Egypt -- History, Ancient; Egypt -- Social life and customs
As we sweep up the river we see that there are really two cities. On the
east bank lies the city of the living, with its strong walls and towers,
its enormous temples, and an endless crowd of houses of all sorts and
sizes, from the gay palaces of the nobles to the mud huts of the poor
people. On the west bank lies the city of the dead. It has neither
streets nor palaces, and no hum of busy life goes up from it; but it is
almost more striking than its neighbour across the river. The hills and
cliffs are honeycombed with long rows of black openings, the doorways of
the tombs where the dead of Thebes for centuries back are sleeping. Out
on the plain, between the cliffs and the river, temple rises after
temple in seemingly endless succession. Some of these temples are small
and partly ruined, but some are very great and splendid; and, as the
sunlight strikes upon them, it sends back flashes of gold and crimson
and blue that dazzle the eyes.
[Illustration: Plate 2
THE GODDESS ISIS DANDLING THE KING. _Page 18_]
But now our galley is drawing in towards the quay on the east side of
the river, and in a few minutes the great sail comes thundering down,
and, as the ship drifts slowly up to the quay, the mooring-ropes are
thrown and made fast, and our long voyage is at an end. The Egyptian
Custom-house officers come on board to examine the cargo, and collect
the dues that have to be paid on it; and we watch them with interest,
for they are quite different in appearance from our own hook-nosed,
bearded sailors, with their thick many-coloured cloaks. These Egyptians
are all clean shaven; some of them wear wigs, and some have their hair
cut straight across their brows, while it falls thickly behind upon
their necks in a multitude of little curls, which must have taken them
no small trouble to get into order. Most wear nothing but a kilt of
white linen; but the chief officer has a fine white cloak thrown over
his shoulders; his linen kilt is stiffly starched, so that it stands out
almost like a board where it folds over in front, and he wears a gilded
girdle with fringed ends which hang down nearly to his knees. In his
right hand he carries a long stick, which he is not slow to lay over the
shoulders of his men when they do not obey his orders fast enough.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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