them quickly past. As we were now shortly to adopt the same mode of transit, when we should commence the passage of the desert, our eyes followed them, as they rode on, with the greatest interest; but their forms gradually grew more and more shadowy, and, before long, were lost in darkness.