Moslem Worship.—Scenery of the Nile.—Fellowship with the People.—The Temple of Dendera.—Mr. Taylor’s Enthusiasm.—Luxor.—Karnak.—The Extent of Ancient Thebes.—The Tombs and Statues.—The Natives.—Arrives at Assouan.—The Island of Phil?,—Separation of the Friends.—Starts for the White Nile.—Trip through the Desert.—Again on the Nile.—Reception by the People and Officials.—Visits Ancient Meroe. Mr. Taylor’s sympathy with all mankind led him to regard with sincere respect the daily religious ceremonies which his Moslem boatmen performed, with their faces toward Mecca. He often mentioned their punctuality and apparent sincerity, and contrasted it with some of the formal, half-hearted proceedings in some Christian churches. His regard for conscientious worship, which appeared to characterize the ignorant Arabs, appears more striking to persons who have travelled the same route over which Mr. Taylor went, for it is so common a sight to see bigoted, conceited Europeans ridiculing the prostrations, prayers, and gestures of the worshippers. The writer most keenly regrets having been compelled to witness the caricaturing of a Moslem at prayer, by a coarse, hard-hearted, brutal Christian countryman, while the sad and shocked[165] believers in Mahomet stood by, scarce able to resist the temptation to throw the Frank into the Nile. In the lovable, noble character of Mr. Taylor, there was no inclination to ridicule the conscientious belief of any man, and instinctively he kept silent and patiently endured the delay when the call to prayer took his employees from their labor. In return for his sincere regard for them, he received the love and most faithful service of the natives. They stole nothing from him. They shielded him from enemies and affectionately cared for his health.
Thus, with friends for boatmen, an admirer for a guide, and a most agreeable comrade for a travelling companion, he floated along, inhaling from every breeze the essence of health and comfort. The banks were covered with the richest and rarest verdure, for it was the Egyptian spring. There were luxuriant grasses, palms and sugar-cane; there flourished wheat, cotton, maize, hemp, indigo, tobacco, oranges, olives, and dates, springing from the richest soil which civilized man has yet seen. Harvests came and went in confused succession; the ripe fruit with blossom; threshing-floors piled with ripe dourra, while around, the new wheat seeking the sunlight, betokened a bounty munificent and inexhaustible. So prolific and speedy was the growth of the crops that the people could not, with their rude implements, avail themselves of the full benefits of one harvest before its rank successors forced them to turn their labor into other[166] channels. Then, as now, the fields, for miles inland from the river, were checkered with canals, and the rude water-wheel and awkward “well-sweep” were kept in constant motion to supply the vast amount of water necessary to the irrigation of hundreds of square miles. There were goats, mules, horses, and a variety of fowl, and in the wild nooks a grand collection of birds of the gayest songs and plumage. The sky was clear, the air balmy, the breezes cool and light, the cabin of their boat was spacious, and their beds comfortable. It was “a soothing experience for an aching heart.”
In the first week of December they arrived at Dendera, where stands in majestic completeness one of the most ancient temples of Egypt. It has for thousands of years been half buried in the earth, and at one time must have been nearly hid by the shifting sands of the desert which once surrounded the pile. The impression which the gigantic columns, sixty feet high, and the enormous blocks of stone, eight feet thick, gave to them, is doubtless shared in some degree by all travellers. As he walked through the shadowy recesses, each aperture seeming like a deep cave in a rocky mountain, he was filled with a solemn sense of awe and sadness, which so overwhelmed him that he peered about the avenues in silence, and involuntarily stood on tip-toe. The sombre grandeur of the massive masonry, the sacred associations connected with the ancient worship of Osiris and Isis, the wonderful[167] tales of wars, tyrannies, famines, plagues, Rameses, Moses, Pharaoh, Alexander, Ptolemy, Cambyses, and Napoleon, which those lofty statues could tell if their symmetrical lips could speak, awaken indescribable emotions, deep, thrilling, and permanent. Mr. Taylor saw a grace and an artistic merit in the stone figures, and in the hieroglyphics that adorned the temple, which few travellers detect or admit. To many travellers the figures on those old porches and halls seem rude and often out of proportion, and the writer confesses to having been one of the latter class. But Mr. Taylor’s appreciating scrutiny may be accounted for on the basis that with his poetical instincts and thorough culture in art, there were beauties in those works of ancient sculptors, latent to others, but apparent and striking to him. But there is no disagreement as to the unspeakable solemnity of the place and the gloom of its lonely halls.
The next night they reached Luxor, and caught the first glimpse of those interesting ruins by moonlight. There, silent and stately, arose the great Colonnade. There, quietly recalling the ancients, stood the twin Obelisk to the one at which Mr. Taylor had often looked in the Place de la Concorde in Paris, when as a boy he dreamed of distant Egypt. For seven miles around the Temple of Luxor are the ruins of ancient Thebes, within which were once the temples of Karnak, Luxor, Goorneh, Memnonium, and hundreds more, which now cumber the otherwise fertile plains.[168] Thebes, with its hundred gates, with its countless armies, with its wise men, its Colossus that sang in the morning sunlight, its avenues of sphinxes and gods in stone, lay broken, spurned, and dead before them. The same moon looked down on them that gazed on the priests of Isis and the palace of its C?sars. No one can imagine anything so solemn and grand as to stand in the moonlight on the haunted plains of ancient Thebes! One may have thought the Coliseum at Rome impressive beyond description when seen in the favorable light of an autumn moon, but when compared with Thebes it is tame and insignificant. Ages and ages before the rape of the Sabines, these temples had been constructed. They saw the morning of civilization; but now they are ruined and useless, the night seems best fitted for an appreciative view of them. Among the mighty colonnades whose columns are broken and falling, and around gigantic remains of ancient statues carved from a mountain of stone, Mr. Taylor wandered for two whole days. He scrutinize............