The life, letters and work of Frederic Leighton. Volume IIBarrington, Russell, Mrs.
General
The life, letters and work of Frederic Leighton. Volume II
Barrington, Russell, Mrs.
Leighton of Stretton, Frederic Leighton, Baron, 1830-1896
After lunching in a shady spot we took an anything but shady
ride to the temple-palace of Koorneh, and from thence to the
Memnonium. Both are very interesting, but the latter by far the
finest; there is about it a breadth and a vastness, together
with much elegance and variety, that are very impressive.
Nothing that I have seen is comparable to the monuments of
Egypt, for the expression of gigantic thoughts and limitless
command of material and labour; withal there is about them
something stolid and oppressive that is unsatisfactory; and as I
looked at these vast ruins, vivid memories of Athens and its
Acropolis invaded me, and the Parthenon in all its serene
splendour rose before my mind; mighty, too, in its measured
sobriety, stately in the noble rhythm of its forms; infinitely
precious in the added glory of its sculptures; lovable as a
living thing; and then more, perhaps, than ever before, I felt
what a divine breath informed that marvellous Attic people, and
what an ineffaceable debt of gratitude is due to them from us,
blind fumblers in their footsteps.
I was less struck than I had expected to be by the two colossal
statues, of one of which it was poetically fabled by the
ancients that a mysterious clang rose from it as the first rays
of the rising sun smote its forehead. The myth is more striking
than the statues, though their size and isolation give them
something impressive. I had expected them, too, I don't know
why, to be in a desert, and they are in a field. How infinitely
grander is the great Sphinx, with its strange, far-gazing,
haunting eyes, fixed, for ever, on the East, as if expecting the
dawn of a day that never comes; immovable, unchanging, without
shadow of sorrow, or light of gladness, whilst the gladness of
men has turned to sorrow and their thoughts to ashes before
them, through three times a thousand years! Century by century
the desert has been gathering and growing round it--the feet are
buried, the body, the breast are hidden. How soon will the
sealing sands give rest at last to those steadfast, expectant
eyes?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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