Chapter X: Karnac and Luxor

A brilliant Egyptian morning succeeded our visit to the left bank of the river, and found our boats moored, pursuant to a plan previously arranged, under the opposite shore, close to the frowning ruins of Luxor. A fresh breeze came cheerily up the stream, as if to tempt us onward; but not the sweet south, stealing o’er a bank of violets, could that day have lured us from Thebes. The sky was cloudless, as it ever is here, for in Egypt at this season there are neither clouds nor rain. Indeed the fertilizing shower so precious in other regions, is not required in such a region as this, where art irrigates the thirsty soil with its thousands of sluices, drawn from the inexhaustible Nile. In Egypt all is the Nile.

Our two captains would gladly have prevailed upon us to take advantage of the fair wind, and push forward; deferring the inspection of the remaining section of Thebes for our way down—an arrangement frequently made by travellers, though it leaves too much to be done—almost a surfeit of temples and tombs in a very limited period, while the curiosity is tantalized during the first part of the voyage. At the same time, progress, when there is a favourable breeze, is only too agreeable to the crews, who abhor the labour of tracking, and like to take advantage of the wind when it blows. The dragoman, equally eager to proceed, lends his powerful aid to the conspiracy, and the traveller usually yields. In our case, however, all pleaded in vain, happily as on our return we did not even land, and it was determined to devote the day to Thebes.

We soon completed our equipment, which included the very important item of water, secreted from light and heat in a capacious “goolah,”—a kind of bottle, made of undressed clay, in which, when wrapt round with a wet towel, let the sun blaze as it may, the water lies as cool and as fresh as in a well. All travellers, particularly if they meditate a journey beyond Wady Halfa, should provide themselves with a good supply of these bottles at Keneh, where they are made, as it is impossible to procure them afterwards, and the want of them would be severely felt. We found ours invaluable and in the desert they were a never-failing spring, yielding us delicious draughts of cool and sweet water, during a scorching torrid heat, under which we must have sunk but for such aid. So useful had they been, that when we learnt, towards the end of our southward journey, that our last goolah was broken, we felt as though we had lost a friend, and it was long before we could bring ourselves to endure the warm and nauseous water which swung in leather bottles at our saddle-bows.

Daireh wiled away the time, as we proceeded, with reminiscences of his former visits to Thebes; and we were much amused by his anecdotes of gentlemen sallying forth, like knights-errant, armed with dagger and pistol, in search of adventures for their journals, and finding none. In fact, Egypt under Abbas Pasha, has become so provokingly quiet, that a second Don Quixote might traverse the whole country without finding occasions for the display of his valour.

We deferred visiting Luxor till our return, and galloping through some fields of wild grass, came out on a wide tract savouring more of the neighbourhood of Birmingham than of Thebes. This is the site of a large powder manufactory; we found whole acres covered with heaps of charcoal, while a number of Arabs, whose dark skins were perfectly coated with grime, moved to and fro like so many demons. A powder manufactory on the sight of ancient Thebes, overlooked by the propylon of Karnac! The sublime and matter-of-fact in singularly close conjunction. But such are the metamorphoses of Time. In some future age perhaps, the gunpowder manufactory may give place to a Club for the use of the Peace Congress.

Clearing this Cimmerian waste, we arrived at Karnac, the grandest and most renowned ruin of Egypt. It is approached through an avenue of sphinxes, of which nothing remains but the mutilated bodies, half embedded in sand. This leads to a triumphal arch of extreme beauty, covered with hieroglyphics and sculpture, in many parts still fresh and perfect. Beyond is a wide tract of ruin, heaped with blocks of time-worn stone, of extraordinary magnitude, each weighing several tons; while, here and there, a few columns stand up, transformed from decorations of a populous city, to be monuments of a deserted sepulchre. Hence the spectator, passes to “the grand hall of the temple,”—a noble area, surrounded by a forest of columns, rising to the height of eighty feet. Right and left, at each point of the compass, the eye is carried down vistas of pillars, uniform in height and girth, and differing only in the quaint and grotesque capital. Occasionally the order is broken by a column half impending, but held up by a monster block, which attaches it by its weight to the roof. Many of the blocks composing this roof have fallen, and through the apertures the eye comes on the clear blue sky, that lights up the vivid colours immediately beneath, leaving only gloomy shadows beyond. At the end rise up walls twenty-five feet in thickness, from which colossal stones have fallen, forming a sort of ascent almost to the roof. Here a boundless prospect is opened, and vast ruins, now grouped in perfect order, now thrown in mighty heaps, rear themselves on every side. There was something even touching in the spectacle presented at intervals, of a solitary pillar, the last vestige of a court or vestibule, standing up amidst mounds of prostrate and crumbling fragments, while far in the distance rose two triumphal arches, once entrances to the temple.

We stood in silence on the roof, and looked round in wonder and awe. We felt that it was a time and place for reflection. It afforded us an opportunity from the world of the Present to look back upon the world of the Past—to contrast a period of the highest social elevation, and intellectual development, with another marked by the most degraded slavery and the most intense ignorance—a state of existence enjoying the advantages of railway travelling, steam voyaging, and electric communication, contrasted with one which wrapped every phase of life in mystery, and shrouded all the better impulses of humanity in a darkness more gloomy than that of the grave.

At length we tore ourselves from Karnac, and rode home by Luxor, which is approached through a village of wretched hovels, branching off from the magnificent obelisk presented by the Pasha to the English government, is the companion to that erected in the Place de la Concorde, at Paris. This obelisk is of red granite, hewn out of the rocks of Assouan, and is covered with symbolic sculptures and hieroglyphics. The propylon follows, opening on the temple, now so completely perverted to modern purposes, that it furnishes a site and materials for a mosque, which is reared against a part of its wall, and rests its little weight on several of its columns. We found the place a perfect hive of Arab children, mingling in happy harmony with sheep, kids, and fowls; while howling dogs, mounted on every heap and wall, kept up an incessant barking.

Beyond the mosque are many ancient chambers, and spacious areas, crowded with lofty and colossal pillars, which open on a colonnade of great beauty, formed of noble and very massive columns. This is the most striking part of Luxor, and is peculiar, as no vestige of wall remains. When the ground was unencumbered with rubbish, so grand a range of pillars, extending over such a space, must have had a singularly imposing effect from the Nile; but it is now intercepted by a mountain of sand and fragments, choking up numerous chambers, and almost shutting out the river. We had hardly time to scramble through all these marvels; for the sun, our real cicerone, was fast sinking to a level with the hill, and we were soon warned to withdraw.

At six we returned on board; the dozing crew, lying on the deck, wrapped up in their coarse blankets, were aroused, and the boats were cast from their moorings. ‘The Fanny’ swung slowly round the creek of Luxor; the large sail was unloosed to the too eager breeze, and she darted off. As ‘The Eagle’ wore after her consort, we all assembled under her awning, and turned our lingering eyes on the classic shore. The stupendous obelisk of Luxor, and the propylon of Karnac, loomed up against the blue sky, as the last gleam of sunlight crowned them with gold, and a solemn hush seemed to fall on the scene. The Union-jack was hauled slowly down, and ‘The Fanny,’ obedient to the concerted signal, struck her flag at the same moment. The sun had set!