DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.4393#0208
100 A THOUSAND MILES, UP THE NIL a.
the island. As at Athens, the ground is occupied by one
principal temple of moderate size and several subordinate
chapels. Perfect grace, exquisite proportion, most varied
and capricious grouping, here take the place of massive-
ness; so lending to Egyptian forms an irregularity of
treatment that is almost gothic and a lightness that is
almost Greek.
And now we catch glimpses of an inner court, of a
second pnypylon, of a pillared portico beyond ; while,
looking up to the colossal bas-reliefs above our heads, we
see the usual mystic form of kings and deities, crowned,
enthroned, worshiping and worshiped. These sculptures,
which at first sight looked no less perfect than the towers,
prove to be as laboriously mutilated as those of Dendorah.
The hawk-head of Horns and the cow-head of llathor have
here and there escaped destruction; but the human-faced
deities are literally " sans eyes, sans nose, sans ears, sans
everything."
We enter the inner court — an irregular quadrangle
inclosed on the east by an open colonnade, on the west by
a chapel fronted with Hathor-headed columns, and on the
north and south sides by the second and first propylons.
In this quadrangle a cloisteral silence reigns. The blue sky
burns above—the shadows sleep below—a tender twilight
lies about our feet. Inside the chapel there sleeps per-
petual gloom. It was built by Ptolemy Euergctes II, and
is one of that order to which Champolliou gave the name
of Mammisi. It is a most curious place, dedicated to
llathor and commemorative of the nurture of Ilorus. On
the blackened walls within, dimly visible by the faint light
which struggles through screen and doorway, we see Isis,
the wife and sister of Osiris, giving birth to Ilorus. On
the screen panels outside we trace the story of his infancy,
education, and growth. As a babe at the breast, he is
nursed in the lap of llathor, the divine foster-mother. As
a young child, he stands at his mother's knee and listens
to the playing of a female harpist (we saw a bare-footed
boy the other day in Cairo thrumming upon a harp of just
the same shape and with precisely as many strings); as a
youth, he sows grain in honor of Isis and oilers a jeweled
collar to llathor. This Isis, with her long aquiline nose,
thin lips, and haughty aspect, looks like one of the compli-
mentary portraits so often introduced among the temple-
the island. As at Athens, the ground is occupied by one
principal temple of moderate size and several subordinate
chapels. Perfect grace, exquisite proportion, most varied
and capricious grouping, here take the place of massive-
ness; so lending to Egyptian forms an irregularity of
treatment that is almost gothic and a lightness that is
almost Greek.
And now we catch glimpses of an inner court, of a
second pnypylon, of a pillared portico beyond ; while,
looking up to the colossal bas-reliefs above our heads, we
see the usual mystic form of kings and deities, crowned,
enthroned, worshiping and worshiped. These sculptures,
which at first sight looked no less perfect than the towers,
prove to be as laboriously mutilated as those of Dendorah.
The hawk-head of Horns and the cow-head of llathor have
here and there escaped destruction; but the human-faced
deities are literally " sans eyes, sans nose, sans ears, sans
everything."
We enter the inner court — an irregular quadrangle
inclosed on the east by an open colonnade, on the west by
a chapel fronted with Hathor-headed columns, and on the
north and south sides by the second and first propylons.
In this quadrangle a cloisteral silence reigns. The blue sky
burns above—the shadows sleep below—a tender twilight
lies about our feet. Inside the chapel there sleeps per-
petual gloom. It was built by Ptolemy Euergctes II, and
is one of that order to which Champolliou gave the name
of Mammisi. It is a most curious place, dedicated to
llathor and commemorative of the nurture of Ilorus. On
the blackened walls within, dimly visible by the faint light
which struggles through screen and doorway, we see Isis,
the wife and sister of Osiris, giving birth to Ilorus. On
the screen panels outside we trace the story of his infancy,
education, and growth. As a babe at the breast, he is
nursed in the lap of llathor, the divine foster-mother. As
a young child, he stands at his mother's knee and listens
to the playing of a female harpist (we saw a bare-footed
boy the other day in Cairo thrumming upon a harp of just
the same shape and with precisely as many strings); as a
youth, he sows grain in honor of Isis and oilers a jeweled
collar to llathor. This Isis, with her long aquiline nose,
thin lips, and haughty aspect, looks like one of the compli-
mentary portraits so often introduced among the temple-