DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4393#0162
144 A TIIOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE.
recommending the boy to climb over and the sailor to
knock louder and suggesting that Abbas the absent might
possibly be found in a certain neighboring cafe. At
length I somewhat impatiently expressed mj opinion that
there was " Mafeesh Birbeh " (no temple at all); where-
upon a dozen voices were raised to assure me that the Bir-
beh was no myth—that it was "kebir' (big)—that it was
"kwy-ees" (beautiful)—and that all the " Ingleez " came
to see it.
In the midst of the clamor, however, and just as we are
about to turn away in despair, the gate creaks open ; the
gentlemen of the Fostat troor) out in puggaries and knick-
erbockers; and we are at last admitted.
This is what wo see—a little yard surrounded by mud
walls; at the farther end of the yard a dilapidated door-
way; beyond the doorway, a strange-looking, stupendous
mass of yellow limestone masonry, long and low and level
and enormously massive. A few steris farther and this
proves to be the curved cornice of a mighty temple—a
temple neither ruined nor defaced, but buried to the chin
in the accumulated rubbish of a score of centuries. This
part is evidently the portico. We stand close under a row
of huge capitals. The columns that support them are
buried beneath our feet. The ponderous cornice juts out
above our heads. From the level on which we stand to the
top of that cornice may measure about twenty-five feet. A
high mud wall runs parallel to the whole width of the
facade, leaving a passage of about twelve feet in breadth
between the two. A low mud parapet and a hand-
rail reach from capital to capital. All beyond is vague,
cavernous, mysterious—a great shadowy gulf, in the midst
of which dim ghosts of many'columns are darkly visible.
From an opening between two of the capitals a flight of
brick steps leads down into a vast hall so far below the
surface of the outer world, so gloomy, so awful, that it
might be the portico of Hades.
Going down these steps we come to the original level of
the temple. We tread the ancient pavement. We look
up to the massive ceiling, recessed and sculptured and
painted, like the ceiling at Denderah. We could almost
believe, indeed, that we are again standing in the portico
of Denderah. The number of columns is the same. The
arrangement of the intercolumnar screen is the same.
recommending the boy to climb over and the sailor to
knock louder and suggesting that Abbas the absent might
possibly be found in a certain neighboring cafe. At
length I somewhat impatiently expressed mj opinion that
there was " Mafeesh Birbeh " (no temple at all); where-
upon a dozen voices were raised to assure me that the Bir-
beh was no myth—that it was "kebir' (big)—that it was
"kwy-ees" (beautiful)—and that all the " Ingleez " came
to see it.
In the midst of the clamor, however, and just as we are
about to turn away in despair, the gate creaks open ; the
gentlemen of the Fostat troor) out in puggaries and knick-
erbockers; and we are at last admitted.
This is what wo see—a little yard surrounded by mud
walls; at the farther end of the yard a dilapidated door-
way; beyond the doorway, a strange-looking, stupendous
mass of yellow limestone masonry, long and low and level
and enormously massive. A few steris farther and this
proves to be the curved cornice of a mighty temple—a
temple neither ruined nor defaced, but buried to the chin
in the accumulated rubbish of a score of centuries. This
part is evidently the portico. We stand close under a row
of huge capitals. The columns that support them are
buried beneath our feet. The ponderous cornice juts out
above our heads. From the level on which we stand to the
top of that cornice may measure about twenty-five feet. A
high mud wall runs parallel to the whole width of the
facade, leaving a passage of about twelve feet in breadth
between the two. A low mud parapet and a hand-
rail reach from capital to capital. All beyond is vague,
cavernous, mysterious—a great shadowy gulf, in the midst
of which dim ghosts of many'columns are darkly visible.
From an opening between two of the capitals a flight of
brick steps leads down into a vast hall so far below the
surface of the outer world, so gloomy, so awful, that it
might be the portico of Hades.
Going down these steps we come to the original level of
the temple. We tread the ancient pavement. We look
up to the massive ceiling, recessed and sculptured and
painted, like the ceiling at Denderah. We could almost
believe, indeed, that we are again standing in the portico
of Denderah. The number of columns is the same. The
arrangement of the intercolumnar screen is the same.