THE TWO COLOSSI.
THE TWO COLOSSI.
THE TWO COLOSSI.
“Returning to the temple of Goorneh, we took a path over the plain, through fields of wheat, lupines and lentils, tothe two colossi, which we had already seen from a distance. These immense sitting figures, fifty-three feet above the plain, which has buried their pedestals, overlook the site of vanished Thebes and assert the grandeur of which they and Karnak are the most striking remains. They were erected by Amunoph III., and though the faces are totally disfigured, the full, round, beautiful proportions of thecolossal arms, shoulders and thighs do not belie the marvelous sweetness of the features which we still see in his tomb. Except the head of Antinous, I know of no ancient portrait so beautiful as Amunoph. The long and luxuriant hair, flowing in a hundred ringlets, the soft grace of the forehead, the mild serenity of the eye, the fine thin lines of the nostrils, and the feminine tenderness of the full lips, triumph over the cramped rigidity of Egyptian sculpture, and charm you with the lightness and harmony of Greek art. In looking on that head, I can not help thinking that the subject overpowered the artist, and led him to the threshold of a truer art. Amunoph, or Memnon, was a poet in soul, and it was meet that his statue should salute the rising sun with a sound like that of a harp-string. Modern research has wholly annihilated this beautiful fable. Memnon now sounds at all hours of the day, and at the command of all travelers who will pay an Arab five piasters to climb up into his lap. We engaged one, who threw off his garments, hooked his fingers and toes into the cracks of the polished granite, and soon hailed us with ‘salaam’ from the knee of the statue. There is a certain stone on Memnon’s lap, which, when sharply struck, gives out a clear, metallic ring. Behind it is a small square aperture, invisible from below, where one of the priests no doubt stationed himself to perform the daily miracle. Our Arab rapped on the arms and body of the statue, which had the usual dead sound of stone, and rendered the musical ring of the sun-smitten block the more striking.” And Thompson tells us, that while he and his associates sat before it on their donkeys, they saw “a boy of fifteen, with a solitary rag round his waist, scrambling up the side of the statue, and presently he was completely hidden in its lap, just where the sly priest used to hide himself over night. Then striking with a hammer the hollow, sonorous stone, it emitted a sharp, clear sound, like the striking of brass,” though it was “not sunrise, but the middle of a scorching afternoon.” “An avenue of sphinxes,” continues Taylor, “once led from these colossi to a grand temple, the foundations of which we found about a quarter of a mile distant. On the way are the fragments of two other colossi, one of black granite. The enormous substructions of the temple and the pedestals of its columns, have been sufficiently excavated to show what a superb edifice has been lost to the world. A crowd of troublesome Arabs, thrusting upon our attention newly baked cinerary urns, newly roasted antique wheat, and images of all kinds fresh from the maker’s hand, disturbed our quiet examination of the ruins, and in order to escape their importunities, we rode to the Memnonium. This edifice, the temple-palace of Remeses the Great, is supposed to be the Memnonium, described by Strabo. It is built on a gentle rise of land atthe foot of the mountain, and looks eastward to the Nile and Luxor. The grand stone pylon which stands at the entrance of its former avenue of sphinxes, has been half leveled by the fury of the Persian conquerors; and the colossal granite statue of Remeses, in the first court of the temple, now lies in enormous fragments around its pedestal. Mere dimensions give no idea of this immense mass, the weight of which, when entire, was nearly nine hundred tuns. How poor and trifling appear the modern statues which we call colossal, when measured with this, one of whose toes is a yard in length; and how futile the appliances of modern art, when directed to its transportation for a distance of one hundred and fifty miles! The architrave at each end of the court was upheld by four caryatides, thirty feet in hight. Though much defaced, they are still standing, but are dwarfed by the mighty limbs of Remeses. It is difficult to account for the means by which the colossus was broken. There are no marks of any instruments which could have forced such a mass asunder, and the only plausible conjecture I have heard is, that the stone must have been subjected to an intense heat and afterward to the action of water. The statue, in its sitting position, must have been nearly sixty feet in hight, and is the largest in the world, though not so high as the rock-hewn monoliths of Aboo-Simbel. The Turks and Arabs have cut several mill-stones out of its head, without any apparent diminution of its size. The Memnonium differs from the other temples of Egypt in being almost faultless in its symmetry, even when measured by the strictest rules of art. I know of nothing so exquisite as the central colonnade of its grand hall—a double row of pillars, forty-five feet in hight and twenty-three in circumference, crowned with capitals resembling the bell-shaped blossoms of the lotus. One must see them to comprehend how this simple form, whose expression is all sweetness and tenderness in the flower, softens and beautifies the solid majesty of the shaft. In spite of their colossal proportions, there is nothing massive or heavy in their aspect. The cup of the capital curves gently outward from the abacus on which the architrave rests, and seems the natural blossom of the columnar stem. On either side of this perfect colonnade are four rows of Osiride pillars, of smaller size, yet the variety of their form and proportions only enhances the harmony of the whole. This is one of those enigmas in architecture which puzzle one on his first acquaintance with Egyptian temples, and which he is often forced blindly to accept as new laws of art, because his feeling tells him they are true, and his reason can not satisfactorily demonstrate that they are false.
“We waited till the yellow rays of sunset fell on the capitals of the Memnonium, and they seemed, like the lotus flowers, to exhale a vapory light,before we rode home. All night we wandered in dreams through kingly vaults, with starry ceilings and illuminated walls; but on looking out of our windows at dawn, we saw the red saddle-cloths of our horses against the dark background of the palm grove, as they came down to the boat. No second nap was possible, after such a sight, and many minutes had not elapsed before we were tasting the cool morning air in the delight of a race up and down the shore. Our old guide, however, was on his donkey betimes, and called us off to our duty. We passed Goorneh, and ascended the eastern face of the mountain to the tombs of the priests and private citizens of Thebes. For miles along the mountain side, one sees nothing but heaps of sand and rubbish, with here and there an Arab hut, built against the face of a tomb, whose chambers serve as pigeon-houses and stalls for asses. The earth is filled with fragments of mummies, and the bandages in which they were wrapped; for even the sanctity of death itself, is here neither respected by the Arabs nor the Europeans whom they imitate. The first tomb we entered almost cured us of the desire to visit another. It was that called the Assasseef, built by a wealthy priest, and it is the largest in Thebes. Its outer court measures one hundred and three by seventy-six feet, and its passages extend between eight and nine hundred feet into the mountain. We groped our way between walls as black as ink, through long, labyrinthine suites of chambers, breathing a deathlike and oppressive odor. The stairways seemed to lead into the bowels of the earth, and on either hand yawned pits of uncertain depth. As we advanced, the ghostly vaults rumbled with a sound like thunder, and hundreds of noisome bats, scared by the light, dashed against the walls and dropped at our feet. We endured this for a little while, but on reaching the entrance to some darker and deeper mystery, were so surrounded by the animals, who struck their filthy wings against our faces, that not for ten kings’ tombs would we have gone a step further. My friend was on the point of vowing never to set his foot in another tomb, but I persuaded him to wait until we had seen that of Amunoph. I followed the guide, who enticed me by flattering promises into a great many snakelike holes, and when he was tired with crawling in the dust, sent one of our water-carriers in advance, who dragged me in and out by the heels.
“The temple of Medeenet Abou is almost concealed by the ruins of a Coptic village, among which it stands, and by which it is partially buried. The outer court, pylon, and main hall of the smaller temple, rise above the mounds and overlook the plain of Thebes, but scarcely satisfy the expectation of the traveler, as he approaches. You first enter an inclosure surrounded by a low stone wall, and standing in advance of the pylon.The rear wall, facing the entrance, contains two single pillars, with bell-shaped capitals, which rise above it and stand like guards before the doorway of the pylon. Here was another enigma for us. Who among modern architects would dare to plant two single pillars before a pyramidal gateway of solid masonry, and then inclose them in a plain wall, rising to half their hight? Yet here the symmetry of the shafts is not injured by the wall in which they stand, nor oppressed by the ponderous bulk of the pylon. On the contrary, the light columns and spreading capitals, like a tuft of wild roses hanging from the crevice of a rock, brighten the rude strength of the masses of stone with a gleam of singular loveliness. What would otherwise only impress you by its size, now endears itself to you by its beauty. Is this the effect of chance, or the result of a finer art than that which flourishes in our day? I will not pretend to determine, but I must confess that Egypt, in whose ruins I had expected to find only a sort of barbaric grandeur, has given me a new insight into that vital beauty which is the soul of true art. We devoted little time to the ruined court and sanctuaries which follow the pylon, and to the lodges of the main temple, standing beside them like watch-towers, three stories in hight. The majestic pylon of the great temple of Remeses III. rose behind them, out of heaps of pottery and unburnt bricks, and the colossal figure of the monarch in his car, borne by two horses into the midst of the routed enemy, attracted us from a distance. We followed the exterior wall of the temple, for its whole length of more than six hundred feet, reading the sculptured history of his conquests. The entire outer wall of the temple presents a series of gigantic cartoons, cut in the blocks of sandstone, of which it is built. Remeses is always the central figure, distinguished from subjects and foes, no less by his superior stature, than by the royal emblems which accompany him. Here we see heralds sounding the trumpet in advance of his car, while his troops pass in review before him; there, with a lion walking by his side, he sets out on his work of conquest. His soldiers storm a town, and we see them climbing the wall with ladders, while a desperate hand-to-hand conflict is going on below. In another place, he has alighted from his chariot and stands with his foot on the neck of a slaughtered king. Again, his vessels attack a hostile navy on the sea. One of the foreign craft becomes entangled and is capsized, yet while his spearmen hurl their weapons among the dismayed enemy, the sailors rescue those who are struggling in the flood. After we have passed through these strange and stirring pictures, we find the monarch reposing on his throne, while his soldiers deposit before him the hands of the slaughtered, and his scribes present to him lists of their numbers, and his generals lead to him long processions of fettered captives.Again, he is represented as offering a group of subject kings to Amun, the Theban Jupiter, who says to him: ‘Go, my cherished and chosen, make war on foreign nations, besiege their forts and carry off their people to live as captives.’ On the front wall, he holds in his grasp the hands of a dozen monarchs, while with the other hand he raises his sword to destroy them. Their faces express the very extreme of grief and misery, but he is cold and calm as fate itself. We slid down the piles of sand and entered by a side-door into the grand hall of the temple. Here, as at Dendera, a surprise awaited us. We stood on the pavement of a magnificent court, about one hundred and thirty feet square, around which ran a colonnade of pillars, eight feet square and forty feet high. On the western side is an inner row of circular columns, twenty-four feet in circumference, with capitals representing the papyrus blossom. The entire court, with its walls, pillars and doorways, is covered with splendid sculptures and traces of paint, and the ceiling is blue as the noonday sky, and studded with stars. Against each of the square columns facing the court once stood a colossal caryatid, upholding the architrave of another colonnade of granite shafts, nearly all of which have been thrown from their bases and lie shivered on the pavement. This court opens toward the pylon into another of similar dimensions, but buried almost to the capitals of its columns in heaps of rubbish. The character of the temple is totally different from that of every other in Egypt. Its hight is small in proportion to its great extent, and it therefore loses the airy lightness of the Memnonium and the impressive grandeur of Dendera. Its expression is that of a massive magnificence, if I may use such a doubtful compound: no single epithet suffices to describe it.”
The visit to this temple ended our traveler’s survey of the western division of Thebes, “two long days of such experience,” he remarks, “as the contemplation of a lifetime can not exhaust;” and at sunset they crossed over the Nile, to
The temple of Luxor is imbedded in the modern village, and only the front of the pylon, facing toward Karnak, and part of the grand central colonnade, are free from its hovels and their accessories. For this reason, though of much grander proportions than the Memnonium, its effect is less agreeable and impressive. “Its plan, however,” says Taylor, “is easily traced; and having been built by only two monarchs, Remeses the Great and Amunoph III., or, to use their more familiar titles, Sesostris and Memnon, it is less bewildering, in a historical point of view, to the unstudied tourist, than most of the other temples of Egypt. The sanctuary, whichstands nearest the Nile, is still protected by the ancient stone quay, though the river has made rapid advances, and threatens finally to undermine Luxor as it has already undermined the temples of Antæopolis and Antinoë. I rode into what were once the sacred chambers, but the pillars and sculptures were covered with filth, and the Arabs had built in, around and upon them, like the clay nests of the cliff-sparrow. The peristyle of majestic Osiride pillars, in front of the portico, as well as the portico itself, are buried to half their depth, and so surrounded by hovels, that to get an idea of their arrangement you must make the tour of a number of hen-houses and asses’ stalls. The pillars are now employed as drying-posts for the buffalo dung which the Arabs use as fuel. Proceeding toward the entrance, the next court, which is tolerably free from incumbrances, contains a colonnade of two rows of lotus-crowned columns, twenty-eight feet in circumference. They still uphold their architraves of giant blocks of sandstone, and rising high above the miserable dwellings of the village, are visible from every part of the plain of Thebes. The English vice-consul occupies a house between two of these pillars. He gave us the agreeable news that the consul was endeavoring to persuade the pasha to have Karnak cleared of its rubbish and preserved from further spoliation. If I possessed despotic power, (and I then wished it for the first time,) I should certainly make despotic use of it, in tearing down some dozens of villages and setting some thousands of Copts and Fellahs at work in exhuming what their ancestors have mutilated and buried. The world can not spare these remains. Tear down Roman ruins if you will; level Cyclopean walls; build bridges with the stones of Gothic abbeys and feudal fortresses; but lay no hand on the glory and grandeur of Egypt! We ascended the great pylon of the temple, on the face of the towers of which the victories of Remeses are sculptured; but his colossi, solid figures of granite, which sit on either side of the entrance, have been much defaced. The lonely obelisk, which stands a little in advance, on the left hand, is more perfect than its Parisian mate. From this stately entrance, an avenue of colossal sphinxes once extended to the Ptolemaic pylon of Karnak, a distance of a mile and a half. The sphinxes have disappeared, and the modern Arab road leads over its site, through fields of waste grass.”
“And now we galloped forward, through a long procession of camels, donkeys, and desert Arabs armed with spears, toward Karnak, the greatest ruin in the world, the crowning triumph of Egyptian power and Egyptian art. Except a broken stone here and there protruding through the soil, theplain is as desolate as if it had never been conscious of a human dwelling; and only on reaching the vicinity of the mud hamlet of Karnak, can the traveler realize that he is in Thebes. Here the camel-path drops into a broad excavated avenue, lined with fragments of sphinxes and shaded by starveling acacias. As you advance, the sphinxes are better preserved and remain seated on their pedestals, but they have all been decapitated. Though of colossal proportions, they are seated so close to each other, that it must have requirednearly two thousandto form the double row to Luxor. The avenue finally reaches a single pylon, of majestic proportions, built by one of the Ptolemies, and covered with profuse hieroglyphics. Passing through this, the sphinxes lead you to another pylon, followed by a pillared court and a temple built by the later Remesides. This, I thought, while my friend was measuring the girth of the pillars, is a good beginning for Karnak, but it is certainly much less than I expect. ‘Tāāl min hennee!’ (come this way!) called the guide, as if reading my mind, and led me up the heaps of rubbish to the roof and pointed to the north. Ah, there was Karnak! Had I been blind up to this time, or had the earth suddenly heaved out of her breast the remains of the glorious temple? From all parts of the plain of Thebes I had seen it in the distance—a huge propylon, a shattered portico, and an obelisk, rising above the palms. Whence this wilderness of ruins, spreading so far as to seem a city rather than a temple; pylon after pylon, tumbling into enormous cubes of stone, long colonnades, supporting fragments of Titanic roofs, obelisks of red granite, and endless walls and avenues, branching out to isolated portals? Yet they stood as silently amid the accumulated rubbish of nearly four thousand years, and the sunshine threw its yellow luster as serenely over the despoiled sanctuaries, as if it had never been otherwise since the world began. Figures are of no use, in describing a place like this, but since I must use them, I may say that the length of the ruins before us, from west to east, was twelve hundred feet, and that the total circumference of Karnak, including its numerous pylæ, or gateways, is a mile and a half.
“We mounted and rode with fast-beating hearts to the western or main entrance, facing the Nile. The two towers of the propylon (pyramidal masses of solid stone) are three hundred and twenty-nine feet in length, and the one which is least ruined, is nearly one hundred feet in hight. On each side of the sculptured portal connecting them, is a tablet left by the French army, recording the geographical position of the principal Egyptian temples. We passed through, and entered an open court, more than three hundred feet square, with a corridor of immense pillars on each side, connecting it with the towers of a second pylon, nearly as gigantic as the first.A colonnade of lofty shafts, leading through the center of the court, once united the two entrances, but they have all been hurled down, and lay as they fell, in long lines of disjointed blocks, except one, which holds its solitary lotus-bell against the sky. Two mutilated colossi of red granite still guard the doorway, whose lintel-stones are forty feet in length. Climbing over the huge fragments which have fallen from above and almost blocked up the passage, we looked down into the grand hall of the temple. I knew the dimensions of this hall, beforehand; I knew the number and size of the pillars, but I was no more prepared for the reality than those will be, who may read this account of it and afterward visit Karnak for themselves. It is the great good luck of travel that many things must be seen to be known. Nothing could have compensated for the loss of that overwhelming confusion of awe, astonishment, and delight, which came upon me like a flood. I looked down an avenue of twelve pillars, six on each side, each of which was thirty-six feet in circumference and nearly eighty feet in hight. Crushing as were these ponderous masses of sculptured stone, the spreading bell of the lotus-blossoms which crowned them, clothed them with an atmosphere of lightness and grace. In front, over the top of another pile of colossal blocks, two obelisks rose sharp and clear, with every emblem legible on their polished sides. On each side of the main aisle are seven other rows of columns,one hundred and twenty-twoin all; each of which is about fifty feet high and twenty-seven in circumference. They have the Osiride form, without capitals, and do not range with the central shafts. In the efforts of the conquerors to overthrow them, two have been hurled from their places and thrown against the neighboring ones, where they still lean, as if weary with holding up the roof of massive sandstone. I walked alone through this hall, trying to bear the weight of its unutterable majesty and beauty. That I had been so oppressed by Dendera, seemed a weakness which I was resolved to conquer, and I finally succeeded in looking on Karnak with a calmness more commensurate with its sublime repose; but not by daylight. My next visit was at night, at the time of the full moon. There was a wan haze in the air, and a pale halo around the moon, on each side of which appeared two faint mock-moons. It was a ghostly light, and the fresh north wind, coming up the Nile, rustled solemnly in the palm-trees. We trotted silently to Karnak, and leaped our horses over the fragments until we reached the foot of the first obelisk. Here we dismounted and entered the grand hall of pillars. There was no sound in all the temple, and the guide, who seemed to comprehend my wish, moved behind me as softly as a shadow, and spoke not a word. It needs this illumination to comprehend Karnak. The unsightly rubbish has disappeared:the rents in the roof are atoned for by the moonlight they admit; the fragments shivered from the lips of the mighty capitals are only the crumpled edges of the flower; a maze of shadows hides the desolation of the courts, but every pillar and obelisk, pylon and propylon is glorified by the moonlight. The soul of Karnak is soothed and tranquillized. Its halls look upon you no longer with an aspect of pain and humiliation. Every stone seems to say: ‘I am not fallen, for I have defied the ages. I am a part of that grandeur which has never seen its peer, and I shall endure forever, for the world has need of me.’ I climbed to the roof, and sat looking down into the hushed and awful colonnades, till I was thoroughly penetrated with their august and sublime expression. I should probably have remained all night, an amateur colossus, with my hands on my knees, had not the silence been disturbed by two arrivals of romantic tourists, an Englishman and two Frenchmen. We exchanged salutations, and I mounted my restless mare again, touched her side with the stirrup, and sped back to Luxor. The guide galloped beside me, occasionally hurling his spear into the air and catching it as it fell, delighted with my readiness to indulge his desert whims. I found the captain and sailors all ready and my friend smoking his pipe on deck. In half an hour we had left Thebes.”
Such is a faint view of these ruins of forty centuries, the remains of that splendid city, Thebes, in comparison with which New York is but an infant to the mighty giant! “Yes, proud upstart ofthisnineteenth century,” says Thompson, “the so-called Empire city, commercial emporium of the west, great metropolis of the new world, if thy rivers should sweep over and bury thee, not all the stone of the Croton reservoir, and the city hall, and the Astor house, and of a hundred churches forsooth, would make one pile like Karnak; nor could any of these furnish a single stone for the lintels of its gates. Yet Karnak, which began to be in thatothernineteenth centurybeforeChrist, is not yet a ruin! Its gateways stand; its grand hall stands, its columns nearly all unbroken, and not one spire of grass, or tuft of moss, or leaf of ivy, hides its speaking sculptures. Only the sand has covered them; and when this is removed, they are as fresh as yesterday.”
“Such is the skeleton of Thebes, as we can reconstruct it of such materials and from such localities as yet mark its site. But what was Thebes when, resting upon the Lybian mountains on the west and the Arabian on the east, with the Nile flowing through its center, it filled a circuit of twenty-five miles in a plain of twice that area, teeming with fertility! What was Thebes when she could pour forth twenty thousand chariots of war, and when the grand triumphal procession of priests, andofficers of state, and soldiers, and captives, swept through these colossal avenues to grace the conqueror’s return! What was Thebes when, by the way of the Red sea, Arabia and the Indies poured all their commerce into her lap, and the Nile brought her the spoils of Ethiopia and of the great sea! What was Thebes when she possessed wealth, and mechanic arts, and physical force, to rear such monuments even in the midst of war, and sometimes more than one in the reign of a single monarch! What was Thebes, with all the arts and inventions of civilized life that are sculptured upon the tombs of her kings to mark the progress of their day; from building arches and bridges, to glass-blowing and porcelain manufactures, to the making of umbrellas, fans, chairs, and divans, fine linens, and all the appurtenances of a modern drawing-room! What was Thebes when all merchants resorted thither from Persia, from Ethiopia, from Lybia, and the Levant! What was Thebes when the artists and scholars of infant Greece and Rome went thither to school! Was not Egypt the mother of nations? Where is the art of Greece or Rome that was not tutored in Egypt; that has not simply graced Egyptian forms—nor always this? Where is the philosophy of Greece or Rome that was not borrowed from Egypt? Even the divine Plato, who only waited for the true Logos, learned at Egypt’s shrine. Egypt gave birth to art, gave birth to thought, before Greece and Rome were born. She was the grand repository of human power; the originator of all great forms of human development; the originator, the inventor, the great prototype of the world’s history, here laid up in her hieroglyphic archives. In all material things, yes, and in all great intellectual forms, in poetry, in art, in philosophy, in science, and in the religion of nature, this nineteenth century is but the recipient of the mighty past. Whatever she has of these, she but inherits through Rome and Greece from their old mother Egypt. What she has better than these, she has by gift divine, through that Christianity which purifies, enfranchises, and ennobles man, reforms society, and makes free the state. If she hold fast by this, she will become resplendent with a glory that Egypt never knew; but if she slight this, and sell her birthright for luxury and power, the meanest grave at Thebes would suffice to bury this nineteenth century with its boasted inventions.“
All the mere ruins of Thebes, however, immense and magnificent as they are, fail to give us true views of her greatness, till we go back to her origin, and trace up her history; and this is so graphically done by Thompson, in his “Egypt, Past and Present,” that we quote from it, what he so appropriately calls “Dissolving Views: Panorama of Karnak.” “In order,” hesays, “to a complete view of Thebes, past and present, one should reproduce its sculptured story, and make it witness for itself. The temple of Karnak, in its several parts, marks the rise, the growth, the decline, and the fall of Egypt. This temple had a growth of twenty-five hundred years, from a small sanctuary to ‘a city of temples.’ Every principal era of the national history is represented in this stupendous pile; and as we go leisurely around it, and translate into our own language, or vivify into present actual scenes, the processions, the battles, the ceremonies, the religious offerings, and the state displays, sculptured on its walls and columns, and for the most part still legible, we behold all Egypt move before usas in a panorama, whose scenes and actors are instinct with life. This animated reproduction of the sculptures, which I attempted when on the ground, I would hope to convey to the reader by following in course the histories here written on the stone.
“I stood in Karnak, under the light of the full moon. It was an hour for silence, and we enjoined this upon each other, and gave ourselves to solitary musing. The cuckoo, that had wooed us with his note as we reposed under the great pillars in the sultry noon, had gone to nestle with his mate; and the myriad birds that by day had fluttered along the corridors, had hid themselves in the crevices of the capitals. Even the owl that hooted as we entered, was still. Only the moon was there, threading the avenues with silver footsteps, and holding her clear light that we might read the sculptured chronicles of kings. We sat down in the center of the grand avenue. Twelve majestic pillars, on either hand, towered along its length, and seemed, as of old, to support an arch of azure studded with stars. The dismantled towers of the grand entrance, whose bases stand like pyramids truncated to sustain the firmament, grew more gigantic in the shadow of the columns, while their once massive gates, uncovered by the hand of time, seemed only to have lifted up their heads to let the King of Glory in. In the avenue that crossed beside our seat, (one of twelve, having each ten columns of huge dimensions,) at either extremity, a column had fallen crosswise against its neighbor, carrying with it its fragment of the stone roof, and there it hung almost ethereal in the still moonlight, a symbol of the struggle between man and time. Under the corridors, darkness brooded over the fragments of sculptured stone; but beyond the other portal, the yet perfect obelisk stood in pensive majesty among its fallen mates, and from its clear, hard face projected in the moonbeams the symbols of the power that built these halls, and of the worship that sustained them. The spell of Egypt was complete. For two months I had lived under its deepening power. At length, in the sepulchers of its kings, and on the walls and pillars of its temples, I had seen the Egypt of forty centuriesrevived as in a panorama fresh from the artist’s pencil, and had lived in the Egypt that the Nilethenwatered, as in the so-called Egypt that it waters now. And here I had come to bid it farewell, to take a last look at its grave; and yet the witching moonlight made itliveagain. The breath of the south fanning the columns that in their fourth decade of centuries wear no ivied wreath of age, warmed their still grandeur into life, and with Memnon’s charm they sang to the moon the great epic of the past. As I listened, all art, all learning, all religion, all poetry, all history, all empire, and all time, swept through my wondering soul. Leaving my companions, I wandered over the fragments of columns and sphinxes and colossi, till, gaining a mound that half buries the front area of the temple, I clambered up the steps worn by age in its stupendous wall, and standing in their foremost tower, looked back on Karnak. But no change of place, nor sight of fallen columns and decaying walls, could break the spell. I had walked over the grave of Egypt, I had stumbled against the fragments of its sepulcher, yet Egypt stood before me.
“First came the second son of Ham, with a long retinue of camels and of servants, lured southward by the fertile valley of the Nile, till, where the mountains widen their embrace around the well-watered plain, he pitches his tent, and founds an infant city. Generations pass, and the son who in this plain inherits the patriarchal wealth and power, greedy of the patrimony of his brethren to the north, wages a fratricidal war, and seizing upon all Mizr or ‘the land of Ham,’ effaces from it the name of his ancestors, and, investing it with his own, givesEgypt(Copt or Gurt) a name and a power in the newly divided earth. Other generations pass, and the firstkingof Egypt comes with barbaric pomp, from the capital he has founded at the north, to visit his nativeTheba, the real ‘head’ or capital, and here offers to its divinity the rude shrine whose traces linger behind yonder obelisk. Ages roll on. The swelling Nile pours out increasing fatness on the land. The earth brings forth by handfuls. Fat-fleshed, well-favored cattle come up out of the river and feed in the meadow. There is great plenteousness for man and beast. But with all the plenty there is no waste. In every city huge granaries are built, and in these the grain is piled, as the sand of the sea, without measure. There is a strange wisdom near the throne of Pharaoh. Again, the east wind blows, and the scorching sands of the Arabian desert are heaped upon the fertile Nile. In the mountains of Ethiopia there is no rain. The river shrinks away. The plain of Thebes is dry. The people cry for bread, but the keys of the great storehouses are in the hand of the ruler of the land. They bring to him their money; they bring to him their cattle; they sell to him their land: they sell to him theirvery selves for bread. Again, the east wind ceases; the rains fall, the river rises; the desert retreats; the land revives. And now the great Pharaoh, whom the counsel of a captive Jew has made possessor of all the treasure and all the land of Egypt, moved by a religious sentiment but half enlightened, would make a votive offering to his god. A fleet of barges covers the bosom of the Nile, which with waving banners and gorgeous emblems and increasing music, have borne the monarch from his northern to his southern capital. With solemn pomp the procession of priests and soldiers and chief officers of state, with the uplifted monarch in the midst, files from the river to the rude sanctuary ofMenes, which the skill of masons and of sculptors has already surrounded with columns of rich red granite, and chambers of polished stone, and with colossal statues of the king—the offering he brings to the divinity, whom he adores as the preserver of the land; and while the monarch bows before the god, the sound of trumpets, and the fragrance of incense, and the chanting of the priests, announce to the multitude thatAmunaccepts the gift, and will be henceforth worshiped in their temple.Osirtasenthe Great passes away.
“The ages roll. A native Theban usurps the throne of the northern Pharaohs, and succeeds to the power they had consolidated through the counsel of the Hebrew, vouchsafed to them through fourscore years. But Joseph is dead; embalmed and coffined in a royal sarcophagus; and Amosis the usurper knows him not. Oppression fills the land, and falls most heavily upon the seed of Joseph. Another Theban Pharaoh mounts the throne, and to preserve the power that the wisdom of a Hebrew gave, determines to cut off the issue of the Hebrews from the land. Yet in his own house, even as a son, in all the learning of his schools, amid all the splendors of his court, is nurtured a young Hebrew who yet shall desolate the land that Joseph blessed. But just now this rising terror has fled into the desert, and the firstThothmescomes in peaceful pomp to offer to the divinity of Thebes the gigantic obelisks that bear his name. He plants them yonder in the area before the sanctuary of Osirtasen. The third Thothmes is on the throne. There is groaning throughout the land of Egypt; there is deep sorrow in the land of Goshen. The monarch would make his name immortal by the temples, the palaces, and the monuments he rears in every city, from the great sea to the cataracts of Nubia. He adorns his native capital upon its western bank with a new sanctuary added to the temple of his father, and with another temple inclosed with brick, that bear in hieroglyphics his own initials; and here at Karnak, he builds behind the sanctuary, a thousand feet from where I stand, the grand edifice of fifty columns that surpasses all the royal architecture yet seen in Thebes. In itsadytum he enshrines a colossal figure of the deified hawk that he worships. He is the great architect of Egypt, and he will fill the land with the memorials of his reign. Heliopolis and Noph, Zoan and Sin, attest his grandeur. But the voice of another God now thunders in his ear. The exiled Hebrew has returned. The land is filled with plagues, frogs, lice, flies, blood, murrain, hail, locusts, darkness, death. The king has gone from Thebes to Zoan, his most northern seat, where these judgments overtake him. The land of Goshen, that had sweltered under his exactions, breathes more freely, and he lets the people go. But gathering his chariots of war in mad haste, he pursues them, and hems them in between the mountains and the sea. Eager for his prey, he plunges into the channel God has made for them, and the proud architect of Egypt returns not, even to occupy the gorgeous tomb he had prepared for himself at Thebes.
“The ages roll on, and a mighty conqueror sits on the throne of Egypt. With his myriad chariots he sweeps Ethiopia on the south, and Canaan on the north, and gathering all the forces of the Nile, he shakes Lebanon with his tread, and scatters the hosts of Syria on the plains of the Euphrates. And now there is an unwonted stir in Thebes. From all Egypt the priests and the great men are gathered to greet the conqueror’s return. In the distance, amid clouds of infantry, is seen the chariot of the king. Bound to his chariot wheels are the captive princes he has taken in his wars. Behind him are his son, and the royal scribe who bears the record of his victories. A long line of captives, bound about the necks with cords, follow in his train. The cortege moves from temple to temple through the city, till it reaches that of Karnak. Here, alighting from his chariot, the monarch enters the temple of Amunre, to present his captives and booty to the protecting deity of Thebes; then laying his captives on the block, with a ponderous club he dashes out their brains as a sacrifice to the god, and amid the acclamations of the people, is borne like a god to his own palace. And now the conqueror, reposing on his laurels, gives himself to the work of enriching the capital with new and more splendid edifices for the honor of its divinities, and the commemoration of his reign. From all Egypt are summoned the masons and sculptors, the painters and artificers and ‘cunning workmen;’ and the army that had stormed the hights of Lebanon now levies from the mountains of the Arabian desert their tribute of limestone and sandstone and granite of various hues, of syenite and porphyry and alabaster, to construct these temples, and to adorn these avenues. The grand hall of Karnak rises in its majestic proportions, a fit approach to the sanctuary of Amun. Its gates lift up their heads. Its tenfold avenues rear their massive, lofty, graceful pillars—each a single stone hewn into arounded, swelling shaft, with a wreathed or flowered capital—and with their roof of solid stone, compose the portico that there in the moonlight, restored to its original perfection, stands confessed the wonder of the world. The chisel sculptures on its walls and columns the battle scenes of the king and his offerings to the god, and the name ofOsireipasses into history. His son succeeds to his victories and to his glory. For, on the far off plains of Asia, the great Sesostris breaks the power of the Assyrian hosts, and leads their captive chiefs in chains. Babylon bows to Egypt. There is another day of exultation in the capital; but the pomp of the returning Osirei pales before the national ovation to his son. The priests, in their sacred vestments, go forth to meet him, bearing aloft the figures of his illustrious ancestors, from Menes to Osirei. The king, alighting from his chariot, mounts the triumphal car prepared for his reception, whose fiery steeds are led by liveried grooms. His fan-bearers wave the flabella over his head, and the priests and the chief men of the nation kneel in homage at his throne. And now the grand procession forms to enter the city. Trumpeters herald its approach, and bands of music, with choristers, form the van. In long line the priests and officers of state precede the monarch, bearing scepters, arms, and other insignia, and the cushioned steps of the throne. The statues of his ancestors head the royal column, and after these is borne a statue of the god upon men’s shoulders under a gilded canopy. The sacred bull, adorned with garlands, is led by members of the sacerdotal order. The monarch is attended by his scribes, who exhibit proudly the scroll of his achievements. Behind his car are dragged the captives, their chained hands uplifted for mercy, and their cries and lamentations mingling wildly with the bursts of music and the shouts of the multitude. These are followed by the spoils of war—oxen, chariots, horses, and sacks of gold; and beyond, a corps of infantry in close array, flanked by numerous chariots, bring up the rear. The vast throng sweep from temple to temple, and rend the air with acclamations. At length the divinity, that had been taken from its shrine to welcome the victor, is brought before its own adytum. Here the high-priest offers incense to the monarch, who, in turn, alights from his throne and burns incense to the god. And now the horrid sacrifice of war is made to the patron deity. The wretched captives are beaten in the presence of the king; their right hands are cut off, and being counted by the scribes, are retained as trophies: their persons are horribly mutilated; their heads are severed by the sword or mangled by the mace, and the gorgeous, barbarous scene is closed.
“There is peace in Egypt; and the king builds, on yonder western bank, the majestic and beautiful Memnonium, covers its walls with the story ofhis victories, and sets before its gate the stupendous statue of himself, the symbol of the grandeur and the power of Egypt, enthroned in a sublime and an immortal repose. He builds the vast area of Luxor, with its massive gates and towers, and before these plants colossal statues of himself and lofty obelisks, and lines with huge symbolic sculptures the avenue to Karnak. Here he lays up before the shrine of Amun, as depicted on the walls, a gorgeous barge overlaid with gold without, and with silver within, a tribute from the spoils of war. He enriches the walls of the grand hall by adding to the sculptured story of his father’s reign the battle scenes of his own, and before the portico constructs this area of a hundred thousand square feet, surrounded with its covered corridor, and adorned with sphinxes and a central avenue of tufted columns, and faced with these stupendous towers. He throws around the whole a massive wall, and Karnak stands complete in the glory of the great Remeses. Then follows the resplendent dynasty of all the Osirei and the Remeses, and Egypt culminates to its meridian splendor. Her schools rise with her temples, and the epic bard of Scio sings the ‘hundred gates of Thebes,’ while the priests and the philosophers of young Greece resort to the mother of mythology and of letters, and Grecian sculptors come to study the forms and creations of the mother of art. The king of Israel, whose fame for wisdom and for wealth is known in all the earth, wooes the daughter of the king of Egypt, and she whom ‘the sun had looked upon’ on the confines of Ethiopia, shines in the golden palace at Jerusalem, ‘beautiful as Tirzeh, and comely as the tents of Kedar.’
“But again the hosts of Egypt are marshaled for battle; again they sweep the borders of the north; again is heard the shout of victory; again Thebes is astir for the conqueror’s return. NowShishakbrings to the temple of Amun the treasures of the house of Jehovah at Jerusalem; the golden shields of Solomon, and the treasures of the palace he had built. Twelve hundred chariots, and sixty thousand horsemen, and footmen without number, swell the train of the victorious king. Nailing the heads of his wretched captives to the block of the executioner, he whets his sword to sacrifice them to the god; and the blood of Israel once more cries to God from the land of Egypt. From afar the voice of the prophet speaks the answer of Jehovah to that cry: ‘Behold, I am against Pharaoh king of Egypt, and will break his arms; and I will cause the sword to fall out of his hand. Howl ye; woe, woe the day! For the day is near, even the day of the Lord is near, a cloudy day. The sword shall come upon Egypt; and the pride of her power shall come down.’ Again a mighty host, sweeping from the north, hovers upon the plain of Thebes. The idols are moved intheir temples, the cry of the people is in the streets. But it is not now the return of her victorious king that stirs the royal city. The greatramfrom the plains of Persia, pushing westward and southward, gores Egypt with his horns, overthrows her temples and her statues, treads Memnon and Remeses in the dust, drinks up the river and devours the valley. There is sorrow and groaning in the land of Egypt for a hundred years, when lo! again the dust of mighty hosts sweeps from the north. Thehe-goatfrom the west, moved with choler at the ram, that drinks up the great rivers, rushes upon him in the fury of his power, and casts him down and stamps upon him. The Persian conqueror of Thebes retires before the Macedonian conqueror of Persia. Greece, though a conqueror, pays homage to Egypt as her mistress. New cities are built; temples and monuments are restored. Upon the plain of Thebes, new works of art unite the sculptured records of the Ptolemies with the broken tablets of the Pharaohs. Karnak itself opens new portals, and revives its ancient splendor. Again the schools of Egypt are visited from Greece. And where Homer drank his inspiration, and Herodotus pored over the hieroglyphics, and the papyrus records, and the dim traditions of thethenold world, Plato comes to ponder the great mysteries of the soul’s existence, and its relations to the infinite.
“But the doom of Egypt is not yet fulfilled. Her resurrection can not now come. The gigantichornthat sweeps the stars, trails the young Egypt of Alexander in the dust. Again she lifts her head and wooes her conqueror to repose awhile in the lap of luxury. Beauty usurps the dominion of power; and the golden barge of Cleopatra sweeps up the Nile with silken sails perfumed with sweetest odors, or moves with silver oars attuned to the soft melody of lutes. Rome adds her tamer art to the great majesty of Egypt, and restores yet further what the Persian had destroyed. Yet Egypt may not rise. A new power enters to possess the land. Under the Roman name, the religion that had visited the land with Abraham, with Joseph, and with Moses, comes to enshrine itself in these old temples, emptied of their gods and broken in their forms. The voice of prayer and praise to the God of Israel is heard in the temple built by their oppressor, and the name of the infant whom Egypt sheltered, is spoken with reverence and adoration in all her holy places. Yonder, in the furthest temple of this mighty pile, a Christian church assembles; there, in the court of Luxor, stands another Christian altar, while, across the river, the colonnade of Medeenet Abou encompasses the lesser columns of a Christian temple built within its folds. But the spirit of the old temple lingers in its form, and with it embraces the new. Again the liveried priests march through the corridors, bearing mysterious symbols, and chanting unknown strains.Again the pomp of state is blended with the pomp of worship, and the pictured saint but plasters over the sculptured deity. The religion and the empire of Rome are alikeeffete, and can give no life to Egypt. And now barbaric hordes from the east pour in upon the land, and sweep these both away. The sword of the Moslem, hacking the plastered walls, writes there in blood the forgotten truth,there is one God, though it add thereto the stupendous lie, that makes the other cardinal of his religion. The wild man of the desert pitches his tent upon the plain where Mizraim halted centuries before, or hides himself under the cover of broken tombs and temples. He hardly moves from his retreat, when the imperious Turk, his brother Moslem, proclaims himself master of Egypt and Arabia by the will of God. And now here sits the Arab on this luxurious plain, among these crumbling giants of the past, startled at his own shadow, without the spirit to fight either for himself against his tyrant, or for his country in that tyrant’s service. Here he sits, where Osirei and Remeses and Shishak have chronicled their names and deeds beside their own gigantic portraits. Here he sits, where moved in royal state the conqueror of Ethiopia, of Judah, of Syria, and of Babylon. Here he sits, where the fierce Cambyses dealt his retribution; where Alexander moved with a pomp that none but he could boast; where Cæsar followed in the train of mighty men—yet owned the greater might of woman. Here he sits—‘Il faut descendre,’ said my guide, who had tortured his Arabic gutturals into a rude French; ‘il faut descendre,’ (it is necessary to go down.)Il faut descendre, repeated I, as I looked over upon the tombs of the kings, all drear and ghostly in the moonlight; and looked where Memnon stood, and all was desolate; and looked toward Luxor, where the moonlight stole faintly through its broken towers; and turned and looked at Karnak, as the meridian moon now shone upon heaps of rubbish, and broken columns, and crumbling walls.Il faut descendre,IT MUST GO DOWN; and, turning to descend, I stumbled over an Arab hovel, plastered upon the very top of the tower of Sesostris, and heard the yelping of the dogs from the huts that bury the side temple of the conqueror of Babylon. The spell was broken; and Egypt was a dream. Riding back, amid barking dogs and shivering, shrinking Arabs, over the dusty plain to Luxor, I lay down upon the divan where, two months before, I had dreamed of Egypt, when, entering the Nile, I felt her resistless spell. But no dream of Egypt came. Egypt herself had vanished.As a dream when one awaketh, so, O Lord, when thou awakedst, thou didst despise her image.”